#he did “rearrange the sky” of sorts

[cervidaecorpse]

It's raining men Velgearians.

#yugioh go rush #shitpost #myuda velgear #dinois velgear #zwijo zir velgear #yudias velgear #kuaidul velgear #a deer draws #was listening to the song and got struck by lightning (metaphorically speaking) #not only is the creator a shady *insert curse word* but he also lacked creativity after a while #but i suppose we've still got our “tall blond dark and lean” #“rough and tough and strong and mean” #...more or less #...wait would that mean the creator is mother nature? #he did “rearrange the sky” of sorts #what have i done? #great now i have to put a spoiler tag in this #yugioh go rush spoilers

[popponn]

bits and such, about him.

summary: he loves you in his own way. (aka expanded hcs on how he shows his love to you)

note: i want an isagi so bad at this point i will just cry. also i miss sae. nagi is kinda there ig (jk nagi u shojo protag). sometimes thinking about these guys are very comforting even when it comes out as pure brainrot. warning: none, just fluff. isagi is downbad, sae is a house cat variant, and nagi is something else. reader's gender unspecified, implied post canon au.

characters: isagi, sae, nagi

isagi falls in love with you again and again over the smallest things. it could be you rearranging your things, it could be you looking up to the sky, it could be you crouching alongside him, it could be you laughing at something he finds actually unfunny—repeatedly, without fail it keeps happening. in these sorts of moments, it is very obvious too. his breath would come to a halt slowly, his shoulder sagged, his mouth opening into a silent gape, all while his blue eyes would stare at you, filled with feelings that are impossible to word out. his signs are obvious enough that even strangers could know them. the worst thing is that on times like this, it means isagi yoichi's infamously smart brain will go on a holiday for a bit. adding to the fact that his eyes rarely leave you whenever you are in his vicinity, this means it happens a lot in a public setting. after the third time of seeing this happening right in front of them, most of his friends sort of agree that it would be best to leave the lovesick, down-bad isagi alone. more for their sakes because all they get is either a dumb "huh" that is very cute actually or a very angry, on-field tone of "shut the fuck up fucking donkey i'm admiring right now" which unfortunately did happen to a genius, a speedster, and a king. it nearly ended in a bloodbath multiple times but at least you know he is a man that could not be moved.

sae likes it when you play with his hair and vice versa. the annoying thing, though, is that he rather doesn't say shit for three days than admitting this to your face. some call it an acute case of terrible communication skill some call it kuudere rizz—nobody knows which one is the correct term but the good thing is this guy speaks louder through his action than his words. which mean acting like a spoiled house cat with shitty attention seeking tendencies—where you could be working or resting your exhausted leg and without any warning, you will have his head on your lap. don't bother protesting, you will lose the inevitable staring contest. just play with his hair, comb it, pat it, arrange it while praising him—just spoil him. and if he says "your hair is wet" even right after you dry it off, just sit down and let him " dry" your hair. no, it's not an alibi to have you chatter while he listens and touches your hair. no, he does not kiss you on the hair you are imagining shit. and no don't let anyone touch your hair. sae's possessive streak is a rare thing but if anyone touches your hair, that's just asking for it. honestly, it will be easier for both of you if he just says "hey can we forego the hairdryer and have your head on my lap instead this time" but this is an itoshi bloodline elder. the best he could manage is just suddenly burying his face in your hair or suddenly touching it when he is not in the mood to play a game. again, like a cat just taking something he wants. the cat is handsome and loving in his own way though.

nagi turns out to be a very very vocal person when it comes to you. aw, he must be away for a week because of a match? good luck to everyone on his team because he will whine about it every minute or so. some wanted to murder him, but thank god, an "if you look cool don't you think they will be happy?" is enough to shut him up—on camera at least. and wow he thinks you look good in your clothes? you will know it. nagi will say "wear it again", " it suits you", and many other short sentences indeed—he is still not a wordsmith—but simply by the sheer frequency of his praise? everyone and their grandma will know it. one time a brave, poor soul asked him "why the fuck are you so noisy about them?!"—and turns out it is simply because he likes your reaction to his words. you could respond back with cheer, with a calm suave, or sometimes flustered laugh, and nagi eats those up. remember to have special reactions for him though, since he is not above copying a koala or maybe some flirty toucan to have those. nagi has been a tad bit shameless though, despite everything, therefore maybe it's not unsurprising that he kinda of becomes after getting together with you. (in the background, niko nods sagely, "i see. so it's like your oshi character who you want every info of from a dating sim." while barou snaps with a "fucking what?" nagi takes a second to think, and goes, "...kinda." which is obviously an understatement.)

#bllk scenarios #bllk #bllk x reader #bllk headcanons #bllk imagines #blue lock x reader #blue lock imagines #blue lock #blue lock scenarios #bllk fluff #blue lock fluff #blue lock headcanons #isagi yoichi x reader #isagi yoichi #isagi x reader #sae x reader #nagi x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae #nagi seishirou #isagi fluff #sae fluff #nagi fluff #i miss writing sae as some spoiled house pet like ass bf who is cute for all the wrong reasons #started with isagi and end it by going overboard at nagi's. sigh typical me #im SUPPOSED TO BE WRITING A FIC RN BUT yeah have this have this. is this a brainrot im not sure??? but it is what it is #but yeah lets go back to business

[tojiwrd]

4: fate is fickle ; gojo satoru

pairing gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary when satoru breaks off your engagement, you understand and accept it. but when he marries someone else, you don't understand because he didn't want to be tied down.

content warnings family problems, bad, sad, emotional infidelity, dangerously short chapter im sorry getting you ready for the next one <;33 flashback flashback y did satoru end it with u??

word count 1.3k

a/n i'll beat both of them up i promise

send thoughts ↞ prev next ↠ to be added to taglist

People said promising yourself to someone you love was euphoric; it was a feeling you couldn’t achieve through any other form of happiness or drugs. Satoru believed that because when he asked you to marry him and you said yes, he felt as though he could rearrange and hang every star in the sky to spell your names for the rest of eternity. It was electric, the feeling, and he couldn’t get enough of it.

But Satoru wasn’t somebody who was ever in the midst of two lines; if he was happy, he was so fucking happy, and if he was sad, he was so fucking sad. 

Growing up in his home hadn’t taught him many things, but he’d come out of it with two lessons he’d always abide by:

Never, ever make promises you can’t keep.

If you can go against Gojo Takayashi’s wishes, do it.

He knew that he should wait to tell his parents about his engagement with you until you were with him, which is why he didn’t let it slip during the first dinner he had with his parents since he put a ring on your finger. When his father said he’d invited a guest over, Satoru felt more at ease to keep his mouth shut because, even though his parents were not his favorite people, he was itching to see their reaction. The little boy that lived somewhere in the abyss of his mind expected them to pop champagne, for his mother to immediately call each and every one of the people she knew to tell them the good news, for his father to pat him on the back with a gleeful smile that made him feel like he’d at least done one thing to make him proud.

And, even though his second rule was to always strive to go against his father, he felt it would be some sort of a twisted poetic number for his father to be proud of him for loving you. For you loving him back.

Kimura Hana was pleasant, and her parents even more so. Despite that, both children on the dinner table that night had a hard time trying to entertain themselves with the dull conversation. Their fathers droned on about their next upcoming business ventures, constantly toasting to the point they’d made a toast to the art of toasting, claiming that it was the best excuse for people to down more alcohol with good intention. 

Hana kicked his leg underneath the table from beside him and Satoru, Y/N-loving, elated-over-his-engagement-in-private Satoru, almost sent her a glare for being so close to him. But he covered it when he noticed a small napkin she passed his way, a small giggle leaving her lips. 

He opened it, and there he read, in pretty and small handwriting with red ink:

this is sooooo boring.

He looked around and patted his pockets subtly when her lithe fingers reached out, right above his lap, and offered him a pen. He gave her a small smile before replying:

If i have to hear another stupid toast, I’m going back to my room

She scanned his reply, and he noticed her lips curve up upwards as she did. Satoru leaned back, fork mushing the leftovers of his desert as he waited for her. Her hands reached down, and placed it right on his thigh and he almost jolted at the slight hint of her fingers against his jean-clad thighs.

He shakily opened the response, a misplaced sense of guilt ravishing his brain.

what about me???

He tried not to think much before he replied, reminding himself that this was friendly. She was being friendly.

You can come up too. I’d hate to leave you here with the wolves.

“Gojo,” Hana said, her voice loud enough for the entire table to hear. Satoru turned to her, raising his brows. “You wanted to show me that book, right?” She turned to her mother. “Ma, do we have enough time for me to go up and check it out?”

Her mother smiled a very specific kind of smile, and Satoru once again reminded himself that this was friendly. 

“Oh, of course. With the way things are going, I think we have about twenty more toasts to go.”

Satoru glanced back at his father who, in his drunken stupor, paid him no mind while his mother barely looked his way, eyes focused on the empty plate below her. 

When Hana went through his small bookshelf, something he didn’t think she’d actually do, he sat on his messy bed and watched her. She stopped at one of the books and pulled it out, a small smile on her lips as she turned back to look at Satoru. 

“What is this?” she asked, plopping down on the bed as she scanned a CD he’d placed in the middle of all the books. It was something Geto had given him once after a fight he’d had with you two months into your relationship, and if he remembered correctly, he’d written, on top of the case with a thick, black marker: move on bro!! Geto had brought it up in one of your recent conversations and said he wasn’t right in the head to think either of you could ever move on from the other, and followed that statement by saying you were meant for each other.

“Uh, my friend gave it to me after I had a… well—”

“A breakup?”

It was a small falling out, but he didn’t correct her because it was so long ago. So, he nodded. 

“Breakups are so—they’re so annoying.”

Satoru chuckled, curious. “Got your heart broke or somethin’?”

She shook her head vigorously, as though she hated that statement with every fiber in her bones. “No, at least not recently. Probably because I hate the idea of meaningless relationships.”

Meaningless relationships? “Elaborate.”

