#floating excursion

[fefiemmanouil1]

[noxhawthorne]

Abaia

Imagine, if you will, that you’ve gone on a quiet vacation to the islands of Fiji. Feel the sand under your toes, the sun on your skin, the smell of saltwater. You take an excursion, and find a beautiful, deep lake, surrounded by lush greenery. It’s a sweltering day, and the lake looks so inviting.

You walk into the lake, the cool water stinging pleasantly as you go deeper. Eventually you’re floating, unable to feel the ground beneath you. It’s calm, soothing. The local birds sing, the breeze rustles the leaves… you’re relaxed enough to let your eyes close and just drift…

Your feet touch a slippery rock, slick with grime from centuries of being submerged. You pay it no mind… until you notice the layer of grime is thick enough to give, making the rock feel almost squishy. You open your eyes. The birds have stopped singing.

You realize that you aren’t touching the rocking. It’s touching you.

The Abaia. A massive eel of Melanesian mythology, said to live at the bottom of freshwater lakes. The legend comes from the Fiji, Vanuatu, and Solomon Islands, though the exact location varies. There’s not really a specific size given, but, for an idea of what we’re talking about, the average American Eel is 16-33 inches long and about 2.5 pounds. So… bigger than that. Much bigger.

The legend of the Abaia poses it as the guardian of the lake it dwells in, protecting the inhabitants from humans looking to harm them. If a fisherman were to try and get his daily catch from the lake, or if an ignorant tourist were to throw their trash in it, the Abaia will unleash its wrath. Thrashing and twisting, it causes impressive waves that will claim the life of the perpetrator, dragging them down to the depths to remain with the great eel.

There is another version of this legend that claims the Abaia holds control over the weather via magic. The story goes that a fisherman discovered a bountiful lake, full of critters and creatures to sate his village’s hunger. He led the village to this lake, and has them help plunder it of life. The Abaia, upon seeing this, causes a torrential rainstorm, wiping out the village and drowning everyone who had harmed the creatures. The Abaia is often depicted as a motherly being to the inhabitants that share its home.

As someone who knows the basics about various eels, I have to wonder if there is some electrical aspect to this creature. Perhaps its ability to cause storms is caused by a powerful electrical charge. According to the Smithsonian’s National Zoo and Conservation Biology Institute, the Electric Eel has three organs — the main organ, the Sach’s organ, and the Hunter’s organ — that produce electric impulses used for defense, communication, navigation, and hunting. At 6-8 feet long, this eel can generate up to 800 volts of electricity. Is the Abaia electric? Being so massive in size, could its electrical shock cause a storm? It’s unlikely, yes, but an interesting thought to consider.

[dittanyinbloom]

Note Taking

Ominis Gaunt x fem!MC (there is only one gendered term in the very last line). 1.8k. No specific house. Fluff and a bit of MC embarrassing themselves.

Based on this post I made about having HoM with Ominis.

.💕✍🏻💕

“In today’s lesson, we will cover a truly thrilling event. . .,” Professor Binns had just started class, but half the students were already dozing off.

It was widely accepted that History of Magic was merely used as a free period. Whether that meant catching up on sleep or doing last minute homework for another class, one thing was certain: no one paid attention. Attendance hardly mattered since Professor Binns rarely ever engaged with the class directly. In fact, you would bet he didn’t even know a single students name or even the exact year. Everyday he floated into class, discussed whatever curriculum he felt like, then drifted off through the wall to his office at the end of the period without so much as a goodbye.

To say the least, it was no one’s favorite subject, that is, except you. Every Tuesday and Thursday, you practically skipped to your afternoon slot of History of Magic. With all the extracurriculars other professors sent you on, and the adventures you went on without their knowledge, you were elated to have time set aside for assignments and catching up on some sleep. Those horrible demiguise statues Mr. Moon asked you to find were really taking a toll on you lately.

Perhaps the most exciting part of class was that you didn’t share it with Sebastian Sallow. Now, he was a very lovely boy for helping you out on multiple excursions, but his presence could be intense at times. This could be simply fixed by spending time with your other friends. Natty, Poppy, and even Amit were great company and just as, if not even more helpful than Sebastian. But that boy had one thing drawing you back every day to meet up. .

Ominis Gaunt, Sebastian’s right hand man and arguably his moral compass. Oh, how you would spend hours practicing spells with Sebastian in the Undercroft for the smallest chance that Ominis would walk in to study, or have a chat, or sometimes even join in on the dueling. That was the only time you ever saw him without his school robes. Neatly folding up his sleeves and grinning like a mad man when he landed a blow on Sebastian, who as of late, rather deserved a few jinxes thrown his way.

History of Magic was the only class Ominis sat beside you in. It was hardly the place to make conversation since even the softest of whispers would be heard by the extremely bored students around you. Nevertheless, you were content with just sitting beside him and admiring his lazy smile as he drifted off into what was probably his fourth nap of the day.

That was one of the first odd quirks you had noticed about the boy. While you ran around the castle from one fool’s errand to the next, you often passed by Ominis lounging about on benches, windowsills, and most often the floor. Sometimes he was snacking or working on revisions, but more often than not the boy was merely napping, just out in the open, where anyone could step on him. The first few times, you had gently woken him up and offered to help him to his common room, but he always acted as though you were the strange one for not letting him sleep in the middle of a hallway in the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower.

Now whenever you saw him, you hummed in endearment and graciously covered him with your scarf as a makeshift blanket. You used to have an array of scarves, but now half of them were likely stuffed in a trunk deep in the Slytherin boys’ dormitory, never to be seen again. It was a small price to pay, in your eyes.

“Seb told me to tell you to meet us in the library after classes,” Ominis said as he leaned forward on the desk, getting in a comfortable napping position.

“Does he think you’re an owl?” You teased.

“Something about you being more likely to say yes if it comes from me.”

“I see,” you whispered, hoping he didn’t hear how flustered you had become. “So he’s scheming again?”

“You say again as if he quit to begin with.”

“Well, you know I can’t say no to an adventure.”

“Exactly why the two of you will be the death of me. Wake me up if anything crazy happens?”

Nothing ever would, at least, not while all the other students that usually caused trouble were sleeping as well. You dated your parchment for notes then began doodling to stay awake. As of late, the professors had been elated with your progress and stopped giving you so much extra work. Not much catching up needed to be done since most other students couldn’t take on a troll alone and live to tell the tale.

Your eyes wandered to study the pretty moles Ominis had scattered about his face and neck. The unhinged, love stricken part of your brain desperately wanted to draw little love hearts or flowers around them. Your fingers twitched, but you controlled your urges and drew hearts all over your notes instead. This was turning into a common occurrence. Most of your history notes contained one or two key points from Binns, a few random drawings, and many iterations of your deskmate’s name scribbled about. At the top corner of every parchment you would even write your name with his last name along with the date. And oh, how the two went so well together.

The period flies by while you daydream of holding Ominis’ hand or kissing his beauty marks as the two of you part ways. The sound of students scuffing their chairs in the worn wood flooring brings you back to reality. You tap Ominis on the shoulder. For a moment your hand lingers, drifting between his shoulder blades.

“Ominis, class has ended.”

“Already?” His voice was almost a whine which was strange because most students jumped at the opportunity to leave history class.

“Don’t sound too disappointed. Binns might offer to go on for another hour if he knows a student is willing to stay.”

You had one more class before meeting the boys in the library. Sebastian seemed to be awaiting your arrival, spotting you the moment you walked in, and waving you up to join them on the second floor. As you greeted them, you set your scarf and robes on the back of the chair.

“You really do need to come by our room and grab your scarves,” Sebastian commented. “They’re taking over.”

“Hmm, yes. I am missing quite a few at this point.”

The culprit, though it wasn’t entirely his fault since you were the one always covering up his sleeping form, went pink at the mention of scarves. Despite looking as though he wanted to add to the conversation, he quickly went back to writing the twelve inches for Sharp’s latest assignment.

“So, Sallow, why have you dragged me here today? Are we going treasure hunting again?”

“Sorry, little adventurer, today’s request is rather boring in comparison. Thought it would be a good time to start revising for O.W.L.s, and I need help in History of Magic. I’ve managed to fall asleep every single period since the start of term. . Quite impressive if you ask me.”

“Don’t know why you thought to ask me. I hardly pay attention in that class.”

Sebastian tilted his head to the side, frowning in confusion. “But, Ominis said he can hear you writing notes all period.”

Your eyes flicker to Ominis almost in a look of betrayal. He seemed as focused as ever on writing, either exuding an excellent poker face or genuinely not showing any interest in being mentioned by Sebastian. Quickly, you swallowed down your own emotions and insisted, “Well, sorry. My notes for that class are very scattered. I mostly just draw to keep myself awake.”

“Anything would help. I honestly don’t even know what we’re meant to be learning about. Nellie heard there might be a quiz next week. My uncle can not hear about my grades slipping on top of everything else.”

Seeing the innocent look of terror on Sebastian’s face made you melt a bit. In his defense, he didn’t know you made a fool of yourself by doodling his best friends name across your parchment twice a week. He was just asking for notes, which was something the three of you often shared.

“I can. . read them to you?” You compromised.

Both boys gave you an odd look, but Sebastian agreed without much hesitation given how desperate he was.

“Suppose I should be writing this down too, if there really is a quiz coming up,” Ominis said with a grimace.

You unrolled your parchment and began to read. Both boys studiously jotted down every word. Hopefully you were explaining everything accurately. There were clearly periods in your notes where you had dozed off between key moments, but unless Binns was looking for his exact wording on the quiz, the three of should should be able to pass.

“It’s with an ‘A’, Grimbald, not Grimbold,” Ominis said out of the blue.

“Thanks,” Sebastian muttered as he went back to add a flick of ink to his ‘O’. He seemed unbothered but Ominis’ correction. You, however, were too tongue-tied to continue reading. Sebastian frowned at the silence and finally looked up at you. “Is there not more?”

“How. . ?”

“Oh!” Realizing your confusion, Sebastian was quick and rather proud to explain his best mate’s ability, “Ominis can hear the letters, or, dunno really. You explain it better, Ominis.”

Suddenly, Ominis went ridged like he had been caught in an act. “When the room is quiet enough, I can pick out the sounds of a quill or chalk on the board. Letters all have a distinct cadence to them. Some sound too similar to be distinct like ‘b’, ‘d’, and ‘p’, but I can make an educated guess.”

“So you can hear what people are writing?”

“Precisely!” Sebastian spoke up with a wide smile. “Brilliant, isn’t it?“

“It is. . quite the talent, Ominis.”

“Thank you.”

You cleared your throat and went on with the lesson. Just because Ominis knew Sebastian’s penmanship did not mean he had your memorized, or that he even listened in the first place. After all, he slept through every class, and you weren’t bold enough to write his name in such a way while he was awake.

Still, knowing of his ability left you wary. The next time you sat with Ominis in history class, you were meticulous with your note taking. No doodles, no love hearts, no childish name writing. Those days were over. They had to be because if Ominis somehow didn’t already know about your embarrassing crush, you were not going to give him the opportunity to find out.

This time when you wrote your name and the date at the top of the parchment, you used your own last name. After that was finished, you moved on to title it “The Goblin Rebellion of 1752”, but you hadn’t gotten past “The” when a hand landed on your knee.

Warmth spread across your thigh while chilling nerves sprinkled down your spine. You nearly fell out of your chair at the touch, causing Ominis to squeeze down harder, keeping you firmly in your seat.

“Ominis?”

He almost seemed angry, but he kept his voice a low whisper for only you to hear, “What do you think you are doing, Mrs. Gaunt? Title your notes appropriately.”

~You can find part two here~

[pluckyredhead]

The past few days I've been thinking a lot about the General Slocum disaster.

It's a mostly forgotten story now, but the General Slocum was a passenger steamboat that was used for excursion trips around New York during the turn of the 20th century. In 1904 it caught on fire and sank in the East River, and over a thousand people died (there were less than 1400 aboard to begin with). Most of them were women and children. They were on a church-sponsored picnic outing.

From top to bottom, the story of the General Slocum is about corporate greed, and corruption, and incompetence:

The fire was probably started by a match or cigarette (!) in the Lamp Room, which was full of straw, oily rags, and lamp oil (!).

A child told the captain that the ship was on fire, but the captain ignored him. The crew didn't properly inform the captain of the fire until ten minutes later.

The captain inexplicably made for North Brother Island, even though other islands were closer. Steering directly into headwinds spread the fire faster.

The crew hadn't practiced a fire drill in the past year.

None of the safety equipment on the ship worked, because the steamboat company found it cheaper to pay off safety inspectors than to keep their ships up to code.

There was a hose on board, but it was so old and rotten that it burst when the crew tried to hook it up. The crew then gave up trying to put out the fire or help anyone and abandoned ship.

The lifeboats were wired to the deck, and the wires had then been painted over, rather than removing the lifeboats each time the ship got a fresh coat of paint, so it they were impossible to lower.

The life preservers were filled with cork. They were supposed to weigh a certain amount, so the manufacturer had put lead bars in some of them to make weight.

Others were so old that the cork inside had disintegrated into powder. Solid cork floats. Powdered cork sinks.

That meant that some of the mothers who survived described putting life preservers on their babies and throwing them into the river to escape the flames, and watching them sink.

Very few people could swim at the time, and everyone was wearing the heavy wool clothing of the period. Hundreds of people drowned.

The disaster decimated the immigrant community of Little Germany on the Lower East Side, where most of the deceased were from. Fathers who hadn't been able to attend the picnic because they were working got home to find their wives and children were all dead. Dozens of bodies were either never found, or found but never identified.

Though multiple safety inspectors and employees of the steamboat company were indicted, only the captain - who very much became the scapegoat for the whole thing - was convicted. The steamboat company paid a nominal fine. The one silver lining was that state and federal safety regulations were strengthened in the aftermath.

Like I said at the beginning, this story is mostly forgotten. A lot of historians credit that to the Titanic upstaging it just a few years later. Adella Wotherspoon, who survived the General Slocum as a baby and lived until 2004 (!), said she knew why: "The Slocum people were very poor or middle class. They were often German immigrants. The Titanic and other ships had celebrities."

I don't really have a moral to this story, except that safety regulations matter, ships full of immigrants are just as important as ships full of rich people, and humans have pretty much always been the same, as far as I can tell.

