#shortest edge path

[frankensteinzmonstrrr]

The Benefits of Being a Marine Biologist (Part 1)

Part 2 | Part 3

Merman x transmasc reader Contains: monster meet cute Warnings: none Length: 1.1K words

After a long day at work, you decide to drive to the beach. You didn't get to work in the field like you'd wanted to, riding out on research boats to observe wildlife and collect specimens; you ended up as the guy analyzing the data and specimens instead. So when you clocked out, you decided you would make a stop at the ocean before heading home.

Parking in your usual spot, you jump out of your car and mindlessly begin the walk down the familiar trail. Just a little ways down the road from your lab there's a tiny beach accessible only by a short hike through the marshland and tall grasses. It seems no one else comes here, at least not at the hours you do, so it is your reliable quiet refuge to be alone with the ocean.

When you reach the sandy trailhead, you are greeted by a group of sand pipers that scurry towards the water away from you. You smile as you watch them dash in and out of the waters edge, looking for something to eat. You would easily choose watching sea birds for hours over microscopes and spreadsheets if you could.

Walking along the short stretch of beach, you make your way to the edge where the soft sand turns into dark stones. The large rocks stretch out into the water quite a bit. You clamber up the shortest boulder and walk down the jagged stone path as you have many times before, extending your arms for balance like a gymnast on a beam.

Reaching the end, you sit down on the flattest rock. At this tide, the water is nearly level with the rocks and the gentle waves will splash your sneakers if you're not careful. You watch the setting sun for awhile, the orange sky dotted with careening seagulls.

Something catches your eye and snaps you out of your meditative trance. There is distant movement in the water, heading towards the shore. As it slowly approaches, you realize it must be an animal from the shape's considerable size. You feel a rush of adrenaline as you try to stay absolutely still on your rocky seat. Could it be a shark? A dolphin? As the shadowy figure gets closer and closer, it becomes clearer that it's heading straight toward you. Shit. If it's a seal or a sea lion come to lay on the rocks, you're not really sure how to deal with that.

The creature finally stops its advance about fifty yards in front of where you sit. It pokes its head out of the water, just as curious about you as you are of it. From a distance it's hard to tell, but it is definitely not a seal. Or a sea lion. It looks like a human face.

"What the fuck..." you whisper as you try to slowly scoot backwards without taking your eyes of the creature, which had ducked back underwater and was swimming towards you again. When it was mere feet from the edge of the rocks, it surfaced again.

You were face to face with something not quite human, not quite animal. It looked like a person, barring the scales and gills. And the long fish-like tail that trailed in the water behind it. You had come to your beach for some post-work relaxation, but instead you have found a bona fide mermaid.

When the creature smiles at you, baring many sharp teeth, and says "Hello!", you yelp with shock.

It tilted its head to the side, its reptilian eyes fixed on you in fascination. "I don't see many humans." Noticing your surprise and tenseness, it added, "Don't be afraid, I don't hurt humans."

You manage to stammer out a question. "How can you speak English?"

"I like to watch and listen. I don't know every word but I think I know a lot." As it speaks, you notice a clear lid blink vertically across its eyes.

Convinced enough that this thing doesn't want to eat you, you move a bit closer to the end of the rocks. It mirrors your movement, swimming a little closer to you.

"I study marine life. How on earth do you even exist?" you ask, unable to think of anything else to say.

"I don't know. I come from the sea. How do you exist?" it said. It made small noises after speaking that you guessed is laughter.

"Fair enough," you replied. You paused for a moment, then asked, "What can you tell me, then? What can you tell me about yourself?"

Before replying, the creature closed the distance between the two of you, resting its arms on the edge of a rock. It answered you pensively, "I am a mer-folk... I am a male... I don't have much to say about me."

You laughed at how human his last statement is. He looks at you strangely, probably like how you did when he laughed. "Well, I can tell you that I'm a scientist, I study the ocean like I said, and this is my favorite beach." You felt a bit stupid as you asked, "Do you have a name?"

"Yes, but not one you could say," he smiled, flashing his teeth again. "My name means Abalone in human language."

"That's beautiful," you say before you can think to stop yourself. You feel your face turning pink as Abalone continues to stare at you inquisitively. "I mean, I don't know if you know, but abalone shells are... I guess coveted by humans. People make jewelry from the interior."

"I know!" he said brightly. "Many of us love human jewels. They lose them so much when swimming."

You marvel again at how normal of a conversation you are having with a merman. Looking at the sky, you are sad to realize that the sun is very low to the horizon. Your mythical chance encounter is going to be ruined by the fact that you don't have a flashlight. "I'm sorry, I need to go home before it gets dark."

You jump a little when his hand shoots forward to touch yours on the rock. His silvery blue-gray skin is cool and smooth, like a stingray or shark, and his fingers end in dark claws for nails. "Will you come back?"

Your breath catches in your throat. "Yes... I can come back tomorrow? At sunset?"

Abalone grinned as he released your hand from his gentle grip. "Tomorrow," he repeated. With a mischievous smile, he said "Don't tell anyone!" and disappeared into the water. The last you saw of him was a swish of his dark tail as he swam away.

You spent your walk back up the trail trying to think of excuses to leave the lab early the next evening.

AN: If you're reading this, thank you for reading! This is my first (posted/shared) fic so I hope anyone who reads it likes it. I'm weirdly nervous to post this, the mortifying ordeal of being known or whatever. I was NOT expecting to write over 2k words at the drop of a hat (edit: my word counter was bugging, I wrote around 1K words :,D). I'm not sure how many parts this will end up being in total, but at least three or four. Tip Jar on Ko-Fi (requests/comms coming soon maybe?)

[owlespresso]

Can I please have Ais + vulnerable 👀

"C'mon out, sparrow," Ais's voice rumbles down the alleyway. Soft and beseeching. His boots thud against the dull dirt, louder with each passing step.

You shudder as you inhale, and hold your breath for five seconds. Your ankle is a bright point of pain. It throbs and your head throbs along with it, as though your very blood cries out in rejection. If he sees you like this... no, you can't stand the thought. The one and only time you had displayed weakness to him was that time in the Seaspring–that harrowing, first meeting that nearly saw you tumbling over the dock's edge.

You'll not show your soft underbelly to him again. He'll core you with that keen, red gaze. Savor the sanguine taste of your weakness, your fear like monsters are wont to do. No, you can't grant him that sort of satisfaction

The small offshoot you've crammed yourself in is, at the end of the day, a poor choice for cover. Not like you could have gone far, with the state of your leg.

Ais looms over you. His shadow swallows you. You tuck your legs close to your chin, ignore the bright pulse of pain your ankle rewards you with. He takes in the sight of you, impassive as always which makes it worse. People you can't read make you uncomfortable. People bearing witness to your moments of weakness make you want to crawl out of your own skin.

He takes a single step forward. And then he crouches. His elbows rest on his spread knees. One of his palms cradles the cut of his cheek. He appraises you quietly, but not without care. Your face feels hot.

"Sparrow, the clicic is across town. Do you really want to hobble there on that busted leg?" he asks, and you scoff, looking away.

"I don't have much of a choice," you bite out. And he sighs, again. Like you're troublesome. Even though you never asked for his help, never asked him to step in when those cowards had you cornered. Only now do you recall the colored bands on their arms. The gang members from your first night in the city, convinced you were the cause of their good friend's injury. Or maybe they just couldn't find Ais, and decided you were the next best target.

You don't know. They're in a ditch, now. Probably dead.

Ais stands, turns around, and kneels. His hands reach back. You go stock still. A few moments of silence pass, uninterrupted, as you process his intentions.

"Are you going to make me spell it out for you?" he asks over his shoulder.

"No–you don't have to carry me," you insist, scrambling to your feet. You plant a clammy palm against the cool, brick wall and test your ankle. Pain lances up the usually limber limb, making you hiss.

Ais stands up, and you, for the briefest moment, are once again in his shadow. You don't care, too busy mapping out the shortest route to the clinic. There are a few dangerous paths you'll have to flit on through, less than advisable in your current condition. It's a risk you'll have to take, and a pain you'll have to bear–

There are warm hands on your waist. The world shifts around you as you're lifted, stomach planted into a broad shoulder. Ais moves underneath you, one hand planted firmly on the back of your thigh to keep you in place. You stare, incredulously, at the broad of his back as he walks out of the alleyway.

"Ais!" you bark a moment later, slapping a hand against his shoulder. He huffs in wry amusement, but is otherwise unmoved by your pathetic writhing.

"You can't fly away from this one sparrow. Be more careful, next time."

[oikasugayama]

Could I ask for chuuya and dazai (separately) x fem reader where the reader wears a low skirt at work and bends down to get something and how the guys would react? Nsfw ofc

I only did Dazai because I got really carried away, oops. Have 2.3k of unedited, filthy dazai + coworker!reader smut. MDNI!!

You’ve wanted Dazai for quite a while. He’s so hot, and he’s silly, and sometimes he can be really nice and suave. The fact that his eyes linger on you heavily every time you wear a short skirt or a low-cut blouse only make you want him more because it sure seems like he might be interested in you too. You don’t talk to him a lot unfortunately given that he’s not in the office every day, and you’re Kunikida’s secretary, but sometimes he does linger by your desk and chat with you (until Kunikida runs him off), or when the whole office goes out for lunch he’ll sit at your table with you, Naomi, and Junichiro. Once when you were sitting across from each other you even swore that he had to have known that his leg was against yours, forcing your legs slightly wider apart as he slid his further and further toward the outside of the booth. Any time you looked at him while he did this, he would just quirk the corner of his lip up in a smile and turn back to the conversation. There was sexual tension between the two of you, there had to be.

One day you’d had enough of being the shocked one, you wanted to be bold to see if you could get him to break and finally invite you back to his place after work. You put on a button-up blouse that “accidentally” lost its top two buttons, your shortest skirt, a red silk thong that was definitely part of a lingerie set, and you made sure to put on some extra perfume so he’d smell it any time you got near him. Now you just needed the opportunity to get his attention. 

He was late to the office, as always. He casually walked in, hands in his pockets, a smirk on his face as usual 45 minutes after he was supposed to be there. You say nothing to him, as usual, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention. Kunikida already gave you an uncomfortable glance-over this morning and offered to sew your buttons back on if you still had them--you couldn’t risk him looking at you and seeing the sultry look in your eye when you greeted Dazai.

He saw you, though. Dazai. His eyes locked onto yours as he took his jacket off and slung it over the back of his chair. He very obviously trailed his eyes down to your chest, and you sat up straighter and tucked a bit of hair behind your ear, watching him watch you. You weren’t backing down, and he noticed.

Maybe that’s why he declined the offer to go to lunch with the group later that afternoon. You also declined, telling a little while lie to Kunikida that you had plans with friends at a different restaurant, so you’d be leaving in a few minutes to go your own way. Kunikida is sharp, but Dazai is sneaky, and you’d never mentioned to your boss how Dazai’s eyes defile you every time you show a bit of skin. If he’d known, he wouldn’t have ever left you two alone in the office. 

A couple of minutes after everyone was gone, you got up and crossed the room to Dazai’s desk pod under the guise of putting something on Atsushi’s nearby desk. As you approached, Dazai “accidentally” swiped a pencil off the edge of his desk right into your path.

“Oops,” he said lowly. You glance at him over your shoulder and give him a half smile.

“I got it.” Normally you’d squat or crouch down to prevent anyone from seeing your butt, but that’s not the goal today. You have an objective.

You slowly bend over at the waist, reaching for the pencil with your fingertips. You can tell the exact second your panties become visible, because Dazai hisses and leans back in his chair.

“Fuck,” he sighs. Before you’ve even stood back up, his hand is on your ass, pushing the curve of it up from the bottom to make it jiggle.

“Dazai-san,” you say sweetly as you fully stand and turn toward him. You hold the pencil out toward him and he grabs it quickly, throwing it onto the desk. His hands are on your hips then, pulling your skirt up so he can feel your soft, supple skin.

“Tell me you want me,” he demands, stilling his hands but holding you in place.

“You first,” you say, reaching out to trace your fingertips along his jaw. There’s a look in his eye you’ve never seen before. A type of hunger you’ve only dreamed about him having for you.

“I’ll fuck you on this desk right now,” he swears in that low, calm voice. It makes you wet just to hear him say such a lewd thing to you.

“You can cum inside,” you coo, and that’s what does it. He stands so suddenly that his chair is knocked backwards with a loud crashing noise. His lips are on yours, kissing you hard and fast and desperate. His hands grope your ass, squeezing and massaging and using the leverage to force you against his body, to feel his hard-on though his pants.

You waste no time fumbling with the bottom of his shirt, pulling it loose from his pants. You unbuckle his belt, unzip his fly, and shove your hand inside, feeling his cock straining against his underwear. He moans against your mouth, and you let out an involuntary whine. You’ve wanted to hear that sound for so long.

“I’m surprised Kunikida left you alone with me,” Dazai mumbles, pushing you back just a little until you hit his desk and sit on it. He spreads your thighs so he can stand between them, then he starts teasing his long, deft fingers over your clothed heat. “He’s always on my ass telling me not to be inappropriate with you.”

“Oh?” you ask shakily, still trying to feel him up though he’s got you distracted now with his feather-light touches.

“Mmm,” he hums, taking his hands away from you. He pushes his pants and boxers down enough to free his cock, and you can’t help but to stare at it. You hoped it would be big, maybe even taken a few long glances at his crotch while he slept unknowingly on the breakroom couch. But it’s even bigger than you expected, and your pussy flutters with anticipation. “I think Kunikida wants to make a proper lady out of you.”

“Proper ladies don’t fuck their coworkers in the office,” you say, pulling your panties to the side. Dazai watches you and licks his lips, giving his cock a few strokes. He reaches forward, slides two of his fingers up your slit and groans.

“You’re so fucking wet.”

“I wanna fuck you so bad,” you admit, leaning back onto your hands. You both moan to some degree when his fingers slide into you.

“The feeling is mutual,” he mumbles back. He gives a few pumps, a few twists, before pulling back out and smearing your slick wetness all over the head of his cock. Then, with urgency, he lines his tip up with your pussy and teases for just a few seconds, collecting more of your natural lube so he can slide in smoothly. 

“Dazai,” you whine, squirming, trying to get closer. He says nothing as he pushes forward slowly, pulling out just a bit, then continuing in until he’s almost completely buried in you.

“Fuck,” he moans, dropping his head down. He can’t stop looking at your pussy taking his cock in. “You’re so fucking hot. God, this pussy is so tight.” You whine and moan, leaning back more until you bump into his computer.

“Get this shit out of the way,” he mumbles, annoyed, as he reaches behind you and shoves stacks of papers and his computer monitor to the side with reckless abandon until you have room to lay on his desk and pull your knees up and to the side. You’re at the perfect level now for him to start drilling you, and oh does he.

The once quiet office is filled with wet squelches and skin slapping skin as he fucks you, holding you by the hips so you can’t slide away from him. He fucks you hard and quick and dirty. He fucks you all the way to the hilt, stuffing you full and letting his balls smack against your ass. You’re so wet that it covers his cock all the way to the base and starts to make a sticky ring against his body. 

“Oh, Dazai,” you moan. “Shit-- Fuck-- oh, you’re so fucking big.” 

“Good fucking pussy,” he huffs out. He reaches up with one hand and starts palming your tit, massaging and squeezing. “I’m gonna fill you up with my cum. You’re gonna like that, huh? Gonna sit at your desk all day doing work for Kunikida with my cum in your pussy.”

“Yeah,” you whine loudly. You manage to pull another two buttons free and Dazai takes advantage, reaching inside to knead your boob and pinch your nipple, making you moan even more. “Fuck me so good, Dazai. Make me cum, please.”

“Oh, I’ll make you cum, baby, but I’m not done with you yet.”

He pulls out of you then and you whine at the loss of his thick cock buried deep in you. He leans down, pushing your shirt and bra to the side to suck on your tits. He swirls his tongue around, suckling and nipping with his teeth while his other hand tweaks your nipple and massages. After a minute he switches, giving equal attention to the other breast. You take the opportunity to run your hands through his hair, scratching at his scalp and pulling on his hair.

“They’ll be back in fifteen,” you warn him. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

“Mmm, but there’s so much fun to be had,” he sighs, resting his face in the valley between your breasts. “Do you live in the ADA dorms?”

“No, I have a roommate across town.”

“Tell them you’re staying with a friend tonight.”

He stands up and takes your hands, pulling you up too. You’re afraid he’s gonna stop here, but instead he turns you around, kisses down your neck, and then firmly pushes your shoulders down so you’re bent over his desk. Without another word he lines up with your hole again and enters you quickly. He sets a brutal pace, utilizing long, hard thrusts to make you feel the full extent of his cock. It’s so long and such a nice girth that it fills you completely, stretching your walls so nicely and thrumming against your cervix with every thrust. Once again the office is full of the sounds of skin slapping skin, your pussy squelching every time he enters you, and a steady stream of moans and curses from both of you.

“You’re gonna cum with me,” he says after a few minutes reaching around your hip to feel you up. He finds your clit in only a few seconds and rubs it frantically while still fucking you hard, trying to suddenly overwhelm your nerves to make you cum hard, and fuck does it work.

“Dazai,” you call his name loudly as a warning, whimpering and whining while pushing back against him. “I’m gonna cum, Dazai, fuck, I can’t stop--”

“--Cum,” he commands. “Cum all over this fat cock, princess.”

