#especially with how cinder turned out

[chiliumii]

frostlion kiddos!!

finally got around to designing these guys so i had to draw them together

i decided that thornclaw probably looks the most like lionheart out of the four, and I’m thinking i might have poppyfrost (and maybe ivypool?) resemble brightheart in a few different ways bc i love her

also, from what i remember, they were all born at the same time, but bracken and cinder were apprenticed first?? i found out that in rare occasions, some cats can carry kittens of different ages at the same time, so i decided to just pretend that’s what happened. makes more sense that way

[katsukikitten]

After patching him up one fateful night, Sakura finds himself lost in thoughts of you that quickly turn perverse all because you smell nice.

Sakura has had you pressed up against him more times than he can count. Either from the cafe or trains being too crowded or from the times he's had to push you up against the wall to protect you from the swing of a bat or blade.

With that motion and proximity always brought the flutter of your body wash or perfume to his nose making him want to hit harder. To sink his teeth in and never let go like the dog everyone said he was.

It happened again today, you pressing against him, soft breasts to his chest making his shoulders hunch upward and throat flush. Someone pushed you into him in their drunken stupor celebrating the win of a huge terf war that had just ended. He didn't know where to place his hands but you seemed to. Grabbing at his ribs to steady yourself makes him hiss. His sides are tender and bruised he knows it by feel alone but didn't bother to check, too busy being pulled into your little cafe since turned bar.

"So you do need medical attention." You're glaring up at him, the intensity of your eyes makes him gulp audibly and he knows he can't say no. Especially not how you man handle him past the counter and into the office near the back exit.

As soon as you shut the door the loud jeers and laugher dies down to a soft murmur.

You shove him towards the office chair, making him sit before you rummage around the first aid kit mounted to the cinder block by the door.

It smells good in here, clean and pretty. Probably because you were so meticulous and never let anyone beyond your counter, making the room steeped in your scent. At least Sakura hadn't seen anyone in the five years since he's moved here venture beyond your counter. Not without getting their ass handed to them anyway. He thinks about how you snarl your lip, how you've got a mean right hook, and how you could knock a guy flat on his ass. He smiles to himself over the thought.

"Take it off." Your voice anchors him back into the present, black and white lashes fluttering as he looks up at you. Shit when did you get so close?

He feels his face heating up again, even at twenty he still gets so blushy around you.

"Wha-whaddya say?" He scoots back a bit more, hands coming from his lap to try to put some semblance of space between you two only for it to fail.

"Take. It. Off. Your shirt." You mistake his confusion for combative behavior, pinching at the hem of his bloodied white tee giving it a harsh tug. When he stays petrified you growl his name, "Sakura."

His stomach twists in knots at the sound, worsening still when your manicured fingers grab at his leather jacket Shoving it off of broad shoulders before your fingers graze against the skin of his flexing abs. Yanking his tee shirt over his head just to toss both items onto the desk by the haphazardly stacked binders.

"There. That's better." You coo, fixing your hair as if your temper showing put it out of place and when you notice you've tousled his black and white hair your nails scrape his scalp. Fixing the strands gently, the action makes him look down only to be met face to face with your low cut shirt.

He squeezes his eyes shut as an alternative.

"O-oi!" He stammers, grabbing at your hips and gently pushing you away before he removes his hands from your body as if you've burned him.

He's always done that to you, you should be used to it by now! As if he doesn't mind the touch until he looks down and realizes it's you, only then does he recoil. The thought makes you bite the inside of your cheek gritting through it as you hope the pain helps you focus. Eyes widening when you find yet another thing he was hiding that or, he just hadn't crashed from his adrenaline rush yet.

"Sakura, why do you lie about how injured you are?" You frown, from this vantage point you can see some of his white locks turning red from a small gash. He expected you to sound angry, to have that grit to your voice but instead it's soft.

No words collect on his tongue only saliva that he swallows thickly.

You figure his head injury trumps checking his bruised ribs, there wasn't much you could do for possible broken ribs anyway aside from wrapping his chest to keep them roughly in place.

Taking a cotton swab and gently dabbing up the excess blood before soaking one in alcohol.

"'ts gonna sting." You announce, applying the slightest pressure, you're right it does sting but he doesn't hiss. The smell of rubbing alcohol and your perfume mask his other senses, he fists his dark jeans to ground himself.

"Ya won't need stitches." You glare down at him and he gives you a sheepish smile before you're back to your work, "Thank God. Just keep it clean kay?"

"I will, shit, just stop touching it."

"Gotta make sure it's clean." You push his wandering hand away from his head as you give it one final dab before pushing his shoulders back so you can assess his torso better.

He freezes as you hunch closer to him. Throat in his face as you tilt your head to see better and if he looks down your tits he can see your starting to spill from your shirt. He can't help himself and looks for a moment longer than he should before he feels how warm his chest and stomach gets. Two toned eyes darting away to land anywhere but you.

"Damn it Sakura, they got you here too." You growl, wondering who brought the knife this time as you reach for the supplies to clean the wound. Gently wiping away the blood that clotted against his skin explaining the stain on his white shirt that clung to him earlier. Thankfully it seems he won't need stitches here either.

Cleaning it as best you can as your hair falls around him, your throat and tits still on display, bloomed sakura and ripe peaches meld together with your natural pheromones making you irresistible.

It takes everything in him to not lean forward and press his nose to your skin. To place his rough calloused hand at the nape of your neck to bring you closer to him.

While he's lost in his fantasies of pinning you to the wall or desk and huffing you like paint you continue your work of patching him up.

This time you give him no warning of the pain you'd inflict onto him.

Placing gauze flush against the wound before wrapping his chest and by the time you're fully around him and starting the second revolution you pull the binding tighter making two of his ribs on the opposite side scream in agony.

"Watch it." Comes a deadly growl, hands reflexively reaching out and grabbing your hips, squeezing so tightly that you were sure to bruise. His eyes flicker from your face to his hand placement as his mind moves past the ebbing pain and responds to how soft you feel under him.

How his thumbs hook perfectly into the hollows of your pelvis, how his fingers force the fabric to grip you tightly, digging into the fat of your hips making him day dream about you being sat in his lap. His nose and lips honed in on your throat.

This time he can't seem to find embarrassment in his actions, this time he doesn't blush, this time he doesn't move his hands away from you as if you burn his skin.

The two of you lock eyes for a long moment, his lidded and half mast, filled with emotions you've never seen him express before. Never felt his hands grip and regrip your body before, never watched his eyes flicker to your glossy lips and stare.

When you think to lean in and taste the minty lip balm you know he wears no matter how much he denies it a knock comes at the door.

"Hey is it okay if I step into the walk in to replace the keg?"

Sakura removes his hands from your body quickly, as if you revolt him. Something his body thinks he shouldn't touch and won't allow the full thought as it relies strictly on the peripheral response.

Like a hand holding a lit match, heat licking the skin long before the flame, dropping the burning stick and shaking away the feeling.

You come crashing back down to reality. Gritting your teeth as you finish wrapping his bandages quickly and without tender care. Pulling tightly until you're done.

"What the fuck?! I thought I told you boys to never step behind my counter!" Your voice echoes around the small office as you snip the medical fabric, tying it up neatly before you shove the scissors and the left over roll into Sakura's hands. Slamming the door behind you as your voice berates whatever unlucky newbie they sent to deal with your ire.

Leaving him with nothing but the memory of you and the scent of blooming sakura and ripe peaches.

Days later and he's still in your office, behind your counter. The one nestled in the back of your cafe turned bar for the grown Bofurin men who overtook your space more or less.

At least in his mind he's still there.

Physically he's in his small apartment that holds nothing more than his foldable futon and thin blanket. Not even a pillow to lie his head on either too stubborn or too proud or too numb to get any form of comfort.

Not even sleep provides comfort in this small room, just nightmares from his childhood that he can quite shake.

The only solace he finds is when his knuckle connects with tender flesh and even then he feels a hunger for more. Even with the friends he's made along the way Sakura has always felt a sort of emptiness, a loneliness he can't quite shake no matter how hard he tries.

And the only time he doesn't feel alone is when he's sat across from you at your counter. You always gave him something to eat for "his trouble." Some days your food was the only meal he had at all and maybe that's part of the reason he lingered closer to your cafe for patrols back then. Why he made sure that you were safe or that you locked that damn door after a certain hour.

Now he wonders if it was because of how good you smell. That was the one consistent thing about you, you smelled damn good. It had to have been something he could find whether in the form of lotion, perfume or body wash he knew he needed to get his hands on it.

Especially now that you have been closed the past week. Sometimes you did that, closed and locked your doors for reason or another, even more rarely when you were pissed off and well Sakura was worried he was the cause this time.

But for a full week?

He was worried and when you leave him on read it forced him to rise from bed and find that damn scent.

Luckily enough he found it the first night, Sakura and peach body wash that smelled heavenly and yet it missed a note of something. That something was you.

It sat untouched on his counter the first night by the third night it made it's way to his bathroom and by the fourth he would occasionally smell it before washing himself with his own shower gel.

Now as he stares at his ceiling with nothing but darkness and some dim light bleeding in from the street he thinks of you. Of how soft you felt under his rough hands, how your body feels pressed against him the thousands of times he's been close to you. Protected you.

He wonders if you'd shy away if he cornered you just because. If he could tilt your chin like he's seen Kiryu do to a countless string of women and gotten them to blush or fluster under his touch. Somehow you were immune to his Kiryu's charisma, face souring if he flirted too hard or lingered too long. You especially didn't like when anyone touched you but you never did push Sakura away.

Would you be like that for Sakura then? If he tilted your chin or cupped your jaw to move it out of the way so his tongue could dart out and taste your skin. Lick lower and lower until he could nip and bruise the tops of your breasts before he pulled down the cups of your bra.

His cock aches painfully in this boxers now, hand traveling down to palm himself, he thinks now is a good time for a cold shower.

But even with the cold water turning his skin a soft shade of pink from the icy flow cascading down his back it does little to quell the fire in his stomach. The flush at his throat as he spies your body wash and sighs.

Lifting it to smell when he thinks maybe washing himself with it won't be so bad. The idea of bathing himself in your scent brought an odd inkling of comfort to him as he reached for the expensive toiletry. Putting some of the rose golden liquid pool into his palm before he slowly rubbed it along his chest, starting at his collar bones. Working it up his throat for a moment before going down and across his pecs.

Sweeping down his arms and then to his abs and all your body wash does is make him dizzy. Make him feel lightheaded and for the first time in a long time his hands beg to touch his cock. Moving on their own to his twitching length as he tries his best to ignore the ache.

Rubbing at his inner thighs and running along his calves before he makes the mistake of cupping his sac with his sudsy hand.

The groan he lets out is sinful and loud, so loud it echoes in the small space but he can't stop himself from pulling. From his left hand switching with his right, to fondle his fat sac while his other goes to grip his cock at the base.

Even just a gentle squeeze has him screwing his eyes shut. Panting and his left hand abandons his balls to slap against the tile as his knees weaken. God he was acting like such a virgin, barely able to contain himself with just the idea of you.

He wasn't going to mention that he was a virgin. He'd die before he admitted that out loud, especially after being beat red telling Kiryu some elaborate lie about how he really did lose it but he was "drunk." Kiryu laughed and said "Is that why I've never seen you drink? Cause you can't hold your liquor?"

If he ever is lucky enough to lose it he hopes that he's stone cold sober and that it's with you.

You and your fat tits that threaten to spill from low cut shirts, shirts that he loves and hates that you wear. Shirts he's bashed guys head's into brick for looking at you too long.

He just wants to paint them, your tits in his sticky cum. Or be buried in your tight cunt.

Sakura knew you would squeeze him tighter than his hand does now, how you'd flutter around him and the thought makes his hand finally move up.

Fist following his length with ease thanks to your body wash, thumb circling his sensitive tip making him hiss. Ignoring the pain in his ribs as he hunches over even more, fist speeding up as it steals his breath further.

Mind pushing forward a compilation of all the times you've sighed his name just right, breathy and higher than usual. Like you were excited to see him, pretty smile on your face that reaches your eyes and he begs that you only smile that way for him alone.

Breath coming out in strangled hot puffs as he bucks into his own soapy fist, whining from his own embarrassment as the cold water worsened his flushed complexion. Looking at how his base collects white rings from the suds and he wonders if your pretty cunt would do the same.

He was a fucking pervert, a disgusting dog in a rut that only thought of getting his dick wet. Sullying any memory he had of you now as his cum sits hot in his palm mixed with the body wash he used crudely for lube.

He ought to be ashamed of himself, how is he ever going to look you in the face again?

But he brings his sticky palm up to his nose to inhale, once, twice, before his left hand is gripping his sensitive cock bringing tears to his eyes as he pants. Your body wash and his cum smell so good mixed together, imagine how good it would smell with your arousal added to the mix.

Still hunched over, ribs screaming and jerking so hard into his fist that it irritates his mostly closed wound.

The devil whispers in his ear that he should wear white the next time he sees you, that maybe you'd notice the stain on his shirt and patch him up again so he could drown in your scent.

Feeling his sac tighten one more time before he imagines how you said his name in the confined office, "Sakura"

Making him paint his left fist now.

With that it should be all out of his system, he should be satisfied as pearly tears collect in his lashes, drool starting to drip past plush lips. He should be ready to crank the water all the way up to wash away the pitiful sight of his cum stained hands and go to bed.

Instead he grabs for your bottle of body wash and puts more of that deadly rose gold shimmering liquid into his hands to start again.

Sakura slides on to his usual stool at the counter top, your counter top.

You're busy with Higari, giving him that pretty smile Sakura selfishly wanted for himself, putting his head in his palm as he glares at Higari with a jealousy unmatched.

When you look up and see his handsome features scrunched up in a snarl, you bite back a giggle.

"Haven't seen ya in a while."

"You were closed a full week."

"I've been open a full week now too, smart ass." You roll your eyes, pouring him some tea before you finally get an order out of him so you can make him something to eat.

Higari turns on the fan before he slides back into his booth as he waits for the boss and it brings with it a sweet smell coming from the man with black and white hair. He's pouting, staring into his tea as you try to figure out if he's always smelled so...pretty.

"You smell good, are you using a new body wash?" It's like you've startled him or caught him red handed as he blushes furiously at your question. Acting as if he was going to hide his face in shame before he forced himself to answer. Pushing down the lewd thoughts of you he's had in the long absence before he finally answers gruffly.

"Som-somethin like that."

[onlyseokmins]

mischief maker • y.j.h.

Pairing: yoon jeonghan x fem!reader Genres: smut (minors dni!), angst, priestess!au, fantasy!au, gods/goddesses!au Warnings: magic, mentions of blood, war, cruelty, tyranny - all that good stuff, mentions of religion (au-specific), violence (i.e. suggestion of murder), (death) threats, and possible gaslighting 💃🏻 jeonghan is an absolute FILTHY menace, light slapping, uh I wrote this so long ago and just finished it so lmk if i forgot anything?? WC: 4.2k A/N: also another thing rotting in my drafts </3 anyways kinda proud of this one but it's also obscene and hard to follow so sorry </3 let me know if you have any theories hahah!!! this goes hand-in-hand with Ashes and Cinders, so definitely recommend to read that one if you haven't already

"Look at how heavenly you are. The lengths you'd go, so dedicated to prove your servitude."

Droplets of perspiration turn into diamonds, littering the bare skin of your back that's exposed more than usual due to the disheveled state of your robes. Neither the dewy sheen coating your skin nor the cold stone you're pressed against causes the chill that sets off tiny bumps decorating your sweat-soaked figure. It is from the sensation of a plethora of tiny gems crystalizing against your heated body before they slide to the floor.��

Each precious jewel that falls creates a tinkling melody. Echoing the sound of the ones wrapped around your neck and sewn into the fabrics that were once draped elegantly over your curves as you moved through the temple.

It's difficult to focus when your eyes are nearly crossed. Your elegant, upright visage is beyond recognition. Instead, a depraved image is reflected in the pristine water of the blessed fountain that flows out into a shimmering pool encased by polished marble. You were always quite meticulous about upholding the beauty of the temple you oversee.

Yet, who's the one sullying all the hard labor the maidens endure under your watchful guidance?

Drool dribbles past your lips, sore and swollen from how many times teeth have bitten into and at them. Now, they have no choice but to stay open and release a series of successive, sultry moans being drawn out of you and resonating throughout the chamber. Head lolling and vision starting to swim, losing count of how many times you've been brought to and over the overwhelming peak of pleasure.

"How does it feel?" Sweeping back long, flaxen bangs out of his glowing gaze with the finesse a mortal man could only dream to possess after hours upon hours of fucking, Jeonghan smirks. Miniscule encrusted diamonds grow, glisten, and gleam, bestowing a dazzling glitter on his forehead before they drop. "How does it feel for your god to bury his cock inside this tiny blessed cunt, my precious priestess?" 

If a verbal answer was needed, the both of you would be shit out of luck. Fortunately, as a sentient being, he can hear the innermost thoughts of many. Usually a low murmur in the back of his mind unless he focuses on them or they are an extremely devout believer in prayer. 

