#imagine all of this happening AND he has frosted tips

[jeyneofpoole]

modern theon is living out of his car (robb’s first that he crashed into mailbox and gave to theon for free) in the parking lot of asha’s apartment complex. sometimes she sends qarl down with a plate of food and a joint because she feels a little bad but not bad enough to let him enter her home. he’s effectively homeless because balon kicked him out for wearing eyeliner and the last time the starks went on family vacation theon lost bran and rickon in the disney world gift shop so they’re not feeling super charitable but sometimes jon will let him climb in through his window because he’s hoping theon’ll show him how to do tricks on his skateboard (theon lied about doing a kickflip once) and theon’s not about to tell him he’s a fraud so he’s taking advantage of the whole thing because it’s january and his car is missing a door (cardboard duct-taped over the hole) and benjen gets jon the best weed in town so usually theon’s able to mooch if he’s annoying and/or persistent enough.

[twisted-wonderland-shenanigans]

when I read the tooth fairy story. It reminded me of the movie ‘Rise of The guardians’ 🥹

Little!yuu just showing everyone her tooth 👌👌👌

Yessss it makes me so happy to see so many people catch the reference to the movie! It's absolutely one of my favorites ;;v;;

Imagine though: mini!Yuu gets excited about things that no one in Twisted Wonderland has heard of before. Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Sandman...even someone named "Jack Frost". They shrug it off as being yet another human thing. Except...

Just like the Tooth Fairy, strange things begin happening around school. Students waking up from a good dream notice golden sand fluttering down on their pillows before it disappears, they start finding colorful eggs hidden around the school, and during the holidays...they find presents under the tree that came from an unknown sender with toys or games that they wanted (one of which actually caused Idia to shriek when he realized it was a limited edition figurine he had been unsuccessful in winning at a contest).

And when snow and ice begin to appear to an extent that even the fire fairies cannot control it and causing a school day to be called for student safety...it becomes a huge mystery when mini!Yuu goes sledding, ice paths appearing to guide them along on flat ground and ice walls and ramps rising up to send them on a literal sledding roller-coaster. Who was using so much magic so willy nilly?

"Jack Frost!" was all Yuu said as they doodled on another piece of paper. Scattered around them were drawings of the boys and the staff, but among them were five others: a hummingbird like fairy, a huge, burly man wielding twin sabers, a giant rabbit holding a pair of boomerangs with giant eggs around them, a short, golden man with sand swirling around him, and a white haired boy wearing a blue shirt and holding a crooked tipped staff.

[reilliane]

✤ Universe: Remedy ✤ Concept: To save he who is damned to the deep a/n: four simple words, lovelies; chasm archon quest, beta!xiao. aditionally, fluff! ROMANCE! WE'RE TALKING BETA XIAO GO GET SUM-/smacked. angst is only for like, the first few hundred words.

Who would've thought? A Yaksha such as he...

The cold wind embraces him in the harshest of manners, the sensation a desperate pull towards the depths of the Chasm. He can almost chuckle.

... Finally falling to his demise.

It's peaceful. The thought is saturnine but he isn't lying by any means. He feels much more peaceful than he initially thought and he, daresay, is fine to go this way.

After all, he has saved the Traveler and the group of misfits along with her. He has at long last ascertained the identity of the nameless Yaksha, he has no lingering regrets nor dampening worries.

Oh, what a lie.

He has one regret; [Name], Frostborne Beast, Subduer of Curses.

A fellow Yaksha.

His lover.

It is unlike him to leave his post without any warning, but the moment he learned about some suspicious—marginally supernatural—activity in the Chasm, he rushed.

Whilst fully cognizant of his plans and urgency, he only ever alerted Zhongli and the Goldets of his exodus. Now, it isn't like he didn't want to inform his comrade, but it's more of a case of couldn't.

[Name] wasn't in Liyue, an uncommon thing to consider for a fellow Adeptus and Yaksha. She visited the land of Mondstadt for a personal mission pertinent to her background and hasn't returned since.

And Alatus can't afford to wait. The best he can do is to relay his message to the Goldets. Then he left.

Look what's gotten to him now.

He's rather upset and, to be frank, in pain.

A usual occurrence, but his discomfort as of the moment leans more unto heartache. He can't bear to imagine that he's actually leaving without so much as a goodbye.

The feeling is extra bitter, more so since he promised a life of sincere tries; to try and love despite the karma, and to try and love despite the danger it brings them.

He's longed and pined for centuries and here he is, fleeing, vanishing—dying.

He will reunite with his brothers and sisters, yes.

But what of [Name]?

That reclusive, surprisingly endearing woman, to be left alone as the last Yaksha? The thought brings him immense guilt and he realizes for a fact that... this isn't how he wants to go.

Not in this state.

He doesn't wish to die this way, without having seen her.

He doesn't wish to die this way, leaving her to carry on the memory of her comrades alone.

But what can he do? He's emptied the reserves of his power and exhausted his might. All until he's but a puppet being cast deeper and deeper in the tenebrosity.

The surface light is but a small speck now, even. It's too late.

Alatus can only whisper his genuine apologies and heartfelt confessions in hopes of them being carried to his lover as he feels the surge of darkness start to gnaw from within.

With a final murmur of her name, he shuts his eyes.

...

But then it has gotten cold—no, the Chasm's always been cold—to the point of getting shivers. It feels like winter has arrived.

And it has.

Alatus opens his eyes to the sight of a myriad of snowflakes kissing his skin, splaying frost from the tips of his fingers toward his bare torso.

It might appear like a normal sight if not for the fact that he's falling down fast, yet the snowflakes are falling somehow faster. As if it is being willed to.

The gasp is barely able to leave his lips following the rise of his realization, for amid the ribbons of silver and sapphire, a ghost-like figure is summoned.

Beckoned from the call.

Arms appear from the envelope of frost around his form and strands of [c] billow from the snowflakes gathering just beneath his chin.

“Alatus,”

It all happens in the blink of an eye.

“I'm here.”

He is enraptured with the atmosphere of winter, held in her embrace until he becomes feathery light—then everything is turning white.

The very next second, he's perceiving the touch of solid ground, though he can't quite wrap his head around it yet. For still, he finds himself trapped in the lasting press of the serene snow.

It's bright, he realizes after a moment. He's at the surface.

He's not dreaming.

“Alatus.” he hears it a second time.

With a quick swivel to his right, his eyes turn owlish, stupefied as his breath leaves him. Even though he's seen the same being for the past centuries, his heart never fails to race as though he's laid eyes on her for the first time.

“[Name]…”

Snowflakes are just starting to dispel from her entire mien, cascading into nonexistence from her [c] tresses and leaving a touch of blue in her [c] eyes.

He can still feel her wintrous aura. One that's more fervid than cyclonic, which is a surprise in itself.

[Name] does not hide her displeasure under any circumstance, and despite this situation being likely to result in her fury... she does not encompass any ire of some sort.

Instead, the most telling of her chagrin is the crease between her brows and her pursed lips. She strides toward him with clear intent.

“What were you thinking?” she chides, voice low and icy, “If you hadn't called my name- archons, you're so-… !”

Ah, Alatus notices after a timid pause. He did say her name- he did not expect to be heard, however. As far as he knows, she wasn't anywhere near Liyue to begin with.

Oh, but then again, he knows not to underestimate the might and capabilities of a Yaksha. Especially her, someone he's bonded with on a level much more profound than simple camaraderie.

With a swipe of his tongue over his lightly dry lips, he works around his disbelief and works up a smile.

“Well, I did! And you saved me, right?” Alatus beckons his lady to come closer with an open hand, only for it to be slapped away in haste. “There's nothing to be-”

“You're an idiot as always!”

He yelps when his bicep is smacked, left mildly stinging with a warning of frostbite, though it fails to deter his elation. In fact, he only resumes his bout of chuckles.

Dropping his joy is not in the plans for now. There is absolutely no way he's going to slip how he's actually spooked at the idea of having escaped death.

Really, he'd hate to dampen the relief on his fellow Yaksha's face.

Lost in his bubble of thought, reality reels him back in the form of a particularly heavy slap on his arm that has him flinching with a pout.

“Ow, okay, that's actually beginning to hurt- woah!”

Alatus is unprepared for the brusque pull that sends him careening to the woman, almost sending them to the floor if not for the secure hold on his shoulders and his hand on the asphalt.

His exhale is shaky as he blinks and stares against the narrowed [c]s mere inches away. He can't start to wonder about the close distance when he's still astounded at the sudden careless action.

He dips his head down an inch, their noses almost touching as a frown surfaces on his face. “What was that for- mmph?!”

Heavens, he isn't prepared.

The spike of heat in his abdomen, lurching to his heart and creeping to his neck and cheeks- it's all too sudden. A feel of apricity covers his lips, tender at best.

Almost immediately, he no longer mulls about the stygian cage of the Chasm.

Enjoyment lasts only for a brief second—even though the kiss lasted longer—what with his delayed reaction, and [Name] pulls away. She no longer appears exasperated, just relieved.

“Thank you,” she breathes, “For calling me.”

For some reason, she's wearing her emotions on her sleeve today, and just seeing it causes butterflies within him.

It is usually the other way around. Not like that's what his mind is geared on as of the moment.

Still dazed from the kiss, he locks onto a single thought.

More.

To satiate his wishes, Alatus chases to close the distance again, tingling lips desperate to get a feel of the nipping cold and make it warm.

He has no explanation for his impulsive craving, maybe it's because it's a long time since he's kissed his lover? Or perhaps because it's the first time she initiated the display of affection?

Regardless, he desires more and he surrenders into it—but the finger against his lips forbids him from getting what he wants.

“Don't get ahead of yourself,” the austere bite has him sighing in defeat. “Might I remind you that we are in a public place, still? And you've some business left to do. The Traveler is coming.”

Resigned, Alatus withdraws to fall on his bottom, his second sigh one of playful hurt. “I'm inclined to say that my dear is much more important business.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

He huffs in protest. “It did! Took me five centuries, though.”

[Name] rolls her eyes with a scoff, and although the gesture comes off as sardonic under the first impression, he knows it to be untrue.

He isn't blind to that smile, no matter how small!

The tiny curl is mirrored on his face.

Then, in the silence, he takes his lover's hand in his and squeezes it in gratitude. He just knows that If he decides to depend on his voice to convey his message, it will take him until the next morning to finish. So he resorts to his touch.

Even if neither of them voices out their own fears of the situation prior, it is perfectly understood and quelled in the assuring entwine of fingers.

The sound of rushing footsteps rips through the heartfelt moment, however. It incentivizes them both to stand and pat themselves off any dirt to appear presentable just as the Traveler and Paimon turn around the corner.

Lumine has a face of utter relief when she sees the pair of Yakshas, and Paimon's already begun to exclaim things in hysteria.

Alatus flinches at this, prepared for the floating pixie's sermon, to which [Name] chuckles at.

Their hands part away, heavy with reluctance but alas, there is business left to do.

“Hey,” he whispers, “Before I get told off, can you-”

Aware of what he wants, the female Yaksha turns away with a firm and frosty, “No.”

Her cheeks are pink, though, and Alatus snickers at the pretty sight.

Chagrined for the nth time, [Name] sends him a frown and says that a sermon from Paimon is the least thing that he should worry over. After all, he's had it coming after that stunt he pulled.

He doesn't understand something, though.

“'Least thing I should worry over'?” he echoes, genuinely floundered.

The statement only implies that there's something else, something greater that he should be concerned about. But what?

[Name] glances at the approaching Traveler before setting her gaze back onto him. There's a fire in her usually subdued eyes that tells of her repression, then, with a tap on his chest, she snarls.

“Fret over it when daylight has faded. The night is long and ours, I'll be waiting.”

She disappears in a burst of snowflakes before any question can be risen, leaving the man in a tiny world of wonderment.

Lumine arrives before a screeching Paimon does, confusion evident on her face. “What did [Name] say?”

Humming, Alatus crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs.

“That I should worry when evening-” he pauses, the cogs in his head twisting and turning until- “... Ah.”

“The night is long and ours. I'll be waiting.”

Lumine doesn't know why the Yaksha lets out an undignified squeak, face suddenly a shade of red that puts jueyun chilis to shame.

a/n: yes, something is definitely implied in the ending. 'poor' alatus? ;)

I drew something for this from Lumine's perspective!

@cherryflushz @e7t3 @scarlet-halos @lordbugs @nebulaera @annoying-and-upset @hanniejji @applepi1415 @tjjjrsj @azirajane @hey-comrade-hold-stil @limelightsuperhero @chloeloe @loptido @windyventi @nejibot @ganyuqrt @justrinnn @yasunamilk @alana5021 @koi-chairowo @uwu-dreams @01-407 @yvechu @mininji

[ssahotchnerr]

so i’m writing dadsbestfriend!hotch x reader (but christmas edition) and it’s everything i ever needed - are you kidding me? mistletoe and secret santa and aaron looking so goddamn fine in a red button down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows so that when he’s shrugged off his suit jacket you can see every chord of muscle right down to the veins on his arms !!

and because it’s not even thanksgiving yet and i’m impatient, i’m leaving this here because little details like this have me giggling and kicking my feet

“i come bearing gifts.” he holds up a tupperware container. “dessert. jack and i made sugar cookies. granted, they might not be recognizable - jack was a bit overzealous with the frosting - but they are delicious, and,” he offers you a neatly wrapped present, complete with a red bow, “for the now not-so-secret santa.”

he chuckles at his own joke, a warm and light sound that rumbles low in his chest, and considering that aaron's laughs are a rarity, few and far in between - and reserved for altogether special company - it's that knowledge that has you, despite the cold, feeling such warmth; straight out from your heart to the tips of your fingers and toes.

pls hit me with ur holiday hotch thoughts 🥺💗

STOPPPPP the way that is so incredibly and absolutely perfect i am MELTING 😭🥰 if you're comfy with it, pls tag me once you've finished i would love to read it fully 🫶🏻

cw; mentions of food, quick reference to haley's death

UGH but holidays with the hotchners 🥺🥺🥺 i have many many thoughts hehe i hope you're ready!!!!

i can see aaron being the type to wait until after it's thanksgiving to really begin prepping or whatnot, BUT you, along with jack's help, are pulling all the christmas boxes out of storage within the first week of november.

AHHH imagine aaron getting home from work, and as he opens the door he is immediately greeted by the blasting of christmas music and boxes piled in the living room. at first, he freezes and is like what in the world ????? but then jackers runs up to him all excited that he's finally home so the three of you can finally start decorating because he's been waiting way way too long 🥹🥹🥹 you join the two of them, just as excited as jack, and aaron looks at you amusingly and is like "wasn't it halloween not even a week ago?? what happened to thanksgiving?" but hehe nonetheless, that night aaron sets up the tree and you all decorate the apartment together <3333

and that's just the beginning of all the festivities 🥹 the first day it actually snows a decent amount, you and aaron take jack sledding <3 UGHGHGN aaron all bundled up in a puffy coat with a hat and scarf 😭😭 he's also very adamant that you and jack are equally as bundled up, there will be no frostbite on his watch >:( but the three of you all race one another down the hill, and take turns going down with jack 🥹 speaking of aaron gets so <3333 seeing you and jack sliding down the hill together. on several occasions the sled topples over, throws you both into the snow and the two of you are just laughing and laughing 🥺 and despite the cold aaron is just feeling so so so warm because he feels so happy and what more could he want in the world than his two favorite people 😭 and afterwards!!! it only makes sense to indulge in hot chocolate and watch a christmas movie <3 the three of you cozy up on the couch (and yes, you did talk aaron into matching christmas jammies) with blankets and your hot chocolate and have a sweet night in <3 this year, jack can't seemingly get enough of elf but he barely makes it twenty minutes, falling asleep from the super fun day he had <3 hehe that leaves you and aaron 🥺 you're curled up at his side and he has an arm around you <3 AH he just keeps giving you kisses and his eyes are so so full of love when he looks at you 🥰😣

and the week of christmas!!!!!! full of making cookies, last minute shopping, the three of you work on a gingerbread house together, and jack is nearly bouncing off the walls with excitement from the second he wakes up until he's tucked into bed that night <3 and just the thought of aaron in cozy sweaters or crewnecks <3333 omg

on christmas eve, dave has his big get-together at his mansion, for dinner and gifts with the team. and then christmas day is just a day for you and your boys 🥺<3 jack is in your room right at dawn, jumping onto the bed to wake you and aaron up because you've been asleep for far too long and he needs to see if santa stopped by!!!!!! hehe aaron gets up first much to jack's dismay, because he has to wait just five more minutes, solely just to put some coffee on <333 but that gives you an opportunity to give jack some quick snuggles and tell him merry christmas 🥹 and finally when aaron is ready hehe, jack runs out and is completely enamored by what he sees 🥹 you and aaron watch him open his gifts, and then jack surprises you with gifts of his own!!!! it's different crafts he made at school, but you can easily tell how hard he worked on them and jack is also very proud of himself that he managed to keep this a lil secret without letting it spill🥺 and then it's the rest of the family gifts!!! heheh you and jack got aaron a gift, and aaron and jack got you one <3333 ughbgh there is just so much love in the air and everything is absolutely perfect <3 the three of you also stay in your pajamas all day long 🥺

ALSO!!! it wasn't until after you entered aaron's life that his holiday season became more festive 😭 while he was with haley, they did the per usual; decorating, presents, christmas cookies, made it as fun as they could for jack- all that. but after the divorce, everything changed since it was just him. he would still have a tree, he would decorate cookies with jack, but the season just didn't feel as magical anymore :( and it didn't help that he had such a busy work schedule. plus before haley died, he only spent a few hours with jack on christmas, meaning he spent most of the day alone :((((( but now, he has you and will never feel sad or alone during the holiday season as well, which now quickly become his favorite time of year 🥹 plus let's not forget how you are driven to make sure jack has an amazing holiday season after everything he went through too :( you just want to supply your boys with the most love possible 🥺

so even decorating earlier works in aaron's favor then, because since you never know when he'll be dragged away by serial killers, you have a more open window of time to make sure aaron is included and doesn't miss out on anything <33333

[10piecechickenmcnugget]

heyyy hiii definitely not pho here I would like to know about the lore please ^_^

hi there definitely not pho! here is your lore:

SO. in my beautiful mind oli lizzie and joel (im too lazy to put c! but know this is all their characters in the weird timeline that exists in my brain) have known each other since they were kids

when oli and lizzie were teenagers they both kind of got a handle on their identities and were like figuring themselves out, and both decided to dye their hair together without telling anyone right

lizzie dyed hers pink and has stuck with that throughout her life cause she likes it, and olis experimented a bit with colors but usually sticks to blonde

one time to match lizzie he dyed it fully pink, and as the pink faded out and his roots grew in he really liked the neapolitan effect it had and since then has kept the pink highlights both for the look and cause he and lizzie like matching

this has gone on throughout both their lives even in series where they don’t talk as much; but when the whole empire’s amnesia thing happened lizzie was kind of the nail in the coffin that none of his friends remembered him at all

another completely out of left field headcanon i have is that oli has bipolar depression but that’s an essay for another time

but anyways i imagine he was rather sad during empires even if he’d never say that, and in previous times even if he didn’t talk to lizzie or anyone for that matter very much he at least knew he could track them down and talk like nothing happened, but now that wasn’t an option

so being depressed as he was he stopped dying his hair as much. he said it was due to lack of supplies which is partly true because oli is shit at dying his own hair and usually has someone else redye it for him, but now he doesn’t know who to ask

it started with him stopping with the pink highlights cause he kept them to match with lizzie but now she doesn’t remember, so what’s the point?

and eventually he kinda gave up on re-bleaching his hair, which brings me to the single most subtle and hyperspecific design detail of all time in that art i posted: olis roots are a lot more grown out than i usually draw them because he hasn’t been bleaching it

he still dyes on occasion when it gets to frosted tips levels of grown out, but he went on like this for a long time before anyone was like hey what’s up with that. more on that another time

ANYWAYS. that’s my insane person c!oli hair color lore and why i drew him without the pink and with slightly more brown hair than usual

[cutelittleriot]

Return to origin band together chapter 2 Spruce

The troll trio have just left Bergen town and are on their way to find the rest of Brozone.

