#perhaps 'char' is a bit too much but its closer still

[just-sp-in-inginthevoid]

[runariya]

🥸🤫☠️ : JK

He wants something 🤫 as down payment before he lets u inside safe haven (a place where survivors go to seek refuge)

(yandere+smut+apocalypse) part of the prompt game pairing: metro inhabitant!Jungkook x survivor!female reader genre: apocalypse!AU, S2L, yandere-ish? warnings: survival after nuclear fallout, dark creatures, denied prostitution for safety, Jungkook is whipped from the start so that should suffice for yandere, foul language, smut, oral (f. receiving), squirting, JK comes in his pants, fluff, lmk if I forgot smth (still hate writing warnings) word count: 3.239 (upsiiii)

a/n: I couldn't rly make JK more yandere without it feeling a bit too dub-con, so I hope that's alright 💕 also it's heavily inspired by the trilogy '2033' by Dmitri Gluchowski (and to my Russian readers: Московское метро выглядит так круто на фотографиях в интернете, надеюсь, однажды смогу его посетить☺️)

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You’ve been wandering for what feels like years, though it could be months, or perhaps just weeks; time’s an abstract notion now, in this world broken to pieces and baked under a nuclear sun. 

With each step you take, the weight of exhaustion and your protective suit presses harder against your bones, but you don’t let it stop you. The world may be a dying beast, choking on its own ash and poison, but you still walk through it, a lone ember that refuses to snuff itself out. The remnants of cities whisper ghost stories to you as you pass, their bones twisted metal and crumbling concrete, charred earth for flesh. The wind sometimes hisses through the ruins, carrying tales of survivors—others like you, fighting, scavenging, enduring—and sometimes it’s silent, as if even the air is holding its breath for fear of what’s out there in the deep silence of the aftermath.

The black creatures—those twisted silhouettes of the apocalypse—roam the earth like shadows unbound from their hosts, moving through the poisoned fog with an unnatural grace that chills your very marrow. They are things of nightmares, remnants of the old world, perhaps, mutated beyond recognition by the fallout or born anew from the hatred that festers in the radioactive soil. 

Their eyes, if they have any, are voids, consuming light and hope in equal measure, and their movements are barely perceptible until it’s too late, until they are upon you, whispering your end in a language only the dead would understand. They hunt relentlessly, not for sustenance, not for survival, but as if driven by some primal force deeper than instinct, a desire not just to kill but to erase, to wipe away the last remnants of humanity like dust from the pages of a forgotten book. 

And you—battered, exhausted, teetering on the edge of oblivion—cannot rest, not here, not ever, because even in your sleep they find you, crawling into your dreams with their inky tendrils, reminding you that peace is a luxury no longer afforded to the living outside of shelter.

Your gas mask, an old friend now, covers your face like a second skin at this point, the filters clogged and heavy with days of dust, radiation, and fumes. You’ve noticed the way it pulls in air with more effort now, as if it’s trying to remember how to breathe. 

You check the filter again. It’s nearly gone, the little red marker ticking closer to empty with every breath you take. You’ll have to find something new soon or you’ll suffocate on the very air that should sustain you.

This isn’t the first time you’ve tried to find shelter. In those early days, the optimism hadn’t yet drained from your veins and the desperation to belong somewhere, anywhere, had clouded your better judgment. 

There had been men—those ones with teeth like wolves, eyes like death, always leering, always demanding. You’ve had to pull your knife more than once to remind them that your body isn’t for sale, that safety shouldn’t cost that much. That death, perhaps, is a kinder alternative to what they would have asked of you. 

You can still hear their laughter sometimes, echoing in your skull—mocking, cruel. You had fled from them, from their dark gazes and cruel hands, from the taste of fear that licked at your throat when their eyes lingered too long on your body. Better the damnation from outside than their promises of protection.

But today… today you find yourself at the mouth of the metro. The entrance yawns wide like a secret, and the shadow of it draws you in, as though it’s reaching out for you. Your steps falter, but only for a moment—just long enough to recognise the hesitation in your chest, the uncertainty gnawing still on your mind. The thought flickers briefly across your consciousness—what if the people down there are like those others? What if all you find is more violence, more degradation, more proof that humanity has shed its last skin and become nothing more than base instincts and brutality?

But the mask is running low, and you can feel that desperation is creeping back into your bones, burrowing deep. You tighten your grip on the strap of your pack, pushing the fear down, burying it beneath a layer of resolve. You’ve come this far; you won’t turn back now.

The entrance is quiet—eerily so, as you push the tall hermetic door open and step inside, closing it quickly after. You glance around, eyes scanning the wreckage for signs of life. There’s nothing at first, just the silent exhalation of wind and the low hum of the distant, underground world. Then, movement.

You hear him before you see him—a soft shuffling of boots against stone, the faint click of a weapon being cocked. You freeze, instinctively tightening your grip on your knife as he steps into view.

Tall. Taller than most of the men you’ve encountered in these forsaken times. Muscles sculpted from necessity, sinew and strength coiled beneath his clothes like a waiting beast. He’s staring at you through the mask, gun raised, the barrel pointing at your chest. For a second, neither of you move. Then his eyes flicker downward, just for a moment, taking you in, assessing, like all the others. You brace yourself for what’s to come.

But it doesn’t come.

“Take it off,” he commands, voice low, barely more than a growl. His weapon doesn’t waver, and his expression is hidden behind a mask, eyes glinting through the cracked visor.

You hesitate. There’s a moment where you think of running, but there’s nowhere to go. There’s only the metro behind him, and the world ahead, both full of uncertainties, both as equally capable of destroying you. You suck in a breath, let it fill your lungs like a final goodbye to the stale air in the mask, and then you reach up to peel it away from your face, your skin sticking to the rubber for a moment before it falls loose.

The air tastes strange on your lips—metallic, sharp, almost alien after all this time behind the mask. You lift your eyes to his, half-expecting some sort of reaction, maybe disgust, maybe lust. But instead… there’s something different there, something you hadn’t anticipated. His gaze softens, though his grip on the weapon remains steady. He stares at you as though you’re something out of place in this hellscape, something fragile, a curiosity more than a threat. His gun lowers, just slightly, but his eyes don’t leave your face, as he too rids himself of his mask. 

He’s younger than you thought. Ink spills across his skin—tattoos that ripple over his arm, dark lines twisting around muscles. You catch a glimpse of two piercings through his lip when he tilts his head slightly, like he’s trying to figure you out, and then his lips curve, ever so slightly, not quite a smile but not quite hostility either.

“Shelter,” you say, your voice rough, the words like stones scraping against the back of your throat. You cough once, clearing the dust away. “I need shelter.”

He eyes you for a moment longer, his gaze wandering down your frame, but it’s not like before—not like the leering stares of the men who sought to take more than they were willing to give. This is different. There’s something almost reverent in the way he looks at you, as though the mere fact that you’re still standing here, after all this, after the end of the world, is enough to stir absolute disbelief in him.

“Alright,” he says, after a pause that seems to stretch out longer than it should. “We’ll see.”

He gestures with his head, motioning for you to follow him into the metro. You hesitate for only a heartbeat before stepping forward. The air inside is cooler, the shadows deeper in the few flickering candle lights, and for a moment, you think you can almost breathe easier.

“Wait here,” he says, nodding towards a bench half-buried in dust. “There’s a process. Need to fill out a form.”

You blink. A form? The absurdity of it almost makes you laugh—almost. But you’re too tired for laughter, too worn down by the world to even consider the possibility of joy. So, instead, you sit with an exhausted plop. You watch as he disappears for a moment, hear the soft scrape of papers being shuffled, and then he’s back, clipboard in hand, a pencil poised like a weapon in his grip.

He doesn’t sit down. Just stands there, towering over you, his presence impressive but not oppressive. You glance up at him, and there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes you feel exposed—not in a dangerous way, but in a way that makes you feel seen for the first time in a long time. It’s unsettling.

He clears his throat, eyes flicking to the clipboard. “Name?”

You give it to him. He writes it down, slow and thoughtful.

“Age?”

Again, you’re honest, coughing right after. He writes again, his eyes lifting to your face between each question as if checking to see if you’re lying, or maybe just to remind himself that you’re real.

“Where did you come from?”

You answer, though the place you once called home feels distant, like something from a dream you can’t quite remember. His pen scratches the paper, and you almost lose yourself in the sound of it, that soft, repetitive scrape, the only noise in the otherwise still part of the metro.

“Any medical conditions? Injuries?”

You shake your head, your body numb to the aches and pains that have become part of you, the exhaustion that’s settled into your bones as permanent as the sorrow for the destroyed outside world.

He writes.

The questions continue. And all the while, his eyes keep returning to you, scanning your face as if he’s trying to commit every line, every shadow, to memory. You can feel his gaze lingering on your skin, not in a way that makes you want to shrink or hide, but in a way that makes you want to ask why he’s looking at you like that, why his lips keep twitching into something that almost resembles a smile, sometimes a pout. 

After what feels like an eternity, he finishes writing, his pen stilling against the paper. You think he’s done, that maybe this bizarre interaction will end and you’ll be allowed to rest, to sleep, to breathe for just a moment.

But then he clears his throat again. And this time, when he looks at you, there’s something different in his eyes. Something you can’t quite place.

“There’s one more thing,” he says, and the air between you feels too much like outside, chocking and not fit for you. 

You stiffen. You feel that old familiar dread curling up inside your chest again, clawing at your ribs. You’ve been at this stage before, the formality of it, the false promises of security, of kindness. The moment where it all comes crashing down, where the mask slips and you’re left standing there, alone and defenceless against the greed, the hunger that always lurks just beneath the surface of those too desperate to remember what it means to be human.

He sees the shift in you. You know he does. You see it in the way his brow furrows, the way he toys with his lip piercings as though he��s searching for the right words, something to say that won’t make you bolt for the hermetic door. He takes a breath, and for a moment, you think you might run, you think you might grab your mask and take your chances with the toxic air outside because anything—anything—might be better than this.

But then, he speaks.

“I—” His voice falters, and you see the muscles in his throat work as he swallows. His grip on the clipboard tightens, the knuckles going white. “I want to… I want to eat you out.”

The words hit you like a shockwave. You blink, stunned, and for a moment, you’re not sure you heard him correctly. Did he really just—? 

You stare at him, your mind racing, trying to process the absurdity of it, the strangeness, the unexpectedness.

He’s looking at you now, eyes wide, almost pleading. There’s no threat in his posture, no demand. Just… want. Raw and unfiltered. Like he’s asking for something he shouldn’t even be allowed to ask, but he can’t help himself. His breath is shallow, and you can see the way his hands tremble slightly, the tension in his body like he’s bracing for you to reject him, to walk away.

And maybe you should. Maybe you should get up, leave this place, leave him behind, leave all of this strangeness and vulnerability and run back into the wasteland where at least the dangers are known, where the air is poison but the intentions are clear. But instead, you sit there, frozen in place, your mind spinning, your heart pounding in your chest as you look at him.

He’s not like the others. That much you know.

He’s so painfully handsome, a rare sight in this broken world, and it’s been so long—too long—since you’ve felt the heat of another body, since before the fallout turned everything to pure survival. 

So, when the chance arises, when you catch the hunger in his dark eyes and feel the thrumming ache in your own bones, you seize it like a lifeline in the endless wasteland. Your fingers tremble as you pull the zip of your protective suit down, the rough fabric parting like a sigh, and you free your legs, peeling it off your lower half. You shift on the bench, boots still clinging to your feet as you raise them to rest beside you, and open yourself to him, your legs spread wide, exposing your cunt like a silent offering, need pulsing through your veins.

Jungkook barely hesitates. The clipboard thrown, clattering to the ground behind him, forgotten, his focus now laser-sharp on the sight before him, his eyes flickering wildly between your face and the growing wetness glistening between your thighs. He steps forward with a pull that feels almost sacred, falling heavily to his knees as if the ground beneath him is the only place he belongs. His warm, calloused hands trace their way up your bare legs, the roughness of his skin sparking something primal under your own.

He leans in close, close enough that you can feel his breath ghosting over your slick skin. He takes a deep breath, inhaling you, and the word falls from his lips like a prayer, “Fuck,” and then he’s there, tongue pressing into you with a hunger that’s suffocating, lapping at your cunt as if he’s desperate to prove himself worthy of it, as if he knows exactly how lucky he is to be granted this wish. 

A moan escapes your throat, unbidden, as his tongue forces its way into the tight heat of your hole, your hand reaching instinctively for his dark hair, fingers threading through the strands as you push your hips into his eager mouth. The sound that rumbles from deep within his chest vibrates against you, a groan of raw pleasure that seems to send waves of newfound pleasure coursing through your body, arousal dripping from you, coating his tongue.

“Taste so good,” he rasps between breaths, his voice rough and broken with want. “Fucking angel sent from heaven.” His gaze flicks upward, catching yours, his eyes wide with disbelief, adoration simmering beneath the surface despite the fact that you’re strangers, despite the fact that the world outside has crumbled to nothing.

You find yourself moving against him, riding the flat of his tongue, his fingers dancing over your clit in a rhythm that feels almost divine. His other hand grips your thigh, fingers pressing into your flesh with a kind of desperation, as though he’s terrified that if he lets go, you’ll disappear, that this will vanish like a dream.

“Yes,” you cry out, breathless and shaking, as he finds the perfect pace, the perfect pressure, his mouth and hands working together with an almost agonising precision. And neither of you can tear your eyes away from the other, locked in this frantic, desperate exchange of need and lust and something deeper you can’t yet name.

He gives you everything—every ounce of affection and euphoria you’ve been deprived of for months—and you can feel it in the way his own body trembles, the way his hips move mindlessly against nothing, rutting into the air as though he’s just as desperate to be filled with pleasure as you are.

“I’m close,” you gasp, your hand tightening in his hair, pulling him harder against you, urging him on, desperate for more, for him to push you over that edge.

And he listens, his tongue working with relentless skill, circling your clit with a pressure so precise it almost drives you mad, and then you feel it—your orgasm tearing through you with an intensity that leaves you breathless, shockwaves rippling through your body as you squirt onto his tongue, something you’ve never done before, the surprise of it lost in the haze of pleasure. Jungkook groans beneath you, greedily lapping up everything you give him, cleaning you with his mouth like he never wants to stop, his hips stuttering forward as he spills into his pants, caught in his own silent climax.

“Fuck…” he moans thickly and long, collapsing against your stomach as your legs tremble and fall to the floor, muscles too weak to hold them up any longer.

For a long moment, neither of you moves, the silence between you filled only by the sound of your ragged breathing, the disaster of the world momentarily forgotten. But eventually, he pulls himself together, straightening up with a sheepish grin, adjusting his pants which are now damp with his own release, his expression cringing just slightly.

You quickly dress again, pulling your suit back into place, feeling a flush of heat creeping into your cheeks. There’s an embarrassment there, sure, but not disgust—not even close. If anything, there’s a strange sense of satisfaction, of relief, and you catch yourself hoping this won’t be the last time you see him, that he isn’t bored now that his hunger has been sated.

But as you reach for your pack, Jungkook’s voice breaks through the quiet, and he gestures for you to follow him deeper into the metro, his arm draping casually around your shoulders as if he can’t quite bring himself to stop touching you. “I’m Jungkook, by the way,” he says, a grin spreading across his face, his eyes bright with something that looks almost like joy—something you haven’t seen in anyone since the fallout. “You can stay with me if you want.”

There’s a pause, your heart skipping a beat at his offer, and you hesitate only for a second before whispering, “I’d like to stay with you, if that’s okay.”

He beams down at you, stars shining in his dark eyes like you haven’t seen in months, and he takes the opportunity to press a gentle kiss to your sweaty forehead. “Good,” he says softly. “I’d like that too.”

[clownhousemargarita]

Hey, I'd love a Hazbin request assuming your requests are still open, I'm feeling Charlie x male! reader NSFW with some romance. Reader is comforting her and trying to help her relax (perhaps a backrub and some neck kisses) or distract her with something fun. Either way it doesn't take long for things to get heated. I'd love to see her as the dominant one and not afraid to take control (reader would definitely consent if she asks).

"Relax." -- Charlie.

------- Summary: You find a more effective way to help Charlie wind down a bit. Pairing: Charlie Morningstar x MALE! Reader Warnings: NSFW, Top/Dom Charlie, Bottom/Sub Reader, Implied...panty...things...giggle.., Jokes of Charlie not being able to get pregnant (Interpret that how you like). Enjoy. -------

It didn’t take much to stress your girlfriend out. She was constantly running around, advertising, networking, pushing aside the rudeness of Hell’s people in order to achieve her dreams in helping those same people who hurt her -- to be better people. You admired that in her, but you also didn’t understand it. You sometimes judge a book by its cover, but you also read people before speaking to them. You understood when someone just simply couldn’t change their views to become a better person, so you’d leave it alone. Not seeing it as your problem. Charlie had seen everyone's problems as her own. Which is, in your opinion, her biggest flaw. As much as you’d want to tell her that, you didn’t want to crush her happy dreams. You loved her, adored her, she never failed to cheer you up. Truthfully, anything is possible, so maybe you’d be wrong about a person and she had the ability to help them see the better. She never failed to impress you, so you decided to stop sticking to your negative opinions so much and have a more open mind. Which you could tell she appreciated. So there she was, pacing around your shared room as she tugged on her hair, explaining to you how she needs to bring in more people to the Hotel, how advertising was barely working and people were turned off by the idea of the Hotel. In moments like these, people tend to only look at the negatives in their projects. So you learned to focus her attention back on the positives. “You have many of the Cannibals here.” You smile, sitting down on your guys’ bed as you tapped the spot next to you. She seemed to ignore your offer to sit down and continued to pace around. “I can’t just have Cannibals here! I need more people, more different kinds of people! Why doesn’t anyone want to do better?!” Charlie groans, you could see her horns beginning to grow out of her head the more stressed out she became. “You can’t control everyone's thought process, Char.” You say calmly, standing up to take her hand and lead her to sit on the bed. She continues to ramble, you nod and listen to her, trying to be as understanding as possible. From what you heard and understood, women would rather have you listen to them and sympathize with their issues rather than try and fix them. She had shut up, talking seemed to be too much for her. Her thoughts were running a mile a minute, and her brain didn’t have enough time to continue talking. You sign, setting a hand on her back and rubbing it gently, reminding her of the safe area she was in. “Everything will come to you eventually, honey. I promise.” You say, trying to keep your voice as soothing as possible. “You just need to be patient, it sucks, but you just have to.” You were wondering if you were saying the right things. You continued to rub her back, also hoping that you were helping and not irritating her even more. Watching her expressions, you can see her calming down.

You lean in, kissing her cheek. You feel her face shift, figuring it’s a smile. She turns to face you, her stressed out expression dropped the moment she met with your eyes. Charlie leaned in, bringing her hands to your cheeks to pull you in for a loving kiss. You set a hand on her thigh, scooting closer to her to deepen the kiss. She begins to lay all her wait upon you, making you two fall together with her on top of you. Your legs wrapped around her waist, pulling her in closer to you. “My love.” You mumble into her lips, she replies with a quiet moan. You chuckle and pull her away, “Go further? To relax?” You question, knowing the answer but still wanting to ask anyway. She nods her head eagerly, needing to feel something different and notably pleasurable. Charlie sits back, practically ripping her clothes off her body and tossing them somewhere onto the floor. She’s left in a black bra and her suit pants, you adore the sight above you, caressing her now exposed sides. “So soft.” You smile, bringing your hands down to her pants and unbuckling what needs to be, helping her shift and move to get the pants onto the floor where they belong. Charlie whines, setting her hands on your clothed chest. “Ugh, fuck, M/n -- I need you, please. Please, baby.” She begged, arching her back and spreading her legs far from each other. “More than air,” She panted. “C’mon, take this off..”

