#spring boot address in use

[kryptonitejelly]

Space Cowboys (Law & Order SVU)

Mike Dodds x You / Female Reader (ft. best friend Sonny Carisi) - send me requests for Mike Dodds

The one where you and Sonny end up in a holding cell, dressed as space cowboys.

-

“Call the Captain.”

“In you go space ranger.”

“Call her,” Sonny yells out again, not giving an indication of just which Captain he was looking for, his words slurring in a telltale fashion of too much alcohol as the officer shuts the gate of the holding cell behind you both.

“Yeah, I’ll just go ahead and page Captain Spock via the intergalactic space phone.”

“Look, officer,” you manage to wrangle your way past the more inebriated Sonny, to stick your glittered covered hands past the bars of the holding cell, “if you just called my husband you’ll see this is all a misunderstanding. He’s a Captain.”

Your speech is much less slurred than Sonny’s is, but you see the officer take in your glittered covered skin, the holographic material of your form fitting shorts and cropped halter, along with the knee high boots of a similar material and you know he isn’t going to take you seriously. It makes you curse internally at the damn space cowboy theme of the party Sonny had roped you into going to.

“Yeah, and who might your husband be? Han Solo?” The officer follows his rhetorical question with a chortle that makes your scowl.

“Call the Commissioner,” you state, deadly serious.

“What the Commissioner is your husband?”

“Call him,” you grit out, ignoring the question

“Sweetheart,” the officer begins patronisingly, “I wouldn’t know how to reach him even if I tried.”

“Give me back my phone, I’ll call him.”

“You’ll get that back in the morning,” the officer responds just as Sonny crumples down onto the bench in the holding crll in a human heap.

-

“And she didn’t ask you to call me?” The familiar voice rouses you from sleep.

“My officer thought she was dunk and joking.” A man who you are sure is the officer’s CO responds quickly, his tone nervous.

“But she asked you to call someone?” A different, but equally familiar voice cuts in, its tone sharp.

You don’t get to hear the CO’s response as the three men come into view.

“Hi,” you croak out as you reach to your side with a hand to give Sonny, who is curled up beside you alongside the length of the bench in the cell, his legs hanging off the end.

“Wha-,” the heap beside you springs up with a surprising amount of grace, a good part of the alcohol in his system having worn out with a nap, the crinkle of his equally holographic outfit rustling in the silence of the holding cell.

“We’re saved,” you say nudging your chin in the direction of the three men standing beyond the call staring at you both.

“Why-”? Your father, the Commissioner starts to ask, only for your husband to cut him off with an explanation before he can finish his question.

“Space cowboys.”

It earns a beat of silence, before the Commissioner shakes his head. He does’t smile, but you see the tell tale flicker of amusement in the way his eyes light up.

“All yours Dodds”

“Mike,” you cut in to correct your father’s term of address for your husband “we’ve talked about this.”

“We are in the work place,” he responds smoothly without missing a beat.

“Not for work,” you counter.

“Would you mind getting that gate open?” Mike’s voice interrupts the on going verbal sparring match, his question directed at the CO whose head is swivelling back and forth between you and the Commissioner.

“Right away,” he fumbles with the pass he has snapped to his belt for a second before tapping against the small electronic black box.

-

“How did you guys find us,” Sonny asks as the four of you step out of the station.

“Find my friends,” the response of two sets of voices chimes out in unison.

“Cops,” you say to Sonny with a shrug, which only makes the ex-cop chuckle knowing. It had been a habit your father had ever since the creation of the function, checking in on all the members of his family before he turned in for the night. Something which, to the disappoint of a great number of children of the NYPD, numerous members of the force had picked up. While it bothered you in your younger years, you came to understand the need for the knowledge of your loved ones whereabouts that came with being in the NYPD. Unsurprisingly, it was something which Dodds Senior and now Mike had picked up.

“I’ll see you next week,” a pause as the Commissioner gives both you and Sonny a once over, “in better outfits.”

“Sunday best, Sir,” Sonny gives a nod of his head. He’s managed to nap off most, but not all of the alcohol and his eyes still retain a glassy quality.

“Sunday best, Dad,” you echo as you watch your father exchange a look with Mike before stepping into the waiting black SUV.

“Come on cowboys,” Mike says as the black SUV pulls away.

“I can get a cab home,” comes the protest from Sonny but Mike only responds but pulling open the front and back doors of the passenger’s side of a similar looking black SUV parked right behind the one that just pulled away.

“I’m not making another trip to a police station tonight,” Mike’s words sound like a threat, but his tone is light and warm. He cocks his head towards the car and Sonny gives a thankful nod, in full understanding of the good intention, before scrambling in and sinking into the plush leather, eyes fluttering close. Mike shuts the door behind him before turning to you.

“Your turn.” The front of his hair un-styled, flopping over eyes glimmering with amusement, a sure sign that he had been getting ready or in bed before coming to get you.

“I’m sor-,” you start to say, only for Mike to tug you forward gently by a hand to silence you by placing his lips on yours.

“Don’t,” he says against your lips. He feels your smile from the way his lips curve against yours.

“I’m getting glitter on you,” you breathe out as Mike pulls away, the material of his sweatshirt now glistening under the street lamp.

“Feels like I’m part of the gang now,” he shrugs glancing down at his sweatshirt.

“Let’s go home cowboy” you say as you lean towards him to press another kiss to the side of his mouth.

“C’mon,” Mike slips his hands onto either side of your waist, and you squeal in surprise as he lifts you up onto the passenger’s seat.

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

the world (it burns through me)

Chapter 24: Darlin’

Ao3 | 2.1k Words | Darlin’s POV

Quinn is waiting in room thirteen.

TW: emotional distress, “I don’t love you,” attempted sexual assault, violence, sexual violence.

By the time you made it to the address that Quinn emailed you, it was dark out, and the fog on your windshield reminded you how cold it got at night in early spring. It wasn’t nearly as bone chilling as it was in the winter, but as you pulled into the parking lot of the Moonbound Motel, you felt it creep in through your light tee-shirt and jeans. You wished you hadn’t abandoned your jacket. You always felt like you were wearing armor when you had it on.

The Moonbound Motel was a squat, one-story building and a poorly paved parking lot. Nature was peeking through the cracks to reclaim it, weeds and delicate flowers glowing in the neon-lights of the purple sign atop the building. It was just the sort of place Quinn used to drag you to when you were a teenager to score… whatever he was craving that night. Drugs, drink, sex, it didn’t particularly matter.

You felt so cool, tagging along with him, taking drags off of his cigarettes, bumps off his pinky finger, being fucked by a guy too old to be associated with you.

You remembered the disgust in David’s voice when you’d told him how old you were when Quinn had sunk his teeth into you. You were a kid. That’s what he’d said, as if that were some kind of defense.

Maybe you were starting to agree with him, just a bit. Even still, you were a kid with an ounce or two of good instincts. You weren’t lied to. Quinn hadn’t tricked you. You knew just the sort of man he was. He had never tried to hide it. What he had done was convinced you that you deserved it.

The silver letters on the door of room 13 were crooked against the bright purple door, and you blinked at them for a few seconds as you tried to work up the nerve to walk in. You’d been so sure in David’s yard, on the drive over, right until you laid eyes on that number. Now, you’d gone boneless and scared, facing down the reality of what you were doing.

You were handing yourself over to him. You were giving him control again. He could kill you. Or worse, he could keep you alive.

You closed your eyes and conjured the image of Caelum’s big, bright eyes, his bouncing curls, his bright pink light up sneakers. He was just a baby. You could stop this, stop Quinn from ever touching him.

You held the image of that baby in your mind as you killed the engine and stepped out.

Headlights backlit it, casting your shadow across the door to room thirteen. You felt an itch on the back of your neck. You were being watched.

You knew it was Sam before you turned. You would recognize the way his boots hit the asphalt at the scene of a disaster. You would know the weight of him by the heaviness of his gaze on your back. You thought you would always know when he was there with you. That gape in your chest eased just a bit when he was near, just enough for the ache of it to fall into the background like a healing rib.

He called your name and you turned. He was halfway out of the car. You stood, knees locked, and braced yourself for whatever he was going to do or say. It wouldn’t make a difference. You’d looked that kid in the face. You wouldn’t abandon him now.

He crashed into you, his arms locking around your shoulders and waist, tying you at your core to his.

“Don’t-” he says breathlessly, hands digging into your skin so hard you could feel his fingernails through the fabric of your clothes.

“Sammy,” you breathed, eyes clothes, lost in the feeling of him. You wanted to strip down so you could press against his bare skin one last time. The heat of him, the warmth, beckoned against the early-spring chill. You withdrew.

“Don’t do this.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“No.” He shook his head, taking your wrist in his hand, keeping you close. “No, Darlin’, this can’t be how we solve this.”

“We?” You sneered. “You’re not involved in this, Sammy, you shouldn’t be involved! I can handle this!”

“By offering yourself up like some kind of sacrifice?” He snapped, pulling you closer even as you tried to retreat. You rested a hand against his heaving chest, breathed in the smell of him. You wanted to savor this moment. He wouldn’t want you after what you had to do next.

“He’s gonna hurt that kid, Sammy.” You whispered it into his skin, your lips soft against him. “He’s gonna hurt you. Again. Over and over again until I give him what he wants. I can end this right now. Before he takes this away from me.”

Your name fell off of Sam’s lips like a promise, like a prayer. He barely ever called you by your name. It was almost always that stupid, sweet nickname, the implication that you were something darling to him. But he called you by your name as he leaned into kiss you, sometimes, mumbled it against your lips. In his sleep. As he came. Into the lines of your scars. Every time it startled you. It woke you up. Shook you left and right.

You felt your face and resolve crumble. You pushed away from him as tears welled up in your eyes. You gritted your teeth against the sobs that begged to fall out of you.

You did what you did best. You turned that grief into anger.

“I don’t want you!” You growled. Sam’s eyes, brown and shiny, were fixed on you, unblinking. “I don’t want you here! I want Quinn. I’m- I’m going with Quinn.”

Your chest heaved with the effort of your screaming. Sam was silent, staring, watching. You got quiet as you went in for the killing blow.

“I don’t love you. If I loved you, you would know it.”

You turned your back to him before you could see his reaction. You didn’t want to watch it fall over his face.

The door to room thirteen was unlocked. That was a habit of Quinn’s that drove you crazy. He didn’t worry about things like that. Anybody who broke into wherever he was crashing he could fight off. Anything that was taken could be replaced. He didn’t care for his things, at least not most of his things. They all felt, as far as you could tell, trivial to him, even when you knew for a fact that they could be life and death for somebody else.

Room thirteen was hazy with smoke, the cloying, grey stink of it making your eyes sting. You realized as you fought the coughing fit beating at your chest, that you hadn’t touched a cigarette since you’d left Quinn. The memory of your mother, hand-rolled cigarette pinched between her teeth, emerged from somewhere in the back of your mind.

“Don’t you ever get mixed up in this shit,” she’d spat, bending over her zippo lighter as it illuminated her lined face like the Arc from Indiana Jones. “Costs a goddam fortune.”

You hadn’t picked up nearly as many of the generational curses you had assumed you would from her. All your curses came from Quinn.

He was stretched out across the bed, boots still on, flipping through channels on the motel’s ancient box TV. He didn’t look up as you came in, just took another drag from his cigarette before extending it out to you.

He looked like shit. All hollow and sickly, it was clear that the accident had had just as much of an effect on him as it had on the 10-19. You’d been hoping foolishly that with the extent of his injuries, he would stumble into a hospital without thinking about it. He’d left so much blood at the scene that you were convinced he wouldn’t be in his right mind. When he didn’t turn up, however, you had to come to terms with the fact that it was never going to be that easy. It never was with Quinn.

“It took you ages.” He huffed. “I almost can’t blame you. Your little love nest out in the woods is delightful. But you’re not as loud with him as you are with me.”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat, the acidic sting of bile. He was gloating, that present tense hanging over your head like the fucking executioner’s blade. You are with me. You closed your eyes. You took his cigarette. The drag was bitter and thick.

He settled on a rerun of Forensic Files, some brutal story about a woman who was raped and dismembered on a highway in Arizona, his translucent blue eyes tracking every bit of the censored gore. You had to look away.

“It was always going to end up like this.” He said softly, not looking away from the screen. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you said softly, “I guess so.”

“So uncertain.” He finally looked away from the screen. His eyes were bright and manic. “Try and sound just a bit happy for me, Precious.”

You rolled the words around in your throat, tried to form them into something that would keep him happy. That was always the game with Quinn. You had to keep him happy as much as you could, and when you couldn’t anymore, you put your fists up and protected your face.

You couldn’t imagine saying a single thing to please him. Instead, you crawled onto the bed, your boots scuffing dirt across the duvet, and curled into his chest like you were coming home.

The two of you laid like that for what felt like hours, his fingers trailing ghost-soft patterns over your shoulder, your hand flexing and relaxing into a fist rhymically. You watched Forensic Files.

It was that woman’s boyfriend who killed her, and he dumped her like trash on the highway to try and make it look like she was a victim of circumstance. That she had been picked up by some psycho. That it had been a stroke of bad luck.

Quinn moved slowly, his body pressing into yours, moving you where he wanted over time. You were a frog in a pot of boiling water, but you were a frog that was familiar with the idea of death. You were, perhaps, a frog that welcomed it.

When his mouth met your throat, you sobbed. Your emotion creeped up and out of you, leaking from every pore. You used to be so good at pushing it down with Quinn, at showing no weakness. Quinn was the sort of predator that lunged for the limping runts. As soon as you showed him your soft spot he would strike.

Hands. Cold, sharp hands. And teeth too, piercing into your throat, your shoulders, your collarbone. A hot tongue running, wet and moaning over your skin. Shirt pushed up, pants tugged down. Nails digging into your wrist.

The cool metal of a blade against your jawline.

That was what snapped you out of it. Not too many months ago, the roles had been reversed. You’d held Quinn’s life, balanced on the edge of that same blade. You could have snuffed him out in that parking lot, no matter what Sam thought about it.

Sammy.

You could let Quinn do this to you, you thought. But you couldn’t let him do it to Sam.

You bucked up, pushed him away and squirmed to the head of the bed. He knelt at the foot, a grin splitting his face. You planted your boot in the middle of it.

Quinn tumbled back off the bed and you followed. You were moving now, and there was no stopping you once you got going. Before he had a chance to recover, you stumbled to your feet, weaved your fingers through his limp, blonde hair, and slammed his head so hard into the wall the plaster cracked.

“Don’t touch me.” You growled, panting, hands shaking. You felt like a wild animal, like a beast was pounding under your skin and trying to break through. “Don’t you ever fucking touch me again!”

Quinn groaned, his head in his hands, body lazy as he slumped against the wall. He was bleeding. You wanted to reach out and touch that trail of heat across his pale features, just to know it was real.

“I don’t deserve this!” You spat. “I don’t deserve this shit!”

You turned your back, buttoned your pants, and left.

Sam was waiting, pacing in front of David’s truck, as you slammed the door behind you.

At the sight of him, your knees gave out. Sam could move with a quickness, though, and when you fell, you fell into his waiting arms.

[strawberrystepmom]

gojo x f!reader. self ship coded. wc 1.1k. cw: reader is referred to as "little snow angel" and is wearing high heeled boots. divider thanks to @/cafekitsune!

You are sixteen years old the first time Gojo uses your warmth for his own comfort.

He presses his cold fingertips against your sun warmed cheek on an early spring day and you squeak, furrowing your brows and pouting while the two of you walk down an empty Tokyo street. It’s midday and you were paired up for a mission that was completed as quickly as it started, now walking side by side and enjoying a light lunch of whatever you wanted to grab from the convenience store while returning to the train station.

“Why did you do that?” You lament, chewing the mouthful of onigiri you managed to bite off before he cruelly interrupted you with the icicles he calls fingers. You shiver exaggeratedly and he sticks his tongue out and laughs, shrugging. 

“Dunno. You looked like the warmest thing around.”