"Operation family harmony is on and poppin!" Branch exclaims as his tail wags a little but he notices Poppy looking at him. "What?" He asks. "I just....well if I didn't know any better I'd almost say you were excited" She says giving him a sly smirk. "Uh it has nothing to do with my brothers" Branch tells her trying to deny it but in all honesty he was secretly excited but also a bit nervous so far John hasn't said anything about his new look but the same can't be said for his other brothers.

"All right,all right!" A certain voice echos the speakers as the two trolls look up in surpirse. "Tiny,Branch,Poppy,and this random dude-" "What?" John dory says confused at the extra passenger. "Are on another musical adventure filled with heart hilarity and happiness" Tiny tells everyone over the speaker and the three trolls head up to the drivers seat and low and behold Tiny Diamond was driving.

Normally a normal troll would freak out because Tiny is only a month old but glitter trolls oftentimes are born walking and talking like any other troll. It was some kind of evolutionary thing apparently though they still acted young and all that even if some did claim to be adults.

"Tiny! What are you doing here?" Poppy asks very confused and rightfully so. "Well aunt Poppy for your information I am no longer a baby. I am a big boy now,and I’m on a mansized rite of passage to learn lessons of life, courage and maybe love." He explains while Poppy coos at his cuteness as if he isn't a month old he may think he is a adult but there was plenty of stuff he had to learn and mature.

"Uh should we be letting a baby drive?" John dory asks rightfully worried,he really didn't want Rhonda to crash or anything even if she can mostly handle herself without much interference it's always good to be safe.

"Not to worry, fellow grownup.I have procured my learner’s permit" Tiny explains waving off John's worries by showing a very much fake ID with Tiny wearing a mustache.

"Who is Adulty McManface?" Poppy asks confused. "The better question is, are you a narc?" Tiny asks with a serious face and it causes John to snort in laughter while Poppy denies it, this kid was hilarious. He seems to have everything handled so he will leave him be for now he will check up on him often though as he only has a learners permit even if it was fake.

"Enough chitchat, Adulty McManface. Step on it!" John tells Tiny who happily complies. "Okay guys we need to find our brothers and fast. But don't worry old Branch has got it handled. All we have to do is follow the clues" He says revealing a clue board with all kinds of brozone stuff with a smirk while John wonders how he was able to that so fast.

"Wow. Check out your old outfits,puffy jackets,puka shell necklaces,denim tuxedos?!" She exclaims looking over each pic before noticing one and gasping. "Branch, did you have frosted tips?!" She asks she needs to know.

"Yeah it was an era" He says with a small smell as he reminisces the good times before....well the break up. Back then they were just having a good time being a boyband and John Dory's perfectionism wasn't as bad. "Oh and don't froget his perm" John tells Poppy who jumps on him and hold his face with her paws. "No way pictures or it didn't happen" she can't believe her boyfriend had a perm as a baby.

John quickly pulls out the pic with a sly smile "Look at you! You were so cute. I love it!" She says wanting to cry at how adorable he used to be. "But we had to pull the plug when he tried to frost his perm" John Dory says with a grimace. "Oh come on it was an era!" Branch says annoyed his tail flicking a few times while Poppy was gushing like crazy. He couldn't help it! He was just a baby at that time though he was glad it was stopped he could only imagine how that would have looked like.

"While you two are strolling down memory lane,I'll work on finding Spruce" He grumpily tells them heading back to his clueboard. "I’m gonna need copies of that pic,wallet size" She whispers to John Dory even though Branch knows that she knows he can hear her when she whispers due to their enhanced hearing.

"Listen, baby brother,we don’t need your little board to find Spruce" John Dory tells him putting a hand on his furry shoulder. "Its not little" Branch grumbles. "Because I got this!Ha! Booyah!" He says pulling out a postcard. The two trolls look at the postcard it looked old at least a decade old. "A postcard that says, “Wish you were here?That’s it? It’s not even signed." Branch says taking the postcard and looking it over. Though the postcard had a ever so slight smell of a beach? It was almost completely gone as it mostly smelled like JD and Rhonda.

"Don't worry Branch it’s definitely Spruce. I mean, he’s the only one I know who talks that way." John says trying to reassure his baby brother. "There’s no return address. It’s blank,this could be from anywhere. We can’t find Spruce with this" He complains. The scent is so faint he couldn't even track it if he tried to.

"Yeah, we can!All we have to do is find this sunset!" Poppy says enthusiasticly while Branch walks off to the front. "Liking that optimism Poppyseed. One word Branch keeper!" John tells him he can tell that Branch and Poppy were made for each other.

As Branch walks up to the front of Rhonda John Dory can't help but keep glancing at his baby brother. Just what happened to him? When he crashed the wedding he looked for his baby brother and he was shocked at what he had become. Even though Branch was physically different John could easily tell it was his baby brother even with his new self his face remained mostly unchanged and he could recognize Floyd's old vest. Also his big brother instincts told him it was Branch and they were never wrong.

But still those legs why were they shaped like that? He has paws now too alonf with pawpads? He also caught sight of fangs in his mouth. And don't even get him started on the tail that was the most jarring thing for him by far. Watching the limb react to Branch's emotions was something else. It took alot in him to not touch said limb becuase he knew Branch would probably not like that. Also when he put his hand on Branchs shoulder he could feel longer fur. John Dory knows alot can happen in twenty years but this much isn't normal.

It also seems that whatever affected Branch affected Poppy too as she had similar characteristics as Branch. He wants to ask Branch he really does but something tells him he isn't going to get a answer. If it was something Branch wanted to tell him he would have told him already.....right? Maybe after this whole ordeal is over Branch will tell him if not then he will ask.

Branch heads to the front of Rhonda he needs to clear his head,so much happened in the span of just a few hours. "Hey, man. I know about being treated like a baby. But while it’s just the two of us,you want some of this?" Tiny sneakily asks him as he pulls out.....a ring pop.

Ugh he remembers those, a certain other group introduced him to those. At first he liked them,it eased his mind and took away his worries but over time he grew to like thin a bit too much and he knew he had to stop it took time but he managed. "Nah,Thanks, man. I....I can’t get back on that train." he refused albeit nicely he knew Tiny was only trying to help him out. He wonders where he managed to get one though.

"I mean, hey, look at this.We’re never gonna find Spruce with this.I bet this sunset doesn’t even exists" Branch says only to look up and see the exact same sunset.......he really wants to scream at how ridiculous that is so he settles for a facepalm instead.

"Ooooh hot dog!" Tiny exclaims excited. "You've got to be kidding me of course it exists why wouldn't it?! Hey, guys! You’re gonna want to see this." He calls the other two trolls over.

Poppy grins at seeing the sunset "Alright! I knew we’d find it."She says giving John Dory a high five. "Spruce must be on that island" She says pointing out the obvious. 'No he must be under that island partying with techno trolls!' Branch sarcastically says in his head

John quickly spins Tiny out of the drivers seat and takes over thankfully Branch was easily able to catch Tiny with his paw. "Woah easy there goggles!" He exclaims not liking the sudden change before climbing onto Branchs tail,it was one of his favorite places to be other than his dad's hair it was so fluffy and while he loved aunt Poppy's her tail isn't as fluffy.

"All right, y’all. Let’s mobilize!" John says grinning as he pulls down his goggles. "Yeah, pedal to the metal, JD!" Poppy calls out excited her tail wagging as they get closer to the island .....AND A CLIFF!

"Uh John Dory what are you doing?!" Branch says very much scared with his ears pinned back and his fur fluffing up as he tries very hard to not grip at something with his claws. "Worry not my friends Rhonda here is completely waterproof" Joh tells them trying to ease their worries. That doesn't help Branch in the slightest he is more worried about THE CLIFF THEY ARE RAPDILY APPOROACHING!

Before Branch could get another word out Rhonda is jumping over the cliff all the while everyone is screaming,well Tiny and Jd are screaming Poppy and Branch are making noises similar to screaming but with a more animalistic sound sort of like a screech until they enter the water.

Soon enough they reach land and Rhonda's door opens and out comes a bunch of water along with Jd,Poppy,Branch and Tiny Diamond with the two transformed trolls fur being completely damp. Poppy spits out some water before shaking herself off. Branch meanwhile is coughing finally able to get some proper air before he shakes himself off too. "Good old Rhonda,completely waterproof, huh?" He asks his brother very much annoyed who Just coos at Rhonda.

The four begin to make their way through the island and John who has a machete has been cutting through any obstacles that block their way. Though it was a bit hard at times to keep their balance on whatever it was they were walking on so Poppy decided to start walking on all fours much to the confusion of JD, while Branch absolutely refuses to do so in front of John Dory so he just uses his claws to keep balance.

"Uhm just curious why are you walking like that?" John asks gesturing to the whole walking situation. "Oh! Well it's hard for us to keep our balance on these things" She gestures to the thing they were walking on. "This way of walking is much easier for us" She explains as John turns around to see if Branch was doing the same thing but he wasn't he was still walking on 2 legs and,were those claws?! His baby brother has claws now?!

Looking at them they were sharp and they were gripping the ground pretty good so he doesn't think he will be falling anytime soon so he leaves it be for now,though he wonders just what else can he do? He definitely heard screeching coming from the two as they were falling and no troll would be able to make that sound normally. "So walking that way doesn't hurt or bother you at all?" He asks Poppy. "Nope sure doesn't, in fact walking this way feels natural for us and we like to walk this way more than walking on two legs" She explains as she follows him.

John decides to not ask anymore questions about this for now,as long as they were comfortable and not in pain who was he to judge? "So, John Dory, who wrote that song 'Girl, I Love Your Love, Girl'?" Poppy asks she needs some details about her favorite boyband and now is the perfect time to ask. "I did" John replies grinning.

"Cool,who wrote, 'Girl, You Break My Heart, Girl,?" She asks her tail making a heart shape. "Wrote that one too" John replies. "So cool,who wrote, 'Girl, I love your love, girl,you break my heart, girl, I still love you,but I seriously think we should have a talk about our relationship, girl?" She asks and John winces a bit,yeah he wasn't the best at naming songs back then.

"Oh Branch wrote that one" John tells her wanting to mess with Branch a little for old times sakes as Poppy uses her hair to lower a limb down for them to walk on. Branch just stares at him shocked. "Shut up!That was my favorite BroZone song, like, ever!" Poppy couldn't believe her Boyfriend actually wrote a song and it was her favorite one!

"Jk that was also me" John says chuckling. "Branch has never written a song" He explains though he wonders if Branch wrote a song now it has been 20 years after all. "No duh I didn't I was a baby.What did you want me to write about, diaper rash?" He asks sarcastically.

"Okay, take it easy, Bitty B" John jokes as he takes a leaf and begins to slide down using it as a sled. "Hey, what’s wrong?" Poppy asks feeling concerned for how her boyfriend has been acting. "Nothing,super happy,This is our most fun mission yet. Yay." He says very much sarcastically sliding down as she follows.

"Branch, do you know how lucky you are?A brother is a friend who can never leave you.It’s the strongest bond in the world.I would kill to have a sibling to sing with, Branch" She says as she thinks about the possibilities if she ever had a sibling. "Ha! Yeah, well you can have mine" He grumbles.

"Okay fine" She simply replies and walks away. Branch sighs he really needs to get better at expressing himself. He knows Poppy means well but she hasn't gone through what he went through,she doesn't understand. "Poppy wait" He says holding out a paw but she is already too far away. Tiny who was happily laying on Branchs tail speaks up. "Grownup stuff. Am I right?"He says chuckling. "You know, I’ve still got that thang, if you want it" He offers pulling out the ring pop.

"Whoa, whoa. Don’t be waving that thing around!" Branch says he really doesn't want Poppy or well anyone seeing Tiny with that around and Tiny simply sticks it in his mouth content. With a sigh he gently places Tiny back onto his tail.

"All right, y’all we’re getting close to something,I can feel it"John says his big brother senses were tingling he could tell that Spruce was nearby well until he walked into something and that something was a person! It was no troll or bergen that's for sure.

They all scream in shock while Poppy and Branchs fur puffed up in shock and fear. "Whoa,what do we got here?Hey, guys. Looks like I found some fellow rock climbers." The person says to others who were below him. "Hi!" They happily reply back. "Welcome to Vacay Island.Where every day is a vacay." The vacationer gestures to the beautiful landscape.

The four of them make it to the beach and to be honest it looks amazing and to be honest Branch wouldn't mind coming here to relax every once in a while but right now he has a brother to find. The four of them look around when Branch picks up on something.

The smell he could smell Spruce! His scent is all over this place he must be here alot for it to be this strong. He follows the scent albeit discreetly and he finds himself in front of them...ocean? Why was Spruce in the ocean? His question is soon answered by a certain troll that's surfing while singing. Wow he looks....so different but in a good way. He looks so happy here much better than when he was back at the pod stressing over his abs.

Meanwhile Poppy looks at a poster she brought with her. "The hearthrob?" She asks herself. Soon he finishes singing and heads off to a resturant 'Bruce and sons and daughter'. "Oh yeah I totally see it" She says smirking as they head to the restaurant.

They make their way into the resturant and wow it looks....amazing so many people eating and relaxing.Though all these loud sounds and smells were a bit much for Branch and Poppy but they could deal with it.

"Running drinks to the back twotop.Lenny! Seaweed floats are almost out" Spruce tells another vacationer a worker perhaps? "Thanks boss" they reply back. "Hey, yo, Spruce! Spruce! Hey!" John calls out only to get hit in the face with a menu which almost makes Branch laugh and Poppy snickers. "Specials are on the back.Don’t order the clams. Don’t ask why.Fricassee squid and one jellyfish slider." Spruce not knowing who was talking to him.

"Spruce wait!" John Dory calls out and that finally seems to get his attention. "Huh? Oh, no. I knew this would happen one day. Listen, I know you recognize me from BroZone,and I’m happy to give you an autograph or whatever.

But can you please be discreet about it?" Spruce says it was only a matter of time before someone recognized him surprised it took twenty years but still.

"Spruce it's us your brothers!" John says excited to see someone else from his family. Spruce turns around and gasps. In front of him was John dory his older brother and to be honest not much changed other than his slightly muted colors and semi downward ears. But the other one....he could recognize easily. It was Bitty B but what happened to him? Why was he so furry? What happened to his legs and oh sugar is that a tail?! He looks over to the pink troll that was beside him and she has the same features so whatever happened to B happened to her?

Well it looks like Bitty B is fine for now but he is definitely asking for details later. "Whoa. Bitty B?!" Spruce exclaims so happy to see his baby brother again even with his new.....features it was still his baby brother. He runs over to Branch much to John's shock and sadness though John knew he probably deserves it.

Spruce picks up and tosses Branch in the air pretty easily while laughing. It feels good to toss him around he used to do that all the time when Branch was a trolling and he enjoyed it all the time as his laughter would echo in the pod. "No tossing okay? I'm too big to be tossed!" Branch tells Spruce who was still laughing. Even if the tossing brought back good memories.

"The last time I saw you,you were in diapers" Spruce tells him with a grin man his baby brother really has grown. "Diapers right" Branch says annoyed. "Wet willy!" Spruce says giving Branch one while laughing,he honestly couldn't help himself he keeps being brought back to the good old days and he would give wet Willie's to all his younger siblings for fun.

"Stop it that's disgusting! I am a grown up!" He Branch tells him annoyed as he shakes his head trying to get the saliva off, why do his brothers keep treating him like he was still a baby?! He was 23 years old!

"Oh sorry a whet william" Spruce grins before he's stopped by Poppy. "Hi, Spruce. I’m Poppy.

Wow. It’s, like It’s so cool to meet you or whatever.This is Tiny Diamond" She introduced the tiny glitter troll only to see he was wondered off to a bowl of nachos. "Hey, what’s up?Killer nachos you got here, by the way.Yeah!" He happily jumps into the bowl having the time of his tiny life.

"Okay, Spruce. We’re here because Floyd-" John starts before he's stopped. "Actually no one’s called me Spruce in years. I go by Bruce now" He explains much to Branch and John's surprise. "I’m sorry. Did you say Bruce?" John asks to make sure. He couldn't believe it one of his brothers changed their name? Well it wasn't too different from Spruce he can get used to it although it will take some time.

"Yeah. I wanted to put the whole boy band thing behind me now that I’m a dad" Bruce explains walking to a counter. That makes John and Branch freeze. Their brother is a dad? They were uncles?! Wow so much has changed,and....they weren't there to see it. Branch was honestly happy for Bruce,he was able to settle down,relax and even have kids.

"I can't wait for you to meet everybody! Hi honey these are my brothers, unexpectedly" He says to a vacationer. "Oh. Oh! Oh, hello there. So nice to finally meet you" She greets them she would wave but her hands were a bit full at the moment as the trio greet her.

"This is my wife and business partner, Brandy.She is my soulmate.My very tall soulmate.But we make it work." He says smiling much to the confusion of the others. "How?" John has to ask he needs to know otherwise this will drive him crazy later.

