#ON THE OTHER NEWS I AM GOING TO SLEEP BECAUSE I WENT THROUGH ENTIRE ACT 1

[hypnosiacon]

HJWUSNSHIXNEJZKDNIDNEJXK

WE'RE SO BACK!!!

[too-deviant]

jackie and wilson.

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summary: you haven’t been given a quest, but you have made it your personal mission to make luke castellan smile.

pairing: luke castellan x unclaimed!reader

word count: 4.1k

content: broody!luke, teenage dirtbag!luke but also not really, sprinkles of mean!luke, r is unbothered and does not gaf about his lil emo boy act, this is four thousand words of r being a pain in luke’s ass, probs will make a part 2 bc i love them your honour 

notes:  speaking my truth: i am a british gal. any banter in this about the new england states is entirely stuff i got from reddit so plz don’t scrutinise my american states knowledge

the layout of this fic is very much inspired by @murdrdocs if that wasn’t obvious but also icarus if u want me to change it i will jus say the word :00

PART I — she blows outta nowhere, roman candle of the wild 

All things considered, you took the news of your heritage pretty well. 

Sure, there was a lot of yelling — mostly through the wall after you locked yourself in your room and started packing a bag — but at least you didn’t sit on it in denial for several hours. 

Honestly, you should’ve seen it coming. 

The first time you realised you could see things nobody else could, you tried to admit yourself into a ward. Your mom went a little panicky, and she never did perform well under pressure, so she caved and said you were special. Too special for the other kids at your school, too special for anyone to know about it. 

After that, she got more tense. Eyes darting around whenever you guys went out in public, hand lingering for a second longer on your back before she sent you to school — as if she felt like she’d never see you again. She would stay up at night and read you old Greek tales before you went to sleep, and acted way too serious about it. More serious than when she would read you Dr Seuss. 

Honestly, it was a miracle you went unknowing for so long. Maybe you were insignificant, or maybe the Stymphalian Pigeon that tried to kill you after school was just slow — because you were seventeen when you got attacked by your first monster. 

You took it out pretty easily — and by that, I mean you outran it through the bustling streets of your hometown until it flew messily into a bus and you dodged your way to your apartment in a flurry. Your mom’s resolve cracked like a thin layer of ice and you were packed and ready to go to this camp she spoke of before the clock had hit four-thirty. 

Most of the yelling that you guys did was along the lines of — “I can’t believe you waited this long to tell me!” — and — “I didn’t want you to leave!” — “I get that, but seriously mom, I almost got eaten by a bird today. A little context going in would’ve been nice!”

You threw yourself into a taxi — much to the disdain of your mother, who insisted on at least getting you to the hill. You then reminded her that she would have to pay the fare all the way back to their apartment and it honestly wouldn’t be worth it and that you’d call her when you got the chance. She let you go with a huff, folding her arms across her chest and creasing the silky material of her pink blouse. 

The next hour was about as awkward as taxi rides go, even more so when you got out in the middle of nowhere. You weren’t even sure you were at the bottom of the right hill but sent the poor guy on his way anyway and prayed to whoever your divine parent was that you weren’t about to get gunned down by an angry farmer for mistaking his land for a summer camp. 

Thankfully, the empty fields shimmered into something worth travelling for when you took a tentative step across its threshold. The sun seemed to get brighter and the breeze became softer. It was nice from where you stood, and it probably would’ve gotten nicer the closer you got. 

Had you not tripped over a rock and tumbled down the hill ungracefully, landing in a heap at the bottom, a few feet away from a dirt path that split off in two directions. You sat up with a huff, blowing your hair out of your eyes and squinting at your surroundings now that they were much closer. You didn’t bother to heave yourself up, catching your breath and letting your gaze flitter over the scenery. 

It was cute. 

Then the distinct sound of horse hooves clipping against the ground evaded your ears, and you looked up to greet the centaur who now stood above you. You thanked the gods for your moms intricately detailed bedtime stories as you pulled yourself up onto your feet and allowed yourself to be introduced to Chiron and Mr. D, who then led you to the four story house that overlooked the valley. 

Your induction was swift and sweet — since you pretty much knew and had accepted everything already. There were a couple of glances and muttered comments about how you had gone so long without being targeted, but Chiron had said he wanted you to get the tour before dinner so you could settle straight to bed after the campfire, and caught some young kid by the t-shirt as he ran past, asking him politely if he could send Luke over. 

The awkward two minutes it took for your tour guide to reach you stretched on for a painful amount of time, but you would relive it a hundred times over if it meant you didn’t have to experience the agony you called your first meeting with Luke Castellan. 

He was tall, with a dark mop of curls that hung over his furrowed brows. His skin was tanned from all the time he spent in the sun, and his shoulders were broad enough to intimidate, but not broad enough that you were intimidated. He was your age, seemingly, and the cuffs of his green cargo pants brushed against his ankles only an inch higher than they would sit on an average person.

His most memorable feature, however, had to be the deep scar that stretched from the top of his left brow all the way to his cheekbone — it was jagged and sharp, cutting across his eye roughly, as if he had been clawed. He probably had. It was raised and shone pink under the sun, so you could tell it was fairly new, but it had healed over enough to indicate that Luke was probably tired of hearing people ask about it. So you didn’t. You barely gave it a glance before you raised your brows at him with a cheeky grin and gave him your name. 

He nodded minutely, one of the only movements he made after he’d parked himself in front of you other than the sliding of his eyes from one person to another as they spoke to him. After Chiron and Mr D had given him the rundown, he gave a slight nod of his head in one direction before walking away and expecting you to follow. 

You caught up to him, sidling up on his left with a huff and a smile, “I’m getting the feeling that you're sorta sick of this giving this tour all the time.” 

He didn’t respond. He just looked at you, and then stopped walking, watching as you froze two steps ahead of him before shuffling back to his side sheepishly. Then he lifted an unbothered hand to the right, “Those are the strawberry fields.” He then gestured ahead, “That’s the beach.” And then to the left, “Those are the training fields.”

Then he started walking again, and you hesitated for only a second before following, “Wow. Don’t give me too much information all at once.” 

Your sarcastic comment was ignored, and Luke nodded towards the bank of cabins you were nearing, “These are the cabins. Twelve. One for each Olympian. You’ll stay in the Hermes cabin until you’re claimed.”

“Right.” You nodded, “God of Travellers. Makes sense.” 

He let out a breath, not pausing in his stride as he passed through the curve of houses, not sparing a glance to any of them. You took notice of how the other kids looked at him in apprehension, with a hint of fear when he got too close. He cut down an alley between two cabins — one with a dangerous amount of barbed wire across the top and another that glowed gold under the sunlight — before the pair emerged through the trees at a pavilion. 

“This is where we eat.” He said. “Dinner is soon.” 

“Cool.” You nodded, “What are the options? Because if food here is lacking, then I will be packing.” 

You let out a useless chuckle at your own joke, but it landed flat. “Yeah, that wasn’t funny.” You muttered lowly. With a click of your tongue, you glanced over the horizon and pointed at something from afar. A tall structure that stuck out the tops of the trees, “What’s that?”

“The climbing wall.” Luke answered plainly. 

“And that?” 

“The Amphitheatre.”

You looked up at him, pulling a face he didn’t bother to glance at. Then you noticed a bunch of campers filing through the trees and into the pavilion the two of you stood at the edge of. They entered in groups and made their way to their designated tables, chattering and gossiping as they did. 

You looked at Luke, “Well, that was…great. Truly, a riveting experience. I will say, though — your delivery needs some work. The dark and gloomy act works most of the time, but not when you’re giving a guided tour.”

That got him to look at you, and you held back your triumphant smirk. He frowned, “What?”

You shrugged, “I’m just saying, nobody is going to listen to you talk about this place if you describe it like this.” You lowered your tone into a subpar impression of his voice, and you swore you saw his brows twitch. Clearing your throat, you waved a hand, “No need to worry about that now, though. Just point me in the direction of the Hermes table and I’ll be out of your strangely well-conditioned hair.”

Another eyebrow twitch. You were getting the hang of this. Maybe one day you could get him to move other parts of his face! 

You half expected the boy to ignore you and walk off — and he did. But it was in the direction of the Hermes table, so you counted it as him showing you the way. Most of the campers were seated by the time you’d arrived, and you were thus forced to sit yourself on the end of the bench, uncomfortably beside him. He was unbothered. 

During dinner you were swiftly introduced to some of your peers — Chris Rodriguez gave you a lopsided grin and informed you politely that you would need to sacrifice some of your food before you got stuck into it. Travis and Connor Stoll sidled up on either side of you as you grumbled at the hearth, and yapped your ear off about the fundamentals of camp. 

(So all the sneaky stuff Chiron doesn’t know about. Like how you can skip out on archery training if Lee is the one running it because he never has it in him to snitch. Or that the pegasi stables were the go-to hook up spot for summer campers, but the back of the Amphitheater was the go-to hook up spot for the year-rounders. When you asked what the difference was, they winked, and when you asked what happened if a year-rounder hooked up with a summer camper, they chuckled and walked off.)

Chiron gave you an introduction that made you feel like a new kid being asked to tell the class one fun fact about yourself, and around six kids at your table asked if it hurt when you fell down the hill. 

Overall, a good first night. As far as first nights at a summer camp for half-gods goes. By the time all the campers had gone back to their respective cabins, you were ready to turn in and clock out for the day. 

But you wanted to try one more time. Last attempt, and then you’d let it go. 

When Luke — who you had discovered earlier was the counsellor of the Hermes cabin, and apparently a role model for the kids — came over and silently handed you a folded orange shirt with a leather cord sitting on top of it, you smirked. 

“Hey, now we can match. How cute.” 

He blinked at you, “Everyone is wearing the same thing.”

“The same shirts, you mean.” You tilted your head, “But we’re both wearing green cargos. And white socks. White sneakers.” Your grin widened as you watched his eyes flit down your form, taking in the outfit you had on. You were right — the only difference between you two was the white tank top you had on, soon to be replaced by the shirt he had just handed to you. You thought for a moment that it would work, that he would make a face, or say more than two sentences to you in response. 

But he didn’t. He just huffed and walked away, and you watched with an appalled expression. You narrowed your eyes. 

Okay, so maybe you weren’t ready to let it go yet. 

The next morning, you were rudely awakened by a small child who was sprawled across your torso, having shifted from his own sleeping bag that was beside yours. He couldn’t have been any older than six, his orange camp shirt sitting like a dress on him, and if he wasn’t snoring into your chest, you would’ve thought he was adorable. 

But you really needed to pee. 

After you slowly but surely lifted him back onto his own pillow, you stood up with a stretch and stepped precariously over the other kids, balancing carefully on the tips of your toes so you didn’t step on any of them. The sun was barely rising, and you were the only one awake, so you held your breath and reached out for the handle of the bathroom door. 

“That’s not your bathroom.”

You flinched, losing your balance and toppling back. A hand between your shoulder blades prevented you from crushing any of the kids on the floor, and you steadied yourself before meeting the eyes of the person who spoke. 

Luke was staring intently at you, his eyes blinking hard as if he’d only just woken up. He was in nothing but a pair of blue sweat-shorts and you fought the urge to rake your eyes over his bare torso, watching as he lowered his hand back to his side, “That’s the counsellor's bathroom.”

“Right.” Came a low mutter, under your breath. Then louder, you asked, “Well, where is the campers bathroom?”

“Outside.” He answered, “Around the back of the cabins.”

“Out—“ You started, and then realised everyone else was asleep and swiftly lowered your volume, but kept your expression exaggerated. Wide eyes, furrowed brows. “Outside?”

“Yes.”

“But…it’s cold out there.”

“We have a controlled climate.” He said, folding his arms across his chest. His biceps tensed, “It’s never cold.”

You let out a sigh, throwing your thumb over your shoulder and pointing at the door, “Can’t I just use this one? You aren’t using it, and everyone else is asleep, they’d never know!” 

He stared at you blankly and stayed silent for a long time. You wouldn’t be surprised if he just never said anything until you walked away, which you were well prepared to do, letting out a deep breath and folding your own arms over to preserve heat as you clambered towards the front door, muttering complaints under your breath the whole time. You made it three feet (or two sleeping bags) away from him when he finally piped up. 

“Be quick.” 

Turning around, Luke was already making his way back to his own bed, and you ogled shamelessly at his back muscles as you shuffled to his bathroom and made your way inside. You did your business quickly as requested and washed your hands under the low pressure of the sink before cracking the door open once more. The cabin was the same, everyone else still sleeping calmly. Luke was standing by his bunk, now clad in black shorts and his camp shirt. He paid you no mind when you padded back to your sleeping bag, grabbing your bag and stifling through the clothes you had packed. 

You walked up to breakfast with the unclaimed girl you had met the previous night — Lana — and listened and she told you intently about the lore of Luke Castellan. 

“He never used to be the way he is. He was happier before, always grinning. More than ready to help anyone here. He was…well, everyone either wanted to be with him or be him.”

“And then what happened?”

“He went on a quest. It went wrong. He came back with that ugly scar and he hasn’t been the same since.”

You made a comment that the scar wasn’t ugly, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d add on that it made him look pretty hot. But you did know better, and you knew that Luke was three people ahead of you in the line and could probably hear what you were saying. So you kept that tidbit to yourself and ate your cereal in silence. 

When breakfast was over, you stood from the bench and turned, only to stop short when you realised Luke was standing behind you. Looking up at him, you raised a brow, “Yes?”

“I’m showing you around today.”

“You showed me around yesterday.”

His lips tightened, “We’re actually doing stuff today. Seeing what you’re good at.”

“Oh.” You ran your tongue over your teeth and nodded, “Well, where do we start?”

“Archery.” 

Turns out, you were pretty awful at archery. Even after you’d stopped firing arrows into the treeline, you still never hit the middle of the target. Lee had to correct your posture four times, and you broke six arrows. Eventually, you decided that Apollo was not your father, and shuffled over to where Luke stood beneath the shade of a tree — where he had been standing the whole hour. 

“Y’know, just because you’ve got this broody bad boy thing going on, doesn’t mean you have to linger in the shadows all the time.” You commented, picking at your fingernails and readjusting the long sleeve you wore under your camp shirt, “You just look weird.” 

Luke pointed at your cheekbone, “You’re bleeding.” 

You huffed, “I know.” You kept holding your bow too close to the side of your face and the feathers of the arrows kept scratching you whenever you let them fly. Lee mentioned how most people make that mistake the first time round, but you’d done it so much that he’d cut your lesson short and told you to get a bandaid from one of his siblings. You didn’t. 

He stared at your cut for a moment, like he was thinking hard about something. But he didn’t, and pushed himself off the tree he was leaning against and brushed past you, “Let’s go to the forges.”

You were better at blacksmithing than you were at archery, but the sword Charles Beckendorf was helping you weld still came out wonky and discoloured. He was a nice kid, funny, and your lowered spirits from your previous task had been quickly uplifted despite you not having much skill in his department. He let you keep the sword anyway, and you swung it jokingly at Luke as he led you to the Amphitheater. 

You made swooshing noises as you did so, chuckling when he didn’t so much as flinch, “Don’t act so tough, Castellan, I could take you out even with a dodgy sword.”

“You couldn’t.” He muttered, “I’m the best sword fighter here.”

You let out an over dramatic gasp, running ahead and swivelling around so you could meet his eyes, “Holy shit, was that…did you just…tell me something about yourself?” You grinned and his frown deepened, “Aw, Luke. We’re getting somewhere! This is amazing, I’m so proud. Soon enough we’ll be best frien — “

Before you could finish your incessant teasing, Luke grabbed your forearm and yanked you in front of him just as a kid on an out-of-control Pegasus toppled past you. You watched him disappear in mild shock, before looking back at the boy in front of you, “Hey, thanks. Almost got trampled. How embarrassing.”

He narrowed his gaze, “Do you not take anything seriously?”

You shrugged, “Not really. I’d ask you the same question, but…” You made a face. It was obvious that he was very serious, even if he never used to be. 

“Let’s go.” Was his boring response, moving swiftly past you and into the Amphitheatre so quickly you would’ve assumed he was trying to get away from you. (Which he definitely was).

You weren’t really all that bothered, not when you were having so much fun pissing him off. 

It took all of ten minutes for Luke to put your sword fighting lesson to an end. Not only had you insisted on fighting with the wonky sword rather than a working training one, you also kept pushing him with your hands whenever he got too close. 

“That’s not how you’re supposed to do it.”

“Hey, it’s working, isn’t it?” 

You were pretty shit at it anyway, so you didn’t fight him when he said you were cutting your lesson short. You simply tucked your weapon onto the sheath he’d handed you and followed him down the hill to the dining pavilion. 

“So, where are you from?”

He didn’t answer you for a couple of minutes, something you’d been well prepared for. But you couldn’t help but ask — he intrigued you. A little too much, maybe. 

You continued, “Because you seem like a Mass guy.”

Luke stopped in his tracks, turning to you, “Mass…achusetts?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, fighting off your amused smile when he pulled a face. Finally, an expression!

Truth was, Lana had told you he was from Connecticut. You just wanted to see how he’d react, if he would react at all — apparently he isn’t immune to everything. 

“I’m from CT.” He made it very clear, and you tried your hardest not to laugh. “Okay? I'm not some Boston Masshole, got it?”

You raised your hands in surrender, “Got it.” 

He stared at you for a second longer, as if to ensure you really did have it. Squinting at your amused smile before nodding and continuing his walk. You thought it would go back to silence, but apparently you’d lit a fuse. 

“I mean, what makes you think I'm from MA?” He asked, his tone of voice so appalled you’d think he’d been accused of some sort of crime. “Do I smell like shit?”

A chuckle, “What?”

But he just whirled on you once more, lifting his arm and gesturing to his pit, “Do I? Do I stink of shit?” 

You didn’t feel like sniffing him, so you just shook your head, still laughing, “No.” 

“Then what — ?” He stopped, narrowed his eyes, “Where are you from?”

You tried to hide your smile, but it was getting really difficult. The last two days he’d been nothing but broody and miserable, one word quips being his only form of communication other than dark frowns. But one mention of Mass and he’s suddenly down to chit chat? You couldn’t help but laugh — unfortunately, it only spurred him on. 

“You think this is funny?” He scoffed, nodding, “Yeah, bet you’re from Maine too.”

Your laughter continued, little giggles spilling out of you whenever you thought about the situation too hard. You shrugged, “I don’t think I wanna tell you after this.”

Luke nodded like he was expecting you to say that, “Something a Mainer would say, I’m sure.”

