#i need the game to uncurl its grip on me i have things to do that aren't totk :'))))

[moinsbienquekaworu]

@ivory-coronet I've kept playing TotK and oh my god do you want to hear literally every thought out of my head on the topic?

BEWARE OF TOTK SPOILERS ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE

First I love all the little newspaper quests they're silly but they're fun and it's pretty nice going everywhere doing random shit that in like a third of cases are just the Yiga trying to fuck with you. I'd say Penn is useless but actually I think we're splitting the work pretty well: I do all the fieldwork and he writes the articles and gives them to Traysi! Great partnership. I just need the Gerudo Stable and I'll be done, but Ihope you can do stuff with him once the questline is over.

Also I can't help but notice you have way more of an impact on the world in a way? The NPCs remember you, they know who you are more often, I saw the two horse researchers and since I'd already talked to Malanya I got to tell the one who was interested in him that he did indeed exist, it's really really cool. And the rebuilding quests!! The Rito Village bridge! The Lookout Landing mini-stable!! The monster-control crew stuff!!! I really feel like I'm not just doing random sidequests for a reward but that I'm actually contributing to the world and the world knows it.

On the topic of the Wind Temple: it was great, you were right it didn't feel like an annoying dungeon! More like a traditional dungeon but not annoying like they usually are to me. It took me uuuh humiliatingly long to realise you had to use Tulin's gusts of wind on the turbines even though the Sage just straight up tells you to do that lol. The Sages stuff is incredible and I'm absolutely delighted by the fact that I've done a quarter of what was the main quest in BotW but I still don't know what's going to happen at the end of the game. In BotW you just knew where the final boss was and how things would more or less go from the end of the tutorial but here I'm still kind of at a loss. Like there's the Sages but there's also the Depths and the ruins in Kakariko! That said one of my friends who's also playing it said he stumbled upon the Mastersword and the final boss at random just exploring so uh. That must have been weird.

Plus on the topic of the Rito I need to be insane about this to as many people as possible because I was a Revalink kinda girl and I won't forget my roots: when Tulin gets the Great Eagle Bow after the temple... Babe that's MY bow!!! Give it to me it's MINE!!! It does 3x28 damage and it has a great design!!! I got it by beating the dungeon and saving your village almost alone last time!!!! I knew Revali and I wam/am a Champion too!!!!!! IT'S MY BOW GIVE IT BAAACK!!! Make your OWN bow Tulin!!!!! No for real I would be so happy to make a new group for the Sages and Link and make some fabric we can all wear and he can put it on his own bow someone made for him/helped him make but you gotta hand that back baby it's mine!!!!!!

Also I've been to see the Zoras as well and I'm at the entrance of the temple but not there yet so I won't say anything about the dungeon itself but 1) god Sidon.... dreamy sigh. Also 2) Yona isn't that ugly people are just mean. She's great she's sweet and she grew on me real fast. And 3) I really do not care about Finley's appearance relating to her quest in BotW I think it's some fun background stuff but I'm disappointed they didn't give her an older model like they did for Kass' kids. Like she's been waiting for that growth spurt for years now Nintendo just let her gain a few inches!!

Anyway what I want to talk about is the way they handled BotW's existence & a little bit its themes, which I personally think is the biggest flaw of the game. No mention of the Divine Beasts no mention of the towers or the shrines there's some stuff about the Calamity but it's rare I'm sooo mad like I was there for all of it!!! Why are you not saying anything!!!! We can't be forgetting history like three-five years after it happened!! I know they didn't want new players to the franchise to be lost but it's offensive Purah doesn't mention Sheikah tech when explaining the towers it's offensive the Zora chest armour's description just goes 'made by a Zora princess for her future husband' like the Zora princess in question wasn't Link's childhood best friend and he wasn't supposed to be the future husband it's offensive there's no mention of Revali anywhere except the landing is still called Revali's Landing when he had extremely similar powers to Tulin and Teba spent his childhood talking about the legendary champion to him and he has his damn bow in his back!!!!!! I'm so mad!!!! Why Nintendo why!!!

And when I said themes I meant that I'm sad the Sages are all descendants of the original Sages. Cause see the new champions all occupied the same roles as the old champions (greatest Rito warrior, Zora royalty, Gerudo chief, Goron boss (to be)) but while the others all were descendants of the OGs Teba wasn't. It said something about the characters and their villages and what they all valued. And now we're totally forgetting Revali when he's relatively recent (100 years compared to like 5 000) and had similar powers because "what if the player hasn't played BotW". Honestly it made me feel like the shitty 180 the Star Wars sequels pulled with Rey where the message was that whoever her family was didn't matter because she got to decide her own path and - oh wait no her grandpa was Palpatine it was always meant to be fuck off. Like none of them need to be related to the OG Sages but if Sidon or Riju are it's at least coherent with the fact their tribes (?) both seem to have a hereditary thing going on with their leadership. But Tulin really doesn't!! The Ritos don't work like that!! The point was hard work!!! I'm so mad about this one. Note that I don't say anything about Daruk and Yunobo because Yunobo is sweet but Daruk's personality is flatter than a sheet of paper in BotW, especially compared to AoC. I guess at least Mipha's statue is still there and they namedrop her once really badly :)))

Anway I also went to the Depths because I need that camera and it caused me worse stress than walking around Central Hyrule at the start of BotW. So. Not hyped to have to go there more.

There that's it I think but if you have more stuff to chat about don't hesitate to answer or to hit me up 👀 👀👀

[fromthedeskoftheraven]

Always kiss me goodnight

Pairing: Din Djarin x female reader

Content:  Pining, kissing, mention of food, oh no there’s only one bed,   helmetless Din (but it’s dark), baby Yoda is an adorable tiny terror

Word count: ~2200

Note:  I swear I was only going to write one Pedro character fic. Has this   kind of thing been done a million times? Yes. Am I doing it once more?   Also yes. It’s self-indulgent hours and this little love letter to our favorite space dad and his green baby has been nagging at my mind since I  first watched the show.

Tagging the people who asked (If anyone wants to be tagged or un-tagged in any future fics since it seems  I’m well and truly back on my bs just say the word): @songsformonkeys @yespolkadotkitty @emesispo @beccaplaying

———————————————

Fatigue has caught up with the little green child now that his belly is full, and crankiness along with it. The Mandalorian has been known to lovingly  call his adopted son a womp rat, but when the baby gets overtired, a rancor is more like it.

This time, you can hardly blame him. The three of you have spent the better part of the day traveling, finally landing on this backwater planet late in the evening. With some searching and a small fortune in credits, Din managed to find a safe, out-of-the-way place to stay, leaving you and the child to eat and settle in while he went to scout the bounty’s location for the next  day’s work.

As the child’s fussing gains momentum, you hustle to the small sink in the corner of the room.

“We’ll wash your face and go straight to bed,” you promise him, letting the   water warm before wetting a cloth and wringing it out thoroughly.

In the mirror, your own face looks as exhausted as he obviously feels. The bed in question is little more than a pallet with a mattress and some  blankets, but it might as well be a royal welcome at this stage of the game.

Despite your gentleness, the baby erupts in an indignant whine as you wipe the cloth over his face and ears. “I know, little love,” you soothe while he struggles in protest. “Almost done.”

He quiets when you scoop him up into your arms, pressing a kiss to his fuzzy head. You hum bits of a song from your childhood, rocking him from side to side, and his little face crumples with a yawn. His tiny fingers curl into the fabric of your tunic and his head goes heavy on your shoulder, but still he fidgets, making pathetic little sounds in the direction of the door.

“I know,” you murmur again, still swaying on the spot. “He’ll be back soon.”

You’ve grown to love the child and you know he’s fond of you, but as far as   he’s concerned Din is the one who hangs the stars in the sky. He’s always a little agitated when his father is out of sight, and truth be told, so are you.

“I know what we can do,” you say. “Let’s make a plate for your buir for when he comes back. Don’t you think that’ll be nice for him?”

Neither you nor Din are sure how much the child actually understands, but you don’t let it stop you talking to him. If nothing else it makes you feel a little less alone in the long hours when Din is hunting his quarries.

His drooping ears twitch upward with this suggestion. He watches with interest as you lay a plate with some of the fresh fruit, bread, and stewed meat Din bought from the innkeeper for your supper.

“There we go. Now then, bedtime for little ones.”

You turn to survey the sleeping area with a stab of nerves. The minuscule size of the room isn’t a challenge -- the Razor Crest has made you an expert in living in small spaces -- but the lone bed is a wrinkle you hadn’t expected.

Din, ever pragmatic, had been quick to point out that it was plenty big enough for the three of you, and it was only one night. He was right, of course.

Still, you’d never been so grateful for dim lighting, sure that your secret longing for the Mandalorian was written plainly on your flustered face.

You couldn’t have said exactly when your feelings for Din Djarin had strayed  into dangerous territory. Somewhere in the months of traveling with him, caring for his child, helping maintain his ship, reminding him to eat, and tending the worst of his wounds your initial wariness turned to admiration, admiration to fondness, and fondness to something alarmingly like love.

It’s a fool’s errand.

For all his kindness to you Din is an island of a man, set apart from the world in  his shell of beskar and the even more unyielding armor of his creed.  Even if his heart is big enough to encompass the child, you don’t dare to hope there’s room for you too.

And now this bed -- this one kriffing bed -- sits there mocking you and all your silly fantasies of you and Din and the child being a real family, bound together by love instead of convenience.

You turn off the light overhead, leaving only the small, sickly lamp at the table to light Din’s way to his supper.

The mattress is clean and the blankets are a bit threadbare but soft, and the baby only has the energy to grumble a little when you lay him down on the side closest to the wall and tuck the thickest of them around   him. Yawning widely, he stretches out a hand toward you, fingers grabbing at the air.

The gesture warms your weary heart.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

You lie down beside him and face away from the table, mindful that Din will need privacy to eat. The little body shuffles closer to you, curling into your shoulder, and a surge of fierce affection pricks your eyes with tears. You wrap your arm around the baby to hold him close as the full brunt of the long day overtakes you.

“Good night, little love,” you say around a yawn, just as your eyes fall closed.

***

You wake with a start. The windowless room is pitch black, and in the absence of any landmarks your brain races to orient itself.

At your back, the child’s soft, snuffling breaths. A well-worn blanket draped over you and a slightly lumpy mattress beneath.

The inn, you remember in a flash.

At your front...something warm and broad and solid. You’ve nestled into it  in your sleep, one arm thrown over it, your hand grasping soft fabric. A familiar, comforting scent surrounds you, a scent you cherish from laundry days and the cramped quarters of a small ship.

Oh, Maker.

You clearly slept through Din coming back and getting into bed, and now you’re wrapped around him like a second set of clothes. The rush of blood into your cheeks flames so hot you worry he must feel it through the base layers he’s wearing to sleep.

Shrinking into yourself, you begin to pull away, as stealthily as you can. If you  can just get back to your own side of the bed and brazen it out in the  morning, maybe he’ll never be the wiser.

Slowly, so slowly, you  release the handful of his shirt you’re holding and move your arm from where it’s resting across his chest...

In the darkness, a hand encircles your wrist.

Oh, Maker.

You’ve watched Din wrestle enough uncooperative bounties into the carbonite   chamber to know you’re not getting away from him if he doesn’t want you to. But his grip on your wrist is light, gentle. His thumb rests on the place where your pulse is fluttering like a trapped bird, whether from embarrassment or his closeness you’re not entirely sure.

“Din.” It comes out barely a whisper, sabotaged by the sudden dryness of your mouth. You swallow hard and try again. “Din, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

“It’s all right.”

His voice is a revelation. Free of the modulator’s rasp, it’s warmer, richer, somehow softer and more resonant at the same time. You’ve never even been in the same room with him when he has his helmet off, and the realization that he’s right there, a breath away, is dizzying.

Silence stretches before he speaks again, more quietly. “It’s...nice.”

Your brain fails you entirely. “Oh.”

You search desperately for something more intelligent to say, but his thumb is drawing feather-light circles over the soft skin of your wrist and your pulse is thundering in your ears. Those touches, so delicate from a man so strong, blur your thoughts like liquor and drag a confession from your lips before you can bite it back. “I’ve always wanted to hold you.”

You wait, blessing the darkness that swallows your shame,  and hope he’s not going to tell you to pack your things and find a job in this bleak little skug hole for when he leaves you behind.

Instead, you feel the mattress shift and know he’s turned toward you.

The sudden fear of breaking Din’s creed is overwhelming, even in the dark. Instinct has you squeezing your eyes shut so tightly that white specks float behind your eyelids.

“I can’t see you,” you say quickly. “I promise.”

“I know.”

His thumb moves from your wrist across your palm, uncurling your fingers to map each one in turn, trailing up to the tips and back down again. You wonder how long it’s been since he’s touched anyone’s bare skin.

He sighs, which is nothing new, but this one doesn’t sound exasperated. It sounds almost...content. “Mesh’la,” he murmurs. “Beautiful girl. I thought so the first time I saw you.”

You’re overcome with a wild, childish urge to pinch yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming.

His praise gives you a rush of courage to ask for something you’ve only dreamed of. “Din...can I touch you? Is it allowed?”

His only answer is to cradle your hand in his, bringing it to rest on his cheek.

Stubble prickles your palm as your fingers slowly trace his scruffy jawline and the thick column of his neck, savoring the feel of him. His hair is soft, long enough to curl at its nape, and when you comb your fingers through the tousled strands he makes a low, strangled sound in the back of his throat. It reverberates through your body like a bell, making your head swim with the thrill of affecting him.

You only just resist the urge to suck a mark into the spot where his pulse races under his warm skin.

Your greedy hands move on to discover a strong brow and the curved bridge of a prominent nose. A mustache frames lips that are more plush than you imagined, a note of sensuality in an angular, warrior’s face.

“Can you tell me what color your eyes are?” you ask, fingertips traveling over his cheekbone.

“Brown.”

Brown. You see them in your mind’s eye, soft and dark, expressing all the   things he doesn’t say out loud. Stroking his lower lip, you repeat his own word back to him: “Mesh’la.”

Din’s mouth twitches under your fingers. “You can’t see me.”

He has no idea. His body warming yours and the sweetness of his voice   calling you beautiful is everything you’ve ever wanted and thought yourself unworthy of having, and he thinks you’re only talking about his  face.

You cup his cheek, smile at him, even though he can’t see it. “I don’t need to, Din. I just know it. I always have.”

“You’re so good to me.” His hand catches yours in his large one, his voice   rough with some nameless emotion. “To me, and the baby. All the time.”

“You deserve everything good,” you whisper past the lump in your throat.

He’s caressing your hand again, holding it in place to press his lips to the pad of your thumb. “I want to kiss you, cyare.”

Your exhale is somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Please.”

His hand moves to cradle your head as he closes the distance between you. If you were expecting him to pounce, you’re completely unprepared for him to linger, breath hovering over your lips for a long, agonizing moment as he brushes his nose over yours.

You’re almost startled by the first touch of his lips, a little chapped but warm and lush. His mustache is softer than you thought it would be, and so are his kisses, a series of slow, gentle presses of his mouth. Like he wants to do with his lips what you’ve done with your hands, sketching and learning.

It’s only when you slide your hand into his hair again that something inside him breaks. His arm snakes around your waist, holding you to the refuge of his broad chest as he slants his mouth over yours, claiming you in earnest. He’s possessive and tender in equal measure and the tease of  his tongue against yours, his teeth nipping your lower lip, the span of his hand on your back has you drunk on him and whispering his name between kisses like a prayer.

...Apparently not quietly enough.

A little hand scrabbling at your shoulder blade brings you out of your haze. As you pull away from Din the baby is climbing over you as quickly as his short limbs will let him. He wedges himself between the two of you with a delighted coo at Din, hands flailing to find his father’s face.

Din heaves a sigh, but there’s no malice in it. “I’m here, ad’ika,” he says, with unmistakable fondness. “We’re all here.”

You can’t stifle a breathless laugh as the baby snuggles into Din’s arms, making himself comfortable for the night.

Your Mandalorian surrenders good-naturedly, wrapping an arm around you with  the child tucked safely in the middle. He presses a kiss to your forehead before settling on the pillow beside you. “Sleep, cyare.”

Drowsiness is already fuzzing the edges of your mind again, but it catches on the word he’s said twice now. “What does that mean?” you murmur. “Cyare?”

You feel him smile against your temple, one last brush of his lips. “Share my bunk tomorrow night, and I’ll tell you.”

[enigma-im]

First Day of Christmas...

Trope: Childhood friends who remeet as adults Relationship: Orc x Human Word Count: 3,323

I wander around by the creek during a hot summer day. My mother has warned me against traveling here alone, but the chance of catching a frog to terrorize the other kids is far too tempting. With a stick in hand, pants legs rolled up, I waddle through the shallow. Little fish swim by my toes, frogs scurrying out from under the mud. The task is far more challenging than I thought. I poke the stick at every leaping creature, falling short every time.

"What are you doing," a boy asks from the other side of the creek. Startled, I snap to attention, looking at a small orc. He looks to be older than me, definitely taller, but how can I know?

"catching frogs," I answer.

"really? Why," he asks.

"I don't know," I grumble," because frogs are neat." I look to my feet, spotting a frog lazily swimming by. I ready my stick, slowing guiding it towards it's back. As fast as I can manage I push down. Crouching down I look to the stick, huffing in frustration as I'm left empty-handed.

"Why a stick," he interrupts my pity party.

I shrug," it's how Tommy Howser caught his frog."

"Well Tommy Howser is an idiot," he chuffs, bending down to roll up his pants.

"Oh yea," I snap," why is that?"

He trod through the water," because you're just stabbing the frog, so unless you want to eat them I suggest not poking them super hard with a stick."

The orc stops before me, snatching the stick from my hand with a huff. He tosses it aside before looking around. I watch him, observing his small tusks and short shaggy hair. I've never seen an orc with short hair. He catches my attention, pointing to the shore. I spot a frog resting on the bank, the water barely lapping at its body. The orc sneaks over, hands raised as he angles himself. Quickly, he strikes out, cupping his hands around the frog. He pinches the little creature by the legs, making it stretch out as he walks over all smug.

"See, Tommy Howser is an idiot," he grins. I ignore the jab, waddling over to look at the frog.

"Whoa," I reach out and pet it," you were so fast!"

"Of course I am," he puffs his chest," I am orc, orcs are meant to be quick and strong."

I don't pay him any mind, stretching out my hands," can I hold it?"

"Yea," he arranges his grip," pinch him around the legs and he can't hop away." I nod eagerly. I do as he says, pinching the legs, holding it with utter fascination. The little guy wiggles in my hand, it's legs trying to kick, but he can't get away. I admire it's dark green skin, comparing it to the orc's similar tint.

"I'm Lum, by the way," he says.

I smile up at him," I'm Thea. You think you can teach me how to catch a frog?"

"Of course I can," he thumps his chest," I can teach you anything."

We spend the afternoon waddling around the creek, catching and releasing frogs together.

The summer is spent similarly to that day. We upgrade from frogs to fish, from fish to birds. I learn a great deal about hunting from him, enjoying myself more than I ever have. I even get to teach him a few things, though nothing as useful as what he teaches me. The day I find out he doesn't know what tag is, is the day I begin my mission to play every child's game I know.

In the middle of fall, I sit down next to Lug eating lunch. He has been silent most of the day, barely saying anything even when I bait him into a conversation.

"What's wrong, Lug," I finally ask, setting my apple down. He sighs, dropping his head.

"I'm leaving next week," he pouts.

"Leaving," I ask," where?"

"I don't know, just south," he answers," my ma told me we have to follow the herd for winter."

I scoff," I don't even know what that means. Why would you follow a herd?"

He smiles, turning to me," we follow the herd so we don't starve. The land becomes barren in the winter and we need to eat a lot as orcs. So if we follow the herd, we can follow the food."

I huff, arms crossed," well I don't like it." Lug chuckles, scooching closer to give me a side hug.

"It's ok, Thea, we come back here every spring. So I'll be back, it will just be a while," he squeezes my shoulder," besides, it's not like I can teach you anything in the winter anyway. Everything is migrating or hibernating that hunting here would be difficult."

I push off his arm, pouting as I turn my back on him," I don't care, I want my friend here."

I hear him sigh, the leaves crunching as he walks around. His feet stop in front of me, crouching to catch my eye. I give in, looking at his stupid cocky face. He drops a hand onto my shoulder.

"I'll be back by the time the last snowfall melts, I swear it," he places his hand on his heart," I make an oath to always come back."

I snort back some snot," you better."

"I will. Now enough with this mushy stuff," he stands," I bet I can catch more frogs than you."

I hop up to my feet," you wish!"

The winter was sad, like many after that. As he promised he comes back every spring, meeting me by the creek with a cocky smile and slightly longer hair. He always has something new to teach me, happy to do so. My father doesn't much care for it once he found out, but I could hardly care.

My parents find out about Lug the first spring he came back. They noticed my dower mood during the winter then my grand smile in the spring. To my surprise they were alright with Lug, asking to meet him. We share a meal, my father asking way too many questions till mother shoos us off to play.

Every spring is started with a meal with my parents then a long recap on our winter. It's a lovely tradition that lasts a few years.

Lug and I are strong friends well into the years. Things hardly change between us, being close as ever. We play and fight, arguing and making up quickly. Growing into our own as we become teenagers. My father hovers around then, setting curfews and weird rules. The attitude change with my father and Lug is one I had to confront Lug about. He waved it off as nothing, distracting me easily.

It isn't till 15 that I understand why father was so uptight with Lug's and I's friendship. Weeks of build-up brings me to startling discoveries about new wants. I've been looking at Lug in a new light, noticing him doing the same. He is my first kiss, sharing an awkward chaste one near the creek. It's weird and right at the same time. That summer we learn very different things besides hunting and gathering. Kisses become way more enjoyable after a while.

My sixteenth year is the worst year of my life.

Fall approaches too fast, I've never had a reason to hate fall until Lug came into my life. The trees changing colors now puts me in a sour mood. The walk to the creek knowing that it may be the last time this year that I get to is troublesome. Though Lug has ways of distracting me from those thoughts until he has to wave goodbye that evening.

I meet Lug by the creek like usual, plopping down beside him with a huff. He seems far worse than I do today, the worry rising more and more the longer he stays silent. I grab his hand, threading my fingers between his.

"What's wrong," I bump his shoulder. He sighs, squeezing my hand in his.

"I have something to tell you that I know you won't like," he starts, his voice low and angry. It's rare to hear him angry, only truly seeing him mad once when his father forbade him from joining the hunting pack when he was a fresh teen.

"You can tell me anything, I can take it," I try to be courageous. It's easier to act strong when he needs it.

"I'm leaving for a little longer than before," he glances at me out the corner of his eye.

"W-well, that's ok," I try to be optimistic," I've waited months for you, what's a few more?"

He winces," it's not going to be just a few months."

I stutter on my attempt of cheer," a-a year? That's ok, I'll be fine. It's just one year, right?" he looks up to me, his eyes a bit red. My heart squeezes at the sight.

"It's a lot longer than a year, Thea," he answers. My throat tightens, threatening to choke me.

"H-How long," I ask, trying to fight back the stinging in my eyes.

"I don't know, I just know it's going to be a long time," he says, reaching out to cup my face," but I promise I'll be back. I will come back for you." he tugs my head down, resting his forehead against mine.

I sniffle," you better," I mimic the words I said that first time. He chuckles, lifting my hand and twisting it palm up. His hand covers mine, something cold sitting between our palms.

"I vow to you that I'll be back, and you know an orc never breaks their vows," he thumps his chest. I clench whatever's in my hand as I laugh.

"Yea, I know," a tear rolls down my cheek. He pets the drop away, pulling me in for a kiss. It's bittersweet, but sweet nonetheless.

We sit like this, holding one another for longer than necessary. He reluctantly lets me go, getting up off the ground. We part with a final kiss, neither one of us ready to let go knowing that we won't see one another tomorrow.

"I love you, Thea," he pecks my forehead.

I shut my eyes," I love you too, Lug."

He leaves me standing near the creek. I cry to myself, nearly falling back to the ground in my pain. I finally look to my hand, uncurling my fingers to see a thread with a wooden totem attached to it. I smile despite it all, admiring the little carving with care. I'll see him again, even if I have to wait a lifetime.

Fall becomes winter, winter becomes spring. It's hard to see the snow melt knowing that Lug won't be waiting for me. I still end up waiting by the creek, looking at the frogs as I remember the many failed attempts of snatching one. Every year I come back to the creek, hoping that this year would be the year. I always leave feeling a little more empty.

Time goes on as I grow into my own, no longer a bumbling teen but a grown woman. I get my first job at a bakery, working for a family friend until their son can take up the business. It's humbling work, though suitors take the chance to flirt while I cook in the back. My father is rather angry that I shoo off the young men trying to get a nibble of something more than pastries. I can't bring myself to argue with him.

I gain my second job at a bar, working as a waitress in my 20s. The lively people bring on a new level of enjoyment that the bakery didn't have. Fellows still take the chance to flirt but it's easier to cast aside as they are mostly drunk. Travelers come in, sharing tales of the adventures that make the time go by quicker. I like my job, though going home makes the emptiness inside louder.

I wipe up the bar, picking up empty glasses and litter as I go. The night is rather dull, only having the normal regulars in. it's to be expected as the winter comes to an end. Business should pick up as spring begins and the critters come out of their holes for mating season. The bell at the front door rings, catching my attention.

