#I'm not exactly dead I'm just not present too much

[alchemistc]

"Evan's not here," Tommy says, and Eddie scowls at him as he pushes past Tommy, already aiming for the kitchen as he hitches the six pack he'd brought with him up under his armpit. It'd been a - a thing. A 'my best friend and my new friend are too busy sucking face to spend every spare moment distracting me from my problems' thing, a thing where Eddie sort of finally understood exactly why Buck had hip checked him on the basketball court months ago. He wants his best friend back. He wants the ease of his friendship with Tommy back.

Which is - Christ, he's selfish, is the thing. A month without Chris there to keep him occupied and Eddie has had some startling realizations about himself. ("You're not selfish, Eddie, you're the most selfless person I know." from Buck and "So fix it," from Tommy, a rare night out with the both of them because he'd headed date night off at the pass by asking Tommy to go out for drinks before he and Buck could make plans without him).

"My world doesn't revolve around Buck," Eddie tells him, and screws the cap off a beer to hand it to Tommy. Tommy's doing that judgmental face he gets when he wants to say something bitchy but hasn't put the words in the right order yet. And - Eddie's not lying. Buck is a fixed point, an ever present life-line, but he's not the fucking sun.

Neither is Chris, apparently, which is news to Eddie and he's - spiralling, still. Quietly, calmly, and he's only punched one hole in the wall on a bad night.

"You ever go to Frank?" Eddie asks, like Frank is the only therapist in the greater LA area, and Tommy rolls his eyes, disappears long enough for the muted sound of the television to go quiet.

When he comes back Eddie's reading the label on his beer bottle

"Apparently I resent you," Eddie says, and Tommy chuffs a laugh.

"Apparently?"

"No, I -." The words had been just as hard two hours ago. This little trip was his own design, he'd been told specifically to sit in it for a while but Christ, an hour a week isn't enough time to talk through his issues and it's not like he can tell Buck he resents him for finding something he's happy and stable and solid in. So. Tommy it is. "You and Buck are good together. I'm happy for you both. I am."

Tommy settles against a countertop with his hip digging into the Formica. His kitchen has gained a dutch oven that looks suspiciously like the one Buck has been showing Eddie for like six months that he couldn't justify the cost of because he's not around enough to use it as much as he'd like.

"I'm not usually the one without his shit together," Eddie says.

"No offense, Eddie, but I thought the whole point of therapy was you realizing you rarely have your shit together."

Also true. He's - usually better at hiding it though. Kim was a joker stacked up on a wobbly house of cards and he'd known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that she'd bring the whole thing tumbling to the ground. Mass casualty event. No survivors.

"You make each other better people," Eddie says, which is the wrong thing to say apparently because Tommy scowls.

"If you wanna completely ignore all the work we've both put into ourselves," he snipes, and - yeah. Fair. Buck's been in therapy for years now. Every once in a while he'll pull something out of his ass that makes Eddie's skin itch - something so mystifyingly self-aware that it makes Eddie want to claw into his chest cavity and rip out his fucking heart. And Tommy - well, he doesn't know much but it's not like Tommy's the paragon of perfection. He's worked through some shit. Is still working through shit, if the aftermath of his and Buck's first real fight is any indication.

"I've never been with someone who makes me want to work on myself," Eddie admits, and the lines around Tommy's eyes shift. He sighs.

"Never gonna find that if you don't want it for yourself."

Yeah. Frank's said as much. It's just - Eddie doesn't have a starting point. Tommy had the whole hiding his true self thing, and Buck had the dead-brother-shitty-parents thing, and he's whittling them both down to the sharp edges of themselves in his mind, which isn't entirely fair but it's easier than trying to confront what the fuck his own problem is. Dead wife, his kid in another state, a contentious relationship with his father, a whole backlog of PTSD he's never really confronted head on. Weird feelings cropping up about a religion he thought he'd left in the dust and sand of Afghanistan and a hole he's been trying to fill up with other people since - well, he doesn't even know since when.

Tommy's got his dog tags laying in the bottom of an empty fruit bowl on his kitchen table. Eddie's never seen them before, and some part of him knows Tommy'd brought them out for a conversation with Buck he'll never hear himself, and he aches. He doesn't want them, but he wants what they have, wants to be able to talk about the difficult shit without closing in on himself, wants to have someone to come home to, wants -

"I spent six months imagining my therapist's head exploding every time she made me talk about something uncomfortable," Tommy tells him, and takes a long drag off his beer. For the first time since he'd knocked on Tommy's door, Eddie actually feels a little bad about interrupting his night, but that just leaves him spiralling some more because Eddie usually feels bad about everything, all the time, so why hadn't he felt guilty about this until now? And why does he feel guilty about not feeling guilty?

"I just want him to fix me," Eddie says, and Tommy laughs. Laughs hard and long enough that Eddie's feeling offended. Off kilter and pissed off and -

"You're not a single loose wire, Eddie. Can't just replace a cable and have a clean slate. You gotta change your oil and replace the spark plugs and top up the coolant, over and over again until you die."

It's the sort of metaphor Eddie'd like to lob across the field of engagement just to watch it get shot to pieces. It's apt, though.

"Feels like the whole engines gotta go," Eddie tells him "Transmission's shot and my catalytic converter keeps getting stolen and the mufflers been welded back on so many times that it's half-solder."

"Christ," Tommy says, which. Yeah. Exactly. "Well you can't exactly send yourself to the junk yard for scrap and buy a newer model."

"Buck does," Eddie snaps, and Tommy rolls his eyes. He'd been there the last time Buck brought up his 1.0 days.

"Half the time a system update patches ten bugs and creates twenty more."

"So Buck's buggy, is what you're saying."

He rolls his tongue over his teeth. "You are running off faulty software and you've been refusing to update to the new version because you heard it'd burn the battery faster, is what I'm saying."

Eddie doesn't have a whole lot of charge to begin with. And the metaphors are starting to muddle in his brain, too many different ideas battling around when he's already spent an ornery hour talking to Frank and another trying to convince himself he doesn't resent his best friend for accepting his own fucking flaws and working on them.

Tommy sets the beer bottle down. Eyes Eddie for a moment, and Eddie wonders how often he levels that look on Buck, how Buck feels when Tommy flays him open and digs through his insides. "You wanna go hit something for a bit?" he asks, and Eddie nods so quickly he nearly smacks his nose into the brim of the bottle in his own hand. He's about done feeling his feelings, for the moment. He'll probably end up being annoyed that Tommy makes him wrap his hands before he takes some aggression out on the bag hung up in the corner of Tommy's garage, but maybe when Tommy gets annoyed with him and does that takedown maneuver that knocks the wind out of Eddie's lungs when they're sparring he'll let that go.

Tommy flicks his forehead on the way to grab him something to wear. "That's for calling my boyfriend buggy, jackass," he says, and laughs himself all the way down the hall when Eddie splutters after him.

His bedroom door snicks shut by the time Eddie's recovered enough to remind him that he'd been Eddie's friend first.

[ohisms]

↪ 𝑽𝑨𝑵 𝑯𝑬𝑳𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑮 . ( a collection of sentence starters from the 2004 film . adjust phrasing as necessary . mature themes present . )

oh , [ name ] . it's just you .

where are you going to run , [ name ] ?

what are you saying ?

why do you think i brought you here ?

you said you believed in my work .

i would kill myself before helping in such a task .

you've been so kind to me , [ name ] .

you can't kill me , [ name ] .

so , you're the great [ name ] .

we all have our little problems .

let's make it your decision , shall we ?

i wish you a week in hell .

why don't you do something about it ?

this is all a test of faith .

i can curse all i want , dammit .

you . turn around .

strangers don't last long here .

the laws of men mean little to me .

i don't need your help .

you stay here . they're trying to kill me .

nice to see you too , [ name ] .

did i do something to you in a past life ?

i hope you do have a heart , [ name ] . because someday i'd like to drive a stake through it .

your reputation precedes you .

i am hollow ! and i will live ... forever .

please , say you will not try again .

do not fear me ... everybody else fears me .

i was unprepared . it won't happen again .

do you understand forgiveness ?

i would rather die than help you .

don't be boring , everyone who says that always dies .

may he rest in peace .

how long has it been , 300 , 400 years ?

you don't remember , do you ?

what exactly is it i am to be remembering ?

it's no surprise you would know all about me .

we have such history , you and i .

have you ever wondered why you have such horrific nightmares ?

[ name ] , it's alright , i'm taking you home .

what , did you think we haven't tried everything before ?

no one knows how to kill [ name ] .

i could have used that information earlier .

would you like me to refresh your memory a little ?

allow me to ... reintroduce myself .

i think we've overstayed our welcome .

don't give me that look .

you were right . i'm sorry .

monster ? who's the monster here ? i have done nothing wrong !

look , there's still time .

you were right . i'm sorry .

do you have any family , [ name ] ?

if you value your lives , and the lives of your kin , you will kill me .

evil may have created it , may have left its mark on it , but evil does not rule it .

now you know why they call me a murderer .

oh my god ... you've been bitten .

so much trouble ... so much trouble .

now you will become that which you hunted so passionately . may others be as passionate in their hunting of you .

don't worry , god will forgive us .

how many commandments can we break in one day ?

oh my god , you should be terrified .

how does it feel to be a puppet on my string ?

neither of us has ever settled for half .

you make my skin crawl .

i'm not gonna like this , am i ?

one brief moment of pain , and we can be together forever .

you have no heartbeat .

you are nothing but damned bones , and damned souls .

well , that doesn't sound like a good thing .

we don't have a choice . just don't get killed .

you don't understand , it doesn't matter what happens to me .

god is not the only one that can create life .

you can't go until i say you can go , and i say you can go when you're dead !

you're supposed to die .

we are both part of the same great game , [ name ] , we just find ourselves on opposite sides of the board .

you are being used , [ name ] , as was i . but i escaped , so can you .

if you're going to kill someone , kill them . don't stand there talking about it .

all i want is life . the continuation of my kind .

some things are better left forgotten .

[shanastoryteller]

Happy birthday!! Harry Potter or Percy Jackson please!!

a continuation of 1 2 3

There's something off about Percy.

Actually, Thalia should rephrase - there are several things extremely off about Percy. It's not worth repeating, and barely worth saying, because they're all just that obvious.

They're sitting around a fire in the middle of the woods, Luke cooking the several fish that Percy had managed to spear onto his sword, which was ridiculous for an entirely different set of reasons.

"Are you a god?" she asks suspiciously.

He makes a choking sound that she thinks might be a laugh and he gives her a grin that she refuses to be charmed by. Luke is doing that enough for all of them. "Oddly, not the first time I've been asked that, but I'm just as much a demigod as you are. My mother's mortal."

"Present tense," Annabeth says, her little face screwed up into a scowl. "She's not dead, then. Is she mean?"

"Annabeth," she and Luke say at the same time. One day they're going to teach this girl tact.

Percy shakes his head, leaning back on his hands, completely unphased by Annabeth's directness. That's a point in his favor. But only a very little one. "Nah, she's great. Best mom there is. But she's mortal, and I'm," he gestures to himself.

A demigod as powerful as Percy must attract a lot of monsters, ones that he can apparently deal with, but would be deadly to his mother. Thalia feels a twinge of sympathy. It's one thing to have the messed up family dynamics that she, Luke, and Annabeth do, and it's another to have a mother that he loves and cares for and who he can't be around with endangering her life. "How long have you been on your own?"

His gaze goes distant and maybe she could learn some tact herself, but she thought it was a simple question, just factual and not personal. "I haven't lived with my mom full time since I was twelve, but I wasn't exactly on my own."

"Camp," Luke says, a hardness to his gaze.

Percy's lips twitch. "Chiron doesn't know who I am. But almost everyone who trained me did come from Camp Half-Blood."

"Including who taught you how to use a sword?" Luke asks. Thalia knows he takes pride in his swordsmanship, and she also knows that Percy is better than he is. Part of inviting him along was probably to get Percy to teach him, which Thalia can stomach a bit better than Luke getting distracted by a pretty face.

Percy goes quiet again, gazing at Luke with an expression that makes Thalia shift closer to Annabeth. "Yeah. They were from camp too."

[websterss]

RIGHT ON TIME — AZRIEL

SUMMARY: You held out hope for him, for Eris to show up even after he had shattered your heart. You held out hope...that he wouldn't leave you hanging in the center of the ballroom on your birthday of all days.

WARNING(S): angst and fluff

WORD COUNT: 4,464

PAIRING: Azriel x fem!Reader

A/N: I hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you guys think! Feedback is always welcomed!

MASTERLIST

You were supposed to feel happy. You were supposed to feel happy, and he was supposed to have swept you off your feet tonight. Tonight - you just wanted tonight to feel magical and allow you to feel as great as you appeared before your friends and guests. It was your birthday after all.

Yet he didn't show and you were left to your vices. To fend for yourself in the middle of the ballroom. You swallowed down the knot forming in your throat harshly. Your eyes bounce off of each of your friends and family's faces. Rhysand had called for the first dance of the night. While he had offered his hand to you before you planted yourself dead center of the room, you had denied him, telling him you wanted to wait. Wait for him to arrive and extend his hand out for you to take, to waltz you into the first dance of the night, but that had been seven minutes ago, and Eris was nowhere to be seen. Your confidence was slowly withering away as your guests began to whisper amongst themselves, no doubt in pity for the high lord's sister whom no one wanted to offer up their hand.

There were no takers. No one with the courage to sweep Rhysand's little sister across the floor.

Let me be your first dance. Rhysand's voice echoes in your head. Your breath slightly hitches.

You could see the pity in everyone's eyes. Watching the sad little princess alone. You could hear their whispers and the hushed murmurs, and you hated it. You hated every single bit of it. It's your birthday, a special day, your special day - yet, he couldn't care enough to appear. You hated it. 

No. You swivel in place, the skirt of your gown swishly in your twirl. Am I that intimidating that no one will waltz with me? You echo back to Rhysand.

It is not you sis. You huff as you look at the males in attendance, you even meet eyes with some beautiful females in the crowd, but still, no takers. You thought you were doing great at staying composed, but were soon left stunned at Rhysand's next words. 

He won't come inside, Y/n.

What?

Azriel and Nesta are trying to convince him to enter, but he refuses. Refuses to ruin your special day. I'm sorry.

They had tried to get him in here, and he couldn't be convinced. He didn't want to ruin your night but that's exactly what was happening. He was ruining your special night. You didn't think it could be ruined but you hated this; you hated everyone's pity and their whispers. You would have waited forever if he just came inside, took you by the hand, and danced with you.

Your hands were sweating now. You blink back tears threatening to spill and ruin hours worth of Mor's and Nesta's work. Your fleeting eyes barely catch Nesta and Azriel coming back into the party. Azriel leaned over to whisper into Rhysand's ear. Rhysand's eyes immediately turn to yours with a sorrowful gaze. You could feel your heart tethering on the last stitch holding it together. If Eris ending two years' worth of your relationship wasn't enough, then his promise to be present for your first dance of the night and refusal to go through with it is the tipping point. You take deep inhales in hopes that it will help you compose yourself, you hardly catch Rhysand pushing through your walls again.

Allow me to be your first waltz. I promise I'm much more practiced than anybody in this court, plus I won't step on your toes like I'm sure some will. His attempt to make this situation light was nice, but it did nothing except make you anxious and feel naked. The pressure of everyone's eyes on you was finally getting to you.

It was all too much. Everything was too much and too quiet - the quartet waiting on Rhysand's cue to begin playing the minute you began swaying. Eris was supposed to be here, he had shown but couldn't even make it past the entrance. You could feel yourself begin to hyperventilate.

You had to find some way to gain courage. You swallowed hard against your bitter pain, and you held up your right hand, just begging for someone to take it.

Desperate measures called for desperate attempts. You couldn't care how bizarre the picture looked. You, holding your hand out when it should have been the other way around. You didn't care much for who took it, just so long as it was taken. You held your head high and chin up, mustering the best smile you could, and swiftly turned your hand outward towards your guests. Motioning to a few males, even a few females, who blushed against your offer, but no one would take your hand, not one. You could feel the sting pierce your chest as they all took hesitant steps back. Perhaps it was the pressure of being in the spotlight, yes - that was all it was, you entertained the thought.

Allow me to be your first waltz. Rhysand attempted again.

You had gone to deny Rhsyand on his offer once more but stilled when you turned around and were met with an extended hand.

See, a taker, at last. You spoke to Rhysand. However, your heart stopped as a familiar scarred hand came into your sight.

It took you only a fraction of a second to realize who the hand that finally answered your beckon belonged to. That hand, those fingers, the blue siphon, the scars you knew so well. You looked up to your mystery taker, shocked, surprised, stunned - speechless.

Azriel.

