#and if not well sometimes it's nice to just Rest

[moonstruckme]

hi angel!! can you please write a fic with sirius x shy reader where she meant to be going out with sirius and his friends where some girls who have previously liked him and shes feeling nervous/insecure about what they'll think of her so she drinks a bit for liquid courage and later on sirius takes care of her listening to her drunk babbling and reassuring her? thanks lovely!!

Thank you <3

cw: intoxication, feelings of inadequacy, some mature implications but nothing happens

Sirius Black x shy!reader ♡ 1.2k words

The thing is, Mary is really lovely. She’s sweet, bubbly, gregarious. One of those people who makes you feel in on the joke. And she’s beautiful, so you can understand why Sirius dated her. They must have been a perfect match. 

You, you need three gin fizzes before you can even begin to match Mary’s natural congeniality. Not to mention the rest of Sirius’ friends. They’re a fun, chattery bunch, each clever and funny and entertaining in their own individual but reliable ways. Your packed corner booth covers so many topics so quickly it makes your head spin. 

You find some solace in the women’s toilets. White fluorescent lights that bring attention to the makeup smudged just underneath your eyes, it’s here that you realize you may have overdone it. You look at yourself in the mirror as you release a slow breath, listening to the laughter outside the door from within your little bubble of quiet. 

When you force yourself to go back out, Sirius is waiting. 

“Hi.” Your liquid courage seems to abandon you without the rowdy pub atmosphere to bolster it. This is just you and Sirius in a dim hallway, your boyfriend’s smile igniting a familiar warmth in his eyes and nervous flutter in your gut. “I could’ve found my own way back,” you say. 

“I didn’t think you couldn’t.” Sirius steps into your space, hand on your waist as he presses his lips to yours gently. “I just wanted a chance to do that without getting loads of shit for it.” 

You smile. “There would have been booing,” you agree. 

“Oh, definitely. James would’ve pretended to be sick.” 

You rest your forehead on his shoulder. Selfishly, you want to keep the both of you here a little while longer. Sirius seems to understand this, his hand drawing back and forth over the sliver of skin between your trousers and the back of your shirt lazily. 

“Mary had to leave,” he says, “but she threatened me with all sorts of vile things if I didn’t give you her number. She wants you to have coffee sometime.” 

“That’s nice,” you hum, really extraordinarily pleased. “Why’d she have to go?” 

“She forgot she was supposed to meet a friend at ten.” 

You smile ruefully. That sounds exactly like a girl like Mary. Her only flaw is that she has too many people who wish for her company and not enough time to devote to them all. 

Sirius smells nice. Like clove and nighttime, and a little bit like the greasy chips James ordered for the table. You imagine you smell like gin and fizz. You mumble your question into the neckline of his shirt, so that the warmth of your breath warms the cotton and Sirius makes a confused tsking sound. 

“I can’t hear you when you talk like that, baby,” he says, encouraging you away from him with a hand on your cheek. You look up at him through heavy lashes. 

“Have I embarrassed you?” you murmur. 

Sirius looks like he’s going to laugh. You won’t be able to take it if he does, you think. You’ll have to lose Mary’s number as well as his and move across town. 

“What?” His voice is amused, brows raised. “No, you haven’t. Not at all. Why would you think that?” 

You shrug, embarrassed. “There’s makeup under my eyes.” 

“Is there?” Sirius’ smile grows. He adjusts his hold on your face, licking the pad of his thumb. “I didn’t notice, but we can’t have that, can we? Hold still.” 

You don’t hold still, shying away the first time he reaches for you. But Sirius understands that it’s not him you’re trying to get away from; he’s patient and diligent, wiping beneath your lashes with careful touches. You feel hot from the tips of your ears down to your chest. 

“There. Perfect as ever before.” He plants a smiling kiss on your lips. “Is that all, lovely?” 

“I think I’ve maybe had too much.” 

Concern touches the space between Sirius’ brows. “Are you not feeling well?” 

“No, I just—well, no one else had as much. I feel like they can tell I’m faking.” 

Sirius is frowning properly now. Inadequacy rings baldly in your tone. His thumb strokes down your cheek. “Faking what?” he asks you. 

“Being good at this,” you murmur.

“You are good at this.” He seems defensive, as if you’re discussing his shortcomings and not your own. “You don’t—there’s no one way you have to be. Sweetheart, I want you here because I want my friends to meet you. It sort of defeats the purpose if you’re putting on someone else for them to meet.” 

“I just—okay. I’m not jealous of Mary. That’s not what this is.” You’re talking a bit too fast, drink lubricating your throat so near anything seems likely to come out. “But I can see how you two would have worked together, and how she works with your friends—she fits in. Everyone’s so fun, and you’re all fast with your jokes, and I’m, I’m not that. I can try, but I think…” Your voice quiets. “I’m not very good at it.” 

As you’re talking, Sirius’ eyes are narrowing. He’s brazen in his thoughtfulness, seeming to size you up while he listens. Whatever audacity is left in you sputters out under the weight of that look. 

“Can I tell you something?” he asks after a moment.

You hum softly. 

“I don’t know how you’ve not managed to pick up on this, because I haven’t been trying for subtlety” —he draws you closer by your waist, until you’re nearly stepping on his toes— ”but I think you’re perfect. Really. You can go out there and ask anyone at our table, they’ll tell you I’ve been saying it since a week after we met. Marlene would probably love to tell you, actually, she found it rather irritating.” 

You look down at his throat, but Sirius encourages your chin back up with his finger. “You’re fun,” he says. “You’re loads of fun. And you’re just as quick with jokes—actually, you’re loads funnier than Remus, though you can’t tell him I said that.” 

“Sirius,” you chide, suppressing a smile. 

“Dead serious,” he says with a straight face. “Really, lovely, just because you’re not as outspoken as all of us twats fighting to shout over each other doesn’t mean you don’t have important things to say. They know that, they all know that. And can I tell you something else?” 

You hum again, made wary by the glint in his eye. 

Sirius leans closer to your ear. “I sort of like that you’re usually only loud for me. In private.” 

Your laughter comes out suddenly enough to startle you both, you closing a hand over your mouth while Sirius leans away, grinning. 

“God, sorry,” you whisper, looking around in case you’ve attracted attention, “that was loud.” 

“Well, we are in private.” 

“You’re awful.” You hide against his front, giggling. 

“Yes, yes, I’m awful and you’re perfect.” Sirius kisses your hair. “I know all of this already, it’s only news to you. Listen, I don’t mean to rush you, but we probably should get back to our table before they send James for us. They were already complaining about you being too long in the loo before I left; they’ve grown rather attached to you.” 

Your brief silence must communicate enough of your surprise, because Sirius laughs. 

“Oh, right, yeah. They really like you. Shocking.” 

[no-144444]

꩜summary: you really don't care

꩜pairing: charles leclerc x fem! reader

Parties. Pictures. Paige. 

Possibly the three most hated things by you, at that very moment. That moment, where you were sitting in front of your parents, hoodie and pyjama pants, with an empty seat beside you. 

Of course there was. There always was. He never showed up when it was important, which you’d grown to not really care about. You had good moments with Charles, and when it was good, it was really good. He was sweet. He cared.  And then there were moments like this, where he didn’t show up, but pictures of him doing something with another girl showed up on your instagram feed, and you had to explain it away to your parents, friends, and anyone else. Tell them he loved you. Promise them you know your worth. 

You didn’t. You didn’t know your worth, but you knew it was above being left for another girl in the middle of the night, the day before you asked him to meet your parents. You had to be worth more than that, at least. 

“Where is he?” your mother asked. Your parents weren’t traditionalists by any means, but they were wealthy and powerful, and they demanded respect no matter what. It’s ridiculously rude to cancel without notice, so Charles was the king of ridiculously rude. “And who’s Paige?”

You huffed out a sigh and dropped your head on the table. “I don’t even care where he is. She can have him.” 

You didn’t see it, but your mother smiled. She reached out and pressed a hand to your back, rubbing it gently. “Just let him go, alright?” 

“I plan on,” you nodded. “He’s a prick, good riddance.”

Blocking Charles had left good. You were a fucking 10/10, no man desevered you, much less Charles LeClerc. Still, it was nice to not have him whining in your ear every five seconds. 

Responding to other athletes, singers, and actors who dmed you felt good. Going on dates felt good. Feeling wanted felt good. 

Still, you had your ties to F1 as a fan, and an ambassador. You had to attend races. You had contracts to uphold. That meant dinners with other ambassadors. That meant WAGs too. You sat near Rebbecca, Lily, Flavvy, and Lily. You were wearing this stunning, blue dress, accidentally matching the special blue Ferrari livery. You hadn’t planned it, but it looked good. Someone whispered about how you matched the theme a lot more than her, in her bright pink dress. 

“When they stood together, they looked like a fucking gender reveal,” Rebecca scoffed and you literally choked on your drink, laughing. The rest of the girl erupted into laughter as well, the five of you leaning on each other as you giggled. Paige looked on from the other end of the table. 

“Shut up,” you hushed them, trying to quell the laughter. 

“So, how are you, Y/n?” Paige asked, and the table went silent. Rebecca hid behind her drink, smirking. She knew what was going to happen. 

“I’m fine thanks, how are you?” you asked, not taking her bait. You took a sip of your drink as she stared you down. 

“Just amazing,” she smiled, that sickly sweet smile, anyone could tell it was fake. “Charles and I are going to Lake Como for summer break, and I’m just so excited!” 

You shrugged and nodded. “Cool,” and then you turned back to your group of girls, silently chattering with them. She frowned. 

“He’s just so sweet! He bought me a whole new wardrobe for it too, and his mom is coming! We’re super close,” she bragged. 

You groaned. “Girl, he is using you. He sweet-talks, then he baits you, then you’re sitting at dinner on your own while he’s out fucking some other girl,” you rolled your eyes. “The only reason I’d stay with him is his dick, but y’know, sometimes even that’s just not enough.” 

Your girls burst into fits of laughter and Rebecca handed you her phone, showing a livestream of Charles kissing another girl in the club, happening at that very moment. You frowned and handed the phone to her. “See?”

“You’re lying,” she shook her head, and dropped the phone on the table. “Jealousy is kind of embarrassing.” 

“It’s ok- I’m ok, he’s a cheater, and he always will be. And trust me, it’s pity, not jealousy,” you scoffed. “You can have him though, I’m deeply uninterested in receiving any more of his late night calls to get back with me.”

She stilled for a second. “Give me your phone,” she demanded. “You’re lying. It’s so embarrassing!” but you could see the cracks in her performance. That slight eye twitch, the way she looked at other girls at the table, the way she looked at you. “Come on girl, you don’t need to hide it.”  “I don’t need to hide shit, he does,” you turned your phone around, showing her the messages you’d been ignoring for weeks. The pleas to get back together, the begging, the voice notes, the unsolicited nudes (ew). Her jaw dropped. “But of course, he’s all yours.”

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[melanchoire]

Somnophilia (dubcon) with lara and megan katseye please

my dear megara 💖 they are like my danjangz but from katseye 😭

cw: dubcon.

gorgeous femme girlfriends... ohhhh imagine being friends with them both 😵‍💫 type of friendship that is full of tension because they have some questionable behavior with you but you always wonder if they feel the same way or if it’s just you imagining things! and it’s weirder because it's both of them and they’re a couple, so you have no idea if it’s an internal plan of them to see if you’re a home–wrecking bitch or they both really want something with you...

lara is subtle about it. she is this kind and sweet girl who has a demeanor that makes you question whether she is flirting or just being really nice to you. her sweetness is somewhat questionable, things like complimenting your clothes or appearance but her eyes blatantly scan your body, or sometimes she even accompanies it by placing her hand on your arm and giving you a slow caress... besides, lara has something in her eyes that betrays her intentions, but as i told you before, her behavior is mega charming and sweet! and you always have that little doubt left

my dear megan... well, unlike lara, she is not at all secretive. like this girl has the vibes that in the middle of a party she suggests that you have to kiss or maybe she will try something more subtle like playing a game of passing the ice cubes mouth to mouth??? also megan would try to grind against you when you were dancing, and you would think it was just because she was joking or because the place is somewhat crowded and so people always tend to dance close to each other regardless of whether they know each other or not — but that’s when you feel lara appear in front of you to join in 😳

imagine one day agreeing to spend the night at their apartment because it’s already very late and you don’t feel like returning home drunk, both of them seeming pretty okay with the idea of you sleeping in bed with her instead of on the living room couch... but you don’t suspect it! at that moment your head was spinning and you weren’t fully conscious enough to think about the situation clearly and firmly or even try to assure them that you were fine sleeping on the couch

sleeping comfortably and enjoying rest until suddenly you feel hands pulling down your underwear??? you would have tried to say something or try to react if it weren’t for the fact that lara is faster than you, sitting next to your body lying on the mattress and bending down enough so that her face is level with yours and closing her lips on yours 😵‍💫 lara was so good at swallowing your protests that it was enough for megan to get between your legs and bury her face between your thighs so she can start decorating like both she and lara have been longing to do for so long. this was definitely more than planned and maybe they were in charge of getting you more intoxicated so they could have fun with your body 👀

lara whispering sweet nothings to you and humming to send you back to your sweet sleep so she and megan can use your body without worries 🫠 the combination of lara making efforts to send you to sleep but at the same time megan’s tongue working on your pussy was not a good mix because lara tried to send you to sleep but megan kept you awake! they were playing with your mind but you didn’t complain at all 🙏🏻 the two of them at the same time were like a roller coaster of emotions and feelings, and they will definitely make you feel that way all night long

[seen-the-stars]

my love, my baby, i think buck deserves 2 or 9 from tommy ^^

babe, i think youre absolutely correct. i went with the first one for now but keep your eyes peeled bc i might add a second part later :] (This fic is sponsored by my 10 year old knee injury that still acts up every now and again and annoys me to no end) 2. "How do you always know exactly what I need?" "I pay attention."

