#and still have them be able to take the first steps to bridge that gap

[aftg-and-random-things]

since it’s thanksgiving arc month here’s a short aaron pov during the thanksgiving incident~

Trigger warnings: same as the book during this scene, SA, murder.

———————————-

Aaron should have noticed something was wrong earlier, but it took Neil’s sudden grip on his wrist for the unease to finally take root. Even so, Aaron wasn’t able to think further on this, barely even noticing Neil’s other arm grabbing the new exy racquet before he felt himself being dragged into the hallway.

“What the hell?” He managed to ask Neil, but he received a harsh hiss in response.

Neil abruptly let go of him at the edge of the staircase, and it almost seemed as if there was an expectation to follow him upstairs. Aaron had never disguised his feelings about Neil, yet he felt at this moment a sort of truce pass between them. He would follow. Aaron’s pride wasn’t big enough not to, and his curiosity had long since been peaked.

As he trailed behind Neil, he noted how he ascended the carpeted steps with a trained ease. It wasn’t as if Neil’s behaviors hadn’t alerted him before, but the disquieting silence of his movements oddly seemed more damning than any of his other frantic behaviors. He realized with a start that Neil was well acquainted with making himself as unnoticeable as possible, possibly more than he was.

When they reached the top, a muted thump interrupted the clinical silence. Neil darted to the only closed door on the floor, tested the knob (which was evidently locked), then promptly rushed to inspect the next door over. Aaron had no time for whatever the hell Neil was doing. By this point, he was conscious of the rapid acceleration of his pulse. Something was wrong. He raised his hand to the door to knock on it, but aborted this action midway to take hold of the racket that Neil thrust in front of him. He saw it happen in a second. Neil kicked the space above the door knob in a precise manner, splintering the wood around it.

"Jesus fuck—“ he started, but with complete disregard, another kick landed on the door, bursting it open with a strength he hardly expected from the striker.

Aaron found himself following inside, but he forgot who he was following soon after. Neil had disappeared from his peripheral as soon as he took in the scene.

Blood. Man. Bed. Pillows. Andrew. Andrew-

He bridged the gap in the room in seconds, and brought the racquet in his hands up and down onto the man’s temple. Even as the blood splashed on him, he didn’t notice the limp body falling off the side of the bed, bringing the sheets down in its wake.

At this point, it was almost as if he was observing himself from the distance. He could see his fingers slip, the racquet falling onto the floor.

Andrew.

He recollected himself as quickly as he had disassociated, now single-mindedly cataloging the injuries of his brother.

Andrew was facedown, wearing only a shirt on his upper half. Aaron’s eyes processed how he was covered in blood, and that where there wasn’t blood, there was array of pinkish red bruises along his skin. They were clearly subcutaneous, and while they would darken in a few weeks, he judged they would heal okay.

His thoughts were interrupted by a peal of laughter from Andrew, muffled from the pillow, but still loud enough to cause Aaron’s hands to involuntarily shake. With the instincts of a pre-med student, Aaron’s first priority had been to check if Andrew was physically okay, but once that was done, the full weight of the situation had set in.

Logically, it had all of the signs of rape, but his mind kept saying that it couldn’t be. Andrew couldn’t get raped.

Yet Andrew was raped. That man raped his brother.

Aaron didn’t think he was the most level-headed person, but he was still used to his thoughts having some degree of order. Everything and everyone compartmentalized more or less. Now, he couldn’t grasp at a single thought, nothing could tether him to reality. It was as if he was stuck in the bathroom again, grasping helplessly at the linoleum, thinking what did he do wrong—

—as if he finally realized what it meant to be a brother only to have it pried away from him—

He would think later that it was fortunate Neil was more put together, that Neil heard the sound of footsteps coming upstairs, and had protected what was left of Andrew’s dignity from whoever had briefly entered with the bloodied sheets.

No one could drag his eyes away from the man who he shared a face with. It could have been because of disbelief, but Aaron knew better.

Aaron knew the reason he didn't dare to look away was because of the sobering realization that his brother’s life would not be the same.

And that following his brother, his own life too would irrevocably change.

[eddiebabygirldiaz]

Ryan, baby, hi! I read the cruise fic last night before bed and it was amazing incredible as always, obsessed with the switch in pov and how you made that switch keeping the flow of the story, but I felt the need to come here and talk about the way you wrote buddie in sync when it mattered but struggling to communicate and find a middle grown because I keep thinking about where they're at in the moment and I can't fully figure out he the show can start bridging that gap between them and you did it so beautifully, I was on the edge of my seat the whole time, you're such a talented writer, thank you for sharing that, it was so good 🩷🩷🩷🩷

anna, my beloved, wtf what do i say to this. ive been rereading it for like 15 minutes now and just smiling and crying and im just speechless. this is so sweet and makes me so happy to hear and im just like ???? wow! im so glad you enjoyed it, that literally makes my whole day

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

[urfavleo777]

warnings: age gap, tattoo artist! colby x reader, alcohol

"Angel's wings!" your best friend exclaims, speaking completely seriously. Your other friend approves, clapping her hands eagerly. "Get them tattooed!"

You almost choke on your drink when you hear how seriously Katrina gives you a new idea for your first tattoo. If someone told you that friendship between three people doesn't exist, you would laugh at them. The three of you are living proof that it's not the number of people in the group that matters, but the love that exists between you. Each of you is different, but that is the most beautiful thing. There is nothing worse than boredom and monotony in friendship.

"Come on, you'll be eighteen in an hour. Do something that will make you happy, not your parents." Sophia, usually the voice of reason, tries to convince you.

You don't know if it's the alcohol you just drank, but in a split second you undergo an internal transformation. You'll be of age in an hour. No one will be able to lecture you. Even your parents who, instead of spending this birthday time with their daughter, decided to go to the mountains. At first you reacted with sadness, but over time you were glad that the situation had turned out this way because you could invite your two favorite girls over for the night.

Katrina and Sophia look at you with impatient eyes, encouraging you to make a quick decision. You take a deep breath, tilting your head back. As pathetic as it sounds, you try your hardest to get advice from the ceiling.

You look back at your waiting friends. They send drunken glances your way, which only reinforces the fact that you must probably look like one of them at this point. Sophia and Katarina's eyes widen. Something unexpected is about to happen; something that will change the course of history forever.

Katarina clenches her fists like a true boxing legend, preparing for the worst possible scenario. With each subsequent inhalation, you feel even more excitement and arousal wash over you. You open your mouth to announce the official verdict.

"If not now, never, right?"

After saying these words, you're crushed under the bodies of these two freaks. And, you swear to yourself that if your parents had been home, after all those squeals of happiness, you would have ended up under a bridge.

"The best decision you've ever made, Y/n! I'm so proud," Sophia squeals excitedly, and Katrina joins in. You realize that you still hold the glass in your hand. You hiss, knowing that you'll definitely need to change the sheets of your bed after tonight. "Don't worry about it! Let's go to the tattoo artist!"

"Now?" you keep mumbling under their bodies.

Katrina and Sophia step away from you, exchanging meaningful glances with each other. You are finally able to catch your breath, but you don't really understand what they're trying to tell you.

"Yes. Now." Sophia grins. "Katrina, are you thinking about the same person as me?"

The friend nods her head in response, also with a big grin on her face.

"Oh, yeah! The handsomest, hottest and most expensive tattoo artist in town," she starts counting and you wonder why you've never heard of him before. "Y/n, we guarantee you the best fucking fun."

"Let's fucking do this!" They both squeal, grabbing your hands and pulling you out of the bed.

***

"You guys didn't even give me a chance to change clothes!"

You are wearing a black body suit and really low rise jeans so people on the street can see a bit of skin, which makes you feel a little uncomfortable.

"You look great." Sophia assures you and Katrina nods to her. Well, they're wearing perfectly balanced sweaters compared to you. They decided to make you the main star without outshining you with clothes. You feel like standing out of the crowd, which you don't like very much.

"Do you think this tattoo artist will accept us without prior consultation?" you ask, genuinely curious. "Maybe we should call him? We'd better get back home..."

"Relax, Y/n," you turn into a street you've probably never been to. Katrina tries to convince you, but with each step you take, you become less and less sure. Even though your parents have well-paid jobs, they usually don't let you hang around the rich districts. They would be disappointed if they knew that while they were away their daughter was getting a tattoo, not really knowing where.

"You said he was an expensive tattoo artist. I don't think I want to spend money this way." You continue, feeling the alcohol drain from you. You regain consciousness and regret saying yes to your friends. "Maybe we should really turn back?"

"Y/n," you stop in front of a building emanating LED light. The girls move closer to you and one of them puts a hand on your shoulder. Sophia, the fucking voice of reason, says: 

"He is my brother's friend. They have been friends since childhood. He practiced on my brother, making the first patterns. He would never take money from me or my friends. We are always out of line. Trust me, you're in good hands."

"He was the one who gave me that big tattoo you liked so much," finishes Katrina.

You sigh, trying to convince yourself first and foremost. Sophia pulls out her phone and brings it closer to your face.

The first thing that catches your eye are the huge white numbers on the screen. What's more, they don't seem blurry at all. You must be really sober. You take a deep breath, recalling the quote of your favorite teacher in your head.

12:00. Carpe diem.

 "It's time to go fucking crazy, Y/n." 

***

"Sophia? What's for today?" It’s a male voice. Raspy, yet soft. The sound of it makes you whip your head over to your friends, but you're trying to stay calm. He lets out a heavy sigh before humming to himself in thought. Only after a while he notices that Sophia is not alone. "And who is this?"

"Hello, Colby. Meet Y/n, your new client." 

And the way he shakes your hand is firm but gentle, not as hard as you think it'd be given the size of his biceps probably are larger than your head. But then he softly grips your elbow and guides you into the chair with a hand on your back. "Don't worry, I don't bite."

"Well, I thought I would have to convince you.. longer."

You flush a little under his gaze because he's noticed how you're shaking like a leaf next to him. And the way he smiles indicates he might enjoy biting you anyways... and maybe you'd let him. 

"I was just about to close, but you know perfectly well that I will always make an exception for you, Sophia." Your friend smiles at his words.

"So, what are we doing tonight?" he focuses all his attention on you. You swallow, not really knowing what to answer. Katrina decides to save your ass from total embarrassment.

"Angel's wings." 

He looks like he's about to roll his eyes.

"Seriously, I can't count how many girls asked me for the exact same pattern. Try something more creative."

"I'd like to stick with the wings, please. In a place invisible to the eye."

"Getting a tattoo so you don't show it to anyone? How old are you anyway?"

"Eighteen." He doesn't look convinced. With one movement of your hand, you pull your ID from your back pocket. Colby, as you can guess, surprised by the concrete, grabs the ID in his hand and looks at it carefully.

"She's so young." When he talks about you in the third person, something happens to you. "Are you sure you want those fucking wings?"

