#I didn’t get much sleep and my brain keeps getting irrationally sad about no ears

[thirsty-4-ghouls]

I have three thoughts that pop up every time I see a dusthide. Not all of them each time, but at least one

Most common thought: he have no ears 😭

Second most common: armadillo (armadillos have ears though, so I guess more pangolin? But the way they are segmented… the pangolin thing reminds me of their claws more though. Hmm, overthinks what species of real animals one can compare them to)

And the final one: so, remember those toys from the 2000s that you put on a magnet and they went from a ball to a little guy?

Update, I have gotten sleep and am now confused about why I was so sad every time I saw that they had no ears

[a-chaotic-ananas]

Clato: Dangerous Night (oneshot)

(Disclaimer: I don’t own Suzanne Collins’ characters of Clove and Cato nor the Thirty Seconds to Mars song Dangerous Night)

~ In the hours after Clove’s death, while searching for Thresh, Cato’s mind races through his recent memories. He remembers moments with his love, the too-few moments they got to spend together. He recalls meeting her, not understanding her, slowly falling for her, her driving him mad in the arena. He comes to the realization he cannot win without his true Star-Crossed lover, but he decides to make the Capitol remember them, the kids they brainwashed and robbed of their future. In his final hours, Cato refuses to play the game he has been training for his entire life. ~

We burned and we bled, we try to forget

She was the first thing he noticed in the arena, no matter how hard he tried to concentrate, no matter how much he wanted to simply start the game, taste the blood until her breath no longer lingered in his mouth.

Smoked raged through him, but it couldn’t burn away her touch, it couldn’t hurt more than he hurt already. Blood could wash away the bitter aftertaste; to wash away her essence etched into his soul, he would have to tear himself apart from the inside.

But the memories left are still haunting

It did no good. She was everywhere, her knives flying, her mad laugh ringing in his ears. She was in the eyes of the dead, in the clashing of weapons, she was the Chaos herself. Flames licked his insides. For a terrible moment, he felt a pang of guilt. There was no way he could do what had to be done.

The walls that we built from bottles and pills

They never really talked, back when they were still home, training in the District 2 gym, but that didn’t mean much. Nobody talked there, nobody cared, there were no friendships. You train, you sleep, you take whatever keeps your body from collapsing from the strain, you build your walls up high. Those things bring you victory. Friendship brings you death.

We swallow until we're not talking

He never questioned it, not the training, not the games. It was better not to think, better to turn off your brain and become a killing machine that would make your district proud. He learned to take it in without words, the inhumane strain, stress, long hours, fear, beating. He hardened himself as this was his only way of survival. When the choice was between trembling from fear every year, unprepared and helpless, and pushing yourself past your limits in order to create a beast out of yourself, for Cato, there was no choice at all.

I... I am a man on fire

He was in the training center, angrily pacing the room. Her calmness drove him crazy.

“But that’s the thing.” She grinned, her eyes sparkling with maliciousness. “That’s all he is – a boy on fire. A boy with no training, frightened, hiding behind those flames. They might have been a surprise, but they’re no threat. You take him out, I take fire girl, and in a few days, no-one will remember District 12 ever existed. You are a champion, Cato. Act like one.”

He wanted to smash her in the face.

You... a violent desire

He wanted to grab her head and punch her until she screamed, until she showed some sort of emotion, anything other than her calculating exterior, other than those mad eyes. How could she stay so cold? How could she train and kill and torture, without batting an eye?

Of course, that was what they were trained to do. But Cato was driven, he was driven by anger and adrenaline, by bloodlust and the need to survive. What made her the way she was? How does someone do all the terrible things they did for absolutely no reason? That was not sadistic. He was sadistic, because he enjoyed his victims’ screams. Her, she did not care whether they screamed or cried or tried to run away. She put her knife through their heart with as much emotion as she twisted her brown curls around her fingers.

He would never admit it, but she terrified him.

What a dangerous night to fall in love

And yet he was driven to her, more than he ever was to anyone in his life. Maybe it was lust, maybe it was madness, maybe it was the inevitability of the moment he would kill her, but it made no change. She was dangerous to him, in more ways than she realized.

Don't know why we still hide what we've become

The arena was bathing in colors of the sunset. Marvel, Glimmer and the rest were long gone, there was only a handful of them left alive. He couldn’t understand why she was still acting like a stranger around him. Not that he could generally understand anything she did, but there were no more Careers around to use it against them, and the audience in the Capitol would love it. They ate the Star-Crossed Lovers up like dessert. But she wouldn’t listen to him, of course she wouldn’t. It didn’t matter it might win them sponsors. It didn’t matter there was always a chance they would both be dead by morning.

“They can never know,” she said.

Do you wanna cross the line?

But despite it all, despite the denial and the hatred in her eyes, he could see she was in just as much pain as him. Their hearts were splitting into pieces and it was killing them both. One way or another, that would end soon. Pretending what happened was a dream, his hallucination, couldn’t cut it anymore. A decision had to be made; the question was whether they would murder each other with weapons or emotions. Once they chose their path, there was no coming back.

We're runnin' out of time

Death hung over their heads day and night, making the air thick with the unsaid. Time was up; they couldn’t run anymore, couldn’t keep putting off the inevitable. At some point, they had to make the call that would end it all, one way or another. After the calm comes the storm.

A dangerous night to fall in love

They didn’t even wait for the voice from the speakers to finish. She shot up and bolted towards him and his hands were on her jawline and in her hair and on her back, and her lips were on his, and their breaths were mixed together once more. All bridges were burnt, there was no going back, but she tasted sweet and he didn’t care. Finally, he thought. Finally, he could let himself love her. Finally, they could both go home.

