#but I definitely wrote this reminder more than an hour ago

[dandorkity]

I wish I knew what the fuck I was talking about

[fushipurro]

Comforting Presence

☆ Synopsis: You're having a bad day, but luckily you have Sukuna there to help.

☆ Content: soft!sukuna, gn!reader, hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship

☆ Notes: had a lot on my mind and couldn't sleep so i wrote this up really fast to put me at ease. hopefully it brings you all comfort as well <3

You awake to a familiar, delicious scent that overwhelms your senses all at once.

Momentarily you’re confused ─ disoriented from your nap. Sukuna shouldn’t be home from work yet, you had only shut your eyes a few minutes ago. You thought so at least, but judging by the darkened state of your bedroom, that early afternoon nap became more than just that.

You rub the sleep from your eyes, stretching out of the bed and onto your feet. The smell calls to you, and you aimlessly follow it to its source.

In the kitchen, you spot Sukuna with his back turned to you, a utensil in hand over the hot stove top. You step closer without another thought, snaking your arms around to his front and pressing your cheek to his back.

He laughs quietly, with that husky tone that never fails to raise goosebumps across your skin. “Morning, sleepyhead,” he greets, continuing to cook while you continue clinging to him.

“When did you get home?” you ask, your voice thick with sleep.

He hums, “Around an hour ago. I thought it was a little too quiet around here until I found your drooling face.” You can hear the smirk between his words.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I was going to, but then I remembered how grumpy you get when you’re disturbed.”

“Am not,” you argue, flaring your cheeks as you pout.

Sukuna laughs again, and you know in your heart he’s right. He’s always found amusement in comparing you to a hibernating bear when you’re sleeping, but this is also the same man that revels in danger wherever.

“I also know you only nap when you’re sick or something’s upsetting you, and you’re definitely not sick,” he adds while turning the knob to shut the stove off. “So, what’s wrong?”

You tense, caught off guard by how well he’s read the situation from something as simple as a nap ─ something everyone does. It shouldn’t surprise you though; he’s always been good at it, and only got better once you started living together full-time.

“…had a bad day.” You tighten your arms slightly, pushing your face deeper against his body. It’s a reminder that he’s really here, that all of this is real. “I missed you.”

The palm of his hand settles over the both of yours, fingers mingling to hold yours, his thumb smoothing shapes across your skin.

“Had I known, I would’ve come home sooner, but someone must not be checking their phone.”

“Sorry…” you say, sounding defeated as you do. You know he’s only teasing, but the thought of ignoring him ─ even if it was an accident ─ bothers you greatly.

Sukuna may display faux annoyance at your calls, but he’s always said that if you need him, call him. He could never truly be mad at you, but after the day you had, and being tired and hungry on top of it all, your emotions are a dangerous tide to swim with.

He sighs, breaking away from your grasp only to turn and face you properly. His hand still holds one of yours, the other landing against your face. It’s only natural that you angle yourself to seek his touch.

“Go sit up, and I’ll bring you your plate,” he says, leaning down until his lips meet yours with a ginger touch, atypical from his usual roughness.

You nod, stepping away to do as he asked, and a minute later he comes in with dishes for you and him. As he gets comfortable in his seat, he pulls your chair closer with his foot after deciding you’re too far from his side.

“After we eat, you’re going to tell me what’s on your mind.” Sukuna uses a stern tone to address you, and while it makes you want to shrink, or deflect that you’re fine and a bad day was all it was, but then you remember that this is Sukuna.

He loves you, even if he doesn’t say it as often as he should. You know more than anyone that he would let the world burn, watching with popcorn in his hand if only for you. You have always trusted him more than yourself at times. He knows you well enough after all, and just how to make you smile when all you’re able to do is drown in yourself. Just like how he knew from a simple nap that making you one of your favorite comfort meals would be exactly what you needed.

It's thanks to Sukuna that you never have to suffer again on your own. He’s all you’ve ever needed to feel better about life, and you love him with all of yours and the next ones combined.

“Now eat before it gets cold, brat.” He smiles, and you can feel your troubles already beginning to slip away with the tide.

You’ll get through this with Sukuna here at your side.

[stitched-mouth-vs-the-world]

Edge You To Death

Pairing: Undertaker x AFAB! Reader or Undertaker x Fem! Reader.

Summary: Undertaker loves ruining your orgasms.

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, Casual sex, Undertaker and Reader have a weird ‘situationship’, Age gap relationship, Mention of pedophila (not in reference to Undertaker! UT is not a pedo!), Reader is unaware Undertaker is a reaper or of what he does for Ciel, Reader has MY personal thoughts on pedophila (I don’t think they are controversial but just in case you don’t wanna here it skip the introduction), Oral sex (fem receiving), Edging, Daddy kink.

Writing Time: 1 hour.

Word Count: 1,317.

Format: Kinktober Fic, Day 20.

A/N:

I kinda forgot wtf I was doing here.

Most of my Kinktober works were written well in advance, but this wasn’t one of them. I wrote this 2 days before it was due. My requests are pilling up but I should start prioritising these now. I doubt I’ve gotten that Matthew Patel request done yet, I planned to do that when I got the requester’s first message about it, sent the same day I got the request, but not anymore. Sounds a lot like a request got ages ago on my previous account but deleted when I started feeling harassed by the requester. This is more for the Matthew Patel requester than anyone else but yeah… don’t harass people about requests especially if it hasn’t been that long since you sent it. Everyone, harass me over a request and I’ll just delete it. You can send one reminder after a week and that’s it. Anymore and I delete. I usually have requests done in a week or two and those kinds of messages just destroy my motivation.

Anyway! Please enjoy this Undertaker smut.

Here are my other Kinktober 2023 works.

—-///—-

You had been feeling dam good since you started sleeping with the Undertaker.

You had new relationship jitters, even if it wasn’t really a relationship. He was what you had fantasied about for years. An older gentleman who was kind and treated you like a Queen, but also open about wanting to ravishing you. With his age also came along a lot of life and sexual experience, a lot more than you had. He never mocked you for knowing less than him, he was just happy you wanted to know and happily taught you a lot.

Whilst age gap relationships have always been common and considered normal prior to the Victorian era, it was slowly becoming distasteful. Something many were unhappy with but also many other who were happy. Undertaker, years ago, would have been in favour this but with you now… he was in the middle and uncomfortable with it. Surely you and his relationship was ok because you was definitely an adult.

You were pretty set in stone on the matter. To you, age gap relationships were bad, unless it was you. You were a young woman who would never say no to an older man, even when you was a girl. You knew your exes were absolutely pedos, but you didn’t care as long as it was just you they were after. And no you didn’t consider yourself a victim.

You didn’t think of Undertaker in the same way though. You was an adult when you met him therefore wasn’t bad for perusing you. Well, you perused him but it didn’t matter.

Right know you was doing some dusting in the front of Undertaker’s shop, he was in the back. The first thing you took notice of when you first met your lover… was how nasty his shop is. It’s always covered in dirt and stinked of death. Obviously it would smell of death, it’s a funeral home, but the dirt was unnecessary and you was surprised that Undertaker had tried to do something about the smell. You figured he’s probably gotten used to it now and gone nose blind.

Once you had cleaned to a satisfying amount, you heard the bell go. You looked up and saw the familiar Earl Phantomhive and his butler. The young boy always looked so dam miserable, it depressed you. You didn’t like interacting with either of them and they never seemed to want your help, so you called your bedmate.

Undertaker came into the room, happy to deal with the Phantomhive and his butler. You was aware the two engaged in a different kind of business than coffins or funeral services, but it was none of your business what their business was. So you wasn’t going to ask…

Instead you headed out of the room and upstairs to bed, it was late and you knew Undertaker would join you after he was done with his ‘business’.

—-///—-

“Sort out the Earl?” You asked.

“Yes, Dear.” Undertaker smiled as he climbed into his bed, next you.

You sat up immediately and glared at him, “How many times have I told you Undie?! No sleeping in your day clothes!”

He laughed as you pushed him out of his own bed. Yeah, Undertaker had a bad habit of sleeping in his day clothes. He didn’t own PJs until you came into his life, nearly a year ago now.

“Ok! Ok!” Undertaker walked over to his drawers to fish out his sleepwear.

Once he did, he placed them on the end of the bed and looked down at you. You gave him a small smile, suddenly remembering this was his home and his bed and who are you say anything about how he sleeps? After all, you’re not even dating.

Undertaker grinned widely at you and slowly started removing his cloak. Ah, he was trying to indicate something.

He slowly stripped completely in front of you before getting back on the bed and crawling onto you. You kissed his lip gently and took hold of his arms, but Undertaker shook your hold off his arms and grabbed your face to pull you even closer to him, deeping your kiss. He quickly slipped his tongue into your mouth, desperate for a makeout session.

You moaned in between the kisses, you were started to feel a growing sensation in between your legs. If not dealt with quickly, it would become uncomfortable. Luckily for you, Undertaker could sense your arousal and was more than willing to help.

He let go of your lips and before you could even whine or complain, he was pulling the duvet and sleep shorts down and licking your lower regions. You made your hands comfortable, pulling on the pillow under your head and proped up your legs and planted your feet into the bed.

Undertaker ate you out like a mad mad. Sucking, licking, spitting and groaning like crazy. Your pussy and it’s sweet smell made him act unusual, way less calm and in control than usual. This was something you was proud of. You had the power (or pussy) to make Undertaker lose all composure.

You started to feel less prideful about your achievement as you started to feel yourself losing to Undertaker’s tongue. Your whimpered had become cries and moans, you begged him for release but you should of known better. It would be a long while before you got that.

Undertaker grinned evily against your cunt then looked up you, just go get a glimpse of your flustered expression. Having wait himself for release was a sacrifice he was willing to make if he got to see you cry and beg him for climax. He absolutely got a weird power trip from it.

“Oh please… oh please Daddy, I need to cum now!”

“Nu uh uh! You don’t get to cum until I say so, Dearie!”

You were still staring up at the ceiling and unable to look down, but you didn’t need to look down to know Undertaker was wearing his usual evil wicked grin. He always had that look when he was planning to edge you to death.

[versethetic]

NOT PERFECT. JUST LOYAL.

i like to keep things real here so i tend to share my slight struggles with loa so that others who’ve gone through the same thing don’t beat themselves up over it.

but i’ve actually only fully understood what it means to live in imagination for a little while now;, and then put it to good use just a couple weeks ago.

despite knowing about the law for over a year…💀

OVER. A. YEAR…💀💀💀

even then, i got so caught up in making the images in my head perfect, or making sure i’m “saying the right affirmations" which obviously didn't help my case

i love reading loa posts because they make me feel nice and inspired and just remind me of my power but i somehow equated that as me overconsuming info and then i would spiral within my own head.

i would barely think of my desires as mine and when i did for only a day or two, i’d then turn around and believe that i wasn’t doing enough, that i need to affirm more or visualize for an hour and walk through every step of my day in my new perfect life or else it wouldn't manifest.

loyal according to merriam webster is "unswerving in allegiance"

all the way up until a couple weeks ago, i was not loyal to the idea that my imagination is all i need. i was not loyal to the idea that the 3d means absolutely nothing in terms of “getting” what you want, because there was nothing for me to get. now, i have become loyal to already having my perfect life.

i am that bitch. i am the prettiest princess. i am the smartest in school. i am the most famous. but i didn't need to have the perfect mindset with loa to realize it.

do you see where i’m going with this?

IMAGINATION IS ALL YOU NEED

granted, i had my days after this realization where i still struggled with techniques or accepting my new life as mine, but now i know that if i don’t identify with these things, it has not a single setback on my manifestations.

no matter what i was feeling, i told myself “i have it, my life is perfect, i am calm, i have it in imagination, the old senses are dead to me, i know what’s in my mind is the real truth”

when loa blogs say that you know you have it, it’s not some cheap trick they spew out because everyone else is saying it. if you imagine what you want, it’s officially set in stone. what you think comes to life.

the 3d is the afterimage, the product of a movie you directed, wrote, produced and starred in. you just need to stick with this fact through thick and thin, sleet or snow.

YOU are what the 3d answers to.

YOU are what the mirror reflects.

YOU decide how simple things are for you.

if you woke up and the old senses in front of your human eyes still show something you don’t like, are you gonna take that as a fact?

when you know and are loyal to the fact that your godly brain is showing you that devoted sp you have? that grand big mansion you live in? that whole new life you’re dwelling in?

NO. you’re not. think of you and you're 4d as BFFs who'll never separate, who tell each other everything and have those bff necklaces and go everywhere and do everything with each other. or imagine you're a ceo and your 4d is a loyal secretary who never asks questions and simply obeys whatever you tell it to do, because it trusts YOU. it works for YOU. however you wanna see it, you and your 4d are locked in 🔐🤞, okay? it is not separate from you, it does not seek guidance or information from anywhere other than YOU.

IT IS YOU.

and it took me a long time to see that.

it might be hard at first and the acceptance might not always be there. but i am making a conscious effort to at LEAST continuously tell myself that my imagination is all that matters. to at LEAST believe that what i want is already mine, and that’s the LEAST you can do as well.

your journey does not have to be perfect. your mindset does not have to be perfect. your feelings do not have to be perfect. mine definitely weren't. you just need to be loyal to your imagination.

[onceuponastory]

first footing - bucky barnes x reader

Plot: Bucky thought he was going to spend New Year's alone, just how he likes it... until Y/N showed up. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader Warnings: A few mentions of alcohol and being drunk. There's also some light mentions of Bucky's past as TWS. But as always, if I miss any triggers, please let me know! Notes: Happy New Year my lovelies! In Scotland (where I'm from if you didn't already know) we have a tradition called first footing, where the first person to enter your house in the New Year brings luck with them (and usually alcohol, hahaha). I realised I wanted to write something with Bucky and this tradition (because lord knows he needs the luck) so here we are! Consider this fic me first footing you all ❤️

Also, incase you're wondering, a dram is a small measure of whisky. Not beta'd (I wrote this quickly bc the idea hit me like an hour ago), so any mistakes are my own.

“Happy New Year!” The TV host announces, cheering with the crowd behind her, and Bucky rolls his eyes, switching it off. He hates this time of year. He knows that the old him, the Sergeant, would be out there wooing girls, with a promise to kiss each of them as soon as the clock struck twelve. He misses those days. Back when the worst thing he had to worry about was looking good for his dates, and not… everything that’s happened to him in the last seventy years. And although New Year’s exemplifies change and bettering yourself, Bucky still hates it. Sure, everyone can make a change. He’s living proof of that.

But New Year’s is just so… loud now, and there’s so much pressure to better yourself, to change something about yourself. It symbolises everything he hates. God, he really is an old man.

Or maybe he hates it because he’s spending it alone, like usual. Or that despite the amount of personal growth he’s done over the year, each new year always seems to be a horrible reminder of everything he once was, and everything he’s lost.  

Now that’s not to say Bucky hasn’t been invited to things tonight. He’d just… rather do everything but. All he wants is to go to bed and pretend tonight never happened, like the old man he is.

Suddenly, a knock on the door cuts through the air, causing Bucky to frown. He’s not expecting someone tonight. He can tell who it’ll probably be though - Steve or Sam, telling him to stop being boring and to get over to Tony’s party with the others. The knock sounds again, the person clearly impatient. “Alright, alright!” Bucky groans, making his way to the door and opening it. “Steve, I told you I’m not- Y/N?”

“Took you long enough.” She teases. Bucky’s mouth drops open, and his mind goes blank. He’s speechless. All he can do is look at her. The snow caught in her hair seems to sparkle in the light, and the way she looks at him, her trademark bright smile on her face, makes his heartbeat increase and his stomach flutter. 

God, she’s so beautiful.

