#and i keep wanting to resign to solitude all the same

[mikeshardbongwater]

.

[rhapsodyandwoe]

@rubistella continued from here

Astarion had been so good at forgetting, at blissfully numbing himself to the hyperawareness crawling on his skin. But now, it all came rushing back. And with that, the sting. A pain so sharp, so searing, it threatened to blind him. Cazador’s gifts from the night before were still fresh, still vivid on his body. Red, yellow, and purple bloomed into a macabre palette, each shade darker than the last. From the blackened, bloodshot eye that ached with every blink, to the raw, swollen wrists that had been gripped too tightly. And the puncture wounds, scattered across his flesh, a grotesque map of suffering– neck, chest, thighs. They were all a reminder of his master’s sadistic love for the pain that came with submission. Of being the master's favourite against his every wish. With head hung low and from his perch at the edge of the mattress, Astarion chanced a look past the window pane, right at the moon. It was the closest to admiring the sunlight he's ever gotten since his turning. Rhapsody thrummed, a subtle vibration that tingled through Astarion’s fingers as he toyed with the blade, pushing its tip into the pad of his thumb with an idle, absent touch. Just enough pressure to feel the cold metal kiss his skin, but not enough to break it. The weapon had a cruel elegance to it, sharp and graceful, rather like the one who wielded it. In another life, it would have been his favourite. In this one, it was a tool of torment.

“I’m reminded of it every day of my life, my lord.” The words came out thin, rasping barely over a whisper. Crimsons were kept distant, unwilling to meet Cazador’s stare. Yet the spawn could feel it sear into his skin, dissect him the way it always did when his mind strayed too far from obedience. Cazador always caught him slipping. “Or should I say my death?” A smile came, embittered by pain and memories alike. The sharp note in his voice was unmistakable. Rebellion or resignation? It didn’t matter anymore. His master had a way of shaping belief the way it pleased him.

The night before, Cazador had been in an angry state. He'd been becoming increasingly overprotective and possessive of Astarion, obsessing over the way others dared leer with lewd thoughts painted on their expressions. The way greedy hands would attempt to grab on to his spawn with desperate affection.

The way Astarion would return some of those stares and touches, directly in front of Cazador as if he had the right to give his affections to anyone else beside his Lord and Master. He'd been brutal in his punishment the night before, forcing Astarion to submit to him in many different ways.

The only regret that he allowed himself to have about losing his temper in such a way was that the colors of his anger were still painted across the pale canvas of Astarion's flesh. He was unsightly when he was beaten. He could not regret the pain he caused his spawn, not if he wanted to avoid the same mistakes Vellioth had made.

Allow none to be your equal. Power comes from solitude.

Lessons learned from the Marinet, lesson that came with a great price each, and lessons he still needed to pass down to his spawn.

As much as he cared about Astarion, in his own twisted and possessive way, he couldn't show it anymore, not like he had been when the Magistrate was freshly turned.

Still, his bruised face was unsightly...

Retrieving from his dresser a small vile shimmering with red liquid inside, he brought it over to Astarion and sat on the edge of the bed beside him, then handed his spawn the vile without a word. A health potion. It was the closest to an apology that Astarion was going to get. He had to keep his distance.

"And yet you seem to forget, no matter what reminders I give." There was more disappointment than anything in his voice as he stared across the room, not looking to see if his spawn took the potion or not. Disappointment that his spawn had strayed from him, disappointment that he had been too light in his discipline until now.

"Do not forget that without me, Astarion, you would be dead with the rest of your family. Do not forget that without me, you would be dead by the hands of those Gur."

Cazador finally let his sharp, red gaze fall on his spawn once again. "And do not forget that as my spawn, I could simply compel you to obey... I allow you freedom, I can take it away just as easily."

[auxiliarydetective]

The OC Halloween Challenge - Day 22

You can find the challenge here!

Today's prompt was...

Solitude Causes More Wounds Than It Was Meant To Heal

Fear is increased when one is alone by themselves, or cut off from civilization like an reclusive island. Focus on your characters in the horror of isolation; are they forced to recognize who they truly are on the inside? Do they practice the law of nature or nurture? Do they keep their morals or own laws?

Once again, I made a poll to determine today's victim and I realized lots of my followers are in need of a hug so...

Spooky hug for you! This actually fits with today's winner/victim too because it's...

Charlie Drake!

-

Ray reluctantly unlocked the door to the Firehouse, the police forcing themselves past him the moment they could. The once-Ghostbusters followed, Ray entering last. Inside the Firehouse, the only thing that was still in its proper condition was Ecto-1. Everything else was covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. Immediately, the cops started searching every nook and cranny, every closet and shelf, every cupboard upstairs in the kitchen, every cabinet... And the car, of course. Winston, Ray, Egon and Peter exchanged worried and annoyed glances. Mostly annoyed, in fact. Winston was mostly worried though and Egon was observing everything happening around him as if he were on a bust. Really, with the way he looked at the cops roaming around, with their hands all over his carefully crafted equipment, you would think he was just waiting for a ghost to jump out and rip them to shreds. Venkman seemed to have the same hopes as he whispered:

"You don't think one of the traps is still loaded, do you?"

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend," Ray murmured.

"I think a ghost attacking the cops might actually make your situation worse," Winston whispered. "They'll just blame it on you and make your charges even worse."

Egon said nothing. After turning everything upside-down and hurling every speck of dust around the house, the cops left, reminding Ray, Egon and Peter of their trial the next day. Then, the police cars sped away.

"Well, now we're really in trouble," Egon mumbled.

"Boy, you said it," Ray sighed. He leaned against the hood of Ecto-1 in resignation. "Man, I really wish Charlie were here."

"Yeah," Peter chuckled, "he could smack those guys into next week!"

Before Winston could repeat his statement from before, Egon interrupted:

"That's exactly my point as to why we're in trouble. Charlie didn't show up."

"Well, we did encourage him to explore the world," Winston reminded him. "For all we know, he could be in New Zealand or something. How should we know? He didn't even leave a note or call or something."

"It's almost like he wants nothing to do with us," Ray murmured.

"Well, we did almost kill him," Peter quipped. "Twice."

"Three times, actually," Egon corrected. "Still, I don't think he'd just leave without saying anything."

"Yeah, now that you mention it," Winston reminisced, "he's never been the type of guy to just stay quiet about things he didn't like. And the last thing he told us, he said we could reach him at the Firehouse."

"You think he's just been hanging around here for four years?" Peter asked. "Sounds too boring for Charlie."

"Precisely," Egon declared.

"You think he somehow got stuck here?" Ray asked worriedly.

"It's very possible he turned sick, in a lack of better terms, and maybe didn't notice it." Egon held out his hand, showing off the ring that Charlie had given him. "Do you still have yours?"

The others nodded, their hands joining Egon's in the space between them.

"Remember how shiny they used to be? Now they're tarnished."

"That's just what silver does, it tarnishes," Peter said. "Come on, Egon, I thought you were smart."

"I tried polishing it," Ray threw in. "But it didn't work. I figured it's just because it hasn't been around Charlie in a long time, but... Oh god, Spengs, you don't think-"

"Remember how Charlie was before and after we defeated Gozer?" Egon continued his interrogation, but his voice was a little weaker now, shaking slightly. "Specifically, what changed?"

"Well, before that, I don't think he ever slept," Ray recalled. "He'd always be going on busts with us and then to his night shift right after that and hop right back into Ecto-1 the next morning. I didn't really think about it too much back then, but it became even more obvious when he dropped his other job. He was constantly on his feet."

"Yeah, I remember how much that ticked me off when I joined," Winston sighed. "And after we defeated Gozer, he started actually sleeping, didn't he? Didn't it also take him a whole week to recover from the explosion on the roof?"

"My theory is that he never fully recovered," Egon said darkly. "I tried to form a thesis on what might have happened in terms of psychokinetic energy when we destroyed the temple and afterwards to find out what effects it might have had on Charlie. Before we fired at the gate, it was steadily leaking psychokinetic energy into our world, meaning the very same energy that Charlie most likely lives off of. When we reversed the particle flow, it destroyed Mr Stay Puft in the explosion, very similarly to how Charlie... almost died... when the containment grid exploded. Only this time, it didn't destroy Charlie's physical form like the first time around. But it still must have drained him off all the extra energy he had to spare, which is why he was so tired all the time. It also left lasting damage, which is why he had to sleep from then on."

"So what, he relapsed?" Peter asked. "He seemed mostly fine last I saw him. Barely even slept anymore. What happened that could've caused that? I mean, I didn't see any big psychokinetic explosions since we disbanded."

"That's the point, we disbanded. There were no more ghost sightings, meaning there was very little psychokinetic energy in the area, which must have had an effect on Charlie eventually. I'm assuming the rings we're wearing might have had some effect on his recovery as well. He did call them mutual insurance. And with them gone, what's the only source of psychokinetic energy left?"

"The containment grid," Ray murmured.

"You think he locked himself in there like in a bacta tank?" Peter mumbled.

"No, he wouldn't do that," Winston declared. "He knows there's no way to get back out."

"He's probably somewhere in the Firehouse," Egon theorized, "and he's probably sleeping or unconscious. Dormant, you could say. If we can get some energy back into these rings, maybe we can wake him up."

"Ghost defibrilator. Right on my finger. Fantastic."

Still, nobody had a better idea. In fact, it was the only idea anyone had. So, the former Ghostbusters headed into the basement to do the reverse of their usual profession and actually summon a ghost this time. They placed their hands against the surface of the containment grid. Immediately, it felt like a jolt of electricity rushed through their bodies and they pulled their hands away, the rings unbearably hot, then suddenly icy cold, glowing in an alabaster sheen. The lights in the basement flickered, making them fear another blackout.

"I think it worked," Peter mumbled.

"Charlie?" Egon called.

Suddenly, one of the boxes of screws from the nearby shelf flew in Egon's direction, hitting him in the arm. But that was only the start. From then on, more and more objects started hitting Egon, Peter, Ray and Winston.

"Are you sure that's Charlie?!" Winston asked, ducking out of the way of a wrench.

"It has to be," Egon replied, trying to make his way to the staircase but being blocked off by the desk.

"I think he's mad," Ray said weakly.

"Mad?!" Peter echoed. "He's pissed!"

[shibumi-tanuki]

Here it is: the Christ Thorndyke rewrite.

Prepare yourselves, I have SO much to say about this

Name: Chris Thorndyke

Age: 13 years old (season 1 and 2)

Being the only child of a wealthy CEO and renounced model, Chris was born to a life of luxury and solitude. He doesn't remember either of his parents showing up for the entrance ceremony of his first day of primary school, nor for any academic events that happened in the years to come. His birthdays were the few times he got to speak with his parents in a way that wasn't through rushed phone calls right before his bed time or when he was due to leave for school (his parents couldn't care less for keeping up with time zone differences while they were abroad). It didn't help he had no friends at school; at first, dozens of children from school would show up for his birthday parties, but they always asked to see what Chris' parents had gifted him— unbeknownst to them these were more apology gifts for not being around most of the year than birthday gifts. However, Chris didn't care much for the mountains of toys and games— after a while, they got boring anyway. Instead, he proposed to go play in the park or venture out into the nearby woods in search of adventure, but ultimately resigned to forcibly smiling as his "friends" took turns using a remote control race car per their request.

Chris always liked the outdoors: It wasn't stuffy, and he didn't need to watch where he ran in fear of knocking over an expensive vase and being chastised by the maids and Mr. Tanaka for it. For a while, he forgot who we even was, and the only thing on his mind was seeing how far he could climb up a tree or what crevices and natural passageways he might encounter. Of course, it never lasted. Eventually a maid would come out looking for him and off he was to take a shower and have dinner by himself. Again.

Now, it wasn't like he was completely alone. He had his grandfather! Yes, an energetic man for his age, always interested in engineering and robotics, sometimes to the point of forgetting to sleep or eat. Chris always thought of him as the second coolest person he knew (his uncle Sam was first), but that didn't change the fact he did he wish his grandfather would take more breaks, or even spend time with him for a change...

At any rate, time passed by, and Chris grew.

Each year, his parents became more busy as their fame grew, and so did Chris' resentment towards them.

Other kids got to see their parents cheer for them at school music presentations and stage plays, they got to run into their arms every day after school and go home to a cozy home where they could tell their family about their day over dinner.

But not Chris.

Chris, on the other hand, could expect to see an indifferent maid holding up a camera with not an ounce of emotion on her face or Mr. Tanaka doing the same thing. "That was great, master Christopher," they would say, and Chris would try to make himself small as a flurry of eyes from parents and kids alike turned to him.

There were whispers of amazement, others of pity, and the boy hated them all the same.

Why? He wondered. Why was he only known as his parents' son? As the kid who had everything he could ask for yet wanted nothing of it? Why couldn't he just have been born a normal kid to a normal family in the first place?

And so he sought an escape.

He neglected all the new clothes his parents sent him from overseas and opted for comfortable clothes he bought on his own with his allowance, setting out for the city's skating park where he'd spent his afternoons perfecting tricks and jumps that would have had the maids and Mr. Tanaka physically stop him from even thinking about attempting. It was his sanctuary, his release, and boy did Chris fall in love with the exhilarating feeling that came with it.

One night, however, his life would be turned upside down by an unlikely encounter with a blue and snarky hedgehog...

[sickdokidoki]

You can't get out... even if you wanted. Part 1

Unisex reader x Harry Potter (both are adults and this is post Hogwarts)

TW: | Kidnapping | Physical Abuse | Rape | Mind Break |

844 words

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

You didn't know how it happened but there you were at the bottom of the chest, looking up at his face adorned with those black rimmed round glasses, with his sparkly green eyes looking directly back at you. You could swear they were glowing in the darkness that surrounded you.

"You don't listen, you keep ignoring my orders, so now, you're gonna stay here till I deem you're ready to get out!" he snarled. 

You pleaded and sobbed and begged, but Harry Potter didn't listen to any of your words, he was much too concentrated in putting protective spells around the opening of the chest, disguising it perfectly and removing the staircase to your freedom...

You had been walking down the street one day at Godric's Hollow, it was a very beautiful summer day and you had decided to take a stroll to clear your head from your work, being a historian wasn't as easy as they had told you... You sighed, caught a fluffy seed that floated towards you and then you saw him. It was The Boy Who Lived. 

You knew he lived there, it hadn't influenced your decision to move there but given your line of work it was an added bonus no doubt. You had, of course, heard the rumours as well: he had gotten married and no sooner they both had gone to live at Grimmauld Place they had separated. Ginny wanted more than to be The Chosen One's wife, not that Harry ever made her into that, but the public eye never stopped seeing her as just that... even with her illustrious Quidditch career. It seemed that Ron wasn't the only Weasley that was cursed to live in someone's shadow. So, they decided to split in benefit of them both and Harry had decided to start anew in Godric's Hollow. Of course his old family's house was out of the question, it was a monument and it should stay like that... silently you agreed when you got wind of his words in the Prophet... So he had another house built in a vacant lot near the outskirts, more space, more solitude, just perfect.

Weirdly nothing had been known of Ginny afterwards... Well, not exactly nothing, but she had resigned her position and the Holy Harpy's captain, and had left The Burrow. Maybe being in the limelight had been too much for her and she also wanted solitude and peace... Her family knew about her from sporadic letters, sending postcards from remote places, telling them about her job as a private Quidditch instructor, about how peaceful it was to not have the Prophet after her at every chance... They were happy for her.

You had been friendly out of politeness at first, after all he had been through a lot but you didn't know Harry the Person, you just knew Harry the Legend... and that hardly meant knowing someone. 

But by the by as you both lived in the same town, ran into each other and that happened quite a lot as time went by, you noticed, saw each other at the tiny café you worked at part time to complement your income as historian, at the small library, just strolling down the cemetery, you started to get to know Harry the Person. And you didn't mind him at all. In fact... you started to fancy him a bit.

He was courteous, kind, knowledgeable, even if a bit gruff sometimes. His green eyes were keen and scanned everything around him, especially you when you two were chatting. He paid attention to you, he made the effort to listen to you... it was nice for a change.

As time went by you noticed he also made the effort to be near you, gently touching your hand when laughing at one of your jokes, putting a hand on your shoulder to stop you from crossing a street without looking, a finger lingering on yours a bit more than necessary when you passed him books, a note, his mug of coffee at the café...

Then one day the question was popped... 

"Wanna go out with me?" he said casually, smiling over the book he had been reading during one of your alone together sessions. You liked these, you could be together but did your own thing and then chatted about it afterwards before he left for his house.

