#also doesn’t help that greys is boring as all hell

[mayasdeluca]

Definitely disheartening but unfortunately not surprising…this is what happens in the 10pm time slot and it certainly doesn’t help when the network does everything in their power to act like the show doesn’t exist. For those who can, please stream the episode as much as you can the next few days and hopefully we can get that number up and let’s try to improve it over the next few weeks.

[cranberrv]

enchanted

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ in which dallas winston falls for the new girl

( a/n : i love this request sm!! reader is fem by the way, also not proofread also ooc! still cute tho! )

not many people wanted to move to tulsa, but for some people, it was their only option. that was the first similarity spotted between you and dallas.

of course, you and dallas were on different sides of the track, different chapters in a novel. you moved to tulsa for your fathers work, you were perfectly happy back at your old city, but you didn’t have a choice. dallas moved to tulsa to escape from the new york police.

you thought tulsa was bland. it was only your first week here, your first week emerced with all the other teenagers at school, but everyone here was grey. especially the east-side kids, the greasers. they were all broke and it looked like all the life was sucked out of them.

you, on the other hand, were fresh from los angeles, with a feminine flare to yourself and a genuine kindness that was rare in tulsa. even the rich kids were rude, but you were anything but.

it was the start of your second week of school, and your least favourite class was science. not because of the subject, it was just that the people in your class gave you dirty looks and the teacher had a voice that could put you to sleep. and your lab partner in the seat next to you had been away the entire time, leaving you to do projects alone.

today was supposed to be the exact same as usual. at the start of class, you walk in and sit down alone. the teacher does the attendance, and marks your mystery lab partner absent. today is independent work, finishing up a lab report and then doing a worksheet on protons and electrons. you want to fall asleep, it’s so boring. you’re listening to every silent conversation and looking out the window for a source of entertainment. you got your wish soon enough, as the door creaks open.

“hello,” your teacher greets to the boy that enters the room. “you are?”

“dallas winston,” he answers, throwing his burnt-out cigarette in the trash.

your teacher nods her head. “ah, you’re dallas winston,” the voice is slow as she pieces it together. you wonder why the words are said in such distaste.

you’ve given up on your work, watching dallas winston. he looks like an east-side kid, his hair is a bit messy and he radiates confidence. he certainly puts out an energy unlike anyone in this school.

they talk for a bit longer, the teacher obviously telling him it’s not okay to skip class. dallas tries to argue back for a little bit, but eventually gives up and holds his hands up in mock-surrender. the teacher takes a breath then points to you, giving him a worksheet and telling him to go sit next to you. he follows the teachers finger, and he tilts his head when he looks at you, trying to figure out if he knows you or not. his eyes light up a bit when you make eye contact with him. you like the way he looks at you.

dallas walks over, and sits next to you. there’s a few moments of silence as he gets himself settled. spitting out his gum, taking off his leather jacket, and finally landing his eyes on his sheet. he reads over the questions, and realizes has no idea how to do any of this. “you got a pencil?” he asks you.

“yeah, in my pencil case, help yourself,” you answer, and he grabs your pencil case and sifts through it to find one.

he takes one out and hands it back. you say thank you, and he thinks it was unnecessary to be polite about a simple thing but doesn’t say anything. “mechanical, huh?” he says about the pencil, pushing on the bottom to get the lead out. “expensive. what, you a soc or somethin’?”

you look from your worksheet up at him. he has a nice jawline, you notice. “a what?” you ask. an innocent question in your eyes, but one that has a lot more meaning for dallas.

who the hell doesn’t know what a soc is? he stares at you for a second, eyebrows furrowing. not out of annoyance, but out of genuine confusion about why you don’t know about the class-status that built up the entire reputation of tulsa. you know what a greaser is, but not a soc. and you barely know what a greaser is, anyway. you’ve just been told to stay away.

“you know, a rich-kid. a west-side kid.” you still look confused, and he comes to the conclusion that you’re not from here. so when he notices the confused look in your eye, he changes the subject. “where ya from, sugar?”

“i just moved from los angeles,” you tell him. his eyes drift down to your cute lace pink top. he thinks it’s totally something that someone from LA would wear. there’s a speck of silence as he analyzes you, and you feel the need to break it.

“i shoulda guessed,” he says with a raise of his eyebrows. you don’t know if he’s being mean or not. you hope he’s not mean.

“what do you mean?”

“i mean you look like you’re from hollywood or somethin’, with all the lace and the flashy bows and shit..” he’s poking at the lace lining your top. you can see him thinking about something while he’s looking at your lace. “christ, your lingerie collection must be insane, huh?”

there’s a blink of silence and a look of slight disbelief on your face. “what?”

“i’m messin’ with ya, sweetheart,” he chuckles.

“oh,” you say softly, cheeks going a bit hot.

“so,” he starts, switching the topic to a different note. “why’d ya move to fuckin’ tulsa?”

“my dad got a job here,” you explain, fiddling with your pencil in your hands. “why?”

“just curious,” he shrugs. “you know, most people don’t move to this hellhole.”

“you did,” you say, and he tilts his head. you think he’s looking at you because you’re just assuming things, and you’re probably wrong, so he’s judging you. “did you not?”

he cracks a smile. he wasn’t judging you, simply curious as to how you guessed he wasn’t from here. “yeah, i did, sugar,” he nods, leaning back in his seat. “how’d ya know?”

“your accent,” you explain. “very new yorker.”

“yeah? you like it?”

you mirror his smile. “yeah, i do.”

the class falls silent as the teacher insists everyone quiets down and focuses. dally's voice drops to a whisper when he responds, playfully pushing you away. “alright, miss hollywood, go do your work,” he teases. “gonna tell the teacher you’re distracting me,” he threatens, obviously playing around because he knows that he’s the one distracting you.

you smile and turn your head back to your sheet to finish it up. you begin peacefully working. dallas can’t help but stare at you as you do so. nibbling at your pencil while you’re thinking, constantly adjusting your top, brushing your hair out of your face every now and then, he notices it all. he can’t help it, he thinks you’re the sweetest person he’s ever seen.

you look up at him, feeling his intense gaze on you. you make eye contact and instantly turn away again, cheeks going pink like a tulip. why is he looking at you? do you have something on your face? you don’t know. you subconsiously wipe your cheek to make sure, and adjust your top again.

dallas finally looks away, and you take a breath and relax your shoulders. as much as he was acting sweet towards you, you could tell he had this rough edge that you should be worried about. but what truly worried you is the fact that his edge didn’t worry you. if anything, it lured you in. you wanted to learn everything about him. he was like the ocean, he was calm and beautiful but you had to swim out far and dive deep down to find out everything about him. and it felt like no one had, yet. he was a mystery. you liked that.

as you’re working, you hear the rip of lined paper beside you, then the scratch of a pencil. a few moments later, dallas hands you a piece of paper with a note on it.

“how do you do question 1?“ it reads.

you read the note and look up at him, smiling. you write down your answer, saying that he needs a calculator. you hand him yours, assuming correctly that he doesn’t own one.

he slides you another note a few seconds later. “it keeps saying weird shit on the calculator”

“what does it say?” you write back.

he takes longer than usual to write. you wait in anticipation. after what feels like forever (but was probably 15 seconds) he hands you another note. you read the numbers. you don’t understand how he got that answer. you read over it again, and then it clicks. it’s his phone number.

he’s looking at you as you read it. you look up at him and gently nod, putting his number in your pocket. you rip another piece of paper and write down, “i’ll call you.”

he reads it and writes back, and is about to hand it to you, until he quickly takes it back and adds something. then he hands it to you.

“good. (p.s. your little lace top is kinda cute)”

you read his little p.s. and smile to yourself, then to him. you mouth thank you to him. he mouths “anytime” back.

you have a feeling this won’t be the last time you and dallas winston say hello to each other in science class.

[feyascorner]

11 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. In his honest opinion, the artist who drew your portrait should be fired, even if he’s no expert in the arts. Your softer features are far too sharp, and your sharper features are far too soft, in what he supposes is an effort to ‘enhance’ your appearance, but now it just looks plain uncanny. They also forgot to take into account the scars of battle on your skin, a part of your hair that he remembers sticking out more, the sheepishness of your smile looking straight at the painter, the two puncture wounds on your neck…

Ah. He wonders if you still have those. The last time he saw them, they’d nearly faded. And nowadays, you make it a point to keep your neck tucked under your collar, which leaves everything to his imagination.

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. it's been a while! this isn't the longest of chapter but it's to kick my creative juices back into gear :) thank you sm for your patience friends <3

He knows he hasn’t returned your cloak yet. Unfortunately for you, Astarion has taken a special liking to the dull fabric.

Despite its dreary grey shade and the tears from being worn relentlessly, it’s of surprisingly good quality. It’s the only reason it's survived this long, he reasons, and also why the sun can never pierce through its sewing job and burn into his own skin.

When he felt the tadpole leave him, he thought he would never see the sunlit streets of Baldur’s Gate again. But this cloak of yours has brought him a new sense of freedom he hadn’t had before—free of Cazador, free of an unwelcome visitor in his skull, free of the looming fear of death…and most importantly, free of his fear of the sun.

Being “stuck” in your home has given him too much time. Too much aimless staring at a book he’s already read four times over. Moreover, the others have become somewhat accustomed to his presence again…meaning some (Gale, specifically) don’t mind leaving Astarion by himself. And as much as he hates admitting it, Astarion would rather Gale’s incessant lectures rather than the boring silence you leave behind at the break of dawn.

An outing or two couldn’t hurt, surely.

So he embarks. Where to, he doesn’t know. But he leaves the house, making sure to lock the door behind him when he remembers how Shadowheart had scolded you for the mistake of not doing so. It’s not that he’s afraid of the cleric, of course. He’s a damn vampire, for heaven’s sake. He’s only being cautious.

The cloak makes it feel as if he were in an oven, especially with the weather becoming more sunny by the day, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when he’s finally standing in the middle of a bustling street, staring unblinkingly while others rush past him, all seemingly having a place to be. A newspaper boy here, a maid there, a circus performer somewhere there. He suddenly feels surrounded by too much life, and it’s not much help when he begins noticing fleeting glances in his direction. Wearing a thick winter cloak in the middle of the summer isn’t exactly common, after all.

“Baldur’s Mouth? They just started printing papers again, if you’d like a peek.”

Astarion glances down at the newspaper boy with squinted eyes, and his voice sounds snarkier than intended—not that he cares. “Who in the hells would pay two silvers for a newspaper that sucked up to Gortash just a few months ago? Does anyone really pay for this abomination?”

The boy frowns, crossing his arms. “If you didn’t want one, you could’ve just said so.”

“Really? Your incessant yelling around the market says otherwise,” Astarion snatches one of the papers, much to the boy’s distaste. He eyes the front cover for a split moment before realizing the very front page has a supposed ‘Exclusive Interview from the Hero of Baldur’s Gate! Never seen before!’

He finds himself reading.

“Mister, if you’re going to read, you have to pay!”

Though Astarion gives him a sharp glare that has the boy swallowing the lump in his throat, he relents, tossing one silver coin in his direction. Not without a click of his tongue, however, and the coin lands in the boy’s palms with a plop. “It’s two silvers.”

“I’m fully aware, don’t worry.”

The Baldur’s Mouth is full of cheap stories, surely paid off by its snotty writer as always, but Astarion acknowledges improvement where it’s due. Gortash’s death must’ve struck some sort of moral chord in the newspaper because a few of its columns are filled with mundane updates on the rebuilding of the city, even if they don’t provide as much entertainment as it surely could’ve if they stretched a few truths. He doesn’t read much into them, though, because he’s soon found himself a corner in Elfsong Tavern where he’s practically boring holes into the damn paper. The cover, specifically.

In his honest opinion, the artist who drew your portrait should be fired, even if he’s no expert in the arts. Your softer features are far too sharp, and your sharper features are far too soft, in what he supposes is an effort to ‘enhance’ your appearance, but now it just looks plain uncanny. They also forgot to take into account the scars of battle on your skin, a part of your hair that he remembers sticking out more, the sheepishness of your smile looking straight at the painter, the two puncture wounds on your neck…

Ah. He wonders if you still have those. The last time he saw them, they’d nearly faded. And nowadays, you make it a point to keep your neck tucked under your collar, which leaves everything to his imagination.

He wonders if you’re ashamed of them as he’s ashamed of the ones on his own neck.

Astarion tears his attention away from your portrait and resumes reading the actual paper.

The questions the interviewer asks are laughable, almost. They’re painfully boring or painfully intrusive, with nothing in between, resulting in awkward short answers or whatever filler the writer put in place of your answer. Half your words, at the very least, must’ve been altered, as they don’t sound much like you.

One question catches his eye.

‘So what does the hero of Baldur’s Gate plan to do after the city is rebuilt?’

Astarion lifts the paper closer to his face.

‘’This city is my home…but I don’t think I could stay here any longer than I have to. I’ve made some precious memories here, but I’ve also made ones that I’d rather move on from. People I want to move on from. For that reason, as much as I love this city, I’d have to embark for elsewhere.’’

His eyes widen. You’re leaving? When the hells did you decide that? 

‘Truly a sad day for the citizens to see their beloved bard leaving. Knowing our readers must be curious as to what their next step is, we made sure to discuss more on this matter.’

‘’Where will I go? I mean…I guess I’d just wander. Explore. Faerun is a vast continent. I’m sure I’ll have plenty to do. Plenty of people to meet.’’

Astarion’s gaze reaches the end of the page. The rest of the sentences babble on in flowery language praising you, which he doesn’t even bother reading before shoving the newspaper into one of the pockets of your cloak. He’s not sure if he would’ve preferred simply not reading the damn paper, but he tells himself that this is an improvement. A reason for celebration, even! Without you, he won’t have to tiptoe around the city any longer, nor will you need to worry about having to continue a months-long argument with him.

This is exactly what the two of you need. Space. For a while. Maybe forever. He stares at the beer stains on the table. Forever sounds like a long time, even if it’s only a few years to him and the rest of your life to you.

Forever sounds too long, yet not long enough.

He’s always wanted to be immortal. Even before he’d grown fangs and his eyes turned red. Sure, the path he took to get here…left a lot to be desired, but with Cazador gone, he supposes it’s not so bad, being a vampire—-besides the whole ‘not-being-able-to-see-the-sun’ fiasco. Sure, he has nightmares every other night about his time spent under his master, but without him, he’s essentially invincible as long as he doesn’t find a cleric who specializes in radiant magic. Sure, wine tastes like vinegar. Sure, he has to wear this suffocating cloak everywhere, but is it really so bad?

He sighs. It could be worse. He could be dead, for all he knows. Actually, dead.

Astarion stands to leave. This damn tavern is even more suffocating than his cloak, especially filled with patrons already half passed out from booze before noon. There’s a reason why he’s always preferred wine over whatever’s filling their cups.

He paces toward the door, but just as he’s halfway there, it swings open. And much to his horror stands a familiar cleric who nearly chucked a fork into his eye just this morning.

“Shadowheart,” the bartender smiles, ceasing his hand midway, polishing a cup. “What brings you here this morning?”

She certainly won’t miss her mark this time if she sees him out in public.

Astarion immediately turns on his heel and heads for the stairs. He practically shoves through multiple patrons in the process, but he manages to get there just as Shadowheart joins Alan at the bar, her arms looped around two large fabric bags as she greets him. They’re just within earshot, even as the spawn scrambles to get upstairs. “Just picking up our attire for the celebration and your tavern was on the way back. My friends and I do apologize for our inconsistent appearances…”

He doesn’t wait to hear the rest of their conversation because he’s already trying the doors to each of the rooms to figure another way out of the building. Most doors are locked shut, but there’s one he tries that slides right open.

Much to his distaste, it’s occupied.

He slams the door back shut just as the woman shrieks.

He peeks out the window. He could jump down, technically, but there are far too many people on the street in broad daylight to go unnoticed. And if there were to be a commotion, no doubt the damn cleric would come rushing out, thinking it’s another attack. So, instead of returning downstairs, he opts for the ladder leading to the rooftop, higher up into the building.

The warm air of the summer breeze hits him like an axe to the face.

Still, he climbs out, grateful to even managed to have escaped the same room as Shadowheart. Thank the heavens. And for a moment, he thinks he’s alone, until there’s another shrill voice rushing at him.

“There you are, Tav! I’ve waited days to see you here agai—" the tiefling stops, her smile dropping. "You’re not Tav.”

Way to state the obvious.

Clearly, he wants to spit back. But he’s too occupied trying to figure out why she looks so familiar to do so. He merely squints at her, which some might consider rude, but she doesn't seem to mind at all. Noticing his confusion, she blinks. “Wait, you’re Tav’s friend!”

Friend. He hasn’t been considered your friend in a long while.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on house arrest?” she tilts her head. “Did you maybe make up with Tav?”

Ah. You must’ve told her about his—peculiar arrangement.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Alfira. We met at the grove and Last Light Inn, didn’t we?” she offers him a smile, which he doesn’t return. She doesn’t wait for an answer either. “I wasn’t expecting you here…Did Tav send you?”

Astarion scrunches his nose as she squints at him, hands on either of her hips as she gauges how he seems to sink further into your cloak, hesitating to kiss the sun’s radiant glow. She doesn’t seem to think much of it, though, as she taps her foot impatiently. “Well?”

“I—yes,” is all his damn brain can spit out.