“Happy New Year, Buck.” She smiles, holding up a bottle of whisky. 

“What…what are you doing here?” Bucky gasps in confusion, yet he still can’t stop a relieved smile from gracing his lips. He doesn’t have to spend his New Year alone with his thoughts. This time, he gets to spend it with his favourite person. But another thought, one that makes his heart skip a beat, hits him. Y/N chose him. Out of all the options she had, including a fancy Stark party with the others, who are most definitely more fun than he is… she still chose to spend time with him. And that makes Bucky Barnes feel like the most important person in the world.

“Well, I was going to first foot you.…” She chuckles. “But I can’t do that if you don’t let me in.” Still frowning, Bucky steps aside and helps Y/N take her coat off. 

“You’re going to what?” Y/N laughs, another burst of laughter that Bucky swears is improving his mood by the second.

“First footing. It’s a tradition where the first person to enter your house after the clock strikes twelve brings good luck with them.” She grins. “So…here I am.” 

“Y/N, you don’t have to be here. I know spending tonight with an old man like me isn’t very fun. Go party.”

“No way!” Y/N shakes her head, heading to his kitchen. “There’s no place I’d rather be than here, with my favourite person.” She calls. Bucky’s heart almost goes into overdrive.

“Thank you.” He smiles, watching her go. “It means a lot.��� More than she’ll ever know.

~ * ~

“Here we go.” Y/N grins, passing Bucky his dram of whisky. “Cheers Bucky.” 

“Cheers, doll.” He chuckles, clinking his glass against hers. Together, they down their drink. Despite the minimal amount of alcohol, and the fact the serum means he can’t get drunk, Bucky still feels the familiar warm feeling pooling in his gut, and the heat spreading across his cheeks. And especially how all he wants to do is smile.

But that could just be the beautiful woman sitting opposite him, the candlelight casting a soft glow over her features. The one who chose him over everyone else. The one he’s so deeply and irrevocably in love with. He swears he could just kiss her right there and then. He just can’t bring himself to do it, or even tell her how he feels. Despite how much he loves Y/N, Bucky swears that the pain of losing her and her friendship would be enough to finish him off right there and then. So, he stays quiet and lets the pain of not telling her, and the thought she could be with someone else eat him up inside.

“Any other traditions for me tonight?” Bucky raises a brow. 

“Other than finishing this whiskey? Nope.” Y/N chuckles as Bucky pours them both some more.

“Thanks again for tonight, Y/N.” Bucky smiles. “I mean, I wasn’t going to spend it alone. I wanted to go to the party, but-” He lies, trying desperately not to sound so lonely and pathetic. But a gentle, reassuring touch on his forearm stops him. Despite the gentleness of her touch, Bucky’s skin burns under it.

“It’s alright.” Y/N smiles. “I know.” What did he ever do to deserve someone like Y/N in his life? Perhaps he was a saint in a previous life. But even that wouldn’t be enough, make him anywhere close to worthy of having Y/N as a best friend. She looks at him intently, staring into his eyes. Bucky feels the heat on his cheeks deepening. “You know….” She chuckles.

“Mhm?”

“I know you think resolutions suck, but I have one this year. And there’s no better time than half twelve in the morning on January 1st to do it, huh?”  

“I don’t think they suck, they’re just not my thing.” Bucky corrects her, but he can’t stop his brow from quirking up. “What’s your resolution?” Y/N leans in, so close Bucky can feel her breath against his skin. It’s enough to drive him crazy.

“To not let anything pass me by, to take each opportunity as it comes.” She grins.

“That’s a good resolution.” Bucky nods, regretting his words almost immediately. Why the hell would he say that, of all things?

“So. Here it goes.” Y/N takes a breath. “This may be the whisky talking, but… I refuse to go another year without telling you this. I am in love with you, Bucky Barnes.” Bucky almost keels over. He almost asks her to repeat what she just said, or even to pinch him. But then she continues. “I don’t care if you don’t feel the same way… well, it would hurt a lot, but I just have to tell you because I couldn’t bear another day without you knowing.”

Bucky chuckles, cupping her chin. “I’ve been wanting to tell you that for so long.” He smiles, and Y/N’s grin grows just as wide. “You know….” He whispers. “There’s another New Year’s tradition I can think of.” Leaning in, he softly presses his lips to hers.

Something tells him this year is going to be pretty damn incredible.

~ * ~

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[ikn0wtheend]

thoroughfare - modern!ellie x reader

summary: you knew ellie once and a road trip back home together complicates things more than it should. 

pairing: modern!ellie williams x reader

word count: ~4.5k

c/w: angst, fluff, mutual pining, language, implied sex, hopeful ending? loser lesbians as always.

a/n: um I do not know where this came from seeing as this is quite the diversion from ‘the record’ but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. I was just listening to ethel cain’s ‘thoroughfare’ (as a girlie does) and I blacked out and apparently wrote 4k words of whatever this is. spoiler alert: they don’t even make it back home, they drive for like 5 hours. as always let me know what you think and if you’d like me to make this a series (I'm currently on the fence about it). <3

main masterlist & thoroughfare [2]

It was hot. The kind of hot that doesn’t give you a reprieve no matter how many layers you take off or how hard you fan yourself with your hand. It was sticky and miserable. You want to claw at your skin. 

Sitting on the sidewalk you waited for Dina to arrive, you hadn’t really gotten the full details from her. All she had said was “meet outside your apartment” giving you a specific day at a specific time. But you couldn’t complain, you were the one that had called her in distress, forgetting about timezones when she answered the phone half-awake.

Someone eclipses the sun from their spot next to you. You turn with your hand above your brow to get a better look at them and when you do your face automatically scrunches up. 

“Why the fuck are you here?”

“Why the fuck are you sitting on the sidewalk?” 

You stand up, brushing your pants off. “Oh fuck you, Ellie.” 

“No fuck you.” She retorts.

You were going to punch her. Right here. Right on this very sidewalk. You were going to draw your fist back and punch the freckles on her left cheek off of her face. You clench your fists. “I’m not gonna stand here and argue with you.” 

“You started it.” 

“You’re really gonna play the blame game?”

“Who the fuck calls it a ‘blame game’?”

“Literally everybody you fuckwad.”

“So we’re calling each other names now?” She places both hands on her hips. “You’re such an asshole.”

“I see you’ve lost your touch.” You mirrored her stance. “Asshole isn’t very creative.”

“Neither is fuckwad, you fuckwad.”

You throw your hands up. “Jesus Christ, you’re impossible.”

“No you’re imposs-”

Your phone rang interrupting Ellie from finishing, what you were sure was a very clever rebuttal, Dina’s name flashing on the screen. You quickly turn your back to Ellie and answer.

“Hey-”

Dina cuts you off. “Has she shown up yet?”

“Who?” 

“Ellie.” 

You sucked in a breath and pinch between your eyes. “Dina, please don’t tell me my ride across the country is Ellie.” You chanced a look at the girl in question, painfully aware of the way she raised her eyebrows to remind you she could still hear you. 

“Um yeah? You said you need a ride and that it was urgent and Ellie was closest.” Dina stated simply. As though she didn’t know that this was bound to create a mess, one you might not recover from. 

“Okay maybe I exaggerated when I said ‘urgent’, I would’ve happily of waited for you or Jesse.” The words rush out of you, eager to get her to understand and to undo this mess. 

“You were literally in tears when you called and like I said Ellie was closest. You’ll be fine.” She said flippantly. As though she wasn’t a first-hand witness to the shit-storm that had happened two years ago. 

“I don’t think we share the same definition of ‘fine’, Dina.” Her name comes out with a bite. 

You hear a long sigh. “Look just trust me on this. And hey maybe this will be good for the both of you, you’ll finally be able to talk about it.” 

“Did it even occur to you that I left because I didn’t want to talk about it?” 

“Fair point.” She concedes. “But listen I can’t come get you until next week, and that's being generous, so just suck it up and come home. I miss you.”

Fuck, you thought. You couldn’t stay here, not for another week, and hearing Dina say she missed you made you press the heel of you palm into your chest to try and calm the ache. It wasn’t the first time she had told you she missed you since you left, you heard it everytime you called. Sometimes when the time stretched thin between the two of you she would send you a text reminding you she was thinking of you. That she hadn’t forgotten. 

“Okay.” 

“Yeah?” You can hear the concern in her voice now. 

“Yeah. Thank you.” You clear your throat. “I miss you too.” You really did.

She throws out a number of goodbyes and ‘I love you’s’, words you return, before she hangs up. You take a deep breath before turning to look at Ellie again who was standing there with your bags in her arms. She looked silly, you thought. Adorable. You scowl.

“I can carry my own things you know?” 

“Just get your arse across the road and into the car.”

“Sir yes sir.” 

You think you hear a huff of laughter escape her, you think the heat is making you imagine things.

You’re avoiding looking at Ellie, instead you’re focused on the stretch of road laid out in front of you. The two of you had been stuck at a stand-still for the last couple of hours, neither wanting to be the one to break the silence. Maybe it had less to do with not wanting to and more to do with not knowing what to say. 

You knew her once, could tell anyone that would listen how loud she liked her music, the way she took her tea. You knew which side of the bed she preferred despite her protests that it was childish to have a favourite - it was the left. 

You knew her. You knew her. You knew her. 

You’re not sure if you still do. Her hair is different and her shoes look new - you don’t recognise the brand of air freshener hanging from the mirror. This time when you feel an ache in your chest it feels like something akin to grief. But she still looks like your life two years ago and the thought that you might not look the same makes you slump in your chair. 

It’s another silent hour before you make your first stop at the gas station, even so Ellie still gets out of the car without saying a word. You watch her for a second, eyeing the way she leaned back against the car with her arms crossed over her chest, before unbuckling your seatbelt and heading inside to grab some snacks. 

You take your time browsing down the aisles, glad for the chance to stretch your legs for a bit. There was something about gas stations that made you nostalgic, something about you and Ellie at a gas station that made you nostalgic even though she was outside pumping the gas. There were too many times to count when the two of you would make your way to the closest one at all hours of the night to stockpile on chips and candy for movie nights. You would walk through every single aisle and she would follow, not once complaining over the fact that you got the same things everytime and they were two aisles over. She would hold out a hand to carry the food and you would pay, swatting at her whenever she tried to sneak her card to the cashier who looked far too tired to even act amused. Ellie would say ‘thank you’ and you would tell her that it was on her next time although you both knew that was a lie. 

So you allow your mind to wander and your feet to carry you aimlessly. You rely on muscle memory to take you where you need to go because all these gas stations are built the same. You pay and try to leave the memories at the automatic doors.

Ellie is still standing outside the car when you exit with a full bag, arms still crossed. You call her name and chuck a chocolate bar at her a bit more aggressively than you originally planned, because it hits her square in the chest and falls to the ground with a sad splat. Ellie looks at you irritated. 

“What the fuck?” 

You wince, shoulders up by your ears. “Sorry.” You say sheepishly. 

She rolls her eyes as she bends down to grab the bar off of the ground, you see the moment her harden gaze softens and as quick as it was there it was gone again. She rises slowly, flipping the bar around in her hands. 

“I hope they’re still your favourite.” You wring your hands together.

She nods. “Get in the car, we gotta go.” Before you can respond she turns her back to you and retreats to the car. 

You puff out your cheeks before blowing the air out and make your way back to the passenger side, dumping your bag of snacks onto the floor in front of you. You buckle your seatbelt and lift your head to see Ellie already looking at you, she raises an eyebrow in lieu of asking if you’re ready. You nod.

The two of you drive in silence for roughly another 30 minutes before the urge to speak hits you. The last time you were in this car, you and Ellie talked until you couldn’t breathe, saying whatever was on your mind and taking breaks to sing whatever song was playing. You fear that if you don’t say something now you might choke. 

“Do you remember the time Dina was learning to drive and she hit the curb so hard she started crying?” You don’t know why this is the thing your brain conjured up, maybe the combination of recycled air and the smell of Ellie’s cologne was getting to you. 

Ellie snorts in surprise and looks between you and road. “How could I forget. We had to drive home with a flat tire.”

You’re laughing now, “And you had to bribe her back into the car with the promise of burgers.” You throw your head back. 

Ellie’s laughing now too, a far away look on her face. “Yeah I did, didn’t I? Jesus Christ I thought she was gonna stand in the middle of the street all night and someone was gonna run her over, honestly I wouldn’t of blamed them.” One of her hands was off the wheel and gesturing wildly. “I don’t even know why she was standing on the road, the car was halfway up the sidewalk she should’ve stood there.”

Your laughter tapers off but a wistful smile remains on your face, you see Ellie look at you funny out of the corner of your eye. “What?” You ask softly, your eyes now on her profile. Pretty, you think.

“Nothing. Your laugh sounds the same.”

You struggle to maintain your composure. “Is that a bad thing?”

She shakes her head. “No. Just makes me remember.”

You don’t ask what exactly it was she remembers, because you think that it doesn’t really matter. She remembers your laugh and that's enough for you. It has to be, because you know you weren’t in the position to ask for more. 

 Ellie hesitantly calls out your name this time. 

“Yeah?”

“Why did you leave?”

The question was sobering, you were expecting it the moment you saw her yet it still made you flinch. “I couldn’t stay.” You say. 

You don’t elaborate.

She furrows her brow and you have the urge to smooth it out gently with your thumb and apologise for being the reason that its there. “Why didn’t you come back?” She tries again, voice strained like it hurt her to ask. Maybe it did.

You give her a smile. “I am now aren’t I?” 

“I don’t know, are you?”

Your smile falters. 

“Fuck you.” You snap, smile fully gone and replaced with something harsh. You quickly try and backtrack. “I’m sorry-”

“No it’s okay.” You both know it’s not okay. “I shouldn’t of asked.”

“Ellie-”

“Do you want to listen to something?” She interjects as she reaches over you to open the glovebox and pull out a stack of CD’s with one hand, you remember buying her some of them, she plops them down in your lap. “Take your pick. That Fleetwood Mac one is in there somewhere if that’s still your thing.” It was still your thing. 

You grab something different instead, something that you couldn’t immediately attach a memory to and put it in the slot and press play. 

You had swapped out the CD playing twice before you finally gathered the courage to speak to Ellie again, still embarrassed you had thrown your words at her face. 

“How have you been?” You wince at your own words.

She turns to look at you incredulously. “Is that really what you’re going with?” 

You huff even though you knew that it was a dumb question. “Fine. Why did you say yes to driving me home?” 

“Dina forced me.” She was quick with her response.

You let the words sink in before asking another question. “You still could’ve said no.” The Ellie you knew was much more stubborn than Dina, could often outlast any insisting from her.

You watch as she shuffles in her seat and sighs. “Yeah I could’ve but then she would’ve annoyed me about it for forever, so it was easier to just say yes right off the bat.”

Silence fills the air once more as you think about it. Something wasn’t right and perhaps the stifling air in the car was making you agitated or perhaps Ellie wasn’t telling you the truth. The sky was so blue out here, you think.

“Not everything has to mean something.” She blurts out in irritation.

You turn your head to find her already looking at you. “What?”

“I can tell you’re sitting there trying to pick apart what I just said.” She bites at you like you did her, eyes darting between you and the road rapidly as her knuckles grow white from where she clenches the steering wheel. “You do it so fucking much that you forget to fucking listen. Not everyone is trying to speak to you in fucking riddles you know? Maybe, just maybe, when someone tells you their favourite colour’s blue they just really fucking love the colour blue. It has nothing to do with the ocean or the sky, it’s just something that is.”

There was a version of you that she knew and probably was expecting, the same version of you that had snapped at her earlier. That was a small lapse, one apparently Ellie managed to bring out of you. But that part of you that resides somewhere in your chest wanted to yell at her, deny everything she had just said and say something back that would hurt her - hurt you too when you see the look on her face. But nowadays you’re mostly just tired. Besides, she wasn’t exactly wrong.