Your orgasm wracks your body, making your knees shake and your thighs tremble. You cum, slightly squirting, making even more juices squish out of your pussy as he fucks you through your orgasm. The pulsing of your walls as you cum squeezes Dazai’s cock so good, making him cum too, spurting ropes of his seed deep into you. He stays buried to the hilt, grinding against you, for several seconds after you’ve both worked through your orgasms. When he finally pulls back, he holds you down by your hips so he can watch cum drip out of your pussy and onto the floor. He swipes some of it onto his fingers and reaches around, holding it in front of your lips.

“Open,” he says, and you do, sticking your tongue out and taking his fingers in, sucking the cum and other fluids off his fingers. “Good girl,” he says, rubbing his other hand on your ass. After he finally pulls his fingers out of your mouth, he readjusts your panties so they cover your abused cunt.

“You’re gonna leak through your panties,” he says, finally allowing you to stand back up. “Gonna leave a damp spot on your chair by the end of the day so you have a reminder of me.”

“Good,” you say, buttoning your blouse again. “And I’d love to come over tonight, by the way. I’ll tell my roommate not to expect me until late.”

Dazai smiles and finishes tucking himself back into his pants. He also kneels down and uses a tissue to wipe the cum off the floor.

“Only a few minutes left,” he says when he stands back up. “Clean yourself up and get ready.”

“What about your desk? We really messed it up.”

“Don’t worry about it, just go sit at your desk like a good girl.” He presses a firm kiss to your lips then pats your ass so you’ll get moving. He sighs wistfully, climbs on top of his desk, and lays over it, draping himself all the way across Atsushi’s desk as well. Now the mess looks like another dramatic Dazai performance that no one even questions when they come back from lunch.

[literary-illuminati]

2025 Book Review #11 – Deadhouse Gates by Steven Erikson

Introduction

One of my reading goals for 2025 is to get through the entire Malazan series at a rate of one a month or so (a commitment I made thinking Gardens of the Moon was representative and not the shortest in the set, but I digress). I went into Deadhouse Gates knowing almost nothing about the plot, but having had it talked up to me relentlessly as the point where the series hits its stride and gets really properly good. On one level I can absolutely see this – Erikson’s craft absolutely improved immensely between writing Gardens and Gates, and the characterization work is (on the whole) so much better the returning characters barely even seem like the same people. But – while it’s certainly an excellent book overall – it had some weaknesses and irritating ticks that had me wishing it was more like Gardens at several points.

The novel is set on the (sub-)continent of Seven Cities, a rich and ancient land lately conquered by the Malazan Empire, and now a restive project afflicted with moments prophecies and on the very edge of rebellion. With a decadent and incompetent governor uninterested in preparations or an organized response, the rebellion will see colonists and officials slaughtered wholesale across the land, with only the capital city of Aren itself able to hold out and await the relief of an imperial punitive expedition from the metropole. By cosmic coincidence, just as things come to a head the wastelands in the continents heart are overrun with shapeshifters of all kind – mages and skinchangers driven rabid with lust for power, seeking the mythical Path of Hands and it’s promise of Ascension and dominion over all their kind as a new god of beasts.

Amid the anarchy and bloodshed, the book follows five different points of view, each on their own variably ill-fated journey across the continent. By far the most detailed – and the one acting as a spine for the whole book – is the imperial historian Duiker, acting as witness and chronicler to the epic death-march of the 7th Army and the tens of thousands of refugees it protects across the continent, to hoped-for sanctuary beneath Aren’s walls. He’s a window rather than a protagonist, allowing the reader a close and personal view of the imperial general Coltaine and the 7th ‘s struggles and valour fighting the impossible odds arrayed against them.

Around the edges of that narrative (and, to my mind, in the main far more interesting) are our other points of view – a disgraced noble heiress-turned-penal-slave and her fellow escapees from a brutal imperial mine, an itinerant warrior walking the earth alongside his immortal friend in his quest for his lost memories, an outlawed legionary and assassin on his way back to the capital to kill the Empress for her crimes, and a similarly outlawed sapper and his ragtag band of travelers caught up in the plots and whims of gods they want absolutely nothing to do with.

Across just under a thousand pages, they give first-hand views of the rebellion’s initial stages and hints of what seem likely to be the actual plot of this whole ten-volume saga. And suffer. Mostly the suffering, really.

History and Worldbuilding

The very first thing anyone ever talks about with Malazan is the setting, and the real sense of depth and history that Erikson brings to it. Which is pretty much entirely deserved – this is a series where the setting and metaphysics came first, and the actual plot is at least kind of mostly just an excuse to explore and share it with people. Whether you find this interesting or charming or think it sounds like the most tedious reading experience imaginable is probably the first filter on whether you will actually enjoy this book (and the series as a whole) or not.

Now, that was always the promise of the series, but this is an area where Deadhouse Gates lives up to it far better than Gardens did. Erikson is, I’m told, an archaeologist and anthropologist by training and of but you can tell. Not always for the better with the anthropology bit, but the sheer enthusiasm with which the book regards broken shards of pottery and the impact of prehistoric tells on geography is really incredibly charming.

The book manages the effect a lot of fantasy tries for but very few succeed at – a sense of real deep, mythic history, of layers of ruined cities and dead gods whose memory still weighs upon and affects the world of the living and whose tragedies and dramas can be seen in the shape of the world wherever you might look. Very nearly every single one of the book’s most affecting passages and pieces of imagery are from a point of view exploring (or at least wondering through) some ancient ruin of a fallen or forgotten civilization, or else being haunted by their ghosts and the ways the present now rhymes with the past.

Far more than Gardens, Gates really does sell the feeling of a vast, wondrous, terrible world – full of unseen actors and only barely glimpsed conflicts that nonetheless shape the field of play our actual protagonists are acting upon. This is probably best expressed with the whole shapeshifter highlander that’s happening slightly off to the side of the plot for 90% of the book but still causes absolutely no end of problems for all the most interacting characters, as well as the sheer number of bizarre and near-lethal encounters with strange and ancient creatures the different traveling parties have by apparently random chance.

The less commendable expression of this is the sheer number of dei (and diaboli) ex machina Erikson keeps throwing into the plot whenever he’s not quite sure where to go or how to get a specific beat he wants to. The sudden appearance of a never-before-mentioned magical courier company crashing through dimensions to give Coltaine and (separately) Fiddler’s party exactly the resupply they needed to lift their spirits on behalf of interested parties on a literal different continent who had apparently somehow been following the drama of this remote death march with baited breath very nearly made me throw the book down in exasperation (and it’s hardly unique here).

Nuance and Characterization

All that said, by far the biggest improvement between Gardens and Gates is the quality of character-writing. Not necessarily in terms of giving distinct internal monologues (there are more than a few passages of Kalam’s narration you could put in Duiker’s mouth and no one one would blink), but the arcs and internal conflicts of every point of view character are far, far better written and more compelling than in the previous installment (not least because the book is far less likely to outright explain what that arc or internal conflict is in pseudo-objective monologue). Most (with a few very notable exceptions I’ll get to later) of the major supporting characters are similarly improved, seeming far more like people and less like the plot mechanisms or broad fantasy archetypes a decent chunk of Gardens secondary cast tended to default to.

The love and quality are admittedly a bit unevenly distributed, though. Felisin is by far the most psychologically interesting and nuanced character we spend any time in the head of – basically entirely because of her complete and total lack of self-knowledge as she tries (badly) to cope with all the horrible, life-ruining trauma. The fact that her sections lacked any sort of moral authority figure – there’s no character whose ever signposted as being uniquely enlightened or perfectly informed or even just usually right, everyone is a massive asshole in one way or another – too.

Though if Felisin’s is the best narrative running through the book, Mappo and Icorium get an easy second place. Again, in large part off the strength of their characterization – their relationship is really compelling! Their friendship feels real and sincere, and the genuine tragedy underlying it all both works and adds real poignancy (though frankly, having the destroyed village used to motivate Mappo be a false flag feels like an immense and unneeded cop-out here). It also helps that the pair of them are so thoroughly part of the setting’s deep history and still affected by and chained to the world’s ancient past in a way none of the others are – in a way they like the most purely Malazan characters, the arc that mostly perfectly expresses the series’ strengths.

As for the others – Fiddler is generally inoffensive as a point of view to the plot, though deeply generic and uninteresting as a character in his own right. But he gets partial credit for all the screen-time Pust gets, whose just a delightful cartoon character on the page and the only genuine comic relief the book has to break up the grim monotony (Apsular is also a good character with interesting ties to the wider setting. Crokus feels like the thinly sketched generic kid hero you kill off at the end of chapter one in a satire or deconstruction). Kalam is a decent action-adventure hero, and much more engaging for the fact that he’s genuinely makes mistakes and falls for tricks compared to a lot of the series’ legendary badasses, but crippled by a) a complete lack of internal reckoning or rumination over the fact that he literally kicked off the rebellion he spends most of the book wading through the atrocities of and b) an incredibly unsatisfying and bathetic where his book-long revenge quest is entirely resolved by five minutes of unconvincing platitudes from the women he was trying to kill.

Duiker, meanwhile – Well, as a character he was great. The two best passages in the whole book are him philosophizing. The issue is-

The Chain of Dogs

I have a rather limited tolerance for straight-faced heroic military chronicles, and the spine of this book was a story that for most of its length felt like it was making it a mission to hit every tired cliche in the genre I can think of. Or okay, that’s harsh. It isn’t all bad – the lead-up to the rebellion was full of intrigue and promise, the side-plot with the Senk god was very good, the ending was (if a bit clumsy and extremely bluntly done) compelling tragedy. As for everything else – well, let’s say there were a lot of time where resisting the urge to skim down to the next POV was a downright heroic effort.

The biggest issue is Coltaine. He, far more than Duiker, is the actual protagonist of the plot thread, the character whose efforts and struggles determine the plot and who virtues define the whole tragedy it ends up being. Which is unfortunate, because he only barely escapes being a complete cliche right out of central casting. For basically the entire book, he’s nothing but a caricature – the grim, taciturn military genius, the stoic badass who wins the undying loyalty of his troops speeches or grandstanding because he’s just the good, the strategic savant whose victory against impossible odds is assured unless he is undercut by treachery or incompetence from those around him. His plans always work, his gut calls always turn out for the best, his harsh sacrifices are always in the end perfectly justified.

God but he is one of the most boring characters I’ve ever had to sit through however many hundreds of pages trying to convince me of how impressive he is. The only historical figures that come close are the ones only remembered through their own propaganda. Which would be not great but fine if he was a secondary character or a plot device, but again he really is the functional protagonist of the entire narrative. Did we really need two different chapter-long battle scenes where Duiker is sure they’re all doomed but Coltaine’s clever plan that was never communicated to any of his subordinates works perfectly and the legendary valor of the Malazan army defeats impossible odds? Did they have to both be river crossings?

Which also does a lot to drain the tension and interest out of the politics and interpersonal drama that is the actually interesting part of war – with basically no exceptions of any consequence, Coltaine is right and whoever is arguing against him (especially if they aren’t also a hard-bitten professional soldier) is wrong. For a story ostensibly about the heroic effort to protect this chain of refugees, the only actual refugee characters who get names and lines are a trio of nobles – of whom one dies early and the other two are portrayed as some of the most thoroughly contemptible characters in the whole story. You could have replaced the entire refugee host with an equally large and ungainly herd of sacred cattle and lost remarkably little.

The High Fist comes off even worse, of course – as the single and ultimate cause of every fuckup the Malazan forces make through the entire book, really. It undermines the whole trap and destruction of the army at the very end of the book when it seems less due to any particularly clever stratagems on the rebels part and more because he’s a blithering idiot who can be relied upon to make the single worst decision in literally every situation. I kept waiting for the book to give him some bit of interiority, some hidden depths or even self-serving justifications for his actions – and it just never arrived.

And then there’s the matter of the opposition.

Conflict and Culture

I give D&D-inspired fantasy a lot of leeway for having some, let’s say unfortunate subtext. It’s buried deep into the bones of the genre and digging out is not a project that will at all fit a lot of stories. But a) this is a thousand-page-long tome that’s incredibly interested in invented culture and sociology and b) my god every bit of the book’s description of Seven Cities and the rebellion feels like its from a 19th century London tabloid competing to have the most lurid and exaggerated ‘true tales of the outrages in the colonies’. Seven Cities is obviously and deliberately patterned off west/south Asia (the rebel messiah is almost literally named Sheik, there are nearly as many talwars as potsherds), but it feels less inspired by any actual culture or history than by colonial propaganda and 1001 Arabian Nights. (The Wickans are not nearly as bad – they do feel like a real culture with texture and internal divisions and tradition. But everything about them is just entirely in thrall to what Brett Devereaux calls the Fremen Mirage – more based off the mythology of the terrifying and masterful nomadic warrior-civilization than any particular historical referent.)

It is not that I have any objection to depicting the brutality and atrocities of (especially civil) warfare but like c’mon – the book literally contrives to have fanatical child soldiers forcing the 7th to slaughter them to protect the refugees. Functionally every rebel we see at any point is either a bloodthirsty religious zealot or a child-raping murderous bandit pretending to be one. Their only halfway competent general in a traitorous Malazan commander who ‘went native’ - and in any event in battle they’re all bloodthirsty savages whose only hope of victory is sheer weight of numbers of shocking brutality and treachery. I’d say they might as well all be orcs, but I legitimately think orcs in LOTR might have been depicted with more nuance and more moments of humanization.

And it’s not like there’s any nuance here – the book is quite explicit that with one exception the Malzann conquest of the continent was humane and restrained. Which entirely tracks with the functionally-inhumane discipline the 7th Army shows throughout the book. On one hand an endless horde of decadent, treacherous city-dwellers and bloodthirsty horse nomads, on the other the least predatory- or -atrocity inclined premodern army in the history of creation. For a book that everyone talks about the grimness and moral ambiguity of, it seems incredibly and exhaustingly one-sided – like Duiker has already gone through and edited out all the awful shit Malzan soldiers did to captives and the refugees under their charge to make the story sufficiently edifying for posterity.

What Gardens had, and Gates very much does not,is a conflict with humanized, compelling characters on both sides, a sense of the horror and brutality war inflicts – the quirky, likeable and heroic band of misfits stopped from leveling half a city and slaughtering thousands to enable an easy occupation by nothing but chance and circumstance. Maybe I’m coming in with my expectations set too high, but the series is always talked about in the same breath as A Song of Ice and Fire – it’s disappointing to see it so totally lacking Martin’s signature strength (though I suppose given all the foreshadowing I’ll just need to wait for the next book and a punitive expedition full of less inexplicably paladin-like Malazan soldiers for that).

Length and Breadth

I wouldn’t even mention a lot of the above if it was a shorter book, honestly. But it’s literally almost a thousand pages, you cannot possibly say there wasn’t space for these things (see also: it was I think literally 700 pages in when two women with names spoke to each other for the first time).

At a certain point, the book’s sheer length becomes a core part of the experience of reading it. I’m really fairly sure that a sufficiently mean editor could have cut this down to the same length as Gardens without dramatically changing the plot – but that’s kind of missing the point. The sheer weight of the thing – the amount of time you spending in characters heads, and just marinating in the world – is a key part of the appeal in its own right.

It’s an appeal I do absolutely get, too. The lengthy tangents about (literal) ancient history and abstract metaphysics or theology, the loving descriptions of monsters that show up for two or three scenes at most, the whole episodes where some weird magical shit intrudes on the plot and the protagonists just have to deal with it for a bit – these are by far some of the best parts of the books, and not ones that could possibly be justified through any strict economizing of word count.

Still, though. The book is basically a cube. A hardcover edition would be a worryingly practical murder weapon.

Death, Legacy and Vengeance

For my money the best passage in the book is not actually the one monologue from Duiker about children dying that everyone always quotes (though it is very good, to be fair) – it’s one a bit later on, as he (if I remember right) considers the ancient Jaghut graves they are passing and hopes that when he dies, he is unmourned and forgotten. It’s a fascinating sentiment to hear from a man who so thoroughly identifies with his role as a historian, first of all, but it’s also the purest expression of what is for me easily the most interesting theme running through the book.

Seven Cities is oppressed by the past, and so are very nearly everyone we spend any time with at all. The Seventh Army marches past the memorials of a myriad-old genocide against the Jaghut and feels the touch of its ghosts and half-buried collateral damage (which is entirely unrelated to the much more recent slaughter they rouse the victims of to fight for them), Mappo and Icorium’s whole friendship is (at least at the outset) instrumental, a way to keep Icorium ignorant of what he’s done and unable to do it again, Felisin Kalan and Fiddler all spend most of the book suffering for the sake of machinations that predate and will outlast them, and seeking blood vengeance for the sake of what they’ve lost. And there’s an undercurrent running through the entire story that every atrocity inflicted by the rebels is a bloody debt that the coming punitive expedition will repay ten times of, and the cycle will only ever grow more and more dire.

And through it all there’s the sense that it’s the remembering that’s the problem. That if Icorium gave up his obsessive search for his path (and through it his father) he really could be happy. That all the souls still trapped in the mortal world to bear witness to some ancient tragedy are suffering for no real reason. A tragic sense that forgetting all the vicious prophecies and vendettas and starting with a clean slate is the only way to possibly fix things

It’s hardly the story’s biggest or most consistent theme – it’s outright contradicted more than once – but for a book that dwells on the past with such loving detail, it’s probably the one that struck me most.

