#they are a scrap of hope. a lingering bit of light that some part of Hermes can escape

[impossible-rat-babies]

the torment cycle one created between eyrie, themis, charon, hermes, venat and emet is driving me nuts

[fangbangerghoul]

photo for the banner provided by @bearlytolerant

That Damn Rock

My Time at Sandrock fem!Builder Ghoul x Owen Ghoul and Owen finish their meal for the evening. WC: 1273 (since this is the final chapter, I allowed it to go over 1000 words) Chapter 3: Desert Moon

This fic is now complete! I hope you all enjoyed the short story from the MTAS universe! There will be more in the future!

Thanks again to @bearlytolerant for getting me obsessed with this game because it's a lovely palate cleanser!

Chapter 1: Take a Breather

Chapter 2: Let's Eat!

All links lead to Ao3 you can find the tumblr versions under the #mtas tag or search in my blog That Damn Rock.

The food was so much better than Ghoul expected as she finished the last scraps of noodles and bread off her plate. The full sensation within her stomach was welcoming and comforting after the past few days of small treats and snacks she had been able to consume. Owen had been long finished with his plate and was currently talking enough for the both of them. It ranged from the villagers within Sandrock and the ins and outs for all the local shops some of them owned. It was interesting to Ghoul how invested he was in this small town and she didn’t really have experiences that related to it. There were things she cared about for the most part like surviving, training both her combat skills and builder skills, but nothing like being so entwined with a larger community.

“Can I assume it was to your liking?” Owen changed the subject as he noticed she was just watching him with her cat-like yellow eyes. The question pulled her out of her current train of thought while her gaze was hyper focused on him.

“Yes!” She squeaked suddenly feeling the urgency to answer and not miscommunicate her satisfaction. “It was very good. Thank you again.” Her eyes drifted off him from embarrassment but she tried to keep her light smile while she looked away. This kindness was foreign to her much like his dedication to this town.

“There’s no need to thank me!” His warm voice bolstered with genuine joy. “You have been a vital part in rebuilding Sandrock. The least I can do is cook you a nice meal.” Owen smiled, flashing the white of his teeth that contrasted his warm toned skin.  

“Ah, I don’t think I have done very much so far.” Her voice drifted off a bit in self-consciousness and Owen narrowed his eyes at her.

“Don’t be ridiculous. The last builder would not have gotten half of what you have done within the time frame you have! And don’t get me wrong, Mason was well appreciated but having the likes of you and Mi-an has been refreshing.” Owen persuaded Ghoul and she just nodded slowly to agree. He was a nice person even if she didn’t always take what he said to heart. Owen moved to get up and as he moved himself from the table, he started to gather the plates. Ghoul begun to do the same but he held his hand out to stop her from getting up.

“I got it. Enjoy a few more minutes of rest and then I will walk you back over to your shop.” He said it almost like a command and it had Ghoul raise an eyebrow her instinct to defy shivered up her spine. She ultimately decided to listen and leaned back into her place on the couch and watched him as he delicately balanced the dishes in his one arm. Ghoul thought about how the gentleness of his moments contrasted to how he swung her pickaxe earlier today and it made the center of her belly tingle. She immediately tried to shrug off the thought and forced her eyes to look around the Saloon as a whole. The décor, the layout, and the stage that was slightly behind her to the right. She had yet to attend any of the event nights that happened at the Blue Moon Saloon but she heard that Owen would occasionally tell stories to the crowd that would gather.

Ghoul knew overall she was enjoying herself even if the lingering anxiousness of needing to complete her tasks of the day loomed in the back of her mind. She tried not to feed that part of her too much attention and take Owen’s advice to enjoy a few moments of rest. Ghoul had a bad habit of working until it was the only thing within her focus. She hadn’t spent much time since coming to Sandrock to socialize as much as the people expected but there have been some run ins with Fang, Qi, and Venti. Perhaps she needed to adjusted her schedule and take a page out of Owen’s book, she thought.

“After you.” Owen spoke into existence and she was startled a bit by his arrival. She hadn’t realized how lost in thought she had gotten again and when she flinched Owen had a small grimace on his face. “I didn’t think I was that quiet. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Ghoul waved it away to communicate it was nothing to worry about as she exited the booth. Her short stature was exaggerated when she stood next to Owen. She knew he couldn’t help how tall he was but his broad shoulders and height made it feel like he loomed over her a bit. Ghoul smiled at him and then led them out of the Saloon with Owen slightly jogging ahead to open the door.

“Thank you.” She responded as she went ahead into the cool desert air. The stars lit up the sky and in the distant you could see clouds with heat lightning dancing about. Owen was right behind her and she could feel his closeness on her back. She looked up to see he was also looking at the sky for a moment appreciating the vastness of it.

“It’s nice.” She broke the silence and while she continued to look between the sky and him, she caught another warm smile from Owen as he looked down at her.

“It is.” He said softly in agreement but his eyes did not look back at the sky. She felt her cheeks start to flush and immediately looked ahead and started to walk back to her shop. Owen’s boots trailed loosely behind her, giving her space while also staying close enough to be able to say they were walking together. They arrived at her shop within a few minutes which was expected, considering their places were across from each other.

“Wait here for a moment.” Ghoul told him as she climbed over her fence to where a chest was sitting. She popped it open and started to rummage through it fiercely looking for something in particular. After a few moments of the sound of rummaging and her quietly cursing from her lack of organization she hopped back on the fence this time sitting on top of it. Ghoul held out her hand and waited for Owen to open his to receive it.

“What’s this?” He asked as he stepped closer to her. There eyes were for once on the same level and she gave a coy smile.

“A thank you gift, take it.” She demanded so he couldn’t refuse like she knew he wanted too. He let her drop it into the palm of his large hand and her fingers lingered on his palm for a moment before drawing her hand back.  He looked at it and a hearty laugh came from his chest.

“Rubber? I think I can find use for this.” He said amused at her small gift but it was an appreciative smile which eased Ghoul’s anxiousness.

“Good.” She said with triumph in having to repay the debt of his meal. Ghoul knew he wouldn’t have expected it, but she had to for her own conscious. She heard the grit of sand underneath Owen’s boot and before she could see what he was doing she felt his warm hand cup her face and his soft lips on hers. The moon never seemed so bright in the night sky as she closed her eyes and accepted the soft gesture and breathed in the scent of herbs, spice, and lovely sandalwood.

[dried-deep-sea]

Scrap # 12

I'm back with more scrap! I started writing this on the computer but ended up writing more by hand and the two, while similar, no longer align so it's into the bin with the computer stuff because i like it less and it's shorter.

miraculous

By the time Marinette realized what a mistake it was to leave without any clothes or even her backpack, she was standing in front of the fountain at the center of the Place De Vouges. Fat droplets of water splattering against the rippled surface that held a distorted reflection of the night sky. It had gotten dark while she was fighting with her mother. The street lamps covered everything in the dim yellow glow, making the creeping dark feel more dangerous. Maybe that's why she hugged her arms to her stomach. She had her phone, coin purse, and Tikki who was still fast asleep despite the turbulent day.

A quick assessment of the purse revealed a crumpled 5 Euro bill some change and three bus tokens. If she could get to the theater where Betterfly had been hiding she could keep out of the elements, at least for the night. If she was lucky she might run into the man himself, and then she could bash his self-righteous face in. At the very least she would have a roof, access to a bus to get to school, and an abandoned props workshop. Whether or not there was something useful left was the real question. Probably no machines, but everything else like the pins and needles, tape measurers, tailor's chalk, and maybe even shears if she was lucky.

Hand sewing was a bitch and a half, but if she kept it simple things should work out. She ducked into the nearest alleyway, hopping a fence to a private walk way meant for residents of the buildings surrounding her. A quick check confirmed no one was in the space with her, and a second revealed no one watching from their windows. She reached into her purse and pulled her sleeping companion from her pocket. The Kwami was still a bit blanched, but no longer seemed fragile. With a gentle poke she roused the sleeping creature, who blinked slowly before yawning.

"Sorry, I've got to go somewhere, its too far to walk and the buses aren't running anymore." She explained, hoping it and the apology were enough though she wasn't sure why she was apologizing in the first place. Tikki nodded slowly, rubbing her strange little hands over her eyes before she began to float. "Thank you Tikki."

The creature smiled at her before dipping it head, waiting for the command. In a flash of reddish light the two melded, emerging as Shadybug. Marinette caught her reflection in a puddle, startled at herself. Her hair was back in its spacebuns, only lacking its signature red stripe. She would have gazed for longer, but a light turned on the second floor. There was no time to linger here admiring herself in a dirty puddle, every second spent here was a second spent risking discovery. Flinging her yoyo into the sky she whisked herself away, leaping into the night.

It didn't take long to reach her destination, it never did while she was transformed. She entered through the busted hole left by the reckless furball the a few nights ago. Someone had boarded it up but it was easy to shift a few aside, she replaced them once she was through. It was dark inside, still dusty but it there was the smell of rust and damp in the air now. Probably from underground cavern, whose door was also broken.

There was certainly work to be done, but her fingers were itching to create. The room she was looking for was deeper in the building. Summoning a flashlight to her hand she ventured though the rows of decrepit velvet benches towards the other side of the vast space. Her finger trailed along the moldy wood, disgusted at how much crumbled away.

One set of double doors and a left turn later she was stood in the costume department. It was better than she had expected, there was a serger and two separate sewing machines in fixable condition. Everything else was only good enough to be salvaged for parts. What really blew her mind were the hundreds of bolts of fabric that had been left behind, possibly miles of luxurious satins and heavy patterned cloth carefully stowed away. Some were water damaged and others were a bit moldy or showed signs of rust stains but a vast majority were in mint condition.

Marinette let her transformation drop, catching Tikki in the air. Her small friend rubbed at her eyes again. "Sorry, thank you for helping." Tikki nodded, curling back up into a ball and falling asleep. She looked no worse for wear than she had before, it seemed the rest and food were doing their job. Marinette tucked the red bug back into her pocket.

She continued to rummage around, finding some slightly rusted shears and several ruined pincushions. But those had been the least of her worries. There were a few machines that could be salvaged to fix others but the needles on every single one were bent or rusted. Marinette ventured further back towards the back and was shocked to find an entire trove of costumes, props, and bolt after bolt of fabric. Everything back here was in a similar state as the rest of the building, mildew clung to everything that wasn't covered in plastic and she could already see telltale signs of moths eating through the garments. But it was better than nothing, hell this was better than what she had at home.

She let herself revel in her new trove of materials for a while, stroking the hems of pieces and admiring the precise stitch work. At some point she curled up in a pile of discarded fabric and fell asleep.

When she woke the next morning, her shoulders ached from the odd lumpy makeshift bed not to mention the bruises that now blossomed in deep purple all across her stomach and arms. Her phone was completely dead, of course, she mentally added a charger to the growing list of things she needed. The sun was well into the sky, given the light in the other room. For a moment Marinette entertained the idea of going to school late, but avoiding Chloe and Miss Bustier was too tempting. She wanted a smoke and some toast, which meant leaving. She grumbled to herself, standing up and dusting herself off.

Navigating back to the front was easier in the light of day, though it was still rather dim in the main theater. A quick assessment of the alleyway through the gaps in the planks was easy enough and luckily no one was there, nor was the street particularly busy. Carefully she shuffled the planks, stepped out into the light of day, and resealed the passage behind her. She joined the pedestrian traffic as seamlessly as she could, and before long she was on a bus to the south of town. Things go missing there all the time. While it meant plenty of police officers and enforcers watching the streets it also meant they were busy, leaving gaps in security.

It was nearly three thirty in the afternoon when she arrived. She carefully put her bus ticket into her purse, and the purse into her inner jacket pocket. Even if all she had was two bus tokens and a strange little bug in there she couldn't risk losing transportation home. Her phone went into the other inside pocket before the jacket was buttoned up.

She kept an eye out as she walked down the street, plenty of police wandering the streets. It wasn't until she caught sight of one she recognized did she start to panic. Officer Rodger Raincomprix was making his way across the street, his pale face was in a frown as he glowered at the other pedestrians, eyes sweeping slowly across the crowd as he made his way towards her.

Her eyes darted to the buildings, and upon spotting a bodega nearby, made her way inside as quickly as she could while avoiding detection. She paused for a moment near the windows, keeping her head down so her bangs fell across her face and peaking through the gaps. The man passed without so much as a glance into the store.

Marinette sighed with relief, adrenaline still coursing through her veins she snagged a travel sized baggie of trail mix off the shelf. She stuffed it into her pocket the moment she was in a blind spot, making her hand like she was setting the item back down just in case. There were no cameras, only a bored teenager and her manager to monitor the store.

She did this a few more times, gathering some candy which wasn't very helpful but it was something to put in her stomach. She had just crouched down to examine some refrigerated drinks when she felt and then saw someone lean against the door next to her.

"You are shit at this." They said. She risked a glance, eyes finding black leather boots, faded black skinny jeans with more holes than her own. The stranger was also wearing a black leather trench coat and a grey Yves Wrath shirt. She hated that fucking band. They weren't bad, per se, in fact for a cover band they were the best. But if she wanted to her those songs she was going to listen to the originals.

"At choosing a drink?" She said, praying that she hadn't been found out. The boy leaned in and she caught sight of a mullet with cyan tips.

"At stealing." He whispered quietly, inches away from her face. He had the gall to grin and look handsome while he did it. "Grab a drink." He said tilting his head towards the bottles of electrolyte drinks she had been deliberating.

"If I don't?" She asked, regretting it the moment she did as he straightened up and waved to the cashier.

"Excuse me miss?" He started, Marinette hissed, wrenching open the door and grabbing the cheapest one she could find. "Are there any promotions or sales today?"

The girl heaved a weary sigh, "All sales appear on yellow stickers, promotions in red, if you don't see either color there is nothing I can do about the price if you think its too much." She said robotically.

"Thank you!" The boy said before turning back to Marinette, speaking quietly once more. "That wasn't so hard was it?"

She didn't respond, glaring at his reflection in the glass.

"Just play it cool and follow my lead,"

[otterlyinluv]

A touch of darkness (pt.2)

Here's part 1

Summary: What happened after the office incident OR in which Yancy tries to eat breakfast and Wilford becomes a matchmaker

Pairing: Darkiplier x DA!Reader

Tags: sfw, fluffy, jealous Dark, proximity, thunderstorm, comfort, confessions and realisations

A/N: I apologize for the long wait, I actually finished it earlier but I decided to scrap the last third and rewrite it completely- Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Word count: 2.9k

"So you like Mr. Doom and gloom, so what?"

You almost choked on the chocolate milk Wilford made you.

"No, that doesn't make sense. Nothing even happened. He just fixed my computer, and then I felt weird."

Wilford raised an eyebrow at you.

"My dear, you might not see it, but you look like a lovesick fool."

Your face started to feel warm.

"No, I do not! I came for advice, Wilford, but now I know I chose the wrong person." You stood up from the armchair, leaving the chocolate milk on the desk, when Wilford started to wave his arms around.

"Okay, okay, fine, I'll stop." He grabbed you by the shoulders and plopped you back on the armchair.

"Now," he said, no longer in the spot he was a second ago. His little teleporting shenanigans didn't bother you as much as they did during the first months of your stay at the mansion. Whenever he suddenly disappeared and reappeared at a completely different place, you'd always get a mini heart attack, which lead to him doing it even more frequently to mess with you. What you hadn't realized then was he did it only to get you used to things that weren’t exactly normal. Wilford was a good guy at heart even if his methods were a bit... unconventional.

"Since you don't believe me, we'll go about it in a different way." You turned around to where he was. He made you stand up from the chair and gripped your hands.

"Which thoughts race through your head like fluttering butterflies frolicking in a field when he’s with you? How does he make you feel in general?"

The corner of your mouth turned up at the metaphor, and you looked off into the distance. After the encounter in your office, you started bumping into each other far more frequently than before. Or maybe you noticed him more. And when you did see each other, his gaze seemed to linger on you a suspiciously long time. Whenever you made eye contact during meetings, you felt a flutter in your chest. A flutter you didn't feel with anyone else.

You looked at Wilford with a sense of epiphany. His eyes seemed to light up.

"Am I interrupting something?" Dark said, standing in the doorway, his arms crossed.

You ripped your hands from Wilfords'.

"Oh, Darkie. Why we were just having a lovely chat, nothing for you to worry about." Wilford drawled, putting his arm over your shoulder.

Dark's eyes darted to your shoulder, and his gaze hardened. The colored aura that surrounded him seemed to gain a more blue hue. It only lasted a couple of seconds before he rolled his neck.

"Excuse me." He suddenly ran off out of the room, his fists clenched.

You saw Wilford grinning out of the corner of your vision as he put his arm away from you.

"Wilford, what did you do?" You said, glaring at him.

"I just gave him a little push, that's all." 

--

You really wanted some cereal.

The mansion was pleasantly quiet because you liked to wake up earlier than everyone else. While listening to Illinois boast about all his adventures or Google try to subtly persuade you to grant him admin privileges was entertaining once in a while, it wasn't something you wanted to do first thing in the morning.

You were able to find your favorite brand of cereal, a spoon, and some milk. The only thing that was missing was a bowl. You looked into the cupboard where the bowls usually were, but there were none. You wondered who kept misplacing the contents of the cupboards and kept searching.

Still nothing.

You grabbed a chair to stand on so you could reach the cupboards that were higher up. You carefully stood up on it and opened the one closest to you. Finally!

Unfortunately for you, the bowls were on the top shelf. You huffed and stood on your tiptoes. After stretching your arm as far as you could, you were finally able to grab a suitable bow.

But you leaned back so suddenly you lost your balance. You flailed your arms in a futile attempt to regain stability. You mentally prepared yourself to come into contact with the cold hard floor when you felt someone grab your waist to support you.

You let out a relieved breath only to look down at the grey hands, which were now firmly holding you in place. The area which the hands were in contact with was completely devoid of color. You turned around to see Dark without his signature jacket, his eyes wide. You were frozen, but your skin burned where his hands were.

"You should be more careful. You would have fallen if I hadn't gotten to you in time."

You couldn't move. The only thing you felt was the oddly gentle hold he had on you. The bowl, which you were now holding safely, was the last of your worries.

"Still as clumsy as ever," he chuckled under his breath. His thumbs twitched, and you blinked at each other in realization of your compromising position.

He cleared his throat as he stepped back as if burned, removing his hands in the process. You carefully got down from the chair.

It was so quiet you could almost hear his aura crackle in the air like static.

"I, uh... Thank you for... that."

"You are welcome," he said quietly.

You were looking at the ground, your face strangely warm. Your gaze traveled to his shirt, the first two buttons undone, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hands bordered with blue and red the hands that held you were now hanging at his sides.

You stared too long. You could feel him looking at you. You glanced at him.

He was looking straight at you. So intensely that you felt like he could see directly into your soul. So expressively, his eyes seemed more brown than black.

He took a shuddering breath.

"Is youse making cereal? Leave some for me!" Your head jolted to Yancy standing in the doorway.

Dark snapped out of whatever trance he was in and promptly left the room with no parting words.

"Woah, what got him so worked up?" Yancy walked to you as you looked at the door, deep in thought.

"I'd like to know that too."

--

After having finished your perfect bowl of cereal, it was back to sitting in your tiny office. Normally, it wouldn't be that big of a deal. Nothing special, just you sitting behind your desk working at your computer. Except you weren't. You couldn't.

Not when whenever you closed your eyes, you could remember Dark standing over you so clearly. Your little... encounter happened a few weeks ago, yet you still couldn't focus properly while you were here. It took you at least half an hour to distract yourself enough to at least start working. It was frustrating, but there wasn't much you could do. Talk to him about it when he has most likely forgotten about it already? Yeah, sure.

Now that you thought about it, there was something else that was making you unfocused today. Why did Dark look like he wanted to murder Wilford when he was just being touchy as usual?

And this morning... He just caught you out of politeness so you wouldn't fall flat on your face. Or maybe he just didn't want you to break the bowl. You didn't allow yourself to even consider the possibility that maybe he didn't want to see you hurt. And the way his hands stayed on your waist just a few seconds more... Boy, did you forget how to talk then.

Maybe you were looking into it too much. Sure, he was nicer than before, but he could simply be more comfortable with you. As a friend. Yeah, that must be it.

Satisfied with your thinking session, you were ready to get to work.

Your concentration was disturbed by the sound of your door opening, followed by a thud of something heavy being dumped in, and then the door immediately slammed shut again.

You looked up from your computer to a sight you never would have expected - Dark rapping at the door, violently shaking the door handle.

"Now Damie, remember what I told you. If you want something, go get it!" Wilford slurred, his voice muffled by the door.

"Wilford, open the door this instant, or I swear I will kill you. I am serious."

"Oh, promises, promises. Focus your energy on the important things!" Wilford's voice faded away as he supposedly walked away from the door.