You grinned wide, very proud of yourself for getting a visceral reaction out of the boy — even if you had to piss him off to do it. Just as you went to reply with a witty comeback that would have him ranting and raving for the rest of the night, the dinner conch sounded, interrupting what you’re sure would’ve been a very entertaining conversation. 

You walked on past him, not stopping, but slowing down so you could cough into your fist, “Flatlander.”

You didn’t look back but you did hear him scoff in shock, and you were sure he stood there frozen for at least twenty seconds because he entered the pavilion way later than you did. He made a point to fix you with an annoyed stare as he sat down a few people away from you — and Chris raised a brow. 

“What’d you do to him?”

You shrugged, digging into your mashed potatoes before anyone could tell you to wait until you’d made your offering, “Told him he looked like a Bay Stater.”

He chuckled, wincing under his breath and shaking his head, “You’re evil. I like it.”

You smirked and said nothing — but whenever your eyes flickered over to Luke, his were just flickering away from you.

[honey-words]

spider boy — spider-man!midoriya izuku x reader

synopsis:   you’ve talked to your neighbor a few times before and have waved at him on campus. But you’ve noticed he keeps really weird hours, sometimes hearing him go into his apartment at ungodly hours of the night. So when spider-man enters your apartment one night, it’s easy for you to connect the dots from there. 

content warnings: mentions of blood/injuries, hints of angst, hurt/comfort

wc: 3.1k

author’s note: I believe in spider-man!deku supremacy :)

part 1 of the spider boy series

“Spider-man does it again! Only three blocks from the UA university campus, the masked hero—”

“You’re a spider-man fan?”

You jumped, almost dropping your phone and falling off of the bench in the process. 

“Midoriya! You scared me.”

He laughed and you paused the video you were watching, a news clip from this morning. He settled down beside you on the bench, taking a sip of his iced coffee as he did. 

“Yeah, I guess I am a fan,” you said. “Campus PD sucks and I think it’s funny a spider guy is more reliant than all of them put together.”

You both shared a laugh. 

“I have to get to class,” Midoriya sighed, not making any movements to get up from the bench. “How’s Moony?”

“She’s great, thanks for asking,” you said, smiling back at him. Because Midoriya was the definition of a perfect neighbor. He had introduced himself when you first moved in and he saw the small cat carrier with a little black kitten, Moony, inside of it. From there it had been a pleasant acquaintanceship between the two of you. 

“I’ll see you later, then,” he said, really standing up this time. “Bye!”

You waved goodbye as he left, then turned back to the video. 

A thief had been running loose on campus for the last week, snatching cell phones and wallets from unsuspecting students on their way to class. Campus PD had found the thief this morning, literally on their doorstep with a sticky note that had a spider sketch stuck on his face. 

A smaller feat of Spider-Man’s, but a good one nonetheless. 

During your first lecture of the day you could see other people were watching the same video and reading the accompanying article. It was the first time Spider-Man had acted so close to campus, practically on the grounds of it considering where he had turned in the thief. 

The person in front of you had a Reddit post pulled up, and you had to bite your cheek to refrain from laughing as you read the title. Spider boy or whatever is totally a UA student. Here’s my proof!!!!

Finding the professor’s lecture increasingly dry and dull, you decided to pull up the Reddit tab on your own laptop so you could read it, too. 

By the time the lecture was over you had read the entire post (it was surprisingly long) and all of the comments underneath it, half-convinced of the theory yourself. It made some reasonable arguments—Spider-Man stuck to the surrounding city, usually went around at night, rarely seen throughout the day—keeping with the schedule of a college student. Sticking to the surrounding city pointed to the fact that he lived near campus. And the latest crime he’d solved was the cherry on top, because the alerts about it had gone out to all campus members since the incidents were contained to the campus. 

The dull lecture came with dull readings, which you idly flipped through later that night. It was nearing 1 am, but sleep had not yet found you, and even the reading was not putting you to sleep. 

You must’ve dozed off on your tiny kitchen table, Moony curled up on the chair next to you, because her surprised meow and the sound of a door closing close by woke you up a few hours later. Your phone lit up with an email notification (professors were truly unhinged with their work hours) and you were able to see the time without lifting your head up from the table. 4 am. 

The door that had closed and woken you and Moony up had been Midoriya’s, you realized even in your half-asleep state. Occasionally the sound would wake you up, but you never minded it much and usually rolled over and fell back asleep. 

This time you had to drag yourself over to your bed, and you could vaguely hear Midoriya moving around next door. What business he had this early in the morning you never knew. He seemed pretty normal, and you always assumed he was fond of late library study sessions. Even if it was not exactly exam season. But then again, he was a biochem major, you mused. 

You fell asleep wondering about this and woke up five hours later to the sound of your blaring alarm. It snapped you awake, enough to hear a thud from next door. Did Midoriya fall out of bed?

The day passed as usual. You went to class, took half-hearted notes (it was hard to focus at this point in the semester—everyone was already burnt out) came home and ate dinner with Moony, and cuddled up on the couch together to do your readings. 

This time you were ready to pass out outside of the warm embrace of your bed, so you’d done your nightly routine and brought over blankets to the couch, ready for sleep to come whenever it was ready. 

The sound that woke you up this time was much louder. And Moony hissed. 

She never hissed. 

You froze from your curled-up position on the couch, eyes still heavy with sleep and senses scrambling to catch up with your brain and racing heart. The coffee table was right across from you, and by some miracle, you’d been sipping on a lemonade earlier—one in a glass bottle. 

As swiftly as you could, you untangled yourself from the blankets and grabbed the lemonade bottle, wielding it in front of you like a sword.

It slipped from your grasp when you saw who was standing in front of you, next to your open window you always kept closed, scared Moony would climb out. 

As if on reflex, as if he expected you to drop your weapon, Spider-Man shot a web just as it slipped from your fingers, catching it in his hands before you could even register you had dropped it.

Moony, who had been very annoyed at being woken up just a minute ago, was now rubbing her head on his shins affectionately. 

“Moony,” you whispered. “Get away from him.”

“It’s okay!” Spider-Man said, mirroring your whisper. “I’m not here to hurt anyone.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Then why did you break into my apartment?” You looked around for your phone, or another potential weapon. Instead, your gaze found the small digital clock you kept on a shelf near the door, the bright green numbers clearing away the fogginess of sleep. 

It was 4am. 

You could not help the gasp that escaped you. 

“Midoriya?”

The effect was instantaneous. Spider-Man’s entire body language changed, that much you could tell, even in the dark. He took a step away from you, back toward the window, shoulders tense. 

“What?” he said. Trying hard to keep his voice steady, even deepening it a little. But you knew it was him. 

“Did you think this was your apartment?” You were connecting the dots now. “This is why you always come back so late.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, inching towards the window. “I just got a little lost. Thought this place was empty.”

“You’re bleeding,” you said, pointing at the gash in his arm as though he had not noticed it himself. “Why’re you bleeding?”

Moony meowed, as though echoing your question. She was still close to him, and leaned forward to rub her head against his shin again. 

This seemed to break him—his shoulders drooped and he let out a long exhale. He reached up and pulled the mask off, and you gasped again. 

The left side of his face was covered in bruises, his eye starting to swell a bit. He looked like he was on the verge of tears, glancing down at Moony. 

“Smart cat. She recognized me.” You winced and instinctively moved toward him when he tried to smile and grimaced at the action. 

“Sit down, please,” you said, remembering to speak quietly. “You can’t die in my apartment. You can’t.”

“I won’t,” he said, letting you manhandle him into sitting on the couch. “Promise.”

“If you thought this was your apartment you’re definitely concussed,” you said, reaching up to move his curls aside, careful not to touch his face. The bruises covered his entire left side, also the side his arm was bleeding. “What happened to you?”

You snatched your hand away when he realized he was frozen, eyes to the side where your hand was. 

“I got thrown into a wall,” he said, smiling again. A smaller grimace this time. “I’m really sorry.” 

“You’re sorry for being thrown into a wall?” You shuffled to the kitchen to grab the tiny first aid kit you kept there. It was dusty and unused and consisted mainly of bandaids, something you started laughing at a little hysterically as you opened it on the couch, in between you and Midoriya. He’d leaned back onto the couch, breathing evened out. He was lying so still you thought he was sleeping, until he turned his head to see what you were laughing at. 

“I only have bandaids,” you said, still laughing a little. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” he said. “Oh, I didn’t mean…” he started laughing. Quietly, then a little louder until you were both giggling and suppressing loud laughs. 

“It’s okay,” he said, catching his breath again. “Can you help me get to my place? I’m used to patching myself up.” 

It took five minutes, but eventually, you both managed to get out your front door, coaxing Moony to stay inside. Midoriya had one of his arms draped around your shoulder, keeping him upright. He had reassured you plenty of times as you both shuffled out the door that he was fine, he had been through worse. Which only made you feel worse. 

His apartment was the exact same layout as yours, though a little messier, which he apologized for. There were notes all over his kitchen table, his couch was covered in blankets. You had a feeling he was prone to falling asleep all over his apartment like you did.  

“Thank you,” he said once he had settled down on his couch. “I’m really sorry, again.”

“I know,” you said, sitting down beside him. You stared at the clock directly across from you, above his small TV. “I’m sorry for figuring out who you are.”

Another small laugh from him. “S’okay.” he shifted to look at you, and you mirrored him. It would have felt awkward being this close to someone you knew more in passing a day ago, but you felt as though this entire experience had automatically made the two of you friends. A trauma bond, of sorts. “You won’t tell anyone?”

You smiled back at him. “Promise.”

You didn’t remember getting back to your apartment, only that it took a lot of convincing on Midoriya’s part. The second you woke up (on your couch) you rushed to get out the door and knock on Midoriya’s until he opened, if anything to confirm you had not dreamed anything that had happened. But before you could get your slippers on, you saw a small note on the floor in front of the door. 

Two spiders drawn holding hands, with “friends?” written underneath.

You slid it back under his door with your own addition — a drawing of a cat and “friends” written underneath his question. 

——— * * * ———

“Trauma bond?”

“Yeah,” you said, shoving at his shoulder and ignoring his fake wince. “Am I wrong?”

“No,” he agreed, petting a meowing Moony in his lap. He was frowning down at her, and you had been around him long enough to know something was wrong. 

It had been over a month since the break-in incident (which Midoriya was still apologizing for) and you had grown used to each other’s company. It had started off small—seeing him in the library during the day, studying quietly next to him. Stifling your laughter when he slid a spider doodle across the table to you. 

After that, you noticed him around campus more often. You had always greeted him when he crossed your path, stopping to make small talk. But now you actually talked about things of substance. Setting up study sessions, inviting him over to play with Moony, exchanging recipes and even starting to cook at each other’s apartments. 

“Is my pasta not good?” you said. Moony meowed, echoing your question from his lap. 

“It could use some pepper,” he said, smiling teasingly at you. “No, it’s good. Just a rough night.”

“Wanna talk about it?” you said. 

“S’okay,” he said. “We’re trauma bonded enough.” You felt a pang of guilt at the sadness in his tone. 

“Midoriya—” 

“Thank you for the pasta,” he said. “I can help with the dishes.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “You know we’re friends friends, right?”

He nodded. “I’m messing with you.”

“You little shit!” he laughed as you set your dishes down in the sink, shoving him slightly. He smiled slyly at you. He seemed like the perfect boy next door, but he was really a little shit. And he was the perfect boy next door. 

“I haven’t heard you come back late in a while,” you said. He turned to look at you from his place at the sink, eyebrows raised. 

“You wait up for me?”

“No!” you said indiginantly. “It just used to wake us up.” 

“Really? I’m sorry.”

“S’okay,” you said. “But you have to wake me up if you’re hurt really bad, okay? Even if it’s just to sit with you.”

A small noise of acknowledgement from Midoriya. 

“What was that?”

“Promise.” 

Satisfied, you got up from your place at the table, letting him finish up the dishes. “Are you going out tonight?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Sorry in advance about the early morning wake up call.”

He still would not tell you where he went. But the news reports the next day served as the answers to your questions. A crime solved here, a criminal turned in there. The Spider-Man news page, ran by dedicated fans, was bookmarked on your computer and one of your most visited tabs. On nights when you couldn’t sleep and didn’t know where he was, you would refresh it every few minutes, waiting for an update. 

Sometimes he would go during the day, and when you would get back from class he would be there on your couch with Moony, napping. You would sit on the opposite end and wait for him to wake up, then decide on what to make for lunch together. Not talking about the new bruise on his arm or the new cut on his leg. If he brought it up you knew it was okay to talk about it, but usually you both talked about normal topics. Avoiding the giant spider in the room. 

“All done!” he said, falling down on the couch beside you. Reaching to pet Moony, who was cuddled up on your lap. Arm muscles flexing, hands softly running through Moony’s fur. It was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore how jacked he was. Especially when he was literally always stripping in your apartment, changing from his suit into his regular clothes. Letting you sneak glances at his back, his chest. 

“Take a nap,” you blurted. “If you’re going to be out tonight. You need to rest.”

“I will,” he said, smiling up at you. “Don’t worry.”

“I’m not!” you said, huffing. “You better not visit me tonight. I expect you to kick ass and come back with no injuries.”

“‘Kay,” he said. “See you tomorrow?” You nodded and watched him dramatically sigh, throwing his head back on the couch before getting up and shuffling to the door. 

The rest of your evening was spent anxiously trying to distract yourself. There was a nagging feeling in the back of your head, in the pit of your stomach. After finishing your homework and realizing it was hours before your usual bedtime, you cleaned your apartment. Reorganized, moved things around. 

You decided to settle on the couch for the night. Better place to hear Midoriya come back. 

The sound that jolted you awake a couple hours later was louder than usual, and it woke you up quicker. A quick glance at your clock let you know it was only 1am.

“Midoriya?” you said quietly, sitting up. “You okay?”

He was standing near your window, at almost the exact same spot as a month before, when he had first broken in. 

“No,” he said. Voice hoarse and almost too quiet for you to hear. 

You were up and leading him over to the couch in an instant. His mask was already off, clutched in between his fingers

“Are you hurt?” you said, patting down his arms and running your fingers over his face softly, scared to touch a bruise or aggravate a cut. A shake of his head. 

You gently took the mask from him, setting it down on the coffee table with one hand, the other gripping his hands tightly. “Want to talk about it?”

He nodded, squeezing your hands back. “Later.”

“Okay,” you said, scooting closer to him on the couch so your shoulders pressed together. “I’m here, okay? It’s okay.”

You were ready when his shoulders started shaking and he slid into your hug, staining your shirt with his tears. You ran your hands through his hair, rubbing your fingers along the nape of his neck. Repeating the phrase over and over until it felt like you were trying to convince yourself of the same thing. 

The bruises were on his side this time—no cuts deep enough to warrant him going back to his apartment to patch himself up. You helped him get his suit off slowly. The tears hadn’t stopped, and yours had started fifteen minutes after his. It hurt to see him like this and not know how to help. Knowing all you could do was help him get back to his apartment and keep his secret.

“Can I stay?” he said. He was holding the top half of his suit to his chest, hugging it. 

“Yeah, course you can,” you said. “I’ll get you some clothes.”

Moony walked out of your room with an annoyed meow. She had been sleeping, but once she spotted Midoriya she happily sauntered over, already purring. 

Once he had changed into the clothes his eyes started to droop, and you started convincing him to sleep in your room. He kept shaking his head, until he finally told you, “Don’t want to be alone.” 

“Okay, I’ll stay with you,” you said. Slipped out so easily you had no time to realize you had said it until he nodded and you were walking into your room and settling under the covers, Midoriya turning to face you, lashes wet with tears.

“I’m not leaving,” you said, reaching to intertwine your fingers with his. “You’re okay. We’re okay.”

He blinked slowly at you, sleep making his eyes heavy. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

masterlist

[sweetestcaptainhughes]

hello can I do a 17 ❤️‍🩹 and is it possible to do it w/ jamie drysdale? if not then with trevor zegras 🙏🙏

ooo so I only did leprechaun man as a joke because I wanted MK (@chukys-mouthguard) to show the world that she calls him a fucking sweet potato. 😂😂 Plus no one has requested Trevor at all during this celly, so Trevor it is. Sorry you had to sit in my inbox all day, apparently my body decided to sleep the entire day. I had no idea where this was going and I'm debating if I lost the plot half way through but it's cute I think.

200 Followers Celebration

Overcompensating by giving compliments and being extra nice, but feeling frustrated all the same when their crush doesn't seem to notice their efforts.

Trevor has been acting strange lately, you couldn't pin point what it was or when the turning point was but he definitely had a shift in his behavior. Trevor was one of those people in your life that you couldn't really tell anyone if they asked how long you have known him or when you guys first met. Both of your moms went to college together and you were destined to be cousins from that moment on. Except, Trevor and you never acted like cousins. Not in the same way you interacted with his little brother and sister. Not in the same way he interacted with your siblings.

Trevor and you, you both acted well like an old married couple most of the time. Two people that would do anything for each other, hell they would move the heaven if they needed but when it came to everyday life they bickered like they have been stuck with each other since the beginning of time. Jack and Cole constantly gave him shit for it back when they were all on the same development team. They both told him that he needed to make a move before someone stole his 'wife' from him. At the time, you remember Trevor telling you over FaceTime both of you laughing about it till their were tears in your eyes.

Now years later, you ended up in LA for work. Trevor was so happy he had someone with him, even though at the time he was already living in Orange County for years. He insisted on finding the perfect apartment in the middle of of your work and the rink. Which meant that both of your communites with traffic were a little over an hour. On the phone with him when he proposed the idea of a shared apartment you told him how insane he was being.

"Z no. It's insane for both of us to have such a wild commute. LA traffic is already insane and you know that. What happens if I accidentally sleep in one day and then I'm what 2 1/2 hours late for what." you try to reason as your folding your laundry, trying to deicde what to donate since you don't want to pay to lug so much across the country.

"fine then we will pick a place closer to your work. it's only fair anyway, you're there year round anyway." he decides, glancing at his phone for a second, while he continues to search on his mac for new apartments.

"No." you argue.

"yes Y/N I am not letting you live here by yourself okay. " Finally looking at you in the camera he seems your black dress your holding up, as if your debating if it's time to part ways with your 'slutty little black dress' that was your saving grace during college. But Trevor remembers it as the dress you wore with him to the go out to the bars, the dress you wore when he realized his friends were right he was madly and deeply in love with you.