"We don’t even really know how it works.I’m kidding. I’m I’m not. I’m I don’t know" Brandy stampers out a bit emberassed,these were the brothers Bruce talked about alot and to meet them all of a sudden caught her off guard.

"Daddy, Daddy, can I have a cookie?" Pme of Bruce's kids asked and he happily hands them a cookie. "Becoming a dad was like a, like a seismic shift in my brain." Bruce explains. "Daddy, Bruce Jr. bit me" another kid complains. "No biting!" He gently scolds the other one. "Daddy, I don’t see how any government stands a chance" another one tells him. Just how many kids does he have?! "Your not wrong kid" He replies back. "I’m stuck in this ketchup bottle" another one asks somehow getting stuck. "Okay,gonna handle all of that.Just give Daddy two seconds, okay? Love you.As a dad-" He says before another one goes up.

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy! Guess what?I have pink eye!" Oner one tells him as if that's a good thing?! "Oh my pink eye!" Branch says while the others are grossed out. "Oh *beep!" Tiny exclaims very much disgusted. "Look, Spruce, gotta cut to the chase.We’re not here to catch up. We’re here because we need to hit the perfect family harmony" John Dory explains.

'Do not sock your brother in the face Bruce do not sock your brother in the face. Your better than this you have matured' Bruce mentally tells himself. He can't believe after 20 years John was STILL going on about that stupid perfect family harmony! Here he was hoping to catch up with his older brother but to hear those words come out of his mouth it....AGH!

"You’re still going on about that?Hey,get these guys their meals to go" He tells someone as he prepares to walk away he didn't want to deal with it anymore. John doesn't realize just how badly he messed up with his perfect shtick. Even to this day Bruce still flinches upon hearing the word perfect!

"No, no, no. You don’t understand.It’s for Floyd. He’s being held captive!" John explains. Bruce couldn't beloved his ears,one of his younger brothers was being held captive?! He really really hopes he isn't being tortured but something tells him that's not unlikely. "What? Well, then, what are we waiting for?We need to call the authorities" Spruce says wondering why they haven't done it sooner?!

"Hit the perfect family harmony.Spruce, it it it has to be us.Floyd’s being held captive in a diamond prison" John says its not like he wants to do it either he wants to put that part of his life behind him. A diamond prison.....why did it have to be diamond.

"Oh. Well, yeah,you need the perfect family harmony for that" Bruce admits. "Exactly" John says grinning. "Wait. But how?We’ve never even come close to pulling it off.You do remember our last show, don’t you?" Bruce says. Remember? As if he could ever froget the very night he screwed up everything,broke their family apart and wished he could take back and fix it.

"If we practice, I know we’ll be able to nail it,we have to" John says jumping up on stage. "At my age? I don't really think that-" Bruce says laughing before being cut off. "See, guys. I told you Dad wasn’t in a band" One of his kids tells another.

"Oh, I was in a band. I was in the band.You ask your mother if I was in a band" Bruce says,he couldnt believe that how own kids wouldnt believe him. "Oh, he was in a band" Brandi tells the kids. "Prove it!Prove it! Prove it! Prove it!" Poppy chants and the kids join her.

:All right I’ll prove it.I’ll prove it right now!" Bruce says jumping on stage with John Dory. "Yes! Bring it in, Brother!" John says he is so happy to see one of his brothers joining him again to sing. "Branch, get up there. Go sing with your brothers" Poppy tells Branch who is still a bit grumpy at the moment, he has to keep an eye on Bruce's kids in case they get any ideas to pull his tail as he has been seeing them eyeing it.

"I’ll do it to save Floyd when I have to. But I’m not doing it right now just for “funsies" He says crossing his arms tail flicking he didn't want to sing with his brothers.....did he? "Oh, yeah. Okay. You’re probably right" Poppy says using a bit of reverse psychology.

"No, no, no. You’re the one who,wait. What did you say?" Branch asks confused normally Poppy would encourage it did she finally learn to stop pushing? "You’re afraid that singing with your brothers again after all these years

will overwhelm you with emotions too powerful for you to handle. I agree with you,

I don’t think you can handle it,so I think you shouldn’t do it" She says hoping Branch will take the bait.

"I think I can handle singing a song" Branch says he can handle singing one song with them besides it could be a good warm up. "Prove it!

Prove it! Prove it! Prove it!" Poppy and the kids chant. "Alright fine,but this is more than likely beneath me" He says sighing he just hopes he could remember the words and steps it has been 20 years. "Yeah whoohoo!" Poppy yells excited to see part of Brozone perform again after twenty years. She uses her tail to play the song.

*one song later again I'm not writing that love the song tho*

"Ah, yes. We still got it!" John says excited it felt so good to sing with his brothers again. "Oh, tell me that didn’t feel good!" Bruce says sharing his enthusiasm. "I can’t believe I remembered every word and every step" Branch says surpirsed but happy tail wagging. "Looks like your band days aren’t behind you" Poppy tells him letting out a purr mixed with what sounded like a churr. It makes Branch turn very red at the face in emberassment as his tail curls to reflect it.

"Um, Brandy, my love.So, I know we have kind of a lot going on here,but do you think it would be crazy if I were to-" Bruce starts to tell his amazing wife. "Uh, leave me here to manage the restaurant and all these kids so you can go on a musically charged rescue missionwith your brothers?" She asks him. "Yeah that" He says wincing he knows thirteen kids is alot for one person.

"It’d be crazy if you didn’t.You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t help your brother" She tells him with a smile as she gently pulls out the kid that was stuck in the ketchup bottle. She knows her husband too well she knows how he is with stuff that concerns his family.

"And you can cover when I go on my girls yoga retreat next month.All month.But you should leave now before you get pink eye.Save yourself!" She tells him pulling off her glasses showing the early stages of pink eye as this kids begin to try and talk to him them all showing the stages of pink eye. "Gross!Love you though!" He says as they all run off to Rhonda and they quickly take off ready to try and find Clay.

Enjoy this long ass chapter I found the transcript online and it has made writing so much better

[that--fish]

《Hellfire》

The Prologue

Synopsis of series: Yn gets married off to the head of the Kamisato Clan. Yn's family, Inazuma's wealthiest tycoons, were nearly on the brink of bankruptcy so they arranged a marriage with one of Inazuma's most powerful politicians to maintain their power. Would Yn be a sacrificed pawn in a bigger game or would she turn the tables?

Tw: yn's dad, sexism, slight abuse :D

A jug of angst and a pinch of fluff ☁️✨️

Overhearing the conversation of my parents, I felt abandoned.

But...I'm not truly useless, am I?

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

3 years ago:

"No, Yn, your older brother will be the next heir of the company." Father sounded colder than the tip of Dragonspine, does he really despise me that much?

"Why him?"

"He has a use here; he is a born leader, worthy of the title as CEO of Tanaka Group and as our clan head."

"What about me? Are you deeming me useless?!"

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

6 years ago:

"Father, can I go for sword-fighting class? It looks fun-"

"You are a lady, you are not meant to do such things. Sigh I will send you for ballet classes instead, would you be happy with that?"

"Why must I do things that you deem ladylike or refined? My brother can pursue his tertiary studies overseas in Sumeru. What about me? Our family has more than enough money to let me study as well. I have been confined within the walls of this estate for all my life! I-"

A burning sensation spread across my cheek.

"Gasps HOW DARE YOU-"

"YOU IMPUDENT CHILD! YOU HAVE NO RESPECT FOR YOUR ELDERS! YOU ARE UTTERLY USELESS, MY CHILD, USELESS, GET THAT IN YOUR HEAD! ALL YOU WILL EVER BE USEFUL FOR IS TO GET MARRIED!"

"I-"

"YOU DARE NOT SAY ANYTHING ABOUT THIS! GO TO YOUR ROOM THIS INSTANT!"

I stormed to my room and curled up in a corner, tears flooded my eyes. This was the first time father ever treated me like this since the passing of mother. I miss her so much...

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

3 years ago:

"You will get married to a suitor of my choice whether you like it or not, Yn."

"I oppose the idea of my marriage!"

"You. Will. Get. Married. Now, in the meantime, you can go and practice ballet, you have a recital in a few weeks."

Same old, same old. There is no stopping father's will. My brother wouldn't dare object him even though he has the power to do so. What am I here for? To be a human punching bag? Why bother crying, it's useless anyways.

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

What happened to mother was horrible, she didn't deserve such a gruesome end. When I was walking in the hallway a few days after mother's death, some of the maids were gossiping about mother's death, one of them said they witnessed it. Father brutally murdered mother with the help of my brother. I felt absolutely disgusted at the thought of it. Why would they murder her in cold blood? I didn't have the slightest clue.

And the woman that father married. Eulgh, her perfume is terribly pungent, she is like a demon that crawled out of the deepest, darkest pits of hell. Her face, ever so cakey with makeup, how she dresses isn't far from a brothel owner.

At least father has found someone he can call his equal.

They are going to marry me off to the head of the Kamisato Clan, Kamisato Ayato within a month, right after my 18th birthday. What impeccable timing, father.

It's almost the end of winter, still a bit chilly though. I gazed out of my frosted window. Snow was coating the tiled roofs of Inazuma City, I've never been out there before, mainly my imagination and novels shaped my perception of the world outside.

The world is such a cruel and evil place with people willing to get their hands dirty in order to achieve their wants and needs. They manipulate to get what they want, free things come with strings attached, there is no one you can trust. Yet, the world is beautiful and serene, like having a lover to rely on, maybe a soulmate whom you have been begging the stars for, a person to be with for an eternity, a romantic walk on the beach, the wonderful scenery one can't imagine...I'm far too familiar with the art of manipulation but I cant imagine myself being - in love with someone. Well, not like its my choice anyway. Sigh However am I going to get out of this hellhole of a place?

[myreia]

Bitter Frost

Rating: T Characters: Aureia Malathar, Alphinaud Leveilleur, Haurchefant Greystone Words: 2216 Notes: Frozen and lost on their way to Camp Dragonhead, Aureia and Alphinaud must contend with the events that lead them there. Spoilers for end of ARR patches. Read on AO3

A bitter wind howls across the frozen hills, biting at her cheeks. Aureia bows her head and clutches her scarf around her face, seeking whatever meagre protection it offers. Snow cracks beneath her feet, the drifts so frozen she doesn’t even sink through them. Though she has wandered the highlands many times before, even becoming accustomed to the harsh climate, this time is different. The cold is in her teeth, her lungs, her bones, unyielding and unending. But as awful as it is, at least it has given her an advantage. This way she doesn’t have to feel the pain.

She doesn’t have to feel anything at all.

Alphinaud stumbles beside her, hands stretched outwards as he treads uneasily across the icy terrain. His cheeks are chafed raw from the wind, the tips of his ears rubbed red. He hasn’t said too words to her since they struck out on their own. No complaints about the cold, no questioning her lead or choice of path. He has slipped more than once, falling painfully on his knees. When she extended a hand to help him up, he brushed her away and dragged himself to his feet, plowing forwards with dark look in his eyes.

The flight from Thanalan left little time to prepare for Coerthas. No staff, no rapier, no focus, and dressed in rags and with boots more appropriate for the desert sands than snow mountains. Filo, her faithful chocobo through thick and thin, remains stabled in Ul’dah with the Immortal Flames. The moment she chose to leave her gear and equipment at the Quicksand is seared in her mind. Why would she need it? She was attending a banquet as a guest of honour and invited to a private audience with the sultana herself. If anything, she assumed the audience was reason enough to leave her weapons behind, lest she be accused of attempted assassination.

Fool.

With her description spread like wildfire and the bounty on her head rising by the hour, it was only a matter of time before someone recognized her. Sitting in Brendt’s cart, she took a knife to her hair and hacked away the dark locks, cutting her identifiable red streaks free. Once in Black Brush, she barely had time to breathe. She shed her banquet attire as soon as she could, exchanging the beautiful dress and jewelry for a ragged coat and boots.

It wasn’t a moment too soon. She had only just faded into the background as yet another adventurer on the road when the area swarmed with Ul’dah agents. With Pipin’s help, they managed to escape and board the Enterprise, taking off for Coerthas. Cid flew them as far as he was able, but issues with the engines and high winds forced an emergency landing. Fearing they would be found if they remained, Aureia and Alphinaud set off into the snows on foot.  

Alphinaud slows, inhaling sharply, and comes to a halt. The air around them is eerily still—no sound to be heard save their trembling breaths and the crunch of snow underfoot. Even the local fauna is scarce. They are well and truly alone.

Aureia glances at him. “What is it?” she asks quietly. “What’s wrong?”

He shivers, shoving his hands into his armpits. “It is nothing,” he replies, shaking his head. His breath puffs across his lips, rising in the air. “Simply the result of the overactive imagination of a child. I would not trouble you with it.”

She presses her lips together, uncertain how to respond. Though she herself is reeling from their loss, the weight of what happened is breaking him. She’s powerless to help—nothing she can do or say will absolve him of his guilt. The Crystal Braves betrayed them, yes, but it was his blind naivety that allowed for it in the first place. Even if she did have the right words, they may not be what he needs right now.

“Here,” she says, unbuttoning her coat.

Alphinaud’s eyes widen. “Aureia, I—”

She shrugs off the coat and proffers it to him, goosepimples running down her bare arms. “Take it.”

“But…” His shoulder sag and he lowers his head, staring dully at his feet. “But you will freeze. I do not wish to be responsible for any more harm done to you.”

She seizes his hand and pushes the coat into his arms. “Take it,” she repeats. “Please. What would your sister say if you perished from the cold on Camp Dragonhead’s doorstep?”

“I…” He nods and accepts the coat, pulling it on. His frozen fingers struggle with the buttons. “Thank you.”

She smiles, privately thanking whatever gods are out there that the boy has finally seen sense. She may be brutally cold without the coat, but it is better this way. She has survived worse. “Besides,” she continues, pulling down her scarf and wrapping it around her shoulders like a shawl. “You need not worry about me.”

Aureia steps back, snow crunching beneath her feet, and pulls a hand into her chest. A flurry of snow spirals around her, dusting her hair and shoulders, clinging to her eyelashes. She closes her eyes and tugs on the aether around her, breathing it in, letting it course through her veins. Fire-aspected aether bursts between her fingers, spinning into a small, burning orb balanced perfectly in her palm. It doesn’t amount to much—without her staff to channel, it is barely more than a parlour trick—but it will keep her warm for now.

“There,” she says, opening her eyes and extending the orb to Alphinaud. “See? I have my own methods.”

With the orb pressed to her chest, Aureia pushes on, taking one hill at a time. Alphinaud follows, a little stronger and more assured on the ice now he isn’t chilled to the bone. The winds shift, bringing with them more snow and greyer skies. She clutches her scarf, anxiety gnawing away at her. She can taste the storm coming. If they don’t make it to Camp Dragonhead soon…

“Not much further now,” Aureia calls over her shoulder. “We’re almost—”

She crests the hill and halts, her stomach sinking. A sea of white stretches out before her, masking the trees and landmarks. They are too late. The storm has come and the path forward is lost to the snows. She curses, her fingers cramping, spasming from their curled position. The fire orb flickers and goes out.

“Shit,” she mutters. She rubs her hands together, desperately trying to get some feeling back into them. They remain curled, refusing to relax, and she pulls on the aether, commanding it to bend to her will.

It does not answer.

“Aureia?” Alphinaud appears at her side, his pale face lost in her coat’s hood. “What now?”

Should have stayed with Cid, that’s what. It was a foolish decision to leave and go on foot. “Shelter,” she says through dry lips. “Shelter is the priority. We can weather the storm, then make our way to Camp Dragonhead once it clears.”

He nods. “Where? The trees over there, perchance? ‘Twould be good to remain on the path, no?”

Hells. It has been years since her defection from Garlemald, but her time in the frozen Imperial capital has stayed with her. She should know better than this. She should know how to adapt.

Aureia raises an arm, shielding her face from the brutal wind as she peers through the endless white. A broken wall rises some feet away, its outline little more than a hazy shadow in the falling snow. “This way!” she shouts, her voice lost in the wind, and veers off the trail. “We need to get out of this wind.”

He follows without comment. That he doesn’t argue is either a mark of his unconditional faith in her, or that he is too exhausted to object. Gripping his frozen hand with hers, she wades through knee-deep snow, leading him to the wall. Once there, she drags them to the far side and hunkers down. She doesn’t know if this will be enough to survive, but it’s all she has.

Aureia and Alphinaud huddle together with their backs to the wall. The snow falls with fury, piling up around them. Though the wind is not as fierce, the brutal cold makes her teeth ache and her lungs burn. She’s freezing. He’s freezing. They were brutally unprepared for this. How laughable would it be if they perished in this storm. A pitiful end to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.

“Aureia?” Alphinaud’s voice is quiet, so soft she almost misses it. The snow crunches as he shifts beside her, pulling his coat tight. He exhales a shaky breath and rests his head on her shoulder. He looks so young… Too young. With all his bright-eyed idealism and sheer determination, it’s easy to forget how young he is. “This is my fault. I’m sorry for what I’ve wrought. If I hadn’t.. If I had…—”

She wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls him close. “Don’t think of that now,” she says. It’s difficult to get the words out—her teeth are chattering. “There will be time for that… later…”

“There’s… time for it… now,” he interrupts, stuttering through the cold. “At the very least, I would… apologize… for what I’ve done. The others are… unaccounted for, perhaps even dead because of my ignorance.”

She looks down at him. “Yes.”

It’s a bitter truth, but to soften it would do him a disservice. Even now, she can picture that night’s events as clearly as one of her visions. Nanamo, collapsed and struggling to breathe as the treacherous cup rolled across the floor. Raubahn’s rage as he cut down Teledji Adeledji. Escaping the banquet with the Crystal Braves hot on their tail, losing her friends one by one as they chose to stay behind… And most painful of all, the look on Thancred’s face as he bid her farewell, shooting her one final lopsided grin as she turned her back on him and fled into the night.

“How… how do I contend with that?” Alphinaud whispers.

She pauses. “You press on,” she says after a moment. She cups her palm between them, subconsciously pulling on the aether around her, a faint flame sizzles to life, warming her fingers. “Guilt can only carry you so far before it bleeds you dry. Just know that the next time… the next time will be different. Better.”

He’s silent for a long time. “Do you… blame me?”

Aureia closes her eyes, snowflakes crystalizing on her lashes. “You are not responsible for our enemies’ actions, Alphinaud. You did not kill Nanamo. You did not frame the Scions. Take comfort in that.”

If he answers, she does not hear.

Her body is stiff, her limbs numb. A small sphere of warmth With the world gone white, it’s too easy to lose herself to the exhaustion and the cold. To submit herself to the bitter frost…

“…Aureia!”