Started a stranger, a lover in danger

The next few hours were a blur, a beautiful nothingness of pretending they didn’t have children to kill, of acting like normal teenagers in love, of starring into each other’s eyes. Moonlight caressed Clove’s pale face and right there and then, Cato knew he could never have killed her. She was much too powerful for her life to be taken away by his sword. He didn’t know her, not really, but he knew this – he could not go on living without her.

The edge of a knife

Knives. Goddamn knives. Cato hated those. He couldn’t understand why someone would choose a weapon that is shorter, less intimidating, and with practically no reach. But the girl seemed to love them. Of course, she was so tiny that he wondered whether she could even hold a spear or something as useful, but he decided not to ask her that. Despite her small frame, the girl was fear-inducing. Not enough to be a threat, but he would have to keep an eye on her out in the arena. He realized very quickly, on the first days of training, there was much more to her than she led on to. Clove, she said her name was. What a stupid, stupid name.

The face of an angel, the heart of a ghost

“Clove.” Her name sounded hoarse and distant coming out of his mouth, like it didn’t belong.

“I’m worried.” The words sounded wrong coming from her. If she was worried, he should be paralyzed from fear. She must’ve picked up the shock from his face, because she snickered. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. But I couldn’t sleep, and I kept thinking, what will be the thing we didn’t see coming, you know? So far, this isn’t hard. Something is bound to go horribly wrong and it drives me up the wall I can’t see what it is. I feel like it’s right in front of my nose.”

saying that, she didn’t move from his doorway. Cato wasn’t sure if she expected him to reply. He wasn’t sure of anything at this point. So, he did the least logical, least Career thing he possibly could have. The thing that was most likely to be his end. He stepped to her and gave her a hug.

She looked up to his face, and for the first time, he saw something in her eyes other than cold determination and cruelty. They were glazed over, however she wasn’t crying. It was a spark of hope, but something more as well, something deep and hidden that he couldn’t quite grasp. Regret, perhaps, sadness, maybe even the slightest hint of affection. It was a beautiful sight. Impulsively, he planted the faintest kiss on her lips. He was certain she would pull away and stab him, but she didn’t. She returned the kiss and smiled a little.

Was it a dream?

“We will never speak of this.” She didn’t sound like it was up for debate, so he nodded. He wasn’t offended or hurt – he knew this would only get them killed in the Arena. They didn’t need extra weaknesses, soft spots to be used against them. And besides, it wasn’t love that made them do it. It was irrationality, the last chance at freedom, fear. They let themselves be afraid together for a moment, admit how terrified they were, because they understood. They were the only ones that understood.

It would never happen again. The more time passed, the less Cato was convinced it even happened in the first place.

A dangerous night to fall in love

“Cato!” It wasn’t supposed to go this way. That was all he could think about while running towards the Cornucopia. It wasn’t supposed to go his way, none of it. “CATO!” Sprint out there, get the packs, leave. Deal with District 12 later, when they themselves have gotten what they need. It was that simple. He never for a second questioned that part of their plan could go sideways. Clove could run like the wind, he was covering her from the edge of the woods, and Fire girl was occupied with keeping Fire boy from dying on her. Districts 5 and 11 would probably wait until it’s all clear and then grab their packs. A simple plan, and then they would go home.

The first surprise was Foxface, bolting towards the Cornucopia before either of them could register what was happening. But District 12 still seemed helpless, and Clove was still confident in her part. She could do it.

It all went to hell, and there was nothing he could do. His muscles tensed when he lost sight of her, every nerve in his body buzzing. Suddenly, she was behind the Cornucopia, and he couldn’t have her back anymore. There was a scream and sounds of fight, but it didn’t sound like her. It sounded like Katniss. He let out a breath and rolled his shoulders, a single moment before he heard a clang of metal and another scream, a scream that pierced his ears and made his insides bleed, one that wouldn’t stop ringing in his ears until death took pity on him and took him away.

Before the Games, Cato would’ve gone for the boy. He would’ve realized Clove was past saving, and he would have gotten rid of Thresh when he was too focused on running away to notice a spear flying towards him. However, this wasn’t District 2 training center. This was the Hunger Games, where all logic was abandoned, and Cato ran for his dying love like he had never run in his life.

Thick red blood was dripping from the cut above her eyebrow, and for a split second, he thought it wasn’t that bad. The gash was nasty, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed. Then his eyes focused and he saw the dent in her skull, the glossiness of her eyes, the worst of all – fear. And he knew everything was lost. It must have been written on his face, because she smiled a little.

“I was right, see.” He wasn’t sure he heard her correctly. Her brain injury might have had her saying nonsense. “That thing that was bound to go horribly wrong? It went even worse than I’d anticipated.” A chuckle escaped her lips, followed by a weak cough.

“No,” he shook his head. “No, this can’t be it. We are so, so close. If you can hold on for a few more minutes, they’ll fix you. I’ll find the others, and I’ll kill them all. And then we can go home.” The last word got stuck in his throat. Even as he said it, he knew that wasn’t true. They could never go home. “Don’t leave me.” A pathetic request, and an impossible one. But he didn’t care. He couldn’t go on without her.

“Then don’t.” The words sounded pained, but strangely calming. “Don’t go on without me. Stop playing their game. Finish on your own terms. It seems so clear now, what we should have done. But alas, it’s too late for me now. You must bring this to an end. Avenge me, my love. Beat them at their own game.”

Tears fell on her face, but she couldn’t feel then anymore.

A dangerous night to fall in love

Truth hit him like a wave, crashing into his chest. It didn’t matter anymore. No, it never truly did. The final kill, the victory, him making it home – he could never have that. There was no home without her, no life if she wasn’t with him; it made no difference whether he lived or died, for he has been dead his whole life. He only ever felt alive with her, he only wanted to make it back to her, and now they took his Clove away, the only person that has ever made Cato question … Question everything, all of it.