"did you just put that in the donate pile?" he asks. Nodding your head yes, before you could speak he continues. "No you have to keep that one bee. " he begged.

bee a name only he could call you. a childhood name he started calling you because he said your words could sting anyone like a bee if you wanted to. what started as an insult became a name of endearment and one he only used when he really wanted something.

But now months later, as he's driving you home and your in that exact dress he begged you to keep all you want to do is for the ground to swoll you whole as you sit in his jeep. Glancing over at Trevor you see his eyes are clouded with anger, not sure if your mad at you or his teammate for flirting with you. As if he could read your mind, he brings his hand over to yours bringing it to his lips and lightly kisses it.

"I'm not mad at you bee okay." he says as he glances over at you as he comes to a stop. It's the first time he makes eye-contact with you since leaving the club almost 30 minutes ago, he sees that you're fighting back your own tears. "fuck bee don't cry." he whispers, deciding to pull over because the thought of continuing to drive while you're this upset physically pains him. As soon as the car is in park, he unbuckles his seatbelt, wiping your tears away with the rough pads of his thumbs. "I'm not mad" he keeps whispering like a promise until you finally shake your head okay.

"why did you punch him?" you finally ask.

"because he's a fuckboy and he doesn't deserve someone like you." the anger taking over in his voice again, you wince as if his tone of voice could physically hurt you, like his fist hurt his teammates.

"then who?" you whisper, suddenly feeling a boost of confidence you haven't in a long time.

"what?" he asks so quietly you can barely hear him over the hum of the music playing through the speakers.

"who do I deserve? because ever since I moved here you seem to have a lot of ideas of who I should date and shouldn't. I know we've known each other our entire life's but that doesn't give you the right to cock block me every chance you get Trevor!" by the end you are red in the face from your screaming confession.

"Y/N you deserve someone who will love you! Who knows you like the back of their hand. Someone who won't ever hurt you even if it's by accident. Someone who can give you everything you ever hoped for and more. Someone who will sit with you while you rant about the newest project at work or your new favorite obesession for the month. You deserve someone who will stay up late with you just to spend time with you because they missed you. You deserve someone who can give you the world. You deserve someone better than me and that little fucker isn't better than me." Trevor's face is one of pure shock . His eyes are wide, his mouth slightly ajar as he realizes what he just confessed.

"Trevor." Unbuckling your seatbelt so you can get closer to him, even thoguh you are already in a small space. "what if all I want is you?" you ask, leaning closer to him.

But he shakes his head pleading, "no you deserve better."

"no there isn't" you reason, taking your hands resting them on either side of his face, resting your forehead against you.

'what if I hurt you." he confesses

"you won't" leaning close enough that your lips are almost touching.

"you don't know that."

"I know that you doing nothing is hurting me more than you ever could hurt me by trying." His eyes snap open at your words. "please kiss me Z." That's all it takes for him to close to space between you both.

[ysmtttty]

Red Ferrari

Chapter 10

Summary: Azris AU, where Azriel is a mechanic and has his own service station. One day, Eris comes there because something is wrong with his car

AO3 link Chapter 9 Chapter 11

Flipping through the emails in his phone, Eris waited for Azriel to return with their ordered coffee, which the courier should have brought, judging by his GPS in the delivery app.

Surprisingly, Morrigan still hadn't contacted him, maybe she was still searching for a new lawyer. Eris wasn't sure, but he suspected that most people were now cautious about becoming her attorney, since dealing with her had proven to be a doomed endeavor, and many had come to realize this even more.

Now that he and Azriel had seemingly cleared everything up and he had earned forgiveness, the realization of the problem with Keir hit him hard. According to the terms, Eris had to ensure that his father would agree to support whatever conditions were part of their deal, the details of which he hadn't been allowed to fully grasp over the years.

There were many problems with this, but the main one was that he really didn’t want to deal with Beron, especially over someone like Keir with his threats. Eris would have loved to tell both of them to go to hell and leave the country. Maybe start over somewhere where they wouldn't find him. But his loved ones were still here, and Beron definitely wouldn’t hesitate to threaten him through his mother. Keir, even more so.

And yet, he would have to call his father, maybe even persuade him. Eris hated such situations, always trying to avoid them entirely. A couple of times, Beron had been threatened through him, and it had turned out very badly for those daring idiots. However, something told Eris that this time it wouldn’t be so simple.

Why the hell did Beron even agree to this wedding scheme, which hardly promised him much profit?

Eris stared at the phone screen for a long time, his finger hovering over the call button. He didn’t want to hear that voice, didn’t want to let Beron know he needed his help—even if calling it help was a stretch considering that without dear old dad, Eris wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place—and he absolutely didn’t want Beron to know that Keir had threatened his life. Again—nothing good could come from that other than a bloody mess.

Still, he treated this conversation like ripping off a band-aid—the faster, the better.

One ring, two, five. Maybe he shouldn’t have called in the morning. Who knows, the old bastard might’ve decided to sleep in, after all, given his age…

"Eris?" came a gruff voice. Eris just gripped the phone tighter, reminding himself that his father was hundreds of kilometers away.

"Father," he greeted as politely as possible. "I'm calling about business."

Beron might have been disappointed in him if he had called just to ask how things were going.

"Speak," Beron said, getting straight to the point.

"Keir wants to be sure that you will uphold your end of the deal after my divorce from Morrigan," Eris explained bluntly, lacking the strength or desire to play mind games or figure out how to word it more softly or advantageously. This was also the first time he had confidently informed his father that he would definitely be getting a divorce. The divorce was now a fact.

"And what am I supposed to do with the information about his desires?"

Eris rolled his eyes. Of course, why make life easier with a simple “okay, son, I got it,” when he could continue acting like a self-proclaimed jerk.

"Confirm that you’re in."

"And why do you think I’m in?" A pause, during which Eris reminded himself that he had bought this phone two weeks ago and throwing it against the wall now would be stupid. Especially considering what happened the last time he went a whole day without a phone. "What did Keir do?"

"He kindly delivered that message," Eris replied sarcastically.

"Eris," Beron’s voice carried a warning. Eris thanked all the gods that this man wasn’t in the same room with him right now, because otherwise, this would have been unbearable. "I’ll get in touch with him."

And he hung up.

Eris still didn’t know if he felt relief or irritation, but at least it was something. At least now he didn’t have to worry about getting killed somewhere in an alley or, again, in his own parking lot.

He wondered where Azriel was with the coffee. Reluctantly, he got up from the bed, put on some lounge pants, and went to look for his mechanic.

"Finally!" a voice greeted him, belonging to someone who wasn’t Azriel at all. "You really do look terrible."

Eris glanced at Lucien, who was lounging on his couch with a cup of coffee that suspiciously resembled the one they had ordered from the nearby café.

"What are you doing here?" Eris asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You didn’t know he was coming?" Azriel asked, leaning against the wall. Eris looked at him and raised a questioning eyebrow when he saw that Azriel was wearing his robe. Not that he minded. "I grabbed the first thing I saw when he came in," Azriel nodded toward Lucien.

"I wish I could unsee that," Eris’s younger brother shook his head.

"A question for both of you," Eris looked at his brother, "what the hell are you doing here?" then at Azriel, "and why did you open the door without putting anything on?"

Azriel shrugged. "I was going to throw on a robe, but I didn’t have time before he opened the door—he had keys."

"It doesn’t matter," Lucien interrupted. "I wanted to say that you’re coming with me and Jurian to your house in the countryside. And I suspect it’s a brotherly bond that made me feel so strongly that you’d been beaten up here."

"I’m fine, thanks for the concern. Why do you have my coffee, and why are you making decisions about my country house?"

"Because I conveniently ran into your courier, who asked me to unlock the elevator for him, and when I found out the floor, I said I’d deliver it myself," Lucien shamelessly drank one of the coffees. Azriel held out the other to Eris in silence, who gratefully took it, took a few sips, and handed it back. "Nice that you two made up, very happy for you. But this wasn’t how I wanted to find out about it."

"Knock next time," Azriel advised.

"Put on some pants next time," Lucien retorted.

"The house, Lucien," Eris reminded him of his earlier question.

"You clearly needed to relax. I thought I’d turn this into a bachelor party to cheer you up and distract you from... well, now it doesn’t matter," he glanced at Azriel, who was watching all of this with barely concealed amusement. "But now I can tell Jurian that he can bring Vassa, and I’ll bring Elain, because, Azriel, wouldn’t you like to join us for a weekend in the countryside? Alcohol and food on my generous brother."

"Go to hell," said Eris.

"How convenient that I have no weekend plans," Azriel smiled. Eris shot him a withering look.

"Great," Lucien clapped his hands and stood up. "I’d stay and ask you about this," he circled his finger around Eris’s face, "but I won’t linger here any longer."

"Disappear before I demand the keys back," Eris shook his head.

"I’ll send the details later!" Lucien shouted as he quickly exited the apartment.

As soon as the door closed, Azriel burst out laughing. Eris groaned, clearly not thrilled with his younger brother’s sudden visit.

"You have a house in the countryside?" Azriel asked.

"Yeah, and at least five apartments around the city that I don’t use," Eris waved it off, heading to the kitchen to brew some tea. Damn, he forgot to buy coffee beans for the machine a few days ago. "Didn’t think you were a nature fan."

"I was kindly invited," Azriel smiled, approaching him from behind and hugging his waist, his nose buried in Eris’s neck as Eris tried to make tea. "Besides, your younger brother is funny. But how did you end up in his circle of friends? You seem like you’re from different age groups."

"Mutual acquaintances," Eris sighed, enjoying the small kisses Azriel left on his skin. "Jurian was initially my client, back when I was just starting out, and few people trusted me with their business. He trusted me. He hired me as his lawyer for several years, and very often, so we somehow became friends. And he is dating Vassa, Lucien’s friend and his girlfriend’s."

He turned around and kissed Azriel on the lips, who ran his hands over Eris’s chest with the same almost irritating caution as yesterday. Eris couldn’t get upset because normal people don’t usually get mad at their partner for caring about them.

"I forgot to ask yesterday, are we dating?" Eris asked.

"Yes, we’re dating," Azriel nodded and kissed him again.

Azriel left closer to noon after Eris received the fifth message in the tenants' chat about the concern over a smashed Volvo being left in their parking lot.

The rest of the day Eris spent working, wanting to finish everything in advance so he wouldn’t be distracted tomorrow, since they were apparently going with Lucien and his squad of friends. It was strange. But not the strangest thing happening in his life right now, so he could turn a blind eye and think, "shit happens."

A couple of document filings, a trip to the office to sign some papers, and waving off questions about the bruises. Eris expertly lied, saying he had taken up boxing in his spare time to relieve stress. No one suspected a lie since many people in his position did the same.

After what happened yesterday, Eris was twice as cautious in his movements. He constantly looked around, but the feeling of being watched had vanished. Eris now trusted his intuition twice as much, but since no danger was felt—or possibly it seemed like it because of his overwhelming exhaustion from all this chaos—he decided to allow himself to relax a little.

It might have been ideal to spend some time away from the city. It wouldn't provide a miracle of salvation, but it would allow him to mentally exhale and regain strength. Far from the bustle, stress, and divorce.

His lawyer wrote to him saying he had sent Morrigan another copy of the property division agreement. Eris replied that she wasn't in a position to represent herself at the moment and asked him to focus on more pressing matters, not wanting to waste one of his firm's best employees on this nightmare.

By the evening, Lucien sent him a picture from the store with a full cart of food, drinks, bags of charcoal, and more, with the price for all this luxury added below. He also mentioned that he and his friends had chipped in, and Eris just needed to pay for his share.

Knowing these idiots, Eris didn’t need to be a genius to realize they probably hadn’t even paid for half of it. Nonetheless, he sent the money. Better now for them than later regretting it being spent on Morrigan’s designer clothes if she takes what she wanted.

His father hadn’t reached out again. It both scared and relieved him at the same time. Eris wasn’t sure yet whether he wanted to hear "you can rest easy, Keir won’t bother you" because, on the one hand, he wanted it to be true, but on the other, it might mean Keir was lying in a ditch somewhere.

Late in the evening, Eris returned to his empty apartment, loosened his tie, and sighed heavily. These had been crazy days, and his body still ached from all the bruises, while fatigue continued to weigh him down. He only had enough energy to drink some coffee—thankfully, he had finally found the time to buy it at the store—and pass out because caffeine had somehow stopped keeping him awake. The problem might have been the non-stop hours of work, but Eris refused to believe that. It hadn't been such a big issue before, so why should it be now?

The next morning, his younger brother and friends, along with Azriel, burst into his apartment. Why the hell they all gathered this early and at his place was unclear. Eris seriously considered taking Lucien's keys because he preferred to start his morning with coffee, not a meeting with a bunch of students and Jurian. He had no complaints about Azriel’s presence.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Jurian said, and despite Eris’s protests, gave him a tight hug. Eris wrinkled his nose, pretending not to enjoy the moment at all, while Azriel silently laughed at him from the hallway.

They were all dressed similarly today—sweatpants, hoodies, and jackets. Azriel in a leather jacket was a sight for sore eyes, and Eris wished they were alone so he could say that out loud.

“Yeah, it’s been a while,” Eris awkwardly patted Jurian’s back, and only then did he let go, smiling cheerfully.

“Lucien said you got into a fight. Didn’t think you could even do that. Back in the day, you should’ve at least hired people to take revenge,” Jurian noted, eyeing his bruises as if he had studied medicine enough to make any conclusions. Jurian had dropped out of medical school after the first year, so his medical knowledge was about the same as the average person’s—close to zero. Eris just waved him off, along with the very valid comment about hiring people.

“No questions about my face,” Eris shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“Clearly,” Vassa remarked sarcastically. Eris just rolled his eyes and ignored her.

He and Vassa were on friendly terms. Every time Jurian invited him out for a drink, it ended with him calling her to pick Jurian up. In the early years, they were all still very young—Eris had just graduated, and Jurian had three citizenships and two restraining orders, which later required legal services. In celebration, he’d always bring out Cuban cigars—genuinely brought from Cuba—and order expensive drinks, back when Eris didn’t know he’d be the one paying at the end of the night.

In short, they had a wild youth, which Vassa didn’t like. Of course, over time she got used to Eris and realized that since he and Jurian were such good friends, she’d have to put up with him. A couple of years ago, Eris didn’t make that task easier for her, continuing to be an arrogant bastard and treating everyone outside his close circle like dirt—or so it seemed to most. Eris himself thought he didn’t treat people that way, and never had—he simply didn’t care enough to treat anyone poorly. Vassa strongly disagreed.

“Get out of the apartment,” Eris gestured, waving them towards the door. Lucien rolled his eyes and muttered about how Eris wasn’t a morning person, but he took his girlfriend by the arm and led her into the hallway. Jurian slowly followed with Vassa.

Azriel stayed behind, closing the door after them and smirking.

“Nice jacket,” Eris noted, running his hand up Azriel’s arm to his shoulder.

“You look good too. Sometimes I forget you own anything besides your suffocating suits and dozens of ties,” Azriel remarked sarcastically.

“It’s called style, but I doubt someone who wears dirty overalls and tank tops could understand.”

For that comment, he earned a quiet laugh and an eye roll.

“Are you still sure you want to go?” Eris asked, looking at him with exaggerated exhaustion. “We can still ditch them and stay here together.”

“Jurian and Lucien have been bragging the whole time about how great they are at grilling meat, and forgive me, but I’d sell my soul for good meat,” Azriel smiled so simply that it made Eris want to scream. Why did someone like him have to fall into his life?

“I can order the best restaurant steak if it’ll make you ditch these idiots and stay here with me,” Eris said, stepping closer. Azriel kissed him quickly, still smiling.

“And they also mentioned you have dogs, and I’d love to see them too.”

“Did they tell you that Jurian will be telling pirate-style stories? Or that those two lovebirds will be playing guitars and singing serenades? Or about the swarms of mosquitoes? Those are serious oversights,” Eris shook his head, but Azriel just laughed.

“I have experience enduring serenades, trust me,” he replied, kissing Eris again. Eris returned the kiss, burying his hand in Azriel’s hair and pulling him closer. “The rest is tolerable. Let’s go. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about this group in a few minutes, it’s that they’re impatient.”

Eris groaned internally but quickly grabbed what he needed and followed Azriel. They opened the door just as Jurian raised his fist, ready to bang on it. Giving him a judgmental look, Eris led them to the parking lot.

As it turned out, Azriel had come in his car, and since they couldn’t all fit into one, Eris and he drove together while the other four rode in Vassa’s car. It was quite a long drive, as it was an isolated spot far from the city.

“I still think they won’t be offended if we turn around without warning,” Eris muttered, watching Vassa’s car overtake them, speeding ahead over the bumps.

“I don’t think you’re that against it,” Azriel laughed. “You’re just being dramatic. Besides, your younger brother is right—you need to unwind. As do I.”

The rest of the way, they drove with the radio on and didn’t talk much. Azriel hummed along to the songs, while Eris, like the lovesick idiot he was, listened intently, pretending not to pay attention, though he very much did.

When they arrived, Azriel’s eyes widened in disbelief. They were greeted by a huge three-story house with a tall fence and grounds at least three times the size of any other house around.

“You know, when I heard ‘country house,’ I was expecting, well, you know, a little cottage, something between a house and a shack. But definitely not this.”

Eris just laughed as he got out of the car to open the massive gates and let Azriel drive in and park. Loud barking, Jurian’s swearing, and female laughter immediately reached them.

As soon as Azriel got out of the car and heard it, he frowned a little and followed Eris. When they reached the source of the sound, they saw Jurian surrounded by six dogs, barking actively at him. But the moment they sensed Eris and heard his whistle, their attention shifted, and the whole pack ran toward him.

The aggressive barking turned into a happy one as several dogs stood on their hind legs, jumping on him and wagging their tails. Azriel watched all this with fascination and pleasant surprise because seeing Eris like this was rare. Sure, he made him laugh sometimes, definitely made him smile, but this joy on his face was something special. Different and utterly unique.

One of the dogs did eventually notice Azriel, and he saw how Lucien tensed up, already taking a few steps toward him, clearly intending to intervene if the dog turned aggressive toward the stranger. However, the dog simply leaned its front paws on Azriel’s torso and gave a happy bark. Azriel stroked the furry head and smirked as he looked up at the shocked faces of everyone around. Even Eris seemed surprised.

"Unbelievable!" Jurian exclaimed indignantly. "I’ve been coming here for years, bringing them the best food, and they still hate me. But he shows up, and they’re practically kissing him—" At that moment, the dog licked Azriel’s face, causing him to grimace and laugh. "Yep, even kissing him! This is just absurd!"