You grasp at her hips, muffling a groan into her neck. You feel her hands tare at your clothes -- realizing that you were getting too fucking hot to even strip tease. You finally toss your clothes to the floor, leaving you bare against her -- hard, and bare. Charlie sets her lower half down on your crotch, grinding her body against yours. You could feel how soaked she was against your boxers. That restriction wasn’t helping the little amount of self control you had. She continued to work her hips against your upsettingly hard cock, letting out little whines and moans as she did so. A moan escaped you as well, “Here baby,” You say, gently holding her hair and removing the restricted tie from it, allowing her hair to fall free. She sighed, not realizing how much the band had irritated her before, “M/n.” Charlie said flatly. “Inside, need you, inside.” She huffed, digging her nails into your waist. You chuckle nervously, nodding. “Yes ma’am.” You say jokingly, removing your boxers and allowing your cock to stand up proud and free. She giggled at your comment and removed her black panties, not throwing them on the floor but putting them on the bed for you to later reach. How sweet of her, you thought. She lined herself up with you, but you stopped her. She looked at you confused, “No lube? No condom?” You both stared at each other, then busted out laughing. “You’re funny, M/n.” She says, as you continue to laugh -- you're abruptly cut off by the mass pleasure of her slamming herself onto you with no warning. You shout, covering your mouth mid way. You let out another loud moan after as she lifts her hips up and slams them back down with the same force, clearly taking no mercy on you and using you how she pleases. Charlie giggled at your fucked up expression, then began to pay attention to the feeling of you inside of her -- making her weak. Her mouth hung open, allowing any noises to fall out at any pitch. You couldn’t even admire how beautiful she looked, only how tight she was around you and how fast she was moving her hips. “Fuck-- C-Char -- slow-- slow d-down..!” You whine, muffled due to your hand. She ignores you, throwing her head back as she abuses the fuck out of your pathetic cock. You could feel yourself coming close, but it wasn’t built up, it was coming close, and fast like a fucking train. You could tell she was close too by the disgraceful noises she was making. You grab her waist, digging your nails deep into them and arching your back. You screamed, cumming deep inside of her -- and with her. Both of your voices began to lower, your grip on her release as you dropped your hands onto the bed sheets. She groaned, her body wanted to fall back, you quickly grabbed her and held her up straight. You both chuckled lightly as you pulled her close to you, still inside her. “You okay?” You ask, rubbing her back again. She hums and nods a bit, digging her face into your neck.  “..do you feel any better?” You ask once again, hesitantly because you knew she was tired and just wanted to pass out. Charlie whispers a ‘yes’, kissing your neck gently and allowing sleep to take her away for a few hours. You were glad you could help her relax.

[blackcherryvelvet0909]

The Skeleton and The Raven (The Janitor & Revon)

Note: The Janitor belongs to @the-trinket-witch (Happy [belated, I'm so sorry] Birthday I love you!!!). Revon C. Crowley belongs to me.

Alongside the cafeteria and the alchemy lab, the hallways were the hardest to clean. Dirt and grime, discarded chewed gum, scrunched up pieces of paper - just the start of the long list of things one might find along those covered walkways. Some days were worse than others; one time there was a huge fight between two students - a cat and a red-headed boy - that left magical residue and charred ashes in their wake. Guess who had to clean all that up? Certainly not the students, that was for sure. The Janitor alone received a (demeaning, like they were some pet) pat on the head from the headmage as he smiled and said, “I’ll leave you to it! Keep up the good work!” 

Was it wrong to want to chuck the man that allowed your existence to continue into the garbage? Perhaps. The Janitor couldn’t dwell on it - there was work to be done. Floors to be swept and mopped; rugs and runners, big and small, to beat and sweep free of lint and tiny debris; windows to wash; furniture, banisters, and other surfaces to dust and polish. Most of those task had been taken care of throughout the day. The Janitor left most of the hallways for last, as there was far less traffic passing through them during the night. Aside from the rare passing of a ghost or professor, the Janitor simply enjoyed the peace and quiet of the night as they set to work. 

The birds, fireflies, and other nighttime wildlife were their only company. They would think their nightly chorus was music to their ears if they had some. The darkness wasn’t too much of a bother; whatever magic had brought them to life allowed them a sort of nightvision. Sure, there were a few shades of dark they couldn’t see into, but paired with the moonlight above it wasn’t too much of a time navigating and picking out any stray grime. It was at the corner of that eyesight that the living skeleton spotted movement a few feet behind them. Something small and black and feathery. When they looked back, the Janitor saw it was a raven, perched comfortably wall lining the second floor hallway. On the recently cleaned wall. 

The Janitor wasn’t really one to bother the local wildlife. As someone sometimes poked and prodded at by the occasional troublesome student who thought they were some puppet or prop, still unbelieving they were alive, the Janitor understood what it was like to be disturbed. Still, cleaning up bird poop was not on their to-do list tonight, and they’d rather avoid yet another task tacked onto that list. The Janitor stepped closer to the bird and made a shooing motion with their boney hand. The raven did not move. A small rattling sound came from the skeleton as they repeated the motion, this time with a bit more urgency. The raven only cocked its head to the side, as if studying the Janitor - or challenging them. 

They didn’t have time for this. If they had eyelids, the Janitor would have narrowed them at the offending avian. Though the faintest pang of guilt poked at their existence (Soul? Heart? Whatever they had.), the Janitor took their broom in both hands and batted the dusty head in the bird’s direction. That certainly got the raven to move, but not too much. It jumped from side to side, avoiding the rough bristles. The Janitor grew more frustrated as the bird continued to refuse to vacate the area. In a quiet fury, the Janitor shook the broom this way and that in long swoops, nearly hitting the raven as it batted its wings and flittered into the air. 

Not far enough for the Janitor’s liking, the skeleton continued their assault. The skeleton did their best to avoid striking the bird, but in their frenzy they lightly brushed the raven’s foot. This threw the raven off-balance; it sputtered for a second, dropping a few inches in flight before regaining its barrings and flying up through one of the open archways that served as windows. Before the Janitor could try and sweep it out of the hall and back out into the courtyard, a flurry of feathers briefly obscured their vision. The Janitor hurriedly took a few steps back, afraid the raven was coming to retaliate with beak and talons. Instead, as the feathers cleared, the raven had vanished - and in its place was someone the Janitor recognized. 

“Hey hey hey!” the woman yelled, waving her arms to make the Janitor stop. “It’s me! Put the broom down. You’re going to take someone’s eye out with that thing!” 

The Janitor lowered the broom, though it remained tucked close to their chest. A few wisps of blue hair getting caught in the rim of their glasses. For the moment, the skeleton was too distracted to tuck them out. Their piercing gaze stared at the substitute professor, who had seemed to appear from nowhere. The raven was gone and she remained. ‘It’s me!’ she’d said. The puzzle pieces soon fell into place in the skeleton’s mind. 

They glanced back at the wall lining where the raven once sat, then looked back to the woman. A silent question. She answered it before the skeleton could sign it. “Uh, yeah, that was me.” The woman chuckled nervously as she tucked a midnight strand of hair behind her pointed ear. “Please keep it to yourself, okay? I don’t want it getting around, at least for now.” 

The Janitor continued to stare in silence, bones ceasing their rattling. One of their gloved hands released the broom and signed, ‘Were you watching me?’ 

The woman nodded. “Yeah. I’m sorry, I know it was probably rude. I just happened to be passing by and saw you working, and I’ve got a habit of watching people work.” A breeze passed them by - the skeleton was unbothered by the cold, and the woman’s black leather jacket shielded the skin of her arms from its nippy presence. Her tone and smile wasn’t condescending or babying like her father’s when he addressed the Janitor. “I can understand if you’d rather me not.” 

The skeleton signed again. ‘I don’t mind.’ 

“As long as I don’t make a mess, right?” 

The skeleton’s bones rattled as they nodded. 

The woman laughed. “I don’t intend to, trust me. I know dad’s already got you working like a dog.” A brief few seconds of silence filled the space, then she added, “If he’s giving you too much, I can take some load off you. While I know it’s your job, he likes to shirk responsibilities he should really do himself when he can.” There was a slight bite to her tone - the Janitor knew it wasn’t directed at them. They could empathize. 

‘I’m fine,’ they signed. ‘But if that changes, I’ll let you know.’ 

“Good.” The woman ran a hand across her scalp, fingers brushing the hair there. “I reel him in when I can. Mom would have done the same,” a small laugh left her, “though I’m sure she was far better at it than I am now.” 

Mom. It was hard enough living with the reality that man had spawn, but a wife? Such a woman had to be as crazy as him…maybe. If this woman, Revon, was what the skeleton deemed sane, nice even, she had to have gotten it from somewhere. The Janitor had a really hard time imagining Crowley being into leather jackets, motorcycles, and rock music, anyway. If not her mother, the Janitor wondered who Revon got that from. If Revon wanted to keep her ability to morph into a raven, they’d likely never find out. 

“Well, I’ll leave you to it then.” Revon put her hands in the pockets of her black jeans. “You need help with anything before I go?” The Janitor shook their head ‘no.’ “Alright. Have a good night, then.” 

With a small salute of her hand, Revon turned to leave. After she took a few steps down the opposite way, the Janitor went the other to get back to work. The moon was almost at its highest point - it’d be the Witching Hour before they knew it. They preferred to take their break then, time enough to do their own thing. Just as the broom’s bristles hit the runner running along the stone floors of the hallway, the Janitor was interrupted once more. For who interrupted them, they supposed it wasn’t too bad. 

“Oh, by the way,” the Janitor craned their skull to look back at Revon, now a good few feet away. “I don’t know if it’s in your job description, but if it is, don’t bother cleaning up around or tending to that big tree on the hill, okay?” The Janitor didn’t know which she was referring to. There were so many trees scattered about campus, and a small handful were located on hills. The woman must have sensed their confusion, for she clarified by saying, “The one we use for the Starsending event.” Oh yeah, that one. A far as they could remember, tending to that tree, indeed, wasn’t on their to-do list. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Revon said. Perhaps their eyesockets narrowed or something because, once again, Revon answered the Janitor’s unuttered question. “It’s just a good bit of work, and I’ve done it for so long it’d hurt to stop. Don’t concern yourself with it, alright?” There was something behind those words…not exactly a warning, but the Janitor couldn’t find another definition for it. A plea, maybe? Whatever the context, the Janitor nodded in understanding. 

“Thanks.” Revon gave a small wave, “See you later.” Maybe it was politeness, maybe actual sincerity, the way the Janitor waved back. The moment Revon’s back was turned to them, the Janitor got back to work. At the great speed gifted to them by the magic of their creation, the Janitor swept along the edges of the elongated rug - the task to be completed before they got to mopping. Better to sweep it first, so when they rolled up the rug before mopping dirt and debris would go flying, forcing them to sweep the stone floor all over again. They wouldn’t make that mistake twice.

The sound of fluttering feathers came from somewhere behind them. Right after came the sound of flapping wings. The Janitor glanced back just in time to watch a familiar raven soar into the sky, black visage just visible by the light of the moon. The Janitor watched the bird until it - her - disappeared from view, leaving the skeleton to their nightly duties. To thoughts that sometimes strayed to that towering tree and its large canopy of green on that rolling hill, and the family that, besides one irritating headmage, was left a mystery.

[pinkbeastie]

i am not sorry about this

they needed to stop staring and get on with it

Night Terror || Galadriel x Halbrand

“You were wrong to trust me. This… this is your creation.” 

Darkness engulfed her. Fire scalded her body, and she was flung through the air, ripped from sleep. 

Galadriel woke with a violent start. Shivers had overcome her body, and the shaking elf felt bile rise in the back of her throat.

The battle had not gone over well. 

Now her dreams were plagued with what had become her deepest and darkest fear. She swallowed. Still felt the ash coat her tongue. It made her feel sick all over again. 

The memory of what had occurred in her slumber finally came crashing back into her. She shut her eyes when she was reminded of Halbrand embracing the very fire which she sought to destroy. 

It’s only a dream, she told herself. It cannot hurt you. 

Galadriel stood. She couldn’t sit in this charred room, in this hunk of a bed any longer. Her bare feet chafed against the floor as she made a beeline for the door. She sat outside of it, shivering in the dark. 

Then, like the flicker of a single star in an endless sea of black night, footsteps sounded, and the whisper of her name echoed. 

“Galadriel?”

She put on a nonchalant face. 

“…Can I help you?” her voice wavered.

“If anything, you’re the one in need of some help, elf.” 

That was it for Galadriel. Her shivers came back monumentally, but Halbrand, noticing the elf’s peculiar behavior, encompassed her in his warm arms. 

He could feel, actually feel her nose twitching into his shirt, trying to hold back.

Night terror, he thought. 

Sighing, the man swept the elf up off her feet and carried her back to her makeshift bed. 

“Finally swallowed a little too much seawater, eh?” he asked quietly, giving her hip a small nudge. Galadriel didn’t even respond. She simply turned her back on him, intent on not letting him in. She would not let her dream crawl its way into her reality. “I get them too, sometimes.” 

At this, she shifted. Perhaps only a bit closer to him. That wouldn’t harm anybody. He was quite warm, after all. 

“The night terrors. They come quick and quiet, pricking like hundreds of branches stretching on for miles in an endless range of… dark hedges,” Halbrand continued. He then wondered why the bed was shaking so. 

The realization dropped on him like a ton of stones. 

Galadriel was fighting not to cry. 

And he couldn’t take it anymore. He slid his arms around her middle, ignoring her protests, and pulled her into his chest. Her shaking  stopped. 

Galadriel’s face was not scrunched because she was frightened of Halbrand. It was because she was terrified that she was the one who pushed him to the darkness. She didn’t think she could take it. The frayed bits inside of her were at a breaking point. 

So she buried herself in Halbrand’s shirt, drinking in his scent, relishing the feel of his arms encompassing her so tightly. 

Halbrand took a small breath as Galadriel’s arms tightened around him. Her ears twitched. He wondered what it would be like just to kiss the tips of them, how it would make her feel. Better? Worse? Would she pull away? He did not know. 

“Galadriel, I.. this feeling..” 

The elf in his arms stiffened. 

“I felt it too,” she said again, simply, pulling away. But Halbrand was not ready to let her go just yet. 

“I don’t know what you dreamed about, I don’t know what happened out there in the forest.” 

Galadriel gave a snort, all previous fear and sadness and whatnot forgotten. She stood, moved away from Halbrand, and willed her damn headache to stop battering her head. 

“You don’t trust me, do you?” he said, leaning back against the board of the bed. These interactions were becoming more and more common, and it unnerved Halbrand at how much he enjoyed them. 

“Haven’t decided,” she mused. Smacked the side of her head once. 

“Why do you look at me as if I have wronged you?” Halbrand persisted, standing and taking a step forward. Galadriel took a step back. 

“I cannot fathom what you mean,” she said sharply. 

“Well then, you won’t have to swim very deep. You won’t even touch a fathom, as I float my meaning quite shallowly.”

“You are shallow,” Galadriel retorted. Halbrand glared. 

“Do refrain from being so difficult. I know you understand.” 

“And so what if I do?” she finally belted out, anger and raw emotion ablaze in her eyes. “You…you are a man, Halbrand, and I an elf. We-“

“Are not against each other.” Halbrand took a step forward. “We are not enemies.” Another step. Slowly, he took her small hands in his. Her ears were flushed, and the urge to lean forward and kiss them again plagued his mind. He pushed it away. She would surely recoil.

“What are we then? What is this, what you’re suggesting?” she asked softly. They were so close Galadriel could feel his breath mix with her own. 

Slowly, Halbrand dragged his thumb across her lower lip. “Let me show you?” His lips brushed hers, the ghost of a kiss. Her sharp intake of breath was enough for him. His mouth was hot on hers, his arms snaking around her waist, pulling her body as close to him as he could.

Galadriel slid her fingers through his hair, tangling them in his auburn locks.  She felt his heartbeat quicken. A jolt went through her when she realized it was because of her. His lips parted slightly, and his tongue slid between her own, testing. She elicited a small moan, and his hands twisted in her golden locks. Both their skins burned. 

 Halbrand pulled back for just a second, moved his head to the left, just to place a tiny kiss on the tip of her ear. Galadriel shivered as a blush bloomed across her face. 

“Been waiting to do that,” Halbrand said, catching her chin with his hand. 

Galadriel knew he had to stop. It would go too far if he didn’t. But his kisses felt so good. 

“Mmh, do it again,” she said, brushing her nose to his. Halbrand almost laughed out loud at the look on her face. It was the same look she gave him when he slipped her dagger into her hand on Númenor.  

So he sighed, lifted her up against him, and kissed her senseless once more. 

[crimsonbathed]

[ BURN ] - sitting at a fire they built, he's pulling their rustic skewer away from the flame (much to her distaste). "Hey, it's already dead--no need to kill it twice, yeah? Oh, you... like it like that? Well, I'll take mine off. You can eat all the blackened bird you want. I, for one, like eatin' my meat before it turns to ash."

Meme Source X Trigger warnings: Animal Death, animal violence, descriptions of carnage.

Warmth licked at her face as Carrion sat atop a rock behind the giant. For the fire was too hot that it felt as though she would melt in to a puddle of disgusting slop, should she dare venture any closer. Though the smell of charring meat dared her to crawl closer. To reach in and tear the meal to bits. Her mind however, knew better than to risk moving even an inch closer to the hungry flames as they danced in the air. Enchanting her with their bright colors and chaotic nature. Truly free. An amazing force that threatened all who dared to imprison or control it. Such a lovely thing. Her attention, was stolen from the beautiful fire, however, by the boys remark.

"You dare insult me?" She hissed, wasting no time to throw a good sized stone at his neck, followed by an assault of smaller pebbles. The bird in question had barely even begun to change in color. For its eyes were still beady black orbs staring at her, terror frozen behind glossy hues. There was no sign of them lightening in to the gleaming white that allowed her to see her own reflection. It's feathers were puffed and crisping at the edges, perfect toothpicks to pick out lingering gristle after she enjoyed the meal. If the feathers did not harden, then they would break between her gums, and she would have to find a twig to dig out not only the feather, but the original gristle. It would be a nightmare most uncalled for.

"Perhaps I should place your arm above the fire to see just how long it takes for you to consider it to be turning to ash." Carrion took to the air, her fingers taking a strong grip of his ear as she pulled and tugged his head towards and away from the fire by the pointed tip. Laughter reverberated within her throat before she darted away from him, returning to the spot she previously resided. "You should know that just because things appear to be blackened by the flames, it does not mean they are burned. When mine is tender and fair, whilst you chew and recoil at the tough, raw insides of your meal, you will see what I mean."

[gryffindors-weasley]

Starlit Confession

Young!Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: On a camping trip tradition, your friends have got other plans neither you or Sirius are aware of.

Requested by @expelliarmusmyass : “can i request a classic enemies to lovers "there's only one bed" sirius x reader where all the marauders (+lily!) have a sleepover or camping trip of some sorts and lily and remus finally decide they need to get reader and sirius already and plan to get them to sleep in the same room/bed/tent ? thanks !!”

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: little bit of jealousy, mutual pining, fluff, kissing

A/N: Thank you for my first Sirius request!! I absolutely loved everything about it, I hope you enjoy!

July 1979

The breeze swept coolly across your face against the warm summer sun as you stuck your hand outside the window, the air gliding over the back of it. You were headed to the stretch of woods that you’ve all come to know so well, something that was highly anticipated the moment the summer season had begun. Camping. It was something you and your friends had made into tradition without much discussion against it for the last three years. Lily had saved up for the very Volkswagen bus you’d been sitting in, knowing for a fact she��d get more use out of it than a simple small car; she knew her four closest friends were in it for the long haul and that was something that would always remain true.

It was mostly a golden yellow color, near orange, its roof white with a matching tire cover on the front of it between two round headlights. It was adorable, it was perfect, and most importantly it was big enough to fit a boisterous group of friends that surely needed the space. It’d already housed jovial memories that would be cherished for years to come.

