#I need him to remain in the house not because I like him

[rafesbangs]

seeing toxic!rafe at a party after you've broken up (again)

you'd just be doing your own thing, dancing and enjoying the party with your friends, swaying around as you do to whatever song you convinced whoever was on aux to put on.

rafe would be in the corner, sitting with some friends he came to the party with, silently taking swigs of a beer as topper and kelce talked about something he wasn't interested in. his gaze would be totally fixed on you but he'd remain where he is, trying to cook up a plan of action.

you would have no idea that he would be there, he usually stays away from you for a while when you break up or have fights. he didn't want to stay away this time, he was getting more and more possessive. that would've been what your fight was about, him needing to hear from you every second of the day if he wasn't there with you.

after a while you would walk off to find another drink or the bathroom and you'd disappear out of rafe's view, causing him to get up and follow a little behind you.

you'd end up somewhere where there aren't a lot of people and he'd say your name, just seemingly appearing behind you. you'd jump nearly sky high out of shock but then your brow would furrow and you'd demand to know "why the hell (he) thought coming here was a good idea."

he'd shrug and shift closer to you claiming he just wanted to see how you were doing because he worries about you, and the two of you would get into a little argument again about how you feel like he doesn't trust you. how he's obsessed with your whereabouts and you feel like you're constantly being watched.

"i love you y/n. that's why. i worry 'bout you constantly 'cause i'm fuckin' in love with you... an' you're right, 'm obsessed with you"

he'd get closer and closer but you'd allow it, listening intently to his words as his pupils grow wide.

he'd kiss you ravenously and you'd kiss him back, eventually you two would end up in one of the bedrooms of whoever's house party it was and he'd demolish you. rough rough sex but at the same time he'd just keep telling you how obsessed he is about you. how he wants you forever.

he'd moan into your ear when he's cuming inside you, telling you he wants you to have his babies, telling you he'd marry you so he could fuck you like this every night in your own mansion.

and then you two would end up getting back together again, hopefully for longer this time.

[kinichval]

haiiii ;3 can i request kinich and a reader who’s like half siren? like in h20 where when they’re dry they have legs and mualani finds her injured and keeps her in the springs and one night when he goes to see her she’s singer and he like falls in love? i’m not the best with ideas but ignore if you don’t want to lol

hi !! ty for requesting :3 i love the idea so i gave it a shot. i'm not deep into the siren mythology so i switched the lore and tried my best writing this one < 3

"you can't just take in a random stranger in your house just because they're injured, mualani."

"but they were suffering and needed urgent help!"

"then, you should've taken them to the clinic. who knows how severe their injuries are or if they have good intentions."

the conversation of your savior and a stranger stirs you awake from your slumber, eyes fluttering open as your mind gradually processes that it is time to get up. well, maybe if your legs weren't a bit impaired then standing up would've been useful.

except you're not in the best shape as you found yourself tangled in washed-ashore seaweed causing you to trample over rocks and bruising your legs; this means that you can not transform back to your siren appearance (and vice versa if your tail was injured). thank archons, your ridiculous situation ended soon when a kindhearted mualani decided to tend your injuries.

you were honest with your true self with mualani, believing in your instincts that she is as kind as she shows herself to be. like you, she was one with the waters, a soul that's tied to the flow of the oceans and destined to live freely just as the waters liberty to just be.

in the silence of mualani's shelter where you rest and heal, there's the envy creeping up in your heart that you desperately want to repress. but no, it makes itself known for you are not like mualani.

mualani is a free-spirited surfer, an adventurer of the seas; while you were a siren shunned out by society, viewed as a menace and a threat to the land's safety. kill a siren on sight before they destroy your life is what the people would say.

but you do not have the heart to decline her kindness, rather you want to see her heart as a chance to be seen by humans in a different light. because if mualani can, then why can't they?

still, you uphold the value that your mother had instilled in you; there's no point in proving your kindness when they do not believe in your existence. so you remain hidden within the confines of mualani's home, waiting for your injury to subdue until you're able to become siren again.

"kinich, this is yn. yn, this is 'malipo' kinich." mualani introduced you to a trusted friend of hers with enthusiasm high enough to reach the heavens. simply, you give the dendro user a nod and a gentle smile, he returns the gesture with a civil nod of acknowledgement. kinich's reserved attitude is intimidating, given that mualani is the only human you had ever interacted with, you're confused how human relations work and whether the land culture is different from those who reside under the waters.

you trust that mualani hasn't let a word out about your identity, yet it doesn't assure you when you feel the man's skepticism clawing at your skin as if he's ready to capture you the moment he confirms your true nature.

or maybe you're just overthinking.

kinich never intended for his lingering stare to feel like a dagger pointed at your neck, on the contrary, he harbors the curiosity to learn about you. he often finds how his mind wanders off to mualani's newfound friend whenever the usually occupied space in his head is vacant. who is she? why is he so subconsciously adamant on knowing her? only he fails to grasp a clear picture of reason as to why the voices inside his head are telling him to seek at least a fragment of her soul.

"mualani, thank you for taking care of me."

as a parting token, you granted mualani to experience your siren form. the two of you are within the privacy of the springs that only a few ever come to visit under the moonlit night sky.

your heart sinks at the thought of returning back to the deep, uncertain if you shall ever come up to the surface once your clan learns about your predicament knowing that despite you were well taken care of, they will only emphasize the what-ifs and assert the dangers of a siren caught on land.

natlan's springs are peaceful. you requested to have time in the waters for yourself the next night; promising that when morning comes, you are off to return to the ocean where you belong. but right now, you are neither your ascribed identity or whom you want be, you are just part of the waters.

cold air hits your skin, you lightly splash the water with your luminescent tail and softly smile at the quietness. sometimes, the water doesn't have to be constantly flowing, staying still is alright.

in the midst of your solitude, you hum a tune that your mother used to lull you to sleep when you were a young siren. your voice mimics the gentleness of a mother's love, a cradling feeling of tenderness and comfort. slowly, it shifts to a song, your voice becoming louder and alluring.

and just like a serenade, your song had captivated a certain saurian hunter's attention, he stands on the opposite edge of the spring right across where you were situated in. your eyes still closed and immersed in your enchanting euphony.

"i believe i'm not under a spell, but allow me to compliment your melody. may i stay here and listen?"

kinich fixes his composure, hiding the nervousness inside his pocket. but oh, the moonlight acts like a spotlight on your figure, your true nature completely open for him to realize that you are not human at all.

but kinich isn't fazed, neither does he yield the urge to capture you in exchange for the prestige that comes with catching a siren alive.

"are you not afraid?"

instead, you were the one afraid, wrapping your arms around your torso as if it's any help in shield your true form from his green and amber eyes.

"i'm fascinated. you are a beauty."

at this point, kinich does not intend to supress his longing need for you. he's conscious and sober, implying that a siren's song is not all about luring prey into the waters.

sometimes, just like yn, a siren's song is an open book to her innermost thoughts and heartbeat's poems. it doesn't need to hold words for kinich to depict the sentiments carried into the wind as she sings; to be known, to be understood.

"may i stay with you for tonight?"

this time, you wish for the moon to stay in its place, for time to pause, and for kinich to stay in the springs with you.

[dragon-ascent]

Imagine being able to see people’s elemental aura. If they bear a vision, the energy around them takes the color of the corresponding element. So Pyro users have a burning red-orange energy flickering about them while Dendro wielders are draped in a calm deep green. Only you can see their aura, perhaps just a special (but mostly useless) gift you were born with.

Which is why when you start working for Wangsheng Funeral Parlor and are introduced to Zhongli, you’re freaking out that you can’t tell anyone he’s actually the Geo Archon who is supposed to be dead.

Shimmering golden rays with a glare so intense they may just be exploding stars suspended in sunlight…yes, the aura around him is simply unmistakable. The Dendro Archon’s wavelength was of a similar intensity back when you attended the Sabzeruz festival. The appearance of the Raiden Shogun during Irodori had you beholding a similar feeling.

Zhongli’s every action only confirms it, not that confirmation was ever needed. His knowledge is too vast to be that of a young man, his mannerisms more ethereal than worldly, his gait steadier than stone.

Soon enough, he takes notice of the way you’re always so jittery around him – but he chalks it up to you being a naturally skittish thing. So he tries to alleviate your nerves by talking to you any chance he gets…not that that helps because his every word has you even more on edge.

“So true, bestie!” you blurt out after he’s told you something that’s gone in one ear and out the other. “Speaking of, isn’t it so sad that Rex Lapis is dead?”

Zhongli pauses, eyeing you curiously. “My dear, this is the third time this week you have brought up the topic of the Geo Lord’s death. Has it affected you so? Please take comfort in that He remains in all our hearts, watching over us common folk from the afterlife.”

He’s mocking me, I just know it! you think, your cheeks heating up as you try not to stare at the divine golden aura crackling around him.

One time, as (un)luck may have it, you accidentally bump into him and spill coffee on his beautiful suit. “Oh gods! Forgive me!” you wail, getting onto your knees. This time…this time he’ll certainly show you his godly wrath…maybe skewer you with his spear…or summon a fissure to swallow you…

But Zhongli is chuckling softly, dabbing at the stain with his lovely embroidered handkerchief. “Please do not fret, my friend. This is nothing a wash will not fix.”