Jurian continued ranting about the unfairness of the world, while Azriel petted the friendly, large dog. Soon, other furry friends joined him.

“I’m starting to feel a bit jealous,” Eris quietly remarked, so only Azriel could hear.

“Of whom exactly?” Azriel asked with a grin, looking up at Eris while the dogs happily swarmed him. “Me or them?”

“Take a guess,” Eris grumbled. “Astra, come here,” he called one of the dogs, and although she seemed reluctant to leave Azriel’s side, she eventually went to him. Eris petted her, scratching behind her ear, which made her tail wag even more energetically. “My most unfriendly hound,” he said. “Once bit Jurian so badly he had to go to the hospital for stitches. I’ve never seen her be this nice to a stranger.”

Azriel realized Astra was the first dog that had taken an interest in him. Eris’s words puzzled him a bit, but also filled him with a sense of pride and satisfaction.

“Good girl,” Eris praised Astra as she followed one of his commands. He whistled, and the other dogs also left Azriel alone, giving him some peace.

“Who takes care of them while you’re in the city?” Azriel asked as they walked toward the kennel, with the dogs obediently following Eris.

“I have people for that,” Eris shrugged. “They’ve been looking after my dogs since I was a kid, so I pay them to keep doing it now. I don’t get to come here often, so they live in the guest house on the property. Of course, we always let them know if we’re coming, and they usually leave for that time.”

“Isn’t it sad to leave them for so long?”

“It’s not like I’m crying without them,” Eris scoffed, though when he turned to look at his loyal companions, something soft flickered in his gaze. “But I used to be here more often. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll quit and move here for good.”

Azriel couldn’t help but imagine it. He and Eris in this country house—Azriel tinkering with his motorcycle in the garage for the thousandth time, while Eris wandered around the property grumbling about the dogs trampling the flowerbeds, only to later pretend he didn’t enjoy playing with them.

Damn. That was too far, too reckless to imagine their future like that. If they weren’t already outside, Azriel would’ve needed to step out for some fresh air.

“You okay?” Eris asked, apparently noticing the change in his expression. “I hope you’re not allergic to dogs to the point where you’ll die, because the hospital’s far, and I’d rather not have to bury a body in the backyard.”

“How sweet of you to think of me,” Azriel replied sarcastically. “How often do you bury bodies back there?”

“More often than I’d like,” Eris smirked, playing along.

Astra barked happily again, nuzzling her nose into Azriel’s palm.

“Someone’s being extra affectionate today,” Eris noted.

“You really are jealous,” Azriel teased. Eris only rolled his eyes and shook his head.

While they were playing with the dogs, the others moved the groceries from the car into the house. Elain and Vassa busied themselves in the kitchen, preparing salads and snacks, while Lucien and Jurian rummaged through the garage, looking for the grill and dragging it outside.

Azriel, in the meantime, tried to remember the names of the hounds and learn to tell them apart.

“I swear, these three are identical,” he muttered. While some of the dogs were distinguishable by unique spots on their fur or ear shapes, three hounds looked absolutely identical.

“You’ll learn to tell them apart by their behavior,” Eris calmly responded, petting one of the identical hounds.

“How did you choose their names?” Azriel asked out of curiosity, tossing a ball he found on the property for the dogs to chase. “Astra, Ember, Lyra, those make sense. But Stormbringer?”

“I was fourteen,” Eris shrugged. “He’s the oldest of them all—I named the others when I was a bit older. But back then, I wanted a dramatic, cool name. And look at this rascal,” a soft smile touched his lips as he scratched behind the ear of the coal-black hound. “He’s totally a Stormbringer.”

Azriel chuckled, reaching out to scratch Stormbringer’s ears as well. The dog leaned into his touch, eyes closing in contentment. “I guess he does look like a Stormbringer,” Azriel admitted, watching the hound’s calm demeanor.

Eris gave a soft laugh, almost nostalgic. “He was a bit of a terror when he was younger. Used to chew up anything he could find—furniture, shoes, you name it. But he’s mellowed out a lot. Still, the name stuck.”

“Was he your first dog?”

“No, there were others,” Eris replied quietly. “I’ve had dogs for as long as I can remember. Originally, they belonged to my mother, but once she noticed how much I loved them, we somehow convinced my father to keep them all. Growing up with them… it was hard to lose them.”

Azriel placed a hand on his shoulder, then moved it to his cheek. Eris leaned into the touch.

“Sorry, this was supposed to be a lighthearted conversation, no depressing stuff,” Eris muttered, closing his eyes as if mentally scolding himself for the somber turn.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Azriel said softly.

“At some point, the hounds were the only ones around,” Eris glanced at the dogs playing on the lawn, chasing the ball and trying to steal it from one another. “So it hit harder when they were gone.”

Azriel didn’t press further, and Eris didn’t continue, instead grabbing Azriel’s hand and kissing his knuckles.

Later, they helped Elain and Vassa carry the food outside, setting the table in one of the three gazebos scattered around the yard. Lucien and Jurian were still standing by the grill, now handling the meat and arguing about whether to add more coals or leave them as they were, in fear of burning everything.

Eris’s hounds ran around Jurian, barking at him, and Azriel suspected they just enjoyed scaring him. They seemed to do it with some kind of amusement, and Eris watched with the same amusement, making no move to call them off, allowing the dogs to torment Jurian to the brink of a nervous breakdown.

“They’re going to bite him,” Vassa shook her head. Elain watched the dogs curiously—Eris’s hounds never seemed to bother her either. But Eris had simply remarked that Elain was like a Disney princess, with a magical connection to animals, which is why they left her alone. Lucien had long complained that dogs hadn’t accepted even him right away but once they saw Elain, they all suddenly became so cuddly and soft.

“Only if he deserves it,” Eris replied, turning away from Jurian to glance at his phone. A few emails still awaited his response.

“You know they don’t need a reason,” Vassa continued.

“They need a reason. So, if Jurian wants to keep his limbs intact, he’ll just avoid teasing them like last time,” Eris grinned sarcastically. Azriel suppressed a laugh.

He watched the exchange with a faint smile on his face, noting how the dynamic between them all seemed so easy and natural. It was a rare sight to see Eris so relaxed, even playful, as he teased Vassa and kept a watchful eye on his dogs. The whole scene felt almost like a family gathering, where everyone had their roles to play, even if some involved scaring poor Jurian half to death.

"Eris, please," Vassa said with a playful reproach, though a hint of concern crept into her voice. Meanwhile Elain arranged vegetables on plates, occasionally glancing toward the guys as if to make sure the dogs weren’t bothering Lucien.

“It’s fine,” Eris said, not looking up from his phone, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s weird for him to be scared of dogs at his age. He’s a big boy; he’ll manage. Until there’s another fire, I’m not calling the dogs off.”

“Another fire?” Azriel asked with curiosity and amusement. Elain giggled in response.

“It’s almost a yearly tradition,” she explained. “Don’t tell them, but we keep track of how often it’s Lucien’s fault versus Jurian’s.”

“Don’t forget, you’re part of that competition too,” Vassa smirked, handing a plate of snacks to Azriel, who eagerly took it and, for some reason, served both himself and Eris, who wasn’t paying attention while typing something on his phone.

Azriel raised an eyebrow at Vassa’s words. Elain shrugged lightly. “There was that one time the oven malfunctioned, and the brownies caught fire. Hardly a real fire.”

The four of them turned again toward Jurian’s outraged shouts as he cursed Eris for not calming down his monsters. Eris pretended not to hear, while Vassa shook her head, Elain giggled quietly behind her hand, and Azriel and Lucien watched with open amusement as Jurian flailed his arms, trying to defend himself.

“They’re just playing,” Lucien said through laughter, but Jurian flipped him off, told him to fuck off, and continued to ward off the fluffy beasts.

The dogs eventually tired of their game with Jurian and settled down near the table, clearly content to be around their human companions. Azriel bent down and petted one of the hounds, who responded to the affection by nuzzling her nose into his hand, as if asking for more.

“Why don’t you scold Azriel for spoiling your dogs?” Vassa teased with a smirk.

Eris glanced from Azriel to the dogs, then to her, shrugging. Elain whispered something to Vassa about double standards as she knelt down to scratch one of the dogs behind the ear.

“I don’t understand why I trust my ass to you,” Jurian grumbled as he returned to the table, sitting next to Vassa while Lucien stayed by the grill. “You can’t even save me when I need it most.”

“Funny, I thought you knew I save asses for money,” Eris replied with a smirk.

As Jurian continued to curse at him and the hounds barked from their spots, clearly unhappy with the insults directed at their master, Azriel stood up and walked over to Lucien, intending to help him now that Jurian had left.

Not that keeping an eye on the meat was a monumental task, but it always felt right when more than one person was in charge of it. Lucien chuckled as he watched Jurian try not to hide behind Vassa whenever Eris’s dogs barked at him, and he looked at his girlfriend with a special tenderness as she shooed the dogs away from Jurian, even though she was laughing the whole time.

“Thanks for coming,” Lucien suddenly said, surprising Azriel as he turned to face him. “Eris hasn’t gone anywhere with us for a long time, and lately, he’s been more of a bastard-lawyer than himself.”

“Are you implying this cliché that I bring out the best in him?” Azriel asked with a teasing smile.

“Oh no, he’s still a bastard, even with you around,” Lucien laughed. “But… as cliché as it sounds, he’s happier now. Even if it’s not immediately obvious through all the sarcasm and snark. There’s a subtle difference you have to know to notice.”

“I’m glad,” Azriel said quietly, his smile softening as he glanced over at Eris. “Really glad.”

“I’d love to play the protective sibling and say something like ‘don’t hurt my brother,’ but I doubt I could ever top the speech Nesta gave me when she found out I was dating her middle sister,” Lucien shook his head, and Azriel chuckled.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of food, drinks, and stories about everything under the sun, especially since Azriel was the new face in the group, and Jurian and Lucien were particularly eager to tell him as much as possible in one night.

As morning approached, the group started to trickle back into the house, leaving Azriel and Eris as the last ones outside. Eris had fallen asleep, resting his head on Azriel’s shoulder, and Azriel remained because he was trapped—two hounds lay at his feet, snoring peacefully, while another lay on the bench beside him, with her head resting on his lap. And then there was Eris, who had dozed off against him.

The task of extracting himself without waking anyone turned into a bit of a challenge, taking Azriel longer than expected to figure out how to manage it. Eris eventually stirred, mumbling something incoherent. But it was impossible to take his drunken, sleepy grumbling seriously, so Azriel just smiled and helped him inside.

“Left door to the right,” Eris muttered.

“I don’t think that’s useful information,” Azriel remarked, realizing there couldn’t possibly be a left door on the right.

“Smartass.”

Laughing quietly, Azriel found an empty bedroom and decided to stay there as well. Not that he was keen on wandering around the dark house in search of another room. Plus, the prospect of staying with Eris was far more appealing. So, after undressing and settling under the blanket, Azriel comfortably wrapped his arms around Eris from behind, pressing his nose into the crook of his neck and inhaling the scent of alcohol, charcoal, and that now-familiar cologne.

tag list: @sizzlingstarlightsky @isnotwhatyourethinking @molcat07 @chairofchaos @lilah-asteria

[natjac]

My entire life I’ve been forgotten. Being the closeted gay kid with only girl friends I didn’t get to go to the sleep overs and wasn’t invited to the parties cuz I was the quiet kid in the back. I had interests no one cared about when I talked to them or they would call me obsessed.

Adult life got easier. I made good friends but was still always felt like the plus one. Spending nights in country bars and other places where my friends met guys and I was their support cheering them on and protecting them but always alone after.

Guys treated me like shit when I would talk to them. Disrespectful, ghosting and putting me down to make themselves feel better.

Then I met you, and you did none of that. You listened to me, even with things you knew nothing about like when you saw my best friends had Pokémon types assigned to them in my phone and you went through all the types to pick yours out even though you knew nothing about Pokémon cuz of your religious parents.

Remember the map I made of all the meaningful places we had been to as a valentines present and I used all those bitmojis cuz that show you met me (you said my bitmoji on Snapchat was cute). Remember the home theatre we made at your apartment? Or when it snowed on campus and how pretty it was. Remember when we got our rescue do Brie?

Fixing my moms place after the contractors stole from her. Going to Del Rio and meeting your family. Your dad and mom both inviting me into their house to celebrate Christmas with them. Taking a secret Vegas vacation my sister and best friend payed for just so they could meet you. Remember when I would drive to Houston in summer with no ac just to have lunch with you during your internship? Remember all the amazing “alone” times we had? The things I could do that no one else could.

And so many more wonderful memories and moments.

You showed me love, affection, attention, and made me feel attractive for once in my life. You did so much good for me. You became my best friend and my boyfriend. And yea you messed up. A lot.

You cheated and I forgave you each time. I’d ask why and you wouldn’t give me anything but “i don’t know.” But those were a drop in the bucket compared to the good times. The laughs, the love.

I helped you through your mental illness, took you into the hospital and talked to your family when they thought I was just your roommate. Four times I did that. Never held it over your head but only wanted to help you. I moved from everyone I knew to be with you in North Carolina, to support and love you when you got into Duke. You said you wouldn’t get in but I knew you would. I never doubted.

At my sisters wedding you told my best friend you wanted to marry me. 5.5 years on my life all of the unfaltering love, dedication and sacrifice. All of it would have been more than worth it for a life time with you. That’s all I ever wanted.

A month later you told me you had cheated and didn’t think you could stop. You said it was something you needed to work on, on your own. With out me or anyone else. So we planned to break up. Maybe get back together after you grew. But we agreed I shouldn’t be in that pain anymore.

Then you got into a new relationship in less than 2 months. With a mutual friend that I was wary of your friendship with. And you spin the same story again. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I don’t think the flirting and us texting till 4 am led to us getting together. You are just trying to make things fit in your narrative.” Even though you are supposed to be working on these issues on your own. That’s why we broke up right?

And after you guys got together and we were still trying to help me deal with the breakup the compassion and apologies changed to mean spirited comments and frustration. To the point of our friendship and all mutual friends with us had to be cut out. I lost all of them. Because you did wrong.

The worst part of this all though. You act like the last 5.5 years didn’t exist. You have no respect or compassion for what I did.

Because if you did I would get genuine apologies and answers for what you did. I wouldn’t have been forgotten about when you and your new boyfriend talked to our friends to make sure that they were ok with it and you hid it from me. You two apologized to them but not me. Neither of you are accepting or acknowledging that the flirting and shit led up to this. Or the lies you’ve told. Or possibly worse how you cared about others feelings but forgot about me.

And that’s my fault for believing that some measure of love you had for me would carry over. Or our friend and you to respect me and apologize for the months of flirting and pain you two caused me afterwards with the lies and backstabbing.

You will never understand what you did to me. To bring someone to such happiness and then utterly destroy them. To the point that I sit and wonder which parts of our relationship were real and which were fake.

I don’t know if I’ll ever stop caring and loving you. You became my best friend, and I lost both that and my boyfriend at once. And the loss of respect and care on your end… nothing I could have done would have prepared me for that.

Now I sit here every day, trying to move on. Trying to find a reason to keep going. With thoughts of ending my life bombarding me because if someone that I cared for and loved that much can so easily forget about me and erase me from his life like I was nothing. What am I doing here.

Anyway I’m going to therapy starting this week. I think it may help. I hope it does and I hope I find someone who will accept every good and bad part of me and will embrace them.

I don’t wish you ill will despite all of this. I want you to be happy and healthy.

But I know you will be haunted by us. Even if you act like you aren’t. Haunted by memories of what you threw away. For who you threw away. For the pain that you caused me.

And I hope I forget you. Because you have now tainted all the good times. I never thought that I would feel this way towards you. I know I never will forget you. But if there was an option to I would take it now.

Our relationship was to date my proudest accomplishment. But you are my greatest disappointment.

[obey-me-disaster]

Hi i was wonderinf if you could make a fic about ghe om charactess reactind to MC doing sh or sum causr im in teh moos to cry rna nd i cant dind ahy good angstfisc lmqo

/not forsce

A/N:Sorry for the long wait! I have decided to brake it into smaller fics for every character instead of one big fic. I will have to do separate posts for it most likely.

CW: self harm, self depricating thoughts, suicidal thoughts, starving as a self punishement/as a way to cause harm

Disclamier: This is inspired from personal experience, so I may not be able to capture the full depth of this topic or how it affects different people. I may rewrite parts of it in the future.

Lucifer x gn!MC

Mammon x gn!MC

Lucifer, Mammon x gn!MC that self harms

When the exchange program first begun MC's safety was regarded as something vital for Diavolo's plan. No one was expecting the way the human exchange student would become so beloved by so many people.

As time went on everyone was so captivated by MC that they failed to realize that they have put them on some sort of pedestal. Sure, the angel, sorcerer and the demons were observant of the way MC was acting but no one wanted to expect something bad was happening to them, especially when they were quick to reassure everyone that nothing was wrong with them.

There were times when the human would be withdrawn from everyone. Times where they looked like they have no energy left and were lost in their own world or times when they were quick to getting annoyed, wanting to be away from everyone. Excuses such as 'I am stressed because of exams' 'I have not been sleeping enough' 'Just one of those days' could only get them so far with beings older than their entire bloodline.

"I know there is something bothering them but every time I try to ask them, they always hit me with one of those lame excuses!" Huffing Mammon stops pacing around and sits on the couch.

"That's exactly why everyone gathered here today. MC is obviously hiding something from us and it has been going on for longer than it should." Placing down the tray full of snacks Simeon continued. "I would love to think we are just overthinking it and MC is fine, but it has become clear that's not the case."

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat Leviathan decided to join the conversation. "MC also stopped joining me for our gaming nights. They were always looking forward to our nights but now every time I ask them to join me, they just dismiss me.." the last part was barely above a whisper.

"Levi does make a point. MC's mood changes have become more frequent and their body language has also changed. It's like they're trying to hide their body from us." Satan tried to make heads of the whole situation. "We could rule out the attack from another demon. They don't smell of blood and their body doesn't seem to be affected by a wound."

While Satan was mumbling to himself, everyone was thinking of MC's behavior, anything that could give them a clue on what's wrong with them.

"If I stay and think about it, they are also refusing to eat as much as they used to, even when they are clearly hungry. I have left some snacks for them so they won't get hungry, but I don't know if MC ever ate them or not." Beel tried to recall all the times MC refused to eat, but just thinking about it made him lose all his appetite.

