#Are you there say a prayer for The Pretender who started off so young and strong only to surrender

[allycat75]

[prythianpages]

Just A Girl | Eris x Rhysand's Sister

series masterlist | summary: Your father throws a ball in your honor. When Beron belittles you, you decide to show him what you're capable of, catching the attention of his firstborn.

word count: 2K

a/n: Hi guys! It's been a hot minute since I've written anything and I feel rusty lol (kinda like when you stop riding your bike and have to relearn type of feel.) Anyway, this is entirely based off no doubt's just a girl bc I felt like it gave off Rhys's sister vibes and then I thought why not incorporate this into an au I had planned for an Eris x Rhys's sister one shot??

“When I’m High Lord, I’ll go–”

“I’m sure you’ll go far,” you interrupt, a half smile playing on your lips as you look up at the first born of Spring. With his luscious blond hair, striking green eyes, and well-defined jawline, he's undeniably a sight to behold. Unfortunately, his personality doesn't match his looks—dull yet somehow arrogant and miserably misogynistic. 

You don’t have it in you to spare him a moment longer, especially not when his overbearing pride is becoming overwhelming for your senses. You push past the desire to call upon your abilities and manipulate his emotions into something more humbling. He is not worth exposing your powers.

With a pat on his shoulder–too harsh for his liking– you add, “and I really hope you stay there. It was nice speaking with you, Heathen.”

“It’s Heath.”

You give an uninterested hum before making your way to the refreshments table, desperate for something to soothe the tension between your brows. A silent prayer is sent to the Cauldron that no other male approaches you with a lame attempt at conversation. If they are interested in you, they should at least be able to hold a good one. One that doesn’t incorporate any microaggressions toward you.

Fortunately for you, it is your brother who approaches you next. He takes your–what was it? fourth or sixth, you can’t remember– champagne flute from your grasp with an effortless ease. A glare settles upon your features as you watch him chug it before fixing your gaze straight ahead, to the dais where your father and mother sit. 

Your father occupies the grand throne, while your mother sits beside him in a smaller, less ornate chair. The Lady of the Night Court—magnificent and burdened with countless responsibilities—receives none of the praise that is lavished upon your father. Despite her contributions to your court, she is not held in the same regard… simply because she is a female.

It leaves you to wonder what your destiny is.

Rhysand looks at you with sympathy, and you realize that in your moment of vulnerability, you've let your mental shields slip. “Please, save your breath,” you mutter.

Sensing Cassian and Azriel approaching, you flash them a small, relieved smile. “And please, stay by my side,” you say, your eyes scanning the room where multiple pairs of eyes are fixed on you. You feel so exposed and though it’s no surprise, it leaves you unsettled. When your gaze meets that of one of Autumn's sons, you quickly look away and strengthen the shield around you.

“I could use my scary brother privileges right now.”

“Who are we scaring, princess?” Cassian asks, flexing his muscles as he pretends to adjust the cuffs of his dress shirt, rolled up to his elbows.

Azriel lets out a snort, but his keen eyes are already scanning the room, easily locating the Autumn male. The red-haired male immediately cowers under his cold, hard stare.

“No one.” Rhysand replies, shooting them both a warning look. He then turns to you and you don’t need his daemati abilities to know what he’s about to say. “y/n–”

“Don’t you think I know exactly where I stand?” You interrupt him with an exhausted sigh.

Tonight was a celebration–a ball to honor you and all you’ve done for the Night Court during the war. When the war started, you were twenty-three and deemed too young to participate. Though, at that age, Rhysand had already completed the bloodrite and was esteemed a formidable warrior. You were fortunate that your father allowed you to train and even more so that he allowed you to join the Night Court council.

You quickly mastered the politics of war and the intricacies of the Prythian courts. Midway through the war, your father entrusted you to visit the war camps and delegate on his behalf. There was no doubt that it was a privilege you were granted due to your powers. Still, you embraced it eagerly and tonight was the night you would officially be recognized as an emissary.

But of course, many–especially the sons of the High Lords–confused tonight as your debutante ball. You were in your third decade, after all. While your brother was recognized as a fierce warrior and heir, you were regarded as a highly sought out bachelorette. 

Lucky you.

“I am meant to be pretty and docile,” you continue, gesturing to yourself. 

The dress you wore was far from your usual preference. The bodice, adorned with intricate beadwork and sequins, featured a sweetheart neckline that teased a glimpse of your breast—but not too much. The skirt of the gown was voluminous, made of layers of soft tulle that shimmered delicately with every step as the light caught the scattered sequins. It was a beautiful black ball gown, crafted by your mother's talented hands. Yet, you much preferred dresses that clung to you like a second skin, revealing more of your figure.

To put it frankly, you felt quite suffocated in this gown. And you rather not even get started on your makeup. You were transformed into a perfect painting of a sweet and innocent princess. Not the daring and powerful female you knew yourself to be.

“Desirable but not too attainable.”

 “However, that does not mean I need to be consistently tortured by dull conversations and hungry stares from controlling males,” you finish, crossing your arms against your chest with a scowl. “No one has even asked me about my role in this court.”

“Oh, yeah. How is it being an emissary to the Night Court?” Cassian asks, earning a smack to the back of his head from Azriel.

“Just splendid,” you reply with a sarcastic smile.

“You played a significant role in establishing peace between Spring and the rest of the courts after the war. I’m sure your efforts will not go unnoticed,” Rhysand assures you.

“Perhaps I played my role too well. Heathen has seemed to have taken an interest in me.”

It’s as if he heard his name being called, for the blonde male’s gaze meets yours across the ballroom. He winks at you with that stupid, cocky smirk of his. A grimace crosses your face. You had been hoping your conversation from earlier would deter him. It seems it has only spurred him on.

“He’s... pretty,” Rhysand starts, but then trails off, struggling to find a compliment for Heath. “Pretty full of himself,” he finally manages, shooting you an almost apologetic glance.

Both of you erupt into laughter.

“It could be worse,” Azriel comments after a moment, a futile attempt at making you feel better. “It could be the heir to Autumn. As the by-product of growing up under Beron’s cruelty, I hear he’s pretty ruthless. Might even turn out to be crueler than him. At least Heath isn’t as bright…”

“Ouch,” Cassian says with a playful wince, almost feeling bad for the Spring heir.

Your eyes find the male in question. Eris Vanserra. His vibrant red hair makes him and his siblings easy to spot in a crowded room. Surprisingly, Eris hasn't made any attempt to approach you tonight. Unlike his brothers. Instead, he stands by his mother's side. She appears uncomfortable and weary, her arm linked with his as she rubs her swollen, pregnant belly.

 As you focus on him, you feel a mix of anger and concern. “Somehow, I doubt that,” you voice your thoughts out loud, following the trail of emotions. Your eyes land on the recipient of his anger. Beron. The High Lord of Autumn stands amongst the other High Lords, engaged in conversation with your father.

Sensing your gaze on him, your father looks up from where you stand. He holds a hand up, summoning you and your brother.

“Time to shine,” Rhysand says, holding his hand out to you.

**

“Ah, my son,” your father greets with a smile as you and Rhysand come to a stop before him and the other High Lords. He then turns to you, violet eyes alight with pride that has your chest swelling with warmth. At least your father recognizes your worth and you don't dare to wonder if he'd see you the same if you weren't blessed with your power.

“My daughter, the guest of honor," he introduces, reaching for your hand to pull you to his side. You offer a polite smile and curtsy to the High Lords. “Y/n has done a lot for this court and all of Prythian. Tonight is a means to show my immense gratitude and present her with the official title of lead emissary of the Night Court.”

It is the High Lord of the Winter Court who speaks first, offering a slight bow of his head. “I look forward to continuing working with you, Lady y/n.”

“A wise and thoughtful member of the Night Court.” High Lord Thesan says with an amiable smile, the High Lords of Day, Summer and Spring sharing his sentiments.

However, the same cannot be said for the High Lord of Autumn. His lips curl in distaste, the thought of having to interact with a female tasting sour on his tongue. He had tolerated you before but only due to the war.

“You expect me to welcome her to my court to discuss important matter?" Beron huffs. "She’s just a girl.”

You don’t speak. You don’t even make a sound. But the look in your eyes…the look in your eyes was downright murderous.

Memories begin to flood your mind of you being berated and undermined. The box in which you had locked away your emotions can no longer contain them. A wave of anger and frustration begins to surge forth...

Rhysand knew exactly what was about to happen, his hand silently reaching out for yours. To hold you back.

But it was too late. Your mind was like a wall of steel. Impenetrable.

All you saw was red, your wings bursting forth from your glamor, unfurling behind you. They tore through the seams of your dress, provoking gasps. Swiftly, your magic mends the fabric, accommodating your true form.

Tendrils of darkness emanate from your outstretched hands, weaving through the air like sinister ribbons. Your gaze, unwavering and intense, remains fixated on Beron.  With each movement of your fingers, the room plunges deeper into shadow. The once-illuminated space is now consumed by a thick veil of darkness. Even Azriel’s shadows, accustomed to the darkness themselves, cling onto him like a second skin.

As the last glimmer of light fades into oblivion, the ballroom becomes a chamber of obsidian night. With a mere thought, you tap into the emotions swirling within the hearts of those present. Careful to be subtle upon the intrusion as you do not want to expose the true extent of your abilities.

You summon only the most negative emotions like a maestro orchestrating a symphony. Screams erupt, drawing your lips upwards. You can feel resistance against your power and whether it is from your father or brother or even one of the other High Lords, you can’t tell.

Gathering all your pent up frustrations, you use it to fuel your strength, wanting to hold onto this moment of mayhem just a bit longer. It is only when you feel Beron’s heart racing, feel the trace of fear threatening to dim the fire in his veins that you let go.

In the blink of an eye, your tendrils of darkness disperse, succumbing to the resistance. The faelights adorning the ballroom shimmer to life once more and the moon’s light seeps back into the room. It casts an ethereal glow over you, revealing the calm and cool expression on your face. Yet, your eyes remain seething with the fury of a dark, raging storm.

Beron's scowl deepens at your display. He parts his mouth in disbelief, looking towards your father, who says nothing. Beron then looks back at you.

For once in his miserable life, he is at a loss for words. Pride swells in your chest and you push against the talons raking across your mind, wanting to bask in your small victory.

“I’m just a girl,” you finally say and then give a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders before turning to leave.

Reveling in the animosity radiating off of him, your smirk deepens as you recognize a faint trace of humiliation somewhere among the fire of his wrath.

The assembled crowd parts before you, their gazes a mixture of disdain, shock, and fear. You keep your head held high and eyes focused straight ahead. Dread begins to settle in, the onset of a headache from overexertion threatening to break your composure.

Still, you carry on, feigning nonchalance. The only sounds echoing through the room are the hushed whispers and the sharp click of your heels against the marble floors.

Yet, amidst the sea of wary onlookers, one figure stands apart.

Eris.

The heir to the Autumn court is leaning casually against the wall near the exit doors, his mother nowhere to be seen. The corner of his lips are upturned into a smirk, amber eyes alight with amusement and curiosity and perhaps, even something more.

Your steps threaten to falter as your eyes meets his. He looks back at you, holding your gaze with a searing intensity, it sends a shiver down your spine. He looks at you in a way no one ever has...as if he can see you for you who you really are.

Because you aren’t just a girl.

You’re the daughter of the Night Court. A shining star. A force to be reckoned with and one he finds himself irresistibly drawn to.

series masterlist

a/n: I honestly don't know how to feel about this one. I guess it's kind of a prequel to my upcoming one shot. Also, you can't tell me Eris wouldn't find anyone besting his dad like reader did in this hot lol

general tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

i assume you'll be coming for blood (that makes two of us)

Chapter 4

Ao3 | 1.6k words | Sweetheart's POV

The trail gets hot. Sweetheart finds something. They steal themself for what comes next.

TW: dead body, blood, dead parent, could be construed as MCD

Hey, Dad. Just checking in. 

Hey kiddo! It’s been a few weeks. Honestly, I was starting to get worried. 

Sorry. Work. I’ve been busy. 

But safe, right?

Yeah.

Because you promised me you would be when you took this job.

I know, Dad. I promise I can handle whatever DUMP throws at me. 

So could your mother.

Dad. 

I’m sorry. I just worry. You got her strength and tenacity, but you also got her bullheadedness. And I’m sorry to say that’s what got her killed. I worry because I know you won’t reach out for help when you need it.

Then what do you call this?

Do you need help? Kiddo, if you’re in trouble, just say the word. I will DESCEND!!

I’m fine, Dad. Just wanted to say I love you.

You locked your phone before his frantic typing could culminate into a panicked reply and pointedly ignored the insistent buzz of your phone in your coat pocket. That had been more of a tell than you’d intended, but the thought of walking into this kind of trouble without telling him made your throat close with grief. You didn’t say ‘I love you’ often, and you didn’t say it without reason. 

Your mom used to say it liberally. She said it when she woke you up for school in the morning, when tucking you into bed, when you made her laugh, when you broke her heart. She had a lot of late nights, and you never slept when she was away. You would pretend to when she snuck into your room in the wee hours of the night or morning. She would bend over you, smelling like sweat and blood and expended magic. You stayed still and silent as she pressed her thin, shaking lips to the crown of your head and whispered it into you;

“I love you, I love you, I love you…” 

Like a promise. Like a prayer. 

Your chest ached with the absence of her. 

By the time you found it again, the shade had become fully corporeal. Dahlia was a great town for it, full of powerful, magical people, and stupid, stupid college kids who would brush off its after effects as a bad hangover. 

It was actually a rather clever method, how you found it. You got access to D.A.M.N.’s clinic records through less than legal means, thanks to a friend of a friend who didn’t ask questions when fifty bucks were involved. You tracked the shade’s effects through a half dozen students, found a few of them who also folded at the offer of another fifty bucks and found out their frequent haunts. You formed a geo profile (something you’d learned in the Academy but had never had occasion to use, much less with a proper paper map and pins) and triangulated an area where the shade was most likely to be. 

Now, you had an area of about three city blocks to patrol, you were dodging non-stop calls from both your father and Jet, and you were flat broke from all of your very illegal bribes. 

You were considering becoming a private eye. If this was how effective you were with no oversight, you’d have finished this case up in a matter of days. 

Although, you weren’t actually sure how many days it had been. You weren’t exactly sleeping regularly. 

When you cornered it, it was in a little park just off of college town. It was barely a park, really, more of a very large median. It was a stretch of poorly maintained grass, a smattering of small, young trees, and exactly three benches. On one of said benches, there was a crumpled form, curled over one of the arm rests of hostile design, obscured by layers and layers of ratty clothing. When you spotted them, you cloaked without even thinking. Your magic fell over you like a blanket and smothered out a handful of the sensory indicators around you. That was the downside of cloaking, afterall. Your senses weren’t entirely stolen, just dampened. But in your line of work, that could be the difference between life and death. 

