#all so that i would have a piece of the game left after its gone

[valnyte]

So I replayed and finished his route a final time 🥹

[starshipdecay]

Toon Zelda redesigns! I've never been fond of the Toon Zelda design, and these girls deserve some individuality. Design notes and rambles below the cut :D

(time to turn the proper grammar off i aint capitalizing all this. warning: i am verbose)

first up, tmc zelda!

shes the one most like toon zelda, since i felt like the vibes fit the *most* (though not a lot). also, with her place on the timeline, i could justify a lot of bits, like the wings and the cape

the cape! obvs it comes from the toon zelda base design, but also it involves skyloftian fashion! i take the timeline as a challenge, and i once saw a take somewhere that the skyloftians all wear their family crests (most often birds lol) on their person. zelda here (and link too) do just that, wearing their family crests on little caplets. on the back is, of course the royal crest

i went very cutesy princess for her. tmc has such a *whimsical* vibe that i feel is very. muted? by the fact its stuck with the toon style. so i wanted to put in that vibe here. also her sprites make it look like her skirt is super poofy, so how could i not?

curly hair: i wanted something interesting, and most zeldas have straight hair. so! adds to the cuteness

i didnt draw it so well but she (and link) both have very sleepy expressions. zelda especially just has a sleepy expression in her sprite, its quite adorable.

shes not as decked out as other princesses, cuz i see tmc taking place before the royal family really starts to get *royal* as we see it. shes still of course got a tiara and some embroidery tho.

Tetra! her base design isnt all that changed from the original. her name is a fun hc of mine tho. i think "von Hyrule" sounds better as a surname than just "hyrule". shes not zelda, but shes still a descendant.

(WW) princess z (as i call her)

I went more oot zelda vibes for her, since she would be closer, temporally, to oot. i also went very warm, since ive never seen the flood as a *warm* endeavor.

shes got the shoulder danglies, as most zeldas have shoulder armor of some kind. the danglies instead of actual armor are supposed to kind of evoke a royal sea captain kind of vibe.

shes ghostly, with a fish-eyed stare. shes been dead and gone for a long time. shes also a bit taller and a few years older than tetra (as of ww). shes just some spectre the king saw in tetra, not at all a close match

tetra, being smaller than princess z, doesnt fit into the clothes. the dress is too big for her (as is in canon gd that skirt is WAY too long for her), the coat is baggy. the role of a princess *literally* does not fit her.

the ribbons! theyre my replacement for the wings, and they represent the wind in the game! since its represented by white lines, the ribbons are a perfect symbolic match. (also, a note, tetras hair is shorter and coarser than princess z's)

i mostly bullshitted the blue panel but the vague idea i gave it was 'a hope for the triforce to give good fortunes to the people' (pictured as dots, mostly behind her arms)

Pirate Queen Tetra

ph! about a year has passed, and tetra has really grown into her own! as well as literally grown!

shes still tetra, pirate and captain, but shes incorporated that royal heritage into her identity: quite literally! she made piecemeal of the original outfit (what was left of it anyway after the fight), and added bits and pieces to her new life.

she also takes full advantage of said heritage to call herself pirate queen. its great for branding. whos gonna say she CANT go by pirate queen?

the seagull feather is from Aryll. only crew member tetra wears a trinket from (who can say no to that ball of sunshine! certainly not tetra)

not many notes. yall can see whats there. (also she still wears her hair in a bun, its just in a low bun (you can almost see it) when she wears her hat)

st zelda!

first note is: shes not a princess! shes an heiress of the company tetra had made and left behind. hence her title of Lady zelda. ("new hyrule" rly just like-- the ending of ww was *literally* that hyrule is dead and thats okay. how did they miss that :sob emoji:) also calling her Lady Zelda fits with the train vibes

shes in a 1880s style bustle dress because 1) i am OBSESSED with bustle dresses. i love them. so much. 2) the more historical vibe works really well with trains! also a lot of the other outfits in the game have late victorian vibes, so shes certainly not out of place.

her hat (and gloves): any proper lady has a hat on when going about town, however, when she gets body snatched, she pulled out her hatpin to use (ineffectively) as a weapon (she IS tetras great-great-granddaughter), causing her to lose her hat *and* hairdo.

shes still got the hatpin in her ghost form, too. she uses it to threaten people for funsies

Ribbons! on the topic of hairdo, her ribbons! visually tying her to tetras design, the ribbons here instead take on the image of train tracks, with her pin (on the left side) evoking a train engine. the pin also makes her look rich and girly. when her hair comes undone, this makes the ribbons all loose, like how the train tracks disappear in game. (the hat also kinda connects her to tetra)

thanks for reading :D i hope you liked reading this as much as i liked typing it

[cameronsprincess]

Pretty Blue Eyes — R.C

— summary: you see rafe at a party after he’d dumped you, and it hurts more than you thought it would.

— CW: 18+ only! angst, strong language, alcohol consumption, drunk!reader, hurt/no comfort.

— a/n: i’m so sorry. i love angst and when i’m sad, i have to make y’all sad too. this angst prompts list gave me ideas and i used dialogues 3, 14 and 20<3 likes, comments and reblogs are very appreciated <3

I never knew losing him would hurt so much. Losing the one person I’d spent the last six months of my life with.

Six months might not seem like much to some, I understand people have gone through greater losses. But I’d fallen in love with him. Fallen in love with all the meaningless words he’d said. Fallen in love with his scent, his touch, his pretty blue eyes.

But he never loved me. I was just a game. Something to use to pass the time. I boosted his ego, made him feel special. And all the while, he was using me. Playing me. Making me fall in love with him, just so he could break my heart. It was random, and very unexpected. Four words was all it took to shatter my heart into a million little pieces — “I never loved you.” is what he’d said.

To make matters worse? He’d told me this right after we’d had sex. I gave myself to him. My whole self. And he took. He took and took, but never gave. He took until there was nothing left for me to give. He owned my soul, my heart, my body. He owned me, but I never owned him.

That was three days ago. Three days of crying myself to sleep, three days of not eating and drinking myself to death. Three days since I’d seen his face. I’ve tried to avoid him, but I knew I’d see him again. We live on a small fucking island for Christs sake. And he’s everywhere. He’s very well known. There’s no escaping him. And tonight proves that. He’s here. His pretty blue eyes watching me from across the room. I wish I could show him I don’t care, that he didn’t rip my fucking heart out and stomp on it…

But I can’t. I still love him.

“Are you okay?”

My best friend, Ashlyn’s, voice pulls me from the darkness I’ve allowed myself to crawl into. I slowly turn to face her, light brown eyes filled with concern intensely stare back at me.

I put on my best fake smile. “Yeah. Fine, why?”

Lie. I’m not okay, and I don’t know if I ever will be. But I can’t admit that.

She frowns. “You’re not okay though, I can see it in your eyes. Do you wanna leave? We can lea-”

I quickly cut her off. “No, no. It’s fine. Let’s just go get another drink. I’m gonna need them if I’m going to last here all night.”

Her frown deepens, but she nods her head. I internally thank the Heavens that she dropped the subject. I don’t want to talk about Rafe and how he’d absolutely obliterated my heart.

She grabs my hand, lacing her fingers with mine before pulling me off to the kitchen, and out of the eyesight of the beautiful, blue eyed man I once had all to myself.

“I’m thinking shots of fireball. Shit will get you drunk so fast.”

I laugh. “The alcohol version of red hot gum, I’m down.”

Laughing at my lame attempt at a joke, she grips the neck of the bottle, grabbing two shot glasses next and filling them both to the rim. I quickly grab mine, tossing it back and swallowing the harsh amber liquid. A shiver wracks my body as the burning liquid makes its way down my throat.

I cough, placing my hand over my stomach. “Fuck, I forget how much that shit burns.”

Ashlyn chuckles. “Yeah. But that’s what makes it great. The burn of this can help erase the burn you feel from Rafe being a royal douche.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. She’s right. I prefer the burn of the liquor over the burn of Rafe and his heartbreaking words.

She quickly fills the shot glasses again, handing me mine and watching as I down the amber liquid once more.

I slam the shot glass back on the counter. “Another, please.”

She smiles widely. “Atta girl. You’ll forget about the smug bastard by the end of the night at this rate.”

***

Ashlyn was right. I was…. twenty shots in?? I don’t fucking know, I was drunk. And I wasn’t thinking about the pretty blue eyed man.

I’m about to take another shot when a voice I didn’t want to hear anytime soon has me dropping the glass on the floor, clear liquid spilling at my feet as the glass shatters — representing my heart because of him.

“Y/N… I think you should cut yourself off and go home.. I’ll take you.”

I snap my head in his direction, those damn pretty blue eyes staring down at me. Looking at me like I actually meant something to him. Lies. He doesn’t give a fuck. He just doesn’t want me embarrassing him tonight. Fuck him.

With shaky hands, I grab another glass from the counter, my eyes never leaving his. I reach out and find the tall, glass bottle of Tito’s, pouring myself another shot and then downing it with my eyes on his.

“Fuck you, Rafe.”

He sighs, setting his beer bottle on the counter and placing his hands on my shoulders. His blue eyes search my face.

“Y/N. Please, go home. You’re drunk, and you’re hurting.”

I roll my eyes and scoff. Fuck him for trying to pretend he cares. He doesn’t give a shit about me. And I’m done caring about him.

“Stop acting like you give a fuck about me, Rafe. You dumped me. So it’s done. I just want to get drunk, and fucking forget I ever loved you.”

He glances behind me, his eyes taking in everyone that’s watching us. “Hey, can we please go talk outside?”

I open my mouth to tell him to fuck off, but he grabs my hand, pulling me outside. I’m so drunk I can’t fight him off. He pulls me all the way down the stairs of the front porch and down the long driveway until we reach his truck.

He opens the passenger door, tossing me inside and slamming it shut behind him. My heavy eyes watch him round the front of the truck before he hops inside the driver seat. He pulls the keys out of his pocket, sticking them into the ignition and bringing the truck to life.

I cross my arms over my chest with a huff. “Where the fuck are you taking me, Rafe?”

He glances at me from the corner of his eye before placing them back on the road. “Home.” comes his clipped answer.

I lean my head against the window. Why does he do this? He left me. Why does he care if I’m drunk at a party or not? Why can’t he just leave me alone and let me heal?

The smell of leather and his cologne fills my nose. I feel the tears begin burning the backs of my eyes, and I swallow the lump that’s formed in my throat. I lift my head, turning my head to the side to look at him. He still looks so good, and it hurts. He has one hand firmly gripping the steering wheel and the other lays lazily in his lap.

He has on a tight baby blue polo, and khakis with a backwards hat on. I want him to kiss me, and tell me everything will be okay. Tell me that he made a mistake and he does love me. But I know that won’t happen. He meant what he said, and there’s no getting him back, no matter how badly I want him back.

A few minutes later, he’s pulling into the driveway of my parents house. He puts the truck in park and hops out, rounding the truck to my side and opening the door for me.

He reaches his hand out, and I take it. My heart pulls in my chest at the feel of his touch again. I miss him.

He helps me out of the truck, and walks me to the front door. I turn and face him, wanting to get some things off my chest before he goes.

“Why’d you do it?” I ask softly, tears stinging at my eyes and threatening to spill.

He sighs, and the look in his eyes hold slight regret. “I can’t answer that… I just, I didn’t want to be with you anymore. And I’m sorry I hurt you in the process, but I couldn’t pretend to love you when I didn’t.”

The first tear falls, and I blink rapidly, swiping at my cheeks with the back of my hand. “I still don’t understand what I did wrong..”

He places a hand on my shoulder, and I can’t stop the sob that is pulled from me.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Y/N… I promise. I know this is so cliché, but it’s not you, it’s me. I just couldn’t commit.”

The tears are now flowing uncontrollably down my face and my body is shaking. I’m in pain. And he’s making it worse.

“I love you, Rafe. I don’t want to lose you.”

“I’m sorry.. I just can’t. You need to stop loving me.”

I choke out a sob. “I don’t want to love you anymore. But I do.”

He sighs, letting his head fall and his eyes look to the ground.

This is the worst pain I’ve ever experienced in my entire life. I’m not getting him back. I’ll never have Rafe Cameron in my life again. And that thought alone has me spiraling into a depression I don’t know if I’ll be able to come back from.

“Say something, Rafe.” I choke out.

His head lifts, and his eyes find mine again. He’s went from looking regretful, to angry in just seconds.

“What do you want me to say? I left you. And now you’re showing up to my friend’s house, getting fucking wasted and causing a scene. What the fuck do you want from me? I can’t fucking force myself to love you! I just fucking can’t! I’m sorry, but that’s the fucking truth. I never fucking loved you, Y/N. Let it the fuck go.”

Another harsh sob wracks my body as I come to terms with the fact that he truly never loved me. He never cared about me. He used me, and I let him. I grab my house key out of my small purse and stick it into the lock. I push open the front door, turning to face him before I walk inside, I say, “I could have lived without knowing you never meant anything you told me. You fucking broke me, Rafe. You ruined me. A once bright and happy fucking woman, and you’ve shattered me. I fucking hate you, and I hope you’re happy. Please, just leave me the fuck alone.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but I slam the door in his face, quickly locking it and sliding my back down the door until my ass hits the floor. I bring my knees up to my chest, curling in on myself. I let out a loud scream, knowing my parents aren’t home tonight. Sobs wrack my entire body and I feel the physical pain in my chest from where he once lived. He fucking broke me, and I will never forgive him for that.

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[giddyfatherchris]

Confidence booster

Pairing: changbin x f!reader

Type: Not requested

Genre: a biiiit of angst if you squint and fluuuuufff

Warnings: none

Requests: open for stray kids and bts

A/n: i thought about this random scenario and it made my heart grow a size or two with fluff hehe hope you enjoy xx

gif is not mine!

Summary: After a little incident while you were shopping with Changbin, he takes matter in his own hands to make you feel better and boost your confidence a little

"Why is this so good?" marvels Changbin as you walk down the mall, drinks in both your hands.

You laugh at his comment. Honestly, he's not wrong, but the childlike wonder Changbin often expresses always makes you giggle. He's basically a very buff and muscular child.

"Alright, so where do you need to go first?"

Changbin had invited you for a shopping day. He needed new clothes since he kept getting bigger by the hour. Usually, he would have asked the stylist for some new pieces, but he also liked to walk around the mall. So, with permission and a few security guards, you left together for a shopping spree.

He wanted to stop by a few stores, and you felt more than happy to follow along and enjoy his company. You had wished for the other boys to join you, but the occasion for them to get a free day was so rare. They all jumped at the opportunity to have a very chill and relaxed day.

You entered your third store your hands already full of bags, which all belonged to Changbin. Immediately, he started rummaging through the clothes. Every once in a while, he got out an abomination of a shirt or dress only to make a funny face to make you laugh. You joined in his game and quickly were almost crying because of the new atrocities you pulled out. Even the bodyguards couldn't hold in subtle smiles. 

You were about to show him a very confusing top when your eyes fell on a beautiful dress. You put back the previous piece of clothing without a glance. It was a stunning pastel color and flowed perfectly with its multiple panels. You let your hand stroke the fabric. Your mouth opened with surprise at how soft it was. Completely lost in your world, you didn't notice when Changbin sneaked up on you with a funny hat and pair of glasses. 

"What do you think of these?" he snickered, finding himself incredibly funny. "Y/n?"

"Mh?"

Pulled from your daze, you absentmindedly giggled when you noticed him, your mind not quite moved on from the absolute dream you held in your hands.

"You're not even laughing," he pouted before noticing your gaze of adoration. "That's really pretty. I'm sure it would suit you very well. Try it on!" he enthusiastically pressed.

And just like that, your little dream fell flat. You backed away from the rack as if it was poisonous.

"Oh no, I don't think so. I just thought it was soft," you mumbled before quickly walking away. 

For the following stores, he noticed the drastic change in your attitude. Your enthusiastic mood was long gone, replaced by a distant gaze. Every time he offered a piece of clothing he thought would fit you well, you looked at him with this tense stare, shook your head, and moved on.

When you got home, you immediately headed to your room. You dropped the bags directly in the entryway and said a dismissive 'hello' to Felix who was waiting for the two of you with a smile. The young Australian gave his older brother a confused look, to which Changbin only answered with shrugged shoulders.

You were lying on your bed, a frog plushie held tight to your chest. You stared at the ceiling as memories you hadn't thought about in months flooded your brain. You were so out of it you didn't hear the light knock on your door. Only the apparition of Changbin in your room brought you back to the present.

"Oh, hi binnie."

"Can I come in?"

You nodded as you sat cross-legged in your little bed, giving him some space.

"Did you need anything?" you asked after he stayed silent for a few seconds. He looked shy, almost awkward, which was rare for him.

"I wanted to ask you about something, and before you say I imagined it..."

"Changbin I-" 

He stopped you with a stern look. "Fine, I may have the attention span of a kindergartner, but I'm not that blind. You look seriously disturbed whenever I ask you to try something on." You examined your hands, ashamed to face his eyes. "And you can't tell me it was nothing. You looked panicked." He searched for your gaze, his head leaning on the side. 

You closed your eyes. "It's just because it's embarrassing to explain," you whispered.

He stayed silent with his brows furrowed, a silent invitation for you to continue, you looked up and winced. "I used to date someone, and when we went shopping he showed little interest in the clothes I wanted. Which I guess is fair, but the thing is whenever I did try something in front of him, he always made fun of me. Or would point out the things wrong with it?" You hid your reddening face in your hands. "Since then, I only go shopping alone. I'm never trying anything new in front of someone."

You sighed, feeling so ashamed, even though you knew your friend deserved some proper explanation for your unusual behavior. 

"So, that's why you wouldn't try that dress?" 

You nodded. He stared at you silently, patted your hand, and left the room…?

It wasn't totally out of character for Changbin, he really had a hard time focusing on two things at once, but you thought after telling him such a personal story, he would have shown some compassion or at least would have said something. 

It didn't help that you didn't see him the next day. The only thing resembling some news you got was a text in your group chat making sure everyone was still on for the meal at his dorm that night. 

You showed up at the requested hour to an almost empty house. Seungmin, Felix, and Lee Know were the only ones there, busy preparing the meal. When you asked about the five missing boys, they gave a vague answer about an errand they all had to run before supper. You shrugged off the bizarre coincidence with a suspicious look before you joined the preparations.

Changbin, Bang Chan, Han, Hyunjin, and I.N finally showed up with a plethora of bags about 30 minutes later.

"With everything you bought yesterday, I didn't think you were still missing some stuff Bin." You laughed until you noticed their conniving smiles and unusual silence. "What's going on here?" you asked after looking at Seungmin, Felix, and Lee Know.

The sweet Australian boy walked behind you and grabbed your shoulders.

"Changbin hyung told us about your thing with clothes." 

You whipped your head in the direction of the culprit, anger brewing in your blood. 

"Please don't get mad!" intervened Chan as he stepped up. "We went to the store and picked some stuff for you." He gave you an adorable smirk, and if you weren't so embarrassed, you could have swooned.

Your strong friend walked up to you, bags in hands. "Try these and then show us." 

Your mouth opened comically. "Is this a joke?" You looked at your friends and their hopeful smiles. "I told you I don't do that, and if you told everyone, you all should know too."                    

"Exactly, and that's why we want to do this. Please trust us?" He gave you the most horrid and cute agyeo look in an attempt to convince you. You pondered the situation and looked at them, hoping they would rescind. 

"I will try ONE thing, and then we never talk about it again," you grumbled as Changbin quickly handed you a bag with a gigantic smile.

Of course, it was the dress. It was magnificent, and if you were honest, you thought it suited you, but self-doubt was never far away. You could never trust your opinion. You were probably not seeing some horrible detail, you reasoned.

"You can come out now. We're ready!" screamed Changbin from behind the door.

Turning to face the doorway, you took a deep breath. You questioned even getting out. Why would you willingly put yourself in that situation again? But then, the answer timidly pointed the tip of its nose.

Maybe, just maybe, because you did trust them? And maybe because somewhere inside, you hoped it would turn out different this time. 

You stepped out, left the door flagrantly open for a quick escape, and faced the boys with your eyes closed. "Okay, I'm out. Here it is. Can I go back in now?"

Nothing. Your apparition met with silence, you slowly opened one eye then the other. They were all sat very neatly on the couch with serious expressions. 

"Uh, guys?" 

They stayed silent for a bit more, looking you up and down before they looked at each other and started absolutely screaming.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA SO PRETTY!!"

"OH MY GOD. HAVE WE BEEN GRACED WITH THE PRESENCE OF AN ANGEL?"

"MY EYES! MY EYES! THEY ARE DAZZLED BY ALL THIS BEAUTY!"

"ARE YOU A CELEBRITY?"

Bang Chan was fake sobbing and muttering about how pretty you were while Seungmin had just 'fainted' in I.N and Felix's arms. Hyunjin was fanning himself like a crazy person.

Suddenly turned MC, Changbin grabbed a hairbrush as a mic and presented your outfit. "Everyone! Here is our first outfit of the night! What would we rate this?"

"A 10!"

"12/10"

"ONE MILLION OUT OF TEN."

