#my tags are always unfathomably long

[charcubed]

for a bunch of people who supposedly love supernatural, huge chunks of the fandom sure seem afraid to love it in earnest without adding asterisks to their own interest, considering how often people apparently feel the need to disclaim that it’s Bad or everything good about it was supposedly an Accident

society if everyone could just perhaps stop making posts about and/or giving hundreds of notes to posts about how much Potential the show had but how Poorly Executed it supposedly universally was. alas, technology does not allow me to mute a specific flavor of post so instead I must complain

but whatever, RIP to those people but I am different. as always I’m wearing a shirt that says “ask me about how supernatural is an incredibly unique piece of media that will never have an equal and that made television history; infamously stretched and played with the boundaries of various genres just because its creative team thought it’d be cool; was introduced as character-driven and maintained that to great success; and boasts a remarkably cohesive vision as a body of work that is testament to the skill and dedication of those who crafted it even though its creative teams transitioned through several shifts, adapted around industry uncertainties, changed the narrative in response to organic and noticed potential, and were limited by network interference”

[itsonlydana]

Hey hey, saw ur requests were open for Thranduil and knew I needed to submit something!

Could you do a Thranduil x fem human reader where she braids her hair without knowing the significance for elves? They both have feelings for each other but neither has said anything, supper fluffy ending y’know?

Thank you in advance and have a great day!! :))

Beautiful misunderstandings | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x fem human!reader 👑

You simply wanted to accept an invitation to a celebration, but something about you makes the elves literally drop at your feet. Can Thranduil resolve this misunderstanding, or will he be affected as well?

tags/warnings: just lots and lots of fluff, no warnings

word count: 3,6k

an: to be honest, most of what i wrote is my own headcanons because i did not find lots about hair culture with the elves.. so please: educate me! Are there some hcs in the fandom? :)

+ masterlist + rules + 🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

The forests of Greenwood greet you with open flames of torches licking up their hot tongues against the dark skies, coloring the path the horse trots along in their amber lights and the wooden smoke that fills the air. Evenly distributed along the pathway they light up just enough of Greenwood that it doesn't take away from the sight that awaits you at the end, where the trees give way to an equally decorated bridge and the foliage thins out enough for you to take in the tall arches framing the open doors of the Great Elvenking's halls.

You have already been a guest for many of Thranduil's festivities ever since he established trading relations with your small fisher town. Due to the bond that twirls around the two of you in some unfathomable and complex manner, you also know that nothing he ever does is anything but grande and imposing. 

Still, you can't help but push your lower lip in between your teeth. 

Not once have you gotten the impression of standing out more than the difference in race and status already marked as obvious factors, neither Thranduil nor his elves treated you like you felt right now: 

Completely out of your known waters.

The elvish customs were far too many for you to know them all and you always try your best to consider all and everything that you've learned in the two summers you could consider yourself an acquaintance to Thranduil. Whatever form this acquaintanceship took on is another worry, or rather, another unknown that you can't exactly express to anyone. 

It's nearly as confusing as the steps of the dance you studied in your room before you left this morning, a step forward and two back, Thranduil asking you to accompany him to his dances but never dancing with you. 

Tonight, you want to change this predicament of always ending up in the arms of another elf while the one you yearned for watches from the sidelines! You didn't work this hard for the fabric that hugs your figure in a beautiful dress for nothing and even if the fabric isn't as shiny or light as the dresses the elves wear and the stitches marked your fingertips with the evidence of the labor and long nights, you are proud of the garment. 

The wind plays in the hem as you emerge from the guarded forest and its thick and dense foliage and it winds itself around your legs after you dismount your horse. A quick kiss to his muzzle, followed by an exhale of warm, familiar breath and you hesitantly let a servant take him away, mumbling a soft "Thank you" while you stay where you are and watch until they disappear around a tree.

Nervously you start walking up to the bridge, the reckless water under it crashing against the stone walls and it goes along with the blood that pumps high and fast through your body and rushes in your ears. The atmosphere is loaded, sizzling under the nearly suffocating heat that's only bearable in the cool shadows of the palace in front of you so you don't waste another second. 

You brush off the hood of your riding coat, smoothing out some fly-away hairs that escaped the braid you carefully weaved earlier this day as you duck your head in reverence to be allowed in these sacred halls. 

Whispers catch up to you from outside, a breeze dancing through leaves.

When you lift your chin again, you find that it's not the air affecting nature but rather your presence halting nearly all the elves that gathered on the first bridge inside the caves. 

They say elves are graceful and purposeful in their movements – the way dozens of eyes are locked onto you and lips move in not-so-silent murmurs defiles that claim though.

It's nothing you haven't encountered before, the talks behind your back that came along with Thranduil's attention shining down on you like the sun – hot, engulfing you completely and rendering you breathless as well as a bit sweaty at times whenever he looks at you, and you learned how to handle it. His attention brought forth a lot of awareness of his folk to the woman who visits Thranduil just as often as he rides into your town and becomes the topic of conversations for weeks. What's a girl to do except accept that a King never comes alone?

You're used to elves watching you, most of them in respect. Thranduil's authority radiates onto you, as well as the protection that he swore would lay upon you as long as he's there to give out orders.

The first elf whose eyes you questioningly meet drops to his knees in the same instant, barely a breath of time passing by. 

A gasp leaves your throat.

Words do not follow. They remain echoing in your head, pushed back by the spectacle that spread before you like wildfire. Too fast, too much.

Within seconds of you entering, the buzz of lowered voices dies down as elf after elf either bows or completely meets the ground they are standing on. The spectacle is confusing and throws you completely off; this reaction is nowhere near what you've experienced before and you do the first thing that comes to mind to handle this totally unsuspected confrontation of elves bowing to you, a human from no known family and nothing to your name other than the weight it carries on Thranduil's tongue.

The only thing you manage to stammer is: "Good evening," and a high-pitched, "Thank you?" before you take your legs into your hand and dash over the bridge. 

Thoughts as unstoppable as you run through your mind while you navigate the curving halls of the underground palace, the stonewalls not cool enough to diminish the heat that sits low in your neck, growing the longer you think about all that has happened between Thranduil and you and how it's not much more than nothing but a close alliance of human and elf. 

One that you hope would take on a different turn, because some of the actions by Thranduil could be considered friendlier than one would treat an ally or friend. You think back to all the gifts you have received, the white gems for example that, barely bigger than your nails but woven into the upper part of your braid, reflect the light and throw silver dots against the walls that lead you to the point Thranduil had asked you to meet him in one of his many letters. 

The route involves more encounters with more elves, some bow more subtly, their hands on their chest in a greeting that you do know, and some others, mostly those who've already fallen in barrels of wine and are less sophisticated in their movements in their drunken state who repeat the word "bereth" as if it's a prayer in a language that's far beyond you to make out right now. 

At the end of the hallway, you make out the back of a familiar blonde and even from afar you notice the resemblance that Thranduil's silver circlet has to the silver ribbon you have woven into your hair in a similar way and height how his circlet would look placed on your head. 

Is this what brought such uproar to the elves? Have you accidentally copied their king? 

"Thranduil!" you call out, his name lacking any title though not out of disrespect. You have the highest respect for the King of the Elves and slip a "Your Majesty" rather often into conversations because you know how much he favors his name from your tongue and teasing him like that brings a joy to you that you can't explain anyway else then: 

Hearing him laugh and smile or roll his eyes at your antics fuels the love you harbor for him.

Now is not the time for teasing chit-chat, you are desperate to find out if you have actually misstepped by presenting his gifts like this at a festival that's solely about him.

He turns at the sound of your voice and, oh lord, even his eyes widen as soon as they land on you and you want to perish rather than step any closer but the hurry in your legs and the nervousness in your stomach makes it impossible to do anything else but run to the one soul in this world that brings you comfort. 

You arrive at a full stop, and your heels would have stirred up dust if you were a mare. 

Now it's not only Thranduil's eyes that seem to have developed an inability to stray farther than your head; his mouth falls open as well and he makes no effort to close it again. The fact that this behavior is completely ungracious and ill-mannered has apparently not dawned on him yet. The longer you spend helplessly looking up at him, you swear you can see most of his thoughts visibly inching away behind that baffled expression.

At first, there's nothing.

Then some clarity returns into the blue eyes you love so much and Thranduil exhales a quiet: "Berio nin." 

Now, that's Sindarin you've heard before – that the context he has said these words were moments when he playfully begged the Valar to aid him with you tormented him in some way throws you off your balance even more and you take a step back. 

"I did not–" you start and raise a hand to wave it at all of you, "This, I had no idea. Did I offend you? Or the elves?" 

"Offend?" Thranduil asks bewildered.

"Well, the way they reacted. I wasn't sure," you laugh distraught. Thranduil's eyebrows instantly furrow, and you're quick to follow up: "Not in a bad way!" you explain and he loosens up, "They, um, they bowed? And some may have fallen to the ground?"

"Ah," he chuckles and his reaction calms you a bit. He could've been screaming or throwing you out. If he's laughing this can't be that big of a serious misstep. Thranduil looks at you through lowered lashes and runs his tongue over his teeth, a smile threatening to break through the serious expression he tries to obtain. "I believe a conversation and education is in order. If you would follow me to have this conversation somewhere else," he says and holds out his arm for you to grab.

He leads you around a corner and another one, walking swiftly yet seemingly in no hurry until Thranduil opens a door and quickly pulls you inside the room. 

Candles littered all around light up what you immediately understand to be his private chambers, the many robes you recognize, the colorful falcons with shimmering scented oils and shells full of jewelry, pearls, gems, and rings in gold and silver. There, right where Thranduil stops in front of you to block out your view, you take a peek at a giant bed behind flowy white curtains. 

You blush.

Even more so when you see Thranduil blush as well. His eyes return to your hair again, just like he had on the short walk to these chambers; tilting his head down to you as if some magical force bound him to staring at you in a manner he hadn't done before.

"You are my guest so I see it to be my responsibility to clear up what may have been a–" he pauses and his eyelashes flutter as he thinks of a fitting word, "a misapprehension. Not that you could have possibly known the outcome of what you doubtlessly suspected to be a kind gesture." 

You nervously cross your arms behind your back, intertwining your fingers so you do not meddle or ruffle the carefully layered fabrics of your dress. "I solemnly swear I was not up for any mockery."

His eyes widen again. "I would not have accused you of such!"

You tilt your head in confusion and bite down on your lip, ungraceful as well and a habit you should definitely quit, especially in the company of a King.

"What was it that startled the elves?" You think back to the way Thranduil had reacted, the wide-blown eyes, the pink lips formed to a delicate 'o' – "As well as you, Thranduil. You couldn't even get a word out except for a prayer." You let out a single laugh to cover up your embarrassment. 

The elf lifts his chin higher as if that could prevent you from noticing the blush deepening, growing much more red than just a delicate pink that stands out from his ivory skin but not much that it couldn't be interpreted as a light intoxication of either wine or fresh air. 

"I do not remember that," he lies with a dismissive voice. "Anyway, let me clarify the current dilemma instead of wasting time discussing the past." 

"Definitely not that far back that you could count it as 'the past' but sure," you sigh and decide to ignore the glare he sends you as you confront his very unsubtle passive- aggressive change of topic from him to you. Thranduil had centuries of building up a thickheadedness to lead the Woodland Realm and you had mere months on your hands in trying to push a way through it.

"Well, the behavior my folk portrayed was simply said the respect they pay for any honorable and eminent," Thranduil says, not batting an eye over the unbelievable words that come out of his mouth.

"What?" Your voice is nothing but a high squeal, "Why would they do that? They know I'm just a human!"

Thranduil scoffs, "Just a human, she says. Do not dismiss yourself in any way and most definitely not as just a human. Humans are such fascinating creatures, all those feelings compressed into an ephemeral life and bodies that endure pain and even if you waste away to dust you try to mark down your existence into every stone that you touch." Before you can burst into tears at his rather sentimental and emotional view of your people, he continues in a tone more factual: "To answer your question– you conveyed that I was courting you and they simply knew there would be grave consequences if they did not respect my intended." 

All the air left your body in a singular exhale, thus leaving you to grasp at the few thoughts that stayed through the cut-off of oxygen. Not that they were any good.

Courting you? Being his intended? 

You can only stare at him aghast. 

"But– courting? You weren't, we weren't– there was no courting!" you stammer.

The world is reeling. 

Black spots dance in the corner of your sight.

It takes all your focus to stand still and not sway back and forth, giving in to the abrupt slide downward reality has suddenly become. 

"No," Thranduil says.

A part of you withers at the finality of the statement because of course, he, Great Elvenking Thranduil, would never be caught courting a human. The absurdity of it must be why he was laughing earlier, praying to the Valar to become a witness of what must be your greatest humiliation.

"No, there was. I was simply waiting for your realization as well as acceptance to officially proclaim it."

Now it's your mouth that falls open without any strength left to prevent it.

Thranduil swallows, hard, his jaw set tightly and his eyes fixating on you. "All that I did, and thought to do, was in prospect of taking you as my betrothed," he states; the smallest of quivers underlining the massive impact this admission causes to him. He lifts one hand to his chest, pressing his knuckles against the fabric where underneath his heart lays. "I ache to love, treasure, and worship you. Every second of all the days I may have the pleasure of your company in my life or it shall be colorless from now on."

His eyes glitter, the endless blues of the sky, affection burning in them like the sun, broadening your horizon of what you believed love to be and there is no doubt in your mind that Thranduil's words are nothing but the truth. Confounding as that truth should be, it is that – certainty.

A smile breaks on your face, watery and wet as tears of pure happiness spill onto your cheeks and even if your heart has been on the tip of your tongue at every word you have ever said to him and in every glance that you have ever directed in his way, the need to validate his revelation.

You step carefully step closer and the hem of your dress brushes against his gowns as you close the bit of distance. Thranduil watches cautiously, leaving his hand against his heart, and only tips his chin down to follow you until you step into his personal space. The whole regal and stoic image he portrays even after confessing his love passionately mere seconds ago breaks as you feel his wavering breath and you swear you can hear the loud pounding of his battered-yet-strong heart. 

"Is it my hair?" you ask quietly and catch him off-guard. 

Thranduil smiles and his chest heaves in a deep inhale of air. "Yes," he laughs in an exhale, "Do you wish to know how you managed to completely dismantle me? Rob me of all powers?" 

You nod once and one hand of his comes to rest on your shoulder from where he leads you to a silver basin standing in a corner decorated with more oils and vines climbing the stone walls.

The sight that the clear water inside it shows you, Thranduil standing behind you, more than slightly taller, brings a warmness to your cheeks. Even if the prospect of his image finding a constant in your life from now on is undeniable, you're not sure if you will ever get satiated by it. 

Thranduil slowly reaches the elaborate braid you are so proud of despite the public tumult it had caused. "There are many things sacred to my folk and hair –" he starts and lets his fingers travel the length of free-falling hair, "holds the memories of our history, our connection to the Eldar and kemen – the earth. We do not cut it but rather let it grow to pay our respects to Eru for his creation, the natural and untouched world, flows in us all. It bears the marks of our ancestry though many cultures convey their personal history in many different ways." 

You listen intently, trying not to get distracted by Thranduil's hands smoothing your hair and the deep rumble of his voice wrapping around his language that pulls you into a trance. 

"Among us Sindar, we wave our customs into the very strands of this sacred hair. Our warriors, for instance, adorn themselves with tightly woven braids, serving not only as protection in battle but as a testament to their strength and unwavering discipline."

"The intricate and jeweled braids you wear," Thranduil's fingers glide along the white gems, thus nudging them against your head, "they speak volumes of noble heritage and high standing. Even if you do not have royal blood in your family, a braid like this will be more convincing to the contrary."

You blush as you realize how you unknowingly changed your entire status.

"By adorning your hair with the jewels I bestowed upon you, you declare to all my claim upon you," Thranduil chuckles and meets your eyes in the water, "Braids are the essence of our heritage, denoting rank and occupation, and they speak volumes in courtship."

"Oh," you say, "I knew Elves court through gifts. Would I have known this…"

Thranduil shakes his head, smiling widely as he continues playing with your hair, "You say that but not once have you realized all that I have given to you were of my pursuit."

"Well, I– this wasn't… I thought you were being nice," you sputter and grow even redder in the face.

"Unbelievably rude and ungracious to consider me ni–" he interrupts himself and shivers, "No I will not speak in such obscene language." Thranduil raises an eyebrow before returning his attention to the lesson in courting, "Through these intricate weavings, we convey our intentions and the profound depth of our bonds. While dalliances are not uncommon, my folk only marry once in their life."

"Love is eternal and unwavering, and each twist in our braids declares the union of our souls. By weaving your hopes and pleas for reciprocation into your hair, you speak a silent yet powerful language. The braid you chose, resembling my crown and adorned with my jewels and a silver ribbon akin to my own hair, could not have delivered a clearer message."

"So I basically lied to your elves," you pull a face in shame, "Great."

"You may call it a lie," Thranduil says slowly and his hands travel to rest on your shoulders. You lean into the gentle pull and let him turn you around so that you are face-to-face again. There is a dedication in his eyes, a look of hunger and yearning, "Or," his voice sounds even deeper and reverberates through your entire body, zipping up your spine that you automatically straighten, "You allow me to present our courtship openly if a deeper connection is what you desire to form between us."

Your heart thumps in your chest, double the tempo that one would call normal and it only speeds up when Thranduil cups your face in his hand and his fingertips graze the silver ribbon that sits tightly against your head.

"Allow me," he repeats, quieter. 

"Your word and the world will know you are mine," he pleads.

You waste not a second to ponder over what your heart already decided. "I allow it."

©itsonlydana 2024, character art by MiracleAna on Devianart

[feitanii-ll]

巛—𝗥𝗢𝗟𝗘 𝗥𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗘 𝗪 𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗞—⫸

[[ knight !reader x royal !link scenarios ]]

you've been assigned to him for as long as you could remember. people have observed your bond, and it's quite obvious that you're the only reasonable match— the only one he's willing to let take care of him. you wouldn't want to change that fact either, but taking care of link comes with an unfathomable amount of responsibility. such as...

★ "put down that damn frog!"

you're the closest you've ever been to a heart attack at this point. taking the prince out on a voyage where there were monsters lurking about was the last thing you had wanted to do, but unable to resist his insistent, silent pouting, you couldn't exactly denyhim what he wanted.

he's cute when he's curious, which is everyday. you let him roam around with his large observational book, studying and taking notice of whatever shroom or flower was blooming by whatever random tree.

speaking of a tree, you figured to set up a small campsite under a large tree not too far away from the castle. there was a fire going in a pot, and the boy had been throwing random food stuff inside and hoping for the best dish to come from it. you watch with a soft smile— that is, until it deflates as you spot a few bokoblins a little too close and sigh, standing up.

"Stay here." you mumble softly, to which the boy smiles and nods, eyes glued to the way you reach up to grip the handle of your sword, pulling it up and out of its sheathe.

yoi don't take long— really you don't. the bokoblin type was blue, more than easy to take down. you don't even break a sweat until you begin walking back to the tree, only to feel your breath hitch and your heart stop. that damn monster of curiosity (or, link) was holding a poor frog over the pot, probably more than ready to drop it in for Hylia knows what.

your shouting startles the boy, making him go wide-eyed and sheepish as you storm up to him. you take a second to glare before snatching the creature from his hands and setting it back into the small body of water that he was most likely snatched from.

"seriously? I was gone for five minutes." you protest.

his face goes expressive,

'it's for science!' he signs

"I know, link... you always say that." you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, opening your eyes to see him flipping frantically through his research book before holding it open, shoving the open page in your face.

a silly healing elixir that he had been mentioning non-stop. it was probably the reason he was so adamant about tagging along.

"yes, my liege, I know about the elixir. but if you want it so bad, why don't you just simply buy one?" you suggest, exhaustion in your voice.

his face scrunches in disgust at the idea, throwing the book down before signing again,

'too far. want to experience creating it on my own'

you look from his hands to his face, being met with his saddened eyes. if he were anyone else...

"fine..." you mumble, to which he silently celebrates, "just, not in front of me, please?"

'thank you.' he steps closer, and you smile.

'no problem'. you sign back.

* * *

★ "please be careful, my liege." you voice to the blonde prince.

he'd gladly tell you that he was fine if his hands weren't currently full. if anyone else saw how you and link interacted outside of the castle, you're sure you'd be killed for your crimes.

maybe it wasn't a good idea to let the prince of hyrule use your sword and swing it around however he pleased, but in your professional opinion— he's a natural.

"you're doing great!" you smile, shaking your head as he was caught up in his own little world. and he really was. so great that he couldn't heat a word you said. holding a weapon just felt so natural to him, and he absolutely loved it when you offered it up for him to use during leisure time.

his swings are heavy and lethal, but it's obvious to you that he isn't pacing himself. the movements are so natural that he doesn't even comprehend the strain it's putting on his body— not until his swing is stopped.

link looks down at his tightened grasp on the handle, but looseness it as he realizes that you had caught his wrist. his disgruntled expression softens significantly as he looks up at you in awe and embarrassment as you hold his wrists with one hand, and remove the handle the handle from his grip with the other.

"that's enough," tour voice rings through his head as you chuck the sword to the side, face growing serious as you keep holding his wrists, "you alright?"

he can't respond with occupied hands, and so he nods, heart pounding at your serious expression. he wonders what he's done wrong, or what should be wrong, until he begins to feel an ache in his back and shoulders, making him wince. you notice.