The closer you got, the more you convinced yourself that the figure was just someone trying to sleep in a dry, semi safe place. The rounded armrests that cut up the bench were designed to deter this, but something digging into you only worked so long when you were bone tired. You didn’t think it would do much to you at the moment. 

You placed one hand on their shoulder and slowly, as though not to startle them, rolled it back to reveal their face and chest. 

He wasn’t sleeping. You knew as soon as you saw his skin, dewy and gray, that he was dead. Two, ratty jackets pulled back to reveal a slim frame and a drawn, boyish face. As you disturbed him, his body let loose the torrent of blood that his crumpled rib cage was holding in. It spilled, still hot, over your shoes. 

He was young. Barely eighteen, if that. Thick glasses, dusty hair, a smattering of freckles across his nose. Everything he had on him was packed into a well-loved, bright green Jansport backpack. He was a kid, just a kid. 

He had been empowered. You didn’t know how you knew, but you did. It was some sort of absence, you thought, some emptiness where he had once been so full. Your threads strummed uneasily towards him, but found no reply. 

He looked so small, curled in on himself on that park bench. 

Your mom had looked small too. She was an exceedingly lively woman, and a fire elemental so powerful that she had struggled to contain her heat even when not impacted by her emotions. Her aura felt visible at times, tangible, like you could wrap your chubby toddler fingers around her power and pull.

It was a closed-casket funeral. The shifter that had killed her very nearly tore her apart. Your father had her buried in a white button up, slacks, something your older brother had snagged from her closet without thinking. You figured that your dad wanted it over with, wanted her in the ground. He had to identify the body. You remembered sitting in the waiting room while he went in to see her. You could hear his wails through the walls. You’d be surprised if anybody in the hospital, anybody in Dahlia, anybody in the world was saved from his screams. 

The doctors did everything medically possible, but there was only so much one could do to make such a mangled corpse look normal, look human. There were thick, medical staples stitching her demure features into another face entirely, lopsided and strange. You had stared at her in the visitation room, tearless, for half an hour before some well-meaning relative or another pulled you away. Your brother and sister had refused to look at her, your father couldn’t stop sobbing long enough to do it, but you couldn’t look away. There was something enticing about it, looking at her and trying to find all of the bits that were missing, to decipher the riddle of her glued-shut eyelids, the hollow, serene pose of her always moving, always working body. There was something powerful about her. Even her corpse held an echo of it. 

You numbly retrieved your phone from your coat pocket and found Jet’s contact. He answered on the first ring and let out a string of protests and admonishments that he must have started long before your call came through, judging by the hoarse quality of his voice. 

“I’ve got a body.” You said, reported. The Investigator overstock you, forcing out the emotion that threatened to topple you and replacing it with the familiar cadence of your crisis training. You felt for his pulse, found nothing. You sent a static shock of magic into him to see if pain or stimulus would rouse him. It did not. 

“What are you talking about?” Jet snapped. “You need-” 

“I’m in the park off Jackson.” You interrupted. “I’ve got a body. Slashed, but not a shifter.” You knew what it looked like when a shifter killed. “I need a unit out here immediately. The shade is corporeal.”

“Investigator,” Jet balked, “you are not cleared for duty. Dr. Collins is calling for a psych eval. Do not tell me you’re still working your case.” 

“Well, I don’t like to lie to superiors.” You sighed. You stood and forced yourself to turn away from the kid- the body, you reminded yourself- taking in your surroundings. It was dark. Shades could hide in the shadows nearly as well as you could. You re-upped cloak, let your magic ripple through your clothes, your phone, muffle the sound of your voice and heartbeat. “Regardless of my clearance, this thing has killed and I intend to finish my work.”

“You’re in over your head.” Jet snapped. “And if you don’t disengage and report back to HQ immediately-”

“Jet, I’m in the heart of college town right now!” you seethed through gritted teeth, “If I leave it, it’s going to cut down a dozen college students before anybody bothers to deal with it. Send backup or don’t. I’m not letting it kill anybody else.” 

You were shaking with rage or panic, which you didn’t know. You turned on your heel, towards the scant tree line, and started walking. The only evidence of you was the bloody footprints you left in the grass. 

You pulled up Milo’s contact in your phone. You typed out your dad’s phone number and sent it without allowing yourself to overthink it. 

That’s my dad’s number. If anybody happens to me, please don’t let him be the one to identify my body. 

You stuffed your phone back into your pocket and turned your mind towards the matter at hand.

[autisticlancemcclain]

fic rec friday 11

welcome the the eleventh fic rec friday! where, on friday, i rec five of my favourite fics.  

1. Video Chats by @tomminowrites

Not long after leaving to join the Blades, Keith stops by the castleship to catch up with Voltron.

The visit was going normally, until the Red paladin lets slip that he's been video calling one of the paladins fairly regularly - unknown to rest of the team.

i LOVE this fic it makes me giggle like no other. i have this in my other collection, which is fics where lance gets teased mercilessly by the team for being a gay loser. this fic makes me laugh literally every time. fics where keith is doing his blade thing but comes back regularly to visit and theyre a family who loves each other my beloved

2.  Thinkin’ Bout You by @bleusarcelle & queerklancing

‘That was not my thought,’ Keith thinks, panic and confusion filling his chest, ‘That was not my thought, what the fu –‘

‘Dude,’ the unfamiliar voice cuts him off sharply, but Keith can hear the edge of fear lingering on its tone, ‘Dude, what the fuck –Get out!’

‘It’s my head, you get out! ’

‘No, it’s mine!’

Keith purses his lips and pokes his temple and then his cheek.

‘No, pretty sure it’s my body, my mind, and you’re a weird thing invading it.’

[Or that time Keith had a voice in his head singing and found out he had a quite unique soulmate link.]

early voltron fics my love. remembering fondly the days bleusarcelle and queerklancing dominated the klance tag lmfao. this one is sweet, fun, and it has the trope of all time in it: the phone call where someone sighs wistfully and says ‘i miss you’ and then the other person smiles and goes ‘look behind you, sweetheart’ and theyre THERE. gets me every time fr

3. so tell me darling do you wish we fall in love? by crystalklances/orphan_account

Keith is chosen to represent the Paladins for a diplomatic dinner gala. There's just one problem—he has to bring a spouse. Lucky for him, Lance is ready to play his fake fiancé.

i’ll tell you i was CRUSHED when crystalklances orphaned his account. dude i miss u every day. but thank god all his fics are still available! this one is one of my faves he ever wrote bc it has fake/pretend relationship with good communication somehow. truly art.

4. Like A Prayer by @lancesexual /orphan_account [EXLPLICIT]

"God, I'm so happy with you," Lance whispered.

Something dangerous and soft erupted in Keith's chest, threatening to consume him.

2016 FIC ELITENESS. fuck man. im so serious when i say 2016 immediately means the fic has twenty bonus points. love love love. this is soft and sweet and floundering. i love it when both of them arent sure about anything but each other

5. True Love or Something by @deerstalkerdeathfrisbee

“So that was…” “If you say painless I’m shoving you into another snowdrift.” “Okay, that’s fair. But you got a lollipop!” “That you stole from pediatrics.” “I’m a very good date.”

Lance accidentally crashes into his new neighbor in front of their mailboxes and somehow ends the night with a very attractive (and slightly concussed) date.

ive saved the best for last! i started reading this when i was a young teen (more 2016 love) and it updated steadily for years. this series redefined what love means to me. i will always have the characters in the back of my head, i will always love everything about this series and story and will hold every part of it so dear to my heart. if you have to read one series in the fandom, this one should be a top contender!

that’s it for today!! i’ll see y’all back next friday for the next fic rec post!!!  

[limerental]

ficletober 2022 day 25 - it's steddie again ok

content warning for it gets a bit explicit and kinda yucky, otherwise it's just a redneck eddie character study with no context

Eddie's mama is good home Appalachian white trash through and through. Had him too young to know better. Still living with his Nana down in Virginia and sees her at Christmas sometimes, letters and postcards, phone calls on his birthday.

He thinks of her when Dolly comes on, how she'd swing him on her hip in Nana's kitchen with the radio crackling, dancing with a rhythm that rattled all the plates in the cupboards. How Coat of Many Colors made her bawl while she pet his hair.

This time it's 9 to 5, which Eddie never sang with his Mama and has no good reason to relate to given he's never held a lawful, regular position of employment anywhere but he's sure to give his best soulful, full-body performance to it anyhow.

The filaments of spiderwebs waver in the setting sun like cast fishing line, the air in the trailer park alive with little flitting insects you can't see unless the light hits just right. 

It's August and a neighbor with a garden gave him a big bag of pickling cukes he's slicing into thin rounds while the brine comes to a boil, and Eddie's just started loading up the jars when Steve's car rumbles up and he slaps in through through the screen door, pink-cheeked from the sun in a tucked-in polo so bright-white Eddie feels like he'll get little smudged grease stains on him just walking into a place like this. His guilty little thought is that he likes that idea, getting gross oozing smears all over Steve Harrington in ways that last and last.

"Country?" asks Steve like it's a surprise, and Eddie cracks a grin, tapping a mad barefoot rhythm in the cracked linoleum.

"Sure, baby, I'm redneck as anybody," he drawls. "Plus Dolly's like. Genre-defying."

Ten years old when his daddy died in prison and by then he made an easy target in his podunk school. Weirdo. Whore of a mama, daddy who got caught dealing in a stolen car. Only thing worse than having a deadbeat, loser daddy was the pathetic, squint-eyed pity the locals gave him when the guy died. Shaking their heads and talking about what a shame it all was. No wonder that kid turned out like that.

Simpler to ship him off to live with his uncle up in Indiana, where maybe things would be easier for him. Thirteen when he met Uncle Wayne at the bus station, the guy taking one look at him with his daddy's too big acoustic guitar slung over his shoulders, and ruffling his hair, saying he looked damn like his mama, curls and big eyes and all.

Except turns out, something had already sunk in and festered in him, or else he was a born weirdo. Something his mama smoked when he was in the womb, something in his daddy's genes.

Whipsmart back in Coal Country, he's years behind the other students in Hawkins. He practices in the mirror to unlearn his mama's drawl. Things don't add up, compound into failing grades, summer school, teachers who think he's stubborn or an idiot or a class clown. The other kids laugh with him at first, teasing, joking together, and he realizes too late when that swaps into laughing at him. Freak. Weirdo. Easy target. 

Steve steals one of the slices from the cutting board and crunches on it noisily, wrinkles up his nose like it's offended him.

"Eugh, that's a cucumber."

"Steve," says Eddie, wide-eyed and clasping his hands in a devout mockery of prayer against his face. "Steve, please tell me you know where pickles come from. Humor me. Pretend."

"Pickle… trees?" Steve makes a face. "Sensing that's not it, yeah, got it. How should i know? I'm not some kind of botanicalist, I don't–"

"Lord have mercy."

The plates rattle in the cabinets. The trailer's kitchen is glowing orange like fire while the sun tracks to the black edge of the horizon, and Steve can't dance for shit, always gets a little deer in the headlights when Eddie tries to hip chuck him into it. Slow, Steve puts his hands up high on Eddie's waist and tries to move with him, clumsy as shit but earnest, and Jesus Christ, Eddie wants to keep this guy snug in his pocket and feed him kitchen scraps. Get him a collar. Tug.

Eddie croons and tries to bid Steve to sing along, but he shakes his head, purses his lips. With the brine done boiling and the jars full of sliced cukes and fresh dill and coriander seed, Steve tuts over his pouring technique.

"Watch it. Quit wiggling while you do that. That's boiling fucking water."

"Chill out, my dude," he says, slurring extra syllables into every word, but he fills the rest of the jars with only some sloshing and pauses to wail out the last chorus. Kenny Rogers comes on, and Eddie jumps into an about face, gets both hands into Steve's back pockets and sways for the both of them. A jostle of his elbow has Steve lunging for one of the filled jars to grab it steady, brine spilling down his wrist and Eddie's lower back thumping against the sink, hemmed in. 

Eddie licks the brine from the tendons of Steve's wrist, and the guy huffs.

"What now?"

"Figured you'd suck me off."

"No, like–" Steve's bright red in the square of burning light through the window. "With the pickles."

Eddie shrugs. "Let em cool. Pop em in the fridge. Pickles for the next month. Yeehaw."

He pulls on the neck of Steve's white polo, sees he splattered some spots of brine while carelessly pouring. It's just salt water, won't stain, but he drags his thumb along the wet patch above Steve's left pec and leans to taste, just to check.

"Jesus," says Steve, grabbing him by the hair while the flat of his tongue laps the brine, leaving a wet spot of drool behind on the fabric. "Anyone ever told you you're a freak?"

He says it all bubbling up with twitchy affection, fighting a smile. How absurd of the universe to land Eddie with a dude who'd smile all moon-eyed and fond over an impulsive chest lick. Calling him freak like it was something holy and awed.

Eddie's eyebrows disappear up into his fringe, all mock affront and shock, and then he's stretching out Steve's collar to drag him into an open-mouthed kiss. They like to kiss messy and fast, like the world's going to end between now and the moment they part. Maybe it will, someday. 

"Call me a freak some more," says Eddie against Steve's mouth, their teeth a second from clacking, but Steve just licks back in and puts his thumbs in Eddie's belt and tugs and the light is fading enough in the kitchen that both of them are just a smear of black in the grey and they forget the open jars and take a few of them out with a spill even Steve's quick reflexes can't save and the brine slicks in fat drop off the counter and wets Eddie's shirt and hair where he's slumped down to the ground against the dingy cabinets with Steve between his spread thighs.

He cackles high like a coyote, salt and sprigs of dill in his hair, and it's Steve's turn to lick him clean like a mother cat.

He pulls some dill free, sniffs it, and says, "oh. Pickles."

And it's filthy on the kitchen floor, rarely-mopped and dusty, and it's filthy letting Steve lick brine out of the hair on his lower belly, even though he's pretty sure none leaked down that far. And it's not too sexy doing it to a Jimmy Buffet song on the radio, but Steve mouths every word against his crotch and Eddie shakes with silient laughter. 

"If only Mama could see me now," he says.

"Don't talk about your mom while your dick's in my mouth."

"It's not in there right now, is it? See, my mama and I used to dance around barefoot in the kitche–"

He shuts up when Steve sinks back down. Hands and knees on the linoleum. Rumpled. Polo tugged out of his belt and hair a mess. He'll drag Steve down with him happily. He groans and sigh like something's dying in him.  And maybe it is.