And you just happen to be the high priestess of Yoon. The model of devotion. Possibly the only mortal capable of handling the god of the temple in his true, divine form. 

By now, he has to chuckle at how your little head is only full of nonsensical thoughts. More, more, more, and Jeonghan, god, Jeonghan are the only comprehensive things that cry out to him. Even within the physical tremor of your body beneath him and the fluttering squeezes of your pussy. So much pleasure writhes throughout your very being that it races like electricity in a wire and surges inside his own, erupting into unadulterated waves of even more bliss for the both of you.

He leers in victory. Bringing you to your knees was a lot harder than expected, especially for someone who was supposed to serve the people in his name. To be completely honest, he was the one who ended up on his knees first — cleaning up the tantalizing slick gathered between your legs with his tongue. It was after you had spread them teasingly upon his arrival, accidentally summoned to your bedchambers at the seductive cry of his name. Cock-throbbing whimpers that had fallen from your lips while pleasurably climaxing from your fingers dipping in and out of the wet warmth between your legs. Eager to let go after playing for quite some time with such sweet, pooling arousal.

That was the day he found out just how much more delicious you were than the frothy nectar of the gods overflowing from their goblets during festivities. 

And he had become addicted. 

But now, look at you.

Your saintly garments are an unholy mess. Saturated by a mixture of both of your releases, the pure white colors practically become transparent. Especially following an… unfortunate tumble into the holy spring.

Normally, it would be a punishable offense to defile the holy waters. But when it's a priestess capable of the most powerful purification skills being encouraged to ride the cock of the temple's worshiped being who very much doesn't give a damn — well…

It's why you're splayed across the pool's ledge, lower body on full display for the god to use. Not entirely the most comfortable of positions. But it's somewhat of a respite for your tender breasts that are littered with sore bites and nips from Jeonghan while he muttered praises bards might be inspired to repeat as songs if they weren't so filthy.

You're unable to think a single thought in that pretty head of yours. His hips snap rapidly at such a pace to bully his dick deep within your cunt and with the force that would've broken a human of the same stature's bones otherwise. Lanky, sinewy muscles buzz with a faint glow to match the radiance of his irises.

"What would the maidens that look up to you in awe think if they saw you like this? Your loyal priestesses that respect you? The followers that worship the ground you tread on almost more than how strongly they pray to me?"

You were an influential figurehead of society. Ever since you walked in the steps fate laid out for you by a grand oracle's prophecy, you became the pinnacle of holiness in the surrounding lands. Virginity as a requirement was only practiced in the days of the old texts, and though your romps with the handsome and beautiful people of the citadel were not fully behind you, Jeonghan would make sure no one else could ever satisfy you like he can.

Besides, who could ever fuck a human as well as only a god can?

His stamina is on a whole other level. Unthinkable for a divine being well known for his laziness in the so-called dignified parables spun by the mortal tongue for generations. Maybe it's fueled by the intricate bond formed between the two of you, but it would be a lie to say it wasn't by far the best dicking down you have ever received. Jeonghan's not the thickest cock you've taken, but he sure is the longest and knows exactly how to use it.

"Dirty little priestess, the way this sopping pussy clings around me like a vice." He scoffs at the realization. "No wonder even the mightiest of gods bows down and lays with his mortal queen every chance he gets."

The distraught huff torn from your lungs paired with filthy wet noises when he pulls out of your sloppy hole is music to his ears. Akin to the harps and flutes the muses and their delicate fingers pluck and play to grace the court of deities present among the clouds.

His palm splays out, flying across your ass cheeks with a resounding crack visually reflected by the responsive jiggle and wiggle of your hips following the cruel motion. Scratch that. He bites his bottom lip with glee, the same hand fingering your cunt to scoop up the mixtures of his multiple releases and yours from earlier. The delightful squelching is much better than the heavenly harps of the gods.

Jeonghan figures that's where you'll end up one day, sitting all pretty. Whether or not you'll be a divine being — he refuses to use his wily brain to think harder about that. Though with the way the two of you continue to defile one another, a trip to the underworld may be in your future cards instead.

He reckons you'd love the delightful heat of the lava baths and the cute little boiling bubbles that pop at the surface. Especially if you decided to sink down on his cock… the god shivers delightfully at the thought.

"Vices. How fitting for you mortals."

Tugging the back of your ear with his unsoiled hand so you can turn your head, squishing a cheek against the marble and blearily struggle to look at him through unfocused pupils. Still, you're able to make out the v-shape of his pointer and middle finger — and even the clear strands of arousal stretched between them — before he sticks his tongue out to lick up. All while maintaining eye contact with a smirk, continuing his venomous words.

"Silly brother of mine, wasting time to concoct a drink for the gods who have no need for refreshments. Stupid humans who attempt to brew it with their measly tools as an homage." His thumb returns to circle your sore clit, drawing out more garbled moans. "All those efforts when this," another swipe and he's slurping it up again and tossing his head back with a throaty groan of pleasure, "this is the real ambrosia."

Jeonghan, Jeonghan, Jeonghan, cries your body, your mind, and your soul.

So much that your very being resonates and calls out his true name, causing the god's aura to glow brighter. Dozens of rubies, crystals, jades, and emeralds spill out from his pores at the effort and exertion of his dick slamming back inside of you. It's more thrilling and stimulating than participating in the senseless wars his brothers like to lure him into.

Strength fills him like never before. No one would think the god of mischief would have many believers but humans were petty. They may pretend to walk the righteous path yet they thrive on the downfall of even those close to them. You delivered messages from the god with little thought, for greater forces spiraled his playfulness into much more ominous threats if they chose to — swallowing up his domain for their own brutal goals.

"Why do you not wish for more power?" you'd dared to ask him on the rare days he appeared at the temple. Lounging about on the architecture's high peaks without a care in the world. "Surely you could have greater control."

"My dear high priestess," Jeonghan chides. He's not completely unaware of the effect his acknowledgment of your existence and title has. "The strenuous move of my pinky finger is enough effort asked of me for the next millennium. That alone could cause a child's village to go up in flames just because of a little prank gone wrong."

Your posture remains as refined and poised as always, yet your eyes wistfully trace his features — wishing it could be your hands instead. "I see."

"I imagine the creator molded me the way I am for the benefit of the world. Think of the havoc I could wreak if I was motivated to do so?"

Unbeknownst, the creator did take it into account. Though they made no concerted effort to intervene in the consensual exploitation the mischievous god took of the beautiful priestess. Or maybe it was the other way around? Fully aware of the unspoken thread weaving through the temple of Yoon, content to watch the god become more interested in life as he whispered in your ear. This time, bold words that were definitely not meant to be relayed to his followers. 

The creator let fate be, for the current gods can only fall for a new world to rise.

"Ambrosia that would bring a transgressor due enlightenment and a savior," Jeonghan continues with a dark chuckle, "or a god to their knees. All for this sinful, perfect little cunt."

Moan after moan leaves your mouth, shamefulness long gone the minute the god saw your spread legs, and his azure eyes were immediately drawn to what was in between them. His cock continued its brutal assault, pistoning in and out of what he deemed the world's finest treasure.

"But no one will ever get a taste of this one. It's mine. Mine!"

His slender fingers wrap around the back of your neck. Surprisingly, he lifts your head up gently — just enough for you to nod your head at his growl of "Isn't that right?", though when only more drool drips out of your mouth, Jeonghan shakes your head roughly in a "yes" motion.

"I could break you," he hisses as if he hasn't already nearly done so. "You are as fragile as a blade of grass in my hands." Another harsh slap lands on your backside. "Yet so resilient to my wrath, this hole of yours is always so welcoming. Why?"

Yours, yours, yours.

Jeonghan agrees with a feral growl, one not of this realm. Like a sounding bell and beckoning call from the vast unknown, it sends a vision flashing across your eyes. The sun freezes in the sky with its brilliant, harsh glow yet the world turns eerily cold and not into dust and ashes as expected. Then the sky turns black, a terrifying darkness, and a howling moan of despair. 

The moon joins its counterpart like two eyes glaring at the universe. They shudder in tandem, vibrating at a shaking frequency until you realize. They are staring right at you, unwavering. Like a face. Like a reflection.

A crash and a boom and a roar — then you're coming undone on Jeonghan's cock for an unbelievable amount and length of time. Shuddering as the world falls apart inside your brain, screaming and writhing though not quite in actual pain as the god kindly fucks you through your climax.

"Turn you into one of us, then you would no longer have such a weak mortal body. But even that's not possible… unless it's the creator. Perhaps even then…"

You don't register his words and maybe it's good you don't. He refuses to bare the heart he doesn't have. An ultimate weakness. Not like his foolish brothers. 

And yet…

While waiting for the shaking of your body to subside, his hands ghost over your form as if to ease the trembling. Listening to your heart rate until it no longer beats as crazily as you find rest in lean arms that cradle your body without sexual intention for the first time since the god's descent. After placing your weary body in the fountain, you're soon lulled into a dreamless doze by the soothing lap of the tiniest of waves against your skin and Jeonghan's gentle caresses.

You awaken much later. Feeling a lot more refreshed by some well-deserved rest and your innate healing powers aided by the holy spring's rejuvenation. Flowers in varying shades matching the luminescent color of Jeonghan's eyes litter the bed. Surrounding you with the same sweet scent when in his embrace. Picking one up, you thumb at glossy petals that remind you of the god's silken hair and smooth skin. 

Truly a symbol of his likeness.

"Priestess."

Your head jerks up when the subject of your thoughts silently materializes. A scratchy throat turns even drier and makes it hard to swallow upon spying a glint of silver pinning up Jeonghan's long locks. Another symbol — this one of the god's chilling wrath — is a spear disguised as a fragile hairpin. 

Carved from the bones of an ancient beast slayed by a hero of legends, the shining spear was crafted and embellished by the hands of a talented blacksmith gifted it in the name of his fellow brother and deity. The one that stands before you now, Jeonghan, the god of mischief. 

Tales of the legendary weapon thrown from his slender fingers and whistling through the battlefields to mercilessly strike down foes and enemies alike are documented on ancient scrolls in the oracle's grand library. As the only other one with access to such rare treasures, you'd poured over the delicate artifacts for days to learn more about the god you serve, eyeing the tiny circlet that hangs around his neck, certain it's the powerful aegis that supposedly wields the ability to turn those into stone.

"Drink." A chalice disrupts your view of the god and you take it, grateful at least for something to soothe how parched you feel. If he even notices your anxiety, he stays quiet and sits on the edge of the bed. Playing with a flower stem until you finish, the representative plant somehow looks both foreign yet perfect in his hands. "You saw something, didn't you?"

"Some sort of vision. One that was quite… frightening." 

"Describe it to me."

"Th-the gods. I think, my goodness, I am certain that they were at war."

As you explain in greater detail, weaving your tale of the bleak sun into it, Jeonghan's sapphire irises grow darker. Colder. By the time you've finished, the stem he'd been twirling in his hands has snapped in half and you no longer dare to look him in the eye even when he hums.

"The sun… hm? How interesting."

"Yes." 

You nod knowingly, and he lets out a dramatic sigh. There's a shing! noise and the god stands, a visible aura radiating around his form as the fearful spear elongates, revealing itself. It looks less deadly than described in stories, though you suppose no one who has been pierced by its shaft has lived to tell the story of its killing nature. Delicate and thin with a beautiful glow around it in this peaceful moment. But you know better than to trust what the eye — even one as perceptive as yours — can see and shudder.

"Is it the holy war you fear? Doubt that you'll receive a divine blessing of protection?"

A wry smile graces your lips. "I don't need to worry about being protected. It is my duty to defend the temple no matter what."

Jeonghan snickers, remembering the sharpened tip that almost grazed him. Caught off guard on his first visit when a priestess greeted him with a nocked arrow rather than a subservient bow of respect. And who knew he'd end up bedding that very same priestess, addicted to your body and all that it offered him. 

"Nothing will strip away the divine barrier encasing us so easily," you also point out and he nods, eyes lifting to the sky displayed through the high, open arches of your sleeping quarters. 

"I suppose you're correct. Though I do not know if you'd be able to fend off all my brothers…" The god lets out an undignified snort. "I do not believe they are planning an uprising so I must see what this vision of yours could be about." Jeonghan stretches, sending a lazy grin your way. "Do you trust me?"

You think back to gentle touches after a rough session. Whispers of sweet nothings and meaningless pledges when he thought you had drifted asleep. Waking up clothed in gossamer silk — a gift each time — and various reminders of his touch in the aches of your body that had yet to recover, visual ones scattered about the bed you rested upon each time. 

You recall what your purpose is. The oath you must uphold is proven by your namesake. Your destiny. And more. It is something you cannot forget. Ever.

"Of course," you assure him and Jeonghan laughs carefreely. Like he can't believe your faith in him himself. Neither can you.

He shakes his head, strands of hair shining like gold threads. Taking the chalice from you and lifting your freed hand to place a chaste yet flirty kiss to your knuckles. "Don't forget about me, my priestess. I'll return soon."

Another empty promise. Though you don't refute, playing along with his teasing remarks of you welcoming him back with open legs. Bidding the god a rather casual farewell before he disappears — but not with a wink followed by a bright flash and loud thunderclap.

Once you've sensed his presence is truly gone, you rise from the bed. A lyre sits in the corner and you run your fingers melodically across the taut strings while refining your appearance. You have a job to do after all.

The shrill cry of a raven draws your gaze to the open window where the black bird lands. It hops around, tilting its head curiously and rustling feathers expectantly. You smile, laying out a collection of gems on the ledge for it to inspect and play with. Summoning the maidens of Yoon, you speak to your confidante, stroking its midnight plumage while waiting for them to make the journey up to your chambers.

"Foolish gods, always underestimating. Jeonghan may have forgotten… everyone must have cast it from their minds." Your avian companion lets out a low croaking noise, nuzzling your palm with its beak as if to comfort. "But I… I will never forget." 

Do not. Forget.

Don't you. Dare. Forget

"I won't. I can't."

The voices in your head would never let you. And they will only get louder as time marches on, especially without Jeonghan by your side. But that is neither here nor there. You can't do anything about it except the one thing you — and only you — can do. 

By the time the eldest maiden has ascended the steps, you are alone again. Dressed in the purest of white robes and not a hair, jewel, or garment out of place. There are no black feathers, radiant jewels, or azure petals found in the humble and barren chambers of the high priestess. Just you, with your hands clasped together, and a fixed smile on your face.

"It is time." None of them notice the empty look in your eyes as they bow before you, heeding the declaration that comes from your lips. "It is time to spread the prophecy to the world. The real one."

"Yes, Mother," comes the obedient chorus.

The young women's eyes remain cast downward out of respect and the ambience of power emanating from you. For though they loyally represent the god of mischief, there could be no higher honor than serving a greater goddess such as yourself.

Jeonghan is clever. Wily. Smarter than he lets on which can be a true asset to those unsuspecting. But by no means is he ambitious. He is young too, and though the shell you reside in was destined to be his high priestess, the ancient bind to your soul has a stronger pull.

"He is coming," you murmur to yourself as the maidens set about the command you've ordered.

There's a warm glow bursting from the horizon, a fiery heat swathed in a tender caress making those erratic flames calmer. Softer. You're accustomed to what should be a sweltering wrath full of rage and the indicative hint to the tempered nature makes you smile. But the fuzzy feelings are tainted by a bitter tang of what is to come after the god of the sun's visit.

And so you prepare yourself for Seokmin to bring his eager request in your private chambers, stroking the head of your elusive feathered companion at your side while you wait. Watching as the sun rises higher and higher and an auburn-haired figure makes his way closer and closer.

Meanwhile, a flaxen-haired god's grip might nearly snap the spear he's holding in half. He stares at his eldest brother, aghast.

"You're lying."

"I am many things, Han, but I am not a liar."

"Brother —"

The king of the gods holds up a hand. "You don't have to believe me but it is the truth."

And though Jeonghan wants to fervently deny it, the dragged-down weight of his mortal shell's bones fight against what his godly head refuses to acknowledge.

He's brought back to what he was envisioning while bored out of his mind at his brother's lengthy counsel session. You — touching yourself, needy and forlorn without him there to fill you up — and him — returning to find such a scene and punishing you in the most salacious way possible.

But it's warped by his prophetic powers, proving his brother to be correct. Instead, you call him to bed and of course he follows, seduced by the way your body moves and everything else he wouldn't dare admit. And just as he finishes painting the inside of your cunt with all that he's worth and more, heavily spent from the throes of passion — you strike. Like a cobra lying in wait for its prey.

"Why?" is what he pathetically says as golden ichor drips from the corner of his mouth. The dagger you'd struck into his chest hurting a lot less than the actual damage truly dealt to what no human should ever be able to touch — his heart.

Blinking out of the painful vision, Jeonghan scowls at his brother. "You didn't know we've had an enraged primordial goddess on our hands?"

"Don't turn this on me when you've been fraternizing with said goddess."

Just as he's about to retort, the sudden darkness below the heaven's distracts both gods. The sun slips from the skies and a wail of grief so loud and chilling echoes, the harkening sign to the beginning of an apocalypse. The end. And for the first time ever, they feel a rush of emotion they've never felt in their whole immortal lifespan.

