#How are there four separate people who are this mad at you for that many unrelated reasons

[theglizzardwizard]

I want you all to read this and think over how ridiculous it is that I still get new things to talk about from people in your discord.

[ugh-yoongi]

hi. i would like to request seungcheol (obviously). all i request is enemies-to-lovers. you may do with this what you wish. i leave it up to you to decide exactly how you will ruin my life 😌

tysm for the request my beloved !! he is so enemies to lovers coded i had TEWWW many thoughts (and started three separate wips oops), but here we are. i hope u enjoy this !! can't wait to get the collab fics out of the way so i can torture u further with baseball dk. i picked dodgers hat!cheol just for u. ♡

— we need to talk

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader summary: sometimes the only way to win the game is to not play, but sometimes it's not a game at all—sometimes it's four years of emotional build-up with nowhere left to hide. genre: enemies (kinda) w benefits to lovers; frat/university au; smut, angst?, fluff rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. warnings: frat boys. gendered language and insults. swearing. mentions of drugs & drug use (vernon is literally a drug dealer 🤷🏻‍♀️) as well as alcohol. possessive, jealous seungcheol who is extremely down bad and kind of an asshole and would be toxic af irl but is fine in fanfiction probably. this is maybe more "people who used to fuck and started disliking each other along the way bc they can't figure out their feelings" to lovers than enemies. there are very slight, very meaningless mingyu x reader undertones here. jeonghan is a bastard. feelings you think are unrequited but alas! this got softer than i intended oops. smut warnings: seungcheol truly is a man driven to the brink of madness bc of pussy idk what to say. kissing. hair pulling. mentions of masturbation. the dynamics shift in this one a lot, but to be overly cautious i will say dom!cheol and slightly dom!reader undertones that are not implicitly stated or defined. seungcheol uses the term "whore" once, sorry. oral sex (f. receiving). pussy slapping. unprotected sex. if i missed any pls lmk. wordcount: 8k. no i do not know what a drabble is, leave me alone. author's note: title from the song of the same name by waterparks but this was actually brought to you by "i'll never stop" by nsync bc it's their best song and fit the vibes perfectly. anyway, i still do not love writing smut but i am insane over this man so whatever, we persevere. everyone go shower mj in lots of love bc she's the best and deserves it. also everyone say thank u @the-boy-meets-evil for looking over this for me. i did not look at this again after she beta'd it so any mistakes are of my own stupidity. <3

Seungcheol is incensed.

What in the fuck are you thinking, showing up here? Ignoring him, walking by him with nothing more than a brush to the elbow and that sultry, electric gaze? A pair of painted-on jeans and a sheer top?

Who the fuck had invited you?

He looks around the room, gaze heavy under his furrowed brow. Bass thumps in his ears, the music so loud he can feel it in his chest. Still, his feet stay planted on the floor, already sticky with spilled alcohol and god knows what else. He needs to find Vernon—just needs something to get through this very unexpected (and very unpleasant) surprise, take the edge off.

But he can’t see through the sea of people. They’re everywhere, occupying every inch of available space in the house, but he just needs a glimpse of that mop of cornflower blue hair. If he could just—

Instead, he sees a streak of white-blond in his peripheral vision. “Soonyoung!” he calls, grabbing the man by the arm. “Hey, have you seen Vernon?”

Soonyoung stares up at him with glassy, bloodshot eyes, his breath already stinking of alcohol as he shrugs and says, “Dunno, hyung. Think he’s upstairs.”

Fingers still wrapped around his bicep, Seungcheol heaves a sigh. “Go find Jeonghan. He’s on babysitting duty and you’re already fucked.”

“I’m fine,” Soonyoung argues, slurred words giving him away immediately.

Seungcheol scoffs. “Bro, you can barely stand and you reek of shitty vodka. Go drink some water.”

As he sends Soonyoung away, he can feel eyes boring into him, tension wound tight in the center of his back that refuses to dissipate no matter how many times he rolls his shoulders. He turns slowly, already knowing exactly what he’ll find, but knowing does little to stop the hitch of breath as he takes you in.

And he hates it. Fuck, he hates the effect you have on him more than anything.

Hates that he’s still pining after you. Hates that all you have to do is look at him and he’s putty in your hands. Hates that you’re the first person he looks for in a room, the last person on his mind before he falls asleep. Hates you, hates that all of this is unreciprocated, because if Choi Seungcheol is anything, it’s proud. He’s rich, he’s good-looking, he’s pre-law, and the president of this fraternity, for fuck’s sake—he should not be hung up on a girl.

But he’d been doomed from the beginning. Ever since you’d been assigned to him as a challenge to overcome, an impossible task to conquer, he’d been helplessly, pathetically smitten with you.

And fuck if you didn’t know it, too.

So, it’s a game now. A lifetime’s worth of pining for Seungcheol all because his frat was misogynistic and refused to keep up with the times. They’d nodded in your direction and laughed at the confusion on his face, the knot between his brows. Seungcheol couldn’t figure out why his initiation was to fuck a girl, one his brothers wouldn’t even address by name, but when he’d approached you at a party and you’d immediately told him to go fuck himself, he’d figured it out pretty quick.

Call it determination, call it a stubborn streak that refused to quit, but the two of you soon came to a reluctant agreement: you would let Seungcheol lie to his frat, figuring he was attractive enough that people thinking you’d slept together wouldn’t be complete social suicide, and he’d owe you a favor you’d keep in your back pocket for as long as it took to cash in.

Which hadn’t taken long. The stress of finals that first year had gotten to all of you, and it wasn’t long before you were at his door looking for his drug-dealing roommate and a quick fuck.

That was the second time Seungcheol had been doomed to hopeless pining, because once he had you, he knew it’d be impossible to let you go.

Short of outright saying the words, he’d all but told you as much during some alcohol-induced brain shortage junior year. And, in turn, you’d all but laughed in his face.

Right.

Of course.

That was to be expected.

So, you’d continued your… well, whatever this is: quick fucks when both of you were bored or lonely or horny, usually under the influence of something illegal; a mutually tense but beneficial relationship for each of you, because you had been Seungcheol’s initiation and the initiation itself awarded him connections and opportunities. You got a back-up plan. A safe body and warm bed to retreat to when the need arose—one who clearly wanted it to be something more, but was, all things considered, fine with the current arrangement. Didn’t pressure you.

But, as was also to be expected, it was never going to be that simple when feelings got involved. When he started feeling slighted. When he wanted you so bad he ached with it sometimes and it was beneath you to care. Which is why he really, really needs to find Vernon. If he’s going to endure an entire party with you, he’s not going to do it sober.

He takes the steps two at a time, feet stumbling onto the landing as soon as he reaches it. Vernon’s door is the third on the left, and he can hear a separate, distinct bass line from the one booming downstairs that hums louder the closer he gets.

And Vernon knows. Of course he does, because he’s yanking his door open before Seungcheol has even raised a hand to knock, the stench of weed seeping out into the hallway, and all he needs is a quick look at Seungcheol before he pulls the door open wider and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States of America,” as if he’s speaking into a microphone. When Seungcheol doesn’t react, he awkwardly tacks on, “Hi, hyung. I’m assuming she’s here.”

Seungcheol nods, dumbly, and stands as awkwardly in the center of the room as someone who’s about to ask their roommate for drugs tends to be. “Yeah.” Shoves his hands in the pockets of his overpriced jeans so Vernon can’t see the sheen of sweat.

“You looking for somethin’ specific?” he asks, rifling through the top drawer of a tall dresser. “Like, is this an I’m about to fuck her the rest of the night visit or an I need something to help me forget she doesn’t actually like me visit?”

The words come like a reflex. “Fuck you,” he seethes. Vernon’s not wrong, per se, but he didn’t have to go and just… say it like that.

Vernon just shrugs, one side of his worn-out collar slipping down his shoulder as he does so, and Seungcheol can’t tell if he’s actually dressed for the party or not. “Gonna guess it’s the second one, then.”

Seungcheol scoffs. “Well, it’s not,” he insists, knowing damn well he should let it go, that he’s just digging himself a bigger hole, but the truth sits in the pit of his stomach like lead.

And, really, he knows he just needs to accept it. That little strand of hope hasn’t brought him anything but more pain—allowed him to delude himself into thinking it could be something more, something tangible—and it’s time to let it go.

You don’t want more.

You don’t want the label and the relationship.

You don’t want him.

He knows this, but it still tastes sour in his mouth. Still tastes like the chill of autumn when you’d first showed up at his door all that time ago. Tastes like all the blunts you’ve shared and the liquor from all the parties you’d snuck away in the middle of. Tastes like the sharp notes of your perfume, the ones that’d coat his tongue when he’d kiss down your neck—the same notes that stain his bedsheets.

Mostly, it’s the pitying look Vernon’s giving him that hurts the most. He’s above pity. Doesn’t need it, especially not from Vernon Chwe, but it hurts all the same to be on the receiving end of it.

“Give me whatever you’ve got.”

Vernon’s face quickly morphs into surprised concern. “Uh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I mean, I’ve got some pretty heavy shit here.”

Heat flares in his belly. The pity was bad enough—now he wants to be patronizing? “Then give me whatever the fuck you think I need,” he snaps. “I don’t care. I don’t have time for this shit.”

“Well, you definitely need to chill,” Vernon mumbles. “You want some dabs?”

“No. Something…” The word feels thick in his mouth. Stronger implies that Seungcheol does heavy drugs, and that’s not true. “Else,” he finally finishes.

Vernon sighs as he continues rifling through the drawer. “Your dad would fucking kill me if I gave you my real heavy shit, so…” He pauses, eyebrows raising in triumph as he finds what he was looking for: a small baggie filled halfway with some nondescript powder. “You want a bump?”

Maybe he should be ashamed at how quickly he agrees, at the urgency and greed with which he grabs the baggie from Vernon’s fingers, but he just needs something. Needs the distraction, the brain fog. He shoves it in his back pocket next to his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

Vernon wrinkles his nose. “Nah. Consider that one a freebie. No offense, but you’re a real piece of shit when you’re like this.”

The implication only pisses him off more. Seungcheol is loaded—he can afford to pay his drug dealer, thank you very much—but he’s not like anything. “I’m sorry?”

True to his nature, Vernon barely shrugs. “I’ll put it on your tab, hyung,” he says in a way that implies he’s not at all going to do that and is only saying so to get the fraternity president off his back.

Jeonghan (23:12) Better come get your girl. Kim Mingyu’s dick looks like it’s halfway up her ass by now. Jeonghan (23:12) Uh oh! I think I just saw a testicle

Seungcheol stares down at his phone, hands trembling in anger. Of course it’s Mingyu. That pathetic loser has been taking up residence on the subs bench ever since you’d made out with him months ago in an admittedly successful attempt at payback. Seungcheol had hooked up with some downgrade at a party one time and you’d gone and made out with his friend. It was hardly a fair trade.

Seungcheol (23:14) Good for Mingyu, he can deal with her then Seungcheol (23:14) I’m busy Jeonghan (23:14) Doing what? Jerking off in the upstairs bathroom again? Jeonghan (23:15) Do you know what size condom he wears btw? Looks like I might need to fetch him one if you don’t want to take care of another man’s baby Jeonghan (23:16) Although, to be fair, you might want to sit this one out. He has way better bone structure than you. Might be a blessing in disguise Seungcheol (23:16) Fuck you Jeonghan (23:16) Better be nice to me, Choi Seungcheolie~ that might be the only fuck you get tonight

Seungcheol needs better friends. He needs a lot of things, really, but number one on his to-do list is to never let Jeonghan be on babysitting duty ever again. Somehow he’d forgotten how obnoxious Yoon Jeonghan is when he isn’t stoned and half-asleep on a couch somewhere.

For now, he just stomps down the hallway; locks himself in his room and doesn’t bother to turn on the light. He’s not going to be here long. Just enough time to do this line, change his t-shirt, and come up with a game plan, because he’s not going to let Mingyu even entertain the thought of being able to have you but he also can’t appear desperate. Not just to you, but to everyone else. Choi Seungcheol is not clingy, especially not over a girl.

Especially especially over a girl who doesn’t even want him like that.

But the longer he sits in the dark, the more trouble he has finding his resolve. Can’t bring himself to dig that baggie out of his pocket. Can’t drag his t-shirt over his head. Can’t bring himself to think about anything other than Mingyu’s hands all over you, and fuck, does that image drive him insane.

Does he touch you like Seungcheol does?

Does he coax those same jagged whimpers from your mouth like Seungcheol does?

Does his semi-hard cock feel as good pressed against you?

God, he’s so fucked. Utterly and completely fucked. And he wonders if this would be as bad if he’d just kept his mouth shut, took that secret to his grave instead of fooling himself into thinking it could be more. If it wouldn’t have devolved into… this. You’d always told him not to get attached, that sex was just sex and there was no need to ruin a good thing. But Seungcheol is a selfish man, always has been, and what if? is a dangerous question.

Jeonghan (23:36) Wow, you’re a fucking pussy. Stop hiding in your room like a little bitch. Seungcheol (23:36) Fuck off

He can’t go down there. Not because he’s a coward, but because he’s barely tethered to his sanity as it is. Something about you brings him out of his mind, makes him toss whatever good judgment he has left to the wind. Seungcheol is far too impulsive when it comes to you, reckless in ways that have all twenty years of his social training weeping in a corner; have alarm bells ringing in his brain. So, no, he can’t go downstairs right now because he knows he’ll do something stupid. Stick not only his foot but his entire lower body in it. He should’ve listened, yet here he is, dick pulled halfway out of his jeans because the thought of you alone gets him hard but his pride won’t let him jerk off to the image of anyone touching you that’s not him.

Forget whatever Jeonghan had called him. He’s a fucking fool. A moonstruck, delusional fool who’d tricked himself into thinking he could swim when he can barely tread water.

You (23:41) Something wrong?

Oh, here we fucking go, he thinks. Because this is Seungcheol’s game—one he’d perfected years ago, the one where he’s coy and chilly, never too eager, never committed. Just a little bit of a tease. Barely enough to keep them on the hook, a little needy; still enough to keep them coming back. But you’d taken one look at him all those years ago and had him pegged immediately. Figured out his game and learned the rules, used them against him. Now you watch him flounder with a smile on your face.

Seungcheol (23:42) Never knew you were so needy baby. First you show up uninvited and now youre missing me?

But just because there’s now a player two doesn’t mean he’s doomed to lose. He knows how you look when you’re on your knees for him. Knows how you sound when you’re begging to cum and stuttering out his name like you’re singing hymns. Knows how you look with your eyes rolled back after he’s fucked you dumb. Kim Mingyu doesn’t know shit.

Seungcheol knows he’s the only one fortunate enough to experience you like this.

And god does it kill him.

You (23:44) Don’t act stupid

A pleased exhale of laughter, an equally-smug smirk. Yeah, this is still Seungcheol’s game, the crown still sitting atop his head. You can let Mingyu grind his dick against you all you want, but Seungcheol is still the one you’re seeking out, pouting at the fact he hasn’t come to find you yet.

You (23:44) Mingyu invited me

Oh, you’re good—know just which buttons to press and how much pressure to use. Whatever smug expression Seungcheol had been wearing slides off his face immediately, tongue pressing into his cheek.

Seungcheol (23:46) And yet youre looking for me? You (23:47) Don’t have to look for you to know you’re upstairs sulking in your room because Jeonghan tattled on me like a fucking five year old Seungcheol (23:49) Maybe you should come up here then Seungcheol (23:49) Away from prying eyes

You don’t reply immediately. It’s just long enough for Seungcheol’s brain to conjure up something indecent—the way you’ll straddle him, the way his cock will feel pressed against the apex of your thighs; the goosebumps that’ll raise on his arms when you work your tongue along his neck, that spot near his collarbone you know he likes. His cock throbs against the confines of his jeans when he thinks about the devastated look on Mingyu’s face when you make up some excuse to get away from him, to traipse up the stairs and fall into Seungcheol’s bed, when he realizes he’s not going to have you.

You (23:56) It’d be pretty rude to leave my date, don’t you think? You (23:57) If you want me so bad, come down here and get me yourself

Seungcheol doesn’t play games; doesn’t compete because he has no competition. He’s always been given whatever he wants on a silver platter, no questions asked, so he’s wholly unprepared for this turn of events. What he knows he should do (respond to your text and tell you to fuck off, that you know where he is should you stop being a brat and change your mind) is not what he does (tucks his dick back in his jeans, finally throws on a clean t-shirt, and takes his time descending the stairs so he doesn’t look too eager), because logical thought gets tossed out the window entirely wherever you’re concerned.

“Ah, if it isn’t our resident pissbaby making his grand re-entrance.”

Seungcheol clenches his jaw for the nth time and glares. “Fuck off, Jeonghan.”

The man in question laughs—the annoying raspy one that grates on Seungcheol’s nerves—and hands over a cup of something brown and pungent. “Well, judging from your attitude, and the fact you’re barely hiding that boner you’ve got, you clearly didn’t spend your time away jerking off. What finally got you down here, the promise of cheap whiskey I nicked off some freshman or the fact that your girlfriend’s about two seconds from getting a public indecency charge courtesy of Kim Mingyu?”

Well. Jeonghan may be an asshole but he’s not wrong. Even through the crowd of people and the haze of whatever’s in his cup and a contact high, Seungcheol spots you immediately. Your back is pressed against Mingyu’s chest, his fingers gripping tight at your waist as you roll your hips in time with his. Whatever manufactured filth he’s whispering to you draws a smile, causes you to reach up and tug sharply at his hair. Fuck, Seungcheol can almost hear Mingyu’s moan from across the room, and his blood quickly heats to a rapid boil.

Another chuckle from the demon beside him. “Stop fucking laughing,” Seungcheol snaps, still unable to take his eyes off of you. “Fuck this. I’m going back upstairs. Make sure everyone’s out of here by three. I’m not paying for another noise citation.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “I’m absolutely not going to do that.” He shoves a bottle of something in Seungcheol’s hand. “Take this and think of me when you’re crying yourself to sleep because Mingyu stole guaranteed pussy right out of your hands.”

“Why do you do this?” Seungcheol asks, shoving at Jeonghan’s shoulder roughly. “You never know when to fucking quit.”

Another streak of white-blond. “Hey, no fighting!” Soonyoung slurs, trying his best to push Seungcheol to the other side of the kitchen with his useless, limp arms.

This attracts the attention of Joshua, who struts into the room looking straight out of Fashion Week, much like he always does. He hasn’t even broken a sweat. “Aw, are Mom and Dad fighting again?” he asks, his lips tugged into a smirk. He ignores Seungcheol’s scowl as he fixes himself a drink. “You know Mingyu only does it to get a reaction out of you,” Joshua adds, quieter this time, as if he’s telling Seungcheol a secret only meant for the two of them to share.

“What’s her excuse, then?” Seungcheol fires back, because even if he doesn’t like it, Joshua’s right. This is exactly the kind of behavior he’d expect from resident campus whore Kim Mingyu, but he never expected you to go along with it.

Joshua cocks an eyebrow. “She doesn’t need an excuse, Cheol. She’s not your girl.”

Even though it’s a truth he already knows, it somehow hurts worse being spoken in plaintext, a hushed conversation in a crowded kitchen. Being let down gently. Seungcheol knows he needs to make a decision. He needs to let you go and start moving on with his life; can’t be having these quasi-meltdowns during frat parties anymore. Can’t be possessive and spiteful. You don’t want him. Everyone knows you don’t want him, so that’s all there is to it. Maybe you’ll want Mingyu and he can finally wash his hands of this forever, scrape the jealousy off his tongue.

He steels himself. Rolls his shoulders back, cracks his neck. Navigates the crowd in the living room until he reaches you and your so-called date. Grabs you by the elbow—gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt but firm enough to send a message—and says the two of you need to talk. Upstairs. Now. Mingyu just smiles like he knew this was coming and presses a pointless, wasted kiss just below your ear. Seungcheol tells him to fuck off, too, and Mingyu grins wider, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

As he guides you to his room, he doesn’t think about the way your hand fits in his. Doesn’t think about how this is going to be the last time he has you. Doesn’t think about who’ll have you after. Doesn’t bother to wonder if you’ve finally changed your mind like he had all those other times he’d walked this same familiar path with you in tow. Because it’s the last time. Whatever happens once it’s over is out of his control.

Perhaps that’s what it’d always been about. Seungcheol has always been spoiled and selfish and so terribly, terribly desperate to prove he’s more than his family name and family money. So, yeah, he’d wanted the control; wanted what was never his for the taking. You’d always been the opposite—his perfect little counterpart. Always so pliant and careless and free: everything Seungcheol tried so hard to be but couldn’t, and that’s where the switch flipped.

Someone like you isn’t meant to be controlled.

What he used to want so badly now tastes rancid in his mouth.

The door locks behind you. Seungcheol doesn’t meet your eye as he says, “You got what you wanted. Are you done being a fucking brat?” It’s not a tone he usually takes. Usually he’s dirty, a little possessive, willing to let you set the pace. He doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches. “I asked you a question.”

“Seungcheol—”

He clicks his tongue, stalks closer until you’re nearly in his grasp. Your eyes close instinctively as if you’re expecting his mouth on yours. Instead, he threads his long fingers in your hair and pulls. “What’s so hard about answering a simple yes or no question? Did you really want Mingyu’s dick so bad you’ve gone dumb all of a sudden?”

You gasp. “No.”

“No what?” Seungcheol chides. “No, you’re not done being a brat? Or no, you weren’t just downstairs acting desperate and pathetic for mediocre cock?” He runs his thumb across the seam of your lips, follows their movements as you speak.

“I wasn’t—”

A low, mocking chuckle. “You were, baby.” Sounds condescending; speaks to you like you’re a stupid child. He’s so close to you now. Can smell the tang of your skin, the sticky notes of your perfume. Feels your breath fan against his own sweat-slick skin. Still avoids your gaze, because as domineering as he appears, he knows he can unravel just as quickly. “Take your clothes off. This is the last time I’m gonna fuck you and I’m not going to ask twice.”

Now you truly look caught off-guard. “What?” Still he ignores you, expensive silver rings clinking into a dish on his dresser one by one, expensive watch following. “What do you mean the last time?”

Deft fingers play at the buttons on his shirt. Not silk, but just as expensive. “Shit. You’re really testing my patience, you know.” You’re still standing at the edge of his bed, staring dumbly as if he’s just going to start spilling all his secrets, give you some kind of explanation. “I believe I told you to strip.”

Unlike Seungcheol, your fingers tremble as they work at buttons and zippers and hemlines, push down denim and remove heels. It’s clear you’re trying to work out what he’s playing at—if this is some punishment for fucking around with Mingyu or if he really means it—but you’re not going to risk asking. Things between the two of you are already tense as it is. Seungcheol has never been wound this tight, never been so ready to snap.

“That’s it,” he praises once you’re left in nothing but a skimpy underwear set you know he likes. “Look at you. Fucking gorgeous. I bet that’s why you think you can get away with embarrassing me, huh?” He grabs your chin, forces you to meet his gaze for the first time since he’d dragged you up here. “Get on your knees. I’m getting tired of repeating myself.”

It’s not an unfamiliar sight—as it is, you usually leave Seungcheol’s room with bruised knees on a good night—but it settles differently in his gut this time. Because he’d dared a glance at you once and knows he can’t do it again, so he watches the top of your head as you fumble with his belt buckle and looks away whenever he thinks you might risk a glance upwards. Finds some point on the wall to focus on. Hisses through his teeth when you pull his cock from his briefs, your hands cold against his flushed skin.

All he wants to do is kiss you. Draw this out. Give you a memorable last time, maybe mark you up a little. He really wants to savor the feeling of your tongue on his cock, but all he can focus on is the fact that he’ll never be enveloped in that wet heat again. He’s never going to feel your mouth working him over, feel you humming around his length because he knows you love the weight of it, you love wrenching away that little bit of control, turning him into a mess.

But he’s not going to dwell. He’s going to thumb at the hinge of your jaw, force it open just wide enough for his cock to fit inside. Then he’s going to fist your hair into a makeshift ponytail, grip it tight, use it to guide your mouth until there’s only an inch of space between you. He’s going to stare down at you, silently revel in how fucked out you look already even though he hasn’t touched you. He’s going to watch the way your fingers dig into your thighs because they can’t touch him. Then he’s going to say—

“Beg me. Beg me to let you suck my cock.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation. Seungcheol doesn’t talk to you like this. This is not the kind of dynamic the two of you have, and Seungcheol finds himself wondering if things would be different if it was. If he’d never started going so easy on you. Would you want him then? Or would you have left a long time ago?

He’s half-expecting you to do that now. You look ready to bolt, to pull your clothes back on and tell him to go fuck himself on the way out. Probably go straight back to Mingyu, let him fuck you hard but routine, the way Seungcheol usually does, the way he knows you like. He expects you to leave, and this is the last time, anyway, so he figures he has nothing left to lose.

“I’m going soft,” he snaps, the admonishment harsh on his tongue. When you look up at him, his jaw is clenched, eyes narrow. “You have one fucking job and you can’t even do that properly? Who’s going to want a dumb little whore that can’t follow simple instructions?”

He watches your eyes squeeze shut involuntarily. Wonders if he’s gone too far before deciding he doesn’t care if he has. It’s the last time, anyway, so it’s not like it matters. Watches the indents in your thighs grow deeper. Watches you inhale and try to steady your breathing.

Watches your eyes snap open, any trace of hesitation long gone. “Did you make that other girl beg for you?”

Seungcheol snorts, amusement showing all over his face. “Is that what this is about? You’re still mad I hooked up with some other girl so you act like this?” He clicks his tongue at you, fists his cock, slicking it up. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” you answer simply, “I’m just trying to figure out why you think you can speak to me however the fuck you want.”

Seungcheol’s hand stutters along his length before it stills, your words sharp and immediate against his skin. He should’ve known. Shouldn’t have thought something like this would work on you, that you’d like it, and he’s halfway to soft and throwing his hands up and tucking his dick back into his briefs when you say, “Answer the question.”

“What?”

You tsk. Move your hands from your thighs to his, nails pressing just deep enough to leave crescent moons behind that match your own. Something for someone else to see. “Did you make her beg for you?”

Seungcheol’s brain power decreases the higher your palms go, when your thumbs press into the dimples of his hips. Can barely choke out a hissed yes, yeah, fu-fuck when your hand covers his, fingers wrapping tightly around his own as you guide it back and forth, up and down the length of his cock. “What did you make her beg for, Cheol?”

“To—to to-touch me.”

You hum. Tighten your grip on Seungcheol’s hand and laugh as his hips roll involuntarily, seeking the friction. “Touch you how? Like this?”

“Yeah—fuck, yes, like this.”

“Did she? Did she listen to you like a good girl?” Your hand leaves Seungcheol’s only to collect the precum at his tip. “Don’t get all shy now, Cheolie.” You suck your thumb into your mouth and he whines. “Was she a good girl for you?”

You sit back on your haunches. Watch him jerk himself off. “Yeah,” he finally says, word cracking in the middle. “Boring, though. Not like—not like you.”

“No one is like me,” you admonish. “I could’ve told you that for free, before you went off and fucked someone else.”

“Not an idiot,” Seungcheol replies, the pace of his hand quickening. He’s playing a dangerous game; approaching the cliff edge at a dangerous pace. “No-nothing comes for free with you.”

All you do is smile, lopsided and smug. “Mm, that’s true. Guess your little dom moment earlier can just be chalked up to momentary stupidity, hm?” Seungcheol wants to nod, wants apologies to tumble from his lips until you shut him up, but his palm is so slick against his dick, fist tight enough to white out his vision. “Did you make her beg to suck your cock?”

Truth be told, Seungcheol can’t remember much of anything right now. He’s perilously close to coming, right at that precipice, and each filthy word that slips from your mouth just pushes him further to the edge. He remembers Chan inviting him to a party. He remembers a few drinks, a few hits from a blunt, compliments of Vernon; he remembers a girl making eyes at him from across the room—eyes that had looked a lot like yours in the haze of his crossfade. He remembers a locked bathroom and the sound of his voice as he told that girl how to touch him so it felt like you. He remembers her doing whatever he told her to, remembers how eager and submissive she was, how she didn’t mouth off to him the way you always do—

Remembers how unsatisfying it’d been when he came.

You’ve ruined him.

Not a revelation. Not even close to one. Seungcheol has known this for a long time, but that doesn’t mean annoyance doesn’t flare in his belly at the reminder. You don’t want him. Being so hung up on you isn’t doing him any favors, just means he’ll have a longer drop when this is all over. God, what the fuck is he doing?

He wants you so badly he’s aflame with it. He wants you so badly he can barely look at you anymore. He wants you so badly it consumes him, drives him insane, has him all fucked up and seething. He wants you, he wants you, he—

Loves.

Reality washes over him like a cold wave. Knocks him backwards, drowning, desperately trying to remember how to breathe. In, out; in, out—and none of it changes a goddamn thing.

Four years of this. Four years of touches exchanged in the dark, behind locked doors. Four years of yearning and trying and failing. Four years of everything getting lost in translation, because it’s hitting him now, but shouldn’t he have felt it before? Shouldn’t all those ‘drive me fuckin’ crazy, can’t fucking stand you’s he spoke into the crook of your neck rang hollow?

