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[snail-day]

Back to thinking about biting Suguru. Nothing new there.

It’s always easiest to harass him when you’re both watching a movie, attention span dwindling, your body slowly sinking into his as the minutes drag on. He’s behind you, long and solid and so warm, one heavy arm draped lazily around your waist. The slowness of his evening out breath. His broad, firm chest rising against your back. He’s barely dozing off, messy dark hair tickling your neck, a soft sigh ghosting past your ear. And, unfortunately…

His tits are right there.

Right behind your head. Plush and perfect, like a pillow. The weight of them. The audacity of them.

It’s just too easy to twist around and, well…

Bite.

Except he catches you, of course. With those annoyingly fast reflexes honed from years of training and you being a menace attacking him all the time. His large hand gently but firmly grabs your face mid-lunge, squishing your cheeks together until you’re forced into a pathetic little fishy pout.

A stretched out, teasing grin slowly spreads across his lips - sleepy, sharp, and far too smug. His hair falls into his eyes as he shifts closer so you're beneath him, and there’s something infuriatingly affectionate in the way he watches you squirm.

You can’t help the nervous wriggle, a pathetic whine bubbling in your throat as he holds you close, refusing to let you retreat.

He presses a soft kiss to your squished lips.

“Mmm? Does my baby not like this?” he coos, still holding your face like you’re some silly little creature he has to coddle and scold all at once. His voice dips into a crooning pout as he tilts his head, mirroring your expression for just a second. “Imagine how I feel, getting attacked all the time.”

And then - smugness restored, grin reforming - he brushes his nose against yours and hums, “Maybe I should gag you.” He pretends to think, fingers tapping your cheek. “Maybe then you'd learn your lesson and I'd actually get some peace, mm?”

You should bite him harder next time.

[angelaness]

020525

Cycle Syncing 101: How to Stop Fighting Your Body and Start Flowing (🌚) With It

alright girls, gather ‘round. this is the full post i promised - the one about periods, moods, energy, and how to actually live in sync with your cycle instead of feeling like a chaotic mess every month. because once i started tracking and understanding my cycle… it changed everything. for real. my workouts, my eating, my planning, my self-talk all became softer, smarter, more strategic. so let's break it down.

your menstrual cycle has 4 main phases, and each one brings its own vibe, mood, superpowers, and kryptonite. when you know which phase you’re in, you stop blaming yourself and start working with your body, not against it. ready?

1. Menstrual Phase (Bleeding / Days 1–5ish)

Vibe: hibernation queen. inward. reflective.

Body: hormones (estrogen + progesterone) are at their lowest = low energy, fatigue, cramps, sensitivities.

Mind: introspective, quiet, intuitive. this is your “truth-telling” time.

What to do:

Exercise: restorative yoga, stretching, slow walks. if you need to skip your workout? skip it. your body is doing enough.

Food: iron-rich foods (spinach, lentils, beef, dark chocolate), warm meals like soups and stews. magnesium-rich snacks can help with cramps.

Routines: go slow. journal. say no to extra plans. light candles. wear comfy clothes. treat yourself like you're sacred.

Study/work: focus on review, reflecting on past tasks, journaling ideas. let your brain rest a bit—don’t force deep concentration.

Self-care: warm baths, heat pads, soft music, no loud people.

Mental tip: you’re bleeding out the past month. literally. let go of what didn’t serve you. Zdont feel guilty.

2. Follicular Phase (Post-period / Days 6–13ish)

Vibe: fresh start. springtime energy. main character in a coming-of-age film.

Body: estrogen rises. energy builds. skin glows. you feel light, optimistic, social.

Mind: creative, motivated, open to new ideas.

What to do:

Exercise: try something new—dance, pilates, running, gym sessions. you’ll feel strong and energetic.

Food: fresh and light—greens, fermented foods, seeds, citrus. boost that metabolism.

Routines: this is your reset phase. declutter. plan your week/month. start new habits. your brain wants structure right now.

Study/work: brainstorm, start new projects, prep for heavy tasks ahead. your memory and focus are sharper.

Self-care: vision boards, hair masks, cute outfits. say yes to life.

Mental tip: this is your most productive phase. take advantage but don’t overbook. pace yourself.

3. Ovulation Phase (Middle of Cycle / Days 14–16ish)

Vibe: glowing goddess. seductive. unstoppable.

Body: estrogen peaks, testosterone joins the party. libido spikes. you’re magnetic and bold.

Mind: communicative, charming, high-confidence. great time to network or confront someone (with love, of course).

What to do:

Exercise: go hard—HIIT, lifting, cardio, group workouts. you’ve got power and endurance.

Food: fiber-rich foods (quinoa, carrots, berries) and antioxidants. hydrate well.

Routines: do your “hard” things here—presentations, big meetings, social stuff, shooting your shot.

Study/work: speak, pitch, debate. you’ve got clarity + persuasion.

Self-care: romanticize yourself. take hot pics, go out, flirt with life.

Mental tip: your confidence is real. don’t downplay it. enjoy this phase but stay grounded.

4. Luteal Phase (Pre-period / Days 17–28ish)

Vibe: cozy but moody. nesting energy.

Body: progesterone rises after ovulation. if no pregnancy happens, hormones start to drop = PMS hits.

Mind: detail-focused, critical, sensitive. easily overstimulated.

What to do:

Exercise: lower the intensity. pilates, strength training, long walks. listen to your body.

Food: complex carbs (sweet potatoes, oats), calming teas, B6-rich foods (bananas, salmon). eat more often to manage cravings + blood sugar dips.

Routines: finish tasks. organize. clean your space. prep for your period like you’d prep for a storm—lovingly.

Study/work: editing, detail work, wrapping up loose ends. less is more.

Self-care: limit caffeine, go offline if needed, soothe your senses.

Mental tip: don’t trust every thought. the inner critic is loud but not always right. softness wins here.

General Tips:

Track your cycle: use apps like Clue, Flo, or just a paper calendar. know when each phase starts so you can plan smarter.

Plan around your phases: big goals in follicular/ovulation, rest + review in menstrual/luteal.

Cycle syncing ≠ perfection: life doesn’t always let you live like a hormone princess. do what you can. forgive what you can't.

Be kind to yourself: if your body is low-energy, that’s not laziness—it’s biology. honor it.

Final Thoughts:

nobody told us this. nobody said “hey, your whole system is a monthly pattern, learn the rhythm and life gets easier.” instead, we got shame, pain, and whispers. but no more. now we know better. and syncing your life to your cycle is not about being soft—it’s about being smart. strategic. in tune.

girlhood isn’t chaos, insanity, it’s coded. and when you read the code, you stop feeling like a mess and start feeling like magic.

if you made it this far, you’re already syncing, baby.

go be soft when you need, strong when it calls, and sacred always💕

[sparrows4bats]

Dragon Head AU

This came to me through music and vaguely inspired by one fic on ao3 I cannot find. I thought I had it bookmarked. Thanks to @peterchubs for listening while this au took shape.

What if, like in Batman Beyond, Damian returns to League to lead it one day?

I think for this AU Damian meets his father briefly, but after seeing that he isn't the perfect heir, he goes back to Talia to reform the League.

Bruce tries to stop him but finds there's not a lot he can do.

Since the year of Blood and Goliath coming into his life, Damian had started to doubt the wisdom of his grandfather. The killing of the Dragon Bats and Damian owns distaste for killing innocents have planted a seed of rebellion. One that meeting his father and seeing how he operated allowed to grow.

Damian believes that the world needs to be protected, that someone must fight for the earth, and it's innocents. He begins to recognise that killing is a hard choice and should not be the first course of action but sometimes can not be avoided.

After he gets back from Gotham, he discusses these ideas with his mother, not sure what to expect. Instead of a lecture Talia kisses his head and tells him that he is growing into the man she hoped he would become. A leader, a true mix of two great bloodlines and ideologies.

Talia Al Ghul looks at her son and pledges to aid his reforms. Talia embraces him as she promises to protect him. Damian learns love from her.

Next, Damian approached Mara, his cousin. It was a tough conversation. Mara is understandablely distrustful of him. The last time they met Grandfather has made them battle, Damian had scarred her and won Grandfather's approval. Something he now gas mixed feelings about.

Mara doubts him at first, and it takes a while, but even her loyalty is tested by Ras orders. Damian is the heir, and if he reforms the League ge speaks off, Mara promises that The Demons Hand will support him.

Over time, Damian gathers more allies inside and outside the League. A girl named Maya tries to kill him in revenge for her father but reluctantly befriends him.

Damian learns more about compassion and redemption from her. They become almost siblings in their closeness. Maya becomes his advisor and spymaster.

The turning point where Damian decides that he cannot wait to inherit the League but must overthrow his grandfather comes when Damian meets his brother.

Damian had heard rumours of his grandfather's labs. A place his mother ensured he never entered.

Damian isn't naive enough to think he was ever exempt from his grandfather's cruelty. But the way the lab in particular was avoided fills him with dread.

He finds it after Maya infiltrates a restricted wing of Nanda Parat. She says he needs to see this now and drags Damian to it.

Inside are pods growing versions of...him? He thinks? And on a medical table strapped down and unconscious is his mirror image.

He boy is taller than him, seemingly older, and instead of his mother's brown waves, the boy has striking white hair that is straight and fine.

His body is covered in scars. Damian looks around and finds files and notes of torture parading as science.

It is in that moment that he decides Ras Al Ghul must die.

Maya gets the boy out and hides him in Damians' rooms where only his most loyal enter, just in case Maya guards him and Damian destroys the lab.

He calls Mara and his mother and tells them that Damian will be the Demons' head sooner than expected.

They launch the attack at Dusk.

It is not an easy battle, but in the end, Damian drives his sword into his grandfather's chest and sets his body on fire, so not even the Lazarus Pit can restore him.

It is not an easy transition. For months, Damian and his family struggle to gain control of their forces and dismantle Ras more insidious operations.

But they manage it.

Respawn or Alexander as he chooses to call himself helps. Damians brother is learning how to exist outside of training and the lab and becomes his Brothers head guard. The two grow close, and Damian learns to be gentle with a boy that was hurt similarly to himself but so much worse.

Damians League is very different from its predecessor.

All jobs that they do are vetted to ensure they don't cause unnecessary damage, targets family, networks, and history is considered.

Life is to be respected whenever possible. For all being. Death is never a first course of action, but Damian will kill to protect innocents and the earth.

They no longer train children. It's not allowed until the person can consent. Any found abusing or hurting their children are punished severely.

There are no more inhuman experiments. Instead, Damian puts the Al Ghul billions into health and climate research. He goes so far as to hire Poison Ivy to regrow rainforests and other suffering botanical areas.

He also covertly funnels money into the green energy sector and lobbying groups for better regulations on environmental issues, health, and care.

Damian invests in communities that safeguard habitats and endangered species. Freeing some from human trafficking and exploitative corporations.

Everyone working in the League or with it observes a strict code of ethics. Their life is forfeit if they are found to have harmed innocents or betrayed their ethos.

The reforms had been thought to be too idealistic. A childish dream. But they work.

The League of Assassins becomes what it was always meant to be, a force for good that operates in the shadows.

Damian is still ruthless. All of his people are deadly, and no one who breaks his rules survives.

Damian wonders if his father would accept him like this? If his improvements are enough?

One day, Maya suggests he will never be a Demon, and Damian is a Dragon. The name sticks.

Not many outside of the Assassin's notice the changes in League at first. Not even Batman.

Damian is 21 by the time he has enough time to consider trying to approach his father again. His mother has not forgiven her Beloved for not embracing Damian all those years ago, and Damian can't bring himself to reach out to the imposing man he remembers.

Jonathan Kent is the first to discover the new Dragons Head.

He only finds out what the League is doing when he interrupts the forceful dismantling of an animal smuggling ring. It is one of the rare times Damian is performing a mission himself but when he heard how many endangered species were being held he left before Maya and Mara could scold him.

Respawn joined him with a laugh and asked if they could stop for takeout. Damian reluctantly agreed.

They are finished dealing with the leader of the traffickers when Superman 2.0 busts in.

He is very confused about finding a masked man comforting an injured baby orangutan while his companion teases him.

It's adorable that the man glares while still babytalking the scared primate.

Jon almost doesn't notice the body on the floor.

"What is happening here?"

The two turn to him and their guard rises immediately.

The one holding the animals clears his throat. "We are freeing these animals, you can either help or be removed Son of Kal El."

"How do you know who I am?"

"It's my job. So are you helping or no?"

Jon glares. "I don't know who you are."

"You can call me the Dragons Head and that," he points behind him "is my guard Respawn."

"Never heard of you."

"I am the head of the League of Assassin's."

Jon is suddenly much more on guard. The man looked too young to be Ras al Ghul.

"Did you kill that man?"

"He was wanted in three countries for trafficking and animal abuse. We offered him a choice, and he decided to attack us." The Dragons Head says reasonably.

Jon sighs, but in the end, the well-being of the animals takes priority right now. He can just try and arrest them later.

A part of him as he looks at the cages, the misery doesn't feel particularly bad for the man.

The Super secures the animals, and when he turns to interrogate the duo more, he finds them missing. With the orangutan.

After he reports the incident to the Watchtower, there is concern all round.

The bats are called in for an investigation. What they find shocks them all. Ras has been dead for five years, and the new head has even more connections worldwide.

They still kill, but they also do so much good. It causes a divide in the Justice League.

Those without a no kill rule suggest an alliance.

Those with one refuse to entertain the possibility.

So, a compromise is reached after days of debate, a fact-finding mission, and a diplomatic envoy to discuss their options with the Dragons Head.

Batman offers to lead it because of his contacts only for said contact to refuse to entertain them if Batman is there.

The League doesn't know the reason Talia Al Ghul glares at the vigilante, but the Batman is forced to stay put. Nightwing takes his place.

Jon is chosen to be part of an envoy to meet the new head, given he met him before.

They are greeted at Nanda Parat by an army. A show of power and strength to the heroes now in their midst.

Jon and Nightwing approach cautiously only for the crowd to part as they approach, revealing Talia Al ghul and a group of young people.

"Richard, good to see you again." She begins.

"I'm sure." The man in question quips.

Before the tension gets even worse, Jon interrupts. "When will we be meeting the head?"

Talia smirks and moves aside. The people behind her do the same. "My son, Damian Al Ghul the Dragons Head."

The man that steps forward is beautiful. Very clearly his mother's son with sun-kissed skin and green eyes. Jons breathe catches.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquitance, officially." The Dragons Head greets them.

They two heroes are invited inside and assign guest rooms. It's not until dinner that any actual negotiations take place.

The League of Assassin's is not opposed to the alliance with the Justice League, but only if their ethics remain intact.

They debate terms for days.

"The League respects life but understands that sometimes you have to kill what destroys the natural order." Damians argues.

Jon fights the urge to raise his voice. They have been going in circles of hours. "Because you never know for sure! You can't be certain that killing won't make things worse or that the person wasn't framed or can't change for the better."

Damian smirks. "That is true for every decision, that if I don't kill than that person kills others because I didn't stop him when I had the chance."

Jon groans. He can find fault in the logic, but some part of him agrees with it. It does not help that Damian is unfairly attractive.