The relief crashed down over you, washing away all the resentment that had built up over those past few minutes of waiting for Eris. Never again, you promised yourself. Never again would you wait on someone who couldn't show their face and broke their word.

Azriel watched as the corner up your lips curled upwards, into a sweet broken smile he adored so much. He couldn't fight off his own as you trailed your eyes up the entirety of his black sleeve up to his eyes. It wasn't often you got to see him in formal attire. His dress shirt was unbuttoned from the first two, allowing peaks of his tattoos. Your eyes gleamed with unshed tears. You placed your hand in his and allowed him to lead you.

He didn't waste any time; he took your hand in his and quickly grabbed your waist, positioning both himself and yourself in a proper V pattern of an experienced dancer. Then he began to move, gracefully as though the two of you were flying around the ballroom. You both moved swiftly across the floor. Your friends and guests step further back to give you and the shadow singer more room. The females were enthralled by the swish and twirls of your skirts. The males teething with jealous remorse for not taking your hand. You had been twirling and spinning for two whole minutes before Rhysand snapped out of it and cued in the quartet.

The music was soothing yet uplifting. The violinist played to the feel-good of your movements rather than a particular song, watching and playing as your bodies glided. You were lost in the dance, the music only amplifying the soar of your heart, your soul entranced with the melody and his hazel eyes. You knew no one else but him. Everyone else was just a spectator. Everyone else was just background noise. It was just you and him, dancing gracefully around in a perfect circle. The hand resting on your hip felt secure and warm, the same hand that gave you all the safety and comfort you needed, the hand that offered itself to you to take. Azriel had made the ballroom floor your own little world.

You felt as though time had suddenly slowed. You could see everyone around staring, gawking, snarling in envy. He smiled, and you smiled, and those tears that had threatened to escape finally began to fall. You had felt a tug in your chest as he lifted you into the air and set you back down. It felt almost like - a snap.

The breath you exhaled after being spun and suspended in air - was shaky with the release of the tension between your bodies. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he brought you down to your feet again all the while your eyes were filled with the salty streams of joy that fell down your cheeks. It had been the bond. You shakingly brought your hands up to cup his cheeks. You breathed out a laugh, the corners of your eyes crinkling showcasing your joy, and disbelief.

Everyone around you blinded to what was going on between the two of you. Just you, and him, and the warmth of his hands as he led you into the final sway of your first dance of the night. As though he could sense the joy radiating off you, he brought your arm up and spun you around, letting you twirl out back into the center of the room where you started. Your chest rose and fell as you steadied yourself. You turned in place, your smile brightening as you followed Azriel's lead into a deep bow. Then stood to your full length.

It was just you and him.

You didn't notice that the music had died down until the room erupted into a series of claps and whistles. You placed a hand on your chest startled, but laughed out in surprise.

"My beautiful sister, everyone." He tipped his glass to you. You dipped your chin in acknowledgment. "You may take to the floor as you please now!" You had turned to look back at Azriel only to find him gone. You had twisted in place in the hope of catching sight of him, but to your luck, he was nowhere to be found. You had thanked guests who had come up to you, wished you the happiest of birthdays, and apologized for letting you stand alone for so long. You didn't care for the last part as you smiled and excused yourself from their greetings. You pushed past bodies, dodging, and moving smoothly past any and everyone in haste. You had to find him. You had practically run out of the room into the darkened halls. The pathways were illuminated by the moon, casting in through the opened arches. You sighed as you found yourself alone once more.

"Looking for someone?"

You froze, frozen in place by the sound of his voice. Your heart halted, only to beat a few seconds later with the anticipation of him. Your hands clasped together tightly. You let out a slow inhale before exhaling and turning around to face him. "Only you..." You muttered softly. You were afraid you were about to cry just at the sight of him - a tear slowly trickled down your cheek as you looked up to his face. "Just you..." Azriel was here, just as you had hoped. The moonlight bathed him in an otherworldly glow. He stood before you in the dim light, his siphons glinting against the white walls.

Your eyes locked on his, your pupils narrowing and the corners of your mouth twitching into a small smile. As your gaze traveled across his body. All this time, you were here, before me. You thought.

"Do you want to know a secret?" His question snaps you out of your thoughts. "I am more than certain that I missed a step." He gave a playful grimace. You had stopped, then tipped your head back in a laugh.

"You, on the other hand, are a marvelous dancer," Azriel said softly as he closed the distance between you. "You're beautiful when you dance." He took one of your hands into his own, and gently raised it to his lips, placing kisses on your knuckles.

"Only when I dance?" You teased. A playful glint in your eyes not getting past him.

"Beautiful every second." He confessed softly.

"What about every hour or minute, am I not beautiful then too?" Your light bubbles gave you away. Azriel couldn't fight off the smirk and roll of his eyes. You bit your lip playfully as you rolled your eyes back at him. "I'll agree. I am a marvelous dancer. My mother did see to it before she passed..." You paused, and then a devilish smile crossed your visage. "Am I beautiful while I eat?" You challenged. You tried hard to keep hold of your amusement.

"Every second." He repeated stubbornly. "Every minute, and every hour." Azriel took your other hand into his and lifted both of them to his lips this time. He slowly lowered your hands back down. "You are just as beautiful when you cry…" He sighed as he brushed them along your cheeks. "I believe no one else can bring out this beauty in you. You simply shine all on your own." He wiped another tear that fell down your cheek.

"But am I beautiful while I eat?" You didn't let up the teasing, even if your heart soared at his confession.

He smirked. "Yes, you are just as beautiful when you scarf down a piece of baked goods." He paused briefly as he tilted his head to the side. His fingers brushed against your cheek softly. "And in every moment, you are even more so," He said softly. Your breath hitched as you felt love and reassurance flow down to your end of the bond.

"It is you who I feel." You bubbled out a laugh, though your eyes continued to glisten with new unshed tears. "It's been you all along. I can't believe it. I thought it'd be Eris but it was you. It all makes sense, why I've always felt safe in your presence, why I've never shied from your proximity. It snapped for me Azriel...as we danced." Tears now spilled down your cheeks again. Azriel tried his best to wipe them away. You brought your hands up to wrap around his wrist as he held your face gently. "H-Has it snapped for you as well?" Your voice wavered with hope. Curiosity.

"It has..." Azriel stiffened but held a cool stature. He wasn't sure if he was caressing your cheeks to reassure you or to help himself keep calm.

"When?" You asked in need of knowing. When? He closed his eyes in dread. When? Of course, you would ask.

"It's uh - It's been two years Y/n." He slowly lowers his hands from your face.

"Two years, but that's how long Eris and I-" Azriel cut you off short.

"Do not even attempt to finish that sentence." He groaned softly. A deep, regretful sigh rumbled out of him. "Yes Y/n, it has been two years since it's snapped for me…" Tears fell onto both of your cheeks at that revelation. He looked away. "I have no explanation to offer you," He confessed. "I should have said something then, but I couldn't, not when you looked at him like he made up the stars in your night sky. I regret not telling you because I couldn't save you the heartache tonight. Seeing you stand there waiting, watching no one take your hand, it killed me. Gods, I nearly killed Eris myself when he showed up at the doors. He had made it this far, all he had to do was walk through the cauldron door! I wanted to punch him, Y/n. Punch him for all the hurt he caused you. I'm no different than him though. I could've saved you the pain too, but I was scared and I was stupid."

There was a long breath of silence between you as you tried to process his words, your lips pressed tightly together, your eyes widening the realization.

"Two years…" You mouthed, your throat feeling dry. You tried to swallow down the lump forming; it wouldn't budge. Your breathing was shallow and quickened as you blinked back tears.

"I know I'm nothing like Eris but-" Azriel began.

"Do not finish that sentence" Your brows furrowed together. "You are so much more than Eris."

"I am?" You couldn't fight it anymore, not at the mention of the other male with whom you have suffered greatly. Now, you were able to feel the fear reverberating through the bond that held Azriel back this entire time from telling you how he felt. That he was your mate. You had been so focused on your feelings towards Eris, that Azriel was willing to keep the bond hidden to not jeopardize your very own bond with the redhead. You finally realized that he was more than you could comprehend, and not only that - he was someone who put his heart at bay for the sake of your happiness.

"You are!" You exclaimed, reaching up to cup his face. Your lips quivered at the thought that he let you be happy with someone else for so long because he didn't want to mess things up. He didn't want to hurt you. "Cauldron, you are so much more. You are everything. Mother two years…you kept it a secret for two years." You caressed the spilled tears on his face away.

"You were happy…I couldn't take that from you." He pressed his head against yours. "It tore at me," Azriel gasped. His head inclined and eyes closed just the slightest bit as you touched him. "You were happy." His breath hitched as he exhaled. "I thought that if he was who you wanted, then so be it, that he could give you everything and more than I ever could. But the second I saw how he hurt you, how you were so miserable when he left you on the steps crying, how you still waited on him even after all he'd done- my heart broke for you. I hate that I let you suffer like that. I hate that you were so hurt you didn't let Rhysand dance with you, but then you took my hand and I thought I was seeing stars. Gods I was so scared when I took those first steps with you. I thought I was gonna faint, but I finally had you in my arms, and then you smiled at me and I was a done male. I was a done male who finally felt worthy enough of you because I got you to swing that gorgeous smile at me, and I've wanted nothing more than to be the center of your happiness."

"Two years Azriel!" You exclaimed. You pressed your palms against your head to help you calm down. Your heart was pounding against your chest.

"I know, I know!" He groaned, knowing he fucked up. "Don't I know it?"

"You made me wait two years." Your words came out in bits and pieces as your heart skipped several beats. The breath of silence between you felt like an eternity. You squeezed tight against his hands. Your gaze remained fixed on his eyes.

"Yeah well, I suffered for two years…" Azriel knew it wasn't fair to say, you had no clue.

"Because you didn't say anything!"

"It would've hurt you, knowing!" His voice rose. You turn your head, biting back a sob. "I was terrified of causing you pain! I didn't want to lose you by bringing up the bond in front of you and Eris. I didn't want to be a burden to you, be another heavy weight on your shoulders, a male making your happy relationship complicated." Azriel's fingers tightened around your hands as he took a deep breath. "Do you really think I could have told you back then? What if you didn't feel the same way? I couldn't go through that, I couldn't take the chance of you not wanting me. You rejecting the bond. It would have shattered me, Y/n. You don't know how often I sat in my room, thinking to myself, 'Cauldron, I need to grow a backbone. I need to just confess everything to her and get it over with.' But I never could. My chest felt locked every time I saw you laugh at something he said, to watch you kiss him. My throat would close at the thought of telling you how much I loved you."

"Loved?" Panic began to rise within your chest. That was past tense.

Azriel's lips began to tremble as his breath slowed itself. He was frozen in place by the utterance of the wrong tense of the word. His jaw locked and his eyes narrowed as his brows raised a fraction of an inch. You were the love of his life, and he had made you think he loved you, as in no more, instead of love you. You took a step back, fear overcoming all the anger and frustration that had just seconds ago taken over your body through the bond.

Azriel quickly corrected his wording. "Love. I meant to say, love." He rushed out with his words because he saw the color drain from your face. The look of sheer panic over your features made Azriel's heart falter. He had to reassure you immediately. "I love you. Present tense." He pressed his head against yours. You felt his relief echo through the bond. He didn't want you to think he'd fallen out of love with you, or that this was all an old love that had withered down into what it once was. No, that was not the case. The bond with you ran deeper than he could have imagined. This was his first time experiencing something so deep, something so intense, something so all-consuming.

"Mother I love you with my entirety." His thumb brushed along the vein of your wrist, his thumbprint resting softly against your pulse as he held you in place. "I've loved you even before the bond snapped for me." His voice was soft. His eyes still tearing up as he reached up to hold your face. "I never knew how much I could love someone until I met you. My best friend, the love of my life, my mate."

His gentle touch left goosebumps along the surface of your skin. Azriel's eyes remained locked on yours even as the tears trickled past his eyelashes. He wanted you to see how much he meant those words even though he had trouble finding them. You were it for him. You had been from the moment he'd first met you in Windhaven. He'd been blind to it then, his love for you, never truly knowing of its intensity, but now? Now he couldn't fathom how he ever denied his feelings towards you.

"My mate. My sweet beautiful mate." You breathed out a laugh. Azriel's chest rumbled with joy. Feeling your joy and love reside in him. "I know it wasn't fair to you to see me be with another. I'm sorry if I caused you any pain in my relationship with Eris. If I'd known, I would have put an end to it. You deserve the world Azriel. I'll spend my whole life giving it to you. You are enough, and you are everything, my love."

Azriel was speechless, the words spilling from your lips were beautiful. He loved your willingness to give it all to him, but he also loved the thought that you saw and considered him worthwhile enough to give him the world. His eyes widened as he took a deep breath, smiling at you as your words washed over him like honey. He took a slow inhale, taking in the smell of you—the faint scent of jasmine and flowers. Home.

You felt every bone in Azriel's body relax and exhale softly at such sweet, gentle, and encouraging words. He pulled you tighter against his chest and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "It's alright, you didn't know. There were so many things you didn't know." He dipped his chin and locked his eyes to yours, letting you know it was all okay. He wanted you to believe him, truly believe that you hadn't purposely hurt him when he saw you with another other male, you were just…innocent. Oblivious to the existing bond.

His thumb brushed against your bottom lip as his voice trembled. "Can I confess something else to you?" Azriel asked softly, hoping you could handle another revelation within these passing minutes.

"One more can't hurt." You beamed up at him.

Azriel laughed at your reply and squeezed you tight. He needed to hold onto you right at this moment or else the fear of you letting him go would overwhelm him. Azriel's eyes dropped to the side for a brief moment as he gathered enough courage to say what he needed to say. Then his hazel eyes met yours, and you were done for. "I'm gonna love you for the rest of my life."

"I'm okay with that…" You muttered softly, shrugging like it wasn't a big deal. The slight smirk appearing on your lips wasn't lost on him.

Azriel let out a laugh and smiled again. He didn't know how to describe the euphoria running through him just hearing those words come out of your mouth. He rushed forward, lifting you off the ground as he leaned down to plant a gentle kiss on your lips and pulled back, his breathing shaking with anticipation. It didn't take long for you to bring yours down on his, longer this time. You felt a laugh bubble out of you as he spun you both in place. You raked your hands through his locks before you finally settled them on his neck.

Azriel's mind clouded immediately at the memory of you standing in the middle of the ballroom alone. He was so consumed with his turmoil of trying to convince Eris to come inside…that he should've been there sooner. He let out a sigh as his head shook from side to side.

“Thank you, for saving me tonight.”

"There's nothing in this world that I wouldn't do for you." Azriel's eyes softened as he held you in his arms. Your legs hanging above the floor an inch. He didn't let up on his hold, he wasn't letting go, you don't think he ever would after this. Your breathing hitched as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips once more. You sighed in contentment. His touch, his lips, all-consuming and right. "I'm sorry I wasn't there sooner." He apologized.

"It's okay Az. You were right on time..." He spun you both around once more, wanting nothing more than to emit more laughs out of you.

[g1rld1ary]

I feel like you’d eat up this idea so much but Camp Counselor James Potter!!

Where its semi frenemies to lovers after James unexpectedly becomes head camp counselor alongside reader, thus forcing them closer as they have to work together. I’d imagine James as a sports/swim instructor who the campers adore and reader as an arts and crafts teacher who James has liked for years since they met at camp (even before they became counselors.)

summer friends - camp counselor!james potter x camp counselor!reader

wc: 2816

cw: swearing, implied fem!r but i don't think any pronouns, alcohol, throwing up (once)

first of all thank u so much for the compliment anon i hope i am doing it justice!! i actually love this idea and so there's gonna be more parts because i have so many fun lil camp ideas already HOWEVER we don't rlly have summer camps where I'm from so if u wanna see anything specific (activity/trope etc) please request!!! love u xoxo

It was stinking hot already. The clock in your car was broken so you weren't sure exactly what time it was, but you were sure it was too early to have sweat dripping from your brow. Nine, maybe. Still, nothing could bring down your present mood, not the sweat, not the early morning on a weekend, not even that your Fleetwood Mac CD kept skipping during The Chain. No, you were in the best mood you'd been in in a while and nothing could ruin it.

You were headed back to camp. Your camp. It was your first year as head counselor at the camp you'd grown up in and you were filled to the brim with excitement and drive to make this summer as magical as the ones you had growing up. Pulling into the dirt parking space you sighed contently, glad to be back where you belonged.

It was weird to see the camp almost empty. You'd been a general counselor before so you'd seen the camp without kids, but being one of the first there in the morning was peaceful. You waved cheerfully at one of the cooks who'd been working since you were a kid, laughing as he tried to return the gesture over the boxes he was hustling into the kitchen.