Fear.

As if that's not the worst of it all, he hears your voice. You're slyly drawing on that mental connection between the two of you, so that the phrase can be heard so crystal clear that his knees almost give out at the damnation you've orchestrated.

"And so… let the gods pay as they fall."

onlyseokmins: September 2024 ©

[ficretus]

I am getting kind of annoyed both at takes I see at rwde as well as anon who spammed my posts few weeks ago. Basically, they argue that on top of being awful character, Jaune also completely ruins his literary allusion, Joan of Arc.

Of course, you are free to like or dislike Jaune, however, when people claim they hate Jaune because he is a coward, I get really confused. Jaune is not a coward, he is pretty brave, to the point of it being kind of flaw since he has low regard for his own safety. If he was a coward, he wouldn't have went with Ruby, Nora and Ren to Haven, he wouldn't have challenged Cinder to the fight, he wouldn't have tried to infiltrate Salem's base to save Oscar, etc. They are pretty on the nose with it in Volume 8 when Ren states Jaune feels no fear.

However, meat of my gripes is with people not understanding Joan of Arc and how to translate her character to the story.

No, Jaune not being giga chad isekai self insert protagonist level of strong is not an issue or insult to his primary literary allusion, it's the opposite. I don't know do people get their Joan of Arc knowledge from Fate Grand Order, but Joan herself wasn't skilled fighter. She was never properly trained and never directly fought someone. In pretty much every major battle she fought she was wounded or knocked out (hit by an arrow at Orleans, knocked out by a rock at Jargeau, hit by an arrow at Paris, knocked off from her horse at Compiegne). In fact her knowledge of sword fighting was so lacking she accidentally broke her treasured sword when she struck a prostitute with its side. There is no good reason for Jaune to be some kind of prodigy when he is based on a character that never properly fought anyone.

No, Jaune relying on his team to solve problems doesn't make him pussy and isn't unlike Joan. Once again, Joan of Arc wasn't front line fighter, she was moral support to the army. Her greatest triumph, siege of Orleans, was just her directing armies where to go whenever she got a vision. And Jaune's Semblance makes sense for someone based on Joan of Arc. It is essentially morale boost Semblance considering boosting an Aura buffs both your health, defense and offensive abilities. It matches what Joan did for her comrades. Jaune relying on his team to accomplish things is not a bug, it's a feature.

No, Jaune failing doesn't make him an insult to Joan of Arc. Joan of Arc herself wasn't perfect and suffered handful of failures herself. After her victory at Orleans, she won at Jargeau, but then lost the siege at Paris. After that she was stalemated in Perrinet Gressart campaign, won a battle at Lagny and was then captured at Compiegne. After failed siege of Paris, and especially after stalemate against Perrinet Gressart, Court started doubting her abilities. It is simply different order of wins and losses with Joan peaking in her first battle while Jaune was completely useless during the Fall of Beacon but has upward trajectory after that.

Jaune's Joan of Arc is the one without any special abilities but with the same aspirations. He wants to be the hero and save the world, but he wasn't blessed with divine power that gives him unnatural charisma and allows him to see future events. People's gripes and suggestions how to "fix him" usually boil down to turning Jaune into generic power fantasy protagonist. Which is not only boring and misses the point of the character, it also misses the point of Joan of Arc. If Jaune was some kind of prodigy kicking ass since Volume 1, he wouldn't have been Joan, he would have been Roland, Arthur, Lancelot or whatever famous legendary knight you can find.

[kooktrash]

romantic dreams | jeon jungkook

drabble: gym and party favors

summary: sometimes he’s so good with you that you forget how unstable he is. other times you can clearly see it and no matter how hard you try to get away, he won’t let you and you’re close to giving up. [2.6k words. no smut cause y’all gotta remember my man a little loco] gym bro jk

The sky was black and you could see it in the reflection of the mirror through the windows of the gym. It was a huge gray cinder block with gym equipment and Jungkook’s favorite place to be. You don’t usually come to the gym but he wanted to come tonight and asked you to come with. You didn’t mind the gym but it wasn’t necessarily your style, especially not when he tried teaching you how to properly weight train.

Jungkook stood behind you as he helped you hold the dumbbell up by your shoulders while placing your hands where they needed to go, “Okay, don’t push your chest forward too much, act like there’s a wall behind you and don’t push back too much.”

“Don’t push back and don’t push forward? What the fuck am I supposed to do then?” You groaned in frustration as he nudged a foot of yours with his to make sure you had them apart the right amount. Thankfully the dumbbell was on a Smith machine so you could easily set it on a notch to rest and you were already feeling tired of holding it.

You looked at your own reflection for a moment, you looked like a complete mess while Jungkookstood there looking perfect in his black shorts, and white middle tee that had deep sleeve cuts on the sides and it showed a bit of his torso. There was a new tattoo on his ribcage, a kiss mark of your lips.

“When you go down make sure your chest doesn’t lean forward, line it up with your knees but don’t angle yourself like you’re looking down,” Jungkook said and you felt his hand slide down your back. He was hyper focused right now on teaching you how to properly lift when you couldn’t care less.

His hand moved down until his palm was against your tailbone and you glared at him through the mirror. You rolled your eyes, “You said you’ll teach me not grope me.”

He just chuckled as he touched your butt, “I am teaching you, watch, try and do one and I’ll show you how your body should move.”

Jungkook helped you with the first one showing you how to keep your butt from sticking out too much and properly lifting the dumbbell. A smile spread across his face, “Alright now do five.”

“Five!?” Your eyes widened as he moved back letting you do it by yourself and with a small groan you tried to do another. Jungkook watched your form through the mirror and he had to move to the side to see you better. He counted them with you in his head and by the third one he found he wasn’t the only one looking.

A couple machines back, a guy held onto a pull up bar like he was ready to work out but his eyes were on you.

Jungkook watched him through the mirror as you took a pause to catch your breath. His jaw was tense, unable to take a breath as he waited for the guy to look away but he didn’t. His eyes were solely trained on your exposed legs in the small pair of gym spandex shorts you wore. Jungkook let his tongue poke against his cheek and he silently moved to stand directly behind you and he held onto the support bar on top, shielding you completely from the guy’s point of view.

“Come on baby, two more and then you can take a break,” Jungkook cleared his throat as he watched you and with a small huff of breath you did as told.

He kept his eyes trained on the guy who seemed to be trying to look around him to get a look at you and… well he couldn’t act unbothered now. A small scoff left his lips as he turned around to look at the guy, letting go of the bar.

“Do you have a problem?” Jungkook asked suddenly and you turned back in surprise trying to do another but he was already walking away. Your brows scrunched together trying to understand what was going on but Jungkook didn’t even look back at you.

“What do you mean?” The guy asked, letting go of the pull up bar. He was about Jungkook’s height but a stockier build compared to his lean one. With an annoyed sigh you put the dumbbell back into it’s notch and turned to your boyfriend.

“I mean you’ve been trying to stare at my girl’s ass this whole time so I wanna know if you have a problem,” Jungkook said as you hurried to gather your things and follow after him so he wouldn’t start another useless fight.

“No, man, I’m just… you’ve got a hot girlfriend,” the guy said and you assume he thought it was some sort of compliment but the look Jungkook gave him told you he didn’t think the same. Before Jungkook could say anything, you wrapped an arm around his stomach and pulled him back.

“Let’s go already, don’t you want to go out later?” You asked him, dragging him away.

You needed to distract him, lately all he’s wanted to do is fight any person who looks at you whether it be nonsexual or sexual. He’s got it in his head that you’re going to leave him still and frankly, you still don’t know what you’ll do.

You’re getting fed up with his mood and his possessiveness but you haven’t left him yet. You don’t care if some guy was checking you out, that just means he’s a creep and you understand Jungkook telling him not to but he does it with everyone who even looks your way. It’s getting tiring.

That’s why you tried to redirect his attention elsewhere and reminded him about the fact that you two were going to a party later.

There were so many people around and not a single one was you. Jungkook couldn’t even bother saying excuse me as he pushed through crowds of people to find you.

You’ve been stressing him out all night. First at the gym, he knows you’re pretty and everyone can see that but he hates knowing that people can’t keep their eyes off of you. It’s the same at this party, the amount of guys who’ve just been eye fucking you like he’s not even there pisses him off. It would’ve been better if you both just stayed home. On top of that, you’ve been drinking a lot tonight and now you’ve run off on him and he has no idea where to.

“Have you seen Y/n?” Jungkook asked in annoyance as he looked at the guy in front of him. Taehyung looked back at him with a lack of amusement as he shook his head no.

“Maybe she’s in the bathroom,” Taehyung said with a shrug and Jungkook just rolled his eyes and pushed past him.

The party reeked of alcohol and smoke and the music wasn’t even good. You already had a lot to drink but you had wanted another and he was going to get you one but when he got back you were gone. He tried waiting for you but you haven’t come back yet and at this point he’s ready to call it a night.

He entered the narrow hall that was more hidden in the dark and he pushed through to get to the bathroom. He twisted the door handle, smacking his lips when he saw it was locked and resorted to knocking.

Just before his fist could land on the door swung open and a girl stood in front of him. He looked behind her as if he could find you hiding in the bathroom but you weren’t there. Maybe she knew where you were though.

“She’s about this tall,” Jungkook used his hand to measure as he looked down at the girl, “Really pretty… uh, she’s wearing black. Have you seen her?”

The girl stared at him in confusion and that only annoyed him more. With a roll of his eyes he pushed past her and tried every door available.

You sat in a dark bedroom sniffling quietly as your friend gently rubbed your back, “What’s wrong, Y/n?”

“Just stressed,” you mumbled as Hoseok sat down next to you, “I just needed a minute.”

“Have you been drinking?” He asked in a quiet whisper, “You always get a little emotional when you drink.”

“I know,” you pouted, “I’m okay, I pro—“

“Y/n?”

Jungkook swung the door open, eyes hardening as they adjusted to the darkness of the room. There you were sitting on the edge of some stranger’s bed with Hoseok touching you.

“I think she’s drunk,” Hoseok said but Jungkook wouldn’t look at him. He walked up to you, “Baby?”

“Don’t talk to me,” you sniffled and they both looked at you in confusion.

“What? Why?” Jungkook asked as he moved onto his knees, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“Well, I’ve been hiding from you so just go,” you said harshly and he couldn’t help but let the tenderness leave his eyes. Hoseok looked between you two, “Is everything good?”

“Yes,” Jungkook said but Hoseok only looked at you.

Now they both stared at you waiting to say something. You took a deep breath, “It’s fine Hobi, can you give us a minute?”

He left reluctantly and shut the door behind him. Jungkook waited for you to talk.

“I need you to stop,” you finally said, watching the way his brows scrunched together in confusion, “You’re too… you’re too possessive and clingy and I tried to stay with you but I can’t take it anymore. I tried ignoring all the weird things you would do because you said you’ll change but you haven’t!”

“What are you talking about?” Jungkook stood up, “I took out the cameras, what else do you want me to do?”

“Oh my god, the bare fucking minimum!” You stood up too, yelling a little, “Don’t you see that this just isn’t working? This isn’t normal Jungkook, we aren’t normal. I shouldn’t have ever stayed with you.”

“Y/n,” Jungkook’s jaw clenched as he watched you open the stranger’s door to the party, “What are you trying to say?”

What are you trying to say? You’re drunk. You do care a lot for him and he really is sweet but you can’t get past the stalking, the possessiveness, the need to control you and who you talk to. You just enable him.

“I’m saying… maybe we should break u—“

“No.”

You walked down the hall that was packed with people trying to get away before he convinced you to stay, “Yes. Jungkook, we're not good for each other. You’re not good for me. You can’t just fight whatever guy looks at me or—“

“Okay so let’s go home and talk about this,” Jungkook reached for your hand but you pulled it away and disappeared between the crowds of people, “Y/n, don’t do this, you’re just drunk baby, you’re getting yourself worked up over nothing. We’ll talk when we get home.”

“I just need time to think,” you confessed to him, “That night when you… y’know… you scared me. I don’t want to be with someone I’m scared of.”

You weren’t listening to him and he was starting to get mad. Jungkook stayed quiet as he followed after you and you didn’t even seem to notice as you said, “I think I’m gonna ask Taehyung to take me home, we can talk about this tomorrow or something but I’m being honest Jungkook, I don’t think I can do it anymore.”

Right before you could leave him, Jungkook was catching up to you, “No you’re not Y/n, if you want to go home then let’s go so we can talk about this but you’re not leaving me for another guy.”

“It’s not like that! I just need space from you right now, you always act crazy and I can’t take it anymore,” you said in a louder voice, “You’re so sweet to me and I’m thankful for that but you’re scary as shit. I don’t want to be scared wondering when the next time you’ll do or say something again. Just leave me alo—Jungkook!”

Jungkook wrapped his arms around your thighs as he lifted you onto his shoulder with ease. You fell face into his back and kicked your feet; “Put me down.”

“You want to leave right? Alright, let’s go,” Jungkook said as he walked right to the door ignoring everyone’s stares as he carried you away, “But you’re not going to try and fucking throw me away at some stupid party just because you’re drunk.”

“Jungkook! This is exactly what I’m talking about!” You hit his back but he didn’t even flinch, he walked right out of the house carrying you all the way to his car and you just cursed at him to put you down.

“Get in the car,” he muttered, not fully listening to you anymore as he opened the passenger seat and set you down, “We’re going home just like you want—“

“No,” you refused, “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Y/n, get in the fucking car!” Jungkook yelled in your face but you didn’t flinch.

“I don’t want to! You’re craz—“ Jungkook helped you in, slamming the door shut in your face and hurrying to his side.

You pulled on the door handle and pushed, checking to see if it was unlocked and tried getting back out. Jungkook was sitting next to you now mumbling some stuff you couldn’t make out and trying to start the car. You began to panic, “Why won’t this door open?”

He moved the car off Park and into Drive as he calmly said, “The child lock is on.”

“What?” Your brows furrowed, “Since when?”

Jungkook always opens your door for you so you never have to do it yourself, did you really never notice? Why was the child lock on? With it in place you couldn’t open the door from the inside, you were essentially locked in, “Jungkook let me out.”

“No,” he said as he began to pull out of his driver’s spot. Your chest tightened as you yanked and yanked on the door handle, “Jungkook—“

“No! You’re not getting out of this fucking car!” He yelled, swerving the car out of the parking space so fast that your body jostled to one side and hit the window.

“Don’t yell at me,” you said, still a little drunk and definitely still emotional.

His face softened as he drove off, “I’m sorry baby, I won’t raise my voice at you again, that was my fault.”

You didn’t say anything as you gave up on opening the door and Jungkook reached over to put a hand on your thigh but you shifted away. He didn’t like that so he tried it again and practically yanked you closer, “I won’t yell at you but you know I don’t like when you say mean things to me.”

You chose to stay silent.

“Y/n?” Jungkook called out to you but you wouldn’t even look at him and he had to grip the steering wheel a little tighter to release some tension, “Y/n, love, I’m sorry but I’m not letting you break up with me. You already know this so get that idea out of your head already. You’re not leaving with Taehyung or Hoseok or any other fucking guy for that matter. You’re leaving with me and only me.”

“Jungkook, this isn’t normal,” you whispered, finally looking at him, “You nee—we need help.”

Jungkook ignored you as he sped up down the street. You had to put on your seatbelt after neglecting it in a fit of rage to leave.

You knew this would happen. You can try and try to leave but he won’t let you. Even if you told your friends, you have no doubt that Jungkook would find a way to take you away.

And you hated that you loved him because it was all just so fucked up.

::.

idk how y’all feel about him, if for some reason y’all want more I’ll give you more 💀but I felt the need to bring up the fact that he is very much so emotionally manipulative and don’t say I didn’t warn ya 🤺

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[rachetmath]

Why RWBY Ain't MC?

(Okay if you already seen this ('Jaune More MC Ruby? 'https://rachetmath.tumblr.com/post/744057722669039616/jaune-more-mc-ruby) Then you should know where this is going.)

Jaune: And that's what is wrong with your characters.

RWBY: *shocked* 

Ruby: Oh crap.

Weiss: Oh God…

Blake: My people…

Yang: I am a basic bitch?

Jaune: Yeah you girl's characters are all over the place. Not just that… you have so much screen time yet do nothing with it. You're basically side characters to your own stories. 

Yang: Not true.

Jaune: Yes true. Look let's start with Ruby.

Ruby: Me?

Jaune: Yeah, because some of my character issues should have been yours, like killing Penny for example. Considering that was suitable punishment for what you have done. You lied to James. You drove him off the rails. You and your team made the mess. 

Ruby: Um…

Jaune: But that's too easy. Let's really go down the shit hole. Ruby, you have silver eyes. Yet you barely use them. You never trained with them. We still know nothing about them. And we don’t know if they’ll work on Salem.

Ruby: um…

Jaune: And you know that would have been answered back at Atlas if you went on the battlefield. Speaking of Salem, why the hell would you put Ironwood someone more of my problem than Salem, if I recall knows who your mom is.

Ruby: Well I had to protect Penny.

Jaune: Mhmm. Okay. Speaking of your mom what did you learn about her in The Ever After?

