#resenting his burns but accepts them as his punishment

[shadow0-1]

Kisses - Back

[circethesinner]

inevitable ⟐ xavier thorpe

pairing: xavier thorpe x reader oneshot (second person pov - she/her pronouns used for reader - occasional use of Y/N)

warning(s) : mild language, best friends to lovers, mutual pining

word count: 6.4k

⭑•⊱✩masterlist✩⊰•⭑

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summary: you and xavier had been best friends since you were 7, and nothing could change that - that is until you start to develop a new power that makes you question everything you think (or rather, what everyone else thinks)

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Normies usually strayed away from adopting outcast kids. They just didn’t know how to appropriately handle their slightly more complex needs.

Unfortunately for your adopted mothers, the realisation that you, their child, possessed psychic abilities hit at around the 5-year mark when they walked into your nursery and discovered that all of your bears were floating around the room, performing beautiful and elaborate ariel tricks. At first, they jumped to the conclusion that they were being haunted. In some ways, they wished that were the case. Ghosts could be exorcised, but a child who could undo a childproof lock (or five) to get into the cabinet where the candy was kept within mere seconds wasn’t easily fixed with a call to the local priest.

So, as soon as they could, they would ship you off to outcast summer camps and school programs. It's not that they didn’t love you; they just didn’t know how to help you manoeuvre your powers. 

Naturally, you resented this for a lot of your childhood. You couldn’t understand why your adopted siblings got all the time with your moms while you were sent away. Fortunately, as you matured, you grew to understand it and accept that what they were doing was for your benefit as much as theirs. Your moms were doing this to help you learn more about your powers from others who shared them, not punish you for having them. 

Of course, understanding and accepting the decisions didn’t exactly make the feeling of abandonment go away, but it was enough to subdue and push it down for some therapist in 20 years to pull out and deal with.

There were some plus sides to being sent away so often, one of which being the best friend you had made on day one of the very first outcast summer camp you had been sent to when you were 7 years old.

You and Xavier Thorpe got along like a log cabin on fire, which is coincidentally what almost got the pair of you kicked out of that summer camp on your first week. 

Xavier was sent away by his father while he was on tour. Touring the world would be far too stressful for a child; at least, that was the excuse that was given whenever anyone questioned where Xavier was.

Both of you being sent to Nevermore Academy was inevitable. Under the promise of not burning it down, together, you had fixed up the old shed so Xavier could use it as an art studio. You had occupied one of the corners where the two of you had set up a desk where you could work on your writing.

Together, you spent most of your free time tucked away like that, talking about anything and everything as you individually let your artistic creativity fill your individual pages. You would only stop talking when you demanded silence so you could focus, which would last about 10 minutes before the two of you got distracted and started talking about something else.

You were about 6 minutes into one of these silent periods when Xavier slowly stepped back from his canvas and inched towards your corner. Engrossed in your work, you didn’t notice he was in front of you until he spoke up.

“You’ve got some paint on your nose,” He pointed out. You closed your laptop instinctively; you had never liked sharing your writing with anyone, not even Xavier. 

You looked up at him in confusion as you hadn’t touched any of the paint scattered around the studio that day. “Really?” You asked, crossing your eyes to try and look at your nose. “Are you sure? I don’t feel-” You were cut off by Xavier swiping his thumb over your nose and smearing some paint on it.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” He laughed, trying to step back as you made a grab for his arm. You just about caught his sleeve and used it as leverage to pull him down and wipe your nose clean with it.

“You are such an ass!” You groaned, trying to hide the laughter that threatened to bubble up. It was the third time that week he’d gotten you with that trick.

“Speaking of ass,” Xavier grabbed his own chair to sit opposite you at your desk.

“I have a great one?” You grinned, trying to use a tissue to wipe the remaining paint residue from your face. “Thank you, I know!” You froze when you could have sworn you had heard Xavier respond with a quiet ‘true’ but shook it off as your mind playing tricks as you hadn’t actually seen his lips move.

“That is not what I was going to say,” Xavier playfully rolled his eyes. “Speaking of ass, have you done Mr Cooper’s homework?”

“Are you suggesting Mr Cooper is an ass, or that he has a great ass? I mean, I’ve never looked myself, but I respect the-” You yelped out as your leg received a kick from under the desk. You pouted dramatically as he shook his head at you, but you cast your mind back to your chemistry class the day before. You hadn’t been paying much attention as it was the final class on a Friday, and you were just excited to sleep past 6am the following day. “Did he assign homework?”

“I’ll take that as a no; you haven’t done it,” Xavier grabbed his rucksack, which you had been using as a footrest. “Though I already knew that because I picked up your sheet when you left it on the desk.” He pulled the worksheet out and waved it in front of your face.

“This is such bullshit!” You groaned as you plucked it from his grip and scanned the questions. “He never assigns homework!”

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘Thank you, Xavier! You are such a good friend!’” Xavier teased, doing his best impression of you… His best was awful.

“A good friend would have just done the assignment for me,” You sighed dramatically, putting the sheet down on the desk and pushing it back towards him.

“You mean the way I do half of your other assignments for you?” He pointed out. You had mastered one another's handwriting years ago and often took turns in doing one another’s assignments depending on who was better at the subject or who could bribe the other better.

“Yeah, half of them!” You fired back. “That only makes you half of a good friend, an okay friend, if you will!” Your friendship was built on this sort of playful teasing. 

“Well, as an okay friend, do you want to work on this together after dinner?” He asked, checking the time on his phone. “Which started like 5 minutes ago.”

“Shit!” You exclaimed, shooting up from your chair and shoving your laptop in your bag. “Come on! Get your butt in gear, or all the good food will be gone!” You frantically urged, walking around the desk to tug at Xavier’s arm to get him up and going.

“I’m coming!” He laughed back, getting up intentionally slowly. “Just give me a minute or two to pack up all my stuff. Save me a tray!” With a distressed groan that echoed through the shed, you let go of his arm and walked off, mumbling something along the lines of ‘snooze, you lose’ as you went. Xavier laughed and checked the time again one last time before he stuffed his phone back in his pocket, knowing that dinner wouldn’t actually be ready for another hour and preparing for the hellfire that you would rain down on him when you realised he’d tricked you again.

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Studying sucked. That was something you had acknowledged a long time ago. But studying while you had a bad case of hiccups was so much worse. Especially when the hiccups caused your powers to go absolutely wild; with each hiccup, the pen you were holding flew out of your hand and launched itself to a new corner of the room.

At first, Xavier thought it was an elaborate plot to get him to do your work again as revenge for the dinner incident. However, when your pen launched out of your hand and stabbed the door, he realised you weren’t joking around.

With a grunt of frustration, you got up to retrieve the pen once again, mumbling a ‘sorry’ to the door as you pulled it out from the wood.

“What did that poor door ever do to you to deserve such a vicious stabbing?” Xavier joked, trying to lighten up your tense mood.

“Don’t tell me you forgot about the time it smacked me on the ass on the way out!” You gave the door an accusatory glare. “Which it still hasn’t apologised for.”

“How could I forget?” He groaned, recalling the situation in great detail. He’d talked himself into a corner when he’d tried to defend the door by saying that your ass just got in the way and then couldn’t figure out if it would be more offensive to say that your butt was big or backtrack and say that it wasn’t big at all. In the end, he realised he was losing that conversation no matter what he said and just accepted the consequences. “You know, that is the second conversation today that has ended up on your ass.”

You couldn’t contain the laughter at the phrasing, which caused your hiccups to match the energy, and the pen flew from your hand and into the ceiling.

“Oooookay! I think that’s enough pen time for you, or I’m going to be accused of practising archery in my room again,” Xavier laughed nervously as you, still in fits of giggles, stumbled back over to the spare bed in his room that you had basically taken over as your own. It had your favourite blanket draped over it and some of your pillows from home. 

“Your hiccups are just like you,” Xavier pointed out, jumping up to get the pen out of the ceiling before it caused any structural damage. He was tall, so it didn’t take much to reach it.

“Oh yeah?” You asked, your laughter finally starting to calm down. “How's that?”

“Violent and cute,” He shook his head with a smile, but you just froze, unsure if you had heard him right.

“What was that?” You asked.

“Violent,” He repeated, dropping the pen onto his desk.

“No, no,” You shook your head, questioning your own sanity a little. He didn’t have that teasing tone in his voice he usually did. “The second thing.”

“I only said one thing?” He looked at you in confusion. “Are you feeling okay?” As if on queue, you hiccuped again, and a pillow went flying across the room, narrowly avoiding hitting him in the face.

“Never better,” You mumbled, laying back on the bed. You really could have sworn you had heard him say that the hiccups and you, by extension, were cute. It was quieter than he usually spoke, but you could have sworn it in his voice. 

Even though you joked around a lot, he wouldn’t lie to you about saying or not saying something if you asked. So maybe it had just been in your head? It was a weird thing for your head to make up.

“Are you staying here again tonight?” Xavier asked, snapping you out of your spiralling thoughts. “We can watch a movie and finish off those cookies from last night?”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” You smiled sheepishly, glancing over at the trash can by his desk to see the empty packet still there, evidence of your crime. “But I ate the rest of those cookies while you were asleep last night.” 

“I know. I woke up and saw you at the end of my bed, hunched over like a little gremlin, shoving them into your mouth three at a time. I thought you were a sleep paralysis demon for a good few seconds. I wanted to record it, but you were like a wild animal, and I didn’t want to startle you by grabbing my phone,” A second pillow flew across the room and hit him in the face that time. Unlike the last, this one was intentionally flung at him. Laughing, he paid no mind to it and reached over the side of his bed and pulled something out from underneath. “I bought two packs and hid one from you- wait, are these open?”

“I may or may not have found those ones while you were in the shower,” You got up and flopped down onto his bed next to him, grabbing both of your pillows to lean on. “I didn’t eat them all, though! I won’t lie; I would have, but you came back before I could.” Rolling his eyes, Xavier reached under his pillow and pulled something else out.

“I bought the third pack,” He admitted, placing them down on the bed in between the two of you. “Hey, your hiccups are gone!” You were about to cheer when another hiccup bubbled up out of nowhere, sending the open pack of cookies flying everywhere.

“Well….” You looked around at the crumbs that scattered the once relatively clean room. “Shit.”

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You woke up groggily to your name being called out in a hushed whisper. When you opened your eyes, you realised it was still nighttime. Yawning, you pushed off the sheets you had been sleeping under and made your way over to Xavier’s bed.

It was a routine you knew all too well by that point. Part of you questioned why you even bothered sleeping in the spare bed in the first place. Almost every time you would sleep over in his room, you would fall asleep in the spare bed only to be woken up by Xavier after a couple of hours, usually because he’d had a nightmare. He didn’t ever want to talk about it, and you didn’t ask. He’d tell you about them when they were really bad, but he preferred to sketch them out.

Xavier was holding the covers up, and you crawled under them, bringing your arms to your chest using his arm as a pillow. He brought the covers down again over you both, and you closed your tired eyes once again.

That was how you usually slept in the same bed. You didn’t usually ‘cuddle’ when you slept like this. Your arms and legs always kept to themselves, with the exclusion of Xavier’s left arm, which you usually used as a pillow. However, this time, Xavier brought his spare arm over you and held you close to him. Instinctively, you moved one of your arms to wrap around him in return. It was a wordless sign to say that you were okay with this. You could have sworn you had heard a hum of contentment from him, but you passed it off as the start of a snore. Xavier always fell asleep fast, and his light snoring was comforting.

You chalked the change in behaviour up to a particularly bad dream and decided that you wouldn’t bring it up in the morning. Instead, you would just enjoy the added warmth for the night.

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“Enid, my sweet, your tag is sticking out,” You jogged ahead to catch up with Enid’s impossibly fast walking. “C’mere!” Enid stopped and took a step back so you could tuck the tag of her sweater back in.

