#// one might even get their own spin-off fic in the future!

[virologikal]

As I am outlining the upcoming chapters I am rubbing my tiny raccoon hands in anticipation to bring certain characters into the light..... >:3c

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Quiet One 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: have a good day.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

“So, what do you think?” Lloyd asks as he turns to you, outstretching his arms as he gestures to the endless hangers. “All yours. You got your pick.” 

You stand just inside the door of the walk-in closet. The space would take up at least half your apartment alone. You cross your arms as you glance along the rows of coloured fabric hung from the walls, organized in a perfect ombre effect of shades. On the far wall, there are shelves full of shoes and accessories, along with a vanity in the centre. 

“I know you’re a simple gal,” he grins, “but you don’t have to be anymore. Whatever you want, ain’t no mountain high enough and all that.” 

You nod and blow out between your lips. It all still feel surreal like a nightmare. You swallow and tamp down your discomfort. You didn’t hate the life you had. Your small apartment, manageable and tame. You prefer predictability, even if some might say it’s boring. 

“Erm, I dunno,” you slowly trail over to the other side of the closet. 

“Well, you could pick some shoes first. That might inspire you,” he suggests as he approaches you, “you don’t need to be too fancy, you know, you always look nice.” 

“Mm,” you nod,” thanks that’s...” 

You let the sentence hang. This is really freaking you out. Your chest feels tight and your head is buzzing. You shudder out a breath. 

“What... what am I choosing for?” You croak. 

“I told you, jellybean,” he puts his arm around you and pulls you against his side, “it’s a surprise.”  

He reaches to grab a hanger and holds it out at arm’s length. A blush-coloured satin dress with a bit of frill at the bottom of the skirt. It’s nothing you would choose yourself. 

“Sure, that’s nice,” you say, just to appease him. What else can you do? 

“Hm,” he hums, “you don’t like it?” 

“I didn’t say...” 

“You don’t sound very excited,” he pouts as he turns to you, his hand lingering on your hip, “none of it? I got it all for you.” 

“I’ll wear it,” you sniff, “I’m sorry, I’m just... I’m... adjusting.” 

You don’t know how else to explain it.  

He pushes his lower lip out and narrows his eyes, “sure, sure, makes sense.” He drags his hand off your hip and steps back, keeping the dress up as he angles it before you, as if he’s imagining you in it. “This is gonna look so hot, baby.” 

You do your best to stay placid. It’s harder as you heart pounds furiously. You can’t even begin to guess what he has planned but with everything he’s done and said, you know exactly what his intent is.  

“You should get washed up, huh? Then get dolled up. Like I said, won’t need much of that,” he winks, “you could walk in ass-naked and I’m sure you’d stun.” 

You can’t help how your mouth slants at his remark. 

“Alright, jellybean, let’s get you in the tub,” he lays the dress over the velvet bench and spins back, startling you as he grabs both hips and jerks you towards him with a growl, “can I watch? I promise, I’ll try not to touch. Yet.” 

You clasp onto his wrists with a yelp. He curls his lips eagerly and you repress your horror. You don’t want to antagonise. You don’t want him to get any worse than he is. 

“Um, did you want... to?” You murmur. 

“Fucking of course,” he urges you against him, “the things I want to do...” he smirks, “I’m quaking in my boots.” 

He bows to smother you with a kiss. His mustache pokes at your uper lip and up your nose as he hums and slides his tongue across your lips. You squeeze your mouth tightly shut but he pokes through, nearly choking you as he invades. You press your hands to his chest as he locks you into his embrace. 

Finally, he part and you gasp for breath. He snickers as you puff against him. Your skin is crawling as you wriggle in his hold. 

“Yum,” he purrs. 

He lets his arms fall away and quickly snags your hand. You let him drag you around to the door, your feet hollow as they move without a thought. Resistance is plainly not a choice. 

He takes you back into the adjoining bedroom, the one you awoke in, and through another door way against the perpendicular wall. He steps to the side as he tugs you forward and releases you. Your take in the sleek black walls and black tub, the silver shower head in a monochrome booth, and the ebon marble veined with sparkling white. 

“I get it, it’s going to take a lot of getting used to,” he boasts, “this is our home, sweet cheeks. Remember that. You treat it like your very own... it is. Just like me, all yours.” 

You pad slowly inside, if only to keep a distance from your captor. You won’t forget what he is. He can give you all the luxurious things but you remember the days of starvation, of terror. He can’t see himself for what he is but you do. 

“Face masks, body scrub, bath bomb, shower gel, bonnet, robe,” he points at the fluffy purple robe still around you, “slippers,” he flicks his finger towards the mat beside the door, “lotions, creams, everything you can dream of. Oh damn, I can call a nail tech if you want a fresh mani--” 

“Uh, no thanks,” ball up your fists, hiding your short-trimmed nails, “that’s not... that’s okay.” 

“Only the best for you, kitty cat,” he says. 

He strides forward and you flinch out of his way. He goes to the tub and cranks it on, water splashing out from the high faucet. He flips the silver lever to put the stopper in place and backs up. 

“Voila, all for you,” he declares, “I’ll just...” he looks around and backs up to sit on the fluffy cushioned stools near the wall, “sit and watch. If you need help getting your back, I got you.” 

He wiggles his fingers and gives a lecherous grin. You withhold a shudder and face the basin, the water battering the bottom. You step forward and peer down into the shallows. You clutch the front of the robe and peek over in his direction but not at him. 

He waits, silently. You sway, squeezing the fluffy fabric as you peer back at the water. You don’t know if you can do it. Not with him right there. 

“Whatsa matter, baby, you need help?” He shifts and you jolt.  

“N-no, I just...” you look down at yourself and frown. 

“Ah, you’re shy. I totally get it,” he coos, “you don’t gotta be though. Your beautiful, so you should be proud. Show it off, honey.” He clucks and shakes his head, “you know that’s the thing these days, all you girls, you’re so insecure, but you trust me, sweet lips, you got nothing to be insecure about.” 

Your stomach flips. You feel hazy. You try to shrug it off and drop your hands to the belt of the rob. You untie it. You’re really going to do this. Why? 

Because you’re afraid? Weak? Yep. 

You shed the rob and look around. You hang it on the hook behind the door and return to the tub. It’s getting deeper and deeper. You touch the bottom of your shirt and scrunch it up in your fists. Just do it quickly and get in. He can only see so much from over there. 

You pull your shirt off, nothing underneath. You push your pants down quickly, your underwear rolling down inside. The skin feels cooler then and tingles across your naked skin as you latch onto the tub and swing yourself over the edge. You barely get a foot under you before you submerge your body in the water. 

You sit up, legs bent, stiff on the porcelain as the water continues to rise. It’s not quite at your chest yet. If you let it fill all the way, it might touch your chin. As you watch the depth climb, you don’t notice him until he closes. You slide to the back of the tub as Lloyd cranks off the faucet. 

You notice how his eyes stray to you. Your legs stay bent in front of you, blocking most of everything. You shrink down, hunching your shoulders as he searches through the ripples. He tilts his head and cracks his neck as he exhales and backs away. 

“Take your time, baby,” he purrs as he rubs his chest. 

He sits again and you lower your head. You’ve never been this bare in front of anyone, rarely even yourself. You’re just not comfortable without some short of shield around you. Your eyes tinge with the threat of tears. You feel like you’ve been hit across the face. This is real. Really real. 

Your eyes flick up and you reach for the purple scrubby on the little black shelf. You just have to get through it. That’s what you’ve always done. 

👄

You stare into the open case. You’re not entirely unfamiliar with the concept of make-up. When you were a teen, you had a phase, and you’ve been to enough job interviews to wield a mascara wand. Still, the amount seems excess. 

There’s almost every sort of product in every shade. Some sort of tap you don’t know what to do with, highlighter, and finishing spray. It’s too much. Your look is either a bare face or nothing at all. More often the former. 

You fidget with a tube of lipstick, clicking the lid up and down. This is all so strange. What are you getting ready for? And why? This isn’t your home, this isn’t your life, and yet it’s all so perfectly planned. 

“Honey bunnnnnn,” Lloyd’s timbre has you dropping the stick. He strides in, flustered, holding up two ties. He’s half dressed. A pair of red velvet pants and amber satin button up. It’s not a look you would go for. “What do ya think? Which tie? Paisley or the stripes?” 

You shrug and shake your head. 

He clicks his tongue, “genius, baby, genius. No tie. You’re right. Just the jacket.” 

Your mouth falls open and you nod, “sure, yeah.” 

You look back at the vanity and huff. Your face is untouched. You sit in your robe in the walk-in closet, mulling over your misery. Self-pity is as inescapable as these walls. 

“What’s up, cheeks?” He asks, “you need some help? I’m thinking you could give a bit more colour to lips but keep the rest very subtle.” 

He crosses the floor and hovers behind you. You stir around in the case and take out two bottles of foundation. You’ve never really used that either but the shades are pretty close. He lays the ties down on the vanity, brushing your back as he does, and pulls back to grip your shoulders. 

“I tried to guess as best I could. Don’t know much about all that but the lady in the store was a blessing,” he massages your shoulders as he talks. You’re tense as steel. “But you know, you got perfect skin so...” 

“Mm,” you put the foundation back and peruse the little shelf alongside the mirror. You reach for the moisturizer. Your skin feels raw.  

“I like it, au natural. Touch of cream, little lash...” 

“I’ll figure it out,” you grumble. He’s kind of annoying. No, he’s really annoying. All of this is annoying. 

“Right, yep, I will get out of your way,” he bends and kisses the crown of your head, “lots of time.” 

He strolls out and you scowl at the mirror. Something about him is getting to you. You’re not an angry person. You’re a nice person. You don’t go out of your way to be around others but when you are, you strive to be pleasant. Or at least, out of the way. 

You spread the cream over your face, watching your reflection as if it’s someone else. Where did he come from? Why? This is some cruel trick because you only ever wanted to mind your business. 

You cap the bottle and put the moisturizer back. You fish out a mascara stick and brush it on your lashes then find a neutral lip colour to put on. Nothing special, just like you. Hopefully he sees that soon enough. 

You pack away the case and push it to the back of the vanity. You get up and go to the velvet bench where the dress lays. He’s plucked out a few things to go with it. A gold necklace with small diamonds speckled along it and a pair of beige heels.  

You peek at the door before you untie the robe. You shiver as your fingers brush your stomach. You close your eyes as you recall how he wrapped you up in a towel after your bath. His touches were more than deliberate but his intrusive gaze made you squirm more. 

You pull on the lingerie tucked under the dress. A thong. You’ve never worn one of those, and a satin and lace bra with no padding. Even as you pull the dress up your figure, you feel like you’re on display. You reach back, bending your arm until your elbow throbs as you push the zipper up. 

“Need some help?” Lloyd’s voice makes you wince. 

You sniff, “sure.” 

You hold up the bodice as he approaches. You refuse to look back at him as he nears. He tickles along your spine with a single finger before he tugs on the zipper. He pulls it up little by little, until the fabric is snug around you. His fingertips drift down your back and he spreads his hands across your ass. You gasp. 

Before you can step away, his hands glide around and he grabs you by the hips. He pulls you against him and rocks with you. He inhales your scent from above and sighs. 

“Jellybean...” he almost sings, “are you...untouched?” 

You lock up and grab at his hands, trying to free yourself. 

“Is that why you’re so shy?” He snickers and spins you around, hands going to your waits, “I’m honoured to be your first.” 

You gape at him, horrified. His intent hasn’t been hard to guess but said aloud, it is all too imminent. 

[f-imaginings]

Hi hi! Wow I was seeing your posts about the end of KMKY and the future Spin-Off and it makes me very happy, I really admire you for the wisdom of giving a "bad" ending to our KMKY!Billford. (Even though I created an entire AU just out of frustration that in KMKY they didn't have the special adventures together (cough cough)

Anyway! kMKY changed my brain chemistry and my view of them just like you wanted, and damn, I accepted the idea that: they are soulmates, they love each other more than anything, but they are not meant to be together It's their own fault.

Now the question! If this is at least one, about the Spin-offs, I didn't quite understand, will they be additions or "What if's"?

Anyway! Thank you for the chapter today, it was just the day I needed to take out my frustration on something because I had BROKEN MY GLASSES IN HALF, a tragedy.

Hi lovely! 🤗

The spin offs are at this point exploring what ifs, because the timeline of knowing me knowing you has a set direction.

The idea behind the spin off is for example "I know that Bill disappeared after Ford lashed out at him at the bibliosphere, but what would happen if rather than just burning up up and away, he grabbed Stanford and brought him back to the nightmare realm?" And then that storyline would play out.

Or "what would happen if rather than just leaving the Institute of Oddology Stanford stayed for longer and realised Alternate Bill was being used as a battery?" Or "what if after Lottocron 9 Stanford was willing to spend more time with Pyronica, would he go back with her to learn more about Bill at that point?" Or "what if Stanford managed to get through to Bill in his mindscape when the Pirahn Pirates attacked the Scrap Vandals, would Bill rescue him then and what would happen after?"

I want to pick points in the storyline where they don't suddenly depart from their existing characterisation, but instead the circumstances change very slightly to allow new events to play out.

I figure given the number of alternate dimensions out there in the multiverse, exploring things outside the doomed timeline of the fic might be fun, and will give ppl more kmky goodness without changing the directory of the story excessively.

I also really like the idea of, after all the high conflict dramatic what ifs play out, the last what if chapter is softer and back when things were good between them, and it's the what if of what if they could admit their feelings for each other sooner. That would be a what if I think would both break and heal the readers in fun ways.

Something to look forward to!

[zephyrchama]

you're one of my fav blogger in this app! i love to read your blogs during night time, that's the only time when i have a clear mind for imaginations! sometimes i even laugh at your blogs causing my mom to wake up and she'll shut me up. but if i'd ask you something... How do you even get ideas for your blogs? is there any particular story you've made that happened to you too? ilysm, have a great day or night :) ❤️❤️

Aaaaa thank you so very much!! ヾ(｡・ω・)ﾉ☆ﾟ♥ (I've made you wake someone up with laughter! What an honor! >u< )

I honestly never ever respected anybody to read my stuff. When I made my first post, I sat on it for days and wondered if I should really upload it, and just made this blog for self-indulgent reasons. I was super surprised! I'm still surprised every day!