There was no victory for him anymore. There was only revenge, a word that wasn’t near sufficient for what he felt, for what he wanted to do to that boy, to the fire kids, the Capitol, the world itself. No amount of mayhem, no number of screams could wash away her blood on his hands, make him forget her scream. But he would try. He would try to make them suffer as much as she had suffered. Somebody had to pay, and it was only Thresh’s luck he was the one he could get to.

He turned his face to the cameras in the sky, a cruel smile formed on his lips. “Go on,” he dared the Capitol. “I’m dead anyway.”

Alright! That's the fic, I hope y'all liked it. Please don't be rude about it lol, I don't usually write prose - I'm more of a poet. But I wanted to give this one a go. Also, this is my first full work in English (my 2nd language, I only learned it in school) ever so sorry if the language is too simple for your liking. Would appreciate any feedback and sharing. Lots of love to you all. 🖤

[helga-leakadia]

All We Know 2

Chapter 2: Thaw

“I need you.”

Sirius breaks down in the aftermath of James’s previous statement that he’s done with Sirius

TW: Quick mention of abuse

One week. A lot can happen in a week. Remus can heal from his physical wounds. Snape could get his sneer back. But detention couldn’t be over. And James could still be mad as an alley cat on a rainy night. Which was why Sirius couldn’t hold it together any longer.

He’d been walking around in a fog this whole time, probably hadn’t said more than five words since that night. Lily and Marlene had both tried to ask if he was alright, but he had just ignored the both of them. He didn’t want their sympathy. He deserved everything he was getting. McGonagall had pulled him aside after class yesterday and tried to talk to him, but he could do little more than nod or shake his head at her questions until she dismissed him with a sigh.

Sirius was surprised he had been able to hold it together this long. Every day he woke up was an effort and he had questioned whether it was worth it to get up. But Remus was getting up and he owed it to him to do the same. If Remus could, so could Sirius.

But now it was the weekend and there were no classes to distract them. There wasn’t any Quidditch this weekend to distract them either. It was like the universe was trying to make Sirius see how much of a fuck up he was as well. Makes sense, really. He deserved this much too.

He’d been tossing and turning for at least an hour when he finally gave up. He wasn’t getting any sleep tonight. He almost went to James’s bed. He almost went and got the Invisibility Cloak from where it hung on one of the hooks. He almost went to shake the wild-haired boy awake, to go wherever their feet may take them tonight, just to enjoy each other’s company having the freedom of the entire castle at their fingertips.

But he didn’t. Because he couldn’t. Because James wasn’t his anymore.

Sirius paused for a moment, one foot hovering over his boot. He wasn’t sure where that thought came from. He’d never said something like that before, although thinking it now it made perfect sense. He had always been a part of James and had considered James his best friend and his brother and until last week James had never given him a reason to think James wouldn’t have agreed. He would have done anything for James, had done anything for him, and considered himself James’s in every way.

It was numbing to suddenly, in a dark and cold room in late autumn, to realize what it felt like to have a piece of your soul ripped from you. It hurt like hell and he almost couldn’t breathe.

He walked out of the dormitory, closing the door as quietly as he could, and not even caring when the Fat Lady yelled after him that he shouldn’t be out of bed. He let his feet carry him where they wanted, not paying attention to the corridors he went down or which staircase he chose. He just walked.

He tried to keep his mind clear. He didn’t want to think about anything at all. But every time he started to get a clear head and thought he might be okay; another image of James would pop into his head.

Him and James laughing at something one of them said. Making fun of Evans together. Late night romps to the kitchen. Playing Quidditch together in James’s backyard. James’s last birthday when Peter got piss drunk for the first time. When they stole a bottle of firewhisky from James’s dad and got incredibly sick. Running with James. Smiling with James. Drinking with James. Getting tattoos with James. James. Everything with James. Just James.

Sirius fell to the ground as the weight of his loss hit him again and again. He felt like he was being beaten with a beater’s bat. The air was knocked out of him and he couldn’t catch his breath. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

This was different from when he couldn’t stop laughing. He was out of control then, just letting the irrationality of it all consume him. No, now he was coherent and could feel everything, every ounce of pain and loss and sadness and everything that was his fault.

He had made it outside, by the Black Lake. The air was cool and the frost on the grass made it sharp on his skin. How long could he stay out here until the cold just overtook him? At least then nothing would hurt, right? But then again, nothing hurting was what started all of this.

Tears pricked at his eyes. This was worse than any beating he ever got from his father or any time his mother thought of something new to try to punish him with. That time she bewitched a sandal to constantly follow him around and whack him in the head periodically was a particular sore spot. But even that didn’t cut as deep as this did.

James was everything and now he was gone. He was still right next to him, he could still reach over and touch him, but he knew he wasn’t allowed anymore. And wasn’t that just the worst part of all?

Everything caught in Sirius’s throat and he couldn’t suck in any air. Everything was closing in on him. A train was running over his chest, forcing his lungs to shrink and shrink. Black spots were forming around the edges of his eyes and he couldn’t see the stars anymore. The rippling of the water was getting farther and farther away, the wind was slowing down. Nothing was moving fast enough, he couldn’t breathe fast enough, he couldn’t think. He was gasping for air and it didn’t feel like enough. It would never be enough; it would never be enough again.

He could feel the sweat freezing on his skin and knew he was shaking but he didn’t feel cold. He would welcome it if he did. He’d never feel warm again anyways. James was a blanket, his warmth, and he hated him. He was…standing right next to him?

Sirius blinked multiple times to try and make the image of James go away, but he stayed right there. He was talking through water again, nothing that was coming out of his mouth was getting to Sirius’s ears or brain.

