#that sort of defies gravity as if it's in water still

[steddiealltheway]

Steve doesn’t know how exactly Robin was able to convince him to be her plus one to her ten year high school reunion. The previous year, he had ignored the invite and gone on with his life without regret, but something about Robin’s offer was tempting.

Maybe he wanted to see Nancy although she had escaped his mind for quite a few years now. He knows she married Jonathan, and they’re living happily ever after, so the idea of seeing them is a bit repulsive.

In all honesty, he just can’t say no to his best friend. Which is how he has ended up stranded in the renovated Hawkin’s High School gym, staring off at Robin who excitedly ran off to say hi to her old band friends.

Steve wanders to a table filled with different snack foods and drinks, snatching up a water bottle and unscrewing the lid. He’s in the middle of a sip when he hears, “Steve Harrington?”

He slowly turns around, trying not to groan. He knew someone would recognize him eventually.

He freezes up a bit when he realizes it’s Eddie Munson.

They had formed a weird sort of acquaintanceship back when Dustin was adamant that they meet. After growing up a bit and coming to terms with his bisexuality, Steve was quick to realize that he had had a bit of a crush on the boy. But since it took a few years, he was sure that anything with Eddie was just another missed opportunity.

Maybe he can change that.

He smiles and replies, “Eddie, why the hell are you here, man? I thought you’d never come back.”

“Free food,” Eddie replies, holding up a plate he’s piled high with food. “And what are you doing here? I thought you graduated a year earlier than me.”

“I’m here as Robin’s plus one.”

The smile on Eddie’s face falters a little bit as he looks down at his plate. “So, you two are um..”

“No!” Steve is quick to clarify. “Still best friends and everything between us is platonic with a capital p.”

Eddie’s face lights up a bit before his eyes flicker down to Steve left hand, taking in his ringless finger. “So, are you umm…” Eddie turns a bit red and clears his throat. “Are you seeing anyone?”

Steve tries not to smile too wide at the question. “No, are you?”

“No.”

The answer makes Steve’s heart beat a little faster. He looks Eddie up and down quickly, taking him in again, noting the way that aging seems to have only made him more attractive. “You look good,” he can’t help but say.

“You do too,” Eddie replies. “Still have that gravity defying hair of yours.”

“And you still have that curly mane. At least, I’m assuming that’s what’s tied up in this bun,” Steve says, tucking a loose curly strand behind Eddie’s ear.

Eddie mumbles out, “Yeah,” almost as if he’s in disbelief about the whole thing.

And yeah, Steve’s not going to back down anymore. He places a hand on Eddie’s lower back and leads him off to a more secluded corner of the gym. “You know, looking back I think I had a bit of a crush on you,” Steve confesses.

Eddie’s eyes search his suspiciously, not believing what he’s said. Slowly, he relaxes and asks, “You’re not kidding?”

“Not at all,” Steve says with a shrug. “It took me a while to realize it, but there’s a reason I was so insistent about picking Dustin up from all his Hellfire things. At first, I thought it was just because I love the kid so much, but I didn’t have an excuse for why I waited even longer if you didn’t walk out with him.” He knows he’s laying it on heavy, but he’s not going to let this opportunity pass again.

Eddie puts his plate down on the floor and holds out his hand. Steve takes it quickly, letting Eddie pull him right out the gym doors and down the school hallways.

Steve laughs while asking, “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere secluded!” Eddie replies, trying a doorknob to a class room, groaning when it’s locked.

Steve helps him, trying all the doors until one finally swings open. “Eddie!”

Eddie looks to him and practically runs inside the classroom, pulling Steve inside and shutting the door behind him, successfully trapping him against the door. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“Tell me then.”

Eddie smiles. “From the moment I caught you making out in the bathroom with some girl, and I was forced to hide in the stall.”

Steve laughs loudly. “There’s no way!”

“You made me late to class and got me a detention! But the only thing I was mad about was that that girl wasn’t me.”

Steve trails his hands over Eddie’s chest, moving up his neck and into his hair. “Well, we can change that now.”

“Yes please,” Eddie says, leaning forward to meet Steve in the middle.

The kiss is sweet and filthy, taking him back to his teenage years. If only he had realized his feelings back then, he could’ve possibly done this sooner.

He hears the lock to the door click behind him, and Steve has never felt more onboard for a hookup. As they both make their way back to whatever teacher’s poor desk, Steve can’t help but wonder if this will be his only shot with Eddie. Something about it makes his heart ache a little.

But as Eddie breaks the kiss and easily lifts Steve onto the desk, he asks, “So, I was thinking we could possible get dinner after this if that’s okay with you?”

“More than okay,” Steve says, kissing him again before pulling away. “Just to be clear, you mean that as a date, right?”

“Yes,” Eddie says before tugging Steve’s tucked shirt out of his pants.

After that, Steve doesn’t really have any more coherent questions or thoughts.

Later, when he finds Robin, she gives him an unimpressed look while trying to suppress a smile. “So, you and Eddie had fun catching up.”

Steve smiles and agrees, glancing back at the door where Eddie walks into the gym shortly after him, hair now completely down and ruffled and shirt seemingly on backwards. He smiles at Steve and waves, completely blowing any cover that they’ve tried to make. But Steve doesn’t care as he waves Eddie over, hoping that he’ll remain as a permanent figure in his life.

For now, he thanks Robin for convincing him to come to her reunion.

[lola-writes]

One-Eye & the Dreamer

(Aemond's POV)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x O.C Aylana Velaryon

Word Count: 2,2k

Themes & Warnings: slow burn, friends to enemies, enemies to lovers, violence, blood, targcest, sexual themes, tension, drama, angst, fix-it of sorts, eventual smut, sexual inexperience, forbidden love, high valyrian, dance of dragons, POV first person

Summary: Aylana Velaryon foresees Aemond Targaryen's fate and assigns herself to alter it.

Written from Aemond's POV.

More chapters

Gravity had nothing on us, my dear. 

You can’t untie red strings of fate. 

This is how it feels to fall in love with the atmosphere. 

The world surrendered to a symphony of wind.  Turbulence thundered in my ears and whipped my hair untamed as I ascended the skies. Rising higher and higher, the clouds enveloped me in a blinding haze, and the elements of the earth below decreased into a mosaic. I conquered the celestial at such speed that I felt like Aegon reborn. 

Vhagar was an extension of myself, her undulating muscles beneath my straddling body felt as if connected to my own, forcing our masses through the heavens with an effortlessness. I commanded her higher still, and she heeded my command. We defied gravity in a dance of grace and power.

As we approached the stratosphere where air ran thin, I straightened in my saddle, and my mighty Vhagar leveled out, conforming to every delicate change in my movements. The world below became an inverted dreamscape as we sailed the vague interstice that marked the transition between sky and oblivion - the clouds beneath were the unconquered sky, and the indigo above was the ocean, and I was flying upside down. 

Together, Vhagar and I, were limitless.

The memory of when I first claimed her was so potent it eclipsed everything else, real or imagined. It was like walking penniless and finding a mountain of gold at your feet. What was one to do with such power? A power so raw and exhilarating, it consumed. Suddenly, I had no fear. Suddenly, I was not alone…

I leaned into Vhagar’s warmth and she folded her wings against me. We plummeted back down towards the earth, a thrilling drop that sent a jolt of pure ecstasy through my veins. My stomach lurched, and beneath me, Vhagar’s thorax vibrated – a deep, primal roar that resonated through my very bones. In that moment, I mirrored her, a guttural exclaim of pure, unadultered joy escaping my lips.

Never had freedom tasted so sweet.

The force of our descent sliced through the nebulous clouds like a knife through cotton, and as we emerged, the Narrow Sea gaped wide, glittering beneath the noontide sun like a crystal embellished blue silk. I leveled out again and watched Vhagar’s twin loom out of the water. 

In the distance, the seven huge drum-towers, proud sentinels of pale red stone, rose out of the sea on their stony summits, and the tolling bells welcomed me back home. An unfamiliar fleet of ships coasted down Black Water Rush like wooden beads along a blue mesh - an unremarkable observation, as nobles from every corner of the realm had been descending upon King’s Landing for the wedding. They had all come through the gates by horse and carriage, none by sea. 

Traders perhaps? Coming just in time to fortify our stores for the upcoming plunder. 

So many fucking mouths to feed. I had seen them endlessly pour through the castle gates in a river of gold, silver, and polished steel – their banners displaying the sigil of house Lannister, Baratheon, Tully, and I could’ve sworn I saw a direwolf banner among them. Would the Starks truly find a Targaryen wedding of such importance that they would bother dragging themselves out of their frozen pits? It was to be a grand affair, to be sure. A celebration with tourneys, hunts, feasts, and dancing, to last for at least a fortnight.

If I had it my way, I would escape and race the wind on Vhagar. But mother’s orders were a bittersweet curse. We were to be on our best behavior, a euphemism for me babysitting my nuisance of a brother, to ensure he does not imbibe every wine cask in the keep, and to hearten my sweet sister who always grew gauche in social gatherings. 

One could hardly fathom I was the youngest.

But the chief of my worries was Aegon. He already had an inclination of getting unreasonable drunk on a plain day. I shuddered to think of the lengths he might go to in tribute to his own nuptials.

Unease filled my gut.

But it wasn’t the vigil of my siblings that rendered me apprehensive.

As I drew close enough that I could make out the banners, I realized that these were no ordinary trading ships. In fact, these weren’t traders at all. I tugged at the reins and Vhagar gathered air beneath her leather and sprung up high, casting her mighty shadow atop the vessels. 

Memories consumed me like a bad aftertaste. The sigil-emblazoned sails draped across the masts below needed no introduction. The seahorse and the three-headed black dragon caught the wind. 

It could only mean one thing…

The thought got knocked right out of me as a bone-jarring impact to Vhagar’s thorax threw me off my saddle. Her earsplitting roar resounded across the blackwater, as I tumbled down her back. Instinctively, I snagged my wrist through a loop in her saddle ropes, dangling precariously until she steadied herself. I hauled myself back up, heart hammering in my chest, adrenaline pouring into my bloodstream. I scouted the skies for an attacker in a glassy bewilderment, growing acrimoniously aware of my disability. But the firmament was still and empty. 

What in the Seven Hells?

Another blow. It knocked me aslant, and I felt fury consuming me like poison. Gritting my teeth, I gripped the saddle horn and twisted the reins twice ‘round my forearm, and perceived every muscle of Vhagar’s back contracting beneath me, waiting to charge. 

Who would dare challenge me?

A flicker of movement caught my eye. A shape, shrouded beneath Vhagar’s wing membranes, was soaring alongside us. And when I turned to look, my eye met a stranger, masked and cloaked, stalking us on a dragon as black and swift as a raven. But the beast was miniscule in relation, just the age to breathe fire, and yet had nearly forced me to meet the gods. 

Humiliation morphed into a blinding rage that seethed through my veins and marred my vision with a red mist. “Ossēnagon, Vhagar!” Kill. I growled, and steered her toward the trespasser. But the figure crouched down in their saddle, and their dragon dove towards the city. 

Fucking craven.

We went after them. Their descent was swift and inaudible, while mine was slow and thunderous like a moving mountain. The pale orange rooftops of King’s Landing, bleached from the summer’s scorching sun, spread out like a vast rust beneath our darkening shadows. I pursued them to the Hill of Rhaenys, where we landed opposite each other outside the crypts of the dragonpit. 

Dismounting, I started towards them, each step a measured threat. The steel of my dagger sang its lethal warning as I drew it from my scabbard. But the stranger stood their ground, defiance flickering in their shadowed form. My anger, already a simmering cauldron, boiled over. I closed the distance between up, a growl ripping from my throat, raw and primal.

“You!” The word barely a breath before my blade bit their throat. A desperate struggle ensued, but my palm collared the nape of their neck, locking them to the steel. A Kingsguard’s alarming exclaims sounded in the distance, but the words faded underwater. 

“The Stranger requests an audience.” The contiguity drowned my voice into a whisper. I took pleasure in that I towered over them, and felt their hot, humid breath against me, hitching beneath the sharp edge.

“My prince!” Ser Harrold Westerling, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, came running towards us. His voice, booming like thunder, always sufficed in snapping the whole court to attention. But it wasn’t his timber which stirred me this time. “Let her go!” 

His words carried me out of my raging inferno.

Her?

I blinked through my apprehension and scavenged the stranger’s frame with my eye, as if I’d awoken from a dream and seen them for the first time. A tug, a rustle, and their hood fell back and settled around their shoulders. 

A wave of ice ran down my spine. 

It was like seeing a ghost. The protagonist of all my nightmares coming alive, ready to haunt me. 

Aylana Velaryon.

Her eyes, the color of sunlit amber flicked with gold, held mine with an unsettling intensity. She seemed to see right through me, demanding answers I could not provide. Then, a knowing smile played on her lips.

“Skoros iksos pirta, kepus?” What’s wrong, uncle? A sardonic edge laced her voice. “Gaomagon ao daor gīmigon issa?” Do you not remember me?