Some of my ideas are based on real events! The toe-biting one (it wasn't a human though haha), high-pitched noise, sneezing (it's me, I'm determined to bless everyone who sneezes), long hair, unnoticed, those are a few based on personal experiences. I have a lot of ideas saved up to potentially write about in the future as well. I used to live in an international dormitory in Tokyo where there were young adults from all over the world living together in an unfamiliar country. We're all people and we were all similar, but everyone was raised in a different culture so we had these slightly different quirks, and I like to think that's what living with the Obey Me characters might feel like.

Some of the posts are based on internet memes, like chin on palm, false eyelashes, and confident Levi. Some of them are based on other shows, like Mammon's First Grimm and the Watching MC sleep post from yesterday. I read a lot of manga/webtoons, especially in the otome isekai genre. Sometimes I get spin-off ideas from those, but if I go into a new series specifically looking for ideas to write about then I won't find anything. The OM characters have certain popular traits, like the bookworm and the otaku and the tsundere, but they're also unique characters that express those tropes in their own way! So I don't like drawing too many parallels between the OM cast and similar characters from other media because I don't want to label all otaku, bookworms, tsundere, etc. as being the same.

A lot of people send me asks and I really have to respond to them! There are a lot of fun ideas people sent in that I've been sitting on for too long. I never know how long or short to make the responses and I don't want to disappoint people with really short answers if they were expecting something big, but that makes me hesitate and I wind up accidentally not responding. ;u;

Sometimes an idea springs into my head out of nowhere and just have to get it out right away. I prefer to write at a computer but the April Fool's Day piece and Hide & Seek came to me so suddenly I literally couldn't focus on anything else, dropped what I was doing, and immediately posted it from my phone.

this got so long, oh no. you can tell i like to ramble when I speak on the internet hghakhj. I may be taking a bit of a break from writing soon because a big anime convention is coming up and I'm working a lot on cosplay again. I want to post some longer fics when I'm back though so come August I'd like to work on those. If people read my posts and haven't noticed, I also write whatever's on my mind in the tags! Sometimes it's quips about the fic, sometimes it's updates about this blog, sometimes I'm just saying nonsense.

This got really long I am so sorry but thank you so much!! You too, please have a lovely day or night or week in general and thanks for letting me ramble on your post!

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Heyya! It's me again! 🌙! Been a while since I asked a question:3 btw hru? Love your new fics! And also concerned on how many requests you have. Pls do take your time on making them you could (or have gone) burnt out if you rush. Do take a break from time to time <3. Here are my questions!

Questions for both Sagau x bsd and self aware bsd

1. Did you mention Verlaine in SAGAU X BSD?

2. Where are all the other good genshin characters stay in GL world (like nahida, scaramouche, citizens, etc.) ?

3. Does Nahida and Furina move their people in the real world too?

4. Is Fitzgerald basically the richest person in the world?

5. In the real world, is the government suspicious of Fitzgerald like- suspicious if he is the richest person in the world.

Hello, 🌙 Anon! Long time no see.

I am doing great. Glad that you liked my last fics.

And thank you for your concern. I am doing requests in my own pace, taking enough breaks.

And to your questions.

1. Verlaine was mentioned in this post and in this post. He also has one SAGAU themed meme, and he was requested in Event.

He didn't appear in the fics, for now. I am planning to write about him saving Furina and Melusines from Fortress of Meropide, but, it still in planning.

Can share some plans for future SAGAU x BSD AU Crossover fics

(Right now I am talking about original fics, not including requests and event!)

Fukuzawa and Fukuchi fic. - "A step back". Set right after Reader returned from Teyvat, but before Capitano got into the Real World to capture Reader. About Fukuzawa and Fukuchi taking care of a still almost broken Reader.

Mori, Elise and Zhongli fic. - Mori vs Zhongli

Verlaine and Furina fic I mentioned above

Maybe? An Arlecchino focused fic. A scene, where Arlecchino came to Reader to negotiate about benefits she will get from helping Reader. Will I tie it to BSD Character? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ We will see.

Mitchell and Venti fic. Venti, after confronting Fake Creator, is forced to be loyal to them, otherwise they will execute everyone in Mondstadt. He gets an earful from Mitchell.

Another Fukuzawa fic, possibly? Something with Fukuzawa act as an assassin again. Perhaps with Rosaria and Eula, or Lawrence Clan.

Saving Nahida and Aranaras fic. Chuuya? Perhaps Adam and Lucy.

Fake Creator focused fic. About their past, and why they decided to pretend to be a Creator. Possibly with Ayatsuji.

Atsushi fic. Something soft, Atsushi bringing tiger cubs to Reader for petting them.

BEAST Spin Off. Semi-canon for the main crossover. BEAST Characters get into the Real World after Reader returned from Teyvat and BEAST! Mori accidentally scared Reader with his voice.

What if. What if Reader get into Teyvat before BSD Cast got into the Real World and during execution Reader, instead of returning to the Real World, got teleported into BSD World.

2. In BSD Manor. It's big enough to house few more people. If needed, Fitzgerald might order to build one more house (he was planning to do it anyway, in case more BSD Characters appeared in Real World).

Kids helped Aranaras and Melusines build new villages for them.

3. Does Nahida and Furina move their people in the real world too?

It will depend, if most of their citizens will be in danger (example: If Fake Creator ordered Apep to "unleash" jungles on Sumeru, or Neuvillette decided to drown Fontaine), Furina and Nahida will demand for their people to be moved.

Otherwise, if their people aren't in danger, they will see and wait.

BSD Cast, while angry, aren't unreasonable. They understand, why common people chased after Reader (fear, religious beliefs). Their revenge are mostly focused on "playable characters". People in power, who ordered to hunt Reader.

They will try to keep permanent damage to the normal citizens as low as they can.

4. He is quite rich. I won't call him the richest, but he is wealthy.

5. Even if they are, they won't find anything. Fitzgerald is financially clear. For real world, he was just a cosplayer, who decided to play on the stock exchange (Fitzgerald and Alcott) and get a jackpot from online casino (Sigma, Fyodor, Dazai). There is no tax evasion, Fitzgerald is just a very lucky person.

BSD Cast prepared, before going to the real world.

__________

Tag list: @withered-blossoms , @myluckymoon @cocodrilofeliz @c4xcocoa @vvyeislazzy @whisperingwinters @nervousinfluencertidalwave @ayameshu

[usermischief]

♞Pairing: Steo

♞Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Theo Raeken

♞Tags: wedding, getting back together, future fic

♞Words: 2047

Sitting on the steps at the front of the church, arms loosely crossed over his thighs and phone in his hand, Theo is the very definition of bored. Something you very much should not be on the day you tie the knot with the person you claim to be your soulmate. Not that those exact words have ever left Theo’s mouth. Those have only ever rolled over Tracy’s tongue. She’s always believed that this day would come, even during the time Theo dated Stiles. It’s hard to blame her. Theo is like a drug. Once hooked, it’s impossible to get clean.

That Stiles has managed to stay away from five years seems like a miracle. Yet, he’s here on the off-chance that Theo still feels the way for him he’s used to do – even though Stiles was the one who walked away. They were passionate, and Stiles still can’t begin to put into words how he feels about Theo, but they were explosive, more so once their respective careers took off. Theo Raeken, one of the best receivers seen in generations, and Stiles Stilinski, an up-and-coming actor people throw blank checks at, so he’d be in their movies or TV shows.

They were volatile, but they made sense.

They never made their relationship a secret, but they were private – too private for the media, who decided to spin their own stories. Stiles too the brunt of that. A new rumored romance at least once a month. Interview questions from journalist. Stiles reaffirming that he’s still dating Theo but refusing to give any further comments. A lot of people online kept coming to his defense, giving the media the engagement it so desperately craved, and the cycle went on and on.

Even when Stiles stopped commenting at all as his relationship crumbled behind the scenes, nothing changed. Theo’s possessive streak has been an issue from the beginning. It was manageable. Easy to handle. The constant onslaught of rumors, however, caused it to fly off the handle. After multiple near misses, Stiles decided to leave before they both explode and so or say something they cannot come back from.

The world learned of their break-up because Tracy posted pictures of herself and Theo everywhere.

Stiles, in return, fucked more people than he can count. He became who the media told him he is. Funny, really, that out of the two of them Stiles turned into a fuckboy.

And now he’s hiding in the last row of a church Theo never wanted to get married in. He knew about the wedding long before Josh and Corey popped up on his doorstep. Tracy announced it the very day of their engagement. Of Corey and Josh hadn’t continuously insisted, Stiles wouldn’t be doing this. He wouldn’t be here, putting his heart – and pride – on the line in front of too many strangers and at least twenty invited paparazzi, waiting outside the church, and, in turn, the whole fucking world. If Theo’s closest friends are right, all Stiles has to do is get up, be seen, and Theo would drop everything to take him back no questions asked. But Stiles knows he can only ask this of Theo if he’s sure they work out, if he wants to stay with him, knowing and accepting every part of Theo.

Only then can he allow Theo to uproot his life.

The longer Stiles waits, the worse it will get for Tracy too. Not that she would’ve cared. She tried to get with Theo every chance she got. Still, Stiles wonders what would feel worse, waiting until the officiant asks him to speak – and what if he freezes? – or ripping the band aid off and stop the ceremony from even starting.

Shifting on the pew, Stiles lets out a breath and allows himself to look away from Theo at the front of the church and glances at Josh and Corey, looking around as if waiting for something – someone. He had ample time to call Theo before today, to stop all of this from even happening.

He didn’t.

Is that answer enough?

His heart aches.

Stiles can’t let Theo do this. He can’t bring himself to miss what might be his very last chance.

Stiles takes another deep breath, taking in the guests in their expensive dresses and suits. He blocks out their chatter, the laughter, the good mood he’s about to drop a bomb on. All he has to do is get up and out of the dark corner he’s been hiding in, to step into the aisle. The moment he does, people will notice. Theo will see him. It feels like a small miracle nobody has until now. Stiles half expected Tracy had handed out flyers with his face on them to make sure he won’t ruin anything.

However, that’s exactly what he’s about to do.

Stiles cannot wait a second longer. He doesn’t know when the ceremony is about to start. He takes a steadying breath and slips out of the pew.

Theo people closest to him glance up. Although Stiles keeps his face angled away from them, he can tell the moment they’ve recognized him. There’s a shift in the air. Their quiet conversation turns into urgent whispers. It’s not hard to imagine how they’re trying to tell people in front of them. A doomed game of telephone that won’t reach Tracy in time. If someone tries to stop him, Theo will notice.

Stiles has made a decision.

For the first time in five years, he can finally breathe again.

Let’s see how long that lasts. His heartbeat picks up the closer he gets to the aisle. Every second, every step brings him closer to the moment Theo will spot him. The whispers seem to get louder around him, echoing in the church as the conversations die around him. Do they know who he is to Theo? Are thy aware of their history? Their feelings? Can they guess why Stiles is here? If they do, they-

Who cares?

Stiles isn’t here because of them. He’s here for Theo. He glances in his direction, watches as Theo scrolls on his phone, running a hand through his hair. It’s longer now, the way he wears it during off-season. It suits him. To be honest, Stiles likes it best on him, even more so when he’s sporting a designer stubble. Sadly, Tracy made sure that today will be stubble free.

His fingers tremble, and he curls his hands into fists then pushes them into his pants, unsure what to do with them. He can hardly wave at Theo. Should he wave at Theo?

No.

The inside of the church tips. On the left side, the conversations have grown silent. The right side has yet to realize something’s amiss.

Swallowing, Stiles glances back to the front at the same time Josh elbows Corey and points at him. The other groomsmen turn to look as well. Tara, who has been standing a little of to the side, widens her eyes. She smiles, contrasting the look of horror on the bridesmaids’ faces. One of them, presumably the maid of honor, breaks away from the group, her light blue dress fluttering after her. Every click of her heels is a gunshot going off inside.

The sound halts more conversations and catches Theo’s attention. Finally, he looks up from his phone. “What,” he asks, his tone cold and laces with annoyance as he studies the other bridesmaids, “is the issue now?”

None of the girls offer a reply.

Josh bounces over and taps Theo’s shoulder, whispering something in his ear.

Stiles steps into the aisle. He cannot bring himself to look away from Theo for even a second. So, he sees it all – the way Theo’s lips part, his eyes widening as they search for him in the mass of people, how they light up with a smile when he finally finds him, standing out like a sore thumb in his white dress shirt and black slacks. To tie. No jacket. But sneakers. Casual. Low key. The way they imagined their weddings to be on the few occasions they’ve talked about it.  

The phone slips from Theo’s fingers. The crack of it hitting the ground is followed by deafening silence. Nobody utters a single word as Theo is moving. Towards him.

“Theodore!” Mrs. Raeken’s voice cuts into the silence. Her eyes narrowed. The dark green dress probably the most expensive in the whole church.

Stiles didn’t miss her, and he’s sure, that feeling is reciprocated.

Theo doesn’t stop. Instead, he fidgets with his hand halfway down the aisle. He doesn’t run, and Stiles never expected him to. Just as Theo most likely didn’t expect Stiles to meet him halfway or jump into his arms. That’s not who they are.

Stiles’ heart hammers in his chest as he watches Theo approach, as he sees nobody else moving. It’s like the world around them has frozen, like it stopped turning for everyone but them.

And then Theo drops this engagement ring causing the church to erupt.

But Theo simply grabs Stiles’ waist and presses him against the wall, startling a laugh of out Stiles – one Theo steals from his lips as he crashes their mouths together. Their bodies fit together like they used to, like nothing has changed, and Stiles’ heart slows as its missing piece has returned. There is no question about this, about them. The world narrows around them until they’re the only people to exist. Theo kisses him like a starving person, lips and tongue and teeth, and Stiles pulls him closer by the collar of his jacket.

He's returned home after years and years of self-imposed exile.

“Get a room,” Tara mutters. Stiles can’t tell if it’s her voice or the hurried clicking of heels that pulled them apart.

“Let’s go, boys!” Josh drums his hands on Theo’s shoulders before following Corey and Tara out, hollering, “let’s go. Let’s go!”

Chuckling, Theo looks up at Stiles. His features soften for a moment, and he cups Stiles’ cheeks. “You ready?”

Stiles hums. “Waiting on you.” Truth is, he’s not ready to face the real world. He knows what happens once they leave. The questions. The pictures. The media shitstorm that Lydia will hate him for. But for Theo, he’s quite willing to risk it all. So, he intertwines their fingers and squeezes his hand.   

Theo pulls him along, leaving the church without sparing a single glance back.