"That insufferable..." he mumbled to himself, turning around.

His clothes were wrinkled as if someone tried to physically push him into the room but was met with resistance. You couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

"Uhm, welcome, I guess."

He sighed. "Hi."

"So, what happened for you to end up here of all places?" You leaned on your arm. It might have been an unexpected situation, but that didn't mean you weren't going to enjoy it. Dark, on the other side, seemed really determined to fulfill his promise to Wilford. "When Wil sets his mind to something, nothing can stop him. Not even me." He tried to open the door to emphasize his point, and as expected, it didn't budge.

"Can you not get out by... other means?" You never really knew how his powers worked. And you doubted he would tell you even if you did ask.

"No. I don't know how he did it, but he managed to completely lock me out -" He looked around. "-or in. Technically."

As his eyes surveyed the room, you realized how small it was. It was enough for you, but Dark seemed to fill a big part of the room just with the colored aura that surrounded him. Come to think of it, why was he standing so far away from where you were?

"Well, I'm guessing we're going to be here for some time, so why don't we sit down somewhere more comfortable?" You pointed to a light brown sofa leaning against a wall. His eyes followed your hand to the middle-sized sofa. You winced. You didn't want to make it awkward for him to sit down there alone, but maybe he would rather you didn't sit with him. Why didn't you just ask him what he wanted in the first place-

He simply nodded and sat on the sofa. Having no other choice, you plopped down next to him.

Small raindrops started hitting the window.

You turned to say something to fill the silence at the same time as he did, which resulted in you looking away from each other. He let out the quietest chuckle, and you couldn't help yourself but do the same.

"You can go first." Dark said.

"Ah, it wasn't anything specific, just that the rain is getting stronger." You expected him to simply nod and direct the topic somewhere else. Instead, he looked over to the window. The rain was now strong enough to be audible if you were both quiet, which is what was happening now. Dark looked as if he was observing the rain. As if simply the fact you told him about it gave it value.

"It indeed is."

After a couple of seconds, he took a breath. "I've never noticed how small this office is."

"You're right, but I like it. It makes it feel cozy. It also holds memories more easily. " In fact, your brain was recalling a rather specific memory involving him. But you doubted he would be thinking of that.

"Well, I'm glad. The area carries a certain air that only you have."

"Oh, and what might that be?" You smirked.

"Comfort. Something you want to return to and treasure every moment spent with."

You stared at him wide-eyed.

"Ah, I said too much, didn't I? Forgive me." He looked to the door.

You were touched by how highly he thought of you. Yet there was an unspoken implication in his statement.

Thunder rang out.

You flinched and crashed into Dark. His arms shot out, cradling you against him.

"Are you alright?"

You squeezed your eyes closed as you tried to focus on your breathing.

"I... I'm just scared of thunder. The sound..." You trailed off, heart beating rapidly in your chest.

His hold on you tightened as he gently moved your head to the crook of his neck. He rubbed his hand across your back in soothing motions with a soft "Shh" every couple of seconds. You let him hold you until you eventually stopped shaking like a leaf in the wind.

That's when you realized what a compromising position you were in and stared at him in shock.

"I apologize, I overstepped." He frowned, untangling his hands from you.

As soon as you felt the absence of him, you realized.

"I don't mind." You said, and his face visibly relaxed. "I actually don't mind a lot of things when it comes to you. Simply being with you is... nice."

He let out a quiet laugh. You wished you could put the sound in a bottle. "You're just saying that because we are stuck together."

You laughed and let out a rebuttal.

Minutes passed with other witty remarks, and before you could realize, the brief rainstorm had completely passed. You were confused that you hadn't heard another thunder since there had to have been at least one. But you had gotten too involved in Dark's quips to notice the sound. Dark cracking jokes... now that was something you would have never imagined.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Dark asked, leaning his head on his arm.

"What?"

"You were staring at me without saying anything for a while now, so I figured you had something interesting going on in that brain of yours."

Heat rushed into your cheeks. You didn't realize you had been looking right at him.

You cleared your throat and saw him smiling out of the corner of your eye. "I was just wondering," you smiled back, "do you often run away?"

Dark quickly turned his head away in shame.

"First, it was when I was talking with Wilford. You came in and then suddenly excused yourself. Then, this morning, too... What's going on? Did I do something?"

He sighed. "No, no, you didn't do anything. It's me." He added quietly.

"How so?"

He responded after a couple of seconds. "I am afraid that if I tell you, a lot of things might change... between us." The look in his dark eyes was earnest, almost nostalgic.

Oh.

Oh.

You pondered upon his statement for a few seconds. "Does change always have to be bad?"

As soon as you said the sentence, you were hit with a sense of deja vu. You felt like you've said it before, but how?

In tandem with your confusion, a slight shock spread on his features. As if in a trance, you put your hand on his cheek. Looking him up and down, you studied his features. There was nothing different from what you've come to know. Why were you expecting to see something else?

Your fingers moved on your own in a caress.

His eyes fluttered shut. You traced over his forehead, moving to his cheekbones when you ended up near his lips. Features oh so familiar like you knew them for years. Now that his eyes were closed, he seemed different. At peace. So close.

He opened his eyes, and there it was again. The two of you in your office. The proximity close enough to feel electrifying. None of you said anything as a decision hung in the air. But only up until his onyx-like eyes flicked from your own to your lips.

He smiled. "Would it be foolish of me to say I want to kiss you right now?"

And you answered by leaning in.

You let yourselves be entangled by the sheer amount of emotion as your lips brushed against each other. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you even closer like he wanted to drown himself in you. You basked in the softness of your embrace, finally feeling as if everything has fallen into place.

He pulled away as you tried to catch your breath.

"So beautiful." He whispered, tenderly tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Before you could respond, he went right back in. Not that you minded, of course.

No sooner than a minute had passed were you interrupted by your office door swinging open.

"Glad to see you've finally figured yourselves out! Now, if we could-" Wilford's voice was cut off as Dark slammed the door with a motion of his hand.

He brushed his hair away from his face and turned back to you.

"It did look like he needed something." You gazed at the door pensively.

"I am sure he did, but," he smoothed out your shirt, "I do believe you don't want anyone seeing you like this."

You tried to keep from laughing as you regarded his own disheveled appearance. "You're not too neat either, Sir 'Irons his shirts every morning'."

He rolled his eyes but smiled at you regardless. Getting up from the couch, he held out his hand, which you accepted, and headed to whatever wacky escapade Wilford was up to this time.

[words-are-fireproof]

Sweet Summer Child: Coffee + Contemplation (Dieter Bravo x fem!reader)

(*gif by @pedropascalsx)

Chapter Summary: Dieter Bravo is a bookshop owner with a secret. He's surprised you stick around for the next morning.

A/N: I don't have a Masterlist yet, but here is my Dieter as Death fic. I've been sitting on it long enough.

Warnings: In this chapter, there are none. That I remember. 😆

Rating: M but no smut.

Word Count: 1.7k ish.

[Masterlist] || [Series Masterlist] || Part Two

-----

Soft rays of sunshine shimmered over Dieter’s tawny skin as he shifted in bed, languishing in the fuzzy warmth between sleep and awake. He rolled over and instead of being met with a solid body, he was met with cold sheets, no longer warmed from the heat of skin.

The emptiness of the bed is what woke him up fully, blinking in the light of the sun as he finally pulled himself from his slumber. As he yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he mused on the fact that his normal nightmares hadn’t plagued him that night, a rare occurrence in his life, and he wondered why. Had the gods decided to smile upon him? Or did he just get lucky?

Luck had nothing to do with it, and he knew that as he slid from the bed into the coolness of his bedroom. A shiver ran down his spine and he grumbled as he searched bleary-eyed for some scrap of clothing, thrown haphazardly in the excitement of the previous evening. He could still feel the soft touches of the pads of your fingers as they skimmed over his back, pressing into the hard curves of his muscles as your body arched under his in pleasure. The deep frown etched on his lips slowly softened. Tendrils of warmth spread down his limbs as he found a pair of silk pajama bottoms and lazily pulled them on. Forgoing a t-shirt in the hopes of feeling more of your touch, he padded down the stairs to the sound of glass clinking and the smell of fresh coffee emanating from his coffee pot.

In the light of the morning, you looked even more beautiful. Your hair glowed in the golden rays of the sun, your eyes catching the light as you focused on your task. Bits of coffee grounds lay scattered on the white granite countertop. your soft voice issued into the silence, humming a song he couldn’t place as he brushed those specks of coffee grounds onto the floor. Little pangs of annoyance shot through his chest, but he didn’t say a word. He just kept watching you, absently wondering how he’d managed to charm you and why you stuck around. He showered his women in charm, but them sticking around his luxurious Brownstone rarely happened often. Mornings after were spent drinking leftover wine in a silk robe, stretched out on his leather sofa as he listened to some pretentious album on his record player. Alone. Left to his own devices and left with the memories of fleeting pleasure and phantom touches.

Those tendrils of warmth made his limbs feel heavy as he leaned against the doorframe into the expansive kitchen, his strong arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched you. The coffee pot finished dripping, and he took a deep breath in, savoring the smell, letting it linger and mingle with the faintest smell of you. You smelled of cherry blossoms and hints of vanilla, and even from his perch at the opposite end of the kitchen, you were intoxicating.

Delirium-induced dizziness made him lightheaded, and spurred him forward.

“You’re still here,” his smooth voice intoned, hand brushing down over your arm as he leaned his back against the counter.

“I am. It took me a bit to figure out your coffee pot.”

He chuckled softly. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about that.”

“I might have made a mess,” you murmured sheepishly.

“I know. I watched you brush coffee grounds onto my floor.” But he didn’t speak those words with malice.

You laughed, reaching over to grab the carafe and pour him a mug of coffee. He took it gingerly and took a drink, letting it wash over him, shaking the heaviness from his limbs.

“Do you know, you have a little dimple,” you said, gently brushing your fingers over said dimple in his right cheek, “right here?”

He tilted his head into your touch. “I’ve been told that a few times.”

“By your many girlfriends?”

“I’ve not had as many as you think I’ve had.”

You lifted your eyebrows at him.

The admission surprised even him, brief flutters of confusion snaking through him as his brows furrowed in thought. His reputation preceded him. He knew this. He’d seen the magazine articles, the stories that he’d wined and dined the best of the best, the debutants, the leggy models with blond hair and no personality. He’d met plenty of women with brown and red hair who didn’t have a personality either, but the media continued to be unnecessarily biased toward blonds. Even now, settling beside you, amber-eyed gaze raking over you, he felt calm. It was a calm that he’d never felt before, not in at least a few hundred years. His job stressed him in a way he could never, ever, share, not with anyone. Especially not you. Not unless he wanted you to run.

The last thing he wanted was for that to happen. While he’d never told his secret to anyone–and he currently didn’t plan on it–he knew he couldn’t hide forever. Death had a way of crowding out life, no matter how hard he tried to prevent that from happening.

“You know, I don’t think I believe you,” you said playfully.

He took a long drink of his coffee, letting the hot liquid scald his throat.

“You’ve seen the magazines and the articles, haven’t you?”

“It’s hard to ignore,” you admitted truthfully, watching him closely.

He shivered under your gaze, letting the heat of arousal slide down his spine. Memories of the night before flicked through his mind like a lazy movie projector, lingering on the way you moved over him or the way you brushed your touch over his chest, tracing the light outline of his muscles. A lopsided smile spread across his lips.

“I’m friendly,” he began with a shrug, finishing his coffee, “what the magazines don’t say is I never took them home.”

Your brows furrowed at him curiously. “What’s so different about me?”

He palmed the back of his neck with a large hand.

What was so different about you? He couldn’t put his finger on any one thing. Well, he could, but the previous point still stood: he couldn’t tell you, even if he wanted to.

He shrugged his broad shoulders elaborately, dropping his hand and pouring himself another mug of coffee. “You’re just…different.”

You laughed. “It doesn’t inspire much confidence.”

“It should.”

You snorted, seemingly content to drop the subject as you turned to rinse out your mug. “So, I was thinking we could go out today. It didn’t snow too much and I have the day off.”

Dieter turned to look out the window above his kitchen sink. The bright white expanse of his tiny backyard greeted him, marred only by bird’s footprints and the tell-tale sign of squirrels hopping around and digging little holes to find long-buried acorns hidden for this very reason. He might not like the chill of winter mornings, but the beauty of a world blanketed and quieted in snow was something he never got tired of. The smile on his lips deepened as his amber eyes settled on you.

“Sure. I don’t have anything to do today.”

“Or tonight?” You asked curiously, settling your mug on a clean towel beside the sink, their gazes meeting.

He chuckled. “Or tonight.”

“Are you sure about that? You don’t have some sort of benefit to go to or something like that?”

He shakes his head. “No benefits. No charity dinners. No gallery openings. Nothing. Tonight, I’m yours.”

You smirked, sliding over to him, brushing a gentle hand over his bicep, settling on stroking his forearm thoughtfully. “That’s a dangerous thing to admit.”

His own smile shifted devilishly, the dimple in his cheek deepening as his other arm wrapped around your lithe body, tugging you closer to him until you stood flush against him.

“I’m up for the challenge.”

He bent down and slanted his lips against yours, licking into your mouth. The sweet taste of sugar and cream exploded against his tongue. He tried not to let his mind wander too much, but the taste of you, mingled with the taste of the way you took your coffee was too much for him. He wanted to explore you more. He wanted to drown in you and the tranquility you offered him. He wanted to ignore the world, ignore the things he dealt with every minute of every day. He wanted relief from the never-ending cycle of decay and he wanted to find that relief in you.

But you pulled away from the kiss before he could deepen it even more. He couldn’t ignore the way the darks of your eyes bled into the color of your iris, pupils blown in desire. How did a macabre angel like him land such a sweet summer child? He could ask that question all day every day and he still couldn’t possibly conjure up a response. Maybe, just maybe, the gods decided to shine mercy on him. But even then, he didn’t believe it in the slightest.

“Let’s go before I keep you here all day.”

“I wouldn’t complain,” he murmured in a voice honeyed with desire.

“Yeah,” you began, standing on tiptoe to press you lips to his again, “but I would.”

“Why?” The question rumbled lowly in his chest.

“Because maybe I want to throw a couple of snowballs at you today.”

You winked, and giggled, pulling from him and shooting up the stairs with a peel of laughter, wordlessly inviting him to follow, wordlessly inviting him to toss away his cares and find happiness in you, if only for a moment. He shook his head, swallowing one last bitter mouthful of coffee, washing away the sweet taste of her. He accepted the invitation without a second thought, thinking maybe, just maybe, he could find happiness in you for far longer than a moment.

[kinglazrus]

The Dying Star, Chapter One

Truce fic for @lexiepiper. It's 6:30 a.m. and I stayed up all night rewriting this chapter a dozen times because I wasn't satisfied, but here it is! Will be posted to Ao3 later when I am not sleep-deprived.

Links to be added | Next | AO3

Word count: 1875

Living in a place like Amity Park, you get used to echoes. Things like to linger here. The old movie posters that sometimes show up at the Multiplex. Children's laughter resounding from a rusted jungle gym. A whiff of smoke at an empty lot where a building burnt down five years ago.

Amity Park has always been haunted; it just wasn't always by ghosts.

No one knows why. Maybe the Fentons have a theory, but Valerie has never asked. She came close to it once after her mother passed. She spent days wandering Amity Park, going to all the places they spent time together, searching for remnants. She found plenty, yet none that belonged to her mother. But in her hours of seeking, she made a discovery.

There are voids. Places that swallow things up and, rather than a cascade of emotions, feel like nothing at all. Casper High is one of those places. Too much has happened here, Valerie thinks, for any one thing to linger. It's most apparent when you're alone and even the sound of your breathing is eaten up by the void, leaving you with silence.

Valerie knows this well. Just as she knows that she is not alone right now.

She walks at a firm pace, steady enough to keep a marching band in time, which makes it obvious when she misses a beat and the person following her does not. She pauses, holding her foot in the air a second longer than necessary, and a step echoes when it should have been quiet.

It takes considerable effort for her not to react. She keeps her attention forward, placing one foot in front of the other. An echo on its own is harmless, even one that's a real, tangible thing. As long as she doesn't provoke it, and it doesn't do anything to her, she's fine with it following her.

Focusing on the task at hand, she tells herself. If only she can remember what that is.

The lights are off, and the school is empty. She has the glow of the emergency exit signs, which stick down from the ceiling every twenty feet or so, to see by. The pools of light don't quite touch, leaving a stretch of shadow no more than a few paces long between them. As Valerie passes beneath the next sign, she glances up at it. The arrow at the bottom points straight ahead, but there is no exit in sight. Not only that, but she can't see any classroom doors, nor did she see any on her way here. On either side of her, the row of lockers continues unbroken. The same stretch of hallway repeating into eternity.

Something is deeply wrong. A part of Valerie knows this, but any time she tries to bring the thought to the front of her mind and acknowledge it, it slips away against her will, leaving her with a niggling sense of worry. She clenches her hands, needing some way to work through her tension without alerting her echo, and falters when she feels something against her palm.

Opening her hand, she finds a patch. She must have been holding it the whole time, but she didn't feel it until now. What hope discovering it might have brought is quickly dashed when she realizes the patch has no detail. A plain embroidered edge and empty middle. Some bits of thread stick out the back, along with a scrap of the fabric it was originally sewn to. When she rubs her thumb over it, she feels stray threads brushing against her finger despite not being able to see them.

Valerie looks down the hall again. It goes on and on, lockers and exit signs merging into a pinprick of red light in the distance.

She was searching for something. Is searching for something.

Only now, as she comes to that realization, does she notice the second set of footsteps hasn't stopped. They're coming from behind her, faster than she had been walking, and getting faster still. She doesn't have time to dawdle.

Valerie shoves the patch in her pocket and takes off running. The shadows stretch ahead of her. What should have been a few steps turns into miles as the red light pulls away. She passes lockers at a crawl while the approaching steps get louder and faster. The noise thunders in her ears until it's all she can hear. Closer and closer, louder and louder. They're almost upon her when she gives into temptation and whips around, looking back for the first time, but there's nothing to see.

Beneath the thunder, something whispers in her ear.

"Valerie!"

—

She wakes up to a warm hand on her forehead. She doesn't need to open her eyes to know it's her father running his hand over her hair. Valerie leans into the touch, humming with relief.

"Valerie?" Damon's hand pauses, but he starts again when she whines. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired." The temptation to go back to sleep is strong. Normally, a quick nap is all it takes for Valerie to feel re-energized. She has learned to live off stolen minutes between school and work and ghost hunting, but this time feels different. Not just because of the dream that's already fading from her mind, but because of the pounding in her head and the warmth throughout her body. If hadn't already been lying down, she would have slumped over.

As it is, she melts into her father's side. Even if she's already feverish, the comfort his presence brings outweighs any unwanted heat.

"Sweetie, you have to sit up," Damon says.

"Do I gotta?"

"Just for a couple minutes."

She grumbles as she complies, letting Damon sit her upright. The shift in elevation makes her head pound even more, and it only gets worse when she opens her eyes. She closes them again immediately.

"Hey, I need you to keep your eyes open," a new voice says.

Valerie doesn't want to, but her curiosity wins out, and she finds herself looking at a middle-aged woman in a white coat.

"Very good," the woman says. "Now look straight ahead."

A light flashes in Valerie eye, making her wince. The woman hums and does it again with the other eye, then does... other things. Valerie doesn't really know. She feels hands on her head, and hears the woman and her dad talking, but it floats over her. She is sinking down into an ocean of half-formed thoughts and doesn't mind drowning there.

"Valerie." Damon jostles her, yanking her back to the surface.

"Hm?"

"What's the last thing you remember?" the woman asks. A doctor, Valerie realizes. She's a doctor.

"Uh, Mr. Lancer let us go early..." Valerie tries to dig for more, but capturing a solid memory is like catching rain on her open hands. Each drop offers a brief sensation. The buzz of her ghost hunting suit. A flash of pristine white. The feel of a rough hand in hers. She knows she could get more if she cupped her hands and pressed them together, but her fingers are too numb to move.

"Is this the concussion?" Damon asks.

"Possibly. We'll get her scanned to make sure there's nothing wrong internally, but there could be other causes for her symptoms. The ghost we detained was particularly strong. It's known for causing trouble, and with the kinds of powers it has, we don't know what its ectoplasm could have done to her."

Funny. Valerie didn't know doctors could ghost hunt. Except the Fentons are doctors and they ghost hunt. They aren't the same kind of doctor, though, are they? She wonders if that matters.

"As soon as we're done with the preliminary samples, we'll know how to proceed. As it is, we have two options ahead of us."

"Which are?"

"If the samples come back negative, we transfer her to South Mercy, and with any luck she's back home by the weekend."

"And if it's positive?"