"I'm getting tired of this. Would you like to walk with me to the garden?" Damian asks, gracefully standing and dragging Jon with him by the arm.

Jon finds himself distracted from escaping the Assassin's grasp by the sudden closeness.

They walk together in silence in a courtyard filled with jasmine flowers.

"I admire what you are trying to do. I get frustrated myself at never seeing progress, but ideals can be corrupted. Just look at the previous head." Jon says quietly.

"That is why I am open to trusting heroes. I'm terrified of becoming like my grandfather. If I allow the Justice League to know some of my activities, then there is a check and balance. If I go too far, they will be able to stop me."

"Stop you how?"

"Kill me if necessary."

"What!" Jon is incredulous. Damian looks so at peace discussing his own death.

"If I become what I swore to destroy. Death would be mercy."

Jon doesn't know what to say to that. His eyes fall to how Damian holds him arm still and lays his hand over his.

Jon stays at Nanda Parat for weeks, even when Nightwing leaves.

He and Damian spend every day together always ending sitting side by side amongst the jasmine. Their conversations starts drifting away from either League.

Jon learns that Damian has a small zoo of pets. That his innermost circle consists entirely of his family. That when he smiles, he has dimples.

Jon opens up about his doubts, about his temper and the weight of his fathers legacy.

Jon tells Damian about how he agrees that killing might be necessary but how he fears what he'll become if he allows himself to take a life.

Damian holds his hand and promises that he would never ask that of him.

They strike up a friendship, then something more.

Damian kisses him one day, and Jon sighs in relief.

Jon decides to go back to Watchtower after he receives a call from his father. He promises Damian he will return.

The Justice League makes him report on his findings and then almost immediately sends him to space.

He is away for two months.

When he flies to Nanda Parat Damian welcomes him home.

The two Leagues sign the alliance. Jon is named the diplomat between the two.

Batman meets his son again once the paperwork is signed. It's awkward, but the two are working towards a proper relationship.

Some object, especially after they get married.

People like to think Damian corrupted Jon. But his rage and need to affect change for all has always been a part of him.

Damian is his anchor, his safe haven.

Jon is Damians guiding light.

[quartztwst]

MagiKey (TWST AU)

Quartz (Qix Trix) and My Yuu (Fragaria) Information

Basic Information about Quartz and Yuu

Quartz [MagiKey User “Qix Trix”]

“being a magical girl fucking sucks bro. i wish i could take it back ngl 😭😭"

Quartz is a 17 year old girl who has been a MagiKey user for 3 years. She seems to switch her personality when she is in her magical girl form. Instead of the blunt and irritable attitude in her normal form, she becomes an excitable but charming character in her magical girl form. She doesn't seen to rank top 10 in Magical Girl/People popularity rankings or any rankings to be exact. Although, she's able to make an impression with her unpredictable moves.

She's a normal girl overall. She doesn't have a job and only spends her time at home in the foundation she is put in.

Status:

Mental/Emotional Strength: ★★★★☆ (She's not easy to break but she could be weak for Yuu)

Physical Strength: ★★★☆☆ (Decent but she isn't the strongest)

Stamina: ★★★☆☆ (Holds well in a close range fight but long range takes too much running and thinking)

Strategy: ★★☆☆☆ (Ends up going in head first)

Strengths: She can easily trick and distract enemies. It is her specialty to make them confused and stall for allies to strike.

Weaknesses: If the enemy is extremely intimidating, she'll end up backing away from the fight so she doesn't get messy.

Yuu [MagiKey User "Fragaria"]

"Helping people and saving the world doesn't seem that bad! Besides, it's super fun to see everyone else's abilities!"

Yuu is a 17 year old kid just living their life. They've been a MagiKey user for a year and they are still learning. Yuu seems to keep the same positive attitude from their normal to their magical form. Their personality seems to boost everyone's mood and they try their hardest to support every MagiKey user on the battlefield. They aren't at the top 10 in popularity but people always want them to come assist in battles in which they do! But they have to invite their best friend Quartz too.

A very passionate and genuine kid who just wants to help people.

Status:

Mental/Emotional Strength: ★★★☆☆ (With certain context, Yuu is a very empathetic person which could lead them to become weak from that.)

Physical Strength: ★★★★★ (Quite strong since they are carrying a heavy basket. It's REALLY heavy.)

Stamina: ★★★★★ (Restores energy with strawberries so it's neverending)

Strategy: ★★★☆☆ (Sometimes tries to do strategies but ends up off track)

Strengths: Their support can easily boost allies motivation. They want their friends to defeat the villain with their full potential!

Weaknesses: They are naive and sympathize with people easily. This can lead them falling into traps and probably letting the enemy win.

They were actually raised in some foundation orphanage thing idk. They have no knowledge of their birth parents (since they look out of place aka one is GREY with crazy hair and one is SOME ENTITY??)

Quartz was a very quiet kid while Yuu was more outgoing. They would always stay together and they saw eachother as close friends

When Quartz hit 14, a magikey appeared on her bed and went on to become a magical girl before Yuu (she kinda didn’t wanna do it)

Quartz of course kept it a secret from Yuu

For a year, she managed to keep it a secret but she ended up struggling to fight a villain. She was beat and worn down but UNTIL BOOM!! Yuu is HERE!!

it didn’t really work uhhh they almost got their ass beat 😭😭😭

Quartz managed to save themselves and beat the villain with the support of Yuu (OMG FRIENDSHIP POWER!!)

But this made the secret not a secret anymoreee so Yuu knew that Quartz was a magical girl

When they were 16, Yuu finally recieved their magikey !!

But there was also an offer for Yuu to train at the newly built MagiKey school before actually getting out there as an official one

Quartz didn’t have to take that school when she first started and managed to figure out things so she also told that Yuu didn’t have to go but Yuu insisted

The foundation they were in already had a school built in so they would have to train after school hours

Quartz eventually caved in and joined Yuu in the new MagiKey Training School

They still fight and are offical magical girls. They are mostly seen fighting together.

[cloudtransprncy]

Scrap: What's Mine

Get You: Teaser #2 Mina X Male Reader | 1800 words Non-Smut scene. (Full Piece will contain smut)

My first Scrap! These are gonna be deleted scenes and cut content from my full pieces that I couldn't just trash. This one's from my upcoming Get You trilogy, but I had to cut it cuz it didn't fit the overall vibe and themes. Reworked it to stand alone cuz I liked it too much to let go. No smut this time, just a restaurant scene I'm kinda obsessed with. So treating like a teaser :) Hope y'all like it.

P.S I LOVE MINA.

"Don't move."

Mina freezes, suspended in place right in front of you. One eyebrow arches upward—that perfect, devastating arch that does something catastrophic to your internal organs. The restaurant's string lights catch in her silky black hair, leaving a light shine.

"What?" Her voice carries the practiced dryness of someone who's perfected the art of sounding bored. But her eyes—God, her eyes betray her. There's that millisecond of softness, the kind she reserves exclusively for moments when she finds your absurdity secretly charming.

"You look so good right now. Just—" You swallow, suddenly aware of how the request sounds. "Stay still for a second."

You fumble for your phone with the grace of someone trying to catch a fish barehanded. Almost send your water glass toppling.

Perfect. Very smooth. Extremely cool.

She doesn't pose. Mina would rather walk naked through traffic than pose for a photo. Instead, she glances sideways as if mentally calculating the distance to every exit (a habit you find worrying on Tuesdays and endearing on Fridays). The almost imperceptible downturn of her chin. The way her hair falls in a perfect curtain against her jaw. That impossibly delicate flower pendant resting against her collarbones like it's found its home.

Click.

"Did you get what you needed?" she asks, turning back to you.

What you needed. Not what you wanted. The distinction feels important, like all Mina's careful word choices. She slices through pretense with surgical precision. Like she's been secretly training as a verbal assassin all this time instead of just perfecting the world's most symmetrical winged eyeliner.

"Perfect," you say, stealing another glance at the image before tucking your phone away. "You're perfect."

Her eyes roll skyward, but there it is—that micro-smile. Just the right corner of her mouth lifting approximately half a millimeter. To the untrained observer: nothing. To you: fireworks, symphonies, religious experiences.

She reaches across the table, adjusts your collar with the measured precision of someone diffusing a bomb. Her fingertips brush against your neck, and your pulse immediately surrenders all your secrets. A year into this thing between you, and still your body can't play it cool.

"You look tired," she says, withdrawing her hand but somehow leaving warmth behind, like a ghost print.

You suddenly realize the fatigue that's been hanging on you like wet clothing. You hadn't mentioned the late studio session—wouldn't have mentioned it—but of course she noticed. Mina notices everything. If the world ended tomorrow, she'd be the one reminding everyone to pack sunscreen and charge their phones.

"You push yourself too hard." Not an accusation. A statement of fact, delivered with the calm certainty of someone reading from a teleprompter.

But before you can mount a defense, the first course arrives—sashimi arranged so artfully it belongs behind velvet ropes, not about to be devoured by your unworthy mouth.

Mina studies the spread with the concentration of an art restorer (another career she could excel at without trying). Then, instead of serving herself, she selects a piece of toro with marbling so perfect it should have its own Instagram—the fish equivalent of winning a cosmic lottery—and places it on your plate.

"Eat."

Just one word. But somehow it sounds like a poem.

You obey because your body responds to her directives before your brain can form an argument. And also because you're starving. The toro melts against your tongue, and you make a sound that would embarrass you if you weren't too busy having a religious experience with fish.

"Good?"

She already knows the answer—can read it in your face—but she asks anyway, watching you with that focused attention usually reserved for neurosurgery and videos of baby animals falling asleep.

"It's like eating butter made from ocean dreams," you say, which makes absolutely no sense, but your brain short-circuits when exposed simultaneously to incredible food and Mina's undivided attention.

Amusement flickers across her face. "Eloquent as always."

"You know words aren't my strong suit."

"That's not true at all." Her voice shifts, suddenly serious. "The words in your music speak volumes."

The compliment lands directly in your chest cavity. People praise your lyrics all the time, but when Mina does it—when she's actually listened and found something worthy—it's different. Like praise from God, if God were a five-foot-four Japanese-American woman with impeccable taste in outerwear.

You stare at your plate, suddenly shy.

"Different parts of the brain," you mumble, having absolutely no idea if that's true.

She doesn't press the point, just nudges your tea closer with one perfect fingertip. "Drink. It's the perfect temperature now."

You sip. And of course, she's right. Not scalding, not tepid—exactly right, as if she's been monitoring it with scientific precision while you talked. Knowing Mina, she probably has been.

This is how she says "I love you"—not with actual words (God forbid), but with perfectly timed tea and carefully selected fish. With slight adjustments to your hair and reminders to hydrate. A barrage of tiny caretaking gestures that accumulate into something overwhelming.

You watch her take a small bite of her own food. The careful way she chews. The slight dip of her lashes. Being allowed to witness Mina like this—her drawbridge lowered just enough to grant you a glimpse inside the fortress—is sacred.

"You're staring again," she murmurs without looking up.

"Can't help it."

Now she does look up, dark eyes meeting yours. "Why?"

It's not a trick question. Mina doesn't do tricks. She asks because she wants answers—not the bullshit kind you give everyone else. With Mina, it feels like she's collecting the scattered pieces of you that don't make sense, turning them over in her hands, trying to see how they fit together.

"Because you're..." You search for the right words, something that won't make her retreat behind her walls. "You're just... you. And I still can't believe you're mine."

Something cracks open in her face for half a second—a flash of something raw before she locks it down again. There, then gone so fast you might have imagined it. She reaches for her teacup, and you recognize the move for what it is—a reset button, a moment to compose herself.

"Drink your water," she says instead of acknowledging your words. "You're always dehydrated after recording."

You smile but do as instructed, because you've learned that this is Mina-speak for "that meant something to me, and I don't know how to process it out loud."

The restaurant moves around you—waiters gliding between tables, the sushi chef behind the counter performing his elegant knife work. Outside, the Vancouver summer evening puts on a show—cotton candy skies fading into indigo. But here, in this bubble between you, time feels suspended.

She pushes another piece of fish toward you. "This one next. The flavors will build properly."

You take it, letting her orchestrate your meal like she orchestrates so many things in your life. "You're not eating much."

"I'm enjoying watching you enjoy it," she says with a rare simplicity that catches you off guard.

When the main course arrives—a rainbow array of nigiri and rolls—she rearranges your plate with quick, confident movements. "Start here," she instructs, pointing to a simple piece of salmon. "Then work your way clockwise. Trust me on this."

You follow her culinary roadmap without question. Each piece builds on the last until your taste buds are having what can only be described as a spiritual awakening.

"Good?" she asks, watching your face with that singular focus.

"You should be a food critic," you say between bites. "Or maybe a general. You've got the strategic mind for both."

The tiniest smile appears on her face. "Eat your vegetables," she says, pointing to the sliced cucumber.

While you eat, she reaches across the table. Brushes imaginary lint from your shoulder. Straightens your necklace where it's twisted slightly.

"You don't have to keep fixing me," you say, though secretly you live for these adjustments.

"I'm not fixing you," she replies, voice matter-of-fact. "I'm taking care of what's mine."

Your heart performs a complicated gymnastics routine that should win Olympic medals. Coming from Mina, who weighs each word like it costs her something physical, it's everything.

You notice she's still barely touched her food, too busy ensuring your experience is perfect. Without overthinking it, you pick up a piece of salmon nigiri and hold it out to her.

She blinks. Genuinely surprised. "What are you doing?"

"Your turn," you say simply. "You've been so busy mothering me, you've barely eaten."

For a second, you think you've crossed some invisible line. Mina gives care like breathing, but accepting it? That's complicated territory.

But then.

She hesitates. Takes a breath that's slightly too deep.

Then leans forward and takes the bite from between your fingers.

Her lips brush your skin. The contact lasts maybe half a second.

Your nerve endings don't care about the timeframe.

You feel it everywhere.

She chews with the focus of someone solving a complex equation. Her eyes stay on yours, unblinking, like she's waiting for your reaction to her reaction.

A single grain of rice sticks to the corner of her mouth after she swallows.

Your thumb moves before your brain catches up. Reaching across. Brushing it away.

Instead of flinching back (which would be the expected Mina response to unexpected contact), she does the unthinkable—turns her face toward your hand. Like she's seeking more. A muscle-memory movement so tiny you'd doubt it happened if you weren't paying such obsessive attention to every micro-adjustment of her body language.

"Thank you," she murmurs.

Two words. Not about the rice.

The overhead lights catch something in her eyes that makes your ribcage feel too small suddenly. She never looks at you like this in public. Almost never looks at you like this, period.

Hurts to see it. Hurts worse to think about how rarely you do. These unguarded moments are so rare—Mina letting you actually see her, not the version she presents to everyone else.

Her hand finds yours across the table, fingers intertwining like they were designed as matching pieces.

"You take such good care of me," you say, voice embarrassingly thick.

"Someone should." Simple words that somehow contain worlds.

Your fingers squeeze hers while your brain does the math it's been doing for a year. The calculation never makes sense—how someone who approaches the world with such precise skepticism decided you were an acceptable risk.

She watches you from across the table. Reading whatever's written all over your face.