"I know that feeling... it's why I stopped you." you explain whilst removing your hands from him. "you're good, but you're straining yourself. you're not fit for that type of intensity."

he mouths a small 'oh', and you sigh, frowning as he rubs his aching shoulder.

"it's alright... I've got something to heal you right up."

the male smiles softly, nodding in appreciation. you were always taking care of him like this. but your encouragement for him to get a little rough and rowdy is why he liked you so much. though you wanted him safe, you weren't constantly sheltering him. he hated that.

he taps your shoulder, to which you turn to him,

'sorry.'

you smile and shake your head, "don't apologize. you did really good my liege. wonder what you'd be like as a knight, actually." you chuckle.

he smiles back, letting the butterflies float around in his tummy.

* * *

★ "what do you think you're doing?"

you felt like you've done this... a lot. for the umpteenth time, you've caught the prince walking around the castle grounds, barefoot, and draped in a softened blanket as he attempts to protect himself from the nighttime breeze.

the look he gives you is one of disappointment as he thinks you're going to take him back inside, but he's pleasantly surprised when you shake your head and simply rest a hand on his shoulder, guiding him forward.

"Don't worry...I'll sit with you."

he smiles, clutching the blanket tighter. beyond the wall, he can spot the swaying of the grass, the wispyness of the clouds in the deep blue sky, and the stillness of the ancient guardians that settled into the ground. he truly loves his kingdom, and you can see it true. he walks until he reaches a spot that makes it easy to see the vast land and takes a seat on the edge of the castle walls.

"this is nice..." you sigh as you sit beside him

he nods, and your eyes glance over to him incase he's ready to talk back. and he does:

'I think I enjoy nighttime the best.' he signs, glancing between you and the beautiful view amongst him, 'sometimes, i think about running. I want to explore.'

you heart aches

"I know, my liege... I'm sorry you feel trapped." you whisper

to your surprise, he laughs softly, shaking his head, 'not trapped... just hidden potential'

you smile. such a purse and positive response. his head turns to face you, eyes so blue that you can't help but observe them thoroughly. he scoots closer beside you, careful, as to not fall, and rest his head on your shoulder.

"I think..." you wrap his blanket around him tighter, "I think we were definitely meant to be this way, my liege." you whisper, and watch as his eyes flutter shut

but not before he nods in agreement, and your heart tate spikes at what he says next.

his hands don't communicate, no. nit this time. instead, you're blessed with a sound ao angelic, so soft that you'd dread if you accidentally missed it.

"I think so too..." he whispers.

* * *

[seravphs]

beating hearts promised to bared teeth — part one: “The God Finds A Familiar” 

KITSUNE! GOJO x GOD! FEM READER; KAMISAMA HAJIMEMASHITA AU

When a kind stranger offers you his home because your gambling addict of a father can’t pay rent, you’re left in charge of a shrine - with a catch. Once you arrive at your new home, you learn a crucial fact that he conveniently left out. You’re the new god in charge, and his familiar, who now belongs to you, does not like you. What’s a new god to do, especially when she finds herself slowly falling for the fox spirit?

wc — 10k

tags — enemies to lovers, shoujo manga heroine type reader, Japanese mythology/yokai, age gap (1000 year old fox and high school girl), slowburn, cameo from Sukuna, Toji, and Nanami, cameo from original Kamisama Hajimemashita cast

part two — “The God Finds A Husband” (coming soon)

shoujo series masterlist

If your stomach growls any louder, you’ll scare off the squirrels fighting over the end of a baguette loaf by the park bench you’re sitting on. 

You’re currently in the middle of what others might describe as very hard times. To be honest, your very hard times have been going on for a while now - they just culminated at this specific moment. Regardless, these days are only temporary. You’ve promised yourself that one day, you’ll be able to smile from the bottom of your heart. 

It’s just that it was easier said than done when you weren’t homeless. Your father has never been the most reliable of men. You had to take over the household finances by the time you were eight, so you’ve always been accustomed to his lack of responsibility, but today really solidified his status in your mind as an absolutely useless, no good man. It’s unfathomable cruelty to have left his only daughter with no money, no relatives, and no home. 

You don’t want to call it cruel. For all of his faults, you still love your father. And it’s because you love him that you know this wasn’t a cruel act. Cruelty is intentional. It’s malicious. It comes from a desire to hurt. Your father has never wanted to hurt you. It’s just a byproduct of his gambling addiction. You’re collateral damage in his quest for the jackpot that would solve all his problems. 

You double over in agony at the renewed complaints from your stomach. At least you’ve gone from scaring mere squirrels to scaring passersby. That’s an upgrade, right? 

One woman clutches her purse closer as she walks past you as briskly as possible. You get it, you look bad. 

But there’s no use being resentful. Your father has been barely one step above a deadbeat all your life. At the very least, you’re used to fending for yourself. Your stomach growls again, but you’re determined to ignore it. You need a plan of action. One step after another, you’ll make it out of these troublesome times. 

Before you can start to plot, a loud cry for help catches your attention. It sounds like someone else is in even more dire straits than you are, which is saying a lot. 

The squirrels have long since scattered, run off not by the scary noises coming from your famished stomach, but a pack of dogs. Somehow, a man has climbed several feet into the tree next to the trash can, and now perched precariously in its branches. Below him, curious dogs tilt their heads and give cautious barks. 

“Aw, hello there, cuties,” you coo, rubbing behind their ears. They yip at you enthusiastically. One sets to chasing his own tail around the tree. They seem friendly enough, but you suppose one can’t help their phobias. A little regretfully, you chase them off. 

“Go on now,” you tell the last one, leading him away. He whines, but does as you say. What a good boy. 

“Thank you,” says the stranger stranded in the tree. He slides down the trunk, face slowly regaining color. “I owe you my life.” 

“It was nothing!” You smile, but he won’t let you brush off your good deed. 

“You’re a good kid,” he nods approvingly. “Gotta reward that. Is there anything you want?” 

A home. 

Not just the house you shared with your father, but somewhere warm to return to. A person who waits to see you safely inside the threshold. 

But you know a stranger can’t give you that, so you shake your head and smile. “Really, it was nothing. You don’t owe me anything.” 

As if he had heard your inner monologue, the stranger raises an eyebrow. “A home, hm? I might be able to help with that.” 

Before you can react, he leans in and kisses your forehead. Where his lips touched your skin feels faintly warm and tingly, almost like the sensation of your leg going numb, before you recoil from him in shock. 

He presses a map into your hand and tells you, “Go to this address. Tell them Yaga sent you, and you’ll be welcomed with open arms.” 

With that, he runs off. 

What a strange man. 

Well, you’ve had a strange life, taking care of your hopeless father and all. Perhaps these things really did happen. It wasn’t so impossible for strangers to appear out of nowhere and reward you for good deeds. Maybe all the fairytales your father had read to you back when he hadn’t been so terrible were true. 

Or maybe that was the wishful thinking of an optimistically delusional girl who needed somewhere to stay desperately.

The address is located on the outskirts of town. Pushing deeper into foliage and closer to forest than civilization, you find the location you had been sent to. 

It’s a shrine. 

A run-down shrine, of all places. 

Are you on a comedy show? Should you start checking for cameras? 

Against your will, you feel your eyes grow hot. That was a cruel trick to play. He had gotten your hopes up for nothing. 

It’s not just your eyes. Your entire body starts to feel warm. The world around you erupts into blue flame. Heat licks at your shins as you scramble towards safety, closer to the center of the circle that has formed around you. 

When the flames suddenly leap, as if they’ll consume the entire sky, you scream and drop to your knees, covering your head like it’s a bomb threat. Two childish voices ring in your head, as clear and crisp as bells. 

Welcome home, Yaga-sama. 

It’s a shrine. There’s only one logical conclusion. 

This is a haunting. 

There’s only one safe path out of the ring of fire, and it’s towards the building you’ve now concluded is the site of paranormal activity. Between being actively burned alive or facing spirits though, you know which one you’ll choose. 

Your frantic fingers fumble over the latch on the shrine’s red doors as the fire inches closer and closer until you can feel its heat on your back. Finally, you throw open the doors and all but launch yourself inside. The heat recedes, but the voices do not. 

“Back already, Yaga?” A male voice drawls. “I thought your pilgrimage would’ve taken longer. After leaving me to maintain the shrine by myself for sixty years -“

You shriek as an enormous, clawed hand comes down towards your face. Your eyes squeeze shut, waiting for the end. 

“I’m not Yaga,” you wail, hoping it will save you. 

“You have a lot of nerve?” The voice finishes, more uncertainly than before. When you deem it safe to open your eyes once more, what stands before is a young man dressed in all white. White hair and blue eyes make for a staring constraint, but his coloring isn’t what’s strange about him. 

It’s his clawed hands and the equally white fox tail behind him. 

“Megumi, Tsumiki,” he says authoritatively. “This isn’t Yaga.” 

A shining ball of fire comes forward, speaking in the little girl’s voice you heard earlier. “That can’t be right! Look, she has the mark of the god on her forehead.” 

You touch your forehead, remembering the warm tingly sensation you had felt when that man kissed you. Feeling slightly delirious, you start to laugh, only to grow alarmed when you find you can’t stop. You’re growing out of breath from your near hysterical laughing, tears streaming out of the corners of your eyes. 

“Oh, great,” says the fox spirit. “She’s crazy.” 

“She’s the one with the mark,” the other ball of fire, Megumi, says. “That means she’s the god whether you like it or not, Gojo.” 

Tsumiki darts over to you, but halfway through her journey, she goes from fire to a little child just under 2 feet tall. She’s wearing a mask and plain blue yukata. 

“We have to celebrate!” She claps her hands together in excitement. “Our god has finally returned!”

Gojo looks dismissively down on you. Your laughing fit is finally starting to die down, but he doesn’t seem impressed regardless. “What god? I won’t accept a little human girl as my master. She couldn’t handle the strength of a familiar like me.”  

His condescension only makes you giggle harder. You can’t help it. Something about the fluffy fox ears protruding out of his head makes it hard to take him seriously. 

“What strength?” You laugh in his face. “This shrine is so dilapidated, I doubt you’re anything special.” 

Gojo looks away. “If she stays, I’m leaving. I won’t serve this kind of pathetic god.”

He disappears in a cloud of white smoke before Tsumiki can finish saying, “Don’t be like that!”

The will-o-wisp children introduce themselves to you as shrine spirits who look after the building. It takes a while, but by the time they kindly show you to the room where you’ll be staying, you can distinguish Tsumiki from Megumi by the differences in the masks they never take off. 

Your room is simple and threadbare. The walls are paneled bamboo and the only furnishing is an old futon. Still, you’re grateful. It’s leagues better than sleeping in the woods, which is what you started this day fearing you would have to resort to. You’ve never been the type to complain, and you won’t start now, no matter how strange your life has gotten. 

Fox spirits and will-o-wisp children don’t exist. They’re the stuff of myths. Maybe you’re just seeing things because you’re tired, you muse as you drift off to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning after a nice, long rest. The events of today will feel so far away, and you’ll be able to start over. 

Or maybe you’re dead already, and you’re wandering in the Netherworld. Perhaps the reason you can see spirits is because you’re currently residing in their land. Your entire body seizes up as you jolt yourself back to wakefulness. 

“Kamisama,” Tsumiki has crept back into your room. “Are you alright?” 

You tell her to call you by her name. Calling you god just doesn’t feel right. 

Gently, she nestles down by your pillow and puts her cold little hands on your forehead. Rather than shocking to your senses, it feels pleasant. When you were a little girl and got sick, your father used to let you stay home from school. He’d pack a towel with ice cubes and place it on your overheated forehead, staying up with you all night just to chat. It’s a good memory. 

“It’ll be alright,” Tsumiki tells you in her gentle voice. “You’ll see.” 

For spirits that supposedly take care of the shrine, you have a suspicion that Tsumiki and Megumi are pushing their work onto you when they brief you on your chores the next morning. It turns out godhood is a lot less summoning storms and a lot more doing yard work. 

Tsumiki insists that keeping the shrine pure is important for keeping evil spirits away. For some reason, that means cleaning. When you ask about calling lightning or summoning lions, Megumi laughs at you. 

“That’s Getou-sama’s job,” he says. “Your specialty is marriage. Yaga was very good at tying peoples’ fates together. You will be, too.”

He has more faith than you do in that regard. When it comes to chores, however, you’re more certain of your abilities. Busy work keeps the absurdity of your situation from sinking in, and you’re good at running the household from years of dealing with your father. You’re grateful for something to do. If you think about the past day too hard, you might break down into shocked laughter and never get back up. 

Besides, even if you don’t feel particularly ready to be a god, Tsumiki and Megumi are letting you stay in the shrine. You have to earn your keep. Soon, you settle into the process of cleaning, letting the methodical, rhythmic nature of your movements erase any doubts in your mind. You think of nothing but the cooling sensation of the water when you dip your rag into the bucket and the clean, woody scent of the shrine as you scrub the wood. 

“Ooh,” Tsumiki says approvingly when she appears. “It looks better already! Can you do the lawn next?” 

Plucking weeds is notably less soothing than cleaning. With no gloves, you’re careful to avoid hurting yourself as you tug on spiky vines and knotted twigs, but it’s no use. Eventually, you lose focus and a sharp sting graces your finger. Blood drips down your hand. You hiss in pain. 

A hand with white claws instead of nails grabs your wrist. You yelp in shock as Gojo brings your finger to his mouth and laps at the blood. It stains his lips slightly red. He worries at the cut with his tongue, making your wound ache. You try to pull back, but he holds on. 

To your amazement, the cut closes before your eyes. You’re just about to thank him when he ruins the moment. 

“You really are useless,” he says. “You can’t even pluck grass?”

You yank your hand out of his grip as hard as you can, sending yourself tumbling back against the grass. You hate how it must make yourself seem even more human in his eyes, a weak, fragile thing. 

“Give up,” he says, and it’s almost gentle, the way his claws graze your chin as he holds your face in one hand. “You’re not suited to be a god.” 

You turn away, unwilling to let him see any more of your vulnerability. “You don’t know anything about me.” 

“Suit yourself,” he says with a noise of annoyance. “Brats who run away from home aren’t my problem.” 

“I didn’t run away!” You snap, whirling on him. “My dad was the one who ran! I don’t have anywhere else to go!” 

But he’s gone.

At least Megumi and Tsumiki are nice to you. Megumi takes the bucket of weeds you deposit at the front door and whisks it somewhere out of your sight, while Tsumiki prepares a nice, hot bath for you. Exhausted, you collapse onto the bamboo floor spread eagle. 

God, a voice murmurs in your head.

Not again. You don’t want any more spirits to deal with. When you raise your head, instead of another yokai, there’s an old woman standing in front of the shrine. Her head is bowed and her hands are clasped in prayer. 

Please bless my daughter’s marriage so that she will enjoy a long and fruitful life with her partner. 

Her voice is coming from some place inside your head. It resonates like a bell, ringing crisp and clear. You stretch out your hands wonderingly. You don’t look any different. 

“You see?” Tsumiki says approvingly. “You’re a god.”’ 

But you don’t feel like one. You feel just like a normal person. 

“A god needs a familiar.” You can’t see Megumi’s face behind his mask as he speaks, but you can imagine the solemn little boy he must be. “You need to bind Gojo to you.”

“How do I do that?” 

“You have to kiss him.” 

You wait for them to tell you they’re joking. 

“What? I can’t kiss him! Is there-” 

Megumi cuts in. “It’s just the traditional way to seal the contract. Don’t think too much of it.” 

The fact that neither of them are bothered makes you feel like the ridiculous one for being off put by this, but you’re sure you’re not. Still, if you’re a god now, you have to put all of your mortal sensibilities aside. It’s like another culture, you tell yourself. Like how Europeans kiss each other on the cheek to say hello. Even if you can’t convince yourself, Megumi and Tsumiki are insistent. 

You were so fired up just a second ago, but now your head is filled with doubts. If such a simple matter can sway you, are you really meant to be a god after all? Maybe Gojo is right. Maybe you should just leave. 

“Please,” Tsumiki says. She looks distraught. “Don’t abandon us. Please don’t leave.” 

Megumi doesn’t say anything, but his silence is enough. 

“Okay,” you say, feeling defeated. “I’ll give it a shot.” 

You’ve always been good at chores. If taming Gojo is just another part of your new job, it sounds like it's time to get serious. 

“Take me to him.” 

Megumi and Tsumiki balk. 

“Right now?”

“Why not? The sooner I get it over with, the better, right?”

“He’s...indisposed at the moment,” Tsumiki says carefully. 

“Indisposed? Is he sick?” 

“Not quite,” Megumi says. He’s very expressive for a spirit. You can practically imagine him grimacing. 

“Then it’s fine!” 

You would soon come to regret your words. 

Megumi and Tsumiki lead you out of the shrine. They show you where to find the path that can lead you to the land of spirits and demons. Your entire body rebels at the feeling of being in this other world, but at the same time, you feel at home here. The god and the girl that coexist inside of you are mutually repelled by and attracted to this place. 

Even though you know Megumi and Tsumiki aren’t really children, or at least children in the way mortals think of them, you’re still concerned about letting them traipse around this dangerous place. However, they seem more used to this world than you are. That energy is better devoted to fending for yourself. 

They lead you under bridges where the running water smells like flowers and women’s voices hiss in the babble of the current. Tree leaves rustle with hands that disappear into darkness. You follow them through dark alleyways lined with red paper blessings, and doorsteps encircled with salt. Eyes follow you, leaving your skin crawling. 

You’re so focused on keeping your head down and staying out of danger that you almost don’t notice when they stop. You nearly run Megumi over. 

“He’s inside here,” Tsumiki says. 

Is it just you, or does she seem nervous? 

The lanterns inside this establishment are turned down to a dimness that barely illuminates the corridors. Sweet smelling smoke writhes around your feet from some unknown source as you head deeper and deeper into the maze of hallways, following the pair of shrine spirits. You pass women wearing fox masks, dressed in luxurious kimonos. Their hair towers over their head in elaborate updos, held in place with beautiful pins inlaid with chartreuse and gold. 

Megumi stops before a folding screen door. Like all things within this building, it’s beautiful. The silk screen is painted with images of flowers and more gruesome scenes as well, but somehow, it’s still breath-taking. A little like Gojo, in that regard. 

You hear the voices of women behind the screen, flattering Gojo. The light of a single candle illuminates the dim room, imprinting his silhouette against it, as well as that of the two women with him. They’re draped over him, hands roaming his body as they purr their compliments. Your face burns with embarrassment. 

“What are you doing?” Megumi demands of Gojo. “How can you parade around the red-light district like this? You’re the familiar of a god, not some common demon! If Yaga knew, it’d break his poor heart.” 

Behind the screen, Gojo merely brushes him off. “Yaga’s been replaced by some little human worm. Why should I care what he thinks now?”

“What about the shrine? Don’t you care about that, at least?” Tsumiki's voice is thick with reproach. 

“Now that you mention it, I don’t think I do,” he says. “Ha! You know what? Maybe I should thank that girl. Now that I’m free, I can do whatever I want.” 

“Gojo-“ 

“I’ll can indulge in every little vice Yaga never allowed me to touch before. Who would want to be a familiar when I can have all of this?” 

“Gojo, our god is here.” 

“What?” 

He leaps up and pushes the screen aside, coming face to face with you. He looks startled to see you, though you don’t see why he should care, since he so desires to lead a life of sin. 

You look upon him with disgust. You might want a familiar, but you’re not so desperate you’d stoop as low as this. Gojo cares so little for anyone but himself. If you’re going to be a god, you’re going to do it right. You’ll pick a good familiar, one who will genuinely love the shrine as much as it deserves. 

You turn and leave as he, half-clothed, frantically starts pulling on the outer layers of his kimono. 

“Wait,” he calls after you. “Tsumiki! Megumi! Why would you bring her here?”

“She wanted to see you,” Megumi retorts. 

“This isn’t the place for a human,” he says. “She’s going to get eaten!” 

The faster Gojo follows you, the faster you run from him. By the time you’re out of what you’ve come to realize is a brothel, you’re sprinting. Your legs carry you right into someone else as your face slams against a broad, muscled chest. 

“Oh,” says a voice above your head. “How pretty.” 

A hand caresses your face. This spirit has tattoo marks across his face and body. More interestingly, he has multiple arms. 

You’re frozen in place by fear as he brings his mouth closer and closer to your face. He’s close enough to kiss, but this is a spirit, which means he’s more likely to eat you. 

“Be good for me now,” he purrs in your ear. “Fear makes flesh all the sweeter.” 

Three of his six arms are consumed by fire. He pushes you away from him in favor of batting out the flame. 

Gojo pulls you towards him, hiding you in the folds of his billowing kimono. You press your face against his shoulder, swallowing back the tears of fear from nearly being eaten. Somehow, he feels safe, even though he’s been nothing but antagonistic towards you. He feels almost protective as he shields your body with his, securing you under one arm. 

“Scram,” he tells the other demon. “She’s mine, Sukuna.” 

Sukuna rolls his pairs of eyes. “You weren’t with her when I caught her. She’s fair game.” 

Fox fire flickers in Gojo’s hand. His white talons seem to elongate before your eyes. 

“If you want to fight over her, then by all means,” he says with a dangerous smile. “But we both know I’d win.” 

“Maybe later then,” Sukuna says, lazily as if Gojo isn’t threatening him. “Once I’ve eaten my fill.” 

He stalks off into the night in search of more prey. 