You then insist you’ll cover the cost and get it cleaned, to which he eventually accedes. Holy…when he takes it off to reveal his cream-coloured shirt underneath, it’s like his aura gets even more blinding. It takes everything in you not to just throw yourself at his feet and sing his praises.

(How gorgeous he looks as he works the rest of the day with his coat off.)

He warmly invites you over to his place for tea when you come to return his coat, now cleaned; the house is as well-kept as he is. As night falls, the glow around him only strengthens in response. You can’t stop yourself from asking, mid-sip of your well-made tea:

“What’s Rex Lapis doing working a salaried job?”

[kusanagihaku]

and everything you do

⭢ haku x mc, 2.5k

y is for yellow. ˖⁺‧₊⟡ alphabet series | ao3 insp by this haku fanart!

The doors of the Galaxy Express hiss open, and you stumble in. 

You feel Haku’s weight slip off your shoulders as you gently lower him onto the plush of the closest red seat. He collapses, unceremoniously, onto the worn velvet, blinking slowly up at you with unfocused eyes as you right him. 

“Nearly there,” you murmur. You brush his hair away from his forehead. “On the train home now.” 

He closes his eyes in response. 

At least the bleeding seems to have stopped, you think. The cut on his cheekbone is no longer beading with fresh blood, dried smear instead catching on the pad of your thumb as you run it over the soft of his cheek. Small wins. 

You make sure he’s sitting semi-upright before moving to sit next to him. Before you can, however, his hand shoots up to stop you. 

With surprising strength, his arm winds around your waist, tugging you to him so hard you can’t help but lose your balance, knees buckling and tumbling into his lap. 

You yelp softly in shock, but Haku’s arms stay firmly anchored around you. His other hand comes up to grasp at the front of your blazer, holding you in place as he tips his head forward to rest on your shoulder. 

You soften. 

He must be really exhausted. 

Unsurprising, really, with the number of all-nighters he must have pulled over the last week. Where the missions of the other houses are often action-heavy and return you battered and bruised to the drafty embrace of the cathedral, Hotarubi’s missions are instead research-heavy, requiring Haku and Subaru to stay up nights on end in preparation. You’ve seen first-hand the amount of work Haku pours into every mission they go on, flipping through tomes of books way past moonset. Sometimes Subaru walks you back to the cathedral when your work ends past midnight, and you return the next morning to see Haku still in the same spot you left him. 

It’s partially why you find yourself gravitating towards Hotarubi missions – you’re more useful hitting the books for Haku than you are hitting… well, hitting anything with your fists. 

(The other half of the reason remains shrouded in a vague mist of Hotarubi nice, Subaru sweet, biggest fucking crush on Haku, Zenji fun… you try not to think too much about it.) 

You reach up to pat his head gently. “I’ll text Jiro to come take a look at your ankle, alright?” 

“Mmph,” Haku says. He shifts slightly, so that his chin is tucked into the crook of your neck instead. The grip on your blazer loosens. “No need, I’ll be alright.” 

Any closer his lips get to you and he’d be able to read the race of your heart through the thrum of your skin alone; you hope he doesn’t notice. 

You tsk, instead. “I know you ghouls heal at like, double the speed or whatever, but I still want to make sure it’ll heal properly.” 

Haku snorts. It sounds pained, still. His breath tickles your ear lobe as he says, “You don’t have to. I have you to lean on, don’t I?” 

You sigh. The ghouls may have double the strength, but they have double the stubbornness, too. “I’ll just get Jiro to bring the salve that Professor Nicolas used on me on my first day, alright?” 

Haku’s arms tighten around you at that. There is a small smile in his voice as he says, “How the tables have turned.” 

You tilt your head.

“Me bringing you to Darkwick on the Galaxy Express way back then because of your injured ankle…” Haku continues, laugh breathy against your ear. “Now it’s your turn to bring me home, huh?” 

You think you may be imagining it, but there is a gentle press of lips against the curve of your neck. It sends a warm shiver down your spine and a warm flush up your cheeks; you hurry to cover it up by shifting your arm and reaching into your pocket for your phone. 

“Wish you were sitting on my lap the first time, though,” Haku murmurs, and your brain short-circuits. 

“Um,” you say, intelligently. Your fingers fumble the password to your phone, failing to unlock it, and Haku snorts again. 

“Sorry, princess.” 

He doesn’t move though. You start to think he’s not sorry at all.

“I’ll, um.” You swipe at your phone screen again, ignoring the heat in your cheeks and the sudden overwhelming awareness of Haku’s arms holding you flush against him. “I’ll just.” 

You navigate to your texting app, with some difficulty, and as soon as your app opens Haku laughs, drowsily. “My chat is pinned.” 

Right. You forgot you did that. 

You bite your lip. “I, um, pinned it for the mission.” 

You didn’t, and you know Haku knows it too. 

There’s no mistaking it this time – you feel the soft of Haku’s lips smile against the spot where your neck meets your collar. “Mmhmm.” 

You don’t know if you’re going to combust first from embarrassment or from the way his breath is fanning out against your neck. 

But it’s a good reminder that he’s still alive, albeit in pain, and his breath evens out, eventually, as you tap out a quick missive to Jiro to meet you at the train station…

The Galaxy Express announces its arrival at the station with a soft chime. 

You awake with a start – you must have dozed off for a few minutes in the warmth of Haku’s embrace, lulled to sleep by the steady rocking of the train. Oh, to fall asleep in Haku’s arms under other circumstances– 

The train chimes again, and you stand up, gently pulling yourself free from the lock of his arms around you, before turning around to help Haku stand as the train pulls into the station. 

As soon as you get Haku to his feet, his weight warm against your shoulder, you spot the ever-reliable bird’s nest of hair hovering outside the train station, and the even-more-reliable ghoul floating behind him. “Jiro!” 

Zenji floats immediately to your side as you help Haku out of the train. “My goodness, Haku! What have you gotten yourself into!” 

You bite your lip and shoot him an apologetic glance. Can’t answer him now, with Jiro so close, but Zenji just nods in understanding, choosing instead to fret over Haku’s injuries. 

It takes a moment to navigate out of the Galaxy Express and down the steps of the train station to the sound of Zenji’s chatter, but the two of you soon stand in front of Jiro as he surveys your mess.

“Honour student,” Jiro nods. “Kusanagi.” 

His eyes sweep over the surface cut on Haku’s cheek, before choosing to attend to the ankle injury. The bottle of whitish-green salve is already in his hand as he kneels down. He prods a little, with the cold tips of his fingers, then spreads the salve around where you think (?) Haku’s ankle is swollen. 

Jiro stands up at last, capping the bottle of salve. “It doesn’t look too bad. The swelling isn’t as bad as you made it out to be; it looks like he should be able to walk back by himself.” 

You sigh in relief. “Thanks, Jiro.” 

Jiro just shrugs, tucking the bottle into your hand. “If you didn’t say he was limping I wouldn’t have known it was injured at all.” 

You narrow your eyes as the pieces click together in your head, but before you can turn to Haku Jiro retrieves a few bandages from his pocket and thrusts them at you. 

“Some bandages for his face,” Jiro says. “Normally I’d put them on for patients, but he seems like he’d vastly prefer you doing it for him.” 

You turn to glare at Haku, but he just grins, brightly. “Spot-on as always, Jiro.” 

Jiro merely nods, before turning to stride away. 

“Thanks, Jiro!” You call out after the ghoul, before turning to Haku with a huff. 

“You–“

“I told you not to call him,” Haku points out, eyes twinkling, and you huff again. 

“I thought you were injured!” 

“I am!” He grins, and leans against you. “God, I’m so tired, it’s so hard to walk, my ankle hurts–“

You burst out laughing, in spite of yourself. “You’re so annoying.” 

And if you slowly make your way back with Haku’s arm still wound around your shoulder and his laugh brushing against your ear, limping closer and closer to the grey drizzle of Hotarubi, well– that’s nobody’s business but your own. 

(Neither of you notice Zenji fading back into transparency, adoring smile gracing his face as he watches the two of you bicker. He has a new idea for a love story to write, after all, and a brother to tail.)

-

Haku winces in pain the moment the antiseptic hits his skin. 

You bite your lip, pulling the cotton gauze away from his cheek. “Sorry.” 

He shakes his head minutely from where he is laid in your lap. “It’s alright. I can take it.” 

You dab around the wound, gentler this time. “You’re gonna have to keep the bandage on for at least a day.” 

“As long as it doesn’t scar,” Haku responds. He blinks slowly up at you, lazy smile spreading across his face. “Damn, if I knew all I needed to do to lay on your lap was to get a little scratch on my cheek I would have done it sooner.” 

You flush, and bop his nose with your index finger. “Stop smiling. I can’t clean your wound.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, and bites down on his lips. The twinkle of mirth in his eyes don’t disappear, though, and it is only a matter of seconds before he opens his mouth again. “Will you give it a kiss after?” 

Startled, you press a little harder on his wound than you intend to, and he hisses in response. “Sorry!” 

