#Heat Shrink Straight Through Joints | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aenaxes · 3 years

Note

OMG ok for the 200 follower celebration (based on your smoking post) PLZZZ write sharing a spice blunt with cross or any batcher of your choosing I would simply die 😩💅🏻❤️

vapor trails

[crosshair & hunter x f!reader] you don't really run with the fett twins' crowd, but you find yourself at one of their parties anyway (in reference to this post lol)

warnings: college!au, recreational drug use, suggestive themes, but consent is sexy & mandatory & sober babes

w/c: 3.8k

a/n: anon, you ask for one batcher, but why not two? thank you for enabling me nonnie & @mallr4ts lol (im so sorry to all the previous requests for the event, this one has just been needling in my brain all day and i had to get it out hsdfs)

event details here! requests are open until july 4th!

You don’t know much about the Fett twins.

They��re something like campus legends even though they’re only a year your senior and at the tail end of their fourth years. But as much as you’ve heard their names slung around in weekend plans and excited chatter, you’ve never once met them, much less seen them yourself. Between idling class whispers and dining hall conversations, all you can piece together from the rumors is that: one, they’re from a big family (you’ve heard anywhere from two to twelve other brothers, yikes); and two, as much as they work hard (because the venture capital and pre-professorial tracks seem rigorous enough), they play even harder.

It helps that they apparently own one of the biggest apartments off campus, one in which you find yourself hopelessly and miserably lost. And overdressed.

Great.

It hadn’t occurred to you that your roommate, who is nowhere to be seen, had been dressing up for her girlfriend, and that most people who had half a mind would wear something comfortable that could withstand a few spilled drinks and ash. So seeing the rest of the room in rumpled tees and sweats has you and your little black dress seeking out the nearest wall as you fiddle with your questionably sweet cup of margarita mixer.

You feel like a first year, and it sucks.

But for once, with everyone too busy mingling amongst themselves over the heavy thrum of some mumble rap beat, you manage to slip by unnoticed.

Every now and then, you dart your eyes around the ever shifting landscape of faces in the dim room, looking for even the vaguest familiarity that might let you feign being tipsy and join a group for the night. But every time you try, there’s no luck.

Fuck, you haven’t even seen anyone here before.

But there might be a god watching out for you yet when the crowd shifts just enough that you catch sight of the couch, and on it, someone you suspect to be one of the twins as he greets a few girls with a disinterested nod.

Emboldened, but mostly nervous that in the crowd of bodies and red solo cups you’re still helplessly alone, you push off the wall and squeeze past huddled cliques of conversation to make for the dark couch.

By the platinum bleached hair and big-name consulting group quarter zip, Crosshair—at least you think it’s him—lounges over the couch. He isn’t the only body on the suede seats, but he keeps to himself, his head dipped low as he works one hand over a small metal canister in his other palm.

If you weren’t having luck with the other nameless faces around you, maybe the Fett twin would keep you company—at least until your roommate came back to find you (if she did). And worst case, you’d just slink back to your dorm and mope until your roommate apologized to you with your favorite overpriced smoothie bowl the day after.

Mustering every ounce of courage you have, you plant your feet by the couch and finally speak.

"Is your name actually Crosshair?" you ask.

The man on the couch pauses, his motions stilling over the small metal cylinder in his palms, and he lifts his chin just enough to flick his eyes up towards the sound of your voice.

You always thought the girls in your droning 9AM gen-ed were wildly exaggerating his hype for their own devices, squealing over his (apparently) brooding charm and sharp looks to nip at his stash for free. But for all the vague haze surrounding your perception of the twins, you never thought that they were telling the truth.

If you had been in broad daylight under the incandescent glow of your creaky lecture hall lights, you might have called him cocky, almost haughty, how he meets you with an unreadable look for having interrupted him. But in the purple LEDs and heavy haze of vape juice and shitty tequila, he’s captivating, all dark eyes and perfectly lit skin, marked only by the needle-thin design tattooed over the right side of his face and a worn wooden toothpick bitten between his teeth.

You swallow down the dry lump in your throat when you catch him flick his eyes from your face, down the short length of your dress, and back up again.

"Smoke with me; maybe you'll find out," he drawls, toothpick bobbing as he speaks. He twists the cylinder once and offers you a wry smirk. And when you stay, speechless but there all the same, Crosshair scoots to the side and pats the narrow space between him and the couch arm, inviting you close.

"I've never smoked before," you admit a bit shyly as you drop down beside him. Your dress hikes up your thigh, and you shiver when your skin presses up against the soft denim of his jeans.

"Not even cigs?"

You shake your head. And you tell yourself that when he leans close and brushes his shoulder up against your arm, that he’s only doing it because someone’s boosted the bass, and you can’t hear him over the reverb.

"Well, good thing I'm here, yeah?"

He gives the metal canister a final twist and sets it down on the coffee table before you. Swapping the canister for a small brown sleeve, you watch in a daze as he pulls a semi-transparent leaflet from the folder and tears a strip of cardstock straight from its flap. He has pianist fingers, you think wistfully, neatly kept nails and slender grace, and you wonder if he’ll entertain you if you ask to compare your hand to his.

“What’s your name?”

You scrabble back to the present at the sound of his voice. “Uh, y/n,” you offer.

“Well, y/n,” he says with a soft laugh, having caught on to your daydreaming. “Step one, you fold your filter.”

You nod along absently as Crosshair artfully crimps the thick paper into a neat roll. As if there isn’t thirty-some odd people crammed into his apartment, he quietly takes you step by step, offering you the filter, the paper, then the contents of the canister (a grinder, he explains) like it’s a game of show and tell. But with every piece he places into your hands, you gravitate closer, closer, until you’re flush against his arm and practically hanging over his side to watch as he gently taps a line of bud over the paper.

“Here, let me give you a better look,” Crosshair says.

You expect him to bring the neat line of bud to you, but when nothing comes, you look up and find him waiting for you, one arm open in invitation as the other pats once on the dark denim of his thigh.

“Uh—”

“Sit,” he says as if you haven’t just met him fifteen minutes ago. “Front row seats if you want ‘em.”

On one hand, you barely know Crosshair outside of the rumors you hear on campus. On the other hand, he’s a genuinely pleasant person, careful to accommodate for your boundaries and offering a snide playfulness that’s banished your nerves from earlier in the night.

He’s also really fucking hot.

“Okay,” you murmur, and you let him wrap his arm around your waist and tug you onto his lap. And he’s right. Perched over his thighs, you see with perfect clarity (and without the strain in your neck) as he gently folds the paper over the mound of bud and carefully twists. It’s the prettiest joint you’ve ever seen—though it might be because it’s the only one you’ve seen.

"Final touch," Crosshair's voice rumbles over your back, shooting straight into your core as he lifts the paper's vellum edge to your lips. “Lick it for me.”

Since you sat down with him, you’ve only been the passenger, nodding along as Crosshair’s long, nimble fingers creased over filter paper and patiently pointed out things like the stray pistils in his baggie and the keef gathered at the bottom of his grinder for if you really want to get fucked up. And even though you aren’t doing much (because licking paper doesn’t really seem too crazy), it’s a step forward from the comfortable rhythm that had settled between you, and you twist around in his lap to shoot him an uncertain glance.

“Just,” Crosshair flicks his tongue over his lower lip, flashing a brief glimpse of a ball piercing towards your wide eyes. And if you weren’t so flustered, you might have recognized the coy playfulness in his gaze. “Give it a lick, right over the edge.”

“I—uh, what if I—” you stammer.

“You’re not gonna mess this up, darling,” Crosshair chuckles. If his hand squeezing brief over your waist wasn’t enough to bring heat searing over the tops of your ears, his next words, crooned low and breathy into your ear, certainly do. “You’re a smart girl. You can do it.”

"My brother giving you trouble?"

Another voice cuts through the din of the party, sparing you your stammering nerves as you whip your head up in its general direction. You’re greeted with the sight of his brother, peering down on you as he takes a sip from his cup.

“You’re such a killjoy,” Crosshair mutters, drawing his arm tighter around your waist as he jabs the half-rolled joint to where Hunter sprawls down onto the couch beside him. “No, I’m not being a creep. I’m teaching our pretty underclassman here how to roll.”

Oh.

Heat rushes over your cheeks, and you can’t decide whether you want to shrink into yourself or bask in it and beg for more.

He called you pretty.

“With her in your lap,” Hunter snorts into his cup.

“It was your idea to invite your entire fucking rugby team. Where else would we do it?”

“I’m so sorry he’s like this,” Hunter laughs, tilting his head and looking up at you through his (unfairly) long lashes. Where you thought Crosshair’s tattoo was bold, Hunter’s practically blows him out of the water, a well-worn swath of ink on the left half of his face, curving into neatly stylized teeth right at the edge of his lips. “I’m Hunter.”

Huh, maybe you do have a thing for tattoos.

“Y/n,” you squeak. “It’s, um—it’s nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, sweetheart,” he says as he offers you an easy smile. “Has my baby brother been treating you right?”

“God, two fucking minutes,” Crosshair snaps. You hear the embarrassment seeping from the vitriol, and it strikes you like a shot to the head that he’s trying to play cool in front of you. “I come out two minutes after you and—”

“We’re fraternal, and I got all the oxygen in the womb. Explains why he has awful people skills,” Hunter fake-whispers loud enough for Crosshair to hear, and you giggle as the other man groans from behind you.

“No, he’s been really nice,” you say softly once you realize that you’ve been laughing a little too loud. “He’s teaching me about weed.” It sounds juvenile when you say it, awkward and clumsy on your tongue. It’s a dead giveaway that has Hunter’s smile mellowing into something soft.

“Your first time?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, Cross here’s high as shit at least four hours every day. Says it helps him do the math. I hate to say it, but you’re in good hands.”

“You try running a nonlinear regression sober,” Crosshair snorts. “Anyways, we were just finishing up this joint before you decided to kill the vibe.”

Crosshair lifts the half-rolled joint back up to your chin, and this time, he leans forward and presses his chest close against your back as the playful snark leaves his tone, in its wake, something patient and calm as his voice rumbles by your ear.

“You gonna help me finish the job, sweet girl?”

You surprise yourself when the initial trepidation vanishes as you tip your chin down and stick out your tongue. Maybe you’re showboating now that you have an audience, feeling Hunter’s dark eyes on your lips when you touch the tip of your tongue out over the edge.

Whether it’s your lip gloss or the fine crumbs of bud stuck to the roll paper that fills your mouth with something earthy and sweet, you can’t say. All you know is they’re both following you with that intense intent, the bass and blend of voices faded out around you; just you in Crosshair’s lap and Hunter pretending to care about the drink in his hand as you lift your tongue off the far corner of the paper and close your lips.

“Good job,” Hunter muses, and you’re pretty certain he’s not talking about the joint when you feel his gaze boring into you alone.

The smell of smoke pulls you out of Hunter’s gravity, and you look back in front of you to see Crosshair snap a scuffed metal lighter shut and toss it onto the coffee table. He brings the joint back down in front of you, blowing a neat stream of whitish gray smoke past your ear.

“You know how to pull?” Crosshair asks, and his chin brushes over your bare shoulder as he speaks. He’s so close. You can smell the burn, acrid and sour, but it doesn’t matter that it doesn’t smell like some bubblegum vape when you feel his breaths curling over your skin. You just want more.

Mutely, you shake your head.

“Mm, you know how to shotgun?” Hunter offers, and you hear Crosshair huff laugher from behind you. “Might be easier for your first try.”

You shake your head again.

“It’s,” Hunter pauses, and his brows knit close as he thinks for a moment. “It’s kind of like a kiss. But not really. I take a hit and you catch my smoke. That sound okay?”

You don’t think it matters that someone’s hit shuffle on the playlist, filling the room with a hard electronic beat that might have otherwise drowned out all sound. All you hear is your heart pounding in your ears as you nod and watch Hunter lift the filter to his lips and inhale deep, then pass the joint back to Crosshair.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, white trails of smoke curling over his upper lip as he lifts one hand to cup over the base of your neck.

“Open,” Crosshair whispers.

Wordlessly, you obey. Your lips part just as Hunter pulls close, so close you feel the heat of his skin spreading warm over your cheeks, and blows a soft stream of bitter smoke into your mouth. It can’t be more than a few seconds, but all the while, you can’t seem to tear your eyes from his.

“Breathe in, deep,” you hear Crosshair instruct as he begins to rub one thumb over the curve of your hip.

The smoke is thick, sluicing down your throat and filling your lungs like nothing you’ve ever felt before. It’s not bad, just new, and pressed between the twins over the couch, you think it just might have been worth being ditched by your roommate earlier in the night. But your lungs ache, and you slowly exhale, watching as your vision fogs with a loose cloud of smoke until your chest feels clear again.

“And you didn’t even cough,” Hunter smiles. His calloused fingertips follow the slope of your neck, lingering one moment more before he pulls away. And you aren’t sure if the low buzzing in your fingertips is the weed or their combined warmth as Hunter rubs over your knee and Crosshair leans his head against your neck. “Good girl.”

“Wanna do it again,” you whisper as the buzz begins to crawl up your neck, fizzling around your temples as you lean your cheek over where Crosshair nuzzles into your shoulder.

“With him or me?” Crosshair murmurs, his lips brushing over your skin.

“You,” you say dreamily, and Hunter laughs, a sound that suddenly seems so far away as you tip your head and press close against Crosshair’s silver hair.

Crosshair leans into your touch, pressing his cheek up against your neck one last time before he’s lifting his head and bringing the joint to his lips. You hear the hiss of his inhale, smoke curling up through the narrow body of the joint as the charred end glows warm beside you.

And instead of Hunter’s approach, level with you, Crosshair looms above you, meeting your wide eyes with something of a fond smile. Dragging his hand up your chest, he follows the line of your neck and holds snug over your chin. He squeezes softly, and your jaw falls slack, lips parted in a soft ‘o’ as he dips low. He's closer than Hunter as you feel his mouth just brush over yours and breathe smoke over your tongue.

This time, it’s easier.

You swallow down the smoke and hold, just a beat longer than before. But both Crosshair and Hunter notice as your lips stay parted, and they share a soft laugh that has you exhaling smoke and pride all at once when you finally relax your diaphragm and breathe out.

“Fast learner,” Crosshair muses, nosing up under your jaw as you sink back against his chest.

You mumble incoherently, chasing his touch as the high creeps heavy and warm from your chest to your collar and settles at the back of your throat. It anchors you, molding you up against Crosshair who feels nothing short of perfect as he circles his arms loose over your waist.

You turn your head to thank Hunter when you distantly register him pressing a cool cup into your hand (water, you think you hear him say), but the words slip back down into your throat, your eyelids suddenly unbearably heavy and coarse over your blurry vision.

“You wanna lay down?” Hunter offers, and his voice comes to you like you’re underwater, warped and bubbling past the din of the party around you.

You're pretty sure you nod.

For a few moments, you catch traces of an unintelligible exchange between the twins, only aware of the rumble of Crosshair’s voice at your back, and then you’re being lifted up off the couch, the music and raucous laughter fading behind you.

A door opens, squeaking half-shut, and you wince as a light clicks on beside you. Whoever was carrying you sets you down on something soft and cool, and you sway as the light dims and you settle into your seat.

You’re on a bed, you think.

Crosshair’s, judging by the shock of light hair that you can make out through your lashes. He helps you into a worn tee that reaches past the short hem of your dress, and you wiggle into it with a soft whine, holding it tight.

But where you expect a familiar weight to dip down next to you and pull you close, your eyes fly open when you see his figure turn away from you and towards the neon lights of the party outside.

“You aren’t staying?” It's the most coherent you've been through your first high.

“Not tonight,” Crosshair says softly. He turns back towards you and reaches up to fix the strap of your dress as you sit on his bed. “Baby’s first tokes got you all dopey. Right now, what you need is this,” and he presses a plastic bottle of vitamin water he’s seemingly produced out of nowhere into your palm. “This,” he adds, pressing your phone into your other hand. “And a good night’s sleep.”

“And what if I say I need you, too?” you pout.

Some part of you—the conscious part locked away in the back of your skull—bangs up against the hazy high at the crown of your head because when you’re good and sober and when Crosshair inevitably turns you down, you won’t be able to look at yourself in the mirror for the next semester.

But he breaks into a smile that crinkles at the corners of his eyes before he leans down to press his lips to your forehead. It’s just a split-second of warm, chapstick-soft lips on your skin, but it floods you with an indescribable good from the top of your head all the way down to your toes.

And as high as you are right now, you have a hell of a hunch that the flutter in your chest is going to stay, even when the room stops wobbling around you.

“When you’re all sobered up in the morning, we’ll make you breakfast, and we’ll figure it out from there,” Crosshair says after he’s pulled back, reaching up to smooth his palm over your hair. “Sound like a plan?”

You nod, probably with a little too much enthusiasm, but you’re rewarded with another low chuckle that’s practically music to your ears. His hand gentle and firm over your shoulder, Crosshair guides you down onto the bed and pulls the covers up to your chin.

“Now text your roomie so she doesn’t call the cops on us, get some sleep, and drink all of that, okay?”

“Okay,” you respond.

“Good girl.”

And when the lights click out, you curl into Crosshair’s pillow, breathing in cold, fresh notes of his cologne, and then you’re asleep.

You climb out of bed the next morning, your minidress rumpled under a long shirt. It's not like a hangover, no, you just find yourself a bit lightheaded and throat parched, and the disorientation makes your head spin as you’re greeted with the smell of fresh coffee and something savory—

Your roommate doesn’t wake up earlier than you, and she can’t cook for shit. And why were your sheets grey? Whose shirt were you—

Oh.

