#so i keep my mind wide open :) one day my curiosity/earnestness will be the death of me

[todayisafridaynight]

I have gotten two of my friends interested in Tsuma just by spamming GIFs so can confirm the Cutest Old Man In Media strategy has a high success rate... ON THAT NOTE. Very strong list of cuties... I Must Agree... Ikegami may be At Least A Little heinous but can't argue with that reasoning...

AND OK LISTEN. Some things I tell you are meant to be locked away in the vault never to be spoken of again... Tsutsumi's retirement is one of those... [just kidding it's fine LMAO he can do whatever makes him happy But I Will Cry I'm Sorry WE GET LIKE ONE MAINLINE GAME EVERY FOUR YEARS WHAT IF JO NEVER COMES BACK AAAA] BUT YES. YEAH. Very curious how he might do as a director...

DJKLGHJKLSDHLKS NO THAT'S THE FUNNIEST THING because I will generally just mention something in passing without actually recommending it but you'll go for it anyway😭😭😭NOT COMPLAINING. NOT COMPLAINING IN THE SLIGHTEST you have my deepest gratitude after A Lifetime of having my recommendations fall through and not being able to talk about stuff I'm into I cannot say this enough 😭😭😭😭😭but of course, definitely checking out the movie when I can :] I wish I could've watched before responding but busy day... oh well...

Speaking of! Kagerou Touge here and Tonbi here. They're both a bit less than three hours and split into two parts sooooo up to you <3 I don't remember enough about Tonbi to summarize it any better than what's on the page and It Is Best I Leave Kagerou A Surprise From Start To Finish. Bali Big Brother has been a bitch for years though unfortunately😩no subs may or may not be better than the machine-translated subs I had to work with

AGREED ON EVERYTHING ABOUT ATR NO NOTES NO ADDITIONS... YOU GET ME... KUROMI/MY MELODY-CORE SO REAL I felt like stopping and pointing whenever you could see their charms😭😭😭big fan... huge even... also the visual direction was Overall really good it is such a pretty anime and goes So Hard with the rain motif... SPEAKING OF THE FINALE WHICH I LOVED FOR THOSE SAME REASONS AS WELL Akira imagining breaking into a run to kiss Kondo on the cheek in the "date" ep but when she actually does it in real life it's a hug... as friends... broooooooo 😭😭😭😭😭

can't believe you're just hoarding keisuke gifs from me 😭 yes ive seen all of the show but STILL BUT REGARDLESS I'M GLAD YOU GOT OTHERS ON BOARD truly love this show a lot for keisuke... even beyond him tho not only is the cast really lovely but again i really love where the story went and how it all culminated in its last episodes..

and LISTEN Yes Ikegami Is A Lil Rank. Comes With Being A Yakuza but i do not have many options out of the charas ive seen tsutsumi play 😔 we been through this ttm is either very heinous or very serious in his films.... have to be careful..... plus i still think him smiling so much during the filming of the movie was cute, he's just a little silly to me 😔

but if tsutsumi isn't due to come back cause of his career, i gotta be the one to rip the bandaid off an assume jo prob won't return after this game. which either means 1.) joins the graveyard of tsutsumi charas 2.) He Somehow Gets Out Just Fine ???? And Just Does His Own Thing ???? Alone ???? either way... very intrigued to see what LaD8 has in store with that in mind...

there's some evil parasite in my brain that makes me immensely interested in things- like i accidentally went down a rabbit hole on The Superman Curse after someone made an aside comment about the latest flash movie DO NOT mention things to me because i will investigate it thoroughly... AND IM GLAD I DO CAUSE I FIND GEMS LIKE THESE !!!!!!!!! with that said i hope you enjoy the movie if you get to it !! (❁´◡`❁)

AND SPEAKING OF EPIC THANK YOU SO MUCH !!! i wouldn't mind with auto-generated subs tbh.... i've worked with less honestly BUT for now i'll see to watchin these two tonight ||ヽ(*￣▽￣*)ノミ|Ю

I REALLY LOVED THE RAIN THEME OF AtR. like Yeah That's On The Label BUT STILL it really fit the title so well... AND YAYA THE PARALLEL IN THE DATE EP FANTASY VS THE FINAL EP REALITY.... cinema.. LITERAL cinema i LOVE so so much the direction the anime went with their relationship... i said it enough but it's just so refreshing and great to see...

[cryptidghostgirl]

The Guilt (Alastor x Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader)

Description: Y/n was the one person he never meant to kill, but Alastor didn't have a choice. Years later, much to his surprise, they run into one another in the depths of Pentagram City.

Warnings: Murder, cannibalism mentioned in a metaphoric sense. Un-detailed descriptions of rotting bodies.

Word Count: 2,701

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

A/N I promise I will get to the rest of the requests soon, I just wanted to write something that has been stuck in my head for a hot minute since I've like only been doing requests the past couple days. I think the only ones I have left are ones that have been sent in since February 15th so I hope that is okay.

Alastor recognized her the minute he first saw her. It had been a year since his arrival in Hell and he was already making waves. Demons avoided him on the streets, shot him fearful glances over their shoulders. He enjoyed the privacy it afforded him, the padding of air around him.

He didn't pay the others mind, focused on his own goals and patterns of being. Friends, relationships, they were far from his top priority but still, Alastor recognized her the minute he first saw her.

In his years of blood soaked escapades in the world of the living, he had wreaked havoc on the world. In all those years, he had only ever made two mistakes. The first had been getting caught, getting killed by that hunter. The second? Had been killing that girl.

He hadn't had a choice. Normally, Alastor chose his victims carefully following a specific criteria. She had been an accident. He had gotten careless one night, cocky even in his streak of successes. Alastor had been transfixed, carving a man's intestines from the cavity of his stomach. The girl had had wide eyes, her mouth open. She had trembled.

Their eyes had met across the darkened street. She had clutched at her coat, pulling it tighter. She hadn't even tried to run.

Alastor never learned her name, avoided all reports on her disappearance and death like the plague. She haunted him. He saw her around corners, when he shut his eyes at night like a vengeful spirit. Always just staring at him with those big, knowing eyes. He didn't need more reminders, more facets of feeling, than he already had.

Alastor had recognized her the minute he first laid eyes on her in Hell. It had taken him a moment to realize she was real, she still looked so deeply human after all. He had never expected her to be here. He had never expected to see her again.

When he opened his eyes and she was still there, sitting placidly at the cafe table, it was like some uncontrollable force pulled him to her. He pulled out the spare chair, falling lazily into it. She looked up at the noise of metal against concrete, curiosity painting her features as she lowered her book onto the table.

"Hello?" she said after a moment, though it was more of a question than a greeting.

Alastor had never heard her voice before except for when she had screamed. It was melodious, it was soft and sweet. His smile grew.

"Yes, hello indeed."

She stared at him with those eyes, those same eyes that had haunted him for years.

"My apologies but, who are you? Do I know you?"

He was unable to keep the surprise from his features. It had been a long time since anyone had asked him something like that, he couldn't tell if she was joking. But then there were those wide eyes, earnest in their honesty.

"No, my apologies. I did not introduce myself. My name is Alastor, quite the pleasure to meet you. Quiet the pleasure."

He grabbed her hand from where it lay daintily across her open book, shaking it in his own.

"Oh!" Y/n lightly exclaimed in response to the action, "Oh, well, Alastor, I am Y/n. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well."

The contact broke and Alastor leaned his elbows on the table, resting his chin in his hands.

"Forgive me for saying this but, you seem a bit unsuited for all this mess. Prim and proper. What landed you here?"

"Is that why you've come to join me?"

Alastor nodded after a second's thought. It was an easy cover up for his true motives. Y/n seemed to have no idea who he was after all and to be perfectly honest, even Alastor himself was struggling to understand his motivations. Guilt wasn't an emotion he was familiar with. It was confusing, writhed in the pit of his stomach like a snake.

"Well, thats a rather personal question to ask someone right off the bat, isn't it?"

"I suppose you're right. How about this one then, what are you reading?"

After that day at the cafe, Alastor followed Y/n like a hurt puppy. He didn't rightly know why. It was a compulsion of a sort, he couldn't stop it. She was disinterested by radio, by the newfangled video boxes popping up. She knew nothing of his reputation, she just thought he was a friend. A fairly determined friend, but a friend none the less.

Alastor didn't understand it. He was a man obsessed, not with Y/n per say but with the opportunity she offered. She smelled like making good on past wrongs. That wasn't something Alastor had ever been interested in before. Y/n was the exception. She was always the exception, he supposed.

It wasn't long before their little lunches, their random rendezvous in the streets, carefully orchestrated by Alastor of course, not that she knew, became something more. Spending time with her calmed the raging sea of uncertainty in his gut. Being kind to her felt like salvation.

Alastor had never been concerned with that before, but it was such an intoxicating thing to hear her words of thanks, of praise. To witness her smiles and her apparently unending kindness. They would spend hours pouring over one another's collections of books. They would spend hours in deep philosophic discussion. It was Y/n who first brought up their previous lives.

"Do you ever miss it?" she had asked when they had been making lunch together one day in her apartment.

Alastor's hand had stilled, his knife halfway through the cut of veal he had been handeling.

"Miss what, my dear?"

"Life."

He began to move the knife again, letting out a slight hum of thought.

"Not particularly. I take it you do?"

Y/n leaned over the pot, checking to see if the water was boiling yet for the potatoes. It wasn't and so she turned to him, leaning up against the counter.

"Sometimes." she admitted.

Alastor turned to her as well. The apron over her dress was stained with jam from the times they had baked together just a few days before. Y/n hair was tied up and away from her face. He felt his heart stutter in his chest.

That had been happening a lot lately when he looked at her. Alastor figured it was a progression of guilt, a giving away of it. He figured spending time with Y/n was helping it go away.

It wasn't like it was a burden for him. They actually had a surprising amount in common.

"What do you miss?"

"My mom."

And there it was again, the cannibalistic sickness eating away at his brain.

"Were you two close?"

Y/n nodded, turning her gaze to the window.

"Yeah. She... I didn't have a big family. Or a lot of friends growing up. I was shy, painfully shy. She was... she was all I had. And now she's alone up there."

"What landed you down here?"

Y/n looked back to Alastor, smirking.

"Back to this are we? Only took what, six months?"

"We're friends now, aren't we?"

"Alastor..."

"Shoot me, I'm curious."

Y/n laughed lightly.

"Okay, I tell you, you tell me. Deal?"

Alastor thought it over for a moment. He could always lie to her, make up some story or another but, she was bound to find out eventually. More than anything, he wanted to keep her from connecting the pieces. Y/n figuring things out felt dangerous, it pained him to think about how she would react.

"Deal."

"Okay, um," Y/n looked away again, her hands fiddling with the frilled edge of her apron, "I don't really like to talk about it. It's kind of embarrassing."

"You made a deal."

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

"So spill."

Y/n smiled lightly, meeting Alastor's eyes for a second.

"Well, I was kind of... maybe... sort of... a thief?"

"Really?"

Alastor hadn't expected that. He wasn't quite sure what he had expected to be honest but, it wasn't that.

"Yeah. Times were... tough growing up. Single mom with a kid in the early 1900s? Not everyone was a fan. It was hard for her to find work so I would... supplement. No one suspected the little girl, you know?"

There were two types of demons in Hell. There were the ones that had their demon forms, and then there were the ones like Alastor with more than one form, more abilities, more strength. It was the anger that fed it, the person they were on earth. Alastor had always assumed Y/n fell into the first category but, as she relayed her tale to him, her body began to change. She rotted before his very eyes, becoming a standing corpse with his bones all showing.

"I always felt awful about it but, we didn't really have a choice. You know? I didn't want to do it, didn't like it, but I did it and I was good at it. When I grew up, well, sometimes it is just easier to stick to what you know. I worked for a cleaning service, maids for hire, working parties, stuff like that. I, well, the people I worked for were rich. They didn't need the money but my mother and I certainly did."

It was then she seemed to realize her own changed appearance. Her eyes shot up to Alastor as she retook her original form.

"Sorry about that." she awkwardly laughed, "Guess the guilt is still eating me alive, even in death. So, what'd you do?"

Alastor took a breath, appraising the situation. The guilt, the sense of having truly sinned.

"I was a serial killer."

Y/n's eyes went wide.

"Really? You? But you're so..."

"So what, my dear?"

"So nice."

Alastor stilled.

"Nice?" he repeated.

Even in life, it was a word that few had directed towards him. Polite, yes. Talented, yes. Charming? Of course, but never nice.

At the sound of bubbling from the pot, Y/n turned his back to him.

"Yeah." she shrugged, opening the lid and dropping the potatoes in, "You probably one of the nicest people I've ever met."

The way Y/n saw him was intoxicating. Nice. He began to spend more and more time at her side. It was hard to keep the other half of his life from her but, he managed. It was a delicate balance, a game he knew well.

It was a day about a year later that Y/n approached him, blushing and unable to meet his eyes. It was a year later she told him how she felt and he realized he felt the same. They moved in together, did nearly everything together. It was a happy afterlife for them both. The first time they had kissed, she had tasted like redemption.

Y/n never questioned what Alastor did on his late nights out alone. She trusted his fidelity and when he said he liked going for walks alone in the evening air, she accepted it. When he said he was at work, broadcasting his radio show, she never asked why they didn't have a radio of their own. It was an unspoken agreement, he didn't ask where the money came from and she didn't ask what he did in the long hours he was away.

The guilt felt heavy in the pit of his stomach, growing stronger every day but still, Y/n remained blissfully ignorant. Alastor could practically hear the clock ticking. Every kiss felt like it might be the last, every caress, every meal shared at the kitchen table. He did everything he could, but knew one day she was bound to find out.

Alastor knew the day had come when he entered their lovely home on the outskirts of the Pride ring. He called his usual hello out into the house from the foyer, letting the door fall shut behind him. Y/n didn't come.

"Y/n?" he called, taking a step further into the house, "Are you home?"

All the lights were on. That was something she was careful about from the old days, making sure not to use electricity unless necessary. There was no way she wasn't in the house.

Tentatively, he stepped into the kitchen. She was sitting at the table, her head in her hands.

"Are you alright, my love?"

It was then he noticed the radio on the table.

"Oh."

"Yeah." Y/n sighed, looking up at him, "Oh."

"Where did you get that?"

"Someone dropped it off, left it at the door. I thought it was you originally but, now I'm not so sure."

Someone had left it for her? One of Alastor's numerous enemies was responsible no doubt. He had always been so careful to keep her protected, out of the public eye. It didn't make sense.

"You heard todays broadcast?"

"Oh you mean the screams of innocent demons mixed in with your stories about New Orleans?"

Alastor was silent. Y/n's eyes were rimmed with red, her hair a mess.

"They were far from innocent. Everyone is down here for a reason. Besides, I told you. I'm a killer."

"You didn't tell me you were my killer."

His heart stopped. He hadn't realized exactly how much she'd managed to piece together from the simple broadcast.

"Am I now?" Alastor asked placidly, trying to remain calm as he clasped his hands behind his back.

He didn't know what he was playing at. He was grasping at straws. Y/n got to her feet.

"You never told me you were from New Orleans, just said you grew up in the south. I let it slide but, I shouldn't have. I should have known, the similarities in our experiences... god, I was such a fool! I should have known we grew from the same patch of dirt. Alastor, there was only one serial killer active in the city at the time we were both alive, at the time I died."

"And you think it was me, my heart?"

"Alastor." she crossed her arms.

"I..."

"How could you not tell me?"

Y/n's anger mixed with grief, it misdirected itself, it got caught on the details. It hurt more that he'd been lying to her. The act itself was something to be dealt with later. Now was the time for the lies. They had spent years together, built a life together and the whole time, he had been lying.

"I didn't me-"

"Mean for me to find out?"

"Well, yes." he took a step forward, he tried to grab her hands but she pulled them away.

Y/n's skin was rotting now, she was taking on her other form. It was the first time he'd seen her do it when not remising about the past or telling stories about her mother. He had no idea what she was capable of when in this state.

"But also, I didn't mean to-"

"To what, to kill me? To marry me? To make me fucking trust you?"

"I..."

The world was falling down around him. The one thing he couldn't lose, the one thing he cared about besides himself or his power. The person that meant the most to him.

"My darling, my heart, m-"

"No, Alastor. Just... just stop." she sighed, a hand to her forehead.

She rubbed her temples, exhausted and overwhelmed.

"I'm sorry."

The words were spoken softly but they crashed into Y/n like a speeding truck. They broke her ribs. She lowered her hand.

"I... I need some time."

"No, Y/n, wait. Please."

Again, she brushed off his attempts to hold her, making her way to the door of the kitchen. Alastor followed her out into the hallway.

"Y/n. Please. Please don't leave."

"What, so you can keep up your pity project?" she scoffed, rounding on him, "I am better than that Alastor. I deserve better."

"It... you aren't a pity project. You're my world, I love you."

"No, your world is this city. Your world is running Hell. I... Alastor, I'm leaving."

[siriuslywolfish-pg9]

I shared my Dessert! (And my heart)

- by Perrygrace9 (ao3) A Drarry one shot.