“This is why I told you to wait,” Gojo says, running his hand over his face. “You’re practically bait in this world. Come on, I’ll take you home.” 

You nod, not trusting your voice, but he catches on anyways. 

“Don’t cry,” he says, his face twisted in a grimace. “I won’t know what to do if you cry. Look, this is just your life now, okay? You’ll have to get used to it.” 

On impulse, you press your face into his shoulder again, still sniffling. You want to be comforted, even though you know he won’t give it to you. 

“Ugh,” he says, true to form. “Quit that.” 

By the time you’ve calmed down, Gojo has already escorted you back to the shrine. 

“Don’t come back,” he tells you. 

Of course, you can’t listen to him. On your second night in the land of the dead and monsters, not only do you have to hide from beasts who would devour you the moment they found out what you were, you also have to hide from Gojo. You’re wearing a disguise, courtesy of Tsumiki and Megumi. 

In your defense, it’s not like you want to be here. You need a familiar, and it’s clearly not going to be Gojo. 

According to Tsumiki, Gojo’s the strongest, but there are other familiars who would be willing to serve you. They’re all in the Netherworld, however, and you have to find them before you can contract them. 

You pull the curtain of the hat shielding your face a little closer around you as you peer at the faces surrounding you, trying to gauge who looks friendly. None of them do. You’ve been wandering around for hours, but not a single spirit has stood out to you. 

In the end, you don’t find him. He finds you. 

“A human god?” A hand grasps your wrist loosely. “That’s rare. Don’t you know it’s dangerous to be here?” 

The man in front of you looks normal by any standards - but you know better than to trust your gut in the netherworld. Still, he’s the closest thing to a human you’ve seen in a while. Surrounded by a maelstrom of monsters, he feels like the eye of the storm. There’s a quiet and a calm surrounding him, even as you walk among noderabo with withered, leathery skin and scaly yajo. 

It’s not like he’s in his own little pocket of the world, you realize. He is. Everyone is purposefully giving him a wide berth. 

“Who are you?”  

“I asked first,” he says. 

“You know who I am! You just said so - I’m the human god.” 

His eyes rake over you. “So you are. But what are you doing here, girl?” 

You throw his words back in his face obstinately. “You first.”

“I’m Toji.” That doesn’t tell you anything, but he’s clearly unwilling to divulge more. “Your turn.”

“I’m looking for a familiar.” 

“What about your familiar? I heard that Gojo-sama isn’t keen on sharing.” 

Somehow, the way he says Gojo-sama sounds derisive, even with the respectful honorific. 

“He doesn’t want to be my familiar.” 

The rejection stings coming out of your own mouth. 

“Sounds like him. Haughty bastard, he couldn’t stand to serve a human girl, could he?” 

“Yeah! He’s an asshole,” you say, feeling validated. 

When Toji laughs, the scar over his lip tugs one side of his mouth down. You kind of like it. And he must be strong, just looking at him. He’s well muscled and covered in scars. Of course, there’s the little matter of the reverence everyone around you is offering him. Tsumiki and Megumi had told you to just go out and find one. Could it be that easy?

“Are you interested?” 

He gives you a look of barely concealed amusement. “You’re funny, girl. I don’t think Gojo would like that very much, though.” 

“I don’t care what Gojo thinks.” 

“Oh, here he comes now. Don’t go running too far - you’ll worry him,” he says, slow and easy. His confidence is absurd - it reminds you of Gojo, actually. He must be strong. “If you’re really serious about wanting me as a familiar, why don’t you meet me here again in three days?”

“What are you doing?” Gojo snarls at you. His teeth match the rest of his fox physique. With wonder, you realize that his pearly canines are pointed beyond what’s normal. “I told you not to come back!” 

“But- He-” You turn around to point Toji out, but he’s gone. 

“Who?” Gojo says. 

“He was right there!” 

“You’re so annoying,” Gojo bites out. “I don’t care what happens to you, but if you die, Megumi and Tsumiki will cry, so stop wandering off on your own. You’re lucky you didn’t get devoured on the spot.” 

He’s starting to get really irritating. You shove his hands off. 

“You know it’s actually your fault I’m here, right? If you didn’t reject me, I wouldn’t have to scour the Netherworld for a familiar.” 

Gojo scoffs. “My fault? Maybe you should take a look at yourself. If you were less weak, I wouldn’t have a problem serving you!” 

“That’s- You’re impossible!” You splutter. “I can’t help being weak! I was born this way! Not everyone is so lucky to be born a kitsune, oh-so-great-Gojo-sama.” 

“Enough,” he sighs. Taking you by your wrist, he forcibly drags you through the streets back in the direction you came. 

“Ow! You’re hurting me!” 

“Gojo!” Megumi’s reproving voice breaks the argument up before it can begin again. 

He lets go of you almost guiltily, if you thought he could feel guilt. 

“I’ll take her home,” Megumi says. 

Gojo’s tail lashes behind him angrily, but Megumi doesn’t spare him a second glance as he ushers you away. 

“Thank you,” you tell him in relief. “What are you doing here?” 

“You were taking a long time,” he says. “Tsumiki and I were getting worried. Did you find anyone?” 

You think of Toji. “No,” you say. “No one.” 

The next day, while Megumi and Tsumiki dress you for your trip through the Netherworld again, Megumi presses three slips of white paper into your hands. 

“We should’ve taught you this sooner,” he says. “One of the powers of a god is to transform objects. Whatever you write on this charm will become true - within the scope of your power. Be safe.”  

Armed with your paper slips, you feel like a real god. Tsumiki pushes you out the door with a prayer for good luck, though you’re not sure you can grant prayers to yourself for yourself.

Outside the door, something whines by your feet.

“Gojo?” 

Or is that a regular white fox? 

It snaps its teeth at you. 

Definitely Gojo.

“I don’t need an escort,” you tell him, making shooing motions at him with your hands. “Go away!” 

He rolls over and yips at you, his tail wagging. 

“I can’t understand you like this!” 

“I said,” a cloud of smoke reveals him, mostly humanoid once again, except for his ears and tail. “I don’t want to do this either. It’s for Megumi and Tsumiki.” 

Toji doesn’t seem to like him, so you don’t want to risk bringing him with you. Despite your best attempts to shake him, Gojo follows you as you retrace your steps back into the spirit world. You’re just starting to despair when you spot a bigger reason to be upset. 

“Hello, delicious,” Sukuna says. “Ready for round two?” 

Why does he look even more terrifying? Did he get bigger? 

“Leave her alone,” Gojo says, almost bored. “It’s pathetic. You can only bully things weaker than you, huh?” 

“I’m not afraid to fight you,” Sukuna tells him. 

You’re panicking. They both look serious. You don’t want to be caught between these two forces of nature. 

“You should be,” Gojo says, and steps in front of you. Over his shoulder, he tells you, “Run. You’re in my way.” 

This is the chance you were waiting for. 

Toji’s dressed differently when you find him again. Last night, he was wearing a casual black kimono. Tonight, he’s dressed in a tight fitting black shirt and loose white pants. 

“You look nice,” you tell him, feeling anxious. Your mind keeps going back to Gojo. You’re sure he can hold his own, but you’re still worried for him. As you are, however, you’re of no help to him. The only way you’d be able to rescue him if he actually was in danger is by making a contract with a powerful familiar. 

“It’s for work,” he says. “Follow me.” 

“We can’t do it here?” 

“Do you want to kiss me in front of everyone?” He shrugs and reaches for you. “I mean, I’m down if you are, but I figured-” 

“No,” you squeak and dart away. “Privacy is good!” 

He laughs. “You’re as funny as ever, huh? C’mere.” 

Toji leads you off the beaten path and further into the woods. The only thing that keeps you from feeling more nervous is the moon shining overhead, illuminating your path. It feels almost like a friend is with you.

“Here is good,” Toji says, stopping at a clearing. 

“It’s so pretty,” you breathe out, dazzled. This deep into the woods, fireflies are lighting your way. Beneath your feet, a springy bed of flowers and moss covers the floor. 

“What can I say? I’m a romantic.” 

“Yeah, right,” you laugh at him, but you draw closer. You think you could trust him. You think you could be partners with him. 

Then Toji grabs you by the shoulders and dangles you off the edge of the clearing, over a steep drop you hadn’t noticed. The sharp cut off had been hidden by flowers, danger painted over with beauty. 

“Sorry, kid,” Toji says. “No hard feelings, right?” 

“Why?” You whisper. Gojo had been right. 

“There’s a bounty on your head,” he says. “Getou has offered to grant the wish of anyone who kills you.”

His eyes turn wistful. “I have a kid. Haven’t seen him in years. You understand, right? It’s not personal.” 

The fall is brutal. The wind whips tears into your eyes, if you weren’t already crying from the fear of falling to your death. You have to do something, anything. Above your head, something white flutters. 

A dove? 

Then another. 

It’s one of the paper ofuda Megumi had given you before you left, caught in the updraft of you rushing down to earth. You snatch it out of the air. You can’t reach the pen in your pocket. With increasing desperation, you bite down on your finger hard enough to draw blood and trace the characters for a tree branch onto it. Holding it aloft, you pray. 

Between your hands, wood solidifies. You’re clinging to a scrap of a twig sprouting from the rocky cliffside. Megumi’s words echo in your head - only within the scope of your power. 

So this is it, huh?

That’s all there is of your godly strength. 

“Looks like you’re in trouble,” Gojo says. He has no problem balancing on the sheer cliff. His appearance is impeccable, completely unscathed from his fight with Sukuna. He perches like a bird, as comfortable as if he were standing on solid ground. “Do you need help?”

Thank god. He’s here to save you! You nod, turning teary eyes on him. You were wrong about him. Gojo really is a good guy, deep down. 

“If you say, ‘Please save me, Gojo-sama, I was stupid.’ I’ll help you. Throw in some crying and begging, too.” 

Your eyes dry up instantly. He’s a total bastard. You clutch onto the branch tighter. There’s no way you’ll give him the satisfaction of groveling for help. 

Your resolve weakens when you hear the first snap. 

“Time’s ticking,” Gojo calls in a sing-song voice. “What will it be?” 

The harder you hold on, the more your flimsy branch breaks. 

“Come on,” Gojo says. “It’s not that hard. It’s just seven little words. Isn’t that worth your life?”

“Go fuck yourself,” you tell him, and the branch finally snaps. 

Falling for the second time is just as bad as the first time. The icy wind snatches at you like claws, tearing at your clothes. 

To your surprise, Gojo leaps after you. He makes free-fall look elegant - surely a far cry from whatever you’re doing. 

“Just say it,” he yells, within arm’s reach. He’s so close he could snag you by the shirt and haul you to safety, but you know he won’t. Not without getting what he wants. “Would you rather die than just apologize?” 

You have an answer prepared. 

His eyes widen in shock when you press your palms to his cheek, pull him closer, and kiss him. 

You barely have time to register the taste of him, sake and something sweet, before the reality of falling to your death rushes in again. 

“Gojo, save me!” 

As if his body is piloted by someone else, Gojo catches you. For him, it’s a short leap back up to the top of the clearing, where Toji has disappeared. 

You climb down from his hold once you’re certain you’re safe. You never thought you’d miss the feeling of solid ground beneath your feet this much, but at the moment, you’re willing to kiss the earth. 

Gojo seems much worse off. He’s frozen in shock, muttering the same refrain to himself under his breath. “Me? Bound to her? Impossible.” 

“Let’s go home,” you tell him. He doesn’t seem to get it until you tug him towards the path, and then he leads the way wordlessly. . 

You wake to Megumi and Tsumiki weeping over you. 

“I’m alright!”

They freeze, then burst into fresh tears. 

“We thought you would never wake up! Your first time using ofuda must have been too much for you,” Megumi gets out through his sobs. 

You feel sore all over. You can barely recall the events of the previous night, only that you kissed- 

“Finally up?” 

Gojo’s tapping his foot as he waits for you to get up. He looks furious. There’s an unmistakeable tick in his jaw that spells trouble for you. 

It’s too early to deal with him. You duck back under the covers. 

“Oh no you don’t,” he growls out as he seizes your wrist and bodily hauls you out of your warm cocoon of blankets. “You wanted to be a god, you’re going to be a god. It’s time for some training.” 

You shiver pathetically in the cold morning air. If you had known helping a stranger would lead to be harassed by a fox spirit, you would’ve never done it in the first place. 

“Try harder,” Gojo says at your sixth failed attempt to turn water into wine. 

“It smells alcoholic,” Megumi offers loyally. 

“I am trying!” You insist. 

“Harder,” Gojo snarls. 

The seventh attempt doesn’t change. Gojo throws up his arms and stalks out of the shrine, declaring the need to cool his head. Tsumiki frantically trails him, not trusting him to not attempt to run away again. 

Megumi tries to assure you that you’re doing well, but honestly, you need to leave too. The shrine feels too stuffy. A change of scenery will do you good. Sitting alone in the woods just behind the shrine, you try to focus. Slowly, stacks of ofuda disappear from your hands as you paste them to trees, willing them to blossom. Wilt. Do anything, anything at all. 

You’re out cold when Gojo finds you. 

“Divine power takes time,” he says as he prepares dinner. “Use too many talismans at once and you’ll pass out.” 

You drink a spoonful of soup morosely. “How do I get stronger?” 

“You’ll get stronger if you grant prayers.” 

Tsumiki perks up. “One just came in!” 

“I already looked at it,” Gojo says dismissively. “Not that one.” 

“Everyone’s wishes deserve to be looked at,” you argue. 

Gojo scoffs, “Not this one.” 

“Don’t be rude! A god can’t pick and choose.” 

He tosses the prayer at you. 

Morimoto Rika’s request touches your heart. She’s the spirit of a nearby lake - not just any spirit, as Megumi helpfully clarifies, but another owner of a shrine. A human boy visits her waters nightly. By the light of the moonlight, she fell in love with him, but she can’t meet him because they live in two separate worlds. 

And to think that you would’ve never known to help her if Gojo had continued keeping this from you. 

“This sounds like the perfect job for me,” you argue. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. Yokai can’t fall in love with humans.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. “Aren’t you bound to do as I say? Take me to her.” 

Against his will, Gojo summons what’s called a ‘night fog coach’. Only operable at night, as the name suggests, it’s a tall black carriage truly made for a god. You’re just wondering how Gojo expects you to climb aboard when he effortlessly lifts you by the waist. 

“You’re the one who wanted to go meet her,” he sneers. “Chop-chop.” 

Your supplicant looks like a fish if it were a girl. She has pale green skin and large, black eyes, with overly large teeth for her mouth. Black hair frames a heart shaped face. She’s cute, in her own monstrous way. And she’s desperately in love with a human boy. 

Gojo helps you transform her into a human body and make her over into a normal teenage girl. For a prayer granted, it feels like nothing more than dressing your friend up for a date. 

You’re even as nosy as you would be in that situation. It’s the first prayer you’ve ever granted. You know you shouldn’t, but you and Gojo watch the burgeoning romance from a distance. Of course, he’s completely disapproving, but you have high hopes for them - until Rika pulls out a ring. 

Aren’t they moving a little too fast? 

It only gets worse when Rika confesses that she’s been stalking him - sort of. Keeping tabs on him for his safety by following him around town is a little too close to the other, for your liking. Your head drops into your hands. 

But Yuta takes it surprisingly well. A little too well, in fact. It only seems to infatuate him even more. You knew there were certain types of men out there who loved crazy, but you had never seen it in real life - until now. 

Could this even be counted as a success? 

You’re happy for Rika and Yuta, as happy as you can be for their twisted little union, but you’re just waiting for Gojo to bite your head off for bringing a (real) monster and a human together as soon as you get back home. At least they’re happy, you think ruefully. Worse things could happen. Your first union as a marriage god didn’t fail. In fact, of all people, Yuta seemed the most likely in the world to accept Rika as she was, human or not. 

To your surprise, returning to the shrine, Gojo begrudgingly says, “You did well.” 

Any warm feelings you have for him the next day are replaced when he barges into your room and demands you strip. 

“You have guests,” he says. “Messengers from Toji-sama, the god of the wind.” 

Your eyes grow wide. You hadn’t known Toji was a god. Come to think of it, did Gojo even know the reason why you had been falling from that cliff? You weren’t sure if he had come in time to see who had pushed you. 

“What are you worried about? I’ll be at your side the whole time.” 

You’ll tell him later. Right now, you have a serious matter to prepare for. 

You tried not to discriminate on the basis of his master, but it’s not that at all. Toji’s familiar, Naoya, is simply annoying on his own terms. 

“So you’re the new god of this ramshackle little shrine,” he sniffs. “God, it’s disgusting. How poor are you?” 

“You must be the thirteenth familiar Toji’s owned. He goes through you like toys, doesn’t he? Of course you wouldn’t know that he used to live in worse conditions before. Deplorable.” Gojo laughs in his face. 

Naoya grits his teeth. “I’m surprised your little human dared to show her face. I thought she’d be terrified after what Toji did to her. They’re such weak little things.” 

Gojo looks at the other demon with a calm that worries you. As human as he is, there are moments when you can catch the monster lurking within. He’s like the sea, deceptively calm until you remember the threat of an unseen riptide. 

“If you insult my master again,” he says carefully, enunciating every word like he’s stabbing at them with a knife, “I will take your head and deliver it to your master as a present.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re happy to be serving a mortal girl,” Naoya laughs. “Not someone like you, Satoru. How the mighty have fallen.” 

Gojo looks at him for a long moment, then he ignores him completely and walks to your side. The most painful part of Naoya’s digs at you is knowing he’s right. Gojo doesn’t like this. How could he? He went from being the strongest to being commanded by some powerless girl. Still, Gojo gazes at you with his inscrutable eyes. You can’t read him at all. 

Slowly, he sinks to his knees next to you. 

With a gentleness you can hardly bear, he lays his head in your lap, as gentle and docile as a puppy. His neck is bared as if for an executioner’s axe, the delicate pulse of his heart open to you. He closes his eyes. His breath is shallow. He stays there, and says no more. 

“Oh, Satoru,” Naoya says in delight. “You really have become a tamed thing.” 

With an uncertainty you’re trying to hide, you lift your hands to Gojo’s head. His hair is sinfully soft. You’re almost scared he’ll try to take your hands off for it, but when you start to gently pet his hair, he almost purrs. His eyes close, half-lidded in pleasure. 

“I serve who I want to serve,” Gojo says. His tail lashes behind him. “Who are you to tell me my master is unworthy?” 

Naoya shrugs, clearly disbelieving. “Sure, Satoru. Keep telling yourself that. I’m just here to deliver a gift.” 

He tosses you a package wrapped carefully in beautiful, ornate wrapping paper. You’re sure it’s not Toji’s doing. He’s not the type. 

As soon as he leaves, Gojo pushes himself away from you. It leaves you a little sorrowful, the speed with which he tries to get away. He only did it for your sake, you know. He wanted to protect your honor in front of Naoya because you’re his master. But it must have disgusted him, to get on his knees for a human, if he recoiled so fast. 

“What did he mean, what Toji did to you?” Gojo asks over dinner. 

You know instantly that you’ll only draw his ire if you try to play dumb. 

“Toji pushed me off that cliff the day you found me.” 

Gojo’s eyes darken. The next time Naoya returns, he promises you, he’d set his tail on fire. No one besmirches his master’s honor like that. 

It’s about honor, of course. You’d be a fool to think otherwise. 

Alone in your chambers, you unwrap the package Naoya gave you. It’s an incense burner, beautiful and silver. As apology presents go, it’s a decent one. You set it aside for use at a later time. 

Naoya’s visit only makes Gojo’s training worse, but these days, you’ve grown used to him and his harsh words. The more that he yells at you for being weak, the more you can brush it off as Gojo just being Gojo. That only irritates him more, of course. 

But nothing pisses him off as much as you claiming that you’re returning to school. Gojo thinks that you have no need for school as a god. There’s nothing the humans can teach you that he can’t. 

In your eyes, Gojo is a kitsune. That means he’ll never understand a teenage girl’s heart. School isn’t about learning, it’s about the experience! You’ll never be in high school again - there are so many things you still haven’t experienced, like school trips. You only have one youth - you have to seize it in the moment! 

Gojo isn’t convinced. 

Like an overbearing parent, he nags you all day and night until finally, you strike a deal. He’ll let you go to school, but only as long as you cover up the god-mark on your head. Gojo is never one to make things easy for you. The hat he bestows you with is an ugly grandma print with faux fox ears. You’ll be the laughingstock of the school!

“It’s dangerous,” he says. “Who knows what wild beasts will be lurking about?” 

“You’re the wild beast,” you say. “I can’t wear that!” 

“I guess you can’t go to school then,” he sighs. “What a pity.” 

It’s all for show, of course. You know what he’s really like. There’s no use in arguing - either you agree to his compromise or you stay here, stuck in the temple for the rest of your life. You’ll miss out on all the joys of youth, never growing old in your cloistered shrine. The thought is unbearable. 

You snatch the hat from him in indignation. Putting it on before you leave the next day makes you cringe, but as long as you avoid mirrors, you can almost forget that it’s there - if not for your classmates staring at you. You can feel their judging eyes everywhere you go, and the whispers. 

You can’t even say you don’t care - you do care. You only have one high school life, and Gojo is ruining it. During lunch, you escape into the bathroom to mope and avoid all of your classmates. 

“Are you getting bullied?” Gojo’s voice is too bright and cheery for your dark mood right now. You can’t promise to remain calm if he stays here. 

“This is the girl’s bathroom, Gojo.” 