“Oh,” her face softens, and a soft small stretches across her lips. How gullible. It wasn’t even a particularly good lie. “You should’ve just said so. In that case, I must ask you how they’re doing…I haven’t seen them in weeks. Are they well? Have they started reading up on my lyrics? Have they got a message for me? Ah, scratch those, where are they right now?”

Hells. He’s already itching to jump off the roof.

“Does your head ever implode with all those questions racked inside of it?” he grumbles. “And I’m afraid I don’t know half the answers. Sorry to disappoint.”

Alfira’s shoulders relax as she leans back on her heel, eyes falling to her shoes before she looks back up. “...Well, that’s a shame. Then, what brings you here?”

This time, he’s prepared.

“Seeing the state you’re in, my appearance was warranted. They only wished for me to ensure they’re doing well. It’s a busy time of year, you see, and they haven’t had the time to indulge your—-outings up here.”

“That’s good to hear.”

An awkward silence hangs in the air like a deathtrap, and he wishes he could say something—anything else about what you’ve been up to, but it comes up empty. It’s not like the two of you are on terms to sit down and have a chat every week over tea, but he’s not sure if he knows any more about what you’re doing than this bard standing right before him. You don’t play music anymore. You don’t frequent the bars as much as you used to. You don’t do a lot of things anymore. But what do you do?

It irks him: not knowing, that is.

He only realizes moments later that the bard has been talking this entire time.

“---and I’d really appreciate it if you could take it to them. I can’t imagine anyone else using it as well as they did,” she reaches behind her bag perched against the stair rails, and lifts something in his direction. He’d be a fool not to recognize it anywhere. It’s a pretty thing, the lyre. Your lyre. “I don’t know how I managed to find this at the market, but I like to think it’s fate. Tell them it’s a gift for helping with my songs.”

Astarion stares at the instrument. He runs the tips of his fingers against its familiar strings, taking note of indents he’s all too familiar with and the chips from months running in the wild. The last time he’d held it like this, it felt like it brought him closer to you. Now, it only feels like the cold dead wood it is.

“Were you looking for it?”

“No. Like I said, it must be fate.”

How cheesy.

His lips quirk downward even further, if that’s even possible, as he narrows in on a multitude of new dents and cracks in the wood. The lyre is yours, without a doubt, but it’s clearly seen a different level of care than what you would’ve given it even while fighting to the death. He glares at a particular blemish, and Alfira sighs.

“It’s seen better times, I know. But I’m sure they’d appreciate it even if it’s not how they left it.”

Wouldn’t you? No. He doesn’t know if you’d appreciate it. Why would you? You don’t even play the damn thing anymore, much less produce any music. He contemplates just tossing the object, but the second Alfira sees the glint of hesitation in his eyes, she pounces, shaking her head.

“Please,” she pleads. “Give it to them.”

His brows pinch.

And because he doesn’t want to entertain this tiefling any longer than he has to, and because he’d much rather get out of the sun and no other reason, he huffs. “Fine. I will.”

The smile she gives him doesn’t prompt him to do the same.

Months prior, he could see himself in the reflection of the gloss glazing over the wood. At least, that’s what he thinks because he could see your own expressions reflecting off it when you played it in the sun. It doesn’t hold a glow anymore, much less a reflection.

The lyre weighs heavily in his hands.

“I won’t pry,” Alfira says. “They never really told me what happened between the two of you…I respect your privacy, so I won’t ask. But whatever it was…I do hope it won’t happen again.”

It’s a weak one, but it’s a warning. He’s had plenty of those to figure it out.

“It won’t,” he mutters. 

He’ll be long gone before it can.

Sleep is a luxury you can't afford nowadays.

Surely, the bags under your eyes are enough of an indication if it weren’t for the sluggishness of your every step. Still, you manage to offer your guest a lopsided smile out of respect. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, I’m alright. Thank you, though,” Yevir says, eyeing you up and down, obviously noting your disheveled state. “Is now not a good time?”

You shake your head, straightening your back against the dining room table with a cough. “It’s alright. I’m only tired. With the preparations for the celebration next week, I’m a bit overwhelmed. I was meaning to speak to you again anyway.”

He doesn’t seem convinced, but you can’t be bothered to deny your exhaustion further.

“You’ve been busy. I’ve seen the dead spawn that they retrieved from the Blushing Mermaid.”

Quite frankly, you feel terrible for the folk who own the place. A hag and then a horde of vampires in their basement in the span of a few months? You think it’d be a sign to close the tavern down.

Your tone remains grim. “Were any of them the woman you were looking for?”

He shakes his head, and a breath of relief escapes your lips. “No, she’s…I still haven’t found her.”

And maybe it’s the fatigue getting to your head, but your mouth moves before you can stop it. “You would think she’d try to meet someone she was so close to.”

It’s insensitive, and you wouldn’t blame him if he promptly stood to leave, but all he does is hang his head, dragging his hands over his face. He doesn’t seem like he’s gotten much rest recently, either. “Trust me, I’ve been wondering that for weeks now.”

“And have you come up with anything?”

“No. None. Zero. All I get are nightmares that I might get to one of my patrol shifts, and I’ll find her dead body lying on the ground somewhere,” he groans. “Well, deader body.”

“Maybe she’s afraid.”

“Of what? Me? Who in the hells would be afraid of me? Certainly not her, I must assure you. She’s always been stubborn, and she’s far more determined than myself, believe it or not.”

“Not you, but of herself. Vampire thirst surely can’t be so easy to control, and let’s be honest…” you point at your own neck, and the place where two puncture wounds should be on your wrist burns. “You’re practically a blood pot being offered to her.”

He frowns. “Is it so hard to control their thirst? I will admit that I don’t know much about vampire spawn aside from the obvious…”

You half snicker to yourself, almost in disbelief. “Believe me, they’re beasts when they’re ravenous.”

“Beasts?”

“Do you blame them? To them, blood is essentially liquid gold,” you shrug. “It tastes nothing like actual blood on their tongue. Sure, it might be a bit adjacent to drinking iron, but if they get their hands on prey, they really like…it tastes sweet to them. Would you deny a treat if you spent decades cooped up inside a dungeon cell, starving?"

Yevir’s face pales.

“See?”

His brows furrow as you sigh into your chair. “I’ve done my own share of research, but books seem to overexaggerate things most of the time…Can I ask how you know so much about them? Even if I manage to find her, I’d want to find some way to make her new life more tolerable…it’s not much, but it’s the least I could do.”

You blink.

Shit. You’ve said too much.

What are you supposed to say? You dated a vampire? Let him ravage you on the forest floor and spent months in his tent? That you kissed him just weeks prior, and he’s living just beside your own room? That he told you what your blood does to him, and reveal the bite marks on your skin?

You stand, your chair legs scraping against the ground.

“I have a book you might like. Let me grab it for you. And some tea, maybe,” you smile almost too widely. Fortunately for you, Yevir only nods.

“I’d appreciate it.”

You essentially grab whatever vampire-related book you have shoved under your bed and rush back downstairs to the kitchen. There isn’t much to learn from the thing with how much you already know, but you’re sure it must contain something that he might consider helpful. You know how horrible it felt to be kept in the dark about vampirism, even more so when you realized just how terrible the relationship between master and spawn tended to be…so a small push certainly wouldn’t hurt. Especially with Yevir's own problems with his beloved spawn. This is how you reassure yourself as you pour whatever tea Gale’s left on the stove into a cup.

If you were in Astarion’s shoes, you’d think becoming a spawn would have been the worst turning point of your life. And for a while, you thought he’d felt the same. A part of you thinks he does. But in the time you’ve spent with him and the stories he’s told you sparingly of his life before Cazador, your gut tells you differently. Especially when he’s drenched in the blood of your enemies, holding the immortality he’s long wished for with a sickening smile stretching on his lips. Guilt pools in your stomach for even bringing up the thought, but you can’t deny it, either.

You wonder if it hadn’t been for Cazador’s leash tying him down, he would’ve turned out differently. More twisted. That he would’ve indulged in the most corrupt parts of him as a magistrate. That maybe he wouldn’t have learned the value of a life. That he would’ve become more alike to him—the man he would’ve become if he’d ascended.

That small voice in your head is what stopped the ascension, for you feared he would lose everything he’d gained in his time as a spawn, no matter how trivial he believed it to be.

You hear the front door opening and snap out of your self-tangent. No use dwelling on it now. What’s done is done. No matter how strange the situation between you and the spawn is now, you’d rather have this than what could’ve happened if you hadn’t listened to your gut. You remain firm, no matter how much he hates you for it.

You pour Shadowheart an extra cup.

But as you step back into the living space, you realize the occupant doesn’t drink tea at all.

Astarion stands in the middle of the room, eyes wide as he stares at your guest with an undeniably bloody sack clutched in one hand. His large, red eyes seem glued to the ones of your guest, who stares back even more appalled as he takes one look at Astarion’s pale skin, the shade of his eyes, and the very bloody bag containing what you assume to be his dinner.

You drop the two cups onto the ground, tea splashing against your feet.

“You—Is he—” Yevir stumbles over his words, yet his instincts as a guard have him reaching for his weapon. “He’s—”

Astarion sneers, though his expression strains as Yevir’s hand reaches his sword. “Now, let’s not do anything that could ruin the wonderfully tasteful furniture in here...”

The Fist snaps his head in your direction. “He’s a spaw–!”

The back of a sword hilt hits the side of his head with an audible ‘thud,’ and he’s out like a light.

You stare at the unconscious body slouched over your dining table for a brief moment in utter shock before you gawk at the culprit. Of course. Lae’zel huffs, awfully pleased for someone who just caused a concussion to an innocent man. “Your soldiers are such children.”

Astarion barks a laugh, though it sounds more of a mix of disbelief and amusement.

You wish you could go one day in this house without another headache to add to the growing list.

Tags: @ayselluna @littleenglishfangirl @bg3obsessedsideblog @iwillpissyourpants @cyberpr1m3 @snowlotr @road-riot @spacekidnova @madislayyy @lordfishflakes @nicalysm @djarinsway @tinystarfishgalaxy @brainz00 @hopeful-n-sad @ohdeerieme @madisban @chrismarium @chonkercatto @fanfic-share @bitterbeanren @sleepyred1703 @miskouly @ravenswritingroom @iamlowkeycrying @deezus-roy @spiritraves @mariposakitten @dinobae-replyacc @whisperingwillowxox @bdudette @misscrissfemmefatale @atropapurpurea @cosywinterevenings @phoenixgurl030 @generalstephkenobi @shadowsmusical @himesuedi @girlygmer-blog @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @hyperfixationwhore @teardropcup @marina-and-the-memes @kiwi-mansanas @woosaaghh @cminr @everybodystaycalm @divineknightmare @bangtanbecks @carolinelec @aelieknox @bluelovesleep @catching-fire-in-the-wind @moonlight-stay @thatbeanieboss @atotalmess-lol @lavender-romancer @roguishcat

[preservationofnormalcy]

[It is November of 2021. I am being led down a hallway that looks more like it should be on a ship than a government building. Metal walls with painted horizontal lines down its length, marked with “water depth” markers every 30 feet or so. My guide is a bored-looking man in a suit, balding, checking his clipboard. I seem to remember his name is Clarke, but he’s not who I’m here to see.]

M] Does this tunnel flood?

C] Hm?

M] The water markers.

C] Oh, those. Not unless something bad happens. She’s pretty good about it.

M] Is her name really –

C] Yth’Wa, Herald of Change. Yes. Changed it legally. Not that she gets out much.

M] …kind of an indoorsy person?

C] I mean she’s never in the outside world.

M] Not even to get food?

C] She has people for that.

[Suddenly, from doorways that lead off the hallway, we are joined by six figures wearing yellow robes that conceal their identities entirely. I smell brine and dead fish. Clarke looks back and seems to count the figures, but otherwise doesn’t react.]

M] Is this a joke? 

C] Wish it was, ma’am. Hey, fellas.

[Two of the figures wave. We approach a bulkhead at the end of the hall, and Clarke spins the wheel lock. The taste of salt hits my mouth - like the seaside, like brine. Clarke enters the chamber beyond, and three of the figures follow him. Three of them wait behind me, as if waiting to escort me. After a moment’s hesitation, I enter the chamber.

It is dark, hewn from rough stone, sloping downward into dark water. I look up, and the ceiling cannot be seen in the darkness. Utility lights illuminate the path downward, a few of them trailing into the still water. Clarke takes up a post next to the door, and the yellow figures form a pattern facing the water. Two of them kneel, two of them prostrate themselves, and two raise their hands and begin a chant. 

I can’t help myself. I back up, and whisper to Clarke.]

M] You cannot be serious.

C] You’re the one that wanted to meet her. 

M] Who the hell am I meeting? 

[Wordlessly, Clarke points to the water. A figure is emerging. 

A humanoid figure, also clad in yellow robes. Her hood is pulled low over her face, only the bottom half of her face visible. She has both hands placed together, palms pressed together in a gesture of prayer. She walks calmly from the water, up the incline, and it becomes clear she must be…seven feet tall, or more. Pallid grey-green skin is visible under her hood, and her hair….not hair. Tentacles. Tendrils roll down her shoulders and chest, spill from her sleeves. Her face is thin, her cheeks are marked with slits - gills.

As she emerges, she joins the chant with her own voice. As water spills from her form, fully on dry land now, her words change to English. An unearthly, inhuman voice…but not unpleasant.]

Yth’Wa] Fathoms deep, fathoms old. Fathoms dark, fathoms cold. We leave the cradle, leave the fold. To serve the one, the Lord in Gold. 

[There is a pause. Yth’Wa smiles and stands beyond the yellow figures, who are silent but have not moved from their spots. She is close to me, and seems to regard me with a small smile. Her face is…unnatural, but not ugly. Something beyond. When she speaks, it is with a strange resonance, and no small amount of amusement.]

Y] Ms Hendricks. I was told of your coming.

M] …wh…Yth’Wa?

Y] Do not be afraid.

[She moved her arms, spreading them out. Water dripped off her robes, and tentacles slipped back into her sleeves.]

Y] I am an ally of the Office. I do not harm the unbeliever, as they have their part to play in the grand Circle. The King Of All And Nothing has spoken, and we listen.

M] I don’t…I don’t know what to say. 

Y] Then speak your truth. 

M] ….I’m here to ask you questions.

[Yth’Wa’s smile widens. Her teeth are sharp, triangular, serrated. I look back at Clarke, who seems nonplussed. He looks at his phone and swears softly, seemingly realizing he doesn’t get reception here. Yth’Wa’s tone is not unfriendly, but somehow…as if she’s humoring me. Slight but not aggressive sarcasm rolls off her lips.]

Y] Inquisitiveness is what drew us all to the Circle, Ms Hendricks. It is a virtue worthy of the Yellow Empty. This is a holy quest. 

M] I feel like I’m being condescended to. 

Y] No force in the ocean could compel me to do so. 

M] But on land? 

[She puts her hands back together with a playful smile.] 

Y] What are your questions, my dear?

M] …I was going to ask you about the poster, but first…who are you? 

Y] I am Yth’Wa, Herald of Change, leader of the Yellow Circle. 

M] And what is the…Yellow Circle? 

[Yth’Wa gestures to the other figures in yellow behind her.] 

Y] We are the children of the One Who Dwells Between. We reach out in humility and hope to the space beyond our candlelight, and we embrace what we find. Our god, the Golden Father, shepherds us into the dark void, and bestows upon us gifts that we take upon ourselves gladly. 

M] And you’re….allied with the Office? They’re okay with this. 

[Yth’Wa’s smile is slightly more amused, almost smug. Her tone is like kindly addressing a child.] 

Y] It’s our world too, Meghan. We live here. We have a vested interest in keeping the things that slither around the lighthouse of the human mind at bay…or under our control. The Office often finds these skills useful. Such as your poster.

M] The….sock a Shoggoth one.  

Y] Indeed. It’s an old one. You saw a ripple of waters past, Ms Hendricks.

M] Sorry? 

Y] Do you know of Operation Deep Whisper? 

M] I…I don’t, no. 

Y] Mmmh. 

[She steps forward. I’m unsure of what to do, and in my hesitation, she walks around me. Studying me, her eyes never visible but nonetheless biting into me.]

Y] You’ve met Josiah. Josiah Carter. 

M] Of Psychotronics? 

Y] Of those who wade in pools they will drown in. Tell me. Did he talk about the things they invited? 

M] He mentioned things that…came from their experiments. 

Y] Poor Josiah. He knew only half of what he unleashed. 

M] I don’t think I understand. 

[Yth’Wa took in a deep breath.]

Y] When men take hammers to glass, they should not be surprised when it leaks. Those at the Office, in their uniforms and titles. They frayed the real in order to see through it, and they didn’t like what they saw. What they let through. By the 1960s, the camera obscura  they had made in their blind stabbing through reality had become a tear. A broken fence post, and of course things came through. Things…not under our control. 

M] The things he described sounded horrific. What are they?

Y] Me and mine are…inured to them, somewhat. The Office now calls them Outsiders. Entities from other spaces, other realms, dimensions beyond ours. Beyond the veils. As you can imagine, they are often dangerous to humanity. Physically violent, or ontologically inimical to human life. Often...alien thought patterns, incompatible with the mortal mind. Ontologically incompatible - too many of them, and their reality leaks into ours...impossible geometry, mosses and fungi that degrade the integrity of realspace. Or reality, as humans see it.

M] And you can control them?

Y] More or less. Keep them at bay, influence their behavior. Sometimes they can appreciate something that thinks like them. But all that and more were slowly being unleashed through the world, a secret plague that threatened to collapse the Office’s so called normality. Beasts, anomalies, and forces threatened even our way of life. 

