#scarlet’s sad saps

[t0nixium]

🧸Teddybear Princess👑

[nursemimosa]

I feel like this has been posted before but this is what Larry says if you chose him as your favorite gym leader. (he was who I chose when Geeta asks you questions about the gym leaders post-game. Clever move telling them Geeta!) The detail about going to the park is cute. I wonder what specific park he likes to go to de-stress.

[tiptapricot]

Moon Knight City of the Dead Issue 1… why…?

So. New MK side run has begun, the hyped up full on debut of Layla/new Scarlet Scarab in the comics, with a premise that most writers would twist into an epic and breathtaking journey.

We don’t get that here.

And I have a lot of thoughts on why and how I feel so frustrated with what we got. There’s pieces of something awesome, potential to go to some really fascinating places, and yet it is held back in almost every aspect, creating something messy and clunky that makes me mad to read.

(This is long btw)

First off though, some things I did enjoy!

I really love the art and coloring of this issue. The anatomy and movement and shadows, the stylization of character’s faces and costumes, the sprawling city with its deep reds and blues that feel saturated and weighty. It’s great. Besides a few moments that it comes out of left field with some bad stuff (Layla’s whole face at the end or the MK mask w teeth during the memory slideshow like whaTtt is that), it’s super solid and made for a very enjoyable looking comic.

It was also really fun to see Badr for a little. I think it would’ve been cool to get more, and the pacing of things as I’ll get to later sapped his importance in the story for me some, making him feel more like a prop or a plot device to get it going, but overall it was lovely to see him again. And it was cool to see him being a doctor as well, as we haven’t seen that as recently in MacKay! Always a joy my dear sir please come back soon.

The story in concept. Going to the underworld, detaching a headmate supernaturally to journey to a different plane of reality to save one life, and meeting a dead ally along the way is fascinating stuff, an idea that inspires me to want to explore it myself.

Because (and now it’s time to get into the stuff I didn’t like) the writing doesn’t do this idea justice at all.

This is not the worst MK comic ever rn, not their worst writing. It’s not as violently ableist or antisemitic as things like Bemis or making a joke out of MK like some others, but it’s just stupid, and what it glosses over or gets wrong is weird and uncomfortable and harmful in its own right.

To start this isn’t my Marc. His guilt is not one of punishment for penance, of believing he’s sinned and needs to be washed clean by pain. He is a man stuck in bad coping mechanisms and trying to pretend he’s not. He’s a man who hates himself and uses violence as what I would describe as a form of self harm. But it is not with the goal of erasing his past.

Yes, he runs from the person of Marc Spector, he runs from the idea and the responsibility, but Marc doesn’t try to forget. He holds onto things with a vice grip and never lets himself drop it. He believes in his own mythos and is grappling with his complicated and traumatized history to remember he can love and care and trust people again, that the work of making his life better is not solely on his shoulders. That’s what MacKay’s been dealing with.

MacKay Marc is guilty and self flagellating but in a way he tries not to think about, that he brushes over. He puts on an air of confident collectedness and has more hate for Marc as a concept then specifically his actions, and he’s still able to move forward and find a type of momentum and bravado in the MK suit.

Or in simpler terms: yes Marc has guilt. He does not have this kind of guilt.

The first few pages read so strangely, just this over dramatic spiel that feels more like daredevil than moon knight, like a rehashed dramatic intro to a moody sad 90s comic. And not in a good way. It’s not deep it’s just annoying and tedious and the prose is clunky and again, extremely off in its vibes and message. I think it could’ve been alright, if some of the talk of his guilt had been shifted and the narration hadn’t continued constantly throughout the rest of the issue (which I’ll get to later), but as is in its full context it’s just… weird.

In addition to the weird guilt vibes, there’s further issues with the Khonshu religiosity in this.

Khonshu isn’t something Marc worships, he’s something he uses for his own means. He’ll call on him or talk about being the priest of the mission, but that’s because Khonshu doesn’t have oversight, he’s a tool and form of direction and theming, and at the story’s core Marc is the priest for his mission, not this god’s.

At points in this issue he genuinely sounds dedicated though, and it shifts the flavor of earlier pieces more in line with his usual monologuing to seeming more like strange spiritual devotion. Especially calling Khonshu the greatest of great gods, or saying that him being in the underworld is Khonshu’s mission. It changes his actions from that of Marc to that of a real Khonshu follower and its…. Just weird. It’s all just weird and very ooc.

On top of that, there’s no mention or interrogation or even presence of discussing Judaism alongside all of this. I’m not Jewish myself but have had multiple convos around the topic w those who are n who have made their own posts discussing it and can add on more nuance n info to this should they like (bc more thoughts for discussion are always awesome), but just on a surface level it’s strange. It’s strange to have a plot revolving around going to another belief system’s afterlife and not at all bringing up how it clashes or relates to Jewish beliefs. Yes Marc isn’t really actively practicing anymore but I’d hazard Jake probably is, and Marc has still talked about his connection to his faith and how it’s impacted his time as moon knight and serving Khonshu.

The text treats the Egyptian pantheon belief system as the True and Accepted default here, with Marc not even discussing anything about going to an afterlife he doesn’t belong in (and shouldn’t even have) as a Jewish man, or even thinking about how Badr discussing Ka conflicts with Jewish beliefs on the soul and how Neshamah differ.

And yes, Marc works regularly with the very real Egyptian pantheon and mystical systems but it’s in a different way, and under a different context and understanding by readers of his acceptance of it.

A whole other layer of depth, conflict, and exploration could’ve been added by really digging into the theological implications of this plot, of a Jewish soul in the Egyptian afterlife, and yet it’s not brought up at all, not referenced or mentioned and it makes it all feel weirdly out of place, or like stuff is being glossed over.

That, on top of Jake and Steven (not to mention the entire rest of the main mission cast) being completely absent in mention, consultation, presence, or anything just feeds into this strange sense of Pepose wanting Marc to be the idea he has of him in his head, this guilty, sad, and violent merc serving a moon god with not a ton else. And yes again those are all aspects of Marc, but there is nuance to each of those aspects and treating him as a singlet with no thoughts on the conflicts in faith of his present is… just weird.

I don’t know if he’ll be treated as a singlet the whole run, but the fact that the body’s soul being sent into the afterlife has not already brought in any system conflict at all is an issue. Is it their collective soul? Is it just Marc’s? How does this comic understand alter soul distinction? Has it thought about it at all? I mean the answer is no but the thing is it should’ve.

That’s where so many of my issues with this come from though: choices just being… not good. Not thought out or in line with the characters and world. The writing is off and out of place and gOD THE CONSTANT NARRATION IS GRATING!!

I don’t know why it was chosen for Marc to novel write his thoughts and observations the whole issue but it’s bad. It goes past introducing plots or observations that can’t be shown in text to either:

1. Filling space that doesn’t need to be filled

2. Restating what has just been said or shown in a panel (“we have the power of the four horsemen” “wow they just got the power of the four horsemen”)

3. At worst, telling us stuff that was not indicated at all by anything else (“oh I know something is wrong here even though I have not been given enough reason to pique that suspicion” “oh I reunite with Layla and hold her and take her in but haha you don’t see that ig”)

It’s annoying and makes reading things difficult because he’s blabbering on the whole time in places he DOESNT NEED TO!! And it makes the action and emotional movement feel awkward and forced. I don’t need to know every second of Marc’s thoughts Pepose I can parse out things with my eyes I promise you that. Also can he stop talking about penance for TWO SECONDS!!!

The worst part is narration works when done well! When it highlights things that can’t be shown in art or gives some bits of exploration into feelings or exposition, but we don’t need it in every panel. It actually confused some parts of where to look for me by telling me what was about to happen before it did. Stop being like “I thought it was over but—“ JUST LET US SEE ITS NOT OVER!!

Another moment (similar ish to the start) where the narration would’ve worked for me (if it was not surrounded by just more constant narrating monologue) is when Marc first arrives in the Duat. The prose is pretty, it’s vibrant, it describes things the audience wouldn’t be able to pick up from static pictures and helps to set the scene. The only issue is that it doesn’t stand on its own, it’s not an interjection of observations and thoughts, it’s another entry in the never ending cycle of Marc just talking. And it loses some of its luster because of that.

There’s also just a handful of pieces of either dialogue or thoughts that (in the context of Steven and Jake being absent at the moment despite not being absent at the point in time this should be taking place) make me feel very uncomfortable with Pepose’s vibes on their mental health. Some lines that rubbed me the wrong way in context include “The rage fills within me—and suddenly I have a plan. That said, it would help if my plan wasn’t dangerously insane.” “You know me Badr, mental discipline is my middle name.” And a few similar ones I don’t want to reread again for.

They’re just unnecessary man. We don’t need vaguely or directly ableist vibes in words with MK anymore. It works if it feels like it’s coming from Marc’s internalized ableism IE when he was talking about being called crazy during the discussion with Steven and Jake and Jake called him out for it, but when it’s obvious it’s just how the author sees things it sucks!

Stop using insane, stop using crazy, stop being like “oh I’m so good at keeping myself in check,” WE DONT NEED IT!! ALSO THEY R AT A GENERAL POINT OF SYSTEM COMMUNICATION N HARMONY RN!!

Which also just… man this feels like it’s trying to introduce MK instead of continuing an already established and well under way arc. Yea, this isn’t MacKay writing it, but it’s still in the continuity and set up for his run and like… sorry not sorry but I think you should take that context into account if you’re going to be working within it???

Instead the story props itself up by trying to introduce everything at once and Marc feels like he’s starting from the bottom of development.

And speaking of introducing everything at once! Oh boy the pacing!

No one besides Badr is consulted before Marc goes into the Duat, Badr just. Sends him there. There’s no real build up for why there’s a need go that far, for what the threat is or why Marc would go to these lengths so suddenly. Like yeah I know he wants to save a kid who’s a traveler of the night, but like… Others have died or almost died on his watch and he’s never gone to this point before, even though it seems like it’s always something they’ve had as an option. Like… ok ig if Soldier hadn’t been vamped he would just be dead lmao (though also hey! Why and how do souls end up in this afterlife? Do they have to believe in the gods? Do they have to be in some way tied to the pantheon? Is it just where souls go if they’re near moon knight lmaO? If you want to have your afterlife plot you have to do the worldbuilding for it)

And while yes, a lot of this is because This Plot Wasnt Thought Up During Earlier Parts Of Mackay, it also isn’t introduced in a way that feels natural or makes sense.

Events just Happen. Mysteries or drives are just Said without a good basis for why they’re there. Again, this cult was talked about as just kinda a sadistic gang but then they’re a big deal? And oh the kid is dying and oh he’s worth going to the afterlife for and OH WERE JUST HERE NOW and “oh there’s a conspiracy I’ve decided with no real evidence” and HEY FOUND THE GUY and—Suddenly a whole lot of what is happening. God heart full on cult horsemen of the apocalypse memory flashback and BOMBS NOW APPARENTLY and LAYLA and MK BIG PAST BADDIES BOSS FIGHT INCOMING!!

Like ohhhh my god stuff is so rushed and happens so inorganically and with no time to really understand what’s happening. It’s a type of story where my suspension of disbelief isn’t there and it fully just feels like seeing the writer trying to get to the end goal of what they want to write about (moon knight fighting old villains) as quickly as possible. And it SUCKS! Like this genuinely should’ve been more than one issue, there should’ve been at least sOme more build up to gEtting to the city of the dead in the first place, no matter additionally uncovering a plot of some sort happening and Layla turning up.

It’s just…. It’s so rushed and strange and forced and it didn’t have to be and IT MAKES ME MAD IT IS and it’s just not enjoyable to read. It all feels so shallow and stilted and weird, all while having this underlying idea with so much weight, some generally gorgeous art, some moments that could’ve been really awesome, and last but not least…. Literally a good reference to doing a Duat plot well.

This whole mini run is for MCU synergy, bringing Layla in, exploring the Duat and it’s lore, and again yes, the run isn’t done, but it just…. Compared to the MCU plot for the Duat this feels so…. GraaggHhggh. Especially when it comes to system interaction and exploring different painful memories that effect headmates in different ways.

It’s just. It was an extremely frustrating read from both a technical writing standpoint and a character exploration standpoint, and it worries me and doesn’t excite me at all for future issues. Like we’ll sEe but goddamn this is not a good start no matter how it plays out and it doesn’t give me confidence if it turns out I have to read several more issues of this kind of stuff.

Petty nitpicks speed run because there wasn’t enough enjoyable padding for them to not stand out!

I don’t know if Pepose could’ve specified or not but Marc’s not drinking vodka in the opening scene, it looks more like whiskey or something similar by the bottle, again nailing home how strangely off this Marc is from the Marc he’s meant to be with how Mackay has built him up.

Why do they use Duat and City of the Dead like they’re interchangeable titles it’s just the Duat like I get calling it “the city of the dead” since it is that but like. Let that just b the run title they shouldn’t be calling it that like it’s a final name.

They misspell Dr. Alraune’s name lmao

How did the kid get… hurt..? The only point in the opening fight I can think he maybe got hit was with the gunfire but it didn’t seem like that was aimed towards him and there wasn’t any moment of having a detail in the background showing him get injured. And he wasn’t lethally injured at the start so ???

What… is the continuity between the Hydra vs Karnak Cowboys fight we see in MacKay and the flashback here. They were on an empty road there when they crashed? And now they’re in the heart of the city? AlsO bOMBS???

Anyway all I’ll wrap it up with is when the only thing I genuinely smile at is the cameo and namedrop of Apocalypse you know something is wrong with your story lmaO

[mysteriouslover1516]

Moon (Richy x MC) 3

Based on Jonah Kagen's song Moon. Read Part 1 and Part 2 first if not already done so.

