#For all the kind words and the patience and the love

[inthelibrarybtw]

on the line | r.c

Someone said promises are the sweetest lies, but it had never been like that between them, promises between them were always kept. He would’ve died for her if it meant he would see her being happy forever, she would’ve done anything to give him all the love she knew he deserved and didn’t get. They cared too much for the other and maybe that was the problem. They said they were friends, but it was always more than that they both knew it. No one understood how she could be friends with him, he asked himself the same question from time to time, she was everything he wasn’t. She was sweet, and kind, in other words, she was an angel, his angel, and he was a devil compared to her. Yet he would never hurt her, he promised her that, and she believed it.

pairing: canon!bsf!rafe x bsf!reader

content: no comfort, follows s1 plot line, angst, emotional manipulation, cursing, physical and emotional abuse, mentions of death, murder, gun violence, and sex.

chapters: one | two | three

PLAYLIST

authors note: I wanted to write something following the plot of obx for a while so here it is, hope you guys like it. I will be finishing writing all the chapter before I post them so I ask a bit of patience thank you :)

taglist: i have taglists for each fic and a side blog to get updates on everything i write @inthelibrarybtw-notifs if you want to be added send an ask or comment! :)

REBLOGS, COMMENTS AND LIKES ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED

INTHELIBRARYBTW ✧.*

[illbegottenfaith]

in sweetness (inspired by robin by t. swift)

visiting theo's childhood home grants you a deeper understanding of his inner workings (theo nott x reader)

a/n - I haven't genuinely loved a piece of writing like I do this one in a loooong time, I'm aware of how it strays away from the conventional flow/storyline of fanfic but I feel like that's what makes this so special! this is kind of the backstory of Theo I have in my head for pretty much any fic I write, regardless of the tropes/au's involved.

tropes/warnings - love?? hurt/comfort, angst, happy ending, friends to lovers

word count - will update

In their third year, Theodore Nott broke the nose of his then-teammate Mattheo Riddle. The fight had broken out on the Quidditch pitch after a practice; over what, no one could remember, least of all the boys themselves. Mattheo had said something undoubtedly incendiary in that arrogant, goading voice of his, and Theo had lunged at him, knocking the pair down. The brawl had come to a surprisingly quick end once he had decked the stockier boy in the face.

Years on, most people put it down to a culmination of red-hot emotions and pubescent testosterone. But it was more than that. Even then, you found the incident more telling than most others. Friend or foe, Theodore Nott never hesitated to exact justice by his own means, as he saw fit.

Perhaps it was his only means of control in a world that had treated him unforgivingly all his life.

You put down the photo of a bloody-nosed Mattheo sitting next to a busted-lipped Theo in the Hospital Wing, a photo taken to commemorate, as Blaise Zabini cheerfully put it, 'Baby's first fistfight.' You are standing in Theo's bedroom in his childhood home while waiting for him to return. You wanted to surprise him, but as his aunt had told you, he had popped out to drop by some old friends in the area. Still, she said that he would be returning soon and that you were welcome to wait in his room.

Looking around at every little photo, artifact, and piece of evidence of the years gone by feels like you are watching him grow up in front of your very eyes. And just like his life, something about the room feels disjointed and unharmonious. Other than a few obligatory photos or trinkets, most of the room appears sparsely decorated. The air feels heavy, as if it carries an unbearable silence even when he is home for the holidays.

There are posters of some vaguely familiar professional Quidditch players decorating one wall. Looking at the years printed in the corner, you glean that they must have been from before you met Theo. Although a layer of dust now sits on the untouched but otherwise pristine posters, it's clear that they were once highly beloved by their owner.

You see something similar in the rest of the room - different phases of his life cluttered different corners of his room. It was as though the room itself never changed; rather, he learned to grow in whatever space was left. You tilted your head up. There, hanging from the ceiling above his bed, appears to be a slightly misshapen, dusty baby mobile made of flimsy, plasticky dragonflies. It looks handmade. It sticks out like a sore thumb in what is otherwise a tidy room.

You wander over to the window on the other side of the room. You pick up another picture frame, this one containing a photograph of a toddler Theodore at the very windowsill you were standing in front of, taken from the garden just outside his window.

Back then, with a face that small, his dark curls seemed to overwhelm his tiny stature. He was laughing with a twinkle in his eye which he seemed to have lost over the years, unabashed with a face overflowing with love for whoever was behind the camera. You peer through the crooked window and imagine him scrambling up, not yet three feet tall, towards the photo-taker who humoured his nonsensical babbling with the forgiving kind of maternal patience. What had she looked like? Did she have his hair? His nose? His dry wit? His temper? His unexpected, if endearing, touchy side? It was a fragmented sort of picture in your head, but it was better than nothing.

You look back at the photo and your heart twinges with regret. Theo didn't talk about it much, but you knew he had lost her when he was very young - far too young. This had to be one of the last few moments when he was blissfully unaware of the horrors that waited for him in the real world. And even after that, how could he have anticipated just how much worse things could get? You bite your lip. No, you decide, he had no idea.

After the Quidditch pitch incident, unlike his newest best mate, Theo's penchant for violence was short-lived. Yet his ruthless efficiency remained almost cutthroat - whatever Theo wanted, he got, everyone else be damned. In fact, he hadn't really understood what it felt like to care for someone else until he met you.

With your round, trusting eyes and irrationally lovable affectations, you had somehow wormed your way into his otherwise cold, distant heart, and there you stayed. Your friends hadn't held back on the teasing, especially in the early days, but you couldn't bring yourself to care when an electric kind of thrill would run through you as he'd duck his head oh so slightly to better hear whatever spiel you had chosen to grace him with between lessons that day over the din of the moving staircases and their unfortunate victims. The electric thrill of having a friend, of course.

But that didn't stop you from noticing how his past seemed to hold him back, as much as he liked to pretend otherwise. With his father's less-than-exemplary background, you saw him struggle to not follow him down that same path. After all, how did one break free of the only world they've ever known? Sometimes you could feel his frustration, as if he felt stuck or stagnant. While everyone else busied themselves with orchestrating life plans as graduation grew nearer, Theo seemed woefully encumbered by the one thing he could never rid himself of, shackled by the chains of his lineage.

You had picked up on this the time he had come down with a bout of the flu. "Maybe I should take your temperature again," you had said, anxiously looking at his wan face as his skin burned the back of your hand.

"I'm fine, really," he had repeated, as he dragged your hand down to his chest, eyes lidded. "I'll sleep it off."

You had pressed your lips into a thin line, highly conflicted over how much you wanted to argue with a clearly sick patient. Your other hand had drifted to his scalp as you had distractedly started raking your fingers through his hair. Theo's lips had parted as he sighed in relief, melting further into his pillow.

"Just...just stay. For a while." His eyes had been fully closed by then. "I get the worst dreams when I'm sick."

You had run your thumb along your clasped hands. "What do you dream about?"

Theo had paused. "Terrible things," he had said after a moment, in a pleasant, light voice, as if you were merely discussing the weather. "Terrible things that I can't change."

He had no idea.

The least you could do was let him feel free when he was with you. You knew just what to do to tug a smile onto his face, no matter how reluctant, on the greyest of days. It helped that it didn't take much for you to amuse him. It wasn't always easy, keeping spirits high enough for the both of you, but you managed. Anything to make his life a little brighter, a little sweeter.

And so the time he spent with you only served to further mellow him out, soften his sharp, unrelenting edges. His bloodlust moulded itself into something kinder, something that didn't itch for retribution for every wrong-doing or misdeed. A compassion that presented itself in the oddest of ways - like the time you had found Theo entertaining one of the toddlers from the annual gift donation drive in the Slytherin common room over the holidays. Your eyes had nearly fallen out of your head when you had seen him sitting cross-legged on the floor, highly engrossed with a bunch of plastic dinosaurs.

You had shot Mattheo a mystified look as you walked by, and he had shrugged from his place on one of the armchairs. But you had noticed how the crossword he had allegedly been pouring over had gone slack in his hand. Clearly, he had been just as intrigued as you were.

"I thought you never liked playing with toys," you had started, fixing a lock of hair falling into Theo's eyes as he looked up at you. He had looked so earnest as he put the toys down that you had had to fight the urge to laugh - not at him, but at how disconcertingly happy he looked. Why, Theo would have mocked anyone who looked half as delighted any other day of the week.

You had let your thumb run along his cheekbone. Perhaps it was an unintentional reclamation of the childhood he had been robbed of.

"I didn't. But maybe I just needed more time." He had glanced back at the child crudely now scribbling in his sketchbook and winced. "Erm, fourteen years more time."

You had nodded, trying to be more discreet about your staring at the smear of dirt you had just noticed on the side of his face. He had no idea. Over Theo's shoulder, you had frowned questioningly at Mattheo. Sand pit, he had mouthed back at you.

"You always were slow on the uptake," you had murmured. Something must have shown in yours or Mattheo's expression because he had started glancing between the two of you, gingerly touching his face.

"What? Is there something on my face?"

"No," the both of you chorused.

"I don't see anything on your face. Mattheo, do you see anything on Theo's face?"

"Not a speck," Mattheo had agreed, nonchalantly returning to his crossword. You had tapped Theo's face, making him flinch.

"You need to stop being so obsessed with your looks. Vanity doesn't become you."

And before he could catch on - as he was dangerously close to, if that suspicious frown of his was any indication - you excused yourself to put your coat away. Neither of you had wanted to snap Theo out of whatever weird trance he was in. A moment like that deserved to be preserved.

Standing in Theo's room, you suddenly felt claustrophobic, overwhelmed by memories you hadn't given a second thought in years. There was so much tragedy written in every crack in the wall. How did Theo bear it? Did he simply not see it?

You walked out of the room and explained to Theo's aunt that you were just heading out for a bit of fresh air. If she noticed how upset you looked, she didn't comment on it. Once you left, you started walking very quickly very blindly, anything to put as much distance between yourself and that house of horrors.

Eventually, you walked until there was nowhere else to walk, ending up at an old, slightly grimy playground. You sat on one of the swings, replaying those scenes you couldn't seem to move on from. The pallor on Theo's face as he shivered from that fever. The blood-soaked rag he had held to his mouth to stem the flow of blood. The grit that had decorated the side of his beautiful face. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't hear the leaves crunching under the footsteps that approached you.

"Oh, my days," a familiar voice crowed from behind you, "is that Y/N L/N I see before me?"

You froze. He must have spotted you on his way back. You couldn't bring yourself to turn around to face him just yet.

"You're in my spot, you know," Theo continued smoothly. "That's the best spot on the swing set right there."

Reluctantly, you glanced behind to see Theo standing behind you, wearing a thick denim jacket, his teasing expression slightly shadowed by his stupid hair that was always falling into his stupid face, and all you can think is, he has no idea.

As soon as you turned, his face softened into something more concerned.

"Are you...crying?"