Buck is having a day.

He woke up with a slight limp, which isn't too unusual. His leg still gives him trouble whenever the weather changes, or when he extends himself, or sometimes simply because it wants to make his life a little more difficult.

It's annoying, but it's not the end of the world, and he doesn't want to whine about it too much. It could've gone much worse, all things considered.

Dreaming about the truck should have been the first warning sign, because it doesn't really happen all that often anymore, especially not unprompted. So when he woke up this morning drenched in sweat and shaking slightly, he should have known where things were headed.

Foolishly, he'd just shaken it off and burrowed closer into Tommy's chest until they were both ready to wake up; and then, maybe just as foolishly, he'd shaken off the slight twinge in his calf as being a little sore.

He gets through the morning easily enough. It's a slow affair, him manning the coffee maker while Tommy makes them breakfast, and they lounge around for a bit after that. When Buck goes to do the dishes ("It's only fair, Tommy, you cook, I clean"), Tommy waves him off, tells him not to worry about it. Buck tries to protest, but Tommy fixes him with a look, and he lets himself sink back into the couch.

They go grocery shopping, because it's less crowded this time of day, and Buck notices the pain in his leg getting sharper the longer he puts weight on it. So he offers to push their cart around and uses it to support his weight, determined not to ruin their day.

When he starts putting the things away into the car, Tommy kisses him and pushes him into the passengers seat. Buck pouts at him, but he can't deny that sitting down makes it easier to breathe, so he stays put.

On their way home, Tommy looks at him out of the corner of his eyes and asks, "Do you want to get take-out for lunch?" The question confuses Buck for a second, because they just went grocery shopping, and he tells Tommy as much.

"Just offering. I don't want you to be in pain just to make lunch." And, well. It's a good point, and it's also just so considerate, it makes Buck want to burst into tears.

Because the thing is, the more he thinks about it, the more dreadful standing behind the kichen counter for an hour sounds right now. His leg is throbbing, and it's annoying, and it's making him a little grouchy.

Tommy knows, and has probably noticed his mood shift long before Buck was even aware of it, and it's…yeah, it's really nice to be known like this.

"How do you do that? Knowing exactly what I need before I even do?" he asks, a little befuddled and a lot in love, and Tommy chuckles low in his throat at the question.

"I pay attention. And I love you," Tommy replies, resting his hand on Buck's thigh and massaging it gently.

"I love you too," Buck says, resting his hand atop Tommy's.

[eriace]

flirt, fight, repeat ; dazai osamu

oneshot & fluff ↪ in which, they argue like cats and dogs, roll their eyes at each other like it’s a sport, and definitely don’t have feelings… until everyone starts calling them a couple and it’s suddenly not so funny anymore. ↷ dazai osamu ; bungou stray dogs

↳ an order of black coffee from anonymous in the comeback cafe event !

SHE HATED HIS smile.

Smug. Smirky. Smothered in that “I-know-something-you-don’t” energy that made her want to throw a stapler across the agency lobby.

“Good morning, sunshine~” Dazai sing-songed as he leaned over her desk, head tilted, bandaged hand already sneaking a cookie off her plate.

“Touch my snack again and I will throw you out the window.”

“You say that every day.”

“And one day, I will follow through.”

He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “How could you say such cruel things to someone you adore?”

“I don’t adore you. I endure you.”

They were rivals. Naturally.

He was chaos. She was control.

He flirted with everyone. She trusted no one.

Their dynamic had been like this since day one at the Agency — bickering, teasing, trading glares across mission tables. If Kunikida was the one keeping the peace, she was the one threatening it. And Dazai? Well, he loved poking the bear.

Everyone assumed they hated each other.

Which was mostly true.

Kind of.

Maybe.

“Why do you two argue like you’re married?” Atsushi asked one day, blinking innocently.

Dazai immediately threw an arm around her shoulder. “We are in a committed relationship. She just hasn’t signed the death certificate yet.”

She shoved him off so hard he hit the floor with a loud thud.

“See?” she said to Atsushi. “If we were married, I’d already be a widow.”

“She jokes,” Dazai muttered from the floor, “But I see the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention.”

“Like I want to strangle you?”

“Like you want to kiss me.”

She threw a pencil at his head.

It bounced off harmlessly.

“Love hurts,” Dazai sighed, still flat on the floor, staring at the ceiling like a rejected shoujo protagonist. “Truly.”

But here was the problem:

Lately, her insults had started sounding less… convincing.

Because even though she wanted to be annoyed, sometimes he’d smile just right, and her heart would do something stupid.

Like flutter.

Or melt.

Or skip like it didn’t understand the assignment.

And then there was the umbrella incident.

A sudden downpour. One umbrella. Two idiots.

“We are not sharing.”

“Come on,” Dazai said, already holding it above both their heads. “I’m tall, charming, and waterproof.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“But dry.”

She sighed and stepped under the umbrella, arms crossed, avoiding eye contact.

Too close.

Way too close.

“You smell nice,” he said casually.

“Don’t flirt with me.”

“Can’t help it. It’s a side effect of proximity to beauty.”

She bumped him with her shoulder. Hard.

“You did that on purpose,” he laughed.

“Oops.”

They walked the rest of the way in mostly silence, except for the part where she caught herself smiling when he started humming a tune under his breath.

It came to a head during a mission.

Some routine surveillance gone wrong. Too many enemies. Not enough exits.

He pulled her behind cover, hand around her wrist, chest pressed too close. Breathing hard. Laughing.

“You’re enjoying this?” she hissed.

“Just a little. I do get to die dramatically beside my archnemesis-slash-secret-crush.”

“You—WHAT?”

He winked.

“Just kidding~”

She stared at him. He stared back.

And then something clicked.

Something undeniable. Stupid. Sweet.

She kissed him.

Right there. Right after nearly dying.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

Then grinned.

“Finally. Took you long enough.”

The aftermath was worse.

Not because of awkwardness—no, Dazai leaned fully into it.

“Can I kiss you good morning now, love of my life?”

“No.”

“Can I hold your hand in meetings?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Can I plan our wedding with Kunikida’s budget spreadsheet?”

“If you ever bring that up again, I will smother you with it.”

But she was smiling. And blushing. And definitely kissing him again when no one was looking.

The Agency adjusted quickly.

Atsushi started betting on how many times they’d argue before making up with a kiss. Kunikida begged them to “please stop using the evidence room as a makeout corner.”

Even Ranpo gave them a thumbs-up and said, “I knew it. Knew it all along. Congrats, idiots.”

Enemies to lovers?

More like snark to spark. Banter to boyfriend.

And yes— she still wanted to throw him out a window sometimes.

But now she kissed him after.

Fair trade.

© eriace ;; don’t repost my works.

[sunassweetheart]

“Triple Trouble” The Series

Chapter 1: 1st Year

The Miya twins have always been protective of you your whole life. They were always by your side and taking care of you as their own little sister. So when you entered your first year at Inarizaki High, they only became more protective over you. It was like wherever you went, they were there too. They always seemed to find a way too creep into your life. Not that you minded, you just found it ironic since they always claimed that you were the nosy one.

You would be in your classes, just writing in your notebook when you heard familiar giggles coming from in the hallway outside the classroom. As soon as you looked up, you saw both your brothers laughing and messing around outside. You put your head onto your hand and just looked back down at your work, trying to hide your own giggles.

Atsumu and Osamu had begged you to try out for the girl’s volleyball team in fall but you never did. You decided to pursue other things instead like art and music, things like that. The first time you showed them a painting you made for one of your classes, they laughed because they genuinely believed you were joking that you made it yourself. They insisted on putting it up right in the living room above the TV screen so everyone would be able to see it. Sometimes it’s hard for them to be so sure you’re actually related to them and share the same genes. You wonder the same thing sometimes.

Overall, your first year of high school was a little rough but it was nice having the twins around all the time. They always helped you with your homework, gossiped with you and helped you figure out your personal problems, and spent all the time they could with you outside of school. Osamu forced you to go to every one of their games. You didn’t mind as long as you brought a few friends and could stop by the concessions. Going to their games was also how you met Suna. You saw how easy it was for him to get along with the twins and you admired him a little for it. He started getting used to seeing you at games and would always say hi.

The twins invited you to go with them and Suna to get food after their game. He was a second year student, one year behind the twins, and one year ahead of you. They seemed to all be pretty good friends and that’s what made it so easy to get used to his presence. After a while of hanging out with the three guys, you all got closer even outside of volleyball. You noticed how Suna would always watch out for you in school and wave or give you a small smile in the halls.

-

The school year went by fairly smoothly. By time you got used to the rhythm of high school, you realized how well you were doing. You did well in your academics and had really discovered yourself. The twins started to treat you less like their little baby sister and more like an actual teenager now. They teared up when they saw you dressed up for formal events because they knew you were growing up and weren’t still just a little baby anymore.

You started to become much more independent and that’s when your dynamic with the boys changed. So by Atsumu and Osamu’s graduation, it was a mess of tears and happiness all at the same time. The twins had forced Suna to keep watch over you during the next school year which made you laugh even though you’d soon find out they weren’t joking.

-

Over the summer, you’d spent most of it with the twins and Suna. You all became so much closer then you already were, wanting to make the most of your time together before Atsumu and Osamu’s went to college. You guys did everything together. You all stayed up late to watch movies together, had bonfires with the rest of the team, and swam together while playing chicken fight. The twins would always go together, claiming their twin power would make them win. You would always sit on top of Suna’s shoulders and be partners with him. You’d think it would be easy for the twins to beat you but they would end up arguing and throwing each other into the water instead.

It truly was one of the best summers ever. Luckily for you, the boys were spending their first couple years in a close community college which made it easier for you to get used to the change. It was still weird though, knowing you wouldn’t be able to see them during school or hear those same familiar giggles down the hallway. So you really tried to make the most of summer.

It was late August when everything changed. With the boys getting ready for school, you had to confide in someone for now. It was just a matter of whether the decision of ‘who’ was a good choice for you or not.

A/N: I’m aware this is superrr short but I just wanted to do a small introduction for the first chapter before getting too into it, lol. This is also supposed to be more of a flashback/back round info thing. I hope you guys enjoy this bit and are excited for the next chapters to come! I’ll be posting every Monday!!

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[deltawrites]

｡ ₊°༺ 𖤓 SUMMERTIME FUN 𖤓 ༻°₊ ｡

Prompt: Summer is here! What do you and the boys get up to during the season?

TW: none

A/N: Ahhhhh this is my first writing for Love and Deepspace! Only Caleb’s section is strictly platonic in nature (sorry caleb girlies I see you and love you guys 🫶). The rest are more romantically implied!

INDOOR GARDENING

Summers are often the busiest times of the year for the hospitals. More demanding work + an Ice-based Evol is practically a season of torture for poor Zayne.

He has absolutely zero energy when he gets back to your shared home, sometimes needing to retreat into his room for an hour or so to help de-stimulate himself and clean up. This is probably the time of the year he gets a little unhealthy in his lifestyle; drinking a glass or two of wine and ordering from the nearest fast food place he would typically scold you about.

Luckily, you know just the activity to keep his morale up during the season! After perusing and inquiring with the nice florist at the nearest plant nursery, you got a few low maintenance plants the two of you can take care of over the summer: Petra croton, sansevieria, and a hoya plant for a dash of budding florals!