You squeaked in surprise, blushed, but then chuckled. "Isn't that what we have been doing the past month?" you asked, smiling at him over your own book.

"Maybe... I just wanted to make it more formal," he said, frowning a bit. But you smiled brighter, sat in his lap and nodded, making him break into a smile as well and hug you close, sighing in relief for some reason that you couldn't understand.

The signs were there, they were very subtle at first, but by the time you saw them it was far too late and you were in the bottom of the chest, cold and scared, hugging yourself as you looked pleadingly up at him... but that came so much later.

[foundtherightwords]

Winter Light - Chapter 3

Pairing:Tom Grant (Make Up) x OFC

Summary: Vanessa, a young cancer patient, arrives at a remote holiday park in Cornwall to wait out the rest of her days, but after a chance meeting with a park employee named Tom who's nursing a broken heart, Vanessa realizes life may not be done with her yet.

Warnings: slow burn, fluff with some angst, swearing, serious illness (cancer)

A/N: There's bound to be a lot of content this weekend with JQ's NOLA Fan Expo appearance so I'll the posting the remaining chapters a little later next week. Also, there's some spiciness coming in Chapter 4 (very mild though. Maybe just on the same scale as some black pepper. Or a mild chili.)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Total Perspective Vortex

It was November 5th. The park had been closed for over a week. The remaining staff and the tenants were building a huge scrap pile on the beach, ready for Bonfire Night.

Vanessa watched them from the dunes, where she sat soaking up the last rays of the autumn sun. Tom was there. He waved at her, and she waved back, but she had no desire to join him. For some reason, she wanted to keep their moments together just for themselves, with nobody else encroaching on their solitude. She saw Kai looking over at her and making some sort of remark to Tom, no doubt a provoking one, because Tom then stormed off in a different direction.

Later, Vanessa was resigning herself to an evening with her books when there was a knock on her door. She opened it before the last knock died away, and sure enough, there he was, with his curls all fluffed up by the wind and the smile she'd known so well by now.

"Why aren't you at the bonfire?" she asked.

"Eh, it's just an excuse to get drunk. We can do that here," he said, holding up a six-pack.    

"Sorry, alcohol and my meds don't agree," Vanessa grimaced ruefully.

Tom put the six-pack down, deflated. "Oh. I didn't think about that."

"You go ahead."

"Nah, it's pathetic drinking alone."

Vanessa didn't want him to leave. "How about some hot cocoa then?" she said. "I can't cook, but I make a mean cup of cocoa. And we can watch the fireworks from the dunes."

Tom brightened up. "Sounds good."

When the cocoa was done, Tom carried the mugs to the buff right outside the caravan, and Vanessa followed with a blanket from the sofa. From the buff, they could see the bonfire crackling merrily in the distance. Tom shivered in his thin jumper, so Vanessa offered him a corner of the blanket, but it wasn't big enough to cover both of them. After watching Vanessa struggle with it for a while, Tom held his hand out. "Give it." He took the blanket, wrapped it around himself, and spread his arms out like wings. "C'mere."

Vanessa hesitated, but eventually the cold won out. She sat down in front of Tom, and he enfolded her in his arms, the blanket covering them both. "How's this?"

"Perfect," Vanessa said, trying to resist the temptation to lean into him. She felt his breath tickling her neck and prayed he couldn't see how flushed her face was.

"Sure you don't want to get closer?" Tom asked.

"What?" Vanessa almost shouted. Had he read her thoughts?

"To the bonfire."

"Oh." Her face, if it was possible, got even hotter. She was sure even the tips of her ears were burning and Tom must have seen them. She cleared her throat. "No, this is fine."

Down on the beach, fireworks and rockets were being set off at random, sparklers glowed like fireflies, and some brave soul was even waving around a flare. There was a sense of frenzied, almost unsettling wildness to the whole thing that was so different from the sedate, homemade Bonfire Nights of Vanessa's childhood, and she was glad to be watching it from afar.

"When I was little, we were only allowed a tiny fire in the garden," she said. "No Guy either. In school, me and my friends would make this huge Guy every year, but Mum never let me go watch it get burned. She said it was too dangerous. What she didn't know is that I would climb on the roof to watch the fireworks afterward."

Tom laughed. "And she let you become a lifeguard?!"

"It was at a community pool. Not as if I had to rescue people from the sea all the time."

She could feel Tom grinning as he rested his chin on the top of her head. "Well, you did a great job."

It almost felt normal, snuggling up with him, sipping hot cocoa, watching the fireworks, and talking about her childhood. But Vanessa could feel herself getting too comfortable. She needed to break the spell before it took over. She wriggled out of Tom's arms and got up. "I'm going to get more cocoa, you want some?"

Without waiting for his answer, she walked briskly toward the caravan, but stopped short as she felt sharp twinge in her leg. Tom turned to her. "You all right?"

"Yeah, just my old war injury acting up again," she joked, and went into the caravan, to the bedroom, where her med bag was kept on the bedside table. The pain was building so quickly that just those few steps forced her to sit down. She dug through the bag, then upended it on the bed and sorted through the various bottles with shaking hands.

Tom stepped in. "Everything OK?"

"I can't find my morphine."

He'd seen her chugging it enough to realize how serious this was. "You don't have another?"

"No, I was going to pick up the refill when we go into town next." Her chest felt tight. As if they could sense the barricades were down, the wolves were rushing back, snapping at her bones with razor-sharp teeth.

"When did you last use it?"

"This morning, I think." Her heart sank as she remembered. "I went down to the beach. It must've slipped out of my bag."

Tom dashed out to grab a torch from the kitchen. "I'll go look."

"I'm coming too," Vanessa said through gritted teeth.

"You're in no shape."

"It'll save you a trip back."

Tom didn't argue again. He scooped her up in his arms and ran down to the beach. The party was in full swing now, the bonfire flaring its flames sky-high, its heat reaching them even from a distance. The revelers were dark, monstrous shapes, darting in and out of a hellish red glow that shrouded over everything. Some techno was playing at ear-bleeding volume, the pounding bass combined with the sharp explosions of firecrackers making the constricted feeling in Vanessa's chest worse. 

"Where did you sit?" Tom shouted in her ear. At first, confused by the chaos of the party and the pain, she couldn't tell one dune from another, but when she remembered where she had been in relations to the bonfire, it became clear. She pointed and tried to say "Over there", but it turned into a groan. Tom set her down carefully and started going over the sand with the torch. Vanessa curled up into the fetal position, as if doing so would stop the searing hot needles from spreading all over her bones.

A figure detached itself from the dark whirlwind around the fire and staggered toward them. Kai. "Look who's decided to join us!" he shouted at Tom, his voice slurring.

"Give us some room, mate," Tom said, brushing him aside. "Bit of an emergency here."

Kai saw Vanessa, and his lips twitched up in a leer. He bent down, pressing his face toward her. "Partying too hard, are we?" His breath reeked of alcohol.

Tom pulled Kai away from Vanessa and gave him a shove. "Leave her the fuck alone. She's in pain."

Kai's drunken grin was disconcerting to see, like a dog baring its teeth. "Don't get teasy with me now. Right about the other one, wassan I? Maybe this one's a bit more friendly..."

Tom lunged at the bigger man. "Tom!" Vanessa cried out, half in pain and half in fear. That cry froze Tom in his track. He turned his back on Kai and started sweeping the sand with the torch again. Kai stared at them in confusion for a moment, before lumbering off.

The pain was intolerable - it was no longer confined to her bones, but seemed to have spread over her every tissue until her entire body was one mass of pain. She tried to follow Tom's torch, trying to see where the bottle of morphine could be, but each sweep of light was a knife stabbing into her eyes. She couldn't breathe. The pounding in her ears was deafening. She couldn't tell if it was from the music, the firecrackers, or her own blood. The dark vortex around the fire grew larger. Then Tom was beside her, pressing a bottle to her lips. She swallowed a few gulps, and a black curtain fell over her eyes.

***

Vanessa woke with an unfamiliar sensation. The pain had dulled but left her tired and sore as if she had run a full marathon. Then she realized what the unfamiliar sensation was. There was someone else in bed with her.

She twisted around, as quietly as her pain-wrecked body allowed. Tom was lying next to her, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other wrapped around her. The morning sun shone weakly through the window, dusting his curls with gold and casting the shadows of his long lashes on his cheeks. Vanessa had to fight the urge to lean over and kiss those shadows.

She knew she had fallen in love with Tom, ever since the day he gave her the plants and smiled at her. Despite her determination to wall up her heart, that smile had broken through the barricades with no effort at all and taken permanent residence inside. The moment she saw it, she'd known. If she could have him smile at her like that for the rest of her life, she would not want anything else. There was something about him that made her feel safe, something that comforted her. Perhaps it was the way he took everything as it came, quietly and without complaint. Perhaps it was the way he always knew what she needed, sometimes even before she realized it herself. Perhaps it was just his smile. But she never really thought much about why she loved him. She just enjoyed it. She enjoyed the fluttering of her stomach whenever she looked at him, enjoyed a brief repose from her misery whenever she thought of him, enjoyed simply being in love without having to worry about him loving her back. In fact, she didn't even want him to love her back, because it meant he would be hurt when she died. She didn't want him to get hurt. But this morning, waking up in bed next to him, she ached for what could have been.

Tom stirred, and Vanessa quickly rolled over, pretending to be asleep so he wouldn't catch her staring at him while he slept. He woke up and leaned over her, so close she could almost feel his lips touching her ear. She heard him let out a sigh of relief at her breathing and felt his hand brushing a strand of hair away of her face, lingering on her cheek for a moment, before he got out of bed.

Vanessa couldn't move much that day. Tom asked for the day off and stayed with her, helping her in and out of bed, cooking, putting the caravan in order.

"Tom," Vanessa asked that night, while he was washing up, "why'd you stay with me?"

"I couldn't leave you alone after last night," Tom said, his tone implying that there was no debate.

"No, I mean... in general. Why'd you stay with me all this time? Do you feel like you owed me, because I saved you from drowning?" she asked. "Or..." She came up with the worst thing she could think of. "Or do you just feel sorry for me?"

"No, nothing like that." Tom came round to the sofa, sat down next to her, and took her hand. "I mean, I am grateful. But there's something else too."

"What?"

It took him so long to answer that Vanessa was afraid she wouldn't like what he had to say.

"I was dumped," finally he said. "Last year. She came down here to stay with me, and then she dumped me."

"Is her name Jade?" Vanessa said, without thinking.

Tom looked at her, surprised. "Where'd you hear that?"

Oh no. Perhaps she'd made a terrible mistake. Perhaps Jade was no one and had nothing to do with Tom at all, and now he was going to know that Vanessa had been obsessing over it like a fool. "Shirley mentioned her name when I first arrived, and you were kind of... angry," she explained, flush creeping over her face. "She used to live here, right?"

"Yeah," Tom said. "But she isn't my ex. My ex's Ruth. She, uh... left me for Jade."

"Oh" was all Vanessa could say. It made so much sense now.

"We've been together since we were 15," Tom said. "Planned our whole life together. Sounds pathetic, but I really thought we would last, you know?"

Vanessa didn't know what to say. "My longest relationship lasted for two months and ended because he went back to France and ghosted me," she confessed. Pierre the putain, she and her friends had called him afterward. But at least that relationship earned her the clout of losing her virginity to a French guy. "So I wouldn't know, really. But it must've been horrible for you."

"They fucked off to Madeira together, and everybody here knew," Tom continued, his brow darkening. "That's why I didn't want to come back this year. I kept thinking about it, did I do something wrong, if only she'd said something, if only I'd asked her..." Vanessa was reminded of what he'd said the day she told him about her family. Don't expect people to read your mind. So this was where it'd come from.

"It kept playing in loops in my head 'til it drove me mad. But then I met you." He turned to her, his eyes tender, and her heart skipped a beat. "You're dealing with this fucking enormous amount of pain, and you're so brave about it..."

If only he'd known. How afraid she was, going to sleep every night not knowing if she was going to wake up, waking up every morning not knowing if it was going to be her last. How she hid behind her jokes and her nonchalant discussion of death.

"And it made me realize how pathetic my problem is." Tom gave her hand a squeeze. "While I'm with you, I don't think about Ruth much, and if I do, it doesn't hurt anymore."

He clearly meant well. And he must've come to trust her a lot, to confide in her like this. But Vanessa was hurt. Although she didn't want him to love her back, she had hoped he would like her as a friend, perhaps even miss her a little after she was gone. But to find out she was only a distraction, a way for him to forget his own heartbreak... It hurt, and she didn't know why.

"So I'm like your personal Total Perspective Vortex?" she said, finding refuge in humor as usual.

Tom was used to that by now. "Another of your references?"

"Well, I can try to relate on a human level, but it's better to do it via media," Vanessa said. Tom rolled his eyes playfully.

"Let me guess, a Doctor Who monster?"

"No, it's from Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. You know it?"

"'Course I do!" Tom said, putting on a show of being offended. Then he added, sheepishly, "Only saw the series once, when I was little. Don't remember much except for the green alien guy. Scared the shit out of me."

Vanessa smiled at his honesty. "It's this machine that when you step inside, it'll show you where you are in relation to the whole universe," she explained. "It gets used as a torture device, mostly."

Tom raised his eyebrow. "Did you just compare yourself to a torture device?"

"Maybe."

"Sometimes you can be a bit fucking dark, you know that?" Tom said, shaking his head at her.

"That's me, the queen of gallows humor," Vanessa grinned back, despite her fractured heart. At least she could still make him laugh.

Later that night, as he was carrying her to bed, Vanessa almost asked Tom to stay. It was so tempting in that moment, with his face close to her and her arms around his neck. But before she could open her mouth, Tom said, as if he could read her mind, "I can stay, if you want." He quickly added, "I'll sleep on the sofa. Give me a shout if you need anything."

A voice in Vanessa's mind told her she would only end up hurting herself. Another voice said it wouldn't matter anyway. It was painful to have him close, true, but it was a safe, almost pleasant kind of pain. "You wouldn't mind?"

"'No, 'course not."

"Then yes, please," she said quietly.

Tom tucked her in. "You're not a torture device, Vanessa Curran," he whispered, before dropping a kiss on her forehead.

Chapter 4

[niragixpsych]

This new prompt sounds really fun and I finally get to be the first (hopefully) to reply to one of these (yay me I guess.XD). So let's see:

Animals:

Bunny - This one's obviously related to the fact that people speculate Niragi is supposed to be the March Hare from Alice in Wonderland, but he do be cute like a bunny (and he probably has a sex drive like one too)

Tiger - Fierce and dangerous, that's for sure, but also majestic

Colors:

Black - Like the darkness of his soul I've noticed that most of his color pallet is black and in a way it suits him, kinda gives you the ominous vibe of mystery and intrigue he's certainly aiming for, but at the same time it's kinda drawing you in (it's hard to explain, but bear with me.XD)

Red - Oh, the color of both anger and fierce passion, this man could embody both really well depending on the context, if not both at the same time too.

Gold - I guess once you dig deep enough you might actually find something special underneath (I keep also on thinking about that line from Gasoline too since the song fits this man like a glove, y'know?)

Places:

You know these old and abandoned scary houses? - I'd say Niragi reminds me of one of those sometimes, since he's marked by many scars left by the harsh past that make him put on a very scary appearance to divert people from coming near him and he'd resigned himself to solitude. But thing is, just like with one of these houses, I feel that with the right amount of care and patience you could restore it to something beautiful. (Ah, I think my writer tendencies are coming back with these deep parallels, you'll have to excuse my old habits.XD)

Flowers (it might be odd to associate flowers with him, but I've got some stuff for this too since I found some prompt list with flower language, so I'mma use that for the meanings):

Red rose - Cause this man pricks you with his sharp thorns until he draws blood, but at the same time makes you love him passionately.

Calla lily - Beauty. This one's obvious: man is gorgeous, enough said.

Red columbine - Anxiety. Niragi surely suffers of some forms of anxiety if not PTSD from his past, since some of the symptoms of those are violent and very aggressive behavior in some cases.

Candytuff - Indifference. I hope it's no surprise to anyone that indifference is a trait that speaks Niragi, since it's easier to keep others away to get rid of any annoying presence.

Oak - Strength. Man is strong from all points of view, period.

Edelweiss - Courage and devotion. Again, I feel that if he were to open up to someone and accept them in his life as a friend or something more, he'd become very devoted to that person since they would have to mean something to him if he views them in that way.