“Don’t be like that. I’m just worried about my master,” he says. “Well? How is it? Do you want to go home now?” 

He’s lying. You know he’s not worried about you at all, but you should be used to it. You don’t know why it stings as much as it does. 

You’re hurt even though you know this is just how Gojo is. Of course he’d be happy to see you miserable - he hadn’t even wanted you for a god in the first place. He’s bound to you by obligation, and nothing more. You had known from the start that he didn’t care about you, so why does it hurt that he won’t comfort you? It’s just like those nights in the demon world that seem so long ago now. He hasn’t changed at all. 

Gojo isn’t as shocked by your outburst as he is by the tears slowly welling up in your eyes. He stands stunned as you rush out of him and back into the hallway. 

Tsumiki appears next to him out of thin air, completely unimpressed. 

“You did a terrible job on that one, Gojo.” 

As if in a daze, he lifts his hand, where the crystal of one teardrop shines. He’d tried to reach for you at the last moment, but you were already gone. “I made her cry...” 

Megumi appears next to Tsumiki, his face red. “What’s taking so long? Hurry up and leave! We’re in the girl’s bathroom!” 

“Gojo was bullying our master,” Tsumiki announces. 

“I wasn’t bullying her!” 

“He made her cry.” 

Gojo winces. “Okay, yeah. I did do that.”

Megumi kicks him in the leg, which amounts to almost nothing. “Take responsibility, then!” 

When you return home, Gojo is waiting by the shrine door with an almost offensively polite smile on his face. “Let me take your coat, master.” 

Him being kind gives you the creeps. You can’t help but feel like he’s planning something, especially when he shows you the lavish dinner he prepared for you with all of your favorites. 

“What’s with the look?” He says, annoyed at your accusing eyes peering at him over your bowl. “I do something nice for you and this is how you treat me?” 

“This is really just for me? No ulterior motives?” 

“None,” he promises. 

The smile that breaks over your face is like the sun through rain clouds - sudden, dramatic, and almost painfully bright after a period of gray skies. 

“Thanks, Gojo!” 

The look in his eyes is unreadable as he reaches to spoon more food onto your plate. 

You don’t have anyone else in this world. Besides the shrine spirits, Gojo might be the only person in the world who will take care of you. For some reason, the thought doesn’t sting as much as it did this morning. 

The second day of school starts with pouring rain, as if it’s a direct reaction to your foul mood earlier. Gojo pulls you back when you try to leave. 

“It’s a bad omen,” he says. “Stay home with me today. I’ll worry about you if you go.” 

Normally, such sweet words might bring a blush to your face, but you can read between the lines. 

Stay home with me today so I can keep you out of trouble, you brat. 

I’ll worry about you if you go because you’re weaker than a worm. 

“Stop trying to keep me from going to school! I thought we got over this yesterday,” you huff. “I’m going to be late for the bus!” 

You leave Gojo with a handful of air as you dart under his outstretched arm and out the door. 

In school, all your classmates are listless. 

You’ve never been so unhappy to not be the subject of attention. What is wrong with everyone? Even the teacher doesn’t reprimand anyone for sleeping in class, half-asleep herself. You’re the only one who doesn’t seem to be caught in this spell of drowsiness, which insinuates paranormal origins. 

As you’re sweeping the classroom after class, one of your classmates lets out a disgruntled noise. 

“It’s a snake,” she says, not at all with the intonation of someone who’s just discovered a snake. Ami’s the type to go apoplectic at the sight of a fly, much less an actual snake, so you don’t pay much mind until you hear Kurama go, “Huh, she wasn’t kidding.” 

There’s a little yellow snake in the classroom. In their stupor, none of your classmates seem to care all that much about it. They just continue going about their chores. You feel bad for it. It’s such a small, fragile little creature. In their state, they might accidentally end up crushing it. 

With gentle murmurs of encouragement, you coax it into your hand. It’s surprisingly docile and twines itself readily around your wrist before you set it outside the window to be set free. 

Gojo doesn’t praise you for your act of heroism on the behalf of his fellow yokai, as you remind him. You saved his compatriots! Where’s the gratitude? 

He calls you a stupid little girl. “I don’t care about them, I care about you!” 

Your face warms with embarrassment against your will even though you know he doesn’t mean it like that. Time and time again, Gojo has stressed that he will never see yokai and humans as even remotely on the same playing field, much less capable of being romantic partners. 

“You’re my master,” he says. There’s your call back to reality. “Look at this mark on your wrist.” 

It appears like a normal bruise to you, though you’re not sure how it could’ve happened. Your new snake friend was very gentle when he was coiled around your wrist. He must have been someone’s escaped pet. You hope he found his way back home. 

Gojo’s mad. He’s enunciating every word. 

“This is exactly why I have to keep such a close eye on you. That’s no ordinary bruise. That is an engagement mark. Care to explain to me how I left you alone for one second and you got yourself engaged to a divine beast?” 

Your face pales. “Excuse me?” 

“That snake is going to come and claim you as his bride.” 

“As a bride?” Your head spins and you have to sit down. You’re too young to get married. You look up at Gojo, teary-eyed. You don’t want this. 

“Stop making that face,” he snaps, pushing a hand over your face to hide it. “As if I would let that happen. The master of the Yaga shrine, my master, could never be wed to a mere snake.” 

If Gojo says he won’t let it happen, you can put your faith in him. You breathe a little easier. As mean as he can be, Megumi and Tsumiki weren’t lying when they called him the best familiar. He’s the strongest and most capable person or rather, yokai, that you know. There’s not a single task you set for him that he hasn’t been able to complete. 

It’s still raining when you go outside to practice your talisman making. 

You find the weather quite pleasant, even though it’s a little damp. The chill in the air cuts through the muggy feeling of summer, and the raindrops cool your cheeks. When you turn your face up to the sky, you can taste ozone in the little drops that pelt your face. 

“You’re very beautiful, kamisama,” says a voice. 

There's a man waiting just outside the red gates. A supplicant? In this weather? You better get him inside in a hurry. You dash over to him. 

“What are you doing? Come inside, you’ll get wet!” 

Just as you reach him, he lifts his face. He looks like a statue, with high cheekbones, and solemn eyes. His hair is the same pale yellow as the snake you saw earlier that day-

“Gojo!” 

But it’s too late. 

The snake has a hold on your wrist, right above the engagement mark. He takes you away. 

One moment, you’re standing in your own backyard, the next, you’re surrounded by almost-familiar bamboo walls. It looks like your shrine but for little distinguishing touches. That makes you uncomfortable. 

“This is Haibara shrine,” the snake says. “I’m Nanami, the familiar of Haibara-sama. I’ve taken you away to marry you.” 

There’s a curtain over the center of the room. Haibara presumably rests behind it, but something strikes you as off about the whole scenario. That’s not what’s foremost on your mind, however. 

“I don’t want to marry you! You kidnapped me!” 

He tilts his head at you. “I couldn’t have kidnapped you. We’re engaged, you see?” He traces the mark on your wrist with one slim finger. “We’re going to be very happy together.” 

“You’re being creepy,” you push him away. 

At your rejection, something dark crosses over his features - not danger, but pain. He has some nerve feeling upset when you’re the one who should be upset here! 

“That’s alright,” he says, trying to stroke your hair. You won’t let him touch you. “I know it can take some getting used to. Here, let me show you to your room.” 

Nanami has clearly put a lot of thought into decorating for you. It’s beautifully furnished, with rich silk sheets and the fragrant smell of plum blossoms permeating the air. Here, there’s not a single thing you could want but- 

Gojo. 

You miss Gojo and you miss your shrine. 

When Nanami leaves you in your room, it feels like a tomb in the silence. You bury your face in your expensive, hateful sheets and try to resist the urge to sob. You want Gojo to come get you. You want to go home. 

Hours pass, but Gojo doesn’t come. 

Nothing but the sound of your breathing changes, passing from frantic to deeper, slower, steadier. As your head clears, you notice the window. It’s a beautifully ornate design, a red knot of luck. The center is just big enough for a girl to squeeze through, if you try hard. 

Resolve grips you. 

You’re not going to wait for Gojo to rescue you. You’re going to get out of here yourself, find him, and scold him for not coming to get you earlier. Aren’t you his most beloved master, as he so professes? You’re going to make him kneel for at least three hours practicing his apologies! 

Filled with renewed conviction, you hoist yourself onto the window sill and begin the tedious task of shimmying yourself out. Just when you’re nearly there, the sharp edge of the metal scrapes your shin, leaving a long, thin cut. 

The smell of salt replaces the plums immediately. 

“God?” Comes Nanami’s voice. “I smell blood. Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine!” You panic. If he discovers your escape attempt now, he might try to put you in a more secure room, and then you’ll really never see Gojo again. 

The adjacent wall caves in. 

Gojo stands in the rubble, seething, each hand wreathed in blue flame. He doesn’t even notice you, his attention wholly focused on Nanami. “You drew her blood? Are you prepared to face the consequences of hurting my master, snake?” 

You grab his arm just before he attacks. “He didn’t! I hurt myself on the window- oof!” 

Gojo’s so much bigger than you are. When he folds you into his arms, his entire body surrounds you. His chin tucks itself over your head, his large arms wrap around your body. You’ve never felt more secure than you are here, now. “I thought you’d be crying.”

His voice is hoarse. 

You’ve never heard that before. 

“You came,” you whimper, burying your face into his shoulder.  

Nanami’s face is crestfallen. “Are you going to leave me?” 

You grab Gojo’s arm and duck into the other room, where Haibara’s curtain is. 

“Don’t!” Nanami cries. 

When you pull it back, there’s nothing but an old, dusty kimono. 

You were right. 

This place is godless. 

“You’re no familiar,” Gojo snarls, turning on Nanami. “Don’t even think to call yourself that. The difference between you and me is as clear as day, you vile beast. You’ll pay for your insolence with the loss of your shrine.” 

Nanami’s misery is written all over his face. You’ve realized what’s wrong with this shrine. It’s too quiet, as if no one has prayed here for generations. Haibara has been dead for a long, long time.

Nanami must have been lonely. 

“Don’t,” you tell Gojo.

He stares at you, incredulous. “Are you out of your mind?” 

You tug yourself out of Gojo’s arms. Nanami’s crouched on the ground, trying to shield Haibara’s old kimono from Gojo’s foxfire. You kneel to his level. 

“I’m sorry you’ve been lonely for all this time, Nanami. I can’t stay with you, but if you come to my shrine, we can play again.” 

Nanami weeps and reaches for your hand. The mark of the snake dissolves. 

Gojo doesn’t talk to you on the way back to the shrine.

“Don’t be mad,” you say, tugging on the sleeves of his kimono. He gives you a deadpan stare. “Come on! I only did it because-” 

You can’t finish your sentence. 

Of course, that piques Gojo’s interest. He can never resist bullying you. 

“Because? Go on,” he goads you. 

You say it so quietly he can’t hear you, even with his fox ears. He spins around, grabs you by the waist, and hoists you up so you’re face to face. You yelp and scramble to grab onto his shoulders for balance. 

“Louder,” he demands. “I can’t hear you.” 

“I was thinking about what would happen if I died and you were all alone again. I couldn’t leave him alone because I was thinking of you,” you tell him. Thinking of Gojo watching after an empty shrine all alone like Mizuki makes your heart ache for reasons you can’t explain. 

He stiffens. “What a strange thing to worry about. I wouldn’t care.” 

“Ugh,” you smack him in the shoulder. You shouldn't have tried to be kind to him. 

He doesn’t put you down, shifting you into an easier hold. “You’re hurt,” he admonishes when you try to squirm. 

Just before you enter the shrine gates, he has a confession of his own to make. “I’m sorry,” he says. “You got hurt because I wasn’t protecting you.” 

You rub his ears, an indulgence you’re not sure he would’ve allowed if he wasn’t in such a mood. “It’s not your fault!” 

“I’ve never had a human master,” he says. “I have to be careful not to break you. You’re so easily hurt.” 

“You don’t have to say it like that,” you say, and then the shrine spirits are there to welcome you home. 

You hadn’t realized you thought of the shrine as home until today. 

Even though Nanami’s mood isn’t affecting the weather anymore, it’s still raining. Gojo tells you not to mind the weather, even though you’re certain that it’s not from natural causes, which means it is your job. Ever since you came back from Haibara’s shrine, Gojo has been extra protective of you. 

You hadn’t thought Gojo had needed to be protected too, not until the thunder god came. 

The god of storms and lightning is called Getou Suguru. He carries a mallet in one hand that can transform whoever it touches into their younger forms, and he used to be Gojo’s best and only friend. He’s also the one who called a bounty on your head.

[ghuleh-recs]

@st-danger is your favorite ghoul writer's favorite ghoul writer and it was their birthday yesterday! I've compiled a list of some of my favorite Saint fics to celebrate. Beyond being an incredible writer, Saint is such a wonderfully supportive member of the fandom here. They always leave a kind word (or sexy addition lbr) in the tags. You know that meme that's like 'I sure hope this doesn't awaken something in me?' That's how I experience most of their fics. So thank you Saint for sharing your writing with us. I don't know that the fandom needed more reasons to be horny but here we are. Go leave Saint some comments and hit up their ko-fi for some birthday appreciation!

recs under the super cute divider from @forlorn-crows

Terrors of the Night - dewdrop/dewdrop - E, 13.5k

“Hi,” he says, to himself. Dew is not by nature a timid or shy thing. He has always been a healthy mix of piss and vinegar. Acerbic wit and energy, and thoughtful tenderness in the right circumstances. A sharp tongue but a gentle touch. Fearful or nervous are not descriptors to be used, nothing he’s ever been accused of…and yet, Dew goes cold and his hand tightens around the fistful of blanket as he pulls it closer to himself. An uncharacteristic movement performed by a hand not under his control. Dewdrop smiles at him, with light eyes and lighter hair, looking exactly how he used to. Or, The past comes back to haunt.

Copia, seeing the ghouls' faces - Copia & Everyone - G, <1k

He once heard Terzo describe looking at Omega's true face as "confusing". He never asked any follow up questions to clarify that statement, but he's always wondered if confusing meant strange to look at, or strange to look at because his human brain couldn't figure out exactly what it was looking at, in an Eldritch horror kind of way. If hellspawn are naturally just beyond what mortal minds can know. "Are you sure?" Copia asks, though his hands are already reaching towards Aether's face. "You want me to see you?" "We want you to know us," Aether replies simply, and carefully, so carefully, Copia slides off Aether's mask, like the metal might turn out to be sugar and splinter and break if he isn't gentle.

Steadfast Love, Not Sacrifice - Aether/Copia/Dewdrop - E, 11k

It’s a bit like a shark smelling blood, he thinks as they follow close behind. It's natural they were going to want to taste it, too. “Well,” Copia says, “some of us need our beauty sleep.” He hesitates, and then proceeds to look nervously between the two of them and continue, “I meant me, of course. You two are already very, erm. I should go to bed.” It’s such a flimsy excuse. The elevator reaches the third floor before any of them speak again. Aether clears his throat. “You don’t want to though.” Copia looks very called out, but can’t do much more than stare, before realizing the two ghouls beside him are waiting for an actual answer of some kind. The elevator beeps as it passes the fourth floor. “No,” Copia says slowly, and Aether’s stomach does a little swoop. “I don’t.” Or, Sometimes the reward is worth the risk.

[REC] - Dewdrop/Swiss - E, 1.8k

“Have you thought about Aether watching you like this before?” “Not before you mentioned taking photos.” Swiss stands and Dew watches through narrowed eyes as he spreads Dew’s legs to stand between them, and reaches down to unclip the garter from his left leg. He strokes along the top of the lace teasingly and then begins to work it down Dew’s thigh, pushing his leg up to roll it down and off his calf, his toes. “Let me blindfold you,” he says by way of explanation. (don't miss the sequel 1080P !)

Self Control Takes The City - Terzo/Omega - E, 5.6k

Omega can be endlessly patient. He has existed, in some form, for an unfathomable length of time. Above Ground, years upon years. In the Pit- well, there’s no way to say. No way to measure. But he has been for a very, very long time. He knows good things come to those who wait. Alas, patience is a virtue. Hellspawn such as himself surely couldn’t be found to be practicing that very often. There is, of course, a workaround; practicing said virtue during unvirtuous situations. For unvirtuous reasons. As the saying goes, the devil’s in the details. Or, Omega gives until it hurts.

Hybrid Slinky - Dewdrop/Swiss - E, 2.8k

“It got deep,” Rain says, voice quiet and a little husky, and he brings Dew’s hand higher, closer to his mouth. “Let me clean you up?” Dew’s mind goes blank for a moment, before catching up to what Rain’s suggesting, and he feels a frisson of excitement zig-zag its way down his spine. “Yeah,” he grins. “Go ahead and make Papa proud.” _ Dewdrop cuts his finger, Rain and Aether kiss it better, as you do.

Worship, Bow Down - Dewdrop/Sister Imperator - E, 3.4k

“All work and no play’s turned you cruel,” Dew laments, and rises. Places his palms on the heavy desk and leans in, shower-damp hair in a curtain over his shoulders. “Could sweeten you back up. If you wanted.” Imperator takes a quick breath in. “Office hours are over,” she says. “Lock the door.” “Did that on the way in.” He has the cheek to wink. He trails his fingers over the wood as he walks around to her, loving the way her eyes follow him, up until he stands behind her, rests those elegant hands on her shoulders and gives them a little squeeze. “Feeling tingly yet?” Or, the road is fun, but coming home is, too.

Quintessence Control - Aether/Aeon/Dewdrop - E, 1.1k

"Didn't you say you wanted to show me a little something?" Aeon wiggles his fingers and Dew goes still. Against his neck, Aether places a wet, sucking kiss. "Okay?" he whispers against Dew's skin, fingertips stroking over his temple, down the side of his face. "Cool if we play?" Dew chokes out a yes, and Aether takes a slow, deep breath and bleeds magick into him, tangling himself between every neuron in his brain. (You should also read this one actually)

Stoned Edging - Aeon/Swiss - E, 1.4k

"Unholy shit," Aeon breathes, sounding delighted and fucked-out, trying to steady the rise and fall of his chest. "How many are we at now?" Swiss doesn't know. Too many times, and they're both far too high to remember the count. Their little game of how bad they can make it for each other relies on two things: one, the shared love of an exquisite, particular sort of misery, and two, how much of Mountain's greenhouse stash they can get away with pilfering. It's something the others don't have the patience for. Not the way they do, at least. They're over the top with it. Unnecessary. It's delicious.

Run Rabbit Run - Rain/Swiss - E, 17.5k

“I want you to show me just how important he is,” Swiss says and Rain doesn’t understand, dazed with the slow slide and massage of lips against his while he speaks. His brain is fogged up, useless. “Will you do that for me, sweetheart?” “How?” The hands on his face remain, though Swiss once again leans away in order to look at him properly, wearing that serene smile that says he knows more than Rain ever will. Or, The hunter strikes it rich.

𖤐 you know the drill--bookmark, read, and leave kudos/comments!

Did I forget your favorite? You've got a standing invitation from me to add your own rec and reblog ♡

[slytherinslut0]

SEVERUS SNAPE ONESHOT- Yours, Always.

Tags: Breakup, Love Story, Fluff, Poet Severus, Heartbreak

It had been almost an entire year.

Almost one whole fucking year since you and Severus broke up--the challenges that you'd faced within your relationship were simply too big to overcome, and as a result, the wedge that formed between you two proved to be insurmountable. But despite your issues, not a day has gone by where you don't find yourself thinking about him, thinking about how much you fucking loved him, and all the reasons in which caused you to fall so hard for him in the first place.

You loved Severus for the enigmatic depth of his soul, the way his piercing intellect and hidden vulnerabilities intertwined. His profound understanding of magic and his fierce loyalty, despite his often aloof demeanor, were entirely captivating.

Beneath his stoic exterior, you'd seen glimpses of a wounded heart yearning for redemption, and you were drawn to the complexity of his character. It was his ability to love so fiercely, even if it was sometimes obscured by the shadows of his past, that made your heart ache for him, and you believed that beneath it all, he was deserving of the love and understanding you longed to offer; and you still believed that, even now, almost a year after you'd broke things off.

Leaving Severus was one of the most agonizing decisions you've ever made. It came from a place of deep pain and frustration, stemming from the insurmountable challenges you'd faced. Your love was undeniable, but it was also a source of constant turmoil and heartache. The emotional distance, the secrecy, and the external threats became overwhelming. You yearned for a love that was more stable, open, and free from the constant fear and tension that shrouded your relationship. It was a heartbreaking choice driven by a desperate need for emotional and physical safety, even though it meant letting go of a love that had once felt like the most magical and intense connection in your life.

And even though you'd had other partners, been with other men--nothing has ever compared. Not a single soul has ever come close to making you feel the way Severus did. Not a single one.

So on this chilled September evening, as the room feels like a sanctuary of solitude, heavy with the weight of time gone by, you find yourself frozen in grief. Shadows dance upon the walls, casting long, wistful silhouettes, as if the very atmosphere mourns a love lost to the sands of time as you sit and reminisce, allowing yourself to wallow in the suppressed pain for a while.

Just as you begin to feel the salty warmth of your tears gliding down your cheeks, you're snapped from your thoughts when your owl, Percy, glides in through the open window, holding a letter between her claws--her wings rustle softly, a mournful symphony that mirrors the heartache in the room. Her eyes, dark and penetrating, seem to hold secrets of the past, and her hoot, though eerie, carries a touch of empathy.