"Now that we're putting together all of these 'new' habits of MC makes it clear that there is something going on." Diavolo ran a hand through his hair as he sighed. "Solomon, you're the only other human in the whole exchange, maybe you have a better idea of what's happening to them..."

All eyes turned towards the sorcerer, waiting for a response that would help them understand the whole situation. "I actually may suspect something but none of you will like it.." Solomon waited to see if any of them would make a comment, but when that didn't happen he continued on with his explanation.

"As Satan said, their body language has changed and they are trying to cover their body more. The idea of an attack or a curse can be ruled since that would have been observed by now." Everyone nodded, everything he said up until that point was already established. "I am not gonna beat around the bush but I think they may be self harming in some kind of capacity. It's not to the point where it draws blood so we can rule out any kind of cutting. It still doesn't make the situation good but there is at least that..."

"Now what?! We can't let then continue, can we??" Mammon snapped at them out of frustration over the situation. "Going over to MC to confront them about the whole situation won't help them either." Lucifer said as a matter of fact. "For now we will act as if we don't know until we come up with a way to approach the subject."

Seeing as there was nothing else to add to the discussion everyone decided to end things there. Luke could distract MC out of the Purgatory Hall for so long after all.

Lucifer

After the group discussion he decided to watch over MC more closely. Lucifer would often invite them in his study room to talk about their day or if anything was bothering them and every time MC would try to retreat away from everyone, he would take them out on a walk or on dates.

This went on for a little under two weeks before he decided to finally have a talk with them. While MC seemed to be more relaxed than before it was clear that they were not going to open up with him any time soon, and he refused to sit by and let them hurt themself in any capacity.

"So, what did you want to talk about? I am not in trouble, am I?" MC was sitting next to him on the couch. Lucifer has called them a bit earlier into his room with the excuse of 'talking about some recent problems'.

"You are not in trouble, no." Taking a sip from his cup of demonus. "I am not about to waltz around the subject now that you're here." Setting the glass down he took one of their hands in his own and started to gently rub his thumb over their knuckles. "There is something bothering you and I don't want to hear any of your old excuses. Please, tell me the truth so I can help you." From the look the avatar of pride gave them, they knew there was no backing out of this discussion.

He could feel MC's whole body tense up at his question. They stared at him for a while, opening and closing their mouth every time they would try to come up with some sort of excuse only give up. Lucifer waited for them patiently to find their words. If anyone knows how hard it can be to let yourself be vulnerable is him, so he was not gonna rush them. He already approached the subject in a not so gentle manner, to demand more, at least for now would only push MC away.

Finally giving up on coming up with excuses or trying to find a way to make the situation seem less bad than it is, MC leaned their head against Lucifer's shoulder. "Was it that obvious? The way I've been acting.."

"Yes, it was quite obvious, everyone is worried about you" He didn't need to look at MC to know that they winced at the knowledge that everyone knew. "They won't swarm you with questions, I will make sure of that."

"Thank you, Lucifer, I really don't want to deal with all of that, not yet at least.." Despite being more relaxed they still squirmed in their place every so often.

"No need to thank me, we're here for you after all" Kissing the top of their head, both of them settled into a comfortable silence, mainly to give MC time to gather their thoughts.

"I...I guess for starters you want to know for how long I've been feeling like this." Lucifer merely gave them a nod. "Well...I guess not for long. At least since me coming to Devildom. You see, before coming here I didn't have the best self esteem and wasn't that satisfied with my life. When I got chosen for the exchange program, I didn't mind it that much, I saw it as an opportunity to turn over a new leaf."

MC leaned over, their head leaving Lucifer's shoulder, in an attempt to put some distance between themself and Lucifer "And it worked for a while, I met people that care about me a lot, I got better as a person and I was kept busy by the ongoing shit that happens around." Remembering all of the shenanigans they went through brought a smile to MC. "But it's not like my problems disappear. Sure I made progress, but worries that I had in the past came back, past problems transformed into new ones and little by little I got into bad past habits."

Letting out a shaky sigh they continued. "Little by little I got into self destructive habits, such as refusing to do things I would, hiding myself from other to even starving and doing things that would cause me some kind of pain."

Lucifer could only curse himself for not noticing how his lover felt sooner. He put his arms around MC and pull them close to him, making sure to rest their head on his chest as he lowered himself to lay on the couch. While they still couldn't look at him directly they at least didn't push him away. "How about you stay the night in my room? You can talk about what's bothering you in peace, no one will dare to just walk in my room."

Wrapping their hands around his waist, MC made themself comfortable on top of him. "I'm warning you, it might take a while before I fully open up." Chuckling at their words he tighten his hold on them. "Take your time, we have more than enough."

Mammon

Mammon has always been the one to look over others without being really noticed. When they fell from the Celestial Realm he was the one that looked over his brothers and reminded Lucifer that everyone followed him for a reason. He was the one that decided to look over a girl from the human world and help her financially until she is old enough to do it on her own. He was the one assigned to look over MC, to make sure they are safe and well and yet here he was. Pacing around his room, trying to think of a solution on how to approach them.

He couldn't help but be reminded of the whole attic incident, more exactly how MC hid their true reason on why they were making pacts with his brothers. He didn't know what hurt more, the fact that they couldn't trust him or the fact that MC is suffering and he can't do anything about it.

Frustrated he decided to go see them, he didn't exactly have a plan but he was damned if he wouldn't try something. Even if nothing could be done today he will make sure to at least make their day better.

Barging into their room Mammon tried to call out to them but stopped when he heard MC weakly groaning from beneath their bed sheets "Can you tone it down a bit? I've got a nasty headache."

Frowning, the demon made his way next to their bed. Even when he took a sit next to them, MC made no effort in turning around to face him. "What's gotten into you? Ya look all sick and frail" Mammon tried to put his hand on their forehead in order to check their temperature but they shied away from his touch.

Looking at the state of his human, any and all plans of taking them out to town fell apart. "MC, talk to me, what's wrong? And don't give me the 'I'm just sick' excuse, it won't work." Looking at MC, he tried to see if they would react in any way but they only shifted uncomfortably.

"It's nothing serious, I am just tired from catching up with all the homework from RAD, so I need a little bit of rest." MC tried to explain themself but it didn't fool Mammon one bit.

The last of his patience about asking MC about the truth finally disappeared after hearing their overused excused. Lying in bed next to them he put his arms around their waist. When MC made no move to try and get out of his hold, he pulled them closer to him. While they still faced away from him at least it didn't feel like there was such a great distance between the two of them.

"We both know that's a bullshit excuse.." Mammon's voice, while sounding unimpressed, it held no malice. Still, it didn't stop MC from tensing up in his arms.

"Come on, it's me Mammon, you're first man, you can tell me everything don't you? What's bothering you?" He mumbled while burying his face into their shoulder.

Guilt was starting to eat MC up after hearing Mammon's words. They could feel tears trying to come out so they opted to turn around and burry their face into Mammon's chest.

" You're right, I am sorry..." they said trying to hide the fact that they were on the verge of crying.

Relieved at seeing MC starting to open up he continued to press on the issue at hand. "It's ok, you've got me here, why don't ya start from telling me how you're feeling right now?"

The human took a few moments to come up with a way to explain their situation at the moment. "You see, I wasn't lying when I said I have a headache. It's just that, it's a result from me skipping meals for a while or so. In fact, my body feels so weak that I can barely move..." They internally winced at their explanation but they didn't have much time to dwell on it when Mammon sat up looking alarmed.

"What do you mean by that?! Why's that? Don't tell me you're trying one of Asmo's crazy diets?" Looking down on them, he tried to see if there is anything else he should take notice off, besides their nasty glare.

"Nothing of that sorts, don't worry." Turning on their back they stared up at the ceiling, looking right past Mammon. Being relieved at their words he decided to make himself comfortable in bed next to them.

"You see, it's an old habit of mine to skip meals. But when I get stressed or start to feel overwhelmed I start taking that habit to an extreme." Hearing them talk, Mammon is able to take note of how weak their voice sounded

"I lose all motivation to eat, and when I start feeling nauseous and the pain in my stomach starts to get worse, it pushes me to do it more and more until I am left lying helplessly in bed. The more pathetic I feel, the more reasons I have to skip meals and make this feeling of helplessness last longer." Sighing, some silent tears rolled down from the corner of their eyes.

Kicking himself mentally, Mammon decided to take a mental note to watch their eating habits more carefully in the future. "But what set you off? Was it the workload from RAD?" He asked them hoping to get a better understanding of what was bothering them.

"I honestly don't know...it's a mix of that and some other stuff, but I don't want to think about it now." MC's voice held some resentment as they explained. That was the cue for Mammon that he won't get any more information out of his human for that night.

Still, he couldn't leave them in that sorry state, not as long as he was there to take care of them. "I am going to make you one of my famous instant noodles just for you, so ya better be thankful!"

Just as he was about to leave the room he turned one last time towards them. "Afterwards be prepared to go on a ride with me, I will take you to some places in here Devildom you've never seen before."

MC merely gave him a nod but that was more than enough confirmation for him as he went to prepare everything he needed.

A/N: So, this is getting way too long so I will stop it here for now. I will come back to update it in the future for the rest of the characters, but I don't want it to sit in my drafts any longer.

[sheinsidemymindvro]

could you explain this entire situation because im only catching bits and pieces of it

im rlly confused :/

hey, so elusin is a woman aged 26. she makes music. at the start of september last year i followed her on ig. i didn't know it yet but she is psychic and by looking at a photo of me she used her ability to connect with my brain and she can see my vision, hear my thoughts and because psychics are in ones consciousness they can also manipulate electrical currents that we use to move around (how we function) they can send pulses to your body's muscles like an electrical massage machine and make the muscles tense. they use this to annoy me and to do things like give me headaches, and constipate me. elusin is a person that acts like she is nice but is a horrible ugly person and im not the first to be the victim of her and her sister and friends psychic attacks. my blog is made to bring awareness to my experience and to out her for what she is. ive decided that i will tell people around me about what ive learnt about psychic abilities. let me know if you wanna know more about other things ive learnt, when i followed her at the time i was a listener of her music and just started to learn how to make music. it has been a year since. for the first six months she kept silent on abusing me through non verbal abilities such as stopping me from sleeping, mimicking my voice to manipulate me into thinking her whispers were my thoughts. making my body tense to try and trick my brain into thinking its anxious. after six months of that she and her companion psychics went into full psychic attack, and i get all the abuse plus i have constant verbal attacks as long as I'm awake. elusin is obsessed with trying to destroy my mental health and has changed her sleep schedule to my own. she is in norway and i am in new zealand. she is a neet who receives money from her parents and lives in one of their spare houses. that is how she is able to do this to me regarding time. my music is what has kept her around for so long. she wants to copy it, but i have made it very difficult for her by raising awareness of what she is doing to me on the internet to leave records, aswell as posting demo versions of songs. I'm only a beginner and she has been making music for ten years. it sucks that my creative journey is starting like this but i have decided to stop making music until she leaves me alone so that she has nothing to gain by remaining in my mind. i have stopped completely for the last two or three months and am just waiting this out. she constantly taunts me with immature mockery and the easiest way to describe her is that she is 26 and is extremely stupid. what has stopped me from having my mental health damaged from this is realising she is an idiot. she revealed to me her identity because she thought i wouldn't talk about it. i deal with a 12 year old in a 26 year olds body is the shortest i could put it. I'm doing ok now, i've learnt to ignore her and the worst she does to me is keep me up night so that I'm tired at work. I'm staying strong and positive and focusing on other areas of my life right now. thank you for asking me about it, i'm here to share my story and what i've learnt about human psychic abilities. it sucks that she decided to use her ability to try and break people and make their lives worse. i know there must be a lot of psychics out there, and they aren't going to be like her. the things i describe are very real and if a psychic would read them they might be interested and check it out. once they connect to your consciousness, they feel your being as if they are you, and when that happens they know your thoughts as you think. which isn't so bad. when that happens they have access to also your memories and can look through them, its like how you are able to think about your own memories and know them. this means other psychics will become aware of what she is and what she has done. I feel like if there are any other idiot psychics going on psychic attack sprees for years, people are going to become aware that psychics exist, i hope to make a place where other people that have gone through similar experiences can talk.

[ficbrish]

Kinktober Update!

Just a few things 🥰

I've updated my fic's work title on AO3!

When I first posted, I hadn't fully committed yet to doing all of the one shots with Vistri and Astarion. But now I am!

It went from

"EverythingIsAlreadyKinky - Kinktober 2023 with FicBrish"

to

"EverythingIsAlreadyKinky - Kinktober 2023: Oops! All Vistarion"

(very small, self-satisfying change there lol)

Also! Two new one shots have been added!

Both featuring Tav, or non-Dark Urge/Nurge, Vistri.

"Stay A While" [AO3] [Tumblr]

"The Truth of It" [AO3] [Tumblr]

Snippets below! (18+ only; Explicit)

"Stay A While"

(Act I - Forest - early into first sleeping together)

“Will you watch?” “As I hold you tight,” he offered. It was overwhelming. Astarion didn’t want a performance, not the kind she was used to, but something candid, completely her. He wasn’t asking her to curate his pleasure, he demanded she create her own. She never showed anything like it to anyone before. Accustomed to one type of role, she stepped into something unfamiliar. And not even a role, but the actor in their bed alone at night. Vistri’s hand travelled between her legs. She felt Astarion spread them further apart, holding her steady with a grip on each thigh. She was close to him again, held and admired; the only thing he wanted in the moment. Her fingers traced his lustful expression onto her soul, encircling herself in his web with every stroke. Determined to trade her life for a little death, she exposed her aching need to be coated in his poisons. She closed her eyes. “Open them, darling. I want you to watch me, as I watch you.” Her breath skipped with her choking heart as she met his gaze. Astarion looked as raw and exposed as she felt. His eager fangs rested on pouting lips. She leaned forward to lick them. “No, no, dear. You’ve got to earn that,” he cooed, “With your ecstasy.” She moaned stupidly, “Okay.” Vistri was everything his hand had been slapped away from these past 200 years. She ran through his thoughts entirely on her own. His body forced him to comply instead of the other way around. Sure, he was using her at the end of everything. She was by no means the first to surrender, but there was something sweeter about hers, and not just because she was his to savor. This time he was actually having fun. “Does it feel good, dear?” he grinned. She tossed her neck and sighed. Her eyes closed for just a moment before snapping open again to obey him, “Yes.” Astarion kissed her neck, and she moaned, leaning into it. He whispered into her ear, “You think you’re in control, but I’ve got you tangled up.” “You do,” she panted, “You do. All yours.” “My, but you put on a show,” his warm tongue wrapped around her lobe. His breath gently broke over her skin. It was like watching her layers peel back in a way he hadn’t seen before. Reading her eyes, Astarion watched them become saturated with the whole of her. The void in them brightened from her dim presence, and the light grew with her gratification. Shy at first, she stepped and then stomped into herself. Until there it was in those violet depths, the core of her on a silver platter, ready for him to devour.  Vistri let his name slip lazily from her lips.

"The Truth of It"

(Act I - Mountains camp - Vistri's first time being vulnerable and opening up about herself to Astarion)

The way she shivered was her answer. Astarion grinned and stroked her throat with the tip of his nose. From the base of it to her chin, and sealed his gesture with another longing kiss. She was his. Even if it meant degrading herself. Being his little slut, bent over and drooling. He moaned on the next stroke of her tongue, overcome by the whim to fuck her senseless. His mind reeled with possibility. Just how far would she go for him, out in the open air, with the others just off into the distance? How could he give her a taste of a life that was worth living? “Get yourself off for me, dear.” “Here?” Vistri asked, grinning. Her heart pounded faster than it already was. They weren’t exactly discreet, but only ever touched each other tucked away in the woods or his tent. Here, out on the cliff where anyone might see… It was like he was claiming her. Like maybe some small part of his mind, or some feeling deep down, knew how important she was going to be to him once he realized his truth. That if he asked her to cum in the open air under the evening glow, she was worth something. “The sun is disappearing, and I’ll cover you.” Her grin grew wider, even reaching her eyes. She tried to tug one of her arms free from his grip. “Ah, ah! No hands." She looked at him curiously. Maybe he’d changed his mind about her. Maybe he had a delightfully naughty idea. Maybe this was the start of his attempt to toss her off the cliff. He unwrapped one of her legs from around his, and slid his thigh between hers, “Use me.” “Okay.” Showing her how to proceed, Astarion rubbed himself against her middle. She bit her lip and began to roll her hips. Her obedience was like a drug, and they passed it with their tongues where it melted into them and infected their minds worse than those tadpoles ever could. “Good,” he praised, just above a whisper. He fondled her neck, and the hand he let go of shot to his curls. His fangs throbbed, so ready to take her that he gasped as if biting into something hot whenever they touched her skin. She made a sound he had to shush, it was too personal and way too explicit. “I can block you from view, but I cannot stop your sound.” She nodded, sighing and rocking against his thigh. “All the pieces come together,” he said as she pleasured herself on him, “You’ve always given yourself to me so willingly. Let me bite you. Now I know why.” Vistri tossed her head back, craning her neck, and sighed, “There are worse things than dying in the arms of someone pretty.” “And if I had killed you that night?” “I hope you would have drunk me up.” A full, wanting, warm acceptance of himself—Not just his charm, but the monster, the ugliness in him. She wanted all of it, treasured all of him. He’d never been good enough for anyone before, just a disappointment under an illusion. But she made him feel like a god. He groaned, composure slipping, “Ohfuckme…” “Okay.”

[starryevermore]

hide and seek ✧ steven grant & marc spector

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

request: I had a writing idea for steven/Marc. I more or less live in a fanfic fantasy most of the time and I been wondering. What if the reader had been dating steven, knows about his alters but haven't met them, and one night. You're sleeping at his place and you just see moonknight himself walk in the door before changing back to Marc. And not only is that the first meeting marc but the reader is terrified bc scary masked man is actually boyfriend? And I am at a loss of what would happen in the hours and days after seeing that. I found you on wattpad and love your work - valatheapprentice 

pairing: steven grant x fem!reader x marc spector

summary: you have yet to meet steven’s other half, but when you see him on accident after coming home from a mission, you realize you can’t keep this game up anymore. 

word count: 1,110

warnings?: pet name (love), not proofread

It wasn’t often that you stayed over at Steven’s flat. While Steven had learned that his sleeping disorder was actually DID and the reason he’d wake up with days completely missing was because Marc had been fronting, he was still nervous about you being there. Marc knew of you, and he knew you were dating Steven. But you had never met him. Steven worried about what might happen if you and him went to sleep together and you woke up in Marc’s arms. Would you freak out? Would he? Would it be a complete recipe for disaster? Whatever it would end up being, you and Steven decided to keep you staying over to a minimum until you and Marc were introduced and at least comfortable enough for the morning awkwardness. 