“Thank you!” She cheered and held her arm out. “Walk and talk?” With a laugh, you linked arms with Enid and started walking together. “I’m so glad you’re here because I was supposed to be shopping with Yoko, but then Divina showed up, and I was totally third wheeling, so I left them to it.”

“Are they actually dating yet, or are they both too scared to make the first move?” You asked, causing Enid to laugh. 

“They’re still dodging around the question,” She sighed playfully. “Reminds me of you and Xavier.”

“What?” You stopped, pulling Enid to a halt with you.

“I said they’re still dodging around the question,” She repeated.

“No, no,” You shook your head. “The other thing you said!” 

“That was all I said?” Enid looked ask confused as you felt inside. “Are you feeling okay?” Instead of pushing things and questioning them further, you took a deep breath and shook it off. Enid was a terrible liar. You had probably just mistaken the wind for words or something.

“I’m fine. Everything is fine,” You smiled and shrugged. Together, you continued to walk.

“Did you have a fight with Xavier or something?” Enid asked. Glancing at her from the corner of your eye, you shook your head with a frown, wondering how she’d come to that conclusion. “He was pouting at breakfast today, and you’re here without him.” Realisation dawned on you, and you laughed.

“He wasn’t pouting!- No, actually, that’s a lie. He was pouting a little bit, but only because he felt sorry for himself,” You explained. “I mistook him for my alarm clock this morning and tried to hit the snooze button, which in this case happened to be his mouth, and now his lip is a bit swollen. I’m here to get an apology gift and some numbing gel.” You reached into your pocket and pulled out the numbing gel you had just picked up from the pharmacy and a bar of chocolate. You had technically bought 3 bars of chocolate, but you had already given in and eaten 2 of them, and the last one was on thin ice.

“How did he get into your room?” Enid asked. “If I remember correctly, which I know I do, your windows have enchanted locks on because he kept sneaking into your room last term.” 

You snorted as you remembered how many times Xavier’s tall figure had been caught trying to climb through your window. Or, more accurately, how many times he had gotten stuck trying to climb through your window, and you had to call for help to get him unstuck.

“I was in his room,” You explained with a shrug. “He’s got a spare bed, and I love Yoko, but goddamn, does the girl snore like a chainsaw. Plus, she wakes up at 6am every morning and starts playing her ‘meditation’ music. I usually stay with him on the weekends because it's the only decent sleep I get! I swear I’ve told you all of this before?” 

“The Yoko part you have definitely complained about to me on multiple occasions,” Enid confirmed. “But how am I only just learning that you have weekly sleepovers with your ‘best friend’.” She used her free hand to put air quotes around the last two words.

“Why are you saying it like that?” You asked. “He is my best friend? You know I love you, Wednesday, and Thing, but Xavier and I have been ride or die since we were seven. He earnt the best friend title way before I knew any of you.” 

“Just admit you both like one another,” Enid groaned, causing you to stop walking again, halting her.

“What are you on about?” You interrogated. “We like one another as friends.”

“I said nothing!” Enid protested, her face easily portraying the confusion she felt. You were about to protest again, but Enid spoke before she could. “No, Y/N, I literally said nothing! Whatever you think you heard, it wasn’t me! Maybe your mind is telling you what you want it to hear?”

“Absolutely not! I heard you! It was your voice!” Your phone started ringing before the conversation could progress any further. You didn’t have to check the contact before answering it. You had set a personalised ringtone for him. “Xavi, I’m on my way back now, I swear! I have the gel and a-” You stopped yourself before you mentioned the chocolate. Truthfully, you knew it would never even get back to Nevermore. “I have the gel!” You repeated.

“I will start this movie without you and then spoil all of it,” He threatened playfully. 

“Don’t you dare!” You gasped, but he’d already hung up. When you looked back up at Enid, expecting to continue the conversation you had been having, you recognised the look on her face as her signature ‘I’m telling everyone’ smile. “What?”

“Xavi?” She teased. “Really?” “Drop it, and I’ll split the chocolate with you,” You bargained, pulling the sweet snack out of your pocket again and waving it around. Enid simply responded by holding her arm out so you could carry on walking together and her other hand ready to receive her share of chocolate.

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“This show has gone to shit,” You groaned, sinking down into the sheets in disappointment.

“What?” Xavier pulled his head away from the screen to watch your movements instead. “You used to love it. It was all you’d talk about.”

“I did love it!” You agreed with a sigh. “But then they had to add all that forced romance in, and there are like 7 different love triangles that all interlock- it’s a pyramid scheme of love!”

“A pyramid scheme of love?” He laughed at your phrasing. “God, could you imagine the dm’s you’d get from people you’ve only spoken to once who had joined that?”

“Hey, girlboss! Long time no speak!” You put on your best bubbly voice as you spoke, replicating one of your moms’ friends who had been pulled into 8 different pyramid schemes. “Are you tired of settling down the old-fashioned way with one person? I was too! But insert a name of a multi-level marketing scheme here helped me take control of my love life!”

“Please never do that voice again,” Xavier pleaded through laughter.

“I think I gave myself a headache doing that,” You snorted, bringing your hand up to your head. It was a fruitless endeavour as you pulled them away again immediately. “Urgh, my hands are too warm. C’mere, you always have cold hands.” You grabbed one of his hands and held it up to your forehead, leaning against it.

“I always have cold hands?” Despite his verbal confusion, he didn’t protest about you using him as a cold pack. “Is that… a good thing?” 

“On this occasion, yes,” You smiled contently, closing your eyes. “During the colder months, not so much.”

“If we held hands more, it would warm them up,” You almost didn’t catch his words.

“You wanna hold hands more?” You asked, confused. Admittedly, you already held hands probably more than most friends did, but that was because you had a tendency to get lost in crowds. It was hand-holding, or one of those leash backpacks parents used on their kids, but Xavier shut that down as soon as you jokingly suggested it.

“How did you-?” Xavier pulled his hand away from you with a frown. You pouted at the lack of contact and opened your eyes again. He paused to look at you, searching for an answer in your eyes, but he gave up as soon as he’d started and just shook his head. “Sorry, I didn’t think I said that out loud.”

“We can hold hands more,” You shrugged, smiling at him. “Come on, let's try and get a couple more episodes of this nauseating shitfest in before I have to go back to my own room.”

Xavier perked up at that, leaning over to press play on the next episode.

“I’m calling it now; there will be an unexpected kiss by the end of this episode,” You sighed, leaning your head on Xavier’s shoulder as your eyes settled back on the screen.

“If we’re placing bets, it’ll be between those two,” He added, pointing at the pairing on the screen. You really could have sworn you had heard him say ‘between us?’ just before the actual words left his lips. But you knew for a fact this time that he hadn’t, as the words slightly overlapped, and, as far as you knew, Xavier wasn’t secretly a talented ventriloquist. Though you supposed if you did know that, it wouldn’t be a secret.

Instead, you brushed it off as your tired mind playing tricks on you. Weird tricks for a weird mind.

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Four more days.

That’s how long it took you to realise what was going on. Or rather, what you thought was going on. You had to test your theory out, and you knew the perfect person to help.

“Enter,” Wednesday’s voice instructed before you even had a chance to knock on her door. Without questioning how she’d know you were there, you opened the door and closed it behind you once you were in Wednesday’s shared room with Enid.

“I need your help testing a theory,” You pleaded, leaning against the door. “I feel like I’m going crazy- and not the good kind.”

“There’s a bad kind?” Wednesday’s tone barely changed, but you knew her well enough to know she was teasing you in her own way. “I’m intrigued; go on.”

“I think I can read minds,” You confessed with a groan. “Not all the time; I think I can only do it if I’m purposely seeking them out or if the thoughts are… loud.”

“I imagine there are some people who have very loud thoughts,” Wednesday glanced over at Enid’s side of the room.

“Exactly!” You nodded. “And I wanted to test with you because I know I won’t just be reading your body language and facial expressions for clues.” 

“What number am I thinking now?” Wednesday asked, turning her head away from you to look at her desk. Closing your eyes, you tried to push for the connection that you had felt when you accidentally used this possible new power on Ajax just a few minutes beforehand. He had been moping around, and you wanted to know why. It turns out he’d stoned himself again and had missed all of his morning classes, and subsequently got in trouble for being ‘careless’. He was banned from visiting Jericho for two weeks.

When you had sympathised with his struggles and offered to buy him some snacks when you next visited Jericho, he’d looked at you like you had grown a second head which had started speaking Latin. He asked how you had known he was banned. After some confusion and back and forth, you made up some lie about overhearing one of the teachers say something about it and excused yourself.

“37,” You announced confidently to Wednesday as soon as you had felt the connection be made and heard your friend’s monotone voice. It seemed fitting that even her internal monologue was as dry as she was when speaking. “Which US state am I thinking of?”

“Trick question,” You answered proudly. “You’re thinking about Poland, which, unless I missed a memo, isn’t a US state.”

“Very good,” Wednesday didn’t seem the slightest bit surprised that you had gotten it right. “Final one, what line from which of Edgar Allan Poe’s works am I thinking of?” She asked.

“But evil things, in robes of sorrow, assailed the monarch's high estate,” You echoed the exact line out loud. “From The Haunted Palace.”

“I think that settles it,” Wednesday confirmed. You opened your eyes to see her turning around to face you again. “Considering I didn’t say a single word out loud throughout that. Not even the questions.” Wednesday’s mouth was pressed firmly closed, though you could still hear her perfectly clearly.

With a small gasp, you intentionally severed the connection and stopped reading her mind.

“Okay, you can think freely again,” You informed Wednesday. “Thank you for helping me test that.” The door you were leaning on was suddenly pulled open, and you only just managed to catch your footing before you had the chance to fall into Enid.

“Y/N!” Enid instinctively held out her arms, just in case you did still fall. “Why are you here? Are you planning a surprise birthday party for me?”

“Enid, your birthday isn’t for another 9 months,” You shook your head with a smile. “Why would we be planning a surprise party now?”

“Because if you do it too close to the time, I would get suspicious when you were sneaking around making arrangements! But if you start now, by the time I’m thinking of it, the party will have been fully planned!” Enid explained cheerily. “I didn’t realise I’d said the party thing out loud? I hope I didn’t ruin the surprise!”

“You didn’t say it out loud,” Wednesday told her. “Y/N can read minds.”

“That’s why you were being weird with Ajax!” Enid immediately pulled out her phone, but you grabbed it out of her hands. “Hey!”

“Please, please, please don’t say anything to anyone yet!” You pleaded. “I need to talk to people first. I need to talk to the teachers. I don’t want people to think I’m going around snooping in on all of their thoughts. That’s not how it works.”

“How exactly does it work?” Enid asked as you wearily handed her back her phone. You didn’t entirely trust Enid not to at least tell Ajax… and then Yoko… and Divina since she would ‘just hear it anyway’ from Yoko… 

“I mean, I don’t know exactly how it works, but from what has happened so far, I need to be talking to someone and wanting to know what they’re thinking. So when I spoke to Ajax earlier, I wanted to know why he was upset, and I guess I accidentally made that brain connection thing happen without realising what it was,” You explained, trying to properly make sense of it yourself and using actual words to describe what happened. “And sometimes people just have one-off loud thoughts that I hear? Some more than others….” Realisation dawned on Enid when she heard the last sentence.

“Well, I’m sorry if my thoughts are too ‘loud’ for you,” She huffed, using air quotes around the word ‘loud’. “I can’t control the volume of my own mind.”

“I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way,” You apologised. “But I can’t control what I hear either, at least not yet.”

“Has Xavier thought loudly about how in love with you he is yet?” Enid asked.

“Xavier isn’t in love with me….” You protested but trailed off as you recalled some of the things that you had thought you had heard Xavier say over the past week, only to now realise that some of them may have been thoughts.

“Oops, did I think that one too loudly as well?” Enid smiled slyly, pointing at you. “Wednesday, look at her face. I asked if she’d overheard Xavier thinking about how in love with her he is.”