Based on a Prompt I received on tumblr: “Ok hear me out. This is based on how I got with my bf. Draco has had a crush on Harry forever(and they're sorta friends but not really) One day Harry walks in on Draco crying in a stairwell of a hotel, harry goes to comfort him and Draco fesses up to how he feels. Ok this is just what happened to me with new names but still it would be dope to see it written out.

________________________________________

Draco buried his face in his knees, his fingers fisting his hair as he bit his lip in a vain attempt to stifle the sobs that wracked through his chest. 

The image of Harry kissing Oliver Wood was still flashing through his mind, burning and stinging his heart, scorching him to the very core. 

He hated it! Hated the way Harry was leaning against the counter in that easy confident way of his, with his strong arms wrapped around Wood's waist as the Quidditch star nipped and licked at Harry's neck while Harry chuckled before leaning down and catching his lips in a heated kiss.  

He hated how easily Oliver Wood had taken the glass of scotch from Harry's grasp—like he owned the man—and had nestled into Harry’s arms before proceeding to make out with him, as if Wood belonged there, as if he was laying claim on Harry by kissing him in front of everyone, right at the bar counter in the middle of a party for all the world to see that he owned the saviour who was coveted by the entire wizarding world. 

It made Draco sick. And so he had chucked down the last of his drink and stormed out of the hall, leaving Pansy surprised and calling after him. But he hadn't turned back, too desperate to hide his tears and leave the hall before they fell and spilled from his eyes, making him the object of ridicule. 

He shouldn't have come to this stupid ministry gala. But he did anyway. Just to look at Harry. To see him dressed up in all his glory and see the shine in his eyes. Harry looked beautiful in his full Auror uniform, his medals and tags adorning his chest and shoulders. His eyes sharp and his smile genuine and kind as ever. It was a rare sight and Draco didn't want to miss it for the world.

Last month Draco had received the invitation for the gala—which he knew was partly Harry's doing since the ministry would never voluntarily invite an Ex Death Eater to a function, even though Draco had been acquitted and had been serving as a healer for the past few years, doing his utter most to make up for the damage he had caused. 

He had been hesitant to go to the gala at first, not ready to face so many scornful eyes and glares. But the other reason why he didn't want to go was because he would have to see Harry taking someone else as his date. Draco had tried, or fantasised really, to ask Harry to be his date, but he knew it wasn't possible. Even if Harry agreed simply out of politeness and the goodness of his heart, because the idiot was too soft hearted to reject someone, Draco still did not have it in him to create problems for Harry by being with him so publically. He knew how draining Harry found the hungry media. And Draco would be  nothing but a stain on his shining golden image.

In the last few months they have become tentative friends and Draco respected and cared too much for Harry to hurt him in anyway, especially not after how kind Harry had been to Draco when the world had shunned him.  

But even worse was watching so many people asking Harry to be his date. Every time Draco had been at the ministry to drop Auror medical reports or samples or anything, he had seen someone asking Harry or hinting to it or making a pass at him. And each time Draco's insides had clenched in a tight knot, afraid that Harry would agree. But for some reason Harry had turned down everyone, saying he had someone special he wanted to take. 

And that had been worse to hear. This whole time at least Draco had told himself that Harry was single. That even if it was impossible, Draco still had a chance. He could almost delude himself into thinking that he had time to get close to Harry, to know him and love him. But now, knowing that Harry probably already had someone special, had nailed down the reality for Draco and his hopes and dreams had come crashing down. 

At last, he had asked Pansy to be his date. Even though he knew he would regret it later, it was impossible for him to miss the chance of seeing just who Harry's someone special was. His desperation and curiosity had gotten the better of him. And now he regretted it tremendously. 

He cursed himself, a choked sob racking through his lungs. He was so stupid. What had he expected to gain by coming here? That somehow a miracle would happen and Harry would confess his love for Draco? He had known Harry would be bringing his "someone special" . Harry himself  had told Draco when he had asked Draco if he was planning to go to the gala. 

Maybe some stupid part in Draco, a naive and hopeful and idiot and stupidly in love part of Draco had hoped it to be untrue. Had hoped that Harry's partner would be someone who didn't deserve him (not that Draco ever considered himself worthy of deserving Harry, but still!). That way at least Draco would have someone to hate, to scorn and detest and direct all his resentment and frustration for not being able to express his feelings for Harry, and eventually get over Harry. Even though Draco knew that would never happen, he could never get over Harry. 

But it had turned out to be Oliver Wood. The famous, charming, successful and dashing Oliver wood. Draco never stood a chance against Oliver. It was pathetic to even dream about it. 

But what could he do? Draco was known for making the worst decisions, for screwing up the simplest of things. And now he had fallen in love with Harry. Stupidly and madly in love with Harry. He had tried so hard not to let himself be carried away by those piercing eyes every time they had looked at Draco with warmth and sympathy and understanding. He had tried so hard not to trip over and fall for that lazy smile, charming and goofy and yet so open and honest. 

After Harry had ensured the safety of his family and kept him and his mother out of Azkaban, Draco had done his best to make the most of this generous second chance, but to also avoid Harry at all cost. But Draco being a healer and Harry being an Auror prone to injury had made their meeting inevitable. And before Draco knew it, Harry was inviting him for dinners and pub nights and friendly outings with friends.

Draco had tried to refuse, partly out of wounded pride at being perceived as a pathetic loner (although now he knew that Harry didn't see him that way) and partly because he knew he wouldn't be welcomed. But Harry's sincere attempts to mend things between them and his earnest eyes had been difficult to rebuff. 

At first it had been awkward, and more than once he had caught Harry glaring at someone or pointedly shutting them up if they tried to say anything mean or degrading to Draco and his friends. Yes, Harry had been kind enough to extend his generosity and his forgiveness to Draco's friends too, so that Draco didn't have to come to these gatherings alone. The noble, pure, giant hearted idiot that Harry was, how could anyone not fall for him?

And look where it had all ended up. With Draco crying on the eve of Christmas in the dark corner at the bottom of the steps of the empty stairwell of a grand hotel, while the rest of the wizarding world celebrated in the grand ballroom. The ceremonies had ended long ago, giving way to the more raunchy after-party with booze and band and blasting music. It was then when Draco had seen the sight which had broken his heart into pieces. 

He had known this was coming, he had always known that this would end in heartbreak when he had first realised his feelings for Harry. But he had no idea that it would hurt this bad. To see someone else in Harry's arms was gut wrenching.  It was like Draco's heart was imploding into itself. But it was happening slowly and torturously, as if every chunk was falling piece by piece, every vein and tending snapping like a thread one after the other, and pain chipping away at his insides until Draco couldn't take it anymore. 

The place where his heart should be felt hollow and painful, and heavy, and it ached! It ached so bad. Worse than the cruciatus, because at least the pain of the curse always ended. But this? This heart break? This loss? No. Draco already knew that this was a wound that would never heal. 

"Draco?" 

His head snapped as he looked up, his eyes wide. Harry was standing there, leaning against the column, one hand in his pocket. His medals glinted in the moonlight. His hair was tousled and the top buttons of his collar were open. He looked breath-taking. 

 

"Harry?" Draco choked out and looked away, sniffling and hastily wiping his tears. "Wha--what are you doing here? I thought you would be at the party." 

"I was looking for you. You suddenly disappeared." 

"Oh." Draco looked at his lap, he hadn't expected that answer. Something warm spread through his chest, like a gentle balm soothing his flaming nerves. Harry had come looking for him. "You—" his voice caught, scratchy from crying. He cleared his throat, "You should be inside." 

“So should you." 

Draco remained quite, keeping his eyes glued to the floor. He was well aware that Harry could see his tear tracks and his rumpled, dishevelled appearance, and was desperate to avoided this conversation before Harry had a chance to make any enquires about his well being. 

“Are you alright?" Harry's voice was soft and so full of concern that Draco wanted to just pull him close and spill his heart out to him and never let him go. 

Instead Draco just glared at the floor, stubbornly pulling at the cuffs of his sleeves. 

Harry sighed and sat on the steps, facing Draco. Leaning his back against the railing, he scrutinised Draco with a grave expression on his face, his arms crossed over his chest. "Draco, look at me." Draco didn't. "Did someone say anything? Was it the media? You can tell me, you know, I will see to it that they--" 

Draco shook his head and the tears that had been clinging to his eyelashes rolled down his cheeks.

"No, no one said anything,” he mumbled in a small voice. Harry's protectiveness and indignation on his behalf was bitter sweet. It made Draco crave him even more, but at the same time the realisation that, no matter how close Draco got to Harry, Harry would always be just out of his reach, tarnished and chilled the warmth that he had felt moments ago. 

More tears fell down his cheeks. "Fuck!" He cursed under his breath, angrily wiping them away.  But they kept falling. "Shit! Don't--" 

"Hey." Harry's voice was soft and oh so tender. Warm hands cupped Draco's cheeks as Harry turned his face to make him meet his eyes. "Draco, look at me, please." 

Draco slowly peered up at Harry from under his eyelashes, his vision a little blurry from tears. Harry's expression was concerned, and there was such tenderness in his eyes that Draco felt his heart breaking, he could almost hear the crack, like the shattering of frozen ice over a lake. He choked on a sob. 

Harry’s expression went from concerned to panicked, and he pulled Draco close, wrapping him in his arms. And Draco knew he had lost it. It was a hopeless battle to begin with. Loud, broken sobs wracked through his body as tears flowed down his cheeks in abandon, soaking Harry's expensive robes. 

But Harry didn't seen to mind. He just held Draco close, drawing soothing circles on his back, shushing and mumbling sweet nothings into his ears. 

If anything, it made everything ten times worse. How could Draco ever be expected to forget this beautiful, caring, selfless man? Especially when he was hugging Draco like this, like he was the most precious thing in the world. In that moment, Draco wanted to stay in Harry's arms forever. He would happily embrace death in that moment if it meant that he would die in Harry's arms and Harry calm, loving voice would be the last memory resonating through the beats of his fading heart as he took his final breath. 

But at the same time having Harry so close and yet so far was torture, and Draco wanted to pull away from him as if burned, unable to endure the agony of his yearning heart anymore. 

"I am sorry, Harry," Draco mumbled between his sobs, his voice muffled and  strained with guilt and shame. "I am so sorry. I tried--I tried to stop it, I really did—but I can't anymore, I am so sorry." 

Harry hugged his tighter. "What are you saying," he said softly in Draco's hair. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Dragon"

Draco’s breath hitched at the use of the pet name, it was something he allowed only Harry to call him. His face still buried in Harry's chest, Draco shook his head. It was now or never. "I—I like you Harry. I like you a lot."

Harry froze. Draco felt it the instant when Harry's entire body went rigid. Draco's stomach dropped. 

Harry pulled away, keeping Draco at arms length, his jaw slack as he looked at Draco with an unreadable expression in his face. 

Draco dropped his eyes to the floor. His heart hammered against his chest, filled with guilt and self loathing. How could he even dare to like Harry, let alone love him. And now Draco had gone ahead and dumped his feelings on Harry. It wasn't fare to him. He was sure Harry would hate him now. Or worse, he would try to make it up to Draco, and would be too careful around him to avoid hurting him by further. 

"I will understand if you want me to—” Draco hiccupped—"I would understand if you don't want to remain friends with me anymore. Not that we were ever friends. I wouldn't be so arrogant as to assume that but—I know I shouldn't—It’s okay if you hate me. I deserve it. I would never say it again, I promise. These are my feelings and you don't have to—" 

Draco's rambling was cut off by a pair of soft lips crashing into his in a chaste but firm kiss. Draco's eyes widened, but then they fell shut on their own accord as Harry snaked an arm around Draco's waist, his hand coming to rest on the small of Draco's back and pulling him close, his other hand cupped Draco's jaw before burying into Draco's hair as the nape of his neck. Draco gasped, Harry deepened the kiss and continued to kiss Draco like a traveller in desert quenching his thirst. 

The kiss was languid and sure and warm and chaste, full of assurance and meaning, like the sweet words of comfort or the safety of Harry's embrace. Harry kissed like he protected, like he cared and like he loved. With his entire being, giving away his everything, without demanding anything in return. Just giving and giving and giving...

And Draco was drowning in it. His toes curled, and the very tips of his fingers tingled with the sweet sensation of the feeling of Harry’s lips on his, Harry's hand on his back, his firm chest and his strong shoulder in Draco's grip where he clutched onto Harry for dear life. 

Slowly, the heated kisses turned gentle and light and lazy, and Harry finally pulled away, his hand still on Draco's cheek, the thumb of his other hand tracing circles on Draco's back, teasing the hem of his shirt where it had ridden up. 

Draco's eyes fluttered open. Harry was staring back at him, his hair and eyes shining like a mossy lake under the moonlight. He looked ethereal. 

“Why?" was all Draco could manage.  

"I like you too." He tentatively wiped Draco's tears, caressing his cheek with the pad of his thumb. "I am sorry I didn't say anything sooner, love." 

"Do you really mean that?"

 Harry nodded. 

"But what about Wood?" Draco asked, his voice just above a whisper , afraid that this was a dream and he would wake up  if he raised his voice. He deliberately stopped himself from fixating too much on the fact that Harry had just called him love. "I just saw you two together..." 

Harry's mouth formed an "O" "You saw that?" 

Draco nodded, his cheeks burning pink, whether from embarrassment or fear, he didn't know, or maybe it had something to do with Harry's closeness or the affection in his eyes when he looked at Draco. He suddenly realised that Harry had been giving him that look for weeks now, only he had failed to notice it in his apprehension. 

Harry ran a hand through his hair, “That was just drinks and we were being stupid....Oliver would be leaving tomorrow for his tour anyway. There is nothing between us. We were just fooling around." 

"But wasn't he your special someone?"

Harry laughed, then shook his head when Draco's eyes widened in horror, thinking that Harry was mocking him and that this was all a sick joke. Harry stopped and smiled fondly at him, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Draco's ear. "No, you prat. Oliver isn't my special some, you are." 

Draco stared at him dumbly. "But I thought—Why didn't you ever say anything?" 

“I tried! I tried to ask you but I kept chickning out and then you said that you were going with Pansy." 

"I said that because I thought you were going  with some one else and I didn't want to—you know..." 

"We are so stupid." 

Draco pouted. "Speak for yourself, Potter. You are the one who chickened out of asking me to the ball. It was all your fault." Draco sniffed. "We could have avoided all the angst, but no, you had to go and make me cry. You enjoy it, don't you?" 

Harry burst out laughing and pulled Draco close again, smothering him in a hug. "Like you gave me any chance. You are as cold and stiff as an iceberg." 

Draco pulled away just a little from where his face was smushed against Harry. "I was obvious, Harry. You were just too oblivious to notice." 

Harry raised an eyebrow. 

Draco held up his hands in a gesture of dramatic defeat. "I shared my desserts with you and sacrificed my beauty sleep from time to time to be with you. That's as obvious as it gets. Even Blaise knew, and he is a slut who only concerns himself with the matters of his dick, and even he saw that I was arse over tit for you!"

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again, looking amused. "You are ridiculous." 

"No, you are just thick!" 

"Hey! That's no way to treat your boyfriend." 

Draco’s stomach flipped and he blushed. "Boyfriend?" 

Harry looked away, "I mean, if you want to." 

"Do you want to?" 

Harry glanced at Draco and nodded. 

Draco's heart skipped a beat and he inched closer to Harry. Boyfriends! 

“Wait. If you and Wood are not an item then why were you snogging his face off? I can understand why he was doing it. But I thought hook-ups weren't your thing?"

Harry flushed crimson, looking sheepish. "I thought you would never reciprocate my feelings. I was trying to get you out of my system." 

Draco's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "By snogging Wood?" 

“Yes?”

“Why would I not want you, Harry? Have you seen me? Have you seen yourself?" Draco gestured at Harry from top to bottom, generally encompassing his whole being. 

Harry just blinked back at him. And Draco realised that Harry, stupid, idiot, modest, wearing-his-heart-on-his-sleeve, dorky Harry, really did think that Draco would reject him. 

Draco couldn't help the fond smile that curled across his lips. Harry's innocence in such matters was endearing. Harry really had no idea how amazing he was. It looked like his dreadful relatives really did a number on him when it came to self-appreciation. Well, Draco would just have to rectify that.  

“So," Harry said haltingly, almost hesitant. “Now that you know everything, may I kiss you?”

Draco blinked, his lips parting in shock. He was still a little dazed and incredulous at the turn of events. The first kiss had been sudden, barely giving Draco any time to think before he had reacted. But this time it would be for real. 

Harry took his silence as a yes and slowly leaned in, giving Draco enough time to pull back. His lips graced Draco's, gentle and tentative at first, then sure and firm and full of promise as he pulled Draco close. 

Wrapping his arms around Harry's neck, Draco kissed him back with fervour, almost climbing onto Harry's lap. 

Draco stopped, panting. "You know, there are a lot of rooms here," he mumbled between their almost touching lips. 

"Yeah? Would you like try one?" And without waiting for an answer he hauled Draco up with ease. Draco squealed and instinctively wrapped his legs around Harry's waist.  

"Someone is impatient," he said, breathless, brushing his nose against Harry's. He felt so elated he could fly. 

"You bet I am." Harry mumbled before attacking Draco's exposed collar. He pinned Draco against the nearest door, his hand fumbling as he swiped his all access Auror card to enter the room, all the while not taking his mouth off Draco. The moment the door was shut behind him, he pushed Draco against it and latched onto his neck. "I have been waiting for this for so long, you have no idea." 