M] So they asked the Yellow Circle for help. 

Y] Indeed. I was not the leader at the time, but the Circle allied with the Office to eradicate this plague. Using resources and funding from the more mundane conflict in Vietnam, we battled the Outsider across the globe throughout the 1960s, and into the 70s. Our people call it Gul’tho Z’Thuth G-Uz, the Conflict of Brother Blood. But the Office calls it Operation Deep Whisper. It is there your posters come into play - propaganda, encouragement for a war against an enemy so alien that they cannot be understood. 

[That smile again.] 

Y] By the Office, anyway.  

M] And it worked? 

Y] You had not heard of Outsiders before you came to the Office, had you? We saved the world, Ms Hendricks. Our world. 

M] I guess we can chalk that one up as a success. 

Y] Indeed. 

M] I don’t feel the need for most of my questions….Yth’Wa. But I guess I had another. 

Y] Speak freely. 

M] You were…human, right? All of you, but especially you. Who were you before you were Yth’Wa?

[There is a moment of silence. Yth’Wa looked…momentarily annoyed, her thin lips turning down at the ends in a way that made my stomach churn. But after a moment, she seemed to reset, relax her posture.]

Y] Who I was is dead. The One Whose Sign Dances saw me for who I was, and made me into something…more. More real, more truthful. Who I was is…dead. Do you understand? 

M] I….I think I do. 

Y] Magnificent. If you had no further questions….

[She steps forward, and I flinch. She pauses, as if attempting not to spook an animal, reaching into her robes and slowly pulling free a single scallop shell. It shined like an oil spill in the dim light, runes and markings along the outside of the shell. They hurt to look at.]

Y] If you wish to see me again, throw this shell into the largest body of water you can reach in a day’s walk under the light of the moon. I will see you, I will reach you. And we can talk. 

M] …thank you, Yth’Wa.

Y] May the Shattered Lord keep you and guide you. 

M] Let the…the Keeper of Yellow—- oh, god, what…what was that? I can taste it. 

[Yth’Wa laughs, leaning in further, teeth gleaming in the odd light.]

Y] Truth. Oh, Ms Hendricks. You’ve tasted truth. 

(Buy the poster here!)

[sanderssidesthehouse]

First of all, the reason it took me so long to put this out was bc I was trying to find good shots of their outfits and I simply couldn't except for Remus. Theoretically they all wear pants. I swear we've gotten good shots of them, I just can't find them anywhere so if anyone wants to help a guy out and send some my way, thanks in advance.

Look, is Logan hot? Yes. But it’s not because of the outfit. It’s because of the autism.

Just put him in a whole ass button up and some slacks and nice shoes, keep the tie, he doesn’t need a full suit, but if he’s trying to look professional, that’s literally what district managers and office workers wear, it would do. Now, if he did some character development and wanted to express his interests via clothing, we could throw in a lab coat or maybe a heavy duty apron. If he wanted to be more casual, you know he’s wearing a NASA bomber and star patterned converse but he also definitely put the stars and such on there himself. Space nerd has to have a favorite galaxy he could map out.

He’s not giving enough. He could be giving so much more. He’s Creativity and he is extra as hell, you’re telling me he couldn’t be MORE extravagant? Where are the furs? The cape? The crown? The DRAMA??? He’s playing a prince, but a prince can wear eyeliner. Where is it? Give him some gold highlighter, I want to be able to see him from the moon. A prince has got to slay, but what is he slaying? My spirits? With his current outfit, certainly. I’m mad because he can do better. He’s so boring to look at. Maybe it’s because he’s not just a prince, he’s specifically a Disney prince, but just because we’re pulling from a source material doesn’t mean we can’t spice it up, ok? Adaptation is allowed and encouraged to make improvements. But I’m also not really a Disney fan. You didn’t come here for unbiased facts anyway, you came her for my bad opinions.

I don’t think you can get any more Catholic guilt than that look so potential is met. Unfortunately the only thing he’s serving is church dad who cries himself to sleep next to his wife that he never has sex with because he’s gay but scared to admit it. She loves him but knows there’s something missing and resents him for it. They still have two and a half kids as is standard. Their picket fence is white. He’s living in suburban purgatory. He projects a little too much onto his dog. This is what he’s serving. I’m not eating it. Um, personality, yeah the fit pretty much sums him up. I hope at some point it doesn’t. I hope he gets better. Someone help him.

I know he’s on the cusp of proper development so he might get a new fit soon? Or not idk. I hope if he does it’s froggy. Give him one of those frog rain hats that would be cute af. He just wants to be silly, let him be silly, please for the love of everything, someone let him be silly.

I think we could have went harder into a subculture. Emo/punk and he doesn’t even paint his nails or wear a choker. What a fucking poser. The patches on the sweatshirt and holes in his T are good, though. He could also probably do with piercings and more make up. I do love that as a collective the fandom decided to have him keep the purple hair bc that really did him some good. I understand it's annoying to put chalk or wax in your hair every time to play him, but it would get him another point in the potential category. I just want him to look cool.

Serving- Dark sides know how to serve a look. If you’re going to be morally neutral/grey you have to make up for it by being hot. They don’t make the rules but the rules were definitely made for them.

Personality- I know exactly who he is by looking at him: A fucking dork. I love my dork ass wife.

Potential- There’s always room for improvement. Namely a yellow ribbon strip on the hat. I know in my heart of hearts that it’s there, but my eyes betray me.

idek if I’d say the cape is an improvement, I think they were right not to include it because it doesn’t really add anything to the way he’s been portrayed. Though I would love to see an occasion where he can play around with the cape because I love capes. I just feel like a variation of landsknecht would have served him well. Maybe paned slops. Pumpkin breeches. Do you see the vision? He just needs some slutty little booty shorts to amp up the bottom energy, and he already has the sleeve design to go with it.

Look, he’s not even my boy, but I’m going to defend Patton on this one. What else could we possibly do here? (I’m serious, please tell me, I want to hear about your Patton designs.) He’s just you’re emotionally repressed dad! Not MY emotionally repressed dad, for certain, mine wears Hawaiian shirts, Bermuda shorts, and crocs, but SOMEBODY’s emotionally repressed church dad. Probably. Maybe.

He’s not SUPPOSED to be all ‘it’s called fashion, sweaty’ because he’s just a guy! A very normal, boring guy! That’s part of his whole thing! He’s church dad! And his outfit shows it! Anyway, sorry Patton. I didn’t mean to expose you to this kind of outfit negativity. (This portion is mostly a joke. Idc if you think his outfit sucks. It does, that just happens to be in character which makes it technically not suck in my opinion.)

Maybe now that Janus has his hands on him Patton's fashion sense will improve. Light sides just don't do it like the dark sides.

[bichietozier-s]

🕷️Catch You On The Web!!🕸️

An Itafushi spiderman socmed au ❤️

In which Yuuji Itadori, newly a sophomore in college who still has not a clue what he wants to do with his life, gets bitten by a radioactive spider and gains new abilities, stats and powers. He's coasting on his raw athletic ability, a full-ride scholarship handed to him despite his less-than-perfect grades, when he realizes he's got way more ahead of him than he'd ever imagined. Including, but not limited to, a newfound crush that also throws him for a loop.

you are reading:

Prologue | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 (coming soon!)

notes:

Megumi is back! Yippee!!! Lots of texting in this part, they should be pretty obvious whose pov they're from, but for the most part they'll be Yuta and Yuuji. There's a couple between Maki and Nobara :3c

Junpei held his phone in his hands, staring at the screen still sitting on the messages between himself and his two closest friends. 

Little date? Was Nobara just being her little teasing self? Most likely - no, she definitely was. But… Yuuji repeated it.

Was he reading too much into this?

His heart thrummed in his chest as he stared at the message from Yuuji. He was reading too much into that, right? He had to have been. 

Plus, why did that stand out so much to him anyway? It’s not like he had feelings for his best friend. He had never seen Yuuji as anything more than his closest friend before now, so why would it change so suddenly?

After re-reading the message for the 100th time, he simply closed out of the chat and turned his phone screen off. Maybe clearing his mind with some fresh air would help.

He was reading too much into that.

When he inevitably had to face Yuuji and Nobara in person a couple weeks from now, he’d know for sure where he stood on… that front. 

For now though, he simply shook it off, and told himself not to think too hard about that. Friends went on silly little “dates” all the time! This was no different.

Megumi sighed, dropping his phone down onto his bed. He rested his hands flat along the tops of his thighs, sliding them down to his knees and hoisting himself up off of his mattress. Welp, he might as well get this over with. 

He first grabbed his bottle of EXTRA STRENGTH melatonin gummies, following that with stuffing his phone into his pocket before sliding on his silly little wolf slippers that Toge and Yuta had gifted him last Christmas, and heading out the door of his dorm room.

As he stepped out into the hall, he considered for a moment that he was wearing the saddest outfit imaginable, but then quickly realized that … literally, who gives a fuck? He’s dropping off these stupid gummies to some kid he doesn’t even know. Why should he be concerned about his dark grey sweatpants and baggy black t-shirt? He was just rudely interrupted while reading, of course he was in boring loungewear.

“Alright, well…” he mumbled out loud to himself, before looking down the hall from his room. He happened to be the first door in the hall, so he didn’t need any clarification on which way to go from his room. But maybe, he should’ve just asked Yuta for the number of the room.

He sighed once more. “Yuta said… four rooms down from me?” He squinted his eyes as he counted down four doors, and stopped right in front of room 305. As he raised a fist to knock on the dark wood of the door, he paused as he heard yelling coming from inside. 

Megumi’s eyebrows knit together in slight confusion (and for some reason, not a hint of concern) as he pressed his ear closer to the door to try and listen to what the hell was actually going on in there.

“WAIT! Oh, my GOD!!! NOBARA. THIS GUY IS-” coupled with the sound of about a thousand gunshots, and then silence. “Yep, he got me,” pause. 

“Well, I was trying to tell you-” pause. 

“NO! NO,?? NO!!!!!! THAT’S NOT WHAT-” pause. Sounded like he was probably on a phone call or something. 

Wait, why the hell was he concerned about this at all? He was wasting time standing here eavesdropping on this one-sided conversation that, quite honestly, wasn’t giving him any information. He raised his fist once more as the yelling continued on the other side of the door, knocking three times on the wood.

“Oh, hang on, give me like two minutes,” pause. “No, it’s not even gonna take that long, just-” pause. “OHHHH MY GOD, LITERALLY WHATEVER I’LL JUST JOIN NEXT ROUND. I’LL BE BACK," Megumi heard, as he heard something like… maybe hard plastic? Clatter to the floor, followed by a quiet “fuck,” muttered under his breath.

Megumi huffed out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding in just before the door was pulled open, and he was faced with…

A fuzzy head of pink hair, sitting atop… Really buff arms and broad shoulders poking out of an orange tank top.

“Oh, hi,” Yuuji spoke out in a much softer tone than what Megumi was just hearing on the other side of the door. “Ah, are you Yuta’s friend?” He offered Megumi a warm smile as he waited for the ravenette’s reply.

Megumi was silent as his eyes snapped quickly back up to Yuuji’s at the sound of him speaking. “Oh, yeah. Here,” Megumi lifted the bottle to show to Yuuji, before speaking once more. Suddenly, he felt almost nervous. “Yuta said you’d needed some of these. Uh, Yuuji, right?” Megumi spoke flatly as he recalled his messages with Yuta only minutes before.

“Yep, that’s me!” Yuuji said excitedly, offering a double thumbs up to Megumi. 

Man, this kid had nothing going on behind those eyes, huh?

“Sorry, you caught me right at the end of a fortnite match. I hope you didn’t hear too much screaming. I was playing duos with my best friend, and-” he began rambling on and on about this game Megumi had never had even an ounce of interest in playing. 

He cut Yuuji off mid-sentence, to reply simply, “Yeah, I heard some of an argument. At least it sounded like that. Here,” he said as he began twisting the cap off the bottle. He shook out five gummies into his hand, and held it out clenched into a fist, awaiting Yuuji’s hand to reach out. “You should only need one of these, but depending on how difficult it is for you to fall asleep, two will definitely knock you out. No more than that, though.” For some reason, he felt like he’d need to give the dude written instructions. Maybe he should’ve gone with a lower dosage.

“Ah, okay! Sounds good to me!” Yuuji said as he reached his hand forward, allowing Megumi to drop the gummies into his palm. They were little dinosaur shapes. “Oh, uhh, what was your name?” He asked innocently, tilting his head a bit as he spoke.

“Megumi,” came the reply, as dry and monotone as ever. “Just ask Yuta if you need anything else. He can always grab me,” Megumi was speaking while keeping his eyes trained downward on the bottle as he twisted the cap back onto it (and definitely not Yuuji’s legs that stood bare below the thigh because of his shorts). 

“Oh, okay,” Yuuji replied. Somehow, an interaction that most people would probably hate Megumi over was not phasing Yuuji in the least. It seemed like he didn’t even realize that Megumi was indifferent to this entire thing, or that he was trying to end it as quickly as possible. “Well, thanks for the gummies. I really haven’t gotten any sleep at all recently, so I’m hoping I can maybe squeeze some in before the first game of the season-”, and there he went again, prattling on about something Megumi definitely had no interest in.

“Mhm,” he hummed out softly as his eyes moved back up to Yuuji’s face once more. His hand holding the bottle of gummies hung limply at his side as he shoved the other free hand into his pocket. “Good luck sleeping.” He turned on his heel and began to walk away, back to his own room. 

“Ah, well…” Yuuji stuttered for a moment, trying to figure out how to quickly end this very brief interaction with someone he’d never even seen before now. “You too!”

He stood, stiff as a board in his own room’s doorway for a moment, before quickly backing in and slamming the door shut, smacking his palm against his face in frustration. Why on God’s green earth did he just say you too???

author's note:

this part was kinda thrown together as I went as opposed to the others ive had ... pretty well planned out for the most part id like to think lol BUT i love the outcome and the little sideplot i came up w for Megumi and Yuuji's first face-to-face meet 🙂‍↕️ NEXT PART IS MY FAVORITE THAT IVE WRITTEN FOR SURE AAHH

and if you'd like to be added to the taglist please just ask 🤗

jump to:

Prologue | Previous | Next (coming soon!)

taglist:

@meme-ty7 @runfrme @poemeater @gemicorn

[imaginejamesandsirius]

Can you write about James absolutely hating valentines day because it’s a day where he has to keep watching people try to woo Sirius... little did he know, Sirius only has eyes for him <333

Sirius is laughing. 

The audacity of that traitor, just laughing the laugh that’s supposed to be only for James to hear, because of something Luca—or was it Liam?—said. James knows he could’ve come up with something much better, something that would’ve made Sirius laugh even harder, then turn to him with those beautiful, glittering grey eyes and cheeks flushed from the cold and the alcohol and the joy.

But he can’t, obviously, because Liam the utter dipshit is taking over Sirius’ life. James and Sirius were supposed to restock on some of their pranking supplies that day while the rest of the student population were busy locking lips and celebrating at Puddifoot’s when the slimy git decided it would be a good idea to replace James in Sirius’ Valentine’s weekend plans. As if watching people make passes at Sirius wasn’t annoying enough already. And then stupid Sirius with his stupid face that James stupidly can’t say no to, decided to stupidly agree to a stupid date at Three Broomsticks.

James scowls harder, hoping the intensity of his glare could yank the tosser out of the seat that should’ve been his. All that happens is Luca taking Sirius’ amusement as a sign to inch closer, sliding his hand up his knee. And Sirius just smiles at him, all warm and inviting. James wants to throw up. Maybe he could even aim it at Liam and call it an accident. Even Sirius wouldn’t be nice enough to continue entertaining a bloke covered in vomit.

His train of thought is interrupted when someone bumps into him from behind. “What the bloody fuck,”  comes a muffled swear with a faint Welsh accent, telling James that it’s just Moony. Belatedly, he remembers that he’s under his cloak. “What—oh, don’t tell me, Merlin and Morgana, is that you under there, James?”

James pokes his head out and grins sheepishly at an exasperated Remus and a bemused Regulus. “Hello, kind sirs, how may I help you?”

“What are you doing here? And why the hell are you hiding?”

James sniffs. “Well, I would’ve been with Sirius, but seeing as I’m so unimportant that he replaced me, I’m bored. Also, I’m not hiding, I’m just preventing this beautiful heirloom from my ancestors from collecting dust.”

Regulus snickers. “The way that thing gets used, there’s no way it would collect dust, even without you using it to spy on my brother.”

“I’m not spying!” 

Remus hums, quickly looking around. “So you’re just creepily watching his date under your cloak so he doesn’t notice you?”

James sniffs. “I need to make sure my replacement meets my standards.” 

“Salazar’s saggy balls, you’re transparent as fuck. You ought to be ashamed,” Regulus says, dragging them to a secluded booth. He digs his feet under James’ arse for warmth.

“I'm sure I don’t know what you mean,” James replies hotly, poking Regulus in the ribs as retaliation.

Remus raises an eyebrow. “You mean you’re not jealous?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Really?” It should be illegal how Regulus could inflect so much emotion into a tiny word. He had no right making six letters sound so disbelieving. 

“I just want to spend time with my best friend, goddamnit, without a random blonde wanker hanging off of him. Why is that such a big deal?”

“Last I checked, I’m one of your best friends and you never mope around when I go on a date,” Remus remarks.