Ruby: Um-

Jaune: Not much. Yeah. And again no villain besides Cinder and Neo were interested in you. Not even you are interested in them considering you barely remember them. Like Ruby, you don't do anything. Like you fast but slow in the head. Hell even Neo ganging up on you, you still didn't deserve it. I actually deserved it.

Ruby: How?

Jaune: Again Pyrrha died. Ozpin died. All because of me. And even if you killed Penny it's still going to feel like my fault because I could've prevented it.

Ruby: Oh no. 

Weiss: Jaune-

Jaune: Nope. Your turn. You are worse than your father.

Weiss: I-

Jaune: You talk about how your father does business but you don’t do business. Nor do you know how to run a business.

Weiss: I mean-

Jaune: You lied to your sister’s face. Your sister who trained you and made sure you were able to leave Atlas. You got Klien fired. You threatened your own brother.

Weiss: Um-. I-i

Jaune: Oh let’s not forget how you destroyed your home and now your family is broke.

Weiss: Well at least I’m a good teammate.

Jaune: Didn’t you almost divide your team about two times? Also, how is everyone insulting me when you barely win your fights?

Weiss: Not true.

Jaune: Flynt Coal.

Weiss: Luck.

Jaune: Vernal.

Weiss: I was rusty.

Jaune: More like spamming.

Weiss: We defeated the Ace-ops.

Jaune: Neo and Cinder. The ones who were supposed to be on the same level as them. Did you win?

Weiss: Shit.

Jaune: You know what I should mention this. In Argus, I must have been under some stress or high as a kite, because now that I think about it, the deal Cordoven gave us, wasn’t that bad.

Weiss: Jaune she was planning to send me back to my father.

Jaune: Alright, then instead of accepting those terms and going to face your father, basically lying claim to your life, you cowardly avoided him and let your friends be what scares him. Not you. In fact, you were willing to endanger yourself and thousands of people to avoid him.

Weiss: … … ….

Jaune: Look I understand you don’t have to face everything alone. But there are some moments you have to deal with alone. Instead of having to escape your father like last time, you could have returned, stood up to him, and left out the front door from which you came in. Why? Because that’s how much you care about your friends and your freedom that you won’t let anybody, especially a man you can easily crush into ground beef take from you.

Weiss: By god. I am my father. 

Jaune: Yeah. Blake.

Blake: *looks at him*

Jaune: Blake, I would be concerned for my people if I were you.

Blake: Why?

Jaune: Well-

Me: Nope. Nope. I’ll explain. Blake, you remember the hound right?

Blake: Yeah.

Blake: A silver-eyed person.

Me: Look at his head.

Blake: “Look at his head”? I mean I see- oh. Oh my god.

Me: Yeah. A faunus. People who have animal-like features.  Again with silver eyes, we know nothing. But Faunuses on the other hand, we know where this could lead to.

Blake: Oh no.

Me: And you single-handedly divided the White Fang. And if hunters or people start siding with Salem, what does that mean for the Faunuses who are now venerable because of you?

Blake: Oh GOD! What have I done?!

Me: I mean I started questioning whether you cared about your people or not. Considering you didn’t bother staying in Mantle to protect them. You trust a criminal more than an official officer or hunter. Even though Robyn was doing the same crap Adam and Roman were doing. Good job.

Blake: *crying*

Me: Now for you.

Yang: Me?

Me: Yes. I never thought I come back for your ass. But here we are. Now then, what the fuck did Raven tell you to do?

Yang: Um.

Me: The same thing your father was telling you to do. Think. Don’t just follow orders. Don’t just act. Think! 

Yang: I did but-

Me: You didn’t think it through.

Yang: Look trusting Robyn-

Me: When you confronted Robyn what was your plan afterwards?

Yang: Um-

Me: Remember you didn’t tell her everything so she was still skeptical. She was tearing James a new one. So what was the point?!

Yang: Um-

Me: I mean, how were you going to chop Ruby off when ultimately you are more at fault than she is?

Yang: Um.

Me: Like at least Ruby was trying to lower the tension. You as per-fucking-usual added way more fuel to an already heated fire.

Yang: Well-

Me: I already mentioned how you are the biggest hypocrite, a simp and horrible sister. Now I might as well say you are the weakest link in your team– no, your squad.  

Yang: Hey-

Me: You've been losing fights.

Yang: Name-

Me: Mercury.

Yang: I beat him.

Jaune: Wasn’t that part of the plan to set you up though?

Yang: Yeah but-

Me: Round two, what happened then?

Yang: They double-teamed me.

Me: Before that you couldn’t land hit on him.

Yang: … … Adam.

Me: 2 v 1. He wasn’t even at his best. Bro was in his feelings.

Yang: The Ace-ops-

Me: Marrow, for one, could’ve ended that fight before it started. Second weren’t they arguing half the battle? Also didn’t Elm have your partner and for “reasons” she decided to let Blake go? Selling the match.

Yang: A win is a win.

Me: Okay Salem. Did you stand your ground and fight?

Yang: Um. Tactical retreat?

Me: She wasn’t even putting in effort. The cat.

Yang: I mean-

Me: Kilgore.

Yang: He does not count.

Me: Neo and Cinder. Again, on Ace-op level.

Yang: Come on, man, she-

Me: A win is a win right? So if you get a ring out or fall that is not victory. Neo won. Two to Zero.

Yang: … … …

Me: Raven… Raven trusted the lamp to you. Not Ruby. You! And you just… you just lost it like that. You fumbled- you fumbled so bad. And what’s crazy is I mentioned how you searched for the deadbeat instead of your “real mom” but it seems Raven is a better mom than Summer now. How? Not only is she alive. She knows what happened to Summer. And she saved your ass so many times. Three times.

Yang: Not-

Me: The train. Your first defeat.

Yang: … ….

Me: I’m not going to count Adam. But she let you leave her tribe camp alive, with your friend no less, knowing full well she didn’t have to help you especially when you came to her and was ready to fight when she wouldn’t give you what you wanted.

Yang: …. …. 

Me: And she let you walk with the relic. She could’ve killed you two times. But she didn’t. Why? Because whether she likes it or not, you are her DAUGHTER! And she LOVES you! 

Yang: Um…

Me: I hope- I hope Raven puts her hands on you because you earned the most savage ass whipping alive.  You basic bitch.

Yang: *shocked*

Me: Anyways y'all had plenty of opportunities to make your characters good. You all were given a good amount of screen time, however, the writers don't allow you to face your problems, shield you from consequences, and try so hard to prove you are always in the right all the time that you all might as well be Mary Sue. The worst kind of Mary Sue. The do no wrong type of Mary Sue.

Jaune: Damn. 

Me: Jaune, bro, I hope you survive this cause I still stand by this the writers did you dirty man. You didn't deserve that man. You didn't- you didn't deserve that. You and your team deserve better. 

[madman479r]

Jaune: **In the Evernight castle, tied up in chair** You honestly think I'll talk? I'm already messed up in the head so psychological torture won't work, my aura basically makes me a tank and I get more joy out of denying you anything.

Cinder: **sitting across from him** Oh, you'll talk, but for now we wait for Salem.

**Salem walks into the room and wearing... glasses? With a clipboard in hand?**

Salem: Ah, I see we're ready to begin your first session. **Sits on chair**

Jaune: Session? What kind of session? The hell are you talking about?

Cinder: Wow. You're going to act like it's not a big deal? You worthless thankless ingrate! I can't believe i-!

Salem: Alright, let's calm it down. Take a deep breath... *inhales through nose* Good. Now Cinder, let's address the issue.

Cinder: The issue? The issue is that I spend days, weeks, months devising my nefarious plans, kill the people whose deaths would have the most psychological impact on him and what does he do? He goes and gets himself a new archnemesis !

Jaune: New archnemesis? What the fuck are you-

Salem: Mr. Arc, please, this is Cinder's turn. Now, how did that make you feel, Cinder?

Cinder: ...It made me feel hurt. It made me feel inadequate. Like I'm not bad enough, especially when I get replaced by some fairy tale cat.

Jaune: ...You gotta be fucking kidding me. The Curious Cat? That is what this is all about?!

Cinder: Hmph, seems like you still remember his name.

Jaune: I spent 20 years being mentally battered by that bastard cat, of course I'm gonna remember his fucking name!

Cinder: Oh? Only mentally? I attack you mentally, also emotionally and physically yet he just has to gaslight you a bit and he's your new archnemesis?! See? This is what I'm talking about!

Jaune: We literally fought one another as soon as we saw each other. You saw Ruby first and headed straight for me. It was literally on sight.

Cinder: Yeah, well, I bet you would have fought the Cat instead if he were there!

Jaune: Oh, for fu-

Salem: Alright , let's not get too off topic. Jaune, tell us: How was it that the Curious Cat became a person of intimate hatred in your eyes?

Jaune: I spent years in the Ever After and that little shit pretended to be my friend and guide, but in reality only wanted me for my body. He had me tell him my story and tried to gaslight me into remembering events and people differently to make me lose my mind. It got worse after Alyx-

Cinder: Oh, so now there's another girl involved?!

Salem: Cinder, please, this is Jaune's turn.

Cinder: But all that cat did was practically inconvenience Jaune compared to what I did to him!

Jaune: You know, Cardin wasn't like this when you came along.

Cinder: Oh! ...So that's what this is now, huh?

Salem: Now, Cinder. Nobody is saying you aren't Jaune's archnemesis anymore.

Cinder: No! I want to hear it from him!

Jaune:...

[misstrashchan]

Number 7 for the RWBY ask game!

Yang's "I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!! CAN EVERYONE JUST CALM DOWN FOR LIKE FIVE MINUTES BEFORE SOMETHING CRAZY HAPPENS AGAIN!" from V1

No super deep reason why I like this one tbh. Often I just find myself repeating this line either in my head or out loud when I feel overwhelmed and stressed out. Idk I just find it cathartic and it's just a good line of expressing anger and frustration in a humorous way when too much is happening all at once.

"Do you believe in destiny?"

The last words said before her death, carrying Pyrrha's legacy. The way it encapsulates Pyrrha's arc and her struggle with agency and existentialism. The way it continues to haunt the narrative, especially for Cinder and Jaune's characters, makes it one of the most iconic lines of the show.

"This must be really hard on her too"

I have literally written an entire meta on why I love this line.

"Some things are more important, I think. Keeping our humanity."

I absolutely adore the humble and honest defiance Oscar's line has in the face of Ironwood's "we have to do whatever it takes to stop Salem, nothing matters more". It's also really when you see Oscar coming into his own and finding himself, starting to find and assert his own beliefs (...though you can clearly see Ruby's inspiration and influence shining through *gestures to her "so all those times you talked about having faith in humanity... That was just for everyone else?"). Because Oscar is trying to believe in Ironwood's humanity. And in his own, in the face of the merge. He pays for it dearly and yet that belief of his doesn't falter, and we see it again with how he believes in Oz, Hazel and Emerald. And what he says here really is at the heart of what will lead to them saving the day I think, in the same vein as Ruby and Maria's conversation about the Silver Eyes not being about destroying monsters, but preserving humanity and life.

"She's not protecting me. And I'm not protecting her. We're protecting each other"

If Blake and Yang facing against Adam again and holding hands wasn't enough to drive me wild and giddy, this line does. So much growth in Blake and Yang's relationship culminating in their confrontation with Adam, especially with this line. Letting go of matyr complexes, and instead coming together as equals to mutually uplift and support each other, so neither has to suffer alone or feel infantalised or overshadowed as the protector or protected, instead growing beyond that into something stronger and more beautiful, the moment their love truly began to blossom.

"You atlas elites are all the same! you think hoarding power means you'll have it forever, but it just makes the rest of us hungrier. And I refuse to starve."

I love this line for the feral energy it has, the raw drive and ambition Cinder has that it bleeds far past desire and into a need, a desperation. It carries so much weight with it, the foreshadowing for Cinder's backstory as a slave girl trampled and abused by atlas elites, literally starved for food, affection and agency. I really love the way the hunger motif in general is used. On top of that it makes the foiling between Winter and Cinder very apparent

"Without you I am nothing, but because of you I am everything"

Honestly up there as another one of the most iconic lines of the show. It's said in a a moment of rebellion and triumph by Cinder over her abuser, but simultaneously is tragic in how Cinder is essentially defining herself by the abuse and pain she endured. Fully expecting this line to resurface in a moment with Salem, but with the original meaning turned on its head.

"Maybe there was something you just weren't seeing" I also wrote another whole ass meta about why I love this line

also shoutout to Ilia's "Quit taking pot shots and FIGHT ME LIKE YOU MEAN IT!" and "I DON'T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO DO! I don't know what else to do..." purely for Cherami Leigh's brilliant performance in delivering such raw and emotional lines.

Ozpin's fear speech is pretty great too.

There's another line from V9 that's one of my favorites too, but I know you haven't watched V9 yet so I'll tell you that one later :)

[novankenn]

1... 2...

Beacon had fallen, despite the desperate actions of her defenders. The death toll was horrendous, especially among the civilian population that had been in attendance for the tournament. Many of the students and soldiers that had stepping up to do their duty had also fallen to the onslaught of grimm... Jaune was one of those number.

Pyrrha was in Ansel with Nora and Ren. They had come to Jaune's hometown to return his body and possessions. As she hobbled about on her crutches... she was wracked with guilty and sorrow. Ruby had arrived in time to save her... but no one had been able to save Jaune.

No one was sure what happened to the rocket locker she had forced him into. Either it malfunctioned or had some mid air collision with the innumerable grimm that had filled the skies. But that was a moot point at this stage. Jaune had drowned. The locker that was meant to take him to safety, becoming a death trap when it fell into the river that meandered through the City of Vale.

The Arc family was broken with grief, and the normally open and welcoming family had closed in upon itself. Even more so with the return of Jaune's remains and affects. So Pyrrha, Ren and Nora found themselves wandering the fair sized hamlet looking for accommodations.

"Anyone else noticing how creepy it is that ever kid we pass is starting at Pyrrha?" Nora asked in a low voice.

"Most likely fans." Pyrrha muttered her voice dripping with regret.

"I don't think that's the case." Ren commented as he too had noticed the apathetic, and sometimes hostile looks the children, and only the children were giving the trio.

That brought Pyrrha out of her muddled and sorrow filled thoughts, to look about. Her teammates were right. Each and every child, was giving the trio similar looks. From children that looked no older that five or six, all the way to ones pushing at the cusp of adulthood. Their dead and glazed eyes following the trio's movements.

"I think we should get out of her, and back to patch, or Argus." Nora commented as she stepped closer to her teammates and friends.

"The earliest flight is in two..." Ren started to speak only to be cut off as a pair of young girls in summer dresses that had been skipping rope towards them suddenly stopped...

"1..." the first sung out in a toneless voice.

"2..." the second added in an equally disquieting voice.

"1... 2..." came a chorus of similar voices as a small gaggle to teens slowed their passing. Each head turning towards the trio.

"Ren? Pyr?" Nora asked with an obviously shaking voice.

"1... 2..." more children repeated the set of numbers. Their voices taking on a flat sing-song quality.

"Johnny, get back here!"

"Samantha where are you going?" came the shouts of parents whose children suddenly walked off, joining the gathering mob starting to surround the remains of team JNPR.

Ren, Nora and Pyrrha closed upon each other. Seeking support by close proximity with the others.

"1... 2... Jauney's coming for you..."

That simple phrase flatly sung out by the mass of children caused Pyrrha's breath to catch in her thorught.

"3... 4... better lock your door..."

Nora was completely creeped out. The words burrowing into her mind.

"5... 6... grave a crucifix..."

Ren struggled to us his semblance. Attempting to quell the rising feelings of trepidation and dismay.

"7... and... 8... gonna stay up late..."

Pyrrha gasped, losing her balance, as she stumbled backwards. Her crutches going out from under her. The appearance behind the gathers children of what she could only describe as a soddened figure clad in a sopping Pumpkin Pete hoodie, starling her.

"9... 10... never... sleep... again."

With those final words the children disbursed as silently as they had gathered.

/==/

In EverNight Keep Cinder was wandering the halls, looking for Emerald. She had need of her subordinate, and the green haired girl was nowhere to be found... until Cinder turned down the corridor towards their lodgings and found her standing alone in the center of the hall.

"Emerald?" Cinder croaked out in a voice that was nothing but a husky whisper.

Emerald's head was tilted and her dead, glassed over eyes stared froward, but at the mention of her name, she mechanically turned her gaze upon Cinder.

"1... 2... Jauney's coming for you..."

/===/

A/N I got inspired to do this snippet because of another twisted idea that just wouldn't leave my head/ Listened to this the enture time I wrote...

Hope you enjoyed.

[pilot-boi]

For the tans winter maiden jaune au, think we can get a snippet of him meeting with Nora? Does he start using she/her pronouns by then or is he still mostly repressing everything and using he/him?

First of all, it’s not a repression thing. I cannot stress enough that Jaune’s pronouns are he/him. Being a woman doesn’t change that. Like I said before, it took this long for his egg to crack because he feels no discomfort in using he/him to refer to himself. He is a bisexual girl who uses he/him

That being said, I’ll do my best :]

Fair warning, I got VERY carried away

Jaune’s been acting weird since he got back.