You’d each packed up a bag or two, tossed them in the back and set off to the ever familiar place the five of you had found to be the perfect spot. A clearing amongst the woods, a place not far from the waters edge. It looked near enchanting when sunbeams filter through old yet thriving trees, as much as it could be for being a place without the very magic you’ve known all your life. It was perhaps your favorite tradition out of all others that had been created, one that you never failed to look forward to. No matter what’s been going on with any of you, traditions were never missed or forgotten. That was one thing that was constant and one thing would never change.

Another thing that had been just the same was the constant need for Sirius Black to get under your skin. You’d known him ever since you both were fourteen years old, and every day since then had been a battle of who’d been more witty and your three best friends had yet to determine who had been the rightful owner of that title. You were always bickering about something or another, always tossing narrowed stares and scrunched noses, grumbling under breaths and eye rolls. Even despite that, James, Remus and Lily especially had been convinced that there were feelings amongst it all. It hadn’t been too terribly hard for them to jump to that conclusion. They had their suspicions with each and every look Sirius had found himself giving you when your attention was fixed elsewhere. At the very same look you’d cast upon him when he wasn’t looking. They were absent minded actions to you both, and that was all the more reason for them to think there was something there.

It drove the tight knit group absolutely mad to see their two dearest friends love each other without even knowing of that very fact—James found himself far too close on multiple occasions to flat out complaining of the sheer obliviousness between you two. To simply tell them how blind the two of you must be. But each and every time he’d nearly done so it was promptly stopped by a stern Lily Evans who was not to be defied. They felt another day of this was simply not an option, too painful to watch a second more.

Even now, as you sat in the back with the raven haired wizard, the seating arrangement proved to make for an interesting trip. There was a flurry of jests and quips to match them; it was inevitable when he’d taken the seat right next to you, Remus on his other side. It’d been something entirely intentional on Lupin’s part, though the bickering was something to be expected.

First it had been over who was taking up too much of whose space, something accompanied by a lighthearted series of shoves and stifled laughter when you looked away in hopes the other wouldn’t see it. Then it had been when he’d changed the radio from your favorite song to his with a simple twitch of his fingers, a back and forth battle of rock and ABBA that nearly broke the radio, one that nearly drove your friends insane.

But now, Sirius had found himself staring as he so often does, at the way you waved your hand with the breeze, the way said breeze sifted through your hair and the way you sang along with James to the very same ABBA song that’d been on repeat for the past fifteen minutes. He’d reckon your voice far better than that of the brunette behind the wheel. He doesn’t know just why he always finds himself settling his attention upon you every moment he gets the chance. Or maybe he does and just refuses to admit the reasons for it. But there was something about you, there was always something about you to be admired. You were utterly enamoring even when you’ve got your brows scrunched over something entirely because of him. They never seem to stay furrowed for long.

“If you take a picture, it just might last longer,” you suggest with a raised brow and a smile indicative of your teasing, effectively pulling him from his thoughts.

“I’m sorry, it’s just you’ve got a bug in your hair,” he counters quickly, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards.

Your eyes are quick to widen slightly as your hand rises to your head in mild panic, combing your fingers through your hair in a hurry. His laughter was a telltale sign of his deception, that ever so familiar frown pulling down your lips as you swat at his shoulder. “Sirius Black, you’re a pain!”

His laughter was immediate as he caught your wrist from swatting him once more, “I’m not lying! There is something in your hair.”

He releases your arm in favor of reaching upwards, the tips of his fingers pinching the delicate flower petal tangled within your hair. Your words fell silent as his fingertips traveled down to the very end of your hair, a gentle action that had your cheeks staining what must have been an obvious pink as you found yourself looking at the smile on his lips. One that was soft and lopsided, one that grew as he held up the small pink petal before tilting his head at you. You hadn’t even realized you’d been holding your breath until that moment, hadn’t realized the new found quiet had drawn everyone’s attention.

“Told you so,” he states confidently, blowing away the petal and leaving it to flutter to your feet.

You squinted at him and mimicked his words to quickly move on from dwelling on your burning cheeks, something that brought a different kind of smile to his face mere seconds before you’d ruffled his own hair in retaliation.

“I meant what I said,” you remind him, trying to fight your grin as you watch tangled strands of black hair fall back against his cheeks once more.

“I am so terribly hurt,” he scoffs, placing a hand over his heart in a display of faux offense.

In that moment you settle for shaking your head, biting the inside of your cheek in a pitiful attempt to conceal your smile. A smile so awfully contagious he found himself mirroring it, having lingered on his lips even when you’d looked away from him in favor of looking out of the window. In doing so, you missed the way James had been glancing at you both in the rear view, at the way he shared a knowing grin with Lily, who’d then done so with Remus. It was a moment missed by you both, how could it not be with the way your thoughts had entirely been about each other unbeknownst to you.

It’d been quiet after that, save for the radio and James’ occasional startling outburst of song should a part come on that he’s fond of. It’d been peaceful and upbeat as Sirius crossed his arms over his chest, trying desperately not to think of how you’d made his stomach twist and flutter with butterflies. It was nothing, that’s what he told himself.

—

The place was just as beautiful and just the same as you’d left it the previous year, the sun still beaming through tall trees and the birds still chirping just as contently as they always do. Upon closer inspection, your initials had been carved in the very same tree, untouched since the five of you had left your mark on it the very first time you found it. Of course, it’d become weathered over time, moss having flourished over the bark, but the engraved letters remain regardless of that very fact.

The fire pit that James and Sirius had made still sat in the center of it all, it’s crumbled stones and charred logs and sticks sitting in a heap within it, waiting to be lit once more. Even the logs circling around it to serve as seats had still sat untouched by anyone else, unmoved from how they were left the previous trip out there.

It was exciting to finally be back there, to finally be out of the car in a place you longed to see again. All was well, except one thing.

“That is absolutely not happening,” you state matter of factly, the twigs snapping beneath your foot as you frown at Lily before narrowing your eyes at Sirius. One look at his smile, just one look, and you return your displeased gaze to the two in question, James making no effort to stifle his laughter at the situation. “No way, that is ridiculous!”

“Lupin must have forgotten to pack a third, Y/n/n,” Lily sympathizes with the softest of frowns to accompany her words, though you hadn’t missed the grin she’d tossed her friend’s way as he scratched the back of his neck and fought his own. “I’m sorry!”

“Then I’ll sleep in the bus with Remus,” you state quickly with a raised brow, crossing your arms over your chest stubbornly as you squint at Sirius’ very obvious grumbling behind you. His reasons for doing it were entirely unknown to you.

“C’mon, Y/n. Pad’s won’t bite,” James chimes in with a laugh, earning a swat to the back of the head from Lily before he protests her actions in return, shrugging his shoulders and rubbing his head. “Not very hard, at least.”

You purse your lips at the brunette and glared, biting the inside of your cheek to hide your smile. A smile that quickly faded as you glanced over your shoulder at the little tent that hadn’t stood very tall on the other side of the fire pit. Your heart leapt and raced within your chest at the thought of being so close, lips tugging downward as you looked back at them with a huff.

“I would say I can’t believe you, but I can,” you groan, brushing past them to get to the lake before they could become aware of your smile.

—

The last traces of sunshine were warm against your skin as you sat along the water’s edge with Lily, taking a moment to yourselves away from the utter chaos that came with the trio in the water. It was still a bit too cold to swim in but that’d never stop them from doing just that. Despite the chill that ran through you from it, everything around you had been exactly how it’s always been.

Wildflowers had bloomed just about everywhere you could imagine amongst patches of green and overgrown grass, framing the lake in varying hues of blues, yellows, purples, and pinks. When you sat at just the right angle, the reflection of the sky over the water had been absolutely wondrous, painting the water orange and pink. The ongoing breeze had been sifting through the leaves in the trees, leaving some to fall to the ground in its wake.

It was absolutely perfect, and you couldn’t think of just anywhere else you’d rather be in that moment than right where you are. You wouldn’t want to be there with anyone else.

“I think this is our best trip yet,” Lily states, leaning back on her palms as she tips her head back, allowing the sun to sweep across her skin.

“I think so too,” you sigh, letting your eyes fall closed as you hear another aguamenti spell used, followed by a bout of laughter that had a smile pulling at your lips at the sound. Her absence in conversation was sure a sign something was on her mind. It always was without fail.

She hadn’t left you to sit and wonder for too long before she spoke up.

“What do you think about Sirius?” There it is.

Your eyes squeeze shut at the question you anticipated, at the one you hadn’t expected her to wait so long in asked you. A soft huff left your lips as you opened your eyes, brows furrowing as she gave you an expectant look.

“Why do you ask?” You say, the corner of your mouth quirking up at her nosiness.

She shrugs her shoulders as she sits up more, heaps of red hair falling to splay against her back. “Just wondering.”

Her smirk was more than obvious as she looked at you, her smile widening. Lily and Remus had kept an eye on you both for quite a while, they knew that something had been there, it wasn’t that hard for them to figure out. Even if you hadn’t been aware of your own foolish love yourself, they’d certainly picked up on it. Because after every witty remark and every scoff and glare, there was always a smile to follow. After every frown and and nose scrunch as one of you stuck their tongue out at the other, there was always a lingering stare just moments after. Anyone could see that, anyone but to two involved that are far too stubborn and argumentative to realize that.

“Well?” She continues.

“Well what?” You ask, pulling your knees to your chest as you look at her.

“You can’t possibly have nothing to say about him, not after all the banter you do. What do you think of him?” She repeats.

You roll your eyes as you avert your gaze from her, resting your chin on your knees as you look ahead. You mull over your words as a laugh leaves your lips, your head shaking slightly as your eyes fall upon him. He’s got strands of wet black hair stuck to his face, cheeks reddened ever so slightly from the combined heat of the summer sun and the chilliness of the water. His smile was beaming and bright as he tips his head back and laughs at something James had said.

“He’s a pain, Lily,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek to hide your smile. “He’s a pain.”

She laughed at your words, though she took note of the smile that’d been on your lips as she followed your gaze to the very one in question. She hadn’t failed to notice the smile he had returned to you after having done a double take, an action that was far less subtle than he’d hoped. He couldn’t help it though. Not with the way you’ve got flowers tucked in your hair and the way the sunshine made you glow. But when he found himself looking for what he felt was far too long he’d stuck his tongue out at you, wiggling his fingers before you rolled your eyes.

“Oh really?” She inquires, her smile evident in her voice, laughing when you narrow your eyes only briefly.

You pluck a flower from the ground and hold it under your nose for a moment, twirling its stem as it sat pinched between your fingers. You shook your head once more.

“Yes, really.”

—

The tent was rather average, having danced dangerously on the edge being too small. Every gust of wind, no matter how gentle, had puffed against its very walls, rattling the zippers and the flap of the door until you’d finally closed it completely. You knew for a fact your friends had to have done this on purpose, at this point there was no way they couldn’t have judged by the smiles they’d done a terrible job at hiding.

It was becoming increasingly obvious when you sat around the campfire that evening when Lily sat with James, and when Remus managed to take up the entirety of the log he’d claimed his own. It left you no other option than to sit next to Sirius, his chin in his palm as he hid his taunting smile behind his fingers.

You could tell by the way their gaze fell upon the two of you more often than not, and by the way James had displayed his emotions a little too obviously each and every time Lily had whispered something undoubtedly about the two of you in his ear. By the very way that no matter how much your group of friends could talk and bounce from topic to topic with ease, the conversation would always, without fail wind up circling back to the two of you. You were becoming painfully aware of the plan made by none other than Lily and Remus.

You should have known they’d do something like this; they’ve done it at the spring ball in sixth year. It was the very first time Hogwarts had done something like that, it was magnificent. However, you thought your date had stood you up as you sat with Lily and Remus, the mysterious date they’d set you up with. Said date had finally showed up by the side of James, and your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head upon realizing just who they’d set you up with. You’d frowned as you danced with him, accompanied by a few laughs when he twirled you, accompanied by a few eye rolls when he said something witty. The night had been far better than it started, but you hadn’t spoken of it since.

They’d done it at Hogsmeade. They’d told everyone to meet at the Three Broomsticks, having diligently reminded everyone to do so. You and Sirius had been the first ones there, having sat awkwardly across from each other as you sipped your butterbeer. It was quiet until the two of you began to bicker over something too trivial to remember, one smiling when the other wasn’t looking. It took about thirty minutes for you to realize that the rest of the group hadn’t been coming, thirty minutes with Sirius Black.

So yes, you should have known better than to think that they wouldn’t do something like this again.

“Sirius?” His only response is a hum in that moment, a rather dismal one at that. “How do you suppose I’ll get any sleep if you keep huffing and puffing? It’s rather hard to ignore, you know.”

“Maybe that’s the point,” he quips, though you could hear the very smile in his words even without seeing him.

You shake your head at that with a huff of your own, but he could see the shake of your shoulders from your stifled laughter that you had fought so hard to keep at bay. No, he most certainly could not know that he’d been making you laugh, that would be absolutely terrible to your cause for he wouldn’t forget that he’d been able to do something other than make you grumble.

It was quiet for a few moments after that, nothing but the crickets singing just outside the little tent and the whisper of the wind in the trees. He hadn’t huffed anymore after that, and you quickly came to realize that it was in fact not the cause of your restlessness, though a part of you already knew that. You knew as you lay in that tent that you hadn’t hated his company, not in the slightest as much as your protests would beg to differ otherwise on the matter.

“Would you really rather spend the night with him than me right now? Remus?” He asks quietly, curious after a little while, and you didn’t miss the small bit of offense in his tone. It was the most subtle of indicators that he’d been jealous. Not terribly so, but it was enough to have your words stick in his mind for a few lingering moments longer than it should. He found himself to be just a little offended, because while he hadn’t expected this to be the sleeping arrangements, he’d hoped maybe you wouldn’t dread it as much as you seemed to have.

“In this particular moment, yes,” you quip softly, a smile beginning to tug at the corners of your mouth when you hear his displeased huff. “I might even sleep outside with the bears should you continue being jealous.”

“That is not happening,” he says, quick to add more once he realizes just what you’ve said. “And I am not jealous.”

As much as you two may have bickered near incessantly, as much as it may have seemed as though you couldn’t stand each other, he didn’t want you to do such a thing. It was dangerous after all. He knows a flimsy tent would do little to protect you, he knows you’re more than capable with magic, but he’d much rather prefer you weren’t out of his sight. It was safer that way.

“Who’s to say?”

Your back remains to him as you close your eyes briefly, your grin having gone unseen. It’d always been your personal mission to get under his skin ever since he was just a boy who had made it a point to get under yours, and now that he was nearly twenty your goals were no different. Maybe they weren’t as childish and filled with a certain annoyance as they once had been in the very beginning, but the habit was still very much there.

“Y/n/n, could you be serious just once in your life?” He asks.

“You know,” you start, rolling over to lay on your other side. Your breath hitched upon realizing your closeness, his face mere inches from your own and you nearly lose your train of thought as he’d done the same. But you quickly gathered yourself as you swallowed thickly, a smile gracing your lips. “I don’t believe I could if I tried.”

He rolled his eyes as he moved to lay in his back once more, his smile bright as his hair splays across his pillow and you follow suit. Your heart had still been beating wildly in your chest at the closeness you’d shared just seconds earlier, cheeks flushed a soft shade of crimson as you dare not look over at him. He supposed he’s grateful for that because he’s too caught up in looking at you, that same smile on his lips that he knows shouldn’t be there. One look at him and you’d have days, even weeks worth of material to tease him with. But he can’t help it.

He also can’t help it when he laughs, his eyes squeezing shut. “What is it?”

He shakes his head as he continues, your own curious smile forming in your lips as you turn your head and look at him. “I’ve got that bloody ABBA song stuck in my head.”

Your smile widens and a giggle falls past your lips as you return your gaze to the sky, the mingled laughter between the two of you having been something not uncommon as of late. “Well I’ve got that dreaded AC/DC song stuck in mine.”

“It is not dreaded, it’s a classic,” he defends, scoffing lightly as a lingering chuckle accompanies his words.

“And so is mine,” you counter, just as much defense in your voice as he held in his.

“That is absolutely false.”

“It is absolutely not.”

He responded with a heaving sigh, a smile on his lips despite it but he let you win the argument this time because surely there would be more. There would always be more when the two of you were together, but he feels as though he can hardly count on one hand the amount of times you had argued over something serious.

Your shared laughter had since died down to silence amongst everything else, leaving you know choice but to think of how close the two of you were. To think of the fact that never in a million years did you believe you’d ever share a tent with each other. You will admit, only to yourself, that you hadn’t hated it as much as he may have thought. A part of you had found yourself thinking that maybe you’d even miss him had you not been less than a foot away. You thought that a lot lately, unbeknownst to everyone else, or so you thought.

It was then, as you lay beneath the stars in a tent you’d felt was far too small to house two, that you felt his knuckles brush against your own, the very tips of his fingers soon to follow it. The simple touch felt far more electrifying than you had cared to admit to, especially for a simple accident caused from the sheer closeness of your proximity. To be quite honest, you felt rather foolish with the way your heart had skipped a beat and fluttered relentlessly within your chest.

And it was then that you risk a glance to your left the same way he had risked one to his right, eyes meeting in a gaze that’d been shared for the very same reason. You both looked away from the other almost immediately, smiles pulling at your lips as you focus your attention on the sky. No attempts had been made to move.

“Something funny, Y/n/n?” He asks, humor in his tone that only made you smile more than you felt you should have been.

“Yeah,” you start, a soft laugh leaving your lips as your eyes flutter closed. “Are you desperate to hold my hand?”

The laughter he exhaled was immediate at your words, but not out of mocking. “Love, if I wanted to hold your hand I wouldn’t waste my time brushing my fingers over yours.”

That most certainly was a lie, it was absolutely false. As brave as Sirius Black can be, as bold as he always was, he was nervous to hold your hand. He felt as though he was tempting fate already by the mere nudge of his hand over yours. To him, the thought of being in love was both exhilarating and terrifying all the same. To care deeply for someone was in his nature despite his hardships, though he’ll never ever admit it aloud. He didn’t need to.

Sirius could and would risk his life for his friends without a drop of hesitation, he always would. But the idea of slipping his hand in yours, of telling you just how he felt—it was a feat that proved to be difficult. You, you were terrifyingly wonderful and breathtakingly beautiful. You always have a quip to counter his wit, and you would never hesitate to cast a harmless jinx upon him.

He hadn’t realized just how much he wanted to tell you until that very moment, that very day for that matter. With the way you sung that song he swears he dreads every time it plays on the radio. With the way you smiled at him, your cheeks stained a rosy pink when you told him he was a pain. Or the way you’d been beaming as you tucked flowers in your hair with Lily by the lake. He hasn’t known how he made it quite this far without telling you, it was beyond him how he did it.

You weren’t just the girl he’d bicker lightheartedly with on a daily basis over the most trivial of things, always ending in scoffs and eye rolls and narrowed gazes that were more humorous than intended. You weren’t just the one who’d turn his hair every shade of the rainbow given the chance, who could outdo him on the scale of stubborn bravery. You were the girl he found himself following wherever you went, who he found himself thinking of far more often than he told himself he should.

He’s pulled from his thoughts at your soft laughter, turning to lay on his side once more. Before he could ask the reasoning behind it you’d already reached up, your fingers brushing through his hair to grab the lone petal tucked pretty and yellow amongst the strands of black. His gaze never left you, gray and admiring as you tucked his hair behind his ear, the tips of your fingers lingering for just a moment before you pulled them away.

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile, his breath fanning warmly over your lips. “Can I kiss you?”

The question was soft yet confident, having had enough of the question merely sitting at the edge of his tongue for days, weeks, months on end. It’d made your heart skip a beat, and you were nearly unsure if you’d heard him correctly. Because Sirius Black, the boy who’d never failed to get under your skin, who never failed to make you roll your eyes or purse your lips, the one you’d seemingly loved all along was asking to kiss you.

The grin on your lips was nothing short of an indication that your words would be that of something jesting. “It depends.”

“Do tell, on what?” He inquires, the glow of the moon illuminating the mischief dancing in your eyes.

You moved to prop yourself up on your elbow, your grin widening a fraction the more you look at him. “Just how long has it been that you’ve wanted to ask me that?”