“First of all, you’re this close to getting removed from my list of best friends, and second, I like Regulus even more than I like you. There’s no need to mope because it’s Reggie. Louis or Liam or whatever is not Reg.”

“As flattering as that is, you still aren’t making any sense,” Regulus says. “If you’re not jealous, then why does it matter who he’s dating? S’not like they’re getting married.”

James, who had resumed glaring at Sirius’ table, swirls around. “You think they might get married?”  he nearly screeches. “There’s no fucking way I’ll let—”

Regulus and Remus each grab an arm to pin him down. “Nobody’s getting married, bloody hell, how can you still be in denial?” Remus grumbles. “You’re even worse than Sirius.”

“I’m going to pretend like I know what that means, only because the alternative is Sirius keeping secrets and I don’t like that,” James says, yanking his arms from their grasp. “I’m calm now, you don’t need to keep holding me.”

The moment the two sit down, James dives under the table and makes a run for it. Regulus nearly gets a hold of him, but James’ Quidditch reflexes are enough to pull away. 

Regulus turns to Remus, eyes wide. “Should we—” 

Remus pauses, then shakes his head. “Not our responsibility to talk sense into those two. Honestly, for two students at the top of the class, they can be such idiots sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“Okay, maybe a little more than that,” he concedes with a laugh. 

Regulus smiles. “Do you think they’ll finally confess?” he asks into the crook of Remus’ neck. 

Remus kisses his dark curls. “Not counting on it.”

“Hel-lo gentlemen,” James sing-songs as he squeezes into Sirius’ side of the booth, effectively blocking Luca’s hands from moving further up. “Nice day out, innit?”

“James Potter,” Sirius’ date greets with a smile that’s strained at the edges. 

“That’s me!” James says brightly. “So what’re we having today?”

“Prongs,” Sirius hisses under his breath. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Crashing your date,” James says. “Why?”

Sirius presses his eyes closed, breathes out, and then stands up. “I’m so sorry, Louis, to cut this short. If you’ll excuse us.” He pushes James out of the booth and drags him outside.

“What the hell, James?” Sirius asks, furious. He begins pacing back and forth, hands clenched at his sides. “I was enjoying my date. Why did you have to come and ruin everything?”

Something heavy falls to the pit of James’ stomach. “I’m sorry, I ruined everything?”

“Yes!” Sirius snaps. “You talk about Lily all the damn time, and now that you’re finally dating her, you decided you’d rather spend Valentine’s ruin my chances at having a nice boyfriend?”

James blinks. “I’m not—we’re not—we broke up weeks ago, Pads. And we were supposed to spend Valentine’s together.  Not with Lily or anyone else.”

Sirius pauses, taken aback. “Well, just because you don’t have a date doesn’t mean I can’t. We hang out all the time, why can’t I spend Valentine’s with someone I like? What’s wrong with me dating someone?”

“I don’t mind it when you date all those random birds,” James says, voice quiet. Nothing about this conversation is going as he expected, and he’s torn between equal amounts of anger and hurt. “I just don’t like Liam.” He doesn’t bring up the fact that up until now, he had thought that Sirius had liked spending time with him, preferred it even, to the company of others. He doesn’t bring up that he would rather spend time with Sirius than anyone else because it feels clingy when Sirius clearly doesn’t seem to share the same sentiment. 

“Louis,” Sirius corrects. “What, because he’s a bloke?”

James sputters. “What? No—it’s not—I don’t—Pads, you must know I don’t care about that.”

Sirius scoffs. “Then what is your problem?”

“Louis is,” James says. “I just don’t like him. I don’t want him to be dating you. I don’t want you dating him.  ”

“If it’s not because he’s a guy, then what is it?”

“I don’t know,” James replies miserably. He feels off-kilter and can’t get the right words to come out. “I just don’t know.”

“So it is  because he’s a bloke. There can't be any other reason why,” Sirius sneers, voice icy. James knows the Black’s ability to be cold and aloof remains in Sirius, but he never expected to be on the receiving end of it. It makes his thoughts screech to a halt. A lump forms in his throat, making it impossible to speak.

At James’ silence, Sirius laughs humorously. “Just great,” he spits out. “Of bloody course you’d be a fucking homophobe. As if the universe doesn’t hate me enough.” 

James opens his mouth to correct him, to tell him that that has never been and would never be an issue, that it’s something else but he just doesn’t know what. When he looks up, though, Sirius has already stormed off, leaving behind a cloud of confusion and hurt. 

“Remus told me I’d find you here,” Sirius says. He’s swaying on his heels by the door to the Room of Requirement, which currently looks like the Potters’ living room. He looks hesitant to enter but stubborn enough to not turn back. James turns to look at the dancing flames in the fireplace, knowing Sirius would see it as an invitation to come in.

“I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions too fast,” Sirius begins. “Or, well—I mean, I still would like to know why you don’t like Louis, but I didn’t mean to call you a homophobe.”

James doesn’t respond, taking some time to mull over his answer. Sirius sits cross-legged on the ground next to him, knees close enough to touch.

“Pan,” James blurts out. So much for coming up with a thoughtful response. Upon Sirius’ confused look, James clarifies, “I’m pan. Would be kinda stupid to be a homophobe, don’t you think?”

Sirius nods slowly, looking away for a moment and swallowing harshly. “Good for you. Um. That’s—that’s great. Obviously. That would be rather stupid, yeah.”

James looks at him carefully. “Erm, does that change things?”

“No!” Sirius exclaims. “Of course not! No, it’s just great. Now that we established that we’re both single and queer, I can finally take you to those Muggle pubs and hook you up with a gorgeous person of your dreams.” 

James turns away, knowing Sirius’ words are futile. Now that he’d had some time to think since the disaster of the morning, it was obvious why he felt so angry at seeing Sirius on a date. The person of his dreams wasn’t some stranger at a pub, but Sirius himself. He could imagine Regulus and Remus’ gloating faces when he told them. 

“That won’t help,” James says.  

“Maybe not, but as I always say, a good shag here and there can make life a lot better. Even Remy agrees with me now.”

James tries but fails not to think of Sirius in dim-lit alleys with handsome men on their knees. “Remy is a horny little werewolf who gets his back blown out by Reggie on the regular. Obviously now he thinks that’s the solution to everyone’s problems.”

Sirius stills. “Godric’s tits, James!” He summons a throw pillow from one of the sofas to hit James with. “I don’t want to think about what my baby brother does with his boyfriend—Merlin, gross, I need an Obliviate. Why the fuck would you mention that ?”

“You don’t seem to have a problem with them fucking when you’re asking them about it,” James teases. “You ask Regulus himself. Why is this worse?”

Sirius’ pale skin pinks immediately, which makes James’ stomach sink. “Because this is about Regulus and Remus,” he says, voice eerily steady. “When I ask, it’s just about Remus.”

“Oh,” James murmurs. “Oh, hell, I shouldn’t have brought that up. I know you said you’re over Moons, but—"

“Wait, no,” Sirius interrupts. He pushes himself onto his knees in front of James. “That’s not what I meant at all.” 

“Sure,” James says, standing up quickly. He doesn’t believe Sirius, of course, having caught him looking longingly at Remus one too many times whenever they hang out. There’s a tight feeling in his chest that’s not going away, this horrible jealous thing. He wants to hit Sirius and grab him and kiss him, and he wants to punch Remus too for good measure. He likes Remus, he loves him even, but fuck if it wouldn’t be nice if Sirius stopped wanting everyone but James for once. 

“He’s probably right,” James says after a while, Sirius still on the ground. The firelight dances off of Sirius’ handsome features, illuminating the slope of his nose and the downturn of his lips. 

“Obviously,” Sirius says after a beat, fixing him with a calculating look. He’s still blushing, but whether that’s from the heat or the memory of Remus, James isn’t sure. It makes James burn something fierce inside. 

“Sorry,” James says again, once he’s determined that it’s most likely because of Remus. “I know it must be hard, especially with your brother in the picture—”

“Fuck’s sake, Prongs, would you shut it about Moony,” Sirius says, smacking James’ thigh with the pillow again before grabbing his hands where they lay uselessly by his side. “I’m not into Remus anymore. That was years ago, and anyway, I’d never do that to Reg. Do you ever even listen to me?”

James shrugs, looking anywhere but at Sirius on his knees between his thighs in front of him. “You’re the one who still thought I was dating Lily.”

“I know you broke up, but I thought you’d be back together by now,” Sirius admits. “It’s just—you and Lily, I dunno, just work.  It always gave me hope, I think, to see how you two came to be friends. Like maybe I’ll also find someone I love who loves me that much someday.”

James wants to throttle him. Wants to yell at him that he already has someone who loves him, someone who knows him better than anyone else, someone who’s right there if only Sirius wanted him back. Instead, he blurts out, “What Lily and I have isn’t like you and me.” Realizing how that sounded, he quickly adds, “Or you and Remus.”

Sirius groans, letting his head fall onto James’ hip. James’ knees almost buckle at the warm breath on his legs. “You seem awfully insistent that I still fancy Remus when you’re the one who doesn’t like Evans anymore despite being so hung up about her for years. You could just, I dunno,  ask  me like a normal person.”

James jerks back, hating himself for the hurt expression flitting across Sirius’ face at the motion. Sirius blinks up at him for a moment, maintaining eye contact as he tilts his head curiously to study him. Then, seemingly after finding what he’s looking for, he leans forward to follow James’ motion. There’s a determined quirk at the corner of his mouth, but the tenseness in the set of his shoulders betrayed his nerves. 

“Wh—what do you mean?” James manages to ask, voice weak. Sirius rolls his eyes and smiles softly as he reaches out to curl a hand just above James’ knee.

“Jamie,” he says softly. “Jamie, Jamie, Jamie. You think too much, do you know?” His eyes are lit golden-bright, and James wants to kiss him. Then Sirius’ other hand finds the pillow he had hit James with before and places it under his knees. 

“What are you doing?” James breathes out. Sirius only shakes his head, pulling James closer and brushing his knuckles just above James’ waistband. He hitches up his shirt to expose a sliver of skin, then presses his lips just under James’ navel. 

“Fuck,” James gasps. He realises belatedly that his hands had come up to tangle in Sirius’ hair, gripping him in place. 

“You could’ve just asked me,” Sirius repeats, tongue slipping between his lips to wet them. James shudders. “Instead of using your cloak to spy on my date and be jealous and miserable all day.” His tongue darts out again, sliding hot and wet and perfect up the dark smattering of hair that leads down beneath James’ boxers.

“How—oh—how do you know?” James asks, mind a mess of scrambled thoughts as his world narrows down to Sirius and his slick tongue and clever fingers working his boxers down. He’s sure he’s hallucinating because the Sirius he knows likes men Remus and Louis, blokes who take up less space in a room, who are quieter and more thoughtful and don’t resort to petty things like sabotaging their best friend’s dates because they’re in love with said best friend. Sirius doesn’t like guys like him, who are selfish and hopeless and—

“Stop. Thinking.” Sirius emphasizes each word with a harsh swipe up his cock with his tongue. James whines, high-pitched and demanding, and Sirius smiles up at him. 

“You look so pretty like this, Prongs,” he whispers between sucks. James swallows. 

“Oh,” he gasps. “But you’re—oh, yes, fuck, you’re a natural at this—but you’re in love with—with Remus?” His words end up more of a question as Sirius tongues his slit, but Sirius gets the message and pulls away slightly, glowering. 

“For the love of Merlin and Morgana and all that is holy, would you shut up about Remus,” he tells him forcefully. James nods, unthinking, laser-focused on the line of spit between Sirius’ reddened lips and his dick. Sirius notices and his features soften, an indulgent smile on his face, and squeezes James’ fingers at his sides. 

“In case this doesn’t clarify things, James Fleamont Potter,” he says quietly. “James. Jamie. Prongs. My gorgeous, idiot best mate, my partner-in-crime. What the hell makes you think that there’s ever been anyone but you?”

James stiffens and pulls away. Sirius lets him take his time to gather his bearings. “Don’t joke about this, fuck, Si, if you’re joking—”

He shakes his head. “No. No, Prongs, this is it. I—I love you, okay?”

“For how long?” James rasps. His mind is whirling. 

“Does it matter?” At James’ insistent look, Sirius sighs and looks away. “Fourth year, I think, is when I knew for certain. But it started even before that.”

“You’ve loved me for this long?” James breathes. “Holy shit, Si.”

Sirius turns away, cheeks reddened. “Does it matter?”

James sits on the ground in front of him, taking his face into his hands. “Yes, it does, you bloody mutt. I thought you were in love with Remus this whole time.”

He shrugs. “That was just an excuse to hide that I was in love with you since I first knew loving blokes was a thing.”

“Damn,” James whispers. “Oh my god, Si, how did you manage? I only just realised how I feel about you today, and I already lost my composure, like, twenty times.”

Sirius laughs, and James feels something inside him settle into place. “Well, as a reward for my patience, can I continue what I started?” he asks, gesturing to James’ lap.

James smiles. “Sure,” he says. “As long as I get to return the favour. And first, I want to do this.” He takes his glasses off before turning Sirius’ face to his and tentatively pressing their lips together. He’s sure he’s never felt anything half as wonderful until Sirius wraps an arm around him and presses in close. And then he’s finally tasting Sirius, and can identify a hint of himself, and then his brain stops working. 

Sirius pulls away, after what could’ve been hours or minutes. James chases after him blindly, sparking a chuckle out of Sirius. “Prongs?”

“Yeah?”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” When James looks up at him, he’s grinning cheekily. His eyes are sparkling and his cheeks are flushed, and James idly thinks, I made him look like this.  A surge of affection bubbles up in him, and he quickly places kisses all over Sirius’ face, prompting more laughter and kisses. 

“I love you,” he whispers into Sirius’ back, hours later when they’re both sated and sticky and riding the high of requited love. Sirius turns to face him, hair wild and face open. 

“I love you too, James,” he murmurs, and James feels giddy with the knowledge that Sirius was only in love with him, not Louis or Remus or all those other people he’d pulled in bars. That this was just for the two of them. James and Sirius, Sirius and James. As it always had been, and as it always should be.

[multistanisms]

Opportune Moment || Teen Wolf

FANDOM: Teen Wolf

PAIRING: Stiles Stilinski x Peter Hale

WORD COUNT: 5,817

RATING: PG-13

POTENTIAL TRIGGERS: N/A

SUMMARY: Scott joining the alpha pack, Lydia and Danny dating the twins and the body count of Beacon Hills rising from a darach has Stiles unable to enjoy the Winter Dance. Getting air leads to a brief conversation with the one person Stiles doesn’t want to talk to right now - Peter Hale.

TAGLIST: @no1likemybbgcharlie, @spookidema

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The music had been fine, the punch still as blandly boring as the previous two years. But when Lydia got up to dance with freaking Aiden, Stiles had officially given up on enjoying the dance. There was no possible low lower than watching her dance with someone who had tried to kill his friend (although he doubted Cora considered him a friend) and had helped in killing another. He’d grabbed a cup of the punch and found his way outside. With a sigh, he hopped up, moving to sit on the railing outside of the back of the gym. Tonight had been a total failure in terms of romance. Again. Or well, that was the cover he was still trying to force himself to play. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another getting in his way. He stared at his cup of punch for a while, then shook his head. “Maybe I should give up,” he wondered, taking a long drink of the beverage.

“Giving up isn’t much like you, Stiles.” The voice made Stiles flail and almost caused the teen to fall backwards off the railing. What didn’t almost happen was the remainder of his punch splashing over his outfit. Turning his eyes towards the source, he laid eyes on the one person he wasn’t sure he wanted to see at the moment. Dark jeans hugged the male’s body perfectly, as well as a long sleeved grey shirt, which was a surprisingly normal piece of the wolf’s style, clad the form of the oldest wolf in town; Peter Hale. Sighing and rolling his eyes, Stiles jumped down, looking at the now ruined clothes, shaking the punch off his hands as best he could before wiping them on the pants of his suit.

“Seriously?” he grumbled. He looked back at Peter and gave an irritated look. “Are you happy now? My suit is ruined.”

The wolf raised his hands, giving a soft shrug. “My apologies. I didn’t expect you to throw punch all over yourself if I said hello.” He gave a chuckle as he moved to get closer to the little platform. Despite being a wolf, the movement made Peter look more like a cat. The image of a glowing eyed kitten hissing made Stiles laugh to himself before he realized what Peter had said and frowned a little.

“Yeah, well, you didn’t say hello, Peter. You spewed a bunch of crap and scared the living hell out of me.” Stiles snapped a little, letting his eyes return to his punch soaked clothes. He looked up a moment later, to see the wolf’s brow arched. “What?”

“I was honestly expecting you to at least try to enjoy yourself this year.” Peter said calmly, raising his eyebrows together and kind of swaying his head.

Somehow, Stiles found the will to roll his eyes and exaggerate the movement with a slight movement of his head; a clear knock off of what he had dubbed the ‘signature Hale eye-roll’. “Yeah, because that’s so easy to do when your best friend is siding with killers, your dad is missing and your friends are dying.”

“Is part of it perhaps also Lydia?” Peter inquired, eyes glancing at the cracked door, where a slow song was playing from the dance.

“No, no, NO. Don’t you dare say her exquisitely beautiful name, alright? You have no right, and I mean no right whatsoever, to have her name even blink across your mind. Not after what you did to her.” He crossed his arms defiantly. Yes, he might have started moving on, but he would also always see Lydia as beautiful, and he would defend her; no matter the cost.