(If you want to know more, I highly recommend Ship Ablaze: The Tragedy of the Steamboat General Slocum by Edward T. O'Donnell, the excellent Wikipedia page, and the Bowery Boys podcast episode on the disaster.)

[animasola86]

The Ghost under the Table

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x gn!reader

Word count: 2.3k // [READ ON AO3]

Warnings: nsfw! mdni! public oral sex (m!receiving)

Synopsis: a bj in the library (just a more explicit smut writing exercise really)

Last warning: there will be smut under the cut! Read at your own risk. I was not holding back this time! (Enjoy!)

“What are you doing down there?” you heard him whisper.

He sounded equal parts surprised and irritated – and you snickered to yourself as you crept closer, hidden under the Disillusionment charm, before you settled right between his legs under the table in this corner of the library.

Of course he had noticed you, he had taught you that spell almost two years ago to the dot, he knew what to look for. Or perhaps he had smelled you. He'd told you before that your scent was making him weak – his words, not yours, because at first you found the idea of you smelling a certain way a little weird and would frequently check with an inconspicuous sniff to your clothes. But apparently he had the nose of a dog, and whenever you would try to sneak up on him for a surprise hug, he'd already know you were coming.

And today, as you decided to surprise him with something else, he also already knew you were there. You sighed deeply, but quietly, because he was still the only one knowing you were hidden under the table.

“Surprise?” you whisper-laughed and put your hands on his thighs as you looked up at him. He obviously couldn't see your eyes, and he didn't even try to as he focused more on his surroundings now. You could see a tiny splash of red on his cheeks, and you smirked at the sight.

After two years of dating and making out in the weirdest of places and most certainly also in public, he still felt at least a little apprehensive when it came to your displays of affections. Or perhaps it was the library setting that made him wary. Madam Scribner still had her eyes out for him – and you now as well as you certainly tried to make out in the library before, but were rudely interrupted by Peeves – just like you were two years ago on your first excursion into the Restricted Section together, minus the making out part.

As you were now crouched under the table, albeit hidden under the Disillusionment charm, you became quite aware of how quiet it was in this haven of knowledge. There were a few other students about, but all of them were so concentrated on their reading and studying that even the slightest creak of the wooden floor boards beneath you echoed rather loudly through the room.

And that made it all the more exciting for you.

You watched Sebastian squirm a little under your invisible touch. “Are you... sure about this?” he asked in a low voice, still looking around.

“Yes. I woke up feeling naughty today,” you whispered back and leaned closer to his crotch. “Will you let me?”

“Was I ever able to stop you before?” he hissed back, and you saw a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You moved your hands up his thighs and squeezed them lightly in response. You saw and heard him inhale sharply.

“Try to hold it in, Sallow,” you teased quietly, and he threw a dark but amused glance into your direction before his eyes focused on the book that lay open in front of him.

You made quick work of the buttons of his breeches, and your fingers eagerly freed the object of your desire from its constraints. He was already quite excited to see you, and you smiled to yourself as you let your fingertips graze over his warm skin. You felt him shudder under your touch and looked up quickly. He was biting his lip, really trying to keep it down.

Fortunately the library desks were wide enough and as he was sitting in one of middle seats, there was no way someone would see what was going on underneath the table. Unless Peeves came floating through the ground... but that would be the worst case scenario, and you wouldn't cloud your mind with those. You were fixated on that deliciously tender piece of flesh and skin and muscles (though of course you never thought too much about its anatomical properties, more on what it was able to make you feel).

Your fingers closed around his base gently while your eyes stayed on his reddening face the whole time. You moved even closer towards his crotch, really nestling between his legs now, your shoulders pressing against his thighs. While you kept one hand on his growing erection, you let your other hand slide beneath his shirt, feeling the muscles of his stomach tensing up when you did so.

You inhaled deeply and licked your lips, then started to move your hand up and down his length slowly, lightly squeezing and teasing him. By now he had given up on trying to study while you worked on him, and he leaned back in his chair, relaxing under your touch, his hands wrapped around the armrests almost a little too tightly. With this new angle, he was now watching you, or rather watching how his cock was massaged by invisible hands. His brown eyes were almost black and caused you to shiver pleasantly.

He certainly had a knack for looking very dramatic, especially when he was looking down, and when there was even the tiniest hint of a smirk playing around his lips like there was now, you could already feel your legs trembling. Fortunately you were on your knees already and settled safely between his legs, so swooning was out of the question.

You watched him, chewing on your lips, and kept working your hand up and down those inches that you knew had given you so much pleasure in the past. Today you wanted to give back. You'd tasted him before, of course, countless times, but this setting seemed new and exciting, and the thrill of being caught or even heard was making your own body shake in excitement.

Inhaling deeply, taking in his scent, you leaned closer now, and as your fingers tightened around him, you brought your lips to his tip and gave it a soft and gentle peck. You felt him twitch lightly. Your eyes remained on his face as you parted your lips and planted more kisses on his sensitive skin, kissing all around his tip and then down the shaft, gently sucking on the slightly protruding veins. You felt him harden under your touches and continued your journey with a smile on your lips.

Your hand moved lower and your fingers curled around his balls, gently squeezing and massaging the warm skin. You felt him intake a shuddering breath as your mouth kept exploring his slowly growing girth. If you weren't in the quiet library, you knew he'd be way more vocal by now. But he was doing a really good job at keeping it down. You knew for a fact that if it were the other way around, you'd be a whimpering mess already.

As you moved your mouth over him, your free hand remained pressed against his stomach, feeling the shudders of his body right beneath your palm, even more so when you let your tongue in on the action. At first you just teased him, poking the tip of your tongue against his warm skin here and there, until you wanted to have a real taste and swiped it from his base all the way up to his tip, where you swirled it around as if he was the tastiest lollipop you've ever tasted (spoiler alert: he was).

You looked up at him and saw that his gaze was even darker and his cheeks were thoroughly flushed, but other than that he didn't show any sign of what he was experiencing at the moment. Although the knuckles of his hands were turning white as he gripped the chair tighter. You smiled to yourself and continued what you were doing as you slowly lapped at his hardening flesh.

As you raised yourself on your knees a little, you tilted your head down and slowly closed your lips around his tip, flicking your tongue against it playfully. You could already taste his excitement as his precum coated his skin, and you took a few more laps at him, humming softly against him as you did so. Another twitch ran through his body. Your eyes darted up, and you saw that he had closed his eyes and was breathing a little heavier now. Still quiet and contained, but surely not unaffected by your touches.

You hollowed your cheeks and gave his tip a soft suck, before you opened your mouth wide enough to take him in. Your own body shivered in anticipation as you lowered yourself onto him, your tongue firmly beneath him as you guided him in further and further, inch by inch, your lips tight around his girth, and you had to close your eyes as he started to occupy more than just your thoughts at this point. You let out a quiet whimper as his crown hit the back of your throat, and you felt your nose almost buried in his dark hairs.

You held him there for a moment in which you focused on the reactions of his body, and the restrained shudder that vibrated through his core made you lean back slowly, eyes flying open again and moving up to his face, and he was staring down at you intensely, pressing his lips together as he held back a moan.

You moved back all the way and let him slip out of your mouth with a wet pop. You swallowed your saliva and breathed deeply, before moving back in right away, repeating your movements until he was again fully submerged in your mouth – and then you started to slowly bob your head up and down.

He was breathing loudly through his nose while you kept your steady rhythm, hollowing your cheeks with every upwards motion and pressing your tongue against his length when you pushed him back in. He was getting harder and harder, and your lips strained around him.

With your eyes closed you couldn't see him any more, but you sure as hell felt him. His legs were twitching around you, clenching against your shoulders, keeping you right there between them. His body was shuddering and the muscles in his stomach tightened under your palm. He was fighting the sensations with all he had, probably all red and tense, gripping the chair – until you felt his hand in your hair, and he was really grabbing you, holding you in place, pushing you down onto him hard until he hit the back of your throat, and you let out a surprised whimper that was certainly way too loud for this quiet setting.

He immediately let go again, and you relaxed, moving your head back as you looked up at him. He was breathing heavily, his lips parted, his eyes moving around the room, before they looked into your direction again. You were but a trick of the light under the Disillusionment charm but it still felt as if he knew exactly where to look – and his dark stare gave you shivers all over. You moved your hands to press them left and right of his cock and continued your up and down bobbing, slowly increasing your pace.

You could taste him already. Inhaling deeply through your nose, you closed your eyes and kept your rhythm, until you felt him stiffening up. His hand was on your head again, and he held you tightly in place as he started bucking his hips into your mouth. You held back whimpers, clawing your fingers into his skin as you tried to stay steady on your knees. Tears burned behind your eyelids as he kept hitting the back of your throat forcefully.

And then he froze, his entire body going rigid, and a tiny, suppressed moan escaped him as his length twitched inside your mouth, pumping feverishly – spilling his seed, emptying everything he had into your mouth and down your throat. You squeezed your eyes shut at the sensation, gripping his thighs in support. Eventually he let go of your head and leaned back again, breathing hard, while his cock slipped out of your mouth, leaving a trail of cum strands on your tongue, lips and chin.

He filled you up good, and it took you several hard swallows to get it all down, before you started licking your lips and wiped the rest off your face with the back of your hand. You were breathing just as hard as he was, your heart pounding inside your chest. It took you a few moments to regain your composure and as you watched him, he had slumped down in the chair a little, his eyes closed, chest rising and falling fast – with a wide smirk on his lips.

When you moved in and licked the rest of his release off his length, his eyes flew open, and he watched you with a tilted head. You smiled an invisible smile. Once he was cleaned up, you gently put him back behind the constraints of his clothes, buttoning his breeches with shaking fingers until it looked as if nothing happened.

“Thank you, friendly ghost,” you heard him whisper quietly as his hand found your cheek under the table and caressed it softly. You leaned into his touch and then turned your head to place a kiss on his palm before you slowly moved back from between his legs and out of his reach again, smirking to yourself.

Notes:

Like our mc here, I woke up feeling naughty today and just had to write this scene. And I did so with the help of the amazing smut thesaurus by @prurientpuddlejumper - as a non-native English speaker it's always fun to add to my vocabulary and this guide (and also The Ultimate Guide to Writing Smut Fic) helped me so much. Can only recommend when you struggle to find words to describe anything really!

Also there is another part to this where the roles are reversed: PART 2 - The Sweet Revenge!

The Ghost under the Table (Part 1 and Part 2)

The Ghosts on the Table (Part 1 and Part 2)

Pictures credit:

(I have to be honest, I've saved so many screenshots of lover boy here and if there's no copyright on it, I really have no idea who I "borrowed" it from, so please forgive me and accept a list of my favorite screenshot providers of this fandom! <3 If you recognize your screen and are not on the list, please tell me, I'll add you right away!)

@dingdongdick @phinik @hogwartslegacypics @deathlysallows @purindaimaou @sinty2ek @shadesofgaunt

Thank you for your continuous services to fuelling our Sebastian obsession! I salute you!

[powdermelonkeg]

Gale of Waterdeep assorted headcanons: 2

Headcanons 1 here, Tower layout here

He overshares when he's drunk. It's a good look into how his brain works, but he has a 50/50 chance of putting his foot in his mouth

He has a handful of custom spells, one of those being an illusory campsite. Gale's Minor Mirage, he calls it. You're welcome!

The stitch scar on his neck is from being held at knifepoint by a particularly opportunistic thief. Said thief got hit with a lightning bolt

His spellbook is beautifully scripted to the untrained eye, but contains additional notes written in invisible ink. He presents himself as neat and tidy, but his real scribblings are anything but

While inflicted with the Netherese Orb, his blood leaves rashes on other people wherever it touches. Not severe ones, but it doesn't feel pleasant. Like a mild sunburn

Quothe (the raven familiar) is his. It's named that because it loves to listen to Gale read literature (and occasionally recite lines where he leaves off)

He owns a fancy lanceboard set; it was a housewarming gift from his parents when he first got his tower

When he was little, he used to wear a ribbon as a headband to pull his hair back with, and a cape. His hair was fluffy and fell to his chin

His favorite color is blue, but he thinks he looks more refined in purple. His mother thinks he looks most dashing in red

His favorite hobby is helping Tara adapt spells with somatic components for tressym use

His first staff was a Sun Staff, gifted to him by Elminster

His most recent staff was a Staff of Power

Both of these, he had to consume. It was a very, very hard choice to make

Other things he's had to destroy that he cared for dearly:

Emerald Pen (left over from days at the academy; worse that it wasn't worth it, as it didn't give him more than a few hours)

Chromatic Rose (given by a lover upon breakup)

Duplicitous Manuscript (The Art of the Night is one of these)

Needle of Mending (kept it on his person after the thief incident)

Wand of Enemy Detection (carried it with him on excursions with Tara)

Wayfarer's Boots (his favorite travel pair)

Arcane Grimoire (one of his first found artifacts, copied a few spells from it into his own book)

Candle of Invocation (a gift from Mystra)

Crystal Ball of Telepathy (Tara used it more than he did; her little paws can't cast Sending)

Songbird Sage's Signet (wore it everywhere, only used in a pinch; he misses the weight of it and rubs his finger occasionally)

Crown of Whirling Comets (wore it to the Blackstaff annual balls, partly to show off)

The 6th level spell Program Illusion is what appears during his Death Protocol. As it needs to be tied to an area within 30 feet of where it's assigned, it's what his briefs are enchanted with. His reasoning is that he'd always have them, and no one would take them off him while dead

When he's panicked, he burns through the magical item he fed the Orb with faster. That's why he puts such a weight on keeping calm

The reason you have 2 days to resurrect him before exploding, and why he can still live for a bit if you don't give him an item immediately, is because without careful management, it consumes HIM. He has 2 days worth of magic to his person

He doesn't like to turn people down outright. To him, the gentlemanly thing to do is to go on a first date to indulge whomever asked. He's had a lot of first dates

He's been accused of using Enchantment as to why he's so dashing once or twice. It absolutely stoked his ego around his looks

Quipper fish and hundur sauce is the dish he's most proud of, but his favorite is a good slow roast

He'll make illusory ceilings for dates with starry skies and auroras. Maybe floating candles if he's feeling fancy. Yes that extends to the bedroom

If left to his own devices, he will relax in a bath for HOURS. Tara thinks he falls asleep in there (she can't prove anything)

Before the orb, he and his mother had a pseudo-competitive exchange of cookware. They'd take turns making the most ELABORATE dishes in the same fancy glass pan, and send it back and forth trying to outdo each other. Whenever one showed up with the pan, it would always be with a healthy seasoning of smug satisfaction and sweet compliments about the last meal

He likes picnics on the beach. If you show him shells and things he'll happily tell you where they came from

He always dresses just a smidge too warmly for the weather

He can sleep just about anywhere, and frequently does in his tower. It's not good for his back. When Tara finds him, she always tugs a blanket over him

His family symbol is a crescent moon setting in the water

Bonus Tara headcanon: her opal collar is her spellcasting focus

[happilyhertale]

Voiceless - Aemond Targaryen x female!reader

Summary: As the princess of the realm, the gates of the world are open to you. But after one fateful night, everything seems to change for you.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Author’s note: Hey you (:

Another story, requested by a dear Anon (: Thank you for this request!