In Summation

I’d apologize for how incredibly long and meandering this review is, but given the subject it really just seems appropriate. Deadhouse Gates is a mammoth of a book, big enough to include more both good and bad than I could hope to recount in detail. Despite finding the most prominent and largest plot thread more than a little tiresome, and wishing dearly for a bit for nuance and complexity in the presentation of the overarching conflict, on balance I definitely enjoyed it. The character work is far better than Gardens, and the worldbuilding (and presentation thereof) is an absolute delight. I am now incredibly invested in where Felisin and Mappo & Icorium’s stories go from here.

Recommended if you find any appeal in sprawling multi-POV dark/epic fantasy Tomes (much have a high tolerance for both exposition and extended battle scenes).

[noosphe-re]

In recounting dreams, we reformulate their narratives and shape them into their most honest and truest form. Dream re-visioning can be seen as a geological process where indistinct images are weathered into fixity by rational attrition. Dreams find their narrative equilibrium first through their remembering and then by their recounting to oneself. This unravelling of narrative is a process of form-finding, like a river finding a shortest path or a rock being worn smooth by flowing water. It is like the gradual shaping and refinement of a tale to fit the requirements of a myth that it encodes. The shifting collage of dream imagery – a visage of an intense, decalcomanic complexity – becomes anchored by the cues of the rational mind (like the fixing of a photographic image where vague shrouds slowly reveal sharper edges). This anchoring of the dream image is like a vision crystallising from the texture of a stone.

Paul Prudence, Figured Stones: Exploring the Lithic Imaginary

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

thinking about slice of life satosugu in sasaki to miyano au <3

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆ satoru gojo is bored. frankly, life feels monotonous—an uninspired cycle of routine. high school is nothing more than a waiting room, a stagnant holding pattern until adulthood finally sets him free. each day blends into the next, and satoru drifts through them like a ghost, barely putting in enough effort to scrape by.

most days, he passes the time by staring at the clock, counting down the minutes until the final bell rings. he doesn't love or hate school; indifference consumes him. and somehow, that feels worse—an emptiness that gnaws at the edges of his existence.

but today feels different. tangibly so. the air buzzes with a strange energy. it clings to satoru, urging him to break free from the monotony.

on a whim, he decides to deviate from his usual routine. breakfast is sugary cereal, not his customary two eggs with a slice of toast. instead of taking the shortest route from the train station, he wanders along a scenic path, letting the vibrant autumn leaves and crisp air fill his lungs. once at school, he surprises even himself by returning and even initiating greetings to his peers.

after setting his bag down in homeroom, satoru grabs the old bamboo broom from the corner and heads outside to sweep the courtyard. it is his turn for morning duties, and for once, he doesn't mind. the rhythmic swish of the broom is almost meditative, and he finds a strange satisfaction in watching the walkway clear of leaves.

as he wraps up he begins his walk back toward the school building, something—or rather, someone—catches his eye.

a figure peeks nervously around the corner of the building, half-hidden in the shadows.

curious, satoru slows his steps, eyes narrowing. what's that person doing? they have a cute figure, slender, with long black hair cascading over their shoulders, partially tied back into a neat bun. loose bangs frame their face, fluttering in the breeze. they wear a crisp white button-up shirt, tucked into navy blue slacks that accentuate their slim waist.

that's a guy, right? he's wearing pants. satoru wonders, but something about their posture seems... off. his thoughts shift as he notices them flinch, recoiling as if witnessing something unpleasant.

there must be a fight. this spot is notorious for being a blind spot to teachers—a perfect battleground for students with grudges to settle. without thinking, satoru's feet carry him forward.

he jogs over, reaching out instinctively. his hand lands on their shoulder, he’s caught off guard—it’s broad, and distinctly muscular. not a girl, then. definitely a boy.

"hey—"

startled, the other boy lets out a small gasp, his head snapping around to meet satoru's gaze. and for a moment, satoru forgets how to breathe.

now that they stand face-to-face, he can take in the boy's features fully. his tanned skin is smooth, cheekbones high and defined, his jawline sharp yet softened by a natural pout. his lips are pink, as though recently bitten, and his violet eyes, framed by thick lashes, hold a quiet intensity. they dart downward briefly before locking onto satoru's, filled with curiosity and a hint of unease.

he's beautiful, satoru thinks, almost dumbfounded. can a boy really look like this?

realizing he is staring, satoru snaps back to the present. focus!

"hey," he repeats, his voice steady. the boy's eyes widen slightly in response. "I'm gonna go break up the fight. hold this for me?"

he holds out his broom. the boy blinks, caught off guard, his expression shifting to incredulity. his bangs flutter across his face as he glances at the broom, then back to satoru.

a sharp crack from around the corner confirms satoru's suspicions—a fight was indeed in full swing. he doesn't have time to explain. "here," he repeats, shaking the broom slightly for emphasis.

the boy hesitates, then reaches out with a shaky hand, accepting the broom. his other hand rises instinctively to brush his stray bangs behind his ear.

"thanks," satoru says quickly, spinning on his heel. he rounds the corner, heading straight for the source of the commotion.

the boy remains where he stands, gripping the broom tightly. he peeks around the corner, watching as satoru approaches the group of fighting students. a faint blush creeps across his cheeks, admiration blooming quietly as he observes his upperclassman step in without hesitation.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆ satoru's post-fight clarity hits like a freight train. he's slumped against the building, clutching his stomach, trying to catch his breath. the sharp sting on his cheek burns incessantly. raising a hand, he winces as his fingers brush against the swelling lump. it's probably red—maybe even turning purple by now.

at least the victim got away. that's what matters.

still, his thoughts wander. specifically, to the boy he'd seen earlier. he wishes he'd stuck around longer. maybe seeing him again would've been a balm for his bruised ego.

lost in his musings, satoru doesn't notice nanami rounding the corner.

"gojo, are you okay?"

satoru forces a grin, wincing as it stretches the tender skin of his cheek. "never been better."

nanami's deadpan is merciless. "you look awful. unsightly, even."

satoru frowns, instinctively hiding his face. nanami's bluntness is usually hilarious, but this time it stings. satoru takes pride in his looks—his meticulously tousled white hair, sharp undercut, and his growing collection of ear piercings. his blue eyes, framed by snowy lashes, are his crowning glory. and now? all marred by a fight.

nanami's expression softens, a rare show of understanding. "come on. let's get you to the nurse. did you get a good look at your attackers?"

"first-years," satoru mutters, eager to focus on his injuries instead.

nanami nods and offers a steadying shoulder. "once you're patched up, meet me in the discipline committee room. we'll talk more then."

as they hobble along, satoru asks, "what about that guy?"

"the victim?" nanami raises an eyebrow at satoru's lack of response. "suguru took him to the nurse."

oh. suguru.

a loud ping interrupts satoru's disappointment. nanami checks his phone and tilts it toward him. "it's from suguru. for you."

the message reads: "please pass this on if he's still there. thank you for what you did."

satoru smiles. suguru. his name is suguru.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆ later that week, satoru is in homeroom, begrudgingly copying nanami's homework. despite his careless reputation, nanami keeps him on track academically, ensuring he scrapes by. nanami, with his long blonde fringe and multiple piercings, might look like a delinquent, but he's top of the class and deeply involved in school activities.

a gentle voice interrupts the quiet. "nanami-senpai, are you here?"

satoru glances toward the door. it's him.

suguru steps in, his uniform crisp and his long, dark hair swept over one shoulder. satoru notices the details he missed before—black gauges in his ears, fingernails painted a matching shade. he greets nanami with a polite wave, then approaches to deliver committee materials.

satoru can't help himself. he gets up and invades suguru's space, leaning in to study his face. he's even more striking up close.

nanami sighs. "gojo, stop glaring at suguru."

suguru shifts uncomfortably, but nanami quickly adds, "sorry, suguru. he's an idiot, not a threat."

ignoring nanami, satoru grabs suguru's shoulders as if to confirm something. there's no doubt about it, this is a solid, masculine build.

confused by the sudden contact, suguru begins mumbling another thank you for the other day. before he can even finish the sentence, nanami interrupts, smacking satoru on the head with a stack of papers. "get back to your seat, freak!"

rubbing his head, satoru pouts. "fine. see you later, suguru-chan."

back at his desk, he steals glances at suguru, who's engrossed in conversation with nanami. satoru's thoughts spiral.

he's a guy... but he has such cute face.

he suddenly feels anxious.

satoru buries his face in his hands, overwhelmed.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆ three months later, satoru has thoroughly inserted himself into suguru's life. subtlety be damned, satoru has a knack for making his presence known; whether through loud greetings, impromptu visits, or an uncanny ability to appear wherever suguru happens to be. this morning is no different.

at the lockers, suguru carefully rifles through his things, his routine precise and unhurried. he exudes calm, his dark hair tied neatly into a low bun, a few stray strands framing his face. satoru watches from a distance, leaning casually against a wall, his grin widening as he plans his next move.

just as suguru shuts his locker, satoru strikes. he swoops in, wrapping his long arms around suguru's neck from behind. his chin rests lightly on suguru's shoulder as he drawls, "morning, sugu-chan! you're looking cute as ever~"

suguru freezes for a split second before his composure breaks. his cheeks flush a deep pink, and he shrugs off satoru's embrace with a scowl. his hair falls loose from the bun, spilling over his shoulders in inky waves. he reaches up to gather it again, muttering under his breath, "you're unbelievable."

satoru watches, amused, his eyes glinting mischievously, "aww, come on, I was just helping. you're hair looks better down anyway."

ignoring him, suguru reties his bun, looping the band tightly as if to keep both his hair and composure intact. "how do you manage to be so clingy and childish? you've got a reputation as a delinquent, you know."

satoru shrugs nonchalantly, his grin unyielding. "what can I say? I'm a tough guy with a sensitive side." he bats his snowy-white lashes dramatically. "duality is essential to my charm."

suguru snorts, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "more like you're the perfect uke who thinks he's a seme."

satoru's eyes sparkle with interest as he leans in, tilting his head. "what was that, sugu-chan? did you say seme, like in bl manga?"

suguru's eyes widen briefly, but he quickly forces a casual smile. "it's nothing! just a dumb joke," he says, his tone light, though his hands twitch slightly at his sides. he clears his throat and waves dismissively. "besides, seme and uke roles aren't that rigid, anyway. people get it wrong all the time."

satoru stares at him for a moment, expression unreadable, and suguru shifts his weight, subtly smoothing down his sleeves as if the topic never even came up. just as he begins to wonder if he went to far, satoru's face splits into a wide grin, and he bursts into hearty laughter.

"ha! you're seriously adorable, sugu-chan. I didn't know you were into that stuff," satoru says between laughs. "what kind of manga do you read? got any recommendations?"

suguru's demeanor changes instantly, his initial embarrassment giving way to enthusiasm. he clasps satoru's hands in his own, eyes sparkling. "you really want my recommendations?"

satoru squeezes suguru's hands lightly. "of course. I want to know everything you like, sugu-chan."

suguru groans, flicking satoru on the forehead. "you don't have to say it like that. people might get the wrong idea."

still chuckling, satoru watches as suguru rummages through his bag. he pulls out a discreet blue plastic shopping bag, the kind used for manga purchases, and hands it to satoru with a slight blush.

"here," suguru says, avoiding eye contact. "but read it at home, alone, got it?"

satoru accepts the bag with an amused hum, noting how much this feels like a secret exchange. intrigued by what might be inside, he files away this side of suguru for later analysis. however, before he can tease further, suguru has already shifted back to his usual composed self.

"now quit loitering and get to class. you're already late."

suguru places both hands on satoru's shoulders, spinning him around, and gives him a firm push down the hallway. satoru blows an exaggerated kiss over his shoulder as he walks away.

suguru shakes his head, exasperated but faintly smiling.

as satoru slides into his seat behind nanami in class, he clutches the blue bag like a prized artifact. ignoring his teacher's scolding, he leans forward whispering, "nanami, you won't believe what sugu—"

nanami doesn't even look up. "shut. the fuck. up."

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆ the next morning, satoru is already stationed in the hallway when suguru arrives. to any passerby, it might seem like a coincidence, but the truth is, satoru had been pacing for several minutes, eagerly awaiting suguru's arrival.

as soon as he spots suguru's familiar silhouette, satoru calls out, his voice cutting through the buzz of morning chatter. "sugu-chan!"

suguru visibly stiffens at the nickname, but he raises a hand in greeting. "good morning, gojo-senpai."

satoru saunters over, his tall frame towering over most of the students around him. the two stop near an open window, where sunlight pours in, casting soft shadows.

"and a good morning it is," satoru says with a grin, reaching into his bag. "I finished the manga you lent me last night."

suguru's face lights up. "really? what did you think?"

cute.

satoru leans against the windowsill, his expression thoughtful. "well, I definitely didn't see that scene coming—the one during the secret meeting at the love hote—"

"shut up!"

suguru’s face flushes instantly. without hesitation, he clamps a hand over satoru’s mouth, his movements sharp and deliberate. he grabs satoru by the collar and yanks him down into a squat beneath the window, his jaw tight.

"senpai! not so loud!" suguru hisses, his voice low but urgent. his brows knit in frustration. "I told you—no talking about those kinds of scenes in public! why don't you ever listen?!"

satoru blinks, momentarily stunned, before his gaze shifts to suguru's hand still clutching the front of his navy sweater, his eyes trail down to suguru's fingers, where the glossy black nail polish catches the light.

"huh," satoru hums, tilting his head, an inquisitive smile tugging at his lips. "okay?"

suguru finally releases him, his hands retreating to his bent knees. he exhales sharply.

satoru, props an elbow on his school bag and rests his cheek against his palm, his eyes never leaving suguru. "fine, fine," he drawls. "I'll talk about stuff besides that scene."

he pauses, considering which part he wants to discuss most.

"at first, I thought it was a typical fantasy story. you know, clans, sorcerers, that kind of thing. but then it took a turn, and suddenly I was hooked. the emotional depth of the protagonist—how he struggles with the weight of his responsibilities—hit me hard. and the romance? didn't see that coming, but it works."

suguru offers a warm smile, his cheeks faintly tinged with color. “yes! that’s what makes it so brilliant,” he says softly. “the romance sneaks up on you, but it’s so integral to the story. their relationship feels real, even with all the fantastical elements.”

shit.

satoru nods, his gaze softening as he listens. “I like how the love interest is written, too. he’s less physically imposing, but mentally unshakable. that dynamic really adds layers to their bond.”

suguru’s eyes light up, his voice steady and thoughtful. “the author does an amazing job balancing their strengths and weaknesses. and that final confrontation…” his voice dips slightly, filled with quiet emotion. “so heartbreaking.”

satoru's heart skips a beat. he's really, really cute...

with a soft chuckle, satoru leans in just a bit. “you’re really passionate about this stuff, huh?”

suguru's eyes widen in realization. he clears his throat, his composure returning. "anyway, I'm just glad you enjoyed it," he says, his voice calm and measured.

satoru straightens up, placing a hand on suguru's shoulder. "hey, sugu-chan?"

suguru blinks, "yes?"

"loan me another."

[a-whispering-echo]

hello. below is me rambling about my new au - the ancient city one - and what i have down for it all right now. its just me rambling, and i tend to talk like im actually TELLING people about my ideas? like im sitting across from someone explaining it, and i try to imagine im speaking to someone who knows nothing about the sanses to try and like, GRIP the characters right, yknow? so yeah - lol

uh gore warning ig? its only descriptions for now, but i WILL be drawing them at some point!

oh yeah its bsp too lol

Story starts with Cross, who was disowned by his father after the death of his brother, which happened slightly after a very large argument between Cross and said brother. this is set in an old-ish setting. not quite modern day, not quite old timey. more fantasy set time - anyway yeah, Cross gets kicked out and shamed . oh hes human too here, you'll see later-

Cross is supposed to read as slightly unlikable, not fully, but with enough character flaws to balance out his good traits. Hes cold, very ambitious, but quite selfish too. he finds it hard to put himself in others shoes, and is focused, at first, in his own self interest. at the same time, he can be incredibly sweet, and self sacrificing when he wants to be. a hero truly. hes adaptable, and strong willed, even if he can sometimes break down in an anxious mess.

Cus Cross has been disowned, he decides to set out on his own path, alone, with not much on his other than his own survival skills - as all men from his town are trained for war and go through mandatory service, as he decides to treck and explore the world, figuring maybe, if he was luckily, he'd find a NEW home and family..

Eventually, one night, Cross is attacked by wolved while out setting up camp for the night. they destroy everything he'd worked for, and would him near fatally,

One of the wolves got a bit to his head, biting right into his right eye, leaving an awful bite mark over it that forces his eye shut forever. he isnt TECNICALLY blind, but he cant really open it without massive pain, ( it will eventually get infected and need to be removed. but thats WAYY in the future.)

Cross in his mad bid for safety, managed to scale a slight cliff edge, and find a very tight cave on a said cliff edge, managing to climb up over this ledge covered in lichen and algae, and sneaking into the gap that the wolves cannot reach. unfortunately, Cross wasnt expecting the drop.

When Cross wakes up, hes in what can only be described as the ruins of an old settlement, a… city? he thinks? the stone buildings are all destroyed, looking like a bomb has gone off through it, the stone in rubble, but miraculously, there are these glowing blue lanterns handing off posts that make up bridges connecting the little 'islands' of rubble to another in a pattern, those lanterns dim, but glowing faintly enough he can see his way… hes lying in a small pond, or a well or somthing, glowing blue algae covering the water, and HIM by extension, the water cold and soaking him to the bone.