The compliment makes your cheeks further warm and he feels it. He’s seventeen and awkward, as inexperienced in matters of the heart as you are but he understands that despite his tendency to touch and need for physical affection, he wouldn’t be able to do this with anybody else. Your patience with his antics is a very small part of why he finds himself so drawn to you and it’s only a tiny piece of the puzzle of his feelings.

Years later, and after many additional pieces have been added to said puzzle of his feelings, he’s still seeking out your warmth. 

Namely today when the air is so cold each of your puffs of breath leave you with dramatic wisps, curling through the air like hot tea you wish were in your hand warming your bones. Instead your hands are buried deep in your pockets, your legs carrying you as quickly as they can into the warmth of the apartment you moved into around a year ago - Satoru’s. Well, yours too, technically, considering you receive mail addressed to both of you but you still call it his apartment. Maybe someday you’ll get used to the fact that you two share a life together and not just pieces of a puzzle still in progress.

You are 26 years old, a virtual lifetime removed from the girl you were a decade ago, a dedicated teacher at the school you attended through your teenage years. In fact, you’re headed home from there now, the chunky stacked heel of your winter boots clacking against the cold sidewalk below them with every step you take toward the building your high rise is situated in. It’s so close yet so far away and you whine quietly, hoping he remembered to turn on the kotatsu like you asked.

Out of the pair of you, you’ve always been the hot one.

In the early days of your relationship, you realized that you and Satoru both worked better when each of you maintained defined roles. You are the serious one (sometimes), he is the joker (always). He’s the cool light of the winter moon, you’re the warm first day of spring sun. He’s the protector, you’re the protected despite your protests against this status and his insistence upon its importance. These roles have evolved over time as you’ve come into your own and he has done the same, your relationship as fluid as each of you are, but there is one thing that is always true. You run warm and he runs ice cold.

Already beneath the kotatsu upstairs, he’s in the apartment impatiently awaiting your arrival, shoving his hands and feet beneath the most ingenious invention mankind has ever dreamed up. It isn’t as hot as it should be, he forgot to turn it on when you asked and managed to remember about ten minutes ago, but it’s warming up enough that he can get the slightest bit of relief. 

Off on a mission without you, he spent the whole day freezing inside of his oversized black jacket. Even three layers beneath it couldn’t keep the chill from seeping through and luckily he made it home hours before you, the danger eradicated as quickly as he could manage. Since returning home he has taken a shower with water so hot it bordered on scalding, thrown his softest and warmest sweater over his head, and moped around knowing he is missing out on the thing that keeps him the coziest.

“I’m home!”

His ears perk up as soon as he hears your voice, withdrawing himself from beneath the warmth of the kotatsu. 

“Oh thank god!” 

Shouting his response and scrambling to stand up, he makes it there finally and jogs across the apartment in socked feet. You grin seeing him, grateful he made it home in one piece even if it was hours before you, and you pull your boots off with an unenthusiastic grunt. He rushes to scoop you up and hold your body against his. He’s shocked when he feels how cold you are and he coos sadly, pressing his warm fingers against your cold face.

“Poor thing,” he mutters and you giggle with a shake of your head. Gojo helps you out of your coat and you sigh contentedly, letting him work each of the sleeves off of you and then go to work unraveling the scarf tied around your neck and throat. “If you’re cold it must be very cold.”

Another nod. You struggle to speak, your smile frozen on your face, because you’ve realized yet again that the roles in your relationship have evolved. He’s the warmth you’ve come home to, hands and arms and chest thawing out the frost that has developed over you throughout the day. 

“I’m just glad to be home.”

Patting your face gently, warm fingers replacing the cold ones of that decade old memory, you lean into his touch and he pinches the round of your cheek between his index and forefinger as he often does. You giggle and grin and without any additional thought, dive face first into his chest and the smell of your laundry detergent and the beating heart beneath it all. Whatever winter chill remains is slowly melting away with each breath you take and each of his you listen to. 

“Come on.”  Satoru wraps you up and holds you against him, letting you walk on top of his feet back to the main living area. This is also something the two of you do often because he cannot physically handle being away from you long enough for you to guide yourself. “Let’s go warm you up, my little snow angel.”

Rolling your eyes at the brand new nickname he’s come up with (something else that is a daily occurrence you’ve learned to love over the last ten years), you smile to show him the gesture is nothing short of joking. He lets his hands fall around the waistband of your pants and slips one of them beneath your shirt, a yelp leaving you when the cold appendages wrap around your hip.

“Satoru!” You squeak and he chuckles, humming a little song to himself as he does every time he hears you say his name in that tone of voice. “What did you do that for?”

“I wanted to.”

He leans down and kisses your forehead with exaggerated smacks of his lips against your still cool skin.

You’ve heard it a million times - to be loved is to be changed - and you never considered that a change as small as hot and cold would fill your heart as full as it is right now. Even the cold fingers resting beneath your blouse can be forgiven when he leans down to envelop your lips in a kiss, chasing the winter blues so far away they’re all but long gone.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 1 - Pride

@jegulus-microfic June 1, Word count 566

This is the second part to the Ski Holiday series from April. We're going to follow them back home and see if their relationship is more than just a holiday romance. Hope you all enjoy xxx

Previous part First part

The rush in the morning to leave their rooms on time to catch their flights meant they had very little time to say goodbye to each other. But even with mere minutes left before they were truly late, James dragged Regulus into his arms and kissed him deeply. 

He’d been devastated to find out they weren’t going to be on the same flight. His parents had booked a later flight so they could spend the morning together in the little town and go to the airport after lunch. 

Reluctantly, he pulled away from Regulus and slipped a piece of paper into his hand. 

“These are all my phone numbers, my email and my actual address. Do not lose this, and please don’t ghost me. I don’t want this to be just a holiday romance.” He stroked his fingers across Regulus’s cheek as the other man looked down at the piece of paper. 

“Hey, you’re not that far from us,” Regulus looked up grinning. “I know which bus goes there.” James couldn’t help it. He grabbed him and spun him around. 

“Mr Potter. I’m so sorry, but please could you not spin Mr Black in the foyer.” Molly cringed as Regulus’s foot nearly took out a spindly table with a large vase of flowers on it. 

“Sorry, Molly.” They chorused, grinning like loons at the poor clerk. 

“Bye, Molly,” James blew her a kiss as he wheeled his and Regulus’s suitcases out of the hotel. 

Sirius and Remus were saying their goodbyes as well. Regulus rolled his eyes when he saw the tears streaming down his brother’s face as he refused to let go of Dr Lupin.

“I’ll see you tonight, Sirius. We’re going to be apart for a few hours.” He was trying to comfort Sirius but was doing a terrible job of it as he kept letting little chuckles slip past his lips. 

“Good Gods, Sirius. Where is your pride? Stop bawling and get in the taxi.” Regulus hissed at his brother as he tried to force himself between the pair. 

“No,” Sirius shot back like a petulant child, he even stuck out his bottom lip. Remus leaned over the top of Regulus’s head and kissed Sirius one last time before stepping back. The grimace on Regulus’s face had James guffawing with laughter. 

He put Regulus’s suitcase in the boot of the taxi and hugged him tight before he, Regulus and Remus forced Sirius into the taxi.

James watched as they drove away, feeling a hole begin to form in his chest. He prayed that it wouldn’t be long before he could see Regulus again. 

“What time’s your flight?” Remus asked him once the taxi was out of sight. 

“Five,” He responded, unable to tear his eyes away from the corner. 

“Oh, me too. Where are you sitting?” Remus asked excitedly. 

“Erm, first class.” James swallowed, finally pulling his eyes away from the road and looking at Remus. 

“Lucky git, I’m in economy.” Remus ran his hand through his hair, the sandy curls springing back quickly. 

“Hey, do you want to come to lunch with us?” James beamed at him. 

“Yeah, sure. That would be great.” Remus nodded. 

“Then Dr Lupin, please let me escort you,” He bowed and held out his arm for Remus to take. Remus happily took it, and they wandered towards the shops dragging their suitcases behind them and laughing loudly.

Next part

[nanamimizz-archived]

𝐂𝐇. 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝚬: 𝐒𝐌𝚬𝐋𝐋

tags: wc - 2.9k, fem reader, cleric reader, reader worships lathander, features the battle against cazador, nudity, reader washes astarion after the hardest day of his life, gore and violence mentioned. finally a love confession !!let me know if i missed something !

synopsis: after the defeat of cazador, you are there to pick up the pieces and astarion finally learns how it is you smell so sweet.

taglist: @allright @ghostinvenus @ghostbeam @dottores @evergreenren let me know if you would like to be added !

taglist: it is with a heavy heart that this series comes to a close as this is the final addition to the five senses ! fear not i will still be writing for astarion and the rest of the baldur's gate when the opportunity presents itself! thank you all for your love and support for this series it has meant the world to me ! see you all on the other side of kinktober(jjk)!

Never had you been further away from Lanthander’s blessings than now, deep in the underground palace of Cazador Szarr. The brick, stone and marble all reeked of blood and decay. Echoing down each hall was the squeaks of rats, the scattering of their claws and the drips of water from the pipes. This is undeniably an ugly place - Astarion peeks at you from the corner of his eyes as you are all led to the great hall of where the ritual is to be held. A frown tugs at his features at the sight of your stiff posture and frightened eyes.

He would have never wanted you here, to bear witness to the ugliness of his past. Astarion thinks of you on the road - from the woods to the springs where you would pray to bless the day, you belong where the sun shines and the water runs clear.  His boot steps into a puddle of watered down sewage and remains of whichever poor sod was once there. The growl that pulls from his lips can’t be contained, and it bounces off the walls until the party stands in a room he remembers all too well.

It was where he was held down as runes were carved into his flesh, his screams so loud he wondered if he almost deafened himself that day.

Astarion can feel it, the all too familiar weight of his master’s presence, the thread in between his eyes that pluck with the command he has over him as he stands before a great hall as his fellow brothers and sisters pinned in the air. Each step feels heavy and with each breath he takes, the smell of this place digs him deeper into the “pathetic memories'’ of his past - his words not yours. Astarion feels something warm being pressed against his hand, red eyes digging down to see that it’s your hand. You, soft and warm, that the scent of the sun clings to even here, even in this place. You don’t go to touch him, in fact all you do is let the back of your knuckles graze against his and it’s enough.

Astarion is almost tempted to stop walking altogether, to tug you into an embrace as to bury his nose into your hair and let the smell of it erase all memory of this place. But it is not to be as the great Cazador Szarr is there all proud in his putridness. His eyes stay focused on Astarion - which he is thankful for, he doesn’t want your image to be tainted by the visage of the vampire master of Baldur’s Gate. His staff glitters in unnatural light, hair sleek and immaculately dressed, he addresses him and you and the rest of the party.

“Who stands before us? Is this truly our prodigal son?” Voice high and mocking,as it was then it is now, all it does is make Astarion scowl and lean forward in clear agitation.

“Do not slouch before me boy! Have you no respect for yourself?” A similar scowling look paints the vampire lord's face, his voice now rough with utter detestment at the sight of one of his seven creations. Astarion feels his lips being peeled back at the sound of his grating voice. It grinds and creeks, the snow-haired vampire thinks you’ve spoiled him by the soft way you speak to him that he can’t stand when he has to listen to others. Which is why his handsome face is scrunched into a venomous scowl as his master continues.

“Look at you, crawling back after abandoning your family. You should be begging for our forgiveness.”

You stay back, but he can see your hand twitch against the pummel of the legendary mace - The Blood of Lathander. When he says the word, Astarion knows you will give the vampire lord a punishment worse than death for the wrath of the sun is not to be trifled with. And it is with that assurance he scoffs at the words that ring through the hall.

“Forgiveness? You’ve never forgiven anything.” The words are cancerous in his tongue as he spits them out. “Every mistake, every slip was punished!” Memories too painful to speak are spoken into every syllable of the words that leave from his lips. Feeding off of rats. Trapped in a coffin.  The knife in his back and his screams echoing off these very walls. Retching up blood and dirt.

“I strove in perfection in all things - even those imperfect as you,” Cazador sneered. “A pity you amounted to so little despite my efforts.”

“No! No, fuck you and fuck everythig you’ve ever done to me.” Whatever Astarion wanted to say was caught off by you speaking in turn, your voice as soft as the wind in his hair when he first awoke to the sun warming his skin. Even in this desolate place you are a pillar of strength, a shining beacon so perfectly crafted by the Morninglord.

“We are here for justice. You will pay the ultimate price, by the Morning Lord’s blessing.” You speak, every word promising a radiant, golden death. The sneer of Cazador’s face only becomes more severe.

“I will not speak to cattle. This is between me and the boy.” Astarion hisses, tense at how Cazador dared to look at you, to speak to you and to call you such a thing. Fangs bared and eyes like slits, nothing could have filled the vampire you love with anger, bitter like bile as he rushed at his master. A swear on his lips, his fists raised, the fight began with the room doused in red light - the red of the Hells. From where Astarion was raised and pinned in the air the room was filled with the flames of Avernus but none did burn as bright as the radiance from your mace or from your blessed spells.

There was a bitter satisfaction to the victory of the battle, to being on his own two feet as he dragged Cazador out of the coffin and threw him to the blood covered marble. To see the creature of his nightmares squirm so pathetically, like a worm in the dirt, brought a smile to his face, one that fell when you pleaded with him not to take the power that so sweetly presented itself to him. Red eyes looked at you, truly looked at you and found that even like this, in this disgusting place he wants you. 

Astarion thinks of you, all of you.

The smiles, the jokes and the way you have trusted him all this time since you first met. You’ve always hoped for him, saw the best and gave him that in return. Never did you use him, never did you see him as an object - something to be used. How could he do to you what you were always warned he would do? No, he can’t bring himself to do it, to use the souls of his siblings and the unfortunate souls brought here by his hand. The radiance of your heart has touched him, changed him and molded him from a spawn to a man. Asatrion will not deny himself, indulge himself in the pleasure of ramming his knife into his master’s gut again and again but he does so in part of a greater plan. To become the man you’ve always believed him to be. Sooner than he could believe his master lies beneath him, covered in blood and his own organs cut to shreds to the point he could not recognise his liver from his stomach.

The weight of it all, of his decision brings him to his knees and among the stains of blood on his face the silver of his tears are like moonbeams on his pale face. Once again, for the final time his cries echo on the walls filled with tragedy, filled with rage, filled with grief. Your touch is a relief, a gentle reprieve from the shitshow of his life, the tough and smooth skin of your palm curving into his shoulder as your thumb rubs back and forth.

His gaze meets your eyes and finds the promise of a golden future, one burning anew if he just returns all that you feel for him. He uses the hand on his shoulder to help stand, to rise rather than fall into the deceptively sweetened path of power and to do what you have done all this time without faltering. 

To do the right thing.

The spawn are released, and his siblings off with a warning to live as they please but the consequences are their own now. Cazador’s staff is slick with blood in his palms, the metal cold now with the death of its master and Astarion wonders if his heart is the same now that the burning anger in his heart is quelled by the blood that decorates his hands. Your thumb has not stopped rubbing his shoulder, your palm cupping all that he is and staying there when he turns to his companions - all of them there with pride and understanding on their faces as they congratulate him on his newly taken freedom. Karlach is the most proud, he can see the embers dancing in her hair as she fights the urge to hug him to the point his bones creak and crack.

A smile is tugged at his lips, twitching before dying as the grief and the end come crashing down. Like always you tug him, leading him and the others into the light of the upper city, Astarion looks up at the stars with vague new found delight. Everything is clearer than it once was, now that the weight of the chains have been broken off, and replaced by the spare cloak you have in your pack that you wrap around him oh so gently with a tender smile. You all settle in an inn, and Astarion’s mind is half gone by the time he notices that the room is different - bigger, more ornate with a big washroom. When he asks you only to hum, looking back at him from the corner of your eye as you strip out from your armor.