I hope you will enjoy it! English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Warnings: Violence, blood, fluff

Word count: 3.5 k

Other stories of mine

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You lean your body against the wall and feel the coldness of the walls flow through your body, while distant echoes reach your ears. The graceful footsteps of servants echo through the corridors, accompanied by soft conversations that float delicately in the air. You hold your breath anxiously and remain hidden, fearing that the slightest sound might betray your presence. Only when the whispers have faded and you are sure they are gone do you let out a sigh of relief and the tension in your chest eases.

With newfound courage, you carefully disengage yourself from the wall. With a deliberate step, you walk through the winding corridors of Driftmark Castle. The dimly lit corridors, a secret labyrinth of shadows and secrets, bear witness to your clandestine excursion. Unnoticed by the outside world, you have escaped from your chambers, driven by a longing to glimpse the heavens once more before returning to the turbulent confines of King's Landing.

You have heard much of the island's enchanting night sky, where the stars appear with effortless brilliance, undisturbed by the burdens of a densely populated city. In this vast expanse of darkness, the stars shine, casting their celestial glow on the calm waters that surround the shores. And so, driven by this longing, you navigate the corridors of the castle, propelled by an inexplicable pull towards the sky that dances above the shores of Driftmark.

The day was accompanied by sadness and cast a shadow over the hours that passed. Your mother urged you and your brothers to be moderate. You were not supposed to frolic, but just stay by your family's side. So you and your brothers mostly just stood around nodding and smiling at the adults occasionally. But all you really wanted to do was frolic in the dunes with Aemond.

Today was the sad occasion of Laena Velaryon's funeral, a painful spectacle. Her daughters Baela and Rhaena have your full sympathy. The very thought of suffering such a devastating loss as that of your own mother Rhaenyra sends a shiver down your spine.

Lost in thought, you approach the exit of the castle. Your reverie was abruptly interrupted, however, and you were jolted back to reality as you perceive low murmurs that soon swelled to a tumultuous clamour. The echoes of discontent turned into cries of frustration and carried the weight of a brewing tantrum. You quicken your steps and approach the source of the uproar, only to be abruptly stopped.

You thought you were the only one awake. Yet here are your brothers standing in front of Aemond and they are shouting at each other. Baela and Rhaena are behind your brothers. You notice immediately that no one is standing next to Aemond. You walk towards the group, but no one seems to be paying attention to you.

"What's going on here? Jace?" you ask.

Jace finally turns his head to you, "Go back to bed, y/n!" he says to you.

But you don't listen to him. You walk on and stand next to Aemond. You see the corners of Aemond's mouth pull up briefly and barely noticeably.

"What's going on here?" you ask again.

"Aemond has claimed Vhagar! Vhagars is our mother's dragon!" shouts Rhaena.

Your eyes grow wide. 'Aemond has what?‘ –  immediately pops into your mind. But you can't help feeling a little proud for Aemond.

"Your mother is dead," Aemond says suddenly. Your head snaps to the side, "Aemond!" you hiss.

But Aemond seems to pay you no mind, "Vhagar has a new rider now!" he says proudly.

"It was my right to claim her!" retorts Rhaena.

Before Aemond can reply, you lightly take his arm and try to pull him back a little. You know that arguments between them can escalate quickly.

"Rhaena... it is not written down anywhere who can claim which dragon and when..." you say quietly. "Dragons decide for themselves who they want as a rider," you say a little more confidently now.

Rhaena gives you an angry look, "How would you know? Has your mother died yet? Have you had any experience with who claims her dragon?" she hisses at you.

You are a little startled and take a small step back.

"Shut your filthy mouth," chimes in Aemond and suddenly he shoves you behind him.

"Maybe your cousins will find a pig for you to ride. It would suit you," he says with a sneer.

Rhaena suddenly goes for Aemond, but he grabs her and pushes her to the ground. When Baela suddenly stands in front of him and punches him in the face. He didn't expect that, he goes down. You cry out slightly.

As if of your own accord, you suddenly stand next to Baela and push her away to keep her away from Aemond.

Aemond gets back up, looking hateful. He has clenched his hands into fists and is breathing heavily.

"Attack me again and I'll feed you to my dragon!" he says angrily but still with pride.

You look to him, "Don't do that Aemond..," you say quietly.

He looks at you, his gaze softening a little. But he is immediately distracted again when he notices Jace coming towards him.

But it's too late, Jace punches him square in the face. You cry out.

"No! Jace!" you scream, trying to pull him away, but Jace just shoves you aside. He tries to hit Aemond again. He punches several times in Aemond's direction, but to no avail. Aemond deflects each blow. Until Aemond kicks at Jace and he simply goes down.

Suddenly there is a scream from Luke and he tries to go for Aemond. But Aemond just punches him in the face.

"Aemond!" you shout, and run to Luke, who is on the floor. His nose is bleeding and he is whimpering softly. You try to comfort him.

When you turn back to Aemond, you see the others coming at him. Aemond is lying on the ground and the others are standing over him. They kick and hit him. You stroke Luke's head once more before running back over to the others. You get hold of Rhaena's hair and pull her away from Aemond. She struggles, but you push her away, "Stop it now!" you shout at her.

Jace turns to you briefly when he hears you scream. But at that moment Aemond kicks him to the ground again.

Aemond stands again, breathing heavily. Luke goes towards him, but Aemond just grabs him by the collar. Suddenly you notice him holding a rock in his other hand and raising it menacingly. You are too frightened to react.

"You will die in the flames, just as your father did!" he hisses at Luke.

You just gasp out, "Aemond! Stop that right now!"

But Aemond is too angry to even notice anything else

"Bastards," he says hatefully.

"Aemond! Are you out of your mind?" you say angrily. You walk towards the two of them. Luke just whimpers softly, "But my father is still alive..," he says quietly.

Aemond looks surprised, "He doesn't know, does he? Lord Strong?" he says.

"Aemond. Stop it right now," you say to him again.

Luke has tears in his eyes

But suddenly Aemond pushes you to the ground and now you're irritated, but then you see Jace coming at Aemond with a dagger. It takes you too long to process this.

But then Aemond hits Jace with the stone. You get up and go back to Aemond, wanting to pull him away from the group, "Stop that, Aemond! Come with me" you shout.

You turn back to Jace and at that moment you feel a searing pain. You grab your neck and your hands are instantly wet. You hear a blade fall to the floor. You immediately look to Aemond in panic, tears are in your eyes. You are in pain and you start breathing faster. You can't scream and you panic even more. But instead Aemond screams.

"I will let you burn!!! You will die for this!!!" he screams over and over. You slump down and cry silently.

"No!", Aemond shouts and is immediately at your side.

"It's going to be alright! Y/n! Please..," Aemond says almost pleadingly.

"Y/n!" shouts Jace as he realises what he has done, kneeling beside you as well.

Aemond stands back up. He breathes heavily and feels an incomprehensible rage inside him. The rage inside him feels like nothing he has ever felt before. He still has the stone in his hand. He lets his gaze wander to the stone as his chest rises and falls, heavier and faster, again and again. He raises his hand and wants to hit Jace with the stone.

When all of a sudden Luke yells out. At the high-pitched scream, you look up. He has the blade in his hand and swings it.

Aemond notices too late, but suddenly he screams out and holds his eye. You have never heard such a pained scream. You push Jace away from you, desperately trying to crawl over to Aemond. By now your hands are covered in blood and dust, your own pain completely forgotten. You kneel by Aemond's side and are only distantly aware of Jace shouting at Luke. It slowly dawns on both of them what they have done. Rhaena and Baela stand terrified in the corner, not daring to say anything.

You, on the other hand, want to say something. You try to speak. You open your mouth and try to force words out of you. But no matter how hard you try, your throat only hurts. Every time you try to say something, it feels like nails are being driven into your throat and more blood runs down your throat. The front of your dress is now soaked with your blood.

You grab Aemond by the shoulder and try to turn him towards you. As he lies on his back, he whimpers and you see more blood. Your whimpering mingles with his and you let out a soundless scream. His blood mixes with yours on your dress as you lean down and try to embrace him.

Suddenly the Kingsguard comes running.

Tears run down your face. But the tears are not an expression of pain, but of helplessness. Because Aemond lies screaming on the ground and you can do nothing to help him. His hand covers his left eye. More and more blood seeps through between his fingers.

You are only distantly aware of being taken aside, you only have eyes for Aemond.

Everything happens so quickly. And the next moment you are in the throne room. The wound over Aemond's eye is being stitched. He is sitting on a chair and a maester is standing in front of him. You are lying on a couch with two maesters bending over you. You have been given poppy juice and are light-headed. After the bleeding has stopped, your throat will be stitched. Tears keep running down your face. When the maesters have finished, you turn your head to Aemond. You see him contort his face in pain as the maester applies the needle. You try to sit up, but the maesters push you back.

"You should lie down for a while, princess," says one of the maesters.

You want to answer, but when you open your mouth, no words pass your lips.

The maesters cast a meaningful glance at each other. At that moment your mother comes storming into the throne room. She goes worriedly to your brothers and hugs them briefly. But quickly she continues to look around, her eyes searching for you. And then she sees you and horror is written all over her face.

She comes rushing towards you.

"Y/n!" she calls. With her soft hands she takes your face in her hands.

"My girl, what's wrong?" but you can't answer and that scares you even more. Tears well up in your eyes. Your mother looks at the maesters, "What is going on? Why can't my daughter speak?" she asks demandingly.

And then the maesters explain to her that you will probably never be able to speak again.

"A silent princess...", your mother murmurs with tears in her eyes.

Some years have passed since then and you have come to terms with the situation as best you can. The scar on your throat has healed completely, but it still makes you uncomfortable. In the evening, you sit in front of the mirror and apply ointments to the scar, hoping that one day it will hardly be visible. But you can't stand the sight of it for long.

Usually the scar is covered with a scarf to hide it from prying eyes. You are very ashamed of it and it burdens you even more that you can never speak to the lords and ladies of the court. Nevertheless, you have learned to observe your surroundings carefully and to notice the smallest changes.

But this has also led to increasing isolation. Still, Aemond can be found by your side most of the time. Even before the accident you had felt a certain closeness to each other, but now you are connected because of your shared loss. Aemond shares much of his day with you, telling you about the books he is reading. Sometimes he even assures you that you are not missing anything by not taking part in the conversations at court, as they are all trivial and boring.

And you answer him tirelessly with the art of writing. Every morning, when the busy maids help you to dress, you carefully tie a small roll of parchment around your wrist. In a tiny pocket that you have carefully attached to your dress is a precious piece of charcoal. These humble tools serve as channels for your communication.

On this roll of parchment you write all the feelings and thoughts you wish to convey. Your bold and solemn as well as sometimes cheeky responses find their eternal place on this paper that will forever go down in history. Somehow you like the idea that everything you share will be recorded. Unless, in a fit of frustration, Aemond throws your cheeky answers into the nearest fire and tries to give you an annoyed look. Then you can't help a slight chuckle.

Over the years, feelings have been stirring within you. You have watched Aemond grow into an impressive young man. Even in his clothes you notice the muscular development of his body through his hard training. This thought pleases you immensely. Sometimes you cannot suppress a giggle when you meet him after training - sweaty and breathing heavily. Aemond then looks at you in confusion, but you just shake your head as your cheeks redden slightly.

Likewise, you enjoy your quiet moments together. You just sit together then, giving each other comfort. Just as you suffer from your scar, Aemond suffers from the scar that adorns his face. And he cannot cover it as easily as you can cover yours. But your conscience still torments you often because you could not protect Aemond back then. You may have lost your voice, but Aemond has lost half his sight. Since birth, he has had to fight for everything he has, and it seems that nothing will ever change. But the fact that you could not prevent your brothers from going against Aemond and that he had to give up his eye for it, eats away at you and gnaws at your inner self.

When the overwhelming feeling spreads through you, you do not even seem worthy to enjoy his presence or attention. As you stand in the training yard one day, your thoughts are once again corroded by this guilt. An uneasy state fills your chest and a pressure makes itself felt. Suddenly, however, you are torn from your thoughts. Aemond stands before you and a smile adorns his face.

"I have not seen you at all today," he says softly and his smile widens.

You smile too and take your small roll of parchment in your hand.

"I've been hiding from you," you hold out to him on the paper.

He chuckles briefly and suddenly holds out a small flower to you

"I saw this and thought of you," he says softly. With delicate grace, his fingertips caress a delicate strand of your hair and gently stroke it behind your ear. As if guided by nature's whisper, he lovingly nestles a flower in your curls and adorns you with an enchanting touch.

You are overwhelmed by the sheer grace of his gentleness

"Will you wait for me until the training is over?", Aemond asks you, but your mind drifts, deaf to his words.

The suffocating weight in your chest persists and grows stronger. It feels almost unbearable that he has such endearing qualities and showers you with care while you have been powerless to protect him from the clutches of your own brothers who are responsible for his painful loss.

"Y/n?", Aemond asks you again to get your attention.

"I can't read your mind yet, you have to write it down," he says teasingly.

But your eyes suddenly fill with tears – Aemond's gaze instantly panics.

"Y/n? What's wrong?" he asks. He wants to caress the softness of your cheek to soothe you. Unfortunately, fate intervenes and as he reaches out to caress your cheek, you turn and hurry away. Aemond is visibly irritated, but he cannot resist and follows you.

"Hey! Y/n, what's wrong?", Aemond calls after you.