“I don’t know! Like, I’ve thought about it and I just don’t see the reason to tie myself down to someone, you know? I’m young and I have a lot of time to get serious and have joint bank accounts but now? I feel like if I ever tied myself down, it’d end sometime because we end up hating each other for holding each other back while we’re so young.”

He tried not to think about her words too much, but it was hard. He was sure she’d say something completely different were he to tell him about you and your engagement, sugarcoating her words and saying stuff like not you! I’m just talking about me, of course. And that was what he didn’t want. He appreciated her brutal honesty because she was unknowingly giving her perspective on something he hadn’t thought about before getting engaged. 

You love her and you’re her fiance, a part of his mind told him, holding him back from probing further. But another part, the part of him that was always scared over one thing or another pushed him to ask her more. 

And he did, he asked until he was unconsciously convincing himself that the two of you shouldn’t go through with this, but not enough for him to break it off with you. 

What did convince him to break it off with you was something that happened around a month later, after he and Hana had hung out plenty of times due to the increasing closeness of their parents. It was because he found himself shifting his chair closer to hers during dinner. It was because he unconsciously raised his thigh everytime she passed him a note and didn’t reach out his hand so her fingers would graze over it. It was because he was texting her more than he was texting you, and a part of him didn’t seem to mind it. 

He knew it was wrong, despite the plethora of times he tried to convince himself that it was platonic. He couldn’t deny that there was something so utterly wrong about how he didn’t want to tell Hana that he was engaged to you. He didn’t end it with you after doing something that would instantly cross the line he’d been teetering over the edge of for a month, he ended it with you when he felt like if she would cross that line unknowingly, he wouldn’t stop himself from giving in. 

And Satoru didn’t want to cross that line.

#tell me how we feel ab this bc im kinda scared #babies im literally batman vengeance will be served dont u worry #gojo x reader #angst #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo angst #gojo satoru #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst

[fioreofthemarch]

kin

Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom Pairing: Link/Zelda Words: 1270 [✨this is a companion piece to repast and yearnings]

When at last Zelda was returned to the present, it was all she could do not to dwell on the past.

The memories of her time as a dragon were gone, but the subconscious remained. She felt unsteady on her feet, disliked being cooped up without a view of the sky, and often dreamt of flying, always waking with a lingering sense of loss. 

It was a guilty feeling. She had gotten everything she’d wanted. The Demon King was gone, Hyrule was saved, and Link - Link! - he was alive and they were finally free to go about their lives in long-awaited peace.  

And yet?

“You look as though you’ve forgotten something,” Purah had said to her when they’d last spoken in Lookout Landing. Zelda agreed, but couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was. 

An answer came to her in Hateno, while she and Link were visiting their house by the river. Link had built them a new home in Akkala, and was sure that Zelda would enjoy rearranging it to her liking, if she didn’t mind moving house. So there in Hateno, while Zelda was sorting through her things and trying to decide what to take, something bright and blue caught her eye – a dragon! A spirit of cool, calm wisdom, passing silently overhead. 

At that moment, what was forgotten became clear. She burst from the house, arms waving, crying – “Sister!”

But the dragon never slowed, only kept on as sure as the wind. Then she was rounding north, slipping down towards the horizon, and then she was gone. 

Zelda sank down onto the grass, hands clasped tight and catching tears she didn’t know were falling. Naydra no longer knew her; they’d shared the skies for millenia, and yet! 

“Maybe she just doesn’t recognise you,” Link said upon finding her like this, his voice a steadying presence, as were his sure hands leading her back inside. “You’ve changed since she saw you last.” 

“For the better, right?”

He grinned, “I loved you just as much either way.”

After this Zelda tried, earnestly, to let life go on. The Akkala house was perfect, and only needed some nicer furnishings, maybe a painting or two, or a bigger garden. When not working on that, Zelda found her thoughts returning to the dragons – she charted Dinraal’s path over Akkala, drawing it on a map she kept in her study. Then, when the need arose to travel to Hateno, she did the same for Naydra, and later Farosh too, when she and Link travelled south to visit the Gerudo. Once the map was complete, it occurred to her that the three dragons formed a distinct triangle, each guarding their own corner of Hyrule. And that’s when knew what to do. 

“I was here for longer than I can even say,” she explained to Link, after convincing him to take her to the Great Sky Island. “The three dragons visited me here every day, at the centre of the Kingdom.” 

They stood on the roof of the Temple of Time, where Link had landed the ballooncraft he had made them. The skies were clear, and all of Hyrule could be seen below. He asked Zelda what exactly she planned to do, and she admitted she didn’t really know. She just had to try something. Link gave her an understanding nod, and stepped back to let her proceed. 

Zelda clasped her hands at her chest. She focused, felt all the yearning and regret, all the nostalgia for younger days, and let them flow from her like a lighthouse beacon – a single wish that cascaded from her very soul. Her secret stone, still worn around her neck, began to glow hot against her skin, in concert with the ancient royal mark on her right hand. I am here. Come to me!

How long she stood like that she did not know, but eventually she felt the air grow hot and cold all at once. 

The sight when she opened her eyes was all but beyond words; three great and immortal dragons, servants of the very Goddess herself, gathered together before the Temple. Their bodies flowed like rivers, irridescent scales scattering light, long horns shimmering with diffuse elemental power. Summoned here, the dragons hovered in place; Dinraal to the left, Farosh to the right and Naydra in the middle. 

Zelda bowed. She shook from nerves. Did the dragons hear her call? What was their answer? There was silence, except the wind, until at last Zelda heard a voice.

Sister, the dragon Naydra said, you are changed. 

You have become small and fragile, said the dragon Dinraal. 

You have joined the swordsman as a mortal, said the dragon Farosh. 

“You know me?” Zelda said, barely able to breathe. Behind her, Link stood tall and firm, though his body was tense. It was no small thing to treat with the gods. 

You were not easy to spot, Naydra said. Your light however was very familiar.

A great power summoned us here, sister. We are impressed, Dinraal said. 

As are we curious, Farosh added. Speak your command. 

Still Zelda did not know why exactly she had called them. There had to be something that she had wanted to say…

“Zelda… are you okay?” Link said, with a hint of fear in his voice. It was enough to steel her. She couldn’t tarry here. Immortal though her sisters were, she did not want to waste their time. 

“I am okay,” she answered, and she knew why.

Turning to Naydra, Dinraal and Farosh, Zelda bowed again, long and low. Rising, she said, “I was no one, adrift in an open sky, until I awoke in your company. I had done something terrible and forbidden, but you accepted me as one of your own, and stayed with me until my task was complete. And even now that I have left you, you remember me. This kindness…” she brushed tears from her cheeks, composing herself. “I must thank you. I wish there was a way to repay your generosity.” 

The dragons hovered, eyes bright and piercing. Zelda felt foolish; sentimental words probably meant little to them. But then, together, they bowed their heads in return. After a long moment, they broke formation and began to move through the air once more, silently circling the Temple of Time in a spiral of ice, flame and static.  

“Was that ‘offer accepted’?” Link asked with a nervous laugh. 

Dinraal departed first, heading north for Akkala. Then Farosh followed, turning south for Gerudo. Only Naydra remained. She flew down towards the roof of the temple, and landed on its parapets gentler than a feather. Placing her head down so that her and Zelda’s eyes were level, she blinked slow and calm. 

Beloved sister, she said, things done for kin need never be repaid.  

Then, a single tear falling from her eye, the dragon Naydra ascended from the roof, and flew east. Zelda watched until she disappeared from view, her own tears falling free. Not all memories were lost, she realised, but the past would always be the past, and that was its own kind of loss. 

Still, the future was calling. It came in the form of a warm and gentle hand – Link, threading his fingers into hers. “Home?” he said. Zelda nodded, knowing what he meant, but feeling that she was already there as he wrapped his arms around her. 

“Good, I’ve got an apple pie in the oven that you might like.”

With a laugh she returned his radiance, fresh but happy tears falling. “I think I might,” she said. And so they went, leaving the sky behind. 

#totk #tears of the kingdom #zelink #link #zelda #light dragon #totk spoilers #this is definitely not a multichapter fanfic masquerading as three oneshots #i just really like naydra #shes neat #marble skies

[intuitive-revelations]

While I've got critiques of a few choices (eg. bigeneration, the Season One reset), one thing I've got to commend RTD for is that the story arc of things getting "more supernatural" / the universe shifting from sci-fi to fantasy is actually a pretty perfect way of continuing the shows overall myth arcs without actually requiring knowing all the backstory.

Not only does this follow on from the Time Lords currently being gone again (which itself was kind of built up from the previous Gallifrey arcs and the Master's character development), but also is more or less exactly what the Ravagers wanted to do in Flux. They wanted to undo the Anchoring of the Thread, recontexualised in terms of the Division's universal interferenc. While time and its laws have somewhat stabilised for now, we are indeed now seeing Rassilon's laws of rationality starting to collapse. I would strongly argue this started even before the 60th anniversary, between the time loop in Eve of the Daleks and the constellations literally rearranging themselves in the sky in Legend of the Sea Devils.

Even outside of the shows main arcs, New Who has already dipped its toes into the concept that there are older creatures which don't necessarily run on science in the same way as everything else, or that are from outside the universe / incompatible with it. Primary examples being the Carrionites, Racnoss, the Beast and Abaddon, Weeping Angels, Solitract, arguably even The Timeless Child. The Dark Times have also been prominantly featured in stuff like the Time Lord Victorious series and Titan Comics.

We've also being seeing entities like Eternals gradually returning (Zellin, Rakaya, maybe Time) who were originally established as leaving the universe in the wake of the Time War in RTD's Series 1 backstory in the DW Annuals. We've even seen quite significant emphasis put on the Sisterhood of Karn and their connection to Gallifrey, something primarily developed in the EU with the Pythia lore, which also links into the likes of the Visionary in The End of Time.

All this being said, none of this backstory is (for now) important for new viewers to know. All they need to know is that Fourteen fucked up in Wild Blue Yonder, and now things which were once outside the universe, like the Toymaker, are starting to leak into it. They don't need to know, for example, that the TARDIS may only have been able to access edge of universe thanks to the scale of the Flux's destruction.