“It’s been a hard day, I wanted to treat you to something special.” You say, voice soft as the night while you peel off the last leather piece that protects your form. He only blinks softly, confused and delicate in the night like a blushing maiden. Wide red eyes look at you with only confusion as you come closer, outstretching your hand with the gentleness of the dawn and just as warm too. He eyes the scar from across your palm, the one you got from touching the wrong type of plant in the Emerald Grove - a consequence of your terrible case of sticky fingers. The memory makes him smile and he nods, taking your hand and leaving the cloak behind on the bed. You lead him to the washroom and he gapes at the sight of such a huge bathtub. Not made of wood but of proper marble and plain, filled with pleasantly warm water and the scent of lavender wafting off the soapy water. Astarion turns to thank you and is only met with how you look at him, all soft with tenderness and worry lacing through the flecks of color in your iris.

“When did you do this?” His voice is soft, like this  is a dream and a wrong move will have him waking up in the cells of the Szarr palace again.

“When you were sitting in the room. I used runes to keep the water warm but you best get in. It won’t last for so long.” You say like it’s no trouble, like doing nice things are as easy as breathing for you but that’s what your nature has been the whole time. Astarion thinks of the time you two had embraced for the first time, how the goodness you see and act upon are not naivety but purposeful and intentful. This, this is a small gift in comparison to all that you have done for him, one that began with your blood and ended with lavender oil.

It almost makes him weep.

“I’ll be outside if you need me,  please don’t hesitate to call for me.” You say softly, holding his fingers in a relaxed grip, one that he could so easily break free of when he needs to, when he wants to. Astarion shudders a breath, eyes crinkled under the weight of your goodness; something you’ve been carrying for oh so long he can’t believe you are mortal and not a god of some sort. His fingers tighten to a hold so tight you can’t help but bite the inside of your cheek to stop from gasping out.

“No…please…please stay. I don’t want to be alone.” His voice is soft, filled with so much emotion you understand him completely with a single breath. You confirm that you won’t leave and ask him if he wants you to turn away while he undresses. 

Astarion nods and you listen, turning your back and Astarion traces the shades of your hair in the candlelight  when you move so fluidly. He is in the tub when you turn back, his scarred back to you as he sighs at the silken feeling of the water against his tired body. You ask if you may wash his hair to rid the snowy curls of the veil of blood that mars them and again he nods in confirmation. Your sleeves are tugged back, rolled at the elbow as you carefully sit outside the tub and scrub at his hair with an all too familiar scented bar of soap.

A sweet silence fills the room, only the burning of the wicks and the splashing of the water when it moves can be heard. It's nice, he thinks, letting his eyes shut as your fingers work tenderly into his scalp with all the care one would use when holding water cupped in between their palms. The suds of the soap are foamy and thick, out of curiosity he sniffs it and realizes when he recognizes the notes of the scent.

Lavender, sunlight and dawn’s dew.

“Did you realize it was my soap?” You ask, voice soft and teasing as you grin from behind him. 

You feel him nod and amidst the tragedy of the day there’s a smile tugging at his lips as he turns to look at you with the familiar mischievous shine of his eyes. When he speaks you catch a glint of his fangs, milky in the warm light of the candles and you smile as he speaks to you for the first time since returning from that awful palace.

“I hope you know this means you’ll be running out of the soap twice as fast.”

“I don’t mind that at all.” You hum back, face ever serene as you raise a smaller bucket to douse the warm water through his hair, carefully detangling the curls with your fingers as he turns again to look at you with wide, glittering eyes. There’s a smile on your lips, it grows softly as the setting sun when you reach to swipe at a particular cluster of stubborn suds that do not wish to depart from his alabaster skin. Not that you could blame them, your Astarion is beautiful through and through - you’d have to be dragged to the pits of the 9th Hell before you ever willingly left him.

“I like the idea of you wearing me on your skin all day, for me to embrace you at the end of it only to realize where it is my soap has gone.” You say looking at him so warmly Astarion wonders if he is to melt under your loving gaze. He can’t help but laugh at your words - pale features pinkening from his recent feeding as he lets your words wash over him like the tide on the banks of sand.

“You’ve certainly developed a tongue for sweetness haven’t you?” A weak comeback but it’s all he can think to say back when faced with all the sweetness of how you regard him.

“I’ve had the most impressive of teachers.” You say back, voiced filled with such tenderhearted fondness Astarion can feel warmth fill the points of his ears as he turns his back to you to try to hide how it is he smiles at your exchange. He sighs dramatically, his bones relaxing under the turmoil of the day as his neck bends to the curve of the bath, posture a little more free as if the weight of his choice finally has settled into the cracks Cazador caused.

“Alright enough of the flattery and poetry - I’m still not done with my bath.” Tucking a stray curl away from his brow you lean over to murmur a small “of course Astarion”, in that soft and spoiling tone that never fails to turn him pinker than he’s been in a decade or so. Before you grab either soap or water bucket you lean over to press a kiss, a mere chaste brush of your lips against the skin of his cheek that now smells of your soap; of you.

“I love you. You don’t need to say it back - but let it be known to you.” You say so softly that the bubbles of the soap don’t pop under the weight of your confession. His nose brushes against yours, full lashes wet and clinging to each other as he looks at you - you see the curtains plea back and you see him for what he is.

A man who loves you back, though he can’t utter the words just yet. That’s okay, your smile says - “I’ll just make a bigger batch of soap next time.”

[seoksgrl]

rather be dead than cool, 2. : jjk nerd!jungkook x popular!reader college au, dislike to love genderbent she's all that au

tws: rich antics, irene and mina being mean girls, name-calling

m.list prev | next

The address you texted to Jeongguk, after obtaining his mobile number, is in the centre of Gangnam, a street lined with row upon row of stores fit for those who have cash to burn. If you’re going to get Jeon towards your end of the popularity spectrum, it’s imperative that you get him out of whatever baggy, dark outfit he plans to turn up in today. Once the clothes are dealt with, you can work on that shaggy mop of hair before figuring out how to introduce him to your scene. 

That will likely be the easier part - once Jeon is seen with you, campus interest will soar. 

“How are things going?” Irene coos down the phone, an edge to her tone that often came when the two of you would play these kinds of games. Finding ways to one up the other, whether it be over boys or over money. While Irene is the friend you have known the longest, you can’t say she’s the one you trust. Though, your competitive streaks have always run alongside each other, the perfect match. 

You check your appearance in the store window, the first place you’re expecting to visit with Jeongguk. There’s a party this weekend at an old friend’s cabin, and if you’re going to bring Jeongguk, he needs to wear something that will enhance the foundations you managed to spot upon your first meeting. Brushing your hair over your shoulder, you reapply lip balm, using the window as your mirror, “Things are going according to plan. Jeon isn’t anything I can’t handle,”

Irene hums on the other end of the phone, though it’s anything but encouraging, “As long as you don’t plan on throwing in the towel before we’ve even started,”

“Not at all,” You grin at your own reflection, “He’ll be walking into the spring formal with all eyes on him when I’m finished. And I’ll take a ride in the Porsche as a reward,”

You can see it now, Irene’s eyes flashing with annoyance at your confidence. You often wonder if pissing off your best friend should bring you this much joy, but before you can ponder any longer, a familiar dark frame comes into sight down the street, skulking through the people on the sidewalk, and you end the call with Irene as your eyes land on Jeongguk. 

He’s dressed in what appears to be his favourite colour, black, paint-stained jeans and an oversized t-shirt. All that covers him from the unpredictable spring weather is a thin, denim jacket - also paint-stained. You wonder if it’s intentional.

He stops in front of you, large frame so imposing you have to take a small step back, your Gucci boots hardly a match for Jeongguk’s height. Your head tilts, eyes meeting his own weary gaze before you flash him your winning smile. 

“I’m glad you got here in one piece,” You hadn’t asked if Jeongguk drives, but you assume he must, having walked from the direction of the parking lot behind the row of designer stores, “I hope it was easy for you to find,”

He frowns at that, shuffling from foot to foot and adjusting his backpack a couple times. The wind has already managed to wriggle some fly-away hairs loose from whatever excuse for a ponytail he has, the strands falling around his face and brushing his chin. You cannot wait to get a few inches chopped - the length doesn’t bother you, but you can spot the split ends from here, for goodness sake. 

Jeongguk doesn’t reply, and so you press on, still wearing the bright, chirpy grin you save for meeting new people. You always like to make a good first impression, and you remember it being one of the few things your parents instilled in you as a child. Your other habits were picked up from movies, being that you rarely had time to do anything else as a youngster. Father was never home and when mother wasn’t shopping, she was organising charity events for your father and his work colleagues. 

You shake away the oddly sombre memory and continue with the task at hand, leading Jeongguk into the first store - Gucci itself. 

“We’ll start here,” You say, maintaining control as you lead Jeongguk further into the store, towards where the men’s shirts and slacks are kept, “I have an appointment booked for your hair,”

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Jeongguk reach up and tug at the strands by his chin, brushing them behind his reddened ear. You continue to talk him through the itinerary for the day, though his pleading eyes continue to drill into the side of your head, and you have no choice but to turn, brow quirked, “What’s wrong?”

“I, ah -” He clears his throat, “I can’t afford anything here,”

You wave away Jeongguk’s worries, exhaling a short laugh, “I can take care of it. I have more than enough money, and plenty of good friendships with the staff. You can use my black card,”

“Black card?” He asks, dark brows furrowing, creating a tiny wrinkle between them, “Is that like store credit?”

You exhale again, but this time you’re not laughing. You realise not everyone pays for their tuition into Yonsei, and you’re just now realising perhaps Jeongguk is there on a scholarship. That would mean he’s very talented, something that intrigues you, though you don’t have time to be intrigued by your science experiment. 

“It’s a luxury credit card, Jeon,” You blink, “My family is very wealthy, and like I said,” You flip your hair over your shoulder, “I want to help,”

Not completely the truth, but Jeongguk doesn’t need to know that.

His lips part for a couple moments, before falling shut, and you continue walking with him towards the Oxford shirts. The sales assistant, eager and a little annoying, strolls over, their brows raising a fraction when they spot the tall, out-of-place guy beside you. Their lips part, their welcoming disposition betrayed by the obvious judgement in their gaze before their eyes slide back to you. 

“Miss Y/N, so lovely to have you back,” The young girl says, hands clasp in front of her, bright pink nails start against the black of her uniform as her eyes once more stray to Jeongguk, confusion marring her strictly sunny expression, “How can we help you today?”

You step forward, gesturing at Jeongguk with one hand and sliding a thumb across your phone screen with another. You had spent last night brainstorming the optimum stylistic direction to take with Jeongguk, wanting to enhance what good features he has in order to make his transformation believable. He still has to win Spring King, after all, and to do that, he needs to look and act the part. Turning up in head-to-toe designer the day after wearing his paint stained baggy jeans isn’t gonna work.

“My friend is looking for a few staple capsule pieces to add to his wardrobe,” You say, walking further into the store, followed closely by the assistant, and then Jeongguk who lags behind, looking entirely like a fish out of water, “Nothing too flashy, just several timeless pieces to get him started. He’s new to designer,”

The shop assistant makes a noise as if to say yeah, I can tell and you raise your brows expectantly, watching as she stumbles over her words, rushing towards the back of the store where the men’s shirts are displayed neatly, “O-of course, miss. Absolutely,” 

When you turn, Jeongguk is watching the whole exchange with curiosity and a little disbelief, his brows are drawn together, eyes impossibly brown and impossibly wide. You pause in your step, raising a manicured eyebrow in response, “Do you have something to say?”

“Does everyone always do as you tell them to?”

You smile, “Yes, now come on,” clicking your fingers, you turn and walk to where the assistant is waiting for you, not bothering to turn to check if Jeongguk is following.

He is.

Irene smacks her lips as she reapplies her lipgloss, using the mirrored wall in the new sushi restaurant, Stix, to see her reflection. You watch her fluff up her hair, wiping at the corner of her mouth, and you decide to check over your own appearance. 

As expected, it’s flawless. You always apply a lip tint if you know you’re going to be eating, saving you the time of reapplying. Your mother always told you that was rude, and so the habit has stuck. The urge to make a dig at Irene raises it’s ugly head, but you successfully shut it down. After all, you’d hate to make a fuss, and to embarrass your friend. 

“Have you played with your little lab rat yet?” Irene asks, grinning as she turns away from the mirror, putting her lip gloss back in her purse and pulling out her compact. Her makeup is flawless, but you don’t say anything as she begins to touch up her already perfect skin. 

“I took him shopping a couple days ago,” Mina snickers, and you shrug, continuing, “I didn’t have a lot to work with, new clothes were imperative if I want to recreate his image,”

Irene giggles, “Sounds like you had fun dressing up your little pet project,” 

“It was a means to an end. The shirts were basic, Jeongguk didn’t want to branch out,” In fact, he didn’t take any of your fashion advice beyond pointing out what he would need from around the store. He picked up a few white t-shirts, white button-ups and some black slacks. You had to practically force him to get the shoes you suggested, if only to prevent him from wearing Gucci dress pants with his sneakers. 

You can safely say you’ve never met someone so stubborn. 

“Are you gonna bring him to Jimin’s party on Saturday?” Mina asks, wiggling her brows as if the mere idea is mischievous, “He could be your date,”

Irene let out a yelp of laughter, and Mina joins in, the pair of them cackling like two evil witches. You watch them with a vague sense of annoyance, a familiar flare of stubbornness coming to life in your chest as you remain stone-faced, waiting for their laughter to die down. When it does, it peters out, their eyes shifting between you and each other as the silence grows. 

“Y/N, did you hear Mina’s joke?”

“I did,” You smile, cat-like and confident, “I didn’t get the joke. I mean, Jeongguk’s reputation is about to be improved tenfold. Why not let people think he’s my date?”

Mina gasps and Irene’s plucked brows raise in a look of abject horror, she actually puts a hand on her chest as if she has been scandalised by your question. You can hardly see the problem with it - after all, it was your understanding that in order to ensure you winning the bet, the whole thing would end with you and Jeongguk attending the Spring formal together anyway. It makes sense in your head. 

“Y/N, you can’t be serious,” Irene says, snorting, “bringing that loser to Jimin’s party? You two just broke up, Jimin will think you have gone insane,”

You frown, taking a sip of water, “I’m not sure about that. Nobody knows who Jeongguk is, and once I’ve got him styled appropriately, people will just assume he’s a random hot guy I’ve picked up. If Jimin can be a cliche and score a cheerleader, why not be a little mysterious?”

Irene mutters, "I don't know about 'hot',"

You smile, brittle and a little annoyed, "He will be when I'm finished with him. Have some faith, Irene,"

When you glance at Mina, she seems to be grasping where you’re coming from, but as per usual, Irene doesn’t see your side of things, and she rolls her eyes, returning to her useless endeavour to fix problems that don’t exist with her makeup. You smile blandly at Mina, sipping at your water and scrolling through your socials.

taglist: @kyglover @jk97bam

please let me know if you wish to be added to the taglist!

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

fave evermore lyrics for it's anniversary?

where do I begin when I am in fact on waves out being tossed by how much I love this album????

And I was catching my breath, floors of a cabin creaking under my step / And I couldn't be sure, I had a feeling so peculiar this pain wouldn't be forevermore

OK I'm going to go song by song for the rest haha

I'm like the water when your ship rolled in that night / Rough on the surface but you cut through like a knife

Your Midas touch on the Chevy door, November flush and your flannel cure / "This dorm was once a madhouse," I made a joke, "Well, it's made for me" / How evergreen, our group of friends, Don't think we'll say that word again / And soon they'll have the nerve to deck the halls that we once walked through

ETA how could I have forgotten!!! "She would have made such a lovely bride, what a shame she's fucked in the head," they said

I don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bone crush

I won't ask you to wait if you don't ask me to stay

I made you my temple, my mural, my sky / Now I'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life

You assume I'm fine, but what would you do if I break free and leave us in ruins / Took this dagger in me and removed it / Gain the weight of you then lose it / Believe me, I could do it

Her husband's acting different and it smells like infidelity

She says, "That ain't my Merlot on his mouth, that ain't my jewelry on our joint account"

But now I'm right down in it, all the years I've given is just shit we're dividin' up

Showed you all of my hiding spots, I was dancing when the music stopped / And in the disbelief, I can't face reinvention

Haunted by the look in my eyes that would've loved you for a lifetime

When did all our lessons start to look like weapons pointed at my deepest hurt?