You broke into a jog to catch up with the camp director who you needed to meet with, smiling widely when he greeted you. You made small talk as he led you around the camp, giving directions to some of the staff setting up in between his extended spiel explaining your duties. You really were trying to listen but you couldn't help your eyes darting to each movement in the corner of your vision. The other head counselor should have been here already, and it wasn't like him to be late. Michael was one of the many kids you'd grown up with through summers, and he was just as devoted to camp as you were, so it wasn't surprising he also made head counselor, but it was surprising that he was now late.

"Where's Michael?" You asked when the director took a breath. He turned to look at you, one eyebrow raised slightly.

"Didn't we tell you? Michael had a health scare, he can't work this summer." You could feel your mouth hanging open. The two of you had been talking about this for years, dreaming of becoming the head counselors.

"So who's—"

"Nothing like the fresh air, is there?" Your shoulders tensed just by the timbre of it, you could recognise that voice anywhere.

"Potter," You turned to greet him, ponytail swinging behind you.

"No need for last names, love, I saw your braces phase," James retorts and you huff, rolling your eyes dramatically.

"Yeah, yeah, and I've got pictures of your acne. So you're really my partner this summer?" James didn't bother replying, his cocky grin saying it all. You felt the director's eyes on both of you and refrained from another snip in fear of it undermining your leadership, but still shot James a dead-eyed smile to let him know you weren't done.

You were dismissed to settle in until the other counselors arrived for briefing after a few other business matters (for which both you and James stayed civil and responsible) and all but ran to your car, eager to get the moving in part over with as quick as possible.

After so many years of making camp your home away from home, you'd pretty much nailed the routine of packing and unpacking, and your part of the four-girl cabin was taking shape very nicely if you did say so yourself. You even had time to stick up the photos you'd printed out, which usually took at least a week to happen. You were just wiping the sweat off your face with the hem of your t-shirt when someone cleared their throat. You didn't need to guess who it was.

James was leaning against the doorframe, looking unfairly unperturbed by the heat.

"Sorry your dream boy couldn't be here," He said and you couldn't quite tell if he was joking.

"Michael and I—"

"Relax, I was talking about your real boyfriend, remember?" You paused at his statement, studying your painted fingers intently.

"We broke up," You said quietly, not daring to look at James in fear of him teasing you about it. You consequently missed the flash of curiosity (and maybe relief) that passed across his features.

"Sorry," He said awkwardly, still under the doorframe.

"It's fine. He's a dickhead."

"I could have told you that last summer!" He laughed, then slapped a hand over his mouth as he realised it might have been too far. You managed a small laugh yourself, if only to make him feel better about his misstep.

"Yeah, yeah. Last summer you also thought swallowing gum would fuse your insides together."

"And I stand by that! You should just learn to listen to me," He crowed, eyes sparkling with mischief. You rolled your eyes again, pushing yourself off the bed to reapply your deodorant.

"If I ever start listening to you, take it as a sign I'm losing my marbles," You said, ducking under the arm James had stretched across the doorframe, "Now come on, everyone'll be arriving." You don't stop to see if he's following, marching out of your cabin and toward the dining hall where the counselors would convene. James watched you go for a moment with a soft grin before jogging to catch up and bother you some more.

The dining hall was already buzzing with energy and noise and the campers hadn’t even arrived yet. You smiled as you watched the counselors meet and mingle, some of them being kids you’d grown up with almost your whole life.

“Everything the light touches is our kingdom,” James’ whisper appeared from behind you.

“You are so lame.” You don’t bother looking at him, convinced you knew exactly what face he’d be pulling. “Now make yourself useful and greet everyone.” You might have been a little rude, but it was clear to you that this job wasn’t nearly as important to James as it was to you. Head counselor was something you’d been working towards since you’d started at camp, and you would like to keep the gig through college if James didn’t ruin it for you.

A booming noise silenced the room, and you were surprised to know it came from James. He started off the address for you outlining all the boring housekeeping notices you could recite in your sleep. They were almost exactly the same every year, except for James’ insistence on being the funniest in the room and making jokes after every other statement.

“As you know if you find any contraband in the camper’s belongings report it to the camp director, especially if it’s an illicit substance, as there may be serious discipline. However, if it’s alcohol, slip into into my cabin ‘coz god knows I’ll need a drink after dealing with the kids and this one.” He gestured over to you, receiving a ripple of laughter throughout the room. You grit your teeth, trying not to react and be the bad cop of camp.

“Just so we’re all clear,” You faked a laugh, “None of the campers or counselors will be ingesting or posessing alcohol while at camp. Right guys?” You locked eyes with the camp director, trying to bring him down from the conniption he was on the verge of. It worked, mostly, and you took over from James, shooting him a warning glare as you rushed to finish listing off the timetable for the coming evening and next day as campers arrived.

In his defence though, James wasn’t exactly wrong. Although the camp director could never ever find out for the sake of all your jobs, there was definitely a stash of alcohol that all the counselors contributed to and had access to, though strictly when there was no risk of campers or higher ups finding out. Like tonight. Every year before the campers arrived the counselors held a campfire right out in the forest; far enough away that there was almost no risk of the adult-adults finding them, but close enough that drunk walks back to the cabin weren’t quite impossible.

That brought you to the campfire. You’d been stuck in meetings and doing last minute admin all night and you really needed the break. You could only look at schedules and spreadsheets for so long anyway, add James to the mix and you were going absolutely crazy.

You’d snagged a spot next to Lily, hugging her tight as you reunited.

“I can’t believe you’re stuck with Potter,” She said, taking a sip from some ungodly drink one of the counselors had mixed. You laughed as you pulled away and greeted Remus quickly, taking the can of cider he offered.

“I’m just thanking my lucky stars it wasn’t him three years ago.” You shook your head resolutely, “At least now I’m sure he’s human. I just hate that he’s gonna make me bad cop all summer.” Remus cocked his head in confusion and Lily asked for clarification so you continued.

“You know, James is always the funny one, James is always the chill one. I’m the one who’s gonna have to spoil the fun and enforce the rules.”

“That’s not true though, you might be the one sticking to the rules but you’ve been here just as long. Everyone knows and loves you, and you’ll have just as much fun even if you aren’t quite as go-with-the-flow,” Lily said, a comforting hand resting on your arm.

“Prongs might surprise you,” Remus said, clearly taking a different approach, “I think when it matters he’ll step up to the plate.” You looked at him for a moment, considering his philosophy. You chanced a glance over at James to see him halfway through a game of beer pong — losing badly in fact, and sighed. If he, the head sport and swim counselor, was losing at a game consisting of throwing then he must’ve already been smashed.

He caught your eye at just the wrong (or right) moment and waved you over with such excitement that you excused yourself from the conversation to see what he wanted.

“Sirius needs a teammate,” He said simply, gesturing for you to go over and play. You shook you head furiously.

“So you’re asking the arts and crafts leader? I have zero coordination.”

“Yeah, and? You’re competitive and that’s all that matters. Consider it our head counselor bonding time.” You looked at James for a moment, weighing out the pros and cons in your head. You figured it couldn’t be that bad even if you embarrassed yourself, and you really didn’t want the other counselors to think you had a stick up your arse after getting the position. So, you reciprocated the high five Sirius had offered and got in position.

The game went shit, as could have been assumed. You really didn’t have an ounce of coordination, your throws missing most of the cups. Sirius was better, making your team at least not totally hopeless, but the two of you were no match for the machines that were James and Marlene — though both significantly worsened by their inebriated states. You were providing the trash talk though, which seemed to keep everyone entertained

“Ok new game!” James clapped after you’d downed the last drink, “Sirius, switch with me.”

“What! But I like my partner!” You high-fived Sirius again at his declaration, now sufficiently buzzed from the shitty beer you’d been using.

“Yeah, we’re doing just fine, Potter. Worry about yourself.” It came out a bit louder and more aggressive than you intended, but James didn’t seem to mind — none of you were sober enough to be picking up on the intricacies of human communication. James mimed a stab to his heart dramatically.

“You kill me,” He groaned, leaning on the folding table in despair. You laughed loudly, holding up your hand in the shape of an L to rub it in. After rubbing it in for a moment you conceded, stomping your way to his side of the table, patting Marlene on the shoulder as you swapped places.

“Alright, Potter, let’s get this round over with so I can kick your arse again.” James’ grin was practically blinding as he brightened up, getting ready to play another match. You might’ve been getting a little too competitive, but it was camp and you were drunk, so everyone around the table was matching your energy tenfold.

“Are you actually capable of getting a ball in a cup? You’re genuinely so terrible at this,” James laughed as he said it but you took it personally, shoving him aside.

“Piss off, dickhead. Just because you’re a big shot athlete or whatever.” You must have finally struck a nerve in James as he was quiet for the rest of the game, still much more skilled than you but his energy significantly dampened. Even when you won, he only offered you a weak smile and a pathetic high five. You felt bad for a moment and opened your mouth to apologise, but your inebriated brain was distracted by music playing, running over to Lily to ask her to dance.

You were at the stage of being drunk where everything was perfect. The day’s heat had mellowed out into a dreamy summer night, a soft breeze rustling the leaves above you all as you danced and drank, reuniting after a long year apart.

You might’ve overdone it slightly though, which found you a little ways away from the rest of the party, emptying your stomach into a bush where hopefully none of the campers would stumble across it. Looking past your unfortunate accident you caught a glimpse of a dark shape on the bank of the river. Narrowing your eyes you tried to make out who it was, but settled on getting closer instead. You hesitated when you made it out to be James.

“Hey, Potter. You alright?” You called awkwardly, a little unwilling to get too close.

“Hm?” He looked back at you, voice uncharacteristically quiet. “Yeah, fine.” You sighed. He was clearly upset about something and you couldn’t just end the conversation there, no matter how much you didn’t want to have a DnM with James Potter on night one of camp.

Reluctantly you got closer, taking a seat next to him. You watched the lake for a few minutes, black except for the silver from the moon. It was peaceful when there weren’t so many people around, it was one of your favourite things about camp, just being outside and disconnected from the rest of your life.

James broke the silence first.

“Do you… Are you mad that I’m co-head counselor?” You chanced a glance at him, surprised at the vulnerability in his voice. James wasn’t usually one to get sappy or personal like that, especially not with you.

“No?” You replied, “It wasn’t what I imagined, obviously, but it’s not like I hate you. You’re just mildly infuriating like 80% of the time.” James snorted, and you got the feeling he’d intended to wallow a bit longer. But James was James and he couldn’t stay moody for too long, it wasn’t in his nature.

“I can work with that.” He smiled his blinding grin, and you could have sworn you could see it reflecting off the water.

“We have to be a team though,” You affirmed; now was as good a time as any for you to address it. “I know that your whole bright and lively class clown thing is effortless for you, but I don’t wanna be the bad cop all the time, okay?” James was deep in thought for a second, then a cheeky grin crept onto his features.

“You think I’m bright and lively?”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes, but you weren’t sure you weren’t returning his smile. “Come on, let’s get to bed. Neither of us can afford to be hungover when the kids get here.”

You and James wandered back towards the cabins, both hazy and giggly from the lasting drunkenness and the (at least temporary) smoothing over of your tenuous relationship.

[em-ontv]

may i request for more soldier boy please? <3

Of course you may, I was waiting to write another piece about him. I love these little asks because it helps motivate me. Hope you like this, anon! <3

Damsel in distress.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x lover!fem!reader (who's a member of Payback)

Summary: when you received a call for help, you immediately got into action, only to find out that the person on the other side isn't exactly a stranger...

Warnings: cursing/profanities, no use of y/n, Ben being a drama queen, time taking place around the mid 1900s (I know they didn't have flip phones at that time but just pretend Vought had some high tech-y stuff), English isn't my first language, mistakes should be present, apologies beforehand :)

Word count: 776

———————————————————————————

Your flip phone rang in the middle of a half-baked briefing session with Crimson Countess and Mindstorm, the two of them squabbling while your mind wandered off. You were half listening, but it was mostly white noise, nodding from time to time to give them the idea that you actually gave a fuck.

When the phone rang in your pocket, you were more than ready for the distraction.

"Got a call. Gotta take it," you said, stepping out before either of them could ask for details.

"Hello?"

"Help— fuck, I need help!" The voice on the other end was frantic, strained.

"Calm down. Where are you?" you cut them off, your heart pounding in your chest. The voice was familiar but you didn't think too much of it, not when the man seemed to be in so much distress.

"Help... please, you gotta come. I'm— I'm trapped, and I don't know how much longer I can—”

The phone crackled with static, and you could barely hear the voice on the other side anymore.

"It's— shit, just get here! I'm at the old warehouse on 5th… please."

The call ended abruptly. Just like that. The line went dead before you could get another word out. No further instructions. Nothing. Your jaw tensed, stuffing the phone back into your pocket. Probably some dumbass who got themselves caught up with the wrong people. But, honestly? You cursed yourself for having that itch that dragged you into this kind of shit.

You knew it was stupid to go charging in without more intel, but something in that voice had triggered your instincts. It had the kind of urgency that couldn't be faked. So, you grabbed your gear and headed out without a second thought.

When you arrived at the warehouse, the place was dark and reeked of mold. The air was thick with tension, your senses on high alert as you moved through the shadows, your weapon drawn.

Then you heard it — a low groan, coming from somewhere ahead. You tightened your grip on your weapon, pushing forward until you reached a large, open space. And there he was, crumpled on the floor like a discarded doll, Soldier Boy. Ben.

The one and only.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" you snapped, lowering your weapon as anger and disbelief spread across your face.

You nearly rolled your eyes so hard you saw the back of your skull. Of course it was him. Who else would be dumb enough to pull this kind of stunt?

"Fuck... you made it," he was sprawled out, one hand clutching his side, his face twisted in what you might have believed was ‘pain’ if you didn't know him better. "Took you long enough."

There wasn't a single scratch on him. No signs of a struggle, no bodies, not even a broken bottle in sight.

"You're the one who called? You had me thinking someone was in real danger, you asshole." you kneeled down beside him.

Ben coughed, trying to gain some of your pity until a knowing smirk inevitably made its way onto his lips. "You couldn't resist, huh? You always were a sucker for a damsel in distress."

You stared at him, deadpan. "You're about as much of a damsel as I am a fucking knight in shining armor."

He let out a theatrical groan again, like it was some big effort to sit up, and you resisted the urge to kick him while he was down. Then, he pouted, actually fucking pouted.

"You do that again and I'll put you out of your misery for good." you pointed a finger at him. You were pissed — more at yourself for falling for it, even for a second. But Ben? He was having the time of his life.

"Aw, come on, can't you just play along for once? It was a good fucking plan." he grabbed your hand and pressed it against the side of his face, flashing you a shit-eating grin.

You stayed silent, shaking your head in pure disbelief. You stood up and so did he, getting to his feet with the ease of someone who hadn't just played dead a minute ago.

"I missed you." Ben added after sensing your silence. "You’ve been so busy last month I've barely seen you."

"Yeah, well, don't pull shit like this again just because you're feeling needy."

"Needy?"

"You heard me." you exasperated.

"I just wanted to see you in action, get the blood pumping." his hand went to the small of your back and pulled you closer, lips pressing kisses along your jaw.

"Next time," you sighed. "Just fucking ask."

"Yeah, yeah. Love you too."

[harunayuuka2060]

Grim: Housewarden! Housewarden! We've received a letter! Mryah!

MC: Ah~ It's finally here~.

Ramshackle students: Is that the invitation? *all of them looks excited*

MC: Yes~. All of you will be attending, right~?

Grim and their students: Yeah!!!

MC: *giggles*

Jamil: Let's see... We're asked not to bring anything.

Jamil: ...

Jamil: Kalim, you have to return those.

Kalim: Aww... *has already packed some presents to bring to the party*

Kalim: Can't I at least bring an accessory to give to their sister?

Jamil: We need to respect what's written in this invitation.

Jamil: Though I wonder if they could provide everything for the guests. They've invited all the student body, including the teachers.

Kalim: Oh, I think it won't be a problem.

Jamil: ...

Jamil: I've heard that MC-senpai's family is rich. But how rich exactly?

Kalim: Hmm... Ah! You add my family's richness and Malleus's! That's how rich they are!

Jamil: ...

Jamil: WHAT?!

Ruggie: Wha- L-Look at this, Leona! Expensive clothes and- GOLD!

Leona: Ugh... Keep your voice down, will you?

Ruggie: And it's for keeps... *squeals*

Ruggie: Hey, Leona! Do you think I can work for their family instead?

Leona: They only hire dead people.

Ruggie: Who told you?

Leona: Just a guess.

Epel: Wow... I feel so poor.

Vil: *choosing an appropriate jewelry for him* Do not think about it too much, Epel.

Epel: But... What if we're meeting royalties?

Vil: If we do, haven't I already taught you some table manners? *frowning at him*

Epel: Now I don't want to go...