Fuck.

You practically burst out of Crosshair’s bedroom, and you’re not sure what you expected, but somehow you hadn’t expected to see Hunter sipping mildly on a mug of coffee while Crosshair pushes something around in a pan over their kitchen range.

“Mornin,’” Hunter offers you a small wave, and reaches for a third mug on the countertop. “Wasn’t sure how you liked your coffee so we just made it black.”

“What happened last night?” you gasp. If you weren’t so panicked, you’re certain the sight of them sporting nothing but grey sweats would have been your only concern, but you’ve just woken up with foggy memories and the slimy dread of anxiety that follows a blackout night.

“Easy, easy,” Crosshair assures you as he steps away from the stovetop. “Nothing happened after we smoked. You took, like, two hits, and you were so hazy you couldn’t remember your dorm number, so we put you to bed, and I slept out in the living room. Fetts are wild but we’re not scumbags, promise.”

And judging from the throw blanket sliding off the edge of the couch cushions, you’re fairly certain you can believe him. Relief floods your chest.

“Oh thank God,” you sigh, and your shoulders sag as the weight of panic sloughs off your back.

They both laugh softly, the sudden tension lifting from the bright morning light, and you can’t help but join in. And when that rosy relief gives way to silence again, it’s Crosshair who speaks next.

“So, you staying for breakfast?”

“Can I borrow some actual clothes first?”

“Done deal.”

#fun fact: my signature party trick is flirting with a guy and then stealing his blunt ✌️😗#thinking about how schlorbe n i agreed crosshair listens to souncloud mumble rap :/#its ok i kiss him anyways #hc that crosshair’s an econ/finance bro and hunter’s a history major hehe #sequel series: crosshair goes venture capital (gross)#tech's probably at like the space equivalent of mit or something #and i will Die on the hill that wrecker's super smart with kinesiology #crosshair x reader #hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x reader #the bad batch x reader #anon #yaej.writes

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uniquevns · 2 years

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dreamii-yume · 4 years

Note

Got a fic request boss: Leona in heat forcing himself on the heroine. Better if they weren't in very good terms beforehand though not enemies, either, more like 'I tolerate you but you are an asshole' vibe from her to him.

Warning :

This sinfic was written by me, Yume, who doesn’t understanding the first thing about being “In-heat”. This fic may not be as accurate as other fics out there but I sure damn tried my best.

HUGE thanks to my friend, “Vladcc” for giving me advice about how being “In-heat” works! Big PP for you, my friend! I miss you.

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

Leona had been feeling hot and bothered lately! Ah...Shit, here we go again everybody. However, instead of wondering what the hell is he going to do this time, Darling was gracious enough to come up to help him herself~! Hm? That wasn’t Darling’s intention? That doesn’t really matter now, does it? A lion’s gotta do what a lion’s gotta do after all!

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

It was difficult to explain your extreme distaste for the Savanaclaw Dorm Head in a single sentence.

Leona Kingscholar wasn’t the worst student in Night Raven College, far from it actually. You could even say that he was one of the best performing, not because of his dorm head status, but for his sheer talent. Even if he was lazy and unmotivated, he was still skilled and intelligent deep down, he wasn’t called a genius for nothing. You could safely bet a huge amount of money that Leona could take on any task if he could just offer an ounce of effort onto it. But that exact lack of effort was the very thing that ticks you off the most

With that said, you winced every time you think about what Ruggie has to go through being his overall caretaker and the vice dorm head of the same dorm. The poor hyena just basically does all the work for him. The same could be said for Jack, who idolizes the lion, but hates the slothfulness in him. You sympathize with that reason really, frustrated at the fact that Leona holds so much more than he claims to have and not even making an effort to let it bloom into effect. You couldn’t help but feel how unfair it was for such a lethargic guy like him to have such gift.

So, when you saw the same guy a few weeks ago in the now-empty hallways of Night Raven College, looking like he was bothered by something, you hesitated.

Leaning over the wall with his hand, Leona was massaging his temple, like he had just solved the most complicated calculus problem out there. You were behind him so you couldn’t really see what kind of expression he was making, but his growls and body language was enough to tell you that he was not in a fine condition. You gulped, debating to yourself whether you should exert the effort to ask what was wrong or just simply pass him by. In the end, that small sense of justice and that sparking curiosity in you had won. You didn’t like Leona but you haven’t reached that level of apathy to just leave him be when he’s clearly not in the best condition.

You stepped closer to him and tugged on the hem of his shirt, you flinched as you swore that the atmosphere around him felt a lot hotter than usual. Slowly, Leona turned to look at you with a scowl in his face, making you shrink down in your spot. You were starting to doubt whether or not this was a good idea. “Um...If you’re feeling unwell then...” You stammered, not noticing how the expression in Leona’s face had somehow turned softer once he realized it was you. You looked up at him with an uneasy look and pointed behind you. “...The infirmary’s that way so...”

You mentally kicked yourself for giving such a stupid suggestion. Leona has been attending this school far longer than you are, of course he knew where the infirmary is, genius! He stared at you for a while, giving you time to notice how his eyes were twitching as if he was repressing some kind of beast deep inside of him. His mouth was opening and closing as if he wanted to say something, only to come out as frustrated growls. You blinked at him, genuinely beginning to feel a bit concerned for the guy. “Um? Seriously...Are you okay?” You asked but the answer could be found in just plain sight.

Finally, Leona shut his eyes tight and forced himself to look away from you but you noticed how his tail was swaying back and forth rather uncontrollably. “...What do you think.” He said in a sarcastic tone as he walked past you, towards the direction you told him to. “Just...Don’t get too close.”

The moment he started walking however, he uncharacteristically stumbled over, which activated the good in you and immediately moved to support him. “Wha-!? Geez...! Please be careful! At least walk properly!” You scolded, your face was in a mix between concern and annoyance. You looked up at him but froze when you realized that he was already looking down at you with his eyes widened, there was also something unnerving at that look. You gulped, you didn’t know what that emotion was, but it sure didn’t need further explanation to tell you how dangerous it look. “...W-What is it...?”

It was then you realized that you were basically clinging onto him, grasping onto his clothes as a way to prevent him from falling earlier. You quickly let go and moved away, remembering how he specifically told you to not get close to him. “S-Sorry...” You apologized, your hand fiddling with your skirt awkwardly as Leona turned his body towards you. You backed away in instinct, you didn’t like the way his mood suddenly felt like it changed for the worse. Something tells you that it wasn’t safe to be in the lion’s presence any longer and for the first time in a while, you actually agreed with your gut feeling.

“You know what...M-Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered you in the first place...” You said, looking down as something was preventing you from looking up at him and seeing whatever look he has in his eyes. You kept backing away more and more but couldn’t help but feel rude to leave from the conversation like this. So, with the bit of courage you still have, you hold up a twitchy smile and looked up at him for the last time. “S-Sorry, I’ll be going no-“

You cut yourself off as soon as you made eye contact with his green eyes, looking almost feral. Shivers went up your spine as you were about to quickly turn your heel around when Leona grabbed you by the shoulder and harshly slammed you against the wall. You let out yelp, shutting your eyes tight as the waves of shock ran throughout your body, giving you a mild case of a headache. You quickly opened your eyes to see Leona had caged you between his body and the wall behind you as he leaned down close to your face. His large, muscular arms were already blocking your two escape routes, trapping you completely.

Gulping down in nervousness, you tried backing up against the wall even further as you could feel his hot breath on you. “...I said...Don’t get too close with me.” He growled, his breathing getting heavier and heavier by every second as sweat drips down from his pores. You doubt it was out of nervousness unlike your own. “Were you doing this on purpose, you little herbivore?”

You frantically shook your head, not wanting to foul his mood any further. “No! Of course not! T-That was an accident, I swear!” You desperately said, your words were true yet your heart was beating so fast as if you just gave him the biggest lie you could think of. “Let...Let me go and I’ll just leave you be. I swear I won’t bother you again...!”

Leona narrowed his glare at you even more and step away from the suffocating position that the two of you had. However, he grasped one of your arm tightly, suggesting that he was not going to let you go anytime soon. He then began to walk to a different direction, heavy footsteps echoing throughout the empty halls with you being forcibly dragged along. “W-Wait! Where...!? Where are we going!?” You asked in panic, attempting to pull your arm away but his hand such a tight grip on you that it hurts to even try. “Leona-san!?”

You tried matching his pace, stumbling over your own feet a few times, causing a few joints in your ankle to crack painfully but Leona didn’t care. As long as you weren’t straight up breaking anything, his focus remains on a different topic. Finally, Leona stopped walking, so suddenly in fact that you crashed onto his back doing so. Looking from behind him, you saw only but a door, seemingly a staff closet and wouldn’t you know it, seemed to be unused. Before you could even ask Leona the reason why he brought you here, he opened the door before harshly tugging you forward inside, making you stumble down to the ground.

You groaned as your landing was not exactly the smoothest but felt your heart stopped when you heard a click of a lock. You quickly looked up, only to see Leona’s huge body towering above your kneeling figure. You gulped once again, your heart beating faster as fear and panic was consuming you from the inside. You tried to keep yourself from trembling, but the image of Leona looking all feral above you was enough to scare you shitless. What in the ever-loving hell is going on?

“...I was already so annoyed with this season.” You heard Leona growled as he stepped closer to your trembling figure. “But I have to admit...You had a lot of guts, coming up to me so suddenly like that.”

“But I did warn you, didn’t I?” Leona breathed out, gulping down as if he was finally reached the end of his line. You blinked at what he meant, trying to understand where he’s getting at. “This season...You’ll do just fine.”

Season?

And then, Leona started unbuckling his belt in front of you, the sound of metal clashing slightly onto one another had finally caught you in your senses. You widened your eyes, realization had finally came bursting in your head, finally understanding why he was so bothered. Leona was at that season; the season you’ve read about a lot concerning his kind of species. Leona was in heat, a season in which he holds an uncontrollable urge to mate with someone, that’s why he was feeling all hot and bothered! But then, if that was the case, then you really shouldn’t be in his presence, not when he is being consumed by intense hunger and lust.

Because he will most definitely break you.

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

Continue the Spice~?

Guess what? We still do not have Wifi~! Yeah~! I’m real sad about it though (；▽；) I don’t know when I’ll update! Fck the three day rule at this point.

#yandere twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #yandere leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar #sinfic #savanaclaw #yandere

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fallinnflower · 4 years

Text

forsaken

minghao x reader (demon!hao, drama, historical!au)

wc: 1.6k

a/n: so i used a prompt generator and then went overboard but if you’re curious the prompt was: 400 words + demon + electricity + “I will remember this” + shipwreck

Day One

You wake up on an unfamiliar shore, still tucked beneath the bench of the small wooden lifeboat where you had fallen asleep God knows how long ago. The sound of the wood scraping against the sand is what wakes you, and for a moment you lie in dazed confusion staring at the sun-bleached wood before you realize just what it is you’re hearing. Land.

The world pitches and darkens as you sit up too quickly, but you manage to scramble out of the boat onto shore, slowly dragging it along with you until you’re far enough from the tide’s reach. After days without food or adequate water, the effort exhausts you, and so you flip the lifeboat over and prop it up on a rock just enough for you to shimmy beneath it for shelter before falling asleep once again.

Day Three

There is no sunlight on the island, at least none that reaches you. The overcast days bleed into starless nights, however the clouds don’t seem to speak of an impending storm, merely a shroud enveloping the island.

You start a fire, just barely, and wander through the flora to find anything even remotely edible, praying each night that it won’t be your last.

Day Seven

With renewed strength comes renewed consciousness, and in the darkness and stillness of the island your mind replays the horrific events which led to your arrival. You hear the screams of your friends; the sound of your sails whipping untethered in the wind; wood splintering violently. Desperate feet on the rain-slick wood, too slow to outrun the falling debris. You can still smell the blood in the water, even when you tuck your nose into the crook of your elbow, like you’re right there again.

God has forsaken you, and you know it now. After taking away your crewmates in one fell swoop he’s forgotten you, discarded you. Left you to sink like your ship in the dark.

The thunder rumbles in the night as though laughing at your plight, as though in agreeance with you, and you don’t sleep.

Day Ten

Desperation sets in. You can see yourself wearing away, the bones on the back of your hand protruding, joints knobby and red. Hunger makes it hard to hunt makes it impossible to eat makes you hungrier. You’re desperate.

The sky darkens in the evening but you see no stars, and you stare out at the ink-black water and imagine it swallowing you whole as it eagerly laps at the shore, creeping ever closer. The wind tugs at your hair, your tattered clothes, and with your jaw clenched tight you crouch in the sand and begin to dig.

First, a circle, a deep trench that the wind won’t merely blow away. The grit sticks beneath your fingernails and scratches, tears at the delicate skin there until it bleeds, and yet you continue, the pain fueling you. With the circle’s completion you hesitate a moment, and a rumble of thunder seems to accompany the shiver that runs down your spine as you contemplate what you’re about to do. Or, what you intend to do.

You close your eyes, take a deep breath. What is faith to you now? This is a last ditch effort, you remind yourself, this is about survival. In your mind you can picture the summoning circle, an image you’d found both frightening and fascinating. You hear the crack of thunder once again, louder, and jump slightly, losing your balance. With your hands placed in the center of the circle to steady you, you see a long shadow cast over you when the lightning finally strikes, the smell of sulfur in the air making your stomach churn.

“Well, aren’t you going to finish the job?”

Day Eleven

You wake up on the beach, the circle you had drawn in the sand half-destroyed due to your sleeping over top of it. Your heart jumps wildly as you remember the shadow, the voice, and you will yourself to calm down — it was only a dream, a figment of your dehydrated and starved consciousness —

“Aren’t you at least going to tell me what you want?”

You shoot up into a seated position, flinging sand every which way. The voice appears to have come from a man who’s sitting on top of your lifeboat, one long leg crossed over the other, dark hair ruffled in the breeze. He tilts his head at you, a smile gracing his lips but pure, crackling fire in his gaze. His eyes are sharp, poised above high cheekbones, and the arch of his eyebrows scream condescension as he sizes you up. The hair that flops in loose waves and curls across his forehead is the blackest you’ve ever seen, like a void. When you don’t reply, simply staring agape at him, the corners of his mouth twitch up further, though there’s no kindness in his voice when he speaks again,

“It’s very impolite to fall asleep in front of your guest, you know.”

You struggle for words, consonants and vowels falling aimlessly from your lips as the lithe man stands and stretches in the same lazy manner as a cat, his dark gaze pinned on you all the while. As he begins to walk you feel as though you’re being circled by a predator, watching as he slinks around you in his black attire like a—

“Panther.”

The man stops in his tracks, cocks his head to one side, and then laughs. The sound sends chills down your spine, makes you go rigid. You watch as he composes himself once again, nonchalantly flicking some hair out of his eyes, before pinning you with his gaze once again.

“A panther,” he muses, practically purring. Despite the velvet smoothness of his tone you continue to feel unnerved. “That’s new. I’ll remember that.”

There’s a sudden flash of lightning, and then he’s right in front of you, merely a hair's breadth away. You swear you see the electric current in his eyes, crackling like heat lighting, and you hold your breath.

“But, sadly, you’re wrong,” he says, though he sounds anything but sorry. “And I think you know exactly what I really am. So, why don’t you tell me what you want, hm?” A chill seems to descend upon you, and you shrink back into yourself slightly, trying desperately not to tremble.

“I-I—”

“Don’t be shy,” he coos, but you can see the impatience growing within him. “Just tell me what you want. Go on.”

Although neither of you move you swear you can feel a pressure bearing down on you, making it hard to breathe, and it’s only through such desperation that you finally find your voice,

“I want to go home!” You close your eyes in fear, but the oppressive weight retreats as the tall man, the demon you summoned, chuckles darkly.

“See, was that so hard?” When you open your eyes you find him standing casually in front of you, and he leans down with a smile, offering you his hand. Although you know you shouldn’t, you feel drawn to accept his gesture, like Aurora to the spindle, and so you slip your rough, calloused hand into his. His palm and fingers are smooth and cold, and to your surprise he helps you up casually, his smile almost friendly.

But then the pain begins. You scream, trying to pull your hand from his to no avail; he merely watches with a placid grin on his face as the flesh in the center of your palm burns in a perfect circle along with his. Between the two new wounds electricity flows, illuminating the demon’s face wickedly, and you can’t do anything but weep as the searing pain continues. When the light dies away the demon pulls back his hand, smiling despite the way both your palms continue to smoke. You clutch yours to your chest, dropping to your knees in the sand.

“A pleasure doing business with you,” he says after a moment, and when you look up you realize he’s dragged your lifeboat back out from the trees.

“I— aren’t you supposed to take me home?” you ask, still clutching your hand, and he laughs.

“I’m not, but this will. It might take another day or so, but you’ll be home, just like we agreed. Go on, get in.”

After a moment, you simply do as he says, exhaustion washing over you. Once you take your seat you notice its improved condition and a small pile of fruit tucked away in a bag beneath the bench.

“What’s this for?” you ask.

“Well, I can’t have you arriving dead. You haven’t upheld your part of the deal yet.” You turn your head to look at the demon, but he merely holds your gaze calmly.

“You mean—?”

“You’ll be seeing me again, very soon,” he says, his grin widening. “Your soul is no good now, but I’ll come to collect, don’t worry.” His fingers curl around the edge of the boat and he leans towards you, his beautiful face marred by his cruel grin,

“And if you should be in need of me, you may call me Minghao.”