With trembling hands, you take the letter, your fingers tracing the familiar seal with the serpent emblem, Severus's signature. The very sight of his signature stamp sends a pang of longing through your fucking heart, your pulse increasing to an unfathomably quick rate--what the hell could this be? Severus solemnly ever writes you these days.

Upon opening the letter, the inked words appear to bleed with emotion, each stroke of the quill bearing the weight of a love that was, and perhaps still is, unextinguished. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes, blurring the elegant script as memories of your shared moments flood back in vivid detail.

"My Dearest Witch,

How many years must stretch their relentless fingers between us to prove that we are no longer inlove? Seasons have come and gone, the passage of time marked by the whispering winds of summer and the quiet melancholy of September. For how long must we persist to scour the earth for someone new to fill the others shoes?

Do not doubt that there have been others, for I have wandered through the corridors of time seeking solace after facing the reality of your absence; though none could replace the unique cadence of your voice, the way you lulled me with words, the way you breathed my name into the hollow of my neck.

Have you, too, found sanctuary in another's arms? Did they manage to provide the same reverence that you'd experienced from my hands? I ask, if I may, if you have experienced a touch as patient as mine, lips that tasted of desire and warmth that filled the silences between words? Has your heart risen like a crescendo, a wave crashing upon the shore, in the company of another?

Remember, as I whispered to you, 'Love is the only thing that time cannot touch.'

I have never spoken words more true. After all this time, my love for you remains an eternal flame, my guiding light, my morning star. Time itself bears witness to the enduring power of this ancient love, a love I will carry with me across the eons, through vast oceans of existence, down to the tiniest, most fragile inches of my soul, forever guiding me back to you.

If you too find that your heart still calls my name in the silence of your nights, then do write to me. It's time we end this madness, my dear love.

Yours, always,

Severus."

The room seemed to close in around you, the walls echoing with the echoes of your laughter and whispered confessions. Your owl, perched nearby, watches with unblinking eyes, as if understanding the depth of the pain embedded in every word.

As you finished reading the heartfelt letter, a profound sense of genuine happiness enveloped you like a warm embrace. In this unexpected moment, a radiant smile graced your lips, and your heart felt lighter than it had in years. The words in the letter had transported you back to a time when your love burned with an intensity that defied the world. It rekindled cherished memories of shared laughter, whispered confessions, and the depth of your connection.

It was as though the letter had unlocked a treasure trove of emotions that you had thought were lost to time. You felt a surge of joy knowing that, despite the passage of time and the trials you had faced, Severus still carried a flame for you. It was a validation of the profound bond you had once shared. The happiness you felt was not just for yourself but also for the recognition that your love had left an indelible mark on both your hearts.

This letter from Severus is a poignant reminder of a love that, despite its ending, still lingers like a haunting melody. You immediately grabbed your quill and began writing him back.

[starkeysprincess]

Went down the season 2 Rafe rabbit hole today and I’ve never loved a hot psycho more and it gave me suchhh a good idea. It’s not everyone’s thing but erotic torture/dubcon would toooootally be his.

Like maybe before his life got so complicated, you were friends with the pogues, and while Rafe didn’t necessarily like it, he didn’t care as long as you were happy and came back to him at the end of the day.

I’d imagine you’d be introduced to this side of him when one late and stressful night, you get caught right in the crossfire of him and them, just tagging along with your friends, because Rafe always told you whatever he was up to was nothing to worry about. So you weren’t that concerned about them finding the treasure, and your friends hadn’t told you about Rafe yet. He’d get furious and be dragging you home, telling you he needs you safe and protected and ends up taking his frustration out on your frightened little self. Every time you saw him unfathomably angry after that, you knew what was to come.

He’d be into chaining you to his bed or tying you up tight enough to give you rope burn on your most sensitive parts. He’d say the most evil shit imaginable and do everything to make you cry from edging to the most intense overstimulation and not having any limit or remorse for how far he’ll push you. No, you’re gonna take anything and everything from your daddy. He likes to fuck your ass without prep and plugs his cum in it with dildos while he deals with your other holes. I have a visceral feeling he’d be into clamping your nipples, but more than anything your clit, knowing that’s where he can be the most sinful because it’s your most sensitive part. He’d tie a vibrator to your leg and leave it on your pinched little pearl for hours in the highest and just watch and taunt and degrade you, maybe getting up to cum in or on you or use his fucking machine or spank or torture your ass again to guttural screaming and sobs full of begs that fall on deaf ears, maybe even threatening to get out the knife if you don’t shut the fuck up. Or he’d do it himself, choking you so hard that since you don’t even recognize the Rafe in front of you, you genuinely fear he won’t know when to stop. He would be the most sadistic and unhinged version of a Greek god you’ve ever seen, and would absolutely break you, his toy, his property, his little slut who he needs by his side just as much because otherwise he’d break himself.

I feel like there’s so many ideas in here this is more short story material but queen I thought it and I knew you’d know what to do with it so do what you see fit, I neeeeed ur perspective. I love psycho Rafe <3

I’m sorry that this isn’t super detailed, i went more with a small rundown cause everything you said was 🙂‍↕️

i definitely think he gets off on the fact that you’re scared of this side of him, he genuinely enjoys seeing you tremble in fear when you realize what’s to come

when he ties you to his bed, he wouldn’t give a shit if the ropes are burning into your flesh because to him, it shows that you’re his and his only and that he has control over you

his favorite thing to do, in my opinion, is keeping your wrists and legs tied as he’s holding a vibrator against your sensitive clit, he’d tease and edge you for as long as he feels like and he’ll either stop, leaving you crying for more or keep going until you’re squirting and making a mess all over his sheets

also yeah this man is def into knife play, like he’d drag the cool metal down your body, running the flat blade against your nipples, watching them harden, hell—he may even carve his initials into your skin

he will manhandle you and when he’s being too rough, he doesn’t even show remorse as he’s turning you into nothing but his perfect little fucktoy of a girlfriend because in some sort of aspect in his mind, this is his way of showing you he loves you

because no matter how scared you are when he gets like this, he knows you love him too much to leave him

[they-reap-what-we-sow]

20 questions for writers

thank you for the tag @fanfictiongreenirises I finally managed to finish a tag game!!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

168- with 44 podfics and the rest are regular fics!

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

346,848. unfathomable number who is she where did she come from

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Batman (Batfam) my love my life, but 9-1-1 is a close second with one-offs for a lot of my other passing interests.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Floppy Bird - crack fic that was meant to be an angst fic that I never understood why people liked so much asfhjs

cocoa on a cold night - a classic timby holiday fic that I wrote in the middle of summer, talk about environmental storytelling

secrets un(revealed) - the only purposeful long fic I've ever written, and also the most trope mashing I've ever done with reverse robins, magical realism au, and delicious delicious miscommunications (in my head the only fic that deserves to be in the top five :wheeze: )

Eggshells - vent fic alert !! very embarrassing that people like this I try not to think about it ":)

taking the blade (for you and yours) - a round robin fic written with the server and CHOCK full of Damian suffering.

5. Do you respond to comments?

NO PICTURES. NO COMMENT. I DONT KNOW HOW TO READ.

no jk jk I really really try to but once I start getting behind it's just a whole spiral. these days I have a better chance of replying to a comment on an old fic than a brand new one because I dont want leave them half replied

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

any of my death fics probably? I think with DC a death is a little more inconsequential than other fandoms just because of how often it's unpermanent, so as a concrete answer, I'll say for you (i would cross the line). nothing quite like parental grief.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

happy ending wink-wonk or XD

probably Who The Hell Is Red Hood? - I've done things there with growth and healing that DC HQ would shudder to imagine

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not regularly, thank everything, but the one controversial three-some I posted needed comment regulation lmao

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes and uh, the kinky kind? idk take a look for yourselves I guess

10. Do you write crossovers?

Yes, and they're ALWAYS unserious- Buck from 9-1-1 dating Emma from Friends (yes Ross and Rachel's kid) anyone?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Uh, not by a person? as far as I know? but I have found my fic on those like, document websites??? which is weird lmao just read them on your phones guys not everything needs to be uploaded

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

nope!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

weee yes! round robin my beloved, and also every fic @canonicallyshort and I have written in our threads. those count. to me. emotionally.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

I WILL GO DOWN WITH MY MULTISHIP (which really means I'm never going down at all) but really I dont think I will ever get over Merthur... or Buddie... or- you see what I mean?

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

oh god I have so many wip that I am holding out hope for but my biggest WIP is an unpublished hellhole affectionately entitled "Death Pit" by everyone who is working on it- most notably because it features a literal Death Pit, every horror, angst, whump, and trauma trope you can think of, and a cast of characters and a plot thread so long we have 20+ page outline documents that aren't even fully updated... I shudder to think what will become of it one day, I imagine sentience isn't very far off

16. What are your writing strengths?

why is this an interview question. I dont know my strengths really?? um. I have good ideas, that one I'll say. execution is a different story (likely one that will never get told. like the rest of my good ideas)

I also think I do fairly well with scene descriptors. I really like to set a scene because I'm seeing a movie in my head and you all should too!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I'm down to clown globally! I dont like to use google translate though, so if im writing in another language it's only because SOMEONE on the server is a native speaker and can vouch for my text.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

oh god one direction. head in hands. it was an 'adopted by 1d' fic that I made my mom beta, and turned it in to my 6th grade English teacher as my creative writing assignment. then I made a poem about it. then I wrote a song about it. thankfully it never got published and is trapped in the cursed purple file folder it was 'hidden' in since 7th grade. my first published fic was almost 7 years later with a Gomens fic!

20. Favourite fic you've written?

AHh um. favorite child scene here, but top contenders include: lithium + 5 for its graphic design and medical accuracy, fiery veins on speechless days for its emotional whump that makes me hurt every time I reread it, [PODFIC] wither on the shore which is not a fic I wrote but one of my favorite podfics of @silk-scarlet-ribbons 's works.

tagging (if you wish to participate!) @canonicallyshort @silverandsunflowers @selkienight60 @crows-murder

[merakiui]

Mera! I absolutely love your writing! ♡ Especially your twisted wonderland chitchat! and after long day I always check if you uploaded smth bc it cheers me up! so thanks for that ☆

Also, you mentioned in previous posts before about how (or was it in the tags?? 😂) "Love/relationships/sex etc.... In the sea is Quite different than what we are used to" and NOW I'M CURIOUS!!

So, What are you thoughts??? how different do you think is love for the octavinelle trio? Do you think they view it in a unusual way? do they take a "mate" by force?? how different is it from human standards? 👀👀👀

Oh! and can I be 🌸 anon ? 👉👈

Thank you for liking my writing and twst chats!!! I'm happy to know it can cheer you up! :D you may be 🌸 anon! Knowing me, it's highly likely it was written in the tags hehe. ^^;;;

I think some merfolk who have observed humans and their traditions attempt to adopt such behaviors for themselves, such as getting rings and making promises to stay together forever, even things like marriage or ceremonies associated with binding souls together in eternal love. I like to imagine in the sea the concept of marriage is a little foreign to the mers who live farther from human civilizations (such as mers from the Northern part of the Coral Sea, which is where the trio hail from). Perhaps it's something where, once you mate with a mer you are intended to stay with them forever if it's a species that mates for life, or stay long enough until the eggs have been laid or hatched. That's probably the closest thing to "marriage," only it's more so once you've mated you're stuck together for life (or so that's how some mers view it).

Love is not entirely foreign to merfolk, though. All species have versions of love and affection, however unfathomable they may seem. Human traditions regarding love are just as strange to the trio as mer traditions are to humans. Affection in the sea is protecting your mate and fry from harm, it's hauling in the biggest, meatiest fish for dinner, it's settling down in a comfortable cove at the end of every day, curled and wound around one another, it's leaving to find warmer waters in the spring when spawning and mating seasons roll around, it's going out to search for the fry who will inevitably return after hatching, carried home by the pull and push of the vast sea, some lost to time, devoured by predators or smothered by the weight of the world, and others strong and lucky enough to survive the lottery of life.

As fluffy as that sounds, mates are difficult to come by. Some mers are picky. Merfolk want strong mates to produce strong, healthy offspring. Merfolk like colorful displays, though the trio know that too much flashy colors and shiny scales are as pretty as they are harmful (predators are drawn in by lights, sounds, smells, flashy displays just as much as potential mates are). Most merfolk seek mates out of biological imperative, so it's not usually love that brings mers together (at least not for the sake of breeding). And a lot of mers can be territorial and violent when it comes to mates. Merfolk might kill or fight for their mates, whether out of possession or part of a courting ritual (a test of strength); humans don't normally do that. And it's not uncommon for mates to be taken by force. It's not uncommon for toxic dynamics to be seen as normal or, at the very least, acceptable in parts of the ocean where life is difficult to come by.

Azul was raised in a loving familial environment. It's natural that his perception of love would be very sweet and gentle and almost human. He reads about it in books. Humans are strewn all throughout the tales merfolk exchange. Even the mermaid princess from so long ago experienced love with a human. Azul knows these stories well because they are often told before bed or passed around during youth. But Azul knows his species is not very common. He knows he stands out from other merfolk. He knows he is a solitary creature by nature's design. That's why love is so important to him. He'll scoff and insist he has no need for such trivial things, but it's his dream to find someone who he can live out the rest of his life with. Octo-mers mate for life. Naturally, some who follow more "human" ideals might inevitably drift apart or separate like how his parents did. But Azul knows deep in his three hearts that if he ever does find his forever match he will do everything he can to ensure he never has to remarry or search for another love because his one true beloved fell out of it with him.

The twins were also raised lovingly, albeit they were raised to be predators capable of protecting and defending themselves. Jade and Floyd are more accustomed to violence and gore than love itself, not only because it happens so often in the deep sea but because the family business is not for the faint-hearted. They've heard their fair share of human stories. They know of the love humans indulge in. They've spied humans tangling together on the beach. They've witnessed ocean weddings on the shoreline or from afar on the deck of ships. Their parents have often said that when humans love they kiss to show their affection, hence why Mama and Papa Leech kiss so often. It's very sweet. It's also very human. Jade is indifferent on the matter; he has always been that way: analytical, realistic, level-headed. Floyd... not so much. He has always been more emotional, more hormonal, more sensitive. For all of the playful immaturity and volatile mood swings, he wants a genuine bond. Morays don't often mate for life. Some have multiple mates; some do not. Their parents chose each other and have remained together ever since. It's exactly the sort of lifelong bond Floyd wants.

Jade can understand the appeal. Growing old and maturing together, forging deep, unbreakable bonds, witnessing the world unfold throughout years of devoted partnership. But Jade has never been able to fully grasp his emotions as well as Floyd does, and so, as fluffy as forever romance sounds, he often thinks about it logically. Logically, he will need to find someone in the future, if only to secure the next branch in the Leech family tree. Logically, as he matures sexually, he will need someone to fill with eggs as that is what biological imperative calls for (otherwise it's a great bodily discomfort when he has eggs and yet there is no one to accept them), and so he's forced to endure for a few days, wallowing in unshakeable heat, irritable and hungry, reduced to raw instinct.

On land, love is different. Humans do not need to hunt for their meals as often as merfolk do. Humans court in subtle ways (though sometimes it's grand and flashy). Humans are so hung up on getting to know someone, on determining whether they're a suitable match, before getting to the part where they mate (and sometimes they never reach that part). Love is a process on land (that's the best way Jade can define it). There are stages and steps one must take. There are rules, some apparent and others unspoken. It is very peculiar, but that is exactly what draws the trio in. Curiosity is much the same across all species. Humans can never tell when they've found "the one." Jade has learned that humans will often say they've found "the one," but that may have been said about previous lovers. Conversely, mers have this unique sixth sense; they often know when they've found the one that is right for them, the one they will spend eternity with.

And when the trio spend enough time with you, they all realize rather quickly that you are the fated half who will fulfill their pair.

[siconetribal]

Wishing You Were Here

Tag: @vbecker10, @harlequin-hangout

Pairing: Loki x Y/N

Warning: Fluff, angsty, Loki feels, all the feels, poor Y/N I'm always so mean to you

Author Note: So, I promised way back that I would do another Loki piece, and I've been working on this idea for a bit of a while. I hope you all like it, it's not as humorous as my last stuff, but I wanted to do something more serious.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was no denying that life was a force that was impossible to control. It was wild and free spirited, one moment and leisurely and demure the next, a wild stallion with a spirit that with an indomitable spirit, beautiful and exhilarating. An ocean with depths invisible to the eye, majestic and frightening. Life was many things, and at this moment it was unfathomable to Y/N’s mind. For almost one year now, she was living in the Avengers tower and sharing a flat within its walls with the Loki. Who knew a simple online ad was all it took to meet with people who were literally from out of this world?

Sighing for what felt like the umpteenth time, she glanced over the walls of her cubicle at the large analog clock on the wall. Only two minutes had passed since her last check. Leaning back into her computer chair, she slumped and silently groaned. This day was going to one of those long days that never end.

There’ve been a lot more of those recently. She pinched the bridge of her nose and took in a deep breath. I don’t get why it matters. This isn’t the first time this has happened, and it’s most certainly not going to be the last. It comes with the territory. Loki will be out on missions more often because he’s proven himself worthy of trust and that it was the mind stone that corrupted him. Though, with a tragic backstory like his, it’s no surprise. That all aside, this is a good thing for him. He needs this, and he finally gets a chance to be with his brother. I don’t care what he plays at, he’s a happy younger brother excited to be included with his big brother and his friends, finally. Sitting up properly in her seat again, she picked up a pen and began to slowly tap it against the desk. This was a great thing, and she was happy for him. She wanted him to grow and heal, he deserved this and then some. And yet…there were days like this.

The inky goop slowly rose up, cloying and clinging inside her as she sank deeper into its swampy depths. The thick strings wrapped around her heart, sharp thorns digging into her heart whenever it wrapped around tighter. This heavy guilt was never too far behind the emptiness that lingered at the lack of his presence. There was no denying it anymore, she missed Loki. She missed his witty remarks, his infuriating way of toying with her that left her spinning and dumbstruck, his posh way of speaking, his graceful motions that made her feel like a mole trying to walk on land-awkward and fumbling. She missed his laughter, his sarcasm, his silent companionship, and just everything about him.

Who am I kidding, I love him. She leaned forward, elbows on her desk, as she hid her face in her hands. I love Loki, and there’s no point in beating around the bush. Not like I can do or say anything, though. He’s a prince, an Asgardian god. I’m just some random human that just happened to be in need of a flatmate. He can have anyone. Who knows what sort of beautiful geniuses he’s dated on Asgard, but he’s gone to premiers and events with supermodels, A-list entertainers, and actual human nobles and royals. I’m some girl from a town where nothing amazing happens that landed in NYC with hard work. A huge bookish nerd that’s always falling for the guys in the pages who are as perfect as they can be. I went from spending all my time imagining what it’d be like if they’d existed to actually living with one, and now I know how impossible it is for me to pull them.

Her chest hurt. Her throat constricted and the corners of her eyes stung at the harsh reality that slapped her in the face. She inhaled sharply and cleared her throat. This was not going to happen. Not now at work, not today. “You’re fine, Y/N. You knew this would happen if you accepted these feelings.” She scolded herself. “Chin up, get to work. He’s busting his butt out there on some mission and you’re having a self-pity party? No way,” she sat up straighter. And what a fine booty it is. “He’s one of your best friends, that’s good enough.” Cracking her knuckles, she pushed her computer chair in and got back to researching the locations you were tasked with for potential Avengers intervention.

_______________________________________

Loki sat at the edge of a cliff, watching the blue sky burst into orange and purple as the sunset in the distant horizon. The gentle ocean breeze caressed his face. He took in the crisp salty air and let out a deep relaxing sigh. Why was he such a fool? There was nowhere in the nine realms that he could go that would get her out of his mind. The mission had ended almost a week ago, but he was unable to go back. Not yet. Like a shooting star, she came crashing into his life and he was never the same. The once aloof and independent second prince who had a need for nor no one was now stuck to some Midgardian? Preposterous.

No, she is not some comet. She is the ocean. Shapeless and all encompassing, he stared out at the water stretched before him. The waves lapped against the shore. Unassuming and everywhere, and yet I’m always searching for her.  How long had he been like this? So overwhelmed by her that it was getting harder to tread her waters? When did her waves that licked at her heels start to come crashing over his head. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath with his lips pressed thin. It’s not her fault. It is foolish of me to blame her. She did not come to drown me, and yet here I am tumbling in the depths. 

For many years he lived just beneath the surface, barely surviving was his only purpose. The sins of his past, the horrid and vile emotions of disgust, hatred, and shame hung over his head every day. His traumatic past and the consequences of his poor decisions haunted him every night. It was a routine he had grown accustomed to, and his existence was merely just that, an existence. Who was he? What was he? He needed to find himself once more. “And my overly eager brother was happy to assist me,” he mumbled as he opened his eyes to see the blackish-blue sky slowly begin to dot with stars. “Which led me to her.” He sighed.

When did the darkness turn to light? When did I, Loki of Asgard, begun to look forward for something? No, someone. The one who changed everything was her. It was a random afternoon in the tower when it was brought to the forefront of his mind. Y/N was out of town for some family reasons, and he had been alone in the flat for roughly three days at that point. His training was done for the day and there were no meetings until later in the evening when the recon would return with more data. He had the whole day free to do as he wished. A rare moment of peace, which he took and ran straight to their flat to read the book he was unable to finish because of work. 