You brushed a hand against your cheek and realised he was right. You sniffed, turning away from him. Theo moved to kneel in front of you almost immediately, gently clasping your elbows when you refused to meet his gaze.

"Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you? Who hurt you?"

You shook your head. "No one hurt me."

Theo stared at you unrelentingly. There it was, the bloodlust. "What happened, cara mia?"

"Nothing," you said unconvincingly. "I was waiting for you at your house but I wanted a bit of fresh air."

"Was it my aunt? Did she say something? Honestly, the things she says about my hair -"

You laughed through your tears abruptly, and you could see Theo relax fractionally at your smile. You bit your lip hard enough to almost draw blood. Anything to stop the crying.

"No," you were saying, "your aunt was very sweet. She let me wait in your room."

"Okay."

"And there were -"

"- magazines?"

You frowned at Theo, who looked unreasonably panicked. "You have magazines in your room?"

He hesitated for a moment, before delicately clearing his throat. "No, of course not. So what did you see?"

"Pictures. From years ago."

"Oh, yeah. What about them?"

You stared back at him, fidgeting restlessly. How could you explain why you were suddenly so upset when you didn't fully understand it yourself? The pictures in his room were nothing revelatory - in fact, wasn't that why it was so heartbreaking? You knew what his life had been like, and you knew how it had shaped him. But maybe something about seeing unflinching proof of it firsthand made it all the more unbearable.

And then you started bawling again.

"I just -" you choked out, "you had such an awful time as a kid- no mother, a good-as-dead father -"

Theo had this strange look on his face like he was desperately trying not to laugh.

"Y/N," he was saying gently, "they're just pictures. And all that was such a long time ago. I'm fine." He grinned. "Really."

You glared at him. You had half a mind to shove him away.

"Well, I'm not fine. How do you expect me to turn a blind eye to your hellish childhood? When are you going to get it through that thick skull of yours that I care for you and I love you and it hurts to think about all those years you spent unloved?"

That sobered the both of you fairly quickly. After all that, Theo had the audacity to blink at you like some half-wit goldfish.

"...what?"

You pressed on impatiently. "You have to understand," you muttered through gritted teeth, "I cannot help but wish you didn't have to deal with - with any of this. Year after year, I see you trying so hard, trying your best even with all the odds stacked against y- and you're amused. Honestly, you're impossible. I'm baring my heart, sobbing my fucking lungs out, and you look like you want to laugh."

"It's just..." Theo shook his head as he trailed off, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "I haven't thought about any of that in a while."

His eyes crinkled, and suddenly the runt of a boy from the picture and the long-legged nineteen-year-old in front of you were one and the same.

"I don't feel unloved." He dragged his thumb down the vein in the crook of your elbow, all while looking at you like you were the most precious thing he'd ever seen. "Not anymore."

Your hand crept up until they were holding his face. He stiffened slightly, not like he wanted to pull away, but like he didn't know what to expect. You leaned forward, brushing his nose against yours, feeling his warm breath tickle your face. He wasn't pushing you away. If anything, his grip on your elbow turned more vice-like as his eyes fluttered close.

Maybe you misread his signals. Maybe he'd hate you for this afterwards. But you couldn't bring yourself to care at the moment.

A sweet memory to balance out all the bitter ones his home held.

[quarterlifekitty]

Desperate times

Based on the results of this post and poll

cw: dark content. Kidnapping, threats, drugging, noncon, restraint, the whole shebang.

❌ Gaz is starting to feel a little disheartened, babe. You don’t seem as committed to making this work as he is… But that’s okay. He told you he loved you, and love means always being willing to put in the effort, yeah? So if the public approaches aren’t working, maybe you need something more private. It’s easy to get one of his mates to follow you around bars, wait for the perfect moment, and slip something in your drink. It’s easy to know when on the walk home there won’t be any witnesses. The hard part is going to be training you out of hissing and spitting when he gives you sweet words and gentle touches. That’s no way for a bird to treat her man, not when he’s gone through so much for her.

❌Soap is starting to feel a little… restless. This was fun at first, this game of trying to win you back, of cornering you like he was some kind of creep, but now? He just wants his bonnie. He needs you, and he knows you’ll never be as happy with anyone else as you are with him. He starts right from when you wake up after that night of reigniting your passions. You’re saying things you don’t mean, things you’ll regret— and he’s never been able to keep his cool when you get emotional. So if he wraps his hands around your throat and squeezes until you still, he can’t be the only one to blame. Now, he’ll be the first to admit that his worship of your body last night was just a wee bit lackluster… he was too excited for the main event. When you wake up, tied to his bed and gagged, he won’t be making the same mistake. In fact, best start on it now.

⭕️ Ghost doesn’t keep it casual. He doesn’t take baby steps. Just as soon as you return one of his calls, you can barely say hello before he says “I’m comin’ over, dovie.” You’ve never seen him smile like he did on that day before, and quite frankly, you never want to see it again. He looks sick. Drunk on just his proximity to you. He attacks you with his mouth once you answer the door, grunting between heaving breaths that he knew, knew you’d come around, knew you were a good girl, knew you’d never wanna force him to do something he didn’t want to do. He takes you on a few surfaces before he can finally pull his mind together enough to take you to a real bed. Tells you he’s gonna put a ring on your finger and a baby in your belly so this can’t happen again, because honestly? He doesn’t wanna tell you what will happen if it does.

❌Nikolai thought it was cute at first, seeing you try to play at being the big, strong, independent girl. But while his love for you is endless, his patience isn’t. The longer he lets this go on, the more training you’ll need when you come back. So he decides to do the merciful thing, and take you home. It’s a shame you didn’t behave— he would’ve let you sit in the passenger seat with his hand on your thigh the way you used to love. Instead he had to drag you into the back, chemicals soaked in the cloth he put over your mouth and nose. It doesn’t do well for a princess to be out of her tower. No, it isn’t good for anyone, least of all the princess. You don’t realize the dragon is collared and chained to you, that’s okay— he’ll just have to put you in a collar and chains of your own while you get used to things again. Maybe you’d be a little happier with your life inside if you had something little and sweet to take care of, like he does? He could get you that, malýshka. You don’t even need to ask.

I was thinking of making this the last in the series, but maybe we can push it further?

[oaksgrove]

Winning Them Over

pairing: John Price x Younger!Reader

synopsis: Spending New Year’s with your family was always filled with traditions and warmth, but this time, it’s different. Introducing John Price to your parents adds a layer of tension you didn’t anticipate. Between your dad’s probing questions, your mom’s quiet doubts, and your own nerves, the evening is a test of patience, love, and John’s unshakable resolve.

word count: 2168

warnings: Family tension, age-gap dynamics (reader late-twenties and John late-thirties), protective parents, but lots of eventual fluff.

The drive to your parents’ house was quiet, though the silence between you and John wasn’t empty. It buzzed with the kind of unspoken tension that came when two people prepared for an inevitable battle—though in this case, the battlefield was your parents’ living room.

John’s hands rested calmly on the steering wheel, his steady presence grounding you in a way that you desperately needed. But no matter how many reassuring glances he sent your way, your nerves refused to settle. 

“You alright, love?”  he finally asked, his deep voice breaking through the spiral of anxious thoughts swirling in your head.

“I’m fine,” you replied, though the nervous tapping of your fingers on your thigh betrayed you.

“Sure about that?” he asked, a hint of a smile softening his words.

You sighed, leaning back against the seat. “You’ve met stubborn recruits, right? Ones who won’t back down no matter what?”

“Plenty.”

“That’s my dad.”

John chuckled. “He’s just protective. I’d expect nothing less.”

“It’s not just him,” you muttered. “It’s my brother, my mom, my aunts, uncles—basically everyone. And don’t even get me started on my grandparents.”

He reached over, resting a comforting hand on your knee. “You’re worth it, love. Let me handle the lot of them.”

As the house came into view, its glowing windows and faint sounds of laughter wrapped in a blanket of snow, your stomach twisted.

When you pulled into the driveway, the house was already alive with movement. Warm light spilled from the windows, and the muffled sounds of laughter and chatter filtered through the cold night air.

The door flew open before you could knock, revealing your younger cousin Sam, who immediately shouted back into the house, “They’re here!” He bolted inside, leaving the door wide open.

Your mom was next to appear, pulling you into a warm hug before her gaze shifted to John. “This must be him,” she said, her tone polite but cautiously curious.

“Yes, ma’am,” John replied smoothly, shaking her hand. “Thank you for having me.”

Her smile was polite, though the flicker of hesitation in her eyes was impossible to miss.

Before she could say more, your dad appeared, his broad frame filling the doorway. He scanned John with a critical eye before clasping his hand in a firm, deliberate handshake. “So, this is the boyfriend,” he said, his tone heavy with skepticism.

“Dad,” you said quickly, stepping in to buffer the tension. “This is John Price.”

John offered his hand without hesitation. “Sir,” he said, meeting your dad’s gaze evenly.

Your dad’s handshake was firm—too firm—and his eyes didn’t leave John’s. “Military, right?”

“Yes, sir. Captain.”

Your dad released his grip, though his expression didn’t soften. “Well, let’s hope that discipline carries over into how you treat my daughter.”

“Dad,” you interjected, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

John, steady as ever, responded calmly. “It does, sir. With all due respect, your daughter is the most important person in my life. I treat her with the care she deserves.”

Your dad grunted, stepping aside but clearly not convinced.

In the living room, chaos reigned. Your aunts buzzed in the kitchen, their voices rising and falling in a rhythm only they understood. Your uncles were sprawled on the couches, debating loudly over a football game.

“So, you’re the infamous John,” your Uncle Robert said, leaning back in his chair with a beer in hand.

“Infamous?” John asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, we’ve heard a lot about you,” Uncle Robert replied with a grin. “The age gap, the military background. It’s all very… interesting.”

Before you could snap a retort, John replied smoothly, “I’m glad to be a topic of interest. Hopefully, I can live up to the hype.”

That earned a laugh from your Uncle Paul. “He’s quick. I like him.”

“He’s not here for you to like, Paul,” your dad muttered, glaring at his brother.

John’s calm reply cut through the tension. “I’m here for her. But earning your family’s trust is just as important to me.”

In the corner, your grandparents were observing quietly, their expressions unreadable. Finally, your grandfather spoke up, his voice gravelly with age.

“You’ve been in the service a long time, haven’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” John said, straightening slightly. “Twenty years.”

Your grandfather nodded slowly, his sharp eyes narrowing. “And now you’re looking to settle down? Start a new chapter?”

John hesitated, then met his gaze steadily. “I am. And your granddaughter is the best chapter I could’ve asked for.”

The room fell silent for a moment before your grandfather let out a low chuckle. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.”

Your grandmother smiled faintly. “He’s polite. That’s rare these days.”

Meanwhile, your little cousins had taken to bombarding John with questions. 

“Uncle John!” Peter exclaimed, dragging him toward the couch.

