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rheiple · 11 months

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Tea Party in Hell

OneShot

▪︎SUMMARY↦ To think that the tasked that you've been handled would be the cause of meeting your one and only source of nightmare fuel.

▪︎WARNING/s↦ Cussing, Not proofread (I just made this like a min ago)

▪︎CHARACTER/s↦ Eclipse, Reader

▪︎WORD COUNT↦2252 [Minus the dots for the timeskips]

▪︎AUTHOR'S NOTE↦ I have not poster for 5 months☠ uhmm hi again, it's been so long since i have posted, I missed writing fanfics so much 😭 But! School is almost over and I can finally have a 2 months break to focus on my hobbies!! I hope you all take this apology gift for me being dead in 5 months 😭😭 (If I'm being honest idk if I should be embarrassed at the fact that this fic is way longer than all of my 4 essays combined 🕴)

You never really thought of how... unique the Daycare Attendant's room is.

Upon opening the secret door that led you to your robotic friend's room, you scanned everything inside. From the hanged up drawings of the little kids, to the disturbingly looking broken staff bots lying on the corner, it didn't help that with their damaged head it looks like they're all at you.

It really surprised you. That because of their obsession with keeping everything clean and perfect, you assumed that their room would be neat.

Well... everyone has problems you guessed, maybe they're too busy with their job to clean up their room. Poor them, overworking theirselves to shut down. Maybe in another time you'll offer to help them clean their room.

You went inside the tube to access the other side of the room. You see something big that's covered with a dusty blanket. You assumed that it's the arcade machine that the staff decided to keep in there... The confusion on how they got that thing in is giving you a headache, and what pains you more is that you have to get that out when you have fixed it.

You huffed at the thought, why do they need this arcade machine anyways? There are plenty of unused gaming machine at the lowest floor, and they're still working pretty well! What's with all the hype on this one?

Taking off the dirty blanket, you see that the arcade machine looks new... It's already powered on, does Sun and Moon play this game?

You examined it closely, searching for a coin in your pocket. You'll just play the game to see if it's working, if it does then you'll bring it outside and clean it up, easy as pie.

But out of the blue, The name of the game appears on the pixelated screen. It's jolly tune of amusic made you immediately jumped out of surprise.

"What the hell? Is this game haunted or what?" You narrowed your eyes suspiciously at the screen. Do they really think that you're a exorcist and not a staff? You really should thought of this through before signing up for this under paying shit of a job.

Hesitantly in doing so, you grabbed the joystick and pressed on a random button to start the game.

So far it went ok, the game is working well, the sky switches from day to night. Everything is going smoothly wait what the fuck did the game glitched did the sky turned red??

You blinked your eyes, but it turned normal as if it the wasn't even real.

Hell no, you stopped playing and turned around. You know you're going to get paid less, and that's fine because you'd rather live than experience some 3 a.m. scary story creepypasta kind of shit.

You flinched at the sudden ear rape sound that the arcade machine emits. Looking back you noticed that the machine is shaking. Black fingertips slowly emerged from the glitched screen.

You didn't have to think two seconds to try and dart through the tube to get out of that room.

And try as you might, but the moment took a step back the said black hands chased after you. They took a hold of your feet and arms, dragging you slowly, inside the haunted machine.

"Let me go! Assholes!" You twist and turn, kicked your legs and punched one of the hands and yet all of your efforts were in vain.

You're eyes darts around to look for anything that could stop them from pulling you inside, you took blocks and hit them with it. You hold on to the big blocks, or anything that that's heavy to not get pulled.

"No! no no nononono!" You frantically kicked on the machine, lowered your whole body down all to not get close to the screen. You think it worked, for a minute.

Your face drained of color when you see two robotic pair of chance come out. They grabbed on to your waist.

"...Fuck."

You got pulled into the machine.

You sharply gasped at the sudden jolt through your body. It's so loud, you can't focus. You're sweating real bad. You inspect everything around you.

Breathing heavily a few times, you calmed down a bit. And it helps to make you more aware of your surroundings. The loud sound suddenly going lower and slower.

You realized now that the sound you heard earlier was your own heartbeat.

To say that you're going mad is the right word. The place your in looks like an imitation of hell. Bloodshot red of the sky, those black clouds that are thinly outlined with a bright orange. You noticed that that you aren't laying down on a floor, but rather floating, yet not a cloud, just floating.

You look up at the sky and see-...

Your breath hitched upon making eye contact with the culprit who you think is the reason that you're in this hellhole.

"Is that... a god?"

It's face like the Sun you know, but the colors are very dark and, if you look hard enough you could see the inside of the mouth is glowing with a bright yellow.

The creature went down to you, you saw how it's body is just a big black of glob. It took all of your face muscles to not grimace at the sight of it, you didn't wanna die because of offending it in anyway.

The robotic glitched face tilt it's head looking at you.

You gulped at the staring, and decided to greet him quietly.

"...Hi"

You were grabbed by the wrist.

In one quick motion, it lead you up in the sky, abose the clouds when you look down you don't see anything other than the color of the sky.

You screamed and cried, you didn't do anything to deserve this! Sure you might've said something mean to someone but that wasn't intentional! That was the most you could have done at being bad!

You curled yourself into a ball, if you're going to die you hope they make it quick, you want all of this to end. You can just live peacefully in your second life, no more pain, no more scary robots, no more demonic eldritch being wanting to kill you.

You feel them stop and let them go of your hand. You wiped your eyes to clear your vision. You look around to see everything dark, you know you're in some kind of void, but there's alot of stuff hanging around above you.

You look at the monster in confusion. "W... What's all those?" 'Are you going to kill me with all those items?'

It didn't respond, opted to only look at you.

This suddenly irked you. All this silence is about to you hysterical. What's his problem? Does he want to see you suffer? He's already done it, why can't he just kill you now?!

You noticed a shadow looming over you, looking up you see a... Kiddies table coming down between you.

The creature backed away to give the table some space.

Your gaze went back up at the stuff above you, to see two cups and a glass teapot filled with... tea? Or coffee? Either way you're not going to drink that.

It landed on the table, each cup is at the end, with the teapot at the middle.

You eyed the creature, it doing it's head tilt again. "I'm not gonna drink that." You said whilst your crossing your arms.

The teapot floats up again and pours the content at your cup, doing the same at the other. The delicate object went back to it's position.

... Right, an indirect way of telling that you didn't have a choice to begin with. You clicked your tongue in annoyance. Glaring at the monster, asked why you're here.

A minute of silence, and then it finally replied back. "ₒₗd... fᵣᵢₑₙd.." The creature whispered.

"Uh, what??" You couldn't help you're harsh tone. Out of all the things it could've said, it said something so... Weird. As if all of this isn't.

"Old friend who?"

The monster points at you.

Wow. Ok, this is so confusing and stressful. You know that you haven't met it before, so it's highly likely that it must've mistaken you for someone else.

As if reading reading your thoughts- well, at this point it probably is, you're not surprised at anything what it does at this point. The creature called you with your own name.

"Y/ₙ.. ₒₗd f₋fᵣᵢₑₙ-d.."

You cringed at the sound of it calling you by your name. You look down at your uniform to not see your nametag. It knows your name.

Shoulders are tense, you're back is straight. You kept your guard up incase of anything bad will happen. "Get straight to the point, what do you want from me?"

The monster, let's out a glitched and low sound of a motorboat. What the hell is it doing? Putting a curse on you? You should've brought something holy to smack that with it.

"ₘᵢₛₛₛₛₛ,, y₋ₒᵤ₋ᵤ.."

You're not deaf, you are sure that this mother fucker just hissed at you.

You backed away for a bit, and raised up your hands when it tried to inch closer.

"Oi! Back the fuck up!" You semi- yelled at the Eldritch as a warning... When you think about it, what is there to warn it about? It could've killed you if it wanted to. Compared to it, you're just a human being with no powers what so ever.

But to your surprise and relief, the creature backed away. Although you think it's because it's of the darkness, you shrugged off the thought of the creature lowering it's head because it was sad of what you did.

Good, he deserved it for scaring you and taking you away.

Now that everything is calmed down, you repeated your question once again.

"...ₕₑₗₚ₋ₚ ₘ₋ₑₑ.."

"Help you? With what?"

"Fᵢₙd...ₘₑ₋ₑ"

You scratched the back of your head. "I don't understand, all of this doesn't! You're already here so why do I have to find you?!"

You head starts throbbing, your vision is getting blurry each second. What? That's impossible, you didn't even drank the fucking tea!

"..ᵢₙₛᵢdₑ."

You collapsed.

You're being moved. Left and right. Someone familiar is calling your name.

"Y/n..."

Each time you don't answer they're call, they shake you harder.

"...Y/n."

You feel like throwing up from all the things you've went through today. It all felt like a bad dream.

But was it really a dream? You've felt it touch you, it was so real.

"...Y/n?"

And it asked you for help to find it. What does that mean? Find it, inside? Does it mean the arcade? Should you check inside the arcade?

"Y/n!.."

You jolted upwards to sit. You look around, only to see Moon with a worried face.

"Y/n... What are you doing here?"

Loss of words, you shakily pointed at your phone. He seemed to get the memo, as he went for it, he turned it on and went into your emails.

Hi Y/n,

Jamil, your coworker, is here. You were asked by the Fazbear manager to repair the arcade game in the daycare attendant's room. He claimed that kids have a lot of requests for an arcade game that is centered on them. I'm confident you'll be able to locate the movie pirate poster at the theater where their room is located.

You can take your time, but with Fazco, they would like to have the required completion by tomorrow morning. We deeply appreciate on what you do for us, and please be careful.

Regards,

Jamil Mariano

The moon themed animatronic sighed. He went to you and gently picked you up. "I'll take you down stairs.. You need to rest Starlight."

You fidgeted with your fingers. "But what about that?...The Fazco, and the arcade?"

"That's why I'm taking you away from it, Star. You've been through enough, you deserve to sleep well."

You leaned on his chest. You could worry about the machine later, right now you trust Moon to have your back... Just, a little nap wouldn't hurt..

The night themed robot emits a lullaby, a great distraction for you to not hear him talk with his other half, that's been talking inside their shared minds.

'Moon?...Do you think they saw him?'

He lets out a tired sigh. "They probably have.."

The Sun began to ramble question after question to fill their minds with. What should they do? Do they need help?- Oh, of course they do! But how do we help them?? Can't we just destroy the arcade machine?! No wait, what if it went to another arcade machine, or worse, what if went through their phone?! Who knows what he have done to our Starshine-

The moon softy hissed at his counter part. it annoyed him to hear him worry like this, yet he understands. He too is worried for their friend's safety, that's why they need to deeply think this through before they might do something rash.

"Let's... Not worry for now, they're safe here.. And we should focus on the present, to be aware of our surroundings... to protect them.."

The rambling died down, and Sun agreed... However, they couldn't really push back down their thoughts, they need to act quicker than him. If they dont want to loose the only friend they have.

#fnaf x reader #fnaf sb x reader #security breach x reader #fnaf sb #moondrop x reader #eclipse fnaf #eclipse x reader #eclipse x y/n #fnaf x y/n #fnaf sb x y/n #daycare attendant x reader #fnaf security breach #fnaf daycare attendant

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this-is-krikkit · 13 days

Note

Hii! If you're taking prompts then can you plz do some levihan on this:

'I've been born in the wrong timeline and the wrong gender!'

'And you realized that after sixteen years?'

hello! you're the first anon i don't feel i have to apologize to for taking too long to reply to a prompt lmao, hope you'll enjoy this!

of swords and crushes (1.4k words)

tags: levihan, modern AU (coffee shop AU if you squint), game of thrones references but you don't need to be a big fan to get em, GOT-typical violence mentioned

divider source

“I’m telling you, I was born in the wrong timeline and the wrong sex!” Hange exclaims, trading their branded apron for their civilian coat and giving a last minute check to the coffee shop for any obvious task they might have forgotten.

Levi clicks his tongue at them, not for the first time that day, and gestures for them to leave out the front door with him.

“And you only realized that after sixteen years, while watching a blockbuster series about sword fights and magic?”

“Yes! No? I don’t know, I just know I want to be a knight!” they whine, using the tone they know their coworker can hardly stand.

“You want to be a knight, or you want to do one of them?”

“Levi! How dare you put your dirty thoughts into my pure and innocent mind!”

“I may not watch that shit show myself, shitty glasses, but I’ve seen enough screen caps and memes to know no one innocent watches it. Not with those casting choices anyway.”

Hange’s glasses reflect the setting sun and hide their eyes even as they grin devilishly at him, and he groans at his own slip up.

