#but who else has had hummingbird on repeat??

[mikavlcs]

Young Blood

Pairing: Gwen Stacy x gn!reader

Summary: You’re new and Gwen’s forced to show you around. It doesn’t end up being as tedious as she was expecting.

Warnings: mild astv spoilers, my writing lol

Word count: 1.6k

Notes: listen, i know this will get like 20 notes, but i needed to do this okay. i love her sm. this also my first time writing anything marvel related...as i’m sure you can tell.

Masterlist

Gwen dug the heels of her palms into her eyes as she walked up the wall, unsuccessfully fighting off another exasperated groan.

She shouldn’t have been doing this. She should be off in another dimension fixing anomalies and fighting bad guys, not this. Anyone could greet new recruits, so why Miguel insisted on making her do it was an eternal mystery. She was honestly starting to think that he just liked annoying her.

Jessica offered her a sympathetic smile when delivering the news, but Gwen didn’t want sympathy, she wanted a mission.

Still, she followed orders, knowing that disobeying would only put her further down the mission list. Plus, with Pavitr and Hobie busy, what else was there to do?

She stepped up to the entrance and her eyes found you immediately. You were easy to spot. All newbies were. They all had the same awe-struck reaction to the compound which Gwen couldn’t blame them for, considering she had been there once herself.

Your mask was off, hanging limp in your hand while your eyes roamed the vast space with a wonder she felt only months prior. It brought a smile to her face.

“Insane right?” she prompted gently as she approached, drawing your eyes to her. “I had the same reaction. It’s not every day you get to see so many spider-people in one place.”

“I didn’t know there was this many. I thought I was the only one,” you admitted, astonishment clear in your voice.

Gwen chuckled. She knew the feeling well. “We all did, but there’s more of us than you can imagine.” She stuck out a hand. “I’m Gwen, by the way. I’m your appointed tour guide.”

You took her hand, gave it a firm shake. “I know, Jessica told me. Nice to meet you, Gwen.”

“Likewise. What Earth are you from?”

“Uh,” you trailed off briefly, tapping at your watch. “Earth-69.”

A snort escaped her before she could stop it. You looked up at her, wide-eyed, while she fought to contain herself.

“I’m sorry, I’m—it’s nothing. I’m actually from Earth-65. Never met anyone from the same sector.”

Brows raised, you remarked, “Well, there’s a first time for everything, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.” She took a look at your suit and, seeing the abundance of white expertly weaved in with the mixture of red and black, couldn’t help asking, “So, why white? Most of us use some combination of red and blue. Besides me, obviously.”

“I want my enemies to see me coming,” you replied, sending her a slightly off-kilter grin that made her unsure whether you were joking. She smirked.

“Foreboding. I like it.” She turned, signaling you to follow. “Now, come on. As you can see, we have a lot of ground to cover, and Miguel will want to brief you as soon as possible.”

You obeyed, following her as she led you around headquarters, showing you the ins and outs of every winding, overlapping corridor while informing you of the group’s purpose. Well, as much as she could without ruining Miguel’s big presentation.  

About a third of the way in, she said, “I should probably start introducing you to the others.” Gwen looked around, spotting a few vaguely recognizable masked faces. She pointed to one with a large white spider on his chest.

“That’s Peter.”

He gave you a polite salute which you returned, giving him a compliment about his suit as well. A familiar plastic Lego figure came ambling down the way. Gwen pointed to him.

“That’s Peter.”

The Lego twisted his hooked handpiece in your direction. You gave him a startled wave in response, looking thoroughly perplexed. Next, a car came cruising along and she pointed at it.

“That’s also Peter.”

The car honked as it sped by. You didn’t even react this time. Up ahead, Gwen spotted Ben, sitting off to the side with his tightly curled up to his chest. She sighed, halfheartedly pointed in his direction.

“That’s—”

“—let me guess, Peter?” you cut in, shooting her an unimpressed look.

She laughed. “No, that’s Ben.”

You let out a quiet oh and gave him a concerned look. Ben roused at the sound of his name, looking at the both of you with an absolutely pitiful expression.

“I would greet you guys, but I’m in the middle of a very traumatic flashback,” he moaned, overblown sorrow tinging his words.

Your eyebrows knitted together, and you started to say something, but Gwen pushed you forward by your shoulders, throwing a bye, Ben! over her shoulder. “Trust me, it isn’t worth it,” she mumbled at the confused look you gave her.

She continued guiding you by your shoulders, ignoring the odd looks from passing spiders, until you stopped short suddenly, making her crash into your back.

You were frozen, mouth agape, and eyes locked on something across the way. “Is that a t-rex?”

Following your gaze, Gwen beamed and nodded. “Yep. That’s Spider-Rex.” You gaped.

“Hey Pter!” she yelled with a wave. A ground-shaking roar echoed through the compound in response, scaring more than a few spiders and making Gwen chuckle. After a few more moments of gawking, you unfroze and continued following her, though your eyes still trailed the dinosaur in the distance.

The rest of the tour went without a hitch, the only small stops being a break to pet Spider-Cat and a short introduction to Margo. Soon enough, she was leading you down the long, dark hall to Miguel’s sanctuary.

Miguel, seemingly sensing your guys’ incoming presence, activated his platform and let it start making its way down. Very, very slowly. He wasn’t even halfway down by the time you guys made it into the heart of his den. Gwen barely resisted facepalming. He did this with every newbie, and it got more embarrassing each time. She leaned over to you, suppressing a grimace at the bewildered look on your face.

“I know, it’s slow. He just really likes his dramatic entrances,” she explained away, watching Miguel’s platform descend from above ever so slowly.

You both stood there for minutes, until finally, the platform stopped, and Miguel turned to peer down on you with a look that would have made Gwen cower a few months ago, but now just made her want to heave a deep sigh.

“Miguel, this is the new recruit from Earth-69,” she announced, voice rising at the end with the remnants of a poorly contained laugh. You didn’t seem to catch it, but Miguel did. He gave her a look that told her to knock it off and she did. Hesitantly.

He stepped off the platform and approached, eyes solely on you. “I see. Welcome. We’re glad to have you, but unfortunately, your briefing will have to wait as something has come up.” He turned his gaze to Gwen then, and her posture straightened as she realized what he was about to say.

“Gwen, I’ve got a mission for you.”

“Yes! Finally,” Gwen replied. But he was giving her that look. Her excitement wavered, realization setting in. “Please, don’t say tha—”

“You’ll be needing a partner for this mission.”

Gwen groaned. She hated partner missions. Even when she got the opportunity to pair up with people she liked, she much preferred to go solo. She just worked better alone—always had and always would. She tried to plead with Miguel, “C’mon, Miguel, you know I’m—"

“This is non-negotiable, Gwen,” he cut her off with that annoyingly authoritative tone that she couldn’t stand. “Pick a partner and get going ASAP. I want this done as quickly as possible.”

He walked off then, likely to find Jessica, leaving Gwen to sulk. And she did for about thirty seconds before pulling herself together. When Miguel wanted something done, it needed to get done. She could sulk more later. For now, she shifted her focus to finding an apt partner.

Her go-to’s were off the table. Pavitr was off on his own solo mission and Hobie was off doing lord knew what. Probably something anarchy related. She would have to find someone else.

Jessica was always busy these days, and she was taking less and less missions as her due date neared anyway, so she was off the table. She wasn’t asking Ben because she valued her remaining sanity. Peter B was an option, but he’d want to bring his baby along and Gwen was not equipped to deal with that. But maybe Web-Slinger would work. Or one of the various Peters. Or…maybe someone new.

Her eyes drifted over to you, still at her side despite the tour being technically over. She sized you up, once, twice, then one more time for good measure. You could work, but she knew nothing about how you operated in the field. The entire time, you watched her with a raised brow, unafraid of her judgment.

She crossed her arms, leveled you with a careful look. “On a scale from 1-10, how would you rate your combat ability?”

“10/10, but I may be a bit biased,” you responded immediately, still maintaining eye contact.

Her chin jerked up, eyes narrowing. “Confident, okay. How about web-slinging ability?”

“9.5/10.”

“9.5?”

“I might’ve hit a bird last time,” you said with a small grimace, “but everything else was flawless. Promise.”

That was good enough for Gwen. She uncrossed her arms and stepped closer, giving you a sly smile.

“Well then, newbie, how would you like to go on your first mission?”

You were pulling on your mask before she could even finish, red fabric veiling your wide smirk. “Let’s do it.”

With a nod, she inputted the coordinates Miguel sent her and watched as a corresponding portal spawned with a brilliant burst of light and color. The sight never got old, no matter how many times she saw it. You stepped up to her side and she sent you a sideways glance, a smile creeping onto her face.

Partner missions sucked, but she had a feeling this one wouldn’t be so bad.

[trans-ace-lee]

Borne Back Ceaselessly into the Past

Author's Note: Warning this is a tickle fic. This has been written for almost 2 weeks now. For the record, do not, I repeat DO NOT read this fic if you haven't watched episode 8 The Mu in Muichiro episode of Demon Slayer season 3 Swordsmith Village Arc and/or finished the entire manga.

Tagging (Note, I'm tagging people I talk to that I know watch demon slayer @italeean @wertzunge @myreygn @ticklygiggles @otomiya-tickles @giggly-squiggily @duckymcdoorknob

Muichiro knows the other hashiras get into tickle fights, but they take care not to include him. Before regaining his memories, he had forgotten what it was like to smile, let alone laugh. After meeting Tanjiro and everything that happened at the swordsmith village, he can recall faint memories of being tickled by his mom and dad before they died, leaving him and Yuichiro to fend for themselves. And maybe even rare times of his brother, Yuichiro tickling him whenever Muichiro annoyed him. He remembers the warmness from those moments, but he can only see the face that matches his own, albeit colder and stronger than he ever was then. The others are blurred like footprints in the sand washed away by the sea.

But he’s unsure. He attributes tickling to happy things. Yet, all these emotions he gets to experience once more are sometimes overwhelming and confusing. His survival instincts have told him to lash out, so thinks the rest or all of the hashiras would be too much.

Muichiro knows that Oyakata-sama, Tanjiro, and the hashiras care about him, but a part of him is afraid of hurting someone. The former two are kind and considerate. Shinobu is what he imagines his mom was like before she got sick. Sanemi and Obanai are strong. Although Mitsuri and Tengen can be a bit much sometimes, they have good hearts and care about the ones they love. And Gyomei is gentle despite his size and wise even though he’s blind, knowing what others need before they realize it themselves.

He doesn’t know who to go to. He’s been able to hear and remember the other hashiras’ stories, so he knows whom he doesn’t want.

“Tanjiro?”

Tanjiro greets Muichiro with the same dizzying smile, radiating such warmth and kindness that breaks through almost every wall he has. It’s so infectious that Muichiro can’t help but return the gesture. “Yes, Tokito?”

There’s a tightness in his chest. It bubbles up into his throat, and he feels like he is drowning in his own saliva. His heart is beating, no humming, like hummingbird wings. He imagines his eyes are rounder than normal as he stares at Tanjiro. Muichiro’s brain is telling him to flee.

Tanjiro’s eyebrows furrow. “Is something wrong?”

He doesn’t reply right away. Something in his head tells him he’s just nervous, but the new feeling isn’t welcome, nonetheless. “I’m…fine.”

“Well, you can talk to me if you ever need to,” Tanjiro replies with a smaller smile this time.

Muichiro debates shielding his eyes.

“Did you need something in particular?”

‘N-no?” Muichiro stammers, clenching his sword.

In reality, he knows he can ask Tanjiro for any favor, and Tanjiro would do everything in his power to fulfill the said request, but the words just won’t come. “Remember when you told me about your siblings?”

Tanjiro’s smile falters for a bit, but it quickly returns, his eyes softening. “Of course. Is there something else you want to know?”

“Huh?” Muichiro says, feeling a faint warmth on his cheeks. “It’s not that…”

“Did you need something, then?”

He’s smacked in the face by memories of someone younger and sweeter than the person he is now. He can remember bits and pieces. Tanjiro is reminiscent of shared laughter and making food with his family. It’s a feeling filled with joy, like sitting under a tree when rays of sunshine hit your face in just the right place to warm your entire body. The birds are chirping, and every negative emotion you have is replaced by the love you give and the love you get from others.

And yet, it’s sad and distant, even though Muichiro knows he can find it among the demon slayer corps, but he doesn’t know if he has enough time to trust everyone enough to feel the same way again. When he’s reminded of the person, the child he used to be, he mourns the lost innocence and the big heart his brother admired.

Muichiro takes a deep breath. It’s moments like these that remind him that Tanjiro is older than him, if only by a year or so. They’re both kids. He doesn’t like being reminded that they’re so young, but they’ve gone through so much.

“You know the thing you’d do with your siblings?” he says, turning the statement into a question.

Tanjiro’s eyes widen, blinking in response. “Oh?” He cocks his head to the right. “I know you’re still warming up to that kind of stuff, so I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“But if it’s you, then I don’t mind?” Muichiro mumbles, contemplating digging a hole in the ground and throwing himself inside it. Right now, he really wishes Tanjiro wasn’t looking at him the way he is. If a person would ever befriend a demon that wasn’t Nezuko, Tanjiro would be the one to do so.

“Well, where do you want me to start?”

Well, there’s no turning back, Muichiro supposes, as his face grows hotter. “Uhm…I don’t even remember where I’d be…you know...”

Tanjiro chuckles. “Let’s go inside where it’s more comfortable.”

Somehow in the few minutes it takes them to walk into one of the rooms in butterfly mansion, every Kakushi they pass is left glowing with happiness when Tanjiro greets them by name. Muichiro normally keeps to himself, but he might consider talking to them every once in a while.

“Can you sit in front of me?” Tanjiro asks after he kneels on the tatami mats in one of the mansion’s spare training rooms.

Muichiro’s fingers twitch as he fights the urge to fiddle with his hair, a habit he’s picked up when he’s confused or unsure. “Like this?” he asks, sitting down with his legs crossed and flat on the ground.

“That’s fine,” Tanjiro hums. He holds his hands out for Muichiro to see.

Muichiro stares at Tanjiro’s hands, his lips faintly twitching.

Tanjiro grins at his reaction. “It’s okay. We can do this at the speed you’re comfortable with.”

“…I’m just a little nervous,” he admits. Although Tanjiro’s words are comforting to a degree, Muichiro wishes his bangs were a bit longer to cover his entire face. He settles on covering his eyes with his sleeves.

“We can go slow if you’d like.”

He peeks at Tanjiro behind his fingers. “I-I think I’d be okay with that.  I just don’t know where to start.”

“Let’s start with something easy,” Tanjiro says with a chuckle, “How about your sides?”

Muichiro closes his eyes and nods before he can change his mind. He’s nervous, but he doesn’t find himself scared in any way. He trusts Tanjiro. He knows he can trust Tanjiro to stop if he feels uncomfortable.

“I want you to see what I’m doing.” Tanjiro holds up his hands in claws.

Maybe Muichiro isn’t ticklish anymore. Maybe his body has forgotten what the sensation is like.

At the electric feeling that shoots up his body, he does not topple over backward. He does not squeak when Tanjiro’s fingers make contact with his sides with a gentle flutter. His face does not flush when Tanjiro comments that Muichiro reacts just like Tanjiro’s brother, Takeo.

“Are you okay?” Tanjiro asks. Muichiro can hear that Tanjiro is equal parts amused and concerned.

And he does not pout when he replies. “I’m fine.”

“How does it feel? Am I good to keep going?”

Muichiro thinks for a moment. “…It’s different, but not in a bad way?”

He grumbles to himself when the statement comes out like a question. After losing his memories, but before recovering them, he knows his smiles are few and far between. The ones he can remember are mostly mocking enemies or forced by an overzealous Mitsuri’s hands pulling at his lips when she gets carried away.

Muichiro’s lips twitch once more, a movement that Tanjiro still doesn’t miss. “You can keep going,” he mumbles.

“Are you going to come back up here or am I going to have to go down there.”

“Noooooo,” Muichiro whines, covering his face with his left arm.

It’s just tickling. He’s seen the tickle fights the other hashiras and the demon slayers get into.

But why does he feel so light and almost giddy? It’s an emotion he’s not familiar with at all. He might have felt this way before but can’t quite remember when. Was it before he became a demon slayer? Before it was just him and Yuichiro? When his mom and dad were still alive?

He doesn’t know where this feeling came from, but he wants to find out, so he doesn’t want this, everything that’s happened after regaining his memories, to stop.

Muichiro doesn’t want to forget anymore.

When Tanjiro’s fingers start moving again, he finds himself giggling, the laughter bubbling out of his mouth like a babbling brook. He likes to think of himself as a serious person for the most part, but he just can’t stop laughing.

Besides the tickling, there’s a fluttering sensation in the back of his mind that reminds him of…home, so he just lies on the ground with his arms on his chest as more laughter pours out of him.

Muichiro’s face hurts from smiling for so long.

“Your laughter is brighter than I imagined,” Tanjiro says as if reading Muichiro’s mind. “…It’s cute.”

Muichiro cackles at the comment when Tanjiro pokes at his ribs. “I’m naahaat cuteee.”

Tanjiro clicks his tongue. “That’s what someone cute would say, right Nezuko?”

Muichiro hadn’t noticed that Nezuko had been in the room. It didn’t surprise him, since he knew Tanjiro and Nezuko were usually together, but he couldn’t focus on the details as Nezuko nuzzles her hair into his neck.

He shrieks at the slight roughness of her hair, but he wishes that necks were less sensitive. He wishes his neck was less sensitive.

Tanjiro laughs, wiggling his fingers into Muichiro’s underarms. “You have to be gentle, Nezuko.”

This time his elbows move back, arms clamping to his sides. “Aaahaaaha. Waahait. Wait. Wait,” he blubbers.

The tickling stops immediately. “Did we go too far?” Tanjiro asks, his voice oozing concern.

“No. no!” Muichiro says. And no, he does not squawk. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

Tanjiro’s face brightens at Muichiro’s words.

“M-mmph! Mmph.” Nezuko replies as she lies down beside Muichiro.

“Do you want tickles, too, Nezuko?”

“Mmhhp,” she giggles when Tanjiro’s hands spider around her stomach.

Muichiro can’t help but smile at the two of them. Maybe he and Yuichiro used to look like that when they were younger.