They’re all fairly low maintenance and provide much needed fresh air throughout the house. It’s also nice getting to watch them grow from little sprouts to full plants over time!

Zayne enjoys caring for your plants in between his work weeks, so much that it becomes a near permanent hobby of his outside the season. He has a preference for leafy plants, but you may occasionally find him at a flower shop inquiring about cultivating flowers at home for a certain…someone.

It’s you he’s talking about. 🫵

His office ends up receiving some much needed decorations, only because the house was starting to overrun with them at one point. Many of the nurses seem to enjoy the new foliage in his office, some even striking up conversations with him if they share the same hobby.

At this rate, he could start his own gardening club with his coworkers.

MOVIE MARATHONS

What better way to wait out the summer heat than inside, with the air conditioner and the comfort of one's own bed!

It’s not like there isn’t a valid reason to lounge around the apartment together. You both have been so busy with missions and all the paperwork that goes with it. Now is the best time to catch up on all the latest cinema you guys missed out on because of your jobs! 

Heck, you don't have to do just the new stuff. Why not watch some of the classics you’ve never seen before!

Xavier seems like the kind of guy who would like older movies. He likes seeing all the practical effects being used in place of all the CGI in most modern films. Prosthetics, fake blood, uncanny mannequins. He loves the creativity behind it all!

There’s no specific genre you guys stick too. If it has an interesting premise and can be rented for cheap on one of the millions of streaming services out there, it’s getting put on the TV!

Snacks are essential. I can see Xavier investing in a mini popcorn machine, maybe even a slushie machine just for the sheer theatrics and familiarity of it.

Well…more like he bought the machines and forgot that they don’t come with all the ingredients needed to make their specialty food. That means that you guys will, unfortunately, have to venture out into the heat to the nearest grocery store.

Xavier and heat do not mix. Even if it's a quick 15 minute trip, he is going to take a 5 hour heatstroke nap after getting home. Poor guy.

AMUSEMENT PARKS

Opposite to Xavier, Rafayel loves this time of the year, especially if it’s a humid summer! It's a godsend to his dryness prone skin.

Amusement parks would be right up his alley. He gets to be out and about while enjoying the seasonal fun. If the park is near a beach or on a boardwalk, even better!

All those times he failed miserably at the claw machine was just a fluke, he swears! Put this man in front of a Skee-ball machine and he’s going to be buying you that 10,000 ticket LED dart board AND a rubber bracelet at the prize counter.

Why not get yourself some assorted candies, since you got so many left over tickets? You deserve nothing but the best after all (>ᴗ•) !

All those clearly impossible side attractions end up being bested by him. The one minute pull up bar that spins midway? Yeah, he’s beating it AND doing a few pull ups too just to show off.

He tends to avoid the stall with the fishbowls and goldfish prizes out of lack of interest, but if you push hard enough (which isn't much) he might just win you a pet fish or two. Just don’t you dare shower it with more love and affection than you do him. He’s your number one fish, first and foremost!

“Whatever. You’re going to be the one taking care of them, not me!” - Rafayel, who is currently browsing online for a proper fish tank to install in his studio.

You’re absolutely not leaving that park without a giant stuffed animal. Don’t you dare think of getting the one shaped like a cat! NOT A CHANCE!

The giant cat sits next to the fish tank. He hates how weak he’s become.

BEACH RESORT

Nothing wrong with going to the beach during summer! If it ain't broke, don't fix it!

Except it's not just any beach Stylus takes you to, it’s a beach connected to an exclusive FIVE STAR HOTEL!!!

He was tempted to buy out the entire hotel for your week-long stay, but you didn’t want to spend the trip in complete isolation. Beach volleyball isn’t fun with just two players (four if you count Luke and Kieran tagging along)

Speaking of guests, Mephisto is legally obligated to come along. You even got him a pair of mini sunglasses and rubber Crocs so his feet don’t get singed! 🥺

Waring matching floral button ups with each other is also a requirement. It’s actually the law, you see.

Sylus: Oh yeah? Show me the law. Y/N: Sure, it’s right here!

( ︶︿︶)_╭∩╮

Sunbathing is definitely on the menu as soon as you guys set up your spot on the white sanded beach. Sylus insists he help you put on your sunscreen on the harder to reach places. Seeing as he paid for the entire trip, you’ll let him have his fun running his fingers down your skin with a languished pace. He might even give you a little cheeky pinch on your ass while no one’s looking. Definitely when no one is looking.

If anyone even thinks about hitting on you while you two are together he is going to shut that show down immediately. Sure, he was very much aware of what he was doing when he picked out your swimsuit, hugging you in all the right places and all, but that suit was for him to gawk at. Not the snobby little rich kids in their beach tents or even the outdoor bartender just trying to get tips for the overpriced drinks.

If you ask nicely, he might be up for a round of beach volleyball, but YOU ARE NOT PLAYING. (See the last bullet point for an explanation).

Okay, you can play. But only on the same team as him. If not he’s going to go absurdly hard on you just to see you get frustrated (he likes it when you pout).

OR you somehow keep pace with him, are now determined to beat him into a bloody pulp in front of all these people, and what was once a casual team vs team setup has now turned into the most brutal, vindictive 1 v 1 everyone has ever seen. 

God forbid your Evols come into the picture. You may get yourselves kicked out at this rate…

At the end of the trip, Sylus is determined to end it with a leisure walk along the shoreline during the sunset. You two end up finding a large conch shell and take it back to Linkon city.

It’s a nice reminder of all the fun you two had and all the volleyballs you two destroyed.

ARCADES

YEAH!!! LET'S SPEND ALL OF OUR DISPOSABLE INCOME ON PLUSHIES!!!!!!!! THIS IS WHAT BEING AN ADULT IS REALLY ABOUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now I’m not saying you guys have memberships to each of the name brand arcade chains in Linkon city…BUUUUUT you two may or may not have been platinum card members since middle school 💅. Not even death is going to stop Caleb from getting some exclusive prizes.

You guys are probably the reason these establishments aren’t out of business yet.

While you tend to lean towards plushies and claw machines, Caleb likes the machines with the higher stakes prizes, like the latest smartphones or even the 100$ gift cards. Heck, it was thanks to his mastery over Stackers that got you both the latest handheld as kids!

Sometimes, lunch consists of the snacks and candies your brother won at the local arcade shop. Who’s going to mess with the kids that won an entire strawberry whipped cream cake from the city machines? Exactly, no one.

It’s sort of a routine you guys have had down for a while. You’ll enter, load your membership card with a concerning amount of tokens and head off to your preferred areas. After someone wins a prize you’ll catch up with the other and see if they need some help at any of the machines, or even show off your latest wins to each other!

Cue Caleb coming to you with a bag full of snacks and rare collectibles as you cry in pain over a plushie that fell into a dead zone

“You know you can ask the staff to reset it for you, right?” - Caleb @ you for the last decade.

He lost his favorite key chain during the house explosion. It was one of the first prizes you won back home in those miniature claw machines at the corner store. Upon learning this, you were determined to find a new pair to replace the now incomplete set.

You’re not proud of the justifications you made to spend more money on arcade games. You are proud of the new key chains you won, all on your own to boot!

They’re simple; an avocado split in half. One side has the large pit and the other is hollowed out. He has it on his key chain and you have it dangling on your phone. Money well spent!

”Hey Jenna, you got any extra shifts I can pick up next week? Just looking to put in a bit of overtime for the team, that’s all!”

REQUESTS ARE CURRENTLY OPEN

[rekino2114]

!!SPOILER WARNING!! Sooooo, uhh, CSM chapter 195 has come out, and we have met Death! And she’s just a softie schoolgirl! Honestly I like her design. Scruffy tangled hair, pure white hair, (headcannon) green horseman-eyes! Not to mention she seems adorable! I don’t have chapter 196 yet, so I’m unsure if more of her has been revealed, or if her name has even been revealed, but I was wondering if you would make prediction headcannons of Death x Male Reader. How do you think she’d be in a relationship with us?

Real fami relationship headcanons

A/n:Doing this request after the reveal is really funny to me. It's like looking in the past but i guess that's one of the pros about doing requests like two months after they're asked also I hope you don't mind I just took your headcanon and made it mine as well

You're incredibly important to fami, she tells you that a lot, but sometimes you don't realize just how important you are to her

Not only are you one of the very few people who actually treat her nicely, with decency and respect and most importantly with love but you also just completely changed her and her life for the better. You took her when she didn't know what to do with her existence and gave her a new goal purpose: to love you and spend the rest of her life with you

This girl is so insanely anxious about everything and especially your relationship. If you thought kobeni and asa were bad, you've seen nothing yet. You could forget to send her a good night text once, and she'll be calling you so many times during the night until you answer crying her eyes out and begging you not to break up and apologizing for whatever she did wrong

She genuinely believes she is so out of your league and that you'll break up with her the moment she does something you don't like, so she's willing to do whatever it takes to make you happy (usually failing miserably) when you told her everything you needed to be happy was just her love she genuinely cried..........more than usual

She constantly asks her sisters for dating advice, death especially (they made up after the whole identity theft attempted murder thing) which often doesn't result in anything cause she also has no idea how the whole dating thing works (she's basically winging her own relationship with little to no knowledge on human stuff)

Fami is incredibly clingy and cannot go like a day without physical affection. If you don't hug her or kiss her for a while, she'll start visibly shaking and overthinking about the hundreds of reasons why you could be upset with her, a simple kiss cheek will calm her down though.....mostly (also just to clarify she's not like angel devil she can turn her powers on and off so handholding and touching is completely safe....which she's very thankful for cause she genuinely couldn't handle if she hurt you)

She's actually very protective of you, it seems like her idea about saving you and humanity slowly transformed into a need to actually save you and protect you from devils, even If she doesn't look like it she is really strong and a horseman so she can easily take care of devils who hurt you and the idea of protecting you means a lot to her

Please praise her she needs someone to tell her she's doing a good job so bad. This girl is literally the dictionary definition of girlfailure and fails at almost everything she does so it would mean the world to her if her boyfriend helped her and told her she was doing great (also give her headpats her hair is really fluffy)

Now that she met you fami doesn't think she could live without you, you helped her understand that her idea of salvation was wrong and to teach her love, which quickly became her favorite emotion to feel. Fami loves you so much and being your girlfriend is the most fulfilling role she could have, she just wants to spend eternity with her loving boyfriend now.

[plant-sys-1]

Answering all of there right now >:D

🎉 I became plural about 2 years ago, when I created my first tulpa - Vlad. Back then I didn't knew much about endogenic and/or traumagenic systems, so I didn't even consider ourselves plural. Then, I started educating myself more, when I created Theo (my 2nd tulpa) and got to know what even a system is. In January/February 2025 i started creating headmates, who are not tulpas.

💯 currently, there are like 50~ of us. 4 of our members were not created willingly.

🧠 I created the tulpas, so I become less lonely. Theo later on agreed to be my (agere) caregiver. When I started creating non-tulpa headmates, my top reasons were: a) to cope with trauma b) to cope with my problems other than trauma c) to not to be lonely

💭 we have a few headspaces, some of them are built by me (Alex), some by other members. Example of one of them would be a playground in the forest.

🌅 it's mostly me (Alex), who creates other members. As I mentioned before, Vlad was the first one here.

⚖️ There is some power imbalance, eg. some of us are fronting/interacting less, but that's not because of their origins, neither sources.

🦄 we are a mixed-origin system, most of us are created willingly (parotraumagenic, willogenic, tulpagenic), currently 4 of us were created non-willingly (catharigenic), some of us are from our dreams (dreagenic) and some form from our kintypes (kingenic).

🏇 we plan on to encourage our headmates to talk to people more irl. Right now, we are afraid of doing this and do it as least as possible. We're a proxy system (the host fronts most of the time and the others front rarely), so the others kinda "get away" with talking to people. But still, we need to be more open.

🧬 some of our willowmates are more developed, some less. And fun fact: in our case it's not about the amount of time that the member is in our system! Some of our willowmates were more confident and sure about their personality, sexuality, traits, ect. even a few days after being created. And some are still forming, after a longer period of time.

🎭 yes, some members have a totally different tone of voice than we usually have. Also when someome else is fronting, the body even walks in a different way.

🕯️ it doesn't affect our life as much as the others may imagine, because of being a proxy system. But being a system overall is a positive experience for us most of the time. We do have some struggles tho

🗣️ we mostly communicate in 2 ways: in thoughts or in our private discord server. We sometimes see and talk to eachother in headspace(s). Our members communicate most often with members from the same source, but they sometimes talk to others as well.