“Cheol—” you say, because you asked him something, tried to play along with this whole stupid charade, and he knows he’s frozen, just standing there, hand still wrapped around his cock, and he needs to say something, he needs to fix this—

“I’m a liar,” is what he comes up with. You’re still staring up at him, brows furrowed, pinched in the middle. Move, he wills himself, but nothing happens. “I’m a liar,” he says again, because if he says it enough you’ll believe it. “I’m sorry. I’m—”

“What are you talking about?”

He swallows. I’m in love with you, he wants to say. Feels the weight of the words on his tongue, heavy and pressing, and he thinks you should know. Even if you don’t feel the same, he thinks you deserve to know, but the way you’re looking at him—

He can’t bring himself to say it.

But he can—“Can I show you instead?”

Slowly, you nod. Seungcheol nods, too, still feeling off-kilter as he cradles your face in his hands, thumbs in the contours of your cheeks. Moves them down your neck, your shoulders, down the length of your arms. You meet him halfway, twining your fingers together, and he helps you stand, careful and considerate. At full height, he places a hand in the small of your back to tug you closer, kisses you like it’s the end of the world. Whines into your mouth at your familiar taste, and if he lets himself be delusional enough, he can pretend there’s form and substance to those sounds, that their edges are squared-off to form the words he wants to say.

Because it really might be the end of the world. Seungcheol has never known how to play the cards he’s been dealt when it comes to you. Always gets it wrong. Feints one way when he’s meant to go the other, takes the field with two left feet, always playing catch-up. Maybe the mistake was treating it like a game. Maybe the mistake was strategizing, only playing to win, because he lays you gently on his bed, fits his body in the space you create for him between your legs, and realizes he already won a long time ago.

He won the first time your eyes met. He won the first time he’d kissed you, more nerves and teeth than anything else. He won the first time you tucked yourself against his side and stared at his bedroom ceiling, half-smoked joint between your fingers, and made fun of the stupid flag he’d hung up. He won every time you took all the bullshit he threw at you and dished it right back. He won every time he had the privilege of tracing mindless shapes into your soft skin.

Every second of your time you chose to give him—all victories.

He presses in further. Groans when your hands move to his shoulders and grip tight; when your nails dig into the skin of his back. “I’ve been so stupid,” he says, punctuating his words with a nip at your ear. Smirks out of the corner of his mouth at your shuddering breath. “Haven’t I?”

“Yeah,” you answer, rolling your hips upward. He grabs at you desperately, tries to keep you still; hisses when you swat his hands away and redouble your efforts. “You’ve been a fucking asshole for a—for a while.”

You can’t see the way he pouts. Wonders, too, if that would work on you, if it’d earn him one of those rare moments of tenderness. “Well I’m trying to—shit, baby—trying to make it up to you, but you seem pretty determined to make me bust right now.”

He can see the way you roll your eyes. See the way the corners crinkle after as you laugh softly, breathlessly, still trying to chase a high Seungcheol refuses to provide. “You deserve it. You tried to dom me, you dickhead.”

Embarrassment sits obvious on his ruddy cheeks. He hides his face in the crook of your neck so you don’t see it, don’t have something to poke at him with later, but you’re having none of it. You thread your fingers through his hair and tug gently, forceful enough to have him pliable, and there it is: there are stars in your eyes as you stare up at him, tender and soft just like he hoped you’d look, and he misses the feeling of your nails on your scalp until you’re tugging at the delicate chain around his neck and pulling him closer. “Just kiss me and we’ll call it even.”

This is how it feels to get struck by lightning, he thinks. Every part of him is on fire, and he’s content to burn as his lips find yours. He sighs happily into your mouth, hikes your thigh higher around his middle, presses in to lay claim to what little space is left between you. Seungcheol is so close he can feel the rapid pace of your heartbeat, because this is not the way you usually kiss. What used to be dirty and quick, a means to an end, now has intent, purpose. He’s kissing you like he wants to steal the air from your lungs to replace it with something better.

Trails those same kisses down the length of your body. Open-mouthed at your neck, your collarbones, the space between your breasts. Teasing and slow in the space between each rib, just to watch the way your skin pebbles. Hungry and insistent at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, because if he’s feeling this unhinged, he wants you right there with him. Can’t bear the thought of still being in this alone. Not anymore.

“Legs over my shoulders.” You listen immediately, and Seungcheol mutters a quiet fuck at the sight before him. “God, you’re so wet.”

“No shit—”

He swats at your clit, delighting in the way your body jolts. “Hush. The only thing I wanna hear out of your smart mouth from now on is my fucking name.” And then he’s diving in.

He eats you out like a man starved; like he could do this every day for the rest of his life and he still wouldn’t be satisfied. Can’t help but rut against the mattress at the way you taste, the way your thighs tighten around his head, the sting as you pull at his hair. Places both hands beneath your ass to lift and drag you closer to his waiting mouth—licks at you wet and feverish, all of this seemingly more for him than it is for you, and you’ll get tired of it soon, just like you always do. You’ll tell him—

“Do it right, Cheol, please—”

And he’ll pull away and tsk, swat at you again. His responding laugh will be cocky and derisive when your body trembles again, frantic with the need for more. “What did I say, baby? Do you not trust me to make you come?” You cock an eyebrow, torn between throwing some sarcastic remark at him and following the rules long enough to get what you want. His voice grows serious as he presses a soft kiss to your core. “I will always take care of you.”

The rest is muscle memory.

The rest has a chorus of Cheol, Cheol, Seungcheol spilling from your lips as he suctions his own around your clit. The rest has you grinding your pussy against his face. The rest has him groaning at the way he’s so wholly consumed by you: the taste of you on his tongue, face soaked, two fingers pressed deep into your cunt. The rest has him saying that’s it, baby, come on my face, I know you can and feeling delirious when he finally pushes you over the edge; when your walls clench around his fingers, breathing fractured, when you grab at him until you’re eye-level and you’re licking into his mouth to taste yourself.

Tastes a lot like I love you.

“Want you to ride me,” he says, gaze half-lidded and pleading. You whine as he moves his thumb back to your clit, tracing slow, slow, slow circles, oversensitive. “Will you do that for me?”

The party seems so far away. Grows even further away when you nod and straddle his lap. Seungcheol sits up, tells you to wrap your legs around him. Can’t stand not touching you; needs every inch of his skin to be covered by you like a bruise—something deep that’ll last for days, weeks, months. The mottled colors will change, but it’ll still be there.

“Need you, Cheol,” you whisper, kissing his eyelids. He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes.

“You have me,” he answers, but it sounds foreign to his ears—sounds wretched, like the words have been punched out of him. It sounds like forfeit. “Always have.”

You pull back. Study his face. Run over his plush bottom lip with your thumb. It feels like an eternity of silence before you speak. “No, I haven’t,” you insist, tone insistent but delicate, like you’re trying to convince him of it, too. “Not like this.”

I love you.

You lift your hips just enough to sink down on his cock. Seungcheol’s moan is loud and unabashed, not afraid to let anyone hear the way you make him feel. All he can think is familiar: he knows your blinding white heat; has made countless homes in your tight grip he still holds the keys to; has done this so many goddamn times it’s second nature.

He was an absolute fool to think he could ever walk away.

You roll your hips, taking him deeper like you’ve got something to prove, body moving on its own sinuous accord. Seungcheol loves you like this, when you know exactly what you want and aren’t afraid to take it. When you press sloppy kisses to his neck, the column of his throat. When he grabs at your hips, tries to move you faster along the length of his cock, and you swat his hands away. When your rhythmic up-and-down turns into a slow grind that has you gasping and breathless, pussy spasming around him.

“Goddamn, I love this pussy,” he chokes out, fingers gripping tightly at the sheets since he can’t touch you. He’s mindless with pleasure, feels himself start babbling nonsense he can’t make sense of, and it’s overwhelming, having you like this. Isn’t sure how he’s survived this long, but maybe you were right.

Maybe it was never like this before.

Usually he’d take you from behind, quick and dirty, hands digging into the meat of your ass, palm cracking down on it every now and then, imparting white heat of his own. Usually he’d have you beneath him, knees pressed to your chest, all condescension as you told him, eyes rolled back, that he was too deep, that you couldn’t take it, and he’d rub at your clit and tell you you could as he dragged another orgasm out of you. Usually he’d be so frenzied and worked up he’d take you against the door, sweats pushed to mid-thigh, forearms straining as they held you up.

So, yeah—this is different. This is a patient, sensual dance to the finish line. This is Seungcheol in his rawest form: a live wire, vulnerable, anxious. This is the unknown, because something has to come after but he doesn’t know what it is.

This is Seungcheol throwing caution to the wind, leaning in close enough to taste the salt on your skin, and saying, “I love you.”

This is Seungcheol planting his feet and fucking up into you, unwilling to hear your response. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, but sometimes bliss is just bliss, and he’ll willingly take either.

This is you coming undone on his cock, breathing rapid and ragged, pupils blown wide as you stare at him in awe.

“Say it again.”

Someone slams into the wall just outside Seungcheol’s door, and all at once the real world creeps back in: the thrumming bass line of the music downstairs; laughter, shouting, and yelling; fists banging on shut doors—but he hears you loud and clear. Presses each word into your mouth this time and groans when you swallow them. Barely makes a sound as he spills inside of you, feeling like every nerve in his body is aflame.

The two of you are quiet for a time as you try to catch your breath. Seungcheol only moves to grab his duvet and wrap it around your shoulders, smiling fondly at the small thank you you mumble, seemingly still bogged down, well-fucked.

He presses a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Okay?”

You nod, push at him until he lays back and pulls you with him, lets you use his firm chest as a pillow. That flag you’d made fun of before isn’t up there anymore, but Seungcheol feels warm at the memory anyway, almost laughs at the comment he imagines you’d make.

Clears his throat. Tries to find his courage. “I really am sorry,” he tells you again, because it doesn’t matter if he loves you if he doesn’t know how to be good at it.

“I know, Cheol,” comes your easy reply. You’re tracing shapes on his stomach that have his muscles contracting. “I know you love me, too.” You sigh, press your lips to his rib cage. “Who knew it’d only take making out with Mingyu to get you to admit it.”

A wild laugh tumbles out of him. “Fuck off.” He can feel your grin.

“You got a fucked up way of showing it, though.”

He hums, holds onto you a little tighter. “Go easy on me, I only figured it out about an hour ago.”

“An hour?” you faux-gasp, make like you’re about to leave. “I’m outta here. I know my worth. If I’m going to say it back to someone, they need to be in love with me for at least two.”

He chokes at the implication, heart threatening to beat right out of his chest and into yours. He knows he looks exactly like the moonstruck, loved-up loser he is, and he coughs to cover it. “That’s what I said,” he lies. “Two hours. You must’ve heard it wrong.”

No, it was never like this.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Hello my love could I please request Thor with “Vampires AU” please for your 6k celebration 💗🫶🏼

.⋆｡Blood Bag｡⋆.

Thor x plus size reader

You need a job and the ancient and powerful vampire on the edge of town needs blood, of course nothing could go wrong

Warnings: Vampire!AU, virgin!reader, lots of blood talk, age-gap (obvi), brief mentions of vamp!Loki and a different reader insert, flirting WC: 1.5k

6k Follower Bingo

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea, you thought as you looked up at the huge wrought iron gates that separated the old estate from the real world. The job listing had been simple; ‘Blood donations for vamp wanted. Virgin preferred. Guaranteed $5000 per feed.’ At first, you disregarded it, letting your gaze travel to the smattering of other postings on the site. But that number tugged at your mind well into the night, practically haunting your dreams until, in an act of temporary madness, you sprang up at three in the morning and filled out the application, sending it in before you could second guess yourself.

By the time you awoke several hours later, you had a nice fat contract sitting in your inbox and a request for a clean physical from your prospective employer. You hesitated to accept until you saw the upfront money you would receive before your first donation, it would easily cover your rent for the next two months.

So here you were, a paper with your clean bill of health in one hand and an overnight bag in the other, staring up at the biggest house you had ever seen in real life, knowing that by this time tomorrow, you would be a few quarts lighter. The gates creaked as they swung open for you and suddenly, you wondered if this was actually the beginning of some horror movie starring you as the gullible first victim.

Yet you stepped forwards anyway, following the long trail of your shadow up the drive. The gravel crunching under your feet quickly grounded you, it was well-known that vamps could literally smell fear and it would do you no good to sour your blood before your first meeting. 

Only a few windows were illuminated as the sun dipped below the horizon, urging you to move faster and get in the house before night truly fell even if what was inside the manor could bring more danger than anything that roamed the grounds under the cover of darkness. 

“You’re early.” Golden eyes gazed down at you from the now open front door. 

“Jesus! Oh shit, sorry I should not have said that. I-“ The man smiled and stepped back from the entryway, gesturing for you to come in.

You stumbled into the huge foyer, the tension locking up your joints slowly loosening as the warmth of the home seeped into your body. “Do not fret, many of the stories you have been told are false. We are not harmed by any mere name so there is nothing to apologise for. Now, may I take your things? I will file away your physical in a lock box in the Master’s office. A room has already been prepared for your stay. I do apologise if the bedding is not to your liking, I fear it has been many centuries since anyone in this house has felt the need for sheets and pillows.”

The man, who you could now carefully observe in the soft light of the chandelier above you both, took your things from you before you could fully digest what he said. “How many people live here?” He danced at you with a soft smile, his lips pressed together so as to not reveal the deadly fangs that all of his kind possessed.

“Only four. We do have several maids that come in every few weeks but they don’t reside on the property. You will only be feeding one person, don’t worry. The Master’s younger brother lives in the West Wing along with his wife who provides the blood he needs.”

“And your Master?” The man’s golden eyes sparkled with something akin to affection as you walked alongside him, your footsteps echoing through the otherwise silent halls.

“You may call him Thor, he is a kind man. It was only at my suggestion that you were brought here, vampires can only live off of animal blood for so long before they need fresh human blood. The Master has spent the last 50 years refusing to harm a human in order to fulfil his baser instinct,” The grand staircase led you to a long hall of doors with intranet tapestries between them, “He has grown weak, he needs to properly feed. And now that humans have accepted vampires as a natural part of society, he was far more open to the idea than before.”

He stopped in front of the second to last door, gracefully pulling out a key to allow you entry. “Here is your room. I’ve left some toiletries and snacks out for you, please eat before and after the feeding but if you forget, I am sure the Master will remind you. If you need anything else, you can ring that bell,” he gestured to the pull cord in the corner of the room, “Or simply call my name and I will come.”

You nodded but as he turned to leave, you spat out, “Sorry, I didn’t ask your name.”

“Heimdall, miss.” The door clicked shut, leaving you alone once more. 

Indeed there were snacks on the desk below the call bell, although it looked more like they were bought by an 8 year old who was just let loose in a candy shop with their parent’s credit card than anything else. But you supposed that ancient vampires didn’t really know how to food shop for humans. You picked out a packet of Twizzlers as you wandered further in, taking in the ornate bedroom that looked like it was pulled directly out of Pride and Prejudice. An ensuite connected to the room revealed a huge clawfoot tub (that you were shamelessly fantasising about using after meeting the man of the hour) and a large vanity with some fancy soaps by the sink.

“I hope you are pleased with your room?” A deep voice rumbled from somewhere behind you.

You whipped around in a panic only to be met with the sight of the most handsome man you had seen in your life. He stood well over six feet tall but the bulging muscles of his arms and legs made him look even bigger. His blond hair was cropped short, immediately drawing your gaze to the eyepatch over his right eye, though you quickly looked away, not wanting to seem rude to the man. He tutted and gently guided you back to face him with a hooked finger under your soft chin.

“You are more beautiful than I thought you would be.” You faltered, and his blue eye shone.

“Oh um thank you.” The floorboards creaked under his weight as he stepped closer, letting his touch trail down from your jaw, stopping briefly on your neck before travelling down to your collarbone, his large thumb fitting perfectly in the divot of your throat. Your pulse grew stronger as you caught a flat of his fangs. 

“You’re frightened, aren’t you little one?”

“No.” His plump lips curled up in a prideful smirk.

“Good girl.” Your chest seized. “Now, I believe we need to discuss your limits before you provide me with a meal.” Thor released his hold upon you but your skin still burned with his touch, urging you to chase the feeling once more yet you remained glued to the spot. 

He turned to look at the pile of sweets that were left for you. “I wonder how sweet these will make you.” He muttered almost to himself.

“Do you want me to shower before you feed?” He hummed. 

“I would prefer you not, strong scents tend to sour the blood.” 

“And, do you um do you want to drink directly from me?” That earned you a deep rumbling groan from the man, his eyelid fluttering. 

He seemed to lose himself for just a moment before his broad chest inflated and he faced you fully once more. “Only if you allow me to. If not, Heimdall has already prepared an IV.” Bashfully, you clasped your hands together.

“I’m scared of needles so I think directly would be fine.” He chuckled and gestured towards the huge bed in the centre of the room that had far too many pillows on it.

“Then shall we get started?” Your shoes skittered along the hardwood floor as you kicked them off before shedding your oversized sweater, revealing the very low-cut top you had picked out for today. Thor’s gaze burned into you as he hungrily traced your curves. “I seem to find it hard to believe that you are a virgin. You are ethereal, little one.”

Your lips parted but the only thing that escaped them was a squeak of surprise. “Oh I liked that sound, I think I need you to make it more often.” You ducked your head and climbed onto the mattress, Thor following closely behind. He knocked off a majority of the pillows, leaving only a couple on the left side of the bed. You kneeled next to him, your knees barely brushing his hip.

“Come closer, I cannot feed when you are so far away.” His hands grabbed your wide hips and pulled you onto his lap without so much as a breath of exertion. Your soft legs parted, allowing for his body to slip between them as he sat back upon the headboard, a dangerously pleased expression colouring his features. “There we go. Now, we stop whenever you feel uncomfortable.”

Your hands fell to his expansive shoulders, giving the muscles a soft squeeze. “Yes sir.” You answered in a daze.

Using his right hand, Thor tilted your head, exposing the delicate vein along your jugular. “Good girl.”

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[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Revenge

Summary: Scared to end up alone you hang on to your marriage of 15 years to your cheating husband, continuing to play the perfect wife. But then you meet Dave York, your husbands boss, on one of his work events and things take a very surprising turn....

Pairing: Dave York x fem. Reader

Wordcount: 5.5k

Rating: E

Warnings: infidelity, angst, forced cucking (cheating husband has to watch his wife have sex with one Dave York), smut (unprotected sex, oral f receiving), Cum play, public fingering, use of the word whore, intense eye contact, flirting like woah

A/N: I worked on this for four weeks and I'm super proud of it. Please let me know what you think. Some people might recognise the scene at the bar from the movie Shame.

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You would be lying if you said you did not imagine yourself in this situation before. 

Sitting with an attractive man at a bar, flirting. Maybe even something more…

Many lonely nights in the bed you should be sharing with your husband left your mind wandering to what life could be like if you had married a man who respected and loved you. 

Though you were pretty sure Calvin did love you in the beginning, maybe he even loved you now. In his… own way. It just changed somewhere between moving into your first real home together and you getting a job that paid more than his. 

You just weren’t enough to… satisfy all his physical needs anymore, hadn’t been for a long time. It was an open secret that he was cheating on you, you just weren’t brave enough to leave him, even though you could. You had the job, the friends, the money. You just… did not know how to be alone. 

Which was a stupid thing to think because you spent the majority of your relationship being alone. 

It came to a point where you weren’t even mad or hurt anymore, whenever you found stains of lipstick on his shirts that you for some reason still washed for him. 

It was… easier living this lie than separating from the man you had been with for the last fifteen years. You loved the life you had built together. You just wished you weren’t so miserable and lonely living it alone. 

You hadn’t slept with Calvin since you found out about the first time he cheated on you, which was almost eight years ago. He said he was sorry, begged for your forgiveness, which you granted him. But you told him that you wouldn’t sleep with him before he would prove that you could trust him to be honest and faithful with you. That, and a clean bill of health.

He never did. 

You were more like roommates at this point. And even though you did not know the exact extent of his infidelity, you still played the perfect wife for him whenever he needed you to. 

You looked away when he flirted with women much younger than you when you were out. Which wasn’t often. Only when there was something from work or something your friends had invited you both. 

It was one of those work events he insisted you accompany him, leaving you sitting alone as soon as you entered the place at the bar. 

You were about to call it a day when a man sat down next to you.

Calvin was off somewhere while you were sitting in a darker corner at the bar, enjoying your martini as he, his boss Dave York, introduced himself to you, inviting you for another drink

There was something in his eyes when you told him your name. A glint of interest when he learned that you were the wife of Calvin Miller. 

You learned that Dave was recently divorced and had moved into an overpriced penthouse that felt too empty and sterile. His wife had fallen in love with another woman and because he did not want to stay in the way of her happiness, he had let her and his two daughters move all the way to Europe while he stayed back. 

Dave York was… charming, hot and had something dangerous about him that made you only more interested in him. It was the first time in a long time that you felt like someone was really interested in you and what you had to say. 

You saw Calvin across the room, talking to one of the serving girls who was blushing furiously as she looked at him while he tried to charm his way into her pants. 

Sighing you closed your eyes, taking a sip from your drink, breathing in deeply, finding Dave looking at you. 

“You know he’s fucking himself through the whole city right?” he asked. 

You nodded.

“I know he’s cheating frequently, I just.. Chose to ignore how many women exactly he fucks as long as it doesn’t happen in our home.”

Dave sucked his bottom lip in, intrigued. 

“You don’t mind?”

You shrugged. 

“Part of me does. Sometimes I feel like a coward for not leaving him. I know I deserve more. I deserve someone who loves me and respects me. Who asks me how my day was, who notices when I got a new hair colour, who…. Fuck I just feel so lonely sometimes.”

“So why don’t you leave him?”

“Honestly?” you whispered, sucking your bottom lip in. Dave nodded, turning in his seat to lean a little closer towards you. You smelled his aftershave, allowing yourself to take a deep breath before you answered him.  

“I don’t think I know how to live on my own, and staying where I am even if it sucks is… easier? We met in highschool, got married before we got out of college. I have spent my whole adult life with him. Fuck… I never even had sex with anyone other than him,” you chuckled humorlessly. 

“Do you want to?” Dave asked and you looked up. 

“Do I want what?”

“Have sex with someone else?” 

His hand came to rest on your knee and you shivered, your eyes on his hand. His fingers were softly squeezing just above your knee. You felt each of his fingers on you, only separated by the thin material of the silk dress you were wearing. You looked up, your lips parting. 

“Dave…”

“He doesn’t deserve you, you know? If I had you in my house, in my home, in my bed?” he leaned in closer, his lips brushing over your ear and your eyes slipped close. Unintentionally you parted your legs, your dress revealing a glimpse of your inner thigh and you shuddered as he took this as an invitation, his fingers slowly running up your inner thigh.

“I’d make sure your pussy is the only one I’m fucking. I might be an asshole, but I’m a loyal asshole,” his nose brushed over your neck as he seemed to inhale your scent, his fingers slipping deeper between your legs which seemed to part even wider for him with ease. 

“Did he ever go down on you?” he hummed, his fingers brushing over the soaked fabric of your lace panties. You released a shuddering breath, closing your eyes. 

“I bet he hasn’t treated this pussy properly. I’d make sure you’d soak my face every single day when I had you in my bed, my kitchen counter, my desk…” his fingers hooked into your panties, pulling them to the side. 

“Look at me,” he whispered and while your eyes opened he slowly pushed two of his fingers inside of you. A part of you knew that you were in a public space, yet looking into Dave’s dark eyes made you feel like you were the only two people on the planet. 

He slowly moved his fingers, your body screaming in pleasure from the way his fingers seemed to know just how to touch you, while you tried to keep a straight face as he kept looking at you with dark eyes. 

“I like to slip my tongue deep inside of you,” he hummed and you couldn’t help but gasp as his fingers pulled out of your pussy, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. You looked down at his fingers, your eyes following them as he brought them up to his lips. You could see them glistening with your juices, while he brought them up to his mouth sucking them clean. 

“Just when you’re about to cum, licking you clean before I finally give you my big cock,” he tilted his head to the side, looking at you as he licked his lips with a filthy smirk. 

You jumped in your seat when an arm sneaked around your middle from behind, your eyes leaving Dave’s to find Calvin standing next to you, glaring at you before he looked at Dave. 

“I see you met my wife, Dave,” he said. 

“I did and It’s Mr. York to you, Miller,” Dave said bored, picking up his drink to take a sip, keeping his eyes on you. 

You were still flushed, your brain trying to get back to speed. 

“How come you are here with your wife and not in the bathroom getting your dick sucked by one of the college waitresses, Miller?” Dave asked.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Dave,” Calvin said, letting go of you to grab your drink, chugging it down himself. Dave looked amused at you and then at him, his face hardening. 

“Come on, we’re all friends here, don’t lie in front of your wife,” he said. You risked a glance at Calvin who looked at his boss with his lips parted in shock. 

Dave looked at you then, a silent challenge in his eyes. 

“I love my wife,” Calvin said and you snorted. His head snapped to look at you. 

“You sure have a funny way of showing it,” you rolled your eyes and Dave laughed. 

“Tell you what, why don’t you go back to whatever cunt you were after and I keep your wife company,” Dave said. 

“With all due respect, Dave…” Calvin began to talk but Dave shot him a dark look. 

“Call me Dave one more time and see what happens, Mister Miller,” he threatened and you felt Calvin stiffen beside you. Interesting. 

He took a deep breath before he looked at you. 

“I was gonna head home,” Calvin said, looking at you with a question in his eyes. You turned your head to look at Dave. You didn’t want to leave. And you knew Calvin only lied about going home because he either didn’t find someone else to fuck or… because he had a weird spurge of jealousy now that someone was giving you attention and felt like he had a claim on you. Which a silly part of your brain made you feel powerful. 

“I’m sure Dave can give me a ride later?” you asked, with an eyebrow raised. Dave chuckled, one of his hands coming back to rest on your knee. 

“Of course I can, Sweetheart.”

When Dave drove you home a couple hours later, Calvin wasn’t home. Not that you were surprised. 

Dave and you had spent the whole evening talking. And flirting. Call it needy and years of neglect, but fuck you wanted him. 

You invited Dave in for a drink and he followed you into your home. 

Sitting beside him in your living room you sighed. 

“I feel so… Fuck I don’t know. Weak? Silly? Worthless? Like a fucking victim, even though I have everything I need to just…. Live my own life and don’t let him humiliate me like that.”

Dave sighed. 

“Ending a marriage is not easy. Feelings aren’t something you can’t just turn off. You’re not worthless. You are… fucking perfect,” Dave said and you turned your head to look at him. 

“I want him to feel how humiliated he makes me feel,” you said. 

“What are you thinking?”

You sucked your bottom lip in, blaming the idea forming in your head on your slightly tipsy brain. 

“Are you free on friday?” you asked, a plan forming in your mind. He narrowed his eyes. 

“I can be.”

You nodded, sucking your bottom lip in. You took both of your glasses, setting them down on the coffee table. Dave watched your every move as you got up, coming to stand between his legs. 

You didn’t know if it was the drinks you had or the way Dave York had given you his whole attention for the last hours, but you just wanted to feel something. Or someone. 

“It’s our anniversary,” you said quietly as you slowly settled down into Dave’s lap, straddling him. His hands came to rest on your upper thighs immediately, his hands pushing the skirt of your dress up, as your hands rested on his shoulders. You closed your eyes, your skin heating under his intense gaze. 

“I haven’t been fucked in eight years,” you whispered, moaning when you felt Dave’s hands wander over your body, squeezing your ass, pulling you closer towards him. You gasped as your clit rubbed just right over his growing bulge. 

“And… And I think I want you to fuck me while he has to watch,” unintentionally you began to move your hips against him. He smirked. 

“Eight years?” he asked and you nodded. He hummed.

“Can I touch you?”

“Please,” you whispered and he suddenly pulled at the belt of your wrap dress, the fabric falling open. 

“Fuck me,” he uttered under his breath, the green lace lingerie you were wearing driving him wild. One of his hands came back to squeeze your ass, while his other hand palmed one of your breasts. 

“Can you cum like that? Just with your needy little clit rubbing against me?” he asked and you moaned, your head nodding. 

“Then make yourself cum,” he said, before he leaned in and sucked on your nipple through your bra. 

“Fuck,” you cried out, rubbing yourself against him. 

“That’s it, you want me to fuck you in front of your cheating husband? Then cum for me,” he snarled, slapping your ass.

“I’m gonna… Fuck I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered, throwing your head back as your orgasm rolled through your body, making you shake against Dave. He helped you ride it out before you felt his hand in your neck as he pulled you towards him, crashing his lips against yours in a deep kiss. 

“When should I be here on friday?“ He asked and you smiled. 

Like every year, Calvin invited you for dinner for your anniversary in your favourite restaurant. 

Or more like, in the restaurant he thought was your favourite restaurant. 

He had given you the silent treatment since you decided to spend the evening with Dave instead of him, and you weren’t complaining. 

Something had changed since that night. You changed. 

He bought you a gift (a new vacuum cleaner, my god were you lucky), kissed you on the cheek and then ordered your dinner for you as soon as you sat down in the restaurant. 

You were quiet all evening, letting him vent about work and about how lucky he was to have you as his wife, smiling like the obedient little wife you were for him. 

Whenever he got up for a smoke, or to the bathroom or to order new drinks from the blonde bartender you reached for your phone, texting with Dave. 