Haku groans, hand coming up to brush his cheek before looking up at you like a wounded puppy. “That much against giving me a kiss? I’m hurt.” 

You bite back the thrum of your heart and will your eyes not to flicker to the soft pink of his lips, warm in the bruise-blue of Hotarubi evening. 

“If you’re well enough to flirt, you’re well enough to clean your own wound,” you threaten lightly, instead, and watch as Haku’s eyes crinkle up in a golden smile that sinks right into the butterfly swirl of your stomach. 

You can’t help the responding smile that surfaces on your own cheeks either – there has always been something in the sunlight of his laugh that bubbles through the map of your veins, bright and warm and magnetic. 

God, you’re so gone for him. 

You hastily drop his gaze and drop the gauze, and unwrap the large plaster Jiro gave you. “Stay still.” 

“As you say,” Haku murmurs, then much to the relief of your one remaining braincell, shuts his eyes. 

As you manoeuvre the length of the plaster onto the scratch on his cheek, you thank your past self for turning on the small lamp near the foot of his futon mattress. The scratch looks deeper than you thought in the warm light, an angry red that will scab over only in a few days. You’ll have to grab some hydrocolloid cream from your own stash to make sure it heals well. Maybe you can bring it over tomorrow. 

You run your fingers over the edges of the plaster, gently pressing the adhesive into place before brushing his fringe away from his eyelashes. He still looks exhausted, to be honest, purplish-grey bruising under his eyes both a haunting of sleepless nights past and a promise of sleepless nights to come.

You wonder, for the thousandth time, if there is anything else you can do to help shoulder his burden just as much as he is trying to shoulder yours. 

“If you stare so much you gotta start paying me in kisses, princess,” Haku says softly, smiling, eyes still closed. His hand comes up to cover yours, pressing your palm against his injured cheek. 

“I wasn’t–“ 

Haku hums, amusement threading through exhaustion. He doesn’t open his eyes. “Liar.” 

He intertwines his fingers with yours, shifting your hand so he can press his lips against your palm. The light brush of his kiss against your skin sends your heart racing; the fond gesture fuels the sudden whirlwind that has grown its new home in your throat. “I’ve seen the way you look at me.” 

You open your mouth to retort, but come up empty. God, you thought you were subtle, but everyone and their mothers and apparently Haku himself knows about your big fat crush on him. 

So much for keeping it a secret and living out a quiet rest of the year, really.

His voice is low, words sleep-warm and slurring as he continues, “I could love you like that, you know. I want to. If you’d let me.” 

The drum of the rain against the wooden veranda outside intensifies, filling the space between the both of you. The creaks in the Hotarubi ceilings expand between you and what you are too afraid to have. 

Can you? Can you really, with the sword of your curse hanging over your head? It already feels like you’re taking too much from him, just like this, wrapped in the secret moments you share and tucked into liminal pockets of time you steal between missions. His head on your lap, your hand in his. It feels too greedy, to take what he so readily offers. To agree with him feels like you’re reaching for too much. 

And yet you do not move your hand. 

Haku breathes out. It is too light to be a sigh, too heavy to be anything else but letting go. “Sing me a lullaby, will you?” 

You blink. “Uh-“ 

He settles your interlaced fingers on his stomach. His wrist is still mottled yellow and green from where he blocked an anomaly from flying at you two missions ago; you resist the urge to run your free hand over the bruising. His voice is slow and sleepy as he mumbles a, “Just want to hear your voice, princess. Please?” 

How easily you fold, whenever it is Haku asking. 

When you begin humming your voice is a little shaky, a build of uncertainty and self-consciousness, and you nearly stop if not for the reassuring squeeze of Haku’s hand on yours. You hum through the opening bars of a song whose name you cannot quite remember but is familiar all the same, a star-dusted melody has been trodden into the paths of your brain long before its lyrics floated away. 

The slightly off-tune off-time of your humming melts into the grey of the rain and the warmth of the room; you feel Haku slowly slipping out of consciousness, barely aware of how your hand has come up to rest against the green silken threads of his hair.  

And you know, you know I love you so. 

Haku’s breathing evens out. You skim your thumb over the back of his hand. 

You know I love you so. 

[vigilskeep]

there are so many things in veilguard that have made me go "wait what??? okay i guess i have to totally rethink the character i'm roleplaying now" that it's literally impossible to guess what thing you're referring to as The Thing That Happened. obviously extremely curious to hear what it is once you've detangled it

it’s kind of like that but it’s also less that and more... okay i should probably just say it, i’m being weird and unhelpful and i need to write it out anyway so i can think

MASSIVE SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT for a companion quest, do NOT say i didn’t warn you. also please don’t respond to this if you know more than me i am in distress but i still don’t want spoilers

so i just finished lucanis’ “a murder of crows” quest. and lucanis. first talon. for some reason. (this is the writing choice i’m ??? on. also i’m ??? on lucanis’ whole storyline, frankly. the writing was. well. like i said, we’re not unpicking that right now, i don’t want to get into it at this point, not the conversation i’m having.)

lifelong trauma of being in the crows and fighting to get someone in a talon’s position and keep them there -> the thing that gave sol all their diseases and made them, to be frank, fairly suicidal

viago: ultimately can handle it without them, especially with teia’s backing.

lucanis: CANNOT handle it without them. holy fuck. for like twelve hundred different reasons, unthinkable, completely laughable, that he can handle this. who is going to protect him. the only reason this could be better at keeping sol mentally stable than watching viago’s back is that they will never feel purposeless or need to go looking for an adrenaline rush, because forget crows, an ambitious blackbird could eat that man alive. he can’t scheme. he can’t even SCHEME and the very fact that he trusts sol DE RIVA demonstrates this. sol is a crow! from another house! does he have no memory at all of the fact that his own parents died in crow infighting? sol could have been playing him this whole time, it wouldn’t have even been hard, and if they were that kind of person, then right now the first talon’s house would have just fallen directly in their hands like a gift from the maker, and they can’t even say a part of themself they can’t shut off isn’t thinking about it that way! how is sol supposed to keep someone like that alive?

you see what it’s like trying to sleep while sol is having this discussion in my mind.

ahem. anyway. pathways for sol’s life assuming they indeed make it through the game:

becoming lucanis’ guard dog the way they were for viago, which (even if they could mentally handle that, which they can’t. or can they??) means switching house loyalties which would surely destroy them eventually -> bad

somehow trying to persuade lucanis to give this up, as if that wouldn’t be throwing house dellamorte completely to the dogs, which at least sol can’t imagine any crow is capable of, let alone someone so dedicated to clinging to what remains of his family that he couldn’t even kill a traitor -> bad

going ahead and leaving the crows, but sol now has to leave BOTH viago and lucanis behind and also lucanis is going to die in there because they left him to do this alone -> bad

solution: sol is back on their original “if a blighted dragon eats me by the end of this, i don’t have to experience consequences” train

and maybe they’re right and i should not worry about this because i’m painfully aware it’s VERY bold to start deciding what happens after the game at this point, when they might still get trapped in the fade or turned into paste or something. and admittedly they did know and dread the possibilities from the first moment they felt something for lucanis, which was why they so wanted it to be anyone else, because anyone else in that lighthouse could have given them a different world, and he is the one who regardless of his best or worst intentions can only tie them tighter to a burning building. and SURE, i see the solas/mythal breakup parallels of sol still leaving, i’m looking at them, that doesn’t mean i have to LIKE them

he hasn’t even kissed them. they’re doing all of this unkissed. lucanis dellamorte when i get you

again please absolutely do not respond to any of this with even the vaguest of hints if you know more about the rest of the game than me 🙏 it’s probably best if no-one responds to this at all lmao i am just thinking out loud. you can reply with a “that’s rough buddy”. for sol

[doodle-pops]

House of Fingolfin | Wanting Another Round

A/N: *head pats and kisses for everyone* Enjoy!

Warnings: smut, female reader, marathon sex, multiple orgasms, rough sex, dacryphilia (squint), manhandling, pet names being used (princess, sweetheart, sweet girl), daddy kink (single use)

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Fingolfin — He’s commanding when he wants to go another round, always convincing you that the number you’ve already experienced isn’t enough and one more is required.

Achieving your umpteenth orgasm and bowing your back off the bed, your back collided with your husband’s chest and the delicious roll of your nipples against his sweaty skin elicited a heavenly moan from both your throats. His hands were gripping your legs, spreading them further apart while his hips continued to slap against your ass without remorse. He fucked you through your orgasm and was about to fuck you into a new one, not caring whether or not you could give him another. You were going to give him another.

“Squeezing me love. Hmm, you feel so heavenly around me,” he whispered against your ears as his seductive eyes were locked on your puffy lips taking his cock. He was living for the sight of more. “Are you going to give your daddy one more? You look like you need another.”

The slick sound of his cock sliding in and out your heat echoed loudly with the lewd sounds escalating with each thrust. His balls were heavy and still full of unreleased cum that he planned on emptying before the night was over, and you were going to take every drop. Curling your nails into the sheets as his cock rubbed against that one spot repetitively, your eye lids drooped and rolled at the same time, leading to your head dropping into the sheets, causing him to hauntingly laugh.