📚 when I create the willowmates (because I, Alex, do it most often) I:

a) made a special category of channels for newer members in our server, which helps them with self-discovery, and tell them how "it all" works.

b) just simply talk to them and try to nicely introduce them to the rest of the system.

c) try to help them find out more about them (sexuality, gender, name, hobbies, ect.)

🎨 We are mostly different from my myself, but we have some collective traits (like being able to draw or being nebularomantic).

🌈 As I mentioned before, we're a proxy system, so I (Alex, the host) front the most.

🕵️ we are actually planning making our own vocabulary since a few days, and we are probably going to post it soon >:}

😡 we "came out" only to my parents, so not irl. They kind of accept that, idk. On the internet - not directly to me, but I've seen many horrible anti-endo posts, before blocking some tags.

📋 some of us have those "pieces" of memories, which are in some cases clear, in some not. A few of us (2-4, can't tell rn) have some traumatic/unpleasant events.

👨‍👦we have 2 littles/syskids, and one age regressor (who is me). One of them fronts pretty often (in our case often doesn't mean actually often lol) and he is clearly enjoying his presence :>

📺 many of us are fictives, one of us is a factive (although it's not entirely a factive).

🍝 I think that our headmates being created doesn't really affect our system that much. I mean, they don't treat me like some sort of god XP

🌠 honestly, now it's not the worse time. And these 2 years ago, when I created Vlad, was the best time for me to understand the whole concept of tulpas.

🧱 we generally have a very bad memory, even some holes in it, and idk if it depends on being a system or not...

🛸 yes, my parents kind of know. But they know that "well, I created some personalities that are taking control over me sometimes and yeah, there's about 50 of them". I didn't use the vocabulary that describes our system better, like the names of our origins, because they wouldn't understand.

🧁 I'll give you a made-up dialogue that I came up with (it DIDN'T happen irl):

X: just don't be controversial on the internet, ok?

Me: but my personalities are controversial!

X: ohh.. wait, personalities..?

XD

- Alex🐸

Created plurality ask game

These questions are meant to be answerable by both created systems and mixed-origin created systems.

🎉 - How long have you been a system? How do you define when you became a system?

💯 - How many headmates do you have? Are they all created?

🧠 - Why did you create headmates/create a system? Was it intentional or not?

💭 - Do you have a headspace? What's it like? Did you build it?

🌅 - Who created the others? Who is the first created headmate?

⚖️ - Is there a power imbalance in your system, especially between created and non-created headmates? What's the nature of this imbalance?

🦄 - What's your specific origin? Do you have more than one?

🏇 - Are you currently working on any system skills? What are they?

🧬 - How developed are your created headmates? How do you define this?

🎭 - If you can switch, do you have different mannerisms or speech patterns between headmates? Was this always the case?

🕯️ - How has having a created system impacted your life? Has it been a positive experience or not?

🗣️ - How do you and your headmates communicate? If you are mixed-origin, do you experience interaction with created headmates differently than non-created headmates?

📚 - What methods did you use to develop your headmates? Is there anything that worked particularly well for you?

🎨 - How different are you and your headmates from each other? Has it always been this way?

🌈 - Who's the most common fronter? Has this changed in the past?

🕵️ - What sort of terminology does your system prefer? Do you have any terms you've created for personal use?

😡 - Have you experienced discrimination or bigotry for having created headmates? What happened?

📋 - Do you experience exomemories? Are any of them traumatic?

👨‍👦 - Do you have any littles? Is them being little influenced by your created plurality at all?

📺 - Are any of the created headmates introjects? What kind of introject?

🍝 - Would you say being created origin is important to how your system functions currently? What does this mean to you? Has this changed over time?

🌠 - Do you wish you were plural earlier in life? Mixed origin systems, do you wish your created headmates could have been there earlier?

🧱 - What barriers do you have in your system, such as memory or thought barriers? Did you make them? Did you want them?

🛸 - Does anyone IRL know you're a system?

🧁 - Give me a silly oversimplification of your system and who's in it.

[featseungmin]

agape || bc

bang chan x female reader

agape - (noun, origin: greek) to love a human being by accepting that person's existence as it is given; unconditional, selfless love

✦ Summary: Sometimes the monsters aren’t what they say. ✦ Genre & Tropes: dnd au, fantasy, angst-ish, fluff-ish, strangers to ??, hurt/comfort ✦ Word Count: 8,059 ✦ Warnings: mob mentality, fighting monsters, murder, blood, bruises and other injuries, old men who are scared of things they don’t understand, cursed!reader, rage mode!chan, burns

✦ Notes: shout out to @lovetaroandtaemin for beta-ing and listening to me complain about this entire au. major thanks to @eerieedits for the absolutely gorgeous banners

part of my city of blood dnd au. check out the rest here.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The pounding on the door startles you. It’s late, and you’re just settling down for rest. But the banging interrupts your routine. For the briefest of moments, you consider just ignoring it. But it sounds urgent, and quite frankly, it’s annoying.

When you peek out the window to see who it is, you’re met with a pair of intense, mismatched eyes, one dark, one light. 

You’ve known Chris for a week now, as he’s been in the area helping with odd jobs. Even if you got off to a rocky start, he’s been nice enough, though surely people around town have been talking to him. But now, he looks anxious. There’s a furrow to his brow and a worry in his eyes that have you concerned. His hair is mussed, as if he’s run his hand through it one too many times.

When you open the door, he practically throws himself against it. “Oh thank god.” He grabs your hand, squeezing gently. He doesn’t flinch away, even though you’re sure that your skin is icy. “We have to go.”

His touch is warm. “Chris, it’s midnight.”

There’s a slight tremble in his grip. He must hear something, because his head whips around to the left. His eyes narrow, and his free hand moves to rest casually on the hilt of the scimitar hanging on his hip. 

“We don’t have a lot of time,” he says cryptically, as if it answers any of the questions bouncing around in your head. 

Quickly, he steps inside, closing the door behind him. He doesn’t take his cloak off, even though you’re sure that it’s warmer in your home than it is outside. You stand there dumbly, watching as he speeds around your living room, closing the curtains, peering out into the night as if some monster is going to leap from the forest at any moment.

“Chris, slow down, what-”

“They’re coming.” He crosses the room in two large strides. His hands grip your shoulders, and again, your mind clocks that he doesn’t recoil from the contact. “I don’t know why. But I managed to beat them here. We have minutes. I… I don’t know why they’re doing this.” Something foreign clouds his eyes. The way he tilts his head and scrunches his face, it looks almost like he’s in pain. “Pack light. We have to get out of here.”

There’s a moment where your mind slows, like you're stuck in a sea of molasses. They’re… coming. They’re coming? He doesn’t know why, but they’re coming. They’re coming and you have to leave.

Oh shit.

Your mind kicks into overdrive. Bag. You grab it from under your bed. It’s old, and well-worn, but it’s supple leather and holds more than it looks like it should. You point to a cabinet in the kitchen, and Chris opens it dutifully while you open your drawers and start stuffing clothes into the bag. He tosses you a waterskin and a tinderbox, and you shove those in, too. 

Something in the woods startles a small group of birds, you can hear them chirping indignantly as they take flight. It’s far enough off that you still have time, but close enough that you push yourself to move faster. 

Chris helps you roll up your blankets, unbuckling his belt and using it to secure it tightly to your bag. “Food?” he asks softly, taking the bag from you. He holds it by the shoulder straps, watching as you rush over to your cabinets. There’s a heel of bread there, and a bag of chestnuts. You know you have some dried meat in one of the cupboards, but your mind is going too fast and you can’t remember where it’s at. You open a few doors to try to find it, but when your third attempt is unsuccessful, you give up.

“Let’s go.” Chris grabs your hand, grip firm yet gentle, and opens your front door.

You pause. For a brief time, the fog of fear parts, and the rational part of your brain kicks in. “Wait.” Immediately, he halts. When he turns to look at you, his mismatched eyes are clouded in confusion. “Why are you doing this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you helping me? You barely know me.”

“I know enough,” he says quietly, and you feel a brief pressure on your fingers as he squeezes your hand. “I know that you don’t deserve this. And that I owe you for nearly killing your friend.”

“But I’m-”

He waves you off. “Nah. Doesn’t matter. I want to help.” He ducks his head ever so slightly, his gaze gentle. Again, he squeezes your fingers. “Let me help?”

For the week that you’ve known him, this man has been an enigma. Terrible first impression notwithstanding, he’s been fairly trustworthy. He could have left after he’d almost killed Kham. But he didn’t. He came to apologize. He listened. He seemed to trust you. So you trust him on this. 

After all, what do you have to lose?

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Even without the two feet of snow on the ground, the village would have been difficult to find. Too small to be on any map, Chris had had to stop for directions at an inn along the Long Road, and even then, he’d almost missed the little hamlet buried in the snow. 

It’s a nice little village. A butcher. A baker. Small general store. Tailor. Shepherd. Most of the buildings are situated around a town square, where he imagines traveling merchants setting up in the warmer months. The town elder–a stout, white-moustached man named Gelvin–greets him at the tavern.

“I’d like to thank you again for taking our request, lad,” Gelvin says. His moustache bounces with each consonant. 

Despite the fire that roars in the tavern’s hearth, there’s still a chill in the air that settles in Chris’s bones. He keeps his cloak on, but shockingly enough, so does Gelvin. 

When the bartender places two tankards of amber ale on the table, Gelvin slaps him on the back wordlessly. The bartender leaves, and the older man lifts the tankard to his lips. When he lowered the glass, there’s foam in his moustache.

“Got a bit of an owlbear problem,” Gelvin tells him. “But you know that already.”

“Define ‘problem’.”

“Lives in the woods. Nearly attacked my granddaughter when she and her friends were playing in the trees.”

Chris hums. Owlbears are aggressive, territorial. He’s never been face to face with one, but he can think of at least five stories where an interaction with an owlbear went south. They’re massive, and they’re insatiable, and yeah, he can see how a little town like this wouldn’t want–or wouldn’t be able–to handle the problem on their own.

“Where does it live?” Chris sips at his ale. It’s light, but it’s bitter, with a nutty flavor that sits on his tongue long after it’s hit his stomach. It’s not bad, but it’s not particularly good, either.

He takes another drink to be polite.

“There’s a path that goes into the woods on the north side o’ town. Goes through the trees as it climbs the hill. There’s a shack, ‘bout a quarter-mile up that’s near enough to its den.” Chris nods along as Gelvin speaks. The elder man talks with his hands, gesturing this way and that. “The owlbear hangs out ‘round there, but I’d steer clear of the shack if I was you.”

“Why’s that?”

“Woman that lives there’s cursed. She’ll curse you, too, if you ain’t careful.”

Chris hums. 

Interesting.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Chris does his best to be stealthy. But with two feet of snow on the ground, it’s a little hard to move through the woods, especially without knowing where the path should be. So he crunches through the snow as quietly as possible, avoiding sticks and fallen tree limbs as much as he can, all while his arms are tucked close to his body in an attempt to keep the chainmail of his undershirt quiet. 

It doesn’t work, but he does try.

He follows what he thinks is the path–there’s a clear pattern to how the trees stand and how the snow lays on the ground that makes him think that he’s at least going in the correct direction. It takes longer than expected because he’s moving so slowly, but eventually, he comes upon what must be the shack.

Except it isn’t a shack. It’s a house. A little weathered, a little unkempt, but it’s definitely a house. There are curtains in the windows, and a thin wisp of smoke swirling out of the chimney. It looks more than a little cozy, and the briefest question of who lives there considering the owlbear situation crosses his mind.

He doesn’t, however, have the Chrisce to ponder said question, because a screech to his right immediately draws his attention. He turns just in time to catch a claw to the shoulder, the beast’s talons scratching across his armor, leaving deep gashes in the woolen sweater he’s wearing under his cloak. Even though the mail undershirt prevents a bloody wound, he can feel the impact deep in his flesh. It’ll be a bruise tomorrow.

The owlbear is massive, larger than any bear he’s ever seen. From claw to shoulder, it probably comes up to just above Chris’s elbow, but standing on its hind legs, he wouldn’t be surprised if it was almost two of him. The thing must weigh over a thousand pounds, not just from sheer size, but the muscle that he’s sure is under its fur. The face of an owl, with round, avian eyes and a sharp beak, glares at him. The feathers on its head give way to the thick fur of a brown bear at its shoulders; its hackles are up, angry at the intrusion into its territory.

Quickly, Chris draws his weapon, a curved double-bladed scimitar he’s had since his days as an apprentice. The swirled pattern in the steel is less obvious in the low light of the winter twilight around him, but the blade gleams with the movement nonetheless. He lunges at the owlbear, aiming to return the hit with a slash to its own shoulder, but the monster rears back, and his scimitar barely scratches the fur and feathers on its chest.