It had been six days since you met him and the lust you were feeling for him was almost overwhelming. Maybe it had to do with you being sexually frustrated, but the way he talked to you made you want to be his good girl, eager to please him however you wanted to. 

He was very attentive, sending you gifts every single day while Calvin was in the office. You were working from home, surprised when Monday rolled around and a bouquet of red roses were delivered around lunch time. 

The next day it was a bracelet. 

The day after that lingerie. 

Part of you was overwhelmed with the attention you were receiving, while another part just wanted to let you enjoy it. 

You were rational, you knew whatever would happen with Dave York would not have a future. He wanted to fuck you, and you wanted to be fucked. Badly. 

And who were you to argue about your husbands boss being the one to fuck you brains out as a little… revenge?

You rolled your eyes as you saw the waitress slip Calvin his number after he went to pay. 

You had an AirBNB booked and most of your clothes and stuff already moved there yesterday. Earlier today you met with an divorce attorney. 

This was happening. 

You would be leaving him. Tonight. 

After he watched you being fucked by his boss. 

The only concern you had about the plan you set in motion was how you would make Calvin stay. But Dave had only told you that he’d make sure he would, not telling you how exactly he would achieve it. But you trusted him anyway. 

You had done a lot of thinking this last week. Maybe you had just needed someone to confide in, to tell you that you were worth more than being just a silly little wife. 

Healing from these last years would take a while, but you were ready to take your life back. 

Starting today.

You had told Dave that you would leave the backdoor unlocked, so you weren’t surprised when you found him sitting in the armchair next to your bed in the bedroom when you made your way upstairs after coming back home. 

Calvin was downstairs, picking a bottle of wine most likely in the hopes to get you drunk so he could try to get into your pants later. 

He tried this every year, some weird sense of martial duty coming over him. Not that he ever succeeded. 

And you had to give it to him, at least he did not spend your wedding anniversary fucking another pussy. 

“Hey,” Dave hummed, getting up as he walked over to you. 

“Hey,” you smiled, nerves kicking in as your head tilted down, watching your feet nervously. 

“You look beautiful,” he said and you couldn’t help but sigh. You had decided on a new dress, black, with a zipper in the front that ran down the whole length. You wanted do look pretty. 

For Dave.

You felt his fingers tilt your chin up, his eyes finding yours. 

“Are you still sure about this?” he asked. You took a deep breath before you nodded slowly. 

“Just… Just nervous. It’s been a while…. And…. I don’t know about him… here”

“We can get out of here. Just say the word and I’ll leave.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” you brought a hand up, resting it on his chest. He covered your hand with his. 

“I want you to….” you pursed your lips, unable to say those words. 

“You want me to fuck you?” he whispered with a small grin. You nodded. 

“I want to fuck you too. Been thinking about your pussy since last week. Tasted so fucking good. You just need to decide if you want me to fuck you here, with your soon to be ex husband watching, or if I should take you to my place and make this pussy, my pussy, weep for me,” you felt his breath on your face as he whispered those words, your knees getting weak. 

“How… How about… both?” you finally asked with a shy little smile. 

He kissed you then, his lips pressing against yours for a quick but powerful moment. You whimpered. 

“Greedy,” he hummed with a smirk.

“Where is he?” Dave asked as he slowly led you to your bed. 

“Getting wine to make me drunk enough to fuck him,” you snorted and Dave rolled his eyes. 

You yelped when he pushed you against the mattress, hovering over you immediately, his eyes darkening. You parted your legs and he settled between them. Your eyes fluttering shut as you felt his weight on top of you.

“Pathetic little fucker,” Dave hissed before he kissed you again. 

You melted against him.

His tongue invaded your mouth, playing with yours, one of his hands running up your thigh.

“Dave,” you gasped, clutching the sheets as he kissed down your jaw. 

“You smell so fucking good,” he hummed, softly sucking on your neck. his fingers playing with the front zipper of your dress, pulling it slowly until the pink lace he had gifted to you was revealed beneath. 

“What the fuck is going on in here?” you heard a yell, following from a bottle shattering on the floor. Dave did not stop pulling at the zipper, his eyes on yours, until your bra was fully visible, the delicate lace hiding next to nothing. 

“I’m about to eat your wife’s pussy,” Dave said and you could not help but moan as he lowered his head, his lips kissing the soft skin above your tits. 

“You can’t… What the fuck…” Calvin cursed and you caught his eyes when he rounded the bed, now standing so he could look at you. 

“Sucks to be on the other side, huh?” you asked him, hearing Dave chuckle, before he pulled at the lace, his lips closing around your left nipple, making you arch your back against his chest. 

“You’re… you’re my wife,” Calvin argued and you moaned as Dave sucked. 

“Happy fucking anniversary,” you moaned, your hands unclenching from the sheets to bring them into Dave’s hair, pushing him against your tits. 

“I’m… I’m not gonna watch this,” Calvin said in disbelief, intending to turn around and leave.

“You sit right there on that chair and watch me fuck your wife, Miller,” Dave hissed, voice dangerously low, turning his head to look at Calvin who stopped in his tracks. 

You pussy clenched at his tone.

“Or what?” Calvin asked, not looking back. Dave found your eyes, kissing you quickly before he got up from the bed, walking over to Calvin. 

He leaned into him, whispering something against his ear. You saw Calvin clench his fists as he took a deep breath before he slowly turned around and walked over to the chair Dave had apparently put there just for him. 

Calvin’s eyes found yours and he clenched his jaw as he sat down. 

“Now, where were we?” Dave asked and you turned your head to look at him. Slowly he unbuttoned his dress shirt, pushing it off his shoulder, revealing his broad chest. Your eyes lingered all over his body, the prominent outline of his cock confided in his pants making your mouth water. 

Funny that just a week ago you had not missed sex at all, when now you could not wait for the man in front of you to ruin you. 

You sucked your bottom lip in as you looked up at him.

“Calvin, what was I about to do before you interrupted us?” he asked, his eyes not leaving your body. 

There was no answer, until a dark look came over Dave’s face, breaking eye contact to you only briefly to look at you husband. 

“You wanted to… eat my wife’s pussy,” he said quietly and Dave’s eyes lit up as he looked at you. 

“That’s right,” he said, before his hands wrapped around your ankles, pulling you down towards the end of bed. He leaned down, his hand pulling at the front zipper of your dress, parting the fabric. His lips following the zipper with every inch of your skin it revealed to him. 

“Like unwrapping a gift,” he said, kissing your stomach. He helped you get out of the dress, throwing it aside, before he got down on his knees, pulling each of your legs over his shoulders. 

Dark eyes found yours as he leaned closer towards your pussy, taking a deep breath. 

“When was the last time someone ate this pussy?” he asked, his fingertips coming to gently trace the pattern of the by now see through lace hiding your cunt from him. You were obscenely wet for the man kneeling between your legs. 

“Years,” you sighed. 

“Shame,” Dave tsked, kissing your inner thigh. You closed your eyes as his lips wandered up your thigh, almost to where you wanted him most when he kissed back down, starting the same pattern on your other thigh. 

“Dave,” you moaned. 

“Yes, sweetheart?” he asked, raising his eyebrow in a silent challenge as he looked up at you. 

“Make me cum,” you said and he grinned.

“With pleasure.”

The moment Dave’s tongue slipped through your folds felt like the world shifted. He did not tease you, his tongue dipping inside of you while his nose moved over your clit had you moaning out wantonly. You fought the urge to throw your head back and close your eyes, keeping your eyes trained on the man who had you on the edge of an orgasm without even really having started. 

The moan coming from his mouth as he tasted you for the first time was downright pornographic and a memory you’d replay often in the future.

He moved his tongue between your folds before he went higher, his tongue flicking over your throbbing clit.

“Fuck,” you moaned out, your hands hesitantly reaching for him, one of his hands grabbing your wrists, pulling them closer towards him, your fingers disappearing in his soft hair. You scratched your fingernails over his scalp and he sucked your clit between his lips with a groan. 

You were sure you were dripping on the sheets, your legs crossed behind his shoulders as you moved your hips against his mouth. 

“I’m close….” you whimpered, your lips parted as you panted for air, your eyes closing for a moment before they snapped open when Dave slapped your thigh. 

“Look at me when I make you cum,” he grunted. 

With your eyes trained on him, your hand in his hair and his mouth on you it wasn’t long before he made you cum, your thighs shaking around his head as he continued to lick you up, giving you by far the best orgasm of your life while you moaned out his name. 

He gave your pussy one last kiss, before he got to his feet.

“Ready for my cock?” he asked. 

Slowly you sat yourself up, getting on your knees on the bed in front of him, pulling him down towards you, so you could kiss him. Your hands found his belt, unbuckling it.

“How do you want me?” you mumbled against his lips, eager to have him inside of you. You felt his lips twitch into a smile against yours, his hands unclasping your bra behind you, pulling it off your shoulders. 

One of your hands finally slipped into his pants, pulling his cock out. 

You tried to play off your surprise, but Dave saw your eyes widening. He pecked your lips. 

“Don’t worry sweetheart, we gonna make it fit,” he winked.

You risked a glance down to his hard cock. He was not much bigger than your husbands, but much thicker. Precum pooled on the angry red tip, and you bent down before you could stop yourself, your tongue licking it off, moaning as you tasted him. 

“Fuck,” Dave moaned and you looked up at him, seeing his eyes fixed on you. 

You had his whole attention and you were loving it. 

“Some other time sweetheart,” he said warmly, one of his hands cupping your cheek.

“Now I want you on your back so I can watch those perfect tits shake when I fuck my pussy,” he said. You shivered before you slipped back towards the center of the bed. Dave took his pants, boxers and socks off before he joined you on the bed. You parted your legs for him as he came to kneel between them, his hand lazily pumping his cock. 

You had discussed protection in the week leading up to today, coming to know that Dave had a vasectomy years ago. With him getting tested regularly and you not having had sex with anyone in a long time you had given him the freedom to decide if he wanted to use condoms or not. 

A big part of you was happy he didn’t because you wanted to feel him. All of him. 

He nudged his tip against your folds, moving it over your clit repeatedly. He reached for a pillow, your husband's pillow, propping it under your hips.

“You’re dripping for me sweetheart,” he grinned. You sighed, your hands coming to play with your nipples. 

Slowly his tip slipped inside of you and you stopped breathing for a second, enjoying the delicious stretch of his length parting your folds. 

“Shit Baby…” you moaned, sucking your bottom lip in. 

Ever so slowly, giving you time to adjust his cock filled you.

“You’re so fucking wet. Perfect just… fuck just perfect,” he praised you, groaning when his hips met yours, his cock completely inside of you. 

You felt so fucking full. 

“Move,” you whined.

“You’re such a whore,” you heard another voice, your eyes blinking as you registered your husband's voice, having completely forgotten about him. 

You found Dave’s eyes on you before you turned your head to find Calvin obediently sitting in the chair Dave had pulled for him. 

You took a deep breath before you turned your head to look at Dave again. 

“At least I’m your whore then,” you said to Dave and he grinned before he bottomed out and thrusted back into you. You cried out. 

He snapped his hips against yours, his hands grabbing your hips as he pumped into you. You threw your arms back, grabbing the headboard. 

Sex had never felt like this. Yes, you did not have much to compare it to, but fuck that was what you missed? He ruined you, slowly, with every thrust inside of you, with every brush of his fingers on your body. He watched mesmerized as your tits shook with every thrust, before his arms pulled you up against him, into his lap, your chest against his. You crossed your arms behind him, your hands on his neck as he fucked up into you. His hands helping you move on top of him. 

“Whose pussy is this from now on?” he asked, his voice dark. 

“Yours Dave, fucking yours,” you moaned.

“Fuck yes,” he grunted, slapping your ass. Your pussy clenched around him and you watched him cock his eyebrow. 

“You like that huh?” he smirked, doing it again and you moaned. 

“Maybe you are my little whore after all,” he hummed against your ear, thrusting into you. He continued to slap your ass until you exploded around him, crying out as he fucked your through your orgasm. 

It wasn’t long before he twitched inside of you, warmth filling you as he moaned against your lips. 

Both panting against each other's lips you smiled, letting your hand fall against his, before he leaned down, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth, making you clench around his cock. 

“That… That never happened before…” you said and he frowned, looking up at you. 

“I never came when he fucked me,” you clarified and Dave’s jaw twitched before he kissed your lips. 

“I should kill that fucker for how he treated you,” he mumbled against your lips and for reasons you had to unpack at another time, the thought made you clench around him. 

“Interesting,” he mumbled, giving you a wink.

“You came inside of her? What the fuck?” you rolled your eyes back as you heard Calvin exclaim. 

“And he made me cum. Twice. Guess it was not my fault you couldn’t after all,” you said without looking at him. 

Dave chuckled, before he helped you off, his cum dripping into the sheets. He slipped his fingers between your legs, pushing his cum back into you, before he brought his fingers up, holding them out for you. You sucked them clean for him, moaning at your combined taste.

But as much as you wanted just to lay back and enjoy the afterglow, you did not want to spend any more time than necessary in this house. 

Dave helped you out of bed, helping you into your dress before he got back into his clothes, pocketing your ruined panties and bra. 

He gave you a small smile, taking your hand.

You walked towards the bedroom door when you stopped and turned around. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Calvin screamed behind you and Dave turned around faster than you could notice, his hand stopping Calvin’s wrist before he could reach you. He yelped in pain and Dave let go, stepping between you and your soon to be ex husband. 

You took a deep breath, putting a hand on Dave’s shoulder who looked at you over his shoulder. You gave him a small nod, before you stepped to the side, still close enough, so he could intervene. Calvin was still looking at Dave with what you think was terror in his eyes. 

“Did you think I would stay by your side while you fucked your way through the country forever? Humiliate me like that? I loved you. I wanted to spend my life with you, but you threw that away. And he helped me to see that. It’s embarrassing how long it took me. So we’re getting divorced, Calvin. You can keep the house and I keep my dignity. And my money,” you said. 

Calvin looked at you now, his eyes filling with tears. 

“Don’t you love me?” he asked, his voice small. 

You took a deep breath, looking at the man you once loved so much. Feeling nothing. 

“Not anymore,” you said, giving him a small sad smile before you took Dave’s hand. 

Dave gave Calvin one last look before he grabbed your purse and led you out of the house.

[halfrican-heat]

Upstanding Gentleman (Ony)

Onyankopon was raised in a strict Ghanian household. He was pretty strait-laced...until he met you, of course. Still, Ony has many tricks up his sleeve that never fail to surprise you.

A/N: Yes, I'm high. Hello. So, this is the second Ony post I've had lingering in the back of my mind. It's in head cannon format but I think this could be something. Enjoy!

Warning(s): Explicit Sexual Content; Depictions of smoking marijuana; Penetrative Sex (p in v), Oral Sex (M receiving), Sex in childhood home, Black reader in mind, N-Word used; AAVE/Dialogue with Dialect

Pairing: Sober!Onyankopon x Stoner!Reader

Inspired by: Lauryn Hill and my bf :)

Sober!Ony was raised by a single mother who kept him in line. No drugs, no alcohol and he definitely had a curfew.

Straight A student and graduated the top of his class in high school

Spent majority of his childhood playing video games and taking apart old computers his mother would bring home from her teaching job.

Played basketball and practiced frequently with his friends

Loved taking photos and drawing

Only smoked weed once when he was seventeen and felt guilty about it for a week before he told his mom. (She smacked his head but wasn't that mad)

Never had a thing for drinking. His mom let him have some wine during his graduation dinner. His uncle, later that evening, gave him some liquor. Ony wasn't a fan.

Sober!Ony who went to college in a different state-- hours away from his mother.

He chose to go to a school pretty far away from home to study photography. He loved his mom but he felt like he needed a firm separation from his home life and college life.

That's where he met you. This sweet little thing from a town he had never heard of. So cute...

...and yet you smelled like trouble. Ony's suspicions were confirmed when you offered him a blunt in your car one night. Y'all had been talking for a minute at that point but you never gave off stoner vibes.

Ony declined but didn't mind hanging out as long as you rolled the windows down.

Turns out, you were a huge stoner. Bongs, smoking pieces, a stash larger than some of the ones he had seen back home. You weren't a plug, not really, you just really loved weed. You were super smart, too. Ony had known people like you from back home-- motivated stoners who smoked frequently but it didn't impede them getting shit done. You were like that and Ony really liked that about you.

Ony wasn't sure how to proceed at first but...one thing was sure: You had a hold on Onyankopon that he just couldn't deny.

Sober!Ony who, four years into your relationship, isn't super sober anymore.

"Mama, let me get one of them fruity drinks out the fridge." "They got alcohol in 'em Ony," You call from the kitchen. "I ain't ask you all that. They taste alright-- I feel like a classy nigga drinking them." "Okay, Classy Nigga," You say, bringing him one. "Mister Classy Nigga to you," He says, with a wide grin. "Pinkies out, baby."

Sober!Ony who branched out after meeting you but didn't partake as frequently as you did.

"Let me get a hit, baby." "Nigga, you don't smoke!" Ony kisses his teeth, side-eyeing you. "Then do that shit where you kiss me and blow the smoke in my mouth." You laugh loudly, throwing your head back at his nerve. "Okay, baby," You say, sparking up. Afterwards "Shit, where my inhaler at?"

Sober!Ony who made a great impression on your parents. Perhaps too great.

Your dad loves him, speaking highly of him every time your boyfriend comes up in conversation. "That Ony is a fine, upstanding gentleman," Your dad alway says. Little does he know... "What's that, ma?" His voice is husky in your ear as he thrusts into you roughly. His hand is over your mouth as your childhood mattress squeaks under your weight. Ony has you bent over, his pace punishing as he fucks you from behind. Tears streak your face as you helplessly claw at your sheets "Better be quiet," Ony drawls. "Don't want your folks to hear us, right? Or they gonna know what a slut you are for this upstanding gentleman."

Sober!Ony who loves the way you give head while high.

After many extensive and deep discussions about consent, Ony finally lets you give him head. At first, he was chilling. But then... "Shit, baby! Fuck," He groans, his head falling back. "Slow down, ma." You got his cum on your cheek from the first time he came but you don't care. You don't let up, taking his length down your throat. You suck the entire way down, slurping as you pull back to swirl your tongue around his leaking tip. Your tongue runs along the vein underneath his shaft before taking him back in your mouth, hollowing you cheeks as you slurp him down. "Fuck," He hisses, throwing his arm over his face. You had that man's toes curling and all.

Sober!Ony who loves how sexy you are at any given time of any given day but especially loves when you're feeling yourself while off the za.

Now the skies could fall...not even if my boss should call... Your hips sway seductively to the music as you take a pull from the blunt, in your own world. Lauryn Hill blasts from the radio as your lights change colors in a slow fade. Ony stands at the door of your shared bedroom, watching you sing and dance. You turn slowly, finally noticing him. You wordlessly hold out a hand to him with your body still moving to the music. See I don't need the alcohol...your love make me feel 10 feet tall... He takes your hand, pulling your body close to his. His hands trail your body, finding your ass as the two of you grind on one another. Yeah, Ony is gonna take his time with you tonight.

Sober!Ony who loves you as much as you love him despite your differences.

"Papa, you seen my bong?" "Judie?" "No, the other one." "She in the kitchen cabinet, baby."

"Ma, you seen my screwdriver?" "The fuck you doing drinking those?" "Bae...the tool. My tool." "Oh, it's on the counter by the microwave." a moment later "Onyankopon, what the fuck did you do to my damn radio!"

Overall, Sober!Ony who has changed a lot since the two of you got together. As long as you don't give him any cause for concern, he's happy to let you do as you please (and partake when he feels like it). You level each other up in ways no one expected. You're his lady and Ony doesn't want any one else but you.

"C'mere, my lil pothead," He says, cuddling up to you in bed. "Shut up, nigga." "Watch your mouth. Now lemme rub my legs against yours..."

A/N: I had fun with this. Asks are open!

[gatitties]

Hi can you do yandere bonten (separately where their s/o (who knows they’re a yandere and gose a long with.) is being targeted by another gang. ( Trying to kill them and shit) and on day they see a red dot on their s/o forehead. (Coming from a laser on a gun) and then there’s gunshots everywhere. Do they manage to tackle their s/o on those and save them? ( you can pick) and what do they do to rival gang when they find them?

─Yandere!Bonten x reader (separately)

─Summary: a moment in which your life is threatened, a moment of despair for these boys

─Warnings: death, blood, mention of drugs, toxic behaivors, yandere stuff

─ It was very strange to go from not being noticed socially to having a psychopath holding your waist every second of your existence.

─ You knew that his behaviors went beyond a toxic and controlling partner, perhaps because you were aware that you knew how to cope with it in a certain way, in any case accepting his madness made many things easier, it was better to be on Mikey's good side.

─ That you were docile could only improve Mikey's condition, although sometimes it was like dealing with a capricious child, you had to at least pretend not to be uncomfortable twenty-four hours a day stuck to him in any way.

─ Although there are situations in which due to certain circumstances he needs to move away from you, it will bother him even if it is a few seconds in which he has to greet someone important, but he will always have a part of his body attached to you, whether it's his hand on your shoulder or his knee touching yours, he needs to make sure that you won't vanish out of nowhere even though it's physically impossible.

─ In the event that your life was threatened for just a measly second, it was like starting a war.

─ You didn't even know what happened before his body locked you against the floor and dragged you under one of the tables.

─ You were at a dinner with some executives and out of nowhere you found yourself being suffocated by Mikey on the floor listening to a lot of guns and screams.

─ He knew that he had enemies around every corner, but he didn't know that they were stupid enough to point a gun directly at you, at his most precious being.

─ You were lucky that he was able to react in time due to his constant fixation on always having you by his side, if it weren't for his mania perhaps your destiny would have been different.

─ Although unfortunately this event reduced your time outdoors, at least until Mikey wiped out each and every one of those involved in your near-death.

─ It wasn't a good start because it started with your kidnapping.

─ But perhaps the effect of narcotics on your body was what made you stop fighting against someone who had more power than you in society, you were condemned and you accepted it.

─ Sanzu doesn't care enough not to traumatize you and you have to get used to the fact that every time he takes you somewhere someone ends up dead because of him.

─ He doesn't require so much continuous physical contact, however whenever he wants it you will have to be on his lap without any complaints, you learned the hard way that it was better to listen the first time he wants something.

─ You're his little toy and everyone knows it, maybe, too many people know who you 'belong' to and that caught the attention of a certain gang that Sanzu had previously had problems with.

─ That's why the moment when you find yourself in a brothel having a drink with Sanzu and the Haitani brothers and a red dot forms on your forehead is not surprising to him.

─ It was the lack of reaction, the mental block and the speed with which the murder happened, it was a clean shot, your blood splashed on his stupefied face and he couldn't even catch your body before you collapsed against the elegant sofa.

─ It broke him, not the fact of your death, but the fact that another person had played with the life of his obsession, his new toy, and maybe he didn't accept so easily that you were dead, maybe he kept your inert body in his bed, your pajamas on as if it were just another ordinary night.

─ To say he was a disaster (even more) was an understatement, he was going to find those bastards and going to torture them while 'you' watched, hoping that it would entertain you, at least this time you would look and not look away like all those other times.

─ He's probably one of the most normal, if it's normal to be harassed for months and have 'unintentional' encounters with Kakucho all the time.

─ Kakucho was more of an observer and stayed in the background, he knew that his obsession was not a good thing, but at least he accepted that he was aware of it and that you would have to accept him.

─ No matter how much you ran away, what you did, you always had his eyes on your figure, you were a kind of divinity for him and he didn't even want to do anything perverse, he wanted to love you. Was he asking for much? Well, he could always resort to other methods anyway, if he wanted something, he had the power to get it.

─ He didn't ask for much, he just wanted you, and he became so sincere as to confess to you everything he had been doing, everything he would do if you agreed to be with him by hook and by crook.

─ He's not very good with romantic relationships if his last option is a threat, but you decided to take the easy way out and accept all his madness towards you.

─ He was too paranoid to let you go out on your own, to do anything without his supervision, he had lost Izana a long time ago and it was too painful and traumatic for him to happen to you.

─ It's quite rare that your life is threatened because you practically don't leave your safe place, but like any good gentleman, he always has some romantic plan for two and that means going out from time to time.

─ Don't worry, the second that red dot is on your forehead you were probably protected by a mass of muscles from several bodyguards and immediately guided out along with Kakucho.

─ He will not personally be in charge of finding and killing the gang that was behind the attempt on your life, but he will know when they are all three meters underground, which will be sooner rather than later.

─ Oh poor thing, did you really think you could escape his clutches once he met you and became infatuated with you? That's sweet of you, but Takeomi already has you under the palm of his hand without you knowing it.

─ You noticed each of his manipulation tricks and his strange fixation on you, he laughed knowing how perceptive you were and admitted to you that he had not been able to get you out of his mind since the first time he saw you and that it would be better if you accompanied him for the good ones.

─ He was good enough that you could face him and move forward despite all his toxic behaviors, and even though you missed your old life and freedom, you bitterly accepted that it wasn't that easy to get rid of a mafia executive.

─ He showered you with luxuries and praise whenever you behaved as he wanted, and he tried to make everything as least uncomfortable as possible since he was hungry for love, but he knew that forcing some things on you would make him feel as if everything was a lie (despite that it was in a certain way, he wouldn't admit it).

─ He thought that no one would be stupid enough to even think about hurting you, you were always well protected and a few threats would be enough to stop anyone from wanting to look at you.

─ Poor little gang that tried to annoy him by threatening you at gunpoint, Takeomi is not stupid and expected your life to be threatened sooner or later, he is not a saint and has enemies left and right, this devil knows more because he is old than by devil

─ The whole band died that night while he was enjoying his dinner with you without any altercation, you didn't even know and you didn't need to know, he wanted to continue in his bubble of happiness and a trauma to you would break that illusion, you were behaving so well, you didn't need to feel fear, at least not fear from other people.

─ You were smart and applied, probably what caught Kokonoi's attention, it started as a small crush that got worse when he saw how your attention was not only for him.

─ You were smart, but not smart enough to notice how he drugged you to kidnap you that night he invited you to dinner. If you didn't notice his obsessive behavior before, now you did.

─ The amount of luxuries and whims increased, you didn't even need to behave well, he would have you with money as he had always done with everything, and you had no choice but to accept that a crazy rich man had kidnapped you and that he wouldn't let you go unless you were his partner or something like that.

─ Sick, yes, but you didn't want to know what would happen if you refused, or maybe it was Stockholm syndrome, at this point you no longer knew how to differentiate it.

─ Kokonoi is not always with you, which gives you a false sense of freedom, false because you always have a bodyguard watching from afar, and although you don't know it, there are more eyes watching you.

─ Kokonoi is not stupid either, he knows that they will use you to get to him, but he anticipated the facts, he managed to bribe the murderer of the gang who had problems with him to make sure that you would be fine, he would break if he lost another important person.

─ Astute enough to foresee a possible murder but not enough to foresee a betrayal, his whole world collapsed when one night he found out that you had been murdered, that was not supposed to happen, he should have been there.

─ He faced your death with vengeance, despite not being the most bloodthirsty in Bonten, the only thing he wanted to do was torture the gang that had dared to take your life, that scum that decided to betray him, he would not be the one to apply violence, but he would enjoy the cries of those bastards.

─ You were a whim of the younger brother of the Haitani, a whim that he couldn't get out of his head.

─ It started out as a normal relationship, but his delusional obsession with you and his changes in behavior made you think that everything was much more complicated than a mere relationship.

─ Rindou watched every step you took, he started getting rid of 'unnecessary' people in your life and you couldn't do anything about that, you accepted it too easily, so much so that you even thought you weren't completely sane.

─ You didn't need anyone else, he is always there, literally always because he loves to be by your side, he loves to squeeze your waist and bring you closer to him while others see him, he loves to kiss you in front of everyone to make it clear that he is the one who has you and no one else.

─ He can be suffocating at times, but it's not like you can do anything, if necessary he will chain you to him to stay together until death.

─ Speaking of death… the threats don't take long to arrive, knowing that they could use you against him, he will not leave you alone even to go to the bathroom, anything can be a threat, even an innocent child could be a spy looking to kill you.

─ Locking you up and depriving you of going outside doesn't make it any less likely that you'll end up dead, even though he didn't leave you for even a second, he wasn't fast enough to throw you to the ground when the red dot on your temple became visible.

─ He saw how your gaze was lost until it was lifeless and he saw red, all the people who were close to the scene died in painful ways in the following week, whether they were innocent or those involved, Rindou needed someone to pay for his loss, maybe he wasn't cautious enough.

─ You fell for his sweet charms, charms that had a lot of corpses, blood and torture behind them, but it was all for you, why would you get angry? He thought he wasn't doing anything wrong and would make you think so too, Ran is very patient.

─ Whatever it was, you accepted all of his macabre behavior, the murders, the jealousy, the obsession, you had to put up with everything.

─ But it's okay, Ran will be generous, he will offer you a lot for little, he just wants you to pay attention to him, he needs to know that you will be there for him no matter what he does.

─ He doesn't always have time for you unfortunately, but he will always have an eye on you, he needs to make sure that no one, not even you, does anything stupid when he's not there.

─ He treats you as if you couldn't do anything on your own, as if you were weaker than him, he likes you to be like the typical character in trouble, it makes him look cooler, doesn't it?

─ He probably received some threat, he could only laugh at the band that thought could touch a single lock of your hair.