With that, he gives the boat a shove, sending you with frightful speed into the waves. You clutch the underside of the bench so hard you’re sure you’ll find splinters in your fingers, but when you turn back towards the shore you find only the dark expanse of the sea behind you and a streak of heat lightning disappearing in the clouds above, a spark seeming to shoot straight through your palm.

And one word seems to ring through your head, echoing like a death knell: forsaken.

#caratwritersclub #minghao scenarios #the8 scenarios #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen texts #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #kpop writing #kpop scenarios #kpop reactions #My writing

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utanoprinces · 5 years

Text

Dragon Route: Natsuki

After a long stretch of months in the creative pit, I have been very busy on my selfship blog but otherwise quietly sticking to work I have emerged with one of the first of my written commissions! Commissioned by the very kind and longsuffering @eldritchdoctor, who waited far too many months for it to be completed, the first of the Starish routes is here to be read at your leisure. This one, like Reiji’s, will not be in narration-player format like the others but is instead a very long one-shot. I hope you enjoy!

Tale of: the Merchant and Citrine Dragon

The first time you met him, you thought it’d be the last night you’d walk the earth. To this day, you wonder if—had you not crossed paths with him—it would have been. Your cart had broken down in the middle of the mountain crossing, right on the curve overlooking a valley. Normally, that would spell doom, as the kingdom at large is well aware that the area is rife with the Fae and all their mischief, tricks, and traps laid to ensnare unlucky or unsuspecting mortals. It’s said that even straying a meter from the man-made path is enough to get yourself caught up in a wild goose chase after false lanterns or end up some unknown creature’s meal, so when you’d nervously sat down on the grassy hill beside your broken cart in despair only to minutes-later be met with a sudden, gentle voice, you had immediately assumed it was the end.

“Cute, little human~!” The voice called. “Did your wheel box fall apart?”

Wheel box? You thought to yourself very absently, unable to think much else with a chill running down your spine. Realizing he meant the cart, you looked up—and froze in place.

He was tall, so tall. Broad-shouldered, but with a softness about his entire demeanor that nearly made you forget the danger you were in, and clad in a long, smooth coat that graduated from rich yellows to soft browns. Farther up, you were briefly entranced by the green of his eyes, like grass in sunlight, framed by a pair of filigree spectacles and wavy, beige-gold hair that twisted in so many shiny, pleasant ways that you were nearly bowled over by the very unprecedented desire to dig your hands into it and run your fingers through to the ends.

However, the most arresting part of the open, inviting face gazing down at you was not any of the features you’d normally consider yourself familiar with. Instead of his pale skin, his gentle smile, or those eyes that threatened to capture you once more, it was the twisting, bronze horns curling across his forehead that most caught your eye.

He tilted his head, face shifting into a concerned expression with wide, owlish eyes.

“Hm? Can you not hear me…?” He kneeled before you to reach your eye level, still smiling far wider than was appropriate. He waved his hands in front of your face—his fingertips had claws!—and hummed. “Are you all right, human~?”

“What are you?” You blurted. His face broadened in surprise before he smiled once more.

“A friend. Here to help you.” He turned his attention away from you and tapped his face, standing straight as he approached your fallen cart with an appraising eye. Your attention zoned in on the golden tail behind him, crested with feathers near where it disappeared into his coat and at the end, where it splayed into beautiful long plumes that shimmered faintly in the moonlight. You quietly decided that—whatever he was—he was certainly the most stunning creature you'd ever seen.

It went on like that, with the strange being waving his hand in a seemingly random pattern and somehow pulling your cart together again. When he finished reassembling it, he returned to you and helped you up by gripping the back of your clothes as if you were a kitten and settled you on your feet.

“Are you traveling alone?” He asked. “That seems so lonely!”

“I don’t exactly have a choice,” you replied carefully. “I have to make a living somehow.” He hummed in awe, face turning once more to that innocent, wide-eyed expression. You almost wondered if he was teasing you, but he just seemed so… guileless. It was hard to gauge, so you kept your guard up, even as his tail swayed with interest.

“What is it you do exactly? I haven’t gotten the chance to talk to many humans! Syo always tries to drag me away when I see any.”

You frowned. ‘Syo’? You shook your head and walked down to your cart, carefully brushing over the joints and straps and making sure nothing had fallen out when it broke down. You took up the straps again. “I’m a merchant. Traveling, usually but… I’ve heard of some opportunities near the capital that seem profitable.”

“P… profitable?” The being squinted, as if testing the word in his mouth. You stared at him.

“Do you… know what commerce is, er…?”

He brightened. “Natsuki!” His face fell again. “...and no… but I’m very curious to learn.” Somehow… something about the way he seemed so knowledgeable and yet so childish at once… it struck you. You couldn’t help breathing a small huff of amusement as you straightened the straps over your shoulders and took a step.

“You’re right, Natsuki. The journey has been pretty lonely, so far.”

He easily caught up and fell into step beside you, politely and thoughtfully folding his hands in front of him. “I can keep you company! I’m so curious about humans, you know!” You smiled awkwardly at him.

“As long as you don’t try to snare me or take my name or anything…”

“Take your name?” He blinked. “Is that something humans do?” He gasped. “Is that what bandits do? Now I know why I always see people running from them!” This guy… was he really Fae? That was what you had thought until his eyes had lit up with understanding… moments before he seemed to shrink in on himself. “A-ah… I see. You’re… afraid.” You flinched. He sounded so, so terribly sad. You weren’t expecting a being like him to care what a human thought… or maybe you’d even thought he might show his true colors if you were blunt with him. However, to your surprise, he genuinely seemed concerned. He lowered his eyes, looking out over the swathes of forest that stretched away down the side of the path as you both trudged forward. “I… understand. Tokiya says humans avoid the valley because they are afraid of the Court, but… please believe me when I say that dragons and the Court are not entirely alike. We don’t wish to hurt humans.” He paused and frowned. “Well… most of us.”

You weren’t entirely sure how to respond. Court? Dragons? He was a dragon? But dragons hadn’t been heard of in over fifty years! Still, his tail, his horns, the casual way he’d used magic… it matched the legends you’d heard. What in the world were you meant to do with such information, though?

“I’m not afraid,” you blurted, and immediately snapped your mouth shut, feeling your face heat up. Okay, maybe that was impulsive. Maybe you’d just wanted to reassure him that you didn’t hate him, with him looking so gentle and wounded like he was. Almost instantly, his gaze snapped back to you, face splitting into an overjoyed grin that seemed to glow brighter than the moonlight itself… or perhaps that was the faintly-shimmering, golden mist that very subtly bloomed from between his lips and surrounded you both. Your heart stuttered as you were overcome with imagery, sensations… something you’d never quite felt before.

Biting into sweet pears and feeling the juices run down your hands but knowing that it would be washed away by clean water. Licking honey from your fingertips, surrounded by the scent of fresh bread and butter and the laughter of people you love. Being held in a pile of soft cushions, fingertips brushing down your skin.

He was golden. He was radiant. He was celestial.

He… was the most beautiful thing you’d ever experienced and—you blinked. Wait just a moment; what was all that? You stared up at him, faltering in your steps as your brows knit and you attempted to gauge his demeanor. Natsuki simply smiled, his eyes soft and distant, his energy overall serene and unthreatening.

“I’m happy if that’s the case,” he said carefully, eyes never leaving yours. “I’m happy if you trust me enough to take you wherever you’re going.” He blinked slowly and tilted his head. “You are… incredibly fascinating and cute.”

The heat in your face had increased, your walk had continued, and finally, after many hours, you’d reached the end of the mountain pass. Before you reached the outpost, Natsuki regaled you with tales of his interactions with pixies, of the annual revel of the Fae Court and all the dragons that met there, of his home, his love of animals. He also asked plenty of questions, both mundane and vast, about humans and human life. Little by little, he entertained you and kept you at ease and—strangely—in a way, he kept you safe the entire while. Finally, he glanced up towards the wall of the outpost cresting over the distant trees and looked back to you, lifting a hand to gently brush through your hair.

“I hope you stay safe on the rest of your journey, cute Merchant,” he said, leaning down to smile at you directly. “...and I hope you keep me in your thoughts.”

With that, he waved as innocently as a child and faded before you could reply, leaving you alone on the path with a mended cart and entirely stunned.

⁂

With the city bustling around you, you sigh quietly and look up to the mountain range at the edge of the horizon. The sky is bright and blue, nary a cloud in sight; the air is the perfect temperature for traveling… and you are traveling light, so everything is in place for a pleasant journey aside from the usual possible hazards of being abroad. You lick your lips, glancing up at the smudges of grey-green in the blueness once more, the distant peaks only just showing over the top of the city walls.

It has been some time since you’ve journeyed through the mountain pass. Years, even. You’ve led a relatively calm life moving your wares between the capital and surrounding villages, but now it's once again time for you to leave your roots and start somewhere new. Whether it's because you've heard rumors of new, even-more fascinating items to sell in existence beyond the mountains or simply because your heart is yearning for the road, you haven't decided. All you know is that you are called to go… and so you do, though it's lighter this time than the last trip, with only the gear you need to camp safely along the trail and the items you plan to sell on the other side.

As you take the first steps out of the city and onto the path towards the mountains, an errant thought flits through your mind; you wonder if you’ll meet him again… that strange, golden-colored being. With the way the wind is tugging at your clothes enticingly, you get the sense that anything—and especially something incredible—could happen. That in mind, you hike your pack higher on your shoulders and begin the several-day trek to the base of the mountain pass.

⁂

By incredible, you hadn’t really meant ‘earth-shattering’.

Of course, you should really know by now that things rarely work out exactly as you expect them to, for better and for worse.

You hold onto your pack tightly, doing your best to press yourself under the rocky outcrop you’d managed to scramble to when the first roar echoed across the horizon. The very earth seems to shake with another agonizingly-loud bellow, a sound you’ve never heard in your life, so ear-splitting that you think it might have the power to kill you just from the vibrations it’s sending through your body. You squeeze your eyes shut as small pebbles and sand pour down around you. Something in the air thrums—subaudible, thunderous pulses… a chorus of them in various pitches. You pull your legs up, whimpering quietly as you continue to hide, unsure if you should be praying to the powers that be, and look up just in time to see a jaw-droppingly massive figure of gold go crashing into the forest below the path. Another rumble echoes through the ground as trees fall around the impact. You stare, unable to close your mouth in your shock as the figure is followed by several more, some pausing in the air to hover.

Dragons.

You realize the pulse in the air is the sound of their wings, big enough to cast a full district of the capital city in shadow each. There are seven of them, including the golden one that had fallen to the ground before, each a different color and almost glowing in the sun. In fact, there’s one who seems to glow like the sun itself, judging by the halo of light around its wings. You watch as they fly around each other, mouths opening and closing as different sounds fill the air with their wingbeats. Roars, growls, noises not unlike echoing wolf yips. Explosions of colored light shoot upwards from where the golden one had fallen, crackling outwards like the sparkling explosions seen around festivals in the city. Despite your fear, you can’t help but crawl forward, looking on in awe. The closer you get, the more the roars seem to take shape in your mind, almost as if they aren’t mindless sounds at all, but a true language being thrown back and forth.

“Someone bind him! Tokiya… Tokiya your spells!”

“I’m trying my best! I wasn’t prepared for this today.”

“Who would be, Ichi?! Just get on it!”

“I’d like to see you try harder yourself, Jinguji!”

“Stop arguing and hold him in place while Syo gets his glasses!”

The group descends as a smaller, rosy-pink dragon darts in like a falcon. Shortly after, a cloud of rainbow smoke as big as the palace rises from the impact. The roars decrease to smaller sounds, more human sounds. Shouting and arguing below the pathway. You take a hold of your pack, gingerly slinging it back over your shoulders before crawling out farther to peer over the ridge. With the rocks strewn around the path biting into your palms, you bend down, carefully looking down between the trees. You see an array of richly-dressed men scrambling around, clothes flashing and glittering in the patches of sunlight that manage to stream through the trees. Two dark-clad members of the group stand over the figure on the ground, hands raised and shifting between movements. One is writing in the air furiously with a sleek, black quill. Dripping purple coils of light follow his pen, sinking downwards like silt before fading from sight. The other, a man whose robe resembles the night sky, complete with glittering stars, uses a silver finger cuff to claw glowing, white runes into the air over the figure on the ground, who is growling and thrashing against a violently-bright, purple light barrier over him. A smaller figure in pink and white dashes left and right around the barrier, holding something delicately in his hands.

“You”—he stumbles and curses—“you have to hold him still! I can’t get through the barrier if he’s thrashing!”

The man with jet-colored hair and the black quill hisses, “What more do you want us to do? This is already the limit of Hijirkawa’s and my power!” There is a flash of light and another of the men comes into view, hair strikingly red. Seemingly without thought, he drives his foot down hard through the light barrier, immediately crying out in pain but staying firm with his foot on the bound figure’s chest.

“Ikki!” “Otoya!”

As it all unfolds before you, somehow the beings move in such a way that the crowd parts for an instant—just long enough for the man on the ground to make eye contact with you through a ripple in the barrier.

Green… like sunlight through leaves.

You clap a hand over your mouth as the realization hits you.

It’s him.

Natsuki is distracted long enough for the smallest man to force his hands through the barrier, hissing in pain as he shoves a distantly-familiar pair of glasses over Natsuki’s eyes. Immediately, the barrier ripples and shatters apart, making a sound like cracking crystal before dissipating. Natsuki’s shout of anguish is cut off by a sharp silence; he falls limp on the forest floor. The group of men shares a collective sigh of relief, each slouching or closing their eyes as though exhausted. Shaken, you move to crawl away from the ridge but accidentally send a cascade of debris down the side. The jet-haired man looks up, eyes narrowing as he scans for the sound before widening when they land on you.

“We’re not alone,” he says sharply. The others follow his gaze, each pair of jewel-colored eyes landing on you in turn. You feel an alarming stab of dread lance through you and you recoil in fear, but not before you hear a crackle and shuffle. You scramble backward, still blinking hard in surprise and making sure you have everything you need. Unfortunately, you turn around and run right into the arms of one of the taller men—an orange-haired man clad in little more than an abundance of sheer ruffles. He catches you firmly around the waist, pack and all, and smirks, tilting his head and batting eyes bluer than a summer sky.

"Are you lost, little lamb~?" His voice is smooth and sinuous, rich and low as it sinks into your ears. Without even moving, you can tell you won’t be able to break his hold, so you simply fall silent, glancing back to where the others are slowly gathering Natsuki off the ground before looking back to the one holding you.

“W… what did you do to him? ‘Natsuki’, right? Is he okay?” You swallow uncomfortably. “Are you going to kill me?”

The man blinks several times before laughing, a pleasant, breathy chuckle. You hear a hiss from behind you and the man clothed in the night sky robe (Hijirikawa?) speaks.

“Jinguji, is now really the time to be laughing? A human has seen us… and worse, has seen Shinomiya on the brink of—”

“Quiet,” the jet-haired man murmurs firmly. “We shouldn’t speak of this in the open. If word gets out, the Queen will want an audience… and none of us want that.” He glances among the group, taking in their equally-cowed faces and lowered eyes. His eyes return to you, narrowed suspiciously. “We should bring the human with us. They’ve seen too much and they know his name… We can wait for him to regain consciousness and then decide what to do with them after.” You open your mouth to argue that it’s insensitive to discuss your fate as if you aren’t present as well, but before you can get a word out, the man who is holding you extends a claw before your face. A small flame springs to life on the tip of his finger and it draws your attention just long enough for him to snap his fingers, sending the flame up into a shower of sparks.

You black out instantly.

⁂

The time of day is uncertain when you wake again, but judging by the heat, you assume it’s after midday. It’s almost uncanny to wake with no side effects from your sudden unconsciousness. In fact, you almost feel better than you did before you’d been so rudely knocked out. All the same, you habitually rub your eyes as you sit up to peer around you.

Sunlight filters through a canopy of leafy trees overhead; a few birds are shifting and twittering in the branches. You take a deep breath—wherever you are, you’re outside, lying on warm stone. There is a very distant sound of… music? But it’s not an instrument you’ve heard before… airy and whimsical and reverberating… not unlike the tuning forks you witnessed an alchemist use once during a visit to the palace court. There’s a quiet rustle of fabric behind you and you turn to see the smallest of the other men you’d met, perking up from a stone chair not far from the bench you’re lying on. He’s dressed in a strange, white, two-piece bodysuit with pink sheer draped over him. It’s more revealing than the fashions in the cities and villages you’ve seen, so you can’t help but feel a little flustered over it and blurt the first thing that comes to mind.

“Are you some sort of courtesan?”

He flushes pinker than his clothes—it makes the blue of his eyes pop—and growls, “What? No! Of course not!” You blink at him several times, surprised by his embarrassment, then laugh once. Twice. You decay into little giggles and sit up all the way while he huffs and crosses his arms. “Oi, I was generous when I offered to watch you and you’re havin’ the nerve to laugh at me! You got any idea who I am?” You choke down your mirth and look at him after noticing your pack carefully stowed away beside your bench. His tail is a deep, dusty pink and flecked with scales that resemble splotches of gold leaf… and it’s thrashing subtly, much like an annoyed cat. You breathe an amused sound once more and tilt your head.

“Nope. No idea. Are you someone important?”

“Imp…! Important!” He splutters, standing up abruptly. He stalks over to you and, despite the danger you’re clearly capable of falling into, you don’t feel scared. He simply narrows his eyes and blows his bangs out of his face, standing tall. “Syo Kurusu, of the Starish Weyr, where you’re currently being held.” He sniffs. “Who are you? Don’t look like a princess.” You smile with vague interest.