“Who’s to say I’ve ever given it thought before this very moment?” He counters, though he knows he has a million times. You roll your eyes then, tipping your head back only momentarily before looking at him again.

“Could you be serious just once in your life?” You ask, copying his earlier words.

“I don’t believe I could if I tried.”

You shook your head as your hand settled on his cheek, quieting his further mocking as you pressed your lips on his. His laughter sounded softly against your lips, soon dissolving in favor of finally kissing you, of finally doing just what he’d longed to do for an amount of time he’s far too prideful to admit. He found himself smiling when your hair brushed against his skin, at the feel of your nose nudging his own and your fingertips just barely tangling in his hair.

His hand came up to rest over your own, the action soft and distracted as you parted from him only briefly. Brief enough for you to smile against his lips, for your giddy laughter to puff softly against his skin. Fleeting before he kissed you again—once, twice, three times more.

You pulled away completely then, his hand falling from yours as you swipe the pad of your thumb across the dimple in his chin, your cheeks flushed and his lips kiss swollen and pink. He followed after you for just one more, gray eyes sparkling and smile blissful as you lay back on your side.

“I love you,” he murmurs, “bloody hell I do.”

“Sirius Black,” you say, taking your lip between your teeth as you looked at him. “I love you too.”

With that he tugged your hand gently, pulling you back to his lips in a soft yet lingering kiss, one that made your heart pound and another bout of butterflies to flutter in your stomach as he held your hand to his chest. He’d waited too long to ask you just that, wasted too much time bickering over this, that, and the next thing.

“Our friends will never let us hear the end of this, you know,” he murmurs, forehead resting on yours. “They’ll go on for weeks, love.”

“Let them.”

—

Tags: @vogueweasley @ch0colatefr0gs @anchoeritic @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq @snitches-at-dawn @dracosathenaeum @harrysweasleys @awritingtree @writeroutoftime

[iceicevaguely]

Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down (or the day 6-year-old Ray devised the escape plan)

“Ouch!”

“Mama!”

“Norman!”

“Emma!”

A yelp, a wail, a protest and an exclamation, all in that order. Ray covers his ears, glaring at the three of them in all his 6-year-old glory.

Isabella’s face is a perfect mask of concern and Ray is tempted by the sudden urge to push Emma and Norman away.

“Mama!” sobs Norman again, his right hand wrapping itself in a fist around her dress and his left gripping Emma’s hand.

Emma’s lips begin to twitch and Ray knows that if she starts bawling now, it will be more because of Norman’s tears and less because of her own injury.

“What happened here?” asks their mother, and again, Ray must fight off the urge to scream, to run or both.

When Emma stares forward tight-lipped and Norman simply wails, Isabella turns to him, and Ray finds that meeting her gaze does not come easy to him, not anymore.

Behind her, Emma shakes her head quickly, round, green eyes beseeching him to keep her secret, her right hand hidden behind her back, even though he was certain their mother had seen already.

But Isabella’s gaze is suspicious, and Ray remembers their deal all too well. A small accident could not have meant much, they both know, but Ray’s reluctance to tell the truth will mean the world. This is a test of his loyalties, of his vow to her just a week before.

He complies only too readily, every bit her son.

“Emma and Norman wanted to show you a candle trick they found in my book, but Emma got burnt trying to light it.”

Isabella does not say anything, but he notes the approval in her eyes. He has passed, for now.

“It doesn’t hurt!” protests Emma shrilly, her face now as red as her hair.

Norman sobs harder, “I told her to not hold it like that! How will we play tag now?”

“I want to play with Norman!” yelps Emma fearfully and her eyes begin streaming now as well.

Ray rolls his eyes as Mama pulls Emma’s hand from behind her back to examine the swollen finger.

“It’s alright,” she assures them and Ray wonders, not for the first time, if she has meant anything she has ever said to them.

“It’s only a small burn. But next time, let’s not play with fire, okay?”

“Okay,” Norman and Emma chorus in unison, sniffling.

“Now, come along - yes, you can too, Norman - to the infirmary,” she instructs them.

“Ray?” they both turn to him.

Ray has no desire to be closer to her at the moment, and perhaps it shows in his eyes because Isabella says, “Ray, will you help Susan set up for dinner?”

He nods stiffly, refusing to hold her gaze.

He waits until their footsteps have faded away before gathering the discarded matchsticks.

He cannot help but wonder, as he picks up the charred matchstick, its end still smoking, how quickly Mama had abandoned the game of chess she had started with Michelle and Olivia, the instant one of their safeties was in question.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she could abandon Norman and Emma just as quickly? If she could leave them, for even a moment, so they could run far, far away?

Experimentally, Ray prods the smoking matchstick with his finger, and he is prepared for the sharp sting of its pain, for the way his fingertip balloons pink. He knows if he screams now, she will rush to him, just as quickly as she had to Emma.

He had mulled over it several times, and he had reached the conclusion that if the three of them were to grow up here, then her eye would only grow more watchful, more hawk-like.

No, it would take several burned fingers, several accidents, before Mama could take her eyes permanently off of her prized shipment.

And suddenly, the answer is in front of him, so starkly clear that he wonders if he had been blind before, as he had been for so many years.

He tucks the blackened matchstick into his breast-pocket, knowing it will crumble to ashes, blemishing the shirt’s pristine whiteness.

He does not particularly care. He is to get used to this ashiness, for it to fill up his pockets, his lungs, his very being, until Mama rushes over and Norman and Emma run far, far away - an eternal game of tag against their Neverland.

No, he would not play with fire. He would win a war with it.

[icefire149]

30! Deancas, its cold so cas insists on a scarf instead of his tie

Char I'm so sorry this took a million years to write. Work and life kept me extremely busy, and then this lovely fic kept going in a different direction (which seems like a theme in every prompt I tackled). I really hope you enjoy this one, and have a lovely day :D

#30 - I love you mumbled into a scarf

Dean had his head buried so deep in thought about the impala’s winter maintenance that he almost missed the familiar foot steps breezing past in the garage. His eyebrows pressed together as he pulled his head out of the car. “Cas, buddy, where are you going?”

Cas stopped dead in his tracks, and turned on his heels. “Oh, Dean.” His gaze nervously glanced around the garage. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Are you okay?” Dean leaned against the side of the impala now, and crossed his arms. “You look kinda spooked.”

Cas’ gaze flitted around the car. “Do you happen to have Jack with you?”

“Nah,” Dean answered, scratching the back of his neck. “He went on a grocery run with Sam about a half hour ago.”

“Oh,” Cas exhaled, and visibly relaxed some. “That’s good. He’ll enjoy that greatly.”

“Did you need him?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

“No.”

Dean walked around the car and stopped closer to Cas. “I’m gonna need more than that. What’s up?”

“I need to go Christmas shopping.”

Shaking his head slowly, Dean blinked. “Are….are we celebrating Christmas this year?”

“I’d like to,” Castiel confessed. “I know you and Sam have your own traditions and this is your home, but I’d like to give Jack his first Christmas since….last year he wasn’t here.”

“Oh.” The word tumbled out of Dean’s mouth. He was going to need time to process every verbal hit Cas pummeled him with. In a daze, he pointed at the impala with his thumb. “Do you want a ride?”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” Cas answered genuinely surprised. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He was still sorting Cas’ words when he found himself opening the impala’s door.

The angel slid into the front passenger seat, and they were off in the direction of the nearest shopping mall. It wasn’t until they hit their second red light that something finally clicked into place in his brain. “Is that why you tend to disappear around the holidays?” Turning, he kept his eyes on Cas long enough to see the twist in his expression.

“Maintaining customs, holiday traditions in this case are incredibly important to humans. I didn’t want to overstep or interfere.”

“You do realize I leave probably a dozen voice mails the closer it gets to Christmas, right?”

“Yeah, it’s quite irritating having my phone going off so often when I’m trying not to take from your time with Sam.”

“Cas,” Dean said exasperatedly. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, but the blaring honk of the car behind him momentarily cut off his train of thought. When traffic settled so did Dean, “I already get enough of Sammy, and I’m sure he’s more than sick of me too, especially around the holidays.”

“Oh.”

“And yeah, I’ve been wanting you to join us….since forever. Seriously.”

“I’m sorry.”

There was a pained tone in his voice that startled Dean down to his core. He shivered involuntarily. Glancing over at Cas, he saw that the angel had his eyes glued out the window. It bothered Dean not being able to pin down what was bothering Cas. It felt like so much more was hidden in that apology.

Turning back to the road, Dean reached a hand out blindly until it connected with the sleeve of Cas’ coat. “There’s nothing to be that upset about, your heart was in the right place.”

Cas didn’t respond, and Dean didn’t loosen his grip. Instead, he tightened it, but spoke with a note of levity. “And how many times do I gotta tell you that the bunker is your home too?”

“Once more, perhaps?”

Dean could feel the constriction in his chest loosen at the faint smile he could hear in Cas’ voice. He shook his head. “Giving Jack a real first Christmas is a great idea. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it months ago.”

“I think we’ve all been a bit too preoccupied.”

“Yeah.” Dean withdrew his hand and turned the car down the nearest exit. “You’re not wrong.” Basically since Jack was born they’ve been non-stop busy. The past few months in particular were miserable, for all of them.

“I know things aren’t one hundred percent safe with Michael still out there,” Cas started. “But I’m glad that you’ll be home for Christmas. I fear I would’ve ruined Jack’s holiday if you weren’t here.”

“Nah,” Dean argued, feeling his eyebrows pinch together. “My presence shouldn’t make that much of a difference.”

“Dean.” He could feel the angel’s stare sliding under his skin. “I left Jack with Sam so I could chase every whisper, blade, bullet, and trap that might lead to you. And from what I’ve gathered, Sam did much of the same passing Jack off on whoever was willing to keep an eye on him. That wasn’t fair to him, and I’m not proud of my behavior.”

“Hey,” Dean tried cutting through Cas’ frustration with himself. “You had no idea what Sam was gonna do.”

“Jack was never meant to be Sam’s responsibility. I-”

“You did the best you could at the time.” Cas didn’t answer, and Dean couldn’t risk taking his eyes off of traffic in that moment. “I mean it, and besides we’re well past that tunnel now. And we’re gonna give Jack a real Christmas.”

“Thank you.”

Dean hummed in response, and spotted what he was looking for: the sign for the mall. “Don’t tell Sammy, but-” He glanced at Cas’ curious expression. “since we found the bunker, I’ve always wanted to make it look like Christmas threw up all over the place.”

And to Dean’s genuine surprise, Cas laughed. It was happy and light, and when Dean turned for a heartbeat, the image of Cas with his head tilted back was branded into his memory. The corner of his mouth curled into a grin. “After growing up watching every Christmas special imaginable as a replacement for actually celebrating the holiday normally...I think it’s like making up for lost time if we go overboard.”

Another hearty laugh rocked Cas. “Makes logical sense to me.”

“Besides the kid will get a massive kick out of it.”

“I hope so,” Cas muttered, as the car came to a stop in the parking space.

“Oh trust me, he will,” Dean said throwing an arm behind the back of his seat and turning to face the angel. “Soooo….where to first?”

Cas observed their surroundings before letting his stare rest on Dean. “I’m not sure.”

“Well we can just check out whichever store is closest and work our way around. Sound good?”

“Yes,” Cas smiled softly.

Dean’s hand rested on the door handle, but the movement next to him made him pause. He watched Cas dig a hand into his jacket pockets until he pulled out a long, dark blue scarf. “Traded the tie out for a new accessory?”

The angel snapped his hands to his chest in order to hold the scarf tightly. “It’s new,” he said defensively.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Dean grinned. “Did you go out of your way to buy something the same exact shade as your favorite tie?”

Cas’ eyes trailed down to the fabric between his fingers. “Maybe,” he answered after a short, meditative pause.

“It’s nice,” Dean said pushing his door open. “I was wondering where the tie was today.” He got out of the car and Cas quickly followed him on the other side.

Cas hooked the scarf behind his neck. “It felt redundant.” His expression quickly twisted in frustration as his hands failed to wrap the scarf in a way that would be comfortable.

“Need some help, buddy?”

The angel’s gaze pierced him like a knife, but that didn’t stop Dean from circling around the impala to stop directly in front of Cas. He held his hands out. “Just let….”

Cas’ hands fell to his sides, and the frustration slowly smoothed out of his face. His gaze locked onto Dean’s.

“-me help.” Dean started wrapping the scarf properly so Cas could duck the lower half of his face out of the chilly, winter air whenever he wanted.

There was something magnetic in Cas’ demeanor. As it circled and grew in his eyes, it filled Dean with a soft warmth that drew him a step closer. His skin burned, but on his brother’s life he couldn’t remember in that moment why he would normally never let himself get this close.

Dean could feel the puffs of Cas’ breath caressing his face, sending goosebumps across every inch of his skin. Despite this, he reached forward and finished laying and puffing the scarf up.

The apples of the angel’s cheek’s appeared pinker when Dean’s gaze slid up from the blue fabric that was still caught between his fingers. Cas’ bottom lip twitched for a second, and then he sunk his face into the scarf.

Thoughts slid back into Dean’s head. Louder than ever. The tips of his fingers clung a little tighter to the scarf. This feeling wasn’t new. Everything that had to do with Castiel, it was like a Gordian Knot. There was too much to sort and untangle. The fragile thing they had was too important to him to destroy completely. The solution was simple and staring him in the face, but he’d been teetering on that decision for a decade now.

Before he could move, a simple vibration resounded up his fingertips. And before Dean could ask what the angel had said, Cas broke the moment.

His hands slowly and shakily unhooked Dean’s grip, lowering them. The scarf slid down Cas’ face as he momentarily glanced around the parking lot. Dean quickly forgot about the brief indescribable look in the angel’s stare, when a glimpse of Cas’ teeth caught his eye.

The tension eased in Cas’ shoulders. He released Dean’s hands with a widening smile. “Let’s go. I’m not sure what would be suitable for a Christmas tree. Any ideas?”

“Yeah,” Dean grinned, losing himself in this new moment. “We’ll have to go elsewhere and grab your truck, but I have several ideas.”

The prompt was from this list. I'm not expecting any more prompts from this one, but if there's one you really want me to try please ask! (and specify the prompt list).

[archetypal-archivist]

Tommyinnit and Hermitcraft- Heartstone P.2

So, a little while back I wrote piece titled Tommyinnit and Hermitcraft- Heartstone (linked here) which was inspired by the works of @petrichormeraki and @redorich, who popularized the AU of Tommyinnit from the Dream SMP getting dropped into Hermitcraft somehow and summarily getting adopted by the entire server. I, in my infinite wisdom, decided “yes, but also angst” and spat out a solid 1500+ words with a cliffhanger at the end because it was getting ridiculous and I had yet more to write. This is another 1500+ words of continuation. 

-----

It's not easy, knowing things. Joe knows more things than most, and oh, how it eats at him sometimes. He jokes with Cleo that between the two of them and their dogs, they are perhaps the leading experts on being chewed on, but she never laughs at that joke. He can't help but wonder why, his thoughts drifting as he lies still and silent in her arms, curled up together on his bed in the winery. Her orange hair tickles his nose as he moves to bury his face in her shoulder a bit more, her cool breath ghosting over the sticky tear tracks that still line his cheeks. All the things that remain unsaid lie between them, but their silent agreement binds them together tighter still. And indeed silence is the name of the game, however much he wishes it wasn't necessary- everything will work out in due time, he knows. But oh, how it aches that he can't say anything more on the matter, not even to her.

"Cleo?" The zombie woman makes a soft inquiring noise, politely ignoring how his voice cracks on the syllables. "Are we doing the right thing?" Her grip tightens again, almost crushingly so, and Joe goes limp at the implied rebuke. Be it right or wrong, his silence must be ensured- he knows so much that if he said anything, it'd all come pouring out. A real modern-day Cassandra, verbal fountain and harbinger of doom in one. No, best to stay cryptic when he can and silent when he can't- and if even his silence fails, Cleo is there, sword in hand, ready to keep him quiet.

He should not take comfort from that. But here, wrapped up in his best friend's embrace, utterly at her mercy and all the safer for it... He does anyway.

-----

Joe and Cleo aren't in a romantic relationship, but it would not be amiss to call them platonic life partners in this universe. Joe has been seeing things for as long as he can remember, the exact mechanics are strange and baffling at best, and if he tries to actually do any Science to figure out how this stuff works, the magic changes to spite him. It's led to a lot of unfortunate visions of peanut butter and how the server generally tends to misuse the stuff (Etho sometimes using it instead of slime in a sticky piston is a milder example), so after enough peanut visions to make him allergic on principle, Joe tends to just let the visions come as they may. The only hard-coded bit that comes with them is that anyone living who hears his prophecies won't believe them and will have something bad happen to them as a result. Cleo, being a zombie, is a special exception to the rule. She's only alive in the most technical of senses, so while bad things still happen to her if she hears Joe speak about his experiences, she at least will believe him.

Which is why she is so determined to not know more about whatever is going on with Tommy. When Joe had rushed in a month ago, tears streaming down his cheeks and glasses barely hanging onto his face, she had merely put down the book she had been reading and had opened her arms wide to him. Convincing him that she would not betray his trust or break his heart had been hard, but she had known it was worth it. How can it be anything but, when Joe had looked at her then as if she was the most precious being on the planet and had immediately thrown himself into her arms, bursting out into troubled tears? He offered to tell her the full story, eyes wet and longing, and her long-dead heart ached at the trust he is giving her- but she is far too selfish to give that up. So she had turned him down, smile on her lips.

Even when he whispered, voice hoarse, that they wouldn't be seeing Tommy for a while. Even when he shuddered and shook in her arms, fragile as glass in her grip. Even when he begged her to ask, just ask, please, it's too much... She did not ask. If she asked, he would tell her, and then she would be hurt and his heart would break because it would be his words that had hurt her. She would not, cannot, will never inflict that upon him, or let him inflict that upon anyone else. (Of all the heads in her collection, the one she has most of is Joe's.)

She simply asks him if there will be a satisfying ending, and when he says yes, she asks no more. Everything will be okay, in the end. So long as there is that much, so long as she has Joe in her arms and the comfortable silence stretches out between them, then she will be content.

(At the foot of their bed, deep in Joe's winery where the barking is muffled and the light cannot touch them, there lies a chest of heads. Inside it, nestled among the many faces of the dead, rests an old iron sword bearing the name Hush. It's blade is rusty from disuse, but if Cleo ever decides that she isn't satisfied, well. There are ways of dealing with that.)

(Things will be okay. She'll make sure of it.)

-----

Philza was no stranger to death. A veteran of a hardcore world, where even the very earth was out to kill him, he had seen his fair share of deaths and had dealt out even more. Usually just to the local mobs and wildlife, but there was still the occasional player dropped into his world by the cruel hands of the Void as a sort of "apology" for leaving him alone, bereft of his sons. As if some random strangers could ever fill the Void in his heart.

Most of them had wandered off upon seeing him, more interested in escape than any companionship he could offer them, and he'd inevitably see their death messages in the otherwise silent chat a few days later. Others would approach him, some curious, some desperate for kindness- he gave them none, was often intentionally cruel just to drive them away. He had the Void in his heart and the Void had him, and he ached and ached for what he could not have. Anything less would be a pale imitation, a mockery of the love he was desperate to return to. He tried not to think about how those kind strangers would also come to meet their ends, often more messily than those that had decided to leave him be to begin with.

Then there were the rare few with... less than gentle intentions. (Blood for the Blood gods, no matter the universe.)

Theirs were the deaths he regretted the least, but the blood still gave him nightmares. For all that he loved his sons, he never understood their love for glory, be it found in conquering other nations or the sticky ooze of a dying foe. Maybe that's why he had spent so much of his time with his elder sons when he returned, the Void finally releasing him from his hardcore prison. Just a father's attempt at understanding, even if it left his youngest at loose ends.