"It's PERFECT!" screamed Han.

You couldn't help a fit of laughter from escaping your mouth. Your cheeks were red with slight embarrassment and a healthy dose of happiness. The boys continued their crazy antics, asking you to twirl and do a model walk across the living room as they applauded. The show continued for a while as they encouraged you to try every item of clothing they bought you. 

Most of them fit you like a glove, and you praised their incredible sense of fashion. Even with the more ill-fitting ones, their comments focused on comedy. Not a bad thing was said about you or the way your body looked.

You concluded the night with the delicious meal your three cooks had prepared and a movie. You were cuddled up on the couch, somehow all touching despite your different positions. 

In the middle of the movie, you subtly looked at Changbin, sitting next to you. His gaze focused, face bare, and his natural dark curls giving him the fluffiest and most adorable appearance. After a few seconds of your maintained observation, he turned to you, a silent question mark in his dark eyes. 

"When you didn't say anything after I confessed my story I got scared you were judging me," you whispered. "But after what you did tonight, I just wanted to thank you."   

A satisfied smile illuminated his features as he reached for your hand, squeezing it. He didn't say anything for a while, his gaze back on the screen intently watching the movie, until he brought his mouth close to your ear and ushered in a low tone. 

"You deserved to be shown the proper reaction for anything you would ever put on. That guy was an ass if he wasn't able to recognize what was in front of him." Your eyes turned round like saucers at the words you were hearing. You shifted to look at him, but his eyes were still on the screen. "We didn't have to put on a show or anything. We simply had to be honest and say what we’re all silently thinking all the time."

[lovebugism]

band!eddie and reader finally having some alone time in the tour bus *wink wink*

18+ rockstar!eddie universe <3

It was one of those rare occasions where the rest of the band wanted to go out and you wanted to stay in. There hadn’t even been a show that day, just interview after interview after interview. It left your social battery at an all time low. So when Jeff and Gareth wanted to barhop the night away, you lamented that you were way too tired to accompany them. 

And Eddie, being the nice guy he was, opted to stay in with you. “Someone’s gotta make sure the lady stays safe. Wouldn’t want someone to steal ya,” he’d half-joked.

You scoffed. “Because, god forbid, you lose your bassist, right?”

“Well, if I lost you, I think I’d die, but…  yeah, having to find a replacement would definitely be more emotionally taxing.”

Eddie Munson was the only person in the world who could rival your sarcasm. It was so easy for the both of you to cover up a sweet thing with something so playfully sour. The boy finishes his quip with a stupid, lovedrunk grin that nearly makes you melt. 

“Obviously,” you retort.

The rest of the boys disappear for the next several hours, enough for the sun to have set and stars to sprinkle the sky. If you had to guess, they’ve probably got a running bet on how many bars they could get free drinks from. It’ll go on until they can’t see straight anymore, no winners or losers — unless you count your manager, who’ll no doubt have to escort them back to the bus. 

With them gone, the bus is practically silent for the first time all tour. There is no boyish yelling or tuning guitars or video games. There’s not even the muffled sound of tires on gravel with the tour bus parked. It’s total silence filled only with the faint sounds of Charlie’s Angels coming from the common area. The episode is practically on mute, though, because Eddie knows you’re tired and doesn’t want to disturb you.

The soft quiet ushers you into its velvet arms. It almost lulls you to sleep several times over, but something in the back of your mind refuses to let you slumber. You were annoyed at first. You were squirming in your tiny bunk for nearly an hour until you realized you were filled with a need of a different kind.

You didn’t need sleep. You needed Eddie. Like a child needs their baby’s blanket — you can’t be without him for too long, or you might start screaming. The sudden ache to be close to him hits you like a freight train.

The sliding door of the bunks glides open with a mechanical schlick. You lean against the frame of it, clad only in a too big shirt that probably belonged to all the boys before it got to you, and admire your boy in his element.

He’s all spread out on the leather couch, curly hair untamed and in a messy chestnut halo on his head. He wears a piece of outdated Corroded Coffin merch from back when you only played gigs at The Hideout. The shirt clings to his torso while a pair of old pajama pants hang low on his hips.

Eddie’s eyes are firmly trained on the small television in the corner of the bus. The chocolate of them dart around the screen as Farrah Fawcett turns flips beneath a shoddy cable service. He barely acknowledges your presence, too engrossed in the climax of his show.

“Thought you were sleeping,” he says without looking at you.

“I’m too bored to sleep,” you practically whine. 

Your feet shuffle along the carpeted floor as you walk the short distance to him. You all but flop onto the couch at his side, burying your face into the warmth of his neck.

“What do you mean you’re too bored to sleep?” he mocks with a soft laugh. He turns to press his lips to your head, not exactly kissing you there, just resting against you. His words are muffled: “Why didn’t you go out with Jeff and Gareth?”

“Didn’t want to,” you answer shortly.

“Solid answer,” he nods. “What do you wanna do then?”

He doesn’t necessarily mean it suggestively. He’d probably go lie in traffic if it’d make you less bored, he loves you so damn much — but fuck if a million dirty things don’t pop into your head all at once.

It’s practically the first time you’ve been alone all tour. 

Now that you think about it, every time you’ve fucked Eddie, it’s been at the discretion of prying eyes just behind a door or in a room over. Hotels are few and far between, and you and your boys are the tightest clan the universe has ever seen, so it leaves little room for opportunity time for you and Eddie.

But here you were now, with no one around, and practically all the time in the world (or rather, until sunrise, when the rest of the band shuffled back onto the bus).

“I don’t know,” you lilt, though you’re already hooking a leg over his thighs.

Eddie feels like a teenage boy all over again as you settle onto his lap. A wide grin tugs slow at the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t bother to hide his excitement. “What are ya doin’, doll?”

“Nothin’,” you shrug, feigning innocence, like you’re not slipping your fingers through the hem of his pants. The tips of them inch into his boxers and trail down the thin patch of coarse hair there with a touch that’s smoother than water.

His cock is already half-hard when you take him into your hands, warm and soft and stiffening in your grip. Eddie exhales deeply through his nose at your gentle caressing, his gaze now turned down to where work him harder.

“Keep watching your show, baby,” you tease with a knowing grin as you slip his dick from the confines of his pajamas.

“How can I—” he tries to joke, but the words get lost in his throat when you slide your panties to the side. He goes instantly stupid at the sight of your slick collecting along the manicured thatch of pubic hair just above your pussy. His brain all but ceases to function when you rub yourself along him, drenched folds parting to welcome the bulbous tip of his cock.

You feel like silk, he concludes, or maybe something somehow softer. 

Eddie swallows thickly while his obedient hands settle on your hips to steady you. He continues, this time with a tremble in his voice. “How can I when you’re pullin’ this shit, huh?” his button eyes flit back up to look at you, a smirk forming on his pink lips. “You just wanna ride me, huh? That’s what you need?”

You don’t answer him. You’re barely listening, if you’re honest, too concentrated on positioning him at your opening. You gasp softly when you pierce yourself with him, then exhale low moans as you sink slowly onto his cock. The burn is a minimal one, somewhere in your lower tummy, that washes away with a flood of velvet-coated pleasure. 

Eddie fills you so perfectly, just like he always does, like he was made to be seated inside you.

“Well, this is an excellent way to pass the time, if I do say so myself,” he manages to quip through bated exhales from where he’d been holding his breath. You rock your hips over his lap without warning. His pink lips form a tight line as something short of a growl bubbles in his throat and rumbles in his chest.

You watch with a proud grin as his eyes flutter shut and his head falls back. You push his curls over his shoulder to press open-mouthed kisses along the pale expanse of his neck, occasionally dragging your teeth along the milky white tendon there.

Eddie hums to himself when he feels you mewl softly against his skin. Your hips sway back and forth over his thighs, moving to a rhythm of their own accord — all slow and methodical. It’s a pace that always gets him pussy drunk. A steady rise and fall that forces him to feel all of you and makes him swear that you’re some kind of succubus.

“Oh my god,” he says within a dragged out exhale. He starts to babble to himself while you work yourself over his lap. “Fuck me… This is so… so fucking hot. Shit— your pussy is so good to be, doll…”

He forces himself to open his heavy eyes to watch you mount him. His chin tilts down towards his chest and he shifts his hips so he has the perfect view of you. Your honey coats his lap, leaving his cock and pubic hair glistening with your slick. The sight of him all shiny with you makes him dizzy.

His palm leaves your hip and seeks purchase on your ass, not really thinking about it, just gravitating to hold you there. He grips you with guitar-string calloused hands that encourage you to rock harder against him.

Your hand trails from his shoulder down to where the two of you meet. You start to rub your clit with a lust-fueled fervor that just about makes him implode. You whine when your fingers meet the sensitive button, clenching somehow tighter around him as your pleasure begins to crescendo.

“That feel good?” he wonders through bated breaths. His hand leaves your ass, rising for no more than a moment, only to come down again in a practiced slap that makes you jolt against him. The sting of his palm adds gasoline to the simmering embers of your impending orgasm.

You whine, louder this time, arching your back and keening shamelessly against him.

It makes him grin. “Huh? Feels good on your pretty little clit, doesn’t it, doll?”

“Fuck yes…” you cry through a tight throat. “Feels so good, Eddie— fuck.”

Your hips lose their rhythm as your body fights to find its own pleasure. 

You’ve got his dick locked inside you with a grip so tight it’s got him seeing stars, and it makes him wonder if you’d stop. Like, if the boys barged in right now, would you keep going, too far gone and dumb on his cock not to see it through. 

Something about that, you riding him for all he’s worth, whining while you come on his cock with your friends watching — seeing firsthand who you belong to — makes him want to burst all at wants.

“God, this pussy’s amazin’, baby… ’S gonna— holy fuck… You’re gonna make me come if you keep riding me like this... Shit, yeah, just like that, doll.”

When you come, you do it together.

It’s a borderline spiritual feeling, one that doesn’t happen very often because Eddie’s usually adamant about you coming twice before he has the first time. But now, both of you are sensitive and whining through your orgasms, heaving out incorrigible moans and grasping tightly onto one another.

Eddie takes to fucking up into you while you reach your simultaneous highs. He grips you hard enough to leave bruises while his thighs audibly slap slap slap against your more slick ones. You cry at the oversensitivity — electric shocks that contrasts heavily with the warm feeling of his come spitting into your fluttering walls.

You shake violently in his hold, moaning his name over and over like it’s the only word you can remember. Your orgasm comes and goes, and you’re left whining pathetic Eddie, Eddie, Eddie’s into the mostly silent tour bus.

The boy isn’t in much better shape either. He fights off a cramp in his foot from where he’d curled his toes too tightly and blinks away burning tears that sing the backs of his eyes from coming so suddenly.

Your hips come to a slow stop over his lap, too quickly and yet not soon enough. You rest your forehead over his own, knocking your nose with his before you lean in to press several lazy pecks upon his lax mouth.

“See?” you manage to tease through heavy pants. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“I guess that wasn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Eddie quips with a wide grin and eyes that are still slightly glazed with dispersing pleasure. He rubs his hands over the skin of your ass to soothe where he’d held you too tight. It’s soft, too soft for what he’s about to tell you. 

“Now, how about you spread yourself out on this couch and let me clean you up, ‘kay?”

[azen13]

I’ve never been to a Starlight Pawnshop before…just look at all this stuff. Too bad I can’t buy everything in this store.

Wait a minute, who left this Chess Piece out by itself? No matter, I’ll gladly take it, even if I’ve never played a single game before in my life!

A Losing Game

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Chess Pawn: A finely-carved chess pawn. If life is a chessboard, then so too are people pawns in other's games. Based on this pawn’s pristine condition, whoever controlled it loved it quite dearly.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

CW: Yandere Themes, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Gaslighting

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Jing Yuan is an accomplished man. As the General of the Xianzhou Luofu, he has accumulated a list of titles and achievements that could fill a thousand archives: master of foresight; skilled with a glaive; voted “Most Attractive Bachelor” of the Xianzhou Luofu five years in a row. And, of course, his prowess at Starchess.

Yes, Jing Yuan is very, very good at Starchess. One of the best in the entirety of the Xianzhou Alliance, if not in the entire galaxy. While his knowledge of opening lines could be considered weak for his level of gameplay, after he gets settled, he excels at slowly cutting off his opponent’s options, until reaching the endgame. 

In Starchess, the endgame is extremely important. A poorly-played endgame can lead to a crushing defeat, while quick thinking and clever maneuvering of pieces can allow a pawn to be promoted to a queen, which can then help propel a player to victory.

While Jing Yuan is good at Starchess, he is almost undefeatable in the endgame.

Until today.

The ring was perfect and understated, a band of solid gold engraved with delicate patterns. He knew everything about you from years of dismantling every thread of your being apart, and knew you didn’t care for things that were too gaudy and outwardly luxurious. The night was perfectly planned: a picnic beneath the starlit sky, constellations framing your face like a crown. He had hidden the ring at the bottom of the basket, beneath a beautiful meal of the finest the Luofu had to offer. And you were going to be there, boundless in beauty and grace, sharp as a sword and sweet as sugar.

Tonight, though, Jing Yuan tastes the sea on his lips.

How long has it been since he has cried? Centuries, he thinks, standing in the foyer of his home, the front door slightly ajar. A biting wind snaps its jaws at Jing Yuan through the opening, but he cannot feel it. He can hardly feel anything. 

The numbness spreads from his heart outwards as he moves, first forwards to shut the door. A brief glance outside, and he can still imagine you standing there. In better circumstances, you and him would have gone to Fyxestroll Gardens, and enjoyed a quiet night. He would have proposed. You would have accepted. Everything would be right in the world. But when Jing Yuan opened the door, what greeted him was the greatest misfortune he had ever faced.

You stood outside, jagged shadows stretching like scars across your face, your posture guarded, your face unreadable. At first, Jing Yuan assumed you just had a terrible day, perhaps because of your job, perhaps because of something else. But then you began to speak, poison spilling from your lips, killing both you and him. He knows this is a grave mistake, but you have already drowned in these lies.

As you walk away from him, Jing Yuan makes a vow to himself: he will not let you leave. No, not like this.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Without you by his side, safe and secure in his loving embrace, the General’s night is restless; as he tosses and turns, he replays the memories of hurt again and again in his mind, trying to wrap his head around your reasoning so he can dismantle it when he has you again. He may have unknowingly made a blunder, but he will still win this game, the most important game of his life.

Maybe a stop by the Alchemy Commission–your workplace–is necessary, no? Last time he heard, investigators are still clearing out spies from the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus hiding amongst its members. 

Jing Yuan takes a moment to check his schedule, a relaxed smile falling on his face. He still has several hours before his first meeting of the day. Enough time to bring you back home, where you belong. A brief flash of uncertainty courses through his body, like a chess player second-guessing their plan, before he steadies himself. This is for your benefit, he tells himself. With all the dangers on the Luofu, someone like you cannot simply remain unprotected. 

With a calm and patient gait, the General of the Luofu makes his way to the Alchemy Commission.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

He scrutinizes the cramped halls of the building you work in carefully, noting a pawn here, a bishop there. All people, yet all pieces in the game of love, and the inevitable, complete conquering of your heart. Perhaps they are playing their own games, but they do not matter. In this game, they are Jing Yuan’s pieces to move. Before today, they may have been your pieces. But while the game of life and the game of chess share many similarities, they are not one in the same. Life’s board flips and moves, expands and shrinks. Pieces change allegiances, or disappear and reappear entirely.

The board is not on your side today. You don’t even notice Jing Yuan watching you from the hall, preparing your doom. Within moments, he strides in the room, his lazy gait and relaxed expression taking control over the room and its occupants–including you–in mere seconds. Shocked faces spread like lightning, from healer to healer, before striking yours. You stand in complete terror, as Jing Yuan claims you with a simple glance, before speaking in an authoritative tone, booming like thunder.

“Mx. L/N, you are hereby arrested.” Eyes that once melted with fondness when simply seeing your face now bore into you with frigid disgust.

You can’t help but flinch from the words, mouth agape and mind blank. After a moment, you manage to collect yourself, disregarding the stares of those around you. “Excuse me? What for?” You demand. 

Jing Yuan tilts his head, looking down at you. “Sedition against the Xianzhou Luofu through serving the Plagues Author and the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus,” he cites, taking a stride forward, arms snapping to lock your limbs behind your back like shackles. “You will be taken to the Seat of Divine Foresight and given a proper sentencing for your crimes.”

Try as you may, your shouts and screams of vehement denial do you no good as Jing Yuan walks you out. Streets pass you by like snapshots of a past life. You can see the tea shop where you and Jing Yuan went on your first date. His favorite restaurant to order takeout from. The balcony overlooking the Ambrosial Arbor where he first kissed you. Thousands upon thousands of moves, each and every one thought out to perfection. Countless gambits taken, small victories celebrated, and little defeats mourned. You had nearly defeated him. Or so you thought.

Eventually, you make it to the Seat of Divine Foresight, Jing Yuan’s arms still vice like in their hold, yet not tight enough to hurt. You try to follow the turns the General takes–a right, a left, another left, up a flight of stairs, right again–but your focus wanes.

You are not guilty of any crime.

At least, so you think. Because you committed a grave offense: breaking the weak, feeble heart of your lover.

A lifelong sentence is only fair, no?

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

“My dearest, why must you struggle?” Jing Yuan murmurs as he pulls you into a small room with only a table and two chairs. Pulling you away from the door, the General gently places you on the ground, and remains by the exit, cutting off any chance of escape you may have.

“Why must you falsely accuse me?” You retort, voice flickering with fire and burning bright, even amongst all the encroaching darkness.

Jing Yuan’s soft smile slowly dissipates into a frown, the shine in his eyes dimming away into nothingness. “Y/N, I have been nothing but patient with you. I have explained why I must protect you. You understood then. Why can’t you understand now?” Slowly, like he’s trying to comfort a skittish animal, Jing Yuan inches towards you, arms outstretched inviting you into his embrace. 

“Because you’re a psycho!” You hiss, stepping backwards. Despite your insult, the General does not anger. Instead, disappointment flashes across his face. He takes another step forward, effectively cornering you.

With a quiet, hushed tone that echoes in the room like a hollow breeze, Jing Yuan’s arms find their way around your torso, pulling you tightly against him. Regardless of how much you struggle, you cannot escape Jing Yuan. “You don’t think that, love. You’re afraid. That’s okay. That’s why I’m here. To care for you. To protect you. To love you. Don’t you want that?” He asks quietly, letting you wear yourself out until you melt in his hands like putty, exhausted in every sense. A few moments of utter silence pass, before he speaks up again. “Why don’t we go home now? I have a surprise waiting for you.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The moment you return home, Jing Yuan locks the door. To protect you from yourself, he says. Though that’s a condensed version of his actual words, which are far more persuasive, spinning you around in a whirlwind of logic and reasoning you can’t seem to keep up with.

Only a second later, the General is down on one knee, a ring in hand and a glint of fire in his eyes. For a moment, you think the look is a soft, gentle thing. But then you see it for what it is: a love so warped it cannot simply be called love anymore.

As much as you want to reject his proposal, to slap him across the face and attempt to spark another uprising against his smothering love, you know it would do you no good. He would only force the ring on your finger and crown you his spouse, whether you liked it or not.

Checkmate.

[solbaby7]

Burn Baby Burn (pt.2)

Cassian x reader

warnings: flirting, some angst, violence, maybe a little smut and a jealous Illyrian baby—i got a little carried away but i had a vision

summary: Cassian’s been busy and you come up with a plan to get his attention back—no matter how toxic your tactics may be

—

“Now remember, we just need a rough estimate of their troops.” Rhysand had already gone over the details of the mission three times, his violet eyes stern when regarding you. “The second you feel danger, you leave.” The words hold no room for defiance, hands curling around the fleshy parts of your arms as he continues, “I don’t need you being a hero, I need you to get back in one piece. That is an order.”

“Yes sir.” The term of respect sounds foreign on your tongue when regarding a male you’d looked at as family but something in his tone forces you to understand that even while a huge part of accepting the mission in the first place was just to piss off Cassian, the true danger of the situation never changed. Silly games aside, you’d be in the Autumn Court, filled with males with fiery gifts and even more heated tempers to match. Rhys had went over it twice, stressing how little regard they had for their women and for you to be twice as cautious as usual. “Get a number and get out. Should be easy enough.”

He runs an eye over you, taking in the dress Mor had chosen with a sigh. “Has Cassian seen you yet?”

“Cassian doesn’t seem to have much time for that sort of thing lately.” There’s no hiding the bite in your words or the little frown at tugs at the sides of your mouth as you run your fingers over the glimmering gems on your dress. It covered enough—the material thick and sturdy as it moulded to the shape of your breasts. It took some getting used to have so much midriff exposed, the cut out slicing at an angle from one side to another, the two pieces of fabric at your hip connecting by thin gold chains adorned in more diamonds.

It was classy enough but the sex appeal was unmistakable and while none of the important bits were exposed, the material of the dress made it seem like you were wearing nothing but your skin. Rhysand sighed, fighting the urge to buy into affairs that technically weren’t his own but the two of you were family and seeing you both fighting threw off the feel of the house. “Are you sure this is a good idea? I don’t think you should be going if you’re only doing this to get back at him.”