─ The problem is that your restrictions increased and your 'free' time decreased, typical, but in this case Ran will be much more paranoid, don't think about spending a single moment alone from now on until he investigates and kills all those cockroaches who dared to threaten your life.

─ The moment he sees that the shooting starts in one of his brothels when he is spending time with you he gets furious, he will get you to safety immediately, he locks you up and even gives you a gun in case some smartass find you.

─ He will personally take charge, with some help from his brother, of killing the gang that had started the destruction in his business right there and will return to you to calm you down with a session of kisses and hugs if you get scared.

─ Poor Mochizuki was never good at romance, he didn't have many partners and his position in one of the biggest mafias in Tokyo was not a positive incentive to find someone who loved him.

─ So he thought that his obsession was justified when you showed some interest in him, of course that was before you knew who he really was, but it was too late, he got his hopes up and he wouldn't let anyone break them, not even yourself.

─ If he needed to have you drugged for you to accept him, he would do it, but no one would take away what he had longed dreamed for so long.

─ Don't let his tough exterior fool you, he could be a total idiot just for you, although he didn't always use the most legitimate means to get something you wanted, you couldn't do much either.

─ He always keeps you in a close hug, squeezing your shoulder and holding your body close to his as if they were going to steal you from his hands.

─ It's impossible for him not to worry, he knows the world he moves in and he is the weakest link among the Bonten executives, the guy who is in charge of some of the dirty work and knows that he has many guns pointed at him.

─ That's why he couldn't help but get involved in a shootout when he was trying to enjoy a night walk with you, he was incredibly quick to get you out of the way of the bullet that was aimed at your head, but he didn't expect for another one to embed itself in your lung seconds later.

─ His whole world shattered because he thought he had been able to save you, but seeing you dying in pain while he tried to take you to the nearest hospital was something worse than death for him, especially because you didn't make it.

─ It's not a surprise that the day after mourning that entire band was brutally murdered with just his fists, the sound of bones breaking under his knuckles was music to his ears that day.

[zeldatourney]

Polls and Explanations

The tourney is over, and it's been a lot of fun! Especially for me, who got to see all the comments everyone left.

One recurring question I got (other than "Why would you pit two bad bitches against each other;" sir, this is the "pitting two bad bitches against each other" blog) was why I matched things up as they did. For example, putting Wind Waker up against Breath of the Wild in round one, when that seems like a final battle sort of deal.

There are two things that have always bothered me about poll tourneys.

Overwhelmingly, the results are dominated by "which is more recognizable" rather than "which is better." Just about everyone in the Zelda fandom has played Breath of the Wild, so it would outcompete almost everything based on sale numbers, which was boring and predictable.

The first few rounds never seemed to MEAN anything.

Number 1 was easy enough to fix: just add in options for "I haven't played these" and specify that you want answers from someone who's played both, and boom! You get informed opinions on which is better.

2, though, was more of a problem.

See, the way most brackets are engineered is to build up FOR that final battle. You want a clash of the titans as your finale! You want the biggest and baddest to have to claw their way to victory! You want your favorite game to have the highest kill count!

Which means your first round pits those titans against small competitors that never stood a chance, just to get them out of the way. With the exception of meme entries, nothing ever comes from that.

Of course Breath of the Wild would blow Cadence of Hyrule out of the water.

Of course the Oracles games wouldn't stand up to something like Skyward Sword.

None of these polls answer any questions. They're just obligatory so the match can get to that final battle without complaints.

Wanting to avoid that, the way I approached this bracket was a bit different. Instead of guessing at which would be the most popular and reverse-engineering that epic showdown, I wanted to match like with like.

So I made something to test the waters:

Without an explanation attached, this one made a lot of people mad! Why was I separating Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom, which shared a map, but not Ocarina of Time and Majora's Mask, which were vastly different games?

I didn't have enough poll options to do every single game, so I had to mix. And the mix was strategic:

Most games on here that are paired together share fans. For example, the majority of Ocarina of Time players either like or are ambivalent towards Majora's Mask, while a VAST majority of Breath of the Wild players take issue with the story of Tears of the Kingdom. If I grouped BotW with TotK, I wouldn't be able to get a read on how many people loved TotK, because BotW would be so overwhelming.

I'd seen about equal fandom obsession with Twilight Princess and Skyward Sword, or with Phantom Hourglass and Spirit Tracks, so I could take their result and divide it by half.

Anyone who didn't fit either of these criteria got grouped together as best as I knew how. Wind Waker and Minish Cap are both full of whimsy. Tri Force Heroes, Cadence of Hyrule, and Hyrule Warriors are all different gameplay loops than the standard Zelda, and are (at least honorary, in TFH's case) spin-offs.

This poll gave me good data. There was about an equal level of interest between Four Swords and Echoes of Wisdom. Minish Cap probably made up a very small percentage of Wind Waker votes, so it would have to fight its way up through smaller guys. Something BIG would have to go up against Breath of the Wild to have a fighting chance.

With all that in mind, I started hammering out what the polls would be. I wanted each one to

Be paired with something that had a similar level of interest

Answer a question or sate a curiosity

That way, hopefully, they'd be neck-and-neck, and I'd get some good opinions out of the people who voted one or the other.

So, with all that in mind: here's my thought process when making this tourney, step by step. You might have to click to be able to read it all.

So...what now? A loser's bracket? A re-do with different matchups?

Not exactly.

I'm going to make a separate post on that. Rest assured, though, this tournament is far from over.

This was just the first run.

[velvetvexations]

as we all know you are THE popular Tumblr transfems. all of the popular radical feminist transfems on the site are actually the underdogs and definitely don't have huge followings or any social power on this website. don't look at their four-digit follower counts or the way they subtly encourage dogpiling people because they know there's a crowd of people who will do it immediately that's irrelevant

TRFs think 1k and 15k are the same number because they both have a one in them.

Being so many levels deep in the feminism discourse makes daily life amusing sometimes. Like some of the shit I wanna joke about would probably comes off as misogynistic without the context of it being in response to radical feminism but it's so funny. Like saying shit like I love erasing women doesn't necessarily make sense to someone who doesn't know it's in response to terfs talking about gender neutral medical language etc. Or like having to hear constant feminism 101 basic bitch feminism stuff from people around me and just nod cause I know they don't wanna hear about The Nuance cause the average person isn't as interested in social and gender theory as I am. Like to the average level one feminist I can understand how more complex feminism can come off as misogynistic so I don't Get Into It with coworkers and the like but I am always sitting here brimming with Opinions anyway. That and people at work seem to read me as "guy who's kind of gender nonconforming" rather than trans so I don't get interpreted as being a voice of "authority" on anything about gender or misogyny (and I'd rather stick with that than be the Outspoken Tranny tm). It's a silent game of "I know more than you"

lmao you're hiding your power level

How the heck do I not take doing something bad as life ending. I fucked up today bc I lost track of time and missed doing something with my bf. He says he’s not mad but I can tell he feels bad in some way, and I don’t blame him, I unequivocally DID fuck up, and it’s hard not to want to just fall on the ground and rip my skin off ngl lol but I know at this point if I keep apologizing or asking him if I can fix it or offering him shit is just going to come across desperate and weird, and I have to take him at face value that he is not mad, and it’ll be okay tomorrow, but arghhhhhhhh I’m historically horrible at taking people who are clearly upset saying “I’m not mad at you” at face value

please let me know if you find out because that wrecks me too

Fascinated by how much transandrophobia in queer spaces is like, 'youre a Dude and therefore obviously you cannot experience this opression the way you think you do, people obviously view you as a Man and therefore you have male privilege, anyway heres the most wildly specific misogynistic trope youve never seen aimed at cis men aimed at trans dudes, this is not sus at all' Yes this is abt the 'trans dudes on t should go on mood stabilisers' before someone asks.

it's so blatant

i find it very fun(/s) that theres like, two separate groups of trfs where one is super open about hating transmascs n shit and the other is more "guys THEORY" and the second group constantly pretends the first group doesn't exist and actually you're lying literally no one has ever said that ever what are you talking about

Mask on, mask off.

started just instant blocking anyone I see putting trf bullshit on my dash. soon I will have peace.

true inner peace

[sickofthistoxicshit]

I know ya'll are like this is proof of buddie canon,

And as someone who's been here from the beginning, I will believe it when I see it, not before.

There are four ways Eddie little pointless adventure can go,

1. He moves to El Paso, Christopher does not want to see him, his parents put as many obstacles as possible, Buck joins him in a true copying of Station 19 where at the end of the season Vic leaves and Travis meets her at the airport telling her his home is wherever she is and they leave together.

Prompting the spin off of Buck and Eddie together in El Paso. With an angsty backstory in the background and stuff.

2. Eddie and Buck go canon while they're looking for a house for Eddie, Buck asks Eddie not to move, kisses him they have some angsty back and forward in which Eddie goes to see the house up close, misses Buck and decides he doesn't want this, he convinces Christopher to go home with him and comes back to a delighted Buck.

3. Both of them go to see the house, Eddie loves it but it doesn't feel the right kind of happy, they both confess their feelings in El Paso and come back to LA hopefully after Eddie grows a backbone with his emotional support Buck, and tells his parents to go fuck themselves and his son that he can be mad at him all he wants at home in LA, but they can't work this out while they're in two different states so far apart from each other.

Christopher will probably come around either when he hears that, Thank God, no more poor substitutes for mothers will come through their door because he finally gets his Buck and Eddie together.

Or he's still sullen and teenager-y until Eddie’s next nde and then he'll come around, after crying to Buck that he doesn't want his dad to die thinking he hates him.

It will probably be the second option.

4. Eddie moves, Buck misses him like a missing limb, he goes to visit after one FaceTime too many and they end up together, either doing this long distance, or Buck moves to el paso, or they are both along with Christopher comes back to LA.

Some people are mad that I'm holding Christopher accountable for his behavior, and I will probably at some point make a long post about it, but the thing is, that unlike Buck's small family, Christopher had so many people and family to choose from to separate himself from his dad, but he chose the one pair of people that he knows will keep Eddie away at all cost, will let him get away with whatever just so that he stays with them.

And will give Eddie a pause before he will finally decide to get over his guilt over his one mistake of a stalker showing up against his will in his house, and stirring up painful shit for him and his son, and will come get him much later than he would have otherwise.

Because Eddie is sure he doesn't deserve to be redeemed, he actually thought up until his conversation with Father Brian that he didn't even deserve to drink juice, ok?

That's how bad the guilt is. Does Eddie have a lot of self work to do after TM erased all his progress cause he's a vindictive little bitch? Yes.

Is Christopher, which went through so much with his father and even at one point asked Eddie if he is the one making him sad, is the most ooc he's ever been written so far? Yes.

Can he be held accountable for his actions? At the moment of the ghost Shannon reveal, not entirely.

But six months later? Absolutely.

At this point, he's enjoying himself too much to go back to Eddie and his school and his duties, and he doesn't even discuss with Eddie his plans for the future.

Just hints that say, 'No, I barely want to talk to you and send me the autograph to my room on Texas as a reward for giving you half a breadcrumb every time you call'.

I am mad at Christopher for choosing the one pair of people he knew would do as much damage as possible and would take him away and keep him in a heartbeat.

Because, make no mistakes children are not stupid, they learn patterns of behavior, they see and hear everything, Christopher knows how hard it is for Eddie to deal with his parents and he is taking full advantage of it.

I am mad at Eddie for not putting his foot down and that he didn't send his parents packing the moment they showed up at his doorstep.

And I am mad at the Diaz parents for being the narcissistic assholes who want a second chance at raising their son's kid by taking him away from his father and rubbing it in on top of it.

This whole storyline is just one big cluster fuck, and I get that buddie canon is a potentially exciting future, but with Eddie’s storyline in shambles, which as an Eddie girl is the only thing I care about right now, I find it hard to be excited.

Also we've been here before, this is the same game plan as S5 5x10 and S5b which fox and the showrunner chickened out of last time.

So, yes, buddie may happen, but I ain't getting excited before they actually do. This show has given me trust issues, plain and simple.

[spirk-trek]

I would love to hear your thoughts on kirk's backstory and what happened on tarsus iv, I feel like I've read so many conflicting takes on here and none of them actually match up with the episode (conscience of the king)

Hi anon! The way you worded this makes me think you were just looking for information and not a fic request. Forgive me if I was wrong!! 😅

I think the reason there are so many conflicting ideas is because of how vague it is in canon itself (which is cool, leaves a lot of room for interpretation). Because of this, when I recently wrote a thing about Tarsus IV I also struggled with "research" for it. Here's what I came up with:

!!! Disclaimer! I am not declaring any of this the One True Canon™! This is just my interpretation/speculation based on existing lore !!!

To me, it makes most sense for Jim to be sent to Tarsus IV with his mother, and for her to be a civilian scientist/researcher of some kind. I find it very hard to believe the massacre could have taken place if Starfleet were present, which would include George Kirk, Jim's father. George is said to have been absent often due to his work (SNW), so it wouldn’t be strange for him to be separated from his family (this is also just normal in Star Trek in general, i.e. Sulu [AOS] and like… everyone with children in TNG).

A more recent Trek book called Drastic Measures seems to back this exact idea up (depends who you ask which novels are canon, and this book was written for Discovery so take it with a grain of salt).

Sam would, in the TOS timeline, be 10 years older than Jim (~23). That would make it unlikely he'd be tailing after his mother to remote colonies. It's much more likely he was concerned with his own career/family/life.

So, in summary of those points, I think it was just Jim and Winona. Jim is between 12 and 14 years old, and his mother was a civilian researcher (the novel I mentioned earlier made her a xenobiologist, probably for plot reasons).

Something I do see exaggerated sometimes is the method of killing in the massacre. An antimatter chamber appears to be what was used, similar to A Taste of Armageddon, so it would not have been mass carnage or a big dramatic fight in the end. Just... zap. 

SPOCK: "He was certainly among the most ruthless, to decide arbitrarily who would survive and who would not [...] and then to implement his decision without mercy. Children watching their parents die. Whole families, destroyed. Over four thousand people. They died quickly, without pain, but they died.”

However, these are also quotes from the episode, so I can see why people might think the massacre itself was more violent: 

- JIM: “Four thousand people were needlessly butchered.” - LEIGHTON: “I remember him. That voice. The bloody thing he did.”  - JIM: “Are you sure you didn't act this role out in front of a captive audience whom you blasted out of existence without mercy?” - KARIDIAN/KODOS: “Murder, flight, suicide, madness. I never wanted the blood on my hands ever to stain you.” 

There was a revolution of some kind, probably brought about by people easily radicalized out of hunger and desperation.

- KARIDIAN/KODOS: [reading] "The revolution is successful…” - SPOCK: “There were over eight thousand colonists and virtually no food. And that was when Governor Kodos seized full power and declared emergency martial law.”

If Kodos already had his ideas about eugenics, which it sounds like he did, he would have seized this as an opportunity. This would make him an even more solid comparison to Hitler, which they were definitely going for to at least some extent (this was written two decades after WWII which many involved in the making of star trek were deeply affected by if not veterans themselves).

Because of the above quotes, I also think there’s merit to the idea of there being multiple formal executions where Kodos gave his infamous “speech” each time rather than just once (this would be another reason Jim would remember it enough to write it down), rather than one massive execution of 4,000 people. However, this quote could be interpreted to mean the opposite:

SPOCK: “Kodos began to separate the colonists. Some would live, be rationed whatever food was left; The remainder would be immediately put to death.”

Arguably, the even more traumatic suffering would be the period of starvation and upheaval leading up to the massacre. To me, a 3-6 month period of slowly worsening starvation as the food supply shrank and shrank to nothing would make the most sense.

One aspect I don't quite get is that Kodos's body was supposed to have been "burned beyond recognition.” Since we know from Conscience of the King his death was staged, then this fake death can’t have been pulled off in the midst of Starfleet intervention upon arrival (they would have taken him into custody to stand trial rather than kill him on sight anyway). Burning yourself to death is a highly unusual form of suicide, so I’m not sure if that’s supposed to allude to him being fake killed in the carnage following the execution when the people didn't react the way he wanted or expected? My only theory is that there was unrest and rioting for the period of time between the massacre and Starfleet arriving with relief, and he used that to fake his death once he knew he would be put on trial.

Anyway, this is super long so I'll cut myself off there. Hope that answered your question, sorry for being crazy! If anyone has anything to add, please do!

[saintsir4n]

MEET THE MIKAELSONS

where klaus and Adrienne do a GQ interview

▃▃▃▃

•

"Nik, stop sulking," Adrienne laughed at her husband, knowing he wanted to be anywhere else. She motioned for him to smile, but he simply ran his hand through his curls that he decided to grow out, then threw up his hands and gestured for questions, "All alright, let's get this over and done with," he murmured, earning another giggle from his wife. "You heard the man, quiet on set guys," she mimicked him, drawing laughter from the crew and a small smile from the hybrid.

•

"Love, come here," Klaus whispered as the crew were finishing setting up their mics. "We have to sit in separate chairs," Adrienne replied with a pout and before he could reply, the main producer who stood between them said, "When it's time for Adrienne to ask questions, then she can sit on your lap or whatever you prefer." Klaus hummed in satisfaction, making his wife smile, "you happy now?" She asked, "I will be when you're next to me," his answer made most of the crew stare at them in adoration and awe.

•

Marcel told me to tell you not to piss off Mom with your answers, Klaus rolled his eyes at the message he received from Malachai, then showed it to his wife, who immediately laughed, "They're right." Adrienne stated, shrugging before adding, "but, we should tell them not to watch this when it comes out... right?" Klaus pondered as he put his phone back in his pocket, "...right."

•

Adrienne sat comfortably across from her husband who played with his ring-clad fingers and brushed his hair out of his eyes. His long-sleeved henley shirt tightened around his arms with every movement. He sat there staring at her with a slight daze with one leg over the other waiting for the make-up team to finish her touch-ups.

Adrienne wore a double denim co-ord; her short skirt revealed her silky legs, similar to the jacket that left a few buttons undone, showcasing that she was completely topless underneath until every few minutes her husband moved her goddess braids to conceal what only he got to see.  

•

"Hey guys I'm Adrienne Mikaelson and-" she quickly got cut off, "and many people call me Klaus the mad," Klaus stated with a grin, staring at the camera as Adrienne chuckled, "No one calls you that," she paused and turned to the camera, "no one does."

"I don't appreciate the dishonesty Ria and neither do the fans," Klaus responded smugly before the producer nicely asked them to reintroduce themselves.

"Let's do this again," Adrienne said, shooting her husband a pointed look, that he raised an amused brow at. "I'm Adrienne Lumière."

"What?"

"...And we're getting divorced."

"Cut the bloody cameras!"

•

"Take three," the producer slammed down the clapperboard, then nodded to the couple who were currently flipping each other off, "Guys behave please."

"I'm Adrienne Mikaelson and this dashing man is," Adrienne gestured to her husband, who smirked at the compliment, "Niklaus Mikaelson and I'm here to best my wife."

Adrienne threw her arms up in the air as Klaus covered his grin with his cards.

•

"Take four and guys-"

"Shannon, I dare you to slam that clapperboard down again," Klaus warned the producer who swiftly looked at his wife with pleading eyes.

"Nik, be nice or you won't get the prize," Adrienne said with an innocent shrug, "what prize?" he quickly leaned forward, waiting for her response, "You know those lingerie sets I got from the Fenty show I performed at?" she lowly spoke, making his eyes widen, "you will never see me in them if we don't get through this okay? now pick up your jaw from the floor and introduce yourself properly."

•

"Hello people I don't know or will never meet," Klaus gritted out, "I am Klaus Mikaelson and this is my darling wife-" Adrienne continued, "Adrienne Mikaelson and this is the GQ couples quiz."

•

1. How many tattoos do I have?

Adrienne didn't even need to think before she answered, "He has five, the birds on his shoulder which connect to a feather, Marcel and Malachai's birthdays and he has the word 'enigma' for me."

"Easy question love," he winked at her.

"Shut up."

"Harsh."

•

2. When is my birthday?

"8th of April, he's an Aries with a Gemini moon," she answered, brushing her shoulder.

"I wish I could fathom what she said," Klaus spoke, looking directly at the camera."It's a very simple thing," Adrienne said, glancing around at the crew who nodded, then shrunk back after noting the glare on the hybrid's face.

"Simple my arse."

"And what a lovely ass it is," Adrienne blew him a kiss, causing a red tint to kiss his cheeks. "Moving on," he whispered with a bashful smile.

•

3. Who fell in love first?

"Nik, definitely Nik."

"How could I not," Klaus said, staring at her, "pan the camera to my wife."  The cameraman did just that, zooming in on the woman who had been at the top of many lists for the most desirable woman for a few years now.  Adrienne giggled and covered her face,  "stop it and ask another question."

"Oh is the pretty girl shy?"

The crew couldn't help but stare at them in awe, well until Adrienne began to threaten him.

"The pretty girl with put you into an early grave if you don't do what I say."

He feigned shock, "Romantic isn't she?"

"Yeah yeah."

•

4. Favourite part about my personality?

"He's constantly trying his best, whether helping me with my work or being more patient with our family and always trying to be there for me. Always trying in his own ways. Which is very comforting."

"Thank you, my love," he couldn't stop smiling.

•

5. Where did we have our first date?

"In the Euphoria, we both shared a beignet and just talked for hours. It wasn't meant to happen, he tricked me into it."

Klaus chuckled, "You didn't say no."

"Because of his stupid smile," Adrienne pouted and he started to boast, "I do have a great smile," Klaus nodded to himself, earning a few chuckles from the crew.  "Calm down, I slapped you on that date," Adrienne taunted, making him roll his eyes.

"Can't imagine why," they heard the main producer whisper to herself, which caused Adrienne to snort.

"What was that Shannon, could you speak up this time?" Klaus asked loudly, startling the poor woman.

Shannon nervously waved him off, "Oh nothing, next question."

•

6. Have you ever written a song about me?

"I've written many songs about you honey," Adrienne cooed as she blew him a kiss, causing him to jokingly catch it and place it on his chest. "Many albums were written with Klaus the Mad for inspiration," he was about to continue but she hastily cut him off, "not Klaus the Mad, about you making me mad, sad, happy or..." she trailed off, leaving him to finish "loved and horny?"

"Yes."

"And she has won many awards that she dedicates to me and our family each time. Usually, I come last in the speech, because she adds some words that one could only use to describe a man so great."

Adrienne playfully rolled her eyes at him, "so humble."

"Wait, how many paintings does Klaus have of you?" A member of the crew yelled from afar, catching their attraction. Klaus grinned and gestured for his wife to answer, "From what I've seen and what I've peaked on, possibly thousands. That's not an exaggeration is it Nik?" The hybrid bashfully shook his head then replied, "Give it take a thousand."

"But most of his most popular and most famous work is hung in the Louvre, the Victoria and Albert Museum, The National Gallery and the Rijksmuseum," she listed making him smile brightly, "you remembered." He was taken aback by her knowledge, sometimes he thought she wasn't listening whenever he ranted but she always was.

"Of course I did, I need to visit the new masterpiece in Amsterdam," she paused noting the blush kissing his cheeks, "is it of me?"

Disregarding her first question, he said, "I'll take you there for your birthday since you've been dying to go for a while."

"Awe, you remembered."

"Of course, we've been together for what feels like a century," he teased knowingly, which the crew laughed at, believing it to be a joke.

"Til flere århundrer nik."

"Til flere århundrer min kjærlighet."

"Y'all can speak old Norse? How isn't that a dead language?" Another crew member spoke up after he used Google Translate to decipher what had been said.

The couple laughed to themselves before Adrienne replied, "Like we said, it's felt like a century..."

•

7. What is my worst quality?

"Your paranoia, it even makes you not trust me sometimes and you end up acting like a dick."

"Apologies," Klaus murmured, averting his gaze, feeling his wife's eyes burning into the side of his head.

•

8. What turns me on?

"Other than me being me, he loves when I wear his clothes or when I'm angry. When I shout at him, that usually gets in the mood so quickly." Klaus stiffly nodded at her answer, earning a few questioning looks, "You're turned on now aren't you?"

"...no."

•

9. My favourite relative?

"Other than me and our sons, definitely either Hadeon or Rebekah."

Klaus couldn't help but roll his eyes, knowing his siblings would start on him when they saw him.

•

10. Which one of my friends flirts with you too much?

"Kai and Lucien, Kai because he acts like I named our son after him and it pisses Nik off a lot. Lucien because he always flirts with me, especially when Nik is around," she informed the camera. "Don't forget Stefan," Klaus added, earning a hum from Adrienne, who said, "Definitely Stef."

"Stef?" Klaus asked with furrowed brows, "Since when did you call him Stef?"

"Oh god."

"Take a point away from her Shannon!" Klaus yelled, making Adrienne throw a water bottle sitting near her at his head, "Take five off for grievous bodily harm."

"Shut up."

•

11. Favourite sex position?

Adrienne snickered at the question, as did Klaus.

"He has three," she began to list as he stared at her heatedly, "but he loves cowgirl because he loves it when I take control even though he will never tell anyone about it."  He tossed his head back with a groan, "Love-" she quickly cut him off, "What? It's true."

Klaus snapped his head towards the main producer, "Shannon, she doesn't get the point if she lies right?"  Shannon vigorously shook her head, before answering,  "No she doesn't Mr Mikaelson." Adrienne gasped, "I am not lying."

"What are the other two positions then?" Klaus retorted smugly.

"They are kids are watching," Adrienne said in a hushed tone, to which her husband shrugged, "They've definitely heard worse." Adrienne couldn't disagree, "Sorry babies," she apologised to the camera, then turned to her husband and continued her list, "missionary, and the speed bump."

"The what?" someone from the crew yelled out as many people chuckled.

"You've never heard of it before?" Adrienne asked through her laughter, whilst Klaus stared at the camera confidently, "It's basically when the girl or guy is on their stomach and they are getting hit from the back and their ass is like a little speed bump."

Klaus turned to her, ignoring the laughter from the crew, "You love that don't you?"

Later, she mouthed making him grin.

•

12. Do we have a sex tape?

Adrienne rolled her eyes whilst the rest of the crew waited for her answer. Klaus turned to her, lifting the cards to block his face and mouthed, 'Just say no'.

"Shannon, he's telling me to say no," Adrienne quickly snitched on her husband, whose mouth gaped open. It didn't help that the people around them were laughing alongside the witch. "Shannon, stop rolling or I guarantee someone will stop breathing," Klaus hissed, causing the life to drain from the producer's face and all laughter to stop.

•

"The answer to that question was no, aren't I right my love?" Klaus insisted, staring at her with a pleading expression.

Adrienne stifled a laugh, "Mmm."

"What was that?"

She quickly cleared her throat and stated, "Yes, we do not have a sex tape, nor would we ever make one because it is bad and could have consequences if anyone were to ever find it... like your children."

"Or siblings or friends," Klaus quickly added, with a nervous look.

"Next round!"

▃▃▃▃▃▃

1. What's my favourite food? And don't say anything inappropriate.

Now sitting on her husband's lap, she waited for his answer. He was far less stingy and calmer as she combed her fingers through his hair. When he decided to answer, a cheeky smile kissed his lips, "Anything phallic." Adrienne immediately smacked his chest, ignoring the studio worker's laughter and hissed, "Shut up."

Still chuckling, the hybrid restated, "Fine my sweetheart likes pastries, can eat them all the time," he informed the camera, "Yes I ate them a lot when I was pregnant," Adrienne added, causing his grin to widen, "which reminds me, perhaps you should be agai-."

She cut him off, with a warning tone, "Don't."

•

2. Where's my favourite place I like to have sex?

"Other than the Bentley?" Klaus inquired and she nodded. "Any public place really."

"Shannon cut out the last part," Adrienne demanded, pinching the bridge of her nose, but her husband had other ideas, "Shannon, you will do no such thing!"

•

3. Who's my best friend?

"Rebekah will hate me for saying this, but Clementine or Valerie. I still don't like Valerie." he quickly added the last part, staring directly at the camera, whilst Adrienne just glanced at him, "She doesn't like you."

•

4. Your Favourite body part of mine? Keep it PG, please.

Klaus stared at her, with a highly amused expression, "If I keep it PG, then I would be lying," his statement gained a few chuckles from the crew, which grew when Adrienne flicked his forehead, "So vicious. But honestly, it's your face. Your beautiful face, that I continue to fall in love with more and more each day."

"Awe," the camera crew cooed as Adrienne hid her face in the crook of his neck until he decided to tease her more.

Klaus cleared his throat, "But as for my second favourite body part of yours, that has to be your v-"

"Next question!" Adrienne shouted over him.

"I was going to say your voice," he mumbled innocently.

"That's not a body part Nik!"

•

5. What do you do, that turns me on?

"When I look at you in your eyes," he answered immediately, not breaking eye contact, making his wife very flustered, "You're so annoying," she groaned and looked away. Lowering his head and trailing his fingers down her back, he whispered, "You're turned on right now aren't you sweetheart?"

•

6. What's a favourite moment of mine?

"You and Hadeon burning-" he quickly received a pinch to the neck, "that's not PG," she warned, shooting an innocent smile to the camera, then turning back to her husband, who begrudgingly spoke, "Fine giving birth to Malachai." his answer, earned a snort from Adrienne, "Fuck no, he nearly ripped me in half, you could've just said us being in Chicago."

•

7. What is a favourite moment of mine that we've shared?

"Renewing our vows in Paris," she grinned at his words, then said, "Loved that."

"I love you."