But when his hands were suddenly on Sirius’s bear arms, it grounded him, stopping his ragged breaths with a screeching halt. His hands were so warm and there. James was here, he was real, he was grounding. Sirius grabbed at the arms near him, needing to feel as much of the warmth as he was allowed.

He chanced a glance at James’s face. He wasn’t sure if he could handle the anger and absolute hatred he’d been seeing. But to his utter relief, all he saw was concern.

“James,” he croaked, so quietly he may have only thought it.

“You fucking idiot,” was the response, but it had far less bitterness and hostility than before. It was almost playful. Like it used to be. A blanket fell on Sirius’s shoulders, immediately wrapping around him and enveloping him in warmth. It had that same broom polish and peppermint scent that never failed to help him relax.

“What are you doing out here mate?”

“I’m sorry James.” They were blurted out at the same time, James’s question laced with concern and sadness, Sirius just letting go of every insecurity he had left. He caught James’s eye and held it as long as he could, hoping those hazel pools could see everything he was trying so hard to convey; that he was an idiot, that he deserved everything he got, that he didn’t deserve forgiveness or anything else but that he just needed James to know that he knew he was wrong and if he was never sorry about anything, he was sorry about this and he just needed James to know he needed him.

James sighed, finally breaking the eye contact. His hand went to his hair, running through it slowly, gripping the ends as he thought about what he was going to say. The longer it took, the wearier Sirius became. Nausea was setting in as the minutes passed.

“You fucked up. Merlin, did you fuck up.” Sirius chanced a glance over. He didn’t say anything, just waited to see if James would continue. “But I can’t keep doing this. I was so mad at what you did to Remus. Wondered how you could do something like that to him. Felt like you were making me choose between you two.”

Sirius looked down at the dark grass below him. The thought of forcing James to choose between his friends was literally sickening to him. The rational side of him knew that James would never choose one of them over the other if he could help it. But a darker, more obsessive part of his brain said that James would choose him every time. And he wanted to keep it that way. Because James was his.

“I’m still mad at you. I still think you did an awful and fucked up thing.” James breathed a few times, trying to relax. “But ignoring you just isn’t working. I can’t not have you by my side. I need you.”

Sirius looked at James, not wanting to believe what he was hearing just yet. He had to be hallucinating. But James was there, looking right at him, his eyes wide and vulnerable, but conveying nothing but care and forgiveness and need and love.

Sirius opened his mouth, trying to say something. But nothing came out. There were no words he could say to convey how much this meant to him. Having James back, even tentatively, was more than he ever thought he’d have again. He hoped his face showed everything he was feeling: love, need, hope, remorse. He would try harder. He would do way better. He’d think before he flew.

He tried to say something a second time, but James stood then. He put his hand on Sirius’s shoulder and squeezed, a slight smile playing on his face. He held eye contact with Sirius for maybe a little longer than was necessary, but Sirius relished in it. He could get lost in those eyes forever.

Sirius waited a few moments before he followed James’s path back to the castle. They weren’t back where they used to be, far from it. But it was a start. This was good. Sirius would be okay.

[ninemoons42-lestallumhaven]

This was supposed to be a snippet, @voxiferous! What the hell happened to my brain! I am so sorry! (And if you’re okay with this I’ll post it to AO3 later?) (Also yes, that’s the song for today, from me)

Credits: Lisa Macuja in La Bayadere // Cross My Heart by DAY-BREAK

ninemoons42 writes: cry havoc and kick up your heels

Spring, coil, flex, and he literally hears the words in Ignis’s voice and he can’t be mad, can’t fault the other man, because the words really do help, but -- maybe not when he suddenly switches back from the kind of thinking that lives in his bones and nerves and pure skin-knowledge to the kind of thinking that lives mostly in his mind, and that not always attached to the rest of him: he’s coming down, he’s falling fast, the high evaporates, and he hits the floor on flexed feet and bent knees and -- he growls, and says, “Stop playback,” and the music in the room cuts off on the voice command.

Fuck’s sakes, Noctis Lucis Caelum thinks, and very carefully keeps his gaze locked on his turned-out feet. It’s just a delay. It’s just a small setback, all things considered. It’s a damned accident, and nothing more. The world will keep, and he’ll keep going. It’s bad fucking luck. Ravus Nox Fleuret will make a full recovery in two months. Things will get back on track.

So now Noctis can’t dance and now Noctis can’t concentrate, either, not long enough to hang on to the same damned warmup routine he’s been following for the past year.

Beneath his feet the wooden planking creaks gently, softly, almost reassuringly. Dark-gray knots and burls in fine-planed honey-colored wood, the grain still mostly free of the little cracks and craters left behind by too many practicing feet, too many hard landings.

He sits, hard, and curls up into a small tight knot of misery and muscle, and in the process he catches sight of himself in the three mirrored walls and he sees a small boy, a miserable boy, hunched over and trying not to cry, reflected and reflected again. Infinity of images, his own childhood instead of who and what he is now, every other step like distilled agony as he learned to get back on his feet, and this is bad, if he’s flashing back to that part of his life when he’s here in a safe space.

Maybe Luna is right, after all, and he has to stop dancing for a few days.

He certainly isn’t going to do himself any favors, if he winds up injuring himself through careless practice, and then he’ll go down as Ravus did and for the same damned reasons, and he might as well forget about doing the show completely, and that will be six years of groundwork and heartbreak and joy and pain and truths with teeth in them, all gone, all gone forever, worse for having missed its moment.

He sobs, once, and tells himself he’s okay.

Thump, from somewhere nearby.

Thump. Thump. Again and again and again.