This weekend, however, had been an exception. Marc had apparently promised Steven that he wouldn’t front for the entire weekend, letting Steven have some much needed time with you. And it had been completely lovely. You and Steven went to a new restaurant that had opened up nearby. You watched cheesy romance movies. You snuggled up on the couch as Steven read. You had the most amazing sex before falling asleep in his arms. 

But now…Now it was weird.

It was one in the morning when you woke up to a half-empty bed. Steven was nowhere to be found. Shit. As you looked around, trying to find any sign of where he might of been, you realized the two of you fucked up by not making Khonshu promise to leave the two of you alone. Fuck that stupid pigeon. 

You let out a sigh, stumbling to the kitchen. Well, you weren’t going to go back to sleep so easily. You were to pissed at the pigeon to go back to sleep. Might as well make yourself a snack or something, maybe tune into some cheesy show. So, you made yourself a sandwich, sank into the couch cushions, and turned on Gilmore Girls.

Halfway into Paris’s meltdown from not getting into Harvard, the door creaked open. You were immediately on your feet, ready to take Steven into your arms, kiss him better from the stupid shit Khonshu put him through. But the man in front of you…That was not Steven. Steven wore the white suit, not the armor that looked like it had been wrapped in mummy bandages. 

“Shit.”

The mask melted away, revealing the face you were oh so familiar with but just a slight bit different. Marc’s face was tenser, like he was holding everything back. It was so strange to see the man you loved look so different, act so different. 

“Marc?”

“Love?” The armor melted away, and Marc went with it. Steven stumbled forward, taking you in his arms. “I’m so sorry. Khonshu needed us, and Marc was better for the mission, and I didn’t think you would wake up before we got back and I’m so sorry—”

“Shh, it’s okay. Let’s just go back to bed, okay?”

You didn’t see Marc again for a week. You didn’t hear from him, either. It was strange. Even though you’d never formally met the guy, Steven usually kept you updated on how Marc was doing. Now, it was like it was before, when neither you nor Steven had any idea Marc ever existed. 

When you tried to breach the topic with Steven, he would stammer and stumble over his words until he redirected the conversation to how big of a bitch Donna is or how he found this new book he was dying to read or literally any other topic of conversation that didn’t involve Marc. 

At this point, it was pissing you off. Why were they acting like this? Why was Marc avoiding you? Before, you understood. You had never really met him, and he wanted to give you time with Steven. But now, now you had seen him, spoke to him. How could he keep hiding? You didn’t have to see the guy everyday. You just wanted to have a conversation with him, clear the air and all that. And why was Steven aiding Marc in his hiding? Steven had always been gung ho about the two of you eventually meeting. Now that you kind of sort of had met, he was helping Marc run away? What the fuck was up with that? 

You decided the only course of action was to surprise them, to catch them off guard. So, you went to Steven’s flat when you figured that Marc might be fronting. And, oh, you were right. 

“Uhh—” Marc stammered when he opened the door to see you. 

“Don’t go,” you said. “I just wanna talk about what happened the other night.”

Marc swallowed hard but nodded, letting you into the flat. You went to sit on the couch, Marc taking a seat on the other end. “What do you wanna talk about?”

“I just wanted to finally talk to you. I mean, you’re part of Steven. I fully want to spend the rest of my life with Steven. But I don’t know how this is gonna work if we never meet. I don’t expect us to be more than just acquaintances. We don’t have to be friends or anything like that. I just want us to be able to get along well enough for Steven’s sake, you know? Because that man adores you, and I know it hurts him for us to keep avoiding this.”

Marc sucked in a breath. “I don’t wanna keep hurting Steven, either. I just…I didn’t know how to talk to you.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Steven, he loves you so much. He thinks you hung all the stars in the sky. And I…I was terrified that I was going to screw things up for Steven if I ever, you know, tried to talk to you. I couldn’t do that to him. Not when he loves you so much.” Marc looked away. “All I’ve wanted for him is the best, and I know you’re the best woman he ever could be with. If I was the one who ruined that for him, I’d never forgive myself.”

You scooted closer, reaching out and grabbing his hand, giving it a squeeze. “You couldn’t scare me away even if you tried.” 

“Not even showing up in the middle of the night in Khonshu’s ceremonial armor?”

“Not even then.” You gave his hand another squeeze. “Now, how about we order some pizza, put something on the TV, and just try to get to know each other, okay? No running, no hiding.”

Marc smiled ever so slightly. “That’d be great.”

[meetmyothersouls]

In desperate need of Phantom! Timothee X Reader, been thinking of it all day tbh.

This one has me so excited! Been thinking about it for a while and I think I came up with a good premise. May or may not need a part 2, since what I’ve planned would make an entirely too long single fic. Let me know if you’d like a part 2 and I’ll add it to my list :) 

Phantom of the Theater  

Warnings: feelings of being watched/stalked, not proofread, Phantom!Timothee, set a years into the future

You moved to New York City to pursue your acting career in 2029. The same year Timothee Chalamet dropped off the face of the earth. It’s a year that sticks out to you; not because you moved your entire life across the United States or because you auditioned for countless Broadway shows, sent in hundreds of video audition tapes to casting and talent agencies, but because it seemed like no matter where you turned, the first 6 months of 2029 was focused solely on one question: where did Timothee Chalamet go?

Things calmed down in the summer. People stopped talking about Timothee Chalamet’s disappearance and started talking about Kim Kardashian announcing her candidacy for US president. That July you got approved for a shitty apartment located on the top story of an old, but operating theater. It was overpriced, it was cold (even in the summer), and it didn’t have a bathroom. But you weren’t on the street, and you were no longer hopping around bed bug infested hotels, so you took it. You had a small savings thanks to your bartending job and a few Off Broadway shows you managed to score parts in since you arrived in New York. 

Things were normal at first. Every morning you woke up and searched for new roles, begged Pablo, the casting advisor for the theater’s show to give you a script of that week’s shows so you could audition--to no avail-- and every night you went to sleep to the sound of whatever play they were performing that evening. And even though it was loud, and the orchestra’s music under the stage vibrated all the way up into your apartment, it was what you always dreamed of. 

“If I could just get an audition,” you said out loud before drifting off one night.

It wasn’t long after that when the script arrived at your doorstep. 

A knock at your door happened early in the morning. Well after everyone left from the previous night’s show but well before anyone was arriving for work the next day. Normally, you’d sleep through something as miniscule as a knock at your door, but this one woke you up. Not too light that it could have been mistaken for the apartment settling. Not too hard to scare the shit out of you. You heard it. The clock read 4:35 AM. The theater didn’t open for employees until 9am, and not to the public until 11am. Armed with this knowledge, you weren’t scared. Bravely, you stepped out of your bed, and padded your way to the door. You unlatched the chain, unlocked the bolt and turned the knob. A sound on the other side caused you to stop. Footsteps? Hurried ones, running softly away from your door. You took a deep breath, grabbed the umbrella you kept beside your door for protection, and swung it open. Your eyes took in nothing but darkness. For good measure, you swung your umbrella into the vacant space in front of you and when you were satisfied with the lack of bodies your umbrella hit, you chalked it up to the fact that you lived in an old theater that would likely make noises from time to time. You let out a sigh of relief, went to shut the door, but stopped when your eye caught the sight of a stack of white paper bound together, almost glowing in the darkness. Against your better judgement, you picked it up, took one last look outside your apartment and slammed your door making sure to secure the chain and lock the bolt. 

You decided you weren’t going to look at the strange stack of papers. You needed to get some sleep; you had a few hours before you had to be up for another series of audition tapes. You turned over in your bed, the papers on your nightstand staring at you, calling out to you. You slammed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to sleep and when it was evident sleep wasn’t coming to you for the rest of the night, you grabbed the papers eagerly. 

You opened the cover page and read it out loud. 

“Patron of Sorrow.”

You flipped the pages, feeling the paper glide across your thumb and realized it was a script. Then, as you kept going, multiple scripts. Seven in total with varying cheesy titles: Rise of Anguish, Unity of Darkness, Angels of Pain, Girls of Dawn, Chasing the Castle, and your favorite: Bakers Without Fear. You took a minute to skim through each script, laughing at how bad they actually were. Then it dawned on you. These were the scripts for next week’s plays you’d been asking Pablo for. These are the plays he writes weekly that the theater shows to people who want a little less Broadway and a little more well...Off Broadway. At the time, it didn’t matter. At the time, it meant you finally had access to the scripts you’d been begging for every morning. And it meant you could memorize them. Audition for them whether Pablo liked it or not. You were going to get a spot in one of his shitty plays.

You sent in your audition tapes, like usual, only this time you knew they sounded rushed and you knew you looked tired. You messed up four times on the dialogue for a film called Without Reason, saying the dialogue for Girls of Dawn instead. You gave up on that one, sent the rest and went back to Girls of Dawn, the first show of next week.

You read Girls of Dawn all day. You ran lines with yourself into the afternoon, and by the evening, you memorized every single line of the character that was, at this point, destined to be yours: Tinsley, a grungy 20 something obsessed with finding the vampire that killed her boyfriend, only to find out the vampire is her boyfriend. You flew down the steps leading into the theater. It was 10:45pm, the show for the night was wrapping up and Pablo was seated backstage, on his laptop, feverishly typing what you assumed was another script. 

“Pablo!” you yelled breathlessly. 

Pablo jumped, his laptop jostled against his knees, sliding off of them. He barely caught and gave you a death glare. 

You winced at his stare. 

“Sorry! Sorry! I just-”

“Damn it, y/n! You made me erase two paragraphs! Thank God for Ctrl+Z.” 

“I’m not sure what that means,” you admitted, “but I want to audition for Girls of Dawn!” 

Pablo slid his glasses down and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Y/n, I told you, I’m not accepting new actors.”

“But why!?” you whined. “Why? I’m good! I swear it won’t be a wa-”

“How could you even audition? You don’t have the script,” Pablo interrupted. 

You stood straighter, and a wave a nausea overtook you. Would he think you stole them if you told him? 

“I uh...I somehow...acquired them...?” You said, your voice going an octave higher at the end, sounding like a question. 

Pablo’s expression was unreadable. “So, you stole them,” he finally said. 

“What? No! No, I didn’t steal them. Whywouldyouthinkthat?” you said way too quickly, making yourself sound unnecessarily guilty.

He stared at you for too long. Waiting for a confession. When you didn’t give one, he slide his glasses back up his nose and went back to typing. 

“I’m not seeing your audition.” 

Your breathing was too fast and too heavy, and your heart was pounding fast out of anger. Somehow those scripts ended up on your doorstep and damn it he was going to see you audition! You began with your favorite scene. 

“I know you killed my boyfriend. I know it was you!” You said dramatically, though the shake of your voice and the tears welling in your eyes weren’t an act. 

Pablo sighed, closing his eyes in exhausted annoyance. His eyes slid back up to you. You waited. Normally, in an audition, someone else said the other characters lines. It was clear Pablo didn’t plan on doing this. So, you did. 

You brought your voice down low, to imitate a man’s and said, “I did it to protect you!” 

You brought your voice back to normal, “protect me from what?!” 

Down again. “From me!” 

“Why would I need-”

“-Enough!” Pablo yelled, interrupting you and causing your shoulders to jerk upright. “I told you I’m not holding auditions, y/n. You need to leave. Now. Or I’ll have no choice but to evict you.” 

You didn’t answer or give him a chance to say anything else. You ran back up the stairs, slamming your apartment door when you arrived. You threw the scripts onto the floor, not caring if a few of the pages ripped away from its seams. You fell onto your bed face down, crying into your pillow. You screamed into a few times, letting the stuffing and feathers take all of your anger. When you finally had enough, you turned your head to the side, and sat up straight. Someone had been in your apartment. On your nightstand, sat a black a rose with a black ribbon tied into a bow around the stem. Under it laid a note. Hesitantly, you took them both. The thorns had been clipped from the rose, like someone cared enough to make sure you wouldn’t get hurt when you touched it. You took the note out of the envelope, written on a small piece of cardstock you read the words written in beautiful scrawling handwriting: 

“He will curse the day he denied you.” 

Chills peppered your body. Someone watched your encounter with Pablo, saw him yell at you, wrote you a note with a rose, left it on your nightstand and somehow left before you came back? 

You leaned back against your headboard, flipping the note over in your hands, and saw a stamp. It was small and the ink was black and elegant. The stamp was of two letters: TC. 

Outside of your door, a soft thud sounded, followed by the same footsteps from this morning. You waited a minute before answering, but when you did you gasped. An entire bouquet of red roses with black ribbons tied around the stem, wrapped in black cellophane laid at your feet. 

Someone was watching you, that you were sure of. 

Tags: @imnotoverlyobsessive @dayafied @soulofendlessbook @fashphotolife @chicchanelcigs @scentedkittenperfection @weasleytwinscumslut @timotheel0ver @mxciscastleintheair @marvelmaniac2000 @lovelyrocker @divine-1 @louievr @love-poems-only @starberry-cake @inlovewithphantasy @alexagirlie @misswestfall @softhecreator @livresjaunes @timmymyluv @inannamoon @harrys-thick-thighs @s-we-e-t-t-ea @timolaurence @its-schmackin-dude @justagirlwhoneedshelp

[henryyarden]

Tis the Season

Pairing: Iorveth/Vernon Roche

Rating: T

Sumarry:

Vernon Roche and some of his soldiers are celebrating New Year in the town. It's just his luck that he runs into his enemy there as well.

AO3 link

This is the last part of the series (yes, this is a series!) because they actually meet in it! For this to really make sense with all the comments from Vernon's side, you should read the first two in the series (Who do you see from your deathbed? and Sleepless Night) but who I am to tell you what to do? You can freely read just this.

(And pretend like it's not 6th of January and that this was posted on New Year, okay?)

---

Vernon was on his leave. In fact, many of them were. During winter, things aren't usually as strict overall. Snowdrifts and frost complicate the unit's functioning, and even the Squirrels aren't as active when their asses are freezing. Soldiers can afford to linger in larger cities, take more time off, and save energy until the cold eases a bit.

But that day was even more significant - it was the holidays. People were more generous and friendlier; in every flea-infested inn, at least a warm soup was served, and street performers were doing everything from theatre and music to bizarre arts that can truly boggle the mind.

Some of the Blue Stripes took the opportunity to return to their families, while others, like Vernon, used the break to feel human again for a few days. They ate well, bathed, discarded their armour, and ventured into the city's whirlwind for some revelry.

The more drunk and boisterous they became, the easier it was for them to overlook Vernon’s gloomy mood; in the end, they pulled him along more out of habit than expecting him to celebrate with them. But he didn't mind. He was content alone, or rather, he preferred being alone than trying to keep up with younger, less weathered soldiers not as marked by the war. No need to lie to himself, he wasn’t getting younger.

By evening, they finally stopped; at a quite crowded inn, where – for everyone’s pleasure – the owners brewed a very good beer special just for the holidays. The smell of roasted meat and spiced ale wafted through the air, calling them in. The tables inside were packed, but at least they sat outside, going inside only for more alcohol when needed.

Vernon was just heading to the bar for another beer when he almost collided with someone else at the door. He stepped aside to let the stranger pass, but as soon as he focused on the person's face, he froze.

He almost didn't recognize him without his iconic scarf. He guessed it was probably intentional. The hood worn like a chaperone conveniently covered the tips of his ears, and most of his scar was hidden in the shadows. No one would recognize him as the person from the wanted posters.

They happened to be so close that he could see how the expression on his face changed - from plain unconcern to surprise to the usual contempt just in one breath. His hand immediately went to the knife's hilt, and Vernon realized that at any moment, their long-standing fight could end.

He would lose. His hand was still not entirely steady, he couldn't remember when he last had a proper sleep, and the beer had already gone to his head.

He had to act. In a split second, Iorveth would drive the knife under his ribs and would be gone before anyone could notice what had happened.

Vernon's mind raced, searching for a way to escape, to reverse this dangerous situation. He moved almost as quickly as Iorveth, just with a slight hesitation that gave his opponent an advantage. Fortunately, Vernon's gesture had one thing at its side. Shock. 

He raised his hands with open palms to show he was unarmed. Except for the beer mug - if you can count that as a weapon.

Iorveth hesitated, still holding the knife's hilt, but as long as the knife wasn't stuck in Vernon's body, he considered it a success.

"Can we not?" Vernon asked.

"What?" Iorveth ground between his teeth, and Vernon sighed. He really didn't have the mood for this right now.

"I'm tired, Ior-" he almost said his name out loud in the middle of the tavern. He glanced at the nearest drunks, but they didn't seem to pay attention. "I'm tired. Can we not fight at least tonight?"

Iorveth looked suspicious, but that was okay. He didn't want his trust; he just wanted to quietly drink his beer without having to rush right back to the hospital.

Iorveth moved his head as if struggling with the urge to look back, and Vernon glanced behind him, into the tavern’s second room. Iorveth was definitely not alone. Damn, another reason why he would lose their duel. Vernon's small group was sitting and drinking outside. He could only rely on the innkeeper’s bodyguard to intervene, but by the time he would get here...

Iorveth slowly released the knife's hilt. "Fine. No fighting today," he said, like it left a strange taste on his tongue.

Vernon nodded and offered: "You haven't seen me, I haven't seen you?"

"Deal."

Both took a cautious step aside, still half-turned toward each other - in case either of them planned some trick - and returned to their own groups.

As Vernon retreated to his Blue Stripes, he cast a sidelong glance over his shoulder. Of course, Iorveth would probably disappear immediately, whatever was his reason for even being here. For Vernon, it would be way too easy to wait for the elves along with the city guards, so it could be assumed that Iorveth would retreat. Therefore, even if neither of them had any interest in keeping the agreement, circumstances forced them to be men of their word.

***

The evening passed quickly. In the midst of winter, darkness fell early, and temperatures dropped with dusk, so soon Vernon remained one of the few people who preferred sitting outside the tavern rather than in the crowded, human-warm room where every free space became valuable. He dreaded the moment when he would have to go inside for another jug. Luckily, it was half full, so for now, he contentedly puffed on his pipe and enjoyed a moment of peace and quiet.

"Why aren't you sleeping then?"

"Sweet Melitele!" Vernon chuckled, jumped, and almost fell from his seat. Fortunately, he managed not to spill the beer.