You walk into the gardens and wipe away your tears.

By the rose bushes, Aemond reaches you and grabs you almost gently by the arm. He turns you towards him and you look at him.

"Hey..." he says gently, wiping away your tears.

"Tell me what's wrong," he adds.

You hesitate at first. But then sob quietly and then take the parchment in your hand.

"I'm sorry," you write simply.

Aemond reads these words again and again. His eye dart over the paper, as if he wants to grasp something that is between the lines and still eludes his eye.

"What exactly do you want to apologise for?" he asks you quietly after a while.

You sob quietly and start writing again.

"That I could not prevent it," he reads next.

Again his eye dart over the paper several times.

He looks up, "That you couldn't prevent what exactly?" he asks you.

Now you are starting to look annoyed.

"Pardon me, y/n, I can't figure it out," he says.

You write again, "I thought you were smart?" reads Aemond this time.

He looks up at you again.

"What's bothering you?" he says and sighs.

You start again

"I couldn't stop Luke from taking your eye. I left you alone, so to speak... It still gnaws at my conscience," with each word Aemond reads, his lips move slightly. He slowly looks up at you.

"You silly... It's not your fault I lost my eye after all... You didn't swing the dagger," Aemond says softly.

But you shake your head and start writing again.

"I should have stopped Jace and Luke... I could have done more. I should have just taken you and walked away with you. Neither of us would have been hurt. You could still see with both eyes and I wouldn't have to write on those stupid pieces of paper. I don't deserve your attention," you hold out to him on the paper.

Tears well up in your eyes again and as Aemond looks back up, shaking his head slightly.

"No," he says simply, taking your face in his hands.

"No. It's not your fault," he says to you. With his thumb he gently wipes a tear from your cheek.

"If it hadn't been for you, far more would have happened. Perhaps one of us wouldn't be alive," he says to you.

You want to shake your head again, but his hands won't let you.

"I don't care how much you resist... it's not your fault and you are the only person on this cursed earth who deserves my attention," he says softly.

You notice him slowly lean forward. Your breath catches and before you realise what is happening, his soft lips are on yours. Gently they nestle around your lips. You close your eyes and give in to the feeling.

His tongue explores yours and the feeling of being so close to him is as sweet as a warm summer day. You feel the warmth emanating from him and it envelops you completely.

After a short time, Aemond releases his lips from yours. He leans his forehead against yours.

"Don't ever think like that again... You saved my life... In that horrible night and afterwards... When you were always by my side," he whispers, his lips inches from yours. You just smile and let your lips meet his again.

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Tag list

@aemonds-wifey @hoshi-miharu-blog @arryn-nyx @aemond-targaryenx @praline357 @melsunshine @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @lauftivy @believeinthefireflies95

[merakiui]

Jade switching dorms when he's pissed at Zuzu is actually fun to think about. Probably ends up at Ramshakle more often than not and wants to share a bed. Hmm...honestly, I feel like a lot of the guys get tired of their dorm leaders bull and would end up wanting to be at ramshackle with their fave prefect.

Ace and Deuce show up the most frequently, but this is because they just love spending time with you. They sneak out even though Trey and Cater have warned them no mercy will be shown if Riddle asks where they're getting off to. Still, they always drop by for late-night visits. Riddle is used as the excuse for nearly every visit, but it's been three consecutive nights of "Housewarden Rosehearts is being a royal pain in the ass," and you're beginning to suspect that Ace and Deuce just want sleepovers with you because when isn't Riddle being difficult? ^^;;;;

Sometimes Ruggie stops by if it's on his way or convenient. It's not that he's so tired of Leona; he's used to the grind and how it runs him ragged, but it is nice to have a secondary place to rest at when he's bone-weary and doesn't want to deal with piles of Leona's laundry or other things the minute he steps into Savanaclaw. Ruggie loves visiting Ramshackle because he knows you'll always offer to feed him and he never turns down your generous offer. The quickest way to one hyena's heart is through food and kindness. Ruggie swears that second one isn't true, but it's obvious he softens when you tell him to take care of himself. He's in love. <3

Floyd doesn't need a consistent reason to visit. He visits because he wants to or because Azul's annoying or because he had an argument with Jade or because he wants to kick back and relax after basketball practice. You should be used to his spontaneous visits by now. Jade is also prone to the odd visit every now and then. He loves your hospitality (you slammed the door in his face the first time he showed up) and so now he brings peace offerings: a (mushroom) dish he cooked for you or leftovers from the lounge.

Jamil would absolutely visit you. The only issue? Kalim makes that impossible, especially when Jamil's running himself insane trying to make sure Kalim isn't going to cause trouble for himself or others with his spontaneity. T_T and if Kalim suspects Jamil wants to visit you, he'll invite himself along. So if Jamil really wants to see you he has to sneak out of the dorm. But this has its own benefits because the night is calm and cool, and so maybe Jamil can indulge a little. He's not tired and neither are you, so a magic carpet ride sounds perfect, doesn't it? :D it'll be a secret between the both of you.

Epel is going to visit you if it's the last thing he does! >:( even if this earns him scoldings from Vil about how he's "ruining his sleep schedule" and will "look like death if he isn't well-rested," he's still going to make it his mission to see you. Sometimes he bumps into Rook when he's sneaking out and the two of them agree to visit Ramshackle together so long as neither tells Vil lol. You're definitely in for a surprise when Epel shows up at your doorstep with Rook in tow. A little late-night excursion never hurt anyone, right? :)

No one could ever get tired of Malleus. <3 then again, most are too afraid to even feel or think that way. ;;;; it's mostly Malleus himself who visits you. He's the number one frequent Ramshackle visitor. At this point, you should just consider him an honorary member with how often he appears to spend time with you. You've told him before he's always welcome, and after that he began to show up even more than before. Sometimes Lilia visits you, which always startles you, but then it's perfectly on par with his penchant for surprises. Sometimes he just stops by for tea or to float aimlessly about while he tells you all about how "tickled pink" Malleus was when you invited him to play cards with you, Grim, and the ghosts. You think it's endearing and so sweet to know that Malleus appreciates these little gestures of friendship. It's not much, but then it's more than enough to him.

[pyrookami]

The call

Fren normally loved working with David. That was usually because the lone human on the small supply depot in the void between solar systems was not normally this quiet and strange. Fren's species did have trouble with humans expressive faces since their own was mainly carapace and they communicated feelings through pheromones. But this cycle David's usual smile was gone and his laughter that would ring out through comms whenever he told a bad joke or saw a skree mating dance was now silent. In their external excursion suits, or as David called them "jogging suits," Fren could only see a part of David's face as he floated in the zero gravity for some reason starring off into the darkness for some reason.

After watching silently for a moment as both David and his special vacuum welding tools simply floated Fren decided enough was enough and keyed his communicator.

"Engineer David you have been staring off into space for approximately ten units is there a problem?"

Strangely the human appeared to flinch at the sudden breaking of the silence, odd since in Fren's experience very little could actually harm the death world species. so quieter and with less intensity he keyed his comm.

"Engineer David are you all right?"

It took a few moments for an answer to come forth from the human as he collected his tools from around him and seemed to gather his thoughts at the same time.

"Sorry boss kinda got lost in thought there for a moment. It wont happen again ill finish up these last couple seals and we can head back into the nice cozy station."

There it was his usual tone and even a bit of laughter. what thoughts could have caused such a jovial creature such dark and pensive silence for so long?

"If you do not mind Friend David. What thoughts were you lost in that had your usual joviality overwhelmed?"

With a chuckle David began welding two metal composite sheets together to patch the meteorite hole before answering.

"Oh it was just the call of the void messing with my mood. Wondering how it would go if i was to drift off into the literal void you know what i mean?"

in shock Fren stared at the human, to the human who had trouble with the blank faces of the arachnian it was hard to tell what was going on as it seemed that there was something wrong. after looking around to make sure nothing was behind him David maneuvered over to his eight-legged counterpart and waved a hand in front of Fren's primary eyes. the motion achieved its goal of pulling Fren out of his shocked stupor only for the arachnian to embrace his human coworker with four limbs and use his remaining free limbs to maneuver the duo to the air lock. Fren did not release his friend until the air lock ha d cycled and opened into the interior of the station.

"WHOA HEY!"

"Engineer David you are to report to doctor Shulo immediately for psychiatric evaluation and are not to work until i have a clean mental bill of health for you and your thoughts of self termination have ceased."

Before the human could respond he was forced out of the airlock and it was closed behind him.

"Well time to freak out the doc i guess."

[hunterscabin]

Our Spot

Summary: Dean and the reader create a new memory at their favorite spot.

Request: Car sex with Dean. Passion, pleasure, over the top sex. @hawaiianohana15

Pairings: Dean x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, smut, male receiving, female receiving, face riding, car sex, fluff. 

Word Count: 1.5k

Author’s Note: This is my first time smutting; please be as loving and generous to me as Dean is to the reader! 

“Where are we going?” you asked, relaxing into the passenger seat of the Impala.

It had been three days since anyone left the bunker. There were no hunts to be found, and the weather was less than ideal for outdoor excursions. You and Sam were able to pass the time easily with research and conversation, but Dean’s daring spirit was starved without adventure, and he was beginning to reach the breaking point of his restlessness. He needed no convincing to agree on a late night drive, and it wasn’t long before you were speeding down Route 36.

“You’ll see.” Dean smirked, reaching across Baby’s bench seat to grab your hand.

Several miles and half of a Bob Seger album later, Dean veered toward a familiar exit. He turned down a tree-lined road, and as the car came to a stop, you inched closer to him.  

“Our spot.” you sighed contentedly, resting your head on his broad shoulder. 

Through a small clearing, you watched the rain dance across the water of Lovewell Reservoir. The picture before you was the backdrop of many meaningful moments, and a serene exhale floated past your lips as you traced them in your mind. Picnics shared under the tall oak trees, peaceful retreats to the lake after particularly bad hunts, Dean asking you to move into the bunker with him and Sam.

“So many good memories.” you whispered.

Dean kissed your temple in agreement, reminiscing over the same highlight reel.

“Except one.” he added, his voice gruff and suggestive.

Your gaze remained steady on the horizon, but your brow furrowed. You were lost in trying to place Dean’s meaning when you felt a strong hand dragging slowly up your thigh.

You looked to Dean, finding clarity in the mischievous grin spreading across his face, and your heart skipped a beat. Eagerly, you threw one leg across his lap, straddling him where he sat in the driver’s seat.

“It’s hard to believe we’ve never christened our spot.” you remarked coyly, wrapping your arms around his neck.

You teased him, hovering your lips over his, just before the point of contact. Dean’s hot breath mingled with yours until the tension was too much to bear. Your lips met in a passionate kiss. Dean’s tongue spilled over yours, and you grew increasingly desperate for more of him. Chasing the sensation forming between your legs, you rolled your hips over his lap, feeling his cock harden beneath you.

“Baby.” Dean hummed, easing his hands under your shirt. His fingertips caressed your soft skin, ghosting over your sides, across your back, and around your breasts.

“You know, I love the names you have for me,” you admitted, kissing his shoulder, “but when you say ‘baby’ in this context,” you paused, fluttering your lips along his jaw, “I honestly don’t know if you’re referring to me or the car.”

Dean breathed a low laugh over your neck, taking your face in his hands.

“Tonight is all about you.” he promised.

With that, Dean lifted your shirt over your head and expertly unclasped your bra. You let the fabric fall until your breasts were fully exposed.

“So beautiful.” Dean licked his bottom lip at the sight of you, pulling the plump flesh between his teeth.

He bowed to your chest, taking your nipple in his mouth. His tongue teased your delicate skin, and the sensation sent shock waves to your already aching core. The more he toyed with your chest, the faster you rocked against him.

Caught in another kiss, your hand drifted to unfasten Dean’s belt. You pulled down his pants and boxers, allowing his swollen cock to spring free. You let out a lustful whimper before dismounting the hunter to stretch across the front seat.

Resting on your elbows, you took Dean’s impressive length in your warm hand and began to pump. Your mouth fell open, and you unconsciously licked your lips.

“Hungry for me, baby?”

You answered by glancing up at Dean with a wanting expression and drawing your tongue up the length of his shaft, not once breaking eye contact. Lapping at the tip, you swirled your tongue around the head, feeling Dean tense beneath you. You shifted forward, taking all of him in your mouth, sucking rhythmically as your head bobbed over his lap.

“Fuck, Y/N.” Dean’s hand combed through your hair, settling on the back of your head. He pulled gently at first, but the harder and faster you sucked, the tighter his grip became. “So good, baby.”

Dean’s palm slid down the curve of your body to grip your ass. His firm grasp spurred you on, and you hollowed your cheeks. You massaged the base of his cock, your hand working in tandem with your mouth. Dean began to writhe beneath you, and your steady rhythm broke as he came undone, spilling into you. You swallowed around his pulsating cock, easing him through his climax.

You kissed your way up Dean’s body until your eyes met his. Glistening with the evidence of his satisfaction, Dean gently wiped your chin before pressing his lips to yours.

“Shall we move this to the bedroom?” you quipped, climbing toward the rear of the car.

You paused after mounting the bench seat, and a wicked smile played on your lips. Leaning forward, your right hand disappeared under the collar of Dean’s shirt, bracing on his firm chest. Your left hand reached above you to splay against Baby’s hood. Eyeing Dean, you began to drag your throbbing core across the supple leather. Your chest heaved as the friction teased you through your jeans.

“Fuck, Y/N.” Dean growled, watching your body glide back and forth. “I want you to ride my face like that, baby.”

You mewled at Dean’s confession, and he deftly advanced toward the back, pulling you with him. He ripped off his shirt before attending to you. Dean’s eyes were ravenous as he unbuttoned your pants and removed your underwear. He laid flat beneath your naked form, and you kneeled on either side of his hips.

“I want to taste you, Y/N.” Dean’s voice was full of need as he hooked his hands behind your knees, pulling you toward him.

He nipped at your thighs as you eased yourself onto his lips. Dean’s tongue welcomed you, drawing through your folds. His movements were tortuously light, and you twitched with every graze.

“Dean.” you purred. 

At the sound of his name, the depth and pressure of his tongue increased. You rocked your hips as he waved up and down your velvety core. He licked into you with fervor, stopping only to wrap his lips around your clit. He sucked vigorously, and your back arched in pleasure.