I look up to see an orc walking in.He is rather large, clearly strong, and proud of it. His hair is braided down his back, beads adorning a few smaller strands. He is very handsome like most orcs are. I don't pay him any mind, use to orcs quickly finding their spots and calling out their orders.

Polishing a glass I catch sight of the orc sitting in front of me at the bar. His large hands rest clasped on the bar top, a ring resting around his thumb.

"Hello," I smile sweetly at them," what can I get ya?"

He smirks, dropping his eyes to his hands," Fire Brandy, please."

"Please? Already the most polite customer I've had this month," I tease as I grab a tumbler, pouring his brandy.

"Is please such an unused word nowadays? Damn the discipline of mothers, not teaching their children manners," he jokes back. I snort, passing him his drink.

"well said," I knock on the bar," a please and a thank you can get you far these days."

"That right? The only thing it's gotten me is brandy and a word of praise from a cute barmaid," he smirks.

I fluster at his words, turning away to grab a dry rag," don't know about that last bit but I hope you know basic manners doesn't pay for your drink."

"Damn," he huffs," what's the point now, ain't getting anything out of it."

"Gets my respect," I offer.

He pretends to ponder," I'll take it."

I smile to myself, focusing on polishing the glasses. The orc watches me, drinking his brandy slowly. I pass him a few glances, blushing each time he offers me a smile. He really is cute, but I can't say that I'm too interested.

"Lovely necklace you have there, can't say that I've seen that totem too often," he says. My hand immediately grasps the little wood craving, my heart fluttering with the action.

"Yea, a friend made it for me," I answer casually.

"A friend? I don't think that's what that totem means," he leans forward on the bar, inspecting the carving.

"Well, friends is just an easier term. We weren't lovers, being too young for something like that," I blush at the idea.

"Yea? Don't mind telling me about this 'friend' while I waste some time," he asks. I can't help but jump at the offer, wanting to finally break the seal that's bound these memories away. Mother and Father didn't want to hear about Lug so often. Which is understandable.

"No, you don't wanna hear a story of lost love," I shuffle away, putting the freshly polished glasses away.

"Of course I do, what better story than one with young love," he rests his chin on his head," please, I'd love to hear it."

I watch him, nearly smiling at his devoted attention. With a sigh, I lounge against the bar.

"We met when we were like eight, at least I was eight. I was catching frogs by the creek when he just appeared across the way," I start.

"Why were you catching frogs? I thought little girls hated that kind of stuff," he asks.

I shrug," I wanted to show off to the boys that I could catch a frog too. One of them said he caught one using a stick to trap it against the dirt. I wanted to try it."

He scoffs," why would anyone use a stick to catch a frog?"

"I don't know," I laugh," he probably didn't want to get his hands dirty."

"Damn Tommy Howser," he shakes his head with a smile," such a wimpy boy."

"Yea, he was," I laugh with him," makes sense he moved out to the city then."

"He moved out to the city? Gods, his parents should have taken him there when he was a child," he scoffs. I can't help but smile, the words taking a bit longer to register. When it does, I startle.

"How did you know about Tommy Howser," I ask. He stiffens.

"Uh, I heard about him," he lies," from other people."

I cross my arms," what other people? Tommy hasn't lived here in three years." he flounders for another lie, falling short with a sigh of defeat.

"Hello, Thea," he nibbles on his cheek," I see you kept the necklace."

I freeze. It can't be, surely this large hulking orc couldn't possibly be him.

"Lug," I ask with a choked cry. He smiles wide, nodding. I can't speak, my eye stinging as I finally see the resemblance. He truly has grown into the man he always said he would be. As handsome as he was seven years ago.

Without much thought I jump over the bar, him helping me down before pulling me close. I hug him, my arms barely touching around his hulking frame. A sob rips from my throat as I cry tears of pure joy. He pets my back, nuzzling his head against mine.

"I'm sorry I took so long," he mumbles as he kisses my cheeks," I didn't expect to be gone so long. I apparently had a lot more to learn from the elders than I anticipated."

"You’re here now," I look up at him," that's all the matters."

Lug smiles like a fool before roughly pushes his lips against mine, his tusks way more prominent now than when we were kids. I cup his rough cheek, feeling the hairs prick at my palm. He is so different now, but still exactly the same. God, I've missed him.

We part, smiling like idiots in love. He wipes the tears off my face, I pet at his cheek. My heart feels ready to explode at the happiness coursing through my veins. Lug looks the same with his great toothy grin and wondering hands.

"I waited for you, I'm so glad I did," I look him over," you got hot."

He barks out a boisterous laugh," glad you think so, I got big and strong for you. And you…gods, you look amazing."

"oh stop," I blush.

"No," he tugs my hips to his," now that I finally have you I'm going to shower you with sweet praises and worship your body like a holy temple." I gulp, my insides turning to mush as he leans down to kiss at my neck.

"Whoa, let's slow down," I grab at his braid," I'm still at work."

He growls in frustration, pulling back," alright. How much longer?"

"Till close, which should be soon," I answer," you don't mind waiting around, right?"

"I've waited seven years, what's a few more hours to that," he says.

Lug keeps me company till the last patron leaves. The second I finish the last bit of cleaning he has me in his arms, kissing me breathless. He has half a mind to pull back, smiling down at my dazed face with glee.

I break out of his arms, grabbing his hand to tug him out the bar and into the cold night. I pull him down into a kiss, not able to hold off for another second.

"I love you, lug," I mumble against his lips.

"I love you too, Thea," he answers in kind.

"Are you going to take me home now," I ask with a wicked grin.

He growls, lifting me up and over his shoulder. I laugh, blushing as he palms my rear. I've missed him so much and we have a lot of time to make up.

[reddrobins]

of coffee cups + criminals - two [j.todd]

TW: violence

ONE - THREE

[Y/N] stood statue-like in her apartment living room. Since hanging up on Jason, not another word had been uttered. 

Sionis had finally moved from his spot, now opting to move around her kitchenette. Her eyes remained glued on the criminal before her.

“So,” The Black Mask finally spoke, “Miss… [L/N], is it?”

Of course, [Y/N] comprehended his words, but fear disabled her ability to reply. 

The masked man gazed expectantly upon her, waiting for her response. Roman chucked to himself, it seemed that his confrontations always started out this way. Approaching her, he stood within an arm's length, eyebrows raised in waiting.

“Well?” He drawled out, clearly bored, it seemed to [Y/N] that he had done this more than once.

“Yes.” Her voice was barely above a whisper and she feared that maybe she had said it in her head. That was until Roman clapped his hands together, seemingly  happy with her answer.

“Wonderful,” He sauntered back to the kitchen area, gloved fingers lingering on the countertops, “I have to say, we did have some difficulty tracking you.” 

As the words sank in, she watched as he took - what she assumed to be - a phone out of his jacket pocket. 

Curiosity getting the better of her, [Y/N] let out a hushed, “What?”

Sionis, to be frank, found her quite humorous. When he usually came to set a record straight, the sorry Gothamite he encountered was often hostile, whipping out whatever protective items they had. [Y/N]’s reaction was vastly different from any one he had come into contact with thus far.

“Oh yes,” He started, all the while scrolling through the files Mr. Li had sent him. “[Y/N] [L/N], 21 years old, originally from Metropolis…” Sionis looked up from his phone, he smirked at her, “Fan of the Man of Steel I presume?” 

[Y/N] swallowed the fear rising in her throat as Roman continued to lazily look at her information. She stood as still as she possibly could, but her mind was racing. Millions of thoughts as to how to escape, how to run, how to get to Jason, swarmed her head.

An annoyed sigh followed by a slam shook her out of her thoughts. “So much information on you, yet so little telling me what I want to hear.” Sionis brought a hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. It was unlike his informants to have this little confirmation on [Y/N]’s allies, it was as if he couldn't connect her to anyone.

Then, “Look-” He started, walking towards her once more, “You seem like an upstanding girl, my men reported that you make a damn good cup of coffee,”

He continued his monologue, but [Y/N] had tuned out. Of course - she thought - Of-fucking-course. Literally just her luck that the only reason for the shop to be busy was through the workings of the criminal underworld.

A harsh grip brought her back to the situation. The Black Mask had his clothed fingers wrapped around her forearm, squeezing with enough force to bruise. “Well!?”

[Y/N] looked at him, confusion clear on her face, “...huh?” 

Roman all but growled,fingers tightening their hold, “I’m sorry dear, I didn't take you for an incompetant fool.” 

Surprised at his newfound hostility, she tried to pull away - only angering Sionis further. “Now, I am going to ask again. What do you know about the Red Hood?”

The Red Hood.

She knew of the infamous vigilante, of course - all of Gotham did. 

“I-I- I don't know, just, he’s like,” [Y/N] sputtered for an answer, unsure what to say to keep Roman at ease, “He works with the Batman! I know that…” 

Unfortunately, this was not what Roman wanted to hear. “I know that, you idiot!” He grit out, throwing [Y/N] from his hold. The girl stumbled back, nearly falling to the floor. She braced herself onto her knee, keeping her from falling forward.

The Black Mask stalked towards her crouched form and gripped her chin, forcing her gaze to be on him. He gave her a sickening smile, “Let me rephrase the question for you, and this time give me a competent response.”

Roughly releasing her face, he stepped away and took the switchblade out of his pocket once more. “What do you know about the Red Hood…”

Helplessly, [Y/N] began to protest, “That’s the same questio-”

Roman waved the blade back and forth, tutting at the girl before him, “Tsk, I didn’t finish. What do you know about the Red Hood, personally?”

[Y/N] didn't fail to hear the implication in his question. He phrased it as though the two had history, as though [Y/N] and this Red Hood were in cahoots with one another. 

“I’m telling you,” She pleaded, “I don't know him. I-I don't know who you think I am, but I’ve never even met this guy!” 

At that, the Black Mask scoffed, rolling his piercing eyes, and began to pace. “So…” He hissed out angrily, “So you’re telling me that, this-” Roman shoved his phone towards [Y/N]’s face, a picture bright on the screen. “Isn't you?”

It took a second for her eyes to focus on the screen in the dim apartment. But even without pure vision, [Y/N] already knew the answer. She could immediately recognize the picture.

It was on the corner street near Robinson Park. It was ‘their’ spot. When she got off of work at 4:00, Jason would meet her there, the two walking home together. 

The image displayed her, bag slung on her shoulder, tiredly waiting for Jason to show.

[Y/N]’s throat was dry, but knew a response was expected, pushing through - she squeaked out a small, “No.”

Roman narrowed his eyes, “No?” He then laughed, the sound eerily deep and stunning, “‘No’ she says!” 

In a second, he towered over [Y/N], stained cafe apron clutched in his fist, pulling her up towards him. “Do you think this is a joke? Think I’m here on a friendly visit?”

[Y/N] shook her head frantically, pulling her head as far back as possible, “N-No! No, I mean, Yes, yes that's me but no - no I don't think it's a joke.”

Sionis loosened his hold, now leaving [Y/N] at an arm's length from him. Just when she began to think she was out of the woods, the silver butterfly knife made its true appearance. The gangster held it in front of him, pointing the sharp tip towards [Y/N]’s chest.

“I’m done with the games.” Was all he uttered. 

Unsure of what to say, the terrified girl stayed silent. This apparently was on the list of ‘ways to piss off the Black Mask’. Her lack of response elicited another groan from Roman, thus annoying him to the point of no return.

Raising the blade, he traced her jawline - not hard enough to cut, only to instill fear. “You have one of two options, you either spill what you know about the Hood or…”

The smile that appeared on his face let [Y/N] know that no, she didn't really have an option here.

“I spill your guts.”

It was a lie, but she didn't know that. Roman knew that she meant far more to him alive than dead. They had already established that the deal was a life for a life. The Black Mask wasn't stupid, he knew who he was making business with, he knew not to fuck this one up.

[Y/N] however, was unaware of this promise. Upon hearing the threat, she let out a strangled sob, a feral cry of helplessness. There was no way she would be getting out alive, she didn't know a single thing about this hooded vigilante.

“Please!” tears now flowed freely down her face, “I promise you, I don't know anything about him. Just let me be.” Backing up, [Y/N] tried to put as much distance between the two, “I won’t tell anyone you were here. I- I’ll just go in my room and act like nothing happened. Please, I promise.”

Though [Y/N]’s whimpering brought immense joy to the masked villain, Roman had heard enough. He was running on a time constraint and if he wasn't to deliver the package within the night, the Red Hoodlum wouldn't be taken care of.

“You had your chance,” Sionis nodded to the shadows, and to [Y/N]’s surprise, out walked two men. How she hadn't noticed them before, beats her - but here they were in all their large and intimidating glory. “I’d like you to meet my men, Miss [L/N]. Rick, Leon-” He lazily acknowledged the two, “Please grab the girl and bring her up to the roof. Our ride awaits.”

As the two men stalked towards her, [Y/N] silently debated her options. One being she lets the Mask take her and she dies, and two, she makes a run for it and she dies… probably. Either option seemed like a loss and so with all her common sense left back in Metropolis, she made a beeline to the door.

Unsurprisingly, the three felons didn't seem at all phased by this fruitless attempt at evasion. Roman didn't so much as have to jerk his head towards her fleeting form for the two large goons to get the memo. 

Almost at unhuman-like speed, the largest man, Rick, grabbed hold of [Y/N], easily pulling her further from the safety of the door. With minimum effort, he twisted her struggling form into a headlock, both arms braced around her upper body. 

[Y/N] clawed at the man's vice lock, doing everything in her power to gain control. If she learned anything from her years in Gotham, it was that in situations like these, the one thing you need to survive is control. 

Alas, it seemed as though tonight was anything but controllable for [Y/N]. ‘And for what?’ She found herself thinking, ‘All because of a stupid fucking vigilante she doesn't even know?’ Normally, she was not one to get angry, but after a moment of introspection, she then realised how fucked her situation was.

Resorting to the last possible tactic, [Y/N] threw out every ounce of hesitance in her body and bit down onto Ricks arm. Maybe it was in pure shock, or just plain disgust, but Rick immediately uncurled his arms, freeing [Y/N] from his hold.

With no time to gloat at her self defense skills, [Y/N] once more raced to the door, already feeling the sense of safety at her fingertips.

But like all good things, this quickly came to an end.

Right as her hand gripped the door knob, the cool metal slipped from her grasp, a rough tug pulling her back. On instinct, she brought her hand up to her head - the source of the painful yank. Someone had pulled her back by her hair, the stinging pain slowly spreading about her head.

Before she could even wonder who the perpetrator was, Sionis’ stygian face came into view. This time, he feigned a look of sorrow, though an obvious hint of pleasure shone through. “Look, I really didn't want to have to do this, but you’re not making my life a whole lot easy.”

[Y/N] didn't have a chance to question what ‘this’ was. That was until the brass-knuckled fist made contact with her temple.

-

Jason knew something was wrong when she hadn't picked up the first three tries. Though he had not totally let her into his past, [Y/N] knew enough to pick up on his anxious tendencies.

It was an unspoken code in their relationship. If someone didn't pick up within three calls, without prior reason, it was expected of the other to call the GCPD. Or, in Jason's case- The Red Hood.

After her abrupt hang up, Jason had gone back to his safe house, deciding it would be better to track [Y/N]’s cell rather than worry the whole night.

It was now thirty past midnight, almost an hour since her last call. Jason, though he wanted to, didn't immediately jump into action as the tracer was pinning [Y/N]’s phone location to be in her home. 

‘Maybe she fell asleep?’ Jason thought in a sorry attempt to calm his worries. ‘Highly unlikely,’ He retorted to himself, of course, it was a common occurrence to be his own worst enemy.

His anxieties finally getting the best of him, he re-dawned the scarlet helmet and headed out the door, not without strapping a few extra guns onto his person.

Jason had only set up this safe house when he and [Y/N] had started dating. She lived closer to the Narrows, as a result of cheap rent and close distance to the coffee shop. But Jason, who mostly dealt with the Diamond district and sometimes Amusement Mile, couldn't have been farther from [Y/N]. So, using up some of the money he had nabbed off of Cobblepot’s latest (terminated) heist, he purchased a small storage location just a block from her complex.

It had only taken Jason ten minutes to arrive at her apartment, the benefit of having a grappling gun. Before even entering the door, Jason knew something was wrong.

Normally, when he came to visit late a night, he could see light seeping out from under the door crack. Tonight, however, it was jet black. Opting to pick the lock instead of acting on his urge to kick down the door, Jason silently toed into the room. 

The silence only confirmed his thoughts. 

Even in the depths of night, [Y/N]’s house was not quiet. Music, TV chatter, a podcast even, just something was always playing. The eerie stillness shook him to his core, his anxiety spiking the further he crept into her home. Upon brief inspection, he was able to deduct that she had been home… but not alone.

Several pairs of shoeprints littered the floor. He could easily recognise her’s, the small curves in between the outline - definitely [Y/N]’s boots. But he struggled with the three others. It was not that [Y/N] didn't have any friends, she had many - but they were back in Metropolis, surely they wouldn't show up at midnight at random.

Jason scrunched his eyes closed under the mask. Leave it to him to be the one whose girlfriend disappears. Comparison crept back into his head, “Dick’s never lost Barbara, Tim and Steph are always together… Even Bruce can contact Selina when needed…” 

The ugly thought of ‘WHY ME’ was plastered behind his eyes, but he shook it off. [Y/N] was his top priority right now, not his own insecurities.

Accepting that this may be bigger than his detective skills, (Jason had always considered himself more of a fighter) he fished something out of his leather jacket. Entering a number he thought he never would, he connected the phone to his coms.

“Hey, it's me…” A breath, then, “I, I think I might need your help on this one.”

[pollenat]

“Liquid mirrors” | cjs.

➛ End of the world!au with crush!Lia. Angst, but also fluff? Got philosophical for no reason at all, so you may want to skip it. If you have seen 2012 then this is inspired by the ending when they’re watching the aftermath from the ship. Yes, I’m sane. And yes, this scene is about the little signs of mutual yearning.

➛ Word count: 1049.

The chatter of survivors is a constant. They talk, although there’s nothing to be said, nothing to be noticed. Nothing happens aboard a ship with no destination. All there’s to be done is watching. The horizon is the infinity, split into half - the nothingness and another nothingness. Both unreachable, both just the past with no future. Both a joke, a compliment and a threat to your being. Joke, because you survived. Compliment, because you survived. Threat, because you survived and there’s nothing to survive for.

You take a look at the masses gathered around you. The people who have limited the meaning of life to their massive ship - a simple nothing from the universe’s perspective. You look at Jisoo, a girl with her smile wide and eyes closed. She reminds you of the Sun, the only being you consider enjoyable. Of course, aside from the aforementioned girl. A waterfall of bleak thoughts is disrupted for a second. The hand responsible gets a hold of a dark lock to put it behind her ear.

A ray of sunshine from between the human-shaped trees. A splash of cold water during a hot day. What did a hot weather feel like anyways? You do not remember much, but you’re brought back to the taste of chocolate ice cream and all of sudden you miss them. But who would consider packing a stash of frozen treats onboard a survivor ship?

“Let’s go back inside.”

A family of three leaves their sacred spot by the railing, indifferent to how prestigious their situation was. You don’t think, you just make the beeline for what the others have abandoned. With the large amount of people onboard, getting a spot by the railing turned out to be a challenge. Everyone wants to be the lookout, the proud survivor that raises their voice to announce dry land, or the sight of a bird, or just something - anything other than trash that breaks the wall of mundane reality. You watch the past’s graveyard, made of things so obscure, you do not dare to name them. The mundane reality seems far better when put next to the obscure one.

“-and we had a dog-” “Excuse me.” “-my father has never been much of a-” “Sorry!” “-what a bitchy-” “Excuse me. Excuse me.” “-the architect-” “(y/n)!”

You look to the side, at the ray of sunshine that went from winking at you from between the trees, to blinding your mind with its close presence. Jisoo has joined your spot by the railing, though you know she must’ve had one hell of a journey through the crowd.

“Hi.” is your shy acknowledgement of her presence. The crowd’s chatter seems a useless noise, stealing the quieter notes of her rendition of the same word you used.

Jisoo looks away from you, a small smile still present. She watches the horizon, ignoring the trash swimming beneath you as if she was just as afraid of the obscure reality. Captivated by her being, you watch her side profile. You’re completely indifferent to the fact that it may seem odd - you may seem odd. After all, she has chosen to come to you, and it’s the something you’ve been on the lookout for.

“We’re doing a game night.” Jisoo looks at you for a split moment, which is enough to widen her smile. “I mean- Yeji is doing it. She cut some paper to make game cards.”

“Cool.” Instantly after that uncool answer, you push yourself to make up for it with more words. “-but weird that the higher-ups didn’t think of cards, right?”

“A basic necessity?” She snickers. “Honestly if it were me - I mean with the higher-ups - I wouldn’t have forgotten something as important as game cards. What else people could need? Food?”

Before she can continue making fun of your awkward attempt at conversation, you need to stop her. Enough embarrassment for something about... the rest of your life?

“Alright, you know what i meant.” Jisoo giggles.

“I was just messing with you.” Her elbow knocks your side to force a smile on your face. “But, what I meant to say is that you’re invite- No, not invited. You’re ordered to come join us.”

“Ordered?”

“Ordered - it’s an order.” Though she hasn’t stopped smiling for a second while standing next to you, this time her expression is that of a winner. “You can’t say no.”

“Sure, what else could I be doing tonight?”

Jisoo opens her mouth to answer, then quickly closes it. Her eyes wander around your face, in a manner that makes you feel bare. The smiling stops. Her lower lip is bitten. Fingers curl and uncurl around the railing. Then she looks away, taking away the attention you’re desperate for. Feeling like you’re missing the context, you drop your gaze down, at the water. Just in time to see a small opening for your and Jisoo’s heads. A pair of small dots is staring back at you, only to disappear beneath a moldy form. You look back up. Another hip presses itself at yours.

A spark of interest, a call for hope has you directing gaze to the side. The embers die once you realize that the hip accident was nothing more than an escape from a woman who cares not for the tight crowd. Jisoo takes a step back, closing the distance between your bodies. She’s frowning at the indifferent woman.

“I’ve had enough of the railings anyway.” You tell Jisoo, hand gripping her wrist to make the girl follow you.

Your hold weakens when you’re pressing through the crowd, but her fingers retreat to grab yours. The warmth is distracting, cutting your thoughts off. Another thing Jisoo has in common with the sun - they’re both sure to keep you away from the cold. But it’s not like you were aware of that before.

“Ugh, people.” She jokes once both of you are out of the crowd. The hold remains, though it’s not the strong one. Jisoo must have forgotten you’re gripping her hand, that’s why she makes no motion to free herself.

When you do the honors, she seems surprised. The freed fingers reach up to fix her hair.

“Yeah, so see you tonight?” and just like that, she leaves.

➛ Continued in “Nocturnal silence”.

➛ pollenat’s list of headcanons

➛ pollenat’s list of shorts

➛ pollenat’s list of scenarios

[iamtheempress]

Cold Blooded

A Dragon Ball Horror Fic {Part 9}

☆☆☆

Some days have come and gone, bruises were healed ribs are fixed back into place. Vegeta is off with Goku training themselves in the time chamber for the night, in all their forms to test themselves fully.

Bulma had asked her to house sit the entirety of Capsule Corp for the night, Carlie happily obliged since she still had her old room beside the balcony. The scientist rushed to her lab and came back up to her temporary bedroom and sat down on her bed, only to dress into a sleep shirt and pull out her bottle of whiskey, an old stache in her night stand and the new bottle of Merlot for Frieza. She ordered a hot pizza for herself and maybe Frieza if he was willing to eat. 

She had a movie ready to watch and unwind. An old classic and take on horror, Alien. A solid 3 hour long movie that she loved to watch when she was younger, one of the first movies that peaked her interest hardcore to alien races all together.

She singlehandedly carried both the pies and the wine and whiskey in her arms down the hall in the direction of the theater, which is on Friezas side of the building She felt one of the bottles slipping and started to quietly curse herself when it falls from her arms, she awaits the impending crash and liqour splattering everywhere. When it didnt she looked to her side to see a tail tip encircling the bottle.

 “Tsk. Well if that were to break that would certainly be tragic, wouldnt it, Ms. Carlie?” Frieza said standing beside her with a small smile, Carlie smiled at Frieza and laughed abit embarrassed. “Thanks, Frieza.. Want to help me eat these pizzas?”She lifted the pizza boxes and the smell wafted up to the Emperor, he hummed and held his chin between his fingers. “I am quite hungry. Pizza you say? Id love to accompany you, dear.” 

He holds the bottle and saunters beside her down the hall, tail fluttering slowly behind him, a bit of blood still on the very end of his terribly strong tail.. From his most recent murder that day. “I was actually going to watch a movie too, so hope you enjoy feeling lazy eating pizza and getting abit drunk cuz thats going to happen with me tonight” She giggled and gently nudged open the door to the large theater room. “Oh there is no issue with that, I was wondering how you were doing anyway so to spend some quality time within your company is just what i needed.” 

You too will realize this

Frieza curtly nods and places the bottle of whiskey down besides the two large pizzas with hot sauce to dunk in, Carlie lifted the bottle of merlot to Frieza and smiled. “Wanted to give this to you and we can get abit drunk together.. Except i dont know your tolerance to alcohol.” “Wuite alright, im no light weight.” “Excellent!” she claps her hands together and grabs a wine goblet and one Whiskey glass.