The words hit me like a physical blow. I swallowed, stunned by her High Valyrian.

For a moment, I believe I stood petrified, unable to tear my gaze from her, unable to utter a word.

A torrent of questions, accusations, apologies – years of unspoken turmoil – churned within me. But now, with her life literally in my hands, the words deserted me. My tongue, usually an agile weapon, felt like lead. This was the person who had haunted my every waking and sleeping thought for years, and all I could manage was a stunned silence. Perhaps my countenance spoke volumes where my voice failed.

She echoed the girl I remembered, but time had woven its changes. I had to take it all in. Her voice, saccharine and laced with a hint of mockery, was a stark contrast to the playful child I held in memory. Her once youthful features had sharpened, cheekbones higher, lips fuller. Then, my gaze, fell upon the one jarring element – a crimson scar that snaked across her left eyebrow, expressing a raw pink sheen beneath a shell of transparent skin. Years had passed, yet the wound looked fresh.

The accident.

My jaw tightened as venom seethed through my veins.

I could still see her crumpled, lifeless form in the dirt, her skull cracked open, every time I closed my eye.

And I was holding the bloody rock.

Shame coiled in my gut like a suffocating weight. I could not bear to look at her.

“Some things never change,” she said facetiously. “Don’t you agree, uncle?”

Shit.

I was still holding my knife to her throat. I recoiled with such force that the effort pushed her back as well. A bright seam of red welled up at the lip where my blade had kissed her and painted the length of her neck like dark fruit. 

I reviled myself. I had tried to kill her. Again. 

But she just smiled, a dimple flashing in her cheek. As if we were still kids and she had made a humorous jest.

I realized I had been holding my breath when a gasp escaped my lips and air rushed back into my lungs. The silence stretched on, thick and heavy.

“Aylana.” I spoke her name derisively without intending to, as I sheathed the knife at my waist where my gaze lingered a moment, dreading to meet hers. 

My stomach turned. I never used to call her that. It sounded so formal and distant on my tongue, just like ‘uncle’ on hers. But that’s what we were to each other now - our friendship no more than a distant memory. I no longer assumed myself worthy of her alias. I had lost that privilege. Just as I had lost my friend. 

The weight of the past pressed down on me, suffocating.

Agitation infiltrated my mind and my whole disposition must have come off as reticent and hostile. I watched her pull her gloves off finger by finger and release the clasp of her cloak. There was an attitude in her movements and a poise in her posture. Beneath she was dressed in sable flying leathers that clung tightly to her body. 

I averted my gaze. 

Frustration clawed at my chest, and whatever other feeling it was that made my mouth dry and my palms clammy. 

“You look well, nuncle,” she said. 

My eye met hers and I noted them briefly flicker across my eyepatch. Her scrutiny made the leather singe my skin with awareness. Growing diffident, I looked away. 

“Hmmph,” I said, my favorite expression of disdain. 

I knew what she was implying. That if I had only listened to her that night, instead of acting like an arrogant scoundrel, I wouldn’t be looking like a eunuch with one eye at present.

And she was right in mocking me. If her insults were the currency for my betrayal, I would gladly become a spendthrift.

My breathing shallowed as I gazed at the damage I’d caused. I had to get out of there. 

“I hope we did not frighten you earlier,” she said, interrupting my escape. “I only thought I might test the mettle of the largest dragon in the world. She truly is remarkable. A fair exchange, to be sure.” 

I turned to look at her, and I didn’t know what I must’ve looked like, because the playful smile that had been dancing between her lips our entire encounter, vanished. There it is, I thought. The realization. The Aemond you knew is gone. This is the monster you forged.

“Ser Harrold,” I said. “Escort the princess to the Red Keep. And make sure she does not test the mettle of anyone else in the city.”

“Certainly, my prince,” said Ser Harrold, the Lord Commander who was the very first person to see my face after the loss of my eye. This fact made him remarkably significant somehow.

I mounted Vhagar and took to the sky, watching Aylana and Nymax blur into mere specks on a canvas. 

This would be a celebration I was sure to remember…

More chapters

[burningpysche]

my girlfriend and i had a really long talk one night about women, and our generational anger. i know i have it. it runs so deep in me, and i feel it all the time. she mentioned that in school, the workouts that they had the girls doing, consisted of things like aerobics. which, in my opinion, is a workout pretty much just for aesthetics. versus the type of workouts they had for the boys, which consisted of things like running, push ups, weight lifting, etc. all things to build stamina, strength, endurance. i mentioned the way that fish grow, depending on the size of the body of water that they live in. if you put a fish in a pond, it’ll get just as big as it needs to get to occupy that space. if you put a fish in a bowl, it’ll only get so big. and if you start breeding that fish in the bowl, and you keep breeding those fish, they’ll only ever know that tiny bowl you put them in. they’ll never grow any bigger.

men are cowards in the way that they still carry this narrative that we’re genetically inferior to them, as if that hasn’t been their whole game this entire time. after decades and decades of imprisoning us, domesticating us, etc., they have the raw nerve to act as if we were just designed to be weaker than them. as if they didn’t put all these systems up, and band together to uphold those systems, just to keep us on the bottom. i know so many strong women. both physically, and emotionally. women can survive under pressure. women can grow as big as they need to, but rarely do we ever have the space to encourage that type of growth. we have to go out of our way, defy “gender norms” and all this other bullshit, just to find some sort of autonomy. some sort of strength that relies on ourselves alone. i think this is why women are so community driven. we have been conditioned to just huddle in a corner together and comfort one another as we all pretty much sit helpless, because we don’t know what we’re capable of. and we’re quite frankly scared of discovering it. because the price you pay is often deadly.

i feel like i wasn’t taught many lessons about self preservation. i feel like i was unfortunately taught how to be a housewife. i’m great at cooking, cleaning, keeping tidy, being pretty and getting fucked. being told what to do and doing it. i’m great at all of those things. and i can’t break out of those habits. i dedicate so much fucking time to looking beautiful, and keeping clean and tidy, and overall having the qualities of a housewife. because i feel like i’ll lose all of my value if i pursue anything else. even as a lesbian, which in a way, means i’m failing at traditional womanhood, i still have these problems. i have so many aspirations. so many dreams. so many things i want for myself. and i don’t go for them. ever. i watch time go by and think to myself, “well, i probably could’ve never done that anyways.” i was taught that i can’t do things on my own. i can’t survive under pressure. i have completely surrendered to that mindset. i remember a period of time where i didn’t surrender to that type of lifestyle. and it was honestly just fucking exhausting. all the fighting, and all of the disappointment from my family and friends. when you don’t play by the rules, everybody fucking hates you. i’ve just laid here helpless for i can’t even tell you how long now. feeling like there’s no end, no escape. i’m just supposed to submit to someone and stay at home and keep the house tidy and functional. but i’m not really like that. i don’t want that. i just keep using these tools i was given as a little girl, and they’re not doing me any good. i guess my life is safer this way, but it isn’t gratifying. i never feel alive until i do something fucking crazy or stupid. and realize, “damn, i didn’t die. nobody came after me or hurt me for doing this.”

it’s frightening to realize the gravity of life as a woman. to realize that you’re still very much in a cage. and to sit at the bottom of that cage and wonder to yourself, if i somehow got out of here, would what all happened to me on the way out even be worth it?

[cosmic-gemstone]

What sort of advanced sci-fi machinery does Qessyn's homeworld use?

Lots! Aside from mechas and droids, which I’ve talked about extensively on this blog, there’s also other things like hoverboards, floating vehicles, flying vehicles (though these are restricted to public transit and emergency vehicles and require a special license; if everyone had flying cars it would be a logistical nightmare, can you imagine giving people a z-axis?) and a lot of gravity-defying tech in general. There’s still wheeled vehicles, simply because floating vehicles don’t quite work on all forms of terrain.

Holograms are also a major thing, and can be found in nearly every area of Ieuzuno, from holographic text to pure decoration. (For example, using holograms to make it appear as if a school of fish are swimming through the air; this is popular at cafes with water features.)

[lemony-snickers]

Heyyo! Hope you are doing well and the Naruto ask is still open !

10, 12,21,24 and 27 pls ? ( or any of those ! :))

hello, my dear, hope you're doing well, too! thanks for sending these! let's see...

10) favorite ninja’s hair

i mean, do i even have to say it? kakashi's, of course! i love that silver gravity-defying mess so much adlfjsa;dlfj

12) what would your ninjutsu be

ooh... another tough one. i have to say, i'm not super creative when it comes to this sort of thing. the only jutsu i've "created" really is called dessication no jutsu, which entails the user pulling water from an object or person until it is so dehydrated that it crumbles to dust. fairly effective for assassination, but takes a lot of chakra, so limited uses. i think i'd def be a water user in the narutoverse so i guess this one, ahaha.

21) in the akatsuki what color would you paint your nails

a deep deep purple that is very nearly black.

24) weapon of choice

i am once again invoking my preference for my oc because i think the kyoketsu shoge is very, very cool:

my oc utilizes a special chakra rope as part of her own weapon, which she uses to store her own water-infused chakra for use in battle because her stores are only so-so.

27) what animal would you summon

hmm. i would love to summon poison dart frogs. small, easily hidden, and deadly - very helpful in battle or infiltration, i think!

[eldritch-spouse]

Hi Pinnie ,Where is the garden located? Is it outside the celergy behind it or in its own floor, is it a roof top garden? How big is it and does it have pond? Does look like a forest? If remember correctly its big enough to practice performances.

Can costumers go there or is it staff only? I imagine its where they grow alot of the produce animals and plants. I can only imagine Nebul sitting in forest with a bunch of animals just petting them. Like a hauntingly beautiful disney princess .

The Garden

The Clergy's garden lies directly in the premises of the building and it never switches place. However, what lies within it is the furthest thing from consistent. It's a very large space surrounded by thick foliage, and while the forest surrounding it is not exactly part of it, it's also uninhabited by the vast majority of animals out there. Krulu's presence tends to do that...

The best way to describe it, is to say that the place is desaturated. Everything there tends to sport muted, dark or otherwise ashy colors. Regardless of how much The Clergy shifts, a couple of things are permanent to the garden, those being a smooth stone path leading to the main doors and forming varying "branches" through fields of flowers. There is usually always at least one waterfall, though the shapes it adopts are never consistent and the flow of water appears to defy gravity. Some droplets just... Hover in the air.

The flowers, well, they don't really act like their namesake. There's a mix or roses, tulips, lilies, orchids- But they're all odd, sporting more petals than they ought to, swaying on their own, featuring darker colors for the most part. Some are mutated, becoming a breed of animal, growing teeth or limbs with which they can actually move. It's not uncommon to get bitten by one of these critters if you stray too far into the garden's more flowery sides. Which no one recommends really.

In fact, a lot of strange lifeforms, especially plant-based ones, originate in The Clergy's garden. This is due to the fact that the infrastructure is very much alive, and since Krulu pays little attention to this area's details, there's a void of "guidelines" which the building can use to orient itself with. So in turn, the establishment merely mimics what it thinks a garden should look and operate like. It doesn't really understand animals or plants, so it improvises based on the information that is fed to it and the stimulus it's regularly exposed to. Meaning, for example, that if you were to dump a carcass in the soil, The Clergy would potentially absorb it and create something random out of it. Nebul, Belo and Patches are endlessly fascinated by the results of this process.

Since it's so reactive, it's quite hard to get a plantation of any sort going, but Patches and Morell have been trying to secure a less anomalous plot for this. It's uh... In a beta stage. Produce still looks desaturated and tastes odd, but at least it's not talking or running away. Growing livestock here is an awful idea for now, they'll continue to use suppliers.

Another unfortunately permanent feature of the garden are gargoyles... There's a rather large flock of them loitering on the roof and they're generally kind of a nuisance. Yeah sure, they help by hunting the little anomalous critters that pop up sometimes, but they also raid dumpsters and make a mess. They've harassed clients once or twice, basically adopted Ludwig, won't obey Nebul and obsessively want to preen Belo. It's a strange dynamic, though if Krulu really wanted them out, they'd be gone by now.

The staff members that enjoy the garden the most are decidedly Nebul and Sybastian. Nebul definitely loves all the fucked up creatures that occasionally surface, having tried to domesticate more than a couple of them. Syb likes to drop most of his mimiclings in the garden, they learn to survive in an unexpected, hostile environment, which breeds stronger and smarter mimics. It's also a breather from how crowded the establishment can get at times, which stresses Sybastian out.

[theirishhalfling]

As drawings go, this was as out of my comfort zone as they probably get. I just don’t do women ;D 

Buuut while Lock and his OoTA sessions are currently on pause, there was talk of doing a one/two/three shot, and so that means yet another character. And for the sheer hell of it, I gave myself the challenge of using this wonderful random generator, and decided to just go with whatever it gave me first.

And that was “a suspicious elf wizard from an underwater city once dry by a magical force field who is searching for the knowledge of true immortality”.