“I gathered that,” Wednesday mumbled, wanting nothing to do with the whole ‘love’ ordeal.

You remembered the other night when you had talked about there being an unexpected kiss, and you thought he’d said ‘between us?’ over the words he actually did say. It had been a few nights, and you couldn’t remember the tone he’d said- or rather, thought it in. Was he confused? Hopeful? You raked through your brain but couldn’t remember any of the details for the life of you.

And the comment about hand-holding? That was just in a friendly way, friendly hand-holding. You had held hands as friends before, multiple times, you were usually the one to initiate it, and it wasn’t like you were in love with him. You weren’t in love with him at all, right?

Right?

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

You were. You absolutely were. Whether intentionally or not, you had never allowed yourself to think about it, always pushed the thoughts and feelings down before anything could become of them. Always pulled the weeds up, leaving the roots, not realising the roots were just growing and growing under the surface until one day, your whole garden was full of weeds. Except instead of weeds, they were possible unrequited feelings towards your best friend that threatened to ruin everything you had built up over the years you had known one another.

“I need to go,” You excused yourself and pushed past Enid to get to the door, ignoring whatever she was saying in the process. It would have been some sing-song ‘I told you so’, but your mind was too cluttered to pay attention.

You had to find Xavier and talk to him as soon as possible. 

It hadn’t taken long to find him. You knew where he’d be. You always knew where he’d be.

You didn’t knock before letting yourself into the shed; you never had to. It was your shared space.

“Y/N! Are you okay?” Xavier looked at you in concern as you sunk against the door as you closed it behind you. “You look-”

“Xavi, I need you to please be quiet and let me talk at you for a bit because I need to say something now before I mess up the words in my head,” You interrupted him before he could finish. With a small nod, he had agreed. His mouth remained shut while you pulled away from the door and paced back and forth. “I’m just going to cut right to the chase here. I have somehow picked up the power to read minds. I hadn’t done it on purpose until like five minutes ago when Wednesday let me test it on her, and then I came straight to you because you have the right to know because you’re my best friend, and we talk all the time, and sometimes I accidentally hear people’s random thoughts because some thoughts are just really loud and some people have a lot of loud thoughts, like Enid, so I just hear them more, and I’m not saying that you have loud thoughts like that, but I think that maybe sometimes you do, which isn’t a bad thing but I wanted you to be aware so-” You had rambled so much that you hadn’t even noticed that Xavier had crossed the room until he had stopped your frantic pacing and held your face in his hands, squishing your cheeks together in what you assumed was a successful attempt and politely shutting you up.

“Deep breaths and calm down, yeah?” He said it so softly that it worked almost instantly. You hadn’t realised quite how fast your heart had been beating and how heavy your breath had become until he’d stopped and helped slow it down. 

You weren’t sure what exactly had caused it, whether it was the fast-talking where one word flew into the next, or the flood of emotions that had hit you, or the fear of how he’d react to it all in the end, or just a mixture of it all. No matter what it was, Xavier had successfully calmed you down.

“Dare I ask which of my thoughts were particularly… loud?” Xavier asked, his hands still cradling your face.

“There were only a few?” You replied uneasily. You thought back, trying to differentiate between everything. It was hard when she didn’t realise what they were when they happened. “There was the… hand holding? I think that was one… and, uh…. you called me violent and… cute?”

“Could be worse!” Xavier breathed a sigh of relief. “Could have accidentally admitted I’m in love with you.” One look at your face was all it took for him to realise what he’d done. You stood there, wide eyes staring at one another, each almost daring the other to make a move.

Xavier broke first.

“That was a loud thought, wasn’t it?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

“It sure was,” You whispered, your hands coming up to take his own away from your face. Dejection crossed his face for a split second but was erased immediately when you just held his hands instead, cradling them against your chest. You broke eye contact, deciding that looking at the ground made talking easier because you didn’t have to worry about analysing every change in his expression to find the answers.

“Was it…. Truthful? Or did you think it jokingly?” You ask hesitantly, worried about the response it would elicit. Truly, you didn’t know if your heart could take it being a joke.

If the lack of response had worried you, when he pulled his hands away it all but shattered you. However, as soon as the pieces of you had been shattered, it was like Xavier scooped them all up again when he reached for your face and pulled you into a kiss.

It wasn’t a soft and gentle kiss. It was clumsy, frantic, and full of emotion and confusion. It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t have to be, because it was with him.

You returned the kiss as soon as your brain allowed itself to switch back on and be present in the moment. Your arms wrapped around the back of his neck, holding him to you as though you were worried he would change his mind and back away again.

It was over all too soon for your liking, the two of you having no choice but to pull away to gasp in the air again. Xavier’s head ducked down, and he nestled his face into your neck. His breath tickled you as he spoke.

“It scares me how truthful it was,” He admitted, planting a small kiss on your collarbone. “I think I’ve known it for a while, but I didn’t want to risk you not feeling the same way.” He pulled away very suddenly to look at your face again. “Wait, you do feel the same way, right?”

You answered him this time by initiating the kiss yourself. This one was slower, the raw emotions you had both been feeling now having settled as a pleasant buzz in the air as the reality of the situation became clear.

You were two idiot best friends who had been in love with one another for longer than either of you could fathom.

You had always known you’d spend the future together, but now, you could spend your future together.

A/N - so I set out to write what I assumed would be a 2k-ish one-shot... then I think I blacked out and woke up foaming at the mouth 6k words later... if there are any accidental pov/tense changes, please let me know! I wrote this in third person, then decided I wanted it to be second person 5k words in so I went back and edited the whole thing which was a pain in the ass and I had to stop myself from rewriting it a third time in first person

feel free to suggest some more one-shots! I can't promise I'll get to them all, but watching Wednesday has filled me with inspiration and motivation to write! *cough cough* I'd be a sucker for a bianca x reader request *cough cough*

and lemme know if you'd like to be added to a taglist for future wednesday one shots <3

[zephyra-in-the-house]

Refresher on the story of Taotie, the creator of Macaque's lantern

Long ago, there was a dragon named Taotie. He was brash, arrogant, and full of darkness. He had no regard for the life of others or their feelings. In fact, he committed many heinous acts against others behind the backs of his predecessors. 

Fearful of what he would become, the Dragon Kings all came to an agreement. Taotie was to be banished from the kingdom of the Dragons and was never to return.

Despised by his own kind, Taotie set off into the mortal world only to find more of the same. Nobody liked him. Nobody wanted to be around him. Everybody held an innate fear and dread when in his presence and for good reason. Even the gods would not accept him.

However, in a time of war, the gods were looking for a way to punish mortals for their own cruelty and the atrocious acts of violence that they committed towards one aanother. Therefore, they began taking it upon themselves to punish mortals for their crimes.

Angered and personally insulted by the gods and their know it all attitude towards those they perceived as less then, Taotie disguised himself as a blacksmith. He then went to the gods and told them he had a solution.

The gods were doubtful of his reputation, however, having never heard of this mysterious blacksmith.

So, they gave him a set of impossible tasks. Taotie finished every one of them. Impressed, the gods finally let him speak. 

Taotie, disguised as the blacksmith, told them that he could create an inescapable and impenetrable prison which the gods could use to punish those who would betray and butcher their own people. The gods agreed to commission him and so Taotie went and created the shadow lantern, Yong Ye. 

With it, he went back to the gods and presented his invention. The gods scoffed and laughed and berated him for wasting their time. They saw no use in a simple lantern without a light.

Angry, they cast him out from the Heavens and forbade him from returning.

So, Taotie left with a grin.

Just to spite the gods, Taotie took his lantern and did what they could not. He punished those who had committed terrible crimes and was praised and exalted throughout China as a savior and a protector. 

However, in the many years that Taotie punished mortals for their wrong doings, he made many visits to other countries and did the same. Many budding civilizations around the world met the shapeshifter who deemed himself Judge, jury, and executioner. 

Their awe over seeing a dragon- many for the first time- was quickly overshadowed by the dawning fear of the shadow lantern.

With Yong Ye, Taotie burned entire civilizations, slaughtered many, and captured thousands of resentful souls from people all around the world.

His cruelty knew no bounds. He took the souls belonging to the worst of the worst and then turned around and stole the souls of the innocent as well. His punishment was indescriminent. His cruelty harsh and unforgiving.

In China, they called him Laraiyuk, Guardian of the Weak.

The rest of the world called him Ku'Kulrook, the Soul Stealer.

[maxrowave]

The long-awaited drarry cannibalism writing

This is only a snippet and is part of a much bigger thing, albeit the quality of the writing is a bit dubious because when writing, I'd never intended on them being read, I will provide some context for this + other notes at the end. I would also like to mention that this writing does contain the contributions of a writer who has requested to remain anonymous.

Draco has been subtly manipulating Harry to resent among his closest friends, because of orders from Voldemort; Draco puts Harry into a situation where he needs to either kill Seamus or Draco. Harry chooses to kill Seamus however faces lots of regret. It is also snowing and they are outside, disposing of the body.

Harry Potter is a fool. A stupid, ginormous fool. Whenever Draco traced his forearm, Harry leaned into Draco’s touch, craving it like a child craves approval. He still could not bring himself to meet Draco’s eyes, feeling undeserving after the heinous act he had done. Harry killed Seamus with his hands. He could have pulled out his wand, making his suffering minimal, but a part of Harry wanted Seamus to hurt for abandoning him. Harry wanted- Harry became all too aware of the fact Draco was towering over him and slender fingers found their way into his hair, forcing him to look down and not bow his head in shame. Harry had never bowed his head to Draco before out of pride, but now he didn’t cower solely because of the acceptance offered to him.

“You saved me from David. I saved you from Seamus. Now we’re even.” Harry says plainly "Seems righteous."

Harry began averting his gaze to stare at Seamus. Unlike David, Seamus was not beautiful in death. It was the stark opposite. This was the ugliest thing Harry had seen in his entire life. He looked down at his hands, briefly imagining what it would have been like if the roles were reversed. Harry’s hands would be around Draco’s neck instead with Seamus cheering him as he stood behind him, urging Harry to punish Draco for years of torment. Harry would squeeze as hard as he could until that angelically pale face burned red with vessels bursting, but then Draco would only look at him with those inhuman silver eyes and Harry would pull away ashamed. Harry would have spared Draco, feeling guilty for wanting to hurt him.

Draco stepped a little closer to Harry, not intentionally, but perhaps some subconscious animalistic instinct for warmth; a moth to a flame. He was to report in his next letter, Harry had struggled with killing one of his closest friends, yet he'd done so anyway. He'd indulged himself in a sin and his hands were stained, Draco's curiosity burned with where Harry's limits were. How far could he push this lion? Poke and prod it in its cage and teeter on the tightrope of danger as he observed him. Draco wanted nothing more than to break apart his skull and look into that brain of his.

Alas, he kept the thought to himself, the awareness of Harry's crumbling state as he'd killed Seamus for him like a lamb to a sacrifice. There was this slow and steady building of Harry's commitment to whatever arrangement they were calling this, with Seamus's death and Harry finally sealing his soul to Draco.

This was the moment Draco had fully decided on taking Harry under his wing.

___ OTHER INFO AND BITS Throughout the whole actual writing, in Harry's mind, he often refers to Draco as angelic because of his features -- blond hair, and pale skin, Draco meets a lot of conventional beauty standards. However, in a lot of Draco's subconscious, there are a few metaphors about the devil in contrast, with the devil being a fallen angel and all that. All around some religious references because what's sexier amiright? Furthermore, Harry mentions Draco saving him from someone named David -- that is the first person Harry kills, and it is by accident. The name David was chosen because in the Bible he symbolises goodness, obedience and morals, therefore by killing him, Harry has killed his own morality.