Stiles does, however, and he looks past everyone else, finding Tracy’s eyes at once. She’s not crying, not screaming, not furiously making her way towards them. Her eyes narrow slightly as she raises her chin. She doesn’t seem surprised, just determined to keep her composure in check.

Someone calls Theo’s name, but he’s already pushing the doors open. He squeezes his hand once more and forces Stiles’ attention back to the reality in front of him – a shitton of cameras flashing, pointed at them, and a barraged of questions hurled in their general direction. Between them and the paparazzi, a black SUV with Corey hanging out of on of the windows.

“Come on!”

They hurry down the stars. The backdoor flies open and Corey scoots to the other side of the backseat.

Theo ushers Stiles in first then slams the door shut once he sits down himself, hand still holding on to Stiles’. “Step on it.”

Tara gives him a thumbs up.

A few moments later, they’re in the street, heading towards a destination Stiles doesn’t care much about as long as he reaches it with Theo by his side, who turns to look at him, cocked eyebrow and smirk firmly on his lips. “What took you so long?”

Stiles huffs out a breath. “Don’t even try to pin this on me, Raeken.”

“I swear,” Tara says before her brother has the chance to say anything, “if you start arguing, I will turn this car around.”

Theo barks out a laugh.

Chuckling softly, Stiles sins deeper into the middle seat and leans his head against Theo’s shoulder. He glances at Tara, watching her brother in the rearview mirror, eyes bright, slightly crinkled as her smile widens. Stiles squeezes Theo’s hand again, promising himself to hold onto him for the rest of their lives.

[morally-grey-variant]

love is a dagger [loki x oc] [part one]

loki x oc

part one

[master post here]

Pairing: Loki x Original Character (she/they)

Setting: Canon goes out the window as Loki joins the Avengers Compound. He's not exactly "one of the gang" but, in a tentative truce with Thor, is allowed to live and train with the Avengers and other SHIELD agents living and working on the Compound.

Loki's trying to be better. Really, he is. But atoning for his crimes in the Battle of New York -- and processing more trauma than he has begun to comprehend -- hasn't been easy: Thor stuck his neck out to get him here and won't let him forget it. The other Avengers watch him like they expect him to spontaneously combust.

A particularly annoying SHIELD agent approaches him again and again during his solo workout sessions, insistent upon learning hand-to-hand combat and close-quarters weapons skills. Six months in, he's impressed by how far they've come, and falling for them... hard.

Summary: Six months into Agent Grey Forrest's precarious "are we more than friends?" alliance with the God of Mischief, he accidentally stabs her during a training exercise. (wc 2.6k)

(Grey Forrest - femme/nb, presenting androgynous femme, uses she/they pronouns interchangeably.)

Warnings: Later episodes become more explicit -- Minors DNI. Blood, hospital/surgery/sedatives/stitches, general angst, mild swearing, inferences of past trauma. (if I've missed something please let me know!)

(a cheesy title *and* an OC in my first ever Loki fic? we're going all in, agent. this one has floated around in a doc for a few weeks now and she's dying to see the light of day. future eps will include TWs for dark themes but right now she's a slow burn queen that might make you hate me a little. things will get smuttier, I promise.) inspired by the prompt, "loki accidentally stabs you while training."

My wrist pins Loki's arm against the concrete wall. 

“Checkmate.” 

Panting and grinning, I flick my ponytail back over my shoulder. My torso edges against his, the slick athletic material of my uniform sliding against his worn leather armor. Loki pants, his parted lips spilling hot breath across my face. The knife in my hand glints in the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows and spilling over the blue plastic mat floor of the sparring room.

Loki's bright green eyes flash a half-second before he bodily shoves me aside, spinning us around. He pivots, and my wrist – still clutching my knife – is now locked into his grip. He twists it behind my back and tugs me into his chest. 

Loki's gold dagger finds my throat.

“Checkmate,” he growls playfully. 

Adrenaline spiking, my chest heaves. Damn him. Stupid mistakes like this will get me killed in the field. 

I raise my empty hand, reluctantly signaling surrender. I can practically hear the smug grin of success on his lips as he releases my other wrist, gently pushing me away.

My fingers spread in a gesture of mercy. As if I intend to let him have this one; he's bested me yet again. His answering grin, flashing a glimpse of perfect pearly whites, is infuriatingly confident. Cheeky. A fire blooms in my chest, even as my heart hammers with exhaustion.

He lowers his dagger, his own chest rising and falling beneath his heavily scratched black leather armor. Lulled into a false sense of security by his favorite sparring companion's unwavering surrender.

I lunge forward, taking advantage of that trust in my surrender. My knife strikes out towards his armored torso; my aim wavers, glinting off the worn brassy-gold panel at his waist. 

Loki snatches my arm, flicking it away effortlessly. “Cheating the Trickster?” he jabs, then vanishes in a blink of black smoke. We’ve both broken our rules of combat now: perfidy and sorcery.

“Little traitor.” He reappears to my left. My head spins, disoriented, as he lunges, and I parry backwards – 

His gold blade sinks into the slip of unarmored flesh at my side. Time slows around us as my gaze flutters from the blade to Loki’s face. His confidence melts into horror.

We gasp in unison as steel meets skin. My body recoils instinctively as blade strikes bone, glinting off my ribcage; the scratch against my rib resounds through my entire body. 

“Fuck,” I gasp. All the wind rushes out of my lungs. Loki's hand falters and his blade clatters to the floor. I clutch my ribcage as the room starts spinning around me.

“Grey, I'm so sorry,” Loki pants. He hesitates before stepping toward me, hands hovering over me, paralyzed by fear and indecision. Blood trickles between my fingers.

“Fuck,” I echo. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” My voice is soft in my throat and I can't stop repeating the curse. All my training flies out of my head as my stab wound leaks onto my uniform and drips onto the blue mat beneath my feet. Apply pressure. Get help. 

“Are you alright?”

“Of course I'm not alright,” I spit, finally gathering my bearings. “You fucking stabbed me!” He flinches away, but I’m too rattled to feel particularly guilty. I’m shaking all over, trying to grip the hem of my athletic shirt with my other hand. I tug, but the fabric doesn't give; I can't get a good grasp with my trembling fingers, but I need a cloth to apply pressure and soak up the blood, I need to get down to the medical wing and –

“Stop that,” Loki says. “Come here.” He conjures a white rag in a flash of green light and takes another step towards me.

Before I can so much as blink, he's lifting my bloodied hand from my torso and replacing it with his own. The cloth beneath his palm presses into my chest. One arm slopes across my shoulders, curling me towards him. 

I finally look up at him.

He hovers over me, brows pinched. His chest is still rapidly rising and falling beneath his scarred armor, huffing through his flared nostrils, lips pressed into a flat line. His dark curls spill over his forehead; through them, and his eyes flash up at me, now darkened by swollen pupils.

He looks every inch a kicked dog.

I lay my hand over his. “I've got it,” I murmur. My heart pounds again; unhelpful. Quickening my heart rate will only increase the blood flow.

“Right,” he answers in a soft voice, nodding once and releasing his palm, transferring the pressure back to my hand. “Grey, I never meant to hurt you,” he continues quickly. “My hand slipped. I’m sorry.”

“I need to get to the medical wing.” My vision blurs and shifts; there isn’t enough room in my head for apologies. Dark red quickly soaks through Loki's white cloth. I take a single step forward, but my leg shakes unsteadily. 

Loki stops me. “You're in no fit state to walk. Let me help you.” There's an urgency in his voice. Fear laces the edge of his words.

My breath hitches and shudders. “I can walk.”

“Damn it all, Grey,” he barks, gripping my arm. “Let me help you.” 

I jerk my head up, eyes wide. 

It's been a long time since I've been afraid of Loki. 

He clenches every muscle in his jaw, the sharp cut of his chin barely containing the multitude of biting comments forming there. But there's no fury in his eyes. Frustration, yes; but no anger.

It's fear. 

Black fear sours his expression. Loki, who perpetually radiates cocksure swagger and irritating arrogance, is reduced to a frightened, trembling hesitation.

“Please.” A gentler tone, firm but tender. The vice-like grip of his long fingers loosens. I nod. My head swims and I clutch my forehead with my free hand.

Loki scoops me into his arms. My world flips upside-down; I squeeze my eyes shut against the onslaught of dizziness. Every step rattles my body, forcing me to bite back a groan of pain.

“I'm getting blood on your armor,” I say, tipping my head onto his shoulder. Anything to abate this dizziness; if I throw up on his armor, I’ll probably die of embarrassment – if the stab wound doesn’t get me first. The hand clutching my side, now pressed into his torso, feels sticky and wet. “Why am I losing so much blood?”

“Hush now,” he croons softly. My stomach churns.

I can't decide if it's from the stab wound, or from Loki. His arms curl around my body with strength and gentleness that might tear me apart. 

I can't stop picturing that fear in his eyes. Like a kicked dog. A dog who's been kicked over and over for the crime of loving. Who can't stop running back to whatever – or whomever – hurt him. 

I've never kicked this dog. Why is he afraid of me?

“I'm gonna be fine, Loki,” I murmur, my cheek pressed into a metal buckle of his training armor. I shift my head, tucking it into his chest. I'm getting tired. “Fine.” But my hand shifts against the wound and I can tell the cloth is soaked through.

Loki's chest rumbles, but I can't make out what he's saying. It's a frustrated noise, I know that much. He makes enough little noises of discontent that I've learned to differentiate between the sounds. 

Other voices fill the space around us. I think he’s telling someone what happened, though much of his voice is still a low rumble in his chest. My leaden head sinks into him.

Suddenly, he’s relinquishing me, laying me down on a hard, flat surface. It's my turn to grumble discontented noises. My arms stretch out back towards the safety of his, but other hands start prodding and grabbing at me. My eyes fly open, heart pounding again, I’m gasping for air–

“You're all right,” Loki murmurs in a low voice somewhere beside me. “They’re going to help you now.”

Medical staff swarm as the stretcher jolts forward. I squeeze my eyes shut again. Lights flash behind my eyelids at regular intervals. 

“Sir, were going to have to ask you to wait–”

“I'll stay right here, thank you.” 

The stretcher jerks to a halt. Fingers and needles pinch against my arm, unpleasantly shocking my brain in and out of the heavy sluggish fog. My athletic shirt tugs downward with a metallic snick of scissors– 

I blink my eyes open again, hands slapping against the hands and shears cutting through my clothes – no, stop, and I think the words gasp out of my throat but I can't be sure if I’m actually saying them out loud.

“Agent, we have to access the wound,” a voice snaps through the warbled haze. Someone pulls my hands away. My stomach flips – I can't freak out, if I freak out I'll lose control, I can't freak out, but now I'm totally freaking out – 

But then there's a gentle hand on my temple. “Let them help you.” Loki's voice is almost unfamiliar in its tenderness. A surge of bright electricity erupts in my heart, flooding through every vein and nerve ending; the blip, blip, blip of some machine in the room keeps pace. “You're safe here, Grey. Agent.” He tacks on the last word like a formality. An afterthought.

Although his gentleness sets my heart racing, his words have their intended effect. I don't fight back as the nurse cuts clean through my blood-soaked top, exposing my torso. Glancing down, I wish I hadn't when I see how my chest is smeared with blood. The nurse blessedly doesn't cut through my sports bra, since the wound seems to lie a few inches below the elastic band. 

Another warm, thick sensation spreads down my left arm, spilling down my fingers and out across my torso. My eyes drift closed again – everything feels better now. I can ignore the stinging of alcohol and iodine swabs around the wound, prodding fingers and soft gauze that catch against raw flesh. “It's a clean cut,” someone pronounces. Loki's hand stiffens against my temple. “Less than an inch deep, about two inches long.” A keyboard crackles as someone takes notes. 

“Agent Forrest,” someone asks, “we’re going to stitch up the wound now. All right?” 

“Mmm,” I hum, rolling my head so the elastic of my ponytail doesn't dig into my skull. Loki's thumb strokes against my temple. The needle and surgical thread tug against the tender skin over my ribcage, pulling and tightening and piercing over and over again.

Voices echo from down the hall. The warm, brain-addling sedative conjures up familiar characters for a dream half-rooted in reality. Shouting voices, and the tenor of someone familiar, authoritative, and very pissed right outside the door.

“You're fucking kidding me. You let him in there with her?” 

“Mr. Stark, the doctor is right in the middle of the procedure,” a female voice insists. 

“And I pay the doctor's salary,” Tony shouts as if he's right at my feet. I force my eyes open – I hate this dream. I don't want Tony in my dream. 

Oh. Red-faced and seething, what I can only assume is a very real Tony Stark looms over the end of my bed. Shame, and something like fear burn in my chest, tugging me to the surface of the drug-induced fog.

“Mr. Stark, I must insist, the patient's wound–” the doctor insists, turning his head but remaining hunched over my torso.

“Nurse, call security,” Tony barks. “Scratch that. I'll escort the threat out myself.”

“Tony, it's not what it looks like–” Loki says. His hand never leaves my head, cradling it tenderly even as he raises his voice. The doctor shakes his head and finishes up the last stitches.

“You fucking stabbed Agent Forrest?” Tony growls, lifting his arm – his finger trails along the metal cuff at his wrist, preparing to summon one of his suits. 

“Not in the hospital!” The nurse shouts, jumping to her feet. Her voice is weighted with enough authority that even Tony pauses. “Take it outside. We have seriously sick people here.”

“You let her attacker into the room with her,” Tony counters, thrusting a finger towards Loki. “He could slaughter all of you before you could scream for help.”

“He brought her here, Mr. Stark,” the doctor says, tying off the last stitch. “If he wanted to kill any of us, he's had plenty of time.”

“Tony…” I grumble. My tongue is thick and heavy in my mouth. Loki's hand slips away from my temple. I shift my head as the cradle of his fingers disappears. My leaden skull feels like it’s swollen twice its size. “Too much morphine.” I blink hard, my brow creased in concentration. Why am I so loopy? “If Loki wanted t’kill me, I’d’ve killed him. I'm fine. 's an accident.” 

“We’ll take you off the IV,” the nurse explained, coming closer to pinch and prod at my arm. “The wound is fairly shallow.”

“See?” I raise my arm, gesturing to the nurse. “Fine.”

“You got lucky, Forrest. This man has stabbed more Avengers than not,” Tony counters, ignoring my morphine-drunk threat. “You have ten seconds before I throw you out that window, space man.”