Which is handy, considering I’ve never played an elf, nor a wizard before. And to top it off, I decided to go for a lady too, which I’ve never done before ;)

So that gave birth to Phaedra, sea elf bladesinger wizard C: She’s just a rough concept since it’ll only be a few filler sessions, but I felt obliged to give myself a visual reference just ‘cause C:

[itsenma-here]

❆ Prompt: The 3 things Kakashi lets (only) You do to him

note: picture not from tumblr n not mine

Often times, Kakashi lets you do things to him while he watched you fondly with an amused expression behind his mask.

He lets you put flower crowns on top of his head

You two were leaning under the shade of a tree just a little bit farther from the training ground, Kakashi leaning on your shoulder. Kakashi glanced at the thing you were making, a light blue flower crown. Still leaning his head on your shoulder, he looked at the crown with dread, his eye twitching at it. He kind of knew where that thing is going to be sitting itself at.

Meanwhile, you were putting ornaments on the crown, meticulously finishing it with small white flowers and baby's-breaths around it.

"Kashi, Kashi," You called him for his attention. He glanced up at you and straightened himself up to a sitting position.

"Hmm?" Kakashi lazily looked at you.

"Uh huh." You proudly showed him your flower crown. "Can I put it on you?" You were looking at him so expectantly with that bright smile of yours. Kakashi was about to open his mouth and say no, but your expectant and blinking gaze at him made it impossible.

"........alright." Kakashi relented, blushing a bit under his mask. A soft laugh can be heard from you, putting the crown around Kakashi's head. You were admiring it as if it was a masterpiece and commenting on how his silver hair mashes with the light blue and white flowers. Kakashi thought he must have looked stupid with that but you looked so happy he can only shake his head in fondness.

He lets you dry his hair

No one is allowed to touch the gravity-defying hair of the Copy Ninja. It was sacred. That's what people thought.

You, on the other side, often ruffled and dried his hair for him! Kakashi allowed it because it felt damn good, not that he would say it aloud. Whenever he finished showering and you both have nothing better to do, you ushered him to come over to you so you can dry his hair because 'you'll go bald if you continue drying your hair that way," Your words, not his.

Kakashi knew his after-shower hair was limp, unlike his usual hair. and somehow often tangled. His silver fringes also covered some of his forehead, water droplets dripping from them. He walked over to you with wet hair and then turned his body from you waiting for your touch. He sat on a chair.

You took the towel from him and stood up to start patting his silver hair.

"Oh Kashi, will you use a conditioner? Your hair has a lot of tangles!" You grumbled while untangling his damp hair.

"Maa," Kakashi drawled, "The smell is too strong for me, (y/n)." You sighed because you can sort of imagine the drawbacks of having a strong sense of smell like him. Even though you grumbled, but the small smile on your face said otherwise.

He closed his eyes in relaxation and enjoyed the feeling of your fingers smoothing his hair. Oh, Kakashi also thought that it's better not to use a conditioner if you're going to be drying and untangling his hair like this, even more when he knew you also liked doing that for him. So everything's good, Kakashi thought.

He lets you cuddle (?) him

Being the short one in the relationship, Kakashi always becomes the big spoon. You weren't exactly short but Kakashi was just super tall yknow. Once in a while, you wanted to be the one cuddling him, instead of him cuddling you.

"Kashi, I want to cuddle you tonight." You said with a straight face, already in your sleep pajamas.

Kakashi looked up from his book and tilted his head in confusion, "Baby, we're.. always cuddling?" He didn't really understand what you mean.

"No no, I want to cuddle you, instead of you cuddling me." You tried to explain yourself by emphasizing on the 'you' and 'I'.

"Uh right." Kakashi nodded blankly at you before you immediately ushered him to bed and lied him down. Kakashi stiffly faced one side of the bed and blinked confusedly. What are you going to do, Kakashi wondered.

Kakashi felt you put your short legs and arms around him, looking like a koala latching itself into its mom. Shifting yourself more comfortably, you also leaned your head against his firm back. Kakashi felt laughter bubbling inside him and chuckled good-naturedly.

You hugging him felt good so he didn't protest. He proceeded to intertwine your hands which were rested comfortably on the side of his stomach. Kakashi glanced at you behind him to see you closing your eyes with a small smile on your face. He too, closed his eyes and went to sleep thinking fondly about you.

note: this is what it sort of looks like XD picture is not from tumblr and not mine btw

I really feel that these domestic things are what describes Kakashi the most. this man is just so broken that I feel the need to write cute things abt him :")

masterlist.

[hellion-writes]

Surprise Conversations

Pairing: 10th Doctor x reader (intended as platonic)

Pronouns used: They/them (gender neutral reader)

Summary: When life isn’t great for you, a strange man talks to you when you’re at your lowest. 

Word count: 2,345 (edited)

Warnings: Intrusive thoughts, mentions of self harm, suicidal thoughts/tendencies, self deprecation

(A/N): Wrote this as a sort of vent/comfort within the span of 3ish hours and it’s currently 6:30 in the morning. This takes place sometime between Martha and Donna. Enjoy and ignore the awful title and writing pls

    ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

It was always behind you, looming over your shoulder and breathing down your neck with saccharine addled air. You breathed in that oxygen against your will; sometimes that was the only way you could get through the day. Other times, it was the thing that ruined your perfect day. 

It whispered in your ear whenever you made a mistake, no matter how small. It only started yelling whenever you started to decline, escalating to screaming when you were at your worst. You could swear that your eardrums were tattered beyond belief and that you could hear the remnants of the voice in the back of your mind whenever it wasn’t there, but you just chalked it up to the pains of growing up and becoming an adult. 

You listened to it sometimes. You listened to it when it told you that you were a failure for getting anything besides a perfect score on a test. You listened to it when it told you that you were incapable of love when you and your childhood best friend started to drift apart. You listened to it when it told you that slashing at your skin with the razor blade you had unscrewed from a handheld pencil sharpener would solve your problems. And for the most part, you felt as if it was best that you listened to it. 

There were times that you ignored it, though; this was usually whenever it’s ideas were too drastic for the situation. It called for you to jump when you came across ledges and bridges. It beckoned you towards the knife block and commanded you to stick them all in your abdomen. It wants you to jump onto the rails whenever you are boarding a train. 

Ignoring it was hard, but doable when you didn’t have anything to stress out about. A couple of cuts and you’d be good to go for the day. It would be silent. 

That was until things started to pile up. Bill due dates were getting closer and closer, friends were increasingly leaving, your debts were growing larger and larger, and your family was basically nonexistent in helping you with your problems. So you decided to finally give in and listen to everything the voice told you to do. 

You found yourself at your favorite part of the city you lived in: the bridge overlooking the ocean. It had a perfect view of the moon and it’s beams glistening on the ever moving waves. It gave you some comfort that things would continue after you would be at your end. It was beautiful and you’d be damned if you didn’t at least have something to see before you died. 

You were sitting on the ledge, feeling the salty sea breeze raise the goosebumps on your skin. Your grip on the metal bars was tight, almost as steely as the beam itself. Your feet dangled over the abyss limply. 

“Hey.” A voice broke through the quiet, making you jump out of your skin and almost lose your grip on the bars. “Sorry,” they awkwardly coughed. A figure came to a seated position next to you, dragging your eyes off from the waves below. 

The first thing you registered about him was the gravity-defying hair slightly being shifted by the breeze. In the back of your mind, you wondered how much gel he had to use to get it to stick up like that. The second thing you noticed was the way he looked at you. His eyes were expressive, probably more so than the average person. They were a deep brown color, the pupil almost blending in with his iris. 

“So, I assume you aren’t out here for a little stroll?” He glanced at you out of the corner of his eyes and gave you a sliver of a smile. You shook your head and returned to looking over at the ocean. He sat with you in silence for a moment before he spoke up, “what’s your name?” 

“Why do you need to know?” 

“I like meeting new people,” he shrugged. “If it makes it easier, I’ll tell you mine: I’m the Doctor.” 

“Doctor who?” You asked skeptically.

“Just the Doctor,” he grinned widely. 

“Well Doctor, it’s strange that you’re making small talk with someone sitting on the ledge.” 

“Like I said, I like meeting new people… Nice day outside, isn’t it? Or should I say night?”

“Yeah,” you hummed quietly. Silence enveloped you both once more, only the sounds of each other’s breathing and the occasional shuffle being heard whenever one of you moved. It was starting to unnerve you, so you decided that telling him your name wasn’t going to do any harm. “(Y/n).”

“What?” He asked quietly.

“(Y/n). That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” you sighed out the last phrase. Normally, you would’ve said it with a large grin and happiness exuding from your every feature but you just felt numb. 

“(Y/n),” he said slowly, as if getting a feel for your name, “that’s a lovely name. It suits you, you know. Nice to meet you,” he stuck a hand out towards you and gave you a smile that almost melted the numbness that froze you. You stared at it for a moment before slowly moving to grasp his hand in yours and give it a firm little shake.

“Likewise,” you mumbled. He jumped slightly when your cold skin met his warm hand, looking at you in alarm. 

“You’re freezing,” he said before shrugging off his trench coat and laying it across your shoulders. An instant warmth enveloped you, making you unconsciously lean into the warmth. He was warm, incredibly warm. When your nose brushed against the collar, you caught a slight whiff of cologne and… something that you couldn’t place your finger on. Maybe apples or grass? Or a mixture of the two, you didn’t ponder on it. The Doctor was warm and he smelled good. 

“Well being cold is the least of my worries right now, Doc,” a small chuckle left you. You gestured at the water below you wordlessly. It was then that you noticed his slightly beaten up off white converse shoes. “Nice shoes by the way. Not my definition of dress shoes, but at least you aren’t running around barefoot. I respect it.” 

“Thanks,” he grinned, wiggling his feet in the air slightly, “they’re my lucky pair, haven’t failed me yet.”

“You know, you could use a magic eraser or something to get those dirt stains off from them.”

“Why would I do that? These stains are memories,” he pointed to a slightly purple spot. “This is when R- an old friend accidentally ran into trouble with some nasty things.” He pointed to a small grass stain, “this is when I was running with Martha.” 

He had a fond smile on his face as he started to tell you stories about his adventures with his friends. There was Martha, the brilliant doctor (also a doctor, interesting) that almost matched his intelligence. Then there was Sarah Jane, a gifted journalist with a knack for discovering and defending the truth. K-9. Romanas I and II. Peri. Grace. Susan. Kamelion. It was as if this man had lived several lifetimes. 

“It sounds like someone’s lived quite the life,” you mused when the conversation fizzled out. 

“I have,” he nodded, an almost hidden wistfulness in his tone. “Now what about you? I feel like I’ve been hogging the conversation.”

“No, you’re fine; I liked hearing about your friends. As for me, well my life’s just not important.”

“Not important,” he scoffed. “Impossible. I’ve never met anybody who’s life wasn’t important. Everybody has a story, what’s yours?” 

You were silent for a moment before you took a deep breath. What’s one more hour of conversation? It wasn’t like you had any time constraints. You diverged into sharing some aspects of your life, just the small things that wouldn’t normally make any normal person bat an eye at. 

But the Doctor wasn’t a normal person.

You didn’t mean that in a negative way, no far from it. He actually was invested in what you had to say, not just politely nodding along. He asked you questions about what you were talking about, subtly pushing you to elaborate further. Soon enough you both were laughing like you were old friends catching up with each other. If anybody drove past you both, they probably would have thought you both were insane. 

“You actually did that?” He asked incredulously through his snickering. 

“Yes, I was a gullible kid. Not my fault that I’d do anything for a quarter and a cool looking rock,” you smiled and leaned your head against the metal bar behind you. “Everyone thought I was going to become a geologist when I got older with how much I’d hoard rocks in my room like there was no tomorrow. Made Mum cross with me for bringing dirty things into the house, but she never found the stash I had in the basement. I actually think that they’re still there, hidden in a box collecting dust.” You sighed and tightened your grip on the bars, “there’s no appeal in rocks when you grow up and see that the little sparkles and colors in them are just… imperfections that should be ignored.” 

“The little imperfections I see in rocks,” he began, pinching a small bit of loose concrete between his pointer finger and thumb and brought it up to his face to examine it. “Are the things I refuse to ignore. They’re charming and separate it from being just a hunk of slate you find in a rock garden.”

“I feel like that’s some sort of analogy.” 

“That… wasn’t what I was intending, but I do suppose that it could be one.” He turned to squint at you, placing the rock back onto the ledge next to his thigh. You squinted back at him, wondering what was going through his head. A smile ghosted across his face before he laughed to himself. 

“What?” You asked him.

“Nothing,” he chuckled, “it’s just that we’ve talked all night.” He jutted his chin towards the sun rising over the horizon casting oranges and pinks onto the water in place of the moonlight that resided there previously. 

“We have,” you said in surprise. The sun’s rays warmed you slightly, but you didn’t want to move away from the shelter of the trench coat. It gave you a strange sense of comfort. You both watched the sun rise out of the ocean and take its place high in the sky. Traffic started to bustle as people started their morning commute to work, some craning their necks in their cars as they drove by to look at you and the Doctor. None stopped to talk to you. 