[honeybewrites]

OC Intro: Fres

Since I introduced 703 last week, I figured I would introduce her ex-partner this week!! This has also been sitting in my drafts for an insanely lone amount of time...

Quick note, I have the drawing skills of a snake, so I have used picrew to create the closest picture of the beautiful Fres as possible. If you are interested, I used this one.

Once again, the picture provided is of Fres in their namuh form, not their natural Tanimoriem form, which is why they look human.

With that out of the way, let's meet another one of the Echoes of War Chronicles stars, Mx Fres!

Name: Fres

Mors Asset Number: 702

Age: twenty-three

Birthdate: [Redacted]

Pronouns: They/Them

Species: Dragon, Tanimoriem (Genetic enhancements and experiments have occurred to alter this individual's biology)

Physical Description: Fres has biracial skin, leaning on the lighter side. Vitiligo covers their entire body and a beauty mark sits under their left eye. Coinciding scars cross over the same cheek, just touching their full lips. They have matte gold or sandy textured hair, often left natural or in braids. Their eyes are bright sunny gold, like a burning sun. Various other scars cover their body from other missions and punishments from the Mors. Fres has a tattoo, an old Tanimoriem tribe insignia, on the right right side of their chest. They are short for their species, coming in around 5'10 (or 177 cm). Even slender and lean, they still have a considerable amount of muscle and are very fit.

In their natural Tanimoriem form, Fres' skin color and vitiligo transfer into scales. Their hair remains the same, with short, triple set horns the same color as their scales/skin popping through. Matte gold small spikes run down their back, all the way to the tip of their tail. Triple style spikes end the tail, also matte gold. Their wings are very large, even for the species, coming in at an impressive 30'1 (or 9.17 m) wingspan. The arms of the wings are the same color as their scales/skin, while the membrane and protective scales are matte gold.

Skills/Abilities: elemental, multiple forms of combat, infiltration, negotiation, technically savvy, wilderness survival

Greatest Fear: the Mors

Personality Type: ENFP-A

Love Language: acts of service

Typical Outfit: Out on missions, a modified Mors suit is generally their go to, but outside of that, Fres is very stylish, having lots of outfits, accessories, and lots of pink things.

Method of Manipulation: gaslighting/silver tongue

Part of Project Viall, Fres has been with the Mors for most of their life. They were trained side by side with 703, their best friend. It's the only life they'd every known, but as they were exposed to more of the Realms, they began to resent it. They couldn't accept this life, this pain. So they came up with a plan to escape, and take 703 with them. There was no point in running away if 703 wouldn't come. The plan failed horribly, ending with the two getting separated. Fres was finally free from the Mors, but 703 was not with them. Fres was convinced 703 had chosen the Mors over them and a deep resentment and hatred began to build. The two were now on opposite sides of the war, vicious enemies.

Relationships

Master Gerd: As their main handler, Fres hated Master Gerd the most. Very controlling and abusive, they couldn't stand him. He was responsible for their training, so there was really no escaping him. Fres would like to see his head on a pike or his body dangling from the rafters.

Healer Asurr: As their creator, Fres interacted with Healer Asurr often. Constantly put through tests and experiments to track and improve their abilities. Fres hates them, but not nearly as much as Master Gerd. They would be almost as happy to see Healer Asurr's body broken.

Dana Hueland: One of the first people Fres met outside of the Mors, Dana introduced them to Oraniz. Since then, Dana and Fres have worked closely together. The older, feisty woman being more than happy to help Fres take down the Mors and extract revenge. Fres sees her as family, and the feeling is mutual.

703: Fres' partner and best friend since birth, the two were inseparable. They loved her with everything and as long as they were together, Fres knew everything would be alright. But when Fres ran from the Mors, freed in their escape attempt, 703 stayed behind in the end. Fres hated her for it. For choosing the Mors over them, and Fres vowed never to forgive her for it.

I hope that some of you enjoyed it, I know I love creating these little profiles!

If anyone wants to be added/subtracted from the tag list, you can comment or DM me!

General Tag: @orions-quill @fractured-shield and @leahnardo-da-veggie

EoWC Tag: N/A

LotA Tag: N/A

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Memorabilia & First Kiss - Fingolfin x Anairë

Dear anon, here goes your story! :D

I am afraid that it might have turned out a little sadder than I've anticipated! Tomorrow, I'll be gone the whole day, so I'll post it now. I hope that's okay by you!

Lots of love!

Words: 1 020

Characters: Anairë x Fingolfin

Warnings: Sadness, canon-compliant deaths referenced, Fëanor mentioned, Russingon if you want to read it like that, marital estrangement

Ñolofinwë had never thought of himself as a vain creature, and thus the idea that people might find his collection of memorabilia odd had never even crossed his mind.

While most of the other revenants from that Eru-forsaken world in which he’d been cruelly slain seemed desperate to leave the past behind, he could not help but dwell on all the things he’d lost and still missed.

Soon, it had become common knowledge that the former High King of the Ñoldor collected mementoes—broken weapons, torn banners, and a lot of dented metal—to stare at them sadly.

Unbeknownst to him, other people did worry about his ever-growing hoard of absurd and grotesque trinkets, and when he disappeared into his secret vault once again, his oldest son finally decided to speak up.

“Mother,” Findekáno whispered, clasping Anairë’s slender hands in his own pleadingly. “You must stop him! This isn’t healthy…”

With a long, low sigh, she squeezed the strong fingers that had shed so much blood in the name of a lost cause; she too remembered the pudgy flesh she had, once upon a time, cradled lovingly through many a mingling, and her heart broke at the recollection of what was never to be again.

“Oh son,” she whispered. “You cannot fathom how heavily the past weighs on your father—on us.”

“Do you think that I have not loved and lost people? Even as I kneel at your feet like a child, my soul is burdened with the absence of those I’ve held most dear. Do not presume to know my suffering!”

When her face fell, he instantly kissed her hands devotedly. “Forgive me—I—”

“I understand,” Anairë said soothingly. “I shall seek out your father in his halls of miserable memory. We both know that I lack the fiery determination of the one who might have easily convinced him to set fire to his precious trove, but I shall do my best for you.”

“If he will not desist,” Fingon muttered. “At least convince him to accept symbols of fonder, happier memories to be added to his assortment of knickknacks.”

Reaching into his pocket, he extricated a golden ribbon, knotted around a slender ring into which was woven a gleaming, red stone.

“Fëanáro made that ring,” Anairë gasped. “He fashioned it when Nerdanel—when—back…”

“He made it for his firstborn son,” Findekáno nodded slowly. “I entrust to you, my parents, my guiding stars, the childhood we’ve lost. I’ve spoken to my siblings and to all our returned kin—not one has denied me, and I shall soon be in possession of objects that are more precious than the armour we wore and the banners we carried.”

“So be it,” Anairë smiled, full of pride and yet also deeply humbled by the stubborn, reckless wisdom and determination of her son. “I’ll go to your father right away.”

Before she did so, though, she slipped back into the room she’d occupied during her long abiding as the mere ghost of a wife who was not even granted the quiet dignity of a rightfully grieving widow.

Just like Findekáno, she had kept certain things. Beneath the anger, the resentment, and the burning hatred, there had been stubborn memories, deeper and more precious, that she’d shielded and guarded ferociously, defending them from herself and the devastating violence of her own helpless wrath.

Maybe, she considered, it was now time to return them to the one she had always loved more than hated—a fact for which she’d oft reprimanded and punished herself severely throughout the ages.

“Your children are worried,” she called as she entered her husband’s vault on silent soles; after all this time apart, she no longer knew how to properly address him, and every word that came to mind—his name, his title, husband—burned on her tongue like acid. “Your heir sends me in lieu of that half-brother who might never return.”

Whirling around agonisingly slowly, Ñolofinwë raised his mournful, dull gaze to her radiant face with all the humble penitence of a dolorous supplicant kneeling at the feet of a divine statue.

“He sends you the insignia of his heart rather than of his house,” she went on, laying down her son’s offerings before Ñolofinwë. “And I’d like to add my own most cherished keepsakes to the pile.”

Steeling herself, she opened her other hand and produced a dried flower and a piece of torn fabric.

“I don’t know if you remember, Ñolofinwë, son of Finwë and Indis, and if you don’t, I am here to remind you…These are from—”

“When we danced in the light of the Mingling—you were so beautiful…” he finished her sentence in a quiet but unhesitant voice. “I do remember—I’ve replayed that memory in my heart whenever the dread and doom grew too overpowering.”

“These are from the exact moment I knew that I loved you and that I’d marry you,” Anairë corrected gently. “You swung me around so enthusiastically that my beautiful dress got tangled in an errant branch and ripped. Eru, you were so apologetic…”

“And then we kissed until we were both out of breath with laughter and—”

“Shamefaced horniness?” Anairë cackled. She had missed his sparkling humour as much as his tendency to baulk at salacious subjects, and her shattered heart started to mend. “I remember that as well. Don’t you dare blush now—we’ve conceived and raised the fruits of that sacred desire together. Do you recall?”

“I remember tearing them from you,” Ñolofinwë replied tonelessly. “I recollect their deaths, far from you, far from me…”

“But they were not,” she opined carefully, falling to her knees and cupping his cheek with a love she had deemed dead and destroyed. “Look upon these mementoes, husband, and understand that—from our first kiss to their last breath—not one moment of our story has been forgotten or lost. We’ve all held on to those memories in our own way. Cast away broken crowns and hearts! Feast your eyes and soul on the love that was—and that shall be again, I hope!”

@fellowshipofthefics here's a sweet one, for once

Welcome aboard for a new fic! I love to have you...and today, we'll have a canon ship <3

Lots of love and well-wishes!

-> Masterlist

[fatgumsurpremacy-remastered]

(5eraphim again because i have thoughts🙃) ok hear me out- imagine an au where the mercs (of your choice) are angels and they keep a demon!reader captive with the intent to "purify" them, or rather, to punish them for their sins. Imagine being bound, constantly edged and denied release as punishment for all you've done. Fed heavenly aphrodisiacs something that tastes like heaven, but make you burn with lust more than ever before. Or being conditioned and trained to be devout and reverend to their angelic captor. idk if this is any good as a request, but just wondering who could you see doing something like this as an angel, and how?

I absolutely adore this actually!

I can see this with a few mercs in particular

@virginstoner666

Tw: Christian Faith Based, Use of the word God, blasphemy, angels and demons, Extremely dubious- no consent, aphrodisiacs, bondage, submission, sub-demon reader, abuse, burning, orgasm denial and overstimulation, burning, biting, marking, choking, mind break, thrashing, licking, and grinding

Sniper: Sniper was almost on your side, until he saw what humanity had in store. And what he had in store for you wasn’t pretty. He acted like he wasn’t shoving a crossbow in your face as he stepped on your dessimated wings. He watched as you struggled to gain any traction beneath you, but all that twisted were heavenly chains. Mick would get the biggest head about reformation, the idea that he could bring a sinner back to salvation. It wouldn’t be enough that he choked you to the point a human would suffocate. It wouldnt matter that the chains would dig and create laceration marks against you? No, because this was all for redemption, and he’d made you believe it’s what you required. He’d have you in prayer, coming up behind you only to fumble around in your burnt robes. To roughly trace circles around that most sinful cunt. To have you break each time under his hands as he tugged ruthlessly against your collar to keep you going. To keep you speaking to god as one of his highest, and most beloved proved just how low you really were. He’s proudly sink his teeth into your shoulder, burning a golden impression into the grooves, to purify. To expunge the bad. Oh but what would happen if that didn’t work? If all that work furthered your resentment?

Soldier: Soldier would serve as a reminder of where you were. His regiments. His place above you, the ground you walked in was his and the words you spoke were scripted. Not a damn thing was to be out of order lest you be thrashed violently. And you were, for year's it seemed, it was only after the lashing that you were allowed tears. And the soldier took pity. When he did he'd being you to his lap. To kiss up your face in the name of his lord. To rub your back and make promises he knew damn well wouldn't happen. All with the reassurance that if you took what he gave you... You'd be saved. And so you'd lie on the ground, feeling hands groping around you in prayer, feeling the slick head of his member pressing and grinding into your folds but never inside. You'd feel him pull at the collar but never pull away from your noise.