Tanjiro smirks at him. “Oh, don’t think I forgot about you.”

He squeals when Tanjiro does the same to his stomach, arching into Tanjiro’s fingers because it tickles too much. He doesn’t want to reminisce about his tragic past anymore, he just wants to let the happiness and laughter take over him.

Muichiro can see the same soft smile on Tanjiro’s face when he talks about his siblings. It comforts him.

“No. No. Noohohoho,” he yells when Tanjiro’s fingers slip past his sides to the small of his back. His body slams back to the ground as he cackles, snorting when Tanjiro hits the slight dimples above the back of his waist.

It tickles. It tickles. It tickles.

“Ooh. I think I found a good spot,” Tanjiro says, laughing along with Muichiro.

Scratch that. Now he wishes his back was as ticklish as his neck, but he doesn’t feel overwhelmed. He supposes that this is the biggest range of happy emotions he’s ever experienced. The sensations that make this uncontrollable laughter spill out of him aren’t bad, they’re just something he needs to get used to.

The bottom half of his body is less sensitive than the top half of his body, but he can’t help the snorts that burn his nose when Tanjiro scribbles his hands behind his knees or the way his eyes close when Tanjiro pinches his thighs.

When tears are prickling at the edge of his eyes, and Muichiro’s face has become a little red from laughing so hard, the tickling stops. Muichiro can tell his hair is a little messy, but he finds that he doesn’t mind when Nezuko curls into his lap.

Nezuko hums when Muichiro starts running his fingers through her hair. “Thank you for that, Tanjiro,” he says, trying to return the blinding smile that Tanjiro has on his face.

“No thanks needed. I’m happy to do it any time,” Tanjiro replies with a somehow even bigger smile than normal.

“Who started a tickle fight without me,” Tengen calls out, sticking his head in the doorway. “Oh?”

Tengen looks at Muichiro’s hair and then at Tanjiro and Nezuko.

“All right, why didn’t anyone tell me we could tickle Muichiro now,” Tengen says in a mock hurt tone.

“Huh…This is kind of new, I guess…”

Tengen holds a hand as if to ask for permission before patting Muichiro’s head. “Well, I’m happy then. Now to find Sanemi. That grumpy bastard is going to get used to smiling at some point.”

Muichiro’s face morphs back into its usual blank slate. He can’t get the past back, but maybe being here, with them, is enough.

[phoenixyfriend]

Fake Affair (To Hide the Real Affair)

Read on AO3

Rex, in trying to cover for General Skywalker, accidentally implies to High General Kenobi that he is in an affair with Senator Amidala. He is then asked to continue the ruse, and paid for the lies with very fancy seafood.

My final and VERY belated fic for @rexwalkerweek

August 7th: Umbara || Form VII: Self-Awareness, Risk and Reward, Secrecy

Originally brainstormed on tumblr here and here.

--------------------------------------

It starts with an easy question.

“Captain Rex? Have you seen Anakin?”

Yes. He has. He has also been told to not let General Kenobi what’s going on, at all. Cody’s here, too; this means Rex is being silently judged by his older brother, and not just his superior officer.

“I’m afraid he’s been a little… preoccupied, sir,” Rex says.

“Ah, preoccupied,” General Kenobi repeats, seeming far too amused. Rex reminds himself that he cannot, actually, lie to a Jedi. Not well.

“He’s, uh, on a call.”

“On a call, I see.”

Rex does not conspicuously and awkwardly shift his weight. He kind of wants to.

“With whom?”

“I, uh—” Rex casts about for an answer, “a friend.”

Hells. He had a plan for this, he did, but all the words are gone from his head.

“Do I get to know which friend?” General Kenobi prompts.

“One of mine,” Rex says.

It’s sort of true, but… what? Why did he say that? Even Cody is judging him.

“Ah,” General Kenobi says. The amusement is showing in full force. “I see. Is this friend another clone?”

“No,” Rex says.

“Have I met them?”

Rex shifts awkwardly, and looks away. He definitely doesn’t want to help narrow down the plane of possible friends that much. Cody is watching him with no expression, which Rex knows in this case means that Cody’s laughing at him on the inside.

General Kenobi seems to be enjoying this. Rex feels bullied.

Kenobi, apparently having decided this is a ‘little brothers’ topic, not an official one, keeps going. “What about the topic? Why is Anakin speaking with a friend of yours?”

He panics and grasps and—

“Personal matters,” Rex blurts out. His heart beats like a hummingbird in shame. That was the most suspicious answer possible, and everyone here knows it.

“Ah,” Kenobi says, still clearly biting back laughter. “I see.”

Well, clearly to Rex. He’s not sure if anyone else would know, but Rex has spent way too much time around guys who try their hardest to keep a perfect Sabacc face at all hours to not be able to tell.

“What’s it about, Rex?” Cody asks. “Why’s the General talking to one of your friends on a personal matter?”

Cody has decided it’s a day to make Rex’s life harder. Bastard. Rex thinks it might be time to revisit some classic cadet pranks.

What’s it about, Rex?

“I—” Rex flounders. He casts about, stress rising, and meets General Kenobi’s eyes, “that’s not—I mean—”

“Your loyalty to Anakin is commendable,” General Kenobi says, in that gentle way that’s meant to be comforting but mostly just feels embarrassing as all hells. “But unnecessary. If he’s on the line with Padmé again—”

“It’s not about him!” Rex protests.

Kenobi’s expression is almost pitying. “Captain, I assure you, there will be no consequences for you or Anakin if he’s—”

“Please don’t go in,” Rex begs. “I promise it’s not something you need to—Cody, don’t!”

Cody pauses, hand almost on the doorknob. His head tilts, and Rex may not be able to see his face, but he can guess the expression.

Kenobi looks between them. He focuses on Rex again. “Captain? Are you quite alright?”

No, because now he’s blushing, and it’s stupid.

“Cody’s not allowed in,” he says. “It’s not anyone’s business but—I mean—please don’t go in there.”

They’re both staring at him, now.

“Why am I not allowed in?” Cody asks, almost carefully.

“I’m getting the feeling that he’s trying to say that it’s not my business,” General Kenobi says slowly, “but that it is your business, and he doesn’t want you finding out about.”

“Personal matters,” Cody says, meeting his eyes, “and a friend, but not a brother.”

Rex sweats.

Cody and Kenobi stare at each other for a few long moments, and then Cody turns and asks, “Rex, are you dating someone?”

“Wh—no!” Rex nearly squeaks. “I’m not dating someone. Anyone. I’m not dating anyone.”

“Sounds like denial to me,” Kenobi says. Rex wonders how, considering it’s actually true. “And your love life is certainly none of my business, but that status of it is, arguably, business of Cody’s.”

Kark it all.

“But why does Skywalker get to talk to whoever it is?” Cody wonders aloud. “Especially without you in there to—”

Kenobi smacks a fist into his own palm. “Shovel talk.”

Rex is going to die.

“Shovel talk,” Cody repeats, rolling the idea around. “Skywalker giving Rex’s partner a shovel talk?”

“Or the good captain has found interest in my former padawan despite fraternization rules, and the non-clone friend is now giving Anakin a shovel talk,” Kenobi says. “But I imagine I would have noticed if Anakin was in love with someone new. He’s not particularly subtle.”

“It’s been a fair few months since you’ve seen him in person,” Cody says.

“But I have seen him around Rex in the last few days,” Kenobi points out. “If they were in a relationship, I would have noticed, even if it’s no longer the honeymoon stage.”

Unsaid: because for Skywalker, it is always the honeymoon stage.

“So Rex is dating someone, and Skywalker knows who it is, and they don’t want me to know,” Cody decides. He pins Rex with a gaze like… something. Rex isn’t feeling very metaphorical today. “Are we close?”

No. No, they are not.

Rex doesn’t answer. He does not want to dig this hole any deeper than it’s already been dug.

Cody makes a decision and, before Rex can entirely process it, is opening the door.

“—taking care of him, Ani. I promise.”

Rex presses a hand to his face.

He has failed his General, and somehow he still feels like he needs to be paid for emotional damages. Yeah, he didn’t fulfill the request, but this entire situation is somehow ten times worse for Rex than it is for General Skywalker.

(Continue on AO3)

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Hurricanes / Hummingbirds: IX

Series Synopsis: As the years go by, you find that it is incredibly difficult to survive wars and fight storms, especially when the only thing you have by way of a cursed technique is the blessing of a tiny bird.

Chapter Synopsis: You set out to stop Kashimo from killing the members of the Big Three Sorcerer Families.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Hajime Kashimo x Female Reader; slight Kento Nanami x Female Reader; slight Satoru Gojo × Female Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.0k

Content Warnings: swearing, enemies/rivals to lovers, character death, canon-typical violence, angst, gore, original characters included

A/N: we have finally entered the main storyline and it is a blast from the past!!

Three days and three nights, you had travelled in search of the god of lightning. Finally, you found him sitting cross-legged in the middle of a clearing, leagues away from any sort of civilization. The earth around him was scorched, and his head was tilted towards the sun, his eyes closed. For anyone else, it would be lazy and arrogant to lounge around in such a way, but he was not anyone else. He was the one whose name made people lock their doors tighter; no one would dare attack him, and even if they did, they would not last very long.

“Hello, dear Y/N,” he said without opening his eyes. You crossed your arms across your chest, not bothering to unsheathe your sword.

“Kashimo,” you said. “Hisashi says you plan to fight the Big Three Sorcerer Families next.”

He blinked languidly, finally deigning to peer up at you with eyes that were a fraught shade of blue. You raised your eyebrows at the way he smiled slightly.

“It’s true,” he said.

“Why?” you said. He yawned.

“That’s such a typical question. Does there need to be a reason?” he said.

“Yes?” you said. “If you are fighting someone, then there needs to be a reason. Such actions cannot be taken lightly.”

“Alright. Then it’s because I’m bored,” he said.

“Bored!” you repeated. He frowned, real turmoil brewing on his face.

“In fact, that is the case,” he said. “There is no one that has managed to challenge me in years. Naturally, I am turning to the ones that are meant to be the pinnacle of jujutsu society in order to satisfy my need for excitement.”

“You and I both know that Kichiro, Naoki, and Hisashi would never last against you,” you said.

“Hm, that’s certainly possible, but if they cannot, then who can? Besides you, of course. Do you mean to offer yourself?” he said. You pursed your lips.

“Yes,” you said.

“Yes?” he said. “You’ll do it? You’ll finally fight me?”

“I will fight you,” you affirmed. “However, not today.”

“Is this some kind of method of stalling? You’ll run away to safety while I wait for you?” he said. You shook your head immediately.

“I can make a Binding Vow, if you’d like,” you said. Kashimo snickered.

“It’s alright. I will trust you for the moment, but in exchange, you must tell me: if not now, then when?” he said, propping up his elbow against his knee and resting his chin in his hand.

“After I defeat Ten,” you said. “Find me then, and we can fight.”

“You’re still chasing after that useless dream? Give up, Y/N, everyone knows Ten isn’t real,” he said, flopping backwards onto the ground with a heavy exhale.

“He killed my parents!” you said, bending down and ripping up a handful of grass, throwing it at Kashimo, who did not even react. “He is the reason I have my cursed technique, so he’s surely real.”

“Even if he is, do you really think that you could do anything against the lord of the sky?” he said, pointing up at the clouds floating past for emphasis. “Just fight me instead, I’m sure whatever deity you claim blessed you will be satisfied by that.”

“Not likely,” you said. “You have my terms. If you leave the clans alone, I will fight you once I’ve defeated Ten.”

“What if you never find him?” Kashimo said.

“That won’t happen,” you said. “I will find him, and I will kill him. That’s the reason for my existence, after all.”

Kashimo had closed his eyes again, which meant he was bored of the conversation. His hands were folded across his stomach, and he would’ve appeared to be peaceful if not for the small sparks dancing around his body, subtle warnings to anyone who dared to get close enough to see them.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll leave your precious clans alone, and I’ll kill you instead.”

“Only once I’ve beaten Ten,” you reminded him. That same half-smile bloomed on his face again.

“If that’s what you want,” he said.

“Do you swear?” you said. “You have to swear, or I won’t do it.”

“I swear,” he said. “I won’t purposefully go out of my way to harm them, as long as you swear to do battle with me one day.”

“I swear I will,” you said. “Then we are in agreement?”

“I believe we are,” he said.

“Good!” you said.

“Good,” he said, yawning again. “Now, if you don’t mean to amuse me for the moment, could you go? It’s a nice day out, and I was planning on taking a nap.”

You made a face at his motionless form, weighing the merits of taking out your sword and stabbing him now. It was a foolish idea, of course — he’d wake up before you could do anything meaningful — but it was a satisfying one.

“I’ll leave,” you said. He lifted his hand in a wave.

“Goodbye,” he called out as you stomped away.

Hajime Kashimo was one of those sorcerers that operated outside of jujutsu society and consequently did not fear reproach from the Big Three Sorcerer Families. He was singularly obsessed with the thrill of battle and the difficulty of victory, and for as long as you could remember, there had been only one person he had longed to fight: you.

You were the only one who could hope to stand against him, which was why your future husband had sent you to dissuade him from attacking the Big Three Sorcerer Families. However, it was because of this, because of the fact that you were the only sorcerer he could possibly lose to, that you were the one he really wanted to face. He craved it above all else, for your sword to clash against his staff, for your blessings to face his lightning until one of you died and the other emerged the victor.

His frustration came from the fact that until now, you had refused to fight him. He battled entire armies and wiped out contingents of sorcerers, massacred every opponent that crossed his path, and was so widely revered that he could kill whoever he pleased — except for the singular being he actually desired to.

Of course, he definitely could’ve killed you by now if your death was all he cared about. It wouldn’t have been difficult for him to take you by surprise and send his lightning into your heart, but he was not that kind of person. Murdering you in cold blood would prove nothing, satisfy nothing, and so you could live in relative peace, knowing that unless you agreed to it, Kashimo would never actually hurt you.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t force your hand, as he was now doing. By threatening the Gojo, Kamo, and Zenin clans, he had all but assured that you would face him. You were set to marry Hisashi Gojo, after all, so any insult to the clan was also an insult to your own self. Furthermore, if the Gojos were to ignore the plight of the Kamos and the Zenins, there would be consequences, a political storm of the sort that neither Hisashi nor you had the time or patience to deal with.

This was why you had agreed to fight him, albeit with a caveat. Your defeat of Ten: the battle with Kashimo would only happen after that, and indeed that eventual fight was the reason you had not taken up arms against Kashimo yet.

Ten was a figure shrouded in myth and legend, but at the end of the day, he really did exist. You knew he did, because he was the one who had killed your parents. You knew he did, because that man, the one with the scars on his forehead, told you that you had been chosen just to defeat him.

Known as the lord of the sky, Ten was a merciless being that cared little for mortals except when taking delight in their deaths, similar to how crueler children would laugh as they stomped on insects. Nobody could say for certain what he looked like; there was an entire litany of animals that people claimed were his true body, while others said he was a person walking amongst you, and still others said he had no form at all.

You did not care what form he took. For your parents, for the hummingbird, you would slay him regardless.

“He’ll leave us alone,” you said as you walked into the meeting room where Kichiro Kamo, Naoki Zenin, and Hisashi Gojo were sitting, waiting with bated breath. The dark circles under Hisashi’s dull violet eyes and the shaggy appearance of Kichiro’s neat ponytail meant that they had barely slept the entire time you were gone. Even the ever-put-together Naoki’s clothes were rumpled, further attesting to the impact that Kashimo had on them.

“Thank goodness,” Kichiro said, shoulders slumping. His wife had just given birth to their firstborn. A son. You were sure he was grateful that he did not have to worry about a wayward sorcerer attacking and killing his only child.

“What did you have to give up?” Naoki said. He was the sharpest of the three; while Kichiro preferred to remain uninvolved and Hisashi had a guileless kindness about him, Naoki was always hyper-aware of his surroundings, refusing to look at the positives of a situation before carefully considering the negatives.

“I promised him I would fight him,” you said.

“What?” Hisashi said. “No. I forbid it.”

“My lord Hisashi, while I certainly respect your opinions very much, I am afraid that this is not something you can forbid me from doing. It is the only way he will leave the clans alone,” you said.

“Stupid bastard,” Hisashi said. “Why doesn’t he just die?”

“He will, once I fight him. I will kill him,” you said.

“And when will that be?” Naoki said.

“After I beat Ten,” you said. The three of them exchanged looks before Hisashi’s expression relaxed.

“Good idea. By attaching such an impossible condition, you can ensure you’ll never have to fight him,” he said.

“It was quick thinking,” Kichiro agreed. It was derision disguised as praise; they, too, did not believe Ten was real. At least Kashimo was upfront about his beliefs — the three heads of the clans were far too political to do anything of the sort, to tell you to your face that what you dreamt of was impossible.

“I do intend to fight him,” you said. “I even offered to make a Binding Vow with him.”

“What?” Hisashi said. You hid the small smile of satisfaction that threatened to overtake your face.

“He said no, of course,” you said. Hisashi gave you a dark look.

“Y/N, you know that Binding Vows are only made between husband and wife, or with oneself, to boost power,” he said. There was a poorly suppressed snort from one of the other two. You assumed it was Naoki, as it seemed the sort of thing he’d do.

“Would you rather I have doomed all of you to death? Kichiro’s baby? Naoki’s wife? Your mother?” you said. “There were special circumstances. We all know that even the combined might of the clans would not be enough to take him down; a Binding Vow that did not even come to fruition is the least of your worries.”

“We cannot fault her,” Naoki said, oddly pale at the mention of his wife. He did not love her, but she was something like a prize for him, a treasured piece of artwork that he did not let anyone touch for fear of anything spoiling her perfection. The thought of Kashimo, wild, ferocious Kashimo, even looking at her was probably too much for him to bear.

“It’s not that I fault her,” Hisashi said. “It’s that she might’ve ended up in a situation where that man could’ve taken advantage of the Binding Vow.”

“He’s not that kind of person,” you said. “Kashimo is many things, but dishonesty and lying are not in his nature. He wants to kill me more than anything, but it will mean nothing if he does it when I am not at my full strength.”

“You trust such a creature far too much,” Naoki said. “He cannot be relied upon, and it does not suit you to believe that he can be.”