"Come on, Colby. You did this to my brother many times." Sophia interjects. "Don't ruin her birthday."

"Ah, yes. Happy birthday or something." You can tell he’s in a good mood based on the playful amusement in his voice. 

"Thanks," you hang your head.

"We have to do something about her shyness." he turns to your friends.

"Maybe wings between her tits? I bet no girl has ever asked for this," suggests Katrina. You almost choke on your saliva. You want to get up from that chair and run out.

"That sounds perfect." His voice is sweet with a touch of flirtiness, and you swear you can hear the smile in it. "What do you think, Y/n?"

"There's no way I'm going to show you my tits." You take courage. Colby laughs loudly. He clearly takes pleasure in your attitude and shakes his head, leaning in to watch you.

"It's your choice." You bite at your lip instead of answering him. 

"Come on, Y/n. We won't look either." Katrina says and Sophia nods.

You've already succumbed to them once in a while. Nothing will stop you from doing it again.

The girls send you their last kisses. After a while, it's just you and your tattoo artist left in the room.

***

You're honestly glad when the uncomfortable silence is drowned out by the song "Ultraviolence" by Lana Del Rey. You asked to simply turn on the radio, but you were surprised when Colby asked you for the title. What was even weirder was when he used the fucking vinyl of one of your favorite albums instead of Spotify.

He hums to himself. "Those are nice."

You got rid of your bra. No one has ever complimented your boobs, but you smile slightly, burying your face in your hands.

He gives you a little wink before stenciling what you had in mind, his fingertips tracing the lines of the ink that leaves goosebumps across your skin.

There's a lingering feeling as he pulls his hand back. You think he's toying with you. Frightful little thing, you are and here he is wanting to play with his pretty little client. Next thing you know, his hand is around your throat.

You tense and realize that he has moved some of your hair to the other side to give more access to the space between your tits. It definitely could have been done easier and better, but the twinkle in his eyes said he did it on purpose. Oh yes, he was definitely having fun with you. The way his hand barely grazed your throat and the side of your neck before he would gently scratch your arm with his blunt nails and pull away.

He let's out a huff of quiet laughter and then gets his tools ready. "So, y/n, you have a safeword?"

And you're brought out of your thoughts about his large hands because... "Huh?"

"A safeword. It's big."

W..what's big? You can't stop your eyes from flitting down to his thighs and what may lie between them. He laughs and shifts so your eyes are instantly back up and staring at his eyes that glimmer in amusement.

"The tattoo, I mean. It's a big piece. Need to know if it'll be too much, yeah?"

[kingkatsuki]

No idea where I was going with this but he makes it difficult for me to think.

More Dragon King Bakugou thoughts.

Tw: he calls us “little girl”, if that gives you the ick I’m soz.

It’s difficult for Dragon King Bakugou to treat your body with care. A man who was raised of violence and barbarity, intended from birth to be a vengeful successor who would pillage and rule over Kingdoms with his dragon by his side. The comforting embrace of his mothers hold long forgotten as he seeks pleasure in the death and destruction that follows him.

And although he may seem callous and cold, he’s wholly perceptive of the way you cower from him. Flinching as he moves to hold your arms or cup your face— as though you’re a frightened doe startled by the sudden snap of a twig. For the first time in his life he doesn’t want to be this brute of a man, the bloodthirsty King of Dragons that’s revered around the Country.

You don’t expect him to be soft. Your body already trembles as he steps inside the tent, pulling his thick cloak of furs from around his shoulders as he’s illuminated from the embers of the fire still burning outside. Throwing it down onto your makeshift bed as he tries to make it as comfortable as possible for you, a futile peace offering after stealing you from everything you once knew.

It’s difficult laying beside a man you barely know, even though you’ve been together months now. And you hate the way your body betrays you, turning towards the warmth that exudes from him.

An arm is usually strewn across you throughout the night— whether it’s to keep you from escaping or to keep you safe you’re never certain. But you always find yourself yearning for his touch, desperate to feel comfort from a man you once swore you despised.

His hands are rough, toughened by the harsh elements and fierce battles waged upon nations. The first rough grip of his hand against your hip has your stomach lurching, petrified of how he may handle you like the kill he brings home from hunting, a dead carcas that doesn’t require any sympathy. For Dragon King Bakugou refuses to mourn for the dead. But he fills you with bewilderment as rough callouses catch against your soft skin as he runs them along your body with surprising care.

Bakugou’s warm breath fans your cheek, chapped lips barely hover against your skin as he lingers. The faintest butterfly of a kiss pecks at the corner of your mouth as he lets you decide— for he knows once he starts he will not be able to stop. And you don’t want him to, bridging the gap as you pull him into a gentle kiss.

It’s nothing like you imagined it to be the nights you lay beside him. Allowing your mind to wonder as you pictured him capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, holding you tight and bending you over to claim you as his own.

You can tell he’s holding back, his soft touch nothing like you’ve seen before as he brushes his tongue against your lips. Exploring more unmarked territory as you feel yourself melting into him, finally allowing him to explore new lands as he chances an uncharacteristically gentle grope to your soft breast.

Dragon King Bakugou may be a ruthless, sadistic beast of a man— but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to handle his most prized possession with docious care.

And whilst you indulge in his touches, they’re not enough to satiate the burning hunger that swirls inside you like a molten volcano. The throb between your thighs incessant as you silently beg for him to touch you, to take you— to finally claim you as his own. And you can tell that he’s holding back, because he doesn’t want to hurt you.

Because he knows exactly what he’s capable of.

“There’s no need to be so gentle, my King.”

The words have the blood rushing directly to his cock, pulling the most depraved, sinful growl from deep in his throat as he bares his sharp teeth. As if trying to hold back the final fine threads of resolve that are holding him together— the rope that’s been wearing thin since the first moment he received you.

“I can take it.”

The words leave your lips, but you’re not sure you can. Not now this hulking brute of a man is hovering over you on sturdy knees, crimson eyes darken as he surveys his prey like a predatory wolf. Reaching down to wrap a large palm around the bare column of your neck as he follows the motion, leaning over you to press his lips against the shell of your ear.

“I’m not sure you can, little girl.”

[b14augrana]

Deadeye

You meet your match in the Champions League semi final

Chelsea Women x teen!reader

Part of the Scrubber universe

masterlist

Warnings: reader is a teeny bit cocky. this is not proofread!

A/N: scrubberverse rivalry 🫢 this is basically scrubber pt. 1 from the pov of a chelsea youngster, based on ‘we both reached for the gun’ because i saw a hard messi-ronaldo edit to it and got inspired! hope you enjoy :) 💝

Beating Barcelona isn’t for everybody.

However, your team managed to do it.

At 16 years old, you were a standout player in Chelsea’s youth academy. Now at 17, you were a standout player in their first team.

Unfortunately, you weren’t a consistent starter just yet, because the likes of Mayra Ramirez and Sam Kerr were other worthy contenders for the spot in the starting eleven, but you came off the bench nine times out of ten. You were widely regarded as one of the best youngsters in the game right now, with how quickly you settled into the first team and the consistent performances you put up every time you were subbed on. Slipping through tight gaps with the ball glued to your feet was a trademark move of yours, and you were basically untouchable to defenders because you were so young and agile.

Your Champions League debut technically occurred in the group stage, but you really shone in the knockouts.

You came on for Mayra in the first leg of the Champions League, and though you were only on for fifteen minutes, it was enough for you to feel the satisfaction of winning in front of a full Barcelona stadium. A few key passes here and there did the trick.

If it hadn’t been for Sam doing her ACL, you’d imagine that the score would’ve been substantially worse for the home side to come back from, even on aggregate, but that wasn’t the case and 1-0 would have to do.

Erin said to not get ahead of yourself, because there was still the second leg at home, but you were over the moon. You liked to think you were a true blue, through and through, so moments like these were what made you the happiest.

Champions League glory seemed closer than ever, now that your team had proven you could overcome possibly the biggest obstacle in the tournament. Sharing the pitch with greats like Alexia Putellas and Aitana Bonmatí was an honour in itself, but beating them? Beating them was historic.

You smiled at the idea of it; beating the best players of all time, scoring at home in front of thousands of fans, possibly taking your team to the final, taking them one step closer to a Champions League title, but above all... proving that Barcelona is human. Maybe even proving that you are the best youngster in the world, along the way. Of course that was the dream, but you couldn't get lost in your fantasy world just yet, Erin said.

Now that you were standing in the tunnel, altering history for your club seemed imminent. Your manager, Emma, had told you that you'd feature in the starting squad for the evening, so it went without saying that the match would be extremely special for you.

“Excited?” Erin asked, looking over her shoulder to see you. You nodded, but you were more scared than anything. You were grateful to be starting, but also a little bit terrified.

“You’ll do good, I know it. You’ve got the deadeye we need to beat them,” she said, and a little giggle came from you in response, “I’ll try!”

Beside you, the Barcelona players were lined up, whispering amongst themselves in what you assumed to be Spanish. Some of the words didn’t sound like regular Spanish though, which sucked, because for a moment you thought you’d be able to eavesdrop on them with the minimal Spanish knowledge you have.

The officials at the end of the tunnel signalled for both teams to make their ways out, and your ears were almost immediately slammed with the cacophonous noises of a fully packed Stamford Bridge. It was amazing, playing in an environment like this while experiencing the tournament of your dreams, and the loud supportive cheers were something you wanted to get tattooed on your soul.

The Barcelona girls walked out looking staunch. They carried themselves proudly despite the loss they previously faced against Chelsea, but you thought nothing of it. All you were focused on was your undying desire to knock them out of the tournament and show the world what the Blues were really made of.

“5.. 4.. 3.. 2.. 1!”

The crowd counted down to the first whistle blow of the match, and the shrill noise rattled the stadium as the ball got rolling and the match commenced.

You passed the ball backwards then immediately made a run. It looked hopeful when the ball was lobbed back to you, but it was quickly shut down by a well-timed intercept from…

Who?

Well, she was gone before you could see the name on the back of her jersey. As she dribbled through the midfield before pinging a through ball to Hansen on the wing, you could only hear the cries of Mapi León from behind you. “Venga, bebita!”

You did remember talks about Barcelona having a youngster of their own, and this must be her.

Whatever, you thought. You had bigger things to focus on. Dropping back into the midfield, you hunted for the ball, and when possession of the ball was finally in your hands, you felt on top of the world.

It felt like nothing could stop you, now that you had the ball at your feet, dribbling seamlessly past the blaugrana jerseys. Being smaller than others on the pitch had its advantages as you weaved between the gaps and slipped past players… until you came up against her.

She stood tall in the backline, not even giving you a moment of her vision’s time as her eyes stayed glued to the movement of the ball.

You tapped the ball forwards, and she followed, tracking backwards. Stepover after stepover, it was becoming increasingly impossible to shake her as you struggled to deceive her, and then…

One heavy touch was all it took. It was an accident, and maybe you should’ve listened to Erin’s directions to lob it overhead and pass to Lauren, but it was too late; you were on the floor, she was just getting up. The ball was gone, and you were still on the floor. Without the ball.