I’ve got demons, you’ve got scars

But all the bumps and bruises take us the place we are

The smell of smoke and gasoline hit MC with a vengeance as the light in the distance grew closer, making her soon come to a startling realization. The light wasn’t a lantern, nor was it a flashlight…..it was actual flames. Faint coughing reached her ears as she picked up on the sound of crackling, roaring flames; the fire hungrily sapping up fuel.

We’ve been through heaven and then we fell

And you might think it’s over

“Hello?” MC called out hesitantly, debating whether or not to turn the corner, knowing she would then be vulnerable and out in the open. Who would she come face to face with? Michael? Richy? Shaking her head, she took a deep breath, the smell of fumes making her mind spin and eyes burn. She couldn’t be afraid, not now, he needed her, Richy needed her.

But the story’s ours to tell

Just know that I will be with you

Richy opened his eyes, his mind whirling. Was he hallucinating? Were the fumes getting to his head? He could have sworn he heard a voice, he heard her voice. But that was impossible…..she had sent Alan in her place. Alan had rescued Hannah, left the mine with her clasping tightly to his arm. He had watched them exit the Grimstone, then he shut the trap door behind them, making sure no one else could venture back inside. He couldn’t put anyone else’s life back in danger, not again, not anymore. As the smoke started to fill his lungs, his chest ached, his body quickly succumbing to an immense coughing fit, eyes closing once more.

Just keep looking for the moon and I’ll be here

While you’re searching for your life out in the dark

Stepping out of the shadows and into the blazing light casted by the dancing flames, MC’s thoughts slowly came to a stand still. All too familiar messy, blonde hair; those ocean blue eyes she had come to adore hidden behind closed lids; the slight dimples; staring straight back at her. Was he dead? “Richy?!” Her eyes flickered away from his face, gaze falling on his upper body. The navy blue hoodie he wore was coated with dirt and grime, a once-white wrapping barely clinging on to his right arm, stained crimson red. No, this wasn’t happening. No.

Looking for the moon, you’ll see it clear

Cause it shines the same wherever you are

The mechanic’s eyes snapped open as he heard his name being spoken, his eyes locking with those of the girl before him. Her face was pale, her hands shaking, he noticed the slight biting of her bottom lip, oh god. The red glow of the roaring flames mirrored themselves in her sad, beautiful eyes; tears starting to cascade down her cheeks and glisten in the mocking scarlet and maroon lighting. “MC.”

Let it guide you, don’t look behind you

If you stay within the light, I’ll always find you

In that moment, MC’s world fell apart,  it felt like her heart was shattering into a thousand billion pieces. Pieces that she would never be able to recover, that were impossible to glue together without cutting herself on the sharp shards. Pieces she wasn’t even sure she wanted to face ever again, pieces to relive. Jake was right…… oh god, he was right.  It was Richy, it was Richy all along.

Looking for the moon, and I’ll be here

If you don’t ever have to feel alone

“MC,” The blonde’s voice cracked as he watched her resolve fade. In that moment he was sure he had lost her, he had seen it, leaving him looking into a sad, desolate wasteland of racing emotions.

Cause I will be with you

“It was you.” MC barely recognized her own voice, the quietness of it startling her. “You.” More tears started to rapidly fall from her eyes, “Richy, how could you? How could you do this to Hannah, to your friends, to Jessy. How could you do this to ME?” She choked as she remembered the video call where he faked his death, the pain she had experienced then was nothing compared to what she felt now. “I loved you, Richy! When you….when I thought you died…..I cried so hard for you, I cried myself to sleep! Do you even care?!”

I will be with you

Keep looking for the moon

I will be with you

“Of course I cared!” Richy pleaded, struggling to his feet, a groan escaping his lips as his arm screamed its dismay at the sudden movement. “It killed me to do that to you! To know what kind of an effect it would have on you, what toll it would take! I-”

In my letters and in my songs

It’s the thought of you that fills them up

And keeps me feeling strong

“Then why would you do it?!” MC cried, barely registering the mechanic closing the gap between them. “Why Richy? You said you cared for me, and then you-”

I don’t regret it, I know it’s hard

But I know that we are greater than the sum of our hearts

Just know that I will be with you 

Ignoring the flames enclosing around them, his head growing numb to the pain in his shoulder, he reached his injured arm up to MC’s cheek, gently brushing away her tears with his thumb. “MC, I’m so sorry. I swear, I didn’t mean for it to go this far. Please, you have to believe me, I didn’t want this, MC! I never wanted this! Just give me a chance, a chance to explain, please, just give me another chance!”

Just keep looking for the moon and I’ll be here

While you’re searching for your life out in the dark

“You don’t deserve another chance, Richy!” MC cried, hating the way she felt herself leaning into his touch, the way her body was ultimately betraying her. “You deserve what’s happening to you, you deserve that gunshot wound in your shoulder! You deserve to die, Richy! You’re a monster! I-” her mouth struggled to form the words, the words that were echoing inside her head. I hate you.

Looking for the moon, you’ll see it clear

Cause it shines the same wherever you are

“MC, no,” Tear-filled blue eyes shone in the light of the flames. “Don’t say that, please. MC, I can’t lose you, god I can’t lose you! I know I deserve your hatred, I deserve you to despise me and wish me dead, but MC, I’m begging you, please, just don’t!” He subconsciously found his arms around her waist, pulling her close to his chest, noting her breath hitch at the closeness.

Let it guide you, don’t look behind you

If you stay within the light, I’ll always find you

“I don’t know you,” MC whispered as she looked up into his eyes. “The man I thought you were, it was all a lie, an act. I……..I don’t know you, and I don’t want to.” Her voice began to raise as the tears came more rapidly, suddenly trying to pull herself away from Richy’s arms. “You’re not the man I fell in love with, that guy was apparently just a figment of my imagination, he didn’t exist, he NEVER existed. You lied to me, deceived me! And I hate you, Richy! I hate you for what you did to me, for what you did to us, to Hannah. I HATE you and I hate that it’s killing me! I hate that I still find myself loving you, when all I want to feel towards you is hatred!”

Looking for the moon, and I’ll be here

Cause you don’t ever have to feel alone

“You have every right to hate me, I know.” Richy hung his head, fighting the urge to let go, instead he held her fighting and squirming in his arms. “But please, I’m begging you, don’t. I know I hurt you, I hurt you so so much. I know I took advantage of your feelings for me, I deceived you, lied to you about who I was. But you have to believe me, the affection I felt for you was all real. The feelings I shared with you, when I told you I liked you, I meant it. I know I lied to you about nearly everything, but if there is one thing you can believe me on, believe me when I say I still love you. Because MC, I still love you, and I never stopped and I never will until my dying breath! And I know you probably still hate my guts and think I’m once again trying to lead you astray with my words, but I promise, I mean it all with my whole heart!”

Cause I will be with you

I will be with you

“How am I supposed to believe you, Richy?” MC said weakly, finally resting in his hold, breath shaking. “After all you did, after so many lies, how am I supposed to believe you now? Because…….if you truly loved me, you wouldn’t have gone this far, right? If you truly loved any of us, any of your friends, you wouldn’t have allowed everything to happen. It’s hard to trust you, no matter how much my heart wants me to forgive and forget, my head screams no, my instincts say to run and not look back. To leave you to your demise, let the others believe it was Michael all along, not their friend, not their beloved mechanic, not Richy Rogers, the man who always smiled and always had a joke for them.”

And I know how it feels to be lonely and lie awake on your own (I will be with you)

And I know how it hurts when you hide

That your heart is barely holding on (I will be with you)

“I know, MC, I know.” Richy sighs as his gaze shifted from her eyes, and then to her lips. “It would be crazy of you to forgive me, to simply act as I never did anything at all to hurt you, to forget.” He opened his mouth up as if to speak some more, but no sound came out, he was truly at a loss for words. There was nothing he could say that could reverse the past, excuse his actions. Nothing.

But if you think that I’ll forget you

Then you must be crazy

Suddenly a smoldering beam fell from the mine ceiling, jarring them both back to their present circumstances, the environment mimicking a raging furnace. “Richy, we need to get you out.”

Cause honestly it’s not only you that needs saving

I will be with you

“I don’t deserve it,” The blonde shook his head. “I don’t deserve you, MC.”

"Richy, don't, please-"

Just keep looking for the moon and I’ll be here

While you’re searching for your life out in the dark

“You said so yourself, MC. I’m a monster, I deserve to die, I deserve what is happening to me. I did this to myself and now it’s time to reap the consequences.” His lips screwed into a small, bitter smirk. “As my father used to say, you made your bed now lie in it.” A hollow chuckle escaped him, here he was literally laughing at danger, at death himself.

Looking for the moon, you’ll see it clear

Cause it shines the same wherever you are

“You want another chance, right?” MC asked seriously, eyes searching his ocean blue ones, the ones she found herself once more drowning in the more she stared. “Another chance for us?”

Keep looking for the moon

I will be with you (I will be with you)

“More than anything, MC.” More tears started to cascade down Richy’s cheeks, “But I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t want to burn you. I don’t deserve to take your hand, to walk out of this mine with you by my side. You deserve life, I deserve death. MC, I can’t-”

Keep looking for the moon

I will be with you

Cause I will be with you

MC cut him off by pressing her lips to his, “Save it for later,” she breathed out as she pulled away. “A the moment, we need to focus on escaping. And now.”

Hey lovelies! Thanks for sticking with me on this journey! Please like or comment, I love to hear from all of you! <3 <3 Part 4 is on its way.........

[elekid]

i had opportunity to try pokemon scarlet for free and i didnt think about it until opening the game, nor did i think it would make me dis sad, but not beinf able to even pick my skin color for my character while SHE gets to ....um i dont mean to sound like a pussy but idk, call me a sap, as a fan since the first games came out (maybe bc i grew up with the series) kiiinda made me too fucking sad to even play the game ;(

[loniface]

I want the new Pokemon Scarlet/Violet DLC, but I can't spare the funds to get it right now. Getting my vehicle fixed last month sapped me dry and it's taking me more months to catch back up again. The price I paid for a little freedom, I guess.

Insert Sad Pyro.

[myersesque]

List five things that make you happy, then put this in the ask box of the last ten people who reblogged something from you. Spread the positivity ✨💛🌻

woah uhh hi!! in no specific order:

cats!!! i have 2. the youngest is called bob; he's very fluffy and ginger and doesn't mind being picked up, which is great bc i like to hug him when i'm sad

my bf!!! he comes over to my house every week. we watch shows we like together n turn captions on so we can infodump over all the dialogue. he likes cars and bikes and commentates on random cars driving past whilst we walk together, telling me if the noise it makes is good or if it needs fixing or etc etc.

performing!!! not to be a sap or owt but that whole "do what u love and it won't feel like work" thing. stage lights are so uncomfortable and remembering everything is so stressful and sometimes the criticism makes me want to cry, but it makes me feel more alive than anything else in the world. i love just Being A Character for a minute. i love learning choreo that's actually great fun to perform. it's a grand old time

horror!!! i love a lot of movies n shows n stuff but horror has always been my favourite genre, ever since primary school. it's so oddly comforting? i could infodump for Hours about the tropes and the special effects and the genre in-jokes and specific movies that i adore.

superheroes!!! not all of em, but like. a few specific ones. batman, obviously, and daredevil. the umbrella academy. spider-man. moon knight n the scarlet scarab, all those folks. it's just so comforting to me, the idea that there are people out there who are willing and able to save others and expect nothing much in return. i used to look out of my bedroom window after a hard day and imagine a hero watching me from the roof across the road, and comfort myself with the idea that they'd save me if i needed it. idk. it's childish maybe, but it's good.

i don't know if i'll send this to anyone's inbox (i am... very anxious abt that sorta thing lmao) but if u see this and u wanna do it!!! feel free to!!!

[chipper-smol]

Hollow Knight Telephone Round Two: Pale Jester Chain 1

Prompt: PJ finds himself alone with the Grimmchild after the bug who finished the ritual abandons the Grimmchild charm

By @alaska-ren-works​

“Oh, the red casts great and terrifying spells Ones which no one knows The drums go bang and the bats ignite ‘Lo and behold a toad!”

The Pale Jester hummed to the beat of his steps, the atmosphere of King’s Pass having a little color now, PJ thinks. Little taps from crawlids and squawks of vengeflies adding a little harmony to his cheery bells. Ah, to have an orchestra of his own to play and dance to. Never the mind, there’s always his friends he could sneak away with. He’s sure Brumm wouldn’t mind if he borrowed him and his accordian. Brumm was always a lovely companion with his somber mood. Hm, now if only he could remember where he left his lute he’d be on his way to play with the troupe.

The jester paused when mued noise echoed from a tunnel above. Shrugging, his bells jingled as he scaled the stone up and up while wondering what this little mystery was. A statue of a great bug with red eyes a-plenty loomed from the jester's place on the edge, guarding over a single opened chest. The noise echoed from its hollow depths.

A grub? It must be. Unless something else can make such high-pitched sounds.

The jester jingled quietly to the chest, preparing a little song to cheer the poor sap out. Who would leave a child in a desolate place such as this?

He'd have a word with the young one's parents. A strongly worded one at that. If he had a child, he would never abandon them when they needed him most.

Indeed. You have done far, far worse. Strange. Is the wind howling voices? What a peculiar land this is.

The sound whimpered louder and at this the jester froze. It couldn't be. No, of course not. Master had made sure the bug was to be trusted. They would never... They would never do such a thing...!