He continued to wheeze and cough for a moment and squinted through tears at the man who seemed to literally materialize from the darkness around him. It wasn't easy to see his face, but Vernon would recognize that voice anywhere. The voice and that chaperone - thanks to their previous encounter.

"What the hell are you doing here? You should have been long gone."

"I should have," Iorveth replied pseudo-nonchalantly but still looked around at the nearest people who might notice them. However, he probably realised – just like Vernon – that it would be a stretch for the nearest drunks to stand, let alone reach them and notice who they were. "You haven't answered me yet, though," Iorveth continued when he turned back to him. "Why aren't you sleeping, if you're so tired you don't want to fight your nemesis?"

"Oh, come on, don't be such a bitch. Can't I just drink my beer in peace?"

"You're making my everyday life a hell, why should I give you peace tonight?" But despite his words, he leaned on the opposite table not looking threatening at all, and something even clinked in his scrip.

Any existing tension began to ease. They exchanged a silent acknowledgment that neither of them wanted a confrontation tonight.

Vernon took a sip of his beer, eyeing Iorveth with a mix of wariness and curiosity. "So, what brings you here? Thought you elves enjoyed solitude and freezing your asses in the woods during these times."

Iorveth's gaze was piercing, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Solitude gets old, and even elves need a change of scenery from time to time. Plus, there's something about the chaos of human celebrations that's oddly intriguing."

Vernon chuckled, not believing a word he said but still taking it. "Yeah, nothing like a bit of chaos to spice things up. Though, I never pegged you for the festive type."

Iorveth smirked. "Don't mistake curiosity for festiveness. I'm just observing."

„Right. Observing. Is that why you are dressed as a poor parody of me?“ Vernon pointed out his hat, and Iorveth immediately tore the chaperone off his head making Vernon laugh. “Come on, it suited you!”

“Fuck you. As if I ever wanted to have anything in common with you.”

For a brief moment, there was silence, and the two men stared at each other, only the noise of the inn and the revelry of the holiday celebrations echoed in the background. Now that Iorveth’s face wasn’t drowning in the shadows, Vernon for the first time saw what he actually looked like and he realised, his imagination was wrong in many ways. And so damn right in others.

Normally he wouldn’t stare so conspicuously – he still knew what good manners are – but this was Iorveth, his enemy. They saw the worst of each other already, so why pretend like there is any kind of decency between them.

Iorveth’s right eye was actually missing. Just an empty socket left where it used to be. The scar looked even nastier than he thought it would be. Probably got infected back in the day because it was still red and purple around the edges and so deep it didn’t look properly healed - although it must have been ages since he got it. These scars usually meant that the person ran away from the gravedigger's shovel. He can say by now.

The memory of his recent injury made him think about all the dreams and hallucinations he would (of course!) gladly forget. And the fact that he was correcting his dream images right as he was looking straight into Iorveth’s eye didn’t help either.

To his credit, he stared back at him all this time without comment and without any mention of an awkward situation. You could even say that was something to admire.

“And yet, here we are,” Vernon broke the silence, raised his mug as in a toast, and gave himself a generous couple of gulps.

Sigh. “Here we are.” The clinking returned, and when Vernon set his mug down, he saw that Iorveth opened himself a bottle of something unidentifiable. Good, Vernon thought, at least I’m not going to be the only one drunk here.

The bottle ended up at the table significantly emptier than before. “You still didn’t answer my question. Why aren’t you sleeping if you are so tired?”

Vernon grunted, looking into the distance. "I don’t know.” He ran his hands wearily over his face. What could he possibly say? Should he come up with some clichés? Actually, it wouldn't even be much of a lie; their lives weren’t exactly a cakewalk. He could ramble about how he's haunted by war nightmares, even when that's not really what keeps him from quality sleep. In the end, he opted for a middle ground. “I can’t. I guess I’m already living this life for too long, you know what I mean?”

Iorveth's expression softened. “Maybe it’s time to stop?” And then probably just for the fact that they were still enemies, he added: “I can kill you right here right now, and it would be over.”

“Very funny,” remarked Vernon wryly, and Iorveth snored with laughter, breaking his serious expression, while he took a sip again. “Admit it, you’d miss me.”

They both laughed and for a moment, their eyes locked. "You know, sometimes, a change of scenery helps with these things," said Iorveth cryptically.

Vernon wasn’t really sure what he wanted to say with this; maybe there was something unsaid hidden behind these words, or maybe he read too much into it, and it was just some strange elven idiom. Either way, it didn’t really matter. He too wasn’t completely honest with his words – as if he could ever tell anyone what keeps him up at night.

“Mind if I join you?”

Taken aback, Vernon studied his rival for a moment before nodding in agreement and gesturing to the place next to him. “Help yourself.”

Iorveth slumped on the bench, strangely relaxed considering the absurdity of their situation. He leaned in, his voice low and almost unrecognisable. "You know, it seems like - for enemies, of course - we could make surprisingly good drinking companions."

A smirk played on Vernon's lips. "Surprisingly indeed. Who would've thought we'd be sitting here, sharing a drink, instead of trying to kill each other?"

Iorveth grinned and tilted his head to look up at the starry sky. It was clear tonight. “Do you want to hear a fun fact?”

“Depends, what you consider fun.”

Iorveth gave him a skeptical look but continued: “The stars. That… constellation… That’s how it’s called in common, right?” He shifted closer so their vision would be more similar and pointed to the Great Bear. “Do you know its name?”

“No idea,” Vernon lied.

Iorveth continued about the name, origin, and appearance of the constellation with such enthusiasm as if he had longed terribly to tell someone about the stars for a very long time and had finally found the opportunity. “I wonder how drunk they must have been to see a bear in it. From when the bears have these dog tails?”

“You never know. Maybe back then bears had tails like this.”

“Bullshit. I’ve been alive long enough, and bears never had long tails.”

“Maybe you just never noticed it.”

“Oh yeah, and in the past years, they just started to chew it off I guess.”

“That’s true. They are hungry. And they are even chewing your ears when you sleep; that’s why yours are pointy.”

Iorveth started laughing, perhaps a bit deranged. “That’s why! I always wondered.”

He shifted back again, but not as far as they originally started. From this close, in this situation, he didn’t seem like his enemy at all. The line between friend and foe blurred, leaving them both in a space where the complexities of their past seemed momentarily irrelevant.

They continued talking, sharing their dumb stories, and just joking and ribbing each other, as the night unfolded and the holiday festivities faded into the background. In that quiet corner of the world, two enemies found an unexpected connection.

Suddenly a voice reached them from the square. It was the watchman. Ringing a bell rapidly and shouting so loud that everyone who was still awake had to hear him. Probably also drunk, but who would blame him. At least he could still say what time is it.

“So… Happy New Year, Vernon.” Iorveth rose his bottle and Vernon froze for a while as the intimacy of the name surprised him. No one called him that. That’s another thing that made Iorveth special. Just like in his dreams.

He had to get it together. Iorveth smiled—probably at his stupid expression. He smiled back. “Happy New Year, Iorveth.” Their toast almost disappeared in the sound of a bell announcing midnight.

Vernon couldn't help but wonder if all of this; the unexpected encounter, his confusing thoughts, and his injury were just some sick of a twist of fate forcing him to lose his mind.

-----

When this started I didn't think I'll ever continue. And here we are. I finished one whole series and am already planning another. Who would have thought? My boyfriend wanted to get credit for the "plot" here because I asked him: "What should happen if all they have to do in this one is just to meet?" And he was like: "End it with them just sitting together." The slowburn is so slow it almost isn't even burning. And it's not going to get better. As always, English is not my first language, so sorry if anything feels off. (Also, to "run away from the gravedigger's shovel" is Czech idiom for almost dying. I really like it so I just used it in English as well.)

Thank you for reading!

[winderlylandchime]

Hello and happy new year, i hope you’re doing good and that you had a good NYE.

Here are just some highlights from what you’ve missed in the latest episodes of ‘My brother is an idiot’.

In case you wondered how we spent NYE, let me tell you that originally we were gonna go to a bar with our neighbor and socialize but she got sick, so my brother changed plans and made her watch 3x08. That’s right, he calculated when to watch the episode so that Britin reunion happened exactly at midnight. We entered 2024 with Lover’s spit, ngl it was both amazing and impressive. And the clock went midnight right as the song started/their iconic reunion happened and we all yelled ‘AYYYEEEE HAPPY NEW YEAAAAR’ He also showed her 3x14 and not to anyone’s surprise, the ending still makes him cry.

Also a very important update: THE CAST IS OFF!! He walked out of the office and literally put a fist into the air like a dumbass and then looked at THE ENTIRE WAITING ROOM, pointed to his fist and went ‘I’m back, baby!!’ And then to me ‘I almost put that Proud song on to play it so I could walk out all dramatic and put my fist in the air like in that movie.. But I’m too fucking traumatized by that song cause of the finale so just imagine it for the experience okay?’

Btw our dad is coming in on Wednesday so that he can spend some time with us and then go home with my brother. So naturally my brother has spent the last day and a half going through episodes to decide which ones to show him. I fear my dad might strangle him when he realizes he’s being tricked into watching qaf. But i am curious what his reaction is going to be and which episodes he picks.

And the most important thing that I actually thought will be avoided: about 2 days ago, I left him at 10.30 pm to go to sleep. He was reading fan fiction and at the same time watching fan videos of Gale and Randy which…okay, go off. Please try and guess what the fuck happened next because i can guarantee you, you’re gonna be wrong.

He came into my room and woke me up out of nowhere and i asked what’s up, thinking it’s some emergency. And i can see on my clock that it’s like 4.45 am and he’s crouching next to me, holding the laptop, turns it towards me to show me some random site while almost blinding me and then whisper yells at me ‘this Hal dude is or was a fucking prick! What the fuck did Gale and Randy ever do to him? And why the fuck did those two old dudes hate Randy?!’ And then he just got up and walked out (leaving the door open because of course) and just says to himself or me ‘they did nothing and he’s acting shadier than a fucking palm tree!’ I woke up the next day, genuinely sure that I dreamt that and I come to the living room and he’s in the same position as I left him in and he goes ‘oh this dude is lowkey annoying, i just read this post from a convention and he doesn’t know how to let other people talk, why did he answer a question about gays and his gay friends when Randy was asked as a gay man? And I didnt know those writers sucked so much, they looked like they got along at that gay panel but apparently they hated each other? By the way do they still do these conventions?’ All this was said to me in one long ass breath, right as i woke up. Felt like a fever dream ngl. He was practically bouncing off the walls because of how much coffee he drank because he stayed up all night reading up on Gale and Randy and anything qaf related he found. He even found old Gale interviews from The Advocate and later found out Gale was also in a motorcycle crash and he texted that to our mom saying that clearly that means they’re soulmates of some kind and she just replied ‘or that you’re both stupid <3’

He said that after he finished his fics, he started watching videos and then he went to check bts videos and interviews and he looked all that up and got war flashbacks because they just asked whatever they wanted in the old 00’s tabloid era. And that somehow lead to him finding a link to a fan forum or something and then he just spiraled. He said that when he saw Hal being shady, it was either wake me up and tell me OR wake up our parents..

oh and during this all nighter he also put together a playlist that he named ‘Bri Bri in a nut (ha) shell’ and it’s songs from the show that he thinks fit Brian best. So now he goes back and forth between the playlists depending on his mood and how much he misses Brian. I created a monster and you all helped me. Thank you very much

Dear sweet anon!

I am so sorry for the delay in responding. I haven't been on tumblr because the new stuff at my job is cutting into ALL MY PRECIOUS SCROLLING TIME.

(And fic writing, so sorry everyone!)

NGL I am high key impressed that he figured out how to time the episode so that Lover's Spit was playing when the clock struck midnight. That is some dedication. What time does one need to start the episode for that to happen?

Congratulation to your brother on getting the cast off! I'm so glad he can return to making the ally fist.

But oh nooooo, he has fallen down the rabbit hole of the bts and what has been shared and pieced together and what can be observed. But couldn't he have sent you a voice memo rather than waking you up?

I'm curious if he has any fic recommendations for the fandom? And, also, what is in his Bri Bri playlist?

I like your mom's response to your brother's belief that both him and Gale being in motorcycle accidents makes them soulmates. Maybe they could be soulmates for another reason. Your brother could kiss Randy, for instance.

I hope your 2024 is lovely so far! I can't wait to hear your dad's reaction to being ambushed with QAF.

[aggie-postemon]

The Greater War

Twelve years after the start of the Great War (and ten years since it ended), Alek sits on the throne of Austria. He's got Dylan to thank for it, but even he's not entirely sure why his best friend brought him a country.

Come along for whispered secrets; shouted secrets; courtly intrigue; and, of course, a long-secret romance, revealed at last.

Chapter Two - Three Arrivals and a Return

AO3 | FFN

Alek's conversation with Volger had been both reassuring and disquieting. Volger was so sure that Dylan was totally loyal to Alek, would return no matter what. And yet this secret that Volger had kept - and for a boy he'd not much cared for, at first - sounded large enough to destabilize any loyalty.

Not Alek's. Volger was right. Alek would never abandon the man who'd given him Austria. And he wouldn't have abandoned the man, even if he hadn't given him Austria. Being loyal to Alek was so complicated that Alek was sure he could return the favor: loyalty in the face of complications.

Still. He felt itchy. He felt itchy all through three weeks of royal drudgery. He felt itchy trying to sleep. He felt itchy waking up. He felt itchy all the way down to the hangar on the day Dylan was due to return.

He couldn't be sure of the time, but he'd cleared his schedule for the day. God knew Dylan's absence, Dylan's secrets, were making Alek exceptionally useless anyway.

So, Alek was already in the hangar waiting when Dylan's biplane rolled in through the open doors.

And there was Dylan, climbing out of his biplane, helmet tucked under one arm, lemon yellow hair gleaming in the sunlight that streamed through the doors. He was the most welcome sight Alek had seen in days.

"Dylan!" he said, trying to pretend that he'd only just arrived, that he hadn't been anxiously waiting in the hangar since the early morning.

Dylan flashed Alek one of his more brilliant smiles. "Alek! It's bloody good to see you."

Alek hugged his best friend, buried his face in his shoulder in utter relief that he'd returned.

Alek supposed he could be forgiven for not noticing a second yellow haired man, even taller than Dylan, until he said, eyebrows high on his forehead, "I see we have a royal welcome."

Alek hastily let go of Dylan, who laughed at him. "Jaspert, I don't suppose you remember His Royal Majesty, King of Austria, Aleksandar von Hohenburg. His Princeliness."

Volger could make Alek's titles sound chiding. Dylan made those same titles sound like gentle teasing.

"It's good to see you, Alek," Jaspert Sharp said, grasping at Alek's forearm and pulling him into a one-armed hug.

There was no intimacy earned between Alek and Jaspert that justified the flagrant disregard for the gap in their stations, but Alek figured that Sharp men were just like that. He'd always appreciated that about Dylan, that Dylan just treated him like any other man.

"Jaspert," came an exasperated voice from the plane - though really, it was only supposed to seat two. "Stop acting above your station and come get me out of this death trap."

Jaspert grinned. "Coming mother!"

Mrs. Sharp could not get out of the plane by herself because she was encumbered by a large wooden box, stuffed with hay.

"The Lady Boffin," Dylan said by way of explanation. "She's got a new beastie she wants me to hatch and train."

"Isn't this plane only supposed to seat two?" Alek asked.

"Aye. Which is why Ma's in the cargo space with the eggs. I'd have given her the seat and stuffed Jaspert back there, but Ma insisted. Seems to think he'd break them and get himself murdered by Dr. Barlow."

"All arguments that I am a grown man capable of being careful went unheard," Jaspert said, transferring the egg box to Dylan under his mother's gimlet eye before helping her out of the plane.

"I know you, Jaspert Sharp," Mrs. Sharp said. "You're bad at details, and incubation needs attention to detail."

"I didn't know you were a fabricator, Ma'am," Alek said, feeling slightly bewildered.

Mrs. Sharp snorted. "I keep chickens, young man. Regular chickens."

For all her talk about Jaspert acting above his station, she was certainly happy to make herself a hypocrite.

Alek looked at Dylan for help.

Dylan, for his part, looked torn between humor and misery. "This was the crisis," he said. "Apparently, Ma moved into Dr. Barlow's apartment and refused to leave until I came to get her."

"Also, the eggs. Dr. Barlow was going to summon Darren anyway to come help her finish fabricating the eggs - and get the incubation underway so it might be ready to travel," Mrs. Sharp said. She did that sometimes, called Dylan by the wrong name. "That's how I knew it would be a good time to launch my attack."

"Why?" Alek said, mostly to Dylan.

Mrs. Sharp looked at him steadily. "I miss my child. You've been on the throne of Austria for nearly ten years. If the situation isn't stable enough for me to come visit now, then it never will be."

"Dylan, you can always visit Scotland," Alek said uncertainly. "You're not a prisoner here, you can always take time off."

Dylan raised an eyebrow at him. Mrs. Sharp, though, spoke. "Please, it's hardly your fault, Your Majesty. Dylan comes home precisely as often as Dylan wants to come home. Which is almost never. You'll forgive a mother for taking matters into her own hands."

Dylan put a hand on Alek's shoulder, said, an unusual note of vulnerability in his voice, "You don't mind, do you? Please tell me you don't mind."

Earnestly, Alek put his own hand on Dylan's. "Konopiste is your home too. And any family of yours is family of mine."

Jaspert's mouth fell open. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Alek said, not sure what Jaspert's objection was, and hoping to sound more confident than he felt.

"Does he not hear himself?" Jaspert asked.

Neither Dylan nor Mrs. Sharp answered verbally, but Dylan rubbed his free hand down his ever meticulously clean-shaven jaw. Mrs. Sharp caught Alek's eye and smirked.

Honestly, Alek had no idea what he'd said.

"He really doesn't, Mr. Sharp," said Volger, who'd apparently snuck in when Alek hadn't been paying attention.

Feeling unfairly beset upon by all sides, Alek decided to make a tactical retreat.

"Well, I'll give you all space to get settled. Dylan, you know where the guest chambers are. I'm sure you know best where exactly to put them. I'd love to hear more about the eggs when you have a chance."

Normally, Alek and Dylan spent the day of Dylan's returns together, both taking relief and comfort in being reunited, exchanging relevant intel, and getting Dylan settled back into Konopiste together.

Well. At least they could exchange intel once the Sharps were settled.