He leans into the sound, grateful, trying to figure out what it is, and the synapses in his mind fire and fire again, filtering, and -- definitely a human body, he thinks, someone is definitely moving around and making those sounds. Resilient, for the most part, except when there’s a harder or a softer sound and, and. It sounds like being out of practice, and Noctis hides his smile in his knees and his crossed arms, his smile and his sympathy, because: whoever is making those sounds is expressing exactly how he feels right now, and he’s grateful.

Grateful enough that he realizes he’s being rude, using someone else’s dancing practice to sort his own tangled knots of feeling out, and that person entirely unknowing, therefore being used.

Noctis has been used too many times in his life -- short as that life is and has been -- and he’s not going to keep on using this person.

He’s going to get up and thank them, now.

And he glances at himself in the mirror, and there’s nothing to be done for the sweat and the spikes in his hair, the remnants of an outbreak of zits below his right ear, the gnarled knots in his hands, the ruin of his feet with the callouses and the too-visible veins.

Soft bedroom slippers on, fuzzy fur lining and houndstooth check, and he wraps the dark green fleece blanket that he carries around with him everywhere around his shoulders. Damned drafty dance studios anyway. Out the door of his practice room, and he closes one eye, follows the thumps as they peter off and --

There’s the only open door, halfway down the corridor. No one is mad enough to come to this place on the outskirts of the city at some ungodly hour just past sunrise, and he’s only here himself because he’d gotten out of his bed and the clutch of the nightmares and he’d refused to go back to sleep, and he has keys to this place and he knows the owner, because that owner is named Ignis Scientia.

He’s actually half-expecting Ignis himself to be at the barre. Wouldn’t put it past him.

But he steps into the open doorway and -- that’s not Ignis, not even by any stretch of the imagination.

For one thing, it’s been years since Ignis hung up his pointe shoes.

For another, Ignis doesn’t wear his glasses when he practices.

The guy in the room is dressed in such a strange clash of everything that Noctis almost forgets to breathe, cataloging.

Splash of red-green-black-yellow in the unbuttoned plaid shirt over white dancing clothes, but the thing that catches Noctis’s attention is the clean line of the man’s body, as he breathes and balances and lifts himself, all his weight on one leg and then he carefully rises on to his toes, so he would actually be addressing the door and the people watching near it, if he were looking up.

Noctis watches him straighten his knees and shoulders, and flick out the hand he’s holding over his head, so the fingers fan out into a sort of winged shape. His other hand he holds just at the level of his own eyes, and he flicks that, too, fingers splayed out.

Steady, steady, one foot on the ground, and the one in the air moves, hair’s-breadths, up and up and the man bends a little at the hip to accommodate that rise, to stay gracefully balanced, till that leg in the air is straight out and the top of his foot is turned completely in Noctis’s direction.

Irrationally Noctis thinks of the impossibly petite maestra he’d only met once, at fortysomething only thinking of going into retirement, and still able to wring joyful tears from her adoring audiences -- Kitri had been one of her signature roles, one she’d recently and tearfully had to leave behind, and the man in the practice room has almost got the right tilt in his head to be playing that tragic role, if only it hadn’t been for the clench in his jaw line, and the heavy frames of his eyeglasses.

But as if the man had been reading his thoughts: the man wobbles, and his nose scrunches up, and he suddenly sneezes -- the sound echoes in the practice room, and the man groans, laughs, falls easily out of his pose. “Fucking,” the man begins, with a soft snort.

And his eyes come up.

Noctis is treated to a bright blue-eyed stare that the glasses can’t hope at all to contain, and a red flush appearing all at once in freckled cheeks and -- shoulders, of all the things.

But those eyes sweep up and down and he’s not ashamed of his blanket or his slippers and -- the man laughs, bending back a little over his feet in fifth position. “Nice outfit.”

Hearty and sweet and not unkind at all.

“Same to you,” Noctis says, and allows himself a grin. “With that plaid and all.”

“It keeps me warm. I’m cold all the time.” That flush surges again. “You watching long? You gonna tell me something’s wrong with, I dunno, my knees or my shoulders?”

He’s smiling, but his shoulders are coming up, moving up, and Noctis holds his hands up, palms facing out. “Critique is not what I came here for. Who wants to do that at fuck o’clock in the morning anyway? I came here because I wanted to -- thank you.”

Blink. Blink.

Those blue eyes are very distracting, he thinks, with the emotions he can almost see clearly.

“What’d I do, except -- fuck up Kitri?”

“I never said anything about fucking anything up. You were practicing,” Noctis says, honestly. “And I was -- fucking everything up my own self. So I listened to you. You sounded like you knew what you were doing.”

The man laughs again.

But this time it’s a broken small laugh.

“You’re a little late, aren’t you? That was me pretty much five years ago. So not the me of today. I don’t know what I’m doing. I didn’t even know why I wanted to try and do Kitri, a little. I haven’t danced in five years.”

“With your form like that?” With difficulty Noctis swallows his surprise.

Shrug, that only looks careless.

And the way he turns away, the corner of his lip coming crooked and sad.

Noctis clenches his hand into a fist.

And says, “I’ll be right back.”

Runs back to his practice room and picks up his music player and hustles, and he throws the little device at the blond -- he picks the heavy square and its trailing wires out of the air, easily, and tilts his head. “And?”

“Play,” Noctis says: voice command.

Swish and flurry of cymbals and synths, and a driving rhythm of electric guitars, and the music is enough to fill up this half of the practice room.

Maybe enough for the two of them.

Noctis steps into the room, fully, and tilts his head as the melody develops and the vocalist begins to sing: “Come on, just – move.

“Dance with me.”