Comfortably settled in his favorite leather chair, he picked up the leather-bound tome and opened it. Before he could focus on the words, a flat piece of wood slipped out from between the sheets and fell silently on his lap. There was a hint of sandalwood infused in it with intricate and delicate designs carved into the body with a green braided rope and tassel looped through the hole punched at the top. A birthday gift from Y/N. He had no need for a bookmark. His memory was excellent and there was no need to celebrate his birthday. There was nothing worth commemorating, and he told her as such. Her shoulders had dropped a smidgen at his words, but her smile never faltered. She pushed through with the same energy as she pulled out a small cake she had made for him. 

“Your birthday is important to celebrate because you were born. Had you not been born, I would have never met you, and I’m grateful you were!” Such simple words had struck him, the God of mischief with a silver tongue, silent. She was sincerely happy. His heart thumped rather uncomfortable at his ribs and his mouth felt dry. It was as if he was slowly drowning in a tub of lukewarm water. It was awkward and heartwarming, something he had forgotten long ago. His icy disposition was beginning to melt. He looked around at the well furnished apartment that suddenly felt larger and hollower than the royal halls of the Asgardian castle. He fidgeted in the deafening silence before grabbing the bookmark. Snapping his book shut, he stood from his seat and left. To where, he was not sure, but he could not stand being in there anymore.

He roamed the halls of the tower aimlessly before heading to the cafeteria to eat. He heard a female voice and quickened his pace. Y/N, he eagerly stepped into the kitchen area only to see it was a group of women and none of whom were her. He flashed them a perfect smile, earning a few squeals and giggles, before he excused himself. I should go to the library, that’s it. I need a change of scenery when reading. He straightened his back and turned on his heel. As per usual, there was scarcely anyone there. His favorite spot by a large bay window was empty, as per usual, which made him smile. Just how it he liked it. He walked towards it but stopped at the call of his name.

“Loki, look! Isn’t this cool?!” He turned at her voice, only to find no one there. When did he so desperately wanted to hear her voice call his name? To hear her laughter and ridiculous banter? When did the lack of her presence made his world seem so empty? He gritted his teeth and balled his hands into fists when he felt something dig into his palm. Glancing down, he saw the bookmark broken in half in his palm. He had not realized he was holding it this entire time, and it was now just like him, broken. Pocketing the pieces, he made his way out of the library and sought out Thor. He needed to get out of here before he lost it. 

So he took on the earliest and left before she returned. And now here he was, sitting under the star-studded sky of New Asgard, and he was still thinking about her. He knew he was infatuated with her, but it was so much more now. He wanted to possess her, keep her with him. She consumed his mind, burrowed a hole into his life and permanently occupied the spot. Even now, he knew she would have loved to have seen the blazing setting sun or quietly observe the great burning balls of gas burning millions and billions light-years away. She was always everywhere. He gently rubbed at his aching chest.

“Brother was right, this is not a simple passing phase. I,” he paused for a moment. Something about saying it seemed so final. As if putting it out into the ether would seal his fate. “I love her.” He sighed, the weight on his mind vanishing, but a new weight pressing on his heart. He wanted to see her again. Pulling out his phone, he looked at the many unread messages from Y/N. Each of them wishing him the best, success on the mission, praying for his safety, and anticipation of his return home. Home, he snorted at the thought and shook his head. He sat silent for a moment before he let out a small laugh. “She is home, what have I become? How much of a fool do you wish to make of me, Y/N?” He asked aloud, shaking his head at himself, unlocking the device and hitting the phone icon by her name. It rang a handful of times before she picked up, the sound of the phone tumbling and her fumbling greeting him.

“H-hello?! Loki?!” Her groggy voice came from the other side.

“Hello darling, were you sleeping?”

“Mmm, no, just sorta knocked out on the couch.” She mumbled, he could imagine it now, her slowly sitting up with her hair a bit of a mess and as she rubbed her eyes. He chuckled softly. “Are you done with your mission?”

I’ve been done for a while now, but I can’t tell you that. It would break your heart, but the worst of it is that you would never hold me accountable for my selfish whims. You would be understanding and supporting, as you always are. “Yes, we stopped by New Asgard along the way.”

“Oh? Hopefully not for work?”

“No, no, nothing like that. A simple little reprieve to clear the mind.”

“That’s nice, you deserve it.” Her sincerity stabbed at his heart.

“I’ve found a nice cliff where there is a perfect view of the setting sun over the ocean. I watched the cascading colors over the waters and sky transition from brilliant, bold colors to the dark night. It was breathtaking, much like you.” He smiled as he heard her cough from shock. She must have been drinking some water. “I know how much you love seeing these sorts of things, I wish you were here. And sitting here, watching it without you, just didn’t feel right without you. I had to call.” I wanted to hear your voice. “I wish you were here.”

“Aww, that’s really sweet of you. I wish I could be there too. It’s been really lonely here without you, but I know you’re busy, so I can wait. You’ll come back when you’re done”

Oh, how I miss you too. His chest swelled with such happiness at her confession. It was as if he was given the greatest new in all the nine realms. He wanted to run back to the tower right now and hold tightly in his arms. “Only a few more days until we will be reunited again.” He assured her. “I miss you too, my love.” He heard a hitch in her breath and some clattering and her muffled shock. She must have dropped the phone somewhere and is trying to fish it out. Little did he know, she had dropped it on her face and was currently rubbing her nose.

“My love, that’s a new one.” She finally answered.

“Yes, yes it is. Do you perhaps not like it?”

“What? No, no. no! Not at all! I mean it’s uhm, could be a little misleading.”

“Misleading, how so?” He smirked at how flustered she sounded.

“Uhm, well, you know, it could give someone ideas.”

“Someone ideas? Who is that someone and what are these ideas?” She fell silent on the other end, and he did his very best not to laugh, knowing she was probably dumbstruck and trying to gather the words to explain to him what she was implying. Did he know what she meant already? Of course, but where was the fun in that? Though he did miss seeing her expression for himself.

“Well, not just one someone…but one of them could be me.” She finally answered. “And uhm, the ideas, well, you know, love is a very strong word. Could make people think serious things.”

“Serious things? I suppose that would be concerning if that was wrong.”

“Exactly, so you shou-what?!”

“I said it would be concerning if it were wrong. But it’s not. This is not “giving ideas”, I’m being quite up front. But this is not something that should be discussed over the phone. I’ll make sure to make it very clear for you and everyone when I get back. I’ll see you soon, goodnight darling.” He hung up before she could respond, smiling with utter satisfaction as he got up from his spot and made his way back to the city to speak with Thor. They needed to prepare to leave as soon as possible, because poor Y/N will be an utter mess until they return.

[faithdeans]

fic recs let's gooo

these some of my personal favourite long-form/multi-chap fics

***please mind the tags! the horror fics are kinda fucked up and i know that isn't for everyone so just make sure you know what you're about to read ps i might make a separate list for other horror fics?***

under the cut because there are so many sorry and i added comments because i can't shut up apparently.

so, in alphabetical order....

The Cheapest Room In The House by biggaybenny [E | 89k]

what if instead of a very sincere and earnest love confession dean just found out cas was gay? no confession, no god-jack endgame. just post-s15 stupidity. just dean being deranged. the dean downloads grindr for cas fic

you know it, you love it. thee chaotic boy besties fic with parts that will also rip you open

Fenario by ftmsteverogers (@/sodomitecastiel) [E | 47k]

“We did good, Dean,” Sam says. “We got him back.” Dean huffs a hollow laugh, because yeah, that’s always what it’s about, isn’t it? Cas or Sam or Dean getting themselves lost or dead, and then taking turns dragging each other back from the brink. He shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “We got him back, yeah,” he says. Sam nods, watching him. “So now what?”

once again you know it and you love it. THEE lake house fix it fic. also love that they are jewish and you can tell how much of the author's heart clearly went into this. one of those fics where it will ususpectingly knock you to your knees with a single sentence

Linden by fleeceframe (@/tasteslikevelvet) [E | 67k]

Castiel’s heart stumbles before he can stop it, before he can think about how pathetic that is. To think that every interaction the Swans have proceeds them, that everyone is just waiting to get a glimpse of one of them to fuel their gossip circles for the next three days. Even the invisible shy flutter in his stomach at the thought of the Swans (not the Swans, just one of them, just one single man, but is that any better?) makes Castiel feel like he’s participating in the blatant objectification that he’s uncomfortable just witnessing. The Swans are only people. This is something that Castiel holds onto. Just people who happen to have a generational curse in their bloodline. And when he interacts with Sam Winchester or Eileen Leahy at his stall, it’s easy. He says hello, they say hello back. The Swans are just people. And yet, Dean Winchester remains unfathomable.

ohhhh this fic feels like springtime and sunlight through the trees and everything that is good. i devoured this fic, it is so sweet and captivating and wonderfully poetic. a comfort read fr

The Lord of The Lake by rhinestoneangels (almondrose) (@pinknatural) [T | 29k]

The lakehouse is haunted.

this fic is so special to me. there's emma. there's a cat. they're a FAMILY. there's ACE DEAN!?? it's thee ace!dean fic for me and steph did such a wonderful job exploring that

Muder Ballads (Red Right Hand) by Duckyboos [E | 85k+]

It all starts with the mysterious note left on Dean’s chair. It all ends with Dean coming to terms not only with what he’s capable of, but how much that knowledge doesn’t bother him.

hehe this is one of the ones you need to make sure you're comfortable with before you read it... it's yeah.. it's real dark. the storytelling is so compelling and i could NOT put this down. sometimes you gotta read something kinda fucked up. especially when it is so well written. also if you do like this then i recommend everything duckyboos has written hehe

Put Up Your Dukes by saltyfeathers [E | 38k]

Dean can't sleep. Cas offers to tire him out.

i mean *i* have always considered this a classic. honestly it's so fun and funny and just ugh i just love it, so read it pls

Revelation 13 by fullvoid [E | 44k]

It’s Dean’s day off, and he’d like to spend it how he always does—by kicking his feet up with a cold one and watching soap operas—not by discovering an enormous, creepy hole in his bathroom wall that definitely wasn’t there when he went to bed last night. But it’s no big deal. He can just patch it up and still devote plenty of time to Dr. Sexy afterward. There is only one problem. He can’t leave his apartment, and there’s a message on his front door written in…is that blood? And why is it signed by someone named “Cas”? Things can only get better from here, right?

hehe i know nothing about silent hill but i DO know that this is an amazing horror fic!! read it in one sitting and would do it again!

Russian to the Altar by MalMuses [E | 144k]

“I need you to marry Castiel.” They weren’t the words Dean expected to hear from his business partner’s mouth before their bakery-slash-chocolate shop opened for the day. He’d been quite happy being single—and who the fuck was Castiel, anyway? It turned out that Castiel was a Russian erotic novelist in need of a ticket to America, and Dean… well, Dean was a last resort.

i LOVE a romcom fic and this one is soooo fantastic (it's a classic, right?) it has bdsm. it has destiel being idiots in love. it's also incredibly sweet. what more could you want?

Seek to Know You Better by ahurston [E | 33k]

Dean and Cas, a long stretch of highway, and 36 questions empirically designed to make two people fall in love. As if they weren't already.

CANONVERSE ROMCOM? YEAH.

The Shawnee Trail by emmbrancsxx0 (@/valleydean) [E | 166k]

In 1887, Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak lead a peaceful life in Lawrence, Kansas. Dean and Sam are stagecoach messengers for Wells, Fargo and Castiel is the town doctor. When Castiel's patient, Kelly Kline, knocks on their door one night about to give birth, she asks for the Winchesters and Castiel's help in protecting her son against one of the west's most notorious outlaws. To fulfill that promise, the men set out on a journey full of shootouts, trouble with the law, gambling, and an important discovery: Dean and Castiel really need to define the nature of their relationship.

WESTERN AU. also to quote myself: "fics that make you pace around your room at midnight while sobbing". also once again i can't believe this isn't a piece of classic literature it's just that damn good.

So Says The Sword by komodobits [E | 85k]

The briefing was simple: ‘Stand guard over the Michael Sword until the battle is ready to commence. Await further instructions.’ Castiel doesn’t mind working security duty; he was briefed shortly after the initial salvation of the Sword from the pit, and again before taking up his position. He knows what to do. However, it’s easy to forget that the green room isn’t real. Time moves differently there, the space ever-changing to make a prison of mountains, cathedrals, salt flats, orchards, and whatever Castiel was led to believe about Heaven’s greatest weapon—Dean Winchester is something entirely unexpected.

we all agree this is canon, right? a classic. it completely shook me up the first time i read it, and honestly it change my perspective of the entire show, for the better of course.

Vagabonds by chevrolangels [E | 89k]

Dean is a sheriff in a tiny town in Colorado, restless and unsatisfied with his life. It's not like what he's read about in the dime novels since he was little, capturing dangerous outlaws and being the last word of the law. More like tossing the town drunk in a cell to sober up when they get a little too rowdy. But Dean's chance comes when a thief rolls through their town. He pursues the thief, which puts him right into the path of Emmanuel, a notorious outlaw. When he is captured by the outlaw and his gang to be held for ransom, Dean starts off on a journey he could have never envisioned, and learns that perhaps there's more to Emmanuel than meets the eye.

another western au!! this list would not be complete without this fic. one of my very faves. it's my ultimate comfort fic. i get so sad whenever i finish it because i never want it to end. i can't praise it enough i don't have the words

What Baking Can Do by cowlovely (@dollhousemary) [T | 63k]

She lets out a low whistle. “Damn,” she says, not even bothering to look up as Dean comes to sit on the counter beside her. “You guys did well yesterday, huh?” Dean shrugs. “I guess. Wednesdays get a lot of foot traffic. Dunno why.” Jo gives him a sidelong look. “It’s because on Wednesdays, we have your ‘Strawberry Heaven Pie’ or whatever the hell you call it.” “Strawberry Chocolate Oasis Pie,” he corrects. “And there’s absolutely no way to prove that. People probably just like to get some sorta treat in the middle of the week or whatever.” “I absolutely can prove that, when was the last time any of that pie was left at the end of the day—hell, at the end of the morning shift?” “Okay, that’s definitely an exaggeration,” he retorts. “It’s never sold out before lunch.” “Can you stop being a bitch and accept that people like your pie?”

i have no idea what waitress is and it literally doesn't matter because ivy makes this its whole own world... if you want something insanely sweet, with amazing character depth and that feels like a warm hug, look no further. this is one of my comfort fics and i have read it multiple times and will read it again!!!!!

Who Ya Gonna Call? by saintedcastiel (@saintedcastiel) [M | 49k]

Finally free from Chuck's machinations, Dean flees the bunker to make a home for himself away from the hunting world. He settles into his new life but can't quite shake the feeling that he's not alone. There's a ghost haunting him, tied to the last thing on Earth that Castiel touched. As the spirit gets angrier and more dangerous to the people around him, will Dean be able to bring himself to let him go?

if you're reading this the day i post this you might have seen me losing my mind on the dash. read it one sitting because it pulled me in instantly and would not let me go. so beautifully written and it's... it's the ending we deserved. i think this needs to be the next fandom classic i am Not joking. one of the few fics that made me sob my eyes out i don't even know what to say anymore just read it please trust me it's WONDERFUL.

[pompadorbz]

good morning pompadorbz nation as it turns out i am still sick and twisted

No, the Ender Prince AU has NOT left my brain, don't you think for a second that it hasn't, it is to the point that I am drawing this guy for one of my final assignments, ive already gotten an art trade of him its honetly a miracle i haven't put him on artfight yet. AND. And. I spent my entire evening on one singular short fic. Here is that fic. (note that. i very much made this for myself but i think ive pretty much talked about all the plot points so far in my that appear here in my older posts about this au, which you can find under the #ender prince au tag. if there's something that appears here that I've omitted from the posts then like. idk that's an issue not an issme lol. I'll probably post about whatever i didn't in like 2-3 business days knowing the state of my brainwaves rn. also shoutout to @fries-is-silly for beta reading this for me whilst i slept comfy and cozy in my bed)

The claws of Phil’s exoskeleton lightly click against the cold purpur floors as he briskly makes his way across the long hallways of the end palace. The Ender King had requested the night prior that he visit the throne upon awakening, and Phil knew he was an impatient man. Phil knew better than to keep him waiting this long by now… He never failed to disappoint in that regard, it seemed. Phil truly could not move any quicker if he tried. The lavender tiles were so large that he would barely miss the edge of each square with every step, and he swore up and down to himself that walking back and forth across a single hallway would take him a complete twenty minutes, but this was assuming time was valuable enough in the end to fact-check that estimate to begin with. Perhaps he had only gotten used to it at this point, but Phil always felt as if the hallways had shrunk since his first days in the palace– not that the King had really allowed him to roam very far for that first while, anyway. He remembered the dread he felt as he was first carried off into the throne room; How staring up the unfathomably tall walls and to the impossibly high ceiling made him feel horribly nauseous. He thought that no closed space should ever be this colossal. It gave him a rare fear– a terror of heights. For once. But that was back then. This is Now. And right now, Phil was on solid ground, and he was nearly at the throne room. He thought that maybe- as he picks up the pace, if he could get away with a quick sprint, he would get there a little bit quicker. However, A familiar voice called from around the next corner, dripping with acid. It makes Phil freeze dead in his tracks. “You took your precious time getting here as is, little fly. It would be a waste of energy for you to scratch up my floor with your little claws.”Phil’s pace slows significantly at the comment as he turns into the throne’s open doorway, clasping his hands together in shame as he stares up towards the throne where the Ender king sat, shrouded in his usual cloak as his hair fell like waterfalls off the edges and arms of the seat. The golden mask that rested upon his face was one that Phil didn’t recall ever seeing him wear; a spider, with its giant mandibles protruding outward from the lower half, and eight eyes, painstakingly painted a bright red. Phil thought it looked rather striking.

“I… I’m sorry for rushing, my lord. I knew when I woke up that I would be cutting it close… It won’t happen again.” The ender king hums low and sarcastically. “You say it won’t happen again… And yet, every time, you always seem to break that promise without fail now, don’t you? Hm?”There was a faux-sweetness in the monarch’s voice that made Phil’s throat tighten, and before he could work up the courage to provide another pitiful excuse, the Ender King was already continuing. “Though, I suppose that it is to be expected by now, isn’t it?” He asks rhetorically. “But no need to fret it much, little prince. There are far, far more pressing matters we must discuss today.”Ah.Phil knew well what that probably meant. “Is… Is it nearly time..? And so soon?” He questioned, feeling a pit form in his stomach from the nerves alone. “Ohh, we are not quite ready just yet, foolish prince! There are still a mere few preparations to be made.” The king explains matter of factly. “I will tell you exactly when it is time.”So in other words, Phil had to prepare to receive this information at the very last minute. Cool. “For now, however… I can prepare you for your little adventure just a cinch more.”He slowly holds his hands out in front of him. “Come forward.”

Phil nods in silence and flutters his elytra, slowly lifting off of the ground and flying up into the king’s hands as he’d done dozens of times before. It was a practiced movement by now. The Ender king wordlessly carries Phil over to the arm of his throne, letting him carefully walk off and take a seat on the end stone as he’d done countless times before. Sometimes, if he was lucky, the king would allow him to wrap whatever draped from his cloak around him as he sat by his side. …That did not occur often, however. And most certainly not today after having arrived so late.

Phil instead watches the Ender King as he reaches a bony hand into his cloak and pulls out a tiny (by his standards, anyway), white-painted chest. He carries it between his fingers, placing it directly in front of Phil with just enough force to threaten to crush him; if he ever fell out of line, that is.

“A gift! Just for you, little orchid.~”Phil stares at the box for just a moment and reaches toward it… Only to look back at the Ender king for a moment in his hesitation.

The last time he had been given a gift, it was… Well, it was his very own room in the palace, complete with a rather comfortable bed, some soft wool carpet… Even a few trinkets that the king didn’t wish to keep for himself in the throne room. It wasn’t terribly big, nor was it filled with riches… But it made the castle feel a little more like a home.

It wasn’t a perfect home, but of course… Phil hadn’t a reason to complain that’d be worth the Ender King’s time.

“Oh, don’t just gawk at me like that, Corvus. Don’t you wish to know what’s inside? Are you not curious?” Says the king. “You could at the very least pretend to be grateful.”“I am grateful, my king! I really, truly am! It… just took me by surprise, is all-”

“Yes, well I believe that is in fact the point of a surprise, isn’t it?” The Ender King impatiently cuts him off, tapping his finger nails on the opposing arm of the throne.

Phil stares into the vacant red eyes of the spider mask for a brief moment, but only sighs, accepting the swift dismantling of yet another poor excuse.

“Yeah, I guess it is, huh…” He concedes, turning back to the chest and gently placing his hands onto the lid.

He lifts it open and peers inside at what looked like… A wool blanket..? No… No, rather it was something wrapped inside a wool blanket. It glistens in gold through the holes in between each fuzzy woven thread as Phil carefully takes it out of the box and cradles it in his lap.

More of the object’s golden surface is revealed with each layer of wool that Phil unfolds, and after there is nothing left to cover it, there sits in front of him:

“A mask..? Like.. Like one of yours?” Phil tentatively asks.

The Ender King laughs with a disposition so sunny it was almost unnerving.

“That it is, clever prince! I made it especially for you to take along on your journey.~”Phil looks back down at the mask in slight awe, inspecting it further. It looked almost like a mantis’ face of some kind, with two large eyes protruding outward from the top, sitting just above where the real eyeholes sat… But more curiously, something was nestled in between the eyes…

“What’s this ender pearl for..?” Phil asks.