What the hell happened here?

its as Cross is trying to right himself and fugure out where the HELL he is that he sees three figure in the distance...

They move, they walk, but theyre… theyre skeletons...

.... mostly. a couple of them look like they have a LITTLE flesh covering them, but its all mouldy and rotten. theres three of them, and all of them are dressed in dark robes, and covered in that ALGAE-lichen stuff, all that glowing cyan and black colour, spreading over their limbs like a plague. they seem all slightly confused on Cross entering their domain, the shortest one looks at his suspiciously under their cowl, and the tallest, with his awful head wound, pokes and prods at Cross and his broken body with fascination. the other one, with pitch black oozing eye sockets, seems FACINATED with him, excited even, theyre rubbing up against Cross like a cat and getting that black/cyan stuff all over him, Cross to scared and in pain to push it away from him

are they… inhabitants of the past settlement, maybe?

Turns out they can, mostly, speak english. they speak with an accent like no other, one Cross cant place, and use what Cross can only describe as odd and outdated words sometimes, but they seem to be able to understand him, at least. and they understand hes hurt, and needs help..

theyre kinda… well, theyre creepy as shit, no doubt bout it, but theyre not… TRYING to be? theyre curious and weird and a bit gross, but theyre almost CAT like? they purr, they nuzzle, they even fucking SNIFF him at first, and dunk his head under the water when they find his scent distressing. - thats Killer to note - they have fucking TAILS - he sees them when Goopy turns to chirp at his friends-

theyre in different states of decay… though the flesh they DO have is little, and covered by that lichen stuff holding it to their bones like stitches, theyre not ACTIVLY rotting anymore? nor do they really smell?

The smallest one seems to speak for them, not really out of any leadership, but because Goopy doesnt seem to really understand, and Head Wound seems to only make rumbling chirping noises - they ALL make those noises, but… Scarf seems to understand him best, even it they CLEARLY dont trust Cross…

they work for their Master, and lover, a Creature named Nightmare. a being made from that black/cyan stuff, and the one who destroyed this previous kingdom entirely, killing all residents

well all, bar three? are.. well, are they dead or..?

Killer mostly moves on all fours, close to the ground, almost like a spider. he CAN stand upright, but its painful for him, and hes quicker lower to the floor. Dust is the shortest and has these glowing red spots that act like pupils in his eyes, one of them corrupted by the cyan stuff. Horror has an actual EYEBALL still in his left socket - the side with the big wound - while the other is empty. Dust is the least 'decomposed' and still has slight bits of pale tinged-purple-blue skin held to his bones with the algae stuff, but he seems to try and hide it under his layers of clothes. both Killer and Horror have claws, while Dust has his filled down and softer, though still SHARP! Killer is much more intelligent than he appears.

all three of the skeletons used to be human! theyre of a different race to any Cross would know, and mostly lived in caves and hollowed out mountains - theyre usually small people - Horror being what the kingdom would call 'a giant', with a range of skin tones but most being a soft brown, and hair that stems from black to dark red and oranges - they mostly all have dark eyes better suited to dark environment, and good senses

Dust is the most 'intelligent' of the three, seemingly knowing an array of languages and seems to know how to heal. Killer has spikes and bone shards and teeth sticking from his clothes and has a dagger attached to his belt - maybe some kind of warrior? Horror carries a spear with him that he leans on as he walks. he seems to be able to walk fine without it, but uses it almost as a cane - maybe a pain condition over physically not being able to move? with the head wound.. well, does that even MATTER anymore?

Anyways, yeah, noot noot-

Nightmare used to be a spirit of protecting for the city, until a disagreement with his Other Half, quite literally, his twin brother Dream - two beings born of the same soul, which caused Nightmare to corrupt.

Nightmare doesnt show up until at LEAST halfway through the story!

this story will eventually conclude with Cross joining them, and them all falling in love, Cross getting the answers he wants about them, and getting his FAMILY that he desperately craves.

im still working on this obs, but im gonna be doing some drawings of them not lol - obviously theres gonna be a bit of a gore warning -

[imissnanami]

T.T. | Ch. 2 | At Least Pumpkin Juice Still Tasted the Same

Teacher! Teacher! | m.list

S. Snape x F. Reader x R. Lupin | past S. Black x Reader Previously: Nervously bringing his hand up in a half-wave, Remus offered a tentative; “Hi Y/N” Though she’d had loved to be more eloquent, the only thing that Y/N was able to get out was a curt nod before turning tail and running back to her cabin.

Ch. 2 At Least Pumpkin Juice Still Tasted the Same. 

Y/N sat dumbly in her cabin for the reminder of the ride. Both too many and seemingly no thoughts were running through her poor head. Deciding her best course of action was to book it to the castle and assume her bags would end up in her room, she did just that. Fleeing from the train she pulled her crimson cloak closer to her body, bobbing and weaving through the crowd of students. Now did she possibly-kinda-maybe cut off a few 6th year students? Perhaps. Was that very “teacherly” of her?

Well, no, but technically she didn't start till tomorrow. At least that’s what she’s going with. Snatching a carriage towards the front of the mini fleet, she steps on.

Scooting right to the edge of the empty bench she gives the thestral’s rear flank a gently but firm tap – urging the beast to go. As it begins to trot forward she whispers a quick thank you, giving it another pat, before absentmindedly fiddling with the seam of her cloak. Her carriage, along with the others, made its way to the castle, passing through the woods and along a dirt path.

Though her head was down for the majority of the ride, Y/N couldn’t help but look up and admire the beauty of the Hogwarts castle as it came into view. The awe she felt was still the same, even after so many years. The stream of carriages came to a stop near one of the smaller courtyards. As the students hopped off, they made their way into the castle and then towards the Great Hall.

Y/N, on the other hand, followed them inside and promptly took a left. Back during her days at Hogwarts, she’d often find herself walking the castle aimlessly and ending up in the astronomy tower when she was stressed. Knowing the shortest route was often the busiest, she opted to go for her long-short cut, i.e. through the dungeons which were almost always empty. Taking another left, she made her way down, feeing the temperature begin to drop and the air get a damper.

She scurried down the halls, knowing the dungeons like the back of her hand. As she followed the usual route, what she did not expect, was to run into a newly built wall. With arms?

⁂

If one were to ask, Severus Snape would say he disliked the start of a new school year. But if one were to ask on a deeper level how he felt, he’d say he wanted to pop a bottle of fire whiskey and lock himself in his office. Theoretically.

Heaving a sigh, Severus stood in Dumbledore’s office with the rest of the Hogwarts staff. The meeting at hand? To debrief everyone on the current status of the traitorous Sirius Black and the Ministry’s newly established “safety requirements”. Severus couldn’t help but feel more and more irritated as the conversation went on. Not even attempting to conceal his displeasure, his lips curled into a snarl as his face morphed into a bitch-face.

Of course he already knew the details – having been briefed yesterday along with Minerva and a few others – he look the time to glare individually at each professor. Judging them on their lack of preparedness, regardless of whether or not Albus was going to hold a meeting, they should have already made their own. He certainly has. He rolled his eyes as he spotted Sybill combing her fingers through her hair, and promptly getting her rings and hand caught in the rats nest. Dumbledore ended the meeting with some final remarks before dismissing them.

As they were filling out, a voiced called out to him.

“Severus, a word,” Came Albus’ soft tone.

Stepping aside, he let Minerva pass before making his way back to Dumbledore’s side. Once the door had closed, the older wizard turned to face Severus. Kind eyes glinting with mischief regarded Severus’ the tall frame cloaked in black—and his sour expression to match.

“I have a feeling that this year will be particularly...troubling for us.”

Severus tilted his head and furrowed his brow slightly, surprised by Albus’ sudden candor. Not quite sure what to say he went with a simple,

“I believe so.”

“Yes, yes. Many new students,” Albus looked at Snape as he said the next few words

“And a few new professors...” Severus couldn’t stop his eye from twitching.

“That is correct.”

Albus smiled at Severus’ obvious distaste for seeing old faces again. Taking a few steps towards Fawkes’ perch, he turned and asked,

“The Wolfsbane potion. Were you able to procure the murtlap tentacles?”

Severus’ shoulders dropped as he relaxed into a more comfortable conversation topic. He could do potions. Clasping his hands behind his back he gave a curt nod.

“Of course, they arrived late last night.” Dumbledore nodded.

“Good, good.”

Severus continued,

“Only ten were available at the time from the school’s usual supplier. I’ll send an owl to my personal contact and order more,” Albus simply hummed and nodded while stroking his long beard.

“Well, I’ve kept you long enough, Severus. I’ll let you go so you have time to prepare and get to your station. The students should be here in,” He looks up and to the right, as if the space above Severus’ head held the answer.

“-about twenty minutes, I’d say.” The door swung open of it’s own accord and Severus bowed his head before walking out.

Sirius Black easily brought out Severus’...nastier, emotions. Sour memories of his student years at Hogwarts unwillingly surfaced. Mostly of a certain quartet making his life miserable. As he tried to push the thoughts of laughing Gryffindors and a certain red head he just couldn’t forget, another familiar face popped into his head. Her usual smiling face was pinched in destress, hurt written all over.

⁂

As Severus made his way down to the dungeons, he contemplated the upcoming year. Setting his usual reservations about the students –both new and old— aside, he wondered what trouble a certain Mr. Potter and co. will get into this year. Surely it will have everything to do with the asshole Sirius Black. What are the chances that after the horrendous shit show that last year was –what with the Chamber of Secrets reopening, the Weasley girl getting herself trapped, and Potter playing the hero—that this year will be any better. No, not with a criminal on the loose trying to finish what he started 12 years ago. The psychotic bastard.

Shaking his head, Severus huffed with anger as he walked, the house-elves scurrying out of his sight faster than usual. During all of his stewing, he found his feet had carried him to his office door. With a flick of his wand he unlocked it and entered.

With a groan Severus plopped down on his plush office chair. Leaning back and resting his head on the headrest he closed his eye. Severus’ groan sounded as if it came from someone decades older. The dim candle light illuminated his dark office, the shelves upon shelves of books seemingly eating up the light. As the small flame danced on it’s wick, the shadows it cast on Severus’ face only deepened the creases and lines. Wishing that time could just stop for a moment longer, he leaned over his cluttered desk and put his head in his hands.

The faint sound of students laughing and yelling pulled Severus out of his comatose state. Deciding to actually do his part and monitor the dungeons, he sat up with a grunt and stretched his arms. Standing up, he pocketed his wand and left the safety of his office.

As he had been assigned, Severus began to make the rounds. The first ten minutes passed without issue. Then, of course, everything went downhill. The first wandering students were the pesky Weasley twins, trying to do who knows what. Snape quickly put a stop to that, threatening to take house points. After that, he found a group of third year trying to take a “short cut” to the Great Hall. He redirected them with a warning. And finally there was a pair of second years who somehow got lost. How? Severus could never tell you. Feeling like he was already being run ragged, he prayed to Merlin that that was the last student. That he could make an appearance at the staff table and then go back to his room. But, it seemed Merlin had another plan.

Hearing footsteps up ahead, Severus clicked his tongue in annoyance. He cant’t catch a break and term started tomorrow, not today. Frowning he rounds the corner, only to see Leila Coriander smiling and admiring the brickwork. The newly seventh-year Slytherin leisurely strolled the halls as she held a bundle of something in her arms. Looking up she grinned at the grumpy professor Snape.

“Hi Professor! I hope your summer’s been wonderful, mine certainly was!” Coming to a stop before the tall man, she looked at him for an answer.

“It was splendid.” Severus said in a monotone drawl, his lips pursing. Coriander hummed before leaning back on her heels and nodded, not at all bothered by his blatant lie. She looked around the hall again as if she’s never seen it before.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of finding you here, instead of on your way to the Great Hall, Miss Coriander?” Snape cut in.

Leila hummed before plucking the brown bag from her arms. She held it out for Severus to take. When he made no move to uncross his arms, she looked expectantly at him and shook it, as if it would entice him. When that didn’t work, she took a step forward and balanced it in his crossed arms before taking a step back again. She nodded at her work when the bag didn’t immediately drop to the ground. Severus’ eyebrow twitched. He put up with too much from his students. Just as he was about to demand the truth she began to speak.

“Murtlap tentacles.”

Severus immediately froze. How did this child know about the need for this ingredient. And more importantly, did she know about a certain furry problem the school would be facing this year? Mind racing he composed himself, face turning stony.

“And why would I need these?” Severus drawled as he moved to hold the bag properly.

Coriander seemed to light up at this. Eagerly she began to ramble,

“Well Professor, you see my father works with the Ministry in the conservation of magical ingredients. One of the biggest issues they’re facing is the over-harvesting of materials and how to combat this. You know, so that it can become sustainable in the future and we don’t loose them. There’s been a shortage of murtlap tentacles for the past few months because a protected colony was killed by poachers. It was quite sad really.” Coriander looked genuinely disheartened as she retold that part. Unfortunately, Snape did not care.

“The point, Miss Coriander.” Leila seemed to shake off the frown that had settled on her face, and nodded.

“Well, Hogwarts’ usual supplier came to us specifically because the need for that particular ingredient was higher than usual this year. I think its a change in lesson plan, personally. I’m quite excited-” Seeing Snape open his mouth to get her back on track again, Leila quickly continued loudly,

“And, because my dad rambles when hes stressed, he told me.” She finished before beaming proudly at her Professor.

“As lovely as that is, that doesn’t explain the bag in my hands. I do hope you hadn’t acquired these...illegally.” Paired with the raise of an eyebrow had Coriander realizing she did in fact forget the why.

“Oh! Of course Professor. I like collecting ingredients and asked for some murtlap tentacles for my birthday in 5th year. I still had them and tried to give them to my father but he insisted on me keeping them. I knew they’d help you, Professor, so I thought I’d bring them. You know, to help!” A sudden thought struck Leila,

“And don’t worry, they’re preserved in a container with a chrono-stasis charm so they’re still fresh!”

Looking down, Snape carefully pulled open the top of the bag. Feeling more relaxed that Miss Coriander was simply the daughter of a ministry worker and not a secret clairvoyant spy made him feel a lot better. Long fingers tugged the stings loose before reaching in and pulling out a jar of murtlap tentacles. Bringing it up to eye level Severus observed them. The turquoise hue was spot on and the flesh looked healthy. Nodding Snape said,

“These are very well preserved, Miss Coriander,” The girl glowed at his praise.

“However, I can not accept these.” Leila looked crushed. Worried eyes now stared up at him as she fiddled with her fingers.

“Well...Why not?”

Severus placed the bottle back into the bag and carefully redid the ties.

“This was a gift to you from your father. As much as I appreciate the gesture, I have other ways of procuring the tentacles outside of Hogwarts’ connections.” Snape said gently. Well, as gently as a man like him could. Seeing his student looking so sad after she had made such an effort made him feel like he needed to say something more. Thinking of what to do, he suddenly remembered the feather in his office.

“I’d much prefer you to keep this. Presents should be treasured.” Hoping his words conveyed that nothing was wrong, he just couldn't accept them based on principal—and probably some law—, he surveyed the girl in front of him before holding the bag back out.

Coriander pouted very obviously, shoulders hunching forward before slowly extending her hand and taking the bag. Clutching it to her chest, she finally looked back up at his face and nodded glumly.

“I suppose so Professor...Though, I will have them here if there ever is an emergency,” She warned stubbornly.

Severus sighed before giving her a nod. Knowing that this would be the best she got from him, Coriander smiled before saying,

“Well. I’ll see you at the feast, Professor.” Severus nodded again and watched as she turned back around. The flutter of her cloak disappearing around the corner was the last thing he saw before he relaxed completely. He was suddenly left to his own thoughts in the empty hallway.

After not thinking of her in years, why did she have to pop up twice in one day? A single black feather lay nestled in the pages of one of his favourite books.

He remembered it so vividly. It was such an unremarkable day. The first week back from summer holiday in his fourth year. His book lay open on the windowsill as he curled up on the large chair that sat below. Staring out the window mindlessly, he zoned out, book long forgotten. A flash of black passed by his eyes a few times before he refocused them on a...feather?

The black feather seemed to change colours in the sunlight, the purples and blues appeared like a mirage, like an oil spill. Severus glanced up to see who had come to bother him. Y/N L/N. One of his only friends. The girl smiled down at him and held out the feather. Severus’ cold fingers brushed hers as he took it from her. He gently twirled it, admiring the colours as she plopped down beside him, squishing them both.

“I spent the summer training the ravens by my house.” Y/N remarked, glancing out the window and watching the students goof off.

Severus looked past the feather, seeing her in profile. Her hair was pulled back messily and a few strands she missed fell into her face. At fourteen Y/N was well into loosing her childlike features. Though no where near being an adult, some of her features looked...more mature? The mix made her look adorably awkward. Severus himself was dealing with the same struggle, hoping he’d grow into his large nose and tall stature.

While the two of them were stuck in quite an awkward stage, others seemed to not have been hit too hard. Specifically a certain redhead. Lily Evans. His only other friend. As they had met up during the summer, Lily had looked more and more beautiful to Severus. She was already breathtaking in his eyes, but with each day she seemed to grow more sure of herself and into her looks.

Shaking himself of his thoughts he looked back to the girl beside him, tuning back into what she was saying, While she wasn’t Lily, Severus belatedly thought that Y/N was still quite pretty.