But the problem with loose ends, he had come to find, is that the world had a way of setting them to rights- either by tying them back into the grand narrative, or by cutting them out entirely. For months after Dream had come to him, apology on his lips and charred shoe in hand, he had believed that Tommy's fate had been the latter. He had  mourned his son as if such was the case, weeping openly at the news for the first time in years. (He wasn't the only one, though- Technoblade was an only child now and he was not taking it well.) It was only when Tubbo came to him with his compass to ask about its ever-spinning needle that he felt a spark of hope, for a compass that spun was not a compass linked to a dead soul- simply a lost one. Such hope was justified when, six months later, Technoblade burst into his house with a snarl on his lips and a smile in his eyes. Tommy had returned.

And as Phil stood, back straightening and wings spread wide, hope bloomed in his chest like hanahaki, choking him with love right down to his core. Tommy had returned, despite everything.

And Philza would not let him go again.

-----

For all that Tommy might have been... gone for at least a month now on the Hermitcraft server and life has significantly slowed down for all involved, by no means has it stopped entirely. The shops are still stocked, the torches are replaced when the old ones burn out, Hermits still go out and see each other, if less often than before. Xisuma, in fact, instates a series of mandatory meetings every week or so as a way of making sure that everyone is still alive- a bit of reassurance that no one else has died in the time interim. Even the hermits who prefer to keep to themselves show up, such as Tinfoilchef, Joe, and Cleo, although the latter two remain distinctly separate from everyone else on the server during the meetings, their refusal to take a side alienating them from the rest. Grian, broken though he may be, also comes, usually in the arms of Iskall or with a vacant smile on his face depending on the state of his mental health on the given day. His presence is also alienating, as most of the hermits don't quite know what to say around him and thus will give him and Iskall a bubble of space to themselves during the meetings. Mumbo is the only one to cross the divide, standing loomingly tall at Iskall's back, as if daring anyone to say something potentially hurtful to either of his friends.

Frankly, the entire concept of weekly meetings is a bit of a mess. Xisuma stands at the front with Keralis at his back, voice and posture more and more tired with every meeting and Keralis standing just a bit closer, a silent show of support (ready if his admin ever needs some physical support too). The prognosis is usually a mix of dull stuff and hopeless stuff- lag is better than it has been in years, the Chestmonster shop is out again, Tommy still has not been... found. It's not exciting exactly, but the tension during the reporting stage is palpable as everyone waits to hear if something else has gone wrong. It's a bit like being on the front lines- horrible, drawn-out minutes of tedium as everyone holds their breath, waiting to see if another bombshell will drop but knowing that they have to be there, because some warning is infinitely better than seeing a death message in chat one day and not knowing if that person will ever make it back.

In addition to this is the tension that comes from the server being split in three- the believers, the mourners, and those too damaged or too caught up in their own narratives or too neutral to swing to one side or the other.

The meetings are where the most near-fights happen, and Xisuma is so, so tired of having to be the sane one these days. (The benefit of a helmet, he's come to find, is that no one can see you cry.)

(He doesn't take it off much anymore.)

-----

It's after one such meeting that Zedaph finds himself cooped up in his base, eyes burning with unshed tears and feet dangling out into the Void as he sits at the bottom of the hole in his base, the one that goes straight to bedrock and then even further still. The chill is a welcome distraction from his own inner turmoil, and for all that it's dangerous to be sitting so near to the edge of the world, he can't find it in himself to move away form its cold comfort. After all, Tommy can't have died permanently, right? So sitting there is perfectly safe. He has to believe that. He has to.

The meetings are tough on everyone, but sometimes Zedaph wonders if they are a bit worse for him than they are for the rest. It can't be normal that the first thing he does after every meeting is burst into panicked tears as soon as he gets back to his base, as he's certainly never felt such deep fear and relief after the meetings they had before the Incident. And yet, as soon as the iron door of his base sncks shut behind him, he drops down into the Void hole, sits at the edge, and bawls his eyes out. It's kinda funny- he's shed more tears in the last month than he has in his entire life so far. And all for a boy he had known for less than a year.

During this particular day, however, something odd happens. When he sits down for a good cry, it feels like there's the slightest of breezes coming off the Void beneath his feet, chilling him right down to his bones. It's cold, yes, but a welcome relief as he feels a bit like he's burning up from the inside out. Every moment he spends with Tango and Impulse is stifling, as with them he has to shove himself into a hateful mold he never wanted for himself. He doesn't like being angry, and being angry alongside his best friends is hardly any better. If he had it his way, he would have curled up in bed and simply slept the horror away, only waking when the nightmare was over and he could go play mini golf and Among Us with Tango, Impulse, and Tommy again. Instead, his love for his friends demands that he supports them in all their endeavors, even if their goals these days seem to run a little closer to "get them all killed" than is comfortable.

But yes. The breeze. It feels like ice on his skin and sends every nerve in his legs buzzing. It has a distinct smell to it too, like TV static, ozone, and that sensation you get after you brush your teeth and go take a big gulp of cold water. It's... odd. But vaguely comforting. And as the tears finally well up in his eyes and drip down his cheeks, as he lets himself sob for all the friends- both new and old- he's lost, he finds that it's exactly what he needs.

And if Zedaph would only listen a little closer, let himself see beyond his broken heart, perhaps he would hear the whisper on the wind, too.

Everything will be okay. I'll make sure of it.

-----

Evil X has his own troubles to deal with. He had been present when Tommy had died, if watching from the wrong side of their dimension. Lost in the Void with nothing better to do, he had often found himself watching his friend go about his day. With space and time being as screwy as they were in the Void, he could find himself taking three steps and then would be watching Tommy go from sleeping over at BDub's base to having "breakfast" with Rendog. So when Grian and Tommy had gone out End-busting that fateful day, of course he had been watching.  And that was all he could do- watch- as he saw his best friend fall to his apparent death, that little line of code that signaled "perma-death" flashing once, twice, and then glowing a deep, ominous red.

But that wasn't the end of it, even as his dull and bruised heart stuttered in his chest at the sight.

Like a redstone pulse lighting up everything around it, that red glow set off a cascading chain reaction that rippled up and down Tommy's code until it eventually trailed out to wherever his code stretched out into the Void. There, it must have severed something because before he could even call for help, his friend's code yanked inwards and away, slingshotting the whole mess into the distant darkness beyond, leaving naught but a vague impression on the inside of his eyelids behind. It was... awful. One of the scariest things he had ever seen, perhaps second only to watching his brother, stern-faced and cold, send him off to the Void once again. But for all that it hurt to see that red glow and watch in mute horror as the server he had once tried to destroy shake itself apart at the seams, there was still hope.

The code was gone, yes, but not unraveled, not destroyed. Merely... transported. Moved. Like a file being sent from one computer to another, or a player teleporting between servers. Tommy's code vanishing like that was cause for alarm, yes, but somewhere out there in the vastness of the Void, it lingered still- and it had left a faint impression of itself in its wake. That meant there was hope.

Evil X- and by proxy, his twin Xisuma- were voidwalkers, beings specifically designed to see, understand, and even modify the world's code. Were he anything else, he surely would have perished by now, his consciousness scattered across the Void as it was. And having been in exile for so long, he had gotten to be adept at seeing the seams between worlds and reading the truths of existence as the Void had intended for her children. If anyone could follow that faint trail, could get Tommy back, it would be him.

For the first time in a long time, Evil X had hope. And hope is a vicious motivator indeed.

-----

TBC :)

[archonanqi]

fragile as dust / 12 - smile

a/n: Please let me know if you’d like to be added to a taglist for this story. Thank you all for the kind comments! ;-; @fishyfish-y​ @writingmi​ @just-some-stars @kawaiitinybunny @juhlydrawsblog​ @cherryvane​ @kaenyas​ @loadingrat​

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ch 11 | dreameater

For a minute or so, you stared at the dragon’s tooth. Reached out to touch it, every scratch and indentation on its smooth surface exactly the same as you remembered. You ran your finger around the blackened, charred ring around it, remembering how you had plunged the tooth into the blazing shield of fire, how the Abyss Mage had screamed. 

You winced at the memory of the past… day? Two days? You weren’t sure how long you had slept, and each time you tried to call upon any memories, your head hurt terribly. 

“Zhongli,” you barely managed to whisper.

As though he had been waiting just outside your room, the door swung open almost immediately. Zhongli strode in, though the relief you felt at his presence was quickly overshadowed by the fear of what you’d done, of how he might punish you for it. “Hansi,” he said, voice carefully composed as always, but you had known him just long enough to pick out a slightly different note of— worry? “You slept for two days.”

“Oh no, I missed work,” you deadpanned, desperate to dredge even the smallest of smiles from Zhongli. Zhongli’s frown didn’t even quaver. The very idea of Zhongli being annoyed at you sent chills down your spine. Just then, a memory came back to you, and suddenly, you were desperate for something else. “OH— work… Xiangling—!” You tried to throw back the covers to stand up, but the sudden movement sent hot and cold chills through your veins and almost sent you retching over the side of the bed.

“When you mentioned Qingxin,” Zhongli said. “I knew at once that she wasn’t bringing you to Cuijie. That girl knows the flora and fauna of Liyue almost better than I.” You remembered his slight unease the morning you left, that odd exchange that you thought nothing more of. 

Of course, Zhongli would have known the whole time; how foolish of you to think you could keep anything from his calculating gaze. 

“But what reason would she have had to lie?” Zhongli continued, “and so, though I did not want to intrude upon your expedition, I paid Jueyun Karst a visit with Chef Mao when you two did not return. We found her halfway up the mountain.” 

“Is she— is she okay now?” You could barely bear to hear the answer, “I need to go and see her.” 

“I don’t believe you’ll be able to go anywhere in your current state,” These were stronger words than you’d ever heard Zhongli utter at you, and it finally snapped you out of your haze of panic. Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you noticed his stiff posture, his slightly furrowed brow, and felt a pang of guilt. You had acknowledged that he might worry over your disappearance, but not to such a degree. 

“If it puts you at ease,” Zhongli started, “I visited Xiangling this morning. Dr. Baizhu personally saw to her, and she is well on her way to recovery. She was similarly distraught about you, and she mentioned that you tried to hold off the monster on your own for her sake. Is this true?”

You nodded. 

“Admirable,” Zhongli said, and you noted that his voice had not lost its edge, “if not extremely rash. You could not have known what a powerful artifact the tooth was, though it is partly my fault for not explaining it to you. If I had not shown up when I did—”  

You blurted the first thing you were sure of. “I’m sorry for putting you in danger.”

Zhongli let out an audible breath, and shook his head. When he next spoke, his voice was tinged in disbelief. “To think that after everything, that’s your takeaway from this? What you and Xiangling did was incredibly dangerous. I believe that I’ve made more than clear to you, how dangerous Jueyun Karst is to mortals.” 

“I’m sorry,” you said again, the guilt rearing its head in the pits of your stomach.. 

Sighing softly, Zhongli held your gaze. “Though, I also miscalculated. Xiangling would have been able to handle no less than a Mitachurl; perhaps even a Lawachurl, but these intelligent creatures — Abyss Mages? It’s quite troubling that they’ve begun to appear in Liyue, so soon after Rex Lapis’ departure.” 

“Did you kill it?” You couldn’t help but ask, though you already knew the answer.

Zhongli fixed his unflinching gaze on you. “Yes.” 

You had already held the evidence of its death in your hands — there was no way the creature had given up the dragon’s tooth without a fight — but still, the truth was like a slap to the face. You had scarcely been able to escape from it with your life, and yet Zhongli... You glanced him up and down. Zhongli didn’t look so much as shaken from the confrontation.

“It was a hazard to Liyue. And it had threatened you,” he added, taking your awe for confusion. “Similar monsters have been growing in rank and number… Even the Adepti are on high guard, it seems, if Mountain— if one of them has started trapping civilians. Though Xiangling can fight, I’m afraid that the situation may be too much for you to handle right now. I would ask that you limit your ventures to Liyue Harbor—” 

You couldn’t stand the heavy tension of the room, couldn’t bear the thought that Zhongli might be angry at you. He had made no move to approach you, standing his usual, respectable distance away from your bedside, but anger— anger always meant someone got hurt, and usually, it was you. 

Quickly, you opened your mouth to swear that yes, yes of course, anything you want, I’ll never leave again, but Zhongli held up his hand to stop you. “Think carefully before making any promises to me. Are you content with staying within the harbor for the rest of your life, Hansi?” 

You hesitated. He was right. Going on ingredient hunts and seeing the beautiful mountains of Liyue had been the time of your life. You wanted to go further, wider. To see every bit that the world had to offer. And more than anything, you wanted to do it— with Zhongli. 

“I will ask you one last time, then,” Zhongli said, “ do you wish to learn how to fight ?” 

You couldn’t help but glance at the drawer where your Vision was, quickly dragging your gaze back to him and hoping he had not noticed. You swallowed. Yes, yes , you did. And what better teacher for your Geo Vision than Zhongli? 

He had just saved your life. The least you could do was trust him with it. 

Before you could respond, you were interrupted by a loud rapping at the front door.

“Just a moment, please,” Zhongli called in response. When he turned back, his expression had softened. “I… may have been too harsh. I hope you can understand that my words are borne only from concern for your well-being. How are you feeling?”

Like you had just been hit over the head with a large wooden pole, but the last thing you wanted to do was worry Zhongli more. “A lot better than two nights ago,” you smiled, hoping  to ease his concern, but it came out a little more like a grimace.

“I see. You had quite a fever last night, so I requested a home visit from Bubu Pharmacy. It looks like they’re finally here. Please wait a moment.” It seemed as though Zhongli was back to his usual self, sweeping out of the room in all his regal valor. You heard him open the front door and greet whomever was there. A doctor? You grimaced at the thought of some strange man touching your body. But for Zhongli’s peace of mind, you would endure. 

Finally, Zhongli returned. You looked around for the doctor— then down. A young girl, whose brow reached around Zhongli’s knees, wobbled in, holding a basket that seemed to weigh more than herself. Under her little hat was tucked a paper talisman; the kind you’d find plastered on the dead. 

“Hello. Qiqi is a zombie,” she said by way of introduction. “Nice to meet you.”

—-

You stared at her, then Zhongli, wondering why he had just let a literal child wander into his house. 

At the bewilderment on your face, Zhongli stepped in to explain. “Qiqi is from Bubu Pharmacy. She is indeed a zombie, though her story is perhaps one better told another time. Rest assured that she is more than qualified to treat any mortal illness. Qiqi, this is whom I was telling you about. I believe she might have a fever—” 

“This room is cold,” Qiqi murmured, siddling closer to your bedside. She dug around in her basket and produced a waterskin. “Good for Qiqi, not good for a fever. Please close the window and fill this with hot water.” 

“Of course,” Zhongli nodded, rushing to comply. After he left, Qiqi merely continued like she had not just ordered Zhongli around in his own house. The way she peered at you was so intent that it made you squirm, and each time she put her hand against your skin, it was so cold that you could barely resist, out of politeness, the urge to jump.

“How did you get sick.” Qiqi asked. For a moment, her voice was so monotone that you hadn’t realized it was a question. You scrambled to answer, cheeks flushing warm. 

“I was… climbing a tall mountain and got caught in the rain.” 

“Hmm,” she said, “not good. Bring an umbrella next time.”

“I will,” you promised quickly, watching as she produced a large wad of paper from her basket — how many things did she have in there? — and began scribbling, just as Zhongli returned with a filled waterskin and a glass of warm water. The warmth of the glass against your skin was heavenly, and you quietly sipped the drink while waiting for Qiqi to finish her writing. 

“Mr. Zhongli,” she said, tugging at his sleeve for his attention. Zhongli all but bent down to meet her at eye level. “Mr. Zhongli’s wife will be okay.”

It was all you could do to keep the water inside your mouth when you choked. 

“Hansi is my friend,” Zhongli corrected, gently.

Qiqi peered up at Zhongli, then at you — wrapped in what were clearly three layers of his clothing — then back at Zhongli. “Mr. Zhongli’s friend will be okay,” she amended, rifling so furiously through her papers that you were worried she would tear the pages. “She must rest for...three days. And eat wet things.” The girl squinted more closely at her notebook. “Hm. No. I meant, drink more fluids,” she amended, going right back to her scribbling. You peeked at it, but couldn’t understand a word she had written — was she drawing a flower? 

Finally, she ripped the page off with surprising gusto and handed it to Zhongli, who had to once again bend down to reach her little hands. “Here is a prescription for huang’lian medicine. For the fever.” The little girl said, thumbing through her pages. “I can also prescribe Windwheel Aster syrup. But Windwheel Asters can only be found in… Mondstadt... It can cost a lot.”

“How much?”

Qiqi went completely still as she thought about it. It was a little unnerving. At last, she reached a conclusion. “One million mora.” 

To your horror, Zhongli nodded. “That is acceptable,” he said. “Please give us three bottles.” You didn’t even know what to begin to say to that — you knew already that he was hopeless when it came to haggling, but three million mora was an unthinkable amount. And more ridiculously, spent on someone like you? Before you could protest, Qiqi shook her head. 

“No. I will not charge Mr. Zhongli so much. Three thousand mora will be fine.”

“Won’t you get into trouble with Dr. Baizhu, my dear Qiqi?” Zhongli asked.

“Hm. I don’t care what Baizhu says,” Qiqi frowned, “Mr. Zhongli has helped me many times.”

“Well then, I will accept your offer of generosity. On behalf of Wangsheng Funeral’s accountants, thank you, Qiqi.”

“I will also prescribe... gu’fen . It will help her wrist recover faster... Oh, no.” Qiqi sighed so heavily her little body shook. “Never mind. We are out of bones.”

“ Gu’fen - powdered bones?” Zhongli asked. “What kind do you need?” 

“Geovishap will work best, although hatchlings will also be okay.”

“Very well,” Zhongli said, heading for the door without a moment’s hesitation. “Please give me a few minutes.” 

“Two will be enough,” Qiqi called after him, barely lifting her gaze from her notebook. 

You heard the front door open and shut. “Did he—” you glanced at Qiqi, then out the window, where the unmistakable silhouette of Zhongli was striding off towards the mountains north of the harbor. You knew what Geovishaps were, Zhongli had told you of their story: descendants of the King of Dragons that had long been sealed beneath the earth by Rex Lapis. “Did Mr. Zhongli just leave to go hunt vishap bones? Is he safe?” 

“Yes. He is strong,” Qiqi stated matter-of-factly. “Mr. Zhongli could not fulfill his contract… for Cocomilk… So Mr. Zhongli helps when Qiqi gather herbs... in Jueyun Karst.”

Cocomilk? Zhongli had… fudged a contract? You wanted to ask her to elaborate, but another tidbit of information caught your attention. It was undeniable, then, that Zhongli could come and go safely within Jueyun Karst. You shuddered as you remembered how overwhelmingly powerful the Adepti had been. How could Zhongli willingly set foot in there, and how can he do so unharmed? A distant memory arose, something about him… karst crawlers… protection? 

Qiqi was tapping on your leg for attention, so you quickly shook yourself free of your ponderings. You could revisit them later. “Sorry. Yes, Qiqi?”

“I  asked,” Qiqi said, “do you need contraceptive medicine? I can prescribe...” 

“ What ?”

“Please do not be alarmed,” Qiqi said calmly, severely misunderstanding your almost-scream. “This is part of life. As a pharmacist of Bubu Pharmacy, I am able to prescribe—” 

“No,” you said quickly, very quickly, “No, we really are just friends.” The word tasted sweet on your tongue. Friend — Zhongli’s friend. 

“Hm, okay,” Qiqi responded, blinking upwards at you with clear magenta eyes, and though there was no inflection in her tone, you could almost hear the incredulity. “Where did you get these injuries?”

You debated lying, but she was looking up at you with such seriousness that you couldn’t find it in yourself to. “Mount Hulao,” you admit with a hint of remorse. “I went there with a friend… we both got badly hurt. It was a bad idea. I don’t remember much, other than that.”