[neverenoughmarauders]

When we were up to no good

Chapter 39: Werewolf troubles

When the January full moon neared, Remus lied once more and said that his mother hadn't fully recovered yet from the illness over Christmas. By the time the February full moon arrived, Remus was starting run out of excuses. He couldn't continuously go home to see his mother. He could say he was ill, once more, but that had been the excuse he had used when they had travelled together on the Hogwarts Express before the start of term. What was left to him?

Somehow, he managed to drag himself through most of his classes the day of the full moon, fuelled as much by numb panic as Madam Pomfrey's potions. He had no idea what to say to his friends. Remus should have left himself more thinking time.

In Potions, the second to last lesson that Tuesday, he finally snapped and did something effective - but rather desperate. Pretending to stumble and fall, he caught the side of his cauldron and drenched himself in the half-finished potion.

The pain was acute, though not nearly as bad as what he was about to experience later that evening. It still hurt. He whimpered, and instinctively tried to wipe the potion off him. It felt like the gooey liquid was burning his skin.

This hadn't been a good plan. It was starting to hurt badly. Why had he done this? Another pained sound escaped him.

'Remus!'

'Shit, don't - just lie still mate, take it easy.'

'Professor! Do something! Help him!'

His friends voices were filled with concern, and while it took Professor Slughorn too long, the man managed to conjure a stretcher and get Remus up to the Hospital Wing.

'Professor Slughorn should have been able to do more for you!' Sirius complained as they all sat around Remus' bed a little later. The rest of the class had been cancelled. It seemed unlikely that Professor Slughorn would teach more that day.

'And had I fallen at any other time, he would have,' Remus said, feeling a need to defend their Potions professor who did indeed come out of this incident looking bad, when Remus had timed it so deliberately for his own purposes.

'It was just bad luck, that's all,' James said, still looking slightly shaken.

'It was awful luck,' Peter agreed.

'You do seem to be one of the unluckiest people I've met,' Sirius said, frowning.

Don't think too much about it, Remus prayed. But when had anyone ever listened to his prayers?

'Yeah, do us all a favour and place a bet on Ravenclaw winning the match,' James said, 'you never know, it could help.'

Madam Pomfrey had been able to heal him almost as soon as he arrived, and she had played along and told the others Remus had to stay a couple of nights. But her disapproval was palpable.

'Your body is going through enough as it is young man!' she said sternly as soon as the others had left. And he couldn't exactly disagree with her on that point.

Rest of the chapter

[authorautumnbanks]

How To Tame A Sorcerer (48)

Series Master list

Kagome cuts her eyes towards Yakeru, who is doing a superb job at pretending as though his spinner is much more interesting than the news he just dropped. "So," she says, shifting on the bar stool. "Who is this demon that has you so afraid?"

Maybe with Satoru and Nanami-san gone, Yakeru will be much more forthcoming with his information.

"Kagome-sama, your skin is just glowing!" His green eyes sparkle as the spinner comes to a stop. "Surely, one such as yourself does not need to be concerned with demon affairs."

Or maybe not.

Kagome puffs out her cheeks. Since when did Yakeru start taking after Satoru? Or was he always so deflective? She presses her lips together in a flat line as she stares at him and stares at him some more until his eyes dart around, looking for an escape route that doesn't exist. "Yakeru….," she warns, her voice low as though Yakeru is a young kit up to no good. Which, at this point, she's convinced that he is.

"My lady, he isn't someone that you need to worry about. He cares more about keeping us demons in line." He pauses. "For the most part. As long as we don't overstep and cause too much chaos." He nods his head. "A little mischief is fine, but nothing to alert the general population." He places a finger to his chin as he seems to lose himself in his thoughts.

Kagome nods her head as she slides off the barstool. She dusts her hands together. Yakeru doesn't want to tell her the name of this head demon in charge — fine. She'll just get the name from said demon personally. "You don't have to tell me his name," she says. Yakeru instantly looks relieved at her admission. "I want you to set up a meeting." She smiles.

The distinct sound of Yakeru's mental state breaking snaps into her like a whip. Kagome tilts her head, clasping her hands behind her back as Yakeru falls off of the stool and hits the kitchen floor. He stays there for a moment, convincing Kagome that perhaps her request broke him. Yakeru struggles to his knees. His breath comes out heavy, like he's been in a fight all morning. Now that she thinks about it, he is probably still recovering from the miasma he was exposed to.

"K-Kagome-sama, your mate would have my head." Yakeru clasps his hands together in prayer, muttering, "Inari-sama, make her see reason." His tail swishes behind him fervently to the tune of his prayers.

Kagome hums. Satoru would be pissed if she went to see some powerful demon without him. She lets out an exasperated breath. She can't just charge in recklessly like she used to. "Satoru will be there, of course," she says, directing Yakeru to his feet. "And it is not like we are going there for a fight. Naraku's crimes are on Naraku, not this demon- who-shall-not-be-named." Kagome frowns at the terrified expression staring back at her.

"Satoru is going to kill me," he says, "and if he doesn't then–" He promptly stuffs his claws into his mouth and chews on the ends, becoming more and more unraveled before her eyes.

Her eyes twitch.

Her mouth trembles as she suppresses the urge to laugh.

It shouldn't be funny, but his dramatics are much more preferable to the blank faced Yakeru back at the shop. She was worried about how Yumi's death was going to affect him.

"You remind me of Shippo-chan…. so dramatic," Kagome says. She rolls her eyes and starts to walk out of the kitchen, pausing before walking out. "Try to make the meeting somewhere that has food. Megumi-kun was telling me about some new restaurant that opened up not too far from here. Satoru will be much more agreeable if he eats some dessert beforehand."

"But, Kagome-sama–"

"No buts, just do." She waves at him as she leaves the room. The walk up the stairs more daunting with each step. Yakeru means well, but Satoru and Nanami-san are right. The other clans are more at risk now and if all of them were to get wiped out, then what's stopping the demons from using the curses to overpower the other humans?

Nothing?

But then what stops those curses from overpowering the demons?

The Shikon pulses, jolting her out of her musings as she sits down on the bed. "That's why we need to meet this demon that Yakeru is afraid of. He must have come to the same conclusion," she says, looking down at the floor. "Besides, I have a great feeling about this."

Satoru cracks his neck from side to side as he observes the old geezers over the rim of his shades. He stuffs his hands into his pocket as he puts on a cheerful facade. "Gakuganji! Your skin is looking extra saggy today. Did you change up your skin care routine? I can send you a list of recommendations that'll have you looking nearly as good as me."

"Show some respect." Gakuganji clenches his hands over his cane, which shakes from the pent-up anger that wants to boil over in the room.

"Soo scary!" Satoru coos. He rolls his shoulders back. "Get on with it. I have a shit ton to do today."

An elder with long gray hair pulled back into a high ponytail steps forward. His eyes are just as dull as his hair. "We understand the reasoning behind keeping the attack at Jujutsu High under wraps."

Satoru cringes at the sound of the man's voice. It's all gravely with a weird pitch that makes him want to douse his ears in a fire. Why on earth did they select this geezer to speak for them? To get back at him in any way that they can?

"But with the attack at the Gojo clan, we need to act quickly," the man continues, waving a hand in the air to punctuate his words. "The scroll on the Shikon Jewel was taken." He pauses as though he is an actor delivering his punchline, waiting for the audience to react in horror to the information revealed.

Frankly, Satoru wishes they would just get on with it. A second hanging out with them is far too long.

"That wasn't the only thing that was taken."

"No, but it is the only thing that matters. We know where Sukuna's vessel is. Perhaps these unregistered curses are seeking to boost their own power or—"

"Or they are trying to revive Sukuna," Gakuganji says, doing a piss job at intimidating Satoru with that glare. "Which is why we should have exorcised the vessel a long time ago."

"Be that as it may, we know where the vessel is. The chances of them being able to revive the cursed womb paintings are laughable. What we don't know is where the Shikon Jewel is."

They thought Sukuna could never find a vessel and yet here they all were.

Murmurs break out in the room as the other higher-ups lean in towards one another. Irritation bubbles in his chest as the heat spreads up his neck. Where do they get off referring to Yuji as though he isn't a person? None of them seem to grasp the sacrifice that Yuji is making… no, they just do not care to, choosing instead to look at Yuji as though his live isn't worth the effort.

"Alright, so we find this jewel. I fail to see how this has to do with the near extinction of my clan," Satoru says, his voice cool and collected. "Or why it's more important than tracking down Sukuna's fingers?"

"It's not just some jewel, boy," the elder hisses out. "It is a wish-granting jewel that only brings calamity. Until now, we thought demons were long gone. It is no coincidence that the school was attacked, nor your clan. This will only create a ripple effect."

"Perhaps we should start with investigating that Kagome—"

"You leave my fiancé out of this," Satoru warns, his cursed energy rising—reminding them that he could crush all of them in the blink of an eye.

There is more murmuring amongst themselves before the elder with the annoying voice speaks up. "This isn't a matter that involves her, though we are thankful for her aiding the students in battle. I, we, are proposing instead to have everyone keep a lookout for any suspicious activity or energies. That energy surge we all felt could have very well been the Shikon itself. Is everyone in favor?"

A chorus of "Yes." Rings out, signaling that the meeting is over. Satoru swaps out his shades for his blindfold as he makes his way over to Shoko's area. His mind is cluttered with thoughts of how pointless the meeting was. Nothing got accomplished. Find the jewel, but no word on what it looks like, and the complete dismissal on retrieving the cursed paintings is baffling.

It's for the best, he thinks, that they are focusing on retrieving a jewel and not considering the possibilities of it merging with someone, but ignoring the other items that were stolen is not the answer.

"Does your six eyes also give you a sixth scent or something?" Shoko's bored tone draws him out of his musings. The bags under her eyes are darker. No thanks to him dropping Cho off in the early hours of the morning. She sounds detached, which only further confirms to him that somewhere in between him dropping Cho off and his meeting with the higher ups, that something went wrong.

"What happened?" He follows her into the makeshift hospital room, noting how the Cho appears to be fast asleep on the bed even with the machine beeping every so often. The room is dimmed, but still has that distinct clean smell that only comes disinfecting so often.

"Cursed like Tsumiki." She sighs. "I thought little of it when she fell asleep because of the things that she went through, but she's showing the same symptoms."

"There weren't any curses at the manor. Naraku got in somehow, but none of the estates are equipped to keep out any demon."

"She came from the insides of a demon. That alone is bound to have some kind of effect on her."

"But if it's a curse like Tsumiki, then she should be fine with Naraku being dead." Satoru stands over Cho. "Unless it's the same curse." He grits his teeth. Kagome may not like his methods, but one way or another, he's going to get some information out of Yakeru, starting with who this powerful demon is.

Turns out, he didn't need to threaten Yakeru. Somehow Kagome got the fox to set up a dinner meeting at the new restaurant he had been thinking about dining at. "So, where exactly are all of the other customers?" Satoru throws an arm over the back of Kagome's chair, watching how the staff seems to scurry about.

Something is off about them. Similar to Naraku, but not the same.

"Paid to not have anyone else here." Yakeru halfway turns and nods at the staff. "Don't worry, they're half demons. They won't go blabbing."

Makes sense that Yakeru would be rich. He wonders if all the foxes share the wealth or if it's just simply because of how long Yakeru has been alive.

"Any update on Cho?" Kagome asks. A girl with dark brown hair sets out a plate of macaroons in front of them. Kagome swipes two before he does.

"Well, Cho is–" His reply gets cut short at the sudden flare of energy. His own powers rise in response, as the air becomes denser. It is as though his throat wants to collapse onto itself, as the power is so much more oppressive than any special grade he's gone up against. Satoru pushes his energy down. Starting a fight is not what this meeting is about… maybe if Kagome wasn't in attendance.

The demon walks over to them, his glamor fading away as golden eyes ignore both him and Yakeru and focus only on Kagome. "Priestess," he says coolly, still not paying attention to Satoru, which only causes worry to fester in Satoru's gut.

How does he know Kagome is a priestess?

Are there more demons that are even close to being as strong as this one?

He opens his mouth to greet this demon, knowing that in these cases it would be better to be tactful, but Kagome beats him to it.

"Sesshomaru!" she yells, practically leaping out of her chair and startling everyone, Satoru included, with the outburst.

Wait.

She knows this demon?

He chances a glance at Yakeru, who sits there slack-jawed and looking even more devoted. Sesshomaru pulls out a chair and sits next to Yakeru. Kagome is buzzing with energy next to him. Satoru decides he hates this Sesshomaru with his stupid perfectly carved face and golden eyes that only seem to spark when landing on Kagome. Irrational? Yeah, but he sees how the foxes fawn over her, the last thing he needs is this one doing the same.

Not on his watch.

[electricbluebutterflies]

''we don't need to rush anything.''

Yet another attempt at a plausible first encounter for Jessica/Leto // give me a ship with that long of a vague history and I'm gonna end up in some places. PG-ish and also on ao3.

They are alone. They are so damningly alone.

Jessica was made for this, has trained her entire life for this, but training means nothing behind a closed door and faced with the reality of what is beyond her control. She has never felt vulnerability before, never felt how young she really is or the countless ways she could be minimized or mis-used or-

It would be easier, she thinks, if her counterpart would do something. If he’d try to confirm everything she thinks she knows about men and she’d have to defend herself and establish a safe balance from the beginning. But instead he watches her, like curiosity not prey, and oh she already suspects this will become the end of her.

She knows where this is supposed to end, what she is supposed to do, but it’s like the air on this new planet has done something to her, awoken traits she did not know she possessed a week ago. A stubbornness her superiors had successfully repressed, she supposes, but they are not here to limit her. There is only her, scared girl trying to pretend she isn’t, faced with an unknown factor and-

At the very least, she should use this opportunity to learn everything she can, interpret personality from movements and word choice. She was told nothing, she is brutally aware, she was not even told where she was being sent until it happened and that will become the seed of all anger but not quite yet, not when she is in over her head and one slip of composure will destroy her before she even starts her tasks and-

“What even are you,” her counterpart murmurs after a while, unsure his voice is even heard, still at respectful distance from her and unsure where to look. She wants to appreciate this caution she can’t pin down, but right now it doesn’t feel safe, right now it feels like he’s a moment from pushing her away completely and she’ll have to pivot to get any attention at all let alone control him and-

Jessica does not know what she’s doing. This will be her defense for decades to come – she is more naïve than she realizes until it damns her, she is left to her own devices, and her heart is not anywhere near as stable as it ought to be. She knows there are protocols for a situation this formal, but she is too panicked to remember the exact details and she decides an appropriate escalation is to remove her outer dress. There’s still a few layers left on her, but nothing that could be described as warm, and quite a bit more of her skin is now visible, and she is supposed to hit a placement’s every weakness and why isn’t this one responding to her and-

“What are you doing?”