He hurried and his claws dug into the chest's metal. His heart stopped when he saw what, or who, was inside. The black gleaming horns. The scarlet flame stuttering under glassy eyes.

No.

"Grimmchild?"

A stuttered whimper his only reply.

How dare that excuse of a life betray our child.

Grimmchild did not respond when the jester picked them up, cradling them in his puy-sleeved arms. Dark red stained their cheeks. Dark, sorrowful red.

"Child," he gently cooed, frowning when they hardly moved their head. "How long were you left here?"

No reply. What have they done to you?

“Let’s go home, little one. I am certain you are tired after your long adventure,” he sang with restrained tones, his fury marbled with his grief for this little one. "I have a few tricks I want to show you! Made them perfect while Brumm learned how to juggle. He's not the most dexterous of us all but perhaps one day he can handle flaming darts! What fun that would be!"

No reply.

The Jester trembled with every rocking of his arms for the child. He remembered how the child laughed and beamed when the bug took them to gather the scarlet flames. The child sang with such glee at the bug's performance with the master. The child grew more brilliant with every step this bug took with them down to the kingdom's last flame.

Come to think of it, he had not seen the bug once the heart was defeated. ... No.

"O, child," the jester piped. Taking one step, a stalactite fell from above. His hand moved on its own and in moments, the rock turned to powder under his clenched fist. The child merely curled in his arms, eyes dimming to a close. "Child, you need rest! Once you wake, you'll be in such a lovelier place with the most delightful of games to play with!"

That... fiend... left the child when the ritual was over? Like a mere toy to be buried once play time ends?

That abomination will pay. For every tear this child shed.

Every. Damned. One.

-------------------------------

By @lametinkerer​

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By The Grimm Chronicler

At first, it was easily muffled by all the noise outside. Then he heard it. A thud, a sudden cry of desperation.

Investigating at the source, there he found it, hidden away within a small chest. A child. A weeping, frightened child, clinging to his robes so tight and desperately as though the mere mention of legging go could mean that they would return to the chest and be trapped once again. 

"Oh, child..." The Jester whispers. "Who could do something like this to you? How long have you been there?" Questioned the Jester, though he knew he'd receive naught but silence. Embracing them as gently as possible, he rocked them evenly back and forth until they stilled, having given in to slumber.

His investigation has proven itself to be quite uncomplicated. Within no time, he found out about the child's former guardian and how they were so utterly left aside to simply rot away in the confines of an ornate chest in a secluded area. The mere thought brought forth despicable, hideous emotions he never thought himself capable of experiencing.

Anger. Pure, unbridled anger.

He swore that he'd find the one responsible for this sick malevolence and bring them to justice. Mayhaps even the Master would offer his aid. It mattered little whether he did so or not, the Jester sought naught but to seek out the evil being and he would do so relentlessly. He promised that. As he held the child in his hands, their crimson eyes staring innocently at the funny man with a strange makeup and even stranger outfit and pointy prongs on his head, they giggled at the sight. "That abomination shall pay for every. Single. Tear you ever shed. I shall see to it. They will not go unpunished for such atrocity."

The Jester brought them closer to him, closing his eyes. They giggled at the contact, embracing him back.

"I promise you."

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By @lagt-duck​

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By @al-the-frog​

the unexpected isn’t always desirable

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By @largeegg​

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By @wasabi-arts​

The audience departed, the stage left empty, not a sound. Usually Brumm’s pleasant tune filled the halls draped in red with faint echoes of the notes, but tonight remained silent. It wasn’t often the bug was left with the distinct lack of noise, with no joke to entertain himself or company to keep. All that greeted him was the faint whispers of an audience no more, the spirits that haunted the troupe.

And to think at first you loathed him- a creature created by the king of all nightmares after humiliating your very existence as the king’s little fool. However. . now? You feel pity for him while you watch the jester in red with his head in his hand, sitting on the edge of the stage. He’s weighed by a misery he can’t understand, memories he’ll never recall, all in a world through the holes of a stice striped mask. The stamp of the Grimm Troupe.

On the stage, the jester just stared at something in one of his hands, round and white. Normally, it's something you’d dismiss- perhaps a relic spawning a curiosity that would be short lived- but the curled carving, the white charm shape- it was unmistakable. Something that he and his wife had once shared, then split in two- was suddenly regained.

Several emotions filled your mind as you, in your ghostly shadow of self that remained trapped in the nightmare realm bound by a red string, inched closer to your physical counterpart. The kingsoul. Last you remembered- no, last you knew you held it on your cold dead corpse in the palace long since gone, hidden within a lingering dream. The other half was to your wife, if she even still considered you as much after everything you had done.

Tears ran down his face while he laughed, unaware of the peeking figure standing by the entrance- Grimm, though not the one bound by nightmares. Though the cloaked one’s look of pained sympathy wasn’t where your interest lay.

“Ah. . . .h . a . . ha h.” He laughed through tears, some falling on the kingsoul he held in his hand. “Isn’t this hilarious- laughing over a rock!”

He cringes at calling it such a thing as you do, staring with a mix of disgust and sadness, watching the red flame’s reflection flicker in the charm. The broken crown even seemed to sag even more, a dinky replica of what you yourself once were.

“Did-” A pause from the fool sitting on the edge of the stage- his stage that was built for him in this troupe of misfits. “Did she give this to me to make me cry? Hah-ha! M-Maybe it has a crying effect.”

Your annoyance and anger switched into a deep sadness, watching your counterpart laugh through tears, tears of which he knew not where the source was.

“That’s not what that is-” You say to no one, letting out a sigh as you turn away, responding to a world that wouldn’t hear you regardless. “You won’t know, and I doubt anyone would tell.”

The jester and the peeking Grimm didn't respond, as you expected. Though, finally your counterpart peeked up, catching the taller, monstrous bug in a spare glance. In an instant he hopped up on his feet, charm in hand, greeting the master of the troupe with four open arms- the charm in one.

“H-Hello hello!” He cheered, voice cracking through his tears, the unfamiliar sense of deja-vu crippling his very being. He bowed. “Why, my performance as long since ended, but if my master himself wants another show- then I shall prepare for one-!”

“That is not needed, dear Jester.” Grimm said simply, waving a hand to pause the jester’s actions, finally deciding to enter the room. “While I do enjoy a good show- I didn’t wish to disturb your thought.”

“Thought. . ?” The jester questioned, stature changing from fun to a distinct slouch. You huff- and he looks in your direction, though he doesn’t see you. You’re merely a shadow haunting this jester’s mind. Soon enough his focus drifted back to the round object in his hand. “Ah.”

“Are you feeling alright-”

“Splendid! I am doing fantastically, Master!” He exclaimed as you scowled. Master- what a disgraceful word for a wyrm to call such a makeshift god. Though he’s not a wyrm, nor are you. Not anymore. “I have just been given a cute little charm by a fair lady deep within the gardens. Well- half of it! The beauty said I had the other half, haha!”

Grimm cocks his head, in worry and curiosity, making you wish your counterpart- the one born for the stage and as a mockery of yourself- wasn’t nearly as tone-deaf.

“Hm, you had the other half, she said?” Grimm asked, moving closer to the jester.

“Why, yes! And you’ll never believe where I found it- in some dark little place deep below. How odd!” Grimm let out a ‘hrm’ in response as he spoke.  “Found it on a corpse of all things- a hollow shell of armour! Don’t you find it curious, Master?”

“Hmm- that is quite odd. What do you plan to do with it?”

You watch the jester flinch in a rather odd fashion at the question.

“Well- I don’t know. Perhaps I’ll hang it on to it- or perhaps I’ll wear the darling little thing! Maybe it will help me cry on command, wouldn’t that be hilarious?” Silence. A long, agonizing silence greeted both for a moment, the red flame glittering in the dark room. All these tents had for light were shades upon shades of red- you quite hated the color.

“I suppose it is.” Grimm said, extending out a hand. Long, bony, black. He seemed to lack a lot of the segmentation that typical bugs had. “Why don’t you allow me to hold on to that until you decide what to do with it? We certainly don’t need such a thing getting sawed in half during one of your splendid performances!”

“Why- of course, Master! If you would like it- who am I to refuse such a request!” He hummed back, reaching out to give it to the taller bug. The action disgusted you. Giving away such a precious charm that was your’s and no one else’s, let alone to that made your blood boil.

“Are you going to let go?”

You turn, finding that the jester hadn’t let away his grip of the carved white stone. In fact- it was almost like he couldn’t.

“I--I apologize, Master. I feel like. . . I don’t want to let it go? That’s not very funny, though! Ha-ha! I-”

“Then you can keep it.” he said, the slight smile of his pointed teeth not hidden under his collar for once. “It is yours- so you will do with it what you wish.” The Pale Jester turned his gaze from Grimm to the charm once more, turning it in his hands once. Twice. “However, let’s not focus on that- you have a grand show tomorrow, and I would love to view it from the audience this time around.” He turned to leave with a bow. “I expect an even grander performance than before! ANd I am greatly looking forward, my dear Jester. Have a pleasant night.”

“Goodnight, Master.”

And with Grimm gone, you look back on your counterpart, giving a joyful wave with a solemn, sad expression on his face. The charm lay loosely in his hand. And for once, you wonder what he was thinking in that separated mind of his as he left the stage.

-------------------------------

By @ded-lime​

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By @vivifrage​

The wyrm was in tears.

In times like these, it was even harder to remember that the broken, warped Jester dancing around the Troupe’s grounds used to be these lands’ god-king. Cold. Stoic. Unfeeling, many claimed. Ruled by and ruling over pure logic and calculation.

Easily enough disproved with sufficiently annoying input; Grimm’s own memories trotted out tales of delighting in that knowledge over and over. The wyrm was a stick in the mud, a hardass, arrogant and prim and so fun to bother until he was literally incandescent with anger he’d deny up and down and up again.

Yet here the wyrm stood, muddied white carapace given a pink cast from the tent’s fabric all around, tears still slicking the black tracks in his mask, giving them an obsidian shine. And for the life of him, Grimm couldn’t feel that spark of delight in seeing the pale bastard showing some kind of emotion.

(The Heart certainly could, but its smug pulse felt oh-so-alien versus this dismal thing dampening all the rest of his core more thoroughly than any rain could soak an eternally-burning god.)

He couldn’t quite bring himself to a smile, even a polite one, when the Jester hopped over, something clutched tight in one hand. He settled for an inquisitive look, a soft tilt of the head, eyes alert and bright, hands raised in greeting.

The Jester waved back, in that brief moment as cheery and oblivious as ever. But the moment passed, and he hesitated, hands sinking back against his sides, the closed fist kept close to his collar.

Whatever he held, he pressed it to the lower third of his mask, be it in hesitance or reverence.

Or both.

Grimm let him take his time.

It was the least he could do, really. For the both of them. The wyrm to find his words, Grimm to settle the dread rising in his throat. That rather particular sort of dread, too, that one that anticipated an ugly, ugly task.

“Master?” the Jester asked at last, “May I tell you a story?”

“Of course,” Grim said. It was not a lie. It felt like it was.

“Well, once upon a time, there was a- a-” He clicked his fingers together. “Something bright, almost shining. Resplendent. White, white as snow or ash or death. A tree! No, a tree’s root. And she had crystals for eyes, but they’ve long clouded.

“And in exchange for a laugh, a smile, and a goodbye, she told the funniest tragedy. One of two lovers who saw in each other the world, and whose deeds drove them apart. She gave me a token of their story, of their love, and told me to do with it as I will.”

He opened his fist.

Cradled in his palm was half a charm. White, a colder color than even pale ore, so white and with such a sheen that it seemed to cast the tent in winter tones, the most direct reflections twinkling like evening stars. All save for a black stripe cutting across the face, through the hole of the eye, dug through the detail in the same way the marks on the Jester’s and Grimm’s own masks featured their otherwise plain faces.

Grimm’s stomach dropped. He clenched his jaw to keep it from hanging open. Deep within his chest, the Heart sang in shock, confusion, and uncertainty.

That was wrong.

That was so, so very wrong. In so, so many ways. In ways the Jester could not know.

His eyes traced the mark from halved forehead to fractured jawline. That should not be there. It never should have been in the Jester’s hands but that should not be there-

The Heart swallowed his burst of flame-hot anger, echoed it back with the roar of a furnace.

Grimm put on a polite face. It just so happened to bare his teeth.

The wyrm continued.

“Personally, what I would like to do is mug the other half of the other lover’s no-good corpse!” He twittered with laughter in a way the dour king never would have. The sound just made his carapace crawl. “Ah, but that would require finding it, and the Ritual has us so busy, Master. It must be a matter for later fools.

But, in the meantime, I don’t- It hurts. Such a story. It’s cliché, is it not? The doomed lovers? I could tell you six like that with my tongue tied, and I’m sure you could tell me twelve right back, and we’d both laugh at how silly they all are, to think their love could ever be enough. Perhaps it’s something about holding this little trinket but-” He closed his fist again, held it to his throat. When he spoke, his voice was choked, and he pressed two hands to his temples, another two covering his mask. “The sight of her stung my eyes and I drank her words as sorrowful wine, and now my tears fall and my tongue bleeds in all the pretty reds-”

“Jester?”

The wyrm stared at the waiting hand Grimm held out between them, eyes slowly rising to meet his. There was a spark in there, shadowed behind those vacant carvings in the mask, something bright and cold staring back at him. He smiled at it, and let the chill sink into his teeth.

“If it upsets you so, may I hold it for a time? For your respite, of course. I seek no undue pain from my people, and perhaps I could look into this local legend myself, so we could discuss it together. Besides, it is quite the curious artifact, and I would love a closer look.” His hand bobbed, palm up and curved into a perfect receptacle for the little broken charm.