“Not everything is about him, Rhys.” You take a step back, willing your anger to contain itself as you fixed yourself, a painted finger running over glossy lips and curls that Nesta had promised would last all night if you just stopped running your hands through them. “I meant what I said. One night where someone will actually notice when I walk in a room and compliment me—even if it is Eris and his stupid, disgusting mouth saying it.” Tears well in your eyes at the embarrassment that swells from the confession and with a sharp breath, it’s all gone and a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes pulls across your cheeks. “I should go—I promised Nesta I’d say bye before I left.”

“Just Nesta?”

Your heels stop their clicking on the floor, the skirt of your dress held in your hands when you turn your head to look up at him. “She’s the only one who asked me to.”

You walk away before you can see the look of pity you’re sure is settling into his eyes and you don’t turn back when you walk down the hallway until you’ve reached Nesta’s room at the end of the hall and slipped inside.

She’s in bed; hair wrapped in tissue paper curlers, book nestled in her hand and you notice that she still refused to touch the fireplace, the oil lantern burning in its place to her left. “You headed out?”

You nod with a little smile, offering a little twirl when she admired your dress once more. “Right after this.”

“You visit your general yet?”

Nesta had always been good at that—prodding at sensitive topics while appearing uninterested, steely grey-blue eyes returning to her books pages as if she’d never said anything at all. There’s a pause, a gulp as you swallow and she doesn’t miss the nervous cracking of your knuckles at your sides. “No.”

“You going to?”

“I don’t see how that would be helpful.”

Finally she looks at you, a brow raised in faux confusion as she pointed a finger at you, your clothes, the hair and makeup that she and Mor had spent a little more time than necessary on—silently picking their sides without rattling the stability of their home and its structure. “Oh?” It comes out a little bored, as if you should’ve been clued in already. “Forgive me, I had just assumed that you’d understood that we didn’t take such time on you for no reason. I said get his attention—can’t do that without showing him what the hell he’s missing.”

A beat of time passes, you mouth a little wide as you look down at yourself once more before staring at the eldest Archeron sister. “Where did you learn about all of this?”

Nesta shook her book a little, her face finally morphing from its permanent cool expression to a content smirk. “I read. Now leave, I’m just getting to the good part.”

An incredulous laugh passes your mouth and it doesn’t subside until you’re in the hallway, the door not even fully closed before you’re slamming into a body much bigger than your own. Hands wrap around your waist before you fall back, profanities mixed in with apologies until you recognize that smell—those hands. The dark hair hanging at his shoulders. “My bad, I was just—“

“You’re actually going.” It comes out no louder than a whisper, hazel eyes widening at the realization, hands tightening their grip on your waist as if pure brute strength alone would be all it took to make you stay.

A few seconds pass and the house suddenly seemed too small even with its many rooms and wide hallways. All rational thought scrambles with his hands on you, warmth radiating on the skin exposed at your left hip. He’s so close, the smell of his soap, the conditioner he’d no doubt used more than necessary because he liked how soft his hair felt afterwards. You take a shuddering breath, hands on his forearms, fingers curled around, unsure if you wanted to tug him closer or push him off. “Yes, I am.”

For the first time he seems to take in your attire, the sultry eye makeup, your pouty lips covered in shiny gloss and something like anger flashed in his iris as he seemed to remember who’d you claimed you were wearing it for. The warmth on your body retracts in an instant, a sneer on his mouth and you can’t help the pang that digs into your chest.

Your arms cross over your body, insecurities on overdrive at the disgust that radiated from him the longer he stared. You blink away the tears that burn at your waterline and after a sharp breath, you square your shoulders and straighten your spine. “If you’re quite finished—“

“As a matter of fact, I’m not.” Your brow quirks at his raised voice, your hand settling on a poked out hip at his outburst. “What was that back there?” Cassian questions, tone settling down to nothing but barely a whisper as he stood before you more so resembling a young boy rather than a great commander of armies. “The things you said—were they.” He stops himself, eyes closing briefly before clearing his throat. “Did you mean it?”

“Which part?”

“Which part?” He repeats as if you’ve said something stupid, hands smacking at the sides of his thighs. “All of it. You—“ Cassian stops again, eyes squinting a little as if he’d called a council meeting in his brain and the whole sleuth of determined soldiers gathered, firing off a million different possible sentences. “You want another males attention?”

You sigh, anger beginning to subside when he spoke so softly, eyes so wide and vulnerabilities beginning to make themselves known. “I do if it gets yours.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Cassian snarled, hand waving the words away as if it were smoke in the air and you force yourself not to notice the tight fit of his sleep-shirt; sleeveless and snug, the grey color doing little to hide every dip and hard ridge of his body. The sharp ‘V’ peeking from the loose sleep pants have you sucking in a harsh breath, a blush fanning as you tear your eyes away from him.

“Is it?” You sound a little distracted, mainly because of the growing need that ensued from such proximity with the Illyrian and when you begin back down the hall and towards the foyer, Cass is hot on your heels. “I mean have you even noticed anything at all this week? I’ve been practically throwing myself on you and I’m certain you don’t even have a single clue on what I’m talking about.”

There’s no need to turn back to face him, you’re positive his silence is his filing through every second that had passed since returning home, every rejected attempt at spending a second of time together, every dejected sigh, every unreciprocated declaration of love and for a split second, you think he finally gets it when a softness settles into hazel eyes. “I am the General Commander of all armies for the Night Court.“

The ember of hope dies just as quickly as it burned to life and a snarl pulls from your throat. “Obviously, I know that.”

“—I am busy.”

“I know.”

“There’s just not enough time in the day for me to complete all of my responsibilities and then come home and baby you—“

Your steps halt to a stop, body freezing in place and the rigid line of your spine seems utterly unnatural. “Oh?”

“I didn’t mean that.” Cassian waits for the yelling, maybe some tears,braces himself for a few well placed smacks before showering you in apologies. “I really didn’t mean that.”

But the yelling never comes.

“I really should get going.” Your steps continue and this time when Cassian reaches out a hand to curl around your arm, you rip it away, steps faltering in your heels as you stumble to create distance between the two of you.

“Please—“

“Save it.” The eerie calm lacing every syllable is enough to make him flinch. “I’m busy and there’s just not enough time in the day to complete my responsibilities and baby you so just fucking save it.”

Words died on his tongue, mouth still parted with the intent to explain but you’re already gone, winnowed away without so much as a glance and Cassian can’t stop staring at the spot where you once stood. His jaw clenched when he hears a sigh emit from his right and none other than Nesta stood in the archway, tissue paper curls still tied in her hair, shoulder leaned against the wall with arms crossed over her chest as she peered at the soldier. “Idiot.”

“Excuse me?”

She scoffed, glare never faltering and if Cass was being honest, she didn’t look intimidated by him in the slightest. “You heard me then, so hear me now. Keep up what you’ve been doing—keep pushing her away, neglecting her to the point where she’s skipping meals and guzzling down half her body weight in alcohol or when she looks in a mirror and stares at herself like she’s the scum beneath your shoes—“ Nesta’s voice catches and the soldier doesn’t dare comment on it with her arms now hanging in fists of rage at her sides and the growing fire in that blue-grey stare is enough to have Cassian’s fingers twitching for the hilt of his sword. “You keep that up and I’ll show you exactly what I devoured when Hybern threw me in that Cauldron.”

—

The Autumn Court certainly knew how to throw a party and after a quick scan of the attendees, your previous nerves about your revealing clothing immediately subsides. Remaining aware is an easy feat with so much to look at, bright balls of golden flames floated in the air around the room casting their romantic shadows over the crowd.

One half of the room was dedicated to food, giant tables filled with refreshments, cheeses and breads, fresh fruits and cured meats. Giant flower arrangements beckon you closer, bending at the waist to take in the smell of blushing roses and golden azaleas. “A beauty admiring beautiful things,” A voice sounded from behind you , the arrogant aura washing over like the nights tide. “That’s not something you see very often anymore around here.”

“Eris,” You greet, a picture of professionalism as you refrain from smacking him clear across his face for what he’d done to Mor alone. Instead you offer a smile when he grabs your hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. “I’m sure you say that to all the pretty ladies.”

“That may be true,” Eris held a glass of champagne casually between two fingers, his suit such a dark shade of red it appeared black in certain lighting, a fitting contrast with his crimson tresses. “—but you’re the only person I’ve said it to tonight. Stole my attention the second you stomped through the door.”

A blush begins to burn at your cheeks at the complement, face turning to the side and you busied your hands by stealing a champagne flute of your own when the waitresses in flowing auburn dresses glided by with trays full of drinks. “I did not stomp.”

“You did,” He insists over a gentle chuckle, staring down at you over the rim of his glass. You’re too busy skimming over the assortment of food to notice the way the eldest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court is taking in your figure like you’re one of those sculptures carved from marble that resided in the museum—its beauty forever persevered for others to observe. “I looked over because I thought one of the horses had wandered in.”

The laugh that emits isn’t exactly pretty, a quick bark of a thing but Eris still smiled because it was real. “Prick.”

“That’s definitely true.” The glass of champagne is finished in one gulp, shirt unbuttoned so low you could see the entirety of his firm chest flexing as he reached out a hand. “Dance with me anyway?”

Your eyes squint up at him, taking in the offered hand carefully before copying his actions and downing your glass, hand sliding into his own when you’d set the flute down. “I had a few glasses of wine before I got here,” You say without thinking. “Don’t complain if I step on your toes.”

The grin that smears his face is purely mischievous, interlocking your arm with his own, one hand resting over yours where he’d placed it on his bicep, he leads you through the thick of the crowd. “I’m sure I can handle it.”

Eris spares a seconds worth of a glance towards the group of pristinely dressed people with all sorts of instruments in their hands, music changing on cue and the bouncy tune shifts into something slower—more sensual. He faces you fully, the distance between you no more than a few inches and the burning warmth of a hand that settles low on your waist is borderline unbearable. It had been so long since you’d been this close to a male—to any male other than Cassian and Baron’s eldest son seems to notice. “Just relax,” He croons, decades worth of entitlement evident in the smooth glide of his dancing, the movements fluid, second nature as if he’d done it every morning since the day he could stand sturdy on two legs. “I’ll protect you if your big, bad Illyrian soldier comes looking for you.”

Your head jerks back at the taunt, fingers gripping tighter where they’re loosely resting on his shoulders, the lingering smell of cedar wood and bonfire smoke, freshly cut grass and the nights breeze in the middle of August present on Eris’ skin. “Trust me, he won’t be.”

His brow quirks at the underlying heat in your tone, the flicker of upset in your eye that he nearly mistakes for a shadow from the burning balls of light above. “In that dress? He’d be an imbecile not to.” You squirm under the attention, unable to keep eye contact as doubt crept in. A finger curls under your chin, forcing your head up gently and the undeniable hunger in Eris’ eye burned hotter than the crackling flames of the bonfires outside. “You’re the most beautiful thing in here.”

“It’s not kind to lie.”

His tone shifts, a frown pulling at the corner of full lips and abruptly he stops dancing. “I have never claimed to be a kind man,” Eris informed, words firm and it takes little time for you to realize that this was now the first born heir of the Autumn Court addressing you. “Hundreds of thousands of soldiers suit up for battle and die by my command.”

Hundred of thousands?

That was certainly a higher number than Rhysand had anticipated after the war with Hybern.

“I have never claimed to be a kind man,” He repeats, his hand never leaving its spot on your hip, his finger still remained curled under your chin, thumb tracing against the line of your jaw. “But I am honest and you are the most beautiful thing in this room. The fact that you don’t already know that,” Eric lets out a gentle scoff, seemingly transfixed with your mouth. “—I should waltz through the Night Court and steal you from him myself.”

Your breath catches and you pray he can’t hear the hammering of your heart against your chest. Your lips part to say something back. What? You’re not yet sure but a familiar scent fills your senses before you can figure it out. “I’d say she’s just about done here.”

“Oh look,” Eris all but purred, lids going lazy as his gaze dragged from your face to the towering man behind you, wings pulled tight behind his back and swords sleuthed between them. “It seems your Illyrian did come after all—we should’ve put money on it.”

“I’m not much of a gambler.”

Cassian’s hand clamped around your arm, grip firm when he pulled you from Eris’ grasp and tucked you under his arm, wing fanning out to completely block you from the eldest son’s line of sight. “If you ever touch her again—“

Eris shrugged casually, an amused smile on those sharp features. “Someone should be. If you can’t get the job done then let her be with a male who will.”

It all happens so quickly, you being gently moved to the side before Cassian threw a punch right at Eris’ face. “Shit,” You snap into action, quick to use yourself as a shield between the soldier and the High Lords heir, hands firm on Cassian’s shoulders as you use all of your strength to push him back. It takes a second but he finally allows you to move him, retreating from the crowd of gaping citizens too drunk to comprehend what had even happened.

But Eris only laughs, blood staining his teeth as he watched you leave.

—

Rhysand is already at the front door when you return, jaw set and eyes dark in your anger as you stomp into the house, hands reaching down to rip your heels off as you pass him. “I take it, it didn’t go well.”

“It was going perfectly fine until that fucking overgrown pigeon showed up.”

The High Lord hides a laugh behind the back of his hand, face returning to its original expression at Cassian’s sharp glare. “So you got the intel.”

“Oh, I got it alright.” You snap as you bound through the office doors, throwing your shoes to the side as you immediately start for the High Lords liquor cabinet. “He’s got hundred of thousands of able bodied soldiers at his command.”

Rhys and Cass filter in behind you, shutting the door with a click and both keep a healthy distance from you. Rhysand watches the drink you pour, the harsh grip on the glass and the way you barely flinch at the eighty year old whiskey. Cassian is no better, hands shaking, blood smattered across five knuckles and chest heaving like a bull preparing for battle. “Alright, well then what happened?”

“Everything was going fine,” The words break from you like a dam, a mix of frustration and anger, embarrassment for all those eyes on you while Cassian caused a scene, the burning need that pulsed between your thighs watching the Illyrian punch at Eris like the sand filled bags they used at the war camps. “—we were just dancing and Eris was telling me everything until he showed up acting like some white knight and fucking punches him in the face.”

Rhysand’s lips purse into a straight line, violet eyes filled with disappointment when he turned to regard his brother but Cassian wasn’t having it. “His hands were all over her! I mean seriously Rhys, you should’ve been there—you’d have done the same shit if it was Ferye.”

There’s a pause, a moment where Rhys’ eye glaze over and Cassian remained rooted in place, hazel eyes never leaving his High Lords as he bared his mental walls and broadcasted the entire scene like a motion picture movie. “Oh,” The High Lord murmured, hands settling into his pockets after leaving Cassian’s mind. “Well since you’ve returned safety in one piece as promised, I’m going to go anywhere else but here.” He backs out of the room, a smug little smile on devilish features. “Keep it down though, people are sleeping.”

You scoff at him, intent on grabbing your shoe and throwing it at his head but Rhys is gone before you can even get it in your hands. “I’m going to bed.”

“Like hell you are,” Cassian stops you with an outstretched wing, arms crossed around his chest and stance rooted in place as he regards you firmly but there’s something in those hazel eyes that compels you to listen—to stay. “We need to talk about this.”

“What is there to talk about Cass? I had orders, I followed them and you nearly ruined everything because you don’t want me but another male wanting me is somehow much worse.”

The Lord of Bloodshed raised a brow, utter confusion lacing hard features. All the fight seems to dissipate at once and he’s quick to fill the space and take the drink from your hand. “Why would you even say that? I love you, you know that.”

“Do I?” You say but it sounds more like a whine than anything remotely worth respecting and it’s pathetic how easily your body gravitates closer to his radiating warmth. “I can’t even remember the last time we’ve even talked for this long without you disappearing off.”

A stressed sound claws its way from his throat and suddenly his hands are on you. Cupping your cheeks to keep your eyes on him, sliding down to where Eris had touched near your jaw, down the length of your neck and collarbones before stopping at the dip of fabric near your chest. “You’re right.” You’re prepared to need to explain further, to plead your case to the stubborn General but the low drag of his voice catches you completely off guard.

It feels as through he’s robbed you of breath when he continues his exploration down your frame, thumb grazing over a jewel near your heaving breast and the little whimper that it pulls from you makes your head fall down. “You’re mocking me.”

“I’m not,” He assures, palms sliding slowly up and down the length of your arms before finding their home around your waist, long fingers splayed out at your hips and for once the warmth there feels right—comforting. “You’re right.” Cassian murmured softly as he lifts you up and sets you down on the giant work desk.

Words escape you when those hazel eyes are finally on you, large body towering over your own as he rakes in your dress and it doesn’t take much to know he can surely hear the pounding of your heart against your ribcage. “I got too caught up in the work,” A finger goes with the gem lined chains at your hip and the touch sends goosebumps down your flesh. “—forgot about my duties at home.”

There’s a pause and when you look up from where his hands are touching you, you realize he was waiting for an answer, a brow raised expectantly. You nod slowly, voice barely audible. “Right.”

“Right,” His finger trails down further, down the slit on that side and his touch is greedy when feeling the soft skin of your legs. Cassian steps closer, hips caged in by your thighs and a breathy sound passed glossy lips when you feel the hardness of him press right there. “How foolish of me.”

“Cass—“

The bottom of your dress is sliding up before you can even comprehend that this was really happening, everything you’d been hoping for all those nights you’d spend stuffing yourself in those corsets and flimsy underwears for a second of this kind of love and affection. You can’t even remember what you were arguing about when you’re gently nudged to spread out for him and then the General Commander of the Night Courts armies knelt down before you. “Will you let me make it up to you?”

“I—“ But the response get stuck when his mouth begins pressing kisses into any skin he can get his hands on, suckling gentle marks on the inner parts of your thighs until you can feel his breath fanning over the flimsy pair of underwear covering you. “Fuck—I can’t think.”

“I’m sorry baby,” He croons and it’s supposed to be soothing but with his hands all over, his mouth so near to the place where you’d needed him the most for weeks now—your body is on overdrive, squirming and desperate for a breath of air that isn’t laced with Cassian’s seductive words and eyes that were telling you everything he planned to do to you before he’d actually done it. “Such a pretty thing like you should never have to wait so long to feel good. Could you ever forgive me?” It comes out so soft, almost patronizing when he pulls your undergarments to the side and pressed a kiss to your weeping cunt.

A string of profanities tumble past your mouth and your hands are grasping for purchase at your sides to brace yourself but you can’t focus and every single inch of your body felt like it was being kissed by lightening. “Cassian, please.”

“Don’t beg me baby,” He’s not even looking at you anymore, too focused on running his fingers through the sloppy mess between your thighs. “Command it—I’m at your mercy.”

The words pull something out of you, a moan that can’t be contained and your hand digs into thick dark hair to guide his face back to your pussy, voice cracking with want when you pant out, “Show how sorry you are and don’t stop until I tell you.”

Cassian’s tongue is lapping at your dripping sex before you can even finish your sentence, words replaced by broken moans as he fucked you with his tongue like those sweet ice creams Elaine always had in the freezer. It’s instinctual the way your hips buck up into his mouth, legs shaky and toes curling around the edge of the desk as that tight coil in your belly grew tighter. He only groans when you cum on his tongue, fingers breaching past your clenching hole while he worked you through it.

Nothing can tame the ravenous moans that emerge, breathless gasps and hands that rip the dress up higher just to watch him work. “Cass,” His name breaks on your tongue, head thrown back and the gravely groan that rumbles through his chest is enough for you to begin to pull away; legs too shaky and body too boneless to hold yourself up but the grip around your waist is too tight. “Fuck, I can’t—“

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t hear you or maybe he just doesn’t give a fuck because once he’s started he really wouldn’t stop and you worried that if he’d ripped another orgasm from you so soon, you’d pass out. “Cass, please.” Your legs won’t stop moving, toes spreading and curling at his shoulders and you suck in a greedy breath. “Need your cock—I want it Cass please.”

His movements slow to a halt, fingers retreating, mouth dripping and chin glistening when he stands to his full height, wings spread out behind as stiff as the fat cock straining under his fighting leathers. “That’s all you had to say.” Cassian doesn’t even bother fully taking them off, just undoing the buckle and sliding it down enough to fish out his length and tap it gently between your thighs. “I really am sorry, you know.” He confesses, his cock sliding between your slick lips and when the thick head of his tip catches your clit your eyes flutter shut. “So, so fucking sorry.”

The emotion in his voice makes you chin wobble a little and you push away the need to say more when his tip teases your entrance. “I know.” Your hand raised to caress his cheek, to tuck back the dark strands of hair that hang hear his shoulders and the your comforting tone shifts into something different—slower and filled with need as you spread your legs wide, dress sliding from your shoulders and neither of you move to pull it away from where it bunches at your middle. “But, if you fuck me real good, I might just forgive you.”

A glint shines in those hazel eyes. “Is that an order?”

Your hands brace yourself on his neck, grin matching his own. “It’s a command, General.”