“-and by the end of the summer they were dropping all sorts of things. Though the feathers were my favourite.”

Severus looked down to the feather again and ran his fingers along the edge, surprised at how soft it was. Plucking it from his hands, Y/N swished it through the air before dropping it on the open page of his book.

“You can keep that one.” Y/N said before jumping up.

“I’ll see you later Sev.”

And she was gone. Leaving Severus with a present he didn’t know he’d cherish for years to come.

Quick footsteps brought him back to the moment. Feeling drained already, he turned, ready to tell Miss Coriander to get back to the Great Hall. What he did not expect was for the figure that rounded the curtain to be wearing a crimson cloak. Frowning, he looked to the person’s face, hand on his wand in his pocket. Was this an intruder?

Well no, just an intruder on his peace.

Severus felt as if the world was laughing at him. Because why did the person he was just reminiscing about stand ten meters down the hall from him. No, this wasn’t happening. He was just stressed and hallucinating. Blinking hard he looked intently at the figure approaching. Yep, that was Y/N. Severus let out a mirthless huff as he realized she didn’t see him. How she could miss the tall looming black figure in the warmly lit hallway was a mystery. He briefly considered it to be a hallucination again, because really, who was this unaware. Standing his ground as she nearly ran down the hall, he decides to wait and see what would happen. If she was a figment of his sleep deprived mind and passed right through him, he would quit and sign himself into St. Mungo’s. If she ran into him and did in fact hit him, well...he wasn’t completely sure. He almost wanted it to be the former.

Five meters. Two meters. One.

⁂

Severus caught her, wrapping his arms around Y/N and taking a step back to stop their momentum. She let out an undignified yelp as she was suddenly stopped. Once she gained her bearings, Y/N pulled the top half of her body away from the mysterious armed wall.

Severus felt a shorter body barrel into him. Well fuck. So much for his vacation at St. Mungo’s.

Huh.

Well fuck.

Seeing Severus’ face up close and personal after having not acknowledged or remembered his existence for the past decade was...something. Y/N knew that she’d eventually have to interact with her former friend, she just didn’t expect to run into him literally while running away from Remus.

She bet five galleons that Merlin was laughing his ass off at her.

Realizing that she was still very much in his hold, and that he was staring intently at her face, she scrambled backwards, pushing on his chest. His arms immediately broke away from her and the two took a few steps back. They stared oneaother down, comparing what they currently saw with images their memories held.

Like Remus, Severus also looked much older than she would have expected. Frown lines creased his face, and the furrow in his brow created eleven lines between his eyebrows. She’d guess that the muscles were stuck like that by now. Dark bags sat under his eyes and he looked pale, much paler than she remembered.

Severus took in Y/N’s appearance too, his forearms still felt warm from the kinda-hug. She had cut her hair, though it was still long enough to put up. Her face, unlike his, seemed untouched by the hands of time. Her features had grown more mature and at 33, she was a woman, not the 19 year old girl he remembers. She looked good, no nasty wrinkles marred her face. She looked heathy and good. At that moment, Severus can’t help but feel cheated and hurt. Why does she looks so ok and happy, while he wasn’t. He certainly didn’t feel like an adult, so why should she be allowed to look like one that was so put together? He hated feeling like this. His brows and lips sink into a scowl, he scoffed.

“I see you’re still as oblivious to your surroundings L/N.”

What a dick.

Recovering from the shock of his statement, Y/N frowned and pursed her lips. So it was gonna be like this, now was it?

“Pleasure as always, Severus.”

Trying to maintain civility, Y/N decided to take the highroad. Tugging her cloak tighter she made a move to walk past him. As she was a foot away from him, another scathing remark left his lips.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten where the Great Hall is? Or are you planning on running away? Again.”

Low blow.

Severus smirked down at Y/N while she scowled back at him, matching his previous expression. A twisted part of him felt satisfied with the turn of events. Now they were both feeling shitty. Stepping into his bubble, Y/N got up in his face, looking him dead in the eye.

The highroad was for losers anyways.

“Do we really wanna talk about running away? Oh, how’s your forearm by the way? Yanno, the left one?”

Severus’ eye twitched. His fingers twitch by his sides as he shook. Lips curling backwards, teeth barred, he spat out,

“Choose your next words carefully, L/N”

Y/N leaned in even closer.

“Fuck off, Snape.” They held each others gaze, locked in a staring contest. Y/N blew a puff of air in his face. Severus blinked. Y/N laughed in his face, before backing off and walking down the hallway.

As she made her way through the dungeons, her anger subsiding, she felt like shit. No, that was not how she wanted her first interaction with Severus to go. She wasn’t an idiot, she knew it wouldn’t go smoothly, but she was hoping for bad and not a train wreak. Train wreak was an understatement now. Fuck.

She wandered the halls aimlessly now, but she had to admit, she had been running away. Severus wsn’t completely wrong. Deciding she should just get it over with, she made her way to a particular tapestry. Pulling it back revealed a hidden tunnel. Jumping in she made her way to the Great Hall, via shortcut. Y/N heard the muffled voices of students, popping out she made her way to the hall where the stream of students entered the Great Hall.

Belatedly she realized she never changed into “teacher robes” and would just have to wing it with her travel robes. Scanning the room she saw Minerva waving her over. Y/N sighed. Well, here goes nothing.

⁂

Minerva sat at the head table with some of the other faculty dribbling in as their sections were cleared. She stood up as she saw a man in a worn suit enter through the side door, making himself look small. She felt her heart strings pull as she stared at the timid man, looking nothing like the happy boy she had taught all those years ago. Making her way over Minerva smiled as she caught his eye. Remus offered a tentative smile back.

“Hello Professor McGonagall.”

She waved his greeting away,

“You know you can call me Minerva now, Remus.” He smiled more genuinely this time, looking boyish.

“And you know I can’t do that, feels wrong,” He said with a small laugh.

Pursing her lips, Minerva shook her head, mumbling something about ‘you boys’ under her breath. After glancing around, she met his eyes again and asked,

“Have you seen Miss L/N by any chance? I did think you’d be arriving together.”

Lupin winced and scratched the back of his head.

“She uh..she kinda ran away when she saw me...after the dementors...” McGonagall looked sympathetic.

“Oh deary. I suppose we should have planned for that.” She looked around anxiously.

“I’m sure she’ll be here soon. Go on, please take a seat Mr. Lupin.” She reassured herself and gestured for Remus to take one of the chairs towards the middle.

Remus moved to the table, scanning the place settings for his name...Hagrid...Filius...Hooch...Lupin. There he was. After double checking, he sat down. Looking out at the sea of students filling in and making their way to their tables, he felt a lot of emotions threaten to overwhelm him.

The last time Remus Lupin was in this room was during his seventh year at Hogwarts. He had his three best mates beside him. He was in love with a girl who made him feel worthy. He had a family and a home. Despite the loud chatter, Remus found himself getting lost in though.

⁂

Y/N made her way to Minerva’s side, feeling a little more than out of place. Deciding to pull off her cloak, she was left in a simple, deep red robe. Offering an anxious smile to Minerva she greeted the older witch.

“Hi, sorry I’m a bit late, I think” Y/N winced.

Minerva smiled politely at her.

“Well I’m glad you made it. Thank you for coming to Hogwarts and agreeing to work as my assistant this year.”

Y/N smiled tersely.

The words “not that I had a choice” hung in the air, unsaid. Not wanting to stew in the awkward silence, Minerva ushered Y/N to take her seat, pointing a bony finger to an empty chair...right next to Lupin, before walking off.

Y/N closed her eyes and stood there for a second. After she gathered her thoughts of ‘fuck’, ‘shit’, and ‘kill me’, she slowly walked closer.

The witch reluctantly made her way over to the vacant seat. Her only salvation? That Remus seemed to be distracted and hadn’t noticed her yet. She was able to make it all the way to pulling her chair out before it bumped into Remus’. As the people pleaser he was, he snapped to attention and mumbled a ‘sorry’, before scooting over. As he did so, he looked up and froze.

Remus offered a smile that looked more like a wince. Feeling bad for running away, Y/N returned his smile.

“Hi Remus.” Upon hearing her friendly greeting, Remus felt as if a weight had fallen off his shoulders. Smiling more genuinely he replied,

“Hi Y/N, its good to see you.” Shuffling in her seat, Y/N nodded, looking out at the students. This was ok. She didn’t feel overwhelmed. Looking back at him she gave a nervous sigh.

“Feels weird sitting here. Like we’re not supposed to,” Lupin huffed a laugh.

“Right, I feel like McGonagall’s gonna come and tell us off.” The two shared a smile. They fell into a comfortable silence for a few beats. While Y/N fidgeted with her cutlery, straightening it and rotating her plate, Remus watched her. While he did get a glimpse of her on the train, he felt as if he could really look now. She looked so beautiful, the candlelight making her features look like they were glowing. His eyes traced her profile, it different but exactly as he remembered at the same time. The words ‘I’ve missed you’ were caught on the tip of his tongue. Pursing his lips, Remus swallowed and looked down.

As she began folding her napkin, he hated himself for trying to catch a glimpse of her left hand. Seeing no metallic glint, he felt a sense of relief—which made him feel even worse about himself. Why didn’t he want her to be happy? Of course he knew the answer to that, but had buried it years ago with no intention of digging it up again. Yep. He made his peace with it. His feelings were totally platonic.

Y/N gently called his name, looking small

“Remus...”

Well. He tried. Valiant effort if he did say so himself.

Turning to face her, giving her all of his attention, Remus nodded for her to go on. Y/N chewed her lip and whispered.

“Have...Have you heard anything from...Padfoot?”

Feeling like an idiot for daydreaming while she was worried, he pushed down his emotions. Has he heard anything from Sirius? No, he hadn’t.

“No. Have you?” Y/N sighed.

“No, s’why I asked you,”

Remus nodded to himself. He desperately thought of something to say, but he was coming up blank. After all, what do you say to the girl you’ve loved regarding her ex boyfriend who was an Azkaban escapee. Before he could come up with the answer she spoke again.

“Sorry, was a little harsh.” Remus looked at her. His eyebrows pinching together looking like a sad puppy. Y/N looked down.

“Don’t look at me like that, Remus.” He opened his mouth to say something but before he could say something, Y/N turned her torso forwards, ending the conversation.

Giving her brain a break from talking to Remus, Y/N looked out into the crowd of seated students. The last few were just making their way in. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the Gryffindor table. As she scanned the faces, she realized that she was looking for her old classmates. Deciding to stop before she actually had a mental breakdown publicly, she crossed her arms and put her head down. Was it a good first impression? No, but she figured looking crazy and crying was far worse.

The seat next to her shifted. Bringing her head up she saw a black cloaked figure. Why did everyone wear black? Looking further up she saw the profile of Severus Snape, who was doing his best to ignore her. Feeling her stomach drop to her ass, she put her head down again. This was gonna be a long year. Knowing it was not proper at all and she may get in a teeny bit of trouble, Y/N grabbed her goblet and brought it closer to her face. She whispered a tired “pumpkin juice” and watched the glass fill. Bringing it to her lips, she drank.

Seeing Remus again. Seeing Severus again. Running away from Remus. Fighting with Severus. And now sitting sandwiched between the two of them. Oh, and not to mention she noticed that mini James and co. was staring at her. Despite everything and all the changes that Y/N was forced to face, as she drank, she took comfort in the fact that at least the pumpkin juice tasted the same.

⁂

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tag list | @unconventional-lawnchair , @shortcakebbg

[clangenrising]

Month 13 - Newleaf

Content Warning: This piece includes content that may be triggering to some viewers. See this post for details.

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“Ghost!” shouting and the clattering sound of someone scrambling up the loose metal roof of the shed woke Ghost up from his sleep with a start. He groaned, the sudden movement tugging at the stiff scar-flesh on his side. “Ghost! Ghost, are you here?!” 

“Yes!” he shouted back, sounding like a poked bear. Groaning again, he stood and slipped out from his nap spot tucked in between two warm, silver vents and onto the roof proper. He squinted at the ginger shape hauling itself over the edge of the roof, his left eye still mostly swollen shut from the hot and tender scarring on his cheek. Once she stood, he recognized Lizzie from her alert and dutiful posture, although he noted the way her pupils were blown wide and her tail was half bristled. 

“Sorry to wake you, sir!” she said loudly. “I have urgent news!” 

“What is it?” he asked, running his tongue over his chest fur tiredly. He really didn’t want to have more problems to deal with right now and her natural volume wasn’t helping his ever present headache. 

“There are wild cats in the city!” she reported and he immediately looked up. 

“Have they killed anyone?” he asked, heart starting to pound.

“No, sir, rumor has it they’re here to talk to Razor!” 

Ghost sighed in disappointment. “This won’t end well…” he grumbled. “How many of them?” 

“Two, sir, both elderly she-cats,” said Lizzie. 

“What?” His fur bristled.

“Two elderly she-cats, sir,” the girl repeated, her eyes darting up to the places where his ears used to be. Milo had taken extra satisfaction in tearing each of them to shredded stumps. 

Ghost shook his head to get a grip. “Right. What did they look like?” 

“Um,” Lizzie hesitated thoughtfully. “The bigger one was white and grey, the smaller one all grey.” 

“Shit,” Ghost cussed, lurching towards the edge of the roof with a brisk but wobbly walk. “And you said they were going to see Razor?” 

“Yes, sir,” Lizzie said. He could hear the confusion in her voice, the question she held back. Jagg would have asked it, he thought, ‘do they mean something to you?’ He thanked the Folk for Lizzie’s obedient nature. 

“Thank you, Lizzie,” he said, leaping down onto the roof of the shed. It rattled loudly, making him wince, and he quickly bounded from there to the ground. He didn’t wait for her to respond or follow, he just started moving. 

What was she doing here? The description could only be Miss Smoke but he had no idea what business she would have with Razor. Had she come to see him instead and been intercepted? Were the Clans surrendering? Either way, he knew that she was not going to be safe until she left the city. His muscles burned in protest as he darted across roads and under fences, cutting the shortest path he could to Razor’s yard. 

He slowed right before he reached the hedges and peered through the leaves. Razor was lounging on the edge of the slightly raised deck, Gingersnap sitting bolt upright behind him. Tiger sat close by on the grass and ahead of them stood Sardine and Smokyrose, another Clan cat Ghost couldn’t name close behind. 

Smokyrose was speaking. “-conditions for peace. If you have a list of terms, I can bring it back to Goldenstar and we can start moving towards an equitable solution.” She sounded unsure of herself but trying her best. 

“Hmm,” Razor said, regarding her with slit pupils and a tail twitching with interest. “I’d love to speak to Goldenstar myself. Would that be possible?” 

Smokyrose nodded, getting a little bolder. “It’s definitely a possibility. If you give me a time and place I can try and arrange a meeting.” She seemed so naively unaware of Razor’s true intentions. Something inside Ghost kicked in to high gear and he found himself striding out towards the gathered cats. All eyes turned to him, Razor’s narrowing darkly. 

Smokyrose gasped, eyes going wide. “Ghost! Oh, Stars, what happened to you?” She hurried in his direction, ears pressed back, gaze flickering over every bruised and battered inch of him. 

“Uh,” he didn’t know what to say, wasn’t sure what his plan had been, only knew that he couldn’t leave her alone with Razor any longer. He watched the tom’s face, paralyzed, as Smokyrose came to hover around him. Razor smiled. 

“I didn’t realize you two were acquainted,” he said. Ghost heard the dangerous interest in his voice but Smokyrose, bless her soul, didn’t know any better. 

She turned back to him and said, “Oh, yes. Ghost and I are-” she paused, looking back at him, and he saw the uncertainty in her eyes, “we know each other.” Guilt sank its claws into his throat and pulled down until it was tight and painful to swallow. 

“Is that so?” mused Sardine. 

“Yes,” Ghost said carefully. He looked at Smokyrose, her pretty face pinched in a worried pout, and whispered, “Miss Smoke, you really shouldn’t be here, it’s not safe.” 

“Not safe?” she whispered back, louder than he would have liked. “Ghost, what happened to you?” 

“Let me explain,” Razor said, leaping down onto the grass. “Come here, both of you.” He beckoned with a paw as if he were going to tell them a casual secret. Smokyrose hesitated, eyes on Ghost, and Razor insisted with a, “Come onnn, it’s alright.” 

The other Clan cat growled softly, tail starting to lash. Gingersnap looked like a deer in headlights, her tail curled tightly against her body, her eyes wide, ears pressed against her skull. Ghost glanced at her briefly and she shook her head so subtly he almost missed it. Unfortunately, Smokyrose was already on her way over. Ghost followed, trying to stick close to her. 

As they reached Razor, he put his tail around Smokyrose, making eye contact with Ghost as he did. “You see, Ghost and I had a bit of a disagreement because a little birdie told me he was trying to steal my girl. This was our way of settling things, although, I’ll admit, I’m still a bit angry with him.” His tone was light and playful but it sent fear straight through Ghost’s heart. 

Smokyrose recoiled in terror. “Y-you did this to him?” Razor’s paw wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her back into him. Ghost’s jaw tensed possessively. 

“Me and a few friends of mine,” Razor said nonchalantly. “He just doesn’t listen if you ask him nicely.” 

“Razor,” Ghost tried, voice sounding small as it squeezed its way out of his throat. “Again, I’m sorry about all of that. But she has nothing to do with this.” 

“I don’t like your tone,” Razor growled. “But it’s alright. I’ve thought of something that will put the whole dispute to bed.” 