Frieza watches her form shuffle away, eyes raking slowly down to her pretty soft legs. Her bottom showing just slightly from the shirt raised up behind her. Frieza hums and seats himself on the extra large and extravagant couch bringing the Wine up and looking at it.. His little smirk showing in the glass bottles sheen in the movie theaters dim light. “Care to tell me what we would be watching.” She tilts her head and comes back with the glasses sitting comfy besides Freeza, the light of the theater dimmed very slowly until the only things visible were Friezas eyes and the screen turning on to suit the room. 

“This movie is one of my favorites from when i was younger. It is called Alien, plot is basically a bunch of humans awake from cryostasis and there's no reason why, and then this insectoid alien called a xenomorph makes its appearance and you'll see the rest. It's great!” “Ohohoho! How precious.. Humans having their own interpretations of Alien kind is quite amusing! Cannot wait to see what kind of monstrosity your kind has imagined.” He uses his ki to pour them both some wine and whiskey. “Hey you might like it, don't knock it till ya try it.” she giggles and clinks the drinks together and takes a sip. The movie begins and she is immediately entrenched in it like its her first time watching it.

Watching a classic with the late emperor. His arms are crossed as this large fluffy white quilt is brought up to her lap and encircles her so comfortably, her slippers fall off her feet to the floor. Frieza watches her out of the corner of his eye while she watches the screen with expectant wonder.. 

He watched her pretty gossamer locks, some that were tied up and some that were loose, falling out of her messily tied bun, down her shirt, her lightly tanned skin glistens with some nice smelling body spray, tantalizing and sweet. Like her. The fact she wasnt wearing glasses made her look more appealing and this deeply confused Frieza… His eyes snapped to the screen and he took a sip of his drink, his back curving to relax into the plush cushion. 

Friezas tail slid beneath her back, she didnt flinch, she shifted a tiny bit, maybe to make sure he was comfortable, maybe to welcome it.. He took it as the latter and proceeded to welcome the warmth of her back upon his tail. 

‘You beautiful little thing…’ he thinks crossing his ankles and watching her fill another glass full of whiskey, right as the first sight of the Xenomorph came up on screen his eyes widened and he tilted his head. 

Watching humans cower in abject horror made the emperor smile in pride of the idea that this is what humans find entertaining and terrifying..the tail around her waist slowly drags her to his side; spurts of blood and the absolute massacre that sprays forth from its victims peaks his interest. Down to the idea they grow and procreate and are fast and nimble, with predatory intent to kill and overwhelm, ambush with ease. 

The very similar comparison to his 3rd form was just the icing on the cake for the emperor that made this all the more amusing. Shes familiar with the immense amount of horror this form can bring...Maybe this was intentional.. Maybe she wanted him to see that he wasnt afraid of him, no matter what form he took. 

She had eaten almost all of this pizza along with the dip of the hot sauce that made her lips look glossy and inviting...a thought Frieza never entertained before but here he was, staring at her lips and her neck where Vegeta left a bite.

He sneers and his bright red eyes return to the screen, when she places her whiskey glass down her hand touches his thick cold tail while she puts it down the emperor cracks the goblet from the grip.. Not breaking it entirely just enough to crack it.

*Thats enough of this little game…*

This gives him an idea. One to finally act upon this beautiful little woman besides him whos blanched stark white and almost flush against the 

“"this movie is quite entertaining. Kill or be killed and absolute domination with zero regard for human life. Procreate and maim, all for the sake of their queen" Frieza muses, his arm bringing the soft white blanket into his lap and his cold strong hand finds her bare thigh, Carlie was abit tipsy but she wasnt blind... "You enjoy this bloodshed dont you, Carlie.” He lets the goblet go to float gingerly to the table infront of him and tilts her head to face him. “Frieza, what are you talking about.. Its just a movie.” He straightens his back hard and looks her square in the eye; a knowing look blooms across his minimalistic features and his red eyes dilate.

“I know what happened to you the other day. Vegeta harmed you while you were intimate, I saw your back and those horrific bruises and scratches.” Her eyes went wide and she backed her head up abit from him as he held her hand in his own. “Frieza.. Me and Vegeta are fine it was a one time thing that wont-” “And how do you know that Carlie?” “Huh?”

“Ive known Vegeta for decades. Since he was a small chimp with a dead father. I WAS basically his father figure, to hell with any of his old Saiyan counterparts. They had as little an influence as i did on him. He had a temper that could never be put out..”  He snapped, raising his voice harshly almost into her face.

 For a split second.. He felt bad for doing that.

“That Saiyan bravado is all brute force and abuse. Never anything gentle..” Carlies eyes remained wide as she slowly- like cold molasses on the brain-took everything he said in. “He would never abuse me..” She pushed his hand off her leg and his tail slunk slowly beneath the shirt to her smoothe soft belly, then to her thighs to keep her still, but not enough to harm her. “He did though..  He most certainly did though… your back had proof of it.. Why would he throw you so violently… you his little mate.. That damned ape knows nothing about delicacy… its disgusting…” 

He sneers forcing the girl to her back with little effort on his own part. Carlie started to panic... “Frieza, let me go. C'mon if i didn't trust Vegeta i wouldn't be with him, let me the heck go please.” SHe pleas and pulls against the tail as the emperor cradles her head and stares down at the little scientist, a hypnotic unblinking stare as his tail tightens around her soft midsection and her quivering legs, his tail pulsing around her body.

   “Carlie… Would I lie to you.. Vegeta’s a great danger to you, he's highly unstable and you know it.. No amount of affection or care will break that ape down to what you want.. He is a *Saiyan* careless, heartless, if you were to die he wouldn't bat a lash.. Just look at where you are.” His tail sliding between her legs to lock them together to ensure she doesn't struggle too hard. SHe was all ears as she complied and lain still turning her head to the side crying…

“He left you with me… alone.. Instead of staying he went off to probably train and..” the back of his knuckles slide down her cheek. His eyes looking longingly at the slender pretty neck and her soft plush lips back up to her eyes… 

What is going ON with him….

“Inflict more harm upon you…Possibly kill you..” He pulls away and sits up his tail uncurling quite satisfied with his claim. Hoping he made her change her mind he folded his hands in his lap. 

“You are my only friend Carlie, I'm saying this to protect you.” 

Carlie stood up and backed up staring at him. “I don't know where you get off.. Speaking to me like that.. Frieza I gotta go.. Dont fucking follow me i cant fucking think…” she slurs, turning on her heel and taking the whiskey and headed for the door.

  “Look at me.”

 She stops dead in her tracks. Frieza didn't even have to turn completely around. “That creature… the Xenomorph on the screen.. Is my 3rd form likeness..” 

3rd form… no one said anything about forms with him… “.............” She gulps and listens, letting him proceed. “This is my Final Form.. From this i can get stronger in my Golden form… one day i hope to show you its glory… But until then… know i could have killed you.. But i dont. I enjoy your company. If you choose to leave that is your choice, and i bid you a pleasant night my dear.” He raises the now full Goblet to his lips and sips.

He heard the door close and the emperor simply closed his eyes.. Her energy left the room. It was lonely. It actually *hurt* Frieza to feel her go.

"Consider this friendship squandered... i will take what i want... and what i wanted from the very beginning was you" He hissed under his breath. Continuing to watch the movie and enjoy the rest of his pizza. “I hope you have a lovely last night as Vegetas.. Because i will make you mine. Empress Carlie...you have no choice…” He muses eating a slice and licking his fingers clean. 

His tail rests in the spot where she sat. “You never really did.”

☆☆☆

Authors note: Super sorry yall. lifes been batshit and i hope yall like this truly. Were coming up on the wrap up~

Taglist: @gallickingun​ @gonuclear​ @dragonblobz @dragonballcollector @lilfriezatyrant @mommaofthesayianguild @lizardhipsdontlie @supremeleadershitlord @thotful-writing @trans-asshole @memevember  @msgreenverse​ @dragonball-hcs-or-sum-shit​ @chickiedinner​ @kamehamethot​

[monchikyun]

XIII. give you everything

Connor can’t help but laugh when a palm lands on his cheek ever so softly. 

“You’re aware that I can’t feel physical pain, right?” 

“Shut up,” Gavin pretends that he’s bothered by that rhetorical question, but the hint of a smile trying to force its way in doesn’t go undetected. Ever since the morning, his face has been graced by the shade of red Connor can’t get enough of, which is the main reason for his good mood.  

Somehow they ended up playing rock-scissors-paper and Gavin insisted that the loser should receive some form of punishment, “to spice it up a little”. He thinks that the man just wants to test how advanced his programming is, to find out whether he’s even capable of losing. The truth is he could accurately estimate Gavin’s move if he concentrated enough, but then this would be no fun now, would it. 

Of course, he had to draw paper in their first round and the fact that Gavin immediately went for scissors was all but unexpected. The man himself can be sharp like a knife when you touch the wrong side of him. 

Connor has a hard time admitting to himself that he lost on purpose because he can’t quite figure out why. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Gavin mumbles and invites him for a rematch. 

He supposes there are better ways to spend their free time, but since no one is willing to talk about what is going on between them, childish games count as the next best thing. 

And Connor really enjoys the limbo they trapped themselves in. It’s just warm enough without the possibility of leaving burns. Luke-warm, if he’s being honest with himself. A bit bland. Still, he could live with that. He can ignore the longing in Gavin’s eyes if it keeps them safe like this. 

“Guess I win this time.” Gavin’s fist uncurls in disappointment, preventing Connor from enveloping it in his ‘paper’. 

“You sure you didn’t cheat with your robo mind-reading power?” There is nothing but playfulness seeping from his voice, still, Connor can’t believe he even has to ask. 

“You really do think highly of me, don’t you?”

“So that would be a ‘no’.” He squeezes his eyes shut and winces in anticipation. 

“I’ll be gentle, I promise.” 

And he is, imitating the slap he got just a couple of minutes ago. 

“Seriously? Well, that was kinda underwhelming.” He sounds almost dissatisfied. Connor never considered Gavin was into that kind of stuff but one never knows what the other person might be hiding. Not that he minds, it’s just a piece of information he needs to get used to. 

“So was yours.” He smirks at him, creating a petulant frown on his friend’s face. 

“Good point.” At least he doesn’t initiate a fight. It would be a shame if something ruined their so-far peaceful day. 

The snow has finally stopped falling, letting a ray of sunshine peek through the thick clouds. He would suggest taking a walk if Gavin hasn’t coughed three times in the past two hours. Connor has been monitoring his vitals, not noticing any significant change to his health, but that might have been only thanks to their current sufficiently heated location. At least according to his scans it is so, because the detective’s hands rub his arms up and down in an attempt to get rid of the cold only he can feel. 

“If only you had a perfectly comfortable sweater to wear.., what a pity,” Connor shakes his head in theatrical sorrow. 

“Oh, wait.” 

The darts coming from Gavin prick his skin without having to look at him at all. Now, this is fun. 

“You do!.” 

The man seems offended by his toothy grin, which makes it grow even wider. 

“For phck’s sake, Connor. I told you I’ll wear that over my dead body.” 

“Guess I’ll have to kill you then.” 

He means it as a stupid joke, but the air turns serious as soon as his mouth lets out those words. 

“Sorry.” 

He shouldn’t be the one letting himself be carried away by the moment, no matter how carefree it might have been. 

But Gavin doesn’t react to his feeble apology, busy making himself smaller to contain some of his bodily heat. His temperature is still within the norm, but that doesn’t tell him anything about what might happen in the next several hours. Days. 

He repeats his actions from the night before, placing his blanket around the man’s shoulder, letting his hands linger a little longer than they should. 

They spend the rest of the day wasting their time by playing all the games from Gavin’s childhood that Connor would never have the opportunity to experience otherwise. It’s a nice gesture, if that indeed is the intention behind it. Could be that this is the detective’s idea of dealing with boredom. And since they’ve decided to forget all about their work while they’re here, there weren’t many options left if they wanted to avoid all communication that could direct them to the forsaken grounds, also known as a personal dialogue. 

Connor almost had to force-feed Gavin the lunch he ordered for him, fighting against his endless excuses of not being hungry. He needs the strength if his condition is to worsen, and he’d make sure he gets it, even if it ended up in him having to shove a spoon inside his human mouth and nearly choking him to death. The man does sometimes act like a misbehaving toddler, but he figures that’s just a part of his charm. Besides, he likes taking care of him, it makes him fulfilled, for more reasons than one. It reminds him that he’s capable of so much more than just police work. 

It’s late in the afternoon now, the sky has gone dark and their carefully structured conversation quieted down into a pleasant silence. The only light source in their room is provided by the muted television which no one pays any attention to. 

Gavin is sitting on the ground, backed propped by the side of his bed. He’s still snuggled in Connor’s blanket, cradling a cup of tea the android has made for him. 

He has packed plenty of supplies with him, thinking they might come in handy. It’s better to be over-prepared than the opposite, an opinion that this trip has confirmed to him. 

Connor has just got off the phone with Tina, assuring himself that Sumo is being adequately spoiled. He really misses that oversized lump of fur, but the dog is doing just fine without him, so he has nothing to complain about.  

Checking up on Gavin he notices his temperature has risen above what’s deemed healthy. He sits next to him and retracts the skin on his hand, pressing it on the man’s forehead to extract the precise reading, just to be certain.�� 

“Yeah, I know,” Gavin says, clearly defeated. He shifts a bit and looks at him like he’s seeing the most beautiful being in the world, setting the now half-empty cup aside. 

“C’me here.” 

Maybe it’s the medicine he took twenty minutes ago finally kicking in, making his brain all mushy and body too clingy, but Gavin magically pulls him in his lap and holds him like he’s the last of his kind. He rests his head on the android’s chest, and Connor is too weak to deny him this show of vulnerability. Even if it’s likely drug-induced. They stay like this for a while, basking in each other’s touch, breathing in the tender atmosphere. Their hands have found each other too, fitting together like opposite poles. His spare one is threading through Gavin’s hair, messing it up on purpose. Connor loves seeing it like that, it feels intimate to him. A secret side of the man reserved only for those who are closest to him. It’s nice. Too nice. 

The moment is so overwhelmingly light it doesn’t even occur to him how dangerous his actions are. How those small acts can wedge a rift between them if he isn’t careful enough. 

But it’s too late to back out because Gavin kisses his chest, the place whereunder his mechanical heart beats loudly. And it doesn’t stop there. He traces those kisses up along his collar bone, his jaw, his neck, eliciting a content hum from him in the process. When he comes close to his lips, the man hesitates for a second that seems like an eternity, but ultimately decides to give in. 

And that where Connor draws the line. Snapping out of his trance, he quickly shoves his hand in front of his mouth to prevent Gavin from doing something he won’t be able to take back. 

“I’m sorry,” comes the muffled expression of regret. He truly loathes having to say that phrase so often because he apparently can’t do a single thing right in his life. 

He climbs off Gavin, dropping his body right next to him instead. 

“Why,” the man breathes softly. 

“I- I can’t. I can’t give you everything you want, Gavin.” He tries to communicate his despair through his doleful gaze, which his friend appears to be drowning in. 

“What-” Connor grabs the upper side of Gavin’s hand, guiding it towards him in an answer. It discomforts him greatly, but he leads it to where his genitals would be if he had any. He’s not the only one unsettled by this, for he senses Gavin struggle against his grip and at this point he has no choice but to set him free.

“You phcking toaster, you think I don’t know that?” he laughs without mirth. 

“You think that… that I want you just for your body?” 

Connor has hurt the man again, despite trying to do the exact opposite. 

“...no?” 

“No!” It’s not that difficult to believe, but not as easy when the truth has been spoken out loud. 

Gavin leans back into him, resting his head on his shoulder. At least they haven’t spiralled down the path of pretend animosity. 

“You don’t mind that I’m not a man?” Connor has never really regarded himself as one. It’s a label that doesn’t feel right to him. He’s simply himself, a human-like android who has been given a soul. There is no need for something else.

“I don’t care what or who you are, Con. As long as it’s you that’s inside, I wouldn’t mind if you were a phcking jellyfish, I’d… I’d love you all the same.” 

“You… you love me.”  The world around him gets blurry as he can’t quite process what he just heard.

“Is that so surprising, tin can?” Gavin chuckles, his own tears audible in that delightful sound.  

He wants to say it back, every inch of his being is urging him to do so, but his brain has frozen over and refuses to receive any command his heart gives him.

The words are stuck in his chest, leaking out through his close eyes, unable to be turned into any shape. They stab him with their intensity over and over, making him want to pluck them out and throw them at the person who has created them. 

“I-”

“You don’t have to, Con.” 

Maybe neither of them is ready to carry the weight behind that sentence just yet.

@a-convin-new-year i had to change the title a bit to suit my story hope you don’t mind 

[httpbread]

Card Game Interruptions

Pairing: Hanako x reader

Words: 6666 (heh)

this wasn’t a request i just don’t have any vague sense of impulse control

?enjoy? i hope?

---

"Take that!"

(Y/n)’s eyes narrow down at the despicable crime he has thrown at her.

They then flicked up to meet those golden ones glittering at, full to the brim with mirth and mischief.

So pretty...

Such a shame she’d have to crush that smug look.

"Y’know, you don’t have to say that every time you put down a plus-four," she comments, keeping her voice carefully passive as she deposits her card, "Just watch me."

She’s silent after setting it atop the pile and so is he.

The (h/c) haired girl glances up at him under her lashes, fighting valiantly to keep the smile begging to tug at her lips under wraps as their gazes meet, his now frozen on the cards.

"Where... how..."

Now, she can’t even help but smirk as she chimes, oh so happy to remind him, "That’s eight cards in total, Hanako. Think you can handle it?"

The charcoal haired boy puffs up his cheek, lifting a hand to adjust it, "‘Course. It’s just a few. It’s practically nothing."

"What? Compared to my three-"

The aforementioned three cards fell, abandoned by the hands she jerked up to her chest as the door vibrated on its hinges, the slam ringing out throughout the bathroom nothing compared to the yell that followed it.

"(Y/n)!"

Her mitts rested over her jolted heart, gradually uncurling her tense fingers as her eyes caught sight of a familiar friend’s figure.

Nene stands, planted in the doorway as though she might be sucked out at any second, hand gripping either side and her feet apart, face reading pure determination.

While at first, the sight had calmed her, she quickly grew to worry again. 

Something about that demeaned made her stomach flip, right about at the same time it clicked to her that it was, in fact, her name echoing off the walls.

"Yes, Ne-chan?"

Almost out of place now, her voice is much softer in the room, even despite having risen a couple of octaves with panic.

"I need your help!" Her friend declares, marching forward with an unusual firmness, leaving no room for any reluctance she may have on her part.

(Y/n) arches a brow at her as she comes to stop before her, herself shifting in her seat to face Nene, dropping her hands to fold them in her lap, "What seems to be the problem?"

Nene crosses her arms, casting her fiery eyes away to gnaw on her lower lip in peace for the moment.

(Y/n) took the time to peer at Hanako, who coincidentally caught her gaze, sharing a bewildered look with her.

However, his furrowed brows and wide eyes were nearly enough to steal a snicker from her lips, warranting a hand pressing to her lips as Nene turned back to her.

"Well- It’s just... that."

She hurriedly turns away again, making (Y/n) squint.

"I- Uhm... this thing... you..."

"Ne-chan?" She utters, even more, confused now as she watched her friend begin to fiddle with her fingers, "Just spit it out. I’m sure it’s fine."

Nene looks over at her for a moment, expression teetering between frustrated and pleading, an odd look, but she supposed it was sort of fitting to her beloved friend.

(E/c) eyes grew round as the colorful haired girl’s face lit up, flickering down to watch as her hands near frenziedly began to paw at her dress.

"Yashiro, is everything-"

"Got it!" She interrupted Hanako’s inquiry without a batted lash, not allowing for any hesitation as she launched whatever it was she had fished from her pockets at (Y/n).

She juggles it for a moment before just barely grasping it between her fingers.

(Y/n) ogles the crumbles ball of paper.

"Well, unfold it!"

She flashes her friend a glance before doing as told, unraveling a little before setting it on her thighs, smoothing out the wrinkled paper atop them.

Before her became legible words as pictures and phrases galore, a brochure of sorts, she guessed.

However, one word stuck out in particular.

"Prom?" She reads, both brows raising in an instance, Nene still looking down at her intently.

"Yes!" Her rose color eyes light up, fists rising up through the air above her head, "And I need your help!"

(Y/n) bites back a smile, "With what, exactly? How am I supposed to know what you want with me just because there’s a prom?"

Nene’s cheeks puff up.

"You know, if you’re asking (Y/n) to prom, this is a terrible way to do it."

She looks over at Hanako curiously as his words register with the mischievous grin he’s giving Nene.

She then looks back at Nene, "Honestly, Ne-chan, he has a point. I didn’t even realize-"

Nene slaps her hands over her reddening face, "No! No! No! That’s not- This isn’t-"

"For shame, Yashiro. Doesn’t (Y/n) deserve better?" Hanako chirps, drawing her attention again as his arm slipped around her waist, pulling her to his side with no regard for their game of Uno, "At least make her a poster! Maybe throw in some chocolates. A flower. Don’t you think so?"

"I’m not asking (Y/n) to prom!"

(Y/n) pouts her lower lip at her, "Wow. Way to make a girl feel loved, Ne-chan."

Nene peers through her fingers, "I’m sorry, (N/n)-chan. Forgive me?"

"Forgiven!" She chimes, the smile returning quickly to her lips as she prompts, "Now, what’s this about prom? How can I help?"

Nene reaches up to scratch her cheek lightly, eyes chased away once more by the question, "W-Well... I was thinking... maybe you could help... find me... a date..."

It took her a second to even figure out what she was saying, due to the way her voice began to grow quieter and quieter with each pause.

"Oh?"

A date for Nene, huh?

"Why not Teru?"

The arm around her stiffens, and she remembers that, yes, Hanako is still draped around her.

"Minamoto-senpai?!" but she’s a little too preoccupied by the boy next to her.

He does not look too happy with her suggestion, giving her a pointed, silent look that says it all.

"Hey, he’s handsome, and Ne-chan has at least some connection to him," she argues lightly, easily reaching up to tap his nose, "Besides, this is about Ne-chan, not us."

He only huffs, looking away from her as well now.

Geez. Did her friends just think that when their eyes left her she just disappeared? Because if so, she had a shocking fun fact for them.

"Eheh, yeah, I- Uhm. I don’t think I can just... do that..." Nene’s muttering returns her to the problem at hand, "Besides, he’ll probably have tons of promposals bothering him. I don’t want to add to the list..."

(Y/n) hums, lifting a finger to tap against her lower lip, "Uhhh... then, what about..."

She brightens, "Kou-kun! I’m sure he’d be delighted."

Nene only stares at her, making (Y/n) stare back questioningly, before looking back at Hanako who shrugs, "It’s a better option than the last, at least."

She makes a face, lightly whacking his further shoulder, "I make great suggestions!"

"Kou-kun? Really?" Nene makes a gesture that (Y/n) really doesn’t understand, "But he’s so!"

She doesn’t continue.

She supposed the hand motion was meant to cover that.

(Y/n), knowing her lovely suggestion was futile, decides to pretend that she knew what was trying to be conveyed by nodding, "Oh, right, okay."

She promptly turns, dropping her hand on Hanako’s knee as she confides in him, "So? What about you? Any ideas, Mr. opinionated?"

His gaze dips down to her hand, probably in thought.

"I don’t remember asking Hanako for his input," Nene comments sourly, cracking a smile on (Y/n)’s lips.

"Ah, that’s ‘cause I just did. Don’t worry, Ne-chan. We’ve got this!" She chirps playfully, "You don’t want to be a team?"

"Not really..."

"Well, too bad, I’m out of suggestions!" She admits, placing her other hand on her cheek, "It’s come to my attention that I don’t know any other living students."

"Hah? That’s not true!" Hanako promptly sticks a finger in the air, "What about Glasses? He’s definitely single!"

(Y/n) shakes her head disapprovingly, "No, no, Akane-kun is no doubt going to ask that nice blue-haired girl."

Her own words light a bulb in her head, "Oh! Wait!"

She beams at Nene, "How about you go with your friend when she turns him down again?"

This makes Hanako scoff, "Geez, not even wishing him luck, are you?"

"Not if it leaves Ne-chan lonely!" She dismisses, waving her hand, "I’m loyal, unlike you, I suppose."

"I’m loyal to you!" Those golden eyes flare at her defensively.

They’re pretty, but wrong, making her giggle, "When? You tried to peek under Ne-chan’s dress just this morning!"

"(Y/n) has a fair point. I’m a little offended you even tried to make that statement."

(Y/n) nods appreciatively, but quickly guides the conversation back, "Ne-chan, what did you think about it, though?"

At the question look she receives, she elaborates, "If you can’t find a romantic date, I’ve heard friend dates can be just as fun."

“Mm, but I want to go with a boy!" She cries out, wrapping her arms around herself, wiggling dramatically, "It would be fun- but it could be so romantic! What if this is my one chance to fall in love?!"

She hums curiously, eyes falling to the ground as the prospect.

One chance to fall in love...

(Y/n) wondered if her chance had passed when she had.

She blinks, eyes quickly finding the hand that has found hers, the one she forgot about on her friend’s leg, "Well, it won’t be a chance at anything if you keep refusing our suggestions."

"Your guys’ suggestion suck," Nene’s comment draws her lips apart with a gasp.

"Ne-chan! We’re doing our best!" She claims, a pouty frown weighing on her lips.

"Yeah, Ne-chan, how about you start throwing some ideas out there too?" She doesn’t even need to look, as his voice is all she needs to picture that challenging smirk on his lips, "Let the council decided your fate."