She gives him a sharp look and she can see the rest of her life unfolding before her and it doesn’t look unpleasant, it looks like petty misunderstandings like breathing at worst and she could work with that, she could learn to internalize frustrations caused by a man who she has already decided is basically harmless opposite her. If there were any real threat it would’ve happened by now, she tells herself, if there were anything to fear she’d be able to prove it and she would’ve fought and she hasn’t, and it’s the softness of it all that has her off-balance, and-

“Trying to motivate you,” she says after a moment. ��Trying to get this over with.”

“This…?”

Skies, how she hates that intelligence and perception aren’t the same trait. This is probably what she’s here for, to run damage control against obliviousness, to shape into something that looks better in public. Not a worst-case scenario, but a clear waste of her potential and she hates that too, she hates-

“Some form of… consummation is expected, under these circumstances,” she decides is tactful and vague enough. “Whatever you decide that means.”

His turn for a blank look and a silent prayer to whatever might be listening to get him out of this nightmare, or at least that’s what it looks like from her angle. “I’m not going to hurt you. Whoever told you that…”

“I’m not asking you to hurt me,” she hisses. “I’m asking you to put your hands on me. I’d like to think there’s a difference.”

“There ought to be. But that doesn’t mean… we don’t need to rush anything.”

“You don’t want me.” If she can’t make this easy for herself, might as well provoke. Might as well remove a few more layers without any thought to making it pleasant to watch, just making herself visible, stopping when she’s down to basic undergarments and focusing too much energy on keeping her body warm, this new place is a different kind of cold and she suspects her mental state isn’t helping her regulation and-

“How could anyone look at you and not want you? That isn’t the point! I don’t know you. I barely caught your name during that ceremony, you didn’t speak until we were alone, you’re trying to defend yourself in the strangest way and-“

“Is my fear that obvious?” She needs to know, she decides, she shouldn’t ever ask such things but she needs to know, she needs-

“Yes. And I… it’s alright. You don’t need to…”

“We need to do something. To make this real.”

He moves closer, not quite close enough to touch but enough to make body language even clearer, and already he is easy for her, already made vulnerable in the first situation he has faced in a long time that he does not see a clear way around. Perhaps they were made to challenge each other. Perhaps that will become their strength.

Jessica is no romantic, aware as she is that love is something that only happens to women who don’t carry the weight of the known world in their bodies, but she feels the slightest flickers of affection in her heart and perhaps she will survive this after all. This one is fair, at least, and she can work within his confusion as long as there is no intentional malice to it, and-

“I don’t know you,” he repeats, and there’s somehow a kindness to it, a proud weakness of someone who doesn’t bare them easily. “But that will change.”

“Do something. Anything.”

A deep kiss is not quite tradition, but it is enough to fulfill requirements, she thinks as it happens. Good way to learn what a person is, the way his hands move on her skin, he has never done anything halfway and will not start with her but that is not an inherent problem like this, not when she has already slipped within his loyalties without even doing anything to earn it and-

She is warm, she thinks as they part for air. She is warm, and everything else will follow.

“Will that do?”

“If you want more, take. I will allow.”

He does, and her warmth does not fade. Perhaps not alone, really. Perhaps part of something. Perhaps, someday, loved.

[dontyoufinditstrange]

Infinity On High Lyrics That Alter My Brain Chemistry

Thriller

"i found the safest place to keep all of our mistakes" "long live the car crash hearts" "fix me in forty-five" "i can take your problems away with a nod and a wave of my hand" "the only thing i haven't done yet is die"

"The Take Over, The Break's Over"

"seasons change but people don't" "don't pretend you ever forgot about me" "we don't fight fair" "people will dissect us til this doesn't mean a thing anymore" "we do it in the dark with smiles on our faces"

This Ain't a Scene, Its An Arms Race

"i am an arms dealer, fitting you with weapons in the form of words" "i'm not a shoulder to cry on, but i digress" "the lies i weave are oh so intricate" "i wrote the gospel on giving up"

I'm Like A Lawyer With The Way I'm Always Trying To Get You Off (Me & You)

"last year's wishes are this year's apologies" "i take my last chance to burn a bridge or two" "i only keep myself this sick in the head cause i know how the words get you off" "we're the new face of failure" "prettier and younger but not any better off" "bulletproof loneliness" "collect the bad habits that you couldn't bear to keep out of the woods" "the best way to make it through with hearts and wrists intact is to realize that two out of three ain't bad"

Hum Hallelujah

"you're someone who knows someone who knows someone i once knew" "i could write it better than you ever felt it" "i thought i loved you it was just how you looked in the light" "til tonight do us part" "i'll sing the blues and swallow them too" "one day we'll get nostalgic for disaster" "i love you in the same way there's a chapel in a hospital; one foot in your bedroom, and one foot out the door" "sometimes we take chances, sometimes we take pills"

Golden

"how cruel is the golden rule when the lives we lived are only golden plated?" "i knew that the lights of the city were too heavy for me" "i saw god cry in the reflection of my enemies and all the lovers with no time for me" "tongues on the sockets of electric dreams" "where the sewage of youth drowned the spark of my teens"

Thnks Fr Th Mmrs

"say a prayer but let the good times roll in case god doesn't show" "and i want these words to make things right but its the wrongs that make the words come to life" "one night and one more time"

Don't You Know Who I Think I Am?

"we only want to sing you to sleep" "there's a world outside of my front door that gets off on being down" "i could learn to pity fools as i'm the worst of all" "i can't stop feeling sorry for myself"

The (After) Life Of The Party

"i'm a stitch away from making it and a scar away from falling apart" "put love on hold, young hollywood is on the other line" "singing songs that could only catch the ear of the desperate" "kiss away young thrills and kills on the mouths of all my friends"

The Carpal Tunnel Of Love

"stomp out this disaster town" "we might've started singing just a little soon" "we're throwing stones at a glass moon" "we're so miserable and stunning" "love songs for the genuinely cunning" "dreaming of sinking with the melody of the cliffs of eternity" "got postcards from my former selves saying 'how you been?'" "we might've said goodbye just a little soon" "take two years, and call me when you're better"

Bang The Doldrums

" i couldn't bring myself to call except to call it quits" "best friends, ex-friends til the end" "better off as lovers, not the other way around" "i can't commit to a thing be it heart or hospital" "i cast a spell over the west to make you think of me the same way i think of you" "this is a love song in my own way"

Fame > Infamy

"when i'm home alone i just dance by myself" "the kid was alright but it went to his head" "i'm addicted to the way i feel when i think of you" "there's too much green to feel blue"

You're Crashing But You're No Wave

"everyone's looking for relief" "only breathing with the aid of disbelief" "baby boy can't lift his headached head" "isn't it tragic?" "hang on a rope or bated breath, whichever you prefer" "a bidding war for an old flame's grief" "not a word that could make you comprehend" "unimpressed birds sing and die"

I've Got All This Ringing In My Ears And None On My Fingers

"cause sorrow is all the rage" "i'm so sorry, but not really" "the truth hurts worse than anything i could bring myself to do to you" "do you remember the way i held your hand under the lamppost and ran home this way so many times i could close my eyes?"

[naoa-ao3]

Pestilence Rides Again

Betrayal was not a concept Kronos would ever have imagined himself becoming familiar with. He was not a man that smart people betrayed and yet he had been betrayed and by one of his own.

Methos had betrayed him, locked him away in a well for centuries. His own brother, a man he had fought along side and shared food and drink with. . . Someone who's very life he had both saved and spared multiple times and the reality of it was almost too humiliating to bare.

For centuries now he had been trapped in the well, left there by a man he still thought of as his brother while Methos went off and played his games of pretend in the open world.

But he was out now.

A dead novice monk lay behind him, echoes of prayer on his still lips to a god that had risen in Kronos's absence.

Away from the well and ruins he fled, away from his brother's idea of a cell. He wanted fresh air and wind on his face again. He had been denied that for so long but he wasn't crazed. He'd had time to think down there and think he had. He had thought of many things, of what had gone wrong with the Horsemen and what he would do to Methos when he found him.

He'd hurt him, that much was sure but he wouldn't kill him. Methos had not killed him and without him there were no Horsemen.

Since the original group he'd formed he had been able to find no other men like them. Methos, Caspian and Silas has simply been a cut above the rest or perhaps it was that they had simply worked well together. The formula of mind and strength had melded perfectly when they had ridden side by side and it was Methos who had first broken their band apart.

If he could get him back then all could be restored. They'd ride again and this softening world would learn what it meant to fear once more.

He was weak however as he stumbled away from the well and his prison. Priests and useless men of piety had come and brought him food, no doubt sent by none other than his old friend. Perhaps Methos had some misplaced notion of brotherhood still but it had never been enough and he would have to eat and become strong again.

It wouldn't take long and he would be at full strength again.

Wrapped in the priest boy's cloak he left his stagnant fate behind and made his way towards a cluster of buildings in the distance. There he would find a sword again, a proper one and start anew.

Word had not come that the priest boy was dead and when he arrived at the inn he was greeted with a surprising amount of respect.

"Father, have you travelled far?" The inn keeper asked.

He glanced at the man. Father? He was no one's son and no one's father to be sure. Yet he didn't correct him. "Oh yes, you could say that I have travelled far." He said. "and you could say I have not travelled far indeed at all."

The man gave him a strange look but nodded and he imagined now the priestling he had murdered might have been more important than he'd thought.

He would bide his time and see.

Greece looked the same, the landscape was unchanged but the buildings. . . There were changes there and the clothes the people wore were different.

He had no exact idea of how long he had been in the well, Methos had been gone for a great number of years, he knew that and as he ordered meat and bread and drink he thought of these things.

Where was Methos now? Where were any of the others? Silas and Caspian?

The inn keeper seemed curious about him and hung around. "Father, are you heading to the monastery?" He asked, pointing into the distance.

Kronos looked that way. Monastery? He did not understand this word. He shook his head just the same. "Only passing through." He said.

The man nodded and he ate with glutenous joy. So long he had been denied such things, only what the miserable priests brought him and threw down to him. Water and bread for they had feared him.

Well, they had been right to.

He finished his food and the inn keeper hesitated. "Bless me Father?" He asked.

Kronos laughed and made the sign the young priest had. "In the name of Jesus Christ, the Unknown One: you are blessed." He said, enjoying the theatrics. He knew nothing of this Christ. He only knew the little priest had cried the name and that when he had nothing had happened.

Kronos had outlived gods already. One more hardly made any difference. The only gods that were real were the ones that brought death. The ones like him and his brothers. They were what men should have feared.

When he had eaten and drunk and satiated himself he began to chat with the inn keeper, asking him little questions to test the world.

Much time had passed and he had a great deal to catch up on and learn. To adapt to but he could do it. It would not be hard for him. He could do it easily.

"I thank you for the food and the company." He said, eying the simple man who had served him.

The man turned to look at him. "Ah but you haven't played, father." He said as Kronos gathered himself and rose to leave.

He laughed then. "No, I haven't. Was my blessing not enough?"

The man fumbled. "Ah no of course but. . . Father would you rob me so?"

A petulant and stupid question. Of course he would and he drew near the man, almost conspiratorially. "Yes my child, I would."

He banged the man's head down on the counter, making him cry out as he grabbed him then by his ear and hit him again, over and over and over in a flurry of cathartic violence. He hit him until there was blood and the crying had stopped and then he did indeed rob him.

He took the purse of coins from the man's belt and a knife from behind the counter and grabbed up yet more bread for his travels.

Here was a blessing of the old days. A blessing of pestilence at it's most merciful. The moaning lump of flesh on the ground was not dead.

He went then and found the man's horse out back and stole that as well, finding it a weak, old nag, in no better shape than it's master but he swung himself onto the beast and was riding again.

It felt good to ride again.

A Horseman once more as he set off, leaving a small and useless corner of the world behind.

His quest would continue now. He would find Methos and his brothers if all were still living and one way or another, even if he had to torture Methos into it, he would reunite them.

He was free now and a thousand years of stagnation had come to an end. Pestilence rode once more and this new age, with her new gods and priests would know the taste of his blade and the fear of their ancestors for he would set right the old order and the world would kneel as it always had been meant to.

Kronos was free and so all should fear. His promises were of pain and brotherhood. He would have his day again.

[uplatterme]

For Church is the Holiest Place

cw: sub!taiju, virgin!taiju, dom!reader, afab!reader, succubus!reader, religious themes, implied stalking, possessive behavior, manipulation, church sex, exhibitionism? (does having sex while god is watching count), reader is mean, mommy kink, mommy issues, coercion, dubcon, overall dark content.

a/n: since none of y’all want to write sub!taiju, im doing it 🙄 even if you don’t like him, maybe give this one a read still? i think it’s quite alright. also, i just want to say i don’t even like taiju that much but writing this was so fun lmao AND exploring my hc of taiju being shy of women just like hakkai is top tier honestly

minors for god’s sake go away and don’t interact with this post

You were and have always been out of place. To think someone of your status would be here, pretending to be like any other common folk is ridiculous in itself.

Yet, here you are. A succubus dressed up as a nun in uncomfortable robes, your skin begging you to let it breathe.

Others thought it was a shame. Such a shame that someone of your beauty would stay unmarried but they supposed that the way you were being faithful to the lord is a good reason for doing so.

News always surrounded you, what made the maiden walk this path? You were the talk of the town, gathering attention of both men and women who wanted to see this admired this beauty even if they weren’t your average church goers.

Such lovely prey going after you, it was unbearable. You just wanted to place them under you and to hear the pleases and gratitude they would say when you finally have control.

Nevertheless, patience is a virtue. A sentence you’d never thought you’d say but here you are.

It started a few months ago when you were roaming and accidentally bumped into a rather attractive young man. There was something quite unique about him and as you continued to find out more, you couldn’t help but to be enticed.

You couldn’t just terrorize him in his dreams, no. That would be a waste.

The fact that he was religious was both a double-edged knife. You hated having to hear him pray every night when you just wanted to mess with him already, instead you have to keep your hands to yourself and wait.

On the other hand, you loved how inexperienced Taiju was. Imagining what else you could do to him gave you such a thrill, it made your mind hazy.

Still, that didn’t stop you from teasing him every now and then, only leaving when he became a whimpering mess and edging him before he could even finish, waking him up unsatisfied.

You were too evil, not even letting him cum at least once and making Taiju have to do all of the work which you know he despises, being the religious man that he is.

How could you not? It was his fault anyways. How dare he have that look on his face especially when he’s down on his knees kneeling and praying?

It irked you to see that his prayers were not meant for you.

When the mass ended, you saw him about to leave and usually you would let him go.

Not today.

