#but I barely look back fondly to that fandom

[solazu1]

If any of you guys knew me during my TOH hyperfix,,, NO YOU DIDNT

[three-realms-archive]

Permanent Marker

Summary/Details: Mammon is encouraged to act on his growing crush on you when he catches you planning a certain ceremony in a secret scrapbook. Fluff and sweetness and romance and fluff.

That book. That book.

Normal demons, like Satan, use books in a normal way. A demon buys books, with Grimm, to read or write in. The Great Mammon, himself, has read many books in all his years as a demon (including ‘Seven Ways to Get Rich Quick’ and ‘Top 100 Employers Who Don’t Want Resumes’, to name some of his personal favourites).

Mammon often sees you working on that… weird book during free periods at RAD or during weekends in the House; slinging glue and stickers and colourful-looking parchment of all shapes sizes onto the pages like a human possessed. It’s some kind of scrapbook, he figures; a scrapbook which you shove into your schoolbag whenever anyone comes too close, and slam shut whenever your ears prick up at so much as the tiniest sound.

This book… This book clearly holds a secret. A secret the Great Mammon is too righteous (nosy) to leave alone!

He takes a not-so-subtle peek over your shoulder one night when he catches you working on your mysterious scrapbook in the living room; thankful that your focus is completely occupied with smoothing the air bubbles out from under a paper flower bouquets stuck to canvas paper with still-wet glue. Initially, he’s admiring your handiwork, pride swelling in his chest at his talented, creative, adorable human partner. He’s also definitely, definitely not thinking of ways to potentially monetise your art…

… until, eventually, he glimpses the words you’ve scribbled on top of the page.

‘Marriage Plans?’

… Marriage?!

Did that mean marriage… in the future - with matching outfits in a solid gold castle? With gold rings, gold plates and a big freakin’ party? Because he likes the sound of that.

Or did this mean marriage now - that you were currently planning a wedding with some random, no-good demon who had cruelly swiped you out of sight before he even had the chance to ask you out on your first date? The brief, fleeting, ridiculous thought leaves as soon as it first comes… But the insecurity lingers. What right did he have to think about marriage?

It’s not like he’s dating you. He can barely look you in the eye for more than three seconds without breaking down into a nervous, blushing pulp, anyway.

Gaze brushing past the pages of your work once more, Mammon’s breath hitches. Maybe your recent late night texts; more frequent invites to hang out after school; and the sheer amount of yellow and gold marker you chose to use in your scrapbook were a sign. A sign right under his nose - right in front of him the whole time. A garishly shiny, chemical-marker-smell-y, neon-yellow sign.

Marriage… admittedly, quite far away.

But, as you curse under your breath when you accidentally smudge some of the still-wet marker… Mammon can’t help but think that asking you out is a first step that’s long overdue.

“Yo,” he says into the silence, trying to appear casual. He chuckles fondly when you yelp and whip your head around to face him - slamming the book shut and shoving it out of view. He really hopes the crimson spreading on your blushing cheeks is also a sign. “I have something to ask ya.”

“Oh - ! Oh!” You squeak, grinning nervously. “Mammon! How… How long have you been there?”

“Long enough,” he smiles. “Wanna hang out after school tomorrow? I’ve, uh…”

He scratches the back of his neck.

“I’ve got something to tell ya.”

… And when you say yes, he really, really hopes that the gold and yellow marker inside your book dries permanent. He might need it someday, after all.

(hey, hey, hey! it’s been a hot minute… like i always reiterate on this account, my life is a pretty busy one - but it’s both summer AND new Obey Me! content time… so i couldn’t resist coming back from the void and returning to this fandom! also omfg new app? new obm content???? married life??????????)

(i wanted to write something to celebrate, but thought it would be nice to save the proposal, newlywed, etc. scenarios for the folks at solmare to write - instead, have this super-specific scenario i dreamed up instead! will get back to posting as much as i can this summer so that y’all have plenty of content before i sink back into the work void - so stay tuned, and feel free to request in the inbox!!!!!! sorry for the hiatus - i hope the content coming makes up for it!!!!!!)

[reallyromealone]

Can i request Kaname Kuran x Pureblood Male Reader and reader is kaname's betrothed from birth. If you can you can put in more details but can it be an omegaverse please.

Title: mate oh my mate

Fandom: vampire knight

Characters: vampire knight cast

Fic type: fluff

Pairings: Kaname x reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, Omegaverse, Omega male reader, vampire reader, feeding, yuuki has rage

Notes:

Summary: reader is requested to attend cross academy by his mate and Yuuki is less than impressed

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

"Fiance?" Yuuki was confused, looking around the room while Kaname nodded, holding a photo of the Omega in question, a pure blood dressed in soft cremes "he will be joining the night class!" Cross cheered, trying to see the bright side of the newest student. "He knows the rules, I assume?" Zero grunted at the pure blood who gave him a barely veiled look of annoyance.

"He is fully aware"

Yuuki tried to hide the envy she felt towards the Omega... This was kanames mate...

A pure blood male Omega, probably trained to be the perfect mate for him.

"But there's no Omega dorms in the night class...?" Yuukis question was a thinly veiled argument and Kaname looked at her fondly, as if she were a little sister "we have already made the proper arrangements, his room will be across from mine" Kaname seemed quite pleased with his words, always a slightly smug with each sentence.

Yuuki just sat there before letting out a sigh and standing, storming out of the room.

Confusion swept the vampires face, cross and zero knowing exactly why she left "she had to learn eventually..." Zero mumbled and cross agreed.

Kaname decided he didn't want to pursue this drama, human drama wasn't really something he cared for before excusing himself, after all...

His mate should be here any moment.

-

(Name) Sat in the limo calmly, dressed in his new uniform while staring at the scenery curiously while the sun was setting. He had never been to a school, having been homeschooled prior but his alpha wanted him close, not liking the distance and limited time together. A ring sat on his finger, a beautiful ruby, surrounded by garnets... It reminded (name) of kanames eyes...

His alpha had such lovely eyes...

"We can see each other each day my kana..." (Name) Whispered, pleased with the concept of seeing his beloved once again after almost a month a part, the only commutation being letters; thank god Kaname left him scented objects. The school was truly something, the grand school peaking from the horizon and the trees barely hiding it "so this is where kana stays..." (Name) Was curious about the school, his staff told him roughly how it works...

-

Kaname could sense his mate before he even got on the grounds, the exhaustion of his beloved seeping into his skin, the distance had been taking a toll on him after all. (Name) Was asleep when the limo pulled up and Kaname wasted no time scooping him into his arms and wandering to the night class dorms, looking at the light of his life and hopefully he will be less exhausted after this nap...

(Name) Was usually quite more lively, the sun to his moon but it seems that the seperation had made him so tired... Poor thing. He barely acknowledged the night class while bringing (name) to his room, the Omega immediately snuggling into the blankets and taking in Kanames scent. Looking at his mate, Kaname felt relief and crouched before him "soon we will be out of here... I just have loose ends to tie up and you will be marked and we will go home..." He promised before getting up and walking towards the door, glancing back at the sleeping vampire.

It was hours before (name) woke, eyes snapping open and looking around the unfamiliar room and sniffing... "Starving..." He whispered, wanting nothing more than his alpha to be here so he could pin him down and enjoy what he's been deprived of. Stepping out of the room he looked around with a slouch, Senri the first to notice him and alert the rest of the night class and subsequently Kaname.

"Where is he?" (Name) Said slowly, hungry and frankly not in the mood for any games of any sort "he's in the gardens... He will return soon" Senri spoke softly and (name) just stared before wandering off.

"I just don't understand! Why can't it be me?!" A voice called out and Kanames voice could be heard almost exasperated "Yuuki, I love you but not in the way you want... You're my sister and that will never change but (name) is my mate" Kaname explained to his sister who sobbed angrily "but I love you!"

"But I don't love you"

And at that moment, Yuuki Kuran broke.

Sobbing uncontrollably, she ran off and Kaname kept composure before turning towards his mate "hello my love..." Exhaustion evident in his voice and (name) wandered towards him "she had to learn eventually..." (Name) Reached towards him and gently traced his face and Kaname rested his head in his mates hand.

The two walked back into the dorms and up to kanames room, the Alpha offering his neck to his beloved who Kissed his pulse lovingly before biting in, starved of his mates blood. Kaname gently rubbed his hips and ass, letting his beloved take what he needed before pulling back and snuggling into him "are you hungry alpha?" (Name)s voice content and dream-like and Kaname simply kissed the blood from his lips "I'll feed later, for now we have much to discuss, no?"

(Name) Was graceful and elegant, arm linked with Kanames while students looked on in awe at the Omega with an ornate engagement collar, (name) nodding kindly to the fellow omegas in the school in an act of omega-omega kindness, no matter the hierarchy it was seen as an equal understanding to one another and safety in numbers.

Even if he was a vampire, it was nice to have fellow omegas.

"So why are you attending this school... You received your education" (name) asked while they walked to the headmasters office and Kaname hummed "to keep an eye on my sister, I worry for her and she's attached to a specific human... After the Rido situation... I don't want to risk it"

"Reasonable"

(Name) Was curious while sitting beside Kaname, the headmaster and an obvious hunter "thank you for coming here (name)" cross smiled and (name) nodded politely, looking towards Kaname who nodded "vampiric tradition requires the Omega to have approval before talking to an unknown alpha, as I am required to gain approval before talking to unknown omegas"

"I see, well (name) if there's anything you need here to make your transition smoother please don't hesitate to ask" cross said kindly and yagari glared at the Omega "and one slip up and it's curtains, do you understand me?" His voice stern and (name) nodded calmly "if I find out you fed on any student you will be executed"

"I can only feed from my alpha or those pills you gave me... " (Name) Spoke softly and cross looked confused "vampiric mates can only feed off each other, they don't have claim marks but the rules would still apply for them" yagari explained, already tired of this conversation and (name) was pleased the hunter understood.

"Well regardless, we hope you feel safe and welcome"

"Thank you, sir Cross..." (Name) Spoke kindly before leaving with his mate.

"Now let's hope yuuki doesn't cause problems" cross mumbled, leaning back into his chair.

[ghibli-love-ss]

I've known you forever (and I'll love you for longer)

Fandom: EPIC: The Musical

Pairing: Hermes/Reader

Summary: Just 500 words of domestic parents Hermes and Reader.

Tags: fluff, domestic fluff, kid/baby fic

Ao3 Link: I've known you forever (and I'll love you for longer)

Notes: Sooo. This was. Entirely just because I had major baby fever suddenly and needed a way to get it out lol.

Enjoy Lovelies! <3

Divider by cafekitsune, tagged in my pinned post!

When Hermes enters the small cottage, he’s met with the soft humming of a lullaby drifting to his ears. A smile instantly appears on his face as he drops his bag to the floor, following the melody to the living room. There you stand, swaying in place and humming to the sleeping baby cradled in your arms, a soft grin on your face as you stroke her cheek. Pink tinges Hermes’ face, the wings on his head ruffling when you spot him, your grin widening despite the tiredness lingering in your eyes.

He wastes no time in approaching you, arms wrapping around your waist as his chest presses to your back. He presses several kisses to the side of your face and your neck, each of which make you laugh quietly and lean back against him. He sways with you, resting his head against yours and ceasing his attack of affection.

“Did the little one give you much trouble today, darling?” His voice is gentle, filled to the brim with love and adoration.

“Well she was quite vocal today. I do think she was judging me when I thought I misplaced her rattle outside today,” you chuckle, shaking your head fondly.

Hermes grins, his arms tightening around your waist. “Well she does have to get that from somewhere, darling.”

“You're right! She definitely gets it from her father.”

The offended gasp beside your ear makes you giggle as Hermes pulls away, turning you to face him as he looks you in the eye.

“Why I never! My own lover, who I've even had a child with, dares to slander my name! Truly, darling, I thought you loved me.”

When he pouts you snort and break into giggles, burying your face in his neck in an attempt to stay quiet and not wake up your daughter. It takes you a few minutes to tamp down your laughter and calm back down. You finally lift your head from Hermes’ neck, blinking at the sudden kiss pressed to your temple. You smile, tilting your head at him in question, reveling in the way his wings flutter at the simple look.

“And what was that for, hm?”

One of his hands comes to rest on your hip, the other holding your baby’s small hand, the look on his face holding nothing but contentment.

“You, my darling, have rendered me absolutely speechless like you've done countless times. More than I thought possible before.” He pauses, studying your face before continuing. “And I would love to tell you why, but I have a feeling you might fall asleep standing up, darling.”

You open your mouth to argue, instead yawning widely, earning you a chuckle from Hermes. Instead you simply hum in agreement, letting him guide you to the small couch and sit you down. He grabs a small blanket, draping it over you as he tucks you against his side, one arm around you, the other helping support the little one still in your arms.

Your head rests on his shoulder, breath fanning out against his skin as his wings droop in response.

Right before you finally drift off, your voice is quiet, barely audible as you thank him, breathing evening out before you can say his three favorite words.

Hermes pulls you closer, pressing one last kiss to your forehead and the baby’s, smile soft and filled with something beyond what words can describe.

“I love you too, my dear.”