She looked anyways, though, simply because she wanted to see the look on his handsome face.

(Y/n) was sure that was one of her favorite expressions of his. It never failed to make her heart skip a beat.

And usually... make her laugh.

Which it did now too, especially as Nene fumbled with her hands, at a loss for words.

---

"Now, look, I’m not saying it’s hopeless, I’m just saying maybe it’s time we ask Aoi-san."

After exactly three days of shenanigans, three days of trying to tangle boy after boy into a date with her beloved friend, three days of varyingly dramatic proposals... three days of failure...

(Y/n) was sure she was at her end.

"That way, there’s at least some kind of a backup plan, y’know?"

Her gaze flitters around, looking for another unsuspecting target, despite her words.

Surely, there had to be at least one boy in this insufferable school who would be over the moon to take her friend to prom!

"Ne-chan? Are you listening to me?"

She turns to flash her friend a sour glance but finds herself pausing at the sight.

The gloomy girl no longer looked so gloomy at all.

Instead, she was actually laughing a little as she looked up at a familiar energetic blonde boy who patted her shoulder lightly, frowning and looking around like he was about to step to someone.

(Y/n) blinks.

Before a gentle smile curves at her lips.

There was a boy who’d be overjoyed to have her as a date.

Now, if only she could get one of them to prompose...

(Y/n) wondered if she could trick them into it, but that little tricking part was more Hanako’s thing...

"Yeah, but your creative flare makes it work better."

She nods. It was true. Their plans usually did work better when they worked together, and so far, none of her plans had worked over the past three days.

(Y/n) stills.

Wait a damned second.

She tears her thoughtful gaze away to squint at the arms snakes around her torso below hers which sat crossed over her chest.

"Hanako?" She utters.

A chin on her shoulder confirms this belief, singing in her ear, "You were mumbling out loud again."

Her cheeks grow hot at this enlightenment, "Then don’t listen! My thoughts aren’t meant for your ears."

"True, but they always sound so nice, I can’t help but listen!" He defends, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

She looks away, scowling so that her lips wouldn’t betray her with a smile, "Okay, but what do you think?"

He only hums where he’s nested, arms giving her a little squeeze to show he was listening, not that she was talking. She wanted answers!

A little sharpness infects her tone due to lack of patience, "Do you think we could do it? Trick Ne-chan and Kou-kun into being prom dates, I mean."

"Why doesn’t one of them just ask each other...? Why do we have to do al the work?" He grumbles, muffled, "They’re getting way too much of your attention."

This makes her look down at him from the corner of her eye, curiosity and his silky locks tickling her neck.

"When is it going to be my turn again?"

She helps herself to lift his hat a little so she can slip her other hand under it, fixing his soft charcoal locks, "Oh hush, they’ll be at prom together at the end of this week."

He hums questioningly this time.

She sets his hat back down atop his head, straightening it, "Well, that means it’ll just be the two of us again. We can play cards or poke fun at the mokke... whatever your heart desires, yeah?"

His head is quick to pop up at this, moving back only a little, making sure she could get a good look at the big grin nearly breaking his bright face, "What-"

"It seems I’ve changed my mind," she turns away, faking a passive look, "I’ll be spending this weekend alone, cleaning my boundary."

"Just kidding!" He chimes, dragging her right back to him, burying her in his clingy arms, "We still have to finish our last game."

He mutters, "Even though I was clearly winning."

"Clearly?" She looks at him, (e/c) eyes narrowing, "Do you need glasses, number seven?"

"Ohoh," he smirks at her, getting closer with those shining gold eyes of his, nearly bumping their noses, "Are you getting catty with me, number eight? It’s no good to sass your superiors."

She smirks right back at him, "Mm. Not sure you can be considered superior if you can’t even beat me at Uno. Maybe I should rule the seven mysteries."

"Well-"

"Okay, I’m gonna ignore whatever weird PDA is going on here."

She blinks, looking out of the corner of her eye to find Nene standing before them with her arms crossed, Kou hovering over her side, shaking his head disappointedly.

The sight is more than enough to make her cheeks dust cherry.

"Ah- uh. Hey, Ne-chan. Got any more bright ideas?"

"No! But I claimed you today!"

She looks down when her friend snatched up her hand, quickly followed by herself, slipped right out of Hanako’s grasp.

"Quit trying to steal (Y/n) back! I need her right now!"

Hanako plants his hand on his hips, lips forming a firm line as he retorts, "Eh? Is there a waiting list now?"

(Y/n) doesn’t look, but the incredulous face that finds Hanako tells her Nene didn’t need a verbal response, "Hey! Wait, can’t I just have her for a little longer?"

He brings his hands up under his chin, leaning forward to bat his lashes at Nene, "Pretty please? We have to talk about supernatural things!"

She glances up to find Nene shaking her head with a harsh ‘no’, "(Y/n) is way too busy! First, she has to help me find a date, and now she has to help Kou-kun too!"

"Wait, what?" She utters instantly at the prospect of more work, looking hastily back up at them.

Kou offers her a sheepish smile, shrugging lightly.

She tears her gaze away, only for it to find Hanako again.

Who she’s a little surprised to find staring at her with an intense look of determination.

He speaks once their gazes meet, "Friday, you, me. We are playing Uno, and that’s final."

Oh?

So, they were going to go on with the plan...?

Well... the lack of planning... they’d plan it, then do it...

Oh wait, he was looking at her. She was supposed to respond.

She smiles, "O-"

"Do whatever! I don’t care. Just shoo! We’ve got important work to do!"

The grumpy look that falls on Hanako’s face makes her heart even fonder.

---

It was quite late when Nene and Kou finally left to go home.

Leaving her alone with a certain boy.

Sadly, there was no Uno happening tonight, as they had more pressing things to talk about.

"How about... we leave a dozen roses in her locker and write Kou-kun’s name on it...?"

"No, no. Too much of a chance he’ll back out and say they’re not from him," Hanako waves his hand dramatically.

She counters, raising a brow, "You really think Ne-chan would let him?"

He hums thoughtfully at this.

Before holding out a hand, "But, at that point, who’s to say we can’t trick the kid into a whole promposal...?"

She makes a face, not following this time.

He catches this with ease, delivering her an answer and a sly smile, "We make sure Yashiro and the boy are walking down the same hall, and when they’re close enough, shove a poster and some roses into his hands and run?"

She sticks up a finger at this, "Wait, wait, wait!"

Hanako deflates, poking out his lower lip at her interjection.

However, there’s a big grin on her lips, "Even better. We pay that Akane boy to stop time, that way we can frame it perfectly!"

Hanako’s face lights up instantly, "You beautiful genius! That’s it!"

Beautiful? Her grin grows a little bashful as she looks away.

"Now It’s foolproof. We just have to figure out a good promposal and how to pay glasses!"

She hums, nodding, "You can leave the payment to me..."

Her sudden reluctance does not go unnoticed, much to her dismay, "Hah? You don’t want to help with the promposal?"

She looks further away from the charming boy, lightly scratching her cheek, "No. I think I’m good. I’ll help when Akane stops time."

Only to quickly find a finger poking her other cheek, "Oooi, we’re a team, (Y/n). Are you really trying to get lazy now? Hm?"

Lazy? She was going to have to make a convoluted deal with Nene to get pictures of the blue-haired friend she had and then make a deal with Akane with them… What part of that was easy…?

She hastily brushes away his hand, turning to glare at his suddenly much closer face, "No! I just- I don’t- I-"

Geez, when had he gotten so close?

"Uhm. I’ve never... I’ve never made a promposal..."

Did he always have to look so handsome? Couldn’t he just look unattractive from one damned angle and give her heart a break?

"Hah? Why not?"

His question makes her brows draw. Why what?

She thinks for a moment.

Then goes red.

"O-Oh. I’ve never been to prom," she mutters, cursing her tongue, always so quick to betray her. Whether it was whispering her thoughts or being unable to even vaguely lie to this boy, it was always something against her!

Though, there are more pressing concerns as those big gold eyes blinked at her.

"Never?" He echoes, making her nod, brows drawing.

"You have?"

He shrugs, "I’ve at least gone to see what it was about."

She tries not to act too interested, "What was it like? Did you have a date? Were there balloons?"

She keeps her eyes away pointedly, even as he’s quiet.

"(Y/n), just who do you know that’s going around taking ghosts to prom?"

She glances over at him to find him fighting back against chuckle, making her fall stubborn, "You didn’t say you went after you died! How was I supposed to know?"

She reaches over, whacking his shoulder, "Oi! And how does being dead prevent you from telling me if there were balloons or not?"

He catches her hand in his, to her surprise, making her eyes find a questioning look on his face, "Wait, you haven’t even gone dead...?"

She blinks, uttering, "But I haven’t been invited?"

He blinks back.

Then closes his eyes, bringing his head down to rest against her limp hand, "(Y/n), (Y/n), (Y/n)..."

She presses her lips together indignantly but doesn’t respond.

At least for a moment.

Her words grow a little more tentative.

"Hanako... Can I have a penny for your thoughts on something?"

"That’s not the phrase," he tells her, "But sure."

She ignores this.

"Ne-chan said that prom could be her one chance at finding love."

She absently tugs at her lower lip.

"Do you think it’s true?"

He doesn’t look up, "What is?"

She mutters, "That people only have one chance to fall."

Hanako is silent at her inquiry.

So, she then asks, "Do you think I missed mine? Since I’m dead, I mean."

He squeezes her hand lightly, and she watches quietly as he lifts his head from it to gaze at her with those big puppy dog eyes of his, face unreadable.

She feels no real threat from it though, she feels quite calm, if not a little melancholy from her thoughts.

"I’d sure hope not."

She bats her lashes at this, curiosity nearly burning her, "What’s that supposed to mean?"

However, Hanako only smiles at her, a soft kindness showing on his face in the dim candlelight of the bathroom, "Don’t worry about it, okay?"

She raises a brow.

"Let’s just take things one step at a time."

She’s not very pleased with this answer, but sighed, nodding, "Yeah, yeah, let’s get this prom thing on its way."

"Atta girl."

---

The promposal went off without a hitch two days later.

The two fell for the scheme, hook, line, and sinker.

It was delightful seeing her friend’s blinding smile and her other friend’s tomato face, too stunned to even try to tell her differently.

Though her work was far from over, she found out very quickly.

"What about this one?"

"Too sparkly."

"You didn’t even look!"

"I don’t even need to. I can see the glitter from here."

Nene groans.

She was happy to help, she really was, but her heart just wasn’t in it.

She couldn't help the thoughts of loneliness from plaguing her each time she tried.

"How about this?"

This one, she at least glances at.

"Neon orange...? Where did you even find these dresses, Ne-chan?"

She slips off the counter, walking over to her offended friend, "My closet! And also Aoi-chan’s closet!"

(Y/n) hums, brushing the girl aside so she could get a good look at the options.

It hardly even took her but a second to find the right one.

She pulled it from the pile with ease, "Try this one on."

(Y/n) knew it was perfect though. She just didn’t want to make it look like she was so certain so quickly, otherwise, Nene would be suspicious.

However, the girl still eyes her for a moment.

"Red? Really?"

"It’s more of a pale rose color, but go off."

Nene groans, taking it from her regardless, "You better know what you’re doing."

As she disappears into the bathroom stall, (Y/n)’s eyes fall back to the dresses.

Maybe they were better than she gave them credit for.

She lifts a dark blue one up to the light, looking it over curiously. Shiny.

She sets it back into the pile, ready to just go sit back down and wait, but...

A thin (F/c) strap catches her eye.

She hooks her finger around it, drawing it from the pile.

It was quite thin, she notes, taking the other strap on her other hand to hold it up properly.

It was silk, so she guessed that was maybe a given.

It had spaghetti straps and a sweetheart neckline. Probably floor-length. Had a slit down the length of one side.

She squints at it, trying not to seem too interested.

However, she makes her way over to the floor-length mirror, unable to help her curiously as she holds it to her body, trying to picture what she’d look like in it.

Not that she would ever-

The stall behind her opens.

"(Y/n)! You were right! This is so-"

She meets Nene’s gaze in the mirror, frozen in her shoes.

A mischievous smile finds her lips, making (Y/n) wince, "Wow, and here I thought you were a lost cause!"

"Lost cause?" She echoes in disapproval.

However, two hands find her shoulders, and she finds herself forcibly changing places with the girl, "Come on! Try it on, (Y/n)! I’m sure it’ll look great! We can both play dress up!"

Her face flushed even deeper, "W-Wait- Ne-chan, I don’t-"

But the stall shuts behind her.

(Y/n) deflates, defeated.

Though, she was happy to see Nene in the dress she picked out.

Absently, she slips out of her blazer, stepping out of her skirt.

It was, as mentioned, a pale shade of rose, with thick off the shoulder straps that reminded her of some kind of princess dress, especially with the way the poofy bell surrounded her friend.

It had the shiny white gemstones Nene had liked too, a little belt of jewels separating the torso of the dress from the bell.

(Y/n) stepped out of her shoes, gaze flickering over to the (F/c) dress.

She was just glad Nene seemed to like it too, judging by the lack of complaints, and the ramble of praise she was hearing.

She picks up the dress she had only wanted to look at, finding herself studying it for another good moment, looking for some sort of entry.

Until she realized she simply had to skip it over her head.

No zippers. No buttons.

It’d been a while since she’d worn anything other than her old school uniform, hadn’t it?

Reluctantly, she pulls it over her head, slipping her arms through the thin straps.

Once it’s over, she pulls it down a little, adjusting how it sat on her hips and the way it hugged at her for a moment.

Before looking down, noticing the small pool of material.

Great. Now the dress was calling her short.

There was a knock at the door.

"I’ll get it!" Nene sings chipperly, not that (Y/n) had felt any need to jump at the wooden question.

She unlatches the door with ease when Kou’s voice greets her ears, "Senpai! Are you still busy picking out dresses?"

"Yup! (Y/n) helped me find the perfect one!" She listens offhandedly as she steps out of the stall, ignoring the cold tile on her feet as she made her way over to the mirror.

She did a simple once over.

She looked nice, she supposed.

Reaching up, she lightly tugged on one of her (h/l) soft (h/c) locks.

In truth, she really couldn’t even remember the last time she had worn a dress.

Two decades ago? Three decades ago?

She just looked the same always though, in her opinion.

Tired. Alone. A little bit like a Victorian woman suffering the beginnings of consumption.

"(Y-(Y-(Y/n)?"

The odd stutter of her friend makes her look over to find Nene staring at her owlishly, hands pulled up to her chest. She takes notice that she’s no longer in the fancy dress (Y/n) had picked out, making her feel like she’d been tricked somehow.

She quickly glances at the mirror, wait, she didn’t think she looked that bad! What was with that look of horror?

"What?" She asks simply, trying not to fiddle with her fingers, but failing.

"Y-You look..."

(Y/n) begins to feel a little fussy, noticing Kou’s round eyes look as well. All she wanted to do was look at the dress! She didn’t want to put it on in the first place. Couldn't they just lie to her and say it looked nice or something?

"Amazing."

She nearly jumped out of her skin, whipping to the side to find Hanako’s eyes hastily looking her over.

Her cheeks grow hot, "Hey! Who let you in here?"

Kou comments at this, "He’s a ghost, (Y/n)."

She shoots him a disapproving look.

But quickly finds her attention back on the raven-haired boy, or more adequately, his hands running up her sides, igniting a rose across her cheeks.

"You look beautiful," he tells her firmly, resting his chin on her bare shoulder, making her face grow warmer, with his hand resting on her hips.

She turned her eyes back to the mirror.

Gosh, this was much more embarrassing seeing him being clingy with her own eyes, especially with her in this dress.

But...

Maybe if Hanako thought so...

She gives the mirror a little smile, "I don’t know. It feels weird."

"You trust me, don’t you?" Those golden eyes find hers in the reflection, a smirk blooming on his lips.

"Sometimes," she admits with a little laugh, unable to hide her nerves.

"I can think of a couple of ways to show you how beautiful-"

"Alright!" Nene clapped her hands, "Nope, nope, nope, none of that!"

(Y/n) realizes his words, quickly lightly her face aflame again, happy to have her friend peeling him off her and pushing him away.

Only to find herself enveloped in her arms.

"You look so gorgeous, (Y/n)! Thank you so much for trying it on!" Nene’s beaming smile was infectious, even though (Y/n)’s was much smaller, "Honestly, who would’ve known a school mystery could clean up so nicely?"

She laughs, "Ne-chan! I can look a little nicer than this. All I did was change clothes."

"Well, I think you should keep it."

The words confuse her, making her turn to look at her friend.

Nene lightly tugs at the strap on the left shoulder, "The dress, silly."

(Y/n) gasps, hastily shaking her head, "No! No! I-"

"Yes, yes! I bought it a long time ago," Nene chides, "I didn’t like how my legs looked in it. At least giving it you I know my money was spent well."

(Y/n) frowns warily, "I won’t ever wear it though..."

"And I would?"

She scratches her cheek, looking up at her with her last resort, "I’m dead?"

"(Y/n)!" Nene gives her a light ‘whap’ atop the head, "Just take the dress and smile more!"

She can’t help the giggle that leaves her lips, "Okay! Okay! Quit fussing at me!"

However, Nene’s smile lingers, "Plus, who’s to say you won’t ever wear it?"

She thinks for a moment.

Then she smiles back, "Oh right. I can wear it to your graduation!"

Nene’s look of dissatisfaction tells her a different story, however.

A story she frankly doesn’t understand that her friend won’t spell out for her.

---

(Y/n) squinted down at the silk dress that she found herself in, once again.

This time, Nene has convinced her to get dressed up with her while (Y/n) was helping her get ready for prom.

The agreement was that if Nene let (Y/n) do her makeup, she had to do her own too, which (Y/n) really didn’t understand.

The only reason she agreed was the stubborn pout on the girl’s face when she said it. Had (Y/n) disagreed, she was sure the girl would make herself late.

So, here she was, dressed up all nicely.

For the first time in a good three, maybe even four decades!

She really needed to get a calendar... or ten...

She quickly looks up at Nene exits the bathroom stall, "Opinions? How cute am I?"

"Cute?" She smiles, admitting, "You look gorgeous, Ne-chan."

"Says you!" She then gets a grin on her face, "I guess you could say you look drop-dead gorgeous."

(Y/n) offers her a flat look.

"I’m sorry."

She turns away, unable to hide her dorky smile, "Okay, what else do you need to get ready? Or are you finally done?"

"Mmm... just waiting on a text from Kou, that’s all."

(Y/n) finds herself suspicious again, "Oh? So the first five hundred didn’t count?"

"He’s nervous!" Nene waves her off.

She doesn’t miss the chance to tease, "Geez, now you’re even worrying about him? I thought you two decided to call it a friend date."

Nene glares at her, cheeks tinging pink,  "I am no longer accepting opinions from you."

(Y/n) sticks out her tongue at the girl, "Wasn’t really an opinion, but okay."

Nene pointedly gives her another glare.

"Okay, okay, I’ll lay off," she sighs dramatically, fanning her face playfully.

Only to then card her fingers through her (h/l) (h/c) locks, "Okay, but is he going to show up or not? You guys are going to be late and it’s starting to make me nervous."

"Depends," Nene raises a brow at her, "How many more times are you going to say ‘okay’?"

(Y/n) makes a sour face at her, "Did you miss the part where I said I was getting nervous?"

Nene smiles at her warmly, "I know, I know, just a little longer and I’ll be out of your hair."

She plays dumb, tapping her cheek, "You’re really adamant about your card game with Hanako-kun, aren’t you?"

Her face flushes, "Wh- No! But I have to wash all of this stuff off before then, and I don’t want to make him wait..."

"I see. That’s all?"

She scratches her cheek, "Well, I mean..."

She looks away, smiling a little, "This week has been so crazy, I haven’t gotten to see him as much as usual..."

(Y/n) glances up at her friend, backtracking, "Plus, I need to beat him. He needs to know I’m better at cards."

Nene raises a brow at this, fond look fading.

"I let him win last time because he gave me the puppy dog eyes and he’s been way too cocky ever since,” she says bluntly, seriously, “I need to put him back in place.”

“Yeah...” Nene laughs softly, “Not too sure about that. I think you’re both going to be winners tonight.”

(Y/n) crosses her arms, “Over my cold dead body! I’m gonna win. Have a little faith, yeah?”

Nene shakes her head with a smile.

Until her phone suddenly chimed.

Leaving (Y/n) to watch, dumbfounded, as she frenziedly pats the small handbag before just about ripping open the zipper, slamming her fingers into its depths.

“Is that-“

Nene is texting back with such an intensity that (Y/n) goes immediately quiet, not wanting to interfere in the slightest.

“Alright, (Y/n), it’s go time!” She slips her phone back into her handbag, expertly zipping it up.

She plasters on a big smile despite her sudden unease, “Go time? Kou is here to pick you up?”

“Mhm!” Yashiro tucks the bag under her arm, hands finding... (Y/n)’s shoulders... spinning her around on her flats...

Pushing her...

Towards the door...

“Ne-chan? Shouldn’t you answer? Wait- he hasn’t even knocked. Shouldn’t-“

“Hush! Quit worrying so much!”

“You make it kind of hard being so ominous!”

Nene reaches past her with a red heel, slamming the door before them open, making (Y/n) jerk her hands up to hide her face defensively.

Nene’s hands only hold her shoulders now, silence finding the space around them.

But the door doesn’t hit her.

Slowly, she peers through her fingers.

Only to meet a familiar pair of golden eyes, rounder than usual.

Her eyes then flicker to his smile, framed by pink dusted cheeks.

Was Hanako blushing?

“Stop looking at Hanako-kun and use your eyes, please,” Nene huffs, knowing her all too well.

(Y/n)’s face grows hot as she pries her hands away, praying her makeup hides her embarrassment.

However, it’s then that she notices the very jarring sign the handsome boy is holding.

A big poster board with big red glittery letters and pictures of... donuts. Interesting.

It’s then that the words hit her like a train.

‘I donut want to go to prom without you’.

She stares, trying to get the situation to process.

She glances at Nene who makes a face at her, “No, he’s asking you. I’m going with Kou-kun.”

The words of her friend really settle, making her gasp, hastily looking back up at Hanako who’s stubbornly looking away, trying to hide his rose-colored face.

“H-Hanako, you’re not messing with me, are you?”

He quickly looks up at this, eyes widening, “N-No, of course-”

However, Kou’s voice finds her, “He better not be! It took us all day to make these.”

(Y/n)’s eyes flicker over curiously to find a plate of donuts held in the blond’s hand, “He wouldn’t keep his hands off it so I could make them, but he can’t cook to save his life.”

They return to Hanako who is now profusely avoiding her gaze, his own trained on the floor as he wrings out his hands, the poster now tucked behind him, like he was trying to hide it.

She can’t help the delighted grin that finds her lips, hidden by her hands.

Gosh, he was all dressed up too!

He looked like everything she had ever dreamed of and more in a fancy tux, he wasn’t even wearing his hat for once, his hair all neat and combed as much as the fluffiness would allow. He was always handsome, but now she was sure he’d upgraded to devilishly handsome!

Though… Her heart leads her eyes back to his exposed hair.

He looked up at her in surprise just as her fingers combed through his soft ebony mop, “Oh, Hanako...”

She smiles at him so warmly, she feels like her heart might just shatter when their gazes lock.

“I’d be over the moon to go with you.”

An adorable grin marks his lips.

“I heard there’s gonna be balloons,” he comments, trying to act casual as she slips her arms around his neck.

“Oh?” She smirks up at him, leaning in close, “Well, I heard two of the coolest school mysteries are going to be there too.”

He breathes a soft chuckle, leaning down ever so slightly as she tilts her head to meet him.

“Well, I heard they both got exorcised for making us late and didn’t make it!”

Nene’s cry kills what was supposed to be the perfect kiss, stealing a laugh from (Y/n)’s lips as Hanako stubbornly tightened his arms around her waist.

She draws her hands to rest on his cheeks, looking at him oh so lovingly.

“You ready to go?”

“I guess so...” he mutters.

She smiles, stepping away from him, not surprised as one of his arms stayed around her hips.

As they began walking towards what would soon become her first dance, she rested her hand atop the one settled on her hip, remembering his words.

If this was her once chance to fall in love...

Well, who was she kidding?

She grins up at him, admiring the glitter in his golden eyes as he gazes back down at her just as adoringly.

(Y/n) was already so, so head over heels.

And she’d fall harder for this boy smiling back at her every chance she got.

[lazella]

Infinity Stone AU: PTSD is Hard to Heal From.

For all the tech that was found in the Avenger’s Tower, most of it bored Yusaku. He was already familiar with this level of technology, some of it was considered primitive compared to what he was used too. Not to mention that his time in the tower felt rather lonely. It was hard for him to connect with the other duelists due to their vastly different views on dueling. Meanwhile, the other members of the Avengers seemed to treat him as a small child which irked him. Ai could only provide so much company until Yusaku hit his patience limit to the Ignis’ behavior.

So for now he was searching for Tony Stark to discuss more ideas of how to use the Mind Stone outside of battle and hacking. The man made it very clear that there was no experimenting with the Infinity Stones without his supervision. After the incident where Yuya turned the whole tower into candy, he could see why.

Yusaku encountered Bruce Banner wondering the halls as he was, “Hey Bruce? Have you seen Tony?” He asked.

“He’s actually not here right now,” Bruce said, “He and Pepper are out on some sort of errand. Didn’t say when they would be back.”

“Oh…I see….” Yusaku began to walk away.

“The others are in the game room if you’re interested.” Bruce called out to him. “Tony got some new games since you all were getting bored.”