“As you say, Naoki,” you said. “At any rate, it is meaningless. We did not make a Binding Vow, and I doubted he would take me up on the offer anyways. It was a bluff, to show my sincerity; one he fell for, as he promised he would not purposefully cause the clans harm.”

“Can his word be counted on?” Kichiro said. “Especially when it is contingent on assurances of a battle that may never happen?”

“For now, at least, he has been allayed,” you said. “I will begin to search for Ten in earnest, so that he does not think I am needlessly delaying our fight.”

“Y/N,” Hisashi said. “You know…even the greatest sorcerers have failed to find Ten.”

“What do you have that the ancient heads of the Big Three Sorcerer Clans do not?” Naoki said. “Ten does not exist. You should give up and hope that someone else kills Kashimo before he gets suspicious.”

“Curses are real,” you said. “Why can this one not be?”

They did not have an answer, but you knew that that did not mean they believed you. After all, if Ten really was real, then why weren’t there more casualties? A Disaster Curse of such magnitude would definitely come with a radius of humans wiped out around him. But there were no reports of the sort, no large areas of total destruction bar those caused by Kashimo and other such sorcerers that did not abide by jujutsu society regulations.

By the candlelight, once you were very certain that Hisashi was asleep, you pulled out the familiar leather-bound book you had been given by the man with the stitch-scarred forehead. Tracing the gold lettering emblazoned on the front cover with your finger, you sounded out the foreign letters in an attempt to burn them in your mind.

“Tales — of — the — Hummingbird,” you said. That was the title of the book, which was written in an entirely different language and was the basis of your cursed technique. You had figured it out some time ago that as long as there was a story about it in this book, you could do anything.

Your technique related to a little bird from across the world, according to the stitch-scarred man. He said that this bird had been locked in an eternal conflict with the lord of the sky, but it had never managed to defeat such a mighty being with its tiny body. So, he had explained, the bird decided to give its powers to a larger being, one that was capable of the strength needed to exorcise him.

That being was you, and the powers were your cursed technique, the Hummingbird’s Blessing. Your entire purpose, your reason for living, was to defeat Ten. That was why you knew he was real, and that was why you knew you would be the one to kill him. You had to. There was no other explanation for your existence if you did not.

It was slow-going, translating the book. Even now, you had only made it a fraction of the way through, had only unlocked a few of the powers that you actually possessed. Certainly, they were enough, at least when combined with your swordsmanship, but you knew that you needed more if you really wanted to fight Ten.

You slept fitfully as you always did, the same nightmare invading your mind and warding away any thoughts of rest. It was a vision of the moment your parents died, one that you relived despite not having been there.

“Listen,” your father said. “We are not the ones meant to destroy him. You know that.”

“Then why did we heed the call?” your mother said. Your father stared out at the horizon. The sky was a dark gray, a dry wind blowing through the grassy field and making the stalks sway. Only a few dreary rays of sunlight managed to fight through and light the scene, though instead of comforting, it actually added to the eeriness.

“She is the one who must do it,” he said, neatly avoiding the question.

“She is a little girl!” your mother said.

“I know,” he said.

“We cannot give such a burden to our daughter. She is a child. Our child. We are meant to protect her!” she said, clinging to the sleeve of his flowing robe. It was frayed and flecked with mud; your mother’s face was the same, a smear of something dark across her face.

“This is greater than us,” your father said.

“We were called here,” your mother said. “It’s true, I understand that we were not blessed like she was, but we were the ones called here. Not her.”

“That’s because Ten doesn’t know about her yet. He only knows that the Hummingbird’s Blessing has settled upon our home. He believes that either you or I have garnered his enemy’s favor, and so he means to defeat us as a show of force, stomping out the threat before it develops into something actually dangerous,” your father said. Your mother’s eyes widened.

“So Y/N is still safe?” she said.

“She must be allowed to live and train in peace. By giving ourselves up, Ten will be lulled into a false sense of security. I have promised Kamin Gojo that she will marry his son — the Gojos longs for power so greatly, they have since the Six Eyes disappeared — so she should be alright under his care,” he said.

“But what about her technique? How will she learn about it?” she said.

“I made a deal with someone. He’ll tell her what she needs to know,” your father said.

“What did you offer him?” your mother said, taking a single step backwards at the grave expression on your father’s face.

“That is a concern for a later date,” he said. “Rest assured that it was a mutually beneficial arrangement, so he’s not likely to harm her.”

“So this is it, then?” she said. “Will Y/N be able to —?”

“She will avenge us,” your father said. “She definitely will.”

The wind began to pick up in earnest, whipping your mother’s hair around, your father’s robes flowing out behind him. Your mother cried out in fear, and wordlessly, your father wrapped his arms around her, shielding her with his body as best as he could.

The storm howled in protest, surrounding them as they clung to one another, ripping their flesh from their bones and not subsiding until all that was left was a pair of pristine skeletons, still locked in an embrace, forever intertwined until such a day that someone came to bury them.

It always ended there, but today, you forced yourself to stay asleep, purposefully staying in the swirling eddies of darkness, standing beside your parents’ skeletons, ignoring the storm.

‘There is a story,’ you thought to yourself, ‘where the hummingbird is sent to see what is above the blue sky. Let me also see. Show me where Ten is.’

You have been given the Vision of the Hummingbird!

You could see everything; consequently, you could see nothing. There was a soaring expanse of ultramarine in front of you, teeming with life and overwhelming your senses. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

‘Ten,’ you thought. ‘I do not need to see everything. Only him.’

A dizzying sensation like vertigo rushed through you, and you dared to crack open your eyes. You were in that same field, only this time there was a definite presence there, someone else glaring at you.

You dare intrude upon my Domain?

It had to be Ten. There was no one else it could be, but even the simple sentence was enough. The reason why all of the other sorcerers had not yet found him was because he lived in his own Domain, hidden away from humanity in its relative safety.

Wait. You are —!

Of course he would recognize you, the one who bore the blessings of his natural enemy. To your surprise, there was no anger in his voice when he spoke next.

Hello again, little hummingbird. I should’ve known you would not have fallen as easily as those two fools did. Ah, well, it was my mistake for growing complacent, wouldn’t you say? Anyways. You mean to fight me, I am sure. So predictable, little hummingbird, though I guess you always have been.

It felt less like he was talking to you and more like he was conversing with the being that had blessed you, for which you were just a conduit. In Ten’s presence, though you could not so much as see him, you were frozen. This was the strength of a Disaster Curse, which made even a sorcerer like you unable to do anything.

You know the typical procedures for it. Do you really want to challenge me? Last time, you were defeated before even reaching my Domain. Is this new body really strong enough to do it?

You did not respond, but Ten must’ve sensed your intent, for he chuckled.

I expected nothing less from you. Very well, then. It will be done. You may try again. I will find it just as amusing to kill you this time as I did the last. After all, no new body can change the fact that at the end of the day, you are just a tiny bird facing off against the lord of the sky himself.

You woke up with a startled gasp, throwing your blankets off of you in a cold sweat. The story of the hummingbird seeing above the blue sky was one you had only just translated the night before, and you had immediately put it into practice without much thought. Part of you had believed it would not work, and you were shaken by the fact that it had, by the fact that you had actually managed to reach Ten.

It was only when you stood to ready yourself for the day that you realized there was a chain hanging around your neck which had not been there before. It was a fine, delicate thing, with a pendant on it. Holding it up to the light, you realized it was a miniature wheel, reflecting the morning into your eyes.

You let it drop, and it thudded against the hollow of your collarbone. Frowning, you wondered when it had appeared. There was only one logical explanation: this was some mark of Ten’s, affirming that your dream had been real, that you had finally challenged the Disaster Curse who so many did not believe to exist.

What was the typical procedure? How were you supposed to find his Domain? The hummingbird must’ve known, but it offered no solutions nor aid. This was not a surprise — unless you could come up with a story or myth surrounding the hummingbird to justify it, you could not use its powers or knowledge.

“Where did you get that necklace?” Hisashi said as the two of you sat together, eating breakfast. You wished he was not so observant, but it seemed that even without the Six Eyes, keenness was an inherited trait of the Gojo clan.

“I woke up with it on,” you said. Hisashi frowned.

“Y/N…I am not so sure I like this,” he said. “First, you offer to make a Binding Vow with another man, and now, you are wearing a strange necklace? I don’t mean to control you, you know that I would never want to do that, but please understand that I am a little confused.”

“You are well within your rights to be confused, though I maintain that my offer of a Binding Vow with Kashimo really was to protect you, so you shouldn’t hold that against me,” you said.

“Even if I put that behind us, the necklace…?” he said mournfully.

Hisashi was a pretty man. There was no doubt about this; his hair was a brilliant white, and no amount of careful combing and precise parting could ever make it appear truly neat. His eyes were a deep shade of purple — not the diamond hue of the Six Eyes, which no one in his clan had inherited in years, but still a notable and lovely color. There were worse people you could’ve been engaged to; he was kind, and he was beautiful, and he treated you well. But you were not born to marry Hisashi Gojo.

“It is from Ten,” you said.

“Pardon?” he said.

“I’m not lying to you, Hisashi. Really, I’m not. Last night, I was translating Tales of the Hummingbird, and I came across a story of the hummingbird flying above the sky to see what lay beyond it. I used that to get the Vision of the Hummingbird, and with that, I met Ten,” you said.

“You met Ten,” he said, and despite his best efforts, he could not help but sound dubious.

“He resides in a Domain,” you said. Hisashi’s lips parted in shock, but you pressed forward. “That’s why no one’s been able to find him yet, and why he hasn’t messed with humans on a large scale. He lives in his Domain!”

“Where is the Domain?” he said.

“Well, ah…I don’t know,” you admitted, your shoulders slumping.

“Huh? You don’t know?” he said. You shook your head.

“I challenged him in my dream, or the hummingbird did; I don’t know, it was all very confusing. He mentioned that last time it was defeated before even reaching the Domain, which implies the fight begins outside of it,” you said.

Hisashi still thought you were delusional, but he was kind and loyal and he would not say that to your face, so he only nodded.

“The necklace is proof of the challenge, then?” he said gently.

“Yes,” you said. “I will be quick about it, Hisashi, I promise. I will be quick enough that Kashimo does not grow restless and slaughter all of you in my absence.”

“I doubt he will,” Hisashi said. It was rare to hear him speak of Kashimo in any way but negatively, so you cocked your head at him, hoping he would explain. Thankfully, he took the hint and elaborated. “Though I do not like giving him any credit, it’s true that he respects you. You are his only equal; he treats you differently for that fact. Maybe he wouldn’t honor a promise with any of the rest of us, but you — he would definitely honor one with you, I think.”

“I’m glad you see that now,” you said. Hisashi gave you a sad look.

“If I were born in another body, one with the Six Eyes and Limitless, we, too, would be equals,” he said.

“That’s not true. You’d be far stronger than me if that was the case,” you said. He chuckled.

“Yet here we are. You are the strong one,” he said. “And in no way could I be considered your equal.”

“Do you resent me for it?” you said. You would not be angry if he did. It would make sense, so how could you blame him?

“No,” he said. “Maybe I resent him.”

“Resent Kashimo?” you said. Hisashi pursed his lips.

“You and he are the ones who will be remembered,” he said. “I — even Kichiro and Naoki — will fade into obscurity as just another one of the heads of the Gojo clan. Nothing I can do matters. But…but I am definitely sure that your fight with him will never be forgotten. He will go down in history as the god of lightning, and you will go down as the one who killed him.”

There was that inferiority that the three clan heads had. By position, they were the most powerful men in all of jujutsu society. But when it came down to it, if one asked an entirely random sorcerer who they believed to be the strongest, it would not be Hisashi’s name they would say, nor would it be Kichiro’s or Naoki’s. Men with their prized inherited techniques, even they could not hold a candle to the two of you.

Hajime Kashimo. Y/N L/N. Those were the names they’d say. Even back then, even from the beginning when you did not know each other, you and he had been two sides of the same coin. The blessed and the divine.

It had been a short meeting, that first one. You and Hisashi had gone to save some village from a curse, and upon exorcising it, you had met him. He must have been wandering about, he was prone to doing that, and upon seeing you wielding your sword and the Hummingbird’s Blessing, he had realized that you were she, the one everyone hailed as the single other strongest sorcerer of the age.

I want to kill you, he had said to you, ignoring Hisashi completely, and to that you had replied no. No, you cannot kill me. Naturally, he had asked why? So you had told him this: my life is not mine to give but someone else’s. A deity’s. I am sworn to fulfill that deity’s mission. You cannot kill me because only that deity’s enemy can.

They call me the god of lightning, he had said. Am I not then also a deity? You had laughed at him. Of course you are not. Well, who am I to judge? Maybe you are. But if that is the case, then you are the wrong one. You will have to wait to fight me, I am afraid.

He had smiled, and then, to everyone’s surprise, he had taken a step back and nodded. Very well, he had told you, rolling his eyes at Hisashi’s protective stance and the villagers cowering behind you. Y/N L/N? If that is what I must do, then I will do it. I will wait for you.

[jadewritesficshere]

Modern!Eddie has nicknames for everyone in his phone. It started out originally just to have names for those he dealt to, but slowly his entire phone has no one's actual names. Slightly unoriginal, but they always make him smirk. Plus, they all just make sense to him.

Gareth is SpongeBob. Eddie only had access to local channels growing up, but whenever he went to Gareth's growing up he was able to watch the "cool stuff" like Nickelodeon and Cartoon Network. Gareth went through a small phase obsessed with the show, plus it was one of the only shows that showed a pair of best friends that Eddie felt they related to. Gareth has a funny laugh, works hard but somehow keeps a positive attitude, and has a pet (Gareth owns a snake, which sure isn't a snail, but it counts). Eddie feels that Patrick is good enough for himself, loyal to his friends and a little dumb (people have told Eddie he isn't dumb, but he doesn't believe them. Not a single smart person would repeat their senior year once, let alone more than once).

Jeff is Gimli. He was the one to lag behind at first while everyone else had growth spurts. Eddie and Gareth teased him constantly about being short and a dwarf. When he finally hit a growth spurt and came back taller then them the next week, the boys vowed to grow even taller (Jeff claims the only reason Eddie is taller is out of spite). Jeff is loyal plus he plays electric guitar, which people have called axes before. Jeff is also the one who challenged him the read the Silmarillion, so Jeff's name had to be something from that franchise.

Dustin is R2-D2. Somehow Dustin always seems to get him out of situations. Dustin is smart and resourceful. And hey, if Eddie compares himself to C3PO again because people have called C3PO dumb compared to R2-D2, no one really needs to know that (He argues C3PO isn't dumb he's actually smart, but he doesn't have the gumption to look into the psychology of it). Plus, C3PO is literally metal yeah so is R2 but shhhh. They also went to the premiere of The Force Awakens together.

Robin is Hummingbird. She is constantly moving, plus they once had a 3 hour long conversation about birds whilst high. Robin also wears bright colors and hummingbirds are bright.

Steve is simply Princess. He was once a king but can still act prissy, thus Princess. Also, one time at Robin's when everyone was super drunk, they were looking for a game to play (aka everyone was half asleep and Eddie was looking for a game to play), he found a game called Pretty Pretty Princess. Steve, completely plastered, walked up looked at the box Eddie opened, immediately went "ooohhh" and put the jewelry on.

When his phone gets left unattended at a group hangout, Mike grabs it with the thoughts to post something on his social media account. Instead, Mike sees the groupchat everyone is in, with...weird names. When Eddie returns from his smoke break, everyone is arguing and he is very confused.

[mama-qwerty]

Socialite Party

So this is actually something I wrote years ago--2018, I think--when I was in my My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic obsession. I was going through my old bits of writing and found it, so I thought I'd toss it up.

The POV character is an OC who grew up in a rich, status-focused family, but left when she and her mother had a "disagreement". She essentially leaves everything behind, moves to a different city, and starts her life anew, getting a job at Sweet Apple Acres to support herself. And maybe fell in love with a certain country girl.