Medic: When all fight had been properly left. Only medic was your barrier, medics' sadistic games came at the expense of holy light. The Lord you'd spent eons perhaps praying to like a human? Please that was him all along, you'd ascended and now you needed his attention. And as he slipped you a wafer, and a giblet of blood he knew he'd snagged you. And greedy as you were you accepted more. And more and more. Your body had become his, and as he anointed you, you were no longer part of his. Instead, with bodies joined together you were one. Hed slide into you, pressing deep into your infernal heat. He’d whisper fiendish words, words that lessened you to a sick being. Wounded and needing proper care. Proper loves and a proper god. And as hed quicken his pace he’d claim he loved you, and you’d believe him. You would clean him of your sin, and then you would he would allow you another taste of himself. Until you could only think of your god before you.

Sorry if that was a bit much lol!

Soldier: That’d be no issue to Solly, the angel to aid greatly in gods holy army. How great of a head he’d have on his soldiers, and to have such a pitiful demon in front of him. One which withstood some lesser forms of training. One look at your spoiled form told Soldier he’d be required to strip you of all features. He’d leave you naked among your chains, and he’d force apology, after apology out for your master. He’d force you to scream for gods mercy before he stopped. He stopped after a very very long time. Because he realized he might have gone soft. Because as time passed his touches lingered. And his biting remarks grew to soft whispers, something akin to human fragility. So close to tangible flesh he could taste it. So he’d grope at your breasts, liking up the column of your neck to feel your warmth. More than flesh, more than divinity, he wanted to taste your sin. The idea disgusted and intrigued him. And his advances grew more bold. You’d pray on the floor, brace keeping you to the ground as he would grind behind you. Against you. And you already so soiled could do nothing. Consider what he did a favor to what your next date would be,

Medic: Once you learn to behave you must be reconsecrated… however, angels have a knack for being clever beasts. And Medic was one, in charge of the body and blood of Christ he’d force you to consume of him instead. Tying you to him, and his right. Instead of the natural sacramental oil he’d lather, what was in essence a glorified lotion into your skin. Until it smelled of him. By the time you imagined your anointment to be over he’d practically possessed you. And you would move without control. Much to his pleasure but eventual boredom. He wasn’t allowed to command directly, and thus he would have to play god from the inside. Taking liberties with your mind. Shaking it like clay, terraforming horrible desire with his concoctions. What less than holy things he aspired, and so he would. Stripped down to nothing, flush against his chest. A heat soaring through you. Body feeling the heat of hell being cast away. Your gods hands playing with you. His favorite toy. An object of desire. You smelt of him and tasted his flesh. What sins of a creator. And that’s what medic was to you. With all your training, he’d taught you to naively believe he was the god you’d prayed to. And you’d run your tongue along his heavenly body in earnest. Feeling the fluttering in your stomach disperse into your being. And he’d slowly start to lose himself in your heat. Day in and day out his cockiness would grow. And he’d slip back into your hellish heat. Evermore breaking your mind with degradation. “You will never truly gain a seat at my hand til you stir me so child. Hurry now.” He himself felt to be in hell, but what fun this corruption was. He saw fit to turn this devilish imp into his own plaything and how beautifully it had worked.

[ask-the-koopa-family]

Hey, miss Natsuko, I wanted to tell you something personal, if you want you can keep this private, so that only you read it

You see, on more than one occasion I have told you that your drawings have inspired me to create my own story and that continues to this day. Bowser's past has always been a mystery, which has caught my attention a lot. Seeing what a good father he has been in your au has inspired me to tell my own version but for reasons of time I have not been able to capture it yet, so I want to tell you a little about it, with you being the first person who would know.

"Bowser, being a prince of only 12 years old, attends a party in the neighboring kingdom with his father, King Morton Sr., where he meets the prince of that kingdom, whose name is Erdrick. There they become good friends, being the only children at that ceremony. Both being princes, they usually go to meetings with their respective parents, so they share more and more, becoming very close, often not being so formal and sharing like normal children. That's how time goes by and they grow together.

However, Bowser begins to feel that his friendship with Erdrick is more than a great friendship and becomes confused. Bowser didn't know it but his friend also felt the same way. When Bowser is 15 years old, he tries to confess his feelings to his friend, with a lot of fear in his body. Fortunately, his friend tells him that he feels the same and they hold hands. Unfortunately, someone discovers them and tells them to their parents, who disapprove and decide to separate them. Bowser is forbidden to speak to his friend and is severely punished by his father.

The following year, he meets Erdrick at a meeting between both kingdoms. There, Bowser is happy to see him again, but he finds out that his friend is getting married and that he plans to have children to inherit the throne. That destroys Bowser's heart, and he angrily demands explanations from Erdrick, reproaching him for having 'abandoned' him for someone else. There Bowser retreats and cuts off all friendship with Erdrick, who wanted to tell him the truth but didn't have the chance.

From that moment on, Bowser became more bitter, not wanting to know anything more about anything, he was really depressed. He even cut off communication with his father beyond the formal matters of royalty, always serious and with a face of few friends. Kamek notices this and speaks to King Morton, but fails to convince him otherwise. One day, he receives an invitation to Erdrick's wedding, since although they had fought, Erdrick wanted Bowser to be with him. However, with much resentment, Bowser burns the invitation with his fire breath. Thus, four years pass, Bowser being an 20-year-old young man.

When Erdrick's 19th birthday arrives and he decides to invite Bowser again. He, resigned by the insistence, decides to go, although not in the best of spirits, since the atmosphere would feel tense with just his presence and he thought that Erdrick would be indignant. Contrary to what Bowser thought, Erdrick greets him with a warm welcome, and Bowser asks for a moment to talk to him. At that moment, they look into each other's eyes and Bowser apologizes for his attitude. They both reconcile and give each other a big hug as friends, treating each other almost like brothers. After that, Erdrick introduces him to his firstborn, Mykey. Seeing him, Bowser is moved and carefully takes him into his arms. Erdrick asks him to be the godfather of his son, to which Bowser gladly accepts, smiling again. From that moment on, Bowser wants to have children of his own.

Time passes and they share again like old friends, even in the company of their own older children. However, tragedy returns to the life of Bowser, who witnesses an attack on the neighboring kingdom, seeing Erdrick and his wife die, leaving his two children orphaned. From there Bowser sponsors them and promises to take care of them, in honor of his best friend."

I'm sorry if it's been a lot of text, but I've had this idea for a long time and seeing your drawings always reminds me of that idea, especially Bowser with Cherry, who make a cute couple

WOW

I. LOVE. YOUR STORY !!!

Please continue with your story !! dont give up!!

You should do a fanfiction !!

[mirthlxss]

Off to the races

Chapter 7: He doesn't mind 

Somehow, both John and Lilith understood this, it wasn’t enough.

master list

price x oc, series.

a03: pricescigar, Off to the races is posted in full.

sexi taglist:  @deadbranch , @jxvipike, @smoggyfogbottom

warnings: angst, mentions of blood.

His comfort faded as quickly as his smile did, having corralled Lilith inside the Captain seemed to have moved on from her distress. Set on checking off another task on his ever-long list, his presence coursing through halls as he passed through, the dampened woman trailing after him. Soldiers pressed against the walls to make room for his bearish gait, reputation cloaked upon his broad frame, tripling his size. He moved in silence, thoughts ticking over in time with his steps, a steady beat in which his subconscious could growl too, mull over the thrum of his anger. Wet echos of her borrowed footwear sounded as she hurried herself in order to remain in his shadow, scornful eyes burning holes into the back of his khaki shirt, occasionally flickering around to then glare at a stray soldier. 

The flip-flops were slowing her down considerably, slipping and sliding on the shiny linoleum floors. Lilith slid her foot out of one mid-step, letting it remain in their wake. She soon ditched the other, now able to somewhat keep in step with Price as he led her through the maze of buildings. Words clattered against the cage of her teeth, hurdling around her shut mouth with such force she could barely contain herself, desperate to stir up something other than the heavy atmosphere that the man ahead of her carried. This whole situation had uprooted her life completely and yet it felt like he was the one on a quiet rampage. She could feel it slamming against her, the need to crack the weighted silence, break the dam. The pink of her lips now slowly burst into a deep red as the capillaries broke, teeth wrenched down into the soft flesh, hesitantly released in preparation to speak, cage steadily shattering. 

“This’ll be your room.” 

Her mouth hung open, brows furrowed as his tones filled the air instead of hers. So focused on projecting her angered gaze on him, entangled with finding the right words, blinded to her surroundings as he had thrown open a locked door. She faltered, blinking away the burning resentment in her eyes and letting them carry across the space. It almost reminded her of a dorm room, simplistic plywood furniture, desk, shelves, all of one eggshell colour that carried an impersonal air. The bed tucked into the corner, deep blue sheets that matched the colour of the curtains which were drawn over the window that presided just over. The light overhead flickered, he loomed beside the doorframe, inspecting her reaction, waiting. 

Lilith stepped across the threshold, bare feet scratched by the rough-cut carpet, an off-blue that almost looked dirty. Maybe it was. She shivered involuntarily, sucking in a deep breath, cringing at the overwhelming smell of bleach. 

“Garrick prepped it for you weeks ago,” Price had watched him do it, unsure as to why one of his best men was hell-bent on freeing someone who could have been the undoing of them all. Back and forth debate all the way as the Captain witnessed him scrub the place clean, skirting boards and all. 

“What’s going to happen to those men?” She faced away from the other, cheek turned and body held in place. Lilith felt as if one more step further would come across as acceptance, a willing participant in her fate, no doubt he’d want to seal her in this astringent-smelling room. Practically a storage closet with a bed and a window, it was just missing the bloody body. Somehow this felt familiar. 

She wanted some course of judgement, some trial, some punishment. His anger felt futile, an enraged Captain meant little to a woman trapped within his den of predators, a bleeding bunny led deeper into the bowls of this haunt, those pictures had only just rung the dinner bell. 

The question riled his wrath further, calloused hands down dragging down the length of his visage, pulling at the course hairs on his chin, eyes clenched shut. Blood lay behind them, the vision of red so potent he could barely see past it. Not that he wanted to, it felt right in this situation, morals askew when it came to upholding the dignity of a woman, one supposedly in his protection. The red swirled on, protection or investigation? Who knew at this point, lines continued to blur as the weeks went on, now standing in a soldier's room and asking for damnation. He had answered before, he was going to fire them. The answer felt weak now, frail in the kingdom of his rage, barely able to keep upright as it offered itself before him. Somehow, both John and Lilith understood this, it wasn’t enough. 

It felt wrong, wanting to inflict lasting hurt on men who were supposedly on his side, slept in his barracks, ate beside him at mess. And for what? A stranger who had saved Simon from a stab wound? Seen his face? 

Saved. 

He could make out her frame through the maroon mirage, peering out back at him, barefoot and shivering. 

“They won’t be an issue.” 

Lily inhaled once more, almost as if his reassurance had permitted her to breathe again. She nodded, eyes closing with the movement, lips drawn tight. She didn’t doubt that it would be handled, it seemed now, that the other's anger had grown so large it consumed her own, elevating the burden of action, swallowing the responsibility down as his to herald. His anger alone may have issued uncertainty but theirs together, it morphed into an odious thing. And by god was it beautiful.

The four walls surrounding her felt oppressive without Price’s presence pushing them back, focusing her thoughts. Having left Lilith to herself long ago with a gruff command to ‘remain’. At first, she spent the time in riled dismay, jeering out mock impressions of the Captain and his demands.