Yusaku just shrugged. Might as well wonder over and observe what has going on to stave off boredom.

“Hey Playmaker…can we actually talk and hang out with the others this time?” Ai asked.

“No.”

“But they’re the only interesting people to talk too!!!” Ai protested, “Come on…you can keep doing this emo social distancing act for long.”

“Three reasons….” Ai rolled his eyes as Yusaku began to fall into his habit, “One, our views on dueling are too vastly different. Two, our experiences are also vastly different. And three…they seem to have the ability to bring out topics and memories I do not wish to discuss.”

Ai watched from the Duel Disk wordlessly as Yusaku opened the door to the game room then froze.

Oh boy…Ai thought to himself…This is going to trigger an episode.

Inside the game room, Yuma, Yuya, and Judai were playing with VR headsets on. Yugi and Yusei were watching the game on a nearby screen which looked like some sort of rhythm game.

Yusei eventually noticed Yusaku’s presence, “Care to join us Yusaku?”

Yusaku gave no answer, he slammed the door shut and ran back to his room.

……………………………………………..

The loud bang of the door made everyone in the room freeze.

“What was that all about?” Judai asked removing the headset so he could see reality.

“Yusaku was just at the door.” Yusei explained, “But he looked very scared and ran off.”

Judai frowned, “Scared? Scared of what?”

“Not sure…” Yugi said, “And he’s probably not going to be sharing why anytime soon.”

“Why is he like that anyway?” Yuma asked, “He seems like he’s always afraid.”

“Remember that night when Tony woke us all up?” Yuya said, “We managed to find out that Yusaku was kidnapped when he was younger. But he didn’t say what exactly happened during that time.”

“And that something is still affecting him to this day….” Yusei frowned, “Should one of us go check on him?”

“I’ll do it…” Yugi volunteered, “I think he can relax around me. If I need back up I’ll let you all know.”

The group nodded as Yugi head off to go find Yusaku’s room. Going through the maze of hallways and rooms, Yugi finally arrived at his destination.

“Hey…it’s me…” Yugi knocked on the door, “Can I come in?”

The voice of Yusaku’s program buddy answered back.

“Hold on…let me quickly hack the system to unlock the door.”

The latch of the door clicked, allowing Yugi to enter the room. Yusaku was on his bed, head and arms resting on his knees. Ai was poking out of the duel disk that had been placed on the nightstand.

“Good luck getting anything out of him…” Ai said, “He’s going to be like this for a good while.”

“Do you know what set him off?” Yugi asked, “I really don’t want Yusaku to be fearful of just walking around the tower.”

Ai sighed, “It was the VR headsets.”

Yugi blinked, “The VR headsets? Why those of all things?”

“Honestly, it’s a long story that I really don’t feel like sharing right now.” Ai admitted, “Even then it’s not really my story to tell.”

“Well what can you tell me?” Yugi asked as he sat on the bed.

Ai rubbed his chin in though, “Yusaku has been through a lot and is not used to opening up to people. He didn’t like me at first and I had to grow on him.”

Yugi hummed as he tried to figure out what to do next. He had so little information to go on here and honestly Anzu was the one who gave the better reassuring speeches. Why could Yugi say in a situation like this?

A possible solution came in the poking sensation in his pocket followed by an orange glow. Yugi sighed, “I’m not going to do that…”

“Do what?” Surprisingly, Yusaku was the one who asked slightly uncurling from his ball.

“The Soul Stone can let me enter your Soul Room,” Yugi continued his explanation as he knows Yusaku would have no idea what he was talking about. “It’s a room that reflects who you are. Mine is full of toys and games since I enjoy playing and designing games myself. The other me…since he is missing his memories…his is a labyrinth that leads nowhere.”

“Are you going to use it?” Yusaku asked.

“Not without your permission of course…” Yugi said, “It felt like a huge invasion of privacy the first time it happened to me. But this Soul Stone acts like it has a mind of its own and we’ve had some close calls when it tries to activate when someone is in a poor mood.”

The two sat in silence for some time, both unsure how to go forward.

Aibou…let me handle this…

Are you sure other me?

I say I can give it a shot. It will be better than nothing.

Alright then…Yugi relinquished control to Yami who put a reassuring hand on Yusaku’s shoulder.

“Listen Yusaku…I’m not going to pretend that any of us can understand what you have been through. But you need to stop bottling it all up, it’s not healthy. We’ve all survived our experiences because we had others we can support us when it gets too much. Everyone here is worried about you so can you start letting us in?”

“I…” Yusaku curled back into his ball, “I don’t know how…”

“Maybe that’s why the Soul Stone was reacting.” Yami held up the orange stone, “But I will only use it if I have your permission. I am not going to violate your privacy to satisfy my curiosity. Do I have your permission?”

“Will I see what you see?” Yusaku asked.

“I don’t see why not.” Yami said.

“Then do it.”

“Alright…..” Yami gripped Yusaku’s hand in reassurance, “Let’s go.”

………………………………………………..

Yugi and Yami took a moment to take in their surroundings. They didn’t have any real expectations about what Yusaku’s Soul Room would look like but certainly not this.

If there were a few words they could use to describe what they were seeing, it was empty and broken. It was a simple room with wood paneling and flooring, but one corner looked like it had been torn away by some unseen force. Only an open void was visible through the destruction. Furniture was bare minimum as well. There was only an old desk with a broken computer on it.

“Is…is this supposed to reflect me?”

Yugi and Yami turned around and saw Yusaku looking around in shock, “Shouldn’t there be…more?”

“There should…” Yami admitted, “But in my opinion…your Soul Room looks damaged.”

Yusaku unconsciously put a hand to his chest and clenched, “Three things…the damage looks old…there’s nothing in here unique to me…and what is here is broken…”

“It doesn’t have to stay that way though…” Yugi tried to reassure the panicking boy, “You can change how things are. We just need to pick a starting point, no need to do everything at once.”

That seemed to calm Yusaku down, “I guess you’re right…but where?”

“Is there anyone that cares about you?” Yami asked, “I don’t think your life is as lonely as this room appears to be.”

Yusaku seemed to think a bit. Then proceeded into deep thought. Yami and Yugi waited anxiously to see if Yusaku could come up with any answer. Then the distinct sound of a computer booting up caught all of their attention. The once broken computer was now repaired and its monitor showed a picture of Yusaku standing in front of a food truck next to another man.

“I think that’s your answer Yusaku…” Yami said.

Yusaku nodded, “I think we can head back…”

Yami didn’t say anything and let the Soul Stone pull them back into reality. It was a small step, but it was still a step towards recovery.

[miss-tc-nova]

A SOLDIER’s Memories - Cloud Strife x Fem!Reader Pt 4

AAAAH! I’ve been working on this for a couple weeks writing and deleting and rearranging and editing and aaaahhh! 

Part 4: SOLDIER’s Honor

                It’s been five years since I lost everything important to me, since I lost my reason for living, and since my promotion to SOLDIER First Class. Now I’m just a glorified dog doing as the master says. Since the disappearance of the top SOLDIERs, I’ve become Shinra’s scapegoat figurehead for the program. They raise me up to symbolize peace and protection and even female empowerment as the first female SOLDIER, encouraging others to join because “even a slum rat can become a hero.” I’m the ultimate underdog who rose to the top, but they’ll never breathe a word of the true story.

                Some pests have been attacking our reactors. This AVALANCHE group is quickly climbing the list of those to that need to be eliminated. What bothers me most is that there are rumors that a rogue First Class SOLDIER is among them, but with so few of us, I can’t think of a single one that’s gone missing without cause.

                The Sector 1 reactor has just been destroyed. Pulling a cloak over my uniform, I plan to do a little investigation. The rebels are supposedly hiding out somewhere in the slums. If I can stop them, I can prevent some serious Shinra retaliation and prevent innocent lives being ruined; at least that’s what the little cat-bot begged of me. With the hood up to hide my face, I take my leave.

                I start at Sector 8, planning to intercept the rebels or work my way back through the sectors in search of them. Shouts and gunfire catch my attention. Bolting in that direction, I find a single man standing among a heap of fallen Shinra officers. The rumors appear to be true: he’s clad in a First Class uniform.

                “I suppose it was to be expected that standard infantrymen wouldn’t stand up to you.” I announce my presence, drawing my favored weapon and revealing my title.

                The man whirls on me, wielding a strikingly familiar sword. Before I can question him, I catch sight of his face and I black out for a second.

                The man grimaces but quickly regains control. His entire body tenses, grip tightening on the hilt. “It’s been a long time. Maybe you can put up a fight.”

                “You…” I utter in disbelief. “They told me you were dead.”

                “Guess they lied.”

                There’s something different about him. Then I see the glow in his eyes; he’s been exposed to mako. The blood drains from my face when I remember that SOLDIERs are monsters born from mako. He adjusts his weapon and I take a step back.

                “I don’t remember you being a coward,” he says. “But maybe they don’t hold standards for us First Class like they used to.”

                “Us?” I repeat, stunned.

                His chin rises in defiance. “That’s right. Ex-SOLDIER. First Class. Same as you, remember.”

                This is nothing like the man I remember; he’s dark and confrontational. Whatever they did to him, they ruined the Cloud that I had fallen in love with. Not only that, but he seems to think he was SOLDIER. My thoughts race as I try to understand what I’ve fallen into.

                “What’s wrong with you? Did you blow up the reactor?” I snarl, frustration and hysteria building. His silence is answer enough. “What the hell were you thinking?!”

                His weapon rises, prepared to strike. “Are you going to fight or not?”

                “I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but it’s over.”

                “Sounds like a fight then.”

                Shinra infantry have standard sword training, but tend to have higher proficiencies in firearms; Cloud was no exception. However, mako exposure enhances a person’s physical abilities, including muscle mass; it doesn’t exactly make up for skill though. So while I’m impressed he can even wield the Buster Sword, he’s probably barely a match for even a Third Class SOLDIER. He’s easy to dodge and clearly has yet to build the real muscle to fight with such a heavy weapon for long.

                I divert his sword again, but can hear more yelling in the distance; more troops are on their way. I could put a stop to Cloud’s nonsense right now; take him to the ground and drag him back with me. The problem is what Shinra will do with him when I do. The company is very iffy about its employees, let alone when they leave, but Cloud is not only acting as if he were SOLDIER but he’s also threatening every life here in Midgar. Shinra would destroy him. If I take him back with me now, they’ll kill him for sure.

                Once again, I prevent him from tearing into me. “Listen to me, whatever AVALANCHE is doing, it needs to stop.”

                “I don’t take orders from you.”

                “I’m not playing around! You need to get out of here and stop terrorizing Midgar!”

                Cloud prepares to launch another attempted onslaught, but my reinforcements are just around the corner.

                My weapons drop and Cloud’s brows knit together. I take one last chance to take in his face, to truly process that this is Cloud Strife, and then I pull my hood back up and stride away in a back alley. Before I get out of range, I pause.

                If I get caught here, I’m in deep trouble. But if he gets caught…

                Turning back, I see he’s surrounded. He hasn’t built the stamina to fight with the Buster Sword so the troop surrounding him now has a fair chance of taking him down. He backs away from them and I watch on, fighting with myself about what I’ll do if he’s caught. It’s his greatest fortune that a train passes beneath us, which he takes to make his getaway.

                The Shinra employees disperse and, for a moment, I stare at the spot where I found him, where I discovered that my lost love is still alive.

                Spinning on heel, I storm down the alley. Tears muddle my vision but I continue. Every step is agony; I want to chase him down, throw him against a wall, and scream and cry and demand answers. There’s not a trace of those old feelings—feelings that I’m still suffering over. I’ve been left behind to mourn the past while he’s masquerading as a SOLDIER. I spent years in a self-loathing hell and he just turns up out of nowhere like we’ve never met before. I’m furious and enraged and…sad.

                “Ah, there you are, lassie.” A crowned, bi-pedal feline hops from a ladder. “I was comin’ to warn you that they spotted the terrorists…” At my feet, the cat peers up at me, suddenly not as eager as he was before. “Are you alright?”

                “Did you know?” I manage to get out in a dark tone. Amongst my tsunami of emotions, it’s amazing I can speak to him so evenly. He takes a step back. “Did you know it was him?!” Before he can scurry away, I snatch him up and hold him against the wall by his neck. “Answer me! Or I swear I’ll scrap you for parts and use your pelt to shine my boots!” When he stammers, I scream, “DID YOU KNOW WHO HE WAS?!”

                He frantically waves his hands. “No! I don’t know who they are! All I know is that they call themselves AVALANCHE and that there was a SOLDIER among them!”

                “Don’t toy with me!” I snarl.

                “I swear! I haven’t even seen their faces!” For a robot, he’s pretty genuine. I don’t know if he’s telling me the truth or not, but I won’t get any information out of him like this.

                I attempt to control my sigh, trying to release the anger but hold in the sadness. My fingers uncurl, letting my informant fall to his feet. Mildly ashamed of myself, I turn away from him.

                “So…You know these people?” he asks with caution in his voice.

                “I know the SOLDIER,” I mutter bitterly.

                “Then perhaps there’s a way to negotiate with them. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

                I shake my head. “There’s nothing between us. He’ll try to cut me down if I get in his way.” Each word comes with spurs—painful to say.

                “Come on. I need you to try. There’s talks of how Shinra’s gonna deal with these terrorists and hundreds, maybe thousands, of casualties could happen!” he begs. It’s the same line he got me with last time.

                I don’t know this cat; I don’t know who he works for, who’s controlling him, or what he wants. I came to investigate the reactor bombing because it was in my best interest as well. He says he’s trying to prevent the loss of human life, but he’s got some sort of line in Shinra; he’s got to with information like this. That being said, if there’s even a trace of a connection between him and Shinra, I could be signing my own death warrant.

                “You realize that I’m a Shinra employee, right?” I snap. “Why should I help you? Why the hell would you ask a First Class SOLDIER to try and prevent whatever the hell the top dogs are up to?”

                His ears droop a bit as if I’ve just crushed his hopes with my bare hands. “Because you seemed to be the only SOLDIER with any honor left.”

                Memories of my best friend ranting and stomping about proclaiming the honor of SOLDIER as the most important thing a SOLDIER could have blinks in my brain like a faulty light at the end of a dark road. Guilt is now swimming among the debris of my sanity. It provokes the grief and antagonizes the resentment.

                “You think SOLDIERs have honor?” I retort, the prevalent anger rolling off me. “Well you’re fucking wrong!” He hurries up the ladder, out of my reach. “We’re just mutts doing as the master says before he puts a bullet in our brains for being disobedient! He says heel, we do; he says, roll over, we do; he says kill! We! Do! Doesn’t matter who or when or why!” I shake a fist at him. “Where’s the honor in that?! Huh?! So don’t you fucking try to sweet-talk me into another one of your damn intervention schemes because the last thing I need is to explain that a talking, robot cat convinced me to ruin Shinra’s plans while there’s a fucking gun against my head! Got it! I don’t wanna be part of your little hero game! It’s not gonna turn out in your favor! So leave me out of it!”

                Wanting to get out of this situation, to forget everything, I continue storming down the alley.

                “W-Wait! You’re the only one who can help me!” he calls out.

                “Didn’t you hear me?! Fuck off!” I shout, leaving the cat behind.

                At the Shinra compound, I end up locked in my room where everything and anything is a tool in a vain attempt to relieve this agony. 

[beansiewritesstuff]

Zagreus vs The Mortal Coil

Lmao okay so let me explain! So maybe five or so months ago I got really into the game Hades, and I did that thing I do where I immediately create like five thousand OCs and a new plotline for it because I love it so much. This is an idea that spawned from my thoughts on what shenanigans might find Zagreus once he starts exploring more of the surface in the time he has there. I also wanted to explore how he might interact with mortals, and what he thinks of them considering he’s only got what others tell him to go on. I decided a baby would be an interesting dynamic for him, and an opportunity for him to grow further beyond what the events of the game allow. Still debating whether to write the baby as a reader insert or a character of my own? Also I wanted to test out writing using 1st person so consider this an experiment. Next part will be from Zag’s PoV again, but I think I’ll write from the human’s PoV once I age them up a little more.

So with all that said, I just wanted to go ahead and tag @heckpuppyy because we’ve been talking recently and I like you. This isn’t quite the Aconite piece I have planned for you, but it is Hades so I hoped that you would still enjoy it! Happy reading everybody!

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

Suppose this whole situation may be entirely my fault.

It’d been a good while since I last died on an attempt. Long enough that I started to get bored. Making it to the surface had become commonplace for me, and so I began exploring for the brief time I’m able to exist up there. I’d just pick a direction and walk. Which is how I stumbled into this. Perhaps father was right when he said my casual curiosity would get the better of me someday. I always sort of agreed with him; though I never expected something like this. Then again, who but the Fates would?

Mortal behaviour has always been strange, at least to me. Or foreign, I guess. Talking to willing Shades and reading stories of them does little to help expand my understanding. Still, as I think most Gods are, I can’t help but to be intrigued by them. There’s almost a bizarre beauty in their existence, short though it may be. Yet there are also things about them that confuse me to bitterness. Things that strike too close to my father’s behaviour for my liking. Such as, for instance, leaving children out in the mountains to succumb to Demeter’s Winter.

I really hadn’t been walking long before I heard the cries. At first, I thought it might have been an animal in pain. Though I’d heard as many instances of that as I had human infants crying, at the time. It was very odd, this immediate tug in my chest at the noise. Mother later called it “maternal instinct”, though I’m fairly sure that term only applies to mothers. Nevertheless, that feeling was what led me to the clearing in which the squalling creature lay. For a moment, I’ll admit, I was stupefied. Why would a mortal so helpless be so far out here? I thought to myself. And where are its caretakers? Surely it didn’t transport its self all the way up here from the human village. It took a particularly loud hiccupping cry from the child to snap me out of my frozen state, and I found my legs working of their own accord to move the rest of me closer to the small lump of cloth and reddened, tear-stained cheeks. It stared back up at me when I leaned over it, its next wail caught in its throat momentarily at the sight of me. I worry for a moment that I might be scaring it, before my chest tightens in a strange emotion when it whimpers pitifully and reaches out to me. Its chubby little fingers make grabbing motions, and the muscles in my arms flex with the temptation to pick it up. A searching glance around confirmed that no other humans were around, which meant it would be up to me to guide this infant to whatever fate had been written for it.

Perhaps that was too prideful of me? After all, had I thought a bit more thoroughly, I may have reminded myself of my considerable lack of child-rearing experience. This is addition to the predicament of surface dwellers being unable to survive in the Underworld, and me being unable to live on the surface for more than an hour or so.

Alas, thanks to my haste in accepting the self-ascribed responsibility, I gave only just enough thought to this fact to move the child to a small hollow near the doors to father’s realm. It had belonged to an animal at some point, but now laid barren and slightly unkempt. I had just enough time to check it the unpleasant eight-legged surface creatures I’ve heard tell of being poisonous, and to stash my new ward away safely from the elements, before the Styx took me back home. It was only upon emerging from the Pool that it struck me the weight of my decision. A baby. A human baby. One that would have simply died had I not intervened. One that now requires me to fight my way back up to ensure it’s survival. One that will need food and shelter and attention. One that… Now belongs to me.

 “Blood and darkness!” Stygius slips slightly from my grip as it catches inside the Wretched Lout I just impaled. I readjust my hold and heave it out of the sickly yellow flesh, waving it slightly to flick some of the congealing black blood from it. I have no time to stop this run. I’ve boxed myself into such a situation I barely had time to check in with everybody before leaving. I neglected to share my secret just yet, both for a loss as to how exactly to do so, as well as the worry that they would try to talk me out of it. Forgetting this whole thing seems the logical thing to do, and part of me wishes I would. And yet there is another part, small but overwhelming, that screams You must hurry. You must return to it. You must protect it! And it would seem to be the part that’s winning.

The sound of a Boon echoes through the small chamber, though when I look to it, it’s one I’ve never seen before. A deeper blue than from Poseidon, with some kind of feather symbol. When I reach out to it, the sound of a baby’s laughter reverberates through my entire body it seems. “In the name of Hades, uhh… Hello?” The glowing orb expands and bursts in a cloud of feathers to reveal the visage of a beautiful woman. She dons the same colour of chiton as her blessing, with rich green and gold patterning. Her green eyes remind me of mother and Demeter. Mother… “Lady Hera. It’s… An honour.” The stoic looking woman extends her hand without speaking, three blue feathers appearing in front of me. These are different from the regular gifts I receive. It weighs on my mind that my decision will factor heavily into my care for the infant. Hera is the Goddess of childbirth and motherhood, now may be my opportunity to get the best advice possible. It does occur to me that she doesn’t seem the most talkative. But I don’t have much choice, I need to get the most out of this encounter, considering how out of my element caring for another being is. “Lady Hera, I apologise for my boldness, but I must beseech your assistance in the matter of- “

“I sense your predicament, young Prince. I ask you not request more of me than I volunteer, though I can say I am here to help. For now, choose a gift to help you with your ward, and be on your way.” Seems that would be our conversation over. I straighten my stance and properly look over the feathers, now adorned with golden etching in the shape of familiar yet foreign words. “Mother’s Intuition” “Fruits of Labor” “Calming Touch” All seem useful, but if Hera is truly planning to stick around to help me, I suppose my decision now doesn’t hold as much weight as my initial assumption. “Calming Touch” seems it would be the most useful to me as of now. As my fingers brush the barbs of the feather, the “eye” blinks at me, and the other two disappear in small clouds of bubbles. More childlike laughter sounds from them as they pop, and that feeling is back in my chest as I clutch the feather to my chest. The illusion of Hera nods her approval before it too dissipates in a bright flash that has me blinking away the spots in my vision as I stumble toward the next door. I fasten the feather to my tunic and continue on.

 Tartarus passes in a whirlwind, my haste extending to Stygius, as if the infernal blade can sense the situation. Soon the river Phlegethon bubbles and hisses around me, the sulfur stinging my eyes. I leap over a steaming break in the land and carry the momentum through another Slamdancer. More Bloodless spawn behind me and I can only muster a sigh in response. Seems this repetition is starting to wear on my mind. Or perhaps it’s my impatience. Whatever it is, it continues to plague my mind with chilling images of the little creature I have stashed away, the hovel barely big enough to fit it. The idea of what might happen should I delay spurs me forward, not even paying attention to the Boon I accept. The orange-y glow makes me think Hermes, until a deep, rough voice booms above me. Acting on impulse I flinch back and bring Stygius in front of me. The man peering down at me with one eye under his brow scoffs and folds his arms across his chest. Feeling only a little silly, I clear my throat and lower the blade. “Apologies, Lord. I’m distracted by the heat of this place; I meant no offense.” This seems enough for the God and the jaded look to his eyes falls away to leave a particular type of exhaustion. He nods in understanding and lifts a large hand towards me. I notice something clenched in his scarred grip, and when his fingers uncurl to reveal parchment not unlike the House Contractor’s, with similar projects marked on it, a realization dawns on me. I take the paper, my eyes drawn to the blueprint labelled “Sturdy Cottage”. It seems my fears for the infant’s safety are unnecessary, seeing as I happen to have the four diamonds needed to purchase the construct. “I think this will be of much use, Lord Hephaestus. I greatly appreciate your generous assistance.” The God seems mildly taken aback by my thanks but retrieves the ledger and diamonds with a nod at my decision. Sparks fly as Hephaestus leaves, hopefully straight for the surface to begin building the cottage. It feels as if a deep shadow has been cleared from my mind, and my thoughts of the mortal are considerably lighter than before.

 Elysium provides, as always, the most resistance to my journey up. The Exalted are ferocious in their desperation for battle, charging at me with no hesitation upon spawning. I’ve already taken several hits from those blasted Flamewheels by the time I reach the next chamber with something new. At first, I fretfully believe it to be a Trial of the Gods, but upon a closer look, it seems to be a joint blessing of some kind. I recognize the wheat symbol for a Boon of Demeter, but it overlaps a peacock feather. Are the Goddesses aware of this? I hesitantly accept, and the orb expands as any other. In an icy flash filled with children’s laughter, the likenesses two Goddesses stand before me. Demeter smiles down at me, and I might be tempted to call it warm. Whereas Hera stands tall and proud as she did on our first meeting. “Zagreus, I believe you’ve already met my sister. She’s come to me with an interesting proposition; one I believe you should be made privy to.” Demeter summons a true stalk of wheat, golden and shining, and allows me to take it. I twist the stalk between my fingers, watching the little barbs blur together as they spin. “Bury this where you wish. The snow and ice will melt from that place, and your child will be safe from the elements. I know not why you would waste pity on such a creature, but perhaps it will be of future use to you. Good luck, grandson.” I hold the wheat tightly to me as they leave, my heart pounding at the idea of bending the very rules Demeter herself has put in place for this one mortal infant. A very small part of my mind wonders if this is even worth it, but like all my doubts, it gets swept away at the prospect of knowing this creature will be safe. I pin the wheat next to the feather and wonder what my next gift may be as the door clunks shut behind me.

 I’ve almost made it. Just need to get past father and I can get to work. He’s not making it easy, though he never does, and it’s especially frustrating this time. I almost lose my footing on the snow as I dodge another swing. Father scoffs and begins powering up for his stupid laser move. I thank the stone stump for the umpteenth time as I crouch behind it. On the bright side, father only needs a few more hits before the Styx overwhelms him. “You seem especially antsy this attempt, boy. What mischief are you plotting? What could possibly be so important up here?”

