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#I've had this one in the drafts for a while

auggieblogs · 14 hours

Text

"Why do you always kiss my freckle?"| MV1

Max Verstappen x fem! reader

Author's note: Hello, lovelies!!! I hope everyone is doing good. This fic has been in my drafts for a while now and I finally had the motivation to edit it today. The Max brainrot is very real, I cannot stop thinking about his little freckle right above his lips. He is so beautiful🥹. Anyways, I hope you all like this piece. Happy reading<3

ALSO fun fact, I have a freckle that's right below my lower lip jshshdjdhs I don't know I think it's a sign!!! (im delusional)

―୨୧⋆ ˚masterlist

Max was used to the routine. Before the haze of sleep fully left him every morning, he would feel the soft, warm press of her lips against the tiny freckle above his upper lip. It was her unique ritual, a habit she had never skipped, and he had come to adore.

As the sun streamed through the blinds of their bedroom, she stirred beside him, her eyes fluttering open. Without missing a beat, she leaned over and planted a gentle kiss on his freckle. Max smiled, his heart swelling with love.

"Morning, love," he murmured, his voice still heavy with sleep.

"Morning, Maxie," she replied, her voice light and cheerful.

Every day followed this pattern. Whether Max was leaving for a race, taking a break between practice sessions, or they were about to make love, her lips always found that freckle. It was her little act of love, and Max never questioned it. He cherished it

One lazy Sunday afternoon, they were lounging in their living room, a movie playing in the background. She lay on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat. Max absentmindedly played with her hair, occasionally pressing soft kisses to her forehead. She sighed contentedly, snuggling closer.

Max felt her shift slightly, and there it was again. Her lips met his freckle in a gentle kiss before trailing a line of kisses up to his lips. "I love you," she mumbled softly against his skin.

"I love you too," Max replied, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

He paused momentarily, a curious look crossing his face, "Why do you always kiss my freckle?"

She looked up at him with a shy smile, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink. "It's silly," she said.

Max tilted her chin up gently, his eyes searching hers. "It’s not stupid if it’s something you do," he said softly. "Tell me, please."

She took a deep breath before explaining, "Well, my mom used to tell me that freckles or moles are spots where lovers used to kiss you in past lives. She said they’re like beauty marks, little reminders of love."

Max's expression softened, a tender smile spreading across his face. "That's beautiful," he said, his voice filled with genuine emotion.

She laughed softly, the sound like music to his ears. "I told you it was silly."

"It's not silly," Max replied, taking her hand in his and bringing it to his lips. He kissed her knuckles gently, his eyes never leaving hers. "It's one of the sweetest things I've ever heard. And I love you for it."

Her heart swelled with love as she looked at him, feeling incredibly lucky to have someone like Max in her life. "I love you too," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight. They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, the movie long forgotten.

Max chuckled softly, breaking the comfortable silence. "So, every time you kiss that freckle, it’s like you’re saying hello to my past lovers?" he teased.

She laughed, playfully swatting his chest. "Or maybe it’s just my way of marking my territory," she quipped back.

Max laughed, the sound rich and joyful. "Well, consider it marked," he said, leaning down to capture her lips in a loving kiss.

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dotster001 · 4 hours

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Hey! I don't know if this will be too much of a bother to ignore this if you want.

I was wondering if I could request the first years with a crush on their classmate who is also Malleus Draconia’s younger brother, similar to what you did with the second years.

I hope you have a good day 🫶

Summary: First years x masc Malleus' Brother reader

A/N: So, I've been horribly burnt out, and I looked through my drafts because hey if I finish something that's almost done I can feel a sense of accomplishment....tell me why I only had two paragraphs left of this? Why didn't I finish this before?!?! Dot's brain is truly something else 😭

Second Years

I'd like to think you still meet at the statues of the seven. You're staring up at the Thorn Fairy, and he sees you. And damn does he think you're hot. Ace is blunt. Life's too short for him to not hit on the hot Diasomnia student.

His idea is to try and hit on you with his extensive (bullshit) knowledge on the thorn fairy, since you seem so fascinated with her. You let most of his lies go, holding back the laugh that lies in your mouth, but when he says, “The Thorn Fairy's favorite food is pineapple.” You laugh quite loudly, and say, “I didn't think that was grandmother's favorite food. I shall have to ask her.” It's only then the idiot puts together the horns, and the Diasomnia uniform, and the regal aura, and realizes he might have fucked up. Luckily for him, a green haired student comes storming over to you, shouting about not wandering off, so he doesn't have to deal with the consequences of his actions.

You joined his table at lunch, and that startled him. He expects you to say something but you never do. You just chat politely, answering questions asked of you, and posturing your own queries in return. For a moment, he forgets that you're the fae brother of a prince, and that both you and your brother could set him ablaze if you wanted to. You're just one of the boys. Until you make direct eye contact, and delicately nibble a piece of pineapple. He burst into laughter, but your poker face wins, and he can't explain the joke to the confused people at the table because he keeps laughing too hard.

You become one of his best friends, but he never gets past his initial thoughts that you're hot as hell. And the closer he gets to you, it only gets worse. You're the total package and he wants to be your pathetic mortal boyfriend, who sometimes gets to show off by dedicating his play of the game to you, while you pretend you understand the appeal of basketball.

But he's realistic. A prince could never have a basic peasant as a boyfriend. A fae could never date a human. So he's willing to just be your friend.

“Would you be my escort at my brother's coronation?” As much as you were easier to approach than your brother, you could still be just as blunt, and not very good at social cues. So you just came up to him in the middle of the hall and asked, literally, out of nowhere. He's startled and laughs it off with something stupid, and then makes a hasty escape, but not before seeing your vicious pout.

He shouldn't be surprised when you appear in his room in a flurry of fireflies, the pout still on your face.

“You brushed me off, child of man.” At the start of the friendship, he'd be scared that you, your brother, or Sebek, would kill him. But he doesn't mind fighting back now, exploiting how you think he's fragile. “So what? I had stuff to do.” This just makes you glare at him.

You continued to glare at him, and silence filled the room. You break the silence first. “Well?” “Well what?” “Will you be my escort to my brother's coronation?” He should say no, and he almost does. You probably just want a friend to support you at a long party, and Sebek would be busy doing knight stuff, so you came to him. That's how he rationalizes it. You want a friend, and he'd think too deeply into it the closer it got to the event. Yeah. That's it.

Instead of saying no, he just keeps staring, and you sigh. “Was Lilia wrong? He said you felt the same way.” You just look so sad. “Feel the same about what?” “He said you were head over heels for me, too.”

Too? Too! He's reeling, and you must see it because suddenly you look less sad. In fact, you look downright predatory as you grin. “You do feel the same, don't you? You humans are so silly.” You push him back so he's laying down, then hover over him, giving him a soft kiss. He groans and runs his hands in your hair. You pull away far too soon for him, and he whines as he grabs your horns and tries to drag you back to him. He's no match for your strength, and you effortlessly pull away from him with a laugh. You hover over him and give him an evil grin.

“Poor child of man. You look so sad. Tell you what, I'll kiss you all you want if you are my escort.”