Ultimately this feels a lot like his approach with the Time War. While it was a logical conclusion to the classic series (hence why we get so many time wars / destructions of Gallifrey in the EU), with Genesis, Revelation and Remembrance of the Daleks all particularly serving as build up for a Dalek attack on Gallifrey, and indeed were all included in said prior-mentioned DW Annual articles along with the tension de-escalating 'Act of Master Restitution', none of that was important for new viewers in 2005 to know.

This being said, I do suspect some past context will return in the future, just as it did over New Who. For example, we're bound to be reintroduced to the idea that the Time Lords established rationality in the universe, maybe name-checking the Division as part of their interference. I also stand by my previous theory that we're likely to eventually see Rassilon return after his exile in Hell Bent. In fact I wouldn't be surprised if he served as the face of an effort to bring back the Time Lords in some form, opening up questions of their oppressive history (expect the Timeless Child's trauma to be emphasised) and whether the universe is better off without its fantastical elements suppressed, even if this does open the universe up to the dangers he fought like the Vampires, Carrionites, Great Old Ones etc. (Particular emphasis on the last of these, given it's sort of implied the only reason eg. the Great Intelligence isn't a full-power Cthulhu Mythos Yog-Sothoth is because of the Anchoring.) Perhaps the Sisterhood of Karn's newfound influence on Gallifrey in the wake of the Time War and Lungbarrow could play a role here.

#Doctor Who #DW Theory #DW Meta #RTD #Fifteenth Doctor #The Time War #The Flux #The Anchoring of the Thread #Rassilon #Wild Blue Yonder #Doctor Who EU

[cibeeorsomeshit]

Day Seven: Sun Moon Stars/Magic (Ao3)

Your sort-of boyfriend was going to do his full moon magic shit and he didn’t sound very enthusiastic about it. So you said you would be there to take care of him when he was done. And so you did.

There was a craze in Stolas’ eyes he wasn’t used to during the first time he was allowed — maybe more precisely, allowed himself — to see what Stolas actually needed the book on the full moon for. Blitzø thought it would be like Stolas’ usual works, looking through the giant telescope, mumbling to himself and taking notes. Grinding herbs into paste and straining them through oil, putting this one in glass tubes and that one in brass jars or another one in cast iron pots, before sending them off to different royals for who knew what. Blitzø joked about Stolas being a witch, and Stolas gleefully conjured an accurate witch hat and a not so accurate slutty witch outfit. That was fun and all, but seeing Stolas during his full moon duty made it extremely clear how instead of the witch, Stolas was the kind of demon that witches worshiped for. 

Blitzø never stayed past the set up stage. He never had reasons to. The whole thing took hours at an unholy time and Blitzø wasn’t about to drive his ass home himself when he was dead tired. Now, though, he could slip into Stolas’ bed without feeling like he was a discarded dildo, he could stay as long as he wanted. 

Stolas was hesitant, and told Blitzø not to push himself, please don’t feel like he needed to stay.

“I won’t disturb your weird ritual, don’t worry.” Blitzø curled up on the small (for Goeita’s standard) settee up against the cold stonewall of the astronomy tower. Stolas stood under the oculus that saw the night sky, waiting for the moon to reach the top. 

Stolas raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you would.”

“So what’s the deal?”

“I just think you might be more comfortable in our bed, that’s all.”

Our bed. It was a wonder Blitzø didn’t die on the spot with how hard his heart jumped at that. It had been three weeks since it became their bed. Just like the balcony was their spot, and Silkworm was their horse.

“Whatever, I want to be here,” Blitzø said. “I said I was gonna take you back to bed after you're done so I’m gonna.”

Stolas did not mention how rough Blitzø’s voice sounded, but he did walk over to kiss Blitzø’s horns, and then his lips, because they couldn't help it.

“It’s almost time.” Stolas said when they parted. No shit, Blitzø didn’t say, the tinge of mania in Stolas’ eyes and the red glow to his talons said it all. 

“Go do your thing.” Blitzø waved him away like someone would a child refusing school. Stolas seemed to find it amusing, and Blitzø quickly realized why he was gently warned he could leave if he wanted to.

The chalk-written runes and sigils beneath Stolas glowed from the moonlight shining in through the oculus. The grimoire unraveled itself, pages split from the spin with sickening tearing noise, rearranging themselves around Stolas as though he was the eye in a storm. 

Weird, but who was weirded out by these shits anymore? Certainly not Blitzø. No, what made him realize he might be out of his element was when he had to check if his head was still attached to his body, then also checking if his hands were still attached to his arms, because he felt like he was coming apart at the seams too, and he was seeing Stolas from everywhere, the front, the back the sides. A droning silence enveloped the tower. A pulsating void that messed with Blitzø’s brain in the way he would never admit to Stolas later that yeah, he probably should have just fucking gone to bed.

“Satan’s rotting anus,” Blitzø said out loud and yet somehow no noise hit the air even though he could feel his throat muscles move. He burrowed underneath the settee cushions and thought really hard  about the fat joint he was going to need after all of this.

He didn’t know how long it lasted, but he did know the exact moment it ended. Sounds that normally Blitzø never registered (the faint buzzing of city lights, airflow going in and out of gaps in the wall, his own breathing) was all at once alarmingly present. But there was only one sound he cared about: the clicks of talons finally resting on the stone floor, and the slump of a hollow-boned body. 

Blitzø disentangled himself from the cushions and was at Stolas’ side in a second. The whole reason Blitzø insisted on staying was because of this. Because weeks ago Stolas made a throwaway remark about how “dreadful” he always felt after the ritual. “Dreadful” was Stolas-speak for “fucking shit out of whack,” so sue him if Blitzø was feeling too tenderhearted after sleeping without nightmares for weeks straight, and just couldn’t stand the thought of Stolas alone and miserable. 

And Stolas did look miserable, laying there like he wanted to rot into the ground. At least he wasn’t alone. 

“Hey,” Blitzø called. Moving Stolas now would probably cause him to throw up, so their bed would have to wait. Instead he gently placed Stolas’ head on his knees, claws running through head feathers that still crackled with electricity. “Hey, pretty bird.”

Stolas mumbled at the pet name, one in four eyes blinking open slightly. “You’re here.” 

“I said I was gonna stay.”

“I thought it might be too uncomfortable for you.” Stolas was slurring his words like how Blitzø texted.

“You saying I’m weak or some shit?”

Stolas chuckled. “No. Though I suppose I should have known better.” 

“Damn right you should.”

Stolas finally managed to peel open all his eyes, and they immediately focused on Blitzø. The mania was still there, faintly, but pushed to the side by the L-word Stolas somehow knew how to say through gazes alone. 

“It’s so easy.” Stolas said, apropos of nothing.

“What?”

“This has never been easy for me.” Stolas continued. He turned and snuggled into Blitzø’s stomach. “But you’re here, and suddenly it’s easy. Even — fulfilling, like being rewarded after a job well done.”

Blitzø’s movement nearly halted at that. He never made something easy for someone. He never was a reward for a tired lover. If he was scared of love before, he had no idea how much more terrible it would feel to be scared of losing it. 

It was a good feeling. 

Blitzø gathered Stolas in his arms, tucking all of him in like they were already in bed, like how Stolas tucked him in when Blitzø showed up all those full moons ago and slept in what was now their bed for the first time without sex. It was his turn now.

“Let me take you to bed.” Blitzø said. 

And Stolas knew, Blitzø was really saying the L-word.

(Day Five&Six) ←

#helluva boss #stolitz #stolas #blitz #blitzo #blitzø #my writing

[sucrosette]

★— ⋆｡˚ [What If We Rewrite the Stars?]

For Day 4 of Carry on Countdown 23, Stars.

On proposals.

Rated M for Baz and Simon getting (un)surprisingly frisky.

⋆｡˚

If Basilton ever proposed to anyone– not that he had anyone in mind, and certainly not his roommate who wanted very much to defang him and who Basilton certainly did not want to snog– he already had his plan laid out. Mage weddings were notoriously elaborate and romantic, as anyone with their thumb to the page of Mage Histories would have been well aware, so of course Basilton, best mage in his class, would already have his plan. Not only did he have the general populace of magekind to contest with, but also his very own mother.

Everyone bloody well knew she’d hung the moon for his father. Basilton couldn’t hide the scowl the thought of his father brought him, shaking his head to clear his mind of it. He refocused himself back to the empty field before him and then up to the clear sky above.

If his mother had hung the moon, he could bloody well rewrite the stars.

It’s in the theory of it, not the literalness of the thing. He wasn’t trying to throw the entire universe out of sorts or ruin planetary alignments. What Basilton was going for was a simpler thing, the illusion of rearranging them. He wasn’t entirely sure into what yet, at least not for the proposal, he knew that should be more personal, but for this practice bout, he has an idea.

He’d already tried a number of quotes from the classics, “I defy you, stars”, “there was a star danced”, “the stars are painted”, and that was only a small sampling of the Shakespeare he’d performed for the empty field and night sky, but nothing had taken yet. He’d tried any number of classics, a good few popular modern publications, several different poems, and just about any song that had broached the top one hundred in the past decade that also made mention of the barest, but nothing had taken yet.

Today, Baz is trying something a little off the cuff. Not exactly about the stars directly, but maybe something that could cause that illusion. ‘You would not believe your eyes–’ his wand flourishing elegantly out and up towards the starts, but as soon as the phrase leaves his lips, the field floods with fireflies. Fireflies. Which were not stars. He supposed at least something had happened, but the phrases were too tied together, either as some sort of ubiquitous social thought or a pervasive tie within his own mind.

Baz lets out a sigh and sits himself back down in the grass, hand resting palm up on his knee, facing the swarm of lightning bugs in front of him, staring off into utter nothingness. A firefly lands on his palm, it’s little legs tickling at sensitive skin.

So they were real.

Basilton was probably going to get in trouble for this.