[satvruu]

ೀ how they hug you

rewritten and reposted of my hc set from my old blog @/star-puff! thank you to all my old dedications as well as my new ones @kurooppi @wyllsravengard for making my return to this fandom possible <3

feedback is very appreciated!

ft. yuuji, megumi, gojo, getou, nanami

itadori yuuji embraces you warmly, fondly, sunlight streaming through the window and scattering over your bare skin. it's someplace safe and comforting, enveloped in his arms like he's taken it upon himself to protect you from everything horrible in the world; he is your knight, he is your shield, your safe haven to escape to, no matter how many wounds he will endure in the process. ("yuuji," you whisper, a hand coming up to rest gently on his arm. he bleeds desperation. "i'm okay, i promise." yuuji squeezes you tighter, trembling, and you wonder what you can do to make it true for him, too.) he holds you for far too long for it to be anything casual, but you can't really complain about it anyway—it's better this than to witness the alternative. after all, what is the sun without a place to hold its warmth; what becomes of a hero when they fail to protect the things that matter most?

fushigurou megumi comes to you slow, steady, a ripple of water in the pond. you coax him out gently, holding your arms out before wrapping them around him. his breath hitches (always, no matter how many times he tries to hide it) and his body stiffens, arms frozen at his sides. but slowly, surely, your head buried in his chest, megumi's arms begin to wrap around you in a manner you can only describe as tender—as if you could break if he held onto you too tight. (truthfully, megumi thinks he's just afraid. the jujutsu world is a dangerous one, after all, even to those who only know of it by name. megumi has lost too many people, and you're the one person he can't afford to lose.) he flinches at the thought, pulling away. you draw yourself closer in him, instead. moonlight behind the clouds, you'd gladly hold onto this night forever if it meant megumi was by your side.

gojo satoru is known as many things—a child prodigy, the strongest, a boy-god making his presence known on the lowly earth, but to you, he is simply just obnoxious. satoru makes it a spectacle each time he sees you: hollering, gallivanting, draping himself over you with his long limbs and impossible-to-miss frame. you huff and complain and uselessly try to drag yourself away from him each time, but satoru hooks onto you and refuses to let you go, nuzzling his face into yours. (they're mine, the action screams, a blaring warning to anyone unfortunate enough to get caught in the collateral. you've been too caught up in your irritation of him to notice this, of course, and you're certainly not someone who would take the explicit meaning of it kindly, but satoru finds that he doesn't really care. not when he has more important things to attend to.) gojo satoru is many things, but the one thing he absolutely isn't is someone who can share.

getou suguru smells of sandalwood incense, a musky amber you think you could identify blind. sometimes, you think you remember a different suguru, a kinder suguru, one that had easier things to worry about, a brighter look in his eyes, an easier weight to his gait. if you think back far enough, you suppose it might have been because he had somebody else by his side to keep it that way, a brighter light shining next to him to keep the darkness at bay. (but that was a long time ago. now, suguru is the one left to be lit by the fire, stuck in the ashes of his own kin for a future little understand. you're not sure who is to blame for that anymore.) you're not the light that can save him—no one can be, not anymore. when suguru reaches out to you, rare vulnerability bubbling over in a way you can only describe as drowning—as crumbling—the only thing you can do is curl yourself next to him in the incense burner, smearing yourself in the ash.

nanami kento thinks you need this, especially after a long, hard day. the melting comes slow: his hands on your back, gentle pats and quiet whispers of comfort as he rests his chin on your head. and then comes everything else. his hands slot perfectly into the dip of your back, the small of your waist, thumbs rubbing small circles over the fabric of your clothes, and in the eyes of no one but yourselves, the two of you begin to sway back and forth to a quiet melody nanami begins to hum. you cling onto the fabric of his shirt, trying to memorie the smell of his cologne, the rumble of his voice, the warmth of his arms. (it's too much, to have a memory of a future that will inevitably happen. you almost want to cry. don't go, you want to say, a lump in your throat, wishing for the impossible. don't go.) and still, selfish as you are, nanami hugs you like you're slow dancing in the dark.

[greyspirehollow]

Vesuvia weekly ; First kiss with the courtiers 🎉

Pairing : The courtiers x reader

Fandom : The Arcana visual novel

Warnings : none. Just fluff.

Valdemar:

You're the one who initiated the idea of a kiss. You had noticed how affectionate gestures didn't come out naturally or often on their part (at least not in the conventional way) ; and so you wanted to try and gently suggest it.

Confused at first ; They had forgotten what a kiss felt like, or how to do it properly.

They will need to practice by just kissing your cheek from time to time, just to get used to the way they need to purse their lips and the feeling of something against them.

A week or two later, they will gently grab you by the arm and drag you somewhere quiet ; they will slightly push you against the wall, their eyes never leaving yours as they paused, and eventually, they lean in carefully to meet your lips with their own

it's pretty calculated and thought out to begin with, almost mechanical. You didn't blame them ; it must have been a while. As they part away, you gently whisper : "try not to think about it. Go with the feeling..."

And you both go in for another one. This time, they manage to make their lips dance with yours softly for a while, before parting away. You could swear their cheeks had tinted in a warmer hue than usual.

Vulgora:

uhm... Force.

Prepare to have your breath taken away.

They are the one who brought up the idea. Ever since you've been together, you've had your fair share of energetic and violent displays of affection. Whether it was carrying you around while chuckling like a madman or threatening anyone that made you upset ; or having your cheeks pampered with tons of kisses when no one was looking.

They are all jumpy when you agree to come with them in a less crowded corner. They look at you with a wide excited toothy grin as you rest your hands onto their shoulders and start to lean in. You barely have time to process it ; their lips crash into yours with passion.

It's heated and full of energy, yet you can sense they're afraid that it might be a bit too much for you. That doesn't stop them from kissing you so agressively ; but not aggressive in the painful sense, more the overwhelming way. They are so excited, have so much love to give you that they can't think of any other way to convey it all.

Once your lips part, you gasp for air, looking at them, baffled. You know they were a handful, but damn. Not that you minded. "Phew, that was... That was something else." you breathe out, their contagious grin spreading across your own face. Before you know it, your face is getting attacked with kisses again.

Will brag about it in an argument ; "AND I KISS MY PARTNER SO WELL THEY'RE ALWAYS BREATHLESS AFTERWARDS, TWAT!!" or something similar.

Vlastomil:

He has kissed before, he's just not exceptional at it. He's not bad at it, don't make me say what I didn't say ; he's simply good.

You nearly brought up the idea at the same time ; and yet none of you said it out loud. One night, sitting next to each other, you just looked at one another and leaned in at the same time, closing your eyes and meeting your lips with surprising harmony in your timing. This was the moment. This was right. It's as if things had fallen into place : nothing pushed you or held you back.

His lips are surprisingly soft. You'd expected them to at least tingle because of their little beard, but not even. They were a tad moist, but that was to be expected.

Once your lips part you can't help but look fondly into each other's eyes, your hands intertwined, as you just let the moment sink in.

Volta:

The idea had been swirling around in her head for a while now. But she never brought it up. She was much too shy. Holding hands was already making a stuttering mess out of her, so a kiss?? It doesn't mean she doesn't want to, it just flusters her beyond what's reasonable.

When you bring it up to her, the sweet potato will go bright red, nod, and look at you with big expectant eyes.

You have to lean down to bring yourself to her level and she has to be on her tippy toes to reach you. She'll close her eyes tightly, purse her lips and go in for a smooch. It doesn't last too long, maybe half a second, but it seems to be enough for her.

She'll never dare to do anything too involved in terms of kisses, so take it slow with her. But after that, she will tug at your sleeve and timidly ask for a kiss more often (and how the hell could you even think about denying her?).

Valerius:

The most skilled out of everyone. And believe it or not, you didn't even have to think about introducing him to the idea. Ever since you've confessed to him, he knew he would kiss you. And that didn't seem to be negociable. But when would be the right time...?

It was during a party. Just a small annual gathering. But he'd noticed how the nobles seemed to gravitate around you. He didn't like that one bit. He frowned, walking towards your little group, before swiftly snatching you away with a defty hand to your waist and a kiss to your lips

Oh. Gods. You had not expected that at all. His lips linger on yours, the warm taste of wine sweeping across your mouth as he moves his against yours. You can't help but hold onto his shoulders, closing your eyes and savoring the moment. The other nobles, after a while, seemingly uncomfortable, leave you and the Consul alone.

After your lips part, you look at him with a cheeky grin "Did Lucio teach you?", you ask. He groaned, rolled his eyes and swirled his wine before taking a sip out of it "I taught Lucio" he replies, avoiding looking at your eyes.

[amber-sekio]

Oneshot -Diluc needs a hug

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Ships: Diluc x reader

TW: ooc? ; borderline panic attack? ; nightmares

He was too slow, just like last time. He couldn’t save you. Must he lose everyone he cherished? Must he always be too slow or weak to save the ones he loved? Did Celestia hate him so? 

He cradled you in his arms, your body was cold, much too cold. He couldn’t stop the tears or sobs that escaped, unrelenting. 

Diluc jolted awake, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His breaths are short and heavy. Next to him in bed -where you should be- is much too cold. He panicked thinking his nightmare might actually be his reality until he heard the click of the bedroom door opening. There you stood with a cup of tea in your hand. 

“Diluc, are you alright?”   

Tears brimmed his eyes, threating to fall as he looked at you. Closing the door you quickly walked over to him, placing your tea on the nightstand next the bed. When you sat yourself on the bed, Diluc’s arms were immediately around you holding you so close as if you’d disappear into thin air if he didn’t, and to him and his still panic stricken mind, that was a very possible outcome. 

“Do you want to talk about it, love?” You spoke lovingly, voice barely above a whisper.    

His response was a simple shake of his head, opting to instead pull you closer to him. 

“There’s still some tea left, I could go get you a cup if you’d like?” You whispered fondly.   

His response was a simple “Just hold me please.” His voice wavered slightly as he tried to will himself not to cry. 

You pulled him impossibly closer, his head in the crook of your neck, and as you whispered sweet nothings into his ear, the dam finally broke and his tears fell. His body shook with silent sobs as his tears stained your shirt --but you couldn’t care less about your shirt, your mind was only set on calming Diluc. 

“Please... Please d-don’t leave me.” His voice broke through the silence. 

“I’d never dream of leaving you, my love.” You cooed at him as you shifted yourself and Diluc into a more comfortable position. As his tears slowly came to a stop, so did his rapid breaths as they evened back out in the comfort of your embrace. He eventually fell asleep, not long after by you, falling asleep to a pleasant dream with Diluc in your arms --the tea by the bed long forgotten.  

[nicklloydnow]

“About a decade ago, I ventured my opinion that the adult multitudes queueing for superhero movies were potentially an indicator of emotional arrest, which could have worrying political and social implications. Since at that time Brexit, Donald Trump and fascist populism hadn’t happened yet, my evidently crazy diatribe was largely met with outrage from the fan community, some of whom angrily demanded I be extradited to the US and made to stand trial for my crimes against superhumanity – which I felt didn’t necessarily disprove my allegations.

Ten years on, let me make my position clear: I believe that fandom is a wonderful and vital organ of contemporary culture, without which that culture ultimately stagnates, atrophies and dies. At the same time, I’m sure that fandom is sometimes a grotesque blight that poisons the society surrounding it with its mean-spirited obsessions and ridiculous, unearned sense of entitlement. Perhaps this statement still requires some breaking down.

(…)

Quite liking comics, aged 14 I thus became a comics fan with my discovery of British fandom, which was then still gummy-eyed and fresh out of the egg. The first convention I attended in London, in the basement rooms of a Southampton Row hotel in 1969, was tiny and inspiring. The attenders barely totalled a three-digit number, almost all of them some few years short of legal drinking age. The comics companies, having no monetary interest in a handful of penniless teenagers, went blissfully unrepresented, and the only industry celebrity that I recall was the sublime and sweetly unassuming genius Frank Bellamy, passing Dan Dare or Garth originals around, appearing wonderstruck that anyone had heard of him. The only thing uniting the assembly was its passion for an undervalued storytelling medium and, for the record, the consensus verdict of the gathered 15-year-old cognoscenti was that costumed musclemen were the main obstacle preventing adult audiences from taking comics seriously.

Of that hardly-a-hundred schoolkids, office boys and junior librarians, the great majority were actively involved in their pursuit, publishing or contributing to a variety of – for the most part – poorly duplicated fanzines, or else going on to work professionally in the field, such as Kevin O’Neill, Steve Moore, Steve Parkhouse or Jim Baikie, all of whom were downstairs at the Waverley hotel that weekend, keen to elevate the medium that they loved, rather than passively complain about whichever title or creator had particularly let them down that month. Of course, this was the 1960s and the same amateur energy seemed to be everywhere, spawning an underground press, Arts Lab publications and a messy, marvellous array of poetry or music fanzines that were the material fabric of that era’s counterculture; flimsy pamphlets as important and innovative today as they were then, although considerably more expensive, trust me.

Soon thereafter, caught up in the rush of adolescent life, I drifted out of touch with comic books and their attendant fandom, only returning eight years later when I was commencing work as a professional in that fondly remembered field, to find it greatly altered. Bigger, more commercial, and although there were still interesting fanzines and some fine, committed people, I detected the beginnings of a tendency to fetishise a work’s creator rather than simply appreciate the work itself, as if artists and writers were themselves part of the costumed entertainment. Never having sought a pop celebrity relationship with readers, I withdrew by stages from the social side of comics, acquiring my standing as a furious, unfathomable hermit in the process. And when I looked back, after an internet and some few decades, fandom was a very different animal.

An older animal for one thing, with a median age in its late 40s, fed, presumably, by a nostalgia that its energetic predecessor was too young to suffer from. And while the vulgar comic story was originally proffered solely to the working classes, soaring retail prices had precluded any audience save the more affluent; had gentrified a previously bustling and lively cultural slum neighbourhood. This boost in fandom’s age and status possibly explains its current sense of privilege, its tendency to carp and cavil rather than contribute or create. I speak only of comics fandom here, but have gained the impression that this reflexive belligerence – most usually from middle-aged white male conservatives – is now a part of many fan communities. My 14-year-old grandson tells me older Pokémon aficionados can display the same febrile disgruntlement. Is this a case of those unwilling to outgrow childhood enthusiasms, possibly because these anchor them to happier and less complex times, who now feel they should be sole arbiters of their pursuit?

There are, of course, entirely benign fandoms, networks of cooperative individuals who quite like the same thing, can chat with others sharing the same pastime and, importantly, provide support for one another in difficult times. These healthy subcultures, however, are less likely to impact on society in the same way that the more strident and presumptuous fandoms have managed. Unnervingly rapidly, our culture has become a fan-based landscape that the rest of us are merely living in. Our entertainments may be cancelled prematurely through an adverse fan reaction, and we may endure largely misogynist crusades such as Gamergate or Comicsgate from those who think “gate” means “conspiracy”, and that Nixon’s disgrace was predicated on a plot involving water, but this is hardly the full extent to which fan attitudes have toxified the world surrounding us, most obviously in our politics.