“Stupid, Tony,” I grumble, growing frustrated. Bracing my forearms against the bed, I push myself up. Loki stops me before the nurses can so much as flinch.

“Lie down,” he says, finally stepping into my line of sight. 

“Oh my god, Loki,” I gasp, blinking hard. He's completely drenched in blood – my blood. My hand flies up to brush against the front of his armor.

He lowers a hand to brace against my chest before quickly reconsidering and pushing down on my shoulder. Soft green light flashes in my periphery and a pillow cushions the back of my head as he lowers me back onto the stretcher. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he continues urgently. 

I resign myself to a more horizontal position, but I still reach out towards him. IV tubes tug against my arm, but my hand rests flat against the blood-smeared leather protecting his torso. “Fuck… bled all over you.”

Loki smirks. His hand wraps around mine, lowering it back to my side. “An excuse to requisition something new from the armory,” he answers. His hands are coated in my blood, too. “Something with a bit more gold, perhaps?”

“Black and gold,” I hum. “Green’s more your color.”

“Are we done here?” Tony snaps, and my tunneled vision explodes back out into the room. I'd forgotten the room was full of people.

“Tony…” I murmur. My head is starting to clear somewhat. “Loki wasn't trying to kill me. It was an accident. My fault.”

“Mr. Stark, the patient needs to rest,” the nurse interjects, clipboard chart clutched in her hand. “I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”

Tony storms out. In the hall, I can hear him demanding to have a word with someone about hospital security.

Loki smirks down at me, though his face is still pale. Paler than usual.

“You too, Mr. Laufeyson,” the nurse adds. She wedges herself between us, forcing him to step to the side.

“No,” I groan. “Let him stay. Loki, stay with me. I hate it here.”

Loki's hand strokes my temple again. The nurse frowns down at me as she changes the IV. A new bag, heavy with dark blood, sags from the silver pole behind her.

“We finally got your blood type from your file,” she explains. “Your… friend can stay while you receive the infusion.”

Loki pushes back hair that clings to my forehead, still damp with drying sweat. “Don't leave, Loki.” I wince against the pinching sensations and beads of blood welling up as she removes the first line and places another for the blood.

“I'm not going anywhere.”

[continue reading in part two]

[newtonsheffield]

Nothing good starts is spot on! A real treat to get me through until the next race, so thank you!!! Can we have them for spicy Sunday?

I'm so glad you enjoyed it!

I hope Part 2 won't be too far away honestly, but I need to update so other fics first.

Okay! Time for us to find out how Kate Sharma became Mrs Bridgerton.

"Here's my wifey!"

Anthony called her that all the time. It had become a little game between them almost as Anthony sat at his press conferences, grinning broadly. He'd started it the very first race after he'd caught her as she leapt towards him and her legs wrapped around his waist and their lips met. He'd sat there with his hair tousled underneath his cap, grinning under that stupid moustache,

"I'm very satisfied with how things went today, obviously. The future Mrs Bridgerton is a hard task master but-"

He'd cut off as the room had filled with murmurs and Kate's own stomach had dropped in surprise at hearing herself described like that and his eyes had widened.

"Oh! We're not engaged!" He caught himself spinning towards where she was standing. "Unless, Kate, How about it?"

She'd gaped at him, shaking her head a little in disbelief, their relationship just seven days old.

Anthony clicked his tongue, winking at her to let her know he'd only been joking, "Ooof Bad luck for me today folks. She's said no. We'll try again next week."

She'd shaken her head and laughed along with the rest of them when he'd repeated the process again and again, week after week. He'd whispered in her ear so many times, as they'd lain awake together with her chin on his shoulder and his arm around her waist.

"I'm serious you know. One day I'm going to marry you."

And it had tighten in her chest, how much she wanted the life he'd offered her with both hands and wide eyes and his heart full of love and gentleness. "One day I might just let you."

He'd been nervous this morning, as he'd stood on the grid, waiting for the mechanics to do their final checks, she'd been able to see it as he spoke with the grid reporter.

"Hoping to make it two in a row this year Anthony?"

She'd watched his right hand twitch behind his back, the only little sign he made when he was nervous, before he answered, "I'm not thinking about anything like that, I just want a nice clean drive and I know Max is probably going to want to go on the hunt today, that's when he drives best."

"Don't be nervous." She'd said, holding his straw out to him.

"I'm not nervous."

She sighed, both of them waving to someone who called out their names, the Monegasque sun beating down on them, "Yeah, you are. Don't be. You are in great shape, the car looks great and you're in pole."

"You forget to mention that fucking Tom Selleck would be jealous of how sexy I look with this moustache." Anthony leaned forward, waiting for her to kiss him.

She rolled her eyes, her headset heavy around her neck as she leaned in to brush their lips together, "Oh, I thought that went without saying."

Anthony grinned, "It's never awful to hear your girl thinks you're a little cute."

"You're very cute." She sighed, kissing him again softly, "And even if you don't win today: I have a little treat for you."

His eyes lit up as she started to make her way to the pit wall, walking backwards away from him, "I'll earn my treat, thank you! I love you!"

"I love you too!"

Her stomach had been in knots as it always was, watching Anthony speed through the streets of Monte Carlo, every beat of it thrumming in her chest and she'd nearly had tears in her eyes as Anthony had rounded the final corner with Verstappen 4 seconds behind him and his voice and whooped in her ear.

"Anthony, that's P1."

"I told you, I wanted to earn my treat."

She'd felt how much she loved him as he'd stood on that podium and she'd felt the pride that they shared as the team dragged her forward and Anthony's lips met hers as the crowd roared and champagne had covered them.

They'd burst through the door of their hotel room, just like they seemed to every Sunday with Anthony's hands already tugging at her clothes and her legs tight around his waist.

She chuckled and her heart hammered in her chest as Anthony did a little drumroll as he shimmied her shirt over her head and a delighted little gasp escaped him when he saw the lingerie she'd had made.

BRI 78 stitched into it.

His eyes had darkened as he'd dropped her onto the bed and his hands had tugged at her jeans, peeling them off her body as she'd tugged his shirt over his head and their lips had clashed in their desperation to feel their skin pressed together.

"We're leaving this on." Anthony gasped. "All night, all morning. Gonna need some pictures when we get home as well."

"I already airdropped them to your phone." She smirked tugging his jeans down over his hips as his thigh slipped between hers and his hand slid into her underwear.

"You are absolutely the love of my life."

Kate was tired, when she woke the next morning, the warm weight of Anthony's body resting over her. Once upon a time she'd panicked at the feel of him, at everything he'd offered her that she'd been so worried she wasn't ready for, but now it felt only comfortable. She loved the way his huge hands felt on her skin, and the way he moved closer in sleep until his body engulfed hers.

Anthony stirred on top of her, a content, sleepy groan in her ear, his lips brushing the spot behind her ear.

"Stop moving, we're not getting up today." Anthony nestled impossibly closer, his tongue tracing his words against her neck, his teeth nipping against her skin.

Kate chuckled, heat already simmering in her stomach "Are we not going to eat today?"

Anthony scoffed, shifting a little until he was straddling her, his eyes darkening by the second as he stared down at her, "There's plenty for me to eat right here."

Her stomach dropped just the way it always did when Anthony's hands slid over her and their lips clashed together and she ached for him, desperate to feel his bare skin against hers.

Anthony leaned down and captured her lips, letting his tongue slip past her lips slowly, letting her feel every inch of it, letting it curl around hers and stroke itself against the roof of her mouth in a promise of what was to come.

He swallowed the moan that rose in her throat with a satisfied hum as his hand fell to her chest and Kate felt her body arch up against him desperate for more but he kept her pinned in place with his body, letting the heat build slowly between them, stoking it with his fingers and tongue.

The morning sun filtered through the window and the heat that was building between them seemed to catch with it and the entire room was set alight as Anthony's lips fell to her neck and he started making his way down her body, his tongue sliding over her skin, soothing the little marks his teeth had left and were leaving on her.

He grinned up at her from between her legs as his teeth nipped at the soft skin of her thigh and just like always the sight of him with his hair in his eyes and a soft moan in his throat seemed to set her on fire.

"Fuck, I want you, Kate."

She loved having him like this. She loved him full stop, she knew but she loved the way things were between them. She loved how confident and comfortable he made her feel, how loved he made her feel. She loved the way he didn't care who knew that their main priorities would always be one another and their relationship, even just seven months in. She loved the commitment they shared and the way he submitted to her completely, here.

Anthony ducked his head and her breath caught in her chest at the first pass of his tongue. Kate felt the moan that rose in the back of her throat rumble through the room as her legs tightened around his head ad she loved the way he chuckled a little smugly. Heat lapped at her skin, burning in the pit of her stomach as his tongue slipped over her, the pressure just right as her hips started the slow grind against him and her fingers twisted in the bedsheets.

She remembered the beginning of their relationship when Anthony had cocked his head his nose wrinkled as they'd sat across from one another at dinner.

"I know I joked a lot about it but if I asked you to sit on my face would you do it?"

She'd nearly choked, "I... like oral sex, so... if you were into that, yes."

He'd grinned, and practically inhaled the rest of his meal so they could leave and his hands on her waist had tugged her so firmly against him she'd gasped even as her eyes rolled back in his head.

"If you pull me down any further I'm going to smother you."

Anthony had gasped as he'd raised his eyebrow, "If this is the way I die: This is the way I die. Sit down."

Anthony's eyes rolled back in his head as he nestled closer and his fingers joined his tongue and Kate felt her hips bucked off the bed at the feel of his moan vibrating against her as he pushed her further and further forward. Closer to the edge with every second.

Fuck, Anthony. Fuck that feels so good, Babe.

She felt him smile, felt his fingers intertwine with hers, anchoring them together as her hips rolled against him, quicker and quicker, and the heat coled in her stomach tighter and tighter until-

Oh Fuck, Anthony!

Kate fell over the edge with a sharp gasp her hips bucking erratically against him but Anthony didn't give her the chance to truly fall.

His Hand snatched away from hers and gripped her waist tightly, rolling them quickly until he was pressed against the mattress and she was knelt above him, his eyes shining up at her from between her legs.

"Oh god." Kate's shoulders were heaving as she realised what he wanted and her thighs clenched instinctively at the thought of his tongue, which was marking slow circles in the crease of her thigh shifting just a few inches.

"No need to be so formal, Babe." Anthony cooed, "You can just call me Anthony."

"Surely there's something else you can do with that tongue."

Anthony grinned and his fingers tightened on her waist tugging her firmly against him and she couldn't bite back the curse that fell from her lips when his tongue slipped back between her legs and she couldn't breathe.

Kate's fingers threaded through his hair, tugging him even more firmly against her and her other hand gripped the sheets in front of her and she couldn't feel anything else. Her pulse was pounding in her ears and her lungs burned, gasping for air as she focused on the slick slide of her skin against his.

She could feel air thickening around them then and it felt harder to force it into her lungs every second as her entire body caught fire and Anthony moved under her with his eyes rolling back in his head and every single beat of her heart seemed to scream his name and all she could think about was how she wanted this forever. Just like this, just the way they were and the pride for him filled her and her enture body started shaking as she clung to the edge, dangling over it and just as she fell, she had no idea what would fall from her lips.

"Oh Fuck, Fuck Anthony. Let's get married."

She collapsed against the mattress, fighting to draw breath her vision almost completely white and she barely realised what she'd said until Anthony scrambled out from under her, his voice hoarse and breathless,

"Are you fucking serious?!"

what is he talking about? She wondered vaguely, still floating in the bliss he'd brought her. And then her eyes shot open.

Oh fuck!

[melonpalooza]

So… how many channels are there in Ronin’s discord server, what’s their name and their function?

well from the ones that have appeared

#general - yeah just general

#trauma-dumpster - talk about the more heavy topics/gets purged daily

#ventilation-shaft - for less heavy topics/venting/ranting (not in the main fic but has made an appearance in a spin off. it's there tho!)

#count-deez for the counting channel. for just... counting

There's private channels for all each brother + one for the eldest

#eldest-daughter-syndrome for the eldest turtles

#leaders-in-blue for the leos

#magnus-rushes-in for the raphs

#masterchefs for the mikeys

#moderators for the donnies

There's also an art channel for 2012 raph and rise mikey. it's not private tho but those two uses it the most.

#pun-chbowl-line for puns. enter at your own risk.

So far Ronin has made two private channels to talk to groups separately (because the DM function doesn't work on the server)

#the-baby-ones (Rise)

#stop-dying-you-fools (2012)

And there's probably like a #space-heroes channel (or maybe just #space-shows to group them all in) and other misc channels in appropriate categories about comics and shows and games. Like how one of the most recently added channels is #palia-pals so 2012 Mikey can info dump about palia without spamming #general!

In the future there might even be a #homework-help channel for the mm turtles lol

[jon-snows-man-bun]

By Turns

Chapter Five

The closer Eris gets to his goals the harder he has to work to keep all plates spinning. Tensions simmer underneath his new alliances, pulling him into the Hewn City where the impact of Rhysand’s rule shapes the future.

Masterlist

Find this fic on AO3

A/N: A lot of worldbuilding ahead! And a hint of anti-lower-fae sentiment. A few notes:

SJM doesn’t give us a lot of detail about the magic system in Prythian, especially about the distinctions between the various courts beyond being vaguely elemental/metaphysical. Night Court obviously has darkness powers - the army is called the Darkbringers, so I’ve assumed they have it as well even though I don’t think it’s mentioned in text. Mor has “truth” power and Rhys is a daemati, so I’ve gone with the idea that Night’s specialty is mental influence - secrets, truths, dreams, that sort of thing.

The moon rotunda Aisling mentions is based off of the Whispering Gallery in St Paul’s cathedral.

Aisling’s dress.

“Aisling!”

Aisling turned at the cry of her name, delighted when her arm was swept up by Niamh, a willowy blonde. Beautiful and funny, Niamh was always good company; her cutting remarks and mocking jests about the occupants of the City had sent Aisling into fits of laughter more times than she could count.

Niamh had been married five years ago to Padraig, a rising Darkbringer officer. The match had been arranged by her father and Lord Thanatos, but it was a fair one - Padraig seemed to have seen her natural gifts and rather than dulling her, began sharpening Niamh into a blade, shaping her tongue into a lethal weapon to be wielded at dinner parties and court. The last time Aisling had sat beside the pair at a meal, Niamh had kept the wife of Padraig’s superior well entertained, sparkling like the diamonds she wore. At the night’s close, Niamh had deftly planted hints of another officer’s cuckolding and the lady had listened raptly, drinking in every detail.