The oldest Hale’s head cocked to one side as he arched his brow again. “Stiles, technically I did nothing. I just tapped into her abilities.”

“Abilities she wasn’t even aware she had until you used her to bring your wolf ass back to life.” Stiles said, making a point by cocking his own head and shooting the wolf a look that was clearly daring the were to argue.

“It was a move of strategy, Stiles.” Peter said. “And it worked out pretty well, seeing as my coming back saved Jackson. And yourself. Or have you forgotten that?”

“Yeah, well, even if you did save everyone’s collective asses by helping with Jackson, your strategy sucked, okay?” Stiles said, clearly annoyed that Peter was sticking around. His head shook as he thought about it. “You made people think she was crazy.” He leaned back on the rail and huffed a little. “Basically ruined her life.”

“I wasn’t aware that being Queen Bee made or broke a person’s life. Especially someone as brilliant as Lydia. And if we’re being honest, Stiles, anyone who thought Lydia was crazy were the actual crazy ones.” Peter said. He didn’t seem to notice Stiles faltering as he defended the redhead, giving a shrug. “But, I didn’t come for Lydia. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. Well, as okay as it can be given our current, blood thirsty visitors…” he amended, giving a look as if he was scolding himself for a second. “But clearly everything is not okay if you’re out here moping.”

Stiles gaped at the older wolf for a moment and scoffed, looking away. “I can go in whenever I’m ready.” He then glanced back at Peter. “Shouldn’t you be like, trying to form a plan of action with Derek? I didn’t think he’d let you out of his sight due to a third of you dying in a coma-like state.” When he got an arched brow as a reply, he paused. Shit, that wasn’t what he’d meant to say. Cora had been a godsend for Derek and Peter both, and now they were losing her slowly. He looked down. “I mean, with Isaac here, and Scott, what’s the point of you hanging around?”

“Isaac came tonight because Derek explained it would make him feel better if Isaac didn’t miss it because of him.” Peter said, shrugging a little. “Although I doubt Isaac is having much fun himself at this point.”

“Wait, why would Isaac have missed the dance because of Derek?” Stiles asked, giving a confused look as he tilted his head.

“He didn’t want Isaac to miss something like this because Derek couldn’t attend as his date.” Peter answered simply. “Believe me, dragging the kid out for a tux was no easy task.” His eyes were once more at the door, as if he was waiting on a reply from the formerly abused beta, and when they returned to Stiles, the human was giving him a droll stare, as if he was speaking a known fact. “Something wrong, Stiles?”

“That just confirmed my suspicions…” Stiles rolled his eyes. He supposed it could happen – falling in love with someone who was loyal to a fault. His mind kind of trailed off from there though, becoming distracted by helplessly erotic images of the alpha and Isaac. He was so lost in his head that he jumped and flailed when Peter reached to touch his shoulder. Of course, the force of his jump and the flailing put him off balance, and he flinched as he waited for the ground to smack him, but instead he felt himself grabbed about the waist. Opening his eyes, he blinked upon realizing Peter had actually caught him. ‘Okay, seriously, it’s getting increasingly harder to hate this guy!’ He thought as he stared up at the wolf for a moment. “Uhm, thank y-” his voice was cut off as the older male leaned in to kiss him. A soft, gentle connection; not forceful or demanding, just…tender. Perhaps even a little needy and uncertain. That kind of connection between their lips made the teen’s heart pick up in rhythm a bit. He liked it, and as much as he would deny he had even entertained the thought, it wasn’t like what he’d thought it would be. Dep down, he knew he wanted more. So much so that he tilted his head, trying to deepen the kiss. Of course, it was at this moment that he realized he was kissing Peter freaking Hale. Flailing again, he shoved at the wolf, almost frantic to get away before he asked Peter to take him home. “Let me go, now.”

“Stiles-”

“Let me GO!” Stiles snapped, to which the wolf sighed, rolled his eyes and promptly released the human without a word. Stiles fell back, ass meeting concrete and a soft hiss leaving him at the pain. “What the hell, Peter?”

“You said to let you go.” Peter said innocently, although the hint of the smartass Peter that Stiles had come to know was evident in the tone. Stiles wasn’t sure if it pissed him off or it made him want to smile. So he forced his face still and replied as he stood up and dusted at his clothes.

“No, I mean what the hell was that? Before you dropped me.”

“I believe it’s called a kiss, Stiles.” Peter replied, once more back to his usual sarcastic self and shrugging a shoulder up. “Unless that terminology has been eradicated by your generation at some point.”

“Okay, let me lay this out here for you, wolf man. I don’t want you. At all.” Stiles said, clearly angry. But was the anger at himself or Peter? He couldn’t tell. He really didn’t care at the moment. The anger would cover the lie with ease.

“Then why did you kiss back?” Peter asked, head tilting. Stiles could see the slightest curve of a smirk on Peter’s lip. Damnit, why did he have to do that?

“You caught me off guard.” Stiles replied firmly, raising his eyebrows together and rolling his head in the tiniest way, almost like a twitch of annoyance.

“Or you actually wanted to kiss back and now you don’t want to admit it.” The wolf said with a slight tilt of his head in the same direction. The smirk was becoming a bit more prominent in the wolf now.

Stiles gave an aggravated sound, his hands clenching in front of him as if he might try to strangle the wolf. “Okay, you know what? Rule number one of me not killing you with wolfsbane. You will not, under any circumstance, scenario or matter of life or death, kiss me with those talented but murderous and lying lips. Understand?” His voice raised a little in volume and pitch, arms flailing as he spoke, as if he needed to gesture to make his point more valid.

Peter actually seemed offended at the little speech. His head even straightened to its proper position. “So says the human that returned the kiss. Although, if I’m being honest, that murderous and lying bit hurt…”

“I’m gonna show you hurt if you ever even think about kissing me again.” Stiles said seriously. He didn’t need this. He couldn’t get involved with Peter. But as with all irony in life, he had to move on from his affection for Lydia by falling for Peter Hale. He’d been pushing it out of his mind for almost a year. Why did he have to be reminded with such a trivial thing as a kiss? Damn, his luck was shitty these days. Right now though, he wanted to rip his hair out in frustration. He didn't need that intrusive thought to win. For one thing, it wasn’t attractive. Another reason was that he kind of liked his hair long.

“I get the feeling you’d return another kiss if I could manage to steal it.” Peter said with an all out smirk. He shook his head as he chuckled, reaching to help the human up. He saw the reluctance in the teen and rolled his eyes in the perfected version of Stiles’ previous attempt at the roll of eyes the Hale family had. “Oh come on, Stiles, I’m not that predictable. Although it would probably make you feel better if I was.”

Stiles kept quiet at the comment, because Peter was right; it would make him feel better if he could easily predict Peter's moves. Instead, he let his eyes move between Peter’s face and the extended hand, and reluctantly took the wolf’s hand, only to be yanked onto his feet and have the wolf lean in again. He tensed on pretext before deciding it would be best if he just turned away when the wolf whispered into his ear.

“If I kiss you again, Stiles, it won't be until you ask for it.” Peter’s voice was so soft, so undeniably sexy, that a shiver ran through Stiles. There was most definitely a need of some kind behind those words. And Stiles certainly didn’t understand what the hell it was. Before he could reply, Peter pulled away, reaching up to fix the tie and continuing. “Go back to the dance, Stiles. Ignore the twins as best you can. Try to enjoy yourself at least a little tonight?” Stepping back when the tie was straightened, he gave the human a soft smile and nodded his head at the gym door. “Go on.”

Stiles openly gaped at the wolf for a moment. Then his body began moving backwards, as if responding to the suggestion without Stiles’ conscious agreement to do so. His head tilted to one side, although whether mocking Peter or just curious, the human couldn’t tell. He jumped as he bumped into something and turned, flailing, to see a trash can knocked against the brick wall of the school. He silently asked who put a trash can so close to a rail, although in any other moment it would have seemed a stupid question. Stopping to glare at the receptacle for a moment, he made sure to right it properly before turning back to look at Peter again. Although he’d deny it if asked, he felt a sudden sadness in his chest to find that the platform was empty of the wolf. Giving a sigh and lightly shaking his head, he sidestepped the can and moved for the door to the gym. As he laid a hand on the frame of the metal door, he paused and looked back, hoping that he would catch another glimpse of the wolf. But still, there was nothing. Not even a trace that Peter had been there with him just moments before. He’d just turned around to finish entering the school when he jumped, startled by Scott standing in front of him, yanking at his sleeve and tugging him over to the side of the door. By the grin on his best friend’s face, it was something good. Thank god. With everything going on, they needed good news of some kind. “What is it, man?”

“Allison!” Scott said, his grin beyond excited as he watched his friend. “I overheard her telling Lydia she still loves me!” The pure excitement was damn near palpable, and it made Stiles feel a range of emotions in one moment. The human sufficed to roll his eyes at his best friend.

“So go talk to her, man.” He said. “I’ll be fine.” He waved his hand dismissively when Scott seemed to hesitate, brown eyes watching Stiles doubtfully. Stiles sighed and shook his head. “Look, seriously, Scott. Something has to go right for us here. And I am not going to let you sit it out with me when you could be getting the girl of your dreams back. Now go.” When the wolf still seemed unsure, Stiles gave a sigh. “Scott, if you don’t go talk to Allison, I’m going to lace your drink with wolfsbane and shoved mistletoe down your throat.” His look and voice were serious, and finally Scott nodded and left to go find the huntress. Going to the long table of snacks, Stiles scooped up a fresh cup of punch, then found his way around the gym until he was at an empty table in the back corner. Sipping at his cup before setting it on the table, he sat in the very corner chair. From this new position, the human could see all of his peers. For roughly five or six songs, maybe even seven, Stiles sat quietly, watching and trying to pay attention to his surroundings. Yet all he could do was get lost to his thoughts. As much as he tried to ignore it…he couldn’t. Or rather, his brain wouldn’t let him. The entirety of his focus kept getting sidetracked to one thing; or the aspects of one thing, bringing with it the conflicting mix of emotions that was spawned by the memory his brain wouldn’t let him ignore.

Peter’s kiss.

Surprised by it or not, it was a default action in Stiles to try and cover it up in his mind. To hide how much he’d liked that contact. But his mind had other plans tonight, and just kept dragging him back to that moment. Like a scratched DVD that only played to a certain point and then replayed one scene over and over. Everything about the kiss was embedded in his brain, and he couldn’t not think about it. The warmth of Peter’s lips, how gentle the wolf had been in kissing him, the way his heart had sped up and his body had ached to draw Peter closer and never let go. Most of all, the emotion that the kiss had drawn out of him. Taking a deep breath, he let it out as a sigh, his honey eyes falling to stare at the glass of punch. Raising one hand, he traced his middle finger around on the rim as he thought about it. He’d been denying it when it made itself known for nearly three years, since he’d been offered the bite. The affections for Peter that seemed to do anything except go away had been ignited when Peter first saw right through him in the midst of his originally playing cool for his best friend's sake. He had, at one time, thought he’d liked Derek, but then the alpha had started turning everyone and Isaac was soon almost constantly with the older wolf. And it wasn’t until he’d seen Peter helping kill – cure, Stiles reminded himself - Jackson that he even realized who his feelings were for. He’d built up sturdy walls on purpose; anything to keep from acknowledging his growing emotions for Peter. However, now it seemed as though the base of those walls was faltering in the design…and they were weakening faster than Stiles could repair it. As if the kiss had blown a hole in his defenses and it was only a matter of time before they finally crumbled into dust. All that was left now was a aching lingering in his body, his mind, of what he wanted. More. Another kiss, to soak in the warmth of the safe feeling he had when he was with Peter. Being honest with himself for the first time with the situation, he just flat out wanted Peter. The closest he could assimilate it to was how much Scott wanted, would always want, Allison.

With that comparison, Stiles raised his eyes to look around the gym floor. It took him a moment to observe the amount of happiness on the dance floor. Allison was holding Scott, her head on his shoulder as they whispered to each other. Aiden was twirling Lydia gently, the banshee’s eyes closed as she smiled. And Danny was tucked against Ethan as the two shared their own moment, laughing quietly together. Stiles actually shook his head. ‘This is ridiculous.’ He thought and moved to stand. Whether he meant himself or watching the happiness around him, he didn’t know or care anymore. Taking the last bit of punch from the cup in a single drink, he set the now empty cup on the table of confetti and glitter. Hand reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his keys, twirling them on his finger and catching them each time they fell towards his palm. Moving to the parking lot and heading for his jeep, he was prepared to go home; the only sound as he walked was the jingling of his keys as he twirled them. Finally looking up as he neared his car, he froze in place, his eyes widening a little as he stared at where his jeep was sitting parked. He wasn’t staring at the vehicle so much as the figure leaning against the back of it in such a calm manner. Waiting casually, as if he belonged there. Even yards from the man, Stiles could feel his body react, his skin warming as if an electric charge had filled the air and made his blood move faster. Everything Stiles wanted was standing right there, as if he had known he would be leaving. That thought alone had the teen’s heart changing into a much more erratic beat, and he stood in place, frozen by indecision. But then Peter turned his head as if sensing he was being watched, and blue hues found Stiles’ gaze with ease. In that moment, the indecision broke and Stiles couldn’t help himself. Starting forward at a brisk pace, he made his way to where Peter was and upon stopping in front of the man, reached up to pull the wolf into another kiss. A delighted little hum escaped him as he was kissed back, his arms moving naturally to wrap at the man’s neck as he tilted his head and was granted permission to deepen the contact. He couldn’t bring himself to pull away until his lungs burned with the need for oxygen, and as he gulped it in, he looked at Peter with a serious and hungry expression. “Take me home with you, Peter. I want you to.” When the former alpha only arched a brow at him, Stiles motioned his head in a ‘you have got to be kidding me’ manner. He then raised his hand with the keys, dangling them a few inches from the wolf’s face. “Don’t make me say it again.” The tone in his voice made it clear there were no negotiations, no debating. He wanted this, and Peter had damn well better give it to him. For a moment, Peter watched him, and then the brow fell from its arch and Peter took the keys. With a light smile and a nod, Stiles moved to the passenger side, opening the door and sliding in.

Seeing Peter slip into the driver’s seat made Stiles smile a little more. When the wolf paused and looked at him, he tilted his head as the other spoke. “Stiles are you-”

“If you ask me if I’m sure, I swear to God, Peter, I will poison you with wolfsbane, mountain ash and mistletoe.” The teen cut him off, turning to stare at Peter with raised brows. He was daring Peter to argue, but the wolf only laughed softly and started the jeep. Relaxing into his seat, he tugged his phone from his pocket and hit the volume button until it was set on vibrate. It was a kind of personal insurance that he’d be left alone for a while. Right now, hell for the next few hours or even the rest of the damn night, he needed to be away from the others. To have who he wanted for a change instead of trying to hide it. To forget about anything and everything going on. To just be a young man in love. That thought made him smile to himself. He was in love with Peter, even though there was a small part of him, the part that hated the idea of because it didn't fully trust the wolf, that kept asking, begging if he was sure. Turning his honey gaze towards the wolf as Peter drove, he gave a minute kind of nod. Yes, he was sure. He loved Peter, more than anything. And he didn’t fully understand why or how, but he knew he always would, that he would always need Peter. That if he gave himself to Peter, trusted him, the wolf would never let him go and would protect him instead of asking to be protected. That thought made a real smile curve his lips for the first time in a long while. 

The drive to the apartment downtown was quiet. Only the sound of the jeep kept the utter silence at bay. Stiles wasn’t sure what to say for a while. So when Peter let his hand fall, the teen glanced at the wolf before reaching with hesitance to take the slightly bigger hand in his own. He looked away as Peter squeezed his hand gently and looked over to give a soft smile. It wasn’t the usual kind of smile he’d come to know from the wolf. This one was soft, gentle, and it made the older wolf look more relaxed and calm. He had needed the contact, to feel truly connected, and it was clear that Peter had no problem giving him that. All the simple gestures, paired with the words the former alpha had said outside the school, their kiss and the fact that Peter had been waiting for him…Stiles suddenly realized Peter had been hinting at a confession without saying it. It was a vague way to do so, and frustratingly so, yet Stiles knew that it was also so very like something Peter would have done casually. Like a trail of breadcrumbs, leading the way but never giving the answer outright. Pulling into the complex, Stiles took a moment to look around. He was about to turn and look back at Peter when a familiar car caught his attention just a few spaces down from the jeep’s place. “You have the Camaro? How did you get Derek to give it to you?”

Peter looked over at it, shrugging nonchalantly. “Better than giving it to a total stranger that no one knows how well they’ll treat the car.” He mused. “I forget I have it from time to time.” His blue eyes finally tore from the car to look at Stiles. Tilting his head in a way that kind of read ‘not a big deal’, he opened the door and climbed out, going to the passenger side to open Stiles’ door.

“Like tonight?” Stiles asked as his door opened and he arched a brow at the wolf. The devilish smile on Peter's lips sent a shiver through him.

“No, tonight I left it here on purpose.” The older man said, holding up the jeep’s keys in front of the teen. “Something told me I wouldn’t need it.”

Stiles blinked as he looked up at Peter, unable to keep from smiling as he took the keys into his hand. “I'm glad you listened to that instinct.” 

“So am I.” Peter replied, reaching to run his fingers through Stiles’ hair. “ Are you staying the night or should I be ready to take you home?”

“I don't want to go home tonight.” Stiles surprised himself as he spoke, free hand moving to guide Peter's hand to his waist. “I want to stay with you, Peter.” He was fully aware of the way Peter stroked his fingers along the suit jacket. “Take me inside?”