I just liked how it came out.

~~~~~

The room is cold and drab, despite the bright lights and sparkling decorations.

The people mingle. Forming small groups and chatting for a moment before breaking off to repeat the pattern.

I stand off to the side. Meaningless chatter floats over me, the sound of dozens of voices talking about nothing of value.

A loud guffaw erupts to my left and I turn to see a large man in his 50s chuckling within a group of four. The number over his head shines a bright 87. The highest out of his group, which includes two women (65 and 62) and one other man (79).

Everyone here has a number floating above their head. The higher the number, the more important they are, socially speaking. That number could change for the slightest reason—speaking to the right (or wrong) person, landing a large contract, evading legal troubles, marrying properly, etc. Every now and then, someone’s number would flicker and change. Most went higher.

Mother loved throwing these types of parties. Her number hovered in the high 60s, and she fluttered around to the different groups like a hummingbird on Red Bull. Always the attentive hostess. Always trying to break 70.

I glanced above my own head. A shaky 14 hovered there. As I watched, it flickered, dropping to 13.

Honestly, I was shocked it was double digits. I never felt driven to “play the game,” much to Mother’s annoyance. It wouldn’t surprise me if she felt I was responsible for her static status.

I sigh. The soft murmur of the crowd reminds me of the drone of bees. Monotonous. Uninteresting.

Two men walk past me, and a flash of bright red catches my eye. Sitting smack dab in the middle of the floor is an apple. Its color seems almost garish against the non-colors of the rest of the room. It’s so bright it seems to practically glow.

Mother grabs my arm and gives it a squeeze. I pull my eyes away from the apple and turn to her. She gives me a look, one honed by years of disappointment and frustration. “Go out and mingle,” it says, and the tight squeeze on my arm adds, “NOW.”

She releases me and disappears into the crowd. I turn back and the apple is gone.

Slowly, I make my way to where the apple had been. The buzz of the crowd grows as I join it. The other people ignore me, but something has changed. There seems to be more people than a moment ago. The “intimate dinner party” has turned into a crowded ball.

It’s getting harder to move, and I abandon my search for the apple in favor of finding a way out of this suffocating crowd. People are moving closer, blocking my every chance of exit. Their numbers flashed at me—63, 71, 80.

I looked up. I had dropped to 10.

Tendrils of panic started curling around my mind. No one else in this room had a number as low as mine. The lowest I could see—which was getting harder every second, there were so many people all the numbers started to blur together—was 44, from my older brother, William.

Mother was not going to happy. She wanted me to be like her. To fit in. To excel and succeed.

I looked around at the other party-goers. The part of me that Mother had trained wanted to talk to them, raise my number.

But the other part, the part I kept hidden and safe from Mother’s prying, just want to escape.

It was too crowded. Too drab. Too sterile.

A flash of color caught my eye and I turned. A long blonde braid flicked between two men in dark suits. Not the blonde sported by many of the women here—one that originated in a bottle at one of their expensive hair salons and looked flat and dull—but a bright, warm blonde. One that was natural, made brighter by the highlights infused from regular exposure to sun.

Ignoring the years of polite courtesy schooling, I pushed through the crowd to follow this braid. It fell halfway down the girl’s back, with a bright red ribbon holding the end in place. She moved through the crowed effortlessly, gliding between people with hardly a pause in her stride.

Spellbound, I followed. Her braid swung in a short arc as she moved. The light shone off her hair, and I had a strong desire to reach out and touch it. I had no doubt it would feel silky soft beneath my fingers.

The number hovering above her head was a big red zero.

I glanced up at my own number. I had dropped to a seven.

When I looked back, the girl was gone. In the few seconds it took me to check my social number, she had disappeared.

Frantic, I pushed through the crowd more aggressively. I called out for her to wait, come back. Her name bobbed in the back of my mind, there but elusive. I could not wrap my tongue around it and cast it out.

I had reached the end of the crowd, and found myself standing in front of a door. The room looked similar to the big entryway in the house I grew up, but there was no door in this particular spot. It was wooden, with a small knocker. Not exactly a door that belonged anywhere in a multi-million dollar home.

I turned, looking back over the crowd I had just left. They were further away, halfway across a room as big as a football field. Another glance up at my number. A shaky four.

Turning back to the door, I let out a long sigh. My hand shook as I reached for the knocker. I lifted it, and let it drop. Once. I barely heard the metal “tink” as the knocker met the plate beneath.

Sudden silence made me turn, and the entire crowd had stopped to stare.

My heart pounded. I turned back toward the door and nearly cried out.

The blonde girl stood directly before me. The door behind her stood wide open, letting in bright sunlight and a warm breeze. She smiled, causing her nose to crinkle, and the freckles on her cheeks to bunch.

“Took ya long enough,” she said, her voice soothing and warm. “C’mon.”

She held out her hand.

[fatefulfaerie]

Enshrined

A happy August birthday to @livthefangorl !! I hope you like it!

When Link pulled back on the reins of his chocolate-brown horse, he already knew Zelda was asleep behind him, her chest rising and falling gently against his back, her arms loosely around his waist, and her breaths cooing alongside the crickets and cicadas that languished in the night time.

“Zelda,” he prompted, looking over his shoulder. “We’re here.”

He would have let her sleep if he hadn’t promised to wake her when they arrived.

“Zelda,” he repeated. Evidently he would need to do more than a verbal prompt.

Holding her drooped shoulders up with his arm, he slowly and carefully turned around on the horse, so that he sat on the saddle facing Zelda. Keeping one hand on her shoulder, he placed another on her cheek.

“Zelda.”

“Hm,” she sported a soft smile.

“We’re here, we made it.”

Emerald pierced through the fog, eyelids flitting like the wings of a hummingbird.

“So soon?”

Link’s smile was genuine and so were his nods, the former knight chuckling.

“You must have really been out because it definitely was not a quick trip.”

“Sorry you had to manage it alone,” Zelda said. “I didn’t think I would sleep that much.”

“You’re still catching up from holding the calamity for a hundred years.” Link said before pecking her lips. “And I wasn’t alone. You kept my heart warm, like you always do.”

Zelda blushed and averted her gaze. The sun beamed in the night.

At least, that’s how Link saw Zelda’s smile.

They held hands after climbing up the ruined and moss-covered bricks of stone, soon strolling through the forgotten temple and not even batting an eye at the decayed guardians.

After Link and Zelda defeated Calamity Ganon in the burnt grass of Hyrule field, none of the Guardians reactivated, none shone with the cursed magenta light that made Zelda hate the color pink. The decayed guardians were now truly decayed.

The peace that the resulting silence brought with that truth was the most romantic thing in the land.

Zelda hugged Link’s arm and their stroll slowed slightly, her head leaning on his shoulder.

“It must be hard to believe,” Zelda said. “This being the last shrine and all. You’ve done so many.”

Zelda could feel Link’s shrug.

“It’s all kind of a blur, scouring the land for the shrines, but...it does feel strange not having shrines out there I have yet to do.”     

“A good strange?” Zelda asked. Link smiled.

“Yeah,” he replied. “A good strange.”

The curling orange lights could be seen from a mile away. It was nothing new to either Zelda nor Link, as the latter had done a hundred and nineteen of these, thirty of which with his most beloved companion at his side.

He found that the ones he did with Zelda were the most enjoyable of all.

Zelda still had a giddy excitement when they neared the shrine, dislodging herself from the way she held Link and chasing the shrine as if it were going somewhere.

Of course it didn’t. It was planted firmly in the ancient stones of the forgotten temple, with the largest statue of the goddess Hylia they had ever seen gazing down upon them with a smile that anyone else would describe and lifelike and kind. Link had gotten in the habit of biting his tongue whenever someone talked about their strong faith in the goddess Hylia and how she was the most benevolent of all, no matter how much he wanted to say that their “benevolent” goddess let hundreds of people die before finding the time to award Princess Zelda with her long-deserved sealing power. Sometimes Link thought Zelda was the goddess Hylia, and sometimes he thought that goddess Hylia had abandoned them long ago, if she had even existed existed in the first place.

“Link?”

He hadn’t even realized he was staring up at the gargantuan statue, the way it loomed, the way it mocked their life of doom, still and always laughing.

Perhaps Link was being a bit harsh.

“Coming,” he said, dislodging the Sheikah Slate from the belt on his hip. Link and Zelda could afford to forget about the past, the goddess that betrayed them, the calamity that divided them, the kingdom that doubted them. They had each other in the here and now and nothing was more precious.

Link tapped the slate to the pedestal and, just like normal, the chime chimed and the blue light lighted, changing from a sunset glow to a cloud-free sky in the blink of an eye.

The shrine entrance opened, unfolded before them and soon, welcomed them in to descend into the last depth of untouched technology.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When they emerged from the shrine, Zelda had a Great Flameblade strapped to her back and Link had the very last spirit orb in his soul. It was an agreement between them that they would switch off who gets what when it comes to opening chests. This time it was Zelda’s turn, but Link looked concerned, and it didn’t get past Zelda.

“You’re gonna set a forest on fire,” he said before Zelda could ask. She put her hands on her hips. 

“If I do, it would be accidental.” She said haughtily. “We both know that I’m not the one who commits arson on purpose.”

“It’s called collateral damage,” Link said. “Sometimes when you blow up a Bokoblin camp, things get a little heated. Besides, we put out the fire before it reached the stable. No one got hurt.”

“Will you be introducing me as ‘no one’ to other people now?”

“What?”

“Yes, this here is my girlfriend,” Zelda said mockingly, imitating Link’s voice poorly. She only deepened it a tad and her royal accent of a hundred years prior seemed unerasable. “She has pretty green eyes and short, blonde hair and her name is No One.”

“Where did you get hurt?”

“I burnt my arm.”

“You did not.”

“Yeah huh.” She rolled up her blue and white sleeve and pointed at her right forearm. “Right here.”

Link’s expression dulled.

“That’s a sunburn, Zelda,” he said dryly. But she knew that.

“Still a burn,” she said with a smirk, big pleading eyes asking for sympathy from Link. He tried to hold his smile, but it broke through in twitches. He finally chuckled as he bowed his head, looking back up with bright, blue eyes completely enamored with the woman in front of him.

Link took Zelda’s hand and brought her now exposed forearm to his lips, pressing a soft, prolonged kiss to the small of her wrist. Not once did he dare break eye contact.

“Better?” Link asked.

“Immensely,” Zelda said weakly. Two months since he rescued her from the calamity and small, unexpected romantic gestures like that still swept her off her feet.

But it wasn’t long before they walked around the shrine, finding the “gift” the last monk had talked about, it apparently taking the form of three different chests.

“I guess we take turns,” Link suggested. 

He walked forward to the right-most chest, soon pulling out a simple green tunic that would expose his shoulders if not worn with the dark tan undershirt that accompanied it, the sleeves of which stopping just below the elbows.

Link didn’t even notice that Zelda was opening the left-most chest as he tried his new tunic on for size, only focusing on the fit that turned out to be oddly perfect.

“Link,” Zelda said.

He turned his head as he picked up the blue champions tunic he had tossed to the floor.

Zelda kept her silence as she ran her thumb up and a down a piece of green cloth, her gaze downward and contemplative.

“This is no ordinary treasure,” she said, almost to herself.

“What do you mean?” Link said with a couple steps forward.

“The past heroes,” she started. “The illustrations in the books...they used to dress like this. The green tunic, the pointed cap...”

She paused for a moment before looking over, offering the cloth to Link.

“All of this is meant for you,” she continued. “I...I don’t know how...I mean we’ve both voiced our doubts in the goddess but maybe...”

Zelda was surprised when Link shook his head.

“Then I can’t accept it,” he said. “I can’t accept such a superficial gift from her when she refused for so long to give you what you deserved. It’s not right.”

Zelda pursed her lips and nodded slowly, lowering the arm that offered the pointed cap. 

Link watched in silence as she went to the last chest. She let out a soft chuckle, picking up brown shorts.

“As much as I want to see your legs in these, I understand,” she said, folding the cap and the shorts together. “Perhaps these belong here, enshrined with the rest of the past.”

Link agreed by nodding silently, before changing back into the blue champions tunic that felt so much more comfortable, so much more settling, so much more right.

He took Zelda’s hand afterwards, ready to leave the legends behind them.

“Let’s go home.”

[admelioraii]

In the footsteps of the Incan ancestors

Peruvian children in traditional clothing

Peru means “land of abundance”(in Aymara language) and that is a perfectly chosen word to describe this rich, diverse and colourful country. It is the third largest country in South America after Brazil and Argentina.

Peru has big amounts of mineral, agricultural and marine resources that have long served as its economic foundation.

The cold Peruvian current where upwelling brings abundant nutrients to the water surface there the beneficial effects of the sunlight results in plankton growth, which make these waters one of the world's greatest fishing grounds.

In spite of Peru's tropical location in the Southern Hemisphere it has enormous differences in climate, economical activities and ways of life.Peru is normally divided into three main geographic zones. The Andean highlands, the arid coastline and the largely unpopulated Peruvian Amazon, the rainforest.

This large geographical diversity gives Peru one of the greatest biodiversities in the world. In the upcoming section we will follow the footsteps of the Peruvian forefathers to discover more about this great and colourful country.

First footstep:👣

Our first footstep is the pre Incan culture.

The civilization “Caral” marks the beginning of the Peruvian, as well as the rest of the American continent’s history.

It is estimated to be as old as 5000 years, making it contemporary with the civilizations of Mesopotamia, Egypt, China and India.

Nevertheless, without leaving much trace of evidence of its existence the caral civilization suddenly disappeared and was replaced by the “Chavin” civilization.

In that way the history kept repeating itself and civilization followed civilization, some disappeared by themselves others were conquered by stronger ones.

Nasca Lines, Peru

Second Footstep:👣👣

Our second footstep is the Nazca. The Nazcas predated the Incas by as much as 2000 years, in other words 800 B.C and are most famous for having drawn the Nazca lines.

These are huge drawings representing a hummingbird, spider, fish, condor, heron, monkey, lizard, cat, dog and a human or some of the lines are just lines. By making shallow incisions in the desert floor, removing stones and leaving differently coloured dirt exposed, the lines they drew have been preserved during thousands of years due to the extreme environmental circumstances that have helped to preserve them.

The purpose of the lines is unclear but experts presume their purposes are religious.

Lake Titicaca, Peru

Third Footstep:👣👣👣

The third footstep is Lake Titicaca. This important lake has a maximum depth of 280 meters and is shared by Peru and Bolivia and is situated high up in the Andes at 3.812 metres. It is the world's highest navigable lake and it is said to be the birthplace of the Incas. The waters of lake Titicaca are famously still and brightly reflexive.

This fresh water lake, that also is one of South America’s largest lakes, is shaped as a puma, herefrom its name Titicaca meaning puma in Aymara language. Today we can see floating villages made of reeds on the lake, where the Uros people live. They rely on fishing and tourism for survival.

We also find protected aquatic wildlife by the lake, special and unique are the giant frogs.

Statue of Pachacutec, Aguas Calientes, Peru

Fourth Footstep:👣👣👣👣

The forth footstep are the Incas.

The Incan Empire was the last chapter of thousands of years of Andean civilization directly preceded by two other large scale Empires, the Tiwanaku 300-1100 A.C in the lake Titicaca region and the Wari or Huari 600-1100 A.C near the city of Ayacucho.

As said earlier the Incan civilization was born by the shores of lake Titicaca and grew to become an Empire, at the time known as “realm of the four parts”. It was the largest Empire in pre-Columbian America.

No monetary currency was used in the Incan Empire but exchange of goods and taxes consisted of a labour obligation of a person to the Empire. Another interesting fact is that they used knotted strings or so called “ quipus” for record keeping and written communication.

The Incas rose to power in the early 13th century and their last stronghold was conquered in 1572 by Spanish conquerors.

Ruins of the Empire can be found across Peru today, some of which are hidden by the rainforest's intense vegetation.

Machu Picchu, Peru

Fifth Footstep:👣👣👣👣👣

One of these ruins and our fifth footstep is Machu Picchu.

Machu Picchu the city in the clouds. 

Machu Picchu is one of the only Inca towns to have survived the Spanish conquest.

Believed to have been built in the 1400’s Machu Picchu got the nickname “the lost city of the Incas” because it is said that the Spanish never set foot there.

Because of its position up of two fault lines it experiences frequent earthquakes but thanks to the combination of its intelligent design and sturdy building materials it has survived through time.

There are 150 buildings in this old site and they vary from temples to bathhouses.

Without doubt one of the most impressive architectural features of Machu Picchu is the renowned staircase with 100 steps that have been carved out of one single piece of stone.

On top of that and as far as we know the Incas didn’t have any wheels thus it had to have been hauled to the summit by hand or carved out of the mountain itself.

Machu Picchu translated from Quechua means “old mountain “or “old peak” and it was cleverly built to withstand earthquakes and to avoid landslides. Water collecting systems were built under the buildings inside the mountains.

These systems collected water in drainage basins and the water was later redistributed throughout Machu Picchu and surroundings.

Roads leading to and from Machu Picchu were connected to the Empire’s transport system including paths, bridges and mountain tracks that stretched all over Peru.

Rainbow Mountains

Sixths Footstep:👣👣👣👣👣👣

Even though our sixth footstep doesn’t involve the country’s history it is a remarkably beautiful footstep.

The rainbow mountains. 

The colour of these mountains resembles that of a rainbow, here from the name, they are also called “Montaña de siete colores” (the seven coloured mountain). It is situated in the Andean mountain chain at 5.200 meters above sea level.

These beautifully multicoloured mountains with tones of turquoise, lavender,gold, terracotta and red, contain 14 different colours in total. The mountains have got their colours from weathering and mineralogy. The dissimilar colouration developed due to different environmental conditions and mineralogy when the sediment was originally deposited and later día genetically altered. The temperature here is 0 degrees celcius at night. It is one of the world’s most amazing natural wonders!

Chan Chan, Peru

Seventh Footstep:👣👣👣👣����👣👣

The seventh and last footstep is a combination of some small, scattered and interesting locations.

Framed by three volcanoes and built primarily from white volcanic stones, Arequipa is one of Peru’s most charming colonial cities.

It is here that we find “Santuarios Andinos “ , a small museum with a grisly secret, the mummified remains of the young victims offered as human sacrifices in the peak overlooking the city.

The 550 years old “ice maiden “ Juanita is the best preserved of the mummies.