“Close already darling?” he mocked as he pounded into your harder and reached down to pinch your clit, eliciting a squeal.

“Ñolo…ngghh, I can’t—please. I can’t cum again. I don’t…I–I…” You bite your lips in attempt to prevent a high-pitched whine as he stopped his thrusting to rest the tip of his cock against your sweet spot. The weight of his tip left you choking on sobs and squirming within his hold to escape his devilry.

“You can’t cum for me again? Is that what you’re telling me, sweetness?” Pecking your shoulder with a teasing laugh following.. “I wasn’t asking you love; I was telling you that you will cum for me again. No ifs and no buts.”

Without wasting a second, he slid his cock all the way out with teasing intentions until the tip remained inside before slamming his hips against yours with vigour. Your nails tugged at the sheets and dug deeply into the fabric, producing minor rips making him pound away harder, while your cries increased.

“Just like that, sweetness. Let yourself go for me,” he smirked. “It’s what your pretty pussy deserves.”

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Fingon — guilt trips you into giving him another round because he can’t get enough of you with a few pouting and pleads.

Feeling heavy hands pushing your stomach into the mattress while your head remained buried in the sheets, your eye lulled and drooped from the torrent of pounding you were receiving from behind. There was nowhere to escape, no running away and fighting back; just lying there and taking all the pounding your poor tired pussy was experiencing for the nth time tonight. You didn’t know how many orgasms you past through since you started, but from the way your legs were shaking, you knew it was more than five.

“Finno…I–I can’t—my legs. I can’t cum again, too much,” you whined into the bed in a slightly muffled voice before feeling his fingers grip the back of your neck to crane your head upwards. At the same time, he purposefully aimed his cock to pound against your sweet spot to elicit loud and clear squeals from you.

Grinning, he broke into chuckle at the pretty sounds you made for him, clearly displaying that you were more than capable of giving him another orgasm and a few more before the night was over. With a sharp glance at your ass jiggling at it collided with his hips, he dipped his head to brush his lips beside your ear, kissing the tip. “But I barely got enough of you tonight, princess, and I wanted to make you cum more times,” he whined. “Let me make you cum again, please sweetheart? Let me make you feel good; stretch you out nice and good. You asked me to take of you, so let me, sweetheart. Give in…”

You couldn’t resist those familiar words; your body knew them too well and always crumbled under the slightest whisper. On instinct, Fingon felt your walls clamping down on his cock as his pounding continued, massaging him just the way he enjoyed. In return, he rewarded you with the constant punishing of his cock head against your sweet spot to push you over the edge. His lips were attached to your neck as he added more hickeys to the earlier artistry and whispering more filth into your ear.

“Just like love, just let yourself go and make me feel good. I’ll take good care of you; make you cum all over my cock, pretty girl,” he purred as pushed his cock all the way to the hilt, making his balls slap louder against your clit.

“Finno…” you panted as your eyes rolled into your head. “Ngghh, I–I…can feel…”

“I know pretty girl, I know.” That was all he needed before placing the rest of his weight atop you, pinning you under him as he pushed you over the edge, making your cream all over his cock with the urge of not stopping.

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Turgon — silently manhandles the fuck out of you when he wants another round and so you’re left there taking his pounding.

As soon as you came down from your orgasm, you felt your body floating among the clouds one minute, before it was being snatched away and brought back to earth by the sudden dragging of your body off the bed. Snapping your eyes open, you came face to face with Turgon as he rested your legs in the crooks of his elbows, spreading you open, before he stood at the foot of the bed with you suspended in his arms. Immediately your arms wrapped around his neck, while one of his hands slipped between your bodies to align his cock with your wet pussy. Without a proper warm up, he impaled you onto his cock, pushing all of him in you.

You were unable to scramble out of his hold since it was a warrior’s grip that kept you secure and impaled on his thick cock. All you could do was whine and tremble as the aftershocks of your orgasm made your pussy extra sensitive to his touch, and his disregards to easing you on his cock went out the window. In his mind, you were taking it fine a minute ago, so there was no need to be gentle.

“Turu–…káno…” you whined and looked down as he slowly, yet deeply, moved you up and down his cock, making you feel him all the way in your guts. Your eyes rolled and twitched while your hands slapped against his chest and back. He held no remorse for the push he was sending your body into since it was benefiting for him to feel and enjoy the pure tightness of your pussy squeezing and milking his cock.

“Hmm, relax and enjoy the feeling of my cock love. I’ll take good care of you,” he muttered as he closed his eyes and tossed his head back, relishing in the sensation of your walls massaging his cock and the warmth. “We’re far from finished for the night.”

“I don’t think I can–…can cum again. ‘M too sensitive,” you struggled, feeling the air being knocked out your lungs.

Smirking as he listened to your words, he bent down to kneel on the bed edge and rested you back against the soft mattress. With your legs still spread and the perfect sight of your pussy welcoming his cock, Turgon groaned and switched his pace to deep and body-shaking pounding. You could feel your skeleton rattling from the heavy and calculated thrusts he was sending your way.

“You’re just right to cum again for me, love. You’re doing so well, just give me one more and I’ll reward you.”

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Argon — sweetly asks you for one more round because he can’t get enough of you.

Nuzzling his face into your sweaty neck, he breathed in your scent and planted a litter of kisses to the same area. Instinctively, Argon’s arms encircled your waist and pulled you into his body with the purpose of dragging you on top on him. Unknowingly, your body easily followed as you were caught up in the rapture of the affections he gave so sweetly. His hands roamed your body, touching and groping your thighs, squeezing your ass, running his fingers up and down your back and sneakily cupping your breasts.

The sound of your laughter waffling through the air filled him with delight as he deepened the kiss and turned his light pecks into prying your lips apart to slip his tongue inside your mouth. The moment he gained entry, he tightened his arms around your waist and cupped your ass to rub his cock against your opening. Your wetness dripped onto his member and coated him in a delicious warmth which made him groan in your mouth.

“Can I slip inside? I want you again,” he pleaded against your lips as he broke the kiss. “Please, I’ll take control, just let me have you again.”

His whines and sweet pleads were like music to your ears the more he begged and rubbed the head of his cock through your folds and against your clit. Beads of his precum mixed with your slick the more he rubbed himself against you, and in return, you rocked your hips against him. Argon soft pants escaped his lips and fluttered through the air.

“You want to fuck my pussy, Káno? You want to feel me wrapped around your cock?” you purred against his lips and reached down to slip the head of his cock inside your entrance. The moment you did so, Argon lost all forms of self-restraint, planted his feet into the mattress and started pounding into your heat.

Both hands were gripping your ass as he pushed himself in and out your wet pussy, loving the inviting sensation that enveloped him with each thrust. All you were able to do was bow your head into his neck and hang on for the ride as he pounded into your rapidly and landed delicious slaps to your ass. Each squeak you released fuelled him to push himself deeper and make you see the stars. You were experiencing a plethora of pleasure when his mouth eventually joined in to latch onto your breasts and suckle.

His grunts reverberated throughout your body and mixed with your moans as he turned your insides in jello and remoulded it to his liking. The way his cock slid inside your pussy made you mewl and squirt all over his cock, pushing him to take you harder and to new heights as the evening turned into night.

Masterlist

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[overnightheartbeats]

Perhaps, Laurel spent a little too long watching his lips, caught up in the way he licked them. Oh, she was a goner. “Woah, you are really smart with your class schedule. How do you pick the stories you read?" His words saddened her, thinking of the prospect of someone being used to not having a home. But, the brief optimism was a good note. Surely, he'd find a home eventually, and while they were in school, she'd try to help find that space. "For my sake, I hope you're right about the lack of embarrassing." Her mind was already turning with ideas for Juju and Aaron's upcoming visit. "Hm, I'll need to bribe them too, to behave."

Despite the variety of topics they had covered already, this was what made her cheeks warm up with a pink flush. How he had only known her for this short amount of time, and yet he saw her. The way he spoke, he saw something in her that she hadn't really bothered seeing in herself lately. "That's very kind of you, I really appreciate it. I'll keep my glow on, just for you." The idea of cooking had never really enticed her too much, but now the prospect of jumping into this new adventure with him excited her. "Kitchen heaven, oh that sounds like our place. I'll plan that one, and I'll send you the details when we can take over the kitchen. Maybe, we each bring a recipe we want to try."

"As long as you don't want to be far from me, then I'll be buying all the portable fans. Well, hey I'm not complaining on the idea because it brought you here." The idea didn't seem too logical to her, but how could she judge it when it meant he arrived here with her? That had to be some version of destiny, if she even believed in all that. Laurel was hanging on to each word, a string pulling him toward her. Was he always so charming and romantic? "I..." her words trailed off, completely in a daze. "I'm inclined to believe that, I'm glad the string brought us here. Having us meet halfway, hm guess I'd just be curious why Texas, of all places." The thought of a string pulling him to a place that he didn't like was so interesting, completely grateful that he did listen to that string tugging him here. "The more, the merrier and I'd love to meet them. Maybe, get some of those stories about you." Laurel's smile remained, her curiosity on Colorado growing. He had the ability to make anything sound interesting, even a state she had never given second thought to. "There's more to Brazil than Carnival though, promise I'm not a party animal. I'm intrigued by Colorado now, and Panama, really? That sounds like a fun spot too, probably some really good beaches." Oh, she was completely pleased with herself when he agreed and gave her a look. Lucky for her, they both were not the sharing type. "Good to know, because I really have no intention of sharing you with anyone here. Just a heads up."

