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pinguwrites · 1 year ago

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Ooooh, what about this? Future!reader accidentally time traveled to 1940s when she met William Killick, and he had to take care of her due to injuries she had. She ended up staying with him while rejecting his advances because she was trying to find a way to go back to future, and it wouldn’t be fair to him if she were to accept his advances, but she didn’t know William was sabotaging the solutions to ensure she would stay with him forever.

THIS IS ABSOLUTELY WONDERFUL LIKE HOLY SHIT. I was about to write something like this with Tommy in Black Heart, but I opted out, and I hadn't even considered this with William, so I'm so glad you requested it!!

this was supposed to be a short-length fic lol, it's like the longest thing I've ever written on here

Home Is Where the Heart Is ⸻ William Killick

pairing | william killick x future!reader

summary | You don't think much of the box when it arrives at your front door. That is, until you open it and are transported decades into the past. There, you fall into the arms of a handsome soldier, who is intent on making you stay.

word count | 9k

Warnings: DUB-CON, possessive!william, future!reader, period typical sexism it's okay when it's william, reader has a software job, weird time travel plot (who knows how the box got there? it's totally not going to be revealed in part two ;) ), mentions of war, reader simps so hard, p in v sex, breeding kink

Disclaimer: The Edge of Love characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

A/N: I'm honestly not too proud with how rushed it was, but I'm glad it's out there. I'm definitely doing a part two. Be warned for errors.

You were lying in a field of grass, tall, bushy trees lining the area around you. You seemed to be in some type of countryside because in the distance you could faintly see quaint little houses and farmland (at least, you assumed it was; your vision was awfully blurry), but other than that, you had no clue as to where you were.

“Ah,” you hissed, noticing the cut on your body. When you arrived — however that happened — you had scrapped your arm on a sharp rock embedded in the dirt, and now it was bleeding, red blood trickling down your arm.

You sighed miserably, trying to make sense of the situation.

Yesterday, a packaged box arrived on your front doorstep. No address, no company, just a note in pen, To [Y/n] [L/n]. You were a little wary of its contents but brought it inside anyway. You opened it and uncovered a machine, steel and simple in its construction, yet difficult to understand. There was no instruction manual or labels for the buttons, and it took you a while to know if you were even looking at it right, the only hint being the Roman numerals inside the dials.

After tinkering around with it, you must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew, you were in a completely other place. All you had on were your clothes, some money, and your phone, which, surprise surprise, had no signal, so all you could do was look at your downloads — completely useless — and take a photo.

I must’ve been drugged, you thought, still feeling hazy. I should have called the cops the moment I realized something was off.

You got up and took off your socks, trying to stop the bleeding with it. It wasn’t the most hygienic, but it was all you had at the moment, and you weren’t about to tear off pieces of the shirt you had on, especially not when you were already shivering.

The contraption had traveled with you, and though you were aware it was the reason you were here in the first place, you thought it better to bring it along, as evidence. You could show it to the government, and they could use their little science ways to find the culprit. All would be fine.

All will be fine.

You started walking. You didn’t have any shoes on for protection, so it was difficult to step across the dirt, with all its rocks and insects swarming about, but you managed to get to grass quick enough, and it felt much better, almost healing to walk barefoot on the softness of mother nature.

But you didn’t get very far. Eventually, your stomach started grumbling, and you felt like your intestines were twisting inside with desperation. Your sock was now red, and your hand was trembling, so with a defeated sigh, you let go, of both the sock and the heavy machine, allowing the blood to flow freely. You bent over to pick the sock back up first, but the sudden movement made your head reel, and before you knew it, you were out again.

+++

“You’re awake,” a voice said, a male’s voice, a British accent that sounded like butter. Oh, butter, if you could get your hands on that alone you would be satisfied.

You opened your eyes, blinking. A figure, with pale skin and dark hair made it’s way over to you, and in a panic, you crawled away, eyes darting across the room. You were on a bed, bandages on your arm, but before you could calm down or even begin to think properly, panic took over, your heart rate elevated, and you sighed, before passing out again.

+++

For about the third time today, or however long you were out, you woke up. This time your vision was much clearer, but you still had this nasty migraine in your head. You were sick inside, the kind of sick that happens when you haven’t eaten in a while but can’t eat because you feel like you’ll throw up.

You wondered if you were in the same place again. You remembered a man, with a soothing voice, but he wasn’t here right now. Though the possibility that you had been kidnapped entered your mind, you noticed the lack of bonds and chains on your body. He was probably just helping you, you reasoned.

You slowly got out of bed, wincing at the shooting pain in your arm. You observed your surroundings. The bedroom was very minimalist, and . . . quirky. You loved the design and the materials used, as it reminded you of a cottage, but there was nothing helpful in sight. All the technology you could see, like the kitchen, needed to be updated and was worn out. There was some type of record player, or CD tape, or whatever that was called, on one of the counters and a radio beside it.

You didn’t bother with any of that. You were thirsty, throat dry and gnawing at you, so you went to look for water, hoping that whoever lived here didn’t go out and get it from a fucking well. He probably does. Look at this place!

“Shit!” you swore, your knees buckling from underneath you. You felt so weak and miserable and vulnerable. It hit you at this moment that you were probably a hundred miles away from home, in a strange place in a strange home you’d never seen before. How were you going to get back? What were you going to do?

Tears started welling in your eyes. You hated that you were being so emotional. Why couldn’t you toughen up and deal with the situation like a proper adult?

You leaned onto the counter, trying to balance yourself, when the front door opened up, and the man you saw before walked in, carrying a bag full of vegetables and other foods. He quickly placed the bag down and held you in his arms, his warmth comforting and relaxing.

He had short, dark hair, and a sharp jawline, and from this distance, you could see light freckles scattered across his cheeks. He had the most beautiful blue eyes you’d ever seen, like glaciers, like the ocean. Fuck, he was so handsome.

“Here,” he said, guiding you back to the bedroom. He set you down on the bed, gazing at you with such intensity, like adoration or devotion.

“W-who are you?” you asked, voice cracking. “Where am I? Hngh.” You rubbed your temples. Didn’t he have any pain medications?

“My name is William. William Killick,” the man introduced softly. “Don’t be scared, I’m not going to hurt you.” He went off into the kitchen and brought back a glass of water. You drank it slowly, the cool liquid flowing through your body, wetting your mouth. “I didn’t know if you had family nearby, so I took you to my place.”

William paused, as if thinking of what to say next. “Get more rest, it’s night.”

You hadn’t even noticed the time, but one look out the window told you he was right. It was pitch black outside.

“You’ll wake up tomorrow, and have some breakfast.”

You shook your head, and handed the glass back to him, only for him to set it down on the nightstand table. “Where’s my phone? Where’s my . . . box?”

He stared at you blankly, before clearing his throat. “Your stuff is in the back. I didn't know what it was — hey, don’t move.” William’s strong hands kept you in place, pushing you back down to the bed as gently as he could whilst still keeping a firm grip. “Rest,” he ordered. “Don’t need you fainting on me again.”

You wanted to argue, but you couldn’t. You laid your head on the pillow, without a choice but to trust William, and fell asleep, wrapping yourself in the blanket with a content sigh. All the questions you had, all the thoughts, faded away and were replaced by darkness.

+++

You dreamt of yourself and yourself. You, the spectator, were standing outside a window, but it wasn’t just any window. It was your window, the one that led to the inside of your bedroom, where you could see you and William — the strange man — entangled in the sheets. Lovers. You two were lovers. You two were making love.

Anyone would have felt creepy watching someone else, and anyone would have noticed someone watching them, but none of that happened. The sun should have cast a shadow on you, but it didn't. The passerby should have called you out, but they didn’t.

You had just enough awareness to realize that this was a dream. How were you back at home already? Why were you and William kissing?

While originally you felt nothing, like a simple observer without thoughts, you were suddenly flooded with heavy emotions. Confusion, shame, lust, confusion.

But in just a few moments, the world around you crumbled, like an earthquake, and the sun and moon passed by, stars moving across the heavens, and you were warped by time, back in the same place you were before.

+++

You woke up with a gasp, cold sweat running down your body, and immediately William was by your side. You rested your head on his chest, grasping onto his shirt desperately, not wanting him to leave.

“Shh, shh,” he cooed, running his fingers through your hair.

“Sorry,” you muttered, making no effort to leave his side. “I don’t know . . .”

“Shh.”

You both were like this for a while. Faint images of your dream passed through your mind, and from what little you remembered, you assumed it had been a wet dream.

I can’t believe it, you thought. Having a wet dream — about a guy I barely met. Control yourself!

You pulled away, already missing his warmth. William frowned a little but didn’t say anything. “What’s your name, darling?” he asked.

You hesitated.

“I told you, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“[Y/n],” you finally told him. “Where are we?”

William narrowed his eyes. You had a feeling he knew more than he was letting on, but you didn’t want to press.

“Wales,” William answered.

You froze. How the fuck did you get to Wales? What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.

“Um, that’s nice,” you said awkwardly. “How long has it been since you found me?”

“A few days.”

You tried not to panic, but all you could think about was your job and your friends and your family. Have you been reported missing yet?

“You must be hungry,” William said. “I’ll cook something for you. I’m not the best, but I don’t want you to wear yourself out.”

“It’s alright.” You waved his concern off, though it did tug at your heartstrings that he was worried. “I'll get some fast food.”

You dug through your pockets, hoping your wallet was still in there. Thankfully it was. You pulled it out and grabbed two crisp twenty-dollar bills, but William hissed and pushed it back in, his hand not leaving yours.

“What are you doing carrying around that much money?” he asked, giving you an incredulous look. “How are you meant to protect yourself? Where’d you get that? Do you have a husband?”

You pushed his hand away. “I work. And what’s the problem?”

You knew that the American dollar wasn’t equivalent to a British pound, but was the difference that bad? Sure, forty dollars was a lot of money if you were just going to a gas station or something, but nothing to get excited over.

William huffed. “You can’t just show me that much money like that. What if I was a thief, hmm? What would you do then?”

“Are you?” you asked, not understanding why he was making such a big deal out of it.

“No. I’m a gentleman.”

You scoffed, amused, but there was a little smile on your face. “A gentleman?”

“Yes,” he insisted. “A proper man.”

There was a moment of silence between you both. You wanted him to hold you again, but you thought it would be best if you just went on your way.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you said, getting up from the bed. “And bandaging me and all.” You gave him one of the bills. “I know it’s in dollars, but I’m sure you can convert it.”

William didn’t take the money. “You’re not leaving — you’re still hurt. I’d be remiss if I let a lass half as pretty as you alone on the streets.”

You chalked up his way of talking to the region. You honestly found it quite attractive. That, coupled with his British accent, made you feel like you were in one of those romance movies. You had to remind yourself that he wasn’t in love with you and that you were just acting irrational and horny.

“I’ll be fine. We’ll exchange numbers, do you have a charger?”

“What?”

“A phone charger. My phone’s probably dead.”

“The box?”

You narrowed your eyes. “No, the rectangle. The phone.”

“Ah, the one that glows?”

You briefly wondered if he simply didn’t know what a phone was. You knew some people preferred not to have modern technology in their life.

“Yes. I need to call someone — ”

“ — It stopped glowing.”

Great. William obviously didn’t have a charger. And if he didn’t know what it was, no one nearby would. All that was next to do would be to walk to a big city and hope someone there could help you get back home.

“Look, darling.” You ignored the way your heart fluttered when he called you that. “I don’t know what a phone is, or why you’re here, but I know that you still need to recover.”

“I appreciate it,” you said. “But I really have to go. I have work and — ”

“ — Surely you can take a day off. What is it you do?” William asked.

“I’m a software developer. I code.”

William had a blank face. A pink blush dusted his cheeks. He cleared his throat, “I, er, I’ve never heard of that. You mean computers? The big ones that take up a room?”

“No, it’s not the fifties.”

“Well, 1946 is close.”

You didn’t know what to make of that. “What does 1946 have to do with this?”

William observed you intently. “The year. The year is 1946.”

You blinked. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be the 20th century — that was impossible. So many things were wrong with that. How come it was you who traveled in time? Why didn’t the government know about this? Even if you were ignoring the question of how, there were still so many whys.

“No,” you said slowly, inching away from William. What kind of sick prank was this? He was supposed to be helping you, not confusing you. “You’re messing with me.”

William sensed that you were uncomfortable, because he backed away, his hands in the air. You could tell he was waiting for the perfect moment to get closer.

“I’m not a liar . . . Are you from the future?”

Fuck. You weren’t sure. How could that even be possible?

“No,” you said hesitantly. “I dunno, I must be . . .”

Your eyes subtly peered past William and at the door. If only you could get past him . . .

You looked straight at the window, making sure to grab his attention. “Oh,” you whispered, putting on your best shocked expression. The moment he was distracted you sprinted past him and bolted out of the room and out the house, running across the field to the next house you could see. Your arm still hurt, but you were willing to shove down the pain.

“No, no, please!” William shouted, running after you.

In just a minute, he had caught up to you and tackled you to the ground. He pinned your hands above your head and sat on your lower stomach, rendering you useless. His lips were so close to yours, and the look on his face was pissed.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice forceful, gripping onto your wrists tighter.

“P-please,” you pathetically sputtered out. “Don’t hurt me.”

He didn’t budge. “I’m trying to help you — I’m not lying to you, and I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re hurting me now,” you cried, squirming.

William’s eyes softened as he realized what he was doing. “You promise not to run again?”

You nodded, your lower lip wobbling.

“Alright.”

He still didn’t let go of you, but he did pull you up from the ground, wiping the dirt off of your back. Tears flowed down your cheek like rainwater, and you couldn’t help but curl in on yourself.

William held onto your arm as he walked you back to the house, not allowing you another chance of escape, but he did wipe your tears gently and soothe you. You felt embarrassed. Why did you run? You had acted purely on instinct there. This man was clearly only trying to help.

“Look,” he said softly, sitting you back down on the bed like a child. “I’ll take you into town, hmm? Show you around and all — maybe that’ll convince you. You must be quite far into the future to be dressing like that and to have a . . . phone with you, so things will be different, right? What year are you from?”

“. . . 2023.”

“I knew it. On your phone, there was a date. I wasn’t sure then, but . . .” William suddenly reached his hands up and rubbed his thumb across your chapped lips, catching you off guard. “They’re dry,” he said. “I’ll draw up a bath for you so you can bathe while I cook. I’ll get you some lotion afterward.”

You nodded. What else could you do?

+++

William had cooked some simple fish and chips while you cleaned yourself. You had to use a tin tub, which was insane to you, but you didn’t complain about it. He supplied you with clothing, an old-fashioned dress his mother had accidentally left here. You were grateful it was not from some ex-girlfriend or wife, even though you had no right to feel that way. You put aside your other clothes to wash later.

After finishing with that, you sat down at the dining table, and like the hungry girl you were, you gobbled the food down eagerly. It was so fresh and delicious, not at all like the food you had in the future, pumped with chemicals and artificially bred. You tried to be as neat as you could, but it was difficult when you were starving. William had watched on with amusement, telling you to slow down and straighten your back every once in a while.

He took the plates away when you both were done, and then did as he promised and gave you some lotion, but instead of letting you apply it, he took a bit of cream on his fingers and rubbed it on your lips. “Stay still,” he murmured.

“I-I can do it—”

“No, you can’t. You’re still injured.”

You understood his reasoning. And you didn’t mind him touching you like that.

“The rest of my body is dry, too,” you blurted out.

What were you thinking? You didn’t even know this man. Trying to get him to touch the rest of your body — stupid girl.

William’s breathing hitched. “As in . . . your knees as well?”

“. . .”

He cleared his throat. “Well, then. Put them out, over my lap.”

You bit your lower lip, watching on as he rubbed his hands over your legs. His touch was so warm and it felt more like a massage. You felt bad about doing this, leading him on. If he was right about the time travel, then you couldn’t entertain any sort of relationship with him. It wouldn’t be fair.

But it was just an act of service. It didn’t mean much, right?

“Oh, that’s nice,” you said, resting your head on the bed. You felt a bit off allowing a random man to do this to you, but he wasn’t random now, was he? He had saved you. And besides, he was he who insisted he rub the lotion in the first place.

“What is the future like?” William asked. “Is there another war?”

“Sort of. Not really,” you answered, which panicked William. “Don’t worry. If you’re talking about America and Russia, no one dies.”