"I love you too... sometimes."

"Adrienne."

•

8. Do I have any tattoos?

Klaus chuckled to himself then turned to the camera, "She has one on the inside of her thigh and when the first time I saw it I-"

"Can he be censored, Shannon?" Adrienne pleaded.

"Don't bloody censor me, Shannon."

•

9. What do you love that I do? And kids are watching this.

Klaus picked up her available hand,  "She's a supportive and powerful woman, whenever I'm shutting down and feel borderline homicidal..."  Adrienne shook her head at the camera,  "He's kidding." Klaus continued, 'I'm not, but when it happens she is the most patient and understanding person in my life, whenever she's not a pain in the ass."

"Prick."

"Love you too."

•

10. What am I like when I'm drunk?

"She's needy but I love it, she gets very sentimental," Klaus said, with a loving look in his eyes, to which he gained a chaste kiss from Adrienne

"I'm always like that."

"Yes, but it's adorable when you're drunk."

•

11. Do you want to have more kids?

"Personally, I want a daughter," Klaus answered, turning to his wife, "Fine, then you can push out a daughter." she countered, making the crew laugh around them. "I want a little girl to raise," he huffed out, not taking his eyes off Adrienne, who decided to entertain the idea.

"What would you name our daughter?" she asked, to which he replied, "Well Malachai is named after an Angel, not Kai Parker. Marcellus is named after the god of Mars," he watched as an idea lit up her eyes, "What about Evangeline. It sounds angelic and Godly?"

Klaus happily clapped and discarded the remaining card in her hands, "Evangeline. Greek for good news and what great news she'd be when she is born in less than 10 months to come. Great idea love, Evangeline Mikaelson. it's decided!"

She quickly shook her head, "Not it's not."

•

"Thank you, GQ, my wife and I are off to make another child," Adrienne didn't have time to object because he swiftly picked her up and she had no choice but to hold on.

"No, we're not!"

He tore off their microphones and shot a nod to Shannon, then the rest of the crew, "Goodbye!"

•

POST CREDIT SCENE:

"No," Klaus stated, shaking his head at his wife's outfit for the interview, he had already tried to suggest something else before she walked out of her dressing room. "I'm wearing it, end of discussion and I see how you are looking at me, stop acting like you don't like this," Adrienne replied, waving him off as she came to stand In front of him, watching as he looked her up and down.

"Out," he demanded the workers who were trying to do their job. He needed to talk to his wife in private, so it wasn't long before they all rushed out of the green room and the door slammed shut.

"Adrienne," she didn't have time to react before he picked her up, drawing a yelp from her as she wrapped her legs around his torso and settled her arms around his shoulders. "What beloved?" She teased, catching the lust-filled glint in his eyes. "How long do we have until we have to do this God-awful interview?" He asked, trailing his hands over her behind and lowering his mouth to her jacket.

She gasped when he undid the two buttons with his teeth, revealing her breast to him. A growl emitted from his throat as he dragged his eyes up to hers. "We have thirty minutes..." she breathed out, making him run his tongue over his teeth.

"...we'll need an hour."

•

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

a/n:

That is the end to my dark twisted fantasy’s story on wattpad I hope you all enjoyed it. I thought I addd a cute little one shot of them in the further.

it's been over a year and I'm so happy and grateful to all the people who have been here since the beginning and the most recent readers, who haven't stopped voting and commenting.

this was Adrienne's story and it's sad to say goodbye to one of my faves and all my other oc's. writing to her with everyone especially klaus was so special and so bittersweet to me and I loved every second of it.

- liv

[lorelune]

part o - part iii

|| diluc ragnvindr x f! reader || E/18+ || hurt/comfort, fluff, post-trauma || wc: 16.2k  || ao3 || masterlist || NEXT →

You return to Mondstadt after many years away, sick, with an feeling that's all-too familiar and unwelcome.

❁ my heart, your song - @firein-thesky ❁

minors & ageless blogs dni

a/n: AH!! here it is :'^) the diluc fic!!!! thank you so much to @itoshisoup for beta reading (along with my non-tumblr pals han & ennis as well!!) this section contains four chapters, separated by partitions. if you'd prefer to read this fic with the chapters/parts separated, it will be posted as such on ao3!

this fic is a collab with the lovely cielo (@firein-thesky)!! our fics share a mostly canon compliant universe :3c give it a read!! it's linked above!!!

...

tags: alcohol use, descriptions of vomiting, reader with chronic injury, reader is referred to as 'little sister' by kaeya (not related), unreliable narrator/reader, soggy soggy SOGGY diluc, protective diluc, diluc and reader were childhood friends to lovers, reader is a healer

PART o: kismet

Once, on one of your several trips to Sumeru, you visited the Akademiya. You only went to poke at dusty books and sit in on a few lectures as a wanderer who liked a good story and a bit of learning. There, you met a scholar whose name didn’t stick with you, from the Rtawahist darshan.

They had the far-off look in their eye of someone who had seen a bit too much, for who they were. You knew that some scholars went mad in their pursuit of knowledge. Saw things that they couldn’t cope with even if they tried. Your new friend looked to be close to such a threshold.

Perhaps, in an act of pity, you took this scholar out for a drink. Or two. Or seven. The exact number of cups and goblets escapes you now. But what you do remember, as you sat together on a terrace high above Yazaha pool, legs swinging, was their ramblings. 

“There’s a map of everything, up there.” They gestured wildly to the sky, twinkling and bright, with the moon as company. “Deciphering it... Well. That’s another thing. But it’s there. And if we figure it out, fate will be in our hands to know.”

They continued, stretching their hands to the cosmos above them, as if their fingertips could decipher the orchestration of the Gods with nothing but passion, wine, and will. It was admirable, in your drunken state. Perhaps foolish to your sober mind. 

Nonetheless, such an idea stuck with you. Even after you departed from your bygone friend, and continue your wanderings, you think about it. You laid on your bedroll more than once, staring upward, and wondering—

Why did the gods mosaic the sky? 

You are just a mortal, how are you to know? You tried not to dwell on that specific thought. The one you find yourself coming back to, in your worst nights—

(If I could read the stars, and foresee a tragedy, is there any way for a calamity to be stopped? If you knew fate’s charted course, the crest of its fortune and the wake of its tragedies— could you circumvent them?)

(Could you have stopped your calamity?)

It was a self-deprecating thought, and it dragged you back to a place and time that was both unpleasant and unnecessary to recall. 

There’s no way to change the past, you reminded yourself. You could only move forward. Never back. You only balked at the stars in your weakest moments and pondered such ideas like fate and destiny. You could live in the illusion of carving your own destiny as you traversed Teyvat. One where you wrapped gauze around wounds after the disaster had passed. Heal sullied ground. You could do everything you could to help people. That was enough, you decided early on in your travels. 

You’d help people (and avoid the nation Mondstadt). Simple enough.

One foot in front of the other.

PART i: there’s a puzzle we crafted

You’re tired. 

So tired. 

It’s a merciless type of exhaustion that you rarely, if ever, let yourself slip into. To wander Liyue’s peak and narrow paths in such a condition is dangerous, even if the Millelith and Guild did a decent job keeping settlements of Hilichurls suppressed. In general, you can take down slimes on your own— except when you find yourself this deliriously tired. 

Normally, you don’t even bother traveling in this state. You would drag yourself to the nearest village, throw some mora at a layperson and set up shop wherever they had space. Be that an inn, back room, or stable— you aren’t picky. As long as you could rest for a few days, perhaps help out the village in your spare time. 

Your most recent wanderings, however, took you far onto the Yaoguang Shoals for several days, and by the time you returned to solid, proper earth, you were desperately low on essentials. Your nearest respite was an old village crawling with Hilichurls. Your next best option would be a miniature expedition onto the shores of Dragonspine and hope the cold wouldn’t kill you before you could find shelter and stoke a fire.

So, you keep going.  

All the way past Stonegate and the quarries beyond it. You’re only half-lucid as you wander into Mondstadt for the first time in years. 

You roost in an abandoned cottage some ways down the road. Finally resting for the first time in days. Never mind your still-damp bedroll or the structural unsoundness of the ruin. You practically fall to your knees and pass out, given your state.

(Running has made you tired, hasn’t it?)

When you awaken, you ache. (Familiar). You nibble on the last of your rations and it hits you—

You’re back in Mond, aren’t you?

Archons.

You should leave, really. It’s your first thought when you realize where you are. You shouldn’t be here. You’re not even near the city proper, but a panic unfurls in your chest like you’ve been struck. You immediately begin to pack up your things—

Two things hit you then:

One: You’re far lower on supplies than you had thought. 

This isn’t a new development, however. It’s just far worse than you thought. You paw at the contents of your bag, realizing that the dried zaytun peaches and jerky you had for breakfast were the last of your rations. The weather had been poor across Liyue in the past weeks, and many of the normal markets you would’ve run into were shuttered because of it. Regardless, you didn’t think you were on your last fucking morsels. 

Deep in your bag, all you have is a torn, unusable tarp and a pitiful handful of the crystalline shards you used to purify water. 

You don’t even need to look at your medicine kit to know the paltry state it’s in. Far too many empties. 

Two:  A burning sensation that splits you wide open and threatens to eat you alive. 

You barely twist your foot the wrong way. Hardly at all. Regardless, something like liquid electro shoots from the twisted (broken, mutilated—) parts of your right foot, up your thigh, and shakes you down to your bones. 

You stumble, using the wall for support and keeping your weight off the injury. It shouldn’t be aggravated this early in the day. You shake it off from your ankle, lowering yourself to the dirt floor to massage out any of the tension and subsequent pain that you can. You’ll be able to walk, surely, but it’s getting harder and harder to deny that the old injury isn’t worsening over time. 

You remember, vaguely, hearing tell that there was a skilled healer in Mond once again. Younger, a Vision-bearer in the Church, maybe? 

You know enough about the Church of Favonius that they would at least look at your injury, if this half-remembered healer really does exist and is affiliated with them. 

You hate that Mondstadt seemed like the best option. 

(Later, you’ll realize it’s all a bit like fate, pushing you toward that stupid city.)

You find yourself at a loss, shake your head, and sigh, “... I guess it wouldn’t... really be so bad to visit.”

You’ll just stay for a day or two.

...

Mondstadt’s front gate is so familiar it nearly hurts. The guards have different faces than the ones you remember from your youth. Their demeanor is the same— kind, open, like how people from Mond tend to be. They don’t hound you too much as you pass, and you enter the city without issue. 

Midday sun lights Mondstadt proper when you arrive (your journey from the quarries took a bit longer than necessary, considering your route went wide around a particular plot of land that you refused to go near.)

The city bustles with noise and activity. Merchants line the streets, carts and stalls overflowing. Seafoam banners and floral wreaths hang along the stone arches and walls, while garlands of fresh flowers stretch from building to building. The scent of fresh flowers, baking bread, and sweet wine envelopes you.

Windblume, you remember. It is spring, after all.

You hope the crowds of the festival will help you blend in as you meander through the city. You keep your head down, counting cobblestones and being quick with your purchases. Better to get in and out, probably. If you can snag a new tarp and bedroll, you could set up across the bridge for the night, and be gone by morning if you could track down that healer within the afternoon too. 

As you walk up the main run of Mond proper, toward the fountain and the smell of warm spiced meat, someone, archons, gasps from behind you and says your name.

(Later, you’ll recall this moment. Perhaps kismet turned on its axis for you to still and—)

You freeze, going stiff. You’d know that voice anywhere. Sweet and teasing, curling down your spine in a way that feels both ambiently flirtatious and horribly familiar. 

Part of you screams to ignore her. Let her think she has the wrong person and continue your journey in Mond unimpeded by an old specter. You could be out the gates in a number of hours, if not minutes if you really need to (run, run, run).

But, there’s a temptation. It breathes itself alive, from the back of your mind to the front, entirely unavoidable. 

(How long has it been since you’ve seen a familiar face? One that you know instead of just recognizing?)

You turn slowly. “... Hi, Lisa.”

...

And, somehow, you end up in the Knight’s of Favonius headquarters, with a perfectly warm cup of tea in your hands, nestled in a library you hadn’t been inside for nearly a decade. It smells of old parchment and leather. Steam rises from your cup, fragrant with Sumeru rose and Guili cinnamon stick with black tea leaves. You recall the scholars of the Spantamad darshan favored this blend; you shared more than a cup or two during your visits to the Akademiya. 

Lisa settles in the seat across from you, with a small box of pastries that look sticky and sweet. Your mouth waters. 

“How have you been, dear?” Lisa gives you a soft look. “It’s been so long.”

So long, you add to yourself. Sitting across from Lisa is giving you a gut-twisting sense of deja vu that has your palms sweating.

“I’ve been well,” you say, gently. “Travelling, still.”

“Oh, how exciting.” Lisa smiles and lays her cheek on her palm. “What was your most recent destination?”

You hummed. “I recently went to Natlan’s capital, just for a few months. I ended up staying with a smith who gave me odd jobs in exchange for housing.”

“Oh, wow,” Lisa preens for you. “And before that? I apologize, dear, I’m not caught up with your journeys.”

Ah, the lack of letters.

“I apologize.” You rub your forehead. “I haven’t been writing lately. It’s been... hard to keep track of things, though it’s not an excuse.”

“I would disagree.” She flashes you a sympathetic smile. “You’ve been crisscrossing Teyvat; it makes perfect sense why you would struggle to keep in touch with folks. I’m sure you’ve met plenty of friends on your travels, too. I imagine you have lots to juggle.”

Lisa is partially correct, you suppose.

“You continue to give me so much amnesty— too kind,” you laugh, and lean back in your chair. 

Lisa looks a bit wistful as she puts down her cup in exchange for one of the pastries. You recognize the expression on her. You’ve only seen her wear it once before.

“How long are you staying in Mond?” Lisa asks, nodding down to the box. You leave the treats untouched.

“Not long.” You refuse to look at her as you answer, “Just for the day. I needed some supplies and Mondstadt was the most convenient.”

It’s a clinical answer. One you say intentionally, perfectly, so she can’t poke holes in your logic. You hope, pray, she doesn’t push back on your short visit. Any longer, and you might accidentally run into more faces you don’t wish to see. Lisa was tangentially related to... everything, but she was the least obtrusive person you could have run into. Still, you’re in the lion’s den, in the Ordo’s HQ, for a cup of tea, praying that you can slip in and out undetected outside of Lisa.

(It’s easier like this, you tell yourself. You can’t get twisted up in this place again.)

Lisa examines you, tracing you up and down with her gaze in a way that’s horribly disarming. If it was from anyone else, you’d think they were checking you out, especially with the sweet, upward quirk of her lips. But, this is Lisa, and you had forgotten how astute she is.

“Only a day? That’s a shame.” She sighs, sitting back and stirring the tiny spoon perched in her teacup. “It's Windblume. You should stay.”

“I could,” you muse and give her a sympathetic smile. “But, I don’t think it would be wise. It would be better if I got on my way quickly.”

She raises an eyebrow. “How far back would a few days in Mondstadt put you on your travel plans?” 

‘Plans’. 

You nearly bark out a laugh, but you keep it lodged in your throat. 

“Not terribly far, but I... I don’t want to stay, Lisa.” You reach across the table and squeeze her free hand. “It isn’t good for me to linger here.”

The look she gives you breaks your heart. Her brows wilt, her eyes get a little sadder, and she grips your hand unyieldingly. “... Are you sure, sweetheart? I’m sure the Knights could put together some lodging for you—”

She presses, and you hate the feeling of it. You know her kindness is not misplaced, but it makes you roll around in your skin regardless. Archons. You interrupt her with a tight smile, “Truly, Lisa, I am grateful for the offer, but I will be on my way come tomorrow morning. Perhaps another year.”

“Perhaps.”

You sip your tea in silence for a moment. You stew, barely, not at her specifically but circumstance. It boils just underneath your skin, just as it has been since you entered Mond’s border. Speaking to Lisa has only made the feeling grow and burn. 

You can’t meet her gaze— you can’t. You can feel it on you regardless. You know you’ll see more pity and maybe that familiar bite of anger she wields so well. 

“Why don’t you tell me when and how you got that Vision then?” She nods low, down to your waist. Your dendro Vision hums there, tied to you with a fraying, braided string that desperately needs replacing. 

There isn’t a problem with indulging a bit of... this, is there? You’re only sitting to chat. Drinking some tea. You can hunt for that healer and duck out of Mond’s walls by sundown. Easy. You pluck one of the buttery-looking pastries from the box and plop it on your plate. 

“Sure, but only if I can get a refill on this tea.” You smile and raise your cup.

...

You lose track of time, talking to Lisa. 

You do tell her how you obtained your Vision, and of your subsequent journey through Snezhnaya to its port following your graduation. She tells you some of the new gossip of Ordo Favonius, and that she’s been thinking about picking out a ring to give to Jean (though, she has a hunch the other already has one in mind. Lisa thinks it'll be fun to meddle with whatever precise plan the Acting Grand Master (nice) has in place.)

She continues to pour you tea and push more baked goods onto your plate. You enjoy them, and her company. It’s a rare treat to sit down for so long with nothing more than chatting on your mind. 

“How was studying in Snezhnaya?” Lisa asked, eyeing your various bags. “Cold, I imagine?”

“Very.” You grimace, fishing around in your satchel. “But, worth it.” 

You pull forth a palm-sized metal insignia. You keep it tucked away, most of the time, only flashing the thing when necessary. You only need legitimacy every so often.

“Oh, wow.” Lisa gawks a bit. “May I see?”

You hand it to her. “Be my guest.”

She studies the metal, running her fingertips along the edges where the different colors meet. Vibrant blues meet greens and whites, with pink and purple flowers cast around the bottom edge. The shape resembles something between a shield and wheel, with each one of its seven portions having some meaning for the institution. They escape you now. 

“I’ve heard that the Tselostnyy School is quite the place,” Lisa says. “No one at the Akademiya seemed fond of them, but I imagine it was out of some sort of insecurity.”

You snort. “Probably. Folks at Tselostnyy actually teach healing— not just study the human body for the sake of some academic pursuit. The two schools have opposing goals.”

It was one of the main reasons you declined to apply to the Akademiya at all. 

“I’m glad you found a place to study— I know it was hard, after Teacher passed away.” Lisa reaches out as she speaks, going for your hand. 

You withdrew your own from the tabletop, hiding it in your lap. “It was. But I managed.”

‘Managed.’

Lisa gives you a look that drips pity. She looks as though she’s going to reply, just as the door to enter the library clicks open. 

Your gut drops to the floor and your shoulders stiffen. 

“Lisa? Could you proofread this draft for me? I’m afraid I sound too formal again—” It’s Jean, it’s Jean.

It’s her voice, the distantly familiar click of her hard heels against the wood flooring. You bunch the fabric of your trousers in your fist, forcibly reminding yourself to breathe. Jean walks from behind you, rounds the table, stops at Lisa’s side and looks at you. 

Jean’s eyes widen.

“Oh, sorry sweetheart— I’m a bit busy with a friend right now,” Lisa says easily, oblivious (seemingly, probably not.) She gestures to you and winks. “I can take a look after lunch, if you can take a break with me.” 

Jean says your name— gasping it more or less, tightening her grip on the document in her hands. 

“... Hi, Jean.” You give her a little wave. “How have you been?”

It’s bittersweet, the feeling that curls and grows in your chest as she brightens and pulls up a chair next to Lisa. It’s familiar and rotten, all the same.

...

The commotion in the library brings other visitors.

Lisa wears a smitten smile as other knights make their way into the library. Aramia and Flyn— they look older, long grown out of their adolescence and more into their skin. Hertha has crinkles around her eyes that grow tight when she recognizes who you are. 

The Spark Knight barrels in the room being lazily chased by—

Kaeya.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck— 

He scoops up the little knight and turns to the tea table, now surrounded by familiar faces, and you can see he has his lips pursed for some sort of teasing quip. Probably at the expense of the Ordo’s acting Grand Master and Librarian.

Then, Kaeya sees you. 

You watch his jaw snap shut. Whatever clever thing he had to say dies on his tongue and you watch it. It’s a little satisfying after all this time. You’ll cherish this moment, you think. The split second of confusion, the realization, the shock and— the guilt.

He wipes the expression off his face easily, as if it were never there to begin with. But you’ll revel in his discomfort. Your own little revenge, several years too late.

“Oh, wow—” Kaeya whistles, clicking closer and settling Klee on his hip with a bounce. He says your name almost breathlessly. “Little sister, it’s been quite some time. We’ve missed you.”

“Did you?” You tilt your head. “That’s surprising.”

You hold your tongue. You dig your teeth into the sides of it, forcing yourself quiet. The feeling that’s boiling in your chest won’t be extinguished by verbally thrashing Kaeya in the middle of the Knight’s HQ— but, Archons—

It’s tempting.

“‘Sister’?” The little knight’s nose scrunches. “Mister Kaeya, you said you only had Diluc, who’s only kinda your brother. No sisters!”

“He’s teasing me,” you placate her, voice sweetening. The little knight looks at you with wide eyes, a little awed. “‘Mister Kaeya’ is an old friend of mine, we played together lots when we were little like you.”

An oversimplification, of course. Little Klee doesn’t need to know what happened after the sun-swept days of sword fighting and house ended at the winery. Kaeya’s air quickly fades as Klee squirms down and asks kindly for a hug. You don’t think she can remember you— you only held her once, when she was so small— but you know her kind age and remember so differently from your own.

“Why are you in town?” Kaeya asks. “I thought I’d never seen you within city limits again. Color me surprised.”

You lock your jaw, as Klee bounds away from you and wrestles her way onto Jean’s lap, “Passing through, is all. I’ll be gone by morning.”

“... So, you’re not staying for Windblume?” Kaeya sits, pouring himself a cup of tea. You think you might hate him. “That’s a shame.” 

“I’m not,” you clarify and roll your eyes. “Though everyone is insisting that I do.”

“You really should.” Lisa takes the opening and insists, “It would be lovely to have you.”

Of the group that has congested in the library, you only hear agreement. Jean has a bright look in her eye that makes you shy away. 

“I... I really shouldn’t.” 

“Why not?” Kaeya grins, foxlike. You think he just likes making you squirm.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” Jean inquires, setting her chin on her fist.

“Well, no—” There’s always somewhere for you to be. You can’t stay. You shouldn’t even be here now. 

“Then, stay.” Eula leans against the doorframe, entered at some point. 

You’re being thoroughly peer-pressured, it seems. 

“...I’m being bullied into staying for Windblume, aren’t I?”

“Perhaps.” Jean gives you a sheepish grin. “You’re missed, Windblume is just an excuse.”

You ache. 

“Stay in the city, enjoy some wine,” Lisa insists. “Catch up with folks. I’d love to see more of you while you’re here. I’m sure you have stories to share of your travels.”’

You barter, “... If I do stay, I need to find a healer. I heard that there’s a skilled one, living in Mond. A Vision holder.”

Jean opens her mouth, but Kaeya speaks first. “Done.”

You consider. 

You’re fully aware that your arm is being horribly twisted into staying for Windblume. You know this is unwise. But—

(There’s something to it. Something you can’t admit it to, not aloud, not yet— but being in a room full of people who do not see you as a stranger, but rather an old friend. They know your name, and you know theirs. There’s something to knowing the streets you will walk if you stay. Familiarity is a wretched comfort.)

“If you need lodging, the knights could easily put you up in the dormitories,” Jean offers.

“No, I—” You sigh, scrubbing a hand down your cheeks. “I appreciate the gesture, but if I do stay I’ll camp outside the city.”

“So you’re staying?” Klee’s eyes shine. 

“I—”

“In that case, come out for drinks tonight,” Kaeya insists with a sly smile that makes you want to eat glass. “I’ll buy a round.”

“Wait—”

“Angel’s Share does bring out its Windblume vintage tonight—” Lisa says enticingly. 

“Absolutely not.” You smack your hand on the table, far louder than you intend. 

Kaeya cocks his head, amused. Lisa and Jean share a look, and the rest of the knights look a bit bewildered. You hate to raise your voice, but Archons, this crowd can be pushy.

“I’ll stay. But I’m not going to Angel’s Share.” Never ever again.

Lisa does seem to notice her error in suggesting it and gives you an apologetic smile. She reaches for your hand and squeezes. You feel a bit lighter.

“Diluc won’t be there,” Kaeya states. On the nose. “He doesn’t bartend on weeknights, even during Windblume.”

“... Really?”

“He doesn’t,” Eula corroborates. “I have knowledge as well that he is in the middle of merchant deals with a group from Natlan. There is no reason to think he’d be at Angel’s Share this evening, if that’s your concern.”

You pick at the skin around your nails. 

“I’ll think about it.”

(You agree, by the time you leave Ordo HQ. After many other promises of free wine and dancing, you find it hard to refuse. It doesn’t hurt that you confirm with multiple others that Diluc doesn’t bartend on weeknights. That he’s been caught up in business, and hasn’t been in the city much at all.)

...

You had enough mora for a few nights of lodging. You figured that Goth may have even given you a discount, as an old friend of his. Archons know how many times you worked odd jobs for him and his sons, patching up walls and the occasion twisted ankle or jammed finger. 

After some searching, you find Goth in one of the many gardens of Mond proper. As happy as he is to see you, he regretfully informs you that he has no free lodging. 

“Windblume has booked out all of my short-term properties,” Goth sighs. “Unless you’re looking for a minimum six-month lease, I don’t have any rooms available.”

(Goth explains to you that the goddamn Fatui has rented out the entirety of his hotel... indefinitely? Upfront? Hence the lack of a room.)

You tell him it’s no trouble, wave off his concern. You don’t mind a few more nights of camping. The only allure of an inn or hotel was the possibility of consistently bathing and a soft mattress. 

You pick a spot outside of Mondstadt proper to set up your camp. There are many tents already set up— travelers, like yourself, here for the festival. You recognize colors and fabrics from all over Teyvat. It warms something in you, that you aren’t alone in being an outsider here.

(Such a thought feels wrong, because it is, isn’t it? You aren’t an outsider at all. This is your home. The only place you’re not an outsider.) 

You struggle to set up your tent, and decide to leave it for later. Wandering around Mond for the afternoon aggravated your injury, and you instead take the time to poke around in your medicine kit for a quick tincture. Something to settle the—

(Burning, screeching pain that tracks up your leg. You’re grateful the other travelers aren’t watching how you collapse against a pile of discarded crates, barely holding back a hiss of pain.)

(It’s getting worse, isn’t it?)

Teacher always said that nothing was harder on sickness and wounds than stress. It was a wisdom you remembered but barely heeded.

You use the dropper and place the tincture under your tongue. It tastes bitter and coats your throat as you swallow. 

...

The sun rains gold on Mond as you meander toward the Angel’s Share. Liquid amber that coats the buildings and cobblestones. It’s nostalgic in too many ways, and it makes something behind your ribs ache.

(You’re hit with the distinct urge to run. To turn tail and leave Mondstadt forever, again.)

You shove it down, swallow it whole, and bear it. Bear it. Not forever, just for a few days. You can catch up with some old friends, leave any old scores unsettled and untouched (undisturbed, unthought about—), and depart. Maybe even fix up your foot in the process.

You hesitate outside of Angel’s share.

It looks different than you remember. The door and its frame have been replaced, the door and its frame hardly ached. There’s a message board outside that you can’t recall being there previously. A wreath hangs on the door, woven with blue and white flowers for Windblume.

You want it to be different. You do. Because if things are different, walking into Angel’s Share wouldn’t feel so daunting. You could pretend that this horribly familiar tavern was someplace else entirely. Maybe even delude yourself into thinking that this little building was its own, unique, carved-out square during one of your travels. A fantasy where you’ve never been here before.

(The warmth under your disgust wouldn’t feel so misplaced then.)

You enter.

It’s lively, bustling with patrons of all types with the festival beginning so soon. You recognize clothes and people from all corners of Teyvat, and it comforts you once more. You blend in easily, lingering near the door, and peek at the bar.

Diluc is nowhere to be seen. Another barkeep mans the kegs, barrels, and bottles. You don’t recognize him— which brings you some relief. 

It would be easy. To be delusional about this whole thing. That Angel’s Share could be just a tavern in the middle of nowhere and the faces that are around you have no chance of being familiar. You’re in a sea of folks who are travelers, just like, or mostly unfamiliar. You could, couldn’t you? Tell yourself that this isn’t a place where—

(You had your first drink. Learned how to mix cocktails with Crepus. Play fought Diluc and Kaeya in the rafters on the third floor. Where you last saw Diluc—)

You clutch a hand to your chest. Who knew that emotional pain could be so violently physical? 

Jean calls your name from across the room, pulling you from your stupor. You meet her eyes, and the smile you force to meet your eyes feels a little more genuine.

With the call of your name, several other patrons look up and gawk for a moment. You get a few more ‘oh hello!’s and ‘I didn’t know you were in town!’ thrown your way and you give them all sheepish smiles. Faces you can’t place very well. Features and familiar expressions mutilated by time and a botched memory. It makes you feel sick to your stomach— archons, and you haven’t even sampled this year’s selection of thousand-wind’s wine, have you? 

Jean flashes you a sympathetic look when you finally make it to their table. The table is flushed full— intimidatingly so. The knights have come out tonight. Lisa and Jean cozy up on the same bench seat, while Kaeya (die) and Albedo sit across from the two. You offer the alchemist a timid wave, which he returns in kind. Some of the other knights have spilled out to the tables around you, chattering away with wine-stained lips.

