#or maybe i just didn’t want to draw a cloak

[brrmian]

it’s snowing. maybe they’ll brush hands to “share warmth.” or maybe they’ll just keep pining forever. [ft. different color palettes under the cut]

[weedpicnic]

The urge to just skip this class and go visit my dead friends memorial site in the woods is hitting strong as it often does. Especially since I’m all the way out here like fuck we just passed the road it’s on, right next to his old highschool. I think I need to go back there soon either alone or ideally with also the people at that memorial who knew him much better than me. We filled a box with stuff he loved and sealed it shut with resin and buried it. He worked at the McDonald’s down the street briefly as his first job when he was 15 and saw somebody get stabbed during his first shift. He had two hamsters named junior chicken and idk if the other was McDouble or cheeseburger. I can’t believe it’s almost been a year since he died, it’s still terrifying and surreal

[missviviii]

HI!! I was thinking maybe a mizu x reader where the reader is kinda in the same boat as mizu where she has heterochromia where one eye is a bright green.

So one day whenever they're in a village or smth Ringo points out that she has the exact same type of glasses as mizu just pure black and so mizu gets kinda suspicious 🤨

and so they sorta stalk her to a point she notices them and confronts them, and from there I think could be determined by you!

(ik this is really specific and long so plz don't be afraid to just scrap it but I just thought it was an interesting idea!)

a/n: ooooh!! alright alright 🫶

.

“Your eyes..”

warning(s): swearing

summary: this samurai and his very..interesting companion seemed to be interested in you, stalking you to the point you got tired of it and confronted it. you didn’t expect to find an individual with similar problems to yourself.

——————————————————————————

You were a mere wanderer—or perhaps just a traveling archer who seeks revenge for those who had thrown you into a ditch, or perhaps your parent who had attempted to kill you as a child because you were a ‘monster’. That was the idea you had grown up with. One bright green eye and the other a different color. That’s why you wear the pure black glasses, to hide away your eyes.

One day, you were crossing through a village. You stood near a stand, buying some food while you kept your head down low. A simple cloak was draped over your shoulder and a pure black glasses hiding your eyes. Your bow hung around your shoulder while the bag of arrows you carried around was on your back. You thanked the food stall owner and dropped some money into his hand before quickly leaving. You didn’t got unnoticed by a certain samurai though, one with orange tinged glasses such as yourself and a very giddy companion.

“Master, look at them! Do you think they are like you?” Ringo pointed out as the two walked into the village. Mizu looked in the direction that he was pointing at, and she found you rather..suspicious. Pure black glasses? Hiding your eyes? An archer too. Mizu squinted her eyes, watching your figure trail off to the distance.

Mizu put her finger up to silence Ringo before she signaled for him to follow her. She stayed just far enough from you, stalking you from behind and observing your actions. As you were looking at a few little charms at a small stand, you noticed a stranger just lingering around you. You tilted your head to the side, wondering who this mysterious figure was and why they seemed to be following you for quite awhile now.

Perhaps it’s just a coincidence.. You told yourself as you began to move, walking away and keeping your head down low. But every time you think you’ve lost them, they keep reappearing near you. That samurai and his companion, what did they want?

Having enough of this little stalking thing, you ducked into an empty street then jumped up onto a wall, and made a leap onto the rooftop of some building. Just as you expected, Mizu and Ringo followed you.

“Huh, where could they have gone?” Mizu wondered to herself as she walked further into the empty street, which had long been abandoned by the locals of the village. Ringo began to hum, following after Mizu while she attempted to look around for you. You stared at the two from the top of the building, frowning.

Were these people sent to..kill you? It wouldn’t be the first time, but what the fuck did you do now?

You lifted up your bow, carefully aiming your arrow at the one with the orange-tinted glasses. Inhale You closed one eye and steadied your heart. Exhale You pulled the arrow back and carefully aimed for the person’s vital point.

Then you released it, allowing the arrow to soar down at the person with perfect accuracy and precision. Yet somehow the person detected it. And dodged it by an inch, allowing it to hit the wall behind them instead. Mizu draws her blade, looking up at the figure on the roof with the bow pointing right at her.

“You! What are you doing? Following me? Did someone send you?!” You yelled as she took a step back. You jumped down from the roof and landed on the ground, still pointing at the two with your arrow in a threatening manner.

“No, no, no! You’ve got it all wrong! You had the same glasses as my master and we thought you were a teeny bit inter—“ Ringo immediately shut his mouth when the arrow was pointed at him. Mizu groans, stepping in front of him and pointing her blade at you.

“Lower your bow. We have no intentions of killing you,” Mizu said calmly as she put her blade away then raised both her hands up, tilting her head to the side for you to do the same. “Curiosity, I suppose. I..haven’t seen someone like me before.”

What?

You lowered your bow and pulled your glasses over your head, revealing your different colored eyes. “You fucking decided to stalk me just so you could see why I’m wearing black glasses?” Huh, that was one of the most interesting things you’ve ever heard. Usually people stalked you just to catch a glimpse of this ‘monster’ wandering around and perhaps turn you in for some hefty reward.

Mizu looked in awe, lowering her hands slowly and staring at your eyes with such intent. You were..beautiful. You seemed so elegant and relaxed, and poised. You came from the same background as her, stuck in the same boat with the same treatment from everyone around you.

“Woah! Your eyes are so cool! What a pretty shade of greeen!!” Ringo loudly exclaimed as he looked at you. Mizu looked away, hiding her face away with her palm while she cleared her throat. “Oh yeah, what’s your name? My name is Ringo! You are just like my master, no? Except you have a bow! Which is reallly cool and—“

Mizu shut him up with a look before she looked back at you. You put on hand on your hip, looking at the two suspiciously. They seemed..nice, but are they? That guy seemed to be rather chatty and energetic, but the samurai was closed off it seems? Clad in a large hat, dark blue cloak, and a scarf around her neck. Mysterious.

“Mizu, my name is Mizu,” she quietly spoke as she took off her glasses, revealing her true eye color. You hummed, taking a step closer and leaning in reaaaal close to look at her eyes. They were pretty, clear as the pristine, cool water and just like the sky. You suddenly smiled, tilting your head to the side while you straightened out your posture.

“Your eyes are pretty, you know that? Clear as the sky and blue like sapphires,” you say casually, catching her off guard for a moment. You stuck out your hand for a handshake, patiently waiting for her to take it. “I have a feeling we’ll get along just fine.”

“Huh..I suppose we could make it work. Your eyes are nice too.”

——————————————————————————

a/n: hxjsnskzbsjw not me finishing this when my eyes are about to give up on me <3

[tightjeansjavi]

Slow Hands | Chapter 11

“a wolf in sheep’s clothing”

A/N: another emotionally charged chapter that has left me in a puddle of my own tears 😔 there’s only 2 chapters left (crazy, I know) writing this story has truly been a journey for me, and it’s bittersweet knowing that it’s ending soon. As always, thank you for reading, and thank for betaing @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

~word count: 6.2k~

Summary: Angie goes missing, another letter, and two brothers letting the past go.

Pairing | Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: ‼️DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT‼️graphic depictions of violence, kidnapping of a minor character, minor character death, talk of suicide, anxiety/PTSD episode, angst, grief, guilt, emotionally charged conversations, protective!joel, Tommy is a girl dad in this universe (not canon but I hope it becomes canon) no age gap, reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni!

A wolf in sheep’s clothing: someone who hides malicious intent under the guise of kindliness

-

They moved like cloaked shadows in the night. Swift, sure-footed, silent. Cody couldn’t let him down. And with Joel’s blood still crusted underneath his fingernails, and spattered on his shirt, he led the way to Angie’s quiet home.

She put up a valiant fight, nails acting as claws swiping through the air. She didn’t want to die, not yet, not now. Please, just one more day.

Her nails made contact with his cheek, slicing through the skin, drawing blood to the surface. Her screams died in her throat when his ready fist made contact with her fragile face. Out cold. Still.

Cody is messy, always has been. It’s a detrimental price to pay, but he can’t let him down.

Her door is left ajar. Sticking out like a sore thumb come morning.

When she awakes, her head throbs, it pulses. Her eyes blink, stinging with pain as she becomes conscious of her new surroundings.

The woods.

Two men are arguing as she struggles to move, only to find that her wrists and ankles have been bound together with rope that has been tied so tightly, it bites into her skin.

“You’re a fuckin’ fool, Cody!” The man yells, striking Cody across the face.

He’s an abuser. He’s been one since the end of the world. Maybe even longer, but he can’t seem to remember the moment he chose the path to abuse. To harm. To kill. It doesn’t matter, he has no means to atone himself.

“A goddamn, trigger-happy, fool!” He hits him again, shoving Cody against a nearby tree. “Do you have any fuckin’ idea the risks you’ve just put out on the line?! Huh! Do you?! I asked you to do one fuckin’ thing! One goddamn fuckin’ thing! You’ve always been messy, Cody. Fuckin’ never cleanin’ up after yourself!” He yells in his face, and Angie’s blood runs cold.

She knows that voice.

She knows.

“I thought—I thought you would be proud of me!” Cody shoves back, body switching to defense mode in an instant. “I TOOK DOWN THE FUCKIN’ MOOSE!”

The other man sneered, shaking his head, and laughed. It's a bone chilling laugh. Cruel. Unkind. Sadistic.

“You fuckin’ moron. You didn’t kill him.” He scoffs.

“That old fuck is dead. I killed him!” He insists.

“Killed him? No. Wounded him? Sure. It takes a hell of a lot more to take down a moose than just kicking him in the fuckin’ head!” The other man places his hands on his hips, his tone is nothing short of condescending. “What do you think is going to happen when he wakes up, Cody? He’s gonna come straight for you.” He jabbed at his chest.

“He’s dead. I killed him. I killed Joel Miller.” Cody’s voice wavers the more he thinks back to the moment his boot connected with Joel’s face. Was he dead? He appeared to be. He must be. He has to be.

“Ah. Are your actions catching up to you? Are you beginnin’ to realize that you have managed to jeopardize everythin?’” The other man scoffs before his attention is drawn to Angie.

“You were supposed to bring her to me. You were supposed to bring her home, where she belongs. I asked you to do one fuckin’ thing, Cody. And you failed. You failed me.” He tsks, tongue in cheek. He crouches down in front of Angie’s trembling frame. She tries to escape, but there’s nowhere for her to run. She’s ensnared, and running out of time. The backside of his hand strokes against her cheekbone with a horrid softness that is anything but soft.

“Instead, you bring me this pathetic excuse of a life. Angie, isn’t it? What a doll. I really enjoyed your cookin’, sweetheart. I think I’ll miss that the most.” He chuckles, leaning in as his nose brushes through tendrils of her hair. “I could..keep you alive.” He whispers as tears begin to roll down her cheeks. “I could..but then that wouldn’t teach Cody a lesson, now would it?”

“Please—please. I—I—don’t want to die. You don’t..have to kill me.” She pleads, eyes squeezing shut.

“I don’t.” He agrees. “I don’t have to kill you, Angie. I could keep you as my own. You could replace her, and the constant hole I feel in my pathetic heart after she left me. “I was so good to her, Angie. So good..and she left.” He sighed almost as if he was feeling a moment of empathy for what he was about to do.

“I—I could replace her. I could. Please. I would never leave you. You don’t have to kill me. I’ll stay with you. I’ll—I’ll love you the way that she couldn’t.” Angie begs, and this is his favorite part. The moment where his victim begins to believe that he’ll spare them, that he’s not really a monster. That they’ll live to see another day.

“Oh, Angie, you haven’t really been payin’ attention at all, have you?” He sneers. “You’ll never replace her. You stupid fuckin’ bitch.” He spits, and a glob of saliva lands on her trembling cheek.

He looks over his shoulder at Cody just as a flash of lightning strikes above and illuminates his face in bright light. He faces her once more, fingers brushing across her face. He’s gone in for the kill, like a snake attacking in the grass.

She pleads for her life one more time. Hoping, begging..until it’s over.

He snaps her neck swiftly, in a blink of an eye as her body falls to the ground with a sickening thud. A single tear rolls down her cheek, landing in the dirt below. Her eyes are unmoving, body twitching, and then going still. A little fall of rain can hardly hurt her now.

She’s disregarded like trash on the street, nothing more than a sack of flesh in his eyes.

Raindrops begin to steadily fall as he stands above her body looking down at it with disgust. “Get the fuck back to Jackson, and bring her to me.” It’s a threat, and Cody knows what his fate will be if he returns without you.

When 20 minutes turned into an hour, that’s when the fear began to trickle in and fester like an open untreated wound. Ellie hadn’t returned, and there was no sign of Joel. You were alone and beginning to imagine the worst possible scenarios in your head. Ellie told you to stay inside, keep the doors locked, but that prodding voice inside of your head was growing louder, and louder. You could only tune its harshness out for so long before you would inevitably snap.

Ellie isn’t coming back.

She’s out there all alone, and you’re gonna continue to be a sitting duck?

Joel’s dead, I bet. He’s dead, and it’s probably all your fault. How’s that make you feel inside, Beanie? You killed them. You killed them both.

You had picked the skin around your cuticles to the point where they were raw and bleeding. Joel and Ellie were okay. Nothing bad happened to them. That voice inside of your head wasn’t true. None of it was true. It couldn’t be.

Ellie said she’d be back. She’s okay. Nothing happened to her. She found Joel and they’re on their way back now.

I didn’t kill them.

They’re alive.

Are you sure? Let’s face it, something happened to them both. The two people that you love the most in this world are dead and it’s all your fault.

Your fault.

Your fault.

Your—

“I DIDN’T KILL THEM!” You yelled suddenly as your emotions bubbled over.

It felt like every wall in Joel’s home was beginning to close in on you as if you were an unsuspecting bug that was about to be crushed under the weight of a shoe.

It felt like all the air in your lungs had been snatched, and you were suffocating, clawing for air.

That’s how you found yourself stumbling out back onto the porch, hunched over, heaving with tears streaming down your cheeks. The voice inside of your head only seemed to grow louder and louder as images of Joel and Ellie laying in a pool of their own blood flashed cruelly in your mind. You blinked, and blinked, and blinked, but the picture was as clear as day, and it wasn’t going away.

You don’t remember how you ended up in Joel’s shed surrounded by the comforting aroma of sawdust, pine, and Joel. He cloaked your senses like a warm hug, or a hot cup of tea with honey soothing your throat. You collapsed into his chair, hugging yourself for dear life, and then, the voice was silent and you were still, frozen on the spot, numbed.

-

What the fuck am I supposed to tell Beanie?

Hey, so I don’t want you to freak out or anything, but Joel got his ass handed to him, and he’s beat up pretty bad.

When I found him..I thought he was dead.

But don’t worry, he’s not gonna die! He’s fine. Joel is fine.

Ellie’s footsteps were trailing a good foot behind Jesse’s and Liam’s. The weight of her own gun felt heavy in her palm. Rain had steadily begun to fall and soaked the dry earth beneath her worn down converse. Tears began to blur her vision when images of Joel lying in a pool of his own blood attacked her mind.

“El?” It was Jesse. “Y’okay?” He had slowed his footsteps so she could catch up. And when she was close enough, he reached his hand out and gently squeezed her shoulder.

“I’m fine.” She sniffled and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her hoodie. “I’m fine, Jesse.” She went to brush his hand off her shoulder but refrained because she knew he was just trying to comfort her.

“Are you sure? Tommy didn’t really tell Liam and I what happened but—”

“What did he tell you?”

Jesse paused and let out a sigh. His eyes met hers in a brief stare. “Somethin’ along the lines of Joel getting the shit beat out of him in public. He didn’t say by whom.”

I know who the fuck did it.

“Yeah. Some fucking cowards probably jumped him.” Yeah, some cowards alright.

“He’ll be alright though, right?”

“Joel is as stubborn as a mule, Jesse. He’s going to be fine.”

Jesse nodded and took a step back to give her some space. “Yeah, you’re right about that.”

When they reached the front steps to Joel’s home, Ellie was nudged out of the way when she reached for the door handle. Liam muttered under his breath about it being some standard protocol to which she scoffed under her breath, withdrew her gun and shoulder checked him for good measure.

Ellie’s blood ran cold when she did not immediately find you on the couch in the same spot that she left you.

“Fuck.” She muttered under her breath, finger hovering over the trigger.

“Ellie? What’s wrong?” Jesse came up beside her, his own gun drawn at his side.

“I left Beanie right here, Jesse. Right here on the fucking couch!”

If anything happens to her, Joel will never forgive me. Never.

“You’re sure you left her on the couch, Ellie?” Liam interjected, pushing past both of them.

“You think I’d fuckin’ lie about that? I left her on the couch.” She snapped back. “I told her to stay here and keep the doors locked.”

“I’ll check upstairs. Liam, you and Ellie check the kitchen and do not go outside without me.” Jesse said firmly. He was looking right at Liam with a stern glare.

Liam was half tempted to flip him off but refrained from doing so. It wouldn’t have been worth it in the end.

He and Ellie did a full sweep of the kitchen and lower level while Jesse went upstairs and checked every room.

The trio met back at the foot of the staircase.

“The only place we haven’t checked yet is Joel’s shed outback.” Ellie said with a huff to mask her nerves. “She wouldn’t just..up and leave for no fucking reason. Unless someone was here, or she was suspecting someone.”

“Joel’s shed? Why the hell would she go there?” Liam scoffed under his breath. “Ellie, we sweeped the whole fuckin’ house. She’s not here.”

“Fuck you, man. Don’t pick up an attitude with me. Do you have any idea what that woman means to Joel? Huh? Course you don’t. If something happened to her—”

“El, breathe.” Jesse said calmly. “We’ll do a sweep out back, okay? I’m sure she’s there. I’m sure she’s fine.” He reassured her.

Ellie inhaled a shaky breath of air and nodded her head in Jesse’s direction. Once she was regrouped enough, she took the lead and headed towards the back door with Liam and Jesse in tow.

The rain was coming down with a blinding force now and obstructed Ellie’s vision momentarily as she cautiously approached Joel’s shed. A bright flash of lightning illuminated her face before it was casted back into darkness.

Please. Please, be in there. Please be safe, Beanie.

Jesse and Liam had their guns aimed at the ready when Ellie grasped the shed door handle and pushed it open.

You were caught like a deer in headlights when Ellie, Jesse, and Liam came into view. Your hands trembled around the loose grip you had on Joel’s letter to Bill and Frank.

Ellie immediately lowered her gun to her side with a visible sigh of relief and tucked it into her hoodie pocket. “Beanie? Fuck. What are you doing out here? I thought I told you to stay inside. I—I thought something had happened to you!”

The look on your face is all Ellie needs to understand that you don’t remember.

“You don’t remember anything..do you, Beanie?” Her tone is soft compared to the way that her heart is beating out of her chest.

You shake your head and bite down harshly on your lower lip as you look between Ellie, and the two men beside her. You’ve seen Jesse around before, but Liam is unfamiliar.

“Can you guys..give us some privacy?” Ellie speaks quietly to Jesse and Liam.

“Holler if you need us. Okay, El? We’ll be outside.”

“It’s fuckin’ raining. We’re gonna get—” Liam’s bitching is cut off by Jesse forcefully grabbing his bicep and pulling him back outside into the pouring rain. He pulls the door shut behind him leaving you and Ellie in total privacy.

“Ellie..where’s Joel? What happened?” You questioned immediately and Ellie let out a deflated sigh. Her shoulders slumped in a defeated motion.

“He’s..hurt, Beanie. But Tommy’s with him. He’ll be alright. He always comes back home. Even when he’s hurt, nothing stands in his way.” Ellie’s doing her best to reassure both herself and you. She walks further into the shed and finds herself sitting along the edge of Joel’s workbench next to you.

“What happened to him, Ellie?” You look over at her, eyes glassy with tears that are threatening to spill. “How do you know for sure that he’ll..come home?”

“I don’t know exactly what happened to him. I found Tommy first, and he discovered Joel laying in the dirt outside of your home. He was covered in blood. I—I thought he was dead, but Tommy reassured me that he wasn’t.”

She rests her hands along the dust covered table and looks down at her lap. She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes as she looks over at you. “Because..before Joel took me to the Fireflies base, there was a time where I thought he was gonna die on me. I remember bein’ so afraid of losin’ him. I didn’t know what the fuck I was gonna do without him.”

She swallows hard and blinks back her own tears. “He tried to push me away. Told me to go back to Tommy’s and leave him to die. I refused. So, I did everything I could to help him get better. His wound was infected and I knew he needed medicine fast. I risked my life for him not knowin’ if he would make it.”

You reach for her hand and entwine your fingers just as her tears begin to fall. “Somethin’ terrible..happened to me after I got Joel the medicine he needed. And I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see him again, truthfully.” She sniffled and squeezed your hand gently.

“I remember stumbling outside in the snow covered in blood, and he was there. I thought he was a ghost, Beanie. But he was there, and he was holding me.”

“Ellie..” you trailed off.

Your teary eyed gazes met as the rain pelted down along the roof of the shed.

“Do you need a hug, kiddo?” You asked softly. Ellie was like the daughter you never had, and like Joel, you’d put your life out on the line to keep her safe. It’s what empaths do. They put others feelings above their own. And right now, Ellie needs you.

“Yes.” She murmured. “I need that more than ever right now.”

You set the letter down off to the side and stand up just as Ellie slips down from where she’s sitting on the edge of the table. You gather her up into your arms and hold her tight. You didn’t need the full story to understand what happened to her before Joel brought her to the Fireflies. “It’s okay. I understand. I’m here for you, El.”

She wrapped her arms around you with her tears soaking into your shirt while you rubbed soothing circles into her back with your freehand cupping the back of her head, cradling it gently.

You held each other like this as the storm outside roared on. Ellie was the one to ultimately pull away from the hug and quickly wiped at her eyes.

“Thank you.” She whispered, “I really needed that.”

“Of course, El. I’m always here for you.”

“What’s this?” She gestured to the letter resting along the table and reached for it.

“It’s another one of Joel’s letters.”

“Joel’s been..writing letters? To whom?” She picked it up gently.

“To those he loves most.” You said softly.

“Can we..read it together?”

You nod and pull the chair up closer while Ellie begins to read the letter out loud.