“You’re in the army, right? Does that mean you can fight anything?”

“Have you ever fought a shark?” little Tim asked tugging at John’s sleeve, his eyes wide with curiosity.

John leaned down to his level, his expression serious. “You know, I’ve never met a shark brave enough to try me.”

“Whoa,” Jane whispered, her mouth forming a perfect O. “What about a lion?”

“Lions aren’t too keen on me either,” John replied, straightening up with a grin. “Guess I must be scary.”

“And a bear?” Sam added, bouncing on her toes.

John crouched to their level, his tone serious. “Not a bear or a shark—but once, I wrestled a crocodile the size of a car. Oh and I even had to outsmart a pack of Dinosaurs” John said with a straight face earning gasps and giggles from the kids.

Jamie chimed in, “Bet you could take down a dragon too!”

John leaned in, his voice low. “Depends. Fire-breathing dragons? Or ice ones?"

The kids erupted into a debate, forgetting to press for more stories as John gave you a knowing smile.

Looking at the scene your cousins Henry and Sarah cornered. “So, he’s the guy, huh?” Henry asked, tilting his head toward John.

“Yes, he’s the guy,” you replied, your tone edging toward exasperation.

Henry smirked. “He looks like he could snap a tree in half.”

“Good thing he’s on your side,” Sarah added with a wink.

In the living room, your brother Matthew leaned against the wall, his arms crossed as he observed John with a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

“So,” Matthew said, finally speaking up, “what’s it like dating someone so much younger? Bet it’s a nice change of pace from all the army guys.”

“Matthew!” you hissed, glaring at him.

John, however, didn’t miss a beat. “It’s not about age. It’s about connection. Your sister and I understand each other—that’s what matters.”

Matthew raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting such a composed response. “That’s a good answer,” he admitted, though his tone was still tinged with skepticism. “But let’s hope you keep proving it.”

“Plan to,” John said calmly, his expression unchanging.

Inside the kitchen, your aunts were bustling in the kitchen, their chatter blending with the clatter of pots and pans.

“So, he’s the boyfriend,” Aunt Lisa said as she stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She gave John an exaggerated once-over. “You didn’t say he’d be so… imposing.”

“Handsome,” Aunt Rachel added, grinning.

“Both,” Lisa corrected with a wink.

You groaned, shooting John an apologetic look, but he just chuckled.

By the time dinner rolled around, the dining room was filled with the overlapping sounds of clinking silverware and animated conversation. Your dad took every opportunity to steer the discussion toward John—his job, his past, his future plans with you.

“So,” your dad said, leaning back in his chair, “where do you see this going?”

John didn’t miss a beat. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t see an end. I’m here because I want to build a life with her.”

Your mom’s fork paused halfway to her mouth, her eyes flicking between you and John. The room fell quiet for a beat, the weight of John’s words settling over the table.

“Well,” your dad said finally, clearing his throat. “I suppose time will tell.”

Later, while helping mom and aunties in the kitchen, your mom finally voiced what had been simmering beneath her polite exterior.

“He’s lovely,” she said, glancing at you over her shoulder. “But… he’s older.”

You sighed, setting down the tray of glasses you were carrying. “Mom, we’ve been over this. Age doesn’t matter to us.”

“I know,” she said quickly. “But it’s hard not to worry. You’re young. You have so much ahead of you. Are you sure this is what you want?”

You stepped closer, your voice firm but gentle. “Mom, I’ve never been more sure of anything. John is kind, patient, and he loves me in a way no one else ever has. He makes me happy. Isn’t that what matters?”

She studied you for a long moment, her expression softening. “You’re happy?”

“Completely,” you said.

She sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Then I’ll trust you. But don’t expect your dad to come around so easily.”

“That makes two of us,” you muttered, earning a quiet laugh from her.

As midnight approached, while most of the family gathered in the living room for the countdown, you found yourself helping your dad with the fireplace. The crackle of the logs filled the quiet space, and for a moment, it was just the two of you.

You glanced at your dad, his familiar furrowed brow mirroring the weight of your own nerves. If there was ever a time to be honest, it was now. “I know the age thing bothers you.”

He paused, his hands stilling as he adjusted the logs. “It’s not just the age,” he replied, crossing his arms. “It’s the life experience, the gap in where you both are.”

“I get that,” you said, meeting his gaze. “But John and I aren’t about the years we’ve lived. We’re about how we make each other feel—safe, supported, loved. Isn’t that what matters?”

He hesitated, his expression softening. “I just don’t want you rushing into something you’ll regret.”

“I’m not,” you said firmly. “This is the most certain I’ve ever been about anything.”

Your dad’s brow furrowed deeper. “You know, I wasn’t sure about John at first either,” you added with a small laugh, hoping to ease the tension.

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” you said smiling. “I thought the same things you’re probably thinking—he’s older, experienced, and his world is so different from mine. But the more I got to know him, the more I realized that he doesn’t just make me happy; he makes me better.”

Your dad was silent for a moment, his hands pausing in their work. “That’s a high bar,” he muttered, but the tension in his tone lessened.

“Can I ask you something?” you said.

“Sure,” he said warily.

“How did you know Mom was the one?”

He blinked, taken aback. “Well, I just… knew. She made me feel alive, like no one else ever had.”

You smiled softly. “That’s how I feel about John. He’s not perfect, but he’s perfect for me. Isn’t that what you’d want for me?”

Your dad sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I want you to be happy. That’s all that matters to me.”

As you stepped away from the fireplace, your dad lingered there, his gaze distant but thoughtful. The warm glow of the flames danced across his features, softening the usual stern lines of his expression. You could tell he was still mulling over your conversation, weighing your words against his protective instincts.

John was waiting for you near the window, his steady presence like a beacon pulling you away from your swirling emotions. When his arm slipped around your waist, the warmth of his touch grounded you.

“Still holding up alright?” John murmured, slipping an arm around your waist.

“Better than I thought,” you said, leaning into him. “I think you’re winning them over.”

“Mission accomplished, then,” he said, his lips brushing your temple.

Ten… nine… eight…

Your dad caught John’s gaze and gave a small nod, subtle but meaningful. It wasn’t a surrender, but it was the beginning of something—a fragile truce, an acknowledgment,  a reluctant but meaningful sign of approval.

Three… two… one…

Cheers erupted as the clock struck midnight. John turned to you, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “Happy New Year, love,” he murmured, his eyes holding yours for a heartbeat before he kissed you. 

[m00nchildwrites]

Random headcanons I have of the LADS guys:

I hope you guys enjoy this little head cannon post that I have about the guys. I'm going to put it under a read more just because it's quite long. It is no triggering content or adult content. All fluff all feels.

Enjoy.

Sylus:

Keeps journals. He has bookcases upon bookcases, filled with journals. All of them are leatherbound, but none of them match. Varying sizes and thicknesses various dark colors from maroon to dark green to black to golden and everything in between. All handwritten, all cursive with expensive ink dipped pens.

He also writes poetry that tends to be more prosy. Each of the poems are about you in some way, whether it's a memory or something about you that he misses or fears about the memories of you fading.

When he meets you again, the poems become hopeful and longing and eventually evolve back into love poems

Kioso tens to write song lyrics and unfortunately has performed one or two for you.

Yes, it's the thought that counts, but the poor man can't carry a tune. Still, the words are so sweet that you end up tearing up anyways.

And no matter how poorly he sings, you will never turn down him reading one of his poems to you or yes, even singing one of the songs that he wrote.

Zayne:

I see Zayne also as someone who keeps journals. Although his are different than Sylas'.

All of Zane's journals are on a singular, large, wall-to-wall bookshelf in his Home Office. All are perfectly identical. Each is sleek, a leatherbound, and either black or dark gray. Think like a moleskin journal, and if you weren't him, you wouldn't know which one is which, but he knows exactly which one is which, for he keeps them in chronological order.

Each of the pages is handwritten by pen in his slightly slanted, messy but legible doctor's handwriting.

Each starting from the first one on the top shelf details, everything that he can remember about 1 of yours and his pass lives together.

And rather, morbidly an excruciating detail heed. He writes out exactly how you died in the events leading up to and afterwards.

You might wonder why in the world does he do this? It's because he is studying every instance that went wrong and trying to find a loophole in a way out of the the curse that Astra has places upon you both.

In these journals, your name is never mentioned, and they are written out like case notes from his patients. So whenever you do stumble upon them, write them off. As simply him keeping detailed case notes of patient's life and death, since all of the deaths have to do with something with the heart or heart trauma, our heart disease or our heart failure of some kind.

It is not until either you regain your memories or zayn. Finally tells you about your past lives and his that you also learn the true story about the journals. Until then, they are simply a collection of case studies in his home office.

Rafayel:

Rafael has no need for journals because his memories he brings to life through his paintings.

Let's be honest.He also doesn't have the patience to sit down and fill up a bunch of journals. Not because his hyperactive persona is true, but because if he allows himself to sit still long. Enough with his thoughts, he gets real dark, real quick. This man wears a mask for the world, but also for himself.

That said he does sing.

Shocker, right? He's a mermaid or a siren or both. However, I have the head cannon that he can switch the siren thing on and off. And so is fully capable of simply singing, however, for him, because he is Lemurian, his "simple singing" is etherealy gorgeous.

Because of this, he only does it in the privacy of his own home when no one is around, except for that short little stint, that he had as an opera singer. But of course, that was for darker purposes and not for enjoyment.

He sings songs that he has written about you. All of them are in ancient tongues, long since passed and faded away to time. And all of them from the different lifetimes that he met you in.

Some songs he sings when he's feeling especially heartbroken and caught up in memories of the past, or overwhelmed with his feelings for you, and those songs are sung in his native tongue- Lemurian.

At first, whenever he is painting or in the zone, doing something and drifting off into a daydream, he hums around you.

Eventually, however, as he allows himself to trust that you're not going anywhere this time and uh relaxes his guard. Enough to allow himself to fall for you again and let you in. Eventually, one night when it's just the 2 of you and the windows are open and the ocean breeze is billowing the sheer, white curtains of his livingroom, the tune He's humming to you, as you lean back against his chest slowly begins to have words.

You don't know the words that he sang, they feel ancient.

But you feel the emotion in the words and by the end of it, you have tears running down your face and the overwhelming urge to hold him tightly and never let him go

The second time he sings for you is less heartbreaking and more warmth and an overwhelming feeling of love.

On days when it's just the two of you, he will sing just for you.

Xavier:

Xavier does not keep journals. However, he did enjoy his captain logs on his ship. And so that is a habit that he has kept with him.

Every once in a while, he will go back to a ship and and enter a new captain's log. All of it has to do with information about you and him trying to find a way to save you from the eventual Fate that awaits in the future on planet Philos.

Periodically a poem will also make an appearance one that he read in a book that stood out to him and reminded him of you.

Sometimes, before you two get close, he'd go to the ship and listen to his pass logs. And remember the you he left behind on that dying planet.