"In that case, we'd—" A buzz interrupts the doctor. "You'll find out right away."

"What do you—"

A door slams open. Valerie jumps, her eyes flying open, although she doesn't remember closing them in the first place. Four men in hazmat suits stride into the room. Damon leaps from Valerie's side, standing between her and the men.

"What's going on?" he demands.

"Sir, you have to come with use. We need to make sure you haven't been exposed." As the men stride forward, the doctor backs away. Two of the men grab Damon and pull him back.

"Daddy!" Valerie shouts. Her own voice pierces her brain like an icepick.

"Stay calm," one of the remaining men says. "Don't panic."

Valerie panics. She leaps off the cot she had been sitting on and charges toward her dad, or tries to. The room tilts around her and she careens into the fourth man. His arms close around her. Someone holds a mask to her face. Valerie tries to fight it off, but she can't. She gasps and sucks in a lungful of the gas. Her head grows fuzzy. Spots fill her vision. In no time at all, Valerie finds herself slipping back out of the waves, and this time her dad isn't there to pull her back up.

—

He waits until the little ghost hunter and her father are gone before pulling off his hood. He casts the hood aside. The rest of the hazmat suit follows, discarded onto the patient bed beside him. "I hate these things. They're so hard to breathe in."

"Well. That was theatrical," the doctor remarks. "You sure you didn't overdo it? She was really panicking."

"I doubt she'll remember. This was more for her father than anything."

"If you say so." The doctor looks him up and down, a smirk appearing on her lips. "Careful, you almost look rumpled."

He follows her gaze to his lapel, which had somehow folded over in the chaos. He tries to smooth it out, but a crease cuts across it, ruining the natural fold. It's tolerable, if a little annoying. He smooths out the rest of his suit, checking for any stains or smudges. White clothes are great when dealing with ectoplasm, which is a natural bleaching agent, but there are so many other things that can ruin it. It's unfortunate, especially for someone like him who always wants to look his best.

The doctor stands and stretches, popping her back. "I should be there when she wakes up."

"Agreed. I'll talk to Mr. Gray." They part outside the examination room, heading in opposite directions. The doctor will have plenty of time to examine the patient while she's unconscious. He's almost jealous. Sometimes, he wishes he stuck to the more scientific side of things rather than going for field work. Less people to deal with. More time in the lab.

Not that he doesn't enjoy his job.

He doesn't go far, knocking on the door to another examination room a little ways down the hall. Damon Gray looks up at his entrance, the perfect picture of a distraught father.

He sits down opposite the man and begins. "Mr. Gray, I'm Operative S. I'm afraid we need to talk about your daughter."

[cosmos-coma]

Lips to yourself

Requested by anon (Thank you! its my first one!)

Request: “Not being able to unbutton your lover’s shirt because their kisses are everywhere”

Pairing: Eskel x reader

WC: 1.3k

Warnings: gn!reader (no pronouns), hurt/comfort, blood (barely), unbeta’d.

___________________________________________________

The sky was grey and hanging over the world like a heavy blanket, brooding and growing darker as it threatened to shower your small town in a chilling rain. You had just finished harvesting some of your garden’s yield and leading Lil Bleater inside the cottage when you had to stop and look out. You lingered in the doorway, glancing down the path in an expectant manner, though nothing came.

It had been over three weeks since Eskel had left your little sanctuary here on the edge of town. Rumors had come in that the nearby town of Onryx had been terrorized by a strangely large nest of nekkers and needed immediate help. You hated to see him throw himself into such a blatantly dangerous contract, but you knew that this was just part of his job. Part of his existence as a Witcher.

Lately, your mind hadn’t been able to stop whirling with all the possibilities, coming up with dozens of reasons for your witcher's delay.

Maybe they haven't had good weather the last few days and he hasn’t been able to travel back yet? Maybe he got caught up with another contract or two along the way?

But no matter how you tried to think positive thoughts doubt had always crept back into your mind. 

Was he too hurt to travel? Would anyone help him if he was?.... Or was he already gone..?

You were snapped out of your thoughts by Lil Bleater sharply tugging at the hem of your clothes, trying to bring you inside before the rain started to fall. You let a sigh fall past your lips but smiled softly as you turned away from the empty path and back to the little hoofed lady at your feet. “I know, I know… I’ll have dinner going soon and you can have as many vegetable scraps as you want.” 

Closing the door behind you, you went to light the hearth and candles around the house, giving yourself a well-lit workspace despite the darkening atmosphere outside. Lil Bleater bounced around at your feet excitedly as you began dinner, eating up every little bit and peel of vegetable that you gave her. 

Once your dinner was cooking and Lil Bleater had staked her claim on a warm blanket beside the hearth it had started to rain, gentle at first, then all at once. 

Quietly you sipped your tea beside the fire and mended the holes in your clothes, when you were interrupted by the sound of a horse coming up to the house, followed by heavy footsteps. 

At first, you were filled with hope that your witcher had finally returned and nearly leapt out of your seat as you got up. But when a knock came, one that sounded almost familiar, but not quite, you began so slow and grow cautious. Grabbing the heavy cast iron pan from the counter you slowly creaked the door open. Peeking through the gap, you gasped at the sight before you. The clang of the cast iron pan barely registered as it fell from your fingers, the only thing you took in was the sight of Eskel standing at your door. He looked soaked and tired and bloody as he stood in front of you and you’ve never been so happy to see him. 

“Eskel..!” you all but yelled in surprise and nearly leapt into his arms as you hugged him, causing him to wince and groan under the pressure of your excited embrace. “Oh, sorry… I’m sorry… come in, let me get you fixed up.” you grabbed his hand and quickly pulled him inside towards the fire. 

“Sorry, I’ve been so long… I Just-” he started in a low hoarse voice but was quickly cut off by the short kiss you pressed to his lips as you forced him to sit. 

“You’re too polite, my love…”  you said and started trying to get his gear off, pulling the swords away and trying to unlace his tunic. However, Eskel had been longing to be back for so long that he could not be sated by just one quick kiss. 

He pulled you close once more and kissed you tenderly. It was a slow and exhausted kiss, but you can also feel how full of love it was, how hard those 3 weeks were for your beloved witcher. 

“My love…” you said, pulling back just enough to get your words out. “I need to take care of you, you're still bleeding…”. You attempted to get back to your task of unlacing his tunic, but he now trailed his kisses down your arm and to your wrist. His gentle but firm grip pulled your hands away from his laces and held them close to his face, breathing in your scent deeply.

“Eskel-”

“I just want to hold you…” he interrupted; something he never did with you, but that only showed how important this was for him to get out. Your hands stilled as he spoke and after a beat of silence, you nodded your head for him to continue. 

“The thought of being near you again…It’s all that's gotten me through these three weeks and I just- I just need to hold you…”, he finished and looked up at you, eyes locking with yours. 

His eyes were…. Well, it was a look you hadn’t ever seen on him before—the look of barely pushing on even though you know you're safe, you're done. You took a second to look over the rest of him now, to really take all of him in. His shoulders were slumped as though the weight of this whole situation was pressing down on him like Atlas carrying the burden of the world. His wounds were still bleeding, and probably had been for the past few days, but it wasn't enough that he would die if left untreated for another hour.

“Okay…” you nodded “Okay. I’m sorry, my love…” You spoke softly and moved to stand between his legs as he scooted towards the edge of his chair. ”I am excited to see you, I’ve just been so worried lately”.

Eskel’s arms wrapped around your hips with a deep, almost relieved breath, and rested his cheek against your abdomen. Your hand came down and brushed the wet hair away from his eyes, your comforting and warm touch brushing it all away as your fingers grazed his skin. 

“My beloved witcher…. I’ve missed you so much.” The fingers of your other hand wove themselves between the delicate hair at the nape of his neck. A pleased grunt tumbled out of him as your nails scratched gently at his scalp, just as you would do whenever he had trouble sleeping. 

“I’ve got you now big guy…” you whispered as thunder rumbled on around you. Wet hair tickled your face as you leaned down to press a kiss to the top of his head.

His gaze slowly moved upwards as you pulled back, searching along your face and finally settling on your eyes. His gaze already seemed less jaded and instead danced with the familiar unbothered love and devotion you had seen from him so many times before. 

You held his face in your palm, warm dry skin against his damp cool cheek as you leaned down further to brush your lips together. Noses bumping carelessly against each other as your kiss deepened into something you hadn’t yet realized that you needed as much as you did. It was as though every worry, every doubt, every late-night without sleep had just seeped out of your body and been washed away by the heavy rain just past the windows. 

You both pulled back as another bout of thunder rolled by, foreheads resting against one another. “I love you…” you both said in unison, causing a ripple of laughter to vibrate out from both of you. “I love you too..” you both replied and fell into laughter again. 

This time you spoke before you two could copy each other again, “Let’s get you fixed up now, okay? Then we can hold each other all night...” 

Quietly he nodded, the happiness of your shared laughter still painted on his face in the form of an easy smile. “Yes, Dear…”.

_______________________________________________________

Taglist: @writingmysanity @open--till--midnight

[queenoftheworldisdead]

Dennis

Notes: No one asked for this. was inspired this thread. LOL. Also Chris Evans Debuts Trailer for New Movie DENNIS

Summary: A broken pathetic shell of a man with nothing to live for.

Warning: 18+ only please, forced fingering, non con, rape, Dark themes

Dark Dennis Baker x Reader

💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️

6:00 A.M.

Dennis hated waking up. Though he was married whenever he arose and reached over to his wife's side of the bed it was always cold. It didn't used to be this way. Not too long ago he would wake to find her snuggling into him, but now it was as if he was a single man all over again.

Scrubbing his hands over his face as he sat on the edge of the bed he wondered where his wife was this time. At some point after he was laid off she started changing. Working out more, staying out more, sleeping over at her sisters for reasons she never made clear to him.

Walking over to the closet Dennis retrieved his uniform, laying it on top of the bed, neatly. The gawd awful pink retail shirt, unflattering khaki pants, with the leather belt and penny loafers made him internally groan at the sight each morning.

As the steam dissipated from the shower Dennis mindlessly stared at his own reflection. Dread poured over him the closer it got time for him to leave for work. This job was a far cry from his former one as Head of IT. A major data breach ruined his career in the tech field. Despite his best efforts to prevent the cyber attack his warnings went unheeded, sighting unnecessary cost for the infrastructure. And when the inevitable happened his neck was brought to the chopping block.

With that blemish on his record it was hard to get another job of similar note with this infraction hanging over his head. Now reduced to technical expert at Betsy's Computer store. A glorified titled for a retail worker that pushed more PS5's than actual technical support.

With the drop in title so did the salary. The mortgage, car note and other bills began piling up on top of each other. Credit cards were starting to hit their own limit, all contributing to his physical and mental decline.

💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️

7:00 A.M.

As he began dressing he heard a faint sound coming from down stairs. Tucking in his shirt as he left the bedroom he heard the rare sound of his wife, Sarah. She was talking cheerfully to someone he hoped would be her sister. When he entered the archway his heart sank as she quieted herself, her mood fully changed before slipping her cell into her pocket.

Quickly she picked up a dish that contained scraps of some healthy meal that she only made for herself. Rinsing it off at the sink as Dennis approached her from behind.

Leaning over Dennis tried to kiss her cheek, but swiftly Sarah pulled away. “Ugh!”

"What's wrong?" He knew, but he had to hear it.

"You have a bad penis?" she answered before leaving him alone in the kitchen as he bottled up the hurt as he always did. Tucking away the insult and then burying it deep.

Dennis's erectile dysfunction was just the cherry on his shit cake. He had seen several doctors. All prescribed this or that, but nothing worked. The lack of intimacy helped to further wreck havoc on his marriage.

💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️

8:00 A.M.

The entrance to the gaudy pink building dinged as the automatic doors opened.

"Morning Dennis" you smiled as he walked through the opened doors. He scrunched his face as if he didn't recognize you. You had only run into him once or twice since you started last week, so you weren't surprised he didn't remember.

"How did you..?" He looked a mix of tired and confused as he stood between the doorway.

Your head tilted and gave him a look, before tapping the name plate on your chest. Dennis followed your finger, your badge sat perched on your left breast. You shifted on your feet as his eyes lingered on your nameplate longer than you would've liked.

"Hadn't had your coffee yet I see" you joked. Quickly Dennis shifted his eyes away, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Yeah" Dennis chuckled dryly.

"Well, there is a fresh pot in the back last time I checked and  a few donuts. I think Richard brought some in. If you hurry you might be able to snatch one up." You brushed off his awkwardness.

Maybe he isn't a morning person.

You could see Dennis on the verge of reply, but your attention diverted to the customer walking to your open lane. "How was your shopping today? Do you have a Betsy card?" You read off your script as they laid their items down. In the corner of your eye you watched him linger a bit, before continuing on toward the back to clock in.

💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️

3:00 P.M.

Dennis grumbled with hands on hips as he looked at the disarray of the printer cartage wall. He had organized and reorganized the entire aisle at least five times today. He had only been gone five minutes only to return to chaos.

Quickly taking inventory with his clipboard he made notes of what he needed before storming off to the storage room. Through his irritation he found it hard to stay mad as thoughts of you clouded his head while he walked.

The tiny interaction from earlier in the day had haunted him. Trying in vein Dennis tried his hardest to focus on anything else, but the more he fought it the more you seemed to just pop up. He found his eyes locking with yours in-between various interactions with customers as you cut through his section to get to the break room. Each time you fluttered your fingers and smiled at him, leaving him flustered, returning the smile more stiff and awkward than the time before.

Opening the door to the storage room Dennis's heart skipped a beat when he found you bent over examining a shelf. You hadn't noticed him yet, too focused on the numbers on the paper you held in search of an item.

Swallowing thickly Dennis gingerly closed the door quietly in an effort not to spook you. His cock twitched slightly the longer he stood against the door. When you moaned in frustration after you placed an item back on the shelf a heat rippled through his face forcing him to bite back a groan of his own.

Staying quiet, he released the knob and started to move closer to you. Each step Dennis felt his heart beat through his ears as your hips swayed before him.  

The narrow aisle forced Dennis to squeeze past you to reach his desired destination. Sucking in his bottom lip hungrily he pushed his hips forward as he slid behind, the slight graze made you jump up and yelp in surprise.

"Oh gosh Dennis you scared me!" You giggled slightly embarrassed. You placed a hand over your chest and the other on his shoulder.

"Sorry" looking sincerely at you as he held his hands up innocently. "Just trying to reach the ink." Hoping to take the focus away from his bottom half. The light graze was enough to awaken that piece of him that he had long sense gave up on.

"It's OK. It's super tight back here. Kind of hard not to knock into someone." You brushed of your shock and turn back to your task. With your back to him again adjusted himself awkwardly.

"Hey, wait!" Your call froze him in his tracks.

Dennis's back tensed and a panic shot through his core as he heard your steps approach. His work pants had become uncomfortably tighter all thanks to you.

Slyly he pressed his clip board over his buckle when you rounded his side. Internally Dennis prayed that you wouldn't notice the throbbing erection below his belt.

"Can you help me I can’t find this." You were still focused on the paper you held, pushing it in his line of sight as you waited for him to respond. You were so close that your perfume tickled his nose and he wondered if you tasted just as sweet as you smelled.

Dennis's lips deepened into a frown when Richard, the floor manager, called your name from the now open storage door.  

"We need you back on registers. Let me handle that for now." Richard demanded.  

"Oh OK" turning away from him you handed the papers to Richard as he approached. "Thanks anyway Dennis" you patted Dennis's back before walking off. The sudden lack of touch sent an ache to his heart as he watched you disappear through the door.

💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️

5:30 P.M.

The rain came down hard. You hadn't check the weather, when you left your apartment earlier in the day the sky was clear. Without an umbrella you made a mad dash to your car on the far end of the lot. Panting wildly, by the time your reached the car you were soaked through and through.

Slipping in you shrieked when the white flash crashed too close to your car. Fumbling with your keys before sticking them in the ignition you quickly found disappointment. The engine wouldn't turn over. It took several clicks of the turning key, before you stared baffled at the wheel. You had never had issues with your car before, so you were at a loss as to what could be the cause.

A bashing came loud on your side that caused you to scream in fright. Your heart beat rapidly, but when you looked over you found Dennis standing outside your door holding his umbrella.

"You OK?" He queried as you manually rolled your window down.

"It won't start. I think its the battery?" You weren't sure, but it sounded plausible.

"I would give you a jump, but it's a little dangerous. I can give you a ride though." He shouted over the heavy rain.

"Oh gosh, are you sure?"

"Yeah, come on."

Unbuckling your seat Dennis held the door open for you as you got out. You stuck close to his side, huddling under his umbrella as he led you to his car.

Opening the passenger door you thanked Dennis then slipped inside. He closed the door than jogged over to the driver's side, you giggled at his awkward stride and wondered if there was any part of him that wasn't weird. 

💻🌧🍔 💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️

Through his peripheral Dennis watched you. Your perfume seemed to waft through his tiny Toyota and he hoped that it would sink into the upholstery.

"It's over there, just turn right on the corner" you directed him. He nodded at your direction. Suddenly sad that the ride was coming to an end sooner than he would've liked.

"You can slow down here. Mine is the one in the middle."

Dennis slowed to park as you gathered your things and readied to disembark. "Um uh I know this is weird, but do you think I can.. use your restroom?" It came out bumbled and he internally kicked himself for that.

"Oh gosh yes of course." You touched his arm as you spoke, the patch of skin sending jolts all throughout.

Dennis exited the car first as you waited patiently for him to shelter you from the rain.

You thank him again as you both jogged to your front door. With your keys at the ready you unlocked the door and allowed him in after you. "First door on your right" you point down the hall as you slipped out of your work shoes.

💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️

8:00 P.M.

Dennis didn't move.

"So how is married life?" You nervously inquired, noticing the gold band on his finger.

He didn't answer and the look on his face started to fill you with concern.

He is just an awkward guy. Don't over think it.

"Um would you like something to drink" you made a move to walk toward the kitchen, but Dennis blocked your advance. Stepping a foot back you started to panic. "So h-how do you like working at.."

Before you could finish Dennis sandwiched you between the door.  Fruitlessly you tried to wiggle free as his hands began to roam your sides. Pushing at his chest he stood unmoved by your efforts as he leaned in close to your cheek, peppering you with kisses along your neck.

"Please Dennis.." You trembled out. Dennis wedged between your legs, the feel of his hard cock had you hiccuping as you pleaded with him to stop.

The muscles in your arm burned as you push, your hands flailing and slipping off his wet clothes. He inhaled you, humming with delight as his stubble burned against your neck.

Tears coated your eyes as he began feverishly unbuckling your belt. Your nails clawed into his flesh to no effect, tossing your hands away effortlessly as he continued to maneuver your pants down past your hips.

It was if the mild mannered retail clerk had become a completely different person and you couldn't understand why.

"I see the way you look at me" he growled into your ear. 

"I was just being nice. Please Dennis!"

"So nice for me baby" he kissed your cheek as you turned your face away from him. Through the kerfuffle you hadn't realized you both had moved away from the door. Your side hit the arm of the living room's couch and you found yourself tumbling over with Dennis landing on top of you.

Dennis snatched one of your wrist when you tried to slap him. Threading his fingers with yours like a lover, slowly moving it above your head. Your other hand tried to force him to fall over to the floor, but he refused to budge.

His other arm disappeared between your bodies, the further it sunk down your stomach tensed. You were useless against his determination. There was no out from under him.

Dennis swallowed your sobs, when his hand came dangerously close to your clit. Hot beads of tears streamed your face when  he grazed your mound. The tickle of his finger tips meticulously played with your folds, in an attempt to move away his fingers parted your lips. Sucking and kissing on your neck, you felt a fire begin to pool at his hand.

"You don't want to do this please" you sniffed, but he was too far gone. A long moan fell from your lips when his fingers finally plunged into you.

Dennis's digits curled and pumped, the friction feeding an unwanted need in your core. When you tried to protest again he devoured your mouth greedily.

"I'm gonna fill you up...Have you stuffed full of my cum." Dennis moaned over your mouth.

Your toes started to curl as your heat grew. You wanted him to stop, but a need weakened your resolve.

"That's it baby, I feel you want me too." 

"Fuck" you panted out as you struggled to fight against him and yourself. Your juices coated him thoroughly, you bit back shame as he praised you for it. Mindlessly you gripped his shoulder  as your mounded tightened around him. Panting wildly you came on his fingers.

"That's it baby." He praised, slipping his fingers free which caused you to whimper shamefully. Your legs felt like jelly as you laid on the couch. Dennis hadn't moved, only lifting his hips to  unfastened his belt.

"No! No no please" you whined, pushing backwards on the couch cushion. Dennis snaked an arm behind your back, locking you in place as you pulled at his work shirt to get him off you.