He wants to be snarky and refuse, at least until you give him what he wants now, but he's weak. So he finds himself nodding, breathing heavily as you trace his lips with a perfectly manicured finger, and he gets very distracted by the fact that you aren't wearing your uniform gloves.

“Good boy,” you purr, and Ace reels from the attention as you lean in to kiss him again.

You meet because you see Deuce going for a run on his first day of school. You don't understand what's happening, and when you ask Malleus, his explanation seems…..lacking. So you decide to ask the human himself why he is running in circles. You poof next to him, scare the shit out of him, and feel only a little bit bad as he falls on his ass.

He immediately picks a fight with you. Who do ya think you are! What kinda uncultured swine picks a fight with a man while he's running? By the time Silver and Sebek find you, (Malleus used you to make his own escape, he'll apologize later) the boy is swinging, and you're laughing so hard your insides hurt.

You start joining him on his runs, not actually running, but floating alongside him, asking him questions. In your mind, if you can understand what he's running from, then you'll understand the human race. (Pun intended)

Meanwhile, Deuce still thinks you're making fun of him, but after about a month of this, he starts to realize that if it really is a bit, then you are very dedicated. So he finally starts actually answering questions, and after a month of that starts asking you his own. Which is when he realizes you are a fae prince. Cool! You should join the track team with him! Even though he's only seen you float, he's heard your brother is a beast, so you'd definitely dominate the competition. And how can you say no to that determined face?

I've said this before, but Deuce will fall in love with his best friend. And he only realizes he's fallen, when, after a meet against RSA, you come up to him ecstatic about how well he did, your eyes glinting with an innocent wonder that even you weren't sure you were capable of anymore. And, suddenly, Deuce is red and sweaty, and side stepping the “bro hug” he taught you. He's able to play it off as after effects of his run, and you still haven't quite gotten the handle on humans, so he's able to get away with it. But he knows his excuses won't work a second time. And the cat’s out of the bag. Now that Deuce recognizes his feelings, it's too late.

Ace is useless as always. So he calls the one person he can always go to.

“So there's this guy I like, but he's out of my league in every single way,” Deuce begins, but his mom quickly cuts him off. “Life is too short to not be with someone you love.” He thinks about cutting her off and mentioning that for this guy's life was far from short, but he got the idea. “You're a good boy, Deuce. You're sweet, handsome, and so protective of those you love. If he thinks you're out of his league, he doesn't deserve you. So you can move on, and find someone who does.”

He knows mama Spade is right. If you don't feel the same way, it's better to find out so that he can move on.

Life works in his favor. You've been proofing into his path to try and hang out with him, and he keeps running away. So the next time you poof in, he gives you a challenge. If you win a race against him, he'll tell you what's wrong. It's no contest. You annihilate him.

Deuce heaves a big breath, channeling delinquent Deuce’s confidence, and blurts out, “I'm in love with you!”

You stare for a moment, then smile wickedly.

“If you can beat me in a race, child of man, I'll tell you how I feel.”

You're his lab partner. And you don't always show up for class. But your grade is dependent on both of your work. You just give him the potions of the day in passing, and you're both still getting A’s, but it strikes Jack as a wrong that you don't always show up for class.

When he stalks you down one day, in the Diasomnia common room, and demands you go to class, you furrow your brow and tell him you already know all the first year stuff. You'll show up consistently next year. Both Sebek and Malleus are agreeing with you, when Lilia walks in and asks about your friend.

“He's not my friend. He's my lab partner.” Jack's blunt about it, but that never deterred Lilia. Now he's involved. And he loves the idea of you having a friend. Even though Jack's tone made it clear he wanted nothing to do with you. It doesn't take long for Lilia to excitedly say that you would not only have to attend class, but all of your classes were going to be switched so that you were always with Jack. Jack quickly began to recant his statements, saying it was fine, don't worry about it, but it's too late. And Jack is already tired.

Luckily, you don't talk much. You just pout as you follow Jack from class to class. He catches you dozing off in most of the classes, and when he asks you why, you same the same thing as before. You know all of this already.

One day Lilia asks for an update on your progress, and he's very scared to tell him, but he's too honest. Lilia snickers, and tells Jack that you probably already know EVERYTHING YOU COULD POSSIBLY KNOW OVER THE NEXT THREE YEARS. After all, Malleus does. Jack stares at Lilia, suddenly furious that he's been dragged into whatever game the ex general has decided to play with him. And it gets worse, because the next day you're sulking as Lilia drags you to track practice, and informs the coach that you will be joining the track club. And then he tells Jack that he will be the one to catch you up. Neither of you is happy.

But Lilia makes sure you go every single day, and waits until he sees Jack talking to you. So you come up with an idea. You and Jack will pretend to be paramours. You will be the most in love paramours that time has ever seen. You will be so in love, that it will “drive you both to distraction” making both of you worse at your lessons. Which would mean Lilia tries to separate you, and things will go back to normal. Jack hates the idea at first, but after another three days, he decides, fuck it.

If you've been in the fanfiction community long enough, you know this backfires. Lilia just pushes harder, and Jack ends up falling for you. *The crowd gasps* I know, I know, it's such a shock, but we fast forward a couple months to when you tell Jack that this obviously isn't working, you should just call things off. He stares at you, unsure how to respond. He…he doesn't want to. But he slowly nods. What else can he say? You want to stage a nasty break up, which will get Lilia off of your back “for certain”.

You begin the exchange for the break up, during lunch. “We have to end our relationship. I am being stifled with you!” It builds higher and higher as planned, drawing a crowd around you. You reach the climax of your scene, and you turn to storm off, when Jack goes off script.

“Don't go.” It's a soft whisper, like he almost doesn't want you to hear it. But you do, and you freeze. “What was that?” “Don't go.” You turn, and he's looking at you with pleading eyes. The both of you forget the scene, forget everything but the moment. You just stare at each other. Then you smile softly.

“I am not going anywhere.”

The Draconia family is one known for grace and elegance. So when Vil has had it with Epel's toxic masculinity streak, he literally shoves him into your chest, telling you to fix him. Then he storms off. That's how you and Epel became temporary roommates.

Sebek and Silver had both protested. How could they be sure Epel wasn't an assassin sent to kill you? But Lilia thought this would be good for both of you, you could learn about humans, teaching, and empathy, and Lilia could scratch his dadly itch and train Epel how to use his build to his advantage. It was a win for all!

Those first few days were rough. Epel cares 0% about what some weak princely dude has to teach him. He pays attention to Lilia's lessons, but ignores you. That is until group training day, when he has to spar with you, and you pin him to the ground in two seconds flat. Suddenly, he's taking notes.

“If what my brother says is true, what Schoenheit is trying to teach you, is that elegance is a weapon in itself. It's better if people underestimate you, because that means you'll have the advantage in a fight.” That's how you phrase it. Which is only half true, but hey, Vil isn't around to correct you, and Malleus could never be wrong, right? Whether that's the goal or not, it gets through to Epel, and that's what matters. Both of you are very sad when Vil welcomes him back to Pomefiore, after he's calmed down. But Vil is impressed with the impact you all had on him, so Epel is welcome to visit Diasomnia whenever he has free time.