Rook: Roi du Poison! Monsieur Cherry Apple! *barges into the room, wearing a princess dress*

Epel and Vil: ...

Vil: What the hell, Rook?

Sebek: YOU LOOK DASHING, MY LIEGE!

Silver: I agree with Sebek. MC chose the perfect outfit for you.

Lilia: Though, you look more like a groom in that, Malleus.

Malleus: You think so? Hmm...

Malleus: Maybe because of this veil-

MC: Eh~ You look pretty in that~. I'm surprised~.

Malleus: What do you mean by that? *frowns at the comment*

MC: *who appeared out of nowhere* Nothing~. By the way, I came here to pick you up~. Are you ready~?

Malleus: Huh? But isn't the party next week?

MC: I have a surprise for you, so you have to go with me now~.

Malleus: ...

Sebek: If you're taking Waka-sama, you have to let us accompany him!

MC: Eh~ That won't do~. *smiles* You'll see him at the party anyway~.

Malleus: Well then.

Sebek: W-Waka-sama?

Malleus: It's alright, Sebek.

Lilia: ...

Lilia: Try not to sign anything while you're there.

Malleus: I know that, Lilia.

MC: Hm~? I won't be forcing you into a marriage, you know~? If that's what you two are implying~.

Lilia and Malleus: ...

Malleus: Well, you-

MC: Your grandma will~.

Malleus: ...

MC: *giggles*

Malleus: *frowns, not liking their joke*

[oddinary4bts]

The Forgotten Spaces | Masterpost (jjk)

☆summary: you've been dancing on the same dance crew since your teenage years, and you finally have an important role in it. It feels like life is taunting you when your rival comes back after disappearing for a year, ready to tease you every chance he gets. Will the teasing turn into more, or are you going to take him down with you?

☆status: completed

☆pairings: photographer and dancer!Jungkook x dancer!female reader, Taehyung x OC (reader in What Was Hidden), Yoongi x OC (barely present in this fic), Jin x OC, Hobi x OC, Jisung x Felix (Stray Kids)

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, some chapters have mature content)

☆genre: slow (SLOW) burn enemies to lovers, college!au, slice of life!au, angst (oop), smut and fluff

☆total word count: 146k

☆a/n: in love with this story. That's it, that's the note. I hope you'll love it just as much as I do <3

☆Special mention to @moonleeai for her work as my beta reader for all chapters of this fic

☆Inspired from What Was Hidden, a @daechwitatamic fic. You might want to read WWH before you read The Forgotten Spaces, as WWH takes place before The Forgotten Spaces

☆Read the sequel, When the End Comes, here!

☆☆☆☆☆

For this meeting of our end of the world

It's with you that I want to sing

On the threshold of the memories the dead of today

Them that breathe for us

The forgotten spaces

Je t'écris - Gaston Miron (rough translation by me)

☆☆☆☆☆

➳Teaser

➳Chapter one: when you meet again after a year (8.5k)

You didn't miss me?

➳Chapter two: when you ask your rival for help (7.7k)

You are as annoying as I remember you to be, Jeon Jungkook.

➳Chapter three: when you learn why Jungkook disappeared (10.2k)

And the worst part is, it hurts. All. The. Fucking. Time.

➳Chapter four: when you finally let go of old animosity (9.6k)

I'm just relieved you haven't changed.

➳Chapter five: when a weekend away changes everything (15.7k)

You've been confusing me all weekend.

➳Chapter six: when you realize you are too late (5.8k)

See, that's exactly why I do not want to talk to you.

➳Chapter seven: when you live with the aftermath of heartbreak (8.7k)

One day it won't hurt anymore, right?

➳Drabble #1

➳Drabble #2

➳Chapter eight: when he realizes what he lost (12.6k)

I care about you.

➳Drabble #3

➳Chapter nine: when the healing starts (7k)

You're a fucking idiot, Jeon Jungkook.

➳Chapter ten: when you start falling, slowly (14.7k)

We start here, right now, and we see where we can go.

➳Chapter eleven: when he shows that he cares (12.5k)

I think we're both still hurt by everything that happened

➳Chapter twelve: when he catches you (8.1k)

I thought then that you weren't supposed to be happy with me

➳Chapter thirteen: when a party brings you even closer (8.9k)

Make sure all I can remember is your name.

➳Chapter fourteen: when you finally make it official (13.1k)

I love you.

☆☆☆☆☆

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2023. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

Finally reading "Under the Red Hood" for my story, Dick Grayson V Gotham and some notes about what exactly happens here:

Jason's helmet really is a whole ass red circle with eyes, isn't it.

There's constant internal monologue about how much Batman cares about his kids. From Alfred and from Batman.

There's a whole ass woman who I have never seen referenced before called Onyx? Who's apparently the "only other hero allowed in the whole of gotham... other than catwoman".

Bruce recognizing Jason just based on how he fights and plans is beautiful, even if bruce doesn't believe it yet.

Superman's over here flirting with Bruce, going "we could have gotten tickets to the theater if you'd called ahead 😘😘" while bruce is traveling all over the world to figure out if his baby boy might be back from the dead.

Lowkey sad that Jason doesn't have the skunk stripe. I know it was fanon that occasionally became canon, but I still like it.

Wow, this Robin!Jason flashback is really giving us good views of the scaly panties, >:P

So, during the flashback, Bruce brings up the idea that Jason has a "mean streak" in comparison to how Dick was. But it's not that Jason was "mean" and Dick "nice"--Dick has a massive temper, even if canon rarely allows him to acknowledge it--but with Dick... Everytime he was Robin, I think he was still in the mindset of "performer". There was a bit more disconnect between him and the criminals of Gotham, because the fights were more like acts. Jason performs too, but he's very personal about it. This is his city, he's taking all these crimes personally and even when he's "performing" it's still Jason Todd, while Dick's Robin is more so a mask. IDK, this is just the vibes I'm picking up.

I really love the panels after Jason blows up the meth lab. The way the colors are... it makes Jason almost look like he's teared up? It's beautiful.

Oh great, Slade's here. No wonder this things so damn long

You know what, Slade? I'm on Black Mask's side here. A nazi and a hyena man? You can find better hired help on Craigslist.

Just finished the fight, and I'm STILL on Black Mask's side. Slade, who the fuck are these losers!?

Yes, Jason baby, kill the nazi!

Jason got them Christmas presents! That's sweet!

Slade, why the FUCK were you here? Did you see Nightwing was in town and go "lol, this'll be funny"?

Black Mask really calling himself Daddy around Jason... wasn't a joke. Huh.

There are some very nice parallels after Jason reveals his identity to Bruce. Bruce was too late to stop Joker's bomb, he was too late to stop the bomb in the meth lab. Bruce was too late to stop his son from getting attacked by a supervillain, but Bruce was faster now, good job! And Bruce never killed his son's killer, and he won't kill Stephanie's killer either. It's like he keeps testing Bruce to see if he really has to go through with his plan with the Joker.

Actually, it wouldn't surprise me if Jason's entire beef with Black Mask was because of his part in Stephanie Brown's death.

...I don't really like the idea of Jason calling himself a zombie after Joker did it.

Jason wiped the smile off his face, goddamn! (And don't think I didn't notice how similar Joker and Jason's laughs are, comic artists. Sure, maybe that's just how cackling laughter was drawn back then, but in literature, that smells like foiling).

...THIS is when Bludhaven gets destroyed!? Really???

Also, what is this depiction of Bludhaven just... being across a river? This feels unreasonably close, why hasn't Gotham just eaten Bludhaven at this point?

IT'S A NUKE???

THEY ARE LOOKING DIRECTLY AT IT, HOW ARE THEIR EYES NOT GETTING BURNT OUT OF THEIR HEADS

I'm just realizing how many explosives there are in this series. Between the bombs the Bats use, and the bombs Jason sets up, and... what happened to bludhaven. That, kids, is what we call a theme!

Bruce really is sympathetic in this. It's subtle, which is good, I don't think anyone would have appreciated the author blaring out "BATMAN IS IN THE RIGHT, HE'S THE BEST GUY, FUCK JASON."

And Jason is getting more and more unhinged as the fight progresses.

You know, it's occurring to me that this all could have been prevented if New Jersey had the death penalty. There's no way Joker could have gotten the insanity plea so many times if they could put him in the ground for good.

...I wonder if Batman votes to reinstate the death penalty?

"But why... why on God's earth--??! Is he still alive!!??" Is just... such a good reveal. Such a good line. No wonder we're all so fixated on this character, omg.

Oh. This is why Jason thinks Batman doesn't love him.

It's the lack of reciprocation. Jason sees "killing the Joker after he killed you" as an act of love. Batman cannot provide that act, so Jason sees that refusal as proof he is unloved.

The funniest Joker's ever been:

Oh, the batarang moment. Oh no.

Oh no oh no oh no

I still feel like resurrection via Superboy punching the universe hard is still a cop-out reason why Jason's alive, but the line "Until time decided to set things right." is speaking to me.

Oh god, the buried alive scene is brutal.

Okay, so Jason came back fully sane, he definitely knew what he was doing breaking out of the coffin, but his injuries that were unhealed and getting hit by a fucking car are what caused his catatonic state. He didn't just wake up not all there, that happened because no one was looking out for him.

Okay, so 6 months dead, about a... year in a coma. It says a year for his time catatonic on the streets, then a year with Talia, still catatonic... that's three and a half years, Jason really started being the Red Hood... like what, a few weeks after he got tossed in the Pits?

...I thought the pits were green. They look gold in my version of these comics, is that normal?

EW, WHY'D SHE KISS HIM

Also, there was no brainwashing this boy, Talia literally just said "you remain avenged" and it sent Jason on this whole murder spiral, she didn't do shit

Except kiss him. which, EW

Alright, good night everybody!

[omkookie]

The second descendant [pt. ?]

You don't feel much. Just tiredness thanks to your situation. You work a shitty job that pays you minimum wage per hour. You're barely making enough to live, and working long shifts every week is draining you both mentally and physically.

You sometimes wonder if it's because your family's financial situation has always been bad, Or is it just because you didn't want to go to college or university? If you went to university would you have become something better than a minimum wage employee? Or would you be drowning in student debt?

You don't know.

You don't know anything. You don't know what you want to do, you don't know what your future might be like. You're just breathing, living day by day and being physically present while your mind is absent. Your boss and colleagues have chided you several times for spacing out, but what can you do about it? Nothing.

You don't feel like being here.

Now, Imagine you’re the great Solomon’s second living descendant– pretty much useless. You didn’t inherit any of his abilities nor pacts, you just happen to be a member of his bloodline. Now, you’re not exactly the weakest sorcerer alive, but you’re not the strongest either. The way that the demons found out you exist was by a loudmouthed angel reporting to Michael about you during an attack on hades.

So, What about life after coming to hell? Different world different situation, right?

When you somehow get into trouble involving the seraphim, you know that you're near your end. When Beelzebub comes to see you, he gives you a sympathetic look, his face clearly showing he was pitying you. "I'm tired. Leave. " You tell him, trying to ignore the stench of blood that was left in your cold apartment, along with the dead bodies of angels and a broken wall.

Curse you Solomon.

This is all your fault.

Not even Satan can look at the poor excuse of a sorcerer that you are compared to your ancestor.

At least Ra-on can somewhat use her abilities, unlike you.

The useless descendant whoose body is too weak to handle its own power.

...you regret not torturing all of those angels you just killed.

[darlingmbappe]

When We’re Ready [1] | Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

[Part One] [Part Two]

Summary: Kylian's blatant desire for a baby has your head spinning. Though, you must say, he is quite convincing...

Warnings: SMUT! Minors, go away. Penatrative sex, oral (female receiving), groping (semi-public), breeding kink, cussing, horny mfs, kinda cringe and cheesy but I stand by it. Let me know if I missed anything! – English is not my first language. –

Masterlist

Kylian was easy to read. His expressive face always gave him away; scrunching and elongating against his will. Even when he was meant to hide his true feelings in certain situations, there was always a little twinge of the eyebrow or crook of the lip to let you know exactly what he was thinking.

Maybe you just knew him too well, spent too much time with his elastic face to pick up on the micro expressions that made it possible to know his mood at any time. But, something was different about tonight. Cheeky? Yes. Pensive? For sure. Annoyed? Maybe… It was hard to say with the way he stared at you from the bed. One hand propping up his heavy head while he watched you intently putting lotion on. 

This expression was new.

“Babe?” You call, rubbing together the leftover lotion on your hands, sitting in front of him on the bed. “You okay?”

“Mhm.” He hums, still seeming out of it as he shifts and stares at the TV now, though it only reflects a dark image of himself back at him, seeing as it wasn’t even turned on.

You narrow your eyes at him. “I don’t buy it. Something’s on your mind.” You take your rings and earrings off, setting them in your jewelry catcher by your nightstand. Kylian stayed quiet as you got under the covers, drawing his attention back to you.

When he didn’t give you any sort of answer, you had no choice but to scroll on your phone in an attempt to ignore the burning stare that came from your husband's side of the bed. Eventually, it was impossible to pretend you didn’t feel his eyes dead set on your face. You shut your cell off and set your phone on your stomach, looking directly at him, your sudden view shift taking him by surprise. “Okay, seriously. What?”

“Nothing.” You catch a smirk barely grazing his lips before he just shakes his head, turning and switching off his bedside lamp, cozying up under the duvet. “Don’t worry about it.”

You huff and sneer at his answer, shutting off your lamp as well, curling up with an obvious annoyance at the lack of information. “He thinks I'm not gonna worry about it.” You mumble to yourself passive aggressively, your back turned to him. “You’re being weird. I don’t like it.”

“I'm not being weird.”

“Are too.”

Kylian stared at the back of your head, quiet as he slowly reached for your waist, effectively pulling your body up against his to share his warmth.

“Oh, so now you wanna cuddle?” You grumble, settling in comfortably despite the bite that laced your words.

He kissed your hair, lost in his own racing mind, not fully convinced he should bring this up to you tonight. Your annoyance was surface level, nothing he was deeply concerned about because he felt the way you relaxed against his own muscles, letting his arms act as your blanket. 

He was sure that the thoughts that persist in his skull had crossed your mind as well. As he lay there with you, the love of his life, he let his brain think without hesitation; no if’s or but’s, no playing devil's advocate with himself. He let himself indulge in the future fantasy that he had dreamed of since he was a small boy. He felt lucky he had you in all of his delusions, always right there with him. You’re around in every scenario he makes up; ever present, making you laugh, making you swoon. He feels so lucky that you stand with him in the tangible world as well, looking better than anything he comes up with in his mind. Saying funnier things, sweeter things.

As your breathing stables, he’s not sure if you’re fully asleep yet, or how long the silence has even run for. His throat would close at the words when you were awake and responsive, but now that he couldn’t tell, it was easier to whisper them to your sleeping figure – nothing holding him back from telling you his little secret.

“Let’s have a baby.”

His voice could have been mistaken as a sigh as he breathed the words gently into your ear… but you heard them.

Your eyes shot open wide, the air becomes harder to take in your lungs at the shock, laying still in his arms. Slowly, you lift your head and stare back at him. He feels just as shocked upon seeing that you’re actually awake, gulping at the confession he let slip. 

He knew you wanted kids, just like he did. You’ve been married just about four months and had previously talked about waiting two years or so to start a family. The pair of you agreed stability in the home was necessary before bringing a child into it – which was fair enough – but his baby fever was deadly. There wasn't anything he could do to keep away the images of little toes, and bassinets, and rolls on their tummy, and dimples on their legs and… just everything. He wanted to see them grow up. He wanted to debate you on who they got it from. He was prepared to do anything for that baby, and the baby itself is just a thought. A sweet little figment of his imagination… but they already had your eyes.

“Did I hear you right?” You sleepily mumble, feeling his grip on you grow tighter and his heartbeat quickening just a smidge.

He kisses your sleepy cheek, resting his face against yours as his arms wrap more securely around you. “Oui, mon coeur. I want a baby with you.” He repeated, voice still soft.

“You think now is a good time for us?”

“Mm…” He ponders a moment. “I think so.”

“Is this what you were thinking about?”

He kisses your shoulder. “Yeah. Been thinking it for a while.”

“A while…”

“A month or two.” Kylian shrugs like it's casual… like it hasn't completely taken over his brain from the second he saw you walk down the aisle. “Imagine our little family. Just the three of us." He lets the silence marinate, unsure of whether or not you've fallen asleep on him. "Don't you think?" He squeezes you gently, needing to keep this conversation going now that it's started.

You burrow your back into him to let him know you're still lucid. "Yeah. Just the three of us... but... is now the time to bring a baby into the world?"

His sigh sounds defeated, tickling your face. “You don’t think it is…”

“I don’t know… I haven’t really thought about it.” You admit, looking at him once more. His eyebrows furrow and now you can read him clearly. 