He begins with the sweep of his leg and his hand, whirling, trying to express the song -- he only knows what it means because he looked up a translation of the lyrics -- and he’s leaping and twirling into the deceptive chorus, even-keeled but there are such currents beneath the words, and --

On the last line of the refrain the blond pushes into his space, catches up his hands, and into the bridge -- they’re dancing, together, and one moment Noctis leads, the next he’s easily yielding, the two of them leaping and breaking together, freestyling without any form of second-guessing, and he breaks away to fly out into a series of jetes and his partner leaps beautifully after him --

When the refrain rolls around again he takes the man’s hand and whirls him around, guides him through an improvised pas de deux, and -- the moment is broken when he fumbles the last step and the blond just laughs and springs away into one more pirouette -- apparently just for the hell of it.

And Noctis is grinning, and feels the stretch of that grin all the way down into his toes. The warmth of the man’s hands, the flyaway lines of his hair. “That form,” Noctis says. “That’s what I was talking about. You’re good, and more than that, you’re talented.”

“And I know who you are, and what you mean when you talk about form,” is the response. “You’re not bullshitting me, are you? Noctis Caelum?”

“I really am not. I have literally no reason to,” he says, as open as he can make himself be. “And I don’t know who you are, so I don’t have any reason to be an asshole, either.”

“I’m no one,” is the response, sliversharp grin still fixed on that mouth. “Just -- someone from out there. Prompto Argentum’s the name.”

“Well you need to dance, Prompto,” Noctis says. “Seems you can’t not. Five years is nothing. You’ve got something in you that you need to let out and this is the only place you can do it.”

To his relief, Prompto’s rigid smile falls away, relaxes, into something more real. Freckles stippling the corners of his mouth. “You probably know that one just as well as I do.”

Noctis nods, once.

Wills him to believe it.

[chainsawbettyloo]

Title: Sharks Are Proven to be The Best Cure for Anxiety 

Pairing: Sidlink 

Tags: Fluff, straight fluff, little bit of sad but not a whole lot, little bit of selective mute!Link 

Summary: Link has a panic attack and his shark boyfriend helps him through it 

A/N: Thank you for the request! Sorry this took so long! I’m not sure if this is one hundred percent in line to what the majority of panic attacks are like but this is personally been my experience with them so hopefully, it’s close enough! Anyway, hope you like it! 

This has been cross posted to my AO3 so if you’d like to read it there! Comments, reblogs, and kudos are very much appreciated! Thanks! 

-

It had come on suddenly without any warning and, within a few moments, he was completely at its mercy.

Standing by the side of a shrine he had just cleared, his fingernails scraping against the hard rock, Link clenched his eyes shut, hot tears burning at the corners, threatening to fall at any moment, and struggled to keep his erratic, desperate breathing under control. Inside his chest, his heart hammered hard against his ribs, as though it was trying to break free of its confines.  Even though his eyes were closed, it still felt like the world was spinning violently, pitching him about as though he were on a dingy raft in the middle of a quick moving river during a vicious storm. His legs were shaking so badly that he felt for certain he was going to collapse at any moment. Distantly, he could hear his own ragged breath dragging itself out of his wide open mouth. Bile swirled sickeningly in his stomach, threatening to spew forth if he even so much as twitched.

Then there was the panic. The monster of irrationality and terror shrieking incoherently inside of his head, it’s fingernails clawing at the corners of his mind as though it were trying to rip his brain to shreds. He wasn’t even really sure what had set it off this time, but at the moment, figuring out the reason wasn’t all that important nor did it really matter that much to him. All he wanted was to calm down, though that in of itself was a momentous task, especially considering his mind could hardly even piece together a complete sentence.

Digging his fingers into the rough surface of the Shrine’s outer walls, Link fought to keep himself upright but could feel himself losing the battle. Tears were beginning to stream without abandon down his burning face, he felt like was going to vomit at any moment and the panic was growing by the second, amplified by the fact that he was very much aware that he was out in the open, completely vulnerable. A monster could creep up behind him easily. In his current state, he was a sitting duck, easy prey. Thinking that didn’t help him at all but once the beast inside of his head caught wind of that fear, it began raving at the top of his lungs that that was exactly what was going to happen.

Gasping raspily, he pushed back against the beast, allowing his legs to buckle so he could put the strength he had been using to stay upright and turn it against the screaming in his mind. Over and over again, he tried to repeat that he needed to calm down, nothing was wrong, everything was going to be fine as long as he calmed down but, as usual, his demands fell on deaf ears. It was like shouting at the stone wall he was currently hanging onto. All in all, a completely fruitless, hollow and impossible task. He knew his only option was to wait it out, to let it run his course, vomit up the leftovers and cry out whatever remained. Still, he fought, hoping that this time would be the one time he won over it instead of being fucked over by it, left exhausted and infuriated with himself for being so weak.

A large, cool hand suddenly rested on the top of his head, earning a loud, startled yelp from him. His legs immediately locked up, freezing him in place. For a split moment, the vibrantly violent image of turning around to find a monster standing over him, weapon raised high over its head, ready to bring it down onto Link in an attempt to extinguish the life from him flashed in front of his eyes. What little breath was in his lungs rushed out in a loud, rattling gust. His body, which had already been shivering, began to shake fiercely. Like a leaf in the wind, he thought distantly, his sputtering mind conjuring up an absurd picture of himself as an actual leaf, attached to a tree.

“Link, it’s me, my love.” A familiar voice spoke from somewhere above him. “What’s the matter?”

Managing to turn his head just a little ways to the left, Link was blessed with the hazy, teary sight of the lower half of Sidon’s body. Immediately, his disorientated brain began to chant loudly ‘Sidon’s here! Sidon’s here! Sidon’s here!’ in a relieved, ecstatic tone. The panic, however, was not to be outdone - it raised it’s voice even higher, sending high pitched wails echoing throughout his entire body. Shuddering, gasping and coughing, Link struggled to reach out to Sidon. To his relief, the Zora Prince knelt down beside him, one hand still reassuringly on his back, the other reaching forward to take the hand Link was trying to grab hold of him with.