The owlbear’s claws once again rake at him, and he manages to roll out of the way, though he can feel the ache in his shoulder from the beast’s surprise attack. Before it can attack again, he slashes at its leg. His sword emits a purple-pink glow as it makes contact, the radiant energy and the sharpness of his blade causing the owlbear to screech in pain. Through the fur and feathers that cover its shoulder, he can see blood. But now, the owlbear is really mad.

Well, shit. 

The owlbear lunges, beak snapping at him once again, but it overshoots, and he manages to side-step. They go round and round like that for a while, trading glancing blows and near-misses until Chris’s out of breath. He’s battered and bruised–the owlbear manages to get in a bite and another slash when he’s still stuck in the snow after dodging–but he’s gotten just as many hits on the beast. It’s missing some feathers around the gash he’s left in its shoulder, and there’s a second stab wound in its belly from where he’d gotten it before it crushed him with its claws.

Now, he stands opposite the owlbear, slightly out of breath, his muscles aching, and raises his scimitar once again. He slashes, and the beast cries out, a wild, pained sound that actually has Chris feeling bad for the thing.

“What are you doing?” 

A voice from behind startles him, so much that he nearly drops his scimitar. As he whips around to see what’s going on, the owlbear, too, looks up. It takes the opportunity to run away, turning tail and running as fast as it can with its injuries into the forest.

“What the hell?” The woman behind him looks furious.

“I-”

“You can’t just come in sword swinging like that. What the hell is your problem?”

“Gelvin said-”

She groans. “Of course Gelvin said.” Angrily, she stomps past him, deliberately hitting into his sore shoulder. He winces. “For future reference, maybe know what you’re dealing with before listening to old men who fear what they don’t understand.”

“I-”

The door of the house slams shut. He’s left out in the snow, a rock slowly forming in his stomach.

 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The snow is far too loud. You lead Chris through the forest, following the footpath but not directly on it, but even so, you can hear the voices. The light from their torches light up the forest behind you. Based on the intensity, it’s actually your house that’s burning, though whether purposeful or accidental, you aren’t sure.

You aren’t about to stop to ask.

Chris follows behind you, his steps close, a gentle hand on your back when the ground gets a little uneven or you have to climb over a fallen log. 

“Don’t listen,” he says at some point, his voice quiet. As if you could possibly ignore the mob of your neighbors attempting to track you down. “We’ve put good distance between them and us.”

As if on cue, a shout on the path in front of you forces you to stop. You freeze. The lights start to appear ahead, and you realize it at the same time as Chris. They’ve pincered you. 

“Shit,” he whispers lowly at the same time as you let out a soft-

“Fuck.”

You turn quickly, assessing your surroundings. You know these woods better than anyone in town. You should be able to lead Chris out of here. But the closer the torches get, the louder the shouting becomes, the more panicked you get. One direction leads to town. The other, to a cliffside. And while you know which direction is which, it’s a tough choice. One you don’t have time to make.

Beside you, you hear the whisper of metal on leather, and when you look, Chris has drawn his scimitar. The lights are close enough now. You can see the silhouettes of the torchbearers in the darkness. 

“We fight,” Chris says. His voice is quiet, but there’s a gruffness to it that you haven’t heard before. He nods straight ahead. “Push through in that direction. Get to the other side and start running.”

“What if we get separated?”

“I’ll find you.” He shoves his free hand into his pocket, pulling out a small bronze disc. He presses it into your palm. “Keep this with you, and I’ll find you.”

“What-”

“There they are!” The shouting surrounds you now, the flames on all sides. 

It’s like a nightmare. Even in the dark, you can see them. Your neighbors, people that had watched you grow, that had known your parents and been around for your entire childhood. They surround you now, and while you’ve long been accustomed to their ignorance, seeing their rage now is new. A pit settles in your stomach as you take in their scowls. So many of them carry makeshift weapons–clubs and pitchforks and axes and sickles.

Chris takes the smallest step backwards, his back almost touching your shoulder. He holds his scimitar between you and the mob, his free hand extending out, as if you shield you from them. “Let us through,” he tells him, tone commanding and voice steady. 

“You? Sure.” The voice that answers is Gelvin’s. You had assumed he was behind this, but it stings all the same. “She stays, though.”

“Not gonna happen.”

Gelvin shrugs, as if there’s nothing he can do. To your right, the mob draws nearer. A few of them hold old swords, and you eye them wearily. You close your hand, and the shadows solidify in your grip. The darkness swirls and converges into something solid, a blade just longer than your forearm appearing there.

One of the guys to your right–you’re not sure who, you don’t dare look at his face–gasps and jumps in surprise, his arms flailing, torch slipping out of his hands. It flies through the air, catching your cloak as it falls. You cry out, patting your arm in an attempt to smother the small flames that lap at the cloth. Chris tenses beside you. Somewhere behind you, someone shouts. And all of a sudden, the mob is surging forward.

The next moments are a blur. Clanging metal and shouts fill the air, but they almost sound far-off. You can see Chris’ scimitar glinting in the moonlight as he swings it. But for some reason, none of it’s nearly as scary as it should be. One of the mob gets a little too close for comfort. You recognize him. Of course you do. You extend a hand in his direction, and he freezes, his skin going sallow. One sweep from Chris’ blade, and the man falls. 

Another moves to take his place.

Chris bumps into you as he parries a pitchfork, but then he’s gone, stepping into the villager’s personal space. You identify him just as Chris’ elbow connects with his nose. It’s Velar, one of the farmers that live on the eastern side of town in the foothills. He grows the best tomatoes. 

Suddenly, there’s a pressure at your back, and you grunt at the feeling. It’s uncomfortable, like something sharp has latched onto your clothes, and when you try to move away, it moves with you. It’s not painful, the sensation is just strange, like nothing you’ve ever felt before. It feels like there’s something inside you, digging into your back like a squirrel burying a walnut. 

You must make some type of noise, because Chris whips around. For the briefest of moments, he looks confused, and then his gaze falls on whatever has lodged itself onto your back, and his eyes go wide. Something dark crosses his face. He shouts. And his blade glistens as it slices through the air behind you.

 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Chris stands outside of the house in the woods. The door is weather-worn and clearly old, but it’s solid, well-crafted. It’s clear that this was–is–someone’s beloved home. Once again, there’s spindles of smoke wafting out of the stone chimney.

After the incident with the owlbear, after he’d trudged his way back to the village, he’d told Gelvin what had happened. He’d sat there at the tavern, sipping an ale and nursing his wounds, as the old man had warned him again: steer clear of the shack and the woman who lived there.

He’d provided no other explanation, only that she’s cursed. And Chris has never really been one to listen blindly to authority. The curiosity–and the need to apologize–nagged at him, and now he’s here, though he’s not really sure how smart the decision is. He’s pretty sure the woman wants nothing to do with him.

He knocks anyway.

For a while, there’s only silence. No movement on the other side of the door, no motion in the window, nothing. Chris stands there, strangely nervous, his palms a little sweaty despite the temperature being just above freezing. But just as he raises his hand to once again rap his knuckles against the darkened wood, the door swings open.

The woman–you–stands on the other side of the threshold. You lean against the doorframe, holding the door open just far enough that Chris can see your face. Predictably, you don’t look happy to see him.

“Hi!” He offers, voice brighter and infinitely more positive than he feels. 

You stare at him.

“I, uh, I wanted to come back and explain things. And, well, I guess apologize. I didn’t know the owlbear belonged to anyone.”

He knows that he’s rambling a bit, but at this point, he can’t really stop himself. He doesn’t know you, but you make him nervous. Maybe some of it’s what Gelvin said. He’s not really out to get himself cursed. But some of it is just that you seem… normal. Pretty. Annoyed. All of the above.

“He doesn’t belong to me. He’s an owlbear.” The ‘idiot’ is evident in your tone. 

“Right. Well, I didn’t know. And I’m still sorry.”

You scoff, unimpressed.

“I was just… Four days ago, I saw a notice in a tavern near Triboar asking for help with a monster problem. I was just trying to help.” Chris sighs and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Gelvin said that it has attacked some kids, and-”

“The kids had it coming.” Your tone is sharp, but really, you just sound exhausted. Chris gets the sense that this is not the first time this has happened. “You’d attack too if kids poked you with a sharp stick while you were trying to sleep.”

“He didn’t tell me that part.”

“Yeah, well, Gelvin likes to deal in half-truths.”

He hums. “I’m really, really sorry that I didn’t have the full story. I should have considered that maybe there was another side to things.”

It’s a little weird to be apologizing. How could he have known that the owlbear attack was justified? But he’d taken Gelvin at face-value, he hadn’t done his due diligence. That’s on him. It’s a fucking owlbear, but it still stings. Being wrong like this, it eats at him, feels like a rock in his chest.

You watch him in silence, brows furrowed as your gaze flits across his face. It’s subtle, but your expression softens the longer you look at him. 

“I’m Chris,” he says finally, sticking his hand out. 

Your gaze falls to his palm. You’re quiet, and for a moment, he thinks that maybe you won’t take it. But then, slowly, you do. 

Your hands are a little rough, not in a bad way, but it’s clear that you’re accustomed to doing things for yourself. But that’s not what confuses him about your handshake. Your skin is cold, almost like it’s sucking the warmth out of his own hand. If he wasn’t standing here, looking at you alive and well and breathing, he’d think you were dead. 

He can’t help but look down at your hand, and he’s not sure what expression you see on his face, but he hopes it’s something at least akin to concern. You try to pull away, but before you manage, he tightens his grip just slightly. He’s not sure what’s wrong, but he wants you to know he doesn’t mind.

You do tell him your name, though. And even though you pull your hand away, he considers it a win.

“So, uh…” Chris rubs the back of his neck. “How’d you get to own–er, befriend?” he’s not sure exactly what the word is “an owlbear, anyway?”

You laugh. It’s short, but it warms him all the same. The feeling is short-lived, though, as a frigid wind rushes through the forest, rustling the leaves and leaving him shivering. 

An expression that he can’t quite read crosses your face, and you step aside. “Tell you over a cup of tea?”

“Oh! Uh, sure!”

The inside of the house is cozy. Like the outside, it’s timeworn but well-kept. The living room is the central space, with a large, open doorway off to the right that leads into the kitchen and a closed door directly across from him that Chris assumes leads to a bedroom. There’s a lumpy, plush chair in one corner of the room directly beside a window. A bookshelf nearby is absolutely stuffed with books and loose papers. A fire roars in the small stone hearth, casting a warm glow throughout the room. 

There’s a table near the kitchen, barely standing on four spindly legs, and that’s where you direct him, to one of the two chairs. He shrugs off his woolen cloak, looking around for a place to put it. Silently, you take it from his hands before draping it over the arm of the chair by the fire, warming it for later.

“Oh. Thanks,” he says quietly. It’s such a small act of kindness, but it touches his heart all the same.

He watches as you patter around, first in the kitchen as you grab the kettle, then as you take it outside and scoop snow into the mouth of it. You come back inside with a gust of freezing wind. Strangely enough, though, your skin doesn’t seem to react to the cold. 

Once the kettle is settled onto a grate in the fire, you turn to him. “I don’t think I have sugar. Or milk. Do have some honey, though, if you’d like.”

Chris hums. He’s never had tea before. His parents didn’t like it, and then the smiths he trained under preferred stronger stuff. But he’s always had a bit of a sweet tooth, so he nods eagerly. “Honey sounds nice.”

You bring two tea cups–they’re old, a little chipped, and whatever color they used to be, they’re the color of bone now–and a small jar of honey before settling into the wooden chair across from him at the table. 

For a moment, you watch the fire lick at the bottom of the metal kettle. But then you sigh and lean back. “I’ve known Kham–the owlbear–since he was a cub.”

“Oh?”

“He stumbled into the clearing here. I still don’t know what attacked him, but he was in rough shape.” You swirl a wooden stick in the honey, and even though you aren’t looking up, Chris can sense that the memory has made you sad. Your voice is soft when you continue. “I guess whatever it was killed his mama. Tried to kill him too, but he was little, and he managed to get away.”

“How do you know?”

“He told me, eventually.” 

A hum of surprise inadvertently escapes Chris’ throat, and he tries to mask it with a cough. He’s heard of people who can talk to animals. He’d met a druid a year or so ago that had an affinity for foxes that could do it, and he’s sure the wizards at the school back home in Waterdeep could probably do it easily. But he hadn’t really expected it from you.  

You don’t look up from the honey, but almost instinctively, your fingers curl around the pendant that hangs around your neck. He can’t quite tell what it is, only that it’s silver and delicately engraved.