She stirs, forcing herself out of her stupor. She can’t open her eyes—her eyelashes are frozen shut. Though she has not yet lost all sensation. A small sphere of warmth licks at her palms, her flame still burning against all odds.

“Aureia!”

The voice cuts through the haze. Someone seizes her by the arms, unearthing her from the snow. She groans, wobbling on uneasy feet, and a strong arm wraps around her, putting a cloak on her shoulders. Warmth floods her from the embrace and she lets out a desperate gasp, lungs aching as she inhales frozen air.  

“Easy, my friend,” the voice says. “Easy. You have taken a terrible turn.”

“Haurchefant?” she breathes, tilting her head up. She pries her eyes open and a familiar face swims in her vision. She would know that smile anywhere. “What are you… how…”

“Scouts saw your approach on patrol,” he says, easing her through the snow. “When the storm swept in, we did not hesitate to commence a search. The snows in Coerthas are not to be trifled with. I would not lose you to them. If not for your abilities…”

The flame. How in the hells did she keep that going on the brink of unconsciousness? If she had slipped into darkness completely, it would have gone out.

Aureia stifles a cry and clutches at him, her heart aching with gratefulness. “I’ve been stupid, Haurchefant,” she mumbles. Her lips are stiff and blue, frost clinging to her skin. “So damn stupid.”

“You can tell it to me in time, once you are warm and recovered. For now, rest. We will see you safely to Camp Dragonhead.” With one arm still supporting her, he turns and shouts to his men. “I have her! Young Master Alphinaud, too!”

A flurry of activity flickers on her peripheral vision. Knights crowd around them, clearing a path to the nearby carriage. She spots Alphinaud some distance away, wrapped in a cloak and leaning on a knight as he struggles through the snow. He glances over his shoulder and meets her eyes, a grave smile on his face. He nods, silently showing his thanks.

She returns it. Somehow, they have survived this. Where they go from here, she does not know. But whenever it may be, it will be up to them to pick up the shattered pieces of the Scions and find a way forwards.  

[rodine]

1201w , imagine being loved by me

stars are simple creatures.

— fragments of the Nothing molded into an ever-lasting brightness. their burning crowns, their flowing faces of dense magma,

the loop of a solar flare the whip-snap of their tongues as they ramble from beneath a scale. imploringly. incessantly. 

demanding, clumsy little things,

i burn because they need me to burn.

when their crowns begin to rust and they complain about the frost bite from the snap of our God’s wings, when their tiny cosmic bodies begin to shiver. there’s something there i can never touch. when the flesh beneath a scale ices over despite—

there’s…something there. i can never touch it. i'm an imposter of protection waiting for them to tip off the edge of night and devour them when the last granule of sand hits the bottom of their hourglass. we were trapped in an illusion of eternity, another page in Time’s endless comedy. 

i’ve learned even stars can bleed —

the pen stops quick at the click of the door closing. kasimir pulls his gaze from the aging pages of his twine bound journal  to the blurred silhouette in his pc monitor. he watches molotov toe out of his shoes, discard his bag by the bedside; watches the last bit of daylight and noon’s heat roll off his shoulders. he could acknowledge him, but lately kasimir has been learning a new sort of patience. not the kind where years are but a wink of the clock; but the sort where minutes feel like seconds and all he can think about is filling the gaps with something more tangible, like a touch. a word. neither of which would be particularly gentle, as his affectations always come with a certain bite (no pun intended). but desires are a strange thing to reign, especially for a creature that already has everything.

his eyes pull back to the journal. the gush of running water passes under his ears. he flips the page to a fresh canvas. still yellowed, faintly scented of aged vanilla. his knuckles drag coarse, the pen scratches, its purity washed away with blue waves and black smears.

i’ve learned even stars can bleed. they can cry. bruise. scream. and all the while they’ll tuck themselves beneath a scale, just to feel you burn. 

so you burn for them. and for the first time, you burn them, too. and that also feels right.

for him, a celestial body. a molten core crammed into tender, pliant skin. unlike stars, he is all lines that bend and break. i have no mind for creation, but i find my hands wandering, willing his flesh to bear new shapes and colors and i think, not for the first time, that there’s a universe blooming at my fingertips. i imagine temples of worship erected on his tongue every time i whisper mottled praise against his lips. 

i have laughed at the evangelists. sat with the religious heretics. just for the hell of it. 

but i understand. now, i can see—

my fingers singed into his ribcage, until i can taste myself on his breath. 

or cutting into the rippling edges of his windpipe, i taste the silence on his lips. 

i can’t choose. both are equally undoing. 

(how do you call it…a fixation? an obsession? 

love is too sweet a word for what i feel. hunger? too simple.)

the hairs on kasimir’s nape rise, his shoulders round as he inhales. molotov passes from one side of the room to the next, and though he hasn’t touched him, kasimir feels the jagged edges of his incorporeal being shift toward the gravity within the star-thing. his eyes strain, fixed to the end of a stanza:

to look at him is ruining. i’ve heard that fools go blind from staring at the Sun. she becomes their god, the object of their veneration. keep it pretty. keep it whole. they’re obsessed with virtues of purity (boring).

but temples can be destroyed and still retain their beauty. to look means ruin, and i can’t curb the need to paint that on him. this sensation is familiar, yet unbearable. the remembering that is, 

knowing what will happen if i press too hard.

what happens when his clay body gives too much. 

i won’t invite Death to my table. they make for a rather dull company. 

i wish i could lie. it seems like a convenient skill. i could lie to myself —

to lie and say the prayers for his ruination that i carve into his throat with the shape of my hand, are just affections disguised in bloodlust.

it sounds fucked. we sound like we're running, leaping towards doom, dragging at one another, our mouths each other's color. mine his fiery red. his, my vanta black. 

yes, i think hunger is close enough. 

my teeth are sore. 

kasimir runs his tongue over his gums as he thinks about the ache, wonders if it's from the dentist’s vigorous flossing (he’d vaguely mentioned his teeth hurting and recalled in substantial detail the horror that painted molotov’s face. kasimir was so taken by the novelty of the expression that he hadn’t processed the urgency of the situation until molotov had sat on his belly, hooked his fingers into his cheeks, and practically shoved his head in his mouth to inspect his teeth. he booked a dentist appointment that same day.)

it had been no candy for a long, painful three days, even with kasimir reassuring molotov it was not the candy.

(then the dentist had pressed on his molars and it had turned out it had, in fact, been the candy.)

kasimir knew it was more than that, however. sure, he had been tucking away gushers and lollipops under his tongue more than usual. but how else to replicate the sweet rush of molotov’s blood? or the shatter and grind of his pretty bones?

it’s just this side of deranged, but how else to placate the starved parasite inside him if not by vorish fantasies? 

there’s a method to the—

gravity slips under kasimir's fingertips, crescent shapes forming in papyrus when a quiet touch ghosts across his nape. black valleys narrow in carnelian galaxies, destruction's eyes falling upon his favorite silhouette once more. 

the pen slips from kasimir’s fingers with a gentle clatter, a contrast to the wrap of his ink-soiled knuckles around molotov’s retreating wrist. there’s a hollow crack, the song the roll of his bones at the pressure of kasimir’s touch. they protest when he tugs molotov between the delta of his thighs, pressing his ear against the grey polyester pooled at his stomach. kasimir listens to his mortality, his fire-stroked palms crackling, thinking about burrowing themselves in molotov’s skin, just to feel him writhe closer.

he hears the thrum of the star-thing’s voice. but the words and their meaning are lost upon him as he thinks about scratching his still sore teeth on molotov’s belly, how the skin may split scarlet at the edges. 

the silver eloquence of his thoughts stretch into a vast dark noise, filled with nothing but the intent of his palms on molotov’s hips, bunching up worn fabric to press his mouth on his stomach, catching the thin skin beneath his navel.

molotov’s belly curls in on itself. kasimir nearly follows into its curves until slender fingers part the hair at his crown and tug. 

he rolls his eyes up at tov, mouth and nose unwilling to part from the damp cool of his body. he drags his gaze from the coral flush of summer in molotov’s cheeks to the question in his brows. kasimir stares at him, a bit empty like. he has no idea what the question is, and frankly, is too distracted by the stretched collar of molotov’s shirt to really care. nothing seems more pressing than getting molotov in his lap to gnaw at his shoulder for a bit. 

kasimir remembers the journal; the exercises prescribed by his brother-nephew-thing, with his big earnest (frankly, unnerving) eyes. “it might take off the edge, yes?”

molotov’s hip leans into kasimir’s palm as he mindlessly shifts his weight. it causes his skin to catch on the silver point of the god’s canine. the tiniest bead of red stains the white of it. it’s a bit pathetic, maybe, how his tongue passes over it and his entire body shudders for more. but it’s enough for kasimir to go “ah, fuck it.” before shoving aside the belongings on his desk to hoist molotov onto it, mouth searing a ragged line across the carve of his clavicles as he thinks of a more creative, fun way to take off the edge. 

[ghost-party]

Pairing: Bertholdt Hoover x F!Reader x Reiner Braun (Modern Timeskip AU) Word Count: 1.7K Warnings: lingerie, dry humping, groping, slight striptease, nudity, voyeurism, food play, nipple play, male masturbation, fingering, exhibitionism, edging, face riding, oral sex, anal sex, swearing A/N: Everyone is 20+ in this AU. Also, this is filth. Enjoy. 🤣 IF YOU ARE A MINOR, DO NOT INTERACT!

“I think that’s a new one.”

You and Reiner watch as Bertholdt’s eyes slowly open, his hair tousled from sleep. He’s sprawled out on the bed, one long leg curled beneath him while the other rests upright against the wall.

He’s somehow managed to twist his upper body to the side, giving him a perfect view of his two partners — Reiner gazing down at him with amusement, and you smiling softly.

“You’re a chiropractor appointment waiting to happen,” Reiner teases, perching at the edge of the bed.

“I know.” Bertholdt slowly rights himself, blearily blinking when he finally sees what you’re holding — a small plate with a chocolate cupcake, swirls of vanilla frosting topping it like little clouds.

“Happy Birthday,” you murmur, leaning in close to kiss his cheek.

He’s drawn to your warmth like a flower to the sun, his smile widening. “I thought we weren’t celebrating this year.”

Reiner scoffs, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “We agreed not to have a party. But of course we’re going to celebrate.”

“Why do you think we asked you to make a wish last night?” Your tone is light and playful, but something about it draws Bertholdt’s attention back to you — and his eyes widen, watching as you shrug out of your bathrobe.

You’re wearing a lacy set he bought you for Valentine’s Day last year, cotton candy pink, with delicate ribbons and sheer paneling that leaves little to the imagination. As he stares, mesmerized, you set the cupcake aside and climb onto the bed, coaxing him into a seated position.

Bertholdt remains still as you settle yourself in his lap, thighs bracketing his narrow hips. The tips of his ears are growing pink, and you coo softly. “Relax… Today is all about you.”

You lift one of his large hands to your breasts, and he cradles it with care, his thumb idly brushing across your hard nipple. He traces the satin lines of your bra, his touch warm against your cool skin.

Meanwhile, you shift, bracing yourself on his bare chest as you desperately seek friction. Your clothed cunt drags against his cock, already straining against the sweatpants hugging his hips. His thumbs hook into the delicate pink lace of your panties, long fingers sinking into soft skin.

“Is this okay?” Your voice is breathy, almost a whine as you rock forward, pressing your chest to his, and Bertholdt swallows, his pupils blown wide as you stare up at him.

“Y-yeah… Feels good.” His grip tightens a little, pulling you down against him with rising desperation, and you can feel his length twitch beneath you.

His breathing only seems to quicken further when strong arms encircle you from behind, Reiner’s hands gently kneading your breasts through your bra. He dips into one cup, calloused fingers squeezing you gently, while his other hand fumbles with the clasp at your back.

“But you wanted to watch first, didn’t you?” His voice rumbles low, and you arch against him, head dropping onto his shoulder as he slowly undresses you. “It’s your birthday, after all. Whatever you want, we’ll do.”

Bertholdt nods absently, eyes never leaving you, even as Reiner guides you to lie back, pulling your panties down your thighs. He makes a show of it, and once he has them in his fist, he grins, tossing them to Bertholdt.

“Looks like our girl is needy today.” He trails a hand up your leg, and you hum in agreement. “Glad I took those off before she ruined them. Wouldn’t that be a shame?”

He continues to idly stroke your skin, watching as Bertholdt’s grip on the damp lace tightens. “I want…” He’s quiet at first, then continues, a little louder, “I want you to… play with her tits.”

You bring your hands up to your chest, mimicking how Reiner had touched you, and Bertholdt inhales sharply. “How you do it is up to you.”

Reiner chuckles. “Giving me some creative freedom, huh? Let’s see…” He glances over at the nearby nightstand and smiles.

Leaning forward, he reaches out and swipes three fingers through the top layer of buttercream crowning the cupcake. Then he turns back to you, splayed on the bed. With slow precision, he adorns each breast with frosting, and you shiver at the sensation.

Bertholdt whimpers as Reiner licks his fingers clean. And when he lowers his lips to your chest, his mouth hot and eager, tongue swirling around your nipple, making you arch beneath him, Bertholdt lets out a strangled groan.

“So sweet,” Reiner mumbles, sliding an arm beneath you to pull you even closer. He sucks and laves, his teeth just grazing your skin, and soon enough, you’re practically panting.

He turns his attention to your other breast, but a rustle of clothing distracts you. You turn your head to find Bertholdt’s sweatpants around his thighs, his face flushed as he fists his cock. He’s still clutching your panties, the lace a pretty, pale pink that contrasts with his flushed tip.

Noticing your wavering attention, Reiner nips at you, drawing a gasp from your parted lips. Finally satisfied, he leans back and drags the back of his hand across his lips, wiping away a stray streak of white frosting.

“Touch her.”

Bertholdt’s voice is strained, and when the two of you look at him, his blush deepens. “I… I want you to use your fingers.”

Reiner huffs out a laugh. “You’re so cute.” It doesn’t take much for him to lift you onto his lap, your body already pliant and sensitive. He uses his muscled thighs to hold yours open, spreading your legs wide.

“Isn’t he cute, babe?” Reiner speaks softly, his lips brushing against your neck as his fingers move lower and lower, until they tease along your soaked folds.

“Mm, look how wet she is…” You squirm in his grasp as he strokes at you, thumb pressed firmly against your clit. “Look at this pretty pussy, just begging to be filled.”

Bertholdt slows his movements as Reiner slides a thick finger inside you, and you can tell from the way he bites his lip that he’s determined to hold out. He strokes himself languidly, watching with attentive rapture as Reiner adds another digit.

“Wet enough to take two already,” he murmurs. You’re limp in his arms, head cradled in the space between his neck and shoulder. But you moan when he curls his fingers just right. His whole hand is slick with you, dripping down to his wrist, and you can hear it.

The lewdness of it has Bertholdt transfixed, palming his cock, chest heaving, muscles strained as he resists the urge to touch you himself. “Add another.” His voice is husky with want, and when Reiner obeys, his jaw clenches.

You’re clutching at Reiner’s wrist, hips rocking forward as he fucks you with his fingers. He knows your tells, and as your thighs begin to shake, your body gradually tensing, he says, “She’s close.”

For a moment that seems painfully long, Bertholdt hesitates, caught between competing desires. But when one wins out, he releases his cock and slides down on the bed, until his head rests on a pillow.

“Want you to cum on my face, angel.” He locks eyes with you, waiting for your answer, and you manage to nod, keening as Reiner removes his fingers.

You’re swollen and weeping, droplets of your own arousal staining the comforter. You shuffle forward, thighs briefly clenching before you position yourself above Bertholdt’s head. Settling your hands on the headboard, you wait, allowing him to set the pace.

His hands are warm and gentle on your thighs as he pulls you down, nose bumping against your clit as he tastes you, a soft lick that makes you shiver. But he’s too eager to tease, and soon his mouth is on you, ravenous and hot, and you’re clenching the headboard as pleasure melts through you.

Bertholdt has always been skilled at taking you apart with his tongue, and you whimper as it pushes into you, his lips paying close attention to your oversensitive clit. He groans into you, feasting like it’s his last meal, and you’re grateful for his strong arms holding you up, or else your legs might give out.

You’re too lost in a blissful haze to notice Reiner behind you. He’s pushed Bertholdt’s spread legs even wider and removed his sweatpants. You barely register the faint scent of strawberries, the lube he purchased last week.

But when Bertholdt’s grip on you tightens and he gasps, head tilting back just enough that you can see his messy lips parted in pleasure, you realize what’s happening.

You look over your shoulder and meet Reiner’s gaze, hazy with lust as he eases himself further inside, all the while stroking Bertholdt’s leaking cock. “You want her to cum, right?” His voice is gruff. “Let’s see who cums first.”

As Reiner begins to move, Bertholdt whines, pressing his face back between your legs as he eats you out with renewed fervor. “Fuck…” You can feel him shake as you thread your fingers through his dark hair.

“Shit, you’re so close…” Reiner’s low growl goes straight to your cunt, and you pant as your hips roll, riding Bertholdt’s nose as his mouth unravels you. The bridge of it rubs deliciously against your clit, and you chant his name like a hymn.

“Please… I’m gonna —” Your words dissolve into something between a sigh and a gasp as you near your release, and judging from Reiner’s soft grunts and moans, you’re not alone.

Bertholdt’s body tenses as Reiner’s thrusts grow erratic, and just as you’re tipping over the edge, he cries out, fingers digging bruises into your soft thighs. The three of you ride out your highs as Reiner finally cums, one hand desperately seeking your touch as it caresses your hip.

You shakily ease back, looking down at Bertholdt’s dazed, glistening face. The corner of his lips lifts in a weary smile. “I don’t know if I can walk…”

Behind you, Reiner heaves a shaky sigh as your hand settles on top of his, fingers lacing together. Your other hand returns to Bertholdt’s hair, pushing it back from his sweat-slick forehead.

“A birthday in bed doesn’t sound so bad.”

Your head spins as Bertholdt licks his lips, his cheeks still tinged pink. “Sweet, actually.”

[hyeque]

his muse [bokuto koutarō]

@suckerforsugawara said: hii congrats on 200!!! 🥳 can i get prompt #46 with Bokuto please

notes: based off of this post on bokuto. i had this in my drafts unfinished but then lexi when you sent the ask with the prompt i was inspired to finish this. honestly this ended up being like a love letter to bokuto. you know when actors get into the scenes they do? well i got overly invested in writing this and almost cried. (kinda feel embarrassed saying that) but anyways i hope you enjoy!

it isn’t abnormal for bokuto to go missing during practice. in fact, in more recent times, it has become a common occurrence. unfortunately this leads to a lot of problems for the fukurōdani vbc.

the team as per usual is running practice, and noticeably missing is their ace/captain. their coach isn’t happy at all that bokuto isn’t present and is screaming demands that ‘someone better find him or so god help me’. the players and managers didn’t have to be told twice.

so imagine your surprise when you step into the gym to see a very flustered akaashi.

the minute his eyes land on you, relief floods his system. the setter walks over to you hastily. “i’m glad you showed up. do you happen to know of bokuto-sans’ whereabouts?”