The rumour had circulated, tearing down Padraig’s competition, flattering him by comparison. Males had one sort of warfare, females another.

There would be no better companion through several hours of court. Besides, Niamh was a vector of all gossip; Aisling might catch a tidbit from her mouth. Or shape her own, she thought, remembering Eris’ call upon her.

“Escort me, my lady, I beg of you. We must both suffer through court but our suffering shall be halved if we share it,” Niamh said, tucking her arm through Aisling’s. Niamh shone in diamonds - many of them new, Aisling could see - and Aisling ducked in a quick curtsy to Padraig behind them. Niamh dragged her up impatiently.

“Lady Aisling,” he greeted amicably. “You look well.”

“Thank you kindly, my lord,” Aisling demurred.

“Shall we see what delights our High Lord has in store for us?” Padraig offered, sweeping them forward firmly. It was a short distance to the throne room, the heart of the City, directly under the mountain’s peak so high above them. The carved beasts snarled down at them as they passed under its columns, warning all who stepped through, but they were of the City. The beasts struck no fear in Aisling anymore.

The throne room glittered darkly as it always did underneath that great onyx chandelier, the males moving like black wraiths and the females sparkling like frosted peacocks. The marble floor should have been deafening with echoes but swallowed their footsteps and voices - despite its cavernous size, the throne room was always hushed and holding its breath.

The room had seen too much spilt blood to be a neutral place. The air always seemed thick here - with fear, or with fog.

They had only been summoned for court today. No feasting, no balls, just the High Lord and his courtiers. They didn’t hold petitions here; it was only Keir and Thanatos who spoke with them, but the gentry of the City was called to watch regardless. To that end, Aisling had chosen a simple black dress, the neckline cut low, nearly to her navel. The High Lady and Morrigan had set the style of dress with their scandalous ensembles, but Aisling had opted to flout the trend and wore a thick black and gold brocade cape overtop. She was often cold when they were not permitted to dance.

She pulled her hands back within the long dagged sleeves, twisting her onyx and gold ring as the crack of the High Lord and his party arriving shook the throne room. The chandelier flickered overhead. Next to her Niamh stifled a yawn, leaning her head on her husband’s shoulder for a moment. He held her hand lightly.

After the theatrics of their entrance and being made to kneel, Aisling rose with the rest of the court to watch Rhysand take his monthly tilt at ruling. It was always this way: you were silent and watchful while your life was decided, and then you kneeled.

They were far from the throne and dais, somewhat thankfully. Aisling did not dare let herself be anything but meek and silent here, but further back was always better, doubly safe. Thanatos and Keir were summoned forward, discussing the news of the City.

The shadowsinger was there, half swallowed in that unnatural darkness; the general and the High Lady as well. Morrigan, too, shining in blood red and yellow gold, marching to the beat of her own drum. The shadowsinger was the one everyone watched, though. He was beautiful, and dangerous; his face had been carved by the hand of the Mother for beauty and cruelty. He moved with lethality and it always seemed there was something barely leashed in him.

Aisling remembered the last time they were here, when Eoin had been taken to the dungeons. The shadowsinger had moved like a wraith, on Eoin in an instant. She averted her eyes as she recalled the Eoin and the way he had fought against those eerie shadows.

“Oisin Bray is dead,” Lord Thanatos said. He was always cold as stone, slick as ice; his eyes reminded her of the stuffed boar’s head hanging in what was her father’s office. Flat and black and dead. Everyone said his darkness was edged with malice and gave you fear when it touched you.

“A training accident,” Thanatos was saying, stood there before the High Lord and Lady and their courtiers. “Very unfortunate. He was sparring and a blow was struck to his head that felled him.”

The High Lord was sneering down at him, the High Lady’s face a mask of cruel indifference. Thanatos seemed unrepentant, unbowed.

“This is the second difficulty with your legion in as many months, Keir,” Rhysand said, not bothering to address him with his title. He never did. “Is there a problem with your leadership?”

“A problem with boredom, perhaps,” Lord Keir rolled his eyes. “A war would suffice, to let off the pressure. We need such things now and again.”

“You desire more war? So soon?” The general, towering at the High Lord’s right hand, huffed in amusement.

“For the fresh air and sunshine,” Keir sneered. “Unlike your Illyrian dogs, Darkbringers need to kill for such things instead of being born to them like spoiled children.”

The general snarled at that, baring his teeth. Niamh, standing next to Aisling, rolled her eyes subtly.

“They snarl and snap like dogs, too,” she turned her head to whisper directly in Aisling’s ear conspiratorially. Aisling stifled a smile, covering it with her hand.

“I wonder if they’d like to wear collars?” Aisling whispered back, making Niamh cough to cover her fit of giggles. Her husband cut his eyes over to them, gaze dark in a silent warning.

The rest of court passed in this manner; the longer they were there, the more restless with the pageantry Aisling grew. Her thoughts kept wandering to Eris; the feather, his questions. The look in his eyes. As the gentry was dismissed and she left with Niamh and Padraig, she carefully avoided the lord steward’s eye. Perhaps she was being paranoid, she mused. Perhaps Eris was genuine and wanted to court her, perhaps she was making herself as small as possible for nothing and Lord Keir cared not what she did.

How much are you willing to lay on that chance? a voice in her head asked that sounded much like her father.

It was while she was walking back that Niamh’s sleeve fell back to show a glimpse of an elegant pearl and amethyst bracelet in yellow gold. Aisling stared, and Niamh fluttered her eyelashes when she caught her looking.

“Do you like it?” She asked, holding her wrist out for Aisling’s perusal.

“It’s lovely,” Aisling answered, touching it gently. It was obviously not from the Hewn City, or even from Night - the style was too different, too organic. “Where did you get it?”

Niamh smirked at that, acting coy. “Trade secret,” she demurred. Aisling rolled her eyes, knowing full well Niamh could hold a secret as well as a sieve held water. She waited her out, falling silent.

“Padraig got it. It’s from Summer, but he told me he bought it at the floating market.”

The floating market, Aisling mused. Of course. Commerce in the City was tightly controlled; with only one main gate, the Darkbringers carefully monitored who passed in and out, and there were a select few merchants and dealers that were chosen by Lord Keir to do so. Most of what the Hewn City bought and sold was produced by themselves because of this, but what wasn’t came at a premium and was well in demand. For the gentry - such as herself - it wasn’t a problem, even if purchases were taxed twice and exports thrice, to whet each beak along the way: Rhysand, Keir, and the court of import.

But the small number of merchants from outside couldn’t meet the entirety of demand, especially for those not of the gentry who couldn’t afford the dear costs of outside goods. There were supposedly doors where goods came in, places where stolen or smuggled things were sold. Places where even more devious things happened, blood and poison and flesh on offer. The rumours of these places, the floating markets, drifted around the City like will-o-the-wisps; sometimes here, sometimes there, nearly impossible to catch. The markets moved, and supposedly you had to be invited and brought to one, to know the password.

Females, needless to say, were not invited. Aisling had heard there was one every hunter’s moon if you went behind a certain tapestry and crawled through a passage, but had no idea if it was true. Supposedly these were grim, lawless places where the worst of the City plied their trade. She mulled over it in her mind, still admiring the bracelet.

“Lovely,” she said again, releasing Niamh’s wrist.

Aisling felt scattered tonight, mind running away from her in a dozen different directions. It was when she was back in her home, tucked in what was her father’s office, that her thoughts returned to Eris. Truthfully he was never far from them - even several weeks after his visit, he had ensured he remained at the forefront with his little gift.

An idea came to mind. Picking up a pen and stationary, she drafted a quick note, deciding to gift Eris something in return. Perhaps he had only wanted some perspective in truth and this would be the end of it all. But if he was intending to court her, why should she let him dictate the terms? He would grow bored soon enough if it were true, and she would be left with the consequences.

Aisling was of the City. Games were in her nature.

She sat in an armchair beside the cold hearth, only lit by a single faelight. It was easier that way, in the near darkness. She carefully cleared her mind and found that place within herself, somewhere between her lungs.

She had touched Eris, had seen his eyes. She could find him even through the wards. She held what she wanted him to see in her mind, felt the feeling she wanted him to have. And then she thought of him as clearly as she could and the dream was on its way with her breath.

It was easier than she thought it would be to reach him. Normally to get through the wards of the City she had to push hard, but with Eris it was no effort at all.

The moon rotunda in the east wing of the city by the main gate had a walkway all the way around its high carved dome, looked over by paintings of long-dead stewards of the City. She had discovered as a child - playing in the rotunda when she should not have been - that if she stood on one side of the great dome and a friend on the other and they whispered quietly, the stone would carry their voices and it would sound as if she was stood right next to her friend. That was how it felt to dream-weave for Eris; no matter where he was, all she had to do was lean over and whisper into his ear.

Perhaps because she knew what she wanted him to see so clearly. Sometimes she struggled to separate what she was feeling from the feeling the dream should have and they ended up muddled; occasionally she felt as if she had truly been turned to stone and couldn’t summon any feeling for the dreams at all.

Aisling opened her eyes, breathing slowly, ignoring the prickling in her fingertips.

———————

Rhysand kept them under a rock like roaches.

The letter he received that morning was prettily worded, but his mother had taught him to hear what a lady didn’t say as much as what she did. Aisling was courteous and well-mannered but he could mark her words plainly for what they were.

I thank you kindly for your gift, and will think of you gladly and with fondness whenever I wear the hair comb. If the humble game birds of your home can wear such beauty and still be considered a common sight, I can scarcely imagine the splendour of Autumn. I fear the carved stone of the Hewn City cannot compare, but I hope you find it pleasing nonetheless.

As a token of my gratitude, I have sent you a gift. I hope it brings you joy.

There had been no gift enclosed which had puzzled him, but he didn’t spare it much thought until late that night. He had been at his desk until late, working by candlelight on correspondence with several vassals, when the urge to retire to bed seized him with a vengeance to claim the debt of sleep he had accrued. As he lay in his chambers, slumber brushed against his mind with a soft hand, taking him gently and leading him into the darkness.

He dreamt like he had never dreamt before.

The starlit garden he walked through was made of moonlight, velvet and rich against his fingers while light as air, and the night twined around him like a lover. Night-blooming flowers curled against him soft as silk, moths dancing against the stars, and he was filled with nothing but peace. The feeling held him, cradled him, and he drank it in greedily while the darkness swept along his brow and his chest and his legs. He was cleansed and weightless, all his secrets held here between him and the moon which watched overhead like a sentinel.

I see you, the moon sang, just for him. I know you, I love you.

Eris slept so fully in that starlit space that waking was onerous, the weight of duty settling on his chest like a millstone as soon as the dawn greeted him. He craved the lull of the dream immediately; having it ripped away was like being doused with cold water.

Aisling , he thought. The dream-weaver. Of course - she was of the Night Court, whose magic skewed towards darkness and mental gifts, its purest distillation in Rhysand. The magic of dreams and sleeping and secrets belonged to Night, and Aisling was its daughter. For the eye here, she had told him, touching his brow.

What a gift. As surely as she gave him a dream as soft as a kiss, he knew instinctively that she could also weave a nightmare like a chain or a whip, to scour and torture the soul. His mind ticked with the urge to see into the depths of what she could do.

Did Rhysand know what treasures he had stashed underneath that mountain, buried in the rock? He must. Did he resent them so much that he was willing to punish them all and lose that magic? Or did he view them as he viewed the Illyrians, a tool to be wielded whenever he desired? Keir held a sneering disdain for Rhysand and Feyre, which he had always known extended far beyond Morrigan. Aisling’s letter had rippled with longing to be free. The entire court could not be content to live their immortal lives trapped in the Hewn City.

The fifty years under Amarantha had been torture. Not many Night Court fae were there; it was assumed that they were granted more freedoms because of Rhysand’s complicity, but perhaps it was because they were trapped under their own mountain and would simply be trading one jailer for another.

At least they were spared Amarantha’s cruel, stomach-turning games and entertainment. Fifty years had crawled by like molasses for him, tinged with fear and hatred. He could not imagine a lifetime spent in that way, in the dark.

And he had pushed back the date for the Hewn City’s entrance to the whispered-of Velaris, Eris thought sourly. He had done that, and for what? To make Rhysand and his ilk more comfortable . Rhysand would surely find a way to postpone it indefinitely… until he needed the Darkbringers again. He had not seen Velaris with his own eyes, but he was certain it was far lovelier than the Hewn City if it was such a prized secret; Lucien had described it as such.

There was opportunity here, if he was careful. The dream followed him through his morning, and was still on his mind as he sat down at his desk and began to write.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

End Game 7

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, stalking, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your gaming buddy asks to meet up but it doesn’t go exactly as planned.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: hump day, wooooo.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Strange how you never found comfort at home. Well, it never felt like one for you. You were always just a hanger-on. A burden. 

As you enter your grandma's house, you can't help but exhale the tension you've been holding in. She's in her chair, reading, not a word at your arrival. You go into the kitchen, set on eating the frozen meal you lost your appetite for the other night. 

You peel back the corner on the tray and shove it in the microwave. As you shut the door, you nearly wince at the unexpected figure in the doorway. You don't know if you're really surprised or if Andy has you jumpy. Both. 

"Want some coffee?" You offer your grandmother, hoping to appease her. "Tea?" 

She grumbles and waves you off, shuffling across the tile in her slippers. She crosses her arms and her lip sticks out, "nice of that man to come all the way down here like that." 

You turn your attention back to the countdown and shrug, "yeah." 

"He didn't need to just for all that. For you, did he?" She prompts. Her interest both irks and worries you. She never cared about anything. "And after losing his family." 

"Right, yeah, it's tough," you twiddle your fingers at your side. 

"Don't sound so heartbroken," she scoffs, "Christ, wasn't that boy you're friend?" 

You face her as the microwave beeps, "grandma..." you can't tell her. If she even bothered to listen, she wouldn't believe you. She doesn't even know Andy and she's already taking his side. Typical. "Yeah, I'm sad. Guess I'm a bit in shock." 

You turn back and take the too hot tray out, holding back a hiss at the singe in your fingertips. You spin and cross the kitchen to grab a fork. Your grandma huffs and putters after you.  

"He sent them flowers," she says. 

You stir the noodles and cheese, "he did." 

"Fancy. Expensive." 