“Fucks sake,” you hissed, scrambling to your feet and charging after the ball. You couldn’t seem to get past her, at least not yet. You had to think smarter, be faster, push stronger, kick harder, anything to snake your way past.

“Don’t worry about it!” Erin exclaimed, jogging behind you, “Just stay focused.”

You nodded, because she was right. If you wanted to win, if you wanted to see that beautiful silver trophy adorned in only blue ribbons, if you wanted the rewarding feeling of carrying it in your arms, you had to stay focused and you needed to beat Barcelona, or more so, their youngster.

You had to admit, you underestimated her. You didn’t expect her to be a defender and therefore didn’t expect to be crossing paths with her so often, but you expected wrong. She was strong and definitely knew her stuff when it came to defending; at times, it felt like you were kicking a ball into a brick wall, trying with no avail to get through.

It pissed you off.

Running forward made you open for a cross in from Lauren, who resided on the right wing. “Lauren!” you screamed, gesturing in front of you to where you were going to run. She looked up and noticed your frantic pointing, then she lobbed the ball across the field.

It was almost inevitably coming to you. It floated over everyone, barrelling down exactly where you wanted it, but then a body cut in front of you and before you could register anything, they were up in the air and heading it out of the box.

Every blocked shot, every slide tackle, every through ball, every aerial duel, it made you want to win even more. A distasteful feeling welled inside of your stomach when you realised she wanted it the same, if not more, given the way she was flying around and determinedly defending the goal.

The last line of defence was always her — she was the one separating you and the goal, never mind Cata Coll between the posts. It was her saving your shots.

Half time couldn’t have come sooner. You trudged off the pitch, slumping onto the bench as you sprayed water into your mouth. Jess sat beside you and put her hand on your back. “Feeling okay?” she asked, and you nodded simply.

“You’re doing well. Once you get past their back, it’s all yours,” she smiled, rubbing your back reassuringly. You smiled in return, putting your head on her shoulder. “Thanks, J.”

Even Jess knew how much that centerback was troubling you. The whole lot of them irritated you because they were just so good, and they never crumbled even under pressure, but she was something else. Whether you admired her, envied her, or disliked her, was to be decided by the next half.

She was like you — a young talent — but your positions were different. You were a striker, so you could make mistakes. It was one of your many comforts. She was a defender, and there was no room for mistakes at the back. It was incredible that they trusted her so much to start her over the likes of Engen and Paredes, but you could see why they did. You had everyone else on their knees, except for her.

The defining factor, you thought, was the fact you had seen the others play so many times. Rolfö, Guijarro, Walsh, Hansen, they weren’t new phenomenons; you could anticipate their next moves, unlike their new centerback. You didn’t know how she tackled or how strong she was until you were face to face with her.

Aitana had scored in the middle of the first half. 1-0 wasn’t too bad to come back from, so you were confident that you’d get one back. Hope is a dangerous thing, but you had it.

The second half started with more intensity than the first. From kick off, the ball could barely be seen as anything but a blur zipping around the pitch. You sent the ball spinning across the damp pitch to Catarina Macario on the wing, who took one magnetic touch before exploding outwards.

Lucy Bronze had overlapped and now there was a big gap in the defence. Their midfielders were dropping, but they still weren’t quick enough to reach Catarina.

“Watch the wing!” Mapi yelled to someone. You decided to make a run into the box, preparing yourself for some sort of cross, and that’s when you saw it.

It kind of felt like a suitable muse for a renaissance painting, if the context was included — teenage girl slide tackling a world class, Champions League-winning winger to spare her goalkeeper the displeasure of saving a goal. That didn’t change the fact that you were infuriated at the dwindling prospect of getting a goal.

It was hard to hate a player that has done nothing to you except be better than you, but you felt like you were just about at that point.

Your heart raced with every telltale sign of a big chance. Lauren getting the ball seemed promising, and you trailed into the middle for support. “Lauren! Cross it!” you screamed, hoping your cries would be heard. Instead, you watched her cut inside and wind up to take a shot, your stomach swelled with dread when you saw a body in the way and the ball deflecting off someone’s back. Someone being… well, take a guess.

Hope is a dangerous thing, and you had lost it by the 80th minute. It was heartbreak for your team when the final whistle was blown and the game ended 2-0 for the away side, going down in history as yet another amazing Barcelona comeback.

You watched her get swarmed by her teammates, a smile on her face as they engulfed her in hugs and forehead kisses before she walked away with Mapi. You could only observe as you clapped for all the wrong reasons. The title was so close, yet it had always been far. It was appalling as much as it was unbelievable that the person with the most blood on their hands was a teenager. The nail in the coffin was learning post-match that she was actually freshly 16.

You two were no longer a coexisting pair of young talents. You weren’t sharing the stage anymore.

You were competing for the stage.

[il-miele-che-scrive]

charles leclerc x reader

summary: after a messy breakup and a messier attempt to get back together, y/n gets a text from her ex boyfriend at midnight asking her to come over

words count: 1.6k

author's note: pretty much a 2nd part of drunken mistakes, but if you haven't read it it's fine cause the story is explained

Late night text

It could've been two weeks since Y/n and Charles almost got back together, but ended up on even worse terms than before. Y/n stopped counting, she didn't want to focus on it.

Of course it hurt, but Y/n decided to silence the pain with work. She didn't even contact George in the meanwhile, she wasn't in the mood for hookups. It could probably even worsen her mental state.

Despite working a lot, there still were nights where Y/n wasn't able to fall asleep and that was one of those. The girl was tossing and turning in bed when she heard her phone vibrate on the nightstand.

She grabbed the device. To her surprise, it was a text from Charles. The girl didn't expect him to text her, but at midnight it was understandable. He could be still upset over Y/n sleeping with George during the relationship break, but it didn't mean he wouldn't contact her for a hookup.

Y/n's heart pounded in her chest. A part of her yearned for it and this part of her won. Of course she knew Charles didn't want to meet to talk about their relationship, not in the middle of the night.

Y/n knew what Charles wanted, but before he contacted her she was sure it'll be easy to decline. But when it actually happened, it was difficult. Each text brought memories of their relationship.

Maybe it was just a fantasy that would never come true again. Maybe it was naive but Y/n felt hope that maybe, just maybe, they could revive what once was real.

Her naivety made her agree and so 10 minutes later she was in her car on the way to Charles' house. The night air was cool and the streets were quiet.

Arriving at his doorstep, Y/n hesitated before ringing the doorbell. The moment stretched in time as she questioned if this was the right choice.

"Hey," Charles said, opening the door before Y/n could turn away. "It's good to see you."

"Hi," Y/n replied, not knowing what else to say.

For a moment they stood there in an awkward silence. Charles stepped aside, allowing Y/n to enter. The atmosphere inside was heavy with memories, both good and painful.

They walked to the living room. The air was thick with unspoken words. Charles broke the silence, "I didn't think you'd come."

"Well, here I am." Y/n shrugged.

"I've missed you. I know I shouldn't have reacted the way I did." His words were honest.

The moment Y/n had left his place that day weeks ago, Charles immediately regretted his words. He acted in anger, maybe it was his hurt ego speaking. He was angry because Y/n decided to sleep not with a random guy, some man she would never see again in her life, but instead with another driver. But now Charles knew it didn't matter, because Y/n and him had been broken up.

"Yeah, it was a mess," Y/n admitted, her gaze dropping to the floor. "But we were both hurting."

Charles took a step closer, and Y/n could feel the magnetic pull that had drawn them together in the first place. "I've thought a lot about us," he confessed. "Maybe we can try to make things right."

He gently cupped Y/n's face to make her look at him. When Y/n looked at Charles, she could see the vulnerability in his eyes. The wounds were still fresh, but a part of her yearned for the connection they once had.

"Charles, I… I want things to be different too, but we can't just ignore what happened."

"And yet you're here now."

Maybe this encounter tonight wasn't just a temporary escape. Maybe it was an opportunity for a fresh start.

It didn't take long before their lips met, a desperate attempt to bridge the emotional gap. The kiss held a mix of passion and sadness, two conflicting emotions collided.

The familiarity of Charles's touch, the taste of his lips, and the shared history between them allowed Y/n to let go of the hurt she felt moments ago.

"Maybe we can take it one step at a time." Y/n suggested in a soft voice.

Charles nodded, a small smile forming on his lips. And so, in the quiet intimacy of that night, Y/n and Charles decided to rewrite their story.

Waking up in the morning, Y/n didn't regret the sex they had that night. She knew that what Charles had said weren't just empty words, she trusted him. The night spent together could have been actually a step towards healing.

Y/n opened her eyes. She woke up to their once shared bedroom reflecting the sunshine through the windows. As she turned, she saw Charles still asleep, his features softened by the morning light.

The events of the night before played in Y/n's mind, but they didn't wake any anxious feeling inside of her. Instead, she felt happy for the first time in the past few weeks.

Y/n placed a soft kiss on Charles' cheek, soft enough to not wake him up, and then got up from the bed. She made her way to the kitchen, the kitchen that she used to always drink her morning coffee in.

This morning in a slightly different reality wasn't different. Y/n made herself a cup of coffee and sat down by a table.

When Charles woke up, a feeling of anxiety settled in his stomach. He wondered why isn't Y/n next to him and where could she be instead. He didn't even know when she left.

With a sigh, Charles got up from the bed. Coming to terms with the fact that Y/n most likely went back home when he was asleep, he walked to the kitchen for a glass of water.

In the kitchen, Charles found Y/n, the aroma of freshly made coffee was in the room. Y/n looked up, a warm smile on her face.

"Morning," the girl greeted, her eyes meeting Charles'.

"Good morning," Charles replied, "I thought you left."

Y/n shook her head, her smile never fading. "I wanted to let you sleep. You looked so peaceful."

The tension between them faded away, the air was much lighter and the conversation didn't feel so strange and awkward. The morning held a sense of calm, a contrast to the stormy emotions of their recent past.

"I hope you don't regret last night," Charles said, pouring himself a glass of water. There was a feeling of hope in his heart.

"I don't regret it. If anything, it felt like a step towards something better."

Charles' eyes brightened up at Y/n's words. He took a seat by the table, across from the girl. "I'm glad to hear that," he admitted, his gaze locked on her. "Last night meant a lot to me."

It became clear that the night before wasn't just a fleeting moment. It was a step toward rebuilding what they had lost.

Later on the same day, they went on a walk. They strolled through the streets that were surprisingly less lively and busy than other days.

Charles gently grabbed Y/n's hand, intertwining her fingers with his. She looked at him and smiled.

"I really think we can make this work." The girl said. "Breaking up was the worst idea we've ever made."

"The most stupid one, indeed," Charles laughed, "I can't imagine spending my life with anyone else."