The overthinking face. 

Despite being confident in himself and his actions in pretty much every aspect of his life, Kylian is a chronic overthinker. He’ll let his thoughts drag him into a darker place. He begins to question little comments or actions that he wouldn’t have thought twice about if the little voice in his head would just leave him alone. The crease between his eyebrows tilt upward, his tongue finds his top row of teeth, his stare points away to a still object that will allow him to daze off into the flying spiral of introspection. 

You tap your finger on his chin to get him to look back at you so you could ground him. “I have thought about it. A lot. Just not so much recently…” You say, not only doing damage control on your last comment, but a true statement on the topic of family that you’re interested in exploring further. “With the wedding, moving, family stuff, you know. Everything’s a little jumbled right now.”

The gears turn in his head and he purses his lips. “No, I get it.” He sighs deeply. “I guess you’re right.” You turn in his arms, now curled into his chest. He kisses your forehead before resting his chin on it, engulfing your body completely in his. “But, maybe two years is a little long to wait.”

“Yeah, I agree. Who knows if we’ll even still be together by then.” You grin mischievously into his skin and feel the vibration of his deep chuckle from your obvious joke.

“Shut up.” 

You move your head so you could look at him, pressing a kiss to his chapped and upturned lips. “Let’s give it until the end of the summer. That’s like, what, three months? If we both feel like the time is right, then we start trying, For real.”

He closes his eyes to feel your presence in his, content enough with the compromise. Isn’t that what marriage is all about, anyway? 

He wiggles his eyebrows. “You up for a little practice?”

“Practice?”

He rubs a firm hand down your back, letting it rest lower than it was before. “Just a little refresher…”

You caught on, rolling your eyes as he pulls away to gauge your reaction to his suggestion. 

“Ky, if anything, you’re a little over-practiced in that department.”

“No such thing, baby. Take it from me, I’m an athlete.” He smirks cheekily, letting only one finger run against your skin, tracing where the hem of your tank top had been resting on your hip. He dipped it lower and pulled up at the waistband of your underwear, letting it snap back gently, stinging only slightly but your sleepy state caused you to feel it ripple through you like he had whipped you.

“Hm…” You were sleepy, sure… but Kylian dipped his face into your neck. His lips could not have been more supple against your skin. The open mouth kisses he placed were gentle, soft, beyond seductive. Your eyes shut against your will at the feeling, his large palm flat against your side and moving up under the material that separated his bare chest from yours, tongue prodding out just slightly to taste your skin. “... I guess we can practice. Just a little…”

That night changed everything for you. 

You see babies everywhere now, it’s like the population multiplied overnight. There was nothing that could stop you from cooing at their tiny socks and chubby ankles, the sound of their giggle echoing through the grocery store, their innocent little smiles when they looked at their mommy or daddy… God, does everyone have a damn baby but you?

The months went on and the late summer sun was hotter than it had ever been. At least for as long as you’d lived in Paris. You could barely walk outside for the mail without sweating and needing a shower. You verbally thanked the heavens you weren't pregnant right now, not being able to imagine carrying a human inside of you with all of this heat. Kylian brushed it off, still holding out hope for a new addition to the Mbappe household. 

Kylain might be an extremely intelligent man, but, boy… subtlety is not his strong suit. It started with him leaving open baby magazines on the kitchen counter, flipped to the cutest, smallest, chunkiest little one they had on print. He’d send you baby TikTok videos with a message that read “do you like this color for the living room walls?” 

In his defense, he was never trying to be subtle. He continued to think about what you said that night he first mentioned trying, and he still thinks that bringing a baby into the mix is right for you two. He tried to chop it down to his social media algorithm sabotaging him with constant baby content or maybe the honeymoon phase after the wedding had him feeling this strongly, but those explanations just didn’t feel right. After knowing you for six years and getting to love you for almost all of that time, he was eager to create a family with you right in the center of it. 

The baby discussion had made a sharp turn at some point this last month. You couldn’t exactly pinpoint when it all went from questioning every aspect of your life together and reasoning with one another about very serious doubts and scenarios, to unhinged conversations about things that just caused you to giggle. Things like: where the pair of you would bring your newborn on their first vacation, what their first word would be, if they’d follow in Kylians footsteps, how much money the tooth fairy would give them for their first lost tooth.

It’s safe to say, you finally came to the silent conclusion that you were ready – but that realization couldn't have come at a more awkward time.

Dinner with his whole side of the family was a blessing for you both. It wasn’t very often that every schedule cleared up in the same time frame. A large restaurant section was rented out in the heart of Paris for family and friends to get together. It was a nice time to make conversation and catch up on everything life had churned out since the last time you’d seen each other. The appetizers were spectacular, the drinks were doing their job, it was all so nice…

… Except that nothing – yes, nothing – is more awkward than being unstoppably horny for your husband in front of his entire family. You cut yourself off after martini number three when you noticed it was turning your brain into goo. The buzz wasn't enough to make you drool and incoherent, but seeing your Kylian playing with his niece and nephew, picking them up and turning them upside down, pressing affectionate smooches to their bulbous cheeks… drooling and incherency was not far behind. 

He was going to be such a good dad. He was already the most caring husband, even with all of his responsibilities and commitments. He found time for you in every sliver of open space in his schedule, needing to soak up quality time with his wife as if it were as necessary as air. 

The entrées began to come out as everyone took their respective seats. Kylian was still oblivious to the googly eyes you’d been throwing in his direction all night, but it wasn’t long after he sat down that he caught on. 

He leans over to whisper to you, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I know that look. Very well.”

You shudder at his breath tickling your skin. Flustered beyond belief, you could only manage to shake your head, letting out a shy and breathy laugh.

Kylian bit his lip and snickered along with you, setting his hand on your knee and faces forward. His touch was hot. A skillet off of the stove would have sent the same wave of heat all the way up your limbs. You reach for the water on the table, positive that the fierce blush overtaking your face would be obvious to anyone who decided to look at you in your current state. His long fingers began moving against your knee, tracing mindless patterns that only sent you more goosebumps. He knew that every gentle touch or fragment of affection he would give you right now would be heightened tenfold… he loved knowing that you were putty in his hands. He knew your mind – and right now, he had completely taken over it.

“Feeling okay, mon amour?” The sly smirk on his face gave him away. He was just teasing you, and Lord, does he love teasing. His hand moves upward to your midthigh, stopping and moving his thumb up and down above your dress, crinkling the material. “You’re looking a little flushed.”

You’d been avoiding eye contact, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of your needy gaze. “Kylian, stop it. Your mom’s sitting right there.” You reprimand in a soft voice, not wanting to raise any attention to the pair of you up to nothing decent.

“I’m not doing anything.” He chuckles, moving his hand a little higher. You suck in a sharp breath as he leans into your ear again. “Won’t you look at me, bébé?” 

You shake your head no, feeling quite shy as your throat dries up. You clear your throat discreetly and reach for the cold water once more, but Kylians hand grabs your palm, bringing it to his lips. “Let me see those eyes, baby.” He mumbled against your hand. His back was turned to the rest of the table, acting as a human curtain for your obvious discomposure.

You roll your eyes before looking at him. You tried your best to give him a scolding look, but the second you saw that same glimmer in his eye that matched yours, your current sensitivities doubled down. The pace of your heart heightened quickly, the warmth in your cheeks increasing by the second.

You felt like leaning in to kiss his lips. He licked them right when he took a quick glance at your own, your hand still taken in his.

“Your eggplant parmesan, madame.” You didn’t even see the waiters bringing out the entrées being too engrossed in Kylian's burning stare. You smile up and thank her then look around the table. You’d forgotten that there were other people there for a second, much less his family. His mom, dad, nieces, nephews, aunties – distant or otherwise… You had to pull yourself together before they caught on to your overly horny demeanor. 

Kylian took his hand off your thigh when his chicken alfredo was placed in front of him, noticing how you sat up straighter. For now, he’d let you do your best to make regular conversation with his cousins that sat across from the both of you, but he noticed how tightly your legs were crossed together. He saw your eyes dart away from his whenever you turned his way. When he brushed your pinky on the table before engulfing your hand, you took in a sharp breath. So sensitive. 

He nodded toward your empty plate. “Feel like turning in early, mon coeur?”

You raised a brow at him. “Ky, you sure? Your whole family’s here. Don’t you wanna stay a little longer?”

He shrugs. “We’ve been mingling for like,” he looks at his watch, “almost three hours. Besides, I’m quite a bit distracted tonight.” He peeks down at your cleavage, darting his tongue out to wet his lips. “I think I wanna take you home.”

You shudder when he leans in and kisses the corner of your lips. To anyone watching, it’s a sweet gesture of affection, but to you… it was erotic. Sensual. It made you tighten your thighs even more.

His attention is taken back to the others at the table, letting them know that the two of you would be leaving a little early, blaming it on his morning training schedule. You two made your rounds to every seat, kissing cheeks and rubbing shoulders, making sure you left a good impression with each and every one of the members of the group. 

He opened the car door for you, grabbing your hand to help you in, kissing your knuckles before hopping in the driver's seat. He weaved through traffic with a sure hand on your upper thigh, slowly and subconsciously getting higher and higher. 

It’s unfair that he holds all the power right now – making you sweat and need him with every purposeful tap on your skin. The pads of his fingers migrated downward over your dress until it reached the hem of the frilly garment. His eyes were fixed on the red light in front of him as he let his hand travel under your dress – the simple skin to skin enough to invade you with goosebumps – feeling each and every one on the trail he formed toward your panties, toying with the band wrapped around your hip.  

You didn’t even mean to swivel your hips closer to his hand, but when his forefinger traveled lightly to feel your slit over the elastic material, you couldn’t stop yourself. “Ky…” You whined as he wiggled his digit against you. 

You look over to see his smirk facing forward, practically visualizing his ego growing at just your involuntary mewl. Looking at his lap, you saw the trace of his member was much too prominent to assume your neediness wasn’t affecting him. You reached over and took hold of it, gripping with a single squeeze that had his breath shake in surprise. 

“Merde, cherie…” He hissed, taking sporadic peeks down at your hand as it rubbed him through the layer of cloth. It wasn’t responsible to grope him while he was behind the wheel, but the standstill traffic and ultra tinted windows lent you enough feelings of safety to continue your motions. You felt him getting harder as you pumped your fist as best you could over his stiff zipper. 

Half his mind wanted to ask you to wait until you got home so he could shove you between him and the wall, feel, kiss, bite, lick every centimeter he saw… but how could he? Your fluttering lashes made him forget how to speak coherently. He just couldn’t resist you. 

His personal fucking kryptonite. 

There you both sat, hands on each other's most intimate parts in the center of traffic. It was kind of exciting that the people on the same road had no idea what was going on. That the thick steel doors and blackened windows were the only thing keeping them from seeing you throw your head back when he pressed on your clit. That they were oblivious to the sweet sounds that bubbled up from Kylians chest as you ran your knuckles over his tip, the hand that wasn’t lost under your otherwise innocent dress gripping the steering wheel so, so tightly. 

Kylian took a quick and sharp left, finally away from the traffic going down the last road until you reached your private residence. His foot pressed all the way down on the pedal, impatiently rolling the stop signs. In any other scenario, it would make you nervous, but you truly didn't even notice the way he broke traffic laws once he had removed his hand in the urgency of it all. 

You unbuckled as he drove down the last couple of blocks, leaning over the center console to attack his open neck, surely leaving a big purple bruise in your wake. Your hand wrapped around his face, pressing him further into you. He grunted and closed his eyes as soon as he put the car in park inside the garage, wasting no time grabbing for your leg so you could straddle him in the tall SUV. 

Kylian hiked your dress up with his hand firmly placed on the globe of your ass, squeezing your flesh harshly as you grinded down onto him. With his lips now on your own, all the sounds of pleasure were muffled and smothered.  

“J'ai tellement besoin de toi, putain.” I need you so fucking bad. His hands roamed higher around your waist as he got access to your neck.

“J'ai besoin que tu mettes un bébé en moi. C'est si dur.” I need you to put a baby in me. So bad. When you say these words, you feel him stiffen. His hands cease their movements, now only gripping you in place as he leans his head back to look at your face. He needed to see if you were joking or not. Breathless and completely earnest, you stare into his wide eyes, feeling the way the mood changed with just a single phrase. 

He hints at a smile. “You’re serious?”

You nod, kissing the tip of his nose, brushing your thumb dearly on his cheekbone. “So serious.”

He grins happily, pure excitement behind his eyes as he rubs your back with an incredible gentleness. He’s overtaken with fondness as he leans in to kiss you again. He smiles into it, letting out a joyous giggle when he hugs you tightly.

He barely pulls back. “Let’s get you inside. My beautiful wife.”

He couldn’t keep his hands off of you as he hugs you down the hallway toward the master bedroom, taking small detours when he simply couldn't help himself; grasping your neck to kiss you lovingly, slowing down to press you against his front and whisper sweet things in your ear. 

You half expected him to throw you on the bed, rip your dress off, and take you like it was an animalistic instinct. By his conduct in the restaurant and in the car, you’d expect nothing less than a rough and primal fuck. 

But, no. He walked you backward toward the bed, only staring into your eyes adoringly as he lifted you up to lay your head down on the pillow comfortably. 

He kissed you once before just looking at you on the mattress, knees turned in and pathetic little squirm demanding its way through your limbs. Your pretty purple dress was now wrinkled and twisted, halfway up your thigh, straps hanging loosely off your shoulder.

He beamed, deciding to sit on his knees with you in between him as he began undoing his white dress shirt, button by button, eyes never leaving yours. Your grabby hands untucked the material from his pants, matching his slower pace as you undid the buckle of his belt.

Once his shirt just hung on his shoulders, he placed two warm hands on your legs, allowing them to wander up and up, the material of your dress all scrunched up in their path. He unveiled your body to his hungry eyes, tapping the side of your ribs so you’d sit up and let him take it off of you completely. You both giggled softly when it finally went over your face, disheveling your hair in the process. Kylian brushed it all away from your features, grabbing your face sweetly and laying you back down, noses only an inch away as he balanced his body on top of yours.

“Mon amour.” He mumbled adoringly, brushing his nose with yours, grazing your lips slightly. “We’re really doing this.”

You just smile, pecking the cheesy wide grin that had taken over his features. “We’re ready.” You confirm, wrapping both your arms around his neck. 

He slowly made his way down your body, inch by inch, kiss by kiss. His tongue made soft and swift circles on your left nipple, your other being pinched and soothed by his strong fingers. As he ventured further, he placed his palms firmly on your tummy, kissing it so tenderly, as if to prepare a space for his future baby. Blessing it’s temporary home before they even had the chance to get there.

“You’re going to look so pretty when I get you pregnant.” The words were strangled between the emotions in his voice and the ringing in your own ears; the pressure of his lowering hands making your head spin. 

He tossed his shirt aside along with his pants when he reached your underwear, placing himself with purpose as he began pulling down the lacy garment. He hummed delightedly when a string of your slick clung onto the material. You showcased your pussy to him like he paid for it, jutting your hips toward him with pure need. 

“You’re so fucking wet.” He murmured as he ran a finger through your folds, just to tease, perceptive to the shiver that formed a sweet noise from your chest.

Without needing further instruction, he kitten licked your clit, gently sucking on it now and then. You turned your head into the silk pillow, letting it catch most of the crude noises you were making for the man between your legs. With his arms securely wrapped around your thighs, he pressed his face further into your core, shaking his head back and forth before adding two fingers. 

“God – fuck, Ky.” The abstruse praises spewed out of you when he curled his long, long fingers up, pumping them as they hooked inside your rigid walls. 

He pulled them out too quickly for your liking, taking his magic tongue with him as he stared down at your pussy. He stretched your skin apart with his thumbs, playing with you for his own visual gratification before slowly inserting three fingers inside at once. He watched them intently disappear into you, then quickly looking at your face that twisted in delight as he stretched you open – preparing you for his thick member. 

You wailed in pleasure, your hands gripping the sheets until your knuckles turned white. “Oh my god, Kylian.” How he loved hearing you moan out his name. It only made him need you more, staring up at you dotingly past your stomach. “Please, baby… I need you.” You begged.

His fingers slow down before leaving you bare. He watched your empty pulsing hole for only a second, licking his fingers clean as he shuffled around to be on top of you once more. 

He hovered over you, staring deeply into your eyes. You sighed in contentment at his gazing, allowing one of your hands to go astray to lower his boxer briefs over his ass, pulling down the front as well. You took hold of his thick and hard cock, pumping it while keeping eye contact with your lover. It was so beautiful to observe the tiny fragments of expressions that waved over his face. The microscopic twinges of his eyelids, the slight curve that forms between his eyebrow, the gentle pursing of his lips. 