Even though the south of Peru is a land of Misty volcanoes here we also find one of the world's deepest canyons “Colca” with a depth of 3.250 meters, where mighty condors live. The tribe”los collaguas” who also lived here in the high part of the canyon, used to bury their dead by digging a hole along the steep rocky canyon and marking it with red paint. Faint red stains can still be found today when driving along the canyon on the roads on the tops of the mountains.

In the northern parts of Peru where the Moche civilization had its stronghold around 300 A.D, we find the Lord of Sipán (señor de Sipán). His remains were found not too long ago as the first of a group of mummies found at Huaca Rajada, Sipán.

Lord of Sipán was 35-45 years old when he died but it is his treasures that amazed the world as most of his ornaments were either gold, silver, bronze or semi precious stones.

The Incan bath houses are situated in Cajamarca, it is centred on a spa which uses thermal spring water with medical and therapeutic benefits.

It is said to have been the favourite place of the Incan Lord Atawallpa.

Another remarkable location is the Chanchan cultures sand houses in the capital of the Chimu kingdom, they are from the 15th century and still standing today.

Gold Treasures

Conclusion:

Having followed the footsteps, we have reached the end of our mountain trail. This marks the finish line of our journey in Peru leaving us with the conclusion.

Peru, as the rest of Latin America, are rich and abundant countries. They are also known for centuries to have been rich in precious metals such as gold and silver.

It is not difficult to imagine where the rumours of “ El dorado” come from.

Whether it is imaginary, based on legends or somewhat truth based.

One can ask himself if there was nothing else behind Columbus' voyage to the “ new world”.

Al khashkhash ibn Said ibn Aswad , an Andalusian citizen from Còrdoba, traveled with a group of friends by ship and crossed the “sea of darkness”(that’s what the Arabs used to call the Atlantic Ocean). On his return in 889 A.C he shared his stories about what he saw and the people he met.

Imam al Shabi, wrote in one of his books 600 A.C about a land behind al Andalus, as far away from there as “we” are from al Andalus.

In any case, they were not the only ones to have discovered the”big land”.

According to the Arabs the Africans, to be more precise the Malians, also traveled to Latin America, they as well as the Arabs went to the Americas in pre-Columbian times.

Mali was one of the richest and most developed countries in Africa in the 14th century.

Could Columbus have been so confused or misinformed or was it a “cover up expedition” as an excuse to conquer and plunder “the big land”???

Information obtained from; 

Etapas históricas del Perú www gob.pe gobierno del Perú, 

National Geographic’s Megastructures, 

Historical Arabic sources, and 

A special thanks to a dear friend for providing insight and support.

[yeojaa]

Dude... What about a devil!jk spending his first valentine's day with her and she's all it's just a dumb holiday and he's all offended cus he's a rooooomantic 🤣🤣

[ read devil in a new suit ]

pairing.  rich boy!jjk x girlfriend!reader.  rating.  general.  tags.  the epitome of fluffy angst.  wc.  1.4k.  beta reader(s).  @coepiteamare, @yeoldontknow.  ty mucho. ✨  a/n.   vday is a capitalist lie and also, this will rip your heart in half then piece it back together.  happy 14th of february!    

There sits a portrait in the atrium of his heart.  A lovely thing, a lonely thing, painted in the shades of your smile, the rouge of your lipstick, the studded dark of your stare.  It never gathers dust, prim and pristine, carefully tended to with an adoration that sinks sunbeams into the shadows, sweeps cobwebs away on moth wings.  

It’d once been blocked off, locked with a skeleton key, brass tucked behind the cage of his ribs.  He’d guarded it like a three-headed dog, barked and bayed and keened quiet in the night when no one else was around.  No one enter, he’d said, full of fear, skin of his hands hardened and rough and purpled.  The flesh of a fig, hardy and thick, protecting a centre soft and chewy and terribly sweet as it stuck to teeth.  

He’d never been bitter - never the harsh white pith of a lemon, never tart like the yellow that burst forth and stung - but he’d been something else.  Cautious, worried, scared.  Full of love but with nowhere for it to go, overripe and inedible from years of hanging on the limbs of trees left to rot.

And then you’d appeared.  Shot across his sky like a comet, brilliant and beautiful and fluorescent, lighting up his life like the burst of a supernova.

You’d drenched all the grey in technicolour, turned paper leaves green, spilled colour into his cheeks.  Made them rudied red and full of life, warm warm warm in the curl of your palms, scorching coals under the weight of your kisses.  Filled all his cracks with the silver quality of your laughter, honeycomb smile turned gold filigree to piece back all the fragments. 

So of course he’d showered you in affection, appeared with an armful of flowers and a smile that rivalled the sun.  “Happy Valentine’s day,”  he’d hummed, a heart full of hope, hands full of freesias and white roses and enough baby’s breath to take yours away.  He thought you’d love it - like you loved him, with unashamed adoration and lines at your eyes, brow creasing with delight.  But you’d only blinked once, twice, with a polite turn of your chin, a knife slipped between his ribs and pressed, too gentle for purpose. 

You’d smiled and shook your head, caught a petal between your fingers and dipped your nose to the leaves.  Inhaled deep and pure and then continued on, moved along, already miles away by the time he’d caught up.  

“Don’t you like them?”  He’d asked, doubt creeping up, twining around his lungs like a rose bush, heavy with thorns.  They’d pin-pricked his heart, spilled his insides out;  your bandages were nowhere to be found, no chiming bells or liquid gold in sight.  It’d beat for you, in time with you, one to one for each of your own.  It’d stuttered and tripped, caught on its own too feet, overeager and delirious.  “The girl who helped me said freesias symbolise trust and baby’s breath mean love and—”

“They’re lovely.”  

Maybe you’d meant it, for the briefest of moments, in the quiet before you’d crossed the threshold, before you’d swung open the door and turned his efforts to ash.  Surely you’d appreciated them - him.  Surely you never intended to hurt him the way you had.  

“But they’re kind of a waste.”

A heart is a well of impossible depths, an abyss of contradictions and contrived notions.  Even the brightest of rays do little to penetrate its darkness.  Moonlight filters over the surface in ripples and waves, undefined and blurred.  Thoughts without end and often without start.  

He supposes he can’t help the way he feels, how his shoulders turn stiff beneath your touch, the set of his mouth worn and sagging, a poorly strung noose tying his lips up.  (It feels more like the thing around his neck, tattered and heavy, a reminder of all the reasons the door had been better left shut, sealed.) 

“What’s wrong?”  You’re a birdsong in his ear, lilting and lovely, impossible to ignore.  You hold him in your hands and press kisses to his throat, sear stardust beneath skin, and hum in hopes of an answer.  He’s stoically silent, a statue fit not for hallowed halls but mausoleums, stone cold and sad.  

Jungkook doesn’t mean for this - for the sorrow that rains down in sheets.  You’re a Monday in May, a winding path speckled with flora, springtime.  His misery will surely suffocate you, tear life from limb with its torrential cast.  

“Nothing,”  he says, through the pristine white cage of his teeth, untruths bleeding past enamel and staining them red.  He speaks them well, well enough to fool anyone else, well enough that his lies are dressed lily white, stunning in their Sunday best.  “Just don’t feel well.”

Hasn’t, since you’d come home, since dinner, since exactly four hours and four minutes ago.  

“Don’t lie.”  It’s not an accusation, baseless and blunt.  It’s coaxing, pleading, whittling away amber, crystallised and hard around the too-soft thing in his chest.  A layer of wax giving way, melted by the warmth of your touch, the fire in your eyes.  Icarus’ wings, hummingbird wings, monarch wings.  Stained glass creaking and cracking beneath the weight of your words.  

“I’m sorry.”

The apology lays itself over crushed velvet, spins itself into silk and twines into strands, a braid twisted over your shoulder.  It settles, indistinguishable from the salt-sweet, his whisper finding a home within the shell of your skin.  He threads his fingers with yours, twists and turns knuckles until they knock awkwardly, unkempt and unsure.  

Your sigh is a salve, soothing ointment spread over scorched earth, dulling the sting.  He still aches all over, from the base of his spine to the top of his head, a rattle in his bones when he brings you close.  It trembles through the both of you, an eruption of emotion felt to the core.  (But still, he feels best when he’s with you.)

“For what?”  

He thinks and thinks, works himself into a knot he doesn’t know how to unfasten.  It coils in the centre of his chest, a slipknot he’s tied wrong, whose tail has been folded in on itself.  He grasps at frayed rope, seeks aimlessly for the answer.  A tidal wave of emotion sweeps high above his head, an unnamed terror that threatens to upend his rowboat.  He settles as the sea does, in breaks and luls that belie something far worse, in a voice small as a drop in the ocean.  “For being too much.”

“Jungkook.”  The way your voice breaks hits like a thousand pounds, an assault to the back of his knees, a shot to the vulnerable soft of his gut.  A sound whines out - another apology - and you swallow it whole, take it in and turn it around, offering tenderness in its wake.  “You’re never too much.”

He believes you.  He swears he does, even if the words come tumbling out, glass too full to hold them all.  “You didn’t like the flowers.”

“So what?”  You cradle him careful with magic hands, understanding threaded between each digit.  You hold him tight even as he threatens to run away, can’t keep the skip of his stare from doing so.  “I don’t need flowers.  I don’t need gifts.”  (Not the jewels he’d laid in your lap, stamped with an interlocked ‘C’ and nestled within pristine white tissue.  Not the flowers that’d poured onto every surface of his apartment, a mountain of blooms with typewritten cards nestled amongst stems.  Not the five course meal he’d ordered in, because love and devotion didn’t translate into a masterclass in cooking.)  “All I wanted for Valentine’s Day was you.”

Something he’s never heard before.  Less an excuse and more akin to you’re enough, echoed in the quiet, repeated in a daisy chain that attaches itself to the end of his thoughts and undoes all the sadness.  That unravels him in a single fluid motion and has him melting against you, leaking love from all his undone seams.

“I’m sorry.”  This time, he means it as thank you.

“Me too.”  And you mean it as I love you.

[rugbypolycule]

take your hand in mine

pairing: itadori yuuji x fushigoro megumi

characters: itadori yuuji, fushigoro megumi, kugisaki nobara, fushiguro tsumiki (mentioned),  fushiguro toji (mentioned), gojo satoru (mentioned)

rating: general audiences, no warnings apply

words: 1968

summary: yuuji is half-decent at painting his nails for a beginner. megumi is absolutely smitten and gets pulled along for the ride. they're both in love and clueless.

or: an intimacy fic where yuuji paints megumi's nails. because those boys deserve some quiet time.

ao3 link

Itadori Yuuji isn’t someone who gets embarrassed easily. He rarely pays attention to the opinions of others, and not for a lack of caring. He has such a strong sense of self, such an unwavering faith in his own mind that criticism often flies right over his head. On anyone else, the trait would far too-closely resemble arrogance – even self-centeredness. The pink-haired boy, however, is too gentle, too empathetic and kind. His steady confidence shines in a bright halo that threatens to overwhelm even those with the strongest defenses.

In simpler, more candid terms, Fushigoro Megumi feels like he can’t breathe when Yuuji smiles. If he were more honest with himself, he’d recognise that his feelings of breathlessness aren’t reserved for Yuuji’s full-watt smile. The truth is that around Yuuji, Megumi’s lungs work overtime. He is almost constantly filled with this restless sort of energy, the urge to act. It makes his fingers itch and his pulse lurch to his throat.

It’s a cool day. It had been overcast for a while, the clouds heavy with an oncoming storm so strong it could almost be tasted. Yuuji loves days like these. The feeling of his hair standing on end, the thickness of the air around him, the velvety grey of the sky. It is the sort of day that makes you want to stay inside with lights dimmed and quiet music playing.

Yuuji finds himself in this exact position, scrolling through Pinterest on his laptop. Ever since meeting Megumi and Nobara, he had discovered a newfound love for fashion. He loved bright colours and stark geometric patterns and shiny skin and lips. It felt fresh and energising. He loved the attention to detail that went into putting together a full outfit – the studded belts, sheer scarves, painted nails.

Yuuji loved the look of nail polish. He could wear his dark uniform and still bring colour into his life, and for cheap. Plus, going shopping with Nobara was always a fun experience. She had picked out a bright purple shade for Yuuji, but he had his eyes on a bottle bursting with golden yellow. He bought them both at her loud insistence. They ate sushi that day. It was nice.

Now Yuuji sits on his bed, yellow bottle in slightly trembling hand. His nervous anticipation doesn’t come from fear that people would think he looked weird or strange; he is more worried about messing up the application and look messy, about which Nobara often complained. The concern quickly dissipates, though, making way for Yuuji’s quiet excitement as he opens the bottle.

The breaking of the seal causes a wave of fumes to fill his room. Yuuji’s nose tickles. He sneezes a few times, coming dangerously close to spilling the yellow paint everywhere. Thankfully, his reflexes are stronger than his body’s averse reaction. He slowly lifts the brush out of the bottle, taking care to wipe off the excess varnish just as Nobara had told him. With a slightly steadier hand, he begins painting his left index finger. He moves on to the next, then the next, then his right hand (which is considerably more difficult and why didn’t Nobara say anything about that?) Though he was unpracticed, he didn’t make a huge mess like he thought he would. Save for a few yellow-tinged cuticles, he had done a pretty decent job.

For a while, Yuuji just sits back and admires his work. Nobara had told him to wait no less than 15 minutes before even thinking about using his hands. Yuuji lasts 5 minutes before looking for a cooking video to pass the time. Nothing was smudged, and Yuuji quite happily sits through more than a few videos before the smell of the nail polish becomes too much for him. It had been plenty of time now, so he doesn’t worry about messing up his nails as he opens the door to his room.

He stops short as he finds Megumi on the other side of it.

If anyone asked, Megumi was just walking past Yuuji’s room for no reason. In fact, he was only going to get water, and had to pass by Yuuji’s room in order to get to the common area. The reason he stopped at his classmate’s door at all was simply to ponder the possibility of getting a snack. There was no other motive behind it.

Sadly, all his excuses do nothing to hide his deer-in-headlights expression. Before he can open his mouth in order to deny being there on purpose, a hand is thrust towards his face. Megumi flinches back in a sort of surprised confusion before realising that Yuuji has yellow fingernails.

“Do you like them?” asks Yuuji, grinning at Megumi like an expectant puppy.

Oh. There’s that hummingbird thrum in his bones again. The rapid movement of blood that makes his head light and his breath shallow. Yuuji is beautiful.

“Yeah,” Megumi tries to answer. It’s at times like these, when he’s lost for words and doesn’t know how to move his face to seem genuine, that he really appreciates Yuuji’s personality. Almost anyone else would have thought Megumi disinterested, or worse judgemental because of his monotone and lacklustre response. Thankfully, Yuuji just huffs out a laugh.

“You don’t have to sound so excited about it, Fushiguro.” He rolls his eyes, still grinning, arm still extended. “I thought you would’ve appreciated it more.”

Megumi softly bats his hand away. “I don’t ‘not appreciate it’, Itadori. It’s cool. I’m just… thinking about how it probably wouldn’t suit me.”

Megumi gets whacked on the shoulder. “Hey!” He complains as Yuuji pulls him into his room and sits him down on the bed. The nail polish smell, not having quite left the room yet, makes Megumi’s nose wrinkle up. Yuuji lets out a giggle that sounds like sunshine on skin.

“What are you doing?” Megumi almost whines as Yuuji rummages around in his closet. Yuuji turns to face him, pulling a plastic bag out with him with a flourish. His smile hasn’t left his face yet, and Megumi feels like he’s drowning in it.

“Won’t suit you? We’ll see about that,” says Yuuji, confident as always.

Megumi tries not to splutter. “Well. Yellow isn’t really my colour, Itadori.” He says his name too softly, like he always does. He tenses up and hopes Yuuji doesn’t notice.

To his almost-disappointment, Yuuji doesn’t react. Instead, he pulls out a bottle of purple nail polish and throws it towards the bed, a way too smug look on his face. Megumi wants to kiss him so badly it hurts.

“Nobara got me to buy two,” he almost sing-songs, “so now you have to let me paint yours!”

In another reality, there is a Megumi that rips his gaze away from those brown eyes and mumbles something about Yuuji not making any sense. He leaves the room with his heart intact, and goes and eats ice cream with a spoon with his wolves in the dark.

Instead, he tries desperately to stay quiet, to suppress a gasp as Yuuji grabs his hand to inspect it. Megumi blames the tightness in his ribs on his binder and toughs it out. Except Yuuji’s hand is so warm and impossibly soft and that idiot shuffles close enough that their thighs are touching and it’s all. A lot.

Yuuji is still just cradling Megumi’s hand in both his own, turning it over and staring for so long it’s as if he’s trying to commit the skin to memory. The air is still thick with an oncoming storm, but now a tentative intimacy mingles amongst the electrified atoms. Megumi doesn’t dare move or speak, as if the universe will punish him by way of Yuuji letting go of his hand. He chooses rather to count each of Yuuji’s eyelashes, watch his nostrils flare as he breathes out in quiet concentration.

“You have really pretty fingers.” Yuuji murmurs, completely unaware of how devastating it is to Megumi’s heart.

Having been abandoned by his father, not knowing his mother, and his sister being in a coma, Megumi hasn’t been a close acquaintance to touch. Hell, even when his sister wasn’t confined to a hospital bed, he was too prickly and stubborn to receive hugs most of the time. Somewhere not-so-deep down, Megumi craves touch. Sometimes, he stares at the ceiling and wonders what it could feel like to be close to someone that didn’t involve the rigidity of training or the annoyance of Gojo’s hair ruffles. To feel warm and fuzzy and for it to be because of someone else’s hands.

Yuuji’s touch, combined with his soft words of praise, are a dream come true. Megumi can only cough awkwardly and watch as Yuuji starts to coat his short nails in purple. Yuuji’s tongue is almost the same colour as his hair, and it sticks slightly out of his mouth as he works. At some point Yuuji had turned that low music back on: a steady and slow lo–fi that does nothing to calm Megumi’s racing heart.

Yuuji keeps slowly rubbing his thumb back and forth on the back of Megumi’s hand as he glides the brush against his fingernails. It’s in all ways comforting as it is maddening, and Megumi does not expect the quiet, “you take such good care of your hands,” when it comes.

Yuuji chooses that exact moment to look into Megumi’s eyes. His face is so open and earnest and it’s becoming harder and harder to keep looking back without leaning forward into his space and just…

Megumi lets out a shaky breath. “Really? Thank you,” he replies, trying to sound as casual as possible with his pulse constricting in his jaw. His mouth feels dry.

Yuuji moves swiftly onto his other hand until all that’s left is his pinky. Not wanting to repeat the slight smudges he had accidentally painted onto Megumi’s left pinky, Yuuji pulls this last finger closer to his face, his breath fanning against it and sending shivers up Megumi’s whole arm. He finishes painting the nail quickly and carefully, but doesn’t put down Megumi’s hand.

Megumi can’t help the soft gasp he lets out as he feels a feather-light kiss pressed to his wrist. It’s as if his blood sings. They observe each other quietly for several moments – taking one another in, willing the silence to never break. Yuuji eventually pulls his face away from his work, now admiring the job.

“All finished.” Yuuji’s voice isn’t loud, but it fills the room. Megumi moves on the bed, beginning to pull his hand away. Yuuji drops his wrist in favour of grabbing Megumi’s waist with both hands, eyes almost panicked.