“Remain!” She’d bark, soon following it with a deeply sardonic laugh, then a stretch of pitying quiet as the room stayed the same, the carpet still scratched and she was still very much alone. With no clock to watch, an hour had stretched on to feel like an eternity. Wet clothes clad to her skin as she circled the small space, soon resorting to flinging open all the cabinets and drawers to relieve some modicum of her boredom. 

Upon opening the inside of her desk, Lily stood pleasantly surprised. A small sticky note clung to the wrapper of a chocolate bar, messy handwriting scrawled out in black alongside a badly drawn smiley face wearing sunglasses. 

‘Peace offering from your new neighbour, I introduce to you, the Gaz-laxy bar’

She removed the note to reveal a Galaxy bar with a ‘z’ crudely shoved between letters with what looked like black permanent marker. Lily huffed softly, a humorous swirl of air leaving her as she tried not to chuckle, it was so stupid. She loved it. 

“See, told you guys it was funny.” 

“Fucking hell!” With a gargled yelp, Lily spun toward the voice, now finding Kyle poking his head around the open doorway, Soap and Ghost beside him, all peering in. A strained silence fell upon the four as they seemed to stare at one another, she clutched the chocolate bar in her hands with a suspicious look, scowl now forming.

“How long have you been there?”

“Not long, just came back, meant to show yer’ round lass” Soap pushed past the two other men crowding her doorway, awkwardly stumbling into one of the open closet doors in the process. A bundle of clothing in his hands messily clutched with great difficulty as he took a moment to situate himself, now dumping them onto her bed. Lilith picked through the pile, all standard-issue military uniform, on first inspection most of the items seemed normal though as the woman started to look properly- 

“Where are the laces for the boots?” She held up a black boot, its leather tongue flopping out without the lace holding it steady. 

Soap rocked back and forth on his own shoes, which very evidently had laces, lips pursed as he let out an elongated ‘err’, decidedly looking away and distracting himself by opening and closing the door he’d just fallen into. Lily persisted, now ever more suspicious, shoving the boot towards Gaz, waving it in his direction with a raise of her brow. 

“How am I supposed to walk properly in them without laces?” 

“Not allowed laces.” Deep, voice awash with general distaste, like he’d chewed up stone and spat it right out at her. 

Lilith faltered slightly, not expecting Ghost to have addressed her, it was unusual, the man hadn’t spoken to her directly after the whole needle incident in the hospital. She chucked the boot back onto the pile, hand now situated on her hip as she returned his sour answer. 

“Any particular reason?” 

Both Soap and Gaz looked uncomfortable, even more so as the towering menace crossed the threshold and loomed over her, even with a good stride between them Lilith felt dwarfed by the other, things fell into Ghost’s orbit and never came back out, a black hole of a man sucking out all the energy in the room, all the oxygen. 

“Could hang yourself with them.” 

The sharp pinch of a shiver scraped down her spine, her hand fell to her side, shoulders slumping forward slightly, and the urge to make herself smaller overcame her. 

“No belt, no laces, no drawstrings.” 

She moved back toward the bed, picking up a long-sleeved shirt before casting an overly pointed look back towards the three. 

“No underwear either? What am I gonna do with those? Seduce someone into lending me their laces so I can finally fucking hang myself?” 

Soap let out a snort, throaty laugh leaving the shorter male as he petted Simon on the shoulder. 

“Ask the Cap’n about personal items and whatever’s not there” He rocked back and forth once again before Simon shrugged off Soap’s hand and crowded the man out of the room, grumbling something toward Johnny as they left Gaz waiting in the doorway. 

“C’mon Lil’ go commando and get changed for now, wanna show you the place before its dark”

She reluctantly complied with Kyle, only because of his stupid chocolate bar. Dawned with her ill-fitting hand-me-downs the woman looked like she’d been playing dress up. The dark green shirt hanging from her frame unflatteringly as well as the camo patterned cargos, which she had rolled up around her waist to accommodate for the material slipping down every two steps. The tour was short as her world had, oh so graciously, been opened up from the small hospital room to the section of the barracks which the team occupied. Shared bathrooms, a shabby common room and a hallway of half-empty dorms. 

“What a thrilling tour Garrick, I must thank you from the bottom of my heart for the ten minutes you took out of the busy, busy day to show me your bountiful kingdom.” Lily stood, arms crossed over one another, sarcasm spread thickly over her demeanour. 

“I haven’t even shown you the best part yet lil’ miss commando, get yourself ready, it’s the best your life in captivity is gonna’ get.” He grinned wickedly, beckoning Lily over to him as he raised himself up on his toes, stretching out to grab ahold of a cardboard box that sat on top of the row of kitchen cupboards within the common room. She watched curiously, inching closer as Gaz shook the box, the sound of packaging filled the air with each jolt. 

“Oh yes” 

“Oh yes indeed.” He hummed, chuckling now as the black-haired girl dove her hands into the mess of food. A whole box packed full of snacks, the feeling of the different plastics scratching her hand made her smile widen, childish pangs of excitement escaping her as she rummaged through the contents. 

“Suddenly I love it here.” She grasped onto a packet of crisps and laid them along her forearms like she was cradling a newborn, rocking the plastic and shushing it comically.  

“What’s her name?” Kyle cooed, now picking up his own packet and copying Lilith as they tended to the children. Laughter intermingled, he was indulging her for sure, or maybe just tired and happy that someone was willing to endorse his tendency to play stupid. Someone other than Soap that is. She circled the box and planted herself next to the other, pushing her packet towards his own when something seemed to halt the girl, her smile fading as she soon pointed at Kyle’s hands. 

“Was it..” She started, glancing over the red ridges in his knuckles, the beginnings of a bruise covering the flesh around the welts. A heavy sigh heaved from his lips as he let his packet drop back into the box, stretching out his fingers, he spread the digits wide in order to grant the other a good look. Garrick had decided the moment his hand had collided with the face of one of those tech boys, that he’d tell Lilith. This had gone beyond the usual, it felt less like duty and more like defending a friend. Even more so when Price had come back to the room, Gaz was sure he’d be hearing the Captain call them off, but no, John stood seething, soon joining in. Even Ghost had thrown his weight about a bit. 

“I doubt they’ll be finding any reputable jobs with faces like balloons” He scoffed, head tilted down slightly, trying to catch her gaze as she stared at his hands. Lily hesitated for a moment before she sucked in a sharp breath, already feeling the rush of blood circle through her head, the worry starting to build with every pump of her heart. 

“I wish-“ Voice fell flat, not as strong as she wanted it to be, betrayed by the air in her lungs. “I wish I could’ve done something yanno? I feel like, well, I don’t know” She sighed, closing her eyes as she pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“What happened, how it was dealt with, I think everyone involved wished they could’ve done something more” He was whispering now, lowering his voice to meet hers, outstretched hand now moving to gently grasp her shoulder, a gentle hold as they fell into quiet conversation. He inched closer, body turning to face her, eyes flickering around the place before he continued on. “I’ll be honest Lil’, never seen the Captain hit another soldier, not like that.” Hushed, eyes a little wide as he recounted Price, the look in his eye, the man seemed far from his sense, lost in whatever had taken hold. “Think we all crossed some lines today, if I’m honest-“

“What are you two hens clucking about?” The Scotsman smashed through the delicate exchange, rounding the corner to the common room with a loud whistle at the sight of Gaz and Lilly crowded over the snack box. “Price ain’t gon’ be chuffed about that” He hollered, clearly pitching the call up an octave or two, wanting to attract attention. 

“Shut up man!” Gaz was quick to snatch the packet of crisps from Lily’s hands and scurry to shove the box back above the cupboards, leaving the girl to stand confused. 

“Caught red-handed in the reward box Gazza, I canny remember you getting any permission for tha’” 

Lilith watched as the two dropped into some petty back and forth, soon gathering that the snack box was indeed not a free-for-all but a coveted reward. One that king Price seemed to dangle over their heads. The notion made her curl inwards with a dubious sort of humour, disbelief evident at the childish nature of it all. 

“Would you two shut up.” Ghost soon came into sight, notably, the man had changed into what looked like an attempt at loungewear. Dropping down onto the worn sofa he drew an exaggerated breath, taking out a phone from his pocket and holding it out before him. “Price said to go ahead and order.” 

[deathdxnces]

He had been determined to kill her. The worst thing was, he wasn’t the first. Irelia’s blades now hovered at her shoulders, following the graceful, circling movements of her hands. One simple gesture, and it could all be over. He spat blood on the ground, his eyes burning with hatred. “If you will not lead Navori, the Brotherhood will.” He tried weakly to raise his dagger against her. This man would never be taken alive. “I believed in you,” he said again. “We all did.” She sighed. “I never asked you to. I’m sorry.”

i think a lot about this in irelia's color story. it's like, right at the beginning but i have so many thoughts.

"the worst thing was, he wasn't the first" implying after she left the brotherhood the assassination attempts just. sort of became a repeated occurrence (because if she won't lead they will — and, honestly, there's even deeper lore implication if we consider zed's comic suggests kusho was also commanding the brotherhood from the shadows, and the fact he intended to lead ionia to civil war to take the power; the idea irelia is a very powerful symbol, and if she refuses to play her part as a figurehead she must be eliminated. and then there's the fact she was still really young when she left the brotherhood too, before it was even called that; there's no set point in the timeline when the story takes place, that i know of, but it's suggested it's been some time since the war ended. have they been trying to kill her since she was a teenager?)

and that's without even getting on how simultaneously tired and sad about it the line is — she doesn't want to kill her people, but he's not the first, and he likely won't be the last, and still she takes the time, waits, hopes it won't come to that, though she could've killed him immediately "one simple gesture, and it could all be over"

and then the "i believed in you, we all did" like?? i know i say that like every other day but she was 12 when she first joined the resistance, 14 by the time the battle at the placidium happened, and there was an entire nation following her then, from people she had never seen to people she had followed before. everyone put so much on her shoulders, to be some sort of savior and perfect leader, in a way that honestly no matter what she did after, people would have been disappointed, because she's only human. she wouldn't have been the leader everyone wanted. her refusal to lead earns the ire of others, either way. there is literally no outcome where she wouldn't be punished for not being what other people projected on her.

something she never wanted to be. the "i never asked you to" isn't antagonistic, it's sincere. she never wanted any of that, she didn't want to lead or for people to look up to her, or to be any sort of symbol or to have anyone's faith. she was fighting because it was literally the only thing she had left to do, because she wouldn't just stand aside and let noxus take everything, because she was so angry and hurting about everything she already had lost. but it's the fact even then she still apologizes that gets to me. this man just tried to kill her. he blamed her for a disappointment she really had no way of preventing, because they expected her to be a messianic figure that may have served as inspiration during the war but would never hold up after that, a role she never wanted in the first place, and she still feels responsible. irelia says she never asked for it, and yet acts like that is inconsequential as much as those who resent her; she definitely carries the blame, still, even if it shouldn't be hers (but that is in part because she accepts to carry it; because she feels she failed her people, that she disappointed them, enough to apologize for it even when facing someone intent on taking her life).

the apology is, in part, also because she does kill him after but like. even then. he was trying to kill her because she didn't turn out to be what the brotherhood expected! and she still hopes she won't have to kill him until she really has to, and even after that she says “May the Spirit bring you to peace,” and makes sure he gets a proper burial, something she does herself. the amount of grief and guilt she carries gets to me

[marsmulti]

About Zuko

In the early years of his life, Zuko enjoyed relative peace and happiness within his family unit. Prospering under the Fire Nation's imperial reign, he and his family enjoyed a life of luxury, taking frequent vacations, indulging in fine foods, with access to entertainment such as stage productions and live music. He was unaware of the subtle abuse and manipulation implementated by his father, Ozai, and at the time, saw their family as a happy one.

As he got older, he grew more and more aware of the ways in which Ozai not only favored his sister, but seemed to truly despise him and everything he did. This did not stop him trying to win his father's approval and affection, and he worked twice as hard to become a powerful fire bender and martial artist. While his skill inevitably grew, Ozai's affection only diminished, regardless of Zuko's efforts.