Elections that decide the fate of millions are conducted in an atmosphere more suited to evictions on I’m a Celebrity …, in which contestants who are insufficiently amusing are removed from office. Saleability, not substance, is the issue. Those who vote for Donald Trump or Boris Johnson seem less moved by policy or prior accomplishment than by how much they’ve enjoyed the performances on The Apprentice or Have I Got News for You. And throughout the UK, we’re now familiar with what a Stephen Yaxley-Lennon fan convention looks like.

An enthusiasm that is fertile and productive can enrich life and society, just as displacing personal frustrations into venomous tirades about your boyhood hobby can devalue them. Quite liking something is OK. You don’t need the machete or the megaphone.

Candidly, for my part, readers would have always been more than sufficient.”

[illaende]

Earth's Northern Hemisphere

I've been holding back my writing for some time now, but I feel comfortable enough to post this old number! Written way back when I first got into the AvP fandom, maybe 2-3 years ago?

Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

Lex Woods, after being taken aboard the Antarctic Hunting Party flagship ship looks down on Earth and recollects some old memories. A friend joins her. (AKA Scar is fine, hooray)

Lex Woods stared longingly out the windowpane and into the vast galaxy. By her count, it had only been a few weeks since she was taken off Antarctica along with Scar, though, at the moment, she stood alone. He was still bedridden after medics removed a stage 2 xenomorph from his chest. Lex had been by his side during the procedure, even if the sight still shook her to her very core. The very thought of how long he had gone with that vile little thing stuck in his chest was not only terrifying but such a testament to what strength he had to go through his trial. She could only imagine if he had succumbed to the chest-burster, she’d be all alone, either on a ship heading to an unfamiliar voyage, or cold and freezing to death in Antarctica.

Despite it all, she could now feel relief that her friend was going to survive, and all she had to do was wait until he was well enough to stand and meet her. For the time being, she would be patient and quiet her thoughts with the sight of the inky black ocean in front of her. Each little white tear streaked in the sky blazing so brightly against a dark canvas. The little blue and green marble she so fondly called a home stood brilliantly amongst the star sea, not far enough at all, but still a great distance away to see the northern hemisphere. She could barely make out the scopes of land where Canada and Greenland would be, standing back from the window to see if she could spot anymore. At the moment, she couldn't, all she could do was take it all in and sigh out in pure astonishment,

“Wow . . .”

“It loses its charm fast, I’m afraid.”

Lex immediately whipped around in shock and a bit of fear. She searched a moment for the source of the voice, “Who said that?” Her eyes settled and focused on a familiar figure.

Namely, one large Yautja, his chest bandaged tightly and walking with a slight limp, and now dawning the same mask from before, blooded mark and everything.

She tilted her head in the slightest confusion, “Scar?”

The voice returned this time with Scar approaching a little closer, “Yes?”

With that, Lex could firmly connect, the voice and Scar were one and the same, and she had to stop herself from getting overexcited, “Scar! You’re alright! Wait, have you been able to speak English this whole time?” she crossed her arms as he now stood by her side looking out the window.

“I’ve been able to understand,” He answered, “But it took some time to calibrate and respond. I can only do it with the mask.” 

Lex nodded, “Ah, I get it now. Well, it’s good to see you’re already doing better.” She turned back to the space view and tilted her head towards Scar, “So, not a fan of the view, huh?”

“Not exactly, well, not anymore.” Scar stared up, “I’ve been on a ship my whole life, so stars in the sky just look like . . . dots now. Nothing more, nothing less. Quite boring, actually.”

“Wow, bleak.” Lex teased for a moment, “I don’t think I could ever get bored of this. I didn’t for every night on Earth, and I won’t in space.” she promised to herself. Now Lex leaned herself against the slight gap of the ship and window, tilting her gaze down to Earth’s visibility, “Must be a real pretty night for Christmas down there. ‘Specially with the snowfall.”

Scar shuddered for a moment at the mention of snow, though in the same breath, his curiosity was peaked, “Christ-mas?” He broke the word into a good segment, testing it on his tongue, though Lex got the message perfectly. 

“Right, alien. Okay then,” She began for a moment in the easiest way she could explain it, “Back on Earth, around this time, humans spend time doing traditions all over the globe, and mine was Christmas.” Her eyes seemed to brighten as memories of old crossed her mind, “Basically, for an entire month I’d spend time with my family, drink hot chocolate, open presents, god just so much.” She chuckled for a moment, “I remember one year, a few of my cousins and I accidentally lost my dad’s car keys in a snow trench we made, ugh, it was hell to dig through and find them.”

Scar interrupted with an incredulous tone, “I’m sorry, but, you would willingly go into the snow again after what just happened?”

At that, Lex’s joy boiled over and she let out a loud sweet laugh, “Yes! I love the snow!” Her giddy laugh subsided for a moment, and, now as the silence grew thicker, her smile faded and her eyes cast down, “Actually, this year, If it weren’t for the expedition, I wouldn’t be doing anything this year anyway.”  She took a breath. “Christmas, for me at least, should be spent with family, and I . . .  don’t have any of that left.”

Scar stayed quiet before ever so gently pressing on, “Why do you say that?”

Lex didn’t look up from her trance on the earth and spoke up, as if rehearsed by heart, “My dad died when I was young, and, I messed up things real bad with my mother before she died too.” 

She shook her head, “She always said I put my career before her and, I guess she was right.” Her voice cracked for a moment and before Scar could say anything to comfort her, she snapped herself out of her depressive state. “Ah, but, never mind that.”

She looked back up at last and patted Scar’s arm in a friendlier manner, perhaps just to throw him off about her lingering sadness. “What about you then? I mean, that trial was basically coming of age, right? You’ve gotta have some big party for that.” She smirked a bit when Scar let out a soft chuckle and began to answer

“Yes, as I am now blooded, a feast will be in order for me when this ship gets back to Prime. It’s a momentous occasion for my people, I guess in a way, like your Christmas.” He crossed his own arms out to the window, “Though I’m not sure how others will react to a human as my guest.”

She cocked her head and in an equally cocky manner replied, “I guess they’ll just have to get used to me.” She continued, “Really, that’s great to hear. A whole celebration just for you, you’ve gotta be pretty excited for that!” She turned her gaze back out to space.

Scar’s reply was a bit dim, “I would be,” he paused “If, I hadn’t lost the two people I wanted to celebrate with the most.”

At that moment, Lex froze and thawed over in realization of what he meant. The other two yautja in the pyramid. 

The ones left behind.

The ones that died.

“You were close to them?”

Scar nodded, “Celtic, he was my older brother, and Chopper was the youngest. We were really holding out that we’d all survive.” He let out a quiet huff of air, “I knew better, but, I guess deep down I wanted to hold out too.”

A silence fell over the two, one that felt inappropriate to break. And yet, Lex felt a need to do so. She broke her gaze from the window, no longer entranced by the little dots in the sky. Just as she was about to offer condolences, Scar seemed to beat her to the punch. Not with condolences, but with understanding.

“I guess we’re both alone, right?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know, I’m sorry about your parents.”

Lex gained a soft and sad smile. She wasn’t entirely sure how to respond at last to that except to acknowledge Scar’s words and take them with her. Shared losses and all. She did however feel necessary to hold her hand out to her new companion, 

“Well, not totally alone.”

Scar seemed momentarily surprised before grabbing her hand in a firm union, helmet eyes lowered to look down at her, “Right. Not totally alone.” 

The two could have just stayed there had it not been for Scar looking up at the window, in what could only read as wonder from his body language, his visor seemed to reflect an array of bright color, 

“Lex? I think the Earth is burning.”

At such frightful words, Lex turned back to the window only to relax for a moment and feel her chest well up at the same time. 

Out the window, across the Earth’s Northern Hemisphere was a blazing display of green and purple, rippling across the horizon, violet hues drifting off around the sky. Lex was completely entranced at the moment, a lone tear dripping down from her cheek, “Oh my god. . . it’s beautiful.” she could only mutter, her heartbeat almost drowning out her own words. 

“What is it?” Scar asked, unable to tear his own eyes away. 

Lex wiped at her eyes and answered, “That is the Aurora Borealis. I never thought I’d see one, let alone from space.” 

“It’s beautiful.” Scar breathed out, unknowingly repeating Lex’s sentiment. 

Though the moment was tender, Lex still found it left in her to crack a small tease, “Not so boring to look at now, huh?” 

“No. Not at all.”

[neonghostlily]

Stay with me

Fandom: Cyberpunk 2077 Pairing: Goro Takemura / Female V Language: English Rating: T (Teen and up) Genre: Romance, comfort, humor Words: 3800 Summary : A chill girls' night on the roof, a few drinks and a drunk 2 AM call to Takemura? Totally normal.

-`✮´- French Version / Masterlist -`✮´-

The serie of The Samurai and la Fleur de bitume : Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 ˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

"No, wait...” V wiped tears of laughter from her eyes, her voice already half gone. “There were really like twenty girls watching him train?” 

“Yes, I swear, V!” Misty replied, clearly thrilled. 

Panam burst out laughing nearby, half-slumped in an old plastic chair that had been worn out by time. A can rolled slowly across the ground, forgotten, probably emptied by one of them. 

“He got so embarrassed! He couldn’t even focus on his training with all that hysterical screaming.” 

“Poor guy... He’s so shy and modest, our Vik.” V shook her head, genuinely sorry for her favorite ripperdoc. 

Panam raised an eyebrow, teasing: 

“He acts all unfazed, but I’m sure he secretly loves it. Can you imagine? Him, hiding in his corner, and all the Mox eyeing him like he’s a rockstar?” 

“It’s ‘cause he’s a soft man. Those girls know what’s up.” Misty raised a limp hand, almost lyrical. “Soft, but serious. Like... daddy type.” 

“Gross.” Panam grimaced, nearly spitting out her drink. “V, shut her up before she fills our heads with nasty thoughts.” 

“Too late.” V stifled a laugh. “I can already picture the ‘Daddy Vik’ T-shirt, proudly worn at a Mox meeting.” 

The conversation drifted on for a while—awkward flirting stories from V, Panam’s never-ending complaints about Saul, and the weirdest clients Misty had ever come across. 

The roof hummed gently with bass from the clubs below. The neon lights of Little China cast red and blue glows on the walls, lighting up the empty bottles and laughter stifled by the night wind. 

Little by little, the laughter faded. The chill of the evening settled in. Misty was stretched out on an old mattress that smelled of damp. She murmured: 

“I don’t even know if I’m standing or lying down...” 

V looked at her fondly before lowering her gaze to the lights below. Her smile had dimmed a bit. 

Panam noticed but didn’t say anything at first. Then she casually asked: 

“Hey... You thinking about him?” 

V slowly turned her head, raising an eyebrow. 

“Who?” 

Panam gave her a sly smile, eyes gleaming with mischief. 

“Goro.”    V didn’t answer right away. She stared at Panam for a moment, mouth slightly open, searching for what to say. Finally, she let out a long sigh and turned her eyes toward the city. 

“Yeah… it’s true.” 

Panam sat up a little, leaning on one elbow, her eyes locked on V. 

“I knew it. You always get that same look when it's about him.” 

“It’s not exactly what you think.” 

“Oh, come on, V!” Panam exclaimed. “You remember the state you were in before the parade? How I found you at your place, heart in pieces? You looked like that character from an old fantasy movie—you know, the one who screams ‘my precious’!” 

“Thanks for comparing me to Gollum, Panam. You really know how to make someone feel special,” V groaned, rubbing her temples. 

Panam shrugged with a half-smile. 

“I just mean I’m worried about you. You haven’t said a thing about him since the Razor fight. Still pissed I missed that, by the way. Anyway... have you seen him again?” 

“Yeah… last night,” V murmured, her voice barely audible, like she was trying to hide her words in the back of her throat. 

Panam sat up straighter, frowning. 

“And you’re only telling me now? What happened? You know I’m still mad at him. No one gets to treat you the way he did. And you forgave him just like that… even invited him to dinner at your place—seriously…” 

She was getting worked up, as always. V was barely listening—not because she didn’t care, but because her heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might short-circuit something inside her. 

So she cut her off. 

“I kissed him.” 

If they’d been out in the countryside, the silence would’ve been filled with crickets. All that could be heard now were the club’s bass lines and the distant purr of an engine. 

“YOU DID WHAT?! YOU KISSED THE ARASAKA DOG?!” Panam screamed, eyes wide. 

“Shhhhhh!” V slapped a hand over her mouth, pointing at Misty. Still sprawled out on the mattress, she didn’t move. 

“You trying to wake up the whole block?” 

“Why would you do that?! Okay, dumb question—it’s obvious you’re crazy about him. But… how did he react?” Panam said, gently pushing V’s hand away. 

“It was after the afternoon at River’s family’s place.” 

Panam rolled her eyes, exasperated. 

“River… great. Another one I don’t wanna hear about.” 

“Anyway. Early evening, he asked if I wanted one last drink. I thought it was casual, friendly. Then he starts trying to confess something.” 

“Oh no, not the softboy routine… You’d already ghosted him with some brutal texts!” 

“I know. And still, I don’t know... Something just clicked. I left and went straight to Goro’s place.” 

“His place? You just showed up like that? Wow. And here I thought you were the shy type…” 

“I didn’t plan anything. I was already at his door. And not long after I walked in, I don’t even know how it happened—we just ended up kissing. At first, it was soft. Then… less soft.” 

“OKAY STOP. No details. I’m not drunk enough for that!” Panam waved her hands in front of her. “But then what? What happened next?” 

“Wakako called. I had to leave and save some guy. I threw out a quick ‘I’ll call you later’... and left.” 

Panam stared at her, mouth open. 

“Did you call him?” 

“Well… no.” 

Panam dragged her hands down her face, exasperated. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me! V, you drop an emotional bomb like that and then you ghost him?!” 

“It’s not exactly—” 

“Same difference. He’s probably in his apartment right now, on his knees in front of his phone, praying to all the old Japanese gods for you to call him.” 

V burst out laughing, half-nervous, half-ashamed. 

“The more you talk, the dumber I feel.” 

“Just tell me: did he push you away?” 

“No. He looked… moved, you know? Like… long intense stare, total ‘I’ll wait for you forever, V’ vibes. You know the look.” 

Panam rolled her eyes again. 

“Way too romantic for me. Alright, we’re fixing this now.” 

“Wait… what?” 