You click your tongue and hold her stare when she looks back at you. “You done?”

Her chest heaves. “Yes.”

“Good.” You look away. “Focus on the road.”

You hum along to the song playing over the sound of her deep breathing as she tries to calm herself down. When some time passes you open up a bag of what used to be her favourite chips, you were unsure if she still liked them, but you still offer them to her first. You hold the bag steady when she huffs and sticks a hand into the bag to grab some. You’re still mad at her and you’re sure that she’s still mad at you, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care when she continues to crunch on the chips like her life depended on them. It was all so familiar.

Your anger had settled into quiet exhaustion when Ellie pulls into a 24-hour diner. It was iffy-looking but there was something oddly charming about it. You follow her inside and take note of the outdated furniture and the weird smell permeating throughout the room, you like it, you think. 

Ellie slides into a booth and sitting across from her you see her under the fluorescent lights. She looked more gaunt here, eye bags prominent. You still thought she looked good. You pretend to look at the menu when its placed in front of you by a young teenage girl, knowing what you’ll get but wanting to look busy. The waitress, Betty her name tag says, comes by with a pot of coffee in her hand, she fills up your mug first and goes to fill up Ellie’s when you quickly cover the cup with your hand. Betty’s look of initial confusion is replaced with a big grin. 

“So, what can I get ya?” Her voice is chipper. 

You open your mouth the speak but Ellie beats you to the punch.

“She’ll get the pancakes, extra strawberries, and I’ll just get some bacon and eggs please.” Her eyes widen. “Sorry-”

“-No, it’s okay.”

“I must be tired from driving. I wasn’t really thinking-”

“-No really it’s okay.”

The sound of both your voices overlap as Ellie tries to apologise and as you try to tell her that it’s okay. It’s okay that she still knows you. You see Betty out of the corner of your eye watching in amusement, but to be fair the diner was empty so this was probably the most entertainment the place had been in awhile. 

“Is that all?” Betty asks, grin still taking over her face. 

“She’ll get a diet coke.” You say nodding your head in Ellie’s direction. She looks away with rosy cheeks.

“Y’all are cute. I’ll be right back.” You watch as Betty practically skips away. This diner was oddly charming indeed. 

You’re fiddling with the handle of your coffee cup when Ellie’s drink is deposited in front of her. There was an outrageous curly straw swirling from the tall glass and the sheer disbelief on Ellie’s face made you want to laugh. You lift your mug to hide your face behind it. It was decided then that you and Betty would make great friends.

“You think this is funny don’t you?” The defeat in Ellie’s face is endearing. 

You take a loud sip of your coffee, eyes meeting hers over your cup. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

She sighs. 

“It’s a straw Ellie.” You say, unable to hide the teasing in your tone. “If you don’t want to drink from it just drink straight from the glass.”

Ellie looks you dead in the eyes when she takes her first sip and you try to look anywhere but her mouth around that damn straw. She sucks the drink up and you watch the liquid travel around in its various loop-de-loops, Ellie releases the straw between her lips with an exaggerated lip smack. “Refreshing.”

You snort. “You’re making me jealous.”

She takes the opportunity. “Of the straw?” A single eyebrow lifts in question. 

“No you bitch.” You feel yourself begin to fluster. “I obviously meant of you. Because you got a cool straw and I got this chipped mug. I mean look at it-” you gesture wildly towards it, “-its bright pink and has like a million swirly things.” Swirly things? Really? Maybe Betty is better off remaining your waitress and not your best friend. It wouldn’t be too big of a loss, you didn’t know her that well anyway.

Ellie was laughing, very clearly proud of herself. “I’m just fucking with you.” She says. “You know that right?”

Right.

You avoid her eyes that were looking for yours, cheeks still warm. “Of course, no harm done.”

“Good.”

There’s a stretch of silence before you hesitantly break it. “Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

You pointedly make eye contact with her hoping that she sees if for what it is, an apology or an admission, either way you hoped she saw it. “I meant it when I said I couldn’t of stayed. Back in the car.” You hold up a hand to stop her from interrupting. “I know you’re gonna ask me why, but I don’t know if I can you reason.” 

She reaches across the table to grab your hand that had abandoned your mug. She looked feral in a way, eyes wild. “Try.” She begs. “Please.”

You nod and try to clear the lump forming in your throat. “I think I always wanted to leave, think you knew that too, but I wasn’t gonna leave without you and you weren’t gonna stay without me.” Ellie nods and you continue. “And I would’ve been happy, more than happy to continuing the life that I was living with you. You were my best friend. But do you remember when we got into the argument? The one right before I left?”

You watch as Ellie looks down at your intertwined hands and gulps. “Yeah. Yeah I do.”

“Yeah I remember it too.” You give her hand a squeeze. “I called you every name in the book and you told me that it was suffocating being my friend.” 

She grips you tighter as though she was scared you’ll pull away. “I didn’t mean it-”

“I know.” At the time you wished you had read between the lines to find the something in her words, in the same way she had berated you over in the car. Because she did mean it when she said it and you had felt the same way back but hadn’t put it into words. The two of you were suffocated by the love you had for each other that was disguised as being merely platonic. “But Ellie, I left because I was suffocating me too.” 

It seemed as though Betty had impeccable timing because there she was happy as a clam with your two plates of food. You look at Ellie looking at your hands still holding each other and you think Betty was either your saviour or your worst enemy. 

“Here you two go!” You and Ellie break apart. “And here’s your extra strawberries.” Betty gives you a wink and skips back to wherever she appeared from. 

Ellie looks between you and the food. You give her a smile. “Eat. I’ll still be here to talk about it later.” The words you said sounded awfully like a promise.

Betty comes back to grab your empty plates, coffee in hand as she pours you another. “Can I get you another diet coke?” She tempts.

“No I’m okay. Thank you.” Ellie says.

“No problem, holler if you need anything.” There she goes again.

Ellie calls your name this time, you leave your mug untouched. “What did you mean when you said that you were suffocating yourself too?”

“Everytime I looked at you I felt like I was dying.” It wasn’t a full answer, but you weren’t ready to give so much of yourself away. You feel the same way you did two years ago before you left. “Do you understand?” Please understand, you think.

She looks at you with something in her stare that feels holy, like a revelation. “Yeah I think I do.” 

The period of time between you meeting Ellie and now is often remembered in differing stages of hurt. The hurt in your hands when you clenched your fists too tightly that time in class when you saw her staring at a girl you couldn’t even name. The hurt on your hip when the two of you got matching tattoos. The hurt in your heart when you went away and stayed away. 

The waiting hurt and so did the leaving.

And the realisation that it didn’t need to hurt, especially for as long as you did, left you feeling unsettled. The hurt was familiar, almost as familiar as Ellie, and you didn’t know if you could leave it behind too. Didn’t know if you would survive it. But surviving wasn’t living and this hurt could feel different. Because maybe, finally, all this love will have a place to go. 

You stand up to go pay and Ellie doesn’t try to stop you like she used to. You leave Betty a big tip and she gives you a cheesy grin in return with her thanks. Ellie is waiting by the front door with her shoulders slumped and hands fiddling when you turn around. You walk towards her. 

“Let’s stop somewhere for the night, yeah?”

“Yeah-” her voice cracks and she clears her throat, “-yeah sounds good.”

When you arrive to the closest motel it wasn’t nearly half as charming as the diner you had just eaten in. There was also no Betty to greet you at the front desk, instead a ragged man who was staring a bit too hard at you told you there was only one room left available. He looked far too happy when he sensed your discomfort. 

Ellie places a foot right in front of where you’re standing and steps forward, obstructing your view. “We’ll take it.” She pays this time.

The man throws the keys on top of the counter and grumbles to himself. Ellie places a hand on the small of your back when you turn to walk away and you subconsciously lean into it before you feel her nudge you along. The two of you made the walk to your room in silence but you can still feel the heat from her hand radiating up your spine. You shiver.

Ellie taps your hip, a gesture you remember, to get you to move aside. She swings both bags she was carrying on her shoulder higher so she can open the door and you’re immediately met with the sight of a bed, there was other furniture in the room but the bed really stood out. 

There was one bed. 

It’s okay, you thought. You had shared a bed with Ellie multiple times, you practically lived at her house that one summer and all the summers following. 

“Are you coming?”

You don’t trust your words so you nod and step inside. You didn’t realise closing the door would make the room seem infinitely smaller otherwise you might’ve left it open and just dealt with whatever the consequences were. Because there was still only one bed inside of a really small room. You try and play it cool. 

“You’re taking the left.” Smooth.

Ellie agrees easily. “Fine by me.”

You watch as she throws the bags onto the bed and begin rooting through hers, pulling out an old t-shirt that you recognised and a pair of sweatpants. She makes her way to the bathroom without once looking at you. You huff and grab your pyjamas too, changing into them hurriedly and lying down on the right side.

Ellie turns off the light and joins you in bed, the two of you staring at the ceiling. You hear her breathing and it sounds like your childhood. It sounds like your future too, the one you dream but never talk about. 

You both lay there under the covers on your backs and you think about how close she is to you. You didn’t know how to tell her you missed her, there simply weren’t enough words in the English language to express it, so you remained quiet. You think a lifetime has past when she decides to speak. In a way it had because you feel a new you being created in this dirty motel room. 

“I hate you for leaving.” Without me. You hear the unspoken words this time.

“I know.” 

“I hate you.” She states, stance firm.

“No you don’t.”

“No I don’t.”

You don’t know who reaches for who first, all you know is that you turn over and there she was, consuming your senses in a way only she knows how. You think about her lips on yours and the way her tongue traces your bottom lip. You think about her hands gripping your waist tight and the way she sighs into your mouth, you think that you want her to do it again. You think that everything about this road trip was doomed from the start. You think that it’s a problem for tomorrow’s version of you to deal with. 

You stop thinking when she pulls you on top of her and tugs at your shirt. You sigh into her mouth this time. 

[insane-thoughts-oftheday]

A (not) so small philosophical interpretation of Odysseus in epic

Disclaimer: I'm doing this analysis for fun, please don't take everything I write as truth, because this text is based on my interpretation and, even though it took some academic research to do it. It's worth remembering that I don't have a degree in philosophy yet, so I can still make mistakes on some points. Another point I want to highlight is that I wrote this text in a language other than English, and there may be some translation errors by Google, so I apologize if anything is confusing or if you have any questions about something, feel free to comment or send an ask, I'll do my best to explain.

(Notice that's basically me as far as you decide to read this blog)

EPIC:the musical is a work that is very present in my life and in the lives of many other people who are reading this little fan outburst; And if you've just stumbled upon this craze and are hearing about it for the first time, a brief summary is that it's a musical, more addictive than drugs, that tells the story of Odysseus, that guy from Greek mythology who spent 20 years trying to get home after the Trojan War, also known as Simp by his wife Penelope. We have moments of joy, sadness, introspection and many fan outbursts caused by the owner of it all, Jorge Rivera-Herrans, who is not only the creator but also the lead singer of this masterpiece, playing Odysseus and a few others.

But let's get back to the analysis here because I could talk about this for hours without stopping.

A few months ago, when the Underworld saga was released, I remembered the phrase:

"If you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you."

This phrase was written by Nietzsche in the book Beyond Good and Evil, and it reminds me a lot of the Odysseus we see in EPIC, although the phrase is incomplete in the previous quote, even though it is the most common one we see being spread around. The original is:

“Whoever fights monsters should take care that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.”

And I also remember thinking about that phrase by Heraclitus, which I think everyone has heard, probably incompletely, at some point in school:

“No one can step into the same river twice, for when he steps into it again, the waters are not the same, and the being itself has already changed. Thus, everything is governed by dialectics, the tension and the alternation of opposites. Therefore, reality is always the result of change, that is, of the struggle between opposites.”

In my opinion, I think that both phrases fit well with the version of the character that we see starring in the entire musical, since most ancient myths and poems have different versions and translations and of course Jorge took some artistic liberties; Odysseus is a Greek hero who fights against many monsters, both mythical and internal, taking into account his ethics as a person while trying to survive and return home.

I think it's interesting to point out that from here on I'll use some different terms, but I'll do my best to explain them.

We can see that throughout all the sagas Odysseus is describing the line of what it is to be human and how one can easily slip off it; this line is located between the definition of gods and monsters/animals and is known as Metron, which gave rise to the word measure, and here we will use it as a synonym for limit for something. It's also good to say that metron has nothing to do with a person's morals/character, because it's a question of ethics.

Morals are the set of rules that concern good and evil, right and wrong. These standards refer to values ​​that are passed down from generation to generation and guide the conduct of individuals in their daily lives. (personal)

Ethics is a field of philosophy whose object of study is the principles that guide morality. In this sense, ethics is a philosophical reflection on morality, approaching the universal principles that govern the common good and coexistence between human beings in general. (common sense)

In my opinion about the musical, the issue of gods and monsters is not so different. For me, in that context, monsters and gods are the same thing, since they are outside the ideal of humanity, but this point may be mentioned later.

Metron is not a knowledge, it is, above all, the limit between impossibility and weakness.

We can see in several Greek myths that human beings like to cross this line, most stories end in tragedy because of this, human beings can also be called “Hybris” which is an excess, it is being hybrid, having two natures, acting in two ways, it is being in the Metron and trying to be something that one is not, because thinking that we can be more than men is arrogance, and arrogance is a human emotion, another story that exemplifies this well is the myth of Oedipus who tries to overcome his destiny given by the gods and ends up fulfilling it anyway.

Hybris is a Greek concept that can be translated as "everything that goes beyond the measure; "immoderation" and which currently alludes to excessive confidence, exaggerated pride, presumption, arrogance or insolence (originally against the gods), which often ends up being punished.

It is worth noting that hybris would in no way be a sin, in the concept of the word and the ideal current translation for it would be "Hamartia", which by chance is also no longer used in its original meaning because of the Catholic Church.

Now going to the interesting part because I was just giving context of terms.

In The Horse and the Infant, we 'meet' our beloved version of Odysseus, where during the Trojan War he states that everything he is doing is for his wife Penelope and his son Telemachus, using this as a way to inspire his men to carry out the massacre that he himself did not want to participate in, I think because of his moral nature, the proof is so much that in Homer's original Odyssey, he pretends to be crazy so as not to show up when called, unfortunately he is unmasked and forced to go.

We also see here that up until now Odysseus is still a very moral character, he has his reasons for being there, he, like the other warriors, has a family and his deepest desire is to return to them. So with this we can conclude that he is still just a man, he is human.

In the same song we see how far his morality goes, as he receives the divine mission to kill the young Trojan prince, Astyanax, who is just a baby, due to the threat that one day he will want revenge on him and his kingdom.

All of this creates doubts in Odysseus, about the morality of gods and men. Here we see him crossing the line and this whole text begins to be about ethics, as it is common sense that killing a child is a monstrous act, but for him not to kill means that his family will die in a more horrendous way later and he cannot let that happen.

Then we have the monologue in Just a Man, the best song, where we can really see the doubts mentioned earlier. And one detail that I find very interesting and that will be important for this text is that in Gigi's animatic, we can see Odysseus' "monster" being 'born' and its source is the baby and his doubts about whether he would really be a monster just for that, even though at that moment the baby is still just a human, the mission to kill him little by little makes him a monster due to the possibility that one day he himself will commit several atrocities.

It's fun for me to think that representing 'the monster' as a tree could be an allusion to the fact that trees take as long to grow as a monster takes to be formed by man.

I think you now understand part of Nietzsche's quote. Odysseus looking at his own reflection and not recognizing himself, seeing the monster he will become if he crosses the metronome is very well treated in several animatics, but the most visible is in Gigi's where he is not only referenced but shown as a completely different being both in attitudes and thoughts.