Draco moaned as Harry sucked at a specially sensitive spot. "Really?" 

Harry broke away, "My fantasies were getting so blond It was creepy." 

That startled a laugh out of Draco—who would have guessed?—but it was cut short as Harry grinned and attacked his mouth again. 

Safe to say that Draco had an amazing Christmas.

[puppywritings]

torn

pairing: lee jeno x male reader x na jaemin word count: 2534 description: when you, a new trainee at sm entertainment, capture the interest of both jeno and jaemin, you find yourself torn between them. requested by: anonymous masterlist

First and foremost, the reason you moved to Korea and auditioned for SM Entertainment was to follow your dreams; to sing and dance, as you had always loved to, and to bring joy to as many people as possible through art. When you received the news of your acceptance, the things weighing on your mind mainly consisted of excitement to improve and learn, and anxiety about the pressures of being a trainee. However, there was something else tugging at your heart, excitement and anxiety all rolled into one: the prospect that you would likely bump into the members of NCT.

NCT were your favourite musicians, your role models. You had been following them since their debut, and you wouldn’t dispute the notion that you were their number one fan. In particular, the Dream unit had caught your eye from the beginning, due in part to the fact that you were around the same age as the members. You had, to put it lightly, completely fallen in love with the group. They were your main inspiration for moving to Korea and pursuing a career as an idol, and you could hardly fathom the idea that you would be training and working in the very same building as them.

Of course, you worked hard to stop them from consuming your thoughts entirely. You had more significant things to busy your mind with; working on your vocals, taking care of your body, getting to know your fellow trainees. In fact, you were so preoccupied in your training that you sometimes went a whole day without thinking about the members of NCT. Wondering how far away they were, whether they were just a few rooms away, whether they had passed in the corridor and heard you singing, whether you might see them in the cafeteria later. You knew you would become very busy, but you never could’ve predicted these levels of intensity. You were definitely up to the challenge, though. The mental and physical stimulation left you shining, and you could feel yourself grow.

Though you felt wonderful, to an outside eye it would certainly look like you were pushing yourself too hard. You stayed in the practice room for hours after everybody else had left, and most days you were the first to arrive too. Dancing alone as the clock crawled towards midnight, it was only natural that you would gather a little bit of attention from people passing through. Inevitable though it may have been, you weren’t any less shocked when you spun around mid-practice to find that somebody had stepped inside the room. The fact that the figure was none other than Lee Jeno only intensified your bewilderment.

“I’m sorry,” he apologised with wide eyes. “I knocked but you didn’t hear me.”

“Right,” you panted, your eyes darting around the room. “The music... it was loud.” You were already sweating from the exertion but you felt it had increased tenfold. Jeno was here. In the same room as you. Speaking to you. He had seen you dance. 

“What are you doing here so late?” he asked you, a slight frown on his lips. You were unsure whether to read this as curiosity or concern, but you tried not to dwell on it. You’d had the biggest crush on Jeno for years, and at this point in your career, you didn’t need it to intensify and interfere with your training.

You cleared your throat, hoping he couldn’t sense your anxiety. And, beyond that, hoping your appearance wasn’t too sweaty and unappealing. You pointedly avoided turning to the mirror behind you; you didn’t need your self-consciousness to rise. “I just wanted to get some extra practice,” you explained.

“I don’t think you need it,” Jeno told you sincerely. “You’re doing really good. I was watching you for a while... I hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh! Um. No, that’s okay.” Every ounce of your energy went into preventing yourself from exploding on the spot. You knew that your cheeks must be burning - you could hardly even believe you were in this situation. “My name is Y/N, by the way.”

He walked forwards, extending his hand which you shook gently, almost flinching at the thought of him having to make contact with your sweat-coated palms. “Jeno,” he returned.

“I know,” you responded instantly, before cursing yourself. Was that a creepy thing to say? You really hoped you hadn’t made anything awkward.

Jeno only chuckled. “Right.” Daring to look up at his face, you saw his signature smile and crinkled eyes. You could’ve melted on the spot. He continued to speak, saving you from forcing out a response. You were thankful - you genuinely didn’t think you could utter a word. Lee Jeno was less than a foot away from you. “You should go home and rest soon,” he advised you. “Exhaustion won’t do you any good.”

You nodded, your heart swelling. Jeno didn’t even know you, yet he spoke with such care. That was just his nature, you knew. He had immense kindness within his heart. 

“I’ll see you around,” he said with a smile before departing. You waved, which was all you could manage. As soon as you heard his footsteps retreat, you collapsed against the wall, sinking down to the floor. That was far too much excitement for your heart.

-

The following morning, as had become routine at that point, you were present in the practice room long before any of your fellow trainees. Most of them were currently either rousing from their sleep or tucking into their breakfasts. You, on the other hand, had risen whilst it was still dark outside, and had abandoned breakfast in favour of a speedier option; a protein shake and a granola bar.

You were yet to begin your actual practice yet, and were still performing some stretches when you heard a knock on the door. As you turned, the door was being pushed open, and you were surprised to find that Jeno had paid you a second visit.

“Jeno!” you exclaimed, your heart beginning to pound right away. “Hi.”

“Hey, Y/N,” he greeted you with the smile that had never failed to melt your heart. “I had a feeling you’d be here early.”

“Oh yeah?” You gave him a wobbly smile, trying not to give away the way your mind raced at the implication that he’d been thinking about you.

He confirmed with a nod. “You seem like the type to overwork yourself.” If he weren’t Lee Jeno, you would’ve rolled your eyes at this. “Anyways,” he continued, “I have a spare frappucino if you want one.” He lifted the tray of drinks in his hand.

"Oh! Sure.” Jeno had bought you a frappucino. Was your life even real at this point? No, you tried to rationalise. He just happened to have a spare one, and you just happened to be there. He probably would’ve given it to the first person he saw. 

Jeno took a seat on the floor, placing the tray down in front of him and taking out one of the drinks. As he slurped his drink loudly, he motioned for you to join him. Breaking out of your trance, you quickly complied.

“So, what’re you doing here so early?” you tried to make conversation. You were immensely thankful that he had arrived before you had the chance to get all sweaty and gross. You’d hate Jeno’s only impression of you to be dirty and tired.

“I have some things I’m working on,” he answered vaguely, leaving you wondering about all of the possibilities. Though you were incredibly busy, you were still keeping yourself up to date on NCT’s activities. Jeno went on with a frown, “I was supposed to be meeting Jaemin, but he hasn’t shown up.”

You accepted his answer with a nod. “Thanks for the drink.” You were incredibly grateful. Though the nearest Starbucks was just around the corner, you couldn’t say you frequented it, merely because it was so much more convenient to visit the cafeteria in the building.

You were startled suddenly, almost jumping out of your skin when the door flung open and a voice called out, “Hey! We were supposed to meet fifteen minutes ago!” Looking up, you saw Jaemin stood before you, and you hoped to death nobody had heard the squeak you emitted.

“Oh,” Jaemin spoke seconds later, directed towards you rather than Jeno this time. “I didn’t see you there. I’m Jaemin.”

“This is Y/N,” Jeno spoke before you could. “I just stopped by to see him before we met. I must’ve lost track of time.” With the earnest look in his eyes, you didn’t know if it was possible for anybody to be annoyed at him.

“Hi,” you smiled nervously at Jaemin. Starstruck as you were upon being introduced to Jaemin, thoughts still ran through your head. Jeno had lied, right? He had told you Jaemin hadn’t shown up, yet he was the only who had missed their meeting time - and he had done so to spend time with you.

“You gave him my Starbucks?” grumbled Jaemin, looking betrayed. Jeno simply shrugged in response, completely void of regret.

“I’m sorry,” you apologised quickly, feeling rather panicked. “I didn’t know it was yours. I can pay you back for it, if you want me to?”

Jaemin dismissed your offer with a wave of his hand. He turned to you with a smile, rather different from the irritated demeanour he carried just moments previously. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind buying drinks for cute boys.”

Your choking splutters at this sudden compliment was drowned out by Jeno’s defensive “You never buy me drinks!” and you were incredibly thankful. They bickered for a few moments before Jeno turned to you.

“I guess I’d better go, Y/N,” he told you with a sigh. He extended his arm, patting your knee twice before standing.

“I’ll see you around, Y/N,” Jaemin waved. “It was nice meeting you.”

“You too,” you returned weakly as the boys departed together.

Surely you were imagining things. Surely Jeno and Jaemin hadn’t just been flirting with you. You threw yourself into your practice. If you let your mind remain idle, you knew you would get stuck in these thoughts, which definitely wouldn’t do you any good.

***

You did your very best to ignore the attention that the other trainees threw your way in the following weeks. It was understandable, you had to admit. The quiet, rather withdrawn trainee who doesn’t seem to do very much other than work, suddenly seemed to be friends with Jeno and Jaemin, two members of one of Korea’s most popular idol groups. You were bombarded with questions: When did you become friends with them, how did you guys get so close, what on earth is going on between the three of you? Honestly, you wish you had the answers.

Everything had happened so fast. After your initial meetings with the boys, you found yourself running into them quite frequently, and it rarely felt like a coincidence. Soon enough you had exchanged numbers with them, you were eating lunch with them most days, and even spent time with them at their dorm. It was thrilling, especially at the beginning of your friendship with the boys. You began to grow less starstruck as you got to know the boys and grew more comfortable around them, though. 

One thing you had noted was that you seldom seemed to spend time with only one of them. If you made plans with Jaemin, you would happen to run into Jeno while you were out. If you made plans with Jeno, you happened to get a message from Jaemin, asking to make plans at the exact same time. One thing you were consistent with was relentlessly pushing away fantasies that tried to run riot in your mind. Of course, it was utterly ridiculous that Jeno and Jaemin were both crushing on you, and were fighting for your affections. It was difficult to quell these thoughts, though, as this seemed to be exactly what was happening.

***

It had taken a lot of persuasive effort on Jeno and Jaemin’s part before you agreed to spend the night at Jeno and Jaemin’s dorm. Not only were you incredibly busy, but you were also sick of the other trainees pointing and whispering. You theorised that they had noticed the heart eyes that the two boys were constantly sending your way. It was growing difficult to miss. You still enjoyed their company, though. It went without saying that you were crushing on them both.

The night wouldn’t be anything special, just a casual night. You would watch some movies, and eat takeout. Nonetheless, your excitement had been increasing all throughout the day while you anticipated it. This feeling remained all the way into the evening, when you were sat between Jeno and Jaemin, nestled under a blanket. Jaemin had chosen the movie. A horror film, one you hadn’t seen before. You had to admit, you were being rather brave.

“Just hold my hand if you get scared, Y/N,” Jaemin advised you, puffing his chest.

“Or you could hold my hand,” Jeno offered. “I’ve been told I have very nice hands.”

Jaemin shook his head. “I’m sure he’d rather hold my hand.”

“I don’t know,” Jeno rebutted. “I think he’d enjoy holding my hand.”

“Well-”

“Listen,” you interrupted with a sigh, “There’s something going on here. Right?” You weren’t met with a response, only sheepish looks from both Jaemin and Jeno. You put your head in your hands with a groan. “Can we just talk about this?” Your voice was muffled.

“We both really like you, Y/N,” Jaemin spoke, and you lifted your head.

“I figured,” you mumbled with a nod. “You don’t have to act like children, though. I’m not a toy. You can’t fight over me like this.”

“You’re right,” Jeno sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Jaemin apologised.

The three of you sat in silence for a few moments, while you built yourself up to speak. “I like you both too. I’m not going to choose between you or anything. I like it when it’s the three of us, and I don’t want to sacrifice the bond we all have.”

“So, we just pretend this conversation never happened?” Jaemin suggested.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I don’t want to. Like I said, I really like you both.”

Jaemin shook his head. “I don’t know where we can go from here, Y/N.”

“I don’t know if any of us can really have a relationship right now,” Jeno spoke up. “Because of our careers.”

“Then maybe we just see where things go,” you proposed. “No labels. Just the three of us, hanging out.”

There was quiet while the boys considered your words. “That sounds okay to me,” Jeno agreed, while Jaemin nodded alongside him.

“Great,” you beamed. You turned to your left, pressing a kiss to Jeno’s cheek, before going to your right and kissing Jaemin’s temple. “Now, can we finish the movie? I need to see how it ends.” Jeno hit the play button, and Jaemin took hold of your hand. You were feeling pretty damn lucky.

[shoalfoodblog]

Earthshine, Chapter 2

Again, I don’t consider myself a writer whatsoever but I guess I’m following my compulsions. We’ll see how long I keep doing this, but yeah. Here’s more??? Sorry if it’s lame or anything is wrong, etc. Just doing this for fun~~~

Sesskag. 

First Chapter

Kagome had seen more battles than most decorated soldiers in her time. She’d waged a war against an unspeakable evil and lived to tell the tale. And from those experiences, she’d learned a thing or two about strategy. 

Information is everything. Namely; know your enemy. If you can think like them, you’ll be two steps ahead at all times and be able to guide them into your trap. 

Mostly Naraku had done this brand of bamboozling to their group, but that's besides the point because it worked. They’d all been tricked and lead like lambs to slaughter more than once by that creature. And while Kagome wouldn’t normally be molding her behaviors off a maniacally evil megalomaniac, desperate times called for desperate measures.

Not that she was desperate.

With her mind made up on seducing Sesshomaru, daiyoukai of the west, most powerful AND beautiful demon in the four territories, and veritable icicle, Kagome knew she had to think ahead. 

It was disconcerting to realize that if she were to list things she knew he liked, she wouldn’t even use up the fingers on one hand. 

1.) Fighting. She imagined he got bored defeating opponents so easily. He was a beautiful and deadly figure on the battlefield without match. The lack of worthy challenges probably explained all of the spontaneous “friendly” bouts with Inuyasha (which Kagome vehemently disapproved of, since it was her supplies she’d burn through patching up the battered half demon) over the past few years since Rin came to live in the village.  

2.) Knowledge. This one was subtler. When he’d seen some of her futuristic objects while visiting Rin, he’d ask her pointed questions, his intense stare giving no room for anything but a full and thorough answer. These were always followed by an almost inaudible hum of acknowledgement, and a swift departure. Kagome supposed dogs were often curious creatures, so why should dog demons be any exception? 

3.) Rin. This did not translate to humans as a whole whatsoever. Just Rin. He maybe tolerated some others, but he definitely didn’t like them. In all likelihood he held a quiet disdain, but Kagome figured she was at least in the ‘tolerated’ camp, considering he trusted her with his charge, so that was encouraging.

Thinking of Rin, caused Kagome to smile. Rin was a wonderful girl, even if she suffered from the effects of a serious case of hero worship for her Lord. Kagome remembered countless times where they’d spend time together, harvesting herbs and naming the blooms they came across. The now teenaged girl didn’t really have any female figures in her life, so Kagome filled in the roll by default. She genuinely adored Rin, and suspected Rin found a good friend in return. So really this point wouldn’t be an issue. 

As far as fighting went, Kagome was a decent shot, but sparring with the daiyoukai seemed like signing a death wish. 

Now. His curiosity. Kagome knew she was a novelty to him. Even if he wasn’t interested in her exactly but in the information she had about the future, it was at least a doorway in to some decent conversation. But what could tempt the stoic demon lord? He’d seen most of her futuristic belongings she kept in this era.

She really couldn’t, in good conscience, divulge information that could change the future, just in case this didn’t work out. So no politics, investment strategies, nor extreme advancements in engineering. 

Cultural tidbits would be safer. 

Music?

No. She imagined her tastes would appall him. Pop music with all of its thick instrumentation and driving rhythms didn’t exactly fit with her image of him and she’d rather appear dignified then explain why pop music was… well, popular in her era. 

Art? 

She would be the first to admit she didn’t know shit about art.

Food?

Kagome struggled to imagine Sesshomaru eating. Maybe she was guilty of putting him on a pedestal, but such a normal, everyday act seemed out of place for him. She’d certainly never seen him eat, but that wasn’t really saying much given the longest time they’d been in each other’s company was when he was fighting with Inuyasha. Also what could she prepare him that would be both impressive and appealing to a dog demon?

She decided to consult Rin. 

A direct approach was always best. Searching out her young friend Kagome inquired 

“Rin-chan. I was curious. What does Sesshomaru-sama eat?”

Rin stilled her hands, which were busy tying up herbs to dry in Kagome’s storehouse. Turning to Kagome, she gave the universal shrug of ‘I have absolutely no clue’ 

“Huh. Rin never saw him eat, now that Rin thinks about it. Or Rin just wasn’t paying attention.” 

Kagome huffed in frustration, maybe a little louder than she should have, because Rin furrowed her brow at her. 

“Why do you ask, Kagome-oneesan?” 

It was imperative Rin not catch on to her plans. She needed a reasonable excuse. One would appear any moment. Seem calm, you crazy woman.

“Oh! Well you see… I just wanted to offer him something as thanks for taking such good care of you all these years. I feel very thankful to have Rin-chan in my life. It may be too forward though… just forget I said anything”

Nailed it. 

“Rin is also happy she knows Kagome-oneesan! And is grateful to Lord Sesshomaru for bringing her to your village!”