“Happily,” Peter responded, the hand at Stiles’ side moving to lace their fingers together and walk with the teen up to the building. Stiles stays as close as possible as they moved, and Peter is grateful for the proximity of the younger man. “Thank you,” he voices quietly as he leads them into the elevator. 

The words catch Stiles’ attention, making him tilt his head. “Hm? What for?” 

“For being yourself.” Peter responds, lifting their entwined hands to kiss the back of Stiles’ hand. “For being, well…human.”

“Being human isn't so great,” Stiles countered,his tone sad as he leans into Peter's side. 

“Please don't say that,” Peter begged softly. “You are so important, Stiles. Don't ever doubt that.”

“Everyone always has to save me. I can't do anything like you or Derek or even Allison.”

“You're the reason everyone has survived, though. Your plans almost always work. You always think of something or find something we need.” Peter's voice is quiet as he speaks, reluctant to move when the elevator opens but leading the way to his apartment door. “Whether the others show it or not, I will do everything in my power to make you are yourself the way I do. To make you understand how important you are to me if nothing else.” He's aware of Stiles’ attention on him, his inner wolf content to have that much at least, and steps aside to let Stiles’ inside. 

As soon as the door closed, Stiles felt safer than he had in over two years. It seemed into his body like a hot shower when you're cold, and he finds himself sighing in relief. He takes the time to look around, eyes slamming in the difference of Peter's living space versus the loft where Derek and the rest of the pack resided. “It's so calm here.” He let his fingers brush over the mantle of the fireplace, pausing to take in the slightly charred images in new frames. “Is this…?” His voice died, unable to form the words. 

“Some of the few photos I could save.” Peter finished with a nod. “My nieces and nephews, my sister and brothers. I have the remaining ones in the hall. My parents, a family one from Christmas the year before the fire…” He points at each of them, his own voice twinging on ache as his lips barely curve up; not quite a smile from the weight of his memories. “This is what's left of them.”

“Do you miss them?”

“Sometimes. I didn't have the best family environment, but they were family, and you only get one, you know?” He can see the curiosity behind Stiles' eyes, is very aware of the effort the young man takes to not ask. “That part of my past is for another time, Stiles. Tonight isn't about that.” He doesn't move when Stiles steps closer, allowing himself to be pulled into an emotional kiss, his hands finding purchase at Stiles’ hips. 

“You aren't alone anymore, Peter. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere, I promise.” Stiles murmured, honey eyes locking on Peter's blue ones. “I love you, and I'm sorry it took so long to realize it.” 

“You don't have to apologize, Stiles.” 

“Maybe not, but I still want to make it up to you.” 

“Oh? What exactly is going on in that clever mind if yours, hmm?”

“Kiss me again and find out.” Stiles remarked with a smirk, fingers tugging at Peter's shirt, laughing out a moan when the older man obliges with ease. The rest of the night is little more than a blur, but Stiles is aware of the way he's practically worshipped over and over. He eventually falls asleep, curled securely against Peter with his head on the wolf's chest. 

The room is still dark when Stiles stirs, but there's just enough light behind the curtains to reveal that the sun was rising. Stretching, he relaxes and looks up at Peter, taking in how peaceful the man looks. His lips curl up into a smile, lifting his hand to rest it on Peter's cheek, thumb brushing over the stubbled skin. “My wolf,” he hums quietly, startling when Petered eyes open. “Good morning, handsome.”

“Only yours.” Peter promised, adjusting to steal a kiss. “And good morning. I didn't think you'd still be here.”

“Peter, why would I leave?” Stiles blinked in confusion. “Haven't we been building to this since we met?” He grins at Peter's responding arched brow, laughing quietly. “I know all about the mate thing with wolves; had to learn it when it came to Scott and Allison.” He answered, shrugging his free shoulder. “I just didn't think it could happen-”

“Don't doubt yourself, Stiles.” Peter pleads when he interrupts. “Please don't. You are so loyal, smart and fierce. You never give up, even when it looks terrible. You are the real backbone of the McCall pack, and you would be the perfect wolf.” 

“Wolf or not, I'm not sure how Scott will handle this. He may not want me in the pack.”

“Then he's a fool and doesn't deserve you.” Peter countered, pressing his lips to Stiles’ forehead. “Without you, I would not be here, same and calm. That darkness held me for so long, I'd given up trying to fight it. And then you came along.” His hand rests at Stiles’ side, fingers brushing over the soft skin there. “You are priceless to me, Stiles. Nothing is more important than you.” He lets Stiles tuck his head into his neck, eyes closing as he took in his mate's scent. 

“Thank you,” Stiles whispers, k owing Peter will hear the emotion regardless. 

“What for?” Peter teases, fingers still mindlessly tracing over Stiles’ skin. 

“For seeing me.” Stiles answers, clearing his throat when his voice cracks. “When everything started, it was so much, and I've always been on the sidelines of it all.”

“You fail to realize the significance of your role in Scott's survival, then. He would never have made it this far without you.”

“I should have said yes when you were alpha.”

“No.” The word is firm when Peter speaks it, pulling away just enough to lock his eyes on Stiles’. “I'm glad you said no, even if you were lying when you said it. Had I turned you, in that state, stuck in my own despair and darkness? I could have hurt you, and that I would never forgive myself for. I would rather die than hurt my reason for living.”

“No death talk,” Stiles scolded, tapping his index finger at Peter's lips. “You, Peter Hale, are not allowed to die. You are absolutely not allowed to leave me alone.” A pout distorted his face when Peter laughed quietly. “Don't laugh at me, I'm serious.”

“I'm not laughing at you, Stiles.” Peter countered, resting his forehead against Stiles’. “You're just so much like a wolf, that's all.” 

“Shut up and kiss me.” Stiles huffed, smiling when Peter listened. He was content to just stay like that the rest of the day, to shut the world and all the terrible things happening in Beacon Hills out for just a little longer. He wanted to just be happy for a little while longer, but the moment was shattered by his phone ringing, followed shortly by Peter's. “Damn it,” he cursed. 

“Don't worry, Stiles. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right at your side.” 

“Promise?”

“I swear it.” Peter assured, stealing another long kiss before reaching to hand Stiles his phone. “We're in this together.” 

“At every opportunity.” Stiles added, grinning up at Peter as he swiped to answer the call.

[we-will-be-reun1ted]

─── ⋆⋅Personality ⋅⋆ ───

These are my own headcanons for how I think Aether and Lumines personalities are like.

Lumine

Okay starting off with my personal favourite character 🫶🫶 she’s a BITCH

Not the kind of bitch like, constantly insulting and talking shit about someone bitch. The more witty and condescending bitch

Though she would talk shit about you to your face if she was in a particularly bad mood

Morally grey, though a darker shade of grey

The kind of person you don’t see laughing often apart from at other people’s misery (Aether falling down the stairs)

Judgmental, but fair in her judgment. Most of the time anyway. Sometimes she’s petty af

She’s kind of like an extroverted introvert if that makes sense? She’s completely socially confident and can talk to people if she wants to - she just doesn’t want to

Incredibly assertive and confident in herself in general and isn’t afraid to say whatever she’s thinking, no matter how harsh it may come across

Brutally honest

She’s cold and calculating. Doesn’t smile much aside from when it’s just her and her brother

Deffo has a resting bitch face

She gets irritated pretty quickly, but is also quick to calm down after

Very much a forgive but never forget person

Also very much a revenge person

She won’t stay mad at something for too long unless it’s a huge thing. If it is then 😬

One of the worst people to piss off. If she doesn’t like you, you’ll know. It won’t be pretty. If it’s that big of a thing she would most likely go out of her way to make their life a living hell until she gets bored or Aether steps in

Has a little bit of a God complex I’m not gonna lie

In the sense that she sees herself and her brother as a lot more powerful and therefore - important than the average person

Which they are far more powerful dont get me wrong, but it’s led Lumine to the mindset where she sees those below her as weakish

I’ll get more into this in a future post. It links up to quite a few other headcanons I have

Very very brave though. And not a complete asshole, she will go out of her way to help people sometimes

If she sees someone being attacked by hilichurls she will jump in to fight, no questions asked. She may be a little huffy about it if she’s trying to go somewhere but still

It would take a long long time to become friends with her aside from if shes particularly interested in someone, but when she is genuinely someone’s friend she’s incredibly loyal and protective of that person

She’s interested in people who are strong willed and know exactly what they want and aren’t afraid to go for it

Also she admires those who are logical, don’t freak out over the littlest things and are usually calm and co-ordinated

If they know how to fight that’s also a plus

She doesn’t like making friends often as she and Aether never stay in once place. They travel from world to world and she feels horrible leaving them

(Attachment issues)

DTF. She likes pleasure and is quite a sexual person. If she finds someone attractive and they both want it then she will take it

She’s a badass and girlbossing her way through life fr I love her so much

With Aether -

She’s a much different person around her brother than she is with anyone else

First, she’s a lot more active and playful with him. Out with other people she’s usually quiet

Not completely silent at all, she certainly lets her presence be know, but she prefers to sit back and listen

Oh she’s fantastic at reading people that’s something I forgot to mention

Anyway, with Aether she seems a lot more happier and outgoing

Smiles an awful lot more, though still has her resting bitch face

Aether likes to make fun of her for it

They both like to make fun of each other a lot. Nothing serious or mean or anything. Just little things

Okay they are twins so occasionally mean

She trusts him entirely and it’s evident with the way she acts with him, she’s protective. Not Aether level protective but still quite protective

Trusts him to the point which he knows every single weakness of hers. Every struggle she faces, every thought she has

No one else would ever come close to getting her to reveal any of her weaknesses. Including her friends

She’s properly herself around Aether. Not just cold and confident as she is around anyone else

She’s still confident, but she’s very warm around him

Drags him around everywhere she goes. The two are attached one the hip. It’s like they are one whole body sometimes

Teases him ALL THE TIME

Though it’s a ‘I can make fun of my brother but if anyone else does it they will pay’ kinda thing

Same goes for Aeth

As much as she loves him, the two get on each others nerves

While not usually petty around others, Lumine is PETTY around Aether

Aether makes an off handed comment about Lumines hair one time and completely forgets about it afterwards? Okay! Lumine does his braid rough and too tight on on uncomfortable angle for a month. Making offhanded comments about it every day that sound suspiciously like what he said to her three weeks ago

She forgives Aether a lot faster than she does with anyone else though

Aether

Now Aether! He’s somewhere in my top three I don’t know if he’s second or third but probably second??? Idk

Huge golden retriever energy

Usually a pretty polite guy. Opens doors for people, says thank you and that

Pretty much polar opposite of Lumine when it comes to people, he really really enjoys talking and social interaction with almost anyone

Introverted extrovert, loves being around people but he can’t do it 24/7 without feeling a little drained. Needs some time on his own or with just Lumine to charge up

Super social though, the kind of guy who can go up to someone and just strike up a conversation

Has definitely been invited to a wedding in the first ten minutes of meeting someone before

He just likes getting on with people in general. It’s nice talking with people and can benefit him and Lumine

People are interesting to understand and they can benefit them both by giving them food if they need it, shelter etc etc

Like Lumine - he’s socially confident

After being around people for eons he’s learned how they work, interact, how to talk with them etc etc so he’s pretty confident in that regard

He and Lumine never stay in one place for very long so there’s no good in being nervous around people

All this goes out of the window when he’s crushing on someone

The dudes a big romantic unlike Lumine. He likes romance, she likes pleasure

It’s not really often but when he likes someone romantically he usually becomes a bit more nervous and says a few more awkward things

Laughing at unconventional times

He still knows what to say and is pretty confident, just a bit more dorky and such

Hard to piss off but when you do he gets very very snappy and sarcastic

Surprisingly he holds grudges for longer than Lumine

He’s a revenge person but nothing like Lumine. Usually it’s small revenge like saying something back or trying to embarrass the person a little bit

He’s a little bit immature at times, nothing major but just little things. Usually pretty mature in general

In public Lumine seems like the most mature out of the two when really with each other they both have the maturity levels of bloody children

Morally light grey

Can be a bit overly selfless at times

Has the tendency to overwork himself to the point of debilitating

Please he’s so tired he’s been trying to stop Lumine from annihilating someone for looking at her wrong when she accidentally set the stove on fire, give him a break

He’s a really nice and good guy in general don’t get me wrong but he doesn’t really care as much as other people think he does

I mean that in the sense that he doesn’t have a deep and meaningful connection many things when he travels to other worlds

He doesn’t care about being a hero and actively helping people it just happens - though he’s certainly not complaining

He finds it a lot easier letting go of people when he and Lumi leave to other worlds

In his eyes he’s come, made a good impression and now it’s time to go

It’s different to Lumine as he doesn’t have an emotional connection to anyone there apart from his sister so it’s easier to let go. Lumine doesn’t have as deep emotional connections with anyone aside from her brother, but she still has some form of connection to them

Like I said, she makes very few friends but when she does she gets to know them and like them more just because she spends more time with them individually rather than a lot of people as a whole like Aether does

With Lumine -

Surprisingly, Aether is actually the slightly calmer twin when it comes to their personalities with each other

Only slightly. They are both very much a chaotic duo when they are together

That’s why the had to be separated 😔 causing too much mischief

His personality with others isn’t as different as it is with Lumine aside from he likes to tell a lot more jokes and gets really sarcastic

Sometimes his jokes are to try and gross Lumine out as much as possible

One time he ate a raw egg. Absolutely no prompting at all. Lumine had gathered some food for them to eat in a world once and was starting to cook over a fire, when Aether looked her dead in the eyes and took a bite out of a raw egg

He will always say out of all the years they have been travelling together, he has never seen her with a more disgusted expression at that moment

To make it worse he ever tried to grab hold of her face and give her a kiss on the cheek straight after, leading to the both of them wrestling on the floor

Aether will say he won, Lumine will say she will. Either way Lumine now has egg trauma.

The two bounce off each other in both the worst and best ways

Like he does with Lumine, she also knows every weakness of his, struggle and thought

The two know absolutely everything about each other

He’s much more emotional around her than he is with others

Usually he limits himself to the ‘hero’ prototype people see when they think of him, he doesn’t intend to be a hero but it’s what he usually accidentally ends up being

But not with Lumine, with Lumine he’s completely honest about what he’s thinking and feeling

If he’s stressed he will tell her. If he’s upset he will tell her. If he’s mad he will tell her

He knows he doesn’t have to worry about being seen differently around her

His role with her is to try and get them both out of trouble after she gets them into it

6/10 times it backfires and they end up landing themselves in even more trouble

You can just tell they were both an absolute menace together when they were children

Even though he’s only mere milliseconds older than Lumine, he likes to take the self proclaimed role of big brother very very seriously

Fake scolding her when she gets into shit, always keeping an incredibly close eye on anyone who comes near her. Especially men

He’s really protective of her. Usually he plays it off as a joke but it has led to them having arguments before

When they argue Aether gets more sad then angry, while Lumine is more frustrated

Like usual though, they are both quick to forgive each other after

[bearsinpotatosacks]

Slarole things

She tries to kiss him Christmas 1986 but he pushes her away and says she’s not in the right headspace

She's annoyed but eventually get it, she was just trying to fill the goose shaped hole in her life

It's only 2 years later when she's still grieving but is getting sick of everything being grey so she starts forcing herself to try and feel better, goes swimming because Bradley's scared of water and won't go if she’s not there

Ron visits her after work because he's bored, they go grocery shopping and he doesn't hate it

He visits more after work, picking Bradley up or going for coffee, or even coming over for dinner

He starts developing feelings but stops himself because she’s still grieving and it's only been two and a half years and you killed her husband even if she doesn’t blame you, you still did and you were friends with her dead husband

Until after dinner, Bradley's watching cartoons, Ron's just finished helping her clean up when she comes over, says she's been enjoying spending time with him and kisses him, this time he kisses back

They start dating, he takes her out for lunch one day, he comes over to watch horror movies only for him to cower behind her. He even spends time with her and Bradley

And he stays over, a few times, more than a few, and when Bradley's in bed kisses lead to touches lead to something more, sometimes they stay making out on the couch, other times they just about stumble to the bedroom

And when he's away, she sends him letters with her perfume on it

The guys notice that he’s almost acting like Goose with his pent up lust and longing after a girl that none of them know. This sets off Iceman's alarm bells

Next, he spots Ron haggling for an ornate hair clip for Carole when they're on shore leave in the Philippines, when asking who it's for, Ron says his grandma

Carole gets said hair clip in the post a few months later when her mother and sister are around and they immediately want to know who her admirer is

Also he gets Bradley a toy which he loves

Tom sees Carole wearing the hair clip when they get back, she says it was her grandma's and he puts it all together

He corners Ron, Ron panics and admits it, Tom asks why he's hiding it and he says partially because they want to take it slow for Carole but also because he hasn't been a big relationship like this ever

Tom keeps their secret until one day when Ice and Mav are taking care of Bradley for the night, they go to drop him off only to have Slider answer the door in his pants and Carole come up behind him in his t-shirt

Mav freaks out, partially because he's the last to know but also because he doesn't like the idea of Slider dating Carole, he doesn't think he's good enough because they're only really friends through Iceman

Mav says she’s moving on too fast and she freaks out about how she's trying to be happy, trying to prioritise herself and her happiness instead of grieving someone she’s never getting back. Because she knows Goose would want her to be happy and why the hell can't she move on with someone who holds her when she cries about her dead husband and likes her son and makes her feel like she's worth it again and storms out

Slider says he knows he doesn't like him but he thought he respected Carole more than that

Pete apologises and says he just wants her to stay safe and she forgives him but there's always a little bit of tension about Carole and Slider that's there for a while

Goose comes to Slider in a dream saying he approves and as long as he looks after his family then he's happy for them, because they're becoming his family too

I have more but I'll save these for later if anyone else wants to hear them

[captain-lessship]

Roommates Pt.3

The entire campus was buzzing with talks about a school dance and you were working on your outfit. White was the color and you were usually your embroidery skills to spice up an old dress vest you had. The plan for your outfit was white pants, light grey shirt and the white pearly vest that you were embroidering gold into. As you sat outside and sewed the threads into the vest. You heard a voice. “Well if it isn’t Friday?”