It's never too late to come back to my side / The stars in your eyes shined brighter in Tupelo

If I can't relate to you anymore then who am I related to? / And if this is the long haul how'd we get here so soon?

And the old widow goes to the stone every day / But I don't, I just sit here and wait / Grieving for the living

I can't stop you putting roots in my dreamland

Spring breaks loose, but so does fear

So yeah, it's a fire, it's a goddamn blaze in the dark and you started it

Now you hang from my lips like the Gardens of Babylon / With your boots beneath my bed, forever is the sweetest con

Actually I always felt I must look better in the rear view

The autumn chill that wakes me up, you loved the amber skies so much / Long limbs and frozen swims, you'd always go past where our feet could touch

Should've kept every grocery store receipt 'cause every scrap of you would be taken from me / Watched as you signed your name Marjorie, all your closets of backlogged dreams and how you left them all to me

Don't treat me like some situation that needs to be handled / I'm fine with my spite and my tears and my beers and my candles

um all of evermore but

I replay my footsteps on each stepping stone trying to find the one where I went wrong / Writing letters addressed to the fire

I rewind the tape but all it does is pause on the very moment all was lost / Sending signals to be double-crossed

In the cracks of light I dreamed of you / It was real enough to get me through

Matches burn after the other, pages turn and stick to each other / Wages earned and lessons learned but I'm right where you left me

I swear you could hear a hair pin drop right when I felt the moment stop / Glass shattered on the white cloth / Everybody moved on, I stayed there

When the words of a sister come back in whispers that prove she was not in fact what she seemed / not a twin from your dreams /She's a crook who was caught

That old familiar body ache, the snaps from the same little breaks in your soul / You know when it's time to go

He's got my past frozen behind glass, but I've got me

[in-hav3n]

i have this idea of you reacting to james' mullet haircut for the first time, like you don't like it at first sight but after a few days you start to get into it <3 he was so hot in that era btw

𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄 

As you parked in front of the studio around 2pm, you were still wondering what was this important thing James needed to show you. You knew they were preparing a few new songs but you were sure he showed you all the riffs ideas they got. The only clue you had was a note he wrote this morning and left on the table.

"Meet me in the studio this afternoon, have something to show you".

Your first reaction was to smile at the note. You were used to these random quick messages, addressed to you for many reasons, like "Can you please buy bacon ? I'm hungry for it" or "Giant barbecue with the guys on Saturday night?". But this one was particularly mysterious…

More and more intrigued, you came into the studio's little kitchen a few minutes later, greetings the band and the studio's management, hoping that at least one of them could help you to discover what it was.

"Do you know why James asked us to all come here today?", Kirk handed you a coffee mug. You shook your head at his question, thanking him for the drink.

"Absolutely no idea and honestly, I thought you could help me..."

"Sorry honey", Lars added as he was playing with his drumsticks, pretending he was playing on invisible drums. "Jaymz is the best when it's about keeping secrets or hiding informations".

"Oh yes, he is...", you answered with a smirk, taking a sip of the hot drink, wondering when your boyfriend would show up to put an end to this mystery.

And just at the thought of him, his truck was heard outside, roaring into the parking area until he stopped the engine.

"There he is!", Jason said as he peeped through he window. "and...oh oh...", you saw the bassist opening his eyes like if he had noticed something. "NO he didn't!".

You frowned even more at his words, wondering what was happening. But soon enough you got your answer...James finally came into the room, joining you all and you discovered the big change he had done with his hair.

Everyone reacted to it of course, some laughed, others couldn't believe their eyes. And you, well. You just stared, eyes and mouth opened, realizing slowly that your boyfriend had cut those beautiful long hair of his you loved to do a mullet instead.

When he had finished greeting everyone, he came over you, wearing a proud grin on his face.

"So...", he started, hands on his hips, "do you like it baby?". He posed then to show his haircut in different angles.

"I...hum...", you mumbled, searching for the right words. You didn't want to disappoint him but honestly, you didn't like it...

"You?", he added, encouraging you to speak and it was worst. You couldn't lie to him. So you sighed and pouted, feeling sorry already for the words you were about to say...

"I'm sorry James, I don't like it...". You saw his smile fading away and you felt bad for it so you quickly added, "but if you like it then it's great!", hoping this would comfort him.

"I do like it"!, he defended himself, crossing his arms. "And I thought you'd have too ! But seems like no one does!", he complained, even pouted slightly and you felt bad.

"I know James but...you have to understand it's really...unusual and very 80s", you told him, still feeling bad.

"Well I like it and I'll keep it!", he declared and you didn't talk about his haircut anymore...

...until a few few days later.

Lying down on a deck chair, enjoying the beautiful spring sun, you were focusing on some papers you need to read for your job. James was out too, a few meters away, cutting some wood pieces with his axe for the next winter.

Lost in your thoughts for a second, proceeding to understand something you just read, you looked up from your paper and your gaze landed on him. He was wearing a black short, his working boots and had taking off his flannel shirt he had tied up around his waist. Some what drops were rolling from his forehead to his cheeks, some of his long hair were stuck on his back due to the sweat.

And this is how you realized that this haircut was absolutely sexy on him. It awaken you something primal, something you've never felt or thought before. He truly looked like a strong wood man and this was exciting.

James stopped his task for a moment, grabbed the bottle of water he let near the tree trunk and drank a big gulp, some water even ran along his bare chest. And soon he noticed your glance in his peripheral vision, smirking as he put the bottle down, wiping his lips with his palm.

"Enjoying the view baby?", his question put you out of your trance. You blinked a few times before you realized he had caught you. You blushed and smirked at him too, biting your lips.

"Forget what I said a few days ago..."

"About?", he wondered, walking over you with his axe on his shoulder. You looked more at him with sparkling eyes, biting your lips.

"Your haircut is absolute sexy". James frowned at first but then cracked a laughter at her revelation.

"Sexy uhm?...what made you change your mind sweetheart? A few days ago, you told me it was horrible".

"I don't care anymore. I changed my mind. Come here you sexy man!", you giggled as you grabbed him by his shirt's sleeve, ready to embrace those primal needs you were feeling...

A/N : I love those asks about James hairstyles! The mullet is definitely one of his most iconic one. I personally like it but I know some don't lol. Thanks for asking this sweet anon, hope you'll like it :)

[starfieldcanvas]

You seem like the appropriate person to ask, so might as well. How do I read Scum Villain's Self Saving System? I'm an english only reader that's not very familiar with the danmei ecosystem.

It's been published in English! Big bookstores like Barnes & Noble are carrying Seven Seas danmei these days. My local indie carries them as well. And of course you can buy them on Bookshop or your preferred online retailer. There are four volumes in the English printing, which comprise the original chapters, a lot of illustrations, some translator notes on the basics of cultivation novels and Chinese forms of address, and the "extras", bonus chapters that are a fairly common addition to books that were originally published as pay-per-chapter webnovels.

My local library system has at least one copy of every volume. I do live in a large city (with a large Asian population to boot), but I don't know how relevant that is. The series was an NYT bestseller, so it's totally plausible that even a medium-size county system would have them too. And if you're very patient, you can always request the series be added to your local library catalog.

But the obvious easy answer is that the whole thing is (shh!) still online. 'Lily's BC translation' made it through the whole thing, and there are other slightly smoother fan translations that you can start off with before switching translations when you run out of chapters.

The issue with reading it online is that you're going to run into some odd mixes of preservation vs translation vs localization ('Shidi' sounds much nicer than 'Junior Apprentice-Brother', imo. but why is it always Regret of Chunshan and never Regret of Spring Mountain?) and some transplanted Mandarin dialogue formatting (often it's just [Charactername, "Dialogue"] with no dialogue tag at all) that will take a little getting used to. The translator notes are a lot more colorful, though!

Scum Villain is a fun trip to read knowing pretty much nothing going into it. It's a convergence (and parody) of four different genres: stallion novel, danmei, isekai/transmigration, and cultivation/xianxia. Stop here if you want to go in genre-blind!

Here are my random thoughts about what might be nice for new readers to know IF they don't feel like dropping themselves in the deep end and learning by osmosis:

Stallion novels:

This is the type of webnovel being parodied by Scum Villain's book-within-a-book Proud Immortal Demon Way. Kinda like a harem anime, but more focused on providing a satisfying male power fantasy. Though you can definitely get the gist of it just from the exposition in Scum Villain, there were a few misconceptions I walked away with at the end of the book. This rundown on AO3, Stallion Novels: A Guide, is a brief introduction to the genre and how it differs from or overlaps with other genres of Chinese webnovel.

Danmei:

The popular danmei that have made it the furthest into Western circulation don't necessarily give a representative sampling of common-denominator danmei tropes, precisely because the popular stuff is usually the memorable standouts rather than the generic pulp. So just keep in mind that the common gong (seme) archetype is the dangerous, demanding, quasi-rapist huge-dicked dom who magically makes dry pounding feel insanely pleasurable, and the shou (uke) archetype is the delicate virginal younger man who says no but means yes and cries prettily during sex. These traits WILL be thrown in a blender and parodied, lovingly.

Isekai/transmigration:

This is the trope where you die in real life and wake up in a fantasy world (typical isekai) or in an explicitly fictional setting you recognize from your real-world media consumption (fairly typical transmigration.) Especially in the Chinese webnovel side of the genre, there's often a lot of emphasis on 'leveling up', point farming, and getting 'achievements' like in a video game. Access to this game system typically gives the player advantages over the natural inhabitants of the new world. If there isn't a game system, the player usually still has some kind of magical specialness conferred by being from 'the real world', such as knowledge of how the plot will go. These things will, again, be parodied all to hell.

Cultivation/xianxia:

It's apparently pretty common for westerners ignorant of Daoism and new to xianxia ("immortal heroes") stories to assume cultivation stuff is unique to whatever cultivation-setting book they happened to pick up first. If you had never heard of vampires and then you watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer, you'd be forgiven for initially assuming that the show invented vampires, but you'd misunderstand its commentary on existing vampire lore, and it would probably be confusing how much vampire stuff it inexplicably expected you to already know. With that in mind, you can see why it might be helpful to have a vague awareness of what "cultivation" refers to in xianxia novels.

Here's my stab at it: "cultivation" means something like "increasing one's spiritual energy reserves and improving one's control over spiritual energy (qi) through meditation, study, and physical discipline, in order to develop a powerful core of spiritual energy that can heal wounds, enable powerful martial techniques, slow visible aging or stop aging entirely, and allow a person to forgo food and sleep indefinitely as they transcend the limitations of their physical body and become immortal, maybe even ascending to godhood."

Usually cultivators practice cultivation in cultivation sects - these sects are typically depicted as a cross between a temple, a boot camp, a university campus, and a small independent political entity

Everyone in the same sect ("martial family") refers to each other using sect-flavored family terms. Two people of the same generation are sect-siblings and will use sibling suffixes with the "shi-" prefix to indicate it's a sect relationship. Your sect mentor is your shizun/shifu ("honored teacher-mentor-master"/"teacher-mentor-master"). Someone in your mentor's generation is your sect-uncle or sect-aunt; they'll refer to you as their sect-niece or sect-nephew.

Similar to how Chinese family name suffixes differ by age order, sect-family suffixes differ depending on seniority (i.e. when your master took you as a disciple, relative to the other disciples.) But different novels play with these seniority rules differently and may assign suffixes by age alone or by some other ranking system.

Westerners occasionally get freaked out when people in the same sect generation fall in love because the characters are sect siblings. But there's no incest implied at all—it's nothing more than two people being in the same boarding school or church congregation.

If a cultivator is not in a sect, they're called a rogue cultivator ; this confers less stability and political prestige, but despite the name, rogue cultivators are not outlaws or apostates. It just means "independent."

Cultivators will often accept requests from civilians to deal with marauding monsters and mysterious ghost-related deaths. How much money they expect for their services is generally tied to how righteous they are.

Depending on their chosen cultivation path, they may be more martial or less martial. Cultivators of the sword path use spiritual swords that can (1) work like a regular sword but better, (2) project power at range in a glowing beam called a sword glare, or (3) be directed remotely in battle using hand seals (adopted into Daoism from Buddhism, known elsewhere as mudras) or wordless telepathy. Some cultivators of the sword path will nevertheless have non-sword spiritual weapons or favor other qi-powered martial techniques.

Cultivators make use of talismans (spells written in red cinnabar ink on strips of paper and then activated, often used like throwable magic stickers) and arrays (more powerful, longer-lasting spells painted or carved into locations or objects.)

Various stages of core formation may be referenced to indicate power levels. Reaching a new stage may involve some kind of tribulation, health risk, or grueling purification process (e.g. expelling all your body's impurities out through your pores as black goo.)

Spiritual energy is channelled through pathways in your body called spirit veins to key points called meridians. Different people may be said to have different types of spirit veins typed according to the five elements. A trained cultivator can examine someone's meridians to check their spiritual health or cultivation aptitude.

Strain on your psyche or your spiritual energy can lead to what's called a qi deviation, where the spiritual energy circulating through you gets fucked up and you have the spiritual equivalent of a stroke. Sufferers may bleed from all their face holes, lash out mindlessly at anyone who comes near them, hallucinate, straight-up die, or endure wacky shenanigans like temporarily reverting to childhood.

Cultivators may use external alchemy to create power-boosting pills in small alchemical cauldrons.

Dual cultivation is exchanging energy through sex in order to aid in spiritual regulation or to mutually increase power levels. It can be done in a one-sided way to steal spiritual energy, which is known as making a human cauldron. In the real religious practice on which the fantasy version is based, dual cultivation relies on the exchange of men's yang and women's yin, but somehow in danmei xianxia the m/m couples seem to manage it just fine...

Different Chinese novels and shows do different variations on cultivation (the same way Western shows do variations on vampires/angels/demons/etc) but they're all ultimately drawing on the same Daoist tradition of internal alchemy (also called The Way of the Golden Elixir) with bits of Buddhism and Chinese folk religion mixed in. (Chinese folk religion is usually where the monster/ghost/demon stuff comes from.)

Other stuff:

Scum Villain is peppered with a bunch of trope references that will be largely unfamiliar to most western readers, like "white lotus"/"black lotus", "blackened", "black belly", and so on. It also borrows a few Japanese archetype references here and there. "Cannon fodder" is fairly self-explanatory at least.

It's fun to look these up, but it's equally fun to just figure them out from context.

Hope this helps! Enjoy your reading!

[starsreminisce]

Everybody knows, without a doubt, that if Lucien just met Elain and was generally polite to her and then she got the mating bond with Azriel, he would NEVER be sneaking around trying to have sex with her in private. He would NEVER challenge Azriel for a fight to the death. Even if Elain was being distant with Azriel, he wouldn’t get involved because a mating bond tops everything.

The funny thing is that Lucien has addressed this specific scenario with someone who is mated, Feyre.

Every second was the ringing of my death knell. I’d primed everything to fall; I’d long since stopped feeling any sort of guilt or doubt about my plan. Not with Alis now safely away. And yet—and yet— “You don’t act that way with Feyre.” A silk-wrapped threat. “You’re mistaken.” “Am I?” Twigs and leaves crunched, as if she was circling him. “You put your hands all over her.” I had done my job too well, provoked her jealousy too much with every instance I’d found ways to get Lucien to touch me in her presence, in Tamlin’s presence. “Do not touch me,” he growled.

Yes, Feyre described Lucien as having lost interest in female company now that he is mated. However, he never treated Feyre as anything more than a friend despite who she was with. Even when he was comforting her during her "nightmare" and how he treated her afterward.

I hauled myself into the canvas tent when the fire was dying out, the space barely big enough for Lucien and me to sleep shoulder to shoulder. His red hair gleamed in the faint firelight a moment later as he shoved through the flaps and swore. “Maybe I should sleep out there.” I rolled my eyes. “Please.” A wary, considering glance as he knelt and removed his boots. “You know Tamlin can be … sensitive about things.”

Lucien stayed platonic toward Feyre, even when there were implications that there could be more, which Feyre used to her advantage in ACOWAR as part of her plan to destroy the Spring Court. Since we don't have Lucien's POV, it's clear that he could see the glamoured tattoo on Feyre's other arm, yet he kept a respectable distance while still attempting to repair their friendship.