She was shaking her head, silently telling him it was not necessary at all. Laurel understood house rules, and really didn't mind just hanging out here, even on the floor. It beat being in her dorm listening to Jenny complain about being ditched earlier. But, Laurel looked at him and knew that there was no chance of saying no. "Okay, but only because you insist." She took the items Eli handed her, and nodded reluctantly. "I believe you," she said with soft laugh. "This is more than enough, don't worry. I'll be right back." With that, she stepped away to change. Changing into the bottoms was quick and easy, the hoodie - well, that had more thought going into it. He did say no outside clothes, her blouse definitely counted under that umbrella, but was it too bold to wear his hoodie with no shirt underneath? Maybe so, but she would follow instructions, so she pulled her blouse and quickly changed into the soft hoodie. Once her outside clothes were folded, she stepped back out and grinned widely. "Ta-da, fits pretty well! Confirming I'm free of outside clothes," she teased as she stuffed her clothes in her backpack for now.

"A lot of mishaps," he laughed, licking his lips after that small make out. The green apple aftertaste leaving traces on his lips. He would have thought she'd be a cherry type of girl but no even with chapstick she managed to surprise him. "M&M I call her that, she loves to be read stories. That's what we do every Friday night. It's why I only have that one class on Friday to make sure I've done my homework when I call her." He shrugged thinking by now he should be used to not having a home. He never had one before the Phillips scooped him up. "It's okay. I'm used to it. Maybe one day I'll find home." Eli's smile widened at the thought of getting stories of her. "I'll take it. Embarrassing? I highly doubt that. Any and all stories about you I'll be glad to hear."

"You're more than dust. You have a glow just some people can't see it. It's on them not on you." He gently squeezed her hand and smiled. "And that's enough. Always will be." Just because her mom didn't see her like that didn't mean she wasn't special. "Good. After all you can't dim your light for others. Not fair to you." Cooking and having a knack to learn seemed like a good combo. "Sounds like we're a match in kitchen heaven."

He couldn't help but smiled amused. "Carry a portable fan with you at all times. That way I don't have to be too far away from you. I know. It wasn't the brightest idea to move here but I also think it lead me to you. I am not sure if I believe in that but also not really a coincidence we met before we actually met. It was like," he thought about it. "A string pulling me toward you. Have you ever felt that?" Nodding his head he didn't think she'd take him up on it so quick but was glad she had. "Winter break coming up. Let's do it. I'm sure my sisters will love to join if you're okay with that. I need to see if they can come or one will be missing. Not sure Isa and hia schedule." He had to think hard on if he did go anywhere he had wanted to. "No. We stayed local or if we felt really adventurous we went to Colorado. But bucket list items for sure. Brazil? That is cool. That reminds me of one I forgot. Panama." He bumped into her and gave her a look. "Neither am I very good at sharing."

Eli turned around and sighed trying to find his sweater he hadn't worn in the week. Once he did he took it out and found bottoms that would fit her. Last time Inez bought him pants they were a little too tight so now they seemed like they'd fit Laurel. "Here, get comfortable. You can't stand or sit on the floor. You're my guest. I insist." His black striped hoodie was the one he gave her and handed her the bottoms. "These should fit you. I have an extra toothbrush in the drawer in the bathroom so feel free to use that. I promise it's brand new." Now he was thankful the Phillips siblings gave him so much in their care package. "If you need anything else let me know."

[gothamite-rambler]

Oliver Queen when he found out his son had remained friends with Jason Todd

Oliver Queen stood by his window, drawing back his bowstring, a steely focus in his eyes.

Oliver (whispering): All right, stand still.

As he prepared to take his shot, Roy was chatting with Jason when he caught sight of his father on the balcony, bowstring drawn and arrow ready. Acting on instinct, Roy tackled Jason to the ground just as Oliver released the arrow, which narrowly missed them both.

Roy (breathing heavily): Could you not try to kill him?!

Oliver (shouting angrily): I was aiming for his leg!

Jason, unfazed, lay on the ground, smirking.

Jason (mockingly): Destroy my leg, but spare my life… I respect that.

Roy rolled his eyes as he stood up.

Roy (grinning): He says he respects that it wasn't a kill shot!

Oliver (frustrated): I don’t care about his opinion! But thanks nonetheless!

Jason picked himself up, brushing off the dirt and ready to stir the pot.

Jason (tauntingly): Are you still butt hurt that I made you cry like a baby when I called you out?

Oliver’s face flushed with anger.

Oliver (defensive): That was allergies, you idiot! Just stay away from my son—you’re a bad influence!

Jason laughed, crossing his arms.

Jason (smirking): Hey, it’s not my fault I took care of your son better than you did!

Oliver’s expression hardened as he considered nocking another arrow.

Oliver (shouting): You son of a bitch! I did take care of him!

Jason stepped closer, challenging Oliver.

Jason: You kicked him out of the house and stripped him of his hero status when you found out he was on drugs!

Oliver (poorly defending himself): He’s alive right now, so it worked out! I am a good father!

Jason laughed, shaking his head.

Roy: Jason, let’s just leave.

Jason: No, no, I love this I'm not leaving until he cries!

Jason stepped forward, raising his voice.

Jason: Good fathers don’t disown their kids and refuse to help them! You make my father look like a saint; at least he tried! He was a hypocrite for most of it, but you kicked your son out instead of helping him! Just because he's turned out fine doesn’t fix anything!

Oliver shook with rage, angrily preparing another arrow, but Dinah suddenly walked outside and snatched it away.

Dinah: Act like an adult, or I’m calling off date night!

Roy put his phone away, having texted Black Canary about the argument upstairs.

Roy: Thanks, Dinah.

Dinah: You’re welcome! Good to see you again, Roy and Jason. I don’t like you that much Jason, but Oliver is overreacting.

She smacked Oliver lightly on the back of the head before going back inside with the arrows. Oliver groaned, resting his forehead on the railing of the balcony.

Jason: Want to cry again? I can slash the tires on your new car if you need some extra motivation.

Roy chuckled and shook his head, but Oliver, visibly irritated and embarrassed, pulled out his phone.

Oliver (firmly): You know what? I don’t care if you two are adults. I’m calling Bruce and telling on you!

Jason's eyes widened, panic flashing across his face as Oliver retreated to his bedroom.

Jason (threateningly): Old man, I will throw a rock through every single window of your house if you dial his number!

With a defiant smirk, Jason bolted toward the mansion, with Roy hot on his heels, secretly enjoying the chaos.

How it started

[breadvidence]

I've dithered over making this post because I will feel incredibly silly if everyone else got this on the first go-through rather than the—Lord alone knows how many times I've read this particular scene, actually—but there I was, me and "The Seventh Circle and the Eighth Heaven"—as you do, for idle and entertainment, and I reach

If you will allow it, I will come to see her. I assure you that I desire it greatly. If I had not cared to see Cosette, I should not have made to you the confession that I have made, I should have gone away; but, as I desired to remain in the place where Cosette is, and to continue to see her, I had to tell you about it honestly. You follow my reasoning, do you not? it is a matter easily understood.

And realized that despite the character stating his reason right there in the text I have misunderstood badly. I took Valjean's intent with this confession and in his behavior afterwards to be separation from Cosette, that his desired outcome is to die alone, that he struggles against his love of her to reach that solitude, but it's—not. He says earlier that it's not, as well.

Stay, the unfortunate point is that I have a thread in my heart, which keeps me fast. It is when one is old that that sort of thread is particularly solid. All life falls in ruin around one; one resists. Had I been able to tear out that thread, to break it, to undo the knot or to cut it, to go far away, I should have been safe. I had only to go away; there are diligences in the Rue Bouloy; you are happy; I am going. I have tried to break that thread, I have jerked at it, it would not break, I tore my heart with it.

The thread—to Cosette. He can't separate himself. He would not have to make this confession if he could simply leave her. Therefore he has to confess to Marius for two reasons, as I see it: (1) a big dramatic compulsion to honesty about his symbolic status as one who cannot live in the family of men, sure, but (2) like, real literally, he cannot live in the house. Valjean is practical, he makes arrangements, he's smart, his confession draws from the saint but I think it's also the thief, and what does the thief need? A co-conspirator. Both morally and practically he's averse to living at the Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire, and with both Cosette and her "master" Marius pushing him to move in, he'd have to move totally away, as he's certainly not going to give in—but now he's got Marius' backing to allow him to stay at the Rue de l'Homme-Armé, and he can exist in the in-between space he's always occupied, there in the back courtyard of Cosette's life.

I always wondered at Valjean's vacillation—that he says "To-day, Cosette passes out of my life; our two roads part. Henceforth, I can do nothing for her.", then begs Marius for the right to visit her. But he didn't change his intent at all; he was always keen to visit, to live on the crumbs that scatter from the table. He simply can't pull up a chair.