The head of his cock swirled around your juices, pressing hard against your folds to blindly find your opening. "So wet just for me baby."

No matter which way your hips move the determined man found your slick folds. Wedged between your legs Dennis shuttered with delight as he pressed into you. His slow pressure stretched you as you continued to sob.

"So tight for me" he hummed. You hissed the deeper he sunk into you. Breathing heavily through the tightness while his hips rolled into you. The cheap couch groaned at the increase of activity. Dennis palmed your ass, gripping too tight as he fucked you into the couch.

His desperate kisses all over you felt like trails of fire. Your legs began to wrap and tighten around him as he thrusted relentlessly. 

"Dennis.." You panted out as your need took over.

"Do you want to come for me?" he sounded as needy as you did.

"I haven't come in so long... Do you think you can handle it baby?" He taunted.

"Please" you say weakly.

"That's it I knew you needed me"

"Please Dennis." You begged as you dissolved into pleasure.

You were his new life he was sure of it. His cure and he was never letting you go.

💻🌧🍔 💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️

[goldenkirstein]

aot band! au headcanons pt. 1:

pt. two here

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

pairing: jean x fem! reader, eren x fem! reader, zeke x fem! reader

wc: 1.2k+

cw: smut (18+ minors DNI), reader has female anatomy, manipulation/corruption, dumbification/incoherence, sorta dubcon (?), mentions of spit, cockwarming, unprotected sex, cursing, dirty talk, creampie/breeding, cumplay, degradation, perv! zeke.

a/n: okayyyyy, so im reposting this, because i didn't like it the first time i posted it lol. i added and cut out some things still don't know if i really like it. anyways, i tried my best with tagging everything, i really hope i didn't miss anything, if i did please let me know. this is my first time writing anything smutty, i'd love to hear any feedback or criticism !!

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

smut under the cut

jean kirstein

Jean would play the electric guitar.

He wouldn't have any big tattoos but tiny stick and pokes, but when he takes off his shirt, there would be this giant, intricate tattoo that spans his entire back.

He wears thin white t-shirts that cling to his body when he gets all sweaty from performing or when he douses himself in water because the lights make it really hot on stage, babe. The shirt becomes practically see-through, and when he turns around, you can see the outline of the back tattoo. You swear he does it on purpose.

HIS HANDS, calloused from hours of practice, wears chunky silver rings that make his long fingers stand out. He keeps his ring finger empty, though (he's a romantic and a big ol’ softie).

When he's writing songs or can't figure out what chord would sound right, he plays with his rings. He takes them off, sliding them up and down his finger until he's satisfied and moves on to the others.

It drives him insane if he sees you singing along to his songs at the concerts. He'll smirk at you, opting for a quick wink, before getting back to performing.

After the show, he’ll pull you into his lap, in whatever empty room is available. He’ll have his hands on your hips, the cold rings contrasting against your hot skin.

His heart would be beating so fast, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He just got off stage, and here you are, grinding down on the growing bulge in his pants, driving him crazy.

On most days, he liked it when you would fuck him post-show, sliding your skirt up and sink down on his cock.

He loved watching you fuck yourself dumb around him, tits bouncing in his face, head thrown back in pleasure. His cock would reduce you into an incoherent blubbering mess. The only thing making sense was the way you were chanting his name like a prayer.

this fucker would love to whisper the most filthy things in your ear, “you’re making such a mess around my cock, petal. You’re gonna be a good slut and clean it up after, right?”

when he’s about to cum, he turns into an absolute mess. He gets super whimpery and will hold you close to his chest as he dumps his load in you. He stays like that for a while, watching as his cum drips out of your cunt and down his dick.

He doesn’t let you get off his cock, partly because he’s so sensitive and partly because he secretly wants to stuff you full of his babies.

after he’s calmed down a bit, he’ll open his eyes and run a hand through his hair, letting out a small chuckle, “shit, baby, you keep fucking me like that and I might just have to put a ring around that finger.”

eren yeager

plays bass and is on vocals

he has a sleeve on one arm, and the other one is empty. It's pretty cohesive, and the pieces link together-think American traditional; he takes great pride in his tattoos. After all, they're pieces of art on his body.

He likes showing off on stage. He’ll take off his shirt and throw it into the crowd, and he loves hearing the screams that ensue afterwards.

Always the performer; he’ll walk off the stage and stand on the rails, getting the people in the crowd to run their hands down his sweat-slicked torso. It’s another crowd favourite.

he wears rings too, and his favourite thing to do is to get you to pull them off his fingers using your mouth. He has to coax you into each time, “I can’t pull them off by myself; they’re too tight, need your help, angel.” He just likes having you suck on his fingers; he won’t tell you that, though.

He likes the attention from the fans, but he mainly does it to get you hot and bothered. Eren stares at you while strangers are practically grabbing at him. It’s a game for him. Figure out just how many ways he can get to you.

you always avoid him after the shows, in a way to tell him that you're not impressed by the stunts he pulls.

As much as you try to run and hide, he always finds you. He’ll come up from behind, hands on your waist; you don’t need to see him to know that he’s got that Cheshire cat grin on his face.

Try to escape from his grip, and it’ll only get tighter, “what’d you think of my little performance, princess? Did it make you weak in the knees?”

He loves pushing your buttons, does everything to get a reaction out of you, try all you might, the night always ends the same way, you bent over his dressing room table, skirt lifted, panties to the side, and him fucking ruthlessly into you from behind.

the stoic front you put up would be practically erased from the way his cock slides in and out of your spongy walls, hitting that sweet spot over and over again.

He loves hearing you beg for him; he wants to listen to the vulgar words fall from your mouth, wants to have you begging him to let you cum, pleading for him to cum in your pussy.

He’ll tease you endlessly, “what’s that angel? If you want my cum so bad, you gotta beg better than that.” In the end, he always gives in, also liking the way his seed drips out of your pulsating hole.

Before any can drip down your thighs, he’ll slide back your panties, straighten out your skirt and send you off, saying that, “it’s for later, for when you try fingering that pretty little pussy, you’ll always have a reminder of who owns it.”

Bonus: tour manager! zeke yeager:

tour manager zeke, who watches the shows from the venue’s back, keeping his eyes trained on you.

Tour manager zeke who has a reputation for being a sleazebag, a cheapskate and vile to women.

Tour manager zeke, who watches as you stay back after each show to clean up, smiling ever so sweetly at him, “no mr. yeager, I really don’t mind helping out. It’s the least I can do.”

tour manager zeke, who can’t help think of shameful things when you bend over to pick up the crumpled posters, his eyes that linger a little too long at the swell of your pert ass.

Tour manager zeke thinks about how your mouth would feel around his cock, how your eyes would tear up as he pushed your head further and further down his cock. How pretty you would look with spit and cum coating that sweet face of yours.

Tour manager zeke, who has always been kind to you, offering to take you home for the night, telling you how cute you look and how he can’t believe you’re over 18.

Tour manager zeke wants to defile you and make you his, ruin you so that you can only get off from his cock and no one else’s.

Tour manager zeke wants to teach you how to suck dick, how to ride, how to fuck.

Tour manager zeke, who treats you so nicely, putting false notions in your mind so you can let your guard down around him, hoping that one day he can shape you into his plaything.

a/n: hope the smut sounded right this time around lmao, i might scrap it in the morning again idek yet, just wanted to see if i could even write smut.

I am working on the second part of somewhere only we know !! thank you for all the love on that.

if this does well, i'd love to do a part two to this with armin, mikasa and connie, please let me know if that is something you would be interested in !!

as always, if you enjoyed, leave a like/reblog, i truly appreciate it <33

[monstersdownthepath]

5e Otherworldly Patron: The Bagman

No adventurer of any status or merit tends to adventure without at least one Bag of Holding on their belt, the extradimensional storage spaces allowing for greater and greater hauls of loot... But the Bags often end up going from a useful tool for gathering valuables to the collections of a hoarder unwilling to part with anything, lest it become “useful” at some point “down the road.” It is from these hoards that a wretched, spindly hand can sometimes reach, plucking some unassuming item or treasure from the pile before withdrawing into a space beyond spaces, into an In-Between lingering in the Astral Plane which all such bags, packs, cupboards, and chests connect to.

Sometimes it reaches much further, pale skin feeling the warmth of a world it can never again belong to as its fingers cross the lip of the bag, bathing in the light of a moon it sometimes forgets exists. Sometimes it’s drawn to another source of warmth, a nearby figure slumbering in what it believes to be safety. Sometimes it longs to feel that warmth again, to hear a voice, to see glimpses of what it used to be in the face of the sleeping figure. So its wretched fingers grab and drag, silent as a whisper, and the victim is never seen again.

Usually. Sometimes, rarely, someone manages to escape. Someone like you. You’ve crawled through the kingdom of tributes taken by a king without a name, clawing your way past mountains and towers of junk. You’ve fled the In-Between, frantically grasping the empty air until you felt the fabric of a Bag of Holding beneath your fingers, hauling yourself back out into the world familiar. But finding your way out wasn’t all luck, you did something for the king of the In-Between, the nameless mad thing that the world outside simply calls the Bagman, to allow your escape. What you said, what you did, what you promised, what you will do, or what you will make others do will always vary, but the power the Bagman gifts you will not. All who’ve escaped its grasp gain something for their troubles; trinkets and baubles, scraps of power, bits of magic lore trickling into the mind, all of which are eternal reminders that the Bagman is always lurking nearby, ready to take you back if you disappoint it. And next time, it will never let you leave.

(less depressing alternatives: you lost something valuable to a collapsing Bag and are bargaining for it back, you were studying extradimensional spaces and got Got, you were inside or near a Bag of Holding that got torn and were sucked into the Astral Plane, you leapt in yourself in the hopes of meeting the Bagman and struck the warlock bargain, or more! The above paragraphs just to fit the Mood of Ravenloft as a setting)

EXPANDED SPELL LIST

The following spells are added to the Warlock spell list for you.

1st: Snare, Grease

2nd: Rope Trick, Create Pit (see the very bottom of this post!)

3rd: Tiny Servant, Leomund’s Tiny Hut

4th: Leomund’s Secret Chest, Fabricate

5th: Animate Objects, Passwall

--Bound Bag

At 1st level, the Bagman gifts you with what could be construed as either a token of its appreciation or a reminder that it is always here: a small Bag of Holding. Undecorated and made of crudely stitched leather, weighing 10 pounds and having an opening only 1 ft across and a body about 2ft deep. This Bag can hold only 200lbs of material at a time, up to a volume of 30 cubic feet. If the bag would become overloaded, items and/or creatures inside are suddenly and swiftly forced out into random adjacent spaces until it is no longer overloaded. This Bag cannot be turned inside-out, nor can it be used to create a destructive portal; it refuses to cross the threshold into other extradimensional spaces and allows no such spaces within itself, invisible forces preventing the two from intersecting.

You may use your Bag as if it were a spell components pouch, costless material components appearing within as needed. If your Bag is ever lost to you, you can recall it (and its contents) by undertaking a 4 hour ritual which requires unbroken concentration. If it is ever destroyed, a new (empty) one forms near you when you next complete a long rest.

--Strange Energies

Your body has been changed in small ways from your brief time in the timeless realm, though thankfully in ways you have some control over. By expending a Warlock spell slot as a swift action, you may become inhumanely flexible for a time: for a number of minutes equal to the expended slot’s level, you may move through and occupy spaces as narrow as 6 inches wide without squeezing.

--Gifts from the In-Between

At 6th level, the Bagman begins leaving you small gifts to show its appreciation. Once every seven days, a random Trinket appears either in or near the Bound Bag. Sometimes it may even appear in your hand when you wake up. In addition, you may beseech your patron for aid, asking that it parts with something useful from its kingdom of junk. As an action, you may reach into your Bound Bag and withdraw any nonmagical item of your choice that weighs less than 50 pounds and which costs 50gp or less. Items drawn out in this way are worn, tarnished, and beaten (to the point most merchants would not buy them) but fully effective. Once you use this ability, you must complete a short or long rest before using it again. 

At the DMs discretion, the Bagman may reclaim items gained from this ability if they’re stored within or near any extradimensional space, but it never does so before 24 hours have passed since the item was drawn out.

--Kingdom of Junk

At level 10, your Bound Bag grows larger and more spacious. Its mouth can be stretched up to three feet wide, it physically appears to be three feet deep, and it becomes decorated with crude pictograms of yourself and your adventures, painted by your patron. It can hold up to 500lbs of material, up to a volume of 64 cubic feet, like a proper Bag of Holding. It still retains all other properties of your Bound Bag.

When you use your Gifts from the In-Between ability, the object you draw out can weigh up to 100lbs and cost up to 100gp. It still cannot be magical, and may still be reclaimed by the Bagman later.

--Skip-Between

By level 14, exposure to the minute energies of the In-Between have changed you further, bringing you closer to becoming what the Bagman is... though thankfully not as dramatically. You no longer need to eat, drink, or breathe. You gain six charges of power that let you bend space in minor ways. As an action, you may expend a number of charges in order to cast the following spells without using a Warlock spell slot or requiring any components:

1 charge: Misty Step

3 charges: Dimension Door

6 charges: Teleport

You regain all expended charges after a long rest.

-------

INVOCATIONS

--------

Eye for Value Prereq: Bagman patron

Hopelessly sifting among the mountains of stolen garbage has given you an uncanny knack for finding things that are actually useful. You gain proficiency in Perception and Investigation.

Swift Appraisal Prereq: Bagman patron

You can cast Identify once using a Warlock spell slot but without requiring components. You cannot do so again until you complete a long rest.

Silent Steps Prereq: Bagman patron

When every footfall can elicit the sounds of breaking glass or snapping wood, you quickly learn to exist beneath notice. You gain proficiency in Stealth. You have advantage on Stealth rolls on any turn you have not moved more than 10ft.

Distorted Lives Prereq: Bagman patron, Pact of the Chain

Not everyone drawn into the Bagman’s realm is as lucky as you are. When you summon your familiar, you can instead draw one of the Bagman’s prisoners from the In-Between, letting it taste freedom for a time; this creature takes the form of a Choker whose alignment matches yours, though their appearance may be closer to that of a human or elf. As a bonus action, you can command your familiar to take the attack or multiattack action.

Send Between Prereq: Bagman patron, Pact of the Blade, level 5

As a bonus action after successfully striking an enemy with your pact weapon, you may use your bonus action to force the enemy to make an Intelligence saving throw versus your Warlock spell DC. If they fail, they are briefly shunted through space and reappear in a space you designate within 30ft of you that you can see. This spot may be in the air. You must finish a long rest before using this ability again.

Junk Cannon Prereq: Bagman patron, level 5

You can cast the Catapult spell at 1st level without expending a spell slot or material components. You may target items within your Bound Bag with the spell (provided it weighs between 1 and 5 pounds), even if the Bag is not on your person (you must still be able to see both it and the target), causing them to rocket out of the Bag. Once you’ve cast Catapult in this way a number of times equal to your proficiency bonus, you must complete a long rest to do so again.

Comfort in the Cloth Prereq: Bagman patron, level 5

You can bonelessly slip into your own Bound Bag as an action without counting towards its total storage limits (you may enter even if it is at maximum capacity). You are in no danger of suffocation within your own Bound Bag (though others are not protected, and other extradimensional spaces may still suffocate you), and may take short or long rests within it no matter what it is filled with. If the bag is pierced or torn while you’re inside it, you’re violently ejected along with all the contents and land prone in an adjacent space. Exiting the Bound Bag is an affair that takes one full round.

A Little Bit of Everywhere Prereq: Bagman patron, level 7

The trinkets and souvenirs left by your patron can come from anywhere, holding scraps of power from all across the Great Wheel that you can draw out at their expense. Each time you complete a long rest, select one level 1 spell from any class list. From your Bound Bag you may draw a single, seemingly worthless and often disquieting object (such as a ring studded with teeth, a doll woven of dozens of different dresses, a necklace of rusted chain lengths, etc) with that spell’s energy within it. As an action, you may draw power from this object to cast the selected spell using a Warlock spell slot, casting the spell at the expended slot’s level. Doing so destroys the item. Any item gained with this ability loses its magical spark when you next complete a long rest.

A Generous King Prereq: Bagman patron, level 10

The Bagman graciously shares a small amount of its stolen wealth with you when it leaves you its tokens of favor. Each time you’re gifted a Trinket via Gifts from the In-Between, 1d100+50gp in coins and gems is left alongside it as well.

Grail in the Garbage Prereq: Bagman patron, level 14

You Bound Bag gains 3 charges, signifying the Bagman’s favor. When you use your Gifts from the In-Between ability, you may choose to expend one charge to draw out a magic item of Common rarity, or three charges to draw out a magic item of Uncommon rarity. Items with charges emerge with half as many charges as normal. You cannot draw out an item larger than 3ft on a side or weighing more than 50lbs, nor can you gain an item which requires attunement. All items gained by this ability (or what’s left of them) are reclaimed by the Bagman 24 hours after being drawn out. Your Bag regains 1 charge each time you complete a long rest.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Grail in the Garbage and Skip-Between can be swapped with each other, depending on whichever one you like as base-kit more. I opted for the weirdness of the Bagman leaking into the Warlock but if you want to keep patron and servant separate, just do the switcheroo!

Bold Bribery Prereq: Bagman patron, level 14

Your patron has long provided you with the simple ingredients you’ve needed, but now you may ask for more, using your hoard up as tribute. Whenever you cast a spell which has material components with a listed cost, you may sacrifice items within your Bound Bag to fuel the spell instead. You must sacrifice a number of items whose total combined value equals or exceeds the material component’s cost plus an additional 100 gold. Mundane items (including coins and gems) contribute their normal purchase price. Common magic items contribute 50gp, Uncommon items 500gp, Rare items 2,500gp, and Very Rare items 10,000gp.

Even if the spell does not normally consume its components, items sacrificed in this way are drawn into the In-Between and are lost to you. The items must be present inside of your Bound Bag to be sacrificed. Legendary items, artifacts, cursed items, and sentient magic items cannot be sacrificed in this way.

Boogeyman Prereq: Bagman patron, level 16

As an action while you’re holding your Bound Bag, you may attempt to sacrifice an adjacent Medium or smaller creature to it. That creature must make a Dexterity saving throw versus your Warlock spell DC; on a failure, they are grabbed and dragged within by a long, pale arm. The victim is subject to the Maze spell, except it reappears adjacent to you when it escapes or the spell ends, and the victim takes 2d6 psychic damage each round it remains within the Bag as it is chased through the In-Between by your patron. A creature reduced to 0 HP by this ability is stolen away, their body beyond retrieval. You may draw out its belongings one at a time from the Bag using Gifts from the In-Between, even if they surpass the normal GP limit. Once you have used this ability, you must complete a long rest before it can be used again. If a creature was reduced to 0 inside the Bag, 1d6+1 long rests must pass instead as the Bagman examines the new additions to its collection.

------

NEW SPELL

------

Create Pit Wizard, Sorcerer, Druid, Ranger 2nd level Conjuration Casting Time: 1 action Range: 100ft Components: V, S, M (a miniature shovel worth 10gp) Duration: 1 minute

You create a 10x10ft extradimensional pit on a horizontal surface within range that you can see. The pit is 30ft deep. Since it extends into another dimension, you can create the pit in the deck of a ship as easily as in a dungeon floor or the ground of a forest. Any creature standing in the space of the pit when it is first formed must make a Dexterity saving throw, leaping into a space adjacent to the opening (or flying above it, if it possesses a flight speed) on a success and plummeting to its bottom on a failure, taking 3d6 bludgeoning damage from the fall. A creature without a natural climb speed or another method of easy egress must succeed an Athletics check versus your spell save DC to climb up the rough walls of the pit. The pit lingers in its location for the duration, allowing other creatures to be pushed into or thrown inside. When the spell ends, anything still inside is harmlessly shunted out and lands prone inside the spell’s former space.

At Higher Levels: When you cast this spell with a 3rd level or higher spell slot, its depth increases by 10ft for every slot above 2nd, the falling damage increasing by 1d6 per 10ft. If you cast this spell with a 5th level or higher slot, you may have the pit lined with spikes; this increases the falling damage by an additional 2d6, and deals 1d6 slashing damage per 10ft of distance to creatures trying to climb out.

[keilemlucent]

pretty eyes & starshine: iii

(Mostly SFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i   ||   part ii   ||   part iii​​ (epilogue)

word count: ~2.2k

Nothing ever really ends. It just grows in different ways with different parts. 

warnings: description of post-injury, reader and hawks being traumatized but coping, a soft epilogue

the ending folks :’^) thank you for reading this far. here is something gentle for all of us, with some future, past, and the present for sweet starshine and keigo :’^)

enjoy loves 💞!!

✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧

Keigo doesn’t break promises. 