Taglist:

@justdreamstars @star611 @wallacewillow0773638 @amara-moonlight @beezusvreeland @aroseinvelaris @naturakaashi

[totaly-obsessed]

Book Love

Alessia Russo x reader UNC

-> Alessia loves how different the two of you are, despite everyone's teasing

-> Special thanks to @babsisbakery for helping out with ideas

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Alessia Russo was hopelessly in love with her girlfriend. And it was no secret. But the blonde's popularity didn’t save her from the teasing she received on the daily.

She constantly heard ‘Why would you date someone like that?’

‘You could have anybody.’

A couple of times she was even asked if she dated you because of a bet or because she just wanted to use you. That was the first time that you saw the harsh captain that she could be – making her teammates run until they felt like vomiting blood.

Not all the teasing was bad though – a lot of it actually quite funny. At least to you. Lessi would still get mad, but when she saw you laughing, her problem vanished into thin air.

Whenever you would show up at their practice sessions, the blonde did not get a break. She was too busy staring at you to notice the girls throwing bibs at her. You did not notice it either, too deep into your book – not really being interested in the sport and just showing up for your girlfriend.

Lotte, the blonde’s best friend, loved that she was dating you. You felt like a safe place to her. A cozy blanket that could shut out the rest of the world. You always had an ear open for the half-brit so that she could rant about her latest book without having to explain why some things just annoyed her about it.

While she loved the two of you, Lotte could not stand hanging out with both of you at the same time. When Alessia was around you, you could hardly stand up without the footballer following you like a lost puppy. And the blonde would not stop looking at you until you left the room – so she just ignored her fellow lioness until you were gone.

Alessia’s favorite part of the week? The evening after a match. No matter if they won or lost, she would spend the evening the exact same way. You would join her in her room, curled up in her bed. The blonde's head heavy in your lap as you stroked her hair with one hand, the other holding the book that she picked.

She loved you, your touch, and your voice – so having you read to her after an exhausting game?

Jackpot.

Most of the time you made it two chapters deep before the striker fell asleep in your lap, and you did not dare to continue reading.

One time you had read just a couple of pages more until you realized that she had fallen asleep – but it was already too late. When you took out the book the next time, there was a pout on the blonde’s lip, as she immediately rolled off your lap.

“What is wrong Less? It’s our book!”

A deep sigh left her body, still ignoring you. “Baby, I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

She did not forgive you.

She really did not.

At least until your hand had found its way into her hair. With a deep hum, her body relaxed into you. “What’s up, huh?”

“You read without me!” You could not really take the ‘anger’ in her voice seriously. Not when she was purring like a kitten, whining when your hand stilled for a second too long.

“Oh! I am sorry my girl. Promise I did not mean to.” But the blonde did not let up, still having her back turned to you. So you took to your last resort – back scratches and praises.

While she voiced her complaints that your hands left her head, she shut up really quick when she felt them creeping up her shirt You lightly scratched her back, whispering sweet nothings into your girlfriend’s ear, as she was on her way to dreamland.

You knew that the blonde had never really been mad at you for reading ahead, but it seemed that she just needed a little extra touch this evening.

Alessia was always open about her feelings, but she never wanted to cross boundaries when it came to physical touch – always letting you decide how much the two of you touched. If it was up to her there would not fit a single piece of paper between you.

While you wished that her teammates could see Alessia this way, so much softer than they were used to, you were glad that you could keep this side of hers to yourself. She was fiercely loyal and would shut anybody up who would make remarks about the differences between the two of you.

She wished it could stay like this forever. Being able to carry your books through the hallway. Seeing you on the bench for her. Laying in bed with you reading to her, falling asleep to your soothing voice.

But she knew that both of you had to grow up – even if she did not want to.

She wished for a love like the ones from your many books. A love so deep, it would need much more than different countries to break you apart.

[alavestineneas]

and if you are there, why do i feel alone in this room?

pairing: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!reader summary: The woman—a siren, some kind of sea beast lurking in deep, salted waters—sits near him with the ottoman under her feet that still seemed to deny her the comfort of rest, her eyes glinting with mischief when she notices his stare. Taunts, even, forge obliviousness to the spells she casts. Strange, otherworldly—redundant. Everything about her, down to the light gown and a headdress that showed little of her face, Feyd-Rautha was not used to seeing. warnings: mentions of death, violence, implied/referenced child abuse, religious symbolism, mentions of sa (!), blood and other parts of body, very non-healthy relationships chapter 1 - chapter 2 !this work is part 2 to the i can feel the soil falling over my head; no people are here, just the void in my chest! word count: 7,3k

author's notes: hi beautiful people! today, I have finally finished this chapter! be aware that this piece of literature is explicit and touches on some very heavy themes, including sa and child abuse. Please be mindful of it! As always, your opinions, suggestions, and critiques are welcome in the comments. Love you, and have a tasty read!

There are a lot of books stored in her memory, locked in the neurocytes safely. They are tucked into the cortex with love and tenderness that YN otherwise taught herself to suppress as a sign of her weaker self. But papers were non-living, so she felt like it was less dangerous for her to show warmth towards them; after all, if the objects can not acknowledge your love, does it really count as real? She read everything, mostly in an attempt to prepare herself for something she did not know the face of; she read to build the shield around herself, in desperate hope to be able to help at least her future self. YN read even now, although her foolish childhood desires were long gone, just to get a glimpse of the girl she was before the monsters escaped the pages.

The book she re-read the most was nothing special, nothing suiting the image she moulded herself into—a giant, relatively old encyclopaedia of animals inhabiting the furthest corners of Known Imperium. The letters inside, although faded a little, were left almost untouched by eyes—maybe it was what drew her in in the first place—to cherish something seen as unneeded. YN learned the small paragraphs almost by heart; she liked the idea of someone taking enough time to observe something as small as a roden to know its habits. She liked the idea of it happening to her one day. As it always is, it did not.

She chose her favourite animal without that much thought. Although even the notion of having something beloved was foolish, YN was made to choose; she and her sisters played the game of forest most often. The game was simple: pretend to be a creature you are not, forgetting the countless rules they had to follow. Pretending they have claws and teeth; pretending they can protect themselves not through intrigues and hidden motives but through open, bold force. Irulan was always a Katanga Lioness; she liked it because of the proximity to their house's symbol. YN did not; the grey pages of her beloved book described them as "observed to also scavenge on carrion of animals that were killed by other predators or died from natural causes''. What king of the animals steals the work of others simply to feed themselves? She did not tell Irulan that, of course—why would she?

YN chose a mountain lion for herself. Sure, she may have made a mistake thinking it was just another type of lion, but the game went too far to change anything, so she stuck with that. She even grew to love it—the drawing of the mountain lion on her character sheet, the way it prowled through the forest in her mind's eye. It had many names and many homes. Adaptive. Captivating.

She does not know why it came into her mind suddenly—maybe it was the dim light of the closed arena. The air circulated here freely, cooling through the complex systems of vents, even though it seemed to be deprived of any life—just a mechanical circle of the same molecules moving around her seated figure and returning to the hidden openings again and again. YN looked straight ahead; the two men were still sparring.

From her bench, they looked like one—two bodies moved so swiftly that one was unable to differentiate where the lines of their limbs ended. YN squinted her eyes; she was alone in the seating area, and still, she dared not move closer. The taller, thinner figure possessed skin so white it looked almost translucent underneath the cold light—YN wondered if she would be able to see the structures in his body through his clothed stomach. He moved well, almost too well for her not to press her lower row of teeth to the top one, hiding the tongue in a cave of pearl bones—she had hoped he was worse with his bare hands. YN had counted four hundred and five seconds before he made a mistake in his steps; it was a lot more than her own results, but for a man, he was good.

Feyd-Rautha had style; she had to give him that. He fought like a serpent would: calculated, precise. His fists knew the most effective targets, and his legs knew how to escape the blows of his opponent. If YN was to guess, he relied on muscle memory less than a usual fighter would, preferring to dwell in the moment instead. It made for a good show, sure, but it was not practical. She smiled to herself; of course, the na-Baron could not know what the real battle was like. How unfortunate for him—how delightful for her. YN still can't believe he let her watch his training every morning—was he really that stupid not to realise her motive? Was he too confident to consider having weaknesses?

Regardless, she saw what she needed to do - for three hours every day, she set unmovingly on the third bench in a small fighting ground, imprinting his every move in her mind. There are so many moves you can use and so many tricks you can do before she learns them all. YN did not care for the cold gaze thrown in her direction when Feyd-Rautha collapsed on the ground, taking a moment to rest before lurching onto his opponent again. She can wait.

Mountain lions are stealthy predators.

-

The days she spent here changed into months, their slow steps morphing into each other until time became a blur, a concept she did not grasp. Feyd-Rautha was a hard one to warm, but before she would mould him into something she wanted, YN needed to heat his DNA to a certain magnitude; otherwise, he would simply break. She would've gladly accepted this turn of fate too, but right now, keeping na-Baron alive is far more convenient for the Bene Gessarit. For her.

A concubine. A slap in the face: it seemed like life was determined to dissolve the small bits of her dignity in its endless pool of secrets. She was not a wife to Harkonnen na-Baron; no, she was to be his whore. If she was not too tired, she would've felt a pang of fear on her rising with oxygen lungs; a concubine's position is even lower here compared to one of a lawful wife's. YN remembers the words of her teacher as she prepared her for the union: Harkonnen concubines are killed after their first night in a position; if one is lucky enough to escape the fate by being with a child, she bears him until it's time for the baby to be born. One of the greatest honours for a Harkonnen is to take the life of his mother as soon as he enters the world.

She was to join na-Baron for breakfast today—a proposal YN waited long to receive, but part of her wishes she never did. It was worded like an invitation; YN knows it was not. Harkonnens rarely spoke when they did not give orders—a creature of habit, she supposed. So, she did what she had to: follow the slave to the chambers designated for the meal. The hem of her dress shone with a colour so foreign to the fort around her; YN needed to make herself stand out. Men are much like children, she learned—the more colourful the toy, the more likely they will want to play with it.

The walls were heavy here. They didn't bend in the shapes she was used to, preferring to stand tall. They didn't have to hide their strength underneath a complicated facade—quite the opposite. They paraded it, wearing it like the honour it is. Staying unremorsefully unbending. Maybe it's the air or a different measure of gravity; maybe it's her habit of soaking up the surroundings and letting them poison her insides, growing rotten in between the folds of her stomach tissue, but her legs are metal, stone-cold, pulling YN deeper and deeper into the floor. She tries so hard to ignore the three creatures in the corner.

They are hairless, much like the man in front of her, and dressed in matching black. YN would've mistaken them for Harkonnen royalty if it were not for the iron collars on their necks and the glowing black eyes that seemed to follow her every move. She would've been happy to have some company and not be forced into solitude with na-Baron if it were not for a still convulsing body on the floor. A body she did not recognise, but it could've easily been her own.

The creatures seemed to enjoy the involuntary moves of the soon-to-be corpse; they closed their eyes in delight and bared the sharp, black-coloured teeth in sheer pleasure as they lurched into the white flesh. They ripped it apart with only their hands, not bothering to use the prepared knives for more than a big incision from head to stomach. The sounds of chewing and gnawing filled the room, echoing off the walls and sending electric impulses down her body. YN was used to the metallic smell and the bright colour of arterial blood, but this was not a simple death. It was a show, and she was the long-awaited watcher.

Feyd-Rautha seemed unbothered by the sight near him. His hands, covered in thick streaks of blood, were deep to his elbows in the body. He dissected the corpse with precision, his eyes focused and his grip steady. He looked calm, even peaceful. Na-Baron was in good humour today. ''I must say, your arrival has graced us with much more than just the dowery; nothing could've made this union more auspicious—such a rare bird you are, daughter of our generous Emperor. A princess, yet treated no better than a common slave.''

Here it was: the thing she was thinking about all the way to this strange, garbage planet in the dress that pokes bleeding holes in her abdomen with each glass she downs. From his lips, it sounds even more bitter; even savages found the way the Emperor sold one of his daughters so easily strange. "Both of our houses have traditions far beyond our understanding," YN shrugs, scaring her thoughts away like annoying flies. Here, in a room so far from the comfort of her home, they moved too fast, bringing nausea to her throat.

She is here to secure the bloodline of House Harkonnen, to ensure the balance needed in the Imperium. YN does not notice how suddenly her gaze darkens or how tightly the hands that rested on the chair are now holding the pleated velvet of her ruby-red gown. Oh, the baby. The tiny creature inside her womb, the future head for the Baron's crown to be placed upon. The yet unconcieved child she could not feel love for. She was given no other choice but to risk its life before even giving it a chance to obtain its gift.

''Then you will find my present to be quite fitting.''

YN watches in silence as na-Baron reaches inside the rib cage of the corpse. He reaps out an organ with one swift motion, almost like plucking a harmful sprout from the garden. The organ is broun and rosewood, a weird mixture of shades that make it harder for her to focus on anything but the thing in his large hand. The gift he meant to give was a human heart.

She feels his walk long before she sees a figure departing from its place at the table; she guesses the end point of his manoeuvres too easily. It's almost funny—a cruel, senseless joke; how obvious the slight tremor in her hands is; how heavy her eyes become at the sight of Harkonnen black. The body positions itself near; if she squints, she can hear the hot breathing somewhere between her shoulder blades. His hand snakes around her neck quickly, positioning the organ right in front of her mouth. YN can detect the smell hitting her nostrils before she closes the receptors in them. She wants to scream, but the notes die in her throat. Who would she scream for? She hears the creatures hiss and whisper—the heart is a good part, from what she can make out. It did not need to be wasted on people like her.

''Will you not accept it?'' Feyd-Rautha's words are mocking, but his dark blue eyes stay virgin to the laughter. They drill small spots on her neck from behind with such force that YN can almost feel the burnt smell of her sweat-covered skin.

She takes a breath. Her own heart shrinks, its vessels beating with intensity twice as much as needed. Still alive, she notes absently. Still breathing. The feeling is natural and easy; the forced calmness in her body tingles the muscles, braiding her nerves into a pattern similar to the netting. Then, she opens her mouth.

"If I shall lick the blood of your hands, Feyd-Rautha, dare to make it your own."

That's it.

Maybe the Emperor was right to spare her none of the Sardaukars and a quarter of her dresses. She did not need more; she was not expected to survive long enough to use half of her clothes. YN chucked under her breath. Dead over diet preferences—how profound.

After a moment, the pale face behind her also twists, allowing the blackened teeth to escape the grip of thin lips. Like this, na-Baron looks less human and more like the evil he was said to be. He throws the heart to the creatures—they catch it greedily—and places a bloodied hand on her shoulder, the droplets of crimson going unnoticed on the brightly coloured cloth. ''Very well, then. Let us eat.''

YN nods. She looks around almost instinctively; nothing could make her eat a thing after the sight she just witnessed, but she refuses the na-Baron once; she is not about to do it again. The food is a lot, but her plate is almost empty: only a small amount of salad is here, sadly staring into the hunger in her eyes and a now featherless creature in an unnatural pose, suggesting its non-poetical death. The bird is small, almost delicate; its wings are pitifully glued to the body. YN does not want to let her mind draw the comparison, and does not allow her brain to admit a direct analogy; she dissects the bird with a dull knife and puts a piece in her dry mouth. The creature tastes good—almost too good to be expected in this brightly lit hall.

Most often deer is the mountain lion’s staple diet. However, they can survive preying on small animals as well.

-

The night covers Giedi Prime rather quickly; it never lingers, politely waiting for its masters to finish their daily affairs; it hits like a coward, from behind, trapping those not careful enough to hide before its arrival. The harsh, toxic waves of lazy winds hit the walls of the halls coldly lighted with a few sphears; they look like deep forest clearings, forming a system of endless options, ultimately leading to one, inevitable, end. His work chambers aren't big; he does not visit them often for them to be. The solitary metal desk before him is filled with letters, drafts of laws, and official documents, all waiting for his approval. It exhausts Feyd-Rautha to no end, the sheer stupidity of most of the advisers here; almost half of the documents were riddled with errors and inconsistencies. The forever present in his head dull migraine grows stronger when he opens the shortest letter; he almost busts his skull open when the pain heavies.

He ponders too much—the type of thoughts you can feel running on your tongue but never escaping. He is not used to being in the mist; all of his life is so painfully contrasted that no doubt of its nature can survive the sharp edge of his mind. There are things he can escape—forget, even—but some linger in his ribcage too long for them to vanish. Soon, they grow into his lungs with small, unbreakable threads, becoming him. He used to try to get them away from his heart, as if it held some value. Now, he is smarter, older, and more indifferent, he lets them pierce yet another piece of human flesh with no sorrow.

Of course, he remembered her face. The same face that haunted his sleep ever since she dared to appear before his eyes. Feyd-Rautha, naturally, found her little frolic that day. He spent an entire evening studying her work, analysing every move she could've made with her blade to achieve such outcomes. Sure, some things he would've done differently, but the sheer brutality of an animal he would not have guessed the girl possessed charmed him. Feyd-Rautha was a proud man, but he, too, held a love for beautiful things. For that, he hadn't told the Baron of the sight he discovered in the reading room. For that, he is now willing to pretend to believe her eyes when the fear fleshes in them.

Feyd-Rautha curses; she sickens. Like a bone stuck somewhere down his throat, not letting him live without a pang of mocking. She lurks, and whispers—Feyd-Rautha wants to smash her pretty head against the wall just to reveal the secrets she hides from him so he can finally understand the hold she retains. He is no stranger to the desire to own, or devour, but the fear in the back wall of his stomach is an alien in his body. He tries to hide it—to paint over it with anger or violence—but it remains a constant presence, gnawing at him from within. It's no use; the woman is a shark, designed to sense the fright. Maybe that's what brought him in in the first place—the steel eyes so similar to his own in a narrow hall all those years before. Maybe he was so used to the danger that he craved it subconsciously, looking for it to make him feel like himself again. A reoccurring childhood nightmare he can't escape; he doesn't want to escape.

Feyd-Rautha finds the chair to put his weight on and waits until the tingling, spinning sensation spreads from his temples down his neck, finding its way into his bloodstream and passing his organs one by one, until none are left uncorrupted. Of course, he expects it. The woman slipped into his brain and now chews her way into it like a parasite downs the rotten body. He knows he should be terrified, but instead, he feels a strange sense of relief. Feyd-Rautha can hear the whispers of his own mind fighting to remain the only owners of the secrets and desires buried within. He feels his eyelids heavy; a second later, the whites of his eyes are staring at the ceiling, the blue eye lenses dissolving in light.

Water. The first thing he feels is ice-cold water dripping onto his face, filling his lungs, and sending a shock through his arms. This body does not feel like his; it's too small, too narrow. His eyes are trying to adjust as fast as they can, jumping from one blurred spot to another until finally catching a glimpse of the surroundings. His brain does not have time to process the picture; his nose is filled with fluid again, and his open mouth is gasping for air but only taking in more liquid. He tries waving his hands around, but the stronger grip is firm on his nape, pulling him further down into the depths. The hand yanked him out just as he was about to fall into darkness again, the sound of water changing to loud screeching.

''How dare you hit me, devil child? Let the water wash away your dirt. Repent; beg for forgiveness for all of your rotten nature.''

The voice is unknown to him; it is harsh and filled with fury. The woman's face is twisted in anger; splashes of water on it match his. He can't tell if they are from his antics or tears. The woman's grip tightens, her nails digging into his skin. The black clothes on her figure make her status known - a Bene Gessarit witch. Feyd-Rautha tries to lurch forward and hit her back, but her strength is overwhelming. He feels panic coursing through his veins instead of oxygen—a sensation he did not think he could experience anymore. He wants to bark a response to show her that he is not afraid, but his voice catches in his throat.

Feyd-Rautha has no time to wonder what the woman wants; she brings his face to the bathtub again, and he opens his mouth involuntarily, frantically begging not to do it anymore. He says everything she wants to hear; he cries out and promises to wash his sins away. The voice does not sound like his at all. He is desperate to end this nightmare now, but some force holds him here. The woman is not satisfied; her ears are deaf to his pleas.

His face ends up on the water surface a moment later, his nose hitting the wall of the bathtub as the woman holds him down. He feels his body go limp with utter horror; this time, the shouting woman won't stop. Her voice grows quieter, replaced by the sound of small waves hitting the brim and spilling; from right to left, the water turns red, and his tongue tastes the iron he knows from sliding blades into his mouth.

''Echidna, what the fuck are you doing? Let her go; she is going to choke!''

''Get that spawn to me, for I will not let her ruin my life anymore! I must finish what I have started!''

Feyd-Rautha's head is filled with oxygen once again; his lungs take a desperate breath in, sending too much air to his blood system. He falls on his back, the world spinning. He does not care for the weeping woman in black or the chaos unfolding around him. His only thought is that everything is finally done and that the white floors are a magnificent place for drops of liquid to fall from his normally bald head's waterfall of hair.

He wakes up suddenly, the sensation long gone. His steps are heavy again; the body he inhibits no longer feels like a cage. The voices have left him for now, and the only thing on his forehead left is small drops of sweat and a pathetic, frightened, beating heart. The cold breeze from the darkened sands surrounding the city wishes to prove otherwise—it heavies and plants its spikes into his reddened cheeks. The horizon gleams at him, almost taunting; not a single star is to be seen under the imposing clouds. He will kill her; maybe he will even enjoy it. Feyd-Rautha can handle a lot, but not the shame of being seen. Not the guilt of being caught wanting.