⋆｡˚

The moment Baz knows he’s going to ask Simon Snow to marry him is the same moment they’d banished the room to a swirling galaxy all around them. He’s awestruck, confused, alight with affection for the soft contact between their hands, even amid all the violent, frustrated thoughts flying about his head in a haphazard flurry.

He knows he shouldn’t think such ridiculous things about Simon Snow. It’s not like he’s ever going to confess to him, let alone ask Snow to marry him, but Crowley, something about the stars pulled down into their room is doing something to him. It’s not the feeling of fire in his veins, nor the crackling electricity on his skin, nor even the ridiculous alluring way Simon looks all open and vulnerable like this, but the whole situation.

Of course it was ‘Twinkle, twinkle little star!’ he’d spoken the magick into. He knows it’s not a spell, he’d tried it a dozen and a half times before this in a dozen and a half different ways and come to nothing for it. But this time, burned clean with Simon’s magickal fire at his fingertips…

This is as close as he’s gotten to success, it’s more magnificent than he could have possibly envisioned in all his years as a mageling up to this. It would probably be better than he could ever hope to deliver too, but that doesn’t matter to Baz in the moment. All he can think is there’s no one else he’d rather share a sight like this with than Simon Snow.

Merlin and Morgana’s sake, he’s a bloody lovestruck nitwit and Baz has never been more certain of anything before. He’s going to ask this ninny to marry him one day, if they both survive the year.

⋆｡˚

It happens two years after their graduation. Simon and he both are on break from classes and Baz’s father and stepmum have flown the girls to the states for their own hols away from home. Oh sure, Baz and Simon could’ve joined, but an extended stay with his dad sounds like hell to Baz, so Baz and Simon decide to take their holiday in Ireland. Well, rather Baz decides and Simon can’t deny it’d be nice for a change of scenery. Okay, so the weather wouldn’t be much different from London, but he’d never been before, and Baz excited always makes for a good time.

Apparently, the mages in Ireland are absolutely insane, in that their spells are like nothing anywhere else in the world, old magicks still running wild throughout the lands, but also in that they also throw a damn good holiday party. Baz has never been one to avoid an excuse to show up and show off, especially now that he’s got such a divine dancing partner. Simon makes excuses, says he doesn’t know the steps, he’s got two left feet, he’ll trip them both up, but he lets Baz drag him around from place to place anyway.

He doesn’t like to be in the spotlight anymore, Baz knows, not on his own. But Baz also knows when he’s holding Simon’s waist and leading him in their dances, in their lives, the world falls away from both of them, leaving everything but the music and their footsteps behind.

It’s an impulse, a moment of downtime between the parties and the socializing and sightseeing, a moment where Basilton doesn’t have anything planned in his neatly penned itinerary, and Simon sights a theatre across the way from their cafe where Baz had been enjoying coffee and cake.

“Let’s see a movie,” Simon hums between sips of his thick cocoa, eyeing the titles in the display across the way.

Baz hums his own acknowledgment, watching Simon more than anything else around them, nodding before Simon even decides on a feature for them. “Why not? We can have an easy night tonight too, take the night off dancing and stay in our room, enjoy some whiskey in our bed, kick our feet up.”

Simon’s eyes are already twinkling, his feet tapping under the table excitedly, and Baz knows he’s made the right decision immediately.

It’s a musical they agree on, something loud and high energy, in contrast to Baz’s idea of a lazy evening, but Baz can never say no to a musical, and Simon doesn’t really care one way or another whatever they watch. So it’s a musical they’re watching.

It happens not too long after the hour point in the movie. The song starts playing. Not just any song, but The Song. Baz hears it and he knows this is going to be the song that changes everything about his proposal, that it’s going to be powerful enough, popular enough, to sink into every blade of grass and tree and rock and, oh this song is going to be good magick. There’s not a doubt in his mind.

His fingers are already twitching to find his wand and try it, iching to see if he could get it right the first try, to see if the magick’s already powerful enough for it. Simon must sense his insane spike in energy though, because his hand snakes out to grasp Baz’s and twine their fingers together, squeezing over his digits and bringing him back from the machinations of magick for the rest of the movie.

Simon listens through all Baz’s technical ramblings on the music, the inspirations the writer’s must’ve taken, the absolute chops on one singer in particular, the confusing choices made about the one singer who had supposedly been an operatic. Simon listens patiently through it all until warm whiskey settles Baz’s anxious energy and the movie’s finally forgotten between their lips.

“You’re terribly adorable when you get like this, you know, Pitch?” Simon asks before stealing a soft, slow kiss, his warm hands cupping Baz’s cool cheeks to keep them close together. Simon presses Baz’s back down to the mattress and climbs atop him, knees braced at Baz’s waist, straddling him slow, kisses trailing tender along Baz’s jaw and cheeks until Baz is humming low for him.

Baz’s hands wander up Simon’s bare back, following the notches of his spine tenderly, mapping his back all the way up to his wings, even though Baz knows these plains of Simon better than he knows his own hands. “Oh, shut up, Snow,” Baz groans, voice heated between shared kisses, lips wet with their want, “You’re just as bad going on about any and every new pastry we try.”

“I am,” Simon doesn’t even bother to deny it, kisses wandering over Baz’s neck, marking him with soft love bites, sucking the skin underneath dark with his affections, “But there’s better things to think about right now, aren’t there?”

Baz’s fingers crawl up Simon’s wings, dragging soft over their leather, lips quirking into a frown. Simon wasn’t wrong, he supposed, but he wasn’t going to just say it outright. “Why don’t you tell me what you’d like me focusing on, love, and we’ll go from there…”

Simon kisses a soft trail down Baz’s chest, unbuttoning his perfectly pressed shirt as he goes, “You know what I want, Baz.”

One of Baz’s hands slides off Simon’s wings to grip over Simon’s ass, gripping tight and forcing them to grind together, pulling a sharp gasp from Simon above him, the nails remaining edging just on this side of sharp against sensitive joints. “Words, love. I won’t ask nicely again.”

“You,” Simon rasps into his chest, nosing over the soft hair there, “Just you.”

Baz’s tongue darts out to wet his own lips, grinding them together again before that same hand slips to wrap Simon’s tail about his wrist, tugging it sharp in the moments following. “Needy thing,” Baz murmurs back, but he doesn’t argue against it. Baz’s always been terribly bad at denying Simon when he was honest with him, “I’ll give you what you want, love of mine, all you want and more…”

The moments melt into hours like that, between heated kisses and soft marks burned into skin, hands tugging in hair, gasps and moans lost to the air between them. Naught between their skin but Simon’s whispered worship and Baz’s quiet praise, pressing closer and closer into each other until nothing remained but each other. 

Still, it keeps playing in Baz’s head the next morning, that week, through their anniversary and the rest of the month too. “Rewrite the Stars,” the song rang in his mind, and Baz knew that was exactly what he intended to do, what he’d always intended to do.

#Carry On Countdown #COC 2023 #baz pitch #simon snow #snowbaz #carry on fanfiction #my writing #there might be one more scene to this cooking #not sure if i have the chops for the grand proposal itself though

[ananxiousgenz]

SONG FOR A CAGED LOVEBIRD: PART 15

wow. wowie wow wow. this section got me up to a little over 19,500 K. that's fucking INSANE homie!!!

this section took me a while to work out bc i knew what points i wanted to hit but not the order I wanted to do them in, so I had to break some stuff apart and rearrange it. hopefully this makes sense? this sections got a weird energy to it and i'm not sure why. but we are in the home stretch of this fic guys!!!! maybe like 3 or 4 more chapters max and then it is FINISHED, which is so crazy to me

alsoooo enjoy some bonus content!! aka me singing a lil bit of epic iii in honor of this absolutely insane milestone

HEY GANG IT'S FRESH FOOD: @smidgen-of-hotboy @ceaseless-watchers-special-girl @urjover @waters-and-the-wilde @gwenlena

@demonic-panini @the-private-eye @one-joe-spoopy

Voices singing in harmonies, orbiting in perfect rhythm, chasing like the sun and moon across the sky, echoed in the deafening silence of Hadestown.

The workers had stopped showing up a few days ago. Wouldn’t pick up their pickaxes or lay a hand on their wheelbarrows. Slowly, the factories ground to a halt. The furnaces died down. The wall stopped being built. And for the first time in a long, long time, the workers didn’t care.

They took beatings from the executives with a smile and a song on their lips, a song that spoke of unity in the face of loss with a melody that grew like creeping thyme through the town. It had been a while since Peter had heard Juno’s voice, but he knew. Even from this distance, he knew it was him. His strong, clear voice helixing through the air with another voice that he assumed must have been Ben’s. And the world stopped its ceaseless grind and listened.

And from his gilded cage in Slip’s office, Peter watched with no small amount of pride as his beloved husband brought the hell of Hadestown to a screeching halt.

Slip stormed back and forth in his office. Nureyev had been up here for…. Well, he wasn’t quite sure, but his best guess was a week. Slip had taken him up here after his executives had beaten Juno and left him for dead. Something about how he didn’t want him associating with those kinds of people anymore. 

Nureyev knew that was bullshit. There was something else at play here, something he saw as clearly as if the sun were shining down through the rock overhead.

Slip was afraid of Juno. 

He could see it with every furious step and angry huff. An undercurrent of fear laced his every move. Juno had crossed some sort of line, broken some sort of spell that Slip was afraid might never be put back into place. He was getting more erratic and scattered as the days went by. And for some reason that Nureyev couldn’t quite explain, a well of dread was beginning to bubble up in the pit of his stomach.

After all, it’s the scared animals that are the most dangerous.

“Godsdammit all, why won’t they work anymore?” Slip snarled, steps heavy but quick as he paced across the room.

Nureyev turned his gaze coolly away from the window. “Don’t know. Maybe they realized the lies and bullshit you’ve been feeding them!”

“Keep talking like that and I’ll leave you right where I left your precious husband.”

“Oh, I don’t know, he seems to be doing quite well for himself so far, considering he’s brought your whole town to a standstill.”

Slip stopped pacing like a frustrated predator and stared at Nureyev. Nureyev wasn’t scared. He’d already lost so much to this man he could barely remember. What was losing a little more? He stared right back, almost daring Slip to make a move.