You tugged him to your opening, running his dick along your soaked lips, lubricating it as you began to try and prod yourself open with him. Just the feeling of his tip beginning to enter your tight pussy had him shuddering. Kylian met your hand, helping it guide his cock to your entrance, slowly inserting his desperate mushroomhead.

He moved slightly, watching your expression for discomfort. “You’re so tight.” He huffed. Your hand stayed on his base, his small and paced movements still only to stretch you out for him. He felt the pads of your fingers as he shallowly pushed in and out of you.

“Faster.” You demanded, moving your hands to his ass to follow his movements. 

He complied, heavy breathing fanning your face, his pace increasing, stuffing more of himself inside of you. Kylians eyes were shut tightly, head lulling down and occasionally planting a sloppy kiss on whatever skin happened to be closest to his parted lips. His arms shift into a plank position and he nuzzles his face in your neck, body pressed firmly against you – the beads of sweat on his muscles rubbing against your middle in tandem with his thrusts that still only went in halfway. With your hands still on the globes of his ass, you clenched and pushed him deeper with your palms. 

He groans at the feeling, almost all the way inside of you. “You want it all? Huh?” He asks between gasps of air. “You want me to stretch out your tight little pussy. Take it.” He kisses you, tongue aggressively scouting your mouth. He lifts your legs up and sets them around his shoulders. 

While staring into your eyes, he snaps his hips forward until his pelvic bone was pressed deliciously on your own.

“Fuck!” You scream, feeling him so, so deep inside of you. The slightly upward curve pinned against your g-spot as he stayed still in that position. The way your strained walls grabbed him and kept him buried inside made his eyes cross for a second. He tilted his head and kissed your left knee. Your foot grazed his back when he pulled out almost all the way, and, Christ… the look he gave you was debilitating when he thrusts back in.

When you say Kylian is easy to read, you really meant it. You could stare at his face for all of three seconds and gauge his mood. It was something he actually found a little annoying sometimes; coming home after a tough day and you’d force him to talk about it before he would even get a hello out. He could say he hated your perceptiveness all he wants, but he’ll never truly convince himself of that. He loved that he could communicate with you with just a simple impression on his features. 

Now, he thrusted in and out, in and out as he gazed down at your hooded eyelids – and the look on his face was, again, one you've never seen before. 

And despite this, you just knew what it meant. You felt it in your heart. 

Love. Passion. Devotion. Care. Companionship. He'll be there for everything that is to come.

You saw your future in the shining glimmer in his irises. You saw everything. 

Tears naturally welled in your eyes, one slipped, rolling down the side of your face. There was a glint of concern in Kylian as he slowed his unforgiving pace, but you moved your hips to keep him going.

He halted his motions and was about to ask you if you were okay or if you were hurt, but your hands cradled his face and you leaned up to peck his lips. “I just love you so much.” You say, answering the question he hadn’t even asked yet. 

He lets out a deep sigh, wavering and telling. His thumb grazes over the trail of your tear, then leaves it there to stroke your skin. You gave him a light and playful spank on his right butt cheek, making you both giggle. He leaned down and kissed you feverishly – smooching once, twice, three times and pulling back only slightly.

“I love you. Je t'aime. Dieu, je t'aime tellement.” I love you. God, I love you so much. He planted sweet kisses all over your face, still smiling. “Tu es tout pour moi.” You are everything to me. 

He pulled completely out of you, leaving you empty. A whine bubbled out of your chest and Kylian traced over the crease that had formed between your eyebrows, just before inserting himself back. Your mouth opened in pleasure, a moan stuck inside your throat as he gradually powered through your tight walls, inch by fucking inch. It was a feeling of complete satisfaction when his tip collided with your sweet spot once more. Even better when the drag of his thrusts nudged it over, and over, and over, A slow pace. A gentle pace. A pace that he felt necessary for the beginning of this new chapter. 

He knew he was close, but kept his rhythm to get you there with. His hand found your clit quickly, making you jolt up, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and pulling him into you.

“Oh, shit, Kylian… God! Yes! Fuuuuck…” The heaps of praise melted like butter in Kylians ears. The sweet voice of the woman he loves praising him made his heart flutter, soaking in the feeling of your teeth sinking into his shoulder. 

“I’m gonna fill you up.” He stuttered into your hair, changing the motions of his fingers of your sensitive bud to get you there faster.

“Please, please, Kylian.” You kiss his neck, biting the skin. “Get me pregnant. Please.”

He moaned at your words, feeling like he couldn’t stop himself from orgasming for a minute longer. “Putain, je suis sur le point de... bon sang!” Fuck, I’m about to… Jesus Christ! 

It was there. Right there. His thrusts faltered, he took your face from his neck and ran his free thumb over your lips, pressing his forehead to yours as he groaned deeply. He squeezed his eyes closed as you felt his hot spurts of cum painting your walls, shooting into you delightfully until you were sure you were full. He cursed, eyes screwed shut as he continued thrusting sporadically. The feeling of it all made the knot in your abdomen pop. You screamed his name, legs shaking on his shoulder violently, toes curling, thighs shivering.

He pulled his hand away and kept fucking his cum into you through his groans of overstimulation, right until he had to gently and slowly pull out. He kept your legs pressed against your chest as he ventured down the mattress to get a better view of your pussy; his seed spilling out of you in dribbles, forcing him to stuff as much as he could back into you with his thumb. You shivered, lifting your head to watch him admire his work as if you were a piece of art he’d spent centuries perfecting. Slowly, he brought your sore legs back into a more natural position, soothing your aching muscles with a gentle massage. You were still coming down under his touch, both of you absolutely breathless. He throws himself down on the pillows next to you, whisking your hand from your heaving stomach – just holding it as you both calmed down and caught your breath. 

“Christ…” You mumbled, chuckling a little bit. You rotate your body toward him with a giddy smile on your face, cuddling into his side and kissing his cheek. He began chuckling along with you. “What if I'm pregnant right now?” You ask, excitement comfortably taking over your face. 

He shakes his head and looks at you, then down to your exposed stomach pressed against him. His hand snakes onto your middle, gently pushing you on your back as he steadied his hand right on your belly button. 

He didn't even need to say anything. His face said it all. 

The excitement of it all carried through the following weeks. It took everything in you to not tell every one of your friends and co-workers that you guys were trying. With the media breathing down your necks, it was agreed that this would be kept on the down low and you’d only announce when you were showing and could no longer hide it. Privacy was important to you both as a couple, and saying you're trying was really just a socially acceptable way of telling people you and Kylian were just constantly having sex.

Your leg bounced in anticipation as you asked your Alexa (again) how long was left of your fifteen minute timer. Kylian chewed on his thumbnail as he sat next to you on the bed with the same frustration at the slow clock ticking down, needing to know if the little stick that sat in the bathroom had one or two lines painted on it. 

“I’m not pregnant.” You say into the silence with no evidence that that was true.

He leans back, taking his raw nail away from his teeth. “You could be.”

“I don’t think I am. Wouldn’t I, you know, like, feel it, or something?”

He sighs, placing a sure hand on the small of your back. “I have no idea. I don’t know if you know this about me… but I’ve never been pregnant before.” He smiles, earning a forced grin from you. He notices the unnaturalness of your curved lips to appease his bad joke, never reaching your eyes as they darted around the room nervously. He scoots closer, hugging your shoulders comfortingly, rubbing them like it would take away your anxiety. “Whatever it says, we have time. We keep trying.” He kisses your cheek with a quirk in his smile. “I quite enjoy trying.” You huff out a laugh – a real one – and playfully jab his stomach with your elbow. 

That moment lasted no longer than a few seconds before the sound of the alarm went off. You audibly gulped down the minimal moisture in your mouth, taking a deep breath in as you both walked to the bathroom, Kylian holding your shoulders as he walked behind you into the tiled room. 

“You want me to look?” He quietly asked after you just stared at the stick that was face down on the counter, not moving a muscle or even blinking. You nod, wiping your hands on your pants. 

It felt like everything moved in slow motion when he reached for the otherwise insignificant plastic test that your future was written on. He kept the stick face down in his hand and took a deep breath in. You subconsciously crossed your fingers at your side. You’d never done that before, but you were hoping the universe would listen to your silent pleading superstition. You watch his face so intently, hyper-analyzing it before he even turns the stick in his hands. 

His eyes shot down to it and he pursed his lips with a miniscule sigh. Without saying anything else, he sets it back down on the counter and pulls you in for a hug. Your heart dropped into your stomach as you needed confirmation of your suspicions, looking over at the stick with only one single line. 

He put his chin on top of your head, squeezing you dearly. “It’s okay. It was our first try.” He murmured as you wrapped your own arms around his torso disappointingly. 

You nod despite the grave let down, having convinced yourself that it would happen now like you had both hoped. “Yeah. I don’t know why I expected to get a positive that quickly. I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up.”

He shakes his head, not really knowing what to say to comfort you while dealing with his own waves of sadness. Embracing each other in lieu of speaking was just as comforting, knowing you both were having the same experience together was consolation enough. 

He kisses the top of your hair with a whispered I love you, holding you, holding him. 

A/N: Part 1 of 2 (possibly 3). I'm back! Thank you to everyone for being patient with me and checking up on me through my little month hiatus. Sometimes, you just need a break and I appreciate you guys so much for being so kind through it! Huge hug and kiss to everyone here! Based on these requests (anon 1) (anon 2). And, don't worry, @megannandrewss , yours is coming in the next parts!

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[matan4il]

a cultural question for you because I’m curious: here in the US, people dress up for funerals, usually in formal black for mourning. of course a lot of that is a holdover thing shared with England, and most Americans’ concept of a funeral would be people in somber, modest but nice attire in pews in a church. it’s true at Jewish funerals too, though. I noticed the funerals in Israel are much more informal, is there a reason for that? or is is just the norm? asking this totally respectfully, there’s nothing wrong with it at all!, but it interested me.

I’m sorry it’s a question brought up because of such unbearable heartbreak.

Hi Nonnie!

You know, I never realized this, but then I've only seen American funerals in movies and TV shows, so I couldn't know how much it reflects reality, or the fact that American characters even wake up in the morning, after a night of casual sex, with perfect hair and make up...

I would think the tendency to wear informal clothes comes from certain Jewish traditions, like how our dead must be buried as quickly as possible, so see sometimes get the news about a funeral being held on the day it's about to take place, which means not a lot of time for dressing up. Another thing is that our funerals are not held in our houses of worship. The living must be separated from the dead in Judaism, so our cemeteries are usually outside our cities and towns, while our synagogues are built within them. Another thing is that a rabbi doesn't have to be there for a funeral. A representative of chevra kadisha is enough. That means that while a funeral is important, it is not exactly a sacred thing. Judaism sanctifies life, not death, so even though death is treated with respect, it's not treated as holy, if that makes sense? It's a very fine difference, but it's there. Also, our shiva is different from a wake, in the sense that people come to comfort the grieving family all week long, so dressing up for it when you come by after work is not required. On American shows and movies, wakes are presented as an event, it's hosted, and the host must provide food to the guests and the right kind of space to gather in, while a shiva is a part of the Jewish muorning customs, where we grieve together, but it's the community that supports the grieving family, bringing them food, checking in on them if they need anything else, and the location is the home of the deceased, so there's something a lot more casual about it. All these things should affect Jewish funerals in the US as well. If it didn't, that might be an influence of non-Jewish customs, I'm not sure. I never attended a Jewish American funeral either.

Then again, the answer might also be way simpler than all of this: Isreal is a very hot country, and funerals are held in cemeteries, not in air conditioned houses of worship. It's hot, which makes formal dress a nightmare, especially for a funeral held in the noon and afternoon hours, as many Jewish funerals are. It's just practical to not come in formal clothes.

As you can see, these are my educated guesses based on what I'm familiar with. Thank you for giving me a moment to reflect on this, it was interesting to consider... I hope my answer sort of helps. If anyone feels like they can shed more light on this, please do! Have a good day. xoxox

[necrotic-nephilim]

for the dialogue prompts ask game

"You're enjoying this, aren't you? Freak." and jaytim <3

send a ship and a quote and i'll write a short fic!

i'm delighted this was the most requested prompt and ship. just for that it got bumped to the front of the line. the sexual tension is implied, but this is mostly just 3k of a torture scene during Tim's Robin era. enjoy <3

“I’ve got a present for you, Hood.”

Jason didn't have to look up to see who was talking to him. The voice was a familiarly grating one. He hadn't exactly been hiding the location of his current base. It was used for meetings with the drug lords under Jason’s thumb. Plenty of his men came through, looking to buy weapons off Jason or try to barter for more territory.

That didn't mean Black Mask was welcome.

Jason picked up a random gun from the table in front of him, making a point to loudly load and cock it. “You can't buy your way back into my good graces, Mask.” He cracked his neck. It'd been a while since Jason has fought Roman. He could use the workout.

“This present isn't something money can buy,” Roman sounded a little too gleeful. There was a heavy thud, followed by a human-sounded groan that made Jason turn his head with morbid curiosity.

Well. Jason would be damned. It really wasn't a present just anyone can pay for.

“How the hell did you of all people manage to pull this off?” Jason asked. He walked across the room, heavy boots loud against the concrete. Crouching in front of Roman’s little present, Jason hummed. “I sincerely doubt you have the skills to catch Robin on your own.”

Tim Drake, hog tied, gagged, and glaring like a bat out of hell, squirmed on the ground with an annoyed growl. His face was bloody and the handle of a shiv was sticking out of his thigh. Jason grabbed him by the chin and tilted his head up, just to be sure he was the real deal.

He was. That scowl was unmistakable.

“You underestimate me,” Roman said, pleased with himself. “I killed a Robin, you know.”

Roman couldn't see Jason’s face under his helmet, but Jason still looked up at him, arching an unconvinced eyebrow. More interesting though, was Tim's reaction. Another angry growl, this time directed at Roman.

“Of course, she barely counted as a Robin but-” Roman shrugged and spread his grubby hands- “I'm more dangerous than you know. More valuable.” He tilted his head to the side, giving Jason a ghastly smile. Jason had vaguely heard stories of a girl who was Robin for a short while. “But I’m giving you the honor of killing this Robin.”

Well, wasn't that a gift.

Jason couldn't say he wasn't pleased to have Tim tied up at his feet. Just the sight made him smile. But wanting Tim dead? That unfortunately would just cause Jason more issues than it was worth. Roman didn't know Jason’s history as Robin. No one did, but the Bats. And if those Bats knew Jason actually killed Tim, they'd make his life a hell of a lot more difficult.

It was tempting, though. Jason was already picturing half a dozen ways he would do it, if he could.

So goddamn tempting.

“You think I want the strings attached to this gift?” Jason was careful not to overplay his hand. He made a show of grabbing a handful of Tim’s hair and yanking his head back to get a look at him. If Roman knew Jason didn't actually plan to kill Tim, it could reveal too much about Jason’s past for comfort.

“My requests are reasonable,” Roman hummed. He was wandering around Jason’s warehouse, looking at Jason's weapons. “All of my men and territory pooled together with yours. For thirty percent of collective profit.”

He really was desperate. When Jason first met Roman, the man wouldnt have taken anything less than eighty.

Jason had heard rumors that Roman was losing ground to the Maronis. It clearly held more truth than he realized.

“What about that nightclub you own on the East End?” Jason asked, studying Tim. His face being hidden was a plus. Tim couldn't read him, no matter how hard he was clearly trying, eyebrows knit together.

Roman sputtered. “What about it?”

“I want in,” Jason said. “At least fifty.”

In truth, it wasn't about the money. Jason could get money just about anywhere. But he’d heard rumors about the girls that worked there getting beaten by their pimps. Jason had been looking for a way to get that under control.

He could always double cross Roman after a couple months, once he gained the support of Roman’s men. It would be easier than shooting fish in a barrel.

“I built that establishment from the ground up,” Roman hissed.

Jason only shrugged. “I could just kill you, then kill Robin.” Under Jason’s grip, Tim flinched and started to squirm harder.

Silence.

“Fifty is reasonable,” Roman said slowly, fighting against every word. “But I want to watch you kill the Boy Wonder.”

Jason shifted his weight. “Why?”

“Sadists enjoy admiring each other's work, don't we?” Roman leaned against a table, sliding his hands in his pockets. “I want to see how you’ll do it.”

That complicated things.

“You want to waste your whole night here?” Jason tried to sound bored. “I’m going to drag it out.”

Roman just laughed. “I did the same with the girl. There's no fun in giving them the easy way out.”

Jason needed time to think of a plan that didn't end in a dead bird on his hands. Which meant he needed to stall.

“Whatever.” Jason shrugged. “Do what you want. Just don't touch my shit and stay back there. I don't want you breathing down my neck.”

With a pleased nod, Roman leaned against a table. He pulled a cigar out of his pocket and lit it.