William chuckled. “I should hope not. I don’t fancy serving in another world war.”

“You served?” you asked curiously.

“Yes. As a captain in the British Army.”

You supposed it was normal. Most men in this time either signed up for the military or were drafted. You couldn’t imagine the horrors William must have gone through. You would never be able to understand the trauma he carried with him. You were curious, but you knew better than to ask. He didn’t need your pity, and you certainly didn’t want to offend him.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“For what?”

“That it had to happen. War and all that.”

“Does war not happen in the future?”

Now you felt a little stupid.

“Well — yes. It does. I’m just sorry. We learned about the world wars in history — and I just — I’m not claiming to know anything. Yeah, sorry.” You looked down.

William didn’t say anything to that. He just kept rubbing your dry skin. Afterward, he put the lotion away and sat next to you, running his fingers through your hair.

“I expect stories from you. I want to hear everything about the future.”

You still didn’t believe you were in the past, at least, not completely.

“You can tell me as we pass through town,” he added.

“I need to wash my clothes first.”

Willian narrowed his eyes. “You’re not going to wear that anymore.”

“Why not?”

He pursed his lips. “It’s too revealing. A woman should never go out wearing those types of clothing.” He sighed. ��Perhaps it’s different in the future, but here, you’ll get hurt if you dress like that.” He continued playing with your hair. “I want you to be safe. So, you have to promise me that you’ll stay by my side at all times, yes?”

You nodded. You always thought that if you caught men talking to you like this, you would slap them, but here you were, turned on by William’s sexism. It was different, you reasoned. He was more focused on protecting you than restricting you. Was it bad that you found that hot?

“Good girl,” he said proudly. “Good girl.”

+++

Walking through town had been more of a frightening experience than you expected. You realized, without a shadow of a doubt, that you were indeed in the past. Producing a prank with this level of investment and money was pointless, and you never had any mental issues in the past, so why would one suddenly show up now? And even if it did, you couldn’t possibly be imagining this all in your head.

All the cars were shiny and new, yet old models, ones that wouldn’t be produced in the future. All the women and men wore traditional clothing, like the dress William picked out for you. The hairstyles were medium-length and curled, or slicked back, with lots of gel and products used to keep them in place. You were grateful William didn’t ask you to do any of that. Not that you would have let him. At a certain point, you would have drawn a line.

“I have to get back,” you told William as you walked on a trail. “The machine has something to do with it. I just have to figure out how it works.”

“That’s an engineering job,” he pointed out.

“I’m good at math and science. I work in advanced technology, so I should be able to figure something out. All it needs is a bit of testing . . . I was wondering if I could stay with you for a while until I figure out a place to stay. I’ll give you all the money I have and I promise I’ll find a job — ”

“ — No need. Stay as long as you like. I don’t want your money. I won’t stop you from finding a job, but it’s not necessary. I can handle any expenses.”

You didn’t argue with him. He didn’t seem averse to the idea of letting a stranger stay at his place. It made sense. People in this time were more hospitable and open (at least, when they felt like it), and William, being a man from the forties, would never allow you to carry any of the financial burden.

You still felt a little bad.

“Thank you. It means a lot to me. Now, what is it you want to hear about the future?”

William’s eyes lit up excitedly. “Do flying cars exist?”

You chuckled. “No. But we have self-driving ones.”

“Self-driving? How do they work?”

You paused. You had no idea. “I’m not sure. They probably have sensors to detect other cars. And, well, there’s a map. So it’s connected to a satellite . . .”

“Satellite?”

“It’s this thing in space. It does . . . stuff. It’s manmade.”

“Space? Have we discovered alien life?”

“No. But we have sent rovers to Mars and we’ve landed a person on the moon.”

William stopped walking. “The moon?” he repeated, bewildered. “Have you gone?”

I wish. “It’s only for astronauts. You have to be trained for that sort of stuff.”

“And when did this all happen?”

“Around the 1960s. There was a space race between America and Russia, and America won.”

Once you got the ball rolling, William would not stop asking questions. You answered them as best as you could and avoided topics like the current political climate and weaponry and all that. After he was done with all the serious stuff, like advancements in science and whether robots had taken over the world yet, he moved on to more social and cultural topics. You were relieved to find out that he wasn’t racist or homophobic or incredibly misogynistic. If anything he was rather tame about it all, and was glad that women had earned more rights, though he seemed upset that the dynamic of a gentlemanly husband and lady-like housewife wasn’t pushed upon society.

“There’s nothing wrong with things going the opposite way around,” he had said. “Two people of the same gender marrying. It’s only that women need to be looked after, and if she doesn’t want to work, then it is her man’s obligation to do it for her. And in return, she must be obedient and serve him whenever he pleases — whether it’s by cleaning the house or . . . other things.”

“And what if she doesn’t want it?” you questioned, referring to the other things.

“A man should always make sure she likes it.”

You could practically feel all the feminism leaving your body at that.

The conversation ended when you reached back home (home? It’s not your home, you reminded yourself). William replaced your bandages with care. You were already starting to feel better, since the cut wasn’t too big, and you offered to help with cooking dinner this time.

After that, you decided to tinker with the box.

It was made out of some type of metal, with two different dials on the top and a button on the side. But it wasn’t like anything you’d ever seen before. The first dial went from zero to nine (zero being nulla) in Roman numerals, and had four hands, each of them colored in order: red, green, blue, and yellow. Respectively, there were four tiny colored knobs on the side, like the ones by a watch, where you could move each hand. The other dial was the same case.

“It must be the date,” you said aloud to yourself. “But which is which?”

Taking a gamble, you pressed the button, but it didn’t do anything. All it did was signal a small lens to start blinking red.

“Are you sure you should do that now?” William asked, coming up from behind you. “Look at this.” He crouched to your level on the floor. “Your eyes have bags underneath them. You’re still tired.”

You rubbed the area beneath your eyes. Did they really have bags? You hadn’t realized.

“I should probably go to sleep then,” you said, putting the box down and getting up.

William walked you over to the bedroom, and was about to leave when you asked, “Where are you sleeping?”

“The couch.”

You frowned. “It’s your house and I’m your guest. You’ve already done so much for me – ”

“— If you’re going to suggest you sleep on the couch, then it’s a no. That’s final.”

“But — ”

“ — Final.”

You sighed. “Then come sleep with me. I’ll stay on the floor—”

“ — No—”

“ — Then we can share the bed. We’ll put a wall of pillows between us, like this.” You grabbed a pillow and placed it in the middle of the bed, separating the two sides. “Not so bad, see?”

William relented. “Alright.”

He crawled into bed with you. His hair fell over his face as he adjusted, and the last rays of sunlight coated his body in colors of orange and yellow. If your phone wasn’t dead, you would have asked him to sit still for a picture, because at this moment, he truly looked breathtaking. He was a beautiful man. You wondered if he knew it.

“What?” William asked when he noticed you staring.

Flustered, you turned your head to look up at the ceiling. “Nothing. I was just making sure you were comfy.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see William lick his lower lip.

“You’re a sweet lass,” he commented. “You always think about others first.”

He reached over, and for a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you (which, admittedly, despite having had a wet dream about him, scared you), but he only brushed a small speck of dust off your shoulders and murmured “Goodnight”, before burying his chin into the blanket and drifting off into sleep.

You followed in suit soon after. A part of you was hoping that you could start a life here. You’d buy a nice house and live out a simple and peaceful life. You and William didn’t even have to be romantically involved. You could just be friends, and you would be happy with that.

But a part of you also hoped that when you woke up the next morning you would be back in your own bed, in your small one-story house that you remember being so excited about buying. You knew you would never like living here in the long term. There were too many things wrong with this time and you didn’t want to be the brunt of its issues. Not only that but being aware of all the tragedies that would soon occur . . . Did you want to be faced with the moral dilemma of whether or not you should stop them? How would your presence affect things in the future? After living your whole life in 2023, you could never adjust to life in 1946.

You had to find a way back. There was simply no other choice.

+++

William showed you many things. Just as he was interested in the future, you were interested in the past. The things that excited you most of all were old-school versions of what you had in the future. Washing machines, refrigerators — they were all so different, yet the same, and it was fascinating.

You even met a few people in town. They were nice enough to hold a conversation with, though they found it weird that you lacked decorum and the social understanding of the time. The women were chatty and mildly passive-aggressive, and the men — well, the men flirted with you quite openly.

William had told people that you were family, someone related but not close enough to be bothered with technical terms like cousin or niece. No one asked questions when you two explained it like that. All the men must have thought that if you were his family and that if you had no ring on your finger you must be looking for a partner.

You were charmed by their advances, but never serious about them. Besides, William hardly let them get a word in before he shooed them away.

By the time weeks and weeks had passed you became acquainted with everyone, seen every sight to see — including the swan lake William took you to — and become close enough to William that he opened up to you. You learned that while he wasn’t an orphan, his parents never held much interest in him other than the occasional birthday letter, and the reason he came out here so far away from the city was to find peace of mind.

You grew to admire him, and you were sure he grew to admire you, too. And soon, you started to feel a certain type of way. A way that made you daydream about all the things that could be, only for reality to stomp across it and remind you of the harsh truth.

+++

William was driving a car, a modern car, your car. He was humming a little tune on the radio, singing some lyrics, hands loosely holding the wheel as he passed by a gas station. It was some Taylor Swift song, and you remember faintly thinking: Of course, he likes Taylor Swift.

He looked over to you. You were sitting by his side, a passenger princess, looking out the window. All of a sudden it was night and you two were driving down a lonely road, parking by the side of some lake. In the distance, you could hear crickets and ribbits, but you paid them no mind.

You were curled up in William’s arms, looking out the sunroof of the car, the light of the moon gently descending through the glass. You offered him a piece of chocolate, and you two just sat there, in the dark, nibbling on snacks and observing the sky, until you woke up.

+++

William had to leave for work, like usual. He again told you not to leave his property line or stray out too far, which, again, was fine by you because most days were cold and bitter.

You spent your time messing around with the box, careful not to touch the wires in the back. Once you put your mind to it, you figured out how it worked. You paid attention to where the hands were currently located and found something promising. The first dial’s hands had the numbers I, IX, IV, and VI, and the second dial was nulla, IX, nulla, and V. Alone, you wouldn’t have been able to tell what the numbers meant, but with context, you understood. The first dial was the year, and the second one was the month and date.

You didn’t quite understand how the box brought you from the future, but that didn’t matter, as it was broken. There was a little loose piece on the backside that had been damaged — a little dent, probably when you were first transported here. All you had to do was plug it back in, but the only problem was, you didn’t have a screwdriver, and you certainly weren’t going to wrench your fingers near a bunch of wires.

When William came back you told him your solution. He agreed and said that tomorrow he would take you to a local store to buy a screwdriver, and he even apologized for not having one in his house. But for now, he said he wanted to take you out to lunch.

“Lunch?” you questioned nervously. Was he asking you out on a date?

You thought about it for a moment. You did want to go, but your mind was too preoccupied with getting back to your time. Besides, it wasn’t fair to him. You did like him, but you two could never actually be together. It was all in your head.

It’s all in your head.

“You know I’ll have to go back someday,” you said, watching William’s expression become more neutral as if he was hiding his emotions. “I dunno . . . I’m getting a little attached to you,” you said with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

William seemed to understand where you were going with this. “It won’t be like that. I wouldn’t blame you,” he said earnestly, taking a step forward. “We ought to enjoy our time together, while it’s still here.”

He made a valid point, enough to convince you. He had been doing that an awful lot. Convincing you.

William took you out to a nice restaurant. The food was a bit plain, but it was good and wholesome. It reminded you a lot of William’s cooking, only fancier and more well-presented. Not only that, but the atmosphere felt calming and almost romantic. You noticed that most of the people here were couples, holding hands and giggling with each other, however young or old.

Was this William’s intention? Did he like like you? Or was this just him being courteous? You couldn’t imagine that many people here were used to dating or one-night stands. But you wouldn’t know unless you asked him, and you were too nervous to do that. Besides, you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself. William was a very traditional man, would he even want a woman like you? A 21st-century girl?

After you two were finished eating you engaged in another walk.

“Come closer,” William said, holding out his arm for you to take. If you didn’t have any self-control, you would have jumped his bones right then and there. He was right. He was a gentleman. No man in the future would have done this for you unless they were trying to make a joke out of it.

You placed your hand on William’s arm hesitantly, trying to figure out the exact placement, walking side by side with him. It was a little cold, however, and you shivered, catching William’s attention almost instantly.

“Oh, you poor thing,” William cooed, talking of his coat and wrapping it around you. It smelled of him, a little musky, smoky like a cigarette, but in a very subtle way. “You’re so nervous. Have you never had a man do this for you?” he asked. “Hold out his arm for you to take, give you his coat?”

“No,” you admitted. “Men don’t do that in the future.”

“I do,” he said, stopping both of you in your tracks. The area was secluded, mostly covered in trees and bushes, far away from any passerby. “I would do that for my woman.”

It was quiet for a moment.

“Well,” you said, wistfully, “whoever she is she’ll be a lucky woman.”

+++

William took you to a local shop to buy a screwdriver next. It all felt very domestic, something that you could get used to. You imagined running errands like this with William in the future. He would be absolutely fascinated by a grocery store, by the internet, by everything. If you thought hard, you could see it — a wondrous smile on his face, a giggle escaping his lips.

You tried not to think of it that much. After your fantasy passed your thoughts turned sad and cold, because you knew that would never happen. It will never happen. As much as you liked William, you missed your family, you missed your house, you missed everything.

When you both got back home, you plugged the broken piece in and screwed the nail. William watched on beside you, a frown on his face, drinking some tea.

“Here,” he said, inching closer, “I don’t want you exerting pressure on your arm. Let me do it.”

He grabbed a hold of the screwdriver, but he bumped into you in the process. With a gasp, he dropped his cup of tea. It shattered across the floor, glass pieces flying every, hot liquid (thankfully not boiling) splashing all over. You shrieked and backed away, watching as one of the glass shards cut right through one of the wires.

“William!” you snapped, but then your eyes turned watery, because of the cut on your hand.

He immediately went over to you, careful not to step on any glass, and picked you up bridal style, moving you away from the mess and towards the couch.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out, looking panicked. “It was an honest mistake — I’m so so sorry, I can’t believe I just did that — are you hurt?”

You laughed at the absurdity of it all, even though you were clutching your finger in pain. It was a very small cut, something that would be healed within a day. “Calm down, William. I’m fine. Are you hurt?”

He shook his head, looking worried, or perhaps, scared was the right word. Yet, you couldn’t figure out why.

“William,” you said slowly. “It’s fine. You do realize we can just fix the wire? I just need a heat-shrinking tube and a soldering iron, nothing I haven’t done before.”

“. . . Oh.”

His tone made you wonder about his intentions. You’d been so caught up on how good of a person he was, helping you and giving you room and food, but really, what was his motive? Because it almost felt like he was trying to get you to stay . . . It sent a sinister feeling down your spine, albeit a tug on your heartstrings as well.

What do you want from me, William? What do you want?

+++

More time had passed. It was difficult to acquire things in this small town, and it occurred to you that such resources were not readily available at this time. You didn’t want to bother William by pestering him to go into the city for materials, so while you would bring up the topic every once in a while, you mostly kept quiet.

You took the chance to relish your break. After all, you weren’t working. It was like a fully paid vacation, so you might as well take advantage of it.

William still had a job, but when he came back, you two would just talk and talk and talk, conversations so smoothly flowing that it felt like you’d known him for years. When you weren’t talking, you were still in each other’s presence, doing your own thing. Occasionally, William would make sneaky moves like wrap his arm around your shoulder, or do the la bise. He claimed he was part French, and it was part of his custom, but even if that were true, you knew the la bise didn’t involve full-on smooches on the cheek.

You never stopped him from doing things like that, but you also never reciprocated, despite how badly you wanted to. All this stalling wouldn’t change the fact that you still had to leave. Not only that, but you were starting to feel homesick.

You missed calling your friends late at night, you missed watching colored TV, and you missed hot showers. You missed easy-access painkillers for your periods, and searching all your queries on the internet. You missed the future. Badly. And you could just feel that the day of return was near.

+++

“You dance, yes?”

Snapped out of your thoughts, you turned to William. You were both lounging on his couch, relaxing, talking, as the time passed by. He had given you a magazine to read, but you weren’t reading it, just dozing off.