“Oh, you’ve seen enough screen caps to have an opinion then? Tell me, which one strikes your fancy, Neat Freak? The sadist bastard who tortures people into becoming his slaves, or the annoyingly rich golden boy who had three kids with his own sister?”

He just stares at them for a minute, then shakes his head as he locks the front door.

“I swear this show gets worse every time I hear about it,” he mumbles under his breath. “Either way, the one I like best has green eyes, and I think his father was in Lord of The Rings or something?”

“Oh… You mean, Robb Stark?”

Levi glares their way, because how the fuck would he know, again? But Hange, as always immune to his stink eye, just pulls their phone out and hands it over after a quick search.

“Here, is that him? Oh my God, you’re blushing, it’s totally him!” they squeal before Levi can even confirm it with words.

“Shut up and help me pull this down,” he requests, gesturing to the iron shutter they have to secure before leaving. “He is cute,” he still feels the need to argue defensively as Hange complies.

They chuckle and bump their shoulder to his when they squat down to help him with the heavy padlock that secures the system in place.

“He is,” they agree with a reassuring smile, before letting a sigh out. “Shame that he dies in season three though.”

“What? I thought he was, like, the main character!”

“Well, he is, until, you know... he gets his throat slit at his cousin’s wedding, right after he sees his pregnant wife getting stabbed straight into her belly.”

Levi picks up his jaw from the floor and turns to face his coworker, waiting to see if there’s any chance they could be trying to pull one on him —they don’t usually have a strong enough poker face to actually trick him, but they’ve surprised him before in the year they’ve been sharing shifts on this shitty part time job.

“She dies too, of course! Along with everyone who was with them then,” Hange adds right away, like that’s somehow reassuring.

“Why the fuck do you watch this shit, Four Eyes?” he asks, genuinely confused about it all.

“Ah, sorry, I know you’re weird about this stuff. We can talk about something else if you want,” they offer with a sheepish smile, scratching the back of their neck in discomfort.

“I’m not weird about it,” Levi corrects, dismissing their concern with a wave of his hand, “and it’s fine to discuss. I just don’t like violence for the sake of violence, or for shock value. Feels lazy to me.”

“That’s not all there is to it!”

He gives them a pointed glance, and Hange has the decency to blush a little.

“Okay, it’s probably a big part of it… But the plot does justify it most of the time so far, and some characters are really interesting and fun to try to figure out, I think you’d enjoy it! Besides, the fighting scenes are so badass, Levi!”

They launch into a mock choreography of what he can only assume is one of those scenes, and Levi doesn’t bother holding back a chuckle as he walks alongside them. He ignores the puzzled looks from people who pass them by, throwing a glare or two whenever someone dares to stare for too long with judging eyes.

“How do you have so much energy after the shift you just pulled on top of a day in class, for fuck's sake? I really feel like I’m the older one here sometimes.”

And alright, Levi does have another, early and demanding job to go to while other kids his age are in school, which might explain his own state of tiredness. But Hange truly is something else, stamina-wise.

“That’s because you’re an old soul, Levi, whereas I’m brand new and enthusiastic about what the world has to offer! And about swords!”

“Yeah, right. Why don’t you sign up to fencing lessons and get it out of your system for good?”

“Sure, let me give up this side job I only took for the fun of it, ask my imaginary butler to fetch my thousand dollars allowance from my billionaire parents and I’ll do just that!”

He bites the inside of his cheek to prevent his smile from stretching too wide, even though he knows Hange will be able to tell they got him with that one anyway.

“Point taken,” he gives in.

The walk back to their subway station is silent, a little less comfortable than usual when they’re both painfully aware that Hange’s now thinking about their own financial issues —the unfortunate reason they even took this job and met Levi in the first place.

He looks around the industrial neighborhood they’re walking, and spots two long rusty metal pipes hanging out from a bin nearby. In a fit of renewed energy he didn’t suspect he could have, he rushes over there, grabs them —heavier than they look, but he knows they can both handle it— and throws one at Hange’s feet.

“Here you go, Sir Hange Zoë,” he declares, feeling absolutely ridiculous as he stands in what he hopes looks like a sword fighting position —he sure hopes Hange will give him a break, it’s not like he has a wide frame of reference for this. “Fight me.”

They chortle, the sound immediately brightening the mood —and Levi’s day.

“You don’t have to do this, Levi. You were right, it’s kind of childish.”

He frowns and charges, hitting their shin lightly with his shabby weapon. Hange’s eyebrows shoot up on their forehead, and he can tell they’re slowly giving in.

“Levi! You can’t attack a defenseless maiden, that’s not gentleman-y at all!”

“You’re not a maiden, dumbass. And who said I’m a gentleman?”

Next time he lunges, they block the blow thanks to their own pipe and send him stumbling back —with a force that would surprise anyone else considering how lanky they look in their baggy clothes, and a fire in their eyes that would no doubt freak them out too. Levi, however, has known for months now that the tall nerdy weirdo look is only a mask hiding a fierce, passionate kid who might just be the strongest person he’s ever met —in more ways than one.

Sadly, they’re also much more —how did they put it again? Oh, right— enthusiastic about the whole fighting thing than he’d foreseen, and he soon finds himself having an actual hard time holding them off. One of their well placed hits shatters the pipe he was holding in his hold, and he thanks his lucky star that the combat has to end as he puts both hands up.

“Alright, I yield! You’re right, Four Eyes, you would have made a great knight.”

“Thank you!” they reply with a wink and a graceless curtsy.

Hange throws their pipe back into the trash can, before holding out their hand to ask for the some of the hand gel Levi’s already rubbing on his palms. He throws them a disapproving look, more for show than anything else, and gives them some —really, he’s kind of excited that they’re finally getting some of his neat freak habits, as they always call them.

“So, I won, right?” they ask him when they start walking again.

“Tch, I guess you did,” he grants them, not up to point out how questionable that statement is when really, breaking your opponent’s weapon has to be against the rules, right?

“Then my prize is... that you have to watch the next season with me!”

He spends the rest of the walk and the three subway stations they share trying to get out of that commitment.

(He fails.)

#levihan fanfiction #levihan #snk fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin #snk #aot #aot fanfiction #attack on titan #anon asks #asks #my stuff #do i need to tag this as got spoilers??#it's been a solid decade so let's not mmkay #not on ao3

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 1 year

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Fireleaf (Part Three)

Lucien Vanserra x Reader

Part One ⤲ Part Two

Hi! I wanted to get this out sooner but I have a stinking cold and kept falling asleep whilst writing lol. Anyway - enjoy!

@greeneyedivy has been such a massive help with this story so far. Those braincells deserve all the love 😉💋

Warnings: None for this part.

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

“Beron’s announcing the engagement tonight – at the feast.”

Willow glanced up from the belongings she’d spread out over her bed. You’d seen to it yourself that she and her husband got the suite closest to yours. If your sisters were going to be hovering around for the next two weeks, you wanted your favourite one as close to you as possible.

Willow’s blue eyes studied you, her night-black hair rippling like silk as she tilted her head. “And how do you feel about that?”

Slowly, you shook your head from where you stood at the window overlooking the garden. It had been a task, in itself, to break away from the circles of acquaintances gushing over each other, to get some time alone with your youngest sister. She’d spotted you trying to rub the panic out of your chest and had made an excuse to Dion about needing to show you something in her suite.

“I feel…” Your eyes remained pinned on the lawn, bouncing over the people who were chatting and laughing and drinking. All far too wealthy for their own good. All as shallow as one another. “I feel trapped.”

There was a rustle of clothing, and then Willow was by your side, placing a hand on your arm. “I know this cannot be easy for you, Y/N.” She studied you. “But is Dion really so bad?”

You frowned, glancing down at your clasped hands. It wasn’t about whether Dion was the nicest person in the world or as much of a brute as his father. It was about you, your choices – your life. Your freedoms.

They didn’t seem to exist anymore.

“He doesn’t seem bad.” You admitted with a small shake of your head. “From what I can tell so far, he’s…polite. Kind. But I could still be proved wrong. And I didn’t want any of this. I’m not sure I ever even intended to marry at all.”

Your sister continued her appraisal of you. What her eyes were searching for, you didn’t know. But even though she was younger than you by five years…in that moment, she seemed older than you. Wiser. As if, in your situation, she would have just accepted it without complaint.

“I’m the only one who didn’t get to choose.” You quickly said, hoping to nip her thoughts right in the bud. “All four of you did – you, Molly, Clem…even Sara, who can’t choose which foods she does and doesn’t like day-to-day. Father may have made suggestions, but…your husbands were your choices. Not his. And Dion is Mama and Papa’s choice – not mine.”

Willow’s face seemed to change at that moment. A change so quick, it took you a few seconds to discern that her bright, pretty face had been shadowed by something…bleaker. The ever-present light in her eyes winking out slightly.

“Yes. Well.” She murmured, stepping away from your side. She turned her back to you, returning to the items she’d spread atop the bed. “Choosing is not all it’s cracked up to be, I assure you.”

You stared at her – the back of her head. “What does that mean?”

No answer. You may as well have not been there as she separated her clothes from her husband’s, folding them into neat piles to store in the armoire. But her shoulders were tense – stiff.

“Willa.” You used her nickname, striding around to the other side of the bed to face her. “What do you—are you and Isaac not happy?”

“Drop it, Y/N.”

You blinked at your youngest sister; at her sharp, cold tone. The two of you…you didn’t have secrets. At least, you didn’t think you did. Her husband’s estate may have been a bit of a trek away from yours, but you and Willow made the effort to meet regularly. To catch up. And she knew everything about you. Everything.

Yet you could see – right now, she had a wall up. She was blocking you out in a way she never had, and it made your stomach twist with worry.

“Willow.” You murmured gently, perching on the bed. “You can tell me—if things aren’t alright with Isaac. It stays between us.”

Her hands seemed to falter on the shirt she was folding. You watched closely as she swallowed, her eyes tracking the items before her, and then flickering up to meet yours.

“We just…” She shook her head. “We had an argument, that’s all. A couple of weeks ago.”

“Okay, well…all couples argue–”

“He hit me.”

You looked up so quickly, your neck clicked. “Excuse me.”

“He lost his temper…and he hit me. He’s never done it before–”

You were already standing up from the bed. Already feeling a fire igniting inside of you, spreading through you. You were going to hunt Isaac down and deal with him yourself—

“Y/N, no.” Willow hurried into your path, blocking the door. “You’ll make it worse. It was one time, and he said he’s sorry, and he won’t do it again. Things are just still a little…raw. But they’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.”

“If he thinks he can lay a finger on you and get away with it–”

“He’s not.” Her touch on your arm was gentle. “Believe me, he’s not getting away with it. I’m not making things easy for him. He knows he did wrong, Y/N. Please, just…just keep it between us. Don’t tell him I told you. Please.”

You studied her face – didn’t know whether it was fear or desperation or both that shone in those wild, blue eyes. But whatever it was…it had you relaxing your shoulders, slinking back just enough to be rational.

It would make things worse if you stormed downstairs and confronted Isaac in front of everyone. Not just for Willow, but – but for you, too. You were sure Beron Vanserra wouldn’t appreciate such an outburst. And in front of his cohorts, no less.

“...Okay.” You relented – didn’t like it one bit, as you pressed your lips into a thin line. “ But, Willa…if he tries anything again…”

“He won’t. He won’t. But I would tell you straight away.”

You realised that was going to have to be good enough – for now. But while everyone was keeping their eyes on you throughout this gods-damn festival…you had a new person to mark. You were going to be watching Isaac like a hawk.

Scary, though – that Isaac had only dared to do such a thing once he had a wedding band firmly on your sister’s finger.

It didn’t exactly sell marriage to you any further.

⤲

It was by mid-afternoon that the more interesting celebrations had begun. The idle mingling and chatting around the estate had made way for the attractions that the High Lord had arranged — stalls of games and baked goods and the lilting caress of background music reaching out from across the green.

The atmosphere became easier with the arrival of the lesser fae, the working families. The people — farmers and land workers and pure grafters — that everyone had to thank for there even being a fruitful harvest at all. They turned up in droves, families of giggling, excitable children and their parents, aunts, uncles and older siblings who just seemed to be relieved to be doing something for fun.

You certainly noticed, however, the clear divide. That Beron Vanserra may have invited the lower dwellers of his court – the true backbone that kept it thriving – as a courtesy, a move to make himself look good and honourable – but with no real intention to acknowledge them. The cleave between your world and theirs was evident in the dull, tattered clothing that stood out amongst the gowns and tailored suits of the elite. And the way the noble members of the court watched them closely, judgingly, as though they were a smear on the landscape. As though they didn’t deserve an invite to the Harvest Festival that they had toiled to make happen.