Marius' passive-aggressive attack on that thread, the destruction of Valjean's heart, Valjean is complicit in accepting that, yes. But he did not come into this parlor looking for that outcome.

🤦‍♂️

[starsfic]

The Week After, Chapter 2: Day 1

Summary: Short one, because it was mostly sleeping.

They woke up on a couch.

It was an old couch in what looked to be the remains of a small break room. The lights were turned off, leaving only some light to peer through the cracks of the open door, so few details could be seen, like the dust that clung here and there and the plastic chairs surrounding about two tables. What they could see was the age of the room, left to rot unlike the pristine parkour palace.

…Well, almost pristine.

They pulled out their phone and winced at the lack of response. Hopefully, they got their purse back, it had their phone charger in it. There was a clock on the wall, but as they squinted, they realized they couldn’t see.

Oh. Wait. They weren’t wearing their glasses.

Morgan had to wonder how long they had been asleep to not notice that fact first. They stood up and reached around. After a bit of fumbling in the dark, they found their glasses. The sport strap was still on. They pulled it on and realized about four things.

The clock was a Frankie clock, the position of his arms suggesting it was eight in the evening. Someone had taken off the Frankie onesie, leaving them in the gym shorts and tank they had come in, the floor freezing through their socked feet, with the shoes next to the couch. There was a McDonald’s bag sitting next to where their glasses had been, faint warmth still coming off. The third thing was that Frankie was standing in the corner of the room next to the door, staring at them.

They stared at each other. It was just like when they stumbled across him the first time. He had been staring at the cameras and then slowly turned towards them. Morgan had been too baffled and just a touch scared to think of running as he straightened up and then suddenly burst to life-

“Oh good!” he said, clapping his hands. “You’re not dead!”

Morgan stared. “Were- were you worried I was?” they asked.

“Well, to be fair, you did pass out on me very suddenly,” he said, reaching over and turning on the light. They felt a hiss come out at the sudden invasion of light, blinking colors out of their vision. “That was very rude of you, dear.”

“Sorry,” they said, unsure of what else to say. When their parents or siblings had said something similar, they had always felt a rush of anger that meant that their house was filled with yelling. Instead, shame rushed up, foreign in their body. “I think it was because I was suddenly out of a life-threatening situation.” To be fair, Morgan had been running around for hours, avoiding danger like Death had an arrest warrant for them. It had been exciting, but also exhausting. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Hm,” Frankie said.

Morgan decided to move to the next topic. “Did you buy me McDonald’s?”

“No, the staff who came by did,” Frankie sounded very pleased by this. “The movers wanted to give you a reward for surviving. They left your stuff by the entrance, by the way.” There was a pause. “I didn’t know you were a fan.”

“Stop it,” Morgan said, reaching into the bag. And, wow, they had gotten them a bunch of stuff. Their mouth began to water at the smell of hotcakes. They couldn’t remember the last time they splurged and bought any kind of takeout. The past few months had been full of the cursed cereal that had the texture of packing peanuts and, after a few months of eating it straight, tasted like medicinal grape.

Frankie paused as they didn’t even bother with a knife and fork, yanking shreds of the pancakes off and shoving it in. “No,” he finally said, maniac glee lining his voice. “You did me a favor by living. So you have to deal with me.”

“What do you mean?” Morgan asked around a mouthful of fries. They needed to slow down, but they were so fucking hungry.

“They were going to get rid of me,” Frankie explained and Morgan had to stop at that. “After this season, they were going to scrap me and recast the position because with the show only lasting a few minutes.” The mania suggested this was an unusual amount of trauma dumping, so they just shut their mouth. “But now I’m getting upgrades that that brat got years ago!” He laughed, gripping his fists together.

…well then.

“I’m glad for you?”

“You should be!” Frankie said, turning and opening the door. “I’m glad you’re not dead. If you need to replace your bandages, there should be a first aid kit in the cabinet. Bye!” And with that, he slammed the door behind him. There was a pause and then he opened the door. “By the way, you do have some tax paperwork to fill. Apparently, it’s very illegal to not pay you for all you’ve done.”

“Isn’t it also illegal to host death games in the first place?”

Frankie chuckled. “Yes! But the IRS doesn’t ask questions about murder.” And with that, he slammed the door shut.

Morgan blinked and then sighed.

They could worry about that later.

[aballadforbarbatos]

lighthouse

a hanahaki piece from mephistopheles’ point of view. i’m using my thought template (? is that what you’d call it?) which can be found here.

if you’d like a more classic piece using the version everyone knows, i can publish something like that too! just let me know!

this was based on a poll; if you’d like spoilers for the type of ending, you can see the results here.

word count: 2.7k+

when he walks into the house of lamentation, he finds it absolutely trashed. dirt looks like it’s piling up in the corners and the few plants you look after are either overgrown or on the brink of death.

there are holes in the walls. he can only assume these are the result of fits of rage, probably from satan, but mephistopheles has no idea what could’ve pushed him over the edge. sobbing echoes from up the stairs. the exact brother that those tears belong to remains a mystery to him.

he’s been on a trip away with nobles. honestly, it was rather boring- and he’d still be on it, were it not for the summoning from diavolo.

goodness. they call you the devilsitter, but you’re not doing a very good job at it. how could you have let the place get into such a state? what, have you gone up to the human world or something? but then he would have been notified. wouldn’t you have… wouldn’t you have told him?

you would’ve told him, right? you wouldn’t have left him in the dark. no, not him. you couldn’t bear not letting him know. as he picks his way through the dirt and trash and debris, he obsesses over this idea for a while, only getting it together when he lies his eyes on diavolo.

“diavolo, you wanted me for something?”

beyond diavolo, he spots lucifer next. the man looks exhausted, and his eyes are red. his movements are sluggish and he has a pile of paperwork in one hand and what looks like coffee in the other, like he’s trying to distract himself from something.

“why is mephisto here?” mammon asks from the couch. “does he even like MC?”

stupid question. he doesn’t grace it with an answer.

thirteen appears next, and mephistopheles suddenly gets a bad feeling. in a wrecked house with similar inhabitants, having a reaper here can only be bad. who is she here to reap?

who…

“i’m sorry, mephistopheles. thirteen thought you might be helpful. i’m sure she’ll fill you in on the way there.”

if not for the fact that death and its subsequent mourning feels like it’s about to engulf the entirety of the house of lamentation, he might’ve turned around and walked out of the house. here at the whim of someone else? really?

he numbly follows thirteen down the hall instead.

she delivers the awful news he expects. it’s you. of course it’s you. human lives are so fleeting, and their bodies aren’t quite as robust as their celestial counterparts. a good chunk of them can’t even use magic. you couldn’t use magic when you arrived!

knowing all this doesn’t stop his heart from cracking when she says your name. doesn’t stop his stomach from twisting. in a most un-noble way, it doesn’t stop him from throwing up in the hall. she looks at him with pity.

no, don’t pity him. he doesn’t need or want that.

with a quick chant, the vomit is gone, and mephistopheles continues on to your room, his stride just a little faster.

she explains to him that it’s hanahaki, a human world disease that stems from unrequited love. this information came from satan rather than solomon, surprisingly. when he asks what that has to do with him, she says that if the person you love confesses to you, the disease will disappear on its own.

she says that everyone has already confessed. everyone except for him.

i don’t have feelings for them. it’s what he wants to say, but the words get stuck in his throat. he’s always aimed to share the truth; have all those years of denying what he really feels now caught up to him? or maybe it’s because he risks bringing your death faster. you know, if the target of your affections is him.

but also, why would it be him? you don’t see him enough. shouldn’t you have fallen for one of the brothers instead? is there a secret one that hasn’t confessed yet? mammon’s always denying his obvious feelings for you. maybe he’s lied about confessing to you. maybe he hasn’t confessed at all. or, or, there could be a secret eighth brother!

thirteen opens the door to your room and ushers him in.

she explained it all on the way here, but it doesn’t prepare him for the sight. even if he had all the time in the world, mephistopheles doubts that he could ever be prepared for something like this.

your chest heaves, and what follows is a violent cough that grates against his ears. after a few moments of silence, the sound of your breathing returns, shallow and raspy. aside from your breathing and coughing, your body is completely still. it’s like you’re already dead.

“how long do they have left?” he asks. she has access to the candles. she should know.

“that would ruin the fun, wouldn’t it?” a dark joke that’s obviously an attempt to comfort herself, judging by the tears in her eyes. not long. maybe it’s worse for her, knowing when your time is supposed to come. she could always pour more wax on your candle, extending your life- but also prolonging your suffering. stuck between a rock and a hard place, he doesn’t envy her.

the most noticeable feature you have is the bunch of flowers sprouting from your face. deep purple petals with a green pistil in the middle. he knows that shade of green too well. he sees it whenever he looks in the mirror. his breath hitches.

“everyone has confessed,” thirteen whispers. “except for you.”

and with that, she leaves, closing the door behind her.

you start coughing again, and mephistopheles feels tears beginning to prick his own eyes. suddenly feeling quite lost, he drops to his knees and takes your hand. it’s cold. stiff. he’s amazed that you’re still here, even as you roleplay a corpse. is this the indomitable human will…?