“he’s not here?” you blink, and that alone causes the whole team to groan out of misery. if you, his own significant other didn’t know where he was, then they were really screwed.

your heart pangs when you realize you’re of no help to them. “i’m sorry. i only came to give koutarou notes for alegbra class so he can study for his test. what’s going on?” you frown, sensing you were missing part of a bigger picture.

“no one has been able to find that idiot since before practice started.” konoha sighs, rolling his eyes at the thought.

“when practice isn’t going well for him he tends to hide in different places. i think he ran out of spots in the gym because we haven’t been able to find him anywhere so far.” komi adds.

“now that i think about it, i think bokuto-san maybe going through some sort of slump right now. he hasn’t been in the best of moods in recent practices either…” akaashi notes.

you nod, sighing. “i see now. i might be able to figure out where he is, but it’s not guaranteed. do you guys mind just holding on a bit longer while i go get him?”

“of course, we appreciate any and all of your help.” the blue-eyes boy smiles with relief before bowing out of gratitude.

you take no time to run out of the gym, going to the one place you know of. if he isn’t there-which you are adamant he is, with no doubt-not only you but a whole volleyball team would be doomed.

and that only makes you sprint faster to the rooftop.

the rooftop is yours and bokutos go to place. you went there during lunch, on break, whenever bokuto didn’t have practice. it was a place where both of you had made many memories together and shared many things that only the two of you knew between each other.

somehow, the ace had squeezed himself he always did that to make himself smaller. comically, though, you aren’t sure that that really works with someone of his size.

“kou?” you call.

the frosted tipped boy turns his head and instantly hits his head on the roof of the table. you try your best not to laugh out loud at his clumsiness by biting your fist.

“ow…” he rubs his head, pouting.

you bend down so you’re level with him, you hand reaching out to cradle his head. “are you alright?”

“m’fine.” he grunts.

a sigh escapes you. “you want to tell me why you’re up here and not at practice?”

“…” he hides his face.

“hey,” you call out, reaching for his hand. “you know you can tell me anything, right?”

he nods, tucking his chin in his arms again. “‘is just…am i a good captain?”

you tilt your head to the side, blinking. “huh? where is this coming from?”

his expression is one of slight guilt and pain. almost as if he’d done something wrong. “the other week when we had a match i overheard some of the guys from the other team,” he explains, “they were saying how bad they felt for our team because of how they have to deal and put up with me.”

“and they also said that,” he swallows, “they don’t see how i could’ve ever became captain.”

you feel your heart physically ache. “kou-”

“i mean they’re right, akaashi does such a better job of managing the team than i do.” he laughs bitterly. “everyone always has to help me but what do i do for other people? am i really that much of a nuisance?” he finally looks at you and his golden eyes are hazy.

your heart absolutely shatters, in awe that bokuto was withholding all of these emotions. he hadn’t seen this upset in the past few days, but you feel like you failed at not seeing that. holding his hand tighter, you wish desperately that the barrier of the table isn’t in your way.

“what do you do for other people?” you repeat, pushing back his hair. “do you really not know?”

he makes a noise of discontent.

“you have helped so many people. more than you ever know.” you beam, smiling at him with gratitude. “you help this team stay motivated when times are hard. hell, akaashi is a great vice captain but he’d really struggle without your optimism. sometimes it’s good to be around those who hold a different perspective on life. not even just volleyball.” you say, looking out at the sky.

“you help people beyond this team too. everyday we come into school and people brighten up and smile because of you. you and kuroo have a great rivalry and friendship, you helped hinata and you’ve inspired him to become ace. did you know he looks up to you? like, a lot? you helped tsukishima find a love and passion for volleyball again. that’s big. you inspire so many people to find passion in things and you don’t even know it.

“you know when we first met?” i had just moved here and didn’t know anyone. i was really nervous but the first person i saw was you. you were so friendly-a little aggressive sometimes from excitement-and you made sure i wasn’t alone or lost. i swear i was going to go blind because your smile was so bright.” you laugh, and your heart skips when you hear him laugh with you.

you cup his face in your hands and see him visibly melt at your touch. his eyes close as he leans into your palm. “you are so smart and kind, and you care so much about other people. so don’t you dare say that you don’t bring anything of value to your team.” you huff, pinching his cheek.

“i can’t be that smart. i failed my last algebra test.” he points out.

the corner of your mouth twitches. did he ignore everything you just said? “math is overrated!” you exclaim, “grades don’t define you. the point is, is that you have a lot of wisdom to offer to your younger classmen. you bokuto koutaro, are the most amazing person i know.” you kiss his cheek and he turns, capturing your lips against his. His large hand holds your face gently. he tries to move his arm to hold your waist but struggles, finally settling on placing his other hand on the other side of your face. when you try to pull back for air, he doesn’t budge.

“kou…can’t…breathe.” you wheeze, detaching yourself from him and standing up.

bokuto whines your name quietly, disliking that he is already separated from you. he’s squirming before he finally is up from under the table.

“i’m in desperate need of a hug.” he pouts. his hands fidget at his side and you can tell he’s really dejected when he doesn’t reach out to hold you.

you reach up and pull him to you, catching him off guard slightly. the minute your arms wrap around his neck he’s slipping his own around your waist.

“the best…” he mumbles into your neck, his burly arms clinging onto you tightly. it’s a little hard for you to breathe again, but this time you don’t mind really.

“thank you for being with me and understanding me. i love you.” he says softly, kissing you out of appreciation. tears stream down his face when he feels himself becoming overwhelmed again.

“i love you always.” wiping his tears away you speak again, “you have a whole team counting on you, they’re expecting you to lead them to great things and you will, because you’re their captain and their ace. there’s only one bokuto koutaro and he’s irreplaceable.”

his golden eyes light up and a smile slowly spreads across his face. finally, there was your boy.

“hey, hey, hey, baby you’re right! no one can out do the doer!” he springs up and to your own surprise he picks you up and spins you around. you squeal, laughing, hands gripping onto him tightly as if he’d drop you but he never has and he never will.

the minute he puts you down he’s kissing you feverishly, his kisses are energetic but gentle at the same time. he knows that when it comes to kissing there’s only so much yet not enough of him that you can get.

bokuto squeezes your hand, looking at you with an abundance of affection. if anyone saw him, they would think that he kisses the ground you walk on. “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. dunno what i’d do without you.”

“cry maybe.” you joke, laughing.

“most likely.” he replies, pouting a little bit.

patting his cheek you tug him towards the door. “no more tears okay? want to see your handsome smile. now let’s go. your team is worried about you. they were in distress when i came into the gym earlier.”

he hums and clings onto you, not letting very much space between the two of you as you both walk back.

and years down the road when bokuto is a pro player, interviewed, and asked who his number one supporter and inspiration is, the first name is always and will always be yours.

do not copy and or repost. likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated though! (c) 2022 hyque

[tidbit-fanfic]

(Quick little imagines of how the OM! Boys would be like if they lived where I do. Minus the new characters since I’m still trying to figure out their personalities.)

Lucifer

Lead farm hand.

Ended up in this position by some random luck. (Liar, it was from hard work.)

Horseback everywhere.

Oversees everything, always assigning things that he knows his brothers can do.

Does everything else though.

He has to remind his brothers that you're there sometimes, because they can be idiots. (Also they are used to only each other's company.)

Honestly, he’s the dream boy from the westerns.

“Darlin’”

The drawl.

Mammon

Ball caps and belt buckles.

He’s a puller or has a demo car for county fairs.

Yes, he has yet to lose a pull.

Oil stains all over his jeans, hands, face, etc.

He knows about everything to do with vehicles.

Rebuilt a rusty old truck, and yes he’ll take you on dates in it.

Lives to make people happy and avoids drama.

The drawl again.

Can and has lived off nothing but Casey’s pizza before, so please make sure he eats well.

Leviathan

The one who wants to break the family tradition.

He has every social media ever, but really only posts about his new gaming setup.

Only helps in the fields if it’s really needed, like seconds before the first frost.

He was the kid who danced in mud puddles and chased girls with snakes.

Absolutely despises that part in his life, you bring it up and he will glare at you.

He always gets red ribbons at the fair if he shows.

Always whines about it too.

Satan

Farm hand.

This man is Lucifer’s paper boy.

How much do we need to spend on seed? He’s got the answer.

Knows the prime dates for planting to get the most yield.

And exactly when to harvest, and what to plant as cover crop.

Read the farmer's almanac daily.

He runs around on the farm, checking in with the others to see what’s all happening.

Bases everything off of that.

Good luck getting time with him, he’s a busy body.

Asmodeus

Pretty boy.

He gets made fun of by everyone, but just shakes it off.

Definitely friends with that one sheep girl that does nothing with her life that doesn’t involve sheep.

He’s on the cheer team for his nth year.

Always denies being captain though because it takes too much time out of his schedule.

Scratch the shaking insults part, he’s a bad bitch.

Insult him, I dare you. Your social life will be ruined the next day.

Beelzebub

Farm hand.

I promise you, you need to watch him load hay.

The farmer’s tan.

He walks around shirtless by accident.

Cattle love him.

He’s the type to tip his hat at you as you pass by, but boy if you flirt with him…

Bring him lemonade on hot days, just do it.

This boy's face will look sunburnt in a second.

Ask him on Casey's date please.

Also, he plays football in the fall, just as a heads up.

Belphegor

He is babied.

If you can’t find him, he’s in the barn sleeping with the cows.

He loves his cow.

Reigning show champion for his cattle.

Refuses to give out any small tip on how to ‘raise ‘em right’.

He makes fun of city folk on the daily. You included.

Has beef with Solomon for no good reason. (It’s the city folk thing.)

Diavolo

Seasonal farm hand.

He loves messing around with the chickens.

Barbatos normally has to chase him out.

Keep him away from the corn fields, he’ll get lost looking for the Field of Dreams.

He loves homemade bread.

Owns a “Make America Great Again.” That is a joke. Secretly, wear it all the time in hopes of damaging it.

Yet again, loading hay.

Barbatos

This man is that one sheriff you don’t want to get caught by.

He knows everything about you. Family, where you went to school, hobbies, everything.

Even when he’s off duty you know better than to pull something, because he will drag you back to your parents by your ear.

Probably got into it to keep Diavolo from eating ditch weed.

Always has those little badge stickers with him for kids. Or Diavolo. Or you. Or any teenager who looks at least a little nervous. Nevermind he hands them out to everyone and anyone.

And no, he will not let you ride in the back as he speeds with the lights on. That is unprofessional…

It happened once, but don’t expect it again.

Simeon

The teacher whose room looks like harvest all year long.

Pumpkin spice and flannel scarfs.

He definitely has a rustic milk container full of fake wheat in the corner.

Best handwriting ever, little swoops, big swoops.

Listened to old Taylor Swift religiously.

Oh, and of course he goes to church every Sunday, and leads a bible study group on Wednesdays.

Mothers Luke still, so of course this Simeon is where Luke picked up his manners.

Luke

Little Mister County Fair.

He’s a tractor boy, probably raised on driving one.

Huntin’ and fishin’.

At least half of the girls his age find him cute, but the older women love him.

Sweetheart could get any sweet treat he wanted with his smile.

Solomon

The one who doesn’t fit in.

He probably moved because his parents had a better job opportunity here.

Girls literally change their personalities to appeal to him, or are extremely friendzoned.

He’s definitely made fun of by the jerks from around here, but gives no fucks.

[dandelionflower]

I saw on one of your post that said to send you prompts sooo... can I request A childhood friend AU either Felix or Marinette moves away and then reuniting in college in France at age 14 in Felix's school with the Quantic Kids.

It was a pretty normal day, which probably meant something was going to happen. If it wasn’t a normal day, something was bound to happen as well; life in Paris hadn’t been normal in months. It being a normal day meant that Marinette was late. Super late. Way, way, so very late she might as well be early for the next thing kind of late. So late that- (oh, she’s beginning to catch onto why she’s so late.)

She knew even as she was shoving toothpaste into her bag for Tikki and brushing her teeth with frosting (wait, switch that) that she would be late, and her erratic movements were enough to convince her parents to write her an excuse. Not that anyone could blame her; she had to deal with three akumas in one night. Three akumas. Who could blame her, or anyone for that matter, for being late when there were three emotionally-stunted teens each wreaking havoc upon the city? It was a wonder that anyone else got to class on time, except for Alya, who Marinette was pretty sure didn’t sleep.

Marinette kissed both parents goodbye, thanking them again for the excuse note. They shoved a box of pastries into her hands, as was their habit whenever she didn’t leave school fast enough.

They had done it since her first day at her new school, when she was tiny and frightened of new people; having the same best friend since birth would do that. Her father had shoved a box of macaroons in her arms and her mother placed a bracing arm on her back. They told her what to do and she tried her hardest to follow their instructions, standing up straight at the front of the class, introducing herself, and offering cookies. Unfortunately, that was the same day Chloe Bourgeois was joining public school, and compared to cookies, her offer of money to ten year-olds wasn’t all that effective. And Chloe was excellent at holding a grudge.

Of course, she ended up with friends: Alya, Nino, Adrien, and everyone in art class, but it was hard to go about her first couple years of school without anyone in her corner. Becoming Ladybug really gave her the boost of confidence she needed to break out of her shell and make new friends, and now she had a whole class full.

She stopped in the classroom to put her stuff away, pausing for a second to breathe. How was she out of shape? She’s Ladybug, for heavens’ sakes! Those three akumas really took it out of her. Luckily enough, she had gym class up next. (Can you hear the sarcasm?)

“Girl! Where have you been?” Alya smiled up at her from where she was stretching her hamstrings.

“Sorry Alya, slept in too much.” She fell into place beside her, choosing one of the more advanced stretches to accomplish instead. “Three akumas yesterday; couldn’t get much sleep.”

“You need to get over yourself, Mari. Ladybug and Chat Noir always win against the akumas, this fear of yours is ridiculous.” Alya glanced at her with an incredulous look, but when she saw her intense yoga pose, the look shifted and she yelled over her shoulder. “Adrien! Get over here! Marinette’s doing her physics-defying stuff again!”

Adrien joined them, laughing at Alya’s exaggerated despair. “It’s really not that hard. You just have to-” He fell into the position easily and began matching her movements. “There.”

“How on EARTH?” Alya shrieked and threw herself to the right, toppling into Nino, who was in a shaky warrior two. They ended up in a heap on the floor, Alya staring in horror at the two still upright and Nino staring bewildered at his girlfriend. “How are you two doing that?”

“Well, I don’t know about Marinette,” Adrien moved into an upward dog, “but father insisted that I be physically active in some way and my mother used to do yoga. So I picked it up.”

Nino leaned close to Alya’s ear. “I’m not sure whether to add this to the ‘reasons Gabriel sucks’ list or be happy he has this thing with his mom.”

“Both I guess?”

“What about you Marinette?” He moved into a handstand-like position. “Why do you know all this stuff?”

My superhero moonlighting requires me to be as stretchy as a rubber band, so my partner, who is also a furry, taught me yoga. “My first best friend and I learned tai chi, and this just felt like the next step.” Not a lie, just not why she chose yoga.

“Okay, you’re fine.” Alya pointed a finger between them both. “But next time you do something weird, I’m starting a cryptid blog about you.”

“You don’t have the guts.” Marinette leaned in and Adrien flipped down to join her. It felt familiar, like deja vu; not her crush, she killed that with fire once he started dating Kagami.

“Heey!” Nino opened his arms in front of them. “Let’s change the subject, what about that new student?”

“There’s a new student?” Marinette turned to the rest of the class, who were all stretching dutifully. No new faces whatsoever. “Where are they?”

“Not here, he went to the office over a scheduling conflict. Seems like a jerk.” Alya pulled an arm behind her head, glaring with derision in the direction of the office.

“Alya, don’t.” Adrien nudged her with a foot. “First impressions don’t mean anything, right Marinette?” He shot her a playful glance.

“Don’t remind me.”

“That one was a misunderstanding. Mister Ice Cold over there doesn’t even say a word, just nods and walks into the back of the class. At least Adrien did something and he asked for forgiveness afterwards. Frosty doesn’t even look at us.” With that final comment, Alya joined the rest of the class in dodgeball.

“Is she alright?” Adrien side-eyed her.

“Yeah, she just really hates people acting superior to her. Let’s go.” Marinette shrugged it off and joined her in picking teams.

Dodgeball was a mess; it always was. The entirety of the class had been akumatized at one point, and some of the strategic prowess remained. Marinette’s team always won, which everyone attributed to her agility, but it was really that Ladybug had more practice in strategy. The only way the teams could be considered even was if Adrien was against her.

She still won; she always won. When it was all over, each team, sweating and exhausted, gravitated to the center line to shake hands and congratulate one another on a game well played. Adrien met her in the middle with a weary smirk. His hair was disheveled, but there was a spark in his eyes that made him seem more familiar than he already was.

“I almost got you that time.” He gripped her hand tight.

“All that training with Kagami is really upping your game.” She quipped, shaking his hand. “Better luck next time.”

With that promise of another match, everyone vacated the gym to the locker rooms, where Alya continued to warn Marinette against the new student.

“Even Chloe doesn’t like him and he seems like the kind of rich boy that would be right up her alley.”

“Alya, I get it. You aren’t the new guy’s biggest fan.”

“And the feeling’s mutual too.” She griped.

“So just don’t talk to him; it works with Chloe. Why not this guy too?” She wrapped an arm around her shoulder and led her to their desk.

“Fine, but I don’t have to like it.”

“You don’t have to like him either.” She pulled out her notebook and began writing down the date.

Before Alya could make another passive aggressive comment about the mystery new boy, Miss Bustier walked in, the usual skip in her step. “Class, I know I already introduced you to our new student but since some of us weren’t here for the first period,” Marinette ducked her head with a sheepish smile, “I’ve decided there’s nothing better than a redo. So, here’s Mister Culpa, introducing himself again.”

Culpa?

A boy with pale blond hair and paler skin strode into the room. He wore what could only be called business-casual, all monochrome. His eyes were a one-in-a-million breathtaking ice blue.

Culpa?