You shrugged. “Yeah. I’ve gone to clubs. But — no, I can’t dance like that — William,” you whined, half-heartedly struggling as he pulled you up to you feet. “I’m going to ruin it, I don’t know where to place my feet or — ”

“ — You could never ruin anything, darling. Your presence alone is enough to satisfy me.”

You looked away. “You can’t say things like that, William.”

“Why not?”

You took his hands off you before he could even start the music.

“I don’t like it,” you lied.

William frowned. “That’s alright. Let me hold you. I know you enjoy that.” He chuckled. “When we first met you wouldn’t let go of me.”

The memory, still fresh in your mind, made you flustered.

“. . . William, what do you want from me?” you decided to ask.

He furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean — what do you want from me?”

William licked his lower lip. “Nothing. I just want to take care of you.”

“But why?”

You could practically feel William’s nervousness. It was like when he dropped that glass. He radiated an almost jumbled energy, a desperate energy.

“Haven’t I made it more obvious?” he finally said, his hands on your waist. He brought his fingers up to brush the hair out of your face. “Am I not clear?”

You knew what he was going to say. But you wanted to hear it from him. “Clear about what?”

“I want you.” Your heart started beating. “I don’t care if you’re not from this time. I don’t care if you have a life in the future — I can be better. I can be your life.”

“. . . William.”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” he said, tilting your chin up so you could look him in the eyes. “I know you want me too. I can see it.”

“But we can’t,” you weakly protested.

“So is this what you do?” His tone grew more sharp. “Imagine things in your head and never act on them?”

You stayed silent. He was putting you in such a difficult position, couldn’t he see that?

“What’s wrong?” he continued. “Am I not good enough?”

“William,” you tried to pull away. “I have to go — ”

He locked you in his arms. Your body was so close your noses were brushing up against each other, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Maybe you’re worried I can’t please you right.”

You could have shouted. Why was he being so forceful? You ignored the way your body grew warm — you couldn’t do this. You couldn’t and so you wouldn’t.

“I don’t want it,” you lied again.

“Well, I told you, a wife should always submit to her husband’s desires.”

“We’re not married!”

“We will be.”

You froze.

William took your silence as an opportunity. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, turning his head slightly as his hand rested on the back of your head. You were caught off guard but didn’t try to push away. It felt so nice, and warm and inviting. Why you were denying yourself this? Why were you denying yourself love?

When your lips parted, a string of saliva connecting you both, you placed your hands on his chest. You had an idea. A brilliant idea. Why hadn’t you thought of this before? “William. I still have to go, but — ”

He growled and lifted you up, carrying you over to his bedroom, tossing you onto the bed, and pinning you down on the mattress. “No. I won’t let you. I won’t let you! Don’t you understand? I’m perfect for you — I can — I can.” He looked miserable. In fact, he looked like he was about to cry. “Let me show you,” he said, determined. He started unbuckling his belt with one hand. “Let me show you what I can do.”

You hadn’t realized how hard William was, but when he finally took out his cock — fat and pale, with pre-cum leaking at the tip, his balls a little hairy, you gulped, the area between your legs getting wetter.

“Take off your panties,” he ordered. “And lift up that damn dress.”

You didn’t. To be honest, you were a little frightened by his behavior.

William sighed and did it for you, spreading your legs apart, only for you to shut them close. “You don’t even have a condom!”

“I’ll put out,” he said impatiently, forcing your legs apart again. You gasped, not expecting contact to be made so soon.

He rubbed his cock against your wet cunt, soaking himself. He had this satisfied smile on his face, eyes closed for just a moment, before he looked down at you.

“I thought I’d have to warm you up a little,” he said. “You’re beau — stop it! Don’t struggle.”

He held your arms down as you writhed. “Please, William — I believe you,” you said. “You can fuck me good. Just listen — ”

William shook his head. “You’re the one who's supposed to listen. Listen and take it.”

With that, he pushed his cock in and started thrusting, hard and fast, your hands still pinned, his face contorted in pleasure. His moans were loud and shameless. He had his head right above yours, peppering small kisses on your lips. You tried to ignore how good it felt — him inside of you, but it was becoming increasingly difficult by the moment.

“Ah, I knew you weren’t a virgin,” he said, noticing the lack of blood or discomfort. “That’s okay — I still love you.”

“Love?” you repeated, trying to focus, but your abilities were lost when he used his thumb to rub your clit. “Wa-a-it!”

“Don’t say that,” William said, his tone surprisingly soft given how rough his movements were. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I thought you didn’t want it. Just enjoy. Enjoy me.”

The bed was starting to creak, moving back and forth, rubbing up against the wood floor. Your breasts were bouncing, catching William’s eyes every once in a while. His cock slid in and out of you with precision, hitting that swollen part inside of you every time. His thumb on your clit only added to the intense sensation.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you stopped struggling. You let your head hit the pillow, mouth parted, breathing heavy and hot. At the same time, you were overcome with a feeling of hurt. You couldn’t deny that you wanted it, but for him to take you so forcibly . . . and for you to actually like it . . .

“Are you alright?” he asked, slowing down his pace a little. He looked you in the eyes. “Do you feel good?”

You thought about lying, about crying out No, please stop!, but that wasn’t the truth, and in the end, your desires overcame you. “Y-yes. I want more.”

William relaxed, and his grip on you loosened. He placed one hand on your hip, the other by the side of your head.

“You’re beautiful,” he praised. “Every day I look at you and think of how grateful I am that I found you. Laying there in that field, little flowers around you. An angel. My angel.”

You wanted to tell him how grateful you were, too. That it was him who took you in and not someone else, but the words never came out, only sighs and moans, but he seemed to understand what you were trying to say.

Another kiss.

“You’re soaking me. You’re soaking the sheets.”

A little embarrassed, you turned your head. “M’sorry.”

William forced you to look back at him. “Don’t be sorry. I like knowing how eager you are for me.”

Another kiss, but this time he slipped his tongue in, sweeping against yours before he pulled away, a string of saliva breaking as he did.

“We’ll live here,” he continued, his thrusts becoming more erratic, “in this house. Together. I’ll take you to the movies, we’ll have picnics in the garden, and I’ll write you love songs on the piano. We’ll have children — a girl, I hope — and she’ll look just like you. It’ll be wonderful,” he promised. “I’ll make you so happy, and you’ll make me happy, too.”

You couldn’t help but ruin the moment. “If I did that I would never see my parents again.”

He frowned and didn’t say anything. Then, “I think you’re getting agitated. You need to come, that’s it. You need to come and then you’ll finally understand what it is you’ll be missing out on if you leave.”

“T-that’s not the point — ”

“ — I’m so close,” he murmured. “Fill you up, so damn tight. Ah, you’re perfect.”

When you realized what he meant your eyes widened and you shook your head adamantly. “You said you’d pull out!”

“That was before. I’ve changed my mind.”

You felt familiar pressure build up inside of you. You could imagine yourself, breasts big with milk, belly round and smooth, William reading children’s books to your unborn baby as if he could be heard. The thought alone made you sickly sweet, the idea that life between you and him could be so domestic.

But couldn’t he just wait for a moment?

“I’ll — ah — be with you — every step of the way,” he grunted. “I won’t leave you. So, don’t be scared.”

“William,” you said shakily. “Just listen — ”

But it was too late. Collapsing on top of you, William poured his hot seed inside your cunt, his whimper addicting, like it was something you could hear a thousand times over. A few seconds later, you fell victim to the same fate, and there you two lay, with each other, chests heaving, bodies sweaty and sticky, coming down from the heights of ecstasy.

You could feel his heart pound against yours. Thump, thump, thump. And you could feel yours as well. To think that this man had just gotten you pregnant. It all happened so quickly. It happened so quickly and you were completely fine with it.

“William,” you said after finally catching your breath, turning to face him. “You know I still have to go.”

It was his turn to cry. His tears watered up, glassy, his lower lip trembling, but you could tell he was doing his best to keep it in. “But I love you,” he whispered. “Am I not enough?”

It broke your heart to see him like this. So vulnerable in front of you. It was then you knew you were making the right choice, a hundred percent. You had finally found your match. And to think that you almost let him go . . .

“But I want you to come with me,” you said, hopeful. “Come with me, William. Come with me to the future.”

Taglist: @henrywintersdearestgirl @shroombloom-rry @meetmeatyourworst @mrkdvidal1989 @madnessandobsession @slut4thebroken @qqquartz7 @madeinuk

#william killick #william killick x reader #william killick x you #william killick x y/n #cillian murphy #fanfiction #the edge of love #pinguwrites

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hetalian-veteran · 5 months ago

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The Draw of the Hetalia Fandom (and Why You Can Never Leave)

From the perspective of a fan of (technically) twelve years or so.

Something occurred to me a while back, and I wanted to share it to get other people's thoughts. I'll try to add funny pictures and gifs to break up the wall of text so it won't be as exhausting to read.

I made a post the other day about how the Hetalia fandom always draws you back in. This was, of course, based on the joke about how you can never really leave the Hetalia fandom. A joke you can find virtually everywhere you look in fan spaces online.

But this begs the question. Why? Why can't you ever truly leave the Hetalia fandom? What is it about this fandom that consistently draws you back in?

And note that people don't talk about Hetalia itself, but rather its fandom. You could stop watching the show or reading the comics for years, but the fandom is what won't fully leave you be.

(The Hetalia fandom every time you check to see if it's dead yet).

One answer I've heard has to do with the phenomenon known as Associative Memory, where you can learn and remember the relationship between unrelated items.

For example, you watch Hetalia, a series about the countries of the world personified as anime characters. These characters have their own personalities, traits, quirks, etc. And the more you watch the show and get into the fandom, the more you start to associate these things with one another.

For instance, someone can say the word Italy, and I'll start thinking about Feliciano Vargas. Or someone could say the name Matthew Williams, and I automatically associate that with Canada. Or I could see bushy eyebrows and immediately start thinking of APH England. Heck, someone starts talking about Vikings and my thoughts almost always go to the Viking Trio of Denmark, Norway, and Sweden. I could go on, but you get the idea.

And there's also the fact that we live in a world full of the countries that the show has personified characters of, which would in turn likely remind you of Hetalia.

But there's something more here going on. I've thought about it for a long while, and I think I've realized one of the biggest reasons why you can't fully leave the fandom.

It's because of how versatile the characters of the series can be in fan content. Allow me to explain.

(Me preparing to explain to everyone the epiphany that came to me one dark, stormy night).

Hetalia is a series with literally no plot. Like, zero. Some episodes may impact each other, but the overall series is episodic in nature. The only episodes you'd have to watch in order would be the ones going over the miniature love story between Chibitalia and HRE. And then there's the sequence of episodes going over the Industrial Revolution in season seven, and then the sequence of episodes explaining the relationship between Czechia and Slovakia. But that's it. And the Industrial Revolution and Czechia and Slovakia episodes aired in the latter seasons, long after the fandom was already very big and well established.

The episodes are largely adaptations from the original webcomic and thus are all a bunch of skits haphazardly thrown together. So I'll reiterate what I said earlier; there is no real, canonical plot to Hetalia. There are canon events and facts about canon characters, but seeing as the show is largely skits, they aren't tied down to any real narrative.

(The Hetalia fandom whenever they're given a piece of canon they don't like).

This leaves a lot of room for headcanons. Which leads to fans sharing their headcanons online. And when headcanons get super popular, they become fanon. And when a piece of fanon gets super popular, where it finds itself getting mingled with fanart, fanfiction, and even fan theories, you'll have people who start to confuse it with actual canon. There's really a lot to be said for the wild fanon of Hetalia, but I'll get to that another day. I need to turn the focus back onto the characters themselves.

I'm just gonna put it out there. The Hetalia characters are largely one-note. This isn't to say there isn't some depth to a few of the characters, but these characters are largely the epitome of "what you see is what you get." Especially in the early days of the series. The characters all have a set of straightforward, basic character traits, with their interpersonal relationships often being displayed in a very simplistic manner.

For example, Italy is a pasta-loving coward who's a massive flirt. Germany is strict and authoritative with a no-nonsense attitude. Japan is quiet and soft-spoken, only speaking up when he feels the need. America is a bombastic dork with a hero complex. England is an arrogant stick in the mud. France is a hopeless romantic who flirts with anything that has a pulse.

(Me taking a moment to pause and push away the cringy middle school memories of me shamelessly fangirling in class).

And as I said, their relationships are typically portrayed as simplistic as well. Italy annoys Germany, but Germany doesn't want to get rid of him because he's one of his only friends. England and France hate each other. America is that hyper-extroverted friend trying to get his introverted friend, Japan, out of his shell. Switzerland and Lichtenstein have a sweet sibling dynamic. And Prussia and Austria are portrayed as old friends who like to antagonize one another.

Because of the way the characters and their interpersonal relationships are written, this also lends them open to a lot of headcanons and eventual fanon. Not to mention that most of the characters have canon, human names. So if you want to use these characters in a fanfiction, particularly one where you don't want to depict them as countries (which is most fanfics), you have names at the ready that you can use.

And because of the simple way the characters are written, you can potentially write or portray these characters however you want in fanwork without too many people complaining that someone "isn't in character." There is so much room for your own interpretations of the characters. As long as you keep some of their basic personality traits from the series intact, you can portray the characters however you want. Especially because there's no real canonical storyline to drag them down. Because of the lack of canon storyline, you don't have to worry about fanworks being canon-compliant, canon-divergent, or canon-adjacent.

(Fanfic writers when they realize canon cannot stop them from creating whatever they want).

Do you want to portray Romano as the notorious mafia boss, Lovino Vargas, in the 1930s? Go ahead. As long as you can keep some of his cowardly and stubborn nature intact, you can do what you want with little trouble.

Do you want to portray England as the infamous pirate, Arthur Kirkland, in the 17th century? As long as you maintain his disdain for France, have at it!

Do you want to write a college AU with all of the characters present? As long as you keep in mind their personalities and have a basic understanding of their interpersonal relationships, have fun!

Now you're probably sitting there thinking, "Big deal, people can create all kinds of fanwork, regardless of what its content is, or what property it's for. What makes the Hetalia fandom so special?"

It's special because, since Hetalia is a series with almost zero canonical storylines, and the characters are portrayed in such a simplistic way, both of which lend their way to boatloads of headcanons and fanon, as well as small scraps of canon information that we can choose to either ignore or elaborate like crazy on...

Hetalia is a freaking goldmine for creating all kinds of fan content.

(Hetalians when creating the 2p! variations of the characters, probably).

So much fan content is out there. From creepypastas, to Hetaoni, Dreamtalia, the 2p! characters, historically accurate AU's, school AU's, and so, so much more. All because the canon is just loose enough to allow all kinds of fan content to be created and not seem too far off from the series or characters.

And that fan content ends up being way, way more fun than the actual series itself! Don't get me wrong, I still love the show, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't (or currently don't) have a freaking blast every time I engage with fan content. The creativity is insane, and the fanon is even more fun and entertaining.

The reason you cannot fully leave the Hetalia fandom isn't just because of Associative Memory, but because of the immense amount of fan content and fanon where, because of the nature of the series, you can do, write, draw, and create whatever you want. You can project onto these characters and their stories and interpret them to your own personal tastes. And you know what? That's a heck of a lot of fun.

And there you go, that's my two cents.

#hetalia #aph #hetalia axis powes #hetalia fandom #aph fandom #hetalia fan #aph fan #hws #hetalia world series #hetalia the beautiful world #hetalia the world twinkle #hetalia world stars #hetavet rambles

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coupsie-daisies · 6 months ago

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Kinktober '23: Thigh Riding | Lee Jihoon

Pairing: Lee Jihoon x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut (minors DO NOT interact), canon compliant if that's an issue

Summary: When Pledis brought in another producer to help with Woozi's workload, his ability to focus began to wane. Luckily for him, she noticed it too.

WC: 2k

Warnings: thigh riding, woozi is kinda talkative, praise, explicit kissing, titty sucking, woozi feels like a pervert but he doesn't really act like it

A/N: Dinner is served, eat well. Also check out my donations and commissions here, and consider reblogging them for me

Tags: @dragonofthenorth0726 // @wooyussy // @burningupp-replies // @bunnypig18 // @decaffedthoughts // @brownieracha // @ferrethyun // @walkxthexmoon // @aesteraceae // @wonuqrtz // @mixling-blog // @wonwooz1-blog

Main Masterlist

Kinktober '23 Masterlist

This fanfiction is property of @/coupsie-daisies, reposting on any platform is prohibited

Jihoon tried harder than anyone knew to be a kind, respectable, dependable, respectable person. And, generally speaking, people thought he did a good job. He knew he was a workaholic, spent too much time cooped up in his studio working on songs for his group, for other musicians, for nobody but himself, but his studio was one of the only places that Jihoon generally felt he was at his best. He was good at that, good at making music that made people feel things, that told a story. He was proud of that.