Elain doesn't want a mate. Her whole arc is going to be a man vs. fate conflict.

And who better suits her to navigate this than someone who had no reason to believe he had a mate versus someone who had waited 500 years for the bond to snap?

It would make for a better rejection story if Elain and Az were mated and Elain rejected it, as both of them actually had something to gain from it. Azriel could move past the idolization of having a mate, realizing it's not what it's cracked up to be, and focus on someone who is much better suited for him. Elain could end up with someone who loves being out in the sun as much as she does, who would enjoy attending social events, and who has wandered into courts, making friends with the sons of other High Lords.

SJM did envision a world where Lucien and Elain were not mated, and she said Elain was the one who surprised her.

SJM could have kept Lucien as a close friend of Feyre's, as she did with Dorian and Chaol to Aelin or Bryce with Flynn, Ithan, and Tharion. Perhaps every scenario she thought of had Lucien and Elain drawn toward each other, or every scenario ended with Lucien and Elain together regardless of who their initial mates were, so she decided to mate them from the beginning.

And every book after that shows the devastation and consequences of not being with their mate, particularly in the face of uncertain death.

[anjelicawrites]

After the fair

Paring: Abraham x reader

Synopsis: during a horse fair you meet an old friend, Abraham gets jealous and needs to be reminded who you love.

Warnings: reader has burn marks, reference to nausea and vomiting, anxiety, fighting, crying, jealousy, Abraham’s possessiveness, reference to prejudice against the Romanichal community, kissing, fingering, p in v sex, kissing, scratching, overstimulation, titty sucking, pregnancy sex.

A/N 1: this is a sequel to this fic, but it could be read as a standalone.

A/N 2: I don’t know anyone from the Romanichal community and used Google for my research for this fic. I tried to be as accurate and respectful as possible. Please let me know if I’ve written something wrong so I can make the needed corrections!

A/N 3: reader is AFAB but not described. Where needed, they/them pronouns used. Reader is addressed as "wife".

It’s a beautiful spring day, sunny but not too hot. It explodes over the assorted smells of people, food and horses at the fair.  You’re all the happier to be able to inhale lungful of air without feeling sick: you’re roughly into the second trimester of your first pregnancy, the first having been a nightmare of nausea caused by any smell, throwing up and being afraid of losing the child slowly growing into your belly.

You know your body is still recovering from barely managing to keep anything down for months, you’re all belly now, the rest of your skin stretched thin over your skeleton, not that you care, now that you feel better and you can feel movements in your tummy.  Abraham is still worried about you and the baby, whenever he’s not with the horses, he’s hovering over you like a hawk, ready to go fetch the healers of the community as soon as he sees signs of discomfort on your part. It’s so endearing to see how uncaring of what the whole camp thinks of him, not when your health and safety are one the line: he’s always showed you his love and care, in the privacy of your shared vardo, and kept a more stern façade for the outside to see: now that you’re expecting your first child and had such a rough start, he doesn’t seem to care about what the other men think of him, only what the women helping you advise him to do to help you with the pregnancy.

Abraham is at the horse fair today with some of the animals he’s worked on during the last year and a half, you as well came to town to do some business with one of the book antiquarians you collaborate with; having been sick for so long, you had to put everything on hold and are itching to go back to trading antiques with all your contacts in the UK. You are tired and your ankles feel swollen, yet you are happy: you feel fulfilled by a very productive work day and you want to have a small wander around with your boots in the mud and under the sun, before telling Abraham you’re going back to the vardo to lie down for a bit, before dinner.

You turn around when you hear your name being called and spot an old friend from your Oxford days.

“What are you doing here? How are you?”

You are surprised and happy to see him after such a long time!

“I’m just enjoying a nice, sunny day.” He smiles. “What brings you here? It’s so far away from Badger’s Crossing!”

You try not to flinch at the name and almost manage: the poor man doesn’t know how much that spot still hurts you and you don’t want to ruin your day.

“I’m here with my husband, he works with horses.” You say with a smile. “Husband? Now, when did that happen?” “As it usually goes.” You laugh. “A little over a year ago.” “Congratulations for that and for the little one on the road!”

He hugs you again and you tighten your arms around his big frame with all your strength: he’s always been a good friend, a companion during the long hours of study in the library, a gentle soul trapped in the body of a giant.

“What about you? Are you still trying to climb the academic ladder?”

Minutes fly as he tells you all about his goals and achievements as you two walk around the fair, he’s always been flamboyant and enthusiastic about his field of choice, and he hasn’t changed one bit. He regards you with tales of Oxford life, making you laugh with his stories about your former professors there as he helps you navigate the uneven terrain of the fair, ending up with an arm as thick as a tree trunk linked with yours.

“So, where is your husband? I need to meet the man who managed to snag you away from your books and the rest of us, he has to be a remarkable person!”

“He is! There’s so many people I can’t see him.” You go on your tiptoes and shield your eyes from the sun. “There he is!”

Abraham seems to sense your presence and stares in your direction without you calling him, his expression darkens when he sees you with your arm linked to your friend.

“Hello husband.” You go to him and put your hand on his. “I met an old friend today!”

Abraham just stares at your friend, whose expression has changed as soon as he’s seen him: too late you realize your mistake.

Abraham puts his arm on your shoulder and pulls you closer to him as your friend tries to make some half heartedly small talk: you’re so used to be around your community, you’ve forgotten how lowly gadji think of them, how the distrust easily flows towards the Romanichal people who have welcomed you with an open heart. 

You are not sad when your friend bids a haste goodbye and leaves you with your husband.

“Who was that?” 

You can feel how tense Abraham is and you place your hand on his sturdy chest.

“An old friend from university, no one of importance.” You smile in his direction. “Are you going to stay here long? I’m going home for the day.”

Abraham stares at you, assessing your condition with a worry and care you’ve gotten used to experience.

“It’s not going to take me too long. You go along, take one of Peter’s children to accompany you.” “There’s no need for that. I will collect the book when we leave the area and it’s not that much of a walk.” “it is not negotiable.”

Abraham is always on edge when Cyril is not shadowing your every move, but you couldn't bring both the goods to the antiquarian and the dog and you had to leave him guarding the vardo.  You came to the city with some of the women, he’s not going to let you go back on your own: he wouldn’t have done it if you weren’t pregnant, to begin with, now that his first born is in your belly? He’s not taking any chances.

In the end the daughters of Esme Jones come back with you, their chatting easing a bit of your tiredness and annoyance towards Abraham’s over protectiveness. You love your husband, you don’t know what you would have done without him after Badger’s Crossing, but he needs to remember you can take care of yourself, even in your state. But the thought doesn't even cross his thick skull, he simply treats you as if you're made of glass, your opinion not even considered, and that irks you to no end. 

You have to lie down as soon as you arrive at the vardo to put your legs up, hoping to help with your swollen ankles.  You’ve turned the small transistor radio on, waiting for the radio drama to start, as you tap gently on your distended belly: the midwife has suggested you might be carrying twins, after you told her how the kicks seemed to be everywhere in your belly, at the same time. 

Truth to be told, your tummy is pretty big for someone around their fifth month and she could detect no strangeness in the way your child is growing and moving inside of you, perhaps twins it is?  The thought scares you a little, not because you don't know how to act around children, in your past life as a librarian you used to organize activities with them, and were pretty good at it; those were not your children, though, you didn't have to shoulder the responsibility of their well being for their whole life. If you're truly carrying twins, how are you going to manage? The idea fills you with the need of your mother, either adoptive or biological, to take your hand and tell you everything is going to be alright. 

Two sets of kicks drag you back from your anxiety, or perhaps is kicking and punching against your tummy?  You drum your fingers again but the child (children?) don't take your bait. 

“You really want to be a mystery up to the end, don't you?” You ask your tummy without receiving an answer. 

When Abraham comes back you’re midway eating toast with butter and sardines.  You were supposed to wait for him and share the kidney pie you’ve backed, maybe while sitting outside to enjoy the late spring afternoon, but you had this violent craving for food that you didn't want to fight, not after three whole months of nausea and vomiting. 

You’ve noticed he's washed himself before coming back, his ridiculous mane of hair wet and styled the way he likes, yet he looks aggravated: had something happen back at the fair?

“Abraham?” 

You don't want to sound too apprehensive, but you can feel the tense aura around him, who doesn't respond, preferring to take a swing from the water bottle on the table. 

“What happened, my love?” You ask. 

Abraham's eyes are darker in the dying sun streaming from the window, dark blue like the stormy sea, his mouth set in a thin, unhappy line. 

“You know he wants to shag you, don't you?” He asks, the belligerent tone barely controlled.  “Who?” You're genuinely confused, feeling like he's thrown you in an ongoing conversation you've missed the start of.  “Your friend.” He spats. “The one from before. He knows you're spoken for, that you're carrying another man’s child inside of you, and he still wants to shag you!”

Slower than you want to, you manage to stand up to look into Abraham's eyes. 

“Abe, he's always been like that: expansive with his affection. Not once has he ever wanted to sleep with me.”

Abraham's brow seems to knit even tighter as he regards you.  

“You don't see it, but I could!”

The shadows on his face are darker, turning his beautiful face in a stern mask of disappointment; you stand your ground, feet planted on the floor of the vardo, eyes locked with his. 

“Let's say that you're right, that he wants me.” You grab his hands and put them on your tummy. “Tell me Abraham, whose child am I carrying? Whose seed has taken root inside of me?”

His hands clench at your words, his nose flares. 

“I’ve asked you a question, husband: who is the one who had me, who bred me? Was it him? Hmm? Who was it?”

Your nails are leaving half moons on pain in his wrist that he can't feel, his fingers spasm over your clothed tummy with the need to rip your clothes open to stare at your naked body: you’ve never been more beautiful and enchanting than now that you're full of his child, his cock is always at half mast with the need to be buried inside you warmth, now so tight and always welcoming.  You don't realize how crazy you drive him, how much he wishes to stay rooted inside of you for the rest of his life, to suck on your breasts until you're keening and begging him to stop, but he will not: he needs to die with your taste in his mouth. 

Your eyes stay locked for what seems hours but it is just seconds, before Abraham's hands evade your hold to grab your face, his long fingers in your hair to keep you where he wants you to be. 

“It was me.” He growls, before smashing his lips against yours. 

It’s not a gentle kiss, nor it is refined; his mouth slants over yours and his tongue invades your mouth, proprietary and hungry, while he backs you towards the bed and you kiss him back ferociously, your fingers already under his shirt, your nails raking down his long back.

He undresses you fast, almost ripping your clothes off your body and keeps his burning gaze on your skin while he undresses himself: you can see the hunger there, barely controlled after all the months you were too sick to sleep with him, but you still feel self conscious of the way your body is changing and of the way your scars are uglier now that your skin is stretched thin over your bones and your belly is already so big. You know he doesn’t see any of your imperfections, that he loves you, yet you wish to be perfect for him, unblemished for his eyes to see.

You slide up the bed to make space for his long body and spread your legs to accommodate his form as he hovers over you, his weight carried by his strong arms. He knows what you’re thinking, he can see it in the darkened hue of your eyes and in the way your fingers itch to cover your body with the bed sheets: he’s not going to have any of that. You are his, belong by his side, not under the heavy cloak of shame: to him you are as pretty as you were before the fire and the way your body is changing adds more fuel to the fire of his desire.

His lips are soft all over your skin, starting from your brow he kisses a slow path down your body, over your closed eyelids and your nose, his teeth nip your lips playfully and his mouth sucks at your neck, until you’re marked for the whole world to see. Gentle his tongue licks your burns and ravenously he sucks on your breasts, he murmurs sweet nothings at your belly and he smiles when he hears the child kick in response; his long fingers explore you slowly, you’re embarrassed by the squelching sound you hear and he’s having none of that.

“So perfect.” He murmurs, the blue of his eyes almost hypnotic. “So much tighter for me, and always wet.” “Aaaabe…” It comes out strangled as your back arches as much as your tummy lets you. “You’re always hungry for me? Are you not?” “Abraham, please!” You whine when his calloused thumb grazes your clit. “Answer me. Show me how obedient you can be.” He growls hotly. “Yes Abraham! For you! Only for you, husband!” You whine as your cunt tries to suck his fingers deeper. “What a good wife you are.” He purrs. “I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?”

The pads of his fingers start massaging that rougher patch inside of you faster as the thumb of his other hand takes care of your swollen clit and you cant your hips following his lead, moaning as the pleasure unfolds inside of you and spreads through your nerves, warm and familiar makes you whine and shake under his ministration.

“Abe! Abe!” You plead, needing his permission. “Close, Abe!” “Yes, now!”

His fingers move impossibly fast and your body vibrates with pleasure, trashes and arches drenched in sweat under his, your mind almost snapping when his lips curl around one nipple and suck hungrily as you come with a desperate moan.

“Oh God.” You pant, seeking his warmth. “You did good, sweet wife, so good.”

You feel pleasure lick at your nerves again when he uses his hand, drenched with the proof of your pleasure, to slick his erect cock with slow, deliberate strokes, his eyes boring into yours, daring you to look away.

“I love you.” You sob. “I love you so much!”

You don’t know where the tears come from, but they fall freely from your eyes and Abraham is fast in slotting himself behind you to hug you as tight as he can. With your big belly in the way, hugging from the front while laying down is difficult, you have to squirm a bit to hide your face against Abraham’s neck to cry, desperately, his masculine scent calming you and driving you into overdrive at the same time, heightening all your feelings for him, now exploding in your chest like fireworks.  Your emotions are so much stronger now that you’re pregnant, they escape your control, leaving you defenseless against your own self, and lost without your husband.

Abraham’s callous fingers dry the tears from your cheeks carefully, as if you’re made of glass and he’s afraid of breaking you with his oaf’s strength.

“Better?” He murmurs in your ear. “Yes. I don’t know what happened.”

You snuggle closer to his warmth, making sure his hand is laying flat on your belly and your leg is over his, wanting his cock to find home between your lower lips.

“You don’t have to.” He says and you know he’s telling the truth. “I know. I want you, please.”

The heath in your voice travels like an arrow to his cock, which swells once again, aided by the warmth of your cunt and the knowledge that you want him, and him only. He rolls his hips against yours, letting your smell, the taste of your skin pervade his senses. His hand takes hold of your tight to secure you against his body as you moan, reveling in the way his body responds to yours, how your desire entices him, how this magic can only work between you two, and no one else.

Slowly, Abraham enters you.  Ever since you stopped feeling so sickly, he tried to be as gentle as possible with you, choosing to forego his more rough ways to express the passion that consumes him, preferring to be gentler, to feel your body react to his, to just experience your pleasure and though that, find his own.

Both of you groan when he bottoms out and your walls hug his cock impossibly tight, almost to the point of pain when he starts to rock against you, his erection sucked in when he leaves your warmth, the velvet of your walls the sweetest torture, your moans spurring him on, your taste intoxicating on his tongue, as it is the softness of your breast in his hands.

His hips rock gently against you, a soft moan escapes your lips with every push in as one of your hands grab blindly behind you, scratching his naked skin, trying to pull him as close to yourself as possible.

“I’m here.” He growls. “Feel me.”

Your body shakes in his hold, your nails scratch his skin, pain and pleasure mix in your brain, leaving you a begging, screeching mess in his hold as his calloused hands grab and touch your breasts, your nipples so sensitive already that you keen, almost in pain. 

His touch is delicate, yet proprietary on every inch of your body; the way his free hand slides on your sweaty skin to grab at it, the hold on your hip to keep you flush against his bigger body, his teeth on your neck, everything marks you as his in ways the ring on your finger doesn’t.  Nothing compares to feeling him explore you and own you, to have his cock rearrange your insides with long strokes that make you whimper, to feel his index finger slowly play with your clit, keeping you on the edge of pleasure, not letting you fall, not yet, not before he’s fucked the fist of your cunt some more, heard your desperate sounds of pleasure, squeezed your breasts, now so big they fill his hands, marked you again and again.

“Abe! Abe!” You whine, you hips bucking against his hold “Shh, wait! Not yet!” he growls desperately. 