“Baizhu was called to treat Miss Xiangling yesterday. She was your friend?” Qiqi thoughtfully waited for you to nod. “You were… also sealed in the amber? It can cause memory loss. Sweetflower tea will help... with the headaches.” 

You wanted to ask how she knew about the headaches, how she knew about the amber, but the look in her eyes was answer enough. For the adepti to harm such a small child— in the pits of your stomach, you felt such a hot surge of anger that you surprised yourself. Qiqi’s small hands rested on yours, her big, earnest eyes staring right into you. 

“Hmm,” she repeated, “not good. Bring Mr. Zhongli next time.” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “I will,” you promised once more, jokingly. “Though I’m not sure how I’ll fit all that muscle into my backpack—” You trailed off at the inquisitive look on Qiqi’s face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Just friends,” she commented shortly.

“We are just friends!” you cried, stopping yourself quickly as you heard the front door swing open. A few minutes, just as Zhongli had promised. And slung over his back was a sizable sack, bulging with what you knew were dozens of bones. 

“Two was enough,” Qiqi murmured as Zhongli placed the sack before her. There was no way the girl was lugging that back to the pharmacy , you thought, just as Qiqi carefully lifted it with one hand. By the Archons, what were they feeding the pharmacists at Bubu?

“I thought it would be best to err on the safe side,” Zhongli replied, “please do put any leftovers to good use at the pharmacy. And also,” he said, pulling out a vibrant strand of violetgrass from his coat, “this is for you, my dear Qiqi.” 

Qiqi’s expression did not waver, but you thought that she looked just a little pleased as Zhongli tucked the flowers into her hat. 

“Okay.” Qiqi said, handing Zhongli the last pieces of paper from her notebook. “Please come and collect your prescriptions tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, Qiqi,” Zhongli answered, helping to hold the door open as the girl wobbled her way back out as unsteadily as when she came. “Have a good evening.” When he returned to stand by your bedside, you carefully eyed him. There was a smear of dirt on his left sleeve, but otherwise, it looked like he had just returned from a walk at the harbor — not from battle.

“Are you hurt, Mr. Zhongli?” You asked. 

“Hmm?” He blinked, then absently said, “ah. The Geovishaps? Not at all. They are quite easy to combat, once you learn of their weaknesses.” You wondered how many he’d fought; how many things he had killed in his life, that fighting ferocious monsters was barely an ordeal of note for him.

More importantly, he had done it for you. Had been willing to pay three million Mora for your well-being. You found yourself blinking back tears once again; you would not let anyone see you cry.

“Thank you, Mr. Zhongli.” You said, and you hoped that he would understand all that you meant by it.

“Of course, Hansi. Though, before I forget, I do have a question,” he said, reaching into his coat and producing a chunk of Cor Lapis, “when I found you at Mount Hulao, you were gripping this like your life depended on it. Is this what you went there for? Why?”

Oh. The flush in your cheeks burned red hot, and you scrambled for a lie — any lie. Nothing came to mind. Finally, under his scrutinizing gaze, you withered and told him the foolish truth with slumped shoulders: “it was meant to be a gift for you, Mr. Zhongli. It’s probably… it’s probably nothing compared to the one from your friend.” You could barely lift your head to look him in the eye, and you were vaguely aware that you had begun to ramble. “But it’s the only one I could find. I ended up causing you more trouble in the end, I’m sorry.” 

“Goodness,” Zhongli said, his voice thick with emotion for the first time that you’d heard. You glanced at him in surprise, but his face betrayed nothing as always. 

Zhongli held the Cor Lapis up to the light, looking at it carefully. After a terribly long pause, his gaze fell back on you. “This is one of the clearest, most luminous pieces of Lapis I’ve seen in my life. Thank you for going to such lengths to get me this, Hansi.” 

Your relief at his lack of anger and your pride at his praise was nothing, absolutely nothing compared to the way your heart fluttered warmly at the bright smile on his face. 

“Though of course, I would have appreciated such a precious gift regardless.” Zhongli continued, walking to the door. “Now, I must ask that you rest for a little while, as per Qiqi’s orders. Will you be alright alone? Please call my name if you need anything at all—”

You were only half-listening. It wasn’t fair, how his smile could wrench the air right out of your lungs.

—-

A memory:

“There it is again, that infamous frown,” the young woman waved her hands, her billowing sleeves whipping about in the howling gales of Qingyun Peak. “Why do you never smile, Morax?” 

“What is there to smile about?” he asked truthfully, because he had long since stopped trying to decipher her odd mannerisms. Below them, underneath the clouds, the war raged on.

“What is there to—?” She exhaled in exaggerated exasperation, throwing her arms out to the wind. “The birds in the trees! The clouds in the sky! It didn’t rain today for the first time in weeks, so we made it all the way up here to watch the sunset! Do none of these things mean anything to you?”

“Yet when night falls, we will once again have to fight.” His fingers twitched around empty space, every moment he wasn’t holding his polearm — at her request — almost painful. He detested being in this form, but it was cold in the mountains, and his adepti form would do little to help him with temperature regulation. “We should return soon. I hear that Osial has been rallying his forces for another attack, and we were barely able to fend off the last one.”

She sighed, and he knew that meant he had disappointed her — though he did not know how. 

“Morax,” she breathed, barely audible over the wind. “What will it take to make you smile? Tell me, and I’ll do it. A contract. That’s the only kind of thing you understand, right?”

That, he did. “When the war is over,” he answered. She was leaning precariously over the edge of the cliff, and it brought about some strange, foreign feeling deep in his gut — something different to the wounds and scars he was used to. “And our people are safe from the threat of strife and war.” 

A brief pause. She showed no sign of getting down from where she was standing, and in fact, had gotten on her tiptoes. “You might fall,” he warned. 

“You promise? You promise that once the war is over, you’ll try to smile more?” 

“You have my word,” he swore. He did not understand her intentions even a little, but promises? Those he knew better than life itself. Something so trivial as a smile seemed scarcely worthy of a contract. But it seemed important to her, and so he would honor it. “You should step away from the edge. You might fall,” he repeated.

“Oh, but you’ll catch me, won’t you?” Her pale hair whipped about in the wind, framing a wide, bright grin. There was a twinkle in her eye that he, unfortunately, knew all too well.

“Guizhong, don’t—“ he said, rushing forward, but it was too late. She tipped backwards, disappearing into the clouds below, just as his arms closed around empty wind. Muttering a series of ancient curses he thanked the heavens that Ganyu wasn’t here to hear, he leapt after her. 

The transformation always hurt a little, though after meeting Guizhong (and her incomprehensible insistence that he stay in human form when in front of human children) he changed forms so often that he barely even noticed anymore. He relished the sting as lithic claws, scales and fangs tore their way out of his deplorably soft human flesh— and then, he was free to rip through the clouds and wind. Frightening and powerful, as he should be. 

As he had to be.

It was not hard to locate Guizhong, especially not with the way she’d gleefully screamed all the way down. He angled himself right under her, bracing for the impact, and she landed squarely on his back with an exhilarated squeak. 

“Wasn’t that fun, Morax?” She clambered up towards his head as they tore through the skies. He could feel each of her warm fingers gripping his horns tightly. “No? Still no smile?” 

“What?” He growled. “You could have died.”

“You wouldn’t have let that happen,” she waved it off, “though you did let me hit a few more trees than necessary on the way down, didn’t you?”

He didn’t dignify that with an answer. 

“Fine,” he could hear the pout in her voice. “When the war ends, I want to see a huuuuge smile from you, alright?”

“I already gave you my word.”

There was silence for a moment.

“Well, that is, if I’m there to see it,” she laughed lightly. “Not everyone is as big and strong and scary as you, Morax.”

There it was again, that feeling — a dull blade that pressed deep into his lungs, his stomach, his heart. Fear? No. The God of War and Contracts did not know fear. 

“Of course you will. We will both be there to see this to its end.” 

—-

At the end of the war, when he finally felt the searing power of the divine settle within him, Morax stood alone. 

Mountains of bodies, bones picked clean by birds and sinew laid to claim by beasts, surrounded him for as far as the eye could see. 

Guizhong was not among them, for she had been killed years and years ago.

He felt his lip curl into — something. It fell a little short of a smile.

—-

Outside of your room, Zhongli leaned his head against the cool wood of the doorframe, and steadied his breathing. Carefully, he placed back into his coat the Cor Lapis that you had gotten him; that you had almost died trying to get him.

How ironic, that even after exactly three thousand, seven hundred and twelve years, two months and eighteen days, he still found himself scrambling to protect someone who seemed to lack all sense of self preservation, and who surprised him to no end. 

Guizhong had not been strong enough to fend off those who sought to claim her life, but you could be — if only you’d show him what you were hiding in the drawers by your bed. He could feel its resonance, each time he entered your room — the Vision he had given you; a reminder of the strength that you could use, to fight back, to protect yourself. 

Guizhong had not been strong enough.

A breath in, a breath out. Zhongli closed his eyes.

He would not make the same mistake again. 

[tallstars-rewrite]

Chapter 42

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Jake was a bit nervous leaving Talltail curled in on himself in the Thunderpath tunnel. Talltail luckily didn’t appear significantly burned, but a sharp stone had left a jagged gash in his front leg that may have been singed with embers as well. Jake didn’t know how bad it was. He wasn’t experienced enough with this sort of thing to know, up until then the house cat hadn’t been used to injuries worse than a couple claw scratches. What was it that Talltail had mentioned being good for infection? To stop bleeding? Could Jake possibly apply a clan cat’s gift for healing remedies? Oh why hadn’t he paid closer attention when Talltail talked about his medicine cat friends magic plants?

Lets see, gold-something…? Merry gold was it? What did that look like again? Well, it had to be golden colored, surely. He scanned one side of the surrounding forest, then the other. Ok, there were no golden plants around. Jake had never even bothered learning all the names of plants, they all looked the same, they were just plants for star's sake, how was he meant to tell them apart? 

There were some yellow flowers that grew outside his home, but he didn’t really want the housefolk to see him right now. His paws felt suddenly heavy with a sharp flash of sadness as thoughts of Dusty and Cris flitted across his mind. He shook his head. Nope, not now, now wasn’t the time to wrestle with the heavy weight of that loss. In a small way, despite the predicament he was in with Talltail, he was relieved to have something he could do to take his mind off it. Something other than wandering alone in that far too empty house… It would never feel the same again without Dusty. 

Maybe that’s another sign that this is where I'm meant to be right now...Now if only I could find a more helpful sign to point me in the direction of merry-golds.

Feeling hopelessly lost and overwhelmed by the plants and trees that all looked identical and green and useless, there was no choice but to do what he always did when he didn’t know what path to take. Just follow his gut. ...Not that that had done him much good recently other than get him into trouble, and run straight into a bunch of very rude “ShadowClan” kits with an apparent blood-lust.

But that was just one time, what were the odds of it turning out that badly again? Jake was absolutely not about to let something as small as “having absolutely no idea where he was or what he was doing” stop him from helping a cat that he cared for. So, with that newfound surge of (possibly undeserved) confidence, Jake took a breath and closed his eyes and focused. Which direction felt right? 

...Right...? Yes, ‘right’ seems like a good direction. So, right he went.

 One of his front paws stung horribly where he’d trodden on an ember the night before. He never thought fire would be so painful. No wonder Talltail had feared it so much when Jake first showed him his fireplace. He chased the stinging away from his mind, now was not the time to start fretting over a little pain. He would not think about it, he would only think about golden flowers, and how everything would be ok as soon as he found them. 

A sharp scent hit the roof of his mouth and made his lips curl. It was familiar, though he couldn’t place his paw on what it was exactly. A looming sense of danger flooded through him from nose to tail tip, making his bright ginger fur bristle. He didn’t have time to search through his memory before his question was answered for him. A russet red muzzle poked its way out of the bushes. 

By the stars, you can’t be serious…

It was a fox. A familiar fox at that, like the one he’d pathetically swiped at before running for cover several days before. A fox investigating the remains of a forest fire for unsuspecting prey without cover. It blinked at him curiously with hungry amber-ish eyes. Jake didn’t know any better how to deal with a fox now then he did then. But he was also hyper aware of how close he still was to the tunnel, and how easy cat scent would be to track back. 

It was a stupid thing he was about to do, and he knew that, but louder then his instincts to run up the nearest tree was an overwhelming flare of anger at this predator. There was no way, after everything he’d been through, that something like this could ruin everything now. The fox took another step towards him, it’s eyes alight like a kitten eyeing a helpless baby bird. 

Jake puffed up all his orange fur and screeched at the fox as loud and as fiercely as he could. “Listen here you dung-breathed flea-brained rat-faced bastard, I have had a really bad last couple days and I am not letting you go anyway near that Thunderpath or anywhere near me! You think you're tough? I’m not scared of you! I dare you to come closer!” 

Jake lashed out a paw, yowling and spitting, and the fox looked taken aback at how this very much alone cat was not acting at all as it should. It seemed puzzled as to how it should go about hunting something that it wasn’t chasing. Jake lashed out again and caught it on the tip of the nose. The fox yelped and snapped at Jake, who barely jumped out of the way before raising both his unsheathed paws up, claws flashing in the early morning light. The fox wasn’t really so much taller than him. It snapped again and caught Jake on the shoulder. It tried to shake him and Jake twisted around in its jaws, hoping his skin wouldn’t tear, and bit it hard on the snout just below it’s eye and stuck his claws above its other eye, sinking them in as deep as he could manage. The fox, now facing the prospect of blinding itself, flung Jake to the side. The house cat saw stars as his head cracked against a tree and he landed with a thump in a pile of wet charred leaves, but he was back on his paws and hissing just as fast, driven solely by adrenaline which was thankfully staving off the worst of pain. His instincts warned him well enough to not show any sign that he was hurt. 

“Try it again! You don’t scare me!” he screamed.

 The fox took a step back, perhaps deciding at last that cat prey really wasn’t worth this much trouble. Letting out one last angry yowl, Jake lunged forward and the predator jumped back and loped away into the bushes to search out prey with duller claws. Jake slowly sat back on his haunches and licked the new wound in his shoulder. It was bleeding more than he thought and his head was spinning. He was dizzy and suddenly aware of how much he hurt now that the adrenaline was wearing off. He sat with his head pressed against his forepaws for a while, trying to convince himself to get up again. 

Flowers. Golden flowers. You need to find those flowers. If they aren’t here, maybe in the twoleg gardens? But what if I pick up the wrong ones? There are so many yellow flowers! I’m hopeless!

While crouched on the ground, he thought he heard the sound of a fox's yelp followed by a furious yowl somewhere off in the woods, but he was still dizzy and couldn’t even be sure whether or not he imagined it. If that fox decided to come back, he really would be in trouble. But there was a new scent that warned another animal was nearby again. This scent was distinctly not fox. Jake shot his head up and got to his paws, trying not to sway. What else was going to go wrong today?

It seemed to come from nowhere, a once again familiar and unpleasant muddy taste, similar to a dead rat's fur. The taste that clung to those ShadowClan brutes. He froze in his tracks and whipped around, his greatest fear was realized in the pair of fierce orange eyes narrowed at him from a raised gnarled root. He hadn’t even heard the cat approach, but there she was, hunched with one eye squinted. She was big and stormy gray with long messy fur that could certainly use a good grooming. Deep scars that warned of experience from many past battles were carved into her face and pelt, striking through the tufted murky fur. The way she hunched over and her long, faintly yellowed teeth that stuck out of her mouth at a funny angle made her seem old at first, but looking closer showed there was no out of place silver of age. No, she was much younger than he’d originally thought, but there was an aged look to her hard fire colored eyes that felt wise beyond her apparent years.

 Jake fought the urge to shrink away as she studied him closely. He stood frozen, his fur still standing on end as he tried to think what to do. Taking a peaceful approach hadn’t worked out so well last time he ran into these cats… Try to run? He wasn’t very fast even on a good day, and in his condition, he’d be caught easily. Could he threaten her like he had the fox? There is no way a cat like that is going to be threatened by me! But if she attacked him now, he would attack back if he had to. Nothing would stop him from getting back to Talltail, no matter how battle trained this clan cat was. 

But her fur didn’t bristle with aggression, in fact, she hardly moved at all. She looked like she was sunning herself, unconcerned and blinking calmly at him. When Jake thought he could not handle the tension a second longer, she finally spoke in a steady raspy voice.

“You look lost, kittypet. A puny chewed up wad of fur like you is pretty easy prey for a fox. Or so I would have thought. ‘Looked like you had some kind of death wish, picking a fight like that.” She grinned, showing her long front teeth more clearly. “It won’t be bothering us again by the way, but I suspect you have greater things to worry about.”

Jake eventually let out the breath he was holding. At this point he was more exhausted and exasperated than afraid. “Are you going to try and kill me too?” 

To his immense relief, the molly shook her head, a rumbling purr of laughter escaping her throat. “No, I couldn’t be bothered. But my clanmates may feel different. They are rather tense right now. You didn’t even notice the scent lines, did you?”

He hadn’t, but he’d been rather distracted.

 “I haven’t time for scent lines!” he argued. “And if you’re gonna be nice enough not to kill me, I just need some merry gold I think, and uh….cobweb, I don’t know what that plant looks like though...you wouldn’t happen to know, would you m’am? I’m in a big hurry and I promise I'll get out of your fur as soon as I can.”

“Cobweb isn’t a plant, it’s just spider's web.”

“Oh...literal spider web? I thought it was a weird plant name...Look, I just want to help my friend before anything else happens, you see--”

“Yes, I know. Don’t worry, he hasn’t moved from beneath the Thunderpath.”

Jake felt himself bristle again. How did she know where Talltail was? Who else knew? I shouldn't have left him alone!

“Relax kittypet," she purred, clearly sensing his immediate panic. "I have no war with your companion. Quite the opposite in fact. Running into me was quite good luck on your part.”

“I was just following my gut. I didn’t know where else to go. I know that sounds silly...”

She shrugged. “I do a similar thing sometimes. But when you're a medicine cat, you call it following the signs of StarClan. Mind you, that doesn’t mean it’s always a good idea. But sometimes it works out for the best. The name’s Ratfang by the way.”

“Ratfang? That doesn’t sound like a very nice name,” he said before he thought better of it.

Her thankfully amused purr rattled strangely in her throat. “I have little use for vanity.” Ratfang got up and stretched casually, her frighteningly long hooked claws sinking into the bark of the root she perched on. “Anyway, I have what you need. Trust me, you’ll make a mess of things if you try to do this on your own. Let's get going then, shall we?”

Jake was stunned. “Wait--you… you really want to help me? How did you know what I needed?”

Ratfang stared deeply into his eyes, suddenly looking very serious. “Why, I know everything, kittypet. My StarClan given powers show me clear visions of the future.”

Jake stared at her in wonder. “Wow...really? You can really see the future that clearly?”

Ratfang broke her composure and laughed. “Of course not!  I’m just messing with you. Imagine StarClan making anything clear. If only my job were that easy! I simply scented strange cats around our territory before sunrise and thought I would investigate. I tracked you to the tunnel earlier, saw you both looked a mess, and went to fetch what I figured you’d need. It’s part of the medicine cats code to help injured cats, even if they aren’t from my clan.”

Jake was a little embarrassed that he’d been so keen on protecting Talltail yet he hadn’t noticed some cat had already apparently found their hiding place. However, that also meant if the ShadowClan cat meant to hurt them, she could have easily done so already.

 “Well, I really do appreciate it.” He hastily dipped his head to her. “My name's Jake by the way, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Ratfang bent to pick up a large leaf stuffed with sharp smelling plants that had been folded neatly between her forepaws, then she leaped off the gnarled root and began back down the path from where Jake had come without pausing. Her response was muffled through the bundle she now carried. “Well Jake, I hope meeting you will be a pleasure as well. But we will have to see.”

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[yan-twst]

CYOA - Twisted Wonderland

aaand here it is, finally! Chapter one of my choose your own adventure fic for twst! This is the very first chapter; it’s a bit of a slow start, establishing the plot and all, you know? As was decided by the poll, the reader is in Diasomnia (however, I’m sure y’all can probably figure out a way to worm out of the dorm quickly and meet more characters). Anyways, without further ado, here’s the fic!