“You can’t leave yet!” His voice doesn’t raise above the volume of the music, but his words are emphatic. Megumi is trembling in his grasp. “You have to let them dry. And since I spent all that time painting your nails for you, it’s only fair that you stay here with me while you wait.”

Megumi is about to protest, knowing his limits are close to being reached. His face is burning hot and surely visible from the mere distance Yuuji sits away. He feels fit to burst.

The sky does before he has the chance.

The first clap of thunder sounds outside, and a pitter pattering of rain begins to thrum against the window. Megumi resigns himself to this still fume-filled room. He lies down on the bed next to Itadori Yuuji, feeling everything. He doesn’t answer when Yuuji asks if he wants to watch something, nor does he pay attention to whatever the pink-haired boy pulls up on YouTube for them.

Instead, Megumi exists in a content closeness to his friend, counting his eyelashes, and feeling the heat of Yuuji’s hands on his waist.

[thewhumperinwhite]

And Then You Kill Me (part 5)

story masterpost

TW for: referenced dubcon; guilt and self-hatred; suicidal behavior; angst and misunderstandings; under-negotiated sexual behavior. Nothing directly nsfw here but it is very much The Morning After.

@whumpitywhumpwhump @favwhumpstuff

----

Usually, the morning after he eats, Karim sits on the roof with a cup of coffee and watches the sun rise.

It’s half indulgence and half penance. He can’t actually drink the coffee, which makes the smell exactly halfway between comfort and torture. And, depending on the…volume, he guesses, of the person he’s fed from, he can only stand the sun for about an hour on a clear day. Though sometimes he stays longer than that, to feel it prickle and burn against his skin. It depends on how much he feels like a thief, how much his mouth still tastes like lies.

This morning, of course, is different.

On the one hand, he isn’t as full as he normally is. It’s cloudy out, but he still needs the sunglasses he borrowed from Diana ages ago, that take up half his face; and he pulls a cap down low over his ears and forehead, too, for good measure.

On the other hand, he didn’t say a thing last night that wasn’t true, and that feels so good he’s almost drunk on it.

There’s warmth in his belly that’s more than blood.

Karim leans forward, cradling the still-hot mug against his chest, and squints down at the street below him. There’s a little shop on the corner, where he goes for batteries sometimes; they sell some simple groceries. Karim’s never had a reason to buy them before. He can’t think of any reason he’d like better than this.

----

Art wakes up with a screaming headache and absolutely no idea where he is.

Which. What he’s learning—what it feels like it’s taking him forever to learn—is that no matter how many times you wake up naked on someone else’s couch and don’t remember how you got there, it never gets easier or better.

And then he does remember. And that’s much worse.

----

Karim pauses inside the door, in the act of setting down the single bag of food and drink he’s bought. He’s just realized that orange juice belongs in the refrigerator, and he doesn’t actually have one of those. He doesn’t eat, and it hadn’t seemed worth the electricity.

Possibly the boy can drink it all in one go? It’s been so long since Karim’s drunk anything that comes out of a bottle, he isn’t actually sure how much—

He’s still standing there, in the doorway, holding Diana’s sunglasses in one hand and the carton in the other, and then a lamp hits him in the side of his head.

It doesn’t hit hard enough to rock him backward, but it does crack in half, and land at his feet in three big pieces.

Karim stares for a moment, down at the wreckage, and then up to the bathroom doorway, where the boy he picked up from the docks is standing. He’s wearing his sweatshirt again, and he’s trembling.

“What was that for?” says Karim. The boy’s face twists.

“We had a deal,” the boy says, and that’s when Karim realizes that the boy is shaking because he’s very, very angry.

“…Huh?” Karim says. It’s the wrong answer, apparently; the boy makes an unintelligible noise and lunges for a ceramic vase sitting on a nearby end table. Karim scrambles to set the orange juice and sunglasses down (Diana likes these glasses, and she’s terrifying when she’s angry) and throw his hands up in surrender. “Woah—Hey wait!” The boy pauses, holding the vase like a grenade. He’s swaying slightly under its weight. Presumably like someone who’s lost about a liter and a half of blood. Karim kind of can’t believe he’s even on his feet right now.

“…I bought you some orange juice,” Karim says, hesitantly. “The internet says it’s good for—”

The boy throws the vase.

“Oh my god!” Karim says, ducking into the kitchen, more by instinct than any actual fear of injury. (He is full of blood and almost indestructible; and also the boy aims like someone who has lost thirty percent of their blood by volume.) “What is your problem?”

The boy gapes at Karim, and has to grab the bathroom doorway to steady himself.

“My problem,” he gasps, sounding like he wants to shout it but is too out of breath. “Did I fucking stutter last night, you asshole?” He presses his hand to his temple and closes his eyes; his head must feel like a rotten melon by now. “What part of dead by sunrise was too fucking complicated for you?”

Karim blinks at the boy. Feels borrowed blood rise into his cheeks.

“Oh, that,” Karim says. “I, um…” He has no idea what to say. “…Sorry?”

His apology—which is half-hearted, admittedly; for once it hadn’t even occurred to him to feel guilty about this—hits the boy like a blow to the stomach, and the boy covers his face with one hand and slides down the bathroom doorframe until he’s sitting in a little heap on the floor. Wearing his still-damp sweatshirt and nothing else, his bare legs splayed out to either side. He looks—small, and less alive, and ah yes, there’s the guilt Karim has been missing.

“—so fucking stupid,” the boy mutters, into his hand.

Karim puts the juice down on the counter. He wants to move closer, but that cannot possibly be what the boy wants right now.

“God dammit,” the boy says, and he turns away from Karim, and climbs forward, easing himself back up to his feet against the wall. “Fuck this,” he says, and then Karim realizes he’s crawling-stumbling-falling toward the door, like he’s going to leave that way, swaying and half-naked.

“Woah,” Karim says, darting out to catch at the boy’s shoulder, “Hold on a s—”

“Don’t fucking touch me,” the boy spits, spinning away from Karim’s touch. His back is against the front door again, like it was when he opened up so sweet and easy under Karim’s mouth and hands—what, six hours ago? Less? The boy is incandescent with rage for a second, his eyes—they’re green, an ordinary alive-person green, shot through with brown, and achingly pretty—almost glowing with it, and then his face shutters like an empty house and he says, voice cold and precise, “Get out of my way.”

Karim hadn’t even realized he was in his way. But the door opens in, so the boy really can’t get out unless Karim moves. Karim holds his hands up instead, leaning back out of the boy’s space.

“Just—just wait a second, okay?” Karim says. He tries to pitch his voice as low and nonthreatening as possible, like he isn’t looming over the boy whether he wants to or not. “Let’s just—can we just talk about this for a second.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” the boy says. He’s supporting himself against the door, but if Karim didn’t already know he wouldn’t guess how unsteady on his feet the boy is; his voice is steady and flat and colder than Father’s basement in January. “It’s my own fault for being so fucking dumb and gullible, fair enough, glad that worked out for you, now back the fuck off.” That last part is said with so much sudden venom that Karim actually does stumble back a step without really meaning to.

“Gullible,” Karim repeats stupidly, like if he can understand just one word of what the boy is yelling at him this will all make sense suddenly. And then—suddenly—it does, and he gapes at the boy.

“Wait,” Karim says. “Do you—you think I was lying?” He almost expects the boy to deny it, except the boy is still giving him that same flat, blank look (with incomprehensible emotion underneath it, disgust and anger and maybe even hurt). “What—why on earth would I have—”

The boy looks at him. There are splotches of color in his cheeks, and his eyes are slightly too bright, and when Karim stares at him he tugs the hem of his sweatshirt down just a little farther, like he’s trying to cover his ass.

Karim takes a step back, dropping his hands to his sides.

“I wasn’t,” he says, nonsensically. “This is—Boy. I swear to you. I did not say a single thing last night that wasn’t true.”

There are big raised welts on either side of the boy’s throat, where Karim’s fangs went into him last night. The boy must have seen them, if he was in the bathroom; his reflection works just fine. They don’t look like hickeys or bruises or anything other than what they are. There’s no way the boy shouldn’t believe him, this one time when he only took what was given willingly, and not even all of that. There’s no way—

“Then explain it to me, asshole,” the boy says, and his voice is shaky with unshed tears. “Explain the world where everything you said is true, and I’m not dead yet.”

Karim wants—Karim wants. Karim wants to reach out and touch the boy. Karim wants to hold the boy gently, wants to wrap him up in something warm and safe until he tells him why he talks that way, why he wants to give his life—this thing he has that Karim doesn’t, that Karim won’t ever again—away so badly his voice trembles like that whenever he talks about it.

“It’s,” Karim says. His Father is always in despair about how bad he is with words. “Well, it’s just—I like you.”

Karim hasn’t told a lie in almost eight hours, now. This isn’t a lie, either.

The boy’s eyes go wide, surprise and then fear and then anger, and then without warning he dives down, flops onto his knees, grabs a shard of the shattered vase, and jerks it toward his own throat.

“No!” Karim grabs the boy’s wrist, too hard; it creaks alarmingly in his grasp, but the jagged ceramic piece falls from his hand and clatters to the ground. He wants to let go—the boy is far too still, his eyes too wide, and Karim already knows his wrist will bruise—but he can’t. There’s too much broken pottery and glass, and the boy is such a fragile thing.

The boy stares up at Karim. He is kneeling wide-eyed at Karim’s feet, and Karim can hear his shallow too-fast breath and his hummingbird heart, and it is almost more than he can bear.

The boy doesn’t scream, though; he doesn’t even call Karim a monster, or any of the other things Karim deserves. What he says, his voice tight, is, “They’ll find me,” and then, soft and desperate, meeting Karim’s light bulb eyes with his pretty dull alive ones, “Please.”

Karim doesn’t let go of the boy’s wrist. He gets carefully to his knees beside him, instead, meeting the boy’s gaze like it doesn’t even hurt.

“I’ve been killing in this city for nine years now,” he says, and there’s fear in the boy’s eyes, but still no fear of him. “They’ve never caught me.”

The boy’s eyes flicker. Karim has no idea with what. But this is the moment. He throws caution to the winds.

“Give me a week,” he says.

The boy stares at him.

“I like you,” he says again. The boy’s pounding heart hasn’t sped or slowed, so Karim keeps going. “You’re—I’ve never met anyone like you.” That’s true, like everything else he’s said, but he knows the boy won’t like it, so he presses ahead, fighting hard not to trip over his words. “I want to spend a week with you. Not to—we can do whatever you want. I won’t touch any way you don’t want me to. I know how to hide in this city better than anyone, no one will know where you are. And at the end of the week—” He swallows; he doesn’t want this to be a lie, but also the thought of it turns his stomach; he makes himself say it anyway. “And at the end of the week, I’ll kill you any way you ask me to. I promise.”

There’s a too-long moment of silence. The boy’s heart flutters painfully, and neither of them blink.

“…a week,” the boy says slowly, after an eternity.

Karim nods, maybe frantically.

The boy pulls his hand delicately out of Karim’s grip; Karim, useless heart pounding, lets him.

“For a week,” the boy says, “you’d better give me the flashiest murder scene in history.”

Karim grins, so hard it almost hurts his face. “Flashy,” he says, giddy and stupid. “I can do that.”

[thekrazykeke]

See You Again [2]

Fandom(s): Tokyo Ghoul

Relationship(s): Uta & reader.

Summary: in the sound of silence, we found sanctuary. in every word unspoken, love.

Warning(s): Angst, unspoken feelings. Pre-canon events but also very ambiguous timeline-wise. Disturbing mental imagery. Canon typical gore.

This little series was never meant to have a happy ending, so no screaming at me. I’ll accept your appreciation for my love of angst in reblogs, likes, comments or tears. 

Seriously though, in all honesty, I hurt myself as I wrote this. 

I dunno, I might indulge that impulsive urge of mine and write a one shot where they actually get together. Most likely not though, so no one hold their breath ahahaha.

[i.]

~

A smart person would never have returned to the little out of the way mask shop in the 4th Ward. You’d have chalked up the experience as weird and as common sense dictated, forgotten all about it. 

That is the safer route, the sane option.

So of course, you decided to be stupid. You kept coming back to the shop, although you were careful with how you planned your visits, spacing them out in between sight seeing and being a general tourist. 

The added bonus of your frequent visits being that although Uta’s face didn’t really change much expression-wise, you got the feeling that he was always a little surprised to see you.

“Do you really like it here that much?” 

Pulling the oni mask away from your face, you glanced at Uta who stood a good distance away from you, hand in pocket, hip cocked against the edge of the counter. “What’s that now?”

“I said, ‘do you really like it here that much?’” Uta repeated himself, red on black eyes intently trained on your face. “This is the second time this week you’ve come by without buying anything.”

“Oof.” You exaggeratedly clutched at your chest. “That hurt, Uta-san. With how frequently I come by here, one would think you’d treat me as more than a customer. We’re friends now.”

“We’re not.”

The words are stated so bluntly and again, you clutch at your chest, miming being struck by an arrow. Uta didn’t respond to your joking around and playing, just stared at you. So, you cut the crap, reaching into your back pocket with a mock pout. “How much for this mask? I think it suits me.”

“10504.50 yen.” At the sight of your suddenly wide eyes and dropped jaw, Uta’s blank expression cracked, he smiled slightly and just for a split second. “Also, the mask doesn’t suit you.”

You turned your back to him, carefully returning the oni mask to the display it’d been set up on. The next second you turned around, you nearly jumped out of your skin at how close Uta is now. “Hey now! Shit, you need a bell or something.”

“It’s not my fault you don’t pay attention.” 

You can’t even pull off your comedic routine and drop your head in an ‘ashamed’ manner because you’d probably most likely hit your head against his chest, he’s standing that close. Before you could ask him to either back up and inquire what was his reason for being in your personal space, a tattooed finger reached out, lightly touching your chin, encouraging you to look up, so that’s what you did.

“...I can create a mask for you. Something that suits you.” He’s now adjusting your face, the faintest touch causing you to move this way and that. 

“Aww! That’s nice of you, Uta-sa-”

“The base color would be silver, perhaps. And the eyes would sewn shut, the better to hide your grief and... the anger.” He’s musing aloud, words quiet and almost a whisper, but you heard him. Part of you think it’s deliberate, that he’s making fun of you, mocking you.

And it worked. 

You reached a hand up, setting it upon his wrist. Uta blinked, staring down at your hand, then his unique gaze switched to you, and he.... for a lack of better words, it’s like he snapped out of that artist’s mode. He dropped his hand and took one step out of your personal bubble then another and another before whirling around and started walking away. 

He lifted a hand in farewell, waving it about in a sort of shooing manner.

“Come back again in two to three weeks.”

That should have been the end of you and his interactions. 

Regardless of how intriguing he is, he’d pressed on one of your triggers, maybe even on purpose, and you already had too short of a life to put up with the bullshit. Then again, maybe it was for that reason entirely that you decided that you were gonna keep seeing him, even after he finished the mask, to annoy him to death of course.

Until he told you upfront to go away, you wouldn’t. That’s what you decided.

And with that resolution settled in your head, you could go about your business. You enjoyed the sights, the food, and although your judgement said it’d be a bad idea, you had a couple of one night stands. The first is a lawyer that you’re like pretty sure has kids and a wife, and the other is a stressed college kid. 

The experience left you unsatisfied and irritated. 

Since your last encounter with Uta had been...awkward and strained, you decided to bring a peace offering. Cream puffs for yourself with green tea and a cup of black coffee for him. You’d picked up on the fact that he liked the beverage without sugar and cream like the total heathen he is. You idly wondered if he even enjoyed sweet things or maybe he was one of those weird folks who liked sour and spicy stuff all the time.

The fact that you’re even thinking about this and it didn’t sink in as odd or out of place until the moment you crossed the threshold of HYSY Studios, taking note of the fact that the place is as gloomy and empty of customers as always. 

“’Ey! Uta, where you at!?” 

There’s a vibration against your leg. You juggle the items in your hold carefully before tugging out your cellphone and entering the passcode to unlock the phone. The most recent text message you’d received from Uta about four minutes ago informed you of the fact that he’s in the back of the studio, like the very, very back, where all the unused and returned masks were. Now the only reason you knew all this information is because of how often you pestered Uta about it. 

You’re at an impasse. 

You could do as he asked and bring your treat to him while you were at it or you could wait and avoid the potential jump scare that Uta was totally capable of inflicting upon you. 

‘To go or not to go, that is the question.’ 

Everything pointed to the clear conclusion that no, you absolutely should not go back there. Every horror movie cliché ended with the female protagonist being killed or gravely injured because she was so stupid as to go in the dark, alone, by herself. 

‘Uta isn’t a killer though.’ That’s what you tried to tell yourself, the argument weak and pitiful in your brain. 

You did not know this man well enough to be in the back where it wouldn’t be easy access to the front door, where you couldn’t bolt if he did something strange. However, you did own a mini taser and always carried mace, just as a precaution, so... 

So....

Slowly, reluctantly, you did as he instructed, every warning and life training you’d received up to this point in your life sending out red neon signs telling you to wait, not be an idiot, to please please stay where you are. And you ignored all those survival instincts, heading deeper into the studio, your footfalls loud and eerie the further in you went. 

Until you find him. 

He’s apparently unfazed by your belated presence, focus wholly consumed with his work. Red on black eyes glanced at you for but a moment and what you carried and then at the coffee. “There’s a mini fridge, leave everything there, except the coffee. I’m almost done.” 

Having some mild experience with artists and creative sorts, you avoid looking at the mask he’s working on, instead setting down the coffee in an empty space he vaguely gestured to. 

Then you walk the short distance to where the only mini fridge in the room is, reaching out, you pull it open. And it’s the scent that alerts you; the fresh tang of blood. It’s too late to stop yourself and you see it, everything. The jar of eyeballs, the carefully wrapped packages of ‘meat’. 

‘I’m in a back room with the potential copycat Jeffery Dahmer or...or....’ 

You’re not an idiot, all these little things you’d casually dismissed because you hadn’t cared enough to pay attention, to see... And now here you are. Here you are. 

Fuck.

Swallowing, you calm and dampen the inner voice sCREAMING, then casually as possible, grip wobbling only slightly, do you put your treat inside the mini fridge right alongside the human body parts and flesh, then close the door, turning around. 

Uta is still hard at work on the mask but his movements are slowing down.

As if nothing is amiss, you stride over just as he finally pauses to take a sip of coffee. “This is one of the ways that you make masks. Really. That’s interesting…” And you meant it too. Legs crossed, you leaned against the table, watching the mask maker in his element.

He smiles at you in that enigmatic way. “Thank you.” 

The visit continues without much else in the way of incidents and subtly unsubtle revelations. 

You don’t really talk and Uta doesn’t make you. 