It’s so hard to control his own orgasm when your cunt sucks him in and he can only grind against you as you kiss him, ferocious and desperate, tongue and lips sloppy against his: how he wishes to keep the two of you on the edge forever, to stay rooted in your cunt until the end of times, to bully that rough patch inside of you until your voice gives, to never have to leave you again!

You come with a scream, white sparks explode behind your eyes as your cunt clenches so tight Abraham follows you immediately, his seed marking you yet again. His vision blackens for an instant, his orgasm infinite inside the sanctuary of your body, until all his muscles relax and he slumps against you, who lay breathless on the bed, overused cunt stained by his leaking seed, just basking in the feeling of his tired lips all over your sweaty skin.

For long seconds you two exist in this blissful silence, broken only by your ragged breaths, you two might as well be the last people on earth, the thick paneling of the vardo providing with all the soundproofing to believe the camp outside doesn’t exist.

“Are you still angry?”

You ask Abraham, after turning on your other side to look at his face. He’s more relaxed now, his hair a mess, his cheeks pink with exertion.

“I’m never angry with you. Your friend? He should know not to touch what isn’t his.”

There’s still an edge in his voice, that known possessiveness now enhanced by your state that’s the core of your husband. He means well and fears the gadji and their violence, is petrified by the idea of losing you, or the child: he’d die without either of you.

“I’m not sure I can call him that anymore, not after the way he looked at you. Shush! I don’t care that you’re used to it.”

There’s something in your husband’s eyes, an emotion you can’t decipher, too fast it disappears after he’s closed his eyes.

“You are truly a gift from God.” He says, and it’s the most romantic thing he’s ever told you. “I’m being just, that’s it.” You answer.

You cup his cheek and he rubs your palm like a cat.

“I’m so happy I’m carrying your child, Abraham.” “A pretty baby just like the mum.” “And the dad. Don’t sell yourself short.” “I don’t have much good to give.” He says with clouded eyes. “Don’t! If our child has half the courage and strength you possess, I could be happy. Don’t try to win this argument!”

Later that night, after you two had indeed eaten the pie outside, while chatting with your extended family, Abraham loses himself staring at you, asleep all curled up in one of his old shirts. The cotton isn’t loose on your body as it used to be, not with your protruding belly and fuller breasts to fill it, not that it matters: you always take his breath away. 

Slowly, making sure he’s not waking you up, Abraham moves the hair hiding the burn marks on your head and kisses the scarred skin with reverence: if the child is going to be half of the good person and the fighter you are, he can call himself a happy man.  You are too good for him, he can only try to live up to you and be a decent father, show the child the right way in this life, but with you by their side, he knows the child’s future is bright.

[soft-girl-academia]

Feelings Before Power - CHAPTER 2 (Kaizen)

All Might/Toshinori Yagi x Plus Sized WOC!Original Character

cross-posted to ao3 (locked for registered users only)

fic masterlist

chapter 1

fic tags: rated T for typical-to canon violence/medical issues/mental health; slow burn romance; "what if dadmight had a co-parent"

wc: 2.4k

fic summary: Hyde & Seek were at the top of their game before losing one made the other fall from grace.

Years later, Teddy Bernard sees her work at U.A. as a chance to start over- just as the Number One Hero plans to raise up his protégé. An unexpected reunion proves that nobody makes it in this industry alone, and some ghosts- and feelings- refuse to stay buried.

chapter summary: the first day of school is full of mixed emotions for all.

A/N: crazy that this thing is 1 week old already... looking forward to getting further into it!

__________

14 MONTHS LATER

At 39, Teddy didn’t think the first day of school would still give her such a rush. Yet as she rose with the sun to start her day, she felt as giddy as a First Year when she put on her costume. 

It took some getting used to, but her new ensemble was full of improvements. Teddy adjusted the black sleeves on each forearm– much better than her old set, fitting like a second skin at the wrist. Her matching bodysuit was deceptively soft and easy to slip on, the only ornamentation being a thick orange stripe running the length of either side. The high collar protected the TENS-like patch she now placed at the back right side of her neck, letting her thick curls fall over both once it stuck. She secured a thin black mask over her eyes with a contented sigh: it was simple, but it was hers . 

Her excitement grew as she stepped outside. Even from the wooded seclusion of her new home, Teddy could hear the early hustle and bustle of U.A.'s main campus. Getting to trade her apartment for a small residence on the property was more generous than she’d hoped for. She began her trek toward the school building, taking the long way around as a sort of pre-patrol lap.

Her first year working at U.A. had been colored by awkward moments and imposter syndrome. Being around so many ambitious students and their Pro Hero instructors made her role on security detail pale in comparison. Her position was announced as an experimental supplement to the school’s high-tech security system. Threats to campus were rare because U.A. was built like a fortress; even so, Principal Nezu had vouched for her and lauded the benefit of boots on the ground from the start.

"Hyde will help monitor our main campus for the foreseeable future,” he had declared during her first staff meeting. “While we have no reason to suspect an increase in external threats, we can never be too careful. She will also provide an excellent example to the students of a more mundane aspect of patrol, something they won’t experience until qualifying for internships."

Hyde. Being addressed by her Pro Hero name after setting it aside for so long had sent chills down her spine. Still, she’d held her face in stoic gratitude with her hands to her heart as she bowed to the gathered faculty: colleagues again, but in a much more humbling context.

If anyone had gossiped over the irony of her presence, they were kind enough to do it behind closed doors. If they knew the real reason her position was created, they were gracious enough to not mention it. Each day she had walked the tightrope of this rational deception, an end-justifying means she’d come to know as a pillar in Eraser Head’s teaching style.

A full school year had passed since then. The start of Spring Term was ripe with possibility. Like the students she’d watch over, she had a feeling this year held even more chances to move toward her goals. U.A. was the starting line for her, too.

The scenic route brought Teddy to the front of campus about five minutes before the first bell. As she neared the school entrance, she noticed a blur of green and yellow making its way up the path.

Is that...?

__________

"Hey, Sludge Kid!"

Midoriya kept running, his chest tight. Of course Bakugou would get recognized here: this place churned out Heroes, after all, and his old classmate was already ahead of the curve.

The rapid sound of approaching footsteps snapped him out of his thoughts. "I can't believe it's you!"

Midoriya stopped with a jolt, eyes widening with twofold recognition when he saw who was following him. "Wha– woah , Morphing Hero, Hyde?!"

Her eyes shone within her mask. "Recognize me even in the new gear, huh?" She gestured to her costume. "I’ve been here a year and some students still ask who I am."

"Are you kidding, of course I recognized you! You kept the same color scheme, but I see how there'd be some confusion since your former costume was more youthful and revealing–"

"Youthful?" Teddy lamented under her breath.

"Does this help your morphing abilities be more seamless? And what's it made out of that lets it change with your body? Surely advancements in textiles have only improved since your debut, and are your new wrist braces for Quirk regulation, or combat? And–"

Teddy threw her hands up. "Slow down, kid. It's hardly 8 in the morning." She beamed down at him with pride. “I just wanted to congratulate you. I’m glad someone like you got accepted to U.A.... we need all types of heroes to make things run.”

Tears welled up in the boy's eyes, but he wiped them away as quickly as they formed. "T-thank you, Hyde! I... I didn't get here alone, so I have a lot of people counting on me to do my best."

"That's what I like to hear." She formed two fists at her front. "Let's both do our best, okay?"

"Right!" A bow at the waist punctuated his enthusiasm. Before he rushed off, he turned back around with a smile. "By the way– I'm Izuku Midoriya, Class 1-A!"

Teddy waved as she backed away. "Have a great first day, Midoriya!" Her pride swelled as she watched his yellow backpack scamper off through the front doors of the school. 

Wait, 1-A ? That's the Hero Course…

Either he had impressed the entrance panel with some insane talents for a Quirkless kid, or puberty had hit him with the ultimate curveball. Either way, she made a mental note to keep an eye on him. Midoriya was bound to be in for a wild first term.

__________

Even after all these years, the first day of school still managed to give All Might the jitters.

He didn’t have a class for a while, but it was nonetheless nerve wracking to be back at his alma mater. Things were so different from his heyday. At least, he was different.

U.A.'s nontraditional approach to classes meant he could budget his time as the Symbol of Peace in front of the students. His colleagues knew about his injury and time limit, so it helped to drop the mask behind closed doors. But there was always something in their eyes when they addressed him in his true form. It didn't take long to recognize when someone's gaze– however briefly– fell to his gaunt cheeks or skeletal frame instead of maintaining eye contact. Flashes of confusion when he entered the room soon disappeared, but the breaths held upon his arrival could blow his true form away if released all at once.

If he could keep the mask on, he would.

Now, he poured over the staff directory to familiarize himself with his fellow teachers. He wasn't totally out of the loop, but some names stood out more than others. A chill ran through him when he saw that Shouta Aizawa was young Midoriya's homeroom teacher.

“Aizawa, huh?” He groaned. “Good luck, kid…”

It was hard to not worry, but he was just as new to this as his student was. Well, not quite– when he was his age, he at least had more people in his corner. Who would look out for the boy when his mentor hit his limit?

All Might sighed and flipped to the back of the directory. There were some faces he hadn't memorized yet, and he needed to distract himself from his growing concern for Midoriya.

“Hm? Now what are the odds…”

Concern turned to curiosity as he scanned the next profile:

Theodora Bernard

CODE NAME: Morphing Hero

Hyde

QUIRK: Temper [when angry, her body fat morphs into super-strengthened muscle]

ROLE: Campus Security [Conditional Licensure]

“Conditional Licensure”...?

He’d be ashamed to admit that these past few years, he hadn't followed many Heroes ranked so far beneath him. He wasn't intentionally ignorant; at minimum he tried to keep up with those he'd worked with before. Hyde had never been a solo act. So what brought her to U.A. on her own?

He'd have to investigate later, All Might decided as he reshelved the directory. For now, his anxiety over Midoriya's first class with Aizawa was impossible to ignore. It wouldn’t hurt to check in, would it? He flexed into his muscle form, banana yellow suit ballooning out to contain his extra mass.

Yeah, it’d be fine. He'd be subtle.

__________

“Izuku Midoriya, you cannot become a Hero with that power of yours.”

All Might listened from around the corner. He'd been so busy riding the high of Midoriya making it this far, he hadn't thought a roadblock like this would occur so early on his path. Getting the boy into U.A. was an impossible task, but they'd managed that. Mastering a multigenerational Quirk that could destroy him with one wrong move was another story. He hoped he wasn't steering the kid wrong; they didn't write teacher manuals about One For All.

Whether or not his teaching was adequate, Midoriya still knocked the ball toss out of the park. Concentrating his power into his finger left it broken but functional, and the potential All Might had seen was now glaringly obvious to everyone watching. It didn’t hurt that he looked pretty darn cool, too. 

There were a few more tests indoors, and All Might waited to see how the class would wrap up. He was sure the boy powered through each trial, but Aizawa would have the final say.

“Are you going to be lurking around every corner from now on?”

All Might jumped at the voice. He turned to see Hyde leaning against the wall behind him, arms crossed and looking less than amused at his antics. He popped upright and beamed down at her.

“Hyde! Long time, no see.”

Her flat affect remained unchanged. “Right.” She walked up beside him, eyes on the empty field. “You’re not scheduled to teach until tomorrow, so you'll excuse my concern at seeing some man lurking in the shadows.”

He laughed, a booming sound that would have drawn attention if the class wasn’t still inside. “Of course, you’re just doing your job!” His yellow-clad form seemed to grow as he propped his hands on his hips. “Speaking of which, you’ll excuse my surprise at your being here, too. I never knew you to stay in one place so long. It’s been at least a year, hasn’t it?”

“It’s a job,” she said quickly. Her posture stiffened, jaw set straight ahead. “We don’t all have major Tokyo agencies to keep money in the bank.” 

All Might started to speak, but Hyde was faster. “Looks like class is about to end.”

The bustle of students gathering at the edge of the field drew his attention back. “Ah, excuse me–” 

Hyde watched as the towering hero returned to his less-than-subtle hiding spot. Her gaze softened when she saw the mop of green hair belonging to Midoriya. “1-A?” she asked, not bothering to hide herself as she drew closer.

All Might nodded, a rare moment of silence from him as they listened to the aftermath of the tests. A digital screen flashed in front of the students, listing the name and rank of each participant’s total score for the morning’s activities. Before they could react, their teacher revealed a shocking twist: he wasn’t going to expel anyone, after all.

“It was a rational deception to draw out the upper limits of your Quirks,” Aizawa explained with a grin. The students had mixed reactions: while some shrugged it off, others were stunned into less than silence that made their audience grateful they weren’t in their shoes.

“I see he’s up to his usual tricks,” Hyde mused. They both wondered how Midoriya was doing– he looked like he was going to be sick.

“Aizawa, you big softie!” All Might turned his attention to 1-A’s teacher, who was walking back ahead of the class.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Aizawa sized him up with tired eyes. “Did you really have nothing better to do today than keep others from their work?” Hyde shifted uncomfortably, eyes down.

All Might, however, leaned in with a knowing expression. “C’mon Eraser, this was unorthodox by your standards. Has the man that expelled an entire class of first-years changed so much over Spring Break? Even with a score like Midoriya’s?” He struck a dazzling pose, not caring that Hyde and Aizawa both cringed. “Something tells me you see potential in that kid, too.”

“I went the most logical route.” Aizawa pulled out a bottle of eye drops as he continued. “It’s a bit early in the year to be playing favorites, isn’t it?”

All Might sputtered as his colleague blinked, undeterred. “Midoriya doesn’t have zero potential. I’ll admit that much. If he did, I wouldn’t hesitate to cut him from the program.” Turning to go back to the main campus, he cut his eyes briefly at Hyde as he concluded. “There’s nothing crueler than letting a dream go on longer than it should.” With that, he left.

“I will never understand that guy,” All Might sighed. “But everyone’s kind in their own way, I guess.” He turned back to Hyde, whose stone-faced attitude seemed to have shifted with Eraser Head’s departure.

“I should get back to work,” she muttered as she stepped away.

“Of course!” All Might’s smile returned full-force. “Let's have tea one of these days, it really has been too long.”

“You can drop the act, All Might.”

There it was: that brief flash of color in her eyes he’d seen only once before. The coldness in her voice had felt incomplete without it, he realized.

“We don’t have to pretend we’re friends. You'll have enough on your plate without trying to humor me.” Red still muddied the green in her irises as she took a step back. “I’m here to work. So are you. Let’s just leave it at that.” She turned to leave, rubbing the inside of her wrist as she started back down the path.

“Theodora.”

All Might’s address hung in the air between them, stopping her in her tracks. He stepped closer, not caring that he spoke to her back. “I know we didn't leave on good terms back then. You and your partner–”

Red eyes glared back. “I have to get back to work…. colleague.”

__________

A/N: ty for reading <3 fingers crossed i can get chapter 3 out by next monday, but we shall see!!!

[walkdreams]

❛❛ i'll tell you where the real road lies. between your ears, behind your eyes. that's the path to paradise. likewise, the road to ruin

a son of zeus and maia, hermes was born in a cave in mt. hōrai and later became the greek god of swiftness and craftiness. mt. hōrai is a paradisal isle within the crossroads realm ( a sort of limbo or cosmic highway between lands and dimensions ), primarily used as a rest stop and sanctuary for the kami pantheon. the cloud cover surrounding the isle is made up of quintillions upon quintillions of souls ready to impart their wisdom, while the regular inhabitants of the isle are made up of yōkai and sprites who have known no evil, which keeps their hearts pure and prevents them from growing old. in maia's case, she was a refugee granted sanctuary by birthright, being a granddaughter of fūjin, the elder kami of wind.

as a youth, hermes snuck out of the isle to learn more about his kin from the greek pantheon, particularly his older brother apollo. through his cunning and unrivaled speed, he was able to steal apollo's prized cattle in jest. two of the cattle were accidentally harmed, their deaths barring hermes' ability to return to mt. hōrai, but he endeared himself to his angry brother through the invention of the lyre, and won his father's favor by presenting the dead cattle as a sacrifice to the gods. thereafter, he became zeus' personal messenger and an olympian god presiding over herds, heralds, travelers, athletes, commerce, trade & thieves. he is the pantheon's middleman and arguably the biggest aid to their mortal heroes. he also serves as a psychopomp, guiding departed souls to the underworld when requested or needed.