You sometimes wished that your dorm wasn’t so… Gloomy. Sure, Diasomnia had some cool things; the whole “Valley of Thorns Castle” aesthetic was cool, and the fact the hallways were lit with green torches always looked cool at night, not to mention the TVs and games in the common room, but… As you tried to study for the upcoming quiz, you quietly cursed the controlled climate. Yes, you knew that rain and storms were natural in the area; but didn’t the school control the dorm’s climate with fae magic?! It was way too difficult to concentrate on your potions notes when the rain outside felt like it was lulling you to sleep as it fell against your windows.

Your roommate was snoozing in his bed- either he’d already studied, or he’d given up on the quiz. Either way, you couldn’t deny that it was alluring to just forget the damn thing and go to bed. It wasn’t that late, but you’d been going to sleep at awful hours lately, and your body sorely demanded you get some sleep. And yet, glancing down at the recipe for the minor memory erasing draught you’d have to concoct tomorrow, you knew that if you went to sleep now, you’d be dealing with Crewel’s biting critique and a terrible grade tomorrow.

A snore from your roommate broke your concentration, and you glared at the sleeping boy. Usually you and him got along just fine, but in this moment, it felt like he was testing you, as he slept sweetly and your sleep deprived self stressed over a notebook. Hearing another snore, you decided to move to the common room- maybe there you’d concentrate a bit better, and also not be tempted by the siren’s call of your bed. Picking up your phone and your notebook, you left the room, closing the door softly so as to not disturb your roommate, and made your way down the eerie halls of the dorm.

“Vice dorm leader…?” immediately, you noticed that Lilia was in the common room. After that your nose registered a smell so odd it almost made you turn around and leave. It wasn’t a bad smell, just… Incredibly odd and off putting: and you quickly pinpointed the source of it to be some charred, blackened and bizarre dish that your vice dorm leader was holding. 

“Oh? Hello there.” he said with a chuckle. You wouldn’t call Lilia a close friend by any means, but you did know him well. As a vice dorm leader, he did his best to help out the Diasomnia students, and he was also fond of pulling small pranks here and there; you’d been a victim of his tricks and also gone to him for help a couple times in your two years of being at NRC. “It’s an odd hour to be hanging out… Or could it be the smell of my cooking that brought you here?”

“Your… cooking?” so that charred thing he was holding was… food? You’d been warned- mostly by your fellow second year Silver- that Lilia was not a good cook (in fact, Silver had made it seem like his food was somehow a health hazard), but you’d imagined the usual cooking oopsies. Too much salt, not enough seasoning, maybe burning some of the food; the usual mistakes people made when cooking. However, looking at the blackened and mysterious substance in the plate he held… You wondered if perhaps Silver had been right in making Lilia’s cooking sound like some sort of biohazard.

“Indeed, I’ve been cooking some cookies. I wanted to cheer Silver, since he’s been studying hard for a quiz. And there’s nothing quite like some cookies to snack on while studying, right?” said Lilia. Cookies…? You walked closer and squinted at the plate; so those were Lilia’s cookies…? You were pretty sure you could see eggshell shards on the otherwise charcoal black pieces of what you hoped was dough. Did he… Did he not see the problem with them?

“Oh, the potions quiz for tomorrow? Yeah, I’m sure he’s been studying… I doubt Crewel is going to go easy on us.” You said with a nervous laughter, trying to divert the topic from the so-called cookies. The last thing you wanted was for him to ask you to taste test or something. A bite of those cookies would probably take you out of commission for a good week or two, and while being sick to miss class tomorrow and avoid the quiz was tempting, you really weren’t sure if it was worth it to risk some crazy horrible food poisoning for that. 

“Fufu, you’re also working quite hard, I gather? Did you come to study here?” asked Lilia, pointing to your notebook. You nodded. 

“Mhm, my roommate was being a bit loud, so…” you shrugged with a smile. You weren’t gonna throw your roommate under the bus and tell Lilia he was snoring like a train and that drove you out of the room, you were at least kind enough to omit that particular piece of info. “Well, I’m probably just going to look over the notes a bit and then go to sleep. I can only study so much to make a potion without actually being at the lab, after all.”

“Ah, Silver did mention that Crewel was making you all make a draught from memory.” Lilia hummed. “Are you having trouble with this? I can always try to help, after delivering these delicious cookies to Silver.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly bother you with this, it’s ok, vice dorm leader!” you said, quickly shaking your head. You didn’t want to waste Lilia’s time; he was a third year, after all… If your work was hard as a second year, he was probably drowning in schoolwork and studying, right? Not to mention you kind of felt like you should show more respect to him: he was an ancient fae and you were pretty sure he was a war veteran despite being in high school. 

“Oh, please call me Lilia. We’ve known each other for too long for you to be using titles, (name). I still remember the day the magic mirror sorted you into Diasomnia, right after my dear Silver was sorted.” he said with a smile, his pointy fangs catching your eye. “You’re close friends with Silver, aren’t you? I’m quite grateful you spend time with him, he’s a good boy.”

“Oh, um, well… Then I’ll call you Lilia, if that’s really ok…” you said, a bit bashful. You didn’t miss how he talked about Silver; you knew that the 2nd year did constantly refer to Lilia as ‘old man’, but you’d brushed it off to perhaps him being close enough to Lilia to use that as a nickname, but… The way Lilia spoke, it almost sounded like a father being happy his son had found a friend. “Yes, me and Silver are close. We’re in the same class, I usually give him my notes when he falls asleep in the middle of lectures. He also helps me study, sometimes.”

“Oh, you do? I must thank you, then. It’s quite kind of you.” Lilia said with a smile. “Oh! How rude of me, I haven’t offered you a cookie, have I? They’re freshly baked, you should try them. It’s the same recipe I made for Silver when he was younger.”

“Er-!” you paled. Crap, this was what you’d been fearing. The stress of the request made you not even stop to think about the odd wording of ‘making cookies for Silver ever since he was younger’ or the implication Lilia had somehow raised Silver; your brain was blaring alarms telling you to NOT put those… Things anywhere close to your face. But at the same time, Lilia was smiling so happily as he picked one of the charred objects and stuck it out in your direction.

“Lilia. You shouldn’t be giving that to humans.” a deep voice made you freeze before you accepted the cookie with a reluctant hand. You quickly turned around to spot the dorm leader entering the common room, arms crossed as he stared at Lilia. “You’re going to kill them if you make them eat that.”

“Oh, come on Malleus, don’t say that! My cookies are delicious.” Lilia sighed, taking back his baked treat and taking a bite for himself. You internally cringed at the noise of what you now absolutely knew to be chunks of eggshell and god knows what else in the object. “Don’t you see you’ll give (name) a bad impression of my cooking if you say that?”

“... It’s my duty to protect my dorm members.” said Malleus, walking closer to you and warily eyeing Lilia’s cooking. You held back a sigh of relief- yup, he’d definitely saved you. If even Malleus Draconia was scared of Lilia’s hellish cookies, you probably would have keeled over and died if you’d put that in your mouth. “Besides, it’s late. Why were you baking?”

“I was making a treat for Silver, since he was studying. This little one just happened to walk in when the cookies were ready- they’re studying for the same quiz Silver is cramming for.” said Lilia, gesturing to you. “It seems Crewel is having his fun in stressing out the first years, fufu. What potion is he making you all make?”

“Oh, um, it’s… A minor memory loss draught. It’s got a lot of steps and ingredients, and it’s way too easy to mess up, so…” you said, a bit nervous. You felt… A little bit silly now, for stressing so much over it. Right now, you were surrounded by one of the strongest mages in the world- who was also the prince of the dark fae- and an ancient and wise fae who had probably fought in great wars and aided the Valley of Thorns royalty. To them, making a weak potion was probably as easy as blinking. 

“A memory loss draught… That does indeed have many steps to its preparation, if I’m not remembering wrong.” said Malleus. His words made you relax a little- you’d half been expecting some comment like a minor memory loss draught? That’s child’s play, why are you stressing out? or something. Your dorm leader was known to be a bit haughty at times. “You look exhausted. I assume you’ve been studying a lot?”

“Wait, I look tired…? Crap, is it showing in my face?” you said, cursing internally. You had a few friends in Pomefiore and you just knew they’d be fretting over you if your eyebags and exhaustion were so evident your dorm leader, who was not too good at picking up clues, could notice.

“I’m afraid so, my dear. You look like you’re ready to drop any second now- I know you’ve got a lot of work, but perhaps you’re pushing yourself too hard.” said Lilia. You grimaced; great, now you’d somehow managed to worry the two of them. It felt… Wrong to have two powerful and important beings even express concern over your wellbeing: you were just… Some puny human who got sorted into Diasomnia, you weren’t even particularly close to either of them. Hell, you’d only spoken to Malleus a couple of times before, for fuck’s sake.

“Hmm, Malleus, could it be that you still remember how to make that potion?” said Lilia, tilting his head. The taller fae nodded, making Lilia hum in understanding. “I see, I see. Well, (name), I’m sure you’d get an amazing grade if you were to study with Malleus. He’s quite good in potionmaking when he concentrates, I promise you. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt at all for him to get closer to his own dorm members now, would it?”

“That’s-!” you visibly stiffened, looking at Malleus. Sure, you weren’t as scared of him as some of the other students were, but…! You still couldn’t just treat him all willy-nilly like some random kid; he was one of the most powerful mages in the world and crown prince from the Valley of Thorns. The mere idea of dragging him off for a study session that benefitted only you made your gut twist. Although the idea was anxiety inducing, you couldn’t help but notice a spark of… Curiosity? In Malleus’ eyes, almost as if he was entertained by the idea of it all; still, you couldn’t just accept something like that.  “I couldn’t possibly-!”

“... or you could go study with Silver. I was going to go check up on him, so you could come with me.” said Lilia, perhaps sensing your panic. 

--- time to make a choice! vote in the poll linked below to choose how to advance in the story!

poll: https://www.strawpoll.me/20971117

[sourbat]

For that touch writing prompts meme, Melmord/Charles - 17, or Magnus/Melmord - 20?

"Holding the other’s chin up"-charles/melm

summary: the dead don't have time to rest or mourn. they do, eventually, find time for each other.

Rating: T for being a huge bummer

Melmord could still recall what he was doing when it happened. He had just finished washing his dishes, and was busy flinging his left hand that smarted from a nasty papercut turned raging hellfire after making contact with the suds, when the alarms went off and Facebone’s voice rang and alerted him of a fire. Then, another alarm telling everyone to hurry to the surface and be prepared to “Die for Dethklok,” before the power totaled, and Melmord was left alone in the dark. The earth above shook, and for some time Melmord spent his waking hours head tucked between his knees, wondering if he was doing to endure yet another death, this one slower and far more excruciating than the last.

Four days later, and after nearly going through all his rations, he was pulled from the rubble by none other than Charles himself.

“Y-you…”

Melmord took his hand and held on to it like an anchor.

“That’s all?” Charles inquired, pushing his lopsided, cracked glasses up his bruised nose. “No witty remark, Fjordslorn?”

Offdensen told him that “there wasn’t much time,” and they had to leave Mordland grounds before the boys up above “unlatch the dragon.” That was all. There were no remarks about what caused the power outage, the quakes and Mordhaus falling apart, nor comments regarding how utterly shaken and disposed Melmord felt being haplessly caught in the middle of it. Then again, it wasn’t like Melmord was itching to know why Offdensen had suddenly lost his color and suit, or how he earned that nasty gash. Frankly, he was just happy to be alive and out of the small hole he’d been trapped in for days.

Then, the aftermath. Melmord stepped out into the moonlight and saw the blood and piles upon piles of bodies. Shattered pieces of metal and concrete were scattered across the uneven land, and tall burn tress resembling skeletons stood silently in the night. Melmord smelled and gagged at the intense stench that hung thick in the air. A soured stew or rotting meat and dead leaves.

He needed to know after that.

“What happened?” he asked through his parched lips as Charles led them deep into the charred woods.

“I’ll explain later.”

This proved to be a lie.

He tried another: “Where are we going?”

“To find answers,” Charles replied, then turned far right before gesturing for him to follow.

“Where’s Dethklok?” Melmord asked once they were already several hundred feet into the air. They hovered over Mordhaus. The view was quite lovely, but the glow of the dragon’s eyes still haunted and made him visibly queasy.

“They’re staying behind,” Charles replied. “They’ll be safe here.”

“But I won’t?”

Charles removed his cracked glasses and tucked them into his jacket. “We have business to conduct.”

That was months ago.

Several months of being mostly in the dark, still trapped, just under a new concrete and slabs that silently, tenderly suffocated Melmord with each passing day. It wasn’t like they didn’t have time to discuss, either. In between the gunfire, traveling through sewers, through sleet and snow, there was plenty of time to stop and talk. But where discussions of the unfolding events should have occurred, instead were long nights spent in absolute silence. Lonely nights where Melmord would see Offdensen staring at the moon, the stars, looking strangely lost in thought, or deep in contemplation. Naturally, Melmord wanted to inquire about the silence. He refrained, partly because he was used to the man constantly giving him the cold shoulder and suspected any attempt would result in the same. Another side savored the sight. It was rare to see Charles’ cornered, morose or locked in a state of misery.

So they continued their endless search, spending their days traveling by tank, jeep or boat to the next piece of some unknown puzzle Offdensen refused to share, and their nights separated, with him sitting on top of some crate, roof or standing in a corner, body hunched and mind elsewhere.

And, for a while, Melmord was perfectly fine with that.

Until, one cold night, he wasn’t.

He was still trapped under the heavy load, still holding the icy white hand that lead him deeper into the strange unknown, the same hand that pushed him onto the alter before having him branded, when Melmord learned the reason behind Offdenson's odd behavior. The army radio he’d stolen after their most recent stint cracked the news of the tragic events that took place six months prior.

Through the heavy static Melmord heard the news of the attack by the Revengencers, of the damage they caused, and Dethklok’s decision to renovate and create space by lifting Mordhaus into the skies.

He learned that Charles had been brutally beaten the death, and died protecting Dethklok.

Charles died.

He died, and like Melmord, came back to live a life away from everything that he knew. A sad, empty life that currently held no meaning.

“Where are we going?” the words played out in his mind, teasing Melmord at first, but revealing a sad truth when, after several months of traveling across the globe for bits of rocks and names and stories, realized that Charles was likely just as trapped and blindly feeling his way through for an escape. Charles was secretive, and Melmord knew better than to expect to be given answers Charles didn’t consider him worthy of, but he did expect something. Anything.

But Charles was quiet. Reserved. Cold.

In mourning.

Shaken by the news, Melmord dropped the radio. It held, but the connection fizzled into a crash of white noise and static, and Melmord hurried to turn it off before checking to see if Charles noticed. Thankfully, the man was still resting, but for the rest of Melmord’s watch, he remained overly vigilant, hardly moving from his spot in their camouflaged sniper’s nest, and when the time for him to wake Charles and trade positions arrived, decided against it and give the man a few minutes more. Melmord held the rifle Charles taught him to use close to his chest, staring out in the far-off distance for any possible hit man, and watched the sun slowly begin to rise.

…

Charles awoke with the sun glistening past the roof, stinging his face with humid, hot rays. Odd. Charles slid up the walls and rubbed his tired eyes. Several birds chirped around them, and the wet head amassing around them suggested he had overslept by at least four hours. He had slept through his watch, exposing their limited defenses against the unknown enemy.

A carefully planned routine, suddenly ruined.

“Hey, Offdensen.”

Charles shifted to Melmord sitting on the other side of the sniper’s nest, head resting against the rifle.

Of course. The real reason behind his extended slumber.

“What time is it?”

“Hey. Listen,” Melmord said. He yawned, then rubbed his cheeks with his hands. “I just heard on the radio–”

“Radio?” Charles looked around the nest. Sure enough, a small army radio lay beside Melmord’s blanket. That wasn’t all he saw. In a flash, Charles noticed the location of the sun, and approximated the hour, and when he was ready to snap at Melmord for falling asleep on the job, found the two contradicting pieces of evidence hanging all over the man’s eyes. Prominent veins around the iris, and dark bags forming underneath. “Did you, ah, stay awake all night?”

“Yeah?”

He raised a brow. “Why?”

“You gonna let me finish a sentence?” Melmord snickered which, with his eyes to irritated, could easily be misconstrued. After another exaggerated yawn, his head sank, and his long, dark hair began to fall over his shoulder in heavy, tangled loads. “I learned you died six months ago.”

Oh.

Charles swallowed. “Ah.”

Just hearing the news brought a crushing weight upon his chest. It was a subject Charles meant to discuss with Melmord, months ago, while the wounds were still fresh. Each time, Charles found his thoughts coming undone from the memory and phantom pain resurging with a terrible vengeance. For weeks he wondered if Melmord endured the same fate, relived those last few painful second before going black.

“How long were you gone?”

They sat together, waiting on a call to inform them of their next destination. Another clue that might lead them one step closer to finding out the answer behind his rebirth, behind the obsession behind Dethklok, and the power that helped fuel the Revengencer’s fire. Maybe this time he would earn another sliver of information. The odds were stacked against them. Aside from the name "Falcon Back," there still wasn’t much else to go on…

All there was were the few questions he could answer, and perhaps through those few similarities, could gain some solace in knowing he wasn’t entirely alone in solving this impossible puzzle.

Charles waited before giving a response. Just trying to gauge an estimate of his death proved to be quite unsavory to his bearing. He shut his eyes against the memory. “Long enough to feel myself leave my body,” he answered stiffly. “To know I’ve been gone and to know this isn’t natural.”

For once, Charles worried if his worlds were too cruel for Melmord. He wanted to glance upwards, at the light and Fjordslorn’s carefree expression and be told that he would acclimate, and that everything would return to its normal, working order.

Charles’s stare rested on the tips of his stained combat boots. “Fjordslorn?”

Melmord’s head nudged his. “Hmm?”

“Does it ever go away?” he asked, throat going dry. “Feeling so…”

Desolate? Alone? Frigid?

A hand lifted him by the chin. It was so warm to the touch. A frightening contrast to cold front that tormented him within.

“Nah,” Melmord answered, shaking his wet, heavy head. “Whatever it is…it’s never going to be the same again.” He exhaled, then to Charles surprise, exposed a curious, albeit, hinged grin. “But it has to be like that. It can’t ever be the same again, otherwise, what’s the point?”

“Point?” Charles heard himself parrot.

“Yeah, man. If everything was the same, then what separates this life from the last? It’s a second chance at life, so there’s got to be a difference, one that reminds us what’s at stake.”

His hand slid up Charles’ jaw, heating him with a careful touch.

Charles frowned. Melmord was under the terrible assumption life had a point to begin with, or that coming back to life held some significant meaning. It didn’t. People lived until they didn’t. Melmord was an exception, but only because Charles wanted to let the men in the lab to further develop their sewing abilities. Charles could explain how Melmord came back to life. He could not explain how he himself did though, not with any relevant scientific backing, and that frightened him. No one put him back together. He was gone. Gone for hours, possibly longer. And while he was gone he saw…things. He heard voices of unknown men and saw the face of something demonic, vile and uncannily familiar. He doubted Melmord saw any of that. He knew Melmord experienced none of these things, yet brought him along in the hope that he might have, and the very small chance that there was a connection. A significance. A purpose.

A point.

“Charles.”

This time, it was Melmord’s hand sliding off his chin that brought Charles back to the realm of the living dead.

“Yes, Melmord?”

“How are you feeling?”

What could he possibly say? That he felt like he was suffocating under a thousand questions, and no matter how far he traveled, and the clues they amassed, he seemed no closer to finding out the source of this mystery surrounding him and Dethklok.

Charles brushed his face against Melmord’s. “Well rested, thank you.”

[votederpycausemufins]

hey, this is a hermit!tommy fic. let’s get him back in here... at some point. oh! this is also chapter 15!