(Well, not perfect. Only two beings in the world had ever had hands for that.)

Wordlessly, the Jester handed it over. It clinked into Grimm’s hand, its weight off-balance in a way that itched at his mind. And, for everything he knew it was, it struck him as so mundane. Like there should have been something to it, holding a wyrm and a root’s wedding charm. Even half of it. But rather, the thing felt…

Dead, it felt dead.

Comatose, at best.

(Or worst.)

(He glanced back at the Jester. The spark had faded from his eyes, replaced with mellow-warm embers.)

(The Heart thudded its relief.)

“Thank you,” he said, and stepped back.

The Jester blinked, visible only as the slightest hint of eyelids moving behind the mask. He stared at his empty palm, touched the tracks of his mask and rubbed the lingering wet he found. “Was I upset?”

He stared up at Grimm, searching his face. “What was I upset about?”

Grimm offered only a shrug before he turned away, and left the Jester standing alone.

“Brumm,” he muttered, clasping the other bug’s shoulder as he passed by, “Prepare a fire. I must commune.”

Brumm hummed in that low, doubtful way he always did when he sensed Grimm was up to something he ought not to ask about directly. “Are you sure you can’t rest for it? I’d not blame you a moment’s respite.”

Grimm paused, reached back, took his wrist and squeezed it gently. “I know. But I must be of clear mind for this.”

His thumb rubbed the halved charm, stroking up and down the new line carved into its face. The Jester’s story turned over in his head, biting in like a sliver of carapace caught between the teeth.

The dread grew sour.

This could not go on.

The Jester didn’t come to dinner. An odd happening; his appetite easily rivaled Divine’s, and he knew it had been suppressed. Allegedly for how recognizable a wyrm trait that was. But also, the Troupe only had so much in their stocks.

Still, a Troupe member in poor state was a Troupe member in poor state, and Grimm sought him out.

He wasn’t hard to find, exactly. Easier than it used to be by far. The Jester was loud, extroverted, and flashy. But even in his quiet moments, he had a pull to him.

No matter his background, though, Grimm should not have found him in the first tent he checked, hidden away under the first curtain he got a suspicious feeling from.

The Heart sank, staring at the Jester’s back as he curled up, sobbing into his hands. Something was going horribly, horribly wrong. The Jester was the dancing fool the wyrm had shown himself to be, that was all. If he cried, it was when something got too close, and Grimm had told the Grimmkin to ensure he stayed very clear of anything that could trigger that again.

Grimm sunk to the floor beside him, letting the curtain fall back into place. It brushed his back, the fabric thick and heavy, and absorbed everything but their breaths and the sound of the wyrm’s sobbing.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, with all the fireplace warmth he could muster. His hand ghosted against the Jester’s back, bumping over the rings dangling where wings once laid.

(Going back up, stroking again, this time pressing harder, he swore he felt slight swells where the buds should have been burned out.)

“I don’t know.” Desperation bit through the wyrm’s voice, through all the tears and despondence. He shuddered, sucked in a raspy breath. “I don’t-”

He turned his face away, pressing his knuckles into his eyes. He keened, the low sound of a hurt creature, kept close and intimate by all the fabric they’d hidden in.

Grimm just rubbed his back, and let him find the words.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have. Perhaps he should have taken a more directorial role in this two-bug production, and told the Jester what was going on, what his poor soul ought to be feeling. How he was new to the Troupe, and some of the changes took time to settle in, he would be fine. Most everyone had been upset for at least one Ritual, especially their first, and sometimes it was hard to place those feelings, wasn’t it? It would pass, it would get better, it meant nothing, really. Not in the long run.

And, if his memory ran long, that sometimes stories just struck a chord, but he need not be upset at simple trinkets and tragic stories with doomed lovers. They were all so silly, weren’t they? Thinking that, in the end, their love would matter.

Why, he ought to set all of it out of mind, and come to dinner. Surely he was hungry?

His tongue laid still, his mouth stayed shut.

“I- I miss- I don’t know. Someone? Something? I don’t know. I can’t find them, they’re slipping through my hands every time I reach. But Master-” His voice broke, cracking into a plaintive cry. He clutched at his chest, hands pawing uselessly at the fabric over his heart. “It hurts.”

Grimm clucked his tongue and cooed. His arms wrapped around the Jester, drawing his form, at once limp to his touch and much too tense, close, until he tucked him against his chest. Head held to heart, listening to its steady beat. All four arms wrapped around his abdomen, knees bumping against his thigh, while Grimm held him and drew his wings from their resting place to wrap around them, shielding the Jester even further from the world beyond.

“I’ve got you,” he purred. The side of his jaw brushed against the wyrm’s horns. “I’ll make it better.”

The Jester shifted in his arms, head tilting up til Grimm found himself cradling its back. When he stared down to meet his eyes, he found that spark staring back, cold as ice and with just as sharp an edge. “How?” he asked.

It could have been a coincidence. A slip of the tongue, the familiarity in how he spoke, with a voice like a lone gust of wind trailing through a cavern. The weight to just that one word, the melancholy it steeped in.

Grimm fought the chill clawing at his back to give him a smile. Gently, he rested the wyrm’s head against his chest again, where the Nightmare Heart beat. “A nightmare feels so very real, does it not? As false as it may be?”

(Again, the sickly sweetness of a lie on his tongue.)

The Jester hummed. After a moment, he snuggled close, full body up against Grimm’s, cool against the Troupe Master’s warmth. “I guess.”

“Take your respite, Jester. Let me care for you.” He leaned back as far as he could, letting the Jester’s weight rest on him. “Then we can get dinner, yes? I bet you’re hungry.”

“Oh!” The Jester’s hand curled against his stomach. “Yes, that would be good. But… a moment, first. To catch my breath.”

“Of course.”

Forgetting was the greatest kindness he could offer the Jester, and the cruelest punishment the wyrm deserved. Let his troubles slip his mind. Let him cry and wail for things he didn’t know, acting out grief for the horrors he didn’t know he committed.

But there was not supposed to be such a gouge in the Kingsoul’s face. There was not supposed to be that soul behind his eyes. There were not supposed to be stories of beautiful roots or jokes about horrible wyrms. There were not supposed to be wing buds in the Jester’s back. The side of him that resided within the Nightmare was not supposed to have such a strain in its voice, nor was he supposed to feel the snap of spellwork.

Something was going wrong.

And all he could do was watch and try to stuff the wyrm back into the Jester’s shell.

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By @artisticdragons​

[lyallblacklupin]

Don’t miss the Yule Ball.

Sirius finally opens up to James Potter, and he realizes a lot of things. He has decided he will go the yule ball, but the question is: with whom?

Tags: Post-Incident with Severus Snape, Angst with Happy Ending, Getting Back Together, Trust Issues.

Chapter 3

Sirius kept chewing his first bite for a little longer than he was supposed to, because Remus had left the Great Hall looking apprehensive, and gruesome. He sighed through his breakfast, waiting for the day to get by. He was pushing down all the unnecessary thoughts and emotions because he didn’t want to expect anything from anyone, especially how the last night had turned out.

He had woken up with a better feeling—if he had to be honest with himself—because Remus had finally not just smiled at him but hugged him with genuine earnest and he had held him until Sirius was done crying. The memory was painfully sweet in his head. Nevertheless, he was slightly hopeful than yesterday. Remus had always tried to bring the best out of him. The tug of war in his brain about his friendship and relationship with Remus was easing out in his mind, while also clenching his heart. He took another bite of his porridge, and thought that he should stop worrying about normalcy. He realized that wanting normal with this desperation was going to make him fall in the pits of agitation. He was not able to deal with another heartache. For once, he wanted to give his heart a break.

He gulped down his bite, and he decided he was going to the same with his desires and dreams. He was going to be grateful of the things he had in life; Good friends, miles away from his abusive parents, good education, and especially, his magic. He was himself because he knew how to kindle fire by the swipe of his fingers, he could wave his wand and conjure blue stardust while walking alone in the forest, and he could conjure a patronus to keep the sadness away for a while.

His thinking cycle came to a halt when James and Peter rushed to the hall, and haphazardly began swallowing their breakfast. Sirius was so captured seeing them not uttering a word and gulping down their teas and milk in one breath.

“Merlin, Pads—could have told us—“ James was managing to breathe while munching his toasts, debauching all the manners and etiquettes of eating by spraying the breadcrumbs everywhere on the table.

“Wow, Prongs, you really know how to eat.” Sirius laughed amusingly. Both of the Marauders glared at him. And once they were done, James said that they were already five minutes late for Transfiguration. This time Sirius didn’t think of manners at all, and stumbled out his seat as the three of them raced to the classroom. The air whooshed through them as they pushed through the crowd of students and teachers who shouted things like ‘Hey! Watch it!’ and ‘5 points from Gryffindor!’

The air smelled of nostalgia as Sirius felt the adrenaline in his blood and giddiness in his stomach. The three of them were running like they used to when Filch would catch them and they would hide in the broom cupboards for hours until the course were clear, and then they would laugh like maniacs. It felt all the same to Sirius when they reached the classroom, and he was getting breathless in the most satisfying way. The doors opened, stealing everyone’s attention. Mcgonacall had her usual glare, and Sirius spotted Remus sitting with Lily, his face looked scarlet which made Sirius feel the same heating flush beneath his cheeks and neck.

“Mr Potter, Mr Black and Mr Pettigrew, why is it always you three to be late in my class?” There was something different about Mcgonacall as her gaze is fixed at Sirius. He could swore that there was a hint of smile playing on her lips. She ordered them to take seats, and Peter sat with Mary while James with Sirius. The both of them had to keep hands on their mouths to suppress the bubbling laughter. James gave him a playful nudge, his eyes were whispering something meaningful, and Sirius felt a gush of affection for him.

The day went by with Double Transfiguration with the Slytherins, Charms with Ravenclaws, and Double History of Magic with the Hufflepuffs. James and Sirius were walking to the common room to put their books and notes and then return to the dinner with the rest of Marauders.

“So, Padfoot…” James smirked at him, “I have an unbelievable news to share with you.”

“Have you finally learn not to make a fool of yourself?” Sirius got a harsh fling of James’ arm around his shoulder that he staggered in his pace, almost collapsing on the floor but James held him firmly.

“Hey, hey, hey,” James’ voice was soaked with concern, “You okay? I’m sorry I didn’t know I was that harsh.”

“No, it was not harsh.” Sirius managed to say but the other didn’t seem convinced. He was getting some serious brain-fogs from the past few days, and he hadn’t told anyone yet, not even Madam Pomfrey.

“Then what was that, Sirius? What is going on? Are you not well?” Those were so many questions for Sirius to answer. He didn’t want to disrupt his day which was finally going better for the first time in forever. However with James’ big hazel eyes were staring at him like that as if they were saying hundreds of things to him he felt the urge to tell him everything—by everything meant everything.

And then they didn’t return for dinner, they were in their dorm alone with no interruption. Sirius told him how frequently he had been experiencing panic attacks, and how much tired he felt, like always, how he felt like his bones were feeble, and his muscles were aching, how he was also experiencing constant brain-fogs. And then, he also told him how he was dealing with emotional pain the most, how constantly he was thinking and trying to commit act of self-harm, and how much he was thinking how he had let the Marauders down. James listened him very carefully with full attention, nodded in the right places and shushed him when Sirius talked about how much he missed Remus. He was struggling to get louder because his voice was not cooperating with him. He was gushing out all of the emotions which were buried in the depths of him. He cried at some parts but he was calm because James’ hand was there squeezing his arm, and rubbing his back. When they were done, they fell into comfortable silence, and Sirius felt as light as a feather.

“So what was the good news?” Sirius said to break the silence.

“Uh…” James smiled weakly at him, “I asked Evans to go with to the ball as my date and she said yes.”

Sirius smiled at him genuinely, “I’m happy for you, Prongs.” He hit him with a playful punch but James didn’t respond too much. He looked sad, and it was awkward. Sirius never wanted that. They fell into another round of silence before he felt two arms wrapped from his behind, tugging there. Sirius put his hands on James’, sitting under the cloud of melancholy.

“I’m sorry, Padfoot. You were keeping a lot inside of you. I don’t like when you do that.” Sirius smiled warmly at his mildly aggressive voice, “I am your brother, and you are supposed to tell me that. And all of that. Everything, buddy. I love you, you know that right?”

“There is no reason to be a sap, Potter.” Sirius elbowed him, “But yeah, and I love you, too. Always have and always will.”

“Look, who’s a bigger sap now.”

“Okay, Evans said yes—“ Sirius pulled away to face him, but he was cut off by James in mid-sentence.

“For the ball. I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

James didn’t smile. There was still something despondent about him. After a brief silence, he said, “Pads, this may sound a little weird but hear me out…” Sirius nodded, “You should ask Moony for tomorrow.”

“Oh no, no, no, no,”

“Why!?” James whined.

“’Why’? What do you mean ‘why’? Out of all people, you should not be the one to say that.”

“No, Padfoot, I should be the person to say that! You told me how he encouraged to go to the ball. I mean, why would he? Either he is trying to be your mom and asking you to have fun or he is giving signals for you to ask him to be your date for the ball!”

“Considering Remus, he was definitely being a mother-hen.” 

“Think about it, Moony doesn’t easily like someone. He never dated anyone except you because you are the one he fell in love with, you tosser!

That’s when the door swung open, revealing Remus and Peter which confused looks. Sirius felt like his heart was in his throat.