One day when he comes over, you excitedly bring him to your room, and show him the outfits you have laying out. “I think you would look wonderful in Valley of Thorns attire” you say absentmindedly as you begin holding things up to him, deciding what colors you think would look best. You pick an outfit, then send him to get changed. He has difficulty tying some laces, and arranging jewels and robes. So now you stood behind him, your breath on his neck as you finished off helping him dress. You turn the both of you to the mirror, snap your fingers to change your own clothes, then smile brightly.

“Look how well we compliment each other!” Epel looks at the mirror, then looks at you, then says, “I gotta go.” Then he leaves, outfit still on. Not that you mind, it was meant for him anyway.

Everytime he sees you, he gets an unmanly flutter in his stomach. But he's the very image of cool. Nothing is wrong. His cheeks are not pink. He is not avoiding eye contact. Meanwhile, you're trying to figure out what boundary you crossed, and Lilia clearly knows what's wrong, but refuses to tell you.

So one day, in the middle of a crowd of students trying to get their lunch, you kneel before him, hand to your heart, and give a heartfelt apology that doesn't actually apologize for anything considering you don't know what you did. He stares for a moment, his heart racing, then runs out of the room. Vil nearly has a heart attack.

Epel runs straight into you, since you are able to teleport anywhere, and falls flat on his ass. And then he starts yelling. The conversation goes as follows.

“it’s all your fault!”

“I know, that's why I apologized.”

“Ya don't know nothing!”

“My apology was all encompassing.”

“All yer damn fault!”

“But I did apologize”

This goes on for a while. At some point, he pushes you so that you'll be out of his way so he can run, and, on instinct, you pin him down again. Your brow furrows, and you order him to tell you what's wrong.

“I like ya.” “But aren't you yelling at me?” “Cause I like ya!” “Why are you so angry with me, if you like me?” “Cause yer so damn dense!”

By then, Sebek and Silver have found the two of you, as well as Malleus, and all three are worried that Epel has made an attempt on your life. But once you've hastily cleared everything up, you'll be able to tell Epel if you reciprocate his feelings. Vil and Rook are so proud to raise a son who is dating a prince.

Is he obsessed with Malleus because he can't cope with his crush on you, or does he have a crush on you because he is obsessed with Malleus? The world will never know. But Lilia and Silver are going to use it to their advantage.

He ends up guarding you a lot. They say it's because he is in your classes and therefore he can be your protector. But it's really just so Malleus can get a break when he's starting to feel suffocated. All the other first years make fun of him for tailing you like a puppy, but he can't help it! He has to protect you! Loudly!

Proximity makes the heart fonder, and you really notice your feelings when he has to escort Malleus on a school field trip. You feel…empty. Alone. You spend the next week being mopey, which upsets Sebek. He swears he'll find who did this to you!

He becomes an absolute menace, interrogating anyone who might have come into contact with you while he was gone. Eventually, Lilia confronts you about your behavior.

“It's wrong for a prince to let some hurt feelings affect the way you treat your subjects.”

“It's not like they're actually my subjects. Malleus is the only one who matters-”

Lilia already had his suspicions, but this just confirms it. He calls you out on your jealousy over Malleus and Sebek spending time together, which you initially deny. But the harder he pushes, the more you relent. You're so used to Sebek in your life, that his absence hurt. You…you love him.

But you're certain he can't love you. Still, you agree to tell him you are okay so he can stop harassing random students. Lilia urges you to share your true feelings, claiming Sebek feels the same. But how can he? You see the way he treats Malleus. You've heard how he speaks about him. That's love. It has to be!

Once you tell Sebek that no one hurt you, you just were in a mood, he calms down. He gives you a whole speech about how he'd never forgive himself if you got hurt when he was away. It would bring shame to his glorious king! And it just makes everything hurt worse.

And now you're pouty again. You may not be as powerful as your brother (Sebek speaks of your brother's power constantly) but you're still very strong. Your emotions, the worse they get, make the weather stormy. So now, not only are you mopey, and Sebek is harassing students, but the weather is absolutely awful. Lilia, again, pulls you to the side and gives you a much sterner talk, you tell Sebek you're fine, he says something something Malleus something something perfect king, and you're pouting again.

Eventually, Lilia has had enough. With Malleus and your grandmother's permission (that's how you know you're in trouble) he sits both you and Sebek down for a chat. You get your lecture first. You are a Prince. You are expected to rise above foolish emotions, in order to better serve the people. When a Prince's actions begin to negatively affect their people, they no longer deserve their power.

Sebek stands up in a fury! He's shouting at Lilia (something you've never seen before), defending your honor. Surely whatever has upset you is not your fault! It's his for not slaying whatever pesky human tried to hurt you! In fact-! He's drawing his sword and preparing to storm out of the room when Lilia sternly tells him to sit down. He's getting a lecture as well. The idea of being lectured seems to soothe Sebek, though he still grumbles about how you were being wrongfully detained.

Then Lilia begins Sebek’s lecture. And it's not what you were expecting.

“I have told you many times that you need to be clear about how you feel about people.”

“I FREQUENTLY SHOW MY AWE AND HONOR FOR BOTH MY PRINCES!”

“A true knight doesn't shy away from his feelings. He understands that existence is fleeting, and that the one he loves may not be there to love tomorrow.”

You're confused. But Sebek is standing there red faced and speechless. He simply says Lilia 's name, and Lilia seems to understand. He leaves, and Sebek turns to you, kneeling low and bowing his head.

“Long have my feelings for you been stronger than that of a knight and his charge. But as I am unworthy of my Lord's affections, I have been loath to share them. But General Lilia is correct. There may not be a tomorrow. So I can no longer hide my love for you. I ask for nothing, only that I remain by your side, and continue to worship you.”

His head remains bowed, and, for the first time in many many years, you find yourself caught off guard. The man you have found yourself pining for for quite some time is kneeling before you and offering his heart. You slip a finger below his chin, raising his gaze to meet yours. His eyes betray his nervousness, but your soft lovesick smile eases his soul, as you tell him just how much the feeling is returned.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x male reader #male reader #ace trappola #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade x reader #deuce spade #jack howl #jack howl x reader #epel felmier x reader #epel felmier #sebek zigvolt x reader #sebek zigvolt

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octoberautumnbox · 19 hours

Note

hello kuya box, just wanted to pop in and ask how you're doing :) I've been (im)patiently waiting for yuri comeback news so I can finally get into her more :<)

Fluffy question for you:

Imagine you and Yuri are in school together. You're both in the same friend group and you've had a secret crush on her for years now. While you're hanging out with your friends, you suddenly find yourself alone with her. Despite your anxiety, the moment just feels right - how would you confess to her?