“Hello.” His eyes scanned the room emotionlessly. “As I previously said, my name is Felix Culpa and I am from-” He stopped when he reached her. “Nette?”

“Felix.” She breathed, barely even daring to say it louder, lest he disappear.

He was a blur, climbing the steps and reaching her in the time it took her to stand. There were no words when they hugged, other than the other’s name. She was on the tips of her toes, pressing her forehead to his collarbone. Felix got tall.

“I missed you.” He whispered, squeezing just a little tighter.

“I missed you too.” She laughed, pulling back to see his face. He was crying. She was crying.

“What in Ladybug’s name is happening?” Alya’s shout broke them from whatever pocket dimension they were inhabiting together. “You two know each other?”

“Alya, this is Felix.” She turned to look at her, hand still on Felix’s shoulder. “He was my best friend from birth to ten.”

“Was?” He bumped her hip with his. “Didn’t know I’ve been replaced, Netta.”

“I couldn’t contact you after I moved! I was ten and your mom never told us what her new number was.” She punched his elbow. “What are you doing here?”

“My family moved. I didn’t know you were in this area too; imagine my surprise when I see what the current events in Paris are and find out that there are superheroes and my best friend is now a borderline celebrity.” He chuckled, running a hand through his hair.

“We have to catch up some time.” She grabbed his arm.

“Certainly, maybe not here and now, though.” He gestures to the class around them, avidly watching the exchange.

“Right.” She released his arm and rubbed the back of her head awkwardly. “Coffee and macarons later then? My place?”

“I would like nothing more.” He quirked a smile that would seem tiny to anyone else, but to Marinette was as bright as the sun. “Until then.” Felix squeezed her hand and moved to the back of the class with a little wave.

She returned it, a goofy smile definitely on her face as she sat back down.

“Well,” Miss Bustier coughed, “since Felix has been so thoroughly introduced to everyone else, I suppose I should start the lesson.” And she dove into a spiel about the first World War.

“Dang, girl. Is it just me, or do you have a date after class?” Alya whispered to her from behind her textbook.

“It’s not a date! We’re just catching up.”

“Sure.”

She spared a quick glance at Felix, who was nose-deep in his book, just like when they were kids. He had such sharp features, and upon reconsideration, his eyes looked even more beautiful than she remembered. Felix grew up just fine without her. Really fine, in fact.

It took Marinette a couple seconds to realize she was staring, and when she did, her head turned back to the front of the room so fast she swore she heard a snap.

This was... going to be complicated.

[lord-explosion-baku]

Keep Away

Yandere!Bakugou x reader

It’s a special occasion, so Bakugou decides to wine and dine you. It’s too bad for him that you’re intent on ignoring him.

Warnings: yandere, dark themes, lime, forced orgasm, minor food kink, stockholm syndrome, spanking, light violence

A/N: I woke up at like three in the morning and decided to finish this. I saw a bad ending to a certain cyberpunk bl dating sim, and thought “would be kinda cool to be force fed cake,” but then it didn’t really turn into all that much cake feeding which is probably for the best. Who’s to say. It’s just kinda fun to say “it came to me during a cyberpunk bl dating sim bad end,” rather than, “it came to me in a dream.” Also, I’m so sorry if you read this and go “ew strawberry cake isn’t my jam. Belgium chocolate 5evah!!!!1!!” but if you do happen to like strawberry cake, I got you fam. 

“So you’re not talkin’ to me now, is that it?”

You keep your gaze low, careful not to even lock eyes with your captor—because no, you’re not talking to him, you’re not looking at him, you’re not even going to acknowledge his existence. It’s your verbal keep away. You’ve decided that it’s the worst possible punishment for Bakugou—ignoring him. You’ve tried just about everything: screaming at him, hitting him, crying to him, begging for your release, and it’s all given you nothing. You figure, why be anymore of a source for his entertainment?

“You should at least thank me for cookin’ you a proper meal.”

From across the candlelit table, Bakugou uncrosses his arms, glaring from the admittedly very well-made plate, to you. He clicks his tongue when you don’t respond, then moans around a mouthful of pad-see-ew, just like he knows you can’t stand.

“It’s so good, baby. Practically melts on my tongue…”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at that. It would be different if it wasn’t his food he complimented, but that’s Bakugou for you. Insolent, prideful, and terrible.

Bakugou stabs his chopsticks into his plate. “You’re not wearing the dress I bought. Not good enough for you?”

You didn’t even try it on. You want to tell him, but that would only spur him on. Bakugou likes it when you challenge him. He always gets that stupid smirk on his face, that daring look in his eye—always like he’s ready to bend you over and fuck you into submission. More often than not, that’s what ends up happening.

“Your ass would look great in it,” he says before taking another mouthful. You can feel his crimson glower scorching your skin, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “You can wear whatever you want, though. I want your ass even in those sweats.”

You exhale and lean back back in your chair. He really has to be so vulgar, doesn’t he? Well, that’s not gonna make you crack.

“Yeah, I won’t force you in it. Not yet, at least.” Bakugou grins at the thought, chewing loudly. “I wouldn’t mind playing a little dress up with my doll.”

Your lip twitches, and you hope he doesn’t see. You have to squeeze your thighs together and ignore impending thoughts of Bakugou’s hands on you—first tearing your clothes off, then slowly, sensually zipping that tight, black dress up. You can’t keep from imagining his lips grazing your back, hands running through your hair, him pressing into your backside…

“Need some water, babe? You’re looking a little flushed.”

Your eyes snap to Bakugou’s and your cheeks warm even more when you realize he’s just caught you fantasizing. At least he doesn’t know what you were thinking about. Christ, you could only imagine the field day he’d have with you if he found out you ever thought about him like that.

After you’ve spent plenty of time hating yourself for having these thoughts, you’ve come to the conclusion that it has to be natural. In a psyche class you’ve taken, you learned a bit about Stockholm syndrome, and though you’re sure you’re definitely not falling in love with your captor, it’s perfectly fine that you occasionally think about him in the lusty kinda way. Admittedly, he’s earned it with the amount of orgasms he’s given you since you’ve been taken. But he hasn’t earned your love. Definitely not.

Bakugou stands, folding his napkin onto the table, and walks over to the ice chest he has on standby. He’s wearing his red dress shirt, paired with that white floral vest and nice slacks. You want to know what the occasion is for, but you won’t ask. You’re definitely underdressed, and a part of you wishes you had put on that dress he picked out for you.

You close your eyes and empty your mind of such stupid thoughts.

“How about some champagne?” Bakugou flips a knife out and cuts the cork off with a pop!, making you jump a little bit. He glides over to you, puts his hand on your shoulder, leans in, and fills the crystalline flute sitting on the table. He smells like spice and that natural burnt toffee aroma he has. It’s so nice that you can’t help but lean into him just a teeny bit. And he notices.

“You’re gonna eat somethin’ for me, yeah?” he whispers lowly into your hair before kissing your temple. You freeze while he moves down your neck, brushing a finger along the opposing side of your face, coaxing your head to turn. “Or are you not in the mood for Thai? We can always skip straight to dessert.”  

Bakugou dips down to kiss you, but you turn so he misses and kisses your ear. He growls out a sigh and you clench your hands into fists. You’re waiting for it—for him to lose his cool. You don’t know why he’s trying to act kindly to you, but that’s sure to end at any moment, and when it does, he’s going to feel guilty. You’re planning on exposing him as the monster you’re always accusing him of being.

“I’m serious, I made cake,” he says, a slight edge in his voice. He twirls a finger around a strand of your hair, tugging it so you face him. “Your favorite. Strawberry cream frosting, and it tastes fucking fantastic.”

Bakugou’s gaze drops down to your lips before finding your eyes. “I could feed it to you—have you lick that sweet cream right off the tips of my fingers.”

Your scowl tightens on him. He smirks.

“Your lips always look the prettiest when they’re wrapped around something. I’m startin’ to really like that idea.”

“Why?” you bite out, because you can’t take it anymore. You’re either going to die from curiosity or die from embarrassment when he inevitably undresses you and finds out just how much his teasing gets to you, and you won’t let him have that.

Even still, Bakugou looks as triumphant as ever because you gave him what he wants: your attention.

“Why what, huh?”

“Why the dress!” You bark, resolve out the damn window. “The meal, the champagne, the cake?! Why are you trying to be so nice to me all of a sudden?”

“I’m not trying to be nice. I am nice.” Bakugou rolls his eyes as if he’s explaining something simple to a child.

“No, you’re not!” You insist. “You’re...you’re…” Shock sets in and your shoulders grow rigid. He couldn’t possibly be...but if he is...he’d be absolutely daft to think you’ll say yes. “You’re not proposing to me, are you?”

“Hah?” Bakugou’s eyes widen. You definitely caught him off guard, and you could melt from the steaming blaze in your cheeks. “You want me to put a rock on those pretty fingers of yours? Make an honest man out of me?”

“No! No!” You exclaim on a head shake. “I just thought...with the whole atmosphere-“

“Princess,” he interrupts, taking your hand into his. He brings the back of your wrist to his lips, and for a moment, you think you could be right about him proposing after all. At least, until he speaks again. “We ain’t gonna get hitched ‘til you’re good and knocked up—at least four months in, too. That way, there won’t be a chance in hell you can skip out on me.”

There won’t be a chance in hell he will knock you up with your IUD in, so good luck to him on that endeavor. It’s not like he doesn’t know about it, either. There’s a reason why he’s never been hesitant to enter you unwrapped. Although, considering what he just said, you don’t believe he’d be any different if the circumstances were different.

Your lips curl into a snarl. “Then what’s going on?!”

“You seriously don’t know?” He scoffs, then leads your hand to your champagne flute. Once you take it, Bakugou tells you he’ll be right back, and you down the drink. You let the bubbles wash down your throat and quickly take a bite of noodles before he sees. You sigh. They really do melt on your tongue. Bastard.

Before you know it, the faint smell of burning wics envelope your space, and all the lights in the room besides the candles on the table dim. Then, there’s a cake placed in front of you—pink, with intricate, white designs lining its frosted edges. You count the candles and there are exactly the same amount of years you’ve been on this earth, plus one—no, not plus one.

You look up to Bakugou for an explanation. He’s simply grinning down at you, looking proud.

“Happy birthday, baby.” Bakugou kisses the top of your head. “Make a wish.”

Absently, you blow the candles out, but you don’t make a wish, because your brain is too busy doing mental math. On your last birthday, you’d gone on a date with Hitoshi Shinsou. He took you to a cute, little café, bought you a coffee and a tiny cake. He’d ended the night with one of the shyest, sweetest kisses you’ve ever received. Not even four days later, Bakugou took you. You never got to thank Shinsou for that perfect day.

The hair on the back of your neck rises with the sudden realization that you’ve been with Bakugou for nearly an entire year. That’s one year of your life ripped away from you. One year where you haven’t made any progress achieving your dreams. One year that you’ll never get back.

“What’d ya wish for?” Bakugou asks, but you hardly hear him due to the scathing fury that rings in your ears and burns your back. You’re unsure of what you should say or how you should react; you already pulled the silent treatment and you think you’re far too livid to go zipping your lips again.

There’s only one thing you can do: go absolutely batshit crazy.

“I hate you!”

With a quick shuffle, the cake is splattered on the table, your plate flies across the room, and chopsticks are in your hand, aiming for Bakugou’s eyes. It’s too bad for you that Bakugou either expects it, or his reflexes are just so good that he catches you by the wrist before you can stab him. You’re immediately twisted around, chest on the table, arm pinned to your back, and his erection pressing into your ass.

“Yeah? You hate me?” Bakugou’s voice is erratic, husky, dripping with lust. He climbs on top of you, grinds into your behind, and hisses, “wanna say that again?”

“Let me go, asshole!” You below and try to buck him off of you, which only encourages him to pull your arm tighter, forcing you into paralysis. You grit your teeth while tears sting your lower lashes. The only weapon you have is your voice, and that’s always proven ineffective against him in the past. Still, you can’t stop yourself from yelling. “It’s been a goddamn year! I’m sick of being your prisoner!”

“Is that right?” Bakugou shifts, and you hear the sounds of metal clanking. You know instantly that he’s taking off his belt. You writhe as much as you possibly can, fearing a lashing. He hasn’t ever really hit you before, and though getting him to the point had been your end goal, taking the belt is a whole other level of pain you’re not willing to endure.

“Katsuki,” you pant, desperate. “Please, no. Please don’t. It’s...it’s my birthday!”

“You think I don’t fucking know that?” Bakugou releases your wrist, and goes for your hair instead. He yanks you back so that his chest presses against your back. His lips are against the junction of your shoulder and neck as he growls, “after everything I’ve fuckin’ done for you? Ungrateful little slut.”

He pulls your sweats down, cupping your ass roughly with his large, calloused hands. They feel good—his rough touch against your soft cheeks—and despite feeling fearful for the state of your ass, you can feel yourself getting aroused. “I really gotta put you in your place today of all days?” He squeezes your ass tight and possessive, like he owns it, and in the moment, you can’t really say that he doesn’t.

“No,” you cry and god you’re pathetic. You had this entire plan set up and now it’s barreling out of your control. As his lips graze your shoulder, you let out a sigh and say, “the cake was really, really pretty, Katsuki. I’m sure I would’ve loved it. I’m sorry I did that. I just…”

“Just what?” He rasps against your neck before his hot tongue draws a long line across your skin, making you shiver in response.

“I was just...overwhelmed,” you admit. “Our anniversary-“ you choke out, the words sour on your tongue, but you manage to make it sound sweet-“is just around the corner. I wasn’t prepared...I don’t have a whole lot of resources to do something special for you…”

Katsuki Bakugou sure is a lot of things, but he’s not a moron. You’re positive he can read your facade like a book and he’s certainly not one to play along. .

“Oh yeah? You wanna do something for me?” He sucks in your earlobe between his teeth, nibbling playfully. You mewl as Bakugou reaches around your body, large fingers moving down the front of you and sliding down your pubic bone. He dips two fingers between your lips, swiping smugly at the traitorous puddling at your core. “Is this really what gets you off, sweetheart? Lying to me just so I get a little rough with you?”

“N-no.” You try to sound stern, sure of yourself, but Bakugou is light to the touch, fingers barely teasing your sensitivity. You catch yourself grinding into them, directly resulting in your ass moving against his erection. You can feel him pulse against you, and it only makes your pussy throb in direct result, which doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Just admit you want me,” he seethes, pressing more firmly against you while his middle finger teases your entrance. “You like me like this. You don’t want sweet—you want me to be a hard ass, don't you? Why else would you act like such a slutty little brat? Good girls don’t get wet after shit like this, baby. Good girls don’t like to be thrown around.”

“Katsuki,” you say on a sigh while bringing a hand to his arm, hoping to direct him to break through your surface.

“Put your hands on the table,” he growls.

“Please.” You ignore him, pulling his arm more insistently, needing him to deepen his touch.

“This is the last time I’m gonna ask you; put your hands on the table, or I won’t hesitate to use this belt against your bare fuckin’ ass. I’ll lick you so good, you’ll have bruises for months. You’ll need to sit on a fuckin’ ice pack the next time I’m courteous enough to have you dine with me at my table.”

Shuddering, you obey him, planting your palms against the flat of the table, away from the splattered cake. Bakugou lets out a contemptuous scoff, brings your wrists together, and easily wraps his belt around them, tight and with no leeway.

He then pushes your shirt up so that it’s around your wrist with the belt, and pulls your sweats down all the way off of your legs. You’re virtually naked in front of him, with the exception of your bra and panties, helpless to do anything about it. Just like he likes it. He always wants you to bite back until he gets you to submit. He was probably enjoying your little silent treatment show, too; it was just another kind of rebellion, another barbel that he’s fought and won.

A tingle runs down your spine as he traces it with calloused fingers. You feel your stomach tighten from anticipation when he reaches your tailbone and his touch leaves your body. You hear him chuckle as he pulls at a strap of your thong, snapping it back into place. “At least I know you like the panties I got you.”

Pain bursts on your right cheek as the sound of his sharp slap ricochets around the dining room. You have to bite your lip to keep from crying out—even still, you’re trembling when he rubs the sore spot.

“Awww,” he coos, snickering. “You gonna try and act tough?”

You exhale, trying and failing to keep a steady breath, but it’s all wrong and you’re already panting.

“Show me how much you hate me, baby, I wanna hear you sing it.”

The next lick comes without any precursor, no warning, no time for you to brace yourself, so when he slaps your ass, you can’t help but cry out—ecstatic or indignant—it’s not your place to decide.

“Katsuki!” You fall forward, forehead on the table, inches away from the ruined cake.

He chuckles at your position, petting the back of your hair. “If you want me to stop, you’re gonna have to lick it up, Princess.”

Your eyes narrow and you shoot a sideways glare back at him. “I’m not a dog.”

His lips tilt sideways, cocky and annoyingly hot, cheeks red, brow raised provocatively. “You sure look like a bitch to me.”

He spanks you a third and fourth time, and your mouth hangs open with unspoken yelps, a familiar, shameful feeling traveling down your stomach to your throbbing heat.

Taking a second, Bakugou dips his fingers into the pink frosted mess in front of your eyes, and brings it to your mouth. “Taste it for me. I worked hard to get the flavor right,” he commands, smearing the cream over your bottom lip. You’re helpless to oblige. Only, when you stick your tongue out, he pushes two fingers into your mouth.

“Bite me, and I’ll have you tied up for the entire night. I’ll make you scream until you’re on the edge of passing out, then I’ll fuck you awake. I’ll use you—fill every hole you’ve got ‘til you’re nothing but a leaky drainpipe full of my cum. Do I make myself clear?”

“Mhmm…” Not wanting to test to see if he was just making empty promises, because he never makes empty promises, you glide your tongue around his fingers, aiming to please. You let out a soft, appreciative hum when you taste the sweet, strawberry flavored frosting, and suck his fingers clean.

“Good girl,” he says, his fingers leaving your mouth, only to dip back into the cake. He brings them back to your lips and you take him in willingly. “Now, I don’t want to hear another word out of that pretty little mouth, until I tell you to speak. Understand?”

You look at him with affirmation. He spanks you again.

Your body jolts, spit and cream drooling out of your mouth as you moan, trying not to utter a comprehensive word. The vibrations from the impact sends waves of pleasure dancing across your clenching heat. He hasn’t even really touched your sex, and yet, you feel the coils of an approaching orgasm winding up in the pit of your stomach.