“My mother gave me this necklace? And, I dunno. It lets–or, well, let, I guess–me talk to him. All animals, really, not just him. But mostly him.” You look up, then, and there’s a sparkle in your eyes. Something tightens in his chest at the sight of it. 

“So that’s how you make friends with an owlbear.”

“That and food, yeah.” You sigh. “It wasn’t his fault. He was just big, and they treated him like a monster.”

For a moment, things go quiet. The sound of the fire crackling in the hearth invades the silence. Chris has a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Did… I kill him?”

“No.” 

He doesn’t like how you say it.

“But he’s…”

“He won’t bother them anymore.”

The silence returns, hangs heavy in the air like a wet cloth. Your gaze is on your hands in your lap, the tip of your index finger tracing your cuticles. 

Minutes pass, and the kettle starts to steam. Quietly, you stand to get it. Chris watches you curiously. You are… surprising. He’s not sure how many people he knows that wouldn’t have kicked him out by now. And yet, here you are. Willingly still making him tea after everything.

You reach for the kettle, and it’s like time slows down. Horror solidifies in his stomach like a rock. Your fingers wrap around the metal handle of the kettle and lift it out of the fire. He’s on his feet before he has time to think, and as you turn around, you’re a little startled to see him standing. 

“Your hand?” he questions stupidly, balling up the sleeve of his shirt and reaching out to take the kettle from you.

For a moment, you look at him, brow furrowed and face scrunched in confusion. But as the kettle clanks onto the table, you seem to catch sight of your hand. The skin is an angry red, and he can see a slight indent across the inside of your fingers where the handle had sat. 

You swear under your breath.

Chris springs into action, rushing outside and grabbing a handful of snow. He’s back in an instant, pressing it into your palm. He carefully cradles your hand in his own, pressing down on the snow so that the cold seeps into the burn. Your hand is already cold, but the snow doesn’t seem to make it any worse. 

“What the heck?” It’s not the most elegant, but he can feel his heart pounding in his ribs. 

You watch the snow melting through your fingers, the droplets hitting the wooden floor around your feet. “It didn’t hurt.” There’s a softness to your voice that makes his stomach sink even more than watching you burn yourself. It sounds a lot like fear.

He forces himself to take a breath, to soften the hardened edges that had started to form. The snow in your hand continues to melt, the heat from his own palm helping it along. He doesn’t say anything for a long while, listening to the constant drip drip drip of the melt falling between your fingers and the crackling of the fire. 

You stand there in front of him and allow him to hold your hand between both of his own. Your focus shifts to the hearth, watching the flames flicker and dance.

When the snow is nearly gone, Chris presses his palm to your own. It’s icy cold, but quickly, it warms. His hands glow, a gentle purple-pink surrounding them, and briefly, whatever causes your skin to drain his own of heat ceases. It’s slight, but there’s some warmth in your hand while he heals you. 

The light fades, yet your touch lingers. He happily continues to hold your hand, feeling the warmth from his magic fade from your skin. 

“At the risk of sounding insensitive,” he begins softly, lifting his hands ever so slightly so that he can inspect what’s left of the burn. “Can I ask a question?” You hum, and he takes that as a sign to continue. “What… happened?”

You pull your hand from his grip, pulling it close to your chest. “What happened to you?” It’s not said with malice, but there’s a sharpness to your tone. You tap just below your left eye.

Chris nods. He supposes it’s only fair. He rubs at his own eye. It doesn’t pain him like it used to. But even now, he avoids his own reflection. He’s seen the injury enough for ten lifetimes. The scar may be gone, his vision mostly healed, but the damage remains all the same. His right eye, a rich, dark brown. His left, storm-grey.

“I used to do this apprenticeship thing. I was a really angry kid. And I dunno. I was there for seven years, and I had this big argument with the smith I was working with. He got mad. Like, really mad. And I just…” 

He shrugs, not sure of how to continue, but not really sure he needs to. Judging by the look on your face, you’re able to put the pieces together just fine.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice is soft, and when your eyes meet his own, there’s a softness in them.

He waves you off. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have-”

“I learned a long time ago to stop making excuses for the people who should know better.”

He freezes, eyes locked on yours. He has to remind himself to breathe. There’s something about the conviction with which you say it… With the way things had transpired, how he’d ended things, he’d never considered that maybe…

You seem to sense that something’s wrong, because gently, you guide him back to the wooden chair at your table. You grab a cloth and wrap it around the handle of the kettle. It seems to still be warm, because you pour the water into the two cups and the honey that sits in the bottom starts to dissolve.

“As a child, I was very sick.” Slowly, you settle into the chair across from him, stirring your tea. “My parents were skilled with magic, and they prayed to the Raven Queen often, begging her to heal me,”

“So the Raven Queen…?”

You shake your head. “When their prayers went unanswered, my father decided to turn to more… creative solutions. It was the deep of winter. He had bought a scroll with… instructions? I don’t know–from one of the merchants. He prayed to the Raven Queen as he did it, but I don’t know. I don’t claim to understand the whims of the gods. But when I woke up the next day, I was this.”

Chris hums. His teacup is warm in his hands, and he lifts it to his lips carefully. “This?”

“Cursed to exist somewhere in the shadows between the Prime and the Shadowfell. Somewhere between life and death.”

The pieces click into place. The pallor of your skin. The chill when he touches you. The fact that you didn’t feel the burn of the kettle. Why Gelvin is so scared of you. Why the town is so scared of you.

When he looks at you, he expects you to look upset. At the very least, to seem saddened by your situation. But there’s a fire in your eyes that draws him in. Something that gives him the sense that you’ve long since buried the sadness and the hurt.

Maybe, he thinks, the two of you aren’t so different. 

 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Chris.” 

You reach out, placing a hand on his shoulder. His shoulders heave up and down with every breath he takes. The cloak around his shoulders is damp, though whether it’s with blood or sweat, you aren’t quite sure. Crimson blood is spattered across his chest and face. You don’t know if it’s his, or if it’s from any of the ones that attacked him. Probably, it’s a mix of both.

The air is choked with the sickly sweet smell of rust. The clearing around you is littered with bodies. Some of them, you felled yourself. Those ones are pale and frost-bitten, your magic having drained them of lifeforce before ultimately freezing them in place. The others–the majority–wear slashes and blade marks across their torsos. Some are missing arms. At least a few have been slit from neck to navel. 

Chris’ scimitar glints in the moonlight, the dried blood creating dark shadows on its surface. His grip on the hilt is firm–his knuckles, through the blood, are white from the effort. You can hear every shaky breath he takes, can feel the force of it through the hand that’s still on his shoulder. The tip of his blade is leveled at the last still-alive body in the clearing.

Anyone else still living had fled. Except for one. Gelvin crouches in the snow, looking as small and as frail as you’ve always known him to be. He’s barely dressed for the snow–boots but no thick coat–and if he’s brought something to fight with, it’s long gone. For the moment, though, you push him from your mind. You’re far more worried about whatever’s happening in Chris’ mind at the moment than you are about the old man.

“Chris,” you say again, more forceful this time.

His head whips in your direction. Wild eyes meet yours. In the dark, his pupils are large in an attempt to catch all the light possible. More than a few cuts and scratches are scattered across his face, and the cuts in his sweater show the chainmail he wears underneath. He’d gotten clumsier as the torches went out, his darkvision not nearly as reliable as yours. 

You hold his gaze. There’s a rage in his eyes that smolders, even now. In the week you’ve known him, he’s never looked at you like this. But you don’t back down. Cautiously, your hand slides from his shoulder to cup his cheek. His skin, flushed with the cold and the rage, must be positively feverish, because he feels warm, even to you. 

He softens almost immediately. “Breathe.” Your voice is quiet, but in the dead silence of the clearing, it doesn’t need to be very loud. 

There’s still something dark in his eyes that you aren’t sure about, but after a moment, he listens, a measured inhale causing his shoulders to rise. All of a sudden, he looks exhausted. The arm that holds his scimitar aloft starts to lower.

A crunch in the snow draws your attention. Chris’ head whips to the right, his arm snapping back up to a threatening angle. 

Gelvin stares back, eyes wide. A small part of you delights at the realization that you’ve never seen the old man like this. He’s practically shaking, the bush he’s moved to crouch behind barely covering his body. 

“Please, I-” He almost chokes on the words, hands coming up in what you can tell he hopes is some sort of peaceful gesture.

Chris adjusts how he’s standing, the tip of his scimitar inches forward, and whatever plea was on Gelvin’s lips dies in the air. 

Seeing him there, surrounded by the lifeless forms of your former neighbors��the people who, directly or indirectly, made your life hell for the last 20 years–there’s something poetic about it. You watch Chris’ grip tighten on the leather grip of his blade. And you want to let him do what he clearly wants. The gods know Gelvin deserves it.

When your father had disappeared, when it became clear that he’d done something deeply bleak in exchange for your health, Gelvin had harassed your mother for weeks for goods your father had promised.

When you were seven years old, you’d moulded the shadows for the first time. It was an accident. You’d had no idea that your father’s ritual had had such consequences. Gelvin had seen it, and it was ultimately his influence that pushed the other kids of the village away from you.

He wouldn’t stop bothering you after your mother’s death. He’d called you a witch. He’d spread rumors about the curse that afflicted you. He’d taught his grandchildren to stay far away, and influenced the rest of the village to do the same.

He’d hired a sweet, noble man to kill an owlbear just to spite you.

By all accounts, Gelvin was a sad, terrible man. He deserved whatever horrible fate befell him. And yet…

There’s something about it that doesn’t sit right. You’d thought that this would feel more satisfying. That finally getting revenge would be sweet. Instead, a hollow feeling settles in your chest. Maybe it’s pity for the old man. Maybe it’s a desire to spare Chris from having even more blood on his hands. 

Regardless, you squeeze Chris’ shoulder, feeling the rigidity of the mail under his clothes. “Let him go.” You say it quietly, but you know he hears you because his head tilts toward you. “It’s fine. Just… let him go.”

He turns to you, and for the briefest of moments, dark eyes study you. You’re not quite sure what he’s searching for, but eventually, he nods. He keeps his arm raised, scimitar still at the ready. But when Gelvin starts to scramble away, he doesn’t move. He doesn’t even turn to watch the old man go. Instead, his gaze remains on you.

Chris sighs. You can feel him sort of deflate beside you as the arm holding his weapon finally lowers. And then he stiffens, his face slowly contorting into a look of horror. He glances around, and it’s as if he’s seeing–really seeing–the carnage around you for the first time.

“What- I…” He frowns, takes a step away from you. “Shit- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

You grab his arm before he can get too far, partially because you can tell that he’s freaking out and partially because if he takes another step back, he’s going to trip on a dead body. 

You try to reassure him, squeezing his hand and tugging him back toward you. You’re not sure how effective it is, though. Your hands are probably freezing against his bare skin. “Let’s go-” Where? You’d almost said home, but based on the smoke that still billows into the air, that doesn’t exist anymore. “Let’s just go.”

“Wait.” He stops you before you can take a step. “You’re…” He trails off, hand slipping around your back. He turns you slightly, his touch gentle yet firm, so that he can see better. 

In your peripheral, you can see him crouch ever so slightly so that his face is level with your hip. For a moment, you’re confused. You can feel him touch a spot in your lower back. His fingers are sticky with blood, even though you know he’s wiped his hands on his clothes. You’re confused by the skin to skin contact, and then you remember. Just before he had gone berserk, you’d been hit with something. It must have torn your sweater.

“You don’t feel this at all?” There’s something in Chris’ voice that you don’t like. It’s worry, but soured by something else. It sounds a lot like panic.

“I can feel you poking me.” It’s not a lie. You can feel the gentle pressure as he prods at your back. But it doesn’t hurt. “Why, what’s-”

“They stabbed you. With a… with a pitchfork. I can see bone, and you can’t feel it at all. You’re not even bleeding.”

You stiffen at his words. It’s not the injury–that’ll heal, given enough time. It obviously hasn’t caused any real damage, just some discomfort and some stiffness that you notice now that you’re actually thinking about it. No, it’s how he says them. His tone leaves a sour taste in your mouth, like there’s something intensely wrong. Like you are intensely wrong. 

And maybe it’s because it’s so late–early?–or maybe it’s because you’ve just lost your home in so many more ways than one. But it stings more than you thought it would. You’d prepared for this. You’re always ready for the funny looks and incredulous tones and wary expressions. It’s how everyone reacts, eventually. And really, you don’t blame them. Your father’s magic turned you into a bit of a sideshow, someone you’d expect to see more in the circus than at the butcher’s. But in the week you’d known Chris he’d been different. He’d not once flinched away from touching you and finding your skin cold to the touch. He’d reacted with kindness when you’d burnt yourself on the kettle. He’d rolled with everything. 