There are only three ways to hunt a mountain lion: tracking, waiting in ambush, and with dogs.

-

The gliding motions of heavy fabrics across the wooden floors created a strange pattern of a song now centuries old. Here, in a room so long that the wind travelled through the hollows, her careful steps seemed to almost fall silent. Nothing was there for the preying eyes to see. YN closes her eyes; with that, even for a moment, the world stays still. She knows where the hollow staircase will lead her; she feels it in her stomach with every step she takes. YN knows nothing about the future, but the past lives deep in her memories, haunting her every move. She knows she shouldn't have done it. Travelling through one's mind is a sin she can't escape; she will pay the price for it in her blood, but the Bene Gesarit did not send her here to survive, so it's of no use to be afraid now. It makes no difference for the dead if you weep at their grave or not.

The burning sphere of light in the hall stops spinning; the doors open without any noise, although if the pounding eardrums had not stunned her hearing, she could've noticed the faint thuds. YN waits; there are no flashes of her happiest memories or the faces of her loved ones in her drained mind. No, in what seems to be her last moments, she thinks of what she could've been if the world had not given her a sword to turn into.

Feyd-Rautha appears in the hall; his steps aren't rushed, and his expression is stone-cold. She eyes him shamelessly: nothing. She sees nothing; she senses it deep in her crying bones. He drags her by the hair like a mother would with her misbehaving child; roughly, he pulls her towards the exit, his grip tightening with each step until the door behind them closes and her knees meet the cold ground with a nasty thud. The bruises will stain them soon, not that it matters now.

''You should've known better than to cross me,'' he hisses, his voice gruff. It's cold, chilling—the way his lips part to reveal a sinister smile. ''Now, you can think yourself vanished, little witch.''

YN does not answer—what fool would beg the deaf? The blade against her chin is sharp; she knows how attentive he is when it comes to inflicting pain. It pokes right into the Omehyoid muscle, a dull pain shooting through her body. If she has got to die, it may as well be from his skilled arms. How beautiful he is in the twisted pleasure he finds in her suffering. Unearthly, almost too perfect to be made of simple flesh and bone. Something was unnerving, unforgettable in the net of veins under his pearly skin; it was as if he were a work of art, meticulously crafted to bring physical pain and optical pleasure in equal measure. A silver glint under the defined cheekbones, a redness of lips filled with blood vessels. For a second, YN wonders what it would be like to bite into it, like an apple that lay too long under the golden sun; would the blood slip as generously as the sweet nectar? Handsome as poison, as a black sun on his forsaken planet, as death.

''Go on. Kill me, then; let me escape you once and for all.''

Under the deep sea of his eyes, something moved; his eyes dipped into her, part by part. Like the slow, deliberate dance of a predator stalking its prey, his gaze lingered on her, calculating and intense. YN lowered her head to push the knife a little deeper into the flesh. A strange thought lingered in her brain; she found herself on her knees in front of him, almost willingly. She has worshipped God all her life; who, if not her, can recognise his creation? The Devil. Lucifer. Satan. The man with horns so big they once touched the skies; a corrupt angel, fallen from grace so long ago he couldn't remember way back if he tried. They have warned her about him, but is it her fault that God has disowned her earlier than she could? Did it really matter to her, before whom to kneel, as long as she felt a sense of power and control in her submission?

All that mattered now was that he wanted to hurt her. He wanted her.

She sees the recognition flicker on his face. Caught. The blade slides quickly across her exposed neck, the blood sprouting out in a weak, painfully quick stream. Feyd-Rautha kissed her, biting her bottom lip till the stream of boldly coloured blood trickled down his chin. He did so like an animal would, baring his teeth and dragging them across the pulsating vein on her neck. YN's laughing cry echoes in the empty room; she is forced to admit that he felt good.

Never approach a mountain lion; most mountain lions prefer to avoid confrontations, so never approach them and make them feel cornered.

-

The woman—a siren, some kind of sea beast lurking in deep, salted waters—sits near him with the ottoman under her feet that still seemed to deny her the comfort of rest, her eyes glinting with mischief when she notices his stare. Taunts, even, forge obliviousness to the spells she casts. Strange, otherworldly—redundant. Everything about her, down to the light gown and a headdress that showed little of her face, Feyd-Rautha was not used to seeing. The beautiful substance of her hair caught the light from the sun like a mirage in the desert, reflecting in his eyes with painful hits. The jewels, too, have found their way onto her clothes, but they were hidden beneath the layers of fabric. They shined brightly, impertinently, framing her figure in a glow that seemed to come from within.

To his surprise, the skills woman possessed spread out to politics as well, with her witch training proving useful in court. Feyd-Rautha did not miss how his advisors grew more uneasy when she entered the room, her careful eyes scanning their faces for even a hint of betrayal or deceit. Like a proud discoverer, he ached to share his new-found wonder with the blind audience, but something in him protested in a mare thought of showing the precious jewel of his eye to the cluster of unworthy. So, Feyd-Rautha did the only thing he knew how— all of his secret observations were done from afar, masterfully hidden behind the facade of casual indifference.

As he drags yet another blade across the surface of the whetstone, he thinks about her delicate hands on his neck, her ringed fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. Harkonnen men rarely wed; they just take what they capture—men and women—and turn them into slaves. Some, if particularly sweet, are reserved for fucking. There are no special songs for that; there isn't a specific word in their native tongue for wife, either. It doesn't matter; YN is nothing of the sort. A concubine, a possession, a tool for pleasure and procreation—the Harkonnen way was simple.

''Are you done eye-fucking me now, or do you need more time with your blade?'' she sneers, her voice mocking. Only she could get away with such bold defiance in his presence, but she does not seem to care for the unusualness of it.

YN motions for him to come closer, her eyes studying the way his legs move. Feyd-Rautha has no control over them; the steps make themselves. She plays the game very well; the chase fuels something primal within him. Thirst. Hunger. It was the Harkonnen training talking to him—the wild, ancient sensation taking over his insides and imprisoning his mind in a cage of helpless desire. It spread its tentacles down to his fingertips, nesting in his abdomen. He positions himself in front of her, his body betraying him as he leans in closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Feyd-Rautha's hands repeat the ritual almost instinctively, rolling the hem of her deep purple dress up to her waist.

''Stop for a second,'' she whispers against his ear, her breath warm and inviting. ''Can I give you a piece of advice?''

Feyd-Rautha can feel the anger creeping into his body; he does not like to be refused. ''No,'' he grumbles, turning her around forcefully. "I don't need your advice," he snaps, his grip tightening on her arm.

YN does not seem to care for it. ''Don't do it. It will only lead to trouble.''

''What?'' He stops, his eyes narrowing as he absorbs the woman's words. The doubts that had lingered in the back of his mind suddenly grew louder, echoing through his mind. He releases her arm, his expression stoic. ''You are insane, woman. What are you talking about?''

''You know what I mean.''

The unease boils in his stomach. How could she know? He was careful not to slip anything; she wasn't able to cast her spells anymore either. But her knowing gaze tells him otherwise. ''You can not know the future,'' he pronounces.

''I don't need to know the future to see the truth, Feyd-Rautha. Your judgement is clouded by rage, and your mind is not as sharp as it usually is. You are not as invincible as you think you are.''

She is bluffing, he thinks. He hopes she is. Feyd-Rautha almost wished there was no cloth covering her face, nothing to hide her expressions as she lay beneath him. He catches her flamed eyes and the way they circle his face in one swift motion before settling on the ceiling above. It unnerves him, but he refuses to show it. She is no master here; she is simply a servant. That is not what power looks like, if he ever recognised one, and Feyd-Rautha knew power.

''Get out, now.''

Nothing was portrayed on her face as she curtseyed; nothing was there when she turned and walked to her rooms, leaving nothing but the ghost of the human body's warmth.

Mountain lions are more at home in brushy areas than in open prairies.

-

And then, he disappeared. Like the sound of the morning birds falling silent in the cacophony of voices of the city on her home planet, there was no trace of na-Baron in the entire Harkonnen fortress. YN thought she was slowly but surely going mad; no one but her noticed the usual place by the window empty, and no one but her seemed to care enough to know where he went. She caught strange looks from a few, and frankly, she thought they were right. She looked like a mad woman, her hair quickly plated and her dress hurriedly laced, her eyes darting around the room in search of any sign of Feyd-Rautha's massive figure. Noon was dragged into the evening, and then night, for three, long days until she heard the long-awaited news: na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen had tried to usurp his uncle and had failed.

She has told him so. A fucking brainless ram, with stubbornness bigger than his cock—why did he think he could outsmart the Baron? He will pay for his dumbness with his blood, perhaps even his limb—the thought brought nausea to YN's throat. She was lucky the Baron did not consider her important enough to be knowledgeable of such schemes; she lowered her head in the desert, hiding from the sand storms of Harkonnen politics; she waited for two long weeks until the announcement was made; Feyd-Rautha was forgiven. The celebration in honour of this news is to be today; she is to attend it. Not like his concubine, YN supposed, but more like the princess she still was.

Now, she took her time. YN chose a gown she wanted long enough to make even a tireless slave yawn, savouring each moment before their meeting. She was a victor now, in their small game of cat and mouse. He was a cat, but the mouse could still outwit him with grace and style. YN smiled at the wondering attendants; she looked good, and she was going to meet him.

The walk from her chambers to the Grand Hall wasn't too long; she would've walked a thousand more stairs if it was needed. The doors opened without a sound, revealing nothing but a mere celebration of yet another year under the reign of Harkonnens. The lines of slaves changed one another, the uneven circles of people dancing appearing and fleeing to the cheerful tone of strings. She was set somewhere between two Harkonnen lords she had no chance of knowing; she felt a sense of unease creeping up her spine as she tried to maintain a polite smile. Their gazes didn't look right; something sinister lurked inside them—hiding a secret she had no chance of knowing.

One of them turned to her, a chilling smile spreading across his face. "How are you finding the evening, lady YN? Or, what should I call you?,'' he mastered a fake confusion. ''Perhaps, darling? Concubine has a cheap wing to it; quite unworthy of a face so lovely as yours, don't you think?"

Dirt. The thing that crawled under her skin at his words was like dirt, making her feel unclean and exposed. She forced a laugh, trying to brush off his comments, the crown of her hair moving with muscles underneath her skin. "I am a princess, my Lord. Address me as such."

It would be enough every other noon, but today. The man's face twists, as if he just remembered something; he turns, the wine in his goblet splashing on the tablecloth. ''I think na-Baron wouldn't be too angry if I stole a princess for the night," he sneered, his eyes darkening with malice.

''Does it matter to you either way?''

YN watches as the smirk, so similar to Feyd-Rautha's, appears on the men's lips, although it doesn't feel the same. She fights back disgust as the man nods, biting into a hefty chunk of prey. His eyes, once focused on her, drifted away. YN chose to follow them; the string of fat streaming down the man's mouth onto the silver tablecloth made her nauseous. She looked from one unfamiliar face to another, until the cold feeling in her abdomen crept its way onto her chest.

There he was. His figure is unusually crouching as he sits on the podium reserved for members of the dynasty. The dark blue eyes are red now; the thin blood vessels in them are torn and emptied. His body seemed to suck the light out of the hall inside, casting a shadow over the room. There are no scars on his smooth face, but the sunken cheeks and hollow eyes spoke of a suffering that went beyond physical wounds. YN almost wished she saw him dead; whatever this was, it was surely much worse. He raised his eyes slowly to meet hers; something flickered in them before turning back to their empty state. Feyd-Rautha parts his dry lips to say something to her—she can't understand a word he draws with his breath.

From the place nearby, the Baron's voice booms, his low, almost whisper-like vowels mending into one. His face, covered with layers of skin and dead cells, twists into what was meant to be a welcoming smile—the corners of his paper-thin lips dance, lowering themselves only to jump higher, and his eyes travel from one corner to another, unable to be still even for a moment. He speaks of things YN knows nothing about court intrigue, power struggles, and alliances that shape the fate of their world, heavy with hidden meanings and unspoken threats. She does not listen until he gestures towards her, a scent of spice and decomposing flesh lingering.

''Sergeant Voss has served me well, and his loyalty at the right time is not to be forgotten. Here, I bestow upon him the highest honour of all; what was once mine, is now his. Do not let go of her if she screams, Sergeant; the girl is a fine one.''

No. YN almost does not recognise the hand as her own as the man drags her to the bed that appeared out of nowhere, freezing with horror as the people around her continue to watch in silence, their eyes devoid of any emotion or empathy. The tradition, she notes, is the one she learned so much about bedding in front of the entire court as a symbol of unity. She choked on her own tears as the man smiled at her pleas for help; they seemed to make him even more pleased.

YN looks, frantically, to the place she saw Feyd-Rautha sitting just a moment before. He would help; surely, he would not let them do it to her—his servant, his concubine, his. But the seat is empty. The scream echoing through the hall does not register as hers right away; he has sold her. For his own freedom, for a chance to be free from the consequences of his own stupid actions. Surely, the Harkonnens could not get rid of her openly—it would mean war—but she was not immune to the man who now owned her. His hands travelled her body with such audacity that YN wanted to cut them off—to cut her chest just so she could not feel the fingers digging into her skin. A sole reminder she was a woman first and a human second.

Mountain lions are solitary hunters.

The man undressed himself quickly; all of the soldiers were trained to do so. She should run; she should fight back, but the pair of unmoving hands pinning her wrists down was a stark reminder of her helplessness. The man lowers himself closer, his hot breath against her neck making her shudder in fear. She can feel him against her skirts; she can feel the weight of his body pressing down on her. The adrenaline is pumping through her veins; she will survive. Whatever it fucking takes, even if her body is bruised and broken, she will survive.

They prefer to ambush their prey from behind by swiftly and cleanly breaking the neck.

She bites—her teeth launch towards his cheek, feeling the warm flesh give way beneath her. She sinks them deeper, making holes big enough to draw blood. It's hot, and sickening on her tongue, but she does not have time for these thoughts; her next blow is in his stomach, with his knee jammed into his gut. She can feel his body convulse in pain, giving her a chance to throw him on the bed, his broad back facing her.

If they haven’t broken the neck, they will suffocate the animal.

There is nothing around that could serve as a knife; her captors made sure of that, and the sheets are too thin to wrap around his neck. She looks around the room, desperate for something to use, but the space around her is empty. YN curses as the man regains his composure and begins to struggle against her hold. Her elbow meets his nose with a sickening crunch, causing blood to spurt out. She takes a breath in; her hand wraps around his neck, forming a tight hold as she goes into the headlock. She chokes him, so desperately trying to live. And the man trashes against her grip, his white face turning a deep shade of purple before finally going limp in her arms.

Shame.

A thing that followed her after every life she took is now absent. Maybe the Giedi Prime's cruelty did have its effect on her; YN feels nothing but a sense of emptiness as she stands over the lifeless body.

''Do you have any more men to gift me to, Baron Vladimir? The night is still young.''

Her voice has changed. It holds a certain hiss now, a rasp that wasn't present before; it has matured and bloomed into half an octave deeper tone. It bites through the noise easily, cutting sharply.

The Baron laughs. His eyes gleam with amusement as he gestures towards the door. "Plenty more where that came from, my dear, but it's enough for today. Here,'' he throws something in her, a smirk ghosting on his lips. ''You've earned it.''

YN catches it and inspects the object in her hand. A small, golden broche catches the light, glinting in the dimly lit room. A head of the Bighorn ram stares back at her, the symbol of House Harkonnen. The taste of victory mingled with the metallic tang, leaving a bittersweet sensation in her mouth. Joy courses her veins—she isn't afraid. Finally, she is not afraid. Finally, she can look at her blood-stained hands without humiliation. Is it her fault she was born a better knife than a person?

Bighorn sheep are not a primary food source in most areas. However, when a lion does kill a sheep, they typically will continue to do so over and over again, until the herd is depleted.

tag list:

@oh-you-mean-me @juliskopf @moonsoulk @mamawiggers1980 @ashy-kit

[luvrhischier]

losing game // trevor zegras

part 2

pairing: trevor zegras × reader

word count: 3.1k (might have gone a little overboard)

a/n: based on the song arcade by duncan laurence. lyrics are in bold italics (jumped around a lot and changed some lyrics to fit the story). no use of y/n.

a/n two: this is my offering to hockey tumblr pls let me in (f1 offering coming soon maybe idk).

warnings: mentions of sex but no actual smut (bc i suck at writing it), alcohol, angst with no happy ending

You watched as he collected his clothes and put them back on. Turning to you when he reached your bedroom door.

“Bye, babe. See you later.” He winked and left.

Silence ringing inside my head.

You sat up, one hand clutching a blanket to cover your bare body, the other running through your now messy hair trying to tame it. It didn't help. After ten minutes of complete silence and staring off into space you finally dropped the blanket and stood up. You walked over and stared at yourself through your full length mirror, examining your body and all of its features in the lightly lit room. You began to wonder why he didn't feel the same. Of course he wasn't obligated to, but still it made you feel like there was something wrong with you.

A broken heart is all that's left. I lost a couple of pieces.

You both had agreed to this. Friends with benefits in private, best friends in public. Nothing more, nothing less. However, now you felt a small piece of your heart get chipped away every time you hooked up.

Jamie had warned you both that this wasn't a good idea and that it would probably end in disaster, after he accidentally walked in on the two of you, but neither you listened. Both swearing that the two of you would never be anything more than friends, who occasionally hooked up. Now you wished you had listened.

The way Trevor now made you feel was unlike anything you had ever felt. Before he grew to understand your body, even better than you did, and what made it fall apart in those moments of tangled limbs, lips moving in sync, heavy breathing, and extreme pleasure, the two of you were just each other’s best friend. Through the good, the bad, and the ugly. You never wanted anything more until a few months in and you hated yourself for it. You couldn’t help it though Trevor's fun and loving nature carried over into those moments of close intimacy. It made your stomach to erupt with butterflies.

You finally silenced your thoughts and rummaged through your dresser for new clothes. You then picked up the clothes you formerly wore, the pieces scattered across your bedroom floor, tossing them into your laundry basket. You sighed deeply and returned to lay in your bed. You quickly stood up again as small tears began to build in your eyes. You didn't want to lay in the bed you just sex on. In fact, you didn't even want to be in your room. His scent was everywhere. His cologne was all over your bed and the smell began to spread around you like wildfire. You knew it wasn't going away anytime soon, it never did.

You collected yourself and headed to your bedroom door when you saw a crumpled up shirt hiding in a corner of your room. You picked it up and instantly realized it was Trevor's. It was the shirt he was wearing underneath his hoodie and he must have forgotten about it. You tried to stop yourself from taking off your old tattered tee and putting his shirt on instead but you failed. You stood there in shameful silence before finally heading to your living room.

You noticed a glass slightly filled with water sat next to the sink, Trevor must have stopped to get himself a drink before he left. You just wanted to take a nap so you left it there as you went to lay on your couch.

You opened Netflix, just playing a random show you knew you weren't really going to watch, you just wanted to end the silence that flowed through your apartment and sleep.

────

You opened your eyes slowly, trying not to be blinded the bright light coming from the t.v. You didn't want to sit up, you just wanted to lay there until you sank into the cushions. You finally checked the time, 8:56 pm, you had slept there for over six hours. You felt your heart stop when your phone began to ring and the screen showed Trevor's name and a picture of the two of you from years ago. You didn't want to pick up but your fingers didn't listen to your heart or your brain.

“Hey babe.” God you hated that nickname so much, it made your heart both shatter and melt.

“Hey Trev,” you groggily mumbled as you stood up heading back to your room. You looked over at your bed and flashbacks from earlier played in your head. Trevor laying on top of you, his lips on your neck, and his hands roaming your body. You shook your head trying to wipe away the memory.

“So, Jamie and I spontaneously decided to throw an end of season party since everyone's here and I wanted to call to see if you'd come,” he sounded happy, excited, and a little hopeful.

“Yeah, that sounds like fun,” you tried to sound as happy as him but you failed and you knew Trevor noticed, he always did. You used to love that he knew you so well, but now it just hurt because he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, notice your true feelings for him.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“Nothing I'm totally fine. I just woke up from a nap and I um...” You paused, trying to think of an excuse. “I just need to take a shower and get ready. Bye, see you soon,” you heard him start to say something else but it was too late, you had ended the call. As soon as you hung up Trevor called again. You let out a frustrated groan before hitting decline. You quickly put your phone on do not disturb before he could try to call again and tossed it on your bed, you then went to your closet. You just stood there and looked at your clothes, too lazy to actually look for an outfit. You sighed and decided to take a shower before picking out an outfit.

You stepped in the shower and just stood there for awhile, letting the water run down your body hoping that it would wash away any remaining trace of him.

The hot water felt nice against your cold body but it only reminded you of the warmth you felt when you were with Trevor and you hated it.

Once you were finished you returned to your closet to finally pick an outfit. You didn't feel like getting too dressed up so you opted for something simple, a pair of leggings and a random top. Your breath hitched when you saw what top you had randomly grabbed. It was one of Trevor's team USA jerseys. You didn't even know you had this, he had been looking for it for ages.