have a yuri :)

hi 0cta9on! everyone and their moms on the edge of their seats for that cb i get it GJKSHFJKDHSGKJSFHJK but we gotta let her cook!! :DDDD

also i keep getting requests and ideas for this general plot LMAO i'll get to that draft eventually! in the meantime please enjoy this short thingy ehe

~~~

It's been about forty minutes now, and nearly everyone is rolling around in the grass of the Sunken Garden. The admin should be kicking people out right now, but for some reason, nobody hears your friends' racket, allowing you free reign for as long as nobody comes near enough. It's strange that you have the free real estate all to yourself, but you're not one to complain. Finals were tough on everybody, and by the looks of it, you and your friends most of all.

Hanbin and Jeongin are locked in a verbal argument, threatening to turn physical soon. Somi yaps on with Chaeryeong off to the side, spilling their drinks on the soil and forming puddles of intoxicating mud in the ground. And finally, Ryujin lies face down in the grass, true to character, and the sheer fact that it's Ryujin silences any alarms that she might be in danger that would have otherwise started blaring in your head.

All that's left is you and Yuri, sitting on a nearby tree root, watching the scenes unfold by the light of a streetlamp infested with moths. She eyes each one lazily, from the fight, to the gossip, to Ryujin who is most probably not dead, as she sips beer from her bottle and punctuates the swig with a relief-filled "ahhh."

Her beauty is mesmerizing, from her half-lidded eyes, to the way her hair perfectly frames her face, to how her lips curl with each sip she takes of her drink. It's nothing like anyone has ever seen before, or, at least not the way you've seen her. It doesn't help that the moon, full as can be, shines its borrowed light as if only on her, like a spotlight to the main character of a soap opera.

It must be the alcohol; it must be. There's not a single reason in the world that you feel the way you feel right now. Never mind that it's bad tonight, never mind that she's so pretty, never mind that this is the first chance you've ever had alone with her, never mind that it might also be the last...

Your heart pounds nearly as hard as your head throbs in search of water. Everything is wrong, and there's only one way to make it right. Lie to yourself, "it's only the alcohol, it's only the alcohol..." Kick yourself mentally: you know it's not.

"Yuri," you say tentatively. Part of you wishes she'd heard and would turn your way, the rest of you prays she didn't.

"Yeah?" Look over to her, find her gaze still glued to the various comical sights in front of the both of you. She smiles at her friends' antics, and she smiles to you. Your eyes make contact, and you swear you've never felt more honest — honest and vulnerable.

"It's only the alcohol, it's only the alcohol..." It repeats like a broken record in your head. You try your damnedest to convince yourself it's only the alcohol, that she's just that pretty tonight, that she's just that pretty every night the past ten years you've known her. This isn't anything special. This is just plain old Yuri. Nothing more, nothing less.

Just Yuri.

"N-nothing. Nice night out, huh?" You realize you're staring, and you avoid her eyes. Take a panicked sip of your own beer, but, fuck, did you make it look not-panicked?

"Yeah, it is. Really is." Yuri places her head on your shoulder and sighs all the air out her lungs. Her eyes flutter shut as she fills her lungs again with a crisp night breeze. By accident, you swear by accident, the fragrance of her hair enters your nostrils, and you take in the comfort of her being plainly close to you.

And just like that, you fail again. Your feelings stay tightly locked in a box, buried deep in the recesses of your heart. Who knows when they'll surface, or if they ever will.

Fuck it. This is enough. More than, even. This is Yuri.

Just Yuri. Nothing more. Nothing less.

#jo yuri #jo yuri fluff #kpop fluff #girl group fluff #izone fluff

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redisaid · 2 days

Text

Beneath the Blue Moon - Chapter 10

Blue

Whew, it's been a while huh? I've sat on a draft of this chapter for months that I wasn't happy with because it did not match with my original plan to make it more confrontational. But I just couldn't get it there because the girls were too tired and sad to fight. What a mood.

Anywho, I'm gonna roll with this as is, though it's changing the tone of the story to be a tad bit more pensive. Expect a new poll soon for chapters 11 and 12.

5073 Words

Read it on Ao3!

Change for better or for worse Move much deeper to immerse Drape your spirit in the words Some kind of ghoul Small exception to the rule

It was hard to express what she felt in words. Sylvanas was always a woman of action. Her state of being was one of action. She preferred to show her love rather than tell of it. She enjoyed fussing over finding and then giving the perfect gift. She found herself addicted to the light that would kindle in Jaina’s eyes when she showed her something new or interesting—not to mention the hitch of her breath, the keening whine that would slip past her teeth as Sylvanas showed her new pleasures in bed.

Sylvanas was simply not meant for writing flowery letters, sealed with pressed flowers and perfume, in lieu of all that. If Jaina expected as much for her, she would be sorely disappointed. Her writing skills were better utilized in direct and concise military reports. Those she could easily churn out.

Yet a letter to her soulmate was a struggle.

Clea sat swinging her legs upon the great gilded mahogany desk of the Ranger General, offering little in the way of helpful advice. “You’re quite lucky she’s stuck with you, you know.”

“Your confidence in me is truly inspiring,” Sylvanas drawled back at her.

Even her famous wit and verbal stings were a thing that needed playing off of. If Jaina were here, she could easily have her laughing her pretty little laugh within minutes, and watch as her eyes widened and an intrigued smirk formed on her lips at the continuous, rapid pace of their banter. But Jaina was not here. Her soulmate was off playing nice with the arrogant fop that was Prince Arthas Menethil, somewhere in the great pine forests of Lordaeron.

And Sylvanas was stuck here in her offices in Silvermoon, trying to write a love letter in between mountains of other paperwork. But, when all was said and done, she was quite terrible at saying how she felt. She would much rather show it.

In fact, if Jaina were here, Clea would be politely asked to leave the room so she could show it in the way she truly wanted.

Instead of pouring forth her very soul through her quill, Sylvanas was left to look toward the wrist of the arm that held it instead—to the soft glow of the soulmark that Jaina had lit for her. In her mind, Jaina was there too, a quiet presence of focused intensity. She was thinking about something. She was often thinking like this. Imagining what puzzled her today always brought a smile to Sylvanas’ face, sometimes when one wasn’t necessarily warranted from a woman who had earned a reputation as a stern but fair General.

It was then that Velonara walked in with a stack of even more reports for her, and Sylvanas knew that with her, all hope of getting her thoughts out onto paper today had left the room.

“Good afternoon Ranger General, Ranger Clea,” Velonara said with a mocking air of formality that disappeared as she slapped the stack of paper onto what little surface area of the desk remained uninhabited by other work or Clea’s backside. “Pray tell, what requires so much of your rapt attention on this fine afternoon?”

“I caught her writing to her pretty mage and decided to help,” Clea announced before Sylvanas could even try to think of an excuse. “It’s not going well.”

“Tell her she has nice tits,” was Velonara’s sage advice.

“That’s the first thing I said,” Clea informed her.

It had, indeed, been the first piece of advice Clea had given. And while true, it did not help.

---

What seemed like entire lifetimes later, Sylvanas stood upon the cliffs above the twisting wreckage of stone and mana that was once Theramore, once again lacking for words.

The space between her and Jaina might as well have been filled with such cursed rubble itself. It felt just as tainted and impenetrable. A canyon miles wide—a distance too far and too treacherous to be crossed, or to even consider crossing.