Well duh Nora, of course he’s been weird. He’s been trapped in another dimension for gods know how long with nobody to talk to. And he’s apparently a fairy tale character, from a book popular enough that even HER mom had time to read it as a bedtime story before abandoning her.

Good times.

He’s the Winter Maiden.

She’s the Winter Maiden. He? She? They? Do the rules of that even apply anymore now that even Ozpin doesn’t know what’s going on and her family met the mother of the gods?

And how did it even happen? All she knows is her leader is back with flames from blue eyes and Jaune refuses to talk about it. So does the rest of RWBY. Well, to an extent.

The death of the Winter Maiden was something that got brought up immediately, especially since no Penny came through the portal and Winter showed up with Qrow and the Ace Ops. Everyone assumed that Penny was dead, but nobody knew who got the powers.

And then RWBY returns from the dead with a flame-eyed Jaune and an impossible story. They all dance around the question in meetings. It was Cinder’s fault, they all say, and Nora believes them. But they also all glance at Jaune whose hand is tight on the hilt of Crocea Mors.

Nora is many things, but she’s not oblivious. A ditz, sure, over-exuberant, definitely. But unobservant she is not. Jaune was involved in Penny’s death. How, she doesn’t know, but she recognizes the haunted look in those eyes from dark nights in Mistral. No amount of years could dull that.

Ren has taken his turn looking through their leader, and apparently Jaune is fine. Or at least as fine as can be expected. And Nora trusts him. She trusts him more than he trusts herself these days.

But there’s still something. Something in Jaune’s eyes when they land on her, a flicker of something she can’t recognize. Or wishes she couldn’t.

Blame. Guilt. Pain. Emotions that have never been directed towards her from Jaune. Flames from blue eyes, twenty years alone, a trauma she knows nothing about.

She doesn’t know who Jaune is anymore.

And it’s that realization that pushes her to find Jaune and talk in person.

“Jaune? Can I come in?” Nora knocks on the door. The Nora-Of-Before would’ve just barged in without thinking. There’s a lot of things Nora-Of-Before wouldn’t have bothered to think about.

“‘Course, door’s open.” Jaune is sitting on the bed that’s shared with Oscar, adjusting the straps on the shoulders of the armor. “Hey, Nora. Did you need something?”

“What do I call you now?” Wow, great going, Nora. Just blurt it out.

Jaune blinks and looks up at her, visibly confused. “Um… Jaune?” Blue eyes glance over her face. “Unless something changed that I don’t know about?”

Something did change, she wants to scream. You changed. You changed and you can’t even see it because it happened when nobody was around to point it out. You were alone and vulnerable and it’s all my fault.

“Can I sit down?” she asks instead. Jaune slides over immediately, shoving the armor onto the pillow to make room for her. “Jaune, we need to talk.”

“Okay. Shoot.”

“I need to get something out of the way first of all.” She looks her leader straight in the eyes. “What do I call you now?”

“Jaune. Nora I don’t-“

“No no not that,” she waves away. “Not your name, I know your name.”

Jaune chuckles. “You’d be the first.” Short, sweet, ladies love it. The whole world knows them now. Not as much as Ruby, but still. Nora can’t fathom how Jaune deals with the world knowing the fairytale title more than the name from the broadcast.

“It’s just… So much has happened, and you don’t have to tell me all of it or any of it-” The words are tumbling out of her before she knows it, before she can stop them. “-but clearly so much has happened and you’re like family to me, and I’m sorry about what happened, I’m so sorry, but-”

“Woah woah woah, slow down.” Jaune grabs her hands. Dammit, she was rambling. This is about Jaune being hurt, and here she is rambling. “C’mere.” Jaune slides her over and plops a head of white streaked curls down on her head. She can feel Jaune’s voice rumble. “You can talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“I just… I don’t think I know you anymore.” And dammit why is her voice so small. She’s supposed to be the strong one. Gods, how does Jaune do this?!

Jaune doesn’t answer for the longest time, and for her it’s like having her worst fears confirmed. You’re right, you don’t know me, her leader’s silence seems to say.

“I don’t think I know myself anymore,” Jaune says eventually. “I was the Burning Knight. I still am, I guess.” There’s a pause, and Nora leans into the ratty sweatshirt Neptune lent. “I don’t really know who I am without the fairytale. It’s hard to explain.”

I don’t actually know who I am without Ren. “No… I think I get it,” Nora says. “Ren and I have been spending time apart since you…” Died. Since you died, and we buried you, and I couldn’t bring back help. But Jaune isn’t dead, she can feel the tickle of blonde curls on her forehead and the warmth through the hoodie. “I wanted to figure out who I am. I’m still working on that, but I think I get it.”

Jaune hmms.

“I’m the Winter Maiden.” It’s so matter of fact that Nora had to remind herself that Jaune’s had decades to get used to the idea. “but I still feel like Jaune Arc. I think… I think I’m a girl, but I still feel like a man.” And Nora has to admit, she’s shocked by how quickly Jaune admitted that. Other dimension therapy must be bonkers.

“So who are you?”

Another chuckle, this one failing to hide the hurt. “If you only knew how many times I failed to answer that question.”

More silence. Less stifling.

“I think… I think I’m still me.” And Nora can hear the relief. How long has her leader been dealing with identity and self all alone? Did it start in fairytale land, or did she just miss the signs? “I’m the Maiden, and I’m a girl, but I still feel like a guy.”

“Oh yeah?” Nora shifts so she can look at Jaune’s face. Blonde hair streaked with white over blue eyes. The eyes are still the same. “So you’re a woman? Like May?”

Jaune grimaces, thumps back down on her shoulder. “Girl feels right, woman doesn’t. I don’t feel… grown enough for woman.” Nora nods. Young, then old, then young again. Enough time has been stolen, it makes sense that Jaune’s had enough of being grown.

“So you’re my sister now, not my brother?” Nora asks.

She feels Jaune curl around her, long arms holding her like a teddy bear. “I don’t think I know who I am if I’m not your brother. Or Ren’s. Or Ruby, or Oscar’s.”

Who is Nora Valkyrie if she isn’t part of Ren and Nora? “It’s just a part of you,” she murmurs. How many Winter Maidens is she going to lead down this path before she reaches the end herself? “Don’t forget about the rest.”

“The rest of me feels like a guy,” Jaune replies immediately. “Not a man, not a hero just… just a guy. Or a girl. ” She can almost hear the smile behind the words. “A friend.”

“So, what do I call you now?”

“What do I call you?” Jaune shoots the question back at her. “Who are you?” And that’s not fair, ‘cause she hasn’t had two decades to work on this, she’s only had two months. And most of that time was filled up with grieving.

Although, with the white-streaks in blonde hair and the haunted look in blue eyes, Jaune probably spent the two decades similarly.

“I don’t think I know,” Nora admits.

“Me neither,” Jaune sighs. “I should probably talk to May about this. She’s the expert.”

“Probably.”

“Who do you want to be?” And the way Jaune says it, the question clearly means something. Something locked up in fairytale land and the lost years spent there.

But it’s an interesting question.

“I want to be someone who’s there for her friends,” she says. A golden portal and knuckles and throat bleeding under the force of desperation. “Someone whose friends know that she’ll fight the battles they can’t, and laugh and cry with them afterwards.”

“Sounds like you want to be Nora.”

It does, doesn’t it? “Who do you want to be?”

“I want to be someone who can help people,” Jaune says. A gleaming shield and a shattered blade, glowing hands meant to comfort and heal. “The kind of guy who can say “Everything’s gonna be alright, I’m here to help,” and people believe him.”

“Sounds like you want to be Jaune,” Nora quips back at her leader, and receives a weak laugh in response.

Him. Jaune said him.

“Do you still want to be a him? You’re a girl who feels like a guy.” She leans back against Jaune’s chest, snuggling into the warmth there. “Whatever you say, I’ll still love you.”

Silence. Nora feels Jaune shift awkwardly, sees calloused fingers pull at borrowed hoodie sleeves in front of her. “Is that like… allowed?” Theres a shocking amount of vulnerability in her leader’s voice. Like her answer will decide the rest of the future.

Oh Jaune.

There’s an immortal witch trying to kill us, time travel is apparently real, and you’re a fairy tale character. Who cares what’s allowed? It’s what she wants to say. It’s what she’s thinking. But cradling Jaune’s bleeding heart in her hands, and knowing better than she knows her name how important the opinion of her leader’s friends are, she stays quiet.

Nora looks up. Blue eyes, full of shadow and doubt. But still Jaune’s. “It’s very allowed.”

And his smile is like the sun.

[writingwhatiwanttoread]

Help! I've Landed in a Fanfiction

Pairing: fem!OC x Justice League

Genre: OC insert, Soulmate AU, Isekai, Reverse Harem

Characters: OC, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Hal Jordan, Diana Prince, Barry Allen, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Cassandra Cain, Barbara Gordon, John Constantine, and other DC characters as the story progresses

Warnings: all warnings not tagged, suicidal ideation, domestic violence, general violence and dark, 18+ themes, read at your own risk

Summary: Katie Smith wakes up in a new world, one out of comic books and ridiculously cheesy tropes. All she wants to do is find her way back home, but no one is helping her. Worst of all, they claim to be her soulmates. Surely it's all dream. How can she make herself wake up?

Chapter 1 (This One)

Chapter 2

Chapter One: This Bald Guy is Seriously Creepy

Katie woke up sore and freezing. The soreness was nothing new, of course, but instead of her weighted blanket and soft mattress, the floor under her was hard and chilly. Goosebumps trailed up and down her arms. Groaning, she sat up, keeping her eyes closed to stave off the headache that was forming at her temple. God, I feel so hungover. Given that Katie hadn't touched alcohol since college, however, she shook that thought from her head.

Opening her eyes, she found herself in a small, empty room. There was a large mirror in front of her, spanning the length of the wall. The other three walls were made of cinder block, and she didn't see a door. It looked like a bastardized version of a police holding cell (she had bailed Matt out enough to know that space intimately), but there was no furniture. Shakily getting to her feet, she examined herself in the mirror.

Her hair was messy, and her pajama shorts did nothing to hide the cellulite on her thighs or the outline of her stomach. She cringed as she noticed her plain gray shirt riding up. She pulled it down and stepped closer to the mirror. Her black eye was fading (small mercies) but the wrinkles around her eyes didn't do anything to make her feel better about herself. Matthew would've commented on her ability to make herself look unattractive even in her sleep, and she felt a strong wave of shame come over her. She was about to turn away from the strange mirror when a shock of color visible on her shoulder stopped her. She pulled down her collar to investigate.

A large circle of dark green vines looked to be tattooed on her left shoulder, trailing from her collar bone to above her heart. In the middle were five smaller intersecting circles, golden yellow and almost sparkling. There was a small outline of a dove in the middle, in the same color green as the vines. She was mesmerized. It almost seemed to throb with her heartbeat. She was about to touch it when she shook herself out of her trance. Where was she?

An intercom buzzed overhead. Katie looked up but didn't see a speaker anywhere. She tried not to flinch. A deep, rich voice filled the space.

"I've been waiting all day for you to wake up, my dear. Unfortunately, I can't be there right now to give you a proper welcome."

Katie counted to ten in her head. She heard somewhere that you could get out of dreams that way and was anxious to try it. The voice sounded friendly, but in a dangerous way. She was well-acquainted with that tone and wondered why her brain would dredge it up here, especially since this week Matthew would be gone on a work trip and she was relatively safe. When nothing happened, Katie cleared her throat awkwardly.

"Um. I. I am confused?" She said timidly, lilting her voice into a question at the end.

"Of course, my rules are simple." The voice ignored Katie. She wondered it it was a recording. "Follow my directions and get privileges. Disobey and you will be more uncomfortable than you find yourself now."

"Where am I?"

The lights plunged into darkness and a screen was projected onto the mirror. A tall man in a bespoke suit appeared on the screen. He was sitting behind a desk, holding a scotch in one hand and tapping his other hand on his desktop as if he were already bored with the conversation. He was bald, but looked to be around Katie's age, if not a little older.

"There you are. I imagine you are confused but I don't have the time to explain everything. Rest assured, you will want to listen to me and listen closely. You are under my jurisdiction right now. You will do nothing without my permission. You will eat when I say, sleep when I say, and shit when I say."

"This has got to be a dream." Katie said absently, touching the mirror, wondering at her own imagination. It was the most vivid thing she had ever experienced.

"Are you listening to me?" The man cleared his throat, annoyed.

"Who are you?" Katie tilted her head.

He rolled his eyes. "You can call me Sir."

Katie snorted.

"You find that funny?"

"I mean, that's such a cheesy line. You realize that right?" Katie was still walking around the small cell, trying to find the door with her fingers.

"Look at me." Katie did flinch here, and cursed her dream-self for having the same reaction to a stern dream-voice as she did to a stern-real-world voice.

"I do not have time for this. All you need to know is I brought you here and I can keep you here."

"Mkay. You might want to chill on the villain talk. You sound like a movie character. I'm not calling you Sir, by the way." That's the thing about dreams, Katie thought. Bravery was a lot easier when everything was fake.

"I'll give you time to rethink that then." With that the video popped off and the room was filled with darkness. Katie couldn't see her hand in front of her face, and after bumping into the wall, she decided to sit down. She squeezed her eyes tightly and tried to transport herself to a dream-cabin or dream-beach. Surely she could imagine Hawaii. Instead of feeling the warm sand between her toes, however, all she felt was cold. It was like the room dipped even lower in temperature. She shivered and huddled in a corner. The darkness was oppressive--the silence was too. Her stomach grumbled, and she held it, eventually curling into a ball. She couldn't gauge the time but it felt like hours. She fell into a restless sleep, her last thought wondering if sleeping in a dream was going to send her into an Inception like trance. She laughed to herself, and hoped when she woke up she could forget everything and take a warm bath.

----

Katie woke up, a little warmer, still hungry, and unfortunately not back in her bedroom. She was no longer in the weird cell, but instead tied to a chair. Her gray shirt had been removed, leaving her in her bra and pajama shorts. Her wrists ached with the bindings and her glasses were slipping down her nose. She tried to push them up with her shoulder but couldn't move much.

She was in a large office. There was a window that spanned the floor to the ceiling and she could tell that she was high up, as the only thing visible was clouds and the tops of buildings.

A clearing of a throat let her know she wasn't alone. Katie groaned.

"You again?" The bald man looked affronted.

She felt at her bindings, again surprised that everything was so vivid. It really hurt and she had never thought being asleep could feel so real. She was rethinking her initial hypothesis. Hadn't recovered coma patients talked about feeling sensations in their unconsciousness?

"I realize I was remiss in not introducing myself the other day. So let's start over. Your name is?"

Katie looked incredulously at the man. "Katherine." She spit out.

"Katherine." He sneered. "I am Lex Luthor," he said self-importantly.

Ok then, back to her original hypothesis. Definitely a dream. Katie barked out a laugh.

"Yeah, right. And I'm Batman." She growled mockingly. "Honestly."

The man stepped closer. It's not like Katie was unaware of the comic books and movies, but she had never had time to really dive in. She was too busy managing Matt's schedule and making sure everything was perfect at home. The last time Katie picked up one of his collectibles to dust, she found herself with a lot more than a black eye. It wasn't really something she was interested in anymore. But she knew of Lex Luthor. He kind of looked like she would have imagined him looking, which made sense she guessed, if her brain was making it all up.

He trailed his fingers on her shoulder, tracing the weird design on her chest from her collarbone to just above her bra. She shivered in revulsion but the way she was tied to the chair didn't allow her much movement.

"Interesting." He hummed. "Have you heard of me?"

She looked him in the eyes and then looked away quickly as he smirked at her. "I mean, yeah? Comic book character, Lex Luthor. Superman's nemesis, right? I mean, I've never really read them or anything, but I saw Smallville once."

He was staring at her like a bug under a microscope. "Mm. What else do you know about me?"

Katie quirked an eyebrow. "I am confused."

"I expected that. You don't seem like a particularly bright woman. Definitely plain looking, overweight, extremely unremarkable. It's fascinating, isn't it?"

It's not like any of that was something Katie didn't think about herself daily, but she still felt a bit betrayed by her brain.

"What is?" She bit out.

"That you were chosen out of all the people in your world. That you were the one the whole universe decided upon. It's a shame. I'm sure there were so many more worthy than you."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know me as a character, darling? Tell me. How many people lived in your world?"

"My world? What are you talking about?"

"The global population. Try to keep up."

Katie was confused at what that could mean or why he was asking. She decided to play along since last time ended with her in a cold cell for hours.

"I don't know. Over 7 billion."

"Over 7 billion." He purred, practically petting the weird tattoo on her chest. "How does it feel to know that 7 billion people were sacrificed for the unimpressive specimen you are?"

Katie scrunched her nose. The man cosplaying as Lex Luthor in her mind laughed. "Do you know what this is?" He tapped the tattoo. She stayed silent.