It was a quiet day today, only a few people went at this hour. You made sure to use that opportunity to finally harvest your fruit.

You accidentally tripped on your long skirt, forcefully making sure that you landed in his direction. The altar wine you were holding crashed into pieces as you fell on top of him, causing you both to lay on the ground with the wine pouring out everywhere.

“Ow, sorry about that.” You exclaimed, acting worried right in front of his face.

Your veil had fallen out of your hair as you intended. “Ah! You’ve gotten some wine on your face.”

With your right hand, you leaned in closer to him using the said veil to gently wipe his face. Taiju hasn’t responded a word, but you could see a tint of red on his cheeks complimenting his blue hair.

He’s already this flustered just from being close to a woman? How cute.

You figured it was time to take it up a notch when you slightly pressed on his crotch still pretending to wipe the wine off.

“Ngh!”

His voice was quiet but you heard it and you saw it.

You saw how he twitched and stopped himself. You saw how his right fist clenched and the way his lips tried to keep his throat from making a noise. You saw how scared his eyes were if he was to make the poor nun react if he moaned loudly all of the sudden.

“Oh! Am I heavy? I didn’t notice, I’m so sorry.” You apologized to him, finally getting up and reaching out your hand for him to hold on to while he stands up.

He didn’t. How mean…

After all the attention you’ve been giving him for these past few months? Ah, but he doesn’t know that. Right.

“Mind helping me clean up? If you don’t want to that’s totally fine-“

“I’ll help.” He said, fixing up his suit and while you weren’t looking Taiju was also seen to be adjusting his pants.

Everything was falling right into your place and him agreeing to you was the last puzzle piece. He couldn’t escape now.

You led him to the back room, locking the door right after the two of you entered. “Your name is Taiju, right? I’ve always seen you come here at least once a week.”

“Yeah. ‘Forgot to ask, what’s yours?”

“Taiju, are you a sinner?” You ask him, sitting on a stool placed near the table.

“Aren’t we all? Listen, ma’am. I didn’t come here to confess my sins. If you don’t need any help then I’ll be going my way.” He was obviously frustrated. As much as he’d like to admit that he’d want to stay longer due to how beautiful the sister was, he knew that that was wrong.

He’d committed too many sins in his life already.

“What’s to add one more?” You stated, leaving him in a confused state.

“Excuse me?”

“Tell me, Taiju. What’s the worst sin you’ve ever done?”

Thoughts suddenly filled his head of things that he wished that he shouldn’t have done. But it was too late.

His eyes met yours. He didn’t know what to think of you. You were purposely ignoring every single question he asked and you still kept interrogating him profusely.

“Too personal? That’s fine. Hmm… How about your most recent sin?” You already knew everything about Taiju, him not answering you didn’t make a single difference.

You could see him hesitate as he remembered what it was. You couldn’t help but to give him a grin.

“I’m going.”

“Just one last question?” You promised him, placing yourself between him and the locked door.

“What-“

You pulled on his tie bringing his lips close to yours before kissing him. He was taller than most but that won’t stop you from getting what you want.

He just tasted so damn good and this wasn’t even the main course.

Taiju was freaking out, to say the least. Was he dreaming right now? Was it like his previous wet dream from the other day?

If so, why was he doing it with a woman of the church?

But he couldn’t let go, he was too weak. Taiju had never been the weaker one. How were you able to turn him into such a feeble little thing? He had to fight back. Should he?

“How was that?”

“W-what? You?!” You heard him yell and you saw how he almost raised a hand at you.

He stopped himself. Maybe he was trying to atone for his actions, after all. It’s not like you cared, you weren’t an angel and it didn’t matter if he tried to punch you.

He was only a mere human and you were a demon.

“Am I dreaming?” He uttered to himself, absolutely bewildered.

“My, I didn’t know I was that good.” You proudly commended yourself.

"Why are you doing this? Aren’t you a nun? This is a sin that you’re doing right now.”

“I’m not dumb, Taiju. Of course, I know. To answer your question, well, it’s because I’m in love with you.” You said, fidgeting your fingers together.

It wasn’t exactly a lie but it wasn’t the exact truth either. He should’ve been more specific in asking you then.

Taiju had never been told that someone was in love with him. Not even within his family members, it hurt him a bit but he knew that he deserved it.

Your words seem to highly affect him as he was silent for a few seconds. You just knew what to say. This has been your job for centuries, of course you would. Although, you had to admit he was putting up a fight.

“This. This is still wrong.”

“But it feels good, doesn’t it?” You asserted, kneeing his cock softly, his back leaning on the wall for support.

“Ahh- Y-you shouldn’t do this. We’re not even married.”

Taiju was a tough one to crack. You didn’t want to have sex with him if you were the only one enjoying yourself, that would be unfair. You sighed, you guessed that there wouldn’t be any other choice.

“Fine. Let’s make a vow.”

You pulled your knee away, and turned to his flushed face. “Are you proposing?”

Technically, you couldn’t get married. A vow was more of a partnership. A contract would be a simpler way to explain it.

“Yes?” You agreed, not really sure of what to say.

You really thought he’d deny it. You were this close to just finding someone else, maybe the next person you would see right when you exited this wretched place.

“A-alright.”

Your smile right after he said that sent shivers down his cock. It made him feel embarrassed that he would get hard from such a simple thing.

You thought it was impressive though, that after all this time he’d only just do it now.

“I’d make it worth your time, Taiju.”

His length being cornered against his pants excited you. Your nails traced the zipper and it already got Taiju twitching for you. Had he forgotten the fact that you both were in a church?

Seeing his dick each night you visited, you already knew how big the man was. It was one of the most fascinating ones you’ve encountered, you’d take a picture of it and frame it if you could.

Even so, the best part of it was how sensitive his tip is. “Fuck!” He’d started breathing heavily ever since your hand started to take a hold of his entire cock. Casually putting pressure in all the right places, almost like you’ve practiced and done this before.

“Can you still stand up?” He nodded at you eagerly, waiting for you to continue.

You didn’t miss how he started to slowly thrust himself into your hand. This caused you to grab him tightly. “I’m the one taking the lead here, remember? ‘Doubt someone with your inexperience would do better than me. Got that?”

“Y-yes! I’m sorry.”

You opened your mouth to drip down saliva on top of him. The coldness of it filled Taiju with a mix of confusion. It was a bit painful but the more seconds past, the better it started to feel.

Being a succubus, having saliva that gave the same effects as an aphrodisiac was common. You wondered if he would be able to handle it.

He was already leaking pre-cum when you licked the tip of his dick. You’ve got Taiju wondering what your life was before you became a nun.

All his questions went away when you decided to take him whole, length going down to your throat. He couldn’t hold it anymore, he had to cum.

He wanted to scream your name but you’ve never told him what it was.

When your free hands caressed his thighs, his cum gashed out directly inside your throat. You enjoyed every single drop of it, steam coming out of your mouth when you finally let go of him. He became more vocal when he orgasmed, you wouldn’t doubt it if someone from the outside heard.

His legs were shaking, unable to hold his weight anymore. You caught him before he fell, he did such a good job.

“C-can I ask you something?” He was still sensitive, you could tell when his clothes were tightening hard around his chest. His nipples earned some sort of satisfaction as it brushed against his vest.

“Mhm?”

“What’s your name?”

Ah, you didn’t usually like to give out your name since you’ve never come back twice to the same person. Having them want to reach out to you again after you’ve dealt with them. It agonized your victims when they couldn’t receive that same touch of yours anymore.

Maybe, your opinion for Taiju would be different.

“How about this? I’ll tell you after.”

His pupils widened when he heard your last words. Another one?

“For now… Just call me Mommy, won’t you?”

His hold of you hardened when you told him that.

You brushed his hair with your fingers, before giving him a pat on the head. It’s way messier now compared to before when it was slicked back. “Come on. It’s not like there’s something stopping you. Right, darling? ♡”

Of course you knew about his history with his mother. Was it a bit mean? Maybe, but you didn’t outright say it. It was on him if that was the first thing he thought of.

Besides, how could he deny you when you just called him “darling” as if you were some married couple? No one had given him love these past few years he’d been alone.

“I’ll try…”

You gave him a peck and gently laid him down on the ground. These carpets were a lifesaver with how soft it was. Too bad it would get stained later on.

Finally, the long skirt you were wearing was taken off. Only having your laced panties along with some black stockings. You should’ve worn your garter belts today.

Taiju was tense, ever since he decided to turn to the right path he’d never even touched himself once or indulged in any pornography. He’d only started to satisfy his lustful desires this past month or so.

Your bare thighs were placed on his, the friction that you made each time you moved turned him on.

Without even giving him a warning, he was already inside you. This was one of the best benefits that being a succubus had. You didn’t need any preparation because you’re always prepared and ready to take anyone.

Taiju’s back arched, even from just insertion. You haven’t even taken him whole yet, it was adorable.

“Ngh! Ah! Mhm-“ His whimpers were so damn mouthwatering, lust present in every single one of them. He could try to hold it in but if he did, you wouldn’t let him.

“H-hold on!” He begged you, still the only thing he could do was take the waves of pleasure, the tip of his dick finally hitting your cervix. He thought that you’d finally stop but you just continued moving up and down thrusting yourself into him.

He needed to breathe. He could feel his drool coming out of his mouth along with his moans.

“Just a minute, please-ah!” Nothing could stop you now, he just felt so good inside of you. You guys fit perfectly, why would you derive yourself and Taiju from this pleasure?

“Please.”

“M-mommy…”

He said it, right? Were you tripping? No, he definitely said it. “Come again?”

Now he was embarrassed, he even had to cover his face with his right arm. It did get you to stop, he would’ve probably had an orgasm again if you didn’t and he was sure you’d still keep going after he had his second.

You took his hand and crossed it with yours, unravelling his astonishing face. He couldn’t believe that he did that. He felt a bit guilty from saying it, but your response when he did it was enough to let go of the said guilt. You were so thrilled to hear him say it.

Perhaps, Taiju made a mistake. You did stop, but what came after was enough to leave him satisfied for years. The way your insides clenched on his cock, the way your juices mixed along with his pre-cum was a masterpiece.

Soon enough you’d probably cum too, you were enjoying this too much unlike any other.

His whines were all you could hear, it wouldn’t be crazy to say if you said something right now that he wouldn’t hear it. Should you try it out?

“How do you feel, darling?”

He was only staring at the ceiling instead of you. You couldn’t help but feel jealous.

He was obviously unable to keep his eyes on you as it would just add more to his heart rate but you did not seem to register that and you got mad instead.

“Taiju, just because we’re in a church doesn’t mean you have to keep worshiping him when we’re literally having sex.”

Your words took a while for him to understand.

Right, you were both in a church. How did his Sunday mass lead him here?

He’s in a church.

God was probably watching you both while you decorated the floored carpet with you and Taiju’s cum.

God was watching over his sin as he’s getting fucked senseless by a servant of his.

So, why did that stir him up even more?

Your grin widened when you heard his moans become louder. You couldn’t decipher his words anymore, he just kept letting out absurd noises. If he could only hear himself, right now.

“M-mommy! Ngh-S-so good!”

His right hand fell out of yours from the extreme pleasure that he was currently receiving. Tears fell down from his eyes as he spilled himself inside you, his throat getting hoarse from screaming.

You finished soon after, the fullness giving you such a delight and you loved to see how it trickled down from your pussy to your thighs and finally to his pants.

“Was it worth your time, Taiju?”

You awaited a response only to realize that he had passed out. You decided to tap his shoulder and he jolted just from your touch. He was so sensitive at the moment. You’d like to spend your time with him more but it looks like he couldn’t handle it.

You thought he did great for his first time. It was a shame you both did it half-clothed and you didn’t get to see his tattoos.

For the first time in forever, you actually cleaned a human up. You changed him into some comfortable clothes, of course, sneaking in a glance or two.

Or not, Let’s tell the truth, you were staring the whole time.

You threw your nun outfit away, turning them into ashes. Did you clean the mess back at the church?

Yes, you cleaned the spilled wine. The back room? Well, that’s another question in itself.

You stared at the sky while thinking about the mischievous act you’ve done.

As you decided to go home, you remembered something.

You haven’t told him your real name.

You let out a sigh and continued going down. Taiju had forced you to make a vow with him, something in which you’d never partook in before.

Eh, at least you can tell him your name next time when you eventually meet again.

[allycat75]

You know, I noticed that only the Hollywood Reporter, and a few other relatively minor piggybacking news outlets, have reported on this Spirit of (dis)Service award, Boston Dumb Fuck.

It isn't even on the official Partnership for Public Service website.

Is it this like those ghost ceremonies with you and that little Nazi? Or pretending you were invited to the SNL Christmas party (where murderer producer Alec Baldwin and his phony charming wife were actually guests- that's gotta hurt!).

Did Jinx warn them about the poison you usher to honorable organizations? That the coverage a "veteran" actor like you could bring is more of a Monkey's Paw sort of situation. Or maybe they looked a little harder (like your team should have when negotiating your original soul-suffocating deal) and didn't want to fumble again like they did when they gave it to Bezos?

Regardless, we see you and your cadre of fucking (white male privleged) posers, at a time when democracy is burning down. So, what exactly is your impact again? This is important enough to explain to the entire class in detail, even though that gives you cyclical sadness. So I'll wait for you to gather and organize your data to tell a cogent story for why your inspid website deserves this honor.

[falling-pages]

Bend the Knee: Kyoya x Reader

Thanks @ouranbound for the idea <3

-

“I fear I’ve been so busy planning our future that I did not give time to notice how they were exploiting your present."

-

Sometimes Kyoya's betrothed needs help adjusting from their commoner life to one of splendor.

-

Kyoya Ootori x gn! Reader

Genre: Fluff, established relationship, arranged marriage, Commoner! Reader

Warnings: None

-

“Quit.”

“What?”

“Quit. You complain about that job every night, so just resign.”

You sit up on the couch, gasping to even begin to make the young heir understand how preposterous his words were. He barely even noticed, just kept his eyes glued to his novel as you were having a crisis. Just another normal Tuesday in this household. “I can’t quit just like that, without two weeks’ notice.”

“The other employees did.”

“But I’m their best,” you scramble, “I can’t bail while they’re still looking for two more people.”

Kyoya scoffed, licking his fingertip and turning a page. “Is that how they treat their best? Overworked and underpaid? They don’t sound like very good bosses to me.”

“It’s not that, it’s…”

It was that. It was exactly that, which made his smug smile all the more frustrating, igniting that fire under your nails to just punch his lights out. But then you’d have to admit it’s bothering you, and he would win, and even though you were engaged to marry this man, you just couldn’t have that.