And the night’s still young.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d show,” Kaeya practically purrs (choke) and leans closer to you on an elbow. “Were you able to find some lodging for the festival?”

“Yeah, I found something that will work.” It’s not technically a lie. Besides, they don’t need to know where you’re sleeping.

Kaeya raises an eyebrow and Albedo elbows him politely in the ribs. You make a note to buy him a drink later.

“I’ll get this round,” Lisa says, standing and grabbing you by the arm. “My treat. A welcome home present.”

You let her tug you through the crowd.

You end up seated properly at a barstool while Lisa orders. She wove her way through the crowd and up to the bar so easily, like liquid. You hardly have to wait at all before a drink is passed to you across the bar top.

You gulp half the glass down, greedily.

You, notably, have chosen not to cessate from dandelion wine in your absence. It was a rare treat to come across outside of Mond and Liyue, so when you could get your hands on glass, you let yourself partake. Whatever melancholy it brought with it could be tempered with more of it anyways.

It goes down easy— it always does. Thicker than other wines, sweet but bodied, with some type of nutty and berry note to it. You never understood the process of winemaking, despite so many years spent at the winery. When Crepus or Diluc or one of the staff attempted to explain, it all easily went over your head. 

The tannins sour your cheeks. You swallow down another mouthful, greedy, and slam down your empty goblet. Lisa looks at you wide-eyed.

“I don’t recall that you were ever much of a drinker,” Lisa remarks as she flags down another glass for you. She sips her own, mischief in her eyes. 

You shrug, nodding to the barkeep who fills your cup. “I indulge, occasionally. Forgive me for needing a drink in this environment.”

You gesture to the carousing around you. A lyre and fiddle play in the corner, and you distinctly hear two different bard songs. One is significantly better than the other, and you may have even enjoyed it if you could hear it fully. 

Being near the bar forces you to see changes. They’re hard to not notice. The signage behind the bar has changed. An old menu and drink list have been changed out for something sleeker. Paintings and their frames replaced. The glass you’re drinking out must be new, along with the tankards that the barkeep washes whenever he has a free moment.

There are still ghosts in the corners.

“Gods, you look like a wet towel.” Kaeya’s shouts, nearly in your goddamn ear, as he slips into the empty seat next to you. He drapes an arm over your shoulders like you’re old friends and not the byproducts of a dissolved relationship. You think about shrugging his arm off, but decide against it. 

You throw back the rest of whatever is in your glass and shout for another.

Kaeya catches your eye for a moment with a nearly unreadable expression. You recognize it (and concur that you need to be far more drunk than you currently are in order to survive the evening.) His brow lays smooth, lips in a not-quite smile, and his posture is a bit too rigid. You know he’s picking you apart, albeit quietly.

The expression disappears a moment later, and he has a new bottle of wine in his hands (“For you, little sister.”) Your cup fills yet again, and you drink.

The world begins to feel fuzzier, easier, and the pain in your foot and leg dulls. God, you try not to indulge in drinking too often (it’s simply a recipe for reliance, given your condition. Regardless, you're a physician who knows better than to turn to the bottle rather than medicine), but you feel the temptation of it occasionally. 

It’s an easy friend to indulge in under these circumstances.

One of the bards, the one with loose braids, strikes up a conversation with Kaeya, looping you in with an exchange of introduction. Your cheeks warm when you notice the slur of your words, sipping your cup to disguise any embarrassment. The bard must be drunk, with how much sweet wine he drinks, but he hardly acts it. Poised.

Lisa pats you on your back after your fourth glass, seemingly pitying you in your stupor. 

The good bard, at some point, leaves Kaeya’s side. Kaeya’s back to leaning into yours, the furs of his outfit prickling your nose. If you were sober, you’d be spewing curses at him. But in your drunken mind... it was fine. Fine. Maybe the warmth of him against your side wasn’t entirely unwelcome either.

You loosen up, whether you want to or not. 

Lisa drags you out of your stool after your fifth drink, to take pulls off a pipe a traveler offers and to dance with her in the main room of the tavern. The bards play a duet now, in tune, though the good bard from earlier carries the performance.

You laugh as she twirls you, dipping you near the floor. Some of the patrons cheer and whistle at the move, and you let loose a giggle that never would’ve left you in your right mind. Her face swims before you. Your insides are warm. Things are okay, maybe. For now.

So, you dance.

You dance with Jean and Kaeya, even dragging Hertha in for a round. Eula refuses, though apologetically. She’s a bit too drunk herself, and Amber insists on staying by her side to nurse her with water and pyro-warmed pets to the back of her neck.

(Do you envy them? Maybe. The skinship of it seems nice. They’re so familiar with each other, even from a distance. So lax and tender with each other even within such a setting. You cannot imagine receiving such treatment.)

Kaeya spins you back to the bar and buys you another glass.

“You dance better than you used to,” he croons in your ear. “even with that dreadful limp of yours.”

You bark out a laugh and punch him in the arm with hardly any force (you’ll regret not making it hurt more, later). “Wow, and here I thought wine curbed your silver tongue.”

“Unlike some, I can hold my liquor just fine.” He shrugs and sips.

You, on the other hand, turn the corner from ‘tipsy’ to ‘blasted’ as you hit the bottom of your goblet. Your stomach churns, spelling a hangover that will rot your stomach and the space between your eyes come the morning. The room doesn’t spin, not quite yet. 

You lay your forehead on the bartop. 

“Aw, had a bit too much?” Kaeya tsks. “How unfortunate of you, to not know your limits, even after all this time.”

You grumble something unintelligible. 

He sets a cold hand on the nape of your neck and your ground yourself on it.

(You can regret it in the morning.)

You have absolutely no idea what time it is, though the tavern is still rowdy. You imagine late, at least near the high moon if not into the early morning. Windblume was a celebration of drinking after all. Angel’s Share stays lively, despite the hour, though the drone of voices and folk songs becomes lost on you as your eyes slip shut.

Amongst the din, there’s a firm thud— the sound of wood on wood. Another sounds just after, though much closer and more shallow. You only make out the sound because of its old familiarity. The sound of the counter flap falling and straining its hinges. It must be one of the only pieces of original hardware from the old Angel’s share— the sound is identical to the one in your memory (maybe, you’re drunk, you may just be nostalgic—)

The barkeep (Charles, he told you his name though you didn’t give him yours) shuffles away, maybe, based on the thump of feet amongst the roar of the tavern. A shift change.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d show.” Kaeya’s hand leaves you. You can hear the grin in his voice.

There’s a huff from behind the bar. The clink of a glass. A squeak as it’s dried and shined with a rag.

“Do you think I’m unreliable?” 

Your eyes stretch open, wide, in a flash. Horrible, wretched familiarity (with the way a voice can bring you so much anguish and warmth in tandem.) You don’t look up. You stare down at the floorboards, count the grains and notches in the wood. Steady your breathing. 

You know that voice.

You look up, slowly, against all better judgment. If you were sober (Archons, if you were fucking sober—) you would’ve turned, held your eyes shut and ran out of the bar without looking back. You would’ve never dared to peak and pull the thread that dangled in front of you.

He’s blurry, but he’s there. A trim waist that leads up to broad shoulders, arms that bulge more than you remember, scarlet hair that falls in waves from a high-tied ribbon. Scarlet eyes, cut and polished like rubies. 

It’s Diluc, who meets your gaze for the first time in almost a decade. Just as shocked and wide-eyed as you are. 

The glass slips from his hands and shatters.

PART iii: the World (born)

You met Diluc Ragnvindr when you were just children, doing what children do best— playing while the adults talked.

Your parents— traveling merchants— and Crepus Ragnvindr sat down for wine and sweet rum after a lavish supper. Your parents shooed you off. They didn’t need you clinging to their legs while trying to discuss the intricacies of a potential (and lucrative) contract with Dawn Winery and its splendid dandelion wine.

Crepus takes you under his wing a bit, showing your parents to a fine vintage and you to his two boys.

“They like to play in the vineyard this time of day,” Crepus says, a bit wistful. He leads you by the hand. “The crystalflies soar lower when the sun dips beyond the hills, and the fireflies come out.”

You like fireflies.

He shows you out to the courtyard, and you catch sight of two boys scampering around amongst the greenery. Crepus calls them and they both dutifully bound over, the way young boys do, enthusiastic and fast. The one with the pretty blue hair follows the one with the pretty red hair.

Crepus introduces you. Kaeya. Diluc.

Diluc has round cheeks and a soft jaw. He carries baby fat still, pudgy in his arms and legs and round in his belly. His cheeks are flushed with the late summer’s heat and a day of play. He has a brush of freckles over the bridge of his nose and cheeks. His hair is shorter than it will become, but long enough that you think your mother would envy him.

His eyes widen when he sees you. You’ll never be sure why.

(Kismet turned for him earlier, maybe. All it took was you.)

You spend the evening with your side wedged into Diluc's, watching the lazy flight of anemo crystalflies by the water. You tell the boys about the constellations you know, and make up a few that you don’t. You trace them in the sky with the tip of your pointer finger. You ask to braid Diluc’s hair and he lets you. 

Crepus finds you all, just after dusk, dozing as the fireflies begin to dance.

...

Your family visits the winery several times each year. You enjoy the visits immensely. You’ve grown quite close to the Ragnvindr’s, and Kaeya too. You always barrel off your family’s wagon, running ahead of them to greet the boys, who are always waiting for you too.

You play swords with them, though you aren’t any good at it. You always bring them trinkets from wherever you and your family have been. You like to gift Crepus a book or two as well, though you don’t know what they’re about. You choose them based on the covers.

Diluc lights up when you hand him a little shell from Liyue’s shore. You tell him about the cliffs where you found it, and how you’ll go there together some day. You’ll show him the geometric columns of stone that seem to climb all the way to Celestia. You will show him where the sand bars become one with the sea, and how to dig for crabs and shells with your bare hands. 

Diluc likes you, you think. He always lets you slip into his room after the manor has fallen asleep. You sit across from one another on the velvet window bench. You hug a pillow while he tells you about how he’ll start training as a knight soon. He holds a vision now— he pats it with pride. 

(He tells you how he obtained his vision in your absence. The first time he picked up a sword against an adversary, it appeared to him. It’s a grand thing, brave. He was protecting one of his favorite stray winery kittens from a boar near the edge of the property. He raised his rubber training sword and he was granted Celestia’s blessing.)

You think he’s lovely.

...

The boys start training with Ordo Favonius. They practice with the Gunnhildr girl, the older one, who wears a ribbon in her hair and has eyes like midday sky. She’s a few years older than you, and intimidates you with her maturity, but she’s kind. 

The older knights let you watch their training when your family visits. You post up during their drills, watch their forms, their blunders, and their successes. A knight named Varka always takes Diluc aside to teach him how to best wield his vision with his weapon of choice. 

(A greatsword. A claymore. It’s almost your size, probably. The one Diluc uses during training is Favonius issued, smithed with their crest near the base of the blade. You know the one he’ll really use. A family relic that Crepus brought up from storage for him— a rectangular blade, metal cast in black and red, with an elaborate furl stretching from the hilt. Crepus asks Diluc to wield it when he’s ready.)

Kaeya offers you his sword, one day, at the end of training. The junior knights soak in their own sweat as you take the blade from Kaeya. The knights make it look so effortless to wield such weaponry. They carry it at the hip like it's an accessory and not carved metal. When you wrap your hand around it, the weight shocks you. You barely heft it up, struggling with the balance of it. The trainees rib you a bit for it, and it makes you blush hot and hard.

Diluc scolds Kaeya, taking the blade from you when it's clear that brandishing it one-handed as intended is close to impossible for you. You feel some relief when Kaeya takes it back and shrugs. 

“You won’t have to worry about wielding a weapon like that— ever.” Diluc says on your way home (home, home, home, it’s becoming your home—) that day. “Especially a sword.”

“Why?” You ask.

“I’ll make sure you never have to.”

“Hm... what if I want to?” You try to be cheeky with him.

He gives you a playful shove and you bump into Kaeya. The latter groans and makes a choking sound.

“You don’t,” Diluc replies, flashing you a smile. “If you did, you would’ve played swords with Kaeya and I more when we were little. You always liked to watch.”

“It’s more fun that way!” You hip check him. “It’s interesting to see all of it, rather than participate.”

“Yeah, sure,” Kaeya chimes in. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with how weak your arms are.” 

He squeezes your bicep and you shriek at him, chasing him ahead down the path. You squabble all the way home (home, home, home), rolling down the hills back into the Winery’s valley. You belly laugh together, tears in your eyes. It’s good. 

You only go silent when you notice your family’s wagon, packed and ready for departure, idling in front of the winery. 

...

You don’t travel well, you never have. 

Your parents had informed Crepus of this during your first visit (“Never well, even when my wife my pregnant— the little thing gave her the hardest time on the road.”) Despite this, you had always meandered with your family on their circuit from Liyue to Mond. 

One of your visits to the winery, just around the turn of your childhood to adolescence, you fall ill.

Your parents brush off your complaints upon arrival. Chills, aches, and a cough— “It’s from the rain. Your clothes are still damp.”. Your usually lively arrival was dulled. You barely touched the dinner Crepus provided before retiring to your favored room.

You hate being sick. You hate how your gut churns and you feel so cold, despite the fire one of the maid’s stoked in the big fireplace. You sniffle and snot over the back of your hand, fighting tears. You fall ill so frequently, but it doesn’t make it easier. Even your softest clothes feel scratchy against your tender skin— you feel horribly breakable. 

There’s a gentle knock on your door before it opens. Diluc joins you by your bedside, kneeling, watching you with wide ruby eyes.

“My father told me you’re sick,” he says gently. “You don’t look well.”

You give him a wilted look. “It happens.”

“... It shouldn’t,” Diluc says with a conviction that your fever forces you to miss. “He says that you get sick often.”

“I don’t travel well.” You parrot what you heard your parents say a thousand times, to innkeepers and merchant-folk alike. “It’s alright, Diluc. I’ll be well in a few days.”

Your teeth chatter. You bury yourself deeper in the covers.

Diluc looks unconvinced. He disrobes as much as is proper, and asks quietly if he can join you. He’s warm, from his pyro vision, he tells you. He can see how cold you feel.

Whether he had such a vision or not, you would’ve said yes.

You pull away the duvet, inviting Diluc closer. It’s innocent, a sharing of heat. You press your forehead to his chest and he lets his arms fall naturally to your waist. It cages you. It feels safe and warm, and you don’t think you’ve felt that before.

You give him the smallest ‘thank you’, voice burnt and charred with fever. Diluc chases off the chill and embers alike, replaces them with the hearth that he will become to you, and you think that kismet might’ve shifted for you then, too. 

...

You leave, a few days later, still sick. 

You return, several months later, still sick.

Whatever cold you had during your last visit had metastasized— or so your parents say. They seem moderately unconcerned as they sort through the inventory they’ll be taking for their run.

Crepus doesn’t look convinced. 

Diluc helps you inside. You barely hold yourself on two feet, and need to stop and catch your breath several times. Kaeya loops his arm over your neck and Diluc hoists you by the waist, and the two nearly drag you to your room. 

A doctor is called, a healer from Mond that knows the Ragnvindr’s well. Diluc and Kaeya stay by your side as the healer draws up tincture and grinds down herbs and oils into a soft balm to slather on your chest. 

Diluc lays with you in bed again that night, over the covers, not daring to touch you. You seem so fragile, only half-there in the room with him. He resents your parents horribly for allowing you to carelessly decline in such a state. It shows in the way his expression twists into a scowl whenever they’re within his vicinity.

...

Crepus offers his home to you— no, rather he insists.

You’re still ill, lungs gunky and fever hardly waned, by the time your family deigns it time to leave. They plan to cart you along, never mind your condition. Diluc, if he had less restraint, would’ve cursed them out in the winery’s foyer. 

(The wet sound of your breathing. The little whimpers when your fever spiked, signaling that it was time for more of the tincture the healer left behind. The way you balled your fist in his nightshirt during the worst of it.)

Crepus says it’ll be no trouble to house you, for however long you need. You’ve always taken to the winery easily, and clearly need a stable place to recover from your illness. He enjoys taking in a stray or two. One more, especially one he thinks so fondly of and that he knows his boys adore, is simply a blessing, not a burden.

...

Diluc ascends to cavalry captain of the Knights of Favonius just around the time that you make a full recovery. 

It takes months— for both of you. Diluc patrols and trains with the knights when he’s not by your side. He’s incredibly well-regarded by Mond, beloved by his fellow knights and the townsfolk as well. He has ample support from all around, and his father glows with pride. 

(Diluc bears the weight of his father’s expectations well. You don’t even notice Diluc squirm under the pressure of it. It all seems to come naturally to him— being a hero.)

You see your healer every few days, drink your teas and diligently rest while you recover. The illness sticks in your lungs and you take to reading up on medicinal plants and potential treatments. It gives you some understanding of the remedies that your healer makes for you. Your healer finds you promising, despite your sickly state, and offers you an apprenticeship, if you choose to pursue such a profession.

It’s success after success, a time bathed in thick gold sun that feels as warm as it tastes.

You and Diluc dance at his ascension celebration. He holds you by the waist, clumsy like the young man he is, but you don’t mind. You loop your arms over his shoulders, memorizing the blush that paints his cheeks, and the dimples that carve them. You twirl him under your arm and laugh up to the sun and moon alike. You pull the ribbon from his hair so it unfurls over his shoulder. You run your hands through it without a care.

(Diluc looks at you, when you’re not looking at him, with such a reverence. You can’t see it yet, but it’s a burgeoning thing. Love and devotion caramelized by innocence, by want and need intertwined. He doesn’t know how to say how he feels, not yet; the feelings are still loose and undefined. But smoldering kindling he is.)

...

Crepus offers his home to you, permanently. You have taken to it so well, and his boys— his boys adore you. The staff does. You have so much growing for you in Mond, it seems silly to pack up your belongings small and tight so you can ride out on merchants circuit once more. Only to return sick once more.

You accept, hesitant at first. It’s a scary thing to give up the life you’ve known, even if the one Crepus extends to you is far more comfortable. Your parents have no qualms. You think they enjoyed your absence too much. They seem content to leave you at Dawn Winery, promising to continue their circuit, so you’d see them a few times a year.

It makes something in your ache and cry, but there’s many things to balm it in the manor. A warm fire and Adelinde’s recipes, along with whatever new tarts and sweets Crepus brings home from Mondstadt proper— they all make it easier. Good company too. Kaeya always has new ideas for schemes and little adventures. Crepus brings you gifts and makes sure you’re settling in well to your new space. Diluc is ever-dutifully at your side, whatever the circumstance, and you at his. 

You still sneak into Diluc’s room in the late night. You nestle up, side by side, on his plush window bench. You link pinkies and talk about everything.

...

“I thought this one was a bit boring.” You look up to Diluc, backwards, craning your neck. “The love interest was a bit shallow for me.”

“I agree,” Diluc answers from above you. He shuts the book deftly with one hand. “This author’s pieces usually have a bit more depth to them. This one was a bit flat.”

You tend to come to the same conclusion on the stories you share.

The Small Study (ow, ow, ow, ow) is a room most near Crepus’ wing of the manor. It’s exactly as it sounds— a small study. Something Diluc’s mother made sure was constructed for him, prior to her leaving. Floor to ceiling bookshelves line the walls, with a long table slicing the room in two. When you were young, very young, you, Diluc, and Kaeya would sit at the table and write your own stories. Color with paints that Crepus bought for you from Snezhnaya on recycled receipts and old ledgers. 

These days, the table is mostly bare and a bit dusty. You use it more than Diluc, though most of your studying with your teacher happens at their cottage, in Mond proper. Diluc and Kaeya have a training room a few doors down, one that Crepus constructed, with mats and straw targets, and more armaments than Ordo Favonius probably knows about. 

Most of your time in the Small Study is spent in the corner, tucked close to each other. You have amassed an impressive number of spare sheets, pillows, and blankets, and have constructed what could only be called a nest. You and Diluc take to lounging on it in the mornings and evenings, when you both have the time. You read together. Sometimes you aloud to him, and sometimes him aloud to you.  

Diluc’s voice has taken to breaking lately. You find it adorable and can’t help teasing him about it.

“I’ll have to hunt for a new novel at the markets today.” You sigh. The sun is rising above the cliffs, bathing the shelves and columns of dust ichor gold. You throw your hand up, watching the beam soak your skin warm.

Diluc catches your wrist and brings the back of your hand to his lips. 

Little things, skinship, he likes. He never says anything much about it, only asks quietly if it's alright that he keeps such proximity to you. You eat it up, his heat, his presence— you want all of it. You’re gluttonous in your youth (you have yet to know starvation.)

“Be careful on patrol today, okay? I’m helping Adelinde make that sweet bread you like before I visit Teacher.” You huff, maneuvering to you’re at his eye level. You tug his cheek, still soft with baby fat. “You better not have any extra bruises when I pick you up today.”

“I’ll try.” He rolls his eyes. “Even if I do, you’ll patch me up, won’t you?” 

“I could have Teacher do it,” you huff. “I know you don’t like how rough they can get with you.”

Diluc scoffs, “They don’t like me—”

“They like you plenty—” 

You squabble, soft in your chests, because it's all easy and slow. The romance novel gets tucked away into an overflowing shelf, bulging with others that you’ve already finished. 

Kaeya is shining his blade in the armory, and you collect him before heading to Mondstadt proper. It’s a routine, each day, one that you enjoy and cling to. You enjoy your training and you feel only pride seeing your boys bud and grow in their strength. You fight, like young ones of your age do, but it's all in jest. Simple. Your squabbles get settled with wrestling by the river or when Crepus intervenes and fathers the three of you.

It’s good and you never want it to end.

...

Diluc grows into himself. He’s gangly in his teen years— long arms and bulging shoulder blades he’s yet to grow into. The pudge he’d had around his belly has disappeared, sucked away by a growth spurt or two. He grows a bit more into his frame, each year closer to adulthood that he gets. Muscle building on muscle. 

Teacher says you’re doing well with your studies. You pour over books on medicinal herbs and medical techniques during the day, and watch Teacher heal when patients are around. You become adept enough to see patients on your own, for small injuries. 

You fix up Diluc whenever he comes home to you. Cuts. Bruises. The odd fracture or two. He’s the person you ever stitch a wound together for. He doesn’t flinch. So trusting.

...

Crepus gets odd, at some point. You’re almost old enough to be considered an adult. He starts asking you questions you know the answer to, but it seems like he’s seeking something other than the truth. Sentiments that he wants to squeeze out of you, to satiate something in him that you can clearly see, but don’t know how to name.

(He’s a businessman— is it in his nature to be greedy—?)

(Forget. Forget. Forget.)

...

You wish it had stayed so kind and good for longer. You wish you appreciated it more, but you didn’t fully understand the goodness laid before you until it was so brutally ripped away from you. 

The night Diluc turns eighteen, your world shatters. Burns. Immolates while you lay drunkenly dozing in a friend's warm bed. You don’t greet the wreckage until you awaken. Alone, drowning and with a new pang in your stomach.

PART iii: the stitch the wound the burning

You instantly slam your hands on the bartop. You whip your head around to Kaeya. He wears a wide, awful grin. So fucking smitten with himself.

You hate him. 

“Fuck you,”  you snap. 

You push up, knocking the bar stool over with a bang. You turn on a heel and run from the tavern. Wordless.

(You run. You should’ve run. You should’ve never come back. Ever.)

You know the display caused enough of a ruckus that Angel’s Share fell nearly silent as you left. You know that your vision shuddered out of your control, sending dendro to liven the flowers around the tavern. It felt sick. To know that the blooms would be wider and more beautiful while you ran. Running, running, running. 

Lisa and Jean, maybe, shout your name as you sprint away. You ignore them— you have to. The temptation to turn back and face them drowns in the wine that churns in your stomach. Your breath feels too hot and heavy in your lungs, like lead and steam. You feel like you might die.

(Diluc in the same room as you. Diluc in front of you.  Not a ghost, a breathing body. Flesh. He would’ve been a bit too warm, to the touch. You know him to be. He’d grown so much— how much had you missed? Archons, you miss him—)

You barely get out of Mondstadt proper before you bracing yourself on one its outer walls, forcing your finger down your throat, and heaving your guts out onto the high grass. All of the splendid wine you sampled color the ground blood red, surely staining your lips. Tears drip from your lash line. You feel sticky as you draw your fingers from your throat, spit and dribble sliding down your wrist. 

You curse and shake. 

You wipe your hands down on your trousers and scrub at your lips with the edge of your sleeve. You spit pretty scarlet and nearly hurl again.

The sun has set, and the dark is a comfort. It cloaks you, allowing you to duck easily between shadows and firelight that other travelers warm themselves by. No one looks at you twice. You’re sure you seem like a drunkard, not— Not whatever you are. You drag yourself back to your campsite.

You fall to the ground, drawing up your good leg by the knee and press your forehead to it.

Fuck.

Fuck the healer. Fuck Windblume. Fuck seeing any friends or familiar faces. You discard the plans, crushing them down until you decide they’re not worth it. None of this was worth it. If you’d only ducked in and out of Mondstadt’s market, you wouldn’t have met Lisa. Gotten twisted up with Kaeya. Dared to enter Angel’s Share. Seen Diluc.

You knew the mere sight of him would send you. You knew. You feel foolish. Stupid. If you were a fraction more sober, you would’ve dragged yourself out of self pity and set up camp for the night. Instead you stew. You swallow back dread and bile and clutch your shoulders.

(You always knew this was a risk, coming back here, didn’t you? That’s why you never dared to even get near Mondstadt’s borders. Now you’ve done it.)

You certainly have.

You rub your eyes again, grimacing at the taste in your mouth. Forcing yourself up is a task, especially trying to keep weight off of your (now very) bad foot. You struggle to balance, propping yourself up on a pile of discarded crates and get to work setting up your campsite for the night. You resolve to sleep until dawn, pack up, and be on your way. You’ll head back to Liyue and catch a boat out of the harbor. You’ll go anywhere. Do anything. 

(To be far away from here.)

You struggle with your tent and tarp. It’s infinitely harder to set up your sleeping arrangements when you’re hobbling around on one leg. Emptying your stomach of its content has made you lightheaded (or, it's the panic that is thick and porous in your blood. Burrowing into your flesh. Will you even be able to sleep tonight?) You fight to keep your breath steady as you struggle to stake the tarp into the dirt.

Someone says your name from behind you. Breathes it like it's lighter than air, weighted like a gospel.

You turn, for the second time, against better judgment.

Diluc stands above you, wearing the same shocked expression he had in Angel’s Share. 

Your lips twist, your brow falls. You feel yourself sink. It’s the same feeling you get in your stomach when you’re put toe-to-toe with an adversary out in the wilderness. It’s the feeling you get when you get a patient a little too late and can’t be sure if you’ll be able to drag them back from the brink.

You breathe his name right back.

“... You’re here,” he says. His voice has evened out. Deeper than you remember, and rougher, but barely.

“I am,” you answer as neutrally as you can. You school your expression and turn back to your tarp. “Please leave.”

Diluc doesn’t answer. He’s frozen above you, so close that you swear you can feel the heat coming off of him. 

“Don’t ask me to do that,” Diluc says, like a demand and not a request.

You bristle.

“I’m setting up my camp for the night,” you state plainly. “Then I will be sleeping. I will be gone by dawn tomorrow. I apologize for any disruption I caused at... at Angel’s Share.”

You press your hands over the top of a nail. The iron digs into your palms. You shove at it anyway, until it’s snug against the earth.

“I don’t care about that,” Diluc replies with an edge to his voice that’s unfamiliar. “That’s not of consequence.”

“... Then why are you here?” You crawl across the ground, brace yourself on a crate, and stand. Your weak foot hovers just off the ground. “Why follow me, Diluc? I’m sure you have better things to do.”

You say his name like it's a curse and face him.

(And it’s like coming home.)

(If you had any less of yourself, you would’ve sank into the earth and wept.)

“I don’t,” he says. Arms crossed. Shoulders square. You see him struggle with his words, chewing on the inside of his cheek, just like he used to. “You left so quickly, and Kaeya—”

“Bastard,” you spit. 

Diluc muffles a laugh (a full sound so lovely— you used to do anything to hear it). “He didn’t tell you I would be bartending, I’m assuming?”

“He told me, expressly, that you would not be bartending.” 

“... It is my tavern. Windblume is the busiest time of the year.” He looks a bit wounded. You can’t tell if you’re imagining it. “Kaeya sent word that Ordo would be at Angel’s Share in full force this evening. My presence was called.”

You scowl, “I realize that now.”

Diluc sighs, deep and hard and full, “You left so quickly, and Kaeya told me you were most likely staying outside of the city. I was... worried.”

You let out a breath through your teeth, maybe a laugh, some unholy thing and you shake your head. You can’t bear to look at him for too long, “Well, I’m fine. Promise. I just wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“Clearly.”

“And you weren’t expecting to see me?”

“No.” Diluc sighs. “I... No. I wasn’t.”

You don’t know what else to say to him. 

“Go.” You shoo him off. “I need to finish setting up and get some sleep. Sorry again for causing any trouble.”

You turn away, going to reach for your tent—

Diluc grabs your upper arm. He keeps you steady and upright.

“You didn’t.”

The contact burns. Sears through you like you’re just gossamer and old silk. You tense with it. When did his heat become unfamiliar?