“‘Syo’, huh. That’s a curious name.” You stand up, still looking around as you straighten your clothes. You tell him your name and explain you’re a humble, traveling Merchant. He frowns as he listens to your concise explanation and nods when you’re finished.

“Eh… That explains why you were traveling through the valley, I guess. Shame you had to…” He wrinkles his nose, looking unsure. “...shame you had to see everything. But… You said Natsuki’s name.” You lick your lips and nod slowly.

“We’ve met before… It was a long time ago.”

Syo snorts. “‘A long time ago’. Heh. You’re really a human.” He rubs the back of his head as his eyes bob around thoughtfully before going wide. “A… a Merchant, you said?” You frown.

“Yeah… nothing special, like I said, but—”

“You’re the one he talks about all the time! You have to be!”

You blink. “What?” Syo grabs your hand and starts pulling you towards an archway that disappears into a hall.

“Come on, come on! I’ll take you to see him.” He turns back and gives you a surprisingly bright grin. “We can get this all cleared up without Tokiya wanting to wipe your brain or somethin’. He’s careful, but honestly? He’s a little hard on humans.” He releases your hand as you enter a high-ceilinged hallway, lined with equally high windows. The walls are carved of a cream-colored stone; it causes the sunlight to suffuse the entire structure with a richly-golden shade. Syo continues to chatter aimlessly as you pass various crossroads in the seemingly-endless… castle? Manor? You’re actually not quite sure what to call this building aside from the term your guide had used earlier, ‘weyr’. Best you can tell, it’s easily as big as one of the grand council halls from the capital and, consequently, one of the largest structures you’ve been inside. You pass a hallway and see a flash of inky tail slide along the stone, disappearing into a doorway you only can catch a glimpse of at the pace you’re traveling.

Eventually, you realize you’re slowly ascending, whether by stairs or grand, spiraling staircases, to higher and higher levels until you—quite suddenly—step out of a stone archway and find yourself knee-deep in lush grass. You lift a hand to shield your eyes at the change in lighting and glance at Syo, who is stretching casually. A light breeze ruffles his clothing and hair and he sighs before stepping out towards a stand of trees in the middle distance. You follow, stepping carefully, unsure of the new territory.

“So… what’s this about Natsuki mentioning me?” You ask lightly. Syo’s tail lifts and ripples as he climbs onto a log, treading down it while lifting his arms for balance.

“Ah… A few years back, he mentioned meeting a human,” he explains. “And uh… We actually haven’t had any dealings with humans since…” He frowns. “Well, it’s been a long time. At first, we got worried. Natsuki doesn’t always… know his own strength. With how excited he gets, he could easily hurt one of you guys. You’re all so small and fragile.” You hide a laugh with a false cough, thinking it’s funny for a man so small to be talking about humanity’s stature. Syo hops down off the log towards the end, beginning to lead you to where the trees grow a little thicker. The sound of wildlife increases and the air itself seems to thrum with some unseen energy. It tingles in the base of your spine and makes you feel a little stronger, a little fuller. Syo continues, “Anyway, when he told us about how calm you’d been, we were pretty amazed. What with the way dragons used to be known, you… seemed to take us pretty in stride, heh.”

You shrug gingerly. “I was scared, I won’t lie, but… I figure if some Fae is being kind to me and helping me out, then I have nothing to complain about. I got to see magic up close!” You take a measured, excited breath as the rush of the memory returns to you. “Not even Trickery or the typical Spellweaver stuff, like… Real magic! He just waved his hands and my cart came together again!” Syo’s ears lift slightly before he winces.

“R-real magic….” You nod. “Are all of you like that? I saw some of the magic being used earlier… the guy with the quill and the one with the finger cuff. You’re all dragons, aren’t you? Just like he is…”

“Mm…” He agrees vaguely. “We’re all dragons, sure. Not all of us are like Natsuki, though.” He pauses before some draped branches of some species of willow tree. You lift a brow.

“Oh? What… what makes him different?”

Syo looks back at you. “Natsuki’s… the strongest magic user I’ve ever seen outside the Queen’s Court… and maybe even then.” You can’t say that anything goes against your expectations at this point, considering you’ve been existing in a vacuum of spectacle for who knows how many hours now, yet still you feel your heart drop. Syo pulls the curtain of branches aside and steps through and you follow dazedly. Light blinds you for a moment and you lift your hands while your eyes adjust once more. When you lower them again, your jaw drops.

The mountain rolls before you for a great distance. You’re amazed that despite being this high, there’s no snow to be seen. Instead, there’s an expanse of the same grass you’ve been wading through, along with splashes of wildflowers and trees, and—most eye-catching of all—a lake. It’s so clear and gentle that the surface is almost mirror-like, reflecting the slowly-reddening afternoon sky, peachy clouds, and the brilliant sun. The wind ruffles it every few moments, causing the trail of the sunlight to shatter into glittering patches. Still, it’s not the environment that makes your breath catch.

It’s the massive, golden, feathery dragon sleeping on the bank of the lake.

You blink rapidly several times, going completely still as you drink in his looks. A great mane of feathers begins at the crown of his head and hugs his jaw like a lion, descending down his spine in a small trail before bursting into another crest of feathers at both the base and the end of his tail. A strange contraption extends from his ears on either side: filigree bars that hold glass disks to his eyes, a dragon’s replacement for human spectacles.

He breathes in deeply, eyes closed, and exhales again, causing the grass in front of him to flatten.

The comical interruption of your admiration makes you laugh, drawing Syo’s gaze.

“C’mon. Looks like he’s still sleeping, but… He should be waking up again soon.” He trudges down the hill towards the bank and you all but stumble after him, eyes still trained on Natsuki… or… you assume it’s Natsuki.

“He… he’s as big as the town square!” You say breathlessly.

“Mm? Oh. Yeah, Natsuki’s also one of the largest of us.”

“I thought he was… still in his… human form?” Your voice falls to an awed whisper as you finally reach him and marvel at the jeweled, almost lacquered look of his scales. His chest rumbles with the sound of his breaths, louder than the quiet tide of the lake. Syo smacks a clawed hand on the side of Natsuki’s neck and hums.

“He kinda got put through a lot earlier; that binding spell by Masato and Tokiya was no joke. After somethin’ like that, access to the other plane can get pretty volatile, so we brought him out here in case he shifted back and forth… and so he could absorb some of the properties of the lake.” He points to the small waves that are washing up on the pale sand and you notice small whorls of colorful iridescence in the water that seem to be drawn to the bits of Natsuki that are partially submerged. His scales glitter visibly as the whorls sink into him with every breath. Suddenly, the sound of an explosion rocks the air and Syo’s eyes widen as he turns back towards the direction of the weyr and curses under his breath. He waves at you with both hands in a frenzied manner and lurches into a run.

“I forgot I had something waiting for me—messy—uh…! Stay right here and try not to startle him if he wakes up!” He bursts his way back up the hill, calling over his shoulder to not tell Tokiya you were left alone. When he’s gone, you turn back to Natsuki, whose eyes are still heavily shut. Up close, you can see that the scales over his eyelids are so fine they almost appear velvety. The quills of his feathers are as big around as your lower legs. Before you’re even aware, you’re resting a hand on his cheek that’s as tall as you are at least.

His scales are warm…

You drag your hand over them gently, feeling the strange, stone-like texture with unimpeded inquisitiveness, flexing your fingers against the curves and ridges as you take steps towards his snout to watch his breaths bend the grass. One of his paws is beneath his chin, massive fingers and claws extending outward and digging into the sand. Seeing him this way, you can hardly believe such a behemoth could fit into the man that’s only a few inches over average height… and such a gentle one at that, or so you’ve experienced. After staring wondrously at the grass in front of him, you make your way back, studying the size of his eye sockets, the ways the folds of skin around his ears grow thin and smooth for flexibility, the places where his feathers are joined to his body. All at once, you’re overwhelmed by how cute he seems to be despite his size and the dangerous glimpse you saw earlier that you’ve yet to understand. You can’t resist burying yourself in the side of his mane, suppressing an excited squee as you ruffle your limbs and face in the surprisingly soft feathers. You’re so enraptured, you don’t notice his breathing come to a stop before resuming at a more subdued pace. You’re about to pull away when you freeze up as his entire body shudders and you hear, no… think, no….

“Don’t stop,” a polite, gentle voice appears in your mind and surrounds you. “I’ve never felt anything so soothing....!” You lift your head from the feathers and lean back enough to peer at the eye closest to you, which is open at last and vivid green and very much looking back at you as best it can. He blinks slowly and you see the scales of his muzzle shift into what can only be a smile. His lower eyelid bunches up. “I think this is what dragons used to experience from princesses. Waah, what a wonderful feeling! I could keep you like this forever!” You jolt away from him in surprise and his eye follows you as you point up at him.

“Y-you’re awake! ...I hope I didn’t disturb you…” Your words die in your throat as he lifts his head, impossibly high; extends his arms out, impossibly long; and yawns. He shakes his mane loose and then lowers his head onto his paws again. His entire body ripples as he shifts to face you better. After a few moments, his eyes clear, then bloom with a warm expression that makes you feel more adored than you’ve ever experienced in your life.

“Oh? It’s you,” he says contentedly. “You’re as cute as you were when we met before. It’s so good to see you again; it’s like my heart has filled up with cherry blossom petals!” He extends his head forward to nose you and you think he might knock you over, but you’re surprised to feel that he’s as gentle as a building-sized creature can be and nudges you with the same force a hungry, curious horse might. “To think we’d meet again with you adoring me in such a way~ Please… please continue while you tell me how you found me here!” You glance back at the direction Syo had departed unsurely. Should you really give in so easily? You get the sense you aren’t meant to be interacting with him alone after whatever it was that had happened earlier. All the same, his eyes are massive as he stares down at you, and still full of that adoring look that’s making your legs weak.

You cave.

When you rest your hands on his nose and stroke him gently, his eyes fall closed.

“It’s nice to see you again, Natsuki,” you murmur, the warmth in your voice undisguised. “You stayed in my thoughts.” At your words, he releases a sharp chuff like a big cat and a cloud of glittering, golden mist pours from him, surrounding you in an instant. Immediately, your senses alight with tastes, smells, visions, sensations. Sweet, lemon cream bursting on your tongue from a festival pie. Dazy, midday sun warming your skin after walking in the shade for some time. Sinking into freshly laundered bedding after a long day at work.

Your body melts under the wash of feeling and Natsuki catches you with one scaly finger. You hug the digit instinctively and he carefully drags you to his other hand, placing you in his palm. You shudder breathlessly and press a hand to your forehead.

“W-what…” You take a deep breath as the sensation clears away. “What was that?” Natsuki shifts his head to the side and hums lowly.

"S-sorry… When you mentioned that you've been thinking of me, I couldn't help but suddenly feel… as if I really could spend forever with you." You blush immediately and gawk at him, eyes wide.

"What, uh… what exactly do you mean by spending it with me…?"

"You know~" Natsuki singsongs and traces the end of his thumb claw up your legs before lifting you and pressing you to his cheek. You stutter quietly, scrabbling at his paw in surprise and the rush in your system from the unfamiliar feeling of being lifted so high, so easily. As you sink against his scales, you hear a purr-like sound thunder up from his chest. "Seeing each other every day! And watching the stars together… Oh!" He smiles a toothy, dragon smile. "I have to take you to meet all my friends! Especially Syo-chan. He's so cute and small~ I'll be able to invite you both to stay on my hoard while we watch the stars!"

As he prattles on with increasingly obscure and fanciful suggestions, you can't help but wonder if he really told you the whole truth about the mist, or if he really meant his suggestion of staying together so innocently, after all… but you’re helpless against the warmth he exudes. Even beyond your surprise, you feel a swelling in your chest and a sweet, peaceful buzz along your spine. It’s almost as if you’re feeling the same sensation he described as you were petting him before.

All in all, you can’t really complain.

⁂

The pair of you continue catching up as the sun sets. At times, you wonder whether Syo or one of the others will come back to check on you, but as soon as the thoughts spring up, they’re ebbed away again by Natsuki’s genial disposition. He asks you questions about how your journey ended, what you’ve been doing in the time since he last saw you. It’s strange; despite years having passed since you met him, he talks about it like it’s only been a fortnight or so. As your conversation passes back and forth easily, the sun dips to the edge of the mountain, lilac twilight overtakes the sky, and the lake and bathes you both in purple. After a while, Natsuki’s eyes widen as he notices the time.

“It seems to be getting late…” He hums in disappointment. “I was enjoying seeing all the birds today… but!” He turns his head to peer at you with visible glee. “Do you know what this means? We can go to my hoard and you can see the stars. Oh…” He pauses as he hears your stomach grumble faintly. “Perhaps we should find you something to eat first…. All right!” You’re about to ask what he plans to do, but a cloud of colorful smoke pours off of him, obscuring him from vision even though you can still feel his grip on you. You cough and splutter, narrowing your eyes and waving your hands.

“N-Natsuki?!”

It’s not long before the air clears again and you—once more—feel your face warm as you realize it’s no longer a dragon before you but the man you met first. Natsuki beams at you as he keeps you tightly-held around your waist, his eyes scrunching up cutely.

“Are you surprised? I look very different like this, don’t I? But look!” He squeezes you in an iron-gripped hug. “It’s so much better for being close, isn’t it? Now I can hold you with all of me!” Your heart skips several beats at his words and you splutter, half bewildered and half smiling. You pat his back where you can reach and agree with him that it’s better if only to encourage him to loosen his hold just a bit. He does so, but your settling exhale is short-lived as he merely dips down to scoop you into a princess carry. Before you can even respond, he presses his forehead to yours, laughing quietly, and waves his hand.

You appear in an entirely new environment: a large dining hall, lined with beautiful sconces and a large fire pit in the center. There is a bustling energy around you and it takes only a moment to notice the group of the dragons you’d briefly met before are seated or loitering around you. Natsuki adjusts his grip on you comfortably and sings.

“Hi~!”

Chaos erupts. Heads snap in your direction. Syo, as soon as you see him, splutters in his drink as the jet-haired man’s eyes flash at him.

“You left them alone? After earlier?”

The man with the starry robe passes by and lightly brings the blade of his hand down on Syo’s head, frowning. “We told you to watch over the human until further instruction. Kurusu.” Syo grabs the top of his head with a pained wince.

“O-oi, Hijirikawa…! One of my circles erupted. It was an emergency!”

“And having a human in our midst isn’t?”

The orange-haired man, sitting at the end of the dining table, laughs into a hand, swirling a tall glass in his other. “Typical Shorty,” he mutters. Syo stands up, slamming his hands on the table as he glares down the length of it.

“Say that again? I’ve told you I’m not—” “Syo~!” Natsuki says brightly, approaching the table with you still bundled into his arms. The others each stiffen as you’re brought closer, as if you might be more dangerous than them. However, Natsuki only sits down on the bench beside Syo. “Will you watch the stars with us later?”

Syo looks nervous. “I… I dunno about tha—”

“Wait, wait.” The jet-haired man breathes irritably, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Natsuki." He looks up at Natsuki flatly.

"Mm? Tokiya?"

Tokiya (you assume?) blinks slowly, his sleek, black tail lashing subtly against the floor. "We need to know how this human knows your name." Natsuki’s face lights up in excitement before Hijirikawa sets a gentle, elegant hand on his shoulder.

“Shinomiya. It’d be best if we discussed away from the influence they could be having on you,” he says gently. You look up at him and his violet eyes slide your way, narrow but not necessarily judgemental. Under such a gaze, you suddenly feel like a child, so you say nothing as Natsuki is led away by the stoic pair. Watching them sit in a huddle together at the far end of the table, Syo sighs and gestures for you to sit beside him and—having no other options—you sink down beside him.

“Natsuki brought you here to eat, right?”

You blink and smile as good-naturedly as you can, considering the situation. “That’s pretty perceptive.” Syo turns pink and shrugs awkwardly as he takes a piece of white chalk from his clothes and begins to draw some symbols on the tabletop.

“I’ve read a lot about humans. Plus, Natsuki knows more than he lets on. He wants to take care of you, too, I bet.”

You hum, watching him with tired interest. “Actually… can I ask you something about that? I… I still don’t know what’s going on here, really, but he’s said some things and…” Syo lifts a brow, pausing his scribbling for a moment.

“What kind of things? Natsuki… eh, he talks a lot. He can be kinda… head in the clouds.”

“W-well…” You feel sheepish about it now, but your curiosity wins out in the end. “He says things that… could be taken romantically, among humans… but then he talks about me like I’m… a pet?” Syo snorts and slaps the table over the symbols he’s drawn and you almost fall off your seat when an array of food appears in their place. He waves at it all vaguely and tucks his chalk away again.

“Eat up. Anyway, that’s kinda how he is, so it’s hard to say. He’s never courted anyone before, I can tell ya that.”

“O-oh…?” You blurt while gingerly assembling a plate from several of the dishes. It all looks fairly normal, which you’re a bit intrigued by. Where did it come from? Or did he bring it into the world by magic alone…? You glance at him as you begin to pick at your food. “Wh… why’s that, you think?” Suddenly, Syo looks nervous and coughs as he hurriedly assembles his own plate.

“It’s… kind of a long story….”

You look back to where Natsuki is flanked on either side by Tokiya and Hijirikawa. He keeps glancing between them as they speak with rigid motions, looking a bit like a scolded dog. Your eyes meet and his look immediately softens, lower eyelids bunching up with a faint, reassuring smile. Even his tail reacts, lifting from the stone floor and rippling its feathers hopefully. You bite your lip to suppress a smile and wave. His eyes scrunch up the rest of the way and he lifts both hands to wave cheerfully before Tokiya snaps his fingers in front of Natsuki’s face… and dread shoots through to your stomach.