“MC,” he begins, but doesn’t quite know where to go from there. another flower blooms. they cover your face completely, a little like a veil. he wonders if your eyes are glassy beneath it, lacking the sparkle that they normally hold. he wonders, if the flowers weren’t there, you’d be able to see anything at all.

he decides to stop wondering.

“MC,” he tries again. “i know we didn’t see each other a lot, but-”

his words fail again and he watches his hands shake. he’s probably just imagining it, but it seems like your fingers tighten just a little around his hand. the indomitable human will. a cliche where love conquers all. he presses your hand against his forehead and quietly breaks into sobs.

it’s not fair.

it’s not fair.

it’s not fair that his noble status means that he’s expected to marry someone of equal “value”, and it’s not fair that he doesn’t get to see you that often, his time taken up by schoolwork and newspaper club duties and noble duties and then someone is always hoarding your time anyway, and it’s not fair that he’s already being pushed away and it’s not fair that diavolo is obviously crushing on you and your love being requited, if it really is him, would just end up with him being pushed away more.

it’s probably more acceptable for you to be with an angel than with him.

he wonders what it was like for the others when it came to falling for you. maybe the realisation was soft. fluffy. like falling onto a bed of feathers, a warm fuzzy feeling flooding their brain. what is it like, being allowed to fall in love with you? is it as beautiful as he imagines it to be?

the realisation hit him when he was taking a photo of you for the school newspaper. though the lighting was terrible and the backdrop was even worse, you still looked gorgeous. ethereal. perfect. if it were anyone else, he never would've entertained the idea- but because it was you, he'd snapped a picture, and showed it to you, saying that he'd like to make it the front page photo. you’d laughed, saying you looked awful and to take a better one. put those centuries of photography expertise to good use!

it was like hitting concrete after a long fall. it felt like being torn apart and set alight and ripped to shreds all at once. he resigned himself to being unhappy forever, because you’d surely take to someone that you see far more often than him, and he’d be stuck on the sidelines watching it all happen. he tried to distance himself, but it didn’t work and how could it when you kept making excuses to see him?

he admires the flowers. limited time has cursed them. your short lifespan, his lack of free hours from duties and responsibilities and extra work, kindly piled on by lucifer, and now the clock is ticking away on him yet again because he can’t spit the fucking words out.

at least if you die, the flowers will stay. an eternal reminder of you, and what he couldn’t have. how ironic.

ah. he should be used to it by now. aside from the money and the title, which are only more chains, he has nothing. his little brother is a small comfort. he can’t keep his childhood friend, he can’t keep his position, he can’t even keep you, and you want to be kept.

mephistopheles sucks in a breath, desperate to gain some semblance of stability, but it doesn’t work. his parents will be disappointed, and everyone else will hate him, with the exception of perhaps luke and his lovely little brother. diavolo won’t ever look at him again, probably completely disgusted, and then he’d be completely lost. tears are streaming down his face.

he’s so pathetic.

that’s not an exaggeration. you’re on death’s door, and he has the power to save you, and he can’t because he’s afraid. he doesn’t deserve someone like you. you, who goes above and beyond when it’s needed. you, who wasn’t immediately turned off by his attitude. you, whom he loves.

he recalls something that you said to him when you were telling him about your plan to massively prank lucifer. he remembers asking you if you’re not afraid of the consequences- you’d laughed at him, but not cruelly.

the only thing to fear is fear itself!

all that time he spent talking down on you and humans. through his heartbreak, he lets out a gentle sigh, resigning himself to the future.

maybe it won’t be as bad as it seems. maybe you’ll make the consequences lighter. maybe with your presence, he can hallucinate his life getting better. maybe, maybe, maybe. maybe he could learn to hope again, instead of uselessly grasping at straws. he chokes out the words, pressing your cold, stiff hand to his forehead. your breathing has slowed. your coughing has stopped.

like it could ever be that easy.

maybe…

maybe he’s too late.

mephistopheles feels like he's watching what’s probably the last of your candle burn out, his heart threatening to shatter. your chest heaves again, and he prepares himself, ready for the horrible hacking noise that’ll follow.

but it never comes.

instead, he feels your grip on his fingers tighten. it’s only a little, but it’s there. he didn’t imagine it. that was real. he’s too young and it’s too early to be hallucinating you doing things, so that was definitely absolutely real.

right?

there’s a soft exhale that he barely hears, and he watches the flowers begin to wither and decay. his heartbroken and absolutely pitiful tears turn into happier ones as warmth returns to your hand and life begins to flood back into your body.

he doesn’t move from your side, amazed at how quickly you’re recovering. it’s your breathing that he finds he’s most excited about, the hoarseness quickly disappearing.

you turn your head to him. even with the flowers gone, you look absolutely exhausted. perhaps that’s to be expected.

“say that again.”

it comes a lot easier the second time.

“i love you, MC. to the moon and back.”

a smile tugs at your lips. “i love you too.”

it takes him a while to come out of the room. you want to come with him, and are too stubborn to stay on your bed, complaining that it’s boring and you’ve already been there for days. unfortunately, you’re too weak to stand on your own (not that he’s particularly surprised), so you end up leaning quite heavily on him instead.

very slowly, you make it out of the room. thirteen’s outside, probably waiting for the bad news.

“finished?”

“sorry, thirteen.” you grin weakly. “i’m still alive.”

still alive and walking, which he’ll probably get told off for letting you do. he thinks about it briefly and instead lifts you up so that he can walk faster he’s supporting your legs with one arm and your back with the other. the reaper purses her lips as her tears finally spill over.

“this makes it quite difficult to hug them, you realise.”

“they’re too weak for hugging.”

“i could probably manage a little hug-”

“you’re too weak for hugging.”

you huff out a laugh. “whatever you say...”

you don’t comment on the state of the house as he carries you to the common room, thirteen animatedly talking beside him. mephistopheles tries hard not to look down; he knows you’ll be staring at him adoringly, finally free to.

the only people still in the common room are mammon, diavolo, and barbatos. lucifer must’ve gone to his office to drown himself in paperwork. thankfully, mammon’s scream (thirteen held her hands over your ears, but he’s not sure it did much) alerts everyone in the house. one after the other, people appear in the doorway, their eyes wide and red.

levi looks like he’s cried so much that he can’t cry anymore, and yet he still manages to summon some tears as he sees you flowerless.

“you can all go back to school now. isn’t that exciting?” you laugh, and belphie looks at you dryly, obviously unimpressed by the idea.

“ha. you’re so funny, MC.”

mephisto looks down to see a weak smile gracing your face. then something shifts in you and you start complaining.

“i feel like a newborn baby, being stared at like this.”

“i can set you down, if you like,” he offers, and you shake your head, snuggling further into his chest. he wonders if you can hear his heart pounding.

“no thank you. i like being in your arms. by the way, this hold is called the bridal style carry in the human world.”

mephistopheles very nearly drops you at that.

and much later on, after many games of rock paper scissors and many ties between thirteen and satan when it came to feeding you (you probably could’ve done it yourself), diavolo pulls him aside for a walk.

here it comes. the rejection.

mephisto braces himself.

“you know, i think they’ll be good for you.”

…?

“diavolo?”

he laughs. “what, did you think i was going to punish you, or something? it’s not like it’s something you can control, falling in love.” there’s a pause. “i hope you didn’t beat yourself up too badly before you confessed.”

ah. so he went through something similar. perhaps there’s a shared understanding between demons of higher rank that he’d previously overlooked.

“also-” the prince musters up a grin. “they’d be pretty damn annoyed to know if you did.”

bonus:

as he returns from his walk, he sees you leaning on satan, waiting for his return. except you only look at him once, mouth “watch this”, and focus your gaze entirely on diavolo.

mephistopheles wonders if he should be worried.

given that it’s you, the answer is probably a resounding yes.

“diavolo,” you begin, fidgeting. “i was wondering if i could maybe get a present? you know, since i nearly died.”

diavolo’s eyes light up. “absolutely! anything you want, it’s yours!”

“anything?”

“anything.”

your eyes gleam with cunning. he wonders if maybe he should stop you from taking advantage of the literal ruler of devildom, but you did just come back from playing a dead body, so…

“then, could you make mephisto the president of the newspaper club again?”

the temperature of the room gets several degrees colder as lucifer glowers from the corner. diavolo only laughs before granting your request and whispering to him:

“see? good for you.”

mephistopheles watches you smile triumphantly.

maybe everything really will be okay after all.