I'll just pause to say that I love how Gigi did the work of showing the tree growing in the shape of a skull, which could be the deaths that the monster will bring or that it is a macabre thing to do, I don't know, I just love this detail for some reason.

And also how I think that makes a point of showing that the real problem is not the baby but rather Odysseus' unethical thoughts developing because of his doubts.

Ok, end of the pause and start of a mini explanation.

I didn't think this analysis would be so long and in my original thought I was only going to end up mentioning a few songs and focusing more on "No Longer You" and "Monster" but it ended up getting out of control and listening to the musical again it seems like I can make a lot of connections that I hadn't thought of before but now I can't express them properly, so from now on there will be a gigantic gap in content that I might fill later in another post or by editing this one, but at the moment thinking too much about it is giving me a headache and I really wanted to be able to post this now along with the Wisdom Saga because it's something I did for fun from fan to fan and I know that now the fandom is busier. One day I swear I'll do a complete analysis relating song by song, but not today for the sake of my mental health.

End of explanation, subject change.

Going through his entire journey, Ody goes to the underworld after Tiresias who reveals that he will never return home, which makes him indignant, I think any human would be, how much he suffered to get there for nothing. Here we can see how Heraclitus fits into the prophet, and as much as I hate cutting philosophical phrases in half, I don't think I need to use the whole thing to make sense of it here, because the most well-known part of it is enough to get to the point discussed here, since it really won't be him who returns to Ithaca, but rather another man, a man haunted by his own past and by the ethics of his people.

There is no way a man who spent 20 years away from home, suffering for the divine and for his own mind, can be the same, because this is a human characteristic, humans are hybrid beings, which implies that we can change our own nature while gods and monsters will always follow the same line of thought, since they are perfect they do not need drastic changes to live as they are.

That's it. So finally we have the mental breakdown where Ody begins to accept that it doesn't matter if he is a monster to everyone, he did what was necessary. He looked into the abyss and was looked back. He becomes the monster, even if he compares himself to the other divine creatures, which I think he never really learned to differentiate from humans, because Ody my friend there is no way you can really reach the level of a cyclops or a god with a wounded ego, or a traumatized nymph, time makes things very trivial for them and let's face it you will not live even half as long as they do because you are just a mortal.

And I don't know how to make gifs so here are some prints to illustrate the last paragraph. But before that I wanted to thank you if you read this far, I know the ending was kind of bad but I'm emotionally tired, I hope I at least conveyed the idea that was in my head. Thank you and stream the new saga!!!!

(All arts belong to gigi!! go check out this amazing work!!!)

[fatuismooches]

can you tell i have a lot of thoughts running tru my mind every second, you prob can by the amount of ask i've sent the last hour, huh.

anyway... wearing dottore's (the ones that are not as blood-stained) clothes would be both comfy and warm, so you sometimes sneak into his very blank bedroom and take a shirt or two. and since you are currently in Sneznaya (or however its spelled) warm clothes is necessary, both inside and outside, so you just wear his clothes if you miss him or need to feel extra warm. you also cuddle up to some of the segments for warmth, but they dont exactly produce warmth so they are more like your pillow and mattress (unless its zandy, then teddybear).

if any of the agents call out you being in his clothes, goodbye poor thing, see you in the lab. [they have a new rule to the handbook now, and a friend more lost] (if krupp did that, yeah... i dont think i even want to write abt that)

-luv ya

In the beginning, Dottore could not understand why you felt the need to steal his clothes. For one, your closet had much more variety than his, and you could easily make yourself feel warmer with that if you needed it... but yet another day passes when he realizes one of his (plentiful) blue shirts is missing... and he lets out a sigh at your shenanigans. Eventually, when he tries to take his shirts back by force, you have to blurt out how much you like his clothes because they remind you of him when he's not around. Only then will he look at you for a good few seconds and begrudgingly allow you to hoard his shirts. (And well, he won't lie, seeing you wear nothing but his long shirt that drapes over your figure, makes his possessiveness ten times harder. He needs to study why exactly he feels that way when you wear his clothes.)

Me personally, I like to hc that the clones can actually warm their bodies up!! I wrote about it like, a really long time ago in one of my older fics. (Somehow, Dottore had implemented a feature into his clones to heat up and become warm, so when you’d cling to them, you wouldn’t be cold anymore. You enjoyed it thoroughly because the reactions of the clones were cute.) Idk I know it seems unlikely BUT JUST THINK ABOUT THE FLUFF. 😭 I imagine they're naturally cold most of the time because well, they are artificial after all but, you giving them pleading eyes and slipping your cold hands under their shirts, begging for some warmth... 🥺 they give in, your cold hands don't really bother them either since they're used to it!! Such lovely bfs!! ❤️

The agents know better than to question why you have his shirt on despite already wearing your regular clothes... the fan club though, they definitely added this moment to their book, they're your number one fans fr!

[bidisasterevankinard]

Fuck it friday

tagged by @tizniz @jesuisici33 @daffi-990 @diazsdimples @wikiangela thank you<333 I missed my crossover fic so I wrote a little today. he is Jake and Buck's dynamic I can't wait to explore more cause I already love it way to much

“Jake, I don’t know about it,” but before Buck can continue to think of the reason why he can’t come to San-Diego, Jake already speaks.

“Listen here, Buckley. We have tried to get together for the last four years after I was in LA for three days to congratulate you on ending your probation year. I literally now live in the city in 3 hours drive from LA. And you died six months ago before it happened,” Jake is silent for a second, but Buck hears how he takes deep breath to take himself back together. Hearing how his death affected even his friends out of LA make him bite his lip so as not to cry. Painful reminder he should keep trying harder on therapy, should try to get better to help his family heal too. “So I’m not asking. You are bringing your pretty ass to San-Diego. I might even help to heal your heart after the recent break up with what is her name?” 

“Natalia. And there’s nothing to heal,” Buck for a second considers if he should tell Jake the whole truth about the break up or not, but really he needs a friend and there is no one better to talk about Eddie because Jake is Buck’s only friend. Not Eddie’s found family too. “I broke up with her because I understood I’m in love with…” Buck takes a deep breath getting ready to say it for the first time to someone who is not Dr. Copeland, but Jake does it first.

“Eddie.” 

The way the name of his best friend so easily slips from Jake’s mouth leaves Buck speechless with just one question which he almost scream.

“H-HOW?!”

“You talk about the guy all the time. You raise his, no, not his, his and yours  son together. You talk about him like he put the sun, moon and stars in the sky. It was so easy,”Buck hears how Jake rolls his beautiful green eyes and he hopes the man feels how he shows him finger. “Do not show me finger, sweetheart. You know I’m right. I’m more shocked no one called you on this definitely not little crush on your hot bestie before me. And they see you two together.” 

“Like no one calls you on your homoerotic comments about Rooster? Or how now do you want dick measure with the man not in figurative but real meaning?” Buck smirks when he hears how Jake tries to say something to deny it, but fails.

“How?”

Grinning, Buck takes a deep breath and perfectly repeating Jack's intonation begins to quote.

“Oh, Buck, Rooster is so cocky I hate his guts. Oh, Buck, this man irritates me so much I want to send him on fire. Buck, I saved this asshole today and we shook hands and I think we are going to be friends soon. Sweetheart, you will not believe who asked me about beer in Hard Deck without the team. Fuck, Buck Rooster abs somehow better than mine and it’s… irritates me so much,” Buck laughs remembering how the last part was said more like I-want-to-fuck-him and not this-guy-is-hotter-than-me-and-I'm-jealous. Buck knows the difference too well. He was friends with it for a moment. “I always feel like you would jump his bones the next time you see the man.”

“Said you”

“Touche.”

tagging @wildlife4life @watchyourbuck @exhuastedpigeon @eddiescowboy @elvensorceress @eddiebabygirldiaz @evanbegins @rainbow-nerdss @rogerzsteven @the-likesofus @thewolvesof1998 @theotherbuckley @transboybuckley @underwater-ninja-13 @puppyboybuckley @paranoidbean @anakinfallen @spaceprincessem @spotsandsocks @spagheddiediaz @devirnis @fortheloveofbuddie @gaydiaz @giddyupbuck @heartshapedvows @hoodie-buck @jeeyuns @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @caroandcats @cowboybuckleys @bigfootsmom @bekkachaos @buddierights @mandzuking17 @monsterrae1 @malewifediaz @steadfastsaturnsrings @hippolotamus and anyone who wants

[winterchimez]

Lip Sync | Ji Changmin

pairing: ex Changmin x f!reader

genre: angst, suggestive

warnings: influence of alcohol, making out scenes, mentions of s*x, bad breakup, cheating, unrequited love (in some way)

word count: 2,751

a/n: so.... i can explain 🤡 what made me wrote this oneshot on a whim was because of Changmin's whisper from the song itself 🫠 (delusional to the max tbh 🙃) but in all honesty this is my favourite track from their latest jp album, and i knew i had to write a fic about it!! i just hope i managed to execute it well according to the lyrics (yall i tried my best ><) feedback would be much appreciated! 🩵

You watched as the clock continued to tick as it reached closer to the hour you were going to be done with this dreaded lecture you were having. 

3… 2… and finally… 1. 

The clock strikes 14:00, and everyone seemingly grabbed the belongings that they had obviously packed way beforehand and rushed out of the lecture hall. You, on the other hand, were in no rush to head to your next destination, which was your accommodations.

As you took your time packing away your things into your backpack, your phone lights up and produces a ding sound, indicating that you have received a notification. You immediately took up your phone that was lying front screen down on the table, and read the notification mentally. 

Hey Y/N, remember this time during 2022? 

Snapchat. Always with the monthly notifications that you’ve never bothered clicking into to see what it was because your college life was never entertaining in the slightest bit. You were a lone girl, and you’ve always preferred staying in the university’s library till late at night and then heading back to the comforts of your accommodations. You were never an outgoing person, so attending social parties was definitely out of the question.

However, for some reason, your brain decides to do the opposite today, as you clicked on the notification, with the thought of just having a quick glance at whatever Snapchat wanted to remind you about. 

Now, you wished you could’ve turned back time and that you’d never clicked into the application in the first place. 

A picture appeared on the exact same date from a year ago, depicting you with your former boyfriend, Ji Changmin.

Honestly, the Y/N from your freshmen year would’ve laughed if she had known that you and the f*ckboy of your university were actually a thing for a good solid 2 years. Ji Changmin was infamous, to say the least. Not only was he a good dancer that has basically contributed to winning several trophies from various dance competitions that were held annually throughout the state, but he was also the face of the university. 

Many students and lecturers admired the way he was. The manner in which he presented himself, those doe-like eyes and how he’s able to put on this adorable yet captivating look that just makes everyone swoon over him? He was a winner for sure. 

Everyone could’ve sworn he was definitely up for the job to take on the role of the president of the student council, given the good grades that he has worked so hard to maintain throughout the years. But the lad always turned the offer down, saying how there were better students up for the role, especially his close bud Kevin or Sangyeon. 

In reality though, what really stood out the most among the students was that he was the infamous f*ckboy in university. Oh, how many girls have given up anything to be able to spend a day with him, or even doing the deed with the man himself. 

You have seen how he was always with another girl almost every other day, and being the goody two shoes that you were, you decided that he was someone you’d rather jump off a cliff than associate with.

That was until a frat party that happened 2 years ago when your assignment mate at the time, Eric, was basically dragging everyone he knew to come to join him. And of course, he had to bring his newly met friend along too because according to him, the more the merrier. 

You came up with so many excuses that night, saying how you were sick or how you had way too many assignments due the next day. But that did not stop the male from actually showing up at your doorstep and basically dragging you into his car, not even letting you have a say in all of this.

So there you were, at your first frat party which you obviously did not enjoy the slightest bit. So many times you’ve tried to avoid everyone like the plague, retreating to the kitchen most of the time to be alone while having the least intoxicating drink you could possibly find. 

Of course, your demeanour that day stood out entirely from everyone else, and that has piqued the interest of the f*ckboy that was watching you ever since the moment you stepped into the party. He had his eyes on you the whole night, desperately waiting for the right moment to hit on you. 

Ji Changmin definitely had to thank the hosts of the party for organizing the infamous beer pong game, for that was when both of you truly came face-to-face with one another. During that time, all of you were split into two different teams, playing the game against each other to see who would win. He was the representative of his team, while you and Eric were the ones for yours.

Apparently, turns out that Eric wasn’t the best at holding his liquor, and he passed out after having 5 shots. Naturally, you had to take on the responsibility of continuing the game. 

You wished so badly that you’d said no that time, for you became tipsy, unknowingly chugging down more than 10 shots for basically losing against Changmin’s team that night. 

As the game ended and everyone was basically minding their own business throughout the apartment, you quickly excused yourself to the bathrooms and tried to calm your spinning head down. 

And there was when Changmin took the chance of visiting you to see with his own eyes, how the girl that has caught his attention throughout the night has become. You were a mess, and that somehow turned the male on even more. 

“Please… I don’t want any trouble….” You whimper.

“Funny you say that because you’re clearly enjoying whatever I am doing to you right now.” 

Both of your arms were pinned up against the cold bathroom walls above your head, and somehow the male ended up leaving trails of kisses all around your neck, while he shoved his legs right in between yours. 

When his lips finally met yours, you seemed to have enjoyed it more than you thought. Perhaps it was the alcohol, but you for sure did not reject that idea and eventually, it turned out to be a steamy make-out session in the bathroom. 

Changmin has made out with multiple women before, yet somehow you just felt so different from the rest. The whole experience? The soft whimpers and moans you produced? Oh, he couldn’t tell you how much they sounded so sweet to his ears, and he craved for more. 

“I just can’t get enough of you.” 

As he began to untie the pretty white lace dress that you were wearing, he couldn’t help but stare at your collarbone as he drops your clothing right onto the ground. He licked his lips, and he couldn’t wait to dwell deeper into his fantasies. 

“People say that I tend to go wild and bite when I’m drunk. Don’t worry sweetheart I won’t do that, unless you’re into that sort of thing.” 

And that was how you ended up with a hickey and a bite mark on your collarbone for a good 2 to 3 weeks. You could only vaguely remember what happened back then, you were too intoxicated to tell from your own perspective. But the male surely did remember every single detail from that session, which was what made him turn his whole interest towards you.

God, he was persistent. He always made the effort to get close to you, while the only thing you wanted was to stay far away from him. But your efforts turned out to be an utter failure most of the time, for he would always be a step ahead of you. 

He somehow got your number and began following your social media accounts and leaving comments on almost all of your pictures, texting you almost every single day, up to sending your random snaps where the male just somehow always manages to get good photoshoot-worthy shots. Honestly, at that time you insisted on blocking the male for good until your assignment mate Eric convinces you otherwise.

“Give it a go, expanding your horizons is what you’re supposed to do in university.” 

You probably would’ve thought that Eric was insane, but later down the line, you realised that you were the one going insane instead. 

Eventually, Changmin decides to get close to you in person, where he’d leave you random post-it notes in your lockers every day and purposely bump into you whenever you both cross paths during lunchtime in the cafeteria. These actions that you once thought to be annoying and intrusive, were slowly turning into ones that you actually enjoyed. 

He was goofy and flirty at the same time, which somehow always manages to put a smile on your emotionless face that clearly indicated how exhausted you were from all the lectures you were dealing with on a daily basis. Eventually, you began to enjoy his company, so when he offered to take you out on your first date, how could you possibly say no? 

Both of you were head over heels for one another, and eventually, the university labelled you both as the new lovebirds of the season. It wasn’t until the 10th date (at least from what you could remember) that both of you finally decided that you both were to become official. 