“Thought we’d find you guys here.” Peter said, throwing his satchel on his bed, “Why did you miss dinner?”

“Oh, we completely lost track of time.” Sirius said successfully because the room had started to feel small with Remus’ presence, “We should go to the kitchen, Prongs.” He was hoping he could just skip the anxiety and continue his chance of talking out with James more. He was talking after ages, and it felt lighter and easy. Suddenly, he was very grateful for having James Potter in his life.

“Oh, you know what, you stay here. Wormy and I will bring food for you.” James piped up with his stupid grin, and Sirius began to have second thoughts on being grateful of James.

“What!?” Peter retorted, “But I just came back!”

“And you could come back again, my best friend Wormy!” Sirius scowled at James who in returned gave him a thumbs-up, gesturing to talk to Remus who was putting down his books in on his nightstand. Soon, the whiny Peter and an overly-smart James were out of the dorm, leaving him and Remus alone.

Sirius was fidgeting with his fingers anxiously, gazing at Remus’ back.

“I can feel you staring at me.” Sirius thought he was completely frozen. Remus turned to face him, smiling small at him.

“Yeah…” Sirius let out a breathless chuckle, “I was just…”

Awkward silence.

“Remus, I wanted to ask you something and if you don’t think the same way, I would completely understand.” His heart was hammering in his chest. Remus nodded at him. He took a deep breath and finally the words were out, “Will you go to the ball with me as my date?”

Extremely awkward silence. Remus was opening and closing his mouth to say something but no words were audible enough as an answer to Sirius. That’s because he doesn’t have any answer, Sirius thought to himself.

“Sirius…” Remus finally said, “I can’t.”

It wasn’t like Sirius wasn’t expecting this, but it still hurt him like a dagger shot right into his heart.

“I mean…” Remus continued, scratching the back on his head or pulling his sleeve, “it’s not like I don’t want to, because I do…A lot, actually…”

His voice was turning croaky, and Sirius was able to see that it was not easy for Remus either.

“But, I already have a date.” This time it hurt more than earlier. Sirius wanted to laugh, and he did. Remus froze, looking dumbfounded. It was a strange thing that hurting not always accompany the act of shedding tears. Sirius was actually laughing at himself that he was a fool to believe, like actually believe.

“Of course, of course,” Sirius wiped the tears in the corner of his eyes, “Of course, you have a date. How can you not?” He was shaking his head, still unable to control his laugh. It was a very wrong judgment.

Chapter 1  Chapter 2

Chapter 4 coming soon!

[t0nixium]

Made something silly purely because I can and wanted to

For context: Jesteria is a clown-like alien species that has the ability to shapeshift and sniff out wormholes to other universes; using these powers, clowns like her often travel the multiverse for fun. Jesteria here is doing exactly that, but she’s rather new to it and ends up mistaking humans for fellow clowns in disguise due to them sometimes resembling each other. This time around, she came across Barto and noticed that his barriers look like the ones her mime friends back home make, so she thought she’d go up and say hi… only to run face-first into one of said barriers. (Don’t worry, slapstick is just a form of play for clowns—it doesn’t actually hurt them)

[degenderates]

Could you make a list of your jacin and winter or TLC fanfics? I recently read one and loved it!

sure! and thank you so much<33

these are all my jacinter fanfics

stars reflected in his eyes (imo this is my best one, it’s also the most recent)

the silver dress (similar to SRIHE but less spicy)

sometimes, she dreams of him (poetry)

by the lake (a grishaverse au)

delirium (a star wars au)

the princess and the guard (what it sounds like but they’re adults)

other tlc fics

the last tether to hope - kaider - very sad and full of angst

sour apple petites - winter & scarlet - platonic - podfic version

note: all of these are rated teen except SAP, which is rated general they are also all posted to my ao3

[antigenius]

Forever

A/n: a long, overdue fic trade for @verytiredartist !!! I hope you like it!!

The red carpet was like a cloud. Your dress was billowing in the autumn wind, a bouquet of your favourite flowers in your hands. Your friends and family were on either side of you, smiling. You smile back.

You breathe in to calm yourself, and stare at the man who was steps away from you. His scarlet eyes were shy, surprisingly, and he couldn’t seem to look at you for more than a minute. A film reel of memories went through your mind, watching each and every moment you had together.

Your highs,

“’Suki?”

The winter air nipped your nose, twinkly snowflakes falling down. The world around you was covered in little white crystals. The cold made you shiver. He seemed to notice, taking off his coat and pulling you in with it.

“Wh-“

“Shut up.”

The faux fur on the inside of the coat made you feel warm. The smell of burnt sugar filled your lungs as you smile. You watched him help you put on his coat, doing the buttons and the zip. You could only just see the sliver of a smile on his face as he did so.

 “… I love you.”

He froze. The zip was halfway done. You tensed, but you had been together for so long, it was okay to say it now… Right? His hands trembled with the zipper, small little crackles popping in his hand. You take his hands in yours, making him face you. His hair was frosted, but his eyes were burning. That was what you always admired.

He took your face in his hands, and closed the gap.

“I… l-love you too.” 

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

your lows,

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

“Just shut up!” You scream, silencing the enraged man in front of you. You could see the steam coming his ears, his fists clenching and his glare piercing through your own. Your tears were making everything blurry. It was a duel. A duel to see who could stand their ground the longest, and you always lost. Not this time.

You rub your tears and grit your teeth, grabbing the keys from the hook.

“Where are you going.”

“You wouldn’t care, now would you?” You snarl, voice threatening to crack.

The fact that he was silent made you hold back your sobs. You had to be stubborn for once, he can’t always get his way.  If he didn’t care then fine, you didn’t have to either. You begin to turn the knob, but you felt his hand grab yours. You keep your focus on the door.

“..What.”

“It’s raining dumbass, you’ll get sick.”

“So?”

His grip only tightens. He’s quiet, but you could hear every single thought vibrating through the air.

“Don’t be an idiot.”

His words made you snap.

“Don’t be an idiot?” You turned back to him, anger flaring through you. “Don’t be an idiot?!”

You jab him in the chest, pushing him back against the wall in fury. “You listen close because I’m fucking tired of you being so reckless and thinking ‘oh yeah, I’ll be fine’. You literally injured your arm Katsuki; you’re in a cast, and you just came home from the hospital but no, now you want to go work again. It’s like… It’s like you don’t know how much trouble that makes! Sure, maybe you don’t care but I fucking do! What if it’s not just your arm, it’s your legs, or your neck? Am I just supposed to man up? Be like, ‘my boyfriend was sooo brave’? I dunno, but I fucking want you here. I don’t WANT to be a depressed mess in a corner crying over your fucking remains because you didn’t think of me, so I’ll just get out of it now before I start caring.”

You walk back to the door, but he holds you back again, his grip only tightening further.

“Don’t be so selfish. There’s other people out there that need a hero, if I get killed in the process of saving people, then so be it. Of course you’ll be sad, but if I didn’t save them, imagine all the other sad fucks moping around. It’s my job.”

He pulls you back, making you face him. “I get it (y/n). I really do, but shit isn’t gonna happen if no one does anything.”

Your rage had simmered, having already exploded a while ago. He was right, but you were still reluctant to say as such. You slowly caress his face in your hands, tears slipping from your eyes again.

“At least rest you asshole…”

“Shut up shitty woman, I know.”

He presses his lips against yours, the embers of rage snuffed in calming waters.

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

your first date,

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

“Train to Busan?”

You read the cover of the DVD with curiosity. He shrugged.

“Looked like the scariest one you got. The rest were rom-coms or those sad sap films.”

You scrunched your nose in a retorting manner. “So? What’s wrong with that?”

He snorted. “What’s wrong? They’re boring! That’s what’s wrong.”

Nose still scrunched; you mumbled. “You’re wrong…”

“What?”

“Nothing, let’s just watch this movie!”

The movie started out scary, zombie outbreak, everybody’s running, apocalypse on-coming, but then it became dark. The antagonist kills everyone to save himself, losing more people along the way. Katsuki sighed, the movie had become predictable now. Without the essence of thrill or action, it was just becoming another sad sap movie. He was getting pissed at the villain though, just the thought of him made his hands crackle. He looked down at you. Your eyes were glassy. Tears had been brimming ever since the first death had happened, but you managed to just sniffle them away. They were getting stronger and stronger though; it was hard to keep it all down.

“…”

His eyes trailed over your red nose and trembling red lips. Red was his favourite colour. It was strong, it was powerful, it was a fervid force that could destroy all.

But at this moment, it was weak.

It was weak, it was fearful, it was small.

So small, it only coloured parts of your face. How could something so small be as powerful as they say?

A single tear dripped from your eyes as another beloved character fell victim to the antagonist’s fervent greed to survive. Your knuckles were pale in comparison to your heated complexion.

The movie ends with the antagonist getting what he deserves, dying at the hands of the zombies which grabbed him. The movie didn’t end happily though, with almost everyone dead, it all seemed hopeless for the characters left. The credits roll and you hear a tch from beside you.

“That villain pisses me off.” Katsuki growled. “Fucking greedy, saving his life but not caring for others, he’s a big load of scum.”

You swallowed hard as you nodded in agreement, breathing in to calm yourself. “It was a good movie all the same though, the plot was nicely done.”

“You kiddin’ me? It was boring-“

 “Don’t act like you didn’t get scared at that first zombie!”

“What?! I don’t get scared shitty woman!”

In the midst of the banter, his eyes began to trail once again, but he noticed your face was still red. Red with anger, red with fear, and red with misery. None of those reds, however, could match the red of your smile. It was so strong, it overpowered all the other hues by a landslide. … It looked good on you.

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

… it all flashed in front of you as you face the man you loved.

“Now repeat after me, I, Katsuki Baku-”

“Argh, this is taking too long, gimme the mic.”

Katsuki took the microphone and turned to you.

“Look, you know I love you, shitty woman. I love every single part of you, no matter what happens. If I act outta line, or I don’t treat you right, hell knows what I’ll do to myself. Not to mention, I told shitty hair to kill me if I did so.”

His lips curled into a smug grin. “So now the only thing is, whether or not you want this to be a permanent thing. Being with me’s a privilege, so you better think hard.”

 You laugh, the giggle escaping your lips as you hum. “I think I’d like that, Katsuki Bakugou.”

The crowd erupts into cheers and whistles as you sealed the pact. Life was going to be interesting with this man…

But boy, were you excited for it.

[izukillme-moved]

When Armour Breaks

@watcher-ofthe-sky guess who was your secret santa? ;) MERRY CHRISTMAS YOU WONDERFUL BEAUTIFUL PERSON!! I LOVE YOU!!!! When I got the assignment, I have to admit I spent nearly fifteen minutes just freaking out because I was so happy I got you :33 I loved writing every bit of this, and I hope you enjoy it! May you have the most wonderful year ahead, I love you so much, Sky. Your talent, kindness and limitless capacity to love always stuns me; you are truly one of the most fantastic people I’ve ever had the honour of meeting. <3

Title: When Armour Breaks Ship: Kagura x Erza Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort Word count: 2302

Erza Scarlet is used to responsibility.

She knows well the feeling of being looked to for leadership and for power. She is used to stepping up when no one else will and protecting those who cannot protect themselves. She is the face of Fairy Tail, the impassable Titania, the Queen of the Fairies. Her shoulders have borne the weight of duty for so long now that it is odd, almost, to step back and allow another to take the lead.

In short, Erza is no stranger to projecting bravery and strength.

But sometimes, it becomes too much for even her iron heart. Because that iron heart is all fragmented on the inside, ugly little shards of bent steel that sit rusting in the darkness that lives within Erza. Some days she has trouble getting out of bed, barely able to breathe, as if all the broken parts of her heart are clogging up her trachea and cutting into her windpipe.

Today is one of those days.

Erza swallows against the pain in her chest and forces her body out of the bed that’s too large for just one, moving sluggishly to the bathroom. The woman she sees in the mirror has dull and lifeless brown eyes, frizzy red hair that jumps out all over the place and a wan, pinched face that speaks of years of pain. It makes Erza recoil a little, seeing the harsh truth reflected back at her so starkly.

The ache in her heart builds, and suddenly she wants… well, she doesn’t know what she wants. Only that she wants – needs – a reprieve from this wounded, broken girl she refuses to let heal.

There is no time for healing, Erza tries to tell herself, summoning the stern Titania of Fairy Tail. She needs to be strong for her guild mates and for the rest of the world, because they depend on her. And yet, the image of Fairy Tail’s strongest Mage fails, replaced by the wretched young woman with eyes that have seen too much.

Erza wants to retch. She wants to run away from the mirror, wants to bring Titania back out and put Inner Erza back where she belongs, inside the iron cage that is her heart. But she doesn’t do either of those things, because exhaustion chooses that exact moment to begin gnawing at her soul and weakening her at the knees.

Maybe she will just go back to bed today, she thinks in a sudden and uncharacteristic flash of weakness. The guild will not collapse in on itself if she is absent for a single day.

Well, it might, but that’s a problem she can fix. Just… not today. Erza doesn’t think she can fix anything today.

She drags herself back to her warm and soft bed, the task itself taking an enormous amount of effort. Then she flops down onto the surface, cheeks fevered with equal parts frenzy and fatigue, and stares at the ceiling. Some of the plaster is cracking off of it, she notices. A self-deprecating chuckle passes her lips as her tired mind compares the plaster to herself.

“You’re tired of being strong, too, huh?” she asks sadly.