Less than twenty minutes later, once he deems the mask complete, he stands up and stretches, arms raising overhead, revealing an expanse of creamy, pale, lean and muscled torso. 

Glancing away a beat too late, you catch Uta as he smiles, again, the smile lengthens into a smirk. He reaches out and plucks up the half mask delicately, taking a step towards you and your heart traitorously lurches in your chest. 

Self-preservation makes you want to run as he comes closer, closer, closer...

Logic keeps you rooted in place as he carefully puts the mask on you. Tattooed fingers brush the strands of hair away from the nape of your neck, lingering as he feels the flutter of your pulse beneath his fingertips. 

“Your heart is racing like a hummingbird.” he muses. You stare out at him from beneath the safety of the mask, the bone surprisingly not pinching or cutting your skin. “And here I thought nothing could scare you.”

“Unfortunately fear makes up the majority of the human psyche.” You can’t help the quip, tone dry. “But you’re my friend, so it’s fine.” 

That last comment causes Uta to blink and stare at you in blatant surprise for a minute or two. Then he pulls himself together and shakes his head, a chuckle rumbling through his chest. “...I suppose we are friends.”

“Cool. So how much for the mask?” You reach up, about to remove it but Uta swatted at your hands, the action hard enough to sting but not leave damage. You still squawk indignantly anyway.

“It’s free. Creating it got me out of my block, so thank you.” Bringing out a cellphone, he takes a couple pictures with you, making you turn, pose, and pretty much just show off. 

Once he’s done, he snags your tea and cream puffs out the fridge, then walks you to the front of the studio, giving a small wave goodbye. Brain swimming with what you just learned, amazed that he hadn’t just killed you straight off, you glance at the chilled green tea in your hand then after mentally shrugging to yourself, you take a sip and shove a cream puff in your mouth. 

Hell, after the day you’ve had, you deserve to be rewarded.

Time passes, as it inevitably does. 

You receive more calls from Kiani, from other friends and family members, but you are resolute in staying in Japan. 

Much to your surprise, you’d actually gotten comfortable being there. Though that might have had something to do with Uta, who you continue to visit, and if he’s surprised or put out, none of that shows on his face. It’s fun to drag him places, to be around him, and you can laugh at his jokes, even the deadpan, making-fun-of-humanity ones. 

He even lets you meet his other ghoul friends, Itori and Renji. 

Through it all, these changes and fun things, your health slowly, steadily, gets worse even as you and Uta get closer, muddling about in a rather confusing grey area of friends...and more...

As always, the two of you are hanging out, this time you’d dragged him to an amusement park, and he held onto some of the prizes you won, gamely snapped a couple photos of you in ridiculous poses and making silly faces, etc. 

It felt like a date.

Like, you’re returning from a date.

When that thought ran through your brain, you automatically looked at Uta, catching sight of his profile in the light of the setting sun and your heart clenched as you realized that he’s beautiful. 

It’s with difficulty that you manage to look away but not before he catches you staring from the corner of his eye. “You’re always looking at me… Yet, you never try and get closer…” Uta’s hands are in his pockets and he is barely a foot away. “Does fear keep you at a distance…” He took a step forward. 

Coming almost uncomfortably close. 

“Or is there another….” 

Without conscious thought, you tilt your head up and your lips meet his. 

The contact is light, barely a graze, and there’s the cool sensation of his lip ring...it’s odd but hardly distracting. Your heart is beating like a jack rabbit in your chest and you know this isn’t good for you.

 As you go to pull away, to disconnect, that’s when Uta finally, finally, responds.

He places a hand on the back of your neck, keeping you close before tilting his head, leaned in and kissed you again. 

There’s nothing teasing or patient about it. He nipped your bottom lip, barely waiting for you to part your lips before his tongue twined and stroked, expertly playing with your own, and you felt a zing of excitement travel down you spine as your tongue lightly grazed his tongue ring. 

Your right hand goes to his shoulder, squeezing, holding on desperately as your legs threaten to give out. 

Effortlessly, Uta holds you up, his other hand going to the dip of your back, and when you break the kiss to get some air into your burning lungs, Uta peppers feather light kisses down the column of your throat, sucking a spot just behind your ear. Only when you gasp his name, a mere whisper of a breath really, only then, does he finally stop.

Uta tops that....bombardment off with a light kiss to your forehead, lingering. Then he murmurs into your ear, “That’s how you kiss me from now on.” 

With his piece said, as if he hadn’t pretty much swept you off your feet and left you stuck in LaLa Land, Uta brushed a hand down his shirt, straightening out imaginary wrinkles, before he walked away. It took a few seconds for your brain to reboot and then you hurried after him, chastising him for being mean.

There are a hundred different words that lingered on the edge and never escape your mouth. A thousand questions you never got the answer to. 

There are no more kisses between you and Uta. 

You pass away in your sleep that night December 31, 2XXX at 11:59 P.M. alone in your rented hotel room, dreaming of an impossible reality; of happiness between yourself and the ghoul who for a brief moment, made you feel important, seen, and desired. 

Almost as if he could love you.

[bokunowritingacademia]

Crimson Wings and Broken Masks

AO3 Version

Relationship: Reader/Hawks

Rating: T

Summary: To most people, that’s all he was. An actor in a mask, playing his part on the greater stage. It didn’t matter who he actually was, but solely that he kept up the appearance.

But you saw the moments where the mask broke. When it shattered into nearly unsalvageable pieces, sharp and stained with old blood, scratches and dents from experiences of long years past that even you had yet to learn about.

What mattered is that you saw him as vulnerable sometimes—a person, not just a hero with a good quirk.

-

To the average viewer, fan or even tabloid-based critique, Kiego Takami—known only as Hawks to the greater public—seemed nothing more than a self-absorbed ladies’ man who cared more about mixing up the status quo than being something of a traditional pro hero. Even outside Japan, his reputation (where it wasn’t overshadowed by a country's local heroes) he was just another shallow celebrity who just happened to have a powerful quirk, and a heart half-in on using it to better the world.

To most people, that’s all he was. An actor in a mask, playing his part on the greater stage. It didn’t matter who he actually was, but solely that he kept up the appearance.

But you saw the moments where the mask broke. When it shattered into nearly unsalvageable pieces, sharp and stained with old blood, scratches and dents from experiences of long years past that even you had yet to learn about.

But what mattered is that you saw him as vulnerable sometimes—a person, not just a hero with a good quirk.

So when you find him perched upon the top of his hero agency’s building, you find yourself wholly unsurprised. Worried, as any partner would be for their emotionally enigmatic boyfriend, but unsurprised. You knew the last couple weeks had been hard on him, and that was only based on the few things he deigned worthy to burden you with (‘it isn’t a burden, Takami, I promise’)—you can only assume the water was far deeper than what it looked at the surface.

The sunset cast a soft orange glow over everything it touched, the shadows growing longer with every passing minute. You can feel it against your back, with the last warm remnants of summertime.

You approach with no attempt to hide the sounds of your footfalls on the cement, but Hawks doesn’t make a move to show he’s realized your presence. Instead, he sits, over the edge of the roof, wings expanded wide on either side of him, crimson feathers looking all the more brilliant in the deep warm glow of the fading sunlight.

The breeze, as soft as a whisper, caresses against them, each feather trembling against it. But silent does he remain, an unwavering pillar overseeing the vastness of the city below--and not a single person to realize that even now, someone watches over them.

A society where heroes can enjoy a little boredom... I'll make it happen, I promise.

“Hey.”

Though soft, the sound of his voice brings you out of your thoughts. 

A small smile starts to tug at your lips as you step closer. “Your desk secretary said you’d probably be up here.”

“Eh? Thought I told Iwata to keep my rooftop brooding on the downlow.”

You move another step closer, almost an arm’s length away from him. The view over the city is mind-bogglingly expansive, even from a few strides back from the edge. Had he been sitting here all this time, since his last patrol of the evening?

Watching?

“In fact,” you say, almost sheepishly. “he told me you’d say that too.”

The man doesn’t respond. The only indication that he might have even heard you is the gentle shuffling of his crimson wings, slowly pulling back towards his body. You can practically feel the stress echoing from his body, feel the tension he keeps bottled up somewhere so deep that not even you can scarcely reach.

But you can reach out, physically. It’s mostly just an instinct to touch him somewhere, to offer an anchor of touch so that he knows he’s not alone. You can’t quite reach his shoulders--the wings are still stretched open enough it’s nearly impossible with him facing away from you--but your fingers do manage to touch, and then card through the layers of soft red feathers that cover one of his wings.

Soft to you. You know how they can each, individually, be used as tools. 

As weapons. 

Things used to save lives as much as they likely have been to take them.

As if it stung, the wing beneath your fingertips trembles. You’re about to pull your hand back in mild alarm, thinking you’ve done something to hurt him--perhaps even aggravated a wound he’d gotten and not told you about--but the wing settles against your touch.

It’s hard to understand what’s going through Hawks’ mind at the best of times when he has such a careful control on even the smallest facial tells--

But you hear him sigh, and the comfort it brings to you is almost silly for anyone who didn’t know him as well as you do. Though it is true you have a hard time reading him physically, there is but one point of expression that seems to elude him and come easy to you: the way he sighs. 

The stilted push of air in stress, as if he’s trying to force the tension out of him.

The deep, languid exhale of peace, letting himself settle into its comfort.

The rushed, half-hidden chuckle he tries to hide.

You wonder if there’s anyone else in the world that notices it.

The gentleness of how he sighs now, with your fingers buried in the feathers of one of his wings, is the single but powerful declaration that your touch feels good to him. So you repeat the motion, over and over, slowly moving closer until you have both of your hands slowly stroking through feathers that mimic the rich, warm glow of the sun as it starts to dip below the horizon at your back.

“...it’s been a while since you’ve let me do this,” you murmur after a few moments, picking out a few feathers that seemed to have met the last of their days; color fading, as if the breeze itself would have had them flying loose and free into the evening wind.

“Yeah,” Takami agrees. “Been a rough couple of weeks.”

“You can take a day off.” Another few fading feathers fall from the rest, through your fingers and towards your feet. “-the stress is starting to take its toll. I can’t remember the last time you’ve had this many molt at once.”

“Eh.”

If the single syllable wasn’t enough to show his disinterest in being honest about his feelings, the vague shrug--or what you assume is a shrug--does plenty to send the message.

“Takami.”

Though gentle, his name on your lips still falls firm and worried. You’re about to open your mouth to say something more, but there’s no chance to do more than part your lips before his wings are stretching out, and upwards, arching so that you can see his face looking at you over his shoulder, leaning on one of his hands.

With the other, he reaches out to you, expression relatively unreadable save for the quirk at the corners of his lips.

“C’mere and sit next to me already.”

Though some part of you wants to stand firm on your concern, the rest of you knows it’s not the time for a talk like that. It knows that, in the end, you just want him to know you’re with him for everything his life and career throws--big or small.

But you don’t make it easy for him. A dramatic sigh leaves your lips as you tilt both head and eyes to the side, as if having to think about it.

“I dunno,” you bring a hand up to your chin for extra emphasis. “You did make me wait at the apartment for like, an hour, and didn’t return my call at lunch.”

Hawks purses his lips together as if pained and pouting. “Oh come on baby bird , don’t be like that.” He reaches his hand out again, expression shifting into something coy. “Just sit up here with me for a few minutes, and then I can fly us home all romantic-like, sound fair?”

Though there’s not one singular detail that acts stronger than the others, the culmination of them--the softness of his expression, the tease of his words, the honest adoration in the petname--is enough to make you drop the act like a rock into a lake.

You reach out to take his hand, letting the man pull you into his lap in one strong, careful motion. If this had happened several months earlier in your relationship, you might have worried about being so close to the edge of the roof, overlooking the steep drop down several stories onto the pavement below. But this isn’t several months before, and your mind trusts the man whose arms envelope your body and hold you tight against his chest.

Hawks perches his chin over the top of your head and, for a few seconds, the two of you simply watch the flickering landscape below. 

Car lights in the street, the office lights turning on in several buildings as the sunlight fades into dusk. Even as the day winds down, the city yet remains vibrant and bustling, and it makes you vaguely grateful that Hawks doesn’t have to work as many overnights as he did when you first met him. Or, at least, you’ve managed to convince him to sleep on occasion. It doesn’t always stick.

“So,” you break the silence and reach a hand up, idly stroking a thumb over the man’s cheek. “You gonna tell me about all the shit happening with work?”

“Nah,” Hawks says as honestly as he does casually. You’re half a second away from giving him an annoyed flick before he quickly explains, “I’m still working through some case details and my brain just needs some alone time with them is all. I’ll give you all the dirty details once it’s over--just a few more days.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah.”

He tilts his head into your touch and allows a sigh to escape him. Gentle, languid--and you believe his words.

“Besides,” he continues after a moment, tone turning amused and teasing. “Nobody can keep me away from my lil’ hummingbird for too long. I’d go fucking nuts without you.”

“You can say that again, birdboy.”

“ Excuse me, ” Hawks tenses up suddenly against you, and you can hear as much as see his wings stretch out, wide and imposing--though a little less so when you’re snuggled up against his chest. “I’m a bird man , thank you very much.”

“Uh huh.” laugher bubbles up behind your tongue, spilling out when you simply can’t hide how silly--and yet how sweet--his overdramatic posturing is.

But when the laughter between both of you die back down into silence, and the sun finally settles behind the horizon to let darkness start taking over the newborn night sky, you pat a hand on Hawks’ chest.

“Alright, birdman , how ‘bout you get us home like you promised. I had dinner on and everything.”

“Dinner? Oh, now that changes everything.” He moves, lifting up to his feet even with you settled comfortably in his arms, wings outstretched. “What’cha make?”

“A surprise.”

He lifts from the roof, gradually up and into the air with just a few meaningless flaps of his brilliant crimson wings--even with nobody around, there’s still a remnant of that actor putting on a show.

“Okay then,” he says. The wind brushes over your cheeks, like an evening kiss, and you settle into his arms without a single worry for the cityscape below you. “How about we take that surprise dinner and pair it up with a movie?”

“Now you’re thinking like a man who cares about his mental health.”

“Well, I got someone like you t’help make that possible,” Hawks nuzzles his chin over the top of your head, and repeats the words of just several minutes before. “I’d go absolutely nuts if you weren’t here to help pick up all the pieces of me when I fuckin’ drop them down the stairs.”

To that, you say nothing; words aren’t needed. At that point, all that mattered was the feeling of the air rushing past the two of you, the warmth of his body, the steadfast strength of his arms holding you,

And the soft, fading sunlight, shining brilliantly on Hawks’ crimson wings.

[stillebesat]

A Mini’s Pep Talk

December Drabbles Day 7 Sanders Sides: Roman, Mini-Virgil (not Virgil himself just a mini version of him)  Blurb: It shouldn’t surprise Roman, at this point, that on top of an already no good really really bad day he ends up getting attacked by another Side’s Mini-Me while looking for his own. (Takes place after SVS Redux) Fic Type: Hurt/Comfort, Mindscape!AU, Mini-Me!AU, Overall Fic Warnings: Negative Self Talk, Small Injury mention  Taglist in Reblog.

It was no use. Roman exhaled, cautiously pulling open the door to his room a crack so he could peer outside. He’d ransacked his bedroom a good dozen times and his Mini-Me was nowhere to be found.

Just. Perfect.

The grand cherry on top after an already bad day.

We love you. 

Roman hunched his shoulders, well aware that his appearance with his pjs and messed up hair was hardly Princely as he slipped outside and tip-toed past the Others’ rooms. 

“Kingsley.” He hissed, wary of waking up everyone else as he moved down the stairs, phone in hand to act like a flashlight as he shone it over the darkened living room looking for his Mini-Me. “I really really don’t have the energy for this!” 

Of all the days--nights for the scaredy-cat to get it into his head to grow a spine, did he really have to do so at 4 am after Roman had been awake since six trying to get something worthwhile completed after yesterday’s--

We love you. 

He growled, running a hand through his hair before dropping to his knees to peer underneath the couches for the tiny figure dressed in red. “Why do you do this to me?” Surely, the others didn’t have this much trouble with their own mini-selfs. 

If they had mini-selfs to deal with. 

At this point, with all the stupid mistakes he kept making, all the lies he kept believing, it wouldn’t surprise Roman to discover that he was the only Side broken enough to have a mini version of himself manifest as a companion to him. 

A mini version that, despite being scared of his own shadow most days, had decided to leave the safety of Roman’s room and vanish. 

We love you. 

Roman sat up with a shaky sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face to ensure no betraying tears had left his eyes as he looked around the living room, searching for likely spots for his pocket sized self to hide in. “Kingsley.” He called out softly, without much hope of receiving an answer. 

He should just face the facts.

Logan would love that. 

Roman made a face as he pushed numbly to his feet, moving to the kitchen to check the lower cabinets. 

Fact. Kingsley was a scaredy-cat. 

Fact. Kingsley wasn’t in his room.

Fact. Roman had been denounced as a bad guy.

Roman clenched his hands, breath hitching as he turned to the fridge. 

Fact. Kingsley was scared of villains.

Fact. Kingsley was nowhere to be found.

Fact. Kingsley didn’t want Roman to find him.

Perhaps...perhaps it was for the best for his mini-self to have left. He--He deserved a-a better--better Si--

I thought I was your hero. 

Roman grimaced, slumping against the fridge, grabbing onto the top edge to keep him from collapsing to the ground. “Kingsley.” He choked out, closing his eyes. No. It was probably for the best. To..to end things here. “I’m sorry.” 

He didn’t even know how he’d wronged the little guy. But obviously he’d screwed up. Again. Some more. He’d add it to the list. Because obviously Kingsley had heard how much like Remus Roman truly was. How much of a villain he could be.

He’d probably feared for his life and fled. 

“Geez. Stop with the waterworks.” An unfamiliar voice said, just before something sharp stabbed his fingers.

Roman yelped, jerking his hand away from the top of the fridge as he stumbled backwards only to stupidly trip over his own feet and send himself crashing to the tile floor with a loud thud. 

He groaned, closing his eyes. Well, there went being quiet. 

There was a flutter of feathers before a light weight landed on his chest, stalking up to his chin and poking him. “Knights are supposed to not give up without a fight. What’s wrong with you?” The voice demanded.