"That's a bold statement."

"You don't know what other things I have up my sleeve," he teased, tugging Y/n to turn right as they continued walking.

"Oh, are we going somewhere specific?"

Charles glanced at her with a grin that hinted at a secret. "Just following the path of... surprises."

As they continued, the familiar streets led way to the iconic Monaco circuit. The atmosphere shifted, and Y/n's eyes widened as she realized where they were heading.

Stopping, Charles turned to Y/n. He took a deep breath and spoke, his voice steady. "Y/n, we've faced our fair share of twists and turns, but one thing has always remained constant. My love for you."

Y/n's heart skipped a beat, realizing the significance of the Monaco circuit. Her eyes widened in realization as Charles got down on one knee, taking out a small velvet box from his pocket.

As the man opened the box, revealing a golden engagement ring with a red stone, the city seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.

"I've realized that life is unpredictable, but some moments are worth planning." Charles continued. "Y/n, will you make this unpredictable journey a forever one?" The glint of the engagement ring matched the sparkle in Charles' eyes.

The question hung in the air, Y/n knew her response would shape the next chapter of their story.

Overwhelmed with emotion, Y/n nodded, tears of happiness visible in her eyes. "Yes, Charles, a thousand times yes."

Charles' face broke into a radiant smile. He slid the ring onto Y/n's finger, sealing their commitment. The city around them seemed to celebrate the moment with a quiet, harmonious hum.

Charles stood up and closed Y/n in a tight embrace. She buried her face in his chest, muttering quietly, "I love you. I'm so sorry."

Charles held Y/n even tighter, reassuring her with a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry as well, but it doesn't matter now. The past is in the past and you're the love of my life."

As they stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, the pain of the past seemed to fade away, replaced by the promise of a shared future and dreams.

With a tender touch, Charles tilted Y/n's face up to meet his gaze. "No more apologies. We're starting a new chapter, and I wouldn't want it any other way."

[coffeeghoulie]

dottie ive come to ask for either zephyr/aether or rain/dew soft snuggly/lovey/makeout-y hours please :3

I've never written Zephyr before, but there's a first time for everything lol. Hope you enjoy <3

(divider by @wrathofrats)

It's a quiet summer afternoon, not too hot yet that Aether can still keep his window open comfortably. He listens to the junebugs sing and the breeze whisper through the forest surrounding the Abbey.

He sits in his big wingback chair in the corner, round glasses on the bridge of his nose and a book in his hand, the spine well creased from years of loving use. There are no duties or obligations barring an emergency in the infirmary. Aether intends to relax and make good use of the quiet, warm sunlight filtering into his room.

Aether's able to sense their presence approaching long before he hears the steady tap of Zephyr's cane against the marble floors. He straightens in his chair, pushing his glasses up his nose and taking note of what page he's on.

The door's already cracked open for a little airflow, but Zephyr pushes it open, slender pianist's fingers wrapped around the handle of their cane. Their soft grey eyes flit around Aether's bedroom, expression warming when they land on Aether in the back corner.

"Hey, feather," Aether hums, setting his book on the windowsill as he stands to greet them. He starts after a moment, nearly ripping his readers off of his face to tuck them into his pocket.

They cock their head owlishly, smiling at the quintessence ghoul. Their white braid falls off of their shoulder with the motion. "Aether," they say, a bite of laughter seeping into their easy drawl. "I know you need glasses, you don't have to take them off for lil ol' me."

He shakes his head with a playful roll of his eyes, the dimples forming in his cheeks giving him away. "Oh, come on, Zeph. What can I do for you?"

"Who said I needed anything from you?" Zephyr teases, but they take a deep breath, the loose hairs and downy feathers along their hairline fluttering in a near-imperceptible breeze. "Omega's busy with a few patients, might I bother you for a little quint and company?"

"Never a bother," Aether shakes his head, taking a few steps towards the air ghoul. "I will drop everything if you need something, Zeph, and that is a promise."

"What a romantic," Zephyr teases, smiling wide enough to show the gap between his front teeth. They've done this song and dance before; they sit down on the end of Aether's bed, groaning softly as they tug off their shoes after propping their cane up against his nightstand. "If it were truly an emergency, I would have made that known far earlier, my constellation."

Aether sits next to them, just close enough that they can feel the body heat radiating from his broad thigh. He chuffs, big hand settling softly on the small of their back. "Same spots this time?" he asks, doing his best to keep his tone strictly casual, but the infirmary-clinical creeps in all the same.

"Back, hips, knuckles, wrists, the usual," Zephyr says, white lashes fanning out over soft cheeks as their eyes close. They lean subtly back into Aether's touch. "Overdid it playing for Mass this morning and the vessel's making itself known."

"Mhm," Aether hums in sympathy, nose crinkling. The first gentle pulse of magick makes them relax visibly, wisps of hair falling around their face as their head tilts forward. "Alright, should we get more comfortable before you aggravate those joints more, feather?"

They laugh, icy blue eyes just vaguely tinged with violet quintessence. "You just want to cuddle, you big ghoul."

"Aw, you caught me, Zeph," Aether teases as the two of them rearrange themselves more securely on Aether's bed. From the open curtains, a sunbeam sprawls out over the blankets, pleasantly warm, illuminating the dust motes in the air. Aether lays down on his back, legs splayed out lazily over the covers. His arms are open as Zephyr situates themself on top of him, careful of their horns as they rest their head on his collarbone, the two of them chest to chest.

Zephyr sighs, a little exhale as they get comfortable, and Aether settles his hand in the small of their back again. Quintessence seeps between them, and Aether can almost taste Zephyr's contentedness, apple blossoms on a late spring day. He chuffs, focusing the quintessence into their joints, and a relieved purr radiates through their body.

They shift, pressing a smattering of kisses to Aether's jaw. He can feel their long eyelashes brush against his cheek, feather-light, and tilts his head to catch their lips with his own. There's no heat in it, just a sweet peck with the tiniest of spark between them.

When they pull away, Zephyr's eyes slowly open, a little more lavender than they were a few moments before. "Did you- Did you just quint me with a kiss, you sap? I don't think that's professional bedside behavior."

Aether chuckles, made lazy with the warmth and the contact. His gold fang flashes in the sunlight. "For precise quintessence application, all I need is a touch," he says, rubbing his cheek softly against Zephyr's.

"Dork," they laugh, the feathered tip of their tail padding on the mattress until it finds Aether's, curling around it like one of the vines in Mountain's greenhouse trellises.

"Your dork," he shoots back, stealing another kiss as they settle, kneading at his chest like a cat as they get comfortable.

"Yes, mine," they hum, voice slow and almost sticky as the pain relief and magick soak into their system. "Thank you for this, Aether."

"It's my pleasure," he whispers, lips brushing against the soft feathers that line the shell of their ear. The feathers twitch under the touch, and he wraps his arms around the small of their back as they coo, almost sounding like one of the doves who nest in the high chapel windows.

The junebugs sing, air pleasantly warm, and the two of them sink into an impromptu nap, curled up in each other.

[sunlightmurdock]

The Odyssey | Prologue | Bradley Bradshaw (18+)

Masterlist | Next Chapter

Bradley wakes up in a foul mood, your ego takes a hit. A deal is struck to ensure that you’ll be able to graduate.

warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), will be smut, virgin reader, swearing, infidelity. warnings to be added on a chapter by chapter basis. 18+ minors dni, wc: 3.1k

…

Nine weeks into Spring semester, six to go. Six more weeks of having scalding coffee, missing tastebuds and a fucking freshman girl ranting into his ear all before the clock even hits 8am. Bradley’s sunglasses sit perfectly across the bridge of his nose, gold-framed Ray-Ban caravans that hide how late he was up last night. This means that sweet, little freshman Bettie O’Riley can’t see the look that he’s giving her as she jogs along to keep up with him.

Hallowed halls, filled with young adults that either reek of cheap beer or Daddy’s money, all signs would suggest that Bradley isn’t supposed to be here. Only thirty-three, sitting at that awkward age that makes him neither a frat boy nor a balding tenured ex-businessman turned lecturer. And yet, his brown leather shoes hit these aged floors every morning on the way to his first class of the day.

Beige, almost cream-coloured, wide pleated dress pants and an untucked blue shirt, rolled up at his forearms and missing the top button. His messenger bag draped from his shoulder, his tie balled into the hand holding the to-go double shot espresso.

Six more weeks until he’s in Italy for two months, teaching during the mornings, free as a bird in the evenings. Sun on his face, limoncello on his tongue; good books, women who don’t just giggle and twirl a strand of their hair at him. History. All funded by the Cornell school of Arts and Sciences. He damn near sighs at how badly he wants to be there now.

“Bettie, I already told you,” He sighs, adjusting the gold-framed sunglasses and shooting a look down at her and her wispish black, curled bob. “I can’t curve your grade, it was a C minus.”

She speeds up and steps in front of him, walking backwards now. “Please, Professor Bradshaw. I’ll do anything.”

Professor Bradshaw rarely draws a reaction from him these days. Only his bosses and parents call him that. He makes a point of scrawling it across the chalkboard at the beginning of each semester, but he’s usually still reminding kids a couple of weeks in to just call him Bradley.

Still, both he and Bettie O’Reilly know that it isn’t her method of address that makes him scoff at her. He stops walking and pushes his sunglasses up into the feathery brown curls that adorn his face, staring down at her like she’s even younger than she is. She swallows, regret flooding her. The other professors usually lean into the kind of virginal, good-girl, bad student thing that she’s got going on.

“Bettie,” Bradley speaks slowly for her, pink lips against tanned skin. Warm eyes against a cold stare. The hallways are full around them, standing stationary in the steady stream of students. “Don’t come onto me like that again. Study.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Alright, come to my office tomorrow morning, I’ll give you an extra credit assignment,” It’s more lenient than he should be with a girl who just propositioned him before he has even finished his morning coffee, but Bradley knows not to blame little Bettie. With those thick, rounded glasses and dark freckles, he knows that she gets a lot of attention from her other professors. The culture they’ve created in this school isn’t her fault. Neither is the fact that Bradley’s class is notoriously hard to pass. “We’ll talk through what an A grade paper should be looking like. Do me a favour and don’t talk to me until then.”

He steps around her and continues; she’s swallowed instantly by the sea of bustling students. In the run up to the end of the semester, people start showing up to class again as it hits them that their professors might actually fail them. There aren’t too many F’s floating around in a school like Cornell. Its stats are exceptionally high, especially these past few years. It would seem that, in a school like Cornell, a passing grade quite simply has a price tag on it.

Three minutes before his morning class is due to start, and having woken up on the wrong side of his bed, Bradley drops his sunglasses back down over his eyes as he strolls into the lecture hall. It’s surprisingly full for a Monday morning. The gossiping never stops when he walks in — he’s not that kind of teacher. He allows the whispering to continue while he sets up his supplies.