“Say, (N/n),” he started.

“(N/n)?” You asked as the corners of your lips quirked upwards. The nickname made you feel warm inside, it felt nice. 

“Yes, (N/n); I think it suits you well. Anyways (N/n), if you were to choose a time and place in all of time and space, where would you like to visit the most?” 

“Anywhere? Like, even on a planet trillions of light years from Earth?” You asked him, watching him nod curtly. “Yes, but there are some rules. You can’t interact with your past self or change a point that was destined to happen. Wars, deaths, births, things like that.”

“Ah, so the general movie rules of time travel?” He grumbled to himself (something along the lines of ‘those are wildly inaccurate’) before he nodded once more. 

After a bit of contemplation, you supplied him with your answer. A spark in his eye appeared, similar to the spark he got when he talked about his friends but slightly different. He slowly got up and stretched his lanky limbs out, cracks coming from the joints and small groans leaving him whenever the stretch was apparently good. 

He looked down at you and, with a grin, extended his hand to you. “(Y/n), would you like to come with me? See that place you wanted to see?” 

You found yourself staring at his hand for the second time that night. Thoughts of stranger danger circulated through your mind before you realized that if he wanted to harm you in any way, he would have done it by now. He wouldn’t have talked to you for hours on end, making you feel like you had a small sliver of yourself back again. 

Why not? One little detour couldn’t hurt; you had a good feeling about going along with him. 

You grabbed his hand and allowed him to pull you up to a standing position. He gave you a small lift so that you could hop over the barrier before he catapulted his body over it. With an arm wrapped around your shoulders, he led you away from the bridge. You both got strange looks from the people driving past, but you managed to ignore it when you burrowed yourself deeper into the trench coat and he brought you closer to him. He led you to an old navy blue police box, much to your confusion. 

“Well, Mx…”

“(L/n),” you supplied.

“Well, Mx. (L/n), welcome to the TARDIS.” 

One trip turned to two. Then three. Then four. Then several more. It became normal to come home from work to see the man waiting for you comfortably in your small apartment, brightening up whenever you walked through the door and asking you excitedly about what you had in mind for your next adventure. 

Soon enough, the voice became something that would only come to you on your bad days, becoming largely dormant in your mind. Whenever you had a bad day, you finally had someone to confide in. Someone that wouldn’t judge you, someone that wouldn’t tell you that you were being overly dramatic. 

The Doctor was different from the normal person; he was the Doctor and you wouldn’t want to have it any other way. 

[steddiealltheway]

!!!!! Tw: faked suicide not by Steve or Eddie. There are ⚠️⚠️⚠️ before and after the most graphic parts which can be skipped without needing too much context. I tried to be vague but it can still be triggering. !!!!! (Thank you everyone tagging it as such)

A sort of different type of TikTok Modern AU…

Eddie Munson is a famous rockstar and honestly doesn’t post much on TikTok, but he occasionally finds himself scrolling though the app which is how he finds Steve.

He’s gorgeous. Exactly Eddie’s type with luscious, gravity defying hair, a sharp jaw, pretty lips, and he bets if he had a closer look, Steve would have the most charming eyes. It’s a shame the camera is so far away from him, and Eddie almost wonders why until Billy Hargrove is in the shot.

Eddie’s stomach sours at the sight of the man. Yes, he’s attractive, even Eddie could admit that, but there was something about him that made Eddie feel uncomfortable. Plus, there were a few scandals surrounding the tiktoker regarding previous racist Tweets and comments which he has responded to with a thrust trap to “Nobody’s Perfect” by Miley Cyrus / Hannah Montana.

So yeah. Eddie didn’t particularly like him and the stuff he got away with just because he’s hot.

He tunes back into the video which has him holding his finger to his lips, and Eddie is already rolling his eyes. The caption says, “Pranking my boyfriend, Steve 🤣😱” and Eddie can already tell it has to be fake with all the dramatics that Steve just happens to not see.

But then Billy carefully sneaks behind the couch where Steve is sitting and dumps a bucket full of water and ice onto him which has the man yelling and standing up in shock. He stands still for a minute and then yells, “Why the fuck would you do that, Billy??”

The tone and overall reaction has Eddie actually wonder if the video is fake or if Steve is just a really good actor. But he watches it again and notices that the man doesn’t look toward the camera once and something about that makes him feel really uneasy.

Eddie has to reason with himself, if the man is dating Billy Hargrove then he must not be a great person, and maybe he deserved the bucket of ice water. But Eddie still closes out of the app and tries his best not to think about it.

-:-:-:-:-:-

He opens the app a few days later, having forgotten about the whole incident until he comes across another video by Billy and the word “prank” in his caption catches Eddie’s eye. He sighs wondering why it’s on his for you page, but right before he swipes past it, he catches the gist of the prank.

Billy fills a syringe with mayonnaise and injects it into a donut, and then it cuts to him giving it to Steve from a camera that once again seems to be hidden although Billy keeps glancing at it with a smirk on his face and evil in his eyes. Steve, on the other hand, doesn’t glance toward the camera, but his face lights up with glee when he’s handed the donut. “You got this for me?” He asks in an awe filled tone as if the donut means the world to him.

“Yeah, why don’t you take a big ol’ bite of it for me?” Billy asks, voice low. Eddie watches as Steve shifts uncomfortably and puts the donut down.

“This isn’t another prank, is it? You know I don’t like them,” Steve says which honestly surprises Eddie. His tone is entirely genuine, and he feels like he’s peering in on a private moment.

“Of course not baby. Told you I’d stop,” Billy replies with a big smile.

Eddie can’t help but click on the caption: “Simple prank makes boyfriend storm out!” With a shit ton of hashtags that Eddie doesn’t bother reading.

Sure enough, Steve bites into the donut and immediately spits it out. He doesn’t say a word, just shakes his head and storms out of room.

Billy laughs loudly, “Oh, don’t be like that, babe! You know that was funny as shit!”

Eddie opens the comments, and is surprised to find people actually defending the prank. There are some people who comment shit like, “date me instead! I would never get mad at your pranks 🥵”

There’s only one comment that says, “Don’t really find this funny.” But it’s swarmed with hate comments from Billy’s fans that has Eddie scoffing as he scrolls onto the next video. He watches for a few seconds before scrolling back up when he realizes something. He looks at the date of the TikTok and realizes it was posted the previous month which means…

Eddie sighs realizing that him looking through Billy’s videos will only give him more attention and views, but he needs to know how long this has been going on for. And he really needs to find out if Steve is in on any of it or at least had gotten Billy back.

He begrudgingly clicks on Billy’s profile and scrolls through. He finds several videos with the thumbnail being of Steve mid reaction to a prank, and Eddie notices that every time, the camera is far away, and there doesn’t seem to be a single video of him up close.

The whole thing doesn’t feel right to Eddie. But what can he do about it? It’s not like he can report the videos. He could simply just block Billy and try to forget it all.

He scrolls back to the top and accidentally refreshes the page. He’s about to block him when he notices a new video pop up, where Steve looks like he’s in the middle of a panic attack. Eddie immediately presses on it.

⚠️⚠️⚠️

Billy smiles at the camera, no shirt in sight as he laughs, “This is my biggest prank yet. Steve should be home in less than a minute. And look,” he holds up his phone and shows a bathtub filled with red water that almost looks like blood.

Eddie’s shaky hand covers his mouth. He wouldn’t.

Billy laughs and continues, “I sent him a text that says ‘I’m sorry’ and a picture of an empty pill bottle, and he’s been texting me non stop for the past few minutes. Shit, he’s on his way now so it’s time for me to hide my phone and make this look as real as possible.”

Eddie watches as Billy puts his phone on a shelf and seemingly stacks towels up to cover his phone and hold it in place. He looks away when Billy takes out a bottle of fake blood and stages a suicide. He practically shakes with anger. Steve has to be in on this. He has to just be a good actor.

Eddie’s stomach drops when he hears Steve yelling Billy’s name rushing through the house. He bursts through the door and falls against the wall in shock. “Tell me this is a damn prank Billy. Billy…” he gets closer and shakes him. “Billy!” He yells shaking. “Shit. Shit. No no no. Fuck. What the fuck…”

Steve sits next to the tub and puts his head in his hands having a panic attack. Billy’s eyes open and he winks at the camera before grabbing Steve’s shoulders and yelling, “Boo.” He starts cackling loudly as Steve confusedly looks around trying to catch his breath. “I got you so good!” Billy yells through laughter.

Steve shakily gets up, tears streaming down his face and runs. Billy gets out of the tub and makes his way to his phone. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to him later,” he says with a wink before the video ends.

⚠️⚠️⚠️

Eddie sits as the video reloops. He’s shaking with anger. He doesn’t think as he duets the video and mutes the other audio. “This is the most fucked up thing I’ve ever seen. These ‘couple pranks’ are stupid enough and not funny, but to fake a suicide and call it a joke… you have to be an extra type of fucked up asshole. There aren’t enough words to describe how evil of a human being you have to be to do something like this to someone you love. I don’t care if this is staged or not. This is not okay. And fuck you.” Eddie quickly censors Billy’s half of the video with a note of “watch at your own risk.” He doesn’t care if his manager is pissed or if his account is filled with Billy’s fans hating on him or whatever. He presses the post button and turns off his phone. He needs fresh air.

He grabs his keys, a hat, and sunglasses, and makes his way out of his apartment. Hopefully the damn paparazzi back the fuck off today. He makes it down his street and walks quickly, fuming with anger. He weaves in and out of people and curses the busy LA streets.

He turns the corner and rams right into someone walking at an equally fast rate. He holds onto the stranger to steady himself and keep them up. “Sorry,” the man chokes out and Eddie is about to brush it off when he realizes he recognizes him.

“Steve?” He asks. He knew Billy lived in Los Angeles but he didn’t know he lived so close. The thought makes him kind of sick to his stomach. He thinks he might punch him if he ever saw him in person.

Steve wipes at his face and narrows his eyes at Eddie. “Sorry, do I know you?”

Eddie glances around before lifting up his sunglasses and hat, waiting for Steve to recognize him enough to gain his trust. Instead, Steve just stares at him blankly.

Eddie’s heart races. This has never really happened to him. He puts on the hat and sunglasses sheepishly. “Uh, I’m Eddie. I know you from Billy’s TikToks.”

Steve just tilts his head in confusion. His eyes are red and puffy. He wonders if Billy posted the video so soon after his prank and if Steve is currently in the aftermath of it. “Um,” Steve says and clears his throat, “Was I in the background or something? He told me I wasn’t in his TikToks.”

Eddie’s heart drops. He opens his phone and goes to Billy’s TikTok, ignoring the way his own TikTok is blowing up. He turns his phone to Steve and picks a less traumatizing prank to show him.

Steve grabs his phone and his eyes widen. A look of confusion crosses over his face that slowly turns into realization and numbness. “He’s been using me for views after promising he wouldn’t, isn’t he? I even asked if the pranks were somehow stupid content but he said they weren’t. He…” he trails off and shakes his head. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be unloading all of this onto you.”

Eddie shakes his head. “No, no. It’s okay. I’m sorry that I told you.”

He watches as Steve numbly nods and scrolls presumedly through Billy’s profile. He looks down at the screen and back at Eddie. “Is this you?” Steve asks hesitantly as he turns the phone back to him.

Eddie confusedly looks at his phone and sees that Billy has apparently replied to his TikTok already. Then, to his left, he hears a bit of commotion and sees some cameras flashing. Fuck. “Do you trust me?” Eddie asks.

Steve looks at his phone and back at Eddie.

Yeah, that’s a lot to ask of him. “Okay, how about this? You keep my phone, and we run back to my apartment around the corner and talk in private before we both end up in shitty magazines?”

Steve tilts his head and glances toward where a few people with cameras make their way to them yelling, “Eddie! Eddie Munson!”

“You’re not a famous serial killer or something, right?”

“Musician,” Eddie says and holds out his hand. “One who hates Billy Hargrove.”

Steve looks down at his hand and takes it running alongside Eddie who tries not to think about the stories that might come out of this. Gosh, he thought his biggest scandal would be when he came out as gay.

He makes his way back to his apartment telling his doorman, “Paparazzi! He’s with me!”

Hopper just nods in response and opens the door quickly. Eddie sighs in relief when he makes it through and to the elevator. Steve looks at him and asks, “How offended are you that I don’t know you?”

Eddie laughs. “Mildly, but it’s a relief really.” He realizes that isn’t the biggest concern in the moment and changes the subject. “Are you okay?”

Steve sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He opens his mouth but the elevator dings, and Steve almost looks relieved. Eddie doesn’t press it as he leads him to his apartment. “Make yourself at home. Do you want water, coffee, tea, soda, or anything?”

Steve numbly shakes his head, so Eddie grabs two bottles of water and two cokes from his fridge. He puts them down on his coffee table and sits on the couch, watching as Steve kind of hovers in his living room with his arms crossed. “I won’t bite, and I certainly won’t pressure you to do anything. But you can sit on the couch if you like.”