Panam stood up, stretched her arms over her head, then grabbed V’s phone from the coffee table. 

“You’re calling him. Now.” 

“Panam, I’m drunk…” 

“Perfect. Guaranteed honesty. And you’ve got alcohol in your system, so you’re invincible.” 

“I’m gonna say the dumbest stuff.” 

“Won’t be any different than usual.” 

Panam handed her the phone with a triumphant grin. 

V let out a deep sigh, grabbed the phone, and stuck out her tongue dramatically before searching her contacts. 

She scrolled until “Samurai” appeared on the screen. 

She hit ‘Call’, rolling her eyes, and shot Panam a look like she was walking straight to her execution. 

The phone rang, and V immediately regretted it. But it was already too late to hang up. She closed her eyes, took a loud breath in, then turned a desperate look toward Panam. 

“Maybe he won’t pick up. He’s asleep. Or meditating. Or still yelling at some poor street food vendor…” 

Panam, sitting across from her, waved her arms silently. 

“Breathe, V! Breathe! And put it on speaker!” 

V barely opened her mouth to respond when a click echoed on the other end of the line. 

“V?” 

That voice was deep, and sounded a little tired—like he’d just woken up. 

“Hi Goro! It’s me, well it’s V. You know that, obviously… you just said my name and I guess it’s showing up on your phone…” 

“V, it is two in the morning. What is going on?” 

V panicked for a second and glanced at Panam, who was still waving her arms around, mouthing words with no sound. It was kind of funny—and completely unhelpful. 

“I… Actually I was wondering if you still had… my cap. In your van.” 

Panam groaned softly and buried her face in both hands. V, meanwhile, clearly heard Takemura sigh. 

“Have you been drinking?” 

“Maybe a little. A lot? But I swear, I can still do the Macarena without sending someone to the ER!” 

“V… tell me why you’re really calling.” 

She froze and closed her eyes for a few seconds to calm herself. Two deep breaths later, her voice dropped, lower, steadier. 

“I wanted to talk to you. I was thinking about you. Actually, to be honest, I’ve been thinking about you a lot since we met—it’s like you never really left my head. Like the relic. Except you don’t give me splitting headaches, of course.” 

She let out a nervous laugh, a bit sad. 

“And I wanted to say I’m sorry for leaving like that. Work was just an excuse to slip out without feeling guilty… even though there was nothing to feel guilty about.” 

“So I did not hurt you?” Takemura interrupted, his voice now softer, almost tender. 

“What? No, Goro, never. I loved every second of what happened last night. And honestly, the only thing I want now is to be in your arms again. And to kiss you.” 

She took a sharp breath after saying that, like she’d just crossed the finish line of an emotional marathon. Her cheeks were burning. 

“Where are you, V?” 

“Well… I’m…” 

She looked around frantically, like she was seeing the place for the first time. But Panam, grinning with satisfaction, came to the rescue at last. 

“We’re on the roof. Above Vik’s clinic!” 

“I’m on my way.” 

With that final line, the call ended. 

A silence fell. V and Panam stared at the phone, smiling. 

“I think a noble samurai is coming to get you, my dear V!” Panam laughed out loud, her face glowing with pride as she looked at V’s mix of joy and embarrassment. 

V buried her face in her hands with a soft groan. 

“I can’t believe he’s actually coming…” 

“Yeah, well, come on—let’s sit back down while we wait. I know how to kill time.” 

“If it’s more of your stories about weird creatures you find in your shoes in the morning…” 

V fell asleep during the third story, a smile on her lips, her head tilted to the side.  Panam had let her doze off and now watched over her like an older sister would. 

That peaceful moment was broken by the sound of elevator doors opening.  Panam jumped to her feet and turned toward the noise. 

Unsurprisingly, Takemura appeared in the doorway. He walked forward slowly, hesitantly, toward the girls. He paused briefly, his gaze falling on V. 

“She’s asleep?” he asked in a low voice. 

Panam nodded, not taking her eyes off him. 

“Yeah, she dozed off not long ago. Not surprising, between her work, the alcohol, and the emotional rollercoaster she’s been on lately.” 

Takemura held her gaze for a moment before looking at V again. 

“She’s strong... but I worry about the pace she pushes herself at.” 

“We agree on that. She takes more than most could handle. She laughs, she smiles like it’s nothing. But sometimes, you can tell she’s on the edge, only when she thinks no one’s looking.” 

Takemura stared at Panam for a moment, then sighed and stepped closer to V. 

“I’ll take her home. I want her to get back safely.” 

As he said that, he gently knelt down and slid one arm under V’s legs, the other under her shoulders, then lifted her up. 

“You better take good care of her!” Panam said with a faint smile, watching the pair in front of her. “I’ll stay here to look after Misty. So go on.” 

Takemura gave her a respectful nod, then turned and headed off with V in his arms. 

She murmured softly, brow furrowed, her head resting against his shoulder. 

Once inside the elevator, Takemura couldn’t help but hold her a little tighter now that they were alone. He looked at her with fascination, it was so rare to see her in such a peaceful and harmless state. 

She was known as a storm in Night City. But to Goro, she was a ray of sunlight. His ray of sunlight.  But Panam was right. Takemura himself was starting to lose patience waiting for orders from Hanako. Time was precious, especially for V’s health and every minute counted. 

His thoughts were cut short by the ding of the elevator. Once at the van, he opened the passenger door and gently settled V inside. He quickly made his way to the driver’s seat and, before starting the engine, he took off his jacket and draped it over her. 

V buried her nose into the fabric and murmured softly in her sleep: 

“You’re here, Goro…” 

He couldn’t stop himself from looking at her with affection before turning away to begin the drive. 

The trip was strangely quiet, no crashes, no honking. Takemura didn’t even turn on the radio, preferring the silence, the sound of V’s breathing, and the purring engine.  Every now and then, he glanced over at her, as if to make sure she wouldn’t disappear. 

Once at the building, he shut off the engine and carefully took V back into his arms.  

The apartment was bathed in a soft light, dimmed by a few lamps left on. They cast warm, peaceful tones across the room. The faint scent of incense still lingered in the air. 

As soon as Takemura entered, a low meow greeted him. 

Nibbles, the prince of the place, trotted over to them, immediately rubbing himself against the legs of his long-lost friend with deep, approving purrs. Takemura looked down and carefully stepped back to avoid stepping on the animal. 

“Forgive me, little bakeneko, I must take care of your mother first…” 

He crossed the apartment quickly to the bed and pulled back the blanket to make room for V. He laid her down gently. She stirred only slightly in her sleep—just enough to nuzzle her cheek into the pillow. 

He hesitated for a second, then began by removing her sneakers, then moved to her jeans. He unfastened the button modestly, keeping his eyes fixed on one of the posters on the wall, and pulled the jeans off, setting the clothes aside. All of it done with a faint blush on his cheeks. 

He covered her, adjusted the blanket around her shoulders, then sat on the edge of the bed. 

A few strands of hair had fallen across her face. He reached out to brush them away, then stopped, his fingers getting lost in her hair. The silky texture captivated him, and he found himself gently stroking those strands, almost absentmindedly, hypnotized by the moment. 

That trance broke when Nibbles jumped gracefully onto the bed, curled up against his mistress’s legs, and began his evening grooming routine. 

Takemura smiled softly at the cat, then finally stood, quiet and ready to leave now that his task was complete. 

But something gently tugged at the fabric of his shirt. 

He stopped. 

Turning his head, he saw V’s eyes meeting his, half-lidded. Her fingers had grabbed hold of his shirt, tightly. 

“Please… don’t leave me alone.” 

She whispered so softly he might not have heard it, if the apartment hadn’t been so silent.  He stood still for a moment, hesitation gnawing at him, but it was quickly swallowed by the tenderness blooming in his chest. 

It was dangerous. Completely foolish. But he nodded. 

He took off his shoes, placed them at the foot of the bed next to hers, and gently lifted the blanket to slip in. He didn’t press up against her, but lay close enough to feel her warmth. 

He reached for her hand. Their fingers intertwined like it was the most natural thing in the world. It felt right. Comfortable. 

She was already asleep again. 

He stayed there for a while, watching her, memorizing every line of her face. Savoring a moment that felt sacred. 

Eventually, sleep came for him too, and he closed his eyes. 

And for the first time in a very long time, Goro fell asleep, with a faint smile on his lips. 

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

It’s been a while since I last posted. Some personal things happened that messed with my creativity. I spent two weeks working on this piece, so I really hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I do. Take care of yourselves it matters 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

[amnevitahwritesstuff]

While Rhys is away Feyre rewards her loyal spymaster for saving her life…with her [REDACTED]. 

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Pairing: Feyre/Azriel, Feyre/Rhysand

Rating: Explicit

Triggers: Blink and you miss it Butt Stuff, Fem-Dom, Minor Dub-Con, Murder

Chapters: One-Shot

Length: 2,806 words

Read on AO3 or below the cut

[For @tunaababee. I know it's not Feysand, but there's enough Feysand in here that I think it still qualifies. Azriel is just kind of along for the ride really. 😂]

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

I Might Be Yours, As Sure As I Can Say

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Feyre was bored. 

She had been trying for hours not to slouch in her seat while only half listening to the incessant buzzing of yet another sneering courtier but she was beginning to reach the end of her patience. How did Rhys manage this without looking like a fussy toddler?

Practice. He whispered cheekily in her mind. 

So I’ll be as old as you by the time I figure it out, she sniped back teasingly. 

I should put you over my knee for that. 

Mmm, maybe you should, she agreed. When are you done?

Not soon enough. 

He had been called away to the Day Court to conspire with Helion over…something. Rhys had been very tight-lipped over it which led Feyre to believe it was either something horrible…or a part of her Solstice gift. 

Knowing her mate, it was probably the latter. 

Which, of course, left her to deal with the Court of Nightmares on her own. 

It’s your own fault you’ve left me all alone in this pit of vipers, she grumbled. What were your ancestors thinking building this chair?

That it made for a rather fetching backdrop for their royal portraits, her mate insisted slyly. And besides, I didn’t leave you alone. 

Feyre’s eyes flicked to the menacing shadowsinger turned guard dog at her side. Practically growling at anyone who dared come a step too close to his High Lady. 

Overprotective bat, she thought fondly, not bothering to specify who she meant. 

I heard that.

Good.

Don’t you have a high lord to attend to?

Ah, but you’re so much more fun to—

It happened quickly. 

One moment she was needling her mate and the next she saw a glint of silver as a male appeared in front of her with a dagger aimed for her face. She hardly had time to realize what was happening before shadows erupted from the base of her throne to drag her attacker back and down to his knees. She heard, rather than saw, the knife clatter to the floor. 

Feyre! 

She felt her mate’s panic and rage flood her veins as if they were her own, but it was already over. Azriel stood before her, towering over her would-be murderer like some terrifying avenging demon. 

Are you alright? Rhys asked, before rushing through every corner of her mind to check for the answer himself. 

Yes. He didn’t touch me. 

She stood, still a little shaken at the surprising turn her evening had taken, but she knew better than to show weakness in front of this particular court. 

“Bring him to me.” 

Azriel pulled the male forward, giving his hair a vicious yank. 

“Bow to your High Lady. Beg her for mercy,” Azriel hissed. 

Foolishly, her attacker spat at her feet. 

Well then. 

“I don’t bow to whores!” The male spat. 

Instantly, Azriel shoved the male down until his face was pressed painfully into the cold stone floor. 

Feyre stared down at him, decidedly unimpressed. This was the male who had gotten the jump on her? How embarrassing. 

“Let me take him High Lady.” Azriel insisted lowly. “I’ll make him wish he was never born.” 

He didn’t need to tell her how exactly he planned to do that. Feyre knew all too well what her friend did for his court. 

“I’m sure you would,” she said, but instead urged Azriel and his captive closer. 

It took barely any effort at all to break into this pathetic creature’s mind. His shields were like gossamer curtains she swiped aside before delving into his head and peering at his secrets. 

He had acted alone. How…disappointing. 

Was my High Lady hoping to put Keir out of his misery today? Rhys drawled, though she could feel the tension in his words. 

She was certain that if Mor’s father had had anything to do with this attack, Rhys would’ve been back to the Night Court to mete out justice before she even had time to blink. 

I certainly would, he confirmed grimly. 

Go back to your meeting. Feyre scolded him. I’m fine. The villain has been detained. I can take it from here. 

You don’t need to. 

Yes I do. That’s why you made me High Lady. Now scurry. 

He nearly argued with her. She felt a flash of frustration from him before he buried it down and instead told her gently, I’ll be right here if you need me. 

I know. 

And then she was alone in her head once more, ready to see this sorry tale to its bitter end. 

Squaring her shoulders, she turned to Azriel, every inch the commanding powerful High Lady. 

“Kill him.”

She could have done it herself. Probably would have done it too if things were different. It would have been so easy to crush his mind with her own—like a grape in her fist—but she needed to send a message. Clearly her court had grown complacent in her absence. 

And Azriel, ever her dutiful, loyal soldier pulled the male’s head back by his hair—barring his throat for his High Lady to see—and slid his dagger from ear to ear. 

Blood poured onto the ebony steps beneath her like so much wine and Feyre watched with grim stoicism as her spymaster tossed the male’s body onto the floor. She raised her eyes back to the silent crowd and stared at each one in turn. 

“Would anyone else like to express their grievances with me today?” 

Silence. 

“Good. Now get out,” she ordered coldly. And then, as an afterthought. “And someone clean this up.” 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“I can’t believe I let him get so close.”

Azriel paced back and forth across the—now mercifully clean—stone floor as Feyre watched him wearily. Just looking at him made her feel dizzy. 

“It’s fine Az. I’m fine.”

If anything, his pacing grew even more agitated. 

Step. Step. Step. Distressed grumbling. Step. Step. Step. Step. Heel-turn. Step. Step. Step. Angry hand gestures. Step. Step. Step. Rinse and repeat. 

“How did I miss him?” He asked, clearly not expecting an answer. He was far too caught up in his own toxic self-recrimination to hear a single word she said. 

“I didn’t notice him either Az,” Feyre pointed out, realizing with a guilty jolt that she probably hadn’t noticed her attacker because she had been too busy flirting with her mate. 