Jason cracked his neck and pulled his kris dagger off his belt. He cut the gag off of Tim, knicking his cheek with a small cut. Tim actually looked nervous.

Leaning forward to not be heard by Roman, Jason lowered his voice to a whisper. “Put on a good performance, or I'll have to actually start hurting you.” It was the only hint Jason was giving Tim about his working plan.

Tim’s expression changed. His brow furrowed, then mouth formed a small ‘o’ of understanding. He gave Jason the smallest, almost imperceptible nod. He understood. He would cooperate. There was still hesitance. Jason didn't blame him.

He still had to make Tim bleed.

Jason raised the dagger, making a show of considering what to do with it. He brought the blade down on the part of Tim’s chest plate with the thickest armor. The knife would still definitely pierce skin, but a shallow wound.

Tim grunted, face twisting up. He was going the smart route, making it look like he was trying hard to not react. Jason hummed in approval. He twisted the kris around, digging it into Tim’s suit more. This time, the sound Tim made sounded a bit more genuine.

“You can scream,” Jason said loudly. More for Roman’s sake, to play up the sadist act. Of course, a small part of him did want to hear Tim scream. “If you don't make it interesting, I'll just have to get more creative.”

Tim gave Jason a rude scowl. He really should've been more grateful. Jason still could just kill him.

“What toys do you keep here?” Jason asked. He routed around Tim’s utility belt, looking for something interesting. Tim tried to twist away. Jason kneed him hard in the stomach, pulling a groan out of him. “Hold still.”

Jason tossed aside uninteresting things, like lockpicks and fingerprinting kits. A small noise of victory came out of him when Jason’s fingers curled around a tazer.

“This looks fun.” Jason turned it around in his hand, fiddling with the settings.

Tim was violently shaking his head.

Jason pressed the tazer against Tim’s suit and turned it on.

Tim’s whole body jerked and he screamed through grit teeth. Jason watched his expression changed like a hawk. Of course Tim was acting it up, but still. It was something fun to watch him writhe in pain.

“It’ll hurt more if you press it against his bare skin,” Roman called out.

Jason looked over his shoulder. “If I want your useless input, I'll ask for it.” His tone was deadly enough to make Roman stiffen and nod.

Killjoy.

Jason shocked Tim with the tazer again while hunting some more around the belt. Every tortured noise Tim made was music to Jason’s ears.

The next interesting thing Jason pulled out was a small emergency flare.

With a curious hum, Jason lit the flare. Tim flinched and gave Jason a concerned look.

“What are you-” Tim asked shakily. He was cut off by a hard punch to the face. Blood poured from Tim’s nose.

“Don't rush me,” Jason growled. He pulled his kris out of Tim, setting the tazer aside. Jason held the blade against the hot flame from the flare. The metal warmed until it glowed bright red. “I’d really recommend holding still, unless you want to lose an eye.” Jason brought the red hot blade to Tim’s face. Tim froze, breathing hard.

instead of cutting, Jason just pressed the flat of the blade against Tim’s face. A horrible cry came out of Tim’s throat, but he stayed still. The scent of burning flesh filled the room for the long minute Jason kept the hot blade in place.

When he lifted it, Tim curled in on himself, coughing and choking on the blood from his nose. The wavy design of the kris left an interesting mark on Tim’s cheek, swirling back and forth.

“If that scars, I swear to god-” Tim mumbled through grit teeth, moving his mouth as little as possible.

“It won't scar,” Jason hissed back. “Probably.” Which was a shame. He sort of hoped it would. Jason cleared his throat to raise his voice. “I want Batman to know who killed you,” he explained, spinning the kris around in his hand. “He’ll see that and he’ll know whose blade it was.”

“You’re sick,” Tim wheezed. His voice was so small. Too small for Roman to hear. Jason huffed in annoyance.

“Don’t be shy you’re going to insult me,” Jason taunted. He tapped Tim’s thigh with his shoe. A reminder they were doing this for show.

Tim inhaled sharply. “I said you're fucking sick,” he raised his voice. He spat out a mouthful of blood, clearly trying to hit Jason. Jason just shifted out of the way, letting it splatter on the concrete.

“That was rude.” Jason was glad his helmet hid his smile.

He looked at the flare still lit in his hand, shrugged, and put it out against Tim’s stomach.

“Oh god!” Tim tried to twist away. The suit protected him from the worst of it, but he’d have at least second degree burns. Not to mention the parts of the suit that were currently melting and burning into his skin. “Fuck!” Tim’s scream definitely sounded genuine. He was stuck between trying to stay still to keep the burn from spreading and trying to get away from the pain. It was a glorious little struggle to watch.

The flare eventually ran out of juice at about the same time Tim’s lungs ran out of air to scream with. Jason tossed it aside and studied the new wound, pressing his fingers into it exposed raw flesh.

“Stop,” Tim begged, shuddering in pain. “Please, fuck-” he shrieked when Jason dug a nail into the burn.

“He folded easier than I thought he would,” Roman chuckled from his spot across the room, blowing out a mouthful of smoke.

“Well, you see how fast Batman goes through ‘em,” Jason said nonchalantly. Roman didn't know that was a self jab, and he didn't need to know.

Jason cut through Tim’s chest plate, exposing his bare skin. The fabric got stuck and torn on the burn, pulling a whimper out of Tim at the wound being agitated even more.

It always was a damn shame just how pretty Tim Drake was.

If Roman wasn't in the room, Jason would've torn off that damned domino mask by now to get a good look at Tim’s eyes while Jason hurt him.

Jason sliced Tim’s chest open, a wide arc just above his nipples. It wasn't too deep, but still made Tim cry out.

“Now I know-” Jason said, going back to Tim's belt- “somewhere in here, Batman makes you carry acid to cut through metal and whatnot.”

“No, no,” Tim wildly shook his head. “Please don’t.” He went pale at the thought.

Jason found the little vial he was looking for and held it up, right in front of Tim’s face. “Should've done a better job hiding it.”

He unscrewed the top and tipped the vial, dripping it into Tim’s fresh cut. Jason was careful not to use too much. Only a few drops were needed to start eating into Tim’s flesh.

The scream from Tim was blood curling. He tried to fold in on himself, twisting around on the ground like a wild animal.

Jason’s heart was pounding.

The shiv that was still stuck in Tim’s thigh got yanked out so Jason could drop poison into that wound too.

“Stop!” Tim’s voice already hoarse. “I'm gonna- I'm gonna throw up, god.” He sounded hysterical. His head tilted back and he sucked in lungfuls of air.

“You better not on my boots,” Jason warned lazily. He spilled acid into the burn mark on Tim’s stomach. Then, he got an even better idea. “Open wide.” Jason grabbed Tim’s jaw and forced it open with his fingers.

“Shit-” Tim whispered. His tone of voice sounded different. “Jay- don't. Seriously, please-”

Jason ignored him and let a few precious drops fall into Tim's forced open mouth. Then he forced Tim’s jaw shut again and clamped a hand over his mouth. He plugged Tim’s nose too, just for good measure.

The noises were muffled, but unmistakable. Jason’s body was thrumming just watching Tim twist and struggle to get out of Jason’s vice grip.

When Tim’s face started to turn red from the struggle for oxygen, Jason regretfully let go.

Tim immediately spat out mouthfuls of blood and spit, trying to get it out of his mouth. He was wheezing.

Not screaming, though. Jason was about it to lift the kris to stab Tim again, when he got a better look at how Tim was shaking.

Shudders running up and down his body. His legs were squeezed together. When he breathed, it came out in soft moans.

Jason’s heart almost stopped.

“You’re enjoying this, aren't you?” Jason murmured. So quiet he almost didn't hear himself. He got a glare from Tim that seemed to be an affirmation. Jason’s mouth curled into a cruel, unseen smile. Jason tapped the hilt of the kris against Tim’s crotch, making him flinch. “Freak.”

The realization only made Jason want to hurt Tim more. In all their fights, how hadn’t Jason noticed Tim was a masochist? This changed everything. He didn't have to hold back so much.

He actually wanted to see what it took to break Tim now.

Jason stabbed the shiv into Tim’s hip, as close as he could possibly get to Tim’s crotch. Tim squealed, flinching. Then his full body shuddered again. And just when Tim sighed in relief that Jason had avoided his most sensitive area, Jason picked up the tazer again and pressed it right there, against Tim’s crotch. And he turned it on.

This scream from Tim was different. Still tortured, but in a new Jason’s own pants were getting tight.

“Get out.”

“What?” Roman asked, when he realized Jason was talking to him.

“I said get out,” Jason repeated himself. He stared at Tim's bloody, shivering from. “You got a show while I warmed up, now I want some privacy.”

“But-”

Jason pulled a gun out of a holster. He fired it in Roman’s direction. Not quite hitting him, but instead blowing the cigar out of his mouth.

Roman made a pathetic, scared noise. “The deal was-”

“Do you want my men keeping the Maronis off your territory or not?” Jason growled.

“Fine.” Roman stood up, adjusting his jacket awkwardly. “Mail me a finger or something when you finish. I want a trophy.”

“I’ll save a middle one just for you.”

Roman scoffed, but held his tongue, storming out of the warehouse.

“Ass,” Jason muttered. He pulled off his helmet and tossed it aside.

“You didn't have to use the acid,” Tim said, notably sour about it.

“Big words for someone who enjoyed themselves a little too much.” Jason sliced off the rope holding Tim’s ankles and wrists, then tugged off his domino mask. Tim groaned in relief, getting to stretch his joints. He carefully got to his hands and knees, breathing hard.

“Thank you-”

Jason grabbed Tim by his hair and wrenched his head up. He pressed the kris to Tim’s throat. It pulled a gasp out of Tim and he tried to grab Jason’s arm. Jason just twisted his wrist, easily dislocating it. “Oh nuhuh, you little freak,” Jason purred, enjoying Tim’s yell of pain. He leaned in close to Tim’s ear and grinned, all kinds of fun ideas running through his head, now that they had privacy.

Things were about to get a lot more fun. Probably for both of them.

“I'm not done with you.”

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

orphaned cannibal adoption AU- Charlie BURSTING in the hotel front doors, striking the iconic lion king pose, and proudly presenting the cannibal kid to the other hotel denizens

Charlie: "GUYS OH MY GOSH LOOK LOOK LOOK!" (waggles the kid happily) "A KID!!!!!!!!! Kid, say hi!"

Cannibal Kid: “Hi…”

Husk: "What the fuck is this? Child labor??"

Vaggie: "No."

Cannibal Kid: (dangling in Charlie’s grip) "I'm VERY high up right now."

Charlie: "Do you like it? The hotel? The high up-ness? The other people living here? We can change ANYTHING you like! You are my child now, and I'm melting like silly putty in your tiny, tiny hands!"

Angel Dust: "Thrillin', toots. Who carried."

Cannibal Kid: "Small hands are useful for getting things out of tight spaces."

Charlie: "I did!"

Vaggie: "Do I wanna know what kinds of things you usually get from what kinds of spaces?"

Angel Dust: "Huh. Would'a thought it'd be Vaginal Area over here."

Cannibal Kid: "Internal organs. From still warm bodies."

Vaggie: "Great."

Charlie: "I carried our new kid here ALLLLLLL the way from Cannibal Town! On my shoulders! Just like how my dad used to do with me!! Only I didn’t turn into a horse or a kangaroo or-"

Niffty: "Aww, that's a long way to walk!" (raises hand) "THEY CAN SNACK ON MY HAND IF THEY'RE HUNGRY!"

Vaggie: "Niffty, Rosie packed a lunch."

Niffty: "NOOOOOOOO...!!!"

Vaggie: "And it's adoption, Angel Dust you asshole. Also try keeping the swearing to a G rating okay."

Husk: "You fucking first."

Vaggie: "Fuck."

Cannibal Kid: "Don't worry. Auntie Rosie taught me to only put nice things in my mouth."

Charlie: "Ooooh like candy?!" (realizing cannibal) "Or, wait-"

Cannibal Kid: "Like eyeballs."

Husk: (SNORTS)

Angel Dust: "Ouchie~"

Vaggie: "What? What? Wanna share something with the room, dingbat!?"

Angel Dust: "I meannnnnn- 's not like you're exactly well equipped to feed your new kid, are ya Vagginator? That's kinda... EYE-ronic."

Husk: (snorts so hard his fur fluffs up)

Niffty: "I have an eye I HAVE AN EYE!!! It's BIG and ROUND and-"

Vaggie: "No."

Cannibal Kid: "Aw."

Niffty: "MOTHERFUCKING DAMNIT!!!!!"

Vaggie: "Oh for- Husk, just, break a bottle and let Niffty have the glass or something. This is too much sudden family bonding happening right now."

Husk: "Let me fucking empty one first." (starts chugging)

Vaggie: (SIGHS)

Charlie: "Right." (lowers kid to eye level) (her eye level, not vaggie’s) "Have you ever heard... of gummy worms?"

Cannibal Kid: "No. But I ate someone named Gary Wormwood once."

Charlie: "That's pretty close!"

Vaggie: "Sweetie, no it's not."

Charlie: "Vaggie, as the mothers, our kid's 'best so far' is always more than good enough for us, it's AMAZING."

Cannibal Kid: "He wasn't that great."

Angel Dust: "Leavin' totally mid Gary to rot somewhere back in creepy Cannibal Town, what's the name of your own sweet little murder baby?"

Vaggie: "..."

Charlie: "...."

Vaggie: "Uh.... Charlie, are you gonna...?"

Charlie: "I mean you're the one who clicked with them, I thought you'd be doing the big introductions!"

Vaggie: "I'd love too, sweetie, but I don't actually... y'know."

Charlie: "What?"

Vaggie: “…um.”

Angel Dust: "...you don't know their fuckin' name, do ya?"

Charlie: "WHAT!?"

Vaggie: "It, it never came up! I thought I'd find out when you said it!"

Charlie: "I THOUGHT I'D FIND OUT WHEN YOU SAID IT, TOO!!!"

Angel Dust: "Oh fuck me with a plastic dick- Neither of ya's gay morons know's the kid's name???"

Cannibal Kid: "It's Annie."

Charlie: "!! ANNIE IM SO SORRY MOM WILL NEVER NOT KNOW YOUR NAME EVER AGAIN-"

Annie: "Short for Annabelle."

Hotel Crew: “……”

Vaggie: "....like, Annabelle the… cannibal?"

Annie: "Tragically."

Charlie: "Oh but that's. A. Lovely name."

Annie: "My dead parents thought they were both really funny." (flat stare) "They weren't."

Angel Dust: “Sucks to be you, kid. Sorry ‘bout your old man and lady.”

Annie: “It’s okay. They didn’t own a hotel.”

Charlie: “Ahhaha! This is a horrible thing to say, but- I feel like your FIRST life changing experience with us will be learning the true meaning of family!”

Annie: “Since you’re the princess of hell, what does that make me?”

Vaggie: “A normal kid who’s mom is princess of hell.”

Annie: “Dang.”

Angel Dust: “Oh I’m gonna LOVE bein’ your uncle! You’ve got piz-zazz don’t ya~?”

Annie: “No.” (pulls Razzle out from under their coat) “His name’s Razzle.”

Angel Dust: “That ain’t exactly what I meant-”

Annie: “I know. I was just being funnier than you.”

Husk: “Ha! Now this is MY kinda kid!”

Angel Dust: “Yeah sure whatever, I’m still gonna be a waaay cooler uncle than you, so… uhhh… Vaggie-boner, why’s your girlfriend making that noise?”

Vaggie: “The ‘eeeeee’ing?”

Angel Dust: “Yeah.”

Vaggie: “It’s one of her happy sounds.”

Angel Dust: “What the fuck is she so happy about. Didn’t she get over the whole burst of motherly endorphins thing while signin’ adoption papers over in Eats-your-face-burg?”

Vaggie: “I mean, you did kinda just make it sound like you think of her as family.”

Angel Dust: “Of course you gays are family! What the fuck???”

Husk: “….you fucking idiot. Now you’ve made them both cry.”

Niffty: “I wish that was meeee…”

Annie: “I think they’re tears of joy." (dabs tear on finger and tries it) "Tastes like it, anyway. Too sweet.” (pulls face) "Blegh."

Niffty: “Emotional pain from the AGONIZING realization of everything that’d been CUT AWAY FROM YOU LIKE A KNIFE TO YOUR HEART at the same moment someone VIOLENTLY SHOVES a brand new PAINFULLY BEATING HEART into the EMPTY CAVITY that used to hold your BRUTALLY CRUSHED DREAMS… can be fun too…”

Angel Dust: “….”

Husk: “….”

Annie: “Aunt Niffty, you’re so cool.”

Niffty: “Really!? I’m also gonna let you play with KNIVES!!!”

Angel Dust: “-no, no you won’t. No. Both of ya’s listen carefully- the word of the day is ‘N’… ‘O’.”