Songs (I'll keep this short since I'm still working on a playlist for him):

I'd add here all the songs from your repertoire for Niragi, Gasoline having to take the lead in this one because the lyrics are deep and fit his complexity (thinking back to his manga version too). A misunderstood recluse. Oh, and also the "Love the way you lie" song fits the dynamic he'd prolly have in a relationship.

I hate everything about you by Three days Grace - He's volcanic, unpredictable and defines himself through hatred, so his love language would be scattered too by a back and forth between love and hate.

Animal by Three days Grace - Kinda self explanatory once you understand the lyrics.

Pain, again by Three days Grace - Relating to the fact he's a freaking masochist who'd rather inflict more hate from others and suffering just to feel alive.

Toxic by Britney Spears - Need I say more?XD

Criminal by Britney Spears - This is for all my fellas who love this man and have at least one ship with him.XD

I'm still here from Treasure Planet - I know, this song is related to parental neglect, but at the same time the lines about others not understanding you and wanting to change you to fit their standards make me think about how much he dislikes being told what to do and being sent "to therapy" by people around him. He just wants to be himself in a world that keeps on rejecting him.

Fifty shades by BoyEpic - Moving into sexy territory, hurah! This one's more for the perspective of a potential lover of his, since I'm sure as heck Niragi would be into some kinky stuff involving some form of hurting his partner.

Dirty mind by BoyEpic - Not much to say, just in relation to the fact I think he's into just enjoying some good sex not involving feelings.

Well, that's all I could remember for now. Phew, this was one heck of a ride.💀 Thanks for taking the patience to go through this!

~ Yours, The anon who keeps coming back no matter what

WHAT DO YOU ASSOCIATE MY MUSE WITH?

(( You're first and only one to send something in for this prompt/meme I'm not sure what it is to be honest.

If it comes to the animals - sex drive like a bunny is accurate if he has interest in someone, other than that it's just for passing the time and because they want it so bad -, colors and places I can see all of them too. And there are sure triggering things for him and he will always react differently to them. Also I'm not sure for my muse whether he is closer to anxiety or PTSD yet.

As for the songs Gasoline will always be one of my favorite songs for him. Toxic and Criminal by Britney Spears had me love because I think they fit for those that are into him. For the others I can see I why they fit in your eyes because of the vibe and the lyrics. Pain, again by Three days Grace I think I will add straight to my character inspo. Also maybe the Britney Spears ones just for the fun of it. I love the way you lie will stick too. I'm sure I will add more songs as I go. Still hanging on Wildfire a bit. lol But thank you for the other songs I will keep pondering over them.

[tragicallymisunderstand-ing]

I'm only writing on here because I've packed all my pens and paper off to the Midlands already.

How ridiculous. Skim off the non-essentials, I thought. Pack away and resign to the future that which I don't need to touch for weeks. I don't need to write. I can make any notes electronically.

And then the electronic obligations come pressing in from all sides. Sheets and cells and emails and links and forms both intuitive and janky to hell push notifications endless scrolling like slot machines

I escaped to the library today. Picked up the first book I liked the look of. Andrew Motion's Sleeping on Islands. And almost cried.

The kind of tears you cry when you are barely holding it together, but you have your lips pressed resolutely together like a petulant child, leaning into a strong headwind, eyes tearing only because of the wind of course, tears that don't fall but that are sniffed into and gather in sinuses, and then someone folds you into an embrace you did not dare ask for, because in an instant you are undone. You break completely and the pain pours forth from you.

From my fallible memory: poetry as independence... Poetry as the cousin of nonsense and tells the truth slantways... Poetry because when I am alone I hear sounds - rhythms and musical fragments - that only subside when translated into language... Poetry because it is solitary, and poetry because it makes that solitude communicative.

Help, I am drowning.

It's strange how we hanker for a lost world even as we know that our present one will presently be lost. I long for the elm-nested rooks of A.M.'s world, the frozen cattle troughs, the great expansive English oaks. A world where you could find and afford to rent a quaint dwelling with your young love, a world where you could legitimately pursue poetry and distill your essential being.

I don't deny, there is the engineer in me also. Meticulous, I love expressions, the eureka of pressures, valves and resistance, ergo. Physiology is wild mechanics that breathes. And if I can help other souls preserve their health and achieve their fulfilment also, so much the better.

I want the experience and expression of life, unfettered. I want that for everyone.

I believe that my love for poetry and my love for physiology are fundamentally the same. Both crafts, both puzzles that allow us to fully realise human experience.

So I write this because my commitment to the latter craft is eating me up, chewing the cud and spitting me out. I love you, but please leave a little me for what all this is for.

The Greats, the polymaths and the Renaissance men all had this luxury. I don't care about being great, but they all knew the importance of a varied diet. I was so lucky to have been nurtured on a varied diet as a child, handed out like nourishing treats by a knight of a different age. He once leaned out above Garret Hostel Lane and chuckled at his fellow students' twitterings ("...why don't you get her a ring a for her twenty-first and kill two birds with one stone?" "...when Angela came back she was a changed nurse!"). The castles still stand but that world is a relic now. I beg that I might still partake of my daily bread so that I might keep the life force that sustains me.

[thearchivistsjournal]

Day 357,

Author's Note/Content Warning: Stream of consciousness of dealing poorly with anxiety and fear of/resignation to death.

Coming out here and spending the day alone was a mistake.  The unwanted thoughts and fears keep creeping in.  I should have brought some records with me to keep working on the census project.  Then at least I would have had something to keep myself occupied while waiting for the laundry to dry.  But that would have risked exposing old books to the rain and I’d hardly be a good archivist if I took a selfish risk like that.  

Why am I even bothering with laundry of all the stupid, mundane things right now?  It’s not like - no, you, no, I, have to believe it will still be relevant.  Just like eventually having that talk with Lin and Cass will eventually be relevant.  Although… at least if it ends up otherwise, the archive will be in good hands.  She’s about as experienced with the job as I am at this point afterall.  

It’s comforting in a way.  If the worst happens no one really needs me.  What little Cass can’t handle in the library, she’s got Pat to cover for until she gets older.  And if she finds herself in need of a role model or mentor, she’s got Lin for that.  Maybe without me to latch onto she’ll finally make some friends her own age.  

Meanwhile, Vernon’s the most well-adjusted out of all of this and actually has a social life outside our little circle.  And Lin and Maiko have each other.  Happy as I am for those two, if I’m being completely honest it’s bittersweet seeing your two closest friends pair off and leave you as the proverbial third wheel.  It’s funny, I used to love the peace and quiet of solitude - still do at times - but after having gotten used to having someone around being alone feels, well, lonelier than it used to.  

Okay, stop all this.  Stop acting like you won’t be around after the next mist night.  Doesn’t matter what Theo said.  He didn’t even say anything would happen that soon.  What happened to “live like I expect to make it through this”?

But it’s hard.  It’s hard putting on a brave face.  It’s hard telling myself that things being out of my hands brings peace and not terrifying helplessness.  It’s hard believing that a life too good to be true will go on in the face of nightmares that feel even more real than waking.  It’s hard telling everyone that I’m fine.  But if I say or show or hint otherwise then they’ll worry and want to help and be unable to and that will hurt them and that would be even harder.  

Easier to try to keep it to myself and push through until it stops being a problem one way or the other.  Maybe that’s selfish to cut them out, but isn’t dragging them down with me a selfishness too?  I can’t tell which is the lesser evil, so may as well stick with the one I’m used to.  

I just want someone to hold me and tell me everything will be okay.  

Even if it’s a lie.  

Especially if it’s a lie.  

*******

Thank you.  

You’ve read all of this, haven’t you?  Not just the parts where I was alone and away from the Village so you could read over my shoulder as I write.  

Is that why you’ve grown kinder toward me?

Do you think you understand me better than you once did?

Am I more than entertainment to you now?

When the time comes, will you sing me to sleep?

*******

Most of today was fairly uneventful.  Got laundry done.  Made lunch.  Relaxed while waiting for the laundry to dry.  Packed up and returned to the Village in the late afternoon.

Had a bad moment, but it passed.

The nature sprite showed up briefly.

After dropping things off at the library and spending a little bit of time on preparations for school tomorrow I went out to the inn for dinner and another unscheduled telling.  It seems the others had the same idea for they waved me over when I walked in.  They were seated in a back corner rather than what had become our usual table.  They’d even talked Maiko into joining them somehow.  Probably the reason for the marginally more secluded seating arrangement.

The food was good.  The conversation was pleasant.  Looks like Maiko’s recovery is going to be a matter of days instead of weeks like Lin expected.  The question of whether Maiko will continue on at the forge is still to be answered.

I let Cass take the lead in deciding what stories to tell tonight.  As ever, the performance was well-received.  She’s good at this.  What’s more, she enjoys it.  It feels wrong to push her away from it.

Afterward Vernon went off on his own, Lin and Maiko left together (I know not if they went separate ways at the end or not), and I walked Cass home before retiring to the archive.  I worked some more on the extrapolated census.  I’m now writing this.  Next I shall go to bed.

<==Previous          Next==>

[ventisehe]

crying on their wedding day / genshin impact / part one

this was a request from my old account and i am only transferring it here. there is a part two to this but i got busy with school and organizing my new account, as well as thinking over deleting my old account.

since bennett is fifteen or sixteen, his part will be a little different from the others. with aether, he is hundred years old so his part if just like the rest. this is unedited and i wrote it at night when i was supposed to be farming so please bear with me hehe.

requested by: @bakuhoe-is-my-bakubro

includes: diluc, zhongli, childe/tartaglia, aether, bennett

warning: unedited, not proofread

part two

THOSE WHO WOULD SHED A SINGLE TEAR

     DILUC

      ��After losing his father and his horrible fall out with Kaeya, Diluc has become a firm believer that a man can truly live as an island, to some extent. As much as possible, he kept to himself and worked alone. Having people share his burdens with him did not appeal to him. In fact, it miffed him, as it made him feel indebted to them.

          He limited his interaction with everyone, especially those who are part of the Knights of Favonius, favoring solitude above else. But of course, this did not entail bad social ethics to others.

    He treated his maids and employees with civility and respect, the same can be said with his patrons whenever he worked behind the counter (it would certainly be bad for his business if he behaved aloof to them) and those he was once close friends with. He always behaved appropriately to them, although he must admit he can be quite insulting to the Knight, he always stood behind an invisible barrier, careful not to cross it and grow attached to anyone.

        He has long given up with amorous relationships. After all, what good would he be as a lover if he could not provide his woman the love and care she deserved? Surely, he cannot let a maiden suffer with his inadequacy as a potential husband. He is aware of how hectic his schedule is (he hardly has enough time for himself so spending time with his lover would be proven difficult) and how poorly he expresses his feelings, thoughts, and emotions. In a relationship, in marriage, communication is the key for it to be successful, and already then, he has failed. He may be a cold man at first glance, but he will not put a woman in s distressing dilemma, not intentionally anyway.

                    Being the richest man in Mondstadt and being considered attractive by many, Diluc was not foreign to having women throw themselves at him, attempting to seduce him. If maintaining a relationship with a woman with his current tribulations was hard, finding a woman who truly love and understand him was even harder. He has no means of deciphering who were pure with their intentions and those who sought him for his money and influence.

     And he accepted his fate without easily, without question. This was the way it was supposed to be in the first place. Diluc Ragnvindr - a lone man, who lived in too big mansion, sleeping on a bed too big for him. It was all he knew. The bright days of his childhood long forgotten.

    But then you came to his life so suddenly.

                          "Master Diluc," Began Jean, a polite smile over her lips. "This is ( Your Name )".

              All it took was for you to give him shy smile to have his walls broken down, and for his heart to yearn for what he has resolutely denied himself of for years. And it twisted him, and not in a way he welcomed.

          Diluc tried so damn hard to push you away. He avoided your presence, and made it his point to show you he wanted nothing to do with you, and made no attempt to cover it and ignored how his heart broke every time your smile fell. He resolutely refused to yield to your sincere advances.

                                     He treated you the same way be treated everyone, to show you how you were no different from everyone. You were just another dot in his life waiting to be erased and thrown in the back of his mind.

                                                       But the harder he pushed, the harder you pulled. In his brightest days and in his darkest days, you have never strayed far and welcomed him with open arms. You always went out of your way for him.

          It was hard not to fall in love with you? Why did you have to make things so difficult?

                        It wasn't too long until he was falling asleep in his bed with you in his embrace, his heart feeling light, warm and content. He hasn't feel like this in a long time - safe, and at home. Diluc found home from someone he tried to push away.

                                      The horror of what could have happened if he had been successful weighed down on him, and it took quite an assurance from you to make him remember that he has failed, and you were his, as he was yours.

                          Back then, he thought your persistence was bothersome. But as he stood at the altar right now, watching you enter with your white wedding dress, he was grateful you never gave up on him.

Diluc cannot describe how beautiful you looked as you graced everyone in the place with your presence.

Your eyes locked with him, and his heart soared in his chest. And when you smiled at him, an excited gleam in your eyes - he cannot help but smile back.

Time cannot be any slower, and the aisle cannot be any longer. And have you always walked this slow? Or were you just teasing him?

Diluc's breath hitched - Perhaps you knew how much he wanted to get this over with so he can have you all to himself in the comfort of his room.

And when he saw you smiling mischievously at him, he knew that he was right.

His words failed to describe how beautiful you looked. His words failed the joy he was feeling. May Barbatos have mercy on him

But the tear that escaped the corner of his eye explained everything.

"Oh, what is this?" His best man whispered beside him, a teasing tone lacing his voice. "Master Diluc is crying. Why, I never thought I'd see the day."

Diluc shot him a glare. "Do not make me regret making you my best man, Kaeya."

Kaeya laughed. "Ah, ah, ah," He chimed. "Your wife won't be pleased if we fight at your wedding day."

A warm and pleasant feeling coursed through him. His wife.

"She's not my wife yet." Said Diluc.

Kaeya looked at you as you walked down the aisle. "And in just a few minutes, I'll have two Ragnvindr to annoy." He patted his brother on the back, smiling a genuine smile for the first time. "Congratulations, Diluc."

     ZHONGLI

       Zhongli, or Rex Lapis for that time, has watched over Teyvat for thousands of years and has witnessed firsthand how kings and tyrants rose and fell, how kingdoms were born, how camaraderie are conducted, how romance makes a man foolish and blinded, how society flourished in the hands of mortals as Archons guarded them from their resting place, and throughout the tales of humans, his eyes has laid upon many beauties.

                   But you? Oh, even the most esteemed bard of all realms could never bring the satisfactory glory to your name and pulchritude.

            How dearly Zhongli missed the unspeakable power, money and authority he had back before he revoked his own position as a deity, keeping a close eye over Liyue and his people. But if ever presented with the opportunity to return to his rightful place as part of the Seven, he shall graciously decline, casting his gaze away and simply returning to your side.

                               After all, what benefit would he gain from it when he already has his heart is content in the possession of a mere mortal, a mortal he loved and adored. He would dream of ever choosing his old power over you, and that can be affirmed when he asked for your hand as the two of you took an evening stroll outside Liyue.

                 He has fallen for you and he cannot rise again. A gentle and kind woman with an understanding and patience which knows no bounds. If not for his revelation that he has accomplished all his duties and has come to decide to resign from his reign, your existence may be another reason for him to take the form or a mortal and ask for your hand.

                      He can still recall that faithful day when he first met you at the harbor. He stood by a high balcony, overlooking Liyue Harbor with arms crossed. The sun beat down against Liyue grounds and his skin, but it also casted an ethereal glow on you as you exited one of the ships that stopoed at the docks. And may he boldly say the sun was outshined that day, and his heart has been taken.

                                         Zhongli can only imagine how many men has chased after you, but failed to woo you.

                   Zhongli understood the concept of love. After all, Liyue and every living being that sought shelter in its walls were close to his heart, but never in his life has he felt the way he felt for you. It was the sort of phenomena he observed between lovers for centuries - unconditional love and care, a sanctuary in the arms of their beloved, an individual to trust and come home to whether the day has been kind or unkind.

           What he thought were trivial matters and the means of mortals for survival he has tasted its sweet flavor, and it was by your hand did he receive it. And he was thankful that you have found him worthy of being with you, and soon, being one with him in the contract of marriage.

And thus came the faithful day, the very day he longed to come ever since you have accepted him as your husband to be, and the day you have dreamt of every night you laid with him.

Zhongli counted the months, weeks, days, and if he had the ability to, minutes until the day of your wedding. He has a calendar in his room and everyday, he enthusiastically crossed out every passing day, watching as his wedding with you grow closer.