So he was especially proud when he was introduced to you, all bright eyed and bushy tailed as you were introduced as a new producer working under Pledis entertainment. It meant the two of you would work closely together. He knew that part of the reason you'd been hired was to help take some of the stress off of him. So it was hard not to appreciate your presence in his place of solitude.

You were so sickeningly sweet sometimes, doting on him and the members, coming with snacks or full meals or even just coffees in hand - though when you brought him coffee, you also brought him a bottle of water, insisting that hydration was just as important as caffeination. He probably would have been annoyed if it was anyone else, but Jihoon found it incredibly difficult to be annoyed with you.

Maybe the best part of having you work with him was that you were an amazing producer. He was amazed to find out that you hadn't produced for any big name artists yet, that you yourself had been shocked at being hired by Pledis, applying on a whim. You challenged his ideas, managing to bring out the best creations he thought he'd ever made, and you bounced ideas off of him so easily. Most of all, he was enamored with the way that you understood him, you got the way his brain worked, the way he created.

An album later and the two of you were an inseparable team. Which, unfortunately for Jihoon, was beginning to threaten his kind, respectable nature. Because there you were in his studio, the lights casting glows across your skin, across your exposed collarbones and your pretty, soft face, and your hair was pulled back into a ponytail that he was becoming desperate to wrap his hand in. Because as much as he wanted to be a good person, you brought out a downright perverted side of him. He'd been struggling for weeks as the two of you worked on writing a song for another artist together. He'd become too aware of the way you tapped your pen against your pretty lips, and the way that you whined when you stretched your back, and the way that your eyes rolled to the back of your head when you got frustrated with your work.

"Hoon?" You asked, waving a hand in front of his face. He blinked, suddenly very aware of how close you were, that he could smell the honey and cinnamon shampoo you used, and that he could see straight down the front of your shirt where your tits were pushed together. Oh, and the way that his cock was twitching to life, beginning to fill out in his sweatpants. He cleared his throat, eyes snapping up to yours. "What's going on in your head? You haven't heard a word of what I said."

He opened his mouth, finding himself at a loss for words because, honestly, he couldn't even explain what was going on in his head if he wanted to. He shook his head, moving his chair a little further from you and turning back to the track he'd been working on.

"Nothing, just tired."

"You should rest, we've been here all day. Take a nap, I'll order some food," You said, standing up to nudge him towards the couch. He shook his head, shrugging your hand off his shoulder. You pouted, grabbing his chair instead and spinning him around. He felt a wave of panic wash through him, fully aware of how achingly hard he was now that he was exposed to you.

"Seriously, I'm fine. Don't worry so much. Let's just finish this." He said, face beginning to warm. You narrowed your eyes at him, scanning his face. "Y/N,"

"What?"

"Stop looking at me like that." He said, voice tight and dropping lower than you'd heard it. You suppressed a shiver.

"Like what?" You asked him, but of course you knew. You'd been trying to push him to stop staring at you and actually make a move for months now, but he was so goddamn respectful, so absolutely devoted to being kind that he was willing to overlook every blatantly flirty remark and too-intimate touch.

"Like you want me to do something we'll both regret." He said, clenching his jaw. You leaned closer, one of yours hands moving slowly up the length of his arm, over the muscle of his shoulder, down the slope of his chest. So, so slowly that every second felt like it was a hundred heartbeats long when that's all that Jihoon could hear rushing in his ears.

"Who says I'll regret anything?" You asked, voice hardly above a whisper, and your eyes baring down on his. He fought the urge to kiss you, to pull you closer to him and say fuck all the rules and regulations. He choked back the burning desire that you were so willingly stoking.

"Y/N,"

"Would you regret it?" You asked him, reaching up to tip his chin up, dipping your head closer until you could feel his shaky breath against your cheek. "Tell me you don't want to touch me. Say it and we act like this never happened."

You gave him a beat, and then another. The tension drew tight as neither of you said anything. He watched you as you watched the slow parting of his lips, then watched them press back together in silence. You leaned in, pressing your lips to his and melting into the taste of him.

Instantly his hands found your waist, pulling you down onto his lap. You didn't break the kiss as you adjusted to straddle him in the chair, pressing yourself firmly against him as he pulled you closer. His tongue prodded against the seam of your lips, eagerly being welcomed inside. He tasted of soda and chewing gum, and you were addicted to it. Your hands found his hair, long enough now for him to tie up - not that he usually did unless he was deep in a track.

"Jihoon," You whined when he pulled away, bottom lip jutting out in a dramatic pout at the loss of his kiss. He hummed in response, mouth finding your jaw and leaving slow, warm kisses down the curve of it. You inhaled softly, your complaints dying on your tongue. He nipped at your pulsepoint, dragging his tongue over it before moving on to mark your skin just above the neckline of your shirt.

You pulled away, tugging the fabric over your head and tossing it onto your chair. He sighed at the sight of you bared for him, hands moving up your sides, higher to cup your breasts over the thin fabric of your bra. He swore he could look at you like this all day, memorize every scar and stretch mark and dip of your body. You, on the other hand, weren't half as patient. You reached behind you, unhooking your bra and letting it slide down your arms. Jihoon took it upon himself to discard the useless piece of fabric, dipping his head to kiss along the curve of your tits.

"Take these off, too." He said, pushing at the waistband of your sweatpants. You stood up, pushing them down your legs and kicking them aside before settling yourself on his lap again. He shifted your weight, settling you over one of his thighs, his shorts exposing enough skin that the only thing keeping him from the warmth of your core was the flimsy pair of panties you had on.

Jihoon cursed, feeling the way your hole leaked over his leg, soaking the fabric of your underwear.

"Need me so bad, don't you?" He asked, returning diligently to his self-appointed task of kissing over every inch of your chest. You nodded, words lost when his warm mouth wrapped around one of your nipples. Your hips rocked into the firm muscle of his thigh, desperate for any ounce of stimulation other than helplessly clenching your walls around nothing.

He gripped your hips tight, and you assumed it was to stop you from seeking your pleasure, but instead he pressed you harder into his thigh, tensing the muscles underneath you to perfectly drag against your clit. He teased his teeth over your nipple at the same time, and you closed your eyes. One of your hands returned to his hair, the other gripping at his shoulder to keep your balance.

With a steady, demanding hand, he guided you to grind against his thigh. You chewed on your lip, trying to keep your wits about you as you fucked yourself on his thigh. You didn't want to seem as desperate as your body was, but your dripping hole was giving you away, leaving a puddle of your arousal on his skin that he was a little bit addicted to.

"Let me hear you," He demanded, pulling his head away from your tits, and looking up into your eyes. Your stomach twisted and fluttered at the depth of his voice. You shook your head a little, nervous to be too loud despite the studio being soundproofed for production purposes. But Jihoon was having none of it.

He tugged your lip from between your teeth, hooking his thumb into your mouth and holding your face steady, eyes on him and body feeling too warm under his attention. His other hand didn't let up, still pushing and pulling you against him and rutting you down against him like a bitch in heat.

You whined, the sound coming out loud and clear and earning a satisfied look from Jihoon underneath you.

"Good girl," He praised, and your walls crumbled around you, every inhibition slipping out of your mind as you gave him more of what he wanted. He watched the way you followed his lead, half sucking on his thumb and half moaning around it as he got you off without hardly touching you at all.

"Please, need more." You mumbled, words slurred around his digit. He pulled it out, a trail of saliva smearing against your chin.

"No you don't, baby. You can cum like this. Try harder." He pushed you, using his spit-slicked thumb to play with your hardened nipples, circling over each one slowly, then the other, then back again while you chased your high. The burn in your thighs was getting to you, and your clit was throbbing with the desperate need to cum, to be full of him, but instead all you were getting was the grating stimulation of his leg against your clothed cunt.

You dropped your head against his shoulder, clinging to him and chasing the feeling of relief. He hummed, kissing the side of your head and bouncing his leg up against you, watching the way you shuddered in his arms at the stimulation.

"C'mon, know you can do it. Cum on my thigh like this and I'll fuck you. That's what you want, right? Just gotta cum first." He coaxed in your ear, and the sound of his voice sent you spiraling. You weren't even sure if it was his words or the way you were humping him, but your orgasm hit you like a train, knocking your breath out of you with a broken moan.

He slowed your hips down, letting you ride out your high and feeling the way you were literally dripping against him, warm and wet where your core was still fluttering against his thigh. He turned your head to press a kiss to your lips, this one much more gentle than the last.

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" He cooed, a proud glint in his eyes. You made it damn hard to be a respectable man when you looked so easy to ruin in his arms. But luckily for him, you didn't care about him being respectable, you just wanted him to take you the way you both wanted. The way you both would definitely not be regretting.

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georgies-ftts · 2 years ago

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I love the CourtSorcerer!Merlin depictions where he’s wearing deep blue regal robes that fit him perfectly with dark trousers and leather boots that aren’t falling apart and his hair is longer and bushy and crowns his head perfectly

and Arthur believes he’s is a god sent to him by some omnipotent power and looks at him like he’s his entire world but still treats him as if he is the lanky manservant that he met all those years ago but the moment they are alone together he worships the ground that Merlin walks on and let’s his emotions fall from his face like a rain because he knows that Merlin, no matter what, can always tell what’s going through his mind

And Arthur gives Merlin a crown of silver that matches his robes perfectly, and the crown is a laurel that circles his hair and doesn’t meet in the front so his hair protrudes out and Arthur wants to play with the strands but he holds himself back and only stares because that’s all he can do without reaching his hand out to do something that the court would definitely shun him for later on

and Arthur watches as Merlin’s eyes glow molten gold and he declares it as his favourite colour and Arthur allows himself to see Merlin as he truly his, the other half of the same coin, half of his soul, his sorcerer. The man that waltz into camelot all those years ago and challenged him with gusto, the one that stood by his side through every challenge, every battle, that saved his life countless times without ever seeking any form of appraisal and Arthur stands in awe as Merlin’s power throttles onwards and Arthur let’s it happen with a smile ghosting his face because his Merlin, despite everything he was taught to believe, would never ever hurt him and now i’m just writing my own fanfiction from everything that i love but i devour it every. single. time.

#merthur #merlin headcanons #merlin #bbc merlin #arthur pendragon #merlin x arthur #bbc arthur #court sorcerer #king arthur #court sorcerer merlin #merlin fandom #merlin fanfic #ao3

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enchantedchocolatebars · 2 months ago

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Witte Solstice - Chapter 2

Cover art by @leespinoodle.

Fic written by me (enchantedchocolatebars) and @leespinoodle.

Summary: It's winter in the Boiling Isles, and Caleb prepares to celebrate the solstice with his wife, his friends… and hopefully, with Beardo Philip! Philip swears he'll never partake in the satanic holidays of those demonic witches. But when Caleb invites him over for the solstice… maybe he'll find himself making an exception.

Ao3 version

Enjoy!

Philip Wittebane was a man of God, a man with morals.

He was aware that pagan holidays were reserved for witches, wizards, and other deviants, and he made every effort to avoid them as a religious zealot.

If only he could persuade his brother to do the same.

Those degenerate demons in that infernal town (and that Evelyn) were filling his head with talks of immoral garbage and rotting his brain to the core with them.

As the bearded man was sitting at his writing desk inside his cave, writing a riveting tale about the Lord (Bible fanfiction) in his diary, he stopped his pen when he heard a sudden chirp.

His bushy brown brows furrowed, and a frown developed on his face when he looked up from his penned black lettering.

"Not you," he grumbles coldly at a fluttering Flapjack wielding a sealed letter in his beak.

As he grabbed his diary to swat the cardinal away, he heard his brother's gentle voice echo in his head with a warning.

Remember what Evelyn said about tearing your backside in two if Flapjack ever told her that you attempted to harm him... Ooo, fantastic story, by the way! I don't understand the ending, though... And why did you describe the Holy Robe as 'sexy' ?

"Stop looking at my diary!" Philip shouts at no one and puts his private book back on his desk.

Flapjack tweets a confused tweet, and Philip soon yanks the envelope out of his beak.

"You're not getting a thank you, by the way," the brunette huffed calmly with a sour expression beneath his scruffy beard, opening the letter.

Flapjack did not take kindly to the human's nasty attitude.

"Ow!" Philip screamed as Flapjack harshly tugged on his cobra-shaped forelock before taking flight out of the cave.

A hand went to rub his forehead.

"Why you...," Philip muttered through gritted teeth as his blue eyes began to gaze down at the parchment letter, silently reading it.

Once he gets to the complimentary close, he frowns without any amusement and sighs.

'That Caleb...,' he thought to himself, shaking his head.

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junipers-insects · 1 year ago

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Hello! I'm Junipers or Bear I guess and this blog is dedicated to my insects! I love to examine them under a microscope and dissecting them.

[ But seriously. This side blog was made so I can get all of this built up Undertale AU multiverse stuff that I've been suppressing for years now, out of my system. In other words I wanted to draw two Sanses making out. (←I've done that only ONCE) ] ((← This whole thing is being contained for future purposes))

Here's my main blog @junipers-popatochisps Not much is there, just rebloggin'... BUT I ALSO LIKE/FOLLOW/SEND ASKS THROUGH THIS BLOG just so you know

Aaand non utmv art blog: @stones-unturned

Bluesky: 🩵

Tiktok:💜

I speak Eng/Rus/and a secret third thing

I'm an Aroace Lesbian and Genderqueer [They/He/Clown]

Junibears

DNI if you enjoy incest/pedo/zoo ships and the likes of such please. Even if you just support the people who do, still Do Not Interact ( I should also clarify that I am in no way or shape encouraging anyone to harass these people. I'm very much anti-harassment!!!) read this!

DO INTERACT if you're an mspec lesbian

This is just for me

Oc master list!!!!!!!

Pattern! Sans [ 1 ]

Euka!Sans (SciFell Ship child) [ 1 / 2 ]

[more oc's incoming...]

I also write fanfiction!

The Lost Light - a Disney's "Tangled" inspired Cross x Dream fic [ongoing]

Nwm i was being too dramatic here's my first fic back

That's all I think 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🏴‍☠️

(also here's the nsfw blog @bushy-bug )

#utmv #undertale au #sans au #utau

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dewdrops-whammy-bar · 2 months ago

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TDF chapter 3: Smile

The past few months have been rough for me but I’m back on that fanfiction grind.

Dew is having a real bad time in this one. This is the only chapter where his headspace will get this dark so don’t worry, he’ll be fine. This is his rock bottom and he’s going up from here.

psps I made a playlist

Read below or on ao3!

Words: 4062

Warnings: Dissociation, self-destructive behavior/allusion to self-harm, BPD split and the thoughts that come with that, flashbacks, description of physical abuse and injury, description of emotional abuse, religious trauma, panic attack, vomit mention

Taglist: @skele-bunny @rain-loves-scallops @dewphomet @0-miles-away

Dew taps the bottom of a tiny espresso mug on the counter and tosses it back like a shot. Unfortunately, it’s very hot. He should’ve known that, considering he had just made it, but he was tired. Which is why he’s currently choking down a scalding shot of espresso at 8 in the morning.

“Fuck- god-“ Dew hisses, diving for the sink to fill the tiny cup with water to soothe his burning mouth. It helps a little. “Ow- goddamnit-“

Luckily everyone else is in the kitchen, so Dew is saved from embarrassment for now. He places the little mug into the dirty dish bin and returns his attention to setting up the grinders. Ow. There goes my sense of taste.

Cumulus pushes the curtain in the kitchen doorway out of the way, carrying a tray of various baked goods with her. Dew steps aside to let her pass and she gets to work stocking the glass display case.

“You doin’ alright, hun?” She asks, setting muffins onto a tray in perfectly even rows. “Sorry we had to call ya in early, Sunny’s got some kinda stomach bug.”

“I’m alright, it’s no problem.” Dew lies through his teeth. It’s not like he’d been up all night, grinding his teeth and pacing. He just has to make it through the next five hours and then he can go home and sleep.