Of course, it also ended up with having a heated make-out session after having a little too much to drink in his apartment. During that heated moment, Changmin finally took the first step of asking you to be his girlfriend. Being madly in love at that point, you had no reason to say no. 

Instead of giving him a direct answer, you immediately gave him a smile and pulled his face down to your lips till both of you were merely inches apart.

“Just shut up and kiss me already.” 

A bittersweet smile was plastered across your face as you decided to take a seat in your lecture hall. After that Snapchat notification, you unintentionally find yourself to be stalking his Instagram page that you once blocked. 

As you tapped into his icon, you began scrolling through his feed while tears started to form in your eyes. You looked through the dozens of pictures that he posted, and you couldn’t help but to reminisce back on the good old days. 

And that smile of his.  

That smile was something that you’ve grown to become unfamiliar with, it was a thing of the past anyways. 

What exactly happened that made you both parted ways? None of you really knew exactly. 

As both of you eventually reached your senior year, the number of struggles and burdens that you both had to bear was becoming more and more unbearable, which has led the both of you to spend less time together. 

Unfortunately, the struggles were too much to bear for Changmin, and he eventually returned back to his f*ckboy roots, going out and sleeping with a different girl every other day. He did not want you to bear his difficulties while you were already clearly struggling to make ends meet since you provide for yourself, hence he could only vent out his burdens with what he knew best. 

You, on the other hand, were heartbroken, to say the least when you found out that he was doing what he used to in the past before establishing a relationship with you. But eventually, you had to accept the hard truth. 

At the end of the day, f*ckboys will always be f*ckboys. 

As you were lost in your thoughts, your phone suddenly dings which was where you received a new notification, this time from Eric. 

Eric ⚾️: Hey, since finals are over care to join a frat party for tonight? 

Well, since you had nothing better to do and you were basically depressed all over again after reminiscing back on your ex, you immediately took up the offer, in hopes of going for the sake of taking things off your mind for a bit. 

Y/N: Sure, pick me up at 8pm. 

As you turned off your phone and the screen goes dark, you were met with the reflection of your poker face.

Everything is going to be alright. 

So here you were, back at a frat party. You haven’t been in one since the last where your first encounter with your ex happened 2 years ago. 

You just wanted to let things off your mind and basically used this as an excuse to forget about your ex.

Or rather, actually hoping that you’d bump into the male himself. Knowing him, he definitely would not miss out on such an occasion considering his position as the university’s f*ckboy. 

As you make your way around the apartment, sure enough, you found the male on one of the couches, with a random girl he has hooked up with for the night. 

It didn’t take long for the male to notice your presence, perhaps he could feel that a pair of burning eyes were basically directed towards him for some time now.

Not wanting to create a scene, you retreated back to the kitchen, trying your best to find any liquor you could get. Basically, it was kind of an excuse to keep yourself occupied. 

It didn’t take long for the male to present himself in the kitchen, now looking right into your eyes. It has been a good 6 months since you both unofficially ended things, and the tension in the air was awful. 

Not even asking about what both parties have been up to, Changmin immediately broke the tension off by posing a question that seemed a little too harsh for your liking. “We… have no feelings anymore, don’t we?” 

No Changmin. I still love you. After what you’ve done. But, why can’t I say it out loud? 

With the quietness that you returned to him, he slumped his shoulders in defeat and gave this painful smile that you wished you could’ve helped ease.

“Honestly Y/N, you’re too good for me really, for a f*ckboy like me. If there’s someone as similar as you out there, perhaps I could’ve made it work. I guess fate has its plans and you’re just not the right one for me.” 

Don’t say that. 

As the male walks up closer to you, he returns you with a hug, one that you knew that it meant to be the last farewell. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” 

You returned the male with a hug, and you tried so hard to hold back the tears that were basically going to stream down your face full of makeup that you’d done rather beautifully for the night. 

“Don’t worry about me, Changmin. I can never thank you enough for all of the beautiful memories we have made for the past 2 years. Your happiness comes first after all. I’ll be okay.” 

As you both broke off the hug, he decides to give you a quick peck on the lips, and oh how you savoured that short-lived moment. 

If this is really the last kiss, then let me remember it fully, from the shape of your lips to the scent that you gave. 

“You deserve someone better, Y/N.” Changmin pulled away and turned his back as he made his way back into the crowd in the living room. 

Right when he was gone, the tears that you’ve tried so hard to hold back finally poured down onto your face, and you desperately tried your very best wiping them away with your bare fingers. 

I wanted for us to start all over again so badly. But my ultimate decision was to put up a brave face in front of you. 

As you were done wiping the tears away, you made your way towards the exit and decided to take a breather and stroll around the area before heading back to your accommodations on your own before it gets too dark to be dangerous loitering around alone. 

With a huff, you looked up into the dark sky and tried your best to put on a sincere smile. 

Let’s both give our next love with our future significant other a shot. And may we truly find the right person to spend our lives with.

a/n: i'm actually considering to write a oneshot based on Eyes On Me & Door as well, do let me know if any of you would be interested in reading them ><

masterlist

taglist: @deoboyznet @flwoie @hokupi (join my permanent taglist here!)

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

A Need of the Soul

Summary: Éomer is teaching Faramir how to speak Rohirric as a surprise for Éowyn. Come for Faramir being a sweet husband, stay for the emotional links to Boromir and Théodred. Oh, and for Éomer being a big horse dork.

Context: I pulled a JRR and wrote a whole story around a special word I like! More on that at the very bottom. You can read this without knowing any of my personal Rohan head canon, but just in case it’s helpful: In my world, Éomer is married to his childhood best friend, Mereliss. My Théodred (who you can read more about here or here if you’re interested) was a nurturing soul with a curious mind, and I may be obsessed with him. And damn it, my Éomer can absolutely read and write! (See here for why that’s the case in my HC.)

As soon as Éowyn left for the morning, Faramir pulled out his secret stack of papers, the ones he had started requesting from Éomer six months ago when he first decided to try learning Rohirric. He wanted to master the language as a surprise for Éowyn, ever conscious of how much she had sacrificed on his behalf when they married. Although he knew she loved Ithilien, he also knew that sometimes she still longed for the familiarity and comfort of home, for the people, places, and culture that were now many miles away. If he could bring some of Rohan to her in the form of her language, he hoped he could brighten her heart on those days when she looked most in need of a reminder of all that she missed.

With this goal in mind, he had thrown himself wholly into the pursuit, but the process was more difficult than he had hoped. The Rohirrim didn’t keep written records in their own language, nor did they have textbooks or primers made to learn from. All Faramir had were the pages that Éomer would write out and send to him every few weeks, using Westron to describe basic grammar rules and listing common Rohirric words and phrases by their definitions and rough pronunciations. Working from written materials to learn a language that was only taught orally was maddeningly difficult, and Faramir spent long hours alone at his desk laboring at the exercises Éomer sent, unsure if he was even getting close to the sounds he was attempting to produce.

At least he would be aided today by the presence of Éomer in person. The king of Rohan was coming to Gondor to take counsel with his allies on military matters, and he had agreed to make time for some lessons while his own wife, Mereliss, kept Éowyn occupied in furtherance of the surprise. With Éowyn gone now to meet her sister-in-law, Faramir looked down his lists of Rohirric words and tried to commit a few more to memory, repeating them slowly out loud to himself while he waited for Éomer.

“If someone back home heard you slur your way through those words like that, they might assume you were a drunkard.”

Faramir looked up to see Éomer smirking at him from the doorway, still dressed in his riding clothes and holding a small pack. “Well, if the performance of the student falls short, I think we have no option but to blame the instructor,” Faramir returned with a smirk of his own.

“A fair point, I will grant you.” Éomer strode in and tossed his things on an empty chair before pulling Faramir up into a strong embrace, thumping a fist on his brother-in-law’s back with enough enthusiasm to knock the breath out of him.

When they separated, Faramir smiled and held up his stack of papers. “I do appreciate all of this. It’s a lot of work for me, but for you, too, I’m sure.”

Éomer gave a dismissive wave. “I have the easy part. Besides, there’s some benefit to me in all of this, as well. I’ll certainly enjoy the show the next time you visit Edoras and all the ladies at court discover that you can actually understand their scandalous comments about how handsome they find you. Your admirer’s club is in for a big shock.”

They both laughed, though Éomer noted the flush of pink in Faramir’s ears and cheeks and that only made him laugh all the harder. “Don’t let them see you blush, you’ll only make it worse!” He plopped down into a chair and put his feet up, smiling.

As Faramir took a seat across from him, he felt a warm, familiar echo in his heart. The easy camaraderie, the good natured teasing balanced with true affection…it couldn’t help but bring Boromir to his mind. Faramir still missed his brother every single day and looked for reminders of him everywhere that he could. But he didn’t think it was a stretch to see clear elements of Boromir reflected in Éomer–in his strength and brashness, his earnest intensity, his fierce loyalty. They were both proud men of action with an unshakeable sense of duty and love for family. Éomer could never replace Boromir, and he was surely his own man, different in many ways from the brother Faramir lost. But it lifted Faramir’s spirits to once again have such a figure in his life.

Now his brother-in-law reached into his pack and pulled out more pages, covered from top to bottom in his own scrawly handwriting. “I’ve brought you some more to learn–words you’d hear often around Rohan and that any self-respecting Rohirrim would know.”

Faramir accepted the papers from him and skimmed his eyes down the first page, but a look of confusion slowly built on his face as he read. “Am I understanding this correctly? Why do you have twenty different words for ‘horse’?”

“I have not given you twenty words for ‘horse’! Each one of those means something very different.” Éomer grabbed the page back and pointed. “This one here, éotynde, this is an old, calm mare that would be suitable for a young child just learning to ride.” He pointed again. “And this one, éoweder, is a high spirited horse that has quickness and agility but is unpredictable and difficult to control. The others are equally unique. Do you not see?”

Faramir gently extracted the page back from Éomer’s grip, hoping to avoid a further explanation of each specific variant on the list. “I understand those distinctions, but are they really significant enough that I require a whole separate word for each one? We make do in Gondor with but one term. A horse is a horse.”

“A horse is a horse?” Éomer gaped at him, incredulous. “You think the language of the Rohirrim would put a courier horse, whose purpose is swiftness and endurance, in the same category with a farm horse, who sacrifices speed in favor of strength and power? They aren’t remotely the same thing, and a proper language wouldn’t treat them as such. If we went by your rules, we’d all be calling the blacksmith a baker because they both make things with heat!”

It was obvious from the truly scandalized look on his face that Éomer would never concede the point, so Faramir held up his hands in smiling capitulation. And if all these varieties of horse were important to Éomer, likely they would be to Éowyn as well, so Faramir would learn them as best he could. But he desired to speak to Éowyn of many things, and horses were nowhere near the top of the list. He shuffled through the papers one more time. “Have you finally given me anything that would be suitable to say to a beloved wife?”

Éomer shot him a look. “I am not the right person to consult for words of romance. And certainly not when the woman to be romanced is my own sister.”

Faramir laughed. “Fair enough. Let’s get back to your many words for ‘horse’ and I will ask Mereliss to help me with some more emotional thoughts later.”

Éomer sat back, satisfied. “I will have you sounding like a Rohirrim in no time. Now, do you know the word for a horse that likes to cause trouble in the stable with the other horses?”

**********

The next morning, Faramir spent two hours with Mereliss while Éomer and Éowyn went for a ride. When the siblings returned, Éomer sent Éowyn to Mereliss’s quarters and went himself to check on Faramir’s progress. He found his brother-in-law once again at his desk, bent over his work, and dropped casually into a nearby chair.

“Did you get all of the flowery and eloquent phrases you need?”

Faramir put down his pen and smiled. “Mereliss helped me to write a special toast to Éowyn for our upcoming anniversary. I knew what I wanted to say, and Mereliss made sure it will sound not just like a bunch of Westron bluntly converted into Rohirric words but rather something that was written by a native speaker. Something truly of Rohan. She has quite a talent for beautiful language and imagery.” He gave a sly smile. “Though she told me that you also have something of a poet’s heart when the two of you are alone in your own chambers.”

Éomer’s head snapped up, a tinge of dark red sweeping across his cheeks. “She told you what?”

Now it was Faramir’s turn to laugh at his brother-in-law’s furious blushing, so out of character for one who was otherwise always self assured and confident. Faramir had faithfully reported Mereliss’s remark, and it was clearly true that Éomer really did speak his softest thoughts to her or he would not be so flustered by the possibility that she had shared those thoughts. But Faramir had no need or desire to prolong Éomer’s self-consciousness.

“There is nothing to worry about. I know only that you are capable of words to enchant and delight your wife, which is no bad thing. But she didn’t reveal what those words are. She wouldn’t betray your privacy, and I would never ask her to.”

Éomer’s shoulders noticeably relaxed, and he laughed a little at his own embarrassment. “Well, your discussion of my clumsy attempts to please my wife aside, I am glad that she helped you. Westron is very useful, but there are some things that just cannot be said as effectively without our own words and expressions.”

“Indeed. She gave me a number of things that I quite like, ways to convey entire concepts with a single word that has no direct equivalent in any language that I know. Like sáwolthearf. Every language should have such a term.”

Sáwolthearf. The word sent a wave of fond remembrance through Éomer’s heart. It translated literally as ‘a need of the soul’ and was used in Rohan to mean someone who is necessary in order for another person to feel truly happy and complete. His late cousin Théodred, who had always been so free and generous in expressing his feelings, used to call his bride-to-be sáwolthearf, and Éomer could easily picture Eadlin practically glowing with love and pride whenever Théodred referred to her that way.

To hear Théodred’s words coming now from Faramir’s lips was no great shock to Éomer. On the contrary, it only intensified a feeling he had long had in the presence of his brother-in-law: a sense that he was not with Théodred himself, but with a kindred spirit of his cousin. Someone whose modesty, eagerness for knowledge, gentle heart and dreamer’s mind so thoroughly echoed Théodred’s own nature that Éomer felt immediately at ease in his company. Théodred had been many things to Éomer–a deeply loved cousin, but also much like an older brother and at times even a father figure–and he had carried Éomer through some of the most difficult moments he would ever experience. Éomer could never truly reconcile himself to Théodred’s loss, but having Faramir in his life helped to salve that wound.

Watching Faramir now—shuffling again through his notes and drafts, applying himself so diligently to such a difficult task and all for the purpose of simply making Éowyn smile—Éomer was struck by a profound feeling of gratitude, one that he felt should be voiced even if it was not normally in his nature to speak of his innermost feelings. He cleared his throat, and Faramir looked up.

“What you’re doing for my sister is very admirable. I know it will mean a lot to her, and for that reason it means a lot to me. Thank you, eyre-brothor.”

Faramir frowned slightly and looked back at his papers. “Eyre-brothor? I don’t think I’ve learned that yet.”

Éomer smiled. “It means ‘brother by choice.’ Write that one down.”

**********

[Language nerd notes:

“Sáwolthearf” is a real Old English word (though I modernized the thorn in the middle for readability–it’s actually “sáwolþearf”) and it really does mean “a need of the soul,” which I just think is incredibly beautiful.

I made up “eyre-brothor” by combining two other real Old English words, “eyre” (“a choice made of free will”) and “brothor” (“brother”, though once again I turned the thorn in broþor into a “th” to make it smoother to modern English-reading eyes).

“Éotynde” comes from an approx combo of “eoh” (“horse”) and “tyende” (“teaching”) for a horse that’s calm enough to be good for beginners.

Éoweder comes from an approx combo of “eoh” (“horse”) and “weder” (“weather”) because to be impressive but quick-changing, unpredictable and uncontrollable is to be like the weather.

And it’s not in the story, but Éomer’s word for a horse that likes to cause trouble in the stable with the other horses is an “éodrefa” from “eoh” (horse, again!) and “drefan,” which is “to stir things up or cause mischief”.]