Xavier also sings, and he actually sings quite well for a human. So well, in fact, that one time karaoke with the hunters association, an agency attempted to scout him. (I picture his voice like Keshi- soft spot. If you haven't heard it, listen to it.)

This hidden talent comes as surprise to you. The first time that you hear him, add that karaoke event.

Of course. You knew that he enjoyed music because you often caught him humming when he was doing things around the house or helping you chop vegetables whenever y'all cook together. There was also his record collection that was a dead giveaway. As well.

He doesn't write songs for you, but he will sing songs to you. That make him think of you at first, it's subtle and without him really letting you know, but that's what he's doing. Perhaps you think the 2 of you are just playing around and both of you are singing songs that come on the radio. But eventually, as you get closer, it becomes clear, but it's not by chance- the songs that he picks to sing.

Your favorite is when he sings to you softly. As you rock back-and-forth, slow dancing in your apartment or his or on the balcony, the location doesn't matter.

Somehow, some way swaying softly to the sound of his voice feels like coming home after a long, long journey.

He does also occasionally read to you a poem.

And sometimes you find out the poem, he said aloud to you was actually written by him, and eventually you learn that they were all about you.

[trippinsorrows]

dreamland: office visits

later that day...

Moving around with a four month-old and two two year-olds is a bit of a challenge. Far from impossible but far from easy. Partially due to the fact that Solana hasn’t really taken her baby boy out much since he was born. Roman’s preference. Her husband not wanting to risk their son catching anything given his still weakened immune system. And, she was okay with that. Okay with mostly staying at home as she finished out the semester, aided by the help of her husband who’s worked from home the past few months so that it wouldn’t all be on her.

Again, very much appreciated. His assistance and hands-on approach with all the kids truly makes the biggest difference to and for her. 

It’s why she makes the minor sacrifice to gather up the kids to go see him at his office. Largely due to Lina and Leya who have somehow learned that when that tiny contact photo of Roman is on her screen, that means they’re talking. And God forbid these girls go too long without some type of interaction with their father.

Solana can count on both hands and feet just a few of the times she’s had to call Roman so he could speak with their twins or even just let them hear his voice just to get them down for a nap or because they wouldn’t settle down unless they could talk to daddy. 

It makes her smile though, because as stressful as it can be at points, she doesn’t mind it. Doesn’t mind it one bit. She loves how attached the girls are to Roman. He deserves it. Especially with how much he struggled to feel worthy of them during her pregnancy and their first few weeks of life.

“Daddy!”

Lina’s happy exclamation alerts Solana that they’ve in fact pulled up to Bloodline Headquarters, a massive building both her girls recognize like the back of their hand.

Something tells her Tama will be the same. 

It’s another process, getting all three kids out of their carseats and especially Tama into his baby wrap, a process largely aided by an observant Jacob who makes sure the girls don’t try to run off. More Lina than anything. She definitely inherited her daddy’s lack of patience, especially when it comes to seeing him.

It’s almost like waiting is impossible for her.

Thankfully, it’s a trait not shared by her sister, granted, Solana can clearly see the influence of one sister on the other. Even now as she follows behind the girls, Jacob in front of them, into the building. A small smile on her face when she sees Lina stop and look back at Leya who’s lagging somewhat. “Leya, come!” A shout that’s cloaked in love and concern, Lina taking Leya’s hand so they can walk in synch together. 

The smile deepens. 

Solana loves their relationship with their dad, but it’s got nothing on their relationship with one another.

Kissing the top of a quiet Tama’s head, she murmurs, “you’ve got awesome big sisters, baby boy.”

He truly does. 

The elevator ride consists of the girls talking to each other (more Lina talking to a mostly quiet Leya), occasionally to her, their topics all over the place and easily guided by the random things they notice in the elevator. Buttons. Lights. An emergency phone. They’re both extremely attentive. 

But, it’s as soon as they reach thee floor, the bell dinging, the doors opening, Lina grabs Leya’s hand again and guides her out the elevator. More running than anything. As much as their little legs allow them to run. 

As always, Jacob doesn’t let too much distance get between him and the girls as they move over to Alicia’s desk, Lina being the first to shout, “daddy!”

Alicia smiles and laughs. “Well, hello there, Ms. Lina and Leya.” She stands up, gasping in awe. “Look at your adorable outfits!” Her gaze shifts to Solana, complimenting, “you always dress them so nicely.”

Appreciated, kind words. “Thank you so much.” Solana alternates between dressing them in matching items and letting their outfits reflect their different personalities, and today just so happens to be a differing looks day. And even Solana can admit that her girls look absolutely adorable in their little dresses and accessories. 

Leya’s smile is bashful. Lina’s smile is loud and bright. Hand behind Tama’s head, Solana reminds, “what do you say?”

Lina says it for both of them, Leya remaining her quiet self. “Thank you!”

“You’re very welcome,” she giggles, standing up, most likely to alert Roman of their arrival. “I’ll let him know—”

“Run!”

Lina’s exclamation is followed by her, still holding Leya’s hand, rushing the two over to the double set of doors they know belong to their favorite person in the whole wide world. 

“Girls,” Solana’s attempt to gather them back by her is truly in vain. Walking over after quietly motioning for Jacob to wait near the elevators, she watches Catalina reach up on the tips of her little toes to pull on the handle. Leya, the forever cheerleader, happily bounces, rooting her sister on in their collaborative determination to not be defeated by some door.

Shaking her head, Solana walks over, ready to help them out when someone beats them to it. 

The man himself, her handsome husband, opening and immediately looking down.

“Daddy!” 

Shared excitement as they both throw themselves against his legs, instantly deciding that’s not good enough, two sets of arms lifted and stretched with one request in mind.

Roman’s smile is small and contained, but Solana can see through it. Can see through the front he’s trying to manage, can see his happiness at seeing his girls. It’s felt as he lifts them up, one in each arm. 

Solana giggles. “Told you they were excited to see you.” Roman’s gaze is briefly on her and then a still quiet Tama. “Him. Not so much.”

Roman chuckles, stepping aside and allowing her to enter. She closes the door behind her and naturally moves over to the sofa, placing the diaper bag on the floor beside her.

Going to unwrap Tama so she can hold him and allow Roman a chance to do so as well, the sound of the twins talking incessantly to their best friend fills the room.

Roman always seems to be just the cure for Leya's silence.

“Daddy, play!”

“You want me to play?” He feeds into it, Solana looking over just in time to see him take in their outfits. “Mommy dressed you both very pretty today.”

Leya’s response is to blush and bury her face into his shoulder. Lina, however, beams and points in her direction. “Mommy pretty!”

Roman chuckles. “Mommy is very pretty.” Solana chews on her bottom lip, laying Tama over her shoulder. “But, so are you two.”

The girls giggling accompany Solana standing up and walking over, gently rubbing Tama’s back. “Girls, let daddy hold your brother for a couple minutes.”

Expected shared scowls that are whipped away by Roman saying something to them in Samoan. Lina is the first to wiggle out of his grasp followed by Leya. Solana shakes her head, carefully handing a still pleasantly quiet Tama to her husband. 

“Hi, baby,” Solana finally greets, leaning up to kiss her husband on her cheek. She waits for Roman to adjust their son before commenting, half joking, half serious. “Maybe he’ll stay quiet like this when he gets to be their age.”

Roman rolls his eyes. “Not with Lina for a big sister.” He then asks, assessing her. “How you feeling?”

“I’m good,” she answers, honestly. “Never a dull moment with—Lina!” Solana is interrupted by noticing her two year-old daughter standing up in Roman’s chair, using the table to force herself to spin around. “Catalina, get down right now!”

Roman also makes sure to support Tama’s head as he turns to see what his wife was looking at that prompted her to switch to Spanish. He back hers up, ordering, “Lina, get down now.” 

And to be fair, their energetic little girl follows the request of both her parents. She just does it in a very Catalina Reigns way.

Waiting until she’s at a semi stop, Solana can only open her mouth to yell 'no' when Lina bends her knees and jumps off the chair, falling down and rolling onto the ground.

“Lina!” 

Solana overhears Roman curse as the parents move over to their daughter, along with Leya who yelled out, “sissy!”

But while Solana is concerned, Roman stressed, and Leya nervous, Lina is laughing her head off as Solana kneels to the ground and helps her sit up.

“Catalina, are you okay, baby?” Solana has her hands all over her daughter, feeling for any sort of knots or sensitive areas, only for her daredevil child to continue laughing, now recruiting her sister in the laughter.

She nods happily, Leya reaching over to hug her “big” sister, as Lina yells, “again!”

“Lina,” Roman’s deep voice shifts into something stern and authoritative. “No.”

Her pout is expected as is the way she takes Leya’s hand, standing up and racing over to the sofa, the sisters giggling together for reasons Solana doesn’t quite understand but doesn’t question either.

A sister thing.

Blowing out a deep breath, Solana stands up, sharing a look with her husband.

"I'll order the gates the minute we get home."

[bratbutcute]

A silent pact of silence

Hi! @theanonemu it is I, your secret Santa. I finally revealed myself to gift you… your gift.

Okay I’ll stop it ahah, I hope you have some free time because this fic got LONG.

Just a little reminder: English isn’t my first language, so you might find some grammar mistakes! If so please dm me or comment so I can fix them.

Now let’s dive right in.

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Alastor/Lucifer

Prompts: Lovingly wrecking with gentle & light tickles; Character A unknowingly tickling character B who tries to suffer through it but eventually gives way and hijinx ensue;

Disclaimer: other than this is a tickle fic (obviously I’d say) there is nothing more to add to it.

Words count: 4524

Lucifer goes to the library to run away from his worries; he likes being alone there, until Alastor arrives to disrupt his peace. Will they listen to Charlie’s notes and become friends or will their rivalry prevail?