Bill and Frank,

By now I’m sure you realized that I found your letter. I know that you and I didn’t always see eye to eye, but I did consider you a friend. Someone who I respected, trusted, and in a way, admired. I never got the chance to tell you just how much I respected you, Bill. I think back to the first time we met, where yours and mine clicked instantly. I don’t think I ever saw Tess smile as much as she did that day. You and I were both pretty pissed off about it, huh? But hey, whatever makes those we love happy, right?

You were one hell of a man, and I’m honored that I had the pleasure of knowing you, even if the time was cut short.

So, I’m gonna tell you something because I know that you’ll understand.

I found two people in this shit-hole world that mean somethin’ to me. I lost a daughter, but I gained another. She was just cargo to transport to the Fireflies, but as much as I saved her, she saved me. Her name is Ellie, and I think you woulda loved this kid. I pushed away feeling anything for so fuckin’ long, and then she came into my life and showed me that I still have a heart. Her and I? We’ve been through hell, but there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep my kid safe.

And then, I fell in love with this woman who has a heart of gold and a kindness that I never thought I’d feel again. She reminds me of Frank. Artistic, soft-spoken, and this breath of fresh air that can melt even coldest of hearts. Her name is Beanie, like coffee beans. She and I actually briefly knew one another in Austin. She owned this coffee shop, Cuppa Smiles and every-time I’d come in with Sarah, she’d put a stupid little smiley face on my morning latte. Well, we met again…and I fuckin’ love her silly little latte art. She’s my person, Bill. And even though I feel I am undeserving to love someone as beautiful as her, I’m so fucking grateful. This is all to say you’re right. You and I do have a purpose in this world, and that is to protect the ones we love. To keep them safe. And god help any motherfuckers who stand in our way, right?

Godspeed.

-Joel

By the end of the letter you and Ellie are both feeling new waves of emotions. Joel Miller loves you, and you’ve known it for a while now, but to see it on paper? Well, there’s really no feeling to describe it. To love and to be loved, is one of life’s greatest treasures.

“Did you ever get to meet Bill and Frank?”

“No, but I do know for a fact that Bill was a fuckin’ badass. He had a whole wall of guns in his house!” She couldn’t help but giggle at the memory of Joel grumpily telling her no when she implied on taking one of the guns for herself. Dude. There’s a wall of them.

You could picture Joel’s face now, and it too made you giggle because oftentimes he was rather grumpy over just about anything.

“Oh my god, you shoulda see how much of a mean motherfucker Joel was when I first met him!” She’s truly reminiscing now and there’s that childlike wonder to her again. All giggles, cheeks stained with tears, but she’s smiling a big toothy grin.

“Why don’t you tell me all about the first time you met Joel?”

And so she does, starting with the first interaction where Joel basically threw her into a wall in front of Marlene and Tess.

Well, I guess that’s what I got for spookin’ him. Shit really fuckin’ hurt, but I’m glad he and Tess showed up when they did. Who knows, maybe you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation right now if they hadn’t.

I’m really glad Joel and Tess showed up when they did too.

“Hey, Beanie?” Ellie suddenly asks as the rain is beginning to lighten up for a moment.

“Yeah?”

“Did you grow up listening to Linda Rondstadt?”

“I did.”

“What was your favorite song? If you had to pick one?”

“Oh, that’s an easy one, El. Long Long Time.”

She just smiles.

“Tommy..” Joel croaks, voice hoarse and barely audible.

Joel’s eyes are barely open and his face is visibly swollen and puffy. But he’s alive, he’s breathing, and that’s all Tommy can really focus on.

“Joel? Hey, how we feelin?’”

Joel cracks a smile, a painful one that has him wincing from the minimal movement. “Like I jus’ got hit by a fuckin’ bus.” He attempts to joke, but it falls flat when he realizes that Tommy is holding the letter.

“Yeah, well, y’look like dogshit, Joel. Doc said—”

“Don’t give a fuck what Doc said, Tommy.” He doesn’t mean to be short, not really, he’s just in a lot of pain.

Tommy falls silent. His eyes cast downwards and focus on the words written in the letter. The fluorescent light catches Tommy’s face at just the right angle for Joel to see the dried tears along his cheekbones.

“Tommy..I—I saw Sarah.” Joel’s voice cracks as the two brothers briefly make eye contact.

“Whad’ya mean you saw her, Joel?”

“She came to me in my dreams. She had daisies in her hair..She looked so beautiful. My baby girl.”

Tommy rests the letter along his lap and reaches for Joel’s hand. He gives it a firm, yet reassuring squeeze. His freehand immediately rises and he quickly wipes away fresh tears that have begun to fall. “She was so beautiful, Joel.”

There’s a moment's silence sans Joel’s labored breaths, and Tommy’s sniffles that fill the stagnant, all-too clean air.

“I thought..you were dead, Joel. All I saw was you layin’ in the dirt. Not movin.’ Covered in blood, and all I could think—And then I saw the gun, and for a minute I thought that maybe—” he takes a shaky inhale, squeezing his eyes shut. “But then I couldn’t find the entry wound, and I felt so relieved. So fuckin’ relieved.”

“Tommy, after all these years? After proving to you that I’d do anything to keep us alive? Why would your first thought be that I finished myself? Ellie needs me. I’d never do that to her or to you. Why would I cross the country to find you to only then shoot myself?” Joel doesn’t mean to be so harsh with his words, but despite all the years that have gone by, that guilt lives freely on his conscience. It’s plaguing, and reminds him of a scab that never quite properly heals because he’s picked it over so many times. It’s hammered into his skull with a rusted nail.

“Killin’ yourself ain’t gonna bring Sarah back, Joel. Its fuckin’ selfish that you—”

Selfish.

Selfish.

Selfish.

A man loses his only daughter in a brutal way, and he’s got nothing to live for. No path guiding him. No light at the end of the tunnel. No hope. Nothing. It was ripped from him the same way the rain of bullets ripped through her body.

“I have everythin’ to live for now, Tommy.”

It hits Tommy like a freight train at maximum speed. It thrashes like a fish breached on land, depleted of oxygen, slowly dying, baking in the sun. His feelings bubble over, and he doesn’t try to hold them at bay.

“Because the day you tried to kill yourself still haunts me. I couldn’t think rationally in the moment because I was brought right back to Texas. Right back to your home. Right back to the second I heard the gunshot and your body hittin’ the fuckin’ floor.” Tommy whispers the last part as tears blur his vision.

Joel reaches for his hand, knuckles bruised and crusted in blood and dirt. His body aches all over, but he pushes through the pain and grabs Tommy’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “I ain’t fuckin’ goin’ anywhere, Tommy.” His words are firm and hold true.

Tommy can only nod as he glances down at the letter once more. More tears have begun to flood the paper and blur Joel’s penmanship, but even though ink isn’t permanent, the words read like a script in his brain.

“When..did you write this letter?” Tommy finally asks.

“Shortly after I wrote the letter to Tess and after what happened at the Tipsy Bison.”

“And you meant every word in this?..”

“Absolutely.”

“You’re right. I did grow resentful. I couldn’t understand why you thought that..killin’ yourself was the only option. As if somehow that would bring Sarah back. I did think you were being selfish, and that was wrong of me. I know that hurt you more than you’re willin’ to admit. And I’m sorry, Joel. For all of it.”

“Y’gotta understand that I did think that it was the only option I had. I fuckin’ lost my daughter. She died in my arms. I was a shell of a man, and you—“ he took a deep breath as his tears began to freely fall. “Y’made me feel so guilty after. So fuckin’ guilty. The guilt consumed me. I knew that you weren’t sleepin’ much after that. Always thinkin’ that I’d attempt it again. Always on edge because of me.”

“It felt like we were walkin’ on eggshells around each other for years. There were so many times that I wanted to bring it up and apologize, but fuck, as if we had any time for that, right? Tess and I..we talked about it once, in private. She told me I should jus’ rip the bandaid off, but I never did.” Tommy admitted.

“Yeah, and then you left me for the fuckin’ Fireflies after everythin’ I did to keep you safe. To keep you alive, you left. Always wanted to be the fuckin’ hero. Didn’t matter what I said, you weren’t gonna listen.” Joel snapped.

“I jus’ wanted to try and make a difference in the shitty world that we live in! To erase injustice and make up for all the shit we did. All the people we murdered. I didn’t want to live with—”

“Didn’t want to live with knowin’ that there’s blood on your hands, Tommy? Those things we did? We did them to survive. It was either them or us. I have my regrets too, y’know.”

“We killed innocent people, Joel.” Tommy said somberly.

“Why did you cut fuckin’ communication with me? Huh? What was the reason? I’m your fuckin’ family. Your flesh and blood. And while you were livin’ all cushy with your new wife, bacon, and a warm fuckin’ bed, I was scared shitless that my brother was dead.”

“if I tell you the truth, you’re going to hate me.”

“I’m your brother, Tommy. I could never hate you. Jus’ tell me the reason. I don’t want a bullshit excuse. I want the fuckin’ truth.”

“Maria had some influence on my decision. She reassured me that cutting communication off with you would maybe be for the best. It was selfish of me, Joel. I just never expected—”

“Me to come fuckin’ lookin’ for you? Nothin’ was gonna get in my way of findin’ you, Tommy.”

“I wasn’t thinkin’ at the time. The thought hadn’t crossed my mind. Look, it was gettin’ to the point that everytime we’d talk, the conversation was always just so fuckin’ negative. That shit started to really eat away at me. Maria started to notice how it was affectin’ me, and she suggested that maybe...I was holdin’ on too much. At the time it felt right to cut contact off with you.”

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me? Tommy, the world fuckin’ ended. What the hell was I supposed to be positive about, huh? Christ! The only positive thing in my life outside of Tess was knowin’ that you were alive! And then you took that from me too. I swear, that woman had rose colored glasses on the second she fuckin’ met you.” He snapped.

Tommy could already feel himself recoiling from his brother's words, and that utter feeling of shame came trickling in and knocking at the door. “I know I took that from you, Joel. I swear it wasn’t done outta malice.”

“No. You just wanted to move on with your life and I was holdin’ you back. The second you met Maria, fell in love, and got everythin’ you ever wanted, you pushed me away. Your own goddamn brother.”

“And I feel fuckin’ shameful for my decisions! The second you fuckin’ showed up here outta the blue, I felt that shame. I’m sorry..for all of it. But I’m tired of feelin’ this way, ain’t you?”

“Of course I’m fuckin’ tired of feelin’ this way, Tommy. Half the time I don’t even feel like I belong in this community. That I’m always gonna be an outsider. And I think your wife is partially to blame. I respect Maria, I really do. But she ain’t have any rose colored glasses on when it comes to me. I think that’s the most frustratin’ bit. Is that your wife judges me for the things I did to keep us alive, yet she refuses to acknowledge all the fucked up shit, and all the people you killed, Tommy.”

“I know you and Maria ain’t ever seen eye to eye. I don’t agree with the way she’s treated you either. She and I have talked about it. I’ve brought up how she treats you differently. I jus’ haven’t gotten through to her yet, but I’m workin’ on it. I can’t make her change her mind about you, but what I can do is defend you, tooth and fuckin’ nail. Jus’ like how I shoulda after the altercation at the Tipsy Bison.”

“I jus’ want you to feel…proud to be my brother again, Tommy. I don’t wanna keep walkin’ on eggshells and feelin’ like I ain’t belong in my own family. I love you so much, and I jus’—I want us to be okay. I don’t wanna fight anymore, I don’t wanna feel this resentment and guilt all the fuckin’ time. That’s why I’ve been writin’ these letters.. They’re healin’ me. They’re helpin’ me forgive.”

“Fuck.” Tommy sniffles. “You think I ain’t proud to be your brother, Joel? You’re still my fuckin’ hero, and you’re my fuckin’ family. My flesh and blood. I love you so much, and I’m sorry for hurtin’ you. I’m sorry for pushin’ you away. I’m sorry for bein’ selfish. For holdin’ so much resentment against you and the things we’ve done. I want us to be okay. I want us to be brothers again.”

“And I forgive you, Tommy. I’m sorry too. ‘M sorry for puttin’ you through hell. Shoulda apologized a long time ago.”

“We both should have. I never thought I would have the opportunity. I never thought I’d see you again.”

“You and me both.”

“Is..that why you ain’t really open to bein’ in Willow’s life? I try’n not bring her up because I know you’re still mournin, but it hurts that my brother doesn’t want to be involved in my daughter’s life.”

“Jealousy is a bitch, Tommy.” Joel said with a sigh. “Y’get to be a father to a little girl, and I lost mine. It ain’t right to you, or your daughter, but the grief still stings.”

“But Joel, you are a father. You might not be Ellie’s blood, but you’re her dad. I understand that you’re still grieving. Hell, I am too, but I want you to be in Willow’s life. I want you to be my daughter’s godfather..”

“..you want me to be her godfather? Tommy, I’d-I’d be honored.”

“Of course I do. I want that more than anythin.’”

“I wanna hug you, but everythin’ fuckin’ hurts.” Joel forces a laugh past his cracked lips. It comes out hoarse, rough around the edges.

Tommy hugs him anyway. It’s a gentle yet grounding caress and when the two brothers part, Joel knows he has to tell Tommy what really happened.

“Tommy.” He starts. His jaw ticks, nostrils flare. “It was Cody.”

Tommy’s blood runs cold. His fists clench, and his brows furrow. “What’re you talkin’ about, Joel?”

“Cody. He was outside of Beanie’s house. I saw him and immediately grew suspicious. He wasn’t alone. There were two other patrol guys with him. Alex and Oliver. There’s a whole fuckin’ pack of them. Cody and I got into it..he knocked me out.”

“They were lookin’ for Beanie?”

“Yes. But we ain’t have no tellin’ on how many of them there really are.” Joel gruffly said.

“Well, there’s four that we know of, right?” There was no time for Tommy to mourn this realization. Men that he trusted were just a bunch of wolves in sheeps clothing. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. Pungent. Betrayal. Anger.

“Tommy, we can’t lose focus, alright? We gotta bring these fuckers to justice. You and me. You want your daughter growin’ up in a world where sick fucks get away with shit undetected? You wanna be a hero, right? You wanna make sure your baby girl grows up only knowin’ love and safety. Cody thought he could bring down a moose, but he’s in for a fuckin’ surprise. I say we pump ‘em full of lead.” For good fuckin’ measure.

“I’ll be damned if I let her grow up in a world livin’ in fear with men who would jump at the opportunity to hurt her. We need to alert Maria immediately. I wanna do more than just pump ‘em full of lead. I wanna make them fuckin’ suffer.”

Ah. There he is, there’s the Tommy that I know.

Joel was already getting ready to swing his legs over the side of the bed when a very exasperated Jesse appeared outside the door. His cheeks were flushed, and it looked like he was barely holding it together.

“Jesse? What’re you doin’ here? Did Ellie make it home safe?” Tommy asked as he stood up from Joel’s bedside in a haste.

“She’s fine. Liam and I walked her home and then we found Beanie.”

“Found Beanie? What the hell does that mean, Jesse? Y’better start talkin’ or so help me–” Joel was cut off swiftly.

“She’s okay, Joel. Ellie and Beanie are fine. But Tommy, Maria is lookin’ for you. Angie’s missing. She didn’t show up to her breakfast shift, and it looks like someone broke into her home. We suspect that foul play was involved, and Maria is calling for an emergency council meeting.”

Tommy and Joel slowly looked over at one another. Angie was missing. Jackson was no longer safe, and it was up to the two brothers to protect the community, and those they loved most. Tommy nodded in understanding, and it was as if he was reading Joel’s mind in real time.

“Looks like we got a meetin’ to get to.”

-

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[pearlywritings]

The Music of the Night

synopsis: these are pretty much snippets with Genshin men that combine night and music in different forms, picturing sweet moments of your relationship with them.

pairing: Diluc, Kaeya, Capitano, Pierro, Zhongli, Venti, Dottore, Dainsleif, Ayato, Childe, Pantalone (separately) x reader

tw: fluff, some parts have small portion of hurt/comfort, weapons and sparring in Capitano's part, abyss beasts in Capitano's part

word count: 8k+ words in total

a/n: I love the Phantom of the Opera, bear with me

Diluc

Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation

Darkness stirs and wakes imagination

Silently the senses abandon their defenses…

Nimble fingers caress the white and black keys and draw an intricate melody from within the depths of an old instrument. Despite its age, the piano is always taken care of, sounding as clear as it did in its «youth»; your husband always makes sure to invite a professional monthly to tune it, knowing how much you like it. Probably this is one of the very few things that found its place in the Dawn Winery after he hastily got rid of his family mansion, and you are happy it did.

As the pads glide and press, you try to imagine young Diluc, playing it as a part of his home education. You wonder if he truly enjoyed it, or endured it because it was in his schedule. Even if it was the latter, knowing how skilled and talented the redhead is, you are sure, the melodies he performed were nothing but perfect. Nowadays the man rarely touches it, prefering to rather listen to you.

Now there is no one to listen - the maids and winery workers left long ago and the only person remaining is Adelinde, who is most likely sleeping in her room. It’s 3 a.m. after all, but tonight you can’t rest properly without your husband beside you.

A sigh escapes your lips, as you draw the music to an end, lingering just a little bit after the last bar’s duration ends. There is a soft shuffle when you rearrange the sheets to choose a new composition to play. It’s so comforting, you think, feeling the ink-covered pages under your fingertips - those must be from the times when Master Crepus’s son was just a boy, learning the wonders of music, and the thought fills you with warmth.

As you start the next melody you fail to notice the presence of another person in the room. Diluc has just returned home and, upon hearing the delicate sounds of an old piano, made his way to where he knew he’d find you. His beaked mask and black cloak are discarded, gloves joining them on the sofa soon after.

He doesn’t want to scare you, which might be a hard task, yet his hands brush against your shoulders in such a familiar manner, that you only barely shiver, almost missing a note, but relaxing right away.

“Hello, my love,” his voice murmurs next to your ear and then lips press to your temple. Hands slide down to your waist and with a small movement he urges you to move to one side of the piano stool. Effortlessly you do so, and in a moment his body slides next to yours.

“Allow me to take over the left hand,” he whispers and you nod. As your fingers leave the keyboard his take over almost immediately, accompanying the main melody of your right hand.

You let your head rest on his shoulder, free hand finding his and intertwining them. He is so warm and big, holding onto you tenderly but firmly, reminding you, he is here, and you have nothing to worry. You do not, not anymore at least, as you feel him relax next to you, taking down the walls he surely put once again before leaving your shared home and into the night.

“I thought you didn’t like playing,” he hums at your words, touching the keys expertly, maybe only a little bit stiffly.

“I don’t dislike it,” Diluc admits, “simply don’t have time. When you occupy the piano, I have no desire to disturb.”

“And what about now?” you ask, slowly playing the music quieter and quieter. The man notices the diminuendo in the sheets and starts doing the same.

“Do I disturb you?”

“No, not at all… Actually, I really like it.”

The final bar arrives just in time, and, pressing the last chord, Diluc turns to face you, vermillion gaze filled with love. You sure yours mirror just the same emotion, eyelashes fluttering when a small smile appears on his handsome face.

“Yeah… I like it too.”

Kaeya

Slowly, gently night unfurls its splendor

Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender

Nearing the Knights of Favonius Headquarters you can clearly see that all the windows are dark, with the very few exceptions. Not surprised to see the light in Master Jean’s office you search for your lover’s higher and with a deep sigh don’t find it unlit. Well, seems it’s his place you are sleeping at tonight.

There is no one in the hallways and you practically tiptoe past Acting Grand Master's door, not wanting to disturb her with the taps of your soles against the tiled floor. The stairs are a safe place and you walk up as fast as you can, the next floor being your destination.

You don’t knock once in front of Kaeya’s office, quickly turning the knob and swinging it open. The man inside, slumped over his desk, quickly lifts his gaze, ready to dismiss whoever it can be, but turns surprised and the next second pleased when he notices you.

“Hello, snowflake,” his voice is hoarse, but with its usual flirting lilt. His whole posture changes, straightening up, shoulders broad and back a bit arched. Multiple cracks echo in a quiet room.

“Don’t tell me there was nothing, I heard that, Alberich,” you huff, closing the door and making your way to him. The man snorts in amusement, watching you with a star-marked eye. The quill is still held between his long ungloved fingers, and the chin is coming to rest on a palm of his free hand. He loves your voice so damn much, even if you scold him, it’s always music to his ears, and that he hears it on the night he thought he’d be alone and busy? How wonderful.

“What? I said nothing, my love, simply greeted you,” the smile on his lips is both playful and innocent, making you roll your eyes half-heartedly.

“Your back, Kaeya. It must be stiff as a rock, if your spine makes sounds like that,” you are now standing at his side, quickly scanning the table. There are two piles - a big and a very small, - and with relief you see how your lover grabs the paper he was writing on and places it on top of a big one.

“Mmm, maybe a little bit strained, nothing I can’t endu- ouch!” he hisses when you reach and carefully grab the skin near his nape between your thumb and forefinger. Well, if the slightest of pressing makes him jolt like that and give you a stinky eye, just how full of knots it is?

“Put your quill down and let’s go to your room. I am staying over.”

The Cavalry Captain looks at you disconently, but behind this mask you can see he is actually really excited. It’s cute how just one phrase, spoken with an edge of finality to it, makes him lose his composure on the inside. But Kaeya wouldn’t be Kaeya if he didn’t try to play hard to convince.

“I don’t know, love… I still have some papers to fulfill…”

“Kae, come on. You are clearly stressed and overworked. I worry about you,” the hand that remained at the nape of his nape gently slides down the expanse of his back, hidden behind nothing but his shirt and the corset of his high-waisted pants. “Think about the cuddles and kisses, and holding me close…” tempting is something you two are good at, and this is a fair offer the man would be an idiot to decline.

The Cryo user presses his body incredibly close to yours under the covers of his bed - not big enough to accommodate two adults properly, but doing two lovers a favor of a sweet proximity. Your fingers brush through his silky navy locks, massaging his scalp and neck as you softly hum a melody Kaeya is so familiar with. You sound so tender and he can’t help but rub his nose against your throat, feeling small vibrations within. 

A giggle, then another one and many more as he litters your skin with small fleeting kisses. Moments like this he adores the most - together, alone, with nothing separating you and preventing him from letting go of his daytime worries and carefully crafted facade.

“Hum for me some more?” he quietly asks, eyes closed and lips lingering on your collarbone.

And send him on such a needed trip throughout the Dreamland? How can you possibly refuse.