Bianca. You turned to look at her, “Hi Bianca. And you know I have a name.”

“I know. Just playing, what are you doing?”

“I am just fixing up a vest. It looked boring as hell.”

She welcomed herself to sit down, moving your box of threads, “So you and Ajax?”

“Yea… crazy.”

“Oh my god-“ she paused, waiting for you.

“They were roommates.” You finished with no hesitation.

You both laughed. She pulled a tiny spindle of blue thread. “So… I might need your help.”

“With?”

“My dress. A few of the scales are loose and I was wondering if you could fix it? I could definitely pay you.”

You had gained a reputation for being the school tailor so you expected this, “Yeah and no, you don’t have to pay me. I have a lot of blue thread I need to get rid of. I am also fixing Yoko’s dress and repairing a button on several guy’s suit jackets.” You motioned at the pile of clothes beside you.

“Wow. How are you going to get yours done?”

“Well, I can sew the buttons on quickly, then I will do yours and Yoko’s dresses and then finish mine up. I still got two days.”

She nodded and handed you her dress and a small pack of the scales in case some were too damaged. “Hey…”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Anytime,” you said smiling, “You’d do it for me.”

You continued finishing the patch of your best you were on when you felt a pair of hands cover your eyes. “Guess who?”

“Hmm. Enid.”

“Ding ding!” The girl said, moving her hands and walking to sit beside you. “Can I ask you something? And like my life depends on it.”

“Yea?”

“Does Wednesday like girls?”

“She hasn’t said she doesn’t.”

Enid smiled, “Alright, one more question: would you like, gut me if I asked her to the Rave’N?”

You thought for a moment, “No. no I wouldn’t.”

She hugged you, making you slightly jump, “You are the best! Thank you!” She then looked down, “I also have a favor to ask…”

“Which is?”

“Can you fix this sleeve?”

You were brushing your hair, getting all the sand you could out of it. You were laser focused as you put in your gold hair clip that would keep part of your bangs out of your face. You looked at it from every angle , you decided it was good.

You then got the small eyeshadow palette Enid had let you borrow as thanks for fixing her coat. You openly it and looked at the gold and silver color. You grabbed one of your brushes and started to put the silver on the upper eyelid, then blending it with the gold that was along your eyelash line. You decided to add a little black eyeliner to sharpen the corners of your eyes. 

You took a steps back from the mirror and for once, you felt handsome. You smiled as you slipped off your robe and grabbed your button up shirt and began buttoning like your life depended on it, you tucked it into your pants and grabbed your vest. You were finally ready. 

Ajax was waiting by the entrance for you. He’d gotten ready in Xavier’s room. He was getting a little anxious but then he saw you.

You were walking quickly to him, “I am so sorry I am late. I couldn’t find my earring.”

“It’s,” he looked you up and down, “Fine.”

You breathed and straightened your up, you put your arm around Ajax’s shoulders and walked in with him. 

“I love the outfits!” Mrs. Thornhill said, smiling. You liked her and her smile radiated.

“Thank you, did you get new boots?”

“Oh! Yes! Thanks for noticing. Have a dance for me you two!” 

You were mildly amazing when you walked in and saw the decorations. Climate Crisis was the theme. Everything was icy and crystalline, sparkling in the lights. You looked at Ajax, “Do you wanna walk around and grab drinks? Then we can dance?”

Ajax nodded, he was talking louder than really needed which made you laugh. Ajax and you made your lap, laughing and joking with friends as you walked, bopping to the music.

“Enid?” Ajax asked, looking at a guy and someone on the floor in front of him. Sure enough, the girl peered past the guys legs.

You were confused on where Wednesday was but you didn’t want to embarrass or intrude on Enid’s night so you and Ajax walked to the dance floor. 

It was a very loud pop song but you and him just bopped along, sliding past each other. It was awkward but it was fun. Ajax reached for your hands and you both pulled each other’s arms, making a see-saw motion. He then spun you out and pulled you back, making you laugh was you collided with his chest a little harder than he expected. He steadied himself as you turned to make sure you didn’t break your date.

“My bad, I never was a a dancer.” He said, getting back into the groove.

You just smiled, “It’s fine! I should’ve slowed myself. “

You began to sway more as you got into the groove but the song ended. You huffed, “Hey, I’m going to get some drinks, want one?”

“Yea! I think imma see how Xavier and Bianca are doing.” He said, turning.

You walked to the punch bowl and poured up a drink for Ajax first and then yours. A voice made you jump, almost spilling your drink.

“Mr. Addams, enjoying the dance?”

It was Principal Weems, you looked up at her, “Yeah! I think it’s going well. Who all decorated?”

“Several members of the student body and Ms. Thornhill. I have a question, is Wednesday planning on attending?”

“I-To be honest, I haven’t really talked to her in the past two days. I got distracted.”

Just as you finished your sentence, Principal Weems looked up. “Ah, there she is.” You turned around to she her, dressed in black and followed by the Normie from the Weathervane that ruined Xavier’s mural. You got an off vibe from him. 

You picked up your glasses and walked to Ajax. “There’s something up with him.”

“Wednesday’s date?”

“Yea… there’s just something off. Ya know?”

Ajax looked at him, “I mean, it’s what I am not getting from him that’s off putting.” He took a sip from his glass.

You raised your eyebrow, “Which is?”

“He doesn’t have the normal normie vibe.”

“Yea… I guess that’s it.” You sipped from your drink, “So, after we finish this, wanna dance again?”

“Yeah. But like, I’m a really bad dancer.”

You looked at him, “No, you’re not.” 

“Sure.”

You scoffed playfully, “I plowed into you and no body knows how to dance to those pop songs. It’s just hopping and yelling til it’s over.” You downed the last of your drink, “I can teach you how to slow dance if they play one of those.”

“It’s a school dance. Of course they’re going to.”

You laughed a little, “Yeah” you yawned after. Ajax looked at you.

“Are you getting sleepy?”

There was a consequence to your power: you never truly knew when you were tired and could stay up for days and then you’d crash. Yawns were a telltale sign of a crash. 

“No, no. I’m good. Maybe if I move around or something.” You turned to the dance floor.

Ajax grabbed your hand, “Then let’s move.”

You softly smiled, you followed him and when you got to the dance floor, a slower song began to play. Perfect.

You showed him where to hold you and you set the movement slow so he could get used to it. It was so peaceful.

“Ajax?”

“Yea?”

“I’m sorry I’m getting tired.” You yawned again.

“It’s fine, babe. Remember the time I stoned you?”

“Which one?”

“Exactly.”

You smiled as your rested your head in his shoulder, slowing your breath, closing your eyes.

Ajax knew you were out. He sighed happily. It was easy to dance with a sleeping person but he knew he’d better get you to a seat. He looped his arm under yours and walked to the table where Xavier sat.

“Hey dude.”

“Hey you… two? Is he asleep?”

“Out like a light, man. Do you mind if I sit him in the chair? He just needs a few minutes.”

“Yeah. It’s just me here… how do you’d do it?”

“Do what?”

“Have a seemingly loving relationship? Doesn’t you two being two different species mess with things? Like I don’t wanna overstep but… I dated Bianca and I was always worried about her powers.”

Ajax looked at his friend, “Well, yea we love each other and well, that kinda just makes it worth it” he looked at you, your upper body slumped over on the table, “While we’re both outcasts and we can relate on that, we are both very different and there are a few struggles. Like I have stoned him and he’s put me to sleep but neither of us would do it to be rude. That’s what you were worried about? It being used to prevent you from feeling fully?”

“Yeah… Deep down I know she loves me and I love her but it’s the thoughts that get in my way. Don’t you ever think that he wants to put you to sleep?”

“No, I don’t think he does. And I trust him not to. I think you just need to trust her. She really does care about you. She wouldn’t put up with this shit if she didn’t.”

Xavier looked at him, “He’s a bad influence on you. You’re becoming too honest.”

“It is what it is, dude.” He said, shrugging, “Now go find her and tell her. I gotta take care of sleeping beauty.” 

The DJ made the final dance announcement, Ajax looked at you: no sign of waking so he decided to stay seated beside you. He watched them dance for a few minutes then he saw red drip on the table. He stared at it, then up and at that moment the sprinklers turned on, spraying something red all over the place. He shook you awake.

You jerked up and saw him covered in red and screamed. “Ajax! Blood? What happened?”

[miniscule-meow]

Something Unexpected (20)

Word Count: ~1.6k

Warnings: Alcohol Mention, Angst, language

Masterpost

First Part | Last Part | Next Part

~*~

It was a bad idea, but it felt good when she did it. Leaving him there stewing in his dilapidated apartment. Flying freely for the first time since she hurt her wing. No oppressive giant hands crowding in on her, no watchful eyes boring into her, no leash keeping her pinned down. She’s free and it felt good. It felt like a victory.

Of course, that was then, and this is now.

Decidedly, it wasn’t worth it. For one, she had no plan. At least Deckard had one of those, even if it was based on rumors. She would try to tell herself that she didn’t know where she was going to end up if she trusted him, but she’s a little preoccupied with just trying to stay alive right now.

Lark had gotten all of two blocks away when she ran into another spell of bad luck. She was flying up above the rooftops, to avoid being caught by another human, when she had a run in with a bird. Either the birds in this realm are unaffected by her communication magic, or this bird in particular is just very stubborn. She doesn’t have time to ponder that, as she’s flying for her life. She dips down and next thing she knows, she’s palmed out of the air.

She had flown too close to a rooftop, where a human was out, smoking a cigarette. She didn't see him, standing in the shadows until he swatted her out of the air.

~*~

Deckard decides that he isn’t going to sit in his room feeling sorry for himself. He picks himself up, and takes himself out to the tavern down the road. That’s one good thing about his shitty apartment, it’s right in the middle of everything.

“Evening, Bethany.” He grins at the bartender, she's an older woman with greying hair and a wiry frame. At the sight of him she comes around the bar, immediately shooing him off with a dish towel. She’s surprisingly strong as she grabs his shoulder and shoves him back towards the door.  

“Deck, I swear to God if you don’t get your good-for nothing ass out of my bar—”

“I’m here to pay my tab! I’m here to pay it, I swear!” He raises his hands, disarmingly. She stops in her tracks, looking at him with narrowed eyes.

“You. Pay a tab? What, did Hell freeze over?” She eyes him suspiciously.

“It must have.” He says with a slick grin, slowly pulling out a pouch of coin and handing it out to her. She snatches it from him and goes back behind the bar to count it out.

“I’ll be damned. It’s all here.” She says after counting it, twice. “Alright, kid. We’re square. What can I get ya?” She grins as he settles down at the bar.

~*~

He stares into what remains of his third drink of the evening when one of the tables in the back starts getting rowdy. Glancing over he sees someone bustle over to the table, his face full of mischief, his hands cupped close to his chest like he’s bringing in some kind of bird or something. It’s none of his business, but his curiosity is piqued. Glancing over again, he sees her. The fairy princess. Shit. He looks away quickly. This is bad.

Well.

Is it? She made it very clear that she doesn’t want his help. This isn’t really any of his business anymore. He orders another drink, watching the table out of the corner of his eye.

They pass her around, each taking a turn holding her, poking and prodding at her however they please, until she’s passed on to the next guy. They aren’t even trying to be discreet about it. Notably, they're also not trying to be gentle with her either. Every time he looks over, they're dangling her upside down or pinching her roughly between two fingers. He finds himself growing increasingly concerned about her wings. If they break her wings, she’s screwed. They would be right back to where they were when he found her in the woods.

They. There is no them. He reminds himself, taking another swig of his drink. Though, he can’t help but feel a little responsible for this, since he did take her from the relative safety of the castle-No, it's none of his business. Then the table erupts into cheers, one of them had dumped her into his glass and begins drinking it with her inside it. Deckard sighs, downs his drink, and saunters over to the table, before he can talk himself out of one of the worst ideas he’s ever had.

This fairy will be the death of him.

~*~

The liquid is freezing cold, frost is coating the outside of the mug. There is a chorus of drunken laughter as she scrambles to grasp the edge of the glass. She clings to the edge, the frost uncomfortably gripping her skin. As soon as she finds purchase, the giant hoists his mug into the air. She’s pulled under the sloshing liquid and slammed up against the side of the glass. She surfaces, sputtering, but not before swallowing a good mouthful of the bitter liquid. It burns down her throat, and gets in her eyes.

She doesn’t have any time to get her bearings before her whole world tilts. He’s raised the mug to his lips and begins gulping down the liquid. Everyone at the table roars with laughter and cheers. She’s pulled under the current of amber liquid, swallowing more ale in the process. She tries to swim away, or to brace herself on the sides of the glass, but despite her efforts she’s pulled towards his monstrous, gaping maw. She catches glimpses of the grinning faces of giants all around her, warped through the glass. Over their laughter she hears the sickening noise of the giant swallowing mouthfuls of ale at a time. Just as she’s about to reach his lips, everything pauses. The glass is pulled away, and she hears a familiar voice.

“Now, you look like the type of gentleman who would fancy a bit of magic.” She looks up to see Deckard, unfortunately.

The group responds with unsure mumbles.

“It’s honestly a dream of mine. I’ve been working on a bit of a routine, and look, I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll buy your next round if you’ll just be my first audience.” Deckard offers. The lilt of his voice is different than it typically is. He doesn't sound like his typical cocky self, he instead sounds timid and unsure.

“I’m not gonna turn down a free drink, mate. I say go ahead.” One giant laughs and the others chime in, agreeing.

She looks up through the glass to see a Deckard shuffling a deck of cards above her. He can’t be serious. For a split second they lock eyes before he looks away, leaving her to tread helplessly in the glass. The giant didn't drink nearly enough of the ale to allow her to touch the bottom, so she has to keep swimming if she wants to breathe. Deckard launches into an array of magic tricks dealing with cards and “mind reading.” If she wasn’t so focused on not drowning, she would be impressed.

In a flash his fingers dip into the mug, pulling her out before he stuffs her awkwardly up his sleeve. Apparently, whatever distraction he caused was good enough that none of the giants at the table caught his sleight of hand. He continues his routine with her pressed against his wrist. Eventually, he deposits her from his sleeve to the inside pocket in his jacket. He moves around the table, finishing his little show and even winning a round of applause from his audience.

Their next round of drinks arrives, and Deckard slips away. He leaves them in their drunken merriment, not yet aware that they have been left one fairy shorter than when the magic show began.

He pays for the drinks quickly, then he’s out the door. He walks casually, confidently. But from his pocket, being pressed against him so closely, Lark can feel his heart is racing. He maintains a steady pace until he’s out of sight, but once he rounds the corner, he takes off running. It’s terrible for her as she’s jostled roughly in the pocket. He pounds up a flight of stairs, then slams his shoulder into his door to open it, then again to close it. The movement was bad when she was in his satchel, this feels like a shipwreck.

Muffled swears come up from below as his downstairs neighbor slams their ceiling with a broomstick.

“Shut up!!” Deckard stomps on the floor, yelling to his neighbor below. “Tell management to fix the damn door if it bothers you so much, because they won’t listen to me!” His neighbor shouts back something unintelligible. Deckard continues grumbling to himself under his breath. He staggers over to his dresser, his breathing shallow and uneven. His fingers plunge roughly into his pocket, quickly fishing his alcohol-soaked princess from inside. He pulls her out and plops her soggy form back down onto the dresser, right where she was just a couple hours ago.

His steadies himself by bracing his hands down against the dresser on either side of her. He heaves a heavy sigh, and much like the giants at the tavern, his breath smells strongly of liquor.

“Well.” He says gruffly, his eyes search over her intently. “You made it down the street. Congratulations.” He raises an eyebrow, studying her. “Do you want to try again, see if you can make it across town this time?” He waves a hand over toward the still open window, and waits for her to start yelling insults up at him again.

Before she can stop herself, she’s crumpling. She draws her legs in close and buries her face in her knees. The giants in the tavern had ripped her beautiful blue gown, nearly tearing the skirt away completely. She's left with a small scrap of fabric, exposing her legs all the way up to her thighs. Her body is wracked with sobs that she’s been trying to hold back for days now. She doesn’t need to look up to know that Deckard is watching her fall apart. It’s embarrassing to cry in front of him. She’s left feeling so helpless, so violated, so… small. She hates it.

“Shit,” he says under his breath, after simply looking at her for a quiet moment. “I am…” He hesitates. She supposes he’s trying to find the words for a proper apology, but it never comes. Instead, he finishes with a sigh, “I am not sober enough for this.” He groans, pushing himself away from the dresser and walking off into his apartment.

[aparticularbandit]

Of An Endless Infinity: Prologue

Summary: What does it mean to be the Ultimate Hope?