Happy late Christmas, Yule, Hanukkah, Solstice, Kwanzaa, and all the other celebrations happening during these days ❤️

(tagging here you amazing @squealing-santa, thank you so much for your patience and for your amazing organisation. This was my first year participating but I really loved having you as a host)

~~~

“Dear guests I hope you’ll like this library! Read as much as you like but don’t forget to make new friends! -Charlie”

Books or, to be more precise, reading books is something quite unusual in Hell.

Sinners usually enjoy other kinds of activities in their afterlives.

Lucifer has always loved them, since the moment humans came up with the idea of putting words onto paper he's been engrossed by the thought of carrying knowledge in the palm of your hand.

He has read thousands of books, written by humans on Earth - smuggled by those who could go there -, written by sinners in Hell, and he himself has written some of them. Charlie has always loved hearing her father interpret a story by doing different voices and shapeshift to fit the characters.

The Hotel had a rather big library, not the greatest, but it was still a work in progress. A few armchairs and couches were arranged in the center of the room, next to a coffee table with mugs and cute post-its with inspirational quotes on them.

These post-it were scattered everywhere, on the chairs, on the table, between the pages of the books. They were cheesy and sometimes did’t make sense, trying to encourage sinners to discuss about books and share their ideas. Lucifer couldn’t help but smile every time he saw one, thinking about his daughter and her good naive heart.

He found solace in that place.

He went there by chance once, after finding himself wandering around the Hotel trying to run away from the mean words screaming inside his head. After that it had quickly become an habit to go there during the night, past the time when Angeldust or Husker would still be awake, in that limbo halfway between the night and the morning, when the lights of Heaven were still not visible, but they started to peak between the clouds.

It was always quite when he went there.

No thoughts, no worries.

“When you’re feeling lonely, ask for a friend to join you! Having friends is fun! -Charlie”

Night after night Lucifer had been dragging himself into the library, reading books in silence to quite the thoughts screaming into his head. As a result he hadn’t slept in weeks, but on the bright side he also hadn’t had a nightmare in a long while.

Everything was perfect before his little ritual got ruined by none other than Alastor. That bitch.

Alastor was already there when Lucifer arrived. He was standing next to a shelf, hand ready to grab a book when their sights intertwined.

Everything felt static for a second.

Lucifer was about to ask him what the Hell was he doing there, but his mind was too clouded and words felt heavy on his chest. They just proceeded to ignore each other, much to his confusion: that demon was known for loving to mess with him. Why wouldn’t the dear say something?

But he didn’t dwell on it too much though, hoping this would be a once in a lifetime situation

Unfortunately for him he was quickly proven wrong.

The next day Alastor was there, a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other, and so the following day and the one after.

Every single night Lucifer wanted a bit of peace, a place to recollect his thoughts, Alastor was there to ruin his evening.

He wouldn’t talk, but he would raise his eyebrows at every book Lucifer chose. He would turn his pages quicker than the king, creating an unspoken competition to finish first.

Lucifer came out of these nights even more exhausted than before, crashing onto the bed and waking up a few hours later, after a dreamless sleep.

“Good actions don’t need words! Try doing something good without taking the credit! -Charlie”

Lucifer had to admit something: having Alastor in the same room while dark thoughts stomped on his head was kind of therapeutic - although he would never say it to the other.

He always managed to distract him, even if it was with childish challenges and mischief, such as changing the place his current book was placed or steal the book the other wanted to read.

Words never left their mouths while they were there. They would stare at each other for a few seconds while entering the room, and then proceed to read in their designated spots: Lucifer on the couch, legs stretched on the coushions, his duck slippers on the floor next to him, and Alastor on the armchair, with his old school red nightclothes on and a tea cup in hand.

Lucifer started to think about those nights of theirs during his day, napping during the afternoon so he would be able to actually enjoy his silent time with the man.

Nothing had changed in front of Charlie or the Hotel crew. They would still bicker and fight like they hated each other, but he couldn’t help but thinking that he felt their arguments less animus than before. There were times he would find Alastor staring at him, his usual grin a bit softer on his lips.

He started looking forward to the night, feeling his heart pounding in his chest before opening the door of their secret place, hoping he wouldn’t be alone.

The reason was simple: he had spent the majority of his existence feeling alone, feeling casted out. The one who fell, the one who asked too many questions, the one who couldn’t handle a family. The one nobody really cared about and that frankly was had stopped caring.

But having someone share his worst moments with was�� kind of comforting.

Then again, Alastor was still a peace of shit.

“When others choose to wrong you try confronting them with their actions! You might find that it was a misunderstanding! -Charlie”

It started after one of their fights during the day.

Lucifer wasn’t really sure what they were fighting about, but he could proudly remember how the argument ended: with him making fun of the deer. Angel had laughed, chanting a “Poor Bambi”, a nickname that was usually used by the former heavenly creature but was quickly catching up.

When Lucifer arrived at the library Alastor was already there - that wasn’t uncommon - but he wasn’t in his usual standing position, looking for a new book to devour in a few hours. This time he was in his armchair. Waiting.

Lucifer faltered before entering, a weird uneasy feeling slowly creeping behind his neck. He knew something was about to change.

He barely had time to pick a book and sit before shadows in the room started to morph, trembling and deforming the floor. The lights wobbled as if there was a earthquake (a hellquake?) and Lucifer would have probably screamed if only it hadn’t lasted more than just a few seconds.

Terrified and confused Lucifer stared at Alastor, forcing his mouth to remain shut, and found the sinner grinning ear to ear with pure amusement in his eyes.

As Lucifer started reading, one of those weird dark tentacles darted through the air right in front of the angel’s face, making him jump on the couch and drop his book. Needless to say Alastor was beaming in his place on the armchair. His stupid cup still in his hand, held with his pinky finger up.

Lucifer’s eye started to twitch. He wasn’t going to be the one breaking their pact of silence - ironic how that agreement was made… silently.

Alastor’s shadow retreated quickly with a book, only to dart back again, this time taking the most inconvenient road, purposefully knocking Lucifer’s book again the second he picked it up.

This did get a silent sight out of the king of Hell.

But the demon did not care enough to take his eyes off the tome.

This new annoying habit seemed to amuse Alastor a lot since he started to do it every single time they were there: Lucifer would arrive, think that nothing was wrong only to find a dark shadow scaring both Heaven and Hell out of him.

Three nights in a row and Lucifer was done with this.

He was the King of Hell, he was a powerful and fearful being: he was going to show it to that pompous prick.

When the tendril flew in front of him he moved quickly, grabbing the shadow with one hand, his eyes turning red and fire sparkling between his horns.

The movement was so fast that Alastor was caught off guard, but he was definitely impressed.

His cheeks burned bright as his smile trembled.

Since that day he never tried to use his shadows again.

“Hug someone today! Only after they agreed. Consent is important! -Charlie”

After the event nothing really changed, other than a small, but definitely important thing: they started greeting each other with a smile. Which wasn’t unusual for Alastor, since his smile was always shown on his face, but it felt as if that mask was slowly crumbling down.

Not only this, but Lucifer started looking forward to that smile, to that small act of kindness and intimacy the two of them shared.

And then one night came the touching.

Lucifer had seen Alastor touch pretty much every single hotel guest. Squeezing shoulders, pinching cheeks, being affectionate in a mocking kind of way, always using either his hands or his shadows to assert his dominance. And the king of Hell hated that behaviour: Alastor didn’t care if he crossed a boundary, he showed everybody that he could do whatever he wanted with them, regardless of their comfort.

The first time Lucifer and Alastor shook hands the latter cleaned it right after, so you can imagine how surprised and confused Lucifer found himself when Alastor decided to sit next to him, grazing their legs together.

His stomach churned and his head turned immediately to stare at the demon.

Alastor didn’t talk - again, nothing unusual for them in that room - but his smile twitched a bit.

Was he making fun of him? Was he trying to distract him from one of his schemes? Was he trying to get him back from the shadow situation?

The touch lasted a few seconds before Alastor repositioned himself, crossing one leg over the other, one foot making contact with Lucifer’s leg.

The king was so confused he didn’t flip a single page the entire night.

“Be sweet, be kind, be good! -Charlie”

Alastor started being more and more intimate with Lucifer.

He started offering him his tea by preparing two cups before the king arrived. He covered him with a blanket whenever he fell asleep on the couch.

It stopped being subtle when the cuddling started.

It had already been a few nights of sitting one next to the other, thighs or feet touching and eyes wandering over each other. The deer would casually touch him by grazing his hands, or by putting his hand on the king’s tight as a leverage to stand up.

But one evening his hand simply remained on the king’s leg. Fingers slowly moving. Before Lucifer could react Alastor was caressing him, as if they had been friends for their entire lives.

It lasted a few seconds - as soon as Lucifer’s brain registered the warmth it was already gone.

His heart was pounding in his chest, butterflies flapping their wings in his stomach. He felt lightheaded.

Whenever Alastor showed signs of kindness he felt like a young angel again, experiencing emotions for the very first time.

He’d find himself with golden cheeks and shaking hands.

And one night, after thinking about it the entire day, he finally made his move.

Alastor was already in the library, sitting down on the couch, nose buried in a book, his ears twitching every now and then, as if they were part of the action written on the pages.

Lucifer took a couple of breaths, trying to calm his nerves as he found the courage to sit down and take Alastor’s hand.

The action was very… awkward.

They stayed there in silence, staring at each other’s eyes while holding hands as if it was their first interaction since being created.

When he realised the absurdity of the situation his cheeks became golden. He tried to stand up again, ready to leave the room but Alastor tightened his grip.

He tilted his head as the touch morphed.

Alastor intertwined their fingers as nothing weird was happening.

Lucifer felt like falling for perdition all over again.

“Laughter is the best medicine! Laughing with your friends is the best antibiotic! -Charlie”

Six months had passed since the first time the two creatures had found themselves reading together.

Six months and nothing had changed: the hotel members still thought they hated each others - although Angel started whispering about the weird intense looks they sometimes exchanged.

Six months and, at the same time, everything was different.

Alastor and Lucifer had started by pestering each other every day and were now cuddling on the couch, Alastor’s hand scratching the king’s back, as the man had his head on the other’s lap.

They both pretended to read, but they would spend the majority of time plotting the next move, plying a game of chess to become more and more intimate.

Six months and not a single word had really left their lips. Until that day.

Alastor’s fingers were being gentle on the man’s soft pyjamas, soothing the skin underneath.

A bit too delicate for Lucifer’s taste.

Goosebumps were starting to form on his back and a maddening sensation was making him uneasy.

Al’s nails circled around the middle of the back, running up and down, switching between one finger and all four.

Lucifer was holding on, concentrating on not making a sound, focusing entirely on keeping his mouth shut.

He twitched when he felt the sensation move closer to his side. He gulped down some air and the bit his lips.

Alastor was reading, not realising the torture the other man was enduring. He was absentmindedly cuddling him, too focused on the words he was reading to notice the torture his ‘friend’ was enduring.

His fingers found the softness of Lucifer’s sides.

The king lost his battle.

A single uncontrollable giggle. So desperate to leave his lips, so cruel, so… liberating.

It was the first time Lucifer had made an actual sound in that place.

Alastor’s ears turned and his interest peaked.

His mouth opened, as to comment, but then he closed it, an evil grin on his face as soon as he realised what was happening.

This was interesting.

Lucifer’s eyes widened. He wanted to scream but he couldn’t. He tried to sit down but Lucifer’s fingers travelled back to his skin, scratching and caressing teasingly his sides.

Lucifer put his hand on his mouth, feeling the giggles build up in his throat. His legs started shaking, his torso twitching, anything to stop the sensation.

He slowly lowered his hand, his mouth ready to talk for the first time but when the other demon realised what was happening he stopped immediately his attack.

He got a bit closer, breathing Lucifer’s air, and he out a finger on his pale lips.

So this was how it had to be: defeat at first word.

Lucifer gulped loudly.

Alastor’s fingers went back to work, ready to pinch his sides but the only thing they found was air and dust.

In a puff of glitter Lucifer transformed into a snake - he was still Lucifer Morningstar, the most proud being ever created, if he could run away from this humiliation he would - but Alastor reacted quickly and one of his shadows manifested around his tail, snatching him off the floor. He transformed back into his demon form, dangling upside down with his foot held by the tentacle. His face morphed into a “Are you kidding me?” kind of expression.

Alastor left his place from the couch, facing his victim. He looked composed - as always - but a glint of mischief shined in his eyes.

He was going to destroy him. Lucifer shivered as he watched Alastor’s hands caressing the air around his body, not picking a particular spot, but letting him suffer through his indecision. As Lucifer started to thrash around, thinking about how to run away again his shirt rose up and Alastor eyed his midriff with interest. Lucifer’s mind panicked so hard that he transformed into a bird and immediately tried to fly away.

But again, his opponent was very determined.

He reappeared right in front of the door - his only way out other than the very closed window - with a wider and more menacing grin. Lucifer crashed right into him, reappearing as his usual form in a cloud of sparkles.

Alastor didn’t leave him a single second to think this time, trapping his wrists with one of his dark shadows and heading them above his head.

His stomach was again in a very vulnerable position, since his shirt had risen from all the tossing around. He had a trembling smile on his face, giggles almost leaving his lips just because he could feel Alastor stare at his body.

Probably because of this expectation he would have never anticipated fingers gently caressing one of his underarms.

Lucifer gasped and a weak groan left his throat. The touch was gentle, delicate, the fingertips tenderly swirling on his armpit. And it was so, so, devious. He started drumming his feet on the floor.

His mind kept repeating a series of “no no no no” and “okay okay okay” that he would have said out loud to distract himself hadn’t there been that stupid game of silence between them.

Lucifer tried to think of all the way he could turn the tables, tried to think how to attack him but he lost it when Al started tickling his other armpit too.

His giggles started dancing around them, uncontrollable. He couldn’t run away, he couldn’t ask for him to stop: he could only laugh.

Alastor grin widened, but he didn’t change the pace of his attack: he was going to be ruthless and methodical.

As the fingers teased his armpits, two dark shadows descended on his ribs, tracing small circles on the bones, making the fallen angel hiccup with laughter.

Lucifer really lost his battle, twisting his body to run away, too busy laughing to concentrate on shapeshifting. It was unbearable, a slow torture he knew he couldn’t endure by just letting himself laugh.

To confirm his suspicions, the moment Alastor brushed a single finger on his stomach he really gave up.

«Wahahaait!»

The room fell silent again. Alastor stopped moving. Lucifer stopped laughing. The books seemed frozen on their shelves, and the air was eager to listen to words.

«Your majesty,» it wasn’t an insult, but it wasn’t meant as a title. The king’s brain stopped working as a goldish blush dusted his cheeks. He was not expecting those words and he was not expecting to react that way. «we’re in a library. Noise should be kept at a minimum.»

Okay, he was going to kill Alastor.

Sweet golden laughter poured out of the angelic creature as the demon attacked his stomach. His fingers caressed his navel, pinched his sides, walked around his skin.

He was so light that Lucifer felt conflicted about what to feel, as if this wasn’t a kind of torture to him but was a weird act of kindness.

«Alastohohohor-» he got lost in his laughter. Giggles and high pitched squeals echoed in the darkness of the room. He realised his hands were free to move the moment he found them holding onto Alastor’s wrists, not quite pushing him away, not quite remaining still. He wasn’t sure about what he wanted to do.

«Ahahahahl» he put one hand on his mouth only to slam it back again as a tendril attacked him on the armpit. He laughed louder, feeling every part of his being ticklish.

It felt embarrassing. It felt private. But it felt… safe.

They were alone in their personal room where no one could bother them.

He giggled louder: «Ahahahahllll! I- ihihi- I demand you to stohohohop!».

Alastor grinned.

«Why should I? My king didn’t seem to mind my hands on his body before.»

«Ahahahahalasthohohor!»

«What my dear? Isn’t that true?»

Lucifer dissolved in another fit of laughter as Alastor lovely pinched every bit of skin he could find from his sides to the middle of his navel.

As hiccups started to leave the king’s lips the tickling slowed down.

«Have you had enough my dear?»

Lucifer could only nod, titters leaving his throat.

Red lights stared shining through the window.

Lucifer sighed, laughter tinted on his lips. He stared at Alastor: he looked bright, shining of a unique and mischievous light that only he could radiate.

They were very close, Alastor on him, hands holding him still. Lucifer’s skin was still sensitive, at every little movement he felt like starting giggling again.

Their faces were few inches apart, so close they could feel the warmth of each other’s breath.

Lucifer found himself staring at the other’s lips; only to realise he wasn’t the only one.

It felt as if they were getting closer, as if he could taste Alastor’s lips had he only moved a bit.

«I guess I will see you tomorrow my dear.»

And just like that he was gone

“You can find friends everywhere! Even at the library! Ask the person next to you what are they reading! Who knows what might happen! - Charlie”

That night Lucifer arrived at the library before Al.

He arrived before midnight. Angel and Husk were still at the counter, chatting and giggling together. They greeted him, but he was too distracted to care.

He sat on the couch, twisting his hands and waited.

When Alastor arrived the king was so nervous he could hear his heart pounding in his chest.

He immediately stood up, eager to talk right away, but Alastor went straight to the shelves, picking a book up.

Lucifer was confused to say the least.

Alastor sat down and started to flip pages as if nothing had happened between them the day before. When he picked his cup up Lucifer became furious.

«Are you kidding me?»

The sound of the king’s voice made Alastor jump. He probably thought that their pact of silence was back on because he looked confused.

«Is there anything wrong sir?»

Lucifer was fuming.

«I thought-» he shook his head and tried again «We’ve been coming here for six months. You’re the one who started messing with me. I came here just to read in peace and you-» he had to take a moment to recompose.

«I was fine. Then you arrived and disrupted my peace. You started to get closer and at first I thought it was to mock me but then… it seemed like you cared.»

Alastor sat there, staring.

«I thought you were starting to like me. I know in front of everybody you were your usual bitch self but- but here, here you were sweet and kind and.. and you started getting closer, touching me, putting your hand on my shoulder and- and yesterday I thought..» he put his fingers in his hair.

«Yesterday I felt something. And I know you felt it too because you were giving me that weird specific smile you have when you are actually happy and.. and now you just sit there, drinking your stupid tea and reading your stupid book as if nothing happened. And you have the courage to ask me if there is something wrong?»

Lucifer was out of breath, hands shaking.

It took the deer a few seconds to take it all in. Then he slowly closed his book, put his cup down and got up.

«Six months ago I came here to annoy you.» he began «Charlie told me that she was worried about you and asked me to check on you, as if I was some kind of nurse. My original plan was to hide every book you were reading.» he softly smiled avoiding the other’s eyes.

«But then when I saw you the first night you arrived... You looked miserable my dear. Charlie was right, I just couldn’t take advantage of a helpless puppy like that.» he tried to joke around his feelings, but the nickname didn’t feel derogatory as probably intended.

Alastor stood up and turned himself towards the books. He talked slowly, but each word was tinted with honesty.

«I decided to keep you company, to keep an eye on you so that if I helped you you’d be in debt. But then you started being… you again. After a few nights of pestering you I saw your face changing, I saw your smile coming back. And I found myself waiting for those moments.» he sighed facing Lucifer who was so shocked he didn’t know how to react.

«I am- I am sorry for hurting your feelings: that was not my intention.» his sight finally met Lucifer’s «But I wasn’t toying with you. Even if it started like that: adter all it was endearing to see you embarrassed.» Lucifer rolled his eyes at that.

«But I soon realised I wasn’t just having fun though: I was seeking out these meetings. Suddenly I found myself thinking about you during the day. Hoping we would fight so I could spend more time with you.»

Alastor feelings were shining around them now, dancing through the space between their bodies.

«It took me a while to understand and accept what was happening. And then yesterday when you were adorned with the most beautiful smile I felt something I thought I would never feel. Something resembling… more than just affection.» he whispered.

Lucifer felt himself moving without being able to control the motion. His hands brushed Alastor’s hands and their eyes locked just like the first day there.

Their library. Their sacred and demonic place. The only room that saw them as friends.

Everything felt so distant, but so alive, buzzing with energy.

Alastor took his hands, but Lucifer was the one who closed the gap between their lips.

All those days spent bickering, arguing over stupid shit, fighting one against the other, only to be defeated by a small environment full of books.

The kiss was small, soft, more than just brushing their lips, intense but not overwhelming. It was everything Lucifer needed to remind him how to breathe, how to feel, how to live.

It tasted like rivalry and play, like mischief and honesty. It simply tasted like them.

They smiled at each other, Lucifer’s hands shaking.

«Shall we go back to our readings my dear?» Alastor asked. He seemed composed as always but a hint of blush was dusted on his cheeks.

«Yeah, of course.»

Before leaving, Lucifer found a new little note on the table. This time it wasn’t on the usual yellow post-it.

Charlie’s words were written on a heart shaped red card.

He smiled before leaving the room.

“May this library always bring joy and love to whoever needs it.

P.s. love you dad

-Charlie”