There are six people in this room that Bradley has not seen since the first week of class. Every single one of them has a parent that is a benefactor to the university. Front and centre, surrounded by a group of excitedly whispering, well-dressed young women, there’s you. He knows you vaguely, knows that you’re coasting on high B’s. He hasn’t seen you since January, you won’t be passing this class.

“God, look at that rock!” The blonde to your side fawns, grabbing at your hand and lifting it up towards the light to get a better look. Setting his sunglasses down on the desk, Bradley looks too. There’s a silver band with a big diamond on it around your ring finger. You’re beaming. Dressed in a white turtleneck and fitted blue jeans, Bradley’s got his assumptions about the family you come from, and the family you’ll be marrying in to.

You’ve been taking his classes for the full three years that he has been teaching here. He knows your boyfriend. Malcolm something something the third. Maybe fourth. His Daddy paid for the science wing refurbishment last year. Bradley remembers the night that your Prince Charming ditched you out in the snow, drunk out of your mind. You probably don’t remember that night.

“Good morning.” His booming voice obliterates the pleasant chatter coming from your friend group. You cross one leg over the other and look downwards at the glimmering rock on your finger.

Six more weeks until you’re out of this hellhole. An apartment in Manhattan all lined up and Mac’s place with his father’s firm long confirmed by now, it’s all coming into place. You’ll have a summer wedding at the end of August, and then you’ll truly begin your life.

“Tell me all about it! Did he get down on one knee?” Veronica nudges her white tennis shoe into yours and leans across to you, tapping her pen against the white-lined page of her notebook. Between the two of you, Catherine readies herself to take down notes that you’ll copy later.

A decent string of A to B grades and a diploma, that was the agreement, and then your life is all yours. That was all your father had held you to. You hadn’t ever promised to do something with the degree he had paid for.

Why would you? — Your mother hadn’t. She had studied literature, made friends for life, and met her husband. Then, she began her life. Having her children, shopping in the afternoon, tennis on the weekends. Bliss.

“Of course he did!” You confirm eagerly, leaning over Catherine to continue the conversation.

The first five minutes of a lecture determines everything. If he loses their focus now, then he might as well leave now and take an especially early lunch. He starts off with a quick reminder of their upcoming exam, and a nod towards last week’s discussion of Roman literature.

His attention is quickly diverted to the excited whispering happening six feet from him, right in the front row. Your friends aren’t bad students. You weren’t ever a bad student. It has just become clear that you were in college to find a husband, and now you’ve found one. Bradley’s eyes narrow in on you and your preppy, little friends, giggling at the front of his class.

Exhausted, overworked and underappreciated, Bradley stares at you calmly. You conversation comes to a slow stop as an awkward air of silence fills the lecture hall. He’s just standing at the front, staring right at you, waiting for you to shut up.

“Sorry, Bradley, somebody just had some exciting news.” Catherine smiles shyly at him. He knows her the best out of the three of you. She TA’d for him last year. Great girl, really bright future — to generous when it comes to grading. It’s because of his respect for her that he doesn’t jump to humiliating you right away.

“I can see that, congratulations,” His tone is dry, broad shoulders squared, his face unamused as he looks to you. You stare back at him calmly, giving a curt nod — less than polite in your mannerisms. “Now, if those of you that still have a chance of passing this class could please turn your attention back to me, we’ll give the blushing bride her moment afterwards.”

He opens the little brown, leather bound book in his hands and clears his throat, assuming that your rude interruptions are done for the day. Somehow, the awkward silence that sits heavy in the room grows to an even deeper low after you retort.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.” Bradley deadpans, bored. You squint at him, six feet between the two of you and a lifetime of differences. Unimpressed by his joke, you roll your eyes right away.

Sitting there, you cross one leg over the other and sit forwards, frowning at him. He doesn’t fit in around here and you do, perhaps that’s where his problem with you stems from. Perhaps it’s the lack of ring on his own finger. “Why would you assume that I wouldn’t pass your class?”

As much as he knows of you, you know of him too — he’s supposedly a jackass. “Because you missed half of the semester. That includes two quizzes and a term paper. There’s no way for you to achieve a salvageable grade in this class.”

When you’re around Malcolm, sometimes he says things that are just so entitled that you’re wincing before he’s even done talking. He can’t help it. He means well. With the amount of time you’ve spent at his family home in the past few weeks, it’s no wonder that words you would normally wince at are spilling from your own lips, “I was planning a wedding, what do you expect from me?”

“Attendance.” Bradley snips. He raises his eyebrows slowly, waiting for you to pack up your pretty, coordinated stationary and walk yourself out of his class.

“But—“

“Goodbye, Mrs. Ashworth. Congratulations again.” Bradley speaks harshly, calling you by a name that isn’t even yours yet like it’s an insult. Like he’s better than you, somehow.

Your pencil slams down onto the half desk in front of you, eyes ablaze. Perhaps the first time you’ve ever been told no. “If you fail me, there will be consequences.”

The silence that fills the classroom this time isn’t awkward. It’s just anticipation, baited breaths, waiting for Bradley to lose his temper. He walks a few paces closer, close enough to smell the cherry scented perfume on each of your pulse points.

His eyes darken as he dips his head just slightly, meeting your gaze. “You’ve got me shaking in my boots, honey. Now, stop wasting my time and get the fuck out of my class.”

There are certain lines that a professor does not cross when working at an Ivy League. Swearing at the daughter of someone with more lawyers than Bradley has living family members, was not his brightest idea. Still, your father is an amicable man — he keeps on saying that — and he wants to work this out. Bradley gets to keep his job, you get to graduate. Everybody wins.

“Classics majors work closely with individual professors in their areas of expertise, often in small classes, and have many opportunities for independent research and travel,” Doctor Kazansky’s voice is calm, teetering on the edge of cold. It’s growing increasingly difficult these days to put up with snotty parents and their snottier children. “I’m sure you understand why attendance would play such a strong part in succeeding in such a major.”

Bradley braces himself against the radiator, glancing down at the watch on his wrist. Real Italian leather that a girl’s grandfather had made for him a few years back. He’s missing happy hour for this circus.

“Of course I understand, Doctor Kazansky,” Your father might as well be a parrot for how well he has learned to mimic tone. You cross your legs at his side and sit up a little straighter. The way you tense up at his voice is so routine, it’s almost Pavlovian. Bradley watches wordlessly. “Just like I’m sure that you understand that in this university’s hundred year history, it has never failed a member of my family and my daughter will not be the one to tarnish our impeccable reputation here.”

You glance up quickly, catching the look on Bradley’s face. He squints disapprovingly at your Charles Dickens villain of a father.

“What can she do to bring her grade up?”

Now that, admittedly, does come as a surprise. This isn’t the first meeting that Bradley has been called into where someone’s parent demands a better grade. It is the first where he hasn’t seen them resort to bribery before they finally blame their kid.

“She missed over half the semester,” Bradley answers perhaps too quickly, still hot from the way you had spoken to him earlier. He gives a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders and looks at your father rather than you. “Two quizzes and a term paper. Even if I gave her extra credit, she couldn’t pull her average above a D.”

Your father’s face doesn’t react at all to this information. Instead, he turns his attention back to the Dean and rests his hands on the armrests of the chair, slowly raising his eyebrows.

“What about the Italy trip?” Doctor Kazansky looks to Bradley, sitting back in his chair. Bradley stares blankly back at him. “There were two empty spaces from what I remember. Is that correct?”

“For research assistants,” Bradley’s tongue drips venom, his brown eyes dark and his arms folded across his chest. You narrow your eyes at him, knowing that an insult is coming next. “She can’t research what she doesn’t even understand.”

“But, if she were to complete extra credit for the rest of the semester and then accompany you for your research, she would have enough credits to pass your class and then graduate.” Doctor Kazansky explains, more for your father’s benefit than Bradley’s. Bradley already knows this.

He grits his teeth, eyes darting across to you. His only solace is that you look just as dismayed about the proposal as he does.

“I’d graduate late.” You point out.

“Better than not at all,” Your father intercepts, pushing his chair back and standing. He carries himself like a man much taller than he really is. “Thank you, Doctor Kazansky. We’ll be in touch about this research opportunity.”

“You can’t just choose to do it, there’s an application process.” Bradley’s tone is far from professional, it’s downright snarky by this point. He doesn’t care. He can’t imagine anything worse than lugging a brat like you around Italy with him for two months, just for you to fail anyway.

You stand to follow your father, ditsy white loafers on the dark oak of Doctor Kazansky’s office floor. Bradley remains where he is, leaning back against that wall with his arms crossed.

Your father smiles across at Bradley and then shoots a look back towards the Dean. It’s smug, knowing. That process doesn’t apply to him. “We’ll be in touch.”

There’s a final look shared between you and the oaf that just cost you your summer in Manhattan — the first time that the two of you have agreed on anything, a silent exchange. Neither one of you wants you to join him on that trip.

He watches you leave, following blindly after your father like a child, then whips his head around to his boss.

“It’ll be good for her, maybe you can actually teach her something.”

“My expertise unfortunately lacks when it comes to setting the table by seven sharp and getting the kids to bed before her husband makes it home.” Bradley scoffs, pushing himself away from the wall and shaking his head as he straightens up.

“Is there something offensive to you about a woman being a homemaker, Professor Bradshaw?” Thomas Kazansky has two daughters. One, is a wife with two beautiful children of her own. The other, is a doctor. Bradley’s been over to their house a few times and he knows that Tom makes a point of it to be equally proud of them both.

“Oh, give me a break,” Bradley rolls his eyes at the notion, despite the subtle truth it holds. He shakes his head. “She deserves to fail and you know it.”

“Well, we’ll see how she does at the end of summer. I’ll be the first to admit my defeat, if she fails.” Tom gives a small smile and a shrug of his shoulders, always too calm for his own hood these days. Apparently he has mellowed with time, Bradley hears that he used to have quite an attitude in his early career.

Pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek, the younger professor tries to stare his boss down. Tom knows how much these trips mean to Bradley, he takes his work so seriously. Still, Tom just stares back at him, calm.

Squinting, it takes a few moments for Bradley to give up. He turns and growls in frustration, letting the door to Doctor Kazansky’s office slam behind him. His shoes echo through the halls as he storms out of the building and across the quad. Not even Bettie O’Reilly would dare to interrupt his when his face looks as stormy as it does now.

He shrugs his bag off of his shoulder and throws it into the back of the bronco, then shoves his hands into his pockets in search of his keys.

“Do you even understand how hard I have worked for you to have the opportunities that you have had?”

Bradley glances up. He isn’t surprised to find that you’re the one being yelled at. He almost snorts — good, it’s about time someone reigned in that attitude of yours.

You stand, tearful, at the side of your father’s expensive Porsche, your head bowed in shame. Bradley unlocks his truck and pulls himself into the driver’s seat. He figures you probably cry a lot when someone’s telling you no.