Once again you tried to stop yourself from putting it on but you once again failed. You stood there in another shameful silence. You looked at your phone to check the time, 10:05 pm. You sighed before grabbing a random pair of shoes and your keys.

The drive to Trevor and Jamie's house was a quiet one, no music, just the sound of your car tires on the road, passing cars, and your quiet breathing. When you got closer to his house you could see a long line of cars parked along the street and what seemed like never ending groups of people walking through the door. A tiny voice inside your head begged you to turn around immediately and drive back home but it was too late. You had driven all the way here.

You were hit with the smell of booze as soon as you got out of the car. A small part of you wanted to throw up but the rest of you wanted to drink until you blacked out and forgot about him.

The music was loud and people were everywhere making it hard to walk through the crowd full of drunk kids with sweaty bodies. However, the kitchen was less crowded. Vodka was the first thing you saw so that's what you filled your cup with.

You heard a loud and dramatic gasp followed by a familiar laugh and turned to see Jack rushing towards you with open arms.

“I missed you so much!” He beamed and hugged you tightly. You could tell he was a bit drunk by how his words were starting to slur together.

“I missed you more, Jack,” you laughed. “Jack, sweetie you’re suffocating me,” you jokingly muttered out.

“Oops, my bad,” he laughed as he pulled away. He noticed the cup in your hand and grabbed it before taking a quick sip. Before you could jokingly get on to him Luke walked in. You knew he must have been his turn to be on ‘watch drunk Jack duty' by the look on his face.

“There you are! I swear I'm going to a harness and leash so you can’t wander off and I don't have to run around while having a heart attack trying to find you,” he said, slightly out of breath from running around the house and through the sea of people, trying to find Jack. Jack just smiled and shrugged his shoulders causing Luke to roll his eyes. He looked over at you and smiled. “What's up, I missed you!” He exclaimed towards you before pulling you into a quick hug.

“I missed you too,” you smiled back. Before he could reply you both turned to where Jack was once standing only to find that he had wondered off again. Luke rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh.

“I have to go find him again before he does something stupid,” he said begrudgingly. “I'll come back once I find him. I wanna hear about how annoying Zegras has been this season,” he joked while he ran off to find Jack once more.

The mention of his name made your heart feel like it was being ripped out of your chest and squeezed right in front of you. Wanting to distract yourself you looked around and skimmed over the crowd. You didn't want to admit that you were looking for him, but you were. You were about to take a drink of the vodka in your hands when you finally found him. You cursed every single higher being for the sight in front of you. There he was in the corner talking, dancing, and obviously flirting with some blonde girl. Their hands were all over the other’s body and they were close, too close, it made your body go numb. You felt completely defeated.

We were always a losing game.

Now your heart felt like it completely stopped working. You watched as she leaned in to whisper something in his ear with a giggle. The smirk that broke out on his face could've been seen from a mile away. Your cup slipped out of your hand and you felt it splash everywhere. You looked down and let out a shaky sigh. Quickly you grabbed the roll of paper towels and fell to your knees to clean up the mess, but it became harder and harder as your eyes started to blur with tears. You heard mumbling through the ringing in your ears but you didn't look up. You just sat there on the floor furiously cleaning up the spilled alcohol.

You finally looked up when the person shouted your name and placed a hand on your shoulder, snapping you out of your trance. There stood Nico and Quinn. When they saw the tears running down your face both of their eyes filled with worry.

“What's wrong?” Nico questioned as he crouched down next to you.

“I spilled my fucking drink and I have to clean it up.”You continued scrubbing the floor.

“You've cleaned it all up,” he said softly. “You can stop now.” He gently grabbed your hand to stop you.

You looked at the floor and saw that he was right. The alcohol was gone but now it was being replaced with your tears spattering on the floor. You fully sat down on the floor and Nico followed.

“Okay, everyone out of the kitchen now!” Quinn shouted to the few people still standing around you, whispering to each other as they obviously gossiped about your breakdown. You watched as everyone listened and quickly walked away.

Quinn joined the two of you on the ground.

“Why are you crying?” Quinn asked as he scooted over to sit right next to you. You didn't want to say it was because of Trevor. You knew that no matter how much the two of them playfully argued and fought Trevor was like a third younger brother and, though he'd jokingly never admit it, he loved him. He didn't deserve to be burdened with your problems. But deep down he knew and you knew that he knew because of the look on his face.

He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and you let out, in your opinion, a pathetically loud sob as you buried your head into his chest. Quinn didn't even care about the tears and makeup that were most definitely staining his shirt, he just cared about being there for you.

“He's over there with some girl.” you stuttered as you began to hyperventilate. “And I know I shouldn't be acting like this because we're supposed to be just friends but it hurts so fucking bad. God, this is so embarrassing. I'm so fucking stupid. I hate myself!” You lifted your head

“I need you to take some deep breaths. You need to breathe.” Nico softly said. “Breathe.” He took a deep breath of his own so you could follow along.

“Alright, who told me everyone to leave the kitchen?” Jamie interrupted as he entered the kitchen. You looked over and saw that Jack and Luke had walked in too. ‘Fuck!’ You cursed in your head. It was hard enough crying in front of Quinn and Nico, now all of your closest friends were standing there watching you sob on the floor. You watched as they all quickly sobered up.

One by one they all sat on the floor with you. All of them extremely worried. You wanted to somewhat keep your composure so you didn’t freak them out, but you couldn’t hold it in anymore you just let it all out. You knew your makeup was probably a mess and your jersey, his jersey, was covered in tears and running mascara.

“He's over there, with some girl, and they're all over each other and I'm over here crying. God I'm such an idiot!” You hiccuped. You wiped your eyes with the sleeves of his jersey. All of them instantly knew who you were talking about. “You were right Jamie. I should have listened to you. It’s okay you can say ‘I told you so’…" 

“I would never do that,” he said gently.

You watched as Quinn stood up, Jack and Luke quickly followed.

“Be right back.” Quinn mumbled, trying to hide the anger in his voice. You saw the three of them clench their jaws and ball their fists. Before you could protest they were gone. Now it was just you, Jamie, and Nico. They both scooted in closer and engulfed you in a hug.

“I guess giving us up didn't take a lot to him, huh?” You forced a chuckle trying to lighten the mood and joke but neither of them laughed or even looked slightly amused. You sighed. “Deep down I saw the end before it even began, but I still carried on.” You lowered your head.

You heard someone softly say your name and you instantly knew who it was. Trevor. He had that the slight roughness in his voice, the roughness he got after a one too many drinks and you hated that it was still sending shivers down your spine.

“Please look at me.”

You don't know how or where you got the courage, maybe it was because your friends were there to support you and protect you, but not only did you look up, you stood up and marched straight up to him. 

“Babe-”

“Don't call me that! I think you have made it clear that I am not really your ‘babe' so stop torturing me by saying that!” You angrily interrupted. You knew that now everyone was staring at the two of you and the scene you were making.

“What's wrong? Talk to me. Why are you crying?” His eyes were soft and you wanted to let this whole thing go and forgive him but you knew you couldn't, your heart couldn't take this anymore. He took a step towards you as his hand came up and tried to caress you face but you pushed his hand away.

“You! You're what's wrong with me! You’re why I’m crying!” You spat. “I stupidly fell in love with you and loving you is a losing game and I got addicted to it. But now l'm done with your games, I have to be because now I need to go and put myself back together. So game over. I'm getting off of this emotional rollercoaster. I am completely drained because I've spent all of the love I had on you!” Tears streamed down your face like a waterfall and you didn't care you needed to say this before you lost the courage and let him back in. “I know I was nothing more than a quick fuck to you but to me you were everything and more. So this,” you gestured between the two of you. “Whatever this is between us is over and so is our friendship. Because if I stay I'II let you back in and I will shatter into a million pieces and I will never be able to put myself back together again.” You walked past him and quickly headed towards the door.

You didn't want to stop but you remembered what you were wearing. You looked down and saw his now tear stained jersey. You turned around and Trevor was right behind you causing you to run face first into his chest, you quickly pushed him away and saw his eyes filled with hurt, panic, and tears.

“Can we please go up to my room and talk about this?” He pleaded. “I can't lose you...”

You softened for a second before regaining your composure. You didn't answer him, you just pulled his jersey over your head and threw it at him, not caring that you were now shirtless in front of all of these random people.

"Goodbye, Trevor.”

[everythingharrypotterblog]

charmed [18]: 'the finale: part 2' (remus lupin x reader)

series masterlist here

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a/n: here it is ;'). the culmination of 3 years. before i say too much, there will be an epilogue so that is some consolation to me. because im in complete denial that its ending. i've never completed a piece of work of this magnitude before, and its completely thanks to the amazing love and feedback you have shown me that has kept me going. stay alert for the epilogue:) but without more waiting, here is the final part of charmed.

a/n: oh also, because i try to keep it as canon and tight as possible: unlike in the movie, remus doesnt transform OUT of his clothes. if not, he'd wake up naked lol. also, the book says hogsmeade station is not next to the village. i used the video game version where they're side-by-side for plot convenience.

18.

After hours of darkness, dawn’s first light etched its way through the thick trees of the Forest. Wolf shrunk back down into man, and heavy with exhaustion, he passed out onto the soft mossy floor.

A few trees away, high up in the branches, laid a watchful dove, who had fallen fast asleep with her head under her wing.

Moments passed, and the sky began to lighten with coats of yellow painting over the dark hues of black. They both awoke. Y/N floated down to where Remus was and transformed back.

“You okay?” She croaked, grabbing onto his robes that had brand new tears in it from last night.

Remus nodded. “And you?” He cradled her head in his two hands gently and looked down at her stomach.

She nodded back. They pulled each other into a silent hug, their heads pounding and their hearts tight with fear. They were both terrified of what had happened last night, but they didn’t speak on it. They needed the last of their energy to make it back to the Castle, where hopefully, everyone from last night laid safe and would be able to retell everything.

Finally, they reached the Whomping Willow. After grabbing Harry’s cloak and the map they had left there last night, they made their way into the castle. Fawkes was there to greet them, perched upon the railing of the staircase. Y/N and Remus took this as a sign, and followed the bird through the quiet, dim castle into Dumbledore’s office.

“Thank you Fawkes,” Dumbledore said softly as they entered his study, petting him on the head as it returned to its stand. “Professors, you have had a long night.” He gestured to his large divan, on top of which Y/N and Remus gladly crashed. 

“Headmaster—“ Remus cried out softly, the word shakily exiting his mouth in desperation and weariness.

“Do not fret, I will explain everything.” Dumbledore waved his hand, and two steaming cups of tea appeared in front of them, as well as a plate of small cookies. “Please.”

Y/N and Remus gratefully brought the warm liquid to their mouths, and squeezed each other’s hand as Dumbledore began explaining everything. He told them that Ron, Harry and Hermione were currently safe and sleeping in the Hospital Wing. He is unsure of the details on what went down after them two had gone into the forest, but the three children were brought into the castle by Snape, passed out on stretchers. 

Dumbledore proceeded to explain that Hermione had been in possession of a Time-Turner all year long to attend extra lessons. 

“All it took was a word of them freaking out over Sirius and Peter for me to understand everything. But of course, no one would believe the word of three 13-year-old’s and even less mine who had witnessed nothing. I had to maintain neutrality in front of Fudge. That is when I proposed Miss Granger the plan to turn back time. You might forget that one more innocent life was falsely accused last night. And thank goodness, Hermione and Harry succeeded. They snuck back into a presumedly locked Hospital Wing and Sirius took off on Buckbeak right before midnight, with Fudge, Macnair and Snape completely in the dark.”

Remus and Y/N finally exhaled the breath they had been holding in for hours. 

“Thank God.”

“So he’s free?” Remus asked. “Sirius?”

“Yes he is, Remus.” Albus responded.

Remus leaned back into his seat, pressing his fingers against pursed lips. The back of his eyes burned. He nodded. He shut his eyelids for a second. His friend was alive. He was out there.

“God, this is such a mess.” Y/N shook her head, burying her head in her hands. “Pettigrew got away.” She looked up at Dumbledore with worry in her eyes. “What will this mean..?”

Dumbledore shook his head wistfully. “There is no way to know.” He paused in deep reflection for a second. “There is no way to tell right now.”

The three sat together in silence for some time. There was gravity in the air as to what a now free Pettigrew might imply.

“Professors.” Albus smiled warmly. “You have done greatly. I suggest you two get some rest. Before the whole school wakes up. I need to finish writing this letter to the Minister.”

They nodded and left after thanking him for everything.

Remus and Y/N walked slowly, hand in hand.

“At least he’s alive.” Y/N managed to smile, looking up at Remus.

He returned the smile. “He is. He’s out there.” He said, bringing Y/N’s knuckles to his lips.

“Now, come on, into bed.” Remus said almost sternly once they entered their room. He sat Y/N on the edge of the bed and bent down on one knee, insisting on untying her shoes for her. “This much stress can not be good for the baby.”

Y/N laughed incredulously, watching as he proceeded to remove her socks for her, then massaging her feet gently. She knew that whatever fatigue she was feeling, Remus had it 100 times worse, but she saw him push through it in attempt to make her more comfortable.

“Remus?” She said softly.

“Yeah my love?” He said, lifting her arms to pull off her shirt.

“I love you.”

Remus paused with her shirt halfway off. “I love you too.”

Y/N giggled, as her head was stuck in the fabric, but Remus didn’t care and leaned down to kiss her.

Finally completely undressed, Y/N flopped onto her pillow. She ran her hands across her pelvis lovingly. “Our little cub.”

She was so tired that she drifted immediately off to sleep, not noticing how Remus had frozen on the spot. “Cub” set off an alarm in him, a panic that he couldn’t quite shake. He closed his eyes, clutching his blanket tightly to his chest.

+

Y/N felt Remus toss and turn in the bed beside her. She ignored it the first few times, until the last one finally brought her back to full consciousness.

“Are you awake?” She grumbled.

“… No.” He whispered back.

Y/N opened an eye to peek at him.

Remus took a deep sigh and sat up.

“What’s up?” Y/N joined him.

“This… might sound stupid,” Remus began, “but I don’t know, you said something earlier that just really triggered me.”

“Oh?”

“You referred to our baby-“ Remus smiled slightly at the word and the thought, “as a ‘cub’”. He grimaced.

“Oh…”

“It just sent me in a panic and I haven’t been able to quite shake it— and the thoughts, they’re paralyzing me.”

Y/N listened carefully as he continued.

“I just think about me potentially passing down my condition to an innocent child- our child- and having it have to suffer so much, all because of me.”

“Hmm.” Y/N said. “Can I speak— is that all you wanted to share?”

Remus nodded.

“Would you still love my child even if it had the same mental health issues as me?”

“Of course, that’s not even a question.” Remus said.

“So what’s the fundamental difference between that and lycanthropy?”

“Well, you cannot compare the two, they are simply not— being a werewolf is dangerous to others.“

Y/N shrugged, “I could argue that a bunch of conditions can make someone dangerous to others. But yeah, I understand. Fundamentally though, this is our child. Ours, Remus. You and me. I’m going to love this baby so much, because it will be part you. Not in spite of that. And it may inherit some of your worse traits, but it will also inherit the things that make you-” Y/N cupped his face. “the most wonderful man I’ve ever met. If it inherits lycanthropy, it will just be one gene out of 5 million other ones. It won’t change a thing in how much I will fucking love them.”

Remus remained silent.

“Yes, it’ll come with its own challenges. But having a kid was never gonna be easy right? And it’s nothing we can’t prepare for? It’s not like tracking the moon and handling transformations is completely new to us. We would just have two little furry friends every month instead of just the one. And they can come to Hogwarts, just like you have. And they’ll experience all the joys and laughs and cries at this castle as we have. Plus, they will get to grow up in a time where Wolfsbane is more accessible.”

Remus looked half-convinced.

“Plus, the baby will be half me. Will you not love something that is half me?” Y/N pouted.

Remus chuckled, finally breaking, throwing his head to the side. “Of course, I’ll love it. I love things that are 1% you, I love things that aren’t even you but remind me of you.”

Y/N cooed.

Remus put his arm around Y/N’s shoulder and brought her head to his lips. “I love you more than anything there is, and the only thing I would more is I fear, our baby.”

Y/N felt a tear creep up to her eyes. “Me too. So we’ll be okay, okay?”

Remus took a deep breath, feeling the air transition in and out of his body. “Okay”.

The fear wasn’t as strong. He kept holding onto Y/N, until the fear almost went away completely. And they fell back asleep.

+

Their time of respite was cut short by a knock on the door. Y/N stirred, rubbing her eyes. What time even was it? She turned to see Remus still deep in slumber. She smiled, and got up.

“Professor McGonagall!” She said in slight surprise to find her at their door. 

“I’ve come to bring you breakfast,” Professor McGonagall said, carrying a tray with two plates on it.

“Oh, thank you! Come in, come in.” She ushered her in, letting her set the tray on the table. 

“There is… something else I need to discuss.”

“Oh?” Y/N folder her arms across her chest.

Professor McGonagall sat down and ushered Y/N to take the chair next to her. 

“Professor Snape, this morning… at breakfast… well— He told everyone about Lupin’s condition.”

Y/N swallowed. She took a deep breath. Then she began nodding slowly. “Everyone?”

“Well, he mostly said to the Slytherins, but you know the school: if one student knows, every one will know.”

Y/N nodded again, pursing her lips.

“I am really sorry, Y/N.” Professor McGonagall said regretfully. “He… he does not deserve this.”

Y/N merely continued to nod. “Thanks for coming to tell me this, Minerva.”

McGonagall stood, and laid a hand on her shoulder.

“And thank you for the food.”

Y/N watched the older witch leave and looked back at the bedroom door. She tapped her foot nervously. She checked the clock. Breakfast was still being served. She got up. 

Most of the students were enjoying their meal quietly as the Great Hall was filled with a low buzz of morning chatter, cornflakes being poured into bowls and envelopes of morning mail being ripped open to read. Suddenly, the doors burst open, and Y/N came storming in.

“SNAPE!”

A hush fell over among the students, as they were slightly distraught to see their Charms teacher like this. 

She spotted Snape at the teacher’s table, who had awkwardly set his goblet down. “SNAPE!” Her angry footsteps echoed off the walls of the Hall.

“WHERE do YOU get off, telling people about MY HUSBAND’s business?!!” She yelled.

There was a huge, collective gasp from the students.

“Are you this PATHETIC that you feel the need to stoop THIS LOW, and ruin Remus’ ENTIRE reputation? Based on WHAT? HUH? WHAT— are you mad that things, WHERE YOU HAD NO PLACE TO BE TO BEGIN WITH, didn’t go YOUR WAY? SOMETHING YOU WERE COMPLETELY WRONG ABOUT BY THE WAY— you didn’t even TRY to hear us out, but that’s just how you are, isn’t it? SO STUBBORN, I don’t know if you know this, SEVERUS, but we are ADULTS NOW. I COULD PULL THE SAME SHIT AS YOU AND EXPOSE SO MUCH OF WHAT YOU WERE— NO, ARE— but I won’t, I don’t want to waste my BREATH.”

Multiple professors had run down at this point to hold Y/N back, and were busy rushing her to the side and out of the room.

“I’d start with how you got that BUMP on your head, but that doesn’t even matter—“ Y/N fought, “and DON’T EVEN THINK of raising your wand at me, I am PREGNANT—“

The entire student population let out another gasp in unison.

“But again, it wouldn’t be unlike you to want to hurt A CHI-I-I-LD”.

The last word echoed through the doors as Y/N was pulled away by a swarm of teachers.

The Great Hall burst out into a swarm of loud, buzzing chatter as Snape quickly turned away and vanished from his seat.

“OH MY GOD?”

“WHAT JUST HAPPENED—“

“HER HUSBAND?!”

“AND SHE’S PREGNANT—“

“DID SHE REALLY MEAN TO LET SLIP THAT LUPIN IS HER HUSBAND OR—“

“I fucking KNEW IT! FINALLY!”

“BLOODY HELL, WE GOT A CONFIRMATION FOR REAL NOW THAT—“

“PROFESSOR Y/L/N AND LUPIN, I mean, it’s always been—“

“We BEEN knew—“

“HUSBAND?!!!!!!!!!”

Fred and George had risen to their feet on top of their seats with a large roll of parchment and began crying out: “Alright, listen up! Those who bet AGAINST Professors Y/L/N and Lupin, come pay up OR double or nothing— GENDER OF THE BABY! COME PLACE YOUR BETS, WILL IT BE A BOY OR GIRL, BOY. OR. GIRL?!”

It took Professor McGonagall 30 minutes to break up the hullabaloo of gossip-wired teens and dispatch the students into their respective common rooms where they could get ready for the Hosmeade visit scheduled that day.

+

Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the hospital wing at noon, and it was to find an almost deserted castle (courtesy of Professor McGonagall’s incredible crowd-herding skills). The students were all ushered out to the village and she hoped they would burn enough energy shopping and exploring.