She receives no answer, of course. Sighing, Erza rolls over so she’s lying on her front, and buries her face in the pillow. An odd hollowness settles in her stomach, and her chest is heavy with weariness. At the same time she feels like the rusted pieces of her heart are tearing her apart from the inside out, and the pain is almost too much to bear. It’s an odd juxtaposition, pain and the lack of it. And yet both are equally hurtful, ripping Erza into little pieces that she’s too tired to put back together.

I can’t do this anymore, Erza thinks, and is surprised at the raw honesty in the thought. I’m so tired… so tired of being the rock…

Why do I have to be strong for everyone else?

They’ll break if she breaks, Erza knows. She is the strong one, the one who leads, the one who takes on the most challenges and comes out on top. She is infallible Erza Scarlet, who cannot afford to snap because she is the symbol of everyone’s hope.

And yet even infallible Erza Scarlet is riddled with cracks that widen every minute, weakening her stone foundation. She is a broken woman pretending to be powerful, pretending to have won the fight against her inner demons when in reality she threw in the towel long ago.

A knock resounds throughout Erza’s apartment, and she stiffens, stomach tightening with panic.

What if something’s happened?! Oh, God, I never should have taken the day off – I should have gone – this is all my fault!

She springs out of bed in an instant, fear fuelling her flight to the door. She throws it open, chest heaving with worry as she stares at the visitor.

Kagura Mikazuchi stands there, cool as a cucumber, dressed in a  casual turtleneck and blue jeans, a far cry from her usual formal coats. Her sword, Archenemy, still hangs sheathed at her hip, of course – Erza wouldn’t expect anything less. She’s carrying a large white bag, whose contents are obscured from Erza’s eyes.

“May I come in?” Kagura asks politely, straight and to the point like always. Erza’s mouth opens, but no words come out. She simply nods and steps aside to allow Kagura in, speechless in her shock.

“I – what are you doing here?” she manages to croak out as Kagura walks into her home, stopping awkwardly in the middle of the hall and looking around.

Kagura turns to her. “May I put this on your table?” she asks respectfully, avoiding the question.

“Yes, yes, put it wherever, answer my question first!” Erza snaps. Kagura remains silent, moving slowly and robotically to place her bag on the dining table.

Then she looks up, connecting hers and Erza’s gazes, and says in a soft, mildly embarrassed tone, “I was passing through town and dropped by the guild to visit you. I was informed however that you were absent, and the shirtless one said that it might be ‘one of your days’ - whatever that meant, I didn’t think it sounded good by his facial expression, so I… er… procured your address-” Erza has to stifle a snort at the delicate way Kagura says ‘procure’, implying exactly how much delicacy she’d exercised in the process, “-and came here to check how you were. No one should be alone on Christmas Day.”

A sudden and uncomfortable silence falls over the two of them, then, both having run out of things to say. Kagura shifts in place, clearly self-conscious, and Erza just stands there in her dishevelled night-pants with her hair askew and feels the tiredness crawl its way back up her spine. She doesn’t realise that her knees have given out until warm arms wrap around her waist and pull her upwards to lean against a supple but firm body. 

A furious blush colours Erza’s cheeks as she realises she’s putting most, if not all, of her weight on Kagura, who had moved almost too swiftly to catch her. 

“I-” she stammers, jerking away and forcing strength into her legs, willing herself to stand strong just that little bit longer. She can’t let someone like Kagura see how weak she truly is; she simply can’t. She has to project Titania, just a little longer.

But Kagura is already shaking her head, eyes alert and worried. “You don’t seem all right. Will you be able to make your way to the bedroom? But no… I can’t let you do that.”

Before Erza can protest, Kagura’s powerful arms are slipping around her waist once more, and then she feels air against her bare soles instead of ground because holy shit, Kagura’s got her in a bridal lift and is carrying her towards her bedroom.

Erza flails weakly, but Kagura’s stern gaze saps what little energy she has left, and she can’t even summon the strength to protest as the other Mage deposits her neatly on her large bed. She lies there limp and still, not even bothering to straighten her legs or shift into a more comfortable position.

Erza is so tired, too tired to care anymore. Too tired to even care about the fact that all her weakest points are on full display to a Mage who looks up to her more than anyone ever has.

But Kagura does not comment. She merely shifts Erza’s limbs into their proper positions and drapes the coverlets over her with surprising gentleness. Then she takes off her shoes and lies down on the bed next to Erza, turning on her side to face her. 

Kagura’s precise perfection is so at odds with the mess that Erza is right now, and yet she fits, somehow, as if she was always meant to be there.

“Are you well?” she asks Erza, and the inflection of her tone carries understanding and the same bitter taste of responsibility that Erza knows all too well. Kagura is not asking if she is sick, not really.

“I’m tired,” Erza says, a soft and sad sound that escapes her lips like the last breath of life leaving her chest. It’s a confession she’s never made to anybody, and the tense, anticipatory wait for Kagura’s response is almost too much to bear. 

“I understand,” Kagura says softly. There’s a familiar pain in her voice as she speaks, and just for a moment one can feel a fleeting touch of hollowness inside the iron goddess that Kagura is.

The wildly unexpected reply sends chills up Erza’s spine, chills of shock and realisation that maybe, maybe she isn’t alone in this after all. 

“Y - you do?” she asks softly, afraid that if she says it too loud something will shatter, turning on her side to face Kagura. 

A short bob of the chin in response. “You’re their strength,” Kagura replies just as quietly. “You are their light in the darkness. But even a candle can only burn for so long.”

Erza’s eyes brim with tears, and she presses her lips together.

You understand. I’m not alone.

“Sometimes, it’s all you can do to stay together and keep your composure. It feels like you’re trying to hold a broken glass together and it just goes on breaking in your hands until you’re left with useless shards and cuts all over your palms,” Kagura continues, her own eyes shimmering and voice trembling with emotion. “It’s so hard, Erza… and you are so brave.”

Erza sniffles. “I’m not,” she says in a choked voice, the tears spilling over. Through her blurry vision she sees Kagura’s mouth turn up in a sad smile.

“Yes, you are,” Kagura says and wipes her tears with warm and gentle hands. She pulls Erza into a hug, holding her against her shoulder, and murmurs, “It’s all right. You don’t have to be strong for me.”

That sentence is what breaks the dam. 

You don’t have to be strong for me.

For once in her life, she does not have to be strong for someone. For once in her life, they will be strong for her.

Erza bursts into sobs, loud cries of agony and pain, letting all of it out as Kagura cradles her. She weeps for what feels like days, reliving all the pain that has her so torn up on the inside, allowing herself to truly grieve. 

When the tears dry up, Erza pulls away from the embrace, snuffling a little still. 

“Oh,” she says in a thick tone, voice hoarse from crying. “I got your shirt all messy.”

Kagura smiles. “It’s all right,” she says. “That’s what I’m here for.” 

Erza nods, too exhausted to do anything but accept Kagura’s kindness.

“Thank you,” she whispers. It’s gratitude for more than just letting her cry - not in all her years has Erza ever bared her soul to anyone like this. And Kagura has accepted all of it, taken all the broken parts and looked upon them with a loving gaze, as if they were the rarest and most precious diamonds in the world. 

Everyone else sees Erza as what she is, and cannot fathom her losing her grip even for a second. Kagura sees Erza as who she is, and wholeheartedly receives the weakness with the strength, the pain with the love, the sorrow with the joy. 

“You’re welcome. Merry Christmas.” Kagura replies, and Erza can see in her eyes that she truly means it. The soft relief that breaks over her when she sees Kagura’s unconditional love for her damaged self feels like a balm, soothing every wound she’s left open over the years.

“Yeah, you too,” Erza whispers. Fatigue washes through her once more, but this is a good weariness, one that makes her want to sleep and wake rejuvenated rather than lie like a zombie in her bed. She yawns, and Kagura smiles.

“Sleep,” she says. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Erza nods tiredly, and her eyes are closing before she knows it. Kagura drapes the covers over her once more, brushes her hair out of her face with tender fingers.

And she isn’t sure if she’s imagining the next part, but for a minute it almost feels like there are soft, warm lips on hers, a sweet promise that their owner will stay as long as she needs. The sensation is gone within a few seconds, though, and Erza falls fully into dreamland, slumbering peacefully for the first time in over a year. 

Her dreams are filled with the dark-haired woman who has loved all of her, even the damaged parts, and it brings contentment to Erza’s broken heart at long last. 

[monstersandmaw]

Male drider x male naga (nsfw)

This is a commission for someone who asked me to hold off posting it til today because it’s their birthday. So, happy birthday! I hope you like this. I really enjoyed working with these two characters of yours, and I’m totally in love with Ambrose...

Contents: one naga with some colourful language, one shy and arachnophobic drider boy, some thievery, some fluff, and some smut. Length: 4847 words

___________________________

Aiden cursed as he ducked and wove through the dense pine trees as evening pressed on relentlessly into night and the baying of the hounds and shouting of guards faded behind him.  

It had all been going so well until the duchess had returned early to her chambers and caught him red-handed with his sharp, taloned claws in her safe. She’d shrieked half the castle down, screaming about thieving snakes, leaving the naga no choice but to hurl himself out of the window and take a long dive into the freezing, filthy moat surrounding her castle. At least he still had her jewels in his satchel. He grinned wickedly to himself, canines flashing in the dying light of the day.  

Honestly, he was exhausted.

His python-like lower half was built for stealth rather than for prolonged speed, and his muscles were screaming at him to stop. The warmth had faded from the day, and the cold-blooded naga was starting to feel the chill as his muscles tightened and began to burn. His underside bore scratches and scrapes from his long flight, first through the remote castle’s extensive grounds, and then out into the wilder woods beyond. Sharp rocks had scored along his thick, red-scaled hide, leaving him bruised and a bit bloody, and he ached all over.  

Thirsty, weak, and with nowhere left to go, he eventually slowed his pace, breathing hard, and came to a halt in a quiet glade amid tall, silent pine trees. The wind hissed in the needled canopy above, but down here between the sentinel trunks, nothing moved. The baying of the duke’s hounds had long since faded into nothing, and as he swept his spiky, dark red hair back out of his eyes, he went utterly still, straining to hear any sounds at all. His head swam and his vision went double for a moment. He’d not eaten in days and while that wasn’t normally an issue for a naga, it was going to be problem for him soon after expending so much energy on escaping.  

Lightheaded, weak, and shaky, he swayed on the spot.  

Something darker than the surrounding shadows moved in the trees up ahead, and he swore softly, trying to get his eyes to focus.  

He ground his teeth and drew his body up tall, hoping to look menacing, but the extra effort sapped the last vestiges of strength from him and before he knew what was happening, he had pitched forwards and was lying face down in the carpet of old pine needles. Woozy, on the edge of consciousness, he watched as the dusk-dark body of a drider emerged hesitantly from the trees. He couldn't see enough to make out any features, but the blue-black of the delicate limbs that speared down silently into the forest floor was enough to tell him it was a drider.  

“Shit,” he hissed and his eyes rolled shut as he finally succumbed to his exhaustion. 

When he next stirred, he was chilled and sluggish, and lying in the dark somewhere. Warmth; he needed to get warm. And where the hell was he? The last thing he recalled was the approach of a drider. He realised with a jolt of fear that he should be wrapped up in webbing, stored for some future meal, if even half of what was said about driders was true. But he was free, if sluggish and sore.  

He blinked and tried to push himself upright on shaking arms, his cold muscles reluctant to obey him, and as he shifted, something squeaked at the back of whatever dank cave he was in. A rat?  

Still fighting the lingering grogginess, he lifted his head and saw a drider shoot backwards, stumbling over its tangle of spindly limbs, only to sit down heavily and stare at him with wide, panicked, dark eyes. The drider looked young, but into his adult years, and his dark, messy, almost violet-purple hair fell into his eyes as he panted, clearly terrified, and stared at the naga. The skin of his human half was bear and almost pure white, in stark contrast to his dark spider’s body, and his torso was rather scrawny, skinny, and a little pathetic, but flawless as carved marble.  

“Hello,” the drider croaked awkwardly. “You’re awake. You startled me.”

“No shit,” Aiden grunted. “Where the hell am I? And who are you?”

“My… My name is Ambrose,” he faltered, following it up with a frankly adorable smile, and Aiden was pleasantly surprised by the little dimples that formed in his cheeks at the gesture. “You’re… You’re in my -” he broke off with a screech and shot sideways, limbs scrabbling on the stony floor as he stared at the floor beside him.

“What the fuck?” Aiden muttered as he watched the drider panic at apparently nothing. “What is wrong with you?”

“Spider,” the drider whimpered pathetically, pointing a slender finger at the spot where he’d been sitting in a mess of dark limbs only a moment before.  

Aiden found laughter bubbling up inside him and he roared with amusement, the whole cave echoing with the sound of it. “You’re shitting me!” he wheezed. “Oh that’s fucking precious! A drider that’s afraid of spiders!” He laughed until his sides hurt and his eyes watered, but when he eventually got himself together, he wiped the tears from his eyes and crooned in a patronising baby-voice, “You want me to put it outside for you?”

“Yes please…” the drider mumbled miserably, not meeting Aiden’s gaze.  

Aiden snorted, still chuckling to himself, and scooped the tiny black spider up and chucked it out into the forest, feeling the drag of his cold tail and the ache of his muscles. He grunted and winced, rubbing the back of his neck and looking around the cave. “So, this dump is your home then?”

Ambrose’s cheeks flushed scarlet, and he nodded. “Yes. It’s… It’s not much. And thank you for putting the spider outside,” he said. “Normally I just wait over here until they’ve gone away…”

“You have to be the worst spider boy ever,” he snickered, ignoring the way Ambrose’s face crumpled dejectedly.  