“Oh, fuck. Right there, baby.” Your hands moved to massage your breasts, and Dean moaned at the sight of you. The extra sensation of his vibrating lips pushed you over the edge. Your entire body trembled as he worked you through your orgasm.

Dean shifted beneath you, sitting up so that you were face to face. He cradled your head while trailing kisses along your jaw, down your neck, and across your collarbone. His touch was electric, and you were already craving more.

“Make love to me, Dean.”

At your request, a needy groan rumbled in his chest. Dean slipped an arm around your waist, gently lowering you onto your back. Already hard from eating you out, he required no preparation. Green eyes bore longingly into yours as Dean lined himself up with your entrance. He dragged his cock between your folds before pushing into you. Your walls stretched to accept him, and you relished in the sweet burn as he bottomed out inside you. Dean stayed this way as he leaned down to kiss you. He hadn’t even moved, and the feeling inside you was already starting to build.

“Dean.” you begged through the kiss, and he took his queue.

He thrust into you, and the slow drag of his cock was exquisite. Your legs quivered as his body moved with yours in a way only mastered after years of exploration.

“God, Y/N. You feel so good.”

Dean had memorized every inch of you, and he used his expertise to draw you closer to the edge. His hands moved between your breasts, kneading your chest and rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

“Fuck!” Your euphoric cry excited the hunter, and his thrusts became more precise. Dean’s cock found the sweet spot inside you, causing you to draw in a sharp breath. He held his position, increasing his pace until you were screaming his name.

“Come for me, baby.” Dean commanded, his voice impossibly low.

Dean’s thumb rubbed your clit, quickly circling the sensitive bundle of nerves, causing you to reach your brink. A second orgasm erupted through you, and as your walls clenched around him, Dean willfully succumbed to his own climax.

His heart racing, Dean fell down beside you, breathless. He pulled you onto his chest, and you melted into him, caught in a dreamy haze. His cheek pressed gently to your forehead, and you craned your neck to gaze up at him. He dipped his head to capture your lips, kissing you sweetly. Your head fell back into the crook of Dean’s neck, and you breathed in his familiar, intoxicating scent.

You stayed like this for some time, completely relaxed in the comfort of each other’s arms, listening to the rain fall on the hood of Dean’s 67 Chevy.

Original tags: @81mysteriouslyme, @hawaiianohana15, @that67chevyimpala​

Masterlist

[froggyfics]

How We Became Strangers

Prequel to Strangers

We used to be close.

Me likely angst :)

Feedback is always appreciated. Feel free to message me privately or comment below to let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is always welcome! 

Pairing: Damian Wayne x gn!reader

Theme: Angst

Word Count: 3,410

“Can you talk some sense into him?”

“You’re the only one that can reason with him.”

“He listens to you the most, ya know?”

You used to think it was a compliment when people would recognize your impact on Damian. You were constantly commended for your efforts to tame the wild beast. It used to send a shiver down your spine that felt so good. 

But lately, those compliments made your stomach churn. You found yourself gritting your teeth, clenching your hands into a fist, curling your toes – anything to distract you from the pang within. 

As childish naivety slipped from your fingers, the blindfold you had on began to slip dangerously. These weren’t compliments. According to the dictionary, a compliment is defined as “a polite expression of praise or admiration”. 

Bruce wasn’t complimenting you when you convinced Damian not to pursue case leads by himself. He was simply tired of being the one to discipline his son over and over and over again.

Tim wasn’t complimenting you when you pried Damian off him, preventing an all-out brawl. He was just glad that the fight didn’t become serious enough to invoke a conversation with Bruce. 

And Alfred, sweet ol’ Alfred, wasn’t complimenting you when you persuaded Damian to join you for a nighttime excursion around town. He was worked to the bone, and only wanted one night to himself in the manor with minimal distractions. 

Their compliments were not compliments. They were transfers of responsibilities. Bless Damian - he was an honorable man, but stuck in his own ways, nonetheless. When you came around, Damian was poached onto you.

And you took that as a form of flattery. You thought it was because everyone understood that you and Damian were two peas in a pod, Bobbsey twins…friends. Best friends. So, it was natural for people to want to hand Damian over to you.

You were so utterly wrong. You simply had the best temperament and the most patience to deal with him. Nothing more, and nothing less. You were his unequivocal buffer to society. No one wanted to take accountability for his actions, so the task was transferred over to you.

“Oh no, he didn’t mean it like that,” you comforted Jason. “He’s just tired from patrol.”

“Please excuse his behavior. He’s had a bad day.” You slid the waitress a large cash tip.

“He does love you! He just has a funny way of showing it,” you said as you comfortingly patted his ex-girlfriend on the back. 

Excuses, excuses, excuses. You made so many excuses for him. You were unsure when exactly you fell into this…unique role, but it had become exhausting. You were longer just Damian’s friend - you had become so much more. Too much more. There was not a single word that could encompass the responsibilities that fell upon you. You were his therapist, his lackey, his moral compass, his PR firm, his friend, his supporter, and ultimately, his enabler. 

There has no doubt been some extra tension between the two of you recently. You’ve had arguments before, but they used to be few and far between. Lately, your temper flares at a moment’s notice. Your patience runs thin like sand between your fingers. There’s something tickling the back of your throat. There’s something you’ve been meaning to say to Damian, even if it falls on deaf ears. 

But you can’t. You’re…scared. It pains you to realize it, but Damian is violent. Not with his fists like he is with criminals. No, not like that at all. He’s violent with his words. They leave invisible scars that are only visible to you. If Damian has taught you anything, it’s that you’re not a strong person. Your mental state is like wet paper, floating on by until it meets the slightest force to rip it into shreds. 

You want to say something to him. It’s masochistic to continue living like this. But it feels like barbed wire surrounds your throat every time you attempt to be brave enough to say anything. 

It’s just you two out here on the grassy hill. Lately, your mind is a haze of anxiety and self-doubt. But for some strange reason, the night sky brings you and your cognizance a calming synergy. You lay shoulder-to-shoulder, your hands snug underneath your head, facing towards the starry night. Your hand travels from behind your head, stretching upwards, as if you could touch the stars above. It’s peaceful out here. It’s finally a moment of calm between you and Damian, which is much needed after weeks of brewing tension. 

Damian’s talking about a fight he had with Tim. You can hear his garbled voice in your ear, but your ringing ears mask most of the conversation. 

“He said I needed therapy,” he scoffs. “Like I haven’t heard that before.”

Your head rips to the side. Damian copies your movement to return your gaze.

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

You gulp nervously. “Need therapy. Do you…need therapy?”

“No,” he sneers. He lets out a taut chuckle. “I’m not crazy.”

You say absolutely nothing and continue to stargaze. You wonder what it would be like to be there – up there – and not down here. Not with Damian. Not even with yourself. Just…outside of it all. Outside of responsibilities. Outside of loyalties. 

You can sense Damian’s change in position. His once relaxed position is exchanged for a rigid, upright one. He’s still seated, but hovers over you. His eyes are sharply boring into your face. 

The alarm bells start to ring in your head. Panic arises from your stomach and burns into your esophagus. You did something wrong. You said something wrong. What did you do wrong this time?

“Do you think I need therapy?” 

Oh, no. Not this question. Anything, but this question. Has your mouth ever been this dry before?

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” you finally reply. Yeah, that’s a good response. Because it truly doesn’t matter what you think. Not to Damian, at least.

“Yes, it does,” he sharply corrects. 

“Damian, please, not tonight,” you groan. You mimic him by shifting your body into a seated position. “Let’s just relax.”

A few seconds pass before he replies. “I don’t need therapy,” he emphasizes.

Yes, you freaking do. But you don’t say that. At least not out loud. Your face on the other hand, reveals your innermost thoughts. 

He looks out into the distance. He wants to see anything, but your face.

“Damian, look,” you reach out to him, but he pulls back. The rejection leaves your hands burning, so you twiddle your fingers on your shirt instead. Your hands twist the cotton fabric, but despite his rebuff, you’d rather touch his scarred hands instead. “I’m not saying that you’re crazy. Alright? Going to therapy doesn’t mean that at all.”

“Might as well,” he interjects.

“No, Damian! Look, I love you. And because I love you, I have to say this. You asked what I thought earlier, and…” You trail off, unaware of how to finish the sentence. “I just think therapy would be good for you.”

“Damian,” you whisper as his silence greets you. You breathe in every molecule of air around you to gather the courage. “I’ve been going to therapy myself recently and it’s been help –“

“Therapy?” Damian whips his head towards you so quickly, an audible – POP! – resounds in the air from his neck joints. “Is everything alright with you?”

His concern with your wellbeing makes your beam internally. This is how Damian shows his love and affection. It’s short and simple, but oh, so sweet. It’s the little crumbs that he gave you that kept you coming back for more. 

“I’m fine, Damian.” You hold your hands to your chest for emphasis until you realize the dishonesty in your statement. Your hands drop into your lap. “Actually, I’m not. I’ve been dealing with some intense anxiety lately. Ya know, ‘catastrophizing’ or whatever my therapist calls it.”

Damian motions for you to continue. “I’m just really struggling.” Your voice quivers and you’re teetering on an emotional breakdown. “It’s honestly really hard. The panic attacks that I have sometimes…it feels like I’m dying in that moment.” A tear drops onto your hand, but you can’t even feel it. Your limbs are slowly turning numb, and your anxiety pushes outwards to become the center of your world. 

Damian’s voice chips at your withdrawal. He says your name and you ask him to repeat himself.

“What happened?” he grabs your hands tightly, protecting them from whatever forces that dare try to harm you. “Did something happen?”

You squeeze his hands to ground yourself. Talking about your mental health was new, even for you. But this is Damian, and if there is anyone you should talk to about it, it’s with him.

“I – I’m not sure,” you admit. “I can’t pinpoint where it all began. I just know that it’s this overwhelming feeling that I get. Like I can’t breathe.” You look up at Damian to stare into his mossy colored eyes. “My chest would burn, my stomach will twist into knots…my sleep schedule just goes out the window!”

You shake your head to clear your thoughts. What were you talking about? Therapy for Damian, right.

“All I’m saying is that it’s really helped me so far. With my anxiety. And I think it would help you, too. You have a lot of unresolved trauma from your childhood and even now. I mean, pummeling people’s heads in every night can’t be great for your mental health! Right?”

Damian yanks his hands away from yours in a fury. “I don’t need therapy.”

You smack your forehead with your hand. This is so typical. He’s so bullheaded that he refuses to be told what to do, even if it might be beneficial for him. 

“I’m not your mother, but –“

“You sure as hell aren’t,” he mutters under his breath.

“ – I can’t continue like this with you. You’re always looking for a fight or an argument. Why can’t you accept that you need help?”

“I don’t need help!” His tone becomes increasingly more strained. 

“Yes, you do! Everyone needs help, sometimes.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not you.” He stands up and pats his body down to rid himself of dirt and grass. “I don’t need to run to my little therapist after my order comes out wrong at a restaurant or – or – or when my boss doesn’t let me leave five minutes early. I can handle myself.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You stand yourself and puff your chest out. Your primal instinct to fight, flight, or freeze clearly chooses fight. You’re unsure why, as Damian could easily break you.

“You heard me.” He looks up and down in disdain.

It was as if someone poured ice cold water on you. The chill of your anger froze every inch of your body. You couldn’t shiver even if you wanted to. 

“You’re being mean, Damian,” you grit. Your teeth grind together, barely opening your mouth to speak to him. 

He rolls his eyes. “Maybe you’re just being too sensitive. I hope you and your therapist talk about me the next time you go.”

“You’re insufferable.” The nerve signals from your brain begin firing again. You move way too quickly, grabbing your personal items off the ground and walking away. Your head spins at just how fast you’re going, but you can’t bare to spend another second in his presence. 

You make it a few steps away before a hand grabs your upper arm. You spin to face Damian, again, so quickly that your world seems out of focus until you concentrate on his green eyes.

“Stop. Let’s just forget about all this.”

You violently shake your head. It’s too much. He’s too much. “No, Damian. Absolutely not. I have been belittled, disrespected, and humiliated by you for far too long.” You point an accusatory finger at him and step forward until it indents his shirt. 

He faintly calls your name, but you’re too far gone. Years of resentment has infected you until the pus could no longer be contained by your body. It oozes out as you look at him with fiery eyes and speak to him with a sharp tongue.

“You treat me like garbage when all I’ve ever done is love you!”

“I love you, too,” he insists, stepping towards you, driving your fingernail through his shirt and practically into his skin.

“I know you love me! Trust me, I know you do. Which is why it hurts even more. How can you love me and still hurt me like this? Why is this so easy for you?”

He pouts like a child, and if this was any other moment, you would comment on how cute he looked. This would be despite his insistence that he cannot be cute and instead should be referred to as “handsome”.

“I don’t know where all this is coming from,” he inquiries. “We were fine just ten minutes ago.”

“We haven’t been fine in a long, long time,” you seethe. “The way you speak to me…it’s just unbelievable. Everything I do or say is criticized. I can never be right about anything. It hurts to even be around you sometimes. It hurts to even breathe.”

You’re definitely crying. You can feel the tears pouring down your face, but your voice has never been so steady. The pang in your heart is so evident that you can practically feel it bleeding out.

Your chest heaves due to your incensed speech. This was a first. Sure, you’ve had fights with him before, but never like this. Your own anger surprised you. The feelings that swirled inside you were unfamiliar – was that hatred you felt? You weren’t sure if the hatred was directed to Damian or to yourself. Perhaps both. 

He reaches out to you. His arms are ready to engulf you and save you from yourself. But this time, you know better. You can see the mirage in front of you. 

“You need help,” you reiterate. “I can’t hold your hand any longer.”

His rescinds his arms quickly and throws his arms in the air dramatically. You scoff at his theatrical display. Damian has been known for his stoicism, but you knew he was quite melodramatic at his core. “You know what? Fine!”

“Fine!” you bite back.

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

“Fin – you know what.” He paces back and forth with his hands on his hips. “I don’t need this.” He throws his hand up to silence you when you attempt to reply. “And I don’t need you.”

For a moment, you think a thunderstorm has rolled around, but you soon realize that the booming sound is coming from your own head in the form of a headache. The energy is zapped out of you suddenly and you can feel your genuine tiredness start to creep in. 