“What else did you expect, Slip? You lie to these people for years, force them to work for nothing, keep them away from their homes and families, and expect they’ll be happy? That they’ll listen when you speak? That they’ll care about you and your opinions?” His motions were jerky with a deep set anger and hurt that was starting to burn hotter than the heart of the Hadestown furnaces.

Slip’s jaw was beginning to tremble, but in rage or fear or pain, Nureyev couldn’t tell.

Go on. Tell him. Tell him what he needs to hear.

“How long did you think they’d put up with this before they turned on you? How long do you think they’d wait for you to change?”

How long did he think you’d wait for him, little songbird?

“They’ll put up with it for as long as I am in charge of this town.”

Nureyev sighed deeply. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“What is there to get, Petya? That these people don’t comprehend the logic of a business?” 

Slip threw his arms open wide. Even now, even with all his power and might and control, he still looked like what he had been the last time Peter had ever really known him: a small, scared kid.

“They’re going to destroy everything I’ve ever worked for. Everything I ever built for you. And all because of that husband of yours and his fucking music.” 

“Everything you built….for me?”

Slip sighed, and his expression softened slightly. “Of course. I made this town for you. I was going to show you all of its wonders. But you never came to find me, like you said you would. Remember?”

Peter couldn’t. Not at first, anyway. But slowly and surely, a memory began to creep back into his consciousness. 

He was young. Couldn’t have been more than 12 or 13. The last of summer was still in the air. Slip had just finished telling him the old Story of Hades and Persephone, a story the two of them shared like their stolen food and blankets. Peter had cracked some kind of joke, something about the two gods in the story being a perfect pair because one could kill you and the other could dispose of your remains, and he and Slip were howling with laughter.

When the laughing had died down, Slip turned to Peter, suddenly serious. “Petya, can you promise me something?”

“Of course, my love, anything.”

“If one of us dies before the other… can we send a message to them from Hades? So the one that’s still living knows to go get them?”

“Slip, don’t talk like that. No one is going to die!”

“I know, I know, but…. Just in case, you know? If I die, I’ll send you a sign. A huge sign. I’ll…. I’ll get rid of the spring altogether! I’ll keep Persephone locked up in the underworld until you come to find me!”

That sent them both into another peal of unstoppable laughter.

And then the memory faded away, and Nureyev was left standing in the office, facing a man he had known so well decades ago, but didn’t know anymore.

“I should have brought you down here sooner, you know,” Slip said, chewing on his lip. “I thought, if I can take Persephone’s reincarnation and keep him down here, and change the world above, he will notice and come for me. Surely, if I just hold out a little longer, if I just let the winter go a little longer, let him starve a little longer, he’ll remember the promise he made to me. He’ll come to find me. But no.

“Instead, you moved on. Grew up. Got a respectable job. Even got married! All while you left me to fester down here. But it’s okay, my love. I don’t blame you. No. It’s all that Juno Steel’s fault.”

Nureyev suddenly realized his mouth and throat had gone bone dry, and a slightly manic gleam had entered Slip’s eyes.

“He stole you away from me. He’s what’s keeping us apart. You know, I should have killed him when I had the chance. Maybe I can still kill him now. You wouldn’t happen to know which of my workers he’s associating with, would you, Petya, dear? Maybe I could hurt them too.”

Peter’s whole body went rigid with fear. 

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

He could barely make his hands shape the words. The sudden adrenaline rush made him shiver. He could barely imagine the pain Juno felt when he woke up and discovered his lover was gone. He couldn’t imagine having to go through the same pain.

Slip just looked back at him, face calm and still and eyes shining as he slid into the chair behind his desk, and Nureyev knew. If he made one false move, Juno would suffer the consequences. He swallowed hard.

An executive rapped on the door. “The leader is here to discuss negotiations, my associate.”

Slip’s eyes never left Nureyev’s face. “Of course. Bring them in. You might want to stay for this, Petya. I’m sure you’ll find it interesting.”

Nureyev didn’t move a muscle.

A moment later, Juno stumbled through the door, an executive hot on his heels, and Peter couldn’t decide if he should let out the breath he was holding or grab his lover by the shoulders and sprint out of the room. Maybe both.

Once Juno regained his balance, he glanced around the room until his eye rested on Peter, and a soft, relieved smile inched onto his face.

“Hey, babe, what’s going on? Where have you been?” he said gently, taking a few steps in Peter’s direction. 

Peter wanted so badly to run to him, to kiss him, to leave town and never look back. But Slip’s threat had been genuine. He knew that. He stayed where he was, silently willing Juno to read the room and get the hell out.

“Mr. Steel. I will kindly ask you to keep your conversation directed to me, seeing as I am your host here.”

The smile fell from Juno’s face, and a mix of determination, fear, and hope appeared in its place. Simultaneously, a wave of dread crashed over Peter like a tsunami. Gods above, he wanted to throw up.

Juno bowed his head slightly in a greeting. “Slip.”

Slip bowed his head in response. “Let’s skip the pleasantries, shall we?”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

“What the hell do you mean by shutting down my whole town, Mr. Steel? I knew you were a troublesome one, but I never knew you had the guts to take it this far.”

“Oh, this isn’t my doing. It’s theirs,” Juno said simply, pointing out the window to the gathered crowd of workers partying in the street. “They decided they’ve had enough of being treated this way, so they decided to stop showing up. I had almost nothing to do with it.”

Slip leaned forward over his desk. “But you are the one who taught them that song, right?”

“And what if I am?”

“That still makes you an accomplice. You gave them the song that they unified around, and that would be considered a crime down here. And now that I’ve got you in my office, right in front of me, well…. I suppose it only makes sense that I punish you. I suppose you’ve been told how we punish those who step out of line down here?”

Juno’s jaw was set. He nodded. Peter wanted to scream.

Slip stood. “Very well then. Do you have any last words before we dispose of you?”

And suddenly, Juno looked very calm. Calm and careful, but still living up to his last name, with features set like quenched metal.

It took a moment, but Peter realized knew that look. He knew it very well. He knew it from all the nights of playing cards with Buddy or figuring out how to stack a new shipment of crates or watching him discover a new piece of the never ending puzzle that was his song.

That look meant that Juno had a plan.

The smallest spark of hope ignited in Peter’s gut.

And then Juno opened his mouth, and began to sing the song of spring.

#slip..... he's an evil little boy here #i'm so sorry for that #that's just how the words came out of my fingers #anyway #i hope y'all enjoy <3 #i love you guys!!!!! #tpp #the penumbra podcast #tpp hadestown au #song for a caged lovebird

[the-s1lly-corner]

Tropes 6-11 with Itward

I knowwwww I just said I was gonna be skipping the body trope thing for a lot of these "writing speed runs" the only reason itward gets the body swap trope is because I keep coming back to dumb joke scenarios I used to make last year that.. included body swaps!!

BODY SWAP

He is not at all used to having flesh. He tries to be as gentle with your body as he can be, though that's easy considering itward doesn't take many risks when it comes to you..being in your body is no different. As an added bonus if you've been neglecting yourself he makes sure your body is in tip top shape when its returned.. totally not because he kind of felt like shit when he was inside of it.. that's only partly the reason. You, on the other hand, likely end up bumping your (itwards?) Head on doorways, not at all used to being so tall. You both definitely get a few heads turned your way when your dialects swap, as well as your general mannerisms

UNREQUITED LOVE

You were the one crushing on the skeleton, but given that hes constantly here and there you never get to see him much. You try to work up the courage to tell him how you feel before he runs off again to do... whatever he ends up doing while on his adventures. Hes eventually going to notice that something is going on with you, and hes going to ask. Hes very respectful if he doesnt return your feelings, being firm but mindful and letting you down gently.. he doesnt want this to ruin your friendship, but he would be understanding if you want to stop seeing him

MUTUAL PINING

When he has a crush he tends to get talkative. Very talkative, he just wants to spend time with you and build your bond. This leads to a lot of info dumping, where you take turns talking. He attempts to get into some of the things he knows you enjoy so you have a common talking point. On the flip side, if you want his attention offer to help him with his machines. Hes going to appreciate the help and it gives you his time. Very valuable stuff, you know. If you're available after, he might just ask you to have a cup of tea with him.. just play it cool and it should be smooth sailing!

DRUNKEN CONFESSION

While not a confession in the context that he he has a crush on you and you two arent together yet... but a confession in the way where you two are together but he spills just how much you mean to him. Of course, hes been drinking the special lemonade from ithersta.. sometimes a man needs a drink to wind down..! Very sweet, not really a crying drunk or a loud one. If anything he might get poetic.. though he isnt very graceful.. he just goes on about how hes lucky to have you in his life, how hes grateful that you stick around with him, things like that. Sweet man

SHARING CLOTHES

He catches you wearing his coat. He'd much rather you ask him before getting into his wardrobe, but hes not particularly angry or upset.. did you miss him? Oh you poor thing.. he makes a mental note to put some time aside to spend it with you. Like how he smells? He probably.. smells like..he looks like he would smell like a fireplace, and parchment. With a little hit of oil, of course from his machinery. Hes a little confused, but hes not going to shame you for enjoying his scent

DOMESTIC

Living in the flying ship with itward is a nice life. You both travel a lot, so hopefully you dont mind that.. hopefully you dont get air or motion sick either, as the rocking of the ship is going to be near constant. The home a chaotic sort of mess, though everything fits together to give off a cozy feel.. there isnt much to tidy up, but itward won't stop you from trying to rearrange things. Just let him know first! He does most of the cooking, finding the task calming. Sometimes you both watch the sky, on top of the machine as you two travel

#fran bow x reader #itward fran bow #fran bow imagine #fran bow headcanons #itward x reader #itward imagine #itward x you #itward headcanons

[pinepickled]

Once the time for the great evil to appear passes, and no man has been born to the Gerudo, all take a sigh of relief. The prophecy will not come to pass this go around, they think.