It had you balling your fists at Dion’s side as you floated around, playing the part of the quiet, blushing female perfectly. It was a tad jarring every time he introduced you to someone as his fiancee, or placed a warm steady hand on your back. And not only did you have your family to contend with – their stares as they pretended to be uninterested in you – but Barric, also. It was clear he was acting as escort to your courtship.

He always remained a few steps behind, enthusiastically greeting people as he passed them and pretending to observe the various stalls that were set up. But he walked where you walked, looked at what you looked at — and stopped at the exact same moment that Dion pulled you to a standstill in front of a table where a High Fae female was selling homemade chocolates.

“Do you have a sweet tooth?” Dion asked you, a glint in his eye.

“I do.” You nodded, eyeing the sweets in front of you that admittedly smelled incredible. “Do you?”

“Oh, a terrible one. Chocolate, sweets, cakes — I love it all.” He turned to the vendor, his smile winning and charming as he said, “A bag of the orange chocolates for my lady here, please.”

His lady. It flowed so easy from his lips, like he’d been speaking those very words for years. You waited patiently as the expert chocolatier bagged the sweets up and accepted Dion’s coin in exchange. He fell into conversation with her, chatting and asking questions he seemed genuinely interested in the answers to. And you…you scanned the droves of people, looking for any glimpse of Willow’s husband. You may have promised not to say anything, not to act on your anger, but that didn’t mean you weren’t keeping a close eye on him, making sure he didn’t step a toe out of line—

But it wasn’t Isaac your eyes landed on. You should have been used, already, to the many flashes of red, flowing Vanserra hair around the place. The brothers were all dotted around somewhere, mingling with friends, partaking in the game stalls — but it was the youngest one your eyes found. Lucien.

It surprised you, somewhat, that he was even present. You were unable to stop yourself watching as he stopped at the small, rickety lemonade stand that a group of children were tending. Their clothes were clearly the grubby hand-me-downs that most of the lesser faeries seemed to be wearing, and it didn’t look like any noble members of the court had stopped by to humour them and buy what they were selling. Lucien Vanserra was likely the first.

He seemed to say something teasing, and all of the children broke out into a fit of laughter. And Lucien was grinning…so at odds with the contempt he’d worn when he’d looked upon you on the day of your arrival. He made a show of sniffing the pitcher of lemonade, of commenting on the aromas — and the children were loving every second of it. Hanging off every word. And you may not have been close enough to hear his words over the many voices around you, but you saw the way he ordered four cups of lemonade for himself — handed over one coin for each of the four children that were gazing up at him in pure amazement.

You were so entranced by the scene that you didn’t realise Dion was speaking to you until he was stood before you once more, a chocolate pinched between his fingers.

“Open up.” He smiled broadly. “Taste this.”

You blinked, your cheeks heating just slightly. Your eyes shot to the small gathering of your sisters and your parents, where they stood, sipping from delicate teacups and acting like they weren’t analysing your every move. A tad uncomfortable, you parted your lips and stilled as Dion pushed the small, round chocolate between them.

“Good, right?” He smirked as you took a bite. “They’re my favourite.”

They were good — there was no doubt about that, as you chewed and swallowed. The orange tangy and the chocolate creamy, it was an effort to stop your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“I’ll keep that in mind for Solstice.” You said — and almost blinked at yourself. You’d only been around him for forty-eight hours, and you were already talking about buying him Solstice gifts.

He held your gaze as he lifted his finger to his lips and sucked the remnants of chocolate off.

Clearing your throat, you turned quickly. “Those children are selling lemonade. How about we buy a cup?”

He smiled widely, offering you his arm. “Lead the way, my lady.”

⤲

You’d been primed for this.

It was while you’d been pulled this way and that, moulded into the prettiest, perfect vision for the evening feast, that Barric had joined you in your suite. He’d perched himself on the chaise across the room and detailed every aspect of what you were to expect that evening. Where you would sit, how you were expected to act, even what was appropriate for you to eat.

But most of all — most of all, you were to remember to smile, to look enthralled, while the High Lord officially announced to his court that you were to wed his second-eldest son.

You thought you might vomit before you even made it to the great hall. Because no amount of priming would be enough. You realised that when you approached Dion at the bottom of the grand staircase, your long skirts – and Barric – trailing behind you.

Dion’s eyes flicked over you, alighting with…something…as he took in the dark green gown. He swallowed, adjusting his collar. “...Wow…”

You stepped down from the last stair, your cheeks heating self-consciously. “Does it look ridiculous?”

Your fiance shook his head. “Quite the opposite. You…are a vision.”

From behind you, still hovering on the stairs, Barric cleared his throat. “Shall we go in?”

Taking Dion’s arm, the three of you did just that. Your heart thudded violently in your chest as you took in the sight of the room, your eyes searching for where your family were sitting; just beside the top table, where the High Lord and his family lounged.

“You’ll be sitting beside me.” Dion said into your ear. Barric had already informed you of the arrangement earlier, but you felt a second sting of disappointment at not spending the feast beside Willow.

The giant room was full with chatter and the aromas of so many different foods, it was overwhelming. But as you walked past tables, smiling politely at the people Dion greeted, sparing a wave for your own family, two things struck you.

That the spread of food was…exorbitant. A feast, indeed, but so incredibly over-the-top, the thought of its cost made you cringe; it seemed especially tonedeaf with the amount of people who’d been wandering the estate earlier in clothes and shoes that were more or less falling apart. And that was the second thing you noticed – all the Lesser Faeries that had joined in the fun that afternoon…the children enjoying themselves and the grafters letting their hair down after a summer of hard work…not a single one of them was present.

Your eyes bounced over every single table. Every person sat at those tables. Every last one was of a noble or aristocratic background. Every one of them wore garments and accessories that could have paid the rent on the lesser faeries’ land for an entire year.

“Where are they?” You turned to Dion, frowning. “The families that were here earlier.” You didn’t want to use the words Lesser Fae out loud; something about it left a sour taste in your mouth.

Dion seemed totally oblivious to your shock as he replied. “The common folk? They’re not invited to the feasts or dances – just the daytime events.”

You gawked at him, a slither of cold outrage snaking through you that he didn’t seem to notice. You were just about to point out that the very food everyone in that room would be eating was there because of the harvesters, the workers who broke their backs and put their sweat and blood into the community – but a hand landed on your arm, and you looked up to see Barric shoot you a warning glance.

“Come,” He said. “You two must be seated before the announcement.”

Fuck the announcement, was what you wanted to reply. How were you supposed to sit and watch these people bask arrogantly in their wealth when the people toiling over their lands were probably wolfing down a dinner of stale bread and cheese? There was plenty of room in here for more tables, plenty of spaces in which those people could sit.

You had to ball your fists, to bite your tongue – you looked over to your family, found your parents staring expectantly at you. And it was only imagining them in tattered clothing, eating gone-off food, that gave you the will to tamp down on your anger. For now.

You were led to the top table and seated in a high-backed chair between Dion and Jareth. Jareth sent you a wolfish grin, taking a long sip from his wine chalice.

“Evening, future sister-in-law.” He murmured, his eyes wandering over your body. “Don’t you make the pretty plaything?”

You scowled at him, facing forward. Jareth seemed to have an entire bank of leering, inappropriate comments for any female in the general vicinity. Only earlier that day, he’d stood and shamelessly flirted with you and all of your sisters – in front of their husbands, too

You were saved from having to make a remark by Beron standing from his throne at the centre of the table. He looked over the great hall, and then squared his shoulders. Tapped a fork against his glass loud enough that the cacophony of voices died out in seconds.

“Good evening to you all.” His voice was clear– confident – as he stared forward and made direct eye contact with people. “Welcome to our first feast of this year’s harvest. An old tradition of our people that I hope we can start anew. And what a bounty of good food we have before us.”

Murmurs of agreement broke through the room. You clenched your hands beneath the table.

“Before we indulge ourselves,” Beron said. “I have a wonderful announcement I’d like to share with you – my court. My people.”

That said it all – that he didn’t consider the landworkers of his court, their families, to be his people.

“I’m delighted to share with you the joining of two families.” He continued. “You all know my second-eldest son, Dion.” A glance at Dion, a flash of expectancy in his eyes. “Dion is engaged to be wed — to the fine lady at his side. Y/N, we look forward to welcoming you into our family.”

All eyes were on you, now. You felt your cheeks redden, your skin growing tight and hot under the intense scrutiny. You couldn’t help wondering what those many people might be thinking – whether there were jealous females thinking they would have been better suited for the role. Irritated fathers who were pissed that you’d wormed your way in with the Vanserras before their child could. Stuck-up mothers who didn’t deem you anywhere near good enough.

But you smiled – like you’d been told to. Inclined your head at Beron – like you’d been told to. Allowed Dion to grab your hand and place a kiss on your cheek – like you’d been told to.

And the crowds of people cheered, just like they were expected to.

“We hope you’ll join us in celebrating the happy news.” Beron raised his glass, and everyone in the room followed. “To Dion and Lady Y/N. Let the feast begin.”

⤲

It felt wrong – to eat the food. Every bite was like ash in your mouth. The only relief was the spiced wine you washed it all down with.

After an hour or so of feasting, the rigid formality seemed to dissipate somewhat. People rose from their seats, venturing to other tables to speak to friends, or even to approach the top table and engage the High Lord in conversation — conversations that had you clenching your fists harder and harder beneath the table, as you listened to Beron’s subjects gush about how generous he had been to invite the common folk to the daytime celebrations. Some even complained that said folk should have made a better effort with their clothing.

It was that comment which had you hitting your limit. You pushed your chair back, muttering an excuse about going to the bathroom, and breezed away without a glance back. Luckily, Dion — and all the other Vanserras — were far too taken by conversation to notice.

You didn’t think you could get away with leaving the room itself — not with Barric always keeping a watchful eye on you. But you floated around its edges, the cold, draughty parts where Autumn Court banners were hung and discreet alcoves dipped off into other parts of the manor.

It was in one of those alcoves that you spotted him — Lucien.

He leaned against a wall, wine glass in hand, his eyes dancing over the tables and his feet making no move to go any closer. You hadn’t even checked to see if he’d been at the top table with the rest of his family.

But something told you they wouldn’t have noticed — or cared — if he wasn’t.

Dressed in a tailored outfit a similar shade to his russet eyes, his long hair unbound, he looked like a painting in that alcove. The kinds your mother had hung up all around your family’s estate. He cut a solitary figure like he always seemed to, but appeared to be otherwise relaxed. Appeared to be fine with just standing and…spectating. Just himself and his thoughts.

As though he could sense your intense stare, his eyes flicked to yours. Those dark red eyebrows rose when he found you, indeed, staring.

You couldn’t explain it — the way your feet began to move towards him. He’d been nothing but unpleasant to you in the short conversation you’d had with him. But something about his solitary nature spoke to you. Something that made you want to speak back.

You stopped at a drinks table, grabbing yourself another glass of wine, before subtly sidling over to where Lucien stood. You tried to relax your stance, to mimic his casualness, his ease, as you pressed your back against the wall, a few steps away from him. He watched the entire thing.

You met his eyes once more, taking a sip of your wine and nodding in polite greeting.

“Is there a reason you’ve been walking around with a face like a smacked ass?” He said.

That was his greeting.

You blinked at him, your body somehow coiling tighter than it already was.

So — that rude conversation on your first night here hadn’t merely been the product of Lucien in a bad mood, then.

His head fell into a tilt as he studied you. “I don’t think I’ve seen you smile once since the feast started. Is our food not to your liking?”

It would have been so easy to scowl and stalk away — to not get into this with him. And would have been wise to, also. He may have had a terse relationship with his family at best, but you didn’t doubt he’d run straight to his father with any complaints of yours — if only out of spite, fanned by this bizarre dislike he seemed to have for you.

But clearly you weren’t feeling very wise. Not as your mouth began speaking before you could tell it not to.

“It just leaves a bit of a sour taste in my mouth.” You said through gritted teeth. “That we’re all here stuffing our faces, over-indulging, and yet nobody actually responsible for the harvest has been invited.”

Lucien cocked a single eyebrow. He angled his body towards you. “This sounds interesting. Please, do impart your musings upon me, Lady. I’m fascinated to know what goes on behind the pretty face.”

Pure, pure sarcasm. He was mocking you, being rude again — and you knew that. And never had you let anyone speak to you in such a way before; never had you stood for someone so freely ridiculing you.

But did you walk away, decide not to humour him?

No. You didn’t.

“Look around the room.” You simply said, holding his gaze. Your clenched jaw was the only symbol of ire you threw at him. “Look at every damn table. Every single person here is a noble, an aristocrat. High Fae. And yet the High Lord didn’t deign to invite the hard workers who slaved over the land all year so that he could even host this feast. None of the hard-working families that everyone should be celebrating and thanking. No, they’ll be stuck at home eating stale bread and cheese and receiving no appreciation for the back-breaking graft they put in.”