It’s just the smallest instant, but Natsuki’s eyes flash with something… an energy you’ve certainly never seen from a human before. It looks cold and distant and predatory… like seeing lightning crackle beyond storm clouds. You swallow heavily, but then it’s all gone the next second, replaced by Natsuki’s usual innocent look. You turn back to Syo.

“I think I’d like to hear it…” You mumble. However, when Syo opens his mouth, the orange-haired man slumps onto the bench across from you with a melodic sigh. You and Syo both look at him questioningly and he shrugs with his hands, closing his eyes lazily.

“Such a cold reception, you’ll hurt my feelings. I just wanted to introduce myself to our dear, new companion.” He shoots you a suave wink and extends a hand to you. “Ren Jinguji. The Clinohumite of the Starish Weyr.” You take his hand and he leans across the table to ghost his lips over your knuckles. You shiver and he allows you to pull your hand back. Syo rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, sure, like that’s really all it is….”

Ren’s eyes narrow, distantly cool. “Perhaps I also want to make sure you aren’t spilling secrets, Shorty. I, for one, don’t care who knows what about us, but I don’t want to spend an evening getting lectured by Hijirkawa because you’re too loose with a pretty face.”

“‘Shor’—!” Syo splutters. “Listen, I’m just trying to make things easier for us. It’s not like we officially decided to lock ourselves up here, like those guys.” He nods in your direction. “What if they can help?”

“What’s a human going to do?” Ren glances at you. “Uh… no offense.” You hunch your shoulders noncommittally, wishing you could just get some answers. Unfortunately, Syo can only pout at Ren’s question and finally lowers his head without saying anything. Ren hums absently and nods to you. “Enjoy your stay… little lamb.” He gives a vague wave and slips off the bench, slinking away back to where he’d been sitting before.

It’s not long after that Natsuki is released from his questioning and happily bounds over to you and you do your best to hide your growing trepidation while he chatters happily, seemingly unphased by whatever had occurred before.

⁂

When you’re done eating, you look up to see Natsuki gazing at you fondly, his chin resting in his hands in a childish way. He looks cute with the little, curling tendrils of his hair pressing up against his cheeks and between his fingers like that. His eyes glitter and you find your heart rate speeding up before you look away, feeling a rare case of shyness overtake you.

“Y… you’re staring…”

Natsuki hums and nods brightly. “We get visitors very rarely! It’s exciting to see how carefully you eat the food… and how adorably your face lights up when something tastes good.” He peers at you through contentedly-slivered eyes. “It makes me want to cook so many things for you and see all your expressions.” You meet his gaze, more boldly than you have all day, almost as if to challenge him to continue. He doesn’t look away, only stares at you equally unabashedly, his eyes almost hypnotic in the depth of their color and the unquestionable happiness he feels from making eye contact with you.

You’re only able to hold his gaze for a minute.

“S-so…” You cough after breaking his gaze and look at the table. “You mentioned watching the stars?” He stands so abruptly that you squeak and lean back, bumping into Syo and rousing him from his post-meal drowsy state. Natsuki offers you his hand in a surprisingly elegant gesture.

“Please join me, won’t you?” He tilts his head and smiles at you. “Finally, I’ll be able to share my most valuable treasure with you.” Syo snorts from behind you and then crosses his arms and looks up at Natsuki, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you really sure you want me uh… intruding on your….” Natsuki steps around you to bend down, throwing an arm across both Syo’s and your shoulders and humming a pleased, high-pitched sound.

“Of course~! I want to spend the night with my favorite people!”

“F-favorite?” You blink in surprise. “But… this is only our second time meeting…” Natsuki hums with a smile, pulling back to clap his hands together and fix you in an earnest look.

“Mm~! And I can already tell we’re going to be great friends!” Saying this, he slips his arms under your knees and along your back before you can protest and gathers you to his chest, turning to grin over his shoulder. “Coming, Syo~?” Syo grumbles but gets to his feet anyway, scratching at the back of his head.

“Yeah... Fine, fine.”

Natsuki takes you through winding halls, just like you’d journeyed with Syo earlier in the day, with Syo following close behind. For a few minutes, you wonder if he’s going to take you back out to the area above the weyr, but then you recall he’d mentioned showing you his hoard and if there’s one thing you know about dragons, it’s that their hoards are always hidden away safely. As you might expect, he takes a sudden turn down a hallway and you arrive at a massive, circular door that’s painted a cheery yellow. You can’t help but smile when you see it’s inlaid with a pattern of bronze vines and ducklings. Natsuki adjusts his hold so you’re safely cradled in one arm for a moment while he waves his hand and the doors creak open. Over his shoulder, you see Syo frown for a moment, but then Natsuki is hugging you again, giggling and dancing you around in a circle as the dim hall suddenly changes to a bonfire-bright glow. You look around… and your jaw drops in amazement.

His room, lit by a sea of yellow, white and pale-green floating lanterns, is… more than anything you could imagine.

The ceilings are tall enough to hold him in his dragon form and dusted with varying shades of moss that follow the curved, etched arches and frieze-like carvings along the ceiling. The far walls are barely walls at all, mostly just open archways out to the mountain. You see the shapes of deer and other twilight creatures flitting about the edge of the room without fear, grazing on the grass that seems to be encroaching on the room proper. However, what’s most amazing to you is the alarmingly vast pile of plush toys, pillows, cushions, and blankets in every size, shape, and color filling the room. Your breath gets lost on the gossamer, lacy curtains that art strung up in seemingly random places, yet it all draws your eye to the deeply-colored ceiling itself, so dark you can’t tell if it’s pure black or not.

“Welcome to my room…!” Natsuki stops spinning and looks at you with a bright smile. “It’s full of my favorite things, so of course I had to bring you here.” You splutter quietly, unsure how to respond, but Natsuki is as carefree as ever and continues walking until he finds a good place atop the pile of plushies. He sets you down, waiting for you to get your footing. “Please get comfortable! I’ll make the stars appear!” You turn to Syo, who has crawled up on his own on your other side and is already plopping down in the arms of some giant, pink, round plush. He yawns cutely, his tail curling over his feet, and you find you don’t want to disturb him with more questions, so instead, you settle down yourself. Natsuki waves his hands over the room like a conductor of a grand orchestra and you watch as the curtains all come undone, lowering into sheets of fine fabric. The lights dim and, near the true center of the room, a strange table begins to shift. A panel opens in the top and a bronze globe slowly emerges from the center. When the room is properly dark, Natsuki lies down beside you, close enough that the ends of his hair brush yours. He sighs contentedly and waves one final finger upwards.

You gasp as the previously-inky ceiling comes to life with a sea of stars, constellations, galaxies… It’s as if you can see the real sky clearer than you’ve ever seen it. You glance down to the globe, seeing it glitter as it turns in its frame. “Star projector,” Syo mumbles from beside you. “One of Natsuki’s greatest accomplishments as a magic user; it can match the sky from anywhere in the world with a wave of his hand.” You’re rendered speechless, only able to stare up in true amazement.

Time passes in relative silence aside from your gasps of awe when a handful of shooting stars streak across the display. Natsuki remains still beside you, his hands folded over his stomach and tail tip flicking occasionally. You glance his way every now and again, getting caught on the way the stars reflect in his eyes. Eventually, Syo falls asleep, leaving your spirit to flutter shyly at the thought of being alone with Natsuki so close. After a while, Natsuki draws your attention with a hum.

“May I confess something?”

Your heart skips a beat. “S… sure.”

His lips curl faintly, but his eyes remain on the stars overhead. “Perhaps… it isn’t unfair for the others to worry about my intentions towards you.” Your mouth goes dry at such an ominously-worded statement.

“W-what?”

His eyes slide to meet yours, his expression a strange mix of gentle… and almost concerned. “I’ve never courted, before, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t yearned for it every now and then. The idea of… someone who I love beyond all else… and who loves me. It’d be…” He shifts bashfully. “It’d be lovely to have someone to experience this with… who doesn’t just humor me. W-who accepts all of me.” You’re still debating what to say when his eyes flash green in the darkness and he looks at you intently. “Could… Do you perhaps think… that person could be you?”

Your heart stutters and you lick your lips, hands flexing nervously at your sides. His stare bores into you.

“I’m not entirely sure why, but when I’m with you… I feel like I don’t have to worry anymore.”

“Natsuki….” You want to tell him that it’s way too soon to ask a question like that, that you can’t possibly know what you can be for him since it’s only your second meeting, and sure it’s been incredible, but you’re just a human and this is a very different world than you could ever dream up and you’re still not entirely certain what’s happening…

But you are interested. In fact, you’ve never felt so right about hearing such a thing from someone before. However, before you can give him a proper answer, Syo yawns again, shifting around in his sleep to curl around the plush he’s snuggling, and Natsuki loses focus entirely. His face lights up at the sight of his smaller friend and he all but pounces across you to catch Syo around the waist, squeeing about how adorable the smaller dragon is. Syo wakes up in a frenzy and you watch them wrestle, half amused and half still flustered by the conversation that had been cut short.

It takes you too long to see Natsuki’s glasses slip, bumped by Syo’s flailing hands, and fall into the pile of Natsuki’s hoard.

All at once, the very earth seems to shatter apart. The temperature of the room drops as an explosion of electric yellow light fills the room. You hear Syo shout, voice still raw from sleep, and you’re blown back, down the pile of plushies. The air seems to crackle with a pulse of energy as a cry rises above the noise. You hear the stone floor cracking and you scrabble frantically for a handhold in the pile until you manage to hook your hands onto something and try to look up.

Natsuki has collapsed to his knees and is clutching his head as he writhes and convulses in place, his eyes glowing green and his scales rippling with light as an aura forms around him, pulsing out and in with a dull, audible thud. You watch as light flickers through his clothes, as the air seems to split them into frayed holes at the seams and thinner parts. The shout that seems so unending pours from him in anguished streaks, so deafening you can scarcely hear your own thoughts. You think you yell his name, but you can’t be certain. Over the cacophony, you hear Syo shouting for help and names, some familiar and some unfamiliar. Mixed into his words, you hear strains of him calling for you, asking if you’re all right, but all you can think of is to try to help. You think if you can get ahold of his glasses, you might be able to help, to put a stop to this like you saw the others do earlier. If you can only get close…

You begin the arduous process of climbing, dragging yourself up by a fearful, iron grip even as the aura surrounding Natsuki seems to fight you every inch. The air claws at your clothes and limbs; something beyond the perception of sight shoves at you as if to push you away from him. Your eyes water from the pain of the blinding light, from the horrific sound of his screams. You’re almost relieved when you crest the top of the pile, believing you’re making true progress, when Natsuki’s cries form words.

“No! Leave them alone!”

You look at him, attempting to see through the light. Does he mean for you to ignore the glasses? His body shakes, spine contorting as his face twists.

“Don’t hurt them!”

You watch, horrified, as his head creaks in your direction, eyes overtaken by the green glow.

“Why shouldn’t I?” A voice that is not entirely his own leaves his lips. His face shifts back to terror.

“Please! Please, I want to keep them!”

You shiver, burrowing into the blankets in fear.

And then, he smiles.

“Keep them?” It thunders in your head… and everything goes dark.

⁂

You open your eyes to see you’re in a glen at night; the moon is bright and full and low-hanging over the horizon, and all is quiet. There’s a small breeze, warm like a caress, but your heart is still pounding in your chest from the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

“Keep them?” The low voice repeats quietly… and you look up to see Natsuki. Except it isn’t Natsuki… or at least, it doesn’t look just like him. The eyes are too narrow, the hair too wild, the expression too cold. Not-Natsuki tilts his head, glaring at you in a coolly appraising manner.

“Who are you?” You ask. Nothing more than a faint breath.

“Satsuki,” he replies flatly and takes a step toward you. You try to move, but you’re frozen in place like the worst kind of nightmare. He stands in front of you, only inches away, and then prowls around you in a circle like a pacing wolf. “And who are you? Why does Natsuki want to keep you so badly?”

“I-I don’t know.” You lower your eyes, feeling your knees tremble. “We’ve only met a second time today, but it’s… it’s been wonderful. I’m not sure how he feels but… I feel like we could be good if… if we stayed together.” Satsuki pauses and fixes you in a predatory, inhuman stare.

“Oh?” He chuckles bitterly. “Sure, sure. Humans fall for dragons easy.” He growls softly. “Maybe dragons fall for humans easy, too….” Suddenly, his hand flashes out, sinking into your hair and pulling your head up to look at him harshly. His claws prickle your scalp and your eyes open just to terrified slivers; you’re afraid to resist at all. Satsuki scoffs. “Yeah, you’re his type. Even looking at you, I…” He catches himself and flinches. “...I definitely can sense something beyond your humanity…” You frown weakly.

“Like what?”

He pulls his hand away and shakes it like he’s just brushed it through a campfire. He hisses under his breath. “Like… like you’re just this… void. A magic sinkhole. A drain in the magic plane.” He curses under his breath, remarking about a stinging sensation. Suddenly, his eyes go wide and he looks at you again. “A conduit.” He laughs, although it’s a sharp sound, more resembling an exclamation of surprise. “You’re a conduit.”

“W… what’s a conduit?”

He grins wolfishly. “You’re our ticket out of this pit. Mine and Nat’s. That band of unimpressive idiots callin’ themselves Starish. With you…” He trails off and reaches for you again, poking your forehead roughly. “We can finally seal all the leaks in Natsuki… keep him from hurting anymore. From breaking things.”

You ask him to explain… and he does.

He explains that Natsuki didn’t hatch quite right. Something scarred the egg before he could and left scores in it that weakened the innate ropes to the magic plane all dragons are born with. When Natsuki was born, he was born unable to control how much magic could flow through him at a time, resulting in a destructive force… and the creation of Satsuki, who was Natsuki’s subconscious’ last-ditch effort in protecting those around him.

It makes your heart throb with sympathy.

He was ripped from his parents, contained only by the Queen’s Court until a proper group of dragons could form that would be strong enough to keep Satsuki from taking over entirely each time Natsuki’s only protection—a simple, crystal barrier in the form of glasses—managed to fail… and so they had lived for hundreds of years, bound eternally to Natsuki’s care… and Natsuki to them.

Naturally, resentment bred well in such an environment, which only served to strengthen Satsuki’s anger… and thus, the destruction each time he was given control.

When Satsuki finishes explaining, you ask him what being a conduit means.

“A human that absorbs magic,” he grouses. “At a heavy rate. Most of the great Spellweavers through history have been conduits, though… I dunno if they knew it themselves.” You fall silent, head rushing with the overwhelming revelation of knowledge. He looks away, seemingly calmer than he was at the start. “Y’know… If you stay with Natsuki like he wants… you could probably learn a lot. If… that were somethin’ you were interested in. I know it’d mean he’d be able to leave, since you’d be able to keep him in check. Probably… would go a long way to makin’ him happy.”

You stare at him, watching as all the harsh lines of him soothe away the longer he stands near you. He closes his eyes and sighs.

“Just a suggestion.”

You blink and then the glen is gone. You’re lying on top of Natsuki’s hoard in complete silence, the only thing lighting the room being the moon filtering in through the curtains. You shift around unsurely, expecting your body to hurt, but you… Oddly, you feel better than before. You feel like you’ve had a week of good rest, like you’re body is more fit than it’s been in years. You rub your eyes and look around, heart thudding in shock when you see Natsuki, face down in the cushions a few feet away from you. In the distance, Syo’s voice is echoing through the weyr, still calling for help. You crawl to Natsuki and do your best to turn him over, cautiously, as though the energy might erupt again at any moment.

He groans quietly, face wrinkling up and smoothing again as he comes to and opens his eyes blearily. Belatedly, you realize his glasses are still nowhere to be found, but… but this is Natsuki, right? His draconic pupils widen, then narrow, then widen again before adjusting to the light and focusing on your face. Immediately, his expression melts into adoring relief.

“You’re okay,” he breathes, a large hand lifting to weakly cup your face. “Thank goodness… thank goodness he left you alive.” You smile, leaning into his touch.

“Yes… he was actually… very helpful.”

Natsuki looks distant for a few moments before his eyes clear, flickering with realization. You’re not sure how, but, looking at him, you’re able to understand that… he knows. He knows everything Satsuki told you while you were inside the magic plane. He breathes a fragile sort of exhale as he pulls you down against his chest, holding you with a far more insistent, mature care than he has all day.

“...will you stay?” He asks. You find your hands settling against his chest, gently fisting into the fabric there.

“I want to,” you admit. “But it’s so strange I… I’m not certain how our future would look together. I’m just a Merchant… and even though I feel more at home here than I ever have, in just a single day….” You tilt your head side to side, contemplating. “I always find myself wanting to travel… but… if what Satsuki said is true…” You lift your eyes to look at him, feeling your face heat. “Then… you could join me. We could go together.” Natsuki looks uncertain at first, brows knitting as he considers your words before his face slowly blooms into joy. He leans forward to nuzzle his forehead with yours; you chuckle at the awkward, gentle bump of his horns on your head.

“Traveling with you… I think I could enjoy that forever.”

You giggle softly and pat his hair. “Gives us plenty of time to get to know each other, hm? Who knows what can happen. It really might turn into forever.” Natsuki’s cheeks tinge pink and a puff of yellow mist streams out of his lips, sending you both into a very flustered fit that bleeds into pleased giggles.

Starish finds you like that minutes later, still hugging and excitedly chatting about all that the future can hold with a shared hope, shared anticipation in your hearts.