“Far be it for me to allow you to ruin my fun, father.” I smirk as Stygius makes contact and slices a deep black gash under the Underworld Lord’s second rib. Father grunts and smacks me away with the blunt end of his spear. The throb is dull and adds no more stress to my body. This may be one of our best fights, on my end anyway. “Come now father, surely you have more important paperwork than this?” I pause to charge up another Bloodstone, distantly registering the hiss of the disturbed snow under my feet. “Watch that tongue of yours, boy. You’ll still have to deal with the consequences when you inevitably return to my House!” My cast lands a hit square on his chest as he finishes his threat, and he falls to his knee. “Until then, father.” I’m not sure if he heard me over the rush of the Styx, but my hope that he did is tinged in bitterness. Turning away, I hurry to collect my Bloodstones and cross the threshold into Greece.

 The mountain seems to be caught in a storm of some kind. The cruel winds howl and whistle past my ears, the sheets of snow all but completely ELEPHANT my vision. I hurry along the treeline, thankful the entrance hollow is facing the direction the wind is blowing. I wonder if Demeter chose this direction intentionally, or if she may have been attempting to wipe out the infant before I had the chance to truly commit to my task. I decide she isn’t that heartless, not now anyway, and kneel beside the hollow. The crying of the infant is still going strong, so I at least can be sure it’s alive. I adjust my tunic so that I can tuck the child close to my body and reach to scoop it up. As I hold it close, my eye catches on the glint of silver around its neck. A chain, specifically one of a necklace. The charm is familiar, but I can’t quite place its origin. A sphere overlapped at each side by two crescent moon shapes. Whatever it is, I’m fairly sure it has something to do with father. Why else would the infant be left so close to his realm? The mortal whimpers quietly, curling in on itself. I need to get it out of this storm. My fingers wrap around the wheat as I stand. Surely Hephaestus would have built the cottage close by, for his own convenience at the very least. I decide to move back closer to the doors, so I can at least avoid the worst of the storm. I must hurry if I’m to find the cottage before my time is up.

The trees seem to fall away off to the right, as the land dips toward a river that’s frozen over. Perhaps I can at least clear this spot for now with Demeter’s gift. The banks flatten out before rising high at the sides, shielding the small valley from the wind. If I look closely, I can see the water rushing underneath the ice layer. I’m just starting to reach for the wheat when I notice a dark shape looming from the opposite side of the river. The cottage! Well, less of a cottage and more of a large house. Praising Hephaestus, I stumble over the frozen river, eyeing the places where the ice sizzles. The hill proves easy to scale, even with the protesting infant at my breast, and the door to the building gives easily to my push, the wind whooshing through the doorway to paint the inner floor white. It’s considerably harder to fight the wind to get the door closed again, but once it is, I’m free to sit against it and bask in the slightly warmer temperature. Even my infantile ward seems more pleased with the new surroundings, though it still hiccups and whines unhappily at me. “Come now, surely a little gratitude’s been earned here?” The mortal cries in response and I can’t help the exasperated laugh that escapes me. Suppose it’s entitled to its opinion, considering the state it’s in. It spurs me to stand again, scanning the room for a place to rest the mortal until I get back. Hephaestus did quite the good job with the construct. Sturdy walls, a strong roof, and windows sealed shut with thick glass to keep out the chill. The room we’re in now is spacious, with an open doorway leading to what reminds me of the House kitchens, and an arched entrance with a step up to a section that might be a lounge? I can see other closed doors that I’ll have to explore later, but for now I move into the kitchen and readjust the infant’s swaddle so that it can lay comfortably. It watches me in what I think is curiosity, though it’s kind of hard to tell with the tears in its eyes. I need to figure out what it needs next. Food? Let’s go with food. What do humans eat? What do human babies eat? Perhaps Hera will have answers. The pull of the Styx is stronger now, and I know I don’t have much longer. I shouldn’t let it see this. I lean over the cocoon of snot and tears and cheeks. The cries quieten as two big brown eyes stare mournfully up at me. “Abahaa!” It babbles and tries to reach for me. I meet its little hand in-between us with a finger. It’s fingers barely wrap around mine. It’s an overwhelming feeling; how small this creature is. Small and helpless and fragile and mine. I carefully remove the infant’s hand and tuck it back in its wrappings so I can leave. I’m able to securely close the door behind me and take but a few steps forward before the Styx arrives. Crawling out of the river is getting easier with my new motivation.

“Don’t worry, little thing. I’ll be back soon.”

[idontworkforsega]

My queen! Your majesty! I have come here to ask of you a prompt! For I know no other who is better at the precious sonamy more than you! Please accept my humble request for a classic sonamy fluff! A jealous blue hedgie included is this prompt will be greatly appreciated!!

Jealous Classic Sonic!?!? Yes? All of that?! (Also, thank you, you’re so sweet >///wn///

(Art is by @drawloverlala Or her DA->(https://www.deviantart.com/drawloverlala) who has given permission to let me use her art as a Preview Art Image for my prompts! Please support her as well!)

If you’d be okay with me using your art on my prompts, please send me a message letting me and @cutegirlmayra know!

PROMPTS ARE CLOSED. DON’T SEND ME ANY PROMPTS UNTIL THEY REOPEN! That will be when all the current prompts in my inbox are completed. Again, DO NOT SEND ME PROMPTS AT THIS TIME. (People are still sending them in, so please stop or the prompts will never re-open T-T)

*Also, this blog is for organizing my prompts for fanfiction. When prompts reopen, please submit prompt requests there. :)b

Prompt:

A jingle and a click, then there was music sounding through Classic Amy’s headphones.

She nodded her head, enjoying the classic rock that kept her heart upbeat as she stretched, getting ready to run.

She had been training for so long. All she wanted was to manage that loop-de-loop so she could keep up with Sonic.

One time, while pursuing her darling Sonic, he had raced through one. She saw him curl up and bolt off like a slingshot in a pinball game.

Her heart sank as she stopped rushing after him and skidded her feet against the moist and furtile ground of the earth, the grass bending to her force.

“Oh… Dear.” her face slowly recoiled in its joy as she faced the terrifying obstacle.

A full loop. No stops, just a drop if you slowed down…

A death fall.

The last time she had been through a loop-de-loop, she was being hauled off by a metal version of Sonic.

She took courage, stepping back with powerful stomps to work herself up to it. With a wiggle of her butt and straight up to her tail, she charged at it.

Needless to say, she flopped and her poor face was red with the trauma.

She didn’t even get to the curve…

So today, she was going to face up to her fear and overcome that death loop!

Her nostrils flared with bravery once again, her body honed for speed and balance, there was no way she would skid her face against its slick dirt coating this time!

Unbeknown to our little heroine, a certain Sonic The Hedgehog was sitting happily in the shadows of a few camouflaging trees. He had been passing by when he saw her in her workout clothes, her classy sweatband replacing her girly clothes that were now jazzy kinda workout colors and designs.

Immediately, he popped his popcorn–so to speak–, and set up camp.

He had heard the horrible PLOP from behind when she had first attempted the loop-de-loop. He had stopped in curiosity and flicked an ear back, racing over a ramp he had previously scaled to see what had happened.

It was a conflicting moment. He wanted to rush over and make sure she was okay, but he also didn’t want her seeing him laughing.

She had the saddest look on her face, and his snickering ended as he waited for her to call out to him in help.

Except she didn’t.

She surprised him by remaining silent, wiping her eyes and the bright dirt from her face, kissing her own booboos and glaring at the obstacle that had previously blocked her from following him the rest of the way.

He had stared almost mesmerized by the way she held her own. Where was the doting cry of help? The wimpy, whining high pitch voice? Was she really not going to cry out for him to coo and comfort her?

It’s not like he wanted too, but… he was prepared to do it, that’s all.

Now he felt a little confused, and seeing her prepare to take it on again today, he decided to watch from a distance and just ‘spot’ her, if she did end up getting hurt.

He flopped his hand and poured another shoveled amount of popcorn into his mouth, swishing it around to mush it up and watched as she took a runner’s stance on the ground.

Arching her butt up, she then took a deep breath and angled her body, looking up with pure determination as she raced up the loop-de-loop.

His eyes followed her, swallowing and reaching for his drink’s straw when his eyes fell flat to the ground again.

Another PLOP.

“Wah!” she cried out, making his eyelids lower a bit as he waited for her to cry out to him.

“Ow… Umph.” she rubbed her head, “…Maybe I gotta get a firmer footfall. Curl up on the ending?” she worked it out in her head, and again, Sonic’s grip on the drink tightened slightly.

She wasn’t aware of him.

Why would she call out for aid?

Why would she ask him for help?

He ‘Pfft’d and continued to flip through music CDs, deciding on a hit and letting it play.

When she tried again and PLOPPED, then he turned the music up louder.

“Offph! Darn, gotta go again… huh?” Her music was drowned out by another’s, and she looked over to excitedly see Sonic bobbing his head to his hard punk rock.

“Oh, Sonic! What are you doing here?” She dusted herself off and then held her hands together, the typical puppy-love he was used too seeing from her.

He put on shades and gave her his best ‘cool dude’s smile.

“Oh? Are you here to… to…” her eyes slightly shrunk in fright. “Watch me?”

He seemed to wave it off, suggesting that he was there to watch her really do it, if she did manage it.

A fear suddenly rose in Amy, and she held herself a moment. “O-oh…” she looked away, ‘Is he really going to sit there and watch me fail?’ she looked back at him, lowering her head.

He continued to bob his head to the music, making Amy think he was agreeing silently to that inner thought.

She puffed up her cheek, “Well, I won’t have it!” she told herself out loud. “That Sonic’ll respect me!” she huffed and turned her backside to him, her quill sticking out and shaking in rage as the rest of her head’s quills followed shortly after in her anger.

“Just watch me then! I’ll do it!” she stretched again, “I’ll make it over no matter what!”

He took off his shades again, hearing her from a distance. He smirked to himself. There was no way Amy Rose wouldn’t ask for her sweet hero’s help.

She’d fall again, this time on her butt, and beg for him to show her how, or just carry her through it.

She’d dote on him, but he’ll just have to live with it.

He sighed and shrugged, as though it was inevitable and he should just take it with patience.

However, as the day went on, Amy kept getting bruised up by all the falling…

Now Sonic was getting concerned.

His toe tapped in the air, his arms folded, and his tolerance going down…

He didn’t want to watch her fail… it wasn’t amusing seeing her hurt and then getting up to do it again.

That was just stupidity… right?

She rubbed her eye, on the verge of tears from that last fall, actually getting about decently high on the first stretch before rolling down it again. She looked behind the loop-de-loop, then moved to see the curve and attempted to curl up.

“…Well, she’s got the right idea.” Sonic didn’t like talking much, especially to others. But something about Amy not giving up… not reaching out for him… made him suddenly jealous of her unrelenting charisma.

She was so naturally likable.

He sunk further in his chair, the music turning to a Song that’s lyrics annoyed him even more.

‘She’s a well-oiled machine! Beauty queen of the world! She don’t need a man, she don’t want your hand, OW! She’s a star~ In her own right! She’s a star~ With just her own light! She’ll shine through the night, leaving you crying! Wishing! On her own beautiful face-! That somehow you could be apart of her space!”

He clicked it off, not liking it anymore.

But Amy turned around, “Hey! I liked that song!” her cute little voice sent a chill up his spine. Why was it cute!? When at all other times, it was usually so shrilly and out of place?

He turned it back on though, mumbling incoherent words as the song picked up again.

“Bright light shining, she’s a five-star, golden lottery. She has the courage to face her demons. She controls the ring, she’s the tiger working through the jungles to face the king! She’s the queen of her own galaxy! She don’t need no help, she’s the best! She’s got the whole world wishing on her-bright-staaarr!”

She did jumping jacks to the music, breathing in and out as she curled up, trying to speed in place but was getting dirt everywhere and wobbling too much in it.

Sonic’s anger mark was throbbing on his head, listening and watching her struggle without so much as giving him any attention at all.

“She’s the best! Don’t require the rest- she’s a star! Star, star-ar-arrr! She’s a well-oiled machine! Beauty Queen of the world! She don’t need a man, she don’t your hand, OW! -click-”

“Hey!” Amy uncurled, looking back to Sonic, “I said I was-!… huh?” she looked to see an empty chair.

“Sonic?” she turned to look around, before seeing he was right beside her on the other side, sizing up the loop-de-loop. “Wah! Oh… you scared me.” She touched her chest, breathing hard as his speedy appearance spooked her. “What’s wrong? Gonna show me how it’s done?”

He nodded.

“Hmph. Took you long enough. Why weren’t you helping me before? I just need some pointers, then I can do it!” She gripped her hands together, eager to learn and get through her latest struggles.

“Ah…” he turned to her, surprised again. She was waiting for… him?

Was he just being that selfish? Thinking he needed her to ask him over when he could have been right here helping her all along?

“I like to take on challenges, but it’s way more fun with a friend!”

There it was.

The cutest thing Sonic had ever seen.

A positive attitude.

He shook his head, smacking his cheek a moment as though to get his thoughts back to where they needed to be.

He was still jealous of her obvious moxie to do it herself, but he was also strangely attrac-… EHEM, impressed by her diligent resolve to get it done herself.

“You need more speed.”

“Well, that’s obvious. Coming from you.” she folded her arms, but he was again taken aback that she didn’t freak out at him talking.

It wasn’t like he socialized a lot… even Tails felt honored to hear his voice.

“Okay, Miss Rose, what else is so obvious?” His trademark attitude was showing again, as he placed the back of his wrist to his hips and leaned toward her. “Go on. If you already know what I’m about to say.”

Now her face shied away a little.

“Hehe…he… b-bu-but how do I do that?” she sweat-dropped, showing she really did want some advice.

He smiled, “That’s a little better.” He looked to the ground, “It just rained, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, your not getting proper footing so-”

“I KNEW IT!” she shrieked out, “I knew it was my footing!”

He waited, showing her his annoyance by just staring at her with a deadpan expression.

“…Heh…hehe… Teehee?” She knew he was a bit upset at being interrupted again, and with her being such a chatter-box, she acted cute about it and placed a finger to her mouth, looking away.

She was going to be silent now, eh?

“Anyway…” He rolled his eyes, “Try and curl up over by that patch of hill. If you run down it and curl, you should get a good start up. You could still fall a bit coming down, but that’s just because you aren’t as fast as me and Tails. Try and just get yourself to the other side, even if you fall doing so.”

“I’m not afraid to fall.” She said that strongly, standing bravely.

The song triggered in Sonic’s mind but he looked back to her to see her dirtied, banged up body and clothes again.

“…Yeah.” He looked worried, “I know.” he studied her eyes… “Just… Don’t uncurl this time. You’ll get pretty high up there.” He looked to the loop-de-loop.

For one of the first time’s since meeting Amy Rose, Sonic felt genuine concern for her safety.

“If you uncurl… you could get-”

“OFF I GO!”

“H-huh?! Crazy girl! I wasn’t done!” he saw her dart to the hill, and reached out for her. For some reason, this girl made him more animated than usual… “You’re not listening again! It’s dangerous! Just don’t uncurl!”

“I’m a star~ In my own right! I’m a star~”

“Crazy!” he called out to her, seeing her doing a little dance while she sang the previous song and got ready to sprint.

“With just my own light!”

“Stop!” he rushed to her side but she raced down while he moved up. “Don’t-!”

“I’ll shine through the night, leaving you crying! Wishinggggg-!” she curled up, gaining lots of speed.

“..No… No…” He shook his head, his heart beating fast. “Ammmmyyy!!!” It was a true cry of fright. Though he believed it was possible for her to do it, he was terrified she’d really get hurt if she fell that far, that hard, and that fast to the ground this time. He took off, curling up, and heading up the loop-de-loop after her.

She scaled the first roll. ‘On my own beautiful face, that somehow, you could be, apart of my spaaace~’

Time seemed to slow down, two blurry and balled colors flying up the loop-de-loop.

Through the spinning, Amy could feel herself start to fall, and Sonic saw her ball form leaning towards the other side.

‘Will she stay curled?’ his thoughts turned to joy as she hit the other side and rolled down, not breaking her curl.

He uncurled in his joy, reaching his arms out, “You did it!!!” he shouted in praise before smacking his head against the other side of the loop-de-loop. “Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow…” He smacked back and forth all the way down the ramp…

She uncurled safetly down at the bottom, “Yay! I did it!” she cheered as well, turning to see Sonic smack a few more times down before lifting up a ‘thumbs up’ to her.

“Hehe! Now I can catch up with you~” she flirted, poking his face that was buried in the ground. “You know… I thought about uncurling… just to make you catch me.”

He peered up, a slight glare in his eyes.

“But then I heard how loving your voice turned when you thought I didn’t hear you… I didn’t want to upset you, only play around… so I decided to really, truly land the ending. I was scared. I fibbed about not wanting your help… but I’m really glad you were here.”

His glare softened.

“I’ll always want you by my side, Sonic The Hedgehog! And now, I can always be beside yours!”

Under the earth, she didn’t see his kind smile.

He lifted up and shook the dirt off, now his bruises would match hers.

“Rascal.” he winked, playfully.

“Hehe~ Only for you~” she puckered up but he sped off. “Hey! You can’t hide in a loop-de-loop now, Sonic! Teehee~” and sped off after him.

The popcorn was tilted over, and the boombox stayed quietly posted next to the turned over chair…

(Jealous of Amy’s independence? Yes? No? Lol, I just wanted to make something new with the ‘jealousy’ theme XD I do it a lot, you know.)

Fanfiction Entry 602 (x)

[orangeflavoryawp]

Jonsa - “A Violence Done Most Kindly”, Part 2

I just couldn’t leave you guys with a solo chapter so I’ve upped the ante in this next one.  ;)  Expect future updates to be between one and two weeks, though.

Also, keep in mind that this fic is Stark-centric, and the plotlines I'm following won't necessitate the inclusion of certain characters, even ones I love. So don't be surprised if some of your faves don't make an appearance. This ensemble piece can only ensemble so much without losing cohesiveness.

“A Violence Done Most Kindly”

Chapter Two: Don’t Look Away

“She has had enough of men playing to roles they haven't the right to fill." - Jon and Sansa. Stark is a house of many winters.

Read it on Ao3 here.

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 fin

* * *

“My lady, if I may,” Baelish calls to her, catching her after a council meeting, halting her in the hall to her chambers.

           Sansa stills reluctantly, nodding to Brienne when she eyes the Lord Protector warily.

           “Was there something we missed in the meeting, my lord?”

           Baelish makes his way up to her, a smile just this side of a grimace gracing his features.  “I had hoped to speak with you outside the council meeting.”

           “We’re speaking now,” she grants him, and grants nothing else.

           Baelish glances to Brienne at her side, eyeing the way she keeps a perpetual hold on the hilt of her sword.  Sansa wonders wildly if he remembers that day, so long ago.

           “What if I want you to die, here and now?”

           “Privately, if you please, my lady,” he says, head inclined in deference.  

           Sansa watches him for just a moment, contemplating, and then she’s nodding to Brienne, continuing the walk to her chambers where she invites Baelish inside, and Brienne stands guard dutifully by the door, though not without a last lingering look of concern.  Sansa offers her a small smile of reassurance before closing the door behind her.

“I do wish to grant you what time you need to reacquaint yourself with your long-lost sister, unrecognizable though she may be,” Baelish starts, puffing his chest out with the words as he takes in her solar, “But I do hope you haven’t forgotten that there is a conversation to be had between us now, especially so because your brother has gained yet another supporter in your sister.”  He turns back to her with something like self-satisfaction – keen and impossible to miss.

           She begins to remove her gloves.  “I have not forgotten.”

           “Good.”  A step toward her.

           Sansa drops her gloves to the desk beside her.  “Nor have I forgotten your warnings.”

           A gleam lights in his eye, perhaps pride (though it is only a vague measure she can discern), or perhaps simply greed.  She is disappointed with herself for not having the skill to distinguish them yet at this point.

           “My dear Sansa,” he begins, already edging toward her, and it is an endearment that sets her skin to tingling, the base of her spine slipping into a rigidity quite like a familiar armor.

           His hands light along her shoulders.  She wonders when his attentions and his affectations turned from fatherly to that of a lover.  It isn’t in the motions themselves, the touches, the caresses.  It’s in the way he looks at her all the while, the words he spews when he touches her so.

           And she has had enough of men playing to roles they haven’t the right to fill.

           “Did you interpret our last conversation as a warning?” he asks curiously, a false touch of concern lighting his voice.

           She knows better than to answer such a question truthfully.

           His fingers curl around her arms, drawing her closer to him.  “Oh Sansa, you must know I never meant it as such.”

           “I know very little, Lord Baelish, where it concerns you.”  She allows herself this small honesty.  Truth can sometimes tempt the best of them.

           The self-satisfied grin that tugs at his lips makes her quiver, though she tempers the reaction before he can register it.  “I’ve been rather transparent with my desires, Sansa, wouldn’t you say?”

           She only looks at him, unblinking.

           “As transparent as the King, I would wager.”

           Sansa’s eyes narrow instantly, her shoulders stiffening.

           Baelish keeps one hand curled tight around her elbow, anchoring her to him, his other lifting to trace her cheek.  “You’re much too smart to think you can play such a game under my nose without me catching wind of it.”

           She gulps, lips pursed, offering no rebuke, but no admission either.  Her skin feels hot – blistering and not her own. “I’m not playing at anything.”

           “Yes, perhaps that’s the tragedy of it,” he muses, a mockingly smooth finger edging the length of her jaw.  “Tell me, Sansa, how long did you let your bastard brother beg before you finally spread your legs for him?”            Sansa jerks back, but he holds her tight, far tighter than he’s ever dared to touch her before, and something flashes in his eyes that looks dangerously like possessiveness.  

“You will unhand me, Lord Baelish,” she grinds out.

           He only grips her tighter, bruisingly so, hand clutching at her jaw now, mouth hovering close to hers, a hiss seethed through his teeth.  “Or are you the one who does the begging?” he murmurs, eyes fixed to her mouth, brows angled down sharply in an anger she recognizes all too easily.

           Joffrey had that kind of anger.  Ramsay, too.

           “Not the sort of boy who gives away his toys.”

           “I said ‘unhand me’, sir.”  It’s a command now, a wolfish sort of thing snarled through grit teeth.

           “I wonder what it took to hear such begging,” he croons at her mouth, dark and promising, ignoring her protest.

           “If you want to keep that hand,” a voice says smoothly from behind them, jolting them apart, “then you’ll remove it from my sister.”

           Sansa whips her head to the far corner of her room, watching as Arya materializes from the shadows.

           Baelish clears his throat, backing from Sansa almost unconsciously, his hands blessedly free of her.

           “Arya, what are you doing here?” Sansa hisses at her, breathing heavily, hands curling at her sides until her nails press half-moons into her palms.

           Arya swings her steady gaze toward her, cocking a brow.  “Minding snakes, it seems.”

           Sansa bristles at the answer.

           Baelish collects himself easily, stepping toward Arya.  “My lady, if you would only – ”

           “I’m not your lady,” she answers swiftly, gaze cutting back to his.  “And neither is my sister.”

           He swallows, chin lifting.  “This was a private conversation you intruded on, Lady Arya.”

           “Yes, and all the more shame that it’s now made public.  But don’t let that stop you.  Please, do continue.”  Arya motions toward Sansa with a daring scorn.

           Baelish looks between the two.  Sansa never takes her eyes off her sister.

           “Arya, you need to leave.”

           Arya glares at her, but then she’s looking back at Baelish, taking a step, and then another, making her way smoothly toward him until she’s standing just a foot away, head cocking as she looks up at him.  “I only ever make threats I intend to follow through,” she tells him, dark grey eyes wide and unblinking, harrowing in their intensity.

           Baelish stares back at her, riveted.  His throat bobs uncertainly.

           Sansa sucks a sharp breath through her teeth.  “Arya.”

           And then the younger Stark is offering Baelish a mocking smile, a false comfort beneath her deadly gaze.  “My list isn’t so long that it can’t fit another name,”

           Baelish furrows his brows, uncomprehending, but she doesn’t wait for a response, stalking away from him to stand beside her sister.

           Several moments pass in silence, and then Baelish smooths his hands over his robe, clearing his throat.  “Well then,” he begins.

           “Well then,” Arya says almost smugly, hands linked behind her back.

           Baelish levels her with a steady stare, before looking up to Sansa.  That anger is back, brimming just beneath a still, composed surface.  Its sourness is no less visceral, even with her sister at her side, and Sansa thinks this must be how poison works – slow and unseen.

           “I bid you good evening, ladies,” he says in farewell, before stalking to the door, unlatching it, and slamming it behind him.

           Sansa takes a long, solid breath, hands finally uncurling at her sides. She glances down to Arya.  Her sister is staring up at her, lip curled, a sneer playing at her features.

           “You’re being reckless,” Sansa throws out on a harsh exhale, shaking with it, and shaking with more.

           Arya schools her face back to passiveness, making her way to the door as well.  “And you’re being stupid.”  She says it with no remorse, and Sansa didn’t think it’d hurt quite so much to hear the familiar words again after so many years.

           But Arya leaves without saying more, and Sansa’s word of thanks is lodged somewhere between her barren tongue and her clenched teeth, as sour as Baelish’s anger had been.

* * *

           “Littlefinger will make his move before long.  Arya’s seen to that,” Sansa huffs reluctantly, glancing toward her younger sister as they sit gathered in her solar.

           Jon sighs, leaning his elbows over his knees.  “We can’t afford this – not now.”

           Arya doesn’t look the slightest remorseful.  “He threatened Sansa.”