Capitano

Turn your face away from the garish light of day

Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light

And listen to the music of the night

Metal clinks and clashes with ferocity no human can probably exude. Two silhouettes move in a thoroughly-calculated way with a speed that make them blur and sometimes mix into one big blot of black - darker than the color of the night. Eyes used to the darkness and ears trained to be a help not a bother stay focused on the opponent, trying to predict their actions and strike first to gain victory. One hand clenches around the handle of the sword, the other keeps the revolver charged. There are no bullets inside, of course - you don't want to wake the whole camp up (even though in any other situation using the real ones wouldn't be much of a problem). Instead the special training guns are loaded with paint capsuls to mark the place the person would be shot. And you've just felt one hit your cheek, a colorful blotch covering and a thick droplet rolling down your face. So much for not using a helmet, you roll metaphoric eyes at yourself and lunge forward, attempting to plunge the tip of the blade under his knee armor piece, only to be blocked and almost thrown backwards by the sheer force of his arm's push. Just in time the long body of your gun crashes in his, aimed at you, and both go flying - all by your own sheer strength.

"Ready to surrender, Capitano?" You smirk, shifting the blade more comfortably in your hand. Heated, you feel immense warmth under your armor and welcome the winter wind biting at your cheeks and nose. Well, maybe abandoning the helmet along with your military fur overcoat wasn't a bad idea.

The man before you doesn't even huff at your words, only raising his weapon for a new attack. His overcoat is lying somewhere with yours, leaving only his ink black armor and a dark void at the front of his helmet.

You share a few more blows before it's your weapon that falls out of your hand and disappears in a nearby snowbank. You raise your hands in surrender when the sharp tip is pressed against your throat, not against to draw blood, but quite enough to claim victory.

"3:1," you grin, readjusting your arms to stretch and pop a few bones. "Ah, what a night~ Blew the steam just right."

"You were furious," the Harbinger doesn't ask, he states the fact, bending down to fetch your weapon. You hum in acknowledgment, stepping aside to get the revolvers back.

"I am still a little bit. That ball we visited today…it annoyed me I had to be there as a guard and not as your partner, and then that human girl," you hiss between your teeth and for a moment your voice shifted to something more monstrous, "dared to try and throw herself at you. You are mine."

You hand the guns over to Capitano, which he takes to inspect. You use that pause to glance at the moon and the starless sky, happily accepting the darkness around you. You loved nights, especially since it was the time when you and your lover could finally be alone. He once apologized for having so little time during the day, but once reassured you don't mind, being a busy warrior yourself, he didn't bring it up anymore.

"Then I find it strange you didn't try to duel her."

"And kill her on the spot? While I don't mind, the paperwork and Lord Pierro's notations later would've been annoying. That's why I love being on a battlefield more. I know you are nearby and we are basically doing the same thing."

Capitano has already put all the weapons somewhere and is now standing directly in front of you, his full attention taken by you and you alone. His big armory clawed hand easily wraps around your waist while the other cups your face.

"Why do you keep insisting on such a small form?" He rumbles in a low voice, but not annoyed, there is actually a hint of wonder in his voice.

"It's easy to seem normal to anyone else this way. After all, we wouldn't want others to know what we are, right? Besides, it's small in comparison to you, actually it is an average human height."

There is a deep growl coming from the depth of his chest and you respond in the very same way. In the light of the day you couldn't let yourselves slip and show affection in the way your nature tells you to, only if on a battlefield, where the steel blades dance and lead bullets sing, where anyone would excuse your roars as the commanding war cries and think nothing of your ability to tear an enemy of the size of a Mitachurl in half with your bare hands.

But under the dark sky you could be honest with the beasts you two are and finally live a little, not worrying about a thing.

Pierro

Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams

Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before

Snezhnaya is beautiful. Its architecture, its traditions and culture, its people, who endure the cold, but manage to stay warm… And the snow - that looks like a white fur blanket during the day and gleams magically in the lantern light at night.

It’s snowing. Tiny, intricate snowflakes are whirling as they fall, landing on your hair, on your lashes, on your extended hand. You think it's lovely, feeling them melt on your palm, losing their unique designs and becoming nothing but water droplets.

It never snowed in Khaenri’ah.

The memories cause something deep inside you twinge, and the impulse is much harsher than the coldness of this snowy land biting at your skin. The pain of losing everything is too fresh, even if the whirlwind of next events made it hard to settle fully at its peak.

"You foregone your cape again" a heavy fur fabric envelops your shoulders in a warm embrace and two big gloved hands settle on top of them. You don't need to turn away to know it's [...].

Oh… There actually is no point of uttering his real name as he has abandoned it in favor of serving the Tsaritsa, of becoming the first Harbinger, of becoming Pierro, "The Jester".

If only everything was really that funny as his code name suggested.

"I am still not used to it…" you sigh, wrapping it around yourself tighter. It's been only some years, maybe decades?

Not enough to forget.

Your lover is silent behind you, only his fingers slightly flex on your shoulders. You know for him it's hard as well, so many nights one or both of you have shared the nightmares that reflected the horrendous reality of the past, so many nights have been spent in attempts to comfort, and the same amount passed with staying awake just to escape the images inevitably flashing before your eyes when heavy lids fluttered closed.

Immortality has its perks and for you one of them is needing sleep less. Besides, night is such a magic time, it's dark and soothing with stars shining and snow sparkling like precious gems. It's a pity to lose a sight like that to the dreams that carry nothing but despair.

"Don't you think the snowflakes sing?" You ask instead reaching a hand to place on top of his and gently squeeze his fingers. There is a hum revibraring in his chest and he redirects his gaze from your figure to the falling water crystals.

"Sing? Maybe dance would be a better word, my heart," what used to be a sweet nickname now carries a little bit of a literal meaning - after losing everything, even his heart, you became the one for him.

And he became the one for you.

"No, they most definitely sing. It's very subtle, but the melody is here. It's pure but with potential to be powerful like a pipe organ in that church we saw a couple of months ago," it was some kind of a ceremony you didn't actually attempt to remember, staying there just to be close to your lover.

Immortality brought an understanding: you don't have to care much for things, they'll happen either way and you'll continue living no matter if you remember them or not.

Pierro stays silent, only letting go of one shoulder to wrap his hand around your middle to bring you closer. Maybe the snow does sing, but he can't hear it. A heart that started to harden to accommodate this foreign land, this new life, couldn't feel the same way it did before. The man finds his thoughts to be swallowed by guilt that right now he can offer you just a piece of his heart, the one that managed to stay warm and loving for you. But you are content with just a part of his heart, and Pierro is glad yours hasn't been hurt as deeply as his. He made sure to prevent it for as long as possible.

So if you hear the snow sing? Then maybe this land accepted you and you accepted this life. Thus he can stop worrying about your sanity that much and start working on creating a perfect future for you two.

After all, when it comes to you that's all he is dreaming about.

Zhongli

Close your eyes; let your spirit start to soar

And you'll live as you've never lived before.

The myriads of lanterns light the streets of Liyue late in the evening and long into the night, as another part of this beautiful city's life begins. Some shops close, the others open their doors, offering the wonders one could enjoy at its fullest only during the dark time of the day, and the main square is as lively as it's under the beaming sun.

Zhongli has a small content smile playing on his lips, slowly making his way further into the brightly lit space. With the posture upright and calm ember eyes closely observing everything around he could've been thought to be in the middle of attending to some sort of task, but his relaxed shoulders and hands clasped behind his broad back give out that he is merely on a late night stroll, basking in the animosity of the nation he built with his own two hands, the ones hidden under long sleeves and custom-made gloves.

Ever since the Archon faked his own death and retired to live as a mortal he couldn't help but feel fascinated - while playing a big role in all of that himself, his people did and do bring their homeland to prosperity, growing and advancing on their own, and that brings the former god’s mind at peace.

He senses a presence nearby, approaching with no hurry in the steps. This one is comforting, doesn’t prompt him to be on guard, existing by his side for far longer than he can remember.

"Living your best life, my beloved?" There is a gentle hand placed on his elbow and the man doesn't need to turn his head to know who it is - the only being in this whole world that can send jolts of sweet electricity through his body, pumping his veins with pure excitement and making an old stone heart flutter and crumble, and all of that with a simple touch, with a mere voice.

"Why of course, my treasure," Zhongli breaks the lock of hands on his lower back and offers an arm for you to latch on. A bare palm slides in a gloved one, fingers interlacing, and his eyes for a moment glow when they are cast upon your figure, foregone your usual adeptus attire and changed to the traditional Liyue clothing. An ex-Archon lets a pleased rumble rise in his chest, when he guesses a golden dragon twisting in the pattern of the fine fabric, circling around your body as if enveloping you in a tight hold - not many Liyue citizens would be bold enough to wear something with the Rex Lapis's symbols on display. How fortunate you are his precious partner.

"Where do we take our date today?" You ask curiously as the two of you resume leisurely walking through the main artery of this ancient city. Your husband lets a low hum melt in the sounds of the night.

“I was thinking we could visit Heyu Tea House. Miss Yun Jin is performing tonight, and Master Liu Su promised me the brand-new program. I am always happy to hear your ideas out however.”

“It is your turn to choose the place for a date, remember?” You softly chuckle and Zhongli relishes in the sound. “Besides, I love your suggestion. Don’t you think this night was made to be basking in the music, savoring the finest teas?”

“Yes, I do, my gem,” and he loves nights like this, when one simply sits and enjoys the many intricate things Liyue has to offer in the company of your loved one.

In the past, when he was an Archon - a mighty and glorified being - he had hundreds of celebrations and festivals in his honor, where he’d hear mellifluous instruments play and melodious voices sing. Those festivities were huge and lavish, all to show the gratitude his people felt for the god who brought them peace and ruled the nation wisely. But now, closing his eyes and letting the noises of this city fill his very soul, he finally feels united with his people, as one of his people. And that’s the experience he hopes to prolong and share with you for far beyond the end of this night.

Venti

Softly, deftly music shall caress you

Hear it, feel it secretly possess you

Joyful giggles join in the song of strings, creating a mesmerizing melody, lighter and clearer than a morning breeze. Two souls unite and music flows, created by the spirits and carried by the winds.

A verse so long forgotten, but so familiar still, the one you both gave life to was flowing like a stream. The words got mixed and lost their rhyme, but in your hearts you still remember what feeling they made bloom and make bloom all the same.

"Oh wind, what you're searching for so high in the sky? Why are you running away from the limits of earth?"

You both never had any limits. Born as elemental beings, transformed into wind spirits, you and Venti had so much in common. With human disguises the bond only grew, and it doesn't ruin anything, even though some would say that it's strange to be bound in any way for the ones whose main goal is freedom.

"What can you tell, dear wind, about blazing songs, that belong to the lightnings, you love gliding among?"

Oh, you both have many stories to share. You love listening to his voice, just like now, in the middle of the night, under the massive oak tree, singing a song you two wrote thousands of years ago. The laughter doesn’t die as you trip over your words or the bard misses a note occasionally. Maybe it's the wine that mixed your senses and ability to do it properly, or you simply didn't care for the form it existed in… After all, it is the feelings that matter, and it gives you plenty.

"What do you see, dear wind, flying above mighty waves? What are you singing about, raising them high?"

Aaaah, that was so much fun in the old days… You remember making stupid competitions of whose wave would be higher or whose would last longer… It always ended with you both completely wet, which gave an opportunity for sweet intimacy while preening each other’s wings, something you both got used to share among yourselves only, that now you can’t imagine anyone else doing so. Come to think of it, you haven’t done any of those stupid competitions in a while… Maybe you are drunk enough for it now?

“What are you thinking of, my wind, soaring above the mountains, whistling between the gray rocks... Touch me the same."

Thin delicate fingers stop plucking at the lyre, drawing the chords and the trills. They find their place on your body, and you feel like in the middle of a whirlwind, swirling and floating and the world moves like you ride a carousel from Fountain. Kisses are intoxicating, touches are maddening and the grass beneath your bodies is heavenly soft. You lose yourselves to the symphony of hushed giggles and breathless pants, your hearts merge into the aria that sings praise to the feelings, and your ears are filled with nothing but the orchestra of nature.

You gaze at Venti from above and see stars dancing in his vibrant eyes. He tastes like wine, he smells like cecilias, he sounds like a never-ending melody that lured you in and made you stay. You are addicted to the music that the Anemo god is and he cherishes the notes you add to the ballad of his existence.

“We didn’t get to finish the song,” the bard murmurs, lashes fluttering when your lips touch his cheek.

“You really want to stop now for the sake of some song?” you tickle his side and the young-looking male squirms under you, sporting a wide grin.

“Hehe, not ‘some song’! It’s our song,” he murmurs and even in the dark you can swear there is pink dusting his cheeks. Who would’ve thought a wind can be so sentimental. The wind that gives birth to the thunders, raises the waves, the wind that destroys the rock - and that’s what’s its law. Forever frolicking like an invisible bird, piercing the bounds of worlds and times...

Oh… It seems you are just as sentimental.

Dottore

Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind

In this darkness which you know you can not fight

The darkness of the music of the night

You don’t knock, because you know he detests it. Actually, he hates it when someone walks into his working space without permission (with permission it’s the same, but he won’t threaten a person at least). You are different though - the most you’ll get from him is an annoyed roll of his eyes or a teeth-baring sneer. He won’t force you out though, maybe only warn you if some of his upcoming experiments are rather…bloody, so you can leave on your own if you desire.

Today it’s quiet in his laboratory and the Harbinger is nowhere to be seen. You don’t even entertain the possibility that he has already called it a night - with a shitty sleeping schedule like this it’s extremely unlikely. Besides, he wouldn’t have left the lights on and the door unlocked.

So you move further into the spacious room. There are tables and cabinets filled with notes, and viles, mechanical parts, and all kinds of medical and technical tools. You step over the wires and move carts aside, to not trip or bump, knowing the booming laughter Dottore will not hold back if he sees you not being careful.

What is it?

You can swear you hear a distinct melody playing on your left. Only one way to find out, you think, and change the direction of your walking.

The closer you get, the more audible the sound is, until you spot a record player on a desk near the wall. It looks like something your partner would’ve created with his own hands and you step to it for a better observation. There is a smooth black record slowly spinning and you notice a couple more carelessly lying around the table surface. Before you can touch one though there is a rattling sound nearby, which makes you whip your head in search of its source.

Ah, of course, a part of a Ruin Guard hung on the chains that is being lifted in the air from its previous position barely above the floor. The higher it goes, the more of the scientist’s body behind it is revealed to you. No wonder you couldn’t spot him anywhere, the robot is huge.

"What are you doing here?" No greetings, as usual. Good to know that at least something doesn’t change in this world.

With a small smile you glance back at the record player and an idea appears in your head. Making the music a little bit louder you abandon the table and start walking towards him.

"Your insomnia is contagious,” catching the rhythm you sway a little, humming. Dottore doesn’t make a move in your direction, that is until you are just a couple of feet away. Then he makes just one step forward and allows you to comfortably bump into his body, resting his palms on your shoulders. Wow, he is in a good mood, it seems.The fact he didn't comment on how insomnia can't be contagious is a sign as it is too. 

Maybe you can push your luck some more?

"Hey Dottore?" A hand reaches to his face and effortlessly lifts the mask off. Blood-red sharp eyes bore into you, but he doesn't make any attempts to stop you, only squinting.

"What? Spit it out."

"Dance with me?" You motion to the device behind you, that is playing the same melody, on a loop it seems. The man in front of you doesn't show any emotion, but by how he lowered his eyes a little you understand he is thinking about something.

“Alright," he suddenly says, taking a small step back and sliding his hands lower to your elbows.

“Alright?” you stare at him surprised. Usually he shooes you off with requests like that.

“Yes, alright, but only because my body could use some movement,” with a huff he places a firm grip on your waist, giving you an expectant look when you don't cooperate right away.

As you two are slowly swaying with your palms resting on his coat-covered shoulders, you think that nights are the best parts of the day. During the hours when the sun is up and shining brightly Dottore is scathing and exudes danger, but when the moon takes the sun's place in the sky, something in him calms down considerably and it’s much easier to deal with.

Yes, with this man nights are definitely so much better.

Dainsleif

Let your mind start a journey through a strange new world

Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before

Something tugs on a wearied heart when a tired gaze of a night sky drinks in the colorfully decorated streets. The flags are hanging on the ropes from one roof to another, fluttering from the briefest breath of wind. There are no symbols on the colorful fabric, but for a second an image of a royal emblem flushes, though it appears only in his memory. Pots at the front doors of the houses are full of bluish white flowers, but those are not inteyvats, though for a moment, a man without a nation is tricked to believe they are. There is a noise of hundreds of voices, but they speak of different things, even though Dainsleif wishes they were singing familiar praises.

“Looks like it’s a festival,” your voice awakens him and an involuntary exhale leaves his lungs. Eyes drop down, focusing on his gray pants, and he suddenly remembers where you two are and why. Clothes changed to something more regular upon your insistence (because his attire is really standing out in the crowd), he looked like a normal man, the only mystery left being his eyes and the mask he refused to take off for understandable reasons. You look pretty common too, with clothes covering all the indications of a hundreds of years old curse and looking around with a small portion of curiosity, which reminds him that you two have came in this city not for leisure.

“We are here to get the information. Remember it.”

“Sure thing, Captain, wouldn't dream of forgetting," there is a slight hint of sarcasm, but he ignores it, quite used to your ways.

"But, Captain…"

"Why do you keep calling me that? Weren't you the one telling me we should look and sound ordinarily?"

His gaze meets yours and a brow quirks in question at the wide grin and mischievous glint dancing in your eyes.

"Why of course, Dain, how could I forget?"

Ah, it seems he fell into your trap. Ever since your relationship got on a somewhat definite level of what you two are to each other - more than companions in misfortune, much more than travel companions - you made it your goal to trick him into acting or saying something that felt like stuff couples would do. At first he didn't pay much attention to it, simply humoring you occasionally, but then he started to enjoy these exact affections that made you two sound and look like a normal couple, even if the notion got lost in centuries bared of light and love.

"So, Dain, I was meaning to say that for today we could take a small break, don't you think? Just consider this: people are in the middle of celebrating whatever it is, it's unlikely they'll be willing to answer you Abyss-related questions."

"And what…do you propose?" Decades ago Dainsleif wouldn't indulge such thoughts of yours, but now, when you smile softly and slide your palm into his hand, his heart flutters and he doesn't mind hearing about taking a break. It's just a small one, it won't hurt.

"Just for today we could enjoy this festival. It doesn't look like it praises any god, so it can be entertaining.”

Besides you noticed how he was staring around, eyes clouded and thoughts overshadowed by the past. It's time to make new memories and the music you hear playing somewhere ahead of you can assist you in your deed.

The night falls upon the city, yet you go on. Dainsleif doesn't know how to dance, his training never required it, and all the celebrations were spent in the role of the guard. But here he is, spinning you around and bringing back into his embrace, dancing a hundredth dance probably - he doesn't count and doesn't really need to with the stamina your bodies have. People start clapping their hands and cheering for the cute couple and for once the man doesn't feel like exposure to so many eyes is a bad thing. Not when you smile like that, not when the lantern's light plays in your hair and the gems of your eyes glinting just like now, not when your laughter sounds so joyous and sincere.

Dainsleif’s feet start hurting from tapping. Dainsleif’s heart is beating fast and breath falters a little. Dainsleif’s lips are burnt with a smile, mirroring the one plastered on your beautiful kissable face.

Moving forward and creating new things to remember, just like this sweet peck you give him, when you two finally leave the square? Sure, but only if you stay by his side to dance to the music your hearts make no matter how dark the night of your fate becomes.

Ayato

Let your soul take you where you long to be

Only then can you belong to me

Nestled on the soft cushions your figure is what has been occupying attention of the Kamisato clan for the past several minutes. With chin perched on one of his fisted hands while the other calmly lays upon the documents strewn all over the table, the man is watching you, noting how your lashes cast a shadow on the apples of your cheeks in the dim light, how your lips are sealed shut in concentration and the serene expression that you are wearing makes you look like a protagonist of Lady Yae's novels.

"Lord Kamisato, you've been staring at me for quite some time now. Are you finished with your work already?" You ask without even sparing a glance at him, eyes still shut - you know how much Ayato enjoys little challenges of your character, and not giving him attention completely is one of them. Besides, your fingers have long but memorised the body of the instrument, so you don't need to look for a note literally. 

Ayato doesn't answer you right away, letting the strings sing their song and the biwa in your hands turn this evening- oh wait, when did it turn into a night? in a magnificent moment of tranquility. You opt for slower melodies today, taking just enough time to lead the streak from the beginning and to the end, as the powerful hand of a god.

"As a matter of fact, I am not yet done, my beloved," he murmurs eventually, picking up back an ink brush. "But I must thank you again for keeping me company at the times my existence is overrun by paperwork."

A quiet chuckle falls from your lips and rightfully into the melody.

"How bold of you, lord Kamisato… Can it be that you forgot that our society has a…tendency to get ahead of themselves. I am sure there are going to be rumors about a certain noble staying over for the night at the residence of the Commissioner. Don't you think it'll become a stain on your reputation?"

"Quite the contrary," he retorts, signing a paper and putting it on the stack, "The Yashiro Commission is all about festivities and traditions. Music is a big part of it and understanding it serves me just right. Not to mention, the only child of your household is the most virtuosic biwa player in this whole country. An invitation is something to be expected."

"True, but you've been inviting me three times a week for the past two months. Suspicious, don't you think so?" 

You decide not to add that it's always his personal chambers with no servants in sight and night quickly overtaking the sky. You come, you keep him company playing your instrument and then…

He occasionally abandons his work to join you on the cushions.

"Have you changed your mind? About the future?" He asks quietly, lowering himself in front of you, and a melody comes to a halt.

"We've talked dozens of times about the future, Ayato. Or the case is that you get satisfaction from listening to my plans and dreams?"

You know he does. He loves that you know what you want from your future. He marks it precious that ever since the first time he asked you the question, you never strayed from the answer you gave him. And the answer itself?

"What is your future?"

"With you. And yours?"

"By your side."

Is what makes him think more about a ring stored in his pocket.

Long delicate fingers wrap around the neck of the instrument and softly pry it from your hands. The wooden corpus is placed upon the cushions and out of the way, quickly forgotten as the next moment lips crash together in a passionate dance, far less innocent than the serene atmosphere you shared just seconds ago.