She was clutching the fresh cuttings closely to her chest, beaming up at the older woman. The picture of earnestness. 

“I’m sorry but Rin doesn’t know what Lord Sesshomaru would like to eat! Rin only knows Lord Sesshomaru doesn’t eat human food. He told me when we first met and I tried to give him some fish, and other things”

Huh. Well, that was…less than helpful. 

“Don’t worry Rin-chan! I’ll think of something to give him. Don’t fret about it” Kagome tossed her a reassuring smile while she set about finishing their work. Reaching to tie the next bundle up to dry, Kagome, ever the optimist, was sure she’d think of something.

That was two weeks ago. She’d gained no ground since. 

Her brainstorming had lead her down very uncomfortable roads. She shuddered as she recalled that Koga’s pack used to survive by eating humans. And when she asked Shippo, he just shrugged and said dogs were “weird that way” but couldn’t provide any specifics. Sango said there just wasn’t a lot of research her village had done on dog demons since they generally stayed away from messing with human settlements.

Dog Demons. You’d think they’d be as easy to please as their mortal counterparts. 

Kagome was contemplating chucking a box of milk bones at the demon lord and taking her chances.

Maybe a change of scenery would shake an idea loose in her brain. It had been a while since she’d visited her family, and her childhood home always helped to clear her mind.

…

Sliding the door open to her family’s house, she was greeted by the sweet aroma of freshly baked goods. 

“Tadaima, Mama! Souta! Ojii-chan!”

“In here, dear!” 

Following her mother’s voice to their kitchen, she arrived in time to see her pull a fresh sheet of cookies from the oven. 

“Kagome! It’s so good to have you home! And with such good timing! I just made some peanut butter cookies. Would you like-“

Peanut butter. Lightning ricocheted through Kagome’s mind. Her breath hitched, and her eyes grew wide.

An epiphany held her in place. A eureka moment erupted across her consciousness.  

It couldn’t be that simple!

Glancing around, she spied the half-empty jar of peanut butter still out on the counter, a spoon jutting from the top. Kagome fumbled with the container, her hip bumping the table in her haste to get back through the well.

“-some to take to your friends?” 

And with that, the matron of the Higurashi family was left alone with a full tray and an empty room. Hearing the front door slam, she exhaled and began to wonder. Would her daughter ever settle down long enough to lay down some real roots? 

…

‘Peanut butter! Dogs loved peanut butter!’

Kagome swallowed a triumphant shout. It was the best idea she’d had yet. Even if it was the only idea she’d had. 

It had been 10 days since Sesshomaru had last checked on his ward, and since you could predict the tides based on the precision of his schedule, Kagome knew he’d be checking on Rin today at dusk. 

That gave her…maybe 20 minutes to catch her breath and set her trap.

Kagome clambered up the rope ladder they’d installed in the well, jar in hand, and made her way down the path towards her home. Upon rounding the corner to the field it was settled in, she noticed Rin, who often watched her home when Kagome was away, was siting by the entrance with a flower crown gently held in her hands.

The young girl perked up as she caught sight of her sisterly figure. 

“Kagome-oneesan! Welcome home! Rin thought you wouldn’t be back until tomorrow!”

“Ah - I uh, hello Rin-chan! Well you see I forgot to bring my mother - uh” glancing around she eyed the circlet of blooms in her young friend’s hands “Flowers! I was going to pick her some flowers!”

“Oh! That’s wonderful Kagome-oneesan!” 

She felt awful fibbing to Rin. But these were dire times. 

Kagome slumped on the stump near the entrance of her home where she would split wood for the hearth, trying to catch her breath. Rin sidled closer to her, then noticed the strange container Kagome had in her possession.

“What are you holding, Kagome-oneesan?” gesturing with her eyes towards the young miko’s grasp.

With an exhale, she lifted the container towards Rin. 

“It’s a snack from my home. It’s called Peanut butter. It’s kind of sticky, and nutty, but it’s not really made of nuts, it’s made from legumes I think? - I don’t know if we have peanuts here - and I’m rambling, It’s kind of sweet and salty. ” Noticing the spark in Rin’s eyes, she also added “Would you like to try it?”

“Oh! Could Rin?!” She leaned forward clutching the wreath to her chest. She was too infectious. Kagome entertained the passing thought that in the future, Rin would be able to wrap any man she wanted around her finger. 

“Of course! You might not like it however… I think it’s kind of an acquired taste.” Kagome retrieved the spoon from the jar, wiping any excess along the rim before handing it to the eager girl.

She popped the spoonful in her mouth. 

“It might be a little sticky, so don’t choke on the stuff.” Rin tried to pry open her mouth to respond but all that came out was a jumble of muffled syllables that had Kagome giggling brightly. Rin tried to talk between swallows of the sticky treat, but more stifled sounds escaped instead, which caused both women to erupt in peels of laughter. 

Neither of them noticed the third presence suddenly appear in front of them.

Sesshomaru arrived at the miko’s dwelling to discover the two human women in a puddle of frenzy, to such an extent that they both failed to mark his entrance. 

It was rare indeed for any being not to take immediate notice of the towering dog demon, so much so Sesshomaru wasn’t sure how else to gain the silly mortals’ attention. 

He set about employing the strategy he used in most of his dealings, thinking formidable thoughts and staring, sure his presence would speak for itself soon enough. 

He was wrong.

 The females were in hysterics. 

Wondering if, despite all reason, his imposing bearing had run thin Sesshomaru decided a more direct approach was necessary.

“Miko. Rin.” he intoned smoothly. Sesshomaru applauded himself when the females ceased at once.

The pair, now still, they turned to face the intimidating demon lord, fighting the urge to erupt into laughter once more. Of course Sesshomaru showed up right at this moment. 

“Lord Sesshomaru!” somewhat out of breath, Rin stood to greet her guardian. 

“Hn. This Sesshomaru trusts you’ve been well, Rin” He flicked his gaze over his charge, appraising her well-being.

“Oh yes, Lord Sesshomaru! We’ve just finished drying the spring herbs, and Kagome-oneesan has just shared a most interesting treat with Rin!” 

Gazing over the miko, he unabashedly sized her up, maybe for the first time, considering her fully. How long had Run bestowed the miko with that sisterly honorific? 

“Hn.” He swept his gaze over the woman, seeing as she fumbled with the strange container in her hands. 

“It’s nothing really, just a little something from my home” She waved her hand in mock bashfulness. Though flustered, Kagome hadn’t forgotten her self-appointed mission. She knew Sesshomaru was a curious creature by nature. She refused to give up more information than necessary. He’d have to come to her for answers. 

To Sesshomaru, the substance did not appear to be having any long lasting ill effects on his ward. Was it some sort of drug? Was this responsible for the fit of hysterics that descended upon the two? The miko stirred the thick mass in the strange pot she carried. Scenting the air, its aroma wafted towards him. It smelled unlike anything he’d encountered before. 

It smelled delicious. 

“Miko.” 

This was it. She had trained her attention on the demon lord and saw the moment the spark of curiosity flitted across his gaze. 

“Hai, Sesshomaru-sama?’ She continued to stir the peanut butter around in the jar, hoping the smell would be released more strongly into the air. 

“What is this substance you have given my ward?” He was the picture of disinterest, eyes gazing at some distant point on the horizon, busying himself by running his hand once across his mokomoko. 

Knowing the demon lord was painfully direct in all his dealings, Kagome realized he must be really tempted to put on this kind of show.

His actions confirmed her theory. She had him. 

“Would you like to try it?” Kagome offered him the handle of the heaping spoonful.

He would deny the small flare of his nostrils, and the twitch at the bottom of his mokomoko if anyone questioned him. 

“I do not eat human food, priestess” 

Kagome internally congratulated his commitment to his image. He even mustered a small sneer on his face. 

“Of course Sesshomaru-sama. How silly of me” Kagome smiled knowingly at the stubborn dog in front of her. Making a small show of it, she swiped a finger across the spoon and plopped it her mouth, humming in satisfaction, before setting the jar beside her on the stump. She could feel his eyes follow her movements.

“Well I’m sure you have more important things to do with your time, Sesshomaru-sama. I have a few things to take care of myself before nightfall, so I’ll take my leave. Safe travels. Rin, have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow” 

“Yes! Thank you again Kagome-oneesan, Rin will see you soon!” 

Sesshomaru didn’t respond, instead turning on his heel,he departed towards the village, no doubt escorting Rin who trailed after him talking animatedly about something or other. 

Kagome didn’t call after them when she saw the jar of peanut butter was mysteriously gone. 

…

Elsewhere, with legendary control, Lord Sesshomaru, Ruler of the West and powerful Daiyoukai, resisted the urge to smack his lips when the miko’s strange and addictive morsel stuck to the roof of his mouth. 

The proud dog demon dissolved the empty plastic container with acid. 

There could be no evidence of his lapse of control.

[lesboinspace]

AtLA Zine Piece

This was written for @atlazine :D I was assigned Air so I wrote this focusing on Aang, but also added as many characters who’ve impacted him as I could~ Look out for leftover sales!

A Hero’s Love

Word Count: 1,998

Rating: G

Summary: About a decade since awakening from his snow globe, Aang prepares himself for his most pressing challenge yet: summoning the courage to propose to the most incredible person he's ever met. With the help of many old friends, Aang will do just that without looking too much like a babbling, love-stricken fool.

Aang fell in love with Katara the moment their eyes met. Of course, he hadn’t known to correlate such awe with newfound love right away, but even as a child he could sense how the waterbender left a mark on him within moments of occupying the same space. The girl's gaze had been full of concern and curiosity, her aura demanding the younger boy's attention even while his chilled mind was rebooting after spending a century as a popsicle.

She was, and still is, the most beautiful soul he's ever encountered. That day, as Katara’s ocean-esque eyes collided with Aang's cloudy greys, he knew she was special. Years later, Aang's feelings for Katara haven't dimmed, only intensified with each second he shared at her side. Now, blossoming into an adult, the Avatar was set on acting out what was once mere fantasy to him when he was young: asking his beloved to spend the rest of her days with him.

But before doing so, Aang wished to spread word of this decision and, consequently, the joy that comes with it. Aang would finally propose to the woman that had saved his life and stolen his heart while spreading the jittery excitement he feels with those who've supported him along the way. Eager to share, the Avatar had soared through the skies once again, saddled on Appa's warm back with Momo perched on his shoulder.

First on Aang's journey had been Guru Pathik. This may seem strange, as the wise man had been the one who previously demanded Aang let go of Katara. However, it’s precisely because of this that the Avatar visited him before anyone else. After the war, Aang never had a chance to return to the guru and question the believed importance of severing ties.

Aang, though he struggled to admit it, harbored a little resentment for Pathik after he went against his teachings. He still respected the elder, but part of him was eager to face Pathik, to stand proud knowing that he made the better choice as a boy rather than abiding by the wise man's ruling. He was determined to marry the one Pathik told him to leave behind, so Aang was as spiteful as he could ever be. Despite this ire, Aang truly hoped that he and Pathik could reconcile over the most pleasant of news.

Upon landing, the two shared some niceties before Aang's desire to open up overwhelmed him. “I’m going to marry her, you know. If I’d listened to you, she would’ve died.” Aang could barely look at the guru when he said this, mixed feelings of avoided grief and desperation swirling about his mind. Pathik wasn’t blind to this, and quickly sat the Avatar down as he began emptying his thoughts.

“Connections to others limit our ability to prosper. Any ties to this world and its people weaken our chance to explore the strength laying dormant within.” Aang did his best to sit still and listen, but he couldn’t cease the curling of his toes and twitching nose. He’d waited a long time to hear Pathik’s explanation, but it was harder than expected to eye the man responsible for Katara’s near-death experience.

He was so restless that Aang was oblivious to Pathik’s similar discomfort. The elder shifted his hands from his knees to his calf over and over again, running his fingertips along the fabric as he spoke. He too struggled to hold eye contact with the man he hurt. “I didn't wish to harm you with my judgment. I thought I was doing what had to be done, both for you and the fate of us all. It seems that… I may have been wrong, in your case at least. I hope you can forgive me.”

With each word Aang’s tight clench of his fists loosened just as the viper’s grip on his heart receded. “I haven't a single doubt that you and your beloved will be very happy together. Cherish her and those you love, young man.” Both men’s gazes steadily rose, meeting for the first time since Pathik began illustrating his convictions that were left wrongly unspoken for years. The guru smiled at Aang, taking in all that the Avatar had become without him.

“Your ties to them seem to make you stronger. I'm sure dear Gyatso would agree.” The conversation dissipated any lingering frustration in Aang's heart, unaware that so much had existed until Pathik’s sincere admission of regret. Aang pulled the elder into a hug when he initially intended to part ways after a stiff, procedural bow. He experienced an unexpected ease wash over him, a tension in his stomach unraveling once his reconnection with the elder appeased his perturbed psyche.

Driven by the gratifying experience, Aang immediately met up with another man from his past— though undeniable wisdom and age is all that connects the two elders. King Bumi jumped on Aang upon his arrival, and the two puffed out giddy, exhausted breaths. The longtime friends discussed the good old days before Aang announced he was planning to propose.

The king was so ecstatic that he moved to tackle him again. However, the Avatar was ready the second time around—though just barely pivoting away. Nevertheless, the king was undeterred. For several minutes he continued to leap at Aang, who somehow managed to stay untouched. He was out of breath until Bumi came to a sudden halt and offered some sort of approving nod, like their game of cat and mouse equated to something far beyond Aang's comprehension.

With that, Bumi resumed his full height and rubbed Aang's forehead as if he were a fortune teller prodding his crystal ball for answers. The Avatar merely stood in silence, holding in a snort while he waited for his friend to finish his inner analysis. “You've grown so much, yet your spirit has remained passionate and humble. You'd be surprised how often power corrupts. You're still the friend I made all those years ago, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm sure that spunky waterbender gal feels the same.”

Aang nearly teared up at the sentiment. Just as he placed a hand on Bumi’s shoulder, the elder grinned before slamming the unsuspecting Avatar onto his back. The two friends continued to run about for hours until Aang insisted for his own safety that they stop. With a tight hug that both men groaned through, laughing through the glorious agony, the king and the Avatar parted ways.

Aang set out to the Southern Water Tribe to meet with the last wise man on his list: Hakoda. The surprise visit prompted Katara’s father to suspect exactly what the Avatar wished to discuss. He ushered Aang into his home, seeking privacy for the topic. “If you’re here to ask for my approval in marrying my daughter, do know that it’s not necessary; Katara is a grown woman who doesn’t need her father cradling her, but I appreciate your sentiment nonetheless.”

Hakoda’s shoulders shook as he emitted a low chuckle at Aang’s wide eyes and tense frame. “Come now, don’t look so embarrassed. Why else would you be here? I don’t suppose you plan to confess your feelings to my son and marry him instead?” The Avatar smiled sheepishly and rubbed his neck, joining Hakoda in laughter.

Just as the men made earnest, understanding eye contact, an ear-shattering scream disturbed the moment. Sokka barged in, gaping like the recent catch of fish balanced on his back. “You’re finally going to do it? Okay, so when are you planning on asking, exactly? Oh, and where? How? I have a million questions, man! Or, wait, I guess I can call you brother now, huh?” His babbling was met with blank stares which quickly melted into bright smiles. The men spoke of the future until nightfall, and Aang said his goodbyes, his soul satisfied at the reciprocated excitement from his closest companions.

Each meeting had left the Avatar with a newfound clarity, and he now feels ready to propose to Katara. Knowing that he and Katara would appreciate the hijinks of it now that time and fear have passed, Aang brings Katara to Ember Island after requesting its theater group to put on the same reenactment of their journeys solely for the couple. As expected, Aang and Katara laugh throughout the entire production.

Aang admires the waterbender’s uncontrollable chuckles and glistening eyes, growing eager for the play to end so he can propose. Once the curtains fall, the couple clap and cheer before Aang tugs Katara out of her seat, guiding her to the beach. The two gaze in silence at the shimmering waters, both sneaking not so subtle glances at each other for a marvelous eternity. Aang almost hates that he has to break their trance for any reason at all, but he just can’t wait any longer—not with how beautifully illuminated she is under the moonlight.

“Katara, there’s something that I want to ask you. The thing is, uh, you see…”

“Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“Hang on, let me get through this,” Aang holds up a palm while rubbing his temple with the other, forehead creasing. The Avatar curtains his eyes, vacuuming up oxygen through his nostrils as if he’s never had any fill his lungs before. “Okay, so when two people love each other very much—”

His hands retract to his center, fingers spreading out and motioning to the air. Aang continues the anxious spasming of his limbs until Katara's words process in his overloading mind. “Wait, what? How did… I mean, who told you?”

“You shouldn’t have trusted Sokka. That goof is terrible at keeping secrets, especially from me.” An airy chuckle tumbles out of the waterbender, recalling the event from just a few nights ago, “I barely looked at the guy before he broke down into gibberish, going from formal venues to invitations or something. All it took was a few seconds of hard eye contact for him to snitch every last detail… and then some. I know way too much about Sokka's love for Suki now, it's kind of disturbing. I'll spare you the trauma.”