Steve eyes him and asks timidly, “You’re not in on anything with Billy, right?”

It breaks his heart seeing and hearing how on edge these pranks have made Steve. “Fuck no. I promise on my guitar I have never had anything to do with Billy and I never will. Well… unless you count me calling him out on his shit on TikTok.”

The words seem to get through to Steve who sits down on the couch next to Eddie while keeping his distance. “So… that’s why you were on his TikTok.”

Eddie’s heart hammers. He nearly forgot that Billy had apparently dueted his own video. “Yeah, but it has to be really new because I only posted mine literally a minute before I ran into you.”

Steve looks down at Eddie’s phone still in his hands. “Why?”

“Why what?” Eddie asks genuinely confused.

“Why did you call him out?” Steve asks, not sounding angry just… curious.

Eddie shifts and play with a string on one of the rips of his jeans. “His most recent video with the faked suicide. That wasn’t fucking cool, man. None of the pranks he’s done have been okay. And I’m sorry that you were put through them - especially this last one.”

Steve’s face turns almost white. “He posted that? Was I… was I in it? Like… my entire breakdown was…” he trials off as Eddie slowly nods. “Fuck,” Steve says burying his face in his hands. Eddie is about to apologize or go on a rant about how much he hates Billy Hargrove when Steve asks, “Can I see the video you made?”

Eddie’s cheek flush red, but he replies, “Yeah, uh, I don’t exactly remember what I said because I kind of went into a fit of rage and posted whatever came to mind. But yeah, my password is 051599.”

Steve types the password into his phone, and stares at the screen blankly. He looks at Eddie and asks, “I’m not on social media… ever so… could you show me?”

Eddie nods and slides over until he’s a few inches away from the beautiful man, and he does his best to try not to think too hard about how attractive he finds him as he goes to his profile and presses on his recent video. His nose scrunches up at the sound of his own voice, but he doesn’t disagree with anything he said. Billy Hargrove is a dick.

“Can I see the comments?” Steve asks. Eddie nods and clicks on them.

“Woah,” Eddie can’t help but say as he sees blue checkmark after blue checkmark. The top comments are from @ ronancetheromance with the couple saying: “Only an absolutely vile person is capable of such a fucked up prank. #SaveSteve”. Another from @ willthewise: “remember to comment on here instead of the original video so it can get less attention!! #savesteve”. Several of the rest of the streamers who call themselves “The Party” reply to Will’s with the hashtag “SaveSteve”.

“Who are these people?” Steve asks as he scrolls through the comments. He comes across one from @ billyfan4everandalways saying: “Watch Billy’s new video and stop being so quick to judge!!”

Eddie clicks on the replies, and the top liked one - having more likes than the original comment - is from @ ericasinclair: “that ugly mullet man’s explanation is bullshit and everyone knows it. let Steve talk for himself or I’m not buying it. #SaveSteve #CancelBilly”

Eddie nearly follows the girl, but realizes that Steve had asked a question. “Most of them I don’t know personally honestly.”

“Then why are they defending me? I’m nobody,” Steve says as if it’s a common fact.

Eddie turns off his phone and puts it down, properly facing Steve. “I know I don’t know you well, but you are not nobody. And these people are defending you not only because Billy is a dick, but this prank stuff is abusive and shouldn’t be normalized especially with the following he has. Nobody should go through that.”

Steve turns slightly red and looks away before asking, “Can we watch his reply?”

Eddie shudders a bit at the thought, but turns on his phone and goes to his page. “Are you sure? I haven’t seen it yet either, and I’m a little prone to getting pissed at him.”

“I’m sure,” Steve says and even reaches over to open the video.

Billy still has fake blood on him and is scrubbing it off with an angry look on his face. He looks at the camera every so often, and it’s clear that he’s staring at himself in a mirror. What a fucking asshole. “These pranks are harmless, and even my boyfriend would agree with that. He enjoys them and he makes sure to show me how much once the cameras stop rolling and his shock has died off,” Billy says so with a smirk on his face that sends chills down Eddie’s body. “So, stop making assumptions about me and my boyfriend and keep making shitty music instead asshole.” The video ends with him flipping off the camera.

“Charming,” Eddie comments, pausing the video so it doesn’t endlessly loop, and turns to see Steve’s reaction. He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head.

“He’s lying. I’ve been begging him to stop for weeks. Even slept on the couch in protest. But that last one was the last straw. I just… don’t know where to go,” Steve sits back against the couch and mumbles, “Fuck.”

Eddie shifts and looks at him. “Do you have any friends or family that could take you in?”

Steve laughs humorlessly. “My parent disowned me when they found out I was dating Billy. Didn’t want a bi son ruining the family image. I had to move in with Billy, and he used to be sweet really. Well… I thought he was for the first three months. When his TikTok career took off he moved to LA, and I felt like I had no choice but to go with him. I grew apart from the few friends I had before the move, and I was just stuck with Billy here. And I… I don’t know,” Steve sighs and puts his head in his hands. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to dump all of this on you. I just… haven’t really had anyone to talk to.” The man lifts his head, his eyes are tired and filled with unshed tears. He’s gorgeous really, but that’s the last thing Eddie needs to be thinking about.

Eddie takes a moment to consider things. Steve seems like a good guy. He has plenty of extra room in his too big apartment and money to spare that he doesn’t know what to do with. Honestly, he’s not meant for this lifestyle and never has been. He’s happy that his uncle Wayne is retired and living comfortably off his too big income, but it’s lonelier than he imagined it to be.

And with that thought Eddie tells Steve, “Then live here for a while. No pranks. I won’t use you for clout or whatever. I have a guest bedroom with its own private bathroom, and I usually never have visitors. And I hate parties, so you don’t have to worry about that either. I may be writing songs in the middle of the night, but my music room is fairly soundproof. And trust me, I would appreciate the company or feeling like my money is going toward something important.”

Steve stands up and shakes his head. “It’s okay, man. I don’t want your charity. You’ve already done enough.”

Eddie stays on the couch and says, “Please, Steve, stay a week or just a few days. If you hate it here, I’ll help you get on your way. But trust me when I say you’ll help me too. It’s…” he sighs and runs a hand over his face, “It’s lonely in LA.” He cringes as he quotes the title of his favorite song that he’s written. It’s also his least popular one, but it’s the most honest thing on any of his albums.

“Reminds me of that song,” Steve says with a small smile.

Eddie’s head snaps up. “You know it?”

Steve hums the chorus of Eddie’s song and Eddie joins in. Steve stops to ask, “You know it, too?”

Eddie huffs a laugh. “I wrote it.”

Steve looks at him for a few moments longer with a combination of shock and hesitation. Then he surprises Eddie by asking, “You really wouldn’t mind if I stayed?”

“Not at all. Unless you ended up doing something really drastic like trying to murder me.”

Steve snorts, and Eddie finds it endearing. He tries to shake the feeling away. He can not fall for this man when he’s a guest in his house and especially not after everything he’s been through. But then Steve gives him a real smile and holds out his hand saying, “It’s a deal.”

And when Eddie takes his hand and feels how warm and nice it feels in his, half of him wants to argue that it’s just because it’s been a while since he’s actually had a genuine conversation with another person. But the other half is quick to accept that he’s absolutely fucked when it comes to this stranger that he feels like he’s inevitably going to fall in love with.

[initiumseries]

this may be random but I’ve been thinking a lot about black people in fantasy settings and I’m wondering: what type of hair styles do you think they’d have in a pre-industrial fantasy world? do you think there’s spells for natural hair upkeep? do you think there’d still be products for natural hair? I’m wondering as a black girl myself lol

Awesome question! I love this! I am currently working on a Afrofuturist, pseudo LOTR epic that takes place in the future, but we've basically returned to pre-industrial revolution/pre enslavement, but with future tech and magic, sort of inspired by the Tearling (not the ending), and in my vision of a pre-industrialist afro future, it's basically a return to ancestral hair styles/hair fashion. For ex:

Not just because from an artistic perspective, these hairstyles are WONDERFULLY visually interesting, but they FEEL futuristic; gravity defying, incredibly creative, distinct, strong shapes, and very very African. Which seems right. I also think the concept of returning to ancestral hair practices/styles in an afro-futurist concept that imagines a world where Black people are free and self determining, to be right. Free of the constraints of white supremacy, we would be finally able to be our whole selves, and I think it'd look like this. Why wouldn't it? Before we were kidnapped, we had advanced mathematics, star mapping, surgeries, successful c-sections etc. Makes sense our hair/clothes/culture would feel futuristic, even in a pre-industrial sense.

As for spells, I guess that depends on the type of fantasy, but I like to think, based on our historical inventions and contributions to the world, of which there are MANY, our magic would be practical, for the benefits of ourselves AND the community, and also domestic. I think there might be ways to weave magic into hair butters, and such that would bring prosperity, protect from evil, discourage jealousy etc. But I think, again, outside the constrains of white supremacy, and in a Black reality where we would be more focused on time spent, and not how MUCH time we HAVE (we already do this; CPT etc), hair care would return to more of a ritualistic bonding between women/nonmen and men in different/similar circles. Where you wouldn't have to be stressed about a wash day eating up your whole weekend. It'd be children sitting between their mother's/grandmother's/aunt's etc knees while she wove spells of love and protection into each canerow, that kind of thing. I think in our current reality we tend to see our hair as a burden and time eater. In an afro-futurist reality it would be a way to continue cultural practices which are critical for a healthy identity, and also a form of bonding, not trauma. So, taking that away with magic to say, clean or detangle your hair for you, wouldn't be necessary or even a consideration.

I think you'd absolutely still see products for natural hair, but like I said, maybe they're woven with magic, or advanced technology. Because we are self determining, our agriculture could be focused on our own needs. So maybe the shea butter, moringa oil or jojoba are all specifically potent strains to discourage hair breakage, strengthen follicles, and prevent traction alopecia etc. Wigs and hair extensions would OFC still be a thing, but maybe the synthetic fibres (that don't contribute to environmental destruction!) had tech where you could dip it in water/spray it and it'd change colour. Or, a la Psychopass, you could add holographic tech to a basic wig for it to appear like something else.

I think Mel Medarda from Arcane is also a perfect example of what Black people in fantasy could look like.

Natural hair, familiar styling, but also giving futuristic. This is sort of what I envision when I think Black fantasy/pre-industrial fantasy.

[hphmmatthewluther]

The Amortentia Incident

Merula was only in the Potions Classroom because she’d left her bag there. Snape was nowhere to be seen, and so she’d taken the initiative and unlocked the door on her own to get her bag before the next lesson. It was lunchtime now, and so she had some time to get it before her next lesson. She scowled. As far as she was concerned, it was that idiot Matthew Luther’s fault. He’d clearly distracted her, probably apologising to someone, and made her forget to take her bag with her. It couldn’t have been anything else he’d done, right?

She made her way towards their table, and grabbed her bag. Nothing was missing from it, which was a relief. She slung it around her shoulder and was about to leave, when she noticed one of the cauldrons was still on. It was by a student’s table and was still being heated. Merula cautiously stepped closer to it. Her attention really had been off today. For as she peered into the potion, she missed the label on the cauldron in Professor Snape’s handwriting, which read: “IMPURE- MUST BE DISINTEGRATED”. But she was too busy thinking about Matthew’s stupid face to notice. It was as if he always wanted to say something, but for whatever reason was too frightened to say it.

Merula put it down to her intimidating nature and examined the potion in the steaming hot cauldron. It was a reddish-pink hue, and it swirled without a spoon stirring it. It looked familiar, but Merula couldn’t quite place it. Even without smelling it, the aroma caught her nose, practically forcing her to sniff. It was sickeningly sweet, as if the potion were several gallons of melted chocolate. Now Merula felt hungry, and a little disoriented. Then, something strange happened, even by Hogwarts standards.

The smoke of the potion started billowing out at a faster rate, up into the air of the Potions Classroom. Merula was beginning to panic, fearful of Snape’s reaction to her screwing up this potion, whatever it was. She moved forward, about to turn off the heat, when she heard something. Laughter. From a voice she recognised. Coming from the cauldron. She watched in awe as the smoke converged, tinted by the reddish-pink, until two gleaming green eyes appeared in midair. Then, around them, a head of hair that went down past the face’s jaw, but not to the shoulders. From there, arms appeared, with hands fit for a musician. Merula couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

“...Luther?” she said finally.

The smoky figure smiled, tilting its head to the side. “Who else, Songbird?”

Merula’s cheeks went pink at the mention of the nickname. She wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but she was beginning to piece things together. For one thing, there were roses on the table nearest the cauldron, as well as a note with “fifteen times counterclockwise” written and underlined several times. This was a Love Potion, but clearly a poorly made one. Love Potions, didn’t do...this, right?

“What’s wrong, Merula?” Matthew asked, “You seem...perturbed.”