Ghost hesitated. He didn’t know where this was going but he didn’t like it. “What’s that?”

Razor smirked victoriously. “This,” he said. In a blur of movement, his other paw came up to wrap around Smokyrose’s chest. The force of the movement knocked her backwards, onto the ground, and Razor followed her, teeth flashing. Smokyrose screamed.

“Don’t-!” Ghost tried but it was too late.

Razor had his teeth clenched around her neck, one of his canines poking through the soft flesh under her chin, and with a sharp twist of his head there was a nasty snap of bone. Smokyrose choked out a cry of pain, blinking back tears. Razor adjusted his grip and twisted again, her neck giving another disgusting crunch. Her body went limp, the only movement a feeble twitching in her feet. 

Razor dropped the body to the grass and licked his lips. “There,” he said, “now we’re even.” 

Across the yard, the second Clan cat took off in a sprint for the fence. Sardine yowled and lunged after her but she leaped nimbly out of his claws and disappeared through the shrubs. 

“Dammit!” hissed Sardine. He looked back at Razor, a simmering anger slipping through his mask. 

“Well, get after her!” Razor bellowed, “she could be useful!” 

“Of course,” Sardine smiled, tail lashing bitterly, then he took off after her. 

“You too,” Razor snapped at Tiger. The ginger tabby growled but heaved himself to his feet and bounded after them. 

“Razor, how is this even!?” Ghost cried, unable to look at the cooling corpse at his feet. He was furious and queasy and tired and distraught. His mind was searching for something he could have done differently, some way she could have survived. If you hadn’t arrived, it said, he would have sent her home just fine. 

“You went after my girl, I went after yours,” Razor snorted, prodding the body. 

“You killed her!” 

“So?” Razor narrowed his eyes. “She was a savage! She deserved it. Besides, I’m sure you have plenty of other girls who are just fine.” 

Ghost couldn’t muster a retort. 

“Now get rid of this thing,” Razor said curtly. “I don’t want my Folk finding it when they get home.” He turned away and strode back towards the deck, leaving Ghost to stare down at the silent scream etched onto Smokyrose’s features, the unnatural angle of her head. 

Distantly, he heard Razor saying, “I’m sorry you had to see that, dear.” 

“I feel sick,” Gingersnap said softly. “I think I want to go home.” 

“I’ll walk you,” said Razor. 

Ghost looked up just in time to catch Gingersnap looking at him, horrified. She quickly ducked her head and slipped out of the garden at Razor’s side, leaving Ghost alone with the body. He stared numbly for a long time. 

This is what he got for caring, wasn’t it? If he’d shut Smokyrose out of his heart, if he’d stayed away, she wouldn’t have died and they both could have gone on with their miserable lives. His kits were orphans now. Well… they were practically orphans. They’d be better off orphans. It wasn’t like he would have been a good father anyway. 

He scoffed, laughing as he tilted his face to the sky. Who was he kidding? Pretending he was going to step up and be there. He was the same as he ever was, a solitary tom wishing for something he wasn’t brave enough to hold onto. He had been foolish to even think he was capable of changing. 

He bent down and took the body by the scruff, moving roughly to pull it from the garden and into some dark alley or abandoned side street. The Folk would find it and take it away and the rest of his decency with it. Good. He was better off this way.

UPDATES: - Smokyrose is murdered by Razor. - Songdust goes missing.

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (VIII)

A visitor comes a-knocking

Dedicated to @xxgalgurlxx for their lovely comments and to everyone who comments before or enjoys this series! It got number one on the poll on my blog so really, thank you for reading <3 and Happy New Year!

Read part one here

Continued from this part here

*~*~*~*~*

Kit woke to a knock at his door. He ignored it, thinking it was just Ambrose come to fucking gloat about Kit being under his thumb or threatening to get Kit to murder all his friends.

You know, the normal stuff.

Kit only realised his mistake when Ambrose barged into his room, slightly ruffled as if he were worried.

“Kit? You in there?”

Hope bloomed like rot in Kit’s stomach at the sound of Superhero’s voice.

Superhero’s voice.

At Kit’s front door.

Kit glanced at Ambrose briefly before jumping out of bed and sprinting towards his bedroom door. Ambrose caught him around the waist, but Kit shoved him away and kept running. Kit cleared his bedroom door, adrenaline fuelling his every movement. The shortest path to the front door was through his couch, so Kit vaulted over it as he ran towards the door where Superhero stood on the other side waiting, his saviour.

If he could reach the door before Ambrose, he could be free.

Kit’s hand wrapped around the door handle before Ambrose’s chilling power flooded Kit, and he collapsed suddenly like a puppet who’s strings had been cut. Whatever Kit had done, he did it right. Kit’s body grew heavier than an anvil, but he kept his hand on the door handle to his apartment as he fell to the floor. The last thing Kit saw before his brain turned off was Superhero’s concerned eyes blinking down at Kit as he pushed the front door open and if he could’ve, Kit would have smiled.

Instead, the darkness swallowed him whole and Kit drifted into Ambrose’s forced abyss of sleep for the first time without fear.

*~*~*~*~*

When Kit woke up again, he was in his bed, head pounding with the thunderous headache that always came after Ambrose's power forced him to sleep. Kit opened his eyes but quickly shut them again, groaning at how bright the light was in the room.

“Kit,” Superhero said. Kit’s heart hammered in his chest at the sound of his voice. He was still here; Ambrose didn’t stop him. “Hey, Kit it’s me. You’re okay.”

“Is he awake?” Ambrose.

Kit jerked up but groaned again, his entire upper body aching with the effort. He didn’t even get two inches up before collapsing onto the bed again. Kit couldn’t even form the words to speak, to warn Superhero about Ambrose.

Someone settled down next to Kit, the bed dipping with the weight. Kit risked opening his eyes only to meet Ambrose’s dark eyes and too red lips smiling down at him. The face that haunted his dreams. Ambrose was holding a glass of water in his hand and reached a cold hand under Kit’s head and tipped it up until Kit’s lips met the edge of the glass.

“You are not going to tell Superhero anything,” Ambrose’s voice echoed in Kit’s mind. Kit tried to pull away, to protest and warn Superhero that Omen was right there in front of him, but his body wouldn’t respond. Refused to even twitch away. “You will tell Superhero that you’re sick, that we’re childhood friends, and I am here to help you recover.”

Kit felt the compulsion weigh him down, and tears sprung to his eyes at the helplessness of his situation.

Superhero was here.

Is here!

Right here. In Kit’s house, in his room!

Now was the only time that Kit could tell him, warn him, escape from Omen.

His one and only chance was sitting by Kit’s bedside, but he couldn’t do anything except exactly what Ambrose wanted him to do.

Ambrose pulled the glass away from Kit’s lips and put the back of his hand on Kit’s forehead. “Say thank you,” Ambrose told Kit, his command echoing in Kit’s head.

Kit tried… he really tried to say nothing. To swallow the words that were crawling up his throat, but he came out anyways, raspy and raw.

“Thank you,” Kit said with a slight cough.

Ambrose frowned. “You still have a slight temperature, Kit. Maybe we should take the blankets off.”

Kit protested with a meek, “no,” but Ambrose took them off anyways.

“It’s for your own good, Kit. I know you’re cold but if we don’t get your temperature down, you’ll be in trouble.”

Kit was trembling alright, but it wasn’t from some made up sickness that Ambrose said he had. Kit was trying to fight Ambrose’s compulsion with every fibre of his being, but he couldn’t do more than pull against it while Ambrose pushed him to obey.

“I’ll go get a wet cloth,” said Ambrose, standing from the bed and putting the glass on the table. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Kit watched Ambrose leave and waited until the door closed to turn his attention to Superhero. Superhero smiled warmly at Kit.

“Superhero…” Kit said, his voice crackling.

“I’m here, Kit. Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

“Doesn’t—” Kit heaved, rolling his heavy body over in the bed. “Doesn’t ma— matter. Ambrose—”

“Doesn’t matter?” Superhero asked, moving closer to Kit and pushing his sweaty hair from his forehead. “Of course it matters, Kit. I’m just sad that you didn’t tell me you were sick. I would have understood.”

“No,” Kit moaned, rolling out of the bed and onto the floor with a hard thud. “Ambrose—”

“I’m here,” Ambrose said from the doorway. Ambrose rushed in and handed the cloth to Superhero who placed it on Kit’s bedside locker. Ambrose went to Kit’s side, Superhero quickly joining them on the floor. “Kit, you can’t keep doing this.”

“What’s wrong?” Superhero asked, helping Ambrose get Kit back onto the bed.

“No,” Kit moaned. “No, no.”

“His fever has been coming and going the last two days. He starts speaking gibberish. Yesterday he said he was part fish,” Ambrose told Superhero with a laugh as he settled Kit in the middle of the bed. “There we go. Can you hand me the cloth?”

Superhero nodded, grabbing the cloth off the table and pressed it into Ambrose’s hand. Ambrose put it on Kit’s forehead, who groaned and protested and weakly grabbed Ambrose’s wrist trying to push him off.

Kit narrowed his eyes at Ambrose, chest heaving with the effort as he spat: “don’t— nngh… fucking touch me!”

Blue electricity sparked from Kit’s hand to Ambrose’s wrist. Ambrose quickly retracted his hand to his chest with a soft gasp. Superhero glanced at Kit then Ambrose with a half-smile.

“Does he keep doing that?” Superhero asked.

Ambrose narrowed his eyes at Kit slightly.

“No, that one’s new,” Ambrose said in a way that would seem perfectly innocent to an onlooker like Superhero, but Kit knew would mean a world of pain for him when Superhero left.

If Superhero left.

“Oh, don’t worry, dear Kit,” Ambrose cooed, voice hard and cold as it pierced Kit’s mind with a sudden pain. “Superhero will be leaving shortly and when he does, oh Kit, sweet Kit. I have been nice to you for far too long. I think you forget exactly what I can and will do to you.”

Kit glared at Ambrose through half lidded eyes, though he doubted it had the terrifying effect that Kit desired it to.

“No more using your powers, little Kit,” Ambrose ordered, the compulsion taking root almost instantly.

“I hate you,” Kit thought mutinously.

Ambrose smiled. “Oh, I know. Just be good for me now and I won’t punish you as hard as I intend to later.”

Kit reached for his power anyways and found a vacuous mass in his body that was locked down tight leaving Kit powerless and at Ambrose’s mercy again.

“Kit,” Superhero said. Kit blinked and glanced to his left to see Superhero’s sympathetic eyes. Kit had nearly forgotten he was here. Even if he was it didn’t matter. None of this mattered, not while Ambrose still has him under his thumb locked away from everything that made him… well, Kit.

Tears sprung to Kit’s eyes when he met Superhero’s, helpless and weak and impossible to hold back or control.

“Kit…” Superhero said softly, pressing a hand to Kit’s cheek and rubbing the first tear away as it fell. “It’s alright. I know everything must be confusing and wrong, but Ambrose and I we will stay by your side until you get better. Okay?”

Kit nodded weakly, more tears flowing freely down his cheeks. “Good,” said Superhero. “Now get some rest. Ambrose and I will be just outside if you need us.”

Superhero stood and slapped Ambrose on the back reassuringly.

“Yeah, what Superhero said,” Ambrose echoed. “Try and get some sleep. Call us if you need anything.”

Kit wanted to protest: to scream and cry and rush out of bed and punch Ambrose in the face and tell Superhero the truth, but his eyelids were already pulling down over his eyes growing heavy and Kit was far too weak to resist it. Soon the darkness settled over Kit's eyes and his limbs grew heavy, and he couldn't do anything but be whisked away.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

The Orphanage (plz lemme know if you want to be added or removed <;3) - @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whatwhumpcomments @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @princess-bubble-blossom @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations

[writingwiring]

0: PROLOGUE

Please, let me have bought them enough time. Raestrao sprinted, his hooves dashing over the wet leaves along the forest floor, vision blurry from the rain falling into his eyes. The jeering laughter of devils echoed around him, but he pressed on. The scent of singed flesh and hair clung to him as he leapt over a rotting log, his body screaming from exhaustion. His head swiveled, trying to see enough under the dark grey sky to reorient himself in the fiends’ territory. Collecting the dregs of his mana, he felt outwards, using it to detect the space around him. Heat entered the edge of his awareness, a mass of infernal flame, and he ducked, feeling the residual impact of the ball slamming into the trunk behind him with his magic. He raised his head once again, only to be blinded by the violent arc of electricity above him, followed by a deafening clap of thunder.

The flash of lightning left an afterimage in Mika’s vision as she stared outside into the raging storm, tuning out the droning voice of her Economics professor. She would rather be outside, drenched to the bone and trembling, than tolerate another fifteen minutes inside the dull-colored classroom, with its smell of cheap plastic and old paint. Her pencil tapped impatiently on the paper of her notebook, counting down the seconds until she could escape into the hallway.

What a mess. A low growl rose from Uzaeris as he dodged a low-hanging branch, his dense fur smeared with mud. Getting caught in an ambush was never good news, but devils were notoriously persistent, forcing him to regularly detour in an attempt to shake them off. He heard the cracking of sticks underfoot and slipped behind a tree, trusting the deluge would help him hide until they passed. Resting his head against the bark, he suppressed a sigh behind his clenched, sharp teeth and closed his eyes. A building headache pounded against his skull as he listened to the faint cackling beneath the downpour.

Mika laughed to herself as she saw Suzu bouncing in place outside her classroom. Naomi was next to her, tapping away on her phone. Once Suzu elbowed her, Naomi looked up and waved, a soft grin on her face. They had made plans earlier to grab lunch, since the newest restaurant on campus had finally opened.  Walking towards the entrance of the building, Mika complained about her assignment, her bookbag slung carelessly over one shoulder. She faced Suzu and Naomi, pressing her back against the metal bar to open the door as she objected to the rubric, and raised her voice to talk over the rain. As they made their way towards the student union, Suzu yelled back in commiseration, griping about her required English course, while Naomi gestured wordlessly at her ears in confusion.

I’ll kill them; I’ll fucking destroy them. Aomaris barreled through the edge of the forest, using his power to reinforce his body and force it to cooperate. Despite knowing that once he exhausted his remaining magic, he would suffer the backlash, he refused to shut it off, instead daring any more of those fiends to challenge him. Blood ran down his leg from a deep gash and casualties were littered behind him by the time he finally broke past the tree line and slowed to a jog. Mentally, he mapped out the shortest path to the safehouse, still unfamiliar with the local geography. Opening his mouth to let out an angry set of clicks, he tried to remember whether his route was too close to any humans, but quickly gave up and set off to the east.

Clearing her throat and blinking away tears, Mika folded up the eulogy she had printed and stepped away from the microphone. She nodded politely at the next speaker, one of her grandfather’s close friends, who smiled sympathetically despite the tremble of his lips. She avoided looking at the coffin while she walked back to the pew where her parents sat, clad in matching dark clothes. Her dad stared blankly ahead, his face unreadable to her, while her mom extended her arm and drew Mika in next to her, sniffling. Her mom patted her shoulders consolingly as they shook.

I could have taken on more of them. Zecaeru dropped down from a tree, his light frame landing neatly onto the soft ground below. He had picked off most of the devils who had tried to follow after him, leaving his claws stained red, and he stood at the edge of their territory. He darted off towards the safehouse, rushing through the short trip. He bounded inside, then shook off his body, causing a mixture of gore and water to fly off his fur. He tipped his head, looking over the darkened entryway, noticing the occasional missing piece of furniture mixed in with things he did not recognize. His train of thought was interrupted by the door opening behind him and he welcomed in one of his brothers.

Mika closed the door as she slid into the passenger seat of her father’s car, exhaustion setting in as she buckled her seatbelt. Her mom had already headed home, leaving the two of them in heavy silence. The air hung between them as her father turned out of the parking lot, headed towards her grandfather’s house, which they had agreed for her to move into, ending her student living apartment lease. She watched her father, who had not spoken a word since he had picked her up from campus, and saw his white knuckles gripping the steering wheel. For a moment, she considered trying to talk to him, but sank back into her seat, letting the sound of the rain fill the car instead.

What do we do now? Izroul entered into the safehouse, his mind immediately picking up the thoughts of his brothers inside. Concern, impatience, frustration. He blinked quickly to adjust to the light inside, before moving to linger towards the edge of the room, Smoothing out his feathers, his contemplation was broken by his eldest brother, who staggered in through the door, his mind vague, scattered, and dominated by worry. Izroul watched as he started to make his way further in before being helped towards the center of the room.

Mika walked up the driveway towards the house, with its two-story frame looming over the property. It looked intimidating without the jovial voice of her grandfather calling out to her, and the dark, overcast, and stormy night felt miserable. As she placed her keys into the lock, she realized it was already open, and twisted the knob. She walked in and froze, shocked at the scene before her.

Four pairs of eyes stared at the human woman in the doorway, who dropped her keyring onto the floor, eyes wide. Her eyes flicked between them as her mouth was agape, a small, indistinct vocalization falling from it.

Mika’s mind reeled as she took in the appearance of five… five… beasts? Monsters? That had appeared inside her grandfather’s foyer, all of them soaking wet. One, laying unconscious on the wooden floor. Two, hovering near him. Three, sat on the floor, his back flush with the wall. Four, rummaging the furniture. Five, standing upright and unmoving.

As she looked between them, she found that eventually her gaze settled on…

…the stag.

…the otter.

…the orca.

…the hyena.