But there's one Gerudo, with long red hair and a veil over her face, a thin attempt to try and hide a truth no one could see anyway

She has all the parts, and no more strong is she than the average woman of her race. She's normal. Absolutely normal. A good Gerudo girl who's mind had never been touched by the miasma of Ganon.

But one day, a young blond Hylian visits. He is strong, and earns the respect of the Gerudo soldiers easily. A sword of mystic powers strapped to his back and centuries of the trees, the sky, and courage lay in his history. It's not his time yet, this good Gerudo girl knows- but she doesn't tell anyone.

This Hylian, he leaves the city. He cannot reside in the same quarters as the women, and in a town of all women this means he must sleep outside. The boy is not bothered, he sets up camp at the city walls with indifference, and for some unknown reason, the good Gerudo girl goes out to meet him.

"I've simply brought provisions, nothing more." She tells him. The Hylian doesn't speak, he never speaks, but he smiles. The mark on her hand pulses.

The Hylian invites her to sit, and out of some sort of obligation she does. She cuts up the fruit she'd brought for the Hylian, and the Hylian gives her another smile. She feels sick, in a way. The heat of the desert night persists, and as a bead of sweat trails down her back, she becomes hyper aware of herself. The jewelry on her ankles accentuating dainty legs, the elegant bow of her straight back encircled in gold, the high ponytail of red hair cascading over her shoulder. She was a good Gerudo girl.

It's summer in the Gerudo Desert. Even at night, the heat easily clears 100 degrees. The Hylian, the Hero, he strips. Casually, as though unashamed in the presence of a good Gerudo girl. She'd been told the Hylians were more prudish than her own people, but something about this one, he was wild. The deranged holiness of the forest and the skies shone in his eyes. When he prompted her, the good Gerudo girl took off her own top. Laid bare before the Hylian, he did nothing. The Hero simply sat down once more, gazing up at the stars as he accepted the cut fruit. Slowly, carefully, breathing shallow as though a sword was to her neck, she shed the loose pants cinched with gold at her waist. The Hero only glanced over, uninterested. The mark on her hand throbbed harshly, and the mark on the Hylian's hand did the same.

But that didn't matter. She was a good Gerudo girl, and the great evil hadn't been born this time around. No sin had been bred in her mind, no power she wielded more than normal.

Right?

Right.

Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, she copied the Hero's stance. Her own elegant posture was that of a good Gerudo girl, she'd trained it into herself since she was but a child. The warrior at her side had the lazy stance of a predator, as though he were a jaguar lounging over its prey. The Gerudo girl didn't want to be prey, but as she rearranged her legs and shifted her waist to copy the Hero, she couldn't help but feel as though she'd fallen into the Hylian's lap. The pleased smirk on his face could have been a figment of the Gerudo girl's imagination, and the sharp blue eyes roving over her body could have been a trick of the light.

The hero did nothing, though, and now both in the position of men, horrible, un-Gerudo-like Men, the Gerudo girl closed golden eyes and reached out. The hand with a mark identical to hers, except for the triangle on the opposite side filled instead, took hers.

She was an awful Gerudo girl.

The Hylian drew words in Gerudo script in the sand, and pointed them out to the very bad Gerudo girl.

Your name? he had asked.

The very bad Gerudo girl couldn't speak her name aloud. She would be an even worse Gerudo girl than than if she didn't say it at all. Perhaps this Hylian was wise, sticking to the ways of silence.

As though admitting to the greatest sin of all, the Gerudo girl who was perhaps not a girl at all, wrote in the sand one of her numerous secrets.

Ganondorf.

#legend of zelda #ganlink #ganondorf #loz #link #legend of zelda meta #legend of zelda fic #ganlink fic #trans ganondorf

[burningstarfishqueen]

a fallout fic, for the season five finale

He wasn’t alone. Adrien perched at the edge of the couch, Marinette lounging beside him. She’d finally relaxed. Graceful fingers played across her controller. Her chest rose and fell smoothly, a bit of her shirt wrinkling with each easy breath. 

Victory sounded. 

“Ha!” Her lipgloss shone in the sunlight. “Were you even trying?” 

He wanted to kiss her, but she’d been shy since their first. “Alas, your beauty overwhelms me effortlessly!” Hand clasped to his heart, he flopped into the pillows. 

“You’re such a dork.” 

“Your dork.” 

She leaned in. The bars on his window cast a shadow over her face. He reached out like it was a stain he could clean. His fingers brushed her skin and he could feel her shaking. His hand fell away. 

“Marinette-”

“When did it get so late? Time passes so quickly around you, Adrien. I have somewhere to be.” 

A glance at the clock showed it was patrol. He did need her to leave, but not like this. He caught her wrist in the gentlest hold. “Come by tomorrow?” 

“Of course.” She smiled brightly. “I love you, Adrien. Isn’t it great how everything worked out like this?” Lips pressed to his cheek in a lukewarm kiss. “Bye!” 

The way she ran brought back the first weeks of their relationship, when his touch triggered her and she fled from him. 

At least he had to meet Ladybug. Transforming, he escaped through the bars and vaulted to their meeting point. He sat down to wait for her. 

His father’s statue cut the sky like Chloé’s had, but Miraculous Ladybug wouldn’t whisk this one away. An eternal memory of the night his father died defeating Monarch. He’d thought he’d grieve more. Instead, the summer sun chilled him and a weight stayed in his stomach. He’d sobbed in Marinette’s arms the first day, but since then he couldn’t feel the right pain. 

Gabriel Agreste was a good man. He’d been right to call Chat an uncontrolled child. In his mind, he’d dared think his father was abusive. What sort of son thought that? He’d been ready to cataclysm him. 

His father was the kind of person who stood with Ladybug against Monarch, while Adrien, the superhero, crumbled alone in a white cell. 

Feet tapped on the rooftop behind him. He rearranged his features and turned to see her. Ladybug’s expression was unreadable, her face raised to the statue. 

“Hey, Bug.” 

A flinch. “Mon chatounet.” She offered her hand and he took it. 

They stood side by side, looking up. Chat’s lip twisted. 

“We should patrol,” she said. 

“There isn’t much to do anymore. Not after he saved us from Monarch.” 

“Are you mad at him?” 

Why had there been so much venom in his voice? His fingers clenched. “Why would you think that?” 

She laughed. “Nobody’s mad anymore. The world’s been great since I defeated Monarch. We, I mean. Gabriel Agreste and I!” 

“He helped you.” 

Her arms crossed over her chest as she twisted away. “That happened.” 

Frustration built in his throat. 

“Everything’s good again,” she said, “since he was so trustworthy.” 

He spat out the words: “I don’t believe you.” 

Slowly, Ladybug’s head tipped up. His father smiled down on her. 

“I’m right.” 

Her head shook, frantic. 

Chat put a hand on her shoulder and he was thrown on his back. Ladybug was above him, palms pressed to her ears. “Sorry!” 

Her lies, her new fears, even the way she stood added up to one thing. “He took your Miraculous.” 

She swallowed. “He made the Wish.” 

“For Maman. Père is Monarch.” His lungs didn’t have enough air. “Then how did he die?” 

Her breath hitched. He followed her eyes to the Black Cat ring. 

His body moved on its own, legs carrying him to the edge. 

“Chaton-”

He hardly heard her. 

Dropping into the square, he stood at his father’s feet, craning his neck to try to see his face. It was too far. 

“Cataclysm.” 

Rot ripped through the statue in moments. If only it could’ve killed the real thing so quickly. Magic ripped into the ground. It’d leave a scar. 

Ashes rained around Chat Noir, thick enough to blot out the sun. 

#adrien agreste #chat noir #marinette dupain-cheng #ladybug #adrinette #gabriel agreste #monarch #ml season 5 #ml s5 spoilers #ml re-creation #ml recreation #ml re-creation spoilers #ml recreation spoilers #post season 5 #angst #hurt no comfort #miraculous ladybug #ladynoir #ml fanfic

[cheesus-doodles]

Bullies

Yandere Platonic Toman & Autistic Darling

A fic exchange with @yanderefangirl - hope you like it!

‎

Masterlist

‎tw: ableist slurs, bullying, fem reader dead dove do not eat

‎

"You're a fucking retard!" Another yank of your hair, and you swung, though your fist met nothing but air. Trying to fight them off at this point seemed nothing more than a futile struggle with you being outnumbered this badly, even if you did manage to score one earlier - seems like they had learnt that holding you at arms length was the simplest solution.

"Let go!"

"Retardddd!" One of your schoolmates taunted (what was his name again? Kenji or something?), his jeering laughter a scratching sound in your ear as he pulled a face, free hand emptying out your school bag onto the damp grass, the clatter of plastic and paper alike adding to the already overwhelming cacophony of sound. That homework you worked so hard on with an all-too-patient Draken over the weekend, your favourite pen that you always had with you that had been gifted by Kazutora - you could only watch as they were heartlessly tumbled out into the awaiting mud below, the tears on the edge of welling up held back by the last shred of your pride. "Where's those 'friends' you leech off now huh? Not so strong without them?"

You knew they've been watching you for a while at school - it wasn't hard to feel those beady eyes following you down crowded walkways, until you disappeared into the safety of your classroom, hear those muffled footsteps pattering across wooden floors trailing you no matter which corner you rounded or how many flights of stair you climbed. And you've never been able to figure out who these mysterious figures were try as you might - they knew better than to make a move while Mikey and the others were out and about and on the prowl, not with the menacing auras practically pouring off every one of them.

At least, not till today. It was rare that you were ever alone at lunch these days; not only did your Toman friends treasure every ounce of your attention much like the parched winter earth welcomed the first spring rains, the boys were well-informed of your supposed stalkers. Yet try as they might, this wasn’t a meeting they could rearrange easily, as Mikey huffedly informed you, Baji worriedly wringing his hands in the background - leaving you undefended was less than desirable.

But you and your big mouth: you could handle it, you assured a concerned Mitsuya, even when the unspoken doubt on his face (a usual hurdle for you) was clear enough for you to see as if scrawled in marker even before he had a chance to voice it. Nothing to worry about indeed.

"Weirdooo~ You like weird shit! Who even likes that kind of stuff?"