The words had just…tumbled from your mouth. Pent-up from an hour of watching people gush over the High Lord. You knew you should have stopped yourself, knew you should have kept your mouth shut and later ranted to Willow, or even your damn reflection in the mirror.

Not to the youngest Autumn Court son who had an inexplicable problem with you. Who was probably delighting in the fact that you had just slipped up.

He stared at you, his expression unreadable. His lips pressed together, his eyes narrowing. His head fell into a tilt.

“Interesting.” He said, his tone quiet. Cutting. “But have you completely forgotten your own privilege, Lady?”

You balked at him. Hadn’t expected that response. “What?”

“You are a noble. You are High Fae.” His eyes travelled over you, disgust curling his lip. “And you are here, looking just as prim and proper and stuck-up as the rest of them. When was the last time you did a hard day’s work in your life? It seems to me like the pot is calling the kettle black.”

Before you could even begin to formulate a response, he was pushing off the wall. Draining his glass and striding away without so much as a glance back at you.

All you could do was stand and gawk in his wake — stunned and stung by his words. You wanted to run after him, to chew him out and tell him how wrong he was. How much hard work you had put in over the years. That he’d got you completely and utterly wrong.

But as you drained your own glass and turned in the direction he disappeared in, not even a flash of red hair remained.

⤲

You should have left it alone.

Lucien Vanserra had made his thoughts of you abundantly clear — his dislike for you. And with his mind clearly made up, there was probably no use beating a dead horse and trying to defend yourself.

But the anger that had already been there, inside you, had snowballed. You remained at the edges of the room, helping yourself to the wine and not bothering to pretend you were happy to be there. Fortunately, nobody seemed to take much notice of you, either.

You stared with narrowed eyes across the room, watching Dion, who was now engaging in enthusiastic conversation with Willow. They seemed to be getting along perfectly — you’d suspected they would — and you were thankful that she was distracting him enough, making him laugh hard enough, that he didn’t seem to be aware of your absence.

Lucien had no right to talk to you like that. He didn’t know you, had no knowledge of the kind of work you had done. He’d formed an unfair opinion of you and run with it, and in a situation that was already lonely as it was, you didn’t need the added hostility. Did it mean you were weak, to be barely three days in and hitting your breaking point? Maybe. You didn’t care. You needed someone to sound off to, to give a piece of your mind.

That was how you found yourself slipping out of the great hall before anyone could stop you. You were going to hunt Lucien down, to confront him and demand to know what his damn problem was.

Your thoughts were a tad fogged by the wine you’d consumed. There was no real method or direction to the route you travelled, probably going round in circles. You strode through the long, winding halls with purpose, passing servants who took one look at your thunderous expression and averted their gazes.

Outside. Lucien Vanserra always seemed to be outside, somewhere, loitering around trees and in the shadows. You pushed through the huge glass doors that opened out onto the veranda — the same one you’d dined on only that morning.

You’d made it only halfway across the dewy grass before you heard him — heard them. There was a trilling, feminine laugh that echoed through the night, stark and loud in your ears. Movement in your periphery. You turned in its direction.

Just in time to see Lucien press a pretty blonde against a tree. To see his hands roaming her body as he kissed her feverishly, and they laughed sensuously into each other’s mouths.

You went still. Just…just stared for a moment. Stared at the scene before you and tried to understand the bile that rose in the back of your throat. The twisting in your gut.

Only when Lucien and his lover disappeared out of sight did it strike you — the hollowness you felt. The jealousy. Nothing…nothing to do with who it was, but…the intimacy. The freedom of that intimacy.

Because it hit you like a ton of bricks that Lucien Vanserra may have been a solitary male who liked to skulk off and brood alone…he may have been the black sheep of his family…but he clearly still had freedoms that you lacked. Such a fact stung like a slap.

You couldn’t just sneak off for a clandestine fumble in the woods with a casual fling. Couldn’t engage in a spell of brief, meaningless passion, just for the hell of it. Not anymore.

It left you feeling so, so terribly lonely. You didn’t really know why.

But that fire of anger inside you winked out. Left you empty. You didn’t feel like confronting Lucien Vanserra anymore, didn’t feel like chewing him out.

You just wanted to be alone.

⤲

“I like him. Dion, I mean.”

It was nearing the end of the first week of the festival when Willow slipped her arm through yours. The moon was beating down on the Vanserra Estate, and a sizable group of people had come along to The Offering – an Autumn Court tradition that had been built from superstition centuries ago. It was said that at moonrise, anyone who left offerings for the wild creatures of the Autumn Court were promised safety and good harvest the following year. Groups of courtiers wandered through the woods, carrying armfuls of jam jars and fruit baskets and crisp loaves of bread, all to be left for creatures that may not even exist.

“Dion’s nice.” You acknowledge with a small nod. You were careful not to speak too openly with your sisters lingering close behind. And the Vanserra brothers striding ahead.

It was true – as the week had progressed, you’d found yourself enjoying Dion’s company. He was easy to talk to, a male of flowing conversation and good humour. You’d taken to sharing nightly walks around the gardens, and you were perfectly happy to listen while he regaled you with stories and shared knowledge of subjects you knew nothing about. And additionally, he seemed to have truly taken to your youngest – favourite – sister. He and Willow already had a budding relationship built on teasing each other, on affectionate bickering. It wasn’t unusual to walk into a room and find the pair of them laughing – a fact that angered Isaac, no doubt. You’d been keeping a close eye on him all week.

And you’d thankfully not run into Lucien Vanserra’s path. Which was good. Which was fine. You weren’t going to bother with pleasantries when he clearly had no intentions of doing so.

“Do you have any idea of when the wedding might be?” Willow asked you, gently nudging you with her elbow. Her offering of a huge jar of honey was tucked under her other arm.

“No,” You shook your head. “It’s to be discussed after the festival. That’s when the preparations will begin.”

Her gaze flicked to you. “And are you…you know…attracted to him?”

“He’s a handsome male.”

“You know what I’m asking, Y/N. Do you feel…alright…where the wedding night itself is concerned?”

You spared her the slightest glance in your periphery. She was bound to have brought this up at some point…this subject that was a giant elephant in the room. Sitting on a secret that you had no clue what you were going to do about. Try as you might to bury it, it always lingered at the back of your mind – waiting to come alive and smack you in the face.

But you squared your shoulders. Played the fool, as you said, “I feel fine about it.”

Before you could think of a subject change, Willow was suddenly veering you both to the left, tugging you around a giant tree. She checked that you were truly out of sight before she turned back to you, her face pinched. There was something…comical, in the way she tried to look serious while holding a giant jar of honey.

“Have you even thought about the situation at all?” She hissed. “Things may be sweet and innocent right now, but come your wedding night, Dion is going to know. He’s going to figure out the state of your virginity – or lack thereof – and he might not like it. I hear the Vanserras have a thing about taking pure brides.”

You swallowed, your stomach bottoming out. It was far easier to ignore when it wasn’t being pointed out to you. And you didn’t know what you were going to do about that – whether you planned to tell Dion or not.

You couldn’t bring yourself to regret that one choice you’d made for yourself all those years ago – to have Linden, one of the few people you trusted more than anything – to be the first person you had sex with. He had been kind and careful, and you’d felt good afterwards – glad you’d chosen the person yourself, and never thinking it would be a decision that would come back to bite you on the ass.

And yet here you were. Engaged to a male who likely expected you to be…intact, as you’d heard other males say, on your wedding night. A male who expected to be your first and only lover.

“I highly doubt Dion is a virgin,” You shrugged defensively. “Why should I have to defend my choice to sleep with Linden? I wanted–”

“Holy Gods.”

The words, choked with incredulity and a lick of laughter, had not come from Willow.

You looked up, your entire body – entire existence – going cold as you observed Molly gaping at you from a few strides away, one perfectly arched eyebrow raised, her back ramrod straight.

“Damn it.” Willow mumbled under her breath. “Molly–”

“You actually gave yourself to that brute?” Molly folded her arms, her eyes studying you. “Do you have no respect for yourself at all?”

Your jaw clenched. “It’s none of your business. You shouldn’t be listening in on conversations.”

Your eldest sister placed a mocking hand over her chest. “I was concerned about my sisters wandering off into the woods alone.”

You took a single step towards her, to say, to do…what, you didn’t know. But Willow was grabbing hold of your arm. Glaring at Molly with an intensity that would have even the most hard-faced people backing down.

“You better keep your gods-damn mouth shut about this, Molly.” She said through gritted teeth. “I mean it – not a word.”

Molly smirked. Oh, she was enjoying this. To have leverage against someone was like having the Winter Solstice come early. Her eyes glistened with challenge.

“Keeping my mouth shut won’t change the fact that Y/N allowed herself to be defiled by that scum with a sword.” She sniped. “How, exactly, do you plan to explain yourself to your betrothed?”

“None of your fucking business.” You snapped.

“Tetchy,” That wolfish smirk widened. “You have no plan at all, do you?”

“I–”

“Swear you won’t say anything.” Willow cut in, folding her arms.

“Are you above begging?”

“Swear,” Your youngest sister repeated, her jaw ticking as she stepped forward, “you won’t say anything.”

“Mother Above, the two of you are so dramatic.” Molly made a show of glancing at her nails. Of sighing deeply. Of placing a hand on the swell of her belly. And then she smirked again. “I swear I won’t tell anyone – if only because I can’t wait to see how this pans out.”

She offered no chance for you to respond before she was turning and flouncing away, a trill of satisfied laughter in her wake. Your shoulders slumped, but you felt no relief – you didn’t trust Molly or her word for one second.

“Bitch.” Willow murmured beside you, scooping up the jar of honey. “Don’t worry about her. She’s all talk. Let’s make these offerings before the Autumn Court creatures materialise and decide to eat us instead.”

You forced a smile. Allowed yourself to be tugged back through the trees, onto the path that groups were still ambling along, only spaced-out faelights and moonlight illuminating the way.

Ahead of you, Molly had returned to strolling at her husband’s side.

She glanced back once. And grinned.

⤲

The end of that first week was a relief. Albeit a short-lived one.

You wanted to wind the week up by doing nothing. By holing yourself up in your room and reading, or sleeping, or—anything. Anything that didn’t involve plastering a smile on your face and talking to people.

And yet here you were, on a dragging Sunday night, trying to work out how you were going to survive the last week of festivities — all while the High Lord’s personal bard played to a tittering audience, and your sisters and Dion’s brothers chatted around the table you all occupied.

You almost felt bad for the bard. Nobody appeared to be listening. Every song he had played had been drowned out by the numerous conversations happening at once.

You felt…uneasy, with Molly sitting opposite you. She may not have spoken a word of your secret thus far, but the glances she kept shooting you were in no way subtle. The exhausting week had begun to weigh on you, and you bristled every time your sister opened her mouth. Beside you, Dion seemed to notice your resigned demeanour.

His hand landed on your leg, and he leaned down to your ear. “Are you alright?”

Glancing up at him, you nodded. “I’m fine – just tired.”

“We don’t have to stay for this — I can take you back to your suite.”

Across the table, a resounding tsk came from your eldest sister. Everyone looked to her in question, but her gaze was firmly on you. On Dion, and the clear direction his hand was leaning in beneath the table.

“Now, now, enough of that.” Molly said, a smirk playing on her lips. “I’m sure the two of you would prefer to keep things clean and pure until the wedding night.”

Your jaw ticked as Dion shifted beside you. “That isn’t what I meant.” He said.

“No need to sweat.” Molly smiled at him — and then glanced at you. Directly at you, her eyes burning into yours. “We all feel temptation beckoning us sometimes, right?”

“Molly.” Willow’s voice was low, warning, from the chair at your other side. “You’re being inappropriate.”

The tension around the table could be cut with a knife. But Molly seemed to be enjoying it, as she sat back in her chair and continued to simply smirk at you. So many retorts teased the tip of your tongue, begging you to rip into her, to give in and make that scene she was so clearly angling for—

But you were saved right at the last minute by one song ending, and another beginning. The bard’s swift musical transition seemed to sweep away the tautness that stretched around your table, and as if the last couple of minutes hadn’t occurred, conversation started anew — instigated by Eris, who was happy to sit and bend everyone’s ears with heroic stories about himself.

You were just thankful that the heat was taken off of you.

Even more so that only Willow and Dion seemed to be aware when you pushed out from the table, rising to your feet. Everyone else was too entranced by Eris waxing poetic about a hunting trip he’d been on.