Neither Ron nor Hermione felt like going, however, so they and Harry wandered onto the grounds, still talking about the extraordinary events of the previous night and wondering where Sirius and Buckbeak were now. Sitting near the lake, watching the giant squid waving its tentacles lazily above the water, Harry lost the thread of the conversation as he looked across to the opposite bank. The stag had galloped toward him from there just last night.... 

A shadow fell across them and they looked up to see a very bleary-eyed Hagrid, mopping his sweaty face with one of his tablecloth-sized handkerchiefs and beaming down at them. 

"Know I shouldn' feel happy, after wha' happened las' night," he said. "I mean, Black escapin' again, an, everythin' -- but guess what?" 

"What?" they said, pretending to look curious.

"Beaky! He escaped! He's free! Bin celebratin' all night!" 

"That's wonderful!" said Hermione, giving Ron a reproving look because he looked as though he was close to laughing. 

"Yeah... can't've tied him up properly," said Hagrid, gazing happily out over the grounds. "I was worried this mornin', mind... thought he mighta met Professor Lupin on the grounds, but Lupin says he never ate anythin' las' night...." 

"What?" said Harry quickly. 

"Blimey, haven' yeh heard?" said Hagrid, his smile fading a little. He lowered his voice, even though there was nobody in sight. "Er -- Snape told all the Slytherins this mornin'.... Thought everyone'd know by now... Professor Lupin's a werewolf, see. An' he was loose on the grounds las' night.... An’ then Professor Y/L/N came rushing in, cussing Snape out and all that, cause he’s her husband you see. Don’t know where she’s at but he’s packin' now, o' course.”

"He's packing?" said Harry, alarmed. "Why?" 

"Leavin', isn' he?" said Hagrid, looking surprised that Harry had to ask. "Resigned firs' thing this mornin'. Says he can't risk it happenin again.”

Harry scrambled to his feet.

"I'm going to see him," he said to Ron and Hermione.

"But if he's resigned —" 

“— doesn't sound like there's anything we can do —" 

"I don't care. I still want to see him. I'll meet you back here." 

Lupin's office door was open. He had already packed most of his things. The grindylow's empty tank stood next to his battered old suitcase, which was open and nearly full. Lupin was bending over something on his desk and looked up only when Harry knocked on the door. 

"I saw you coming," said Lupin, smiling. He pointed to the parchment he had been poring over. It was the Marauder's Map. 

"I just saw Hagrid," said Harry. "And he said you'd resigned. It's not true, is it?" 

"I'm afraid it is," said Lupin. He started opening his desk drawers and taking out the contents. 

"Why?" said Harry. "The Ministry of Magic don't think you were helping Sirius, do they?" 

Lupin crossed to the door and closed it behind Harry. 

"No. Professor Dumbledore managed to convince Fudge that I was trying to save your lives." He sighed. "That was the final straw for Severus. I think the loss of the Order of Merlin hit him hard. So he -- er -- accidentally let slip that I am a werewolf this morning at breakfast." 

"You're not leaving just because of that!" said Harry. 

Lupin smiled wryly. 

"This time tomorrow, the owls will start arriving from parents.... They will not want a werewolf teaching their children, Harry. And after last night, I see their point. I could have bitten any of you.... That must never happen again." 

"You're the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we've ever had!" said Harry. "Don't go!" 

Lupin shook his head and didn't speak. He carried on emptying his drawers. Then, while Harry was trying to think of a good argument to make him stay, Lupin said, "From what the headmaster told me this morning, you saved a lot of lives last night, Harry. if I'm proud of anything I've done this year, it's how much you've learned.... Tell me about your Patronus." 

"How d'you know about that?" said Harry, distracted. 

"What else could have driven the dementors back?" 

Harry told Lupin what had happened. When he'd finished, Lupin was smiling again. 

"Yes, your father was always a stag when he transformed," he said. "You guessed right... that's why we called him Prongs." 

Lupin threw his last few books into his case, closed the desk drawers, and turned to look at Harry. 

"Here -- I brought this from the Shrieking Shack last night," he said, handing Harry back the Invisibility Cloak. "And..." He hesitated, then held out the Marauder's Map too. "I am no longer your teacher, so I don't feel guilty about giving you back this as well. It's no use to me, and I daresay you, Ron, and Hermione will find uses for it." 

Harry took the map and grinned. 

"You told me Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs would've wanted to lure me out of school... you said they'd have thought it was funny." 

"And so we would have," said Lupin, now reaching down to close his case. 

"I have no hesitation in saying that James would have been highly disappointed if his son had never found any of the secret passages out of the castle." 

There was a knock on the door. Harry hastily stuffed the Marauder's Map and the Invisibility Cloak into his pocket. 

It was Professor Dumbledore. He didn't look surprised to see Harry there. 

"Your carriage is at the gates, Remus," he said.

"Thank You, Headmaster.”

Lupin picked up his old suitcase and the empty grindylow tank. 

"Well — good-bye, Harry," he said, smiling. "It has been a real pleasure teaching you. I feel sure we'll meet again sometime. Headmaster, there is no need to see me to the gates, I can manage...." 

Harry had the impression that Lupin wanted to leave as quickly as possible. 

"Good-bye, then, Remus," said Dumbledore soberly. Lupin shifted the grindylow tank slightly so that he and Dumbledore could shake hands. Then, with a final nod to Harry and a swift smile, Lupin left the office. 

+

“After you, darling.” Remus said, holding the carriage door open.

“Thank you.” She hummed, taking Remus’ outstretched hand and climbing into the carriage.

They settled into their seats and the Thestrals began to move. They looked out the window, watching the Castle grow smaller and smaller. Tears rolled down Y/N’s cheeks.

She turned to face forward, slumping into the back of her seat and sighed. She glanced at Remus, who was staring back at her. She pouted.

“You don’t have to come with me, you know.” He began.

She shook her head.

“You can finish the term properly, hand out grades, enjoy the end-of-year feast…”

“We’ve talked about this, Rem.” She cut him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “I wanna be with you. Don’t want you to be alone right now. Plus, if you think I didn’t ask the house-elves to cook up something for me…us…”

Remus laughed incredulously as Y/N showed him the contents of her bag, which included a few wrapped sandwiches, several pastries, a banana and an apple, and homemade candied almonds. 

The two wistfully looked out the window. 

“I want to tell you, Y/N, that—“ Remus looked down at his hands. “This year might have been the best year of my life. Of course there were other happy years in my life, like some at Hogwarts as a child, or when I met you, but…”

He pursed his lips together and looked back at the Castle. “There’s something about being back here… with you this time… Hogwarts was the first place I had ever found joy. And friendship. And being able to revisit it so many years down the line as a man, and experience it doing something I love with whom I love, also doing what she loves…” 

His voice broke as he covered his eyes.

“Oh, Remus.” Y/N grabbed his hand. “I feel the same way. I didn’t really know you when we were first here. But being able to experience Hogwarts with you, it’s been… well, magical.”

Y/N looked at him intensely through glassy eyes. “Oh, and I hate that it has to end like this, I do, no I do—“ She reiterated as he began shaking his head. “Because, you don’t tell yourself this enough, but you have so much to be proud of this year. I’m so proud of you. You’ve accomplished something so special here, you might not see it but I do, I’ve been seeing it all year. You were so important to those students. I literally heard it everyday- in the hallways, in the classrooms, in the library- how much they loved you.”

Remus was full on crying now.

“You.” Y/N said, jamming a finger into his chest. “I have loved this year because of how much it has brought me back to, but it’s been everything to watch you shine. Because of simply who you are. You’ve gotten too used to hiding in the shadows. And I felt like falling in love with you all over again.”

They engulfed each other in a hug as they both cried into each other.

Finally, the carriage came to a halt. The two came apart, sniffling, wiping their wet faces on the sleeves of their robes.

“God, we’re such saps, aren’t we?” Remus let out a wet chortle.

Y/N did the same back.

They both stepped out, with their bags onto Hogsmeade Station. The train had just arrived for them, blowing steam in a loud whistle.

Remus took the bags and began climbing on with them.

Out of the corner of Y/N’s eye, she saw dozens of students on Hogsmeade’s main street, in the middle of their weekend visit. A few of them seemed to be looking back. Recognizing who they were, she gave a big wave with her entire arm. They all waved back. And suddenly, they began growing larger. They were running towards the train platform.

“Oh my God, they’re coming…” Y/N muttered as the mob of students trampled into the station.

A dozen “Professor Y/L/N!”s broke out in different voices.

“Where are you going?”

“We heard you’re pregnant!”

“Is it true?!”

“Will you be back to teach next year?”

Y/N beamed at them as she looked in each of their faces. There was a mix of all her students, from all years and all houses. She felt a pinch of sadness to see that Harry, Ron and Hermione were not present.

“You guys…” Y/N took a deep breath. She put her hand on the shoulders of the two students nearest her. “Yes, I am pregnant.”

There was a collective whoop.

“So, I don’t see myself coming back next year as I would be on maternity leave.”

There was a collective “aw” of disappointment. 

“What about Professor Lupin?” said a timid 1st-year.

Y/N smiled sadly. “I… don’t know, sweetheart.”

A shared expression of sadness fell upon the group.

“You know, we’ve been really depressed after hearing about Professor Lupin.” Seamus said, kicking his feet. “He was the best Defence teacher we’ve ever had!”

Remus had his ear pressed against the train door. He felt his heart clench. Y/N looked back at him and cocked her head slightly. He stepped down onto the platform.

The group of students erupted in cheers. “Professor Lupin!” They broke out in a cacophony of praise and sadness about his departure.

Remus bowed his head down in humility. He was at a loss of what to say. “I… thank you everyone. I am most glad that you have learned this much with me.”

A first-year stepped forward hesitantly, then lunged to hug Remus. Taken aback for a second, Remus then chuckled kindly and returned the hug.

“WE’RE GONNA MISS BOTH OF YOU SO MUCH!”

They then divided into two groups, one to group-hug Remus and the other, to Y/N. The two couldn’t stop laughing of glee, watching the scene unfold. 

“Can we write letters to you when you’re gone?!”

“Of course you can.”

Finally, the train whistled and it was time for Y/N and Remus to board officially.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us all year you two were married, by the way.” A student finally said.

Y/N laughed. “Yeah…” She took Remus’ hand. “But I hear you guys were quite keen on figuring it out.”

With one last goodbye, Y/N and Remus climbed up onto the train. They took their seats and waved back at the students through the window. The train tugged forward, and several of the students sprinted and ran across the train, tapping on the window.

Y/N and Remus laughed with tears in their eyes, watching them slow down and stop as finally the train turned out of the station and away from the platform. From afar, they could see a small McGonagall-shaped figure whisk all the students away and back into the village. The figure stopped for a moment and looked at the train. She nodded and waved.

The train picked up speed and within seconds, Hogsmeade was replaced with tall sets of trees on both sides. 

Y/N looked at Remus. He smiled. Taking a deep breath, Y/N closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder.

Remus sat there wide awake. He watched etches of forest zoom past them in the window. The train turned a corner and the trees dissipated, freeing the view upon the other side of the lake. The sky was impossibly clear, as tones of light blue filled his vision. Sun glistened atop the water’s reflection. He watched the scenery and thought back to his year, with a bright golden ball of light glowing in his chest. He knew it was going to be difficult to predict when he’d see Hogwarts again. But once again, it had changed him for good. And his future shined impossibly bright ahead.

With this feeling of warmth and hope, he closed his eyes and joined Y/N in her slumber.

[nullcanary]

All of my nights, All of them here

"Such a commonplace to describe someone as a dream. But he was, my Luc. Clever, well to do and as fond of the strange and grotesque arts as I had based my studies on. We met at a party during my undergraduate years, and immediately made a connection through discussion of Story of the Eye. Carrying on with ease to all manner of other subjects, his presence filled the room for me, his enthusiasm clearing out the shape and sound of the other occupants. The kindred spark struck light between us, the delight of discourse, the comfort of opening ourselves to one another, exposing all secrets non-physical. We knew each other within a moment, saw and recognized ourselves in the shine of each other's eyes. I knew then, for me, there would only be before him and after. 

Within a year's time, we eloped. We had each other. That was all there need be. We rotated our shared and respective interests around each other, indulging and debating and expanding our understanding of the hushed undercurrent. Romantically charged and intellectually bound, it felt as though we solidified each other's existence, sculpted one another in real time, by hands we could touch, words we could breathe. There was no motif there. I truly loved him.

...

I never thought I would lose him so soon. So brutally. By my own hand. But you must understand, I didn't have a choice... We didn't have a chance. We were subject to a game between cruel gods.

I'm overjoyed to finally share my commission from the ever talented @lokorum, of the piece featuring my two Kult ttrpg characters, Mérie and Luc. They're an absolutely delightful person to chat with and after sharing my OC's backstory with them, they expressed such bright enthusiasm to create a piece of my characters, which I'm so utterly grateful for. They had the idea to depict events from their backstory into the paintings displayed along the wall which brought so much more meaning to the piece. Each update left me more ecstatic than the last. Lokorum's gorgeous and unique style, vibrant use of colors, and excellent grip on mood through body language and scenery has breathed so much life into this piece.

Lokorum’s piece is a representation of Mérie’s loss. Consistently revisiting the space where she last knew Luc. He’s been gone now for more years than she was alive when she lost him. Half her life, defined by before the loss. Another half defined by its aftermath. She’ll come back here again and again trying to piece together what happened. A house of memories only able to be maintained by her. Until she finally learns the truth and can never leave. A truth she can't unknow. If only she could forget after one last dance…

[nrdmssgs]

I'd like to be the one Nikto comes home to. Even if I was kidnapped by him (let's be honest in this economy having everything paid for, and you only have to take care of his home, his needs, and his big fur ball? I'd be on board 100%)

Like yes Love you go do your war stuff and I'll be here with my books and games. Me and Spud will snuggle while you're gone.

Masterlist

"Nikto! Bloody-... No, give me another one, he needs more... Nikto, don't you dare! Stay with us!"

His body produces a bunch of worrying sounds. Wheezing, gurgling, hoarse groans. Like a plane, that flew as long as it had fuel. And then a bit more. With all the engines dead, leaning against the cold wind, he glided as far as he could.

Someone was shouting right above his face - Nikto couldn't care less about that. He glided to the horizon and finally lowered his burning aluminium belly into the cool water. A great war machine could finally rest, enjoying the last rays of a sunset and slowly falling apart.

"This is the end," breathed out the left wing, cracking under the temperature difference.

"We flew so long," shivered the fuselage in cooling evening air.

"We rest now," yawned the jet engine, filling its mouth with water.

So many voices for one tired body.

Nikto drifts to slumber, not carrying about whatever his comrades are so nervous about. What is important now is that he can finally rest. From this blinding light, from their and his voices, from chaos. Just rest.

"You fucking kidding me! After everything, we have been through?! I won't let you!"

They can't just let Nikto go. But now it causes nothing but mild irritation. Why do they need him? Why does he need himself? Wouldn't it be easier to just-

"You promised her to come back, you piece of shit!" This time his squadmates voice hit in the right spot.

A soft image formed from cloudy pieces of memories. You. Your face, your body curled up on a couch in your common house. His lifeline.

The voices woke up again to bring him memories they managed to scrap together. One brought a vision of your eyes, full of life and hope, waiting for him. Others remembered your laughter, a sound that had always brought light to the darkest of days.

You were waiting for him.

A sharp breath filled his chest with air as he realized what he was about to lose. The thought of you alone, waiting endlessly for someone who would never return, twisted something deep inside him. The warmth of your last embrace, the whispered promises of your future together - they all surged back to Nikto, flooding his senses with a desperate need to hold on.

His heart pounded against the odds, and his hands clawed at the earth beneath him. He couldn't let go, not now, not ever.

All because somewhere out there was a house you two called home. And inside it - there were you.

Somewhere out there - a place where he can let himself feel a little more. There is a door he would swing open - and there would you stand with eyes widened in disbelief.

You would run to him, and he would catch you - he always does. He would bury his face in your hair, taking in the warmth of your body. Maybe you would sob into his chest, clutching him tightly as if afraid he might disappear again. And so you two would stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the rest of the world forgotten. His heart would pound against yours, and he would feel the steady rhythm of your breath, grounding him.

You would be the reason, he always returns.

That is of course, if you, these memories, his squadmates voices and everything around him is real, and not just a fairytale, one of his voices came up with.

[reveriememory]

⭐️ °. • Thank You Neil • .° ⭐️

I pushed myself to finish this in time, and I did! I met Neil, and gave him a physical copy. Till this day, I just freak out when I remember… I really admire him! I’ll talk about that and this art piece after the Read More if you’d like to hear about that.

This art piece started in October, last year as an Astarion fan piece, but overtime I realized I wanted to do something more meaningful. I’ve known of Neil since DBH, so why not create something for him? So I added in Neil, and then I left it alone for months. Didn’t really think anything of it since usually all my art follows this treatment. I focus on it for a whole two weeks and then it fades into the background. However, I got word that Neil was coming to my area, and that’s when I started freaking out. Like, oh my god, I need to finish this… can I give this to him? I’ve never gone to a convention before… what am I gonna do?

So I kept debating to finish this, because I didn’t know what was allowed, and if I could even finish in time, how would I even print this? I mean, I can just finish it at my own pace and tag him or something. In the end, I decided that it’s more important to me to get it to him in person, that way I can also get my copy signed. I had to plan this all out, and long story short, I rushed it in a week. I pulled two all-nighters, and just REALLY rushed on poor Gavin in the background. Gavin was actually a last minute decision! I would’ve added Kamski, but he’s literally just a face copy of Neil so I decided against that, and Gavin was the close second. The reason I chose DBH was because that’s where I first discovered Neil. I was a fan of this game when it first released. Heisenberg was another option, but I never got to his part of the game so I felt it wasn’t a good pick since I was going under personal limitations. Not to mention, really low on time. However, I added some references on the wall, specifically the ones where it was games that I had played! I could’ve added more, but again- time. I drew them in a motion capture studio, because I envision Neil practicing and performing with the characters he had worked on. I just felt like It was a cute little idea, and I admire Neil for his motion capture the most. It’s something I’m trying to get into, or some form of it at least.

Then. The Day.

AHHHHHH. I was starstruck. I’m just going to sum it up and talk about this specific moment. I’m next in line and I just blurt out, “I’m trying really hard not to get starstruck!” But I’m already shaky and half my memory gone. I was so anxious, trying to get through the moment that I didn’t really get to enjoy the moment, but man, am I still happy. I tell him about the piece and he’s like oh, what have you been working on? The drawing got jammed in its protector, so I was just struggling with it. “OH, sorry, it’s stuck!” And he thankfully found it funny. Gave it to him, got my copy signed and perfect. But AHHHH, I’m anxious right? I ask him if he could sign the back of it, because I was worried I’d cringe at the piece in the future. I normally don’t call my art cringe but why, why was I THAT honest—

He’s so quick to reply, super sweet man, just tells me no, don’t cringe. He also asked me about my focus in motion capture, but that’s another post for another day. I have something in the works for that!

Look, in my defense! I RUSHED the piece, so I knew I’d get a bit irritated in the future seeing my art and knowing I had the time to really do a beautiful job! I just meant that knowing how much potential I had, had I taken advantage of that, it would have turned out so much… not better, but to my liking. I’m content, considering the limitations, but… y’know? Anyways, I still wanted to look at his signature and proudly display that, like aye, I got to meet him!

Considering that I rarely draw real people, I’m definitely proud with how Neil turned out. Just like Neil told me, and many others, can’t be too harsh with myself. When working on this, I was super excited and actually thrived while working on it. Yes, under pressure, but dedicated. I can’t remember the last time I ever fixated on an art piece like this. With that said, I definitely want to try again in the future and get better at drawing semi-realism. And Neil is coming back to my area next year so… ideas.

Anyways, thank you for reading my little journal entry! Back to work I go~

[coldfanbou]

Confessing

Wonyoung fic time. I got nothing else to say; nothing rough going on here.

Length 2.3K

Wonyoung x Mreader

You sat in a cafe, waiting for your friend to show up. You bring your drink to your lips, taking a long drink; as you place it back down, you see Wonyoung take the seat across from you. "I'm sorry for being late. I know I'm the one that called you here, but I-I just had to make sure I was ready." She says. You notice the slight stutter she made. 

"Don't worry about it; I wasn't here that long." You reply. Wonyoung fiddles with her hands and keeps her head turned away from you. A deep-seated redness is coming across now. "Are you alright?" You ask while putting your hand on her forehead.

"I-I'm fine; I just need some water. I walked here really quickly." She says, finally looking at you. A waitress comes quickly afterward, taking her order. While you're waiting, you notice Wonyoung violently shaking her head. "So, are you ready for today?" She asks after as if she hadn't just done that. 

"Yeah, it's been a while since we've gone out. Did you have anything planned? You kept everything secret from me.

Wonyoung nods and pulls out two tickets. "I got us these. They're for the carnival. I thought it would be nice to go." Wonyoung rubs her arms as she looks away from you again. Her drink arrives, and the two of you continue to talk until you're ready to go to the carnival. 