I don’t need you. 

His voice echoes in your head. You dryly laugh at his proclamation. “You don’t need me? Ha, nice joke. Real good one, Damian. You sure sounded like you needed me at that gala your dad dragged you to. The one where you begged me stay so that you could have company the entire night.”

Damian turns around with a shake of his head, but you’re not done with him. “What about when there’s nothing to do on patrol and you call me ‘cuz you’re bored? Huh?” You step around to face him again. 

It’s ironic that for someone who faced supervillains and low-life criminals every night, Damian sure was intimidated by your confrontation. 

“Ooh, how about when you cried in my arms when you saw Tim nearly bleed to death? Hmm? You sure looked like you needed me then.” 

There was no escaping your cutthroat stare and your steely words. Every word you spoke felt like a ton of bricks dropped off your shoulder to make room for your confidence. 

“So, tell me again, Damian. Look me in my eyes and tell me that you don’t need me.”

You’re somewhat shocked when he complies. He looks at you with the sweetest doe-eyes you’ve ever see. You don’t think you’ve ever been more intimately connected to him than in that moment. Despite the tension and the fury and the sadness of it all, you see him. 

Damian Wayne: the son of two dueling personalities, balancing two difference legacies on his shoulders. The only Robin who still hasn’t figured out how to escape the Robin persona. If that’s even what he wants to do. The boy who has so many role models to look up to – Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Jason, yes, even Tim, Stephanie, Cassandra – but can’t see the good in himself like he sees in others. The child who can’t seem to break through the glass ceiling that he installed for himself in an attempt to surpass the superheroes that came before him. He’s sensitive and insecure in the most intense ways possible. He's human, despite his attempts to turn off his humanity. 

And in a flash, the mask pulls up again. His emotions are replaced with an indifferent expression. The Damian that the rest of the world sees comes alive in that moment. It terrifies you at just how quickly he could put up a front. You used to think he had only one another persona – Robin, but watching him now, you see that he had more than one. There was Damian, and then there was the Damian that the world had become accustomed to.

He opens his mouth and his lips curl upwards mockingly. “I…” 

Oh, no. You were in for it now.

“Don’t…”

Please don’t, you pleaded. You were silent, but you were hoping that your eyes would express everything for you. 

“Need…”

Your eyes widen exponentially. You were simply challenging Damian, kind of how an amateur athlete defies an experienced one. It was just for the experience, but now, you were about to be humbled. 

“You.”

The stars bear witness to his cruelty. If they were living creatures, they’d probably shed a tear for you. But unluckily for you, there was no one to share your hurt and disappointment with. Unfortunately, that was all reserved for you. 

Well, I need you, you wanted to say. You wanted to scream it at him! I can’t live without you, you wanted to declare.

Although - it was getting kind of late. You just didn’t have it in you to continue the conversation. Your eyelids drooped dangerously low in exhaustion. Fighting with Damian was a subscription that you wanted to cancel, but could only be done in the messiest way possible.

You hold your hands up in defeat. If you had a white flag, you’d have waved it prominently. He didn’t try to stop you this time when you drifted away. You weren’t sure if you even wanted him to, but it still hurt, nonetheless. 

You can’t even remember how you made it home before stumbling into your room. Your bedtime routine was ignored for the comfort of your bed. 

Who are you without this man? Who are you without all this hurt? What was Damian to you now? You were unsure of how to answer these questions, but for now, you chose to close your eyes to escape your reality. 

Your body begins to float as it drifts deeper into sleep, dreaming of a familiar stranger with dark black hair and enchanting green eyes. You couldn't escape his grasp on you, even if you tried.

[writinginthetwilight]

You Look Good In Green.

Eddie Munson x Bartender! Fem! Reader.

>>Summery: Between a deli and a laundromat in down town Indianapolis, a bar sits unassuming. Almost derelict looking from the outside, to the untrained eye. But by night shes a different beast.

>>Author note: This is my first ever time posting my writing and I am terrified.

But this story has been floating around my head for at least 18 months and I've finally gotten the courage to get it down.

I'm dyslexic as shit so I'm sorry if their are any mistakes, but sometimes even spell check and Grammerly can't help me. Enjoy.

>>Series warnings: 18+ only, strangers to friends to lovers, jealous!Eddie, jealous!Reader, fluff, pining, angst, drinking, smoking of the devil's lettuce, strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, slow burn.

Chapter 2

MASTERLIST

Chapter 1 - Late

As late September arrives, so does a yearly nostalgia. The unforgiving summer sun gives way to cool fall air and it filters into the days with muted colours and spiced smells. 

A whisper of a suggestion of what's to come. Promises of long nights and short days, curled up indoors hidden from the elements. 

But late September is a trap. 

A trap you are currently caught in, a trap of an unnecessary amount of layers as you rush down the street, weaving between people and ripping the olive green knitted hat from your head, sweat beading at your hairline. 

Quiet curses come from you as your bag slips down your arm, sending you twisting off kilter and stumbling forward. 

This wasn't how this morning was meant to go. 

This wasn't the plan, you had wanted a leisurely breakfast, shower and moisturise, maybe fit in a few errands on the way to work. 

But now you were late and warm, the deceptive cool air vanquished by a clear day and the midday sun. 

Turning the corner you rush towards the bus stop, with just enough time to join the last of the passengers  as they board. Letting out a sigh of relief your chest burns with the excursion as you finally settle for the first time today. 

Sweet soft hazy waking had been ripped from you with a punch of adrenaline at the sight of your radio alarm clock. 

Plain bread straight from the packet, mismatched clothes, a gargle of mouthwash, spilt kibble scittered across the linoleum floor and then you were out the door. 

The bus hissed and took off. You shed the rest of your layers and placed  soft headphones over your ears, closing your eyes you let Iron Maidens Wasted Years calm you. Light dancing behind your eyelids, stuttering between the buildings that pass. 

The first stop comes and you feel yourself  jostling to a stop, the increase in chatter on the once sparsely populated bus is muted behind your music and you eyes lazily open to glance at the new passengers. 

A woman with a tight perm, dressed head to toe in soft pink boards. Her mouth moves quickly talking to the driver as she rifles through bags, gathering her things and turning, her eyes survey the bus. She catches your eye and you look away quickly, but it's too late.

From your peripheral you see movement and before you have a chance to process, pink clothes and plastic grocery bags are encroaching on your 20 minutes of rest. Bewildered, you look up and back away from the woman, pulling you headphones from your head.

"-and it's just so lovely-” she says, shoving a bag into the ever decreasing space around your knees  “- I can't resist you know." She slumps heavily into the chair turning to face you expectantly. 

"Yeah." you say unsure as to what you're agreeing to, she beams and pats your knee.

You twist awkwardly against the inordinate amount of grocery bags which have been stuffed into the space around your legs. You're not an ass, if the bus is busy and somebody needs the space next to you, you don't mind polite chit chat. 

But you weren't prepared for this.

You thought the empty seats surrounding you and headphones would be enough to guarantee 20 minutes of solitude. Enough time to mourn the morning you had wanted and collect yourself. Evidently you were wrong. 

June she's called, but her birthdays in 3 weeks, she informs you with a chuckle. She smells of rose soap and jingles when the bus goes over speed bumps. She has three grown sons and her Liam would just love you. 5 grand kids and a pocket full of cloudy white hard candies that click against her teeth when she talks.

 You can barely get a word in, so stop trying, and as the heat through the bus window prickles your neck, you get antsy, over-stimulated and finally you stand abruptly.

“This is my stop.” you say stumbling awkwardly trying not to trample over the woman's bags as you escape the seat next to her 

She makes no effort to move. “Oh, oh okay honey, well you take care now.” you  give her a quick tight smile pulling the cord and quickly making your way off the bus to the street below.

This isn't your stop.

You stare up at the clear sky, jacket and bag fisted in your hands. With a sigh you fish out your tape deck and begin to walk.

...

Gus's bar sits squat and unassuming between a deli and laundromat in downtown Indianapolis, no sign or name other than the red neon open sign which sits askew in the right side window. When you finally arrive after the 15 minute walk, which you really didn't need before a 10 hour shift, the door squeals as you make your way indoors.

The usual low lights of the dark wood interior are off in favour of the bright main ones and you frown in confusion as you make your way over to the bar. Dumping your belongings atop, a toolbox and loose bolts lay haphazardly beside them. That's when you recognise the distinct lack of bar railing. 

You're drawn to the light filtering in under the door at the end of the bar and the low murmur of music gets louder as you approach.

“Afternoon.”  Gus gruffly greets you without looking up as you push open the door.

The poor excuse of an office, more of a cupboard really, is already overfilled. Stuffed floor to ceiling with stock and files, broken pitchers gathering dust and fading post it notes that were here long before you. 

Now the mountain of a man before you has dragged in the brass railing which sits across his lap, almost scratching the ceiling.

He glances up to you when you don't respond, pushing up his glasses to the top of his head. 

“What are you doing?" you say from your place leaning against the door frame.

He shrugs. “Decided to give it a polish up.”

“And you're in here because?”

“ Chairs in here.” he says simply as he leans back into the peeling red leather seat with a groan, as if to illustrate his point. 

“But why did you remove it? “

“Jazz darling, if I get down out there I ain't getting back up.”

“But you had to get it off so, surely you would have to- You know what it doesn't matter, next time wait for me.” 

He hums, your lateness is unmentioned but obviously noticed, he glances you up and down. 

“You look like hell.”

“Thanks” you say dryly and make your way to the back of the room, squeezing behind his chair, ducking your way under the railing as you go

“So, what's the occasion”you say flipping through an order file, “these guys special or something.”

Gus snorts, “If Angie's last pick is anything to go by. No.”

You grimace at the memory of the letchy men who had arrived last week, faces painted and loud. They had  wailed KISS while you and Gus watched on with pained smiles until he finally stopped them, and told them he'd be in touch. 

“What time are they coming?”

“Two, got deliveries due soon though”, you nod, taking that as your cue to get on and make your way out. 

He catches your arm gently before you can leave, tattooed hand holding you back.

“You good?” he says and his face holds a softness he doesnt dole out to many.

You deflate slightly, releasing the tension you were still holding onto. 

 “Yeah” you say smiling at him, he looks at you for a beat, nods and lets you go.

You busy yourself with signing for deliveries and putting them away, the weekly tasks that are muscle memory now, working in tandem with Gus in a rhythm made over the past 4 years. Music and banter fills the gaps. Footsteps echoing around the large space, which despite what it may look like from the outside sprawls back and out, well kept and clean.

It's a different beast in the day. Quiet and still, shadows that usually hide at the edges and corners laid bare.

....

Thursdays night have been your baby for around 18 months now. Gifted to you after a particularly nasty fight, where Angie demanded Gus give you more responsibility. A balm for the fact that he spent every night at the bar, and although she loved the place, she wants time alone with him, or at least the option.

When Gus had been satisfied that you could handle the place with the help of a couple of extra bar staff if needed and the door man George, he had agreed, in theory, to let you plan the nights as you wanted. As long as he was kept in the loop. 

College kids and people who worked the weekend shift appreciated your deals on drinks and open mic nights. With new regulars and enough turn over to rival the weekend Gus had tentatively agreed to finding you a regular band to play.

It had all been duds so far, heavier bands you sought after out of town or only passing through. Others already had a place in rotation at the weekends and they didn't much like the idea of downgrading to a Thursday. The other, just, hadn't been great.

Around quarter to two you and Gus set up the stage, which was really more of a oversized box step, and waited. 

For 45 minutes, they were 45 minutes late. Gus had eventually gone back to his office grumbling to let him know if they showed up, and as 3 o'clock approached you would soon be opening up so you went about getting the bar ready to serve.

You heard them before you saw them, the dishwashers cycle coming to and end in tandem with the last of a raucous argument which petered out the further through the door the voices came. You poked your head out from the back and spotted them looking around the space as they spoke at a more tempered volume.

“Can I help gentlemen?” you walk out behind the bar to observe them. They all turn and one separates, raising his hand to the others as he approaches you.  Long dark curls frame his face and he makes immediate eye contact.

“Hi sweetheart” he starts with a tip of his head. There's a familiarity in his eye which confuses you but you only raise your eyebrows in response. He straightens eyes searching yours. “we're here to see Gus.”

He's pretty, and once upon a time the charm which obviously rolls off him would have made your face heat and voice stutter, but now, well, you've met a lot of pretty faces.

“And we are?” You say with a small smile and his face falls for half a second but he recovers quickly. Smoothing his hands over the bar, large rings on his fingers softly scraping the wood. 

“Corroded Coffin”

You lean on the bar towards him and he grins back at you, “You're late.”

He falters fully now and  the rest of the band comes to his rescue. 

“We’re sorry about that, we got turned around and the traffic was terrible”  one of them says coming up on the right, he has dark skin and sincere eyes and you watch as the other two members come in on the left one stocky, pale with tight curls and the other looks a little younger, more flustered and they nod their heads quickly in agreement. 

You look over them all, your annoyance diminishing slightly at the realisation that they all look flustered. Pot kettle black you think and lean away from them. 

“Gus! The talents here!” 

They all jump back at the sound of Gus appearing into the room

“ Boys!” his voice booms in a timbre which fills the empty bar. 

They all scramble to greet him, spilling apologies and exchanging four of the most awkward handshakes you've ever seen.  Introductions are made and you give a small wave as Gus tells them you run Thursday nights so your opinion will be equally as important.

They look small next to Gus for all their leather and chains,  but at six and a half feet most do. 

“So, we've only got around 20 minutes before we open up so let's get this started” he says with a clap of his hands and they all nod and head over to the stage.

You watch them amused as Gus sits himself on the opposite side of the bar and claps his hands again, “Okay boys when you're ready.”

The opening bars to War Pigs has you holding the urge to roll your eyes, but Gus gives a satisfied nod and you wonder if Angie had possibly given a few pointers for the songs they should play.

“Generals gathered in their masses. Just like witches at black masses”

The opening lines have you and Gus turning to each other with wide eyes.

This guy has pipes. Their nerves are still evident but they start to relax into it as you and Gus nod along with the beat.

About half way in, Gus holds up his hand and cuts the song short. “We maybe don't need the whole 8 minute rendition today.” he says with a chuckle.