“Can I escort you somewhere?” Dion peered up at you. There was a strange lick of apology in his eyes, his tone, as if he blamed himself for the turn the conversation had taken moments ago.

“No,” You answered quickly — too quickly — and cleared your throat. “No, thank you. I’m ready to turn in.”

He nodded in what seemed to be understanding — and perhaps a flash of disappointment. He reached for your hand, pressing a chaste kiss to your fingers. “Goodnight, then.”

The tinge of guilt you felt was almost enough to make you sit back down and tolerate Molly for the rest of the evening, just to appease Dion. Because all week, he’d been nothing but kind to you. Nothing but polite and accommodating and understanding that this situation you both found yourselves in was a bizarre one, a tricky one, and you were trying to puzzle it out yourselves with the watchful gazes of others constantly on you.

But if you stayed a second longer, you thought you might scream. You’d barely had a moment to yourself all week, and if you didn’t take that time now, you weren’t sure what you might do. What you might say.

You kissed Willow on the cheek and bade everyone goodnight, trying to ignore Molly’s eyes on you as you hastily left the room.

But you didn’t go straight to bed, like you were no doubt expected to. The one bit of solace you’d found in this place, in this situation, was the beautiful sprawl of land around you, as far as the eye could see. You wanted to feel the chilled autumn air on your skin, to breathe in its crisp scent whilst you walked the gardens — alone — and allowed your thoughts to roam freely.

You waited, just long enough to make sure nobody followed, and then made your way outside. You weren’t dressed at all appropriately for the bite in the air, but there was something pleasant about the cold temperature washing over you. Like you were breaking the surface of water and taking great, greedy gulps of air.

You allowed your feet to carry you aimlessly, putting distance between you and the manor, the sounds of music and chatter floating out from inside. The further you strayed from the huge house, the more you relied on the accompanying full moonlight to illuminate your path and guide you onwards. Shafts of its silvery light broke through the leaves as you began to wend through the trees, the smell of damp earth and bark somewhat of a soothing tonic to you.

You didn’t realise just how far you’d wandered until you could no longer make out the lights from the manor — or the sounds. The silence of the forest at this time was deafening, the only sounds made by your shoes kicking through leaves and stepping on twigs.

That was — until you heard it.

You couldn’t immediately make out what it was — what you were hearing. A sound akin to heavy breathing, but not that of a person; almost like a creature’s snout sniffing the air.

You stopped dead on the path you were wandering, frozen on the spot. Only around twenty feet away from you, you could just discern the outline of objects sitting at the bases of the towering trees. Small jars, bigger ones, cloaks and trinkets—

The Offerings everybody had left for the elusive Autumn Court creatures. You had wandered way, way too far.

You didn’t know what to do as the strange sound picked up, grew closer. You didn’t fancy your chances at running over the uneven forest floor in your gown — and certainly not if it would just invite whatever animal was lurking to follow you.

You stood ramrod straight, waiting for it to emerge. Perhaps a wolf, or a wildcat, or—

The…creature…that inched out from around a tree was a thing of pure, undiluted nightmare.

Its head was certainly that of an animal’s — a fox — with glowing yellow eyes and a maw that pulled back into somewhat of a sneer. But its body…slender and tall…it had to be towering at eight feet at least, and walking on two legs—

You were going to vomit. Never had you had such a strong, visceral reaction to a sight before you. The way you shook had nothing to do with the chill in the air.

You couldn’t move — not as you watched the giant beast stalk towards the offerings, its nose still loudly sniffing the air, sniffing for—

Something snaked around your face — a warm hand that covered your mouth, your nose. You had no time to react as you were yanked back against a firm, solid body, and slowly, slowly dragged backwards.

“Don’t,” A voice, lethally quiet, whispered into your ear. Lucien. “Make a sound.”

You obeyed. As much as you wanted to scream your head off in pure terror. Lucien’s other hand was around your waist, and you gripped onto his arm, allowing yourself to slowly, slowly, be dragged backwards, your eyes never once leaving the creature.

You thought he must know these woods like the back of his hand, with how expertly he stepped around trees and over dips, acting like you weighed nothing more than air as he pulled you along with him.

Only when you were far enough away that the creature was just a moving blot of darkness did Lucien stop. He pressed his back against the tree. And continued to hold onto you.

His hand splayed flat against your stomach as he gradually pulled the other from your face. “Don’t scream.” He told you, his voice little more than a sigh. “And don’t move.”

You couldn’t move, aside of the uncontrollable tremors wracking through your body. You were icy cold all over, and you pressed back against Lucien, savouring his warmth, his firm presence. His chest heaved heavy breaths as he held you still.

“…What…” You dared to whisper, “What was that?”

Because the creature…you’d never seen anything like it before. These things that you’d left offerings for…they were all supposed to be mere superstition. A nightmare entity that parents used to make their children behave.

But you’d seen it before you, in the flesh. A towering, fox-like creature that walked on its hind legs.

Lucien’s fingers pressed against your stomach. “It doesn’t have a name,” He murmured. “It just is. They’re rare, but…history says they would appear for the offerings left at the trees. And they track a person’s movement. Once they’ve spotted you, you’re done for. We called them Nutcrackers, as children. Because it allegedly cracks your skull between its jaws, like a nut, before you have a chance to react.”

The shiver that wracked through you was palpable. It felt like ages that the two of you stood there like that, your bodies pressed together, waiting for some indication that it was safe to promptly get the fuck out of there. After what felt like an eternity, the dark outline of the horrifying creature seemed to slip deep into the brush, its long, slender arms clutching a whole bounty of offerings.

You knew the coast must have been clear when Lucien exhaled — and pushed you away from him.

“What the fuck,” he stormed round to face you, “were you doing all the way out here?”

You rubbed your arms, too shaken to be put out by his tone. You shrugged half-heartedly. “I came for a walk. Didn’t realise how far I’d wandered.”

Your nonchalance seemed to anger him. He was a flare of red hair and golden skin — accented by silver moonlight — as he shook his head at you, his strong jaw flexing.

“You really are as daft as you seem.” He sniped. “Count yourself fucking lucky that I was here to get your ass out of that.”

You folded your arms. “Do you want me to thank you?”

“I don’t care what you do—”

“Or perhaps I should apologise,” You cut him off, “What were you doing out here so late? I don’t suppose I was interrupting another quick fuck against a tree?”

Lucien stilled — stared at you. And you wished — wished so damn hard — that you could snatch those words right out of thin air and cram them back into your mouth, down your throat. You didn’t know why you’d even said it.

It had achieved nothing — other than making it clear to him that you’d seen him sneaking off with a female on the night of the feast.

He stepped closer to you — so close that his hair tickled your face as he leaned down. So close that his scent pushed its way up your nose, invading you, smothering you—

“Do me a favour,” He hissed, “and stay far away from the woods. Stay far away from any potential danger so that I don’t have to stick my neck out getting you out of it.” Cruel, russet eyes flicked over you. “In fact? Stay far away from me. That’s what I want you to do, Lady.”

He turned without another word. Or another glance at you, as he stormed away, leaves and twigs crunching beneath his boots.

All you could do was watch his retreating figure, trembles still wracking your body.

You should have been thinking: Lucien Vanserra is a prick.

Should have been thinking that you wanted to smack his sneer from his gods-damn face.

But you watched and watched as he disappeared out of sight. You weren’t even worried about the fucking fox-nutcracker-hind-legged-creature anymore. Not as it was just you and the trees, and the sting of Lucien’s harsh words still hanging in the air.

All you were thinking was that Lucien Vanserra smelled like a heady mix of apples, of woodsmoke, of the forest after a downpour, the earthy tones of cedar and balsam fir. The most delicious concoction that your imagination couldn’t possibly make up. It lingered in your nose, rapidly fading with each passing second.

All you were thinking was that you’d never smelled anything — anyone — like it.

That you wanted to inhale that scent greedily.

Again and again and again.

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

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snowdice · 11 days

Text

Unplanned Consequences (Part 4: Virgil) [Sometimes Labels Shift Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Virgil & Logan

Characters: Virgil, Logan (mentioned)

Summary: Virgil picks up some things from Logan's office.

Notes: This takes place after Best Laid Plans

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Virgil found himself pausing in front of Logan’s office door. He felt the need to knock even though he had the keys in his pocket, and rarely ever knocked before anyway. He couldn’t help but stare at Logan’s name on the door.

That seemed silly. That was the sort of thing you did when someone was dead. It wasn’t like Logan was dead.

As though to check the validity of the thought, Virgil pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. The list was in Logan’s notoriously neat handwriting, written not an hour ago.

Virgil had been tasked with picking some things up from Logan’s office, since Logan wasn’t coming back for the rest of the semester. He was on medical leave after his “car accident.”

The list was suddenly shaking in front of Virgil’s eyes.

“Hey,” a familiar voice said, startling Virgil.

Virgil shoved the list back into his pocket and turned.

“Hey Cas,” Virgil said to Logan’s TA. Or, well, ex-TA. Virgil wondered idly if he was out of a job or if another professor would use him for grading. Maybe the professors who were taking over Logan’s classes would have him continue grading for the classes he already was.

Cas seemed to pause. Despite having started the conversation, he did not seem to know where to take it next. He stood a few feet away from Virgil and shifted nervously in place.

“I’m just picking some stuff up for my dad,” Virgil said, aware as he said it that he’d probably never used the title of ‘dad’ in front of Cass.

“Yeah, uh, I heard,” Cas said. “Car accident, right?”

“Yeah, uh, yeah.”

“How is he…?”

“He’s…” Virgil wasn’t sure what to say. ‘Fine’ or ‘alright’ seemed like a lie, but he wasn’t sure how to explain that. “He’s recovering,” Virgil finally decided on. “Plus, he’s in good hands.”

“Right,” Cas said, “your other dad’s a doctor.”

“Yeah.”

The conversation awkwardly died then. Cas shifted a few more times and then cleared his throat.

“Uh,” Cas said, looking at his hands. He was holding a newspaper or something. “I picked up a copy of the Underhall Gazette,” Cas said.

“Cool,” Virgil said for a lack of other things to say.

“I, uh, don’t know why. I’ve already read it since I’m the editor. I usually bring a copy to Professor Sanders to read, so maybe it was just habit…”

He looked up at Virgil.

“Er, I don’t know if he actually cares or if he just reads it because he knows I work on it, but,” Cas offered the paper out, “let him know I’m thinking about him?”

Virgil gave him a half smile. “Of course,” he said, taking the paper.

“Thanks,” Cas said. “Uh, need any help carrying things?”

“Nah, I got it,” Virgil said, “but thanks for the offer.”

Cas seemed to take that as the dismissal it was and nodded. “Okay, see you then,” he said, and turned around to walk back the way he’d come.

With a sigh, Virgil put the paper under his arm and turned back to Logan’s office door. Instead of letting himself think too hard, he pulled out the keys and unlocked the door.

The lights were off, of course, and so Virgil reached over to flip them on. It looked exactly the same as it always did. Logan’s pens and paper were all in order. The filing cabinet was closed and locked. The water bottle Logan used every day was clean and sat in its usual spot when not in use.

Logan’s office was always clean, but it seemed too clean right now even though he knew it was just how Logan always left it at the end of the day. Virgil wasn’t used to being here without Logan’s coat on the rack or his messenger bag near the window. Usually, there was a stack of grading or notebooks out on the table. It looked weird like this.

He took out Logan’s list. For any other person, it would probably take Virgil a bit of work to find everything they wanted, but Logan knew exactly where everything was and had written out the locations in perfect detail.

Virgil went to work. He grabbed Logan’s work laptop as well as his most recent research notes. He also grabbed the ungraded and graded but unreturned papers (though he would take those to the math office instead of home). He shoved the emergency energy bars and soup cans into his backpack since they’d be bad before the office was in use again. Logan had very specific pens and highlighters he wanted as well as a book he’d been reading, so Virgil grabbed those too.

He was done within only a couple of minutes.

He found himself pausing when he was done. He looked around the office. Only a month ago, Virgil had walked in here, stressed about a couple of papers and Logan had sat him down in that chair and told him his office was always open to Virgil. Virgil supposed that was still true. Only Logan wasn’t here.

Irrationally, he felt tears prickle at his eyes. He’d done his best not to cry after Logan was let out of the hospital but suppressing that caught up to him now. He lowered himself into Logan’s desk chair and let himself cry.

He wasn’t sure how long he took to calm down. He’d put his head on Logan’s desk at some point and his face stuck to a piece of scrap paper when he lifted it up. It fell off, fluttering back to the desk.

He managed to choke out a laugh at that.

When he looked back up, his eyes caught on three framed photos on Logan’s desk. He’d seen them before, of course. In fact, he’d felt obliged to complain when he’d seen two pictures of himself looking rather silly. He found his heart warm at the sight of them now.