~~~

This message is for AnonEmu. I really hope you like this fic, I swear I tried to honour your prompts, and I hope the length of the it didn’t scare you.

When I first read your pairings I thought about writing for a lee!Alastor ler!Vox fic but honestly I’m so happy I changed my mind.

Trying to write a cute, fluffy and lovingly tickle scene between two of the characters that hate each other the most was challenging, but this gave me the opportunity to actually focus on the story and not just the tickling part, which I realise it’s quite short, but I really hope you can still appreciate it.

The characters are probably a bit OOC but I swear I tried to give them at least the right vibes.

Having said that, I really have to thank you AnonEmu, I really want to thank you for your prompts, and I really really really want to thank @cantsaythetword. You’ve been an amazing host, you’ve done so much and you deserve all the love and recognition in the world.

Now you probably wont see or hear from me for a few months, but I wanted to thank all the people who reblog, comment or like my art and writing.

You make me proud of my work.

[sturnswrites]

fragments of us - pt.3

chris sturniolo x fem!reader

⤳ you and chris get in a car accident not only testing your relationship but also your memory…

⤳ angst, sadness, memory loss, recovery

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Days pass, and the house becomes a fragile balance of forced normalcy. You still feel like a stranger in your own life. You begin observing the brothers closely, forming opinions about each of them as if meeting them for the first time.

Matt’s gentle approach and Nick’s lighthearted humor put you at ease. They don’t ask much of you, simply treating you like a new friend. Matt always offers her snacks or a blanket when you look cold. Nick makes you laugh with his dramatic impressions and ridiculous stories about their childhood. You start to feel comfortable around them, appreciating their patience.