Is it only hope on the big scale? That the world is not so dark and depressing and destructive as the villain in front of you says it is? That you can win, even when everything else says that you can't? That maybe it is better to live your life, even afraid, than it is to keep yourself sequestered away, alone?

Does it not also mean hope on the small scale?

Or: Makoto sacrifices himself in the hope that the other survivors might be able to help Junko. It remains to be seen whether this will actually succeed.

Chapter Rating: T. Fic Rating: M for Danganronpa reasons.

AO3

next chapter

This is the end.

She savors it, the sweet taste of their despair, the crestfallen expressions on their faces filling her with joy as she….

Okay, explaining everything is boring as hell.  Not gonna lie, that part sucks.  A lot.  Even switching from one persona to the other doesn’t make it better; she’s just exposition, and she hates being nothing more than exposition.  Even if it is pretty exposition.

That’s when it comes – unbidden, unexpected, unwanted.

“If we leave, will you leave with us?”

Makoto says the words so softly that, in all honesty, she shouldn’t be able to hear him.  Not over the ruckus she’s caused, not over the bubbling of the hope he’s inspired in every single one of the others, every single one of his friends.  (They were her friends, too, once.  They still are now, even if they don’t remember it.  Even if they don’t know it.  This is a gift that she is giving to them.  If they don’t understand the gift, that isn’t her fault!)

In the midst of all that internal chatter, Junko laughs, haughty as a queen.  “You don’t want us with you!  And what is a trial without a punishment?”

There is no fear without hope, but there is no despair without hope either.  Which means, in these moments, she can feel a thrill of fear but calm herself by knowing – fear is the beginning of despair.  If she’s afraid, then that only means one of her hopes is about to be denied, even while the other comes to fruition: if she hopes to feel despair, then she always feels both in communion.  Despair at hope deferred, joy at despair fulfilled.

Her blue-grey eyes note as Makoto’s expression shifts.  How he doesn’t look away from her, how there’s something like…like pity there, but softer.  Nonjudgmental.  Warmer, if such a thing could even be called that.  (Sometimes she looks at her like that, too.  It always feels like centipedes are crawling over her.  Uncomfortable.  Wrong.  Matsuda never looked at her like that.  Not even at the end.  That’s how she knew he understood.)

“And if we stay,” Makoto says, meeting her eyes, “will you stay with us?”

She flinches.

For a moment, the persona she’s wearing fades.  It isn’t as though she hasn’t thought this through.  She has.  It’s only—

(She will never see the real world again.  Not with her own eyes.  A part of her knew that.  The despair of acknowledging that once more fills her, and she calms.)

“Of course, I will stay with you.”  Her voice is calm, sure, steady.  “You would break your promise, you would follow me if I decided to leave.”  Her lips curve into a cruel grin.  “Do you really think I would leave you here?  Alone?”  She chuckles lightly.  “What fun is there in that?”

Makoto sees something.  Or he feels something.  Or he hopes something.

Whatever it is, she needs to end it.  Now.

“Time for the vote!”

~

What does it mean to be the Ultimate Hope?

Is it only hope on the big scale?  That the world is not so dark and depressing and destructive as the villain in front of you says it is?  That you can win, even when everything else says that you can’t?  That maybe it is better to live your life, even afraid, than it is to keep yourself sequestered away, alone?

Does it not also mean hope on the small scale?

Hope that an individual – any individual – can change?  No matter how dark they’ve gotten?  No matter how much despair fills their heart?  No matter how much that despair has warped them, has changed them, has twisted their mind into…into this?

Makoto looks at Junko and, despite everything, feels that small thrill of hope curling around his heart.  It’s a blind, foolish sort of thing.  But then, he’s sometimes a blind, foolish sort of person, and it’s always worked out in the end.

The thing about hope is that it comes paired with faith.  Hope means nothing if you don’t also believe that the thing you hope for can – and will – happen.  Makoto will always have faith in his friends, even if that faith kills him.  Even if he walks into that death with his eyes wide open.

Even when Junko’s dark eyes light up with the joy of her success, Makoto feels no fear.

He made the right choice.  Not to punish hope, as Junko says, but for something…for something better.

And as Monokuma leads him away to his Ultimate Punishment, Makoto meets Kyoko’s eyes.  I’m leaving this to you, he tries to get her to understand.  To all of you.  It’s just another phase of the game.  And you’ll win it just like we won this one.

We won.  You know that we won.  You know that I would never—

There’s not enough time.  But of all of them, she’ll understand that.

She has to understand that.

(He hopes she does, after all.)

~

Of course, the Ultimate Hope would lay down his life for the Ultimate Despair, if he had reason to believe that she, too, could be redeemed.  If he had reason to believe that in that redemption, the world could be filled with even more hope, a hope that overcomes the despair in which it dwells.

(Makoto is not thinking of filling the world with hope.  He is thinking of one person.  The only one who would have died in despair if they’d gone through with it.)

This is the way we win.

….

Or so he hopes.

[infernal-house-demon]

Idk why I’m on such a writing/reading advice kick today but I’ve got so much to say.

This post’s topic: Fig’s guide to reading the classics

I’m was an English major, so of course I am here to tell you that many of the classics are classics for a reason: they’re really fucking good. But I also understand that I’m a big nerd with a special interest and not everyone has the same motivation as me. Hell, sometimes I don’t have the motivation. So, here are some tips for having an easier time with them.

DONT READ SHAKESPEARE

Before anyone freaks out, I am not advocating for you not to consume Shakespeare’s plays. I adore Shakespeare with all my heart. His plays are phenomenal—but they are just that. Plays. If you read the script like it’s a book, of course it’ll feel boring and confusing. That isn’t how they’re meant to be consumed. Obviously the best way is to see it is performed live, but not everyone has that opportunity, myself included. However, you can find lots of recordings online for free. If those aren’t for you either, try listening to them! BBC has a lot of them as audio for free online, many with notable actors you’ll recognize! (Nothing better than hearing David Tennant perform Shakespeare directly into my ears. I love it.) It makes so much more sense to see/hear it performed. It flows so much easier, the emotion carries through in the performance, I promise you you’ll have a far easier time understanding the plot.

2. GOOD TRANSLATIONS

If you’re reading something that was in another language, find a good translation. I thought the Odyssey would be tough to get through in school, but when I actually read it, it was an easy read! I personally like the Robert Fagles translation. Do some research, see what people recommend, and find one that’ll be best for you.

3. ADAPTATIONS AND ILLUSTRATIONS

Find other ways to get yourself excited about the story. If there’s an illustrated version of the book and you’re a visual person, get it! My brother got me an illustrated version of the Divine Comedy and while my reading is still going pretty slow, the pictures absolutely help me engage more. Additionally, if a book seems daunting to you, try an adaptation first. (I am typically a read the book before the movie type person, but if doing it the other way around will get you into it, do it!) Keep in mind adaptations will be different (I’m looking at you Epic: The Musical, my beloved) but if they get you interested in the story and themes then use that as your way in.

4. TAKE YOUR TIME

I kid you not when I say that it’s been five years and I still haven’t finished the Great Gatsby. It’s because I only read it when I’m at the airport. It’s my airport book. I don’t read it on the plane (motion sickness), I only read it while I’m waiting to board. For whatever reason, that’s the context where it’s easier for me to get into it. I will finish it someday. Probably. There’s no rush.

5. SUMMARIES

Summaries are your best friend. I read A Tale of Two Cities in high school. I thought it was fantastic. There were absolutely chapters where I had to look up the spark notes to figure out what in the fuck was going on. Especially with writing from this time period, sometimes you encounter a sentence the length of an entire paragraph, and suddenly it’s four semicolons later and you can’t remember where you started. Language evolves and changes; you’re not stupid if it doesn’t come naturally to you, and you should give yourself whatever help you need to in order to still engage with it.

6. TAKE YOUR TIME (Part 2)

You don’t have to read them all. Ever. Read the ones that sound interesting to you. If people try to say “oh my god you haven’t read (insert famous literature here)” just ignore them. I haven’t read the Picture of Dorian Grey. I still haven’t read the Iliad even though I’ve read the Odyssey. Maybe I’ll get there someday. I’m certain I’ll like both of them. But I’m not in a rush. They’re in my pile of books to read and I’ll get there when I get there. There’s nothing wrong with having a collection of unread books. And again, you do not have to read all of them. They’re not all worth reading anyway, which brings me to my next and final point.

7. IF IT SUCKS, HIT THE BRICKS

There are a lot of books touted as classics, many of which we have to read in school, that I think are stellar. There are other ones that I think have no right to be held up as anything worthwhile. This is about my personal beef with the Scarlet Letter lol. I had to read it in one of my university classes. And let me tell you: I could not finish this book. Now, not to sound full of myself, but I have good reading comprehension and a wide vocabulary. My nerdy ass was explaining what was going on in Shakespeare to my classmates when I was 13. English is where I thrive. When I tell you that reading the Scarlet Letter felt less interesting to me that reading a car manual, I am not exaggerating in the slightest. It felt like raking my brain over hot coals. It was boring. I hated it. I straight up don’t think it’s a good book and I’m certain there are better ones out there that cover the same topic and themes. So I didn’t finish it, and in fact refuse to ever pick it up again. Just because something is a classic, doesn’t mean it’s good, and doesn’t mean you have to read it. Find the ones that work for you (I have so many recommendations). Also, look at other stuff from the same time period that isn’t considered “classic.” Ask yourself why. When I personally look back at what we were given in school, a lot of it was white male centric. I was lucky to have professors at university who showed us voices outside of this.

All this to say, reading stuff from different periods of time is such an enriching experience, but if it isn’t something you’re deeply interested in, it can be hard to get into. I hope some of this is helpful and makes the idea of engaging with these stories easier for people.

[resisteverything]

There’s the racism:

One of the main villains does voodoo, a slave religion with a history of racist demonization, and there’s no acknowledgement of how he’d feel about being in christian hell despite being part of a not christian religion with a different belief in the afterlife, showing that she did no research aside from “Ooo voodoo evil and scary let me staple that onto my character” and then never did anything to fix this after four years of people telling her what it was, even though it had nothing to do with his character. She didn’t take the time to try and learn a better depiction of the concept either, because why try and fail when you can instead just not try.

Most black characters are just white people but grey, and the main confirmed POC character has no confirmation as such in-universe and is a fully nonhuman entity in a world where a lot of the characters used to be human.

The only black coded male characters are the demon of lust and a wolfman, both the only teo buff characters, and both kind of defined by their desirability to one of the more important white coded characters.

I don’t know any asian characters in this series. That’s a bizarre omission.

Then there’s the sexism.

Millie’s character sheet can be summed up as:

Angry, Wife, will kill you, pegs her husband.

Charlie is just disney princess and her reason for doing anything is because daddy.

Vaggie is Charlie’s lapdog basically. She only does things because she wants to help Charlie. That’s her only motivation for doing anything ever and it’s boring.

Secondary female characters are consistently demonized/punished for what men can get away with, or have their feelings disregarded. The only reason we root against Verosika and for Blitz is because he’s the protagonist, she’s less bad than him (the wager was for her team to have consensual sex with as many men as Blitz could murder) and also the victim of his behavior (which they play off as a joke). I’m on her side, why are we meant to enjoy the implication that she was raped by a police squad? Stella is in the same boat as Stolas and doesn’t do anything worse to Stolas than Blitz would do to Moxie. Yet we’re supposed to hate her and like Stolas and Blitz, characters that are either as bad as or worse than her.

This got too long so… whatever, it’s done now. This series has consistent issues with representation of all forms.

Vivziepop Stans: Why the hell do you hate her so much? What did she ever do?? Me and the critics:

[narcolini]

redecorating

angel reyes x gn!reader, 1095 words, fluff fluff fluff

a/n: i dont know what this is i really dont, i blacked out and there it was - its just domestic angelito for the soul (also first mayans fic hello??)

‘This isn’t what I had in mind when you picked me up, Angel.’ You flick the sign as you pass, Paints & Varnishes. ‘It’s a hell of a change from dinner dates.’

‘You ain’t bored of that yet? Feels like all we ever do.’ He dawdles down the aisle, hands in his pockets, chin dipped as he scans the shelves. ‘Is it just me, or are there way too many fucking options for this shit?’

‘Not really,’ you muse, ignoring him. ‘What if I like going out to eat? It’s nice.’ You aren’t particularly bothered either way. It’s the time you appreciate, you and him, no-one else, and not one mention of club business. If you weren’t so hungry, you’d probably be dragging him around the store just for the fun of it. ‘Will we be here long?’

His brows shoot up. ‘Why? You wanna go home?’

‘No,’ you scoff, ‘course not.’ 

‘Cause I can drop you home, y’know.’ He throws his thumb behind him, the gesture so grand it’s almost attracting attention. ‘We can go home, like, right now, my bike’s only-‘

‘Okay, okay,’ you quiet him, ‘stop it. I’m not complaining.’

‘Sounds a lot like complaining to me.’

You wait, give him your best stubborn eyes and watch him fold, a smile replacing the scrunched expression. His arm loops over your shoulder comfortably. Fine, it says, no more play-fighting. 

‘So, what d’you think?’ he asks, turning you both toward the paint-stacked shelves. 

‘You’re asking me?’

‘Yeah, I’m asking you. I don’t know shit about this.’ He shrugs. ‘What looks good, what doesn’t…’ 

You can’t even picture the way his home is now, what colour the walls are, how patterned the furniture is. The image gets sparser the more you try to recreate it; all you find is him, his shirts over the couch, his shoes by the door, the dim warmth of his bedroom when you wake up before him. ‘Well,’ you mediate, ‘what do you like?’ 

‘What do you like? I’m asking you, corazón.’

You smile. Yes, he’s insistent on that. Always knows so much about everything, but goes shy in Home Depot, like picking a colour is something you can fail at. ‘Okay,’ you start, ‘I think greens are nice. Like, for on the couch, or curtains maybe, but not the walls. And kitchens should be a light colour.’

He taps a finger to the can in front of him. Cream, with a blue tint. ‘Like this?’

‘Yeah, I like that.’ 

‘Alright, I’m seeing it, I’m seeing the vision.’ He nods, then nods again, free hand smoothing over his beard. 

You laugh, you can’t help it. 

‘What?’

‘I don’t know. It’s fun, actually. You’re fun.’ You rock against him, pushing into his side. ‘This is nice.’ 

He looks proud of himself, for a second, and then he tucks it away with a faux-frown. ‘You’re weird,’ he says, pretending to mean it. 

‘And you need help decorating your own house, Angel.’ You kiss your teeth, shaking your head as you pull from under his arm. ‘Grown ass man.’ 

You laugh, both of you that time, and walk further down the aisle. He doesn’t follow. You scan the options, trying to place them. Grey behind the TV. Or brown, honey, white that’s not white. It almost makes no difference. You could paint the walls black and it wouldn’t make it any less welcoming, the place would still breathe with him. Become him. He makes the home, you think, him and all his baggage. 

‘What if it was our house?’ he asks, still standing where you left him. 

‘What?’ You turn and see him shrug, hiding a smile. Not here, surely, he’s not asking you that here. 

‘What if it was ours?’ he says again, glancing between you and what’s in front of him, like he’s only giving a suggestion, offering samples on a card. 

‘Are you asking me to move in with you?’ 

He’s staring at the paint in front of him like it’s the most interesting thing in the world, like there’s a math equation printed across it and he just can’t work it out. ‘I mean, it would save us a fuck-load on gas,’ he says. ‘You’re always there anyway, and we been doing this for a while, you know. Back and forth all the time.’ He looks at you sideways. When he finds your growing smile, he mirrors it. ‘You gonna say yeah, or what?’

‘If you can find some room for me.’ It’s your turn to go shy now, opting for jokes over sincerity. ‘It’s pretty cramped in there.’

‘I got some shit I’ve been meaning to throw out.’ He closes the gap between you and puts his hands on your waist. ‘Could clear you a drawer or two,’ he offers. 

‘Two? Wow.’ You lean against his chest, arms winding around his neck. ‘You spoil me.’

He tilts his head away, overly gracious, smirking as always. ‘Ah, it’s nothing.’

‘So humble, Angelito.’

‘I think you mean charming.’

You hum, agreeing with him, really, and pull in to meet his mouth. The kiss is the yes, the acceptance. He matches your lips like he knows it, smiling against you. When you pull away, his hands are twisting in your shirt, his eyes shining with desire, victory.

‘This one, then.' You pick up the can you’d been eyeing and put it between you, into his chest, over the heart. It wasn’t far off the colour he’d pointed at earlier. ‘For our kitchen,’ you tell him, emphasising the our, leaning into the word.

‘Yes, boss.’ He kisses you again, before taking it and turning away, his hand catching yours in the same motion. He tugs you after him easily. ‘You paying, then?’ he throws over his shoulder. ‘Seeing as it’s not just-hey! Ow? Violence, baby, really?’ 

He didn’t get to finish the joke. You’d chased him from the aisle, kicking at his leg lightly. You’d aimed for his ass, but couldn’t reach, so settled for the dip in the back of his knee instead. 

‘That was your plan all along, yeah?’ You laugh, watching his gait recover. ‘Fucking cheapskate.’ 

He scoffs, eyes rolling. ‘Yeah, you got me.’ Then he smiles, warm, satisfied, and pulls you closer ’til you’re against him again; one arm around your shoulders, the other swinging the paint-can by his side. ‘What did you say about curtains? Green?’

You nod, cheeks aching from smiling so much. You won’t tell him, but this is better than going for dinner. Way fucking better.