"No. You wouldn't, would you? You don't know much. A world where the greatest minds are comic book characters. Where soul marks don't exist." Soul marks?, Katie mouthed to herself. "I almost feel sorry for you, honey. But at the end of the day, it doesn't really matter, does it? You're here for one reason and one reason only."

He ran his fingers through her messy hair. An alarm sounded in the distance.

"Let the games begin."

[saltsicklover]

Title: Fated to Run - Fated to Fly ꨄ︎ Part One of Two

Prompt from THIS ASK

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5000+

Rating: T

Warnings: Swearing, Creepy Dude, Rhett and Jake rescue reader, one use of Y/N, airports and flying, argument, nothing too crazy, angst

---

To all the people that said finding their soulmate was just so easy, and that they didn't even have to look deserve a giant middle finger shoved right into their face. After all, sometimes people's soulmates just fall right into their fucking laps like the divine are throwing them a goddamn bone. 

Most of us have to earn the privilege of finding our soulmates. You would think that the universe would have come up with a better system, some way to be sure that you've found exactly who you're supposed to. But it's truly fucking coincidence.

What a goddamn pain in the ass. 

Those little words scripted onto skin give only a hint, a shred of an idea that comes with far too much hope and no direction. 

In a perfect world, that script would glow when you find your person, or maybe your person would be the one to say them. Maybe there'd be a way to just know that you've found your other half. Maybe the universe could've bloomed with color upon first contact, the whole world coming to life around you. Hell, maybe the fucking ink would itch when you came close, or, maybe it could turn colors, burning like a cinder straight to the skin. 

It could have been a name, or map quadrants, an number even...

But no. 

All we get is the first thing someone else in our earshot says about our other half. It could be anyone, really, family and friends, lovers or enemies. The universe doesn't care, like it's all one big cosmic joke.  

And if you get stuck with something common? You're pretty much royally fucked. 

The amount of sorry souls who are stuck with "oh, he's a great guy," or "she's so pretty!" Have to live with hearing that damn phrase over and over again, just hoping that maybe it will lead them in the right direction.

It's sick, really, the whole goddamn thing. Especially because I want nothing else. 

"Oh, it's just Bob," is etched deep into my skin, the little letters marking over my collar bone like it's laced with disappointment. There's something about the word "just" that make's me clench my jaw. I can feel the muscle tick as I grind my teeth against each other, feeling the ridges catch. 

Whoever Bob is sure as hell isn't just anything. He is everything, and the unlucky bastard who dares say anything different has a swift right hook in their future, or maybe a hard shove, if the mood strikes. Anything that might take the edge off. 

Though I haven't met Bob yet, I feel fiercely protective over him, over the way others see him. After all, his heart is worth more than words like "just". 

The airport is just a little too dead for 3am, a few too few people ambling around half awake. Those who are here wear dark bags under their eyes, snuggled deep into their jackets to keep the too cold air conditioning from hitting their bare skin. Some pull luggage behind them, kicking it at they go, getting more and more pissed off every time their heel catches on their suitcase. Others talk too loudly on the phone, their cell's pressed to their cheeks by shoulders, by hands, others taking through their headsets. 

A sharply dressed man, clad in a brown suit and loafers argues with a woman in a language I don't speak. She is pointing at the board with a well polished fingernail, one that matches her power suit, while the man is shoving his phone into her face. It's obvious they are arguing about their flight, but neither of them seem to budge on their side. 

It's comical, really, how animated they are. I wonder if they are soulmates, if they found each other out if the sheer passion and dedication they are displaying. After all, if one has this much passion for a flight, it would only stand to reason that the business of finding their soulmate would be met with equal fever. They are a good match, too. The universe doesn't always deal out people who look like they should be together. Aesthetics clash, personalities not quite off set. But these two just have an air about them- like they belong; also like they are going to miss their flight.

I pass them as quickly as I can, as the anger rolls off of them. It's much too late, or maybe much too early to witness such an argument, and I have to make it all the way down to gate 93. With each step, my duffle bag seems to get heavier, no doubt taking after my eyelids. 

Whoever designed the Dallas airport needs to be given some sort of medal for "longest hallways that seem to lead nowhere". With every turn I take I feel like I'm headed further away, but the signs keep pushing me forward. 

Almost there, almost there. 

Gate 88 and Gate 89. 

Gate 90. 

As I walk by Gate 91, I catch two men laying on the dirty carpet in front of the lines of chairs. Their forms stand out against the oddly patterned carpet, though they almost look like they belong there. They are waiting in front of a gate that reads no destination. I know I shouldn't stare, but I can't seem to stop the slowing of my feet. I slide one side off my headphones back off of my ear, doing my best to be inconspicuous. I hope to catch a word, a whisper of what they might be saying but their lips are sealed, it seems, neither one saying a thing. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I take in their position on the ground. One has a cowboy hat pulled down over his face to try and keep the buzzing fluorescents out of his eyes. His head is balanced on a small duffle bag, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. His hands sit on his stomach, fingers laced together. His skin is golden, one of those tans you get from being stuck outside day after day. 

He doesn't move a muscle. It barely looks like he's breathing, really. There's something a bit eerie about it, the stillness of him. 

The other man, blond with a cropped haircut and equally bronzed skin sits on the ground a few feet from the other. His back is leaned up against the side of a chair, his knees bent. He looks equally exhausted, eyes closed, head leaned back exposing the long line of his neck. 

He shivers a bit, the wholeness of it rolling through his body. Though he keeps his eyes closed, his expression scrunches before relaxing again. He doesn't look even remotely comfortable, unlike his stony counterpart. 

The pair have very different looks about them, the former all home grown cowboy with still muddy boots while the ladder is clean cut and chiseled. The blond has his hands shoved into the large pocket on the front of his hoodie, trying to starve off the chill that hangs in the terminal. 

Not soulmates, that's for sure. Over the years, I have been able to pick out soulmates from just a few calculated but fleeting glances. There's always something about a pair that just reads right, a vibe that they give off when they are finally buzzing together. But one thing is for sure, these two aren't soulmates, the fact that they're even friends feels funny. 

It's not an impossible fact, to be sure. The predestined soul mate, the way it's written into the universe, could be anyone. That's part of the difficulty of it, for sure, but there's always something that seems to click. Souls are like metronomes, clicking away, othering ticking, always out of time; until the right person comes along and you're right on time with each other. With this pair, they are just a little too jagged around the edges, too seasoned in their own rights to slot together. Friendship is different- nothing knit into the weave of the universe, there, though it may have been easier if it were. 

The moment I make it to my gate, I throw my bag down, by body feeling a bit too much like jelly from all of the travel to hold it any longer. The men are just a gate down, living in their own little bubble. I can't fight the smile that blooms across my face. There's that word, about knowing everyone has their own lives, their own loves. Sonder, I think it is, and in this moment it washes over me. 

"Hey," A voice rings out through the quiet of the terminal, over the loudness of my mind. I look up, my eyes meeting a man who must be in his later forties. He's balding on top, glasses shoved awkwardly onto the bridge of his nose. His clothes are a mismatch of dressy and unkempt. A suit jacket thrown over his hoodie, a pair of pajama pants adorning his bottom half. The whole ensemble is wrapped up with the cowboy hat sitting on the chair next to him, crocs on his feet. 

"Hi," I nod more than speak, a strange feeling blooming in the pit of my stomach. This is not a man I care to be around. If I keep my eyes down, hands busy, maybe he will get the message.

"Why don't you sit down and we'll have a chat," There's a sort of greasy smile that spreads across his face. A shudder dances down my spine at the sight, gooseflesh breaking out over my already cold body. The feeling of them breathing to life makes my skin go almost clammy, an uncomfortable feeling under my warm layers. 

"No, thank you," The answer is curt as I push my duffle just a little further away with my foot. It drags against the well walked carpet, the sound it makes echoing the one in my chest. It's a sort of stuck sensation, what it morphs into, one that I feel with my whole body. 

"Oh, come on, what's a little chat going to hurt?" The man tries again, leaning closer to me, sliding to the seat next to him. We are no further apart now than when we started. My foot meets the side of my duffle again, ready to push it once more. Each little move he makes my eyes train on, from the way his hand curls around the armrest to the way he seems to be peering, leering, over the tops of his too thick glasses. 

"Nope," I pop the 'P', waving my hand a bit, "I'm not entertaining this any longer."

I stoop down to grab my headphones from my bag, only to have the strange man's hand appear in front of me as he is reaching too. The step back I take is almost involuntary, more focused on getting away from his incoming touch than my things now sitting in between us. The glare I send the man is lacking due to the bubbling fear popping in my chest. I place my headphones around my neck in a shallow attempt to keep my hands from shaking. 

"Oh come on sweet-"

"Tommy Grace! There ya'are! Ya'walked right past us, girl," An arm is thrown around my shoulder, warm and lean. I shift my eyes over quickly, mind and body shooting from high alert to a sort of easy when I see the cowboy from the gate over, now standing to my side, folding me protectively under his arm. The feeling of being protected shouldn't feel quite so strong coming from a stranger. However, the way he keeps his hand right atop the cap of my shoulder, his heartbeat thrumming against my other shoulder just bleeds that feeling. 

"Oh! Seriously? You must've been hiding," I do my best to play along, instantly feeling a little more at ease as the man across from us looks less so. I can't help but revel in the uncomfortable look on the greasy man's face, as well as the warmth pouring from the cowboy. 

"Is this guy a friend o'yers?" The cowboy asks, looking at the man from under the brim of his hat. I can feel the way the pads of his fingers dig into the muscle of my arm, each finger individually curling into the thickness there. It doesn't hurt. Instead it's a grounding point, from him to me and back again. Two strangers bound together if only for a moment. 

"Oh, no, we've never met before," I tell him, gazing up at his face. The scruff of his cheek is fuller at this angle, the defined slope of his jaw easily tracible with my eyes. He's handsome from this angle, which I bet means he's even better looking from head on. 

"I see, well," The cowboy narrows his eyes, "Your brother'sa waitin' and y'know how Jake gets," 

"Boy do I," I chuckle from the safety of his embrace, throwing a sideways glance to the man who seems to be in some sort of staring match with the cowboy. Their eyes are trained on each other, fighting for dominance over the situation. From the way the greasy man's eye twitches slightly, I know the cowboy must be winning. 

"Go on an' see 'em, I'll grab your bag," He is pushing me towards the other gate, a warm palm between my shoulder blades. It's not a hard shove, but the way his hand is pressed firm to my back gives me a clue on just how quickly I need to get out of there. The cowboy shoots me a wink before turning back to the strange man, his eyes narrowing again. 

I don't want to see the look in his eye when it's turned on the greasy stranger. I can imagine just how dark those blue green eyes could tint given the right amount of rage flowing behind them. So, I keep my eyes forward, keep focused on just where I'm headed. 

Quickly, I make my way over to the now standing blond, Jake. The moment his eyes meet mine he is smiling, the kind of smile that instantly eases my nerves. I wave a bit, my hand not making it any higher than my midsection. I can't help but feel the same tiredness in my limbs that I see in his eyes. There is something weighing us both down, and something tells me it's more than just the travel. More than the overly saturated interactions with strangers and flight attendant served booze. 

The moment I'm in earshot, he's already saying hello, opening his arms wide for me. I step into his space, wrapping my arms around his middle. Carefully, almost too lightly, the blond is wrapping his arms around me. It's one of those hugs- the kind you give that estranged relative at Thanksgiving. It's a tad bit awkward from my end, but Jake squeezed me just a little bit tighter as relax against his broad frame and I can't fight the urge to press my face into the soft fabric of his hoodie. 

"Thank you," I mumble into his sweatshirt. As I pull back, the blond squeezes my shoulders quickly, a quiet "you're welcome" in return. I peer up at the tall blond, taking in the gentle curves of his smile lines, how they frame his headstone like teeth, polished white and perfectly straight. His tongue flicks over the corner of his mouth, eyes positioned somewhere behind me.

There is something in that look of his, something playing behind the sea glass tint of his irises. It's a sort of mirth, if mirth was more gentle than the definition explains. Maybe it's a fondness for the other man, one that's hidden behind layers of faux dislike and teasing. The pair bonded together as brothers are, all bemused, an oath, blood of the covenant, that they don't remember taking.  

As I turn to follow his eyeline, Jake folds me carefully under his arm just as the cowboy had before. Maybe their friendship is stronger than I had originally thought. The way they seem to work in unison to the very clear way they've each folded me into the safety of their embrace. It's different with Jake though. He's more calm, his heartbeat isn't hammering out of his chest. I can scarlessly feel it where our bodies are pressed together. 

"Does he do this kind of thing often?" There's a sideways glance shared between us before Jake's chest raddles with a light chuckle. It awakens him just a bit behind the eyes. 

"Yes, but we usually know the girl," The humor in his voice makes the anxiety in my stomach settle a bit. His voice is too warm, too kind to elicit anything but safety in this moment. 

I can feel the small smile ghosting over my lips, the image of the pair many years younger fluttering through my brain. The cowboy and Jake, rescuing girls in the school hallways, folding innocent girls, with glasses and hair pulled back into tidy braids, into their embrace. There's a sort of teamwork in the way it all went down today, through I missed the progression. From the moment the cowboy tucked my body into his, the intense hammering of his own heartbeat be damned, to the way Jake greeted me with literal open arms. There's so much warmth here. 

"And he'd not your soulmate," It's a statement, plain and simple. That get's him laughing for real this time, his whole face coming to life from how his smile overtakes his expression. 

"Not remotely," The words make it out a moment later as Jake still fights a bit to catch his breath. "We grew up near each other, down the same county road just outside a forgettable town here in Texas," 

"Escaping while you still can?" I chide, nudging him with my elbow. 

"I escaped a long time ago," Jake corrects, a small shrug pulls away his body heat for just a moment before it returns. 

"But you're back?" 

"Rhett and I are headed to California," The explanation comes easy, and for a moment I wonder why he's even explaining it all to me, but I am thankful to know the real name of the cowboy, "He's helping get me settled in Miramar, new permanent station," 

"Station? Does that make you Army?"

There's that laugh again. 

"Naval Aviator," There's no sharpness in the correction, as cocky as it is.

"Wouldn't it be a new port for you then, Sailor?" I nudge him again, playfully. There is something so easy about talking to Jake, his arm folding me into his warmth. Something truly sibling like about it, my place here under his sturdy frame. His protective nature and warm smile, a sort of family for just a few fleeting moments. 

"I guess you're right," There's a tad bit of humor in that sentence, but it's hiding behind the tiredness layered in his voice. 

"Wait, did you say Naval Aviator?" I look up at him so directly, eyebrows pulled tightly together as I fight to keep a smile off of my lips. "And you're going to Miramar?" 

I watch as he pulls his own well groomed eyebrows together in a furrow, his lips curving into a ghost of a frown. 

"Yes, Ma'am," 

I can't fight the laugh that bubbles past my lips, the whole thing sounding a bit too sharp, a bit too loud. Where most men are put off by the sound, Jake just looks at me with curious eyes. His tongue flicks over the corner of his slightly upturned mouth, that grin silently begging for me to continue. 

"What're you lot laughin' bout?" Rhett calls out, his voice filling my ears. 

"Well, turns out my brother," I wink at Rhett now, turning my attention his way, "works under my father,"

If the progression of thought could be clearly mapped through faces with flicks of tongues and furrowing of brows, the pair would have told a whole story in the matter of seconds, of squinted eyes and the pursing of lips. 

"Your father?" The pair speak in unison, accents blending together. I can't help but laugh as I flick my eyes between them. Both wear a sort of confused expression, bemused with eyebrows scrunched together, head tilting just so. 

"Yes, my father. Rear Admiral Simpson?" I offer the name as a sort of clarification, though it comes out as a question. Rhett's eyebrows knit together a little tighter, eyes darting to Jake for assurance, or maybe it's confirmation. Jake's eyebrows are raised, his mouth slightly agape by the time my gaze slips back over him. 

"You're Cyclone's kid?" There's more to it, from the way his mouth opens and closes a couple of times before he catches the tip of his tongue between his perfect front teeth. "Are you Arrow?"

"Oh, hell no!" I can't hold back the laughter, my cheeks no doubt pinking up from the way my smile pushes them out, "That's my older brother, Anthony! He's an Aviator too, hoping to get selected for Top Gun any day now... Though I doubt that they'll send him anytime soon with Dad stationed there," 

Rhett's arms are crossed over his chest, his eyebrows no less furrowed than before. Jake's expression is still scrunched up a bit, but the lines are slowly relaxing with the more information he gets, so I continue.

"My name is Y/N Simpson, but everyone calls me Birdie," I hold my hand out first to Rhett, as I'm still tucked close to Jake, his arm slung over my shoulders. 

"Birdie, is'a pleasure," Rhett removes his hat with one hand, shaking my outstretched one with the other. He gives it a quick squeeze before letting go, a kind smile on his face. 

"Birdie?" Jake asks, tip of his tongue snug in the corner of his lips. 

"Yeah, Birdie. You know, Cyclone, Arrow, Birdie, all things that have to do with wind and flying? My dad and brother both got call signs, but I had zero interest in doing anything with the military, but Uncle Solo dubbed me Birdie when I was tiny and it's stuck ever since." 