“I mean it! — If you ruin this opportunity, don’t even think about coming back. Hopefully Malcolm’s family like you, because they’ll be all that you’ve got, I swear.”

Bradley turns his head slowly. Swallowing to keep from sobbing in the parking lot, shame burns through you as you meet his gaze. Your father towers over you, demanding to know if you’re even listening to him.

Bradley turns the engine on, his brown eyes looking decidedly less scary when he isn’t glaring at you. There’s something else. Maybe it’s pity — you aren’t used to that. He turns his head away and reverses out of the spot.

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @wkndwlff @sunflowerziva @cassiemitchell @himbos-on-ice @bradshawseresinbabe @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @sheisanangell

[inbabylontheywept]

An Honorary Troll

Breaker paused a moment, taking in the sight of the mage in front of him. The robes, the beard, the aloof expression - those were all typical.

The staff was not.

“You cast with that?” he asked, half impressed.

The mage swung the thing off his shoulders overhand and planted its blade into the dirt. It was the first truly threatening staff Breaker had ever seen. The blade on its end was almost as long as the haft itself, counterbalanced at the end by a polished lump of amber larger than a goose's egg. The damn thing looked more like a polearm than a casting aid.

Breaker waited a few moments to see if the human was going to respond to his question. He didn’t. Part of him, the proud part, was happy to finally be taken seriously. The smart part of him suspected he was going to miss the advantage of being underestimated.

Breaker unslung his massive warhammer from his shoulders, its half-slowed fall still weighty enough to be felt through the mages thick work boots, loud enough to be felt in both of their chests.

Then he blitzed the length of the bridge.

The mage’s eyes widened, his wizened hands beginning to twitch out a ward. Breaker knew there wasn’t time. The gap was too short. He was already beginning his overhead swing of the hammer, half falling, the full power of his speed, strength, and weight poured into one crushing blow. He knew that the secret to hitting a mage was giving them everything you had, as hard as possible, as fast as possible, as close as possible. The more time they had to think and react, the more dangerous they’d become, and the more time he had needed to chase and smash, the more tired he’d get. Thank the Gods this was gonna work. Extended fights were-

The wizard grinned.

A spell went off. Not a ward. Simpler. A small jet of flame shot out of the amber orb, rotating the blade to vertical in a fraction of a second. The wizard half relaxed as he planted the staff in the gravel, looking forward like a huntsman versus a charging boar.

Breaker knew he couldn’t slow down. He couldn’t dodge. The one mercy he could see was that the tip was aimed at his chest, not his gut. He’d rather choke on blood than rot from the inside. He closed his eyes before impact, not wanting to see the blade sink into him.

It didn’t.

He heard the crunch of gravel give way to the crunch of his nose as the mage threw a haymaker into his sidestep, staff moved helpfully to the side. He was half glad for the blow because it helped him get his center of balance back under him again. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to get a blow in with the hammer again, it needed too much time to build momentum, but he still turned to face the wizard, every instinct insisting that he couldn’t take his eyes off the little man for more than a moment.

He turned out to be right. If he’d turned his head half as fast he wouldn’t have had enough time to dodge the cudgel end of the staff, swung like a bat at the back of his skull. If he hadn’t been outmaneuvered at every step of this fight, he’d have assumed that swinging from the direction his bad eye was on was just luck. The fact that he knew it was intentional implied that his opponent had a level of martial expertise that even most knights lacked.

With no space to use the hammer, he used the next best weapon in his arsenal: His body. His leg snapped out hard, his massive height letting him connect the blow easily with the old man’s chest. He felt something give, and watched with some small satisfaction as the human went bouncing down the bridge’s center path

Well, he didn’t need an invitation.

He couldn’t move quite as the fast as he’d launched the mage away, but it was a close thing. The pause gave him time to get the momentum he needed to swing the hammer. He felt like an ox behind a cart, the weight behind building into something unblockable, undodgeable, un-

Unbelievable.

The little man ended his tumble on all fours, splayed like a tree frog. The hammer was already bearing down on him, too late in the swing for Breaker to change course, even as he watched the final twitch that signaled a ward was cast. The hammer slammed into the mages hunched back harmlessly, the force of the blow charging the ward like a magical battery. The maniacal grin the little man had worn ever since that first blitz widened half a step further, silver molars on full display, and then-

He flew. Rather than directing the force into some sort of attack, rather than buying himself time and space, the two classical friends of all mages, the little bastard directed all of his stored up energy downwards. The blast launched him up, bringing him from all fours at shin height to eye level in a fraction of a second. He probably would’ve headed up another six or seven feet if he hadn’t grabbed ahold of Breaker’s left horn. His upward momentum swung him full circle around it, his journey ending abruptly as he drove the armored soles of both of his decidedly un-wizardly boots into the back of Breaker’s skull.

If Breaker had been an ogre, or a nightkin, or even a giant, he’d have been out cold. But Breaker was a full-blooded troll, and the horns on his head weren’t just for ornamentation. If he charged a brick wall there was a coin flips chance he’d be the winner. The boots never stood a chance.

The wizard managed to get two more vicious, if slightly panicked kicks in before Breaker’s fists managed to catch up. They grabbed him by the collar of his coarse green robe and yanked him forward, over his shoulder. The old man looked slightly sheepish, dangling from the inhumanely large hands of his opponent.

Breaker cut to the chase.

“You could’ve killed me on the first charge.”

The mage nodded. There wasn’t a whole lot else he could do. His robes were caught so tightly in the troll’s grasp that they acted like a straitjacket.

“Why didn’t you?”

The wizard went for earnestness. He’d been told it was his saving grace.

“You did not deserve death. This is your bridge. I just could not afford the toll.”

The robe tightened further as the troll’s fist clenched.

“Do you wish that you killed me when you had the chance?”

The wizard snorted.

“Murder you, for the price of a goat? No. If I could make a wish, I’d wish I could swim.”

The troll let go with one fist, its thumb trailing back to its mouth. A large, sharp tooth clamped down on the meaty pad of the digit, drawing a thick bead of green blood. The wizard’s confusion blossomed into disgust as the ichor was smeared from his forehead to his chin.

“The fuck-”

His curse was interrupted by the troll.

“I have decided to make you kin. And my first gift to you, great kin, is to grant you your wish.”

The second fist, the one still gripping the front of the wizard’s robes, flung itself forward. The wizard barely had a moment to curse before plummeting into the water below.

Several seconds passed.

Breaker waited.

The wizard arose, sputtering, from the depths. He turned, trembling from the cold, the rage, and the sheer disbelief of what he was experiencing.

“It’s four feet deep.”

Breaker nodded.

“Yes.”

It was almost heartwarming, the way the wizard laughed as he began wading his way towards the far shore. Breaker’s hands gingerly roamed over the goose eggs growing from the back of his head, larger than his own horns had been when he’d passed the trials of manhood.

If nobody gave you headaches like kin, that little man was troll enough for a small army.

[misscherry-26]

The Billionaire and the Stripper.

CHAPTER TWO.

Summary: Billionaire businessman, Ari Levinson, seems to have everything he could ever want: wealth, power, and success. But beneath the surface, he is haunted by his troubled past and the demons that have plagued him for years. Y/N Y/L/N is a stripper struggling with dreams of a better life. She may not have much, but she knows how to survive and make the most of what she has. But when one night Ari walks into the club Y/N works at, he is immediately captivated by her presence and drawn to her in a way that he cannot explain. As they embark on a passionate and intense relationship, they must confront the challenges and obstacles of their vastly different lifestyles. Can Ari and Y/N bridge the gap between their two worlds and find a way to make their relationship work? Or will their differences prove too great to overcome, tearing them apart forever?

Pairing: Billionaire! Ari Levinson x Stripper! Reader

Warnings: Mature content. Mention of the objectification of women (slight)

Author's note: Back into writing! I missed it a lot, but life lately has been harsh on me so I didn't have time to sit and write. This one is short but honestly it's all I got for Ari. Good thing is we get to know him. No proofread. All mistakes my own. Let me know your thoughts about this chapter after reading. Enjoy it!!

Series masterlist.

ARI

Ari doesn't know why he still frequents these places. He should have stopped coming a long time ago. But he can't and he knows why. Here he does not care about his past, present, or future. Here is nobody. This is where his responsibilities, decisions, and thoughts vanish.

So after twenty minutes of waiting, it's more than obvious that the last thing he would want is to be able to release his frustration. If he had done it himself, he would have been faster.

But this woman, not only had the audacity to be late but also to insult him. Who does she think she is?

But whatever anger, perhaps, that he felt at that moment, vanished as he turned and saw her for the first time. The woman was young and beautiful. perfect. She was wearing black lace lingerie which was ridiculously covered by a thin robe of the same color, only more transparent, so he could see everything. Her eyes seemed to mesmerize him. And when it seemed that something inside it opened, a great gray mist covered it. And he went back to her original facade. To be an idiot.

"Not so brave now, huh?" Ari smiles playfully. "I'm surprised, for a moment I thought I had heard that wrong"

TWO HOURS BEFORE

Ari suddenly wakes up, his chest moving up and down faster. Again the same nightmare. Sometimes he just thinks about how everything would feel if he didn't have those nightmares. Those memories that long ago were real.

He wonders what it would feel like to be normal. To just travel around the world knowing those not-so-well-known places that save amazing stories. He did travel around the world, although those travels were work-related. Dirty work.

Fuck, he curses. He needs to distract himself again because he already knows, like every other night, that he won't be able to sleep again.

"So? Cat got your tongue princess?" he steps closer to the beautiful woman, gently caressing her cheek. But he quickly takes it off when he sees her closing her eyes. She is scared. He knows those gestures so well.

Ari is hit by another memory again—one when he is back to his teenage years.

“Fuck… Just get out of here.” he sighs. "I don't want it tonight"

The woman is about to say something but he doesn't give her the time and instead decides to hurry and get the hell out of the room.

Taglist (open): @bunnyforhim @wintasssoldier

@buckysteveloki-me @magnificentsaladllama

@yoruse @patzammit @moonlightdivine

@alessandraavengers @xx-rennyxx

[kozzax]

how do you think Jake and the half Harley’s would get along?

hmm. I think... I think it depends on what point in his timeline you pull him. A sixteen year old Jake might be able to get on well with Jude, but would be decidedly shunned by Joey-- 'oh, that explains a LOT about our childhood' type beat. She hates her father and a sixteen year old Jake is easy to imagine growing into her father. Jude, I think, has a slightly less aggressive stance towards their father and so would be more willing to try and bridge that gap between him and Jake as kind of a brothers in arms sort of deal. Jude likes to understand things, and getting close with Jake English gives him a chance to better understand Jake Harley. They're both weird little adventuring boys.