The smile happens in stages. First the eyes—softening at the corners. Then the slight movement at her lips, fighting it for a moment before surrendering. When Mina actually smiles—really smiles—it's like watching someone become an entirely different person. The cool, composed woman who terrifies your producer transforms into someone whose whole face comes alive.

"Good boy," she says, voice pitched low enough that only you can hear.

That's it. You're a gone.

[suikung]

Sasuke left his girlfriend pregnant (without him knowing) before leaving the village, and when he returned he found a boy very similar to Itachi.

|Takes place when Sasuke goes back to the village with Orochimaru to revive the previous Hokage

NOT proofread

Alone. The only thing you had felt the months after Sasuke defection from Konoha. Never bothering to see anyone despite your friends constantly coming to check on you. It made no sense to see anyone if they weren’t him. Your life was thrown into a spiral after he had left, which explained not noticing continuous weight gain, and when you did putting it off as over indulgence in comfort food. No matter, you couldn’t put it off for long, not when it came with nausea and missing cycles. A trip to Lady Tsunade confirmed you hadn’t been alone these past months. Sasuke had left you with a piece of himself, one that would change your whole world. “Did he know? Did he do it on purpose?” The only thoughts to occupy your brain the entire pregnancy, a part of you always imagined the three of you as a family. You knew of Sasuke’s goals to restore the Uchiha Clan, so he must of planned this before he left. No matter what you’d take charge of raising your baby into a fine shinobi just like their father. A part of you understanding his desertion, but another anguished he left you in such a state.

It’d been 5 years since he left, in that time you moved on no longer clinging to hope he’d come back. Especially after he joined the Akatsuki and attacked the 5 Kage Summit. There was no reason for you to wish he’d come back and be a present father. You knew now this wasn’t Sasuke’s plan to leave you with a baby, he’d never be so heartless and to leave you pregnant and never once come to check on you. But maybe he was, you knew he wasn’t the same.

His eyes focused on the two moving figures, struggling to take in all the moonlight to ensure he was seeing right. What was below him was a little boy identical to Itachi, the same dark eyes and hair as him. However what set him apart was his distinct nose and mouth shape, a shape from a face he remembered well, the one of the woman standing next to the young boy. He knew it couldn’t have been anyone else but you, how you had changed. Even more beautiful than he remembered you, but what he couldn’t grasp was that little boy next to you. Was he perhaps your younger brother? No, unlikely your parents had you in their 40s, he doubted they’d have another child. “Mama can we go back home now! I’m getting tired.” What did he say….? He had heard right, that boy called you his mother.

“Sasuke what’s wrong, we don’t have much time to be standing still.” Orochimaru broke him out of his shock, he could see the way his vision was trained on you. It peaked Orochimaru’s interest, but they had an urgent matter to attend to.

The war was over. Sasuke was now a changed man who’s heart laid in protecting Konoha, protecting what he had left inside of it. His return to the village was filled with interrogations to make sure he was no threat. In these few days he spent under investigation all he could think about was finding you and the boy. He needed to know the truth. Naruto had come for him on his day of release, a heavily awkward walk back to his apartment. “So how’s everyone?” Sasuke breaking the silence. Naruto nodded looking up as the sky as he continued walking, “Everyone’s been okay. Of course training to get stronger. But I get the feeling you want to know about someone specifically.” Naruto had grown, or maybe it was just written all over Sasuke’s what he wanted to know. “She lives across the Yamanka flower shop, you’ll see it. Her family name is written on the door.” He was gone the second Naruto had finished his sentence.

After everything Sasuke had done, all the people he battled, all those he killed and somehow he could not bring his hand up to knock at your door. He could only close his eyes as he raised his hand to knock three times at your door. Footsteps came down the stairs, small quick ones. “Can I help you sir.” He saw no one in front of him as the door swung open. It was the same boy from before, eyes just like Itachi’s. “I’m looking for you mother, is she home?” The boy was suspicious, some random man just showing asking for his mom. “Yeah she is.” His eyes squinted. “You wait here, I’ll get her for you.” A second later the door was closed with such force Sasuke’s hair was pushed back briefly revealing his rinnegan. Back he was now to playing the waiting game, but he didn’t have to wait long. Footsteps now heavier approached the door, unconsciously Sasuke was doing a mental check of how his appearance looked. The door was opened, his eyes now leveled with someone. The boy was now on your hip, “Mommy this is him, he was asking for you.” It was an eternity spent looking at each other. All you could think to do was put your son down, “Karasu go upstairs and finish your breakfast. Mommy has to talk with this man.” Just like that both of you were left facing each other.

“Is he mine?” He was no man to beat around the bush, even if he, it was killing him inside to know. Expressionless but inside he burned with anticipation, searching for any look of rejection on you face. “The first words in years and this is what you tell me? I’m not even sure how you knew of him. But yes Sasuke he is yours.” God it all made sense now, back in the rescue mission when Sasuke both left, everyone told him how much you needed him but he never realized why. “I see.” He paused. “Karasu huh. He looks just like Itachi. A strong boy I would assume seeing who his mother is.” Something about him testing your son’s name like he had been there the whole time irked you. All this time and he’s saying his name like he personally named him. “Yes well he’s advancing quickly, dear I say I’ve raised him good.” Your words stung. He knew he’d never been there but he was so blinded by revenge and he never knew you were carrying his child before he left the village. Even so a small flame of happiness ignited knowing he began the repopulation of his clan without even knowing.

Lost in his thoughts he failed to notice your retreat from the door. Only when a breeze kicked his face did he realize you closed the door in him. He knew more than anything you didn’t care for him anymore. Didn’t care for him to rejoin the life of your son because all had been well without him, why would you change the dynamic now? He would respect that if he was anyone else, but Sasuke now felt the need to protect Konoha and that meant protecting his family. It wouldn’t take long for him to strike. You’d be crazy to believe he would walk away from this. He had all he had ever wanted in life, a family and he’d be damned if you kept it from him. He would have his perfect family.

He spent the rest of the afternoon going over how he’d do it and where he’d go. There was many perks to being from such a large clan, the most important to him right now was his ability to place anyone under genjutsu and the Uchiha hide outs scattered about the Land of Fire.

Night was the perfect time for all things considered a crime. Breaking and entering and kidnapping would fall under Sasuke was doing right now. How low he’d fallen he thought to himself. He’d start with you first, then move on to Karasu. As he roamed through the halls he could see now all the milestones he missed of his son, all the birthdays, trips, etc. It pained him, but he knew after today he’d be there for anything, he’d never miss any important event in his sons life. It didn’t take long to figure out which room was yours. A mother always kept her door open to reach their baby in time. Now standing over you, he couldn’t help really taking in just how much you’ve grown. Your face matured in way that showed the struggle of being a mother, but of course he couldn’t help noticing how you’d grown in other places. A light sleeper you were so it didn’t take long to feel a presence standing before you. It was common for Karasu to come sleep with you when he’d have night terrors. “Karasu did you have another bad dream baby?” Rising from your pillow expecting to see your soon to embrace him and talk away his fears, except you were met with glowing red eyes. Not able to say anything to him before falling limp into your bed. Next was Karasu, simple enough. He lightly shook him awake to allow him to fall under the genjutsu.

It took a few hours to reach the hideout. It was teetering on the edge on the edge of the Lands of Fire and Sand. A small one it was, placed here to house any Uchiha that need a place to call home on the way from a mission. Using his Susanoo to transport you both took a toll on him. By the time he reached the hide out he was exhausted. However he needed to prepare the place for when he’d release you both. Light dusting, changing of sheets and a few amenities was all Sasuke managed to do both he heard wailing in the other room. It was Karasu, he clung to your body shaking you violently. “Please mom wake up.” How had he managed to break from the genjutsu? Seeing Sasuke in the doorway Karasu stood guard in front of you. “What did you do to my mom!” His face was red and glossy from the tears. Sasuke didn’t know what to do. He only thought to tell the boy the truth.

He made slow cautious steps towards Karasu. “I brought you here both to protect you.” Karasu was even more angry. “We were perfectly fine in the village! Why would a man like you take me and mom! We don’t know you!” Before he could even register his next words, he blurted, “Because I am your father! And it’s my duty to protect you and your mother. Now you’ll stop crying and realize I’m doing this to give you both a better life.” He’d admit his words are harsh, he’s just never been around children. At that moment Sasuke would release you from the genjutsu in hopes to straighten this out with you. It didn’t take long to register what was happening, seeing your soon in front of you in an unknown place and Sasuke only a few feet away. Now it was time for you to stand in front of Karasu.

“I don’t know what sick joke this is Sasuke but you have no right to have brought us.” He stepped closer. “Take us back.” He laughed. “I can’t. I brought you here to be a family. I’m sorry I was away but I’m here now. Please let us be happy together. Karasu needs his father.” In a way he made sense, Karasu had always felt the absence of a father, but you in no way intended to place house with a war criminal. “We have been fine without you and will continue to be.” Why wouldn’t you stop being so selfish and understand him. “Let’s talk please. Listen to me.” You could only think to get your son out of here. “Karasu go outside. I’ll be there soon.” Following your words, he ran past Sasuke and went outside. He wouldn’t leave without you so he’d stay put waiting for you.

The two of you were once again alone. Sasuke closed the door behind him. Every second he took a step towards you. Every second you took one back. The room felt as though it was closing in, temperature riding enough in your thin pajama pants and shirt. “I want us to be a family. I didn’t know you were pregnant when I left. You knew how important restoring my clan is to me. I would have never left alone if I knew.” Eventually there was no more room to back into, a wall now embraced you with its freezing touch, a relief from this situation but a panic setter knowing you couldn’t go anywhere else. “We don’t need you Sasuke. I have no intentions of living a home life with you. We can co-parent to allow you to know your son better but never will I be your house wife.” What a displeasing answer. There was something more sinister now in the way he looked at you. “You’re nothing but a washed up ninja who didn’t go on more than 10 missions. Do you really think you have a say in this? I’ve made it easier for the three of us by bringing you here. Even if you tried you think you could fight me? Understand you are in the inferior position. I will have my family and the restoration of my clan like it or not. You both are now mine to protect and love and your lack of acceptance will not keep me from having my family. Do you understand.” It wasn’t a question, he knew you would understand because you knew you’d never be able to fight against him. He could kill you in any second. Head hung low as to not allow him to see your tears, what could you even say.

Rough hands brought your face closer to his, “I want the best for us. I’ve always loved you, and now you gave me all I’ve needed in life. So please, marry me.” It wasn’t a statement it was a fact. You would be his wife and you would keep intact a perfect home and family.

[kittenintheden]

You Can Read Me Anything Part 2

*ELMO ON FIRE GIF* so that took longer than anticipated but you know. HERE YOU GO. (thank you for all the wonderful comments on Part 1)!

***

Druidic Tav grew up in a nomadic clan that recorded their history through spoken word and song rather than written text. As such, she's illiterate, and one charming-ish vampire offers to help her with reading lessons and a whole lot more. Out of the goodness of his heart, of course.

Then one night, she unwittingly brings him smut for their lesson.

Rating: E Word Count: 5100 words Content: illiterate Tav, Astarion being a shit, but also being cute, innocent Tav, suggestive dialogue, blood drinking, biting kink, first time oral, cunnilingus, fellatio, PIV sex, Astarion playing himself

AO3 Link

Astarion cradles her head, palm gently pressed to her cheek as she leans into it. She sighs and it tickles his ear, sending a dissipating wave of gooseflesh down the length of his back.

“Are you done yet?” Tav asks, voice breathy.

He hums and detaches from her neck, admiring the clean pair of fang marks he left there. His tongue swipes his bottom lip so he doesn’t waste a single drop of her blood. He releases her and takes a step back.

“You…” he says with a lazy smile as he reaches out with a finger to boop her nose. “... are so delicious.”

“Ha, ha,” she says with an affectionate eyeroll. She spreads her hand over the bite mark and calls on her connection to nature, using it to knit the flesh back together and restore her blood supply. “Glad to help.”

“I’ll bet you are,” he drawls at her with a wink. “Thank you for the appetizer. I’d best go find myself a full meal now.”

As he starts to saunter off deeper into the woods, Tav clicks her fingers and lightly bonks herself on the head. “Oh, almost forgot.” After him, she calls the Elvish phrase Shadowheart taught her.

For the first time since she met him at the site of the nautilus crash, she watches Astarion trip over his own feet.

He catches himself quickly, spine unusually straight as he puts his hands on his waist and takes a few more steps like he’d meant to do that the whole time. When he turns around to look at her, her smile fades when she notices his wide-eyed expression. The tips of his ears have gone very pink.

“Wha-” His voice cracks and he clears his throat and tries again, tone painfully casual. “What did you say?”

Tav grimaces. “Shit, did I get the middle part wrong? It was tricky when Shadowheart had me practice.”

Astarion leans forward a bit and gives a shaky laugh. “Ah. Right. I must’ve misunderstood. What were you trying to say?”

“She told me it meant, ‘I’m pleased to have provided you a good meal,’” Tav says, reaching up to pull some of her hair over her shoulder and fiddle with it.

“I see,” he says as he comes closer, his eyes searching her face. “Could you say it again? So I can correct your enunciation.”

“Oh, okay.” Tav gives a soft cough into her hand and repeats the phrase.

Astarion is close enough now that she sees his pupils dilate the tiniest bit. The flush at the tips of his ears spreads down the edges. Do they always do that after he feeds? They must.

He reaches delicate fingers up to cup her chin and draw her jaw down, parting her lips. His eyes are trained on her mouth and that makes her feel all too warm.

“Loosen your tongue,” he says softly. “Once more.”

She tries one more time and watches his eyelids flutter, inches from her own.

“There we go,” he whispers.

His gaze shifts to her neck again and he leans down toward it. She nearly stops him, but then she feels the draw of his tongue over the spot where he bit. He punctuates it with a soft, barely-perceptible press of his lips. A kiss, she might think, if she were a silly little girl. Which she certainly is not.

Then he’s standing straight again, releasing her face and putting space between them.

“Missed a smudge. Can’t let it go to waste.” His eyes rove over her face. “It’s so very precious.”

Then he walks off and she’s left standing there, cheeks hot and chest uncomfortably tight. Tav continues to run her fingers nervously through her hair as she turns and walks back toward their camp.

Astarion counts out fifty paces before he ducks behind a tree and leans his back heavily against it, letting out a shivery breath. He puts his cool fingers to his ears and tries to rub the heat out of them.

“Stop it,” he whispers to himself. “Stop it, stop it.”

---

Near the crumbling wreckage of a stone alter, Shadowheart kneels in prayer seeking guidance and direction from her Lady. The darkness, the loss, the silence… they are vast and answerless. She opens her eyes and takes a deep breath in and out. Clenches her right hand, glancing at the ever-present wound there.

If only she could remember… anything useful. No matter. For now, it’s whatever path will take her back to Baldur’s Gate.

She gathers her components and packs them away, standing to walk back down the path toward camp. There’s a trio of crumbling walls that clearly used to be some sort of holy building and she walks along one, trailing her fingers over the soft moss overgrowth.

Then she turns round the corner of the broken temple to find a bristling, broody vampire leaned up against the wall with his arms folded, glaring at her with a tic in his jaw. He raises an accusatory finger.

"You," he says, the word hard on his tongue. "Are an arsehole."