He loves white lies, the silly kind where he can rib you for a minute or two before soothing any ruffled feathers with quick kisses. He never leaves big wounds, nothing gaping or jagged, just loving pokes in your sides to get you to laugh and quip back at him.

He never goes back on his words that count.

His journeys out of the house remain short and rarely surprising. He never leaves without a goodbye, whether that’s a sleepy fuck or two, or a hand-written, tooth-rotting note on a scrap of paper next to a steaming cup of coffee on the kitchen island.

Keigo’s used to the open skies, rolling forever. The curve of the horizon is his primordial friend that he never got to say goodbye to, but he still chases it a few times a week. Little drives he takes by himself, hikes, and things that he let him feel a bit of that free wind in his shaggy hair. 

It takes you a while, but you don’t look forlornly at the door anymore.

The awareness that of his absence from your little bastion lingers as you move throughout your day, but you know he’s good for his word. He always returns, bearing a toothy grin, and usually an armload of snacks or takeout. 

It’s better, and you’re both a bit more alive. 

...

Spring in the mountains reminds you of something you can’t place. 

The memory of it is foggy, far-off and untouched. Probably a bit dampened from, you know, a year of trauma, but the feeling of it makes your quirk burst to light without fail.

It comes when you notice the little patches of wildflowers that spring up in new grass that rings around the porch. Heat flares in your eyes when you see the little seedlings you and Keigo planted into the window boxes begin to bud and flower. 

The days get longer, sweeter, and the summer comes easily.

...

The bad days never cease, but you both learn to cope to some degree.

Your scar... cracks one day. You’re doing some half-assed stretches in the living room (mostly arching your back so Keigo gets a good peek of your ass) when it happens. Your right leg bends at the knee, and a resounding ‘crack’ and shatter echo off the walls of the cabin. 

You both panic. 

Keigo instantly urges you on the couch, trying to soothe your own panic with little coos from the back of his throat. You feel numb as Keigo shoves up your pant leg, looking for any damage.

The scar looks relatively unchanged. It hasn’t writhed since your days at the hospital, and its edges have only faded a shade or two with time. It’s long, obtrusive, and something you still avoid looking at.

All the same, Keigo traces the gnarly flesh, nimble fingers searching for the source of the sound. Any bit of pain he can identify and soothe, ideally, remove. The pads of his fingers drift to the crook of your knee, pressing against the shiny, black seam of the scar.

His eyes go wide before awe shines through, without a lick of fear. 

He warns you to take a deep breath, ‘breath with him’, before pinching at the glassy center and pulling. There’s a bit of resistance as he pulls, you’re not sure what he’s doing, and you see ‘it’ before you really put it together.

Keigo holds ‘it’ up for you to see.

The inky glass of the scar.

Literal rock. Inky obsidian pulled from your flesh, about the size of your pinky and painfully jagged. 

“W-what is that?” You asked, grabbing his wrist to examine the bit. “That’s... the scar?”

Keigo nods his head, scrutinizing it with you, pinching at it, “Weirdest scab I’ve ever seen.”

Scab.

You have never thought about calling the ugly root of the scar a ‘scab’ but looking at the way it so easily was pulled away, it makes sense. After a bit of examination and tender prodding, the tissue around it looks healthy, albeit thick and burned. The scar goes deep into your flesh, feels raw to the touch, but the skin that’s beneath it is somewhat alive. Maybe too alive, given how sensitive it is.

Nonetheless, you marvel at the little piece of volcanic glass that Keigo had pulled from you like it’s the most precious stone in the world. 

...

It takes a long time to convince both of you.

Keigo never receives another call from Suits, ‘president’, what the fuck her name is. Thank fucking god. His snap seemed to have scared her and her crumbling organization away. You can only hope that it was for good.

The potential return comes from kindness rather than demands. 

Calls from both Endeavor and Miruko, ‘Enji’ and ‘Rumi’ as they insist you call them. Rumi chatters on the phone for hours with Keigo every few weeks, puts the phone on speaker, and has you give your piece as well. You like her, she’s funny and loud and Keigo smiles when he talks to her.

Enji actually visits. 

Once or twice, maybe more. You stop counting when the extra bodies in the cabin don’t have you breaking into a cold sweat anymore. It had taken a great bit of coaxing, but you opened your cabin up for the former pro and his entourage. 

He brings along his daughter and the ‘Three Musketeers,’ as the media calls them. The boys train in the mountains nearby, never lingering too far based on the shouting from the blond one that echoes against the hills. 

The rest of you settle into the walls of the cabin whenever they come to visit. It feels warmer than normal; it makes sweat gather under your arms and in droplets on your forehead. Even if you wanted to attribute the heat to the old flame hero’s presence, it wouldn’t account entirely for your thumping heart. 

You work through it, slowly. 

You like watching Keigo and Enji. They both look worn. Keigo’s a bit too young for grey hair, but Enji has more than his fair share around his temples. The beard around his jaw glints silver in the lowlight of the cabin whenever he tilts his head to sip at his tea.

They smile like old friends, talk like it too. 

You end up in the kitchen a lot during their talks, distantly cooking and observing. You’re always listening to their stories, the banter. It’s hard to keep up with, a lingering vestige of Keigo’s old persona that clings to him and his mannerisms.

You don’t mind it, even if it feels foreign.

...

“Can you pass me that honey, dear?” Fuyumi asks, voice sweet and close.

You nod, sliding her the jar across the corner top. She carefully spoons a glob of the thick liquid into the four waiting mugs, humming just under her breath. 

The cabin feels warm, and it’s not just the ambient heat Enji gives off. 

The ‘three musketeers’ plan to camp in the mountainside and ‘rough it’. You couldn’t imagine the freshly-greened hills giving them too much trouble. They bicker, you have found, constantly. Blunt jabs from Enji’s son, met by explosive remarks from the blond one (why is his hero name so long? You can never remember it well.) Consider your growing aversion to loud noise, you like Deku the best. He seems like the peacekeeper (and peacemaker) of the trio and compliments your cooking. What a gem.

The guest room has been polished into an actual guest room. Fuyumi takes it, and Enji, bless his heart, takes the creaky fold-out couch. He doesn’t mind, he tells you, something about enjoying tending to the hearth at night.

Keigo calls the nights where they fill the house ‘sleepovers’, and he adores them.

They’re a bit overwhelming for you if you’re being honest. But Enji is far less intimidating now that you’ve seen him nodding off and slack-faced on your couch. Fuyumi has patience you’ll never fully understand, and babies you a bit, which you don’t welcome but don’t refuse either. 

She does just that, scooping up three mugs after pushing your own toward you. You regather and sit next to Keigo at the kotatsu, slipping your legs under the thick blanket and sagging with the heat. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he presses you into his side, pressing a few kisses to the top of your head. It’s an idle action, habitual and welcomed as the conversation flows.

(Something about one of Keigo’s old sidekicks. Another about Endeavor’s agency, still chugging along with him at the helm, albeit not as an active hero. The new hero charts, the new rules established, legislation. Things are getting... safer, a semblance of order being re-established now that much of the League has been apprehended.)

(Things are settling, as horrifying as the change is.) 

The thought of so much makes you sleepy, long-standing exhaustion heavy in your bones. You nod off at some point to the kind, safe voices. 

Keigo coaxes you awake once the conversation dies down.

“Love,” he purrs, rubbing your side, “let’s get up now and get you to bed.”

You follow him, the way he rises and guides you to the bathroom to help you ready for bed. Enji is settling on the couch, tugging a few throws over himself on the futon. You give him a shallow wave with half-lidded eyes, meeting his own.

Eye contact feels hard, but you manage to hold it for a few seconds.

In the bathroom, you pop onto the counter and slowly brush your teeth. Sleep clings to you, and you know it’ll return quickly, but the process of moving and interacting wears you down so easily. Your toothbrush almost slips from your grip.

“Just a little more, and then you can rest, dove,” Keigo urges, reverent as he finishes his own routine in tandem. You watch as he splashes water on his face, wetting the tufts of hair that fall around his face.

The cabin feels warmer. 

You notice it as you enter the bedroom, Keigo already hopping into bed to assemble the ‘nest’ as both affectionately refer to it. The old throw, a few extra soft blankets, and a buttery soft duvet must be arranged just right before he is satisfied. 

 Keigo knows it’s a remnant.

He carries plenty of them, little chunks of him that are old and worn, old and unused. He can shake them, can’t bury them, they just simply are.

The birdish ones are nice, he thinks. He likes that he can preen you. He loves that you can preen him. That you’ll indulge him in that way, running your hands through his overgrown hair. You detangle any knots, soothe the snarls and rub at his neck until he’s liquid in your lap. 

He likes nesting. The cold of the cabin can be almost forgotten in the little nests he makes. The mountains of bedding and pillows that you both can settle in. It’s peaceful, and it's shared, and things are okay. 

It’s all slow, and a bit tedious, things that the remnants of ‘Hawks’ scream and thrash at. But, really? Keigo has no reason to listen to a ghost. He tries not to let himself be haunted. 

He indulges himself for the first time in his life, probably.

As Keigo nestles you into the sheets beside him, he gives you a bit of room to get comfortable. Adjusts your pillows how you like, tangle your legs together in the comfiest way. Your own version of nesting that makes his palms sweat and his words turn to mush.

You settle together, chest to chest, Keigo’s chin hooked over the top of your head. 

“Did you have a good day?” You ask, soft and sleepy.

Keigo nods easily, “I did. Enji doesn’t seem to quite as much of a square as he was a few years ago.”

You snort, muffling a giggle into his chest, “He’s definitely a little bit of a square. But I like him.”

“He offered to host us at the estate if we ever want to go back.”

You swallow, thick and slow, and try to bury yourself deeper in him, “... Do you want to go back?”

“No.” He pauses. “Maybe. Not yet, and not anytime soon. But the offer is on the table. It’s nice to have, even if we don’t take it.”

It’s insurance, somewhere else to tuck yourselves away if the mountains stop favoring you. 

The thought of the future makes your head spin, as it tends to. The scar aches, but maybe it’s a tad duller than it was a few months ago. The pains only last a few moments, only stab so deeply. The place where the little chunk of obsidian fell out doesn’t feel quite as tender. 

You lay your cheek on Keigo’s chest, your breath coming in time with his. 

“‘M tired,” You murmur into his chest. “Can I sleep?”

“Of course, starshine.” He pushes back your hair, clears your forehead to press his lips to the skin, lightly. Little kisses piling up on top of each other. “Get some rest.”

“You too, pretty eyes.”

You both need it. For more than just a day with the folks who stuck around. You and Keigo need more rest than a being can responsibly accumulate during a human life. There are things to be stitched, worn parts of you that need tending to, and burns that’ll need salve until the day you die. It’s not any less than it was in the month’s past.

But it’s easier to manage. 

You snuggle into Keigo’s chest, drifting off to the thought of fresh coffee and crackling heat.

✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧

thank you for reading!!💞

ko-fi

[heyitssmiller]

Bewitched, Body and Soul

So... this happened. Blame the Discord. Basically, the premise is receiving a note from a stranger about having similar tastes in books, and my first thought was Finn/Leo. And now, around 24 hours later, this showed up in my word document. Hope y’all like it!! And don’t worry, I’ve already got a sequel planned with Logan ;)

All characters, of course, belong to the wonderful @lumosinlove

And, if you’re so inclined, check out my Masterlist if you enjoy this story! <3

CW: food/drink

.

Leo loved this bookstore. There was a west-facing windowfront that allowed all sorts of afternoon light to shine through, creating a large, warm sunspot right in Leo’s favorite armchair. The shelves were always neatly organized by category, there was a featured book of the week, and there was a coffee shop sequestered to one corner of the building. What else did he need in life? He’d spent countless hours here, sitting with a new book and a cup of coffee or tea and getting lost in whatever world he’d been transported to within the crisp pages and black ink. Being new to the city, there were probably better ways to make friends, but there was something so soothing, so comfortingly familiar about shutting off the worry in his mind and just focusing on the story unfolding in his hands.

But when his stomach growled loudly in protest, he figured he needed to put reading on hold.

There was a wrinkled, jagged-edged scrap of paper sitting on top of Leo’s book when he returned to his table, café pastry in hand. It hadn’t been there a second ago. Curiously, Leo set his food down and inspected the foreign paper. Messy, inelegant scrawl slanted across the page in deep blue ink. The lines were uneven and chaotic; the i’s weren’t even dotted, almost as if it took too much effort to go back and add them in. Leo found it strangely endearing. It read:

           Hi!

           I don’t think we’ve met, but based on your choice of literature I think we would make great friends. :)

-        Carrot Top

Leo smiled, read it again, and looked around for the person who sent it but no one acknowledged him, seemingly lost in stories of their own. So he sat there, a smile still on his face as he got back to his book, using the note as a bookmark.

~~~

Finn couldn’t help himself when, a few days later, he left another note after seeing the guy with good taste in books again at the bookstore. He was at what must have been his usual table, seemingly right where Finn had left him. The only difference besides the clothes he was wearing was the book he was reading. Finn let himself linger on his profile, just for a second – the gentle slope of his nose, the way his curls rested against his forehead, how bright blue eyes scanned the pages below him.

Finn wasn’t one for love at first sight; that was for romance novels only. But instant attraction? Oh yeah. He was definitely there.

He picked up a small flyer from the front desk, flipped it over, and began to write.

And maybe it wasn’t a good way of, as the kids said these days, “shooting his shot”. But it was a start. And it was fun – the thrill of trying not to get caught, the anonymity. Sure, one day he’d maybe get up the courage to talk to him in person, but he was happy with this for now.

           Hmm… haven’t read that one. Might have to get myself a copy!

-        The Walking Freckle

After dropping the note off while the blond walked off to take a phone call, Finn tried to act casual as he stared sightlessly down at his own book instead of over at the cute stranger like he desperately wanted to.

Don’t be suspicious, don’t be suspicious…

If he was being completely honest, he didn’t really know where to go from here. Did the blond think the notes were creepy? Or weird? He never seemed to mind much, but… well, a stranger was repeatedly leaving notes for him. What if it was making him uncomfortable? Would it make things better or worse if Finn introduced himself?

A snort came out, unbidden. Yeah. Right. That would go well. Finn could practically see it now: he would be clumsy and awkward, probably spilling coffee all over the guy’s book or – even worse – all over him. He’d scare him off for sure.

But at the same time, Finn wanted nothing more than to meet him. To sit down across the table from him and debate the points of the book he was reading, or give book recommendations, or just talk. About literally anything. Finn wasn’t a picky guy. He could sit there and let him speak for hours, absorbing any and all knowledge about him like a sponge. Did the corners of those bright, blue eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiled? Did his cheeks get all flushed when he was passionate about something, just like Finn’s? What was the story behind the soft-looking tuft of gray hair at his temple?

Who was he?

Finn was overflowing with questions, and desperate for the answers.

But he needed to go about this the right way, didn’t he? The last thing he wanted to do was screw this up. So he closed his book, propped his chin in his hand so that he could stare out the window, and started to plan.

~~~

The next note threw Leo for a bit of a loop. He’d saved his table with his coat thrown over one of the chairs and went up to the New Books section, surreptitiously keeping an eye on his table and hoping that he’d catch his note-sender red-handed.

Leo could’ve sworn that he’d looked away for half a second, but – well, he got distracted by a book, so it easily could’ve been five minutes for all he knew. This note was written on one of the café napkins, the ink bleeding through in some spots and a few small tears in the delicate material.

Nice choice! That book absolutely shattered my heart and then pieced it back together. The way she writes love lost just hurts so beautifully, doesn’t it?

I like your sweater by the way.

Fuck I hope that’s not creepy.

I’m not a stalker, I promise. I just think you’re really cute. And you have amazing taste in books. I’d like to learn more, if you’d let me. :)

But first, you have to figure out who I am! Good luck!

-        Your Not-So-Secret Admirer in the Tortoiseshell Glasses

He smiled, wide and happy, and looked around for tortoiseshell glasses, red hair, and freckles. Those were the only three clues he had so far. So he quickly scanned the crowded café, looking for anyone who fit the description. The only one even close was a freckled, redheaded guy at the corner table, but no glasses.

That was a shame, too. He was stunning.

The mystery bibliophile must already be gone, then. Or hiding.

Looked like Leo had his work cut out for him. He did always like a challenge.

~~~

It probably wasn’t Finn’s best idea to take his glasses off. He couldn’t see a damn thing and was left squinting down at his book, trying to determine if what he was seeing was an F or a P.

That smile, though… he could’ve seen that dimpled smile from all the way across the street.

He never thought he’d be pining for a stranger like this, but then again – he wasn’t a complete stranger, was he? After all, you could learn a lot about a person by their book preferences. Finn wasn’t normally known for being a good judge of character – he was too optimistic, too unwilling to see the bad in people. But damn, did he hope he was right about this one.

~~~

Finn had probably been too bold with the note he’d just dropped off, but when he’d seen what book that his new maybe-friend was reading, he knew he couldn’t just pass up an opportunity like that.

He didn’t wait to see the reaction this time – he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He just left the short note on top of the book while the blond was at the café counter and booked it (pun definitely intended) out of there as fast as he could.

           You have bewitched me, body and soul. <3

-        Bambi

~~~

He should’ve waited. Leo’s reaction, all bashful smile and bright red face and pleased expression, would’ve been worth it.

~~~

Leo went back to the bookstore pretty much every day after that, intent on finding this person. Not only was this a fun little game they were playing, but it would be nice to finally have a friend in the city. He still didn’t know anyone besides his coworkers and… well, he was a little lonely. A friend would be nice, especially one who had a shared interest in books.

The only thing left to do was to find them.

Red hair, freckles, glasses, and big doe eyes.

Leo looked for the only four defining traits he had, methodically starting in the front of the store and weaving through isle after isle of bookshelves. When that proved unsuccessful he moved on to the café, gaze landing on the queue first before lurching to a stop at the glimpse of a shock of auburn hair in the far corner booth. Heart hammering in his chest, Leo used his height to his full advantage and peered over the line of people.

Freckles, Glasses, Big, doe eyes.

If he needed any more confirmation, the stranger – the very cute stranger – was reading the same book Leo had been reading a week ago. The one his anonymous friend said they hadn’t read yet.

It had to be him.

Leo didn’t let himself think about it too much – he knew he’d panic if he did. He just strode over and sat down across from him, setting his book down on the table with a quiet thud. The note-writer jumped a little, then lifted wide brown eyes to look up at him.

Oh, but he was gorgeous.

“So what part are you at?” Leo asked, eyes taking in everything they could now that he was close enough – that messy red hair that just barely curled at the ends, the hint of scruff on his jaw, brown eyes shifting from shade to shade in the afternoon light filtering through the window beside him. Soft, mesmerizing lips curved into the beginnings of a smile that Leo couldn’t help but be transfixed by. “Have you gotten to the part where Patroclus dies?”

Finn stared back, trying to look horrified but he knew he was smiling so much that they counteracted each other because, finally, he’d figured it out. “I can’t believe you’d break rule number one of having a reading buddy: don’t spoil the ending.”

Dimples.

“Oops.”

Finn was done for.

“I’m Finn,” he managed to stammer, aiming for his best smile and probably looking like he’d just tasted something awful instead.

“Leo,” his companion said with a warm smile. Then he frowned. “Wait, no. Go back. You can’t spoil the ending of a story that’s literally thousands of years old.” The blond leaned back in his chair, sipping his coffee and watching in amusement as Finn gaped at him in horror. He could feel his cheeks and ears getting red, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“That’s so not the point!”

Leo laughed, then motioned for Finn to state his case. And then Finn was off, forgetting all about his nervousness and tendency to be awkward. He ranted about that topic for… well, he didn’t really know how long, but it was a while. Leo didn’t even bat an eye, keeping pace well and interjecting with his own points calmly and collectedly – the gentle breeze to Finn’s tornado. He was smiling, too, even though sometimes he tried to hide it behind the rim of his coffee cup. And he was smart, Finn learned as they jumped from one topic to the next and the minutes ticked by. He knew a lot about literature, like Finn, but he could also make these random connections to all kinds of different topics that Finn would’ve never thought of, all while keeping up with Finn’s fast-paced brain and tendency to jump down rabbit holes.

It was an instant connection, the likes of which Finn had never experienced before. It was intoxicating. Finn felt like he could never get enough.

During a lull in between one conversation and the next, Leo pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it over, looking suddenly and inexplicably shy. Finn cocked his head confusedly, then unfolded the paper and looked down.

           Would you like to go on a date sometime?

PS: I’m free tonight if you are. :)

-        The Guy Who’s Been Crushing on You for Weeks

Finn’s heart threatened to burst. “Absolutely.” He hesitated, just for a second, then decided to go for it. “Are you free now? I know a pretty great café nearby.” With a wiggle of his eyebrows, he jerked his thumb at the bookstore café and earned a laugh. He wondered what he could do to earn another.

“Sounds perfect.”