But Sylvanas was here. She was here and she was whole again but dead. She was here to offer the crumbling remains of what she once was back to a woman who had become so much more than she could have ever imagined in these intervening years. Jaina was an Archmage. She was a leader of nations three times over. She had conquered and defended. She had both lost and won so much and lived to tell the tale.

All the while, Sylvanas had been dead. Walking, talking, but dead. How could she explain it all, when back in those happier times, without war and apocalypse threatening at every turn, she couldn’t even express her budding love for her pretty Kirin Tor apprentice?

Now, to the Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras, she stood like a stone, unable to speak, unable even to begin to go through the list of things she’d thought to speak on, the apologies she prepared, the explanations that had been so clear to her when she’d muttered them as she paced through the Warchief’s chambers in Orgrimmar, hours before.

“I’m—”

“If you’re about to say you’re sorry again, save it,” Jaina stopped her before the second word could even enter into existence.

Only she was very sorry. It was hard to be anything but sorry. Surely, Jaina could feel it thrumming along their bond. If Sylvanas’ heart still beat, she would likely feel that too—the panic, the deep, twisting guilt.

Even Theramore was something she could blame herself for, though it was Garrosh who used the bomb. Still, she had not stopped him. She had not risked it all to defy him. And though strategically, it would have been utterly foolish to attempt it, standing here, watching the arcane scar upon the land that was once a bustling settlement twist and rot all the more, Sylvanas felt as though she should have tried.

Had Jaina thought of that, when she chose this venue for their meeting? Had she wanted to rend more grief from her, more guilt?

It was hard for Sylvanas to say. The woman who she had once loved was just as much a thing of the past as the cocky Ranger General of Silvermoon. Jaina was just as changed by her losses, just as scarred, and just as hard to read for all of it. The setting sun and the swirling arcane mixed their glows in the white of her hair—violet and orange. She looked aflame for it, and her eyes burned too, demanding.

So Sylvanas had to think of something to answer them. Some words, though none would ever be good enough. She started with a question, “You wanted to know why I wished to meet?”

It took a moment for Jaina to offer a simple nod in return, as though she considered leaving just then, finding all this unsatisfactory. But, her feelings as they traveled over their bond spoke a different story. Sylvanas focused on these instead, taking every ounce, every fiber of the intrigue, the hesitancy, the worry, and that little shred that might be wanting.

That, she could certainly understand. She wanted nothing more than to reach out to Jaina. To hold her to her chest. To breathe in the fire of sun and magic that played on the soft white of her hair. Even her gold had been stolen from her.

“I need you, Jaina,” Sylvanas explained. “I need your support. I need you to understand that I am truthful in what I say about the Jailer, the realms of death, and that I have everything to lose for it if I’m wrong. We all do.”

She watched Jaina stiffen at this. The words took their time in washing over her, and Jaina let them echo beyond her into the wreckage, and into the sea beyond before she deigned to respond. “Surely you did not retrieve your very soul from hell then, so you say, to ask for an alliance?”

“No,” the word echoes hollow. Putting that into words does it no justice. Yes, Sylvanas sliced her soul free from the very fingers of the being who kept it prisoner. She did it for so many reasons. She did it for her freedom. She did it because she was missing a part of herself. She did it, too, for love.

But Jaina did not look at her with love. Her eyes were hard, crystalline. They too sparkled with flecks of dying sun and untamed magic.

“I did it for myself,” Sylvanas answered honestly. “And for Azeroth. The things the Jailer asked of me seemed cunning and clever in the beginning. He had a plan. He offered me what I wanted, what I needed, and did not ask for much. It all seemed so clear in the beginning. Death is a cruel and broken thing, and he would free us from it.”

That too, was difficult to explain. What could she tell Jaina of that first death of hers? Of leaping from Icecrown hoping for release—hoping for an end to the mockery of life that still preserved her, only to find terrifying nothingness, then Zovaal, looming. He showed her the unfairness of it—the loss of self, the lack of rest.

Worst of all was when she asked, pleaded, begged him to see her family again—mother, father, Lirath—to know that they were resting safely somewhere would bring her the most peace she’d known since she was alive with Jaina in her arms, listening to her bare her burdens, her loneliness since their loss. But there were no such people left for her to meet. No, Zovaal had told her, what remained of the souls that were once half of her immediate family would not know her anymore. They would not judge her for all she’d done. They would not welcome her to run with them in the great hunt, as elven mythos would often picture the afterlife. No, they were perhaps an angel with blue skin, a trickster faun, a plotting vampiric courtier, a proud gladiator, a thousand other things, or even just loose, aimless anima. The person they had once been was gone. They would not know or remember her, for better or for worse, ever again.

Anything, it had seemed, was better than enduring the cruelty of that fact, and to bear the idea that it was the same for every soul that had ever been willed into existence. To be tied so deeply to others in life—only to lose them forever in the eternity of death? It was beyond cruel. And worst of all, that part was entirely true and real, and not just one of Zovaal’s lies.

It had been easy to dwell on that. Even missing half of her soul, it had been hard to follow the agenda to put an end to it when it dragged on and on, seeming just as cruel.

It had been impossible for her to follow it any longer as it directed her to hurt Jaina.

“No doubt you heard what I explained yesterday aboard our ships. No peace awaits us in death. He had promised me a way out. His domination magic made it seem so convincing, so clear. But I began to have my doubts that it was possible, that such a solution was even what he was driving me toward. Those doubts were solidified when he asked me to raise your brother, willing or not, and turn him against you,” Sylvanas explained.

Those words, it seemed, hit home. Jaina’s eyes widened at the truth Sylvanas had otherwise not revealed.

Yes, she was her tipping point, and yes, she should know that.

“You defied this master of yours then, for Derek?” Jaina asked.

“For you,” Sylvanas told her.

The sun clung to one last sliver of the horizon, lighting the western sky to brilliance in orange and gold. Belore would abandon them soon, but perhaps it was for the best. No doubt Jaina would struggle to look upon her as she did now. Devotion and apologies alike meant little if they came from such a wretched creature as she. Her beautiful apprentice turned Archmage deserved better than a mournful corpse.

“If you’ve known all this for so long, why not come to me earlier? That’s what I don’t understand, Sylvanas,” Jaina said, seeming confused at the end by the name that fell so readily from her lips.

The words met her along with a softening in the back of her mind. It was not what Sylvanas expected, not what she rehearsed for. She prepared for Jaina to be stony-faced, civil, but enraged. She prepared for eyes that would not meet hers, not these that stared, and danced with flame and fire and want and this bone-deep desire for an understanding.

Sylvanas held up her hands, bare for the occasion, glowing soulmark on display on her wrist. “Would you have believed me? Would you have even as I explained all these things yesterday, if not for the attack that came after? You wouldn’t have, and I have given you little reason to. I doubt it would have been any different had I sailed here straight from Lordaeron, Grand Marshall Garithos’ blood still wet on my hands.”

“You don’t know that,” Jaina told her. “I grieved for you. For so long, I mourned you. You didn’t even tell me you were—” she trailed off, lacking the correct words to finish that sentence.