She gives him a smug smile and arches her brow. "You're a bigger arsehole."

He refolds his arm and narrows his eyes at her. “Really think you’re clever, don’t you.”

The cleric shrugs and cuts off to the side to walk back to the path. “The goal was to make you lose your cool. Seems like it worked.”

Silently and suddenly he’s walking at her side, lip curling in disdain. “Congratulations to you, you managed to annoy me. Don’t do it again.”

“Oh, he’s testy tonight,” she says, putting a hand to her cheek in a mockery of shock. “Maybe you’d feel less the fool if you hadn’t been teaching her to talk dirty.”

“We can’t all be ice queens, dear,” he sneers. “Some of us are queens with needs.”

Shadowheart rolls her eyes and her entire head along with it. “You should be thanking me, then. I gave you your opening.”

Astarion stops and she keeps on walking.

“To what?” he says.

“To have your ‘needs’ met,” she calls over her shoulder. “I’m not the one who was teaching her to invite me betwixt her thighs. Have a frustrating night.”

Astarion makes an affronted noise after her, pouts a moment, and then calls back, “Your bangs are wretched, by the way.”

She throws a rude gesture up at him and continues onward.

---

He plots and flirts for three days straight before he decides to make his move. Tav’s guard is down, her shy little moments are increasing in frequency, and he can literally hear her heartbeat quicken when he’s near. If that’s not all signs pointing to yes, he doesn’t know what is.

All he has to do is, you know. Make the move. Which he’ll do. Soon.

Because she still makes the most sense. The others all adore her, listen to her. She’s the perfect choice of protector should his vampirism prove a problem to anyone. She’ll say yes. Of course she’ll say yes.

… of course she’ll say yes. No one denies him. It doesn’t happen.

… it rarely happens. Not as if he’d care if it did, this time.

Astarion rocks his weight onto his back leg, flicking his gaze up to see Tav kneeling near the campfire and giving the dog a generous belly rub. Before she stops, he goes back to his extremely casual reading. Standing posed outside his tent. Holding a book with the title facing out. Very normal.

After what feels like an hour, his ears pick up approaching footsteps and he skims the page he’s on, waiting.

“Is that a new one?” Tav asks timidly.

He closes the book and looks up to meet her. His close-lipped smile feels almost natural. Almost.

“There you are,” he says, dropping his register a fraction. “I was just thinking about you.”

Not a lie, actually.

She tucks her hair behind one ear. “Oh? Do I owe you something?”

He laughs and sets his book aside. “Only a bit of your time. I do enjoy it so very much.”

Tav quirks her mouth up on one side. “Yeah? You’re pretty okay, too.”

“Better than okay, I should hope.” He closely examines his thumbnail. “I’m… growing to enjoy the whole package, honestly.”

She doesn’t immediately respond and he chances a look up at her.

“Deer in the magicked light” is what one might call the expression on her face. She blinks rapidly and gives her head a small shake before she looks to the side, color rising prettily in her cheeks.

“Is that so?” she says, giving a tight laugh.

His smile starts to go a little toothy and he dials it back. “I’ve been thinking an awful lot about our last reading lessons,” he lilts at her, peering up through his lashes. “And our language lessons. I’ve been pondering over what other sorts of lessons I could offer.”

Tav’s cheeks go pink to red.

He leans in to speak softly, making her lean in closer to be able to hear him. “I like you,” he says. “And I think you like me, too. So?”

“So, what?” she blurts, immediately grimacing at her own outburst.

A giggle bubbles up out of him before he can stop it and he puts a hand up in front of his mouth to hide his smile. When he regains control, he lowers his hand. “So, I thought you might like to indulge in certain curiosities with me.”

I want to go down on you.

Astarion blinks the thought away as soon as it appears in his head, briefly letting his smile slip before he snatches it back.

Tav is blushing furiously, but she leans in closer to him nonetheless to whisper, “Like what, exactly?”

Elvish, rising like the language of his dreams: I want to drink of your fountain.

He gives his head a light shake, playing it off with a mirthful huff as he says lowly, “Like sex, sweet thing. Whatever kind you might be… interested in.”

Tav nods rapidly and hums, slowly leaning back and standing at her full height again, not quite meeting his eye. “I was pretty sure that’s what you meant, but you know. Better safe than sorry? Is that a thing people say?”

Astarion reaches out to gently guide her chin toward him until she’s looking at him. “Think about it. If you’re amicable, you’ll find me later at the clearing where you last offered me a bite after the others are asleep.” He chucks her under the chin. “I’ll be waiting.”

She nods once more, expression unchanged. “Yeah. Yep. Okay. I’m going to… see you later. Maybe.” Then she turns on her heel and walks away.

“See you later,” he says. “Lover.”

When she disappears into the dark, he blows out a breath, subtly shaking his hands out. That was a yes.

Right?

“Of course it was,” he snipes at his own brain.

---

Hours later, Astarion paces the moonlit clearing, fiddling with the cuffed sleeve of his shirt. The others must be asleep by now. He pulls at the sleeve. It feels too tight.

Should he take the shirt off? He should just take the shirt off.

He does.

Astarion glances around the clearing once more, noting the blanket he spread on the ground nearby. Not a bed, but you know. He’s okay with that, actually.

He clenches and unclenches his fists, rolling his hands at the wrists. Cracking his neck. Rolling out his shoulders. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to be still. Controlled. Practiced. This is an act he’s performed thousands of times. This is no different.

It’s not.

She’s going to come out of those bushes any moment and-

The bushes he’s looking at actually rustle and he jumps, whispering “oh, shit” before he can stop himself. He manages to put a smile back on his face just as the leaves part and a small doe takes two hops into the clearing and freezes when it spots him.

Astarion doesn’t move. He doesn’t even breathe. The doe relaxes very slightly, flicking an ear.

It’s one of the little black-tailed deer native to the area. He’s made a meal of more than one of them in recent days. Her coat is smooth and healthy, her eyes brown and clear.

The doe blinks at him and takes a step closer.

He gives a relieved chuckle and says, “There you are, Tav.”

“Oh, you heard me? Damn,” says a voice from behind him.

“Ah-” he yells. He tries to cut off the sound, but it’s too late. The doe spooks and bounds off into the underbrush once again.

“Apologies,” he says, regaining his composure and rolling his eyes to the stars above. “She was such a pretty little thing that I assumed it was you.” He starts to turn. “But I’m glad you made it. I was starting to worry you’d gotten lost and…” He finally sets eyes on her and loses his smile immediately. “... and you’re already naked.”

Tav stands before him without a stitch on, her long hair hanging over her rounded breasts and everything from the waist down on full display. He spots her clothing and staff in a neat stack nearby. Her whole body is flushed.

Astarion swallows. He’s seen untold numbers of people in states of full undress. This is routine. She caught him off-guard, is all.

“I… was I not supposed to be?” Tav says, hands going up to run nervously through her draping hair. “Sorry, I thought… you said sex? And then I saw that you had your shirt off, so…”

He holds up a hand and ticks up his brows. “No, no, it’s fine. It’s fine! I like it.” He finds the mask, the posture, like muscle memory. Slips back into the person in control. “You’re just full of surprises, beautiful.”

Tav rewards him with a bashful smile, continuing to comb her hands through her hair.

Astarion huffs a laugh. He can’t help himself. He approaches her with slow, intentional steps. “I had a whole catalog of poetic nothings to whisper in your ear, but looks like I needn’t bother, which is fine by me.” He stops in front of her, smiling his charmer’s smile. “So long as you still want to be tasted.”

He’s starting to notice it’s a good sign when the apples of her cheeks turn red. She nods. “I’d like to try the tongue thing, yes, please.”

“Good,” he purrs, reaching for her hips.

He pulls her in for a sweet, well-executed stage kiss. Most people needed about that much before they got to what they were really with him for. He pulls back and gives her a tight-lipped smile.

Tav looks into his eyes, her lips parted. She’s not moving, and oh gods, he’s going to have to lead completely, isn’t he? Ah well. Such is life.

But then she tucks her chin, her gaze going heated. The pupils of her eyes flicker, changing shape ever so slightly, and Astarion hardly has time to drop his pretender’s smile and ask before she surges forward and kisses him back, throwing her arms around his neck.

Astarion gives a surprised “mmmn!” as he stumbles slightly under her vigor, but he corrects quickly, wrapping his arms around her ribcage and lifting her against his body. Her tongue runs along his mouth and she’s nipping, nipping, and-

There’s a sharp sting on his bottom lip and he releases her right as she pulls back from him, hands to her mouth and eyes wide as saucers. He reaches up to touch his lip and when he looks at his fingers, they show a smeared drop of blood. He blinks down at it, astounded.

He feels a snap deep inside him as the monster in him, the hunter, stirs at the sight and scent of blood.

“I’m so sorry,” Tav says, dropping her hands. “It’s a druid thing, we can get a little wild, I’m really sorry, I won’t do it again.”

Astarion licks at the cut on his lip and stares at her face, his breath heavy and his shoulders ever so slightly hunched. He can see the smallest bit of his blood at the corner of her mouth.

“Do it again,” he says with a voice like gravel as he scoops her bodily up and goes to his knees so he can set her on the ground.

He lays his body on top of hers and she gasps as his mouth covers hers, exploring and hungry. It doesn’t take long for her to return it in kind, arms wrapped around his shoulders and tangled in his hair. He can’t even bring himself to care when she’s making it look like.

Murkily, his brain reminds him why he’s actually here.

Astarion forces himself away from her mouth and she whines at him, a sound far more animalistic than humanoid, but he doesn’t stop trailing his lips down her body until he gets to her hips. He rolls himself up onto his knees and runs his palms up the tops of her legs from knee to thigh, coaxing them open so he can position himself between.

He looks at her face to find her gaze far less “startled doe” and far more “she-wolf in heat.” Her tongue darts out, licking her lip before she says, “People really like to do this?” Then, “You like to do this?”

Astarion positively grins, his pointed teeth showing through.

"Yes. Though it’s a pity this is your first experience," he says through his feral smile. "Because no one will ever best what I'm about to do to you."

“O-okay,” she stammers, clutching her fists close to her sides.

He purrs deep in his throat and puts his mouth to the inside of her knee, the tip of his tongue tracing a sensual line down her thigh, toward her center. He holds her eye the entire time and delights when her leg twitches.

When he nears the crease of her hip, he gives her a sharp nip and she growls at him, bucking her hips. He runs his tongue up along the crease until he reaches her hipbone, to which he gives a firm suck. As she attempts to roll her hips toward him, he spreads a palm over her hips and applies pressure to hold her down.

“Shall we check to see how you’ve kept your garden?” he says, looking at her from under his brows as he speaks.

In response, Tav giggles and slaps a hand over her mouth. Then nods.

She drops her hand to the ground and shakes her head, murmuring, “It can’t be that different, I’m sure it’s just like…” She shudders in a breath. “... just like…”

Astarion parts his lips and huffs out his breath against the slick skin at her core, already shining with want and anticipation. The sensation is a warming one.

Tav continues muttering to herself. “Books are full of all kinds of nonsense, I’m sure it’s-”

He flicks his tongue right over her clit.

“Ah,” she yelps, trying to buck her hips again. He doesn’t let her.

But he does flick again.

“Wha-” she says, thighs jerking on either side of Astarion’s head. “Why is-”

Astarion presses the flat of his tongue firmly at her entrance and draws it slowly all the way to the hood, teasing with the tip before he curls his tongue in slightly and dips back down to better open her inner labia.

“Holy hells,” Tav groans out, her chest arching up and the hands clawing the ground at either side of her growing actual claws.

He gives her another lap before pulling back to smolder at her. “And here I’ve only just started,” he says, voice silky.

“Holy hells,” Tav shouts to the sky this time.

Astarion huffs a laugh against her and goes back down, playing her with highly practiced skill. Full, long licks paired alongside firm draws over the swelling pearl at her center. She continues to buck ever now and again, but mostly she’s gone near boneless above him, head lolling lazily to either side and fingers weakly gripping the grass on either side of her.

When her breathing begins to stutter and he feels the flutter of her getting close, he finally moves his hand from her belly back down until he can get the angle right. He places the tips of his two middle fingers at her entrance so he doesn’t surprise her and glances up to see her eyes flutter open. She stares down at him from between the mounds of her breasts, pupils blown wide.

She licks her bottom lip.

She nods.

Astarion slides his fingers inside her and begins to pump in time with the movements of his mouth. Tav goes wild, both literally and figuratively. The pupils of the eyes watching him go slitted like a cat’s, gradually dilating back as her teeth go sharp and a random patterning of fur shivers down the length of her body before turning back to skin.

He takes that as a good sign and curls his fingers inside of her until he finds what he’s looking for.

Tav bark-mewl-roar-calls into the air above the clearing, her hips grinding into his mouth and hand now that she can move them again.

“Why does that…” she gasps. “Feel… so… good?” The last word comes out a growl.

He’d answer, but his mouth is preoccupied and he dare not let it leave its task.

With his free hand, he pushes her thigh up and guides it higher until she can wrap her leg round his shoulders and he can go deeper. He feels the swell of her under his tongue, going harder beneath his touch, and he begins to trace circles around it as he continues to pump his fingers into her.

Tav’s entire body rolls, trying to get closer, to get more, to get-

She howls as the tension finally snaps. Literally howls, from the very bottom of her chest.

Astarion slows but doesn’t stop, continuing to fuck her through it as he feels her release in the palm of his hand. He’s gentle, taking a touch of pity on her as he gives her a few more soft licks before he leaves her, drawing his fingers from her at the same time. They’re a mess, as is his face. He sits back on his knees and looks her over with lidded eyes, a self-satisfied half-grin on his face. Then he reaches into his pocket to produce a soft cloth to clean up.

He’s not much of a planner, but he plans enough for things like this.

Tav lolls on the ground, her body fully returned back to humanoid form. All except her pupils, which continue to occasionally flicker across the animal kingdom.

“Oh, that was good,” Astarion says, brows raised and grin on his face as he wipes his hand down. “Even for me, that was good. You’re welcome.”

She throws one arm out to her side, then the other, and slowly pushes herself up onto her elbows, trying to focus on him. “Why doesn’t… everybody do that? Oh my gods.” She flops back onto the ground.

Oh, she’s very good for his pride. He gives a pleased wiggle.

“You tell me,” he says. “Or call upon your old lovers and ask.”

Tav weakly waves her hand through the air. “They were bad. I’ve realized. Just now. They were bad at sex.”

“Poor thing,” Astarion croons. “All better now.”

“Yeah.” She rolls onto her side and sits up. Shakes out her head. And starts to crawl toward him.

He instinctively leans back as she comes closer, breasts swaying as she moves. “What are you doing?” he says.

She blinks at him. “I’m going to do it back.”

He blinks at her. “What?”

Tav draws her knees closer and matches his kneeling posture. “I’m going to put my mouth on you back.” She waits a beat. “If you want me to.”

“Uh,” Astarion breathes before he shakes himself and gets his wits back about him. “I would like that very much,” he says. He tries to purr it, but slightly lower in pitch is the best he can do.

It’s been years since he’s been with anyone who even bothered to ask. Probably decades.