You ran your hands through your hair, dropping back down onto the couch. His office futon wasn’t comfortable in the slightest, perhaps to discourage relaxation during work hours, but it’s what you dealt with in order to spend time with him in the evenings, a change you would certainly implement once your name was on the deed and in the will--a revamp of his working space was imperative.

But you supposed you couldn’t complain. It was your little life together, where he manages a multi-billion dollar empire and you whine about your job, where he pretends to not pay attention while you spill your guts. What was the sense in commenting when he knew you wouldn’t take his advice?

“I’ve worked hard for this position,” you settle on, closing your eyes and letting your brain do the work. “I’ve climbed the ladder and gotten promotions and I used to feel so important, and it isn’t my dream job, sure, but I’ve enjoyed the process.”

“Then it’s time to move on to something different,” he suggests, and his tone is softer than usual, though still careful to sound detached. “You know I have more than enough money to provide for you and our family someday. Is that not enough?”

You open your eyes when the voice sounds closer, right above you, and you see him kneeling down beside you on the couch. You start to sit up, but he pushes you back down, helping you stretch out your spine, shake out the stresses in your limbs. And when he takes your hand, drawing his long fingers over the arch of your wrist and against your palm, you were startled to see him at eye-level.

Kyoya Ootori bent his knee to no one except you, and only once, when he slipped that pretty gold ring on your finger. But here where you lay, your faces were on the same level, and you felt like an equal.

“The world I come from isn’t black and white, Kyoya,” you say, as he strokes the back of your knuckles. Such tenderness was seldom seen from him, but you revel in it, grasp onto it with dirty fists and brazen recklessness. To have him so attentive to your needs and listening to you was rare. It was a privilege, a standard you would soon be held to, as well. “To be just...launched into fame because my dad won the lottery is hard, I still need to adjust. It can all be gone in a second, so I can’t just drop something. I can’t...sever the safety net. They need me to keep the place afloat, and even as tough as it has been, I can’t leave on such bad terms. They need me. Just for a little bit longer.”

He sighs your name like the afterthought of a prayer, settling his other hand beside you on the couch. His fingers dig into every indentation, as if joining your discovery of its stiff cushions. The sheen in his glasses signaled he’d look into it, but there were more pressing matters to attend to at the moment.

He remained silent, odd for a man with all the answers, but he continued to look at you, not like he was trying to drill a hole through your head, but like you were a puzzle he was just beginning to figure out.

“Have I really been so absent, my love?” he whispered, raising his hand to your face. One finger stroked along your cheek, slowly, lulling you into peace. “I fear I’ve been so busy planning our future that I did not give time to notice how they were exploiting your present. Please, forgive me.”

All of the air was knocked out of your chest as his gentle words, so soft that you almost didn’t recognize him. When your parents betrothed you, and when you fell in love with him, agreed to marry him, even, you knew that he would always be an Ootori, with every string attached. You were ready for the challenge, ready to be with this man no matter what--but his sudden kindness was unexpected, the poetic words unfamiliar in your ears.

“Kyo, you think I wouldn’t forgive you?” you ask, taking off his glasses.

He let you, and when you set them on the nearby stand, his dark eyes glittered with something you had never seen before. Deeper than love, deeper than compassion, a feral protectiveness mixed with sadness skating across his face. It was so rare you saw him without this shield of his, you had almost forgotten how his eyes were like galaxies, like the murky night sky, expansive, swallowing everything in its path.

“If I had been suffering so, I wouldn’t forgive my partner had they not noticed,” he said.

“I’m not suffering...”

“Mmm-mm.” He shuttered your lips closed with his finger, and you couldn’t help but return the affection and press a kiss to it. He smiled, softly, and you thought about how long it had been since you had seen that smile, and how long it had been since he’s seen yours, too.

“I know I’m not the best at expressing my feelings,” he said, and when you snorted, he rolled his eyes and leaned away. “See, this is exactly why.”

You leaned up and kissed his cheek, giggling. The feeling was foreign in the pit of your chest, drumming near your spine. “I’m sorry. Please, continue.”

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat, softly wiping where you had kissed him, a repetitive, soothing motion. “I’m not the best at expressing my feelings. I’ve been raised to think that if you throw money at something, it will go away. It’s a powerful position to hold, knowing you can change everyone’s fates on a whim, but…” he swallowed, breaking eye contact, and you felt his energy shift into something vulnerable. “But you changed that. You make me feel...you make me feel. And at first I didn’t like it. I loved you, but I didn’t like what you did to me. I didn’t like how you made my world shift off-balance, until I realized my world was no longer my family’s company or stocks or what other stiffs thought of me. It was you.”

You tried to lean up and kiss him, but he grabbed your hands and held them in his own. “Please, let me finish, I want...I want you to know. We’ve been betrothed for so long, but I’d like to think we were only truly engaged when I bowed to you with that ring.”

“Okay,” you breathed, shallowly, taking it in, squeezing his hands to help him along.

“Because that took everything in me,” he continued, and his voice shook, his hands shook, and all you wanted was to gather him in your arms and hold him till he relaxed. “I was raised as a superior, but I’m not. Not with you. You are my equal, and I love you, and there’s no future with us if I can’t look beyond my own problems to see yours.”

Your stomach quelled in light of his confession. The life of luxury and fame you had so recently come to know was a blur compared to his childhood swathed in privilege. Only six years ago you were waiting tables to save up for college when your dad bought a lottery ticket for the hell of it. Now you were attending charity balls and engaged to the son of the richest man on earth.

He took a shaky breath and kissed your forehead, seeming to only find the courage once his lips met your skin.

“I notice. I swear I do,” he said. “I tried to act disinterested when you vent to me because it was a protection, it was a way to stay cold, because that was all I ever saw from my mother and father. They were separate people who happened to live in the same house. That’s not us. I’m not my father. I swear I notice. I notice your tired eyes and your tense shoulders and your fake smile and I want to fix it, but I don’t know how, so I clam up. I shut down. And I’m sorry. I truly am, my darling. I don’t know how you put up with me.”

It was an absolute miracle that you could even breathe at the end of his speech, panting almost as heavily as he was. And when you leaned forward to kiss him, this time he didn’t object, but pulled you even closer, shrouding your body with his, his sharp scent overwhelming your senses, clouding the air around you, even when there was no distance between you. His mouth was hot with passion, yet reserved, and though it wasn’t the first time you kissed, it was the first time you thought he meant it when he told you he loved you.

“Kyoya, I love you,” you whisper against his lips. “I have for so long. I wouldn’t have stayed with you if I didn’t, no matter what our parents said.” He laughed, nipping your bottom lip lightly. “And I don’t want you to change for me. You’re under so much pressure, I understand why you act like you do. But our home isn’t Wall Street. My heart isn’t some business bargaining chip. You don’t need to fight your nature to love me. It’s one and the same.” One of his tears splashes down onto your face. “So just see me. Love me. Choose to be vulnerable. I promise it won’t scare me off.”

“I will. I promise.”

He kissed you again, burning his brand against your tongue, hard like a handshake to know he meant it. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer, like you were breathing the same air, using the same lungs, the same heart beating in tandem.

When you let go, his forehead remained pressed against yours. His eyes were slightly open, watching you, eyelashes fluttering against your skin. He was so soft, like this. You wanted to hold him forever.

“Come to bed with me,” you whisper, trailing a hand through his hair. “I just want to spend time with you.”

He kissed your forehead, rubbing his nose against yours in compliance. “I’ll spend all the time in the world with you, beloved,” he sighed, capturing your lips once more. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

-

Kofi

[allywritesforfun]

UMM I SENT A REQUEST LAST TIME AND I THINK TUMBLR DELETED IT SO IM GONNA REQUEST AGAIN FOR YOUR FOLLOWERS SPECIAL!! (congrats btw!!)

I NEED d/4 WITH CC! WILBUR CONGRATULATIONS AGAIN I LOVE YOUR WORK

ahhhh @neptunebabes thank you so much for the request! sorry it took a longer than I wanted it to! anyways chow, I was really hoping someone would request this one! how to request for the event here.

{Red String AU} cc!Wilbur Soot x Reader

pronouns: for reader not mentioned, friend they/them

word count: 1665

600 followers masterlist

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wilbur masterlist

The string to you, was useless. Everyone has a string but only one connects to yours? Ridiculous.

Just saying it out loud sounds dumb. The only thing this string has caused you was pain and suffering. No one wanted to date you because "you're not my one true love". Like, doesn't anyone want to be in a relationship and get attention and figure out how they work before meeting their soulmate?

At this point, you just pretend like the string isn't there. It's just a bother at this point. It's always in your way, and makes for a horrible conversation.

"Maybe you'll meet your soulmate at the concert tonight!" Your friend tried to get you excited about the thing.

They were the complete opposite of you. They loved their string. Key word: loved. They were lucky enough to stumble across their soulmate when they were young. They never had to actually go out and look.

"It's not gonna happen," You sighed. "I'm gonna be one of those people who never meets their soulmate. Look around!" You gestured out to the crowd in angst. "All of these strings are connected, intertwined. There's no way that I'm gonna find my soulmate!"

They huffed, "How many times do I have to explain this? You're not supposed to find your soulmate, you meet them! The strings aren't meant to be followed, just a symbol."

"A symbol?"

They nodded, "Of true love! We are so lucky to live in a world where we know who our soulmate is! There's other worlds where people don't get the luxury we do! And it's so romantic too! Just... promise me that you'll enjoy the concert tonight?"

You patted their shoulder, "I will. Who's opening for them by the way, I never got a chance to look."

"Uhh..." They scrolled through the band's Instagram page, "Some indie band... Lovejoy?"

You two found a sit down restaurant and started planning out what you were going to do for the concert. It all starts with what time people start lining up. You had to be in the front row, preferably in the middle, but it doesn't always work out that way. You decided to stay close to the venue, that way you could jump in when it was time.

You got there about two hours before the concert started. There were a few people ahead of you, but as long as you got into the fastest check-in line, you should for sure get in the front row.

Your prayers were answered, you got the front row, not exactly in the middle but in the outskirts of the middle, which was good enough for you.

"So this Lovejoy band," You started. "Have you ever heard of them?"

Your friend shook their head, "No but I like the theme of their Instagram!" They turned their phone towards you, allowing you to scroll through a couple posts.

"The fluffy haired one is cute!" You commented. "He seems tall too!"

Your friend laughed, "He does have his string still..." They playfully nudged you.

You rolled your eyes, "That's not fun-" You were cute off by the lights dimming a light guitar playing in the background.

It was about time, why is it that bands are always late to come on stage? But, you stepped-take that back-got pushed into the barrier by people trying to shove their way forward. When you looked up, the band was all out. You couldn't help but smile. You missed live music, just the openers were enough to get you back into that familiar feeling.

After their opening song ended they took a break to talk. The lead singer sat down on the stage and crossed his legs, "Yooooooo!"

You giggled, what vibe he was.

"Hey everyone! My name is Wilbur! Over there is Joe, and Ash, and last but certainly not least, Mark! We're Lovejoy! We released our first Ep earlier this year and we are really close to releasing our second one! Isn't that exciting? Who's excited? I know someone is."

To your surprise, the crowd went crazy. They were better known than you thought they were. Everyone was jumping up and down, hands in the air mimicking Wilbur's movements. In fear of getting called out, you followed the group. Out of nowhere you heard, "Oh my god!"

Keeping your hand in the air, you looked around confused like everyone else. Wilbur stopped talking and the crowd fell to a low mumble.

"y/n..." Your friend trailed off.

"Wha-" You saw it. You saw what everyone else saw, the string. Your string leading straight to Wilbur's finger. This couldn't be real. You brought your hand down to you. You stared at your shaking hand in shock.

A bigger hand slowly grabbed your hand, their other hand reaching out to you and pulling your end of the string off. It glided so easily off, you were in shock. You did everything to get that stupid thing off, and just like that it could be taken off.

"Uh-hi," You looked up and saw Wilbur sitting at the end of stage, feet hanging off the ledge with his hand holding yours. "I'm Wilbur, you can call me Wil if you'd like."

You tried getting words out, but you just couldn't. Everything you tried to say came out as a stutter.

"I know, I know," He rubbed your hand. "Why don't you come backstage and we'll talk in a little bit. Is that okay with you?"

You looked back at your friend, who was somehow already recording this precious moment. They waved their hands at you, motioning for you to go. You shook your head, you couldn't do this alone. You looked back at Wilbur, he nodded understandingly, "They can come with too."

They put their phone away and Wilbur hopped off the stage and guided you through the crowd and held your hand up the stairs until you were off stage. He handed you off to a stage manager who led you into his band room. You sat down on the couch, your friend across from you. You made eye contact and they squealed, causing you to burst out laughing.

"This is a dream right?" You asked between breaths.

Your friend covered their mouth, "You're so stupid! You were supposed to take off his string too!"

"What?" You asked.

"The only person that can take your string off is their soulmate, silly! You're really making him go perform out there with his string."

You buried your head in your hands out of embarrassment, "I don't remember that part of the lesson! Why didn't you tell me!"

"I thought you got the message when he took off yours!"

"I'm too stupid for that!"

While you waited for Wilbur to come back, you and your friend talked about what happens next. Which you realized you probably should've paid more attention in class. It was a lot to absorb at once, and honestly you forgot all of it.

There was a knock on the door, you waited for it to open. Your friend laughed, "Come in!"

You sighed, you can't even remember proposer manners anymore. Just Wilbur walked in, the rest of the band peeking in from the side. He shut the door behind him.

The room was awkwardly quiet, good thing your friend was there, "Did the show go good?"

Wilbur smiled, "It went great! Better than we expected with everyone being... well a bit distracted. But it was a great first show!" Wilbur stood in front of you, "Is it okay if I sit here?”

You nodded, “Yeah of course!” You scooted over and held out your hand, “I should probably get that off now.”

He smiled back at you, “That would be great.”

You smiled at the way he wrapped it around his finger, so tight like some sort of hug. You carefully undid it, making sure not to rip it, “Are you responsible?”

He shrugged, “For the most part, yeah.”

You handed the string over to him, “I lose things easily, you should keep a hold of this.” You heard the door shut, your friend left, leaving just the two of you.

“I never caught your name,” Wilbur reminded you.

You looked away, “I’m y/n.”

“That’s a beautiful name!” He replied. “I was surprised too, and I’m super nervous. I don’t know if it shows that much.”

You shook your head, “I can’t tell. I would’ve thought you’ve done this a million times.”

He chuckled, which caught your attention and you finally got to make that intimate eye contact with him. His eyes were a soft brown, staring back into you. You remember your friend telling you about their moment like this. A sense of safety and acceptance overwhelmed you. You felt your cheeks heat up and you had to look away.

“So, you’re a musician?” You asked.

“It’s a part of me, yes,” Wilbur started, “I also stream. Mainly Minecraft and Geoguesser. Other than that and music, I like to think I am a simple man.”