Alek peeked into the box Dylan still cradled. Three eggs were nestled into warm hay, fabricated heaters tucked around them, and a thermometer sticking out.

Good memories.

Bovril was getting old these days, but Alek knew it would be thrilled to see the eggs; its own perspacacious grandchildren scampered wildly around Konopiste.

He reached into the box and gave each egg a loving pat - ignoring how Jaspert muttered something into his sleeve - and then fled the hangar. Dylan could handle his family, and Alek would... entertain them later.

"He's going to make an excellent father," Alek swore he heard Mrs. Sharp say behind him. His ears went pink.

Dylan's voice rose in response to that, but Alek had fled too far down the hall to hear.

He became aware that Volger had followed him. "Do they know?"

Volger coughed. "It's not something he could have hid from his family."

"Is that what... all that... was about?"

"Probably," Volger said. "If I'm trying to convince Mr. Sharp to tell you, I'm sure they've been wresting with the idea for at least five years."

"Did she really just say I'd make an excellent father?"

"Yes," Volger said. "She did."

"Why?" Alek demanded.

"Mostly to embarrass Mr. Sharp," he said, and that made no sense. "Also, you are nearly twenty-eight, unmarried, and a sovereign with no heir."

Courtiers had been making noise about that, yes. But Alek just couldn't entertain marriage. He felt spoken for, somehow, by his very country. He'd fallen in love with the Leviathan, and now he was in love with Austria herself. He'd have to get married eventually, he knew that. But. Just. Not yet.

"Why would any of that embarrass Dylan?"

"Well, I imagine she wants to see both of you married. Remarking on your qualities might spur her own child into action, and Dylan sees that motive."

Well. Maybe Alek could see that. A little.

Feeling a little more settled, Alek went to his office. There was a fresh projection of Austria's next harvest yield that he needed to look over, and a petition for tax adjustments. The itchiness in his skin had calmed down with Dylan's arrival, and maybe now Alek could focus on his responsibilities.

~~~

Dylan came to find him an hour later. "Thanks," he said. "Dr. Barlow absolutely insisted I bring them here."

"We have plenty of space," Alek said. "Anyway, Dylan. How are you?"

Dylan grimmaced, and Alek remembered that Dylan's relationship with his mother had always been strained, going back to some conflict that had emerged following the death of his father.

"That bad?" Alek asked.

"No," Dylan said. "Having them here will be an adjustment, but it's been a long time. It'll be good to have them around."

"Good," Alek said firmly, then dove into broader questions about Dylan's trip, about Dr. Barlow, and finally about the eggs.

"They're a new sort of biplane," Deryn said enthusiastically. "But I'm not going to say much - I want you to be surprised when they hatch."

"I look forward to it," Alek said, then, "I want to take Bovril up to see them."

"Yes!" Dylan said. "Let's! I set them up in my chambers. They should hatch in another week and a half, but I'll be stuck on egg duty till they do."

"At least Newkirk won't kill any of these," Alek said.

Dylan shook his head, then grinned. "Blisters, but it's been a while since we've talked to him."

"It has," Alek said. "Did you meet up with any of the Leviathan crew in London?"

"Just old Mr. Hirst," Dylan said. "Retirement suits him. I think I might have run into this utter prat - Fitzroy - on the street, but he was kicked off before you joined us, and he absolutely did not acknowledge me if it even was him."

And so Alek listened to Dylan talk about London as the two of them went to collect Bovril from the greenhouse.

Bovril didn't need them in quite the same way it did when it was young, and it had plenty of its own business to engage in, having been tapped to raise both biological children of its own and a secondary set of egg-fabricated perspacacious lorises. Still, Bovril loved them both and scuttled up the leg of Dylan's trousers to his shoulder the moment they stepped into the greenhouse.

"Mr. Sharp!" It said, still using Volger's sardonic Mister. It sniffed deeply. "Egg!"

"That's right, beastie," Dylan said. "I've got eggs. Not more lorises, though."

Bovril looked around the greenhouse. "Lorises plenty," it said. "Plenty."

"Oh, beastie, you are not wrong. How is the taxonomy coming?"

That's what the lorises were doing. They were young and being taught to sniff out connections by putting together a taxonomic tree of all the plants in Konopiste's greenhouse.

Eventually, they'd be given as diplomatic gifts across the world, as adults, to bypass their tendency to imprint on one single person if handled too young. A joint present from Britain and Austria.

"Taxonomy," Bovril said gravely. "Taxonomy."

Dylan laughed. "Let's get you a break, then. Would you like to come see the eggs?"

"Eggs!" Bovril said, then jumped from Dylan's shoulder to Alek's.

When they entered Konopiste, Bovril took another deep sniff. "Mrs. Sharp and Jaspert Sharp."

"They arrived with Dylan this morning," Alek said as they pushed into Dylan's chambers.

The eggs were still in the crate they'd come in, placed on a table by Dylan's coziest armchair. Might as well make long hours of egg sitting moderately more comfortable. Alek crossed straight to them.

"They're large," he said.

"They have to be," Dylan said. "They're going to be large enough to carry four riders as adults."

"Incredible," Alek said. "God's wounds, I always forget how beautiful fabrication eggs are."

"Aren't they?" Dylan chuckled, then. "Remember when you thought Bovril's egg was creepy?"

Alek traced a line down one of the eggs with his forefinger. "I hadn't fallen in love with the Leviathan yet."

"You were in love with the Leviathan the moment you saw us crash into the snow," Dylan countered.

"True," Alek said. "I just didnt know it yet."

Dylan busied himself with the egg thermometer, and Bovril slid down Alek's arm to inspect the eggs at closer range.

"Good eggs," it said.

"Good to hear," Dylan murmured. "I was worried the flight might scramble them."

"Not on your mother's watch," Alek said. And here, in the space above their eggs, Alek found the strength to. Well. Not quite ask the question he really wanted to ask, but at least to ask around it. "What exactly does your mother want to achieve here?"

Dylan removed one of the little biological heaters from the crate, evidently satisfied with the temperature. "I wish I knew," he said. "But mothers are supposed to confuse us, I think."

Bovril gave Dylan a stern glance, crossing its paws over its chest. He looked back at Alek and made steady eye contact before speaking, but Alek was fairly sure the message was intended for Dylan. "Mr. Sharp," Bovril said, sounding almost exasperated. "Your wife."

Dylan visibly flinched, looked at the loris, looked at Alek.

And suddenly, Alek knew Dylan's deep dark secret. Dylan hadn't left Lilit behind in New York at all. They'd eloped before they parted, and now Mrs. Sharp was trying to persuade her son to do right by his wife.

It made sense - Alex's trusted advisor being secretly married to the woman who all but ruled Turkey behind closed doors would be the sort of thing Dr. Barlow needed to know. If the news had emerged at the wrong time during Alek's fight for the throne, it would have made things very complicated.

Even today, bringing Lilit to Konopiste or sending Dylan to Istanbul would be complicated. But Volger was right - it was a complicated they could navigate now.

Dylan gave a nervous little laugh. "I guess you're probably right, beastie. She probably does want to find me a wife."

Nice deflection, Dylan. Even Bovril was unimpressed, looking between the two of them like they were both particularly stupid. It didn't say anything more, though, just let out a little puff of air and bent back over the precious eggs in the crate.

He's going to make an excellent father, Alek remembered Mrs. Sharp saying, and in this new light it made more sense, how that would be a dig at Dylan. Did Lilit want children Dylan wasn't giving her?

A pit dropped in Alek's stomach. Did Lilit have children Dylan wasn't around for?

He could practically see them, a little boy and a little girl, caught somewhere between Lilit and Dylan's very opposite colorings. Lanky like Dylan, densely built and strong like Lilit. Clever and brave, daring and kind. The best of both of them.

Like both Dylan and Lilit, missing their father.

If they'd gotten right to business, the oldest of them could be nearly eleven, though Alek suspected Lilit would not have had children that early.

God's wounds, Alek was going to be sick.

He's going to make an excellent father, Mrs. Sharp had said. He's going to make an excellent father.

Left unsaid, that Alek would do a better job of it than Dylan.

But Dylan was clearly not fessing up to any of that, and Alek desperately tried to cling to his promises to Volger. That he wouldn't try to figure it out. That he'd let Dylan come to him. That he'd take it well. Or at least try to take it well.

Alek tried to turn it into a pointed joke, said, "Well, we can always invite Lilit to Konopiste if it would make your mother feel better. I always liked you two together."

Dylan turned positively green. "Alek, what are you talking about?"

"The two of you got close in Istanbul. That's all. And I haven't seen you get close to another woman like that since."

Dylan collapsed in his armchair, rifled a hand through his blond hair. "Alek. We were fighting a war together. Of course we got close. The two of you got close, too."

"It wasn't me she kissed after her father died," Alek said, trying to keep his tone sing-songy and light, despite the fact that he still kind of wanted to vomit.

"Alek," Dylan said. "Alek. She sends us a Christmas card every year with Adela Rodgers."

Well, a mother with her husband living across the world would need another adult helping her, especially if she wanted to remain as politically involved as Alek knew Lilit was.

"So she has a roommate," Alek said. "They make sense together. Driven politician and driven reporter, they probably exchange important information all the time."

"Alek," Dylan said, like Alek was a particularly slow dog, and also like he was giving something away he didn't want to. "Alek. They make sense together because they're together."

"What?"

"They're lovers."

"What?"

"Lilit tried to like me in Istanbul because she was trying to force herself to like men. And I suppose she thought I might be feminine enough for her tastes."

"What?"

Alek backed into the other armchair in Dylan's room.

"Lilit and Adela are lovers. Lilit certainly doesn't want to marry me, and I never wanted to marry her, either. I was honestly a little blindsided when she kissed me. She told me the truth of it when we were in New York."

"Really?" Alek said.

"Aye, really. You had no idea?" Dylan looked at him incredulously. "Really?"

"Really," Alek said, weakly. "Should we have sent her a. Well. Not a wedding present, because I suppose they can't marry. But. A joining present?"

Dylan burst into laughter, then. "We did! Remember the set of lorises we brought to Turkey?"

Alek did remember. "That wasn't their wedding, was it?"

"Nay," Deryn assured. "Even you're not that clueless, to miss a wedding you attended. Besides, it was just before Nene passed, so I think you were a little preoccupied with running errands for her while we were there."

Nene had taken immense pleasure in ordering the King of Austria around her deathbed. It had been endearing, honestly.

Alek thought back to the way Dylan and Lilit had interacted during that trip. Trusting. Affectionate. Utterly unawkward. Adela Rodgers had been running around the proceedings, hadn't she?

It was then that Alek thought of another objection: "Feminine enough for her tastes? You were the manliest teenage boy I'd ever met!" "The boy you'd have wanted to be, if you'd been born common," Dylan said, crossing his arms. "I remember. And Lilit saw in me the woman she wanted, if I'd been born a girl." There was a sardonic twist to Dylan's mouth, now, but Alek wasn't quite sure why. "Woman," Bovril took that moment to say. "Mr. Sharp, born a girl." Dylan shot the little creature an absolutely dire glare. "Yes, beastie. Lilit wished I was born a girl." Alek didn't know what to say to any of that. Alek didn't really think there were women like Dylan Sharp. What would such a woman even be like? He thought about it. Actually, probably not unlike Adela Rodgers. Alek could not imagine a female Dylan letting anyone tell him what women were supposed to do. Adela wrote. Lilit led. Dr. Barlow was, well, multi-talented. Alek somehow knew that a girl Dylan would have found a way to fly. Apparently, Lilit had a type. "Huh," Alek said. Bovril had been very distinct. Mr. Sharp. Your wife. That still sounded more like a wife Dylan already had than any prospective wife Mrs. Sharp might try to find for him. "We should invite them both to Konopiste, anyway. It's been nearly as long as Newkirk. We can invite him, too." "A war reunion?" Dylan asked. "Sounds fun. But we can't let Newkirk in before the eggs hatch. If the Lady Boffin finds out I let him within a five mile viscinity, she'll have my head."

"That she would," Alek said. "Soon, though."

"Soon. While Ma and Jaspert are here. They'd love to meet the whole gang."

"Absolutely," Alek agreed.

Alek looked at Dylan and felt silly all over again. Volger had known the secret since before Dylan had even come to Istanbul. If he had a wife - and really, quite a bit of evidence seemed to be pointing there - it couldn't be Lilit.

Jealousy was an absurd thing to feel about all this, right? Still, as Alek imagined a woman who might be Dylan's wife, he thought jealousy might be the right word for the feeling in his chest.

Silly, indeed.

[modern-inheritance]

Update (and thoughts on what I have read so far of the new book)

Yeah yeah I know. I haven't finished Murtagh. Work gets in the way, when I get home I just want to eat and sleep and not put my brain to work, and weekends are me trying to fix up the house, play DnD and video games to relax.

I'm going to say spoilers here because though I'm being very vague I still don't want to ruin anything for anyone.

I will say that what I have read so far (~250-300 pages) has been very good. My main complaint is that we know this entire book is focused on Murtagh and Thorn, but there's still a hell of a lot of 'you could loop in Eragon and Saphira and Arya and Firnen, it would make this not only easier, but safer for the entire region and could lead to a better outcome.' "No they're busy/we're traumatized/everyone hates us/they won't care (this one is the worst imo)/insert-other-very-questionable-reason-here." It's clear that yes, Murtagh and Thorn are traumatized and it manifests in their actions, so I'm very happy with that acknowledgement and continuing consequences (poor word choice on my part here), but it's also pretty clear that they both are, much like Eragon and Saphira, very young.

It's nice to not have Eragon being ultra wise and whatnot. That step after Eldest where he seemed to have completely transformed (not just physically) from a somewhat flailing 15 year old kid with way too many responsibilities to a young-but-wise Rider with a ton of understanding and a penchant for philosophy felt so rushed and sudden to me. Murtagh and Thorn are not given that weird elf training and it shows. They don't feel or act wise and worldly and it's a very good thing.

I know none of them show up because this is indeed Murtagh and Thorn's story, but I wish we got more info on what's going on with Eragon and Saphira and Arya and Firnen. It's probably the MIC bleed through, but when it was said at one point 'it takes more to rouse a queen' when it was clear there was some really, REALLY fucky shit going on, my eyebrows went up to my hairline. Arya's probably going absolutely stir crazy at this point, and it was mentioned that there was equally fucky shit going on with the elves. She'd probably jump at the chance to go out with Firnen and actually have Dragon Rider duties to use as an excuse to get out of the forest/political bullshit.

I will say that I have read the last couple pages. I am pleased.

Alright, that's it. I'm currently tinkering with a few different versions of the Scars short with Arya and Islanzadi, but it's very choppy and won't be ready for a long time yet. I do spend a lot of my time at work mentally going over stuff so maybe yall will get a bit of MIC sooner rather than later, but for now I'm focusing on getting everything settled in with work/life balance.

Cheers you lot! I'll be back on with more stuff after I finish Murtagh.

[cordycepsfem]

Pageboy Readthrough, Part Eight

Previously

your reviewer had to read about EP's sex life with her own two eyes

this included the bizarre phrase "magnets sucking" which, I'm not going to lie, has possessed my entire brain since reading it

I'll be just sitting at work thinking work thoughts and then all of a sudden I'll magically hear a voice saying magnets sucking in my brain and remember why it is that 30-somethings should not be writing memoirs

anyway the rest of the chapter was about being homophobically attacked

your reviewer went off on a tangent about why Umbrella Academy Season Three sucked

we had a brief "we live in a society" moment

and then we had a much longer digression about anger being useful

by the end of it all EP owed me $64.80 (CAD) for everything I had to read with the only two human eyes I'm ever going to have

Also, I want to go off on a longer digression about this today: it finally hit me why this book is hard to read...

It's not well-written.

There's a lot of jumping back and forth between things that are happening now and things that happened previously, and then when we're reading about the now there are lots of side tangents about things that are also happening now or recently happened. There's not a straight line through a chapter.

Maybe this is what it's like in EP's head and for that she has my sincerest sympathy and understanding, as I don't think anyone's mind truly works in a linear way. But she also had, I assume, an editor or two who had the thing in front of them and could have helped but didn't. Again, this is my entire soapbox about 30-somethings writing memoirs: as a group nothing's happened to us miraculous enough to fill a memoir, and we're also not emotionally ready for people to tell us we're actually not that brilliant, so many of us would have a hard time taking direction. I don't know if EP's celebrity "wowed" whoever her editor was, and they just slapped a "You go guy!" sticker on it and sent it to the publisher, but... if I turned this in I would be embarrassed to read it back, partially for all of the embarrassing childhood things I would have shared but also because I wrote it in a way that says "linear plot line? fuck her" and expected everyone to love it.

But what do I know - I'm not on the New York Times bestseller list or anything. (Or am I? You don't know.)

Now

Chapter Ten

EP tells us about being cast in An American Crime and meeting Catherine Keener

having not seen the film nor having any idea who this woman is, let's read on

ah, yes, I remember now:

An American Crime is about the horrific abuse of a young woman named Sylvia Likens

obviously acting in this role was a lot for EP, as it would be for any actor

this part of the book is actually really tender, and I appreciate the detail EP puts into talking about how she would try to get the feeling of playing a horribly abused young woman out of her head

and for all I said about it not being written well, these two paragraphs felt absolutely solid in my chest:

(apart from the fact that a metronome sets tempo, not speed, because again, I am a very specific type of asshole, and today apparently it's "pedantic about music" asshole)

EP talks about going to a restaurant in a train car that only serves pasta and I am once again jealous

she also talks about her eating disorder, smoking, drinking, and not sleeping as her basic routine, and I am once again saddened

she dates a guy who tells her she's not gay while they're having sex (see, this is where the whole timeline thing comes in - in a previous chapter she'd already come out, and now we're back before that happened)

when EP returns to Halifax she weighs 84 pounds (38.1 kg)

here are some other things that weigh approximately 84 pounds, according to the internet:

ten gallons of water

a baby rhino

2 bushels of gooseberries

a fiberglass canoe

16 bricks

2 sandbags

anyway

EP's mom is worried about her

a therapist gives her bad advice

EP gains some weight back and then goes to audition for Juno

we learn that before EP's mom was a French teacher she worked for Air Canada but is afraid of flying

we also learn that EP's mom is the daughter of Anglican minister

EP enters a sexual relationship with Olivia Thirlby and hangs out with Michael Cera and Jonah Hill and they make music and get stoned and walk around town together

oh and also they make Juno and it is good and EP loves making it

and things are better

and the next chapter opens with vomiting so it is here I must stop for the night