The sixth and seventh spank has tears falling down your cheeks. The heat is too much to bear and you can feel sweat sliding down your back. You want to warn him—to request that he takes a break, because the oncoming shame that’s making your toes tingle and your heart race might be a little more humiliating than having him torture you for the entire night. But you say nothing, your curiosity besting your dignity. The next spank does you in. Your body shakes as you wail, your coils breaking while you pool out, thighs sheened with your arousal. There’s absolutely no hiding yourself, and Bakugou is going to be all too smug about this. You simply cannot believe yourself.

“No way,” Bakugou husks, fingers leaving your mouth. You’re panting again when he brings his fingers to your fluttering pussy. He pushes them in and all you can offer is a sigh when he’s up to his digits in you.

“Aww...oh no.” You can’t tell if his concern is genuine or not, but it doesn’t matter to you. You’re ashamed, embarrassed, and defeated. He’s never going to let you live this down. You can already hear his future taunts buzzing around in your head. ‘You can’t pretend like you don’t like me when I’ve made you cum just by spanking your perfect little ass.’

God-fucking-damn it.

He has all the merit to tease you for it now, and you’re expecting him to—hell, you’re practically bracing yourself for it, but instead, he pulls his fingers back and pushes your bottom over, so you face him.

“Ah~Ow!” You wince when your butt hits the table.

“Ah. C’mere.”  He frowns and pulls you up by the belt at your wrist. You don’t stop yourself from falling into his embrace. He might be the source of all of your dread, but he’s also your only means of comfort. You let your tears roll onto his chest, muffling your sobs into his shirt. He hushes you, nails tickling your back as he kisses your hair. “S’okay, princess. You’re okay. I’m here.”

“I’m s-sorry,” you cry, and though your wrists are still bound, you manage to clutch onto his shirt. You pull him into you, shamelessly reveling in the familiarity of his scent.

“Hmm?” He lifts your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “What for?”

Your lips tremble and you shake your head, unable to voice exactly what you’re sorry for. Climaxing? Telling him that you hate him? Treating him so poorly when all he does is take care of you? You shake your head again when the actualization of your situation sets into the forefront of your mind. There’s practically a river of tears streaming down your face now and you wish for nothing more than to do disappear, because you’re a stupid girl, there’s cake in your hair, and Stockholm syndrome is bullshit!

“What is it?” He insists, he is tone low, caring.

Dumb. You’re so dumb. Your brain is screaming at you to not say anything, but your skin still buzzes from the thrill of your orgasm. Despite loathing yourself more than ever, you’re practically high, both from catharsis and euphoria.

“I don’t...hate you.” It’s small but it’s there—your voice. There’s a lot to decode from your confession, and by the way Bakugou’s eyes soften just the tiniest bit, you know that he knows what you will not say..

His thumb brushes across the corner of your mouth, wiping away at some residual frosting, then brings it up to where your lips part.

“I know,” he says as you take him in again, swirling your tongue around his thumb, now enjoying the taste of the cake. “Of course I know.”

Your heart swells when he doesn’t laugh at you. He doesn’t even look all that proud of himself. He simply gazes at you with adoration and amazement—and, of course, lust because you have your lips wrapped around something. Prick.  

“That was very hot, babe,” he says before kissing your forehead. “I really didn’t think that you could be so responsive to me.” He chuckles darkly, but it lacks his familiar malicious undertone. “Don’t really feel like I earned it, either.”

His thumb leaves your mouth, slides against your bottom lip, and is abruptly replaced with a kiss. Bakugou’s tongue teases your mouth open, then caresses yours with his. “Mmm,” he hums, the reverberations of his voice sending sensational buzzes down your neck. He nips at your bottom lip, then smirks against you. “Tastes good.”

He kisses you again, molding his lips perfectly to yours, and you feel his arousal poke at your bound hands. Not quite lucid enough to think it through, but feeling a bit mischievous yourself, you cup his girth through his trousers, rubbing his hard length up and down. You run your tongue against his, wanting to taste the power he has over you.

“You want me, baby?” Bakugou asks, pressing himself more firmly into your hands. “You wanna feel me slide inside that wet pussy of yours?”

Still not willing to give him a verbal confirmation, you squeeze his cock, legs wrapping around his torso to pull him closer to you. He growls when you have him grinding against your heat, a dark stain appearing on the prominent bulge he rubs against you. When he pulls away, you see that his pupils are blown, barely a sliver of his crimson iris to be seen. He looks moonstruck, predatory, and beautiful.

“Naughty girl,” he scolds, a tick in his jaw. He pushes you lightly, easing so that your back is on the table, your legs spread out for him. He groans when he runs a finger up your damp, clothed slit.

“I asked you a question,” he continues, playing with your core. He gets a dreamy look in his eye when he pulls your panties to the side, and feels exactly how wet you are for him. Then, he shoots a scathing glower your way. “Do. You. Want. Me. To. Fuck. You?”

“Yes,” you say with a nod. “I want you to fuck me, Katsuki.”

“That’s really too bad.” He snickers arrogantly and your heart falls into your stomach. Didn’t you just have a soft moment?! “Only good girls get fucked, pretty baby. You can’t confess your undying love for me and expect that gets you out of your punishment.”

“I did not!” You argue which earns you a dangerous look.

“You and I both know what the hell you meant,” he says with a threateningly sexy lilt. “You can’t take something like that back at the drop of a hat.”

”I think you’ve punished me enough already,” you bite out defensively, quick to change the subject, because you‘re bitterly aware that he’s right.

“And who are you to decide that?” He smirks, brushing a thumb across your pubic bone. “Thought you were my prisoner.”

“I didn’t mean that!”

“No?” Bakugou gets down to his knees, leveling his face with your center. “Actions speak louder than words, angelface.” He kisses your clit, making the same noise he does when he’s trying to bother you while eating, only when he does it on your cunt, all of your nerve endings catch flame and you’re spiraling back to needy senselessness. “Prove to me that you’ve earned my cock by riding my tongue.”

He’s nothing if not altruistic when he’s between your legs. He’s always been generous and dedicated to getting you off, but there’s something different about how he’s moving now. He uses the flat of his tongue and draws languid strokes up your entrance, taking his time while he swirls around your clit. He groans into you, and if the vibrations of his voice weren’t enough to finish you off then and there, his fingers sure as hell do it for you. He pushes them into you, reveling in the feel of your spongy walls hugging him tightly. He traces intricate patterns across your skin, mapping out the places that make you moan the loudest, just to be keen on teasing you for harrowing minutes. He’s going about this agonizing slow, but there’s something about him taking his time, rather than completely ravaging you to prove just how good he is at eating you out, that already has your walls clamping down around his fingers, your back arching, whimpers and pleas tumbling out of your mouth.

It hits you like a brisk wave crashing against the oceanic shoreline. First it was one liquescent sensation, then a pandemonium of your nerves roaring to life. Your thighs close against his head, locking him into place while your fingers twine with his hair. He moans into you, multiplying the excruciating thrill tenfold. You rock against his tongue, savoring this magnificently prolonged ecstatic escapade.

When your nerves cool down and you’re no longer twitching too much, Bakugou offers you a wry grin before licking his lips.

“Look at what a mess you’ve become,” he coos , kissing your shaking thighs, eyes locked on yours. “Was that all because of me, princess.”

“I...don’t think I’ve come so hard in my life.” You breathe, disoriented by the fact. “Oh my god.”

“That so?” He asks as his tongue travels up your thigh.

Bakugou fervently laps up your post-orgasmic juices all the way back up to your drenched cunt. He groans dramatically while his tongue dives back into you. You’re far too sensitive now, and he doesn’t stop—he likes having you squirm around, bucking your hips this was and that, all attempts at finding an escape for his erotic torture futile. Soon he has you spasming out of control for the third time this night, and he rides the waves of your grudging pleasure with delight.

“K-katsukiiii, pleeease!” You’re breathless, hot, and irrational. He has a large hand gripped tightly on your side while three fingers continue to curl inside of you. “I can’t t-take it anymore! It’s t-too much!”

“What? You don’t think you’ve got another one in you?” He keeps your eyes locked on his as his hands push your thighs farther apart, his tongue slowly gliding across your throbbing clit.

You shake your head, practically sputtering your pleas. “I will do whatever you want, so please-“

‘’S that right?” Bakugou grins up at you, smug and triumphant. He pushes you farther up on the table and climbs over you, one hand at the side of your head, holding him up—the other reaching out to grab a coin-sized piece of cake. He presses it against your mouth as he prompts you with an, “ahh.”

“Ah,” you mimic and he pushes the cake into your mouth. The moment you swallow is the moment his lips latch onto yours. You taste your headiness mixing in with the creamy texture of the cake and you can’t help but moan openly into his mouth.

Bakugou ends the kiss too soon, catching you out of breath and wanting more.

“You can be a good girl, can’t you?” His voice is raspy, thick with need, and you know he’s close to falling apart. You want him to. You need him to. He’s broken you, so it’s only just that he breaks sometimes too.

You nod, cautious to see what he’ll be doing next. He’s certainly not taking off his pants, which was the only thing he should be doing.

He moves your arms over his shoulders and leans down low, breath hot on your ear. “You’ll do anything for my cock?”

“Yes,” you sigh and wish more than anything for your hands to be free so tear his shirt off.

“Because you don’t hate me at all. In fact, you fuckin’ love me. You love everything I do to you, but you’re too stubborn to admit it. That right?”

You scowl ahead, teeth clenched. “Yes.”

He draws a line with his tongue against the most sensitive part of your neck, making you shudder, and asks, “yes, what, princess?”

You narrow your eyes. “Yes, I am stubborn.”

With a “teh!” Bakugou kisses your cheek and leads you up so that you’re sitting straight, and guides you both carefully off the table, sweeping you up to carry you so that you don’t step in any of the food you’ve tossed around. He cradles you in his arms, you half-naked, him fully dressed, and smiles sardonically.

“I’m not gonna make you say it, because it is your birthday, but I will have you know that your punishment is not over.”

“You’re kidding me!” You bark back, leaning away to look him in the eyes to see if he’s serious.

“Sorry, baby.” He laughs. “But I had a romantic evening planned out for the two of us and you just had to throw your little bratty tantrums.”

“What do I have to do—?”

“—to get me to fuck you?”

“Yes!”

“You’re going to take a shower, put on that fuckin’ dress, then we’re gonna do this whole dinner thing over again. If you can behave, then maybe—maybe you’ll get my cock. If not—well princess, history tends to repeat itself, but I was hoping we could act like a normal couple just for one night. Thought maybe you’d be into it too, but that’s not what you want at all, is it?”

“I...want to be a normal couple,” you say unenthusiastically. You’re not sure if you meant you wanted to be a normal couple with Bakugou or if you wanted to be free and normal with somebody else entirely.

Bakugou snickers, as if you said something childish. “No you don’t.”

“Because you think I don’t want to be with you.”

“Nah...I know you want to be with me. But you don’t want to be a normal couple. You want this, babe. You want what we have. You want the chaos. You revel in it.”

“Well, I—“ you begin, desperate to find an argument point that doesn’t make you sound dumb. Is he right? Do you enjoy this? Everyday is like a game with him, and it drives you up the fucking wall, but what would you be without it?

“I hope you can keep your self-control,” you retort flippantly, abandoning the argument. “Hope your dick didn’t burst your buttons, Katsuki.” Your gaze drops down to the tent in his pants, then snaps pointedly back at his face.

He’s absolutely unfazed. In fact, he’s more chipper than you’ve ever seen him—like he’s the cat who caught the mouse. “Just for that, I’m gonna join you in the shower. Keep my belt around those wrists and have you watch me wash myself—see all that you’re missing out on.”

You groan, head falling into his chest as he begins walking towards the stairs. “I really do fucking hate you.”

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, sweetheart,” he says back, a smile in his voice. “Just as long as you know that you’re not the only person here that knows how to play keep away.”

[nat-20s]

#10?

prompt 10- recognizing the other's voice in a crowded room

so uhh u didn't specify this being a pairing, and it ended up jonmartin lol

this is like? an au where one of the domains of the lonely (and also maybe stranger) plays off the specific loneliness that comes with parties. u kno the one, where you have fun for about an hour and then realize that you're fundamentally isolated and you need a breather?

anyway

~*~

Upon opening his eyes, he is not where he last remembers being. He is not sure how long his disorientation will last, but considering he's standing up right, at the edge of a crowded ballroom, he suspects it may be the entire time that he's here.

He had fallen asleep on the couch, the TV blaring away on a program he didn't know any of the details of. It hadn't mattered what was playing, as long as it had some of the natural rise and fall of other people speaking. He had been severely mising that lately, those gentle rhythms of conversation, and trying to listen to an audiobook while staring at his bedroom's popcorn ceiling just wasn't cutting it. So, TV dreaming it was.

Oh, that could be what was going on. An elaborate dream, constructed from the sound of a scenario he hadn't paid any attention to. He didn't think he'd fallen asleep watching anything to spark this kind of dreamscape, but that didn't mean much. It'd be oddly lucid, for a dream. And oddly sharp. His dreams, much like his memories, were always somewhat clouded over, and never as colorful as reality. Even his grayest waking days, of which there were many, had colors more distinct than what appeared in his mind's eye.

Simple test: he could never read or write in dreams. The words always swirled and distorted, and he somehow lost all manual dexterity. He needed a book, or a pencil, or both. He began to wander the ballroom, and abruptly realized that this was a masquerade, everyone wearing elaborate costumes with animal shaped masks. Did he fit in? Did he belong? He hoped he wasn't in what he fell asleep in, the worn hoodie and sweatpants barely worth making a grocery run in. The outside world wasn't supposed to see him looking comfortable, but presentable. He liked to think that if he left the apartment appearing at least somewhat put together, maybe people would believe that extended to other areas of his life. That it would be easier to ignore the increasingly dark circles under his eyes, that his nice sweater had been getting gradually looser as the tool of everything literally wore him down.

Small mercy, he wasn't like that now. A glance down showed that he was, like the rest of the guests? Captors? dressed to the nines. He has a suspicion that his own elaborate outfit, dark blues with gold and pearl embroidery, was a part of it. It was not a mercy to blend in here, it was a design element. Standing out would result in being noticed, being noticed meant being seen as an individual, and they can't have that.

It is with that line of thinking that he suddenly becomes aware of the weight of the mask on his face, the restriction of his sight through eyeholes. Looking into a teapot that's been polished to a mirrored shine, he see that he bears the incredibly crafted face of a field mouse. It would almost be plain, if it didn't have matching embroidery to his coat.

Fitting, he thought. It made him look smaller than he was, and he had so often wished to go unnoticed. A fly would've also worked, but he imagines it would be rather hard to make that into a suitably beautiful mask. Either way, he was level with the rest of the crowd. Even believing it to be part of the trick, even knowing that the masquerade was meant to make you false, there was some level of comfort to it. He was not going to be seen here. Instead someone more handsome, more charming, more even with his peers was allowed to take his place, as false as they were. Best of all, that's what all of them would be doing here, the whole appeal of a masquerade in leaving behind the person you loathe most and can never be free from.

Seems lonesome, for a party. So structured around the theater of it all. You can connect with countless people, and you don't get to actually connect with any of them at all.

Oh.

Oh, now this made all made sense. Crave interaction, and get a warped version of it.

He could see the napkins, emblazoned with a name that he didn't recognize, presumably the host, and, in much smaller font, the company name. Every one of them was consistent.

Easy enough to receive the message. This wasn't a dream. This was a punishment.

Hmm. Well, no, punishment might be the wrong term. Punishment implied that it was a consequence, a direct cause and effect of doing something wrong, by someone's definitions of "wrong". No this was. Torture is too strong of a word, and again, has the problem of making this seem willful. Deliberate. And maybe it was, but more likely, whatever this was had just sort of happened. A cruelty that comes with being in the universe they all happen to occupy.

This wasn't a dream. This was a consequence.

He doesn't know how to get out of here. He can't see any doors, and exits. The only approximation of one is some giant frosted glass that seem like they might lead to a balcony. They're only on the other end of the ballroom, but that lengths feels impenetrable, like it spans for miles and miles of harsh terrain.

There's a few options available to him.

One: Try to fall asleep, and see if he can get back to where he started. Lowest effort option, but he's pretty sure he hasn't been this fully awake in months. Maybe years. Something about the environment makes it feel as though electricity sparks throughout his entire body. It's an interesting sensation, certainly, akin to anxiety taken to an extreme degree, yet it's not particularly conducive to sleeping.

Two: Make a break for it. He doesn't know if there's anywhere to make a break for, but he also isn't sure how high up this place is. Maybe the balcony is a viable option for escape. Or maybe he'll find a door that had previously been hidden from him. Hell, maybe he won't fully escape, but he'll find somewhere quieter at the very least. Somewhere that he doesn't leave him so thoroughly dazed. This is probably the best option, even account for the wall of people surrounding him. But.

Option Three: Join the Dance.

Inadvisable. Foolish, really. The best outcome is..what? Is there a best outcome? Worst outcome is he's dancing forever, until his feet wear down to stubs of bone, until he dies, until he cant remember anything but the dance. Never a connection with any dancer, all of them, eventually, a blur of activity and nothing more.

Yet, it's what he's going to do. He's not the most curious person he knows, that honor goes to a man that he's been in love with for years, but can't grasp any of the details of while he's here. That can't be good. What was his name?

Anyway. He's not the most curious, but he's hardly immune to a detrimental sense of interest. He wants to know what the dance is like. He wants to see the intricate costumes of the others stuck here, and see if there's anything behind the masks. He knows it will, inevitably, leave him lonelier. He knows, inevitably, that he does not care. At least this version of loneliness is more interesting than sitting in his flat, wondering whether having thin enough walls to hear the echo of his neighbors' voices would make things better or worse. So, when someone approaches, adorned in a shrew mask, hand outstretched to pull him into the fervor, he accepts.

The dancer is competent. Neither of them steps on the others foot, and he lets himself be led. Even better, the dancer is willing to talk. A man named Tom, his voice cheerful even as he confirms that he doesn't know how he came here either. Tom shrugs when he asks if this bothers him, saying if you're going to end up somewhere mysteriously, gliding across a ballroom with a handsome stranger is hardly the worst place to be.

It takes a second for him to register the fact that Tom's flirting. It makes him laugh, and it feels wrong in his throat. The sound is unfamiliar, almost belonging to someone else, but it's brief enough not to hurt. He'll grieve all the time he's lost later, for now, he says, "How would you know if I'm handsome with this mask? Or are you just making a flattering guess?"

Tom opens his mouth to answer, a grin on his features that suggest something playful and wry is about to come out, but then the song ends. They both know, somehow, that the brief rapport they've gotten to enjoy has come to an end. They swap partners, and as much has he would like a second dance, when Tom gets swept into the throng, he knows he won't be seeing him again.