…the heron.

[killedbythehuntress]

Stockholm Syndrome

★·.·´¯`·.·★ .:**:.☆*.:｡.✿ ★·.·´¯`·.·★ 

Also on: AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

I want to apologise for the delay in this chapter, seasonal depression sorta kicked my ass. But hopefully this makes up for it.

★·.·´¯`·.·★ .:**:.☆*.:｡.✿ ★·.·´¯`·.·★ 

Chapter Seven.

"Sebastian." She calls with a huffed laugh, pushing herself up from where she'd fallen. No matter how many times she walked this path, she always seemed to trip over the same tree root. She supposed that was down to the denseness of the trees, the light filtering in through separate areas, and shadows being created where they shouldn't be. "Are you sure the cave you're looking for is around here?" 

"I'm sure." He told her, although even he was sounding a little unsure of himself. That alone was enough to put her on edge, making her stop dead in her tracks as her hands found their way to her hips. 

"You're not, are you? Tell me the truth." She glowered at him, annoyed. They'd been traipsing around the forest now for two hours. 

"Okay, fine. We may have been a bit lost, but I'm starting to recognize things now." Her arms moved to cross over her chest, her eyebrows farrowing at him. "Look, I promise. I recognize that swirly thing." Her eyes followed where he pointed and she couldn't help but roll her eyes.

"It's a Merlin trial, and there's like a 100 of them, identical - scattered in the Scottish Highlands." She watched him deflate slightly and felt bad. "We're out here anyway though. Let's go." 

Dropping her arms, she pushed forward towards the trial, digging into her bag for some Mallowsweet instinctively. 

Why she felt compelled to do every one of these she found, she didn't know. 

Sprinkling the herbs, she watched as the vines shifted off some pillars. "You look around here, give me a second." She told him, pulling herself atop the shortest before using the height vantage to plan her movements. 

It took her less than five minutes - and one tumble and a restart - for her to complete it. Dropping down to sit on the edge of the tallest, and last pillar she'd landed on. She felt something wrapping around her ankle, shaking her leg, and looking down to find nothing. Frowning, her brows furrowed, perhaps it was one of the vines.

“It’s this way!” Her head whipped up, looking in the direction that Sebastian was, her frown deepening. 

“Are you sure? There’s an Acromantula lair in there.” She offered, jumping from her perch and making her way to him while remembering her fight with The Absconder. They might be dead, but it wasn’t unlikely that another had taken its place. 

She came to stand next to him, looking into the cavernous path, and shuddered. She felt another tug at her leg and looked in that direction, seeing nothing but feeling the need to brush something imaginary off her school robes. “Let's get this done, Sebastian. If I never see another spider, it'll be too soon.” 

Shaking her head, she stepped over the threshold between freedom and spider lair, pulling the robes closer around her to stop them snagging against some webbing. She heard Sebastian following behind her as they made their way through, stepping over empty egg nests and web-covered remains. 

After a while, Sebastian took the lead and she felt her stomach drop as they moved closer to where she'd fought the Absconder. “Seb!” She hissed quietly, hoping to not pull attention from anything lurking around. “Are you sure? Like really sure?” 

She watched him turn to her, clearly a little annoyed at being questioned, before his eyes widened. She heard him call her name, a clear warning, but too late as she felt something wrap around her ankles and pull. 

Feeling dazed, she rolled over onto her back, barely registering herself being pulled across the ground as she struggled to catch the breath that had been knocked from her, it didn't take long before she realized what had happened though. The large Thornback Matriarch towered over her form, webbing wrapped around her lower legs and torso as she was dragged towards it. “Sebastian, help!” She yelled, scrambling for the pocket she kept her wand inside, only to have another coat of the silky web trap he'd hand against her body. 

Her free hand dug into the ground around her as Sebastian flung spells at the beast, her attempts at stopping the pull in vain - the spells seemingly having no effect on the thornback. It was only as she was pulled close enough to see the spider's fangs, glistening slightly in the low light that her panic increased. “Sebastian, please!” She cried, her voice cracking slightly. 

“Avada Kedavra!” The flash of green was almost blinding, the tension that had been pulling at the webbing wrapped around her finally abating and she felt relieved, her head falling back onto the ground to look up at the sky - instead of the thornback curling up dead near her. A choked sob left her, her not trapped hand coming up to cover her lower face. 

“Diffindo.” The word was quiet, but it worked, the web slicing down the center and allowing it to slide off of her. “Hey, Shh,” Sebastian murmured, falling to his knees next to her. “It's okay, I've got you. I've got you.” He continued to say, holding her against his chest with a faint rocking motion as she cried. 

— — — — — —

“Shh, it's okay. I've got you.” The words were quiet but repeated over and over. The feeling of being rocked almost soothed her back to sleep. “I'm sorry, I'm here. I've got you, please wake up.” The feeling of someone pressing their face against the top of her head caused a wince, she must have hit her head at some point, and it hurt.

In fact, everything did. She was sure she was aching in places she didn't know could ache. Groaning softly, she tried to wiggle from the tight grip around her. “Seb?” She asked, voice weak. 

Her eyelids felt so heavy as she tried to open them, almost as if trying to lull her back to sleep. The small slither of light broke through the tiny gap in her eyelids enough to send a sharp ache through her already throbbing skull with another groan. 

“Shh, I'm here, I've got you!” The words were said against her hair as he pulled her tighter, a frantic edge to his voice. “I'm sorry.” She heard him murmur, almost as if he was hiding something. 

Before she could ask though, she lost the fight with unconsciousness. 

— — — — — —

Waking the second time, she could almost believe that the last couple of days had been some sort of nightmare, dreamt up as some stress-induced imagining of her situation.

Almost. That is. 

Because when she tried to move to get up from the bed, her body screamed out in pain. Crying out, she instead turned onto her side and curled into the tightest fetal position possible.

As she lay in her own self-pity, she couldn't ignore the sounds of footsteps almost running across the main floor, the small tinkling sound of what was likely potion bottles pairing with them. It wasn't long before the mattress next to her dipped, ripping a whimper from her as it jostled her aching body. 

“Shh, it's only me.” She heard, and that alone was enough for her to pull from her position if only to look up at him. 

“Sebastian?” Even tinged with pain, her voice couldn't hide the awe she felt at seeing him again. She was sure he had been killed - or worse, captured. Lifting her hand and ignoring the pain, she trailed her fingers over his stubble-covered cheek. 

Only once she believed this wasn't some elaborate dream or hallucination did she pull away.

And slap him. 

“Where the hell have you been?” She demanded, her pain momentarily forgotten. “I've been so sc…” She cut herself off, instead watching as the look of regret - and perhaps pity? But she ignored that - passed over his face. 

“I'm sorry,” Sebastian said quietly, holding up a small bottle, filled with bright green liquid. “Drink this first, and when we get you comfortable, I'll tell you everything.” 

She watched as he uncorked the bottle with his teeth, using his other hand to hold himself up over her before he brought the rim to her lips. She couldn't help the skeptical look - or the feeling - of what was happening, but a part of her - a part that was growing more and more recently - told her he was only trying to help, she needed him after all. 

Finally, she parted her lips enough for the Wiggenweld Potion to slip down her throat, many of the aches and pains lifting immediately. 

Sighing in relief, she pushed back on the mattress with a little more ease, lifting her hand and watching as her nails grew back. She still felt several aches and pains - some areas burning and stinging depending on the wound - things that would take time and not just a simple Wiggenweld potion. 

The most prominent pain came from her left arm - thankfully not her dominant arm - which she held cradled against her chest. Looking at it, the angle was off just enough to be noticeable. 

The sight of it made her feel sick, her head pushing back into the pillow in an attempt to not see it from the corner of her eye as she swallowed back the lump in her throat. 

“I need a doctor.” She said finally, her voice warbling and raspy - clearly she'd be crying if she wasn't so dehydrated. 

“No, you don't.” He told her firmly, stopping her attempt to sink into the mattress and pulling her into a seated position before bringing a glass of cold water to her lips. 

His arm wrapped around her, pulling her against his chest as she drank greedily, a kiss being pressed against her hairline. “I'm so sorry I was away for so long.” He murmured, his face pressing against her hair with a deep inhale. 

He refilled the glass for her twice before she'd drank enough to feel sated, her body and mind still tired as she slumped further into his hold, her heavy eyes falling shut. “Hey, hey.” He nudged her softly, “Let me fix your arm first, and then you can go back to sleep.” 

She felt herself nod, her eyes drooping slowly. Had she been this tired a few minutes ago? Her brow crinkled as she tried to think, she was sure she hadn’t, so why was she? She struggled to think back to the glasses of water he’d given her, cursing internally that she’d ignored the slight purple hue of the second one. “Sleeping draught.” She slurred, attempting to sound angry that he’d essentially drugged her. 

“I know, I’m sorry.” She heard him say, gently resting her down on the bed with a peck to her forehead. “But I figured it’d make this easier.” Had she not been so sluggish, she'd have realized what he was about to do sooner. The manipulation of the bones in her wrist, as he tried to get them back in position, wrenched a blood-curdling scream from her, even while half asleep. 

The last thing she heard before the draught took her under was Sebastian uttering a spell.

— — — — — —

She was so thirsty… 

Why was she so thirsty?

She wasn't sure what was happening, but the need to escape was strong. 

Where was she?

She could see the Undercroft. 

Is that where she was meant to go? 

She was feeling a serious sense of deja vu.

The banging stopped and that made her stop, a loud bang echoing behind her before the doors slammed open, the entire cavern shaking and dust falling around her. 

No, that wasn't right. 

She scrambled forward, surely she just had to get to the Undercroft and her desire to escape would be satiated 

Of course.

She was free.

She wasn't.

She watched as the path to the Undercroft was blocked by more stone - had this happened before? 

The sound of scuttling rushing towards her. 

No, not scuttling. Footsteps. In her desperate haze, had she heard wrong?

A screech.

No, it was her name. Someone was calling her name.

"No!" She screamed, watching as the rock collided with her wrist, the appendage being forced out of shape as she screamed.

— — — — — —

The memory of the pain pushed her back into consciousness. Her body jolted slightly before she took a moment to scan her surroundings. 

She was still in the cavern. Still alive. Still in the bed and still aching. 

She brought her hands up to her face, rubbing at her bleary eyes with a groan. It was then she noticed the pain in her wrist was gone, completely. 

Pulling her hands away from her face, she elevated her arm to inspect her wrist properly. 

No bruising, no weird shaping, no broken bones. Sebastian had repaired it somehow. 

Considering he'd taught himself the unforgivables from books, it was no surprise he'd managed to master healing spells - even if he'd gone to Azkaban before healing classes had been an option able to be taken. 

Sebastian…

Pushing herself into a seated position, she couldn't see him, but she could hear him downstairs. “Seb?” She murmured, feeling as though, if she spoke too loud the illusion she had brought of him would disappear. 

The shuffling sound stopped for a moment and her heart sank, before she heard the sound of a chair scraping against stone and footsteps. 

Her brain still felt hazy and she couldn't help the feeling of still dreaming, so she pinched herself once.

Twice. 

Only on the third pinch was she satisfied that she was awake. She watched as Sebastian reached the top of the stairs, walking towards her and the bed. 

“Think you’re up for a bath and some food?” He asked quietly, stopping a few steps away from her. Was he trying to avoid giving her the explanation he promised? Looking down at herself, she had to admit she was pretty filthy, the once white chemise was now an almost dark gray - and that thought was how she found herself nodding at him. 

It didn’t take more than a few minutes before she was downstairs and in the tub, the layer of grime and stone shedding from her body and turning the water a murky color. She watched Sebastian wave her wand, the water clearing before he picked up a bar of soap. “How’re you feeling, any pain still?” He asked softly, rubbing the bar over her back and shoulders, digging his fingers in lightly to loosen any tension. 

“Just some aches…” She mentions, not really looking up from the water. “Where were you?” 

“I went back to your cottage, get you some more things.” That made her look up, her gaze immediately falling onto Sebastian. “I’m serious, I figured you could use more than one chemise.” 

“Sebastian, you were gone days.” 

“I know, I thought I’d left enough time for any Aurors sniffing about would have given up.” He began, scooping up a small jug of water and using it to rinse her hair, tipping her head back gently with his other hand. “I was wrong though, I almost got caught.” 

She’d had a feeling, but hearing it and thinking it felt different. Her heart dropped, her brows furrowed and her fists clenched under the water. She had been so close to dying here alone. 

“I had to run, even apparated a few times but they still caught up.” She wasn’t sure if the water was getting cold or if the story was chilling her, but she felt herself shivering slightly. Another wave of her wand from Sebastian heated the water a little more for her. “It took a well-timed Disillusionment charm and for a group of poachers for me to give them the slip. I had to hide out in a cave for a little while to be sure it was safe to come back. Make sure no one was following me.” 

A few days ago, the thought of Sebastian not being followed and no one finding her would’ve caused her stomach to drop in distress. This time though, she was sure she was feeling some sort of relief from the news. “Please don’t ever do that again.” 

“You were gone for days, I was so scared.” She offered, her hand coming up and resting against his cheek. “I don’t know what I’d do here without you.” She bit her lower lip, pushing the tears that wanted to slip down her cheeks back. 

Sebastian leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers. “I promise, I have no plans to leave for so long again. I’m so sorry.” He whispered, but being so close it was easy for her to hear. 

They stayed like that for a few minutes, until the water started to cool again and she began to shiver. He then pulled her from the water gently, wrapping a towel around her. 

“Go get dressed, the clothes I managed to get are in your suitcase in the sleeping area.” Nodding, she took over holding the towel around her, wondering what he would’ve picked up for her. “I’ll make up a bowl of stew for you.”

Turning, she began to make her way to the stairs, her gaze falling over the now completely covered wall that used to hold the passageway to the Undercroft. The sight of it took her back, the fear, her eagerness, the stress - the worry of dying all hit her in one fell swoop. 

“Sebastian?” She called, turning quickly back to the returned man. 

“Yeah?” He stopped stirring the stew he’d been checking, putting the bowl down on the counter to turn to her. She made quick work of the space she’d made between them, reaching him quickly. 

Her hand came up, grasping the back of his neck and pulling him down into a desperate kiss. The first kiss she’d initiated between them since this whole ordeal began. She attempted to convey her feelings to him silently, feeling his hands hesitantly grab at her waist. 

“I don’t want to be alone again.” She told him quietly, barely pulling away from his lips as she spoke, her eyes downcast as she showed some vulnerability to him, her grip on the towel loosening slightly. 

[therabbitthatpostthings]

(Masterpost)

Nervous fingers tapped along the edges of the wooden mask. As you left the mountain, the weather warmed up so there was no real reason to still wear it. Snowy white paths turn to half melted slush. Dormant flowers poked through the frost patiently waiting to bloom. It felt like years since you had felt the sun shine.

You pondered if the lack of sunlight had made you grow paler. Would your parents even recognize you? It’s ridiculous to think they wouldn’t. You wished you could have sent word of your safety sooner though. How many nights did your father blame himself for letting you go up there? How many nights did your mother go hungry because she couldn’t bear the thought of eating? Did they try to go back for you? Did Giyuu send them away?

Your heart fluttered at the thought of them meeting Giyuu. Would they accept him? Would they accept you living in the mansion? Come to think of it, it’s quite inappropriate for you two to live together unmarried.

Would Giyuu want to get married?

Would he marry you…

A deep burning started in your heart. You couldn’t deny that the life you two had was domestic. You took care of each other. And Giyuu had asked you to stay. He wanted you to stay. And you wanted to stay with him. You lov-

“Woah there girl!” The old man called out. Two crows swooped down in front of the horse. You held onto the side as it thrashed wildly at the squawking birds. Out from the tree line ran three men in strange outfits. The white-haired one with a flashy headband was the tallest. He quickly approached the horse to help the old man calm her down.

“Sorry about that sir.” He spoke.

The birds landed by the feet of the other two men. The shortest one turned to you and you noticed the white scarf around him was actually a large snake. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” You replied. You tried your best not to stare but it’s not everyday you meet a peculiar trio of people.

You shakily climbed down from the wagon and thanked the driver. “I’ll find a ride back sir.” You assured him.

“You sure? I’ll be back this way in five days?” He asked.

“I’m sure,” You smiled.

With a tilt of his hat, he continued down the path. You turned to face the three strange men, the tallest of which seemed to be studying you. Before he could speak, the last one spoke up, “Sorry for startling you.”

He was the most intimidating one of the group. He didn’t wait for you to respond, he started walking down the first path and the two birds followed him. The flashy one said another apology before following him as well.

What an odd bunch.

No time to worry about them. You were home. Everything suddenly felt so melancholic. It felt like a lifetime since you had been here. You would be remiss to say you hadn’t missed it. It was nothing like the other village. The houses were patched together and spaced out from each other. Many families had moved out over the years leaving empty shells of homes. Gradually some of them fell apart without proper maintenance. What few people one the street eyes you quizzically. Maybe they thought they were seeing a ghost. Maybe it was the fine clothes you wore. Perhaps you should have worn your old clothes instead of the kimono Giyuu gave you. If you were any stronger your fingers would burst through the wood of your mask. You resisted the urge to put it on. This village was your whole life a couple months ago and yet you felt like a stranger in a ghost town.

At the very end of the road, tucked away under overgrown trees was your house. It looked exactly the same as when you left. Everything you ever knew existed right beyond this door. There was no reason to be scared. The door was stuck like always, with a little force you slid it open. It was strange looking at your parents shoes by the door. Even stranger was your parents sitting just a few feet in front of you. Startled, they stared at you. On the table sat an array of food that looked foreign in this house.