He is excited for what the future holds for the two of you and can't wait to replay your game of questions and answers as the part of your wedding vows.

Soon the night will be gone and the light will accompany your union.

Childe

Floating, falling sweet intoxication

Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation

"Baby, you sure that's a good idea? Wouldn't your coworkers or subordinates be looking for you?"

"Relaaaaaax, just one night shift won't change anything. Just trust me," gloved hand squeezes yours tighter, taking you further and further away from the building of his residence. You felt like two teenagers escaping parent houses in the middle of the night to go on a date, making sure not to get caught even if the crunching snow under your feet sounds deafening in the silence.

The more you move forward, the louder the tune becomes. In confusion you glance at your boyfriend and right at the moment he turns his face to yours and grins widely. Oh Tsaritsa, he looks so adorable in street lights, curls of ginger hair poking from under his trapper hat, cheeks and nose rosy from the cold - you immediately reach a free hand to readjust his scarf, - and ocean blue eyes staring at you with mischief.

"Are you taking me to dances?" You muse, speeding up a little, when a gust of wind blows just behind you. Ajax releases your hand to wrap an arm around your waist instead, pressing you into his side.

"Yep, heard someone was throwing a small party tonight."

"Authorized?" You ask surprised and the man beside you nods.

"Yeah, some noble celebration and I got an invitation. Y'know, to 'keep it under control'."

"Or is it just an excuse?" He only laughs.

It's no wonder when you are let in without any questions and Childe drags you right to the dance floor, saying something about there being no need to greet the hosts. The lights are dimmed, so you let go of your outer clothing without any fear to be recognized - if anything no one would approach you two unless Lord Tartaglia (if actually recognized) shows he wants to talk business.

Which he clearly doesn't, not when he has you with him here. So pretty, dressed up, with the brightest smile plastered on your face, eyes shining from behind a masquerade mask you've been handed at the entrance, and it is matching his.

He is truly enamored.

"Come here, babe, I wanna dance," his palms are on your hips, twirling you around to face him. Instinctively your arms find their place around his neck and the young man can't help but bend down and steal a short kiss from your lips. To him a sweet giggle falling from your lips is louder than any music playing in the room, and he wants to hear more. But a finger is pressed against his pursed lips and you laugh.

"Later, boy, later. We'll have plenty of time, because, knowing you, you'll soon grow impatient and drag me out of here," which is true and you both know it is. So he simply shrugs his shoulders and blows hot air against your finger.

The new composition starts playing, and, before you know it, your body is swept away by his strong arms, starting the first dance of many (or maybe not) to follow. Lingering touches waltz across your skin while heated glances leap in a more passionate paso doble. Even though there are tables with alcohol around, you two don't need it to get drunk, and you think your head is spinning a little, because there is nothing in your view except those ocean eyes, except those autumn-colored locks, except those tempting smiling lips...

No one would notice if a couple of melodies later the two suddenly appeared guests just as suddenly disappeared from the room full of dancing pairs. Maybe, if one of you gets tired of kisses, or warm tight embraces, or firework-bursting sensations in your chests, you'll return.

"To think it was your idea to come here and have fun, only to not last even five dances..."

"We are having fun," a sweet kiss leaves you breathless and you gasp for air when he leans back to stare at you lovingly, "aren't we, sugar lips?"

"Mmm, I must admit even a couple of dances was refreshing. I am having fun..." it's your time to steal his breath and the young man quietly moans, eyes half-lidded and mask half-ridden up his face, "...indeed. Now let's move somewhere else until some poor servant catches us and falls victim to your rage and desire to duel."

Yeah, no way you are coming back, there is another kind of dances your night has a reservation for.

Pantalone

Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in

To the power of the music that I write

The power of the music of the night

Lately you started disliking nights. The time that is meant to spend resting and preferably in the arms of your lover is wasted while waiting for the man to return home, leaving you completely alone. Yes, you understand he has a job to fulfill, a very important one, but neglecting you for the fourth night in a row? It starts to piss you off.

You pass your fur coat to one of the agents in the hall and the employee bows his head to you, murmuring something along the lines “Master Pantalone is in his office”. Surely you would know the only place in the Northland bank your husband would be at in such an ungodly hour of the night.

Heels of your expensive shoes click against the tiled floor, signaling other agents of your arrival. You barely wave your hand or nod at them as a sign of acknowledgment and permission to get back to their duties, too busy to get into the elevator that’ll bring you to one of the top floors.

You don’t even knock when the massive, adorned with pure gold decorations door appears in front of you. A key emerges from your pocket and quickly disappears in a keyhole. A couple of twists, a victorious click and the handle is in your hand, while the key is back within the confines of your clothes.

The grandiose room, not many had an honor to be in, meets you with its usual cacophony of sounds: the rustle of papers, the click of an abacus, the creak of a quill and the clink of coins. A distinctive feature of your dear husband - there is no clock on the wall or the working desk. The ticking drives Regrator insane, provokes headaches and simply makes him lose his concentration.

Which is not ruined now, as he keeps his eyes trained on the things all over his desk, barely moving a muscle upon your entrance. Yeah, sure he knows there is only one person in the whole Teyvat that has a spare key to his office at the bank, but some kind of acknowledgement would've been nice.

You don't slam the door shut, even though you really want to, but instead slowly close it, registering the quiet click, and then just as slowly walk to the spacious mahogany desk within an equally spacious room.

"For how long Lord Pantalone is planning to ignore me?" You are standing right in front of the annoying piece of furniture (the obstacle you'd really like to throw away at the moment), crossing your arms, and burning holes in his head. The banker hums something, sliding beads back and forth on the big counting instrument that takes a quarter of the desk surface. The thing annoys you even more.

You make sure he writes down numbers he needs and then snatch the abacus from under his hand, hopping onto the now free space. The tips of his fingers poke your hip and then and only then does Pantalone lift his gaze at you.

"Oh, now I finally have your attention?" Humming you test the weight of the wooden piece in your hand, making the beads rattle and click. Your husband sighs, reaching up to get the tool back, but you only draw your arm further, creating even more disturbing sounds.

“And what my darling is doing?” while a never-disappearing smile is plastered on his handsome face, you can clearly see the brow that starts twitching.

“Hmmmm… I dunno,” you twist you wrist a couple of times more, making the beads slide and hit each other, all the while watching the way his fingers are squeezing the poor quill. “Maybe I am giving you a headache that you can’t work any longer, so I can finally bring you home.”

"Vixen."

"You don't really mean it," yeah, when he means it, the words can get pretty sharp. Not towards you though, he'd never let himself insult you no matter how much you can intentionally annoy him. "Besides," you grab a coin from a stack he hasn't counted yet and let it drop on the floor, hitting it multiple times, all the while accompanying the ringing sounds with the ones of the abacus, "you know I am right and you need to go home and rest. Or else…" before he can react you grab a fistful of mora and throw it in the air, knowing a horrendous melody they are gonna play, "I will ruin you work even more for you. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

"Your methods…" he flinches while you are not phased at all by the cacophony the gold creates in the union with marble, "...very atrocious."

"You are the one to say, Lord Harbinger," grinning, you lean forward, just mere inches from his face, from his parted lips.

"So… would you like to hear more of my improvised concert, or you'd rather join me on our way back home?"

You alone can make my song take flight

Help me make the music of the night 

[heliads]

Aaaaah so glad I made it in time x3 your writing is godsent and being able to request something fills my cold heart with joy!

Okay so I rewachted Descendants and just... imagine if Carlos has to live together/spend time with a villain kid that got adopted and raised by the big bad wolf (I checked and yes that is a Disney villain!).

For some plot... (my mind comes up with something funny so do not expect too much lol) maybe taking place during Descendants 2 (with Uma) and somehow the crew has taken Carlos and Little Bad Wolf has to keep an eye on him? Except that little bad wolf gets seasick "Dude this ship isnt even on open sea, how are you feeling sick?" "shut up!"

'get him back' - carlos de vil

masterlist

The pirates never should have taken Carlos.

It was a stupid move, really. Stupid to get Mal on their bad side, but even worse to kidnap Carlos. As if Mal wouldn’t do anything in this world or the next to get her friend back. As if anyone who dared to stand in her way would not find themselves lost to the salt of the sea if they didn’t immediately back down.

Uma didn’t learn that lesson soon enough, but she will. It doesn’t matter that she was a formidable foe, the moment she made the fight personal by kidnapping Carlos, it was all over. Mal’s got an unsettling edge to her voice, the sort of dark and twisted tone that makes you follow her orders without question. Villain kids don’t like doing what they’re told, but in this case, you’re all of the same mind. What matters the most is getting Carlos back. Your egos can wait until after your friend is back by your side.

Uma’s ship came by in the dead of night and took Carlos when he was walking around unawares. They must have all attacked at once, half a dozen pirates against one boy, because there’s no way Carlos would go down without a fight. There are clear signs of a scuffle on the roads where they took him away, obviously not the clean abduction Uma was hoping for, but the facts remain. Carlos is gone, and you need to get him back as soon as possible.

Mal has already drawn up a rescue plan. She’s enchanted a small boat to be silent and almost invisible in the dark waters; once night falls, you’ll sneak up to Uma’s ship and get your boy back. One of you will sneak on board and find Carlos, then dodge the pirates meant to be guarding him and bring him back to your ship. You’ll have to wait until the right time to make your escape, though, so you can immediately land at a local deck and make your getaway. Uma can beat you in water, but you’re faster on land, so everything has to be timed perfectly.

You’re the one who’s been assigned to the difficult task of slipping onto Uma’s ship. As the adoptive child of the Big Bad Wolf, you’re well trained in the art of sneaking around and blending in. You’re the perfect spy, so to speak, so you’re the best bet the VKs have at going unnoticed by the pirates on that ship.

Even though you know the official reason for your selection is simply that you’re the best among Mal’s VKs at staying under the radar, you can’t help a rush of pride at being the one selected for the task. When Carlos looks up to see his savior, you’re glad it’s going to be you. You want to be the one on his mind when he thinks of safety. You, not Evie or someone else. Just you.

The credit for this rescue, though, should rightly be shared among all members of your friend group. Right now, Mal, Ben, Jay, and Evie are on Mal’s cloaked boat, drawing close to Uma’s ship. It slides by before you, cresting the indigo waves, so close you could reach out and touch it with one hand. Right under it, you’re struck by the size of the ship. Carlos could be anywhere. This might take longer than you thought.

Mal nods at you. “It’s time.”

You nod back, standing up carefully and reaching for the rope ladder one of the pirates forgot to pull up on the side of the ship. Tugging it quietly to test its strength, you pull yourself up slowly hand over hand, pausing just before you reach the top so you can survey the deck and see how many pirates are there.

Not expecting an attack this late at night, Uma’s crew has left the deck mostly unmanned. Two pirates are idly chatting near the helm, keeping the ship on its course, and there’s a guy up in the crow’s nest, although he’s nodded off instead of keeping a good watch on any possible intruders. You crawl over the railing as quietly as you dare, sticking to the shadows to avoid notice. Oil lamps cast pools of sticky yellow light on the ground, and you skirt them as best you can, all the while making for the stairs leading to the lower parts of the ship. Your steps are silent, each taken with the fear of causing a loose board to creak and alert the crew to your presence.

Once belowdecks, you can breathe a little easier. Most of the sounds you hear are of snoring and sleeping pirates, although a few still remain awake even despite the late hour. Without the stars and moon bleeding white light overhead, the halls are darker, giving you more room to bleed into the shadows and avoid detection. A few times, someone pokes their head out of their door or shifts around a little, causing you to freeze in your tracks, heart hammering in your chest, but you still manage to come out of each close shave without getting caught.

The further you go into the ship, though, the worse you feel. Despite living on an island for most of your life, you never really had a chance to get on a boat before, and you can say decisively that you don’t enjoy the feeling. You like solid ground, a floor that doesn’t rock, and the stability of knowing there isn’t empty water under your feet at any moment. Uma’s ship lilts and turns every few seconds as it crosses the waves, and it leaves you feeling drained of all strength before you’ve even spent ten minutes inside.

You’re not here to complain, though, you’re here to rescue Carlos. You push past your growing nausea and keep peering in doors, searching for the room holding your friend. Before long, you spot it– a locked door at the end of the hall, a flash of white hair inside. It’s meant to be guarded by two pirates, but they’ve obviously grown bored of their post and settled in for a game of cards a few paces away. Perfect. You cause a small distraction by knocking a can to the ground down the hall, and hurriedly pick the lock while they go rushing off in the opposite direction. 

You swing yourself inside the cell and shut the door again just before they look back. Grinning, you allow yourself one moment of quiet victory before you’re engulfed in a rush of red and black and white.

Instantly, your body is on high alert, but you manage to calm down when you realize you’re not being attacked by a pirate but one of Carlos’ fierce hugs. He pulls back a second later, beaming ear to ear. “Y/N! What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

You laugh quietly. “You can thank Mal for that, she dropped everything to come rescue you once we found out you’d been kidnapped.”

Carlos punches the air triumphantly. “Perfect! Let’s get out of here. Pirates stink.”

You shake your head. “It’s not that simple, unfortunately. We have to wait an hour or so for Uma’s ship to pass by land. That way, we can escape onto the peninsula without trying to sail back or she’d catch us.”

Carlos’ face falls. “You’re telling me I have to stay in this rat’s nest even longer?”

You frown sympathetically. “I know, trust me, but we have no choice. She’d catch us if we tried to just sail away. And believe me, I’d like nothing more than to get out of here. I hate this ship.”

As if proving your point, the ship hits a sudden burst of waves and you nearly lose your balance and your dinner along with it. Carlos catches you before you fall, hurriedly bringing you over to a small, hard looking couch along the side of the cell. 

“Hey, easy there. Don’t go getting sick on my watch. You can lie down and try to regain your spirits while we wait for Mal, alright?” He says.

You close your eyes gratefully. “Thanks, Carlos.”

He giggles. “No problem. Although I can’t believe you feel this bad already, we’re not even out of the bay. This ship isn’t in the open ocean, how are you seasick? The water is practically dead still.”

“Shut up,” you mutter under your breath, fighting another bout of nausea.

Carlos laughs again, but thankfully remains silent. You have no doubt that he’ll be bringing it up again soon, though, probably to win an argument about which VK is the toughest.

You’d like to clear your good name, of course, but the rocking of the ship silences you again, keeping you absolutely still and silent on the tough couch. Carlos, sensing your obvious discomfort, tries to distract you by talking. He keeps his voice quiet so he doesn’t attract the attention of the guards outside, and the soft lull of his words spilling out into the darkness of your lidded eyes makes you wish for sleep. 

Carlos talks about how surprised he was when he was kidnapped, how glad he was to see you, what he plans on doing after you break him out of here, what he was supposed to be doing when Uma and her pirates took him in the first place. Carlos has always been a good talker, but you’re extra glad for it now.

When he pauses for breath, you laugh quietly and say, “I thought I was supposed to be the one saving you, but it looks like it might be the other way around.”

Eyes still closed, you can tell Carlos is smiling by the soft exhale he lets out. “I’d say freeing me from a pirate ship is a bigger deal than distracting you from seasickness. I’ll still give you this win.”

“That’s awfully generous of you,” you hum.

“Yeah, well, I’m a generous guy,” Carlos tells you. “It’s no problem when it’s you, though. I’d do anything for you.”

When you dare to crack open your eyelids, he looks more serious than you’ve ever seen him. All of a sudden, the breath is low and careful in your lungs not because of the churning waters beneath you, but because of him. Always because of him.

“Carlos,” you begin quietly.

“No,” he says, more determinedly, “I’m serious. I like you, Y/N. I really do. Seasick or not. I’ve liked you for a while, and if I was going to be stuck in a cell in a pirate ship with anyone, I’d want it to be you. You were the best part about the Isle of the Lost and the best part of Auradon. I can go anywhere if you’re with me. You don’t have to feel the same, I just– I thought you should know.”

You sit up carefully. “I do feel the same way.”

Carlos’ mouth drops. “Really?”

“Is that so much of a surprise?” You ask, laughing slightly. “I’ve followed you everywhere since we first met. We’re practically inseparable. The only reason I wasn’t kidnapped along with you is because I got distracted by Evie needing help finding a pair of matching shoes. You’re my home too, Carlos. You always have been.”

His smile is brilliant in the darkness. “I couldn’t be happier to hear it. Except maybe when we get off this ship.” He extends a hand to you. “How about we make our escape?”

You take it, letting Carlos pull you up. “I’d like nothing more.”

It feels like your entire life has opened up before you. If it takes a kidnapping, a pirate ship, and terrible storms for the two of you to finally confess your feelings, it might just be worth it after all. You’ve got Carlos, and that’s worth more than all the treasure in the world.

requested by @reinekes-fox, i hope you enjoy!

disney tag list: @blondsauduun, @lovesanimals0000, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed, @faerieroyal, @goldfish4403

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[fear-less]

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 jump then fall

pairing: harry potter x reader

warnings: tooth rotting fluff:p, no use of y/n, that’s all I think !!

1.6k words ^_^

You and harry had been friends since 2nd year, when you were both in the hospital wing alone, leading to a conversation. You and harry had accidentally fallen asleep in the cozy, warm common room after talking the previous night about random things, you had fallen asleep on Harry’s lap.

You had woken up before Harry, admiring your sleeping best friend, too engrossed by his ethereal face, you didn’t notice him stirring and waking up until he talked.

His raspy morning voice getting you out of trance, him laughing softly, the laugh that makes one’s heart flutter, the laugh that made your heart flutter. That exact moment was when you realized his laugh was the best sound you have ever heard. You had dug yourself in a hole far too deep to get out of.

You then realized he was talking, about who knows what, you heard the words but you were only thinking about how you two should be together. As he smiles while re-telling a story that happened to him last week (he already told you what happened a week ago) you also smile.

You never knew when these feelings for Harry started, but you never really fought them; it’s not like they could disappear. The thing is, you really wanted them to disappear, scared one day you’ll slip up and admit your feelings for Harry and ruin your friendship.

There were so many girls that wanted Harry, many that you thought were prettier, better suited for Harry. But oh how you wanted Harry to jump and fall onto you.

Too entranced, again, Harry had softy nudged your shoulders.

“It’s 6:30, breakfast just started, hurry and get ready so we can eat together.” With that, Harry had left to go get himself ready for the day.

You and Harry met up in the common room again, talking softly together making your way to the great hall. Ron and Hermione already there, food on their plates. You and Harry made your way to them, sitting across from them.

Harry’s hair couldn’t be anymore messier but oh how you loved the way falls on his face.

Not wanting to think of Harry anymore, you quickly grab food to put on your plate, Hermione lifting her eyebrows and smirking at you, she knew about your feelings for Harry. She had caught you staring at him for nearly 3 minutes straight in transfiguration, you later confessed that you indeed liked Harry.

You just loved how Harry was everything you ever wanted. His beautiful green eyes, soft raven hair, his personality. Oh you could just die from how perfect he is.

Realizing you’re zoning out again, you try to join into the conversation Ron and Harry were currently having.

However, your attention was immediately drawn to Harry, who seemed unusually subdued as he picked at his breakfast, his brow furrowed in deep concentration.

Concern gnawed at your insides, and you leaned in closer to him, lowering your voice to a whisper. “Harry, is everything alright?”

Harry looked up, his emerald eyes clouded with worry. “It’s nothing, just… a headache. I probably didn’t get enough sleep last night. You know how noisy the common room can be. Maybe it’s more of a nap zone than a sleep spot.”

You had felt bad, knowing you were the reason he slept in the common room last night.

You studied him carefully, noting the faint lines of exhaustion etched across his features. “Are you sure? Maybe you should see Madam Pomfrey, just to be safe.”

Before Harry could respond, a sudden commotion erupted across the hall, drawing everyone’s attention. You turned to see a group of Slytherins huddled together, casting furtive glances in Harry’s direction.

Hermione’s gaze hardened, her instincts kicking into overdrive. “What are they up to now?” she muttered under her breath, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

You felt a knot form in the pit of your stomach, a sense of foreboding settling over you like a heavy cloak. With tensions already running high, the last thing anyone needed was another confrontation with the Slytherins.

Harry’s hand tightened around his wand, his jaw set with determination. “I’ll go talk to them,” he said, his voice steady despite the unease swirling around him.

Before you could protest, Harry was on his feet, striding purposefully towards the Slytherin table. Your heart pounded in your chest, the fear of the unknown clawing at your senses.

As Harry disappeared into the throng of students, you exchanged a worried glance with Hermione, silently praying that everything would turn out alright. In times like these, the bonds of friendship were more important than ever, and you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

————————————————————————

As you and Hermione made your way to Defense Against the Dark Arts, the castle corridors echoed with the sounds of students bustling to their respective classes. The air hummed with anticipation, and a nervous energy seemed to permeate the stone walls.

Glancing sideways at Hermione, you couldn’t help but let out a sigh, your thoughts inevitably drifting to Harry. “I hope Harry’s doing alright,” you said, your voice laced with genuine concern.

Hermione shot you a knowing look, her brown eyes warm with understanding. “He’ll be fine, you know Harry. Always manages to come out on top, even in the trickiest situations.”

You nodded, trying to shake off the worry gnawing at your insides. “I know, it’s just… with everything going on lately, I can’t help but worry.”

Hermione placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, her touch grounding you in the present moment. “We’re all in this together. If Harry needs us, we’ll be there for him. That’s what friends do.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips, grateful for Hermione’s unwavering support. “Thanks, Hermione. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Hermione returned your smile, her expression softening with affection. “You’d manage just fine, but it’s nice to know you have someone to lean on when things get tough.”

With Hermione’s words echoing in your mind, you felt a flicker of hope ignite within you. No matter what challenges lay ahead, you knew that as long as you had your friends by your side, everything would be alright.

Harry hurt, is what you are now thinking of, if he was hurt, what would you do?

In moments of darkness, when the weight of the world bears down on Harry’s shoulders, you find solace in the simple act of being there for him. If ever he’s wounded, aching with the scars of battle or the burden of destiny, you stand ready, arms outstretched like a fortress against the storm, ready to catch him before he falls.

And if there comes a time when Harry’s anger threatens to consume him, when the weight of injustice presses down upon his soul until he feels like he might shatter, you offer him sanctuary in the embrace of your arms. You hold him through the night, his tears mingling with the soft whispers of solace and reassurance, until the darkness recedes and he finds solace in the light of dawn.