You open your mouth, part your lips just barely, but nothing comes out. Your mind empties.

“Come back to the winery.”

His words cut you from any of your reverie. Your grief forces itself up in plumes, from the base of your spine to the corners of your damp eyes.

“Absolutely fucking not.” You tear away from him. 

He lets you go. (You suffocate the part of you that mourns the loss.) 

“It’s not safe outside the walls.” He takes a step back. Breathing room. “There’s no lodging available in the city, I’m sure you found.”

“I did, and I’m fine out here, Diluc. I can protect myself just fine.” You pat the dendro Vision on your hip. Your weapon remains unsummoned and out of sight.

“It’s going to rain.” Diluc frowns. “And, your tent is torn.”

He gestures behind you, and sure enough, a massive tear runs through an entire side of your tent. You hadn’t noticed. 

(If you will not go where you are supposed to be, perhaps fate will push you there? Align the stars and cosmos just right—)

“I recall that you never enjoyed camping,” Diluc says and it's like a knife to the chest. The idea that he remembers anything about you. “You’ll have a bed for as long as you’d like.”

“Diluc—” You’re near to cursing him out, let the Archons, Celestia and the damn Stars hear it—

“I’m sure Adelinde would love you to see you too.”

Oh.

Oh— Adelinde. When was the last time you sent her a letter? Or read one of hers? You have a stack of them, sealed with purple wax and bound in twine, shoved in your bag. Among your most prized possessions. You’ve hardly let the ink smudge, despite time and condition.

“... She still works for you?”

“Of course.” Diluc’s voice sounds strained. 

“Elzer too?” You ask.

“Yes, he’s been at my side since—”

“Since you came back to Mondstadt,” you answer for him. “Since you returned to the winery.”

Elzer had been at your side too, when you were running the winery in Diluc’s absence. Same with Adelinde.

Archons, you miss them. 

“I’ll stay at the winery,” you say after a beat. “So I can see them.”

Diluc lets out a sigh, shaky and short. He flexes his hands, open and closed. Relieved. The moment of vulnerability passes.

“Will you be able to walk there with—” He gestures to your foot.

“Yes, I’ll be fine.” You put weight on it, swallowing down any pain. You can bear it. 

Diluc offers his arm, and you refuse it, striding past him. 

You walk side by side back to Dawn Winery.

...

It does begin to drizzle, eventually. Nothing close to proper rain, but a thick mist that dampens your hair and clothes. The chill of it sinks into you, unpleasant but not unbearable. You cling to the discomfort of it. You and Diluc do not speak to each on the way back, other than the time or two you announce you need a short rest for your foot.

Fatigue hits you as you stumble down the valley paths leading into the winery’s main grounds. 

You blame the wine. 

The front door looks almost the same, perhaps the wood refinished. Diluc pulls forth a shining brass key (different, than the one that you had during your tenure as ‘master’ of Dawn Winery. That key was thick, old iron. Rusting at its corners. It always felt cold and heavy. An entire year it was tied to you. Tethered to your waist on the very same belt that now holds your vision.)

The lock was replaced.

The interior of the winery is different too, you find. It makes stepping inside less jarring— the floors, once dark, long-planked hardwood, has been redone to intricate patterns of lighter, warm-toned wood. Less candles, more electro-powered fixtures set into the walls and ceiling. The couches look different, brighter and fluffier with fresh cushions. Even the grand carpet that covers the main room, bearing the Ragnvindr crest, appears to have been freshened. Maybe even re-tuffed. It’s generally brighter.

“You’ve... updated things.” Your voice trails off as you shrug off your cloak and hang it on your arm. 

Diluc follows your line of sight to a new tapestry on the east-wall. Not of the family crest, but the vineyard. It’s far more ornate than any you remember; you can see the metallic gold weavings shine, even in the lowlight. The tapestry is ringed by paintings, portraits and some landscapes. You recall Crepus commissioning many of them, or creating them himself. There’s a number of new photographs as well.

“I have over the years,” Diluc replies. “It was necessary.”

You hum, pausing. “... I like it. It’s nice.”

It’s nice because it doesn’t feel quite as much like you’re walking into a still-breathing cadaver. You expected to be greeted with an interior you had seared in your memory. Corners you’d still see ghosts in, picture frames that were askew that you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to fix. You know which floorboards were creaky and which windows had the worst draft. 

This version of Dawn Winery from your memory doesn’t exist anymore, in any way or facet. What’s left certainly isn’t blank or void, but it’s more unfamiliar than you expected. It smells like rose oil and beeswax rather than cedar and tobacco. 

“Master Diluc? You’re back earlier than expected.”

Adelinde breaks you from your stupor. 

She looks much the same— the same uniform, though perhaps her hair’s a bit shorter? There’s new wrinkles around the corners of her eyes, sun spots around her forehead and the bridge of her nose. Her eyes are still kind. They go wide when she sees you, and the mug she’s holding nearly slips from her grip.

Your chest tightens.

She says your name and it’s like you’ve been cut through. Flesh parting around a sharp blade. 

“Hi.” Your voice sounds soft and so much more broken than you can accept it is. 

“Welcome home.” She smiles, all the way up to her eyes.

If you were a little more weak, perhaps a few months more weathered— you would’ve broken then. You would’ve fallen apart in the foyer of Dawn Winery, drowning and hungry and soaked to the bone in something colder than rain water. You hold yourself together, barely, thin threads wound around you to the point of constricting keep you upright. Sure-footed. Almost-whole.

But, Adelinde knows... doesn’t she? She must. She has an uncanny ability for these things. It’s because she watched you grow, watched your toils and supported you. Mothered you when needed. You counseled and consoled each other, during the worst of it.

It makes you feel less guilty, less ashamed, when you nearly throw yourself at her. You wrap your arms around her shoulders and smother your face in her shoulder.

Adelinde hugs you in kind. She still smells like pine-cleaner and that jasmine perfume she imports. She wraps you, in herself, squeezing so hard you’re afraid she’ll undo the strings binding your heart together. 

“H-How have you been?” you ask. Tears sting your eyes.

She strokes the back of your head, through your hair. “I’ve been well. And you?”

You smush your face into her shoulder. You don’t know what to say to her. Instinctual honesty climbs up in your throat— you suppress it. 

“I’ve been better,” you say, softly. You hope only she can hear. “Excited to sleep in a real bed. Take a bath.”

Adelinde goes still, slack— then she almost crushes you. You feel her heartbeat and your lip wobbles.

“I’m glad you’re home, then. Let me fetch you a cup of tea. I’ll make sweet bread in the morning.”

“T-That sounds nice. Thank you.”

Diluc, who has been silent and watchful, clears his throat. “They can take whichever room they like.”

“I’ll prepare the west wing guest room.” (Far from your old bedroom.) She whispers to you. “There was a Fontainisian merchant we were hosting— she left all of her luxury skincare and bath supplies here.”

You pull away, narrowing your eyes, “Are you implying something?”

“Not at all.” She gives you a good-natured smile. “They’re yours. Let’s get you settled.”

You nod and she guides you with a hand on your lower back, up the stairs, to the west wing. Diluc has made himself scarce, seemingly disappearing into thin air to the northern wing of the manor. You only half notice.

Archons, you’re tired.

Adelinde helps you settle in. She sets your bag on a vanity stool, shows you a newly renovated bathroom with a tub that could easily fit you and a Rishboland tiger in it. The rest of the details of the room fade. Something stickier and older than fatigue works its way up through your bone marrow, leaving your body as a yawn.

Adelinde gives you a sympathetic smile when she brings you a cup of lavender and chamomile tea. 

The world is blurry when you crash into the pillows. They smell like the herbal detergent you suckered Crepus into buying during your teen years. Diluc liked it. Whatever potential revulsion you could have has wilted with your exhaustion. Instead, something warm brews in you. You shove your nose into the silken case. The feeling is good. You don’t mind it. 

(Fuck, maybe you even need it.)  

...

You sleep for three days. 

You don’t mean to, and it’s not continuous. You rise for your promised sweet bread, tea, and a much-need, thorough bath. You’ve spent the past few months using communal bath houses or washing in rivers and lakes, quick and rarely relaxing. You indulge in the massive, stone tub for a private soak that leaves you pruney and smelling like rose oil and Natlani bright grass. 

The position of the sun feels arbitrary. You just sleep. Like the fucking dead. No dreams, thank the gods. Thick curtains keep your room dark and you relish every moment. You hadn’t realized how deeply fatigue had woven itself into you. You’d become so acclimated to exhaustion, it only hit you when you finally had a (safe and) quiet place to sleep with no end date. 

Adelinde brings an armful of clothes at some point. (“We put these in storage, when you left. I’m sure some still fit.”) Some do, thankfully, and you’re grateful to have more than four garments, especially when they go together. It’s nostalgic to slip into skirts and trousers you haven’t worn in so long, and you decide they’ll suffice. Unideal, but comfortable. 

The tiredness is an odd blessing. You feel too blurry and foggy to really pick apart your feelings. All of them. You’re aware of the knot that’s formed somewhere between your ribs and gut (or rather, revealed itself), and you ignore it for as long as you are able to. No one comes to you except Adelinde, who never presses you. 

(You don’t know what you would do if she did. Adelinde knows discretion, she knows wounds and scrapes and bruises, and knew yours once. Well and thoroughly. You think she can see all of your ills now too.)

(You’re glad she doesn't pry at you. In your moments between wakefulness and sleep, you tend to dream more loosely. You imagine what you might say to Diluc, had you... the opportunity without damage. What would you say to him? The you that’s mostly a dream screams at him sometimes. Enraged. Sometimes you cry, asking questions that neither your sleeping or waking mind has answers for. They’re not... unfamiliar dreams, but they’re unwelcome. They’re more vivid now that you’re staying in the Winery.)

They feel more real. Diluc is only rooms away at any given time.

(He’s not a specter.)

On the third day, you awake midday to a frantic knock on your door. Adelinde, you assume. Stumbling from bed, and pull on a dressing gown and nothing more, and pull open the heavy oak door—

It’s Diluc. Of course it is. In working trousers and a loose, white top. Dirt stains his knees and the tips of his fingers. Pretty red hair spills from its loose tie, bouncy with a fresh wash. He tenses, when he sees you. Fists balling at his sides and shoulders going rigid.

Your jaw locks and the air in your lungs suddenly feels heavy and too hot. Your throat bobs with a swallow, and you gather up the satin of your robe before it has a chance to slip down to the crook of your elbow. 

(Just seeing him sends you. Into a rage. Into a fit of grief. The visage of him forces you to reckon with something more awful and sticky and molten than you know what to do with.)

(You wish it was more avoidable.)

You freeze.

Your several days of rest afforded you the time to... ignore Diluc. Hide from him, and the knot that you desperately don’t want to unravel. Despite sleeping in one of his beds and eating his food, you need distance. It feels like you’ll explode if you don’t have it.

“The child of one of the vineyard workers is injured,” Diluc says, maybe a little out of breath. “Can you take a look?”

“Of course,” you reply without hesitation. A hurt child takes precedence over most things.

The child and his mother sit in Diluc’s foyer, you can hear them as you approach. The girl sniffles and clings to her mothers sleeve with one hand, the other limp in her lap. One of her legs splays the wrong way, equally limp. 

You approach easily, introducing yourself. The air has an edge of crisis to it, but you wade through it easily. If anything, it’s comfortingly familiar. To be calm and confident in the face of serious injury or illness is often medicine in and of itself. 

You set your large, leather-bound caboodle beside you and take to the floor. Your Tselostnyy insignia is pinned to the outside. The mother’s eyes dart to it as she pets over her daughter’s hair, and she relaxes at the sight of it. A qualified stranger, you are.

The mother is younger, someone before your time as the Winery’s temporary master which is a relief. Diluc lingers behind you, watching you work, probably.  You attempt not to care.

You scooch forward, on your knees, knitting your fingers together and hover them over your patient. You focus on the spiral of dendro through muscle and bone, reading the injury:

Two clean breaks. Closed fracture of the left ulna. Closed fracture of the left femur.

It’s a miracle that the child isn’t shrieking in her mother’s lap. 

“How did you get hurt?” you ask the child directly. 

She sniffles. “I f-fell outta’ the big tree by the water. I was trying to climb it.”

Her mother almost scolds her, but you beat her to speaking. “That’s a hard tree to climb. The oaks by the stables are much easier.”

It’s just a slip of the tongue, to be so familiar.

You turn to the child and school a smile on your lips. “I’ll be able to heal your injuries with my Vision. You’ll get some medicine as well, and it needs to be stirred into juice. Do you have a favorite kind?”

The child looks unsure, and her mother answers for her: “She likes apple best.”

“Apple, master of the house.” You wave a hand behind you. “Can you fetch some?”

“Of course,” Diluc answers without missing a beat and you hasten him away.

Knitting your fingers together once more, you begin to work on her injuries. The child is holding up quite well, despite the immense pain she must be in. You work quickly regardless, but keep in mind you do have the luxury of time. There’s no one more broken or more sick just beyond her who needs to be treated as well.

Dendro sews together her bones. Encourages new flesh and muscle to grow where it is needed. 

When Diluc returns, you instruct him further, gaze never straying from the knitting bones, “Take the third vial from the right on the top row of oils, will you? Stir half a dropper into the juice and stir for a minute. If you see oil on the top, keep going.”

“What’s the medicine for?” The girl asks. 

“Relaxation and sleep,” You reply softly. “This type of healing is very effective, but it takes a lot of energy out of the person who is being healed. You’ll be tired once I’m all done, but you may have trouble resting since your body is still reacting to the shock of your injuries.”

The mother lets out a sigh of relief. Perhaps too wordy of an explanation for a child, but her mother seems grateful for it. 

When the child’s healed into proper pieces again, you unknit your fingers and fall back on your heels. Diluc wordlessly passes the goblet of well-mixed apple juice to the child, who shakily gulps it town. The medicine doesn’t have much of a taste, more of an oily texture to it that requires it to be drunk quickly after being mixed. The juice must be from one of Diluc’s best stashes because the child beams after chugging it.

“... That’s it?” She asks. 

You nod and crack your knuckles, now stiff. “That’s it.”

“... Nothing else?” 

“Nope.” You crack your neck. “Other than the fatigue, but a few extra hours of sleep should remedy that. She’ll be back to normal after a nap.”

“Thank you,” The mother says and your chest feels sticky and warm. “I know that Barbara from the Church has similar skills with her Vision, but I’ve never seen healing like yours. Mondstadt could use a physician like you, you know.”

The feeling goes cold, but you keep your smile. Bear it.

“I’m sure they do.” Teacher’s shoes hadn’t been filled, apparently. And you’d departed to the Tselostnyy School and never returned. 

The mother and her child give more thanks before leaving and you keep your facade up until they’re out the door. The girl’s no doubt ruffled still, even with the light sedative. The mother frazzled. The last thing you’d want to do is burden them with your own misplaced ire. They can’t know. They wouldn’t know.

Diluc, however—

He’s been the silent spectator to this whole affair. He idles by the couches and the hearth, arms crossed, still-dirtied from whatever vineyard work he’d been doing prior to fetching you. You’re sure he was working in the fields, heard the child shriek, and rushed to their aid. Typical.

Diluc stares at you like he could immolate you alive.

“You’re incredible.” He says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like the sentence doesn’t implode something in you. 

Your fists shake at your sides. “Hardly. It’s just my profession.”

Diluc works his jaw and considers his words. You note the way he looks stumped and lost. It’s not intentional, if you’re being honest— so there’s no harm in enjoying the way he stumbles to speak around you, is there?

(It’s only fair. Diluc had always been so sure-footed and sturdy with his words. To see him flounder now reminds you that he’s changed too. Something in him has paled and been mutilated, just like you. Two wounded. His suffering isn’t what you revel in, but the knowledge that he’s affected. Neither of you came out unscathed and you’ve spent the last years refusing to imagine how Diluc might’ve coped.)

“Will you have tea with me?” Diluc asks, the words ringing off the glass chandelier in minor key. “You don’t have to if you don’t want—”

“I will.” 

...

Adelinde kindly brings you both tea, by the hearth and its embers. It’s served with a few small cakes and rounds of steaming sweet bread. Diluc takes his tea just as he did when he was young— a heavy dash of cream and a spoon and a half of sugar (“the half is very important” he had always said). Adeline leaves you a carafe of coffee and shoots you a gentle smile before leaving the two of you be.

You rest on one of the couches, leg pulled up beneath you and blow over the rim of your mug.

Diluc sits adjacent from you, in a resplendent mid-morning sun beam. The chair is high-backed, upholstered with the red and gold pattern of the Ragnvindr clan. He looks regal, like a king from the stories you used to read together. Sunlight halos the frizz in his hair and the dust that shifts around him.

He sits with one heel propped up on the opposite knee, cupping the tea cup from the bottom, unbothered by its heat.

(He’s pretty, just as beautiful as you remember. Maybe more so.)

It makes something in you feel rotten. You pick at your nails and curl over your core. 

He glances at you and you look away into the hearth, into the small flames that eat at the last of a birch log. 

Having Diluc in front of you is uncomfortable. Maybe worse than uncomfortable, as discomfort is bearable and the sensation crawling up from the back of your throat isn’t. It makes your skin itch and feel too tight. Your palms sweat. Maybe you want to puke.

(It’s dread, or something like it. Like just seeing him put you on a precipice you had convinced yourself didn’t exist.)

“When did you start drinking coffee?” Diluc asks, breaking you from your spiral. “If I recall correctly, you hated it. Too bitter for your palate, or something like that.”

Ah—

“In your absence. In the year I stayed here, when you left.” It’s the truth. “ Lots of paperwork. I got used to the flavor after a while.”

(You used to prefer tea, favoring some black variety that Crepus painstakingly imported from Natlan’s volcanic cliffs. The first time you tried to drink it following his passing, you retched it back into your cup.)

You both shift uncomfortably. 

“I see.” 

You pretend not to notice the way Diluc’s grip goes white-knuckled for a moment. Your chest feels tight, too tight, and you squirm under your skin. 

“I don’t know how to face you,” you blurt out. 

(You never thought you would have to.) 

Diluc looks away from you, into the fire. “If you don’t wish to ‘face me’, then you don’t have to.”

“Are you suggesting I simply ignore you?”

“If that’s what you would wish to do.”

“That’s not what I asked.” You frown, something burning between your ribs. 

Diluc chews on his words for a moment. “Allow me to clarify. I have no expectations of you while you’re staying within the Winery.”

“So, if I simply ate your food and slept in one of your beds, ignoring you, you’d be alright with that?”

“If that’s what you wish, then yes.”

(The answer hurts to hear. You refuse to think about why.)

“Alright.” You take a long sip of your coffee. You’re not sure when your stomach began to ache.

“You’re unsatisfied with that answer,” Diluc guesses.

“Entirely,” you reply. “You’re basing your wants off of mine. It’s bothersome.”

“It’s the truth. As I said—“

“You ‘have no expectations of me’,” you parrot. “Would you truly be satisfied if I didn’t speak to you at all while I’m here?”

Diluc chews the inside of his cheek (a new habit you don’t recognize). “My satisfaction isn’t of consequence.”

“Idiot,” You snap— you don’t mean to. “Of course it is. I don’t want to make this any more unbearable than it already is.”

“Do you think this is unbearable for me?” 

“… Yes?” You feel yourself shaking. “Maybe? I don’t know.”

(It’s worse than unbearable. The feeling in your chest is blooming, radiating out into your arms and legs, down to your hands. There’s a buzzing in the base of your skull.)

“I understand that it’s difficult for you to be here,” Diluc grits out. “I do not want to make that any worse by some expectation or assumption you think that I carry. If you wish to enjoy the festival and ignore me, that’s more than fine. If it would be easier for you to stay here and think of me as only some type of… concierge, I wouldn’t resent you for it.”

(You hate it. You hate him. You hate Diluc Ragnvindr endlessly, perhaps. You want to burn Dawn Winery to the ground.)

“Do you really think I could ever think of you as anything other than yourself?” You spit, intending to. “It’s insulting— a fucking affront to think that I could view you in such a way.”

“I don’t know how you view me.” Diluc’s voice wavers with what you can only assume to be anger. “I’m trying to make this easier for you.”

“In what way?!” You stand. “Do you think ignoring you would be easier for me?”

“I am making a well-intended inference based on the fact that you haven’t returned to Mondstadt for years.” Diluc stares at you like he wants to— “I am assuming you’d like to continue to ignore me, given that you’ve never given any indication otherwise.”

“… You’re the one who left first.” You spit the words, like how a sword cuts through air. “You’re the one who left and gave no ‘ indication’ of returning.”

Diluc swallows, thick and hard with a bob of his throat and he rises to his feet. You instinctively take a step back. He opens his mouth, then closes it with a snap of his teeth. The fire cracks and a log loses its structure, tumbling in the hearth with a flurry of embers.

He looks lost for words. You let loose a laugh, something awful and torn that you wish you could stuff back down your throat.

“Nothing to say?”

“It was a long time ago—“

“Ah, it’s irrelevant to you. I see.” Archons, you don’t want this. You should’ve never come back. It can’t be worth it, can it? It feels like your ribs are being broken, one by one. 

(How wretched it is, for him to have such a power over you.)

“Don’t twist my words.” Diluc rises, taking a step toward you. “I only meant to say—“

“I am well-aware of what you meant to say.” You want to vomit, maybe. “It was so long ago, so it’s easier, right? If I view you as nothing more than a doorman with a familiar face, and if you view me as a guest to be treated with pleasantries.”

(Let’s forget all the history. Etch a lie onto a slate that’s already been shattered beyond repair.)

Diluc’s expression twists. Your hands shake and you cross them over yourself, wrapping your arms over your own shoulders and squeezing. He looks… hurt. Gutted. 

“Do you think me cruel enough to ever think of you in such a way?”

“Yes, actually.” You laugh with a shake of your head. “Not even a letter, Diluc? Couldn’t even spare me a thought, could you?”

(Meanwhile, you clung to the hope that he’d arrive home through the front door of the Winery for months. How many did you sit in front of this very same hearth, wrapped in his old blankets and left-behind clothes and pray to any God who’d listen that Diluc would return?)

The admission guts Diluc. You can see it in his face, the way his expression tears open and he balls his fist and he almost seems to shake with it.

(Despite everything, it hurts to see him hurt.)

You step away, almost toppling into the couch. Diluc catches you by the arm with a lurch and keeps you upright. The contact burns like you’re too close to a roaring fire. You feel singed. 

“I can’t forget, Diluc.” You laugh, shudder in his grip and you feel the bits of you fray even further. “I— I don’t know. I’m sorry. I resent you. I hate you. I look at you and I’m struck by the feeling that I’m looking at a ghost.”

You watch Diluc’s jaw lock. “Pot, kettle.”

“Pardon?”

“You left Mond as well, dear.” Diluc says the pet name and then flushes. An old habit, unearthed by sparring. You maybe would swoon if you weren’t feeling light-headed. “You’re a ghost to me as well. Maybe something worse.”

“... Am I? ” you spit, writhing in your skin. 

His expression tightens and you see the hurt. A crack. His lip twitches and he stands. He has to look down at you and you feel the height. 

“Do you think I haven’t been haunted by you?”

Oh, it’s like being punched in the gut. You’re being flayed, surely, on his great room floor. If you’re not careful, your entrails will spill and you’ll die here. You’re sure. 

“Don’t lie to me.” 

“You’re impossible,” Diluc says, grip almost bruising. “Do you truly think I’m lying?”

(You don’t.)

You swallow and step away from him. The moment you pull against him, Diluc lets you go, and you stumble back. 

(You’re too frayed for this. Burnt. Cinders at a masquerade.)

“I need some time,” you say, fire in your voice is gone. You burn down so easily. “I’m sorry.”

Diluc stays silent for a moment. You can’t be sure what he’s thinking.

“Take all the time you need,” he says, before striding past you to his office. You hear the door nearly slam. 

[kasagia]

Our little game

~Part 2~ ~Part 3~ ~Part 4~ ~Part 5~

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x witch! reader Summary: You and Klaus have been playing this game between yourselves since your first meeting. One day, you two would fight with each other like dogs, and the next day, you would flirt and act like people completely mad with love. But whatever was between you two, you would never lose this game and admit that you fell for him. He would only use you for your power, right? At least that's what you were telling yourself all this time. Words count: 4,2k

I had no idea what I was doing here.

Wearing one of my fancy black dresses, I was staying in the middle of Mikaelson's compound in New Orleans, with hundreds of people surrounding me.

I was definitely making a huge mistake.

But a few hours ago, when my Mystic Falls gang tried (and failed) to kill these crazy heretics who came to our town two weeks ago, I could only think about coming here.

I needed to find a safe place to stay until Damon or Stefan called for my help.

But after hours of driving here, I wasn't sure if I still wanted to be a part of their group. Yes, I loved them all, especially Bonnie, who became my main "witch-teacher" after I found out I was like her, but sometimes I felt used by them. My power was stronger than any typical witch's. Even Bonnie was surprised to see the things I was able to do until my strength was exhausted and my nose started to bleed.

One day, Damon said that I was their greatest weapon. Then I burst out laughing. Now I'm not so sure how much the black-haired man was joking and how much his words were true. But I had to keep the promise I gave myself and stay with them, if only for Bonnie's sake. She would have killed herself trying to protect her friends, and I wouldn't let that happen. After all she did for me, I have to repay her debt of gratitude.

I turned on the radio while driving to nowhere and heard one of my favorite Mikaelson's, beloved, old songs, which was "better when it played at ball without this strange background sound." That's when I remembered Rebekah and her last words before leaving for New Orleans with her brothers: "You know, if your gang falls apart, you can always come to me. It would be funnier to have a partner in crime against Nik."

After a lengthy moral debate within me, I decided to fuck Salvatore's opinion of me and visit their nemesis. If Damon was so smart to make and realize his own crass plan without telling anyone, I could do something really stupid too and spend a week (or more) with Rebekah. After all, no one could control me.

Then it seemed like a very good plan.

Now with so many people around me, I decide that I have made a great mistake.

I totally forgot that four days ago, Bekah told me about the "engaged party" of Katherine and Elijah. (Thank God for my magic. At least I could turn pants and a T-shirt into a pretty dress.) I sent my gift to the happy couple with separate, joking congratulations to Katherine for "entrapping her Mikaelson after a long couple of centuries" without actually intending to attend the party.

Elena and Caroline would skin me if they knew that instead of buying them fancy birthday presents, I spent my money on something special for my best friend's big day.

In retrospect, I'd like to see their faces. They would be invaluable. Especially Damon's.

"My God, look who arrived!" a familiar voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

"Hi Beks." I turned around to face her.

"Hi Beks? You appear here without telling me or Katherine anything; you hide in the crowd with a mean expression on your face, and all I get after months apart is a simple "hi"?"

"Well, in my defense, I was thinking about bringing you wine, flowers, cake and saying, "I'm sorry, baby,"  but I figured it would be only a waste of time and my money because you're going to yell at me anyway. Also, your boyfriend would be jealous." she started laughing and pulled me into a hug.

"I haven't seen you for too long."

"Bekah, we were talking yesterday morning."

"You called her yesterday and didn't call me?!" I heard Katherine's resentful voice behind me.

"You look gorgeous, honey. Engagement suits you." she gave me an unimpressed look. "Oh, c'mon. Don't be angry. I'm here now, ready to give you compliments and fight with your fiance's brother, who loathes you. Now, show me the ring. I want to see how much money Elijah was willing to spend on you." she burst out laughing, waving her ringed hand in front of my eyes.

"You realize you're not getting off so easily? Besides, something must have happened for you to suddenly decide to come."

"We can talk tomorrow. Tonight, it's about you and your undying love for her brother." I pointed to Rebekah.

"Talking about my brothers. We'll use some help with Nik's composure for the rest of the evening."

"It is so bad?"

"Yes. He's been following Elijah and trying to convince him to change his mind since this morning." Katherine complained. "He doesn't leave us alone, even for half a second."

"Do you two really think I'm able to "charm" him for the rest of the night?"

I asked, doubts about his supposed affection towards me. Since our first meeting, I and an original hybrid have had a kind of love-hate relationship. At the beginning, we only had short, verbal skirmishes, then it evolved into an open war (he tried to hurt Bonnie, so I gave him a headache and snapped his neck. After that, he used one of his hybrids to crack my car, so I convinced Rebekah to steal his car keys and give them to me. He gave up after two weeks of our teasing and after I (with little of Damon's help) ruined all his dark plans. The original hybrid bought me my own car, trying to bury the hatchet between us.) After a month of these events, the hatred between us began to develop into a kind of mean-companionship. At least no one had tried to gouge out the eyes of the other one anymore. Our "game" developed so much that one day he began to tease me with flirtatious phrases. And it's not true that I choked on my drink and blushed like a teenager from a romance book when he called me for the first time his "innermost, darkest pleasure," whispering it with his seductive tone, which he undoubtedly used for many women before. It was at our school party in the style of the 20s. Since then, I've figured out how to play by his new rules. I couldn't be worse than him.

"Well, you're doing your job even now. He's been staring at you for about five minutes, and you haven't even used any magic. I think we all know why, but you're too stubborn to admit it, so you might as well use his soft spot for you as reparation for your silence for 3 days."

"It's not a soft spot or any other stupid feeling you assume. This is a game."

That was our way of communicating: by circling around, lulling the other person's vigilance, and attacking when he least expects it. At the end of the day, I was just a toy for him—a mortal witch who was never scared of a 1000-year-old hybrid. He proved it after he moved with his family to New Orleans, and I never heard from him again.