Merula looked up at Matthew, but had to quickly look away. She had never seen that look in his eyes before. “N...None of your business!” she snapped.

Instead of flinching, as Matthew normally would have done, he leant forward. “Oh, Songbird, if something’s troubling you, then it’s my business.”

Merula gulped. She felt rooted to the spot, as Matthew examined her. She saw that his hair was slightly longer than usual, and was somehow defying gravity in that it ebbed and flowed like waves of water.

“What do you want?” she asked, curious as to what this thing was.

Matthew chuckled, as his smoky form moved out of the cauldron and towards Merula. “I’d like an awful lot of things...you in my arms...your hands running through my hair...but I’d settle for just a kiss.”

She went very very pink at that. Merula shook her head, hoping the hallucination would vanish. She could no longer hide her blush, but she was fairly confident her knees weren't going to give way...yet.

“Oh, and if there’s...anything you want from me, I’d, ah, be more than happy to oblige.”

Merula tried to martial her thoughts, but all she could think about was how soft Matthew’s voice was. Sure, it was always relatively...nice...but now it was as if his voice was a wind travelling through a forest...an image only reinforced by Matthew’s bright green eyes, in which Merula swore she could see the outline of trees. This train of thought, however, was brought to an emergency stop as she felt his translucent arms wrap around her. She let out a quiet squeal, that wasn’t completely out of shock.

“Nnng...if I find out this is actually you, Luther, I swear, I’ll...” she began, but stopped as she came face to face with him yet again. “What potion even does this sort of thing?”

“Mmm, Maybe I know how it happened...maybe...” Matthew mused.

“...And are you going to tell me?” Merula asked.

“...I would if you kissed me.” Matthew whispered.

That pink feeling returned as Merula looked away again. “Come on, Songbird, who’s gonna know?” Matthew asked, swirling around her. Merula hated how tempting his offer was. Sure, she’d started thinking about this sort of thing, but Matthew Luther? Her rival? She admitted he was somewhat attractive, but that was to be expected for a rival of someone like her. Still, it did help that his voice was rather soft, she admitted, and having him act like this made her feel...special. It was enough to make part of her wish the real Matthew would treat her like this...almost. But when she looked at this vision of her rival, at the forests in his eyes, something was missing. Not fear, but caution. Matthew was always able to sense danger or if something was off, like some sort of deer. But that caution, which had saved both his own neck and Merula’s, was absent. Focusing on it was the only way Merula could ground herself again.

“I appreciate the offer, but I have places to be, Luther.” she said flatly, turning to leave.

“If you ever want to speak to me again...” Matthew said, fading as Merula backed away from the cauldron, “stir twelve times anticlockwise then thrice clockwise, and add more thorns than petals. I’ll be there...waiting on that kiss.”

Merula sat down in the Great Hall and quickly ate her lunch. She couldn’t get him out of his head. And when she saw Matthew, the real Matthew, sit down to eat his lunch, she felt like going over and asking for him to hold her. But she couldn’t do that. And she had no plans of making that imperfect Love Potion anytime soon. Nevertheless, she wrote down the words “More thorns than petals, 12 anti then three clockwise” in a box and highlighted them. Just in case she ever needed to remember.

(inspired by @nikyiscreepy​ ‘s brilliant art!)

[wonder-womans-ex]

The Boys of Yesterday

Sometimes, Saint wonders what his younger self would think of the person he is now.

There are days where he knows that even a hint of the present would make Saint of the past try a little harder; keep going with just a little more hope in his heart. There are days where he’s sure that he’s always wanted to end up where he is now, even if he didn’t always know it.

There are days that he knows the boy from years ago would hate him for. Those are the days where he’ll stop dead in the middle of whatever it is he’s doing as cold, palpable fear grips him, a reminder of the knowledge that he’s a disappointment to anyone and everyone in his life, even himself.

And then there are days where he has trouble reconciling the two people in his mind. He’ll think about who he was then, and he’ll think about who he is now, and it’s as if there’s a line between them. A chasm, wider than anything, bottomless and endless and always there, no matter how desperately he tries to fill it. Sometimes, though—usually, even—he can imagine a bridge. He can find peace with the fact that he was one person, and now he’s another.

But once in a while, it’s like he’s watching someone else make mistakes, powerless to stop it or make it right or even feel guilty about it. He starts thinking about the boy he was then in the second person—me and I and mine turn to Sebastian and knuckles bloodied from fights and a heart full of anger he didn’t know what to do with.

That’s the kind of day today is.

He can feel it as something shifts. He tries to shield himself, but, too soon, it’s like he’s watching from a distance as an eleven-year-old boy named Bash is standing with his feet in the ocean for the first time in his life. He sees a gust of wind blow a lock of deep golden hair into the boy’s face, and then the boy is laughing, smiling, in a way he’s never really known how to before.

If Saint were that boy, not just a bystander from another lifetime, he would feel the sand, soft between the boy’s toes as he wiggles them. He would feel the cold of the water on the tips of his fingers as he crouches down, dragging them through a wave just before it breaks.

This is the scene that plays in Saint’s mind as he stands, hands pinned next to his head, against the side of the Lupins’ boathouse.

He hears the water lapping at the sides of the dock, beating out a soft, steady rhythm. He feels a spray of seawater pass through the air, dousing the left side of his body in cool droplets.

He sees the deep brown, one shot through with sea-green, of Luke Deveaux’s eyes as they stare at each other, neither daring to breath.

For a few long moments, it’s like the world is waiting for something to happen. Luke and Saint may as well be the only two people in the universe, as far as either of them is concerned—no voices are audible from beyond the shoreline, where their friends are playing beach volleyball and listening to music and falling in love; and, for once, the bright white triangles of sails are absent from the horizon.

Finally, Saint whispers, “What are you doing?”

Luke shakes his head minutely. Were it not for the distance—or lack thereof—between them, Saint wouldn’t be able to see it at all. “I don’t know.”

Saint wants to say that he doesn’t know, either, but he can’t bring himself to say the words. Instead, he smiles—one corner of his mouth twitches up, lips parting just enough to reveal the slightest sliver of his teeth.

He feels as Luke’s fingers tighten around his wrists. A tiny part of him thinks he knows why, and the rest of him hopes beyond hope that he’s not wrong.

“Why are we here?” he asks, instead, but the only response he gets is Luke’s jaw clenching as something shifts in his eyes.

After yet another long moment, he tries, “Tweedle?”

“Please.” There’s a note in Luke’s voice that says stop talking, but Saint can’t. He doesn’t think he even knows how.

“Please what?”

Three boys, young and burdened, two of them freer than they thought and one of them out of prison but still in chains.

“Just… just let me have this. Even if…”

A promise of something more; a hint of a life more than just survival.

“Even if what?” Saint’s voice cracks at the end, pitching up into a half-fearful whisper.

Sitting alone in the dark and watching a life he hadn’t lived yet flash before his eyes.

He doesn’t hear the reply—he doesn’t even know if there is one—because he barely has time to think before Luke’s lips are on his, warm and insistent and slightly rough. He kisses back without thinking about it, too, reveling in the way Luke’s hand slides through his hair and pulls them closer together.

They’re standing chest-to-chest, now, hearts beating frantically against each other. There’s some sort of symbolism there, Saint reasons, as he feels Luke’s pulse quicken more the longer they kiss.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders how long he’s wanted this—how long he’s spent looking at Luke and thinking there was something there worth loving. He suspects it’s a lot longer than he wants to admit.

Slowly, carefully, he lets one of his arms curl around Luke’s waist. His thumb slips under the hem of Luke’s t-shirt, sliding over warm skin and then coming to rest in the divot of Luke’s spine. There’s an intimacy to this—not necessarily to the kissing itself, but to the fact that neither of them has stopped the kissing, even though they both know they can’t be doing this. Not really. Not anymore—or maybe not yet.

Indeed, when Luke eventually pulls back, he doesn’t push Saint away. He doesn’t leave without explanation, the way he usually does when forced to deal with genuine human emotion. He just takes a deep breath, and then another, swiping angrily at his eyes with the back of one hand. Saint pretends not to notice the tears pooling there, one of which has already started to fall.

They stare at each other for a good ten seconds—maybe more; Saint can’t tell. It’s always as if time falls away when he meets Luke’s gaze, and now is no exception. Then Saint says, “You kissed me,” and immediately wishes he hadn’t.

“You kissed me back.”

Saint wants to make a snide remark about pointing out the obvious, but he catches himself just in time, realizing that would be vastly hypocritical of him.

“Why?”

They say it at the same time, then fall silent. To Saint’s surprise, it’s Luke who speaks up again first: “I think you know why.”

“No,” Saint says evenly, “I don’t think I do.”

“Well, I’m sure you can guess.”

A boy, black-haired and grey-eyed, who looked like love but tasted like loneliness.

This time, Saint lets his mouth curl up into a smirk. “Probably. But why don’t you say it?”

It has the opposite effect from what he intended. Luke’s eyes darken, brow furrowing into a scowl. “You’re mocking me.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” As he says it, Luke tries to push Saint up against the boathouse again, but Saint easily steps out of reach.

“Why would I be mocking you?”

“You fucker!” Luke is shouting, now; his voice is raised so much that Saint thinks the whole world must be able to hear. “It’s hard enough being in love with a… with a Hollow like you; you don’t have to play with my fucking emotions, too!”

That’s when he puts his hands against Saint’s shoulder and shoves.

Saint tumbles, practically in slow motion, off the end of the dock. He sees the anger drop from Luke’s face, replaced by an expression that looks to be part worry and part helplessness.

Splash.

The water is frigid—more so than he’d expect for this late in the summer—and it seems to envelop him completely, up and down and left and right fading away into a suspension that could last forever.

Just as quickly, it’s gone, and Saint’s head breaks the surface as he gasps for air. “Screw you, God!” he shouts, and, with a few strokes, he’s hauling himself back onto the dock. His shirt is soaked through, practically transparent, and his jean shorts are going to take hours to dry out, so he has no regrets about doing what he does next: grabbing Luke by the wrist and tugging as hard as he can until they both topple back into the water.

Dreams that felt like reality until he couldn’t tell the difference between flying and falling.

They’re underwater, now, hair drifting around their faces, and Saint registers that they’re still holding hands. Luke hasn’t let go, yet, and Saint isn’t about to, either.

Saint knows he shouldn't; they’ve just been arguing—but, then again, when aren’t they arguing? Plus, how is he supposed to not consider it, when their hands are still entwined and it feels like a crime to let go.

Luke's auburn hair is swirling around his face, defying gravity in the way only being submerged under water provides. His eyes are squeezed shut, which, Saint assesses, is probably a good idea, judging by the sting in his own. His gaze flickers down to Luke's lips—lips that were on his only moments earlier.

Suddenly, faster than he can think, Saint's self control leaves him and he leans in, connecting his lips to Luke's once again.

It’s even better than the first time. Fuck, it’s better than any kiss Saint has ever had. It’s passion and danger and something that feels a little bit like love.

At first, when Luke pulls away, severing the kiss entirely, Saint is terrified he’s done something wrong. But Luke only swims toward the ocean’s surface, pulling Saint along with him.

Saint, in his oxygen-deprived state, doesn’t understand—he wants to go back underwater, where Luke is his only tie to reality and everything feels like magic. Then he takes a breath, and the world comes back to him in painful clarity.

“Tweedle,” he says.

And, somehow, impossibly, Luke whispers, “I know.”

“But you don’t.”

Saint’s heart stutters at the way Luke smiles. “Why don’t you tell me, then?” asks Luke, and Saint can’t think of a good enough reason to disagree. He can’t think of anything except the way they’re as good as repeating their earlier conversation (and also the way Luke’s hair looks when it’s wet).

Two perfect eyes, full of a nameless emotion, staring at him from the other side of a bonfire and a bottle of beer.

Instead of saying anything, Saint leans in, closer and closer, until their foreheads are touching and he can feel Luke’s breath on his mouth and cheeks and nose. He hesitates for an instant, and then leans in, finally, finally, closing the gap between them.

This time, there really is something different. Somewhere, somehow, something makes a little more sense.

'I love you,' Saint will confide for the first time, later that night. He’s never said it before, because, before now, it’s never been true.

Sometimes, things are truer in the dark.

Sometimes, it takes too much courage to say what you really want to.

Sometimes, it’s easier to live in yesterday.

But sometimes, you don’t need to say anything at all.

amazing characters by @lumosinlove

thanks to @im-oknutzy-trash for letting me brainstorm at them and also writing one of my favourite parts of this when I was stuck <3

[adeat]

16 - Crane

Word Count: 1,948

((I didn’t intend to do FFXIV Write this year. Then this prompt came along. Crane is the patron animal of one of my more recent characters, Kaito Yugureno, and I had to do something for him! I did this in a hurry, but it’s something.))