You get the feeling that everything is going to be okay, as long as you have him.

End

#uta no prince sama #utapri #dragon au #Shinomiya Natsuki #Shinomiya Satsuki #dragon!natsuki #dragon!satsuki #dragon!starish

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pcatechnologies · 1 year

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Ensuring Reliable Power Distribution: GIS Cable Termination and Heat Shrink Straight-Through Joints

In the world of high-voltage electrical systems and Gas Insulated Switchgear (GIS) installations, the process of GIS cable termination is critical for maintaining reliable power transmission. Heat shrink straight-through joints, a specialized technology, play a pivotal role in achieving secure connections and efficient power distribution within GIS systems. Let's delve into the significance of GIS cable termination and the advantages of heat shrink straight-through joints.

GIS Cable Termination: Ensuring Electrical Integrity Gas Insulated Switchgear (GIS) systems are vital in high-voltage power distribution, necessitating precise and dependable cable terminations to uphold system efficiency and safety. The termination process involves securely connecting cables to GIS components while ensuring proper insulation and protection.

Advantages of Heat Shrink Straight-Through Joints: Heat shrink straight-through joints offer several benefits that make them an ideal choice for GIS cable terminations:

Reliable Insulation: Heat shrink straight-through joints provide robust insulation, preventing electrical leakage and maintaining the integrity of cable connections within GIS systems.

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Environmental Protection: Heat shrink straight-through joints offer protection against moisture ingress, preventing insulation breakdown and potential system failures.

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Installation and Maintenance: Proper installation of heat shrink straight-through joints is crucial to ensure optimal performance and safety. Skilled professionals should handle installation to guarantee accurate sizing, alignment, and proper application of heat for shrinkage. Regular maintenance checks are essential to identify signs of wear, damage, or deterioration in the joint components.

Conclusion: The process of GIS cable termination is integral for maintaining the reliability and safety of high-voltage power distribution systems. Heat Shrink Straight Through Joints stand as a dependable solution that offers insulation integrity, secure connections, and environmental protection. By utilizing heat shrink straight-through joints, industries can ensure seamless GIS cable terminations, thereby enhancing the overall efficiency and longevity of power distribution systems.

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bates--boy · 4 years

Text

[Splitting into 2 parts because why there is no read more feature in the app, I will never know.]

He kept the bandages off this time. They were useless, anyway; one minute they were clean, the next they were soaked through the gauze and tape, sticky and soggy and thoroughly disgusting because -- and Peter knew this -- the souls didn’t let his injuries heal. For all the skulls and heat and chanting he could ever use, it was Peter who was the biggest, most important component of the beacon, and it was his blood that kept the channel between the planes whole. He should have realized that the first moment he broke his skin with his teeth, driven to primal self-destruction when initial contact with the other plane was made.

It was why this time, he left the other two human skulls in the closet and simply lit a match, holding it under one of his palms until a drop of blood fell from the torn web between his thumb and index finger, and into the flame.

He felt himself collapse in the living plane, but here, Peter rose high, his face hardened and upturned. It seemed he had made it just in time for the feeding, as a ghostly ringing had spread throughout the space closest to the Black Hole and there was the gentlest tug on his body as the ugly entity began to swallow.

In their desperation and urgent need to escape, the souls closest to him, ones who have not resigned themselves to their fate, latched onto him like many had did before -- the beacon! The one to take them away, the one who can bring them back to the realm of the living! Their second chance!

Peter tethered them to his existence, sensing their relief and joy in the back of his head. He was a little sad that this part of the plan came too easily.

He reached away from the growing mass of sentient energy hanging onto him, combing through the space with his fingers until he found what he needed and drew it out. Peter didn't know what to expect when he found it (he almost expected to not find it at all, and having to resort to a new plan or go straight back to trying to claw into the Void's core and hope he succeeds the second time) but the thing settled into his palm, with his fingers closed around it, felt like Nothing. As if a tiny dot of existence was carved away and left this speck of emptiness.

The antiparticle.

Enough of the souls had merged themselves to him, many of them becoming impatient in their wait, and frightened that the Black Hole's consumption grew hungrier, yet they were still there. Holding the antiparticle tight and jealously, Peter tightened his connection to his crowd of escapees and

(For Marion, some part of his mind not infected with a thirst for blood and exhaustion and, honestly, a whole lot of grandeur spoke softly. He lost that unpleasant conversation--

Do you think it will fix how I died?! IT WON'T!!

"...You don't want to come back."

I love you, baby blue. Go home.

-- in a white, fuzzy haze until it was no more.)

fell up.

Too late, the souls realized that Peter had no intention of returning to the living plane, and try as they might to wrench themselves free of Peter's grasp, they were soon pulled into the Black Hole, trapped as soon as they all breached the corona. Peter ground his teeth against the stretching of his atoms, feeling his eardrums burst against the wailing of the souls and the sucking of the imploded and hungry star.

The mass of souls, with Peter as its core, fazed into the surface.

He remembered how he had frozen in the nonsubstance of the Black Hole from when he first flung himself into it, so he knew that he had to act quickly before he was trapped and couldn't moved at all. He pushed the souls away from his body and into the surface, willing them to feel his sorrow at what he had to do-- it's the trolley dilemma all over again. And still, they weren't enough; this big ball of crushing density must eat millions of metric tons of stars in one space- dilated hour in the living realm, and right then, millions more of souls failed to escape the event horizon, thus making the Black Hole swell even more than its usual girth. So, Peter reached into himself, hoping that yet another quantum physics theory will prove true, and pulled.

And, as always, Peter screamed.

He was splitting into halves, then quarters, feeling himself becoming fractals, becoming a point where realities crack like the surface of a weak and impure diamond and reflect nothing but grotesqueness and impossibility of his angry multiversal self. His will reached into the burning cold hole that is himself, searching and grasping, and his screams, his howls of agony that seeped through the cracks of other realities (and the Sealands and Peter Kirklands -- ones who survived the great floodings, became whole great nations, or settled into a quiet contentedness of being a small and unassuming speck in the North Sea; or ones bouncing their grandchild on their knees despite the joint pain and swelling, or doing pre-calc homework at the dinner table or just being born-- whipped their heads toward the skies or in the empty space in front of them, collectively wondering what the hell was that?!) morphed into a laugh, another sound the Black Hole drank in with ease. This, of Peter's entire life, this is when he felt the most in control, ripping himself apart to find--

He finally pulled it free, with a great huff and gulping relief he can feel his physical body doing. The Higgs boson. His very own God Particle.

Peter had no time to admire the barest make-up of himself, though he wished he could commit it to memory and share what it is and what it looked and felt like to physicists in the decades to come. Instead, he pushed it into the Black Hole.

The corona flickered, and the wild spinning and sucking slowed, and Peter snapped back into his normal shape, almost losing himself into the awe of watching the Black Hole shut down. It was one thing to read about it in a science journal, it was another to cause it by his own hand, to rip the power away from it until it was, at the moment, just a globe of light-eating shadow.

And why not keep the luck going? Peter reached his other hand back, vaguely hearing someone call out Peter?! What are you doing?! STOP!

And, in the silence of the Black Hole that was currently knocked out, Peter's voice rang loud and true:

"Fuck you!"

And he forced the antiparticle into the Black Hole's surface.

Peter didn't get farther into the articles about Black Hole deaths than his much-needed confirmation black holes can die, so he didn't learn that as black holes evaporate into nonexistence, they burst with radiation so powerful that whole galaxies can be destroyed with the brush of a gamma ray. Even more, he didn't parse that the bursts of energy would not only be the particles of consumed stars and light, but the imprisoned and eroded souls. As arbitrary as which souls get to be born again and which will be trapped in a black hole for the rest of the universe's time, this shrinking black hole's rays tilted away from the solar system that Earth inhabited, and sliced through asteroid belts and the rings of moons of a planet not yet born.

Then, it was nothing. When the great pulsating light stopped blinding Peter, he saw absence in the Black Hole's wake, an eerie yet beautiful coldness that soothed Peter's aching presence like a dip in an ice bath. He started to drift. They all did, with no Black Hole to hold them in place with its gravity.

He closes his eyes for a moment's calm, but felt a tug and popped his eyes back open again. Another one, dancing its way over to fill the vacancy of its fallen sibling. "Son of a bitch," Peter grumbled as it started to pull everyone close to it. His curse came out with less fury and irritation, though, because he knew that it wasn't just going to be just the one point of infinite density, he just didn't think it would come so soon, the goddamn vulture.

He swung his body until he straightened, reaching out for another antiparticle, reaching in for another God Particle. Already, the cluster of souls pressed themselves into Peter, surprising him-- did they not see what he did to the last batch of the hopeless escapees? But he wasn't complaining, not when they made his job easier.

He curled his lip at the new Black Hole; one down, tens of millions to go in this universe--

You need to stop, a gentle and familiar voice echoed in his ear.

And then they dragged him.

#droid noodles ( writing )#rage against the singularity saga #;;- ... huh. [eats my hat]#long post #sci fi

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brawlfists · 4 years

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STUDY : Tifa Lockhart. Repost it, do not reblog.

tagged by : @hercbled ( thank you ! ) tagging : @ultimilitiaa . @wutaiiwarrior . @bllakcat . @uchirite . @starsfated . @angereve (marlene or iris) . @dawnryse . @andscreams (seifer) & you !

— basics.

▸ is your muse tall / short / average ? 5′6 (167 cm) considering the region she is from, she is considered tall.

▸ are they okay with their height ? Definitely. Tifa never had issues regarding her stature, since it’s a trait that she doesn’t really focus on.

▸ what’s their hair like ? Soft as silk, bearing in mind her asian lineage that usually grows from a round follicle (which is responsible for the straight hair) her hair is smooth and has a remarkable hair growth. Her hair color varies according to the light, beneath the sunrays seems to be a hickory hue when it’s actually a dark chocolate tinge. Tifa fancies long hair, since a child Tifa opted to let her hair grow longer due to her mother’s beautiful hair (Tifa constantly used to comb her mama’s hair admiring how sleek her strands are). Sidebangs are her trademark, yet it wasn’t always in that style cause when she was 5-12 her bangs were 60s styled bangs.

▸ do they spend a lot of time on their hair / grooming ? Yes. in terms of daily basis it doesn’t require much of her attention, aside from wearing the proper hair brush to her hair type (variates between a boar bristle brush and wet brush) Tifa does deep hydrating treatments twice a week (coconut oil), doesn’t over-wash her hair (3 times a week) & low-heat setting for her hair dryer. Tifa’s major secret to maintain her strands healthy is shampooing the scalp, massaging with fingers instead of nails & the conditioner along the length of her hair. Regarding the grooming process, Tifa enjoys to tie at her tips or sometimes prefers to keep loose.

▸ does your muse care about their appearance / what others think ? generally speaking she doesn’t care what other think unless if it’s a specific niche (close friends/crush). Regarding her exterior looks, she values her opinion but if someone contradicts her (ex : ‘your outfit is weird’ ) Tifa will innerly question & doubt her current appearance. Personality wise, Tifa is stubborn and reluctant to change minor issues, so following this trace, she cares by half. (50%)

— preferences.

▸ indoors or outdoors ? ▸ rain or sunshine ? ▸ forest or beach ? ▸ precious metals or gems ? ▸ flowers or perfumes ? ▸ personality or appearance ? ▸ being alone or being in a crowd ? ▸ order or anarchy ? ▸ painful truths or white lies ? ▸ science or magic ? ▸ peace or conflict ? ▸ night or day ? ▸ dusk or dawn ? ▸ warmth or cold ? ▸ many acquaintances or a few close friends ? ▸ reading or playing a game ?

— questionnaire.

▸ what are some of your muse’s bad habits ? Have you ever seen someone emotional that is too insecure to express her feelings much cause sometimes doesn’t even her understand what is exactly is going on with her emotions or that she believes that her feelings sometimes aren’t relevant to the situation they are inserted such as ‘Prevent Sephiroth from using the Black Materia’ ? That’s Tifa Lockhart. No wonder her name suggests such a thing. Tifa bottles up her feelings, not only due to the fact that she doesn’t construe them very well but there are times that she outbursts Quoting Tifa : “YOU’RE JUST GOING TO WALK RIGHT OUT IGNORING YOUR CHILDHOOD FRIEND !? “ that’s an example of her outburst when she asks Cloud to join AVALANCHE. Tifa crack her joints often to release tension ... it’s a sign of her anxiety from (PTSD)

▸ has your muse lost anyone close to them ? how has it affected them ? Akane Lockhart (Mother), the death that inflicted Tifa the most. Considering her age (8 years old) and the bond they shared caused her to persists in a denial stage of grief. Imagine a 8 year older Tifa believing that her mother was in Mt.Nibel which lead her to do multiple things that harmed her. Brian Lockhart (Father) in an early age (15 years old) and the cause of death only inticed her to release a rage against Shinra, a painful one that still haunts her nightmares. Due to her coma, her grief process was interrupted & the trauma lead her to suppress such memories. Biggs, Jessie & Wedge (AVALANCHE members) guilt grief, mostly inticed by Barret since Tifa was trying to deal with her emotions and it only caused her to be confused with the entire situation. Through time, she does feel a guilt complex considering that it was all setup by Shinra. Aerith Gainsborough (close friend) it was all to quick (meeting her, her death, the grief because they had to continue with their journey) I believe Aerith inflicted her a mix of these 3 grieves. Denial, rage and guilt ... The denial stage, possibilites that was an image created in their head since in the Temple of Ancients they were able to see Sephiroth’s passage through the Temple. Rage, I believe she discharges her anger through the battles and her willpower. Guilt, this one is not heavily implied but Tifa often contemplates ‘What If’ scenarios such as : what if I went along with them when Cat Sith shrinked the temple into the black materia and prevented Cloud to give the Materia to Sephiroth or what if I tried to stop Aerith from going to the Forgotten City when Cloud was unconscious. As remark of her beautiful presence, she uses a pink ribbon around her left triceps to feel her energy.

▸ what are some fond memories your muse has ? Playing piano with her mother, water tower meetings with Cloud (mainly the promise day, as much it can be considered sad cause he was leaving), Zangan lessons, playtime with Johnny and Cloud, Brian’s pancakes, 7th heaven before the Meteor / Avalanche schemes (Wedge trying her food, Jessie and Biggs drinking games, grooming Marlene’s hair and Barret’s papa bear moments to Marlene), Aerith flowers, Cloud returning from a delivery, Vincent vs cellphone & Aerith’s protection

▸ is it easy for your muse to kill ? No. Bearing in mind that her weapon is her hands, Tifa has trouble in killing ; unless when it’s a monster. or Sephiroth. When she is boosted by rage, her impulsivity might cause her to oblive her morals, take as an example the Nibelheim incident (no wonder it incites her discomfort leading her to a partial memory loss (difficult to concentrate) of such incident {PTSD CAN TRIGGER THAT]

▸ what’s it like when your muse breaks down ? EXTREME ANXIETY. Quoting Tifa “If I stayed here ... I’ll go crazy” I believe her breaks down usually occurs in 2 cases : STRESS and EMPTY MIND (this one was thankfully controlled by her medidation routine) First, she isolates herself ... Tifa is convinced that she has to be the optimistic pillar to her party (Example : Aerith’s death. She caresses Aeris’ hair & runs away to burst her tears in private) . Two, mood swings (this is a common one. An example is when Nanaki questions his sanity to Cloud, Tifa says ‘Be strong’ then when he doubts she simply shouts ‘BE STRONG !’ ... an effect that suppressing her feelings preside over her breakdowns) Third, eating & sleeping habits are affected. Insomnia mostly and skipping meals.

▸ is your muse capable of trusting someone with their life ? Yes. I wouldn’t say easily, it depends how that someone will approach them. I’ll use Yuffie & Aerith as an example. In the case of Aerith, her approach was during a unfortunate event (Don Corneo’s creepy dungeon) however it was a friendly reach considering that SHE PROVIDED THE WHOLE CONCEPT OF SAVING TIFA. When they arrive Sector 7, Tifa request Aerith to protect Marlene. Which she would only request someone that she is capable to trust with their life. About Yuffie, their meeting was around a tricky scheme which lead Tifa to not trust her easily, cause when in the Wutai sidequest. Quoting Tifa : “Something’s telling me I still shouldn’t trust you” implying that Tifa follows her instincts. Summarizing, it would depend on the circumstances of their meeting.

▸ what’s your muse like when they’re in love ? highly attuned to infatuation — as long as she can trust enough to let down her barriers and allow another person into her world. she loves hard, pursues a star love (the kind where souls, minds, and bodies seamlessly merge) Tifa will be that girl that attempts to show her emotions through actions. She tries to adjust to her partner ideals which is a submissive trait, yet she also expects that her sweetheart demonstrates somehow (words or actions) which can lead her to be that type of lover that put up walls and say it's all good when everything is clearly the exact opposite, since Tifa has issues in dealing with emotions. It doesn’t happen often but she feels bad when she has to demand her partner for affection or time together. These walls usually crumbles through time. Basically she’s a giver and will always remind you how much you’re worth it and loved & how lucky she is to have you as a partner + SUPER ATTENTIVE & CARING.

#( wow these were INSPIRATIONAL )#( i just dont knows what is order vs anarchy so i got confused lol )#( my english is not that great folks )#-ˋˏ ⛧彡⋆•̩̩͙ 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐘. meta. –––– ‘ interpreting allusions of a fighter #tw : long post #( i was too lazy to put the caps of the quotes but ... )

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starlightsoulwriting · 5 years

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Constellations Against Skin

n.t.