They walked over to the counter together, the backs of their hands just barely brushing – it was still enough to make Finn hyperaware of every miniscule movement and get his pulse hammering. Leo was teasing Finn for his terrible eyesight in a soft, southern drawl – something Finn definitely wasn’t expecting but sure as hell wasn’t complaining about, his fingers deliberately playing with Finn’s now, and Finn knew it was going to be a good night. It was already a good night; how could it possibly get any better?

“What can I get for you?”

Leo and Finn looked up at the barista and their eyes widened in tandem as they took in thick chestnut waves, long, dark lashes, and bottle-green eyes. He wasn’t smiling, not necessarily. His expression was fairly neutral, all things considered – except for those eyes. If you stared at then long enough, you could see just the faintest whisper of amusement.

They both looked down slightly, searching for a nametag. There, in bold black letters, read:

Logan.

[haloud]

malex week day 1 - meet ugly

This fic is just a part of a larger space au which i hope to be able to complete and bring to its full glory. however far away that day may be, i hope you enjoy this first look :)

--

In this strange, vast, and wonderful galaxy, one could find princes in the strangest of places. Alex found his in a scrap heap, digging for fuel cells.

He approached with his hands in his pockets, the low, swollen sun of Kolesar-LV at his back so Guerin had to squint to look at him, and when Guerin hailed him with a raised hand he hailed back and donned a smile.

Hand shading his eyes, Guerin said, “Hey there, stranger. Didn’t expect to see another soul out as far as here.”

“Better pickings out this far,” Alex replied. He stayed where he was at the base of the precarious scaffolding of spare parts and derelicts. The last thing he needed was to lose his balance halfway up.

“Shit. My winning strategy has been discovered.”

Guerin tossed the twisted bit of casing in his hands over his shoulder and wrenched free another part off the carcass of an autobarge several decades rusted through. He held it up to the sun and it hung there for him to get a good look at it, eyes squinted to glittering slits against the glare, and then he tossed it aside, all without using his hands.

“What are you looking for?” Guerin asked. “Many hands, light work.”

Alex shrugged. “Just salvage. Anything worth flipping for cash.”

“Creditors on your ass?”

“I’ve got some debts I’d like to stay ahead of, and I’d rather leave it there, stranger.”

“Fair enough.”

Metal shrieked as Guerin dug deeper beneath the exoskeleton of the barge, rummaging for its entrails.

“Tell you what,” Guerin continued, face screwed up in concentration, voice strained. “You help me find a fuel cell that can still hold enough juice to get me to Butuk, and you can keep everything else we dredge up plus 40% of what I’ve set aside today.”

“Sounds more than fair to me.”

“Then we’ve got ourselves a deal.”

Guerin stuck out his right hand, firm, warm, calloused grip, and helped Alex mount the pile. Alex led with his left foot, pulling the right one, carbon fiber and biosteel, up behind him.

Neither of them were much for chatting while they worked, so they passed the last of the good light in a nice, flat silence that matched the calm in Alex’s mind, the stillness of planning and purpose.

They didn’t find Guerin’s fuel cell, but he wouldn’t be needing it anyway.

“Shit,” Guerin spat. “I really thought this spot would be the one.” He wiped his hands on his thighs and checking the horizon as the sun slipped lower and redder. There was nothing for it; night was coming on quick.

“My condolences,” Alex replied, but Guerin waved him off.

“I’ll figure something out.”

The words were bitter behind his teeth.

“Is there somewhere you need to be in a hurry?”

“I thought we weren’t doing intimate confidences, stranger?”

“Alright, then,” Alex said mildly.

But as they descended the scaffold, unable to look each other in the face in conversation, Guerin started talking again.

“I got everywhere I need to be in a hurry. Anywhere. I want off this rock and out.”

“You’re running from something? The law?”

“Something like that. Unless you’re gonna get twisted up about a little aiding and abetting. Then I’m just out for a joyride.”

“I’ve got enough problems of my own to deal with. It doesn’t bother me at all.”

They hit the ground, Guerin’s boots first, but he lingered until Alex was shoulder to shoulder with him as well.

“I never got your name,” Guerin said.

“Just as well, fugitive,” Alex replied, and with an easy laugh, Guerin held up his hands in surrender.

“Okay, then.” His eyes scanned Alex up and down. “You human?”

“Mm.”

“Let me help you carry the swag back to your rig so you don’t have to try and land it out here.”

“That’s decent of you.”

“Maybe I’m the decent sort.”

He grinned a full-faced, twinkle-eyed grin at that. A charmer’s grin. So Alex smiled back at him in his usual stoic way, favored him with the faint smile of the charmed, and let him think his thoughts.

“Okay, sure. Let’s go.”

They walked each other home in the dusk, then, bundle of scrap floating serenely behind them. One of Alex’s feet still got tired, and by the time they reached the dock it was, so the lurking bulk of his rig was like an oasis in the desert when they paused at the ramp.

“Let me go up and light her up,” Alex said. “I’m always forgetting to leave a light on when I’m going to be out.”

“Nah, you’re playing your cards right. You keep more solar in your cells that way.”

“Is that what’s got you in this bind?”

“Nope. I just like to go fast.”

“That’ll get you in trouble every time.”

In the dim light of other ships’ headlamps, Guerin leaned his hip against Alex’s bulwark and tilted his head. Hooded eyes scanned Alex from tip to toe once more, a different kind of assessing. “You prefer going slow?”

“Slow and steady wins the race.”

“That must be a saying I’m not familiar with.”

“An old Earth American saying. I wouldn’t expect you to be.”

“Oh yeah? How come?”

“Oasian. The telekinesis pretty much gives it away.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Guerin’s face turned sheepish, and the floating pallet of salvage settled neatly to the ground.

“I’ll get the lights. Hey…” he trailed off, waited until Guerin shifted his weight, pointed his whole personal gravity toward Alex’s orbit, then continued. “…Would you like to come up? I’ve got plenty of coffee to share a cup, and yours is the friendliest face I’ve seen in cycles.”

Guerin chewed his lip, and Alex waited, hands back in his pockets, for things to settle into place.

“You know what? Why the hell not. It’s not like I’m going anywhere tonight anyway.”

Alex let a full smile take over his face, then, ducking his head away like he was embarrassed, and went to the keypad with a bouncing step, punching in his access code. The ramp unfurled smoothly.

“After you,” he gestured Guerin in.

The ramp folded itself back up politely once they were inside. Past the airlock, the entryway was stark and functional, separated from the cockpit by a wall of crysteel strong enough to withstand any regulation energy blast or ballistic. If he encountered anything outside regulation, he dealt with it on a case by case basis.

Guerin’s gaze traveled curious over the whole place, and Alex let him look. “It’s nothing special,” he said.

“Is it home?” Guerin replied. Something in his tone, something lilting and honest and yearning, made Alex fumble for his words for the first time that day.

“I—don’t know, actually. It’s where I bunk down and where I spend my time and…yeah, I guess it must be.”

Too much. Reel it back.

Clearing his throat, Alex jerked his head toward the hatch tucked neatly against the left wall. “The kitchen and sitting area are below.”

“Lead the way.”

Alex did. He’d been up and down this ladder a thousand times. Going first gave him the split second he needed to get the upper hand.

From above, Guerin said, “Are we ready for names yet? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Alex just laughed—genuinely, but he’d forgive himself for it, here on the edge of checkmate. Would Guerin give him a true name? Was he that confident? That arrogant? That naïve and trusting?

One of those must be true, because here he was, as if he’d been gift wrapped. Alex hadn’t even had to use the blaster holstered beneath his jacket, or the cuffs disguised as a chain dangling off his belt like some accessory.

Guerin’s feet hit the ground. It would take him less than a heartbeat to turn around and figure out he’d been had, but he’d been had too many heartbeats ago for one more to matter now.

“What—”

His voice didn’t get a chance to lift at the end to ask the question before Alex had one foot planted, the other pivoting, a hand with purchase in the back of Guerin’s shirt. A simple transfer of force saw him staggering across the floor of the tiny one-cell brig, and with one press of Alex’s thumb to his PD, bars shot down from the ceiling and up from the floor, and Guerin was cleanly caught.

Almost bloodless, too. A bead of scarlet, a dull glisten like oil in the dim light, decorated his lip. He must have hit his face as he stumbled and split it.

Damn. Almost perfect.

“What the fuck is this?” Guerin demanded, voice high and tight, eyes too wide, whites showing all around his brown irises. He still wore the grime of the day’s work in the creases of his clothes, the lines of his hands, in streaks across his no longer laughing face.

“The joyride is over,” Alex said. “I’m contracted to bring you back to your father’s estate. This journey can be comfortable, or it can be uncomfortable. The choice is—”

“Spare me the cliches! You fucking shit! You hustled me! I was nice to you, I…”

His head whipped around, but Alex had been thorough in preparing for this job. There was nothing for him to throw, and when his narrowed eyes settled on Alex himself, Alex said:

“I’m shielded against Oasian influence. I’ve been around the block, Guerin. It’s nothing personal.”

“Nothing personal.” He repeated the words in a hollow voice, with a hollow laugh, and he dug the heel of his hand into one eye. “Fuck.”

Then, in a sudden explosion of fury, Guerin roared and slammed his fist into the wall. As sudden as it had come on, the fury left him, and his shoulders slumped, a shudder running over his shoulders and down his back.

With a few more button presses, a cot slid out of the wall, blanket and pillow placed neatly in the center.

“Life support is set to my circadian rhythm, but you have basic light control from there.” Alex indicated the panel just above the head of the cot. “There’s a hatch to your right that leads to a toilet and shower stall. I’ll bring you your meals.”

“Eat them yourself and choke on them,” Guerin said, and Alex figured that was likely to be the end of the conversation.

“See you at 0600, Guerin.”

As Alex mounted the first rung of the ladder, Guerin slammed his hand on the control panel and plunged them both into darkness. But in the ghostly light of his PD screen, when Alex looked back over his shoulder, he could see Guerin fall onto the cot with his head low in his hands, almost touching his knees, bent double in despair.

[spiltscribbles]

Oooo it’s my birthday today and I neeeeeed my sweet boys, is it too greedy if I ask for you to write something absolutely adores like you always do. I can wait there’s no rush. It would really make my day a whole lot better

~Notes: HI HI BABY!!! I’m so so fucking sorry this is like two days late 😭😭😭 I am a piece of shit and I had an idea and then I scrapped it and then I came up with this crack shit! But I included singling like you wanted!! And ILU endlessly!!! I hope your birthday was at least filled with sunlight and friends and all the adoration you deserve🎉🎉🎂🥳🎈🎈🎈🎊🎊🥳🎁. And I hope this isn’t a shitty gift!😭😭

.-

Send Me A Prompt<3  |  A Reblog is like a hug!!!!

.-

The 4 Times People Suspected About Remus and Sirius, and The One Time They Called It By Name

.-

~I~

Peter notices it first.

He doesn’t know quite what it is, or what it means— Peter doesn’t understand what it entails when he’s watching the way Sirius gently thumbs at a high patch on Remus’s cheek while he’s sleeping on the hospital bed after the first full moon of fourth year, a fraught look in his stormy eyes. Or how Remus’s gaze always search Sirius out first after he’s made a wry comment in the expense of the Slytherins, going alight with the other boy’s laughter. Peter doesn’t comprehend the way it sometimes seems like he’s caught in some sort of static— a negative space that makes him feel out of bounds— when he’s alone with only the pair of them. When they’re all huddled around the common area or their dormitory while James is probably skulking in search of Lily Evans or cajoling the other chasers to have another lap around the court. With Remus lounging on his fourposter, or the sofa, reading one of the infinite books he’s got tucked away in his trunk, and Sirius is quietly  sat by his feet, toying with a non-magical contraption he’s found in Muggle London after sneaking out from his ancestral home while his folks were having a row. And Peter is ordinarily just fiddling with a scroll he has to finish for one of the tougher courses from a bit away, intermittently  glancing at them side long, just waiting for an excuse to leave the suffocating ambiance that feels like it’s been fitted for just the pair of them and not another soul.

But the most peculiar part about all of this is that Peter is accustomed to feeling like the spare, the cast off who’s clinging to the glimmering forms that are James and Sirius, and their ravenous appetite for any and all attention that’s given over because that’s the sort of boys they are— affluent and prominent and radiating with a sort of spark that’s all there own— the sort of boys that others find doubtless that they are something miraculous. But when Peter’s around just the pair of them, in the corner of the galaxy that the marauders have carved for them to rule like kings— It never feels quite so stilted, so weighty. Sirius and James have a gift of making everyone in the room feel like they’re in on the joke, that they could be showered with that same granger just as long as they play in the tableau. Remus and Sirius together feels the contrary of that, like there’s something pregnant lying between them, waiting to pounce. Like there’s an understanding that no one else gets to glimpse at, and no one else should try. An understanding  that’s personal and private and crackling with an energy that is far beyond anything between mere friends, beyond anything Peter could fathom with all his fifteen years.

Idly, over supper after an entire two hours being stuck between that strange tension simmering beneath the surface of Remus and Sirius, Peter wonders for the umpteenth time on whether he should ask James about this development in their small brotherhood, should ask him if he’s detected the difference there. And if he has, Peter will listen to James’s plan to ensure this doesn’t ruin anything. How whatever is brewing under the surface won’t absolutely ruin them.

But then, from the corner of his eye, Peter sees Sirius— none to gently— piling Remus’s plate with an abundance of the potatoes that Moony likes best, dipping down to whisper something in his ear— something surely lecherous— before tousling his curls in that brash, bombastic way of his that he does with Peter and James too, even if he ends it by gingerly cupping the nape of Remus’s neck with a surreptitious squeeze that ends just as quickly as it began, falling back into conversation with James and Marlene about the Wasps’s chances against the Harpies this Friday night as if it was just an innate action, even if it’s one Peter’s only ever witnessed him doing to Remus.

And even though there’s another full in two days, and even though Remus looks like a walking inferi— pale faced and exhausted posture and circles the color of midnight smudged beneath his eyes— Peter watches the ends of his lips quirk up into the best approximation of a smile Peter’s ever seen on him so close to the wolf breaking through the surface of his body that’s all skin and bones, and he isn’t sure if it’s a trick of the light or not, but Remus actually looks like he might be glowing over the strange attention that Sirius’s only ever paid to him.

So no… No, Peter doesn’t think he’ll ask James quite yet, reckons that if anything can help his moon plagued friend, that it must be something good, something that shouldn’t be tempered with.

They can figure out how the strange string pulling Remus and Sirius together will alter their brotherhood later on, there’s still time. There’ still a possibility that it won’t devastate everything.

~II~

Lily’s suspected for a while.

The thing is that she’s known about Remus since the end of third year, when he rebuffed the advances of an eager Heleen  Abed, and Lily found him on the ledge of the largest window in the vacant common room— the same one that they regularly commandeer with Mary McDonald to discuss the finer points of Muggle politics and current events, separate from the melting pot of their Gryffindor class that’s composed of either pure bloods or those with their closest Muggle relative being a long dead grandparent. And it was definitely a dangerous, knife’s edge she was playing at, but Lily had sat besides the boy who she’s cultivated a real and true friendship with— one beyond pleasant platitudes and fodder about their course work— and she told him about her cousin Joey with green spiked hair and a mischievous smile adorned with a sparkling stud and how she and Petunia had caught him holding hands with one of his friends from sixth-form in the garden of her Aunt’s cottage, and how even the sneer on her older sisters lips hadn’t deterred Lily from thinking anything but mild indifference about the situation. Only wanting her cousin to always live in that easy effervescence she’s always known when it came to him.

And nothing else was exchanged between them, but Remus had grinned in that barely perceptible way of his, and Lily had nudged his shoulder with her own and then fished out her final handful of chocolate frogs for them to share while they revise their notes for the transfiguration exam coming up. 

Two summers have past since then—they’re in the midst  of their final term of fifth year now— and she thinks that they’ve become even closer, that the frequent late nights in the library for their impending OWLs and their countless prefect rounds has helped forge a real and true bond— especially that whole snag earlier in the year when they had realized they were both snogging Leon Bennett on alternating nights behind greenhouse three. But all of that withstanding, Lily knows that there are still secrets Remus keeps tight to his chest, ones that Lily’s analytical mind— the mind of a potions expert and future healer— has suspected to do with the thin, silvery scars running down his strong hands that are all tapered fingers and slender wrists, and another across his right bicep that she saw when he had changed his robes for a jumper in front of her, and the one cutting down from the bottom of his ear and nearly across the entire length of his neck, ending at the corner of his sharp collarbone. But Lily suspects he’ll tell her about that soon enough, what she isn’t so confident about is him admitting that particularly dazed look he gets when around Black, of all people. The way he stammers his words occasionally and the way he worries on his bottom lip while averting his glance when Sirius is chatting up a very pleased looking girl, and the way he flushes when Lily is ribbing about him in particular. And Lily knows that the foursome of Gryffindor boys had a falling out of sorts before winter hols, that there’s a hairline fracture between them and Remus now— one that she’s sure no one else can pick up on after the way they had seemingly come back together in late January, right before her birthday funnily enough. But Lily’s always been the analytical  sort— the sort to absorb the barebones of a situation so she could conjure a hypothesis that she could prove after careful study.

So Lily knows that it’s something deeper, and she can see  how Remus is reticent around them in ways she’s actually worried won’t be shaken off anytime soon— which is all levels of bazaar considering she’s been telling Remus for years that he needs to shrug off his rowdy mates like a snake shedding an old coat. But before, when she’d barb as much he’d only stick out his tongue and tell her what happens to busybodies, and how she doesn’t really know them at all. But now days, he just looks particularly hurt, and more than a bit put out, and Lily catches him flickering over to wherever Sirius was holding court, longing in a way she couldn’t possibly articulate out loud.

Honestly Lily thinks it’s really quite gracious of her to have dropped the subject completely, rather, she takes up the mantel of his friend that can distract him from all those sorts of woes, biting her tongue over his lingering feelings for Sirius that are more than likely far beyond a passing fancy. And she thinks that maybe that’s a good call, maybe it’s good for Remus to beat down those sorts of emotions  that he’s harboring for the wanker. She knows Remus, and she knows he wouldn’t hold a grudge— even such a quiet one— for no reason at all. Besides, she doesn’t really think it’s her place to tell him how when he’s glancing away, Sirius is holding vigil to him with that same sort of fervor. That Sirius is the one who collects the notes for all his classes on those conspicuous absences of his when Remus is feeling poorly in the infirmary. That Sirius occasionally looks so very gutted when Remus is wilting away from them, when he seeks Lily’s company instead.

She has a heavy suspicion that Remus might already know all of those things— that maybe they’ve already discussed it at length, that maybe the falling out in December has caused a full stop of anything that could’ve potentially blossomed between them. And she just wishes she knew the entire story so she could decide on whether she should be jinxing Black’s face to a putrid orange color, or pushing Remus to actually give him a chance.

Lily just wishes she could read Black as easily as she can Remus, maybe that would help in this experiment she’s testing, because for now she’s just confused as all hell over what exactly Black feels towards him. Well that is until it’s a fortnight before Remus’s birthday, and she’s being bodily dragged into a closet on her way to charms.

“Oi— What the bloody—“

“Language, Evans,” the annoyingly familiar baritone of Sirius Black tsks, lighting up the cupboard with his wand and smirking in that jagged way she’s heard countless girls tittering over, and the one that makes her want to pop him one right against his ridiculously smug face.

“Black,” she says, caustic as all get out with her fists clenched against her sides and her brows making a really resilient effort to meet in the middle. “You’ve got thirty seconds before I hex your bollocks off.”

“Pff, and Jamie thinks you’re some sort of saint.”

“Twenty-eight. Twenty-seven. Twenty-six.”

Sirius pulls a face at her, but must understand the credence in the words, because it’s not another moment more before he pulls out a bedraggled looking slip of paper from his robe’s pocket, and thrusts it at her face. So with an indignant huff, Lily opens it up and begins scanning the words— becoming all the more confused when she sees measurements and things like coco powder and melted butter, instead of whatever the hell else she was preparing herself to read.

“I’m being pranked, aren’t I? You’re trying to distract me so you and Potter can do something horrid to the Slytherin’s common room.”

“We’ve actually already done that today,” Sirius jeers, raising up his hands in concession with a cluck of the tongue at her scowling face. “’s from Moony’s mum, all right. I asked her to send me the recipe of this chocolate cake she use to make him for his birthdays before Hogwarts— I just thought… It might be nice is all, and you can sod right off if you look at me like that, Evans, with the soft eyes and all that rot. Are you going to help me or not?”

Lily resolutely ignores the pang to her heart, because God, this really is such a sweet gesture. “And what? you thought I could help you because I’m a bird?” She asks in the most scolding inflection she could muster in the face of this incredibly soppy gift he wants to give Remus.