He contemplated taking the three photographs home, but then discarded the thought. Their being here made Logan’s office feel just a bit less empty. It made Virgil taking things from it feel more temporary. Logan would come back here someday. This was all just temporary. Everything would be okay.

#sanders sides #logan sanders #virgil sanders #platonic analogical #labeled universe #sometimes labels shift #adriana writes #not pieces fic

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possibilistfanfiction · 1 year

Note

wn prompt: breathless

[y'all are rly out here making me think abt 'breathe' vs 'breath' so much lately lmao jk love u]

everyone comes back except for ava.

you had feared it; you had prayed that there would be any other outcome, but you knew it was inevitable, in some ways. camila and yasmine and dora shuffle in quietly, subdued, their eyes cast on the floor. you hug them, hold them tight.

'ava,' camila says, as if there's any way to explain other than grief.

you just nod.

'she's not — she's not dead,' camila says. 'she didn't die, beatrice said.' her voice shakes and you haven't seen beatrice yet. your heart sinks because what do you say to her; what could save her now? 'she went through the portal.'

you think of ava's letter, one she'd left out mostly finished, one that had made you cry — love and loss and sacrifice and consecration. you've had the halo before, but you had never been tasked with the same duty; you had never been tasked with being this brave.

'bea is... she's not okay, mother superion.'

'i would expect not. i'll go see to her.'

camila nods. 'she and ava, i — it's not my place, but —'

'i know,' you tell her, gently, and there's a tiny smile that lifts her face.

'they weren't exactly subtle, were they?'

you huff a laugh. 'no, not at all.'

camilla hugs you one more time, and then she sets off in the direction of the armory, always working diligently even when, right now, she should be able to rest.

you know where beatrice will be, and so you set off. there are hundreds of steps up the observatory tower, and you take them in measured spurts, your knee still smarting sometimes even after the halo — ava — had healed you.

beatrice is there, her hair falling out of its usually neat bun, her bracers undone. she's otherwise statue-still, perfect, one of the best sisters the ocs has ever had.

you sit silently next to her, just sit. there's a swath of stars stretching overhead, easy to see.

'she was scared,' she says, finally, so quiet you have to strain to hear her. 'ava, she was so scared, and so brave, and i — i couldn't save her. i couldn't protect her, and i was supposed to protect her, and i — i lo— i couldn't protect her.'

she starts to curl in on herself, her whole body trembling, breathless.

'beatrice,' you say, reach out slowly and take hold of her shaking hand.

'if i had been faster, or stronger, or smarter; if i had trained more in switzerland instead of watching some stupid show she loved, if we had been more disciplined and skipped gelato she always wanted, i — she would be here, maybe, she would be here with me —'

'beatrice,' you say, firmly this time, and she still rocks forward, folding her knees up to her face.

'oh god,' she says, and you know what it feels like to break.

it's a little awkward, but she twists and you hold her in your arms as she sobs. she cries, heaving breaths, into your neck, so hard that she coughs a few times and, eventually, her chest starts to calm.

'she will come back to us,' you say. it's a promise and a prayer and a hope: faith. 'she will come back to you.'

bea looks up at the stars, wiping her tears; her grief is so heavy that you can feel it too. 'i can't wait until the next life. we didn't — we didn't get time.'

'in this life, then,' you say, gently take her chin so she looks you in the eyes. 'yes?'

she swallows, then nods. 'in this life.'

#warrior nun fic #wn #mama s we love her #avatrice fic #avatrice

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undertheopensky · 6 months

Text

Become Like Stone 3

Whumptober Day 20: Found Family/Blanket

Characters: Legend, Four, everyone’s there but it’s Sky POV because he grabbed the reins at the start and refused to let go.

Trigger warnings: Aftermath of torture, look if you read the first one you probably know what to expect

Read on Ao3!

Late to the party? Read Part 1 and Part 2 first!

THIS IS A DOUBLE UPDATE! MAKE SURE YOU DIDN'T MISS PART 2!

-----

They were too late.

It’s the only thing in Sky’s mind, rattling around like a long-lasting echo, playing over and over again to the sound of Legend’s sobs.

They were too late.

Four is dead.

It doesn’t feel real.

Four doesn’t even look like himself. Bruises, cuts, and terrible burns warp his skin head to toe. Underfoot, sticky blood coats the stone in irregular, violent patterns, mirroring the violence painting Four’s skin. It clings to Legend’s hands and skin the way he clings to Four’s body, rocking back and forth and weeping inconsolably.

Four is pale, and still, and dead.

They were too late.

Legend cries out, high and frightened, and flinches away when Hyrule reaches out. He’s trying to - shield Four, Sky realises dimly, trying to curl over him to protect him.

“Shh,” Hyrule croons, “I’m not gonna hurt him. I’m not gonna take him from you. Can I see?”

Legend moans a denial.

“Please, Ledge, you’re bleeding. Let me see your hands.”

There’s nothing Sky can do here. He can’t save Four, beyond all mortal help. He can’t comfort Legend, shattered after watching his brother die a tortured death. He can’t even help Hyrule except by passing him potions and bandages, and that’s a task better left to Warriors.

The inactivity makes his skin crawl. He can’t just - stand and watch. Catching Warriors’ eye to let him know, he turns and walks out, trying not to feel like he’s abandoning them.

We need to clear this area, Sky tells himself. We haven’t found their packs yet, and we don’t know if there’s monsters around. Now would be a great time to ambush them, distracted and grieving as they are. Sky can preempt any such attacks. It’s good. It’s useful.

The next cell over has two bodies in it - both dead, when Sky checks. More victims, he thinks distantly, staring blankly at their corpses.

It takes a moment to realise why the thought doesn’t fit.

They’re both clean, for one thing - not dirty, not bloody, sporting no injuries but the wounds that must have killed them: the man a blow to the head, the woman a crushed windpipe. They’re also fully dressed, in neat, well-fitted, high-quality garments, where Four and Legend had been stripped to their unders.

They’re not victims. They’re the ones - the ones who -

Legend must have killed them, he thinks, and can’t summon more than a vague sense of good riddance.

There’s nothing in the cell of worth, so Sky turns away to check the ones across the hall - empty, and have been for some time. There’s really not much down here.

From above, the dungeon door groans as it opens, and Sky abruptly remembers the other teams searching the house for signs of Four and Legend, and runs to intercept.

He’s too slow. Twilight is already bodily carrying the sobbing Wind from the cell when he gets there. Sky grimaces in apology.

“Aught else down here?” Twilight asks, low voiced.

Sky shakes his head. “Empty cells. And -” he remembers, and his face goes blank. “I think. Their captors. In the second cell.”

Twilight startles, glancing past him with wide eyes and reaching for a weapon with the hand not holding Wind up. “No, it’s - they’re dead. Already. I think Legend killed them.”

The strange face Twilight pulls is probably a mirror of the one Sky made.

Wind looks up from where he’d been crying into Twilight’s tunic, eyes still wet. “I d-don’t - I don’t understa-and - why would they - why -” His voice breaks. Twilight hugs him a little closer as Wind buries his face back into his side, muffling his sobs.

Sky has no answers for him. The only one who might is Legend - and he’s in no condition for questions right now.

From the open cell, quiet voices stir the air, keeping the hush of the dungeons from becoming eerie. Sky can’t stop himself from glancing over.

Still clinging to Four’s body, Legend has at least let Hyrule get close enough to remove the manacles. He’s also begging him, in a broken whisper, not to touch Four, not to hurt him, to just leave him alone and hurt Legend instead, please don’t hurt him anymore, while Hyrule patiently soothes him and the raw skin of his wrists.

Sky must make some small noise, because Hyrule looks up. “Sky, good. I need you to come hold Legend. He’s not going to like this and I really need him to not interrupt.”

Wars grimaces. “Goddesses, Hyrule. Hasn’t he been through enough?”

“He’ll thank me for it later. Four’s still alive.”

“What?” Sky blurts, eyes wide.

Four is deathly pale under the blood and burns. Motionless, and loose with it, in a way even unconsciousness can’t mimic.

But Hyrule is sure. “He’s not dead, he’s in some kind of magical stasis - I’ve seen it before and I can break it, but we need to be ready to heal him after. Wars, get over here. Sky, hold Legend.”

Legend is too caught up in his own world to see him coming. When Sky grabs him he screams in a voice worn away to almost nothing and thrashes blindly, desperate to get back to Four. “Shhh,” Sky tries, “it’s okay, you’re okay, it’s just me, you’re okay -”

Legend can’t hear him, or if he can, he doesn’t care.

Hyrule’s ignoring the commotion. Having dragged Four away from Legend, he’s laid him out on the stone and now runs careful hands down his body - pausing over the pulse points of his wrists, the thinnest part of his ankles, the soft skin of his temples, before coming to hover over his still and silent heart.

Under his bracer, where no one can see it, the Triforce glows.

“Four? It’s time to come home.”

There’s a stretching, breathless moment where nothing happens. Then Four takes in a long, deep breath, and loses it all again on a whine as it catches on a broken rib. He coughs, and chokes on blood, and Hyrule’s green-limned hands slam into place on his chest. “Potion, now!” he barks, all business.

Wind is screaming out in the hall; Legend is wailing in Sky’s arms, a horrible, broken wisp of a noise that’s hope and despair and pleading all wound together. Sky himself is riding a wave of disbelief. Four’s alive. Hyrule had dragged him back from the brink, where magic had frozen him in a facsimile of death. Now Four is dying again - drowning in his own blood.

Potion in hand, Wars tries to sit Four up. Hyrule stops him. “Nope. Put it straight on the burns.”

Wars shakes himself - really he knows better, there’s no way Four can drink a potion in his condition - and starts pouring it over his skin where the worst of the burns lie stark and oozing. As the magic goes to work, glittering silver under a layer of dark pink, Warriors gets more bottles out of his bag, including one that’s only half-full. Back to back, most people can tolerate two potions at a time, but Four is much smaller than the average person. Warriors dunks a couple fingers in the half-full red potion, and starts smearing it on the cuts on Four’s face. Those are hard to look at - clean, straight, and deliberate. Some look so deep they might go all the way through to Four’s mouth.

Hyrule is fast reaching his limit. He has to pause, gasping and shaking sweat-soaked hair from his eyes, and gulps the green potion Wars hands him. Then he closes his eyes, swallowing and panting against nausea.

Four whines again, protesting the pain he’s still in.

“We’ve got you, Four,” Hyrule breathes, and dives back in.

Four’s injuries are too extensive to heal in a single sitting. Bruises still paint his skin blue and purple and livid red, and the deepest cuts on his legs and back refuse to close. But his breathing is clear now. Not wet and choking. Sky can see the steady rise and fall of his chest from where he’s still holding Legend, who’s - not fighting him anymore, instead just leaning quietly back against his chest. Sky doesn’t know when that happened. Doesn’t even know when his hand had started combing through Legend’s hair. As they sat, and watched Hyrule and Warriors put their brother back together.

Hyrule finally sits back, completely spent. “Do we have… a blanket or something? To wrap him in?”

There’s a rustle of movement as several people start digging through their packs. Sky hadn’t realised - everyone’s gathered around the doorway. Unable to help, but unable to look away. Having one small thing they could do -

Yeah. He gets that.

Four doesn’t stir as Warriors lifts him, Wild helping wrap potion-slick skin in the fabric he pulled from his Slate. It’s unwieldy, but they manage. With Four bundled up, comfortably positioned in Warriors’ arms and head pillowed on his scarf, he almost looks like he’s just sleeping.

Sky’s heart wrenches and tries to fall through the floor.

He’s not dead, he tells himself, Hyrule healed him - he’s okay. He’s going to be okay.

Then he realises - Four’s eyes are open.

He’s not the only one. Wind yells with delight and charges forward. “Four! Ohmygosh, I was so worried!” He grabs Four’s hand, laying on top of the blankets, and beams at him, full force. “I’m really glad you’re okay!”

Four stares at him for a long moment, blank.

Wind’s face starts to fall.

Then, slowly, Four smiles, and his fingers weakly curl.

Twilight takes the opportunity to grab Wind by the shoulders and spin him around. “C’mon, Wind. Let’s get out of here. All of us.”

“I hear that,” says Warriors, following at a careful pace.

Legend jolts, tension running through him, and scrabbles to stand. Sky helps him up, murmuring “Shh, it’s okay, we’re following him, he’s not leaving you. Easy, now.”

Legend looks at him, and for the first time, recognition lights his face.

“Sky?” he rasps.

“Yeah, Ledge. It’s me. It’s us. You’re safe now.”