Cumulus cocks a bushy eyebrow at him but says nothing. She offers him a cranberry muffin from the tray. Dew takes it gratefully.

“Take care of yourself today, Dew.” She tells him softly before turning back to the pastry trays. Dew nods silently, too busy shoving the muffin into his mouth to answer. He checks the clock- ten minutes to opening.

Luckily, he can somewhat taste the muffin with his scorched tongue. It cheers him up slightly. Unfortunately the heavy tightness in his chest and throat doesn’t budge. It’s been there since last night when the shell holding all his unhelpful emotions in a tight little ball cracked and began to leak.

“Well look who’s up!” Swiss crows, sweeping past Dew to restock the stack of paper to-go bags in a drawer behind the counter. “Never thought I’d see you conscious before ten AM. What was it? An act of god? Three ghosts showing up and convincing you to have a change of heart?”

“Sunny’s hangover, actually.” Dew rolls his eyes. “Didn’t think she’d be the kind of person to drink on a Sunday night.”

“Oh, no, she’s actually sick.” Swiss’s normally cheerful, slightly mischievous expression fades for a moment. “I got up at 5 to get her ginger ale and saltines, and you know how much she hates bothering people.” He chews on his lip.

“Shit, sorry.” Guilt joins the wad of half-chewed emotions in Dew’s gut. “I hope she’s doing okay.”

“Me too,” Swiss sighs. “She’ll be fine, don’t worry.” He takes the hair tie off his wrist and pulls his locs back into their usual high ponytail. “I would offer to take the register but Cirrus wants me in the kitchen.”

Dew sighs. “I’ll try not to kill anyone.”

“Good luck.” Swiss gives a two-finger salute and disappears back into the kitchen. Dew walks around the counter, trudges to the front door, and unlocks it. The neon ‘open’ sign is flicked on. Dew looks at his reflection in the window in the harsh light. He looks half-dead. Feels like it too.

He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands and heaves a sigh. If he has to take an extra smoke break to give himself the strength to make it through his shift, so be it. His lungs aren’t getting any less shriveled.

Dew is pulled from his tired thoughts by a soft tap on the glass door. He sighs again and lowers his hands to pull the cafe door open. “Sorry, come in. Spaced out a bit.”

“No worries. Good to see you again, though!” A familiar voice, deep and smooth and the subject of a few late-night fantasies. Dew’s head snaps up fast enough to make his neck pop. Aether stands before him, wearing- oh good lord, are those scrubs ?

“Uh- give me a sec.” Dew scampers back behind the counter and takes the precious few seconds he has to process this new information. He curses his stupid medical kink. If there is a god, he has a sick sense of humor.

He taps on the dark screen of the register, willing it to turn on. After a few seconds of increasingly harder taps on the display, he realizes he should press the on button. Why didn’t he turn it on before opening?

“Um- it takes a minute to turn on.” Dew chuckles nervously. Unlike me, who’s pitching a tent over a customer in scrubs.

“That’s alright. I’m not in a hurry.” Aether smiles. “I usually wouldn’t come in until later but I have to shadow a nurse this morning. Twelve hour shift on a Monday.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“Is that what you’re studying?” Dew asks, his hands frantically navigating to the right screen. Curse this stupid digital register. “Nursing, I mean.”

“Yeah!” Aether seems to perk up. “I’m specializing in obstetrics and neonatal care. Midwife stuff.”

“Oh, that’s cool.” Dew answers sincerely. Would he give me a pelvic exam if I as-

SHUT UP, Dew scolds his horny thoughts. The register finally boots up to the transaction screen and he sighs with relief.

“What can I get for ya?” He asks, holding back a yawn. Aether considers the menu on the back wall for a moment.

“Hmm… I’d like a large iced dirty chai with… four shots of espresso.” Aether requests. Dew raises an eyebrow as he punches in the order.

“Four? You trying to meet a fifth dimensional being today?” He jokes, grabbing a cold cup and a sharpie.

To his surprise and delight, Aether giggles, ending in an adorable snort. “Nah, I just need a lotta energy. Twelve hour shift, remember?”

“Yeah- I think I’d do the same.” Dew rings up the order. “Uh- $7.43.”

Aether hands over a lightly crumpled ten and his punch card. Dew punches it- a smiley face this time- and slides it back over the counter with Aether’s change. “I’ll have that ready soon.”

“Thanks.” Aether smiles- that goddamn smile- and steps back to stuff his change back into his wallet. Dew’s tired mind drifts as he goes into autopilot making the espresso. He’d like to see that smile and those crooked teeth more. Especially if he was the one causing Aether to smile.

Then his daydreams come crashing down. A guy like Aether was surely taken. He had a partner, a fiancé, maybe even a spouse. Dew wasn’t going to break up a relationship because of a fleeting crush.

It’ll pass . He scolds himself. The chai concentrate and milk are added to the cup and the espresso is poured on top. You have to get yourself together. Focus on what’s important. He doesn’t smile as he slides the drink across the counter toward Aether.

“Here ya go,” he recites in his customer service voice. “Have a good one.”

“You too, thanks Dew.” Aether smiles as he scoops up his drink- god, his hands are huge. Dew waits until the man is out the door before slamming the side of his fist against the countertop in anger. Tears prickle at his eyes- why does everything have to be so hard ? Why can’t he just focus on work and making music and functioning as an adult without his feelings getting in the way?

He wants to scream and curl up in a ball under the register counter and cry. It reminds him of the time he’d accidentally dropped a bottle of some mechanical fluid while poking around his father’s tool shed. The aged plastic had cracked and begun leaking dark and sticky fluid onto his favorite shoes. He’d tried to fix it, put duct tape over the crack and scrubbed the cement floor clean, but his shoes were ruined. He had begged his parents for them, red and yellow with velcro closures and the number 95 emblazoned across the side. Cars was his favorite movie for most of his childhood. He had crawled under the workbench and cried until his father found him and scolded him for snooping.

That same cornered, hopeless feeling blooms in his chest now. He wants to go home- at least now he has a home. That scared little girl never had a “home” to go to. All she could do was hunker down and weather the punches.

Dew thinks he would rather relive his entire teenage experience than have his own mind turn against him like this. He’s scared and tired and he doesn’t know what to do. So he does the easiest thing he can think of- shuts down his brain and takes orders. During quieter moments, he cleans the machines. He has to keep his hands busy. He makes a to-do list in his brain:

Take a nap once I get home

Re-string guitar

Shower- NO JERKING OFF.

Check on that tupperware of mold in the fridge, note new colors. Report back to Rain.

Some time passes. He takes orders, warms baked goods, gives customers hollow smiles, and doesn’t. think. This works until his smoke break. Dew sparks up a cigarette and uses the taste of smoke to ground himself.

Nurse Aether would have a fit if he caught me smoking. Dew thinks to himself with a dry chuckle. The hoodie he’d brought with him isn’t warm enough to keep him comfortable so he cuts his smoke break short and heads inside. He stops at the cramped employee bathroom to piss.

Ohhhhh. That’s why I’ve been feeling like shit.

Luckily the box of menstrual products under the sink is fully stocked. Dew digs out a tampon, grinding his teeth at the gaudy pink wrapper. It doesn’t usually bother him but right now it feels like a kick in the ribs while he’s already down.

You go girl! The wrapper taunts him. Dew throws it back into the box and pulls out another one. #Girlboss! It reads.

“Okay, well, fuck you too.” Dew grumbles. He pulls out another one- Breathe and center yourself. That wouldn’t be too bad, if not for the Venus symbol emblazoned next to the words. He tosses that one back too and groans.

God, he wants to go home. That way he can put on his period boxers and not worry about shoving chemical-filled cotton up his pussy. A pad would move around too much in his boxers so he’s forced to resort to the alternative.

Dew gives the tampons one last try. They’re merciful this time, giving him a yellow wrapper and the words dream big.

One haphazard insertion (cold fingers are not the most dexterous with smooth plastic) later, he’s feeling slightly more put together. At least his pants are black today.

His reflection looks back at him in the mirror- he swears the hollows of his throat and cheekbones seem sharper than usual. He looks like a skeleton. He feels sweaty, even though his fingers are still numb from the cold. His tongue and throat are tender from that shot of near-boiling espresso. The taste of smoke makes him almost nauseous.

Dew swallows and looks at his watch. He has two hours left on his shift. His body tells him to go home but his stubbornness wins out. Two hours is nothing.

The cramps hit after about 45 minutes. Luckily Dew’s on dish duty so he can hunch over the sink and grit his teeth and power through. He just wants to go home. Cirrus pulls him aside twenty minutes later. Dew expects her to ask him to stay for another hour or two- she’s got that slightly stressed look on her face.

“How long do you need me for?” Dew asks, trying not to look too disappointed. Cirrus shakes her head.

“I want you to go home. Frankly, you look like you’ve been through war.” She pats his shoulder. “You have PTO. Give yourself a few days to rest, alright?” Dew opens his mouth to protest but she squeezes his shoulder in a comforting yet slightly threatening way. “ Rest. ”

The care and concern in her eyes is the final straw. Dew crumbles into pieces, his carefully built shell around all his emotions shattering. A sob works its way out of his throat and his knees buckle. Cirrus catches him and lets him lay his head on her shoulder.

God, he feels pathetic. He hasn’t cried in six years- not since the night he’d slipped out the back door of his parents house with his guitar, a backpack, and a greyhound bus ticket. He’d promised himself he’d be strong. Turns out it only took a sleepless night and a spiral over a fleeting crush to break him.

“It’s okay, buddy.” Cirrus murmurs to him. “Let it out. No judgement.”

“I wanna go home…” Dew whimpers into her shoulder. He’s going to get fired for this, but right now he doesn’t care.

“You can go. Take all the time you need.” Cirrus replies. “I won’t tell anyone about this.”

Dew nods. He doesn’t trust that she’ll keep his moment of weakness a secret but he appreciates the facade of security. “I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

“You’ll come back as soon as you feel better .” Cirrus corrects him, pulling back and holding him at arm’s length. “Don’t force yourself.”

“Okay.” Dew swallows. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Cirrus shrugs. “Just promise me you’ll take care of yourself.” She holds out her pinky.

Dew looks at the offered finger and links his own pinkie around hers. It makes him smile a bit, he has to admit. “Deal.”

The walk home is bitterly cold and his fingers are stiff as he unlocks his door. He groans as the heat of the apartment envelops him. Thank fuck the heating system decided to work today.

Dew kicks off his boots and makes a beeline for his bedroom. He collapses into bed and burrows under the covers fully clothed. He’s fully expecting to close his eyes and drift off easily, but… sleep doesn’t take him.

Fuck. He knew he shouldn’t have overdone the caffeine today. His heart and brain are racing. He rolls onto his stomach and screams into the pillow.

The scream turns into a sob and now he’s crying again. God FUCKING damnit. He doesn’t even fight it this time. There’s no one home to witness his weakness. So Dew sobs and screams into his pillow and curls into a tear-stained ball.

He manages to cry himself to sleep for a merciful few hours. The dreams he manages to remember consist of dark rainy highways, dingy bus lighting, and faceless strangers.

Dew drifts awake sometime later to the sound of Rain’s footsteps. For a guy built like uncooked spaghetti, he can really stomp.

Through the gaps in his curtains he can see that it’s dark. Granted, it’s November so that could mean it’s anytime between 5 PM and 8 AM.

He looks around blearily for his phone and discovers it in the pocket of his jeans. He’s shivering and absolutely soaked in sweat. Gross.

It’s 6 PM. Five and a half hours of sleep are better than nothing. Dew drags himself out of bed with a pained groan and pushes his hair out of his face. Shower, then eat.

So he does just that- peels his clothes off in front of the bathroom mirror, turns the water temperature up as hot as he can stand, and stands in the shower for what feels like hours until the stickiness melts off his skin. He tastes salt- he’s crying again.

“ Why?” Dew whimpers to himself, sinking to his knees. His chest aches deeply as he takes desperate gulps of air. Oh no. Please no.

His heart is pounding and his hands are shaking.

He kneels in the shower, one hand clasped over his mouth to muffle his sobs. On the shower floor is a necklace, the delicate gold chain snapped. The heart locket pendant is open, the photos inside unrecognizable from water damage.

Why was this happening now? Today of all days?

Dew wants to scream and punch the wall. He wants to rip that fucker apart with his teeth. He picks up the locket and rips the two halves apart.

He’d TRUSTED him. He’d laid on the roof and smoked weed with him, telling each other the things they each kept hidden. He’d spent countless steamy nights in the back of his car. Dew’s guitar was a birthday present from him, secretly bought with his parents’ credit card.

Then he’d turned around and told the whole school EVERYTHING. He’d gone from sharing knowing glances and stealing kisses in the school bathroom to spreading Dew’s secrets to the entire school- and worse- the church.

Dew’s jaw aches from how hard he’s clenching it. Old anger wells up in his tear ducts. He was why Dew had sworn off romance. He couldn’t be betrayed like that again. It would destroy him.

The shower starts to cool down, snapping Dew out of his misery for the moment. He gets out and dries off. He doesn’t care that he gets blood all over his towel or his hair drips all over the floor. Keep moving. Don’t let your past catch up.

So he dries his body and hair, goes through the ordeal of dealing with his tampon, and finally slips his period boxers on. He washes his face, examines the faint wisps of a mustache on his upper lip and sighs. Dysphoria is a bitch.

Dew wanders to the kitchen, still feeling hollow with exhaustion and disorientation. It doesn’t help that he’s hungry too so he digs a mini pizza out of the freezer and pops it in the microwave.

It spins. And spins. Around and around. Like swirls of blood going down the shower drain or lazy curls of smoke. Dew suddenly doesn’t feel hungry. He leaves his pizza in the microwave and curls up on the couch. The microwave beeps at him and he flips it the bird.

The crumpled paper buried in his dresser drawer crosses his mind. He could write. It seemed to help a few days ago.

Dew doesn’t feel like getting up so he snags a pen off the coffee table with his foot and rolls up his sleeve to use his arm as a makeshift journal page. There’s not much space so he tries to write down one-word descriptors. Angry. Tired. Frustrated. Violent. Betrayal. A

Dew stops before he can write the name. He licks his thumb and smears the ink away. Him. Horrible ex.

Scared. Dew pauses. He is scared. Scared of being rejected, scared of peeling away the layers of armor around his heart and exposing his weak spot. His Achilles heel.

Achilles was hella gay, wasn’t he? Yeah. For that other guy. Patroclus. Dew had learned about the story in English class. His teacher had glossed over their relationship as “brotherly comradery” but Dew’s little closeted brain had known better. He found a retelling of the story online and secretly downloaded the PDF to his phone.

The ending had made him sob for hours. It was so beautifully tragic. At the time, he’d hoped that maybe his story would be different. That his mother would accept him before it was too late, before he was buried.

That was a naive fucking fantasy. His mother had clung so hard to her vision of a perfect blonde-haired blue-eyed Catholic daughter that her claws left permanent scars.

Dew’s hand- the one holding the pen- drifts to the back of his head. Speaking of scars…

His vision tunnels and his breath hitches. Here he goes again.

The scent of butternut squash. Dew’s mother had come to the dinner with a stack of Dew’s journals- neatly tabbed and annotated- and read out every entry detailing his process of questioning his faith. Thank fuck he hadn’t written down any of his gender crisis.

He’d been forced to sit there and swallow back tears as his parents told him he was weak, he was stupid, he was letting the devil in.

Dew had mustered up enough courage to snap back. He’d stood up and gone to storm out of the kitchen.

His mother cornered him. He tried to duck and slip past her.

Pain exploded across his face as the back of her hand connected with his cheek. He reeled and lost his balance.

A flash of pain, so bright he could see it. Like a thousand suns.

Stars. Pain. It hurt so much. He tasted pennies. The kitchen ceiling swam above him as his parents yelled at each other. It felt like a dream. His stomach churned with nausea.

He barely managed to muster the strength to turn his head before his dinner came up all over the floor. Something warm and wet was soaking into the back of his sweater. He wanted to wake up from this nightmare.

His memory was choppy from that moment. Trees speeding by outside a car window, sterile lights of a hospital, doctors shining lights in his face. A machine where he had to lie really still as it beeped and rotated around his head.

“Dew?”

Finally he was carried back into the house and laid on the couch. His parents stood over him and told him in concerned voices that this had happened because he had let the devil into his heart. Dew was too dazed and tired to argue so he nodded his head and apologized.