Pressing tight to his side, Sidon lovingly stroked his large hand up and down the length of Link’s spine, “It’s alright, everything is okay, I’m right here. Breathe, my love. Take it slow and easy. Breathe. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Sidon’s voiced washed over him in a wave of blissful comfort. Squeezing his hand tightly, Link allowed himself to fall sideways, against Sidon’s chest. Strong arms immediately encased him, the Zora Prince’s voice never ceasing in raining gentle whispers of encouragement and love down onto him. The panic still raged but was quickly losing it’s footing. With each new breath he was able to pull in, Sidon’s scent surrounding him, the feeling of his skin against his own and his voice filling his ears, his mind, it’s strength dwindled. Link ignored it’s fading screeches and instead focused both on the rhythm of his breathing and the gentle words coming from his beloved Sidon. With something to put his mind to, something for it to grasp onto like a drowning man grabs hold of anything that could keep him afloat, Link could feel the panic vanishing into the depths of his mind.

Unsurprisingly, he found himself exhausted, nauseous and a breath away from bursting into sobs. Still breathing a bit raggedly, he weakly scooted back a little from Sidon so he could look up at him. The Zora Prince returned his gaze, his eyes heavy with concern and alarm. Reaching forward, he swiped the pad of his thumb along Link’s cheek, gently brushing away the lingering tears. Leaning down, he pressed a quick, soft kiss against Link’s lips, apparently uncaring of the snot and tears caked on and around them. Pulling back slightly, he looked into Link’s eyes and asked, “What happened, my love?”

Sniffing hard, still feeling woozy and disoriented, Link took a moment to respond. Struggling to get his thoughts together, he could already tell his voice was not going to work. Holding out his shaking hands, he clumsily sighed, “I don’t know. One minutes I was fine, next thing I knew, I was like that. It’s just something that happens.”

“This has happened before?” Sidon asked, his tone startled.

Link nodded shakily, “From time to time. I just-it-sometimes-I dunno…”

“Why haven’t you told me, Link?” The Zora Prince asked, his voice strained. “Link, you’ve been dealing with this by yourself?”

“It doesn’t happen often.” Which was true, but he still felt guilty for having kept these little episodes secret from Sidon. He was already bothered enough by Link romping around completely alone, with the weight of saving the world on his shoulders. And that was partly the reason he hadn’t informed Sidon - he simply didn’t want to worry him any more. Though, he could already tell that reasoning was not going to fly.

There was a tense moment of silence, during which the panic still on the edges of his mind began to rear it’s ugly face again, whispering that Sidon was disappointed in him, mad at him, that he had messed up, leading to even more tears to run down Link’s face when suddenly, the Zora Prince sighed, his shoulders dropping before he reached forward and gathered Link up in his arms.

“It’s alright. I’m not mad, my love. We’ll need to talk about this but not right now. Right now, we’re just going to focus on helping you feel okay. What can I do? Tell me what I can do to help you, please.”

Melting into Sidon’s arms, the last remnants of panic stomped away into oblivion, Link rested his cheek on his broad, muscular shoulder. Warmth, comfort and exhaustion washed over him. Tears flowed freely from his eyes, streaming down his hot cheeks onto Sidon’s skin. Curling his arms lightly around Sidon’s neck, he managed to whisper in a husky, raspy voice, “Just you being here is more than enough.”

Sidon didn’t respond. Instead, he shifted around until his back was to the shrine and leaned against the rocky, craggy wall. Cradling Link in his arms, he began to gently stroke his hair. He felt him lean down, press a warm kiss onto the top of his head.  

“No more secrets, Link.”

Link sleepily shook his head, “I’ll tell you everything.”

Another kiss was placed against the tip of his ear, “I’ll hold you too that. Now, sleep, my love.”

“Stay with me.” Link breathed, feeling his mind already surrendering to slumber, soothed by Sidon’s voice. He understood that it was a silly request - Sidon wouldn’t leave him sleeping out in the open, completely vulnerable but still, he wanted to hear his beloved Zora Prince promise.

“Of course, nothing could ever make me leave your side.” Sidon cooed lovingly into his ear, his arms tightening around Link, “I love you, Link.”

“I love you too, Sidon. Thank you...for everything.”

“Of course, my love.” The Zora Prince whispered.

Focusing on the feeling of Sidon gently stroking his hair, Link allowed his eyes to fall closed, his entire mind completely occupied with his beloved Prince Sidon, and quickly fell into a peaceful, quiet slumber.  

[imlostinsantacarla]

Not my gif. Gif credit goes to the amazing creators!

Anonymous said:Being Bella's preteen sibling and Leah's imprint would include?

A/N: I really liked this idea. I haven’t seen anything like it before, so I hope you enjoy what I’ve come up with! Thanks so much for requesting, Sushine! - Admin Kat 💟

Being Bella Swan’s Preteen Sibling and Leah Clearwater’s Imprint:

- This certainly will NOT be a romance based imprinting, but a protector, guardian, sibling based imprinting.

- There’ll be tension since Leah cannot stand your sister Bella all that much.

- Like the sight of her makes her sick.

- Bella would be very protective of you, but not in the same way that the Cullen’s would be.

- “You guys have gotta cut Leah some slack. Sure, she’s irrationally impulsive with her temper, but my kid sister/brother is safe. Relax!” Bella would insist stubbornly.

- Constant bickering between Leah and the Cullen’s.

- “You hurt Bella’s brother/sister, you mutt, ad I’ll-” Edward would spit, only to be promptly cut short.

- “You’ll what, bloodsucker? I’ll beat you to the punch, you self-righteous a-” Leah would bark, only for her rapid sentence to be cut off by Bella.