You don't really get why she's still harping on. She didn't put so much mind to your prom or graduation or even when you got your job. Yet you can't be surprised where she's strayed; she's always been on you about money.  

"Seems to me he's a bit lost," she says, "you're..." she weighs her words before she speaks, something she rarely does, "maybe he's tryna find some direction. He might... might wanna take care of ya." 

"Huh?" You make a face and glance at her from the corner of you eye. 

"Like, I dunno, I watch those talk shows, grief is something nasty. I would know," she goes on. You can't remember the last time you heard her talk so much. "He only got-- had the one kid. You're about the same age... maybe he's tryna, I dunno, replace what he lost." 

You nearly laugh in her face. Really? This is what she cares about? You stare at her and furrow your nose. You could tell her. You could try. She's listening. For once.  

"I don't think... it's not... I'm not his responsibility and I don't wanna be." 

"You're barely your own responsibility," she sneers, "can't see a good thing in front of you." 

"Grandma--" 

"Well? Pretty sure there's more where those flowers came from," he tuts, "you got a few hard lessons to learn, girlie. 

You look down at the macaroni. You're not hungry anymore. You grab the tray and walk away. 

"Yeah, well, maybe you shoulda tried to teach me some, huh?" You toss over your shoulder and stomp out of the kitchen. 

You go into your room and kick your door shut. How is he doing this? How is everyone, even a woman who hasn't lived in reality for twenty years, on his side? 

You put the tray and fork down and go to the other side of the bed. You sit facing the window and drop your head into your hands. The only person you have is too far away. Besides, you don't want to drag her into this. Not any more than you already have. 

🎮

For once, you’re anxious to get to work. You welcome the distraction from everything else; debt, grandma, and the biggest problem of all, the one you won’t even name. You stroll up to the ice cream booth as Luis stands outside the window, chatting to Jessie as she stands at her vigil inside. You frown. You don’t see the manager often. Only when he hired you. 

“Ah, there she is,” Luis spots you and waves you over, “right on time.” 

As he checks his watch you pull out your phone. You’re early, like always. His presence is more than a coincidence. You have this ripply feeling in your stomach. You black your phone and cross your arms, hiding it under your elbow. 

“Hi, how’s everything going?” You ask as you approach the kiosk. 

“Everything’s great,” Luis smirks, “sunshine’s out, customers too.” 

You glance around. The picnic tables are mostly full. It is the perfect weather for a scoop. 

“Yeah, gonna be a busy shift,” you pander with a smile. 

“Hey,” Luis wags his finger as if remembering something, “before you start, let’s have a chat.” 

“Oh, alright,” you agree. 

He waves you away from the window as more customers approach. You follow him to one of the tables. You wait for him to sit before you do the same. He looks around from behind his black lenses and tilts to reach into his back pocket. He slides out his phone and brings it forward to cradle in both hands. 

“So uh, how are you liking it? The work?” He asks. 

You’re uneasy. You stare at his cell then look him in the face. 

“It’s good. Steady,” you answer as you keep your own phone in your lap. 

“Mhmm,” he hums and once more glances around, “look, this is never easy but I got a complaint--” 

You blink slowly. You’re not surprised. You figured it would happen. Still, you thought maybe Andy might be above that. Or anything at all. 

“Obviously, I take these things seriously. This business is all about customer service, especially with the Dairy Queen down the block,” he explains, “but I do try to give the benefit of the doubt. I checked the cameras.” He pauses for effect as you shrink down, “you closed the window.” 

You sigh and heave out a breath, “I did.” 

“You know we don’t do that,” he reprimands. 

“Sir, I know but... the customer... he wasn’t a customer. He’s... bothering me.” 

He pokes his tongue into his cheek and scratches his neck, “oh? Didn’t look like that type. When I spoke to him, he didn’t even seem upset. He just asked me to check in, really, but it’s not his shop. He don’t gotta worry about the bottom line. I do.” 

“It won’t happen again,” you wisp out. 

“I know it won’t,” he says. 

You sit, waiting for him to continue. He just stares at you. You shake your head. No. 

“Sorry, I gotta let you go.” 

“What? It’s my first complaint--” 

“This is an ice cream shop, how many of those do you think we get? Not very hard to keep the people happy so if you’re getting unhappy customers, well, that’s all I need to know.” 

“Please, Luis, I need this job--” 

“Shouldn’t have closed the window. I’m sorry. That’s the one rule.’ 

“God, I--” you huff and snarl, “whatever. Fine.” You stand and untie your apron, “get your bottom line.” 

You toss the apron on the table and swipe up your bag. You turn without waiting for another empty apology. Fuck. It’s shitty but hey, there’s always the DQ and now you have experience, right? 

🎮

You fill out an application for the Dairy Queen and a few other places. Your job hunt has been chronic as it is. It’s only that your search for a second gig, is now back to square one. You have only your last check coming to you before you’re digging into your meagre savings; the money meant for tuition. 

Your grandma is back to living in her novels. Good. You didn’t realise until before how much you preferred it. 

As you close yourself in your room, your phone vibrates. You look down at the message. It’s him. He’s been messaging, still thinking he might talk you into it. He is a lawyer but this isn’t his court. This is your life. 

How pathetic. A grown man meddling in the affairs of a nineteen-year-old. If you could let go of the catfishing, everything else has assured you of his character. You flop onto your bed and swipe away his texts. 

You wallow there for a while. In self-pity, in futility, in listlessness. You don’t know what to do. Everything is at a standstill. You have no job, you don’t know if you can pay for next semester, let alone the year, and you’re stuck in this deadbeat town. 

You put on a video to try to drown out the incessant anxiety. Today, you’re just going to let yourself sink. You can deal with everything tomorrow. You close your eyes and yawn, drifting into a haze that makes your head fuzzy. 

You’re roused by another vibe of your phone. You ignore it. He’s not going to get an answer. He can keep skirting around your blocks but you’re not wasting your energy. You’ve told him enough times to leave you alone. He has to get bored eventually. 

You roll over and bury your head in the pillow. You hear your grandma clunking around in the kitchen. You hate this place. You hate your life. The more you think about it, you can’t deny how horrible it really is, especially in the shadow of your dwindling future. 

What did you do to deserve this? You’re a good person. At least, you’ve always tried to be. It feels like a lot of karma for that Twizzler you stole when you were eight. 

Your grandmother keeps up the racket and your phone keeps on buzzing. You flip over and sit up. You snatch up the phone and stop yourself from flicking your thumb sideways. It isn’t him. It’s Kara. You never did call her back. 

You answer and put her on speaker, “hey, sup?”  

“Hey,” her voice is shaky, “uh, I don’t know.” 

“What?” You sit up straighter, “is everything--” your voice trails off as you listen to the commotion on her end; chatter you can’t make out, movement obscured through the speaker, “what do you mean you don’t know?” 

“The cops are here,” she murmurs, “I don’t know. They just showed up. Said they got a call from the landlord or something. Cause it’s the property owner, they can just come in or whatever. I don’t know, I don’t know...” Her voice quivers with panic, “me and Calvin were just hanging out...” 

“That’s... why would they--” 

“Shoot, I think...” she lowers her voice, “they must’ve found his stash. Shit, shit.” 

“Kara?” Your heart races as you try to keep track of what’s going. 

“Miss, can you please hang up the call? We need to question you,” a deep voice interjects. 

“One second, I’m just on the phone with--” 

“Miss, hang up or you’ll be charged with obstruction.” 

The line cuts and you gape at your phone. What the hell? You try to dial back, the call rolls through but doesn’t pick up. You try again and again. You get out of bed and pace, texting Kara helplessly. Shit, shit! How is this happening? Over what? A tiny dime bag? Everyone smokes, not that you’re the biggest fan. Too smelly for you. 

You put your hand to your forehead. What do you do? You can probably get a bus ticket. Even if you get to her, the bond is going to be way more than you can afford. You doubt you’ll even be able to scrape it together.  

Do you call her parents? No, they’d kill her, then she’d kill you. 

You shake as your legs turn to jello. You sit back down and close your eyes. Holy crap, this can’t be real.  

Your phone vibrates. It doesn’t stop. You look down at the incoming call. Unknown Caller. You’re not stupid. You know it’s him and his timing assures you he had something to do with this. This isn’t a coincidence. Those don’t exist. If there was any sort of luck in this world, you would have found some by now. 

“What?” You put the phone to your ear and snarl. 

“I can help your friend,” he says. 

You’re silent. You want to scream at him. You want to swear at him. You want to call him every nasty word you can. But this isn’t about you, not just you. You brought Kara into this mess, even if you never meant to. You won’t let her pay for your stupidity. 

“Meet me at Oxford and Maris. There’s a restaurant--” 

“Fine,” you snip and hang up. 

You lower your phone and shudder. He won. Given his career, he must be used to that. 

[hidden-misthios]

Something in the Orange (part 1)

Pairing: Lambert x female!sorceress!reader

Word count: 3 230

Summary: When Geralt of Rivia disappears, Jaskier has no choice but to ask his best friend for help. Although struggling with her own issues, Y/N agrees and they join Vesemir and the others in Kaer Morhen. The search might be difficult but not as difficult as the certain redheaded witcher who keeps challenging her. 

A/n: Just like my last Lambert fic, this one is going to be a mix of games, books and show. Excuse any grammar errors you find.

Find me.

Those were the only words Y/N heard in her dreams for last eight nights. She didn’t even see a person who kept repeating them and it was tiring.

A dark fortress surrounded by a veil of rain and brief flashes of thunder. Not a place she ever visited but Y/N had a feeling she knew the place like a palm of her own hand. As soon as she approached old wooden doors and opened them, the melody of the organ started playing in the distance, filling her ears. No matter how much she wandered around the castle, she could never find the person playing them nor the instrument itself. At some point, she would give up, but each time, the music would become louder and faster. Then, she would suddenly remember why she came here in the first place. She was looking for someone! But as soon as she tried to remember who it was, the world around her started to spin, making Y/N feel like she’s going to fall. She would close her eyes, trying to focus but nothing helped.

And then she would wake up.

In her bed at her own house, in middle of Novigrad.

She didn’t have time or energy to interpret her own dreams. As an oneiromancer, Y/N’s job was to read the future and past using the dreams of others. Her own had to wait for now.

                                                            ***

Corrine Tilly, Y/N’s mentor, was furious again. Y/N was late for fourth time this week and those dreams were the reason why. Y/N didn’t share them with Corrine yet but she owned her mentor explanation. That is, if Corrine doesn’t fire her.

“You know, if you don’t want to work for me anymore, you’re free to go. This is getting ridiculous.” Corrine said, crossing arms on her chests. Y/N closed the doors behind her and approached the brown-haired woman. Corrine was young sorceress who built quite a reputation for interpreting other people's dreams. Her customers were usually wealthy residents of Novigrad but every now and then someone from outside of city walls would show up and ask for her help.

Corrine lived off this money for seven years now and she could afford an apprentice. Y/N was quite lucky to learn from Corrine. She learned how to control the dreams better. Which, for some people proved harder, especially if they weren’t truthful at first.

“I’m sorry Corrine, I really am.” Y/N started. “But it’s not my fault.”

“No?” Corrine raised her eyebrows and starts slowly pacing around the customer room. This was the biggest room of the house and it was fully decorated to look and feel like a bedroom. There was a spacious bed full of pillows, big carpet, lots of candles and clary sage incense for customers to fall asleep easier.

“I-I…” Y/N tried to sort out her thoughts “I have dreams.” she said, fully aware that everyone else would find these words absurd but she knew her mentor. Corrine knew very well what those words meant.

“What kind?” woman asked in serious tone, sitting down on her chair and crossing her legs. That was her spot whenever she would interview the customer and Y/N couldn’t help but feel like one at the moment.

“Recurring.”

“For how long?”

“Eight nights.” Y/N answers.

“And you’re telling me this now?” Corrine asks. Y/N could swear she heard disappointment in her mentor’s voice.

“I didn’t want to bother you. I knew our schedule was full this week-”

“Y/N, you’re not just someone I’d squeeze into schedule. If you have any kind of problem, not just dream related…you can always count on me.” Corrine’s face softened.

Y/N was about to say something when the doorbell rang and they both turned to the doors. No one was supposed to arrive until noon. It was too early.

“I’m sorry, but we are not taking in any new customers right now-” Corrine stood up.

“Good thing I’m not new, then.” Jaskier’s head popped up through the door.

“Viscount. Come in.” Corrine smiles at the bard. Although Jaskier said he doesn’t care about his viscount title, Corrine was still addressing him as one.

Jaskier approaches her with a wide smile, theatrically leans down and kisses Corrine’s hand. Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes but still smiled a bit. She had to admit, her best friend knew his way around women.

“It’s nice to see you again, dear Corrine.” Jaskier speaks and then finally turns to Y/N.

“What brings you here?” Y/N asks. Usually, they would meet at Rosemary and Thyme, the cabaret that Jaskier himself owned. Before Y/N found Corrine, she worked there to help him out and in return Jaskier gave her a roof over her head.

“We need to talk.” Jaskier says completely serious this time. Corrine took that as her hint.

“I’m going out. If you need me, I’ll be at Triss’ place.” she says, throwing the dark blue cloak around her shoulders. They said their goodbyes and as soon as sorceress left, Jaskier moved closer to Y/N.

“Look at this.” he hands Y/N folded piece of paper. Y/N opens it. It was a letter, obviously written in distress or hurry.

Bard,

In light of recent events, I have no choice but to ask for your help. I cannot discuss the details in this letter but I assure you, if you still care about the White Wolf, you’re going to want to join us as soon as possible.

He’s missing.

P.S. Oh, and bring a sorceress along. I am aware you know quite a few.

V

Y/N looks back to Jaskier. This sounded odd. Jaskier took the letter back, looking at it like it might tell him more if he asked nicely.

“Who sent this?” Y/N asks. She figured that the White Wolf was Jaskier’s friend Geralt of Rivia, the witcher she had only seen once. But the V on the bottom of the page wasn’t giving any clues.

“It’s probably Vesemir, Geralt’s mentor.” Jaskier said, folding the letter.

“Why does the witcher need your help? What are you going to do? Sing them your latest hits until they figure out where Geralt is?” Y/N asks, raising her eyebrows. Jaskier give her an annoyed look.

“Very funny. Also no, because I happen to be very good at tracking-”

“Jaskier, you got lost on your way from Oxenfurt to Novigrad.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to complain, but Y/N wasn’t having it. “It’s a 15-minute-long horse ride.”