“Still alive? Because I wasn’t. I’m a monster. An abomination. An affront to the gods themselves. I still am, even with my soul intact,” Sylvanas reminded her. “Back then, the Alliance saw my people as nothing more than mindless zombies, temporarily bending their feeble wills away from the Lich King’s control, soon to be consumed by it once again and be made to betray them yet another time. You mean to tell me you would have thought any differently?”

“How can I answer that if you didn’t let me try?” Jaina immediately snapped back, her frustration boiling through, both in the movement of her hands and like a pot of boiling oil in the base of Sylvanas’ skull. “If you had come to me, if you had—”

“If I counted back the hours to you I have wasted, dwelling on the past, one by one, we would be here all night and another day,” Sylvanas told her. “I don’t know how you would have reacted. When, where, or why. It doesn’t matter. Could have and would have do not help us now. They do not help the people of Azeroth.”

“They did not help the people of Teldrassil either.”

Ah, there it was. Sylvanas had speculated she would have to answer for her greatest of crimes here. Really, letting the Jailer in had been the greatest, but if it were not through her, then surely it would have been some other pawn that would have taken his power to Azeroth. She just had her anger, her reasons, her vulnerability in having only half a soul to judge by.

“It was not supposed to end that way,” Sylvanas told her frankly, voice low, finding for the first time she could not look into Jaina’s eyes as the dying sun behind her was too close to the memory of the roaring flames. “And while I know it sounds no worse to say this, only one key person was meant to die that day. I left the job to Saurfang, but his odd new sense of honor let Malfurion escape. The strategy to burn the tree was the extreme alternative I was driven to, though no doubt it is what the Jailer wanted all along. That is often how it worked. I would plan something sensible, direct and discreet, it would fail, and then I would be driven to the mad answer, every time.”

The silence stretched on long enough for Sylvanas to have to look up to gauge Jaina’s reaction. She wondered if SI:7 had heard of her original plans for the invasion of Darkshore. But what did it matter? They were doomed. All of these failures, time after time, all this falling back and having to rely on desperate measures—it had all been him. The taunting hand that had held a piece of her soul had pointed her in the wrong direction only to watch her damn ever more souls to his hell in her attempts to make it right again.

The fact that Jaina seemed to be thinking on it still, her mind grinding the words down to powder, as the sun flashed one last brilliant ray behind her, sinking below the horizon, was not lost on Sylvanas. It meant that she did not know. It meant that she was trying to understand.

“Tyrande would have killed you for it all the same,” was what she finally said.

“Perhaps I may yet welcome the mercy of her blade,” was all Sylvanas could say in reply.

There was another silence, but this one ended with a bitter, short laugh against the coming dark of night. “I don’t wish to feel what it’s like to die with you again, so let’s avoid that,” Jaina offered.

There. That was something. Just as the tension dropped on the edge of her spine. In the night, Sylvanas’ wrist glowed like a guiding star. There had to be something left of this, something worth saving. Even if all she had to offer Jaina was to share her life with a dead, bitter war criminal, who had been manipulated into some of what she’d done, and had gladly chosen other transgressions without so much as an ounce of that evil influence.

“I cannot say that Zovaal is to blame for everything I’ve done. I cannot draw an exact line for you of where he ends and I began. That, I think, is the worst part of it. The terrifying part. It all made sense in some way, because that was what he wanted. I wasn’t able to see it so clearly until the day I clutched my soul in my hands. His chains did not hold me then,” Sylvanas went on.

Feeling welled up in her along with the word. Bright and bold, crisp as the cold air of winter, burning as the summer sun. The extremes of emotion save that of anger had been a foreign thing, and still were to her. She felt too raw, too new, her skin newly shed.

“If I were thinking as clearly then, or any time, as I am now, I think I would have come to you,” Sylvanas told her.

She wanted to cry. Not in the screaming, raging way she’d cried for her death and the constant struggle that followed. No, she wanted to cry because this was all just awful. She wanted to cry because it was all like a bandage ripped from a scabbing wound that would not and could not heal. The world itself was even scarred—she had seen the tip of the great hilt of the sword stuck in its side even on her flight over here.

Jaina didn’t deserve that. She didn’t deserve planet-sized swords and magic-sundered cities. Only the purple of Theramore’s arcane painted her now, and she was beautiful in it. A stunning woman if ever there was one, powerful and stern in the way she stood and thought about those words.

She deserved a lonely Ranger General, whose life she had brought light back into just by existing. She deserved warm, languid mornings in a bed draped with the finest Quel’thalan silk. She deserved to laugh and smile easily, without worrying if she could or should for the state of things. She deserved the smile that even Sylvanas could feel a thousand miles away when she read her terrible attempts at love letters. She deserved the life they were supposed to have together.

But Sylvanas supposed it was not for her to say what Jaina deserved. White-haired and once-dead herself, her heart still beat, but she knew what it was to fail, what it was to have it all come crumbling down, and to be the one picking up the pieces yet again.

All Sylvanas wanted was a chance to be a brick in that new foundation they might both build together. Anything else, well, she would just have to see.

“I don’t know how I could have helped, but I would have tried,” Jaina told her.

“I know. I should have known,” Sylvanas told her. “And I know now it’s too little too late.”

Jaina reached for her, and just as Sylvanas had done when she’d first arrived, let her hand drop empty. It was covered still by the clawed gauntlet, hiding the mark that Sylvanas knew burned beneath it. Jaina was clearly not ready to divest herself of such armor around her, nor did she blame her for such caution.

Still, she reached.

“I can’t say I didn’t wish you did this all of this much sooner, but if you were manipulated as you say, I understand how hard it must have been to do at all,” Jaina said, looking down at that hand before clenching it, the metal of the gauntlet creaking. “But know that I don’t accept that as an excuse.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Sylvanas told her. “Or anyone. I deserve far worse than Tyrande’s blade at my neck, which I’ve no doubt she still wants to deliver to me.”

Tyrande’s absence on the ships was noteworthy. Even though the ceasefire had caused all Horde forces to be removed from Darkshore, she had pursued them to the last—apparently culling them from the boat ramps and swinging ladders hanging from hovering zeppelins. When Sylvanas had posed the question of where she was to Anduin at the beginning of the summit, he’d simply shaken his head.

“I only ask that if I am to be punished, that I do so after we have defeated Zovaal, at least in some measure,” Sylvanas went on. “I will be of no use rectifying my crimes if I am to be in chains once again.”

“I fail to see how that helps any of us,” Jaina concluded. “There is no doubt in anyone’s mind you have been truthful about this, you know. Not even mine. You were correct before in saying you had everything to lose if you weren’t.”

“Delivering oneself into the hands of one's enemies spouting madness they cannot prove is not the strategy of a woman with secrets left to keep,” Sylvanas noted. “I am done with secrets. Truly. Ask of me what you want, what you need to know and I will answer. I owe you at least that, for coming to hear me out.”

Sylvanas watched as Jaina’s lips wrapped around a question, then held it in, like a sigh she did not want to allow to escape. A prayer, maybe. A complaint, perhaps. There was so much to talk about, but the moon was rising, following her ardent and fruitless pursuit of the sun. Tonight, it was only a small crescent, still regaining its form and power. But, it was waxing, not waning.