In these moments of vulnerability, you see Harry as he truly is, a soul forged in the crucible of adversity, yet tempered by the warmth of friendship and the enduring bonds of love. His laughter, once a rare and fleeting thing, now echoes through the corridors of your heart, a melody of hope and resilience that speaks to the depths of your soul.

And so you pledge to stand by him, unwavering and unyielding, through the trials and tribulations that lie ahead. For in Harry, you see not just a friend, but a kindred spirit—a beacon of light in a world shrouded in darkness, a reminder that even in the bleakest of times, love will always find a way to endure.

————————————————————————

As you and Harry sat by the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, the crackling of the flames providing a comforting backdrop, you both found yourselves engrossed in conversation. The air between you was charged with a palpable tension, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken emotions swirling beneath the surface.

Harry glanced at the you, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary, before turning away with a faint blush coloring his cheeks. You felt your heart flutter at the intensity of his gaze, a warmth spreading through them like wildfire.

“I can’t believe it’s already our fifth year at Hogwarts,” Harry remarked, his voice soft with nostalgia. “Feels like just yesterday we were wandering the corridors, trying to navigate our way through the maze of secrets and mysteries.”

You nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Time flies when you’re having fun, I suppose. But Hogwarts wouldn’t be the same without all the adventures we’ve shared together.”

Harry’s expression softened, his eyes reflecting a depth of emotion that took the reader’s breath away. “I couldn’t agree more,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And… I’m grateful for every moment we’ve spent together.”

Your heart skipped a beat at Harry’s words, the weight of their shared history washing over them like a tidal wave. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of the common room and the flickering glow of the fire, you realized just how much Harry meant to you.

As they sat in companionable silence, the air charged with unspoken longing, it became clear that your feelings for each other were anything but one-sided. In the quiet intimacy of the moment, you and Harry found solace in the knowledge that this bond was deeper than friendship, and that love had found its way into both of your hearts when none of you expected it.

With a whispered promise and a love that knew no bounds, you and Harry surrendered to the pull of destiny, hearts beating as one in a symphony of love that would endure through the ages.

Jump, then fall, baby

Jump, then fall into me, into me

[your-eternal-lies]

LOVE IS A CHOICE (chapter four)

Main Navigation || Please follow @your-eternal-library for all my fanfiction updates.

PAIRING — Bucky Barnes x Agent f!Reader SERIES SUMMARY — In your experience, relationships only bring drama and heartbreak, and you want absolutely none of it. That is, until an act of sheer recklessness brings Bucky Barnes back into your life.

WARNINGS — Just more angst, more flashbacks to Reader’s time with the KGB/Hydra, oh, and did I forget angst? There’s a shit ton of that, if it wasn’t clear.

LOVE IS A CHOICE

CHAPTER FOUR

It’s said that as long as you could still feel the cold, it meant you would live yet another day. 

So, when you first saw him, you thought he was the grim reaper. 

Standing in a darkened corner of your cell, his silhouette was apparent even in the shadows. You almost breathed a sigh of relief, despite the pain, thinking that the sweet respite of death had finally come to claim you. As you laid there on your side, momentarily abandoned in your cell, still sore and bleeding, all you could feel was warmth. 

Maybe he would make your death quick and painless, you thought. When he stepped into the light, he moved so slowly and quietly, you couldn’t even hear his heavy boots on the frozen concrete. He couldn’t have been human, you thought. There was simply no way. 

The dim moonlight illuminated the reaper’s face, revealing to you long shoulder-length brown hair and bright blue eyes, ones that looked impossibly sad. Almost like he had seen too many things that he could never quite say, especially not from behind the mask that covered the rest of his face. 

Regardless, it was like you could hear them. 

Your eyes watered, despite yourself, because you think he can hear them too, echoing in waves straight out of your weary heart. It had been a very difficult life, indeed, but you thought it was a worthy death. Natasha’s secrets, the very little that you knew, would die with you. Your sister would be free. Now, it was time for a long and peaceful rest. Didn’t you at least deserve that much? 

But he always stood there, unmoving and silent, as if simply waiting for you to die. You didn’t mind; it was so much better than dying alone, after all.

And it seemed like even Death had a heart, because one day, and you don’t know when it started, his cold indifference melted away into something you hadn’t seen in a while. The last time you saw it, you found them in the emerald green eyes of Natasha Romanoff. 

Understanding. Regret. Maybe even compassion. 

While your captors tried to pull your most precious secrets out of you, the reaper would avert his gaze, his shoulders stiff, his one good hand balling up into a fist at his side. His nails bit into the palms of his hands, drawing blood of his own, droplets of red drip, drip, dripping onto the concrete. 

And whenever you weren’t being watched, you were being held with a pair of conflicted hands that seemed to sew you back together at the seams. Your lungs would deflate slowly, the air you’d been holding hostage released in a quivering sigh. It would disperse into the room, mingling with the faint scent of gunmetal and leather that clung onto your only companion like an old war medal—a constant reminder of battles fought, of lives irreparably altered. 

The stifling cloak of isolation would lift, unravelling thread by painstaking thread as you allowed yourself to acknowledge the simple truth reflected in the stranger’s gaze: you were not alone in your suffering. 

A silent communion began to form, its foundation built on the remnants of shattered lives and unspeakable pain, daring to be pieced together once more. Your eyes would meet and there was, despite yourselves, a glimmer there, shining through the dampness of unshed tears—a flicker of hope that danced like a fragile flame. 

His palm against yours became an anchor in the cold stillness, his touch a whisper of solidarity that spoke volumes more than words ever could. 

But you knew better than anyone what cruelty Hydra and the KGB were capable of, and you realized with each passing moon, that this man was just like you. He was just as helpless, wanting desperately to break the cycle of despair, but unaware as to how or whether he even could. 

It was enough, however, to know that he wanted to save you. You wanted to save him, too. And nothing like that had ever happened before Natasha, or since. Despite your bleak reality in this underground cell, you could still recognize specialness whenever you saw it. 

Especially when he removed his mask for you, guided your icy fingers to the rugged lines of his face. The stubble along his jaw seemed darker against his pallid skin, the weight of his past evident in the weary tilt of his head. 

He never spoke, your reaper. Words weren’t needed here, not when he looked at you like that, not when you knew how he punished himself for being so powerless in the face of your misery. 

And certainly not when he made a sacrifice that wrecked your heart. You woke to rumbling walls and falling dust, the sounds of distant explosions and gunfire, before you heard her. 

“Wake up now, kroshka,” her gentle hands were on your face, a gasp of a sob escaping her lips when your eyes met. “There you are, little sister. I’m here, I’m sorry it took so long.” 

But you wanted to scream in agony, wanted to demand to know why she would do something so reckless as coming back. You wanted to beg her to go before the guards came back, but no sounds came out when you opened your mouth. Your throat was dry and hoarse, your arms too weak to fight her off as she picked you up in her arms. 

“It’s going to be okay now. I’m going to take you home.” How could someone so slight be so strong, you always wondered. But your eyes began to close again, your body unable to resist the warmth of hers. And despite how much you wished she would leave you behind and save herself, you were secretly overjoyed to see her. 

But it was only when you were halfway out of the cell that you remembered. Your eyes snapped open, your reaper watching silently from the shadows as you went. He nodded, as if telling you it was okay to go, but you grabbed desperately at Natasha’s arm. 

You tried to croak her name, to tell her that there was someone else here who needed saving. But all you could do was open your mouth in a rasping scream, and Natasha mistook your cries as ones of anger directed at her. 

You reached out behind her, heart sinking as your reaper soundlessly stepped between you and the swarming guards just as Natasha rounded a corner. Silent sobs wracked your body, tears dripping down your temples and onto Natasha’s shirt, knowing that if the roles had been reversed, your handlers would have killed you for such a thing. 

The last thought before you passed out were of him, of eyes so blue they reminded you of clear summer skies and crystal ocean waters. 

And when you opened your eyes again, finding yourself in an unfamiliar hospital room, you thought he was long dead. You mourned him as Natasha introduced you to her friends. You thought of him often as you began a new life, telling yourself you’d honour his memory and sacrifice. 

But when Steve handed you a file one day, crinkled all around the edges and stamped with fading Russian letters, all the breath was stolen from your lungs when you flipped it open. 

You thought you would die right then and there. 

The devastating details of Steve’s childhood friend, one James Buchanan Barnes, were all there, transcribed onto two letter-sized pages of black and white. You stared hard at a series of old photographs, of a young handsome sergeant who still smiled, of the Winter Soldier, frozen in time inside a cryogenic chamber. 

And after all those years of bloodshed, after a literal lifetime of agony, smoke, carbon, and flame, as the two of you finally stood in the same room again, only one of you remembered. 

In fact, he looked right through you, as if you never existed at all. And while you knew full well that it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t remember, you couldn’t help the wave of resentment that washed over you, nor the immediate surge of regret that would follow. 

He looked like a frightened child standing in that room, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted as if he might scream, and you could no longer will yourself to be angry. 

This man had saved your life, even though he had been given every possible reason not to. You resolved right then to never tell anyone, that the truth would die with you one day. Bucky would never have to know that you had met before; it was your way of atoning, of thanking him for a gesture that had meant everything to you but now meant nothing to him. 

The Soldier who had offered you a tiny morsel of affection and sympathy in a place that normally held none was no longer there. The look in his eyes were blank, compared to the raw, aching thing in your chest that had been shaped by his absence, by what you thought was his death. 

Despite the longing, the undeniable pull despite the chasm of history and time that lay between you, Bucky had felt nothing for you in that moment. 

But still. 

Still, you fell. 

Because it was impossible to know who Bucky Barnes was—for real—underneath all that trauma, and not love him. 

He had a crippling sense of humour. His comedic timing was brilliant, if you were being honest. Always prepared with the best quips, paired with just the right amount of sarcasm, complete with a hint of a smirk that hinted at the mischievous boy he used to be. 

He painted in secret. He never told anybody, but every so often you could smell the scent of acrylics lingering on his clothes. You liked to imagine him in his room, mixing colours on a palette, painting whatever came to mind. 

Sunny yellows, peach pinks, and creamy oranges for sunsets. Soft lavenders, mint greens, and deep crimsons for the most delicate flowers. 

Sky blues, for the shade you’ve always believed his heart to be. 

He liked to read. And what you particularly loved about Bucky is that he was indiscriminate when it came to choosing his reading material. You found notes scrawled in the margins of books that he’d leave all over the compound, on the pages of romance novels, science fictions, fantasies, and thrillers. 

A lot of the time, the notes weren’t even comprehensive. You would smile to yourself when you found a simple exclamation mark next to a passage in Frankenstein, or a heart hastily scrawled beside a particularly breathtaking paragraph in The Song of Achilles.

He tried to pretend like he didn’t, but Bucky cared. You could see it in the way he smiled at Steve, in the way he awkwardly but warmly patted Wanda on the shoulder on her bad days, in the way he put up with Clint and Sam’s good-natured teasing, and even in the way he could never quite look Tony in the eye. 

He cared with his whole being, this man. And it was why you couldn’t tell him. Eventually, he had come to care about you too. He would gaze at you a little too long, as if he could recognize, not you, but the sorrow permanently etched into the tired lines of your face. 

He started standing a little closer to you, in elevators, meetings, in the quinjet just before your next mission. His eyes started scanning rooms and hallways whenever he entered, letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding until they landed on you. 

He started calling you by your name. Something told you that was particularly important to him. With each time your name left his lips, emotion crept under your skin, with one in particular threatening to breathe new life back into your weary lungs. 

But there was a very real problem. The further you fell, the more he broke your heart. How could someone be your life-saving solace and the source of your heartache all in one fell swoop? 

And the worst part wasn’t that he had ultimately left without even a word of warning, not even a note hastily scrawled before his departure. It wasn’t the familiar pang of hurt when it occurred to you that Bucky didn’t feel even an ounce of what you did, or that you weren’t high enough on his list of priorities to even think about telling you himself, or that you had to find out about his plans through someone else. 

No—the worst part was, while the Winter Soldier had saved your life, Bucky Barnes made you want to live. As far as you were concerned, that was his biggest and only sin. 

So, you pull away from his hands, one warm and one cold against your back, the ones that make you feel things you thought you put aside a long time ago. Hands that could turn back time, make it feel like you’d never been hurt in the first place. Ones that could piece your heart back together if you would just let them. 

These are the hands that you could belong to, if only you could be brave enough to run towards him instead of away. 

But you aren’t. 

“How long was I out?” The air in the room shifts as you shift back on the bed, angling your body away from him and pulling the quilt back up to your neck, creating a chasm in the room that feels like miles. 

“Almost a full day,” he replies, sitting statue-like, a figure carved out of remorse and rugged edges softened only by the firelight. His jaw tightens, a muscle twitching as you try not to make eye contact, each passing second of silence landing like a hammer to your heart. 

You always told yourself that you could live without his love, you never dreamed of having that. But the one thing you can’t live without is his happiness. 

You’ve gotten used to the pain and the hurt, but it was time for him to put all of that in the past. You don’t even want to think about the devastated look he’d give you if he ever found out about the past you share, that you were the only one still cursed to remember. 

And while it hurt to see him leave, you knew how suffocating New York had become for him. The pursuit of his peace of mind took priority, and you knew it was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Saying goodbye to Steve, leaving behind the place that used to be home, and turning his back on an ever persistent sense of duty. 

You know that if he knew, he would have stayed. But that wouldn’t have been right. You weren’t, still aren’t, a person strong enough to stand at his side, not when you yourself are falling apart. 

Bucky lifts his hand, a hesitant gesture, into the tension-filled air. Every instinct tells you to bridge the gap, to erase the cool expanse of sheets and distance with the warmth of your touch. Because he’s here now. He’s here, breathing, and real, and you want to hold him and never let go. 

“Please,” you hear him say, his voice breaking at the last second. You lift your head, his eyes meeting yours like a tumultuous sea meeting an immovable cliffside as you fight to keep your own gaze neutral. You find the weight of a hundred things unspoken in the beautiful lines of his face. “I can’t change the past, but I’m here now. Darlin’, if you’ll let me, I’m here.” 

You clutch the quilt closer to your chest, wanting to both hide behind it and throw it off you, to pull him close and feel him against your skin. But once bitten, twice shy, you hesitate to say or do anyhing. His hand descends slowly, but not onto your shoulder or your hand, but back onto the cold sheets. 

“Back then,” he continues, voice a gravelly whisper, “I wasn’t myself… not really. The Winter Soldier… well, you’ve read my file. He did things. Things I can’t ever forget.” 

His eyes meet yours, dark pools reflecting the torment of countless sleepless nights. Your chest tightens, recognizing the ocean of sorrow that thunders inside him, the one that is reflected back at you whenever you look in the mirror. 

“But here…” he trails off, as if not quite knowing how to explain. But you already know; nightmares like your very own, fragmented and splintered, must follow him like ghosts. And right on cue, his cat hops off the headboard where she’d been lazily lounging, laying down on the bed across his metal arm. 

Here, he isn’t unbearably lonely or painfully out of place. Here, there are no expectations, no pressure, of what’s normal and how to get back there. Here, he could just finally be. 

Despite yourself, the hardened ice around your heart softens into a gentle stream. Bucky does indeed look healthier now, his skin no longer waxy and almost grey from a chronic lack of sleep. His eyes are no longer sunken and hollow, but clear and bright despite the dreary northern climate. 

Nothing else matters now except for protecting the peace that he’s found here. You will do anything to keep it. 

You take his hand. 

A few hours later, after a short nap, Bucky lends you some clean clothes and feeds you some warm broth before redressing your wounds. You watch him as he goes back to his baking, which had been interrupted yesterday with your unexpected arrival. 

He hunches over his task, shoulders broad and imposing even in repose, the room lit by the soft glow of a single oil lamp. A five o’clock shadow darkens his jaw, lending him an air of ruggedness that belies the careful attention he gives to his pastries and doughs. 

Across the room, you inspect the cuts on your forearms, your movements deliberate as you dab at a particularly nasty one with a cloth. Bucky’s stitch work is impeccable, but there wasn’t much he could do about the pain as you try not to wince with each touch of the cloth. 

“Careful,” Bucky’s voice is quiet, almost lost in the cabin’s stillness. “That one looks deep.” 

“I’ve had worse,” you tell him, your tone a lot less clipped than it was earlier. Bucky offers a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Alpine diffuses the tension with a soft meow, as if begging for attention. Bucky lifts both his hands with a rueful smile, they’re both covered in flour, so she hops off the countertops and hobbles over to you. 

You pat at her back awkwardly, but enjoying the softness of her fur between your fingers. The corners of your lips are pulled up by some invisible force as she bares her belly to you, something you can only describe as joy. 

But the fragile peace is shattered like glass as the sounds of the first gunshot splits the air. The sound is distant, but also unmistakably close, reverberating through the trees. You freeze, your fingers flat on Alpine’s stomach, her paws curled around your hand. 

Then, there’s another. And another. 

Bucky’s head snaps towards the window, loaf of unbaked bread forgotten, as a bloom of orange fire paints the night sky. Your free hand instinctively goes to your side, seeking a weapon that isn’t there. You let out a quiet curse before you look towards Bucky, your eyes meeting in alarm. 

“Hydra,” you murmur, the name a curse on your lips, a reminder of a past that just refuses to die and stay buried. 

“What? But Steve went to the base, said he took down every single one of them there.” 

You curse again, running a frustrated hand through your hair. “Some of them must have followed me here. Maybe even called for reinforcements on the way, who knows.” 

“Shit,” he says as your gazes hold for a brief second, sharing a wordless understanding. There is time for pain, for grief, and for the tender blooming of something new later. But not now. Now, there is only survival. 

In the next breath, the cabin is a flurry of movement. You pick Alpine up just as the world outside the safe house erupts into a frenzy, but within its walls, time seems to slow as your instincts take over. 

With a swift motion, Bucky grabs the radio and barks into it. “Steve, we need an ETA. Our location is compromised; Hydra agents have got us surrounded.” 

“Damn it!” Steve’s voice rasps over the comms. “Hang tight, we’re only about twenty minutes out. The storm is starting to clear, but not fast enough—” 

“Just get here fast!” Bucky doesn’t have time to say more, dropping the microphone and heading over to a hidden loose floorboard in the corner of the living room, pulling out a rifle and a box of ammunition. 

“Kitchen counter, now,” he orders, voice low but piercing, eyes scanning for any sign of movement through the dirt-streaked window. Your response is immediate, knowing that you’re of no help to him with the extent of your injuries, but he still slides a loaded pistol across the floors in your direction. 

You grab it, folding your body behind the makeshift barrier with practiced ease, but your heart thumps harder and faster against your ribcage at the sinister drumbeat of boots on the forest floor outside. 

“Bucky,” you whisper, pulse racing. The sounds are close—too close, too loud, too many. Much like you were back at their base, there are too many of them and not enough of you. “We’re outnumbered.” 

The way his brows knit together tells you he knows you’re right. The two of you alone can’t hope to fight your way out of this. You have twenty minutes before the team arrives, but who knows if you even have that long. 

Bucky shoulders his rifle, quickly crossing the living room and pulling you out from underneath the counter. Instead, in one of the back bedrooms, he pulls aside the four-poster bed and the ornate rug underneath it, revealing a hidden trap door.

“Get in,” he orders after yanking it open, and with Alpine still cradled in your arms, you carefully lower yourself into the crawlspace. “Got your gun?”

“Yeah, right here,” you tell him. Bucky then tosses a blanket down after you, a welcome respite against the dank and musty interior. You wrap it around yourself before pushing yourself into the corner, careful not to pull too much at your stitches, making as much space for him as you can. 

But your heart drops when you realize he’s not moving, one hand braced against the door. “What are you doing?” 

He looks down at you, swallowing hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down nervously. “I need to buy us some time until Steve gets here.” 

“No,” you growl, letting Alpine drop out of your arms and onto the floor. You reach out to grasp his arm, the movement tugging at your stitches painfully, but you wrap your fingers around his wrist the best you can and pull hard. He doesn’t even budge. “Get your ass in here, Barnes.” 

“Yeah, and who will move the bed back? They’ll find us in seconds—” 

“You’re not going out there alone. There’s too many of them!” You hiss, trying your best not to shout. 

“We don’t have enough bullets between the two of us.”

“I don’t fucking care!”

“Darlin’—” 

“Don’t darlin’ me. You are not going.” Your voice cracks, tears suddenly blur your vision, surprising you that you’ve still got any left. “You can’t.” 

“Come on, I’m a super soldier,” he tries to grin, tries to lighten the mood with a joke that just falls flat. “I’ll be fine. Piece of cake.” 

“Please,” and for the first time in a long time, you are terrified. Fear grips your throat, seeps into your lungs, and every breath you manage to draw feels ice cold. “Steve will be here so soon.” 

“We’re out of time, doll.” He says, like it isn’t the most devastating thing he could possibly tell you at this moment. But he proves you wrong once again, in a single instant breaking down every single wall you’ve ever built around the pieces of your soul, brick by perfidious brick: “I love you.” 

You blink, wondering if you’ve heard him wrong. Are you filling in the gaps with your own wishful thinking? 

“I love you,” he repeats, brushing some of your hair out of your face. His forehead touches yours, his hand cradling the curve of your jaw. 

“No, you don’t. You’re just saying that to get me to shut up.” You bite back, not wanting to hear it. Not like this. The man just chuckles, like he’s talking to a pouting child, as if he knows your bark is worse than your bite. 

“Listen… I need you to know, leaving New York wasn’t about not wanting to be with you. It was about being someone worthy of standing next to you.” 

“You’ve always been—” 

“So, what kind of man would I be, sweetheart,” he smiles again, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, where tears brim at the edge of his lashes. “If I didn’t do everything I could to keep you alive?” 

“No, you can’t.” You beg, because despite his earlier claims that he’d be fine, it sounds like he’s saying goodbye. You don’t know if you can handle another one of those. 

“I don’t know why he did what he did. Galloway, I mean, and I’m definitely not sorry that he’s dead… but he did one thing right: he kept you alive out there. He kept you alive long enough for me to meet you.” He lets out this breathless laugh, brushing away some of your tears, mixed with some of his own. “Can’t let a Hydra agent outdo me, can I?” 

“Don’t do this to me,” Not again, not again, not again.“Stay!” 