Post-canon Jake, though-- Candy, in particular? I think it would be way more complicated a situation. I think Candy!Jake would see them and see how terrible a father alternate him was to them and be incredibly put off by it, but still desperately want to give them some kind of fatherly figure-- but at the same time, I don't think the half-Harleys would be willing to take that olive branch. Jude might get on with Tavvy, but Joey absolutely wouldn't.

That being said, I think Joey would be the first one to realize that Candy!Jake does actually want to be a better father figure and is trying to make amends. I don't think she'd ever accept him as any sort of father, but I think she'd be willing to meet him halfway as an estranged uncle figure. Jude, on the other hand, would be a lot more judgemental of him-- he's Jake English, yes, but he's still Jake, and he's trying to step into a fatherly role. Jude reclaims the Harley name, but their father hurt Joey, and she's his Joey.

He's willing to be cordial, but he's not willing to bridge the gap, because their father already broke their trust and Jude isn't going to let his sister be hurt like that again.

Meat!Jake doesn't ever meet them because Meat!Jake is too busy having emotions in a corner after Dirk literally broke his mind with the narrative. If he did meet them, though, I think it would go poorly for everyone involved-- Meat!Jake has had his autonomy ripped away from him and replaced with literally just think about Dirk, and I think both Joey and Jude would be VERY put off by this. They're not comfortable being around him and they've gone no contact.

TL;DR: - 16YO!Jake: Jude gets along with him, but he reminds Joey too much of Jake Harley for her to like him - Candy!Jake: Neither gets along with him at first, but after he keeps trying to be better Joey is willing to reconcile with him as an estranged uncle figure. Jude is put off by his niceness and refuses to accept him as part of the family because he can't let Joey get hurt, but DOES get along with Tavvy. - Meat!Jake: Nobody wins here. They're all no contact with each other.

[fearyandear]

'Keeping Machi' - An Old Yandere Story About The Girl You Saved Wanting to Be Your Wife (TW: Abuse Mention)

Old concept art! So far, this is all I have to show, visually, for the story ^^" I haven't gotten around to revamping Machi's design or drawing the actual scenes/things that I want, but one day, maybe I will. As of now, I just want to eject this story's summary into the atmosphere. I love Machi and her domestic adventures with Y/N pop into my brain every once in a while but I don't know how the story would be received 👉👈

Oh well. The story summary is under the cut! Please regard my trigger warning for mention of abuse!

The son of someone important in a criminal organization had an infatuation with his 'best friend' victim, Machi, who's trans. The older they got, the more controlling he became, until he had Machi pretty much locked up in an apartment room for whenever he wanted to visit. She was there for a year, biding her time until there was finally a chance to run away. Naked, bruised but determined, she ran to the parking complex and pleaded for help to the first and only car she could see with someone inside.

Y/N had finalized the papers to move out of the apartment complex, they'd already moved into another town a long drive away and was just visiting one last time to say goodbye to people. Seeing Machi appear out of nowhere startles them, but they comply with opening the doors, letting them in and pretty much flooring it into the dark streets. Y/N is terrified, but any mention of the police has Machi begging not to turn her in, please. Y/N is stumped and suggests stopping somewhere to talk but Machi insists they just keep driving. To take her any other town but here, far away.

Y/N can feel they've just gotten involved in something, but they figure they're already this deep and the girl could really use some help. If she's that scared of the authorities… maybe it's for a reason. They keep driving as Y/N had planned anyways, eventually, they have to stop and Y/N gives Machi clothes, then they make it to Y/N's new town. Neither of them know what to do next, Machi is still in shock. Y/N decides to let her stay with them for now, and slowly, slooowly over months, the two get to know each other. Machi gets to feel comfortable for the first time. She's free.

I wouldn't really focus on the abuse stuff, but I feel it's important to address it first because what I wanted with the story is something slice-of-life-y that'd show Machi's slow progression with healing, feeling comfortable with her life, and understanding what love looks like. She's awkward but eager. She's never worked, never done any chores, and a stranger has taken her in out of sheer kindness. She feels like she has to really prove herself and keeps trying at housework until she gets stuff right. And she likes it. She enjoys feeling like she's helping, like she's needed. She loves learning new tips and new recipes to be able to impress you with how orderly she keeps things. She's always seeking praise.

She's terrified of leaving the apartment, and goes through a whole journey of holding your hand and taking baby steps to interact with the outside world. She's also terrified of people, but to her surprise, the town you moved into is very welcoming and understanding. The old lady next door especially has an intuition that clues her in to some of what Machi's gone through, and she tries to get involved. Machi has not only you to turn to anymore, after a while. But still,

After bringing her so much comfort and care, and after months (to maybe another year) of her cooped up only in your apartment together, you are her whole world. She was initially very shy, but over time, she becomes really aggressive with bridging gaps physically; as soon as she feels like she wants to hold hands she will. Same with cuddles, 'platonic' kisses and anything you let her get away with. Small victories for her as she is trying so hard to make things official. It's not all cute stuff, though. There are weird rituals she's taken to doing; love spells, incantations, messing around with fluids, she's willing to do a lot to be able to feel closer to you. To be able to have you confess and become hers in the ways that matter.

Really truly, equally as obsessively in love.

[alovelyburn]

do you think guts would still forgive griffith even after everything he did? and for 'everything' I mean casca's rape too

I said what I said!

Longer answer: I mean, yeah. I've written somewhat extensively about my belief that Guts would absolutely forgive Griffith if given a decent reason to (by which I mean validation and remorse). Obviously when I wrote those things I was aware of the full events of the Eclipse, and aware that Guts is aware of them, so yeah, I do. That doesn't mean he will, that's all down to plot turns.

If you're tripping over "but what about the rape' then I'm not sure I can really bridge that gap for you, but...

Guts' level of anger is never linked to moral outrage, it's linked to how hurt he feels, and that can be very variable. We've already seen that he's capable of letting go of it because that was literally his first instinct upon seeing Griffith in his humanesque form, he just talked himself back into being mad. But even then when Griffith showed up he spent half the time trying to wring remorse out of him. We also know via Miura's comment that the Eclipse would eventually lose its sting for him if Casca weren't around, point being we also know he can and would let go of it if the wound weren't constantly being kept open. Which brings me to the next point, which is...

A large part of the reason he holds onto Casca is explicitly about his not wanting to let go of Griffith. This already lays out pretty clearly that Griffith is ultimately his priority. Not to say he doesn't care about Casca, but what I'm saying is that if his investment in her and holding onto his anger about her and the Hawks is largely about not wanting to let go of Griffith, then obviously if he had Griffith that reduces his motivation to hold onto those things. Also...

He came very close to repeating the assault on her himself (and worsening since he apparently was driven to follow it up by biting her head off) specifically so that he would feel closer to/more deeply connected to Griffith. Literally repeated since both physically and mentally he was copying Femto's specific actions. Did he hate it about himself and take steps to prevent it from recurring? Absolutely, but it doesn't change that this is something about him that exists to be hated and controlled to begin with.

A lot of this just comes down to the way Guts reaches his point of outrage - it's all about how he feels about the person doing the thing and the person having the thing done to them. Guts has a hierarchy of value associated with people in his head - he'll let hundreds die to save someone he likes, and then let that person die to save someone he likes more than them. Does anyone doubt that he'd throw most of his current companions under the bus if it meant say bringing the Hawks back or saving Casca's life? Hierarchy of value. And at the top of the value pack is, and has always been, Griffith. Finally...

You can see how much his level of investment in people colors his reactions to what they do just by looking at the way he reacts to Gambino. This man abused him for years, sold him out to be raped and then tried to kill him and Guts still was never able to hate him, or stop loving him, or forgive himself for accidentally killing him. I submit that the only person he has ever valued as much as or more than Gambino... is Griffith.

That third one is huge to me, though. Because Guts isn't someone who casually goes around sexually assaulting people - even when he gets out of hand with Casca, he pulls back as soon as she reacts negatively. Yet there he was. And I'm not saying people can't be mad at other people for doing things they did, my point is the entire reason for the assault was to feel closer to/more tied to Griffith. In other words, he was willing to destroy her in order to be closer to him. That being the case, I can't fathom that he wouldn't be willing to get closer to Griffith without destroying her if given the opportunity to do so.

[demonslayedher]

HI! Buriko-senpai, lately ive been to interested in japan and its whole history (one of the reasons being your blog because its so fascinating how much of kny is connected to japanese folklore and history) so i wanted to know if you would have some recs for me to learn japanese or its history... though its fine if it cant be answered bc this isnt much of a kny ask, still, thank you for inspiring me to learn about japanese culture and also throw me down the rabbit hole that is kny (❤´艸｀❤)

Sup!! So glad I can inspire aspiring Japanese folklorists/aficionados/scholars! Or weebs, that's fine, let's own that term. And that totally is one of the things I love about KnY, it has so many connections to real life culture and lore!

When it comes to learning a language, the first step is asking yourself your goals. If you want to attain professional fluency you can expect to devote a lot of time and money to serious language acquisition, but if you want to be conversational and make friends, this is easier to do through dedicated self-study. It's also okay to just want to know travel basics, and to forget them all after taking a trip abroad! I've always taken hardcore textbook routes with the languages I wanted to hardcore acquire, and I've never used Duolingo or Rosetta Stone but I've liked Mango for gaining conversational travel phrases (which I made good use of while traveling and then forgot everything after traveling). What I suggest for self-study is finding an audio-course which you may be able to find at your local library, like Pimsleur, so you can play it on repeat and mimic and respond to what you hear. If you want an app for the writing system, I liked KanjiBox back in the day, and prior to that I used Tuttle Language Library kana/kanji workbooks. And for my other personal tips on language, see here! My tips do include active listening while watching anime. As for Japanese history, bill wurtz already has you covered in nine minutes, but gaining a general image of the different times periods and their order helps to build a framework for appreciating anime set in different time periods, as well as to tie famous places and people to their context. To take it further and fill in gaps in understanding, timelines of events can help, as long as they are focused on what will aid your understanding as opposed to, say, cramming for a Nerd Test. Wikipedia rabbit holes of bios of historical figures are also lots and lots and lots of fun.

As for deeper explorations of cultural topics and the history behind them, I've got my old blog about San-in region stories and adventures but it looks horrific with the Photobucket watermark all over everything. That said, you should still be able to download the silly and educational Kojiki mythology comics to avoid those watermarks, though. (Do note that my focus was only myths which took place in the San-in region, so like, a third of them, but not the whole Kojiki/Nihonshoki/Fudoki.)* *On this note, if I could ask Gotouge one question, it would be, "Did you happen to see my drawing of Kagutsuchi and did that influence the spirits inside Tanjiro's inner space????"

As for places I recently enjoy gaining insights, two of my go-to YouTube channels for this lately are Linfamy (watch out for dirty jokes everywhere, though I find his wording hilarious) and Let's Ask Shogo (I like how his explanations are straightforward and clear for general audiences, but still rich with detail).