And when it finally arrived, Zhongli followed a meticulous routine to prepare himself, using expensive oils and perfume to which the Fatui money has provided splendidly. After all, he wanted to look the best he can for you. You deserved only the best of things, and he shall not hold back on anything to please you.

Though Zhongli, most of the time, was a calm man even under the eye of tribulations, when he stood at the altar in front of his close friends and colleagues, he can't help but feel anxious.

Of course he has no doubt in your love for him. He holds on your every word of love and affection as true, and his love for you was as hard as stone. Rather, it was he who doubted himself and his capabilities.

He wondered if he would be able to take care of you, love you the way you should be, bring a smile to your lips, and a laugh out of your mouth. If he had been Rex Lapis still, he would have easily uphold his duties as your husband. After all, what can an Archon not do?

It would be Childe, his best man, who would console him. He would tell Zhongli he is more than capable to care for you. He has a stable job (not to mention his connection with the Fatui), he was eager to please you and give you about everything if he can, he has a kind heart, he was a man who can manage his time wisely and never choose his profession over you, and above all, he loved you. Not many men can afford the luxury of being this perfect, but Zhongli was no man, not originally at least.

He will be unconvinced of what Childe has said. This unease in him was hard to diminish. Not being enough for you will tear him apart. The thought of it just gnawed at him. Will he make you happy? Will you regret marrying him when you realized life married to him wasn't as you expected?

It was only when the doors opened, and his wide and anticipative eyes darted over to the other end of the place did every little doubt in his mind is erased.

You stood by the entrance wearing the white dress you have fought hard not to show him until this day.

That bright smile on your face, those eyes that shimmered at the sight of him, the faint red on your cheeks - Zhongli did not even notice how love stricken he looked, and nor did he notice a tear cascade from corner of eye.

It was only when Childe stifled a laugh and pointed it out did he feel the dampness at the side of his face.

He forgot how to breathe when you finally stood before him. Even a veil cannot conceal your beauty.

With twinkling eyes, you smiled at him - like he was the only person in the room.

"Are you crying?" You ask playfully.

Zhongli will let out a chuckle, and as he take your hands in his, he said, "In such a beautiful day like this with the loveliest lady in Teyvat before me, how can I not?"

Indeed it was a beautiful day, made better when your lips met his.

He can't stop a few more tears from slipping.

THOSE WHO WOULD BAWL THEIR EYES OUT

     CHILDE/TARTAGLIA

                 Childe understood his duties as a Harbinger even if his playful and flirtatious facade may say otherwise. He kissed hands of women and paid them golden compliments until their mind went hazy with his feigned affection, but he was still a Fatui at the end of the day - a ruthless and greedy scoundrel who had too much Mora in his hands.

              And it was because of his line of work that he decided never to commit himself. If he was to find himself infatuated with a woman and she reciprocated his feelings and desired to pursue a relationship with him, it would inevitably drag her to the dangers entailed to his position.

                                       The last thing he wanted was someone to dear to him to be harmed, not to mention his lover could become his weakness, she could be taken by his enemies and be used against him, thus, making things more complicated and harder for him to fulfill his duties to the Tsaritsa.

             To him, nothing is more important than seeing through his mission with the finest quality of work he can give.

                   So damn you for coming into his life and distracting him. Damn you for bringing another bright to his life. Damn you for taking care of his family when he was gone. Just - damn you for making him fall for you.

      He hated this - the feeling of being weak, of being vulnerable, of laying his guard down. One touch from you and he's no better than the people he despised for being so frail and powerless.

                                              How ever do you possess this prowess to make him so dependent on you, to relish in your voice when you sing to him as the two of you laid together in his bed, how he let his defenses crumble when you whisper his name, the tug of his heart when you he sees you getting along so well with his family.

                          Childe wanted you. He wanted you more than anything and anyone in Teyvat. He was going crazy thinking about you.

             He refused to acknowledge his feelings at first, thinking perhaps he can use you to comfort him and his family in these troubling times. That's all you were supposed to be, a tool for him to make his family feel better whenever he goes off to accomplish his work as a Harbinger.

                              But he couldn't stomach the thought of using you like that. He didn't want you to treat like a toy. And it did not help that one day, when he was returning from a mission, you come rushing to him and blurting out your feelings and your worry for his safety.

               You loved him. Did he hear you right? You love a Fatui, and a Harbinger, no less. Surely, you aren't that stupid to fall for him.

     And yet he smiled a sincere smile at your confession, and he too followed your steps. That night, he was at his weakest. Just relishing in your arms and ridding all the responsibilities over his shoulders. He can forget all his faults for a moment, with you. A peace of mind and heart was found in you.

     Childe watched as you played with his fingers, and then he spoke. “Aren’t you afraid?”

       You hummed. “Afraid? Of what?”

                   Childe shook his head and held your hand which toyed with his digits. You looked up at him, puzzled.

              “Of me.” Said Childe, pulling your hand and holding it close to his chest. He closed his eyes, almost terrified of what your answer can be. “Of what I can bring to your life. I’m a Harbinger, [ Your Name ]. Your life is at stake just being with me. Do you know what you’re in for for loving me?”

                        You gazed at him, and he can’t see anything in your eyes. He let out a small gasp when you leaned in and kissed his cheek.

            “I’m not afraid of you or anything this world can throw at me.” You confessed. “You’re going to protect me, Tartaglia. I know you will. I trust you. I love you.”

                            And fucking hell, did he protect you.

                                          He tried to hide you from his fellow Harbingers, and especially to his enemies. Not because they will use you to get the upper hand against him, a leverage. No, he wanted to hide you, as long as he can anyway (because it won't be long until his secret is out, walls do have ears), to protect you. No one will lay a hand or even get a single strand of your hair. May the Archons have mercy on anyone who dares put you in the middle of the dangers of his job, because he surely won't.

Because of this, you and Childe decided to get married in secret, with no one else but Zhongli, the traveler, and their floating companion to be your witnesses in becoming one. The two of you knew well of the consequences your decision shall birth, but it's the one you're making. Nothing in this can stop Childe from making you his wife, and treating you as such.

Childe could not wait for the ceremony to begin. Even with such a small crowd - very small indeed - he did not hold back to make this day special for you. The finest of everything is what you deserved, and if he could give more, he would. But for now, all he can give you is himself, and he dearly wished he was enough.

The whole time, as he waited for you to emerge from the doors of the small cathedral the two of you chose to be wed in, he kept imagining how his life would be like with you.

Waking up beside you was the thing he looked forward to the most. When the sunrays peeked from closed curtains and cascaded down your slumbering form, a gentle and even breaths leaving your lips, a soft expression of rest - the thought of it filled his heart with warmth, a kind of warmth only you can evoke from him.

Waking up at your side on his bed always reminded him thst you were indeed there, and his. Soon, he'll be waking up beside you with a soft smile on his lips, a reminder that you were there, but now as his wife.

Childe never really considered him emotional. It was part of his discipline as a Harbinger never to let his emotions get the better of him. But when you stepped into the cathedral wearing the wedding dress you personally chose and had hidden from him for so long, a veil over your face but the soft smile still just as bright as the morning sun, it all came crashing down to him.

Childe wanted a lot of things in life. But what he wanted the most was to spend the rest of his life with you - providing for you, protecting you, comforting you, falling deeper in love with your every single day. All this he will do until his dying breath, and he knew you'd do the same.

His dream was walking towards him, never taking her eye off him as she approached the altar.

He can hear Paimon clapping and the Traveler reprimanding her for being a little too loud. He can hear Zhongli saying something to him but he couldn't understand a word he said. But he was too lost in his realization that you're going to marry him.

You chose him, a man with too many faults and imperfections.

Just as you arrived at the small steps leading towards the altar, the tears Childe has been trying to hold back streamed down his face, small hiccups escaping his lips.

You stared at him, worried. "Tartaglia, are you alright?"

Childe would try to formulate an answer but through his tears and hiccups, he couldn't make a single comprehensible word. His posture was regal and proper, as though he was trying to fool everyone that he wasn't crying.

How can you ask if he was alright? How can his heart handle how beautiful you looked right now?

"Excuse me, ( Your Name )," Zhongli interjected as he stepped beside Childe. "It seems that your soon to be husband needs a moment to collect himself. Please, excuse us."

Zhongli led Childe back to his room, and the Harbinger did not fight back. He was still crying even when the doors has closed behind him. Zhongli stood by the door, watching the Fatui sit on his bed, trying to stop himself from bawling.

Childe can feel guilt crawling up to him as he realized what he had done. What was supposed to the most perfect day, your most perfect day, was ruined because of him.

He was scared to think what you thought of him now. Were you resenting him for what happened? Did you still wish to marry him?

If only he had controlled his emotions much better. He shouldn't have let his joy break through him in tears.

"She was crying too, you know," Spoke Zhongli.

Childe raised his head to look at the former Archon. "Huh?"

"Your bride, she - " He smiled at him. " - she was crying too. She's happy to be marrying you."

Childe can feel his heart hammering against his chest in delight at what he said.

"So don't keep her waiting."

Childe bawled his eyes out once more when the words - "I do," - left your lips.

     AETHER

                 When his sister was taken from him, Aether was a lost and wandering soul in Teyvat with the sole purpose of finding her.

              Throughout his journey, he met different people from different regions. He learned their values and cultures, he grew to love the world he used to be a stranger to, he was able to utilize different sorts of Visions, and yet, despite all of this, Aether was lonely. Paimon - bless her pure soul - tried her best to keep his spirits and bring a smile to his face (he assumed she too felt the hollowness inside of him) but it was all futile as he often find himself seeking solitude and gazing out in an open field wondering where his twin could be and how she was fairing on her own.

                He will let the cool breeze comfort him, but all it left was a searing kiss of reality that his search might have been all for naught. That very concept his mind was conjured haunted him in his every waking days. Is he still journeying through Teyvat and reaching out to all Archons with a solid purpose? Was he no wasting his time looking high and low for someone who could not be looking at the sky as he?

                     "And what if she is?"

                                     Your words is what got his attention. Aether met you in the evening when the stars and the moon was absent from the skies. He sat on a fallen log overlooking the city of Mondstadt, alone and cold. Paimon has insisted in him accompanying him, but he had snuck away before she can chase after him. He needed to be alone with his thoughts, and with the scarce time he has for himself, he has to make the most of every night that comes.

                 Lumine was in his mind, and worry was gnashing its teeth at him. He was deep in his own world, sinking to the hands of his tragic thoughts, that he did not hear footsteps trekking the hillock he was at. Nor did he realize he was speaking his own worries in the air, eyes distant and staring blankly at nothing.

       "What if she's not even looking for me?" That's what he remembered saying that time.

                                       Then you made your presence known with an answer that refuted his initial thought. He whirled his head to the side, wide eyes with surprise. You stood next to him with a faint smile, hands behind your back and the moon slowly peeking from the shroud of clouds. A light in the darkness, the moon was. And so you were you to him.

                "Sorry," You apologized, sheepishly giving him a smile as you rubbed the back of your neck. "I didn't mean to interrupt. You were speaking out loud and-and I just had a feeling I needed to say something." You took in a deep breath, and Aether found the pink dusting your cheeks adorable. "I . . . I'll just go now - "

              Aether didn't regret asking you to stay.

                                   Before you came to his life, Aether did not know how much he was dwelling in the own hell he made. His inner tribulations, his worries, his insecurities - he only took notice the torture he was putting on himself when you keep saving him from his own mind.

                   At first, all he thought of you was a precious friend - someone he leaned on and entrusted with everything, whether it be secrets or help with his quests. He told you about his past, his twin, how exactly he was different from the people of Teyvat, how he and sister fought an unknown god, how she slipped from his fingers when he reached out for her, how much he wanted her back. He was terrified of what you may think of him when he told you these things, but to his surprise, all you did was wrap him in your arms and comforted him.

                                      Along with Paimon, you were his dearest friend.

             But as time passed, the longer you accompany him and Paimon in his travels, he noticed something strange. The way his heart skipped a beat when you smile at him, how he can't keep his eyes off you when you laugh at one of his tales, how his heart hammered ceaselessly when you press a chaste kiss on his cheek, the relief that seeps in his system when he sees you unscathed from a battle, how irritated he becomes when someone makes an offense against you, the joy that seizes him when he listens to you talking about something you loved, and how much he adored it when you scold him for being a little too reckless in fighting.

                           Aether, despite being older than he seems, did not know what to make of what he was feeling. It was strange, a good kind of strange - the kind of feeling that makes him feel like he was floating in the sky. All he thought of it was an overwhelming adoration for a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

                  It wasn't until Paimon pointed it out did he realize what he was feeling for you.

                                           Upon learning his feelings for you, Aether couldn't sleep for many nights. He was plagued with the desires of his heart and his insecurities. It was like falling back to the same hellish pattern before you came along.

              He was in this world for one reason only - to find his twin. And when he does - and he fucking will - he will depart from here with her and continue their travels. Leaving you was the last thing he wanted. He couldn't bear the thought of it. It felt like leaving a piece of him behind in Teyvat, a hole in the shape of your name.

                            The solution he had for this is directly confessing to you. Of course, the blond was a nervous wreck when he approached you and asked for a moment of your time. Paimon knew of his plan and wandered away for the time being, wanting to give the two of your privacy.

              If you did not share the same feelings as he, he can already imagine the pain he will have to deal with, but it'll be much easier to leave. At least then he knows you won't be as hurt as he thought once he takes his leave. He never entertained the idea of you reciprocating his feelings. It would be foolish to - surely you can't find anything appealing with someone like him ; to which you rendered him speechless and a bumbling mess when you pressed your lips against his when he was in the middle of his confession.

                                 Aether shouldn't be this happy with you. He loved you too much to see you hurt when he tells you that he must leave. He was not welcome in this world, he was an outsider, a being not under the authority or influence of any Archons.

     But still, he spent months loving you, caring for you, doing anything to come back to you no matter what is thrown at him. He loved having you in his arms when you slept, he loved watching the stars with you at night, he loved you even with the inevitable arguments you two have - Aether was utterly and hopeless in love with you.

                     And thus, he decided to tell you what will happen after he finds his sister.

                      He knew he would be heart broken in seeing you cry, but it hurt more to see you smile at to him so genuinely and embraced him, saying, "You used to doubt you'll ever find your sister. It broke my heart everyday seeing you so hopeless, and I - " You composed yourself, shaking your head as your tried to gather your thoughts. " - now look at you," You cupped his cheek, the corners of your eyes wrinkling as your smile broadened. "I always knew the day will come when you have to leave me. When you told me you weren't from this world, I knew then I'll have to let go of you someday. But until that day comes - Aether - "

               What a shock it came to him when you got down on one knee and presented to him a glittering ring - there was unconditional love and hope in your eyes. It was like looking back at his reflection. "Marry me, Aether, let me make you happy for the rest of the days we still have remaining until you leave."

                                   Aether can never say no to you.

To his surprise, Master Diluc has already agreed to host your wedding at Dawn Winery. Aether was puzzled as to why he seemed unsurprised by the news of his engagement with you, and the Claymore wielding male answered, "( Your Name ) came to me for help when she planned to propose to you."

Aether knew Diluc, as much as possible, wanted to be alone. A lone wolf, he was. But with gratitude for what he has done, he asked him to be his best man. Diluc was startled by this requests but obliged. The red head might not show it but he was immensely flattered by Aether asking him to be his best now (and now time to subtly show it off to Kaeya).

At the day of the wedding, contrary to what he thought he would feel, Aether woke up with his an ache in his chest. He found himself looking out the window of his room, torn between his happiness and sorrow.

In a few hours, Aether will be able to adorn a ring on your finger, symbolizing your promises with one another. He shall be granted the sole blessing of calling your his wife. It was something he was looking forward to - seeing you in your wedding dress, watching as you walk down the aisle -

But Aether's mind kept drifting back to his sister - She would have wanted to be here. He thought.

Aether felt like he was committing a crime when he decided to take a walk just hours before his wedding. But he needed to clear his mind. Lumine never left his mind. He always thought that they would always be there for one another, or at least in big moments like this.

And yet she was still nowhere to be seen.

Is she still alive? Have I been wasting time? Is she still in danger? Is she lost in Teyvat as well?

"Didn't expect to run into you here."

His body tensed when he heard your voice, and he twirled around only to have his breath taken away.

You stood before him in the white dress he had longed to see ever since you proposed to him. He thought he would see a frown on your face, dismayed for his impromptu walk, but you wore a soft smile - a soft and understanding smile.

Aether did know what to say to you. He just stared at you, overwhelmed.

He opened his mouth to speak but he couldn't say anything. His shoulders slumped, and he sighed.