You smile at them and Eddie stammers “Yeah. Hah, no, yeah, of course." Shaking his head he turns back to the band. They all communicate silently and the start of Metallicas For Whom The Bell Tolls rings out. 

Gus, does not with hold his eye roll when he turns to see you grinning. Angie's definitely had a word. The boys see your face and they all exchange a look as they get into the meat of the song. Gus's head bobs despite himself but when his arm goes up to stop them again you slap it down mouthing don't at him. 

They end with a flourish and you give them a small round of applause to which they bow.

“Okay boys we got time for one more.”

This one, you don't recognise, and you assume its an original and has obviously been chosen to show each of them off. Guitars shredding, drums crashing, it's shorter but impressive nonetheless.

When they finish you both give them another small round of  applause before Gus slaps his knees and stands, arching his back with a crack. 

“Well boys you've definitely got some talent,” he makes his way over and they beam at him “give me some time to think. I'll be in touch.”

It sounds dismissive and from the smiles dying on their faces, you know they hear it too, it makes your chest ache. Gathering up their belongings a silence falls over the bar.

You lean forward on the tips of your toes gripping the opposite side of the bar “Get their number” you say with a quiet hiss.

“What?” Gus says,with a look on his face you can't decipher, either he doesn't know why you're saying what you are or he genuinely didn't hear.

Regardless you say a little louder “You haven't got their number.”  they all look over at you this time and Gus’s face says he heard you the first time.

As he walks over to you, you can't help the satisfied smirk, he scowls and plucks the pen you offer from your fingers. 

When all is said and done you wave them goodbye with a tight smile on your face the door squeaking closed behind them. 

Gus turns, throwing his thumb over his shoulder.  “That needs oiling.”

...

As the afternoon bleeds into evening so do the low lights and regulars who prop up the bar. The jukebox and clacking of pool balls are background noise to your pleads.

“They play one Metallica song”, Gus says as he heaves a barrel out of the back. 

“Well Gus, they played it well.”

He hisses holding his back and turning to you as you stand arms crossed and frowning.

“Dave and the boys-”

“Don't come in on thursdays!” you say throwing your arms up in exasperation.

As if summoned, Dave gingerly moves to the bar. “Can I get another Jazz?” Gus takes this as his escape slipping out from behind the bar and quickly across the room disappearing into a booth.

You grit your teeth “Yeah coming up Dave”. You except defeat.

The evening moves on and Gus stays in place with Dave and Phil appearing from drinks which you serve to him in silence. Sulking you busy yourself with polishing glasses.

“How'd my boy do!?” Angie's voice appears from behind and you turn to see her leaning on the bar. Eyes shining bright and mischievous. 

“Your boy?” you say moving to fix her a drink

“Eddie, long hair” she says combing long purple nails through her own dark curls.

“Intense eyes?” 

She clicks her tongue at you and winks “How'd they do.”

“Good actually, really good.”

“Yeah?” she claps her palms excitedly “I told him!”, she looks around “where is the big grizzle.”

“Hiding.” you say sliding over her dink and popping a cigarette between your lips.

“Hiding?” she half laughs “Why?” You give her a knowing look and she rolls her eyes in annoyance.

“Where is he?” she says, looking around and spotting him, his head’s ducked back facing her.

“Hey Angie.” Phil says brightly and Dave elbows him as Gus winces at the mention of her name. 

“What the hell.” she grabs Gus by the shoulder forcing him to look at her and his two friends slip out of the booth quietly.

“Ang.”

“Don't you Ang me. Those boys are good and don't tell me they're not because I know you ain't a liar.”

“They're kids” he defends and she throws her head back.

“My boy is 24 years old and the others ain't far behind.”

“Exactly” he says and she looks at him frowning, making a sweeping motion to you and you look over, confused. 

“they weren't wearing face paint!” You yell over making Gus bark out a laugh while Angie sends you a glare that makes you duck away. 

She settles in beside him and places her hand over his “Give them a shot.”

“They were almost an hour late Ang” he whines and she bristles beside him.

“Almost an hour?!” She bites her lip and squeezes his hand.

“One night, a trial run, unpaid. Please.”

He sighs scrubbing his hand over his shaved head. 

“One night.”

....

The drive home had started fine but turned sombre as the adrenaline faded, arriving home to their shared apartment with little to no conversation the band split off into their respective rooms for the rest of the afternoon.

Eddie lays staring at the water mark on his ceiling. Mind a skipping record. 

They had played well, he knows that.

But between Gareth losing his mind over trying to find his lucky drumsticks ten minutes before they needed to leave, and a wrong turn which meant they had to loop round half the city, he'd sworn to the guys he knew the way almost boasted, he'd been there before. But in daylight the roads were congested and if Jeff had said ‘ we’re going to be late’ one more time.

Then you hadn't remembered him, it was stupid, you'd barely spoken before really, but. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He couldn't face Angie tomorrow. 

A soft rapping on his door pulls his attention, without a response it creaks open and a solitary hand appears into the room, a joint placed between the fingers. 

He huffs a laugh and scrubs away at the sting of frustrated tears.

Opening the door Grant stands mouth twisted to the side and Eddie plucks the joint from his fingers mutely and walks to the living room knocking on his other two housemates on the way. 

In slow succession all the boys seat themselves around the small TV, splayed out on beanbags and the threadbare second hand couch they had hauled up the building just last week.

Blue light bathing over them they lazily pass the joint around and finally the silence is slowly broken with ribbing comments and contagious laughter.

The sudden shrill ring of the phone has all the boys stopping stock still, minds catching up with themselves, looking at one another. It rings again and they all scramble up and over to it.

Eddie grabs the phone, knuckles white as he grips it “Hello?”

The bar is a low murmur in the background for a beat “Hi are the uhh-,” Gus’s voice trails away and it has Eddie's heart pounding, he grips his hair at the crown of his head as the rest of the band huddle in. There's muffled voices and he swears he can hear you and Angie's voices faintly “ Is this the corroded coffin boys?” Gus tries again.

“That's us”  he almost yells, hand releasing his hair as he winces.

Gus chuckles and it vibrates down the line “You boys free Thursday?”

[ominous-auburn-orbs]

Royalteeth fic because your new writing gave idea! When looking for an exit the performers accidentally mess up the antivirus on the computer that sees Caine as a threat and screws him up, leading Kinger to be the the rescue

Sorry this took so long, I was trying to find the right situation to put them in. Enjoy!

"Hello, superstars! I've got a special excursion for you today!" Caine floated above the performers, addressing them all.

"Excursion? Weren't we meant to stay in the tent?" Pomni had seen what was outside, and there really wasn't much other than the void, that theme park and the digital lake. If they were going to either of the last two, she could already see how it could all go horribly wrong.

"Usually, but I wanted to show you all something! You've been asking a lot of questions about how things work, so I thought I'd show you all the game's code so you could understand better!"

With a snap of his fingers, Caine had teleported the group to a strange area with black surfaces and coding spread about everywhere. It was disorienting, some of them almost failing to stay on their feet.

"Here we are! This is where the game's code is stored. Just look around for a bit and all your inquiries will be answered!"

The others wandered the surprisingly expansive area, trying to make sense of the fast-moving words and numbers. If anything, it was creating more questions for the crew. Kinger, however, stared at one of the walls of text with a calculating look, absorbed by the code. Gangle thought about asking him if he knew what it meant, but thought better of it. If anything really was happening in his mind, it would be better to let him go through the whole process and tell them in his own time, rather than disturb him and risk losing the only solid information they could get out of the excursion.

Jax was looking for something interesting to mess with, but he still couldn't tell what was what.

"Hey, Caine! Any of this code yours?" He called to the ringmaster.

"Oh, why yes, Jax! In fact, i believe you're standing rather close to it! Just be careful not to touch it!" Just as Jax started to do just that, Caine remembered why everyone else now had horrified looks. "I shouldn't have told him that, should I?"

Unfortunately, it was already too late. Caine's body spasmed and changed colours as Jax took and rearranged pieces of his code, chuckling to himself all the while.

"JAX!!" Caine's yell pulled Jax away from the code and awoke Kinger from his reading. He reached out his hand and the rabbit's rubberhose arms twisted around his own body, holding him in place as well as being rather painful. Unable to keep balance, he fell to the floor.

Whatever he'd done, it had made Caine far more aggressive. While the other performers had no qualms with Jax being beaten to death, Caine also ran the risk of hurting everyone else in the process.

Gangle wrapped herself around his legs, attempting to pull him down and restrain him enough that they could fix what had happened, but she was promptly shaken off and tied into knots.

When Zooble tried to attack him, their parts were sent flying, with one of them hitting Ragatha hard in the face, knocking her down.

Kinger finally processed what was going on and rushed in front of Caine, hands up in a defensive position. "Caine, please, stop!"

For once, the ringmaster paused. His now altered code told him to attack, to remove this obstacle, but a part of him knew Kinger wasn't a threat. He never wanted to hurt him. Conflicted, he simply stared, his thoughts unreadable.

"Caine? Please, you're scaring me." Scaring him? Caine had scared him? That realisation brought some of himself back. He had harmed his performers; his superstars. He'd almost hurt Kinger.

Slowly, Caine lowered to the ground and walked to Kinger. The chess piece didn't move, not wanting to set him off again. Caine grabbed Kinger's robe and opened it slightly, wrapping it around himself and hugging Kinger close.

Kinger risked lowering his hands, placing one on the top of the ringmaster's head and gently moving it back and forth, feeling him physically relax. Kinger breathed a sigh of relief, then looked up at the others.

Pomni was untangling Gangle while Ragatha searched for Zooble's parts, a pile of them already in her hands. They all seemed a bit dazed, shocked by what Caine could and would do if something in his code went wrong.

"Uh, are you all okay?" The group looked to the pair then each other, unsure of how to answer. Ragatha eventually made that decision for them.

"We'll be fine, what matters now is fixing Caine's code." Kinger nodded, taking a few steps to confirm that Caine would walk with him before going to the wall of text that defined Caine's very being. No pressure at all.

"Hey aren't one of you gonna help me-" Jax was kicked aside to give Kinger more room. He read the code with intense focus, somehow understanding it rather well. Even he was confused by that, but it wasn't what mattered.

As he rearranged and added to the code, it came to him that he also had Caine's coding near memorised. Once the other circus members were back to how they should be, Ragatha attempted to go up to Kinger and ask him about his progress. Unfortunately, the moment she got close, Caine's head popped out of his robe and bit her, causing her to jump back. The chess piece hadn't seemed to notice. The performers then decided to keep their distance while he worked, Zooble also giving Jax a good kick to fully roll him out of the way.

Eventually, Kinger was finished. Immediately Caine snapped his fingers and they were all sent back to the tent. Jax was also unravelled, to near everyone's disappointment.

The ringmaster still clung to Kinger, put poked his head out to speak to the others. "I'm sorry, my superstars. That really wasn't the educational adventure I wanted it to be. I hope you can forgive me."

"Uh, s-sure, Caine. Jax started it, anyway. Just- just be more careful next time." Pomni was itching to go to her room and think over what she had been able to see. Nothing about an exit. She would have to ask what Kinger saw, no matter how strange the answer was. He knew something she needed, which could really be anything at all. Any knowledge was useful at this point.

Jax at least looked a little shaken, but not really remorseful. Still, he'd hopefully learned some sort of lesson. Hopefully.

"Of course, Pomni. Now, how about you lot retire? I'd say we've had just about enough of everything for one day."

The performers agreed, going to their rooms. However, Gangle had stopped for a moment to stare at the way Caine embraced Kinger. She had new writing material already.

[pixyys]

— nilotpala lotuses

context. tighnari x traveler! reader

you keep sneaking out to the forest at night and tighnari can't have that.

warnings/ notes. tighnari fic as promised!

the avidya forest watcher is a fussy person. one, about people wanting to touch his ears; two, about the forest. always be alert and never go into the forest at night time. it's dangerous.

but tighnari still finds you missing every night. alright, not necessarily every night; just once every two nights or so. but you do always come back before he finishes preparing to enter the forest and look for you, shrugging with a relaxed, 'i'm just looking for some air. it wasn't far.'

one time, you got an earful for your little excursion. you tried to reason that you're practically the legendary traveler with your majestic dull blade! and even bargained about having some quick class to be a forest ranger. but clearly, being a forest ranger requires months or even years of consistent hard work. unfortunately as a traveler, staying in one place doesn't orbit in your trajectory.

"fine then," you put a hand on your hips, "why don't you just go with me? you're the best of the forest rangers, aren't you?"

"a good suggestion. i might as well will."

tighnari's stubborness was effective to render you into bafflement. that wasn't supposed to be a genuine suggestion, nor was it supposed to be received with a genuine answer. the whole point of you sneaking around is to not let tighnari know whatever you're doing.

"..fine," you sigh, "not now though. don't bother coming along, i'm not going anywhere.. tonight."

"just tonight?"

you groan. "and the night after, too."

the next morning, you were out as soon as the sun peeked at the horizon, along with paimon, to explore the vast expanse of sumeru forests. "i won't be camping," you said beforehand. "i'll come home to yo- to-night! i'll come back here, tonight."

tighnari isn't a dense fool, and the way your floating companion giggled before you almost smacked her 'gently' in the face didn't conceal anything. it wasn't his business, really. but your sneaky outings made him a bit worried.

but it wasn't for long. because you both cross paths just before dusk at the entrance of gandarva ville, with him already finished with his daily patrols and you with your daily treasure raids.

paimon was a tad grumpy and hungry as it was quite late. the smell of the villagers' local cookings enticed her keen nose and she floated ahead, leaving you with the fennec-eared forest ranger.

"you really came back today," he softly remarks, glancing at your direction as he trek his way through the wooden steps.

"huh?" you walk alongside his strides. "of course i did. i said i'll come back."

'-to you'

"to me?"

"what?"

your steps are halted, and following your pace, tighnari's do too. your eyes are now locked at each other's, the momentary silence almost distracting you to the inquisitive twitch of his ridiculously adorable silky ears.

"did-" you cough out, "did i say that?"

"yeah?"

you stare at him again, focused on his verdant eyes before you let out a petulant huff.

"no. no, i didn't."

tighnari bursts to a laugh. the sound tinkles to your ears like a pleasant, refreshing gust of wind. he just has that kind of effect. challenging the akademiya despite them potentially locking him up, calling you some silly big lummox. it's a bit offending it doesn't matter, really. so long as you can see that smile, and hear that laugh.