You suppose that everyone has their limits. 

The forest around you alights in a gentle, purple-pink glow. After a moment, some of the discomfort in your back goes away. There’s no more feeling like there’s something sticking to you, but it still feels strange. Chris has healed you, but you suppose the aftermath of the injury remains. 

You’ve lived in this forest all your life. You know it like the back of your hand. You’ve seen maps of Faerun, ones that stretch from the Sword Coast all the way east to Thar. This forest isn’t so big compared to some of the others that dot the continent. And you’re not all that deep into it. Here, it’s still pretty safe. The trees are still thin, the canopy of leaves doesn’t yet blot out the sky completely. Further in, where the vegetation is thicker and the air darker, things get more dangerous. Monsters live deeper in the forest, more dangerous than Kham the owlbear. 

It’s roughly three kilometers southwest to the main road, and you tell Chris as much. He reaches deep into his pocket and comes out empty handed. For a moment, he looks confused, but then some sort of recognition crosses his dark-light eyes.

“My compass,” he says, turning to you. “I gave it to you before the fight.”

You hum and pull the bronze disk out of your pocket. It’s old, its bronze surface worn by time and polishing. There’s something engraved on the back of it, but you can’t make out the thin writing before you hand it over. 

Chris orients himself with the compass, turning it until he’s satisfied with the direction. He hums when he finds what he’s looking for, and you half expect him to start walking. You’ve given him the directions, he knows which way to go. He could just leave. Step over the bodies around him and go. But he doesn’t. He waits. Brown and grey eyes meet yours, and for a moment, he looks a bit like the dogs who roam the village, all expectant and excited.

So, with a soft “come on,” you walk.

Despite the crunch of the snow, it’s quiet. It’s still early–still hours to first light–and for the first time, you’re glad for the curse’s effect on your night vision. It takes hours to stumble through the forest, dodging roots and stones and making sure Chris doesn’t trip. And just because this part of the forest is less dangerous, doesn’t mean it’s free from monsters. You take a detour to skirt around a group of orcs, and you have to pause to let a bugbear pass. 

By the time your boots finally hit the hardened dirt of the Long Road, the exhaustion has started to set in. But at least you’ve made it to the road. 

“There’s an inn not far from here,” Chris says, stifling a yawn. He gestures south down the road. “I’ve got some gold. We could get two beds.”

You aren’t expecting the offer. If you’re honest, you were expecting him to bolt the second you made it out of the woods. But… he doesn’t. 

Your face must give your apprehension away, because he tilts his head, confused. There’s an obvious tiredness in his eyes, but he studies you with a softness that almost makes you want to shrink away. 

“I get it if you don’t want to,” he tells you. “I get that this is weird.”

“It’s… not.” It sounds like a lie, even to you.

He offers you a halfhearted smile. “Given the last few hours, I don’t blame you. I don’t know that I’d want to spend more time with me, either.”

“Chris…”

“Nah, it’s okay. I killed like… 20 guys. Even if they weren’t your friends, you knew them. That’s…” He trails off, kicking at the snow on the road. And for the first time since you met him, he looks almost small. “I’m sorry things turned out the way they did. It can’t be easy.”

“I’ve lived in Toftrees my entire life,” you admit. “I don’t really know where to go from here.”

“I won’t pretend like I can fix things. But I’m happy to travel with you for as long as you’d like. Until you get where you want to go, anyway.”

There’s something so pure about the sincerity in his voice that makes you want to believe him. It’s strange. He sounds so unconvinced of his own worth, yet so sure that this is what he wants to do. That he wants to spend his time with you. 

“How far’s the inn?”

Almost immediately, a grin blossoms across his lips. “Close. Just a few kilometers more.”

So far, trusting him has been a good decision. It’s kept you alive. It’s kept you sane. Maybe, even just for the moment, it’s given you a friend.

[cleverwhvre]

✿ 𝓙𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓲𝓮𝓝𝓪𝓽 𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭𝓱𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝓐𝓤 ✿

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

✿ Jackie and Natalie met in elementary school. Jackie was always the one with the cute dresses and pretty jewelry while Nat had the old shirts and shorts that she’d hand-wash and wear two days in a row because she couldn’t afford / didn’t want to ask for new ones.

✿ they met / became friends in Girl Scouts. Jackie joined because her parents wanted her to and Natalie joined to have an excuse not to go home.

✿ Shauna was also in the troop! Natalie didn’t talk to Shauna much, but Jackie did. She still talked to Natalie though.

✿ the two grew close over the years— they didn’t go to each others houses or anything but they talked during Girl Scouts and got along fine.

✿ fifth grade is when the two of them became really close.

✿ Jackie started sitting next to Natalie and talked to her during class more. Jackie liked to talk and Natalie liked to listen.

✿ Jackie would often get very physical with Natalie— she’d hug her, rest her hand on her leg / arm, and sit close enough to where their sides would touch.

✿ Sometimes, she’d even lay her head in Natalie’s lap and let the other girl play with her hair. (This happened less often + mostly when they were younger because the Scout Master would always tell them to stop.)

✿ During the campouts / overnights, the two would share tents and hold hands until they fell asleep.

✿ (Well, until Jackie fell asleep. Natalie would be too focused on the feeling of Jackie’s hand in hers. She’d have to pull back in order to move / get comfortable. Jackie would grumble, but release her, and then she’d latch on again once Natalie was comfortable.)

✿ by this point, Natalie had developed a crush on Jackie, and Jackie had reciprocated the feelings. However, Jackie never acted like it was anything more.

✿ Jackie would make comments on how pretty other girls were, which made Nat think that she was into girls. Natalie had been very quiet about her sexuality, saying that she “didn’t care enough to figure it out.”

✿ “but you’re not straight. right?”

✿ *cue held eye contact before Nat looks away*

✿ “…I don’t think so, no.”

✿ (Shauna’s still alive for all this btw but she doesn’t talk to Natalie so I’m not including her much here!)

✿ they stayed friends throughout sixth grade, but eventually Jackie started acting different. She was one of the “popular girls” and Nat was the social outcast

✿ they still talked during Girl Scouts, but Natalie began showing up to that less and less because she felt left out and it felt like the other girls didn’t really like her

✿ Jackie stopped touching Natalie for any reason.

✿ when her and Jackie did hang out, Jackie would often describe her type as “tall, blonde men” (aka: NOT NATALIE)

✿ Jackie said that she was straight and that her queerness was “just a phase” and she was “just confused”

✿ that was sort of the last straw; after that comment, Natalie started hanging out with people who actually liked her, like Van (VanNat childhood bsfs agenda !!) and the other stoners

✿ the two didn’t talk much until high school, when they both joined the soccer team.

✿ Jackie acted like nothing had changed, like she didn’t remember the longing glances and shared tents and times they’d held hands for no reason.

✿ the first time Jackie clapped Natalie on the back after a game, the other girl went rigid. She was surprised that Jackie was being nice to her again.

✿ Natalie couldn’t help being a little jealous of Shauna, who Jackie was a lot more touchy with.

✿ Natalie became more resentful, despite being over her crush on Jackie by this point.

✿ She recognized the signs of Jackie having a crush, and almost pitied Shauna because of it. She knew Shauna felt the same towards Jackie as Jackie did towards her.

✿ she never said anything to Shauna, though. because Jackie might be able to change. Maybe Natalie just wasn’t worth changing for.

✿ Natalie never brought any of it up again. To anyone. But she still cared for Jackie in a way she didn’t truly understand (or like).

that’s it! I just wanted to do a little thing about them because i was in my feels about my own childhood (ex)friend. ignore the aspects of this that feel a little too real, if you’d like. i’m projecting. </3

i hope this makes sense / is somewhat cohesive! I wanted to try and explore some of the relationship between them.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

✿ can you tell this one is from personal experience? guess which one i was ! (Jackie or Nat ?) ✿

[pixeldistractions]

Sebastian wasn’t a big fan of Thanksgiving, and neither was Colette, but it stood that most other people in the country were. It would be challenging to find a suitable babysitter two days before a major holiday. 

“There’s really nobody else to call,” Felix reasoned. “She’s not that bad. It’s not like she fed us poison or anything.” 

“Please, please,” the boys begged in unison. 

Even though Colette would be quite happy to never see Gabby Roseland in her home again, the boys had a point, the clever little weasels. They were cut from her own DNA and they weren’t wrong. 

So she called Gabby. 

“Well,” Gabby said. “It is two days before Thanksgiving. I’m technically already on my holiday weekend. I’d be missing valuable rest time, and don’t you know eleventh grade is murder? I’ll need time-and-a-half rates, and we’ll eat Chinese delivery instead of pizza.”

Goddamn, that girl. But, at the same time, Colette respected her hustle. 

“Fine, can you be here at six?”

Dating was going horribly, in Colette’s opinion—make no mistake about that—but Colette did enjoy having a good reason to dress up. She had a whole closet full of pretty things that had hardly seen the light of day or night over the past ten years. If she and Jordan ever attempted to go out somewhere together, which may have happened once or twice in their time, it wouldn’t have been the kind of place to require a gown and heels. 

Maybe she needed to be with the kind of man who wanted to take her to an art gallery or an opera or a charity ball.

Or maybe Sebastian’s wife would see them out together tonight and claw her eyes out, and nobody would ever want to look at her ruined face again.

Damn. Tonight, Colette’s own claws were unmanicured and stubby. 

Sometimes Colette felt a great humbling coming for her soul. Yes, of course she had a soul. It was a dark and shriveled little thing, buried somewhere in her chest, but it was there. All this angst and turmoil in her life fed upon itself, growing itself like a tumor, preparing itself for some grave moment in her near future when it would all explode in her face, violently. And when that moment came for her, she would have stubby nails. She just knew it. 

The boys came up to her room in the moments before Gabby was due to arrive. 

“I didn’t know you had so many dresses,” Felix said. “Is your friend your boyfriend like dad’s friend is his girlfriend?” 

“No,” Colette scoffed. “Definitely not. Definitely not like that.” 

“Good,” he added.

Good? Colette let that tiny sentiment make her feel validated.

Well, it was fine enough to indulge herself for a night, but she couldn’t imagine bringing a whole person into their lives like their father had felt compelled to do. She wasn’t convinced he had the boys’ best interests in mind. 

“I just want you both to remember that the people who are supposed to have your back won’t always be reliable. It’s not nice when that happens, but it does happen, and sometimes you’ll need to look out for yourselves.” 

“Because Gabby?” 

“Sure, because Gabby.” 

Colette didn’t know if she was talking about Gabby, who seemed to find it a game to spoil their last remaining drops of innocence; or their father, who was five states away with his new girlfriend because he wanted to be; or their grandmother, who wanted to shower them with ten years of backdated attention only to surely take it all away. Or, probably, all of the above.

But not me, she wanted to add. Wanted to, but she stopped short. She would never disappoint these boys. Never! But maybe sometimes you just don’t know what humbling your life will deliver and how it will unfold. You can’t promise what you don't know.

Then their doorbell rang, and it was time. They all went downstairs to greet their trusty babysitter and lay out the rules for the night. Colette had provided them with a charming assortment of age-appropriate board games and puzzles.

Gabby rolled her eyes. "I mean, buckets of lame. But we’ll play them, if you want."

And the boys snickered to each other delightfully.

And Colette knew for sure she meant Gabby in that lecture to the boys upstairs. Definitely watch out for Gabby.

— boxes and squares #5.3: hindsight is a bitch, part 9/11

next -> // 5.3 start // index

[simpingforbots]

I've looked a lot of transformers stories on internet and I noticed there's barely one with the maximals and I had a small story idea in mind but I wanted to ask first I you're doing Optimus primal (either beast wars or ROTB) x reader

sorry it took so long, i just had to find a right story and inspiration. hope it is what you want. heads up for part two in near future

Jungle & rocks

Peru – a wonderful place, famous for it’s mountains, rubbles of ancient cities and sunny day, mouth-watering cuisine and alpacas. Fucking alpacas- you wonna berry your face in their soft fur while squishing their little cute adorable faces and calling them cutest of name. You and your friend finally, after years of planning, managed to book holidays at the same time and fly to Peru during the perfect moment in year when there is less of tourist then usual, wanting to visit all the popular spots without crowd blocking the path. You enjoyed it, sharing this wonderful moments with your friends and more then happy to share a drink by the pool, while tanning and dipping in to clean chlorine water to cool off.