✧ headcanons ✧ visuals ✧ threads

☁️ . . . VERSES

✧ main . for any greek myth canon or ancient/modern fantasy verses that leaves room for the pantheon to exist. any cataclysmic/supernatural threat that can only be addressed by a chosen one/few means there's a call that will need to be answered, and you know who's making that call? hermes is the mouthpiece of the gods, and herald of nearly every story, so he will be convincing heroes to step out of their ordinary worlds to go save the world, may even help or deliver a boon somewhere along the way between his many misadventures errands if he takes a liking to them! ✧ alt. kami verse . still need to flesh this out, but i'd love to explore an alternate storyline for him wherein he still get's booted from mt. hōrai, but the greek pantheon didn't welcome him as an olympian either, so he's basically a disgraced kami roaming the world with no real place in it until he eventually becomes somewhat of a folk legend / local protector in the rural communities of japan. ✧ dragon age . will be kept a little vague for the sake of flexibility with plots, but the general vibe is that hermes was a city elf turned thieving rogue with a robin hood complex, so can very easily be dragged into a companion verse during any of the games, but i'm inclined to have him involved as an envoy during inquisition, and/or a veil jumper in veilguard though it's tbd after i finish. he is technically a mage, but non-practicing, never properly trained, and won't disclose this voluntarily; however wind is his natural element and he does use magic to grant him supernatural speed which he chalks to his "enchanted boots". aside from that he'll rely on his arrows or short sword in a fight. ✧ fae verse . he's already so fae-boy coded, not much changes. he would be considered seelie, an embodiment of wind ( originally from the spring court? not sure yet ), and a herald to whatever seelie monarch applies. he's usually sent as a spy, diplomat and courier between the fae courts, but is also regularly found in the mortal realm stirring relatively harmless trouble or stealing things from guarded hoards and castles. he could also function similar to a vila, granting good luck and support to a chosen hero. ✧ modern / futuristic / dystopian . any non-immortal plots where more than likely hermes is just your typical outlaw recruited to a cause or special mission. will be a case by case basis, but some options are: hermes as the designated getaway car, the double agent, the heist extraordinaire, the speedster ( for mutant / super hero aus ), the devil's advocate ( for organized crime aus where zeus is the head of a crime ring) , the head of his own band of thieves etc etc

☁️ . . . DOSSIER

name. hermes titles/epithets. trickster god, slayer of argos, of the golden wand, of the gateway, patron of athletes and gymnasiums, swift-footed, luck-bringer, keen-sighted, glad-hearted, ready-helper, champion, guiless-one, famous-one pronouns. he/him age. immortal pantheon. hellenistic polytheism / shinto etymology. olympian god / kami of wind sexuality. pansexual alignment. chaotic good relations. zeus ( father ), maia ( mother ), atlas ( grandfather ), shinatobe ( grandmother ), ( fūjin, great-grandfather ), apollo ( favorite target, brother ), dionysus ( foster kid, brother ), charon ( professional associate ♡ ), and too many others to list ( homer said he's for the streets ) height. 5'11" build. lean and very toned, especially his calves, thighs, and glutes. he's not running around in a mini chiton for no reason hair. black and usually kept at a youthful and lush length, just short enough to stay out of his eyes and nape eyes. dark brown, increasingly gold during a run, and near electric when he starts to reach top speed. sacred animals/plants. ram, hare, tortoise, cattle, sheep, goats, strawberry trees, crocus

☁️ . . . ABILITIES / SKILLSET

* super speed. the fastest god of the pantheon, easily capable of traveling faster than the speed of sound, and if he pushes it hard enough his top speed reaches just shy of the speed of light. * dimensional travel. he can also travel the axis mundi aka "the crossroads" between realms and take others through those roads. typically, he uses this for short cuts and to save on his endurance when zeus needs him to hop to too many far away places at once. * wind manipulation. his proclivity for speed is in large part due to his manipulation of air and ability to live in his own separate vacuum with little to no wind resistance. as such, he is able to fly for limited periods, create whirlwinds, manipulate and build air momentum into concentrated blasts, change the trajectory of airborne projectiles, cushion a hard fall, enhance his agility, create air shields etc. * martial arts/rogue class skillset. not just for fantasy verses, but in general hermes has very high dexterity, coercion, and agility. he is also very adept in martial arts/wrestling. while he is strong, he can be overpowered and will rely on his speed and precision with hits, as well as use an enemies momentum against them. * intelligence. hermes is wickedly smart and inventive, as demonstrated in several of his myths, it's the reason why he was even accepted into the big 12 to begin with. his intelligence won't present itself in the conventional way, he has very little patience to sit and learn subjects that don't apply to him or engage him, but he has a strong affinity and natural understanding of physics and mathematics which will be obvious in the way he trades, the things he's creates out of scraps and items he collects, or when he improvises his escape plans. * magical items/work instruments. he's got a couple of these that's he's either stolen or created for himself, but his hood of invisibility is the one he will not leave the house without; his arm brace is what allows him to carry souls to the underworld; his caduceus allows him to put people/creatures to sleep or awaken them, and can also provide a peaceful, painless death to the fallen

☁️ . . . RESTRICTIONS

* speed and endurance limitations. since he is creating his own little vacuum, the faster he runs the less oxygen he has to breath, which as an immortal won't kill him, but will be very painful and mess with his focus. he trains a lot to build up his lung capacity so he can travel faster for longer periods of time, but like any runner, he does have his limits. high speeds are meant for shorter bursts. he's also still trying to outrun lightning, but can't seem to manage it (yet). * low damage tolerance. while he is very agile and prides himself in being hard to catch, when a hit does manage to make the mark, his tolerance for damage will be low. ( he's very soccer player coded in that way. don't trip him while he's running because he will be baby about it for a hot minute. ) * unfocused. while very hard working, he can and will get easily distracted, take on multiple tasks at once regardless of his bandwidth or overestimate how many enemies he can take on which is usually to his detriment. he's also.... very thrill seeking and care free which means he's likely to act on impulse rather than strategy, thinks he's smart enough to improvise his way out of a bind ( most of the time he is )

☁️ . . . ADDITIONAL NOTES

as explained in this super long meta, my default plot for all my greek myth muses is centered around the fact that zeus is destined to be overthrown and is avoiding this prophecy at all costs. hermes is the only other god who is at least somewhat aware of the components of this prophecy and does aid zeus in maintaining power for the sake of keeping the family together and at peace --- for now.

hermes is part kami from his mother's side, maia, who i'm establishing as the daughter of atlas ( the titan condemned to carry the heavens on his shoulders ) and the kami goddess shinatobe, daughter of fūjin, the elder kami of wind. fūjin is one of the eight immortals who resides at the top of the mt. hōrai, but he's known to have oni (ogre/demonic) characteristics, so it's safe to say he didn't offer much in the way of defending hermes or convincing the other gods to allow him entry back to the isle

he has an immortal pet turtle named hayoto whom he brought with him when he first fled mt. hōrai. he will ride along in the messenger bag if not left in hermes' primary residence for when his travels are anticipated to be a bit too dicey for.

he plays the role of psychopomp in two scenarios 1) after a mass fatality event or 2) because zeus sends him specifically as a form of extra security ( likely in the event of a lover or enemy dying ) he only has this ability because of the arm brace he invented which can store and carry souls for short periods of time

hermes currently can't run faster than the speed of light because he knows if he trains himself to outpace lightning that his father will regard this as a threat -- but if he ever does break that barrier, running faster than light reverses time. again, the faster he runs the more taxing it is on his body, so he likely wouldn't be able to tolerate these speeds for more than a few seconds, meaning his ability to travel back in time wouldn't exceed more than a few minutes. if he trains hard enough and finds his way back to mt. horai, the souls might help him figure out that the time vortex has shortcuts, granting him the means to travel back even further.

in the greek mythos, hermes was nursed by nymphs known as the horae, ( goddesses of the seasons and natural portions of time ) who told him stories about zeus and the greek pantheon, stirring his desire to leave home. for the sake of blending this with my canon, i'd rather consider the souls of the mountain as the hōrai, and thus where the island's name comes from. similar to the greek horae, they are entities associated with time, contributing to the island's eternal season of abundance and imparting knowledge and stories by taking your astral form to that specific moment in time -- albeit only as a phantasmal viewer, similar to the ghosts in a christmas carol !

[askcherrysocs]

"ᴏʜ, ɪɴ ᴘɪɴᴇ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ"

"I kept my eyes on the prize... Who knew it would be you?"

The wheels of the beaver express bus screeched to a halt “LAST STOP OF THE NIGHT. PINE POINT” the bus intercom announced as the doors swung open “Alright, Kid. Get off” The driver demanded adjusting the mirror to look at a teenage girl who was the only one other than him on the bus

The girl sighed before getting up and getting off the bus. She could hear the gravel of the road crunching beneath her worn-out boots. She looked at her phone while it buzzed with texts from her social worker

She looked at the text, it was her new home’s address. So with a tired sigh, She began the walk with nothing but that duffel bag slung across her back as she walked the dirt path that was supposed to lead her to town based off the signs

Then she came across a larger sign that read “WELCOME TO PINE POINT! POPULATION: 1,200” Small town, She took one step into the town lines and was instantly greeted by two older men

“Veronica Gore?”

She tensed up slightly at the use of her full name “Ronnie” She corrected, narrowing her eyes at the two men while the shorter one of the pair rushed over to shake her hand “Oh, it is so lovely to meet you! I'm Frankie and this is my husband, Sawyer!” He exclaimed

Ronnie pulled her hand away slightly “Uh-huh… Nice to meet you too” She muttered “We’ve already got you enrolled in school and we cleaned up our storage room for you!” Frankie replied “Darling- Your crowding her…” Sawyer spoke up

He carefully pulled Frankie away from the girl with a sigh “I'm sorry, Ronnie… He- we are just excited, It's our first time fostering” Sawyer explained “Do either of you know how to even take care of yourselves?” Ronnie scoffed

Sawyer glared at her slightly “We uh- read your background, So we’ll let the attitude slide for the first few days since your adjusting” Sawyer said “Let's show you around! You start school tomorrow since its currently Spring break” Frankie smiled

“You are going to love it here! Its such a lovely town-” “A town with less people than a newly built graveyard” Ronnie replied as she stared at the ground and began walking away from the two causing them to speed up their pace to catch up

“She’ll be a handful…” Sawyer sighed “Kids are like plants, right? With enough love and care, They’ll blossom!” Frankie reassured him

“Im going out” Ronnie announced as she took an old coat off of the rack then put it on “Be back before ten!” Frankie told her but Ronnie ignored him, She pulled the hood over her head before stepping outside feeling the cold breeze on her face

She sat down on the porch stairs and then took off she shoes, replacing them for an old pair of purple rollerblades with dark pink wheels and tons of stickers all over it. She stumbled up before getting her balance

She bent her knees slightly then pushed off with one foot while using the other to glue through the streets, Soon forming a steady rhythm as She traversed the ancient roads of Pine Point and eventually screeching to a halt in front of a movie theater with the posters looking as if they havent been changed in several years

She slowly took a few small steps, slightly sliding as she entered the theater through its automatic doors “Uh- Hello?” She called out looking around “Welcome to the pine point theater. Do you have tickets or want to buy some?” A tired voice asked from the counter

“Neither? You have a hiring sign outside” Ronnie replied “Oh- I forgot to take that down” The person behind the counter said reading a magazine with their feet up on the counter before they looked Ronnie up and down

“You're new. People around here know that the sign there has been up for over four years”

“But, Lucky for you. I'm firing somebody today since they decided it would be great to-… Allow things to happen during movies” They added “Names Ace. Before you ask, It isn't my birth name because guess what? Non-binary”

Ronnie just looked between Ace and the door “I… don't care? I just want a job?” Ronnie mumbled “You're hired. Manager by the way” Ace replied then shooed Ronnie away “HEY GIN! YOUR FIRED!!” Ace shouted

“THANK FUCKING GOD!” A girl groaned as she came out of one of the empty theater rooms “CAN YOU NOT SWEAR?! WE HAVE FUCKING CUSTOMERS!” Ace yelled as Gin narrowed her eyes at Ronnie

“Veronica?” “Ginger?”

Ace blinked “Get the fuck out of here now” They demanded looking back down at their magazine while the two girls left “Ronnie, God i- what are doing here!?” Gin asked “I could ask you the same thing…” Ronnie shrugged

“Well after Grandad died, We inherited his old house which turned out to be here. Apparently, he worked in those old mines” Gin explained “You?” She tilted her head “Foster care…” Ronnie sighed

“Aren't you eighteen-” “Seventeen… Just gotta wait until these guys are done with me or my birthday…” Ronnie interrupted “Wow-… Well, Let's make up for old times! We used to be best friends, right?” Gin grinned

“Wha-” “Yeah, C’mon! Gin and Ron! You can cheer with me, go on double dates or even have a girls night!” Gin exclaimed “Uhm- Id rather not… do that, It doesn't really sound… Fun to me” Ronnie admitted

Gin’s smile faltered for a moment as she glared for just a few seconds “…” “Gin?” Ronnie asked “… It's fine! Dont worry about it, We can do something you'd wanna do!” Gin told her “Gin-… I'd rather just spend time alone for the first few days” Ronnie said

Gin paused “Fine, It's cool…” She shrugged “Just- try to keep in touch, or else!” She playfully laughed before the two went their separate ways, Ronnie let out a an anxious breath she didnt even realize that she was holding in…

[phytochorion]

How the Forest Finds the Island

Chapter Sixteen - Boom and Bust

The sun was wobbling fat and red just above the horizon. Sen had a soft landing in a tangle of Cullodena's herbaceous trimerophytes, hopping down from their springy stems and picking his way through the undergrowth. Whereas once the fort had dominated this whole space, now plants scrambled in such profusion that it couldn't even be seen from the ground.

There was someone, no, two someones, standing by the base of the trees that held up their communal home.

Sen slowed down. Short tresses, pointed crown, huge boots… Phonso was back.

"Good evening, Schuppenbaumer, looking for Nathair again?", queried Sen as he drew closer. He didn't know the man standing just behind Phonso. Of indeterminate age, with wings reminiscent of Simon's and tresses in a box braided style, he regarded the two of them wryly.

"If you must know, I just came over to meet with an old friend. Have you met? No? Very well, this is Gongsun, this is Wesley."

"A pleasure." Wesley gave a quick bob in response to Sen's bow.

"Hang on, you're…"

The mechanisms of Sen's mind were whirring.

"You're not Wesley Candock?"

"The very same." His smile grew at the recognition.

"Oh wow, I… I've dreamed of meeting you since forever! It really is a privilege!" Sen was vaguely aware he might come across as cloying, but any cautionary thoughts were drowned in his excitement.

"What a stroke of luck that you're here!", he continued. "I'm just back from a visit to Simon, he mentioned you'd made the crossing but I didn't expect we'd cross paths!"

"My limp-leaf brother, huh?" Wesley's smile stiffened and one eyebrow rose. "Don't waste your time with him, mate. Suffers from a critical lack of ambition, he does. At this rate he'll be stuck in that swamp forever, but me? I've got a vision to chase."

Sen's trail of speech faltered. Simon had seemed to bear his brother no animosity, but then again, he was always the forgiving type. Had something transpired between them?

Thinking he should change the topic, Sen asked, "So. Ahem. How long have you known Mr Schuppenbaumer?"

Phonso stepped in to answer. "We've been friends since the Triassic!"

Ugh, thought Sen, exaggeration, but Wesley's smile brightened again as he clapped the lycopod fairy on the back.

"Yeah, Phonsy and I must have combed every inch of Epiphyllia, and with any luck, there'll be plenty of secrets to uncover here!"

"And I've been honing my skills, day in, day out."

Phonso gave a demonstration, light magic springing to life in his hands like a pair of miniature suns. Wesley whooped in admiration.