“None of that, blimey, Evans.” Sirius snarls, obviously diffident, and combined with the faint flush to his cheeks, Lily suddenly realizes why he’s considered one of the best looking blokes in the entirety of their school. “There’s a whole load of Muggle mumbo jumbo, so it was between asking you, or McDonald, and I adore Mary and all, but  she has got such a mouth on her.”

“You should know,” Lily counters with a leer. “She couldn’t stop going on about your date back in October.”

Sirius’s brows hike, and he actually smiles at her— one that’s vacant from all his bravado from his upbringing in his pretentious, pure blood home, and one that isn’t trying to show off. And Lily can’t help but favoringly liken him to an excited pug. “Oh you’re wicked, Evans!” He shrills delightedly. “Oh this is great, you’re just as depraved as Remus, are all prefects like this?”

Lily snorts, shaking her head at him, indulgent. “Never mind that, Black. Most of this stuff can be found in the kitchens below, I’m sure the house elves won’t mind us borrowing anything.”

“And the ingredients that won’t be down their?” He asks worriedly.

“Well, good on you planning this so far ahead of time, we’ll just have to experiment.”

Sirius groans in retort, muttering things about Muggle potions and James thinking he’s getting off with his future wife and other ridiculous things that Lily doesn’t bother to stay and listen to. Though, when Remus’s birthday does roll around, and she sees his countenance go a thousand shades brighter as he bites into the pudding, and Sirius’s grin stretch just that much more across his face in response— their eyes meeting across the room and past the crowds— Well Lily suspects Sirius never really minded any of the things he was whinging on about, not at all, not as long as the result was a beaming Remus.

~III~

Regulus hears about it in the halls.

He’s not much for gossip or that sort of dribble, doesn’t have much patience for anyone outside his house if he’s being at all frank— and even then, it’s not as if he doesn’t frequently find himself escaping to his fourposter for a moment’s quiet. It seems that everyone in this bloody castle are just dimwitted, daft idiots, and Regulus’s never been the sort to offer allowances for that kind of behavior. He’s been raised in the home of a family as close to royalty as Wizards permit, a prince among men. And he was told that he should have patience for the dull folks beneath him, just as long as they have the correct ideals, but sometimes he can’t help but wish they would all just let him be, sometimes feels like he’s being carted around Hogwarts as the perfect pure blood,  like he was nine years old again and being shown off in the parlor of  his home when guests came to call, watching from the sidelines while his mother rave about how splendid of an heir Sirius is turning out to be. How his tutor calls him a genius for any age, and how darling he looks in Slytherin green, and how he’s already mastered three romance languages to help in his spell work. 

And Regulus can’t help but scoff at those contemplations now, thinking of the past summer when his dramatic and brash brother had made a whole production of leaving behind the values that gave him everything he has. How he escaped to that Potter git’s home the way he’s been doing for nearly every holiday since his second year, how he offered Regulus to come along as if he’s a trader just like him. What a risible excuse for an heir.

But Regulus won’t commit such follies, he’ll make his parents proud— even if his father is nearly never paying much mind and his mother goes from raving to sickly in a blink of an eye. It doesn’t matter, because he’ll carry on the Black legacy, something that his oh so perfect brother never could’ve done. Regulus is only a fifth year, will be turning sixteen in only two months after Sirius’s coming of age, and sure, this might mean he’s still young enough that the Death Eaters don’t find him adequate to fight on the line of fire, but he’ll do it eventually, feels the weight of the letter from Bellatrix praising him for as much resting heavy in his pocket. And if Regulus finds them all a bit too vicious or a bit too excitable and completely lacking a deft hand to make the changes they’re searching for, he shrugs it off. He knows what he must do, and as he stares at his brother from across the valley cusping the lake, he’s only that much more steadfast in the conviction of the fact.

Sirius is sitting and laughing with a group of his Gryffindor mates, the mudbloods, and blood traders that had warped him from the brother he knew to the stranger he is now. And there’s a dark skinned Ravenclaw bird— Meadowes if he remembers correctly from his prefect meetings— and she’s telling some sort of long winded tail with hand gestures and loud cackling coming from the group as she goes on. And Sirius is tossing around a quaffle with Potter— the glint of a handsome, silver watch on his wrist catching in the dying sunlight. And Regulus wonders who had gifted him such a personal passage to adulthood, but is soon distracted by spotting the way Sirius nearly gets smacked in the face with the ball because he was too busy gawking over  at Lupin in such a stripped down, cautious way that it makes Regulus squirm.

He doesn’t know much about the elder Prefect, only that his name had come up nearly as much as Potters during that first year when Sirius would send him correspondence on a frequent basis because he knew how lonely Regulus would get while stuck in Grimmauld all by himself. And then when he began attending Hogwarts, Regulus never could get a good reading on him. He knew Potter because of how his family is infamous for their liberal views and nouveau riche attitudes, and Pettigrews family owns a hokey herb shop in Diagon. All he’s found out about the Lupins is that his father is the son of half-bloods and his mother is a Muggle, and that this mudblood is a reserved, carefully aloof bugger, and that somehow he’s seemingly captured all of Sirius’s attentions that he’s not giving Potter or the clinger ons who follow him around like mindless fools. Beyond that, Lupin and Regulus have only traded a hand full of words whenever their roles of prefects would force them to intermingle, and it’s always been punctuated by Lupin giving Regulus a witheringly cold look anytime they were in close proximity, which is admittedly impressive considering that half the time the sickly bastard looks like he’s about ready to keel over.

So no, Regulus doesn’t know much about him, but he’s heard the rumors. He knows that it’s basically an open secret between the Gryffindor class and selected friends. The fact that  his brother is probably shagging the mudblood, convincing Regulus that Sirius really has never given a toss about the decorum and standards befalling them as the only two Black males of their generation. And he hates his brother  so scathingly right then, hates his little munblood lover probably even more. 

And when he watches Lupin straying his gaze from the novel he was reading while that red haired Muggle born was resting her head in his lap, and Regulus saw the way both of their expressions went a peculiar sort of tender— well that’s the last straw, so he stands up in a huff— so unlike himself— and he cuts the story Mulciber was crowing on about, and he tells them he needs to complete a scroll for Slughorn.

And while he prowls away from the sight of his brother continuing to ruin everything, Regulus plunges a hand into his pocket, and crunches Bellatrix’s letter in his grasp, promises himself to write her back soon, and ignores the ache in his chest that’s only been growing larger since Sirius had left permanently.

~IV~

James’s always known.

Perhaps that’s an over reach, but it’s true enough. He’s known for years, on some level, that the thing between Sirius and Remus is something completely foreign to him. Something completely separate from how Sirius licks his face when James is over sleeping and he wants to be a general nuisance. Separate from how he and Remus have begun discussing anything and everything in the wee hours of the morning, with a spot of tea between them and a blanket on their legs, because Remus can’t sleep from the moon and James has never been able to sleep through the whole night without feeling guilty over it. He thinks it stemmed from when he was younger, when his parents were feeling sickly, and before they were gifted a house elf by a family friend who recognized that the elderly Potters needed just a bit more assistance. 

James never knew whether it was obvious to him because he’s always considered Sirius as his bastard brother since Christmas of first year, and that he’s always trying to make sure that Remus is all right after finding out just how impressively the bloke can keep secrets once Sirius figured out his furry little problem. So he’s not sure what others know, or even what Remus and Sirius  know of what’s happening between them, honestly, there have been so many almosts that James has picked up on over the years. And he still shutters thinking about the near total break that happened with the prank, still isn’t quite sure what had past between them to get Sirius and Remus  speaking with each other once more, but he does know that Remus staying with James, Sirius, and  Peter the past summer after Sirius escaping the twisted place he was suppose to call a home, is what helped indefinitely. And now, a year separate from the prank, things finally feel normal between them.

Well— Erm, not normal per se. Those idiots are still blustering and bumbling and bashfully avoiding one another when anything close to romantic comes up in a discussion or when their hands touch over the Great Hall table or whenever James makes a pointed remark when he catches one of them staring a bit too slack jawed at the other in the midst of something totally bloody innocuous in the eyes of a normal person— EG: Sirius gathering his hair— that’s nearly to the bottom of his neck now a days— into a small knot on the back of his head, or Remus sucking idly on a sugar quill while he’s revising. And sure, James has to deal with the kicks at his ankles, or a spare jinx if one of them is especially pissy, but Lily’s come to join him in the ribbing, so it kind of makes everything all right. Especially when she levels her beautiful, forrest green eyes with his own brown ones, and she actually looks sort of endeared.

Yeah— that’s a fucking amazing feeling all right, and it’s probably the memory of that happening only a few hours ago that has got James all jittery now, far past midnight. So with a tired sigh, he slides open the drapes of his fourposter, is ready to go downstairs for a kitchen raid if Remus isn’t awake— Though once he sets his glasses on, and blinks a few times over to get acclimated with the dark, he’s only a bit stunned to find the shapes of Remus and Sirius crowded on the former’s bed— and they’re really not much more than suggestions beneath the shadows, but it’s enough for James to see Sirius’s head bent low, resting it against the crook of  Moony’s neck and shoulder, while the shorter boy has got his arms wrapped around Sirius’s torso. And it’s nothing obscene, not really— it’s not like they’re nude or anything— but Sirius is shirtless, and Remus does have this blissed out expression painted over his features, that James would bet good money is the same one Sirius has got on if most of his face wasn’t covered by his hair.

And in another breath, Remus’s honey colored eyes flap open, widening exponentially when he catches sight of James, and wiggling around as if he wants to move away from Sirius completely, which is of course stunted when Sirius makes a low noise under his breath, and presses closer so that his mouth is quite literally right against Remus’s neck, and his arms tug him closer.

And James is definitely convinced that he’s the best mate any bloke could ask for when instead of chuckling at the obvious show of territorialism, he just shakes his head indulgently at them, mouthing an “About time plonker,” to Remus, who replies in kind with a hefty, two fingered salute.

This time James has to bite down to prevent his chuckle from spilling out.

“And here I was, about to offer you a snack from our dear house elves.” He whispers, hopefully quiet enough so that only Remus could hear.

“Oh, just bugger off,” Remus retorts, smiling with such mirth that James can’t even feign to be affronted over it, only follows the playful command and tries figuring out just how to give the ‘If you hurt him I’ll hurt you’ talk to the pair of them without it coming across insincerely. 

~+I~

Millie was bored until she saw them.

The only reason why Millie got this boring job in this beyond posh restaurant is because her folks reckon that she needs to learn some form of responsibility before university, and she hates it. The pay is absolute shite, and most of her coworkers are all levels of boring, and the patrons are not nearly entertaining enough to try and make up some secret back story of tumultuous affairs or secret agents from the MI6, or a royal from some country on the continent meeting their star-crossed lover.

It’s all just painfully ordinary, and she’s cursing her parents while she chomps on her gum, reading some stupid note by an ugly old fart who left her his number on the receipt. 

Scoffing while she bins it, Millie glances over to the newly occupied table in her section, heart immediately leaping once she gets a good look at the pair of blokes sitting down. 

The sandy haired one is definitely cute in that reserved way her best friend Claire would definitely be mad over— the guy who could read you poetry in French or Italian and then gently kisses the back of your hand. And that’s all and well, but Millie’s every attention is laser focussed on his mate, the one that looks like he can be bloody James Bond with those smoldering eyes and that ink black hair, and God, those cheekbones! Definitely one of those beautiful, Public school boys who’s born and bread by the patrician. And while she takes their orders, she tosses him her most flattering of grins and slips in her giggle that an ex boyfriend compared to silver bells, and is sure to flip her long, chestnut hair enough times so he’d notice, even if she’s pretty sure he’s either pissed or probably more than a bit stoned. (Truly, where the bloody hell would he come up with pumpkin juice? How horrid must that taste). 

Millie may or may not spend an unreasonable amount of time spying at them from where the cooks drop off the completed plates to be sent away. He’s just so bloody good looking, and she can’t believe this awful job has finally brought her such an amazing distraction, and the arse doesn’t even pay her much mind, leaving the ordering and the conversing to his fair haired friend.

Maybe he’s sensitive, she thinks to herself. Maybe he’s just a shy soul. And yes, that must be it! The poor, beautiful sod. She’s sure to make her intentions clear next time she thinks it’s appropriate to top off their waters, because she’s so very  gracious like that.

“Enjoying yourselves?” Millie asks in her most light hearted of cadences, filling up the shorter one’s glass but smiling fully and exclusively to the boy who looks like he should be starring in some sort of Brook’s Brothers advert.

“Ta,” the sandy haired boy says, sounding a bit amused at her dilemma, but it’s kind enough so Millie doesn’t feel brassed off over it. “Do you mind pointing me to the loo?”

“Oh of course!” She crows, suddenly ecstatic as she directs him, finally getting a chance to be alone with the model. Though when she turns her attention to him once the other one leaves to take a leak, she’s kind of confused how he’s staring after him with a glance she vividly remembers on the face of her ex whenever she’d peer back around to ensure he was watching her go— Though, if Millie’s being honest, the model somehow looks simultaneously eager to watch the back of him, but also already disheartened not to have him around in ways she doubts anyone she’s ever gone out with has ever exhibited. “He’s a nice chap,” she states, instead of marinating on the strangeness of this development.

The practical model starts, seems to have forgotten about her presence all together, but then he glances over towards her with those impossibly flattering, pale gray eyes, and he nods disinterestedly. And yeah, yikes. That is a total hit to Millie’s ego.

“Ahem,” she clears her throat, begins twisting her free hand into the material of her apron. “’S nice you guys came for dinner, you don’t see much friends considering how bloody expensive it is here, hah.”

Millie feels herself going absolutely scarlet at the impassive way he drags his gaze up and down her form before taking a swig of his Bellini. “He’s not my friend.”

“Oh,” Millie practically squeaks out, suddenly wonders if maybe he’s a tutor from his class or something? Maybe the model is just taking the cute one out to dinner as a thanks for helping him pass his A-levels? Maybe this is considered cheap in the circles that the model keeps.

“’S our one year anniversary actually,” he tells her, still in that methodical, blasé way of his. And oh. Oh wow! Suddenly everything is snapping into clarity.

The way the two boys had brushed the back of their hands before being seated, how model had trusted the other boy to order for him, how model never looked away from the cute one’s mouth or collarbones or hands as they spoke. How whenever she came around to ask if they needed anything else, it felt like she was intruding on more than just a couple of mates catching up.

Oh Jesus, she feels like such an idiot, and Millie tells the model just as much.

“I’m sorry, I’m an idiot! I didn’t even put it together.”

Remarkably, the model’s rigid posture goes a bit loose at her apology, and the corner of his thin lips quirk up into a grin. “’S fine, he didn’t want to make a fuss out of it, but yeah— Just feels good telling someone.”

Millie nods eagerly, she can’t understand exactly what he means, obviously not,  but she can definitely try to, and if it feels good for him to tell a random bird about something so important, then she’s more than happy to help. “Well the point stands, yeah? He seems like a good sort, you’re lucky to have found each other.”

The model’s grin goes elastic at that, and he looks actually approachable for the first time tonight. “I’m the luckiest bloke in the world that I get to be with him.”

Millie flushes at the intensity embedded into his statement, but thankfully doesn’t have to answer when she hears the sandy haired boy walking closer now, smiling so brightly that there’s a dimple popping up on the apple of his cheek that Millie’s only just noticed— The mirth is a good color on him, she reckons. Makes him look as gorgeous as those boys on the telly dramas her Mum is always gushing about, even his eyes turn more golden than light brown. “You pestering our waitress Padfoot?”

“You know I keep my devilish tongue for you and you alone Moonbeam,” the model—Padfoot cannot be his actual name for heaven’s sake— retorts.

“Lucky me,” the sandy haired boy says wryly as he takes a seat, and while Millie walks away— intending to get them a pudding that’s on the house to celebrate the milestone of their relationship— she peers back around only once and it’s enough to see the tips of their fingers kissing across the table, and their smiles looking like a secret language not meant for anyone else to read. 

.-

My Full Wolfstar FIC Masterlist💜

[mikrowrites]

andromeda

(vignettes cut from cottages of constellations; can be read as a one-shot)

c!wilbur x reader

summary: a series of memories from y/n’s perspective; the war, the death, the stars, the secret, and the meeting.

warnings: fluff, angst, violence, war themes, bad mental health situations, death, language, manipulation

a/n: this is basically a bunch of scrapped ideas from cottages of constellations that i shoved together bc i already had them written and have been hitting a writer’s block with pt 3. the only part of this you should regard as “canon” is the syndicate vignette, that will be in pt 3. enjoy!!

Y/n and Wilbur kept many secrets.

That was not something unknown by any, not a surprise to some. The two seemed to have words unspoken, existing between the glance of an eye or a brush of a hand, a nod of a head and a ever so soft sigh. Y/n and Wilbur kept many secrets to themselves and themselves only.

The cottage was one. A secret kept along a peaceful riverbank, until the price of TNT seemed higher than that forgotten paradise. There were some other secrets too. Some inconsequential, some almost burdening.

Y/n and Wilbur kept a secret they chose to not share with anyone. A secret that would be for the best if left unsaid.

But the price of freedom would prove higher and more demanding. The price for a tall brunette man to whisper the words into an enemy’s ear, for the enemy to relay it to someone who was once deemed an old friend.

The moment Schlatt spoke the secret out loud to Y/n with threatening intent, everything came crashing to the ground.

It was a secret Schlatt would die with.

—

The War…

Y/n arrived as the sun rose at dawn.

Wilbur was there to meet her, his uniform jacket unbuttoned messily and his cravat askew. As she approached him closer he smiled softly, but the smile was tired, aching, the light in his eyes dimmed by the bags beneath them.

What was the saying, “winning is easy, governing is harder”?

Y/n feared both feats were insurmountably difficult.

“Hello, love.” Wilbur sighed, striding the distance of Y/n’s approach and pulling her into his arms, holding her like a lifeline.

“Hey Wil, it’s okay, I’m here.” Y/n reassured.

He pulled away with a less tight smile, wrapping his fingers around her own, pulling her towards the majestic walls.

“Y/n L/n, welcome to L’manburg.”

And L’manburg was small, and undeveloped, and nothing quite impressive really. But it was her lover’s nation, and to Y/n it looked like a spectacle of heaven. “It’s wonderful.”

Wilbur led her into the camaravan, where battle plans and declarations had been hung and placed about, with an occasional empty bottle or a misplaced piece of weaponry.

Y/n had fought in wars before, in another life, far from this server. She had played the part of diplomat, of ally, of enemy. It was all a language familiar to her like breathing, and she suspected Wilbur was well aware, why else would he write begging her to join the front lines?

She hummed in thought, running her hands over a tabletop. “When’s the next battle, then?”

“Tomorrow.” Wilbur replied simply.

Y/n nodded. “Okay. Where do we start?”

Wilbur smiled once more.

—

The Death…

Y/n struggled against Quackity’s hold, screaming her throat raw. “YOU KILLED HIM!”

Smoke from the firework barrage still lingered on the execution box, Schlatt turning from his podium to Y/n. He smirked. “Y/n, my dear, he was a traitor. You know what happens to traitors.”

Y/n spat at his feet, the man laughing. “That’s cute. Remember Y/n, I hold all the cards in my hands. You don’t want to step out of line, remember? Who knows what secrets could get spilled.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” Y/n glared, her eyes like fire as the two stood off against each other on the podium under Manberg’s watching eyes. “Because I am going to fucking kill you before you even think about it.”

Schlatt laughed loudly again, facing the crowd. “Do you hear that, folks? Miss Y/n is going to kill me!” He lowered his voice, leaning so he was face to face with her. “That’s treason, my friends.”

Y/n hardened her eyes, as Quackity let her arms go. She stepped forwards, her hand on the hilt of her sheathed sword. Everything was quiet, not the crowd’s jabs or cries were heard by her, not even Niki’s protests to spare her best friend.

Schlatt smiled, unsheathing his own sword as Y/n stood her ground, preparing to produce her own in hopes of taking down the tyrannical man once and for all.

“These were not the ideals of L’manberg.” Y/n shouted so the audience could hear her. “And Manberg should be no different. And I’m getting really fucking tired of you hurting everyone and everything I love. So yeah, I’m a traitor, because I value people over a country.”

“People you’d be willing to lose a life for?” Schlatt jeered.

“Time and time again, yes.” She verified.

Schlatt shook his head in amusement. “Y/n, the patron saint of L’manberg. You’ll fall as easily as any man.”

Y/n smirked, drawing her own sword. “Good thing I’m not a man then, yes?”

“STOP! Stop!”

The two adversaries’ heads whipped over, catching the glimpse of a tall brunette in a brown trench coat walking down the aisle of seats, hands out in a preventative gesture. “Stop.”

“Wil…?” The man who left her behind. The man who promised safety. The man who most importantly, loves her. The former President, to protect his former First Lady.