“Dew? Dude, you okay?”

His rosary was placed in his hands and he was ordered to pray. He did, begging forgiveness from a god that never answered until he was allowed to sl-

“Dewdrop!”

Dew’s eyes snap open. There’s a hand on his shoulder- he flinches away from it.

“Sorry- dude, you okay?” Rain is crouched next to the couch, big blue eyes wide and worried.

Dew is too tired to pretend. He shakes his head and bursts into tears again.

“Woah, woah. Can I sit with you?” Rain asks softly. Dew nods.

Over the next few hours, Dew splits himself open. It hurts, but fuck it feels good to release everything. Rain wouldn’t tell anyone anyway. He starts by telling him about Aether. His stupid gorgeous puppy crush. Then his fear of relationships, then his shitbag ex, then the flashback Rain had interrupted. He probably wasn’t coherent for a lot of it but his friend seemed to understand.

“…That’s fucked up.” Rain tells him after a moment of silence. “I’m… so sorry.”

“Not your fault.” Dew sniffles, muffled by the blanket his face is buried in. “Thanks for listening.”

“Anytime.” Dew feels Rain shift awkwardly on the couch. “Can I get you something?”

“Made a microwave pizza. Can you reheat it for me?” Dew asks. Rain nods and gets up.

“And… stay with me?” Dew adds sheepishly. “I can’t be alone right now. I’ll smoke myself to death or-“ he stops and swallows. “Something worse.”

“Got it.” Rain shoots him a smile. “Want a soda?”

“ Please. Did you get another case?”

“Yep. Splurged a bit and got a case of cherry coke too.” Rain opens the fridge and grabs two cans.

“Fancy.” Dew manages to smile- a genuine one. It’s shaky but it’s real. He takes the plate of pizza and the can of off-brand Dr. Pepper with a grateful nod.

“I had some extra change.” Rain shrugs, popping open his can. There’s an expression on his face that makes Dew raise his eyebrow.

“Who’d you suck off?”

“Oh, shut up.” Rain elbows him. “Just a quick coding commission. Someone wanted an in-browser game to put on their website.”

“Alriiiight.” Dew still has suspicions, but he leaves it alone. Not his business anyway.

The two of them stay there, laughing and talking until well past midnight. Dew feels like a weight has been lifted from his chest. By the time he heads off to bed, he feels vastly better. He changes into pajamas and crawls under the blankets.

Maybe Aether won’t be as bad as the last guy, he thinks before sleep takes him.

Kudos and comments on ao3 are greatly appreciated!

#tenth drink free #dewther #nameless ghouls #the band ghost #dewdrop ghoul #aether ghoul #trans ghouls #trans dewdrop #trans aether

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angel-of-the-moons · 10 months ago

Text

A Rose Under The Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc, Steven, Jake) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: None literally just filler lmao

A/N: YOU GUYS I AM SO SORRY IT IS TAKING ME SO LONG TO PUT STUFF OUT LIFE IS JUST... IT'S BEEN INSANE THE PAST FEW MONTHS

Taglist: @bad4amficideas @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @shirukitsune @lokisremainingsanity @mundivagantsoul @furblrwurblr @zoleea-exultant @latenightcravingz @daygirl26 @thelastemzy @leahnicole1219 @marsmallow433 @crazyunsexycool @oscarissac2099 @littlenosoul @animechick555 @capsiclesworldsblog @cloudroomblog @lov3vivian @princessakirika @fog-sama @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @badbishsblog @lillycore555 @stardream14 @kittenlover614 @patchesofwork @enheduannasposts

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Chapter 11:

Good Food And Cat Fuzz

Jake grinned at you as you shuffled about your kitchen, chittering about some interesting things you’d read about the other day on some ancient ruin that was found in Greece because of a construction site. It was difficult to summon the interest in the subject, the overwhelming love of history and ancient cultures that Steven had, but he let you talk nonetheless.

His eyes softened as you carefully sliced the pork tenderloin and drizzled the sauce over it. Even uncooked, the thing smelt heavenly. Maybe letting you volunteer him for this little dinner wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

Steven was an amazing cook, yes, but not being able to really indulge in animal products left Jake’s cooking skills a little stagnant; because Jake refrained from buying groceries that might upset him.

Steven assured him that, yes, he understands that they all have different dietary preferences, that it was no reason to “neglect himself”. But, his concerns were never really on himself. The focus was on Marc, Steven, other people… you.

His thought bubble was popped when Puck mewed and just casually hopped up into his lap with a purr.

He grinned down at the black feline and began stroking her fur, “Hey, chiquita. Cozy, I see?”

Puck purred louder in response, leaning into his touch; her little body relaxed and oh-so-casual. She was possibly one of the friendliest little cats he’d ever encountered.

He didn’t notice when you had ceased your adorable rambling, leaning with your arms on the countertop, the pork forgotten for the moment as you slowly smiled at Jake; his arms curving gently to let Puck crawl into his embrace, rubbing her cheek on his shirt, her purr so loud you could hear it from where you were standing.

He murmured a conversation with Puck for a good minute or two, Puck giving little “mrrp’s” or “muh’s” in reply, as if she was genuinely speaking with him back.

“Mhmm,” You could hear him softly mutter. “Yes, oh, yes. I know. Life is so very tough for someone who doesn’t have to pay taxes.” Puck mewed a bit louder.

“Si, si, carino.” He grinned, his bushy mustache quirking up. You had to admit, he was… handsome. Sweet. The beard he was growing suited him nicely, as well. Puck put her front paws on his chest and sniffed his chin.

“What? No, I know you don’t pay taxes, you little felon…”

Puck smashed her head into his mouth with an affectionate purr, making him laugh and tip his head to avoid getting a mouth full of cat fur. And, doing so, he realized that you were watching him.

Watching him with that beautiful, sweet smile of yours.

“Oh, don’t mind me!” You giggled as his tanned skin flushed with embarrassment and you make a shoo’ing gesture. “You two sound like you were having a riveting conversation!”

Jake looked off to the side and coughed into his hand. “Well, animals benefit from, uh, conversation. I read online that, uh… it’s good for… stimu… lation..." He struggled.

You laugh once again and turn to place the tenderloin into your oven to cook. “Oh, yes, Puck over there is quite the conversationalist.”

As if to agree with you, Puck meowed loudly, making you both chuckle.

The abashed glow on Jake’s cheeks dulls a bit as he shakes his head. “She… is.”

“She seems taken with you.” You smile, walking over to the duo and stroking behind one of Puck’s ears.

Standing so close, Jake could smell your perfume–a sweet, sugary smell that blended with the spices of your cooking. God, it was intoxicating. He wished he could pull you against him and kiss you–

“Wanna sit on the couch while dinner cooks? I’d sit with you at the table but the chairs are sooooo uncomfy.” You say, knocking his thoughts back to reality.

Jake coughs, almost concerned for a moment that maybe you might pick his train of thought out of thin air and call him out on it. He reaches up and scratches his hairy upper lip with one finger, “Oh. Sure.”

Puck mewed and squeaked when Jake cradled her in one arm and let you lead the way to your couch (as if he couldn’t see it from where he had been sitting previously).

You chuckled at how attached to Jake Puck seemed to be, and literally hopped onto your couch cushions, Puck expertly clambering out of Jake’s arms to walk along the back of the couch, staring up at him expectantly, as if to say, “Come on! Sit!”

He shook his head with a chuckle and walked around the opposite side as you popped on some random documentary about Pompeii. “Someone’s a history nerd like Steven, I see.” He teased.

You grinned at him as Puck wasted no time in claiming his lap as her special spot to snuggle, purring loudly as he began to stroke her silky fur, “Eh, what can I say? I’ve always been fascinated by ancient cultures.”

“So has Steven.” Jake murmured, feeling a pit of guilt gnaw at the lining of his stomach. He cleared his throat and looked back at you, a dark brow rising on his forehead inquisitively. “How long have you been obsessed with this stuff, Rosa?”

“Oh, geez…” You prop your head back, your throat exposed as you stare at the ceiling deep in thought. Jake swore he could see your pulse thump in your neck, and the thought made a nervous bead of cold sweat dribble down his spine, making him squirm uncomfortably.

“I think it has something to do with my old man,” You finally say. “He was always reading those kinds of books to me, ancient Egypt, Greece, Rome, China… stuff like that. He was a professor who spoke at seminars and local libraries.”

Jake blinked at you, “A professor?”

“Yeah! An archaeologist.” You grin nostalgically. “It’s where he met my mom, actually. Some people couldn’t tell by meeting her, but I am pretty sure she was from somewhere in Egypt. Not Cairo or Luxor, but… somewhere. My dad liked to brag that he “brought his work home with him.””

Jake gives a short, dry laugh as he turns to look at the screen. Wow. You really were perfect for them. Right down to having ties to the very place Steven often obsessed over; the place where Khonshu first found them…

“How’d they meet, exactly?”

“Well, Dad said something along the lines of meeting at some local bar after they found some small, obscure little tomb in Saqqara. He and his buddies apparently got drunk, almost got into a fight with some locals, and my mom “swooped in” to save them by punching one of them and cursing some absolutely foul things at them.”

You giggle, "But, that might just be my dad’s way of embellishing the tale. Mom once said she met my dad doing something dumb and hurling in a trash can.”

“Ah, love at first sight.” Jake joked with a laugh, imagining the scene himself.

“Not entirely.” You point out, smiling at him, mirth in your eyes.

His eyebrows shoot up once again, “Qué?”

“My mom hated my dad at first. She was one of those “I don’t wanna be shackled to some rando my entire life” kinda people… She had just earned a degree in… well, everything a doctor normally does. She practically ran the local hospital in the town where I grew up.”

“Oh, damn… no kidding?” Jake huffed. “So, what changed?”

“She agreed to meet with my dad, one last time before he came back to the states.” You sigh, smiling bittersweetly. It was good to talk about them, but it still made your heart cinch in your chest when you remembered that you didn’t have them around to talk to anymore…

“He began rambling, about the tomb, mostly. The mummified cats, a mummified baby crocodile, and of course, some tablets and scrolls, as well as y'know, the well-preserved murals.” You giggle. “It was some kinda temple, or holy place or…”

“Or something." Jake finishes with a charming grin, making you nod with another sweet chuckle.

“Yeah. She told me, halfway through his mile-a-second rambling, that something just clicked in her brain. Something in her head told her, “No, I can’t live without this nerd.” And she went with him.”

“Heh… that’s…”

“About as storybook as how I inherited my shop?” You snark.

“Well, I mean, I didn’t wanna offend you or anything…” He mused, his furry lip quirking up in a smirk.

“Nah, I’m used to it.” You reply, waving your hand dismissively. “She traveled with him, her knowledge of the local areas and languages as well as a medical background made her a no-brainer in terms of needing an interpreter and medic at a digsite. But, after my mom found out I was coming along, they settled in my dad’s hometown and stayed there.”

“Wow, when did they find out you were making your grand entrance?” He asked curiously.

“Well…” You smiled awkwardly and rubbed the back of your neck. “...Let’s just say there’s a reason I had a onesie with the words “made in Egypt” on it…”

Jake gasped, trying to reign in his laughter. “No.”

“Yep. Apparently they didn’t care that the only thing separating them and the entire team was a slip of canvas, and… oh this is so gross.” You dig the heels of your palms into your eyes and give a short bark of laughter. “I’m not gonna go on.”

“Oh, no, I get it.” Jake began snickering. “No child wants to imagine their parents during–ahem-- “the making of” portion of your life, so to speak.”

You curl in on yourself in laughter at his rather blunt and astute summarization of your thoughts. Puck meowed at you, standing on Jake’s thigh with the tip of her tail curved as her big green eyes blinked at you slowly.

You finally remember your feline companion’s presence, realizing now that she was probably getting jealous that you two were paying more attention to each other than her... So, you leaned over (rather close to Jake; not even realizing how he stiffened up at the gesture) and gave your little black cat a kiss on her cute little forehead, loving the little “prrbt” she made as she mashed her head into your lips.

You look up at Jake, “So… how’d you and your “separated at birth” brothers meet?”

Jake immediately coughed, tugging the collar of his shirt a bit nervously, “Well…”

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Layla sat on the edge of the building, looking down into your flat through your open window from above, kicking her feet and grinning as she held her cheeks in her palms, her elbows on her knees.

“Don’t you think it’s a little creepy to be spying on them, Layla?” Taweret asked, a chubby little brow curving in soft reprimand.

“Oh, c’mon, Taweret.” Layla said, looking up at her. “Jake is getting close to her… maybe he’ll open up, about himself or the other two, or…”

“...Or you were just being nosey.” She said, putting her hand on her hips and wagging a finger at the woman.

“Can't it be both?”

“Oh, you're just terrible!” The goddess sighed.

“Hey… she's perfect for them, Taweret… I jus’ wanna see how this starts out. And… I hope Jake will tell the boys about her. I worry about them, y'know.”

The hippo-woman sighed once again, a small frown on her muzzle, “As do I, m’love. We can only pray for the best.”

She looked around warily.

“...And hope Khonshu doesn't have something up his sleeve.”

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Chapter 12: Link

#moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #steven grant x you #marc spector x you #jake lockley x you #a rose under the moon

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gentil-minou · 1 year ago

Text

Wei Wuxian licks his lips and leans forward slightly, walking his fingers across the countertop aimlessly toward Lan Zhan. “You know, Lan Zhan,” he drawls, “A-Yuan says we’re both in the book.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan responds, tracking the path of his fingers intently, “I am apparently Hanguang-jun, the moral upstanding hero.”

“And I’m the devious Yiling Loazu, who led you astray,” he smirks, peering at Lan Zhan through his lashes.

Lan Zhan meets his stare, head-on, lit from within like molten sunshine. “No,” he corrects, “not astray, Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian tilts his head, waiting for him to continue. His fingers stop their dancing, resting just inches away from Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan shifts his own hand, bringing them even closer, their fingertips almost brushing.

“The Yiling Loazu did not lead Hanguang-jun astray,” he says, eyes piercing as they flicker between Wei Wuxian’s. “They were partners, and…”

“Ah,” Wei Wuxian breathes, “the decent romance?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t answer, watching him closely. The pupils of his eyes have grown so large there’s only the tiniest ring of gold around the edge. He can see himself reflected in the black. He thinks he likes the version of himself that lives in Lan Zhan’s eyes.

They’re standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for the other to take a step forward, bracing for a fall.

It should be terrifying, this sudden drop into something completely new, something entirely unknown yet so familiar. But Wei Wuxian is filled with conviction that no matter what, Lan Zhan will catch him.

It's as electrifying as it is calming, this certainty that here, with Lan Zhan, he is safe.

Wei Wuxian tilts his head to the side in a way he knows sets the unmarked skin of his neck on display. “I’m sure it was more than just decent, with a handsome hero like Hanguang-jun.”

Lan Zhan quirks an eyebrow, his gaze resting on the curve of Wei Wuxian’s neck, just as he’d hoped. "Handsome?"

“Well,” Wei Wuxian responds, tapping his index finger so it brushes against Lan Zhan’s fingertips. His skin is soft and perfect, just like the rest of him. “He isn’t wrong. You’re very handsome, Lan Zhan.”

“Really, Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan says, voice quiet and deep.

“Yep, definitely worthy of being compared to the beautiful Second Jade of Lan.”

“Is that so?” Lan Zhan shifts closer, the smell of him filling up Wei Wuxian. He smells so familiar, like something he knows intimately. Sandalwood, Wei Wuxian realizes, with sudden clarity.

Lan Zhan continues, “I would love to hear more about your opinion on my beauty and prestige, Wei Ying.”

“You don’t know anything about me, Lan Zhan. Why would you care what I think?”

Lan Zhan tilts his head, only just. “Do I need to? To want to know how your brain works?”

I commissioned this lovely artwork by the wonderful @lotuslate of a scene from my fic, once upon a time, 很久很久以前 where the entire cultivation world is cursed to live in the modern world without their memories and abilities, but of course wangxian find a way to fall in love all over again.