Legend sways on his feet. He looks so young like this, wide-eyed and pale with tacky blood all over his chest and arms and legs. “Sky?” he says again. “Four is… Four’s okay? I didn’t dream that?”

Sky’s heart breaks just a little bit more. “Four is going to be fine, and so are you,” he tells him, firm as he can make it.

Legend takes a staggering step and nearly falls. Sky catches him. “Four’s okay?” he says again.

“Four’s okay. Here, Twi, gimme a hand, I don’t think he can walk.”

“M fine,” Legend says, still staring blankly down the hall where Warriors is taking the steps as smoothly as he can so as not to jostle Four. He doesn’t notice when Twilight crouches in front of him, offering his back. He does notice Sky steering him to wind his arms around Twilight’s neck. “Wha - hey!” He flails a bit, but he’s got no strength; his limbs are as weak and shaky as his voice. “‘M fine!”

“Ya sure are,” Twilight agrees cheerfully, and carries him off to mumbled protests.

Sky follows them out, but not without taking a last, lingering glance. He hopes, faintly, that one of the upstairs teams had found their brothers’ bags. At this point, all he wants is to get out of here, and never come back.

#whumptober 2023 #linked universe #lu four #lu legend #lu sky #lu fic #skies writes #my week continues to be top-tier bullshit

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enigmatist17 · 9 months

Text

More late night clone wings!au stuff

Apparently me having a good drink tends to make me think of them lol

------

the armor for the wings are made from the same stuff their main body armor is, though tempered to be a bit lighter for flight

- speaking of flight, most clones don't get a chance to fly until they leave Kamino, and it's discovered the best way for it to happen at first is in the hangar bay's with the grav shut off

-- it's not quite the same, but they don't trust the Jetti at first, so they make do

--- Master Di accidentally walks in on a session, and finds it quite intriguing as he watches the more experienced clones guide the shinies through basic flight instructions. Keeli nearly has a heart attack when he finds himself suddenly pulled down when telling shinies how one would glide, and the general moves his commander through the air after they share a look

Within a few weeks training in zero-g takes on a practical turn as Jetti help give weight or the right nudge to help strengthen their flying moves. They prefer to find planets, but obviously they always can't find the time (and the Jedi really don't mind helping, it's a morale booster to see their men so happy)

their wings all start off an ashy white, but when they begin to serve and fight, every clone finds their wings take on colors that match their personality and feelings. Lighter colors were found on the troopers who always smiled and did their best to make their brothers do the same, the darker colors were for the jaded who did what they could to protect their batchmates.

-- Cody is the first one to gain an intense color, his wings all but shining gold when he sees his first sunrise, and lets awed troopers touch the colored feathers, as if trying to see if the color would spread

The first Jetti to help tend to an injured trooper who can't preen himself is a padawan. The trooper is tense while (surprisingly) skilled hands ease tangled feathers back into place and shake out the dust that's gathered, and only relaxes when the padawan stops, much to their intrigue.

---> Jocasta finds an influx of curious padawan and masters alike to seem to have all found interest in birds at the same time, but puts two and two together easily enough. If she also takes a look some time to tend to the clones that guarded the Temple from time to time? Well no one needs to know

-----> it takes the clones a while to even let the Jetti tend to them, but ever so slowly it happens either by choice or if injured troopers ask for the aid. Not everyone gets the chance, but those who do are usually honored to help with such a guarded task. Plo is pretty much the only exception, Wolffe and the others having taken the Jetti and taught him what to do, and their buir is only too happy to learn.

Speaking of my Corrie's, they're restricted more than most of the other clones because Palps is a dick, and if they're not in their barracks, it's expected they keep said wings close and out of sight

--> Fox hates it, but until something happens (and no he's not in the process of killing the old bastard yet) he can't fight it. Bail and other senators help provide short moments for the Guard to stretch/fly when they can, but its not too often

----> Fox doesn't kill Palpatine this time, no he sits back when the other Commanders storm the senate building after Fox nearly loses his wing to the Sith, and all fly up and drop the man right into one of those giant thruster things(?) from the movie and make sure he's dead before celebrating

I just think they're neat, now I'm gonna go and sleep <3

#personal #star wars #the clone wars #clone wars #winged!clones au #and the wings 🥺🥰#I love this idea sm #I hope you guys do too :)

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blackiraven · 10 months

Note

Hey, I love your writing! Can I ask for some arkham! medical care? Maybe see how Eddie would take care of John in his state. Or how will he try to save him since he doesn't have much time left.

Thank you very much! I'm glad to know that🙏💗

Hmm, I think it would look like this, because according to my headcannons, when John was hurt by Croc, someone else was taking care of him, and Edward was in Arkham at the time.

"Well-well-well. What do we have here?" passing another inconspicuous alley, I finally got to the blinking dot on my radar. It was difficult to see the body lying on the asphalt among the dirt and debris. Only the blood-colored puddles gave alarm signals. I turned off the small device and squatted down in front of my find. All his clothes were soaked through and were torn as well as his face. The broken glove turned into useless scrap metal, some parts almost pierced through the hand. Yes, break my inventions, don't take care of them, Crane, because I love making new ones for you so much. There were bruises on his forehead, the rest of the parts were covered with bruises. But there's too much blood around, so there's a more serious injury hiding somewhere.

"Argh… couldn't you find a better place?" muttering to myself, I gently turned John onto his back with the help of a cane. He groaned loudly, clutching the beacon in his whole hand, which had been sending me a signal for help all this time. Another brilliant idea of mine, which repeatedly saved the life of the stubborn lord of fear. And mine… sometimes. A scarlet spot was growing on his side. That's the answer. What can hold a Scarecrow? A peg. Swollen with water and blood, wooden fragments protruded from the flesh. And how did you just happen to, Crane? At my first attempts to lift him up, John groan, coughed up blood and shuddered with every breath. The air whistled in his throat like in a damaged flute.

"Just try to die now, Crane. Don't count on me to organize your funeral." despite Jonathan's protesting groans, I lifted his flabby body in one sharp movement and partially threw it over my shoulder. He hissed and growled from the disturbing pain, but still took small steps with trembling legs. I held his bleeding wounds and helped him walk, putting half of his weight on myself.

"Kha… Edward… ngh!" he came to himself for a while and buried his cold face in my neck. Goosebumps ran down the back of my neck, but I let John take some of my warmth.

"What always runs and gets lost, but stumbles at the thresholds? The road! We have a long way to go, so don't waste your strength and don't attract too much attention." I whisper in his ear and hold him closer to me. In response, John calmed his trembling a little, clenched his teeth and swallowed a bloody clot. The damaged hand, through a wild pain, lay on my arm and also restrained the bleeding. Excellent. I'm loving it. With a slight smile and a deep breath of the night and stinking air, I confidently walked to a safe place.

It took all night to remove the pieces of wood from John's body. They got stuck too deep and partially split. Probably, during the escape, he fell from a decent height onto some kind of structure. I even had to cut off the dangling pieces of skin. Thanks to a large amount of painkillers, Crane lay quietly on the improvised operating table and did not distract me from the painstaking work. I often yawned and wiped sweat from my forehead. Each piece taken out took away part of my strength. My hands were numb from fatigue and could suddenly twitch at the most inopportune moment, which made him cry out and shake his head.

"Umph… sorry." I bit my lips in excitement and tried to stay neat. When the stage of suturing and a tight bandage began, my swollen fingers got tangled, but in the end I was able to cope with the most difficult task. The metal fragments were easier to remove, and his hand was quickly bandaged. Finally, I wiped the dried blood off him and treated all the abrasions. My eyes were closing, but I had to finish everything so that he would definitely live until the next night. Crane's new face, which had become familiar to me, was even more distorted by heavy blows, but I could still distinguish his emotions under the torn skin. He seemed to be reproaching himself and cursing the whole world for another humiliating defeat. Don't worry, Scarecrow, I won't divulge this secret, but I'll remember it well. I love juggling other people's secrets at the right and intimate moments.

Exhale of relief. Completely soiled gloves were pulled off from sweaty palms and thrown far away. I arched my back, stretched my neck with a crunch, plopped down on a chair and briefly closed my tired and dry eyes. Just for a little while… the darkness is so relaxing and overshadows all thoughts. The physical shell soaked with fatigue ceased to be felt. It creeps up like a predator, but at the same time sweeter than anything in the world. A dream… a dream.

My wadded body was picked up by a certain flow. I was floating, but the next second I fell down, but I didn't crash. My eyes snapped open. My torso was bent forward, and my head was resting on Crane's chest. His hands gently held me and drew me to their owner in a demanding manner. Fingers with blackened and cracked nails were picking through strands of my hair and scratching the back of my head.

"And what happened to you?" chuckling, I closed my eyes again. "I don't want to… talk about it…" he finally spoke in a hoarse voice. "You old straw bag, you don't think about me at all. Stubborn… stubborn idiot." I squirm a little, looking for a more comfortable place on a thin body. "At times like this… all I think about is you. All my hope… is only in you, Edward." the words came out in a dry cough. "M-m-m. Are you trying to flatter me, Crane?" "Hah… do you like it?" "Yes."

I had to get up for a while and go get a glass of water so that John would not completely lose the ability to speak. He looked with misty eyes at the ceiling, then at me, and each of my actions caused a soft smile on his creepy face. His bandaged hand involuntarily shuddered, which brought unpleasant pain impulses. But I took Crane's hand firmly in mine and didn't let the cramps torment him.

"I'm sorry… I didn't save the glove." "You know I love making new ones for you ."

#scriddler #riddlecrow #scarecrow #riddler #jonathan crane #edward nygma #arkhamverse #arkham series #Blacki's fanfiction #Blacki's ask

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synthetickitsune · 1 year

Text

Jun (Seventeen) | Dear Diary fluff | 0.8k | gn!reader

It’s strangely intimate, and you’re surprised it’s happening.

Not too long ago you couldn’t even imagine ever going through things in your childhood room, even though to be fair you’ve spent considerable part of your teenage years, adolescence and hell, even uni years in the room holding so many memories of laughter, tears, and all the other bits and pieces making up a human life. You never thought about it properly, somehow you just expected it would always stay the same, but moving in together with your boyfriend meant you’d need to have your stuff somewhere convenient - like in your own home.

You hear thuds, like there’s something falling followed by soft curses and precisely one whine. Exactly why you doubted it was a good idea to let Jun come and help. On the other hand, it was going so well until now, and it was actually nice to show this part of yourself that you normally guarded so well to someone.

“Babe?” you call before cautiously making your way to where you boyfriend’s hidden by the open wings of the cabinet. Not a second later you see him rubbing the top of his head, sitting surrounded by spilled old magazines and notebooks. You chuckle, squeezing his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, just underestimated how full the box would be,” he nods towards the object in question, now very much empty.

“Let me help you,” you offer, joining him on the ground. You begin picking up the magazines, sorting them into neat piles. Jun on the other hand starts picking up the notebooks, making piles of his own according to the years marked in your handwriting on their covers.

The one he sees next grabs his attention. First, because it’s lying open, and second because he recognizes the date written on the page - it’s the day you’ve had your first date after you agreed to be his. He’s staring at it for a second too long without moving so you look over to see what’s so interesting and chuckle. He turns to you immediately, swearing he wasn’t reading it - and you know he wasn’t, he couldn’t if he tried from this distance and with how messy your handwriting was that day - and you wave him off.

“It’s fine, you can read it if you want to,” you smile and return to your task, but from the corner of your eye you see the gears in his brain turning.

“y/n…” he mumbles. It’s so clear he wants to but doesn’t think he should, so you reach for the notebook and leave it in his lap. He shakes his head before sighing. “y/n, this is… personal. Really personal. Are you sure?”

“If I wasn’t I wouldn’t tell you it’s fine, would I? Besides from this point on you’ll be there quite a lot,” you laugh, “And who knows, maybe it’ll give you some insight into how much I’ve loved you from the start.”

And so with a sigh, he sits back and reads. He reads about your love, your insecurities, your jealousy and tiny frustrations with him that he only learned about months or years after they were written down here, and your regrets and gratefulness after you’ve fought and made up.

You work around him, until you’re finished and have to nudge him lightly to bring him back to you.

He gives you a shy smile, before immediately pulling you into a hug. You pat his back, holding back squeals as he buries his face into your neck.

“I never wanted anyone but you since I’ve met you,” he confesses in a whisper, lips planting a single kiss just under your ear.

“That’s what’s most interesting from all of that?” you tease, but there’s some tension, something that won’t allow the spark to reach your eyes. He sighs, pulling away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, one hand resting on the back of your neck to keep you close.

“Love?” Jun brings your attention to him, makes you look in his eyes, “The rest is long behind us, right? We talked things out, we compromised… or is any of it still troubling you?”