And while Jaina seemed to debate what question she should ask first, she was asking.

Her pause left Sylvanas enough time to wonder what she would ask, if Jaina were to open herself up this way.

That answer was as simple as it was impossible, really. “Did you love me?” would be what she wanted to know. Ever, at all, still? It didn’t matter. But it wasn’t a question she’d been invited to ask, or one she could give voice to even if she was. Not now, at least. Perhaps not ever.

Perhaps she might never know. Perhaps, she might have to be content with her soulmate standing at arm’s length from her, struggling to find the right words, offering only distant hope of a truce, an alliance of needs, and nothing more.

But loved or not, Sylvanas supposed that was better than the alternative. Still, Jaina was here. She’d listened.

She opened her mouth again to speak.

“Can we maybe sit a while and just, well, talk?” Jaina asked. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to hear more about this Zovaal and the Maw.”

It was something. Anything at all.

“We can talk, yes,” Sylvanas answered, as she watched Jaina sweep aside her skirts, and sit upon a nearby boulder.

She gestured to the same rock, where a flat place was left empty just beside her, waiting, inviting.

It was the closest Sylvanas had been to her—no. That wasn’t right. Jaina had reached out to her the day before, touched her skin, asked for her to meet. No more melodramatics, no more comparisons of the years and years she’d lost to death and dominance, the wrong and the right of it. These would not serve Sylvanas in her goals, her atonements. Her actions would.

Sylvanas sat next to her soulmate, and though she desperately wanted to reach out to touch her again, she held her bare hands still in her lap. She would tell Jaina everything she wanted to know, everything she was willing to hear. Sincere words were never her forte, but as a career soldier, she could report like no one’s business. If Jaina wanted a report, she’d get the report of her lifetime, so long as she was willing to listen.

And Jaina, it seemed—sitting beside her, back straight, arcane fire dancing still in her eyes and on the strands of her hair—was still listening.

---

Another day, another lifetime ago, and Clea had once again perched herself on the edge of the Ranger General’s desk, legs swinging, without invitation.

“What has you grinning with your ears pointing straight to Belore like that?” she asked as she unceremoniously took up her favorite seat in all of Silvermoon.

“Would you believe me if I told you it was a report from Vereesa on supply lines?” Sylvanas offered, not looking up from the letter that was decidedly not that.

“No. Well, wait, it depends on the type of supply lines. I know you love a good artillery shipment, but maybe not that much,” Clea said.

Sylvanas huffed a laugh. While she would indeed be delighted to get some new ballistas requisitioned for the weaker points of their defensive lines on the Amani front, the likelihood of King Anasterian prioritizing that was far lower than her chances of even finding her once in a lifetime soulmate, whose letter she was actually smiling over.

Clea took this opportunity to peek for her answer and snorted her own response, “Well, I doubt Vereesa writes to you in Common, so I’d say you’re drooling over a letter from your pretty mage instead.”

“I don’t drool,” Sylvanas retorted. “But I also don’t wish to waste time lying to you. Now, Ranger, was there a purpose to your visit other than to pester me about my love life?”

“You love her then?”

Sylvanas knew that the question was meant to be teasing in nature. It was hardly meant as the existential blow that it felt like, a slap across the face that reality must be answered to.

Of course she loved Jaina. That much she knew. The truth of it was so odd though. She’d met the woman for only a week, and still knew precious little about her. Fate had decided to place them in each other’s hearts, forever bound by their souls, and while Sylvanas had relished in the idea of no longer being alone in this world, she had not done so with love in mind. Odd as it was to say, she sought her soulmate for wholeness’ sake as much as anything else really. It was a thing one did, a lifelong pursuit in the long life of an elf, one she was lucky to fulfill in her relative youth.

But yes, the answer was easy. She loved her. She loved Jaina with every fiber of her being, every steady beat of her heart, every calming reminder of their bond as Jaina’s thoughts and feelings leaked so subtly into her mind across the vast distance that separated them, and likely would for much of their lives. They were still figuring out where they would live, where they might even meet for the next time, once Jaina was finished with this silly little jaunt around Lordaeron.

She wanted Sylvanas to come to Dalaran, of course. That was the topic of this letter, apparently sent just before she left the city of mages to accompany Prince Arthas.

Sylvanas hated Dalaran, but for Jaina, she could try. That, she supposed, was what love really was, at least to her—a willingness to put all aside, grievances and gratitudes alike, just to be with someone. Even if that meant dealing with an entire city full of snooty magisters. Jaina deserved that much from her—to do as Sylvanas had done with her in Quel’thalas, and take her to meet her friends, to eat at her favorite restaurants, to see the things and people and places that were important to her.

It was all so strange how this worked with soulmates. It felt like doing love in reverse. The deep, unfathomable bond was there already, but Sylvanas didn’t know what wine Jaina liked best yet, or what she would do to cheer herself up or clear her mind when she was feeling weary of the world and its trials. She didn’t know her favorite color. She didn’t know what animal she’d most often pretend to be when playing make-believe growing up.

Sylvanas, of course, had been a fearsome lynx in her childhood games. What animals were even so prevalent in Kul Tiras for Jaina to assume their imaginary form in her play? Sylvanas didn’t know. She almost jotted down a note to herself to find a natural atlas of the island nation to familiarize herself with the possibilities, but remembered that Clea was there, now looking strangely at her as Sylvanas hadn’t responded in her musing.

“Of course I do,” she answered.

Because she did. She loved Jaina Proudmoore, and was looking forward to spending the rest of whatever time the gods might allow them to have together to get to know her, however and whenever she could.

#sylvanas windrunner #jaina proudmoore #sylvaina #fanfic #beneath the blue moon #sorry for sitting on this for months but the struggle is real

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alleged-mothman · 4 days

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reading the locked tomb will have you thinking of thematic connections when you're supposed to be paying attention in church

anyway I just realized that abigail pent and the fifth being the spirit house=pentecost and the holy spirit

#guess where I'm at #I've actually had this one in my drafts for a while but i thought it would be more funny if I posted it on pentecost #tlt #the locked tomb #abigail pent

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annestie · 4 months

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Karma

Neteyam and Ao'nung are hanging out on the beach when their time together is interrupted

Neteyam straddles Ao’nung as they continues pressing their lips together. Ao’nung’s hands trail down Neteyam’s back. Slowly he slides his fingers under the straps of his loincloth, about to take it off when Neteyam’s communicator turns on.

“Neteyam!” Tuk’s voice rings loud between them. “It’s an emergency, come quick. We’re at that rock!” she screams for him. Neteyam jumps away from Ao’nung, worry filling every inch of him.

“What? Tuk?” Neteyam asks, pressing on his communicator but only static comes back. Immediately, Neteyam panics. With only a quick glance back to Ao’nung, Neteyam is off towards the rock Tuk said to come to.

Neteyam bolts, running over the sand quicker than he has ever before. Ao’nung just behind him though he’s not as quick on land. When Neteyam finally gets to the rock, he finds his siblings, Rotxo and Tsireya just hanging out.

“What’s going on?” Neteyam asks his youngest sister panicked. He bends down to check her over, moving her head around for injuries. She quickly pulls away from him though.