You smiled to yourself, trying to think of what to say next. Nothing came to mind.

“I’m not making you uncomfortable am I?” He asked.

You waved your hands back and forth, “No, god no. I’m just still in shock that’s all. I was the type of person who thought I was never gonna meet my soulmate, but here we are!”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I feel great!” You replied. “Right before the show I was telling my friend about how cute you are and stuff like that. I’m really happy it was you. You’re already so patient and kind to me, it just makes me really excited!”

Wilbur gently rubbed your shoulder, adding more pressure every time he completed a circle. You got the hint and leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his torso. 

He rested his head atop of yours and continued to rub your shoulder, “We’re gonna have a great life together.”

[farfromharry]

Just like momma | Arvin Russell fic

Summary: The Russell boy with the bad reputation is completely smitten with the girl who’s just as angel-like as everyone remembers his momma to be.

Word count - 3,435

Warnings - language

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“Arvin, stop being silly,” you huffed. He’d been going on the entire car ride about how if you didn’t like the food his Grandma was cooking then all you had to do was say. He’d already made the offer of taking you to a diner after you left to give you a ‘nicer’ meal. “I love Emma’s food, a lot of people do. There’s nothing better than a home cooked meal.”

The car finally came to a stop, Arvin leaping out and rushing around to your side so he could be a gentleman before you could even put your hand on the car door.

He threw his arm around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to your temple with a lingering smirk on his lips.

“I could name a few things,” he muttered in response to your earlier comment. You slapped his chest scoldingly, telling him not to be so mean to the woman that raised him. “‘m just kidding, baby.”

You rolled your eyes, letting him pull you closer to his chest to press kisses onto the top of your head. You wouldn’t admit it to him but you did enjoy being engulfed in his intoxicating scent.

“I guess I should say g’bye now,” he said, pulling you out of your daze. You furrowed your eyebrows, looking up at your boyfriend. He motioned with his hand to the small redhead who was running over to you, already beaming at the sight of her older brother’s girlfriend who she adored.

“Y/N!” the girl yelled, taking your hand and already stealing you away from her brother. Arvin huffed playfully, catching your eye as you were pulled over to the group of girls playing on the patch of grass opposite the Russell’s lawn.

He chuckled, shrugging his shoulders at you as you mouthed the words help me. This happened more or less every time you came over to Arvin’s home.

It’s not that you didn’t adore the eight year old, you did, but you came to spend time with all of Arvin’s family for a change.

The boy now had to go find something else to do to entertain himself while you were immersed in the world of pretend with a group of eight year olds.

He headed inside the house to the kitchen where he could already smell his grandma’s cooking, emerging in the room with a wave to his Uncle. He placed a kiss on Emma’s head as a greeting. “Hey, Grandma.”

“Hi, sweetheart.” Barely even a minute inside and she already had him setting the table for the five of them for dinner, Earskell laughing at the boy who almost had a pouty face.

He laid down the plates in the seats you all normally sat in, moving next to take the cutlery off of his Grandma.

“Where’s that pretty lady of yours?” his Uncle asked, noticing Arvin’s solo entrance that was usually accompanied by you.

“Nora’s got her again.” He let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head like he didn’t expect any less from the child. Just like Arvin was used to it, so were all of the Russells, Lenora barely let an hour go by without bringing you up at least once in the house, especially if she hadn’t seen you for a while.

He kept sending longing looks out of the windows, looking at you and the way your skirt flowed in the wind as you chased Lenora around the grass.

Emma noticed, laughing quietly to herself.

“Go on,” she sighed, shooing him out of the door to go and save you from his minx of a sister. He did just that, rushing outside until he was by the steps of the porch. Arvin didn’t want to interrupt yet, wanting to spend a few minutes admiring you as you laughed with the group of girls. He thought you looked so pretty when you laughed, especially with the way the sunlight beamed onto your face, and the way the wind blew your hair away from your face to give him a better view, almost like it was doing it for him.

He didn’t know how long he was just there watching you with that same dumb, crooked smile on his face the entire time, but it was long enough for his Grandma to come outside with an update on dinner.

“She’s just like your momma,” Emma whispered, leaning against the doorframe, a little way behind Arvin. His big brown eyes, the ones that still resembled that little boy she remembers like yesterday, stared at her so softly.

“Really?” he asked. “I don’t really remember her.”

He sounded so sad, and it made Emma’s heart ache. She walked towards him, holding her arms out to engulf the boy in a hug. He was happy to let her, her head resting on his shoulder lovingly.

“She’s so kind, so pure.” The male couldn’t help but smile a little bit, holding the older woman’s hand against his heart while he watched you play with his younger sister.

Arvin wasn’t shy when it came to admiring you, every chance he could get his eyes on you he would. Emma found it so heartwarming to see, the boy so outwardly showing you this love and affection that had been built up inside of him since he was a child himself.

“I like her Arvy. Think she’s the perfect girl for you.”

Hearing those words from one of the most important people in his life felt like everything fell into place for him. You truly were the woman he was in love with, and he may be young but he couldn’t picture ever loving anyone as much as he did you.

His Grandma placed a kiss on his cheek, patting his arm as she turned to walk away. “Dinner’s in ten, make sure you get them both inside on time, mister.” Emma left him alone after that, heading back inside to continue her cooking.

Arvin still hadn’t taken his eyes off of you, and he wasn’t even sure he could wipe that lovesick smile off of his face.

You could feel his gaze basically burning holes into the side of your head, turning your face away from the sun to lock eyes with the pretty boy.

You flashed him a smile that made his knees weak, a blush blossoming on the apples of his cheeks.

You excused yourself from the group of girls for just a few minutes to go and see what your boyfriend wanted, jogging up the path until you were almost in his reach.

“Hi,” you mumbled, pecking his lips cheerfully. His hands drifted to the middle of your back, holding you near him so you couldn’t run away too quickly, he just wanted to hold you for a little while.

“Grandma says dinner’s in ten. Should probably start heading inside, get cleaned up,” he said. You hummed, resting your head on his chest. His large hand rubbed up and down your back, his lips finding refuge on your forehead.

“You get Lenora, I’ll help Emma?” you bargained, feeling as though you’d only get roped back into playing with the girls if you went back there.

“What if I say no?” he hummed, the corners of his lips twitching upwards into a teasing smirk. You scoffed, pulling back from his warm chest to look into those even warmer eyes.

“I mean, I could always go have dinner at Gene Dinw-“ Arvin cut you off by pressing his lips onto yours before you could even finish the guys name. You laughed into the kiss, the lovely sound making Arvin break into a grin himself.

“I’ll do it, I’ll do it,” he rambled, giving you one last kiss before he walked past you and over to his sister. After the first few times she ignored his calls he gave up trying, choosing instead to throw her over his shoulder and carry her inside himself.

You rolled your eyes at how immature he was, heading inside with an amused smile. You greeted Emma with a hug and Arvin’s Uncle with a smile, helping to dish out her cooking onto everyone’s plates.

“Arvin! Put me down,” Lenora whined, kicking her legs frantically. There was a chorus of laughs as Arvin made a rather grand entrance with the girl wiggling around on his shoulder. Your heart soared at the warm smile on his face that he always refused to show.

He let the girl back down onto her feet, receiving a scolding hit from her in response. You giggled as you watched catching your boyfriend’s eye.

“What are you giggling at, pretty girl?” You squealed as his hands grabbed your hips, pulling your back into his chest. His arms wrapped around your waist from behind, his lips meeting your cheek once before he pulled away and took his seat at the table. You pulled the cap from his head, placing it beside him on the table so he looked more presentable, messing up his hair while you were at it.

He grabbed your hand to stop you, planting a kiss onto your palm as you sat down in the seat beside him.

“Now, who wants to say the Lord’s prayer?” Emma asked. You saw Arvin roll his eyes, but a swift kick to the shin underneath the table was enough to have him quietly apologising.

“I think Arvin would,” you said, grinning widely at the boy who looked at you as if you’d just stabbed him in the back.

“I’ll get you back for that.”

»»——⍟——««

Emma gave you all a break between dinner and dessert, shooing you out of the kitchen so she could focus without Arvin constantly trying to pick at her cake mixture.

“Will you two get outta here,” she said, slapping away Arvin’s greedy hand once again. You chuckled, tugging your boyfriend away from his poor Grandma, letting her cook in peace.

“D’you wanna dance with me, darlin’,” he asked, motioning to the old, beat up record player they had. You didn’t know why Arvin was suddenly in such a good mood but you weren’t complaining. You pretended to think about it for a second, trying to hold back the smile that wanted to take over your face.

“I should really be helpin’ Emma.” He didn’t listen at all. He fiddled with one of the records, hiding it with his body so you couldn’t see the name, letting it be a surprise to you.

The sweet sounds of Lonesome Town played through the record player, filling the room with the soft voice of Ricky Nelson. Arvin looked over his shoulder with an inviting smirk settled on his lips, holding his hands out to you with a teasing shake of his hips to the beat.

You snorted, shaking your head at his sudden goofy persona. “C’mere pretty darlin’, dance with me.”

There was no way you could resist, slipping your hands into Arvin’s much larger ones. The boy pulled you into his chest, his hands laying respectively on your waist while your own snaked around his neck and weaved into the mess of hair at the nape of his neck.

Neither of you really knew how to dance, so you took to simply swaying in time to the music, your foreheads resting against each other. You could hear Arvin faintly singing along under his breath, your heart swelling at this vulnerability he was showing you.

“You ready?” he asked. You furrowed your eyebrows, your question answered before you could even ask.

You let out a loud squeal as he dipped you, holding onto you tightly so you knew he wouldn’t drop you. He pressed a chaste kiss on your lips before helping you back up to your previous stance, noses almost brushing from your close proximity.

“Almost gave a damn heart attack, Arv,” you scolded. He still had that boyish grin on his face that you wanted to wipe off. With a few pokes of his fingers to your ribs though you were laughing along with him, rolling your eyes at your immature boyfriend.

The song finished too quickly for your liking, leaving the sounds of your laughter to fill the room instead.

This was your favourite kind of moment to share with your boyfriend, those romantic gestures that no one would ever expect from the towns ‘bad boy’ Russell boy. They were the ones you held closest to your heart.

Emma’s heart was warm as she watched you both dance in her living room from where she was cleaning up in the kitchen. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen her Grandson this happy.

“What’re you two doin’?” you heard Lenora’s curious voice before you saw her, seeing the small red haired girl peak her head out from behind her older brother.

You grinned, thinking this could be your opportunity to escape Arvin and go help Emma for a little bit, feeling bad that she’d been doing everything on her own.

“Why don’ you dance with Arvin, hunny?” you asked. He shot you a look, a small frown on his lips as the boy had the idea he was going to get to keep dancing with you, just to another song.

“Y/N,” he tried. You shook your head, watching as Lenora picked out one of the few records on the counter. He sucked it up rather than throwing a tantrum that was unnecessary.

“Arvin I, I don’t know how to dance,” she admitted, looking at her brother shyly. He still smiled down at her, guiding her feet to stand on his shoes, showing that he was going to guide her.

“That boy is completely smitten with you,” Emma whispered, flashing you a smile when she saw the way you got all shy, trying to deny her obvious statement. “And by the looks of it, it’s a two way thing.”

»»——⍟——««

“Crap, look at the time,” you whined, glancing at the clock that rested in the living room. It was much too late for you to be out away from home, your parents were going to kill you. “I should be headin’ home.”

The tired Arvin who you’d been leaning on beside you let out a grunt of protest, pulling you impossibly closer to his body. His grip tightened and you were sure he wouldn’t be letting you go anywhere tonight.

“Jus’ stay, your folks won’t mind.”

It was deeply tempting, his fingers running through your hair and his warm body cuddling yours, you didn’t really want to move at all.

You hummed. “I can’t, not again.”

“Yes you can.”

It was clear that Arvin wasn’t going to budge, so you gave in, accepting that you’d get yelled at by your momma tomorrow. The couch beneath you was growing uncomfortable though, so you were about to insist if you stay, you’re staying in his bed with him.

“Arvin?” you asked, nuzzling your cheek against his shoulder. He whispered a tired ‘yeah’, prompting you to continue. “Can we at least head to bed?”

He sighed, practically forcing his eyes open. The boy took a few minutes to regain himself and his surroundings before he actually gave you an answer to your question. “Yeah, come on.”

Like the gentleman that he is, he helped you up from your comfy position, making sure you were stable on your feet before he let go of you in any way.

His eyes landed on his younger sister who was pretty much passed out not too far away. You chuckled to yourself, noting how peaceful she looked, something you rarely got a lot of in Knockemstiff.

“You head on in, I've got her,” he promised, carefully lifting the child into his arms. You nodded your head, placing a kiss on top of Lenora’s head. “Goodnight sweetheart.”

You were off to Arvin’s room without another word, your tired body craving the boy’s soft, warm bed. It might not have been the biggest bed in the world but that meant you two had to cuddle even closer together to fit, and you loved it.

Lenora’s room was the closest to the living room so within minutes Arvin was tucking her into her bed. He sat down beside her on the bed when he noticed her eyes fluttering open, knowing the girl was gonna need at least some conversation for her to fall back to sleep.

“Arvy?” He hummed quietly, nuzzling his nose against the side of her head affectionately. “I wanna be like Y/N when I grow up.”

He felt his heart swell, looking at the girl like she’d just given him the world. It truly did mean the world to him that she loved you so much, because he completely adored you.

“Then you’ll be a great woman, Nora.” He could gush about you any day of the week, choosing to keep it short this time for the sake of the sleepy girl.

“She’s gonna be a good momma some day.” Her words managed to catch him off guard, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. “What d’you mean by that?” She yawned, covering her mouth with her hand.

“If you two ever have any babies, she’s gonna be such a good momma, just like your momma.” Arvin’s heart ached at the words coming out of his sister’s mouth. How did she know anything about Arvin’s mom? But he also blushed a little at the mention of the two of you having babies together.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it before, but picturing a tiny you and him made him feel all giddy and nervous inside.

“Like my momma?” he questioned.

“Grandma talks about her all the time, she sounds perfect,” she explained. He smiled softly, short images of the bits of his old family he could remember.

“Yeah, she was,” he trailed off. He knew he’d get emotional if he continued on talking about her, so he decided to quickly put a stop to it and let Lenora head to sleep.

“Get some sleep,” he said, placing a kiss on top of her head. He made sure the blankets were tucked right underneath her chin so she wouldn’t get cold before he turned off her lamp.

“G’night Nora.” He pushed himself up off of her bed and started heading to the door. “Goodnight Arvin.”

On his way to his room he did one check on his Grandma, making sure she didn’t need anything, before he headed straight for you.