A weird feeling was blossoming in Sen's chest. A bad and unfamiliar feeling, like the mycelia of a fungal parasite infiltrating his nervous system, except it wasn't growing into him, but out of him. It took him a minute to put a name to it - envy.

Sen tried to think of some excuse to back out of this conversation, to go anywhere else. Before he could, Wesley addressed him.

"So how about it, Gongsun? Wanna join us sometime?"

Sen's focus snapped back to the conversation, his tongue feeling heavy as he tried to decide on an answer. He could see Phonso glaring daggers at him from behind Wesley, daring him to crash the party.

He was spared when something else caught the horsetail fairy's attention.

"Is it my imagination or… is someone there?"

Sen and Phonso swivelled around.

"Now that you mention it…", began Phonso, "I sometimes get the feeling I'm being watched when I come here." His usual bravado had diminished a tad.

Wesley took a curious step towards the darkest corner of the undergrowth. There was a twitch of movement and for a split second, they all saw the same thing; a pair of large eyes in the shadows, discreet yet intent. They were gone in a flash and a rustle of leaves. 

"Who was that?!", yelled Wesley, not waiting for an answer as he bolted after the runaway. Sen and Phonso exchanged a glance and followed.

Making a sharp corner at a hollow log, they nearly tripped over Si-woo, who was flat on his back with another fairy on top of him. A perplexed Askarya observed from a few paces back.

The fairy atop Si-woo sat up slowly, wide eyes looking from one face to the next. Between an ornate mask and long robes, not much else could be seen of them. All were silent for a moment.

"Guys, you scared them," tutted Askarya, breaking the spell and helping the small figure to their feet.

"Um. Ok. Who's them?" Wesley voiced what was on all their minds.

"This is Noori," replied Askarya. "And you should all be grateful for the work they do, I don't know a single fairy who remineralises so much detritus."

"Well, good to meet you, Noori," ventured Sen. Noori returned his bow without saying a word.

As Askarya introduced them to the rest of the group, Sen tried to figure out where Noori's limbs were. It was difficult with their frame completely obscured by their robes, but Sen found their movement intriguing. They seemed to glide across the ground rather than walking, which was especially strange as, like all fungus fairies, they had no hint of wings.

Sen shrugged and leaned against Si-woo.

"Hey rénxiōng. It's getting late. I'll sleep here tonight, what's your plan?"

"Yeah, I'll join you. Night all."

Phonso waved an offhand goodbye, then returned his attention to Wesley as he too made to leave.

The two friends fluttered into the quiet recesses of the fort. It was open and airy, warm and dry. Compared to the early days when they'd slept in a pile on the floor, it had become very comfortable, with silk, straw and twine hammocks strung from the rafters, while feather and moss mattresses lay below for those who didn't fly.

It was quiet, with few occupants around. Over the years, accessory rooms and levels had been built, housing everything from Nathair's growing library to Jess's frock collection. Live vines and stems grew through the construction, replacing dead branches as they rotted away and turning it into a growing, ever-changing structure. More than a structure in fact, but a living thing in its own right, and a home.

Sen and Si-woo looked out through the slats towards the horizon. The sun had just vanished, leaving the sky burnished rose and copper. Heavy clouds were building closer to the ground, threatening storms. Sen pointed to them.

"I don't like the look of those. Hope the river doesn't sweep away all of Simon's hard work."

"The look of what, sorry?", queried Si-woo, surprising Sen. He was normally the first to spot rain.

"Those clouds!"

"There's no clouds there." Si-woo rubbed his eyes. "Oh, so there are. Strange."

Sen gave him a puzzled look.

"Clouds come from the sea," added Si-woo.

"I know," responded Sen, and hesitated. "While these ones are… coming from over the mountains…"

An uneasy feeling hovered between them.

"There's a telescope in the admiral's room," suggested Si-woo. They raced there right away. Sen rapped the door.

"Admi- I mean, Sirichai?"

No answer. They pushed in, sorting as respectfully through his belongings as they could, then rushing back with the telescope in hand. Si-woo shakily put it to his eye & adjusted it.

"What do you see?"

Sen felt like he didn't want to know the answer.

"Oh crap. Oh FUCK this isn't good!"

Si-woo looked to his friend and spoke a single word.

"Locusts."

⸙ ⸙ ⸙

"Sound the alarm! Sound the alarm, damn it!"

Si-woo scampered up and down the fort at breakneck pace, half climbing, half flying, banging Glen's pots and ladles together. Cullodena emerged from her quarters, looking furious, but her expression softened when she saw the fear in Si-woo's eyes.

"Byun, dearie, whatever's the matter?"

"Locust swarm, headed this way," he gasped. "Round up everyone you can find!"

Sen stood in the crown of the fort's tallest tree, telescope trained on the dark mass with shaking hands. A lichen-covered head emerged through the foliage.

"Nobody gonna tell me what all the fuss is about?"

"Askarya!" Sen blushed and fumbled the spyglass, embarrassed that he'd forgotten all about them in the confusion.

"See for yourself."

They trained the eyepiece on the horizon and scowled.

"That's not good. What's the plan?"

Si-woo fluttered up beside them, followed by everyone else present; Cullodena, Nathair, Glen, Jake, Kai, Elei and, to Sen's surprise, Noori.

"Well me old chum, I'm glad you asked," cut in Nathair. "Our goal is to stop that swarm settling on our fair demesne."

Askarya smiled despite their situation, nudging a fretful Si-woo and mouthing, I think a bit of the Admiral’s rubbed off on him.

"What can you tell us about locusts?", asked Sen. "That's relevant right now, I mean."

"Okay, they typically fly by day. As ye can see, the sun's going down." The fern fairy folded his arms. "That means they'll be looking for an overnight stopoff. Wherever they land, they'll strip it clean of greenery by morning. That's what we stand to lose."

The others shifted uneasily. From one perspective, it would be easier just to abandon the fort and rebuild once the swarm had moved on. But no one voiced this. That option meant abandoning years of work, all the investment of time and energy that had gone into this place, not to mention the likely destruction of every treasured possession they stored inside. It was common knowledge that Nathair would lay down his own life if it meant preserving his library.

"Well, no time to lose," prompted Sen. The others switched their attention to him, faces resolute. "Jake, Kai, Elei, you'll be our first line of defence."

Kai cracked his knuckles.

"Glen, Askarya, reinforce the fort however you can. Nathair and Cullodena, you'll help us coordinate." He handed Nathair the spyglass. "And Si-woo and I will be in the air to deal with locusts that get through the outer defence."

The group nodded and quickly dispersed to their positions, Sen waiting to make sure all vulnerable points were covered.

Noori walked over to Sen and looked him in the eye.

"Oh. Sorry Noori, I… ahem, if you want to help, that's great! What kind of magic do you have?"

Noori opened one fist and revealed a sprig of moss. A dingy, stifling aura slowly leached out from Noori's shrouded silhouette. The little moss sprig withered and died.

Sen felt like a lead weight had dropped into his stomach. His breathing hitched and he forced himself not to step backwards.

"R-r-rot magic? That's-"

He swallowed.

"Hold on. That's precisely what we need right now!"

Sen looked over his shoulder. The swarm was less than a kilometre away.

"Noori, will that work on animals?"

The fungus fairy nodded once.

"Oh holy souls, superb. And can you, er, direct it? So that it won’t catch plants in the collateral?"

Noori wavered, then gave an unconvincing thumbs-up.

"Er. Alright. Whatever, it's our best option. Si-woo!"

Si-woo dived to meet Sen.

"What's up?"

"I need you to carry Noori."

Si-woo blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Noori's got amazing rot magic, I think it could take out half the swarm if we time it right. I need you to get them to the centre of it!"

"No way, no way, you're out of your mind," muttered Si-woo, pacing. "You want me to carry a disease causing fungus - no offence - into a plague of leaf stripping bugs on my own?!"

"Well, when you put it like that…" Sen sighed.

"Who's doing what on their own?" Kai alighted alongside them, arms crossed and eyebrow raised.

"Perfect, now he won't have to!", Sen exclaimed. "Kai, Si-woo's going into the swarm. Keep him safe."

Kai happily agreed, while Si-woo spluttered in indignation.

"Don't just go along with him like that! And Sen, may I ask why you're not the one carrying Noori?"

Sen froze, face flushing green in embarrassment.

"Well… you're a much better flyer than me. And my magic will be little use out there. And- and I'm scared."

Si-woo's expression softened, just a tad. "I know. But what makes you think I'm not?"

Sen didn’t know how to respond. After a pause, he simply went with, “I’m sorry.” Clearing his throat, he continued, “I’m trying to do what has to be done to protect everything we’ve worked for. But a good leader leads by example. You’re right, really I should be the one going out there.”

He took a deep breath and turned to Noori. “You ready?”

The little fungus fairy nodded.

“Alright,” replied Sen, trying to stop his hands shaking. “Hop on.”

Kai pressed his hands to a cycad leaf, drawing in magical vivacity while Noori clambered self-consciously onto Sen’s back.

“Let’s go.”

The three of them dropped from the branch and veered out from the dense stand of trees, into the evening air that was all that lay between them and the storm. At that moment, a voice rang out behind them.

“Dang and blast it, wait for me!”

Si-woo had caught up with them in an instant, his wings flowing like banners. He caught sight of Sen’s knowing smile.

“Well, after all that talk about leading from the front, I could hardly just sit back and watch. You’ll stand a better chance with two pairs of eyes on you.”

“You know I couldn’t ask for more, Si-woo.”

⸙ ⸙ ⸙

Nathair watched the thrumming storm of wings grow until it blotted out the horizon. His fingers clenched, trying not to let the spyglass slip from his sweaty grasp. Beside him, his mother called something down to Elei, who answered in the affirmative as she geared up for battle. In the distance, the little shapes of Sen, Si-woo, Kai and Noori looked as though they were to be swallowed up without a trace.

⸙ ⸙ ⸙

Sen briefly took his eyes off the wall of jointed legs and compound eyes ahead, looking into Noori's eyes. Up to this point, their composure hadn't faltered, but he saw terror in their eyes.

"Hey, Noori, look at me. It'll be ok, you hear me? We'll get through this. I promise I won't let you fall."

Noori shifted nervously, inhaled deeply and sat up a bit straighter, their mood settling.

"That's the spirit."

They were so close that the sound of chitinous wings and hungry mouthparts nearly drowned out Sen's voice.

"Alright, this is it! You ready? Kai, Si-woo? Got your magic ready, Noori? Yeah? Here goes!"

All at once, the swarm surrounded them. Locusts rushed by on all sides and from directly ahead. Kai reacted in a flash, swift strikes of his toughened limbs and wings sending orthopterans raining from the sky, keeping the path clear for the others.

"Now?", shouted Si-woo.

"Wait until we're at the densest point!", answered Sen. "Our friends will take care of the rest!"

Si-woo gave a grim nod and fell in line beside Kai, calling up his water magic to create a shield of droplets that deflected the ravening grasshoppers around the quartet.

"Noori, it's up to you now. I'll give you as much help as I can."

Sen focused, grateful that for the moment, he didn't have to swerve around locusts as he did so. Breathing deeply in and clasping his hands as his wings powered onwards, he drew on a flow of inter-promoting and overacting magic. It was an atypical combination, but it would allow Noori's magic to feed off the energy Sen provided. It wasn't without risk, as if Noori overstepped their boundaries they could begin draining Sen's life force directly, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Noori locked themself in place with their legs, raising their arms with robes trailing. Flakes began to crumble and spill from their skin, a grey pallor extending all around. Sen nervously took a deep breath as the spores surrounded him, but they appeared to do no damage. The locusts weren't so lucky.

The moment the ashen dust touched them, the insects went into disarray, legs jerking and bodies spasmodically careening into each other. With every collision in the densely packed cloud of wings, another plume of spores went up, enveloping the sky in a grim haze.

"Will that be enough?" Sen shouted to Noori, who shook their head and pointed upwind. Sen nodded and flew on, to where the first spores had difficulty reaching. The locusts were beginning to disperse, flying in chaotic patterns as they avoided the cloud of death, and making it hard to get a good shot in. Noori took their best shot, sprinkling the infectious powder over another portion of the hungering plague, but it was clear that they weren't catching all of them.

Kai and Si-woo closed in on their location.

"At this rate, too many will get through, the fort will be overwhelmed!", hollered Kai.

"I know! Blast and damn it, we should have had a plan in reserve!"

"Guys, why is the moon rising on the opposite horizon to normal?", Si-woo chimed in.

"Now's really not the time-", Sen began, but trailed off as the ball of yellow light in the distance rapidly grew in size and intensity.

"Pretty sure that ain't the moon," observed Kai.

Something about the light was familiar, and Sen felt a twinge of premonition in his gut.

"I think we should shield our eyes."

Kai shrugged. "Hey, it's not that bright, it might help us corral those bugs more easi-"

"Cover them!", snapped Sen.

The light exploded.

Beams as piercing as the noonday sun burst forth, bathing the landscape with saturated shadows and cold fire. There was no noise, no heat, just a white glow that granted Sen the chance to get a look at the back of his own eyelids.

As quickly as it had arrived, the light blinked out, leaving nothing but its technicolor afterglow across their vision. Sen slowly got his bearings, wings continuing to beat on instinct as he turned in midair. Noori was still on his back, Si-woo still beside him. Kai was gone.

[oh-no-another-idea]

7 snippets 7 people VI

Thanks for the tag, @lyssentome! Have some pieces of my Six of Crows fanfiction idea. :)

1.

The little boy that had been sitting on a bigger dreg’s lap to watch a game scampered over. In the low lamplight, Kaz turned and he saw himself, nine and stupid, gazing up at a particularly flamboyant magician. Then he blinked, and Anders’ dark eyes and tousled hair faded back to normal.

Kaz needed to kick that kid out before he grew any more and Kaz started seeing Jordie’s ghost again. “Anders, tell Anika to leave me alone.”

2.

Inej’s familiar loops and crossed Ts greeted him.

Dear Kaz, she wrote, always Kaz, and nothing else. He’d once asked her if she didn’t believe names had power and should be used sparingly. “Names do have power,” she’d said, and nothing more.

3.

“Relax.” Kaz flashed a shark’s smile to mess with him, and then studied the burnt orange marigolds spilling in through the open windows. “I’ve got three questions. One, if Kocerski’s spring extravaganza is still scheduled for Tuesday, and if you’re going?”

Wylan looked up from under his curls. “Is that all crammed into question one, or is that both?”

“That’s the first question.”

4.

“Will Inej be staying at the Slat? Or shall I have a room made up here?”

Wylan was going to get too clever for his own good if he wasn’t careful. Kaz let his cane click loudly on his way to the door. “My word still holds some sway over the dregs,” he said, doorknob cool through his gloves. “I can have you dumped in a canal if you’re not properly respectful.”

“You could try,” Wylan agreed amicably, and when Kaz glanced over his shoulder, there was a small smirk on the merchling’s face. “But I can swim.”

5.

Jesper stood and started pacing, his boots running a worn path from the window to the door and back again. How many times had Kaz stretched out his leg and watched Jesper expend his nervous energy on the poor wooden boards of his office?

6.

Jesper held up a hand. “We’re not going to address the elephant in the room?” He waited until Anders turned respectfully towards him and demanded, “You think Anika is more frightening than Kaz Brekker?”

“Anika isn’t nice,” Anders said in the classic nonsense philosophy of children. Honestly, Kaz was going to throw them all out one of these days. “Goodnight, Kaz, I hope your leg feels better too.”

7.

It was funny, the way the gloves were a tell. Put them on, scowl just right, and crowds would be screaming bloody murder about how they’d met Dirtyhands in a dark alley and only just escaped with their necks. Take them off, no one was the wiser. Kaz would’ve been insulted, if he didn’t think it was so funny.

🎲No pressure tags: @lavender-laney @writingmaidenwarrior @tc-doherty @the-stray-storyteller @inkstaindusk @enchanted-lightning-aes @outpost51 @thegreatobsesso @jasmineinthenight @late-to-the-fandom @avrablake and anyone else who'd like to share!