“I love you,” he says again in response, accentuating each word with a kiss to each cheek, and then one firmly on your lips. He pulls away, eyes searching yours for another few beats of silence, as if he’s committing your face to memory. “Sometimes, I get the strangest feeling that I have for a really long time.” 

Then he pushes your hand away, closing the trap door on top of you with a dreadful thud. You hear the latch being flipped shut, the furniture being moved back to its usual spot, hiding your existence away from the world and all impending danger. 

You scream, but your cries get muffled against the floorboards, under a hailstorm of bullets, and the dreaded clashing of metal against metal. 

Bucky Barnes is a terrible man. 

One who repeats history. 

One who always tries to repent for sins that aren’t his. 

And worst of all, one who may never know that you love him too.

« Chapter 3 || Chapter 5 »

Taglist — @cjand10 @pbs-theundeadmaggot @nerdreader Please leave a comment or send me a DM if you’d like to be added to the taglist for this story. Note that if you ask and you are a blank blog, I will block you instead.

Notes — Okay, so events are moving pretty quickly, but I did say I didn’t wanna drag this out for too long lmao, and it was always intended to have only five chapters. The last chapter is coming soon! I'm hoping to have the finale posted on Friday.

[starglow-xx]

— Oh Baby!

part 2! - a solution? sure, let’s call it that

heartslabyul & savanaclaw x f! reader

synopsis: when the boys of heartslabyul and savanaclaw get turned to kids, who else is supposed to take of them except their beloved prefect? go figure. damn you crowley. oh, and you too grim.

fandom: twisted wonderland

type of work: part of mini series! : “Oh Baby!” ; written segment, fluff / platonic themes, comedy? ; check out pt. 1 here!

warnings: a stressed prefect pt. 2, unedited

a/n: YALL it’s been a year since i posted the first part to this and obviously since then i’ve completed the books for octavinelle, scarabia, and pomefiore, so maybe they’ll have future appearances later hehe but no promises

“you’re telling me you don’t know how to fix this?!” you whisper yelled.

“that’s what i said was it not?”

you wanted to scream in frustration at the headmaster but refrained yourself from doing so as your newly turned baby friends were oh so peacefully playing in the common room as you and crowley talked in the kitchen, and didn’t want to draw attention.

“loosey duecey! loosey duecey! loosey duecey! loosey duecey!”

“shut up!”

maybe peacefully was too good of a word in this situation.

“WELL THEN! it seems that i am no longer needed so i will take my leave—”

“get the hell back here for seven’s sake! and didn’t i tell you to keep your voice down?!”

“but—”

“shut up! if you won’t help me solve my problem then don’t speak at all!” you continued to whisper yell.

“...”

“seriously?!”

with strength that you usually save for rounding up ace, deuce, and grim (on normal circumstances), you grab the stupid headmaster by the back of his cloak thing as he turns away from you to make his escape.

“oh no you don’t!”

the bird for brains had the audacity to sigh at you like he was the one inconvenienced with 8 children. 8 actual children.

“ms. prefect, you must understand, that despite how gracious i am, i simply do not have time for—”

“i’ll go on strike if you don’t help me!”

“...come again?”

you sweatdrop as you let go of his cloak. you didn’t really think the whole thing through, it kind of just came out of you mouth, but it seemed to get his attention so you’re going to have to role with it dammit.

“t-that’s right!”

you cursed in your head slightly as you stammer. there’s no turning back!

“i’ll for once since i’ve gotten here be an normal student! so that means no cleaning after your messes, doing chores that shouldn’t be my responsibility, fighting stupid overblots blah blah blah, you get the picture?”, you threaten.

crowley is silent as he contemplates your words.

“and no, holding housing or allowance over my head is not going to work, because i will literally get myself adopted by another dorm or so help me.”

at that, crowley sighs once again, but this time in defeat at the teenage girl in front of him.

“all right, i’ll go work with the staff to try and figure something out.”

phew.

“however!”

god dammit you can never win can you.

crowley with a stern voice as he wags one of his fingers shatters your hopes and dreams with a simple, “the children must stay here!”

you couldn’t believe your ears, and started to yell, forgetting about whisper yelling.

“what?! why?! i’m asking for help with them because i can’t handle it!”

he simply raises an eyebrow at you.

“do you think it’ll be beneficial and efficient to have the children running around potions and stacks of books while we try and find their cure?”

you sigh, disappointed but not surprised at his rebuttal.

“...no sir”

“great! i guess we’re on the same page after all! i wish you the best of luck prefect, for i am gracious.”

you deadpan.

“right of course. whatever would i do without your help headmaster”

“oh you’d probably perish!”

“that was sarcasm”

ignoring your retort, the man dramatically swished his coat cape thing nearly whacking you in the face (you’re 98% sure it was on purpose) as you feel a migraine start coming on, and the you 15 minutes ago wouldn’t believe it wasn’t because of the children.

after a deep sigh, you follow after crowley reentering what grim dubbed as the “danger zone” only to catch the evasive headmaster walk out the door and shut it behind them.

from where you’re standing, you hear grim, who’s awake now, but still lying on the floor, mumble something along the lines of “useless” and you couldn’t agree more.

you eye the handful of children running around and yelling at each other.

oh great seven, this is going to be one hell of a migraine.

i love their shenanigans <33

as always, reblogs and shares are appreciated! i hope you all stay safe! and just in case nobody told you they loved you today, i love you! you are enough! <3

writing belongs to me! please do not plagiarize, repost, or translate on here or any other sites!

[star-rie]

episode dedicated to banished!merlin and seperated!morgana in s4 from my fix it au:

warning: this is LONG

a bit background: there’s a year and a half timeskip between s3 finale and this ep.

merlin had been training, and getting closer to his roots (studying magic, becoming one with nature, etc etc, no he didn’t go back to ealdor) all the while protecting camelot from the shadows (yes arthur had been getting into a few troubles now and then and merlin had always been there, but never really appearing in front of his face, arthur knows but never really comments about it, settles for ignoring him)

meanwhile after a few months after the s3 finale (morgana and morgouse attacked camelot) morgana finally had a huge fight with her sister and they go on their own ways. So now morgana is alone, doesn’t really know what to do since she killed uther, but doesn’t want to obliterated camelot either

So during season 3 aithusa was born and shes been helping merlin and morgana there and then, there’s also mordred. Oh and merlin’s magic is public information at this point

*

actual ep:

episode starts off with morgana, tending to her cottage. She lives in the middle of the woods, in the middle of no where. She’s trully alone now, after the fight with morgause. She regretted it a little. Maybe her sister is right, maybe bringing camelot to total destruction and crowning her queen is the best course of action.

But morgana didn’t want that. She just wants uther’s reign to end. It’s not her place now to rule camelot, there’s really no benefit in killing everyone either. Although there really is no change, arthur is still banning magic…

Morgana puts down her firewood with a bit too much force. Truth is morgause is right. Magic is still banned in the land, even in Arthur’s reign. And morgana is scared. She isn’t ready to kill her brother, she isn’t ready to kill the girl who’s there for her each night, every time she’s confused of her nightmares, or the citizens that gave her flowers. Morgana remembers uther’s look of despair and confusion, she feels her hand trembles

Morgause: (in a flashback) You’re nothing but a coward Morgana! A coward!

No matter, she’s not part of it anymore, it’s better to leave it alone. Let morgause finish their revenge.

When morgana leaves to wash her cauldron, it feels weird. It felt like she’s being watched. She scanned the woods with her magic, she didn’t feel anything. That’s really strange, morgana must be…

.

.

.

The first thing morgana sees is the stone floor. Her head is splitting, her vision is unfocused. Morgana sits up slowly, trying to regain balance.

The room is dark, she can barely see anything. When she tries to move her hair, she realizes that she’s chained to the wall

Great. She’s kidnapped.

She scowls, trying to free herself from the chains. She tries to draw her magic, but she feels nothing. Whoever kidnapped her knows what they’re dealing with…

She hears a groan from her left and she saw a man. Wearing god knows what. Laying on the floor, chained like she is. She calls for him, trying to wake him up. The more she looks at him, the more she felt like she knew this man.

???: where am i… Morgana: (realize who this is) Merlin??? Merlin: …morgana…?

The man looked at her, no longer the merlin she last seen. He looks like a stray being, as if he’s the spirit of the forest. He is covered in cloth, a cloak on his head. His skin peaks out from where the cloth didn’t touch him, even in the dark, morgana can see the light bouncing off his slender thighs and the faint outline of his….nipple

Morgana: you look like a prostitute… Merlin: that's rich from someone who dress like a beggar Morgana: I’ll have you know this is one of the finest dresses i have- Merlin: Your hair could really do some work Morgana: you don't get to say that when you don't need to maintain your hair every day!!

They bicker back and forth about their fashion choices. Morgana also hates his serving clothes, especially that tattered neckerchief on his neck…And he barely changes everything. It’s a boring to look at every single day. At least Gwen changes her clothes once in a while.

It was so heated they didn’t notice the door opening until they heard footsteps entering the room. They eye their predator carefully, backing themselves to the wall. But the guards only un-cuffs them from the wall, forcing them to stand.

They were bringing into a room, full of people with chains on their hands. Morgana stands close to Merlin, maybe Morgana can kill him when he wasn’t looking, morgana HATES him after all…

The ringleader came into view, told them to fight to the death. Anyone who succeed can go to the second round or something morgana wasn’t really listening. She’s too busy to think of ways of killing Merlin.

They put a bunch of weapon in the middle of the room, probably to aid them or something. Morgana grabs a sword just in case. Merlin didn’t grab anything. What an idiot.

Ringleader: The battle starts….now

It was a blur after that. Morgana remembers slaying people, people who aren’t merlin. Morgana tries to cast a spell towards him every now and then, she saw Merlin doing the same. But it was never strong enough to kill, probably too distracted by the threat in front of them.

It suddenly stops. Only Morgana and a few other people stands unscathed, including Merlin, always Merlin. It makes a lot of sense now why he has a habit of not dying. Morgana remembers when she discovers that he has magic. What a hypocrite.

They were thrown to their prison cells not long after. After a speech that morgana really didn’t bother to listen

(in their cell)

Merlin: You have any idea what they want? (body swelling with blood and bruises) Morgana: we’re stuck in a slavery ring

Morgana seen one back when she was still with morgause. She tracks them down when one crosses her path, a potential army for her. She remembers that one of those rings would pit off prisoners like this, probably to find new slaves

Morgana: I couldn’t wait to see your demise when one of those brutes mortally wound you…” (giggling, imagining Merlin suffering a slow and painful death) Merlin: (shakes his head) look morgana…i’m sorry alright? I didn’t mean to betray you like that, and i… Morgana: i don’t want to hear your excuses you liar! You’re the same as that old fool! (screaming)

morgana wish she can slit his throat right now. Morgana wants to stab her dagger, revenge for every time Gaius told her she doesn’t have magic, for every time merlin stay quiet

Merlin: well i’m sorry for being a liar when i’m constantly threatened to be executed! At least you don’t get to suffer any consequences!! Morgana: you don’t get to say that!! You meddle into things when you don’t need to!!

they scream to each-other faces. Spit and all. It’s a bit disgusting, but Merlin is more disgusting. And every time she hears his excuses it brings something ugly within her. When Morgana was about to throw another insult at his face the door opens harshly

Guard: Quiet before I snap your necks (throwing a piece of bread and then leaving) Morgana: …at least i’m not an idiot in love like you Merlin: what do you mean? Morgana: (snorts) you spent every single day protecting arthur from harm, you took poisons and blows for arthur, you poisoned me because i’m hurting arthur, you hunt a child like a pig because of some wishy-washy prophecy, a child merlin, a child! Merlin: … Morgana: how’s arthur? was he sad that i killed his daddy??

it didn’t go unnoticed that Merlin was silent at the mention of his brother. Which was weird, usually when she brought him up he never shut up about him.

Merlin: (gets the bread, tossing it to Morgana with his bound hand) eat up, tomorrow is going to be a rough day Morgana: I don’t want food from you (tosses it back to him with gnawing stomach) it’s probably poisoned anyways Merlin: (sighs) if i ate it and i didn’t die, would you eat it? Morgana: ….no

merlin shrugs, biting a bit of his bread. When he shows no indication of poisoning, he tosses it back to her

Merlin: See? No poison Morgana: (rolled her eyes, grumpily tossing the bread back to him) i don’t trust you until you finished it

they toss the bread back and forth, biting into it until there’s no more food left to toss. After another stupid remark, Morgana greets him goodnight, and sleep on her side of the cell

It became a routine after that, they were toss at the arena, got toss back in the cell, tossed back at the arena….

Morgana hates it when she spends time with him. She’s sick of Merlin’s wicked humor. When he managed to rung a laugh out of her. For the first time since Morgause she feels like she’s not alone anymore

Merlin: …and then I told him that it was a sidhe, but he didn’t believe me! Morgana: Well he’s stupid, the stupidest man i’ve ever known…

Morgana didn’t enjoy talking to him, she hates it, she’s sick of the joy crawling on her skin

Morgana: What about Gwen? Merlin: Gwen? Oh she’s fine, she’s sad when you’re gone that time, we couldn’t really comfort her, it’s the same with arthur…it’s the same with everyone really…we miss you Merlin: …and what about you? What of you and arthur? Merlin: … Morgana: Oh come on merlin! There must be something that you did right? It’s been what? A year since that kiss? I saw it you know. Surely you already did something?? Are you still Arthur’s manservant? i don’t know how you handle that magic though…are you still keeping secrets from him? Why are you here anyways? Is arthur here with you? Merlin: Arthur banished me Morgana: Sorry? Merlin: I’m banished from camelot...

Morgana didn’t know what to feel. She should be happy, merlin is banished from camelot! That’s what she wanted right? For Merlin to suffer?

Merlin: it’s fine though, I learned a lot, did you know the druids grows the best of fruits? Must be their connection with nature or something. Their grapes are divine-

Morgana couldn’t stop the ire rising from herself when she kicks him. Merlin immediately bends to touch his leg

Merlin: WHAT WAS THAT FOR?! Morgana: YOU’RE AN IDIOT MERLIN SON OF HUNNITH! Wow i know you’re an idiot but i can’t believe you’re THAT BIG of an idiot Merlin: What???? Morgana what are you even- Morgana: Should i chop Arthur’s manhood for what he did to you? Gosh, you’re probably still protecting camelot even in banishment aren’t you??? I know that’s you when morgouse sends the hydra on the castle….are you an IDIOT??? Why are you still chasing this guy?? I can’t even…i get that he’s hot, but really merlin? Why did you get banished anyway? was it the magic?? Or is he hates homosexual relationship? It’s the magic isn’t it…that bastard….

Morgana swears when she gets out, she will kill him, even with her own two hands-

Merlin: stop it morgana, i don’t want you to kill arthur! Morgana: Of course you’re going to say that! you lovesick fool! Merlin: Really? Do you want me to kill gwen because she stabbed you that one time?!

Morgana shuts up, merlin must be referring to that time when gwen is forced to stab her when she reigns the castle with morgause, she doesn’t like thinking about it

Morgana: (huffed) he shouldn’t banish you, not when you’re always by his side, and what do you get?

it’s stuff like this that made her truly hate camelot. Morgana could understand her banishment, but to banish merlin? Why didn’t anyone do anything? It truly made morgana sick to her stomach

Merlin: you know, banishment isn’t that bad…and i made choices…I deserved it

Before morgana can reply a guard enters their room, uncuffing them and dragging them outside their cell. They arrived at a different room, like that of an arena. But smaller this time. But only morgana and merlin stand in the middle of the room. The ringleader stands on a balcony

What happened on the last arena again? Right, only merlin and morgana were left standing, which means…

Ringleader: Merlin and Lady Morgana, once the pride and joy of Camelot, only to be banished by King Arthur himself. What a pity Merlin: If you think that I’m willing to help you to destroy camelot, count me out. My loyalties will always lie on king arthur Ringleader: Oh no no, I don’t want any of that. I don’t know how you ended up together as prison-mates but i did not expect the witch and emrys to be in my doorstep, inside the same cell nonetheless! Morgana: And? You want us to be your slaves? do you really think we’re willing to submit to you? Ringleader: don’t worry, i can think of ways to tame you

Morgana stomach jolted at the implication

Ringleader: Despite your…peerless reputation, you’re both are a headache for me to handle…so i just want one (sat on his make-shift throne) go ahead then, fight to the death! don’t you hate each-other?

Morgana looks at Merlin, and he looks at her. It’s true, Morgana had been wanting to kill Merlin for a long time but…

She doesn’t want to kill another one of her kind. And she doesn’t want to kill her friend

Ringleader: Come on! I’m waiting…

The shackles on their hand cracks, and Morgana felt her magic restored. They stare at each-other, circling. Is Merlin going to kill her now? Morgana saw how Merlin body is poised, ready to strike.

She strike first.

They danced around each-other, exchanging blows. The blow was sometimes deadly, other-times unnecessary spells. But they never land a fatal blow, even if morgana is panting, and merlin is out of breath

Morgana: …what’s wrong Merlin?…scared? Merlin: You wish (strike a spell that tore the fabric of her skirt) Morgana: (gasped) My dress! Merlin: …oops…

Morgana screams, sending a curse towards merlin. Morgana can’t believe it, it actually hits him, and for a moment merlin was confused, because nothing happened

Merlin: well that was anti-climactic (in a girl's voice, realization) morgana change me back right now! Morgana: No

she puts another curse on him, but he dodges it this time. It didn’t take long for merlin to tackle her, she fights back, trying to push him off and they fight like children.

Merlin: Get off me! (shrieking unladylike, his long nose (yes how ironic morgana is a genius) touching the ground) Morgana: You get off! (fights back, hair green. Fingers feels like rubber)

They rolled on each-other back, trying to murder the other until they gave up and just sprawled on the floor, too exhausted to do anything. If Morgana have to fire a spell one more time it feels like she’s going go throw up

Morgana: You’re pathetic Merlin Merlin: You’re even more pathetic Morgana: At least I’m stronger than you, you look like a twig Merlin: Well I’ll let you know that- Ringleader: ENOUGH

(they both look at him)

Ringleader: Just die already! I don’t care who dies! Just kill someone! If you don’t want to do it, then I’m going to kill the both of you! Morgana + Merlin: ….HAHAHAHAHHA Merlin: Did you hear that??? He says he’s going to kill us Morgana: ‘Just die already’ (still laughing even as she felt her hair is being pulled. She felt hands shoving her down, Merlin next to her) Ringleader: Do you have any final words? Morgana: (looks at Merlin) You’re not as worse as I thought Merlin: I’m glad to meet you too Morgana

When the axe about to fall down on their neck, the rooftop shake, and suddenly a dragon is screaming at them. Their assaulters ran, terrified of the beast.

Morgana: Aithusa!!

Merlin laughs beside her, chanting in a foreign language. Aithusa squeal and Morgana paused

Morgana: You’re also a dragonlord Merlin: Yeah not many people know that

Aithusa breathes fire, fending off their attacker

Morgana: merlin if you dare as to so much touches her- Merlin: Morgana, i birthed her Morgana: …??

Morgana had no time to argue when the ringleader is starting to ran to them. She quickly climbed onto her, when Morgana reaches out her hand for Merlin to grab but Merlin fell. Limbs grabbed by the ringleader

Morgana: MERLIN!

Aithusa is shrieking, trying to shield herself and Morgana from the fire. Merlin chants and Morgana felt Aithusa leaving

Morgana: Merlin? MERLIN WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Merlin: Goodbye Morgana Morgana: STOP!!

Morgana tries to reach him, but Aithusa keeps flying, away from the dungeon, away from Merlin

Episode ends

*

End notes: i rlly didn’t expect it to be this long. Anyways sorry if it didn’t made sense and the pacing is off, i’m really rambling here 😭 but this is how i think morgana merlin interaction should go

[thegirlwiththeblush]

Topolino

Ezio Auditore x Reader

Summary: A pickpocket runs into an unusual altercation on his way home from his daily antics. 

Words: 1.9k

Warnings: Swearing in Italian

Special thanks to @vorsdany, one of my fav humans who courageously proofread for me once again (love ya bro <3)

i hope at least one person enjoys this because i have no fellow assassin's creed fan friends :,D

The wind whistled lowly through the alley I crouched in as I counted my day’s worth of findings. I shook the florins into my hand, trying not to grab the attention of passersby. Counting money wasn’t a crime, but had I been lucky, the total would’ve been incredibly suspicious.

But unfortunately, the victims of my shenanigans that day must not have been as wealthy as I would’ve liked, because I hadn’t even come close to my goal. I grumbled softly as I spilled my findings back into my leather purse, pulling the strings taut before stowing it in my shirt.

Findings, plunder, dirty money, call it what you want.

I rose to my feet with little enthusiasm; I didn’t like going home without hitting my target. Maybe on my way back I could sneak a couple more florins, just for the satisfaction. I’d have enough to buy something substantial for breakfast the next morning before starting up my escapades once again.

Peeking out of the alley, I joined the crowds with the smallest movements possible, careful to avoid the attentive gazes of any nearby guards as we headed into the town square. The sun sank lower in the sky as I shifted through the streets, jumping from group to group, never walking alone. People were quick to recognize a pickpocket, and if I ran into anyone I’d previously preyed on, my small collection from the day would be the least of my problems.

Shopkeepers all around were packing down their stalls, and travelling doctors were packing up their equipment. No doubt they all had families or friends to go home to, wives to complain to their customers about, frustrating children who took up their personal space, neighbours who intruded at the most inconvenient times. They must consider themselves so unfortunate, and yet I’d give anything to be in their shoes, instead of going ‘home’ to an abandoned, dilapidated gondola. I sighed heavily and shifted from the crowded town square into a narrower street, gently pushing aside an obnoxious minstrel as I went.

Only to stumble upon two figures dueling around three corpses.

I ran and grabbed a ledge nearby, hoisting myself up to avoid the clashing swords as the two of them moved up and down the alley with ease, their swords still swinging back and forth. I crouched and observed in stunned silence; one of the figures, garbed in a white, flowing cloak, appeared to be gaining the advantage over the other, who, upon closer inspection, I recognized as a guard, as were the bodies sprawled over the path. This guy appeared to be in over his head.

“It's a good thing I needed an excuse to test out this new blade of mine,” the mysterious man remarked. “I must be lucky, stumbling upon an eager idiot like you.”

I was shocked to hear the confident tone coming from the cloaked figure. He sounded young, but bold, and his wisecrack didn’t slow him in his advances.