You approached him and kissed his cheek. He hummed in delight, eyes closing. "I hope you're not having second thoughts on marrying me." You told him.

Aether was quick to respond. He took your hand in his and kissed your knuckles. He looked into your eyes with affirming hues, "There is nothing I'm more sure of than marrying you."

You beamed at him. Seeing your face brighten up is always a beautiful sight for Aether, and it was enough for him to feel enlightened in the midst of his internal crisis.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Of course you can already tell something is bothering him. Aether shook his head. He has already ruined a small part of what is supposed to be a perfect day, he can't risk another mistake.

"I'm not going to push you to tell me anything." You stated.

Aether smiled. "Thank you." He replied. He gazed at you for a little while, taking you in. "Why are you out here anyway? And in your wedding dress too."

Your eyes widened and you looked down to assess his evaluation. "Oh Archons," You mewled. "I forgot I was wearing this." You let out a groan. "Great, now my surprise is ruined. I won't be able to see you cry when you see me walk down the aisle."

He laughed a little. "But still happy as ever to see you." He said. "So why are you outside?"

"Just . . . " You began, and Aether can detect a hint of nervousness in your voice. " . . . picking some flowers."

"I thought we already ordered flowers." Aether thought, frowning. "Did someone forget to deliver the flowers? I can call someone if - "

"No, I just wanted to pick some flowers, randomly. Like how you wanted to take a walk, randomly."

He looked at you with hesitant eyes. He didn't believe you. There was something hidden behind your motive to be out here. But like how you didn't press him with what was the problem, he did the same for you.

"Okay," He breathed out. "What flowers did you pick then?"

Aether's breath hitched when you pulled out a bundle of Windwheel Asters and several more flowers that was all too familiar with him.

He stared at the white flowers that combined with your Windwheel Asters, the very flowers that he remembered adorned his sister's hair.

"Aether? Aether are you okay?"

He stared at you with glistening eyes, his heart blossoming with adoration and gratitude. Without even meaning to, you managed to make everything alright.

"Yeah," He smiled at you. "I'm okay."

Aether thought when he stood at the altar, he would have Diluc trying to soothe his nerves as his insecurities slowly sink in his mind. But it didn't happen. Diluc merely stood by him with a relaxed expression, glancing at him every now and then.

"You don't look nervous at all." Diluc remarked.

Aether chuckled. "This is the only decision I fully know I won't regret."

Aether felt like it was his first time seeing you in your wedding dress. His heart was filled with the brim with utmost joy, but what caught his attention was the bouquet of flowers in your hands.

You told him before that you will have roses as your bouquet, but to his surprise, he can see the Windwheel Asters and the white flowers that reminded him of his sister.

His emotions was all over the place. He had no idea how he could look so calm. Somehow he managed to hold himself together until you finally stood before him.

When you stared at him behind the veil, he couldn't take it anymore. You were too perfect. How could he be so blessed with you?

Tears sprung to his eyes when you reached out to take his hands in yours. He retracted one of them to rub his arm across his eyes, wiping away the wetness that streamed to his face.

Why am I crying like a child in my wedding? Stop it!

He couldn't.

He only cried harder when you leaned forward, removed his arm from his eyes, made him look into your vibrant hues, to give a small peck on his lips - "You're okay, Aether."

     BENNETT

                 Bennett understood his bad luck more than anyone. He had lived with and through it his entire life he graced the surface of the earth. It was almost pitiful to see the boy smiling ever so brightly as misfortune after misfortune comes hurtling his way, but to him? It was an everyday and normal occurrence, nothing he hasn't seen or experienced before. His spirits has never let their roaring flame vanish, however, and if it had not been for his bad luck, everyone would have been drawn to his warm, welcoming, affable, and cheerful soul.

                                 But just because he was used to the constant array of debacle thrown his way, doesn't mean there were never days where he won't be upset over everything it brought to his life, and others as well, and wonder how long it will take until his unluckiness will lead him back to the very situation he was rescued from when he was a mere baby.

          He forgot how long it was when he had experienced something good, miraculously so. The only time he can recall being so was when he encountered the Honorary Knight, convened with them as a temporary adventure team, and found a treasure chest containing items he has only dreamed of in his sleep deep within a domain. However, that was many moons ago, and nothing has ever compared to it ever since. The moment he departed from the Honorary Knight, his bad luck came instantly to bite him.

                 It was far too long ago. Sometimes, Bennett wondered if that would be the only good thing that can happen to him in his lifetime, and thank the Archons he was wrong because the very worst day that came upon him is a day he will never exchange for another - the day he met you. When it was raining, thunder in the distance, lightning striking trees and soil, his bruised and bleeding form hardly covered under a small and flimsy tent, you graced him with your presence, and an umbrella which you used to cover both of you.

                                    He had never stopped admiring you ever since. His eyes always followed you, wide and shining. He remembered the warmth in his chest and the redness tinting his cheeks when you brought him to your abode and treated his wounds with care gentler than the Deaconess. When he told you what happened to him, he anticipated to he shoved out of the house immediately and have your front door slammed on his face, but you did not. When he warned you about his curse, telling you how you will be affected when you spend a little too much time with him, the look of fright did not cross your visage and you even insisted that he not leave your house until you were sure he was capable of moving without pain, even if you had instantly been affected by his unluckiness (you pricked your finger quite badly when you were stitching a deep wound of his. He always felt guilty for that and has not stopped offering his apologies whenever it pricks the corner of his mind).

                   Other than the team of adventurers who had saved him from peril when he was a baby, it was difficult to find someone who will stay with him, through bad times and more of it. One cannot simply imagine and comprehend the confusion and happiness that seized him when he found out you were spending more and more time with him, not out pity but because you enjoy his company (which was weird, but he'll take it).

                              You possessed no Vision, but Bennett never saw you in an inferior light. In fact, it impressed him how you can hold yourself without the aid of any power. Enemies took a little longer to eradicate but ultimately, you were always successful. He held you in high regard, and very much like a certain blond traveler, the poor boy thought it was merely friendship and respect he felt towards you. After all, wouldn't a friend accompany him in his adventures no matter what disappointing or gratifying the outcome is? Wouldn't a friend prepare meals for him before he goes off on a solo expedition? Wouldn't a friend stay up late up waiting for him to return after? Wouldn't a friend welcome him by the entrance of Mondstadt upon his arrival? Wouldn't a friend give him butterflies in his stomach? Wouldn't a friend make his heart pound in a way

                  It had taken the Traveler and his floating companion for Bennett to learn about how exactly he was feeling for you.

           He liked you, and not in the way he liked the traveler or Razor - he liked liked you.

                               When he realized about his feelings, Bennett nearly short circuit every time you go near him. His face flush a rich color of vermillion, his confident posture stripped down to a coy and uncertain stance, his eyes darted and never meeting yours for too long, a sheepish smile painted over his brims - Bennett had never felt this way before. It was foreign to him - liking someone - and it was worse for him because you were his one of his few friends (you, Razor, the Traveler and their floating friend), and having you withdraw from him if you ever learned his feelings frightened him more than any Ruin Guard could.

    He didn't bother entertaining the idea of you returning his feelings. With his bad luck, it was bound to end in a rejection, and he didn't believe he had the heart to accept the hurt that would come.

                 Bennett tried to keep his feeling a secret, he really, genuinely, did. He locked his feelings for you in a box and stowed away somewhere behind his mind. But it didn't take you too long to catch on. Bennett's theatrics wasn't as impenetrable as he originally thought because there was no other reason for you to corner him in a street in Mondstadt after he tried to avoid crossing paths with you, and admit your feelings to him.

                                  "( Your Name )," Stuttered Bennett, eyes darting to the side to avoid your eyes as he pressed his back against the wall behind him. You gazed at him, a tint of red over your cheek.

                 Archon, how are you so adorable?

                   "Uh, hi," He greeted meekly, as he rubbed the back of his head. "I-I was just about to leave for an adventure - "

                               "Bennett," You spoke, and he froze at the tone of your voice.

                   He looked at you properly, gulping. Shy eyes, shy smile, shy, shy, shy - and yet somehow, Bennett thought the worse - that you found out about his feelings and was about to turn him down.

          He almost got down on his knees and press his hands together in a praying position, head bowed, and beg to keep your friendship. It didn't matter if you did not share his feelings. You were more important than his stupid feelings. He can deal with the hurt of rejection that will soon to come, but losing you completely? Can he even come to terms with that?

                                But before he can do such humiliating display, you leaned in and pressed a kiss on his cheek,

                  It was almost too good to be true, and with someone like him, Bennett had to take a moment to comprehend what has happened. His feelings were reciprocated, opposite of what should have been considering his dilemma. How can this be? He was sure your friendship would be put to an end when you learn about what he felt for you. How did you even know that he liked you? Has he been too obvious? Surely not (he was). Perhaps you were merely toying with him, discovering his feelings and choosing to use it as a way to alleviate your boredom -

                                           Horror struck him when he processed the message behind his doubt. How could he think so little of you? Someone as sweet and kind as you would be repulsed by the intention of the actions he thought you were presenting to him. Prideful as this may sound, Bennett believed he knew you enough to know you were sincere in everything you do.

            But even if both your feelings are revealed to be mutual, the two of you agreed to wait until a certain age before forming a romantic relationship. The two of you are young and there are a lot more the world can offer outside Mondstadt. There are countless of opportunities to grow and be mature, to be able to have a set of qualities to take of one another.

                            But that didn't mean the two of you easily managed to hold back showcasing your favor for the other. Bennett will always find himself exchanging secret glances and smile with you whenever a third party joins in on your adventure. He would stick by your side in situations he think could potentially lead you to a major injury. He will attempt (and fail, unfortunately) to whip you up with something delicious when he has free time. And you did the same to him.

                  With you, there was never a time where his heart wasn't beating against his chest. He can't stop himself from bounding recklessly through his adventures whenever you accompany him, although he will still keep a close eye on you just in case something bad happens to you (but it's always him who ends up injured).

                                              But what he liked the most are the kisses the two of you share. Short, chaste, and shy - whether it be behind closed doors, when others are looking away, or when the two of you set of on an adventure.

            Bennett would lay in his bed with a smile on his face, his thundering heart preventing him from sleeping. He'll often find himself burying his face against his pillow, grinning from ear to ear.

                         This smile was different. This wasn't smile that he usually wore, the kind of smile that persevered through hardship after another. No, it was the sort of smile that was too carefree and too full of utmost joy, no worries or doubts in his heart. Everyday he always woke up to the excitement of adventure, but now, the excitement of it and seeing you once again always had him brimming with the want for the night to be over with so he can chase after his dreams with you. Chasing his dreams with you, what a life.

      His world is full of a bad luck, but he thanked the Archons for giving him someone he can depend on in the troubling waters he always he seem to drown in.

Bennett, embarrassing it may sound, often laid on his bed imagining about marrying you.

He can see himself making a fool out of himself when he gets down on one knee and propose to you. It'll be set in the most beautiful place he discovered in one of his adventure, somewhere quiet. Like maybe on top of a mountain overseeing a vast field.

Because of his bad luck, he'll try to prepare for every outcome. To be very sure everything will be saved, he made sure he created a plan B for his plan A, a plan C for his plan B, and so on, and so forth.

He can imagine himself fumbling over his words, blushing a bright red was made prominent because of his white hair, holding a bunch of hand picked flowers a little too tightly, sweat pouring from his face, his suit and hair a little ruffled -

If you say yes (spoiler alert, you will), he will most probably go haywire with shock and happiness, causing him to drop the ring down the mountain, and the two of you will spend quite some time looking for it. But in the end, you two will find it somewhere deep underground or deep underwater (to which you will ask help to retrieve) (Bennett offered to go down to get the ring but you can’t take any chances) and then you can start planning the wedding.

If Bennett had backup plans for his proposal, then expect there'll be much more backups with your wedding. He needed this day to be perfect for you, and his bad luck won't stop him from providing it for you. Even if he had to fight through horde after horde of Hilichurls (please stop him when he does, he definitely will do that for you), making you happy is his top priority.

Bennett will be extremely anxious the day before the wedding. He'll be pacing around his room, and has half a mind of running over to your place and spending the night there to reassure himself that you still want to marry him, and that you’re absolutely sure you want to spend the rest of your life with him. It will be Razor - who the Traveler spent hours teaching the basic information of the role of Best Man to - who will calm his nerves. He’ll stop Bennett from reaching your house and carry him back to his own, and giving him a lecture (he did his best) like the best man he was.

Was he having second thoughts on marrying you? No way! He will just be nervous about how the wedding will go. With his bad luck, something horrible is bound to happen.

At the day of the wedding, Bennett can imagine himself constantly seeking reassurance from his best man.

"What if I mess up?" Questions Bennett to Razor, anxious hands fiddling with his tie.

"Messing up is . . . normal." Razor will reassure him, but Bennett will shake his head.

“But it's me. When I mess up, it's always . . . catastrophic . . . ”

Bennett hoped that at least for his wedding way, everything will go smoothly. A perfect day, for you and for him. He won't embarrass you or himself. He won't forget the rings, he won't have his clothes tucked inside out, he will not spill any food or drinks on himself or on his guests, there will be no random Hilichurl attacks - none of that.

He really hoped for the Archons to spare him from his bad luck. 

He will be able to stand by the altar with confidence and a smile, waiting for you to walk down the aisle.

As Bennett is consumed with his thoughts, his eyes drew to the small table at the side of his bed and caught sight of the picture of the two of you perched on the surface. It was a picture you took with a kamera after one of his adventures. The two of you smiling happily as he showcased the loot of vegetables and wheat he gathered in numerous luxurious chests. It was good day, that picture was. He found more resources than usual. Of course, he learned from the Traveler that most of the chest they found contained treasures but hey, vegetables are better than nothing, right?

Bennett stared at your smiling face and can feel the heat creep on his cheeks as he imagined you in a pretty, white wedding dress, smiling at him so shyly and cute - oh, Archons, help him. May them have mercy on him. Of course, you always looked pretty to him - so, so pretty - but in your wedding day? Archons, he doesn't know if he can take that. It'll be too much for his big heart.

He can only imagine how your wedding will play out, but there is one thing he was sure of and that is that he will burst into tears once he laid his eyes upon you - and not the soft cry most men do in their wedding, oh, not at all like that. His heart is too big with too much love for you, and too soft to control his emotions properly.

Bennett will cry (bawl, actually), his tears of joy coming in streams, and it was loud enough for strangers to think he was grieving over a deceased loved one. He was hiccupping and sobbing, will probably be holding on to his vest tightly as if his entire lifeline depended on the pressure of how he crumpled the fabric. He hoped that in that time, Razor or the Traveler will lend him a hand and calm him down before he can ruin his own wedding.

Bennett, as he happily imagined that fateful day to come in the future (spoilers again, it will) did not feel a tear slip from the corner of his eye as he drifted off to a pleasant slumber with a beaming smile.

The boy absolutely adores you.

[seijorhi]

Bully ~ Part II

Oikawa Tooru x female reader (+ Iwaizumi Hajime)

TW dub/non-con, bullying, slight degradation, voyeurism, filming, implied abuse, one mention of slapping, nsfw

Part I

‘Honey, it’s your choice. Whatever you decide to do, we’ll respect.’

The final whistle sounds, the team gathering up in a huddle and with a sigh you dutifully close your books and begin to pack them away into your bag. They still have to pull down all the nets and tidy up, but that never takes too long and the sooner you’re all out of here the better.

The sooner you can get away from them, the better.

It’s become routine at this point for you to slowly make your way down to the edge of the court while they duck into the locker room; the other third years acknowledging you with friendly enough smiles, the underclassmen no longer staring at you in vague confusion. 

But at this point you’re truly beyond caring what any of them think of your relationship with their Captain. 

Except instead of filing out like the rest of his teammates, Oikawa’s still on the far side of the court, trapped in a conversation with Coach Irihata and Mizoguchi. For a split second, his attention shifts towards you, lingering awkwardly by the big double doors, and you think you catch a flicker of irritation in his eyes – which is unusual, considering that he’s made this game his life and he has nothing but the greatest respect for both of the men before him. 

But it doesn’t really matter, you suppose. You’ll wait for him, whether it’s five minutes or fifty and he’ll either tell you what’s pissing him off, or he won’t and he’ll end up using you to work out his frustrations anyway.

With your parents away for the rest of the week and your house otherwise empty, you can only pray to any god that’ll listen that he won’t try and spend the night. Not that there’s much you can do to stop him, but a girl can dream, right?

The others are heading off, Makki laughing off some biting comment from Kyoutani, but you pay them no mind. Despite being the people you now spend the majority of your time with, they’re not your friends. 