“I broke the bracelet you made me,” she tells him. Tuk holds up the pieces of bracelet sadly. Neteyam’s heart begins to stop racing, relief filling him.

“I told you he would come,” Kiri tells Lo’ak with a smirk.

Ignoring, his other siblings, Neteyam gently takes the broken parts of the bracelet from Tuk. “Tuk, the communicator is for emergencies. Not broken bracelets.” Neteyam turns his attention to Lo’ak and Kiri. “You two could have helped her,” he scolds them.

“We didn’t know what weave you did, and we couldn’t find you anywhere in the village,” Lo’ak explains in return. “Where were you even?” Lo’ak questions him.

“Around,” Neteyam answers curtly. “You could have asked mother if you wanted to know the weave.” Kiri and Lo’ak shrug their shoulders as if to say they that he’s here now so why does it matter.

“Is that a hickey?” Rotxo asks surprised, pointing towards Neteyam’s neck.

Neteyam slaps a hand onto his neck. In his rushing, he must have forgotten to put his choker back on. “No,” Neteyam denies in vain, his siblings and friends already gawking at him.

Gasping, Lo’ak asks, “Were you with a girl? Is that you’re being so cranky?” He laughs.

Neteyam rolls his eyes. “No.”

“A guy then?” Kiri asks, joining Lo’ak in interrogating him.

Neteyam just sighs. “Tuk, I’ll fix this later ok?” he says, ignoring them. He sets the broken pieces into one of the bags he has tied to his loin cloth.

“Eywa! Is that why your braids are always coming apart?”

“You also disappear sometimes.” Kiri suddenly gasps. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

Just then Ao’nung comes running up to them. “I was with Neteyam and I overheard. What’s going on?”

“No!” Lo’ak immediately shouts as he looks between Ao’nung and Neteyam with horror in his eyes. “No, no, no,” he keeps repeating.

Ao’nung squints his eyes at Lo’ak, confused, before realizing there was no danger. He hands Neteyam his choker as he says, “You dropped this.” Neteyam gladly takes it back and once again covers the thing that started this whole mess.

“Lo’ak you were probably going to find out eventually,” Neteyam tries assuring Lo’ak.

“Not like this,” Lo’ak responds with disgust.

“You know what? This serves you right for using the communicator for this,” Neteyam responds. “It’s that word that dad uses, karma.”

#aonunete #neteyam x aonung #avatar the way of water #atwow #fanfic #fluff #i've actually had this one in my drafts a while #drabble #i'm sorry Lo'ak #but to be fair don't ask questions you don't want answers to

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snezario · 2 months

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Haz/bin Hot/el V/ox Headcanons

a collection of Thoughts by your fellow television demon enthusiasts, me & @stormyweaver

Different malware/viruses affect him differently. Some can cause cold symptoms, other flu, some mono, etc. Some just simply make him itchy and sneeze and he absolutely HATES IT BC THOSE ARE THE EASIEST TO CATCH

He doesn't have a nose/sinuses so it's just this all-encompassing sensation stuck in his head and he can rarely ever sneeze once and be done with it because it's just THAT intense of a feeling. He's at least gotta get two out before feeling any sort of relief.

Electronics and rain/water do not mix, if he's ever caught out in a storm he shortcircuits, which lowers his immune system (?) and makes him prone to catching a cold

His air filtration system for overheating is essential but if something gets in there and mucks it up, he's done

Allergies: dust (oh man do you know how much dust my pc tower collects? this is prime pickings my dudes), cats/animal fur (the hair gets trapped in his vents and it's game over for him)

When he first manifested, he didn't know that he could even sneeze in his new form until he came into contact with an allergen, which was a Disastorous event and memory he'd like to forget

Can lose control of his electro-teleporting abilities, especially if the sneezes sneak up on him or during extended fits

His sneezes have an effect on electronics and electronically-powered things - from lights flickering out to complete building power outages

Val and Vel have a nickname for him "Sparky" (that he hates ofc) because he has the tendency to give off sparks during particularly intense fits

Definitely one of those workaholic CEO types that would try to ignore/work through the beginnings of illness until the point of collapse

Building off the last HC, he would also be one to squirrel away in his office and avoid interacting with anyone when he's ill, probably the only time he's away from the multitude of screens

Downright terrible patient - will be in denial for as long as he can get away with it and hates being coddled when he's found out

I also LOVE the idea that Alastor is able to set him off with radio wave manipulation

#hazbinhyperfixation #i've def seen some other good ones but i've had this in my drafts for a while #feel free to send any y'all have

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cherrydreamer · 2 years

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Always gonna be on a found family for Billy kick, always, so just imagine Billy stumbling into Benny's diner right at closing, and Benny (who didn't die in S1, because I say so) is all ready to throw him out, too tired after a long day to be dealing with any punk ass teenagers who come in reeking of an attitude, but then he gets closer, and he sees Billy's bright red cheek and his black eye and his bruises, and he combines them with Billy's unblemished knuckles and the broken look on his face and the way he's hunkering down in his too-thin-for-the-weather jacket, and his heart sinks and so he's like, "Ten minutes kid," cause it's a cold night and, as far as he can tell from the empty parking lot, the kid must've walked there.

So Billy asks for a black coffee, the cheapest thing on the menu, but then he reaches for a wallet that isn't there and starts scrambling in his pockets, managing to find a couple of quarters or something but still not enough, so he just sighs all exhausted and resigned and says, "Never mind," and turns to leave.

And that's when Benny reaches out. He puts a gentle hand on his shoulder, regretting it immediately when Billy flinches, so he pulls his hand away and keeps his voice soft and says, "One coffee, coming up, sit your ass back down, kid," before bringing out the coffee AND a milkshake and following it up with a loaded plate of pancakes.

And Billy tries to refuse, brushes it off with a, "Don't need any charity," but Benny can see the way he's looking so longingly at the food, and he tells Billy that it's not charity, cause he's kinda planned on Billy helping wash some dishes up after.

And Billy can work with that.

(And, yeah, there's the offer of an after school job, Benny making some comment about how he's been thinking about hiring someone else, an extra hand to help now he's getting older, and, hey, Billy seems like a good, hard-working kid so what does he think? And Benny doesn't say it outright, but he also makes sure Billy knows he can come in whenever he needs a place to go, whether he's working or not.

And of course, after a few weeks, Benny notices that there's another kid hanging around too, some preppy guy whose shiny red Beemer sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the pick-up trucks and rusting old cars of his usual customers, and who always turns up when Billy's on shift.

And, yes, after another few weeks, Benny catches Billy and this other boy making out by the bins around the back, and he feels a little thrum of satisfaction when the preppy kid throws himself in front of Billy like a shield, his jaw set and his fists already raised, so all Benny does is smile over at a clearly terrified Billy and say, "He's still gotta pay in full for the fries, kid. Don't go giving out any sweetheart discounts, y' hear me? Now get a wiggle on. Break's over in five," then heads back inside with a fond chuckle.)

#harringrove #just a silly thing I've had in drafts for a while and probably won't write in full so I'm setting it free #oh i have a whole world of billy and benny found family #and billy inheriting the diner and it becoming THE place for the queer teens of Hawkins to hang out #and him and steve getting older and older and all these kids and teens feeling like their family #and billy making up new dishes on the menu and one of them is the MadMax of course #and him and steve spending nights dancing to the jukebox after they've closed up

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