The drider levered himself up off the ground, arranging his stick-like legs underneath him and, to Aiden’s surprise, the naga realised he was really quite tall. His legs were thin and fragile looking, and his pendulous, midnight black body was covered in silky-soft hair. The tactile naga was almost overwhelmed by the desire to touch it, and drew himself back before he could give in to the unexpected urge.  

“Well,” Aiden said, “I don’t suppose you’ve got a fire pit in this hovel, have you? I’m fucking frozen, and I stink from my impromptu swim in that foul bitch’s moat. I need a bath, and I need to warm the fuck up.”

Ambrose looked frankly horrified at the naga’s crass language, and Aiden reminded himself to rein it in a bit. No need to offend the person who’d been kind enough to pick him up and bring him here. He mused on that for a while and then asked, “Hang on a second… How the fuck did you get me in here? You look like one stiff breeze would send you spinning away like a tumbleweed!” He laughed at the image of the poor little drider cartwheeling away on the wind, only to find Ambrose looking hurt and embarrassed. “Ah, shit,” the naga added. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Ambrose mumbled. “I’m stronger than I look though. I dragged you here. I made a litter out of web and pulled it like a sled. You’re heavy, but I managed alright.” He tucked a stray strand of his inky hair behind his delicate ear and added, “There’s a stream just a few hundred yards that way, if you wanted to wash. I’ll start a fire for you.”

Something about the quiet sadness in his voice made Aiden pause. He looked at the miserable looking drider and asked, “You live out here alone?”

He nodded mutely and turned away.

With a sigh, Aiden slithered painfully out of the cave and found the stream. It was freezing, but it washed off the muck from the moat, and with every icy wave that bit into his skin, he promised himself he’d be warming up beside a toasty fire before too long.  

Aiden hauled himself back up the steep bank, panting and groaning, his head aching and his vision blurred from exhaustion and lack of food. He let out a string of vile curses when he had to force himself to stop and take a breather. “Damned, fucking cold-blooded snake,” he swore, cranking his tail up the last bit of the incline and beginning his slow drag back to the cave.  

When he got there, he found that Ambrose was heating a pot of something over a now-roaring fire, and it smelled amazing. “What’s cooking?” he asked, nearly adding ‘good looking’ for good measure afterwards, but he decided against it.  

“Rabbit stew,” he said. “I made it this morning. It’s good to be reheated once more though. Is that alright?”

“Fuck yeah,” he grinned, and Ambrose gave him a very shy little smile in return. Something about it made Aiden’s stomach flip over and he crushed the sensation immediately. It wouldn’t do to go falling for some cute little spider boy when he was out in the middle of nowhere and still had to turn his thieved goods into his guild’s boss.  

The two shared their meal in relative silence, but Aiden couldn’t help noticing the way Ambrose always made sure he had enough, and how the drider watched him eat and then glanced away whenever he caught him staring.  

“You really don’t get out much, do you?” he asked boldly when it happened for the third or fourth time. “How many other people have you seen lately?”

Tears formed suddenly in Ambrose’s eyes and he looked away. Guilt lanced through Aiden, and he lowered his empty bowl, setting it down on the ground.  

“Hey, come on, don’t cry. I didn’t mean to be…” He broke off and turned away. “I know I can be a real dick sometimes. Maybe it comes from having two of them…” he interjected, and then cursed himself for saying something so crude. “Anyway, look, I just meant… you seem nice. You don’t deserve to be shut away up here in the mountains, living alone in a cave full of spiders that you’re absolutely terrified of.” He couldn't help the little giggle at the memory of Ambrose tripping over himself in his terror at the little spider, but his mirth was short-lived.

“I have nowhere else to go,” Ambrose said in a tiny voice.  

The way he said it made something in Aiden’s chest crack. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “I’m scared to go out alone. So many people hate my kind. I’m scary to them, but really… I’m… I’m the one who’s afraid.”

“Come with me,” Aiden said before he’d even thought about what he was going to say. The sudden statement shocked him; Aiden was not known for random acts of kindness.

“Where? Where will you go? I saw what was in that bag,” he said, pointing to the satchel with the stolen diamond tiara and necklaces. “You’re a thief and a criminal. What kind of life are you trying to offer me?”

Aiden hissed out a sigh. “You’re right. But I mean… spider silk is really good for healing, and you could maybe work at a healers nearby if… you know… ah shit, what am I saying? I don’t know.” He scratched his head, feeling the rake of his sharp claws over his scalp. “You don’t even know me.” He sighed. “Forget I said anything.”

Ambrose looked at him steadily across the dancing flames of the fire pit. The light reflected in his big, dark eyes, and Aiden felt that strange coiling in his gut again that had nothing to do with the excellent food that the drider had prepared for him. He was strangely beautiful, in his skinny, slightly creepy looking way, but it was easy to see how some folk might be unnerved by the sight of him.  

The warmth from the fire began to make his head nod and a drowsiness washed over him as he coiled himself up tightly beside the fire pit a few minutes later.  

“You should rest,” Ambrose murmured quietly, coming over and stooping gracefully to pick up the wooden bowl that Aiden had abandoned beside him.  

“Thankssssssss…” he hissed, forgetting not to lisp as his body tipped towards sleep before he could stop it. He must have been more exhausted than he’d realised as he slurred, “That wassssss reallygood.”

“I’m glad,” Ambrose said in a soft voice. “Do you want a blanket?”

“Mmm,” was all Aiden could get out before he slipped into sleep.  

Inhaling deeply, he stirred and felt the warm weight of a huge woollen blanket over him, and he looked up to see Ambrose on the other side of the cave, curled with his legs stowed neatly beneath him on a wide hammock of web. The thought struck Aiden that he looked oddly sweet like that, and he smiled.  

The gentle vibrations caused by the naga waking and stretching must have reached the slumbering drider because he twitched awake with a yelp of distress and scuttled back into the deepest corner of the cave, eyes wide and fearful and unfocused.  

“Hey, it’s just me, dumbass,” Aiden chortled. “Remember, the criminal snake you adopted yesterday?”

Ambrose surprised him by beaming a wide smile at him that stopped his slow-beating heart for a few seconds and stalled his brain. Gods above; he was beautiful.  

“What?” the drider asked. “Do I have drool on my face? Have I leaked webbing or something?”  

“Is that like pissing yourself?” he snorted, shattering whatever moment had hung pendulously between them.  

“No,” Ambrose replied, blushing prettily. “It’s still embarrassing though.”

When he looked around and saw that in fact everything was as it should be, with no drool or webbing out of place, he sighed and stretched. Aiden tried not to watch too closely as his torso flexed, but he found that he had to turn away all the same.  

Ambrose went lax with a grunt and looked over at Aiden with his big dark eyes gleaming softly. “How are you feeling today?”

“Stiff, tired, achy…” Aiden complained. “But mostly alright, I guess.”

Ambrose’s previously relaxed posture tightened and he looked suddenly as though he were staving off tears.  

Aiden moved closer, his smooth, hard scales barely whispering on the cold rock of Ambrose’ dank little home. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing,” he said, trying to hide his emotions behind a wavering little smile. “Nothing…”

Aiden cocked an eyebrow, and Ambrose caved.  

“Fine,” the drider sniffed, turning away, legs moving like a clockwork automaton.  

Not having legs himself, Aiden would have been lying if he had said that he didn't also find Ambrose’ eight, slender legs fascinating. Forcing himself to concentrate, he shifted a little closer to the drider, who paused when he sensed him getting near, and drew in another long breath before speaking.  

“I suppose… I mean… it’s kind of lonely up here in the forest…”

“But this cave is full of spiders to keep you company,” Aiden jested, and Ambrose suppressed a shudder. “Ok, seriously though, if you hate it so much, why do you live here? There’s a town not fifty miles away, and for someone with legs like yours, that wouldn’t be a taxing journey… I don’t get the whole hermit act… Give people a chance… Trust me, there are way scarier looking beasties out there than you. You’re positively angelic in comparison to some of the folk in my guild, let me tell you…”

Ambrose looked over his slender shoulder at Aiden and gave a sad little smile. “You’re the first person who’s ever seen me and not run screaming.”

Aiden’s heart cracked at that. “What?” he breathed. “You’re shitting me! But… But you’re -” he cut off quickly before he embarrassed himself.  

“I’m a drider, that’s what!” Ambrose said hotly, drawing himself up tall, and for the first time, Aiden saw him as perhaps others did: more than a little ‘otherworldly’, with his big dark eyes and ghostly pale skin, his long limbs and his rounded, downy arachnid body. “People hate driders. They think we’re creepy or scary, or that we eat their children, or wrap them up in web for later and suck them dry…”

“You don’t?” Aiden snorted. “Damn, I quite liked the idea of being able to say I’d survived a few nights with a monster…”

The hurt on Ambrose’ face cut Aiden to the quick once again.  

“Ah, shit,” he said. “I’m sorry. I always run my mouth when I get uncomfortable.”

“See? I make even you uncomfortable!” he said, huge, crystal tears rolling down his pale cheeks. “And you’re a criminal and a thief!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he huffed defensively. “Just because I nick stuff for a living, doesn’t mean I hang around with creeps… Ok, maybe I do, but they’re alright. My crew is alright. We don’t steal from people who don’t deserve it, you know?”  

He darted back to where his satchel still lay on the rock and scooped it up, drawing out the sparkling gems.  

“The bitch who owned these has a whole vault beneath the castle. She just kept these ones in her room because they were her favourite. She also keeps a tiefling on a leash as some kind of sick pet, and she’s got a centaur whose coat she dyes baby pink and has her paraded around for her amusement. Trust me, I’ve seen monsters, and you, my friend, are not one.”

Ambrose was still crying silently, but he lowered his dark spider’s body close to the floor, legs moving seamlessly like the dwarven and goblin lifting mechanisms at the docks. “I guess I don’t want you to go yet,” he said in a small voice.  

“Who said I was going anywhere?” he grinned, wondering what he was getting himself into. This wasn’t like him. Had Ambrose been anyone else, he’d have left him in the dust a long time ago, but there was something about his curious innocence, and the way he had instinctively helped the weakened naga, despite his obvious wariness of others…  

Ambrose perked up visibly at that. “You… You mean you want to stay?”

“Maybe for a few more days,” he shrugged, putting the jewellery back in the sack. “Just until I feel myself again, you know?”

“This isn’t you at your best?” Ambrose joked, and he was met with an answering grin from Aiden.  

“Ho boy,” Aiden beamed at him, sharp canines showing. “I’m unstoppable when I’m on top form. Just you wait.”

The exchange seemed to have cheered Ambrose up, but when Aiden asked the drider if he fancied showing him around the surrounding forest, Ambrose shrank away again, shaking his head. “I can’t,” he said.

“What do you mean?”  

“I… I don’t go out much.”

Well, that much was actually obvious to the naga, but still… “Just a few yards from the cave?” he said. “I’m cold and I could use some sunshine on my scales, you know?” he said, flicking his red hair playfully. It was enough to draw a little smile from Ambrose, and he agreed to accompany Aiden to the mouth of the cave, and then just a bit further.  

Aiden found himself drawing the drider out more and more, both literally, and metaphorically as they laughed together over meals, or, more accurately, as Aiden scandalised him with tales of his thieving crew’s antics and escapades. However, after another four days, Aiden was certain of two things. The first was that he had stayed too long and his crew would be wondering if he’d just run off with the profits of the heist, and the second was that he was falling for this sweet, intelligent, shy, under-socialised drider faster and harder than he ever would have thought possible.  

“Come with me,” he murmured, on the evening when he had decided to announce that he absolutely had to return the next day.  

The two were lying beside the fire, Ambrose with all his legs tucked up adorably beneath him so that he looked like a little black cat with its paws scrunched in close to its body. He was also leaning his upper body against Aiden’s, who was coiled around Ambrose’ entire form. He was just long enough to be able to encircle him completely, the very tip of his tail just coming to rest in front of Ambrose’ spider body. Occasionally, the dark tip of his tail would twitch involuntarily, and Ambrose’ eyes would always dart down to look at it, and he would twitch his pretty lips into a little smile every time. Naturally, Aiden did it deliberately sometimes, just to watch his new friend’s reaction.  

“I can’t,” Ambrose whispered hoarsely.  

“Do you want to?” Aiden asked. “I mean, don’t you want to see the world? Do you really want to live out your whole life in this one cave full of spiders which you’re terrified of? How long do driders even live anyway…?”

His face crumpled. “We can live a long time,” he mumbled. “And no. Of course I don’t want to stay here alone forever.”

Aiden reached his hand out and ran the back of his fingers up the smooth, slightly fuzzy surface of the leg nearest to him. Ambrose shuddered violently and let out a gasp of shock, eyes rolling closed. When Aiden repeated the gesture, a moan spilled from Ambrose’ lips, and it was the most seductive and delicious sound that Aiden had ever heard anyone make.  

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “Ambrose, you… the sound you just made…”

“I’m sorry,” he panted, pink flushing his skin from collarbones all the way up to his ears. “That… That felt so good.”

“Has anyone ever touched you?”

Ambrose shook his head, his messy hair tumbling into his heavily lidded eyes.

The naga went very still and removed his fingers from the incredibly soft velvet at the ‘hip’ of Ambrose’ spider leg, where it joined his spider body. “Would you let me?” Aiden asked. “Would you let me make you feel good?”

Ambrose licked his lips and opened his glittering eyes. His pupils were huge in the dark, and he nodded slowly. “Please…”

“You want me to make you feel good?” Aiden asked again. “How far do you want to go?”

“I don’t know,” he said. His pulse beat rapidly at his throat, but he looked determined. “Will you stop if I ask you to?”