[averysmolbear]

“I’ll stay right here, okay?”

CW: mentions of anxiety and depression (and some centering on those sorts of experiences and feelings so definitely don't read if that's triggering for you!). absolutely not proofread since I wrote it a few minutes ago (so it's very self indulgent). female reader with she/her pronouns used and a brief mention of menstruation. very hurt/comfort centric. pro hero Shoto (in his 20s). established relationship with the reader.

A/N: I was having what I refer to as a "bad brain day" because I allowed all my little anxieties recently catch up with me so I wanted to write a little something with Shoto (one of my faves) comforting the reader who was going through something similar.

Pairing: Pro Hero Shoto Todoroki x fem!reader

The moment that you didn’t respond to his text, Shoto Todoroki was on his way to see you. It wasn’t like you to ignore him when he sent you an afternoon text to remind you that he loved you and that he couldn’t wait to get home to see you. Like clockwork, Shoto had sent the text and slipped his phone into a pocket in his hero costume. He knew that there would be a familiar little buzz soon enough with the phone vibrating to let him know you had texted back.

For a moment, the young hero thought that he hadn’t felt the phone go off. Sometimes it was 45 minutes later before you could send him a text after all but it had been almost 2 hours and by now, Shoto knew he should have heard something. Sometimes you would just text back that you loved and missed him too, complete with some cute heart emoji or another. Sometimes you would send him a picture of yourself, even if it was just you sitting on the couch at home. Today, the lack of response from you made Shoto feel sick to his stomach.

He had pulled out his phone a few times to make sure he hadn’t missed the message but eventually he was done waiting. Something had to have happened between the time he left this morning for his shift at the agency and this very moment. He still had a couple of hours left to keep patrolling but he didn’t care. It was Shoto’s own agency after all which meant that he was the boss and if the boss needed to go home early, he was going to do it. You meant more to him than anything else after all.

He didn’t bother to change into his street clothes, hopping into his car after returning to the agency so he could head straight home. He tried calling once he was in the car but you didn’t answer, causing panic to rise within the young hero. What if something had happened to you? It wasn’t as if the two of you kept your relationship a secret. Shoto doubted that a villain would leave you alone in an effort to get to him. You were a target and in Shoto’s racing mind, he ran through every person he had recently caught who might have a vendetta against him.

By the time he got home, Shoto felt like he was a wreck. He burst into the front door, calling out your name in a panic. He didn’t even bother taking off his shoes, rushing straight for the living room first. When he saw you laying on the couch, cocooned in a plush blanket from your shared bed, he let out a soft breath. You looked like you were safe but that didn’t explain why you hadn’t answered his text.

He began to run through the things that it could be. Was it because you were menstruating? No, he actually knew your cycle probably better than you did and it would be another week at least before you might be dealing with cramps and the like. Was it because you were sick? He hadn’t noticed you sniffling recently and you hadn’t complained about feeling ill so Shoto didn’t think it was that either.

“Y/N?” Shoto softly spoke your name before sitting on the couch at your feet. He noticed that you didn’t even look at him when he said your name but your eyes were puffy and your cheeks were a little red. “Is it … one of your bad days, love?”

You slowly opened your eyes only to have tears start to stream down your already tear-stained cheeks. You didn’t have the will to sit up but you let Shoto help you anyway, trying to bite back the little sobs that were building up in your throat. You let him carefully put an arm around your shoulders and your head immediately fell to the side to rest against Shoto’s shoulder. He had his cool side to you and something about it felt soothing right now.

Soft, hiccuping breaths gave way to your shaky voice. “I’m sorry,” you said, closing your eyes tightly. “I … I don’t … I don’t mean to …”

“Shh,” Shoto soothed, shaking his head as he pulled you closer. “You don’t have to explain. I already know.”

You had tried to hide some of your lower moments from Shoto when you first started dating. The first time that you had wound up letting yourself get overwhelmed to the point that you broke, Shoto had nearly had a panic attack himself. He hadn’t been sure what to do but eventually had settled on sitting with you quietly, holding you in his arms while you tried to explain that it wasn’t his fault, that you had gotten overwhelmed and it would be fine. Now he was well versed in these moments although they happened less and less because Shoto also had gotten very good at being able to tell when you were nearing that point of being overwhelmed.

Somehow he had missed it this time but he didn’t say that. Blaming himself wouldn’t help you feel better because Shoto knew you would just end up trying to comfort him instead when you were the one who needed to be comforted.

“I’ll stay right here, okay?” he finally said as he pulled you on to his lap.

You let the blanket fall off of you as you curled up on your boyfriend’s lap, nuzzling your nose in his neck. Breathing in his familiar scent was calming and it helped you center yourself. Even without saying anything out loud, you had started going through the things you could see, hear, smell, taste, and touch as you worked on slowing your racing mind. You knew that you were clinging to Shoto but he didn’t seem to mind.

Your breathing started to even out, matching his own breathing pattern. Being this close to Shoto caused your body to naturally fall into sync with his. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head but didn’t speak until he felt your body completely relax in his arms. He didn’t care how long that would take and he waited quietly as he held you and let your mind and body settle back down again.

“We’re ordering dinner and you can pick a movie for us to watch, okay?” your boyfriend said as he brushed some of your hair out of your eyes. Shoto smiled down at you as you looked up at him with bloodshot and puffy eyes. “While we wait for the food, I’m drawing you a bath.”

“Shoto,” you said, ready to argue that he was doing too much but you could see that he was serious about this so with a sigh, you nodded. “Fine.”

With you still in his arms, Shoto stood up, cradling you to his chest as he walked to the bathroom. Again you wanted to protest but you knew he was going to do all of this anyway. You were also too exhausted to fight the pampering that you knew you were about to receive so you just placed a couple of soft kisses on Shoto’s jaw and gave in. There were worse ways for you to end your night on a day like today. And at least you weren’t going through it alone.

[highqueenofelfhame]

i don't know who i think i am updating so many times this week, but here we are. enjoy it while it lasts, kiddos. and happiest of birthdays to @shyvioletcat who is the reason i even wrote this fic in the first place. love u bb 💚

rowaelin // 7k words // masterlist

The pillow beside him still smelled faintly of her perfume, yet when he reached for the warm body that should have been next to him, he found nothing but cool, rumpled sheets. Rowan let out a low groan of disappointment and rolled halfway off the bed to feel for his jeans. When he finally found his phone in the back pocket and checked the time he knew she hadn’t been gone for too long. It was only six-thirty in the morning, and he was almost positive she had been pressed against him the majority of the night. 

Gods, last night. Rowan hadn’t had sex in months, and the woman Connall had pushed toward him like an offering had been his perfect match. Everything he gave her, she had given back. She took as much as he did, and he couldn’t help himself when he sent her tumbling over the edge until she was a shaking, sweaty mess. It was, by far, the sexiest thing he had ever seen. The sounds of her breathy moans, the feeling of her cherry red nails dragging sharply up his back and over his shoulder blades, or of the way she’d pressed her fingertips into his lower back to urge him closer… Those were things he would not soon forget. He was pretty sure if he looked in the mirror, he would have the reminder of her hands etched on his skin until at least tomorrow. 

He was desperate to do it all over again with her.

It took him a moment, but he managed to find another pair of sweatpants and an old college t-shirt in the back of the closet. As the door leading to the apartment closed behind him, a heavy sigh sank from his chest. Connall had a smirk that said he knew way more than he should. The bastard. He spent so many late nights at the bar, it wouldn’t surprise Rowan if he had been there all night and heard every sound he pulled from Aelin’s soft, perfect lips. 

“Terrasen won last night.” Connall was standing in the doorway that led to the kitchen, drying a clean glass as he took in his friend. 

“I know,” Rowan grumbled, adjusting his clothes from the night before in his hands. Several of his missed text-messages had been about their victory. Apparently, it had been a close game that went into overtime. But it seemed that Orynth grew football players in the mountains, fertilizing them with the gods only knew what. 

Through the window the sky was already full of fluffy white clouds. It made it hard to be too glum. Soon the sun would be shining brightly over Varese. It was a new day, Monday was a new week, and there was still time for someone to knock Terrasen out of the winning streak that had been going on for the last two years before Rowan had to face them in a few months.

“Your girl left about an hour ago, if you were wondering.” He was, but instead of saying so he just grunted a response and headed out the door. 

The following week was his normal routine. Rowan returned to Doranelle after spending the rare off-weekend down in Varese. More than once he had tried to pry details from Connall about if Aelin had been back to the bar or not. Apparently she hadn’t, but his friend swore to let him know if she did. It had been five days and she hadn’t been seen. Was it pathetic the way he wished he had a way to contact her? Definitely. But there was something about her that he couldn’t shake, that he refused to let fade into the recesses of his mind. 

On the sixth day since meeting her, not that he was counting, he’d carried his laundry hamper downstairs to throw in the wash. Out of habit, he patted down the pockets of all his pants. Rowan had learned the hard way a few years ago that not doing so resulted in very expensive headphones being ruined in the wash. Could he afford another pair? Of course he could, but it was a waste of money when he could simply not wash them and not have to spend two hundred dollars for no reason.

There was a soft crinkling in the pocket of his jeans, one that he barely noticed. They were already halfway into the washer when Rowan fished out the folded piece of paper. Merely a receipt from any of the establishments he visited last weekend, he tossed it on top of the dryer while he finished loading the rest of the clothes and tossed in the detergent. He swiped it up again to throw away on his way out. For reasons unbeknownst to him, he decided to look at it before trashing it. Just to make sure it wasn’t from anything he might need to return later. 

When he unfolded it and saw the  writing over the top of a faded credit card transaction, his heart stopped beating. It wasn’t a receipt. Well, it was, but nothing that he had purchased. It was a note written in blue pen, words a little smudged from being folded up before the ink had fully dried. Each letter was in swooping, sloping, cursive letters with a little heart underneath. 

Just in case you need to release some more tension. I know I do. - A

The short message was followed by a series of numbers, and Rowan had never in his entire life scrambled so hard to put a contact into his phone. A tattooed finger traced over the numbers, lips mouthing the numbers in an attempt to double check himself. Without giving himself a single heartbeat to change his mind or chicken out, he pressed call. 

By now she could have forgotten about him entirely. Maybe she wasn’t interested anymore, or perhaps it had taken him too long to reach out. He did have a good reason for the latter, but she might not see it that way. There was hope that she would, though. Everything about her had seemed easy going and he doubted she would be mad that she sent him on a scavenger hunt with no directions. Maybe if he wore normal clothes instead of athletic shorts or sweats more often he would have found it sooner. It was too late to change that now, though. Impatient fingers drummed atop the counter while it rang, and rang, and rang.

Her voice chirped through the speaker, but when he opened his mouth to speak he realized it was just the recording of her voicemail. Her accent, so different from his but lovely all the same said in a teasing tone, “While it is your absolute utmost misfortune to have missed me, leave a message and I’ll call you back. Unless it’s about work. Call my work phone and we’ll talk about it.” 

 Rowan had never wished so badly to have someone’s business line in his life, but he still patiently waited for the beep. His heart was a stampede of wild horses while he waited for the beep. As soon as it sounded, he cleared his throat and immediately grimaced at himself. Idiot. Why didn’t he do that before it started recording?

“Aelin, it’s Rowan. I’m sorry it took me so long to call, but someone hid her phone number in the back pocket of my jeans and I just got around to doing laundry. I’m not in Varese this week, I’m actually in Doranelle for work. But I should be back in town soon, maybe next week, I–” The voicemail beeped, declaring the message was fully recorded and he swore colorfully as he ended the call. 

With a mind of their own, his fingers opened a new text thread and shot off a message: My voicemail got cut off, but I’d love to see you again. Let me know if you’re up for it. xx  

After pressing send, he cringed. Since when did he sign off a text message with an x? Much less two of them? He’d spent one night with the woman and now he could barely figure out which way was up and which was down. 

 Sure, he had been out of the dating game for quite some time, but he didn’t have to sound like he was. The last time he flirted intentionally had been years ago. Every other encounter had been random hookups in random cities across the world where he didn’t have to worry about following up.

Except that this time, he wanted to. There had been so much ease when he talked to her, the flirting had come naturally. It hadn’t even been wholly intentional to begin with. Rowan had never used talking about soccer as a seduction technique, but it had clearly worked on her somehow. The banter they’d shared back and forth displayed a unique type of chemistry he hadn’t experienced in a long time, if ever. He could only hope that she felt the same way and still wanted to do it all over again, too.

~*~

“I really like everything you have here, but–”

“It’s not great,” Luca interrupted, his shoulders sagging while he waited for the sharp edge of disappointment. Aelin’s lips pursed as she looked at the young man. Luca was fresh out of college as a graphic designer, and working for the Fireheart Art Foundation was his first real world job post-graduation. It made her simultaneously want to berate the insecurity out of him and comfort him by how traumatized he was from difficult professors in college. 

“I was just going to say that I want this header font to be white.” She gave him a look that portrayed exactly how she felt about how hard he tended to be on himself. “I wouldn’t have hired you to work in this office if I thought you needed to be micromanaged.” 

Luca let out a breath, nodding and sinking into one of the chairs across from her desk. Nervous hands ran up and down his thighs like he was shaking out the nerves. She understood. The feeling of mountains of pressure on you and like you had no room for error was a familiar one. Helas below, she felt like that right now. Aelin was in her mid-twenties and running a charity and she refused to let it fail. 

“I just want to do a good job.”

“And you are, my friend. I chose you and your portfolio of work out of a lineup of seasoned professionals. You bring something new, young, and fresh to the table. Your lack of experience doesn’t mean that you’re incapable of doing a good job. It just means that you’re still learning, and I want to help you with that. You don’t need to be nervous to show me something that you’ve created. If something needs to be tweaked, obviously I’m going to tell you. But you understand the brand I’m building and the image I’m putting out almost as well as I do. Be more kind to yourself,��� she said gently, a soft smile pulling at her lips. 

“You are nothing like what my professors said future bosses would be like.” Aelin laughed at the same time her personal phone started buzzing on her desk. She didn’t recognize the number and it was silenced as she handed the tablet back over to Luca. 

“I sure hope not. While I have a specific vision of things, I want you to use your creativity and have fun with it. I’m never going to give you a list of a hundred specifications. I’ll tell you what needs to be included and let you take your knowledge of our company plus your creativity so you create something you’re proud of. When you eventually move on from Fireheart, I don’t want you to have a stack of things you made for us that you aren’t proud of to show off. Okay?” Aelin’s phone pinged with a new voicemail from whoever had been calling and sighed. “Email me the file after you change the header.”

Luca gave a mock salute and flipped the tablet case closed, walking toward the door and shutting it behind him. Aelin let out a content sigh in the silence, leaning her head against the back of her hair while she gazed out the window at the city below her. She let it sink in, the work she was beginning in a new country on a different continent, an ocean away from home. 

It was easy to allow herself to feel pride in the foundation, an idea she brought to her parents a few years ago. The Fireheart Foundation began three years ago when she was twenty-two. What started as an idea to work with local underprivileged youth in Orynth soon blossomed into two, then three, then four offices scattered over Terrasen. Her home country had always taken huge pride in the arts– Orynth itself was huge on the importance of it for its young citizens. The rest of the world shared those sentiments because by its second year they were receiving global recognition. Now, on the eve of its third birthday, Aelin was expanding to Wendlyn: her mother’s home country. 

She had plenty of family in Varese. Most of Evalin’s family still lived here, Aelin’s grandparents included. Ever the proud grandfather, Ciaran Ashryver had been beyond excited to help her find an apartment until the end of November, locate appropriate office space, and had started putting out a few feelers for potential employees almost as soon as she mentioned the idea. By the time she stepped off her plane, she was all set with somewhere to live and a floor in a building downtown to begin working. 