And now you  were lost in this god damn jungle, swatting at mosquitos angrily biting at your skin, mentally cursing the repellent from working like any other snake oil, worrying about getting some kind of new desies, on top of die in the middle of now where. You looked up at the sky, squinting at the sun and thr sky. For a beautiful day like this with sunny sky, blue clear sky and nice warm weather with cold air to cool you off it ended up very bad for you. Lifting the phone, you paid to the entity of service for your phone to finally ping with your location on the map, which you knew in heart will not work. After tip-toeing on the mountain for sometime, you let a quite mumble of curses, shuffling a papper map and a compass, an old way that you tried to find your way home, slowly regretting never paying attention in the geography classes, choosing to spend them either chatting with friends about school drama or daydreaming about something stupid. You were following a guide, who did not speak English well and yet you still trusted him, happy to get to ride a white fur alpaca in to mountains. But you had to get off to get some rest in the shade, which that asshole used as a momentum to leave you behind, taking your money with him, propably not the first time he’s done it. Sighing heavily, you put the phone away and pushed the map in to the pocket along small compass, reaching for the bottle of watter, drinking now warm watter like crazy. Yes, the weather was nice, it still did not stopped you from warming up and sweating bullets. With another swear, you started climbing down, looking for some spot to rest and stay, knowing well more people are likely to get lost if they move to much. Your foot slid and you started tumbling down, swearing loud as a sailor, loosing footing and now rolling down, landing in the water of running river. Spiting the water, you let a grumble. Right, source of water, just what you need.

“Should we visit the old ruins in the jungle” you suggested over a glass of beer, cold and refreshing after a long day of sight seeing and shopping, enjoying meals and even managed to see some alpacas, petting them and squealing in joy at feeling of soft fur “I heard there is some old ones in there somewhere. An old lady told me there is a wonderful spot we can visit.”

“I am not to sure about it,” one of your friends nudged a plate of potatoes with meat on it, covered with gravy “I thingk we’ll have enough of sight seeing and more interested in just relaxing for now and enjoying last days of this wonderful trip with other kind of Sightseeing” she focused on a young man behind, smiling and biting the arms of her sunglasses. You only rolled your eyes, really not understanding the motive. Out of all of them you were the only single one and yet they were more then interested in chasing boys. You were a bit disgusted and more then one time contemplated to call their fiancés and spill the beans, but you kept quite. “But you free to go by your self” You only nodded quietly. You really want to see those ruins.

“You just had to go and see those..... ruins?” your frowned, staring at the to square of the block, covered by wines and moss, clary grown on the hand made structure. Slowly, you got up, feleing cold chill runinig up your spine and making you wish for the warmth imidealty. That are the ruins you wanted to see so much that it caused you to be left behind in a deadly forest with predators, who would put you in a black bag in seconds. What a lucky day “Fucking course. When I don’t want to see them - I find them” you mumble under your breath, walking towards the old building, left for nature to claim. The stones were still heavy and sturdy, your eyes wide at the shape, forgetting for a moment that you were lost. “Holly shit. Wow, this is amazing” your eyes jumoed all over able to see every thing that once used to serve a purpose, no serving a completely different surface. Pulling your phone, you started taking pictures, which sounded stupid now, but you needed to see silver lining in things. Walking aorund, you let your fingers run across the old stones, able to feel symbols cut on to the stone with precision, meant to last. Some of them you recognized, some did not,  all capturing your imagination.

Another snap, thud and you turne clearly hearing something rushing towards you. From the shadows of trees something huge, dark and clearly dangerous was approaching quickly and you can feel fear pumping through you – a wild animal finally caught your scent and now was coming to kill you. You did not even had  a second to react as with a roar something jumped in the air, landing in front of you with ground shaking. You screamed eyes wide at the sight of what you were seeing. A gorilla – hugest gorilla you’ve seen, black and .... shiny. You had no time to process what was it you seeing, runinig  away from the wild animal, wanting to get as far away as possible. It roared behind you, catching up and jumping over you, blocking one of the paths you took. You turned, falling on your ass form how fast you change your direction and heavy backpack, scrambling to get up, only for two huge hands slam on both of your side. You screamed and covered your head. Right! You don’t know what to do in this situation....No wait you did! The old video you’ve seen not long ago after learning that gorilla pop like a bubble wrap, taught you one thing – no eye contact, so you kept your eyes closed, rolled up and just tried not anger what ever it was more.

“Who are you and Who send you!?” you let a scream out as a voice echoed around you, making you yell out even more. “Answere!”

“I am lost I am lost! I lost my way!!!” you yelled on top of your lungs, scared and just wanting to get this all to end. The preasure above you seemed to back up, with a strong gust moving your hair.

“Tourists...” the voice sounded angry at your presence here and even more disappointed. Like you wanted to be here. Well you did, you just wanted to see old cool rocks, not end up under a huge gorilla that speaks. Still curled up, you refused to get up until the thing was far away from you “Get up.”

Primal was not expecting a human to visit one of the old sites again, let alone without any bot following them, making him worry that something was not something he wanted to see. They could be some spy for someone he really did not wanted finding them. Reaching towards, he scared the human to start runinig away, screaming their lungs out and clearly terrified out of their mind. Quickly catching them up, he roared a final warning, with them practically sliding towards him after falling on their ass. They finally quieted down, rolling in to fetal position and closing their eyes. Yeah, no, this is clearly not some spy, but still he needs to know, he lost Razerclaw because of human’s curiosity, he lost the key and now had no idea where, when and how Unicorns will attack again, because evil like this do not rest, even if on brink of death from hunger.

“wh-what?” you opened one of your eyes, staring at the gorilla slowly backing away, moving his metal limbs. Why does it has metal, why is it made out of metal? Slowly getting up, you still averted meeting eyes with the strange creature, to scared for your life. Your heart pounded in your heart like crazy and every thign swam in front of your eyes, head getting light and you felt like floating. “Wha?”

“Hey you... Oh NO no no no don’t!”

“Who are you and WHO send you!?”

“I am lost I am lost!” the human screamed, rolling even deeper in to the ball, cowering. Right. Tourists. Letting and angry snort, he backed up letting them relax. Good thing no one else on his team followed him, so he can deal quicker. Plus, he just need to make sure you don’t take any pictures or start a rumour that will get more people here.

“Tourists. Get up” he grumble at them, watching them move slowly, eyeing him, mumbling something ”Hey you-“ wait this is all too familiar, the first human he’ve seen ever acted the same. “No no no, don’t!” but before he can do anything to keep them awake, they fall in to thankfully very shallow water “OH for Primus sake!!!” slowly walking over, he poked the human a few times, making sure they were at least breathing. Yep they are alive, but he really just can’t carry them in to the city without being seen. How would people react to a gorilla carrying a human, or threat of being captured by many other surveillance cameras planted around town. He will have to make sure this one wakes up and soon. Gathering some water in palm, he splashed human to wake them up. Nope, still out cold. Letting and angry grunt, Primal slowly scooped them up, turning to face the right direction to had back.

[nyraxodeyer]

"Ah, you're not bad company in those as well." Nyra hardly ever left a single meeting without a headache or making an existing one worse. "It's just the nature of how things went, isn't it? High tensions and a need to do the right thing for the town. It's difficult." Nyra maintained — at least attempted to maintain — a professional relationship with the other council members, Meena being the exception as the clan leader grew to be one of her very close companions akin to family in this town, but the rest were kept at friends and colleagues. "Next time," she repeated, mimicking the move to raise her own glass up before taking a sip. "I have three centuries and many decades on you Poppy," Nyra said with a laugh. "Change in scenery and faces, mostly. Living and working in the same place does have its advantages but I feel I confide myself to the Emerald sometimes. And yes, you're a reason too." Despite her tone being of a teasing nature, she couldn't lie. "It is nice to meet outside that room, don't you think?"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“I’m great company.” Poppy teased back before flipping her hair over her shoulder. “You know as long as we aren’t in a council meeting.” That was the one part of the job she hated besides how political everything could be. Taking a seat across from Nyra and she crossed one leg over the other and she shrugged. “We don’t, but that’s what the council does to you. It puts strains on relationship.” She barely talked to Meena anymore and her friendship with Nico was better, but even they felt strained. “Nah, I’ll drink my beer.” Gesturing to the beer that she was bringing over with her telekinesis. “I’ll take note of your skills though and next time…” Trailing off as she tipped her beer towards Nyra. “Plus I shouldn’t mix beer and liquor. It’s a receipt that I can’t handle anymore in my old age.” She joked with a yawn. “So what brings you outside of the casino? And to which territory of all places?” She asked curiously, even though the bar hosted more than witches, it was uncommon to see the fae queen. “Is this your way of trying to get a good look at me? Cause please do.” She teased playfully, before taking another sip of her beer.

[anti-fairy-world]

Based on both the designs and this sketch done by @jadeyarts for her own elaborate post-og show fanon in which Poof and Foop (conveniently settling down amongst periwinkle and foxglove flowers) have taken over co-godparenting a kid together

Also we didn't realize we'd given Peri the glove at first, but then it didn't look right to take them away- so just pretend Peri stole them off the other before they settled down like this. And enjoy this alternate sketch where they swapped jackets as well:

[summersong2262]

Like that. Those are from various German Fechtbuchs (martial arts manuals lit: 'fight books') from between 1400 to 1550 or so.

Historically speaking, none of these are really using the spear as a 'secondary' but I suspect that's at least partly because they've got a very rapier centric view of how weapons are catagorised. The spear IS his primary weapon while he wields it, in a sense. But it wouldn't be Done in the Nine Houses to think of things like that. It's always a rapier and something else, not a rapier backing up a primary weapon. But G1deon seemed to be a pragmatic sort of fellow. Hence the spear. Reading between the lines, G1deon was the guy the Emperor sent when he needed a Necromancer dead. Which meant dealing with bone wards, and it meant dealing with the Cavalier. Who would be expected to emphasise the Rapier. Which as far as one handed swords are concerned, is actually a very long one. But it's not SPEAR long. So the Saint of Duty has the advantage. As far as how you'd actually do it; One method would be holding the spear in two hands, but the sword would be held alongside it. Like, you'd have your sword under your hands as you grasped the spear. So you'd fight essentially with the spear as your primary weapon, BUT if they got close or you saw an opening, you could move and hold the spear away with your left hand, leaving your right hand with only your sword. And likely in a nicely close-to-the-body position as well, ideal for lunging forward against someone that's attempted to close the distance. Or you could literally just drop the spear and continue on with the sword without having to draw it, sometimes by siking them out with a spear-thrust or throw beforehand. If you held it reversed, in your forwards hand, you could also use the hilt of your sword as a sort of catching-device to assist with leverage for disarms.

The other technique you see in the old manuals is the sword being held in the off-hand, and used as a sort of pool-cue device, with the main-hand being held closer to the body, and the spear sort of resting on top of the sword's guard, in the same way that you might have seen soldiers bracing their spear atop a shield or buckler. You can also use the sword held upside down in your off-hand, and have it tight against the forearm the way you'd use say, a tonfa, and use it to parry your opponents spear while using your spear in your main hand. Like a big metal bar you can block with.

Translated from German; "A shot with the spear: take your sword by the blade in your left hand and spear in the right hand. Angle the spearshaft forward, and raise the hilt of the sword to place them together to quite spontaneously charge at him. And if he runs in directly at you whilst you are justly charging, then thrust upwards quickly with the sword and with the shaft hand, and shoot in at him. And whilst there is this protection (schutz), then run in at him with the sword and stab. With this action yet he cannot yet come around to his sword, and thereby tackle (unterlauff) his spear as well so that he may not have a shot at you and thus stab at him quite hard until he comes in to the sword." You could also hold the spear vertically, and use it to sort of segment the space where your opponent could effectively attack with his own spear or long blade, and prevent him from parrying your own sword thrust.

Translated;

"A good charge (einlauffen) when in armour with the spear: Take the spear and the sword together in both hands and wield the sword discretely so that someone will not notice it. And when someone steps toward you with a spear and has his sword separate when he charges lancingly (stecken), and he attempts to stab at the same time as you, then strike his spear away and run in at him with the sword and stab him. And also stab him upwards from below four times, so is he disarmed with a break against his armour. Then you try to stab him to death, until he goes to draw his sword, and then you jump backward so that he cannot retaliate, and go again towards him according to your advantage."

G- was an engineer so I bet Gideon designed Pyrrha's collapsible spear. No one talks enough about how badass that spear is. Fighting with a sword and a spear is wild. I do wish we got to see more of Gideon (and by extension Pyrrha) fighting, I still have some trouble conceptualizing how one uses a spear as a secondary weapon.