“(Y/N)?” Your father said barely above a whisper. He lightly walked up to you and reached for your arm. Then your other arm. And then your face.

“I’m home.” You smiled. And it broke him.

He engulfed you in his embrace as he broke out into sobs. Teacups hit the floor in your mother’s pursuit to reach you. She examined your face closely. Her eyes focused on every small detail. “My child…”

“I’m home mom.” You smiled.

Your heart swelled in a rush of emotions. You three cried in each other's arms on the floor of your home. They were scared to move. Terrified you would disappear if they let go.

“I thought I lost you. I should have never let you go (Y/N).” Your father pleaded. “Please forgive me.”

“Papa. You only wanted to keep us safe, I could never be mad at you. It’s okay Papa, I’m home.”

“I’ll never make that mistake (Y/N). I’ll always protect you.”

“I know Papa, I know. That’s why I’m here! On the other side of the mountain is a village, we could live there!” You rambled on about Urokodaki and his offer, Makomo and the village.

“(Y/N), have you been living in this village all these months?” Your mother was shocked at the notion.

“Well…no…” The crushing nervousness came rushing back.

What if they hate him?

What if I can't go back?

No. I promised Giyuu.

“I’ve been in the mansion…with Giyuu. He’s the Beast.”

Your mother gasped and your father's face twisted in anger. “So it was keeping you captive.” He growled. “I knew it! I knew all this food was a way of keeping us silent!”

“It’s not like that! I asked him to deliver you food and clothes, I knew you wouldn’t have survived this winter!”

“You asked him-”

“Papa please! Giyuu is so kind. He’s shy, a little awkward and sometimes says things without thinking. He’s been stuck on the mountain for years. Alone. I promise you, he wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

Your father couldn’t believe it. The same creature that threatened him? Couldn’t be. After all this time he was to believe the beast was kind?! Your father stepped back from you two and sat down. You looked over to your mother for aid but she was focused on your father.

You knew this wouldn’t be easy but you felt, somehow, more determined. Sitting next to him you slid the fox mask into his hands. “What is this?”

“He made it for me. I wear it whenever I go down to the village. That’s how I met Makomo and her grandfather.” You smiled. “Makomo told me they are supposed to keep away evil spirits. When you carve one for someone it’s your way of saying, ‘I'm with you and I’ll keep the evil away.’ That’s the kind of person Giyuu is.”

He ran his thumb over the engraved wood. He looked at you, the fancy clothes, the mask and then your mother. She looked unsure and concerned. He finally looked back at you. And he finally saw you. This was not the child that left him months ago. You looked so sure of yourself. Eyes burning with determination. How did you manage to change over just a couple of months? A part of him was scared that even if he said no you’d go back up that mountain again.

You spoke, “Papa, you don’t have to trust Giyuu but trust me. There’s nothing here for us anymore.”

“Dear, they're right.” Your mother stated. “If it wasn’t for the Beast, we’d have starved.”

He couldn’t deny that. He just wished it was his sacrifice that brought this prosperity to your family. Wouldn’t he be damning you all to deny a chance to start over. Your father lamented. “(Y/N), I trust you.”

“I promise, you two will love it there!” You cheered.

“I’m just happy, you’ve found yourself.” He smiled.

While you rambled on about the village and the mansion a thought struck your mother. She gasped as she stepped back in shock.

“Love? What's wrong?” Your father rushed to her side.

“The hunters..”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ♡ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ♡ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The slurry-filled roads turned to white snow. The two crows soared overhead signaling the path to the mountain. Tension had not settled between the men. The closer they got the more Uzui could hear the sounds of branches rustling and the earth moving. As the sun was setting the forest was changing its shape. The noise became louder with each step they took before it settled all at once. Uzui grabbed onto both hunters arms to stop them. They stood in total silence as the sun dipped below the horizon.

The trees parted. Out stepped a large figure that towered above them. All the noise in the area stopped in its presence. The creature slumped forward with long strands of pitch black hair cascading over its body. Every step gave way to hooved feet. The head of the creature scanned the area around itself. Its large antlers knocked against tree tops as it examined. After a moment it stopped, turned and lurched back up the mountain path.

Before the men had time to breathe the rumbling of the forest started again.

“Come on!” Shinazugawa yelled “Now before it closes completely!”

[romance-rambles]

modern clarence | a reward for the diligent

After a day's hard work, you give your boyfriend a reward. He seems to disagree on who it's a reward for.

1.4k, post-azure island, established relationship + fluff, reader is mc, series: none

OUTSIDE THE LARGE WINDOW BEHIND your boyfriend's desk, the sun glows a soft red over the nearly empty streets. A young couple coming from class, oblivious to its quiet warning to head home soon, leisurely strolls past the building you're in.

Your tender gaze fixates on their held hands, quietly tracing the path their swinging arms take. The last of papers Clarence needs to look through rustle in the background, followed by the familiar sound of his pen etching his name into place. By now, you're certain all those hours of staring at his signature have, in fact, granted you the ability to forge it.

You've just never tried.

To you, surrounding his name with hearts on the margins of your various notebooks is a far more worthwhile endeavour. Sometimes, you throw in a Mrs. Clayden and marvel at how easily your future title slips off your tongue. It's an addictive thing, really, whether in singsong or screeching—you can't even begin to guess how many times Beanie has watched you warily, likely convinced that you're the victim of an on-and-off posession by some feral ghost.

The ghost of a bride, perhaps.

When you quipped about it to Clarence the first time, he somehow found an opening to discuss your impending last name situation. He had statistics and cited arguments and everything. Any lingering shame vanished in that moment, leaving behind an overwhelming desire to kiss him.

So, you did.

...only for William to walk in.

Since you'd gotten your kiss, you find you can look back fondly at that moment. The boys, on the other hand, range from being consistently flustered to berudgingly amused. It's easy enough to guess who's who.

"Thinking about something?" Clarence asks, his soft voice cutting through your thoughts.

You glance at him, the same dreamy smile most of your friends and acquaintances know to associate with your boyfriend still on your lips. A stack of completed paperwork sits neatly to his side, the very same one you stand on. And to his left sits the coffee you bought for him, empty and cold now, alongside other miscellaneous, but useful trinkets—including some cat-themed stationery that had reminded you of him, and vice versa.

Reaching over to be a helpful girlfriend, you pluck the coffee cup off the desk, adjusting the straps of your back once you're done. At the pointed look on his face, your smile transforms into something bigger—into a wide grin that leaves him knowing of what's to come.

"You." With a giggle, you clutch both of your coffee cups against your chest with one hand. "What else could it be?"

By now, the couple has disappeared into one of the nearby buildings. Your gaze flits to his hands—one rests atop the teal desk, fingers lightly curled in front of his propped-up elbow; the other supports his slumped cheek so effortlessly you feel like swooning.

The exhaustion from the previous days—though a definite cause for concern on your part—has done little to detract from how handsome he is.

You narrow your eyes fondly at him. "Tired?"

He only smiles helplessly as a near-imperceptible huff of laughter escapes through his nose. Your free hand has already crossed most of the distance between him and your when you remember to check the cups one last time. Though you're certain they're empty, considering you checked earlier, the last thing you want right now is a surprise.

When you're assured of their emptiness, you resume your prior quest, gently brushing his bangs out of the way. You're careful not to jostle his frames, taking the shortest path to your goal.

As the distance between your face and his steadily decreases, the coffee cups come to rest atop the desk. A consequence of the angle at which you lean over it, its front-facing edge digs into your skin. Still, you bear with the momentary discomfort, too distracted by the man in front of you.

And oh, is he worth it—

Clarence leans into your touch, his eyelids drooping until he seems to come to an agreement with himself and closes his eyes. The smile on his face remains, even as his eyebrows furrow in response to your wandering touch. You get as far as tucking his hair behind his ear—though, tragically, you're unable to dodge his glasses this time—when a brilliant idea creeps up on you from behind.

"Keep your eyes closed," you murmur, swallowing up half your words before they have a chance to escape.

By the time you've all but climbed atop his desk, he opens his eyes, his curious gaze offering a silent question. When the silence drags on, your only response being a cheeky smile, it becomes an audible one, tinged with a familiar exasperation he reserves only for you.

"Close my eyes? Okay..." Clarence sighs fondly, acquesing to your request. "But what are you going to do?"

Grinning, you hum. "It's like William said."

Your first order of business—in a hazily-conjured scheme with only a few steps—is to carefully divest him of his glasses. It earns you a soft chuckle from your boyfriend, though whether it's because of where this is going or the way you accidentally flicked his cheek is anyone's guess.

"It's easy to work hard when you have a reward waiting for you at the end, right?" you ask, handing him custody of his glasses once more. William had followed up his comment with a remark about how you and Clarence had it easy—then he'd fallen into faux despair when neither of you bothered to deny it. "Well, this is the reward."

After accepting your offering with practiced ease, he leaves them in his hand, inadvertently shielding them from your view. You condense your usual admiration for your boyfriend's pretty face into a quick moment, then cup his cheeks lovingly—though his own hand on his cheek restricts where yours can go.

With that same hand, Clarence grasps yours and cradles it against his cheek, properly this time.

"And who is it for?" he questions, sounding amused.

You're on your tiptoes, legs stretched out behind you. Every so often, you adjust yourself against the teal desk to offer your poor stomach some relief. Frankly, you think it might've been easier if you'd turned the corner twice instead, but you're too far in to back out now.

So, you laugh, pressing a kiss to the beauty mark under his eye. "Well, we can agree to disagree."

Once, around the time you grew aware of your feelings for him, you read online that some people believe a mole signifies the spot where your soulmate likes kissing you the most. And you've never liked being made out to be a liar, so you've made it your life's mission to turn it into a self-fulfilling prophecy—the only good one out there.

Clarence, on the other hand, wasn't nearly so lucky to have his spot somewhere visible. The memory of him turning pink when he pondered the implication a bit too intensely leaves you giggling once more.

"I haven't even started," he says, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. "It's a bit early to say that."

Snickering, you move your lips to his forehead.

"Better not," you say teasingly, before your voice softens and you pull back. Then, as if you aren't the current hold up in his schedule (you are), you add, "We have to be heading out soon. It's late."

"Hmm...I haven't gotten my reward yet," he teases, opening his eyes. You think they look even brighter now than they did a few minutes ago, like ocean waves gleaming under the sun. "I believe you mentioned something about that."

Letting go of his glasses for a moment, he fixes his bangs back into place. They're parted differently this time—or rather, not at all. You think you must've mentioned it to him at least a few times, the way it makes you think of the future.

Of sleepy mornings and freshly brewed coffee. Of requests for five more minutes, Clarence and his warm breath fanning against your ear when he denies you even that much. Of being the first person to gaze upon his beautiful face in the morning and the last person to point out the exhaustion that's seeped deep into his shoulders at night.

Your lips curve into a soft smile. "Well, I can't have you calling me a liar now, can I?"

"No," he agrees easily, squeezing your hand. Concern swims in his blue eyes as he narrows them at the edge of the desk. "But maybe you could get off of there first."

"This first," you say, before you press your lips to his for a quick peck.

He only smiles helplessly at you when you pull back. Somehow, you remember to climb off the desk before you take him up on his invitation and kiss him again.

[v8mpstamp]

In honor of 4/20 here’s a little blurb or whatever you wanna call it of 4/20 Steve!

Warnings: short mention of reader having a disagreement with family & tears, mentions of weed and smoking

Word count: 455

overall just chill and calming no smut for once😱

Master list:

You sat on your bedroom floor your fingers deftly tying the laces of your sneakers, the rhythmic motion was a soothing balm to your restless mind, a momentarily distraction from the ache in your head and the tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

All from a stupid disagreement you got into with your family, your emotions teetering on the edge of control. In a reach of desperation you did one thing you do best, reached for your phone and dialed Steve Harringtons number.

Within a few rings his familiar voice trails through your ears from the other end, you mumble out a “hi Steve” and just your tone is enough for him to question a “what’s wrong?”, you explain the situation in the shortest way possible, the words tumbling from your lips in a rush of emotion. And Steve doesn’t hesitate for a moment, promising to be on his way.

It’s not long considering he’s only 3 houses away till his familiar knock echos through the stillness of your home, you swiftly make your way to the front door, swinging it open, without a word you open your arms clinging to his chest and without missing a beat Steve gracefully wraps both his arms around your body meeting your hug with equal fervor, his warmth seeping into your bones.

He only lets go when you let go, his eyes immediately softening when he catches that slight gloss in your eyes from the tears, his gaze searching yours for answers.

He’s about to speak but closes his mouth and In a gesture that spoke volumes of his understanding, Steve reaches behind his ear, and pulls out a neatly rolled blunt with a knowing smile—a silent offering of solace. Your eyes land on the blunt in his hands and you let out a relived giggle as you lean into him and he pulls you to walk with him, your lips curve into a greatfull smile as you took the blunt between your fingers, a silent understanding passing between the two of you.

You place it between your lips and Steve’s hand cups around you, shielding the wind as he lights the tip of it for you. As you took a deep inhale and exhale, the smoke followed the wind, carrying away some of the weight on your shoulders. You take one more hit before passing it off to Steve, allowing him to get a couple hits in.

Your feet fall into an easy rhythm as you two strolled down familiar trails and winding paths in Hawkins, every step you engulf more and more into the forest, your shoulders tapping here and there, a subtle warming reminder that Steve is by your side. Any visible sky is tainted a light yellow, and the air tingled with the scent of spring blossoms, a cool breeze picking up and down consistently, causing a rustle of leaves to accompany the conversations between you and Steve.

As the sky sets more and more the air grows colder and you find yourself inching closer to Steve, allowing him to wrap one large arm over you, pulling you as close as possible to him, in this moment the world feels a little less daunting and the sound of Steve’s voice and the rumble of his soothing chest as you lean into him lets you temporarily forget about any other issues that lies beyond his arms.

Master list:

[livelysonletour]

Day 8 - Raul’s Perspective

Today we leave Portugal and cross into Spain. It will be the shortest walk of our journey (followed by the longest tomorrow) so hopefully we can rest in the afternoon and recharge our human batteries. Once again the weather is idyllic. I am bracing for cold hard rain one of these days, but so far we have been the luckiest of travelers.

Not only is the walk short (10 to 11 miles) but it is also smooth and nearly all of it along the coast. We are back to wider paths and minimal highway crossings. We will need to take a boat taxi to cross into Spain, however Garrett thought ahead and booked us on a ferry with ample time to walk and explore the coastal Portuguese town of Caminha while we wait for our departure at 12:30.

As we look north down the path along the coast, we begin to take note of a large mountain on the edge of the sea, and slowly an old stone fort near the base of the mountain. We assume that the fort means the entry to the harbor, thus the border between Portugal and Spain. The mountain is ever present as we walk, sort of like a large marker pointing the way.

"I hope we don't need to cut through that mountain to get to A Guardia (the town we are staying in Spain)," I say to Garrett. We have both had enough mountain passes to last us the entire trip.

"No," he replies. "It looks like the town is along the base of the mountain, so we will go right around it."

As we leave the coastal path, we come to a fork in the road where the marker takes us either straight into what appears to be a forest, or around the forest to a residential zone. Of course we take the forest route and though the path was sandy, it was compact and abundantly shaded by massive pine trees. The sign we passed indicated we were in a national forest.

The forest trail ends at a path along the harbor that is full of small boats moored in the water. These are the water taxis that take the pilgrims into Spain. We pass a few captains trying to sell us a trip on their boat, but we keep walking. It turns out our ferry is also a small water taxi and when we arrive early, the captain is ready to take us across. In the background is that beautiful mountain.

We arrrive at a small dock across the harbor, stop for a cup of coffee, then gradually climb up to our hotel. It is early in the afternoon and we have time to wash clothes, stretch and settle in. I ask the desk clerk for some suggestions on what we can do, perhaps any good museums. She pulls out a map shows me an area with zig zagging roads and says there is an archeological museum, a bar and a hotel on the site and it is within walking distance.

I let Garrett know I was going to check out the archeological museum called Castro de Santa Trega and he decided to come along, though already having changed from his hiking gear and was wearing sandals. I still had my hiking shoes, but I lightened my back pack.

The archeological site was at the top of Mount St. Trega, which is the mountain we first noticed in the distance as we began our walk, and had been looming over most of the day. There are two ways to go up the mountain, by vehicle via the winding roads, or by foot, up 1,200 steps. We decided to climb. It took over 40 minutes and by the time we reached the top, we were both exhausted.

“There is no way I am walking down these stone steps," I told Garrett.

The site dates back to 2000 BC, with celtic and Roman influence. Stone circular homes dating to 1000 BC have been excavated and are well preserved. The most amazing experience was the view which was utterly breathtaking as you can see from the photos and video. The mountain was somehow calling to us this morning and while we were grateful that we were not going to be climbing this day, fate had other plans. We were so glad to have made the decision to go to the top, though we now had to figure a way to get back down. Taking the steps was a treacherous option and a misstep could cause serious injury.

I met a kind lady coming down from the pinnacle and casually mentioned that I needed to find a ride down. She immediately offered us a lift and in ten minutes were back down. Thank you God for putting her on our path.

Check out the views along the coast headed north with the Mount St. Trega in the foreground, then the views from the mountain heading south. On this cristal clear day, it was mind blowing.