Something that's been fun with the KnY phenomena is that it brings out all the nerds, and I learn so much from people putting out unofficial KnY books to introduce more of their knowledge specialties just because they can frame it with a KnY focus, or theorists who see connections in canon with existing lore that don't stand out to me. Part of the reason writing this blog is fun is because I get to bridge the language gap and tell people in the English speaking fandom cool things that people are saying in the Japanese fandom!

[climbthemountain2020]

Hope of Spring - Chapter 5

For chapter 4, click here!

Also on Ao3 :)

When Tamlin returned, he brought with him an enchanted piece of parchment, as promised. He also brought simple parchment in order for Penny to draft out a letter first. He returned to his paperwork while she worked on outlining her thoughts in a way that could reveal her ability to help while still remaining anonymous, though more than once she felt his eyes on her. She couldn’t fight the small smile gracing her lips while she worked.  

She decided that addressing the parchment to go straight to Rhysand or Feyre would likely be the smartest choice, but also the most likely to make Tamlin grit his teeth and regret agreeing to help. She knew it had been three years already, but she didn’t want to delay further. She worried, with Azriel, that he would immediately be able to track the parchment. If she were being honest, she knew it wouldn’t be hard to track the parchment, regardless. She was sure Tamlin knew the same. But, nevertheless, he had agreed to help her, and that was a step in the right direction. 

It was quiet as they worked, and Penny stopped more than once to muse about how nice it was to have a friend she could be around without feeling compelled to fill the space with awkward or forced conversation. In all her attempts at work friendships and online dates, the conversations seemed to be forced, uncomfortable things where the other person either felt a need to fill every single second of quiet with blathering while she faked a smile and nodded, or the conversation died in a way that made both parties feel the gap was too cumbersome to bridge long-term. This quiet with Tamlin, however, with them both working side by side, felt almost natural. Despite them being at each other’s throats only an hour ago, the air had changed around them. She hoped he would be able to trust her, despite how badly things had gone for him in the past. Due to his own choices, of course, but also due in part to the choices of others. 

It wasn’t necessarily like her to lash out the way she had earlier. In fact, at work, she was mostly complacent about things she probably should have cared more about. It was a new but not unwelcome sensation for her to feel anything except routine and emptiness, honestly, and she couldn't bring herself to regret it. She would so much rather feel something again, even if it was frustration or anger.

More shocking, even, was that he had backed down. She was still a little shocked she’d exploded on him the way she had, but it seemed to be what he needed. Maybe it was what she’d needed too. 

When she had a draft, she allowed Tamlin to review it. He made some minor changes to the language around certain terms she wasn’t sure about, but otherwise left it mostly unchanged to Penny's surprise.   

At the end, the letter was addressed to the Inner Court of Velaris–sure to catch their attention. She detailed that she was a source who wished to remain anonymous, as she was, in some ways, a Seer, which left her in a compromising position if she revealed herself. She knew it wasn’t entirely the truth, but she hoped that it was enough to keep them simply responding and not coming looking. 

She had detailed that she had information about the Death God, Koeschi, and that, should they have any remaining questions, she would be happy to help flesh some things out for them if she could. She let them know she could be reached with this parchment only, and she signed the note simply as “A friend”. With Tamlin’s corrections and her intention set, she copied the note onto the enchanted parchment and it disappeared with an anti-climactic puff into the air. 

“Easy enough!” She said, and clapped. “How’s your paperwork?” Tamlin groaned. 

“I’ve had enough to last more than a lifetime.” He stacked the papers. “Would you like to take a walk with me?”

“Around these grounds? Absolutely.” Tamlin stood to offer his hand, and Penny took it. 

_________________

As they walked the property, Tamlin introduced Penny to those milling about. He showed her places of interest, and introduced her to his most trusted sentries training out by the barracks. They all smiled impishly to see their High Lord escorting a lady around the property, despite him noticing and shooting them a testy glare that could have carved ice. This only served to make her laugh, which served to make the sentries rib him farther. 

At the far eastern end of the property, the land sloped gently upwards into grassy hills that appeared to go on for miles. The grass was high and filled with wildflowers, and the hills were dotted with the most beautiful weeping willows with trunks so thick they must have been centuries old. Penny closed her eyes and took a deep breath, turning and flopping inelegantly to the ground on her back. She could hear the most beautiful song coming from the distant trees and thought she might be able to fall asleep right here. 

“You may live in the most beautiful place ever, you know that? But those trees are about to put me to sleep.” She felt him drop down to the ground next to her, and she peered up in time to see him ease back on his hands. 

“I do. I have done many stupid things in my life, Penny, but taking this land for granted was one of the most egregious of my errors.” A pang of concentrated sorrow shot straight through her heart at the grief in his voice. He shook his head. “Enough of that. I still want to know more about you. What did you do for fun back in your life?”

“Truly?” His eyes were entirely focused on her. Under his gaze, she suddenly felt more exposed than she usually allowed herself. She closed her eyes and swallowed before answering. “Nothing. Things in my life were…predictable.”

“Surely you did some things for fun, though?”

“I worked. I read a lot of books, clearly. I spent a lot of time alone.” He frowned at this. 

“Was that by choice, or design?” He asked, without pity, just a sense of curiosity. 

Penny sighed, and chose to share. “Things just kept getting taken from me. My parents. My dreams. And by the time I realized that I was letting these things keep me stuck in one place, I just couldn’t get the momentum to get back out. It’s not that I didn’t want to. I just couldn’t. I felt frozen. Like maybe I had been the one to do all this damage and it was too late to undo it, but then I was too afraid to find out if I was the actual problem. So I just…stayed.” She pulled in a breath to fill her lungs. She’d never admitted that out loud. Never had anyone worth admitting it to. She was so embarrassed to admit that nothing had truly been holding her in that awful limbo of loneliness except herself. 

When she was ready to open her eyes again, she braced herself for the look of pity, or, worse even, disgust, from Tamlin. But when her eyes met his she was almost knocked back by the sheer understanding in them. She felt as clearly as if he had whispered it into her head I understand. So much more than I could ever explain. And for the first time since she lost her dad, Penny felt seen. His hand found hers in the grass as he looked away. 

“Do you want to go back to your world?” He asked, hesitantly, as though he didn’t want the answer. 

“I feel like I should say of course, but the feeling isn’t really there, if I’m being honest.” His eyes tentatively met hers again. A new emotion was laid there, clearly as day. Hope. “Right before I fell, I was laying in my bed, hoping, begging, for anything to force me to change something. I would say this is about as close to an answer as I could hope to get.” She laughed softly.

Tamlin swallowed and his throat bobbed. “You are welcome here as long as you’d like to stay. I would not stop you if you wanted to leave.” He cleared his throat again and looked away to the hills in the distance. “But I would very much like you to stay. It’s been….it’s been longer than I care to admit since I have had someone I could consider a friend. And even longer still to have one that wasn’t afraid of me.” He laughed in a mirthless way. 

“I would be honored to stay. Truly, I would love to explore more about this world as a human guest. Everything here is so different than I imagined it would be. I feel like I have so much to do and experience.” She noticed his head had whipped back to her, and he lifted a brow.. “What?”

“You said you wanted to experience it as a human guest.” His brows crowded together as he looked at her and she felt a shiver run down her spine. 

“Yes, and?” 

“I don’t think you are human, Penny.”

“What do you mean? I’ve always been human.”

“That fall would have killed a human, ten times over. You barely cracked a rib.”

“But I don’t have the pointed ears or the magic thing.” She wiggled her fingers at him, and he chuckled. 

“I didn’t say you were fae, necessarily, but I think whatever pushed you into that fall also made you into something new. You may not feel any magic,” he waved his own fingers back at her sarcastically and she glowered. “But I can. Maybe you just need a push.”

Penny wasn’t sure what to think. Not being human anymore hadn’t even occurred to her, but he was right. She’d had as much of the same thought when she’d been checking herself for injuries. She had no idea from what height she’d fallen, but the time she’d spent doing so and the cracks within the marble implied she’d gathered a good bit of speed. Perhaps Tamlin was right. 

And that humming that she’d felt under her skin the night before vibrated against her as if in answer. 

[royalreef]

@archivalwrite || Continued from here.

"Dying is a privilege," Miranda says on near impulse, the first words to arrive in her mind and the only words to pass out through her lips. Silence settles after it, Miri still with her head to Liam's neck, not even sure herself why she's said it. It being her action makes it no more clear than if she was watching someone else, which is of a theme that Miranda cannot be surprised by anymore.

Taking stock of her own actions and words is not something she knows how to do. Sure, she was taught to think back over how she held herself, what she did, mark down these facts so that she could analyze them later, estimate how others would perceive her acting and how better to alter her next performance. But the deed itself remains inscrutable to her.

Why shouldn't it? No one ever did any good getting introspective. There were things to do, people to be, plans to place into motion. Navel-gazing was just going to waste valuable time needed elsewhere, on taking action and thinking ahead. The past was already done. Miranda moved without her fully willing it, and she spoke on command. That was all she really needed to do. Presence was its own merit. She was going to upset herself if she continued like this, and then the great joy of simply having things done for her by her would vanish. Then she'd start thinking of things, and feeling things, and keep going, and going, and going, and she knew what happened when she got too caught up in her own head.

Just stop it. Now.

Liam surely didn't care about all of four words, and why should Miranda? She said plenty of things all the time. These were whispered down into his neck, a non-starter, not even answering his question. Nothing worth saying was ever said in four words. She could have picked any that she knew in any language, arranged them how she wanted, and it wouldn't mean anything, so why should this? It was stupid. She was spiraling in this act alone, and she needed to stop.

Say something else. Move on already. She was making it weird, trying to make this into something else.

Against Liam's side, he would be able to feel the shift of her arms. Not much, no. They were still tucked beneath her own body, Miri resting the front of her chest up against them as another means of support, but she couldn't help but flex her hands, pushing her claws against her palms. Somewhere more distant still, the tip of her tail flicked, sweeping from side to side.

"I am just... thinking," she tries again, better this time. A better line for her to say, a better thing to speak into the silence, a better turn of the wheel. This means something, oh yes, something better and something right. This is what she meant to say, she's sure of it. "You know, to be... To be human, and then to not be human anymore. To belong to someone, and then to wake up the next day and to not belong to them anymore. And you have different needs than them, and you feel things differently than they do, and you think of things differently than they do, and you are hurt by things they do not and you have to continually worry of hurting them in ways you cannot intend... You knew how to exist, and then suddenly you are the odd one out who does not.

And you cannot make them understand, right? They would have to be vampires to understand, as you clearly did not just remain as they are with extra steps, you are something new, but... But you cannot bridge that gap? And you want to, you used to, but..."

Miranda shoved her tongue up against her front teeth, making a low hiss of frustration that filled an equivalent space to her body and then even more. An airy sound, one that seemed sourceless, but one which also reached down to the heart as if to shock it into motion.

"I am not making myself very clear, am I?"