“Ah, now that, curious little prince, is because this mask serves a very important purpose.”

The king’s tone was the most fluttery and excitable it had ever been, letting the answer to Phil’s question dangle like a carrot on a string for a moment.

“This will be your ticket in and out of the universe I’ve picked for your first little expedition,” He begins. “and every universe beyond that for the rest of our forever time.” Oh.

This was more than just a mask… It was a priceless artifact; one more valuable than Phil could ever imagine being.

He couldn’t even think of something to say about it… This whole mission had a lot of responsibility to it already, but… This was different.

It was tangible.

It made any and all words elude him.

“Now, What do we say, Corvus…?”Though… He supposed he could start with that one, yeah.

“Thank you…” He nearly whispers, trailing a hand against the mask’s surface before he wraps it up in the blanket once more and places it carefully back into the white box.

The Ender King places a hand to his chin.

“Oh, Corvus… I didn’t quite catch that– What, with your incessant mumbling. Oh do repeat yourself, would you?~” Phil nervously clears his throat as he looks back up to the spider mask, looking into the eyeholes as if he could see the deity’s face underneath.

“Thank you so very much… My king.”

“Good boy.”The Ender King holds a hand out for Phil to once again climb upon, and Phil obliges; this time allowing himself to be brought down to ground level. The last thing he wanted was to drop his present.

“Run along now, little prince! There will be plenty of work to be done in due time, so do not disappoint me.”Phil nods and begins making his way toward the door… But he’s stopped by the monarch one final time just as he goes to turn through the exit.

“Oh… And one final thing before you leave, yes? It is incredibly important… So listen closely.” The Ender King begins.

Phil only barely turns around before the feeling of dread hits him like a brick. There was always a catch to these… Nicer interactions.

“Be careful with that mask. Don’t you lose it, and don’t you dare break it. Because if you do…”

Phil swallows the lump in his throat. He knew the threat he was about to hear. As empty as it seemed after constant reiteration… It never failed to strike fear into his heart.

“I have absolutely no qualms with plucking those little wings off of your ungrateful back.”

The silence hangs heavy between the two… And what was likely only a few seconds felt like minutes to Phil.

“Do I make myself clear, Icarus?”Phil Nodded.

“Crystal.”

[opertabry]

speak now (minjeong’s version) - kim minjeong [winter]

PREVIEW:

“speak now or forever hold your peace,,

warnings : [??]

genre : angst

wc : [??]

part 1 -> speak now (minjeong’s version)

tag : @noascats

minjeong was no stranger to love, she had loved her whole life. she loved her parents, her friends, her band mates, her fans, dancing, music, she was always loving and in love. but as she reads the invitation to your wedding in her hand, she couldn’t help but wonder what was love, really? what was love if it wasn’t with you?

love was a difficult thing for most, but minjeong found love to be easy, to her it was as easy as breathing - it became her second nature. she loved how the leaves of once beautiful lush green trees would slowly change to a muted orange when autumn was around the corner, or how her guitar would screech in a pleasing way when her fingers danced skillfully along the strings. she loved how the flavours of her favourite foods would burst in her mouth leaving a tingling sensation at the roof of her mouth, or when she would find small, intricate patterns on a tablecloth at a restaurant. minjeong loved the smaller, finer things in life, things that would otherwise be ignored - she gave extra attention to things that weren’t appreciated like they deserved to be. maybe that’s why she loved you. she loved the sound of graphite scratching on paper when an artist was pouring their soul into their work, or how the studio headphones seemed to perfectly fit her head when she recorded songs. but above all, she loved you - loves you.

you, the bane of her existence.

you, a bride-to-be, a soon wife to someone else. yet she still couldn’t stop herself from being so unfathomably in love with you.

just putting this out here to show I DID NOT FORGET ABT THIS REQ I AM WORKING ON IT!! want to make this rlly long but idk if my writing is good enough for that 🥲 but.. we digging it so far?

[clatoera]

Picket Fence is Sharp as Knives Chapter 10: The best thing that's ever been mine

GUYS WE MADE IT. We are 30 chapters (31 is you count the prequel) into this fic universe. And we are finally finally finally at baby time! I actually graduate this weekend and so it was an absolute priority for me to get this up for everyone before then (and before I leave the country for a few days). It feels fitting that this chapter, at this point in my life, fell so perfectly.

I won't say much. Y'all know the drill by now. Title from Mine (t swift)

Masterpost

AO3

I just want to thank you all for sticking around so long with me. We've been on this journey for like fifteen months together which is absolutely insane. I am so thankful for you all.

As always. Thank you to @kentwells who has known this was coming for a long time. @bodyelectric77 sorry you're getting tagged again. And my dear @crookedlyniceperson who will probably not like the developmental milestones I gave the twins.

Love you love you LOVE YOU

P.s. Now is your LAST CHANCE to guess the name. Proceed with caution.

It is somehow simultaneously the most overwhelming thing she has ever experienced and far less painful than what she anticipated. Perhaps it is the years of training, the endless stressors she has placed on her body both voluntarily and against her will, but she can’t even say it was the worst thing she ever felt.

It is terrifying, and agonizing, and straightforward, and complicated, and life altering, and incredible, and confusing for Clove.

All she truly knows is that although he did not exist a mere twenty eight minutes ago, a world without him in it now seems unfathomable. 

The contrast of perfect, flawless pale baby skin directly against the landscape of freckles and scars that is her chest feels idyllic and impossible and so so so worth every single moment that came before this.

 Every broken rib in training, every knife sent her way in the games, every single second in Snow’s hands.. Every bit of it was worth this outcome, this moment, this baby of hers.

She’s never had a way with words, and as much as she’d like to say she had some grand greeting waiting for her son, the only thing she had been able to muster was a breathless, overwhelmed, exhausted “You’re okay” to her bruised, smushed little baby boy. 

No. Not little. Not little at all, big enough to get stuck, bruised, and come out with a broken collarbone.

 He is big enough because she is barely the size of an adult and he has gotten everything from his father it seems.

It’s funny, really, Cato had broken her collarbone the day they met too. Life’s funny that way. 

Maybe that simple phrase, that “you’re okay” was her way of acknowledging the trauma and the fear and the uncertainty that had been the last thirty some weeks of her life. A simple you’re okay to signify the crossing of one bridge to another, knowing now without a doubt that this was not destined to be the greatest loss of her life after all she had survived to get to this point. 

She believed they were too lucky to have made it this far unscathed. 

Cato doesn’t consider the things they survived “unscathed.” 

“I just knew he was going to look like you.” Clove doesn’t even look at him, a softness in her voice that feels absolutely foreign in the back of her throat. Her fingers dance along the edge of her baby’s hairline, and slips her fingers under the fabric to pull it off all together. She doesn’t even know how she knows to do it, but she finds herself using the edge of the sheet to wipe at the absolute mass of soft blonde hair that sticks up in every which direction, like some deep seeded instinct she never expected to manifest. While her left hand holds him close to her, the right continues to run the very tips of her fingers through the thick tuft of hair. “I did all the work, and here he is. Giant and blond.”

“Maybe his eyes are Green?” Cato muses, running his hand in circles over her knee, glancing down at him from the opposite side of her. It had been quite a day for him, too. Albeit he had the easy part, letting Clove dig her angry little nails into the flesh of his forearm as hard as she needed. Still, his life had never changed so wholly and suddenly, quite literally in the blink of an eye. 

He’d be lying if he hadn’t admitted to even feeling a bit scared at the paleness of her skin, the sheer volume of blood she lost, and above all else the way she herself had actually looked frightened. He could handle her in pain, but fear, that was something completely foreign to them both. 

He’d be doubly lying if he did not admit, that despite not even holding his son in his own arms yet, it was not irrefutably one of the top three best days of his life. 

“They’re Blue, I think…” Clove insists with a tiny headshake, bringing up a single baby hand to her lips, pausing just a moment to revel in the tiny finger nails before she kisses his open palm. 

Then, like her hand wraps around the hilt of a knife, her son’s hand grasps her finger.

“Oh,” Clove swears her voice cracks on a single syllable, but Cato for the sake of them both is smart enough not to mention it (or maybe he himself is so overwhelmed he doesn’t even notice). “Hi, Sweetheart.” She all but coos the words, intently focused on the squinty eyes of her literal newborn, fully intending on determining the color of the eyes she had so patiently grew for him.

 She doesn't ignore the novelty of the way he just so naturally fits in the space of her arms, and for all the outright fear she had felt with every baby she held before him, she doesn’t feel anything of the sort now. Quite the opposite, actually, in that she never wants to let him go.

“Do you still like his name?” Cato’s own hand practically covers the length of their son’s entire body, and truly engulfs his head when he holds it in his right palm. “He looks like an Atlas to me.”

“Yeah…he does, doesn't he?”

Deciding on a name for this baby had arguably been one of the hardest things they had ever had to do. A girl’s name had been so much easier, but it remains unused in exchange for the brilliant blond, blue eyed little boy snuggled directly against her skin. Maybe the reason the boy's name had been so much more difficult is because they knew deep down that's who they would have. Call it intuition, call it a good guess, but neither of them really anticipated that they would be meeting a daughter today. 

Of course they toyed with a C name, a C theme. Cato, Clove… it would be expected to uphold that tradition, to commit to it fully for not only this baby but for any others they would one day have (not that Clove would have even entertained the idea of a second until about twenty seven minutes ago). 

Maybe they’re selfish, maybe they’re vain, but it had been brushed aside pretty quickly for the idea that they would get to share that initial with just each other. They would share enough with their baby– he could have his own initials. C would always just be for Cato and for Clove.

That being said, it opened a floodgate of options. There were District Two traditions to consider, and nothing that could be a name reminiscent of the Capitol, a lower district, or any of the people involved in the war would even be a contender. All in all, they had gone through a list of seventy four names, until lucky seventy five. 

Atlas. 

It checked the District Two box, with roots in ancient cultures. A Greek myth, a man who carried the world on his shoulders, truly holding the weight of the world in his hands.

While unlike his parents, he would never be expected to carry the weight, the glory, the pride of the world in his hands, he is in fact the world to them. 

Atlas, without the weight of the world on his shoulders, but the potential of the whole world in his hands. 

It made so much sense as his name, it may as well have been created with this boy in mind.

Atlas. 

Atlas Kentwell Hadley.  In all his nearly nine pound glory, he truly feels like the entire world in the combined arms of his parents. 

“It’s perfect.”  Clove agrees, offering him a soft, tired smile as she finally tears her eyes away from her boy. She had truly held him for the entirety of his life thus far, and as much as she did not feel ready to let him go, she saw the deep love in Cato’s eyes. It only seemed fair– he had wanted this baby since they were fifteen years old– he had waited long enough. “Do you wanna hold him?”

“I…Yeah, actually. I really do.” Cato admits, unable to resist the smile that spreads across his face as they so gracefully shift the weight of their son from her hands to his own, as if they have practiced a million times.  “Hey, buddy..” It’s so natural the way he brings the boy to his chest, the entirety of his baby body fitting over the length of Cato’s forearm. There were a lot of things in this world those arms were meant to do, and clearly, holding their son is one of them. Of all the great things Cato had been destined to be, the father of this baby was clearly one of them.

They haven’t practiced handing off little babies, not once in their lives, but they’ve spent the entirety of their lives moving as one continuous body. Funny, how they really sort of have combined into one human now haven’t they?

Clove watches as he so gently- a word she’s never associated with Cato– holds their son. The way his hands are beyond the size of the baby’s entire scrunchy body, the way his smile reaches his eye. It’s remarkable, really, that while this baby was quite literally a tenth of her body size, he looked incredibly small in comparison to his father’s arms, arms that are littered with half a dozen bleeding half moon scratches from the force of Clove’s nails digging in merely an hour before.

If Clove is sure of one thing, it’s that she has never ever ever in the entirety of her life felt the way she does exactly right now. She’s loved him for almost ten years, but not like this. Nothing close to this. And honestly, she thought Cato was the love of her life, but he may have been usurped by the tiny, innocent little boy they made instead. “....I can’t imagine it.”

“What, babe?” Cato asks, though he doesn’t look away from his son, instead committed to burning every detail of him into memory, as if he will disappear the second he looks away.

“We thought we’d raise our kids to be victors. I just…looking at him now, I can’t imagine sending him into training, let alone into the games.” Clove admits with a soft sigh, running her hand over her face in exhaustion. “I’ve gone soft, apparently.”

He shakes his head somewhat fiercely, absolutely insistent, looking from their child to her. He never would have imagined saying it either, but she is absolutely deeply right. They never could send this baby off. “No. You’re right, Clove. You’re absolutely right. I couldn’t imagine it either.”

How far they had to have come to be able to look at their son and see anything but their own victor legacy continued in his little baby face. 

She watches as his smile switches to a look of almost perplexion, and he starts looking between the baby and her. HIs hands absently twist and turn, while supporting the baby, he twists him in various positions of the horizontal and parallel.

“What are you doing?” Clove huffs, raising a dark eyebrow as she props her elbow on the pillow to hold her head up in her quivering hand. “He looked pretty comfy before.”

“I’m just trying to see how he fit, you’re not very big you know. And he is.” Cato muses, before bringing him back close to his chest again, directing his attention back to the baby  and the baby alone.

“He barely did. He’s freaking huge. We wouldn’t have had this problem if he came out a week ago when he was supposed to. Besides, he was all scrunched up.” Clove mentions, running her free hand over the length of her face, pausing to dig her palms into her eyes and rubbing briefly. 

“You look exhausted,” Cato brings her out of her mind, the hand that doesn’t hold their baby coming up to brush some of her hair behind her ear for her. “And your hand is still shaking.”

“I am exhausted. That’s fucking hard. It hurt.” She defends, pulling her thin white sheet up almost to her shoulders. “Must be adrenaline.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? You bled a lot, I just don’t want you to die on me.” Not now. Not after everything they went through just to get here.

“I’m fine, Cato, really. I just…I’m tired. I want to go home. This room smells like blood-”

“Yes. Yours.” Cato reminds as if he didn’t just tell her that exact thing moments ago, gently using the hand on her face to tilt her face up to look at him.

She lets out a heavy, anxious sigh, eyes fluttering around the room too look at anyone but him. It’s almost embarrassing to admit how anxious the room makes her. “Exactly. And it just reminds me of– well, that place, and I don’t like how it makes me feel, and I want to go home, Cato. I want to take him home, and I want to go now.”

He doesn’t even question further, he doesn’t push her, just leaning in carefully, mindful to keep enough space between them for their sleeping child, when he places a kiss right on the center of her forehead. As soon as he is pulling away, he swings one leg off the bed, as if he is fully prepared to get up and walk out. “Okay. Let’s go home.”

“Right now?” Clove’s voice fills with audible relief, nearly following his steps to get out of the bed and out the door. 

“Right now.”

Clove isn’t sure how she has the energy or pain tolerance to nearly jump out of the bed, a desperate, frantic search for her actual proper clothes. “We need to get him dressed, too.”

“Awe, I think this is a cute look for him.” Cato teases, but nevertheless uses one hand to dig out their designated little blue outfit on the chance they were correct and he was in fact, well, him. “I think he looks cute in just the minimum.”

“It’s fall, Cato.” Clove scolds, though one look at the playful smile on his face tells her he is absolutely just messing with her. “At least wrap him up in his blanket.”

“You’ve gotten bossier, you know that? I didn’t know it was possible.” Cato plays, but dutifully dresses their boy in the (what should have been) Oversized sweater.

“Now I have two of you to keep alive.” Clove murmurs, turning her own fully dressed– okay, fully dressed in Cato’s clothes– body to face Cato. She holds out both of her hands, gesturing towards herself with them both. “Gimme.”

“I thought you said I had to get him ready?” He taunts, but holds out the scrunchy new baby out to her anyway.

 She audibly hums in contentment the second he is back in her hands, almost instantaneously pulling him in to lay against her chest once again, both her hands holding his little frame up. “We’ve shared a body for..a long time. I miss him. I feel empty without him.” Clove brings his head up just enough so that she can place kisses all over his forehead and cheeks, absolutely clinging to him as his own little fists cling to her skin. “Mmm..okay. I’m ready. Oh! And Cato?”

“....yes, baby?”

“I think I earned a little treat on the way home.” Clove holds the baby up so his face rests against her own. “Don’t you agree, Atlas? Don’t I deserve it?”

The smile is audible in his voice when he tells her, “you can have a treat every day for the rest of our lives.”

(Not that Cato had ever once denied her, anyway).

______________________________________________________________

They tell Enobaria first. Clove demanded it, that before his mother, before any of their friends..Enobaria had to know first. 

To her credit, no more than eight minutes pass from the moment Cato calls her the second time (to which she does not answer), and her letting herself  in from the back door. 

Cato never calls, what else could it have been? 

Cato, to his credit, hangs back when he sees Enobaria come in, knowing fully well that this was not a moment he wanted to intrude on between them. In fact, he makes a point to slip out the back door himself, to give Enobaria and Clove a much deserved period alone.

Clove has no sooner curled herself into one end of the couch, quite literally just settling in, when Enobaria waltzes right into her living room. 

She stops dead in her tracks, as she fully absorbs Clove in front of her. With the dark hair in her face, the way she was all curled up around her kid well– it gave her the sickest, deepest put in her stomach. She forces herself to swallow, forces herself to recollect that she herself is not a twelve year old and Clove is not her eighteen year old mother.  Happy thoughts, happy thoughts for Clove only.

“That was faster than I expected.”  Enobaria nearly whispers, careful not to startle Clove in her very clearly exhausted state, before she slides in right immediately next to her, so close their crossed-legged-knees could touch. “How are you feeling?”

“Easy for you to say, that felt like twenty four days, not twenty four hours.” Clove huffs, before she practically melts back into the arm of the couch. “I’m really really tired. Sore all over. But I'm okay…I’m really okay.” She lifts her right elbow up, and nothing could hide all the love in the world that is written across her face, as she angles her few hour old son up for Enobaria to see. “Isn’t he just absolutely perfect?”

“Holy shit Clove, he’s a monster. He’s huge? How the hell did you do that-” Enobaria’s eyes actually widened in shock, looking between Clove and the rather large newborn in her arms. “He’s as big as you? Should you even be home yet?”

“He’s almost nine pounds, give or take. He’s not that big…okay, he got stuck. It was very traumatic, apparently all of us like a dramatic entrance” Clove defends with a lighthearted air in her voice, her left thumb running over the exposed baby foot in her hand. “We’ll take him back in a day or two to check on him and finish everything. I hated it there. It was just so much like the Capitol and there was blood everywhere from me and I needed out.” She explains, shushing gently as he starts to stretch his little limbs in his arms. “Oh my god, and he has so much hair Enobaria, look!”

To illustrate her point she once again throws the little knit hat to the side, proud as can be of the literal head covered in hair that she created. The product of all of her hard work, breathing, stretching, and sleeping right there in her arms. 

“Now that you point it out he is kind of bruised, huh?” Enobaria muses, cocking her head to truly look down and take in the baby Clove made who, unfortunately, did not get a single bit of her reflected in his appearance. “Another fucking blond baby, Clove, really? I thought for sure you’d come through with that one, did your genes fight at all?”

“I thought the same thing! I thought he’d at least have my hair!” Clove grins, twisting the baby so that he is propped up on her knees, allowing them to get a fuller look at him. “He really does look just like Cato. I think I cloned him.”

“Just what the world needs, another one of him.” She teases Clove, but nevertheless turns on her side to get a better look at her- not the baby, but her. It was like somewhere overnight Clove stopped looking like the toddler she met twenty plus years ago, stopped looking like an overly eager teenager at training, and started looking so– well.. Grown. Enobaria is suddenly glad for another little blond baby in their lives– the dark hair would have been just too deep of a sense of Deja Vu. 

“...You look so much like your mother, you know that? You always have, but right now you really really look like her.”

Clove feels her jaw clench just a little, her eyes flickering over towards the kitchen briefly. Her throat feels like razor blades, squeezing shut and cutting off her words as she tries to squeak them out. “...is Cato here?”

Enobaria shakes her head, eyebrows knitting closer in confusion. “He went outside right when I got here, why–”

“What was wrong with me, Enobaria? That she left me?” Clove whispers, and almost like it’s her instinct she can’t help but pull Atlas from her legs to her arms, holding his head and body flush to her chest. “What was wrong with me?”

“Nothing was wrong with you, Clove, nothing at all-” Enobaria tries to begin, but is quickly cut off by Clove’s continued, frantic, heartbroken rambling. 

“No, something had to be wrong with me. Because I have had him for less than a day, I’ve only had him for a few hours, and you’d have to kill me, you would have to kill me and drag my body away from him to get me to leave him. I must have been broken, or difficult, or bad or I don’t know! Something had to be wrong with me, because how else could she leave me so easily. I would die before I did that.” For Clove, especially, someone who had been so close to death so many times– it was the deepest kind of love she could offer. “I don’t know how she did it.”

“Clove..nothing in the world was wrong with you. Your father? He left. He deserved every terrible thing that happened to him, Clove, he was a terrible person. There was something wrong with him, yes. But you, Clove, you were just a little girl. You were a baby. Nothing was wrong with you.” She attempts, but Clove is so far gone in her head that she isn’t sure anything she says can help that now. 