But Chris is different. He hovers but doesn’t speak as freely as his brothers. His glances linger too long, and when he does talk to you, it feels like he’s holding back an ocean of words. His intensity unnerves you.

You notice the way his face lights up when you enter the room, followed by a flicker of sadness when you avoid his gaze. There’s an ache in your chest you don't understand whenever he looks at you like that—like you're a ghost of the person he loves.

Chris, on the other hand, feels you slipping further away. He watches you laugh with Nick, sees the way you nod at Matt when he suggests watching a movie. But with him? You keep your answers short, your body stiff when he’s near. He can’t escape the thought that you feel safer with his brothers than with him.

-

Late one night, when the house is quiet and you and Nick have gone to bed, Chris finds himself sitting at the kitchen table with Matt. A single lamp illuminates the room, casting shadows that match the heaviness in his chest.

Matt notices the tension radiating from Chris and asks softly, “What’s going on in your head?”

Chris takes a shaky breath, his hands gripping the edge of the table. “I feel like I’m losing her, Matt,” he admits, his voice cracking. “She’s right here, but it’s like… she’s not her. Not the person I love. And what if she never comes back? What if she never remembers us—me?”

Matt sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Chris, you have to give her time. She’s been through something traumatic. You can’t force her to remember.”

Chris’s frustration boils over, and he stands abruptly, pacing the small kitchen. “I know that, Matt! But I feel like I’m grieving her, like she’s… gone.” His voice breaks completely, and he presses his palms to his face. “And what if she does remember? What if she remembers and doesn’t love me anymore? What if she decides I’m not worth it?”

Matt rises from his seat, his voice calm but firm. “Stop. You can’t think like that. Y/N loved you before the accident, and that kind of love doesn’t just disappear. But you have to stop putting all this pressure on yourself—and on her.”

Chris shakes his head, tears slipping down his cheeks. “I don’t know how to do this, Matt. I don’t know how to watch her move on like I don’t exist.”

Upstairs, you stir awake. You’ve been restless for weeks, haunted by dreams of faces you don't fully recognize and feelings you can’t explain. The muffled sound of voices downstairs catches you attention, and you tiptoe to the staircase, careful not to wake Nick.

You crouch on the top step, just out of sight, and listen. Chris’s voice is raw, filled with pain.

“I’d give anything—anything—for her to look at me the way she used to. To remember all the little things, like how she used to steal my hoodies or the way she’d hum that stupid song when she was nervous. Now she doesn’t even want to be in the same room as me.”

Your breath catches. Your chest tightens painfully, and you press a hand over your heart, confused by the sudden wave of emotion.

Matt’s voice cuts through her thoughts. “You need to stop blaming yourself, Chris. The accident wasn’t your fault.”

“But it was,” Chris insists, his voice trembling. “We were arguing. I wasn’t paying attention, and now—” He chokes on his words, gripping the back of a chair as if it’s the only thing holding him up. “I hurt her. I ruined everything.”

Your mind reels. You feel an ache you can’t place, as if your body remembers something your brain can’t. Chris’s words echo in your ears, pulling at a part of you that feels familiar and foreign all at once.

Back in your room, you sit on her bed, staring at the faint glow of moonlight on the wall. Chris’s voice plays in your mind on repeat. The desperation, the love, the guilt—it all feels so… real.

You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to make sense of the strange ache in your chest. “Why do I feel like this?” you whisper to yourself.

Your eyes wander to the hoodie draped over your chair—Chris’s hoodie. You don't remember how you got it, but something about it feels safe. You hesitate before grabbing it, slipping it over your head. The scent is faint but comforting, like a memory just out of reach.

As you lie back down, the fabric bunching around you, you feel something stir deep within you. You don't understand it yet, but for the first time, you don't feel quite so alone.

And for the first time, you wonder if there’s more to Chris’s pain than you’ve allowed yourself to see.

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shorter chapter im sorryyyyy things have been crazy with the holidays!

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@mattsdillon @hesvoid3434 @admeliora94 @courta13

[astracora]

A Mandated Holiday Break - Chapter 11

Characters: Sylus x gn!mc (poly lads)

Warnings: Suggestive

Word Count: 1024

Written: 22nd December 2024

Notes: Established relationship Sylus/MC-centric but poly LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. I wrote this a while back and stewed on it, but I guess I'm posting it so it stops sitting in my drafts for 500 years, until I forget and come back to be like ??? tf was I working on?

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

Masterlist AO3

Sylus enjoys training with you. If he treats your training in earnest, you respond in kind, determined and focus. As a hunter you want to be good, you want to be capable, you want to be best placed to help people.

However he feels about hunters in general, he knows your drive comes from a determination to help.

There are times, however, that you let the competitive spirit snarl. That's his favourite. Watching you throw yourself at him, determined to knock him on his ass. It's a part of you that stays consistent, and he sees it most when he teases you, when he takes your challenge too lightly. When he pushes you the right way.

When he says you can't do something.

You become determined to prove him wrong.

You always prove him right in one regard, looking at you with your arm pressed into his throat, legs locked. You're as much a dragon as he is.

"So what do I win?"

You gloat, smug, and he flips the two of you, pressing all his weight in. Amused to hear the little wheezed gasp, as he does so. "Did you win?" He holds himself up on his elbows then, nose against yours. Gleaming eyes sharp but not harsh.

He blinks as you blow in his right eye, and pulls back a little bit, a gasp pulling out of his throat. You follow him though, and bite his nose. "Misbehaving little kitten."

Your laugh shoots him through the heart, but you press your advantage, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling. He can taste you on lips already, leaning in to you. His hand plants next to your head, other reaching for you, but you intercept it. Grabbing him, canting your hips up, against his.

Sylus doesn't think of himself as a needy man. He's had no problems controlling himself in any situation. You have a habit of walking his ideals back, in a way he loves and hates.

For a moment, he feels you against him, and his hips jerk, seeking you out more. A growl deep in his throat. Hand by your head clawing at the ground...

Before you flex again, leg wrapping around him, bite his neck and roll.

His undignified 'oomph', is one thing, he commends you anytime you best him (though he would rather you not use methods like that with just anyone), but the disappointed little whine he feels escape him, is another.

This time you don't pin him, you relax and rest your arms over his chest, crossed, and your chin rests on them to watch him. He stares up at the ceiling, huffs once, and then levels you with an irritable look.

"So my prize?"

You're so smug, wearing a smirk he knows is an impression of him. All canines. He loves you, irritable little kitten that you are, because you're as smart as you are curious. As feisty as you are gentle.

As warm as you can be cold.

"I don't remember offering one, what would you like?" Because how could he deny you anything, when all he wants in this world and the next, is to gift you every treasure so you can't think of anything but him when you see your own home in decor.

You tap your chin with a finger, then reach over to tap his nose, "I want..." you pause and hold him there. Over the precipice, as you enjoy to do, knowing his patience is nigh infinite for you. "You to read a book to me."

He blinks, not sure what he expected, but he's learned if he expects anything with you he'll be surprised and shocked more than he's not. Sometimes he cannot understand what goes through your head, though he thinks that could be part of the joy of knowing you.

Even if it does often result in you blurting out something with very little context.

"A book?"

"Yep."

He blows a little bit of hair out of your eyes, resting his hand on your waist and trying to ignore how thrown off his pace he is. A second ago he wanted to devour you. Well. He always does, if you're around, if you're not. He always wants to sate his hunger. Even if it's just burying his nose into your skin and inhaling.

"What book?"

You push yourself up, ungracefully. This time your smile is yours, excited and ready to drag him along again. You're sweaty and you're tired but he's opened a door to another of your interests and now you won't be able to focus until you show him.

He loves little else than allowing you to talk or share. He's record every word if he could.

You barely wait for him to follow, racing off to where his bookcase is, to where you've begun to place your own. Somehow, when he'd offered, he'd gained a bigger reaction than when he made an entire room up for you. Or cleared out space in the closet in his.

As he enters his own room... your room, because truly isn't this whole base yours now, you thrust a book into his arms.

He barely sees the cover before he's being dragged to the bed, arranged how you like, and then unceremoniously sat on.

Sylus exhales and pulls you into his arms properly, brackets you, and rests his chin on your shoulder so he can open Stardust in front of you.

It's well worn and even though the pages haven't been folded, they're greying at the edges. He can tell you've owned it for years. You tilt your head so you can look at him as he starts, chest vibrating against your back and his deep voice lulling you into a calm it's impossible not to relax into.

He has no idea if he's reading it right, if he's supposed to pull voices out of a hat, if you're even going to enjoy his rendition, but your nose nuzzles against his cheek and you close your eyes as he recites words he knows you know off by heart... and he doesn't think too hard about it.

[amethystina]

I just wanted to say thank you

For the past couple of days, I've been at a huge book fair as a part of my job and when I wasn't manning our booth, I could go on the various seminars and lectures that were being held. And, during one of them, an author was recounting how moved she'd been when one of her readers had reached out to let her know just how much her book had meant to that reader.

And, as I was watching this author struggling to hold back tears, it struck me just how often I've felt the same. That, more than once, someone has reached out to me to tell me that my writing has helped them through a rough time or maybe even changed their life. Maybe the latter is a bit of a hyperbole but, at the same time, I have no doubt that, sometimes, it wasn't.

And that just blows my mind. Not only that I'm capable of writing something that can touch people's lives to that degree, but that my readers are also willing to reach out to me and tell me when that has happened.

I will forever be grateful for that.

So thank you so, so much to all of you who have done so. But I also want to thank those of you who haven't. If my writing has moved you in any way, whether you've let me know or not, I'm thankful. I'm thankful that you gave me the opportunity to move you and I hope that the experience made your life better. Remembering that I've been able to bring so much joy and meaning to other people's lives has definitely been the highlight of my life these past couple of (admittedly rough) weeks.

So thank you all so, so much.

I love you 💜

[soothedcerberus]

Erik!! I keep seeing your adorable centaur OCs and I always wanted to ask what's the story behind them??

Plushi!! Sorry for the mega-late reply… 🥺I was so happy to get this ask but I didn't know how to explain my silly ocs…I will try now-more under the cut.

Dael Braam (dwarf) is a cooped up farmhand looking to see the world, but being immune-compromised from birth it took a lot of persuasion to convince her parents to let them go. They relent under the condition that she finds a capable and strong person to travel with to keep her safe… Just so happens that a strong and capable centaur knight is visiting in town…

Rembrandt (horsey) was created from a dark fusion spell by an amateur mage, who had intentions to construct a powerful warrior to do his bidding.

However, the spell cast did not result in a powerful and fully-armored warrior…. but instead a frail baby knight centaur, with only its top half made of living armor. The mage, not wanting to raise any kind of child, promptly abandons his creation. He can always try to make another one after all.

Into adulthood, Rembrandt still carries a lot of pent-up abandonment and self-esteem issues. You wouldn't know that from the proud facade he puts on though, lying about being a royal knight yet helping all those he comes across with a smile, but never staying long. When the opportunity of having a long-term travel companion (and perhaps a friend…?) arises from Dael requiring a bodyguard, his craving for companionship and affirmation outweighs his worries about her seeing eldritch elements of himself.