- “Ah! That’s enough!” Bella would interject herself between the pair of them whilst giving a crude look towards you.

- Seth and yourself would become close, which is precisely something that cheers up Leah.

- Like, you’re gonna be a baby sister to Seth and he’ll be so damn protective of you.

- Leah is fierce asf, okay?

- Ain’t nobody going to fuck with you!

- All hell will break loose otherwise.

- LIKE DAMN! FORREEEAAAL!!!

- Leah is also savage asf. She’s definitely NOT going to handle situations with confronting others well.

- “So, Leah...” Charlie begins sternly, “The school called me today, letting know that you dropped by for a talk.”

- “Yeah, and? The teacher had it coming.” Leah would growl out defensively. “Besides, I get math, okay? They could not teach it.” she’d wave a hand dismissively at Charlie’s weariness.

- “Its not your place to-”

- “Well it’s too late now, Chief...” she trails off.

- “What did you do?” Charlie growls, face growing hot.

- “Chill out, Chief Swan. All I did was have a talk with them.” Leah grins. “I’ve just potentially ruined their entire sanity and they’re resigning tomorrow. See,” she reaches for an apple in the middle of the table, “problem solved.” And thus the crunch of the ripe green apple penetrates the stunned and tense silence.

- If you’re getting bullied, Leah wouldn’t be able to handle it coolly at all, in which she’d have to personally have Jacob there along side of her.

- “Can’t we just take the chill way?” Jacob yawns dismissively.

- “I am chill.” she retorts back.

- “You’re shaking like an avalanche and I bet you’re going to make that kid into confetti.”

- “Serves him ri-”

- “I think I’ll handle this one!” Jake grins, only infuriating her more.

- But seriously, just one look at Leah and your bullies will shoot for the hills.

- Her daggers are able to pierce anyone and leave them scarred psychologically.

- Even though Leah can ‘bite’ and is rude, Charlie doesn’t have the heart to tear you two apart, - neither do the Cullen’s -. The bond that you two share is impenetrable and it’d break everyone’s heart to see you sad.

- Seeing you always brings Leah into a better mood, so much in fact that she’s forgotten all about Sam imprinting on Emily.

- If you’re going out of town, she insists on coming. She doesn’t trust vampires and it’s always a verbal tumble and rumble when Alice wants to bring you shopping (regardless if you’re a bloke or a chick).

- If you’re upset, feeling lonely, you name it; Leah is probably going to comprehend how you feel. She’s always going to make sure she can get you out of a bad stupor.

- “You know that I’ll never let anyone beat you up or hurt you, right?” she’d breathe down to you as you curl into her side. “I don’t care what your sister’s boyfriend and his family think or say: I will NEVER hurt you. You got that?”

- Leah won’t necessarily be jealous, but she won’t enjoy the fact that you enjoy other people’s company. She’d rather you be in close reach in case anything goes wrong and would appreciate if she could bring a smile on your face.

- “You know that you’re better than everyone else, right Leah? Like, nobody is as tough as you or funny as you or...” and off you went on a tangent that caused her milky white teeth to beam brightly at you.

- You’d be quite caught up in the arguing that came with being Bella’s sibling and being Leah’s imprint: It’d actually really upset you.

- In the beginning, the Cullen’s would try to keep you at a safe distance, but once they see how much it bruises your heart, they’ll understand how deeply Leah means to you.

- Piggyback rides.

- Bringing out the absolute best in Leah.

- Standing up for Leah.

- “Who knew Leah even had a heart.” Jared would laugh.

- “Who knew you had a brain.” You’d shoot back defensively.

- “I do have a brain!” Jared would shout back at you.

- “Looks like it shot out of your ear when your mother gave birth to y-”

- “Whoa okay! Who taught her/him that one?” Bella would interject, holding you back as Leah would grin.

- Leah not enjoying being called soft, but she really is around you.

- Leah would attend anything that’s special to you and wiggle her way out of patrol.

- Begging her not to be so grumpy.

- “Come on! You’ve gotta smile once in awhile. Wanna know why?”

- “Why kid?”

- “Because the world is so much brighter when you do.”

- Leah would simply breathe a laugh, a smile filling up her features. “Has Jake been at teaching you those cheesy pick-up lines again?” And she’d just mess up your hair.

- You’d sometimes feel like you’re in the middle of a Tug-o-war and no one is listening to you.

- Leah badgering Alice about your future until the point where Alice will basically phone her the details. 

- Somehow, almost bringing Leah and Bella together. They won’t be perfectly in harmony but they’ve got you in mind, so they do their best to work together.

- I believe that regardless of your gender, Leah is going to be very maternal and nurturing towards you, which she can do with Seth, but it comes naturally for her towards you - until you come of age -.

- You’re the only one she lets hug her.

- She tends to go hiking with you or something that you’d like to do.

- She’s so much more responsible around and with you.

- She’ll bring you home on curfew.

- “But I wanna stay up later!” you’d whine.

- “I know, but school’s a drag and if you get through that without sleeping or detention, you get to see me?” she offers.

- Going to the packs bonfires and not understanding the stories at first but thinking they were cool and magical.

- Thinking it’s awesome that your imprint is a wolf and trying so hard not to let the secret slip.

- You were never frightened of seeing Leah turn into a wolf, you thought she was a cool witch or a superhero or something!

- When Bella was ‘ill’ and away for so long, you were really torn up about it, but was thankful when you got to see her again, but Leah didn’t forget how much Bella and all the Cullen’s did hurt you.

- Wanting to be a vampire so you can stay with Bella, but not knowing the real risks or any gory details and Leah stepping at the same time as the Cullen’s to say, “NO!”.

- Leah is going to do the best she can with you and will prove all of her doubters wrong.

- You and her will be practically inseparable. You’ll be in the best hands of La Push.

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