"Teacher's pet! Trying to get special privileges huh?!"

The sky was awfully overcast for a summer afternoon, you numbly noted, fingers fiddling with the fabric of your shirt; the racket of words being spat at you faded away into a hum of indistinct chatter. Were they still talking at you? You wonder - watching their lips move and eyebrows contort into all sorts of shapes stopped making sense awhile ago - not like you could pinpoint when even if you had to. The new blossom of pain accompanying the sharp pull of hair earned nothing more than a pained huff from you; all you were left to do was wonder.

"Just admit you're stupid already." Ears perking up as his steps came to a halt right before turning the corner, Draken couldn't say he was the least bit surprised to find you in this unpleasant situation upon his return. Seems like he was right to have listened to the churn of his gut that had led him to take a early leave from the Toman meeting - just a quick check to make sure everything was alright with you and he would be right back, he had assured Mikey. Seems like today wasn't one of those more pleasant days that he could keep his hands clean, the Toman Vice-President mused.

Peeking out once more from the corner of the mossy brick wall, your quiet obedience taking the unacceptance taunts and hair-pulling told your friend everything he needed to know; you were shutting down, and he needed to get you out and fast. Yet before Draken could slide his phone out of his pocket and blast off a quick message to the rest, to take that final step out from the shadows and draw those scum's attention away from you, the situation took a quick turn for the worse. "Damn, that's all you got? Tsk. Stand still, freak!"

Whipping his head round, time seemed to both come to a standstill and accelerate, and there was only time for the blond-haired boy to watch, heart dropping into his gut, as the biggest of the group pulled back his arm and let loose a punch directly aimed for your face. Wait, no, stop, all the things he wished he could shout, but his tongue felt as heavy as lead.

A dulled thud. A cry of pain, and his chest momentarily clenched - but it wasn't you. Then a familiar voice dropping into a low growl. “How bout you pick on someone your own size?”

The slap on his shoulder that rang his ears was as unexpected as hearing Baji's voice out of the blue, and Draken would neither admit that he nearly jumped out of his skin nor that it was the sight of Mikey beside him instantly set him at ease. They knew. "Decided to follow you instead."

Those empty abyss eyes that swung up to meet his own did little to mask the anger bubbling and swelling under the surface.

Draken snorted, turning his gaze back up just in time to catch Kazutora socking your taunter straight in the jaw, his mob of black and yellow hair thrown backwards with the force of the retaliatory punch whirling forward. Rats, he wanted to do that. But at least the crunch of bone that echoed was somewhat soul-soothing. "You mean that you decided to skip out on your own meeting again huh?"

"Shut up." He could hear the Toman President's pout even without seeing it, the shorter blond boy waving him off without a backward glance as he shuffled off towards the curb-stomp, Pah's elbow to the ribcage of another offender somehow offering an aesthetic backdrop to the sight of Mitsuya shepherding you away to safety. "Just get her out of here. We'll meet you later."

Translation: this was going to take a while. There would be no easy path to hell for anyone who dared to lay a finger on you. A sharp nod, and Draken wordlessly joined Mitsuya to the rising orchestra of screams and whimpers in the background.

It was to the sound of gentle rustling of leaves and trickle of water that you slowly awoke to, the harsh light of the afternoon sun filtering in occasionally through the thick canopy while the warm smell of a cup of tea tickled your nose. You blinked. This wasn't the school field.

"You alright?"

You turned at the question, a concerned face paired with a crop of lilac hair coming into view. You knew him - Mitsuya. A friend. The question bounced around in your head for a bit as you thought it over, though the other didn't seem to be any rush, patiently seated on the opposite bench. "I guess so."

"Had us worried there." You knew this quiet voice as well, its owner appearing in the corner of your gaze. Draken.

"Sorry," You whispered, but both boys waved the apology off, instead indicating for you to drink.

Nodding, you carefully lifted the cup to your lips as you took in your surroundings, the bitter unsweetened tea a refreshing change washing over your tongue even as your once-valiently held back tears now welled up and spilled freely, though no one commented on it. This was yours and the boys' favourite lunch spot, you concluded as to your location, a secluded spot at the far corner of your school compound, where an old creaky park bench sat under the old blossom tree overlooking a small stream.

You were safe. Your friends had come back for you.

They didn't rush you, watching you through lazy eyes as you sipped away at your tea, the light breeze that had picked up providing a relief from the baking heat. And when you next set your cup back down, now empty of content, Mitsuya let out a satisfied huff as he stretched out stiff joints, making to stand from the low bench. "Whaddya want to do now? Go home?"

You hesitated a moment, before nodding again, harshly wiping at your teary eyes with the sleeve of your school uniform. "C- can we just watch a movie and cuddle?"

"A movie and cuddles sounds good to me." Draken offered his hand, helping you up from your seat. "Let's pick up some snacks on the way back, okay?"

#yandere tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #yandere tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers mikey #tokyo revengers baji #tokyo revengers kazutora #mikey x reader #baji x reader #kazutora x reader #kazutora #sano manjiro #keisuke baji #tokyo revengers draken #tokyo revengers mitsuya #draken x reader #mitsuya x reader #tokyorev x reader #yandere mikey x reader #tokyorev imagines #cheesus answers #yandere platonic toman

[sunsubdued]

           𝐢𝐭'𝐬   𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧   𝐚   𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠   𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝   𝐟𝐨𝐫   𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐬   now   -   a   tabloid   would   run   a   small   poll   throughout   the   year,   the   citizens   upon   the   luofu   would   submit   their   votes,   and   at   the   end   of   autumn   they   would   be   tallied   and   the   winner   released.   it   had   been...   quite   some   time,   since   jing   yuan   had   lost,   and   this   year   was   no   different.   but   it   was   so   frequent,   so   common,   he   wouldn't   have   known   he'd   been   labeled   'the   luofu's   #1   most   eligible   bachelor'   again   if   it   hadn't   been   for   diviner   fu's   snide   comment.   sure,   it   was   an   honor   to   be...   desired,   he   supposed,   but   this   year   he   was   especially   unawares...   because   this   year...   well   this   year   he   wasn't   actually   a   bachelor.   

           it   was   rare   dan   heng   got   to   visit,   so   rare   that   jing   yuan   would   find   himself   rearranging   his   entire   schedule   just   to   spend   the   most   time   with   him.   still   -   being   the   general   of   the   luofu   meant   duty   would   occasionally   call,   and   today   it   had.   he'd   left   dan   heng   on   his   estate   early   this   morning   -   kissing   him   gently   goodbye   and   promising   to   be   back   that   night.   some   things   could   not   be   put   off,   and   this   was   no   different:   jing   yuan   had   raced   through   his   days   work   with   a   sort   of   vigor   rarely   seen   even   in   his   youth,   but   even   still   the   moon   was   high   in   the   sky   by   the   time   he   managed   to   return   home   -   entering   his   lantern   dark   room   with   nary   a   sound.   

           he   sees   the   shape   of   dan   heng   beneath   the   sheets,   and   smiles   -   but   does   not   pounce   him   yet.   he   sets   starfall   reverie   on   it's   mantle,   the   lightning   lord's   scroll   and   his   pauldron   following   suit.   jing   yuan   dresses   down   with   practiced   ease, �� though   he   prefer   dan   heng   do   it   for   him   -   soon   he   is   down   only   to   his   undergarments,   and   pauses   in   the   midst   of   removing   those,   when   he   denotes   the   bits   of   shredded   paper   on   the   floor.   grabbing   a   few   scraps,   the   general   finishes   stripping   before   standing   -   holding   the   items   up   to   the   lantern   and   squinting   briefly   at   the   text.   'GENERAL   JING   YUAN!   THE   LUOFU'S   #1   MOST   ELIGIBLE   BACHELOR...   150   YEARS   IN   A   ROW!'   

                                            ❝   uh   oh.   ❞   he   mutters.

           paper   tossed   aside,   the   leonine   general   crawls   slowly   onto   the   bed,   a   little   unnerved   by   dan   heng's   unmoving   frame.   still...   jing   yuan   inches   closer.   and   closer.   and   closer,   until   he   hovers   just   slightly   over   him,   silver   flame   hair   shadowing   both   their   features,   and   offers   his   lover   a   small   smile.   ❝   apologies   for   arriving   home   so   late,   a-heng.   i   hope   you   didn't   stay   up   late   waiting   for   me.   ❞   his   kiss   to   dan   heng's   ear   is   just   a   gentle   brush,   so   painfully   tender   it   could   be   described   as   a   whisper   of   air,   ❝   how   was   your   day?   did   you   go   shopping?   read   anything...   interesting?   ❞   // @cloudhymn

#✷ // i. main → ⸢ verse ⸥ #✷ // radiant spirit: heed my word. → ⸢ thread ⸥ #cloudhymn #jy vc: please don't make me sleep on the sofa

[cyborg-franky]

c0mmissi0n

Another com for my lovely @bulle-blackhole I hope you enjoy <3 Coms are open

Ace x GN Reader [PLATONIC FRIENDSHIIP] Sfw Word Count: 1,135

You stared out the window, watching the clouds drift serenely by, you sighed and leaned on your hand, feeling the palm against your cheek as you smiled. The gentle sea breeze wafted in through the open window, ruffling the paper stacked in front of you as you closed your eyes, focusing on the summer air on your skin, the sway of the ship as thoughts drifted through your mind much like the clouds in the sky.

Paperwork was boring and you hated it, you couldn’t remember why you’d even offered to help the doctor sort through his backlog, he’d asked both you and Ace and the flame user had stumbled over his words, plucking excuses out the air as to why he couldn’t help.

Sometimes you wanted to strangle your best friend.

The door opened and you didn't budge, just assuming the phoenix was back with coffee for you both. That was when you felt hands grab your shoulders and shake you playfully. Your eyes opened lazily as you leaned back into the touch, leaning back and looking up at the smirking freckled face of Ace.

“Hey!” he said, grinning.

“Hi, what do you want?”

“I’ve come to free you from the chains that bind you.” he started, sounding dramatic as he wrapped arms around your neck and rested his chin on the top of your head as you half paid attention.