“Not my father, my mom. How did she just leave, she made me, how did she just..not care to stay with me? Noone liked me but her! At least if I die tomorrow I know that there’s Cato, there’s you, there's Glimmer, there’s people who would want him! Noone wanted me, she knew that, and she left me. How do you leave your baby?” She’s got this baby absolutely pressed to her, as if the weight of him alone will stop her from panicking and hyperventilating. 

“I don’t think you can even compare this, to be fair to her.” Enobaria grabs Clove’s hand, and squeezes tightly to bring her back to earth. “If you had him at sixteen years old, with no money, no future, except the one desperate chance you had to give him one, You would have done the same. It’s easy for you to say that you couldn’t leave– you’ve survived an  extreme life. It took the two of you three hunger games, a war, the end of every life you have ever known, before you are here right now. Your mother was a child. Your mother had one chance to give you even a fraction of the life you have right now, and she took it. She didn’t leave you, Clove, it was her only chance to give you anything. I am the one and only person left who is qualified to say it, without a doubt, that your mother loved you. There was nothing wrong with you. There was nothing wrong with her. She just wanted you to have better.”

And still Enobaria would venture to say that her decision is the reason Clove is where she is exactly right now.

“I always thought I’d raise a victor baby, you know? If I had to have one, it would be my priority to make them into a victor. But I look at him and I can’t imagine it. I can’t imagine being so willing to watch him possibly die. Like look at him, Baria! His little nose and he holds my finger with his entire first. How could I have been so willing to just..strip that away from him?” Clove truly is clinging her infant son to her chest, unable to look anywhere but the innocence that is trapped in his face. 

“You should be so proud of yourself, Clove. He is so lucky to have you as his mother. I know I'm not your mom, but if it is worth anything, I’m proud of you, too. And I’m probably most proud that you’re twenty four and not seventeen. That was a scary year for me.” Enobaria brushes some of Clove’s hair back behind her ear, really taking a moment to take in her tired face. “Give me this baby, Clove, you need to rest.”

“It’s okay, I’ve got him, really-” Clove argues, trying to ignore the way her eyes water both from exhaustion and emotion.

“Clove. I spend a lot of my time these days holding blond babies, I have a lot of practice.” Enobaria nearly pries the solid newborn out of Clove’s grasp, with little to no fight on Clove’s side anymore. 

“I feel bad, I’m his mother, I should be the one taking care of him.” Clove insists half heartedly, as Enobaria pats her shoulder.

“Clove. You have people who want to take care of you too. Let us.”

(Two years later when Enobaria meets the much tinier, dark haired, green eyed little Sevina Hadley in her mother’ arms, she is infinitely glad that her brother came first.)

______________________________________________________

Cato’s knocked out on the couch, one of his arms and one of his legs dangling over the edge, neck bent at the worst possible angle, shirtless and using a crumbled up bath towel as a pillow. 

Clove’s awake, Atlas in one arm, pacing the three steps in front of Cato’s body in repeat, as she tries to simultaneously feed and soothe their –officially twenty three hours old– son. 

She’s in a chorus of shushes and humming of songs she can’t even identify, and using the arm that is not responsible for the safety of her son, she half heartedly drags a blanket off the back of the couch and over Cato’s body. They hadn’t meant to spend the night on the couch– exhaustion just got the absolute best of them. 

“If you eat like your dad we’re going to have some problems, buddy.” Clove mumbles to her baby, continuing her three step pace back and forth back and forth back and forth. “I won’t sleep for the next year and a half.” 

Clove quite literally almost screams when she hears a knock at the door. Not a scream of fear or anything of that sort. But more of a who the fuck is at my house at 7 am kind of scream. 

Who the fuck do they know that even knocks?

Clove is literally shuffling her feet to the door as she realizes she only has one sock on, an unzipped sweatshirt, and a baby quite literally attached to her. Not quite the way to maintain her reputation. 

Fuck it. Whoever was stupid enough to be on her porch at seven in the morning probably knew what they were getting into. 

“....you most definitely have a key!!” Clove quite literally screams out, knowing the list of who it could be is an exponentially short list. 

The babbling and gasp of “shhh no you can’t say that word!” on the other side of the door tells her exactly who it was. 

She can hear clumsy fingers trying to shove the key in the correct slot, followed by the same voice as before instructing “no no that's the bottom key!” before the door does in fact fly open.

 “Gooooood Morning sunshines!” Comes the bright ringing voice of Glimmer, standing just beyond the threshold of the door with one of the wide awake pink tutu-clad toddler girls on one hip. Her other arm dons multiple large gift bags overflowing with tissue paper, with a wheeling suitcase by her feet. Marvel looks almost identical, with the matching twin in his arms, a similar array of bags, and a suitcase of his as well. Glimmer’s clicking heels announce her entrance into the foyer, followed by the tell-tale sound of suitcase wheels on marble flooring. “Oh! Clove! Perfect! We brought brunch!”

Clove glances at the clock above the television as if she needs to check that one no, she is not in fact dreaming and two it is in fact seven in the morning. “...Brunch typically means later than seven a.m. Glimmer.” 

“Well, you can’t call it breakfast when there’s mimosas.” Marvel explains as he follows in right behind Glimmer, careful to shut the door loud enough that it startles Cato awake. Clove takes the moment to zip up Cato’s sweatshirt, still maintaining that cadence of a pace to keep the baby happy and content in her arms.

He truly must have been sleeping well, because the slamming door has him quite literally jolted awake, throwing off his precarious balance as he rolls off the couch onto the floor. “What the fuck-”

“Oh! Careful! The girls are repeating everything these days!” Glimmer warns cheerily, before she is setting all her gift bags on the ground around her. “Clove! Let me see this baby!”

“Why are you here?” Cato mumbles as he pushes himself off the floor, running an exhausted hand down his face as he tries to wake himself up more thoroughly than even hitting the floor could do. “No, let me rephrase, why are you here so early? Do the trains even run that early?”

“Don’t be silly, Cato, do you know how difficult it is to take two toddlers on the train? Well.. you’ll know soon enough but! We drove here, it took longer but, at least when Stella starts yelling at the trees only the two of us have to hear it.`` Glimmer takes the moment to drop the aforementioned toddler off in Cato’s lap before he fully has the chance to even wake up.  “And we’re here to help!” 

Clove pauses fully in her place, looking between all of them, the flurry of life and energy so bright in the morning. “What do you mean you’re here to help?”

“You moved in when Glimmer had the girls. Like literally moved in. I think we still find some of those frozen sandwiches in the back of the freezer sometimes.” Marvel explains, his voice so much softer than his wife. Marvel, unlike Glimmer and like all of the others, is far from a morning person. Aurelia, rubbing at her little eyes with her head on his shoulder, seems to agree. “And we can’t cook, but we are professionals at takeout ordering so…we wanted to help.”

“We know you have Cato’s mom and Enobaria! But, well! If we hadn’t had you two…it would have just been us. Gloss and Cash are great but! It was different. I didn’t realize how lonely It was until you guys got there.” Glimmer shuffles directly in front of Clove, her hands hovering just a few inches away from the baby. “We’re staying with Enobaria and Cash, of course! Aurelia learned this week that if she wants a snack in the middle of the night she just has to scream to wake us up. You don’t need our babies sleep schedules fucking up your baby’s sleep schedule. If he’s anything like the twins were though he’ll be up every hour and fifty eight minutes like clock work!”

“Does Enobaria know you’re staying with her?” Cato grumbles, leaning back onto the couch while Stella crawls all over him, babbling and wide awake like her mother. 

“She’ll find out soon.” Marvel shrugs, stifling a yawn as he sits on the opposite end of the couch from Cato. “Cashmere knows, I think?”

“Hiiiii Ca-yo!” Stella giggles, wrapping her little toddler arms around Cato’s neck and holding on for her life.

“Hey, kiddo.” Cato pats the top of her head gently, really only half awake. “Is  it nap time yet?”

Clove watches the way Glimmer’s hands just hover over hers, and offers her a tired, but genuine smile. “...do you want to hold him, Glim?”

“Very, very much!” Glimmer nods enthusiastically, holding out her hands to take the baby from her closest friend. She audibly gasps when he is placed in the crook of her arm. “Clove! He’s so big!”

“Eight and a half pounds, actually.” Cato chimes in, as Marvel’s head absolutely whips to face him.

“Are you serious? He’s fucking huge, Clove, how can you even walk?” Marvel gapes, as he earns an outright glare from his wife over the choice of his language. 

“Very, very carefully.” Clove jokes, taking the baby free opportunity to lower herself to the recliner where she instantly pulls her knees to her chest to get comfortable. 

“...I had two babies. At the same time. He is almost bigger than them combined Clove! That’s insane!” Glimmer remarks in nothing short of awe, naturally continuing to sway him back and forth the way she had done countless times with her own children. “...no, seriously, he’s almost as big as my girls combined.”

“Yeah, well, blame his father.” Clove offers warmly, not even a hint of malice in her tone. “He got everything else from him too.” “Seriously, you aren’t kidding. Maybe he inherited the Clove Obsession gene.” Glimmer smiles down at the baby, taking his little hand into her own and grinning as he wraps his hand around her thumb. 

“Are you disappointed, Glimmer?” Clove asks softly, propping her head up in the palm of her hand.

“About what?” Glimmer draws her attention back from the weight of the boy in her arms to address her friend. 

“You know, that he’s a boy?” 

“No. Not at all. How could I be? I mean, just look at him, Clove! Oh, and we brought presents! They’re mostly for you, but I just finished his sweater with his name on the ride over.” Glimmer gracefully leans down, slipping one hand through the laces of one of the bags before handing it to Clove. “It’s meant to be kind of oversized, but I don’t know now that I've seen him..”

“What do you mean you brought presents for me?” Clove raises a dark eyebrow, but shifts through the bag anyway. She pulls out the aforementioned sweater, little and blue, with Atlas hand stitched across the front in the pale yellow yarn. “This is beautiful, Glimmer, thank you..

“...you just had a baby, Clove. You deserve all the presents. It’s just stuff that’s nice to have! Those really soft button down pajamas, and those slippers you really liked at my house, and I think there’s things to hold your hair back because you may not think a baby has a good grip but wait until the middle of the night when he figures out what pulling it does!” Glimmer bounces Atlas just slightly, watching his eyes continue to flutter open and shut with her movement. “I didn’t have anyone to teach me how to be a mother. And that’s not what I'm here to do. I just..hope to make it easier! You aren’t on your own, you’ve got people who want to help you, Clove. That’s all. And presents are allllways nice.”

“You’re going to make me cry, fuck, Glimmer.” Clove warns, running her hands over each of the items Glimmer listed as she takes them out one at a time. Not only had she taken the time to get her gifts..she had clearly paid attention to the kind of things no one teaches you about if you don’t have a mother anymore yourself.

“Oh for the love of god please don’t teach the girls that word, they’re going to learn how to use it in context too!” Glimmer warns, but it's far too late as the soft baby voice of Aurelia calls out to her. 

“...mama?”

“Yes, angel girl?” 

“Bee-bee?” 

“You want to see the baby, honey?” Glimmer offers, glancing over at Clove first. “Ask Auntie Clove if it’s okay.”

“Bee-Bee, Co?” Aurelia directs, pointing at Glimmer’s arms while she looks in Clove’s direction. “Peeeeas, Co?” She flutters her long eyelashes, the sweetest little pout forming on her baby lips.

“Sure, you can see the baby. Maybe Uncle Cato can help-” Clove begins, but when she glances over at her husband she can see he has since lulled back to sleep, Stella still happily babbling at him regardless. 

“Ca-yo seeeeepin, Co.” Stella tells her, bringing a little finger to her lips in a gesture Clove can only assume is being told to be quiet. 

“Did your child just shush me?” Clove feigns offense, but rolls over to the other side of the chair so that she can watch more fully. “Wake him up Stella, tell him it’s baby time.”

“Cayooooooo, wake uuuuuuuuup.” Stella practically sings in his face, little hands coming to pat his face gently at first then not so much. “Cayooooooo”

“Huh, what, i’m up what's going on-” Cato’s eyes fly open, looking back and forth somewhat frantically again. 

“Bee-bee.” Stella explains, the little proud smile on her face demonstrating her joy at successfully completing her task. 

“Okay, why don’t you both sit right here,” Glimmer instructs the toddlers to crawl to the middle couch cushion, where she gently pushes them right up against each other. “Cato’s going to hold his head, okay girlies? Just to help!” 

Cato, for what it’s worth, does get the memo, and leans an overly long arm down to support Atlas’s little head and shoulders (and entire upper body, really), as Glimmer gently lays the baby out across both the twins' laps. 

“Hiiiiiii bee-bee!” Aurelia, who is more responsible for the lower half of his body, coos with equal excitement and gentleness. One pointer finger comes out to gently touch at his cheek, pressing ever so slightly, almost stroking his face in a way she could have only ever learned from the comforting touches of her own parents. 

“...heavy.” Stella whines, lulling her head back against the couch cushion. She gives a dramatic sigh, but keeps her own hands gently patting his chest. “Heavyyyyy.”

“Why is that what everyone says, he isn’t that big?” Cato defends with a bemused grin, reaching down with his other hair to brush Stella’s hair out of her eyes. “You’re a drama queen like your mother.”

It’s crazy, really. Somehow Atlas looks massive compared to the tiny twin one and half year olds, and yet at the same time makes the girls look like they themselves are practically teenagers with how old they look in comparison. 

There was never a time in any of their lives where they would have believed they’d be exactly where they are right now in this moment, watching their children (with each other, nonetheless) be held by one another. 

There is a shared silence of appreciation amongst the adult victors in the room. The words don’t need to be said, but the shared looks from Cato to Glimmer, from Clove to Marvel, and from the couples themselves say everything that needs to be said. 

These are three children who in another life would have been stripped of everything and sent to the games, without a second thought, if for no other reason than who their parents are. It would have been a question of when, not if, and the thought of it would have consumed and destroyed the four of them.

The twins simply never would have existed in that life– Glimmer wouldn’t have allowed it. 

Atlas would have, Clove and Cato know that much, but they don’t think they would have dared to allow themselves to love him as much as they already do a mere day into his life. 

This is not that life, though. 

In this life Stella will not have her hair dyed before she can spell her name, she will not be sold as a little star from the time she can walk. Aurelia will not be stripped of the innocent way she speaks to her fellow babies, her kindness will not be replaced with manipulation and a hundred and one ways to kill a man. Atlas will not be handed a weapon before he can walk, he will not be told that the way he immediately gravitates towards his mother’s arms as young as a toddler is a show of weakness that must be ceased.

They will not know Marvel for killing a twelve year old girl with a spear to her chest, nor the years of nightmares that followed Snow’s torture of him. They will not know Glimmer for stripping down in a desperate attempt for survival, they will not know of her exploitation as a result. They will not know Cato for dismembering a boy in the final two, in his last ditch attempt to get home (and home, specifically, to Clove).  They will not know Clove for skinning a man alive in the Quarter Quell, or the way she could gut her fellow tributes like an animal for slaughter.

They do not know their victor parents for who they were. Victors. All of those things, those memories, those..actions– lead them to where they are now. Children who otherwise would not have existed if not for the lives, training, and survival of their parents.

They know them for who they are now. 

Just their parents.

And aunts. And uncles. And cousins. 

“It’s crazy, isn’t it?” Clove interrupts their shared awe, siting herself more upright so she can join the six of them on that side of the room. 

“What is?” Cato muses, gently taking the opportunity to pull Atlas into his own arm more fully, already craving the feeling of his child back in his arms. 

“One day you’re learning how to hunt children and the next you’re holding the son you should never have even been alive to have.”

[puckpocketed]

What would it take for you to become interested in my team? blood sacrifice? prayers? Please... you say send propaganda but idk where to begin

ajklsdkjlasdkjldasklj WHAT A THING TO RECEIVE. okay okay taking a break from my research hole this afternoon to give people a guide on how to bait me into posting about their guys:

im not a shipper but i DO love when players are connected by long-standing close friendships, line chemistry, and the tragedy of being torn apart by trades/drafts - it's ship-adjacent i suppose. you could probably send me stuff like that and ill bite <3

interesting guys to me are like... their hockey is probably my first port of call, and then their stories, and then personalities. i love when a player treads the extremes of will and/or skill. think your tkachuks who have never taken a shift off in their lives; theyre always playing playoffs hockey. think m.stone and his hockey watching basement set up LMAO (hockey FREAK. love. LOVE) and his absurd, stat-breaking takeaway numbers. think QB and his unusual mix of agility + size + skill. and recently i'm interested in rodwin dionicio, who has been described as this unfathomably Different player archetype, and like IF he hits, he will probably change the way we think about role-based hockey (we are mostly talking in hyperbole. but. more on him down the line)

failure, being pathetic, being a loser? killer . love when guys kind of just suck. when they do everything but don't make it. when they don't do everything and don't make it. there are 32 teams and only one of those teams gets to spend the summer happy with the way they ended their year. if i reserved my interest for winners, for players who are Good at hockey, I think I'd be missing out <3 the stink of tragedy is like a sweet perfume. to ME !!!!!!!!!!

people respond the best to other people's enthusiasm, is what I've found. like I've said it before but someone has to be first, so why not you? post about your special guy and they might catch fire. i'm happy to get the ball rolling and be the only person posting in a player's tag. its fun. like frontier work !

there's really no rush the way i see it. i think everyone's got some kind of compelling story, so ill probably love the whole league eventually lmaooo

[enoughyi]

#5: Peck & Bite

Ship: Imelda Reyes x f!MC (Julia Wright), Poppy Sweeting

Summary: Imelda and her contemplative mood.

Prompt Number: 64. Being Unable To Open Their Eyes For A Few Moments Afterward. [>>>link to the list]

Word count: 681. Rating: T.

A/N: It's brainrot-powered. Characters are in their 20's.

Based on my Imelda nsfw!headcanons post and on an one where I wrote Imelda is a tad superstitious. I don't remember the number.

Why has my writing blog turned Imelda x f!MC x Poppy kissy fluff? I frankly have no coherent answer nor idea, how. And I regret not, and hope this little nearly-a-week long journey has been so far a joy! :D

This song, btw:

Tags: @thriftstorebabayaga @espressoristretto-patronum @celestial--sapphic @ladyofsappho

Imelda wondered littly about times when it was just Poppy and Julia.

Julia was a dreamy girl. Poppy was peculiar according to some, and pensive to Imelda's mind. A halcyon amidst the disarray of poaching seas; Poppy couldn't be more driven towards her. It was only natural for them to tag along on their beast rescue impetuous escapades -- and at some point, fall head over heels for one another. A Ravenclaw like Julia must've been so at Poppy's crude flirting; a brazen Hufflepuff like Poppy couldn't escape Julia's peck of curiosity.

They looked so happy.

Their funny hobbies; giggly exchanges in the corridors and classes, somehow avoidant of professors' attention or pithy comments; the life they had, against all odds, was picturesque and serene.

And did Imelda envied both of them, many years ago.

Yet did she expect an intervention of nearly divine capability; turned each of their lives to a meeting point on a joint that would lead them to a future of inseparability, reliance, in other words, love.

It was a fairly long story; when a snake falls from the sky there has to be an explanation how it has gotten up in the air, has it not. But its starting point; it has never allowed Imelda a single contemplationless moment. Whenever she would ask Julia if she regretted anything; whenever she would ask Poppy the same question; however they would answer, Imelda would always feel either they didn't know, or were as contemplative, or preferred to call it infuriatingly simple.

Magic.

Only in a fairy tale you'd have everything you could want from life, for a steep faeian price of course, and able to run with it, carelessly.

Poppy and Julia were unanimous in how to call Imelda's worry.

A mere superstition.

Because life is unpredictable; anything can happen; Julia happened, everything was and isn't just probable, it all is possible, no need to be worrisome, yes?..

Perhaps Poppy's word had some weight to it; her peculiar interest to fae creatures could lead her to this conclusion. But Julia's upbringing, inept in a magical sense, could only pack her mind with every fancy piece of literature about magical creatures of inestimable strengths and unfathomable powers. But when confronted, oh, that woman was an obduracy; her eyes almost glimmered with a familiar splinting sharpness Fig had when told his beliefs about magic were strange.

As if Julia knew something nobody else did. Acted as she pleased, -- or, no, was doing in accordance to the flow only she could sense in the air. Or was it a superstition getting a hold of Imelda, again?

So she asked her again.

"Neither of us regrets anything," Julia said. She was nearly asleep, but forced her eyes open at the sight of Imelda's distress.

It didn't feel right keeping her awake. "I know but it's all just…"

"Yes?" Tiredly, Julia added, "What is it?"

"It… It just doesn't feel real."

Julia's intent to sit up wasn't an available option, not for this late hour, not after Julia had been pleased; not after five-technically-six words, again, ruptured something in her heart, visible in a tired spark in her stubborn gaze. Was it Imelda -- or the Slytherin tendency to bite with venom instead of hitting with a peck of a snout; she hurt her, again.

Imelda's hands were on her shoulders, bony under the chemise; Julia's fingers ran up her cheek. She whispered, breathing out air strongly, "I am real very much though. You can't snap fingers and get rid of me. Consider me a pet fae; we've been through this again, and again, but we've yet to meet that bothersome thought of yours."

"Yes but are you really--"

"Really." She always pecked at the lips. "Get to sleep. It might be the Morpheus' clamant call to you. I'm limp. You're about to crash."

And she always got a bite back, always then breathed in sharply, eyelids flutter in the lingering warmth of this want-to-believe kiss. It could also help her to get to her own much warranted, wanted sleep.

Julia was a dreamy girl.