Roman made a face. What was wrong with him? Where to start? The fact that he was so pathetic that he’d been scared by someone else’s Mini-Me? 

He tilted his head to glare at the tiny person on his chest, only to freeze, heart skipping a beat at seeing a familiar patchwork jacket and dark eye shadow under the eyes. 

A Mini Virgil.

Great. He let his head fall back with a soft thunk on the cold tile, mentally cursing as he ran his thumb over his sore finger tips. “Did you stab me with a toothpick?” 

“No, I bit you.” Mini V retorted jumping up onto Roman’s face, landing on his nose, brilliant white wings flashing in the light of his phone as he kept them half spread. “You honestly think I could stab your fingers all at the same time with a single toothpick?” 

Well...no. “You can’t exactly bite them all at the same time either.” He said, failing to keep the growl from his voice, glaring up at the Mini. “And as you’ve already noticed.” Why did Virgil’s Mini have wings? Kingsley had nothing like that. “I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed. So sorry for not thinking it through. Try Logan next time.”  

The wings fluttered as Mini V narrowed his eyes. “He’s not the one sobbing in the kitchen in the middle of the night.” 

“Yes, I’m a pathetic excuse for a Side, you don’t need to tell me twice.” Roman shot back, raising his hand palm up towards the Mini. “Get off my face before I sneeze you off.” 

V gave the hand a look of disgust before he jumped, wings beating in the air to keep him hovering in place as Roman pushed up onto one elbow. “What is wrong with you? Knights don’t--”

Oh, for the love of Crofters! He didn’t need another person telling him off. “I’m not a Knight!” He interrupted shoving to his feet. “I’m not a Prince. I’m not a Hero.” He spread his arms wide, a bitter smile on his lips as Mini V backed up a good foot from him, eyes wide. “I’m a freaking Nobody who has no place here because no matter what I do, no matter what I say, no matter what choice I pick to try and help Thomas achieve his dreams, it’s always the wrong choice because the bloody RULES KEEP CHANGING!” He yelled, jabbing a finger at the Mini.

V visibly swallowed, wings fluttering as fast as a hummingbird’s. “Roman?” He whispered, a faint squeak to the end of his voice. 

And there he was. Messing things up again. Being the freaking evil twin. Roman slumped, feeling the weight of a mountain settling on his shoulders. “Just--just forget it.” He turned from the frozen Mini, chest twisting with a hollow ache from how he’d just gone off on the little guy. He didn’t deserve that. Especially not for their first meeting. 

Though maybe it was par for the course...considering how awful he’d been to Virgil for most of their lives--it wasn’t like his Mini would have a high opinion of him anyways. 

Roman exhaled, closing his eyes as he crossed his arms. Coward. He couldn’t even face the Mini like a true man. “I’m sorry. You didn’t--I shouldn’t have...gone off like that.” 

If anything it proved that locking himself up in his room for the foreseeable future was the best course of action. 

Especially since yesterday’s debacle with Deci--Janus had already proved that he was a screw up through and through. 

Wrong was Right. Right was Wrong. 

Be Mean to Anxiety because he’s a Bad Guy. 

No. Be Nice to Virgil because he’s actually a Good Guy. 

Be Nice To Deceit because if Virgil was a Good Guy then Deceit could be a Good Guy too despite acting like a Bad Guy. 

No. Be Mean to Deceit because Deceit is Bad. 

No wait, be Nice to freaking Janus because Deceit isn’t actually the Bad Guy after all. 

No. Now Roman was the Bad Guy. Dece-Janus the Hero of the day.

His darkest fear come true. 

It was all topsy-turvy and Roman had been wound up so much through it all that he no longer knew which way was up.

If there was even an up in the first place.  

“Hey.” 

Roman hunched his shoulders, ducking his head as V darted in front of him to block his path out of the kitchen. “It’d probably be best to go back to Virge if you want a True Knight.” He muttered, avoiding eye contact. “I’m not--” 

“Dude!” 

Roman flinched, breath hitching as the Mini landed on his shoulder, wing brushing his cheek before a warm hand grabbed onto his earlobe and tugged hard enough he had to tilt his head to avoid getting it torn off.  

“I will say this as many times as you need to hear it to get rid of whatever earworm is tunneling through your mind right now.” V hissed. “You. Are. Creativity. If you don’t like who you are now, then Change.”

“Change?” Roman repeated like the concept was foreign to him as he eyed the Mini from the corner of his eye. It wasn’t. He just-- 

V huffed, tugging Roman’s ear one more time before he jumped off his shoulder to hover in front of his face. “No one said you had to stick to one role your entire life, Roman.” He gestured towards the staircase. “If that were the case, Virgiepoo wouldn’t have had his little Acceptance Arc with you guys.” 

No, they would still be enemies. Anxiety the Villain. Though really with how awful he’d been to Virge--Roman grimaced. “Yes, but--” 

“But nothing.” V tapped his nose, leaning forward until Roman had to take a step back or else go cross-eyed. “You’re not a hero? Fine. You’re not a prince? Fine. You’re not a Knight--well that sucks because they’re rather cool--”

Roman couldn’t help but smile a little bit at that. They were cool. It was why he’d been one for so long.

V smiled back, shrugging a shoulder. “But whatever. It’s Fine. You get to decide how you want to be you.” 

Roman huffed a near laugh, leaning against the wall as he ran a hand through his hair. “You make it sound so easy.” But he’d been Prince Roman for...well ever. Could he ever be thought of as anything else?

“I do. It’s not. Trust me.” V fluttered his wings wide, drifting closer. “You’re not the only Side still figuring himself out, Ro, even if it feels like you are right now. Thomas is constantly growing and changing. It would be silly if his Sides remained stagnant when he’s in motion.” 

It was silly. None of them were exactly the same Side they had been when they first started to interact with Thomas. It was just--he’d been the same Prince Roman for--well ever. He lowered his head, taking a slow breath. “What if…” He swallowed, forcing himself to look up. “What if they don’t like the changes I choose to make? What if they want me to stay the Prince and I can’t--”

“Then screw them.” V said, holding up his middle fingers. “And in the words of our dearest PatteyCake, I will physically fight them.” He threw a couple of air punches. “For not accepting you for who you want to be when you’ve tried so hard to accept them.” 

Well then. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards as a flicker of warmth seemed to grow in his chest. It was nice to know he has one person in his corner. Though he wouldn’t bank on it lasting too long. Not with his current track record. But for now..after the day he’d had....it was a nice feeling. “Do you always lurk around in the dark waiting to give pep talks?” He asked, pushing away from the wall. 

V did a lazy loop in the air before landing on his shoulder, making himself comfortable as Roman climbed the stairs back to his room. “Only to people I like.” 

[njeancastro316]

The Night we met ...Part 2

This needs a title and I need help.

Warnings: Swearing and a tease spoon of violent behavior. New characters.

Elijah x female reader

Bolds are thoughts

Like, comment or reblog 🤗😘

English not my first language 😳

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two days had gone by since he met her. He should’ve gone after her as she made her swift exit. He wanted to but something inside him stopped him, ‘maybe it was for the best’ he thought biting his lower lip. Elijah had left the bar not long after when he stepped on something with his shoe, he had broken a card . Looking down to investigate he smiled widely. He bent to take the item , in his hand was Y/N ID badge from the hospital she must have dropped it on her way out. Apparently he had broken what held it together. At first he didn’t know what to make of it, upon closer inspection it looked like a vertebrae with a bow and a happy face. ‘Adorable just like her’, he smiled again and after carefully wrapping it on his handkerchief he placed the little treasure on his suit pocket . He went by the hospital to find her but she was off duty and although he could’ve compelled anyone to tell him when she was going to be back he found himself not wanting to. He would go to the hospital and try his luck again today , if fate wanted him to meet her then so be it, if not he would not pursue her anymore. ‘I can’t wait to see you again little one’ he thought as he put on his suit jacket and headed towards his Bentley.

————————-

At the hospital...Y/N was preparing her next surgey after two days of total rest , isolation,food and Netflix with her long time friend and fellow nurse Jess.

“So let me get this straight you went to a bar for a drink , you met a guy that possibly showed real interest in you and you freaking left him!!??? Jess was livid.

“Well I said goodbye to him, I’ll be regret my decision for the next 6 months so prepare yourself” Y/N lowered her head in shame.

“I outta kick your ass , so you know what this means , no let me rephrase that, what it would’ve meant, a chance for you to forget and be over that dickwad Stephen and you fucking ran from it like a bat out of hell” Jess shouted flustered.

‘Yeah I suck’

“I am over him Jess , I don’t need anyone”Y/N pouted.

‘God I am over that asshole for good, yes I am say it again as many times until it sticks’she thought.

“Yeah right and I’m Oprah” her friend massaged her temples clearly frustrated “Y/N you are gorgeous, not to mention the sweetest human being I’ve ever known and you deserve so much better than that asshole who cheated on you with a surgery resident”.

“If a chance comes to you , bitch you take it , I’m not saying fuck him right away” earning a incredulous look from Y/N “Give it a day or two”Jess winked. “I’m just saying you deserve a good man in your life , one that loves you and cherishes the treasure that you really are”.

“You think I’m worthy of that” Y/N whispered her eyes shining with tears.

“Of course you are , so when are you going back to the bar”? .

“Jess I can’t ... I mean , I’d be so embarrassed besides what if he’s not there”

“And what if he is”Jess countered.

“Then you know me I’ll grow mute probably do something that I will regret later point being I’ll mess it up” Y/N shrugged her shoulders.

“You are giving up ! I’m going to kill you”Jess placed her hands on YN neck to choke her making her scream.

“Your hands are freezing, you lunatic stop!! , You can kill me later”. Y/N pushed Jess away laughing.

“Miss Y/L/N” came from one of the surgeons .

“Dr. Cox! , Is there something you need sir”?

“There is someone at the front desk asking for you” . He said

“What?! Who?” She and Jess exchanged looks.

“He didnt give me a name he just asked for you” . He said leaving before she could ask anything else .

“What do I do ? What do I do”???!!! Y/N trembled.

‘Oh my god...oh my god , Could it be him ? OH MY GOD!!

“Stop it ,don’t make me slap the crap out of you Y/N , now relax and stand up straight let me look at your make up , what flavor on the lip gloss ?” Jess eyed her friend . “Strawberries”Y/N answered.

“Good you can never go wrong with strawberries .Breath check”

“Nonsense Jess my breath is fin”...

“Breath check now”!! Jess interrupted making Y/N puffed her breath . “Mmm fruity , what is that ?

“Trident tropical twist gum” earning a thumbs up from her friend.

“Hair is a bit wild but its ok”Jess tried to tamed her friends unruly wavy locks.  “You are perfect ,now go get him”Jess encouraged followed by a slap in Y/N behind.

“Jess!! That hurt!”

“Oh you love it”! She teased.

Y/N walked towards the front desk of the OR slowly her heart was like a hummingbird beating so fast she thought it might fly out of her chest.

‘Please God don’t let me make a fool out of myself’ as she neared the desk she saw Stephen.

‘Oh fuck me’she dreaded ‘What is HE doing here’? Y/N went passed him ignoring him completely.

“Hey Bae”Stephen called “Y/N! ,What are you doing ?, Did you leave your contacts at home ? I’m right here”

Y/N closed her eyes and let out a big sigh. ‘Of course it has to be him and not Elijah ,its like literally the heavens open and say Fuck you Y/N’ She took a deep breath and turned to face Stephen.

“Dr .Burks can I help you with anything”? Y/N said annoyed.

“Aww come on bae don’t be like that , I missed you . Are you busy tonight ? Do you want me to swing by your place and you know” ... his eyebrows moved up and down suggesting the obvious.

“This is not the time nor the place for this Stephen” she pulled him into a big hallway away from the managers and people that ran the OR avoiding their questioning looks.

“Y/N please when are you going to grow up , I made a little mistake , you know I love you , there is no one but you lets kiss and make up” he gave her his sexy smile one that she used to love .

‘I’m about blow the fuck up’ anger surged through her body.

“How dare you?! Stephen seriously!!, no one but me?! Did you told the same crap to that poor naive resident before you plowed her into your bed . You have some balls after two months of dumping me for her. Well not this time I’m not going to fall for this again, its over Dr. Burks ... we are over.” Y/N turned to walk away but Stephen was faster he grabbed her by her wrist and tightened his hold.

“No we are not over until I say we are over. Stephen smiled at her as if not to cause a scene.

“Let go , you are hurting me ...please !! Stephen you are hurting me” she clenched her jaw her wrist felt like it was going to shatter under his hold.

‘God please please , I need help’ she thought desperately.

“Is there a problem here”? a voice came from behind her. Y/N closed her eyes and smiled in relief she’d recognize that voice anywhere.

“Elijah” Y/N turned pulling her hand away from Stephen. She walked towards Elijah stopping mere inches from him personal space be damned.

“Are you ok little one”? He asked softly surveying for signs of injury as she panted. He could hear her heart drumming on her chest . Her emotions were all over the place anger , fear , happiness and lust. Her cheeks were tinted pink. She was beautiful. He smirked.

Y/N could feel his breath on her and she searched his face for any indication that he was uncomfortable with her being this close.

“Y/N” Stephen called “Who’s this guy?, Y/N ... Y/N”! He repeated to deaf ears.

‘Sorry ... not fucking sorry’

Y/N closed the space between them grabbing Elijah by the back of his neck and pulling him into a fierce kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cliffhanger 😈 Im learning from the best 🦄 🤣😂

Girls I need a title , I can’t think of any 🤦‍♀️HELP

@hellotvshowtrash @elijahs-wife @drachentraum @nikmikaelsonswife @mikaelson-emma @elejahfanfic @eternityunicorn @dumble-daddy @svnkissedskies @soul-revoir @kaiiiiiiparkerismyhusband @lokis-favorite-follower @iirocioii

[crypticdata]

Ahahaha so um, I was held at gunpoint to send this /j

Back before I found out that we are the citizens of L'manberg I had this whole like city and people thing mapped out in my head

Putting it below the cut because holy shit it's a ramble lmao

I had like a whole thing about older l'manbergians who'd survived both Nov 16th and the original independence war having this slight respect for the kids that gradually turned to feared and loyal respect because holy shit these kids are fucking terrifying. So like the old vets always have sayings. From old warnings about Dream to small stories about each of the kids.

Here's examples:

"Beware the smile, lest he carve out your own."

"Charged like lightning, loyal as one can be. Fight with him and earn the power of the sun. Fight against him and face a phoenix."

"Horns born from suppression, broken and scarred. He is himself and fights with the eyes as sharp as his sword.

"Broken and abandoned, with quick hands and a quicker mind. His loyalties are his own, so give him a shield and he'll fight for his allies with words and deception"

"He is neutral at a price. Give it to him and you'll have a sword to point."

"two halves equally loyal. To you or to them is the question. They fight for you not your ideals."

You get the idea.

- There's a unspoken superstition that the closer you are to death, the more unstable you get. Soldiers on their last lives are watched, for none of them want a repeat of Soot

- Younger and newer soldiers pray to Prime alongside Tommy. Older soldiers give their thanks to Sally, and with every fight they leave a sweet berry to flow down the river near l'manberg, for the woman that made their general smile.

- Younger soldiers hear about Soot the Madman. Older soldiers exchange bittersweet stories about General Wilbur. They're more sympathetic to his death and a few of them pay respects to the shrine in L'manhole for there is no official grave. In the same vein, Wil's revival broke a few of the older soldiers. To hear the man you fought for, that some died for, say that he didn't care for the country? It's... Something.

- A few kids grew up with Fundy, but because of his rising mental issues they were pushed away. So they make do in telling funny stories to the younger people to remind them of a time it wasn't all war and death.

- During the construction of New L'manberg, each building had a one single splinter of the L'mantree embedded for good luck. When Doomsday happened and L'mantree was burned, the older soldiers sung the anthem as they slowly pulled out the burnt pieces. Some Snowchester soldiers can see a scrap of bark hung around another's neck. It's a symbol of what they survived. Something none of them will ever forget.

- Niki had assistants in her bakery. Those assistants didn't survive Nov 16th. It's part of the reason the bakery was never rebuilt.

- For the longest time, L'manberg didn't have the technology for prosthetics. Those that lost any limbs were forced to deal with it. With the construction of Snowchester, Tubbo put in a lot of effort into creating prosthetics after his nukes were finished and tested. The very first person to get a prosthetic was a 5 year old girl, who had lost her brother and leg to Doomsday. She had a small claw carved into the shin, because her brother was a wolf hybrid.

- Post Doomsday, many of the remaining L'manbergians didn't go to Snowchester, instead camping in the very edge of the crater. It was these people that help Puffy cover the entire crater in glass

- A few veteran L'manbergians know of Dry waters and although Fundy abandoned it, they kept it in good shape and used it as a space to rest and recuperate or just leave to if they couldn't take the DSMP anymore.

- When Las Nevadas was built, it gained a lot of business at first due to the amount of people wanting to gamble their lives away, since really, what else could they do with their lives? Die?

- Every old Vet warned children of Dream, "beware the smile", they would say. The children laughed at their warnings, knowing the man was in prison. But the vets were haunted with that smile, and they knew. They saw what happened to Captain Innit.

- No prison can keep away the smile

- Because of this, there was a period of time where all the vets were terrified to smile. It reminded them too much of Dream.

- Those that abandoned L'manberg, that originally betrayed the country with Eret were haunted down by the rest of the soldiers, given a gruesome killing that forced Wilbur to make them stand down and isolate them. Making sure to tell his men that this isn't what L'manberg was about. Those same people laugh at what their General became. Taken by the same madness.

- The DSMP had bird hybrid's. Parrot hybrids, Crow hybrid's, Albatross and Falcon hybrids. Hummingbirds and a Robins. None of them had wings by the time L'manberg was formed. The phrase "no flying" engraved on their tongues.

- Newer children fly freely with light laughter. Old hybrid look at them with bitter smiles, either remembering a terrifying admin or a terrified general.

- Wilbur also had wings once.

- He fell just like the rest of them

- Older soliders regard George and Sapnap with anger and distain while the younger flock towards them, asking for tips in training or just stupid stories from the very beginning of when the land was just formed.

- Eventually both gained the older soldiers favor, they saw how Sapnap would coddle General Beloved or Spar with Captain Innit or General Underscore. They saw a shadow of the Old Wilbur as George ruffle Captain Innits hair or poke fun at General Underscore's lack of situational awareness sometimes. It reminded them of good times, despite the two being enemies at one point

- Micheal is watched, everyday and every night. If he is outside, there are people in the trees, outside the mansion. Hybrids under the water. If he is sitting inside, the mansion is covered in every entrance. General Underscore always tries to get them to stand down. It never works.

- They watched 3 children lose their innocences in the independence war. They watched Tubbo and Tommy suffer for the longest time. They've overheard Ranboo mumble to himself. They've seen Fundy roam around without a purpose and Purpled take on stupidly dangerous contracts.

- They will not fail another child

- Sometimes even Ranboo has an escort. The people immediately endeared to him. Various children follow him around and tell him what he forgot and his enderwalking form is especially a hit because he's basically a giant walking cat.