[hippolotamus]

Sunday Sentences 🧜🏼‍♂️

tagged by @diazsdimples @rewritetheending @eddiebabygirldiaz @lemonzestywrites for Sunday. @diazheartsbuckley @rainbow-nerdss for Saturday (tagging you back for today) thank you lovelies 💖

Some mer!Buck sentences today from later in the story. Am I that far in? Nope, not at all. bone apple teeth

From where he’s parked along the street, Eddie spares a glance at the rental house that looked outdated when he first saw it nearly two decades ago. The paint is fading but the overall structure looks decent. There’s still a wooden sign – Welcome to Anderson’s Pier – near the front door.  So much has changed – is changing – in Eddie’s life, it’s a relief to know that this hasn’t. To know that, if he had a key to go in, he would probably still see the tacky lighthouse and seagull décor, ceiling fans that can’t be any newer than the 80’s, and sliding glass doors that miraculously glide along the tracks. He wonders if he stood on the back balcony, if the sea would still call just as loudly. If it would have the same sparkle, the waves dancing and glittering under the sun’s rays. Would he be compelled to race across the sand until he meets the imaginary line where the water laps at his toes until it recedes again, begging him to join in? He holds onto the hope that it would. Because he needs that in particular to remain intact. He thinks something in him might just break if that connection was severed. He sighs and forces himself to look away. It’s not really what he’s here to reminisce over. He reaches over to the passenger side, to the small cooler of drinks and snacks he bought at the last gas station. It could be a long wait so it didn’t seem like a bad idea to have some provisions, but, honestly, they’re mostly for Evan. A few of his favorites and one or two new things Eddie thinks he might like. He smiles to himself as he gets out of the truck and begins strolling towards the pier.

np tagging @actuallyitsellie @epicbuddieficrecs @loveyouanyway @a-noble-dragon @diazheartsbuckley

@saybiwithme @bidisasterevankinard @shipperqueen6 @ramonaflow @spotsandsocks

@dangerpronebuddie @theotherbuckley @stereopticons @kitteneddiediaz @daffi-990

@diazsdimples @swiftiefirefighters @your-catfish-friend @thekristen999 @filet-o-feelings

@wikiangela @underwaterninja13 @lizzie-bennetdarcy @steadfastsaturnsrings @inell

@jesuisici33 @rmd-writes @dr-shortsighted-owl @dorkydiaz @bi-buckrights

@elvensorceress @bucksbiawakening @tizniz @beyourownanchor6

@indestructibleheart @ladydorian05 @monsterrae1 @statueinthestone @slightlyobsessedwitheverything

@thelikesofus @bucksbignaturals @welcometololaland @wildlife4life @eowon and anyone else who wants to 😘

[redstrawbluestraw]

since you drew the ladies mind sharing with us what their roles will be (without spoilers ofc :o)

Also any reason why fanny (litellary my wife, who looks suprisingly gentler than usually) and minnie are grayscale while ms chalice and sheba are colored? Is that just their pick of wear? a little nod to them being made before colored cartoons? Orrrrrr is there a world building reason for it -♡-?

AAAAAAA I'M SO HAPPY THIS IS MY FIRST INBOX MESSAGE!!!!! I LOVE YOUR HC'S AND CONTENT SM THIS GENUINELY MADE MY DAY THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU <33333333333333 As for the questions, strap on in this ones gonna be a long one!!

Here are the roles for each of the ladies! Please keep in mind that when I say "when joining the team", that involves the ladies staying at Mickey & Minnie's house, which is kinda like their "home base" I do favor Fanny a little more I fear, but that's neither here nor there. So if she has a lot of info that's why

Sheba: Sheba is Felix's lifelong best friend who tends to do a lot of traveling, hence why she's not consistently involved in Felix's life. But she always makes an effort to come back to him and catch up on each other's lives, regardless of where he may be! Prior to being part of the group, I like to think that her role consists of street performing, essentially an 'on the road' musician. She'll never stay in one place, and often collaborates with other performers to make music. When joining the team, her role either consists of helping Felix create his maps by offering her own insights on towns/cities he may have not visited, or assisting with Fanny. Speaking of which- Fanny Cottontail: Fanny is a former actress, most known for her femme fatale role in Oswald's earlier episodes. Ironically enough, her role in the show would be her first and final gig, as directors cut her from the show due to finding another "suitable" partner for Oswald (there's also other reasons why she can't get a role, but that'll be explored later in the comic). Due to a series of events that I can't elaborate on yet, Fanny goes on to then discover she actually has a passion for crafting. More specifically in creating weapons, primarily guns! Her role prior to the group was whatever anybody needed her to be- when joining the team, her role serves as the gunsmith of the group, eagerly teaching everybody gun handling, as well as how to defend themselves. (I drew her gentler bc I like to think she's so much happier once she's doing things for herself and surrounded by ppl who love her!!) Some members of the group assist with helping her make guns, such as Sheba, Minnie (from time to time), and Cuphead & Mugman. Minnie: Minnie is one of the few characters who remains consistent with her career. Prior to the group, she performed alongside with Mickey, where they soon fell in love off set. Unlike with Fanny, she remained as the love interest before taking a quick break from acting to pursue her other dream of teaching. From there she became a preschool teacher, with a passion and love for teaching her students. With the state of the ink illness in the city, however, Minnie's school in particular was one of the many that was left to close. Forcing her to either teach home to home, or stay alongside Mickey- ultimately choosing the latter out of fear of catching/spreading the illness. Once she joins the team, her role is that of the caretaker- this consists of making food for the other members, making sure each member has clean clothes, and overall cleaning. She convinces herself that she's happy with this new role, but later on we'll see that that's not the case. Chalice: Chalice has a bit of a shorter summary, as I'm still working out the smaller details for her, so bare with me! But for the most part I want to keep her very similar to the core characteristic that she's a wanderer as well, doing so prior to the group. I can't discuss much of her prior background because it ties more with the Cup brothers and the devil, but she's essentially looking for something (Somebody) very near and dear to her. It's her entire mission prior, but once joining the team I would say she's still remains as the "distraction"- she's a performer at heart, and can capture anybody's with just a wink of an eye. The team assigns Chalice to play the role of the manipulator, which she is more than happy to play! (Might actually update her bio in the future once I get more details settled in).

As for why Fanny and Minnie are grayscale, it is due to the fact that they're older toons! I'm not sure if I'm going to keep this in the final product of the comic tho, that piece was mostly just a wip, so I'm still deciding if there should be colored/gray toons, or just all color or all gray. I'm leaning more towards the comic being in grayscale entirely, since I feel like it fits better with the time period. I've also just been thinking about recoloring that wip of the ladies where they're all in grayscale, and another ver where they're all in color, since I was worried it might cause confusion! But for now no, there's no world building reason for it (I WISH THO WTF NOW I MIGHT REWRITE SOME STUFF ARRGGHH)

Anyways, thank you so much again for the ask, I hope this covered enough! Or if it didn't lmk, I would love to elaborate and discuss more! I'm so appreciative that anybody is even remotely interested in my au, so it truly does warm my heart :) <33

[scrumptiousstuffs]

This is about the previous anon's ask about first saying really deep stuff randomly and you mentioning how thai fans point out how eloquent he is. This is honestly something very personal to me and something that ties me so close to how much I love him. Because first saying through tears that he wanted to build a house with the same fence as khaotung were the very words I was looking for when I was trying to explain how intensely I loved my friend, queer platonically, to someone who gave me *the look* when I mentioned that I want to spend the rest of my life with them.

Because how poetic is that really. Someone you love so deeply just a fence away, you wake up to the same sunrise and the same stars light your sky and they're just right there. And they're not yours but they still are you need nothing more than the intimacy of a shared fence.

I think I'll always hold this metaphor close to my heart and as an Aroace person first really gave me the words to describe the companionship I want in life.

The “sharing a fence” remains my favourite interview moment of all time from the boys. It’s a shame it is no longer available on YT, and I feel privileged that I was able to see the whole thing before it got taken down.

But in all seriousness anon, I agree with you. I have always felt First is a soulful person. In between his sweet and playful mannerisms when he teases the fans and bestie, you can see his deep, insightful nature whenever he does or say something.

First has such a way with linguistic. I have said previously that I feel part of First love language to his fans and bestie are by words - and he is wonderful with this. I also absolutely love the way you call his words poetic - because they are!!

I keep coming back to his beautiful love letter to Khaotung following LOlfanfest 2024 (and this remains one of my favourite interactions between these 2)

However, I also recall other moments. For example, during an interview (from FKPP Japan photobook):

“Umbrella is a symbol of romance, when you watch a series with one umbrella being used by two people, it comes out as a romantic scene.”

I know it sounds almost silly - cause really umbrella? But urgh, he just describes it so simply that we (me) can’t help but visualise of 2 people who love each other (platonic or not) sharing an umbrella ☔️, where there is the special moment as they gaze into each other eyes. 🥹

There was also another interview where he was asked what has he learnt over the years in the entertainment industry (from Standard Pop interview):

“I’ve learnt to be happy….we don’t have to be someone we don’t want to be.”

Such a simple statement but oh so powerful.

I don’t know about you, but I’m terrible with expressing myself and language is (either written or speaking) not my forte.

So, yes, like you, I absolutely adore this man.

(Cover picture from the IF… First & Khaotung Japan photobook) - since I quote one of First’s interview answers 😘

[vetuhoh]

joseph is like an unreliable narrator from a 19th century novel. surrounded by big personalities, missing obvious red flags, monologing to himself about what’s going on, and being super wrong every time (to the audience/readers frustration)

he said he’s the star of the show and it’s like yeah. but only in the way jonathan harker is the protagonist of dracula

[cuteniarose]

It’s almost 6 a.m and I can’t sleep because I’m being plagued by thoughts of The Latest OC