He could see you already tucked up comfortably in his bed, assuming you’d taken the liberty to change into some of his clothes before you did so.

“What took you so long?” you whined, missing your boyfriend’s warmth. He grinned to himself, pulling his shirt off of his body.

“Was jus’ talkin’ to Nora for a little bit,” he said, slipping on a plain white shirt in place of his other one. You hummed, watching as he walked around the small room doing various things. It felt as though he was trying to avoid getting in his bed and you were growing impatient.

“Well hurry, I miss you.”

He chuckled, rolling his eyes playfully as he pulled back the covers. “You just saw me, darlin’.” You groaned, burying your head in his chest when you could, your arms snaking around his torso to hold him as close as possible to you.

“Shut up.”

“‘s not very nice.” This time it was you rolling your eyes. The idea of sleep began to seem more and more appealing to you, letting your eyes flutter shut as any chatter between you and Arvin died down.

It was quiet for a little while, the whole was dead quiet, and Arvin didn’t know if you were asleep or awake as he traced small circles and patterns on your hip with his thumb.

“I love you, Y/N, so damn much. D’you know that?” Your head was tucked under his chin, allowing you to press a chaste kiss to the skin of his neck, a sign that you were still awake; but barely.

“I do,” you said, breath fanning over his warm skin. You felt his hand glide up until his fingers were threading through your hair, the boy planting a kiss on your hairline. “I love you too, Arvin.”

He waited for you to fall asleep after that, he always waited for you to fall asleep. There was something about knowing you were completely calm and safe that relaxed him.

He felt how your breathing was much more even and your body basically melted into him, all signs that you were out for the night. “Sweet dreams, darlin’.”

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[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt: Instead of shattering Dad Nie's saber to kill his pride, he shatters Baxia - and thus Nie Mingjue. What better way to punish a man who dared to think anything of his could rival Wen Ruohan? Only, Nie Mingjue survives... and Baxia does too. Of course, sharing Nie Mingjue's body, neither of them is quite the same...

Curse-breaker (Chapter 1/4)

- ao3 -

"I see," Wen Ruohan said, his teeth slightly gritted, his irritation plain and obvious for all to see. "Indeed, I must concede that Sect Leader Nie's saber is finer than the one I own; it is undeniable. Lao Nie, your saber."

He offered it back, plainclothes-wrapped hilt first.

"You do my sect honor," Sect Leader Nie said with a wide grin, accepting the saber. "Our sabers are indeed the finest – and more than that, they get better with each generation. To tell you the truth, my friend: this one isn't mine, but my son's!"

He revealed the hilt, not anything like his own, and laughed, delighted by the joke he had played.

Wen Ruohan’s face contorted, growing pale in what everyone assumed was rage.

It was only later that Lao Nie, at least, recognized that it had been horror.

-

Nie Mingjue was screaming, and had not stopped screaming.

His throat was rent all to pieces, his fingers bloody from clawing at his own flesh, his eyes rolling around in his head as if by some inescapable fit -

"It's a qi deviation," one of the elders said. "Induced by the breaking of his saber. We should take him to the tombs."

"Fuck off," Lao Nie told them, as if saying the words would deny the truth. "He's too young!"

He put himself between them and his son.

"You shouldn't have let him take up the saber so young," the elder persisted, as if it had been Nie Mingjue’s fault that his son’s saber had been shattered by a man a century older than him, and all because of a dispute that had nothing to do with him. "You shouldn't have shown it to others, left it unguarded -"

"Do you think I don't know that?!" Lao Nie roared, abruptly pushed beyond his limits. "Do you think that I don't already regret...!"

He regretted. Oh, how he regretted!

He had not regretted a single thing in his life since the day his father had told him that he would one day die, and how. Even back then, he had swallowed down the regret without choking on it: he had accepted it, understood it, and resolved to live the life he had left to him to the utmost. What good, he had reasoned, would regret do? Would it win him a single additional day of life? Would it wring out a single ounce of additional joy from the days he did have?

There was no point in regret.

Whether that was the right decision or not, he didn’t know, but it was the one he made, and he stuck with it.

His whole life, Lao Nie had been reckless and carefree even by the already low standards of his family. He was always indulging in familiar pleasures and searching for new experiences, doing whatever he could to excite a palate already starting to grow jaded. He broke hearts as easily as he won them, and had what even he admitted was the worst taste in partners imaginable, attracted as he was to danger and death as if to an old and much-beloved friend. He laughed at the idea of risk or consequences, taking care only for his sect, which he loved; everything else was negotiable, or so he'd thought. He'd scared the wits out of most of his family time and time again, and - perhaps as recompense - had grown his first grey hair dozens of years too early. To this day, he still didn't know whether the reason everyone called him Lao Nie so often that even he thought of himself that way was because they were genuinely fond of him, because of the premature black-and-white mix of his hair, or perhaps just as some unspoken prayer that he finally get over himself and grow up.

If it was the last, it hadn’t worked. Even as he’d gotten older, he hadn’t changed one bit.

The only thing that had changed was that he’d finally found something he loved more than his sect.

He loved his children.

He loved his children, whether the righteous and too-serious Mingjue with his secret penchant for tears or the flippant and carefree Huaisang who was lazier than a slug in the sun. He loved them and he, unlike his father before him, did not burden them over-early with knowledge that would only be an itch under their skin that slowly drove them mad.

He loved them.

And now one of them was dying – because of him.

"You should take him to the tombs," the elder said, and ignored the crash of the chair Lao Nie threw at their head. "You let him become a man of our sect, Lao Nie. Do him the honor of letting him die as one.”

“You…!”

“Or do you think you are being kind, leaving him like this?"

Lao Nie looked down at his son, his Mingjue, the baby he’d held in his arms and the toddler he’d taught to walk and the child he’d chased and the teenager he’d taught the saber. His boy, who was thrashing wildly on the bed, spitting up foam along with blood and weeping uncontrollably.

"A-die," Nie Mingjue whimpered, just as he had when he'd been younger and caught in the throes of fever or breaking a bone through his own misadventures. Tears streamed endlessly down his eyes, his brave little boy who was not-so-secretly a bit of a crybaby. "A-die, a-die, it hurts..."

Lao Nie closed his eyes in pain.

He regretted.

But it was too late now to regret.

"We'll take him to the tombs," he finally conceded, and for the first time in his life he truly felt old. "Just let me say goodbye."

-

If you go to the tombs, you will not come out.

Nie Mingjue might only be a child, thirteen or fourteen years old – he couldn’t remember clearly any longer which it was – but he had been a good student before that, reading faithfully through his sect’s histories and listening to his teachers. He knew enough to read between the lines, to reckon the subtle indications and the not-so-subtle hints: he knew, even before he’d been officially told, what it was that he faced down at the end of the road that his ancestors had built for him to walk.

The early death – the painful death – the silent tombs –

There had been so many whispers when he’d taken up his Baxia too early. How could he not know?

His father hadn’t wanted him to know, though. So he hadn’t said anything, and pretended he didn’t.

(Huaisang could be ignorant for real, he’d thought to himself. It’d be okay if he didn’t know.)

If you go to the tombs, you will not come out. You cannot go to the tombs!

Nie Mingjue opened his eyes.

He no longer screamed, even though the spiritual energy that had once felt rich and nourishing and strong now felt like corrosive acid scouring his veins, burning him from the inside out – it wasn’t that he didn’t want to, wasn’t still compelled too; it was only that he had screamed too much, wearing out his voice down to nothingness from overuse.

If I go to the tombs, I will not come out, he thought, dimly aware that something wasn’t right. Thinking was hard, and grew ever harder: the qi deviation, for that was what it was, was worsening, not getting better.

Would not ever get better.

His Baxia, his loyal saber filled to the brim with resentful energy, had shattered. Shattered, and now all that resentful energy that she had collected for herself had flooded back into him, drowning his brain in rage and madness.

Flooding him with – Baxia.

I cannot go to the tombs.

You cannot go to the tombs, Baxia agreed – at least, he thought it was Baxia. It might be himself: he could no longer tell the difference.

She’d shattered, and he’d shattered, too. His mind and his body and his meridians and his golden core: everything was in pieces. His spiritual energy was running the wrong way, twisting him up inside, hurting instead of helping – the rage and resentful energy wasn’t going into Baxia but coming back into him, and it was poison.

There was no fixing it. His ancestors had tried everything they could: brought in the finest physicians with their needles and their clever ideas, sought out mysterious techniques and strange geniuses that played games even with their golden cores, even tried out demonic cultivation to see if it would help – with their lives and their children’s lives at stake, was there anything they wouldn’t do?

As if it would be that easy.

As if the road to death taken time and time again over the generations could be so easily evaded.

Nie Mingjue was a Nie. He had had a qi deviation. He was going to die.

But he was young, too.

Too young.

They all said that’d he formed his core at an extraordinary young age, and he had, too, verifiable evidence of his unusual genius for cultivating – only a golden core formed too early wasn’t quite the same as one done in the usual way at the usual time. It’d formed all right, all the spiritual liquid flowing through his meridians condensing into a shining solid sphere in his dantian, but it was still a little gummy in comparison to the normal ones. It had to be. He’d formed the core before he’d reached adolescence, without any of the necessary hormones running through his body; if his golden core was as fully solid as most adults, he’d be stuck at the age and size he was at when the core was first formed.

Normally, all this meant was that his foundation would be a little unstable for the first few years, just until he got old enough, and only when he was finally at his proper age would it truly settle into place along with his body, growing firm and solid and far more powerful than all the rest.

But he’d never gotten the chance to grow that old.

Nie Mingjue’s core had cracked when his saber that had been fundamentally tied to it had shattered, but unlike the steel of the saber it was still more fluid than solid. Even as the corrosive resentful energy burned him, even as the spiritual energy rioted within him, his old instincts were still there, that subconscious genius for cultivating already at work, trying to force the spiritual energy to run through him, trying to put those broken pieces back together. For any normal Nie, the greater his talent, the faster he’d be driven mad, but for Nie Mingjue, those gummy pieces of his core, sticky and still fluid, were instead being soldered together using spiritual energy and resentful energy both, and unlike the stiff and brittle solidity of the golden core of adulthood, they were still flexible enough to stick together – to coalesce into a whole once more.

Only –

Nie Mingjue opened his eyes.

He’d already opened them once, and now he opened them again. The world as he had always recognized it, he saw through his left eye – but through his right, there was a whole new world.

It was a world of black and white, of good and evil, a world of kinetic movement, of steel and rage incarnate…the world through the perception of a saber spirit. A saber spirit who had shattered when her steel was shattered, shattered when her master’s core was shattered, and whose pieces were even now integrating interchangeably with her master’s pieces into a single indissoluble whole.

If we go to the tombs, they thought, and now that was it, that was right, we will not come out.

Well, that was simple enough to fix.

They just wouldn’t go to the tombs.

-

“What do you mean, he’s gone?” Nie Huaisang’s father hissed. “He can’t be – he wasn’t in any state – he couldn’t have just gotten up and run away – no, stop, let’s go. I don’t want Huaisang hearing.”

Nie Huaisang hated it when his father remembered to be discreet around him.

His da-ge was never discreet, he thought, pouting. If anything, that was something his father often complained about, even if he would be chuckling all the while: that Nie Mingjue had all the tact of a lady boar in full charge, riled up in defense of her children, and with about as much care for anything that did not meet his stringent expectations of justice and fairness – which was rather a lot.

Where was his da-ge, anyway? Nie Huaisang hadn’t seen him in days, not since he went out on that night hunt with their father. He’d asked his nurse about it, because it was unusual for his brother not to come play with him once he’d returned, and she’d said that he’d gotten sick and couldn’t come to see him just yet. But surely it was long enough that he’d be better already!

Nothing could keep his big brother down for long.

Decided, Nie Huaisang hopped up and headed outside, planning to go find his brother. His brother would explain what was going on, simplifying things down until even a little kid like him could get it, and he wouldn’t make Nie Huaisang feel stupid for needing that simplification.

His brother thought Nie Huaisang was smart.

Nie Huaisang walked along the railing next to his window, teetering back and forth with his hands outstretched for balance – his brother had showed him this pathway long ago, telling him that he could use it when he wanted to sneak out go play or look at birds, or even just come to find him whenever he had nightmares.

His brother wasn’t in his rooms, though.

Nie Huaisang sighed. Maybe he was in the study, or the training field, or something like that, but if Nie Huaisang tried to go there, he’d be dragged into lessons or training as well, and he didn’t want that.

He decided to go look at birds instead.

His brother had come up with a secret path to the outside that only they knew, the two of them, one that led them all the way out into the forest where the really interesting birds were. It was close enough to home that it was still safe, still within the bounds of the Unclean Realm’s protective arrays, but far enough to feel unburdened by the presence of their elders.

Nie Huaisang went to look at birds, but it wasn’t birds he found.

“…who’s there?” he asked, seeing movement in the bushes – something too large to be a bird, too small to be a bear, too two-legged to be a boar or a dog. Whoever it was, they were breathing hard, as if they’d run too far, interspersed with little whines of pain, like they were hurt. “Who are…”

The figure in the bush moved forward.

“…da-ge?”

Nie Huaisang’s big brother didn’t look right. He was crouched down, carrying his body low as if he were trying to support himself and protect his middle at the same time, his fingers digging into the ground for balance – his lips were peeled back from his teeth in something caught between a grimace and a growl. His left eye was normal, but his right was horribly red, shot through with pulsing veins that seemed to bleed into the iris, the color of which had faded from warm golden brown to something more like a slate or steel grey.

He sounded like he was in pain.

His brother was in pain.

Nie Huaisang took a step towards him, deeply concerned, and Nie Mingjue backed away.

“Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang whispered, terrified. “Da-ge, it’s me, it’s Huaisang – I won’t hurt you!”

Nie Mingjue whined, a sound deep in the back of his throat, but this time, when Nie Huaisang stepped forward, he didn’t run. He waited until Nie Huaisang was close before darting forward and nuzzling Nie Huaisang’s hand with his cheek, ducking his head down and letting him touch his hair as if he were a dog.

His brother wasn’t just sick, Nie Huaisang realized. He was reallysick.

“What happened?” he asked, and his brother just looked sad. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

His brother nodded. A short jerking motion, barely recognizable, and yet – a nod.

“…do you have to?”

Another nod.

Nie Huaisang’s lip quivered. “Will you be all right?”

His brother nuzzled his palm again. It wasn’t an answer.

Nie Huaisang took a deep breath. “I won’t tell anyone.”

His brother seemed almost to smile.

And then he was gone.

Walking all the way back inside before bursting into tears was the hardest thing Nie Huaisang had ever done in his life, but the worst part was knowing that this was only the beginning.