-

A long line-up and an equally large crowd gathered at the end of Pier #2 caught Kaito’s attention. Not every day people gathered there. A housing special perhaps? Or announcement by the hunting guild? The miqo’te hopped onto the roof of a worn, wooden building and peered down at the shoreline. At the front of the line stood a small, portable shrine - or at least Kaito gathered from the shape of the roof. The other hint came from the hyur dressed in long, ornate robes fitting of a shrine guardian. Kaito perked his ears down to hear the priest’s words.

“Welcome! Today is an auspicious day, for it is the anniversary of the kojin who once dwelt in this area,” said the shrine guardian. “He has done much to protect the shores here, and now it’s time for us to give back to him. It is said that he was once a dancer who sensed the patron animal spirit of one’s being. Would you like to see this for yourself? Pray to him and offer your tributes, then dance on the water’s surface. If you dance with conviction and purity, then perhaps your essence will be brought to light.”

After the shrine guardian’s speech, the crowd murmured to each other. Dance on water? As in walk on water? Was such a feat even possible? Kaito wondered the same thing.

“Only those with absolute conviction in themselves are able to do so. If you are willing to give this a try, you may walk over on the pier here. We have help on hand in case you fall in… and are unable to swim! Perhaps pray to the kojin for their blessings on this as well!” the shrine guardian laughed at his own joke.

Kaito’s tail twirled in interest, betraying his otherwise stoic expression. He glanced down at the shrine to see people praying indeed. How earnestly though? Even from his farther vantage point he saw raised eyebrows and a brief tenure that couldn’t have carried the thoughts of more than three words at most. The shrine guardian’s speech repeated itself to waves of people. Nothing more to see there. How about those continued splashes of water?

By the pier, people lined up individually - a line made short thanks to perhaps nervousness. Absolute conviction in oneself indeed. One by one, people stepped on the water, only to squeak or cry out as they fell down, accompanied by splashes of varying degrees and heights. Those who did succeed in walking on water, Kaito counted on one hand. And then took that golden opportunity to dance tried, tested and true staples such as the Manderville, its sibling the Manderville Mambo, and even the Yol Dance. Kaito squinted in hopes of seeing a guardian animal spirit or whatever show up - how did such a thing appear, anyway? But found nothing. Perhaps due to a lack of spiritual eyes. Or perhaps such conviction came from themselves that their sense of self was all that needed to be displayed. Their adoring fans certainly thought so, coming from the applause and loud cheers of their fans.

‘I admire their conviction,’ Kaito thought. ‘I certainly don’t have that kind of gall.’

Yet, despite everything Kaito witnessed, he felt an urge to pay tribute himself. He wasn’t sure why - perhaps his curiosity was once again getting the better of him. Most likely, if he tried, knowing him, he’d no sooner fall in the water the second his toe touched the sea’s surface.

Still, curiosity. He still wanted to give it a try. If nothing else, Kaito felt sorry for the kojin spirit. As dumb awestruck Kaito was at the worthy’s strong sense of self, he had to admit a point as well.

Were these people dancing for the kojin spirit, themselves, or their captive audience?

Still, pity.

‘At the very least, I could… try to do something for the kojin spirit. Anything is better than nothing.’

Kaito cut himself off in mid thought.

‘Wait—wait a minute! That’s like saying I can dance!’ Kaito’s eyes widened. ‘Kaiken’s the dancer, not me! Sure he dragged me off to practice all those years, and I keep up with it every day, but it’s for training benefits! I don’t really have that extra spark that he does. That’s fine by me though. Ballet is his thing.’ He sighed. ‘But still, doesn’t change the fact that I can dance… somewhat…’

Still, people.

People won out over his curiosity.

Kaito hopped off the roof to the back of the building. ‘Later! After everyone vacates. Hopefully the shrine will still be there.’

-

As a matter of fact, the shrine still perched on the pier by the time the moon rose into the sky. A large, full moon. An uncommon sight and perhaps coincidental. Or perhaps fate in celebration of the kojin’s big day. A beautiful gift that only nature could bring.

Now free to take his time without the added pressure of other people, Kaito stood in front of the shrine. The miqo’te sensed powerful, yet gentle waves of spiritual energy, and easily imagined the kojin spirit enjoying the view. Closing his eyes, Kaito clasped his hands in prayer.

“Kojin spirit, I’m certain you’ve had a long day today. I promise I won’t obstruct the view of the moon for too long,” Kaito said softly. “Although I’ve only heard of you today, as one guardian of Kugane to another, I wish to say thank you for all your hard work. You’ve dedicated your life to others, and now, I wish to give you a little tribute. This dance is one Kaiken—ah, sorry—my twin brother choreographed, and it’s intended to be a solo. Still, I hope you’ll dance with me in the moonlight. I hope to meet your expectations.”

After he opened his eyes, Kaito sighed. ‘As if my dancing is even worthy of a tribute.’ He sighed again. ‘What a speech. I ended up speaking more about myself than the guardian, didn’t I. I’m no better than all those other self-centered people. Well, if I fall in, at least the kojin spirit will have a good laugh.’

Kaito looked around. Once he felt secure that he was truly alone, he disrobed except for his undergarments - form-fitting, yet comfortable shorts he often wore during ballet practice. He quickly and neatly folded his clothes and placed them in a safe place. His calloused feet walked across the well-worn planks until he reached the edge of the pier. He heaved a deep breath and took the first step into the water.

And continued walking.

The water felt cold, like walking on a smooth surface, yet provided no slip. As he walked, he felt trails of energy brush against him and the presence of someone walking beside him, although he saw no one. Only the light of the moon and its reflection upon the sea’s still surface.

Once sufficiently far enough, Kaito turned around and faced the shrine—his sole captive audience. Imagining Kaiken walking through the stage curtains, arms spread to greet everyone, Kaito did the same, his hands slowly and gracefully moving in front of him to perform a bow.

He heaved one last breath. Even with an audience of one, Kaito still felt his heart race and waves of fear threatening to seize him. But he was here now and he felt absolute in exactly what he wanted to do. Instead, he smiled, imagining the kojin beside him and crouched down with his arms spread out and one leg crossed in front of the other—crouching stance as taught to him by his martial arts training. The starting point of the routine. Kaito imagined the music playing in his head as he leaned back, one arm raised, and tumbled out of position.

The dance had begun.

The solo choreography came from the ending of a larger performance as a whole. Various dancers of Kaiken’s troupe sorted into groups performed a recital meant to show the changing of the seasons, starting with spring. Summer. Fall. Winter. Then Kaiken’s solo last to show the coming of spring. The solo Kaiken choreographed on his own. The solo danced to much applause. And also the solo that Kaiken had taught Kaito for the sole purpose of practicing together.

To dance a solo was an honor and a privilege given to only the troupe’s best dancers. Although Kaito practiced this routine often, this was on his own. Not in front of an audience. Kaito just hoped he wouldn’t make a mockery of his brother or his routine. But this wasn’t about Kaito. This was about paying tribute to the Kojin spirit.

To represent flowers arising from winter’s end, Kaito remained on the ground, tumbling. Reaching. Like the stem growing from its roots. He felt the tips of his fingers cold as though someone held his hand.

To represent said flowers blossoming, Kaito gracefully rose to an upright position on one leg, his torso held sturdy to the side, one leg bent and his arms in fourth position.

Now standing upright, spring had begun. And so did the routine.

Effortless turns that seemingly never ended.

Leaps that defied gravity.

Flexibility that his muscular build didn’t look capable of performing.

All with controlled strength and grace, yet delicate sensibility of an old, gentle soul.

The more more he turned, the more he jumped, the more he moved, Kaito slowly allowed the rest of him to become taken away by the joy of dance alone. As he moved, he felt himself bathe in that same spiritual energy, now warm, as though someone danced beside him. Now completely in his own world, he danced, completely unaware of the wisps of spiritual energy trailing upwards from him.

Meanwhile, back on land, the shrine guardian yawned as he neared his charge. He intended to just take the portable shrine and go, another year wasted. When he saw shadows in the sea’s horizon, he looked up.

He froze.

His eyes locked onto Kaito in awe—half at the miqo’te’s beautiful, graceful movements.

The other half at the spirit that hovered over the miqo’te’s head.

A large, red-crowned crane.

The bird overhead emulated the miqo’te’s movements. Beside the fowl danced the spirit of the kojin, smiling.

“A crane spirit,” said the shrine guardian softly. “A sign of good fortune and long life. This is a truly auspicious year after all.”

Some night denizens or otherwise insomniacs came to the pier. Upon seeing the miqo’te dance, they stopped to watch. Gradually, more and more people came and soon, a large crown formed… both in awe of the dancing and the crane spirit that hovered overhead.

Finally, the solo routine came to a close, as Kaito came out of a spin and slowly crouched back down into sitting stance. Unlike his two arms spread out from before, he reached out with his left hand, as though reaching to someone. When he turned to the side, he saw the kojin spirit in a mirrored pose, smiling at him. The spirit’s cold hand clasped Kaito’s hand. Kaito couldn’t help but return the smile. His stamina fairly spent from the routine, Kaito breathed heavily as his heart slowly begin its descent into a more natural rhythm.

Loud applause and cheers filled the miqo’te’s ears.

Kaito’s eyes widened and his ears and tail shot straight up as his head darted to the pier. Not only did he see the kojin spirit float back to the shore, turn around and applaud, he saw a sizeable group of people cheering him on.

People. People watching him.

His concentration broke. Kaito dropped into the water.

[minerstatus]

Teyvat’s School for the Gifted

Summary: He's cruel, mean, and sadistic. Lumine cannot fathom why he has the followers he does, but she won't fall into his hands like the rest of them.  It was unknown to her at that time how such a stance would cause the biggest uproar the schools ever seen.

This is the silly drama filled high school/college parody AU nobody asked for filled with Lumine not giving a shit and Childe trying to buy his way out of problems.

Ship: Lumine/Childe

Tags: Highschool AU, Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, Jealousy, lots of side ships.

Status: 5/? on Ao3

Chapter 1

The school located on an island inside the neutral zones between nations is a blessing for anyone without a swimming pool filled with mora. Without money you have to be gifted a vision to attend. That is why Lumine thought she would never be accepted to such a place. Instead cursed to live her life on a small farm on the outskirts of Mondstadt, killing small monsters for money to aid her ailing mother.

She had become quite the prodigy around the area. Her sword work was nothing to be trifled with. Some would even gush about what it would be like if she did have a vision. Then it happened, a strange string of life changing events.

-

 She enjoyed spending her free time sitting under the statue of the seven in windrise. It gave her a reprieve from her day-to-day life of school, killing, then sleep. She polished her blade most days she sat there, enjoying the sounds of the wilderness around her.

 As she sheathed her blade, wistfully thinking about what it would be like to magically summon and desummon it as a vision user, a light began to shine behind her. There was a flash, she thought maybe a vision might appear in front of her. But this was no test or life changing event. It didn’t make sense.

 Wind surrounded her body, lifting her skit in the breeze. She turned, it followed with her. She lifted her hand as a power surged through her. A burst of wind jetted from her palm and sliced across the water. It trimmed the tops off the over grown grasses lining the ponds edge. The wind died down and left her for elsewhere as the light slowly faded out of existence.

 Befuddled, she stared at the palms of her hands. She felt a power emanating from her core. With a trembling arm she raised her palm again, calling forth on the energy. It darted from her as before. Shocked, she tried it again and again, smiling gleefully with each blast of wind. She twirled around, searching for her vision, but came up empty.

-

That is how the first visionless anemo user was born. At first people didn’t believe her. Delusions were not unknown to the common folk of Teyvat. They were a staple favorite of the mafia families across the regions. But she quickly smashed those theories to pieces. Not only was she a poor farm girl fighting to survive, but where on earth would she have the money to afford such a thing. She allowed an inspection of her things and a pat down to prove it.

After the authorities decided that she did not have a vision she was free to do as she wished. That was until the head master of Teyvat’s school for the gifted showed up on her doorstep. The scholarship she was offered would give more money to her mother per month than she could in six months of hunting. She took it without question.

That’s how she ended up here, gawking at the building in front of her. The school defied the rumors. Statues carved from marble, fountains that defied gravity, even the wood it was built from looked impossibly expensive. Heck, the wildlife looked like they ate from golden platters.

The only thing that held her from running right back to the boat was a woman pinning her down with a chemically assisted cheerful gaze. A shiver ran up her spine as she waved her over. She obliged only because her eyes looked a hair away from snapping into crazy land.

“Welcome to Teyvat’s finest Lumine!” She cheered and began to clap.

“Thanks,” She mumbled, intimidated by her nature. She looked like a robot. Sleek black hair, not a strand out of place. Perfectly pressed blazer and pencil skirt in matching shades. Her glasses glistening in the sunlight, even if they were just plain black frames. She hoped not everyone in this school looked or felt this way.

“Follow me and I'll take you to your dorm. Then it’s a trip around campus!” She quipped then turned on her heel. Even her footsteps were a perfect tempo.

They walked through the faculty building, which thankfully looked normal inside. The site quelled her turning stomach. It was into the garden next that, as expected, looked immaculate. They even had a massive sand garden. Back in Mondstadt something like that would be destroyed in seconds.