A handful of employees from the other locations in Terrasen had arrived this morning to be hands on in helping train some of the Varese staff. New members to this office were taking positions that needed little actual training and something more like direct guidance from Aelin. Like Luca and his graphic design. He didn’t need to be trained how to do his job, just needed the push to grow into his full potential. 

Aelin’s thoughts were tugged back to reality when another small vibration from her phone had her reaching for it. Ah, right. The missed call, voicemail, and now text message from the number she didn’t know. It was a local area code– probably a new employee getting her their contact information like she’d requested. 

As soon as she saw the message preview, though, she was quick to unlock the screen. With arms braced on her desk, she scanned the message with a growing smile on her face. Rowan. He had finally found the note, it seemed. No time was wasted in saving his number to her contacts and tapping furiously to get to the voicemail. 

When Rowan was cut off mid-sentence, she laughed out loud. It was really more of a school girl’s giggle than anything, relief that he had not just texted, but called, too. It made warmth flood from her toes to her fingertips. There had just been something about him, about their matching wit and seductive teasing that left her craving more. For the first time in an extremely long time, it hadn’t felt like it was just about sex. Despite how she had kept everyone at arm’s length and refused to let them get close since her relationship with Sam had ended so poorly, things with Rowan had been different since the moment he sat beside her at that bar. It didn’t mean it would go anywhere besides a fun fling, but a kernel of hope still flickered in her chest.

She tried to think about what Lysandra would tell her to do: how long she should wait to text him back, what the rules were. It had already been nearly a week, though. Hadn’t there been enough waiting on both parts? His voicemail had sounded rushed enough that it was like he was impatient to talk to her again, too. The follow up text practically proved it. No, she wouldn’t follow silly hard-to-get dating rules. Maybe she didn’t want to be hard to get. Besides, she was only here for a few more months. It likely wouldn’t lead to anything serious, and there was no harm in having fun while she was here.

That is what Lys would want for her. Something fun and easy that she didn’t have to think too much about. That would give her release from the insanity of running an international foundation with little outside help. Having made up her mind, she tapped his contact and hit the call button. 

“Aelin?” Her name was breathless on his tongue when he picked up after the third ring. With a brow furrowed in curiosity and a small smile resting on her lips, she leaned back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling in an attempt to ignore the somersault her stomach lurched into when he said her name.

“Rowan,” Aelin drawled, entirely positive that he sighed with what sounded like relief. “Did I catch you at a bad time? You sound–”

“No, I was just– no. This is good. Perfect time, actually.”

“Are you sure?” She heard rustling on the other end, like maybe he was adjusting himself where he sat. 

“Is it embarrassing and off-putting if I tell you I lunged for my phone when I heard it ringing? I was in my bedroom and jumped onto the couch to get it before it stopped.” 

“What if it hadn’t been me calling back? Did you even check the caller ID?” The laughter that bubbled out of her was entirely involuntary. Having a man that excited to talk to her was so sweet it made her teeth ache. When had anyone ever been so forthcoming with any level of affection for her? Dorian, probably, but that was a relationship based solely on fun and most of the time he was teasing.

“No,” he grumbled. “I would have disconnected the call as soon as I got a denial it wasn’t you.” 

“That is the most adorable thing a man has ever said to me,” she vowed, her hand resting on her stomach to calm the swarm of butterflies within. 

“I’m not doing an absolute shite job, then?” There was a timidness to his voice that made her heart squeeze. What on earth did he have to be nervous about? 

“I called you back, didn’t I?” She teased, but when he didn’t answer and seemed to be waiting for a genuine response, she assured him that he was doing absolutely perfect. 

~*~

“Who the fuck has you smiling, Whitethorn?” Lorcan Salvaterre whipped his towel out to smack Rowan directly in the stomach. He immediately frowned, locked his phone, and rubbed the spot above his belly button the corner of the towel had popped. Lorcan tossed the weapon over his shoulder, sitting down on the bench in front of his cubby. The wet, dark curtain of hair hung around his face as he bent down to start shoving his match gear into the bag at his feet.

“Nobody.”

“That’s a lie,” Fenrys quipped from behind them. Rowan glared over his shoulder, knowing full well that the blonde was in complete cahoots with his twin brother. Evidently Connall had told him everything. How Fen had managed to keep his mouth shut about it all week was entirely beyond him. If it hadn’t been about his personal life, Rowan might have been impressed with his self control. “He met a girl.”

Lorcan’s head swung around, eyebrows raised high as he said, “Did we not learn our lesson from the last jersey chaser?” 

With a scowl pulling his entire face into a frown, Rowan shook his head. “It’s not like that. She doesn’t even know who I am. To be entirely honest, I don’t think she would have talked to me if I hadn’t saved her from one of Con’s mystery cocktails.”

At that, Lorcan winced. Just like he’d told Aelin, they were all too familiar with those special drinks. It didn’t matter how impressive one’s alcohol tolerance was, no one was safe. Rowan distinctly remembered a time several years back when he had to tie Lorcan’s black hair out of his face to avoid it getting in the toilet. Everyone was pretty sure he had alcohol poisoning that night, but it wasn’t totally Connall’s fault, either. Lorcan had said he could handle it. The joke was on him at the end of the night, though. Nobody could handle them as delicious as they might be. Those fuckers were dangerous. 

“Met her at the pub then?” Lorcan’s eyes were full of hesitancy and skepticism as he spoke. It seemed like he was choosing his words carefully. That topic was a tedious tightrope to walk, one that had ended in Rowan shutting down completely more than once. 

“She gave me a lot of shit about ‘soccer.’ We talked through most of the Orynth and Red Desert game.”

“And then Rowan took her upstairs and–” A sweaty pair of shorts hit Fenrys directly in the face, cutting him off with a violent gag. Always the drama king. “I just showered.”

“That’s enough out of you, boyo,” Rowan said in a tone that meant shut up or it will be my fist next time.  A few of their other teammates filtered from the showers, several of them claiming they needed full body massages STAT. Rowan was inclined to agree, but he had better things to do tonight. They had won their match against Adarlan and he was feeling lucky all around.

“You’re not… worried?” Lorcan was pulling on a fresh pair of socks as Rowan sat on the bench beside him, jaw tight. This was not something he wanted to think about right now. Aelin gave no indications that she knew who he was, and most of the girls that fawned after them for being professional athletes couldn’t make it through a whole conversation without expressing what huge fans they were. As if their obsession with his body would make him more likely to sleep with them. It was a trick that worked when he was young and stupid, but now that he was older it was just… violating. 

No, he wasn’t skeptical. It had been two weeks and soccer had only come up in the form of jokes between conversations that ranged from casual to toeing the deep-and-personal line. Their texts were as constant through the day as they could be with them both working. At night when they were both available and Rowan wasn’t completely wiped out from practice, they would have hours-long phone calls. Last night Aelin had fallen asleep mid-sentence, like she couldn’t stand to say goodnight to him even though she needed to sleep. When he realized she had dozed off, nothing but the soft huffs of her breathing coming through his speaker, he’d quietly wished sweet dreams upon her before hanging up.

Her apologies had been profuse throughout the day, but they weren’t needed. It had been a long while since anyone had taken the time to get to know him for him and not one of the world’s best center-forwards. With her, he was just Rowan. No grass-stained jerseys and golden trophies attached. Just the version of himself that he was over ninety percent of the time. 

“I’m not worried about that with her. She’s not… like that. I’m going to tell her what I do soon,  but for now she thinks I coach at the high school.” It wasn’t a complete lie. He and Lorcan did put on football camps at their old high school in Doranelle over the summer. Tirelessly, they would host two separate camps that lasted for two weeks in June and July. It was part of his job… just not his actual job right this second.

“What does she do?” Fenrys asked, shooting Rowan’s dirty shorts back over to him. He dropped them into his bag and zipped it up, slipping his feet into his slides. Vaughan came out of the showers then, bumping his fist as he passed and muttering that Rowan played well, to which he gave his friend a nod in return. 

“Charity work. She teaches piano and dance class at different art programs. For the next few months she’s doing after school lessons in Varese.” Rowan hefted the duffel up onto his shoulder, wincing as he stood. Nothing was hurt, but he wasn’t quite as young as he used to be. While he should probably spend some time in an ice bath to help his muscles recover, it was honestly the last thing on his mind. All he could think about was getting in his car and speeding down the highway to Varese.

“Please tell me you’re not about to get in your car and drive two hours to see a girl you just met immediately after a game,” Lorcan said flatly. Try as he might, it was impossible not to grin. Just a little. 

“Hate to disappoint you. Maybe you’ll understand one day when you stop being such a coldhearted dick.” It was a joke, but there was some truth to it. Lorcan had a strict policy about women during game season, and kind of in general. There would be absolutely no distractions for him during the season. He might let off some steam and have random hookups here and there, but the possibility of any sort of real relationship was off the table. During the off-season, he claimed it was time to have fun. Everyone was thoroughly convinced he would never settle down, or that it would take an absolute badass of a woman to turn him into a house-broken man. Rowan wasn’t sure that was possible. 

Lorcan grumbled mostly to himself while the rest of their lingering teammates gave Rowan encouraging slaps on the back. While he hated that it was out to his teammates and friends already, he knew it was genuine support. A few years ago he had been through absolute hell and ever since there had been a stormy cloud hovering over his head because of it.  Rowan knew Lorcan came from a good place. Everything with Lyria had ended… extremely poorly. Things with Aelin wouldn’t be like that, though. This was different. She was different. 

It had been two and a half weeks  since the first night, and their budding relationship had been strictly through text messages, phone calls, and the occasional video chat. Rowan hadn’t been able to get back to Varese because of practice, games, and her work schedule. The one night he would have been able to make it into the city, she had called him an hour before he was due to head out and explained that something came up at work that she had to deal with. It had been disappointing, but he understood. If they had lost their game today he wasn’t so sure he would be driving anywhere but home to sulk. 

With a shiny new win under his belt, he was eager as he snapped his seatbelt into place and began the two hour drive up to Verese. It would be after ten by the time he finally got there, but Aelin had insisted– was still assuring him– that it was entirely okay. Evidently she would have dinner ready for them when he arrived. His growling stomach could hardly wait. 

~*~

Rowan’s muscles throbbed dully when he pulled himself from his car a couple hours later. Thankfully he would have the rest of the night and all day tomorrow to recover before practice. He made a mental note to head in early for a little physical therapy on Monday morning.

The plan was that they would hang out for a little while before Rowan headed to his apartment in the city. While he lived primarily in Doranelle, he liked that he could be a little more low-key in Varese most of the time. It had become his second home, and a few years ago it made sense to get an apartment nearby to avoid having to crash in Connall or Fenrys’s guest room every time he was in town. Tomorrow, Rowan had vowed to show Aelin his favorite spots downtown and a few that he just had an inkling she would like. 

Based on their conversations, Aelin had quite the sweet tooth. There was a bakery on 4th avenue that was more than capable of satisfying her cravings. Less than a five minute walk from her office was his favorite coffee shop, and the heart of the city was stuffed to the brim of delicious restaurants and alluring confectionary shops she would love. The weather tomorrow would be absolutely beautiful– the perfect day to stroll downtown before the beginning of another hectic week for Rowan. For her, too, it seemed because she had days where she felt like she was putting out little fires everywhere. 

Double checking the apartment floor and number Aelin had sent over earlier that afternoon, Rowan began his climb up the stairs. It was an older building with the elevator apparently in a constant out-of-order state since she had moved in. She had both complained and apologized about it in advance, but Rowan was used to running up and down the stands during practice that it didn’t really matter.

Despite being a century old, the building had character and hadn’t slipped from its former glory. The floors were black and white marble, the wood of the staircase a deep mahogany. Gold accents were littered throughout in vases, frames, and wall sconces. Just inside the front door a glittering chandelier reflected small rainbows along the walls and floor through the crystals that dangled from its arms. Even if Rowan hadn’t known its historic significance, it was easy to imagine how it looked just after it opened. It was still a luxury apartment building, regardless of age.

His thighs ached with the ascent, feeling every stride he had taken on the field a few hours ago. Thankfully he only had to get to the second floor and a few doors down according to Aelin. Gods, he was exhausted. There was little time in a match when Rowan wasn’t on the field and throwing his all into every step he took, every kick that sent the ball flying into the goal with ease. After most games he would soak in an ice bath or get stretched out by one of the trainers, but he’d been entirely too eager to get to Varese to waste any time. Tomorrow he might regret it a little, but he would have regretted not making the drive even more.

It wasn’t until he was standing in front of her door that he started to have a small, momentary bout of  panic. How was he supposed to greet her? Did he hug her? Kiss her? They hadn’t discussed it, but then again who plans out a greeting? Rowan wanted to bang his head against the door at the knots this woman twisted his stomach into. He was being ridiculous. Rowan Whitethorn was a thirty-one year old grown man, for wyrd’s sake. Surely he could handle not fucking up as soon as she opened the door. 

As it turned out, he didn’t need to worry. Seconds after knocking, Aelin opened the door and pulled him inside by his fingers, rocking up on her toes and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek as soon as the door was closed before saying, “Hi.”

“Hi,” he replied, letting her pull him deeper into the apartment. 

Rowan had seen the space in the background of their video chats, but it became abundantly clear that Aelin had a taste for opulence. Various pieces of art were framed all over the walls, fresh flowers rested on the table tops. Several jewel-toned rugs lay upon the restored wooden floors and her couch was deep green made of plush velvet. The dining and end tables were golden and topped with marble. Even the blankets over the back of the couch were fluffy fabrics that no doubt felt like being covered with a cloud. 

A handful of boxes were still stacked in the corner of the living room, easily visible because of the open floor plan the space offered. To the left, the kitchen boasted marble countertops with golden hardware. Yes, this apartment building was still very much in its golden age, or maybe Aelin was just that skilled with decorating.

Rowan’s was a modern apartment building closer to the business district, but this one honestly blew it out of the water. In the short time she had been there, only a few weeks she had told him, Aelin had managed to make this into a home. It felt lived in and loved, like she had always been here. Despite being able to smell the slightly-musty age of the building, it was buried under layers of jasmine, lemon verbena, and the dinner she had simmering on the stove. 

“Ignore the boxes, I’m still waiting for some shelving to come in for my books and things,” she explained with the wave of her hand. As if the stack of boxes could ever take away from the magical oasis she had transformed the apartment into. Compared to this, the house in Doranelle that he had lived in for the last six years was bare and nowhere near a home. 

“Are you sure you’ve only been staying here for a few weeks?” Aelin’s laughter was bright as she walked into the kitchen and began mixing the contents of a large pan with a wooden spoon. Aelin’s legs were bare, seemingly nothing beneath the t-shirt that hung to the tops of her thighs. 

“I’m a creature of luxury. Besides, I’ll be splitting my time between here and Orynth with work.” It was admirable how much she seemed to love the kids she taught, how passionate she was about her work. Piano and dance lessons couldn’t afford an apartment like this, though. Not when she so proudly supported underprivileged areas of major cities. Rowan was sure her parents had the money to help her out, not that it mattered. That was a conversation for another day, especially when she started plating their dinner. “I hope you like pasta.” 

“Are there people that don’t?” He asked, taking both plates from her. Aelin walked past him with a bottle of wine and two glasses, heading for the couch instead of the table. 

“It should be a felony, but I’m sure some bizarre creature or a human exists out there, hating pasta with every fiber of their being.” Rowan snorted in response, handing her the plates after she sat down and folded her legs like a pretzel in front of her. The tiniest pair of shorts that he’d ever seen peaked out from beneath the hem of her shirt. 