Tav beams at him, a bright smile that’s so sunshiny it nearly betrays what they’ve just done. She rolls up onto her knees and pulls him by the wrists to do the same so she can reach the laces that hold his trousers on. His arousal pulses near her hands.

Astarion blinks. He’s… more into this than he usually is.

He blinks again.

He’s very into it, actually.

His fingers go to join hers and together they make quick work of his pants and underthings. Gently, she guides him back to kneeling again as she curls forward. Without thinking too much about it, he reaches out so he can hold her hair up out of her face. She’s at eye level with his cock, inspecting it with the eye of someone all too familiar with all the things nature has to offer and completely unashamed for it.

Astarion swallows back the wanting sound that tries to claw its way out of him.

“Have you done this before?” he asks softly.

Tav peers up at him from her position below and bends her legs at the knees, kicking her feet slowly through the air. She shakes her head “no” and something frozen inside him melts. Best ignore that. That’s a future-him problem.

“You are adorable,” he breathes. He finds he means it in the affectionate way rather than the condescending one, which is alarming. That’s another future-him problem.

Astarion clears his throat. “Same general practice applies here, really,” he says lightly.

Tav licks her lips and reaches out to touch him. Her fingers on him give him a little jolt to the solar plexus and he curls toward her on instinct before he catches himself.

“Tell me if there’s something I could do better,” she says, simply.

Then she licks along the underside of his cock and puffs her breath out across it, much in the same way he did to her.

He curls in toward her again and tightens the hand in her hair.

She puts her mouth over the head of him and he’s enveloped in warmth and oh, yes, he remembers this. This feels good. This feels very good.

Tav doesn’t get down very far before she backs up again. When she pulls off, he reaches a hand down to cup her jaw and draw it down, parting her lips.

“Loosen your tongue,” he whispers. “Once more.”

She does. She descends on him again, relaxing her jaw and loosening her tongue, taking him down deeper and deeper with each pass. Astarion means to watch and guide her, he does, but instead his head lolls back, eyes falling closed, and he smiles. A real smile.

It feels so bloody good. It feels good and he doesn’t have to… he can just be…

Tav hums a little with him mostly inside her mouth and he gasps from it, blinking back to the surface.

Oh, that’s too good.

He lets her go a few seconds more before he tightens the fingers in her hair once more to still her and gently guide her back. His chest heaves as her mouth leaves him, a string of saliva connecting them, and Astarion shudders forward.

“What’s wrong?” Tav asks, her eyes wide and concerned.

She can’t look at him like that. That’s not fair.

He lifts her beneath her arms and pulls her up toward him, her face to his, and kisses her again. She happily responds, catching his lower lip between hers and nipping once more.

Astarion groans.

Hands on her face, he breaks their kiss and tries to collect his scattered thoughts. It’s all hazed over with want. There was a reason for this, they were supposed to… he was supposed to…

“Why don’t we…” He loses the thought and swallows. Tries again. “Let’s find our mutual…”

Words, words, words, where are his words?

Astarion hisses through his teeth. “Oh, just… sex. Let’s have sex.”

“Oh,” Tav breathes, lips swollen and cheeks ruddy. “Okay.”

Whatever he had planned, which was not much, goes completely sideways as she simply climbs up onto his lap, reaches between them, and holds him steady so she can sink down onto him.

He’s so wholly unprepared for the suddenness and initiative of it that his eyes nearly roll back in his head before his mind catches up and he grips her hip with his hand, guiding her as he rolls up to meet her, his hips rhythmic, until their hips meet and he bottoms out.

Tav throws her arms around his shoulders and immediately begins to rock against him, her eyes closed and her joyous grin on her face. Astarion is doing his absolute best not to completely lose himself in her heat, her closeness, her scent.

Her pulse, oh, gods.

Astarion rocks himself up into her with steady rolls of his hips, tilting in to press his open lips to her neck with a moan.

“You can,” she gasps as she rides him. “You can bite, if you want.”

He’s not sure if the words he makes are language, but he does know he’s biting her and her blood washes over his tongue and he drinks lazily, sipping as he fucks into her at the same time. His mind is so unbelievably, blissfully bare of anything except how good, how hot, how much, how full, how winding winding winding-

Astarion pulls off her neck with a gasp almost on the edge of his orgasm. Automatically, he reaches between them and uses all the wiles of a skilled lockpick to send her spiraling over her ledge a second time before he furrows his brow, slams his eyes shut, and yells out as he climaxes, his spend spilling where he’s still buried deep.

“Oh, fuck,” he blurts before he can stop himself, nearly collapsing onto his side with Tav along for the ride. He slips out of her on the way down and immediately feels the mess they’ve just made.

Another future-him problem.

Tav casts a very half-hearted create water spell that at least rinses them off. She drapes herself over his chest, dopey smile plastered on her face. “You win,” she says. “I see what all the fuss is about now.”

“I bet you do,” he says breathily.

He’s grateful she’s not looking at his face as he struggles to hide the worry pulling at his expression. It’s future-him time, and future-him is having a moment.

He just had the best sex he can remember having in… that he can remember. With someone who will still be alive in the morning. And he likes her.

Oh, hells.

He likes her.

[cannibalisation]

hii its 🐙anon!! ive come to make another request if thats okay :3

sirius black with a s/o whos hands are always cold? this is during winter time and no matter how warm the room is their hands are always so pale and cold

tysm if u write this have a great day!

studies

sirius black/gn!reader

thank u so much for ur request, i apologise that it’s taken a while, and that it’s not very long, and kinda not really what the req asked for.. but this is what i came up with 🫶🏻 (550 words)

caution. nothing idt, just really fluffy, kinda whimsy!reader(?) luna lovegood/helaena targaryen personality vibes (that’s what i was going for atleast lol)

LIBRARIES often call for a capacity for solitude. There is a warmth in silence, a beauty unmatched by all. The library in Hogwarts was no different, but you’d speculate the addition of magic helps restore it to a proper scene.

Often, you find yourself there on an early Saturday morning, as that’s when it’s mostly empty, spare a few first-years. Most of the students are busy with sleeping in or spending the day at Hogsmeade, so you don’t have to worry about anyone interrupting your studies.

Today, though, you are accompanied by a resolute presence.

Sirius Black had come up to you after Potions yesterday (or read: was shoved by his friends), asking if you’d be able to help him out with subject revision for the upcoming exams.

You agreed, of course; the way he was stumbling over his own feet and blushing red in the face made you pity the usually sly marauder. He must be really nervous about exam season, you thought; you’d feel terrible if he were to fail, especially when you could easily help him out.

Sirius seemed to be taken aback by the response; he must’ve assumed you would say no. His friends, James and Peter, laughed covertly as they watched Sirius stutter. Remus had stood off to the side like always, a knowing expression on his scarred face.

That brings you to now, studying in the school library with Sirius Black on a Saturday morning.

His silver eyes are trained on his parchments, a tremor in his hand as he glides the ink-filled pen nib across the page. It was the History of Magic he needed help with most. Fortunately, that was the subject you excelled in.

The histories were something you held close, even closer than your owl. During the after-class period of the day, you would most likely be found with an ancient volume of some classic tale in your grasp.

On the odd occasion, Professor Slughorn gave you recommendations of novels to read; he was always very grateful to see that students still held an appreciation for the older tools of education.

A faint, repetitive noise pulls you from your sweet memories; Sirius has halted his writing and is now drumming his quill against the oak table. There is a furrow in his brow, from where you can see. He must be stuck on something. You tilt your head to gauge what exactly it is. That idea falls short as his hair seems to block where he had finished writing.

Without thinking, you graze your hand against his curls, attempting to push them past his ear to see his paper. His hair is soft under your touch, something akin to a fresh-washed coat of a pup.

Sirius flinches back at your touch, dropping his quill as he does so. He looks at you with a shocked expression, and all you can do is mirror it. The flush from yesterday returns to his pale cheeks, and you're more than tempted to cup his face to relish in the heat.

He gives you an accusatory squint, like you’ve just done something irreversible to him. In response, you tilt your head, waiting for the inevitable reaction. How odd.

Sirius licks at his top lip, wetting it with a subtle shine.

“Your hands—they’re really cold.”

[enjolrasoftheday]

Hello!! Do you know any good Enjolras/Grantaire fics ? Asking for scientific purposes only, naturally

Well, if it's in the name of science...

I do have some recommendation lists in my fic rec tag, and I absolutely still stand by those. But! Here are some more recent fics, in no particular order, that I've enjoyed (and may or may not have speed-read in the last week since receiving this ask, I swear I wasn't ignoring you, I was just conducting important research lol). I’m not going to include the tags/warnings for each fic, so remember to take a look at those on ao3!

Also if anyone else has any recs, feel free to add them in the comment or reblogs!

Happy reading!!

Seek and Destroy by pumpkinspiceprouvaire (27,102 words)

Because Grantaire doesn’t feel that way about him. Grantaire is his friend, and Enjolras will love him from a distance, and that’s the way it’s always been, the way it’s always going to be. Enjolras’ blood freezes in his veins. It’s so obvious. This isn’t Grantaire.

restoring the balance by televisionbodies (14,427 words)

“How long are you stuck here?” He thinks for a moment. “The next train is in about five hours time. And then I’ve got work again, tomorrow.” “No wonder you wanted a coffee,” the bartender murmurs. “Well, then. You’ve got plenty of time to let me show you around.” — It’s 12:36am on a Wednesday and Enjolras, consumed with his work, has missed the last train home.

Les beaux cheveux que voilà by GayAvocado (9,184 words)

One should always have a hair tie around their wrist. If not for their own hair, for others’, or for the multitude of mundane situations that require a hair tie. So of course Grantaire has a hair tie around his wrist tonight. A pink one that might have belonged to Jehan or Azelma or both at some point. The neon colour will look lovely in the middle of Enjolras' golden curls. Or: For some reason, Grantaire finds himself braiding Enjolras’ hair way more often than he thought he ever would. Things change between them.

And Pages To Go by femmebingley (5,441 words)

Grantaire loses his sketchbook. /// “You’ve had it this whole time?” Grantaire couldn’t even find enough indignation to cover his growing terror. “Did you open it?” Enjolras sighed, and that was it. Grantaire’s life was over.

Lost in All of Our Vices by cx_shhhh (11,220 words)

“You will be banished for an indeterminate amount of time and stripped of your godly abilities,” Javert announces, voice booming in the echoing hall, not unlike the thunder he represents. “Until you learn that order is necessary for the gods to stay in power, that the respect of mortals is valuable to us, and until you learn to love them wholeheartedly, you will live like one.” Basically, Enjolras is banished from the heavens, and he learns that a god can, indeed, fall in love.

The Worst First Date by kjack89 (3,443 words)

Enjolras sat down at his desk, fresh mug of coffee in front of him, and took a moment to adjust the ring light behind his cellphone before taking a deep breath and pushing record. “So, um, I hope no one minds but we are taking a break today from our usually scheduled ranting at various governmental institutions because one of my best friends wants me to do a TikTok that’s part of this viral trend.” Or, the one where Enjolras makes a TikTok about his first date with Grantaire.

Green Rushes by loverism (6,043 words)

The mermaid, Enjolras, bites his lip, glaring at Grantaire like he's trying to determine whether he's serious. Grantaire supposes he was probably raised on stories of how evil the cave-witches are, how deceitful; how they mock everything they speak of; how they're driven only by profit; and above all, how striking a bargain with one of them is never, ever worth it. Grantaire can't exactly call those stories inaccurate. or: grantaire is a sea witch chilling in a cave, mixing potions and trying to mind his own business. enjolras has other ideas.

Love is Blind by kjack89 (32,982 words)

Enjolras sat down in front of the camera, and the producer just off-screen gave him a reassuring smile. “Nothing to it,” the producer promised. “Just introduce yourself and tell everyone why you’re here.” Enjolras jerked a nod before looking into the camera. “My name is Enjolras,” he said. “I’m 31 years old, and I’m here because this is the first season that this show has been open to queer contestants.” The producer cleared his throat. “So do you believe Love is Blind?” he prompted. Enjolras gave the camera a smile. “Well,” he said. “That’s what we’re here to find out.”

Love Bites by ShameDumpster (9,557 words)

"What—" Enjolras says, breath hitching at the sight, “What are you doing?” Grantaire immediately freezes, and then pulls back, slightly. Even still, it’s closer than they’ve ever actually been, barely a foot between their faces. "I…need to bite you?" he says, managing to sound both wry and nervous at the same time, "How exactly did you think this worked?" In which Grantaire has recently been turned into a vampire, and Enjolras offers to help him. For the Same-Prompt Fic Challenge 2022

Tell Me Why (Ain’t Nothin but a Heartache by cs_shhhh (3,281 words)

It starts slowly, of course. Grantaire already pays too much attention to Enjolras, so it’s easy to spot the white petals, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. Enjolras seems to grow angrier and angrier when the coughing starts interrupting his speeches, so much that Combeferre has to take over after pushing a glass of water towards him, and he casts the flowers to the ground, glaring at them.

anything you want, boy (i can make it happen) by thewalrus_said (3,545 words)

As he’d been falling asleep, he’d expected to feel devastated, or heartbroken, or something negative after a clearly one-off night with the object of his long-held desires, but instead he just feels...satisfied, almost content. Enjolras clearly finds him at least physically desirable, and he’s apparently in Enjolras’ head at least a little bit, and that turns out to be enough for him. He’s finally had sex with Enjolras, and while it hadn’t been what he’d secretly hoped for, it had still been good, and so the memory doesn’t drag him down like he’d feared it might. So when he answers a knock on his door a week later to find a breathless Enjolras, who immediately pushes his way into Grantaire’s apartment and says, “I think we should have sex again,” he’s more than a little taken aback.

The Arms of the Ocean, so Sweet and so Cold by ShameDumpster (11,867 words)

Sirens attack the crew of the dreaded pirate ship, the Musain. They send out Enjolras to deal with it, as in the past, he’s proven himself to be unaffected by their song. Unfortunately for him, as he’s told Grantaire many times, things can (and do) change. And this change may leave his life, and heart, in the balance.

It Only Takes a Meow-ment by cx_shhhh (7,158 words)

“The prince is finally putting out a challenge for his hand. He has a very loyal cat, you see. Whichever suitor, man or woman, can obtain the ring attached to the bow around its neck will be given the time of day.” Or Enjolras is oblivious, and it impacts everyone around him in the best way possible.

neon loneliness by dyhtps (4,345 words)

He lets his gaze fall around the kitchen. A coffee mug left out on the side, a tea-towel hung over the oven handle, even one of those awful kiss the cook aprons that he figures must belong to Enjolras’ boyfriend. Grantaire blames the concussion for the sudden, awful sinking feeling in his stomach. He decided he hates the mystery boyfriend, maybe he's been an arse to future Grantaire before and it's just his subconscious warning him to get away from the guy as quick as he can. or Grantaire loses his memory, is jealous of Enjolras' mystery boyfriend and finally realises that's actually him.

visiting hours by televisionbodies (5,731 words)

”I guess I’m just surprised you’re still in here at all.” “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Enjolras says smoothly, knowing exactly what Grantaire means. “Two months?” One side of Grantaire’s mouth is turning upwards. “I didn’t think you were capable of sitting still that long.” — 5 times grantaire visits enjolras in prison, and 1 time he doesn’t have to.