“It was early morning; I was still half asleep.”

“Forget I said anything.” Y/N realizes she should drop it. She turned around and started preparing incense for their first customer that day.

“Are you coming with me?” Jaskier asked.

Y/N turns around to face him again. “To Kaer Morhen? Jaskier, you can’t be serious.”

“Why not? You are a sorceress and Vesemir said I should bring one.” Jaskier shrugged. Y/N gave him a look.

“He didn’t mention me specifically. I’m sure Felicia Cori would love to help you out.” Y/N said. Felicia was practically Geralt’s fan from the moment she heard about him in Aretuza, academy for young ladies who were practising magic. She lived couples of streets further and was a good friend of Corrine.

“But I’m not asking her, I’m asking you, Y/N.” Jaskier said, slowly losing his patience.

“How on earth is my skill of any use to you or them? We don’t even know what happen to your friend!” Y/N says, crossing arms on her chests.

“You could form a dream for Vesemir and see where Geralt is.” Jaskier suggested.

“You know that those don’t always work for missing persons.”

“I know but can you just once believe my judgment?” he asks. Y/N raised her eyebrows. She believed his judgment lots of times and it usually meant nothing but trouble. This sounded like one as well.

“Absolutely not. Jaskier, I’m not horse riding for a week for no reason. I have no clues, no ideas how to handle this. And also, how am I supposed to leave Corrine? She’s already pissed at me for being late-”

“Let me handle everything. And we are not horse riding.” Jaskier says proudly.

“No?” Y/N asks, tilting her head a little.

“I’ll show you.”

                                                           ***

And there they were, the next day, at Rosemary and Thyme’s attic. There was only one candle burning and the air was filled with dust, smell of old books and costumes. Y/N had to jump over a couple of old suitcases before they finally stopped walking.

“What are we doing here?” she asked, dusting herself off.

Jaskier didn’t answer but started looking through the old bags on the floor. Y/N crossed arms on her chests, waiting for the bard’s explanation.

“Ah, here it is!” he finally said. Y/N looked at his hands. He was holding a crystal. Not just any crystal. That was a power crystal and it was used specifically for portals.

Y/N gaped. “Jaskier, how did you get that?” she asked cautiously. Jaskier started moved further into the dark attic, Y/N following him.

“Turns out doing favours for sorceresses has its perks.” he answered merrily.

“Do you even know how it works?” Y/N raised eyebrows.

“Of course! I’ve been to Kaer Morhen on multiple occasions thanks to this portal right there.”

“Fine. Turn it on, then.” Y/N says, her voice suddenly soft. Ironically, she didn’t like portals. Traveling through them was quick but Y/N preferred other methods. Unfortunately for her, this was the only magical way to get into Kaer Morhen.

Jaskier cleaned the crystal with his sleeve and then moved closer to the wooden wall. There, Y/N saw a shelf with nothing but small steel stand in the middle of it. Jaskier slowly approached and placed the crystal on the stand. Nothing happened.

“What’s wrong with it?” he asks, suddenly worried.

“We need to revive it. It’s dead.” Y/N realized.

“How? I’m no medic nor-”

“Move.” Y/N tells him and Jaskier obeys. Y/N takes the crystal in her hands and clears her mind. Using a simple, yet powerful spell, Y/N starts off the crystal. Its core started glowing and she places it back on the stand. Loud sound of wind filled their ears. The wall in front of them vanished and dark twirling circle appeared instead.

The portal was open.

“Let’s go.”

 The welcoming party is not really welcoming, Y/N thought as soon as she saw the unfamiliar faces. Jaskier didn’t seem like he was bothered by it. They walked across the long hall and approached the table occupied by two armed men who didn’t exactly smile at their presence.

“Eskel, Coen. Nice to see you again.” he slightly lowered his head.

“Who’s this, bard?” the taller one, Eskel, Y/N presumed, asks as he crossed his arms on chests. He looked like he wasn’t happy to see newcomers. Or oldcomers. Or anyone at this point.

“Ah, yes, right, manners. This is Y/N. Very powerful sorceress. Vesemir told me to bring one. So, I did.” Jaskier explained.

“Pleasure.” Y/N said, trying to sound more delighted than she truly was.

“Oh, I’m sure it is.” Eskel said.

“What is that supposed-”

“Enough.” a deep voice echoed through the hall. “Jaskier. Sorceress. Please join me.”

Y/N and Jaskier both turned around towards the exit. There, was an older man standing, his face scarred and old but still Y/N felt like his presence required utter respect.

That must be Vesemir, Y/N realized.

Jaskier and Y/N both joined him. Jaskier briefly introduced them and Y/N nodded at the old witcher. Vesemir then led them down the hall without word. They walked for a while in silence, passing by several closed doors, until they finally reached the right one.

Vesemir opened the door and let them into the big round room with high celling. There, in the middle of it, stood one large table. The walls were filled with books, bottles and various herbs. Old chandelier in the middle of room was the only source of light.

They approached the table and Vesemir unfolded three papers in front of them.

“This is all we got.” he said, suddenly sounding tired.

Jaskier took the first paper and stood next to Y/N. There, in the middle of the page, were three words written in black ink.

“That could be Elder speech. Really old one.” Y/N said. She learned basics at the academy, but these writings were definitely old. She wasn’t even sure if she saw them in their school books.

“Do you know what does it say?” Jaskier asks quietly.

“I’m not sure. Let me see.” Y/N says, taking the letter from Jaskier’s hands.

“It’s not in any of our books. I tried everything but couldn’t make a sense of it. The last letter that arrived is the only one that’s written in Common.” Vesemir said, handling the smallest piece of paper to Y/N. She frowned.

This one was indeed written in Common speech but this time ink was dark red. Y/N sincerely hoped it wasn't blood.

“Wolf got taken. “She read the first sentence and then noticed another one on bottom of the page. “Will pay for his sins.”

Their Common is not perfect. Who could this be? Elves?

Y/N noticed how Jaskier’s jaw clenched. She never saw him this quiet and serious.

Vesemir then hands her the last paper. This one had a drawing. It was a simple one, but Y/N immediately figured what it was - an open palm of hand, with drops of blood on each finger. In the middle of the palm was a much bigger drop of blood, shaped like a tear.

“When did you get these?” Y/N asks, looking at all those letters in her hands.

Vesemir opened his mouth to answer but the loud squealing of door hinges interrupted him. The door opened and stranger walked in. With wolf medallion hanging around his neck and long red curls framing his face, he walked towards them.

“Stop wasting time, Vesemir.” he looked at his mentor, completely ignoring Jaskier and Y/N.

Y/N raised her eyebrows slightly.

Would it kill them to show some politeness?

“Lambert, this is Y/N. She’s going to help us decode these letters. And you’re going-”

“We should be out there looking for him! Not wasting time with these stupid letters.” he raises his voice. Vesemir gave him look of complete disapproval.

“You don’t get to decide what is a waste of time or isn’t. Now, show Y/N the library and get her whatever will be needed.”

For a second, Y/N thought Lambert would just storm out but then he finally looked at Y/N.

“Follow me, witch.” he muttered quietly, the anger still present in his tone.

Y/N squinted her eyes. “Sorceress.” she corrected him. Lambert just stared at her, his eyes also squinting. Jaskier, still standing on Y/N’s right side, stepped forward and cleaned his throat.

“Term ‘witch’ is mostly used by those who call themselves witch hunters, you know, it’s usually a derogatory term-”

“I know. Now, follow me.” Lambert interrupted him, still not looking away from Y/N. Y/N didn’t want to give him the pleasure of seeing her in discomfort so she stepped forward and joined him.

“Find me if you need anything.” she told Jaskier before leaving, giving him a comforting look.

Jaskier nodded, but she could see concern in his eyes.

Finally, she turns to red headed witcher and joins him down the hall. They walked in silence, Lambert clearly keeping his distance. Unfortunately for Y/N, the library was located at the other end of the Kaer Morhen and their awkward, silent walk took a while.

“Does your library have any books of First elves?” she asks when they finally made it. Lambert sat on top of the table and shrugged.

“Do I look like librarian? I have idea. I haven’t been in this part of castle for 5 years. You’re on your own, witch.”

Y/N approached the table so quickly she even surprised herself. Lifting her hand, with a small orb of red light in it, she pushes it towards his face. Lambert face was stone cold, no fear.

“Call me witch one more time, I dare you.” she hissed. She lowered the orb a little. He didn’t seem fazed at all.

“Don’t challenge me if you can’t keep up, sweetheart.” he suddenly grins. Y/N was about to protest but then she feels a soft pressure just above the bellybutton. She lowers her eyes and sees short but sharp blade, resting on her corset.

Y/N frowns.

“Seems like you’re forgetting why I’m here, witcher.” she warns him, ignoring the blade. Lambert raises his eyebrows a little then finally drops the blade. Y/N still stepped aside just in case.

“To decode some stupid letters, which are-”

“Yes, yes, waste of time. Now let me work if you don’t plan on helping me.” she says and walks away towards the shelves.

She heard Lambert mummering something but this time she decides to ignore him, switching focus on those old books in front of her. It was clear that someone organized them alphabetically long time ago but every now and then she would find some who obviously wouldn’t fit into that order. There was lots of books about herbs, survival skills and potion making but those weren’t helping at all. So, she moved to another bookshelf. There, Y/N found some historical books about Continent.

Beatrix of Kovir.

The Elder Blood.

The Conjunction of the Spheres.

And then, Y/N saw it. The old, yellow copy of Elder Speech Dictionary. She grabbed the book and started flipping pages. Few minutes passed by and…

Nothing.

All the symbols, words and phrases were something she was already familiar with. She sighed and put the book back in its place. She knew this wouldn’t be easy. Y/N took another look at those letters. That hand symbol bothered her. She felt like she saw it somewhere.

*Few hours later*

It was dark outside when Y/N finally looked through the library window. Some time ago, Jaskier showed up with a glass of wine and dinner which Y/N barely tasted. She couldn’t eat until she figured out the hand symbol. Lambert was long gone, with no explanation or excuse, but Y/N certainly didn’t mind.

Just some time after midnight, the doors of the library opened again.

“You’re still here?” Vesemir asked, entering the room and then closing the doors behind him.

“I can’t sleep until I figure this out.” Y/N answered, flipping through the Book of Urban Myths. Truth is, she was not looking forward to her dreams. She knew she would have to relive that dream all over again.

Vesemir chuckled, but it sounded miserable. “I appreciate the optimism but I’m afraid the books won’t do much of help.”

Y/N stopped flipping through the book and looked at Vesemir.

“You’re right. We should try my method.”

“Which is?” he raises eyebrows.

“Jaskier didn’t tell you? I’m oneiromancer.” Y/N said, closing the book in her hands.

Vesemir thought about it for a second and then slowly nodded. “We should give your method a chance then.” he said, crossing arms on his chests.” But not with me since I haven’t seen Geralt for a while now and therefor won’t be much of use to you. You should do it with the one who last saw him.”

“And who was that?” Y/N asks, glad he agreed with her.

“Lambert.”

[forabeatofadrum]

The Still Untitled Klaine December Challenge Fic (3/21)

AO3 | S&C

-

ENLARGE

Blaine wakes up on time, which is a good thing, since that means that jet lag is finally ebbing away. He goes to the kitchen in order to get some breakfast and Quinn’s already dressed and ready to go.

“Morning,” Blaine sing-songs, “Are you going to spin club?”

Quinn nods.

“Can I take the car?” she asks.

“Of course,” Blaine answers, but then he feels a bit uneasy. The car. That’s another thing they need to figure out. They own that together as well. “Will you be back afterwards?”

Quinn grabs the keys and says: “I don’t know. Might have a drink with the girls.”

“Ah.”

“But tonight we can figure stuff out, alright?”

Blaine’s certain they won’t be able to figure it all out in one evening, but it’s a start. He tells Quinn to have a nice day.

--

Blaine goes to visit his parents. They weren’t there yesterday to welcome him back, because they were busy, but Blaine’s mom basically demanded that he’d come over for lunch today. They missed him a lot.

Since Quinn has the car, Blaine takes public transport and it’s doable, but it’s not Ljubljana. Los Angeles, and all of America, heavily favours cars and Blaine misses his Slovenian €1,30 bus ticket immediately.

Blaine walks up to his parents’ house’s porch and the front door always swings open.

“My boy!” his mom yells loudly, probably upsetting everyone in this posh neighbourhood. She runs towards him with her arms stretched out.

“Mom!” Blaine goes to hug his mother.

Then he hears his father chuckle.

“Someone’s missed you,” he says, “And that someone is me.”

“Hey dad,” Blaine says.

He missed his parents. They might not be the most affectionate and adoring parents in the world, and they’re insane workaholics and spent a lot of time away from home, but Blaine and Cooper grew up being loved.

Besides, once Blaine’s dad’s company got big, they moved to LA, and then Blaine and Quinn moved to LA after their studies, so now they see each other more often.

Blaine’s mom ushers everyone inside and as expected, she went all out in the kitchen. Blaine’s mom loves cooking as a way to share her love. The three of them eat and talk about Ljubljana. Of course Blaine’s talked to his parents while he was there, but it’s different face-to-face and Blaine spent more time talking to Quinn. After an hour or so, Cooper barges in and it’s fun and Blaine almost forgot that there’s something different now, until he mentions Kurt.

“Kurt? That’s your American friend, right?” his dad asks, “Has he also returned home?”

“Oh. Yes.”

“Good,” Blaine’s mom says and that’s that. The conversation moves on to other topics and Blaine sits back, slightly in shock.

Right.

Kurt is just some guy he met in Ljubljana. That’s all his parents know. Blaine never talked much about him, even before Blaine realised he had feelings for him, because those conversations were mostly with Quinn. And of course once he and Kurt got together, he never told anyone apart from Quinn, Sunil, Tadeja and Kurt’s family. Then Quinn told Denise with his permission.

Blaine isn’t ready to enlarge this safe bubble of people who know that he’s gay. It feels so daunting. He knew that coming out would be part of it, but back in Ljubljana it was “a thing for the future” and now it’s that future and Blaine has no clue what to do.

But maybe he can already plant a seed in his family’s brain. Maybe he can slowly let it slip that Kurt’s more important than they think.

“Actually-” Blaine cuts off Cooper’s spiel about his new face routine, “-I am going to New York to visit Kurt!”

“Lovely, dear,” his mom says, “Glad to hear you got a lasting friendship.”