You resign yourself to trudging back up into the stands to wait for Oikawa to finish up when a hand gently wraps around your arm, spinning you around. You start, every muscle in your body tensing on instinct, but as you come face to face with familiar olive eyes you relax – it’s only Iwa.

He regards you silently for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face before he glances over your shoulder to where Oikawa’s still talking with the coaches. 

“C’mon, they’ll be a while, I think. Let me walk you home.”

His place is almost a fifteen minute walk from yours, but you don’t bother trying to bring that up. Instead, you just shrug, shifting the strap of the bag slung over your shoulder, “It’s fine. I don’t need an escort, you know, it’s not that late.”

Maybe it’d be nice for once, walking home without Oikawa’s looming presence over your shoulder. You’re almost positive that he’ll still come by afterwards, especially because he knows as well as you do that there’s nobody to interrupt tonight, but you’ll take the tiny wins when you can.

Besides, you only have to stick it out a little while longer. 

Still holding onto your arm, Iwa’s eyebrows draw together into a slight frown and he bites back a sigh, “Shittykawa’ll throw a hissy-fit if I let you walk home alone tonight. C’mon.”

He’s not asking, you realise belatedly as he firmly but gently starts to lead you out of the gym, not sparing his best friend another glance. And you could probably dig your heels in and kick up a fuss and he’d probably let you go – at least, you think he would. He would, right? He’d listen if you asked him to stop – but what’s the point?

Nobody here actually cares what you want anymore.

Iwa’s different, you suppose. You don’t really know why. He’s just as complicit as the others, maybe even more so – he at least knows what’s going on, even if he refuses to acknowledge it or do anything about it… but that’s not entirely true, is it?

He’s the one to step in when Oikawa starts to take things too far in public. He’s the one to scare off your would be bullies, snarling and glaring at them from his place at your side. Iwa’s the reason you haven’t lost it completely, the one keeping your head above water. He’s a friend you suppose, or at least the closest thing Oikawa’ll let you have anymore.

He’s certainly the only one Tooru trusts with you whenever he’s not around, hence you haven’t heard any indignant shouts from the gym following in your wake despite the grip he has on you.

And Iwa is nice, in his own way. He cares about you, you think – or he cares enough to pretend for Oikawa’s sake. Either way, at least you know he won’t try to pull you down an alleyway and force you to suck his cock, so compared to your other options, he’s definitely the lesser of two evils. 

It’s quiet as the two of you walk, and you find yourself thankful for it. Oikawa’s always talking, he never shuts up, his incessant chatter shattering every moment of quiet, peaceful solitude you try to steal for yourself. 

And tonight, tonight your head’s already too full to pretend to play along with some semblance of chipper friendliness. 

Maybe that’s why you like Iwaizumi; you don’t have to pretend with him. He knows exactly what Oikawa is, and he’s too intelligent to believe that you’re content spending every waking moment by the setter’s side, much less that you genuinely love him. 

It’s a nice night, at least – there’s barely any clouds in the sky. You can see the stars glittering in the inky, midnight blue, and it’s peaceful, you think, with Iwa strolling quietly along beside you. 

Even when the breeze starts to pick up, the late summer night air nipping at your exposed skin. Your jacket’s folded up and shoved somewhere towards the bottom of your bag, but you honestly can’t be bothered to stop and ferret for it. 

“You’re cold,” Iwa states after a beat. Again, not a question.

Nevertheless, you shake your head. “I’m fine,” you reply, perhaps a little tersely, but he’s already shrugging off his own jacket and draping it over your shoulders. Oikawa would do the same thing, more out of a perverse sense of enjoyment from seeing you wearing his clothes than a genuine sense of concern over your comfort.

Still, you don’t fight Iwa on it, pulling his jacket tighter over your body. It’s warm, his lingering body heat making your own cheeks burn a little, and it smells like him, too. Musky, yes, but there’s something almost comforting about the fresh, woodsy scent.

Silence resumes between the two of you, but you feel the weight of his stare as the two of you wander along the path. Iwaizumi’s always been perceptive, more so than most give him credit for, and it’s only another few minutes before he speaks again.

“You’re quiet tonight.”

You hum noncommittally, staring resolutely at the concrete sidewalk rather than meet his pointed gaze. 

He huffs. “You gonna tell me what’s bothering you or not?” he tries again, the sheer bluntness almost enough to make you flinch.

“And what makes you think there’s anything bothering me?” you reply dully, kicking at the small little pebble on the pathway in front of you.

Iwa stiffens just a fraction, but you feel it – the shift in the air between the two of you. It’s the truth you won’t speak, the one he won’t acknowledge. Of course there’s something bothering you; this whole fucked up situation between the three of you. It’s not normal, it’s not healthy, surely he sees that, how the hell can he–

“Cut the bullshit,” he snaps. “You think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been acting lately? Something’s up, and if you think I’m the only one who’s paying attention…” he trails off, and suddenly his hand’s catching at yours, pulling you to a stop.

And when finally you drag your eyes up to meet his, your heartbeat quickens at the scowl written across his face, plain as day. 

“I’m not talking about… that. Did he–” he hesitates, biting down on his lip and you honestly don’t know whether you want to laugh or cry. “Something’s up.”

You could probably tell him to mind his own business, and part of you almost wants to. He might even listen, though he wouldn’t be happy about it, but the thing is, you’re just so tired. Tired of playing girlfriend for Oikawa, tired of being dragged along against your will, manhandled and fucked at every opportunity, tired of pretending that this is in any way okay, and you just want to finally give in and admit it out loud.

You want this to be over, and it’s so close you can almost fucking taste it. 

So you breathe deep, forcing yourself to relax. “My mom got a job in Tokyo. My parents… they’re leaving at the end of next week. Moving. It’s why they haven't been around much lately.”

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows furrow into a frown as he takes a second to absorb the information. “And… you? We only have a few months left until we graduate.”

You allow him a wry smile. “I know. They gave me a choice, I’m eighteen, I can stay here in the house by myself, finish up the year and graduate at Aoba Johsai before moving down with them…”

“Or?” he prods.

“Or,” you continue, “or I can go now. There’s some really good schools down there, I could have my pick. It’ll be a struggle, I know, transferring so late in the term, but–”

Iwaizumi scoffs, cutting you off, “But you’re not actually gonna go, right? You can’t just pack up and leave so close to graduation. You’re staying here in Miyagi.” 

He almost sounds angry– the muscle in his jaw’s twitching and as you stare at him you realise that he doesn’t sound angry; he is angry. His whole body’s tensed like he’s preparing for a fight, and it takes you by surprise. 

Sure, he’s pretty much the only person outside of Oikawa that you’d consider yourself to have any kind of relationship with anymore, but you’d never really thought he’d actually–

“Iwa,” you say gently, “I was gonna go to Tokyo after graduation anyway. Sure, it’s not exactly an ideal situation, but…” 

But it’s your chance to get away from all of this, from Oikawa, and you’re gonna take it and run. Whether or not Tokyo University accepts you, whether it means you have to work three times as hard to adjust to a new school’s curriculum just so you won’t completely flunk your final exams. 

It can’t be any worse than this.

He has to understand that. 

And really, what did he think was going to happen after graduation? You know Oikawa’s plans, and you’ll be damned if you let him ruin your life anymore than he already has, dragging you halfway across the world. You belong here, in Japan. Oikawa can go chase his pipe dreams on his own. 

He swallows tightly, and while the pinched scowl on his face doesn’t falter, his grip on your wrist eases just a fraction. “You were really just gonna leave without telling anybody?” he asks, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

“Who would I tell?”

—

Sure enough, it’s a little after midnight when your bedroom door sweeps open and Oikawa strides in like he owns the place. You watch through half lidded eyes as he starts to shed his clothes, stripping off and tossing them haphazardly onto the floor until he’s just in his boxers. 

He doesn’t say much as he lifts the covers and climbs into bed beside you, merely presses a surprisingly gentle kiss to your cheek, murmuring a quiet, ‘Just sleep, cutie,’ when you try to shift away from him.

He sounds tired, exhausted really, but you don’t care enough to comment, relieved more than anything that tonight he doesn’t seem to have the energy for more. There’d been some part of you that was worried that Iwa might have told him about the walk home – the secrets you’d unthinkingly entrusted to him – but he can’t have. There’s no possible way Oikawa would be so calm right now if he had. 

And Iwa wouldn’t do something like that in the first place. 

It might not have been the most traditional of friendships, and you know he’s still a little pissed off with your decision and the fact you had no intentions of telling him, but Iwa wouldn’t break your trust like that. 

And so with Oikawa’s arms wrapped around your middle, the warmth of his chest pressed up against your back, you allow sleep to claim you once more.

—

You hardly see him the following morning. 

There’s no sign of him when you wake up, though his side of the bed is still warm – you know he likes to run in the mornings; he probably ran home to shower before school. And if you’re grateful to Aoba Johsai for anything, it’s for putting the two of you in separate classes. You’re spared his presence and those of his mooney eyed fangirls, and you can actually focus on learning. Or try to, at least.

Iwa regards you with an unreadable expression when you take your usual seat at the desk next to his, but at least he doesn’t seem as pissed off as he was when he left you last night. You only have a week and a half left until you go, but considering he’s the closest thing you have to a friend anymore, you’re not sure how you would survive if he suddenly decided to give you the cold shoulder.

Still, he is quieter than usual as you both settle into class, and you can’t help your gaze from flickering over to him throughout the lesson, an uncomfortable pit settling into your stomach. Iwa doesn’t so much as look your way, busying himself in copying down the notes the teacher’s scrawling on the board.

You honestly didn’t expect him to be hurt, and as he brushes past you on his way out after the bell rings you begin to doubt whether you should have told him at all. It stings, more than you expect.

Yet the moment you try to follow him, calling out his name, a familiar figure steps in front of you, halting you in your tracks. 

“Hey, cutie,” Oikawa purrs, grinning down at you as he reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair back behind your ear. “I’ve missed you today. Come on, let’s go somewhere a little quieter.”

His fingers are laced with yours, tugging you along before you can even try to voice a protest. You both know you wouldn’t anyway, not anymore. 

Just like you don’t speak up when instead of dragging you outside to the courtyard, or even to the gym, he chooses an empty classroom, kicking the door shut behind him. 

There’s a question on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t have a chance to voice it as he grabs you by the collar of your shirt and smashes his lips to yours. 

Oikawa usually likes to take his time, to drag out your humiliation and reluctant pleasure as he toys with you, but today he wastes no time in shoving you back up against one of the desk, his fingers already yanking down your necktie and prying your lilac shirt open – buttons scattering as it rips.

“Tooru–” you gasp, panic flaring, but his lips curl into a smirk as he forces you back into another kiss.

“Quiet now, cutie, let me take care of my pretty girl, hm?” he growls between panting breaths. “You don’t want somebody stumbling in and interrupting us, do you?”

And your chest tightens, squeezing around your lungs like a vice, your gaze flickering back to the door – shut but not locked.

“Tooru,” you whisper again in a panic, clutching at the lapels of his blazer as he draws back enough to level a gaze at your chest, bare save for the virginal white lace bra you’d unthinkingly chosen that morning. 

His grin widens, but there’s something cold and utterly unflinching in his eyes as they flicker up to meet yours. “Lean back,” he tells you.

You shake your head, “I d-don’t–”

His hands are on your shoulders, abruptly shoving you backwards. “I said,” he coos as you sprawl back onto the wooden desktop with a startled squeak, “lean back for me.”

It’s been months since you’ve fought him, but as he flips up your skirt, fingers grazing possessively along the cotton of your panties and he sighs contentedly, sheer panic floods your system, overwhelming your better judgement. Before you can stop yourself your knees come up as you desperately scramble to right yourself, to put an end to this–

The slap to your cheek isn’t all that forceful, at least not compared to what you know him to be capable of, but it still takes you by surprise, the sharp, burning sting only registering as the shock of the blow fades.

Oikawa’s no longer grinning, his face twisted into a terrifying glare as wide, teary eyes stare back up at him. “Baby, you’re really testing me right now. You want to act like a disobedient little bitch, kick up a fuss, bring everybody running so they can see what a needy little whore you are, spread out on the table for me?” He snatches at your panties, harshly wrenching them down your now prone legs with one hand, the other reaching for his belt buckle, “You think you have a choice here? You think I give a fuck what you want?”

Your ears are ringing, the sound of your own heartbeat drowning out almost everything else.

It’s not the first time he’s hit you, or even the hardest, but with that one slap all the fight you have left just dissipates. You don’t even flinch when he spits directly onto your pussy, his thumb harshly spreading his saliva over your cunt – you just bite down on your lip to stifle the sob that threatens to burst.

And victory shines bright in his eyes at the sight of it. 

“Good girl, you know who this pretty pussy belongs to, don’t you?” he croons with saccharine sweetness, even leaning over to press a tender, affectionate kiss to your swollen lips. 

And you’d squeeze your eyes shut and try to imagine that you’re somewhere else, anywhere else if you didn’t know how much he hates it when you do. So instead, you lie there pliant and trembling, humiliation burning hot as he spreads your legs, pressing your thighs back towards your chest as he slots himself in between them.

“You look so good like this, you know?” he muses with a soft little chuckle as he leisurely strokes his cock, letting the flushed tip brush teasingly along your folds, nudging at your clit. “Prettiest little thing, and all mine, aren’t you, cutie.”

Tears well and spill soundlessly down your cheek, but your only answering is the hiccuping breath you draw in, your fingers finding purchase on the edges of the desk as he guides it back to your entrance.

It doesn’t matter that you’re not nearly ready for him, that his spit and the pre-cum that’s beading at his slit isn’t going to help ease his passage in the slightest. He’ll fuck you how he wants to – and you’re too broken to try and stop him.

Yet instead of savagely plunging in like you expect him to, Oikawa stills, regarding you with a tilted head and a cruel smirk. 

“Fuck,” he curses quietly, the sound almost reverent as he stares down at you. He shakes his head, another soft laugh bubbling out, “I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of seeing you like this, but if you’re going to be running off on me so soon, maybe I should take a little memento, what do you think cutie?”

Your stomach drops, dread creeping down your spine as Oikawa reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, opening up the camera and flicking it across to video. 

“I mean if this is going to be our last time together, don’t you think we should make it special?” You jerk, your breath coming out in short, harsh pants but you can’t move, can’t seem to lift a single finger as he leans in closer, bringing his lips to your ear, “That way we both have something to remember this by.”

And as his breath ghosts the tiny hairs on the shell of your ear he laughs again, pressing another quick kiss to your flushed, tear stained cheek. “Aw, don’t cry, cutie. You brought this on yourself.”

You don’t have a moment to prepare yourself, his hand slamming over your lips to muffle your shrieks as he thrusts his hips forward, sheathing himself in your tight little cunt with a choked moan.

“F-fuck, baby,” he grits out, biting down on his own lip as he relishes the vice like grip your pussy has on his throbbing cock, “Smile for the camera.”

Your back arcs up off the table, fingernails digging into the wood as he draws his hips back slowly, letting you feel every inch of his cock as it drags along your walls until it’s only the tip that remains inside of you.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts – a sharp and throbbing pain that only grows with each passing second. 

There’s something sadistic in his grin as he angles the phone down to where your bodies meet, your lewdly spread thighs, your glistening pussy in perfect view as another glob of saliva joins the first, pooling over your sex, sliding down his cock.

“You have no idea how perfect your pussy feels, baby,” he pants, slowly filling you up once more – your own wails stifled by his hand. “You’re mine, all fucking mine, aren’t you?”

There’s no hiding from the camera as he fucks you, slowly at first, but picking up his pace as the slick starts to build, your warm, velvety walls sucking him in deeper, squelching obscenely with every thrust. And between the sounds of his balls slapping against your ass – skin hitting skin as he fucks you roughly without care – and Tooru’s own satisfied moans, your muffled whimpers and cries go unheard. 

And just when you think your humiliation is complete, he takes his hand from your mouth, his thumb returning to your clit, teasing at the sensitive nub with slow, measured circles that have you keening, shaking beneath him as he stuffs you full. Slowly but surely that searing ache gives way to pleasure, a slight shift of his hips and his cock’s hitting that sweet spot he’s all too familiar with – and another strangled moan slips out.

“You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?”

You shake your head, fingernails digging into the wood, biting down harshly to keep yourself quiet as you feel that familiar heat pooling in your core, wanton pleasure flickering through you with every swipe of his fingers, every harsh thrust.

“No? You sure about that?” he laughs at the desperate whine that slips from your lips, “I wanna hear it, baby. Cum for me.”