"Solo? Is'e Navy too?" Rhett chimes in. He scratches at the back of his head, his hat tipping forward into his eyes a bit. 

"Sure is. Admiral Solomon Bates, goes by Warlock," Jake stiffens a bit at the name, but relaxes a bit soon after. I bump his hip with my own, shooting a wink up his way. 

"Well then, Birdie, it's nice to officially meet you," It's a bad recovery, but he clears his throat and keeps speaking, "I've gotta say, your dad didn't mention he had a daughter," 

"Oh yeah, that's not at all a surprise. You know how Sailors can be, and my Dad is a bit over protective of me. He's big on me keeping men at a distance. And if said man is Military? Ha! Not an ice cubes chance in hell that they'd make it within a hundred feet of me," 

Rhett smirks a bit, eyes flicking from my own glare down towards the floor. I know Jake's arm is still wrapped around my shoulder, just as I know that he is still sparing quick glances over to the greasy man a few yards away. I kick the toe of Rhett's boot with my own, wrinkling my nose at the way he snickers. 

"So no soulmate yet?" Jake asks, tilting his chin down to look me in the eye. The question is so full of genuine curiosity and for once I don't feel terrible answering.

"Nope, not yet. Not even a damn lead, but that's okay. I'm a firm believer that it's going to happen when it's supposed to. I'm not in a rush," That last part may be a bit of a lie. I want nothing more than to finally meet the person that's supposed to be mine, mind, body, and soul. Their supposed to be this sort of connection, one that most people who have met their soulmate have only been able to hint at. It's one of those things where words just don't do it justice, even the great poets seem to have failed to find the words. 

"Tha's too bad, 'cause I'd've jumped at the chance to take ya ta dinner," Rhett shoots me a wink, his blue eyes twinkling under the stark white lights. 

"I bet you say that to all the girls," I jest, sticking my tongue out at him. There's another nudge between boots. 

"Oh, he does, but he sure does have a knack for finding the prettiest ones," Jake interjects, bumping my hip with his own. I push him back with my shoulder, causing him to finally drop his arm he's had draped around me for the better part of the last twenty minutes. 

"Whatever you say," I roll my eyes, "What about you boys, either of you found your better half?" 

The way Jake's face lights up at the question gives me the answer before his words can. Rhett is just shaking his head, mumbling a "here we go" under his breath. 

"I sure have! Rooster, he's an Aviator too," Jake begins eagerly, "We met like eight years ago? Maybe nine? I'm not sure, but it was in the middle of the ocean on a carrier, and we butted heads better than the best of 'em. I had graduated Top Gun not too long before, and he hadn't been yet, though he went shortly after that deployment. I don't think we would've figured it out if we hadn't decided to-"

"Don't even say it, Seresin," Rhett threatens with a point of his finger, aim fixed right between the taller man's eyes. 

"I wasn't gonna go into detail," Jake laughs, though there's a glint of trouble in his eyes, "All I'm saying is that if we hadn't hauled each other into that bathroom stall at the bar and-"

"Flight number 4582, Dallas to San Diego is now boarding Group 1, priority members and military members traveling on active orders,"  A woman voice crackles through the intercom.

"Saved by the fuckin' bell," Rhett comments loud enough for Jake and I to hear. The boys begin to grab their bags, each only traveling with a small duffle bag. Rhett heads for the gate first, his bag slung over his shoulder, hat in hand. Jake follows after him, his bag clutched tightly in his hand. 

"Thanks again you two" I call after them with a little wave. Jake stops in his tracks, turning back around to face me.

"Aren't you coming, Birdie?" There's that cock of his head again. 

"Us lowly civilians have to wait until the next group to board," I joke back.

"Not anymore, you're boarding with me, come on!" Then Jake is all but hauling me through the ticket line and onto the plane. Jake throws my carryon into the bin above the row of seats Rhett has claimed and Jake waved me into the same row with a tilt of his head. Without assigned seating, the pair having decided that I'm going to be sitting in the middle seat between them. Maybe I should be more nervous, sitting between two strange men, but sitting here now the only thing I feel is safe. 

The whole flight my head switches between resting on either one of their shoulders, sleep evading me completely. I went from tracing the lines of Rhett's hat as it sat atop his knee to counting just how many times Jake bounced his knee. 

Part of the way through, he admitted that he's a terrible passenger, had been since he graduated from flight school. Maybe it's a control issue, or maybe it's the surrounding people moving all around the large aircraft. Either way Jake bounces his knee the whole flight. Sometimes he'd wipe his palms down his jean clad thighs to ease the tension and give a slight reprieve to the constant movement. 

Rhett snored gently next to me, though he murmured in his sleep just a little. No words ever slipped past his lips, just half cut off sounds and the ghosts of sentiments. He kept his hands folded across his belly, head lulled towards the small window. I hate to admit it, but I admired the long line of his neck as his head was laid against the wall. 

Neither man listened to any sort of music during the flight, which struck me as odd. My headphones sat snug over my ears through most of the flight, a folk country playlist thrumming through them. 

The flight was fast, in the grand scheme and everyone aboard seemed to be thrilled to get off the plane. This terminal is busier than the last. The early morning traffic of the airport filled with people in suits, both sweat and formal. The boys and I walk side by side by side, making our way through the crowd like a force. Maybe it's the sheer size of the men at my sides, but the crowd seems to part for us. 

The trilling of a cellphone breaks up the sounds of the terminal, following us as we walk. 

"Jake," Rhett flicks his gaze towards his friend, a silly look on his face. 

"What?" 

"That's your phone, dude," I nudge him with my shoulder, our bags bumping together. By the time Jake fishes the device from his front pocket, the factory set ringtone has gone silent. 

"Eyes up, Cowboy," I warn as we approach the tram. Rhett's eyes flick up just long fast enough that he doesn't trip over the gap.  The doors closing behind us quickly, and Rhett bumps into one of the stationary poles in attempt to get out of it's way. 

"It truly amazes me that he's a bull rider, since his sense of personal space sucks so bad," Jake mutters, leaning a bit closer to my ear. I can't help but snicker too. 

"Bull rider?" The question is met with a nod from Jake as he presses the phone up to his ear. 

Jake stands near, phone pressed to his ear with knit brows. The look of concentration on his face is tight, like he's trying to make out a hard to hear piece of information on the other side of the line. He pulls the phone away from his ear as we step off the tram, heading for baggage claim. 

They bracket me between them once again, a tall man on each side of me. We share smiles as we walk in time with one another. A little trio formed because one sleazey dude at the Dallas airport couldn't take a hint. Life is funny that way. 

They say the universe only hand picks soulmates, decorating skin just to prove that point. I, however, think friends are found in the flick of the same pen. After all, there's magic left over in the spaces between the letters, in the flick of the wrist of the universe. There has to be. 

"Long message," Rhett comments, "Who was it anyway?"

"Oh, it's just Bob," Jake informs us. Rhett hums in response, but my feet stop moving. They retreat into the tunnel of my vision, blending in with the other travelers moving around us. Their once recognizable frames, broad and welcoming, melt into the sea of movement. Nothing in my vision sticks out, my brain too busy playing those damn words on loop. 

Oh, it's just Bob. Oh, it's just Bob. Oh, it's just Bob. 

There's a fleeting feeling in my fingertips from where my bag as slipped from them. There's the far off sound of it hitting the tile. My vision buzzes with people but god, those words are in the forefront of it all. 

Oh, it's just Bob. 

This moment may be stillness surrounded by the bustle of the San Diego airport. It may be bodies bumping into my own, shoulders connecting as someone passes. It may be one day be a memory of the way my whole body seems to have gone slick with sweat, far too warm and mildly uncomfortable. It may be a realization, both now and in the future. This moment may be the beginning of the rest of my life. 

I'm not ready. Not for the future. Not for Bob. Not for facing his friends who must have noticed that I'm no longer by their side by now. I'm not ready for any of it. Not even remotely. I guess it sure wasn't a lie when I told them that I wasn't "in a rush". 

The chill of the air hits me as I all but break through the sliding doors, out to the taxi line up. There's shouting, it's far off, covered by those four little words and the beating of my heart. I slide into the back of a taxi, my bag discarded onto the seat next to me. With the slam of the door, the taxi is pulling away from the curb. I press my forehead to the glass of the window, my breath fogging up the sight of Rhett and Jake breaking through the crowd. They stand there, confusion written into their features as they watch the cab pull away. 

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I squeeze them together. A deep sigh escapes me, the realization hitting me. They know my dad, at least Jake does. And we are all going to Miramar. It's only a matter of time before our paths cross again.

Maybe it wasn't even my Bob, I try and rationalize with myself. After all, how many people in the world are named "Bob" anyway? It's shallow in theory, a sort of knowing feeling sitting heavy in my gut. That was my Bob on the other end of that message; the feeling deep in my chest aches in a way that it just has to be true. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

It's only a matter of time before our paths cross again. On base, in the commissary as we grocery shop. Eye contact over fresh produce, hands busy but eyes filled with questions. Or in my father's office, Jake dropping by on business as my dad and I sit on either side of his large desk. Words caught in our throats, my father's gaze wandering between us. Maybe it will be at the bar, our eyes locking from across the room. Questions shouted over the music; over the smell of alcohol. 

And maybe Bob would be there too, looking positively like a dream I haven't fully allowed myself to have. He'd be there like the sunshine, glowing and warm and something I just wouldn't be able to outrun. He'd be all smiles and kind hands, wrapping me into his embrace in the same way his friends had. 

It's only a matter of time, but I'll run now. 

[moseslikellamas]

Cinders in the Dark pt. 2

Pairing - Benjicot Blackwood x Whent!OC

Summary - Lucinda continues to explore the basement of Harrenhal. Lord Blackwood pokes his nose into her business much to her continued annoyance.

Warnings - Magic, delusions, frightening imagery, blood, blackmail, forced cohabitation, not canon, Kieran Burton fancast.

Word count - 2.4k

Lucinda was somewhere deep in the bowels of the castle. She hadn’t the foggiest where she had been last night when she’d woken up except that she’d had to climb stairs to leave it. So she'd just started with the first staircase off of the main hall. It had been a cramped staircase compared to the rest of them but still massively wide. And of course, no railing. So she’d hugged the wall as she descended, torch in one hand.

Unfortunately for her, the Maester who’d mapped the place hadn’t bothered to go downstairs. Understandable as the black stone walls made it eerily dark even with all of the torches lit. She worked to light any hanging torch she came across but the hallways never seemed to grow any brighter. Occasionally she would disturb a host of bats which would screech en masse as they flew to some other dark corner. Bats didn’t bother her, the symbol of her house. She felt a sort of kinsmenship with them. Both of them liked dark undisturbed corners of the world.

The more she tried to focus on the details of her dream, the more it seemed to slip away. Until at last she was too frustrated to continue. She turned back, following the chalk marks she had made along the way. It was impossible to explore without some way to mark the way back. She’d done a myriad of substances before finding one that didn’t sink into the walls. Chalk was powdery enough it didn’t immediately absorb into them. But eventually she knew they did. If she visited previously marked hallways, the walls would always be bare after a day or so.

Reluctantly she climbed back up the stairs, pausing to check the book every now and then. Sometimes the ink she used acted funny when she added to the book. Smearing in such a manner as to make it illegible and forcing her to start over. Now she held the book open for hours before even attempting to close it. She had done her share of remapping and didn’t relish having to repeat anything down under the earth. The lack of windows made her feel a bit uncomfortable after a while.

The stairs seemed to stretch longer on the way back up and she wondered if she had gone further than she thought. Time meant nothing to her down here, there was no way to tell how much had passed. Once she finally emerged back to the ground floor, she could see no light coming in through the windows. If it was dark already, it was late. The summer sun didn’t set for ages this time of year. Taking that into account she decided to visit the kitchen before retiring for the night. She should’ve been exhausted but she was only hungry. Weaving through the long and winding halls, she finally emerged into the kitchen.

The room was empty, the fire nearly died out when she arrived. Fires never stayed lit here, even with constant stoking. It was too damp, too exposed to hold the heat. She added a bundle of wood before grabbing a bowl of soup and eating quickly there. She threw back a goblet of wine and cleaned up her mess. She glanced around one last time before leaving, making sure nothing was out of order. The first signs of exhaustion were beginning to build behind her eyes as she swayed walking back. The wine was probably a mistake, especially as she had to climb all of those god forsaken stairs before reaching her room. Harren the Black must have been an idiot. Didn’t he think about having to climb all these stairs?

Once in her room, she carefully set the book down on her cluttered desk. It was covered in scattered maps and scrolls. She used to have a few spell ingredients too, but she figured the witch who lived in the tall tower stole them back. She’d only seen her out of the corner of her eyes, always in windows up in the tower. No one else ever seemed to see her and she didn’t bother to go visit her. Lucinda had enough to deal with without pissing off a witch. So she didn’t disturb any more spell ingredients she found about the castle and nothing else vanished from her room. Whatever the witch knew about the castle wasn’t her business, she just wanted to map the place. But there would be more time for that tomorrow. She stripped off her cloak, dressing down for the night. Then she climbed into her big bed and promptly passed out.

Lucinda woke to a crackling noise outside of her room. Before she bothered to get up, she looked out the window. It was still dark. Sighing, she flung the covers back before creeping towards her door. She didn’t immediately open it, first she lightly touched the door handle. It was as cold as ever. Then she dropped to the floor and peered under the door crack, nothing. Only then after standing, did she crack it open.

The door across from hers was burning. Flames licked up the door and had spread onto the stone above it, leaving scorch marks. She pulled her own door open all the way now, staring at the burning door. The wood popped and groaned in the sweltering heat but it didn’t buckle or give way. She took a step closer and without thinking grabbed the handle thursting the door open. Inside stood the knight, skinless holding his sword. He had no eyes, just smooth muscle stretched across his face where they should have been. His teeth were exposed in a terrible grin. She started screaming then, she fell backwards scraping her hands on the rough stone floor as she scuttled away from the monster. She knocked her head against the back wall and groaned as the flayed man approached. He was still burning and when he opened his mouth, the caw of a crow sounded.

Lucinda woke to someone aggressively shaking her. She heaved a gasp, frantically glancing around at her surroundings. A hand lay on her cheek and she screamed again before managing to bring the person across from her into focus.

“L-lord Blackwood?” She asked, still dazed.

“Aye, that’s me. You were screaming bloody murder, woke me out of a very pleasant sleep I might add.”

Annoyed, she narrowed her eyes at him before clearing her throat and attempting to stand.

“I’m sorry to have woken you. If you’ll excuse me.”

He’d had to assist her up and she resented him for it. She resented that he was here at all, she would have to pretend to go back to sleep. Instead of riding out like she wanted to.

“It’s that weirwood bed you’re sleeping on, you know.”

She sharply turned her head to look at him, snapping “What?”

“The nightmares you’re having. It's because your bed is made of weirwood.”

She looked at him incredulously. “Did you go into my room again?”

He rolled his eyes at her which only made her angrier.

“Aye, I borrowed that book of yours. There were some interesting things there.”

She couldn’t believe the audacity of the man.

“How do you know it's made of weirwood?” Her curiosity had gotten the better of her despite her ire.

“I know what petrified weirwood looks like.” His voice was bitter as he replied, his eyes hard.

It was the first time she felt a bit uncomfortable in the Lord’s presence. He’d proven he didn’t mind violating boundaries and the look on his face said he’d done a lot worse.

“Stay out of my room.” She didn’t bother with titles then, snarling it.

Still in her personal space, his eyes burned into hers.

“No. I don’t think I will.”

She was taken aback by his causal tone. She would go to her father first thing in the morning. They couldn’t let this man stay here any longer than necessary. The castle fed on negative energy, if there was a place that yearned for the unpredictability of chaos it was here. This Blackwood hazard was the last thing they needed. It wasn’t lost on her that the burning knight had emerged from his room. She shuddered remembering the exposed muscle.

She didn’t respond to him, just shoved her shoulder into his as she walked back to her room. His hand caught her by the bicep, stopping her attempt to leave.

“I would suggest you find a different bed. It truly will help you sleep better.”

She was seething as he talked and when he finished she ripped her arm from his hold. Then saying nothing, slammed her door closed.

Inside her room she looked closely at her bed frame. The wood was a queer gray, dark and muted. She supposed it could be weirwood. She hadn’t seen the wood petrified but she’d seen it alive. The weirwood heart tree here at Harrenhal was a twisted ugly thing. Its face is an expression of twisted hatred. She didn’t visit the tree. It would weep blood from time to time and when the leaves blew in the wind, it sounded like whispers. The white wood was a brilliant contrast against the black stone walls blocking it in and a stream ran along the massive godswood.

Her father had declared them as followers of the old gods when they’d moved into the castle. A queer notion to Lucinda and one she avoided discussing. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in the old gods, she just didn’t want to encourage them to engage with her. She did her best not to call upon any gods, prayers were never answered in a straightforward manner. It was safer to put herself out of asking all together. Still she would visit the godswoods on occasion to keep up appearances. The forest stretched on twenty acres. A ridiculous amount of land and she did not dare venture further than the heart tree, afraid of getting lost.