The next dancer is at a higher skill level at him, which results in nerves encroaching on what limited ability he has. Perhaps the peacock mask should've been a tip off. He doesn't speak to them, more focused on trying to keep up. He doesn't regret that they'll only have one dance, but he is slightly remiss that his own costume doesn't have feathers after watching the way they move.

The dancer after that catches him for a slow dance. Her name is Shelia, and he's never seen such a dazzling smile. He tells her as such, and she tells him that she would tell him the same, but she hasn't actually seen his own, yet. He makes an attempt, and she tells him, "Oh honey, you're waiting for someone here, aren't you?"

When he states his confusion, that nobody comes to mind, or at least, that nobody is going to come, she shakes her head. Apparently, she can always tell when her dance partners have somewhere else to be, and she doesn't resent it, but it does mean she's not going to give him her number for after the night ends. He's amazed she believes this night will end, but it's a sentiment that seems far too rude to voice out loud.

He also knows that he doesn't have somewhere else to be. If he did, he would've never joined in.

The music continues, and so does he. He tries to get names, tries to get connections. He flirts with Mark, and Nadia, and Jamie. Those people are his favorite during the dances, but losing the also feels the most acute. Robert is his least favorite, even more so than the peacock, for how incredibly small the fox makes him feel. Nothing is even said, it's just the entirety of body language screams that Robert doesn't think he belongs here, that he's not worthy of the clothes he's wearing or the hall he's haunting. Ironically, he's right. He doesn't belong here. These clothes, these people, are not his. Only Robert is quite so skilled at making that seem like a bad thing.

About ten dances in, long past the point he should be winded, he realizes two things. One, there's no pain in his feet, no heaviness to his breathing, confirming once again that no aspect of this environment is natural. Two, is that he's actually had a path. Sometime in the spins and leads and follows, he had been making his way towards the center of the floor. He denies the next partner, likely the worst of a faux paus in this environment, but he needs a moment to stop. Taking in the scene, he has yet to find the source of the music, but he has found the host of this party.

There's nothing to physically show that he's the host. His costume isn't particularly ostentatious, at least not compared to the rest of them. He's not surrounded by a horde of people clamoring for his attention. He doesn't glow or sparkle or have a spotlight on him. The only reveal of his status is the fact that the second he looks at the man in the owl mask, fear floods through him.

Now he needs to run. He needs to leave, he needs to get out, he can't let the man in the owl mask see him, let alone approach him. Pushing his way through the crowd is a bad idea, will bring too much attention to himself. However, he's not in a state to think about that sort of thing, panic gripping his actions. As he shoves his way past one person, he swears ten more people tke their place, and he, oh so close to despair, is unable to tell if there's any actual distance being put between him and the owl masked man.

As he's about to start biting, clawing, screaming his way out any way he can, he hears something that makes him stop.

"Let him go, or I will make you let him go."

The statement is cold, filled with vitrol and determination. It should only make him more afraid. But as he turns around, he sees someone he never expected to be here, someone who has come here anyway. In an all black outfit, the man's face is covered with that of a cat's, but he has not a single ounce of doubt as to who it is. And he's facing off against the owl man, the absolute fool. He's facing off against the owl man, and Martin knows that it's on his own account. What the hell? He can't...he doesn't know what's going to happen to him, what exactly the owl man is going to do, but he can't let Jon get hurt. Begging his voice to pierce through the pandemonium of people and noise, he calls out, "JON!"

Jon finds him in an instant, eyes locking. They only have a second before the crowd pushes in, before the owl man reaches out, wing-like cape ready to wrap Jon up and snatch him away. Jon simply calls out, "Balcony!" before he's once again out of sight. Martin wants to go towards him, wants to follow the instinct to try and protect the one he loves, but going forward is impossible.

The tempo and volume of the music has swollen, and he's surrounded by hands reaching out, trying to pull him in. One of those hands, much to his surprise, belongs to Tom. He stares, uncomprehendingly, and Tom shoves his hand out even further in an act of urgency. He has to participate to make progress.

He holds on tight, all the basic skill of their first dance lost. It doesn't matter, as long as Martin participates, he is rewarded. When the next song begins to play, Tom strengthens his grip, and they manage to prevent the switch. In a manner of minutes, or perhaps hours, they make their way to the edge of the crowd. Martin can see those beautiful frosted doors only about 10 meters away, mostly unobstructed, and releases Tom from their dance. "Thank you. I seriously didn't think..just, thank you."

Tom gives him a nod, his expression much more solemn than it had been during their initial meeting. "After our first dance, I remembered my kids. A daughter and son. If they're out there, wherever out there is, I need to get back to them. If you can get yourself out, maybe there's hope for the rest of us, yeah? I think you might be a tipping point."

Martin had no idea if that was true. Sounded a bit too..center of the story for him. The hero, the chosen one, he was never going to fufill those roles. But. But he doesn't know what a denial would serve, and if he can go through those doors, who knows? "Yeah...yeah, maybe. I'll certainly try."

Tom clasps one of Martin's hands between both of his own, and with a quick shake, tells him, "That's all I ask."

In a blink, Tom has once again been swallowed by the fray, and Martin strides to his goal. He catches glimpses of the owl man out of the corner of his eye. Despite the sight making his heart race, the owl man never makes it to him, almost as if the dancers had forcibly blocked his path. Fascinating, isn't it, how a crowd can turn against someone in a matter of moments. Fascinating, isn't it, how a crowd can decide to help someone in the same span of time.

As Martin stands in front of the exit to the balcony, he has to take a breath. This could be a trick. A trap. A cruelty. If it is, he'll deal with it. If not, well.

Well.

The doors are heavy, but he's still able to push them aside. The sight outside is incredible. The stars are dazzling, brilliant, and numerous, resembling themilky way that Martin has only ever seen in pictures.

It's wrong. It's obviously wrong. Martin's never been anywhere remote enough to escape the effects of light pollution, and he's pretty sure a brightly lit manor isn't the exception to that rule. Yet, that's not what's bothering him about it. He can't quite articulate why, but the sky in general should be..different. Worse, maybe. Greener?

Jon is staring up into the night sky with a fascination that confirms Martin's suspicion. After he takes a step towards him, Jon turns towards him, and a smile appears that knocks the breath right out of Martin. When has Jon ever smiled at him like that? It doesn't make sense, feels like another trick of the party, but Martin decides he doesn't care, he'll enjoy it while it lasts. "I have to say, this is definitely one of the nicer looking domains we've wandered through. Always a plus when we end up somewhere without any bloodstains."

That's not... "Huh?"

With an aftertaste of a laugh and a shrug of his shoulders, Jon tells him, "Just that, for as much as I despise the loneliness, it does at least have cleanliness going for it."

He knows of the fears, at least, but the way that Jon is talking about them doesn't make sense. He's going to ask about it, try to get some clarification, but then Jon takes off his mask. There's more grey at the temples than he remembers, more eyes than the average person, and he's stunningly beautiful. Martin's always found Jon rather good looking, even when he didn't particularly like Jon himself (god, what a fool he was. Maybe what a fool they both were). Combined with the softness in the line of his mouth, the adoration in his eyes, it leaves Martin breathless, speechless, thoughtless. Feet moving of their own accord, he drifts closer to Jon. Once he's standing in front of him, Jon reaches up, then pauses, as if asking for permission. Half in a daze, Martin nods, then leans down. Ever so gently, Jon lifts Martin's mask off. The pinpoints of contact between his face and Jon's fingers almost burn, and he realizes that despite the electrified sensation under his skin, he's been cold this entire time. Mask fully off, Jon beams at him, and lets out a quiet, "There you are."

It's too much. It's the tipping point for him to go from enamoured back to properly baffled. "Jon, I don't..what are you doing here?"

Jon smile drops, and Martin almost wants to take it back. Almost, because he needs answers, because if this is a dream, if this is a nightmare, it's more wicked than he could've ever expected. Being stuck forever in a dance with only partners whose greatest talents were being alone in a crowd is one thing, but having a..a false Jon, one that regarded him with...that acted like...that felt anything close to the same as Martin was so..exacting. When it got taken away, when the illusion shattered, it would hurt. It's already hurting, anticipation of the wound causing a phantom pain. Jon's brows are furrowed, and at least that is familiar, expected. "I..thought you would want to leave. I came to get you out."

"I do," did he?, "but that still..that's not the why? Why would you come for me?"

"Because I love you? I know I'm not much for the swashbuckling hero role, bit I figured that would make me rather uniquely qualified."

Martin sucks in a breath through his nose and his eyes go wide. Ability to read be damned, this is a dream, and mean one at that. He's going to wake up, and he's going to remember, and he's going to be as alone as he's always been. "Since when? You're not..I think we've just started being friends, and it's not even, fuck, we're not even that close! And even if..if things were in development, which they aren't, you're supposed to be in America right now. Or, no, wait you're in a coma, or maybe..no, that's not-"

Martin's spiralling is abruptly cut off by Jon taking his hands. Looking at his face, he finds Jon staring back, his eyes, his two eyes, are searching him, and Martin realizes he might not be the only one that's lost right now. "Martin...what's the last thing you remember?"

A mostly empty flat, the delightful mix of insomnia and exhaustion, and the TV with the volume turned down low enough to not bother anyone but himself. The context around that scene is a bit fuzzier. "I..was at my place. It was..I dunno, it was boring."

"Anything else. Do you remember Jane Prentiss?"

"Of course I remember Jane Prentiss. Not likely to ever forget the worst two weeks of my life."

"What about Scotland?"

Scotland? "I'm mean, I've never been, but I, uh, am aware of the concept."

Except that wasn't quite true, was it? He had been to Scotland, and Jon had been there, but when? Why? What had they..

Jon's frown deepens. "Martin, do you trust me?"

He did. Despite everything, or maybe because of an everything he couldn't quite access, he really, really did. His response of "Yes" is more of a breath than a word, but Jon understands nonetheless. Jon reaches up, places his hands on the sides of Martin's face, and tells him, "Close your eyes."

Martin does as told, and Jon brings their foreheads together, an approximation of a kiss. There's a buzzing at the base of his skull, not painful, but not particularly pleasant, either. As Jon leans back and he opens his eyes, the sky is wrong, but it is the wrong that he has become increasingly accustomed to.

He remembers.

Jon hasn't fully released him yet, asking still ever so gently, "Back with me?"

Martin nods, and Jon drops his hands. Immediately, Martin grabs one of them with his own, because while it may be the apocalypse, at least he can do that as freely as he likes. "Yeah, yeah, I'm good, " he looks down, and sighs, "Eugh. Do miss the clean clothes though."

Jon gives a hint of a smile, and as he begins to move forward. "Now you understand my point about the lonely having a tidiness to it."

"If it's all the same to you, I think I'll take grime over memory loss any day."

"Next domain is a corruption one, so we'll see how much that holds true."

"Of course it is."

They walk in silence for a few moments until Martin gives Jon's hand a quick squeeze. "Hey Jon?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you for getting me out."

Jon replies, "Of course," as an easy statement of fact, and Martin believes it. He has to add, "And I love you too."

The responding smile he gets from Jon makes him think he might be one of the few people in existence to feel lucky after the end of the world.

[bitchwhoreofastorm]

[based on a headcanon by @nemenalya ]

The boy with no name has died. A stiff wind's blown over High Hrothgar and swept him right off the edge of the cliff.

The other students are alerted by the screaming. The boy with no name's only friend in the world, a shy little lad who's been here only a year, stands by the cliff and screams and screams and screams. Since nothing fun ever happens in High Hrothgar the others are quick to gather around the normally-unpopular child. He's screeching something that goes beyond language, pointing frantically at the cliff and wailing bloody grief all the way to Sovngarde, and he keeps on screaming while his cohort gathers curiously around him.

There is a minute, a single minute, where all the students of Hrothgar stand  around, and nobody says a word but for the lad who's screaming. There's a rule on High Hrothgar that speaking is strictly forbidden-- never adhered to, of course, except when Custodian Lundga is around-- but the boy is making such a racket that, after said minute and by unspoken consensus, it is agreed upon that the silence has already been broken. So, excited for a change of pace, they all together immediately start chattering, in loud voices to be heard above the wind and the screaming, of course.

"Why is he shouting?" asks Nhemakhela of Winterhold. "Are you alright?"

"You should slap him!" urges Telmo of the Reach.

"Why should I?"

"Make him shut up."

"My gods!" shouts Hoag of Morrowind, who's gone and lied down on his belly at the place where the rock opens into sky. His head hangs over the edge of the cliff, his thick black hair being tossed moppishly around his head. "Someone's dead down there!"

And at once every student of Hrothgar is on their bellies peeking over the side of the cliff.

"Gods!" cries Nhemakhela. "Is he alive?"

"With his neck at that angle?" asks Telmo.

With a sort of retching sound, Chemua of Morrowind, Hoag's sensitive second-hand, hauls himself off of the ice and staggers away.

"Do we go down?" asks Telmo.

"I call dibs on the corpse."

"Eeew."

"What was his name?"

"He was the mute one, ent got no name."

"Nay, he had a little friend, though. He'd know the name."

"Well? Bhag? What was his name? Bhag, quit screaming! What was his name? Bhag...?"

The conversation ends there, unfortunately, because Lundga Custodian of Hrothgar arrives with a large stick in hand and a mind to crack every noisy Tongue that's broken the mountain's vow of holy silence. Sensible woman, she tells them to leave the body where it is, she has Nhemakhela slap some sense into Bhag, she makes Chemua scoop up the sick off her nice white snow, she sends everyone scurrying off to go meditate on this experience. And she smooths down her fur cloak, sighs into the stiff wind, turns and shares a meaningful look with Paarthurnax, who's flown over to observe the scene with his mild drakeish curiosity.

"Didn't learn his feim," Lundga remarks to the dragon, which earns her a coarse reptilian laugh.

And then life returns to normal on High Hrothgar...

...

His throat is raw to burning, his fingers frozen stiff, but the boy still takes his careful sweet time hiking back to the cave. It's a sorry little hollow, near-uninhabitable as it faces right into the howling wind, which makes it perfect, for nobody but him would ever think to go there. He pauses at a ledge, looks carefully behind him, tip-toes across and around a large granite outcrop, to the entrance of the miserable niche. Pressing hard to the rock-face so as not to slip, he pushes aside the thick curtain of hides hanging over the cave entrance and moves into the warm space beyond.

"Well?" asks Bhag, the moment he enters. "Did it work?"

The boy no longer without a name gives his friend a sort of dazed grin. Not known for his speaking, voice still sore from all the screaming he's just done, he can do little more than nod vigorously.

Bhag-- tall for his age with his blond hair in braids, face ruddy-red from spending hours in the heat of the cave-- breaks into a wide smile. He rushes forwards and embraces the boy whose beaming face is the spitting image of his own. "So it worked!” he cries, with a hearty thump on the back. “What did I tell you, eh?"

"They called me Bhag," the boy says, voice muffled in Bhag's shoulder.

"You are Bhag," replies Bhag with a voice also muffled.

"I'm Bhag."

"Both, we both are. Now we’re both--”

"Bhag?"

The intrusive voice breaks them apart like cleaved rock and they turn to face the cave entrance.

Quite unannounced, Hoag of Morrowind lets himself in through the hide-door and brushes some snow from his chest.

"Bhag," Hoag says again, looking between the two. "And... Bhag. Huh! Now that's one more Bhag than I'd thought."

For a moment neither Bhag, not even the Bhag accustomed to talking, can think of a response to that.

What follows is a whole minute of awkward staring between them and Hoag.

And at the end of that minute Hoag goes, "Bah!", and shuffles over towards their fire to thaw his cold hands.

"How'd you know?" utters the boy now known as Bhag, face flushed red.

"I've seen corpses," replies Hoag. "I know corpses. And that wasn't a corpse of a man, was it?"

Neither Bhag can think of much of a response to that, either. They stand there, guilty, pressed tightly shoulder-to-shoulder, watching as Hoag thaws his hands over the fire. Hoag is much older than them, nearly at the end of his stay at Hrothgar, and despite his short stature he cuts an intimidating figure, what with his harsh face and his thick black caterpillar eyebrows.

"It's okay," whispers Bhag to his friend now also called Bhag. "Steep out there. We ought to kill him-- I'll push him--"

But Hoag, of course, hears, and Hoag barks out a laugh. "Save it," he says. "Nobody saw me come. And I shan't blab this secret of yours."

Neither Bhag can think of much of a response to that, either.

Hoag shifts on his feet. “Is that the thu’um?” he asks. “Makes you look like each other. Never seen anything like that… you made it up?”

“Bhag did,” says the boy now known as Bhag. “He made it.”

Bhag makes a modest snorting sound. “Ah, he made it. Taught me how to understand the words, like.” 

“So, what’s the plan, then?” asks Hoag. “Now you’re both Bhag? Why?”

The boy now known as Bhag looks down at the fire, at Hoag’s dirty fingernails flickering in the orange light. He feels Bhag look at him, and he looks back at Bhag, and, having reached a mutual decision, Bhag speaks on his behalf.

“I don’t like talking,” says Bhag. “And I don’t like people.” 

“I’m different,” Bhag adds. “I’ve always been different from others. Why they sent me up here. I’m a changeling, they said-- like a spirit?” 

“I get tired,” Bhag complains. “Tired of your world that makes no sense. It hurts my head to try and work out why you do the things you do.” 

“So we decided to share,” says Bhag. “Share the burden.” 

 “So we don’t understand them,” says Bhag. “Let them not understand us!” 

“We’re not like you. Not nobles. Nobody’d miss either of us.”

“They’d be sufficed with one.”

Hoag listens to the tale attentively, watching them both close. Both Bhags find it impossible to imagine what he’s thinking. 

“... Well,” says Hoag finally. “Bhag Two-Tongue.”

Bhag snorts out a flattered laugh. 

“Bhag Two-Tongue,” Hoag repeats himself. “I’m leaving here soon. Me and Chemua are going back to Morrowind in a month’s time. Cause it seems to me that we have a problem much the same-- these Cyrod-worshipers, these dragon-faithful, cannot be understood by us.” With that famous cool aloofness that makes him the envy of all the boys, he turns away from the fire. “If you survive this mountain, if you don’t fall to your doom, come find me in Ebonheart. I could use more men with eyes enough to see what a farce this world is.”

And then, cool as frost, he slips out of their warm cave and into the tempest beyond.

“Religious, ent he?” asks Bhag, staring after the elder boy. “What’s all that talk about Cyrod? Well, they say he’s going to be a king one day.” He turns to his companion. “Morrowind, huh. East with the elves. We’d not be the strangest ones there, not with those two for competition... But what do you think?”

And the boy no longer without a name smiles. “Let’s go there.”