"-veler? traveler?"

"y-yes?" you manage a chortle.

"you've been spacing out. i was just joking," he huffs, peering at you. then slightly with a worried gaze, he steps closer. "you didn't eat any toxic shrooms, didn't you?"

"of course i didn't!" you almost stumble in your step. inching away from the sudden proximity. "i really didn't, i think."

tighnari holds a slightly skeptical look, but you brush it off as you inquire about his patrols along the way to your camp.

tighnari wakes slightly earlier than he usually does. twilight is still a few hours from it's cue. but surprisingly (or unsurprisingly), the thought that roused him awake is your strange behaviors.

it's not often collei, or certain forest rangers act weird or unusual whenever they encounter some kind of a problem, and is trying to not let anyone else worried. hence, misplaced occurrences are details tighnari is keen on spotting.

he figured to might as well wake up, check some logistics, patrol logs, or check on you while being at it.

the worst case scenario will be you passing out or dying from some nature poisoning you refused to tell him yesterday -if you even encountered one. but what he finds instead is your slightly open tent, without you in it. if he peers closer, he can spot a snug paimon sleeping soundly at the corner of your bed.

you might be close, simply 'looking for air' as always. but it's really too cold for this time of the day. he can simply alert the other rangers. but it's not like there are signs of struggle in your tent, and your traveling companion is safe and sound.

so he goes by himself. you shouldn't be that far, right?

right.

tighnari can't find you, and he's starting to think you were eaten by gator raja or some rishboland tiger. the sky is dark, and it isn't like him to not adhere to his own rules of not going into the forest during night time -twilight time, in this case.

from outside the reaches of lush foliages and bushes, the sound of coursing river invades his sensitive ears. then the dim glow of lunar lotuses reflecting the pale moon beckons him to tread closer. and there you are, crouching with your back against him, attention preoccupied by something the forest watcher couldn't discern.

-and so unguarded that when he approaches, you aren't even aware. that, and the fact your clothes are a bit damp don't ease his worries.

"what are you doing?"

"SCATTER!⁽¹⁾- oh."

"oh?" tighnari puts a palm on his face, the dendro energy cut short and dwindle down from your dull blade. "what are you doing at the crack of dawn? gathering-" he peeks at something on your back. "nilotpala lotuses? you might catch a cold!"

"youre the avidya forest watcher!" you shuffle to your feet and muster your best bargaining smile. "everything should be fine now, since you're here and- oh, look!" you point at the direction of the east. "sunrise."

true to your words, the glittering golden sun emerges from the horizon. tighnari, despite knowing the sunrise itself like a close friend by the amount of time he's witnessed it, sighs for the umpteenth time and chooses to humor your attempts for that moment. you both watch the sunrise for a while, until you finally sigh in defeat.

"fine, i'm sorry," you said sheepishly. "i was just- trying to give you this. before i continue my travels."

tighnari is faced by a bundle of golden flowers. lotuses, to be precise. it's ironic how they resemble the golden rays of rising sun despite them being called the lunar lotuses.

"i really appreciate the thought," tighnari starts, albeit a bit taken aback, "but why this particular flower? whatever the reason, does it really require you to roam the forests when the sun isn't out? moreover, " he gestures to the frigid fabric of your clothings. "to plunge yourself into cold rivers?"

"well..." you trail off, eyes flitting to everywhere but the admonishing eyes of the forest ranger. "these lotuses bloom only at night, and they're easier to spot when they bloom. i have no idea where exactly they grow."

"you could've just asked me."

"and ruin the surprise?" you rest your hands on your waist. "-which is for.. no hidden agenda, obviously! they're just pretty. they reminded me of you. so i thought, well- just, give it to you?"

"pretty?" tighnari raises a brow. and the way the morning sunlight shines majestically behind his back slows the neurotransmitters in your brain.

"yeah, you're pretty- i mean your ea- your eye- your personality! i admire how you care so much about the forest and everyone else. that, and- that's right!" you beam as you remember one of rana's wisdom, "they say having this lotus in bloom means good luck!"

it's watching the lotuses bloom that means good luck. but tighnari can only shake his head exasperatedly, accepting the bouquet either way.

"please don't pull this kind of feat again," he heaves a defeated sigh, "let's just go look for other pretty flowers that doesn't require nighttime or bodies of water. say, how about other pretty flowers that suit you, next time?"

noticing your lack of response, tighnari doesnt miss how your gaze flits back and forth from his eyes to an area slightly above his head.

"...i'm starting to think this bouquet is your way of bribing to pet my ears."

"o-of course not," you laugh nervously, blinking out from your stupor.

of course it is, partly. but it's not like you're someone not close to him. unbeknown to you, tighnari doesn't actually mind if someone he deems close to him touches his ears, even if they dont go out from day to dusk and twilight to look for some lotus that reminded them of him.

in short, congratulations, you got to pet the ears (and got an earful, too). but the euphoria (or was it the morning air?) was too much you caught a cold that afternoon. you regret nothing.

notes. sumeru desert dropping soon, so might as well leave something as we leave tighnari, his cute ears, and his forest (rip to fennec fox boy who can't withstand desert heat lmao)

scatter!⁽¹⁾ : one of dendro traveler's voicelines for their elemental skill.

[tagsecretsanta]

From @tracybirds

From @tracybirds to @thundergirl007

Tobogganing + John + Things don’t go according to plan

Content Warnings: Discussion of grief and missing people at Christmas.

“I thought you said you’d done this before,” grumbled Penelope as they trudged around the township. “I was led to believe tobogganing involved less wandering around the shops and more sliding down mountains at breakneck speeds and fracturing a leg for your thanks.”

“There aren’t any real mountains around here, Pen,” said John absently. “And I don’t understand why all the sleds we keep seeing are so small.”

“Toboggans.”

“Sleds.”

Penelope sniffed, burrowing her gloved hands deeper into her coat pockets in an effort to keep out the cold. “I just would have thought the ‘sled’ was already available for use if you were planning to invite me to partake in this hare-brained adventure.”

“I don’t set up hare-brained adventures, we’ve just hit a minor bump in the road.”

“You call a missing toboggan on a tobogganing excursion minor?”

“You call a simple hour sledding an adventure?” Penelope pulled a face and John laughed. “How come you’ve never gone anyway?”

“I told you,” said Penelope. “My parents didn’t believe hurtling down mountains trying to get yourself killed was a good source of entertainment. You’ll find we never went skiing either.”

For a moment it was as though the world stopped spinning, leaving him hurtling on with no solid ground beneath his feet.

“Oh,” said Penelope. “Oh, I’m sorry John, I didn’t think.”

“It’s fine,” said John. He felt a million miles away, he felt every square inch of fabric against his skin, and maybe it could be alright if he could just convince his lungs to breathe.

Instinct took over and he turned on his heel, starting to babble his excuses.

“You’re right, this was a waste of time,” he finally choked out and turned on his heel.

“No, John, it’s not, it’s–”

He didn’t hear the rest of her cry, drowned out by the hustle and bustle of Christmas shoppers and the blood that was pounding in his ears. His ragged breath caught in his throat and he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the pavement in front of him. He knew that if he allowed the world to distract him for even a second, the tears would fall, tears he’d cried a thousand times in his lifetime but that never seemed to run dry.

John hated that they were always there under the surface.

His comm pinged, but he ignored it, not in the mood for clumsy apologies or stammered explanations. He knew he was being over-sensitive, but then it was Christmas and his mother was dead and if there was ever a good reason to be touchy about a subject, this would be it.

Everywhere he looked were families, complete and untouched, with mothers who were alive and fathers who stayed.

And brothers who came home.

His lungs constricted as he tried to breathe through the pain, blindly collapsing onto a bench, assaulted by a new memory, formed only last week when he’d called to say he wouldn’t be going home this year. He’d already known the reaction, knew he would dismay them all with his selfishness, but he couldn’t fly to that humid, tropical island where they’d cut their mom out for good.

At least here, in the snow, he could pretend to be somewhere she loved.

John sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. It wasn’t the same as Dad, he told himself. No-one could argue that Oxford terms weren’t intense, that the vacations and half-terms weren’t loaded with assignments and readings and more besides.

Still, Alan had cried.

He pulled out his comm, wincing at the missed call from Penelope. She hadn’t tried again. Instead, he pulled up the photos he’d been sent of their new home, the sparkling blue of the ocean and the verdant green overpowering in each image. The vibrancy nearly hurt to look at in the monochrome street, all whites and greys. In every photo there was life and love, and John felt small and sad and alone.

“He isn’t back yet?”

Penelope’s voice floated out of the crowd and John froze. He half wanted to hide, half desperately wanted to reach out to his friend, but instead he didn’t move, hardly daring to breathe.

“No, Scott, I’m sure, he was heading back to you. Yes. Yes, I know. I checked the usual spots along this route.”

John furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of the words. His brother ought to have been asleep on the other side of the planet. Penelope had never held any qualms about approaching him after an upset before; they’d had disagreements and missteps between them plenty of times in the past without needing a mediator.

Penelope sighed.

“I’ll head back to his flat now, then,” she said. “I’ll try calling him again when I get there.”

A few minutes later she walked past him, briefly glancing at him as she walked past the bench. He saw it the moment she realised who she’d seen and raised a hand, mouth twitching into a weak smile.

“Hey.”

“John Tracy, where were you?” she cried, hurrying to his side.

“Just here,” he said, feeling bemused. “I didn’t want to go home.”

Penelope pulled him into a crushing hug. “I’m so sorry, John, I–”

“Get off, Penny,” he muttered. “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine, and both of them knew it, but John couldn’t stand to hear apologies when most of his misery was his own fault.

“I wish I’d gone to island,” he confessed. “I know it’s too late, and I shouldn’t have been so stubborn.” He checked the time. “Christmas will be over by the time I get there.”

“Oh, John,” said Penelope, hugging him once more. “You should have said something.”

“Better late than never, right,” he joked, but the words fell flat between them. He sighed. “It just feels like all Dad wants to do is forget about her. And everyone else is just going along with it.” He scuffed his shoe, listening to the crunch of snow against concrete. “I know it’s what got her killed, but she really did love this stuff. Dad might blame himself, but we’d have never gone if it wasn’t for her.”

“The things that your mother loved about this world isn’t what killed her, John,” said Penelope gently. “It was an accident.”

“It’s not like that’s any better,” snapped John. He bit his tongue, filled with immediate regret. “Sorry, I’m… sorry. I hate that island and I hate that there’s no snow and I hate that she didn’t get any say over any part of it.”

He huffed, drawing his coat tighter around him.

“And worst of all, I know she’d have loved it there. Just as much as anywhere. And my family’s all there, and sure they’ll miss me, but at least they’re together.”

Penelope didn’t say anything and the two sat in silence, shoulder to shoulder and watching the world as it hurried on by, eager to leap from preparation to holiday.

“Come,” said Penelope, dragging John to his feet. “Let’s go back. We can have hot chocolate and watch a Christmas movie together. I know it won’t be the same, but at the very least you won’t be alone.”

“I don’t feel like celebrating, Pen,” said John.

“Who’s celebrating? This isn’t a party, it’s a quiet evening in with friends.”

John huffed. “With you, that’s practically an open invitation for a party,” but he smiled all the same.

She caught his hand with hers and dragged his arm over her shoulders, so that they walked together in calming harmony.

By the time he stepped across the threshold, the warmth had begun to flicker once more in his chest, and the evening no longer felt too close around him.

Penelope flung herself onto the couch, flicking through options on the holoprojector, and shooed him into the kitchen.

“Same mug?” he called out to her.

There was no reply.

“Penelope?”

John stuck his head out and frowned. The living room was empty. He called again, this time hearing a scuffle coming from the bedroom.

He rolled his eyes, and strode across the room.

“Pen, what mug do you want?”

“Hmm?” she asked, sounding more flustered than usual. “Oh, the usual will be fine John. Can I borrow this book?”

John looked down. “My textbook on galactic evolution?”

Penelope’s eyes widened as she glanced down. “Oh, uh, I mean you always talk so fondly of the topic.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “What’s going on, Penelope?”

“Nothing,” she said automatically, just as there was a loud crash from the bathroom. She closed her eyes, as John looked between her and the closed door, uttering only a single word: “Boys!”

John pulled the door open and stared. Virgil and Gordon were frozen in front of him, looking somewhat like deer in headlights as they collected the hair products that had fallen from the counter. Scott saluted him with a grin from where he lay in the bath tub, and Alan bounded across the room, leaping at him for a hug with a shriek.

“Merry Christmas!”

“What are you all doing here?”

He didn’t get a response as his brothers crowded around him, swapping bits of the story and tales of the long trip, and demanding to know how he’d been, and John couldn’t tell where the questions stopped and the answers started, so he just laughed and hugged them all, too overcome with joy to take it all in.

There was however, one constant that he could make out.

“You did this?” he asked Penelope, who hadn’t stopped beaming at him in nearly five minutes.

She shrugged. “I may have suggested to Scott that you weren’t as bright and perky as normal. I believe he did all the heavy lifting from there.”

“Don’t let Scott take the credit,” piped up Gordon. “Virg overheard the fourth call and told Scott that he needed to learn to read between the lines and book us all a flight.”

He pulled a face. “Course, Virgil also got us caught, so don’t give him any credit either.”

“And what about Dad? Grandma?”

“Booked into a hotel down the street,” said Virgil, smiling. “Where I imagine we’ll all be staying too.”

“I want to stay with John,” protested Alan, and John ruffled his hair with a fond smile.

“You can share my bed,” he assured him. “And the couch is a pull out if anyone else wants to stay.”

“And we can argue over that later,” said Scott with a grin. “I heard you were making hot chocolate?”

John grinned. “I’m on it.”

He swung past Penelope and pulled her into a hug.

“Thank you,,” he whispered.

She hugged him back.

“Merry Christmas, John.”

[dnp-thoughts]

Between dnp who is the lazy gay and who is the activity gay?

oooo, Great question! In my opinion, Dan is definitely the lazy gay. He's the one that is constantly needing to be encouraged to leave the house/upload videos/talk to other humans besides phil.

Phil likes adventures, such as going to the haunted hotel, and that float pod thingy, and taking a pigeon to the vet. I also bet on their vacations he is the one planning all the places they stay and looking into cool excursions they can do.