With a sigh, Aang smacks the center of his arrow, though his taut expression is quick to dissipate. He shrugs his shoulders, chalking up the reveal to one of Sokka's many charming moments. “Figures. I didn’t even tell him since I was sure he would blab. He was eavesdropping when I was talking to your—um, never mind.” The two share a laugh, but Aang’s nervous rocking on his heels silences both of them. “So, you really mean it? You'll… marry me?”

Katara’s smile stretches further as the Avatar eyes her from under his dark lashes. “Of course, sweetie. If I’d never met you, there’s no way I would’ve discovered half of what I’m capable of. I was able to become strong like my mother wanted me to be, and I even got to help save the world with the Avatar himself. Now, I’m—” She pauses her spiel when Aang’s head tilts to the side, though roses seem to bloom within his cheeks as they burn red. “Okay, okay, sorry. Enough about me.” Clearing her throat, Katara sets her hands on his shoulders. “What I’m trying to say is that you’re everything to me, Aang. I’d be honored to spend the rest of my life with you.”

His face bursting with color, Aang lowers his gaze “I’m the one who’s honored to be with you... I may have saved the world, but you, ya know, saved me and all. And not just from being a snow globe.”

“I know.”

With the promise made between them, Aang and Katara melt into each other’s arms. They seal this new bond with a kiss while a gentle breeze twirls through their bodies. It's almost as if the Air Nomads’ spirits were applauding their pupil, embracing the pair in gusts of caresses like the lovers are the heart of a hurricane.

[the-foxes-fangs]

I Wish I Was the Moon Part IX

As always, tagging the wonderful @louveau​ and @you-mass-effect-my-dragon-age​ <3 extra tag for @otomediary who has been so patient <3

Part I//Part II//Part III/Part IV//Part V//Part VI//Part VII//Part VIII

Warnings: Angst, otherwise sfw

***

He had left her regretfully, slipping away in the dead stillness of the winter night, the cold stealing her warmth from him and leaving nothing but a dull tired ache behind. He wished that he could taste her, could know her scent, could burn it into his memory the way that the texture of her skin and the feeling of her hair slipping through his fingers stayed with him, and would for far longer than he wanted to admit to himself. 

Changing back into his usual clothing in the icy light of dawn made their time together feel even more like a fading dream, already receding into an unfathomable distance. There were moments, few, but vivid, that divided his life cleanly into what had been before, and what came after. He could feel the demarcation like a prison door slamming closed. He had only himself to blame for making it a ragged tear and not a clean cut. 

He found Kyubei waiting for him as agreed, and greeted him with a nod. 

“As you predicted, my lord, the former nun is one of Kennyo’s, but she was paid by someone else.” He said as they rode astride. 

“Those monks have just as much reason to hate me as Nobunaga, but I don’t see him having the patience for fighting by eliminating the Oda vassals one by one.” Mitsuhide answered, too tired to be indirect. 

It had been unlikely that the attempt on Nobunaga’s life had come from peasants plotting a rebellion but part of him had hoped that there was an outside chance that he could clean up the mess without blowing the embers of war into a conflagration. There were simple, straightforward reasons for a peasant rebellion-- concessions could be made, needs could be met.

But the tangled warp and weft of personal pride, loyalty, spite, ambition and vengefulness that drove those higher in the hierarchy was impossible to satisfy by its very nature. The ghosts of Mt. Hiei and Tanba castle wouldn’t be laid to rest so easily. 

The day was still and gloomy, the town barely stirring as he rode toward the castle to make his official return. A crust had frozen over the snow that creaked under the hooves of his horse, and made every pace sound more reluctant than the last. He caught a glimpse of someone in green beside the castle wall, before they vanished with a speed and skill that marked them as a spy. 

Guards greeted him ceremoniously, as did his retainers, lined up as neatly as archers on the battlefield, and like archers, it was impossible to tell just which one had an arrow nocked for him. 

He arranged for a council to be called by mid-day, and spent the rest of the morning examining intercepted correspondence and interrogating them in the guise of casual conversations. He relied on instinct as much as experience to keep from overplaying his hand, to keep his true loyalties a question that became a trap. The field narrowed itself as the day dragged on and he began to assemble the various bits of information into a cohate pattern. 

Staff filed in and out to answer the same handful of questions during the council-- questions whose answers were less relevant than the reaction they elicited from from those being asked and those watching. 

She finally filed in dutifully behind the other seamstresses, attempting with moderate success to stem her habit or boldly studying people. She was an object of curiosity in her own right by now, drawing gazes that ranged from lecherous to calculating as she approached the dais. 

“Since you’ve only recently joined us, I have no questions for you.” He said, feigning as much disinterest as was possible. 

She kept her face down, but he caught the most fleeting glimpse of amusement in her expression before she composed herself, bowing lower than she ever normally would’ve and addressing him with more formality than she had used since the night they had met. “Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.” 

Perfectly polite to everyone watching them and outrageously mocking just for him. He kept his usual smile fixed on his face, but he was fighting laughter. It was hard to believe that she was the same wide-eyed, terrified woman that had emerged from the fire acting as if she had only just fallen to earth that same night. Whatever her unfamiliarity with the mores and customs of the upper class, only a fool would deny that she had more than enough grit to make up for it. 

By the time he made his way to her in the night he had a reasonable outline of the conspiracy and its participants, and had formulated a loose plan. She was asleep, and he sat down beside her, her face illuminated in a circle of winter moonlight, as soft and cold as the hand he laid upon her head. She stirred and blinked sleepily at him before she sat up with a yawn. 

“I had given up on seeing you tonight,” she said, her voice thick with sleep, yawning again and adding “my lord,” sardonically. 

“My but you’ve grown bold. Wherever has the little mouse who was afraid to look me in the eye gone?” He answered, as he felt along the floor for the hiding place he knew was there. 

“I wasn’t afraid of you, as much as I was afraid of your mind-reading abilities.” She said offhandedly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. 

He loosened the floorboard and left the letter detailing the names of the conspirators in the hole below. 

“Now I wonder why you’d be afraid of me reading your mind?” He asked, returning to sit next to her and smooth out her bedhead. 

“Not everyone wants their barely restrained lust to be an open book a few days into meeting someone, naturally.” She answered, leaning against his shoulder comfortably as he draped an arm over her. 

“Oh is that all? You did a wretched job of hiding it.” He replied, pulling her closer. 

“I have no regrets.” She said with a soft laugh. “Did you know that you always, always smell like gunpowder?” She asked as she leaned into his chest.

“I suppose I do.” He answered, flatly. “You’re taking too many pages from my book, my dear. A normal person would’ve asked me what I just hid away.” 

“I’ve never once claimed to be normal. But I do have enough pattern recognition to realize that you’ll tell me what you want, when you want, if you want. I’m not here to change you.” She answered, looking out the small window into the clear frozen sky. 

“How fortunate for us both, since I lack both the capacity and desire.” 

He looked down at her face, and tried to pick out the shadows there from the night. “If something should happen to me, find Kyubei and tell him that I left a letter for the Oda forces there. He’ll get you back to Azuchi.” 

“I guess we’re both a little unusual tonight. You’re being very direct.” 

“I’m just telling you what I want to, little mouse.” 

“I’m guessing that means that you’ve got an idea of who sent the haori?” 

“Your commitment to not asking questions faded fast.” He answered, looking into her searching eyes. 

“Curiosity killed the cat,” she said, quirking a brow up at him, and adding “but satisfaction brought it back to life.” 

He stretched languidly and slid down into the warmth of her bedding, head on her lap as if it belonged there. There was no calculation in her expression, only honest concern. “I have a good idea. Although I think I saw an Uesugi spy rather far from home this morning, so the ravens may truly be circling.” He said, as she ran her fingers rhythmically through his hair. 

“I had the impression that Kenshin Uesugi was too direct for an assassination attempt from sitting in on war councils.” She said, tracing the line of his jaw with a feather light touch, as if memorizing his face. 

“He keeps rather shifty company, I’m afraid.” He said, and reached up to fold her hand in his. 

“I don’t expect any details, Mitsuhide. But I hope that you aren’t planning anything reckless.” She said, concern on her face and in her tone.

“Have you confused me with Masamune?” He asked with a low laugh at her expense, a cheap cover for the way his heart lurched at the care on her face. Unearned, undeserved. 

“You’re too good at being yourself for me to confuse you with anyone else. But for all your planning, you don’t seem to care much about yourself. You don’t eat, you don’t sleep. That’s a kind of recklessness too.” 

“And here I thought you weren’t trying to change me.” He said, reaching up to twine a strand of her hair around his finger idly. 

“I’m not. Just making an observation. Even your plans can fail, good as they might be, and it frightens me to think that you come in last in all that calculation.” 

He dropped his hand and sighed. “What was it you said? Something to the effect that one person’s life can’t outweigh a hundred or a thousand others.” 

“I said it and I believe it, but you can’t live by that idea alone. It’s not always clear what the greater good is. Thinking that any one person can decide that on their own is what leads to massacres.”

He froze in place for a moment, stiffening under her hands, mind flooded with memories of smoke and gunfire and blood in the air. She was too far under his skin. Too close to the unforgivable truth. 

“No retort? Did you fall asleep in the middle of a conversation with me?” She asked, softly, nearly to herself. 

“Your childish philosophy is far too amusing to put me to sleep, little mouse.  What if I said that I had a massacre on my head? Would I not be serving the greater good to die for that?” He asked, fighting to keep his voice level. 

“Alright, I’ll play along.” She said, and brushed his hair out of his face. “I think I can safely presume that you had a plan that didn’t involve killing innocents.” 

“I’m not sure why the presumption matters-- what someone intends is far less important than the outcome they create.” He countered, bitterly. 

“Even if that’s true, it doesn’t follow that your death is a good outcome.” 

“Why it almost sounds as if you, earnest lover of peace and freedom, don’t believe in justice.” 

She looked down at him with sadness in her eyes that drove the knife he’d put between his own ribs deeper. 

“Of course I believe in justice. I just think...” she paused thoughtfully, and continued, “no matter what you’ve done, the only way to atone for it is to live and try to save as many people as you can. All of us will die some time, so why not live while you can and try to do what good you can?” 

“And if my idea of good just results in more bloodshed?” 

She cupped his cheek gently and laid her other hand over his heart, and he hoped she couldn’t feel it pitching in protest at the sensation of being wounded by her kindness. 

“You have an uncanny mind, Mitsuhide, but you’re not a god. Your best is good enough.” 

The moonlight was moving away from the window, leaving them in deeper darkness and a heavy silence that hung between them like a chasm. 

“We’re never going to agree, little seamstress.” He said, at last. 

“Even so--” she began, with a sigh, cut off as he sat up to kiss her tenderly. He pulled her into his lap, arms wrapped around her, his cheek pressed against her hair. 

“It will be over soon enough.” He murmured, and felt her shudder, reached up to feel the heat of a tear as it ran down her face. 

Her voice was raw and low as she recited-

“Winter has frozen its double-edged breath   and blows it down from the icy heavens,   like a dry fire coming apart in threads,   like a huge ruin that topples on soldiers.   Snow where horses have left their hoof-marks   is a solitude of grief that gallops on.   Snow like split fingernails, or claws badly worn,   like a malice out of heaven or a final contempt...   This violence that splits off from the core of winter,   raw hunger tired of being hungry and cold,   hangs over the naked with an eternal grudge   that is white, speechless, dark, starving, and fatal...    Soldiers are so much like rock crystals   that only fire, only flame shapes them,   and they fight with icy cheekbones, with their mouths,   and turn whatever they attack into memories of ash.”

He felt the sting of every word as if she had slapped him. Felt her grieving for the things she wanted from him that he did not have. 

“You were bound to hate me.” He whispered at last. 

“That’s the hell of it, Mitsuhide,” she answered, voice hoarse and heavy, “I don’t hate you. I never could. I love you so much it hurts. I know that it’s one sided, I know that I’m nothing but an amusement to you, and I don’t care about that.”

He closed his eyes against the razor edge of her words and felt her draw a ragged breath. 

“You treat yourself with such cold indifference. As if it doesn’t matter whether you live or die, whether you’re in pain, whether you’re lonely or sad. But until the day we part, and even after that, for the rest of my life-- I won’t think of you like that.” 

Her tears fell on to his sleeve and it would’ve been so much less painful if she were weeping for herself, if she didn’t see him through such clear bright eyes.

***

Oof sorry this took 20 years to update! I hope to get back to updating regularly <3 Thanks to all of you who are still reading this. 

This chapter’s poem is  “The Soldier and the Snow” by Spanish poet Miguel Hernandez

[imagineteamfreewill]

Hopefully

Title: Hopefully

Pairing: Mermaid!Reader x Mermaid!Dean

Word Count: 2,896

Warnings: Angst, mentions of character death, subtle pining

Summary: A late-night talk with Y/N dredges up something that Dean had been trying to forget.

A/N: This is part two of the Back to the Start series! Feedback is greatly appreciated. Enjoy, and reblog!

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Back to the Start Masterlist

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Weeks passed as Dean and Y/N settled into a routine together. She was adjusting quickly to life on land, but he still sensed that she was hesitant whenever she encountered something new. So, Dean stuck by her side and helped her to learn as much as possible. He answered all of her questions, usually without complaint, and he found that he enjoyed having her around now just as much as he had that very first day. In fact, he was learning that he was even more infatuated with her than he’d originally thought. He missed her whenever he had to go into town to get something or to go to work, and at night he often fought the urge to get out of bed and check on her.

When he’d told his co-worker Benny about how weird he’d been feeling around her, the man had simply smiled and muttered something about him “falling for her”. Dean wasn’t quite sure if that was a good thing or not, but hopefully, he would find out before she had to return home.

The sun had already sunk below the horizon by the time Dean arrived back at the house after work. It had been a long, frustrating shift and he was ready to be in bed, but when he opened the front door to find Y/N absolutely fascinated by the hour-long infomercials that were beginning to play on TV, he knew that he’d be up for a while longer. She always had questions, and he couldn’t deny the fact that he loved how curious she was about everything. It was… endearing.

After slipping off his shoes and jacket, Dean headed into the living room.

Y/N reluctantly tore her eyes away from the commercial when he walked in, giving him a bright smile in the process. “You’re home!” she cried.

Dean couldn’t help but smile in return. “I sure am, sweetheart. Whatcha watching?”

Y/N glanced back at the TV and frowned. “It’s for some kind of… storage device. You put food in it so it doesn’t become inedible. You should get one of these. Your food is always disgusting by the next day,” she noted, her voice serious as she looked up at him once more. “I could call them for you. I’m sure they’d like to talk to you.”

Sighing, Dean settled down on the couch beside her and grabbed the remote, then changed the channel to a late-night sitcom. It was a rerun, he noticed, and he leaned back against the cushions.

“I don’t need any food storage containers, Y/N. The things they sell on TV usually break pretty soon anyway. It’s easier to just eat all the food right away.” Looking over at her, Dean realized that she hadn’t heard a word he had said. Y/N was completely focused on the sitcom, a small smile playing on her lips as she caught onto one of the jokes.

Neither he nor Y/N spoke until the show had finished. Finally, she yawned and settled against his shoulder, then said, “I missed you today.”

That took Dean by surprise. He hadn’t expected Y/N to even think of him while he was at work; he’d shown her how to work the TV before he’d left, and by the time he was climbing into his car, Y/N was completely enraptured by the cartoons he’d put on for her.

“Really?” he mused, not quite sure how to respond. No one had ever told him that they’d missed him before. That and the fact that she was comfortable around him to rest against him was enough to put him at a loss for words.

Y/N nodded. “Yeah. I had lots of questions about the shows and no one was here to answer them.”

So she didn’t really miss me, Dean thought as his heart sank. She just missed having someone here to help her understand the human world.

“Well, if you were sticking around longer I’d get you a phone so you could text me, but I don’t think you’ll need one of those. Your leg is almost healed,” Dean replied. He was right. The pale skin of her leg was no longer marred by the angry red gash. Instead, it had healed into a long, pink scar. It was still sensitive to the touch, and Y/N sometimes complained that it pained her, but Dean was beginning to wonder if that was really true. He’d had his own fair share of cuts, and he’d never had any kind of pain afterward.

“I want to pick a show now,” Y/N said, pulling Dean out of his thoughts. She reached for the remote and he handed it to her without a word.

As she flipped from channel to channel, Dean tried to ignore how she’d cuddled up against him, and how he didn’t mind the weight of her against him even after his long and tiring shift. Hesitantly, he moved his arm so that it was around her shoulders, and almost immediately Y/N snuggled closer to accommodate his embrace.

“Dean?” she asked as she began to go through the channels for the second time. Dean hummed in reply. “How come you never ask me about being a mermaid?”

Dean tried to keep himself from growing tense as he glanced down at her. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” she began, chewing on her lip as she finally stopped on another channel playing sitcoms, “I would think that if a human saw a mermaid, he’d have a lot of questions. I mean, you haven’t asked about my tail or my gills or what I eat or even if there are other mermaids… Aren’t you curious?”

It took Dean a minute to formulate a reply. He had to be careful about what he said; if he was too blasé, it would look like he was trying to avoid the subject, but if he started asking her tons of questions, it would seem like he was trying to cover something up.

Carefully, he pulled his arm away from her, and the awkwardness of the situation almost made him cringe. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you. You’re trying to adjust to my world and I don’t want you to feel homesick on top of that,” he answered.