Though he didn't understand why, he was also relentlessly bullied and put down by his more talented younger sister, Azula. She would frequently torment and tease him under the guise of normal sibling banter and engagement. He quickly came to fear and resent her, easily able to see the more obvious abuse at her hands.

At eleven years old, his mother disappears, coming to him in the night to give her last words of wisdom, "...never forget who you are," before vanishing into the night. He has only the support of his uncle, Iroh, though he doesn't return home for some time after this. In the following years, Zuko dedicates himself to his studies, still seeking approval from Ozai, and wishing to become a prince worthy of the crown.

When he is only thirteen years old, he insists on entering his father's war room, to be included in the talks, believing he is ready and it is his duty to be part of this. Inside, he is shocked and horrified by the proposed plan of the General, who suggests sending new recruits to be used as canon fodder. Rightfully, Zuko speaks out, but his father is infuriated by his "defiance," and demands an agni kai.

Zuko, thinking he will face the General, declares that he is unafraid and will gladly accept, however, it is his own father who appears before him. He refuses to fight, terrified and reverent, instead prostrating himself before him and begging forgiveness. However, Ozai sees this as weakness, and as punishment, burns the left side of his face and banishes him, sending him on a frivolous quest to hunt for the Avatar, who hasn't been seen in a hundred years...

Undeterred, and determined to see this through, Zuko searches relentlessly, embracing his anger as a means to become stronger. He grows bitter and resentful, often taking out his anger on the only person who stays by his side, his uncle Iroh. Through the course of his search, he actually does manage to find the avatar, but time and time again, his efforts are thwarted or abandoned for a better cause. Eventually, he comes around to joining them, and begins to come back to himself. (I am not writing a full summary for the show.)

Personality:

Reckless; rarely thinking things through.

Intelligent; resourceful and clever, always ready to use his wits to outsmart and outmanoeuvre an opponent.

Hot tempered; while he has calmed down considerably, he does still have a short fuse and can be easily provoked.

Honest; almost incapable of lying, Zuko has learned the hard way that honesty is the best policy, even if it means accepting dire consequences.

Honorable; no matter what, Zuko always seeks to do what is right, even if it hurts, even if it doesn't look beneficial or practical. Maybe especially then. He doesn't always get it right, but he always tries.

Passionate; whatever he's doing, he does it with his entire being. Zuko is not someone who can do anything half-assed.

Other info:

At the end of canon, he is 17-18. I am writing him around 19 by default. I don't count anything outside the ATLA cartoon in my canon.

Zuko is FtM. He's trans ur honor. I am not explaining.

I don't like Zutara. I am willing to have my mind changed, but don't expect me to fall head over heels for it. On that note, don't expect me to ship at all. Let it build naturally or go home.

My favorite point to write him is from the Ba Sing Se period. Canon divergence FTW.

Plotting;

I really don't have any plot ideas rn, sorry.

I am generally into angst, drama, romance, and interpersonal stuff. Not too interested in action or combat, but I can write it.

I also really really dislike AUs - divergent timelines YES, alternate setting, No.

[heartscfvalor]

Important Things About My D.raco

He was tortured by the Death Eaters after Bellatrix was broken out of Azkaban, as Bellatrix thought Narcissa had made Draco "too soft". Greyback, especially, was abusive and Draco was doing everything he could to hide away from the werewolf, especially during the war. He fully believes he deserved the abuse he suffered due to his behavior when he was younger.

Draco was not allowed to return to Hogwarts during Deathl.y H.allows. Riddle knew that Draco might try to flee if he wasn't under constant supervision.

His wand stopped working shortly after Harry's vision of Draco being forced to torture Rudolphus with the Cruciatus Curse. Due to having a unicorn tail core, it was severely conflicted with being forced to use Dark magic, and so it simply stopped working at all; Draco was resorted to carrying a knife on himself for protection, and he slept with one under his pillow, a habit that is hard to break even after the war is over.

His room was the only safe space he had in the Manor due to the extra protection spells Narcissa added to it. He despised it.

Draco gave the wands to Harry during the skirmish at Malfoy Manor. His punishment, when Riddle discovered it, was to be bitten by Greyback and turned into a werewolf against his will. He begged his parents to let him die, but they put silver and dittany on his wounds anyway, and some part of him carries resentment towards them for it.

He fought on the side of the defenders during the Battle of Hogwarts. Due to his actions, Draco was rescued from Azkaban by the skin of his teeth, but he was still sentenced to one year of house arrest. He almost committed suicide during that year because he couldn't stand being trapped in the Manor still.

His werewolf status was told to Kingsley only, and as a mercy, he was not made to register.

Draco very much wanted to be a Healer at St Mungo's ever since he was a little kid. He's abandoned his dreams after the war simply because he knows no one will accept a former Death Eater, let alone a werewolf, despite never wanting to be either.

His Dark Mark is covered with self harm scars. His flashbacks have him relapsing, but he's trying to get better, because he knows nothing will ever take the Dark Mark out of his skin. When he's anxious, he swears he can still feel it burning.

He lives in a cottage in the woods, Unplottable, as far away from other people as possible. He likes his solitude, and it means he can't be harassed if no one knows where he lives.

Draco has a small apothecary, either in London or at the very edge of Hogsmeade, so that he can use the funds he earns to pour back into charities. He does not have to work if he doesn't want to, he has centuries worth of money in his vault; he simply wants to try and make amends for all the hurt he's caused.

He's also working -- meticulously -- on a potion that can help with lycanthropy. Either a full cure, or something stronger than Wolfsbane, and eventually he succeeds in creating the Moonstone Potion; similar to Wolfsbane, it must be drunk, a whole cup full, every day for a week leading up to the full moon, and the effects stop the transformation completely. It takes him a decade of hard work but he does succeed, and he sells the potion for a knut. Any offers to raise the price are harshly turned down.

Draco suffers from chronic pain in his joints, a side effect of the Cruciatus being used on him for hours, as well as the werewolf transformations he suffers every month. Some days his joints are so inflamed, he uses a cane to walk, or he simply cannot get out of bed. Pain potions don't help much; that's another endeavor he's working on.

Draco suffers from night terrors on a regular basis.

[sasorikigai]

this is real , 𝙞'𝙢 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡 . look at me .⠀»⠀❄️

↪     𝑫𝑰𝑹𝑬 𝑺𝑰𝑻𝑼𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵𝑺  . || @indulgentia || accepting 

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || Even the simplest act of breathing in air and breathing out could be gravely jeopardized when Hanzo Hasashi feels his emptiness making him into a void; a vacuum that sucks the life out of his veins. On this specifically cold November afternoon, when the air had grown so frosty even the pyromancer felt an involuntary tremor fibrillating beneath his tanned flesh, he would be carried into a motionless scenery from a place were time doesn’t exist - and how he missed Kuai Liang’s presence with a force. Through the solidarity and solidity of his battle-scarred entirety, would thick clouds of his subconscious obscure his reality, drowning him in the unbearable laments in a language long since uncensored and unfiltered. Harumi and Satoshi would emerge with a mirage of truth on their lips, as torrential surge of sanguine would taint them beneath the ominous eclipse, which would slither across time with such graceful lust and willing to mark the familiar silhouette in the forest. 

Hanzo finds himself deeply rooted in grief, as he remains stagnant in his character. How could he let himself relinquish such resolve and strength to ward off deathly winter without his everburning flames, as death goes off hoarding the vast tenebrous darkness that would continue to punish and smolder him? Even when he had been the most entrusted enforcer of Quan Chi, destroying what’s clinging of his humanity like a desperate little weed with unbending conviction under wicked machinations, he would refuse to erode away and let himself be be devoured. Even as his essence rubbed raw, threatening to erode and desaturate beneath the corroding salt and sand of wasted potential of his character and time as a warrior and a survivor, his subconscious would be solely fueled by the rush that comes with feeling powerless. All he has to do is to submerge beneath the perturbed surface of his hearth embers, dive under swells and feel the undertow; pulling, pushing, pressing down, hit each wave just right or be slapped down, consumed and annihilated to become naught. 

That inexplicable exhaustion must make its way towards Kuai Liang, whose empathetic gaze seems to pull Hanzo Hasashi’s own skin, the very growing gashes of grief. A bandage he never learned how to properly wear as split seams reveal ugly kintsugi cracks. Despite such deadly concoction of despair and depression, stripping his candor emotions bare and becoming evermore vulnerable isn’t something Hanzo resents in front of his beloved. He has to realize the fact that he has transformed himself into kindness forged from the embers of hatred and vengeful flames of wrath, and infernos of blinding rage, as flames of self-destruction burned resplendent to catalyze a creation which will brighten the world ablaze. 

In his loneliest nights, how Liang shows up like a north star; after the grayest of waves have had their way with him. His beloved comes to him warm, with the simplest touch of his cool hand on his back, lest his inelegant posture of his slouched musculature threatens to collapse like an avalanche. Liang’s gaze become moons of clear night and his breaths like the mitigating wind that would guide him like a compass. 

“Nightmarish visions of hopelessness and despair often forces me to plunge deep into the abysmal darkness without light, like a sudden power failure, all my expectations and hopes... would collapse,” all my expectations with you would collapse and I can only be silent in silence, for it would be the reality that would irreversibly kill my expectations for the unknown future. Perhaps Hanzo Hasashi’s world was meant to be so tragically beautiful, as he trudges through the graveyard of stars, long pulverized and vanished. But they are no longer just two mortal bodies standing face-to-face, two envelops of flesh with nothing folded inside. They have been emptied, with the exposed field of bones surrounding them like a fresh snowfall, except that their human heart, filled with honor, credo, resilience, and tenacity helped them to endure and eventually conquer the insufferable pain. “Whenever I look at you in times of my trials and tribulations, I gravely fear this moment, this time of legends risen and resurrected together in tandem may simply extinguish.”  ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

[topazadine]

Before I go be useful elsewhere, I want to share OMOKAGE HEADCANONS, as if I haven't headcanoned enough about him in my fics lmao

(look he's so baby are you sick of seeing his face yet)

He's a perfectionist: he'll do something over and over again just to be sure that he gets it right. This might be because his feelings of inadequacy, or it might just be because of his personality, but he takes EVERYTHING very seriously and hates feeling like he's failed at anything, even something like a lighthearted game.

However, he's quite forgiving of other peoples' mistakes and doesn't hold anyone else to his personal standards.

His worst attributes are his low self-esteem and his difficulty in understanding moral nuances. He has a problem with black-and-white thinking, which may come from the fact that, as a sword made of multiple other swords, this has become coping strategy to keep himself composed and in line. He fears losing control of those fragments, so to protect himself he has developed very rigid rules and moralities meant to contain all those loose ends with him.

Sometimes it feels like he's always on: he just can't relax and always feels the need to be on alert. Fortunately he's learning how to accept that sometimes there can be downtime; Ichigo and the Awataguchis help a lot with this ofc

He struggles to understand playfights and always assumes that if someone's being mean to someone else, it's an insult or an attack, though he's coming to understand this better from being around Tsurumaru, who always seems to be insulting someone.

He always fears not living up to the standards of others, which is probably why he has such high standards for himself: his immediate response to failure is to assume he's going to be punished or dismantled, even for really stupid shit like burning a pot of soup.

He's afraid of sparring because he doesn't want to hurt any of his comrades: he enjoys watching other people spar more than doing it himself, and finds it's instructive even if he's not actually doing it. He especially likes watching swords from other classes spar and tries to integrate the lessons he learns from their fighting styles into his own work.

Omokage can get lost in his own head for hours, which is why he likes being around other people all the time, so he has a reason not to get trapped in there.