Some High Lady she was. 

None of that, Rhys interrupted, mind pressing close to her own once more. You’re as bad as him. 

Am not. 

“It’s not your job to notice threats.”

Feyre gave him a look. 

“It isn’t Rhys’s either and yet he still does the job of at least ten people.”

Rude.

Isn’t there a saying about eavesdroppers? You’d know better than me. You were probably there when it was invented. 

What did I ever do to deserve such a vicious mate?

Do you need a list? Now quiet, the adults are talking. 

Azriel shook his head, as if trying to knock something out of it. 

“You’re not Rhys you’re—”

“Your High Lady,” Feyre interjected sharply. “And your High Lady is telling you that everything is fine.” 

“But I failed you!”

The words echoed throughout the stone hall like an omen. Even Rhys seemed surprised by his friends words, his voice in her head going quiet. 

That was it. She was putting an end to this now. 

“Azriel.” Her voice rang out, sharp and clear. 

The Illyrian snapped to attention. 

Always the soldier, that one, she couldn’t help but think fondly. 

“Come here.” 

It was a command as much as it was a request and Azriel fell to his knees before her, his eyes downcast. She leaned forward in her throne and felt a familiar…stirring, deep in her belly. Hastily, she shoved it down. 

“He’s dead Az,” Feyre said quiet but firm. “You didn’t fail me. You have never failed me.” 

“But—”

“Who is High Lady here Az?”

She reached out and laid a hand on his cheek, pulling his eyes up to meet hers. He sighed, soft and almost…pleased. Like a hound finally receiving a scrap of affection from his master. 

“You are.”

Without thinking, she brushed her thumb along his cheekbone. 

“And who decides if you’ve served me well or not?” 

Another sigh. 

“You do.” 

“That’s right.” 

There was that feeling again. Coiling heat and anticipation. She pulled her hand back, confused. She felt her mate still there, hovering at the edge of her consciousness. Waiting for her to…to do what? 

I’m sorry, she said, not sure what she was even apologizing for. I…I don’t know why I’m feeling this way.

I do, Rhys said. He’s done you a service. Protected his High Lady. I think such behavior deserves to be rewarded, don’t you?

Feyre felt suddenly dizzy and hot and oh so very confused. 

But…you…I would never betray you—

Who says it’s a betrayal? He whispered, voice slippery and seductive like a serpent in her ear. This is merely a High Lady repaying her vassal for his devotion. 

You would…you’re encouraging this? She asked, shocked. Incredulous. Delighted.  

Please Darling, you’ve been eying each other for ages. I’m just…helping things along. 

You’re a menace. 

You love it. 

I do. 

Now give our boy what he’s clearly aching for but would never dare ask for. 

“Azriel,” she says, whisper-soft. 

He straightened, eyes wide and trusting, ready to do anything she asked of him. 

“You’ve served me well,” she said. “I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?”

Azriel looked ready to deny it. Continue to castigate himself over his perceived failures, but Feyre would have none of it. 

“I need your help.” 

Those were the magic words. 

She saw him shiver then, an almost imperceptible quiver to his wings, and pounced on the opening. 

“I ache,” Feyre sighed, leaning back on her throne. “Won’t you help your High Lady?” 

He licked his lips. “And what…does my High Lady require of me?” 

“A kiss.”

He looked torn. Simultaneously, as if he were being offered the greatest gift and the most brutal punishment. 

“But…” He trailed off, but it was so clear where his hesitation was coming from. She may have been his High Lady, but her mate was also his High Lord. His friend. 

Feyre leaned forward, taking her spymaster’s face between her palms to lift his eyes to hers. 

“Do you truly think I do anything without Rhys knowing? Without his blessing?” 

That’s a bit of an exaggeration don’t you think? Her mate quipped. You do plenty without asking me first. 

I don’t know what you’re talking about. Feyre replied serenely. 

She felt, rather than saw the fight leave Azriel then, all in a rush. 

“I am always at your service High Lady,” he breathed. “You have only to ask and it will be done.” 

“Good,” she said happily. “Then give your High Lady a kiss.”

He moved forward eagerly, rising up to give her what she asked for but instead of receiving him with open arms, she pushed him back to the floor. He cast her a bewildered glance. Feyre smiled sweetly and parted her thighs. 

“Wrong lips.” 

His throat bobbed and she felt a little thrill race up her spine. She…she liked this, she realized with a start. This wasn’t like the games she played with Rhys. There was always an equal sort of push and pull between them. He gave as much as he got with her. But Azriel…Azriel would let her do anything to him. She was the one with all the power here. And it felt…good. Exciting. 

She watched him lean forward, ever so slowly, those scarred hands lifting the folds of her dress to reveal that secret space between her thighs. His fingers brushed along the seam of her reverently before she felt him carefully, gently, part the lips of her cunt to expose the soft pink flesh underneath. In her ears, Feyre heard her heart pounding away like a drum. He paused for a moment, his lashes—so long and dark—fluttering prettily before he bowed low, eager to do his High Lady’s bidding. 

The first touch of his tongue was as shocking as it was delicious. Feyre let out a shivery gasp as she felt that hot, slippery muscle swipe over her like she were a treat. She speared her fingers through his hair—so soft, like silk—and tugged at it greedily as he sucked at her clitoris like it was his purpose in life. 

He groaned. 

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” She gasped, hitching her thighs until they framed his ears. On impulse, she brushed her ankle against his wing and felt his whole body shudder. 

“Yes.” He agreed, breath hot and heavy against her cunt. 

And you’re mine, Rhys whispered wickedly, his words making her blood heat and her head spin. You both are. 

Rhys, she thought as she felt two of Azriel’s fingers spear themselves into her cunt, curling and searching for that soft, wondrous place only her mate knew about. Further below, she felt a third finger prod curiously at her other entrance and she jolted with surprise. 

Her mate, however, had other plans. 

Oh no, my love. You’ll take it like a good girl. You wouldn’t want to be ungrateful now would you? 

She felt a foreign sense of calm loosen her limbs and relax her against her will and her spymaster took that as all the permission he needed to ease that finger past the ring of muscle, up to his first knuckle. 

All at once she felt all of her insides clench down. Hard. Suddenly she was no longer in control. Her muscles locked as her cunt rippled and pulsed and squeezed like it was trying to simultaneously force Azriel’s fingers out…and keep them in. 

That’s it. Rhys gloated like this was entirely his doing. 

Maybe it was. 

Did our boy perform his duty well? Rhys whispered in her mind as she panted like an animal. Or does that needy little cunt need to be filled? 

Her answer was swift. 

“Give it to me,” she moaned, pushing Azriel’s head away. “Your cock. I want it.” 

It was like her words reached straight into his brain and tugged. In one fluid movement, he was on his feet, scarred fingers fumbling at the fastenings of his trousers as he stared at her with wild, frantic eyes. The moment she saw his cock—long, flushed dark and angry with need—spring free, Feyre was quick to jump to her feet and grasp her spymaster by his leathers. It was all of a moment’s work to trade places with him and shove him into the uncomfortable throne she’d spent so much time bemoaning. 

“But,” Azriel gasped, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of being seated on something that rightfully belonged to only two people in his court. “The throne—”

“I’m High Lady,” Feyre said matter-of-factly as she climbed into his lap, fingers taking ahold of that big, beautiful cock like she owned it. “I make the rules here.” 

She stared into those wide hazel eyes as she notched his cock at the mouth of her cunt and slowly sank down. He heaved in great lungfuls of air like it was she who was the court torturer, not him. 

“You’re mine,” she said breathlessly—imperiously—as she ground herself down until her thighs were flush with the cool leather of his trousers. “Your cock is mine. Everything you are is mine. Mine to reward. Mine to punish. Mine to play with.” 

“Yes,” he gasped against the skin of her neck, low and desperate. “Always.” 

Look at you, her mate murmured, pleasure and awe coloring his words in equal measure. Like a queen on her throne. 

Shut up, she thought with fond exasperation. I’m busy. 

She felt full. Full of Azriel’s cock. Full of power. Full of love for her mate that he would not only allow her such an indulgence, but actively encourage it. 

Anything for you, my love. 

His words drove her on as she ground the pulsing bead of her clitoris into Azriel’s pubic bone and rocked and rocked and rocked her way to her second mind-bending orgasm of the evening. And all the while Azriel simply clutching her waist, her thighs, riding out the feverish heat of her greedy cunt until he came with a breathless grunt. 

Sated and content, Feyre curled against his chest sweetly, enjoying the feel of his cock slowly softening inside of her. 

“Thank you,” she murmured sleepily. “You’re so good to me.” 

“Anything for you…Feyre.” The sound of her name on his lips—the first time this evening—made her smile. 

“Next time we should do it in a bed.”

Azriel blinked at her. “Next time?”

Her smile turned positively feline. 

“Next time.” 

Enjoy this fic? Check out my ACOTAR Fic Masterlists.

Thanks for reading! 💙

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Tag List: (If you would like to be added/removed to/from this or future tag lists for this fic please let me know 🙂)

@arecresswell @berd-nerd @bibliophiliaxvignette @corruptedclarity @hugeclearjellyfish @ladyylesbian @littlest-w01f @medusas-pubez @prim-stag-and-doe @popjunkie42 @reverie-tales @rhysiedarling @romanticatheartt @starfall-spirit @tunaababee @whatishowedyouinthedark @zencetera

[halfadeckofcards]

Too Late I'm Dead

After rushing out from a Jigsaw survivors meeting, you meet another survivor who isn't exactly intent on attending group therapy. A companionship blossoms, and then a friendship. And then, something else.

Rating: Explicit, NSFW 🔞 Fandom: Saw Pairing: Amanda Young x AFAB!Reader Word count: 5.1K Content warnings: Gore, mentions of self-harm (both in the Jigsaw trap context and the more typical context), trauma, PTSD, angst, discussions of disability (since a lot of Jigsaw traps are disabling), Saw is its own warning, smoking, alcohol consumption, flirting, kissing, making out, biting, vaginal fingering, friends to lovers, as is Saw tradition gay shit goes down in the bathroom, reader is AFAB but gender neutral AO3 link: Here

Author's Note: And here’s Blood Fest Week 3, with the keywords “twisted” and “fixation” and the prompts “traps” and “rage”!! “Traps”, of course, got me thinking about Saw. And since I’m down terribly bad for Amanda and have seen appallingly few fics for her…. well, why not? Underrated characters are kind of my signature anyway. Hope y’all enjoy! <3

“Hi everyone. My name is Brandon and…. I’m a Jigsaw survivor.”

A subdued chorus of Hi Brandons echoed around the small church room. You barely even bothered to mouth the words. The gesture felt about as empty as the tipped over plastic water bottle you’d discarded by your chair some time ago. There was coffee at the sad makeshift snack table too, as well as a box of pastries that looked a few days past their prime, but you figured you didn’t need the caffeine to make you any more jittery than you already were. Your leg was bouncing enough as it was.

“It’s been about a year since uh. Well.” Brandon smiled nervously and made a vague, fluttery gesture with his hands. “Well. You know.”

A quiet, obligatory response from the other people – a murmur, a nod of heads. You stared at your bouncing knee.

“I’ve made great progress with my recovery. My knees have healed really well. I can fully walk on them again, even run if I’m careful. My dog Rex doesn’t really like it when I’m careful though.” He laughed fondly. A couple others offered the obligatory chuckle. “They hurt if I get too eager with stairs. Or if it’s too humid. But it’s going really well. I’m really, really proud of the progress I’ve made.” He nodded, as if assuring himself.

He’d had to break both his knees in order to get out of his trap. Was in a wheelchair for months and only recently started moving around without it. Or so you’d been told.

You weren’t sure you’d be able to break your own knees.

“Somedays, though.” Brandon looked away from the loose circle you all formed. Blinked rapidly. “Somedays, it feels like I haven’t made any progress. Somedays it’s hard. Really hard. And it feels like I didn’t survive that trap. Or if I did, some part of me got left behind.”

Everyone else was nodding, some with sad, understanding smiles on their faces. Your own pulse thundered in your ears like a distant, approaching storm.

“It’s really hard to have hope on those days, but…. what else can I do?” He shrugged, a helpless smile on his face. “Give up? Wallow around in my own misery? I can’t live like that. No one can live like that. Not forever. You just have to choose. You have to make a choice, just like the choices we made to be here. You have to choose to live. You have to choose hope. Or else you just can’t survive.”

You shot to your feet, heartbeat pounding in your ears, chair scraping back. Every face in the room turned to look at you. The church felt too small. Your ribs felt too tight. You felt too…. seen.

Who was he to judge you for wallowing in what you’d fucking gone through?

You spun around and bee-lined for the exit.

The cool city air against your face was a relief as you barged through the church’s double doors. But you stopped in your tracks as you spotted someone else already there. A woman was sitting on the church stairs. She twisted around, eyebrows raised and half-hidden by the choppy, irregular bangs across her forehead.

“Uh. Hey,” you said, somewhat awkwardly.

She paused, as if uncertain. Of what? You weren’t sure. “Hey,” she eventually said back. Then, after another pause, she twisted further around, a frown crossing her features. “Is the meeting over?”

“No. I just needed some air.” Fuck, you needed something to calm yourself. You dug around in your jacket pockets until you found a lighter and a cigarette. “Um. Do you mind if I…?”

She stared at the cigarette in your hand with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher, but eventually shook her head no. You internally shrugged and lit up. The first drag uncoiled the tension that had built up in your muscles, and you breathed the smoke out on a relieved sigh.

The woman glanced between you and the church doors. “Having fun in there?”

Did she know? The place didn’t exactly advertise, but it wasn’t exactly a secret either. You scanned her face. She looked vaguely familiar, but you couldn’t quite place her. Had you seen her in the meetings before? “Oh, yeah, lots. You know. Fun therapy shit.” Supposedly, anyway. It was supposed to be some sort of Alcoholics Anonymous shit, but instead it was for the few survivors of an active fucking serial killer. Jigsaws Anonymous or whatever the fuck.

“Must be going well if you’re out here,” she said dryly, resting her chin on a propped-up fist.