[vetteltea]

Strawberry tea: playing with Carlos’s hair omgggg

☕︎ strawberry tea

CS55 and 'playing. with. his. hair.'

Despite the three-week break, he’s utterly exhausted, and all you wanted to do was help him.

Between the constant simulator training,  gym sessions and endless appearances for Ferrari’s media presence, Carlos was a ghost of himself; his smiles on each precious call fading by the moment, eyes dulling as each day passed away from his beloved.

You wanted to be there, of course you did. However, your relationship was fresh. New. You’d seen it go horrifically bad for other couples who had publiciced their relationship on the grid and the last thing either of you desired was for hate and opinions from the outside world to shatter your privacy. 

That’s why you were there now; sat in his bed, Piñon resting at the foot of the bed, keeping you company in the soft bed sheets. You’d been so engrossed in paying the puppy attention, heart melting each time he nuzzled closer into the blankets that you didn’t hear the latch of the door, bedroom entrance opening and soft barks emitting from the furry companion. 

Even sleep deprived, Carlos looked nothing but breathtaking. Dark tufts of hair were messy against his forehead, clad in a gray hoodie and dark track shorts. Every ache, every groan of his muscles is immediately relieved upon seeing you in his bed, a smile finally returning to his face as he lets his heavy bag drop to the floor.

“Mis bebés.” He’d murmured, running a gentle hand across the top of Pińon’s head, the dog relaxing into Carlos’ touch and ceasing his barking. Dark eyes then transfixed onto you, letting his body crawl across the soft fabric, arms collapsing when his face reached your lap, resting his head on your soft thighs. 

“Oh, my baby.” You responded, hands placing down your now discarded book, softly stroking a hand across his warm scalp. He’s so strained, overworked to such a standard he can barely string five words together. Even now, nestled in the warmth of your thighs, the man is hyper-aware that his moment of bliss will come to an end; he’ll be whisked away back to fast cars and media stunts. 

But for now, he can feel his tension melt away, seep out of his muscles as your strong fingers massage his head, trailing through his dark tufts, brushing the locks away from his forehead. An audible moan falls from his lips, the feeling sent him to another place, entirely in a new headspace from the contact. 

His head immediately snapped up the moment you stopped the contact, eyes widening at your sudden lack of attention. Tanned fingers interlock with your own, pulling your hand to rest back atop of his head. You can’t help the laugh which passes your lips, his head sinking back down into your lap now the contact has been restored.

“Better?” You’d softly hummed, feeling his nose nuzzle back into your leg, content to fall asleep in this position and awaken later, finally reunited with the woman who had undeniably stolen his heart. 

“Better.”

part of the vetteltea 500 celebration!

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[mediumgayitalian]

previous

———

“Hm,” Piper says, fingers steepled. She looks very intently at the air in front of her. “Hm.”

Nico scowls impatiently. “Feel free to be helpful at any given time. Now, even, if you’re so inclined.”

“Have you considered that the reason you’re so infatuated with Will is because you may be blessed by Apollo?”

“I’m infatuated with Will because he is the physical manifestation of everything I value in a person,” Nico says automatically. Then he frowns, processing the rest of Piper’s sentence. “Wait, what?”

Nico understands his error as the grin on her face stretches into something truly grotesque. “I was going to make a joke about your drama levels, but thank you for that. I’m really looking forward to telling several dozen people and delighting in the knowledge that you’re going to curl up into a bundle of humiliation under your bunk tonight as you think about it.”

Instead of answering, Nico decides to walk away. Since there is so much blood concentrated in his skull, resting mostly around his face region, he takes two steps and begins to pass out, but luckily Piper has followed him and impedes a head injury by gripping his arm and merrily forcing him forward.

“So,” she says, steering them towards the amphitheatre, “what’s Plan B?”

“Bold of you to assume there was a Plan A.”

“You like Sunny Boy way too much to walk in there blind.”

“…Touché.”

She’s smug enough to be silent, slinging an arm over Nico’s shoulders as they walk. The closer they get, the harder Nico is forced to grapple with just how godsdamn much he’s softened. I want you to be happy, Father had said. Camp will be good for you, Chiron had agreed. You’re a little twit and need socializing, Mr. D had snipped.

Nico needs a better father figure. He wonders if Paul Blofis’ offer is still open.

The amphitheater is not, of course, empty when they arrive, because Nico knows the Fates personally and each of them despises him. The actual training part is empty — unsurprising — but the stands are moderately filled, with people gossiping, braiding hair, and if Nico is not mistaken, a small, pop-up nail painting salon. Mitchel lifts a purple-smeared hand in an absentminded wave as they step onto the packed dirt.

Nico ducks under Piper’s arm, turning to face her. “I need to fight you,” he informs her. “For my own personal pride.”

She nods thoughtfully. “It does indeed need restoring.” He curved, icy blade gleams in the early afternoon sun, mirroring her dangerous smile. “Square up.”

Since honour is for nerds, Nico doesn’t bother waiting. He simply attacks, lunging for the left side Piper always leaves open. Unfortunately for him, her recent meddling in his love life means her mother has blessed her with a little sprinkling of extra verve, and she dodges easily and cheerfully.

He sends a glum mental prayer down to his father.

Anytime you’re feeling generous, Pop, he grumbles, I would love a boost.

There’s an actual rumble to the ground, as his father laughs at him.

“Real kind,” he says out loud. “Dick.”

“I wonder if you would have more success in the wooing department if you had conversations outside of your own head,” Piper says sweetly. She spins her sword in a neat little circle by his face. “All bay brooding makes you look so…broody.”

Nico scoffs at her. “Will seems to like my broodiness. For some reason. So there.”

“And yet…” She trails off, shooting him a teasing look. Nico is unfortunately very easy to tease (thanks, Bianca) (and for that measure thanks, Hazel) (Reyna too, probably) (and honestly Annabeth) (gods, and Percy) (don’t even get him started on Leo) (really, it would be more prudent to name the people who do not take sick pleasure in driving him up the wall) and as such succumbs easily to her tormenting, taking a hard hit to the side when he’s too keyed up to avoid her spinning slash.

“Note to self, don’t let the monsters know about big embarrassing crushes,” she muses. “They make Nico sloppy and will get him killed in battle.”

She mimes writing something down. This, thankfully, leaves her distracted enough that Nico gets his sword levered against hers, twisting until she’s disarmed. She lifts both hands up in surrender when he points a sword at her throat, but remains entirely unaffected by his glare.

“Pride re-instated?” she asks.

Nico huffs. “No.”

…Yes.

“You’re such a grouch,” she says fondly. She tries to ruffle his hair and is forcibly stopped by his jab to her ribs. Unfortunately, Piper McLean takes no shit sitting down, and in a minute they’re on the floor, getting caked in dust, trying to see who can leave the most bruises on the other. Nico would wager that they’re just about tied.

“You have a list,” Piper grunts, muffled as she bites his bicep. He shouts, wrenching his arm away — she is pointy. “I have no idea what you’re all mopey about.”

He digs his knee into the small of her back. “I gave him flowers! He made a poultice out of them!”

“Technically, you made the poultice.”

He elbows her in the stomach. She shrieks and jabs her knuckles right under his eye.

“You’re so annoying!”

“You’re so annoying!”

“Ugh!”

“Ugh!”

Every part of Nico’s body aches. So badly. He’s not sure which one of them won their brawl, if either, but he knows for sure that he is actively turning purple. He feels like the first time his nonna gave him a hammer and a piece of cutlet — he was maybe five years old — and told him to flatten it. (He remembers, now, the look on her face as she wiped pulverized chicken flesh from her eye. Oops.)

“Go to Will and get healed up?”

Nico huffs a laugh, immediately wincing at the strain on his tender ribs.

“Yep. Let’s go.”

The walk is miserable and bruised. And slow, since both of them are limping. Several campers walk by snickering, since apparently Saving The Entire Damn World, For Real And Actually, You Ungrateful Brat, Should I Just Destroy It Again Then earns you no permanent respect.

It’s not too bad, though. Nico would rather chomp on concrete than admit it out loud, but Piper isn’t horrible company, and she hums when she walks. Bianca did the same thing. For once, it’s a pleasant reminder, although he does wonder if Nico will ever be able to look at the women in his life and not think of her.

(In all honesty, probably not. He sees her in the clouds, in the gnarled bark of the trees; feels her in the warmth of the sun; hears her in every snorting laugh. He likes to imagine how much she would love these women, though. If she were alive they would be her friends first. He knows she was happy with the Hunters, however briefly. He thinks he can maybe forgive himself if he thinks of her without weeping.)

“Least it doesn’t look too busy today,” Piper comments. She purses her lips at the Big House, which for once seems quiet. Perhaps Will made good on his threats and finally dosed the Hermes’ table breakfast spread with Benadryl. Nico would be proud. He deserves a day of peace.

“Great. That means we get the full force of Will’s bitching on us alone.”

Piper scoffs. “Please. You like it when he yells at you.”

Nico almost kills her for real. By the time she manages to kick him off of her, still snickering to herself, they both have a new layer of bruises on top of the old ones.

“Gods, di Angelo, you make it so easy —”

“Shut up,” he says hotly. “You are literally the most annoying person in this stupid camp.”

She sticks her tongue out at him. He scowls, kicking a rock to avoid kicking her and setting both of them off again. It rolls over the grass, pinging off the side of one of the many braziers and rolling finally to a stop back at his feet. In its new position, it perfectly catches the brightly shining sun, refracting the light in a dandelion-esque burst.

“Huh,” he murmurs.

Wincing at his stiff joints, he crouches, vaguely registering Piper pausing somewhere to the left of him. He scoops the little thing up, bringing it close to his face to inspect.

It’s roughly cut, so it’s not anyone’s jewel or anything. Some of the pieces are textured with tiny little divots, like a regular stone, but some are straight and flat and catch the light. Some kind of crystal, then. It’s dense, about the size of a walnut, and shaped kind of like a brain. It is a very familiar shade of blue.

“Holt Hades, you are sappy.”

Nico flushes, shoving the rock into his pocket. “Nobody asked you, Piper.”

“I asked me! I am always asking me.” She jogs to keep up with his suddenly speedy strides, gripping onto the elbow of his shirt when he tries to move faster. “Is this Plan B? Little gifts.”

“It’s a rock,” he says shortly.

“Diamonds are rocks.”

“I didn’t get him a diamond.” He pauses. “Should I get him a diamond?”

She shrugs. “I dunno. I’m not the one in love with him.”

“Who said anything about —”

“Nico! Piper! Hey!”

“Notice who he called first,” she whispers, right in his ear. She grins over at Will before he can say anything. Or curse her. “Hey, Will! How are you?”

It is unfair for a person to look good in mint scrubs. They don’t even suit him, not really, but he still looks — well, he’s beautiful. His hair is poofier than usual and sticks out like he stuck his finger in a socket, and his beam is so bright Nico has to genuinely squint to look at him, and how is it, honestly, that his freckles look like dappled sunlight? That’s not normal.

“I’m okay.” He waves them inside, not bother to close the door behind them — it’s nice out, and Nico knows he prefers the breeze and sun. “Bored.”

“Not enough ocular surgery to perform?”

Will’s grin turns wry. “Nope.” He reaches out to brush his thumb across Nico’s eye scar. He freezes, holding his breath, hyperaware of those callused fingers as they approach the ever-warming skin of his face, heart galloping in his chest. As soon as Will makes contact — because of course the touch was to get his vitals, c’mon, Nico, head in the game — he frowns.

“Why are so many of your capillaries burst?”

Piper smiles guiltily, holding up a hand.

“I beat him up.”

“Wha — you did not!” He turns to Will, indignant. “We beat each other up! She’s lying!”

Will sighs. He glares at them both for a full forty seconds, then turns his face up to the heavens, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like I do not deserve to be surrounded by this kind of dumbassery. Send lightning through the sky if I should let them suffer.

Nico waits. No lightning comes forth.

Will sighs. “Cot, let’s go, y’all know the drill.”

Piper mouths y’all as she sits down. Nico mouths eat dirt back at her.

“Now, I could hum sum’n and —”

“Sum’n,” Piper whispers delightedly. Nico ignores her.

“— get y’all fixed up good, but y’all’ve pissed me off good —”

Nico takes the initiative to pillow-smack Piper in the face while Will’s back is turned. Luckily, it muffles her shriek.

“— so I’m not gonna do all that.” He closes the cupboard with his hip, hands full of vials. “Ain’t even gonna waste ambrosia on y’all, honestly. Y’get some bruise ointment and a Tylenol ‘cause I know y’all were up to shenanigans.”

He puts a lot of emphasis on ‘nan’. Nico knows he is trying very hard to be stern, but he is in fact very cute, and Nico is putting a lot of his brainpower towards memorizing the specific wrinkle pattern that Will’s nose gets when he’s annoyed. If he says that Will looks like a bunny he might actually get shot, no matter how much Will allegedly seems to like him, so he manages to choke down the sentiment. But it is indeed there.

“— and take it easy, y’hear? Bruises don’t heal in a day.”

Gods, his eyes are really, really pretty. He’s almost tired of thinking it, but they match the sky exactly, all the time. Poets write about sparkling eyes and pretty faces all the time, but all of them can choke because all of them are liars. Will Solace has the prettiest eyes of anyone who has ever lived. They are indeed the windows to the soul, and his soul is just —

“This is for you,” Nico blurts. Essentially acting on its own, his hand slips in his pocket and draws out the blue stone, holding it out. “Um. I saw it and —” He glances at Piper, panicked, and she kicks him in encouragement. “Thought of you. So.”

Will stares at the stone for a moment. Nico sweats.

“Nico di Angelo,” he chides, hands on his hips. The panicked look he flits in Piper’s direction grows tenfold. He is not at all comforted by the grimace she sends back. “Do you think I’m so corrupt as to accept a bribe?”

“Um.” Nico hesitates. Piper smacks her face onto her hands, groaning. “That’s not what I —”

“Well, you would be correct.” Quick as a bird, Will darts out and snatches the stone, sliding it into one of his many (many) shorts pockets, nodding in approval. “I don’t have any aventurine. I’ve been looking for it. Good bribe.”

He sets down the ointment and Tylenol, gesturing for Nico to hold out his hands. Nico sighs, then complies.

“I mean, he didn’t destroy it, this time,” Piper whispers as he begins to sing, enveloping Nico’s body in a warm, golden glow. “So…progress?”

“Progress,” Nico agrees. He glances over at Will, eyes squeezed shut in focus, and rolls his eyes fondly. “Who knew it would be so hard to convince someone who already likes me to go out with me.”

———

next

[lisalamona]

𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 - IX

Chapter IX: My Goodbye

. Summary: Despite your brother's insistence, you stubbornly decided to join him and his men in the war. Now, are you prepared to face the consequences of your actions? . Pairing: Various x Fem! Reader (platonic) . Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, death, trauma, and other sensitive content. . Notes: Some notes before the chapter: First, this chapter is going to be longer than usual. Second, there will be a small Eurylochus and Reader scene toward the end that, while not explicitly romantic, could be interpreted that way—just something to keep in mind.