“Of course,” he said, and he couldn’t resist adding, “I know I’ve got two of them, but I’m not that much of a dick…”

Ambrose snorted, his lips hitching up on one side. “I barely have one, so…”

It was Aiden’s turn to be confused, and Ambrose’s turn to laugh.  

Ambrose blushed and giggled his way through a rapid-fire lesson in drider anatomy, and Aiden was suddenly very interested. “Male driders don’t really have a… you know… I mean we do, but it only really comes all the way out when it’s mating season. Mostly it just stays inside. Even if… you know…”  

“So wait, you’ve got a slit, or what?” he asked. “I mean, some male naga have both, so I’m cool with whatever you’ve got going on down there… but that’s… that’s kinda hot, you know?”

Ambrose’s answering blush was so pretty that Aiden felt his cocks stirring already, and the heat must have shown in his gaze because Ambrose’ blush only deepened when he realised. “You think…? I mean… You’re… You’re turned on by me?”

“Yes,” he hissed. “Very much so.”

“And it’s not just curiosity?”

He shook his head. “Part of it is - I do like the idea of something new - but mostly it’s just you. You’re sweet and bashful, and you deserve to be praised and told how beautiful you are. I want to give that to you.”

A single tear rolled down Ambrose’s cheek. “Alright,” he said. “How… How do you want to do this?”

A little while later, Ambrose was on his back, and Aiden was trailing his claws down his incredibly soft and wildly sensitive underbelly. Ambrose jerked and twitched and bucked, crying out and biting the back of his hand as Aiden worked him all over, just getting him used to the sensation of being touched and, quite honestly, worshipped. Aiden noticed almost immediately that Ambrose was getting wet in a very particular place on his lower body, and when he ran his fingertips over it, he discovered a slit that was slick and warm and wet.  

“Can I use my mouth on you?” he asked huskily.  

Ambrose whimpered and nodded his assent. “Wait,” he gasped, and the naga halted. “Are you poisonous?” His words were slurred and weak, but he cracked one dark eye open and tried unsuccessfully to focus on Aiden through the pleasure of the touches he was still receiving from Aiden’s fingertips.  

The naga snorted, amused. “ ‘Venomous’ is the term you’re looking for, and no. No juice in these,” he said, flashing his canines. “Some of us are, but I’m not. Don’t worry.”  

And with that, Aiden leaned his weight against the curve of Ambrose’ body and cautiously lowered his mouth to taste him. Aiden’s long tongue lapped at him, finding him slightly sweet and a little salty, and he soon discovered Ambrose’s cock seated deep inside him. As he worked his tongue repeatedly along the length of it, sometimes managing to curl the long muscle almost all the way around Ambrose’s hidden cock, he felt the walls of the slit pulse almost rhythmically, and he knew that it would feel incredible to be inside him.  

When Aiden paused and voiced this aloud, Ambrose, who was quickly becoming a whining, mewling mess of limbs and heaving body, groaned, “Yes! Please…”

Aiden looked down the length of his own, scarlet red body, and bit his lip. Not only was the larger of his two cocks fully erect and weeping profusely, but the second, which usually only became fully erect during the naga’s heats, was also hard and slick. “Well, well,” he said. “Look what the sight of you like this has done to me,” he chuckled.

Ambrose managed to open his eyes with a flutter of long, dark lashes, and he smiled. “Beautiful,” he rasped. “I want you…”

Aiden shifted, coiling himself up so that he could slide easily into the slick heat of Ambrose’ sheath. The moment their cocks touched, he felt a jolt run right through him, and he gasped, clinging to Ambrose’ body. “Fuck,” he snarled. “Fuck, you’re perfect…”

Ambrose was beyond words at the sensations coursing through him.  

“I’ve never felt so full,” he managed to gasp a few minutes later after Aiden had begun to rock back and forth inside him. “I… I don’t think I’m… I’m going to…” he panted, his body convulsing and shaking with over stimulation beneath Aiden. “I -” and with a rush of heat beneath Aiden, the drider came.

Spurts of thick, hot come pulsed around Aiden’s two cocks, and the naga lost his rhythm and his control, coming with a gasp a second after Ambrose.  

Ambrose’ uninhibited yell of pleasure echoed off the walls of his home as he came, his body twitching and rocking with pleasure, while Aiden rammed his eyes shut, cocks buried inside him, and ground his teeth, gasping at the intensity of it. He had never come like this.  

It took a while for both of them to come back to their senses, and when they did, Aiden laughed nervously and slid free of Ambrose. “You alright?” he asked, voice hoarse.  

Ambrose nodded and tightened his skinny torso, abs clenching as he looked down his body to where his lower half was frankly a mess. “I think I might need to bathe tonight,” he said. Then, with a wicked glint in his eyes that Aiden would never have suspected from him, he added, “Unless you want to go again?”

“What have I unleashed?” he laughed.  

In fact, they did go again, twice more, before the dawn.  

As they were both tired and spent, washing clean in the freezing stream, Ambrose said quietly, “I think I will come with you.”

“What, you only want me for the sex now?” Aiden joked.  

Ambrose remained serious as he said, “No. I was thinking about it before. If you promise that you will help me… I’d like to come with you. I’d like to see something of the world.”

Aiden was not expecting his heart to react in the way it did, but he flashed Ambrose a wide grin. “Great,” he said. “I promise. You’re going to love it. I just know it.”

___________________________

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[shireness-says]

You Mean Everything

Summary: Even in the silliest moments, Emma and Killian always manage to find the beat together. A little lighthearted rockstar!Emma AU snippet. ~1.3K. Rated T for mild language. Also on Ao3.

Read from the beginning: On Ao3. On tumblr: Maybe I Won’t Die Alone, Second Verses and Happy Beginnings, Lullaby, Nobody’s Business, Have you ever thought about what protects our hearts?

A/N: Have you guys missed reading these? I’ve missed writing them. Thanks to @snidgetsafan for her beta services yet again.

This is completely inspired by that time some friends and I got a little tipsy and tried to sing along to “Come On Eileen” at the restaurant. And found out it’s damn near impossible. Seriously, there’s too many words for how much music there is. Anyways, it was a karaoke prompt waiting to happen. This fic takes place somewhere between the original fic and “Second Verses and Happy Beginnings”, after Killian’s song but before they move in together or get married or any of that. Title taken from the aforementioned song.

Tagging those who have historically like these: @kmomof4, @shady-swan-jones, @effulgentcolors, @onceuponaprincessworld, @mythologicalmango

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

Killian groans as soon as the song starts. It’s unusual for him; after all the years of their acquaintance, platonic and intimate, Emma knows he’s not a man predisposed to complaining, and if he does it’s usually displayed on his face or with his words, not so inarticulately.

(Well, there are situations where she can get him to groan, Emma’s learned in the past 6 months they’ve been together, but they involve a lot more privacy and a lot fewer clothes. In the middle of the Jolly Roger on karaoke night is nowhere near the time or place.)

“Oh god. This is the worst song for karaoke, just awful,” he complains.

Emma listens closely for a moment, somehow managing to recognize “Come On Eileen”. Yeah, it’s the kind of thing that groups of drunk old white men would choose instead of Scarlet, but it’s kind of a classic. Sort of. It’s not horrible, at least. “I don’t know about that, it seems catchy. One hit wonder or whatever.”

Killian just glares at her incredulously, a bar towel slung over his shoulder in that way she not-so-secretly thinks is sexy. “Maybe it sounds fun, but have you ever looked at the lyrics, Swan?” he asks. “There’s far too many words for the rhythm provided. Listen:”

He has a point. The singer is practically tripping over his own tongue to get all those words out, and the tempo isn’t even fast enough to make it necessary. “Oh god, that really is bad.” Has she never actually listened to the verses before, only the chorus? The more she hears, the more likely it seems.

“Exactly,” he nods decisively. Know-it-all. “I’m just saying, anyone who chooses this song is unbearably cocky, unbearably stupid, or hasn’t heard the song in years. Or a fearful combination of the three.”

It’s a ridiculous statement, especially since one of Killian’s closest friends is the one currently trying to sing that mess. And failing. No one has ever accused the drummer of having good taste in anything but women, and Emma’s just granting him that because one of her friends is the woman in question. “What’s Scarlet then?” Emma asks teasingly.

“Oh, definitely the horrifying mashup,” Killian grins. “As if you have to ask.”

Obviously.

The more Emma watches, the more it seems like a caricature - Will busting out some terrible dance moves and bopping his hips back and forth, singing into the mic with more enthusiasm than Emma’s seen all night. But the more Emma watches, the more she also notices how all his ridiculousness is aimed right at Belle, like he’s trying to crack her up. It’s working, too; the brunette wears a wide smile across her face and tosses her head back in laughter as her boyfriend executes a particularly absurd butt wiggle.

“Maybe he’s doing it to make Belle smile,” Emma suggests softly, allowing the teasing to seep out of her tone. It’s not a laughing matter, after all; if anything, it’s rather sweet.

Emma can read on Killian’s face that he agrees as well, can see it in the way his own smile softens and the lines around his eyes set into a gentle crinkle. “Maybe that too,” he admits.

Regardless of why Will is making such a spectacle of himself, it’s a lot of fun to watch. Like always, Scarlet throws himself into karaoke like this is the make-or-break moment of his career, something that Emma always gets a kick out of. Killian’s right - it’s really not a good karaoke song at all. She’s a little right too, though, as it’s undeniably catchy. The crowd is loving it, and even Emma finds herself tapping a foot along to the beat on the rung of her bar stool.

Killian obviously notices too, as when the second verse starts, he extends a hand in Emma’s direction. “What do you say, love?” he offers. “Want to dance?”

Emma huffs a laugh in response, looking at him incredulously. “Weren’t you just the one complaining about this song?” It’s tempting, but she’s not even sure how it’d work with this music. Between that and his objections, any attempt at dancing seems a bit doomed from the start.

“Aye, but that doesn’t mean it’s not still a fun tune,” he argues. “C’mon, Swan, just a little turn around the floor.”

And somehow, she finds herself accepting.

Neither one of them is particularly graceful, as it turns out, but they make do with a silly little shuffle and sway back and forth. Mostly, Emma revels in the closeness of their position, with one of his hands low and tight on her back and her arm looped under his to hang on to his shoulder. Their other hands are grasped loosely, alternating between being pressed against Killian’s chest right above his heart in during their more sedate movements and propped out to the side, swinging back and forth, during more energetic ones. Killian doesn’t seem to particularly care what they look like, leading her in crazy circles and spinning her over and over again right in a row until Emma’s forced to brace herself against the dizziness. Probably his plan all along - to get her somehow pressed even closer along his body. The happy grin on his face and that eyebrow wiggle certainly suggests it.

That grin drops soon enough into panicked confusion and the song suddenly slows down. Serves him right. Emma can’t help but laugh as Killian practically trips over his own feet as he hurries to get back on beat. “Shit, I forgot about the tempo change,” he mutters, before pulling an embarrassed face as Emma lets loose another snort. She can’t help it - it’s always been adorable to see him flustered.

“Oh, like we were doing so well before,” she teases back.

“Oh hush, you.”

(And then it’s her turn to be a little flustered, as Killian punctuates the admonition with a little nip at her earlobe. Ridiculous, infuriating, sexy, wonderful idiot of a man.)

All too soon, the music is over and Will hops back down from the small corner stage to let the next singer get ready and to go kiss his girlfriend. Emma can’t blame him. Still, she’s a little sad the song is done. Even if she’d been reluctant at first, she’d really enjoyed twirling around in Killian’s arms. Their dancing was nowhere close to ballroom quality, of course, but there’d been a lot of laughter and a lot of fun. Proper waltzes probably don’t have enough twirls and spins in them anyways. They’ll definitely have to do this again sometime, she thinks.

“Still think it’s the worst song ever?” Emma asks, slinging her arms around Killian’s neck before he can move back behind the bar to help Merida. Not that he seems to mind, reaching for her hips on what must be instinct by now. Merida is handling the bar patrons just fine by herself anyways.

Killian snorts, seeing right through her teasing. He leans in close to nuzzle against her forehead before replying. Such a sap. “For karaoke? Yes. To make you smile? No.”

Even if she’s absolutely, definitely, completely charmed, Emma still rolls her eyes. She’s got to keep up her persona or whatever, after all. “Kiss-up.”

“Your kiss-up,” he whispers, dropping a light kiss to her lips. Not that that’s the end of it; maybe he would have left it there, but Emma’s more interested in dragging him into a proper kiss. Who needs to get back to work, anyways?

(Months and years later, Killian jokingly suggests they use “Come On Eileen” for their first dance at their wedding, recreate their first dance as a couple. They’re both willing to settle for putting it on the playlist and laughing all the while at their own private little joke. Killian never does remember the tempo change, but Emma thinks that might be what marriage is like anyways - working around the unexpected together.

They’ll catch the rhythm again.)

[love-only-exists-in-books]

"She's my alpha," he murmured, with a haunting sadness in his voice. Alpha. Cress leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees, "Like the star?" "What star?" She stiffened, instantly embarrassed, and scooted back from him again.

"Oh. Um. In a constellation, the brightest star is called the alpha. I thought maybe you meant that she's...like...your brightest star." Looking away, she knotted her hands in her lap, aware that she was blushing furiously now and this beast of a man was about to realize what an over-romantic sap she was.

But instead of sneering or laughing, Wolf sighed, "Yes," he said, his gaze climbing up to the full moon that had emerged in the blue evening sky. "Exactly like that.”

Ze’ev Kesley (Wolf) on Scarlet Benoit Marissa Meyers: Cress