You shrugged, taking another drag. “Well…” Did you really want to tell her about how Brandon’s words had hit just a little too close to home? How they’d made you feel too small, as if the sticks you’d used to prop up your fragile post-trap reconstruction of the world had suddenly snapped, and the weight of it all was now bearing down on you? She was a stranger waiting outside the church. She could’ve been some Jesus freak for all you knew.

Not that she really looked like one. Not with the sheer red shirt over a black bra and fishnet undershirt, or the combat boots, or the sheer exhaustion around her eyes.

She looked less like a Jesus freak and more like you did on the days you could bear to look in the mirror.

So you just shrugged again. “It can be a lot,” you said. “What about you? What’re you doing out here?” You hesitated. “There’re still seats open if you wanted to…”

“No thanks. I’m good.” She offered you a close-lipped smile. “I’ve heard enough of the sob-stories.”

Yeah. You could understand that.

She didn’t look like she was going anywhere, and you didn’t exactly have plans of your own. So you gestured to the stairs next to her. “Mind if I sit?”

“Be my guest.”

You sat to her right so the wind wouldn’t blow cigarette smoke into her face. The smooth grey stone steps were wide enough that it didn’t feel quite so awkward sitting in silence together. Even though you could feel her analyzing you as you took another puff.

You blew the smoke away and smirked dryly at the cigarette. “Think Jigsaw’s gonna put me in another deathtrap for smoking?” You ignored the tightening in your chest as you said the words. Ignored the tremor of unease. Surely it wouldn’t be enough. Surely lightning wouldn’t strike twice.

“He wouldn’t do that.” She said it with such simple certainty, as if it was an inarguable fact. Even still, you found yourself stubbing the cig out and searching for a trash can to toss it into. You didn’t want to just flick it into the grass. Maybe Jigsaw would get you for littering. Maybe he was really passionate about saving the planet.

Who needed to be God-fearing with the possibility of Jigsaw watching your every move?

You shook the thought off. Introduced yourself to the woman. You smiled awkwardly. “Um. I’d offer you my hand but my, uh–” Personal hell “–Trap involved a hand thing so. I’m not a big fan of handshakes these days.” It had taken a long time for the nerves to repair themselves in your hand. A long time and a shitton of agony and medication and physical therapy. You still hadn’t totally gotten rid of the tremor. Fine motorskills were still harder than before.

Before. That.

But the woman just gave a rueful, understanding sort-of smile. Funny how people smiled so much in the presence of trauma and pain. “Amanda. I still have trouble going to the dentist sometimes.”

Shit, that’s where you knew her from, wasn’t it? You’d heard of her, read about her before, seen a clip of her punching a journalist square in the nose when she tried to follow her. All the photos you’d seen had been such shit quality that you hadn’t recognized her immediately.

Amanda Young. The person who killed a man and rummaged around his guts to free herself from the machine hooked into her jaws. The first person to walk away from a Jigsaw trap. The first survivor. In a weird, fucked up way, it was almost like meeting a celebrity. A celebrity for the most depressingly specific thing possible.

You weren’t sure whether it would make things weird to bring that up. So you just nodded. “So. What’re you doing here then? Are you waiting for someone?”

“Mm no, not really.” Amanda scraped at the chipped black polish on her nails. “I just like to come here sometimes.”

You stared at her. Something about her reminded you of a deer, twitchy and ready to bolt at the slightest sign of danger. Or maybe not a deer. Deer looked like they’d snap in half if the wind blew too hard. Amanda…. did not. She was twitchy, but for some reason you got the feeling that she was just as likely to start kicking as she was to start running

Permanently caught between fight or flight.

You went with freeze, yourself. Or wallow, as Brandon had put it. Anger and embarrassment burned against your ribs.

“Hell of a place to visit.” You weren’t sure if you meant it as a light-hearted joke or a deadpan remark. The words came out somewhere in between.

“You’re one to talk.” She finally turned to you. It was the first time she’d actually met your eyes, you realized. “You actually believe all this bullshit?” she asked, gesturing to the church.

“Not really,” you admitted. “My therapist wanted me to go. Said it would help me to be around others who understand what I went through. That it would help me get closure or something. I didn’t want to. But he insisted.” You shrugged. He’d pestered you about it until you finally gave in a few weeks ago. He thought it would be good for you. Would help you heal. Really, it just made you want to fling yourself out of one of the church’s fancy stained-glass windows.

Amanda gave a derisive snort. You almost took offense until she said, “Half of the time these therapists don’t even know what they’re talking about. It’s a bunch of bullshit, too.” She propped her cheek on her fist again, giving you a side-long grimace. “People don’t change until they have to. Or until they’re forced to. A bunch of psychoanalyzing isn’t going to do anything.”

You…. strongly disagreed. But the slim scar peeking out from her sleeve kept you from saying that. “Bad experience with a therapist?” you asked, flicking your gaze away.

“It never really worked for me.”

“What did?” you asked cautiously.

She paused. Thought about it. Stared at you with an intensity that had you wondering what the hell was going on inside her head. Until eventually, “Jigsaw.”

You blinked. Stared. Tried to figure out how to respond to that.

She thought…. Jigsaw helped?

You didn’t want to judge. Fuck, that was exactly why you’d stormed out of the church. You were self-aware enough to realize that. Different things worked for different people, and different people responded to trauma in different ways, but….

The church doors squealed open. You both shot to your feet and turned around. Your fellow Jigsaw Anonymous members were leaving, the meeting over, spilling out from the doors with all the speed and excitement of molasses being poured out from a jar. You stepped to the side to let them come down the stairs. Amanda did the same, arm brushing yours, and you wrestled the urge to jerk away. You weren’t sure of the last time you’d actually touched someone, or the last time someone had touched you, aside from the gentle but coldly professional hands of doctors and emergency personnel. It was as startlingly foreign as it was familiar.

Amanda seemed completely unaware of your clashing emotions as her gaze locked onto something. You followed her stare to Brandon slowly making his way down the steps. A man with sandy-blond hair and a cane was with him, chatting, the both of them completely oblivious to either of you.

Did she know them? She was staring at them with such an undecipherable intensity and it was the only explanation you could think of. You glanced at the two men again, then back at Amanda. No… she wasn’t staring at them. She was staring at the blond man specifically.

It really wasn’t any of your business, but you couldn’t help but ask, “Do you two know each other?”

“Sorta,” was as much of a response as you got.

Once Brandon and the man reached the bottom of the ramp and went separate ways, Amanda turned back to you. It was just the two of you on the stairs now. And it was a little embarrassing how flustered you were just by her proximity. For fuck’s sake, you didn’t even know her.

Maybe your therapist was right. You did need to get out and be around people more. So you could remember how to fucking act normal again.

“Well.” Amanda bumped her arm against yours again. This time deliberately. You were pretty sure the facial expression you made was not a normal one. “See you round.”

Then she shoved her hands into the pockets of her cargo pants, hopped down the steps, and just. Walked away. You stared after her for longer than necessary.

She was impossible to get a read on. Weirdly confrontational, weirdly evasive, and weirdly magnetic anyway.

You kind of hoped you’d see her again.

She didn’t appear for the next few meetings you obligatorily dragged yourself to. It wasn’t until about a month later that you found her sitting out on the steps again. When you, again, had rushed out to clear your head when the room got too small.

“Hey stranger,” she said, tone somewhere close to teasing. It made you smile. Just a little.

“Hey,” you replied, approaching the stairs. And again, you gestured to the space beside her. “Mind if I join you?”

“Be my guest.”

And so you developed a bit of a routine. She appeared on the steps about once a month, for a reason she never shared and that you never really minded. You would sit on the stairs with her, and the two of you would shoot the breeze. It was a comfortable, casual companionship born from a common factor and convenience. It was never anything very deep. Neither of you were there for therapy, not really. You kept it light, casual. That was the point, wasn’t it?

At least until one day when Amanda was standing by the stairs before the meeting had even started. You didn’t bother to hide your surprise as you approached her and exchanged your usual heys.

“You coming in today?” you asked.

“No. I thought we could head somewhere else.” She tilted her head at you. There was a playfulness to her expression, her smile. A playfulness that made you both a little bit cautious and a little bit excited. “Somewhere a little more fun. Unless you want to stay here. For therapy.” She pointedly lifted her eyebrows at you as she said therapy.

You glanced at the church doors behind her. Really, talking to her about anything but the fact that you were both Jigsaw survivors had done a lot more for you than going to these stupid fucking meetings had.

“Only if you promise not to put me in a death game for smoking,” you joked. Or tried to, at least. It really wasn’t that funny. You winced at yourself. But Amanda, to her credit, just linked her arm through yours. You almost preened at the friendly touch.

“Deal,” she said.

She ended up taking you to a bar. A gay bar, more specifically. You were a bit surprised she’d clocked you so easily but never said a word – but then again, neither had you about her. So you supposed you couldn’t be too surprised.

From there, your casual companionship escalated into something much more like a genuine friendship. You got to know each other properly. You talked about your personal lives and hobbies and interests. You even talked a little bit about Jigsaw, and everything after that. You told her how you’d been struggling with insomnia and how you’d lost your job when you stopped showing up. Because of, y’know, being stuck in a deathtrap. And being too terrified to set foot outside your door for a while after. You told her about the new job you’d gotten and struggled to adjust to. And you told her about your hands.

Nails through the palms Jesus-style. Because according to the hoarse voice on the tape that now haunted your nightmares – “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop”. She’d winced as you told her the story one evening. You’d winced as you’d recollected it. The pain shooting through your fingertips, up your arms, into your very fucking bones. The squelch of blood and muscle, the way you hadn’t been able to stop from screaming or the tears from spilling as you twisted and ripped your hands free of the metal spikes.

It was a miracle they didn’t introduced any infections into your bloodstream, the doctors had told you. A miracle.

You told Amanda how your hands still shook, were still a bit weak. How some days they were worse and some days they were better. And how fine motor skills had become hard now, whereas before you’d taken them for granted. God, had you taken them for granted. You’d been able to write your name, use a knife and fork, all that shit, so damn easily.

It had taken a lot of getting used to.

Amanda has just listened and nodded her head. Understanding. Not offering the grating sympathy people so often flung your way, all the while looking uncomfortably unsure of what to do with your presence and your hands and your experience and your trauma. But Amanda understood. Because of course she did. She knew what you’d been through and where you were coming from.

And she’d even smiled a bit mischievously, glancing down at your hands on the bar counter, and said, “Well, if you ever need help with anything, I’m pretty good with my hands. I could always lend a finger or two.”

Maybe it was the little smirk on her face, the glint in her eye when she said it. Maybe it was the loneliness and then the sudden friendship. Or maybe you’d just been a little too buzzed, but her words had remained lodged in your mind as you tried to go to sleep that night.

Amanda had shared things about herself, too, in the time you’d spent together. It had taken a little longer for her to open up – she was a bit slower, a bit more cautious. She seemed a lot more eager to listen than to do the talking. And you couldn’t fault her for that. But eventually, you learned that she worked as a mechanic, knew a lot about fixing and building machines and shit like that. She had a pet guinea pig that she’d acquired entirely by accident. His name was Pigeon. Her favorite color was red, her favorite bands were Nine Inch Nails and Hole, and her favorite movie was The Princess Bride. Her dad was a piece of shit she hadn’t seen in over a decade, and her relationship with her mom was strained at best. She was an only child.

You’d also learned more about her Jigsaw trap. How she’d become a drug addict in prison, how she’d woken up in a Jigsaw trap for it. How the little puppet with swirls on its cheeks had rolled out of the darkness on a tricycle and told her that she’d survived. And how she’d ended up in a trap a second time, a hellish prison of a house with several other people, most of whom had died.

The news had nearly brought your drink back into your throat. Lighting did strike twice after all. He did pick the same victims more than once.

God, maybe you really did need to quit smoking.

Amanda had placed her hand on your arm. Touch gentle but grounding all the same. And she’d assured you that that wouldn’t happen to you, Jigsaw wouldn’t choose you again. He had no reason to. She said it so confidently, and you so desperately wanted to believe her. That you wouldn’t be taken a second time. Or that she wouldn’t be taken a third. Not that she seemed too concerned about it.

That was the strange thing about her. When she told you about what had happened, she stared down at the counter. Her hands shook a little bit. The memory terrified her.

And yet…. she had this fixation on the idea that Jigsaw had helped her. The trap had gotten her off drugs. It had put her on a completely different path in life. Rather than dying from a drug overdose, she’d gotten clean. He saved me, she’d said, eyes wide and earnest and afraid.

You’d fought against the urge to argue that, to say No, he didn’t save you, he almost killed you. The idea of Jigsaw possibly helping – all while you struggled to sleep and were plagued by nightmares as you did, while you struggled to make your handwriting legible, while you fought the urge to bolt back home as soon as the sun started lowering in the sky? The idea felt like swallowing glass.

Had Jigsaw ever made anyone do that?

But you didn’t say any of that to her. People dealt with trauma in different ways. You supposed this was just her way of dealing with it. And it wasn’t really hurting anyone, so who were you to judge?

It certainly didn’t stop you from going to the bar with her regularly. It didn’t stop you from laughing with her, from getting close to her both emotionally and physically till the edge of your seats were almost touching and your arms were practically interlinked.

It didn’t stop the spark of warmth in your chest when she offered a genuine smile. Or the electric feeling that shot through your veins when she traced her fingers over your knuckles one night, after the conversation had lulled and your drinks had gone lukewarm.

“I wanna try something,” she said, voice soft enough that you would’ve missed it had you not been sitting so close your thighs were pressed together.

Eye contact right now would’ve been like staring into the sun. So instead, you stared at her hand on top of yours. Her knuckles were scratched up as if she’d gotten into a fight. “Sure,” you said slowly. “What did you have in mind?”

Amanda turned to you. You cautiously met her gaze. Christ, it really was like looking at the sun. Warm and beautiful but intense. Burningly intense.

Confusion turned to shock as Amanda hooked two fingers into the neck of your shirt and tugged you closer till her lips were hitting yours. You must’ve made a noise of surprise, because she drew away almost immediately. It was all you could do not to chase her and ask why did you stop? A small crease appeared between her eyebrows and she opened her mouth. And God for a second you thought she was going to apologize, when in fact she really didn’t need to because holy shit.