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Masterlist

(Back then)

"You expect us to believe that Lady Athena, goddess of wisdom and master of war, chose you of all people?" You jabbed a finger into Odysseus' chest, your voice sharp with disbelief. It was hard to wrap your head around the idea that your brother, of all people, had been approached by a goddess—especially after the ridiculous stunt he'd pulled not long ago. If anything, that had been more stupid than wise, and your skepticism had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you hadn't been allowed to participate. Definitely not.

The four of you—Eurylochus, Odysseus, Polites, and yourself—sat in a loose circle on the grass, cooling off beneath the shade of an old apple tree at the edge of the training grounds. Calling it an "arena" was generous; in reality, it was just a secluded clearing in the palace grounds, flanked by balconies that overlooked the space. The area was deserted enough that servants rarely passed by, giving you a chance to spar and relax in peace. Occasionally, though, your mother would appear on one of the walkways above, peering down to make sure no one had actually killed anyone. You didn't mind. There was something comforting about seeing her face framed by the stone railings, even if it always bore a look of mild concern.

Your father, unfortunately, wasn't around to supervise—or even spectate. His illness had kept him bedridden for months now, but that hadn't stopped you from visiting his chambers to brag about the times you bested Odysseus in a match. Predictably, your brother would retaliate later, determined to restore his honor.

Around you, swords and shields lay scattered in messy disarray—not enough to block any paths, but certainly enough to earn a disapproving glance from any passing servant. Still, what more could be expected from a group of sweaty teenagers? Between the relentless summer heat and the intensity of sparring, you were all drenched. How you'd managed even ten minutes in the sweltering sun was a mystery.

"Is it that hard to believe?" Odysseus asked, swatting your hand away with a playful grin. To punctuate his point, he extended his leg, gently shoving you toward Eurylochus. You scooted closer to him for balance, nearly falling over in the process. Eurylochus instinctively reached out, his fingers grazing your back before he quickly withdrew, heat rising to his face. He liked to think you hadn't noticed—and maybe you hadn't.

"Yes, it is that hard to believe!" You shot back, narrowing your eyes at Odysseus. "There are far more brilliant people out there!"

Odysseus gasped theatrically, one hand flying to his chest. "You dare insult the future king of Ithaca?" He demanded, whipping his head around dramatically. His hair flipped with such flair that Polites, who was lounging nearby with his hands propping him up, let out an uncontainable snort. That was all it took to set the rest of you laughing.

"What's next?" Odysseus pressed, his tone mockingly incredulous. "Are you saying she should've chosen you?"

"Of course she should have!" You replied without hesitation, your grin widening. "Did you not see how I wiped the floor with you just a few minutes ago?"

Your remark drew a chorus of teasing "oohs" from your companions. Polites raised a fist to his lips, feigning shock, while Eurylochus smirked and gave him a light slap on the arm.

"It was friendly sparring!" Odysseus protested, though his voice wavered. "And—well, I let you win!"

"Nu-uh!" You leaned forward, grinning triumphantly. "I won fair and square!"

From an outsider's perspective, it might have looked like tensions were brewing—or worse, that a fight was imminent. This was exactly what ran through the mind of a young servant girl as she passed by with a basket of freshly laundered sheets. Her pace quickened the closer she got, her steps hurried and deliberate, as though afraid of being swept into whatever chaos was about to unfold.

"Well, I think Ody would make a good choice for a 'warrior of the mind,'" Polites said, stretching up from his spot to pluck an apple from a low-hanging branch. He sank back down, took a bite, and gave Odysseus a pointed look.

"See? Even Polites agrees! What do you have against me, sister?" Odysseus retorted, gesturing dramatically in your direction.

"He just agrees because he doesn't even know what it means!" You fired back, crossing your arms.

"I do know what it means!" Polites quickly defended himself, straightening up.

"Oh really? Then what does it mean?" You raised an eyebrow, your expression challenging.

Polites hesitated, the group's expectant stares bearing down on him. "Uhh... well, it means he's... special?" His tone faltered, betraying the fact that he didn't entirely understand the significance of the title.

Odysseus clapped Polites on the shoulder in reassurance. "Don't worry, I'll explain. 'Warrior of the Mind' is the title Lady Athena gave me! It means she'll teach me everything I need to know to become a powerful warrior—not just with my strength but with my mind, too. Maybe someday, I'll even match her!" His eyes sparkled with excitement, his voice swelling with hope as he imagined the possibilities.

"I doubt you'll match a god. They're not exactly fans of when humans do that," Eurylochus quipped, his words snapping Odysseus out of his daydream.

For a brief moment, Odysseus's expression fell, but he quickly shrugged it off. "Oh, so now you're questioning me too?" He teased, aiming a mock glare at Eurylochus.

"It's not that," Eurylochus replied, his brows knitting in curiosity. "It's just... how do we know a god really spoke to you?" Realizing how his words might sound, he hurriedly elaborated. "I mean, a lot of people claim to talk to the gods but don't have much to show for it."

"Yeah, Eurylochus! Tell him!" you cheered, delighted to have an ally.

Odysseus narrowed his eyes at you both, pointing an accusing finger. "You two are way too dangerous together. I should separate you."

"You're just jealous!" You taunted, sticking your tongue out like a child.

Odysseus, matching your energy, stuck his tongue out right back at you.

"Wait—so why did she choose you?" Polites interrupted, steering the conversation back on track as he took another bite of his apple.

"Well..." Odysseus scratched the back of his neck, clearly enjoying the suspense. "She said she liked my boar-taming skills!"

You couldn't help but snort, suppressing a laugh. "Your boar-taming skills left you limping for an entire week."

"Ha-ha," Odysseus mocked, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, it turns out the boar was a test, and—"

He stopped mid-sentence, his words hanging in the air as his gaze fixed on something invisible. His face went blank, his body rigid, as though he were no longer present.

You frowned and gave his arm a tentative poke. "Ody?"

"What's wrong with him?" Polites waved a hand in front of Odysseus's face, but he got no response.

"I think you finally broke him," Eurylochus muttered, glancing at you.

You shrugged, half-joking. "My teasing isn't that bad... right?"

Before anyone could respond, Odysseus suddenly snapped back to reality with a small jump, startling all of you. One of you yelped—you would never admit it was you.

"Wow, that was weird," Odysseus muttered, shivering as if someone had poured cold water down his back.

"What happened?" Eurylochus asked cautiously.

"It was Athena," Odysseus replied, his voice tinged with awe. "She just spoke to me. She told me to meet her at the clearing in the forest."

"What for?"

"I'm not sure, but I should probably get going. You three have fun!" Without further explanation, he stood, grabbed his sword and shield, and strode off, leaving the three of you behind in stunned silence.

For a moment, none of you moved. Then you exchanged a glance with Polites, a knowing look passing between you. No words were needed—you both knew what was about to happen.

Eurylochus, however, was less clued in. "Wait—what are you—"

Before he could finish, you and Polites yanked him to his feet and took off running after Odysseus.

──────👁️──────

Your footsteps echoed softly in the quiet forest, the crunch of leaves and the snap of twigs beneath your feet the only sounds breaking the stillness. The sun hung high in the sky, but the canopy of tall trees mercifully shielded you, offering moments of cool reprieve. Occasionally, the distant chirp of a bird or the faint laughter of children playing at the forest's edge reached your ears. That forest was your sanctuary, a haven of calm that offered an escape from the burdens of palace life. You would never confess to your brother how often you would slip away during tedious political gatherings—no one ever noticed your absence, anyway.

"Where do you think he is?" Polites's voice shattered the tranquility, mingling with the hurried crunch of grass beneath your steps.

"He said Athena told him to go to the clearing," You replied, leading the way along a well-trodden path you could walk blindfolded.

"Do you have any idea how many clearings there are in this forest?" Eurylochus's skepticism was plain, both in his tone and the wary look he gave you.

You rolled your eyes. "Yes, but he said 'the' clearing. He meant the one we—"

"Guys, shh! I heard something," Polites hissed, grabbing the back of your tunic and Eurylochus's arm to halt you both. His abrupt tug nearly sent you tumbling. You glared at him, silently cursing the near-chokehold, but his sheepish grin defused your annoyance.

The three of you froze, standing utterly still, ears straining for any sound or movement. Seconds ticked by in silence.

"I don't hear anyth—"

Before you could finish, a hand clamped over your mouth, muffling your words and stinging your face slightly. You shot an indignant glare at Polites, whose hand remained firmly in place. Ignoring your glare, he grabbed your arm and Eurylochus', dragging both of you forward in a sudden sprint toward the clearing. You wondered why he felt the need to stop if you were already heading that way anyway but before you could properly ask him you had already made it there.

The three of you ducked behind a nearby tree, crouching just at the edge of the clearing. From your vantage point, you spotted your brother. Odysseus stood poised, sword in hand, his stance sharp and ready for combat. Your gaze shifted to the figure across from him.

Athena.

She was breathtaking and otherworldly, her presence exuding a grace that could only belong to a goddess. She stood tall, taller even than Eurylochus, the tallest man you knew. Her slim frame radiated strength, muscles subtly visible beneath her flowing garments. She wore an epiblema of deep blue, intricate gold details shimmering like sunlight on water, unlike anything you had ever seen before, you doubted any human was capable of replicating the embroidery. It complemented her pure white chiton and gold-crested helmet, its striking blue plume trailing so far it nearly brushed the ground. It didn't seem to look the most practical but you guessed that the gods had the ability to prioritize fashion over practicality considering they were, well... gods.

The shadows of her helmet obscured most of her face, revealing only her mouth, a thin line, almost owl-like, sitting comfortably in a way you guessed owls would if instead of beaks they had fleshy mouths and a sliver of her eyes—or rather, glowing white voids where eyes should have been. In her hand, she held a spear with practiced ease, exuding a deadly grace. She seemed entirely at home with the weapon, as if she could wield it without hesitation against anything—or anyone.

You were so engrossed in observing her that you didn't notice Eurylochus's foot landing on a stray twig. The sharp crack reverberated through the clearing, and in an instant, both Athena's and Odysseus's gazes snapped toward your hiding spot.

Before you pulled both Polites and Eurylochus with you to the ground you managed to catch Athena's head tilted unnaturally, her movements reminiscent of a predatory animal. It was uncanny—too precise, too otherworldly for something in human form.

"Looks like you have an audience," She remarked, her voice stern and commanding, carrying the weight of divine authority.

Odysseus stepped toward your hiding spot, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement. When he rounded the tree, he found the three of you sprawled in an awkward pile, attempting to look casual despite the situation. Polites whistled tunelessly while you avoided Odysseus's gaze entirely, staring at the sky as if it held all the answers.

"What are you doing here? I didn't say you could follow me," Even though he seemed annoyed you had interrupted his one on one training session he still helped you up.

"You didn't say we couldn't follow you," You retorted, smirking.

His unimpressed look was all the warning you got before he let go of your hand mid-pull, dropping you unceremoniously back to the ground. He moved on to help Eurylochus up instead.

"Since you're all here, I might as well introduce you to—" He turned toward where Athena had stood, but the goddess was gone. Only a few pristine white feathers drifted lazily through the air, floating down to the forest floor.

In all the years that followed, you would rarely see her again.

"—Athena..." Odysseus finished, his words trailing off. "You scared her!" He accused, pointing a finger at the three of you.

"I highly doubt we could scare a goddess," you replied, brushing dirt from your clothes.

Odysseus sighed, exasperated. "Whatever. What did you three want?"

──────👁️──────

The sharp clang of steel meeting steel echoed through the palace courtyard, reverberating off its stone walls. Your movements were swift and precise, mirroring your opponent's rhythm with practiced ease. Sweat glistened on your brow, but the sting of exertion only sharpened your focus. Each strike and parry was deliberate, your muscles coiled like springs, ready for the next move.

You were sparring with Eurylochus, alone this time. It had been several days since the incident where you and the others had sneaked off to spy on Odysseus and Athena's lesson. The memory lingered, playing over and over in your mind, as vivid as if it had happened moments ago.

The image of Athena—towering, otherworldly, and commanding—refused to fade. Something about her presence haunted you, a mix of awe and frustration. You couldn't stop wondering what it was she had been teaching Odysseus. What secrets of battle, of the gods themselves, had you been denied?

The thought nagged at you so relentlessly that you'd pestered Odysseus about it endlessly. You followed him through the palace halls, cornered him in the armory, and even interrupted him during meals, pleading for the chance to join his training sessions with Athena. At the very least, you'd begged to watch.

But Odysseus didn't budge.

In your distraction, thinking about the goddess and her lessons, you failed to notice Eurylochus's sword tapping your side. You had left an opening—if this had been an actual fight, you would likely be dead already.

Eurylochus was the only one among your friends who fought with the intensity you needed to improve. He never struck with the intent to harm, but he didn't hold back either, offering just enough force to push your limits.

You let out a frustrated sigh, dropping your hands to your sides in defeat and throwing your head back. Eurylochus' sly grin only deepened. "Five to two. I think we should take a break."

"No, I can keep going," you said, exhaling sharply and resuming your stance. Your irritation was mounting, not just at the loss but at your lack of focus.

"Are you sure? You're getting pretty distracted," he said, concern softening his tone. He paused, thinking for a moment before his expression lit with realization. "Is this about Lady Athena?"

"No." Your response was too quick, too defensive to be convincing.

Eurylochus raised a brow. "...Are you jealous?"

"Me, jealou– I am not jealous!" You made a noise that was half scoff, half laugh, crossing your arms in defiance.

He just stared at you, unwavering.

"...Maybe a little," you finally admitted, your voice dropping as you looked away.

Eurylochus chuckled, setting his sword aside. "Let's take that break."

The two of you sank onto the floor, the tension gradually easing. After a moment, Eurylochus broke the silence with a question that seemed to take all his courage. "What do you like? Aside from this."

"Huh?" you said, blinking at him in surprise.

"There has to be more to you than sparring," he said with a sheepish smile. "I like to read. What about you?" He tried to encourage you.

You hesitated, mulling over whether to share. Finally, you decided to take the leap. "I like the stars."

"The stars?"

Realizing what you'd said, you felt heat rise to your face. Stumbling over your words, you tried to downplay it. "Yeah, well, I... I think they're... uh... neat? Oh gods, this is stupid." You buried your face in your hands, groaning at your own awkwardness.

Eurylochus laughed softly, his voice kind. "It's not stupid! What do you like about them?"

Peeking through your fingers, you caught his warm, encouraging gaze. Slowly, your embarrassment ebbed, and you lowered your hands. Eurylochus gave you a small, reassuring smile, and you felt a flicker of confidence return.

"Well..." You hesitated for only a moment before diving in. "I like how they're always there, you know? No matter what happens, they're constant. They've guided people for centuries—travelers, sailors, even heroes. And they're so far away, yet they feel so close when you look at them. Like they're watching over us."

The more you spoke, the more animated you became, as though a floodgate had opened. Eurylochus listened intently, his smile never fading.

"Oh! Did you know that the constellation Orion was said to be a great hunter? Some say he was so proud of his hunting skills that the gods placed him in the sky as a warning about hubris." You gestured excitedly, losing yourself in the story.

Eurylochus nodded, fascinated, as you continued sharing bits of lore and facts about the stars. The swords you'd wielded moments ago lay forgotten at your feet, replaced by a different kind of exchange—words, stories, and an unspoken bond.