You shake your head no, after which he pecks the tip of your nose, making you giggle.

“See, it’s in the past. But I always want you to know you’re my one and only,” he coos, his lips finding yours easily. His other hand comes up to your neck, gently holding you close over the open pages of your notebook. He hopes, as you do, there will be many more of them filled with your shared memories, good and bad.

Maybe he’ll start writing one too, so that you could, years later, look back and see how much you’ve both grown together.

#seventeen #jun #junhui #seventeen reactions #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #svt fluff #svt scenarios #seventeen performance unit #drabble #fluff

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tokusaatsus · 2 years

Note

this has been in my mind lately, can i request izumi and madara (seperated please!) having a late night drive with their bike with their s/o <33 im having a bikerboy izumi brainrot rn i don't think im okay.

☆—MIKEJIMA MADARA

You’re curled up on the couch in the dorm, feet tucked beneath you as you leaf through the proposals submitted for the next Fes. It’s nearing 11PM, but you’re not tired and you want to try to be productive for a bit, to try and take some pressure off of poor Producer-chan.

Seriously, those guys take her for granted!? It’s no wonder you’re her favourite, what with the way the others treat her…

Chk!

The sound of something hitting the windowpane makes your head shoot up from where you were poring over Valkyrie’s requirements for their next Live. Huh? You dismiss it. It was probably just a falling branch or something.

Chk!

Your eye twitches. It’s fine. It’s fine.

Chk! Chk! Chk!

Oh my fucking God. You stand up, scowling fiercely. I’m going to kill you, you think viciously. Like, who the fuck throws shit at someone’s window at fucking 11:19 in the night? If your poor dormmates had the tragic luck of seeing you right now, they’d probably be cowering in terror at the intense amount of bloodlust emanating from your body.

You slam open the window frame, ready to give whoever it is a piece of your mind, and just narrowly miss getting headshotted by a rock. Only your quick reflexes prevent any lasting damage, and you feel a vein throb in your forehead.

Why, you little…

“Y/N-saaaan!”

Wh. What. You think you may be hallucinating

No way…

You lean over the edge, and standing just below you, so close you could literally reach out and touch him, is none other than Mikejima Madara, in the flesh and definitely not a hallucination.

“Madara-kun…? What are you doing?”

“I wanted to see you!” You flush. Jeez, he’s so honest about these things. He grins when he sees the way you duck to hide your blushing face. And, oh wow. That’s way too bright for 11:27 at night. “Come down!”

You blink. You can’t deny, his face is a welcome sight after 2 or so hours of reading reports in various handwriting, ranging from neat and pretty (Shu-kun) to downright horrible–what you’re certain is a bastardised version of English and Kanji (Chiaki-kun). But you hesitate, because whatever work you leave now means more work for Producer-chan tomorrow.

Still, you’ve found yourself missing him lately. With all his Double Face work, and how you’ve been busy chasing after everyone, you’ve barely been able to spend any time together in the past few weeks.

Your resolve practically collapses after you take a look at his smiling face. I can’t say no to that face, you lament piteously.

“Yeah, okay…” You concede. You swing one leg over the bottom edge of the window frame, and begin the arduous task of squeezing yourself through the gap. As you teeter precariously on the razor’s edge between safety and–well, maybe not death, but certainly injury–you pause. “Madara-kun, if I fell, would you catch me?”

“Of course.” The answer comes immediately.

You smile at him, softly. “Okay. Hey, Madara-kun. Catch.”

You push yourself fully off of the window, fully trusting the man below you to catch you in his arms. It’s stupid, sure, but maybe he makes you stupid. And your implicit trust is rewarded as you collapse straight into strong arms, like the perfect bridal carry.

“Y/N-saaaan!” Madara cries out. “Why did you do that? What if I didn’t catch you?”

“I knew you would,” You say. “I trust you.”

That makes him pause, just a bit, before he takes it in stride. Still, you can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. He seems to shake himself, then does an abrupt turn and starts marching towards the dorm entrance. You squawk.

“Ah, Madara-kun, put me down?”

“No way!” He chirps. “What happens if Y/N-san gets cold? I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Madara-kun!”

You smack him, affronted. You are not a delicate maiden, or whatever! Despite the fact that you get cold easily, it’s nothing you can’t handle… Still, you find yourself just a tiny bit grateful for the fact that he exudes warmth like a furnace. You resist the urge to snuggle closer. It would be, frankly, embarrassing.

He comes to a stop in front and you squirm out of his arms, wincing when the wet grass squelches unpleasantly under your slippers.

You freeze, caught in the aura of an absolutely gorgeous being, and you feel your soul cleanse itself just by standing in the vicinity of this beautiful lady. You rush forwards to run your hands over the smooth curves and ridges.

“Oh, Baby-chan…” You sigh. “You’re looking lovely…”

Madara-kun laughs behind you. “Sometimes, I think Y/N-san only puts up with me for Baby-chan…but she is very beautiful, isn’t she?”

“You’ve found me out.” You deadpan. “Baby-chan and I are having an illicit affair.”

“I knew it!” Madara-kun makes a mock-affronted noise, but you can see the faint undercurrent of hurt running through it. Maybe someone else might not have noticed, but you’ve spent enough time with him to be able to tell.

You laugh. “Don’t worry, though. You’re still my favourite.”

He smiles as he mounts Baby-chan. “That’s how it should be~ Anyways, climb on!”

You do so, with necessary wariness as he wears his helmet. As much as you love Baby-chan (and Madara-kun, you suppose…), high speeds are not for you, especially in a vehicle without seatbelts. He revvs the engine, and Baby-chan purrs in a way that sends shivers down your spine. “Ready?” He calls over his shoulder. You tighten your arms around his waist. “Hold on tight!”

And you’re off. The streetlights flare yellow as they catch in puddles of water dripping along the roadside. The scenery blurs as you ride past, a flurry of monochrome–black and grey, the moonlight washing everything out. It’s scary.

It’s beautiful.

Baby-chan growls once again, and you flinch. The way he swerves into hairpin turns makes you feel like your heart is going to beat straight out of your chest and onto the road. Of course Madara-kun would be the adrenaline-junkie sort of driver…

“Having fun?”

“Hng. I think we left my stomach behind a few turns back.” You bury your face into his back, grateful that it’s late enough that no one is out and about to see you being such a baby. So undignified! You feel his chest rumble with laughter. “What are you laughing at?”

“Nothing, nothing! Ah, just…Y/N-san is soooo cute, I want to kiss you right now…”

A beat of silence, while he waits for his words to register in your dizzy brain.

Then:

“HUH!?”

☆—SENA IZUMI

Gorgeous ♡

come to the dorm entrance i have something to show you

You

???

i–

babe what???

Read at 03:31 AM

ok then

omw ig

Read at 03:34 AM

You shove your fingers into your pockets to stave off the cold as you hover nervously near the gates. It’s late, and you’re really lucky ES is pretty lax with curfew. You suppose you have UNDEAD to thank for that, what with all the nighttime Lives they do. You make a note to thank them later.

“Hey,”

You perk up. “Babe, hi! What’s up–oh my God.” Stowing your phone in your pocket as you turn around to catch sight of…

Your boyfriend, dressed impeccably as usual in jeans and a button-up shirt, a leather jacket tossed carelessly over his shoulder (you’re kind of jealous? He looks good in anything. He could probably make a potato sack look good, if you’re being honest?), a silver helmet tucked under one arm. But that’s unimportant. The part you really care about is:

The absolutely gorgeous bike leaning next to him. Silver, with black and chrome tints. A cruiser by the looks of it, with a larger bulky shape, unlike the smooth, streamlined body of Mikejima’s beloved ‘Baby-chan’.

Wow.

Izumi smirks at you. “Like what you see?”

You laugh giddily. “Yes! It’s beautiful.”

“I know.” He scowls briefly as your words register. “I’m not an ‘it’.”

You blink, disconcerted. “I know? I was talking about the bike?”

“Oh.”

You clasp your hands together pleadingly. That bike is the most gorgeous motherfucking thing you’ve ever laid eyes on–second only to Izumi who is literally the single most beautiful thing ever created, so that doesn’t count–and you’ll be damned if you don’t get to ride it at least once.

“Can I drive it? Please? Pretty please?”

Izumi scoffs and turns his head away, but you think you can see the faintest colouring of pink rising in his cheeks. “Sure, whatever.”

He tosses you the keys, and you suppress a squeal. “Best boyfriend ever! Did I ever tell you how I am literally, like, sooooo in love with you?”

“Ew, stop being gross!?”

You roll your eyes lovingly, because if you look up tsundere in the dictionary Izumi’s face is probably the first picture you’ll see. You hop on the bike, and motion for Izumi to follow after. He does so hesitantly, a sour look forming on his face, but you’re too busy running your hands reverently over the sleek metal fastenings to notice.

“Hime~chan,” You murmur, slow and sensual, trying to channel your inner Izumi, the one who’s a part of Knights, who has fans thirsting over him on Tweeter. “Let me give you the best night of your life~”

“Are you…are you dirty-talking a motorbike right now?”

Izumi’s voice is full of derision and barely-concealed annoyance. You turn to look at him. “Who else would I dirty-talk to?”

The subsequent affronted look that appears on his face makes you want to burst out laughing. You force yourself to think of sad, depressing things so you don’t. Sad puppies, sad Mikejima’s, Hakaze when he tries so Goddamn hard to get a date… Yup, that’ll do it.

You revv up the engine, revelling in the roar that vibrates through your fucking bones. “Izumi, are you holding on?”

He places his hands lightly upon your shoulders, and you giggle before reaching behind you to tug his arms tightly around your waist because that’s not going to save him from being thrown off. He makes an aborted sound before he goes silent. “Ready?”

He taps a single finger against your hip, agreement, and you don’t waste a second before you’re tearing across the asphalt like this is Tokyo Drift and you’re the main character (does this make Izumi your love interest?).

The wind tears through your hair, and you know it’s going to be Hell to detangle later, but hey. What’s the use of having a sexy, sexy supermodel boyfriend if he doesn’t pamper you sometimes?

You speed up, just a bit. Just for the thrill. Head thrown back, you laugh as you swerve a perfect U for the next turn, loud and wild and free.

You can feel Izumi’s heart beating a panicked staccato against your chest, so you make an effort to slow down. His grip is tight, nails digging into the curve of your hips, face buried into the curve of your neck. His breathing gradually lessens from the terrified high it had been earlier and by the time you stop in front of the Starmony Dorms, it’s evened out entirely.

You pat the tail-end of the bike lovingly as you flick the kickstand out with the toe of your sneakers. “Oh, Hime~chan, you were wonderful tonight~ I had so much fun!”

Izumi reaches for you at the same time you turn to face him and you find yourself pinned against the wall, his hands framing either side of your head. “I… Izumi?”

“You’re sooo annoying, did you know that?” He huffs. “This whole time, you haven’t looked at me once. What’s up with that? Do you think your bike,”–“Hime-chan,” you correct, much to his annoyance–“is better than me?”

“N-no, of course not.”

“Then what does ‘Hime-chan’ have that I don’t!” Izumi’s brows are furrowed. You soften.

“Aw, babe, if you were jealous you could’ve just told me…” You say, ignoring his mutter of ‘I’m not jealous’. That’s adorable…! “You’re always number one in my heart!”

You lean forward to knock your forehead against his. He wrinkles his nose cutely but doesn’t pull away or complain about the close proximity, just entangles his fingers with yours. “I love you more than anything, okay?”

A mumbled ‘okay’ is your only response, and you smile.

The night sky smiles down on your lover, and you. What more could you possibly need at this moment?

OMAKE:

“When you said ‘Hime-chan’ is gorgeous, did you mean more gorgeous than me?”

“Oh, my God.”

☆—notes!

WC: 2k words

HOLY SHIT wtf i wrote. 2k words. for THIS??? huh??? ty anonnie for fuelling my brainworms, now i have fuckin leather jacket bikerboys on the brain sobs. ik my subtle mama bias is showing but ur honour i love him. also i hc babychan as a naked bike since she’s pretty sleek as far as i can tell? + her handlebars are thinner and i don’t think she has a front windshield so yeah… anyways i saw this as my chance to ramble abt bikes (bcuz bikes are my guilty pleasure!!) so im sorry if u learnt shit abt bikes u didn’t need to know. also tokyo drift is a fast&furious movie jsyk!! not me subtly dragging kaoru LMFAO i swear i love him. i hope u enjoyed this anonnie <3!! bcuz i rlly had fun writing this (which is why it’s so long incase u couldn’t tell sobs)

#✒️...scribbles!#mikejima madara x reader #sena izumi x reader #enstars x reader #mikejima madara #sena izumi #MaM #knights

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