@petrichormeraki and @helleborusangel

Blacklist check. Attempting Entry: TheseusMC. Assigned roles: Helscraft Member, NSMP Member. Banned roles: None. Allowing Entry.

Theseus was surprised to see how undamaged the spawn area was. Even the surrounding land didn’t look that bad. He figured it was because it wasn’t in Hels. That was fine. The fact that it seemed calmer here meant this would be easy.

From his inventory, Theseus grabbed his mask and axe. He pulled his handkerchief up over his nose and then put his mask on, letting a single brown eye stay visible. He then held the axe so it rested on his shoulder before walking. Nightmare never stayed in one place, so this Dream person would likely be the same. 

No matter, he would probably find him eventually, or the admin would get curious and come to him. Either way, he would find him. So Theseus started walking.

Blacklist check. Attempting Entry: EvilXisuma. Assigned roles: Helscraft Member, Hacker, Admin. Banned roles: None. Allowing Entry.

Xannes spawned in and looked around. The place was a little bit of a mess, but it wasn’t all that bad. It wasn’t like you were a step in the wrong direction away from being set on fire. Immediately he activated his present commands. The sky turned dark and started storming, lighting striking everywhere. Then he randomized a player and spawned in a mob, causing Xannes to get three messages sent to his helmet’s communicator.

JackManifold was blown up by creeper

<JackManifold> WHAT

<JackManifold> I WAS IN THE NETHER

Xannes chuckled before activating another command.

<CaptainPuffy> My stuff is suddenly just all gone

<CaptainPuffy> My inventory got wiped

And now how about a teleport or two?

Quackity fell from a high place

Ranboo suffocated in a block

He set up a few more commands and programmed it so they would play on loop while he went looking for the kids. He mostly ignored the messages coming in, instead focusing on trying to get the locations of the bots, but for whatever reason, something was stopping that. “Console? Who uses a console these days? They’re so… inefficient and clunky. Anyone who can get to it can use it. Hmm, though I suppose that would make things easier for me.”

The hels admin punched another command into his helmet and found the coordinates for the Console. He would teleport, but they often had tp protection or traps around them. Sometimes both. Plus Xannes had no clue what the nearby area would look like. So instead, he set his player-mode to creative and started heading off in that direction.

As he got closer to the location, Xannes looked at the ground below. It was covered with some sort of red… thing that seemed to be taking over the land. It honestly reminded him of the nylium war from a number of months ago. Obviously he couldn’t be sure how close it was to that, not having any experience with this particular problem. Plus, he wasn’t the admin, so he didn’t need to deal with it.

Xannes reached the coordinates and then paused. There was nothing here. Had he gotten them wrong? No, they were right. Even the y coordinate, so it wasn’t underground. But the console wasn’t here at all. It was just… missing. He ran the command again just to be absolutely sure that these were the coordinates. 

The command calculated the answer, and then gave him new coordinates. Great, it had given him the wrong place. Xannes rolled his eyes before really reading the new numbers. It wasn’t too terribly far from here, so Xannes adjusted and started towards the correct location. But then it wasn’t there either!

A third attempt of the command and a third set of coordinates. This time Xannes took the time to put himself into spectator mode to give himself the extra speed. But even then, there was nothing. “This doesn’t make any sense!” He turned back to creative mode, nearly trapping himself in some blocks. “It’s a console! You can’t just carry them around with you! Unless this is something helping with the protection. That could be in. Leading me off on a wild goose chase so I can’t find it and give up. Well, it won’t stop me that easily!”

He started off back towards spawn, flying over any of that red stuff covering the ground. It started out with him just needing to jump over or hover for a second to avoid it, but as Xannes continued, it just covered more and more until he couldn’t take it anymore and went to see what the source was.

After a bit of travel, it seemed like Xannes was almost there. He could barely see an entrance, but the stuff, it looked like plants, were half covering it. He pulled out a weapon to try and cut the plants, only to move back when he ended up taking damage. “Alright… what is this? I should be fine in this player-mode.” He tried again to get the same result. He then spawned in some lit TNT and watched as the plants exploded leaving charred remains. Xannes went through the now clear opening and started going down the staircase that had been behind it, when it started getting significantly darker. Turning back around, he watched as the plants repaired themselves, pulling back together until they looked undamaged.

Xannes stared at the reformed plants for a few minutes before racing down the stairs. This was really unnatural. It was even to the point where he was considering just baling and saying it was a lost cause. As he attempted to dodge any plants hanging from the walls and ceiling, he instead managed to hit a tripwire and suddenly parts of the walls were moving in and out. The admin growled and stood in place for a second, before just using the commands to get rid of the moving blocks and continue to descend the steps.

He had almost reached the bottom when Xannes realized he could hear people talking. And it didn’t sound distressed, more like a run of the mill conversation. That probably meant whoever it was had been down here for a long time, or didn’t realize they could get out.

Finally, the stairs opened up into a room that attacked his eyes with red. The plants were covering the place, vines all over the floor and hanging down from the ceiling. The walls and floors were also made of netherbrick, crimson wood and red carpets further saturating the place with red. Xannes pulled out his sword to use as a stick to push vines out of the way. It took a bit of hopping about, but finally he was able to see the source of the voices. 

There were a number of people surrounding a table. Using his helmet’s functions, he was able to get a better read on them. There was a demon, a cat hybrid, and two humans, one of them wearing some sort of mask. There seemed to possibly be other people, but none that he could get a good read on from all of the vines. Xannes moved a bit to get another look. Indeed there were more people, but one of them caught his attention most of all. It was Jrum.

Grumbot kept walking, getting closer to his- its charger. He- It was low on battery so he- it needed to plug back in. More of the infective plants were in the way, so a flint and steel was used to burn a path. Grumbot continued to light fires, ignoring the damage it took from walking through them. It was fine. The scorching could be cleaned if that was what was wanted. Perhaps it would not. Like the denting and the crack in its monitor.

Finally it arrived at the house. It ignored the dusty bed and instead stood next to the charger, staying in place as its battery filled. Now that it was charging, it could work. Weather was set to clear, unnatural mob spawning was turned off, teleporting was disabled, and more was done after that. It attempted to track the source of the issues, but only managed to find it was due to a hacker. That much was obvious from the start.

More programs started running before Grumbot realized what today was. Perhaps that was the source of the issues. A report was sent to the admin, giving him more details. An order came back and the robot continued to assess the issue, told to continue until he arrived. 

It took time for the admin to appear, but he did indeed. Except he was dressed slightly differently. And there was an absence of admin powers for the world. There were indeed admin powers present on this person, but it was not the correct source.

The person stood staring, axe held in their hands. It was a material the robot was unfamiliar with. There was no such item listed in this world. Then they spoke. “You’re a robot.”

“Correct.” Grumbot answered in a fully monotone voice, confirming the sentence.

“How long have you been like that?”

“Since my creation.”

The person sighed. “Alright, well this should still work.” They moved and grabbed the robot by the antenna, but it didn’t want to be moved and pulled out a netherite sword, stabbing the person with it. “Fuck! It would be better if you didn’t fight back.”

“I am not to be removed from this place.”

“And why’s that?” The person asked, rolling their eyes.

“I have been ordered to stay here and wait for the admin.”

There was silence before the person spoke again. “But the admin is Dream.”

“Correct.”

“Aren’t you Dream?”

“Incorrect.”

“Then where is he?”

Tommy cursed as he nearly flew into yet another bee. Sure, walking would mean he didn’t suddenly launch himself face first into one of the fuzzy mobs, but it would also take forever to get back, and he needed to be in the shopping district yesterday. He would have loved to just send a message and get an emergency teleport, but when all his things had been taken in the first place, his comm had been included.

When he finally reached the end of the tunnel to the upside down, Tommy took just a second to breathe before using another rocket to fly to the shopping district portal. Fortunately nothing dangerous was around, so he was able to take a second break at the foot of the portal before stepping through. Being able to see a regular overworld was great, especially since it was home, but there was one last thing he needed to do. Tommy took a deep breath, and then screamed at the top of his lungs.

The moment Tommy started yelling, he started counting the seconds. He was able to keep screaming for about twelve seconds before he needed to breathe, then seven seconds after that, he was tackled to the ground by Grian.

“TOMMY WHAT’S WRONG?!”

“Ow! Not right in my fucking ear, bitch!” Tommy shoved Grian off of him. “And I needed to do something to get your fucking attention.”

“Why didn’t you just-”

“Message you? Can’t. Comm got stolen. Speaking of which, I didn’t come back here with you!”

“What? But you were here with us until a few minutes ago.”

“Wasn’t me. I’ve been stuck with your hels!version. Meanwhile mine’s been the one here!”

“Oh no! Tommy I’m so sorry we didn’t realize!”

“Don’t worry G, ‘s fine. Bitch got his Phil to trap me in prison for a bit, but I’m out now. Now where the fuck is he?”

Grian pulled out his comm. “Shoot, he left just before EX did.”

“And those are connected… why?”

“My best guess is he went to your old server like EX. He’s after the bots.”

“Why aren’t you in there instead?”

Grian’s feathers ruffled. “Because I can’t get in there. We’ve tested everyone at this point. We’re all blacklisted from the place. Even when I use my Watcher powers which shouldn’t be possible!”

“Wait, everyone?”

“Yes! Phil, Techno and Tubbo couldn’t get in,” Grian quickly gestured to them, then himself. “I couldn’t, Mumbo definitely couldn’t. Same with Xisuma, Cub and Scar, Joe, heck, even Jellie couldn’t get in! It seemed EX was able to, and so was your duplicate, but that’s it.”

“Well, I just got here, what if I went?”

“No! I may have been having this conversation without you before, but I do not want you going there if you don’t have to.”

“If I can go as backup, I should.” Tommy crossed his arms.

“Tommy, I don’t really think that’s a good idea.” Tubbo spoke up. “I mean, I know you want to help and all, but that other guy seems to be dealing with it, and the server’s really changed since you were there last.”

“It’s still better than nothing! I know mostly what’s going on while Xannes has no fucking clue. And if you don’t, I can just call Mumza.”

Phil shook his head. “Do you even know how to do that?”

“Pretty much. I’m guessing it’s mostly the same. I’m just hoping she’s not a piece of shit like you were.”

“She’s not! Wait hey!”

“I meant the other you! But you weren’t the best guy yourself.”

“Tommy please don’t go.” Grian pleaded, taking Tommy’s hand. “You said you never wanted to go back.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I assumed one day you’d be able to get over there and grab Tubbo and maybe Ranboo. Possibly Big Q as well. Now you can’t get in and I might be able to. Why are you so against me going in there?!”

“BECAUSE I’M SICK OF LOSING MY FAMILY!” Grian shouted, unintentionally enhancing his voice with Watcher magic. I spent around eighteen years of my life making and losing family at every turn. The people I grew up with, the family I built, the people in Evo. I finally got to Hermitcraft and I started making a new family even though I know I’m going to lose it again! I haven’t been here that long! And then you showed up, and I was able to fix the bots, and I found NPG again, and then I found the family I lost. And now it’s falling apart again. I just want to hold on as long as I can before I lose even more.”

Tommy didn’t say anything as Grian shouted, slowly dissolving into tears. He just let his older brother shout at him and hug his and anything else he wanted to do. He could feel his shirt getting soaked from tears, but he didn’t care. He just softly spoke back. “Grian, I spent my life living in your shadow. I acted enough like you that Dad, Wil and Techno weren’t a fan of it. I got to the SMP and tried making friends, but they sort of fell apart, even a little bit with Tubbo and the whole exile thing. Then I got to hang with you and your kids and became part of the family before we even knew I was that from the start. Life fucking sucks sometimes, but I push through it cause that’s all I’ve really been able to do. And man, I don’t want to lose them either. Sure I’m their uncle, but they’re kinda also like my siblings. I want to go help them.”

Grian still looked conflicted, but then he sighed. “Okay… but you’re going to take this.” And suddenly a sort of communicator Tommy hadn’t seen appeared in Grian’s hand. “This was… a friend of mine’s. It was made to work in just about any situation. You’re going to send me messages any chance you get. If I don’t have one within five minutes, I’m going to use the doomsday option.”

“I’m sorry, the what?!”

“You said you were stuck in prison and hanging out with my double. You’re not there now, so I assume he isn’t either.” Tommy didn’t say anything, he just rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “That’s what I thought. Look, if I can’t get in there with Watcher powers alone, I may have to get his help. If he were still trapped, I wouldn’t consider it on the risk that he would stay freed, but if he’s out, not like that’s a risk anymore.”

“He sort of seems like the person who would completely destroy the SMP.”

“And that’s why it’s called the doomsday option.”

Tommy just nodded and took the comm. “Alright then, let’s see if I can get in.”

Grian used his watcher powers again, and sent him to the SMP. He wasn’t stopped by any blacklist, and he arrived at the other side, still with all his gear.

Blacklist check. Attempting Entry: Tommyinnit. Assigned roles: Family Member, Uncle, Hermitcraft Member, DSMP Member Banned roles: Family Member, Uncle, Hermitcraft Member. 

Exceptions check. Exceptions List found: Second_List_Exceptions. Name found. Allowing Entry.

[isayoldbean]

okay there seems to be a degree of interest so here you go. the intro to an au i was gonna write before my anxiety meds murdered my writer brain. uhh for reference this fic is set in 2017, with their ages being the same as they would be in canon at that point (so like... 28ish i think?)

---

Setsuna had several regrets right now.

She wasn't sure what they were exactly, since she couldn't remember anything after the fifth drink, but she knew that whatever she had done, she had regretted it.

Actually scratch that, that fifth drink was definitely on the regret list. Drinks one through four weren't looking like such a great idea, either.

Everything hurt.

Am I... am I dead...?

No, that couldn't be it. She didn't have any first-hand experience with death, but she was reasonably sure it wouldn't involve quite this much pain. Even for somebody like her.

A bus, maybe. I got hit by a bus.

Possibly. But in that case she'd most likely be in the hospital. She didn't hear anything to make her think that was the case, though. Might as well just open her eyes and take a look.

Except as soon as she dragged her eyes open white hot glare like the sun radiating off the concrete in August, burning through her eyes and leaving charred husks behind in their sockets--okay, so no doing that for a while.

At least she got enough of a glimpse of her bedroom before she was overwhelemed to know that she made it home last night and had not, in fact, been hit by a bus. So there was that.

Ugh, I want to die, she thought, sinking further into her pillow. Work is going to be hell today.

Oh. Right. Work.

She should probably call in and let them know she'd be late today.

Except her body was just so heavy. It was almost like there was some external weight pressing down on her from above, pinning her in place. She couldn't move so far as an inch without something groaning in protest. Perhaps that was to be expected, since until a few moments ago it had seemed perfectly reasonable that she might have spent part of her evening wedged underneath 30 tons of public transport. And besides, she could barely remember her name right now, let alone what she might have done with her phone last night.

She sagged back into bed and the weight pressed down on her even more, filling her with warmth and soothing her malaise, even if just the slightest bit.

Surely it couldn't hurt to rest for just a few more minutes...

---

She had no idea how long she'd been out, but at least her head seemed a little clearer.

The pain was still excruciating, of course, but it had mercifully lowered itself to the point that she could tolerate it now. The strange pressure still persisted, but she supposed that would pass with a little more time, too.

Maybe now she would have the clarity to piece together what had happened last night.

She knew everything had started when Tsukuyomi showed up. Most things did, after all.

Honestly, she still didn't even know how Tsukuyomi had known they would be there. She certainly hadn't told her about it, and knowing how the others felt about her, she was sure none of them had either. And yet somehow the nuisance had figured it out, and suddenly there she was, gluing herself to Setsuna's side and not taking any hints that she was making her feel uncomfortable as hell. And that's when Setsuna had started drinking in earnest. The last thing she remembered was finally managing to peel herself away from Tsukuyomi's iron grip and letting everybody know she was going out to get some fresh air.

Not that there was really such a thing as fresh air on the Vegas Strip. But hey, she was drunk at the time.

Was she ever.

And now she was paying for it.

God, are there really people who do this all the time? For fun?

She didn't know if that was impressive or just sad.

Well, either way, that wasn't really the issue.  The issue was that she had a killer hangover, and several hours of her life were apparently completely missing, and probably since she was at her house in her own bed she couldn't have done anything too terrible, but that didn't really eliminate all that much in the grand scheme of things and what if she got some really embarrassing tattoos or wound up appearing naked in some video that would go viral and her bare ass was going to be plastered all over the six o'clock news and oh god--

--Stop it. Take a deep breath, just like your therapist taught you. Okay. Now think it through logically. Tatsumiya probably knew exactly what she had gotten up to last night--she was weirdly prescient when it came to Setsuna's behavior, somehow. She was probably sleeping in the next room, so all she had to do was get up and ask her. And if for some reason they hadn't gone home together, her number was on speed dial. That would more than likely settle it. If not, then she could panic again--but Tatsumiya would be there to walk her through it, so she wouldn't risk spiralling quite so much.

But before any of that--none of this would be an issue if she didn't get a glass of water right now, because if she didn't then Tatsumiya would be discovering her dessicated remains in about five minutes.

She attempted to roll out of bed, but that strange heavy feeling held her in place yet again. She frowned. Seriously, what?

Maybe if she sat up, instead...

It was decidedly difficult, but she was at least making headway, even if her muscles were groaning in protest every step of the way.

Until it registered that the protesting she heard was most definitely not coming from her muscles. In fact, it wasn't coming from her at all.

--Oh.

Oh shit...!

Please don't be what I think it is--

With agonizing slowness, she traced a path down from the ceiling, to the wall, to the end of the bed, to the covers bunched at her waist, to--

--there, draped over the left side of her body, so obvious in its existence that she could only stare in disbelief that she had only just noticed it, was the smooth expanse of a girl's back.

She suddenly felt unbearably cold. Then unbearably hot. All of the blood in her body pulsed through her system at once--one single time, then twice, then a third time. Then it didn't seem to move at all for such a long period of time that Setsuna had decided that she was probably dead. Yes, her soul had leapt from her body, and she simply hadn't yet had time to process that she had died. A strange way to go and not at all how she'd pictured it happening, but if she was honest with herself, death from mortification was probably exactly the sort of thing she should have expected all along.

Only as soon as she had accepted that her life had ended, adrenaline reared its ugly head and sent her blood fizzing back through her body with such force that it practically knocked her out of bed.

That was when the ugly little gremlin known as panic sunk its teeth into her hindbrain.

Fight or flight engaged itself.

Flight won.

"SHIT SHIT SHIT--" She kicked and thrashed her way towards the edge of the bed, not really sure what she was doing or where she was trying to go, other than as far away from the naked woman in her bed as possible. Depth perception was a thing of the past, as was the concept of distance, and soon Setsuna felt herself lurch and become weightless as she slipped over the side of the bed and went sprawling into a heap on the floor.

The shock of the impact jarred a little bit of awareness back into her, and she stared back up at where she had just been with wide, disbelieving eyes.

There was a naked girl up there. In her bed.

All of the beds in the city of Las Vegas, and a naked girl wound up in hers.

This... wasn't something that should happen to somebody like her. No, this was firmly in the category of Things That Happen To Other People, And Probably Only Ever In Movies. Movies she'd never watched, at that. What was she supposed to do in this kind of situation, anyway?! She didn't know the protocol.

Oh man I'm so fucked.

Rustling sheets and incoherent mumbling refocused her attention away from her burgeoning anxiety attack and back to the reality that she was currently sharing space with another person. That she was about to have to interact with. While hungover and scared out of her mind.

We've been over this already. Stop. Take a deep breath.

If the shuffling noise she heard was any indication, the girl was moving closer to the edge of the bed. Closer to coming face to face with her. The moment of truth.

Take a deep--

A head poked over the side of the bed and peered down at her with soft, warm brown eyes, bleary from sleep and confusion.

Setsuna forgot about the breathing thing.

"Um. Hi," the girl said, a hesitant, sheepish smile creeping over her face in spite of the circumstances.

Then Setsuna forgot about everything else, too.

She was... really pretty.

Wow, I am extremely fucked.