Annie: “Knife starts with a ‘K’.”

Husk: “He wasn’t spelling knife.”

Annie: “He could've been if he’d started it with a ‘K’.”

Charlie: “YOU ALL ALREADY S-SOUND JUST LIKE A FAMILY WAAAAAGH!!!”

Annie: "So is this the true meaning of family?"

Vaggie: "It's....close enough."

Annie: “Okay. I like it here, tall mom. It’s soggy, because you’re crying on me, but it’s nice.”

Charlie: “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA- YOU CALLED ME M-MOM-”

Vaggie: “There-there, sweetie. Maybe try to not break our kid’s eardrums on the first day?”

Husk: “You’re still crying out of your one fucking eye-”

Vaggie: “Shut up.”

[tacroyy]

losing my shit about the two times vimes gets slapped by a woman in the guards books (night watch and snuff; spoilers for both below). terry pratchett is completely goddamn brilliant.

both times, it's near enough to the beginning of the plot that vimes is partially convinced he doesn't know what's going on and is still information gathering (so, working a little on autopilot, although thoughts are starting to coalesce). the women he encounters show up after a watershed moment—major transformative plot points on both occasions—and both help him and help move the narrative along with the information they provide. and this is my favorite detail—he's tired both times, too, and just needs to think, because of the amount of new information he's processing.

from night watch:

"I think perhaps I lost my memory when I was attacked," he said. That sounded good, he thought. What he really needed now was somewhere quiet, to think.

"Really? Perhaps I'm the Queen of Hersheba," said Rosie [Palm]. "Just remember, kind sir. I'm not doing this because I'm interested in you, although I'd admit to a macabre fascination about how long you're going to survive. If it hadn't been a cold wet night I'd have left you in the road. I'm a working girl, and I don't need trouble. But you look like a man who can lay his hands on a few dollars, and there will be a bill."

"I'll leave the money on the dressing table," said Vimes.

The slap in the face knocked him against the wall. /end quote

and from snuff:

She [Felicity Beedle] turned to Vimes. "It would seem, commander, that providence has brought you here in time to solve the murder of the goblin girl, who was an excellent pupil. I came up here as soon as I heard, but the goblins are used to undeserved and casual death. I"ll walk with you to the entrance, and then I've got a class to teach."

Vimes tugged at Feeny to make him keep up as they followed Miss Beedle and her charge toward the surface and blessed fresh air. He wondered what had become of the corpse. What did they do with their dead? Bury them, eat them, throw them on the midden? Or was he just not thinking right, a thought which itself had been knocking at his brain for some time. Without thinking, he said, "What else do you teach them, Miss Beedle? To be better citizens?"

The slap caught him on the chin, probably because even in her anger Miss Beedle realized that he still had his steel helmet on. /end quote

vimes makes mistakes. he makes mistakes all the time, and he knows this, and pays attention to them. vimes spends a lot of time thinking about thinking (engaging in productive, internally motivated metacognition well within his zone of proximal development, my master's in teaching insists i say). he thinks about his thinking, and he thinks about other people's thinking through the lens of his own.

in both instances, vimes is coming to realizations about the true nature of things.

in night watch, this would initially seem to be more surface than deep: he's getting to physical grips with exactly when and where (and who) in the past he is; he's learning the ground, mapping, figuring things out—but vimes is also trying to settle himself back in to what he knows, and what society is in these different times, to see if that fits. plotwise, in vimes's present, the seamstresses have a guild, rights, safety, standards, rules, regulations, and even societal respect—although certainly not close to what they deserve, it's much more than what they had before vetinari made their guild a reality. but in the past, where vimes is now, the seamstresses don't have this level of security, and are subject to violence (although it is shown to be societal and legal violence [being arrested for working during their profession's peak, etc] rather than interpersonal or sexual violence [the agony aunts exist and, it is clearly stated, dispense the same justice that they do in the future, specifically to individual clients rather than to larger institutional structures]).

so, when vimes puts down rosie by making a disparaging joke about her profession—oh, you're actually not important to me or to men or to society at all; your labor is not to be respected; i got what i needed from you and will of course pay you, but in the most insulting way possible—he's not only communicating what society thinks, but a moral issue of the novel as well. night watch, after all, is about revolution: who gets to be in power, and who gets to control who gets to be in power? it's frankly revolutionary for pratchett, a mainstream english author, to treat sex workers and sex work as positively as he does (of course, his depictions are not without flaws). he makes it clear that, after all, shouldn't we view sex work as physical labor? isn't it true that anyone who is employed is engaging in physical labor? how is a seamstress really different from a "seamstress"? (it's the power dynamics and misogyny standard to western/european/american/christian society: women and sex must be controlled by the patriarchial majority, kept small and afraid and in chains.) pratchett legitimizes the seamstresses in vimes's present. in vetinari's ankh-morpork, the seamstresses have just as much power as the merchants, the armorers, the assassins—and vimes knows this, but he did grow up in the past he's in now.

in snuff, vimes's approaching anagnorisis is more obviously manifested. brilliantly, pratchett begins vimes's encounter with the goblins by talking about vimes's childhood teacher, mistress slightly, who "taught [him] how not to be afraid" and made him blackboard monitor, "the first time anyone had entrusted him with anything;" vimes thinks he'll put a bag of peppermints on her grave if he gets out of this alive. all positive, and in fact clearly transformative, praise from our hero. but vimes is in a goblin cave, and pratchett has brought up mistress slightly because vimes is remembering his first (educational, not physical) encounter with goblins. this paragraph is worth quoting in full:

"[Mistress Slightly] had one book in her tiny sitting room, and the first time she had given it to young Sam Vimes to read he had got as far as page seven when he froze. The page showed a goblin: the jolly goblin, according to the text. Was it laughing, was it scowling, was it hungry, was it about to bite your head off? Young Sam Vimes hadn't waited to find out and had spent the rest of the morning under a chair. These days he excused himself by remembering that most of the other kids felt the same way. When it came to the innocence of childhood, adults often got it wrong. In any case, she had sat him on her always slightly damp knee after class and made him really look at the goblin. It was made of lots of dots! Tiny dots, if you looked closely. The closer you looked at the goblin the more it wasn't there. Stare it down and it lost all its power to frighten. 'I hear that they are wretched, badly made mortals,' the dame had said sadly. 'Half-finished folk, or so I hear. It's only a blessing this one had something to be jolly about.'"

a near-perfect depiction, unfortunately, of the educational experience. encounter something that scares you and makes you uncomfortable, examine it with the help of a pedagogist, examine it on your own, take it apart so that you are not afraid anymore, and instead understand what it is and how it is made: that's the experience from the first word of the quote all the way until "Stare it down and lost all its power to frighten." and then, a heel-turn: your teacher shows that they completely misunderstood the lesson they were teaching—and that you, the child, understood both parts of the lesson perfectly: you absorbed the critical thinking skills and that this existing societal prejudice is, in fact, totally correct and should not be examined using the skills you just learned.

thus, pratchett has vimes, our hero, our moral center, spout the violent, ingrained, dehumanizing, incitement-to-genocide nonsense of the society in which he has been formed. vimes does this tiredly, without thinking, without making the connection between how things are and how they ought to be, missing the direct relationship of that required moral reevaluation to the case and situation at hand. and pratchett throws that directly back in vimes's face, physically. both times, pratchett says: even if you're tired, even if there's shit going down, even if your worldview is being turned upside down, even if you're in the dead middle of processing everything you've so recently learned, you cannot make the mistake of dehumanization/depersonalization. and you, of all people, have to know that, vimes. not one drop of alcohol passes your lips, not one minute after six goes by without you reading to your son, not one arrestee is subjected to even small or casual police brutality. and not one person—seamstress or goblin—is to be insulted and discriminated against and excluded from deserving to live. to do so, to make that mistake even once, is to face the immediate physical consequences of it from someone deeply and fundamentally in the know. you need the sense smacked into you.

from night watch:

"Consider that a sign of my complete lack of a sense of humor, will you?" said Rosie, shaking some life back into her hand.

"I'm... sorry," said Vimes. "I didn't mean to... I mean... look, thak you for everything. I mean it. But this is not being a good night."

"Yes, I can see that."

"It's worse than you think. Believe me."

"We all have our troubles. Believe me," said Rosie. /end quote.

from snuff:

It was a corker, nonetheless, and out of the corner of his stinging gaze he saw Feeny take a step back. At least the boy had some sense.

"You are the gods' own fool, Commander Vimes! No, I'm not teaching them to be fake humans, I'm teaching them how to be goblins, clever goblins! Do you know that they have only five names for colors? Even trolls have around sixty, and a lot more than that if they find a paint salesman! Does this mean goblins are stupid? No, they have a vast number of names for things that even poets haven't come up with, for things like the colors shift and change, the melting of one hue into another. They have single words for the most complicated of feelings; I know about two hundred of them, I think, and I'm sure there are a lot more! What you may think are grunts and growls and snarls are in fact carrying vast amounts of information! They're like an iceberg, commander: most of them is where you can't see or understand, and I'm teaching Tears of the Mushroom and some of her friends so that they may be able to speak to people like you, who think they are dumb. And do you know what, commander? There isn't much time! They're being slaughtered! It's not called that, of course, but slaughter is how it ends, because they're just dumb nuisances, you see. Why don't you ask Mr. Upshot what happened to the rest of the goblins three years ago, Commander Vimes?"

And with that, Miss Beedle turned on her heel and disappeared down into the darkness of the cave with Tears of the Mushroom bobbing along behind her, leaving Vimes to walk the last few yards out into the glorious light. /end quote.

[two-white-butterflies]

parallel lines | d. targaryen | part seven

Description: An ordinary middle school teacher moves to a desolate town with her fiancee. After suffering episodes of vivid nightmares, she realizes that his uncle looks exactly like the man in her dreams.

Pairings: daemon targaryen/reader, aemond targaryen/reader

Trope: Reincarnation

series masterlist |

“When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one's self, and one always ends by deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance.” 

― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

"Rhaenyra, you are an angel." you chuckled settling into the passenger seat. Her car was luxurious on the inside, one of those minivans that could comfortably seat all her sons. "Oh, it's nothing, your apartment is on the way anyways." she replied with a smile.

You couldn't help but recognize the similarities between her and your boyfriend. They were half-siblings but judging from their faces, they could be mother and son. She glances at you, sensing your silence. "Are you alright?" she asked in a motherly tone.

"It's just - you look like Aemond." you blurted out, a thin-lipped smile ghosts her lips. It was a compliment, but she didn't appreciate it. "We both look like our grandmother, Alyssa." she shakes her head. You had no idea about the past.

She wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt.

"So that's the name of his grandmother! He never told me. He never tells me about his family." you looked down, realizing that you've probably shared too much.

"There's a possibility that he didn't know - our father never shared about the family anyways. I learnt all of this from Daemon." Rhaenyra reluctantly defended her brother.

For a second you contemplated asking her about their father. Aemond has told you stories about the abuse that he befell, could Rhaenyra provide more insight on your boyfriend's past? You shake those thoughts away, he told you that Rhaenyra was their father's favorite. She wouldn't understand.

"You know - the family's glad that Aemond has you. He's been unsociable these past few years. He never gives us updates, never talks to us, we thought that he was dead - or worst, in prison." Rhaenyra breathed, there was still a part of her heart that loved her baby brother - though that love was buried deep now.

"Prison?" you raised an eyebrow, laughing at the notion. "He was in prison before Tirano. Two-years, and for a crime he didn't commit." she continued not fully sure if Aemond was all that innocent. "He's never told me 'bout that before." you mumbled.

Was there another side of your boyfriend that you didn't know about?

"Well, according to the court documents. He found out that his girlfriend was cheating on him. He beat her up then the paramour went marching to our house. The paramour died. Alicent was strangely calm then," Rhaenyra narrated, as if it was something that the entire town already knew about.

"You told me that he was innocent. What really happened?" you inquired and she shrugs. "- I don't know what really happened, but he had the perfect alibi. He says that he already broke up with the girl and she came to him all bruised up. The paramour allegedly killed the girlfriend. Aegon was a witness. It all happened down at our old house." she informed.

You slumped on your seat.

You didn't know what to believe.

"- when my brother was younger, he used to be so kind. He'd make me cereal and prepare the uniform that I used for school. I don't know what happened to us, why we grew apart." she pondered with a bitter chuckle, reminiscing a past where you weren't present.

"I thought after that trip to Tirano, our family would grow closer, but we all grew estranged. I'm glad that you're here, that he's here too." she turned to look at you, speaking with the mind of a sister, one that grew up Aemond - not with the mind of a Queen whose son was slaughtered by the same man.

Aemond stared at the mirror, feeling the blood trickle down his nose. He got into a fight with some losers in some random alleyway.

He scoffs, aware that he looked pathetic. How long has it been since adrenaline pumped through his veins?

It was tiring, constantly having to hide himself in a facade of self-righteousness. It was hard pretending to be perfect!

Perfection was different for every woman. To a Plath-Orwell loving maiden, the perfect man was a guy who read Nietzsche and occasionally watched the Godfather. He perfected himself for a woman like you to come by.

It wasn't difficult to have you, but it was difficult to maintain you.

He washes his face with water, observing the crimson fluid go down the drain. There was a time, he remembers, when you were happy with each other. You didn't mind doing the laundry while he played his video games. He was aware of your beauty, but he was at peace because he knew that your loyalty was his. That you were his.

But Daemon's arrival changed something in you.

He could see that.

He sees the way that your eyes fill with emptiness when you realize that he's done nothing the entire day. He sees the way that you shrug when he asks you a simple question, instead choosing to browse through social media instead of speaking to him.

Has he lost you to Daemon?

He takes a deep breath.

He knows the outcome of this battle. He knows that in due time, he'd lose you to his uncle. Who was he to stand against fate? The past was a mirror of the future. He was just a mere bridge.

He turns the faucet off.

He'd love you for as long as you'd stay.

He'd love you, even if you were slipping through the cracks.

Only a lampshade in the middle of the living room illuminated your humble apartment. Aemond was slumped on the Victorian sofa, unbothered by the blood that trickled down his chin and gathered on his chest. He felt numb.

"Jesus, you're bleeding." you say, concerned.

"I got into a fight with some randos back in town." he mumbled, disassociated from reality. Your eyebrows merged into each other. "What?" you paused, giving him time to repeat himself. This was the first time he's ever gotten into a fight - he'd usually take the higher ground and apologize even when it wasn't his mistake.

"- they made fun of my eye." he breathed.

He was thrown back into the past, when his nephews and the other kids made fun of him - for this disability that wasn't his fault.

"Oh, Aemond, I'm so sorry." you wrapped your arms around him. Allowing him to rest his head on your chest. There were tears falling down his eye, mixing with the blood. "If I was there, I would've beat them up with you." you humored, earning a chuckle.

He felt vulnerable.

"My father made fun of my eye too, when I was younger." he admitted, lifting his feet off the ground, placing it on the sofa until he was in a cross-legged position. "- he said that someone who looks this way would never be happy in life." he stared off to the horizon.

Your breath hitched, allowing him to speak about his past. Preventing yourself from interrupting, just in case the trance would break - and he'd return back to his hermit-like self.

"When we got together, I wanted to laugh at his face because someone like you chose to love me - despite the fact that I wasn't perfect. But my dad was right." he rose to his feet, ignoring your attempts to chase after him.

He locks himself in the bathroom.

Aemond opened his eyes again, transported back to the Summer of 2016. His arms were wrapped around his girlfriend, Margaux, he could feel the heat gathering in his back for laying down too long.

"Nick is just a friend. I don't know why you're jealous." she lied through gritted teeth. He wanted to choke her for making him seem like a goddamn idiot. He saw the hickeys on her neck, the smell of another man's perfume on her uniform. "I'm not fucking stupid." his grip on her neck tightened, his eyes turning crazy.

He rose to his feet, pushing her hands away when she tried to pull him back. "Ae, stop making a big deal out of this." she chuckled nervously, while he reached for the pistol hidden in his floorboard. An inheritance from his father.

"You cheated on me with that dirtbag loser." he yelled at her.

"I didn't please stop acting like a fucking asshole." she screamed.

He slaps her on the face. The sound echoing throughout the room. Leaving the both of them in shock. "What the fuck? So what if I did cheat on you with him? You're a loser. Do you have any idea what you look like?" she insulted him, but her words were not entering his brain

He placed the bullets inside of the pistol, aiming it at her. Margaux tries to run for the door, but he grabs her forearm - stopping her.

"Aemond!" your voice breaks him free from the trance.

A gasp escapes his mouth seeing the pistol on his hand. He remembers everything that happened with Margaux. He didn't kill her. Something snapped him out of it. He sees the fear behind your eyes. He drops the gun on the floor, and it goes off.

It hits your ankle.

Everything fades into black.

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