#i've been staring at this art for days they're one of my fave mdzs artist i am not worthy T__T #look at them falling in love before shenanigans try to keep them apart!!#im planning to post chapter 3 next week maybe by the end og the weekend #it's an absolute beast at 15k but it also introduces a bunch of characters im excited for hehe #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #chen qing ling #wangxian #mdzs fanfiction #the untamed fanfic #wei wuxian #wei ying #lan wangji #lan zhan #mxtxnet #mdzs ouat au #bushy writing #okay now that the tags are out of the way prepare for anxiety rant: commissioning art for my fic was one of the best and most anxiety thing #i've ever had to do like it's actually insane #on the one hand i love my fic so much but also i do not feel worthy of such pretty art and talent (except i paid for it and supported an #artist i really admire which makes me dumb brain extra silly) but yeah this enitire week since i first got it i basically had to play #with my anxiety in the worst way and its been awful and i want to share this art cause its so great but also i want to cry cause i feel #unworthy BUT! i am by posting this telling that anxiety to shut up and continue promoting a fic i'm really proud and excited for and #hopefully opening the floodgates so i have the confidence to commission more artwork in the future because seeing the words i write in a pi #is just about one of the most incredible feelings aNYWAYS

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bellybuttonbooks · 2 months ago

Text

THE SIXTH | Ekko x Fem!OC

CHAPTER TWO

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Link to Chapter One can be found here.

Full fanfiction currently has 22 chapters and counting. Link to full fanfiction can be found here.

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Ekko was not okay when he made it back to the Firelight hideout. Though he had no physical injuries (which was surprising since she'd jabbed him in the back of his neck and sent him crumbling to the ground), he was royally pissed off.

His feet clunked against the floor as he stormed to his bedroom with an angry frown on his face. It was late now, and very few Firelights were awake to witness his sour mood.

As soon as he entered his room, he cleared everything off his desk. He grabbed a pencil and began making a sloppy sketch of the woman he had the unfortune of meeting tonight. He drew her long, bushy hair, goggles, mask, scarf—any detail that he was able to recall about her. As he traced the outlines of her goggles, his pressure on his pencil strokes softened slightly. He recognized these goggles from someone from the past. He was quick to dismiss the similarity though. The person who had those goggles was dead, and this particular design was common throughout Zaun.

He finished the sketch and then glared down at it as if it were actually her. Whoever this woman was, he wouldn't stop until he took her and her group down. Now that he knew how they managed to paralyze their victims, he planned on using this new intel to ensure they were unable to do it to him or the other Firelights.

He moved to his workbench and grabbed an old piece of scrap metal that was resting against the wall. He'd finally found a use for it. He needed to make something to protect their napes so that they couldn't be paralyzed.

He worked throughout the night and into the morning. By noon, he finally finished. Metal plate pieces that could be attached to the back straps of their masks. Not only would it protect their napes, it would also send a surge or electricity through anyone who tried to paralyze them. And it was one-sided, meaning the inside of the plate was safe to rest against the flesh of the wearer's neck without the risk of be electrocuted themselves. The plate was split in multiple sections, ensuring it was flexible enough to allow them to maintain range of motion when looking upwards.

During lunch, Scar watched silently as his leader glared down at his bowl of soup in deep contemplation.

By now, the other Firelights were aware of Ekko's encounter with the mysterious leader of their unknown 'enemy' group. He'd caught them up on it and then showed them his new invention. Each word that Ekko uttered while describing the situation sounded like he was in agony. Everyone could see how tense he was, and how lost in thought he remained.

"Not hungry?" the chirean asked, scooping up some of his own soup at the same time.

Ekko peered over at Scar from across the table and shrugged.

Scar couldn't help but roll his eyes. Always so stubborn.

Ekko and Scar were good friends, and he knew that Ekko trusted him more than anyone. If Ekko was going to open up, it would be with him and no one else. And so, he pushed further for a proper response.

"You're thinkin' about that girl, aren't you?"

He noticed how Ekko's grip on his spoon tightened ever so slightly.

"She knew who I was, but I didn't recognize her. Not her hair. Not her voice. Nothing."

Scar emptied the contents of his spoon into his bowl and placed it down on the table.

"We'll figure it out. We're bound to run into 'em again."

Ekko shook his head. "She won't let any of us get that close. She's too quick. Would probably backflip over our heads as soon as we got close enough."

Scar was a little sceptical on how agile Ekko described this woman. He and the other Firelights were trained well and moved with their own kind of speed and precision. But the way Ekko recounted her was as if she was beyond precision. Like she was some kind of gravity defying creature from folklore.

"Just punch her out before she gets the chance," he suggested.

Ekko dropped his spoon into his bowl. "She paralyzed me, Scar. I couldn't move. Just laid there while she taunted me. And she could do it again. I didn't even notice when she did it—"

"I get it, alright? But you were alone then. None of us were there. It'll be different next time," Scar justified. "You mentioned scouting in partners from now on, right? I'm sure that'll help."

Ekko exhaled and rested his elbow on the table next to his bowl of soup, his cheek now pressed against the palm of his hand.

"She has numbers too. If she wanted, she could've had her whole gang surround me. I still don't know why she didn't."

Scar shrugged. "Probably wanted you all to herself, the greedy bitch." He replied, his words airy and light, trying to ease the tension—if even just a little.

"That or she just wanted dibs on my mask."

The fact that Ekko had lost his mask bothered Scar more than the rest of the encounter did. Ekko's mask was a part of his identity as a Firelight. He'd made it himself. Had worn it for years now. Even during the war—but on his knee instead. It had evidence of their many battles against Silco, and even those during the war (the pink spray paint from Jinx, notably). Now this woman who came out of buttfuck nowhere had it.

"It is a pretty cool mask," said Scar earnestly, if not a little teasingly.

Ekko scoffed. "It doesn't even fit her."

Scar leaned back a little in his seat, now having forgotten about his rapidly cooling soup.

"Yeah, you mentioned she was tiny."

"And she still managed to take me out in seconds," Ekko pointed out, becoming more irritated with himself as he recounted the details.

"You think she's a kid? Maybe someone from the Lanes that saw you around and learned your name or something?"

Ekko dug his fingernails in his cheek, his face still pressed against the palm of his hand.

"I don't know."

"Maybe you should talk to Vi," Scar suggested, "see if she can help us out."

Ekko dropped his hand from his cheek after considering it for a moment then shook his head.

"The Enforcers are busy dealing with Daunter already," he replied.

"Since when do you care about whether or not they're busy?"

Ekko let out a scoff. "I don't. It's just... This is our turf, Scar. Vi's one of them now. We can handle this ourselves."

Scar managed a shrug and decided to drop the conversation.

Both men finished eating and then separated—Scar heading to the balcony for some air, and Ekko to his room to either get some sleep, or to overthink.

The next day, Ekko received intel from his trusted source of a shimmer transport located a couple miles east of the Lanes. He was quick to form a plan, his mind straying to the possibility of seeing the woman from the other night again.

He went over the plan with the Firelights. It involved warning them about the possibility of the export already being raided by the mysterious, unnamed group from before.

After laying out the plan to his gang members, he handed out the metal plate mask attachments he'd made two nights ago and then demonstrated how to clip them onto the back of their masks. He joined them in suiting up—throwing his coat over his shoulders, putting on a spare mask that was lying around since his signature one was stolen (this one looked like a raven), and pulling his hood over his head.

The Firelights mounted their aerogliders before slowly hovering out of the hideout through the sewer pipe maze.

Ekko leaned to the side as if he was about to fall off his board. But before his feet could lose contact with it, he zoomed through the air and began flying in the direction of the shimmer transport.

The other Firelights followed him closely, with Scar being to his right as always. It didn't take long for them to reach the location of the transport—their gliders moved at incredible speeds and allowed them to have a rapid method of transportation.

From a distance, he could see that Daunter's men had already been dealt with and a group of people were about to drain the barrels of shimmer. The export was the same as any other—airship docked at a loading station, surrounded by heaps of barrels and crates and random pieces of equipment.

Ekko gestured his arm backwards before thrusting it forward, waving a silent command for the Firelights to continue their pursuit.

During the plan briefing, he'd given specific instructions for if they crossed paths with this group. They needed to capture at least one of them, the main target being their leader. He'd described her appearance to them, while also mentioning that there was a possibility that she would be wearing his mask.

His eyes skipped each person who didn't match the description until he finally spotted her, his mask adorning her face and causing his spite to bolden.

The Firelights zigzagged through the air, each of them heading towards the group.

By now, the leader and some of the other members had already taken notice of the vigilantes heading their way.

"Ladies, we've got company!" The leader warned, getting ready for confrontation.

They didn't have time to escape. They would have to fight.

Ekko pulled his stopwatch from his pocket and activated the timer. He sped towards the leader, a glare searing through the eyeholes of his mask, gaze locked on the small woman.

He yanked his 'bat', which was actually the second-hand piece he had stolen from the clocktower in Piltover during the war, from behind his back and swerved his board the last second, manoeuvring around her and out of reach from her poking fingers. He struck the side of her face with his weapon, knocking her off her feet. He heard her curse just as he made another sharp turn, heading in her direction once again. He raised his bat, about to hit her with it another time but she quickly rolled out of the way and then hopped to her feet again.

Ekko clenched his jaw and directed his board towards her, the nose of it pointing at her exact position. He raised his bat and charged at her at high speed. As he raised his bat to strike her, he was caught off guard when he felt a sudden weight on his board. He looked down to see that she'd grabbed his board and was now swinging back and forth from below it, throwing off his balance and direction.

He cursed and was about to stomp on her fingers when she swung herself upwards, landing on the board behind him. She was quick to try and jab her fingers against his nape but cried out in pain when her fingers surged with electricity from the new mask attachment he'd made.

"Think again," he mocked.

He swung his bat while she was shaking the electricity from her fingers. She hardly reacted in time, the bat getting caught in her hair as she bent down. While he was caught off guard, she poked her fingers behind his knees and he soon found his legs beginning to buckle. He lost control of his board and both of them crashed into a pile of stacked crates on the nearby docks.

Ekko wasn't able to pull himself up. He still had use of his upper body and upper legs, but his lower legs were completely paralyzed. He longed for his z-drive, the time-wielding device he and Heimerdinger had cooked up in the alternate timeline before it got obliterated during the war. After Heimerdinger came back to Piltover, revealing himself to actually have been alive and in Bangle City the whole time, he helped him reconstruct it. Unfortunately, Ekko managed to break the thing again and it was currently being repaired. If he still had it, he'd have reversed time and changed his tactics, ensuring she hadn't been able to climb onto his board.

The woman rolled over and away from him before pulling herself up into a better position, her elbows holding her weight from behind her as she looked at him from her position on the wooded docks.

"Following us again?" she asked, voice distorted as it filtered through the voice changer in the mask.

The sound of her warped voice sent poison straight through his veins.

"Stealing shimmer again?" He spat, his distain evident in his tone.

She didn't say anything at first, trying to catch her breath. Once she succeeded, she pulled herself up and walked over to him while purposefully remaining enough distance away so that he couldn't attack her.

"You're really gonna be a pain in my butt, aren't you?" She sighed and quickly kicked his bat out of his hand, the glowing weapon tumbling away before coming to a stop as it smacked into one of the crates.

"In that case, I suppose I'll just have to return the favour." Her eyes narrowed, her vision closing in on his new mask. "Do you have an unlimited supply of creepy looking masks lyin' around or something?"

"Tell me who you are," he demanded through his teeth.

She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes gazing down at him through her goggles. She bent over, keeping her legs straight but her torso angled downwards.

She paused for dramatic effect.

"No.”

Ekko's jaw clenched and he huffed out an angered breath.

"At least tell me how you know my name—how you know who I am."

She watched as Ekko pulled himself up, trying to balance himself on his knees. She sighed and stood up straight again.

"That doesn't matter. Not anymore."

He furrowed his eyebrows, her words only adding more questions to the pile he already had.

"This is ridiculous—you're ridiculous. Just give me some answers already."

She turned away from him and walked over to his board. She picked it up and was surprised to find that it wasn't as heavy as it looked.

Ekko growled as she completely ignored him.

"You made this, didn't you?" she asked.

He tensed, fearful that she was going to steal yet another thing he owned and created.

"Put it down," he seethed, despite already knowing that she wasn't going to listen.

She ignored him and looked it over thoroughly, eventually figuring out how to turn it on and then made a noise of glee.

Ekko expected her to fly off right away, but instead she let the hoverboard hover in the air a few meters away from him and then sat on it, her legs dangling in the air and her long ponytail doing the same from behind her. It was then that he noticed that she had a purplish pink streak in her hair, seeming to come from the back of her scalp. He took note of that detail.

"What are you doing?" he asked in genuine confusion. She was treating his invention as if it were a toy.

"Sitting on your board," she answered.

"—Why?"

She shrugged. "Seemed like a fun idea."

Ekko blinked slowly and then shook his head.

"What kind of leader are you? Having 'fun' while your people are fighting."

"My people can handle themselves," she said, holding upmost confidence in the ones she led and fought beside.

"Yeah? Well so can mine. Your people don't stand a chance."

She snickered from behind the mask. "You mean like how I didn't stand a chance against you?"

Ekko went quiet. She made a good point, and it only served to multiply the loathing he felt for her.

"You're right though. I should get back to them... But that would mean leaving you down here alone and defenceless."

She caught sight of something from the corner of her vision, a slash of neon green slicing through the air.

"Huh, one of your friends is coming to save you. Good timing."

Ekko watched as she hopped off his board and powered it down. Scar zoomed in and swiped his sphere towards her, narrowly missing her head as she ducked. Scar tore Ekko's board from her grasp while she was distracted.

Ekko was abruptly grabbed and hauled from the ground, Scar holding him steady on his board while he flew them away from the docks

"They can paralyze limbs separately," said Ekko, clinging to the chirean as they both whooshed through the air.

"I know. They got a few of the Firelights."

Ekko's eyes widened slightly in shock.

"What happened?"

"It was a pretty even match up. We're fast, but so are they—in their own way. They ended up retreating and the Firelights who hadn't been paralyzed flew after em'. The rest I don't know yet, and we won't know until the others return."

"Shit—"

Ekko looked downwards, trying to spot the leader, only to discover she was gone.

"Did you get any info from her?"

Ekko released a defeated exhale.

"No. Nothing."

"Well, there's one thing we learned that we didn't know before," he said, "The group, they're all women."

"Why only women? They got something against men or..." Ekko trailed off, seeming to get caught in his own thoughts.

Scar entered the sewer pipes and made his way through their twists and turns. "Who knows. But right now, we gotta focus on getting everyone back. I'll make trips back and forth to get the others. You want me to bring you to your room?"

Ekko nodded. "Yeah. Probably the best idea until my legs stop being useless."

Scar managed to get everyone back safely and had also taken the time to burn the shimmer. It turned out the all-female group didn't stick around to drain the barrels like they usually did. By the time the other Firelights returned from their chase, everyone's paralysis had worn off.

Ekko had since left his room and went to the meeting room. They had to debrief their mission.

With the explanations from each Firelight, Ekko was able to piece together the end result of the mission. It was a failure—well, the part about capturing one of them was. At least they'd been able to burn the shimmer this time.

Ekko was frustrated and left the meeting room feeling more tense and stressed than he'd been beforehand. Despite what they learned, they were still unable to capture any of their members and their leader had bested him again. There was also the fact that the women could paralyze individual limbs from poking various points of the body. He asked all the Firelights who'd been paralyzed where they'd been struck, and he was surprised to learn that there were so many different places. Behind the knees, under the armpits, behind the shoulders, inside of the elbows. It's like they knew the human body inside and out and knew exactly where to strike to immobilize their enemies.

With this in mind, he raged towards his bedroom and hurriedly began designing something that he hoped might even the odds for the Firelights when they confronted them in the future.

🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃

Link to Chapter One can be found here.

Full fanfiction currently has 22 chapters and counting. Link to full fanfiction can be found here.

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yoshiko-and-the-hikikomori · 2 days ago

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Headcanons List!! ☆

--> general tw for mentioning s/h

if the item has a star (★) next to it, that means its one that i, mod, have projected onto him. this means that he's probably ooc!!

Gifted kid burnout, which led to more anxiety being put on him- if he isn't an academic weapon, what is he good for? ★

He also came from a pretty religious family, which fucked him up 'cause now every little thing he does is watched, right? ★

I like giving him longer hair and more stubble than in canon sooo

He gets headaches and motion sickness really easily due to how long he stares at his screens ★

He's got acne scars ★ oh my godddddddd please i love adding little human touches to him. this doesnt make you any less beautiful in fact i love you more because of it dont even try me

He owns those dumb 'eat sleep play video games repeat' and 'i paused my game to be here' shirts because people bought them as a joke for him

REALLY bad anxiety and depression (which i mean. canon actually)

the previous point means that his physical health also is pretty bad because depression is a bitch and will make you unable to do things like eat, drink water, shower, brush your teeth/hair and we don't need to sanitize that its okay to be human ★

major eyebags!!!