“I wouldn’t call a man who lost his father and brother in one fell swoop ‘lucky’,” the guard sniggered in retort, and the cloaked figure’s strikes became swifter and even more aggressive as he growled lowly, “Fottiti, bastardo!”

The guard stumbled back, and the vigilante didn’t miss a beat; sheathing his sword with one hand and drawing a short blade with his other, he grabbed the guard’s shirt front with his now free left hand and spun him round, wrapping his arm around his neck. He held the blade to the man’s throat, his hood keeping his face out of my sight.

“Please,” the guard whimpered, “have mercy on me!”

The cloaked figure shrugged. “Va bene,” he relented, before sliding the dagger clean across his gullet. “I’ll make it quick.”

The guard crumpled to the ground, a few strangled moans escaping his mouth before he went silent. The cloaked figure knelt and wiped his blade on the guard’s shirt, and he snuck his hand into the leather pouch at the waist, withdrawing a few florins with a smirk.

Only then did I realize my mouth had been agape as I’d watched, and a short involuntary noise of shock flew out before I could shut it. The man spun round to face me, holding his dagger in a defensive position as he looked me up and down.

“Merda,” he murmured somewhat nervously. “What do you want? What are you doing here?”

“I- I-” I stammered, but before I could come up with an answer, he was on the ledge next to me in two or three steps.

“I didn’t even see you sneak in here,” he said, tilting his head like he was trying to figure out a puzzle. “You sly devil; were you sent to spy on me?”

“No, no, not at all,” I hurriedly assured him, my hands raised slightly, afraid he might not believe me. “I swear, this is my route home and I stumbled upon your little conflitto, and I did not wish to interrupt.”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Conflitto, hm? You think that’s all it was?”

He acted as if he wanted me to call him out. “What, are you some kind of dangerous criminal? Or did they call you bambino and hurt your feelings?”

He inhaled sharply and stepped toward me, and suddenly I lost my newly-found confidence and raised my hands once again. “Just a joke, just a joke!” I protested, and gave a short laugh as if to prove it. He rolled his eyes and turned away from me, climbing down from the ledge.

I blinked in confusion. “Y- You’re just gonna walk away?”

“I have better things to do than entertain a little intelligentone who’s up past their bedtime,” he replied without turning his head. “I’m going home.”

I was no longer impressed by this guy; now, he was getting on my nerves. I jumped down after him, and before he could turn to face me, I snuck his stiletto out of its place in his belt, slipping it complacently into my own.

“What do you want, birbante?” he demanded roughly, swinging something around on his finger by the drawstring.

My leather purse. How the hell-

“Give me back my blade and you can have your dirty money, fair and square.” He held his hand out patiently, and I handed him the dagger with little hesitation, reaching for the purse. He smirked at my desperation, and I scowled. “You think you’re clever, hm, furfante? You want to play a little game?”

I couldn’t say I liked the patronizing tone he’d taken on, but after that stunt, his proposition was enticing. I wanted to know what else this mysterious and strangely dressed young man had up his sleeve.

“All right,” I relented. “What did you have in mind?”

He turned to face the town square behind us, his gaze settling on the tallest building, and he nodded to himself. “I want you to race me to the top of that building.”

I blinked once again, but I let the moment of hesitation pass. “Sure,” I agreed, folding my arms confidently. I had no doubt this man was incredibly agile, but I was not going to back down after he challenged me like I was a toddler.

He cracked his knuckles and smirked at me. “On my count, then.” He took a deep breath and shook out his legs and arms in preparation. “One, two-”

“Three!” I could not possibly have resisted the opportunity; I took off, leaving him in the dust and reaching the base of the tower in seconds. Leaping up and grabbing a small outcrop with both hands, I resisted the temptation to look down and check his progress. I reached up with smug satisfaction, sure that my surprise was enough of a headstart to ensure my victory.

Until a light grunt a few palms away from me startled me out of my reverie.

He was not climbing, but rather, leaping; as he flew up from each perch, he reached for the next, clasping with both hands and using his incredible upper body strength to hoist himself up.

Unlike me, he was unable to resist the urge; he snuck a peek down at me and sent a charming smirk my way before resuming his ascent.

I groaned in frustration when I realized I’d come to a complete stop to watch his method. I continued climbing, reaching for anything I could get a decent grip on. I was fast, but nowhere near fast enough; by the time my blistered hands had gotten me half-way, he was dangling his legs over the edge of the top, watching me with his chin in his palm and his elbow resting on his thigh.

“You’re like a little mouse,” he taunted. “You scurry, but ever so slow! If I’d known you were going to take so long, I’d have brought some bread and wine up with me; I’m starving up here.”

“Maybe I did this on purpose, then, to give you a taste of my life,” I retorted bitterly. “Not everyone can just go around murdering soldiers when they want to break the law.”

As I pulled myself up the last few arms and up onto an overhang, he narrowed his eyes at me. “You think I was fighting because I had to steal food?”

I shrugged slightly as I crawled carefully over to where he sat on the edge. “How should I know? I just met you.”

He grunted. “Fair point.” Sighing deeply, he added, “It’s far more complicated than that, I’m afraid.”

Unsure of what to say, I nodded slowly, waiting to see if he would continue.

“My name is Ezio,” he explained. “Ezio Auditore.”

I recognized the name. After a moment of contemplation, I remembered where from; two men by that name had been hanged a few weeks ago, for a crime I could not recollect.

“My family was falsely accused of treason,” he added, as if reading my thoughts. “I seek to avenge them. That is all you need to know.” He looked so sad as he finished this statement that I felt a twinge of pity for him, forgetting our petty competition. I had no doubt he was telling the truth.

“Well, I live in an abandoned gondola and I steal money from people,” I said, “so, if that makes you feel any better...”

He chuckled lightly, and smiled at me; the gesture filled me with a warmth I had not felt in years; something like what I’d felt when my mother or father would smile at me, but, a little different.

Before I could express any sort of feeling, he rose to his feet, dusting himself off. “Well, topolino,” he said, “this was fun. We should meet again and have a rematch someday.”

I laughed. “Topolino, hm? That’s quite an upgrade from birbante.”

He grinned mischievously, tousling my hair and filling my stomach once again with warm butterflies. “Like I said,” he whispered, “like a little mouse.”

He wrapped his cloak tighter around himself, perching on the overhang I’d pulled myself up on earlier. Turning back for one last look at me, he beamed and winked at me, before leaping over the edge.

My jaw dropped as he disappeared, but I breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of his body hitting a wheelbarrow full of hay below. I peeked over to watch him sprint away, already missing his charming aura, wily as it was.

Reluctantly, I began my descent, wondering if I’d ever see the hooded vigilante ever again.

Translation Guide: fottiti: fuck you bastardo: bastard va bene: all right merda: shit intelligentone: wiseguy/know-it-all/smart-ass birbante: rascal furfante: scoundrel topolino: baby mouse

[hollowwrites]

Welcome to Slytherin

Summary - Sort of a prequel to Scriptorium! As someone who pretty much only plays as a Slytherin, I always love how sweet Ominis is at the beginning. Thought I’d write a little extension for it!

I’m thinking of doing the Undercroft Quest next? Writing angy Omi might be fun!

Warnings - possibly bullying(?) very slight

Word Count - 1431

~

Just keep your head down. Don’t draw anymore unnecessary attention to yourself.

Evelyn slumped down the stairs into the main lobby of the Slytherin Common Room. It was huge. In any other circumstance, she’d have loved nothing more than to walk through it’s many oddities and learn what she could about her new home. But right now, she already had half of the school talking about her behind her back, and the other half were doing it to her face.

Immediately she noticed, no one wore their school cloak. A gaggle of pretty sixth year girls turned to eye her up, before gathering back around and giggling.

“It’s like she’s a first year”

“She basically is. Just missing the stupid hat”

“How tragic”

Just breathe. The whole day can’t be like this.

She pulled the lapels of her cloak around her, hoping it would swallow her up, or at least maybe make her invisible. Puffing her cheeks out, exasperated already, she rounded the corner by a fireplace, making her way towards one of the plush chairs in front. Keeping her head down meant she wasn’t fully paying attention to her surroundings and she almost careened straight into a tall pacing boy.

“Can I help you?” He said not looking up from his book.

That was it. Her patience had run out. The next person who makes a snarky comment was going to be on the receiving end of her wand.

He looked up, finally, and was greeted with a rather unpleasant expression across the new students face.

“Ah, you’re the new fifth year! I’m Sebastian Sallow. Welcome to Slytherin!” He beamed, clapping his book shut and throwing it on the chair she was hoping to crawl into.

He seemed…pleasant.

Her features softened at his tone, the background chatter of the other students falling upon deaf ears.

“Thank you. I’m Evelyn Hollow”

“Charmed” he laughed as though that was a joke. She didn’t understand “Charmed? Charms. The class?”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow” she shrugged.

“You really are new to magic!” He chuckled again and she couldn’t help but smile back “Well that still doesn’t explain the Ministry escort” it wasn’t a question but the tilt of his head suggested he wanted an answer.

“Oh, he was a friend of Professor Figs. He was merely joining us for the ride”

“Hmmm…dreadful way to go. I’m glad you and Fig are alright.” His eyebrows bunched together with concern.

“Thank you, we were lucky with our escape” Evelyn shifted on her feet, reliving George’s final moments in her mind again “It’s all…a bit of a blur”

“Didn’t mean to press. You just get yourself settled. We can talk more later” he smiled before his eyes widened “Oh, you should speak with Ominis. He’s the one leaning by the window. We’re in your Defence Against the Dark Arts class…at least I assume you are. Professor Hecat has her hands full with the Gryffindors in the other class” he rolled his eyes leaning to retrieve his book again.

“Defends Against the Dark Arts? Sorry, I don’t know very much about this world it’s all… extremely new to me” she stumbled over her words, not wanting to add ‘Naive’ to the long list of the words people were using for her

“Ah but that piqued your interest? Seems I have found a Kindred Spirit. You best get going before I talk your ear off. It was nice meeting you. Good luck today” he smiled warmly before plonking himself down in the seat beside her, continuing to study the old pages intently.

~

“Oh I think I heard one” the student tugged at their friends cloak pointing off into the distant depths of the lake.

Ominis laughed breathily. He’d been listening purposefully for the last few minutes. No such noise had occurred.

His holstered wand, sitting comfortably in his back pocket, alerted him to the presence of someone approaching. No doubt Sebastian, no one else dare speak to the macabre and scary Heir of Salazar Slytherin.

“Hmph, doubt mermaids find us that interesting” he said to him, tilting his head slightly in Sebastian’s direction.

“Sorry did you say mermaids?” A startled female voice sang out from the figure.

Oh. Not Sebastian then.

“Apologies I…thought you were someone else” he listened more carefully to her. Her heartbeat was elevated. She was fiddling with her cloak and the sea of gossip behind her all pointed to who she was “Ah…based on the chatter I’m guessing you’re the new fifth year. I’m Ominis. Ominis Gaunt”

“Nice to meet you, Ominis. I’m Evelyn. Hollow.”

Hmmm. No flinching, or gasping. She hasn’t thrown anything at him. Was it possible she had no idea who he was?

“Pleasure. You certainly had a memorable arrival”

“Yes it was…less than ideal I should say” he heard her shuffle about. Was she nervous?

“Did you see the way they just waltzed on in at the end of the sorting ceremony last night”

She sighed, listening to the gossip behind her.

“Ignore them. You’re the most interesting thing to happen in a long time” he shook his head. Some people just have no class.

“Thank you. Although ‘interesting’ is a bit of a stretch.”

“Oh yes. The girl who survived a dragon attack. Not interesting at all” he remarked sarcastically.

“Well, when you put it like that I sound positively heroic” she giggled

“Ha, you’re definitely in the right House” he found himself laughing along with her, easily.

“You’ll have to forgive me, I don’t really understand what that means”

“You’re muggleborn?” He asked rather surprised. From what he had heard, she’d managed to handle herself well enough against a dragon attack. He assumed she was born into magic

“Erm-“

“Sorry, born to non magical parents”

“Ah then yes” he heard the smile in her voice and couldn’t help but reciprocate. That must be why she’s talking to him so easily.

“I see. Well then…We Slytherins are known for our Ambition, Cunning and Determination”

“How lovely” she said dryly, raising an eyebrow. Where did she fit in on that spectrum?

“It’s also known for Dark Magic, Pure-blood mania and general Doom and Gloom” he smirked

“Ah. The Doom and Gloom will be why I am here. I can be rather miserable.” She laughed gleefully, the juxtaposition of her statement and laugh, causing a tiny chuckle to escape Ominis “Why were you sorted into Slytherin do you think?”

“I’m, rather unfortunately, a direct descendant of the Founder. Salazar Slytherin. On my fathers side.”

“Unfortunately?” She found herself leaning into him. This was the most normal she had felt in a long time. And considering this was a conversation with a relative of the founder of a magical castle, under water, about dragons and magic, spoke volumes for the strange direction her life had turned to.

“Yes. He was obsessed with blood status. A pure blood maniac. It’s not something I’m especially proud of, mind you, considering the majority of his descendants do not fall far from that tree. I don’t believe in any of that, don’t worry” he offered her a vacant smile

“And here I was fearing for my life” she jabbed

“Is the new fifth-year Slytherin in here? Professor Weasleys waiting for you, just by the stairs” a girl called out

“Hmph, that’s me! Pleasure to meet you, Ominis”

“Pleasure was all mine. Do let me know if I can be of any help as you navigate your first days here. Though I doubt you’ll need it. Don’t be a stranger”

“I appreciate it. I believe we share some classes together so I may just take you up on that offer.” And with that she turned and left the room, the idle gossip followed her as she did.

“That new fifth years been talking to Gaunt for a while now. No doubt he’ll try to stick his claws in her”

Just before she could leave, Ominis pointed his wand in her direction, trying to gather as much information about her as possible.

Unfortunately, all he gained was that she was shorter than him, with an aggressive walk.

“Distracted Ominis?” Ominis clutched his heart, jumping out of his skin.

“Merlin’s Beard, Sebastian. Why?”

“Unlike you to not hear someone sneak up on you. Something must have really caught your attention” Ominis could hear the wiggle of his eyebrows through his voice.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” he retorted, pocketing his wand quickly.

“You’re bright red, Ominis” Sebastian poked his cheek before being slapped away

“It’s warm…” he mumbled

“She’s quite something though. Isn’t she?”

“She is…rather lovely”

Masterlist

[bones4thecats]

Them Having A Ghostly Gondolier! S/O

Type of Writing: Random Idea Name: Them Having A Ghostly Gondolier! S/O Characters: Enmu, Kaigaku, Gyutaro, and Nakime Idea-Giver: Random Ideas

A/N: The character of the Ghostly Gondolier is from the show Scooby-Doo, Where Are You! from 1969. The character is featured in Season 3, Episode 13! Also, the reader is uppermoon 5, though Gyokko is still in the story, just as the fellow moon alongside the reader. Also, they hate one another, anyways, the warnings are below.

⚠️ Trigger Warnings: Minor Swearing and Death ⚠️ Spoilers for: Manga Ending ⚠️

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As the descendant of royalty, you had a hidden lot of treasure hidden somewhere inside of your homeland of Italy. But when you discovered your ancestor had another descendant, you grew irritated. This was your family’s reward for hardship, not his!

You had always heard about a legend of a traitor being sentenced to the dungeons, and when you found a reference drawing of what they looked like, you dressed in your indigo tunic and gray cloak before adding gloves, a belt, and boots to finalize your look.

During your time acting as the spirit of a deceased traitor, you had been found out and escaped from the authorities, sending you and your gondola across a few rivers before going on foot through more pieces of land before landing in Japan.

Growing the need for more, you began another life of crime, stealing valuable jewels from the Entertainment District’s many rich prostitutes and their customers.

You had yet again been caught and almost died if it weren’t for the intervention of a man with black hair and red eyes, who had killed the many officers around you in the blink of an eye.

" You seem to be of use with your cunning traits. I will offer you this once, mortal. Become a demon and you will gain the power you so desperately want. Nobody or thing can take you down. "

It has been many years, perhaps a few four hundred years? Maybe four thirty-one? No matter, you rose in the ranks like nothing. Obtaining many treasures and valuables from your victims, demon slayers, average humans, and alike.

You expected every single attack and would teleport away faster than any other demon, but what you couldn’t disappear from was your feelings, much like your dearest demonic-lover…

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Demon! Reader ; Uppermoon 5

💤 Enmu loved to watch you fight. You just taunting and scaring humans left and right as you would train your abilities with your fellow uppermoon 5, Gyokko, whom you despised more than that hashira that nearly killed you mere years prior

💤 You were known for your sneaky and very greedy personality, and the fact that your face was always hidden behind a cloak as your mouth and eyes glowed a horrifying yellow

💤 Despite how many feared you, Enmu adored you. He would find you after Lowermoon/Uppermoon meetings and hug you, requesting a small amount of time together, which you agreed to. You could count your gains that week that way

💤 He is very masochistic, while you are fairly sadistic. So, whenever you guys were to fight against one another to help with your boyfriend’s attack speed and power, you would harm him harshfully, much to his enjoyment

💤 Enmu loves to watch as you taunt humans, especially when it means he gets to see a genuine smile against your face when finding a hunk of pricy metals or whatnot that you didn’t have before

💤 You constantly fight with Gyokko, who yells at you for trying to steal his pots. And while normally many would be scared of his nasty ass face, you just laugh maniacally and lift one of his smaller and more delicate pots, threatening to throw it away as Enmu watches and laughs with you

💤 Your boyfriend also adores to go with you on your gondola, you lightly motioning it to slowly flow through the waters of a nearby river. This was the only place you guys could relax

💤 After you were sent the final words from your boyfriend before he died at the hands of the hanafuda-earring wearing slayer, you grew angry, just as angry as your master

💤 That bastard was going to pay for harming your lover… and he was going to pay with his life…

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Demon! Reader ; Uppermoon 5

🍑 As one of the fastest rising uppermoons, Kaigaku met you fairly early in his short life as a demon

🍑 You were fairly ticked that Gyokko had died, the guy was so weak that he had fallen to the hands of a single hashira. And not only was it one hashira, it was a child! A mere excuse of a death, if you said so yourself

🍑 You were very powerful, and Kaigaku recognized that, and because you were fairly close with Kokushibo, as he would give you some things he knew you’d like off his multitude of victims, you met him early on and helped train him

🍑 Kaigaku noticed he still had a shard of humanity in him when you had held his blade out to him, with a small gold chain attached with the words ‘I believe in you, champ’ written in a little plate

🍑 You had made and gifted him something with so much value? Why was his face so warm at that action?

🍑 When you guys eventually became a duo of fighters, it made Muzan sigh, since he was being reminded of the previous uppermoons, Daki and Gyutaro, who died in his eyes by the shred of humanity they had left for one another

🍑 Kaigaku merely scoffed at Muzan’s remark and declared you would be the ultimate duo, one more powerful than the last moons

🍑 You fought against a group of demon slayers when a crow flew by, announcing the demise of your lover, and hearing that his supposed fellow trainee of Jigoro Kuwajima just enraged you even more

🍑 But, instead of fighting, you stood frozen as the young Kamado boy jumped and readied his sword to decapitate you. And once your eyes looked into his filled with tears, he readjusted and fixed his breathing style

" Boy… no- Tanjiro. Thank you for this… kick Muzan’s ass, yeah? "

🍑 Watching with widened eyes, Tanjiro smiled and bowed to your disintegrating body before walking away and wondering just why you gave up so easily at the mention of Kaigaku’s death

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Demon! Reader ; Uppermoon 5

🩸 You have been uppermoon 5 for hundreds of years, and when Gyutaro and Daki first joined, you recognized the female as the Oiran Warabihime of the Kyogoku Estate in the Entertainment District

🩸 How did you recognize her, you might be asking. Well, you may or may not have snuck in and stolen a few very expensive vases before…

🩸 Anyways. Gyutaro noticed how Daki groaned at your appearance, you were just a plain-looking person, at least in demon standards to her

🩸 Your face was completely a shadow, while you had a glowing yellow mouth and eyes, which honestly gave the female demon the heebie jeebies while her brother became infatuated with your unique appearance. You were kinda like him in that way, a unique look and personality

🩸 Gyutaro began to seek you out whenever he got some time away from Daki, and while you wouldn’t admit it straight-up, you enjoyed spending some of your time with the sixth uppermoon

🩸 Daki grew onto you because of you delicately you treated her, even if she did annoy you with her constant whining. You just would hand her a piece of your horde and move on as she gloated to others about how you liked her more than the others

🩸 Only you and Gyutaro knew that you adored him the most, since he and you were the only couple between any moons throughout history

🩸 Whenever you had a successful hunt, you would travel to the Entertainment District and hang around with him and sister, though since Daki normally had work to hold, you would just sit down on the rooftops or go hunting alongside your dearest demon

🩸 Gyutaro is very self-conscious with you, he believes that you only are with him because you pitied him, I mean, why would someone as powerful and amazing as you want to be with someone like him? He couldn’t even protect his sister when he was a human…

🩸 Due to a small breakdown, you stayed in the District overnight, which was when Uzui and the squad came there and began the fight against the siblings and you

🩸 You watched as Gyutaro and Daki were killed, and in a frenzy, you wailed in agony as your boyfriend screamed for you to leave and began having a fight with his sister over their fates which would leave you alone and in so much emotional pain

" Stop right there, demon! " " You’ll pay for this, you damned slayer. You’ll pay for killing him! "

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✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

Demon! Reader ; Uppermoon 5

🎶 Nakime met you fairly early on in her life as a demon, since she took control of the Infinity Castle while you held your position as a powerful and long-lasting uppermoon, specifically uppermoon 5

🎶 You would spend your nights out gathering victims, demon slayers and civilians alike, and would steal everything valuable they had on them. From pieces of their clothing to even a part of their blades, you gathered it all

🎶 Bringing it back home was even better than the actual hunt for you, as you would sit down and count everything you gathered, though you particularly liked the medallions some rich people had on them, and you would listen to your lovely lover play her biwa in the background

🎶 She likes to look up from her instrument for a couple seconds to see you throwing some of your 'garbage' off to your fellow moon Gyokko, saying things like;

" This shit'll fit right in with your nasty ass pots, Gyok'. " " Holy! Y/N, what the hell! You almost hit my damn head! " " Good, it'd be a massive improvement. "

🎶 Whenever she would notice that Gyokko or another demon was targeting you or your gatherings, she'd strike her biwa and send the demon far away, and anyone could hear their screams of irritation from miles away

🎶 You would just look up and her and give her a thumbs up while yelling your thanks and adding a 'babe' or 'tesoro' at the end, making her gently smile and nod her head

🎶 When she had joined the Twelve Kizuki in replacement of Hantengu after his demise and you took over the position of uppermoon 5 for yourself, you always felt the urge to protect her now more than ever

🎶 This showed during the final battle of the slayers vs Muzan

🎶 Nakime and you were the final members of your organization remaining, and you were getting super fed up with these kids and traitorous demons

🎶 Your teleportation was hardly effective anymore, it's as if they were able to predict where you were going to come and go from, much to your, Nakime, and Muzan's chagrin

🎶 Muzan eventually grew so fed up that he had decided to eliminate Nakime, so that the castle wouldn't be controlled by Tamayo's little imp, and he just sent you a final message as you watched Nakime die from your leader's actions

" It's nothing personal, Y/N. " " Muzan, you son of a bitch! "

🎶 The young and older slayers watched in shock as you landed on the ground and cursed Muzan out as you slowly crumpled apart, and your final words were ones that put far more motivation into the future saviors of humanity

" Kill that guy! If you don't, I swear I'll haunt you all until the days you guys die! "

[archandshri]

9th feb '24 - [arch] characters, interactions and emotion - making a mini webcomic

Gahhhh Shri this has been an absolutely crazy couple of weeks!!!! Hope you are doing well :)) First of all, WOW! You have a lot of goals, and I’m sure you’ll get them done! I’ve worked a lot on my graphic design during the process of making Winter Wellbeing. If you wanna see a blog post dedicated just to that, I can do so! It would be cool to compare notes on the approaches we take for graphic layouts. If you wanna share your knowledge of camera skills when you build that up that would be awesome 😭😭

It’s been a tough few weeks, art wise. I have been reflecting on my process, motivations to create, the ego and all the baggage that’s lumped into the creative process for me. It turns out there’s a lot. I took some space from my illustration practise (literally for a weekend!) and began to realise how dysfunctional it is. I’ve been writing a lot about that so there may be a larger piece of writing coming about that at some point (no promises!!)