Lucinda turned away from her bed and walked to her window, watching as the sun rose up over the hills. Dawn was her favorite time of day. It meant another night was over and she could begin her search again. Her mood soured when she thought of the guest next door from her. She dressed quickly before fleeing down the stairs, determined to catch her father before breakfast. Her father spent most mornings out on the main tower balcony, where he could catch the sunrise. Something they used to do together when she was younger. But when she arrived up there she found the balcony empty. Frowning, she left to try the main hall. Maybe he had decided to break his fast early.

She did find her father in the main hall, but he was not alone. Lord Blackwood was seated beside him, as they chatted away. Upon seeing him she had turned back around, meaning to leave and speak with her father some other time. But her father called out to her before she could exit unseen.

“Lucinda! Come in, no need to shy away.”

She could have throttled him at that moment. Instead she spun around, a tight smile on her face. She took a seat across from her father and grabbed a roll. Taking a bite she tried very hard not to let her displeasure show on her face.

“I was just discussing with Lord Blackwood here his plans to stay on a while longer.”

That made her look up, her expression clearly shocked. She glanced at the bothersome man beside her father and found him nearly laughing at her. She quickly schooled her expression.

“I told him you’d be glad to show him around the castle. Plenty to see and who would be a better guide, eh?”

She choked on her drink when he said that. She coughed, sputtering for a moment before pulling herself together. Not bothering to look up she replied, “Of course, father. It would be my honor to guide Lord Blackwood on a tour.”

“Splendid. It’s all settled then. Lucinda, dear I meant to tell you, Orwyll has noted a marked increase in blown out torches. You are remembering to close the windows back, right?”

She furrowed her brow at his question. She hadn’t remembered leaving any open but shrugged it was likely she had forgotten to close a few.

“I’ll keep a better eye out. I’ll tell Orwyll not to worry.” If I ever see him, she thought to herself.

“Well, I won’t stick around to ruin your time. Your step mother and I are planning to head out for a ride today. The weather should be nice enough for it.”

Despite how angry she was with her oblivious father she smiled at that.

“Of course, have fun.”

Then it was just the two of them at the table. Her expression immediately morphing into one of displeasure and disgust.

“Do you have no decency?” She asked him once she was sure her father had left.

“You should’ve seen the look on your face when he announced I was staying.”

She abruptly stood from the table, stalking out of the room. Her hands were balled into fist and she was nearly sweating from how angry she was. She’d grown used to her miserable existence and had found ways to cope with her lot in life. She didn’t know how to handle the infuriating man who was mucking everything up. She stood at the base of the stairs, torn between going upstairs to grab her map or running out the front door to ride away on Starlight.

“So, where are we headed?”

She spun around to face him, unaware that he had followed her out.

“We’re not going anywhere. Why exactly did you extend your stay? Better yet, why are you headed to the vale anyway? Surely whatever the reason is, awaits you urgently outside these walls.”

He peered down at her with an amused expression before walking closer to her, closing in on her personal space. The stairs were behind her, which forced her to step up.

“My business is my own. Your business is mine because I outplayed you. You should’ve talked to your father first. Now, where are we headed? Or shall I interrupt your fathers lovely planned day to tell him his daughter is an ungrateful, rude host?”

She stood there feeling a range of emotions, none of them good. She settled on letting him win for now and vowed to talk to her father later.

“Fine. Let’s go grab my map.”

[lintuwaterfall]

A Smaller, more Honest Soul and one Small Kindess in one Small Moment

At the very beginning of RWBY, when we only knew Ozpin and especially Salem as the opening Narrators we got phrases like "there will be no victory in strength" from Salem followed Ozpin saying that victory could be simpler things she had long forgotten and require a "smaller, more honest soul". Years later when our heroes are meeting The Blacksmith and learn the truth of The Brothers who made their world, the deity figure mentions how their (RWBY/J's actions have a greater impact than they know). The Blacksmith brings out a carving of Somewhat as they talk of how "one small kindness in one small moment" lead to a marvelous transformation, refering to how meeting and being around Ruby changed the young hunter mouse they named "Little" into a brave being looking to help named "Somewhat". The Blacksmith than brings up a carving of The Cat and reminds them how "one act of dishonesty" lead to an unfortunate change. Earlier today my mind wandered back to both of these points.....and how these both could be hints to how RWBY's story ends and how they resolve Cinder, Salem and The Brothers. For Cinder, she was like The Cat, in that she was changed by both 1 act of kindness (Rhodes training her) and 1 act of dishonesty (Rhodes trying to bring her in and shattering her belief and trust in both him and huntsmen). For Salem, the act of kindness was Ozma saving her from her tower, and the act of dishonesty was from The Brothers not returning Ozma to her after he died of illness. Later she was reunited with him and she was happy, but then she felt Oz turn on her when she caught him trying to run away with the kids. Both of them have been hurt and it changed them into ones who can and will lash out at the world. The Cat was originally made to heal and help it's fellow Afterans, but when it realized it was left behind by those who made it and then felt betrayed by the human who promised to take it with them their heart became twisted The Brothers were made to clear, grow, and maintain the Ever After, but have long since gotten lost in their own creations and experiments that they have lost focus of their old purpose. So, where am I going with this rambling? Simple, Ruby will be the one (or at least the one leading the charge) and helping Cinder, Salem and The Brothers change for the better. Because unless these 4 can be convinced to at least start changing, then they will end up like The Cat or everyone suffers with them. Cinder will have to stop running looking for more power, Salem will have to come to peace with the end of things, and The Brothers have to learn that their creations no longer need them and have become self-sustaining. Yes there will still be a big fight against Cinder and Salem (trying to slap The Brothers would just be dumb) but in the end I feel the final blow will come from words, not weapons.

[howlingday]

Jaune's Shampoo

King Taijitu

"DAMMIT, NORA!" Jaune opened his shower door. As he exited, he noticed his body had drastically changed. Using a mixture of his shampoo and experimental goo found at the fiendish Dr. Merlot's laboratory, Nora had unwittingly created a mutagen just to prank her team leader.

"Brrr! When did it get so cold?!" Jaune asked as his scales slid across the tiled floor. He glanced to his belly and noticed it, along with his hips, legs, and feet had been entirely replaced by a long snake tail. Or was this a snake's hips and legs? As he glanced at his obsidian scales, he noticed the question mattered less and less to him.

"Whatever." Jaune tossed on a shirt and picked up his pants. As he left the bathroom, he noticed the dorm was empty, save for one person. "Oh, hello."

Emerald stood around with a bored look on her face. That is, until she saw Jaune was now half-snake under his shirt. When she was assigned to keep an eye on Team JNPR by Cinder, this was not something she was expecting at all.

"Teammates, am I right?" Jaune sighed.

"Yeah," Emerald agreed, "but I don't think Merc ever thought of anything like this." She stepped aside as he slithered to his closet. Even by her standards, this was a bit too far for a prank.

"Anything I can help you with?" Jaune asked.

"Not really." She replied. "I was basically dragged in here by your pink friend." He scoffed and rolled his eyes as he set his pants inside. "So, uh, what exactly happened to you?"

"I have no idea," he answered, "I was just taking a shower and then this happened." His tail slapped the ground a bit. "I think she did something to my shampoo."

"Really?" Emerald asked, still standing awkwardly to the side.

"Oh, uh, would you like a seat?" Jaune scratched his cheeky with a goofy grin. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel awkward."

"I mean, about as awkward as a ten foot snake-person can make somebody." Emerald took a seat on one of the beds. "So, shampoo swap, huh? Could be worse."

"Worse than shampoo turning me into a snake?" He shut the closet door.

"Yeah," she crossed her legs, "it could make you smell like trash, or worse."

"I guess." Jaune shrugged as he climbed onto his bed. His tail hung off the side as he reached for his comic books. "I don't even know what I smell like."

"You didn't smell your shampoo before using it?" She quirked a brow.

"Am I supposed to?" Judging by the look she gave, he was. "Oh." Then he had a dumb idea. "Uh, I know we don't know each other, but, uh, could you smell me?"

Emerald winced like he just asked her to move a body. She would, but he didn't need to know that. But she would have just been sitting around awkwardly otherwise, so she might as well help this kid out. Steeling her stomach, she got up and moved closer.

As she leaned in, there was strong aroma of amber, accented by the sweeter scents of berries. She gave a soft hum and leaned closer to get a better whiff. As she did, she noticed how glossy his black scales were. She could feel a warmth building in her chest.

"Um," Jaune said in a muffled voice, "I don't know if my hair smells good, but could I keep some personal space?" Emerald looked down and saw she he trapped him against her breast. She stepped away, a rising heat to her face. "Uh, thank you." His own face was flushed.

"No problem." Emerald coughed into her fist. What the hell was that? Just a few seconds ago, he was just some goofy guy Cinder told her to keep an eye on and was locked into a room by his teammate. Now she was pushing him against her tits while huffing his hair? What the hell was in that shampoo?! "Uh, sorry about that. I just... really liked the smell."

"Oh, uh... thanks?" Jaune shrugged awkwardly. He'd never been that close to a woman that wasn't his family, and especially not held in a way that made him feel that uncomfortable. A tinge of pink flushed over his cheeks. "So, uh-"

"Do you want to make out?"

The question came from so far out of left field, Jaune simply stared at her. She was beautiful, sure, but he also barely knew her. In times like these, Jaune had to ask himself, "What would Ren do?"

"I appreciate the offer," Jaune answered, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible, "but I think we should get to know each other more before jumping into this. Otherwise we might regret it." Perfect Ren.

"I'll pay you twenty lien for just one minute." Emerald said, producing the legal tender.

Ren is only human, and even then twenty lien is twenty lien.

"Yeah, that sounds-" Emerald tackled him, pressing her lips into his. As she clutched his face in her hands, her tongue prodded through and began a battle of passion against his. Jaune, high on the adrenaline of the sudden assault, instinctively wrapped his arms and, oddly enough, his tail around the mystery girl.

On his bed, Jaune and Emerald continued to make out, even as his team returned.

"Told ya it would work." Nora winked to Ren.

[fountainpenguin]

"My mind is twisted up and you're to blame... Are you aware of how you say my name? I've tried so hard to push you away..." (x)

---

New Dog's Life chapter today! ~ 3rd Life series fan-season

Chapter 33 - “Cinders (Etho)”

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 Start from Chapter 1

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

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"But for real, the most beautiful thing Lizzie did was treating me like a stranger. She didn't see him." Sniff sounds like he's floating, eyes like glaciers. "I'm never going to stop being 'Joel 2.0' to you. Am I?"

Etho finally tells SnifferMyFeet what happened between him and Joel post-Double Life. Sometimes people slip right through your fingers... It's just weird it happened twice.

#smalletho - Etho/Sniff tension followed by several flashbacks about Etho's past with Joel (bed sharing, cuddling, teasing, discussing Joel's kids (Hermes & Tiny Tom), and Etho trying to learn Joel's boundaries, which Joel avoids defining)

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

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Yeah, we allogrooming (chewing on each other's code strings and pulling them with mouths to straighten them); keep scrolling

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Etho - Fox

Status: Keep 'em guessing

Self-taught programmer, full-time hero

💙  🧡  💚

It's familiar, but not in the way you think. It's familiar because the universe speaks to itself (to his soul) each time it checks he's doing okay. Especially on full moon nights. When the moon reaches down its light, Etho adjusts his footing and licks his lips, then chews its fingers and nuzzles back.

Give yourself a shake. Fluff up your fur. It's the arctic fox way. Then you run off to do exactly what you're meant to do, because you're born of the universe and were given conscious thought so you could love your role. The mobs play their part. You play yours. Beneath silver moonlight, we meet and make merry, for tomorrow we're AFK for weeks or months on end. You're born in the code. You live forever. And that's just the way of things.

Which is to say that snuggling up next to Sniff, one hand pressed to the back of his shoulders to hold him down against the mattress, is one of those wild things that's new and familiar at the exact same time. You remember all those tools we were gonna clean his code with? Yeah, those are beginner's toys. This is how it's done right.

It's a work of teeth and tongue: nipping code beneath his skin with glowing teeth and pulling it to straighten strings. It's goopy, thick, and messy. It's the way of the world; song as old as time.

Sniff keeps very quiet, his hands stretched out in front of him. He kneads the pillow. They don't speak. Not now. Etho keeps his hand firm, bearing weight on Sniff through a blanket so their pixels won't blend together, as he makes his way around cheek, neck, shoulder, and back. Sniff's filled with stagnant energy. It doesn't move fast - doesn't carry the parts that need attention towards Etho's mouth the way it should - but his tongue's doing the job the activator whisk should do. It ripples through his code. It stirs the stuff awake. That'll get him moving. Sniff gives a big, silent yawn that splays his fingertips and flicks his tongue. Then he turns his head away. His wings flex like a butterfly's and slowly fold against his back.

Etho keeps working. The mask's been dropped aside for this- It's just easier than letting it dangle at his neck. He nips with his teeth, catching strings, and fixes everything he can. There's only so much you can do with stagnant code. Most species don't eat it, but a fox can. Like the phantoms, they scavenge.

Etho takes the stuff Sniff doesn't need. He doesn't need scratches and aching muscles. He doesn't need chipped nails and dirty feet. He doesn't need the callus on his writing finger, the ink stains, or the ache between the V of two fingers. These are little add-ons (just wrinkles in the code). Etho pulls them free of soul and skin. They slip between his teeth.

Sniff drags Etho's other hand forward. Etho shifts, keeping balance. His hand's pretty neat and tidy after the week-long experience of Sniff cycling his code. Sniff nibbles at it anyway. The bits in his system that are ruffled prickle to attention and swish the messy bits forward so Sniff can gnaw the tangles away. Yeah, that's the spot. Etho thumps his tail against the bed.

Unlocking advancements feels like this. And the universe loves them, and it gave them thought without breaking the ecosystem, because it wanted them to know they're loved.

If there's an advancement for allogrooming, it's one he achieved a long, long time ago. Probably when he was just a kit. Not a lot of memories from the early days still stick with him, but he does remember Rhetoric chewing on his ear. He had fox ears back then. They used to wrestle with each other, but growing up is complicated. Sometimes you do the best you can every day of your life… and for what? Your mother will still pick you up by the scruff and drop you on the doorstep of a dragon she thinks could use you more.

He and Bdubs have that in common. Bdubs just refuses to admit it.

Oh yeah… We can't let the Slime Dragon see Sniff. She'll wanna kill him so he respawns at his mom's nest. Etho yawns. He stops messing with the code. Instead, he nestles his chin against the back of Sniff's neck. What time is it? Feels like they've been here for a thousand ticks, but it's such a blur that it could easily be half as much. It probably isn't. It can't be that long… He hasn't been called to Dog's Life yet.

Sniff chews at his fingers for a little longer, but his teeth slow too. He rests his cheek against his knuckles. Etho sweeps his tail sideways, brushing it across Sniff's back. He's warm. And without the nips and pulls, consistent collision isn't going to last. Pixels prickle. His chin starts to sink straight through.

It's familiar. But not the way you think. He never groomed Joel like this, with his mouth, except one time he had to re-open some rumpled bite marks that had sealed themselves in ridges across his shoulders. Long story there… but it's familiar because the universe told him this feels right tonight.

And it does feel right tonight. He's not gonna leave the mask off for long. Or the bandana, for that matter. He's way too exposed like this, raised blue scar curling over his eye and across his lips (all of it on display). Sniff probably feels the same way. He's still got both his shirts off. The curve of his spine's marked with a stripe. When you're this close, you can see the tiny zigzag marks where skin meshes like it's stitched. His giant scar - that big, white X - pulses with a dim, hazy glow.

Etho removes his head before he can sink any lower. He noses Sniff's cheek, then his chin. Once they're upturned, he gets back to work. A little more clipping here. A little trimming there. Making his way around. Sniff makes one soft noise like he's debating whether to squirm away. He keeps his eyes shut though, arms relaxed, and his wings stay folded up- lazy and content. Etho adds a few licks, keeping them light so he can seal the tiny gashes left behind by his teeth without startling Sniff enough to ask questions about 'what they are' again.

Funny. Last week, we did this the other way around. But he doesn't go as far as Sniff did. Tonight's about grooming, not feeding. Etho chews a knot from the back of Sniff's neck, then draws back. "Hey, Sniff, you-"

"My full name, Etho," he mumbles, not opening his eyes. "I only have one rule."

Right. Etho rasps his tongue around his lips and starts again. "SnifferMyFeet, I want to ask something."

"Mm?"

"I know we said we wouldn't be 'serious' right now. I've just been wondering if maybe, after I do recordings and Hermitcraft clean-up… If you'd want to eat my soul again?"

Sniff's fingers still against the sheets. They alternate whose turn it is to breathe, like they used to at night on The Relation or when they were testing how far they could swim without coming up for air. Spoilers: Oxygen does not transfer from one soulmate's body to another.

Then Sniff blinks himself back to full awareness. He sits up on his knees. The covers slide down his back. Hands still braced, but no longer looking cozy. The guy reaches to pinch his brow and take his folded tank top at the same time. "You… want to use my vessel? Fluff, I dunno. Can I say that? I think I can."

[Full chapter on AO3 - Link at top]