At the carnival, Wonyoung gives the tickets to the man at the entrance, and you both walk through the large hallway leading to the carnival proper. The colorful lights in the hall paint the area. You glance at Wonyoung as she smiles with excitement. Coming out of the hall, you both notice the giant Ferris wheel in the back. "Do you want to ride it?" You ask Wonyoung. 

She shakes her head, "Maybe later. Let's just walk around for now." You look at the many stalls; some are games, others are food, and a couple sells clothes, among other items. Wonyoung doesn't seem very interested in most of the games until she happens upon a fishing one. A simple game where you're handed a fishing rod and have to try to get the lure into a fish's mouth. The robotic fish pop up and bite the air before opening their mouths and sinking.  They were different colors, indicating a specific prize type that you would get. You watch Wonyoung drift toward the stall; you follow her closely, wading through the crowd. 

"Would you like a try? The first one is free." The carny operating the stand says. Wonyoung nods; he hands her a fishing pole and explains the rules. Wonyoung's attempt could have gone better, as her lure lands between the fishes. She lets out a disappointed sigh. You pay the man for a few more tries.

"What prize do you want?" You whisper to Wonyoung. She points toward a large bread plush, a red tag. You try to stifle a laugh seeing that of all her options; she'd want a piece of bread. She whines at you for laughing, slapping your arm. You grab the fishing pole and throw it forward to gauge how it'll fly. You land in between the fishes, much like Wonyoung's attempt. Noticing that the lure was lighter than expected, you give it less power and narrowly miss the red fish. 

Wonyoung jumps in the air, "You nearly had it!" She yells as she smacks your arm. Visibly excited, Wonyoung starts pointing out where it might be easier. The red fishes are spread evenly except for the far left corner, where four red fishes sit beside each other. You take Wonyoung's advice and launch the lure into the far corner, smacking the fish. It had popped up and shut its mouth right before the lure got to it. Wonyoung squats down suddenly, holding onto the edge of the stall. She pokes her head over the edge, observing as you try again. You wait for the fish to start coming down to throw the lure. In what seems like a miracle, your toss was short and bounced off a closer fish into the mouth of a red fish just as it came up to bite. Wonyoung jumps up and screams before tossing herself at you. She holds you tightly as you celebrate your victory. "You did it!" She buries her head in your chest as she continues to hug you. The man gives you the bread plush and hands it to you. 

"Your girlfriend must really like bread." He says with a laugh. Wonyoung immediately pulls away from you, turning bright red. You smile at her and hand her the bread. She immediately uses it to cover her face. You thank the man before walking away from the stall, telling him to give your other plays to someone else. 

Wonyoung holds the bread to her chest. "Thank you," she says quietly. You pat her head.

"It’s no problem. I'm glad you like it." The two of you continued to walk around the carnival, eating food and getting on an occasional ride. As evening comes, you both get in line for the Ferris wheel. Once the ride begins, you look at the city skyline from the top of the Ferris wheel. Wonyoung looks at the floor nearly the entire time. "What's wrong Wonyoung?" You ask. She grips the edges of her skirt, gulping before she opens her mouth.

"Um… t-there's something I want to tell you." Wonyoung tries to meet your gaze but can't hold it. She puts up her bread plush as a barrier between you. "I-I…I like you." 

"I like you too." 

"N-no, I mean that I-I love you. As more than a friend." Wonyoung's grip on the plush tightens as she peers over it. "We've been friends since we were kids, but I've loved you for a long time. I-I wanted to…." She pauses for a moment. "I wanted to confess to you today. I wanted to do it here." 

"You just did." You respond.

"N-no, but it's not the same. I don't want to be hiding behind this." She says, motioning toward the plush. "I wanted to have you really look at me."

You reach out and forcefully take the plush from her. "Go ahead then." 

Wonyoung places her hands on her lap and looks down before collecting herself. She shakes slightly as she looks at you. "I've loved you for a really long time, but you were always out of reach. S-sometimes, I wanted to tell you, but you would be dating someone else. I-I want to be with you. S-so w-would y-y-you…" She tries to take a breath, and you see her struggling. 

You kneel in front of her and take her hands in your own. "It’s okay." You say, reassuring her.

"Would you be my boyfriend?" She asks. Wonyoung has her eyes closed tightly as if awaiting rejection.

"I'd love to."

She hesitantly opens her eyes. "Really? Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Wonyoung, I've loved you for a long time, too, but you never showed any interest in me, so I thought maybe I should date others to get you off my mind. Hearing you say that, though, makes me really happy." Wonyoung nearly pushes you onto the floor as she hugs you with all her strength. She continues to spout on and on about how she loves you. She can't help but cry as you accept her love. Wonyoung refuses to let you go as you try to return to your seat. The Ferris wheel ends soon, and Wonyoung rushes to dry her tears before you both leave the carriage. The day becomes night, and it comes time to go home. You both get in your car as you ready yourself to drop her off. "I guess I'll drop you off at home."

"Can we- can I sleep with you tonight?" She asks shyly.

"What?" You say, slightly stunned at her words.

"I want to sleep with you." She replies with her words trailing off at the end. "I've waited a long time, and I want to sleep with you," Wonyoung says, mustering her courage. 

"Alright, we'll sleep together. It'll be our first night as a couple." Wonyoung smiles all the way home. The car ride was slightly filled with sexual tension. You hadn't expected Wonyoung to be so proactive as to say she wanted to sleep with you. You also hadn't fully registered what she wanted when you agreed. You couldn't say anything to her at this point and awkwardly drove the entire way home. When you arrived, you both sat in the car for a minute, unable to move.

Eventually, you were able to step out of the car. Wonyoung quickly followed.  You both wasted no time as you made your way to your bedroom. "S-so, I guess we should take our clothes off." 

"Y-yes, we should," Wonyoung responded with the same nervous voice. You both looked away from the other as you stripped down. "I-I can turn around when you do."

"Okay, we'll turn around on three. One, two, three!" You both turn around, covering yourself. "W-we should probably take our hands away." Wonyoung shyly nods, and you both slowly put your hands to the side. Your eyes make their way down Wonyoung's body. You get caught up at her legs, though, long, toned, and thick; you marvel at them. You slowly get hard as you think about Wonyoung's body. Wonyoung blushes as she watches your cock rise to full mast. 

She steps forward, "Can…can I touch it?" You nod. She seems mesmerized by it as her hand reaches out and grasps your cock. You moan as she touches it. A smile crosses Wonyoung's face; she's happy she can make you feel good. Wonyoung starts to stroke your cock; without any prior experience, she's doing a good job. Her pace is anything but consistent, though, as she sometimes goes from incredibly slow to very quick. You run your hands around her stomach before taking a breast in each hand. Your palms squeeze her soft flesh, drawing a moan from her. Wonyoung's tits were topped with tiny pink nipples; her areola wasn't much bigger. Taking her nipple between your forefinger and thumb, you pinch her nipples while massaging her breasts. You both moan from the pleasure you're experiencing. You lean down slightly, kissing Wonyoung. She returns the kiss with enthusiasm, not wanting it to end. While you're kissing her, her hands start to move quickly. Her palm rubs the head of your cock as you both moan into the kiss. 

You feel yourself getting close to your orgasm and your hips bucking automatically. Wonyoung feels your cock throbbing and sudden wetness as precum covers her hand. Your precum allows her to stroke your cock at a faster pace. "Wonyoung, I'm going to cum." You say to warn her. She continues to stroke your cock  at a quick pace until you cum in her hand. The warm liquid spurts onto her forearm and covers her hand. While you recover, Wonyoung stares at her cum-covered hand, mesmerized by it, before putting up to her mouth and licking it. The salty taste fills her mouth as she licks her hand clean. The sight makes you hard again. "Should we continue?" You ask her.

Wonyoung climbs onto your bed and lays on her back. Her hands go down to her shaven slit, and she spreads her lips for you. Her pink pussy is there for you to take in. "Please," she says, almost like she's pleading with you to do it. "I want you." She says quietly. You climb over her and align yourself with her. 

"Are you ready?" You ask before you do the deed. Wonyoung gives you a nod. You press against her entrance and push past her lips. You hear her gasp as you thrust inside her. You plant a kiss on Wonyoung's lips; her arms wrap around you as she keeps you there. Her walls caress your cock as you push deeper inside her.  Wonyoung moans into the kiss as you start to move inside her. Your hands grip her legs as you thrust into her. "Wonyoung, you're so tight." You moan into her ear as you thrust. Wonyoung's walls try to keep you inside her, clamping down on your cock. Her moans grow louder at your comments.

"You're so big," she groans. You're pounding her into the bed as you revel in the pleasure. Her legs keep you in place as you split her apart with every thrust. Wonyoung closes her eyes and moans; you watch the beauty before you enjoy herself as sweat begins to cover her body. Her hair becomes more of a mess with every thrust. You cup her cheek, and she opens her eyes; she meets your gaze.

"You're the most beautiful person in the world, Wonyoung. I love you." You groan as the pleasure starts to become too much. 

Wonyoung pushes her head up to kiss you. "I love you too." Wonyoung whines as she feels her climax coming. Her walls tighten around you as you continue to thrust. 

"I'm going to cum, Wonyoung. Let me go." 

"No, I want you to cum inside me. Please." You relent and slam your cock into Wonyoung again. You both shout as you reach your orgasm. Your semen fills Wonyoung. Her leg’s grip on you doesn't loosen; she keeps you in place as her cunt milks you for all of your cum. You watch Wonyoung's face drift into a pure orgasmic state as she feels you fill her womb with cum. After a few minutes, her legs finally release their hold over you. You stay buried inside her for a little longer before pulling out of her. You roll over onto your back, and Wonyoung moves to place her head on your chest. Cum leaks from her pussy onto her thighs as she uses her fingertip to trace something on your chest.

You put your arm around her head and kiss her forehead. "I love you," she says, her eyes trying to remain open as she slowly drifts off to sleep.

[azen13]

I'd love to inquire about the Starlight Pawnshop. While the chess piece intrigues me, can I have the double sided coin? (Hoping for Aventurine, you see!)

King of Hearts, Ace of Spades

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Double-Sided Coin: A coin where both sides show the same pattern, allowing its desperate holder to not need to rely on luck to win this bet and secure their prize.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Description: You live on a dying planet, making just enough money playing poker to get by. One day, you meet a new player, Aventurine of the IPC, who has come to your world as a part of the IPC's plan to take your planet over. While he wasn't planning to make any big gambles himself, the thought of you being his might change his mind.

CW: Yandere Themes, Drinking, Mentions of Death, Non-Sexual Intimacy

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The scent of smoke and spirits is heavy and acrid, looming over your favorite poker table like a thunderstorm as the dealer shuffles a deck of cards. They’re red and black waterfalls in his weathered hands, rippling from left to right, right to left. Left to right, right to left, and again, and again. After you and the dealer, there are four empty wooden chairs, once occupied by players earlier in the night, now long gone after losing all their money. That left you and the strange man.

In your eyes, he looks rather gaudy in his well-pressed suit, practically shimmering from head-to-toe due to all the jewelry he wears. Unlike you and your rigid, controlled posture, he seems perfectly relaxed, draping himself over his chair, a king on his throne, overlooking his kingdom with a smile that seems to shine in his neon-colored eyes like diamonds. When the dealer passes out cards, dealing two to you and two to him, he glances at them without so much as a change in expression before he has settled back into his original position. His cards are so close to you that if you craned your neck just a little to the right, you might be able to know how to play this upcoming round. You know better, though. This is an impossibly important match, and if you lose it, you wouldn’t be able to pay your electric bill.

Still, the thought is tantalizing. Unlike the people you usually played against, who had easy tells and rarely won–unless you were having an off day–he was clearly well-versed in the game of poker, and had the luck to go with it: pocket aces, straights, a royal flush, even. You were certainly no novice either, but he had slowly been chipping away at you, taking high risk after high risk, to which you always folded, even when you had the cards to win.

Looking at your cards, you have to bite back a smile. In your hands lie the ace of diamonds and the ace of hearts: pocket aces. It was as though the stars–however invisible they were in the sky on your planet–had aligned in a serendipitous syzygy. This was the moment you needed. The moment your hard work would pay off. If all went well, you could pay your electric bill, as well as buy some bread. If you were really lucky, you could purchase a ticket off this planet, a world of decay and death, to go somewhere brighter and better, and start a new life.

Of course, that was all just wistful thinking, you remind yourself. Snapping yourself from your momentary reverie, you place your cards on the table, glancing over to the blonde stranger opposite to you. His eyes gaze at you with such unceasing focus, it almost feels like you’re being lasered straight through. You squirm in your seat a little, concentrating on the curve of his lip and the calm emanating from his posture, hoping to find some clues as to what your opponent might be thinking. Despite your best attempts, you come up with a blank.

“Why the long face, friend?” His voice snaps your attention like a toothpick, the words as thick and syrupy as honey as they pour over your ears. You do your best to force his voice out of your head, instead watching as the dealer lays out five cards in the center of the table and flips three over: king of hearts, jack of clubs, ten of diamonds. Just the sight of each card makes your heart thrum with excitement.

With shaky hands, you throw caution as far away as you can, and push your meager stack of chips into the pot. “All in,” you whisper. You have not prayed to the Aeons in many years, but in this moment, you send a silent prayer out to the cosmos, hoping for a response.

The stranger raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. Suddenly, you feel very small and insignificant, like an ant beneath a shoe. Perhaps this wasn’t a good decision, not when you’re on your last leg in this match, and you need this money. But playing it safe wasn’t working, and you’re almost out of money, so might as well go out with a bang, right? “All right,” he chuckles, leaning forward and using his free hand to push all his chips into the center of the table, “I suppose I’ll do the same.” 

After a moment, the dealer flips over the remaining two cards: a queen of clubs and a ten of clubs.

Shuddering, you lay down your cards.

Your heart shatters so violently and thoroughly, nothing remains but a pit in your stomach.

He has pocket aces too, but unlike you, he has the ace of clubs, giving him a straight flush.

For several minutes, you watch yourself sit listless, as the dealer gives your opponent the winnings and heads off for the night. Now, in this part of the gambling den, only you and the winner remain. The man picks up a red and white chip, running a gloved finger across its damaged edge. “A good game. Excellent, even,” he remarks, flipping the coin in the air and catching it in his palm. He looks at you again, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. “How about a drink? I’ll pay.” 

You want to say no. All you want to do is go home and cry and scream and figure out how you’re going to sustain yourself for the next week or so. You want to eviscerate this stranger for taking your money when he hardly needs it. He isn’t struggling to pay bills, or afford food and water. But you are. Even though you want to do these things, a free drink is a free drink, and with how tight money will be in the upcoming weeks, it’s not like you can decline the offer. “Sure.” You let him guide you away from the poker table, past strangers clad in shadows betting their miniscule fortunes and drunkards drowning in fleeting moments of hedonism to a small bar.

Lit by flickering neon lights and pungent with the smell of cheap liquor, it reminds you of everywhere on your home planet: trashy. There are no patrons by this time of night; all the reckless people have already spent their money, and those smart enough to not give into temptation know the price is far too much for just one pleasant night.

The man sits on a stool, lounging just as comfortably as he did at the poker table. “Well, what do you want?” He asks, propping up his chin with a hand. You search the bar, trying to find a menu, but come up with nothing. Not knowing what to do or say, you shift on your feet, chewing on your lip as your eyes flit over the room again.

Noticing your unease, your former opponent simply chuckles, sidestepping you to walk up to the counter. “Two glasses of sparkling water please,” he says, pulling out a black and gold credit card and sliding it over to the bartender. After a moment, he’s already handing you a fluted glass full of a pale, effervescent liquid. “By the way, I’m Aventurine,” the man says, offering his free hand to you. 

In return, you muster up a weak smile, though bitterness leaks through the cracks. “I’m Y/N,” you respond. You clasp his hand and shake it once or twice, before letting go. After a moment, you take a sip of your drink. “Thank you for buying me this,” you add.

Aventurine waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he says, “it’s not every day I get to play against someone so talented.” Even with how horrible you feel, the compliment is enough to brighten your expression a little.

A momentary silence settles over the two of you, and you feel the urge to say something. To do something. But before you can ask a question, something stops you in your tracks.

Your stomach growls.

You feel your face warm a little, embarrassed at how loud the sound is in the quiet. Aventurine tilts his head a little, an eyebrow raised. “Hungry?” he asks.

You give a curt nod. “Food is hard to come by nowadays. I make it by with gambling, but…” your voice falters into a sigh. This man isn’t family, a lover, or even a friend. Just an acquaintance you met only hours ago. You shouldn’t be sharing your life problems with him. “With everything getting worse, it’s only getting harder and harder,” you explain. 

Aventurine’s eyes are intense. You never noticed how strikingly beautiful they are, as luminescent as the lights overhead. They gaze at you with a certain understanding, a solidarity even, as though he is silently saying ‘I have been hungry, too.’ Then you watch the light in them shifts, darkening like clouds covering the sun. “I could help you,” the blonde gambler offers, a smirk dancing on his lips, “for a price.”

At the sight of your confused expression, Aventurine continues. “I could give you anything you might want. Food. Water. Shelter. Luxury. I can show you the universe,” he says, gesturing to a cracked window showing the expansive, empty night sky. You have a distant memory of seeing the stars as a young child, but they are long gone, obscured by decades of pollution. 

“What’s the price?” You ask, immediately thinking of an old saying your parents used to tell you as a child: nothing in life comes for free. For such a bargain, surely there must be a price to pay?

With the flick of his wrist, Aventurine procures a poker chip in his hand, tossing it up and catching it; unlike the warped, dingy ones the gambling den owned, the one he held is in mint condition, colored green and gold. “Oh, nothing too costly,” he chuckles, leaning in. “Just you,” he murmurs. 

While the air feels electrified, you feel frozen in place. “I don’t understand,” you respond, the words moving past your lips like a drunk man hobbling home. Perhaps you are drunk with how your mind is spinning in every direction like a tornado. You check your glass. Still practically full.

Aventurine’s smile widens. “And you don’t have to.” His eyes bore into yours; for a moment, you feel like you’re being hypnotized by how the kaleidoscopic hues in them seem to swirl and shift. You want to move, but you’re still frozen where you stand. “To be honest, I myself hardly understand what I see in you,” he adds, “but I know I need it. I need you.” 

The declaration hangs over your head like a thunderstorm, ready to strike you down in all its passion. Before it can, though, you manage to stand up on shaky limbs. “I refuse,” you mutter, storming out of the gambling den, leaving Aventurine sitting alone.

An easy smile rests on his face, his mind assured that this won’t be the last time he sees you.

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You return to the gambling den the next evening, intent on one thing: winning. Your electric bill payment might be late, but if you manage to eke out a victory, you can pay for both that and your upcoming water bill. Your dreams are immediately halted by the sight of Aventurine, lounging at your table as though it’s his, eyes glittering with what you now recognize as greed. It only takes a moment for you to put the pieces together: how precarious your finances are; how you make most of your money through gambling; how much he needs you.

He’s trying to crush any chance you might have at earning money, so that you willingly walk into his arms.

His expression is unceasing. He knows you’ll give in eventually, you have to. But you aren’t going to give him the satisfaction of winning. Not yet. So, with fire in your heart and daggers in your eyes, you stalk over to your table, and sit yourself down.

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It’s only a matter of days before you lose everything. Electricity. Water. Heat. Sewage. Waste. You don’t try to scrounge around for food or water, and don’t even bother looking for a job. You haven’t heard of an open one for weeks, especially with unemployment rising steadily. Most of all, you don’t bother going to the gambling den. You don’t want to see Aventurine’s smug expression.. Your home, a small, drab concrete box, will be your tomb. You’re sure of it. 

That is, until you see those neon eyes glowing in the darkness of your room. 

Immediately, you attempt to stand up, but your body protests, your vision growing blurry from vertigo. “What are you doing here?” You mumble. You try to channel fury in your voice, but you can’t find any fire in yourself, only weak, meaningless sparks.

Aventurine only laughs. “I’m here to offer you another deal.” With the flourish of a hand, he pulls out a small poker chip, the same one he held that fateful night you first met him. “If you accept, I’ll uphold my end of the bargain, and give you anything you want. But if you win a coin flip, then you don’t have to uphold your end,” he explains. “And let’s be honest: you don’t exactly have any more options, do you?” he asks, that smug smirk easily settling on his face. You scowl at him, but say nothing.

Finally, after a few seconds, you mutter a half-hearted ‘fine’. With the way Aventurine’s eyes light up, it’s like he’s already won. You suppose he has. After all, he has an extraordinary ability to get lucky when necessary.

“Hearts or spades?” he asks, though you hardly pay attention. You grunt out the former, watching as the coin flies high into the air, a blur of motion, before settling back down into Aventurine’s palm. 

You see the symbol of a spade, but instead of fear, you feel relieved, oddly so. You slump into yourself a little more, sinking back down to the floor. After a moment, you feel Aventurine’s presence by your side. “Hey, love, it’s okay,” he murmurs, tenderly brushing some of your messy hair out of your face. Then he starts working his hands against your scalp, gently attempting to detangle the knots in your matted hair. “I know how hard this must be, but it’s going to be alright,” he whispers. “I’m going to take good care of you, I promise.”

To your worn-down mind, that sounds divine.