He'll go through these phases where he'll eat a lot at once for a few days then eat nothing at all for another few days in a cycle ★

He got disowned when he turned 18 due to being a 'disappointment' so he dropped out of college due to the mental toll that took

He's actually pretty smart without his ability, he just doesn't believe it 'cause he feels like his ability is the only thing that makes him smart.

He uses really bad humor to cope with his feelings!!! ★

MAJOR sweet tooth ★ get that man away from nearby pastry shops. He sometimes visits them before they close/right when they open because there's less people, and the workers there know him by name.

He used to self-harm but stopped recently.

Can't roll a blunt to save him life (is he stupid??)

He's addicted to keychains.★ He doesn't have any bags to put them on (he doesn't go outside enough to need one) so he just has a corkboard with pins in it to hold them.

He picked up a whole bunch of hobbies due to boredom of being inside all day with nothing to do. He's mediocre at them, but it's a bit of enjoyment that's worth it.

that's it. that's the point. guys please do you hear my screaming into the void not everyone can be twinks. do we see the vision of the homebody who has self-esteem issues yet cannot bring himself to change it (due to depression immobilitating him). who has to learn to love himself. also i just think he's cute.

He writes fanfiction c'mon. Look at that man and tell me to my face he has not taken a crack at dear Archive of our Own to write tooth-rotting fluff. Maybe a sickfic even. Do we see the potential everyone.

Terrible vision, he can't even see his own feet in front of him without his glasses. He's not making it better with his ability, but oh well...

He hates eating fish ★

He has a box containing all of his old childhood toys buried into a closet after having put them away at the ripe age of 05 ★ (this one doesn't count for my other blog, @/yoshiko-the-blankie because he's 07)

He has a really bad problem with gnawing and biting- he'll bite at his lips (then wonder why they're bleeding and cracked-), inner cheek, or whatever he can get into his mouth at the time. ★

Uhhh bushy eyebrows because the guy i'm into has them. so he can too

ALSO I FORGOT WHEN I POSTED THIS. I REFERENCE KUNIKIDA AND KATAI'S MAGNIFICENT DAYS A LOT. AS WELL AS THE WAN! CHAPTERS (ESPECIALLY MIDNIGHT TENSIONS ('giant mushroom') AND STORMING KATAI TAYAMA NEXT DOOR!!!! okay thank you

he got bullied a LOT in high school

I'll probably add more when I think of them / they fit RP lore soo

computer divider @/bleedingspiral | tags?? if you're interested idk @no-ones-sunshine

#mod attack!!!!! scares you!!!!!!!#idk if i should tag this with the main tags...#uhh #bsd rp #bsd roleplay #thats good i think

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1moreoffkeyanthem · 4 days ago

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Going into work knowing full well I look like shit. Not the normal looking like shit. Picture a moderately tall woman with a bruised eye that’s RED around the Iris. Hadn’t slept well in a hot minute so she’s shakey. Bushy auburn ponytail. No polish on these jagged nails. Thinking about South Park fanfiction. Wants to go to the liquor store across the street but I’m sober damnit. I just shed a fuckton of hair in the car. I will in fact be injuring Kyle Broflovski tonight

#PCE personal beeswax #south park #kinda

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acourtofmishapandmistakes · 9 months ago

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A Court of Ice and Shadows: Chapter 1

OC Character x Azriel

Summary: Set after "A Court of Silver Flames" (ACOSF), this story follows original character Lene, an elite warrior of the Hesker Clan from the Winter Court. Tasked with diplomatic duty in the Night Court, Lene's mission is to help retrain the Valkyries and help squash potential uprising in the Illyrian camps. As she navigates centuries-old animosities and discovers herself beyond the icy confines of her homeland, Lene must confront her past and decide who she wants to become.

Click here for other parts:

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Characters: Featuring original characters alongside core characters from the ACOTAR series.

Disclaimers: All characters and settings pertaining to the core ACOTAR series belong to Sarah J. Maas, with additional material created for the purpose of this fanfiction

Content Warnings: None.

Note: Some words used in this story are of Norwegian or Scandinavian origin. I do not speak either language, but adapted the researched words to fit the narrative. For notes regarding any of these words, see the end of the chapter.

Chapter One:

The frigid winds of the Winter Court had always been a constant in Lene’s life, whispering secrets of ancient magic and carrying icy promises of the future. As delicate snowflakes drifted gracefully around the towering spires of her home, Lene stood enveloped in her silver furs, her gaze sweeping over the frost-kissed gardens below. Today, the wind gnawed with an unusually penetrating chill, a sensation that Lene normally found invigorating, but now it stirred a restless unease within her. Something was shifting in the air, a change that tingled across her skin like a premonition.

Lene’s fingers tightened around the frozen railing, the warmth of her touch coaxing small beads of water to trail down the ice-glazed iron. She inhaled sharply, the biting cold piercing her lungs and mingling with a faint sense of dread as she exhaled a misty breath, watching it swirl and disappear into the frigid air. Snowflakes caught on the tips of her eyelashes, sparkling momentarily before melting away.

From the shadowed underbrush dusted with snow, a white fox emerged, its movements silent and cautious. The creature paused, its bright eyes scanning the quiet, snow-covered path before it boldly approached the grand manor’s doorstep. With an almost regal air, the fox reared onto its hind legs, as if checking the residence it had been tasked to find. Satisfied, it gently set down a scroll encased in a sleek glass cylinder, protected from the elements. After completing its delivery, the fox cast a quick glance over its shoulder, its bushy tail flicking playfully as it scampered down the pathway, leaving behind a delicate trail of paw prints as it yipped.

As the fox bounded down the path, Lene's eyes caught a glint of red—a vest intricately embroidered with golden threads that spiraled into the design of a complex snowflake. This was no ordinary courier fox; this one bore the distinct regalia of the High Court Palace. As the creature slipped beneath the iron gate and vanished from sight, a wave of curiosity stirred within Lene. What could the High Lord possibly need at such an ungodsly hour?

Turning, Lene retreated from the biting cold, pushing open the heavy double doors to re-enter the manor's welcoming warmth. A rush of heated air kissed her reddened cheeks, a soothing relief from the biting cold. With a fluid motion, she lowered the hood of her silver parka, untying it and draping it gracefully over the red velvet chaise by the entrance. Freeing her almost white, blonde hair from its confines, she let it cascade behind her shoulders, smoothing down her blue tunic that had bunched awkwardly beneath her coat. Despite the slight discomfort, she wouldn’t dare ask her grandmother to fashion her a new one, cherishing each piece the elder matriarch made.

Her boots left soft impressions on the plush rugs lining the floors as her footsteps echoed softly down the richly adorned hallways, framed by dark oaks and pine. Each step carried her deeper into the heart of the manor, toward the grand hall—a magnificent expanse where shadows danced with the roaring firelight and the air was thick with the scent of cranberry and pine. Lene took the staircase hurriedly, her feet barely touching the steps before she reached the grand hall floor, striding swiftly across to the large oak door that stood imposingly ahead.

Lene stretched onto her toes to peer through the frosted window panes, her eyes searching the ground where the fox had carefully placed the letter, now slowly being concealed by a fresh layer of snow. With a determined breath, she opened the grand door, its hinges releasing a soft creak that echoed faintly in the chilly air. Bracing against the cold, she stepped out to retrieve the letter.

Clutching the frozen cylinder, Lene hastened back inside, the door shutting swiftly behind her as a few rebellious snowflakes danced in with the gust of wind. Leaning against the sturdy oak, she wrapped the bottom edge of her tunic around the silver cap of the letter holder, using the fabric to insulate her fingers as she twisted it open. The cap finally gave way with a resounding clink, releasing the sealed message inside.

Lene tipped the holder, allowing the parchment to slide smoothly into her waiting hands. Tucking the glass container securely under her arm, she carefully unrolled the scroll, revealing the familiar, thin, and curled handwriting of High Lord Kallias. Her eyes quickly scanned the message, taken aback slightly by the formality of such a message:

“My Dearest Lene,

I apologize for the inconvenient timing of this message, but please know I would not call upon you without need.

I request your presence tomorrow morning at the castle to discuss a rather urgent matter regarding a neighboring court. Rest assured, the details are not grim, nor cause for any concern or panic. But this is a matter that will need to be addressed promptly.

Please meet me in the central court room tomorrow morning at 10 and I shall provide more details then.

I look forward to seeing you,

High Lord, Kallias”

Lene’s brows furrowed as she mulled over the cryptic nature of Kallias’s message. What urgent matter could involve another court yet not be cause for concern? With a twist, she secured the parchment back into the glass holder, the lid clicking firmly into place. Pushing off the door, she made her way through the grand hall entry towards the sitting room, her head swirling.

Upon crossing the threshold, Lene found herself enveloped in the warm embrace of firelight, illuminating her grandmother, seated regally in an aged wingback chair. The flames seemed to brighten her grandmother's braids, intricately woven threads of silver and white that shimmered with a touch of otherworldly luminescence. Those piercing blue eyes, sharp as the edge of winter, met Lene's gaze, reflecting a similar hue yet distinguished by whirls of deep sapphire. Her grandmother's brows knit together in keen scrutiny as tracked Lene’s march across the richly adorned sitting room, her hand poised elegantly around a glass of brandy.

Lene settled at her grandmother's feet upon the plush carpet, drawing her knees to her chest and resting her chin atop them. The scent of pine from the crackling fire mingled with the aged notes of brandy, weaving the comforting aroma of home around her. In the quiet, her grandmother studied her, the silence stretching between them.

"Something troubling you, elskling?" Her grandmother's voice finally broke the silence, a soft yet formidable sound in the dimly lit room.

Lene's lips twisted wistfully, her eyes remaining fixed on the dancing flames. "I'm not sure," she murmured, the words barely a whisper.

Her grandmother took a measured sip from her glass, finishing it in a slow, deliberate gulp before setting it aside. The crystal caught the light, glinting briefly. "You seem restless."

Lene paused a moment, "It's a letter from Kallias," she confessed, her voice a mix of curiosity and unease as she unfolded her legs, stretching one out while keeping the other bent. She retrieved a cylindrical holder from the floor, handing it to her grandmother. The elder's fingers, bony yet steady with the weight of years, accepted the parchment. "He's summoned me for tomorrow morning to discuss matters at another court."

Her grandmother unfurled the parchment, eyes scanning the words swiftly. "And what makes this summons so troubling?"

Lene watched her grandmother's expression, seeking any sign of insight. "It’s his formality and vagueness," she explained. "That’s unlike him. He’s normally much more blunt."

Her grandmother's hands deftly rolled the parchment back into its ornate glass cylinder, the movement elegant and practiced. Leaning forward, she passed the container back to Lene, her eyes narrowing slightly as they captured her granddaughter's troubled expression. "So, is it his tone that stirs this unrest within you?"

"It’s just peculiar," Lene admitted, placing the letter beside her on the lush carpet. Her gaze drifted away, lost in the shadows that the firelight failed to touch. "The last time Kallias and I spoke, he mentioned nothing about unrest or discord among the courts. Everything appeared...relatively quiet."

She hesitated, a frown creasing her brow. "In fact, it seemed as though Prythian was experiencing some form of odd harmony." Lene’s voice grew softer, more introspective. "I’ve harbored doubts about this peace, grandmother. It feels too quiet, like everyone is parading around in masks of smiles and happiness while something festers beneath the surface."

Turning her head to meet her grandmother’s age-wise eyes, Lene’s own shone with a mix of resignation and defiance. "I suppose I’ve been bracing myself for the reality to shatter it. For someone smart enough to take advantage of it."

Her grandmother absorbed Lene’s words, her aged face lined with understanding but tempered with the hardness of someone who had witnessed atrocities committed when thin layers of peace began to crumble. “I do not fault you for preparing for the worst. The most devastating storms often follow the calmest days.” Lene’s grandmother hesitated, thinking over her words, “But you cannot live your life on the calm days only fearing for what is to come.”

Lene let out a soft scoff, drawing her knees closer to her chest once more. "I appreciate the insight, Mormor," she murmured, her gaze fixed on the flickering shadows cast by the fire rather than her grandmother's face. "Do you believe there’s something more at play? Something... larger?”

Her grandmother reclined deeper into the wingback chair, the empty brandy glass twirling idly in her hand. "I don't believe Kallias would summon you without substantial reason," she mused. "You possess one of the sharpest, most tactical minds at his disposal. Perhaps he does indeed sense a shift on the horizon. But pondering the unsaid here is a futile endeavor. You will learn what you need to know soon enough. For now, perhaps there's virtue in the ignorant bliss of the unknown."

Lene smiled wryly, rolling her eyes affectionately. “You know I’m incapable of basking in ‘ignorant bliss,’” she quipped, her fingers air-quoting the last words.

At her grandmother's beckoning gesture, Lene moved to sit directly before the older woman, crawling on hands and knees before turning to face away from her. Her grandmother's fingers deftly began unraveling the small braids in Lene’s hair, undoing the intricate knots with gentle precision as she combed through the long strands. "You are very much like me, Lene," she observed quietly.

A laugh bubbled up from Lene’s throat. "I can imagine how delighted Mama would be to hear that comparison.”

Her grandmother gave a gentle tug on her hair, eliciting a slight hiss from Lene. "It’s your mind, elsking—it races too much, always darting ahead, never quite content to simply be here, in the moment."

As her grandmother tenderly rebraided her hair, the comforting touch that Lene often sought in moments of frenzy. "Mormor—" Lene began, only to be gently interrupted.

"It would do you well to allow yourself time to rest, to let your mind ease," her grandmother advised, her voice imbued with a soft firmness.

Lene drew in a deep breath, "I wish it were that easy," she confessed softly.

Finishing the braids, her grandmother expertly arranged the twin plaits over Lene's shoulders. Lene caught one, her fingers tracing the woven strands, pulling at a few loose ends as she contemplated her next words.

Her grandmother's gaze lingered on Lene, memories flooding back of a time when she was but a child, her small figure always close by. When allowed, Lene’s grandmother would allow her to sit with her in Kallias’s father’s court with Lene silently urging her grandmother to re-braid her hair while seated comfortably in her lap. Those moments seemed to echo in the quiet of the sitting room, where Lene, the red-nosed little snowflake, used to watch the other fae children play in the snow, always by the side of her mother and grandmother.

Lene parted her lips to speak, but her grandmother preempted her words with a reassuring hand on her shoulder, standing up from her chair. Lene looked up, meeting her grandmother’s eyes as she leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. "You were born with a strong head on your shoulders, burdened with the desire to care for others, and you excel in your role. There's no need to unsettle yourself over possibilities that have yet to manifest, my elskling," her grandmother said, her hands cradling Lene's face, eyes searching hers deeply.

"I know, Mormor," Lene responded after a moment, her voice steady as she took one of her grandmother’s hands in her own.

Her grandmother smiled gently, a sparkle of affection in her eyes. "I know you know. I just want you to trust in that." She bestowed another tender kiss upon the crown of Lene's head before standing. "Get some sleep, Lene."

"I won't be much longer," Lene assured her, her voice soft but firm. "Sov gott, Mormor."

"Sov gott, my elskling," her grandmother called over her shoulder as she exited the sitting room, leaving Lene in the comforting solitude with only the crackling fire to fill the silence.

Lene glanced over the letter, lying on the floor, scoffing as she once again ran through the various possibilities for her summons before standing from the floor, drawing the letter up and retreating to her bedroom for the night.

Parts:

Notes:

Elskling - “Darling” in Norwegian

Mormor - “Grandmother” in Norwegian

Sov gott - “Sleep tight” in Swedish

Thank you for taking the time to read this first chapter of what I hope will be a larger series. I haven't written anything long form creatively in years but I am hoping through this I can rekindle some of my love of writing. I know that this may not be everyone's cup of tea but for those who are willing to indulge me in this, I so greatly appreciate you. I am slowly relearning to appreciate the art I can produce and allowing myself this outlet is so healing. Much love, and to many more. - A Court of Mishap and Mistakes

#acotar #acowar #acomaf #acofas #acosf #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #a court of mist and fury #a court of frost and starlight #a court of silver flames #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #oc #a court of ice and shadows

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