“You hold him in your arms, a thousand stars in the bones of a man, and nobody could have thought you’d come so close to holding constellations against your skin.”

Dean Winchester X Reader; Castiel X Reader

Soulmate AU

[AO3] [Chapter List]

You start your new case with the boys and flirt your way into a crime scene. Dean seems stressed about something.

Five: Mask

You and Sam bolt awake at the exact same time the next morning, half past three.

You’re in a cold sweat, fire and grief rushing through your chest and holding your heart in a chokehold. You could hear your own heartbeat pounding too-loud in your ears and felt tears burning on the edge of your eyes.

And on the bed across from you was Sam, sat awake in exactly the same way, the glow of the neon sign outside outlining him in pale blue. His breaths came out in short, shallow pants, and if you’d bothered to look hard enough you would have seen the sheen of sweat and not-shed tears on him.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment.

"Did you-" He started, a concerned upturn taking over his brows before took a deep breath, seeming to steady himself. "Did you see all that?"

"Yeah," You said softly, throwing off your sheets and curling your arms around your knees. It was too hot all of a sudden. "Sorry."

You didn't know what else you could possibly say to him. Someone else's dream had never been so loud before - it completely ignored the charm you still wore around your neck, pounding against the inside of your skull like drums, almost desperate to escape. Unfamiliar energy permeated the thoughts like oil on a shirt that refused to wash out. But it was energy that wasn’t Sam’s. It felt like acid poured down your throat and the smell of blood, instead of sea-breeze and old parchment like you would expect of something coming out of Sam’s head.

Something real weird was going on here.

But you’d experienced the nightmare just as he had, regardless of where it came from.

So, yeah, you felt bad for feeling all of this. For reliving how his soulmate had died right in front of your eyes. Sam’s eyes. And that hadn’t been yours to see. But you felt like crying for her nonetheless, like his grief was your own, threatening to swallow you up. You were so going to puke if you didn’t calm down here.

There was a reason you wore the necklace. To prevent yourself from feeling everyone else's shit. You put your forehead on the clammy skin of your arms that were still resting against your knees, and took a few deep, shuddering breaths to steady yourself. You were okay. Your soulmate was not on fire on some dorm ceiling.

"Please don’t tell Dean." Sam's voice brought you out of yourself, and his voice sounded uncharacteristically small in the darkness of the early morning.

“That you had a nightmare?” You whispered back, sparing a glance at Dean - you were just barely able to make out his form near the TV stand, where he was currently sleeping like a log.

“I don’t want him to worry, okay?" Exasperated, tired and concerned all at once. "Please, just… leave it be.”

“Of course,” You murmured, staring blankly into the darkness and massaging at the tension coiled in your shoulders. “But how often does this happen, exactly?”

He was quiet for a moment, and almost sounded sheepish. “Almost every night,” You just barely caught the words. “Sorry.”

Great. Just your luck.

Even more reason to solve this case fast, you guess.

You scrunched up your whole face in an ugly way. “I guess we’re both sorry, huh?”

You figured you might as well do something and rolled out of bed, kneeling next to your bag and feeling around for the soft paper of an old book and a reading light.

“Yeah.” Sam stood up behind you and quietly padded to the bathroom, getting changed into gym clothes and leaving not long after. All he gave you was a quick, awkward wave goodbye before he went for a run.

You just sighed and settled into the crackley hotel sheets, opening your book and letting the familiar words relax you even as Dean snored in the background.

Sam still wasn’t back by five am, when you couldn't keep your eyes open anymore despite your resolution to wait up for him. But your head was bobbing up and down, eyes pulling closed like they were glued to lead weights, and you were falling asleep for seconds, maybe minutes at a time before jarring yourself back awake, just to repeat the cycle again.

Eventually your eyes sealed shut and you didn't open them again until the next morning.

…

But when you woke up to your alarm at six-thirty, cheek still smashed against the book you fell asleep on, Sam was already sitting at the tiny motel table, already up and dressed in his cheap FBI outfit. Probably didn’t get any more rest last night judging by the bags under his eyes.

How he pulled off the Fed thing with that hair was a mystery to you. He didn't even comb it back.

You yawned loudly and blearily pushed yourself up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. Dean was doing the same on the floor, cracking like ten joints as he stretched out. Ow.

He commented on his brother’s early start, and you said nothing. Minded your own business and unfolded your suit in silence, even when Dean asked him what was wrong. You weren’t one to spill personal business - not anymore. It was Sam’s job to deal with it, not yours.

Ever since you'd gotten back to hunting last year you'd been more tight-lipped than you'd ever been. Told yourself you would never tell secrets that weren’t yours ever again, unless keeping your mouth shut would get someone hurt. And Sam having nightmares wasn’t going to hurt anyone but you.

So you held your tongue.

Didn’t mean you weren’t worried about him, though, especially when you were going to suffer through it with him for the time being. But you didn’t know how much you could do to help even if you tried. As much you could do with your powers, you couldn’t stop nightmares. Just live through them.

You rubbed at the knot in your neck from falling asleep on your book and went to the bathroom, resolving as you brushed your teeth to be quick about this hunt. You were going to go crazy if you stayed with the Winchesters for too long, you just knew it, between sleep deprivation and near constant Dean-induced heart palpitations. You were so fucked.

Shrugging on your too-crisp white button up, you cringed at the feeling of the stiff cotton. It was unwavering, and wrinkled weirdly when you moved, and the whole Fed getup just made you feel like some goody-two-shoes local politician. Or like you were back in that relentless fucking Catholic school.

But dressing up was just as much as part of the job as anything else. Unfortunately. So you dealt with the indignity of wearing businessman's wool for the sake of the case. You weren't a coward. You could handle wearing a blazer for a few hours. Totally. Not a problem. Didn’t make you want to shake out of your skin at all.

Then you reached for your boring, standard government-issue gun - your normal piece was actually nice to look at, but was too flashy - and nestled it beside the front of your hip bone. You preferred your normal leather side holster, but this thin spandex junk was the only thing that fit under the damn suit. Stupid.

“So do we have a story as to why there’s three of us?” You raised your voice loud enough for the boys to hear you through the bathroom door as you scrubbed a bit of ink off of your face. “Or do I have to think of it myself?”

A short pause.

“We could just tell the truth,” Sam rang from the bedroom as you started wrestling with your hair. How had it even done that? “That it’s your first case back after you were injured. Keep it simple.”

“I don’t wanna seem incompetent or something, though.” You frowned and dabbed on a bit of makeup. Just enough to be convincing. You'd never been super great at it - being on the road left you with few opportunities to practice, and there was only so much room in your bag. So you kept it simple. Professional. “Maybe I’m a criminal profiler.”

“We’re the agents and you’re the shrink? That could work.” That was Dean, eloquent as always. He hadn't looked you in the eye yet, still, but you were shoving your frustration aside for the sake of peace. Again. Old habits, you supposed. "You know enough psychobabble for that?"

"Honey, I grew up surrounded by foster kids." You smiled smugly and sauntered out of the bathroom in your dark, tailored suit: straight-leg pants that fit you perfectly and blazer that pulled in at the waist without being restrictive. You didn’t wear a tie. You wouldn’t wear a tie under threat of death. "I know all the psychobabble."

Then you sat on the bed while Dean took his turn, pulling on your classic men’s dress shoes, in a size that actually fit you, with the best insoles you could afford slipped into them. God only knew if you would need to run in these bad boys. You were not wearing heels to a ghost hunt, even if they made you feel sexy.

You ignored the quirked brow in your direction from Dean on his way past you, trying not to think about everything that could be running through his head. If he wanted to be weird you would let him. You would just drink your coffee in silence and not look at each other at all. Perfectly normal.

Though you did almost have a heart attack when Dean walked out a few minutes later in a suit of his own. Hoo boy. Just imagine how good he would look in a decent tux. The cheap thing he was wearing now did almost nothing for him, but the thought of grabbing his tie and pulling him into a heated kiss practically made you salivate.

It was fucking pavlovian how you reacted to this man. It was starting to get stupid.

You were starting to wonder if you actually should’ve taken this case.

You took a deep breath and fought the urge to offer to buy the boys new, nicer suits. You swallowed it down with your shitty motel coffee. That would be light-years beyond weird. Normal people didn't bring co-workers to tailors to get them expensive suits.

Not like you hadn't done it before, but still. You were trying to distance yourself from shit like that. And your cash flow was a joke compared to before.

You just turned around too quickly and grabbed your notepad, catching Sam's raised-eyebrow smirk all the way from the door. His eyes glinted and you swore that he was chuckling under his breath.

Asshole thought this was funny. You shoved your way past him and your face felt hot.

He was so on to you.

Thankfully you were at the crime scene not long after that, thanks to Dean’s reckless driving. It was an old, cute, Victorian style home turned frat-house, with more than enough rooms for the small chapter. Crime scene tape cordoned off the otherwise empty front porch from the jarringly normal neighborhood around you. The eerie, oppressive kind of normal.

A young, blonde police officer with an undercut stood in front of the house like a sentry, thumbs hooked in her belt loops as she scrutinized everyone walking past. Including you.

Her name plate read Officer Wilson. And she... was very buff. And had a hell of a jawline.

You ignored the fact she could probably bench lift you, and how that made your insides melt into a pile of useless gay goop, and let Dean talk to her instead. He flashed his badge at her and you and Sam followed suit. “Agent Buck, FBI. These are Agents Stipe and Mills. We need access to the crime scene.”

“We didn’t get any calls about the FBI comin’ up here.” She narrowed her eyes at the three of you, the same dissecting gaze from before falling across you. Then she paused suddenly, brown eyes shooting sharp like daggers at Dean. “And don’t you normally come in pairs?”

“We sent notice yesterday,did it not go through?” Sam handed her a card, smiling placatingly in that way he does. “You can call our supervisor, if you really need to, but he’s very busy and I don’t think he would be too happy.”

She made a humming noise in the back of her throat, obviously unconvinced.

Time to turn up the charm, then. You had a good feeling about this.

“Hi, Officer Wilson, right? I’m Agent Mills! It's a shame to meet in such unfortunate circumstances, but I can't say I regret it.” You put on your best charming smile and shot her a wink, flipping your hair slightly and tilting your head in what you hoped was an appealing manner. “I’m actually the reason we’re here. You see, I’m a psychoanalyst. Agents Buck and Stipe are here to investigate while I build a profile. This might be connected to a case in Louisiana, and it’s essential that we see the crime scene and autopsy in person.” You leaned in conspiratorially, voice low, like you’re not supposed to be telling her this, before you lightly rested your hand on her forearm. You caught the way her eyes wandered downward, stopping to linger on your best features. There was a reason you'd gotten this suit fitted the way you did, after all. You licked your lips to get her attention back on your face. “Have to be sure we don’t have a murderer crossing state lines. You understand.”

She half-heartedly looked at your ID one more time before her lips spread into a coy smile, and she nodded towards the door. “Of course, Agent,” She moved over and unlocked it, before leading you three up the creaky stairs to the primary crime scene - Corey’s pigsty of a bedroom. “Let me know if you need anything else, Agent Mills.” She gave you a lingering look, her hand brushing your arm gently as she left the room and you just about died on the spot, swallowing hard.

You saw how Sam eyed the exchange with furrowed brows. You didn't catch Dean's burning look behind you.

Well, that was one way to get inside a crime scene.

When she was back outside Sam turned to you while Dean hurried off to the other side of the room. “How did you know that would work?"

"Educated guess." You shrugged, tilting your head and peering at the dried blood on the sheets instead of facing the relatively minor heat of his gaze. It had crusted up on either side of where the body was before the coroner got their hands on it, forming two distinct blobs on the bed.

Sam didn't seem very convinced.

You busied yourself by rummaging around the cluttered moving boxes, looking for anything that might tell you why Corey was targeted. Dean's EMF was going nuts in the corner, and you pulled out yours to see if you could find anything the ghost might've touched directly, apart from the bed, which sent the thing haywire.

The cardboard boxes full of random shit were barely registering at all. Nothing on his desk seemed out of place, all normal. It wasn't until you moved to the nightstand that your meter really started screaming.

Woah.

You hovered around, trying to hone in on what was making it go off so much, until you landed on a scrap of fabric. You picked it up with furrowed brows, turning it over in your hands.

A face mask?

A cloth face mask with Oni-style teeth, like something a k-pop artist would wear.

Now why did that seem familiar?

"It seems like Corey here wasn't as nice as everyone thinks." Sam's said from off to your right, interrupting your thoughts. Your eyebrows shot up as you turned to see him holding a shoebox in one hand and a photo in the other. He held one up so you could see. "Upskirts."

“Dude, you didn’t need to show me that.” You wrinkled your nose. Gross.

Sam just shrugged at you.

"We've had ghosts target people for their secrets before," Dean called from the window, thankfully interrupting the exchange, and still looking for whatever was making the EMF spike over by him. "We thinking something like that?"

You sighed and ran your hand through your hair, messing it up from it's professional look and immediately regretting it. Now you would have to find a mirror, damn it. "I guess it'll depend on what kind of suspicious deaths we can find in the area."

"That sounds like a good job for you guys!" Dean clapped and shot some finger guns at you and Sam.

No.

You stood up and put a hand on your hip. "I've just spent the last month and a half doing research." You pointed a finger at him, and you knew you looked like some lame mom scolding their child but you didn’t really care. "I'm going to the autopsy."

Sam sighed behind you, seemingly resigned to his fate. "I'll hit up the library, you guys go to the ME's office."

"Are you sure?"

Now you felt bad.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, whatever."

"You're the best, dude," You grinned stupidly. It should not make you this happy to see a dead body, honestly. But you'd never claimed to be the most sane person on the planet.

On your way out Officer Wilson gave you a cheeky smile and some waggled eyebrows. You winked back at her, trying not to feel smug.

Sam was giving you that weird look again and you flushed, turning to the car and not looking back.

Oh no. You needed to turn down your flirt. Shit. They didn't need to know you played for both teams. You didn't need to be rejected as soon as you found friends.

So you stayed quiet all the way to the autopsy, even after you left Sam to wade through public records by himself at the library. Dean wasn’t feeling too chatty either, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight and tension in his whole body.

You nervously picked at the pilling wool fibers on your pants. Maybe he’d heard you and Sam last night. Or maybe you were bad at keeping your blush down when confronted with buff women. Maybe both. Either way you felt the nerves taking up the space where air should’ve been inside your lungs.

The ME's Office was nestled in a corner between a scuzzy looking record shop and a barely-standing post office. As soon as you walked in the smell of formaldehyde hit you like a truck, making your lips curl and eyes water. Great.

That always bode well for a place's hygiene standards, at least, if not their consideration for the living.

It was easy enough to talk yourself into the back to see the body; the clerk didn't even care enough to look at your IDs. Wasn't paid enough to give a shit, you guessed. And the place didn't get much funding from the look of it.

Only about half the noisy fluorescent lights even worked, and the floor tiles needed a hell of a wash. Dark brown stains of God knows what caked thick in the grout. Eugh. There goes your hope that the smell meant they actually disinfected the place.

You were so dousing yourself in hand sanitizer when you got back to the motel. You would think with all the college money coming in the town could afford better facilities, but you'd never put it past Bureaucracy to be inefficient.

The Medical Examiner, Dr. Elliot, was pushing eighty years old and hunched over so far he almost resembled a candy cane. His hands were gnarled with arthritis but didn't shake so much as a hair's width. His scraggly white hair looked ready to roll off his head and become a tumbleweed. Like Doc Brown plus fifteen or so years.

"It's about time!" He smiled so wide his dentures almost popped out when he saw you two walk in and you bit back a laugh. "It's not every day we get a good murder. I was expecting the FBI to show up days ago."

You wouldn't mention that the murder only happened a day and a half ago.

"...Right," Dean smiled good naturedly as Dr. Elliot pulled Corey Matheson's body from a metal drawer. "It's been a while since the last murder in town, then?"

"Oh yes, not since the Homecoming of ninety-two. Nasty business, two football players who took a fight off the field. The poor kid from Mountain State had a massive brain hemorrhage and died a full two days later." He sighed and pulled down the sheet covering the body. "Poor boys didn't even see it coming."

"And what was the cause of death here?" You leaned in to look at the victim's face. Only five or so years younger than you but he just looked like a kid. A creepy kid, but still a damn kid. "And I'll need to take a few photos myself for my notes."

"Go ahead," he waved at the body and walked back over to his desk, grabbing his report from a filing cabinet. You pulled out your Polaroid camera from your messenger bag and shot a picture of the wound cut into Corey's face - a smile from one ear to the other.

"Cause of death was exsanguination. Out of the nine stab wounds to the torso, three hit the heart, and another four hit major veins and arteries. He would've bled out in less than a minute." He gestured to the face. "Facial lacerations caused after death, and not with a scalpel. Maybe a kitchen knife or other relatively dull cutting instrument. No wounds anywhere else on him."

"That's odd," You pressed your lips into a thin line at that, brows almost touching. "No defensive wounds?"

"None to be seen. Fit as a fiddle but for the fact he's dead."

"Right." You let out a snort through your nose before coughing into your elbow to cover it up. "Thank you for your help."

"Oh, no problem at all! I'm always happy to have visitors!"

You matched his smile, turning back to give him a tiny wave on the way out.

There was a niggling feeling in the back of your mind. A familiar ring to the gruesome smile cut into a face that sent your thoughts reeling, wracking through memories of your old cases for anything similar.

You turned to Dean as he pulled out of the lot. "Does any of this feel oddly familiar to you?"

He shrugged and shook his head. He seemed a bit less tense than earlier. "Not more than any other case."