“You mean Marco’s paperwork?”

“Exactly!” he replied and stared out the open window, watching the world go by as you chuckled at his suggestion.

“I mean, I guess I can leave, I only had this stack anyway and it’s not even my job or my division.” you reasoned and felt Ace rock back on his heels, a hum of agreement as he let go of you.

“Alright then, let's go!”

–

You and Ace had decided you’d finished your duties for the day, simply lazying around on deck together, you looked at the drink in your hands, watching the juice slosh around with the sway of the ship before you leaned against Ace. Sitting back to back in the shade, enjoying the soft wind that played with your hair.

Spending time with Ace had to be your favorite thing in the world. Ever since you joined the crew you and the second division commander had become fast friends, inseparable. Many of the older crew members would tease and joke about the pair of you acting like you were lovers in a past life. How everything you did was intimate, soft, tender.

You were just close, Ace would flush at the teasing, the blush lighting up his cheeks, showing off the freckles that dusted his skin and he would protest which just led to people like Marco and Thatch teasing him all the more.

Sipping your drink you felt Ace move, he was uncomfortable, you pushed him to sit before rearranging yourself, back against one of the empty crates and you offered him your lap which he gladly took with a warm smile and nod of thanks.

He led down using your leg as a pillow, he reached up and placed his hat on your head nodding in approval as he did so. His arms rested on his stomach as he closed his eyes, looking so peaceful.

You brushed a strand of wavy hair out the way, a loving touch that caused his nose to wrinkle, the tickle from the motion you guessed, one eye opened and met yours, his smile just grew as you gave him the same expression, poking your tongue out.

“Hey layabouts!” Thatch called when he saw you both, he chuckled and watched Ace roll his eyes.

“What do you want?” Ace asked, you could hear the slight whine to his voice, not wanting to get put to work by the chef.

“Just thought it was quiet around here was all.” Thatch put his hands up in defense when Ace sat up but still leaned against you.

You wrapped an arm around his waist and watched the interaction between the commanders, they talked for a moment, something about a late shipment, a supply boat should have reached the Moby by now, and if Ace could go out on the striker to see where it had gotten to.

“Now?”

“I mean if you wanna eat more than rice and pasta for the next week.” Thatch grinned when Ace grimaced at the prospect of boring meals.

“Alright, alright, damn.” Ace sighed and placed his hat back on his head, grumbling to himself before you flicked the back of his hat playfully.

“Would you feel better if I came with you?”

–

You’d only been on the striker once before and you could feel your nerves churning as you lowered yourself onto the vessel. Hating how it rocked when Ace joined you, he helped you to the mast where the seat was.

“You don’t have to worry ya know, I always got your back, right?” Ace said as his hands squeezed yours. 

You were sitting down, getting comfy when he reassured you, your hands slipped from his as you nodded, taking a breath and gripping the sides, watching Ace get into position, he set everything up, checking and making sure nothing was amiss before he flopped down, sitting between your legs and you jumped.

His ungraceful descent in joining you making the water splosh around you both. He chuckled and offered you a sympathetic look before you wrapped arms around his waist. You gripped onto Ace for dear life as your heart started to race. He places his feet where they needed to be before you felt the heat, the roaring flames of his ability.

And you were off, the boat skidded and skimmed across the surface of the ocean and you let out a cry, your grip even tighter than before as Ace laughed, placing a hand over yours, looking over his shoulder.

“Fun right?”

“Oh yeah, fun, loads of it,” you mumbled.

Ace knew what he was doing and you had to relax, the further the striker flew across the ocean, the nicer the wind felt against your skin, the reassurance from your best friend helped, you opened your eyes and looked around, the beauty of the world around you.

Your worried expression and nerves soon washed away and you were having a good time, chuckling along with Ace when he sped up. This was fun, but maybe you were just enjoying your time with Ace.

“Let's get to the bottom of this then yeah? And maybe Thatch will reward us..” he hummed in thought, a hungry growl being heard over the sound of rushing water and crackling flames.

“Always thinking with your stomach huh?” you tried to roll your eyes but the mirth in your tone just made Ace laugh loudly.

#portgas d. ace #portugas d ace #portgas d ace x reader #one piece x you #one piece #sfw #gender neutral reader #one piece reader insert #one piece x reader #portgas d ace #platonic

[kinetic-elaboration]

June 5: Murven, Divorce Song

Wanted to write but wasn't sure what I should write so here is a little angsty Murven ficlet. I listened to Exile in Guyville today for the first time in a while; this is inspired by Divorce Song but also doesn't really have the mood of Divorce Song so there you go.

Murphy/Raven, Modern AU, ~870 words

Written in about 27 minutes

*

What did he think? That somewhere along the way, their road trip up the coast, they'd fall in love? It's an awfully romantic notion, coming from him.

They get a late start, then lose their way, a wrong exit on the wrong highway and the steel-blue sky framed by the windshield, the fluttering of palm fronds at the edges of the roadway, the gathering clouds in shifting shades of gray. Murphy came to pick her up mid-morning. He'd stood in the doorway of her bedroom, watching her finish up her last-minute packing—stuff she'd put off because she was working last night, and cared for the work more. The best thing he could do was not lift a finger to help. He'd just get in the way. Still, it infuriated her to feel his eyes on her, watching and waiting.

"Almost ready, Reyes?" he'd drawled at her, and she'd thrown her duffel bag at his chest, and for a moment afterward they'd been caught together almost in the hall, continuously blocking each other's way with each step to the side. An exhausting moment.

She'd asked if he was fucking with her.

Isn't he always?

The plan was to leave early and get to Bellamy and Clarke's by the end of the day, but even before the wrong turn, she's sure it won't shake out that way. She's too tired to get behind the wheel, and Murphy only pretends to be a daredevil, obeys posted speed limits and tells her to get her feet off his dash. Maybe they'll get to Portland and the aura of romance will take them over. A wedding and all. Maybe as she grumbles, rearranges herself in the passenger seat, traces the edges of stacks of heavy clouds from over the ocean, she imagines as much, like some sort of sick indulgence. If she were really smart, like she tells herself she is, she'd never touch him.

Her phone runs out of batteries. His has no service. She forgot the map in the glove compartment of her car. The sky opens up wide, threatens to swallow them.

They have to stop for the night at a shady little place blinking neon VACANC-C-C-C-CY in the early dark and pouring rain: a motel with a big rectangular sign, barely legible in fading fluorescent. They hold their coats over their heads and splash the light into shards in the puddles on their way to the office. The rain is coming down so hard it's all Raven can hear in her own head: the thud of it on car roofs, the splatter of it on the asphalt. Inside, the motel is muddied with cheap yellow light. She stomps her feet on the welcome mate and beats at her jacket while Murphy shakes himself off like a dog.

She asks for two rooms without thinking. If it weren't for the map behind the greasy haired kid behind the counter, she wouldn't know what town they were in. Even now, the name doesn't ring a bell.

Murphy's standing close to her, glowering, cold. For a moment, his hand brushes against her back—low—like he forgot for a moment what role he was playing. What line he was using.

"You know, it would be cheaper—" he starts, as the kid fiddles around with the keys.

She keeps her gaze straight. The faded lines of the map, the off-yellow wall. "They don't have any twin beds left," she murmurs back. Sounds cold like unseasonable prickling rain even to her own ears. She takes her key in her hand and holds it tight so that the edges bite into her palm.

Their rooms are right next door to each other and for a while they stand under the awning, a bare bulb just above them encircling them in a stark halo of white. Her bag is in the stupid car. All she wants is a shower, the melding of running water and running water. A moment to feel clean. She starts to say I didn't mean anything by it, but it comes out, "What did you expect?"

He flinches, but it comes out as a scoff. Pale and shining wet, his hair flat against his face, and the rain so loud on the tin awning that it might drown him out, he answers, "Nothing," like a curse, a lie, and "Don't make me out to be the asshole here. I haven't done a goddamn thing."

They've been rejecting each other now for years. He'd say she's frightened. He'd say maybe there's something inevitable about them, something more than just the heat of human warmth when they stand close beneath the awning, shivering, not yet touching, except that her hand is grasping hard around the edge of his coat. Zipper teeth in one palm, silver key in the other.

She could just go in his room with him, let the other sit empty, but it wouldn't be for lust or anything as grand as love, but only to prove to him what a terrible idea they would be. Something raw and mean. Something she wants too much.

"You haven't," she answers, and lets go of his jacket, and lets herself into her room.

#the 100 #murven #raven reyes #john murphy #murphy x raven #modern100 #mine #my writing #the year 2023 #2023: free write

[caemthe]

The sun was up in the sky but the weather wasn't hot enough to make today's task difficult. Conall had offered to help Reina move, clean, and rearrange her workshop. Partially because, surprisingly, he had nothing to do and it didn't hurt to help a friend. But, mostly, because he was curious about Reina's workshop. What kinds of materials did she keep around to be able to prepare all sorts of things, from benign potions to bioweapons that could easily kill all inhabitants of the city in a matter of hours? Conall wasn't subtle with his curiosity, sometimes pulling an object from a box and asking Reina what it was. But at least he still completed his task while talking.

Conall had already moved two of the largest boxes and was carrying some of the lighter ones now. "Where should I put this one?" He asked, lifting the old box in his arms a little higher. But then something caught his attention. He turned his head to follow whatever had barely escaped his sight, and then...

The hunter blinked. "Why didn't you say you have a cat? I could've harmed it while moving the heavier things." It was a black cat which, to tell the truth, seemed rather cliche for the hunter. It had a particularly shiny collar that- No, wait, that wasn't a collar. The cat was carrying a small marble-like crystal. The contents looked like the tiniest of supernovas were happening inside. In other words, it didn't look like the type of thing a cat should be carrying. "Uhh... Reina? You do have a cat, right? A black one with the most ominous-looking toy?"

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@unblume • plotted starter !

#unblume #conall. º ( berserker. ) #au. º ( raido. ) #post. º ( beta. ) #/ giving them one ( 1 ) second to relax before uh oh time