Y/N lifted her head and looked up at him, a soft smile on her face. “That’s very kind of you, Dean, but you can ask me anything about my life. I have nothing to hide. It would be nice to get to tell someone about my life,” she said. “Besides, everyone else I live with already knows everything because they all live the same way I do.” She didn’t look away as she spoke, and Dean felt his heart lurch a little at the earnestness in her eyes. She was being so truthful with him, yet he had done nothing but lie.

Well, almost nothing. Telling her that she could stay as long as she wanted wasn’t a lie. And I wasn’t lying when I said that I would buy her the things she needed to live on land, like clothes and towels and a phone.

“Go ahead, Dean,” Y/N urged. “I promise it’s okay.”

After a moment, Dean asked, “Why is your tail the same color as your eyes? Are all mermaids’ tails like that?” Of course, he already knew the reply, but he tried to sound as genuine as possible.

Smiling, Y/N nodded and replied, “Yes. If you were a mermaid, your tail would be just as beautiful as your eyes are.”

She didn’t seem to recognize how flirtatious her words were, and Dean raised an eyebrow. “You think my eyes are beautiful?”

Suddenly realizing her implications, Y/N flushed and ducked her head shyly. “Yes, but I don’t mean to… to…” She searched for the words, and after a few seconds it was clear that she didn’t know what she was trying to say.

“It’s okay,” Dean told her. He smiled to try and relieve some of her discomfort, and when she finally smiled back, he continued, “And what about my name?”

“Your name?”

Dean nodded. “You said that my name is legendary or something?”

“Not quite,” Y/N asked. She rested her head against Dean’s shoulder once more and went back to watching the TV as she continued, “As a kid, my mom always told me about a legendary mermaid named Dean. He, his brother Sam, and their parents were all royalty. They took care of all the mermaids in the Pacific, and everyone adored them.”

Y/N grew quiet. Her eyes stayed focused on the characters onscreen, and when she didn’t speak anymore, Dean carefully laced his fingers with hers. Both of their hands rested on his thigh, but Y/N didn’t try to move them, nor did she object.

“What happened?” Dean murmured. He was already dreading the answer, but he had to know.

Her voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke again. “They died. They were attacked by a sea demon while on their way to visit a pod. None of them made it.”

Dean closed his eyes. He had been foolishly hoping that the other mermaids had made up some fanciful tale of him and his family making it out alive, then living in hiding while they tracked down the demon once more, but Y/N’s story told him otherwise.

Silently, Dean let go of her hand and got to his feet. He was already halfway up the stairs when Y/N spoke up, saying, “I’m sorry if I upset you, Dean. It’s just a story, you know—something that moms tell their kids to scare them into not swimming into deep, unknown waters. Dean and his family never existed, at least not in real life.”

“I know,” he replied, pausing on the steps. His hand rested on the railing for a moment longer before he dropped it to his side and turned to face her. Y/N was watching him from the couch, her eyes wide with worry and curiosity. Dean knew he was acting strangely by leaving suddenly, but the memories that had resurfaced were too painful for him to ignore.

“I’m fine,” he added. “It’s just been a long day and I need to get some sleep.”

Y/N nodded in response, but he could tell she looked unconvinced.

“Dean, please come tell me what’s wrong,” she pleaded.

Shaking his head, Dean went to finish climbing the stairs when he heard the TV volume being turned down.

“Dean, I only want to help. You don’t look fine and I want to help you,” Y/N said. Her voice was kind, but Dean sensed an edge of pity in her words, and that was enough to make his temper flare. He didn’t want to talk about it, couldn’t she see that?

“I said, I’m fine!” he snapped. “You don’t need to constantly ask if I’m okay, Y/N! I’m fine!”

He hadn’t meant to yell; Dean would never intentionally yell at Y/N, at least not without a good reason to, but his anger had reared its ugly head, and the words had slipped out before he could stop them.

Thinking of the terrified look on his younger brother’s face and the fear in his mother’s eyes is what had made him angry. He wasn’t angry at Y/N, of course, but at himself and the monster they’d been trying to draw away from the pod. His family hadn’t deserved to die, just like Dean didn’t deserve to live. Learning that mermaids talked about him and his family like they were nothing but an old wive’s tale had stung, and the memories of the only people he’d ever loved dying in front of him was too much to handle.

Y/N’s expression had turned wary at his shout, and Dean tried to ignore the way she’d flinched. She was sitting motionless on the couch as she waited for his next move. Fear filled her eyes.

Without another word, Dean continued on his way to a room. He shut the door and began to undress, then headed to the bathroom and started the shower.

“Clean, fresh water,” he murmured to himself. “No more saltwater, no more memories, no more mermaids, nothing. This is my life now. I’m human. I’m not a prince, I’m not a mermaid, I’m not a warrior—I’m human through and through.”

The water ran hot and clear as he finished peeling off his clothes from work, and as he stepped into the spray, Dean tried to ignore the phantom feeling of the demon’s long, curved claws digging into the meaty flesh of his leg. He knew that the pain wasn’t real, but the muscles twinged in remembrance and he had to brace himself against the slick shower wall so that he wouldn’t fall to his knees.

Still holding himself up, Dean closed his eyes and tried to picture Y/N’s smile. She always had a way of warding off the nightmares and bad memories—at least, she had in the past few weeks they’d spent together. She was probably afraid of him now that he’d shown her what he was really like, but he could deal with an apology in the morning. Right now all Dean wanted was to think of a future with her, rather than her fear of him and the past he’d been trying so hard to forget.

_______________

You didn’t move as you watched Dean disappear up the stairs. He’d yelled at you, which was something you’d never thought that he would do. To be honest, you didn’t even think that he was capable of yelling. Sure, he’d seemed gruff at first, but from the moment you’d come into his home, Dean had been nothing but gentle with you.

When he’d finally gone out of sight, you let out the breath you’d been holding and relaxed back against the cushions. The TV was still quietly playing and the canned laughter did nothing to fill the dreadful silence that now filled the living room. Unsure of what to do, you picked up the remote and turned it off, leaving you sitting in the dark and quiet. Upstairs, the shower turned on, and you found yourself wondering if Dean ever cried in the shower like you had during your first two nights on land. Of course, Dean had heard you, and he’d been quick to comfort you. ‘Life on earth is hard,’ he’d said, ‘but you’ll get used to it.’

Sighing, you got up from your seat and followed Dean’s steps, instead going into your own bedroom. You shut the door behind you and slowly pulled on your pajamas, then crawled into bed.

The room was chillier than the rest of the house because Dean had insisted that you left the window open so that you would never be without the sound of the waves, even at night. As you got comfortable under the covers, a breeze came in from through the open window and you breathed in deeply. The smell of the salt eased your anxiety about Dean’s swift anger. Turning to face the window, you watched as the sheer white curtains billowed out as the ocean breeze blew in, and you smiled softly at the sight. Dean had bought them specifically for the room the week before. They were gentle, like the breeze itself or sparkling waves on a sunny summer day, and they were absolutely beautiful, like the cream-colored seashells that lined your room in your childhood home. I should tell Dean about the seashells, you thought as your mind began to wander. He’d love them if he could see them.

Outside, you realized, stars would be shining in the deep blue sky. The young mermaids that lived down below would be snuggling down in their beds so that their mothers would tell them a story much like the one you’d told Dean. The thought made you think of your own mother, who was surely worrying about you, and a pang of sadness went through you. Soon you’d be going back to her, but you’d also be leaving Dean behind. You’d miss Dean almost as much as you missed your family now—maybe more. Your sadness deepened when you realized that you might be spending your last few days on land with him angry at you.

Hopefully, Dean won’t be so angry in the morning. I’ll get up and make him eggs like he showed me to, and maybe then he’ll forgive me for whatever I did. Hopefully.

As dreams started to slip into your head and the unhappy thoughts began to fade, you closed your eyes and tried to picture your mother’s smiling face. Instead, however, Dean’s smile filled your mind. The crinkles that appeared at the corners of his vibrant green eyes never failed to cheer you up, and you smiled a little to yourself as you remembered the feeling of his arm around your shoulders and his hand in yours.

Surely Dean wouldn’t stay mad at you, not after tonight. The two of you had gotten so close since you’d washed up on the beach outside his home, and one step back wasn’t that far. Hopefully you could recover from this and everything would be exactly like it was before.

_______________

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[laurelsofhighever]

The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 12 - The Sword and the Hand that Wields It

The winter of 9:31 Dragon draws to a bitter close. Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, hero of the people, has revealed a string of secret letters between King Cailan and Empress Celene of Orlais. The specifics are unclear, but suspicion of Orlesians run deep, and there are always those willing to take advantage of political scandal. Declaring the king unfit to rule, Loghain has retreated to his southern stronghold in Gwaren, with Queen Anora by his side. Fear and greed threaten to tear Ferelden apart. In Denerim, Cailan busies himself with maps and battle plans, hoping to stem the tide of blood before it can start. In the Arling of Edgehall, King Maric’s bastard son fights against the rebels flocking to the traitor’s banner, determined to free himself from the shadow of his royal blood. And in Highever, Rosslyn Cousland, bitter at being left behind, watches as her father and brother ride to war, unaware of the betrayal lurking in the smile of their closest friend.

Words: 4372 Chapter summary: Rosslyn makes a triumphant return after weeks of battle, but things don't go quite as planned.

Art in this chapter by the amazing @allenvooreef 

Chapter 1 on AO3 This chapter on AO3 Masterpost here

Fifteenth day of Drakonis, 9:32 Dragon

“They’ve been busy.”

Rosslyn glanced at Morrence, who grinned widely atop her gelding, and shook her head in exasperation. Now that they were within sight of Deerswall, she felt the tension in her shoulders ease a little, but she lacked the energy for anything more. The sun was barely above the horizon, and already her cavalry had been riding for over two hours.

Almost a month ago, she had sent small units of fighters into Highever’s heartlands with orders to disrupt Howe’s takeover of her home in any way they could. The rogues blocked roads, stole supplies, and showed the people there was still a fight to be had, if they wanted one. When had she followed barely a week later to raid the weakened Amaranthine patrols, stories of her tragedy had already spread and grown so that, wherever she went, the people rallied into open defiance and Howe’s soldiers swiftly learned to keep their hands to their sword hilts.

It was never enough. Stories whispered in taverns told how, wherever the enemy threatened, she swept in like a falcon out of the sun, never leaving anything but death in her wake, and the epithet stuck. She liked it. She had decided, in the grove at Deerswall, surrounded by the smell of damp moss and the whisper of her mother’s gods, that she would make Howe regret her escape, make him fear the very shadow of her name before she took her vengeance, and what better way to become the raptor most beloved of the Lady?

But the weeks of guerrilla fighting had taken their toll, and now the guards at the outer gate scrambled to salute as they called ahead to let everyone know of her return to Deerswall.

She had to admit, the work was impressive. Where before there were only lines of muddy tents, now there was a palisade, barracks, stables, training yards, and at the very centre a wooden keep still under scaffolding, crowned with the fluttering colours of all the vassals who had answered her muster. There were fewer than there should have been, but then again, word of her family’s murder had spread, and the Bannorn could not be blamed for deciding to wait before they committed themselves, especially when she had so few soldiers to protect them.

She shook the thought from her mind, smoothing the worry from her face to sit taller in her saddle. People – mostly refugees, by the look of them – were gathering along the main road to get a look at the troopers as they filed past. Rosslyn nodded to Morrence and within moments the cavalry settled into parade columns three abreast, trotting towards the keep with the Falcon of Highever proudly at their head. Lasan arched his marbled neck and flared his tail, and Rosslyn smiled at the way he flaunted himself for the crowd. The curved raptor’s beak moulded into her helmet hid the expression from the people watching, but it also hid the dark circles beneath her eyes and the stiffness caused by her bruises, so she kept it on. As all eyes turned to her, she felt glad that she had heeded her captain’s advice and already sent the injured ahead to the infirmary; in such uncertain times the people needed to see her victories, not what it cost to achieve them.

The main gate of the palisade groaned open ahead of her. The odours of sawn wood and animal dung, hot metal and baking bread, spilled out with the first glimpse of the keep, and the murmurs of the crowd grew louder. Someone was singing, though she didn’t catch the words. Teagan stood at the top of the steps that led into the hall, his expression too far away to see, while around him clustered the bevy of lords who had answered her call. She scanned the dais, out of mere idle curiosity, but twinge of disappointment fluttered in her gut nonetheless when nobody else appeared. Of course, it was silly to think –

“Lady Falcon! Lady Falcon!”

She caught a flash of yellow. Lasan caught it too and baulked, a catlike leap sideways that almost carried him into the crowd. Rosslyn might have reined him in, might have found her seat again and calmed the beating of her heart, but as her horse danced against the bit to face his unknown enemy, a man came barrelling into his path, yelling as he threw himself between the little girl and the threat of flailing hooves.

The world upended. Lasan reared, bellowing. Rosslyn grabbed for his mane, cursed as it slipped through her fingers, lost all sense in the one weightless instant when the sky lurched and blurred with the scared, shocked faces of the people behind her.

“My lady!”

She clung to her seat with only iron will, the specially designed prongs of the cavalry saddle digging into her thigh. The reins bunched in the hand gripped against the saddlebow. The other splayed as a brace against Lasan’s trembling neck. Through the thrill of her nerves, her nose filled with the sharp, dusty odour of equine sweat, the scuffed balsam of pine chippings from the path churned beneath his hooves. Distantly, under the ring of silence and snorted breath, she heard the sound of someone crying.

“Lady Rosslyn?” Morrence’s voice. “Are you alright?”

“Gabh air do shocair,” she muttered in Clayne as she slithered inelegantly the rest of the way to the ground. Her legs shook as her feet touched earth, but she kept her voice steady, soothing. “Bhith ciùin. Chaidh am blàr a tha thairis.”

Her charger’s ears flicked towards the sound of her voice as she came to his head. Every bunched muscle stood tense, his neck arched and eyes rolling, and her arms were barely long enough to reach up to his cheek, but by degrees her words reached through his training and his panic – calm, be calm, the battle is over – the proud head lowered, and Rosslyn allowed herself a breathy chuckle. “There, now that was silly of you, wasn’t it?”

Lasan snorted and gave her shoulder a good-natured shove.

“You can stand down, I’m fine,” she told the waiting Morrence, and glanced over at the man who had caused the uproar.

He flinched. His brawny arms wrapped more tightly around the child he had dived to protect, the fear in his expression betraying the soft reassurances he tried to whisper in her ear. The girl sniffled and buried herself deeper against her father’s leather smock, her sunshine yellow dress stained and the sprays of white Andraste’s grace braided into her hair thrown into disarray. A pair of guards stood on either side, grim-faced but resolute, waiting for orders.

She’s younger than Oren, Rosslyn realised, and had to push aside the clench in her chest. The people were watching. Lasan nudged her arm again.

“Is the child hurt?” Sawdust caked the back of her throat.

“N-no, just shaken.” The farrier darted a glance at the armoured men looming next to him, then back to his daughter, and finally to Rosslyn, earnest. “Please, Yer Ladyship, she meant no harm. It’s her name day, y’see, and she wanted’a see ye…” He faltered. “I shoulda kept a closer watch on her, I’m sorry.”

Around them, the crowd buzzed, waiting to see what Rosslyn would do. Her reputation as a warrior might make them cheer for her, her lucky escapes might be fodder for stories, but it was her response in this moment that would win or lose their loyalty forever. Easing out a slow breath, she reached up and undid the clasp that still held the falcon helmet in place, welcoming the cool air against her forehead when she removed it so the implacable mask of the Lady of Highever could fall away.

“What’s your name, girl?” she asked, as gently as she could.

The farrier’s eyes widened. He jiggled her on his hip to get her to look at him. “Are ye going te answer Lady Falcon?” He smiled encouragement, half-turning her in his arms so she could face Rosslyn directly.

The girl flushed, red as her hair. “M-Molly…” she answered, and hid herself away again.

“Your Ladyship,” her father prompted.

“… Y’ Ladyship,” Molly repeated dutifully.

Rosslyn’s frown softened. “Molly. You scared my horse.”

“Din’ mean to.” The girl sniffed. “Y’ Ladyship.”

“He’s a big, silly beast, and he meant nothing by being startled,” Rosslyn mused, taking a tentative step closer. “Would you like to make friends instead?”

Molly peeked out from her father’s shoulder, eyes wide, and nodded. Like something out of her bedtime stories, she watched as the towering roan charger plodded towards her, led at the lightest touch by the proud warrior maiden her father had said would save them all. The stallion’s ears pricked forward, a cautious regard that eased as every beat ticked by and nothing leaped out to attack him, until at last, with a greeting whuff of breath, he lowered his head to accept the feel of tiny, hopeful fingers.

“He’s so soft!” Molly’s giggle broke the bated silence of the onlookers. “Good horsie!”

The ghost of a smile touch Rosslyn’s lips. “His name is Lasan.”

“Lasan.” Molly smiled and repeated the name to herself, babbling compliments while the adults talked in serious voices and the horse basked in the attention, as if he hadn’t been preparing to kill everything within range of his hooves just moments before. She traced the velvet lines of his nostrils and the uneven white snip splashed between them, and beamed when he lipped at her palm, looking for a treat.