You hummed, sinking back into the depths of your memories, thinking over the case the whole drive to the motel.

Sam was there when you got back, eyes half-glazed from staring at the computer for so long. He must’ve walked back from the library by himself.

"Find anything?" Dean shrugged off his jacket and you tried not to stare at his arms.

"Just that Corey had some complaints in high school that didn't lead anywhere." He pinched the bridge of his nose, then rubbed at his sinuses. You moved over to your nightstand, grabbing at a small bag on top. "No murders that match, though. Or suicides."

“Like, at all?” Dean’s eyebrows went quirky.

“No,” Sam continued as you rifled through your med pack for some Tylenol. Your leg felt like it was on fire - you would have to try and walk less tomorrow. “But he has a sister that goes to Pikes. Working on her Asian Studies Masters. Works as a TA year-round.”

“Asian Studies?” Dean had a stupid, dopey look on his face. “Sounds like my kinda deal.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Dude.” Sam sounded like he was about to start something, but you started talking before he could.

“We should talk to her, then,” You said plainly, finally finding the meds and swallowing them dry - you’d gotten used to it. You wiped your mouth and started again. “Maybe we can see if something from their hometown hitched a ride. Is she on-campus?”

Sam glanced at the computer for a moment before looking back at you. “No, she lives in an apartment on the other side of town.”

You stood up with a wince, grabbing all your things again even though you’d just sat down. “Let's go then.”

“Woah, there, Speedy Gonalez,” Dean eyed your right leg and you crossed your arms defensively. “Why don’t we wait a bit and have some lunch?”

You huffed, sitting down on your bed again. “Sure. Whatever.”

You weren’t going to fight him on this, but you weren’t going to say you were in pain.

He clapped his hands. “Alright, are we thinking the diner up the street?”

A sigh and a nod from Sam, leaving you outvoted no matter what you said.

Greasy diner food it was.

A/N: Hm, jeez, I wonder why Dean is so tense. Lol my poor babies.

This chapter brought to you by sheer force of will. This thing did not want to be written. Been banging my head against a wall for a week trying to get it longer than a thousand words. My college has switched to online for the rest of the semester and that's... been something. My seventy-five year old geography professor delayed the test because he doesn't know how our online system works. So here's to hoping it's not a horrible, scrambled mess when it does come out.

So, anyone have ideas or predictions? And what have you been occupying your time with in self-isolation? I've picked Pokemon back up and have taken up cross-stitch!

As always, thank you so much for reading, and have a nice day! <3

#supernatural x reader #soulmate au #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #Castiel x reader #supernatural #c.a.s.#chaptered #longfic #reader #tw nightmares #x reader

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The car trunk sounds too final to Elijah's ears as he closes it, the last of his bags tucked in haphazard amongst his books, music. Sean stands nearby, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He's followed Elijah around like a lost puppy all night, and now that Elijah's packed, seems at a loss.

"I'm sorry--"

Elijah holds up a hand, shakes his head. "Spare me the bullshit, all right? Just..." He looks around the parking lot, at the apartment he couldn't've afforded if it weren't for Sean's income, anywhere but at Sean. "You had plenty of chances to show you gave a shit about me."

A time in the past, Elijah doesn't doubt Sean did care; you don't spend this long with someone, six years of your life, without getting a little attached. Just... he has a shitty way of showing it, and Elijah's really not interested in hearing scripted apologies from a guy that's been cheating on him for the better part of a year.

"I'll be in touch for the rest of my things."

And that's that. Sean doesn't look upset; just... resigned. Like he's been waiting for this.

Fucker. Rage boils under his skin, and Elijah grips his keys in hand. Steps to the driver's door, wrenches it open, and, as Sean says, "Elijah--", his voice edged with desperation, slams the door behind him.

The drive home is a good fifteen hours, but Elijah straight shots it, running on iced coffee and espresso shots from gas stations. His bank account's barely prepared for the trip, and for the last stretch of a hundred miles he watches his gas gauge with anxiety gnawing at a pot in his stomach, but when Elijah sees the rusted EASTHALLOW, POPULATION: 203 sign swinging from it's pole off the road, tension ebbs from his every nerve.

Fog, thick and mystical, covers the entire town, and the chill to the air has him turning up his heat for the first time all trip. Trees have already shed their leaves for the season, and the place looks entirely too fucking barren. He thinks about the bustling city he just came from, the constant chatter and noise, but if he opened his window right now, he's certain the engine of his car would be the only sound for miles.

Peaceful. Fuck, Elijah didn't know he'd missed it this much. His chest feels tight, his throat dry, as he drives through the city towards his parent's home.

The farm hasn't changed, besides a fresh coat of off-white paint and a few new shrubs lining the wrap around porch. The roof needs work, some of the shutters flap in the wind, but it's home. Sturdy and stable and standing, and Elijah, suddenly exhausted, shuts his car off, rubs his hands against his face, and just... is.

Thoughts and memories of the last six years surface in Elijah's head. How many times did he call his parents to tell them he couldn't come home for the holidays? How many times did he put Sean before his family, and for what? For Sean to bring some twink home and throw it all away, proving everyone in Elijah's life right that Sean never was going to settle down.

He pounds his fist on the wheel, honking the horn in passing, and sighs when he sees his mother standing out on the porch, no hesitation.

She waves, tugs her robe tighter around her, and rushes out across the muddied grass to his car. She bounces on her heels while he unbuckles, and launches herself into his arms, her embrace tight and loving, once he stands.

The air crushed from his lungs makes him grunt, but he says nothing, just reaches around his mother's shoulders for a hug, resting his head on top of hers.

He'd missed her. So much. "Hi, Mama," he says.

Amanda's voice is tight when she says, "Don't 'Hi, Mama,' me, Elijah Andrew. You haven't been home in five years, and you show up out of the blue like this..." She pulls back. Her eyes water as she takes him in. "Oh, you're too thin. Have you even been eating? What's city life done to you?"

Elijah offers a tight smile. "Been busy. I'm sorry I haven't been home sooner."

With a smack to his arm, she says, "That's right. You're gonna make it up to me, too." Then, she peers around him, into the car, and raises an eyebrow. Elijah's heart speeds up in his chest. "And the boy?"

He knew he'd have to tell her when he got here, but... shit, he'd rather not. The longer he can avoid the pity, the better. "About that..."

But before he can continue, movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention. He grips his mother's arm in hand and tugs her close, starts to say, "Someone's over there," because he doesn't recognize them--not his father, not one of the farmhands--when his mother gives a little wave to the figure limping around the side of the house.

"Josh," she says, calling to the figure, and Elijah's not sure if he feels too hot with rage or too cold with dread, "come say hello!"

"Mama," he says, under his breath as Josh makes his way across the yard, "you didn't tell me Josh was here."

Raising an eyebrow, Amanda says, "And you didn't tell me you were coming home. Don't play games with me. I'm your mother. I'll always win."

While the rest of the town stayed the same, Josh is nothing like Elijah remembers. He's changed his hair, a bright, platinum blond so unlike the black hair of his parents. His eyes are bruised, his face gaunt. His jacket looks like it went twelve rounds with a box cutter, and Josh is, inexplicably, taller. How is he taller?

Still, he steps forward, into Elijah's space, and rests a hand on Elijah's shoulder, grips him tight, and Elijah wants nothing more than to jerk out of his grasp and punch him.

A crow caws in the distance, and Josh offers a smile--not enough and too late and Elijah shakes under the weight, the expectation of it--and Josh says, "Welcome home, bro."

///

“Is it broken?” Josh asks, his voice thick and nasally, as Amanda pokes and prods at his nose. Blood oozes down the front of his shirt.

Behind them, Elijah opens the freezer, digs out a bag of peas, and rests it against his knuckles. Amanda scowls at him.

“What a nice fucking way to greet your brother,” Josh says. “Haven’t seen you in ten years. Least you could do is not punch me in the face.”

Still, Elijah says nothing. Flexes his fingers under the peas, shaking, and exhales with relief. Not broken. It’s been a while since he last decked someone. He definitely made some fucking mistakes. “Rich, coming from you.”

“Will you two stop it?”

Josh points Elijah’s way, then says, his voice taking on an amusing whine as he says, “He started it!”

Opening his mouth to retort, Elijah pauses as he hears the back screen door creak open. “Thought I heard yelling,” someone says, and—

Oh. Elijah drops his gaze to the floor, because—he’d meant to call his father. Text him, something. But the farther west he got, the more anxiety that pooled in his stomach at the idea of his father’s disappointed gaze.

Elijah’s not good with disappointment.

“Get into another fight with a bull, Josh?” his father asks; he still hasn’t noticed Elijah, leaning against the counter next to the fridge, shrinking in on himself. Amanda, at least, called. Elijah hasn’t spoken to his father since the day he left.

Josh scoffs. “Yeah fucking right,” and silence falls over the room. Elijah’s heart thumps in his throat, his ears, and he lifts his gaze, looks right into his father’s eyes.

“I’ll be damned,” Allan says, his voice soft as he shrugs his jacket off at the dining table. “Elijah."

His mouth opens on an apology, but Allan steps forward, with such intensity that Elijah'd back up, if he had anywhere to go. His tongue trips on words he should've said years ago, his fingers twitch, and he can see Josh and Amanda watching with wide eyes. Allan isn't scary, and there's no reason to be, but Elijah still shakes in his sneakers like he's bracing for impact.

But when Allan touches him, it's not with a fist, how Elijah had greeted his estranged brother, but with arms around his shoulders. Allan holds him tighter than Amanda had, and the bag of peas clatter to the floor as Elijah reaches up to grab at his father's overshirt.

Behind them, Josh mutters, "You've gotta be fucking kidding me. Dad welcomes him home with open arms?"

"You came home sick with withdrawal, Joshua," Amanda says, finally stepping back from her son. Quiet, Allan pulls away, wipes his eyes with the careful practice of a man who cries, and tries not to show it, and claps a hand on Elijah's shoulder before stepping back to the entry way to take his boots off.

He can't know, but Elijah's not convinced he doesn't know, somehow. Why he's here. Why he didn't call.

While Amanda and Josh argue, Elijah pocks the peas up and sets them back in the freezer, and heads upstairs.

His room sits at the end of the hall--or it did, when he left for the city. The floorboards creak under his feet, and the joints in his hand protest as he carries his bag, but he goes through, admiring the photographs on the wall as he goes. The year his soccer team made it to semi-finals. The year he and Josh were in boy scouts. Josh and his junior prom date.

They still looked identical, then, before Josh hit heroin hard, before he got his girlfriend pregnant and skipped town. Before he started bleaching his hair, before the piercings and the scars from tattoos and laser removal. Before rehab, and relapse.

The years have been kinder to Elijah that they've been to Josh. Elijah might've worked ten hour shifts on his feet four nights a week, but stress found ways to gain weight where being a druggie turned Josh into skin and bones.

He rubs his forehead. Things used to be so much fucking easier.

"Walk down memory lane?" Josh says, grinning, as he meets Elijah at the end of the hallway. A nice, purple bruise grows on the bridge of his nose. Pride swells in Elijah's chest, seeing his handiwork. Another punch might break it. Elijah's got the muscle memory for it fresh in his mind, now.

"Fuck off," Elijah says, his voice more tired than he'd intended. If luck sides with him, Allan will save grilling him for tomorrow morning, and Elijah can spend the night tossing and turning, anxious about it.

"You don't have to be so mean," Josh says.

Elijah pushes past him, into his bedroom, and...

It's different. Not entirely, but his once overly-large room has been crammed to one side, his twin bed sitting against one wall, his desk at the end of it. Across the room, under the window, there's another bed. Messy, clothes piled on it from the closet, and--

"No." Elijah's voice goes hard, edged with anger. He just wants to sleep, and if Josh is doing fuck all across the room, there's no way he'll get any rest. He'd rather sleep in his car. "No fucking way."

"Come on, bro," Josh says, but his eyes are twinkling. Bastard knows just how to get under Elijah's skin. "It'll be just like old times. We can stay up all night watching horror movies and eating junk food!"

Elijah rubs his free hand over his face. Contemplates actually sleeping in his car, just for a second, before his neck starts to ache. Sharing his childhood room with his twin--honestly. "I'll sleep on the couch."

"You wanna explain that to mom?"

"Mom already knows we hate each other," Elijah says, surprised to see the quick flinch that passes Josh's face. "Would she really be so surprised to hear I can't stand to look at you, much less sleep in the same room?"

A beat passes, and Elijah knows he should apologize, but Josh shrugs and backs into his room. "Fine, little brother," he says, and oh, fuck him. "Sleep well."

The lock clicks into place as he shuts the door, and Elijah means to make his way back downstairs when a chill runs down his arms, either side. A quick glance at the window shows it's open, but--

There's... something out there. Elijah squints down at it, opens his mouth and takes a deep breath. He means to call for his father, let him know one of the cattle got loose, when he looks closer, and--

It's not cattle. It's not--hell, Elijah doesn't know what it is. He blinks his eyes a few times, watching the black figure make its way across the yard, slow, slow step by slow step. It pauses, about halfway to the treeline, and peers around the yard, but Elijah ducks back into the shadows to watch, and it continues on its way in short, jerky, inhuman movements towards the trees. Twice the size of a human, hunched over, and Elijah can't make out features, not well, but...

What the fuck? He blinks, once, twice, three times. Closes his eyes tight and opens them and--oh.

It's gone. No trace of it. Elijah turns the crank on the window, presses his ear to the screen, but... not a sound. Just the wind rustling leaves across the ground.

A chill spreads across Elijah's back. He's exhausted. He's got seventeen hours of car on him, and ten hours of packing before then, interspersed with arguing with Sean, and..

"Shut the window, Elijah, what're you thinking?"

Amanda stands at the top of the stairs, her head cocked to the side. Elijah closes and locks the crank, clearing his throat.

"Sorry, just..." He makes a vague gesture. How does he even begin to explain what he saw? "Thought I saw one of the cows wandering the yard."

Scowling, Amanda starts to head back downstairs. "I told your father he needed to repair that fence. We'll go out and check on it, make sure. You just get some rest."

Elijah's arm shoots out, though, and grabs her wrist. She raises her eyebrows and says, "Elijah, what has gotten into you?"

"Sorry, Mama," he says, and turns back to the window. Still clear. "Just... my eyes playing tricks on me, is all."

"You sure you don't want Dad to check?"

Elijah shakes his head. No. Fuck no. Assuming, for a second, that thing was real, Elijah doesn't want his father anywhere near it.

His mother's gaze is piercing, right through his soul, and for the first time, Elijah's relief at being home turns sour. "No. Look, Mama, I'm sure it's the drive. I'm just tired, is all." He presses a quick kiss to the side of her head. Ice crawls down his neck, with his back to the window, but he can't do much about it. He says, "Josh has my room?"

"Oh, right. Sorry, sweetie. We turned the other into a craft room." She at least looks a little ashamed. "You're welcome to the air mattress."

It sounds pretty good, but the idea of a couch, ready to go, sounds even better. So much for sleeping in his car--he'd rather not awaken with nightmares of that... thing scraping at his window.

His car. That's what he should've done. Hit the panic button on his keys, scare the thing. Elijah could've really found out if he was just making shit up.

"Can I sleep on the couch?" He shrugs, tries not to crumple under his mother's gaze. "Just... prefer sleeping alone."

The moment Amanda finally rolls her eyes seems to come too slow, and Elijah exhales a shaky breath. "Fine. Don't come crying to me when Josh wakes you up at five in the morning to go running, though." Her expression softens, and she reaches out to brush her fingers against Elijah's cheek. "I'm so glad you're home."

He smiles, small and sad, and grabs her wrist in hand. "Me too, Mama."

"How long will you be staying?"

With a laugh, Elijah says, "How long will you have me?"

"You weren't laid off, were you?"

Ouch. It shouldn't hurt, but it does. "No, no, I just had to cash in on some PTO before year end." The lie burns his tongue, a sharp spark against his teeth. If Amanda catches him, she doesn't show it.

"Hm. Maybe through the holidays, then."

He nods. "Yeah, 'course."

She stands on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on the top of his head. "I missed you so much, Elijah. It's just not the same without you here." Her voice is sad, but when she pulls back, she's smiling. "Farmer's market in the morning. Eight thirty."

He grimaces. Knows he should agree, but what comes out of his mouth is, "Mom, I hate farmer's markets. Isn't there--"

"No buts about it, Elijah. You owe your mother how many years of day trips and quality time?" She turns on her heel. "Eight thirty. Good night."

His father's asleep in the front room, downstairs, the television blaring late night talk shows. A low rumble sounds from the chair, probably the massage function, and there are ice packs on Allan's shoulder. Still, he looks comfortable, so Elijah only turns down the television a few notches, drapes a blanket over his father's lap, and makes his way toward the family room.

The family room houses the biggest window in the house, too. Elijah makes up the couch with blankets from the storage trunk, one eye on the window, but all he can see are dog slobbers on the outside. No dog, either, no bed, no bowl.

The neighbor's then, or his father's insistence on no animals in the house still applies to man's best friend.

His joints crack as he crawls onto the couch and buries his head into the pillows. Exhaustion burrows into his bones and he sighs, pulling the blanket up around his shoulders. His clothes smell like the fried food he'd picked up on his trip home, like gasoline from when he'd spilled it, and Amanda had been kind enough not to mention it.

Twenty four hours ago, he was sleeping curled up under Sean's arm, stressed but happy, and look at him now. Homeless, unemployed.

Hell. If that thing out there wanted to eat him, Elijah'd welcome it with open arms.

#easthallow #my writing #excited vibrating #sorry mobile

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