The rest of the day passed like this, the two of you sitting together, the weight of your earlier frustrations dissipating beneath the vastness of the sky and the quiet rhythm of conversation.

──────👁️──────

(Present)

Once the ships had sailed and everyone was settled, an immense silence fell over the fleet. The usual chatter of sailors and the creak of the ship's wood were subdued. Orders were exchanged in hushed tones, and even the waves lapping against the hull seemed quieter than usual. The weight of loss hung heavy in the air. Seven of your comrades had been lost to the Cyclops, their absence a raw wound. The silence was a tribute—a quiet mourning for the fallen.

Your gaze drifted across the ship. Men who had once been lively and boisterous now sat in somber stillness, their faces etched with grief and exhaustion. Toward the stern of the ship, your brother stood apart from the crew, his figure stark against the endless sea. His back was to you, his shoulders stiff, and his gaze fixed on the horizon as though searching for something—or someone—just beyond sight.

You approached hesitantly, the soft sound of your sandals barely audible over the gentle rocking of the ship. "Is it Lady Athena again?" you asked, your voice breaking the stillness. You stopped a few paces behind him, unsure if he wanted company. "I'm sure she'll come back, she alway—"

"She left." Odysseus's voice was low, clipped. He didn't turn to face you.

"Huh?" you blinked, confused.

"She's not coming back." His hands clenched the railing, knuckles white. "She doesn't understand. A goddess couldn't possibly understand..." His words trailed off, bitterness lacing his tone.

You stepped closer, lowering your voice as if trying not to disturb his fragile composure. "We'll get home without her," you said softly, a conviction building in your words as you added, "I promise."

For a moment, the only response was the wind tugging at your clothes and the rhythmic creak of the ship. Then Odysseus turned slightly, his face shadowed but his eyes burning with frustration.

"I need to speak with you. About what you pulled back there." He finally turned to look at you and he didn't look happy.

"Ody–"

"You can't keep doing this!" His voice rose suddenly, sharp and cutting through the silence. "Jumping into danger just because! I don't know what is going on in your head, but—"

"You do the same!" you shot back, stepping forward with fists clenched at your sides.

"When I do it, I think about the possibilities, about what that action might bring," he countered, his voice hard but controlled. "You do it recklessly, not caring for your own well-being—or for the crew's, for that matter."

Your breath hitched, his words like a slap. "Of course I care," you said, indignation rising in your chest.

He shook his head, his expression stern, almost cold. "If you truly do, then don't put yourself—or anyone else—in danger."

"I saved someone," you snapped, your voice trembling with both defiance and anger.

"And it could've ended in two casualties instead of just one," he replied, his words steady but heavy with meaning.

"You wanted me to leave Polites to die?" Your voice cracked, disbelief coloring every word.

"No! That's not what I'm saying," he said, his frustration breaking through. "I'm saying you need to think before you act. Don't let your impulses get the best of you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" you demanded, narrowing your eyes at him.

He hesitated, the pause heavier than anything he had said. "Don't tell me what you just did back there wasn't impulsive," you continued, letting anger get the best of you. "How did Athena take that, huh?"

Your words hit a nerve, and for a moment, his composure faltered. The sting of your challenge was evident in the way his jaw tightened. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet your gaze.

"Look," he said, his tone softening as he spoke. "I don't know if you're trying to prove yourself or something, but I know you can take care of yourself. I want you to know that." His voice dropped, the weight of unspoken fears filling the space between you. "I just don't want to see you dead. Just another number. Another casualty. Please... tell me you understand."

His words hung in the air, the plea in them unmistakable. You held his gaze, your anger simmering but tempered by the genuine concern in his voice. Finally, you nodded. "I understand."

For a moment, he seemed relieved, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. "You're dismissed," he said, turning back to the horizon. His voice carried the faintest tremor, as though the weight of leadership and loss pressed down on him more heavily than ever.

You lingered for a second longer, watching him as the silence reclaimed the ship, then turned and walked away. The conversation echoed in your mind, leaving you with more questions than answers and a resolve that burned even brighter in your chest.

[goes-whump-in-the-night]

From that prompt list, a red hot brand or iron for your mermaid OC?

pre-heated

Synopsis: Nyma gets a branding opportunity.

Content Warnings: mer whump, lady whump, lady whumper, manhandling, training, food deprivation, renaming, branding

Author's Notes: Set not too long after Nyma comes home with Vivienne (Viv to her friends). Not really nsfwhump, but still a fun bit of suffering. Also, my browser crashed in the middle of writing this the first time, so know I am committed to this.

Nyma had grown to dread the threat of heat. She used to fear it, in the way most merfolk did, as an abstract and hopefully far-removed threat. Just as one might fear being attacked by a hungry predator or being caught in a tangle of netting, she used to fear the idea of being stuck on dry land, the heat of the surface world slowly and painfully drying her out until she made an inevitable return to the safety of the ocean.

Ever since Vivienne had taken her home, Nyma had begun to dread it instead. Heat, whether it was from being left to bake on a stone slab under the sun's angry glare or from being shoved under the burning gaze of artificial lights, was an inevitability now, and one of the most certain punishments that would be rained down on her when she failed to live up to her mistress's demanding standards.

There was more to the threat of heat as well, beyond the obvious pain and discomfort it brought to her. Heat was usually only a precursor to some other punishment that would be made worse by her weakened state, and every minute spent in a warm glow only served to build the dread within her.

So, of course Nyma knew she should be dreading something when Vivienne's servants removed her from the relative safety of her indifferent glass tank and threw her down onto the carpet of her mistress's sitting room. She could tell something terrible was coming based off the sweltering heat that came in waves from the massive, brick fireplace at the center of the room. The firelight itself cast sinister shadows on Vivienne as she stood there, looming above Nyma and prodding the flames with a long, iron rod.

But her ignorance of human matters kept her from being able to quite piece together what was coming next, leaving her with the small mercy of ignorance as Vivienne began to speak.

"My people have told me you've behaved very badly today, Caly," the woman said, using that name she'd made up for Nyma - that name Nyma hated as it came to define her more and more. "Not finishing your food, under-performing in training - you do understand it costs me quite a bit to provide all of that, don't you?"

If she could have, Nyma would have told her it was because of the food that she was under-performing. Those awful slivers of fish-stuff they threw in her tank were disgusting to try to choke down, and not nearly enough to feed a grown merfolk even when she could manage to keep them down. Even with her tail restored, she simply did not have the strength to swim as fast or jump as high as was demanded of her, and it was only going to get worse the longer they treated her like this.

But Nyma still struggled with vocalizing out of water. It was evident too that she still struggled to understand the cruelty of her captors, or else she could have saved herself the effort of attempting to explain this to someone who so clearly understand her circumstances already and reveled in inflicting them.

Clasping the gills around her throat to help the sounds come out properly, Nyma attempted to croak, "I try - I try - " but she soon found other hands around her as well, her arms in the iron grips of Vivienne's servants as they dragged her up into an unnatural position akin to kneeling. That alone made her whimper at the pain in her tender tail as her mistress leaned closer to her, the iron rod now removed from the flames, its tip still glowing white hot.

"Clearly," Vivienne said with a snarl as one of her servants grabbed a handful of Nyma's hair, forcing her to look her mistress in the eye, "you're not trying hard enough - and you need to be reminded of who it is you owe your pretty life to. The only question now, is where your reminder belongs."

It was only as Vivienne's eyes trailed up and down her body that Nyma had the chance to notice there was a shape at the end of her iron rod. Glowing in a burning white-yellow light was a circle with an ornate V-shape connecting to three points within it - the same shape Nyma had begun to recognize from everything and everyone that belonged to Vivienne.

That was when she understood, and her dread became obsolete.

Please - please, please, please no, she tried to beg. I can do better - I promise I will - just please mistress, have mercy!

But her voice had devolved into the incomprehensible shrieks and squeals that few in Vivienne's household could parse out, and even fewer could be bothered to care for.

"Hold her steady," Vivienne instructed the men holding Nyma. "On her stomach. I don't want to have to pay the healer to undo this if she messes it up the first time."

As the pale mer was turned facedown on the floor, pinned helplessly by three sets of uncaring hands, no amount of dread and no amount of crying could stop her mistress from driving the molten hot branding iron into the small of her back.

And amidst the sea of screaming pain that carried her voice into every corner of Vivienne's manor, Nyma was once again treated to the smell of her own burning flesh.

[thr0wnawayy]

Writing Exercise: Invertia

Lavender rays snuck through the blinds of the Ninth's room.

The Ninth.

Izumi still had trouble processing that the events of the past semester were grounded in reality.

But the beating of her heart, the rising and falling of her chest as she slowly came into consciousness. It reminded her that she was alive, she was real.

The pink haired protege stiffly raised herself into a sitting position, her neck popped as she looked to her limited edition 'All Blight - Incinerator collab' calender that had been given to her by that overly cheery classmate, Shoto Himura.

It was the Sports Festival today. Well, fuck.

Izumi ripped of the bedsheets and trudged to to bathroom.

Her pink hair shot in every direction, one wiry eye peered behind the rats nest, glaring at itself like death.

Deku broke contact to grab a comb and try to fashion her hair into something salvageable.

Izumi hissed through her teeth as she realized her mental mistake. Nevertheless, she continued taming her hair.

Her mother was likely out of the house again. Not that Izumi minded, that was natural given her position as the head of a major lawfirm.

Izumi had been taught more than enough to survive on her own. Born in a time where Heroes were only just exploding onto the mainstream meant more risks of a break in.

Cooking, cleaning and self preservation were all skills Izumi had learned by age 9, such was the life of a middle class woman and her unexpected daughter.

Izumi snapped back to the present, finding that she had been on autopilot again and was now standing in the kitchen, fully dressed in a crimson "Woop Weep' band tee and black cargo pants.

Izumi grabbed the necessary items, looking out the window to see the familar crimson sky, perfectly clear. Izumi knew she had plenty of time, maintaining a perfect schedule and living in Musutafu helped with that.

As the pot began to boil and the soba lay in wait, Izumi found her thoughts returning to the subject of her "friends".

Izumi never really had friends, so she didn't know if Shoto, Uraraka or Ida counted.

Shoto was the latest addition. Completely the opposite of what one would expect from Incinerator's son. The number 2 was as unwavering and intense as the Black-Fire she weilded. Shoto was, well, Shoto. Talkative and energetic, a boy who could see a butterfly pass by and have a million questions.

Ida was more in-line with what Izumi had come to expect from a Legacy kid, although Ida's 'devil may care' attitude to most things was something Izumi could appreciate. The ginger haired delinquent seemed to take things in stride, though she supposes coming from a long line of Villains will do that to you.

Uraraka was the most mysterious for Izumi, the one code she couldn't crack.

Izumi was blunt, she spoke her mind and gave no quarter. Uraraka's tounge was barbed and honeyed. She had a way to get you hooked on whatever she was offering.

Thats how Izumi wound up agreeing to train her in hand to hand combat. Techniques she had spent years honing on bullies, earning her 10 suspensions by the time she was in 6th grade (all off record of course, lawyer mom)

The lid rumbles. Izumi listlessly places the soba strands in.

As she waits for breakfast, She looks at this little bobble head her mother had bought her as a gag gift a few years ago. A very familair face stares back at her.

"Toroshinori..." Izumi answers to the open air.

She still remembers that day on the roof. Izumi had clung to the 'Blight of villainy' himself, and she knew they'd tear her apart if they ever found out what she'd shouted at him.

"Why do the bad ones always become heroes!?"

Izumi had been tired, the world's worst manipulator had told her to kill herself. Her mother had been overworked and every day it seemed like another so-called "hero" forgot what side of the law they stood on.

She'd almost opened the door to the stairwell when he spoke.

He'd poofed in a cloud of smoke, the smell of ash filling the air. The man who restored order, was laid bare in front of her. A man who despite hardship after hardship, kept on going.

They hadn't realized the stairwell door had locked until that point, trapped up there until All Blight could recharge.

He gave her his story and Izumi gave hers. Two souls, hurt by the world and looking to reshape itm

He said that he "liked her moxie" and offered to keep on touch. Who was Izumi to refuse?

Izumi looked up at the oven clock, right on time. She turned off the heat, strained the soba and grabbed her seasoning.

By this point it was automatic. Izumi knew just the way she liked her Soba, what techniques and intracies. The craftsmanship of a homemade meal was simply enjoyable to her.

Izumi ate, enjoying the serine silence of the house. Absorbing it, because the Sports Festival was going to be louder than Tear Lord's charity guitar tours.

And just like that Izumi felt her mood sour again. She was going to have to deal with those idiots again. Most of her classmates were alright, but then there were those.

Kaminari was the textbook definition of a misogynist. Constantly trying to mask it through a false veneer of chivalry. Mineta, the paranoid, who was more than likely going to go on a killing spree sometime in the future.

And then of course, Bakugo. The leech of U.Gen, constantly riding on the coat-tails of everyone else. Thinking he's playing 4d chess with his "rumors" when it's little more that locker room gossip.

He is simply repungent.

Izumi shrugs it off as she grabs her supplies. 'Eh, he'll probably have a breakdown the moment he washes out'.

U.Gen was no joke, failing here meant expulsion, effectively immediately. Only the top 50 would go on to the next semester and the only reason she knew that was thanks to Toshinori's messages, which she always appreciated.

The decision came into place following the Ice Hero: Endeavor's, forced retirement. No one knows exactly what happend, Shoto seems to buffer whenever she asks. But the bottom line was Endeavor shouldn't have gotten through at all.

Since then, U.Gen has had two major exams in the first year. Each at the end of the semester. The first, the SF, was meant to weed out incapable or/and unresouceful heroes. The schematics on the next one are vaug, but Izumi knew it had something to do with one's character.

-And would you look at that, she's already in the train. She really needs to stop getting lost in her own head, it's not beneficial.

The tram was packed, no suprise there. Mostly with people either going to work or going to have fun.

What else are they gonna go to? With her to the Sports Festival? That hasn't been open to the public since Izumi was a toddler.

Izumi snorted at the mental image of her in a TerraRiser onesie, complete with the black cape.

The speaker dinged, letting her know that her station was coming up. The concrete practically shifted beneath her feet as she leapt out the tram car.

It didn't take Izumi long to find the bus, Her English Teacher: Silencer mutely greeting her with a soft smile and a head nod, miming tapping a watch to tell her that it was time to haul ass.

It wasn't much different to one's that sent them to the DWJ, it was kind of nostalgic. Even if it relatively recent. Izumi took in a deep breath of filtered air as the bus began to move.

Showtime.

_______________________________________

Kamino Ward District.

The Drousy Djin Diner.

Thunk, Thunk, Thunk

Gloved fingers met the screen of a TouchPad.

Thunk, Thunk, Thunk.

Eerie bright blue eyes pwwred from behind Reddish-Brown locks. The Sports Festival was today...

A black haired girl twirled a clearly stolen pistol in her hand, her expression bored as sin.

A white haired vigilante postured with his back against the wall, waiting for his partner in business and crime to speak.

A dead man watches eagerly from behind the counter. His body as youthful as the day he "died".

The Brunette shifts upright, all eyes suddenly on him. He grins.

"Who's ready to make their mark?"