Eventually they came upon another wooden building with a large ‘girls’ over it. The woman stopped and spun so fast on her heel Lumine almost let out small scream.

“This is the girl's dorm; your roommates are waiting for you inside with your things. I'll be back in thirty minutes for the rest of the tour,” she said, smile never once faltering as she left Lumine to her own devices.

Her roommates were nice, they greeted her in the common room just as her guide stated. Amber was a bit too enthusiastic for just about anything. Barbara was a very cheerful girl but was more reserved. It was a breath of fresh air to see two friendly faces. They led her to their dorm to get settled.

“So, what do you think?” Amber asked as Lumine began to unpack her luggage. Placing her uniforms carefully into her small closet along with her own casual clothing. Her own things almost felt dirty comparted to the schools uniform she was provided. And the room was much bigger than what she expected from a dormitory.

“It's overwhelming,” She admitted.

“You'll get used to it,” Amber laughed.

“Are you?” Lumine began to ask.

“Scholarship,” Amber answered, holding up her vision, “They keep the poor kids together so we don’t infect the rich kids.” She laughed.

“Hey!” Barbara yelled at her. Lips pointing into a pout.

“Except for Barbara, she requested to room with me. She's the exception.” Amber smiled at her friend.

“So, it's exactly how I thought it would be,” Lumine grumbled. This school was probably dripping with rich kids causing trouble for the normal folk, like she expected.

“Some of the students are alright, indifferent you might say. But there are,” Amber held up her hands as air quotes, “those types.”

“Will you guys be in my classes?” She asked.

“Nope, third years!”

Lumine felt her insides twist. Great, now she would be alone on her first day. At least her dorm would be nice. Amber was warm and friendly and Barbara seemed sweet even if she wasn’t talking as much. The pair would only be a year below her so they were still close in age. Hopefully she wouldn’t be moved to another dorm with the ‘adults’ if she attends the next four years after this one.

“You don’t want to be in our year anyways,” Barbara laughed.

“Whys that?” Lumine felt a small smile form for the first time since she set foot on the island. Barbara wiggled her eyebrows and gleamed over at Amber. She turned red in response and threw a pillow at her.

“Stop! Its not my fault!” She shouted.

“It’s gross the way he drools over his desk for you,” Barbara added.

“Mind filling me in?” Lumine asked.

“No!” Amber shouted.

“She has this wolf boy that follows her around and causes trouble. Its adorable,” Barbara said anyways.

“I didn’t ask for it he just did it!” Amber defended herself.

“It's like a comedy slash horror show every day,” Barbara giggled.

“Stop teasing me,” Amber whined.

“Wolf boy?” Lumine asked. Mondstadt had a steady population of people descendant of shape shifters or animals, but she had never seen a wolf before. Most of them were cats. Granted, she did keep to herself and didn’t really mix with the town folk, even at school.

“Half werewolf, half human, grew up in the wild before coming here earlier in the year,” Amber explained.

“He can smell everything, it's awful,” Barbara moaned, “one time I tried to bring some leftovers from lunch and he almost ripped apart my bag looking for it.”

“Sounds like a nice boyfriend,” Lumine said, hiding her smile as she sorted items into her desk drawers. Amber gasped from behind her. She swallowed a laugh.

“H-he's not my boyfriend!” She yelled. Lumine busted and began to giggled along with Barbara. She was interested in seeing the exchanges between the two now.

“Very funny guys, I'll make sure to make fun of your pain in suffering next time I get the chance.” Amber crossed her arms.

“Alright I'll stop,” Barbara waved her hand at her. A sharp knock on the door quickly soured the cheerful mood. The door swung open and Lumine’s guide walked in.

“Fantastic, I'm so glad you are getting along with your new housemates. We must complete the tour now.” The woman said, still as cheerful as ever. Lumine noticed Barbara and Ambers shoulders fell on her entrance. “I'll be waiting out front,” she chirped and left.

“God, Mrs.Lee always gives me the creeps,” Amber said.

“Glad it's not just me,” Lumine laughed as she stood.

“Good luck! See you at dinner,” Amber waved as Lumine exited the room. She heard faint whispers of gossip as she left but knew it was nothing bad, those girls didn’t have a mean bone in them.

-

They walked around campus and Lumine slowly became accustomed to the wildly expensive taste. She was shown the inside of the year one through four buildings, for the fourteen-to-eighteen-year old's. Then the outside of the adult facilities. Mrs. Lee assured the only real difference between the two was the uniform requirement and some extra freedoms.

After taking the tour she felt less overwhelmed, but it was the final stop that really cemented the reality most of the students lived in. It was the cafeteria of the school, but should have been classified as a food court. There was the line for the scholarship students where they could use one of three free meal tickets per day, or a snack coupon, all loaded onto her school ID. Wich was normal, same thing that she had in Mondstadt, minus the dinner.

What was different was the restaurants lining the walls. Everything you could imagine from each region on tap. And the prices were nothing to scoff at. A Fishermans toast was going for ten thousand mora, she could make that for less than three hundred back home. Lines scaled out to the isles as students waited, eager to be robbed for food.

“Lumine!” A familiar voice shouted. She sighed in relief. A distraction to this insanity was required right about now. She carried her tray adorned with less appetizing food from the school over to the table Amber sat at.

“This place is crazy,” Lumine sighed in exhaustion.

“My first day I ran away,” Amber laughed. She placed a spoon full of mac and cheese into her mouth.

“Those prices are more than I make in three weeks back home,” She said as she began to eat. Pleasantly surprised that even the free food was delectable. The pasta was perfectly cooked, cheese sauce an ideal creamy texture. She moved on to nibble at her cookie, baked expertly with a crispy outside and a gooey center. “God,” she murmured, savoring the taste.

“I told you, you get used to it,” Amber smiled sweetly. A book bag slamming down on the table instantly cleared her face. She looked up to see what she assumed was the wolf boy from earlier discussions. Lumine wondered why Amber felt it was bad to have his attention. He was attractive, silver hair and red eyes, giving him an exotic look. His arms were coated in scars and a massive one gashed his face, not a bad look if your into that type. Some of the girls back home would swoon over the attention.

“Why,” She groaned as he pulled out a seat, pushing it right up against hers as he sat a plate of meat and potatoes down. It must have been one of the free creature meals from the school line. He sat, making sure he was as close as physically possible to her.

Okay, maybe that’s why. Lumine began to understand.

He tilted his head like a new puppy, “Why?” He asked, voice thick with an unknown accent.

“We talked about this,” She shoved his chair away. “This is Razor,” She sighed as he sunk into his chair to pout. Lumine nodded and greeted him with a smile.

“I bought brownies!” Barbara sang as she skipped over to the table, “For our new friend,” She handed out the sweets, “And beef jerky for you,” She said as she handed Razor a slim piece of dried meat. He perked up and took it, chewing on it greedily. After the experience with the cookie Lumine thought the food couldn’t get better. But the brownie was smooth decadent layers of velvet chocolate that melted in her mouth. She had to suppress a groan.

There was a pickup of chatter in the room that pulled her from her chocolate induced fantasy. She looked towards the entrance of the café where a group of boys walked in. They were followed by a gaggle of other students, mostly female, all adorned with an expensive accessory or more.

Lumine was an honest person and she did not deny to herself that these boys looked like royalty. They walked with an air of confidence even through the crowd, knowing that the sea of students would part for them. She counted each of their visions, anemo, geo, cryo and hydro. There was a distinct leader to the group out of the four. A redhead who wore his vision on his belt, showing it off by messily tucking in half of his unkept shirt. Like he wanted people to see it, unlike the rest of them that wore them on chains by their side, as did everyone else in the school.

“Don't stare,” Amber hissed. Lumine snapped her eyes to her friends.

“Who are they?” She asked. Amber eyed her wearily before divulging the information.

“Sons of the school's elite,” She glanced back at the group to ensure they were distracted with food or girls before continuing, “The shorter one with green hair is Xiao, the son of the wangshu inn owner. The geo looking guy is Zhongli from the Wangsheng funeral parlor. Blue hair is Kaeya, one of the sons from the dawn winery.” Amber stopped speaking as she got to the last subject. Lumine quirked a brow as both Barbara and Amber swiveled their heads to check on the group again.

“It's not really them you should be weary of though; besides Xiao they are nice. Xiao has always had a stick up his butt,” Barbara added to the conversation.

“Then what is it, why are we acting like we are defusing a bomb?” Lumine asked.

“It's Childe, the redhead,” Amber whispered.

“Childe? That’s a dumb name,” Lumine thought out loud. The girls hissed at her to keep her voice down.

“He smells mean,” Razor added. Amber pulled on his ear.

“I told you not to talk about him,” She growled at him. He grasped her hand in his, forcing her to release.

“But you are!” he argued.

“Thats because we are warning her!” Amber explained. Razors eyes darted from Ambers to Lumines and he resigned himself back to his half-eaten steak.

Amber rolled her eyes and turned back to Lumine, “It’s not his real name, no one even knows his real name.”

“Childe is an awful nickname,” She whispered back to her friend.

“He’s mean, and evil, once he has you in his sights there's no stopping it.” Amber warned her.

“What about his friends? Don’t they say something?” She asked.

“They are rich, us poor folk don’t matter to them even if they act cordial towards us,” Amber told her as she leaned back, “Besides you don’t have a vision, he will probably just ignore you.”

Lumine widened her eyes, “well...” She felt a tint come to her cheeks, “Actually...”

Amber slammed her fists on the table, “NO WAY! YOUR THAT GIRL!” she screamed. Drawing the attention of half the students.

“Show us!” Barbara insisted.

“Ah, I don’t think now is the best time.” Lumine tried to quell her friend's voices but both girls were oblivious to the attention they were attracting. She glanced over at the red head she was warned about to make sure he was still entranced at whatever activity he had chosen.

“Awh comon I wanna see!” Amber whined.

“First anemo user in history without a vision! Don’t hold out on us!” Barbara added.

“Fine! Just stop yelling at me,” Lumine finally conceded. She put her palm face up on the table and gathered a small amount of wind to it. It tinted green with her power as it swirled into a miniature tornado in her palm.

“This is so cool!” Amber gasped.

“It's the same as anyone else,” Lumine said, closing her hand to cease the wind. She was more than a bit tired of people going ballistic over her powers.

“Let's get back to the dorms,” Amber suggested, “We have much to talk about,” She smiled gleefully. Razor whimpered next to her, “fine you can come too,” She sighed. Razor looked up with a beaming smile.

“Boys are allowed in the girls dorms?” Lumine asked as they gathered their trays and bags.

“Only until eight with a strict open-door policy,” Barbara told her.

She hummed in response as the group made their way over to the trash bins. Eyes were on her now, some searching for a vision trinket she didn’t possess. She was the last one out the door when a chill tingled down her spin. She grabbed the back of her neck and turned, expecting a cryo user to be standing there with a smirk on their face.

Instead, she was greeted with sea blue eyes cutting through the crowd. He smirked when they made eye contact. The chill went down her entire body. She glared as the door to the building swung shut, cutting them off.

Shit.

[auroraluciferi]

the headline “US Government says no Evidence Seen by Military Personnel are Alien Spacecraft”

could be better written as

“US Government Admits It Has No Evidence Either Way, Because the Objects are Just Too God Damn Fast”

- - -

Lue Elizondo: “Imagine a technology that can do 6-to-700 g-forces, that can fly at 13,000 miles an hour, that can evade radar and that can fly through air and water and possibly space.” 

“And oh, by the way, has no obvious signs of propulsion, no wings, no control surfaces and yet still can defy the natural effects of Earth's gravity.”

“That's precisely what we're seeing.”

- - -

Alex Dietrich: “So your mind tries to make sense of it. I'm gonna categorize this as maybe a helicopter or maybe a drone. And when it disappeared. I mean it was just…”

Bill Whitaker: “Did your back-seaters see this too?”

Alex Dietrich: “Yeah.”

Dave Fravor: “Oh yeah. There was four of us in the airplanes literally watching this thing for roughly about five minutes.”

Alex Dietrich: “You know, I think that over beers, we've sort of said, "Hey man, if I saw this solo, I don't know that I would have come back and said anything," because it sounds so crazy when I say it.”

Bill Whitaker: “You understand that reaction?”

Dave Fravor: “I do. I've had some people tell me, you know, "When you say that, you can sound crazy." I'll be hon-- I'm not a UFO guy.”

Bill Whitaker: “But from what I hear you guys saying, there's something?”

Alex Dietrich: “Yes.”

Dave Fravor: “Oh there's, there's definitely something that…  I don't know who's building it, who's got the technology, who's got the brains.”

“But there's, there's something out there that was better than our airplane.”

- - -

Bill Whitaker: “Are you alarmed?”

Ryan Graves: “I am worried, frankly. You know, if these were tactical jets from another country that were hangin' out up there, it would be a massive issue.”

“But because it looks slightly different, we're not willing to actually look at the problem in the face. We're happy to just ignore the fact that these are out there, watching us every day.”

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