"I like spicy stories, but please, keep my brother's kinks away from me. BOTH of you. It's just disgusting." Rebekah shuddered.

"I'm not…"

"Did I hear something about kinks? Y/N darling, it's a pleasure to finally see you here!" Kol suddenly appeared from nowhere. He got closer to me and gave me a strong hug.

"What the bloody hell? You should be on Hayley's tail!"

"Relax, sister. Our brother's formal one-night stand peacefully came back to her husband and wolves. Which means I'm free for the rest of the evening.     Y/N do you want to dance with me?" without waiting for any response, he took my hand and led me to the dance floor, where other couples were dancing.

"Alright, what did you do?" I asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"I have no idea what are you implying. I just wanted to dance with a friend I hadn't seen in a long time."

"Kol."

"Y/N."

"Okey, okey. Don't look at me like that. In a nutshell, there is a girl." Oh, I've heard about her. I was curious how much of the original's interest in this girl was genuine.

"My God. I never expected to live to see the day Kol Mikaelson finds his epic love." I cut him off with a smirk.

"She is a hag like you, by the way." he continued, ignoring my taunt. "She doesn't want to know me, but she loves me. I just need a little magic of jealousy, and voilà, I'll be kissing her at the end of this night."

"And you didn't think, Sherlock, that acting like this would make her think that you only play with her?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. The gears in Mikaelson's head began to turn.

"F*ck. So what should I do? I've tried everything. Flowers, jewelry, old grimoires, unexpected almost-dating, puppies, cats, and all of this modern stuff."

"The idea of coming to me with a "love problem" is as ridiculous as expecting an answer, but I will try my best because you are kind of my friend and seem desperate. I don't know if you thought of it, but speaking with her and making a true confession seemed too simple, didn't it?" I said it sarcastically.

"You mean… "L" word?" he cleared his throat, ashamed.

"For the love of God, Kol Mikaelson! Do you love her?"

"Of course."

"Then get out of my eyes and tell her, not me." he disappeared as quickly as he had appeared, leaving me alone in a sea of people.

"Little bastard." I said it to myself while trying to get out of there.

But someone made sure I wasn't left alone for too long.

"Hello, my love."

I would recognize that voice even on my deathbed, and I undoubtedly knew that he would someday be the reason for my death.

"Hello Klaus." I turned around to look him in the face. He had grown more handsome since the last time I saw him, which worried me a lot. I tried to hide my unwanted emotions behind a sarcastic smirk.

"If you're wondering if Stefan or Caroline sent their regards, I'm going to have to disappoint you."

"Actually, I'm wondering who I have to kill." I frowned, not understanding him. He swept me into his arms and whirled me about the dance floor as the orchestra played. "I knew you were planning not to go to this party. Katherine was very upset about that."

"So you must have had an enjoyable couple of days." I can't stop myself from interrupting him. He gave me a small smile, shaking his head in amusement. I was so close in his arms that I could feel his every breath adjust to mine.

"You don't usually change your plans, so it's obvious that your bunch of stupid friends must have done something impressively dumb. And quite possibly, it has to do with the emergence of competition vampire's group in Mystic Falls."

"You seem quite well informed, especially for someone who doesn't care about anyone but his family."

"Ouch. As mean as I remembered."

"And you're as irritating as always. It looks like no one changed."

I sighed as I looked around the room. Mission successful - Katherine talks to Elijah. The only problem was that they looked like they were gossiping about me and Klaus…

"Tell me, did you miss me?" Klaus' taunt diverted my attention.

I thought for a moment about how to answer his question. Of course, I missed him. I frequently found myself recalling memories of us in locations where I was at the time. But as I said to Rebekah and Katherine, there was no bond between me and Klaus. We were just two bored souls who were looking for entertainment. We liked messing with people and making fun of them. That's all. There is no feeling involved. But it doesn't mean I will miss my chance.

"Yes." I whispered this while staring into his ocean eyes, never taking my gaze away from him.

He was surprised by my bold, direct statement. He leaned slightly closer to me. His gaze was moving from my eyes to my lips.

"I was bored as no one was trying to hurt me or my friends. Fortunately, Miss Salvatore came back with her own, special family." I got a little closer to him so I could whisper in his ear. "And then we had a new member of our group. Enzo. He's incredibly handsome and was an excellent substitute for your company."

He moved his hand slowly as he extended his arm to encircle my back. Then he dipped me deeply, looking at my eyes all the damn time.

"Be careful, my love. You may fall for him, of course, if you have a heart." he whispered, tightening his grip on me. I held my breath, too enchanted by the moment to respond to his taunt.

I should feel uneasy, distrustful, and disgusted that I am at his mercy, for he could drop me at any moment. Instead, all I could feel was being hypnotized by his blue eyes until he helped me get back on my feet again.

"Every girl would love him. He has dark hair, plays the guitar, and speaks with an English accent. Everyone's type, espessialy mine." I said, when I came back to my senses. If he wanted to tease me, I'd make sure I was a worthy opponent. I just had to keep my emotions under lock and key.

"So your "type" has to have an English accent? It's good to know."

"Yeah, but not as old as some of the people who live here. Also, not this one who wants to get closer to me only to use me for my power."

"You really think that little of me?"

"Is it truly important what I think about you?"

"No, not if you want me to remain a stranger to you. Not at all. But I'd like to think that we are more than we're willing to admit."

"Are you drunk?" I asked, taking a step back to examine him more closely. He began laughing at my reaction, drawing me closer to him once again.

"No, my love. I'm honest. But I'm not sure if there's a big difference between these two."

"You're honest only if you know it's in your interest. Clearly, you want something for me because you've been nicer to me than you have in the last few years. But you have to know I'm not that stupid to let you control me." I got out of his arms and went out in search of a room free of anyone.

"Running away isn't a solution, Y/N! I hope you know that." He shouted as he followed me. We came to a halt as we entered his art studio. Of all the fucking places in this huge villa, it had to be the den of the big bad wolf.

"Katherine has managed to escape you for more than 500 years." I said this without giving him a single, damning look. I much preferred to admire his works.

"Yes. Because she wanted. I'm not sure if you share her desires." He grabbed my arm, turning me to face him.

"What kind of fucked-up game are you playing right now?!" I yelled, yanking his hands away from me. He confused me. We never crossed that unspoken line in our banter. Few months apart, and now he shares the attitude of our crazy friends. That kind of playing wasn't fun at all.

"Did I bring up a sensitive topic? You're not ready to finally stop lying to yourself?" I laughed, mocking him.

"I've never claimed to be a saint." I growled at his face.

"You also never admitted being a sinner."

"That's good I've always wanted to be an anti-hero, then." I whispered, looking into his mesmerizing eyes, not even realizing that as we talked, we were getting closer, as we were suddenly a foot apart. I felt his hand slip around my waist like a snake. He pulled me closer and then I found myself pressed between his warm chest and cold wall.

"If only you weren't such a paranoid woman and suspected me of using you whenever I wanted to get closer to you. Maybe you would understand who you should be scared of and what is truly between us."

"Said the man who murdered his biological father because he was afraid Ansal would endanger Hope."

"You seem quite well informed, especially for someone who doesn't care about me."

"Katherine and Rebekah are gossipers. You can't blame me for listening to them."

"You have an excuse for every circumstance, don't you?"

"It's not my fault you can't accept the truth. Whatever you've been taking today, you'd better take less of it. It's damaging your immortal, ancient head." I started to turn towards the door, but he stopped me by grabbing my hand.

"Don't turn your back on me, love." he threatened, keeping his firm grip on my wrist.

"Or what are you going to do? Dance with me again? You're right, it's so dangerous and horrible that I can't take it anymore." I ignored his warning and tried to leave the room.

He used his vampire speed and pinned me against the door. He leaned in, his eyes closed, and rested his brow against mine. In a silent, peaceful room, our hard, synchronized breaths were the only sound I could hear. My world shrank to just the two of us. The party outside was long forgotten by me.

He rubbed the tip of his nose on mine. I shivered as I got close enough to him for the first time to feel the warmth of his lips (and yet they were so far from mine).

"You have no idea… what you're doing to me."

His deep, hoarse whisper reminded me of who was standing in front of me and why I couldn't give in to my inner, treacherous desire. Before his lips could catch mine in his intoxicating trap (and possibly destroy me for any other men), I wrapped my hands around his neck and pinned him against the door, keeping a decent distance between us.

When he felt a piece of wood on his back, he opened his eyes, looked at me, and gave me an impressive glance. He giggled sinisterly, sending a shiver down my spine.

"For your own good, if you're not ready for a fire, don't play with it, love." I leaned slightly toward him, still catching his gaze with mine.

"Who said I wouldn't be the one to burn you?" I whispered against his neck, placing a burning kiss on it.

His soft, strangled moan after I gently bit into his skin was enough reward for my patience and a sign to stop before things got deeper.

I slowly took my hand from his arm and put it on the doorknob. I smiled on his neck because he was too preoccupied with the feeling of my lips to notice anything. I decided not to tempt fate anymore. Hybrid could easily take control from me (which wouldn't be good for me at all). So I pulled the handle and opened the door. The original nearly fell down because of my sudden, unexpected move.

I left Klaus behind in my haste, casting a quick glance behind me. It was definitely worth it. His look of indignation will stay in my mind for a long time. This battle was mine. We gonna see what future bring.

I walked into the room in a magnificent mood and took the glass of wine from one of the waiters.

"Can everyone get together, please?" Elijah caught everyone's attention. "Thank you. I wanted to thank everyone for coming to our engagement party. Me and my beloved fiance are very happy to see people around us who are wishing us a long, beautiful future." the crowd began to applaud, interrupting his speech for a moment.

"Such a diva." I whispered under my breath as I sipped my wine. Rebekah somehow heard this and tried to hide her laughter.

"But I didn't gather you all here just to talk about my luck. We wanted to announce who, from our closest friends, will be the second-most important couple at our wedding. My best man and Katerina's maid of honor, I don't think it will surprise you that my best man will be my brother Niklaus."

Klaus stood on the stairs next to the couple, wearing his trademark sly grin. He scanned the crowd. His gaze lingered directly on me, and he didn't want to take his eyes off me. The little bastard must have been up to something.

"I've been thinking about this since the day we got engaged, and to be honest, the decision wasn't as easy as it seemed to be. It was my desire to have this person as my maid of honor, but circumstances indicated that, unfortunately, my dream would not come true. You don't know how happy I was when I heard a few hours ago that she agreed. So without further extensions. My chief bridesmaid and best friend, Y/N Y/L!"

Applause erupted around me. It took me a second to recover from the shock and climb the stairs. I was standing right in front of this smug son of a bitch.

"Thanks for asking." I said to Katherine when Elijah ended his speech and people spread around.

"Klaus didn't tell you?" she asked, looking at her future brother-in-law.

The original just shrugged.

"Don't worry, Kath. I won't make a scene. I'm not going to play according to the script of this drama queen. It will be a pleasure to be your maid of honor."

"I'm not a drama queen." the hybrid interjected, frowning.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." I responded, giving him a small look.

"If you're so worried about my good sleep, why don't you join me in my bed, love?" he asked, coming to my side, so I had to give him my attention.

"Ha ha. Not even in your wildest dreams."

"In my wildest dreams, we don't need a bed, love." he said, casually adjusting the strap of my dress on my shoulder. His icy fingertips brushed against my heated skin, right next to my collarbone.

"You're the thousand-year-old father of a little girl. You don't think it's time to act like an adult and not a horny teenager?" I asked, grabbing his hand and pulling it off me.

"Ouch. But then you wouldn't even notice me." he pretended to be offended. He also tightened his grip on my hand without thinking of letting go. I fell into his trap with my own fucking wish.

"Believe me, it's impossible to miss you. I've tried. Many times." I growled, trying to free my hand from him.

"Aw, is that your way of telling me I'm special to you?" he asked, clearly amused by my annoyance. I've never seen such a huge smile on his face.

"Yeah, like a plastic, red punch cup at a school party," he laughed, reluctantly releasing my hand.

I turned to say something to Kath, but then I realized that she had left us in the middle of our conversation. I sighed as I was alone with him again. It's going to be a very long week (or month).

"By the way, when are you going to tell me I'm Katherine's maid of honor?" I asked, favoring him with my look again.

"It must have slipped my mind when you were passionately kissing my neck, love."

"Oh, I remember. You were moaning for me like a street lady."

I turned to leave, but he suddenly wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against his hard, well-built chest. He placed my head on his shoulder and cupped the tip of my right ear with his lips. His fangs came out, reminding me of his superhuman strength. Sometimes I forgot that the man I was teasing could easily break me with a flick of the wrist. Of course, if I let down my guard and drop my magic for a moment. We both knew that was impossible.

"Maybe I should return you a favor, and then we will see which one of us is making the most tempting moans?" he whispered suggestively and placed a small kiss under my ear. "What do you think about it, love?" he asked, rubbing his nose against my neck. He took one deep breath before placing his revange-wet kiss there.

And then, when I was burning for even his littlest touch, he just walked away like nothing happened.

I stood there, frozen in shock, watching his receding silhouette (definitely with a proud smirk on his face).

There was only one thing in my head.

1:1 motherf*cker

[biblical-chronicles]

What are your top five Oasis and top five Noel and or Liam songs? I’m actually so curious, I love hearing about people’s favourites

honestly? piss off this is the worst question how am I meant to choose?? This proper overheats me brain but I'll answer just be ready for an essay xx and more than 5 songs like I can't choose as all of it changes depending on me mood and all.

Right, first off, Oasis tunes are the best, no contest. Liam brings that proper attitude, and Noel's got the lyrics and musicality locked down—perfect combo. But Liam's solo stuff, it’s missin’ that rock edge to me. Just feels a bit… tame. Guitars aren’t punchy enough, and the way they’ve produced his voice on some tracks? Breaks me heart, that.

Now, Beady Eye—I'll back ‘em all day. Weren’t half as bad as people made out; lot of the hate came from folks still bitter about the split, which, fair play, I get it. But at least Beady Eye still had a sprinkle of that rawness. Liam's solo work, though, I dunno. Some of it’s just slower, leans a bit too pop for me, y’know? But let's be honest no one is searching up Liam/Noel and expecting dead hitting hard rock. With Liam it just gets a bit redundant, but yeah, there’s some belters in there too.

Overall, gotta hand it to Noel on the solo front. He’s always been the musical and lyrical backbone, hasn’t he? His stuff feels more authentic, like it’s got a bit more weight to it. And his voice—it’s just fuller, more rounded. With Liam, though, I don’t get why they slap that weird filter on his voice in the studio. Makes it sound all poppy and high-pitched, which is mad ‘cause live, he’s still got that grit. Honestly, just wish they’d let him sound like him.

Beady Eye: Four Letter Word, Beatles and Stones, Wind up Dream, Kill for a Dream, The Roller, Flick of The Finger, Soul Love, Face the Crowd, I'm Just Saying, Shine a Light - all decent numbers in me books

solo Liam: Gready Soul, Wall of Glass, For What It's Worth, When I'm in Need, You Better Run, I Get By, Come Back to Me, All My People, Shockwave, Once, Halo, Why Me? Why Not., Meadow, The River, Gone, Invisible Sun, I'm A Wheel, Make It Up As You Go Along, Diamond In the Dark, Don't Go Halfway, I'm Free, Wave. But again, his work isn't as strong to me as it lacks experimentation, yet many people give him wayyy too much shit for his music, especially since I think his biggest weakness is the slightly wonky production making it sound almost not like Liam from time to time.

Noel's High Flying Birds (or as Liam coined them the high flying turds): the whole first album lawd it all has such a distinct vibe I'll just say the whole thing since I am the lunatic that listens to albums front to back (blame me getting a record player at 13 from me dad fer this), Second album ofc the sigh at the beginning of The Girl With X-Ray Eyes gets a separate entry here, but seriously another great album; In The Heat Of The Moment, Lock All The Doors, The Right Stuff, The Mexican, Ballad Of The Mighty I, Do The Damage, Freaky Teeth. Then album number three again great work from Noel no wonder, Keep On Reaching, It's A Beautiful World, Be Careful What You Wish For, The Man Who Built The Moon. Council Skies also holds up well in me books; Pretty Boy, Dead To The World (can make me weep definitely), Council Skies, There She Blows!. Noel is just way more likely to experiment and has more agency over his work, the lyrics just hit deeper. The production is also way better and feels better geared towards Noel's range and sets the tone well. That said, his albums, as solid as they are, could do with a bit of that Headshrinker / Bring It on Now energy now and then. Feels like they’re missin’ a proper kick up the arse, y’know? He leans heavy on the slower ballads, which are class, but sometimes you just want that raw, in-yer-face energy.

Oasis: oh we're in for a ride here, I'll divide it album by album to keep it a bit more tidy.

Definitely Maybe: Filled with absolute tunes front to back, I know it all word for word and cry everytime I hear any song off of it when outside. Every tune is amazing, I really wanted to choose a few of me favourites but I just end up naming the whole album so sorry, it is genuinely impossible to choose everything on here is a masterpiece and I don't hate any song. Can't even choose a top 5 it's just such a consistently great album, it just fucks that's all, has a song for every mood and occasion. Even summat silly like Digsy's Dinner is a tune, the "But I don't think we've been living very wise" hits sometimes you know??

What's The Story: Another bleedin’ masterpiece giving me all the same problem—just too bloody good from start to finish. Every track’s a belter, proper tune for any mood you’re in. And lyrically? Noel’s smashed it, hasn’t he? The Masterplan still gets me every time, proper emotional. But listen, no way am I giving you a top 5—drive me mad tryin’ to rank ‘em. Now, let’s address somethin’—all the stick Wonderwall gets. Yeah, I get it, it’s a bit corny, overplayed as hell, but don’t sit there pretendin’ you ain’t singin’ every word at the pub after two pints—or even stone-cold sober, for that matter. People need to let the poor tune breathe a bit, stop usin’ it to slate the whole catalogue, yeah? Oh, and Step Out? Absolute tune. And when Noel drops that “you’re me bitch, rescue me tonight"? fuck off I love it.

Be Here Now: Another solid album that gets way too much stick, if you ask me. Yeah, it’s not as strong as the first two, fair enough—but take it on its own, and it’s nowhere near as bad as people make it out to be. Production’s a bit wonky, I’ll give you that, but live or remastered? It’s a beast, mate. For me, it’s right up there with the others. To anyone hating "get yer shit together girl", so many absolute tunes on it; The Fame, My Big Mouth, D'You Know What I Mean, Going Nowhere, Stay Young, It's Getting Better (Man!!), Be Here Now, I Hope I Think I know, Stand By Me, Fade In-Out, All Around the World, and also I don't hate Magic Pie like many do, It's good. It was a concept album, and the concept was they were off their heads on coke—but somehow, it gave us all these bangers. What’s not to love?

SOTSOG: this is such a great album when you don't have a little gremlin in yer ear telling you how bad it is. Let's just ignore Little James (so sorry Liam) and focus on Gas Panic, Fuckin' in the Bushes, Go Let It Out, Put Yer Money Where Yer Mouth Is, I Can See A Liar, and Roll It Over. And I agree with Noel Sunday Morning Call isn't as strong but lord does he hate that song with a passion it's so hilarious.

Heathen Chemistry: I might be sounding like a broken record but yet again people hate on it too much, like calm yer tits and appreciate Force of Nature, Hung In A Bad Place, A Quick Peep, Born On A Different Cloud, The Hindu Times, Better Man, and The Cage. Yes, Noel singing "for smoking all my stash" is a bit corny but the instrumental fucks so I'm letting it slide.

Don't Believe The Truth: now this is their weakest album I believe, doesn't mean it's complete and utter shite just not as consistent. Still, Turn Up the Sun, Mucky Fingers, The Importance of Being Idle, The Meaning of Soul, Part of the Queue, A Bell Will Ring, Let There Be Love, to me are all solid.

Dig Out Your Soul: oh this album fucks alright?? I can fully listen to it, front to back, it's such a treat. Waiting for the Rapture got such brilliant guitar parts, same with Bag it Up, The Turning, and The Shock of Lightning. (Get Off Your) High Horse Lady is also great, such an interesting one from Noel, Ain't Got Nothin' is also decent and The Nature of Reality.

alright there you go I did it love x

one of the hardest tasks bestowed upon me in recent times which has proven that I am more indecisive than previously thought.

[misc-obeyme]

sorry that this is coming to your ask box out of nowhere i just have thoughts (spoilers for om s3/4 if people want to avoid them): i know a lot of people love the idea of simeon falling from grace and becoming a demon just like the bros did, but it's so much more interesting and meaningful to me that he becomes human instead. it's another layer of separation he has from the bros and it feels like a neat parallel/contrast to lilith's actions. yes both acted out of a desire to protect a human but no one went to war for simeon. he got punished alone and quietly and by the time other characters noticed they couldn't do anything about it. (pt 1/2)

Oh no anon how could you bring this to my attention I will never be the saaaaaame!! 😭

I have thought a lot about Simeon in general because his story is so much more complex than most of the other characters. And I swear on my life, this fandom sleeps on him, but he's so great in so many ways.

I was kind of annoyed about the whole human thing, I didn't want him to lose his angel status mostly because I was upset about WHY it was happening. Since what he did by taking the ring saved lives, I was just mad about him being punished at all.

I didn't even stop to consider how this would mean he could grow old with MC and now my heart is conflicted lol!

I made that whole post about Solomon being the one who could understand MC's aging in a way the others couldn't, but it hadn't even dawned on me that Simeon could possibly be aging right along with MC. Maybe his understanding of aging and such is different from Solomon's, since he was an angel and everything, but if he stays as a human, he and MC would in fact be growing old together. AND OH MY HEART SHE BREAKS.

It's bad enough that all the demons and immortal beings have to deal with MC getting old and dying, but now they have to watch that happen to Simeon too?? The potential. Imagine how Luke would feel, all grown up and watching his elderly parental figures fade away into death. l;jadsflkdsklf I can't deal with it.

And yes, I love your thoughts about Simeon vs Lilith, too. Simeon is always the one that seems to be left out, on the outside looking in, not part of the brothers, and as you said, no one going to war for him. Punished alone and suffering alone and keeping it to himself for nearly two whole seasons because he can't even accept it himself.

I don't want Simeon to become a demon. I think him being a human is painful and sad, but I think that if he became a demon, it would almost negate all the choices he so clearly made to stay in the Celestial Realm. I think that instead of joining the rebellion, Simeon saw that he was needed in the Celestial Realm as a dissenting voice. He could work quietly from within to perhaps mitigate some of the damage that world has done and caused. I always saw him as hiding his true self, even if deep down he still wanted to be seen as a good angel and maintain his position, he also knew he had to make the choices that felt right to him. Even if it meant going against what he was originally taught. And I think that now, in the OG season four, he's kind of lost that ability because he's not even allowed in the Celestial Realm anymore. He can't even fight from within now. And I think he's struggling with feeling even more outside, feeling like he's slipping away from everything he's ever known, but not quite fitting into the Devildom either.

Augh I could talk about Simeon all day. He's really one of the best characters.

Also, please feel free to bring anything to my ask box at any time, I am genuinely thrilled to receive all of your thoughts!

[fluxweeed]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

i've had so much fun reading other answers to these questions over the last few weeks!! thank you @nv-md and @sweet-s0rr0w for mentioning me in your posts!! i fear my answers drifted much too far into self-indulgence, but what's new for this blog eh??

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

22, but one of them is 11 separate drabbles/microfics in a 2k-word jacket

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

293,865

3. What fandoms do you write for?

i'll only ever write hp on this username!

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

all drarry:

the four doors (legilimency healer draco + memory loss)

adventures in truth and texting (advent texting fic)

all i have to do (draco thinks harry is a magical fantasy but whoops he's real)

eight o'clock, tomorrow evening (four doors sequel)

two to lie and one to listen (8th year fake dating, sort of)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

i respond to everything on the final chapter of a fic! sometimes very kind commenters will say something at the end of every single chapter, which is SUCH a joy to receive, but i haven't yet figured out a way of saying "thank you!" 26 times over without sounding insincere

(i also don't usually respond to comments on fics i've co-written bc i don't feel like i have? the right? feels like i'm taking credit for something i did not really do!)

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

also drarry: for lack of wanting, wherein harry thinks it's sexy when draco acts like an evil dick again, and draco is too in love with harry to tell him that makes him feel weird

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

man i think all the rest are pretty happy, all things considered? tho i guess two to lie and wrapped are the only ones that end with explicit i-love-yous?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

i've been quite lucky, actually! i've had the occasional demand to change an angsty ending, or comments that have been quite mean about a character who isn't supportive of drarry. oh and i've had a couple of people get suuuper mad when draco malfoy, death eater and snotty spoilt brat, makes mildly immoral decisions. i've found all of those quite funny tho, which i'm sure i wouldn't if they were legitimate hate, so i don't think they count!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

yep! the vibe of two characters wanting to fuck but knowing they shouldn't for some reason (uneven dynamic, magic stuff, they simply haven't had a fucking conversation about it) is my absolute favourite. will read it every time, will write it pretty much every time too 😅

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

the closest i've come to writing a crossover is say no to this, a fic vaguely based off the storyline of the song from hamilton. it was the first drarry fic i'd written in about 10 years!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

yep! not any under this username (that i know of), but someone re-uploaded an old drarry fic of mine to wattpad – and honestly, i don't mind at all. i don't think the fic is very good lmao, if someone else wants to take the blame for it, that's totally fine by me

(the wildest thing about it is the combined ff.net + wattpad views of that fic now top 2 million i think?! but despite that u have almost definitely not heard of it!! i've only seen it mentioned, like, maybe 3 times since i properly re-joined fandom spaces in 2020)

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes!!!! it's SUCH an honour!!! the four doors is in german, chinese, russian and spanish; thirst (drarry vampire fic) is in chinese; and all i have to do (the not-fantasy-harry fic) is in russian 🥰

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

yes!!! well, sort of – officially, i co-wrote per my last letter (i hope you choke on it) with @lastontheboat, but i really do think i was more like an alpha reader with knobs on. the workload split was at least 25/75, with j shouldering a great deal of the burden (and all of the brilliance)!

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

this is going to sound silly given that i'm definitely a drarry writer and only really hang out in the drarry sphere – but i don't have one! for hp, i gravitate towards ships with harry in them, but even that isn't a hard and fast rule for me

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

nothing that i've posted! but i have tons that are never going to see the light of day. three recent-ish hp ones i've written the most for:

a fic i call The Opus, which is a drarry auror partners fic – i have 16k words written; it was going to end up a solid 100k. i love the concept i have for this fic so, so dearly, but a 100k casefic is not happening.

a harry/ginny established relationship smutty oneshot that is really nothing more than ginny being fun and sexy and harry being horny but, like, self-deprecating about it.

a drarry little mermaid au that i wrote for nanowrimo in 2019. like i MIGHT come back to this one day? but it's unlikely. pros: i do have 50k of it written already and the first draft isn't too far off being complete. cons: i have almost exactly 50k words of it written bc i hit the nano goal and stopped in the middle of a sentence bc writing it was SO stressful (that november i had two jobs + one volunteering role, and also i was moving house, so. a lot going on.)

16. What are your writing strengths?

god knows. dialogue and characters come easiest to me, ig? and i tend to cut a lot in editing, so i don't think my stuff is? overly wordy? so it doesn't require much brainpower to read? that could be a positive or a negative, depending on how you look at it!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

i suck at caring about anything other than character dynamics, so my fics never have plot outside of something vague to put the main pairing in the same room

similarly, i'm not very good at describing locations – describing anything, really

bc i tend to focus on the "oh we want to but we shouldn't!" moment, i'm pretty bad at actually developing feelings in longer fics – that part always feels too rushed to me, but fuck if i know a way of fixing it that isn't just, like, write another 20k

i think my endings usually feel like a bit of an afterthought and often quite forced

the more i write, the more i realise i know, like, 5 ways of phrasing anything, and i just repeat the same things over and over

i'm trying to fix my lack of skills with plotting + pacing by planning extensively before i start drafting, but i think that takes a bit of the spark out of the final version? it becomes a bit predictable and samey?

em dashes every tenth word

i'm convinced ppl i respect are in group chats talking abt how annoying and bad at writing i am, and also lowkey (…highkey) i agree with them – so actually getting myself to write anything is super hard!!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

yeah man! i mean, i personally am not sufficiently confident in my skills in any other language to do it without help (and i'm not sufficiently confident in my skills in asking for help to do that), but it's fun to read imo

19. First fandom you wrote for?

i've dabbled in a few over the years, but the first was hp – it was a marauders era snape/lily/james love triangle fic that i posted on a forum on a hp roleplaying site – this was before deathly hallows came out, so i was very smug when my pairing theory (that i undoubtedly stole from someone cleverer than me, because i was 13 years old) turned out to be true

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

god. @decaflondonfog recently told me that drabbles don't really count, so i? don't know? perhaps still the pine-woods scent the moon (guilty remus/harry) or taste of țuică (established drarry bringing ron in as a third) are the ones i like best, but i don't love either of them enough to be able to confidently declare them my favourite!

u know the drill: i got too sad and anxious and unfollowed everyone so i have no idea who to tag. if u made it this far please know i do love you very much, i want to kiss u on the cheek at LEAST, and would love to know any thoughts u have about the things u make ❤️