But for now, let's talk about little successes!

I’ve been playing with some characters for a while but I’d hit a bit of a block with the plot. I realised the expectation of having a finished project of high quality soon is unrealistic, and an unhealthy expectation to put on myself. I rarely give myself time to play with concepts for a long time and let the characters, plot and interactions evolve naturally. Maybe this in part came from sticking to the short university module turnaround. I noticed that that short turnaround was causing a lot of block, so I have decided to bench it as a comic for now and focus on using it as a playground - falling in love with the characters, creating stories and drawing them for fun. Maybe years down the line I’ll make them into a comic - we shall see! 

I *tried* to do hourly comics day this year and it didn’t quite work for me. I think I made 3 comics? And then got distracted with a bigger project that ended up taking a week or so to complete. Let’s have a look at it, shall we?

[you can find the full version here]

First of all, it’s based on an unfinished fanfiction I started a couple of months ago, which was mostly bad, but there was one nice scene that I liked and wanted to expand on. I started by having a look at the script I wrote and thumbnailing on the iPad. I’m away from home at the mo and usually would prefer to do most of my artwork traditionally, but because I don’t have access to a scanner, the whole process was digital this time. A lot of the pages got scrapped because the dialogue wasn’t necessary, and I’m not drawing pages that aren’t necessary.

some more development screenshots

I thought a lot about posing during the process, acting the scenes out in my mind and sometimes physically, really understanding the emotions of the characters, why they’re saying what they’re saying, their tone and how to convey that though their body language and expression (i find grian really annoying normally [affectionate] but I want this grian to step on me).

Pearl was hard with this because she’s quite erratic and unpredictable in this series, so I wanted her to switch from raw explodey anger to playful jabs at Grian. I’m hoping this comes across as somewhat insane, rather than tonally off and inconsistent. I did super enjoy drawing her and her explosive nature though, especially in comparison to Grian’s coldness.

I played with levels and monotone colour too - I’m not working with multiple colours much at the moment so I’m able to focus on things like values composition, characters and backgrounds. My skills limit the kind of stories I can tell currently, so I’m working to improve those foundations. Maybe when I’m back in the riso studio I can play with colours a little more.

Colours - despite the simple pallete it gets a bit nerdy here.I stuck to specific flat percentages for most of it - Pearl’s hair and Grians jumper are 60%, Grian’s hair and Pearl’s cloak are 20%. Then I added a 14% layer for shadows, using a ahrd blend eraser tool for highlights, making the images quite dark. I fill a layer with texture from Forystr’s riso brush for procreate, and turn it into a 40% opacity colour dodge layer. This gives it some much needed texture and makes the lighting feel low and nighttimecore. It also pushes the values to look really nice - I tend to be too scared to push them by myself.

I tried a few different colour layers to get a *vibe* but settled on a low percentage riso blue in a colour layer. All layers besides the riso blue are in a riso black, colour picked from a riso colour pallete. I learnt these tools - using percentages to get good values - from working with risograph. I really recommend having a look at these techniques and doing some monotone work. It's really improved by character designs, page layouts and compositions.

That's all from me today, though I have had MANY other thoughts over the past two weeks about creating, but perhaps we'll dive into them another time. If you (or anyone else) has any questions, hit me up with a reblog or an ask and I will get right to it. Lovely to hear from you! Hope your art is going great too :)) Arch :)

[pinazee]

the writers trying to make chapel a “she’s stronger than she was in tos and has more agency hashtag girl power!” character meanwhile they got her crying in an elevator at the drop of a hat all bc boimler said spock shouldn’t be so smiley like what is this going on here

Oooo okay. So first of all, my apologies to all the ppl in my inbox. I keep forgetting to check that 😬

I can’t remember if i posted this or not, but Chapel has been the hardest character for me to, i dont know how to put it, adjust to. I want to word this very carefully because i like Chapel, but she’s just missing something for me.

On the surface she’s written as a character i should like. She’s a badass who’s not afraid to take huge risks, she’s brilliant, and she’s snarky. But the problem, for me at least, is I don’t think this “fixes” how she was written in TOS, which is what it feels like they’re trying to do. its like they overcompensated to the point where she almost doesn’t feel like a real person.

Like personally, i think it would have been fine to keep chapel more maternal like she is in TOS, and still make her a badass. She didn��t need to be a combat pro with m’benga in S2E1. I actually think it would have felt more badass for her to not really know what she was doing but went a little crazy and beat some klingons because drugs haha

i dont know, i think maybe my real problem is that her character arc is so wrapped up in Spocks, she feels like a secondary character to her own narrative. Like in Under the Cloak of War, they gave her this dark war background and they focused so much on how her being unable to talk about it affected her relationship with Spock. Which is fine, thats a real conflict people have, but don’t then focus on how Spock handles it. Focus on how this maybe makes her feel isolated or alone because she can’t bring herself to talk about it with anyone.

Plus, we don’t really know much of anything about her. Most of the time she’s on the screen its to serve spocks arc. I dont know if thats because they’re focusing on our more well known characters first to try to draw audiences in (because we also haven’t really had any Sam or Erica screen time which is a shame), or if this is purposeful, as she self describes as being distant with people. And we know she has some murky relationship history thats left a mark.

So maybe it’ll shift in her direction in upcoming seasons. I hope it does. Im really looking forward to getting to know Chapel and her backstory, without it being a plot foil for her relationship with Spock (or korby if it comes to that).

[selfproclaimedunicorn]

Prompt: Daddy Daemon and Mommy Rhea finally find common ground and maybe fall in love through mutual violence against the bane of their existence: Viserys.

Enjoy the absolutely unhinged AU we entertained the idea of one time. Feeding you well with nearly 3.3k of Daemon being mentally unwell & Rhea being a mama bear

Adrenaline had not stopped coursing through him since he had found Rhaella sobbing in the gardens, wailing and carrying on worse than when he’d taken Yorick to squire. Words tumbled forth from her, muffled by his chest as she desperately clung to him; as disgusted and angry and hurt by betrayal as he’d been nearly fifteen years earlier.

Daemon had gone to Viserys, had unburdened himself of his feelings about being tossed aside to be further forgotten and ignored by their father, and he’d nodded and hummed and patted his shoulder in a bland attempt at comfort. That his elder brother would turn around and wound him so, would do to his child what was done to him–worst of all by his own hand. Hells, this was worse! Daemon had at least drunk himself into compliance so he could make nice for a day while the realm watched him put a black cloak around that bronze bitch’s shoulders, and she had at least been willing and girlishly excited enough he’d thought once would not hurt. There was no complacency from Rhaella, she had not wanted anything more than to aleve her brother of the duty of giving sympathy to the king.

She was wrapped in the blankets from his bed, and curled in on herself on a couch with her head on his lap. Daemon wanted to get up, to pace and spit venom, to go to his brother and smash his face into the model of the old empire he fancied so; he wanted to curl protectively around what was his and not let anyone touch it, hissing and snapping like The Blood Wyrm with anyone who came too close. He stewed in his anger, fingers curling into one of the black blankets.

He wanted and he ached and he yearned. Power some days, recognition and respect all of them, affection too. No one he wanted to gave him that one, not how he desired; but Rhaella so desperately clinging to him for protection and love like how he had done with Prince Baelon and then Viserys…maybe that was how he had wanted it? To be a first choice, to be needed.

There was a pounding on the door, and Ella startled in his lap before huddling in on herself more.

“Leave!” He barked the order as his head snapped towards the door. The knocking did not stop.

“Daemon, open the fucking door!”

“Mother!” Ella’s call was broken and achingly familiar, drawing foggy, half-remembered visions of Vermithor setting a pyre alight to the front of his mind.

“Ella?!” It was Yorick who burst through the door, one of the infrequent flashes of real emotion on his face: outrage and grief–the most common combination Daemon had ever witnessed from his older son. Their mother followed behind him, only to bump into him a moment later. They both stood only a foot into Daemon’s chambers, staring at him and Rhaella.

“You, you–” she pointed at him, face twisted with blind fury for only a moment before her gaze fell to their daughter, “my sweet girl.” She rushed to where they sat, dropping to her knees to take Rhaella into her arms. It was strange and uncomfortable seeing the Lady of Runestone in such a position, to feel her arms brushing against him as one of the children they shared held onto her without getting up from where she laid on top of him.

“I am sorry! I am sorry! I didn’t think that–I just wanted to help!”

“It isn’t your fault.”

“It is mine,” Yorick mumbled. He was always mumbling if he was dejected.

“It is Viserys’s fault,” Daemon snapped.

A strange look passed over Lady Rhea Royce’s face as her eyes, brown and terribly common, darted up to him. Their gazes met, briefly, and then she looked back down to Rhaella. “Go to your brother, sweet girl.”

“But, but–kepus.” Her voice sounded so small when she twisted around to look back up at him, her mismatched eyes watery and pleading.

“He will keep you safe, just over there,” Daemon pointed to the tall divider painted with dragons that separated his chambers in half, and he glanced at Yorick when he continued, “jātās.” Rhaella sniffed hard as she slowly sat up and slid off the couch, and she still held the blankets tightly around herself as she shuffled over to Yorick’s side. Neither of them touched the other, but she was still close enough it was as if they moved as one.

Daemon sprang up immediately, standing at full attention almost before Lady Royce could get herself out of the way to not be knocked in the face by his knees. When she was standing and looking up at him there was anger on her face again. His lip curled and he turned towards the door, but before he could leave to go do something, she grabbed his arm.

“Will you fucking think for five minutes?”

“All I have been doing is thinking, and I decided the best way to off him is to cave his head in.” Daemon pulled his arm further away to try and get her to let go, but the Lady of Runestone held fast to him. He could have pulled harder, yanking his arm from her to go do what he needed to do as she fumed, but he knew she was not mad at him this time. Their anger shared a common goal that served something besides staying away from each other, probably for the first time ever.

“Something has to be done! I will not just sit here and let Viserys marry my daughter!” Not when his brother would treat Rhaella as little more than a broodmare to replace him with, not when Rhaella had flung herself into his arms and screamed her hurt that he could fix.

“Do you think I want that to happen?! Do you think I want our daughter to go through what Aemma did?! We just–gods you are so stupid!”

“I am not stupid!”

“When have you ever had a fully formed plan? Tell me quickly.”

“Going to Dragonstone when Viserys exiled me for Yorick cavorting with that boy from the brothel was a fully formed plan. It is not my fault he brought you to the island and hardly made a decision he was not pushed to.” Sometimes Daemon forgot his brother had barely been primed to rule, and that their quarrels as boys would end with Viserys acting as if he had indigestion.

“Yes, of course, hinging your bets on that cunt making a decision is a perfect, well-formed plan and not some malformed stillbirth of an idea.”

His lips went tight as he glowered down at her. Lady Royce’s insults would be funny if they were not so often pointed at him. “Do you wish to help me save Rhaella, or not?”

***

It took everything in Rhea to keep her expression calm. Her heart hammered in her chest and her hands felt clammy. The weight of the gold ring with its raised emerald felt like it should keep her from raising her hands as she attempted casual gesticulation, and she wanted nothing more than to look at her good brother with disgust after everything he'd done. She hated him, had for years. He was ineffectual and weak and as fickle as the day was long, preferring to stick his head in the sand instead of making any kind of firm choice or resolving a single issue that arose. He had spent years making one of her dearest cousins miserable, keeping her from rest and subtly blaming her for each lost prince as he put on a show to make everyone feel more sorry for him than they did Aemma. He was not going to do the same to her daughter–his niece���no matter how much she “reminded him of Princess Alyssa.” Ella was not dying in the child bed after promising anyone an army of sons.

“A shame Daemon could not join us.”

“You know how he is,” she replied with a noncommittal shrug.

“He is prone to going into moods,” a disarming, almost bland, smile pulled up the corners of his mouth, “he has been since we were boys. There is dragonfire in him.”

Kinder words than she would have chosen on most days, although they were not untrue. That “dragonfire” had been part of why Daemon had been so exciting…then he decided to point it at her. Things usually lost their charm when their worst parts were aimed in Rhea’s direction.

“One could still hope the king’s brother would be pleasant enough that Ser Westerling and Ser Marbrand would let them speak to each other.”

When Viserys let out his annoying little chuckle Rhea wanted to punch him in the face. Nothing about this was enjoyable or casual, and laughter would not divert any tension. Although, if he was so at ease she must have been doing a decent job at pretending to not be bothered. Her father would have been proud of his little girl playing politics so well.

“Have you told him of my announcement? Surely such joyous news would see Daemon’s mood improve.”

“I tried to talk to him earlier, but you know how he is, Viserys,” Rhea stood up and turned away from him so she would not have to see his satisfied smile for another moment, “something wedged itself into his mind and he will have to wait it out.” She traced a finger over the decanter on the small table near their chairs, the digit easily gliding along the neck and crest of the glass dragon.

“But that is enough about my husband, there are other things to talk about than him.”

“Like the rejoining of the two halves of House Targaryen.”

Bile rose in her throat. He'd said as much when he betrothed Yorick and Rhaenyra, ignoring her father’s petitioning of Jaehaerys to have at least Rhea's heir known as a Royce, and now he said the same thing about his wanting to marry her daughter–the girl who so often went by Ella Royce. Not that any of the Targaryens seemed to care what her sweet girl wanted. She took the stopper out of the mouth of the dragon, and placed it on the table. Rhea needed both hands, and she was not going to back down now. She poured wine into two glasses, her hands hovering over one of them a bit longer as the powder her husband’s bastard had snuck from the grand maester’s chambers poured out of the well under the emerald in the ring and into the dark red liquid filling the goblet.

Rhea turned back around to face Viserys, both goblets in her hands and a fake smile plastered across her face. “Indeed. Something so joyous as your honoring House Royce twice over by betrothing Yorick and Rhaenyra, and then announcing your intent to have Ella as your new queen requires much discussion. And perhaps, also celebration?” She extended one of the glasses towards the king, and he gladly accepted it.

She smiled into her own goblet as her good brother drank some of the tainted wine. King Viserys could not content himself with trying to take her oldest son, pretending Yorick was his and snatching him away to saddle him with her fate: an outsider married to one of them. This was for Yorick and Ella, and Aemon eventually. The Targaryen dynasty would not take anything more from House Royce, not unless it was willingly given.

Rhea barely paid attention as the minutes passed, letting the king talk himself in circles. She would nod where appropriate, blow smoke up his ass if his pause seemed to be for a response. Eventually he grew listless, and Rhea excused herself under the guise of attending to her duties, whatever her good brother assumed those even were when she was away from home.

“Seven hells,” Rhea grumbled just loud enough to be heard, “you would think he would want to be at least a bit moderate if he wanted to speak with me.” She paused in her walk from his room to look over her shoulder at the two kingsguard stationed outside Viserys’s chambers.

“Do let me know when His Grace will have had enough time to recover his faculties for a conversation. I do not know his tolerance for wine as well as the two of you would.”

***

Daemon glanced over his shoulder for a brief moment to see if she was keeping up, they needed to move quickly if they wanted to make it to Viserys’s chambers before the kingsguard checked in on Viserys’s progress with “sobering up,” and he was not above simply leaving Lady Rhea behind. She kept pace with him though, trotting along behind him as he led her through the secret passages of The Red Keep.

She had insisted on coming even though her part in the affair of saving their daughter from the angry despondence they had been shafted with was over. But she had said that she wanted to see the whole thing through, and that she wanted to make sure he actually did it. As if Daemon wasn't full of righteous fury, building up over years and finally spilling forth after being given a taste of what he craved; as if he could not be trusted to do what needed to be done.

He stopped before a spot in the wall where light filtered into the secret passage between a small gap in the bricks, and pushed, opening the hidden door just a crack. He pressed his face against the door, peering into the room beyond to make sure he had remembered the correct paths to the king’s chambers. When his eye landed on his elder brother, softly moaning and bent over the great, oblong table where his model of Valyria sat, Daemon felt a mixture of sympathy and rage bubbling up inside him. That was his brother, the person who had raised him when their father withdrew from the world. That was his betrayer, the person who constantly sent him away and had put his hand on Daemon’s daughter.

He pushed the door open and stormed past the tapestry hanging over part of the secret door in order to conceal it. Viserys was slow moving and clumsy when he sat up, and his pale eyes were bloodshot.

“Wha–Daemon?” His words were slurred, and the look on his face was far away. Viserys seemed so fragile under the effects of the poison that Lady Rhea had slipped into his wine.

“Don't just stand there.” Her whisper came out as a hiss, and she shoved him from behind so he had to take a step towards Viserys. Daemon looked back at her, both of them frowning and full of fire. She was right; they needed to act quickly, he needed to let years of carefully tended anger carry him forward like he always did.

Daemon crossed the floor and hauled his brother out of his chair by the shoulders, the extra fabric of his black and red coat bunching in his fists. The king, just a hair shorter than him, was dead weight in his arms, ineffectually struggling against Daemon’s hold on him as words, all mumbled mush, spilled from his mouth.

His bright purple eyes flitted from his elder brother’s neck, to the model of Valyria, to the fireplace. It had seemed so simple before actually being in his apartments, but now his wife’s warnings of the consequence of not thinking nagged at his mind. It was strangely less grating than usual.

“The balcony.” Her words, still hushed to not draw undue attention to their actions while the kingsguard continued to wait out “His Grace’s drunkenness” just outside, were matter-of-fact and unexpectedly calm. She had always been quick to think, and when it was aimed towards collaboration Daemon actually welcomed it was an admirable quality. He followed Lady Rhea as she walked quickly to the other end of the room, throwing open the glass doors that blocked their path. As he was dragged into the twilight something seemed to pierce the fog of Viserys’s mind, and he moaned again, louder than before.

He adjusted his hold on his brother, letting go of one shoulder to stand beside him and wrap the free hand around his mouth. Lavender eyes darted up to meet Daemon’s brighter gaze, searching and desperate and only slightly less far away than before. His heart beat impossibly fast, and he knew that somewhere in the depths of the dragonpit Caraxes was restless and grumbling.

“You do not get to push me off for years, ignoring me until I do some trick to please you and then discarding me as soon as you’re upset, and then believe yourself entitled to putting your hands on my daughter. Rhaella wants you as much as you do me.” With that, he finally freed Viserys from his hold on him and shoved him in the chest, sending the listless king easily over the railing of the balcony.

His wife came up beside him, one hand on the railing and the other on his bicep, as she looked over the balcony to see the last of Viserys I’s fall and broken landing. Daemon didn’t look down at his brother, instead glancing over at Lady Rhea as she winced. The weight of what he just did, what they did, felt heavy. It needed to be done though. Viserys had had as much coming all his years of selfishly casting him aside, at least that’s what the hurt and adrenaline was telling Daemon.

“Come on, you cannot get distracted now,” he stepped back from the balcony and grabbed her hand, pulling her back into the interior of the late king’s apartments and towards the door to the secret passage, “you said we needed to not be suspects, and we will be if someone sees you gawking at the body.” She huffed from behind him, but she did not say anything or fight his hold on her. Pliant as the night at Storm’s End she’d gotten drunk enough to open her legs to make a child to claim Silverwing, but without blushing or giggling like the night of their wedding. Strangely, Daemon liked this better.

His nerves still raced when they slipped into the tunnel hidden between the walls of the keep and closed the door, leaving them in the almost-dark of the secret passages. He walked quickly, navigating back towards his own apartments and their hidden door in the false back of the wardrobe that he’d discovered as a boy. Daemon must have been going faster than when they were going to the chambers of the king, because Lady Rhea took hold of his hand again and stopped him in his tracks.

He looked back at her, and her expression was unreadable. It was soft though, softer than it had been for over a decade. Her eyes were amber when they met his, warm and almost golden in the dim light of the hidden passage. How had he never noticed that before?

“I…I appreciate your–”

That ignited something in him, and Daemon cut her off with his mouth, taking her face in his hands and pressing his lips into hers. Rhea let out a sound of surprise that was muffled by their kiss, but soon she met his enthusiasm with her own.

They were all teeth and tongues and soft moans as he pinned her against the wall. Her hands threaded through his hair, and Rhea gasped when he pressed himself against her. Their lips met again, and he growled into her mouth when she rolled her hips against his.