Schlatt’s sword ran through Y/n’s body. Wilbur screamed.

The girl gasped, grasping Schlatt’s shoulder’s with tight fingers, looking at him in shock. He had gotten the upper hand. Y/n had never lost a duel, yet this one was over before it had even started because she did the one thing she had been trained to never do in battle.

Y/n found distraction in a lover.

Wilbur would always be her hubris.

Schlatt leaned over with booze-tainted breath to whisper in her ear. “Your secret is safe with me.”

He then ripped the sword out of her, and everything went black. The last thing Y/n heard before waking up laying in the soft grass of a forest was the sound of Wilbur shouting her name.

Y/n was killed by JSchlatt

—

The Stars…

Long ago, in a world different from where she was now, Y/n’s mother had taught her every constellation strewn across the night sky. The young girl would marvel at her mother, eyes shining with curiosity and awe as the soft-spoken woman would point to each cluster of stars.

Life was simple then, before war after war Y/n was forced to fight and win. Before aching loss and hurt.

Y/n laid on the angled roof of Philza’s house, her lips parted slightly as her eyes traced designs of warriors and beasts and lovers. Her breath fogged into the night sky, the girl indifferent to the cold surrounding her.

“Kid, what’re ya doin’?”

She flicked her eyes down to where Technoblade stood beneath her, staring up at her form with disinterest but yet a glint of confusion or curiosity.

Y/n smirked, her eyes traveling back up to the sky. “Chasing constellations.”

Technoblade definitely had the right idea to be a tint worried at the sight of Y/n on a roof, staring off into nothing. It had been a week and a half since they had both blown up New L’manberg, and her mind was undoubtedly conflicted. Techno supposed if he were in the same situation, he’d feel the same perhaps. But now (though he’d never show it) he was just concerned of the well-being of his old friend.

So Technoblade was immensely surprised when Y/n patted a spot on the roof next to her and said: “cmon”.

The blood god was silent and still for a moment before pulling out his trident, using it to launch himself up and land gracefully onto the roof next to her. The girl didn’t flinch a bit, just turned back to the night sky.

Y/n looked tired, Techno noticed, but yet relieved. He hadn’t seen her this relaxed since their last war fought together away from this server, where she had spoken of a kindhearted brunette she was running away with after the battle’s conclusion.

Technoblade sat next to her, the girl sighing. “No more wars, Techno. I’ve fought my last one. I’m tired of being a pawn in someone’s game, of breaking myself for others.” Y/n huffed out a laugh. “I think I might try that retirement plan.”

“Retirement is overrated.” Technoblade groaned. “So if I made you an offer, you’d refuse?”

Y/n shrugged, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her kneecaps. “Depends on the offer. I’m pretty done being taken advantage of.”

Techno turned to look at her. “All these years and you don’t trust the proof I wouldn’t.”

“Can’t blame a girl for having trust issues.” She grumbled. “What’s the offer?”

“I’m putting together a group of people with common ideals. Anarchy, we’d be there to abolish these kingdoms’ governments before they can cause more death and destruction, cause more Wilburs.” Techno explained, the girl turning to him at the sound of her ex-lover’s name. “We’re called the Syndicate.”

Y/n murmured the name to herself, furrowing her eyebrows. “Who’s we?”

“Philza and I. Zephyrus and Prostileus. And, potentially, you.” He stated. “Codenames.”

She turned back to the stars, silent for a few minutes. Technoblade patiently sat in the quiet, letting the girl mull over her thoughts. It had been about five minutes when he spoke up. “So? What’ll it be?”

Y/n pursed her lips, before parting them with a soft exhale. “Andromeda… call me Andromeda.”

Technoblade smiled at his old comrade in battle, now considered an ally and friend.

“Welcome to the Syndicate, Andromeda.”

—

The Secret…

Y/n wasn’t sure how long she had sat in the makeshift cell. Had it been days? Weeks? She didn’t know. All she knew was locked away to stand trial for “aiding fugitives in escaping”.

Her thoughts drifted to Wilbur, as they usually did in moments like these, where she fought desperately to remember the sound of his laughter or his loving assurances. Y/n hoped he and Tommy were safe, and she knew they were smart so they would be.

But she feared for Fundy as well. They had spoken on the night he announced his campaign for president, their hushed voices behind the podium as the rest of the server were asleep.

Y/n met the boy in the shadows of the podium, Fundy looking at her for some kind of reaction. Would she shout in anger? Cry in sadness? Running against his father was a betrayal, he should be reprimanded by the closest thing to a mother he had.

Instead, she smiled, and hugged him.

Fundy tensed in surprise before wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder as his hands clutched the back of her jacket.

“You know I have to support and stand by your father,” she started, softly rubbing small circles into Fundy’s back. “but it will never overshadow how proud I am of you.”

“Thank you, mama.” He sighed out, Y/n smiling kindly.

“You are my pride and you are my joy, Fundy. There’s nothing you could do that could make me love you less. Don’t forget that, okay?” Y/n asked.

Fundy nodded his head against his mother figure’s shoulder, still embracing her.

He missed the tears in her eyes as she bit her lip to keep her walls up. Indulging in this moment wasn’t something she was deserving of, and she knew that.

She had chosen to forego this path, it would be unfair of her to try and act as though she hadn’t changed everything.

The door to empty room creaked open, Y/n looking up to meet the eyes of a man she had once thought of as an old friend, but now some who repulsed her more than anything on this server. The man smirked, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Y/n. Long time, no see.”

“Schlatt.” The name sounded like venom on her tongue, Y/n glaring at the man with dark eyes.

“How are you, hm?” Schlatt pulled a chair over for him to sit on, Y/n scoffing in disbelief.

“I don’t know Schlatt, you tell me. What the fuck is wrong with you, you were our friend!” She shouted.

Schlatt sat back in his hair. “I’m no one’s friend here. I’m a president here to run this country.”

Y/n rolled her eyes and leaned back against the wall, the man smirking.

“I want you to join me.”

That made the girl start to laugh, shaking her head. “You are something else, Schlatt.”

“I’m serious, I want you to join me and Manberg.” Schlatt deadpanned.

“Fuck off.” was Y/n’s reply.

Schlatt sighed, standing from where he sat, and paced to another side of the room. “Tell me, does your little lover boy have an infatuation with TNT?”

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows. “Not that I’m aware, and if I was I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Fair enough.” Schlatt said, his footsteps clacking against stone as he further paced. “Well, he recently made some deals with the devil and came into possession of a lot of fucking TNT. You wanna know what he traded for that much power? Secrets.”

She stiffened, eyeing Schlatt warily, her voice barely above a whisper. “Secrets?”

Schlatt hummed, grinning. “Oh yeah. Loads of ‘em. I’m a chronic eavesdropper, so I had to get the scoop. And you’ll never guess what I heard.”

Y/n stood slowly, like an animal bracing for a fight, her fists shaking. She uttered the man’s name in warning, Schlatt stopping and turning to her with a wicked grin.

“You have a child.”

It felt as though all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room, Y/n momentarily forgetting how to breathe. Her mouth felt dry, her body numb. Schlatt laughed, knowing he had her right where he wanted her.

“Fundy’s actually your son! Biologically and everything! And you never told him, you just left!” Schlatt exclaimed.

Y/n burst forwards, slamming Schlatt against the wall and lodging her forearm across his throat. She spoke with a low, dangerous voice. “I was young. I was stupid. And I wasn’t ready to be a mother. I couldn’t be the mother he needed.”

“So you left. And then you come back and you play the part of his mother, while the poor boy thinks your lover fucked a fish? That’s fucked up, Y/n.” He chuckled lowly.

Y/n pursed her lips, glaring into Schlatt’s eyes. “What do you want?”

Schlatt slowly removed Y/n’s forearm from his throat. “I want you to join me as one of my officials. I want you to betray Wilbur and Tommy. And if you don’t…”

“… I tell Fundy your big secret… and then I personally kill him until he’s dead.”

Y/n felt completely and absolutely defeated. She had never let someone have the upper hand on her. Not like this. She remained distraughtly silent, Schlatt nodding Ashe received his answer.

He reached into his pocket, throwing her comm device onto the floor. “Lover boy’s been trying to call you for weeks. You should call him back one last time and tell him to never call again. You know what’s at stake.” Schlatt then turned and walked towards the door. “I’ll have a fine pressed suit for you tomorrow morning and a more comfortable room, then the real work begins. Goodnight, Y/n.”

And he was gone.

Y/n fell to her knees, her body shaking with fear and guilt. Why did she have to be so stupid why did she have to create such deep-sewn weaknesses, why did she leave her son?

She reached for the comms device, her trembling fingers clicking a button as she spoke out in a terrified whisper. “Wilbur?”

—

The meeting…

Y/n hated parties with a passion she could not fathom. The celebration of another war won, a country saved. She was just a wandering soldier, moving from one battle to the next, finding celebration a little tone-deaf.

But nonetheless she stood in the banquet hall, her sash of medals and patches detailing her great accomplishments hung on her frame, with the world’s most uncomfortable dress covering her. Technoblade had told Y/n to liven up, drink and dance a little, though what a fucking hypocrite because he didn’t show up.

Y/n sipped her champagne, leaning against the bar top, a bored expression laid across her face as she traced circles into the wood with her finger. She didn’t register the boy standing next to her, eying her with curiosity before he spoke up. “One vodka neat, please.”

She finally indulged to meet his gaze, the tall brunette smiling and offering his hand. “Wilbur Soot.”

Y/n knocked back the rest of her champagne, before shaking his hand. “Y/n L/n.”

“You seem bored, Y/n L/n.” Wilbur observed.

She scoffed. “Parties aren’t really my thing.”

“So I can tell.” He quipped, Y/n beginning to question the audacity of this kid. But he just smiled widely, pulling a stool and sitting next to her.

“Look, I don’t know what you want, but if it’s getting in my pants tonight it’s definitely not happening.” Y/n bluntly responded.

“Woah there! Take me out to dinner before we discuss that.” Wilbur defended, retrieving his drink from the bartender.

Y/n couldn’t even tell if the man was joking, but she rolled her eyes anyways. He was silent, she could tell he was trying to size her up. Figure out what made her brain tick, how to read her.

Must be frustrating for him to know he can’t.

She sighed, pulling away from the bar top, smoothing out her despised dress. “Well, thanks for the chat Wilbur, but I’d best be going.”

“Of course. Have a good night, Y/n.” Wilbur raised his drink and tipped it towards her in a kind of toasting or saluting gesture. She was a high ranked militia official anyways.

Y/n nodded and walked away, Wilbur watching her as she left. What she didn’t know, was he could read her like an open book. He saw her pain, her guilt, her stone disposition. But he saw her kindness, her generosity, her beauty. Wilbur was intoxicated by the mere presence of her, and her mystery.

Wilbur just had a gut feeling they’d cross paths again. And when they did, maybe in a space she was more comfortable than the loud and cheering party, maybe he’d offer her a drink, or even a dance. The boy slammed his drink on the table before standing, and rushing across the room.

Why wait when you know?

Y/n felt a gentle hand on her wrist, the girl turning to see Wilbur. She raised an eyebrow in question as he released his soft grip, and held his palm flat out in front of her. “May I have this dance.”

She had seen years of pretty boys offering her drinks and dances and the world. Each disappointed, each never following through. But Y/n looked up at Wilbur, and she could see the world in his brown eyes, she could see hope and chivalry and mirth. She pursed her lips, the boy seeming to deflate at her monotone and silent response.

Y/n took his hand, to the boy’s surprise. “One dance. That’s all.”

They danced all night. And laughed all night, more than Y/n had in years.

Y/n had never felt more alive than the night she met Wilbur Soot.

[subbing-for-clones]

She Who Walks the Line Between Part 1

Maul x GreyJedi!Reader 

Summary: A lone grey force user has sequestered herself in the furthest regions from the inner rim that could reasonably reach. She never could have fit in with the Jedi and their plethora of useless rules and regulations. Nor could find her way with the Sith and their needless thirst for power and control. After spending years along-side them both and learning all she could she took to the life of a hermit so she could continue her studies in peace. She lived happily until someone’s pain ripped through her inner sanctum. Now restless, she must tip the scales back in the favor of balance.

Word Count: 2085

WARNINGS: Mentions of pain and injury.

NEXT          MASTERLIST

      So far out in the outer rim it could be considered wild space existed a planet blanketed with jungles and planes. This lonely world is where you called home. Far from wars, from civilization and the unbalanced frivolous problems that existed within this universe. As secluded as it was, this small planet was in perfect balance. Hunters sought their prey and the prey helped one another to survive. Close enough to the ocean that you could smell the salt in the air during a storm; on the border between grass lands and what seemed like infinite jungle, a large stone cottage stood firmly as if it had grown straight from the soil like the crops that lined the east wall.

    Your ship was still warm from your recent trip to a more populated system for supplies impossible to come by on your world. This recent trip had left you weary, visions and a voice now plagued your mind. Quiet was all you wanted. Just quiet. Yet screams of agony filled your ears through the force as you sipped your fresh mint tea on the roof of your home. You scanned the planes that spread in front of you as if you could locate the origin of this suffering behind one of the blades of tall grass.

    Closing your eyes with the cup still hot between your clasped hands you quieted your mind and reached out into the force.

Blazing heaps of metal.

Sweltering heat.

Foul sulfuric stench.

A man, no, half of one. Red and black flesh, a crown of stained ivory horns.

A mess of steel legs, bellowing raggedly.

“Always remember I am fear. Always remember I am hunter, always remember I am filth, always remember I am... nothing!” His glowing eyes seemed to meet yours. Holding for but a moment.

    Slowly your eyes opened, looking around to convince yourself that the man you connected with didn't lay before you now. Satisfied that you were where you had started in your meditation you looked up to the sky, dusty with the falling sunset. You closed your eyes again and whispered to the universe through the force, "find me," casting out reassuring waves of unwavering peace and tranquility towards wherever this wretched soul writhed.

 ~~~~~

      Maul screamed in agony and rage. He couldn't remember anything but a name and a grim mantra that he repeated over and over for a decade hoping against hope to be comforted by it. Although comfort never came, something new spanned out in front of him. For the first time in years, something new graced his vision. A woman.

Glistening eyes heavy lidded but bright. A figure clad in light grey dress sitting in a meditative position. Her plump lips whispered two simple words to him. Find me. For the first time that he could remember he had something he needed to do other than devour and wail. A purpose perhaps.

    His steel spider legs twitched as he crawled his way out from his hole in the depths of Lotho Minor. The atmosphere was a thick, dingy fawn. Perfectly akin to the scent of fire and sulfur that he could no longer smell. The grey pressed dirt kicked up from the ends of his jagged limbs as he pulled himself across the hellish landscape. Drop ships came here frequently to dump garbage but every so often a scavenger would come to brave the terrain in search of something of value. As luck would have it, a small ship had landed some time ago, the pilot likely perished to one of the many dangers here on the planet wide dumping grounds. Fear encompassing his mind, he eased toward the abandoned ship. Eight legs clumsily carrying his torso forward. Eyes darting around for the owner of this vessel but none in sight. Cautiously he boarded.

    Muscle memory took over as he powered up and took flight. His ship floated stationary just outside the atmosphere, he gazed upon open space for the first time in twelve years, shrinking back into a corner out of fear of the openness after so long in the confined darkness of a hole in the ground. He was loosing the little motivation for momentum that he had and was torn between surging forward and retreating back to what was familiar. Even if he did continue on, he didn’t know where to go.

"I don't know... I don't know... I don't KNOW... where.. to go… WHERE ARE YOU?!" He sobbed. As if to answer his question his vision clouded over and a sense of peace eased his twisted, knotted muscles as well as his fractured mind. Images of tall cliffs overlooking a roaring ocean. The sounds of creatures chattering unseen in a dark jungle lit by bioluminescent fauna. Wind blowing through tall dry grasses. Smoke drifting out of a chimney. The woman he had seen, sitting on a wooden porch.

    Without opening his eyes he punched coordinates into the nav computer that if asked to, he couldn't have recited. Hyperdrive activated, he vanished into the unknown, convinced this was his destiny. To find the ghost of a woman he had seen in his squalor.

 ~~~~~

    You woke just before dawn with a start. Something was coming, you weren't quite sure what. You couldn't see it clearly through the force but you could feel the darkness. Cold like the side of a moon that had never been blessed by the sun. The universal scale tipped out of balance and it rang through you like a gong.

    Groaning, you pushed the woolen blanket covering your body aside and stood, pulling on a slate-colored cotton dress and slipping your feet into your shoes. You peered out of the transparasteel, the sky was dark but just starting to blue. An hour before sunrise you guessed. Sighing and making your way to the kitchen you put on some caf. If you had to be awake this early at least you'd be caffeinated.

    Stepping out onto your porch you could hear the goats you kept nearby bleating alarms at you. Sending them calming waves through the force was all you could do. A moment later you could sense a ship entering the atmosphere. You squinted while shushing the goats from your perch. In all your years on this planet you had never seen another ship aside from your own. You strode to the west side of your home and herded the goats back inside the barn while fetching a large basket. Locking them safely inside before you made your way toward the landing ship. Keeping a hundred meters or so between you and the ramp that extended, eyeing the opening cautiously. Darkness spilled out along with the monstrosity of what was, at one point, a Zabrack. Easily recalling him from your vision you weren't afraid in the least. Perhaps a bit surprised that he had found you so quickly but not afraid.

    You had strode half the distance between you and the man before stopping and placing the basket at your side. You watched as he limped over to you, unbalanced in every sense of the word. Physically clumsy and mentally clouded he laughed and sobbed utterly broken.

"I found... you." He groaned hoarsely. Pointing a shaking finger in your direction.

    Not saying a word you looked him up and down, lingering where scrap met his organic body. His horns over grown, his eyes bloodshot so horribly there was hardly any white to them. His legs rusting away. His face was gaunt with starvation. This man that stood before you was what was tipping the scale out of balance. Mentally making a decision you nodded, fearlessly and confidently you closed the last of the distance between you and him, gazing right into those burning eyes until his face relaxed a bit out of utter confusion. He hadn’t known what to expect when he found you. He could feel your force signature surrounding you. An aura of equally bright and dark colors swirling together.

"You did find me." You paused for a moment. Turning and walking along the line between the plains and jungle you looked over your shoulder, he hadn't moved.

"Come. We have much work to do with you." You sighed.

    He followed you unsteady on those eight spindly legs. How he managed that much force energy to make them walk you had no idea. They definitely weren't powered or connected to his nervous system so he had to be using the force. A Sith by the feel of it, if not a Sith then he was only calling upon the dark side. Not a drop of light permeated from his aura. Yet he followed you silently.

 ~~~~~

      This woman he followed, he couldn't sense or smell any fear in her. But he could sense something. She was strong with both the light and the dark sides of the force. So strong that he could feel it coming off her like a reactor. He eyed the two lightsabers that clung to her legs. The dress she wore slit all the way up both sides. They didn't hang from a belt like his used to but rather were strapped to each if her thighs. Her hair draped down her back, glinting in the very early morning sunrise.

    He followed this woman snarling occasionally in pain but otherwise silent until they reached a cliff that overlooked the ocean. The waters were calm, the smell of salt on the air familiar but he couldn't place a memory with it.

    She turned to meet his eyes and he froze. "Stay put for a moment I need to collect clay from the cliffs" and without waiting for his response she stepped over the edge and landed gracefully on a ledge fifty feet below. He dared not move even to look and see what this woman was doing. Fear starting to spread through him again he missed his hole in the bowels of Lotho Minor.

    Just after he thought the thought she leapt high above and over him, feet touching down silently. He still jumped back defensively and growled. The woman sighed and balanced the large basket now packed high with clay atop her head and beckoned him back the way they came with two fingers and a nod.

    Slowly once again he followed but this time he spoke.

"Are you a jedi?" He hissed, eyes narrowing.

"Gods no," she replied curtly.

"Are you Sith then?"

"Wrong again." Without looking back at him she replied in a sing song tone.

He followed her silently in thought. Listening to birds chirp in the jungle to his left.

"What.. are you...?" He dared to ask almost whispering.

She didn't reply to him until her home was in view again.

"I am the one who walks the line between the dark and the light. Not a jedi, not a Sith but something so much more." She gazed off into the horizon, her mind wandering to places he could not see.

"What do you want with me?" He snarled yet still he followed.

"You are no longer a Sith yet the darkness rages inside you like a storm. It is upsetting the balance and quite frankly, I've been bored so I'm not going to just kill you off. I'm going to bring you back from the precipice." She stopped and turned to face him.

"But first I'm going to fix this mess." She said tapping one of his hideous legs.

    He didn't know what was to come or become of him but for the first time in a very long time he felt something that wasn't fear or rage. He didn't know what to call it but he was glad for a second that he found this planet.