But you can’t, you can’t make a sound, the door’s not locked, the door’s not locked and anybody could walk in any second, but you can feel it coming, your legs shaking and toes curling as your control slips–

“Cum,” Oikawa demands, his own voice a husky, shivering growl, and this time you’re helpless but to obey.

Your orgasm crashes into you like a wave, suddenly sweeping your legs out from under you. You arc up off the table once more, white hot pleasure exploding as you shiver and quake, your pussy clamping down on his cock and gushing as he fucks you relentlessly through it, chasing his end while drawing out your own.

And you’re so lost in the bliss, the pleasurable rippling aftershocks short circuiting your system that you don’t even realise that he’s pulled himself out of your cunt, stroking his slicked up cock with harsh pants–

Not until you feel the hot spurts of his cum hitting your stomach, a choked moan resembling your name shattering the fuzzy afterglow, dragging you harshly back down to reality.

There’s a twisted, self satisfied smirk on his face as he watches the cold realisation sink in, your eyes filling with fresh tears as your gaze flickers between him and the phone in his hand, still filming.

“You’re not leaving me,” he says, still a little breathless. “You’re mine. Isn’t that right, Iwa?”

No.

Please god, no.

Blood drains from your face, the pit in your stomach plummeting as his smirk widens and he turns his head to glance over his shoulder. You don’t want to look, can’t bear to, but it’s like trying to rip your eyes away from a car crash; your body moves with a will of its own. Heart pounding, nausea churning in your gut, you follow his gaze to find Iwaizumi by the door; jaw tight, arms folded across his chest, staring impassively back at you.

And that last little piece of you breaks.

[tommytranselo]

you can do so much with making mafia characters trans

trans sam who never shares anything about his past or personal life and meticulously controls every aspect of his image and presentation, from his wardrobe to his deliberately played up womanizing reputation.  sam who goes to the brothel only for it to turn into a therapy session, with the same woman every time, whom evidently he's told quite a lot and clearly cares for, so michelle's quite possibly the only one to know his secret–but also, who's to say they're even having sex (all that often or at all)?  sam who perhaps isn't actually that interested in sex and/or in women but is convinced he has to be the most red-blooded libidinous heterosexual man or he won't really be a man at all, who's terrified of his affectionate and potential romantic feelings toward paulie because he views them as weakness.  who turns to michelle exclusively because god forbid he lean on another man for emotional support, because what if they find out?–anything that could even halfway be interpreted as sign of weakness if you squinted at it sideways becomes a potential crack in his spotless reputation, and a single crack is an intolerable risk of having his manhood revoked in the most fundamental, earth-shattering way possible, a risk that "you're not a man at all" will become an all-pervasive truth right down to his core. he cannot abide that, not even for an instant.  sam who is the don's golden boy, the paragon, the unimpeachable bright star of the family.  who buries his pain so deep it becomes untouchable to him, and because he is very good at lying to himself he starts to believe it's not really there.

trans marty who's sick to death of his high voice being made fun of, of his youth being rubbed in his face because sure he's still young but also he's seven-fucking-teen with a PAYING JOB but everyone seems to think he's twelve, who's desperate to be taken seriously as a man goddammit instead of a laughable excuse for a boy that the moment steve coyne offers him a pistol and a chance to bust some heads he leaps at the chance because fucking finally.  who's thrilled at every second of the lifestyle no matter how small or tedious.  who's desperate to be a wiseguy like the ones he sees in the movies and around his neighborhood because nobody ever gives them any shit and they're the toughest male role models he has.  who wants to be just like joe, fucking idolizes him because joe is the only one to take him seriously and has always had his back since he was a little kid, since he told him "i wanna be a boy" and joe just said "okay" and clapped him on the back.  marty who's so desperate to be taken seriously he throws himself into harm's way without a second thought trying to prove something, prove everything, till it gets him killed.

trans henry who's been as stealth as possible for years by never telling anyone about himself and by holding everyone at arm's length, who's long since resigned himself to solitude, who'd rather the clemente gang think he's just a cold standoffish prick than to risk getting too close.  henry who carefully presents himself as sharp in both dress and attitude, who tries to make himself look big and tough, who can't dress for shit because he was never taught.  who keeps everything close to his chest because he thinks it makes him more of a man to appear cool and collected.  henry who enjoys thrives on feeling like a tough guy, being respected, dodging bullets, seeing people afraid of his power, because it does make him feel like a big man.  who will do anything for pride, no matter how stupid, because god forbid somebody say he’s a pussy.  henry who's tried so hard to be a good, loyal soldier, to be fearless and unflappable, to make his father proud. henry who knows he will never be his father.  who finally manages to lighten up around vito and joe in particular because they're close and caring and he can cut loose and joke around with them, and he finally doesn't have something to prove.

trans vito who's been told for years he's the spitting image of his father; at first it makes him strangely happy but over time, as their relationship crumbles, it starts to hurt.  who’s terrified that the only man he can ever become is his father, who he regards as a complete failure at everything a man should be in his head–strong, collected, a provider, a family man.  vito who latches onto any man who shows him a scrap of affection or praise or just seems admirable because he desperately needs a role model.  who starts hearing sexist jokes left and right that he's supposed to find funny as soon he becomes "one of the guys" and is furious, and who is terrified of ever crossing the line with a woman and making her uncomfortable.  who's so painfully aware of his every movement, torn between trying to seem safe both to his family and random women around him vs feeling that violence is what makes him a man, the ability to just take what he needs and to never be fucked with ever again.  vito who writhes internally every time someone makes a gay joke because he doesn't understand what he's doing wrong, but who doesn't even realize that it's an option for him.  vito who wants so badly to be a good man.  vito who doesn't know what a good man is.

trans danny who loves the most stereotypical guy stuff–cars, beer, all that stuff–and gets so much euphoria from it no matter if anyone thinks it’s a little silly.  danny who was thrilled to be included by lincoln and ellis as one of the boys before he even knew why.  danny whose father accepts him only because he always wanted a son and "at least he's straight," and he feels so so guilty for nicki and that he can't change burke's mind no matter how hard he tries, even though nicki never holds it against him.

trans luca who becomes belligerent and sharp-edged to keep anyone from ever fucking with him, who’d thrives on being hated and feared because it means nobody will get close enough to find out and nobody dares question him.  who throws himself into presenting as the kind of man he wishes he was but can’t get the hang of it.  trans clemente who is the only person to know but instead of sympathy, he just treats luca even worse because “if you wanna be a man so bad then learn to take it like a man,” who in his own head is doing it for luca’s own good to toughen him up.  clemente who never let anybody find out.

[luthienne]

a friendship compilation for @sarita-daniele​:

Mary Oliver, from West Wind

“Try to remember it always, […] Remember that you and I made this journey, that we went together to a place where there was nowhere left to go.”

Jhumpa Lahiri, from The Namesake

“Strangely together to our doom we go.”

Rainer Maria Rilke, from Pietà

A Summer’s Tale (1996) dir. Éric Rohmer

"Here’s the truth: friendships between women are often the deepest and most profound love stories, but they are often discussed as if they are ancillary, “bonus” relationships to the truly important ones. Women’s friendships outlast jobs, parents, husbands, boyfriends, lovers, and, sometimes, children. [...]

This was a snapshot of what my own deep friendships could lead to: transformation. I saw, on that afternoon, that it’s possible to transcend the limits of your skin in a friendship. That a friend can take you out of the boxes you’ve made for yourself and burn them up. This kind of friendship is not a frivolous connection, a supplementary relationship to the ones we’re taught and told are primary – spouses, children, parents. It is love. [...]

Support, salvation, transformation, life: this is what women give to one another when they are true friends, soul friends,”

from Emily Rapp’s essay on the power of female friendship

Anna Swir, from A Book of Luminous Things: An International Anthology of Poetry, “The Same Inside,” tr. by Czeslaw Milosz and Leonard Nathan 

“...estás en mí como la música en la garganta del ruiseñor aunque no esté cantando.”

Dulce María Loynaz, from Absolute Solitude; “Poema LVII”

“Answers have too many anchors. Let’s grow up to be chain-cutters. Let’s keeping telling each other stories ‘til we know what’s true.”

Andrea Gibson, from “A Letter to Kelsey, Who Loves Jesus”

“Together we trace out the trail away from doom. There isn’t hope, there is a trail. I follow you.”

Richard Siken, from War of the Foxes

(x)

“…the world was made so that we could find each other in it.”

Jeanette Winterson, from Lighthousekeeping

“Don’t allow yourself to be imprisoned by any affection. Preserve your solitude. If the day ever comes when a real friendship is bestowed on you there will be no conflict between your inner solitude and this friendship. On the contrary, that is the infallible sign by which you will know it.”

Simone Weil, from First and Last Notebooks: Supernatural Knowledge

“You don’t meet the people you love, you recognize them.”

Anna Gavalda, from “Life, Only Better” (tr. Tina Kover)

The Essays of Montaigne, “On friendship"

Nikki Giovanni, from “Resignation”

Jeanette Winterson, Written on the Body

“Everything scatters as the night wears on: / but you, don’t scatter, will you? / I think we could make this night last forever.”

Dan Chiasson, “Swifts” (Where’s the Moon, There’s the Moon, 2011)

Rowan Williams, Being Disciples

Ernest Biéler, Portraits à Grindelwald (detail), 1906

Lucy Keating, Dreamology

“Ordinarily I go to the woods alone, with not a single friend, for they are all smilers and talkers and therefore unsuitable. I don’t really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds or hugging the old black oak tree. I have my ways of praying, as you no doubt have yours. Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible. I can sit on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds, until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almost unhearable sound of the roses singing. If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love you very much.”

Mary Oliver, “How I Go to the Woods”

[volot]

since we’re talking about pokemon our muses fear... while fear isn’t the right word to use, i touched very briefly in an ask response once about how post-defeat and post-exile, volo has a temporary wariness of giratina. it doesn’t last long; and while that display atop mt. coronet leaves him with a negative impression ( ie, giratina is a coward. he resigns himself to the knowledge that giratina wishes to protect this world now rather than destroy it, but he isn’t happy about it; the protagonist’s ability to bend the whims of gods and deities only makes his blood boil and his curiosity worsen. you plague him because you confuse him, because you aren’t a simple mystery he can unravel, why are you chosen, why can you, someone who fell from the sky, hold this sway while he, chosen, can’t? ), there’s still an avoidance of confrontation. seeing giratina is the reminder of an old wound that hasn’t gotten even part-ways through healing yet; prodding at it only makes him more angry and frustrated with his situation. he makes a point to avoid reflective surfaces ( it’s not like age will show anyway ), and goes as far as to shatter mirrors if he comes across them ( alright, okay, maybe he’s a little paranoid; add up seven years of bad luck across the board ) out of impulse.

okay, so maybe a lot of paranoid. some of it is rational, some of it isn’t. his mind has all the time in his solitude to wander; wonder on if giratina’s violence is true, and if giratina would bare its fangs to him in the same way. he wades in his exile, but burns a bridge for a good while that he refuses to ever cross that the deity just like him could understand. that they could share common ground here. the thought, for some time, makes him sick from the bitterness it brings.

at least he gets over it... eventually.

as an aside: i wouldn’t say volo outright fears arceus either, but his feelings towards the creator are... mixed. i base it off of a certain type of zealous person’s way of thinking ( that one day, some day, i’ll touch upon in a post ), but it’s a mish-mash of fear-reverence-curiosity-control. a cycle that comes in twos and threes and keeps bleeding into each other until it’s completely impossible to figure out what the feeling is. being awestruck by your god’s existence, wishing for it’s acknowledgement and to meet it, but hating it for abandoning you and wanting to control it so you can have some control over your life while using it as a crutch. marveling at its power, but knowing it didn’t do anything for you and the hardships you faced; wanting to control its all-mighty strength, but knowing it could strike you down in an instant.

maybe, what he fears and hates the most from arceus, is rejection?

[cdroloisms]

i think that although the theories/aus of puffy's son dream and wil's brother dream are interesting to think about, especially the implications, the (probably) canon statement that he really has no family to me hits the hardest. because it's just dream, you know. his friends hate him, he has none (p relatable), but i can't really imagine,, both not having friends and not having a family. that's kind of what keeps a lot of us sane and okay ( - quill anon (same anon from the c!tubbo c!wil ask) )

ouch quill anon ,, this ask Hurt. it’s true - usually, it’s our family and friends that keep us going, that are the ones that we fight for and live for and love for. c!dream’s “family” was his reasoning behind ,, a lot of the stuff he did, good or bad, and even now you can hear his desperation in getting someone, anyone to visit sometimes, in wanting to know how people are doing outside the cell. 

at the same time, he’s a character very much defined by his solitude, by his isolation, by all of the time he has spent,, alone. by the alliances that had been broken, betrayed, forgotten. by how- at the end of the day - he sits for hours on end in an obsidian box with nothing but his thoughts to accompany him. it’s awfully ,, sad, despite everything he’s done. through it all, he’s alone. he survives the horrors of the vault (until this current arc) alone. nobody’s there to hear his thoughts. nobody knows his mindset, or feelings, or wants, or anything that really makes him human. for someone so driven by people, he spends so much time completely isolated - and it’s. honestly really, really tragic. 

anyway, this is a sad little drabble set pre-roommates arc abt c!dream in the prison, alone, bc he makes me Sad. 

tw: mentioned torture, abuse, violence, broken bones, blood, injuries, mental deterioration, isolation, panic attacks, self-deprecation, trauma, memory loss, death, contemplations of death, dark content, dark imagery

The blank book in his hand stares at him stubbornly, the stark white of the untouched pages nearly burning his eyes, used to the dark walls and floor of the cell. Dream’s hand shakes around his quill, ink splotches marring the pages from where his too-unsteady hand had let the nib brush against the paper and left freckles of black spots behind. He pulls his thumb back from the bottom left corner, hissing slightly when it leaves a dull red fingerprint behind, a smudge of half-dried blood further dirtying the paper.

He’d pulled out one of the books for some reason, probably on a whim, letting his hands run over the leather spine and along the thread of the binding absentmindedly after Quackity left for the day. He hadn’t touched them in a while - he liked to save them, at the beginning, just in case visitors came and he wanted to thank them or if he needed to communicate (though he hadn’t gone silent since Sapnap left, ‘cause Sapnap wanted him to talk and he doesn’t know why he still clings to that visit when it’s been months and he still hasn’t come back, but he promised that if Dream behaved he’d visit again and - it’s stupid to hope, but Dream can’t give up, not yet) and then he kept them because he would need them for the revive book and the Warden would confiscate them, anyway, so it was better not to get attached. Regardless, he’d stubbornly ignored the chest of books for a long time, let the remain closed and the clasp go unlatched as he wasted his days away watching the walls drip bright purple and pretend he didn’t miss his clock.

Until now.

He runs his fingers along the surface of the paper again, ignoring the red and black smudges they leave in their wakes, ruining the previously unblemished pages. The paper is smooth, bearing a very slight grain, and smells clean and woody - this book must’ve been a newer one the Warden replaced into the chest. He’d counted the pages a few times, front and back - there are fifty sheets, so a hundred pages to use as he sees fit, completely empty and untouched. The quill shakes in his hand, the tip pressed against the paper, unmoving.

What is there to write?

He’s forgotten why he pulled out the book in the first place, already - his head keeps getting fuzzier, memory impossibly fragmented and seemingly worsening with every passing day. He knows he had a reason because he’d been very determined about it, had spent what must have been hours dragging himself along the obsidian floor with a broken shinbone jutting out of his right leg and a dislocated left shoulder that he’d taken an extra few minutes to jam back in place by pressing it against the floor. Something had come into his head, probably in the middle of Quackity’s daily session, and he’d found himself desperate to write it down before he forgot despite the throbbing of his head and the pain in his chest making it impossible to take a full breath.

(He must have talked back, or acted defiant, or something - he doesn’t remember much besides the look Quackity had given him after, dark and angry and tight with rage. There had been a hand tangled in his hair, a blade jammed right up against his throat, curses and screams in his ears dying into a singular ringing echo as the blade was pushed deeper and deeper. It wasn’t until a few minutes later when Quackity realized that he’d gone too deep and that Dream was choking on his own blood - his memories shatter, and there’s nothing but more screaming, red and black and blood everywhere, warm against his skin, the sweet-sour taste of glistening melon on his tongue, a healing pot desperately stitching his skin together and bringing him back from the darkness that he’d swelled in the corners of his vision - mostly, he remembers everything going cold and numb and he’d realized, halfway into the Void, that he would never leave the Vault alive.)