           Jon straightens at this.  

           “Arya,” Sansa hisses.  “That’s not what happened.”

           Arya lifts a brow her way.  “That’s exactly what happened, even if he didn’t say it in so many words.”

           Jon opens his mouth to press further, but then Arya is scoffing, arms crossing over her chest.  Her words still him.  “You leave yourself too open to threats, Sansa.  Too open… in other ways, as well.”  Arya slips a look of accusation toward Jon out of the corner of her eye.

           The bile is ripe on his tongue – sharp and pungent.  Just like the anger.

           “Arya, that’s enough,” he bites out warningly, purposely not looking at Sansa’s suddenly wet eyes, her jutting chin, her stiff, yet trembling hands bunched in her lap.

           Arya rolls incredulous eyes his way.  “You’re both fools.  You’re both foul, selfish fools,” she seethes.  Her arms tighten over her chest, her jaw locking tight, like collaring a wolf.  Like leashing anguish.  “And you’ll be the end of us.”

           “I wasn’t the one who threatened the Lord Protector of the Vale,” Sansa snaps meaningfully.

           Arya’s face hardens, her throat flexing.  “Should I have let you be, then?”  Her voice is impossibly soft.  “Should I have let him touch you?”

           A flare of possession streaks through Jon – white-hot and instant – but it’s dampened by the look upon Sansa’s face.  It’s a look he’s never seen before, all at once guilty and pleading and proud.

           “They’re our family,” Bran says from his quiet place beside the hearth, nearly forgotten in the sudden vitriol splashed across the room.

           Arya spares him a glare as well.  “I know that, Bran.  And that’s what makes it all the worse.”

           Jon clamps down on the spiteful rush that floods him.  She is his sister, after all, and gods, does he miss her. But this is not what he wanted. “Only the pack survives, Arya.  We have to – ”

           “Don’t you dare use Father’s words after fucking his daughter beneath this very roof,” she spits.

           The scrape of Sansa’s chair is jarringly loud in the sudden quiet, and Jon can do nothing but watch her stalk to the window, his knuckles white wear he grips his knees, his teeth sinking into his tongue as he bites down on his rebuke, the shame tart and instant and utterly unspeakable.

           (There can be no rebuke to truth though, he knows this.  Even when he wishes he didn’t.)

           It’s the first the nature of their relations have been brought to air – the first that exactly what it is they’re doing has been spoken of so clearly  And perhaps it isn’t the vehemence with which Arya says it that startles him to silence, or the crudeness in how she says it. Perhaps it’s just that it was said at all.

           The blaring reality of their sin laid out before them, in no uncertain terms.

           Arya digs the heel of her palm into her wet eyes, teeth gritting.

           Sansa stares stoically out the frost-lined window, taking a single, long breath in, and then exhaling just as slow.  Her jaw works beneath the flicker of candlelight.

           Jon looks away.

           “We’ll need Baelish,” Bran interrupts the silence

From her position along the window, Sansa’s shoulders stiffen, a look of wariness passing over her shoulder when she glances to Bran.

           Jon doesn’t like the taste that floods his mouth at the sight.

           “We’ll need his spies,” Bran corrects.

           Sansa rubs a worrying thumb into her opposite palm.  A sigh like he’s never heard from her passes through her lips then. She is an altogether different woman suddenly.  “Is there a difference?”  Her voice hardly wavers.

           Bran’s eyes shift to Arya.  “One face – many faces.”  

           Arya glances up at the words, her ire momentarily forgotten in place of cautious interest.

           Something of a smile tugs at Bran’s lips, but it’s barely-there and fleeting enough to make Jon question its presence entirely.  “Perhaps it’s not such a difference,” their brother muses.

           Jon thinks he should feel cold at the glint that passes through Arya’s gaze, but he can’t summon anything beyond a vague apprehension.

           Instead, he looks to Sansa.

           She does not look back.

* * *

           She leads Baelish to the godswood in the dead of night, and he doesn’t see the wolves circling until the mark of his own grave stops him stock still in the clearing.

“Sansa, please,” Baelish begs, knees sodden with muddied snow, a gleam of moonlight casting through the weirwood trees to land in slants upon his sweaty, pale face.  At his back, Needle stays pressed just between his third and fourth ribs, Arya’s wrist poised in shadow, her other arm held at her back, spine straight. She watches Sansa expectantly.

           At the gasp of her name from Baelish’s lips, Jon takes a purposeful step forward, lip curling, hands fisting at his sides.  “Don’t you even speak her name,” he threatens in a low growl.

           Bran’s hand at his elbow stays him.

           Arya flits slate-grey eyes up at him, narrowing, her lips pursed tightly.

           Jon shares a look with her, before he averts his gaze, a heated scoff leaving his lips.

           Brienne lights a tentative hand on Sansa’s shoulder. “My lady, you do not have to see this.”

           Through all this, Sansa has stayed resolutely still, a thrum of disquiet washing over her.  In her mind’s eye, she sees her mother.  She sees her father.  She sees a brilliant grey banner, direwolves in the wind.  She sees a house bloodied by betrayal.

           She sees the last song of the mockingbird – words for poison – and she remembers that she has learned the weight of such venom years ago.

           “But I do,” she answers Brienne, eyes already wet, throat already constricting, even as she nods to Arya.

           “Sansa – ”  Baelish ends her name on a cracked exhale, Needle sliding between his ribs with a quiet slickness.

           His mouth is red instantly, lungs flooding with blood.

           Sansa starts to shake.  She feels Jon’s hand at the base of her spine.

           “Don’t look away,” Bran says from his chair beside them –

           (Arya is wiping her blade clean before Baelish even hits the snow.)

           – “Father will know if you do.”

* * *

           Arya wears Baelish’s skin with an ease that quietly terrifies.

           Sansa watches the false-Baelish stride across the hall, calling Lord Royce’s name in a voice she still finds sets her skin to tingling.

           Sansa stares at the cover that is Littlefinger.

           A stranger’s eyes stare back, unfamiliar in their familiarity.  

           She had thought condemnation would look different on a face that wasn’t Arya’s.

           She knows now that she is wrong.

           “He’s not worth crying over,” Jon tells her the next night, when she’s busy unlacing his tunic, fingers trembling and frantic.  Something of sorrow lines his words.

           Sansa stills, looking up at him.  “I know.”

           His hand slips up her jaw, thumb brushing along her cheek so achingly slow that she suddenly feels the wetness along it.  “Then why are you?” he asks her, not unkindly.  It’s a whisper between them, an indiscernible secret let to air.

           “I’m not,” she bites out.

           But oh, she is –

           She is, she is, she is –

           “Sansa.”  Something breaks in her with how he says it.

           (Or perhaps it was always broken, and she’s only just now finding the pieces.)

           It’s a terrifying tangle of grief and relief that fills her at the image of Baelish’s face in the red-filtered moonlight, his pleading mouth forming her name so ardently she wants to strike him for it.  “I don’t regret it,” she admits on an exhale, her fingers slipping from Jon’s chest as she stumbles back a step.

           He follows her, doesn’t let her pull away.  He cradles her face in his hands, her tears running freely now.

           “I don’t regret it,” she mumbles, head shaking.  “I don’t regret it, I don’t – I…I don’t regret it, I – ”

           He silences her with a kiss, nothing of kindness to it, nothing of mercy.  He doesn’t give her mouth the chance to form any more words, least of all those.

           She’s back to unlacing his tunic, and she isn’t crying anymore.

           But the tangle has only knotted further.

           She doesn’t know anymore, what to regret in this life.

           Her hand meets his flesh.

           (She just doesn’t know anymore.)

* * *

           Daenerys razes the northern lands of the Crownlands, pushing toward Harrenhal, and what Sansa assumes will be even further toward the Westerlands.  She imagines she could take King’s Landing if she wanted, but perhaps vengeance urges her west first.  A thirst Daenerys must quench before she takes her crown. A kingslayer she must bring to heel before the whole of Westeros.  She must recognize by now that King’s Landing is not the seat of power it once was, not with more than half the population already fled.  If she wants the seven kingdoms to kneel, then she will have to bring the fight to them.  Shouting her claim in the middle of an empty throne room will not get her the subservience she craves and sitting the Iron Throne is not so meaningful without witnesses. So she holds her court at Dragonstone, and pushes west.

Jaime Lannister gives up Riverrun to Brynden and Edmure Tully when the dragon queen’s forces push too close for comfort.  He focuses on The Reach instead, halting their advance towards Casterly Rock.  The Lannisters face enemies on all sides from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, even with having the largest contingent of men.

And yet, it’s still surprising when Jaime Lannister is the first to answer one of Jon’s many ravens calling for a peace summit.

(‘To fight the horde’, Jon had said.

‘To ensure peace amongst the kingdoms’, Sansa had urged him instead, a hand squeezing his wrist, and she watched as the huff of frustration blew from his lips.

Still, he heeded her advice, dipping his quill to the parchment and adopting her calculated words in his missives.)

Jon tosses a scroll to her desk, raking a hand through his curls.  “He says he’ll come only if he’s granted an audience with the Lady of Winterfell,” he spits almost mockingly, eyes boring into the parchment as it lays innocently atop her ledgers.

Sansa’s brows furrow, fine-boned fingers picking up the scroll to peruse it herself.  She licks her lips, looking up at Jon from her seat.  “He’ll want to know about Cersei.”

“You had nothing to do with that.”

“Not in his eyes, I imagine.”

Jon rests his knuckles along the wood of her desk, leaning over it.  “I will kill him before he lays a hand on you.”

Sansa takes a deep breath, easing back in her chair. His quiet, violent outburst settles something low in her gut like spitting coals.  “And would you have me turn him away over this?  When he commands the largest force in Westoros – the kind of numbers we’ll need if we want to defeat the dead?”

He doesn’t answer her.  But he doesn’t need to.

Sansa sighs, shaking her head.  “We can’t win this without allies, you said it yourself.”

Jon tears his hands away from the desk, stalking across the length of her solar, staring darkly at the wall, a hand gliding over his mouth.  He stalks back along the stones, stopping at her desk again.  “I don’t like it.”

The indignation is easy, ripe in her throat. “It’s not your choice.”

His eyes flash, his hands curling into fists at his sides.  “Aye,” he bites out.  “It’s not.”

It doesn’t sound like a surrender or an agreement, but Sansa hasn’t the patience to argue such a point.  “Then the Lady of Winterfell accepts.  You can tell him as such when you pen your answer.”  She links her fingers atop her lap, lips pursed.

Jon clenches his jaw, chest heaving just the once – like trying to rein something in.  But then he’s nodding his farewell, turning from her, throwing the door to her solar open so harshly that Brienne braces a hand reflexively to Oathkeeper, glancing in on her lady as the King sweeps past.

Sansa scowls at his retreating form, fingers curling into a knot in her lap.

* * *

           He thinks maybe the right words will come to him at the tip of a sword.  They usually do, and he’s never been much good without one.  So when he invites Arya to a spar at the far end of the eastern courtyard, well enough out of earshot of any passersby, he doesn’t waste time.

           “Sansa misses you.”  He sees the moment the smirk slips from her mouth.  

           She’d been enjoying the spar, he can tell, and while some part of him aches that he’s the one to shatter that moment, to temper that glee, a larger part of him knows how to recognize the temporary and the fleeting at this point.

           Arya doesn’t blunt her swipes, Needle clacking against Longclaw with a sharp ringing.  “I doubt that very much.”

           Jon steps into the parry, teeth gritting.  “I know why you’ve been distant but – ”

           “If you know, then it shouldn’t be so hard to understand.”  Her swing lands dangerously close to his cheek.

           Jon stumbles back, breath breaking from him with a jolt, a flush of anger heating him.  “She’s your sister.  Shouldn’t that be enough?”

           Arya straightens, a hand held primly at her back, a single brow arched.  “It wasn’t enough for you, was it?  To have her as a sister?”  She doesn’t hide the contempt now.

           Jon huffs his frustration, swinging low, teeth bared when he meets her blade for blade.  “Whatever I’ve done, whatever I’ve – ”  He swallows his words behind a grunt.  They meet in a clash, eyes locked.  “I won’t apologize for what I want.  Not even to you.”

           Arya’s eyes wet instantly, even while they harden.  She shouts as she shoves him back.  “You should have known better!  You should have – she should have – ”  She swings again, too wide, staggering back when he parries her almost effortlessly.  “It’s like I don’t even know you anymore!”  

           He imagines she hadn’t meant for her voice to break on that one, and he understands why she covers it with a snarl, another lunge, but he’s finding it harder and harder to brace against her vehemence.

           Jon knocks her back, bracing his boots in the dirt to steady himself.  His chest heaves, the breaths coming ragged and full.  “You’ve no idea what she’s been through.”

           Arya narrows her eyes at him, twirling Needle into an overhold.  “The people talk, Jon.  I know what Ramsay – ”

           “I’m not just talking about what Ramsay did to her!” he bellows, stilling her instantly.  His gut churns at the name, even still, even now when he bears the marks of that bastard’s ruin on his scarred knuckles, even when he carries him with him beneath his skin (and oh, how he would scar worse if it meant he could mar him again and again and – )

           Jon closes his eyes, taking a deep breath as he swallows back the rage.

           Because Ramsay was not all of it.

           “What do you mean?”  Arya is standing eerily still, hair slightly disheveled, gloved hand curling around Needle’s hilt.

           Jon opens his eyes.  

           (Just a stupid, little girl, Sansa had muttered in a voice so scathing he knew he’d never know the whole of it.

           She doesn’t like mirrors, he finds.  And this, perhaps, makes him saddest of all.)

           “I meant down in King’s Landing.”

           Arya doesn’t respond, but Needle lowers minutely.  Jon takes it as a motion to continue.

           Something strikes him then, instant and resounding.  “Could you have done it?”

           Her brows sharpen down in her confusion.  “What?”

           Jon licks his lips, continuing.  “Could you have held your tongue in the midst of those who killed Father, knowing it would be your head next?”

           Arya’s chest puffs out, her hiss high and biting.  “I would have died to avenge Father.”

           “And could you have held it knowing that if not, it would be your mother next? Your brother?  Your sister?”

           Arya stops, throat flexing beneath her tight swallow.

           Jon takes a step closer, Longclaw still at the ready.  “Could you have taken the beatings, the humiliation, the constant reminder of your helplessness, your uselessness?  Could you have listened day after day to the threats on your family?  Could you have done nothing, because to do more meant worse than death for those you loved?”  He’s panting by now, quaking in his own skin, desperate, wretched, lungs full with his woe. He can see her trembling from where he stands.  Longclaw tips to the ground, forgotten.  “Do you know how she cried for you?”

           Arya turns her head away, eyes riveted to the stone wall.  The tears are more apparent now, though they never fall. Her jaw works beneath her tight words. “I never asked her to.”

           “Aye,” Jon says, nodding, voice cracking.  “Sansa did a lot of things for us we never asked her to.”

           She looks back at him then, her face fierce, a shadow of distress glancing through her eyes, and then gone.  She blinks back the wetness.  “I don’t know what she’s been through, no.  Not truly. Not entirely.”  She tilts her chin up, her voice steady.  “But neither does she know what I’ve been through.”

           And there it is.

           The reminder of how he’s failed.

           Jon crumbles beneath the weight of such guilt, his head lowering, and he digs the knuckles of his free hand into his eye socket, clearing his throat when he looks back at her and his hand comes away salt-tinged.  “I know.  And I’m sorry, Arya, I’m so – ”  His breath catches, and he has to choke back the break, start again.  “I’m sorry I couldn’t – ”

           “I’m not saying it because I blame you.”  Arya sighs, glancing away to the wall once more.  It seems a comfort.  “I’m not saying it because I blame her either.  It just… it just is.”

           “Would you wish it upon her?  What you went through?”  He asks it softly, plaintively.  

           She considers him a moment, eyes a hauntingly familiar grey.

           (How like his sister he’s always been – and how not.)

           “No,” she finally answers, Needle lowering to her side entirely, the crinkle of her glove resounding in the blaring quiet.

           “I think she feels much the same,” he offers her, stepping closer, until he is standing right before her, until he can reach a gloved hand up to brush a lone strand of hair behind her ear.

           Arya’s eyes flutter shut at the motion, leaning into the touch unconsciously. Her lashes glisten with the unshed tears.

           Jon’s hand retreats, a long-forgotten fondness creeping out between his ribs.  He waits until her eyes shift open once more.  He waits until she’s looking at him, really looking at him.  He waits until he knows she’s ready to listen.

           “Sansa isn’t weak,” he tells her, voice steady.  “She’s just strong in ways you’ve never had to be.”

           Arya stares up at him, and she is all at once exactly the sister he left, and yet nothing like her at all.

           He wants to reach for her once more, but something tells him not to.  Something tells him they’re not there yet.

           Arya flits her gaze to the side, a heavy sigh leaving her.  She wipes at her eyes, clearing her throat.  She sheaths Needle without further word, stepping back from him.  “I’m not okay with what you two are doing,” she says finally, voice clear of tears. She looks back up at him and her eyes are dry.

           Jon shakes his head.  “I’m not asking you to be.”  It’s easy to be unapologetic.  It’s easy now that he recognizes how little condemnation means to him.  Not with this.

           Not with her.

           (He will never be sorry for that.)

           “But,” Arya starts, swallows, starts again.  “But I hear you.”

           Jon stares at her, blinking swiftly.

           “I hear you,” she says again, and then she’s turning and stalking away, their spar forgotten.

           He doesn’t think they’d have ended in anything but a stalemate anyway, but he hopes.

           He hopes.

* * *

{The hearth spits another log to cinders before them, and she thinks he means to keep this damn silence always, until, “Because she is needed.”

Sansa nearly scoffs, her throat catching on the noise.  She blinks the wetness from her eyes.  “We never needed her,” she says on a harsh exhale.

           “We do,” Bran counters, no malice in the correction, no reprimand.

           “We needed Jon,” she manages through clenched teeth, fingers curling over her armrests like talons.  She wants to strike him – her little brother.  She wants to claw those desolate white eyes out and find the monster beneath – the monster that did this to them.  “We still do,” she grinds out.  It almost seems a pointless grief now.

           Bran gives her a long moment of silence, eyes frustratingly vacant.  “There can be no Jon without Daenerys.”}

[qqueenofhades]

You know what, I'm feeling nostalgic tonight, so: “Truthfully, this is the fabric of all my fantasies: love shown not by a kiss or a wild look or a careful hand but by a willingness for research.” For Sam/Miranda?

Thanks to @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels, I had to go digging in my inbox for this (and lbr it’s from a while ago and I meant to do more prompts and then I didn’t, so you can shame me). BUT. ANYWAY. HAVE SOME SOFTNESS. Set somewhere in my modern hacktivist Sam verse.

The light is on in the kitchen window, filtering out to the garden where they sit, and traffic rumbles  past on the road. They have a pile of papers accumulating between them, and Sam keeps glancing down to type things up, fingers clattering over the keys of his latest extremely futuristic laptop. Thomas is out of town again -- he lost Foreign Secretary last year in the election reshuffle, and Miranda is not altogether sorry to see it go, though he maintains the Hamilton Foundation and is presently larking on a yacht with Sir Richard Branson in the name of high-speed internet for underserved communities in Britain -- and it is just the two of them, her and Sam. They’ve been reading these reports for hours, and Miranda straightens, uttering a groan as a crick in her back makes itself regrettably known. “My dear,” she says. “Some tea? Or supper?”

“What?” Sam glances up in surprise, and only then seems to take in the twilight that has fallen among the rosebushes, the darkness in the garden. “Christ,” he says, blinking. “Where did the time go?”

“Where it goes when we’re occupied, I suppose,” Miranda says dryly, as she offers him a hand, and Sam -- ever gallant, and notwithstanding the fact that he is nearly a foot taller than her -- permits her to help him up. They collect the papers and the computers and the other work they’ve been doing to identify the Foundation’s next area of fundraising interest and go inside, to the dim kitchen. Sam offers to help make supper, as always, and as always, she tells him to sit. The lights chase some of the shadows away, and they fall into an easy rhythm of conversation, as always. He looks especially handsome with the black scruff, the loose tendrils from his ponytail, and the new silver earring he’s acquired -- a bit dramatic perhaps, but it suits him. Miranda still sometimes cannot believe this wild, beautiful, independent creature is hers, and it frightens her.

She has almost lost her hesitance about being with Sam while Thomas is gone, as he has assured her it is entirely satisfactory to him, but still sometimes, the fear of it holds her back. Miranda Hamilton loves her husband, after all, and even with the unorthodox lives they have led -- even though Thomas loves Sam too even if not in the same way as her, has seen what they have, has chosen to let it remain between just the two of them, pure and inviolate -- it sometimes cannot help but feel like dishonesty. Sensing her struggle as he always does, Sam glances up. “I can go,” he says gently. “If you wish.”

“I -- no.” Miranda stirs the sauce on the stove, perches on the chair across from him. She raises a hand to push back the brown-grey swoop of her hair, fallen free from its bun. “You know that is not what I want.”

Sam eyes her with utter, unspoken understanding, with the words he has whispered to her so often before -- be kind to yourself, my love -- hanging between them. He reaches out and takes her hands, uncurling the anxious knot of her fingers, massaging her palms, working out the incipient ache of carpal tunnel and the lingering ink stains. When he’s finished, he presses a silent kiss to the back of it, then lets go with an impish wink. “Your sauce is burning.”

Flustered, Miranda leaps to her feet to turn the heat on the hob down, manages to rescue it from disrepute, and constitutes the rest of dinner without incident. They go out back again to eat, London draped in the warm cloak of a summer night, Queen Mab whispering among the hedges and the trees, the glow of the world when it almost seems enchanted and soft and new. Miranda glances sidelong at Sam again, the magnificent etching of his profile against the dimness, and catches him looking back at her. When they have finished eating, he puts down his bowl, then opens his arms without a word. Just as quietly, Miranda gets up, pads over, and sits down on his lap.

Sam wraps his arms around her with a deep sigh, holding her close against the firm strength of his chest, resting his chin on her hair. Miranda leans against him, burying her nose in his collarbone, some of the weariness and strain from the day draining away, the constant struggle that it is to try to help people in any meaningful way at all in this gilded shell game. Part of her wishes that she could leave this Kensington mansion and join Sam in his humble flat in Ealing, or anywhere else. She wishes that she could spread her wings and fly, or sail away into a vast starless sea, and be free of this. She could not leave Thomas behind, not forever. But if she could only breathe --

Once more, Sam can sense her discontent, her restlessness, and he turns his head, pressing a soft kiss into the side of her head. Then he stands up and carries her inside, to the bedroom where he stays -- where they stay, truly -- when he comes to the Hamilton house. He refuses to dishonor Miranda and Thomas by the use of their marital bed, their master bedroom, and Miranda herself feels it is better to remain separate. He pushes through the door, shuts it behind him, and says, “My love, let me make you happy, eh?”

She nods back, nods because she can’t speak, breathless and needing and absurdly halfway to tears, as he unbuttons her blouse, her expensive brassiere, and kisses his way slowly down her shoulders, her chest and breasts and stomach, until he tugs his way past the waistband of her slim-cut trousers. Miranda stands long enough to help him strip them off, and then her underpants (she thinks that she should have worn a nicer pair, the ones with the lace perhaps, but Sam does not notice or care). Then, naked, she sits back down on the bed, as Sam kneels in front of her, spreads her legs, and leans in.

Miranda gulps, gasps, clutches at his hair, as he works with his usual consummate thoroughness and care. He is gentle and relentless in turns, licking and sucking, working her until she is all but a boneless, rubbery-limbed heap and thinks it signally unfair that he is still fully dressed. When he pulls back to breathe properly, she gets to her feet and commences briskly stripping Sam of his clothes, something which has never yet failed to give her deep delight. “Mmm,” he says, teasing, looping her around the waist, straining her neck up for a deep kiss. “I am all yours, darling.”

“Good,” Miranda says, as he toes his last sock off, and it is only them in nothing but their skins, entwined in the dimness, their hair falling loose around their shoulders. He lifts her like a leaf and lays her out on the bed, but Miranda rises up, rolls him over, and pushes him down on his back. He goes at once, delighted to be wherever she wishes him, and his hands grip her hips, lifting her atop him, and then as they both gasp, into her.

They make love as they always do, both slow and sweet and fast and deep, roughness and romance in turns, as he worships her and fills her and makes her whole, and Miranda closes her eyes and holds her breath because still, even now, she is afraid that she will wake up, and it will never have been at all. Sam smooths his callused palms over her arms, her sides, her thighs, the knobs of her spine, the curve of her arse. He muses kisses at the secret spot behind her ear that makes her melt, and more than she feels her mouth can stand to bear. She loves him beyond any common word or sense or feeling for it, anything that seems proper or sane or ordinary. She loves him until it burns.

In the end, they wear themselves out, lie together gasping and giggling and entangling their fingers, exchanging sleepy kisses, still wanting to be close so long as they are awake. But the night comes on, very deep now, and there is more to come in the morning, more research, more battles, more fights to make anyone give a damn what they say. When once again, they must rise up like the sun, and somehow do this again. Miranda does not know how.

And yet, she does not need to. For Sam Bellamy is with her, and she with him, and that is all that matters. And so it is thus that she can close her eyes, and let go, and sleep.