“I canna apologise enough, Yer Ladyship,” her father was saying. “I just panicked. She – she’s all I’ve got left.”

Rosslyn nodded, stroking a hand along her horse’s neck. “I understand.”

“Aye, I know.”

Stiffening, Rosslyn pressed her lips together and cleared her throat. “I’m glad she wasn’t hurt, at least. And that’s enough pampering for you, I think,” she added to Lasan, who swished his tail and grunted at the unexpected twitch in the reins.

“But he likes being petted!” Molly whined.

“He needs te go to the stables, pet, and have some breakfast,” her father explained. “He’s very tired.”

“Oh.” The girl sagged in his arms. “Alrigh’.”

“H’oway then, and say goodbye te Her Ladyship.”

Rosslyn smiled. “It was good to meet you, Molly.”

Suddenly shy again, Molly ducked her head and clung to her father’s shoulders, but smiled out as she mumbled, “Good’a meet ye too, Y’ Ladyship.”

“That’s it, now let’s –”

“Wait!”

Rosslyn turned, blinking in surprise. Molly wriggled on her father’s shoulder, fidgeting with her hair until a stalk of wilted white flowers came away in her fist. Not quite understanding, the farrier waited while Rosslyn bent her head to allow the gift to be knotted behind her ear.

“How does it look?” she asked when Molly leaned back to survey her handiwork.

“Good.”

“Thank you.” She straightened. “I will treasure it.”

“There’s a good lass. Let’s let Lady Falcon be on her way now.”

The little girl’s farewell followed Rosslyn all the way to the bottom of the keep steps, where the cluster of nobles had gathered to greet her. Though they all gave her respectful bows as she approached, only Teagan seemed genuinely pleased to see her alive and whole and untrampled. She passed Lasan’s reins to a groom with a final pat and nodded to Morrence, who took charge of dismissing the company.

It left her to deal with the nobles, all standing in a line: Bann Loren, watery-eyed and bald as an acorn; Telmen of Aidanthwaite, with wisps of grey in his dark hair; Crestwood’s Bann Auldubard, who could still be called a youth, if only just. And there in the centre was Bann Franderel, who had always given her father such headaches, his thin arms crossed over his thin chest, looking her over the way a polecat might regard a fledgling bird. It was he who had summoned her, like she was a dog to come to the whistle. Like she had nothing more important to do.

“Well met, my lords,” she said brightly, with a smile she didn’t feel. “It’s a lovely morning, don’t you think?”

“Made all the lovelier by your return, my lady,” Loren replied. He had always been a sycophant.

“It was perhaps more eventful than we were expecting,” added Teagan.

Auldubard nodded his agreement. “A very fine entrance, indeed.”

“It was lucky the situation resolved itself as it did,” Franderel sniffed over the mutterings of agreement, his arms still crossed. “Destriers are always unpredictable, and when added to a teeming crowd… well, we are all just relieved my lady came out of it unhurt.”

Rosslyn nodded acknowledgement of the sentiment, if not its lack of sincerity. “Your letter was urgent, wasn’t it?” she asked sweetly. “I rode all the way from Tarleton to be here – I thought it best to come directly.”

Franderel’s eyes narrowed. “Such matters are best discussed inside, my lady. Away from prying ears.”

“Then by all means, lead on.”

“If you would like to freshen up first,” Auldubard offered, “we would be more than happy to wait.”

“Of course,” said Franderel. “All the way from Tarleton – the journey must have exhausted you.”

It was a test. Rosslyn could tell by the way his lip was curling, but he gave nothing else away. On the one hand, a rest would grant her a precious hour or two in which to compose herself to properly face the inevitable back-and-forth, but in so doing she would admit her fatigue – or it might suggest she valued her vanity over whatever important matter they needed to discuss. The other option, to go with them immediately, would show her willingness to put business before her own comfort, though that in itself might paint her as too obliging, lacking her own will.

In the end, she was decided by her desire to be away from their politicking as soon as possible. Tugging off her gauntlets, she mounted the steps, knowing they would move out of her way.

“I’m a little tired, maybe, but still perfectly capable.” She smiled blithely at Franderel. “After you, my lords.”

They could not refuse such an invitation, and one by one they filed through the double doors and into the keep. Auldubard hesitated for a moment, but when she kept her attention on the arrangement of her gloves over her arm, he followed after the others. Franderel might have scuppered her chance for a bath and a meal, but she was determined to at least set the pace of the meeting.

She was about to follow when she noticed a familiar figure standing in the shadow of the doors. Alistair was making himself busy by riffling through the pile of papers clutched in his arm, as if to give her the opportunity to walk past him without acknowledgement, if she wanted.

“I see you’re keeping well,” she said instead.

He looked up, caught, and cleared his throat. “Lady Rosslyn.”

“Ser Alistair.”

There was a pause.

“I am well, thank you. Um.” He frowned. “No furry shadow today?”

“I’m afraid not,” she replied, with a faint quirk of her lips. “As you know, Cuno rates his breakfast more highly than his loyalty, but he’s fine.”

“And you?” Alistair asked. He ran a hand through his hair so it stuck up at the back, sneaking a shy look at her from the corner of his eyes. “Are you… alright?”

Rosslyn snorted. “How do I look?”

He looked at her properly, then, with a care that squeezed on her chest, taking in every detail of her appearance from the tangles in her hair to the bloodstains that mired in the crevices of her armour.

“Honestly?” he asked. “You look exhausted. But,” he added, perhaps noticing he had taken a step closer to her, “uh, you seem a little bit more graceful than usual.” His eyes flicked to the white flowers in her hair.

Her hand followed the movement before she could check the impulse. “You have a terrible sense of humour.”

Alistair shrugged. “It can’t be that bad, if it’s made you smile.”

“And in just a few short moments Franderel will do his utmost to ruin all your good work,” she teased, biting her lips together to control the spread of her grin. She sighed. “You wouldn’t happen to know what this is all about, would you?”

“Nobles only, I’m afraid, and I don’t count. But I could take those, if you like,” he added, nodding to her gauntlets and helmet.

She shook her head. “You look overworked as it is. It’s alright, I’ll –” She was interrupted by a loud, unladylike rumble from her stomach. Heat flooded her cheeks, but Alistair only chuckled.

“Looks like someone should have followed the example of their dog,” he said. “Let me at least have a servant bring something to your rooms. Long, boring meetings always go by faster if there’s a hot meal to look forward to at the end of it.”

“So speaks the voice of experience?”

He winked at her, making her smile again. “Don’t let on.”

“Food would be welcome. Thank you.” She fiddled with the buckle on her helmet, realising she had lingered outside long after she meant to – and people were looking. “I should go.”

“Of course.” He gave her a crisp bow. “It’ good to have you back.”

He retreated, and she watched after him as he descended the steps towards the armoury. Her thoughts had wandered to him every now and then on the road, when things were quiet, but she had forgotten how much lighter she felt just being in his presence. A lingering reaction to the circumstances of the night they met, no doubt.

If only dealing with the banns could be so pleasant. They were gathered in the war room, arranged on the opposite side of the table to the door – to her – their contention disguised as deference. As she looked at them, Rosslyn understood the trap Franderel had set for her, and she fought the urge to spin on her heel and run from the embarrassment. Outside, it had mattered little that she was wearing armour and they more genteel clothing, but indoors, surrounded by soft fabrics and clean floors, she looked out of place. Sweaty, muddy, clanking.

She glared at the maps on the table, wrestling down the sudden lump in her throat that tasted bitterly of homesickness. At Highever, if her father had showed up fresh from the battlefield, he would have commanded attention and respect, rather than contempt and backbiting; she herself would have stood in his shadow, quietly learning how to manage armies and nobles and everything else that was a teyrn’s duty, and if she had mis-stepped, he would have been there to intercede.

None of this should be happening.

She lifted her chin. Be fearless, her mother always said, and it will make them unsure what to do with you.

“Is my lady ready to begin?” Franderel asked.

“I’m eager to see what was so important it took me from the field,” she replied. “From the tone of your letter, I’d guess there’s been a change in our circumstances.”

“Indeed. I have the letter here.”

Franderel withdrew a folded piece of paper from his belt and passed it over. It was addressed to ‘The Commander of the Loyal of His Majesty in the North’ but when Rosslyn turned it over, she found the green wax seal had already been cracked open, the Portcullis stamped across it split down the middle.

“The contents are quite straightforward,” Franderel told her as she unfolded the page. “Arl Leonas sends word of a blizzard moving over southern Ferelden – the courier only just made it out of South Reach in time. As you can see, the letter was dated five days ago, and the storm itself is not expected to pass until tomorrow.”

“The Southron Gap is blocked,” Rosslyn mused. “The way the wind blows down there will make travel difficult through the Brecilian Passage for weeks.”

Auldubard nodded, smiling. “Loghain is trapped in Gwaren.”

“Indeed,” added Franderel. “We must seize this chance and make for Denerim while we can.”

Rosslyn frowned, but before she could open her mouth to reply, Loren interjected. “This is the Maker’s will, my lady. Surely you see that. Once we are in Denerim, nobody will doubt the king’s legitimacy.”

“And with your recent actions, as you yourself have said, Howe will struggle to foot a sufficient enough force to challenge us.”

“It will serve as a firm base from which to finally put down Teyrn Loghain and his rebels.”

The lot of them seemed too enthusiastic in their arguments, and too certain of their effects. Rosslyn felt her temper flare. They had already decided their course of action, and were trying to sway her to their side, to control her actions with a few pretty words. She looked to Teagan, who had yet to speak and was staring down at the table as if he thought by scowling at it hard enough, it could make him invisible.

“What about the refugees?” she asked. “Are you saying we should abandon them?”

“They can go south, or west,” Loren replied with a shrug. “The shores of Lake Calenhad are sparsely populated.”

“There are elderly and children out there,” she pointed out. “People who can’t move as quickly as an army. The instant we leave, Howe will swoop down on them and do as he pleases.” Broken families like Molly’s would be torn apart further, and from what she had seen in recent weeks, death would be the kindest outcome for them.

Telmen raised an eyebrow. “What makes you so sure he would waste his energy on civilians, my lady?”

“Tired, hungry people are easier to kill than trained soldiers.” Rosslyn spoke slowly, to be sure he understood. “Howe has already proven he has no conscience, and Rillside’s declaration of support has shown him what he might gain from wholesale slaughter.” She could imagine it, how many other banns wold side with Loghain out of fear for their lives or their people’s wellbeing; his cause would gain momentum like a rockslide and bury their own. “He would kill them out of spite, if nothing else.”

“And who provoked him in the first place?” Franderel asked with a pointed look in her direction. “We’ve seen the reports from our scouts. Who is it has been crowning his fallen captains with laurel wreaths for him to find like this is some sort of children’s game?”

“Who has been drawing Howe’s gaze so he does not turn his attention further south?” she retorted. “You’re welcome to try and stand your militia against Amaranthine without my soldiers acting as your shield.” Her gaze flashed to the other banns. “Crestwood and Oswin, too, while we’re at it.”

“Then what do you propose?” Telmen asked. He spoke to the floor, though the buffer provided by West Hill meant his lands faced a less immediate threat from an attack from the north.

“Retake Highever.  Use the blizzard, draw Howe out and beat him before reinforcements can arrive from the south.”

“A waste. We have no siege engines. The breathing space this weather provides will be better spent reaching Denerim to better protect the king,” Franderel insisted.

“And then what? While we remain outside the capital we have the advantage of mobility, something we will lose if we trap ourselves within Denerim’s walls. All Loghain would need to do is wait until we run out of food.”

“All Howe will need to do is wait until we run out of men to throw against the gates of Castle Cousland.”

Rosslyn fixed the banns with a steely glare. “It can be done.”

“There are several options that could be discussed, if only we could all calm down,” Teagan suggested. He was ignored.

“I wonder at the true reason for my lady’s hesitation,” said Franderel silkily. “Inexperience is understandable, and hot-headedness is often paired with youth.” His smile widened, and Rosslyn felt her temper heating further. “Perhaps you cling to the rumours that have emerged regarding surviving members of your family. We’ve all heard them. Is that why you were so adamant to lead the cavalry yourself, my lady, why you are so eager to put your pride above loyalty to the king? Do you think to make yourself a hero with a daring rescue? Do you think if you swing your sword hard enough, it will allay the guilt of your parents’ deaths?”

The slam of Rosslyn’s fist on the table reverberated on the walls, and in the echoes, the weight of her breathing was the only sound that remained. The impact tingled all the way up to her elbow, but she didn’t care. Her heart punched against her ribs, every muscle held tense just on the edge of control. She could do it. She could cross the room; she could take Franderel by the back of his greying, thinning hair and crack his condescending smirk against the table like an egg.

“That’s enough,” Teagan snapped, but the damage was already done. “Lady Rosslyn, you –”

She shrugged off the placating hand he laid on her shoulder. “You forget your place, my Lord of West Hill.”

Franderel’s smile turned beneficent. “My lady forgets that without my generosity, she would have no place at all.”

“And I will remember that generosity in the future,” she ground out in reply. “For now, know this: I will not sacrifice my people for some ill-conceived attempt to woo the king’s favour. Go to Denerim if you must, but you will go alone.” She straightened, pulling her shoulders back far enough that her joints popped. The movement brought back the ache in her muscles, the groans she had heard from those of her soldiers who had been wounded in the field and had to be put out of their agony along the road. “This meeting is over.”

Without another word she turned away from them all, poised as a cat, and swept from the war room into the narrow corridor beyond.

[faequeen40]

Candlelight and Supernovas

Day 3: Love/Comfort

Day 1, Day 2, Day 4, Day 5, Day 6, Day 7

The quiet of the Castle of Lions was overwhelming sometimes. Even as she sat alone in one of rooms the Paladins had reclaimed for recreation, Allura couldn’t help but crave the boisterous presence of her Paladins.

They were a far cry from their predecessors but she couldn’t help but think that they were perfect. The previous Paladins were what Altea had needed, remarkable warriors that had served her father with tenacity and poise. Her Paladins were barely out of adolescence, reckless and wild.

They were perfect. And what the universe needed.

But despite their energy and strength, she longed for the world she had known. The festivals and ceremonies of her home world were largely lost. Only she and Coran remembered them. Ten thousand years was a terribly long time and hardly anyone remembered that Alteans existed.

It hurt.

It hurt to know that her people, her culture, and even her entire planet were nothing but legends to the citizens of the universe now, the very citizens she and her team were trying to protect and defend.

Unable to stand the quiet of her chambers, she’d ventured out and settled herself into the room they frequently used for movie night, the soft pajamas she’d adapted from the style of the Paladin’s clothing pooling around her feet in an almost comforting way.

She missed home. She missed her family and her people.

Her very soul ached for them and the knowledge that she wouldn’t get to see the world she had known threatened to tear her apart from the inside.

So Allura sat and stared out windows at the stars, letting some of that sadness escape in the form of tears. She didn’t let herself make noise, no big heaving sobs or shuddering breaths.

Only silent tears that dropped onto her hands with gentle patters.

It was so quiet.

A gentle cough caught her attention and she wiped at her eyes frantically before whirling on her intruder. “Yes, what is it?” She rushed, trying to recall her previous composure.

Her eyes widened when she saw Lance standing nearby, an empathetic frown on his face. “I’m sorry to sneak up on you, Princess, but are you okay?”

Silence reigned for a moment before Allura drew herself up, pressing her feet to the floor from her previously curled up position. “I’m perfectly fine, Lance. Is there something that you needed?”

“No…” Lance mumbled, “I just thought I’d left my phone in here and I was looking for it. And I respect that you say you’re fine but if you need to talk, you know you can talk to us, right?”

Abruptly, Allura felt guilty and she fiddled with her fingers. “I thank you for your concern, Lance, but I don’t wish to bother any of you. I am fine.”

Lance nodded slowly, his hands clasping behind his back nervously. “If you’re sure.” He replied, “I’m sorry, again, for sneaking up on you. I’ll see you later.”

He made to leave, clearly intent on letting her remain in silence. He didn’t believe that she was okay but he was willing to give her the space that she needed.

Her Paladins really were too good. They were kind and empathetic even if they were young. Barely out of childhood and yet here they were, fighting a war that had been raging since before their civilization even dreamed of the stars.

Perhaps she could reach back to her Paladins. While Shiro would be a better sounding board for the struggles of leadership and the fears of what the war would bring, maybe Lance would understand her longing for home.

He was the most homesick out of all the Paladins, a fact that had made her heart ache with empathetic pain. He was the reason they would be celebrating later this week, a party of Hunk’s creation that managed to combine many of Lance’s childhood memories of his birthday parties with the basics of the First Day ceremony.

Lance was so giving of himself and his time. Yesterday had been a great distraction and she’d had a ball learning the steps to the Earth “salsa”. He gave so much. Maybe it was time that she gave back.

“Actually…” She started, her voice shaking a bit as she caught his attention.

He stopped immediately, turning back to look at her with wide blue eyes, their hue similar to deep sea glaciers of Altea’s far north. It almost hurt to think about but she steeled herself, letting her shoulders drop and drawing her knees back to her chest.

“I miss my home.”