“Oh thank fuck,” you blurted. “You were flirting with me.”

Concern turned to surprise. Then Amanda laughed, the sound pure relief. “Yeah, I was. Did it take you that long to figure it out?” she teased.

“Uh.” Your face warmed. “Maybe.”

She grinned, then grabbed you by the shirt and kissed you again. Gentle but insistent. Her other hand curled around your nape. You didn’t know what the hell to do with your own hands until one curled around her back and the other ended up braced against the bar counter.

The bar counter. Right. You were very much in public. Sure, it was a queer bar, but it was still public.

So you reluctantly pulled away. Amanda looked confused for a moment before you said, “Hey, maybe we should… do this somewhere else?”

She blinked at you. Then, wordlessly, she wrapped a hand around your wrist and pulled you off your seat. She dragged you past the other patrons and tables – it was a quieter night, so you didn’t have to fight through a sea of people – and pushed through one of the bathroom doors, yanking you in with her and locking the door behind you.

“There,” she said. There was a look to her eyes, a look that made your heart stumble and your entire body go warm. “We’re somewhere else.”

This time when she kissed you, you let her fully take the lead. You slid your arms around her and melted into the kiss, sighing against her. It just made her more eager. She prodded at your lips with her tongue, slipped inside with a sweet little moan that had your heart racing. Sent your head spinning. You backed up till you hit a wall, dragging Amanda with because fuck you weren’t breaking this kiss. Not as she was getting to know you with her teeth and her tongue. She tasted like alcohol and peaches, smelled of loam and sweat and faintly of men’s store-brand bodywash. It was heady, intoxicating. Addicting.

Her hands slipped under your shirt. You shuddered at the exposure to the overly air-conditioned bathroom. Shuddered harder at her warm touch roving across your skin, the slight drag of fingernails over your stomach. Amanda broke the kiss with a wet smack as your muscles tensed underneath her.

“You’re so cute,” she teased. She dragged her fingernails over your skin again with just a little more pressure. You arced into her touch. Fuck. Fuck.

You wished you could come up with some kind of response. Something to convey just how much you were aching for her, both emotionally and physically. How badly and how deeply these emotions were running through you. But words were currently beyond your grasp.

Amanda leaned in and nibbled at your neck as her fingers slid past your waistband and teased the edge of your underwear. You clamped your teeth down on your bottom lip. Heat swirled through your veins, in your stomach, at the base of your spine. You moved your hips a little, just a little, to urge her on. Nails dug into the soft flesh there. A whimper escaped.

“Mandyyyyyyy.”

“Yeahhhhhhh?” She was all mischief and smugness as she looked back up at you. It just made you more desperate.

“Mandy. Please?” You gave her your best pleading look.

“You’re so impatient.” She said the words lightly, playfully. But she must’ve been impatient too, because she was pushing your underwear down. When her fingers brushed against your clit, you gasped and dropped your head back against the wall. Fuck, God, yes, right there –

“You sure you only just figured out I was flirting with you? You seem pretty fucking wet already.” She punctuated her words with a slide of her fingers against you. Because yeah, you were fucking wet. It would’ve been a little humiliating if you weren’t so achingly desperate for her touch.

“Yeah, well.” You drew in an unsteady breath as she circled your clit. A teasing touch that wasn’t quite enough. Fuck, it was impossible to form a coherent thought. “You’re just…. really fucking hot.”

It was hardly eloquent. But her breath puffed against your neck in a laugh. And you figured it would do for now.

She kissed the hollow of your throat, firmly rubbed her thumb against your clit. You practically bucked against her. Her other hand hooked under one of your thighs and lifted, and you threw your leg around her waist. Let out a moan at how it changed the sensation. “Yeah, like that,” Amanda breathed. “Just like that.” She said it as if you were touching her, as if she wasn’t the one doing all the work, wasn’t the one making you writhe and whimper and leak over her precise fingers.

Christ, you hadn’t felt this good in a while.

The pace was languorous, exploratory, testing what made you shiver and dig your nails into her shoulders and gasp for breath. As if she was intent on taking you apart and finding out exactly what got you going – a machine to figure out and put back together. Slowly, slowly, but in a way you savored, you felt the tension inside of you building up and coiling tight like a spring. You were quivering. Your clothes clung to your sweat-sheened skin. The music spilling into the bathroom from the bar wasn’t quite enough to cover the ragged breathing and wet, rhythmic noises, and it just made the whole thing feel even dirtier. Especially with how Amanda was panting against you, as if she was getting off just from you getting off and fuck it made you clench.

When she picked up the pace, you weren’t able to stop the gasps and moans that spilled out of you, the way you panted and pleaded her name. The sound of her fingers squelching against you had you burning. And when your release hit you cried out, clenching, shaking, clinging to Amanda’s shoulders and digging your nails in as you rode out the high. She didn’t stop, didn’t relieve the pressure against your clit. White hot pleasure burned through your body till tears pricked at your eyes. Distantly, she said something. Soft, sweet words that didn’t quite reach your ears as they rang from the intensity of your orgasm.

She only stopped when you went limp against her. Only pulled away from the mess you’d made – that she’d made too, really – to wrap her arms around your hips and kiss you, deep and slow, as if trying to commit you to memory. You lazily brushed your tongue against hers. Your muscles felt like taffy, worn out in the best way.

“You were right,” you said when you parted. “You really are good with your hands.”

Amanda grinned so widely and genuinely that you couldn’t stop yourself from capturing her lips again. Fuck. You might’ve been a little bit in love. Or maybe that was the post-sex endorphins talking. You weren’t sure. You didn’t particularly care either way.

“I think I owe you an orgasm,” you said.

Amanda brushed her nose against yours. For the first time since you’d met her, she actually seemed truly, fully relaxed. As if she’d properly lowered her guard just now, just in this moment, just for you. “Maybe next date.” The words sent a flutter through your chest. Next date. There’d be a next date. “But first,” she said, moving away to grab some paper towels, “we gotta get you cleaned up.”

[reallyromealone]

I'm sorry to ask. But I'd like to ask for more of Alastor's Jazz King Son x Rubber Ducky King Lucy from Hazbin Hotel, please. Like we need a part 2. Like maybe Alastor's Son helping protect the hotel or whatever you feel in the mood to write

Title: blues

Fandom: hazbin hotel

Characters: hazbin hotel ensemble

Fic type: fluff, angst

Pairings: Lucifer x reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, angst, emotional, everyone feels some feels

Notes: it's been hard to write for a while, I'm happy I could actually finish a fic without hating it, I am actually semi proud of this one

Summary: reader goes on a date with Lucifer, they share some emotional stuff

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Charlie watched her dad and Alastors son closely, (name) towered over him with height clearly inherited from his father though having an expression that she would be horrified to see on Alastor. (Name) Held a rubber duck in his hand and the two spoke fondly and softly, the two giggling at little jokes.

At first Charlie was worried if this was a gold digger situation but it quickly became clear that the singing demon was genuinely in love with her dad and... It was nice seeing him so happy after mom.

"I-I made you another duck..." Lucifer mumbled handing the walking sex symbol a rubber duck, always expecting a lackluster reaction from people but every time (name) broke out from a smile to a grin "why thank you, sweetness~" (name) pressed a kiss to the others lips, finger hooking under his chin and Lucifer melted a bit before (name) pulled away "you have such a talent for this, truly~" (name) remarked before looking closer at it while Lucifer felt a small ego boost at the compliment "you should see my others!"

"I would love too~" (name) didn't even hesitate much to the others bewilderment, it had been just under a month and (name) was treating him better than his exes did... He only had two but still!

Though Lucifer wanted to do extravagant things for (name), showing off his power and wealth he was pleasantly surprised that (name) prefered more lowkey things "everyone tries to grab my attention with big acts... Let's do something you like my ducky" and that's how they ended up sitting on the floor while Lucifer taught (name) how to sew duck clothing and chatting away "so why did you choose me?" Lucifer asked suddenly, a bit self conscious and nervous "you made me laugh" (name) said simply and looked at the confused angel "flowers, jewelry and expensive cars... And our of all that I saw a little rubber duck that looked like me, it was so cute and I couldn't stop giggling at it" (name)s words weren't like how he usually spoke, they were gentle and honest, no flirtatious undertones.

And Lucifer didn't think he could fall harder.

(Name) Giggled at his stunned expression, the blush that creeped on the angels face when (name) leaned in to kiss him with so much love and passion, Lucifer letting the other take the lead and the two kissed softly before pulling back (name) admired his lipstick on the other "so why did you choose me?" He knew why most chose him... His body and voice was like a sirens call in hell...

"You didn't care, you stood your ground and didn't give in like most sinners do here... And I know how everyone dies here... I don't think you deserved hell... But I'm happy I got to meet you despite it all" (name) stared at him wide eyed "you always spoke so sophisticated and knew your shit, you showed everyone that you weren't just a face but someone who deserved care and actually made attempts to help people"

"You deserve good things... And if I can help with that, I will"

"You think that..." (Name)S voice was watery and his hands fisted into his suit pants, not sure how to deal with this genuine emotion-- his own father barely gave this much real emotion... Often choosing to slap a smile than show his cards this kid. "You're beautiful but you're also the most amazing person I ever met"

Lucifer looked startled at the tears rolling down (name)s face "a-are you ok? Sorry if tha--" (name) hugged him tight, no sensual kisses but a hug that spoke more words than could be spoken.

"Thank you..." (Name) Whispered into his ear and Lucifer hugged his boyfriend back, the two having a much needed hug.

(Name) Ended up falling asleep in Lucifer's lap not much longer, the crying taking a toll on him. Lucifer sat and thought before realizing that before this he never once saw (name) without a smile on his face... Not as intense as the sinners dad but... It was always present.

This was the first time (name) showed him raw emotion.

-

(Name) Finished another set at the hotel, more and more people gathered to see and gave a chance to promote the hotels purpose with decent success.

Alastor watched from a distance, he would never admit the regret he felt... Leaving his son so young... He died with a photo of his little one in his chest pocket, it was truly the only thing he cared about, he was happy his son turned out well.

Though he didn't approve of his choices in partners.. Lucifer?

Really?

Turning, Alastor decided to retire for the night, going up to his room and glancing at the photo of an itty bitty (name), faded from time and a stuffed doll Alastor made; an exact copy of the one his son used to bring everywhere...

Letting out a sigh, he did what he did best.

Mask, deny and dominate.

[dancing-dawn]

If you haven't got him yet, then how about Rampo? :)

Ooooh good hit, I actually love Ranpo quite a lot! This will be, like, hilariously shorty-er in volume (and a lot more... 'hinged', if you may) than my Aku/Atsu ones because well, ya know me, but I’m having such a blast here too!

Favourite thing: Ranpo’s been one of my favourites ever since his cute little face appeared on my screen and especially after his ‘ability’ was revealed. Even if it sounds very basic, I love the twist of his whole character spiel - being a genius without an ability, a true genius. It took me back, I was so surprised at first and he kept leaving me in awe again and again with both his funny antics and his careful strategizing.

Least favourite thing: Oh, you cannot make me talk shit about my son. Try again.

Favourite line: “Guns are interesting, aren't they? For some reason, whenever anyone holds one, they become stupid.”

-> this one goes so hard honestly, my boy’s spilling facts

brOTP: Getting to this part made me realize Ranpo doesn’t have any true friends imao. But because of angst and lore reasons - Ranpo & Yosano. Him welcoming Yosano to the agency and recognizing and accepting her worth as a person, instead of an object for warfare, still makes me emotional - I wish they interacted more after that!

OTP: Ranpoe, of course lol, is there any other valid option here hihi. I love their pathetic barely-even-there rivalry. Poe’s flaming jealousy giving way to feelings of admiration and adoration. He cannot be angry at Ranpo, as hard as he tries, for being better than him and it’s absolutely adorable. Them coming to work together as a team is just a delight <3

nOTP: Admittedly, I am not versed in any other Ranpo ships soooo I guess everything else that isn’t Ranpoe question mark ??

Random headcanon: There have been many days when he’s tried his damn best at learning to use the train alone and failed spectacularly every time, but thankfully no one was there to see! And of course he would never admit to it, silently hoping Atsushi would be so kind to accompany him again.

Unpopular opinion: Oh forgive my ignorance once again for my minimalistic knowledge of mainstream fandom takes is failing me. I'm trying to think of something scandalous to say here but?? I just love him a lot and I respect him as a character, I've never formed any controversial opinions! I guess like mmmm sometimes his ego gets in the way of what could be a quick and easy, almost instant even, solution to a case, but in a way he's just gotta play with his food a little, give little hints and speak in circles like an overpowered magician and leave it to the tragic protagonists to play the real game. Which is fun actually! At least from our audience perspective lol, sure not for poor ADA agents who just wanna finish work and go home without overtime!

Song I associate with them: If we exclude his official(?) character song, which for obvious reasons fits very well, Detective Conan Main Theme! Oh what an absolute bob :D

Favourite picture: Oh, I was waiting for this one...

I have so many bursting feelings for this scene, it is one of my favourite moments in the whole series and I look upon it fondly. The anime voice actors did such a magnificent job on this one, you can feel the raw emotion clawing at you, it's simply spectacular, a piece of art. The English one especially tugs at my heartstrings with such insane power every time I rewatch it. It is so very important to me.

[midnightrings]

'1797 - A Grandmother's Tale'

Fandom: Bridgerton Characters: Siena Rosso Rating: T Warning: Minor mention of domestic violence. Words: 1k Summary: Ten-year-old Siena finally learns about her grandmother’s past.

-> You can also read it on AO3

Siena was walking next to her mother, leaving the church. They rarely ever visited the church. Christmas and Easter were exceptions – as was today. Because today was Siena’s late grandmother’s birthday.

Siena had been quite young when her grandmother had died – barely five years old. But she remembered her as a pretty stout and strict woman. And she remembered her and her mother constantly arguing. And even after her death, Siena only ever heard her mother complain about her. But still, she went to church every year on her birthday.

Siena’s mother was mostly damning her own mother, because she believed that she had been hiding money from them – preventing them from a decent life.