Dirk (beefy dragon thing) is the second (and more "successful") attempt from the same mage to create a powerful monster. Think Rembrandt's "big evil" brother. Except he's quite a bit younger. Dirk emerged fully-developed except for his wings-which remain as little nubs. Despite his brawn and warrior-appearance, Dirk was mostly a glorified errand boy, using his impressive strength to terrorize the nearby towns and their land-collecting resources for the mage.

Dael and Rembrandt meet Dirk after hearing word of a giant dragon-knight ravaging villages (and their livestock yum yum).

(I also like the idea of the mage sending Dirk to capture Rembrandt + Dael when he recognizes is his first attempt is not only alive and strong, but also quite proficient in battle.)

One way or another Dirk ends up roaming with the two. At first, Dirk is over-confident, rude, and stubborn... Overall a huge pain for them to travel with. After being shown kindness for the first time and being subject to more than a few humbling situations, Dirk allows a protective, loyal and softer side of him to emerge.

Lots of found family shenanigans and adventures occur-and yeah! This was rambly but thank you for reading about my guys! 💖

[sourrind]

Mercy Manifested - Prologue (II)

Life is Strange - Victoria Chase/Kate Marsh

READ ON AO3

“I know you hate me and you should! But I only want to see you smile again. Please let me know if you need anything.” Taylor had told her to be kinder and to make it less about herself, that maybe Kate deserved more than just twenty-five words. Courtney was on the other end of the spectrum, suggesting that signing the big card they all got her would’ve been more than enough. But at the end of the day, this was the thing that she thought was the most appropriate. Three little sentences – one that would disarm Kate and humble Victoria just enough to make the second sentence seem genuine and then the last one, an empty-handed offering of help that she presumed Kate would never have the audacity to take up. Victoria had wanted to give her more than this, but she didn’t know how. She was kind – or at least, kind enough to her friends – but would Kate have even believed it if she had opened up with how she really felt? At least what she did send her gave them both an out if they wanted it. Victoria could keep her head high knowing she was untouchable, but still gracious enough to show mercy, and Kate could go to bed with her stuffed animals thinking that the Queen Bitch of Blackwell had a heart. Win-win. “Oh, you’re awake.” Victoria whirled around, not having heard the door open, but definitely hearing the familiar voice of the girl behind her. “I’m not snooping!” Reflexively, Victoria thrust her hands behind her back, the letter held in her hands, and her heart pounding in her chest. Kate was standing there, a closed door behind her. In one hand, she held a tray of food, and in the other, an electric kettle full of boiling water. The last time they were alone like this, Kate had found her after Nathan had been taken out of school. It wasn’t something that Victoria liked to dwell on; she barely even remembered what had happened. But she remembered how she felt when Kate approached her – to hear someone that she had treated so terribly pity her? It made her feel low. Lower than low. Maybe that incident was just a sign of things to come. “I…” Victoria tried to say something, but she couldn’t. The look on Kate’s face had disarmed her. It wasn’t the same condescending sneer that she was used to from her peers. Nor was it even suspicious – something that Kate fully deserved the right to considering Victoria was indeed in her room and snooping about – but it was a look of composure and tolerance. Even with circumstances like this with a person like her, she was reserving any thoughts or judgments until after. With the situation still shrouded in mystery, Kate simply set both of her things down on the ottoman beside the couch. Then she approached, causing Victoria to back up until her waist hit the edge of the desk. Her breath stuck in her throat when Kate leaned forward and reached around her. Their eyes never left each other the whole time as Kate’s hand brushed against hers before whisking the note away. Kate glanced down to what she was holding and instantly, Victoria could feel the air in the room lighten up alongside her. “You know,” Kate said as she smoothed the note out and folded it back to how it was, “I’m not sure if it counts as snooping if it’s your own letter.” Kate offered her a smile as she walked past her to tuck the message into a small tray on the table. Victoria couldn’t see clearly, but she made out a variety of stationery and colors that she assumed were other boorish banalities from friends and family. “I’m surprised you kept it,” Victoria muttered. Kate continued beaming as she walked over to the dresser in her closet. She had pulled open the top drawer and her fingers were about to start rifling before they froze at the sound of Victoria talking. She looked up at her and Victoria checked to see if the smile she had on her face reached her eyes, and it did. “Of course I kept it. It’s not everyday you get a letter from Victoria Chase.”

CONTINUED ON AO3

[holland-vosijk-antari]

i was just reading kell's pov in acol where he goes down to see holland in the cells, how he feels hollands eyes scraping against his own, and back in adsom where its described as two stones sparking together. not only does that make me want to go insane, it also makes me wonder if holland feels that too or if its just kell? its not mentioned as far as i can remember in any of hollands pov and not even in their first meeting flashback. the absence of it from holland's pov is a bit of a shame really though it does suggest that its just kell and the effect holland has on him... its also mentioned briefly when lila gets her antari prosthetic eye (in the sense that kell feels glad that he can look her in the eyes without that friction) which makes me wonder, if lila had both eyes would there be that sparking sensation between her and kell? would it not as their black eyes are on the same side? why would that sensation be only due to the presence of the marked eye? it's clear that kell and lila DO have a connection but then again so would most people who went through what they did together (especially as kell is quite dramatic about what he cares about). it would just be a shame to have this connection between antari be a real thing and it not be developed past a couple of brief mentions one of which to enhance a ship. the antari could be endlessly more strange so it's a shame that, even when bonded with the rings, they are essentially just very powerful magic users and not something altogether else...

[meowkusunoki]

ocgrammers reblog and tell me how your characters type

[good-beanswrites]

Hello again, I'm here to request once more. Feel free to take all the time you need btw! I would always be patient for your wonderful works ^^

This time I'd like to request from the Drabble List#2 - 47 with the 020607 Trio (mainly Mahiru though). And yes, this is hugely inspired by that one minigram with Mahiru. And as usual, feel free to change the scenario and/or the characters.

Thank you again, good luck with your future studies and take all the time you need!!

Woo thank you so much!! :'D This one was a ton of fun (and once again led me to get smacked in the face with unlikely character parallels I wasn't aware of before). It's from Kazui's pov but it's still mainly about Mahiru. I ended up going canon-compliant, but I did consider sticking super close to the minigram and do a little normal-au where Mahiru drags them across Japan to make a perfectly homemade cake 😅

Everyone knew Mahiru had a tough time distinguishing genuine from joke, but Kazui hadn’t expected it to come back to bite him. Mahiru wasn’t stupid by any means; sometimes she just forgot that others weren’t as unabashedly honest as herself. When she said something, she meant it. Kazui… not so much.

Which is why, following a conversation about her skills in the kitchen, in response to being pressed about his own household, he thought it would be inconsequential to utter the following words to her.

“Bake me a cake, and we’ll talk.” 

Kazui had laughed his booming laugh, Mahiru had giggled in her sweet little way. Neither realized what had just transpired.

That is, until Yuno dragged Kazui across the prison the following day to make him aware of the monster he had released upon the kitchens. The two hurried over to find a massive operation underway: Mahiru had several layers in the works, she was stirring multiple fruit fillings, decoration choices scattered across the countertop, and anyone who dared venture too close was shooed away with a slap from her wooden spoon. 

It took a few minutes to get the situation all worked out.

“So… you didn’t really want a cake…?” She asked, pausing mid-stir. Her eyes were so big and round.

Yuno came to the rescue. “Of course he does!” She interrupted. “Everyone here would die for a taste of your baking~” 

Kazui nodded. “I just didn’t mean for you to work so hard for my sake. I’m really not worth all this effort…”

Mahiru’s jaw fell, offended on his behalf. “Yes you are!” Her attention was momentarily caught by a timer chiming. Kazui took the bowl from her so she could take a pan from the oven. He picked up where she left off stirring. 

“Either way, why don’t I help you out?” Yuno had grabbed some ingredients from the counter as well. “While we bake, I’ll tell you a little bit about myself. A little,” he repeated. 

And he did. Her questions were easier than he’d expected. While the others knew how to poke and prod about each other’s murders, Mahiru really did just want to know about his home life. While she buzzed around the kitchen switching pans and creating intricate icing patterns, she asked him about his childhood, his hobbies, his job. As soon as she saw his wife was a touchy subject, she let it drop (though with a bit of disappointment, to be sure). He scrambled a bit as Yuno the human lie detector would shoot him a look now and then. Overall, though, his measured answers managed to satisfy both women without giving much of himself away.

When they carried the spectacular cake into the common room to everyone’s amazement, Mahiru prodded him with her elbow.

“We should talk more! I mean, come on. How difficult was that?”

If only she knew the half of it.

———

“Hey, Mahiru.” Kazui traded weak smiles with Yuno as he joined her by the bed.

“Oh. Hi Kazui,” came her weak voice. She tried her best to smile under the tangle of bandages that surrounded her. Then, silence. 

Aside from a few coughs and small requests, that silence stretched on for hours. He and Yuno usually had a lot to talk about, but neither could muster anything up today.

He thought Mahiru had dozed off, but she surprised him by taking his hand. “Kazui?”

“Yes?”

“Do you really think I’m unforgivable?” 

He blinked. “I can’t really say.” 

The moment the words left his lips, he knew they were the wrong ones. Well, the glare that Yuno was trying to murder him with also helped. “Er, I forgive you, of course. But… I don’t know anything about you, Mahiru. Not really. I can’t say why others would think you’re unforgivable or not.” 

“...I see.”

Yuno looked like she wanted to add something, but couldn’t find the words. Traces of emotions flickered over her face before she could cover them up. Kazui guessed she wanted to defend Mahiru. But maybe she also agreed with him. And that was when the realization struck him.

“I guess, I always thought you were so much better than me and Yuno when it came to talking about yourself. You do it all the time, and very easily. But now that I think about it, I probably know just as much about your situation as you know about mine. For such an honest person, you hide everything just like we do. Or maybe, you hide from everything, like we do.”

More silence.

A teary smile appeared on her face. “You know… you could bake me a cake… and maybe we’ll talk.”

Kazui didn’t laugh, and she didn’t giggle. He nodded, solemnly. “I think that’s a good idea.”

[water-gazer]

I love you so much. For trying. For struggling through it. I'm so proud of you for surviving everything life has been throwing at you.

It's not easy. But you're doing it. I believe in you, and that if you keep going, you're going to get better and better. Handling problems is a learned skill that is honed and sharpened with each passing day.

The next time you think to yourself that you're stuck in a rut, just remember the things you've done in spite of it.

Have you fed yourself? Have you cleaned yourself? Have you done the dishes? Gone for a walk? All points! And if you haven't, that's okay! Take it one task a day.

There is no shame in taking your time to get things done. You just have to *keep going*

Promise me?