[cutegirlmayra]

@heIaknight know prompts are on shut down but when you have time or when you start writing again could you do a prompt for me please? It’s my first time and I’m a big fan! I would love to meet you in person! Okay…omay so can you do a prompt like… Okay…have you ever seen that movie Ant man and the wasp? Where the enemy (ghost) phases with every move she takes… Could you do it where Boom!Shadow does something to her while their fighting each other that makes her phase. That’s when Boom!Shadow has the advantage and he takes the victory and that’s when Boom!Amy calls Boom!Sonic for help… And after Boom!Sonic takes the W he checks on the gang and they all flip out when they see her phasing and Tails says he will help her out? Boom!Sonic worries for her cause he knows that she’s in pain but she hides it making Sonic do all these things to make her feel less pain but ends up making her feel bad and he just grows a little annoyed that she refuses to let out all of her emotions… But then one day Shadow returns to the village and notices Amy phasing and she breaks down in front of him and blames him and he feels a little bad and helps her out?!? (Does that even make sense!?!) 😂…. (Doesn’t really have to be Canon but it would be awesome if it was! But if it’s hard then don’t bother. I’ll be grateful with whatever you give me!) 😘😉

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Dahh... sounds like you have the plot? lol xD Hello! You’d be so cute to meet in person! Thank you so much for loving my works!

I have seen the movie, I wanted to take a different turn on this, but I’ll do my best to adhere to the original design for it ;)b

Since this is a lot, I’m gonna try and just take a moment from it, is that okay? I’ll do a quick recap tho, no worries!

I’m not sure if this was Sonamy or just an idea but I’ll try and do what I can for ya ;)b

PROMPTS ARE ON SHUTDOWN! Please don’t send any in, these are prompts that have been sitting in my inbox for a long time. Please wait until Prompts reopen again, thank you for your patience!

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Prompt:

In the thick of the battle, when Shadow grabbed the power-multiplier from up-top the town’s highest structural landmark, he blasted his chaos through it and looked at his hand.

The landmark was placed on the tip of a mountain, which--apparently--was still within town boundaries.

Eggman had invented this in hopes of multiplying the range of power one robot could yield, tempting Shadow to test his abilities as Ultimate Lifeform and not be threatened; but instead, it seemed to multiply the range of atoms in one body.

When the chaos blasted out, it was nothing more than his usual power.

“Impossible.” He remarked, “Does this mean... There is no further power I can add to my own?”

“Hey, Shadow!”

Shadow looked down below him, seeing Amy had scaled the mountain with her airgear, leaving the other’s wheeled-rides behind.

“Amy! Don’t!” Tails shouted out, but she was gripping her airgear and going for a straight, upward angle like an arrow pointed to the sky.

“Heh, since my power clearly can’t be matched, I no longer need to this.” He tossed the machine down, climbing the last bit of the mountain and tipping over the structural sign that read ‘TOWN’ with a spike at the top of it.

The spike shone as though important, but the sign looked beaten up by the winds of time anyway.

When the sign fell down, Amy tried to dodge it, but that threw her straight into the path of the falling machine.

She rolled as she gripped her airgear against her stomach tighter, almost like a surfer would when trying to remain balanced before the machine triggered and her whole body flew straight through it.

Needless to say, Tails caught the machine with a large gloved hand from his ride, but Sonic and Knuckles turned to look through the air and squint to try and see Amy through the harsh sunlight.

“Where’d she go? Do you see her?”

“Little lady who~!?” Knuckles accidentally called out an old yodel that made the ice on the second mountain begin to crack, then tumble at his loud voice.

“Amy! I can’t see her.” Sonic stuck his head out and put a hand up to try and block the sun, but when he did so, he saw the avalanche. “Gah! Knuckles! You made the mountain tumble over on itself!”

“Whoops.” Knuckles placed his hand up to his mouth, muttering, “Everyone’s a critic...”

“We have to fall back!” Tails cried out, “I’m turning us around!”

“No! Wait! I have to find Amy!” Sonic turned back his large Blue Force One towards the falling snow.

“No! Sonic! You’ll be crushed!” Tails grabbed the machine, turning its effects off as it sputtered and fried out little sparks before using the big hand to grab Sonic’s ride, forcing him into the air and pulling him down after the other two.

“Nooo..!” Sonic reached out to the mountain as they escaped...

Amy, covered in white, kicked her feet but found that nothing touched the snow. “H-huh? Where am I? What..?” She felt solid a moment and pushed through the snow pile.

She began to phase all the way down the mountainside, freaking out the whole while as she was enveloped by snow a number of time, spitting out snowflakes until finally clearing the summit and reaching the base.

When she came down, most of the town’s people cried out, “Ghost! Ghost!” and would run from her.

She just swiped an apple after her attempts at calming people down didn’t work, but she phased and the apple phased with her, meaning she took a bite out of air.

She dropped the apple and watch it clip like a game glitch through the ground, her eyes following it before she unphased and saw a small mound of dirt appear, as thought he apple was buried underneath.

“Huh.” It occured to her then that every time she unphased, she felt a tinge of pain, but nothing severe...

Until she reached Tails’s house... however.

“AHH!!” she fell through the door, gripping her stomach, “Tails... help me!” She cried out, her atoms constantly breaking wide apart and then reforming back into a solid being.

The gang just happened to be looking up radar of Amy, but she kept blinking out on the screen, until they finally realized it was because she was fading in and out of the world.

“Amy!” They cried out.

After some tests that proved only a small step for animal kind was kinda not a large step in figuring out this problem, Sonic began to pace back and forth in front of Amy, hooked up to a number of wires and electrical car jump-starters that were clipped onto different parts of her like her ear, arm, and side.

“I’m... I’m really okay, Sonic.” Amy lied, trying to disguise the pain by rubbing her arm when she felt the phasing coming back. “I’m-” she phased out, and when she did, she plugged her mouth and screamed.

Sonic turned back to her, rushing to the table, “Amy! Amy!? Dang, I hate getting ghosted like this.” he turned away and huffed, folding his arms before Amy popped back into existence and released some air from her lungs.

“Fine.” she gasped out.

He turned around, grabbing her arm, “No, you’re not! Maybe I can help!”

“H-how?” Amy flinched, his touch only made it more clear how sore she was from the phasing.

“Uhh... A pillow!” He sped off, going through the door and heading back into the room proudly showing Amy’s cushion from her home, but she was gone.

“I’ll... I’ll leave it here then.” He placed it on where he thought she would phase back, but she popped up behind him.

“Sonic!”

“AHH!” he jumped back, grabbing his chest. When he realized it was just her, he sighed and helped her up on the table, placing her on the pillow. “Tails said not to move around, it triggers the phasing. Besides, you scared me to death..!”

“But you left and I didn’t know where you were-” she phased out again.

The pillow would phase into her so he removed it.

“AHH!” She came back, worried the pillow was now stuck with her but looked to see it wasn’t. The pain was becoming unbearable, but she just kept smiling at him through it. Gritting her teeth. “MaYbE No PiLlOw.” she broke the words down through her teeth as he handed her the pillow.

“Then phase with it.”

“That hurts! It was easy with an apple, but that was before this stung like-!” she phased again.

“Ugh,” Sonic slumped his hands down his face, making his nose wiggle like a door-stopper. “It’s so hard to talk to you when you keep cutting off like that, Ames...”

“DON’T COMPLAIN!” Amy popped up straight in his face, yelling in her pain as she was getting more and more irritable.

“I’m only trying to help!” He fell back, spooked to see her again.

“Pillows are a nice thought, but no thanks!” she took the pillow from him and threw it at him. “Sonic! I’m scared!”

That last sentence stopped him and he peeked from under the pillow.

“I... I’m phasing faster. At this rate, I don’t know if I’ll ever come-” she phased again, but before she did, Sonic truly saw the fearful tears in her eyes, the moment just before the pain set in...

His eyes narrowed.

He looked to the power-multiplier machine.

“FIX THIS!” Sonic stormed into Eggman’s lab, holding up the machine as torn robots all flopped through the door, phasing.

Shadow and Eggman turned around.

Shadow’s hand was also seeming to phase.

“ACK!” he gripped his hand when it happened, falling slightly to his knees. “If he could... I would have made him do it already.” He groaned, glaring up slowly towards the Doctor.

“Hehehe...hoho... um, no recalls?” He shrugged, but Sonic whammed a speeding homing-attack into him, uncurling to have one fist held up ready to hit and the other hand gripping the yellow flap of his coat.

“You’ve got a few seconds to tell me my friend is gonna be okay, Doctor. Or else!” he gave him the best intimidation face he could, raising the fist up more to really give it to’em before Eggman’s face turned white, his mustache flopped down, and he threw his arms up over his face.

“Stop, stop! Okay! Have you tried reversing the polarity!”

“The Pol-what?” The two hedgehogs looked back at Eggman, confused.

Later that day, Shadow’s hand was placed back in the machine, and it revealed that the cure was finally created.

Sonic and Shadow raced back to Amy, who was laying on the ground, fading in and out of existence, tears streaming her eyes.

Sonic’s own eyes trembled at the sight, her lips were shaking, her body convulsing...

“...I... If I had known...” Shadow began, looking down at the pitiful sight before turning to Sonic. “My hand was in dire agony... I couldn’t possibly imagine my entire body.”

“Well, now you get to.” Sonic’s fists tightened, his eyes closing. “Put her through the machine...”

Together, the gang all helped Amy, though phasing painfully, through the machine.

She couldn’t speak anymore, the pain too constant for that.

Her voice was cut-off in spurts that created a weird array of differently beated, cut-off cries of pain.

When her full body was pushed through the machine, carefully timing it when she was phased into reality, the full Amy Rose--down to the tip of her three signature bands--was finally restored to normal.

Amy breathed exhaustedly... and all Sonic could do... was grab the pillow... and place it under her head.

Eggman was tied up with ducktape over his mouth... hanging upside down in his lab and strapped to the wall. The doors closed as he struggled, clearly, there was due punishment.

Amy slowly came too and found a flower from each one of her friends by her beside, then a note...

“Don’t fade away...”

Her eyes bent lovingly towards the message, before seeing something scribbled out with a line crossed out beside it, “It was just a phase.”

She crumpled up the paper when she read it, angled carefully to the side and clearly meant to have been discarded, but she growled at it anyway.

(Not very canon, like you said, but I hope this works for a little write-up! :Db)

[unlockthelore]

Ashes to Ashes

Title: Her Name is Love

Chapter 4: Ashes to Ashes

Fandom: 幽☆遊☆白書 | YuYu Hakusho: Ghost Files

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of blood, drowning, and child neglect.

Prompt #: 4

Relationship: Hiei/Kurama | Minamino Shuuichi

Character(s): Hiei (YuYu Hakusho), Kurama | Minamino Shuuichi

Additional Tags: Developing Relationship, Post-Canon, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, POV Alternating, Attempt at Humor, Feelings Realization, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Hurt and Comfort

Notes: Reposted from AO3.

Summary: Decades later, the memories still plague him and in these moments, he tries to remember that he doesn’t always have to be strong.

Cold had never been an issue for him on the outside. The tingling sensation on his skin, frost inching its way across the hilt of his sword as he gripped tighter, pricking his lungs as he took ragged breaths. It was never feeling cold on the outside that he had to worry about but the cold on the inside was troublesome. It happened rarely but often enough to give him pause and annoyance. Memories playing in his mind, reliving the feeling of his arms and legs being bound, unable to burn away the wrappings littered with wards. The small opening that he was allowed giving him a view of the sleeping baby that he’d been snatched away from, a young woman with tears in crimson red eyes, her hair undone and her clothes a mess as she tried to claw her way toward him. The other women holding her at bay, bidding her calm, to understand . 

He hadn’t understood, the cold pricking his lungs was different than the cool that she provided, it bespoke of pain when she gave him care. The memory of her love would steadily fade, only to return anew, as the tune of the song that she sang to him and the baby that he lied beside would be hummed in the stillness of his bedroom. Pulling his knees to his chest, curling up tightly with his forehead resting on his arms, he could feel the tightness of the cocoon. See the woman holding him, fighting back tears as she marched on to the edge of the cliff. There was reluctance in the set of her jaw, he could practically see the gears in her mind turning, but he’d already decided that he hated her.

He felt no pity for her as a tear rolled down her cheek, crystallizing in the frigid wind and blowing away to rest amidst the stone. The words that she spoke to him, the “kindness” that she gave him, and the purpose that she cursed him with were all tucked within that cocoon. His eyes narrowed and he glared at her, unable to voice his displeasure, and his flames were muted by the wards. Yet as she held out her hands, he felt weightlessness, his heart dropping to the pit of his stomach. He wondered what his face looked like then. Were his eyes wide? Did she look at him as he fell? He wasn’t sure, because the moment that she moved to let go, the young woman who’d been yelling and screaming for them to stop broke free of her captors.

She ran toward them, kicking up snow as she went, practically tripping over her own feet and the clothes she wore. More of the frigid women who’d been looking on grabbed her and kept her at bay. Their tears, crystallizing in the wind, were not for him but hers were. He stared at her and kept his eyes on her as she begged and pleaded for them to let him go. One of the elders looked down and shook her head, assuring her that this was the best thing for them all, then turned to the woman who was holding him with wide eyes. His eyes met her own, Rui , they called her — and he wondered if she could see it in his face.

Please don’t let me go.

Her eyes closed and the tears rolled down her cheek as her fingers uncurled from beneath him and he fell . The air was cold, his grip on the twine necklace tight, and he couldn’t move. There was nothing he could do to defend himself, not even warm himself against the winds that tossed him one way then the other. The urge to cry was lost on him, the tears burning in his eyes evaporating into the sky. He wasn’t sure how long he fell but the world below him but when he hit the water, his panic set in. 

Water filled his lungs and his eyes widened, instinctively keeping his mouth closed rather than crying. There was no need to cry. No one would hear him. And no one would come for him. He wasn’t sure how long he spent within the river, the greedy rat-faced bandit that tried to snatch the stone from him as if it was a glittering gem ripe for the picking in the water, was met with a sharp bite to the hand. Coughing up the water in his lungs, glaring at him as he yelled and demanded the stone to be released, he was bitten at every attempt to dislodge it. Eventually taking one of the looser bandages to pull him along to his camp, present him to his leader, and his family — 

Hiei gritted his teeth and lifted his head. What had once been early morning now looked to be afternoon and he glanced towards the window with tired eyes, feeling the weariness in his neck and his arms, as he stretched them out. There were dishes set at the foot of the bed, they were empty, and he hadn’t remembered eating but from the taste in his mouth — he must have unconsciously. A need to live, a need to survive, even if his mind wasn’t there, his body was still conscious. He wasn’t sure whether to be happy or sad about that. 

Climbing off the bed, he pulled on his sweatpants and picked up the dishes one by one. He recognized the contents by their leftovers. His favorites, all prepared in the way that he liked them, and he knew that he had Kurama to thank. Looking to the empty space that had grown cold in the time that he’d been lying unresponsive, he wondered how many times the fox tried to rouse him from his thoughts until he decided to go on and make breakfast. A stab of guilt cinched Hiei’s heart. He’d have to make it up to him later, he thought as he shuffled downstairs, taking the steps one at a time with his arm brushing against the wall. 

The kitchen was empty and most of the pots and pans were cleaned and put away. Setting the dishes aside, he turned on the sink and rested his arms on the counter with his chin resting in his palm. Listening to the water drumming against the sink made his mind wander to a rusted tin basin, his legs dangling off the stool as the water was dumped over his head. Soap and other manner of herbs rubbed into his hair over and over, a melody hummed low as he stared at his own reflection in the basin. The sound of the other bandits laughing and carrying on after their raid had been successful carried through the woods and to the little cave that Hiei had chosen for himself. Further away from the main camp, where the others wouldn’t have to see the blood on his hands and caked beneath his nails, smearing his face and the slight smile on his lips. 

He’d heard them before. Whispers and wandering eyes when he tore his blade through a guard or felled a rivaling bandit who tried to take their treasure. He would smile like a child playing a game and they often commented that they were glad he was on their side. It made him feel happy, he was wanted , but the looks — 

He glanced down at his reflection in the basin, letting the soap and water drain from his hair after dousing himself with another bucket. A cherubic face stared back at him, wide-eyed and confused, and he tried to smile but faltered. Pressing his fingers to the corner of his lips then scowling as he curled in on himself.

What was so wrong about smiling?

The leader of their outfit had complimented him on a job well done but nothing more than that. It was often hard to get two words out of the man, let alone praise. Admonishments for what a man should be. Seeking results rather than praise. Treasure rather than recognition. In short, stay out of my way and things will be fine. 

If he was praised for killing, for helping them pillage, why did they look at him like that?

Like he was some sort of monster. 

A featherlight touch to his shoulder, soft fingertips running over the scars and marks on his back before pulling away, carefully returning him from the child looking in the tin basin to the man looking into the sink. He knew who it was without even looking to confirm. Roses, potent and comforting, an earthiness that reminded him of not only the Makai but the Ningenkai, a hint of vanilla and chamomile — it was Kurama, no doubt. 

“I can take care of it,” Kurama said, his voice soft and grounding.

Easing himself away from him, Hiei pulled himself up on the counter and rested his hands in his lap. His head bowed and his shoulders hunched, staring at the floor as he inched away from the dishes and the sink to give him room. 

“Sorry,” he muttered.

He couldn’t remember when he last talked since this feeling struck him but it was for the best. His voice was rough and sounded hollow to his own ears, a grimace on his lips as he brought a hand to his lips. 

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

He glanced at Kurama, the fox’s sleeves rolled up as he washed the dishes. A task that Hiei knew that he could have done if he were in the right state of mind. Cursing his weakness and leaving Kurama to have to care for him again , he grumbled and reached up for his ward.  Belatedly realizing that he must have taken it off at some point in the night. His memories of receiving the Jagan Eye made it so that he didn’t sleep very well either. 

Fingers twitching, lightly running down his forehead, he pressed his face into his palm. “I’m pathetic,” muttered against his skin as if the words could seep into his bones. 

“No, you aren’t, Hiei.”

He knew that it should have warmed him. Kurama was the Legendary King of Thieves, he was known for discarding those who weren’t useful to him, but he was different now — they both were. 

“It happened a long time ago, I should be past it.”

The light clinking of dishes tells him that they’re being put away, and he’s grateful when the running water is shut off. Pressing his fingers to his eyes, he pulls them away slightly when he hears Kurama’s voice on the other side of him.

“Everyone handles things differently,” Kurama said, toweling off his hands, green eyes centered on him. 

Hiei wrinkled his nose and leant back, resting his head against the wall as he stared up at the ceiling. The light fixture, the dips, and grooves, the vines that ran along the top of the cupboards and over the walls. Anything that would ground him rather than let him slip off into the reaches of his mind. His gaze drops to the mark on his arm and he curls his fingers into a fist. If he’d had this power sooner, then they all would have suffered.

The frigid demonesses who tossed him from that peak.

The bandits who used his strength for their own personal gain.

They would all suffer and the Dragon seemed to agree, the mark pulsing violet. 

“I should have killed them all when I had the chance.”

“You didn’t,” Kurama said, and Hiei glanced at him, the frown curving the fox’s lips downward and the slight twitch in his fingers as he settled near the wall. Close but too far.  “You can’t change what’s already happened.”

Deep down, Hiei knew that Kurama was right. He’d told him the same in a manner of speaking when the fox had come face to face with a pretender attempting to guilt him with his memories of Kuronue. A person who did not bear scars on their soul was a shallow one, the scars making them who they are, and yet his own opened anew when he least expected it. Genkai had once told him that he and Yukina bore scars that they covered and ignored. That one day, those scars would bleed to the point where neither of them could stand it, and that is when they would heal.

If the psychic was alive, Hiei would have thanked her for the horrific symbolism and possibly brought her a tea blend to say that she was right. He felt this anger building up inside of him but he knew that it was over. There was nothing more that he could do. True, he could have found the bandit outfit that abandoned him but what would he say?

He was able to return to the island of Hyouga but what would it yield?

They were already dead inside, and the bandits were inconsequential, there was no honor among thieves after all. Yet somehow it hurt. 

The ceiling blurred, the burn of tears at the back of his eyes and the pressure was something that he knew to ignore. There was no reason to cry. No one would hear him. No one would care. A mantra that he told himself from the time that he was a child curled up in tree boughs, humming himself to sleep. 

“I was a fool for believing it would be anything other than what it was. Family ,” he spat the word, feeling the twitch in his face and curled his fingers into his palm, pressing tightly till the skin burned. “Once I was no longer wieldy, they cast me aside like a misshapen tool. Feeding lies to influence complacency, encouraging behaviors until it no longer suited them.”

All of the fun that he thought they were having. All of the joy that he’d known for the short period of his life. The feeling of friendship, the feeling of camaraderie, of family — it was all a lie. An illusion to keep him there, and keep them safe, a glorified bloodhound and nothing more. 

“The Void would have been too good,” he grimaced. 

Kurama said nothing for a moment. Hiei heard the rustling of the towel as it was hung with the others, the scraping of a chair and the light thump as the fox likely sat in it.

“You’re allowing them to win by taking over your thoughts like this,” Kurama said, his voice soft and yet firm. “You’re allowed to feel hurt and anger because of your past, Hiei. There’s no shame in it.”

No shame. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed in deep. Their home wasn’t cold, it was warm, and there was no prickling in his lungs but the pressure behind his eyes made it hard for him to look anywhere else. He didn’t trust himself. Not like this.

“...You’re too far away, Kurama,” he muttered, hearing the shift and the featherlight footfalls as he approached.

Hiei knew how quiet Kurama could be. Almost as quiet as himself. The fact that he heard his footsteps meant the fox wanted him to know that he was there. Kind as always, he thought, slowly sitting up and lowering his gaze from the ceiling to Kurama’s face once he opened his eyes. Though the fox stood close to him, only centimeters of space between them, he didn’t reach out. Hiei stared at him quietly then closed his eyes, lowering his head. 

“You can touch.”

Without hesitation, Kurama’s touch was given. Light as his hands rested on the sides of Hiei’s legs. “No matter what you’re going through, I’m still going to be here,” he muttered softly and Hiei felt his heart clench.

He didn’t deserve this man. Kurama deserved a partner that wouldn’t fall apart over ghosts of the past and could give him peace in his own home instead of moody silence. And yet he didn’t want to let him go, looking up into green eyes with his brows furrowed, trying to think of the words to make him understand.

Please don’t let me go.

“I’m broken, Kurama.”

One of the fox’s hands lifted, hesitating before lithe fingers gently ran along the side of Hiei’s face, brushing lightly over his skin and faded scars that he could remember like the back of his hand.

“Broken beings have to stay together and put each other together again,” Kurama said, and Hiei glanced up at him with wide eyes. "I know you didn't ask for this.."

He leant into the touch, brushing his nose and lips against Kurama’s palm with a soft sigh. Pressing soft kisses to Kurama’s fingers, nuzzling his face against his palm as he sought comfort in his presence. The weight in his chest gradually lifted and he raised a hand to cup the back of the fox’s, pressing his cheek against his palm.  

“You’re the good in me,” he said, looking up at him with a faint smile. 

In the still and quiet of their kitchen, where the world outside was muted and further away, it was easier to focus on the sound of their breathing and the sweetness in Kurama’s words. The warmth of his palm, Hiei pressed his cheek against it to chase away the cold in his chest and the fox didn’t deny him. Kurama’s other hand laid on his thigh, traveling to his side, the warmth of his palm leaving a trail of heat where it touched. He leant closer and the green of his eyes reminded Hiei of what he loved about the Makai. Vast woodlands, a world untouched by man, with limitless ground to run and explore. And yet those were Kurama ’s eyes and he found another reason to adore them.

Just as quickly as they could be frigid, reminding him of early Spring, when flowers were yet to bloom. The anticipation for the color, the sign of life, the sign of care and continuance giving the entire world pause. And then they would brighten and warm and it was as if everything came to life in Kurama’s eyes. It was as if Hiei could see himself come to life in Kurama’s eyes. Close enough that their noses bumped then brushed together, looking eye to eye, the fox’s lips curved into a smile that warmed his eyes. Hiei’s heart hammered and he wondered if Kurama could hear it. 

Could he feel it as his fingers ran up Hiei’s side, brushing over faded scars and newer ones healed by the fox’s plants, lingering over his heart where his palm laid against his skin. Hiei glanced down at his lips before meeting his eyes and Kurama smiled, brushing his fingers over the curve of Hiei’s ear.

He wasn’t sure who had leant in first. Whether he had tilted his head or Kurama had moved forward, but just as with everything, they worked together. And Hiei could never argue with the results. Kurama’s lips were soft and Hiei’s head felt light, the scent of roses and the light-hearted feeling easing the tension in his body. Leaning into the kiss, his fingers twitched and he opened his hands, reaching out to wrap his arms around Kurama’s middle, pressing to bring him closer. 

“And I will always see you as the light in me,” Kurama muttered once their lips parted enough for him to speak, and though Hiei’s eyes were still closed, he knew that the fox was smiling. 

One of his hands trailing up his back, winding red curls around his fingertips, he smiled wearily and brushed their lips together. 

“You’re not alone anymore.”

Hiei paused and his eyes slowly opened. Kurama pulling away, his eyes bright and smile soft, stealing Hiei’s breath away. 

“Neither are you,” he finally said once he remembered to breathe. “Even if I’m… going through this , I’m here for you.”

Kurama’s palm ran down the side of Hiei’s face, his thumb running along his jaw, eyes half-lidded. “I know you are,” he said with a nod. 

Hiei sighed, mumbling distractedly. “You’re making it hard to think.”

“I’d rather have that then you being lost in your own head,” Kurama teased. 

Hiei huffed a laugh, rolling his eyes. “So would I.”