Her grandmother had never liked talking about her past. She had apparently left Italy when Siena’s mother had still been an infant. That was all Siena knew. And her curious questions were never answer. Yet her mother was certain that her grandmother must come from money – after all, she had been too well educated. And according to her mother’s words, she used to have quite expensive jewellery in her possession.

All of that jewellery was long gone now; sold during tough times. Siena had never seen it. And from what she remembered of her grandmother, she had never appeared like a rich lady. Though, in the end, Siena had never truly talked to a rich lady before. But she had seen them and their expensive dresses and graceful behaviour. Her grandmother had never looked like that.

“Why did grandma leave Italy?” Siena asked suddenly as they were walking along the street. She had asked that question a million times before, but perhaps today was her lucky day.

Or maybe not – as she heard her mother sigh in annoyance.

“Because she wanted to.”

“But you said she was rich,” Siena continued, not yet ready to give up. She was already ten years old, after all. She was not that easily discouraged anymore. “Why would she leave all that money behind?”

Siena had seen how those wealthy people lived. It was quite difficult to imagine a reason to give up on that.

Again, her mother sighed. But then, something curious happened.

She halted, looking down at Siena – examining her for a moment until she mumbled, “Well, I guess you’re old enough...”

She turned around again, continuing their way home and hastily, Siena went after her, excited to finally learn the truth.

“Your grandmother has never shared much about her past – not even with me,” her mother said then, not looking at Siena. “She did occasionally talk about her own parents – about the house they owned in Napoli; the summers they have spent by the seaside; and her two younger sisters she would’ve loved to see again. Yet she rarely talked about my father,” she continued. “Only ever mentioning him as a warning – that we could never return to the life we once had.”

“Why?” Siena asked, surprised.

Now, her mother looked at her again. A small smile appeared on her face as she halted – kneeling down to take her hands.

“Your grandfather was a bad man,” she told her. “So awful, that your grandmother saw no other choice than to leave the country.”

“Did he beat her?” Siena asked, her eyes wide. She had witnessed husbands beating their wives before.

“He was a quite violent man, yes.”

Siena eyed her mother curiously. There was no smile on her face anymore.

“So violent that she had to leave everything behind?” Her mother nodded. “But you still wish she would’ve told you about her family?”

“Well, he might be dead by now,” her mother replied, standing back up again and taking Siena’s hand as they continued their walk back home. “And she always talked fondly about her own family. I would’ve surely liked to know if there’s some money left for us. But I don’t even know her family name.”

“Is Rosso not her real name?” Siena asked confused.

Her mother gave her a smile. “Oh no,” she replied, putting an arm around her shoulder. “She made that up when she came here.”

“So my name is false?” Siena continued asking, shock in her voice.

Her mother chuckled. “It’s the only name you and I have ever known – I would not call it false. And you should hold onto it. Unless, of course, a gentleman proposes to you,” she added quickly. “Please feel free to give it up then. No name would be worth such a foolish decision.”

Siena nodded, looking down.

“But not if that man is like my grandfather, right?”

Again, her mother halted – and Siena carefully looked up at her again.

“Of course not,” she replied gently, brushing across her shoulder. “Never consort with a man like that – no matter how rich. There are decent men out there. Not plenty, but you will find them.”

“And what about my father?” Siena asked then, biting her lips. “Was he also a bad man?”

At that, her mother faced the road again – taking her by the hand as they turned around the corner to the entry of their flat.

“Not like that,” she replied eventually. “He was just … quite fond of leaving.”

When they arrived at the door, her mother turned back towards her – now a smile on her face again.

“But don’t worry about him,” she told Siena. “We are fine on our own.”

She opened the door then and stepped inside as Siena quietly followed her. She was right. They were fine. Perhaps marriage was not that great after all. Those sweet fairy tales made it sound beautiful, but life was not a fairy tale. Her mother surely did not expect for her to marry. She had always told Siena that her focus should be on becoming a successful opera singer and finding a decent gentleman to provide for her. Though, those gentlemen could be heroes as well. And maybe – if she found that hero – marriage might not be such a dreary thought after all.  

[darl-ingfics]

What the Heart Wants

Fandom: EXO

Sickie: Xiumin, Suho (flu)

Caregiver(s): EXO

Word Count: 1,840

A rapid knock at the door startled both Minseok and Junmyeon out of the hazy silence they’d been in for god knows how long. They exchanged a glance, questioning if what they’d heard was real or a shared fever delusion. Their puzzlement only deepened when the knocks sounded again. 

“It better not be the kids,” Junmyeon groaned, pinching between his eyes as Minseok fumbled out of his blanket and off the couch. He stumbled, hit with a wave of dizziness. His knees were also shaking more than he’d anticipated. Junmyeon reached out a steadying hand. “Want me to come with you?”

“No, only one of us needs to risk the hallways,” Minseok joked with what was supposed to be a sarcastic laugh but ended as a barking cough. 

Junmyeon reached forward, grabbing his friend’s hand. “Be careful out there.” 

The knocking at the door picked up again. 

Minseok squeezed Junmyeon’s hand once before letting go. The walk to the door was more perilous than Minseok expected, and he was somewhat out of breath when he got there. He leaned against the wall, taking three deep breaths before undoing the lock.

Minseok pulled open the door, frowning at the sight of his group members crowded in the hallway. 

“HEY!” Baekhyun cheered, his smile not fading at all when Minseok (and Kyungsoo, who was unfortunately right next to him,) winced at the volume. Which he thankfully lowered as he continued, “You’re alive!”

“Barely.” Minseok sniffled, feeling rather pathetic. “What happened to quarantine?” 

Jongin shrugged. “We missed you guys.” 

“It hasn’t even been two days…”

Jongin shrugged again. “The heart wants what it wants.”

“And your heart decided it wanted the flu?”

Jongin shrugged a third time, a smile curling at his lips from the silliness of it. “Worth the risk.” 

“No, our hearts want to save you from the flu!” Baekhyun corrected enthusiastically. 

“Is that the kids?!” Junmyeon’s voice called from the living room. “What happened to quarantine?!” Minseok nodded in the direction of the voice with a ‘see, it’s not just me,’ look. 

“We said fuck it, we’re going,” Baekhyun called back, moving closer to the living room and the leader. 

Minseok frowned as the rest of the members began to filter in around him. “My house is…” He paused, turning almost completely around and catching a cough in his sleeve. “…a bit of a mess.”

Chanyeol smiled fondly, his hand winding around the elder’s neck, pulling him closer to plant a kiss on the top of Minseok’s head. “Hyung, you’re sick. We don’t care if you haven’t bothered cleaning your house.”

“We also didn’t tell you we were coming,” Kyungsoo added as he hauled an armful of cooking equipment in with him. He was, predictably, the only one with the sense to wear a mask. 

“Aaaaaand you know what our houses look like on a daily basis,” Jongin shrugged, only slightly embarrassed. 

Minseok smiled to himself as the rest of the crew filed past him. Jongdae entered last, closing the door behind him. 

“I tried to stop them,” he said with a contrite grin. “But you know how stubborn we are.”

“Arguably our best quality as a group.” Minseok nodded. 

Jongdae wrapped an arm around Minseok’s shoulders, pulling him close as they followed after the rest of the group. “How’re you feeling?”

“Terrible.” 

“You sound like shit.”

“Gee thanks.”

They walked into the living room to see Baekyun straddling Junmyeon on the couch, the leader swatting at Baekhyun’s arms as he attempted to… hug him? Feel for fever? It was incredibly unclear. 

“Hyung, have you been keeping track of medicine and stuff?” Sehun asked, looking towards Minseok over the chaos. 

Minseok nodded towards his side of the couch. “I have it on my phone.” 

Sehun gave a thumbs up. “Send it to me when you get a chance?” Minseok nodded again. 

“Is anyone gonna help me?!” Junmyeon exclaimed. Chanyeol stepped forward, pulling Baekhyun back by this shirt collar. The vocalist gave a whine of indignation as he flopped back against the couch. “Thank you.” His voice caught and he bent forward coughing, sleeve-covered hands pressed over his mouth. 

Jongin gave an over exaggerated frown. “So you've been taking meds, which is good. Have you been eating?”

Junmyeon nodded. “Hyung made a big pot of rice, so we’ve been chipping away at that.”

“Just plain rice?”

Minseok shook his head. “Also toast and oranges,” he clarified before his eyes misted over and he ducked away from Jongdae’s arm, “It’sch! ITschh!” He kept his face buried in his sleeve as the sneezes triggered a round of coughs that left him groaning in miserable distress as Jongdae pulled him back into his side. Minseok’s head fell against his shoulder, his teary eyes closing on instinct. 

“You’re so cuuute,” Jongdae whispered teasingly. 

Minseok jabbed him in the side. “Fuck off.” Jongdae giggled. 

“When you two finish flirting, I would like to hug my Minseokie-hyung,” Baekhyun complained. 

“Please don’t hug me,” Minseok rasped, peeling his eyes open. “I really don’t want to get you sick.” 

Baekyun’s eyebrows shot up. “But you’re cool with infecting Chennie?”

“This is different; I initiated the contact.” Jongdae’s arm once again tightened around Minseok after the elder tried to squirm away. “And we all know hyung will starfish onto the first person who initiates contact when he’s not feeling good. You just gotta be faster.” 

“I don’t starfish…” Minseok whined quietly. 

Chanyeol smirked. “You haven’t let go of Jongdae yet, hyung.”

Minseok pouted. “This isn’t nice.”

Jongdae chuckled, low and warm as he led the older man back to his nest on the couch. “The truth rarely is. Now.” The vocalist crossed his arms over his chest. “How can we help?”

Junmyeon and Minseok exchanged glances. 

“Look what we brought!” Jongin said cheerily, grabbing the grocery bags they’d carried in. “Kyungsoo’s making a few different meals so you can reheat them when we’re gone.” Kyungsoo saluted from the kitchen, where he had already gotten to work doing just that. “And then we got you some tea and oranges to replace what we assumed you’ve already had. And look at this!” He pulled out a tub of vanilla ice cream, cradling it lovingly. “Thought this would help cheer you up!” 

“And feel good on a sore throat,” Baekyun added. He knelt next to Jongin and helped him unload their treasures onto the coffee table. Cough drops, tissues, vapor rub, more medicine. 

“And don’t forget…” Sehun zipped open a duffle bag, revealing two of Chanyeol’s hoodies and a plethora of blankets and plushies from the other members. “Just in case you forgot what we smell like.”

“Ew, don’t make it fucking weird.” Baekyun grimaced. 

Sehun shrugged. “I thought it was funny.”

“Hyung,” Chanyeol began, ignoring the other two, “can I just ask, what about this do you consider to be ‘messy?’” He gestured around at the very organized space. The only thing Chanyeol could even maybe consider to be messy were the obvious signs of illness scattered around the living room: empty mugs, abandoned socks, mini trash can of used tissues. But even that was contained to this very room. Minseok shrugged in response, also gesturing around, but much more vaguely. Chanyeol grinned. “This is incredibly clean for two people with the flu.”

“Yeah, especially cause one of them is Suho-hyung,” Sehun added. “And he’s a fucking mess on a good day.” 

“Hey!” Junmyeon coughed a bit, choking on his attempt to snap. “Be nice to me. I’m sick.”

Sehun smiled, unable to hide the fondness in it. He moved forward, ruffling the leader’s hair. “Listen, all I’m saying is you could pick up your clothes and organize your space a little more.” Junmyeon pouted up at him. Something about the shadowy bags under his slightly teary eyes, the paleness of his skin, the pout of his lips, broke Sehun’s resolve. His fingers continued working through Junmyeon’s hair. “But we can work on that later. When you’re feeling better.” He pouted as a single tear fell from Junmyeon’s eye. Sehun caught it. “What’s this about?” 

“I don’t know. It’s been happening on and off.” He leader sniffled as another tear streaked down his cheek. “I really don’t feel well.” 

“Well, then let’s get to work.” Chanyeol clapped his hands. “What’re our thoughts on a shower?” 

“Ooooo, yeah, look at this!” Jongin shuffled through yet another bag, revealing a green sphere that looked like it was made of chalk. “You put this in the shower and it releases…” His hands turned in circles as he looked for the right words. “I don’t know, something that smells good and soothes you. We got the menthol and eucalyptus ones.” 

“That was so thoughtful,” Minseok whispered, more to himself than aloud, but it made Jongin beam all the same. 

“Dinner won’t be ready for another 30 to 40 minutes, so there’s definitely time for both of you to clean up,” Kyungsoo added from the kitchen. He held up a pacifying hand. “Not that you, ya know, need to shower right this instant, but it will definitely help you feel better.” 

“And we can do laundry while you’re in the shower,” Jongdae said.

“And then we can help dry your hair, and get you all cozy.” Baekhyun imitated wrapping up in a warm blanket. 

“Then we’ll have dinner, maybe watch a movie or a show or something,” Sehun continued. 

“And then we’ll get you remedicated and back to bed,” Chanyeol said with a reassuring nod. 

“You guys don’t have to do all that…” 

But Minseok’s protest and Junmyeon’s nod of agreement were cut off by Jongin: “Just let us take care of you. You take care of us all the time. Like it’s your job.” 

“It is our job.” Junmyeon coughed twice, shaking his head. “I’m the leader, dammit, taking care of you is literally my whole job description.”

“And, as the eldest, it’s also in mine,” Minseok added. 

Sehun rolled his eyes. “Sure, okay, fine. Here we go with the whole ‘we’re older, so you don’t have to worry about us’ schtick. How about we just skip over that and move into the stage where you let us help you?” 

“It’s not that we don’t appreciate the help…”

“Hyung.” Jongdae grabbed Minseok’s face in his hands, gentle but firm. He stared the older man directly in the eyes, knowing exactly what he was going to say. “None of us give a shit if we catch this from you. Our main concern is that you two kick this bug’s ass.” 

Minseok’s eyes flooded with tears as he muttered an assenting, “Okay.” Jongdae smiled, pressing a kiss to his friend’s scorching forehead, rubbing the tears away from his eyes with his thumbs. 

“Alright, operation heal the hyungs begins… NOW!” Baekyung cheered. And what else were Minseok and Junmyeon supposed to say to the resounding whoops and yells that followed? The kids were already here. It wasn’t like they could send them home. Especially not when it felt so good to be surrounded by their love.