Lance’s expression immediately darkened with understanding and he took a few hesitant steps back towards her, his body language carefully kept open and friendly.

“I miss my father. I miss my people and my planet.” Allura continued, the words wrenching themselves from her chest now that she’d started, “I miss the festivals and celebrations. I miss the hustle and bustle of the Castle around my First Day ceremony. And it hurts to know that it’s gone. That it’s been gone for ten thousand years. My people are a fairy tale. No one believes that we existed.”

The empathy in Lance’s expression was hard to look at. She couldn’t stand to maintain eye contact as he came to sit beside her, carefully keeping a respectful distance between them while staying close enough to convey comfort.

He’d come a long way from the terrible flirt she’d met at first. It had been a long time since he had flirted with her in earnest and she appreciated how he had turned the endeavor into a more humorous occasion. He helped her laugh, sometimes in situations that were completely inappropriate, but it was something she needed.

However, she wished that the Paladins didn’t need to treat her so informally all the time. She wanted the intimacy of true friendships. She’d hoped to have something like that with Pidge upon her gender reveal but she had found that to be an idle wish.

Not that she didn’t understand now, of course. Pidge was an excellent ally and friend but she wasn’t the sister figure that Allura had wished for.

“What’s a First Day ceremony?” Lance asked curiously, his prodding gentle as he made himself comfortable on the couch.

She smiled at his curiosity, letting her cheek rest on her knees. “From what I’ve gathered, it’s very similar to the birthday celebration on your planet.” She began, not missing the slight flinch Lance gave when she mentioned birthdays, “However, Alteans traditionally celebrated the day after one was born. In some areas, infant mortality was bad and children wouldn’t survive their first night. Therefore, we began to celebrate the day after. It was a celebration of each year the child lived and also an expression of thankfulness that the child lived through the first night.”

Lance seemed enthralled by her explanation and a part of her truly felt better at the retelling of her culture. “That sounds really cool. You guys never figured out what caused the infant mortality? Your technology was so advanced.”

“We did determine that it had something to do with the child’s quintessence. Alteans are very attuned to the quintessence of the universe and sometimes children came into the world unable to take that sudden strain.” Allura said gravely, a familiar sadness filling her at the thought, “There wasn’t anything we could do.”

Lance nodded solemnly. “On Earth, we have things like sudden infant death syndrome. A lot of babies just seemed to die and no one could figure it out. It wasn’t until about a decade ago that we figured out that most of the babies were being put to sleep on their stomachs. Their necks weren’t strong enough to lift so they suffocated. It was really sad and I was so worried when my niece and nephews were born.”

“You’re an uncle?”

“Yup. The best.” Lance bragged, “I took care of my niblings all the time.”

His expression immediately dropped and he began to curl into himself as well, some of the respectful distance falling away as he grew quiet.

Allura let herself just appreciate his presence for a moment before he let out a wet chuckle. “You know, you remind me a lot of my older sister. She would just sit down with me sometimes and we’d just dish. If I had a bad week, she’d sit me down and we’d do face masks and I’d braid her hair. It was nice. Comforting even.”

“I had a few friends among the nobility that I would sleep over with when I was a child.” Allura admitted, “It wasn’t anything like the intimacy you all seem to have. Everyone kept me at a more respectful distance because of my title. I understand but it was something that I had always wondered about.”

Lance hummed in consideration for a moment before he gave Allura a shy smile, the look so adorable that Allura had to resist the urge to squeeze him like a stuffed animal. “I have face masks in my room?” He offered hesitantly, “And I could braid your hair if you want? I got pretty good at it. We could put on those Altean soap operas that you like and you could tell me about some of the other celebrations from Altea?”

Allura was floored by his offer and her eyes welled without her permission. “Really?”

“Well, yeah.” Lance said awkwardly, “It always helped comfort me when I was feeling down and we need our Princess in fighting form. Plus, it’ll make me feel better too. Maybe it’ll make us a little less homesick?”

Determined, Allura nodded, surging to her feet. “Meet me back here in ten. I have to go grab my hairbrush.”

Despite how startled Lance was by her sudden movement, he smirked, shooting off in the opposite direction. She ran to her room, gathering up everything she thought they would need before rushing back to the recreational room, draping her enormous comforter over the couch and letting it pool on the floor.

It was her favorite blanket.

She’d just started setting up the old Altean soap operas that she loved, still amused at how adamant most of the other Paladins were about not watching. Lance was the only one who didn’t seem to mind them. They’d even tested Shiro’s eternal patience.

The thought made her giggle.

Lance skidded through the door, multiple tubes clutched in his hands even as he hugged several pillows, nearly breathless as he slumped beside her.

“Okay, so what next?” She asked, a bit of excitement building in her chest.

She’d always wanted to do something like this. Just be a normal girl for a bit and do some traditional friend activities with someone else.

“We’ll go ahead and do the masks first so you should put your hair up for now. This stuff does not like to come off hair easy.” Lance advised, fiddling with the tubes in his hand as Allura pulled her heavy tresses up into some form of bun.

It was messy and would likely give her old etiquette teacher a heart attack. But she couldn’t bring herself to care. She listened as Lance explained how the masks worked and handed her a tube, expertly smearing the green goo-like substance over his face.

Allura followed his lead, giggling at how strange it felt on her skin. Lance cracked a wide smile even as he continued putting on his mask. After a moment, he reached over and corrected some of the spots where the mask hadn’t spread well over Allura’s skin.

It was nice.

Her favorite show played in the background, the mask tingled on her skin and after carefully cleaning his hands, Lance was steadily pulling her hair into an incredibly complex braid.

She felt comfortable and happy.

She let herself relax, words falling off her tongue without even a thought. She spoke of the many festivals of Altea, even the most mundane.

Their night passed calmly, stories and explanations passed back and forth until Lance eventually fell asleep, his head pillowed on Allura’s shoulder.

Allura was grateful for her Blue Paladin and he was going to have the best birthday/First Day celebration the universe had ever seen.

She’d make sure of it.

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Hi, could you please write something about the family seeing Jason's autopsy scar for the first time? Thank you very much

Super sorry this took me so long to write, anon! I got halfway through before I suddenly got a better idea for the story so I had to rewrite the whole thing. Anyway, I decided to use Jason, Dick, Tim, and Cass for this one. Enjoy!

Jason breathed heavily, trying to stay calm. The bullet he’d taken to the chest only minutes ago already burned something fierce, and he was pretty sure his shirt was just about soaked with blood by now. It wasn’t anyone remotely dangerous who’d shot him; an average mugger who clearly had no idea how to use a gun. The guy had run away the second he fired the bullet. Had Jason not been preoccupied with a bleeding bullet wound in his chest, he’d probably have gone after him and given him a piece of his mind, (and maybe a broken kneecap or two).

“Hood, you there?,” a voice came in on the comms. Jason inwardly thanked his lucky stars that he’d gone on patrol with the few of his family members who had chosen not to take the night off for Bruce’s charity gala. Failing to hold in his groan, Jason reached the communicator on his helmet.

“Ngh, hey Nightwing. I’m good, sort of,” he answered, his voice level despite the pain.

Dick paused. “Sort of? What happened?”

Jason half-smiled, rolling his eyes. “I might have been shot a little bit. No big.”

Dick cursed and Jason could hear him talking to someone in the background. Probably either Tim or Cass, who went with them that night. “Where are you?,” Dick demanded worriedly.

Jason tried to remember where he was, but the blood loss was making his head kind of foggy. “Uh… The alley by the corner of Cabell and Hornestead I think.” He heard some more muttering on the line. He noticed he was fairly vulnerable lying in an alley like that and tried sitting up a bit, but he fell back just as quickly. It felt like fire down his chest.

“We’re on our way. How badly are you hurt?”

Jason closed his eyes as he answered. “GSW to the chest. I think it’s right over my right pec, but it’s not too deep. It's bleeding a lot, but I don't think it's more than a flesh wound. Hurts like hell, though.” He punctuated that with another groan.

“We’ll be there in two minutes. Just hang on till then, okay?”

Jason mumbled a tired “‘kay” and tried to get a look at the wound himself. He pulled off his helmet, exposing his face to the cool Gotham air. He craned his neck to see, but raising his chest even the slightest bit made it even more painful.

He focused on some breathing exercises that Bruce had taught him to manage the pain. He did that for a couple minutes, listening for his family’s arrival. After a while he saw them run into the alley; Nightwing, Red Robin, and Black Bat.

At once Tim kneeled down beside him and started to examine the wound while Cass rummaged around in her belt for some medical supplies. Dick tried to get Jason’s attention. “Jay, you still doing okay?”

Jason gave him a less than confident thumbs up. “Fit as a fiddle, bro.”

But then he felt Tim starting to lift up his shirt, and Jason paled even more than he already had. At once he grabbed Tim’s wrist, keeping it from pulling his shirt up any more. “Hold on, what are you doing?,” he demanded.

“I need to get a better look at the injury,” Tim explained as if it were obvious, which it was. But Jason had a reason he didn’t want his chest and abdomen exposed.

“Nuh uh, just take me home and I’ll fix it myself.” Jason pulled himself up until he was leaning on his elbows. The pain was excruciating, but he didn’t let his moans escape his gritted teeth. He protested against the hands pushing him back down.

Dick narrowed his eyes behind his mask. “Knock it off, Jay, just let us help. Yeesh, you really can’t let anybody help you, can you?”

Jason didn’t bother telling him that that wasn’t it. He felt Tim tugging up the hem of his shirt again, and he swatted him away his hands. “Seriously, Tim, cut it out.”

Tim sighed and sat down cross legged with his arms folded across his chest. “Okay, I’m used to you being stubborn and all, but this isn’t funny anymore. Why don’t you want me taking off your shirt?,” he asked.

Jason bit the inside of his cheek. He knew they wouldn’t relent without an explanation, but he also definitely didn’t want them to see what he was hiding. “Listen, after what happened with the Joker my body is sort of… broken. So I don’t think you’d all love to see a bunch of scars and stuff,” he told them. That might not have been the whole truth, but Jason figured it would be good enough to get them off his back.

Tim shrugged. “Jay, we’ve all got scars. Comes with the job.” He reached again for Jason’s shirt, but Jason growled in response. 

“Shirt stays down.” Oh how he wished he had just taken care of this himself and risked bleeding out in favor of being scrutinized like this.

Dick grabbed Jason’s arm, keeping it away from his shirt. “Please, Jason, just let us see the wound. We don’t care about any scars or whatever, okay? And if you don’t let us see it you’re either going to bleed out or get an infection. Please.”

Jason clenched his jaw until his teeth started to hurt. Slamming his head back into the ground he gave in. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But you asked for it.” Too late now, he supposed.

Tim sighed thankfully and used a batarang to cut Jason’s shirt up the middle. Jason felt the cold air stinging his chest at the same time he heard all three collectively gasp at what they saw. Told ya so, he thought.

“Holy-,” Tim choked.

“Jason,” Dick breathed as his eyes roamed his brother’s chest. “What happened to you?”

On Jason’s chest were dozens of scars. They ranged from gunshot wounds, to burns, to long slashes that looked painful just by looking at them. One couldn’t look two inches without seeing a scar. And that wasn’t even what so horribly caught their attention.

No, the worst was the largest one, a long scar that stretched all the way up Jason’s middle. It went from his navel to his sternum before branching into two separate lines that ended at his shoulder joints. The scar was long and thick. It looked like it was made with almost medical precision, which was unusual compared to the other messy scars littering his body.

The gunshot wound was nearly forgotten in comparison to the scar, so awful that it was impossible not to focus on it.

Cass pulled down her cowl to reveal her shocked face. Eyes wide, she lightly touched the scar, running her cold fingers along the length of it. Jason shuddered.

Cass looked at her brother with sad eyes. “You were hurt,” she said quietly.

Jason shrugged, but winced when it stung. “Not really. I mean, I was dead at the time, so…” He trailed off, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

And that’s when it clicked. Tim’s jaw dropped as his eyes continued to trace the scar. “This is from your autopsy,” he realized. Jason averted his eyes and nodded.

He felt oddly ashamed, like it was his fault he had this mark, though he knew that wasn’t true. He started to feel uncomfortable with the heavy stares and wished to be covered up again, away from the prodding eyes. He coughed conscientiously. “Hey, if you’re finished with the horror movie, this still kind of hurts,” he said pointedly.

Tim didn’t move. He was still frozen, with his eyes stuck on the scar. Dick nudged him, and he blinked. “S-sorry,” he stuttered out. He resumed fixing up Jason’s wound, but his eyes kept lingering on the autopsy scar every few seconds before he diverted them.

There wasn’t much noise after that besides Tim’s muttering to himself as he worked on Jason’s injury and the sound of traffic that drifted through the city. Tim had some difficulty removing the bullet, and Jason groaned at every stab of pain he felt while the kid rummaged around the site. What he wouldn’t give to have Alfred here.

“Hey, Jason?,” Dick asked, breaking the lengthy silence.

Jason hissed again from Tim’s prodding. “What?,” he said through clenched teeth.

“How come the Lazarus pit didn’t heal the scar? I thought it fixed all your injuries from… you know.” He chewed his lip apologetically, but he couldn’t help his curiosity.

Jason considered not answering, but thought better of it when he realized it wasn’t like he had anything to hide anymore. They already knew anyway, so he had nothing left to lose. “I dunno, maybe it just works differently on scars. Never really thought about it before.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I always hated it, to be honest.”

Dick tilted his head curiously. “Why?”

Jason rolled his eyes at the obviousness. “Dude, I’ve got a freaking autopsy scar on my chest. Every morning when I look in the mirror I’m forced to see proof that I died. Proof that a crazy guy dressed like a clown woke up one day and decided 'Hey, you know what might be fun today? Killing a child.’ Proof that after said death, I had a bunch of people cutting me open and poking around my insides to figure out exactly how aforementioned clown murdered me. So yeah, I think I have good reason to hate the scar.”

Dick seemed surprised by the outburst, and his following silence had Jason hoping that the subject might be put to rest. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.

“To be honest, I kind of thought you might be proud of it,” Dick continued.

Jason sighed tiredly. “And why is that?”

Dick shrugged. “It’s like your battle scar. Sure, it’s proof that you got killed and all, but it’s more than that. It’s also proof that you overcame something as powerful as death itself. If it were me, I’d be showing off that scar to everyone I meet. It’s like you have the last laugh, in a way.”

Jason considered that. But after a while he started to feel unnerved with all the earnest emotions and changed the subject. “You almost done, Tim? I’m getting cold here.” He muffled a shout when another stab of pain flashed through his chest barely a second after he finished the sentence.

Tim held up the bullet proudly. “Got it,” he smirked. He put a field dressing on the wound, pocketing the bullet after. “I’m keeping this, by the way.”

Jason rolled his eyes and attempted to sit up, being wary of the gauze and bandages. He swayed a bit, so Dick supported him with his arms until he was righted. He felt cold without a shirt, and he realized he probably couldn’t go all the way back to the manor like this. Especially if Bruce was already hosting a party there. “Listen, I’ve got an apartment a few buildings away. I think it’d be better if I just went there instead of all the way across Gotham,” he said.

Dick was about to object, but Jason interrupted. “Dude, I’m gonna scare people with this scar. And as funny as it would be, I don’t think Bruce would want rumors of the Red Hood being a zombie circulating around Gotham.”

Dick pursed his lips but relented. “Fine.” After a moment of thought, “Then we’ll just crash at your place tonight,” he grinned.

“Excuse me? I don’t recall inviting you.”

Tim smirked. “It would be irresponsible to leave you alone with a hole in your chest,” he pointed out smugly. “Plus I know you have an entire cabinet full of Oreos in your kitchen and I want some.”

Cass nodded in agreement. “Me too.”

Jason was about to object some more but thought better of it. “Fine, but on one condition. Not one of you can ever tell anyone about my scar, okay?”

“Why not?,” Dick asked.

“Because if Bruce finds out he’s going to be all depressed and moody about it. The only other people besides me who know about this are Roy and Alfred, and now it’s bad enough that the three of you know too. So your lips stay sealed, got it?”

The three considered this and nodded. Everyone had their secrets, and Jason’s was certainly justified. Satisfied, Jason turned on his heel and started in the direction of his apartment, pulling the edges of his jacket closer together in an effort to hide his middle. He heard the sounds of three pairs of footsteps following him at a distance. It felt strange, having them see his scar. Embarrassing, sure. He absolutely loathed feeling weak. But, in a way, there was a weight off his shoulders now that he hadn’t been aware he’d been carrying.

Sure, dying sucked, and coming back to life sucked even more, but the autopsy scar was different. It wasn’t only a reminder of the worst days of his life– it was like a taunt. It was death having the last laugh. “You might have escaped me this time, but I won’t let you forget for a day of your life that I won.” It was proof of his weakness. Proof of his failure.

He assumed sharing this would make his siblings think less of him. They’d see him for what he was: Broken. Damaged. Defeated.

But shockingly enough, if anything, they now viewed him as someone who beat death itself. The scar wasn’t a reminder; it was a battle scar. It was his mark, telling the world that he was a survivor and that anyone who tries to knock him down will find it impossible, because Jason Todd can’t be beaten. Jason Todd is a survivor.

As he walked, Jason found himself walking a little straighter as that thought resonated in his head. He’s a survivor.