The one thing he's very, very protective of is Journal, because he almost considers Journal like a pet or a toy. Some of the Awataguchis tried to snoop in it, which was the first time anyone in the citadel saw him actually look angry at someone. Journal is now kept on Omokage's person at all times, even during battle.

Omokage's greatest fear isn't being sent back to the Time Agency, but seeing any comrade get broken. He'd endure any pain or sacrifice to ensure that doesn't happen.

Omokage has an incredibly high pain tolerance because of his past experiences and so often has a lot of bruises hidden under his clothes, since he just never realizes he's gotten hurt. And, of course, the Awataguchis treat him like a giant stuffed animal and jump on him all the time.

Despite his desire for constant attention and stimulation, he actually gets overstimulated quite easily thanks to being alone for so long. This can lead to him just shutting down in social situations and dissociating, but he doesn't know how to extricate himself without being rude or hurting someone's feelings, so he just sits there lost and upset without telling anyone.

Omokage really struggles to speak up for himself and assert his own needs, which leads to his boundaries being trampled on all the time. I'm sure this causes unspoken resentments and frustrations that he just can't voice, and he has little outlet for them either - he doesn't know how to release that tension other than talking to Journal. This is probably part of the reason that he seems either kind of spacey or a bit on edge all the time.

Anyway he's baby and I love him

[smqazi]

THE BENEFITS AND VIRTUES OF RECITING OF OR LISTENING TO SURAH AL-BUROOJ, 85.

The Holy Prophet (SallAllahu ‘alaihi wa Sallam) narrates that the reward for reciting it is that ten good deeds for all the Fridays and days of Arafah of the world will be written as a reward for the person who does so.

Surah Al-Buruj: Explanation and Benefits

Iman is a writer and an engineer. She also studied at Zad story of People of the Ditch (Al-Ukhdood). The story is about the believers who were burned in the ditch because they believed in God Almighty. The king and his aides who ordered the digging of the ditch were witnesses to this holocaust. Allah (Subhanahu wa Ta’ala) also confirmed that he accepts the repentance of those who committed this holocaust, with the promise of revenge from those who did not repent by the punishment of Hell in the hereafter.

Allah (Subhanahu wa Ta’ala) also confirms in Surah Al-Buruj that the Holy Qur’an is preserved from distortion.

Tafsir (Explanation)

“In the Name of Allah (Subhanahu wa Ta’ala), the Most Beneficent, the Most Merciful

{1} By the heaven full of constellations,

Meaning: God Almighty swears by the sky and its constellation. And great stars it contains and regular planets that do not deviate from their paths. This indicates the power and greatness of God. Allah (Subhanahu wa Ta’ala) says in Holy Quran: (Blessed is He Who has placed constellations in the sky, and a ˹radiant˺ lamp and a luminous moon) Surah Al-Furqan (The Criterion): 61

{2} And the promised Day (The Day of Judgment).

{3} And by the witness and what is witnessed,

Scholars of Tafsir (interpretation) stated that God Almighty swore by the witness and what is witnessed.

From the witnesses:

The Prophet Muhammad (SallAllahu ‘alaihi wa Sallam). Allah (Subhanahu wa Ta’ala) said in Holy Qur’an: (So how will it be when We bring from every faith community a witness and We bring you {O Prophet} as a witness against these people?) Surah An-Nisa’ (The Women): 41

The organs of the human body bear witness to what he did, good or bad. Allah (Subhanahu wa Ta’ala) says: (On a Day when their tongues, hands, and feet will bear witness against them for what they used to do) Surah An-Noor (The Light): 24

Angels will bear witness on the Day of Resurrection. Allah (Subhanahu wa Ta’ala) says in Holy Qur’an: [But Allāh (Subhanahu wa Ta’ala) bears witness to that which He has sent down to you. He has sent it with His knowledge. And the angels bear witness as well. And Allāh (Subhanahu wa Ta’ala) is sufficient as Witness] Surah An-Nisa: 166

As for what is witnessed, like the day of Arafat and the Day of Resurrection.  Allah (Subhanahu wa Ta’ala) says: (This is a Day (the Day of Judgment) for which humanity will be collected, and that is a Day that will be witnessed) Surah Hud: 103

{4} Destroyed [i.e., cursed] were the makers of the trench.

(The makers of the trench): They are infidels who have burned the believers in the fire. These infidels tried to prevent the believers from worshiping Allah (Subhanahu wa Ta’ala), but they failed. They drilled a great trench in the ground. And they collected firewood and burnt believers in it.

{5} The fire filled with fuel.

{6} Meaning that these infidels were sitting by the fire watching the torture of the believers. This indicates the severity of the hardness of their heart.

{7} And they (the king and his companions who ordered the trench to be dug and their followers) to what they were doing against the believers were witnesses.

{8} And they resented them for no reason other than they believed in Allah, the Exalted in Might, the Praiseworthy.

{9} Meaning: Allah (Subhanahu wa Ta’ala), to Whom belongs the dominion of the heavens and the earth. There is nothing hidden for Him. Allah (Subhanahu wa Ta’ala) is a witness to everything.

{10} Meaning that Those who burned and tortured the believing men and women and then did not repent of their unbelief and what they did with the believers. They will have the punishment of Hell. In the hereafter, their torment will be more severe than their unbelief for burning the believers.

{11} That is, surely, those who believed and done righteous deeds will have in the Hereafter, Gardens under which rivers flow. That is the greatest triumph.

{12} Meaning: Indeed, punishment and the vengeance of your Lord is severe.

{13} It is He who to originate and repeat. That is, He who creates creation from the beginning and then repeats it back at the resurrection.

{14} And He is the Forgiving, All-Loving.

{15} Lord of the Throne, the All-Glorious.

{16} Doer of what He wills.

{17} Has the story of the soldiers reached you (O Prophet) – Meaning: God Almighty says to His Prophet Muhammad (SallAllahu ‘alaihi wa Sallam): Has the story of the soldiers reached you, O Muhammad?

{18} The forces of Pharaoh and Thamûd?

Pharaoh’s story: God destroyed him and his soldiers and saved the believers, who followed Allah’s prophet Moses (‘Alaih-is-Salam).

The story of Thamud: God destroyed them all and saved Allah’s Prophet Salih (‘Alaih-is-Salam) and his followers.

{19} Meaning: Yet they who disbelieve still in (persist) denial.

{20} That is, Allah encompasses them from all sides.

{21} Indeed, this is a glorious Qur’an.

{22} Meaning: In a preserved Slate, it is neither changed nor distorted. Allah (Subhanahu wa Ta’ala) says in the Holy Qur’an: [Allah (Subhanahu wa Ta’ala) eliminates and confirms what He wills, and with Him is the Mother of the Book] Surah Ar-Ra‘d (The Thunder): 39

What is the Mother of the Book? The Mother of the Book is the Preserved Slate (al-Lawḥ al-Maḥfuẓ). In which is inscribed the original of every scripture revealed by Allah (Subhanahu wa Ta’ala).

Benefits

Verse 10 confirms that God Almighty accepts the repentance of the penitent, no matter how great the sins are. Allah (Subhanahu wa Ta’ala) also says: (Say, O Prophet, that Allah says, “O My servants who have exceeded the limits against their souls! Do not lose hope in Allah’s mercy, for Allah certainly forgives all sins. He is indeed the All-Forgiving, Most Merciful) Surah Az-Zumar (The Troops): 53

God Almighty may bring the infidels to power over the believers, killing them or using all means of torture against them. This is a test from Allah for the believers to determine their patience and intensity of faith in God Almighty. God Almighty promised the believers a great reward. God Almighty confirms this in verse 11. Allah also says: (But those who believe and do good will have a reward uninterrupted) Surah Al-Inshiqaq: 25

[google-searchhistory-official]

The vampire sits in thought which she had tried to avoid desperately by starving herself of blood for a few hundred centuries. Where does her mind linger? Why is her self imposed torture not enough? Why is she mad... No... Why is she sad at something she should be angry over.

She is restless, that is the curse of her immortality yes but not the result of it. Her long withered heart still beats in a rhythm of a song long forgotten, of lyrics she burned and scribbled over, of memories best left forgotten.

Her name is Misty, the human turned vampire at the end of existence. She is the oldest monster of this new world, but only its god and devil know that about her. She is older than them, and they both give her mercy and grieve a past she cannot return to. That is now, she's sad about then.

Then, she was a human, with a soft heart and eternal kindness for the broken. She was lonesome, a life in the solitude of a cabin surrounded by nature. She was scared, that first night a monster (or was he a demon then?) sullied the nearby stream with the scent of oncoming death.

She was ecstatic when saving him and her world now grew to include the supernatural and inexplicable. She was confused, when her heart became infatuated with the monster who acted more human than creature and had greater intellect than she thought possible of him. She grieved at his story of woe with which he seemingly held no emotions for. She cried when she understood that he thought himself deserving of eternal torment.

She was bewildered, he offered her a rose first. She was enamored to him from then on. She saw a life with him, of solitude and healing. She was happy, she saw a life for them and their newborn Ariel whom had none of his monstrous traits and proved to her deep down he was human. She was content.

...

...

She was content. But she became resentful, the monster was taken from her. She was horrified, the monster accepted the punishment of torture before death. She was vengeful, but metal would not yield to her flesh. She was killed, eaten by ants and bones left to bleach.

She was a hivemind, forgetting for the first but not the last, her daughter and the monster. She had millions of her own kin to tend to now. She was complacent, the work of an ant matriarch is lazy.

She was burned, others labeled her monster and deemed it necessary. She was ash, feeding into a tree. She forgot again what she nearly remembered before bark and root took priority. She was old, no other tree could last so long. She was struck down by lightning, and she remembered.

She remembered and wept as the universe around her withered away. All that was left was her, and in the last throes of a dying god, she was given form again. Too weak was the deity to make her a demigod, but still she could be immortal. And so was was to then, and then is to now.

And now, that monster still lived. Nothing of him changed, nothing except he refuses to talk about her child. He is no longer a monster, he was always a monster, was always a demon, his now newly a god, but as much as she has come to loathe him since the beginning of this new time, she still knows he was also always human. She wants desperately to hate, to despise, to abhor his very existence.

She can feel nothing but sorrow and dampened love for a time forever ago lost. She can pretend to hate him for all eternity. She cannot lose him, for he is the only thing that reminds her of then. She cannot love him, for he is too far removed from every thing, time, and place. She can only despise him for who he pretends to be, not who she knows he is.

She is Misty Evergreen, the Vampire Lord of Tears, former Monster Queen of Ants. Her daughter was Ariel Evergreen, human save for toughened skin and an innate skill in magic. She once was wed to the God of Nothing, him with the last name Grimm. They never divorced, but neither are now married.

Misty Evergreen, whose withered heart holds a dead universe. Misty Evergreen, whose existence is eternal because she dared show a monster kindness. Misty Evergreen, mother of a child wiped from reality. Misty Evergreen, whom both god and the devil have wept for. Misty Evergreen, whom still holds kindness for every creature and hates to drink blood to fulfill her needs as a vampire.

She is mad at herself that she cannot feel anger towards the one who deserves her ire the most. She is sad he cannot bring up his own daughter. She is confused why him and everyone related still exist. She is angry they get to live but her daughter does not. She is hopeful that her questions will be answered. She is scared that they won't. She is terrified that they will.

She sits in thought through her starvation until it drives her mad. She can no longer think, she attacks and draws blood. This blood is vile, it tastes of death, it is far from lively, it is hers. Her heart, while it beats slow, still can push her own decayed life just enough to make new blood that dies upon creation.

It's barely enough to keep her sane, to keep her from bloodlust. In an act of kindness, that damned god gave her the last torment of the afterlife. Any other with less qualms over the sanctity of life would indulge in this gift. She cannot. She refuses to be anything but the mother she remembers she was for Ariel. She refuses to give up on the lessons she taught her child. She refuses to believe her dead.

She is Misty Evergreen, the human who refuses to turn into a monster.