And that’s it again. Blaine doesn’t know what else to add, since it’s clear that his family doesn’t pick up that Blaine wants to say more about Kurt, so he just eats his lunch in silence. After all, he has no more stories about Ljubljana to share, since they all involve his new love life.

--

“Apartment?”

“Check.”

“Car?”

“Check.”

“Household contents?”

“Check.”

“Shared subscriptions.”

“I’m still fine with sharing a Netflix account.”

“Same. Did I miss anything?”

Blaine looks over the list that Quinn has created. They’re brainstorming on what to brainstorm on. Everything is going to change. The two of them have been living separately since April, with Quinn dating Denise in LA and Blaine dating Kurt in Ljubljana, but now it’s time to actually plan for their future without each other.

Unfortunately, they had planned a shared future.

“Can I just say I am glad we never decided to share a bank account?” Quinn sighs.

“Or buy a house together,” Blaine adds.

“Or get married and have a kid!”

Those were all part of their future plans, but they weren’t there yet.

Blaine slides the list back to Quinn. Where do they start? Right now, they live together. Quinn and Denise did remodel the spare room into a new bedroom for Quinn, so they sleep separately. That is fine for now, but something is off. They were living together as friends before they started dating, so they can do it again, but what will change and what won’t?

Even little unimportant things are so big out of nowhere. Yesterday evening, there was some contention on whether or not they would be in the bathroom at the same time. They didn’t do that when they were friends, but they did when they were dating. So do they stop? But they’ve already seen each other naked, so does it matter?

Are there rules for this?

The main thing is the apartment. Can they continue to live together?

The two of them discuss the pros and cons, and Quinn mentions that she might not be ready live with Denise.

“Aren’t lesbians known for moving in together immediately?” Blaine jokes, “That’s the U-Haul thing, right?”

But Quinn’s face falls and Blaine immediately senses he made a mistake.

“I’m not…” Quinn trials off.

An awkward silence stretches between them.

“Oh,” Blaine says quietly.

“Or I- Well, I don’t know if I am, you know, a lesbian.”

Quinn looks very uncomfortable with this situation.

“Oh,” Blaine says again. He fucked up. He tries to think what to do. What would Kurt say? “You know it’s okay if you are.”

“Of course I do,” Quinn snaps and it shocks Blaine. Quinn’s eyes also widen and she groans. “I know. Being a lesbian is a good thing. Lesbian isn’t a dirty word! Lesbians are amazing.”

It sounds like a mantra.

“Lesbians are amazing,” Blaine agrees.

“But this is- I’ve only known that I’m not straight for four months. I get that I’ve always liked girls in a way, but does that mean I never liked guys? I don’t know!”

“You don’t have to know,” Blaine says, because that is also Kurt would say. Blaine is new to this as well. “Sorry that I assumed.”

“No, no, I get it,” Quinn says awkwardly, “I am in love with a lesbian. And maybe I am one as well, but as I say, all that I know for sure is that I am Denise’s.”

That makes sense. Blaine also held on to his feelings for Kurt when everything else was changing around him. But Blaine knows he’s gay. He’s never liked a girl in his life, but he just thought he did.

“… Do you want to talk about it?” Blaine asks.

“I’d rather not think about it,” Quinn says after a beat of silence, “Can we just go back to our list?”

“Sure,” Blaine says, although he has the feeling that they won’t get anything done today.

--

End notes: It's been 3.5 years since I lived in Ljubljana and I still bitch about how much I miss the €1,30 bus ticket.

[qqtxt]

HIHIHI I really like your page :’)) can I request a pretty soobin fic going on a carousel ride where he confesses his feelings :( my birthday just passed and this is all I want 🫶🏼

(thank you for your time and efforts if you do 💗)

aw beb! belated happy birthday! 💖😛 i hope you got to have a nice time on your special day! i’ll say it right now that i don’t think i’ll be open to requests yet (bc i already started a bunch of things in my drafts and i just wanna get around to finishing those first!) but in future, i might have requests open!

as of now, if anyone does send anything in, just know that there’s a chance it might not get written as requests aren’t “officially” open. (bc again, my drafts is a nightmare 👻) so just a disclaimer if anyone does send anything in.

now! i couldn’t help but just write a small little thing here. hope you like it and again, belated happy birthday! ✨

[🐰] can’t take my eyes off of you 

✿ pairing: soobin x reader / non.idol!au / cheesy fluff / shy!soobin / mentions of food and eating / word count: 695 words ✿ in which soobin tries to tell you how he feels about you... but it doesn’t exactly go as planned... 🎧: can’t take my eyes off of you (cover–craymer, prd–aiivawn) [masterlist 🌸]

everything about today went right. everything except the one main thing that soobin hopes for with his fingers crossed, might as well try to cross his toes while he’s at it, really. the day you were born; the day soobin is thankful he’s met you and has the blessing to call you his friend... soon-to-be partner-in-crime, hopefully?

it was going well. too well. and he feels like his heart is going to fly out of his chest despite how slow the carousel was moving. the day was perfect from the start; a quiet moment in the library together, cafe hopping twice because you have to try that cake! and later you’ll have to try that drink! and the night was coming to an end at the small theme park just across town; nothing like a calming bus ride together before havoc soon ensues when two bunnies run around to the rides and food stalls.

that one! let’s go! you’re dragging him to the carousel but he insists on standing outside the ring to watch you hop on the robot horse. somehow, you’re the only one on the ride and soobin doesn’t know if it’s the sign from the universe to confess, this is the time, now’s the perfect time!

he tries to practice his speech in his mind as he smiles and watches you enjoy the ride with the music-box-like music that fills the environment. the lights twinkle and the movements of the horses up and down paint the scene straight out of a movie. soobin’s mind goes blank the more he watches you, even with the way you’re trying to do silly faces through each spin doesn’t navigate away how beautiful he thinks you look.

his nerves almost clamp down on him and he can feel himself restricting himself with the way his hands turn to fists by his side. he decides it’s now; when the music seems to be the loudest and–”i like you, y/n!”

...

...

the ride came to a stop and the music dies down, with soobin facing his horror when you stop right in front of him. eyes wide, gaping slightly, unmoving. soobin has never wanted to be buried six feet under until now; not with the way he can’t read your expression. every single heart beat that passes when you don’t say anything is adding to the pressure building up in his chest. oh god, he can feel that corndog coming right back up–”took you long enough, handsome.”

the way his face morphs is what makes you laugh the hardest. from being straight up mortified, he’s so confused that his eyes nearly bulge out of his head.

“w-what?”

“let’s go on the ferris wheel next!”

he had mentally prepared himself for the endless teasing, but nothing would’ve prepared him for the way you’re standing in front of him, holding your hand out for him to hold that he quietly fills the spaces of your fingers with his own, allowing you to pull him to follow your lead.

maybe... maybe it didn’t turn out so bad, afterall.

((the bus ride back to town wasn’t as awkward as soobin had thought. initially, he figured if the confession didn’t go well, he’ll just pretend like he’s asleep the whole way (or pretend he doesn’t exist). none of that is happening, though... when his dreams are a reality with the way you hold onto his hand, playing with his fingers on your lap. he instinctively shifts his shoulders lower just a little for you to rest on and his breath hitches when you snuggle against him.

he hopes you don’t move away when he peeks at you, watching how your eyes flutter shut to get some rest with a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. soobin does this thing with his face when he’s too happy but tries not to show it. he presses his lips together, dimples showing, eyes snapping shut momentarily as if he’s trying to memorise the image before he lets out the exhale he’s been holding in to gaze out the window.

in his own reflection, the stars spark brighter in his eyes with joy.))

[love-that-we-were-in]

Build Callouses

Not quite a comeback fic, not quite a drabble but a secret third option (wordvomit)!! If you've ever read my Seblaine stuff before you'll know I love soulmate aus so i really had to take this chance to return. But I hope you at least enjoy it for what is is!!

@seblaineworld

Freckles. That’s what they are. This tiny, sparkling smattering of multicolour freckles across the bridge of his nose. They’re not the most noticeable, nothing like the thick scar that splits Jeff’s left eyebrow into two (a childhood incident of Nick’s that landed him in the emergency room), but it’s something. Some characteristic that ties him to his future. A characteristic that damn near everyone apparently seems to have if he’s being honest. 

Even Kurt, who Blaine tried his best with, has freckles. Granted, they reside more on his cheekbones, and they only come out when the sun is blinding, but they’re still freckles that other people can see. They’re just not super distinguishable is what he’s trying to say. In a world where One Thing is supposed to help you find your soulmate, they’re actually kind of shit. Almost enough to give up searching altogether. 

However, even in the face of unlikeliness, of the improbable (veering on impossible if he’s being truly honest) it’s not quite enough to stop Blaine being hopeful that one day it’ll happen. Someone with freckles is going to walk through the door and he’s going to recognise the pattern in the shades of brown that normal people have like they’re his own. 

(He knows he might recognise his soulmark on them. It’s this long, thin scar stretching from the crease of his elbow to an inch above his wrist - a play fight with Cooper turned rough when the dog got involved - and it’s a whole lot easier to spot in vivid multicolour, he assumes.)

He’s got years ahead of him though, teenage angst and a college degree to power through. There’s heaps of time, is what his mother tells him when he rings her at 8pm wondering why he got so unlucky. Not everyone meets their soulmate in high school, or college, or even the first few years of being a real adult. It happens when the universe is ready, is what his therapist tells him when he gets pensive over the topic. 

So he holds onto that. Forever is relative, no matter what way society wants to spin it. Regardless of everything, forever is a really long time, and he’ll get to experience Their forever. Sharing forever is what counts, is what he tells himself as he counts the freckles in his reflection every night while brushing his teeth.

*

Long sleeves are what Sebastian favours. He always has, since turning 7, when he woke up to a scar on his right arm. It takes up too much space. It’s too bright. He doesn’t like to look at it. There’s no guessing what it is, not when there’s information leaflets on soulmarks on every college campus within a 50 mile radius, but he can ignore it. Hide it away. Dark clothes with long sleeves are where he’s most comfortable. 

Inherently, he has no personal issue with the idea of soulmates. In some ways, it might be nice - the belief that destiny has something incredible in store for you. To him, and his mother, they’re restrictive. Sebastian is young, at the point in his life where figuring out who he is should be prioritised over who he’s meant to be with. And his mother is jaded, sick of life of being told what to do by archaic ideas of romance. She’s a free spirit and he’s happy to walk at a leisurely pace behind her. 

Once, during a vacation, he’d considered the moment it happens. What it would be like. How he would react. Under the stars in Greece, shoes dusted with sand, he’d rolled the sleeve of his top to his elbow, twisted it so the moonlight bounced off the colours and made them glow. Asked himself what he’d even see if he met his soulmate, since he was lacking in scars and has no birthmark that he can find. 

Maybe, he’d though as he climbed the stairs to his hotel room, it would be so unnoticeable that he’d miss it completely. Bypass his soulmate and never know what forever could be. It was gone in the morning, back to pretending he was ignorant to fate, but it lingered in the Grecian air when he went back years later. 

[dramioneasks]

hi guys!! hope you're all fine

was looking for a/b/o fanfiction set in Hogwarts. have gone through some obvious ones like the alpha and the omega problem, blood moon mania, entrapped we trust, keeping promises. i don't know if it'll be possible to satisfy this ask completely but would really appreciate fics which have a strong emotional turmoil and angst component beyond the typical sexual component (which I also appreciate).

let me know if u know anything. thanks a lot!!! 🫶

Second Chances by Bitchdraco - E, WIP - He seemed taller and his build broader then when I saw him last at his Wizengamot trial. Back then he seemed so unlike himself... diminished. Head bowed, eyes locked on the ground as others decided his future for him. After I testified in favor of his release, his gaze snapped to meet mine. His face was impassive but his cold grey eyes were intense, ablaze with some emotion that I still couldn’t decipher. °°° Story follows Hermione’s journey as she learns of her omega designation and her decision to fight her biological need throughout the years until one day she’s no longer the one in control.

The duality of a witch by Ealembra - E, WIP - In an AU where Voldemort met his demise at the close of the First Wizarding War—without the complication of Horcruxes—the story veers into uncharted territory. Hermione faces a life-altering revelation: she's an Omega. A rare genetic anomaly that severely limits her rights and autonomy. Seen as a commodity to be claimed by an Alpha, she attempts to defy societal expectations, to remain unmated her last year at Hogwarts.

Freshly Mown Grass, New Parchment, and Spearmint Toothpaste by bellevie - E, 7 chapters - While Voldemort was no longer trying to kill them all, 8th year at Hogwarts was presenting with its own unique challenge: alpha, beta, and omega presentations were springing up left and right. The Department of Mysteries is making all students report what amortentia smells like to them in order to research attraction between compatible magical cores. Hermione is full of nerves and anticipation as she realizes the scent of her Ancient Runes partner just might match her amortentia. Harry and Ginny get it on, Hogwarts forces them to attend a mortifying sexual education class, ancient runic potions recipes must be interpreted, spin the bottle is played, Slughorn hosts a fancy alpha/omega party but people get rowdy, Ron gets jealous, walls come tumbling down, and there is a happily ever after. Story is complete. Not beta read, all mistakes are my own.

Matter of Time by Fictionismyescape - E, 18 chapters - If they hadn't spent their lives running from one disaster to another, Hermione might have been surprised when they were given less than a month of peace after the war. But they did, so she's not. When their peers start to show signs of a gene that was thought to have died out centuries before, Hermione is more than surprised when she presents as an omega, given her lack of magical lineage. She's nearly knocked off her feet when she discovers who her mate is supposed to be. When they are returned to Hogwarts and told to figure themselves out, it's a rocky start that almost leads to dire consequences. But ignoring biology is far harder than either of them could have expected.

Beautiful Mess by Fictionismyescape - E, 13 chapters - Hermione hated it. Hated that her own biology was interfering with her final year of education. Hated that even with all the magic in Britain, they couldn’t keep up with the demand for suppressant potion. Did she hate who was willing to help her through it? Sort of, but he was clearly not the same as he had been before the war. Was she willing to deal because he was just that good? Oh hell yes.

Summer by meropereads - M, 10 chapters - The eighth-year students would return to Hogwarts in a week. Hermione had spent the summer researching a way to restore her parents' memories. She discovered a spell to release suppressed magic, but when she did a trial run on herself, a different kind of magic emerged. What was coming, she had no idea, but she knew she couldn't survive alone. A/B/O.

-Lisa