His hands tighten on the book as he breathes a shallow, harsh breath through his teeth, because - oh. Oh. He looks back at the trembling white plume in his hand, at his shaking fingers clenched tightly near the end, and he swallows the thick, heavy feeling in his throat. Quackity had- and he had- and then-

Right.

He forces air into his lungs steadily, counting the seconds off in his head. He’d learned how to stave off panic attacks on his own ages ago, and the knowledge had come to full use in the Vault - the struggle to stay calm seems harder with every passing day, but he can’t exactly risk himself passing out every three seconds when he’s inevitably set off by the smell of blood or a twinge of pain or any of the million other triggers crammed into this tiny box that’s been the source of all of his torment for months. He keeps up the slow, steady breathing for another few minutes, just enough time to pull back the darkness creeping in from the edges of his vision, and looks back down at the blank paper.

It stares back at him, almost judgmental of his hesitancy. You opened me up, it seems to challenge him, why aren’t you writing? The quill still shakes in his hand. He doesn’t know if it’ll ever stop shaking again.

Dear, he begins, almost in defiance, proof that he Is Going To Write Something, thank you very much, he isn’t just going to chicken out and leave it a blank book (like you have before?) but the quill tip digs into the paper as he grinds to a sudden halt, the empty space next to the first word nearly taunting. He feels his mouth dry, heat rising behind his eyes - the book, silent and blank as ever, stays imprinted in his vision even as he squeezes them shut.

Dear, what a stupid, sentimental way to start a letter. He can’t even fool himself into thinking of it as a business venture, turn it into an elaborate plan to escape and address it to either Techno or Wilbur (who would never receive his message anyway), not without admitting his regard for the two edged past his pretense of professional interested and owed favors. He can hardly write it to Ranboo, not without compromising their already fragile alliance (if it even exists, anymore. The enderman hybrid had yet to visit for months - and sure, it was probably for the best, who knows how Quackity would react if he found out about the nature of their relationship, but that didn’t make it sting any less.)

In the back of his minds, name rise from where he’d kept them carefully buried despite his best efforts. Punz. Bad. Puffy. Sapnap. George. He shakes his head, trying to wave away them from his thoughts, but the effort is as fruitless as it has always been - he stares at the first word angrily, like it has betrayed him, and receives no response. The words are messy, shaking, his script overly looping and rounded like a child’s. He hates it, hates how cheery it looks, even on the bloodstained page - it looks like the beginning of a birthday card, or a perhaps a particularly dedicated Halloween party invite. Like he’s some sort of lovesick teen, writing letters to crushes that would never pay him a second glance. He laughed a little, without any real humor - minus the romance, that description isn’t all that far off.

Because- well. His memories might be shot to all hell, but he doubts he’ll ever forget the hatred on Sapnap’s face, a loaded crossbow pointed between his eyes, George’s expression set in disinterested apathy - “George, you can give the word.” Bad’s face, twisted in pity and resignation, voice carefully measured as he looks away and gestures at the cell, “you did do some pretty bad stuff to get put in here though, Dream,” the hidden “you deserve it” that he’d heard, just as clearly behind the words. Punz - “you should’ve paid me more” - jaw set stiffly as people poured through the portal, watching, wordless, as Dream bled out twice on that blackstone floor. Puffy, poorly hidden disgust flickering over her face as she looks away from him being dragged away in chains, sword held steady in her hands. Sapnap, that same fiercely determined expression on his face so familiar that thinking of it aches, even now, “it’s gonna be me, who takes your final life.” Months and months and months and months, alone.

Always, always, alone.

The page makes a quiet, complaining groan under his pen - he looks down to see it torn under the tip of his quill, the word completely unreadable under line after line of black ink scratched over it, each one deeper than the last. He stares blankly at it for a few minutes longer, the brief flash of anger that had seared through his body settling into numbness once more.

To whoever may find this: he scratches the words on the page slowly, keeping his print deliberately blocky and neat. The heavy feeling in his throat returns, stronger than ever, and he ignores it as he pushes on.

He pauses for a moment, wondering what more to write. Apologies? Accusations? He could detail every second that he remembers from Quackity’s visits, describe every inch of pain that had been pulled from his aching lungs, every line etched into his skin. He could apologize for every act of cruelty that had ever been caused by his hands, every bridge he’d ever torched to light the path to a better future. He could explain - everything, every tortured thought that had circled his head for hours on end and every night that had passed without any sleep and every time he’d pushed on without complaint or hesitancy because it would be worth it, even if he was the only one who saw it, it would be worth it because he’d sacrifice too much for it to be anything but. He could- he could, he could write and write until he’d filled every page of every book back and front, and would they even believe him? Would it even matter?

Goodbye, he writes at last. It feels strangely final. (He won’t be leaving this Vault alive. He knows this as surely as he knows that he will leave this world uncared for, unheard. As surely as he knows that he’ll always be alone.) With a quick snap of magic following the signing of his name, the book is preserved, shining slightly with a purple glow as he sets it back down in the chest. He looks around, the cell once again stiflingly quiet without the book to busy him, Dream once again completely alone as he’s been for - well.

(Pandas, eyebrows drawn in uncharacteristic seriousness from the usually painfully spirited eight-year-old, pinkie raised between the two of them, solemnity belied by the gap in his front teeth poking out between his lips.

“We’ll be together forever,” he whispered with the volume control you’d expect from a kid that age, which is to say that it wasn’t much of a whisper at all, but Dream, newly ten years old, remembers being particularly moved by the gesture anyway, moving to hesitantly hook his own pinkie in the other’s.

“And we’ll never be alone ever again,” he’d replied, voice faraway with a disbelieving sort of awe.”

“Never,” Pandas’ voice had been just as firm as his first statement, twisting his wrist to tighten the grip of their linked fingers further. “Best friends for ever and ever, right?”

“For ever and ever.”)

“For ever and ever,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut as he slumps down against the floor, and only the lava bubbles in reply.

[dramioneasks]

HP FESTS: DHr Monsterfucking Minifest

DHr Monsterfucking Minifest 2021:

Claws Out by Palio - E, one-shot - Hermione accidentally lands herself in Hell and at the mercy of a possessive, arrogant demon that wants to keep her – and his claws are sharper than hers.

tilhørighet by vesperics - E, one-shot - She wasn’t sure if it was relief she felt, realizing that the shape of the dragon was rippling into something else. Despite how disturbed Malfoy had seemed, she would prefer to be in a secluded space with his human counterpart rather than the other one. But—still. There was something she was waiting for.

C’est Toi Pour Moi by sweetestsorrows (katschako) - E, one-shot - After tragedy strikes, a young shark-hybrid is thrust into a vast ocean where he must learn to fend for himself. Ostracised by other sea creatures, mythical beings, and humans alike, Draco resigns himself to a life of solitude. He survives by trusting no one and prioritises his own well-being above all else. Then, one small decision changes everything.

Scent of My Sanity by Pia_Bartolini - E, one-shot - When a last minute trip for the ministry goes awry, Hermione Granger is stuck balancing her penultimate legislative goal and a set of new, very inconvenient side effects. Enter Draco Malfoy, the man who has exactly the potion she needs and less discretion than she wants.

Hummingbirds and Hawthorns by trix_of_bella - E, one-shot - He stumbled upon the flower shop entirely by accident. Or so he thought. Furthermore, there was something very different about Hermione Granger now and every part of Draco was screaming to figure it out. -- A story about fate.

Hic Est Draco by sarena - E, 3 chapters - Hermione waited for him to open his eyes and slipped her fingertips between the buttons of his shirt again. The guarded expression reappeared on Draco's face. He searched hers, and when she smiled at the same time as she stroked over his scales, he exhaled heavily. "I'm—" "Half a dragon, I know." Hermione pulled his shirt out of his trousers and flicked the bottommost button open. "—not fully human." "I figured that out when I felt the scales." She looked down and opened the next button. His lower torso shimmered in the ambient lighting as he flexed his abdomen involuntarily. Her breath caught. "Beautiful." He put his fingers under her chin and tipped her head up until he caught her eyes. "I'm not fully human, Hermione." Finally, it clicked. Written for the DHr Monsterfucking Fest 2021. What it says on the tin.

The Guardian by TeTe91 - E, one-shot - The night magic the Dark Lord had created was incredibly scary, but remarkable at the same time. Somehow, he had managed to warp spacetime in the darkness, to create pockets in the shadows, only accessible while the sun was down. However, space was not the only thing he had forced his will onto with this new strand of magic, but also matter - magical beings - creating them from seemingly nothing. Those monsters were unlike anything they had ever seen before. Their bloodlust seemed boundless in the way they drenched the land they guarded with blood, dyeing the soil red. Like most of the abandoned Death Eater operation bases, a creature of the night protected the premises. A ferocious beast, which didn’t hesitate to tear wizards to shreds. Curses were useless against it, simply bouncing off its skin. Protective spells could only hold it at bay for so long. The creature was the perfect killer. The restriction to the grounds it protected was the sole reason any witch or wizard had escaped with their lives.

Your Witch by This_Stranger_Cyr - E, one-shot - Hermione Granger. Muggleborn. Human. And the unfortunate recipient of an incubus' obsession. Oh my.

Le Portriat de L'agonie by viridianatnight - E, one-shot - When a portrait is placed in Draco's bedroom, he finds himself falling into the depths of the beguiling art. A young woman, stuck forever in a gilded cage on a vermillion chaise with no companion but him. By the time a connection is formed, it's too little too late. Demon Hermione x Manipulated Draco

Aunt Flo's a B**** by TJ_Dubs- E, 3 chapters - 1998 had been the worst year of Hermine’s life. She’d been on the run from the government. She had lived outside, in a tent, for months. She’d been tortured by a crazy woman. She broke in, and out, of the most secure bank in the world. She had to watch as her friends, and school were blown to bits around her. That summer was full of funerals of people she had come to know and love. Oh, and she’d been bitten by a werewolf.

La Vie En Rose by rizzlewrites - E, one-shot - The unravelling of his mind, when it finally happens, is a simple matter of stepping across a line.

Serpens in Norba Sentinum by Keii_sha - E, one-shot - Hermione worries as several people in her village were found cursed to stone, finding herself in the midst of grieving families pleading for justice and protection inside the Holy Grounds of Thonusae. With the sudden disappearance of the Head Priest, it had made the people desperate enough to seek help from the mainland, with no choice but to promise an abundant share of crops as payment. A fellow nun assured her that help would arrive soon, a savior from the Kingdom, a Malfoy. Somehow, the assurance felt like a looming threat, whether for her or for the people, she doesn’t know.

Tenebrous by In_Dreams- E, one-shot - Shadows haunt his sleep and drive Draco into the forest late at night. But the air bristles with a different sort of magic, and he's not alone. Dramione. Written for the DHr Monsterfucking Fest.

The Labyrinth by AccioMjolnir - E, one-shot - After he failed in his mission from the Dark Lord to murder Dumbledore at the end of sixth year, Draco Malfoy disappeared. It was widely assumed that he was killed for his failure. However, when the war drags on and the hunt for the horcrux leads the Golden Trio to a mysterious labyrinth, they make a shocking discovery.

Ruined Potions by LadyofBoneandIvory - E, one-shot - In their Fifth Year, Hermione promised Draco that she would never tell another soul about the feather incident. That is, until many years later when Auror Hermione Granger learns about a peculiar case that only she can handle. Something about an avian-like monster occupying the halls of Malfoy Manor.

Under Your Skin by This_Stranger_Cyr - E, one-shot - Draco Malfoy had travelled across space and time to have his second chance. He was finally going to have her, if only as a bloody Veela.

Deadliest Poisons by raoremrao - E, one-shot - Draco is sent to investigate claims of a Harpy prowling the forest of Dean and hunting people down on the behalf of the Care of Magical Creatures Department. A Harpy hasn't been seen for nearly a century so he has his doubts but when he steps right into her nest while looking around, he gets way more than he's paid for.

To Feel Her Teeth by DarkoftheMoon - E, one-shot - On a cold night Draco encounters something unexpected in the Forbidden Forest. What he sees consumes him, and he wants to be devoured.

Epilimnion by witchsoup - E, one-shot - The tournament was supposed to be safe. Dumbledore was a personal friend of the chieftain, spoke Mermish, commanded the waters of the Black Lake and the movements of the Giant Squid. There was nothing to be afraid of, until the others (the Delacour girl, the Ravenclaw chaser, fucking Weasley) surfaced at the end of the hour. And Granger did not.

Lonely Moments by IfBrainsWereGold - E, one-shot - Hermione swallowed visibly, her eyes straining to look at him. He looked in pain; trying so hard to control himself, to stay together. Desperately trying to hide the animal he had become. But his eyes were betraying him. Despite them being black bottomless pits, he looked feral. An animal held back by the last thin thread of its leash.

To Know You in the Dark by inred - E, WIP - Here are a handful of facts: One: Prophecies—true prophecies—exist outside of the human experience of time and hold no power over reality. They are descriptions of things, as those things are. They are never wrong. They are not subject to change. Two: Hermione Granger is a Muggle-born witch. She can use Muggle probability and statistics and advanced Arithmancy, and— She has fought and won a war centered in no small part around a prophecy, a prophecy she has helped realize. Ooa’s words are not a matter of belief, they are not something she can walk out on. Three: Agreeing has been a mistake. A moment ago she was free to fall in love—with anyone. The next, the unbreakable chains of prophecy—of what was, is, and will be—shackle her to a non-human Being. Cupid and Psyche Dramione Remix

Sex On Fire by helenaeldritch - E, one-shot - The phrase 'smoldering passion' takes on a whole new meaning.

Where Angels Fear to Tread by megsivy - E, 9 chapters - Draco Malfoy loathed Hermione Granger. He hated everything about the witch; from the prissy way she spoke at him in the monthly interdepartmental meetings, to the hideously outdated robes she wore to work every day. With everything he had, he despised her existence. Until one day...he didn’t. (In other words, the one where Draco doesn’t know he’s a Veela and finds out through a series of increasingly embarrassing events.) Veela!Draco fic <3

The Narrow Escape of Anthony Goldstein by FedonCiadale - T, 4 chapters - Veela Draco gets in real trouble and panic when his mate and wife Hermione who has been oblivious about his condition for years demands something he'd rather not do but still feels obliged to try.

Sweet Sacrifice by TheWanderersWanderingDaughter - E, one-shot - A werwolf terrorizes a small rural village. They're getting desperate. They've tried everything. It's too clever--they fear they have a demon on their hands. Hermione Granger (a muggle) wanders into its path, fights it, lives--and learns there's no escape. There was more movement then, and this time beyond a doubt it was not the wind, because it moved in the opposite direction it blew, and from between two thick bunches of tall grass, in the darkness between a yellow eye appeared and stared at her. Her knees went weak. She almost dropped her dagger. “You should not be outside, maiden,” it repeated, its delivery horrifyingly playful though the voice had gone deeper. “For now I have seen and smelled you I will not forget you.” There was the sound of a deep inhale and a slow exhale following after. A ragged sigh. The eye did not blink. It did not break its stare, and stunned, the maiden could not look away.

A Slippery Situation by peachy_V - E, one-shot - Working at the magical marine conservatory Hermione Granger never expected to be so intrigued by their newest resident.

Beyond Closed Doors by yanitaag - E, 2 chapters - “Draco, I want to be with you for eternity.” Hermione announced. His head snapped up, “You already know I can’t do this to you.” “And I’ve already made my mind up so there is nothing you can do about it. Isn’t it my choice to decide, after all? Or is it that you don’t want me anymore?” She watched him closely, paying attention to his every movement. He was nearly still, his face giving nothing away. With the speed of light he was standing in front of her and she was sitting alone on the couch glaring up at him, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

Love Thy Neighbor by forbiddenforester - E, one-shot - Draco Malfoy knew something was off with Hermione Granger...but what?

How to Tame your Draco by CarrieMaxwell - M, one-shot - Hermione is called in to assess a case involving Malfoy Manor and gets more than she bargained for...

Redemption by yanitaag - M, one-shot - His life had changed once more after a walk near the Black Lake late in the night. Greyback shouldn't have been there, how did he get through the wards? The bite was vile, bleeding unstoppably, Draco almost died that night, thank Merlin he wasn't alone.

uncoffined by malfoysbrunette - not rated, one-shot - “At that moment she hated him. She hated him for going somewhere she couldn’t follow. She hated him for promising to always be there for her, making her believe that promise and then leaving anyway. But how could she truly hate him when she loved him so much, when she feels so incomplete without him.”