Sitting beside her and taking his plate, he had to fight back a groan when he took the first bite. Aside from his mother, he couldn’t remember the last time someone cooked for him that didn’t involve a waitress as a go-between. It was nice to feel cared for, he realized. Even if they both knew tonight would end in her bed. 

A documentary played while they ate, conversation ebbing and flowing with ease throughout. He managed to get her talking a little more about work, how a coworker named Luca was having a hard time with confidence in what he produced but he didn’t need to be. According to Aelin, he was a brilliant young graphic designer and she hoped that with some nurturing under her wing, he would bloom to his full potential. 

When he asked about siblings, she shrugged, “I have a cousin that’s really more like my brother. We’ve been inseparable since the day I was born. Besides him, I’m an only child.” 

“So am I, but I have a hoard of cousins. I’m closest to Sellene and Endymion. Sellene would like you.” 

“What’s not to like?” She teased, eyes full of mirth as she looked at him over the top of her wine glass. The heat in her eyes gave him a vivid memory of  what she had looked like writhing beneath him. 

Gods above, he needed to get a grip.

Aelin listened intently while he talked about his mom and dad, Sellene and Endymion. Her laugh was like a tinkling bell when he recounted memories from his childhood and chimed in with her own. Both of them may have been only children, but agreed they’d never felt lonely or alone for the most part.

“There was a period when my cousin went off to college—” she paused for another sip of wine and to place her empty bowl on the coffee table. Rowan did the same. “That was the only time I felt lonely. He’s four years older than me, so it was hard to go through my entire high school experience with him not quite as close. He actually went to college in Doranelle and could only really come home for holidays. He surprised me for my 16th birthday and it was the best one I’ve ever had.” 

There was a small smile on her lips before she continued, “My parents had a limo for me and my friends to ride to the venue it was at, and I got in the car and the partition was lowered. The driver was wearing a hat and aviators, straight out of a movie. And then he said I hear we have a birthday girl in our midst and I knew it was him. I completely lost it. Best present ever.” Rowan found himself grinning along with her, her joy at the memory contagious to his core. 

“You’re lucky you didn’t have cousins that terrorized you until you were big enough to fight back.” That had been the general tone of his upbringing, but once he went through puberty and grew well over six feet tall, the teasing had calmed down a bit. Probably because Rowan could easily throw Enda over his shoulder by the point.

“Oh, gods. Believe me, we have been through it. There were times when he was annoyed that I wanted to do everything he did, and times when I was annoyed that he tried to embarrass me in front of my friends or boys that I liked. He used to sit on me and tickle me until I cried and we were constantly trying to flick each other until we were bruised like peaches. Typical sibling stuff.”

Rowan laughed, nodding as he recalled having very similar memories with Enda specifically. He could relate to the ones based in annoyance— Sellene had been a hellion. 

“Sellene used to embarrass me in front of pretty girls, too. Not that I needed help in that department. I do fine enough on my own to this day, but seventeen year old Rowan didn’t know how to talk to women at all.” 

“You’ve done alright with me.” Aelin’s small hand reached for his, lacing their fingers like she had done it a million times. Her nose wrinkled as she grinned, and he had to fight the urge to kiss her. Godsdamn, this woman. 

“I wouldn’t be so lucky if we were in high school.” At that, she laughed, making a teasing quip about his rushed voicemail and stilted text message. At the end, she reassured him it was charming and that he wouldn’t be here if she didn’t think so. 

“Some people struggle digitally. I won’t hold it to you, old man.” Rowan flicked her knee at the moniker, but couldn’t repress the smile on his lips all the same. 

~*~ 

“Rowan,” Aelin said softly, rubbing her eyes and sitting up on the couch. The man behind her released a low groan as his arm tried to pull her back down. 

After talking for what must have been hours, they settled on watching New Girl and had, apparently, fallen asleep not too long after it started. A wide yawn escaped her as she patted his thigh a few times to rouse him awake. 

“Shit, what time is it?” Rowan forced himself to sit up behind her, knocking his elbow into her shoulder in the process. Instead of cowering in pain, she started to giggle through the sleepy fog. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, it didn’t hurt,” she promised, tapping the screen of her phone. “It’s almost five.”

“I can go. I didn’t mean to fall—”

“I’m not waking you up to kick you out. I’m waking you up to come to bed with me.” Aelin stood, holding out her hand. Once she had both of his hands in hers she began to tug, taking steps backward while he pretended to protest by going nearly entirely limp against the couch. “You can sleep by yourself out here, it’s fine.” 

Dropping both of his hands she turned and made her way toward her bedroom. Aelin had only made it a handful of feet away before strong arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Rowan pressed soft kisses against her neck at the same time he lifted her entirely off the floor. Stomach flipping, she squealed while he padded toward her bedroom, finally placing her down on the bed. 

She was quick to crawl under the blankets, flipping them back so he could get in with her. He followed dutifully, slinging his shirt off and tossing it onto a little chair in the corner of her room as he sank down until his head rested against the pillow. 

Despite how easy it would be for either of them to roll onto the other and make the other unravel at the seams, she gently pecked his lips a few times. Each one lingered a little more than the last until she finally pulled away and rested her head against his chest. With his hand rubbing soothing lines up and down her back, it was easy to melt into him, eyes drifting shut as she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep that smelled like home. @elentiyawhitethornorn @autumnbabylonylon @fancysludgeshoelampelamp  @wordsafterhours @live-the-fangirl-lifee @the-hospitality-of-knivesf-knives @tangledraysofsunshine @readandlisten @westofmoon @rowanaelinn  @morganofthewildfire @writtenonreceipts @feynightlight @emster1622-blog @scarblx @secondstartorightand @thefaetrove @loveyatopluto @actuallybarb @peppermint-fae @the-devils-own @scottmcgivemeacall @livingmylifeforme  @wordsafterhours @foreverfallingforthestars @llyncooljones @emily-gsh @loosesimplicity @emilyrose111294  @charlizeed @aelinchocolatelover @cretaceous-therapod @sayosdreams @fireheart-violet @the-regal-warrior

[callmelittlemephistopheles]

Blasphemy

While having an intimate moment with Papa Emeritus IV, you call out the wrong name. Luckily for you, he's happy to help correct you.

Tags: Papa Emeritus iv x Fem!Reader, Established Relationship, Reader is not a clergy member, improper use of a satanic altar, smut, vaginal fingering, pussy eating (A LOT), overstimulation, p in v sex, slight dom/sub dynamics, religious dynamics. MDNI Word count is 1.9k

A/N: Wrote two fics about him in 24 hours. I'm so normal about him, so normal, absolutely so normal.

-

You know you fucked up because he stops. Not slowly, not teasingly, he stops all at once. Fingers continue to grip your thighs, holding them while the back of your knees rests on his shoulders, your heels digging into his back. There’s no way for you to squirm out of his hold, or to try and press yourself back down against him. He won’t let you. 

It has you rising slightly from the black marble slab, cleared of books and candles not even ten minutes ago, to rest on your elbows so you can look at him. “Copia?” 

There’s a pause, his lips and chin shining in the moonlight peeking through the glass windows. A flash of pink while his tongue runs over his lips, tasting you once more. But his gaze is firm, holding you down, and stops any urge to move. 

The words he says next punch a hole in your chest, while he tilts his head, to brush it against one knee. “So you do know my name, cara.” 

“What?” You blink at him, and suddenly panic fills the hole he’s left in your sternum. You hadn’t; no, you couldn’t have - There was no one else you wanted like this. You hadn’t even fantasized about anyone else. “Whose name did I say?” 

He stares at you, giving nothing away. But from the way he further shifts, to brush his lips over your inner thigh, you don’t think you’re in that much trouble. Not even when he bites down hard enough, that you know it’s going to leave a bruise. One he laps over with his tongue, the feeling both soothing and inflaming. 

“Copia?” you try again. This time he doesn’t even look up, firmly placing his mouth on your leg. “Papa?” 

“It’s a name that is rarely spoken in this church, cara. And definitely not one to be crying out in pleasure for.” His teeth graze over your leg, white and dark irises flick upwards and you can’t look away. The mismatched gaze always seems to hold you. “God has no place in this temple or in your pleasure. Especially not one I give you.”

Your shoulders slump a little, tension rolling off of you. Now you smirk, relaxing in his hold once more. “Should I try Satan then instead? Lucifer?” 

His lips twitch, a slight smile unpreventable on his face. It reminds you of the almost shy way he’d hold himself outside of moments like this, when you’d both be dressed. Now it’s a bit more amused than shy though as he nips at your other thigh this time. “Have I finally convinced you to believe in his dark eminence?” 

You hum, pretending to think about it. “I think I might need a few more orgasms before that.” Fucking you on Satan’s altar would help too, you’re sure of it. “I’ll need you as well.” 

“Oh, you’ll be getting me, cara.” His head moves forward, and you can feel the hot breath over your slit. Enough to have your hips tilt forward, and for his hands to run down your legs to pin them down, hooking his elbows around your thighs. Mismatched beautiful eyes meet your own, and though both look dark now. “But, after I have finished my meal.” 

His face buries between your legs, enough to startle you while also reigniting the embers of the fire he left. Long licks that run along your slit at first, before he’s moving his head with the movements. His nose presses to your clit while his tongue laps at you eagerly. 

You aren’t one to deny him a meal that he so obviously wants and settle back down. One hand grips the altar while the other moves down to brush through his hair. The action has him groaning against your pussy, and when you repeat it, he growls out his pleasure. The vibrations soar through you, while his eyes go half-lidded while he loses himself in your taste. 

His tongue is on your clit next. Flicking over it before he circles the small bud, until you’re tugging his hair and his name is said like a curse. Fingers grip your hips, drawing you even closer while his mouth closed over your clit and he sucks. 

Your ankles cross over his back, holding him there. He lets you grind out your pleasure against his face. “Papa,” it’s a whimper, and he rewards you with a hard flick of his tongue on your clit. The orgasm he tears out of you gets your legs trembling, and a cry of Copia drawing out of your mouth. 

Copia laps at you through it, taking his meal slowly while you come down from your high. But to your surprise; he doesn’t stop. 

One hand moves, leather-covered fingers dragging over your skin until his thumb is pressing to your clit. His mouth pulls away, just for a moment, “Another one, dear. I want to hear you whine and whimper for Papa now.” 

Your fingers tighten in his hair, a whine pulling you from you, as you’re left to simply take his tongue once more. His thumb pressing and circling your clit. The tongue now in your folds and lapping at you like a man starved. And he moans while he does it, swallowing your taste. 

His name is a whine that draws easily from your mouth, only revolving into a whimper when he moves to flick his tongue against your entrance before it draws back up. “Papa,” you can feel it building again already, your thighs shaking from the sensitivity from before. 

He stops, but it’s slower this time. Kisses against your sensitive skin before he moves away. “That’s it, amore.” His thumb moves away next, but it’s so he can drag his fingers down. Two press against your cunt right before they slip in, easily even on his thick fingers. “Fuck.” It’s a growl, fingers thrusting into you while his mouth goes back to your clit. 

It doesn’t take long, only a few moments before you’re back on the edge. And this time he doesn’t stop. 

“Papa, Papa, Papa-” His title is a mantra; a prayer while you feel your thighs box him in. His fingers curl and thrust perfectly in and out of you, wiggling just so against that one spot. The sound that rips through you is a whimper of his title, that breaks down into a sob until finally, he stops. 

He moves slowly, sliding his fingers out and giving one last lap at your over-sensitive folds before he’s adjusting your legs. Your thighs remain open, so he can stand between them. Gloved hands, one now slightly wet, rub up from your thighs to your waist. Kisses are peppered over your throat and chest once he raises himself up, with soft whispers of praise accompanying them. 

Finally, he says your name and you meet his gaze. The heat is still there but a softness too. “You’re alright?” 

You nod, swallowing and spreading your legs a little further. You’re sensitive but already you know you need him. “Copia, please-”

Fingers dig into your hips to silence your begging before he moves to unlace his trousers. His cock comes out, red and leaking at the tip. You can feel it, hot and heavy when he lets it drop against your folds, grinding against them until his cock must be shining. 

“Fucking hell.” It’s a hiss between his clenched teeth and one hand is moving off of your hip to grip the base of him. 

His hiss has you laughing, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Blasphemous.” 

There’s no response of words, just the tip of him rubbing over your entrance. Your own hands come up his chest, gripping his shirt when you can feel him start to press in. Tugging him down at that first thrust and your mouths meet. 

The kiss is as vicious as his thrusts. Teeth and tongue meeting while he pounds his way into you, hands moving to dig bruises into your hips. Your own hands slide over his back, holding him to you while you can hear the sound of skin slapping with each of his thrusts, can feel your body jerking from the force of them. 

When your mouths pull away, his eyes are blazing with fire. “Mine.” It’s a growl, no longer the soft Copia you know but full-fledged Papa Emeritus. “You’re mine. Not even he can have you.” 

“Fuck, Copia-”

“I am your fucking god here.” His hips roll into your own hard, and you can feel yourself building up again. When you close your eyes, one hand is quick off of your hip to grip your jaw. “I did not say you could close those.” 

You open them but when your lips part to defend yourself, he slips his thumb inside your mouth instead. Pressing the digit against your tongue, he speaks harshly. “Look at you.” It’s a snarl, his hips snapping into you. “My whore. My w-worshipper. Fuck, cara. Touch yourself. Need to feel you cum around me.” 

His hand releases you, to press instead beside your head while your own hand snakes down between the both of you. A few circles of your clit and you’re crying out his name again, your entire body trembling while he pounds you through it.

“You feel so fucking good.” Fingers curl beside your head, creating a fist against the altar while the other grips your hip. He’s simply using your body as leverage now, while he fucks into you, chasing his orgasm. “So perfect, cara. So f-fucking perfect. Shit!” 

He buries himself into you when he finally cums. His cock throbs and twitches, leaving you quite warm and content feeling. Copia doesn’t pull out right away, panting above you, eyes dilated and big. 

Once you can feel your heartbeat calm, you raise both of your hands to his cheeks. His make-up is horribly smudged, most of it gone besides the black circles around his eyes. You draw him down, and both sigh when your foreheads touch. Resting like that for what should be for a moment but quickly turns into a few minutes. A soft embrace in silence while you both recover fully. 

He moves after that, drawing out of you. A pause while he still stands between your legs and you roll your eyes when he smiles at the mess he’s left you. 

Fingers brush over your thighs and hips, gently rubbing over the marks already beginning to appear while he closes your legs far more gently than how he had just treated you. His hands leave for a moment to tuck his cock back into his pants.“Can you walk?”

You probably could, but you already know what he’s offering here, so you ham it up just a bit. “My legs feel like jello.” 

“Really?” His tone suggests he doesn’t believe you at all. But one arm is already tucking under your knees, and you sit up to let him slide the other across your back. Your own arms wrap around him, and he only gives a small grunt as he adjusts his back. “Okie dokie.”

You smile, pressing a kiss to his throat. “Are you sure you can carry me, my dark eminence?” 

His gaze darkens again, a flick of it to you before he’s carrying you out of the hall and back to his chambers. “It’s not wise to tease a god.” 

“But I think he enjoys it rather much.” 

“Sometimes.” He admits, with a smile. Lips brush over your forehead while he continues to carry you back to your rooms. “But he much prefers to tease you.” 

[g-oblincat]

One of my favorite manga ended 3 hours ago and I must talk about it

I actually wrote this two days ago and of course, the finale comes out RIGHT when I was about to post lol

On Twitter, I used to maintain a yuri manga recommendation thread to keep track of what I read and recommend my fav works to others. Now that I'm back on Tumblr, a platform that actually allows you to write why you like something, I want to start doing more in-depth recommendations. Starting with this one!

Koroshiya Yametai (I Wanna Quit Being a Hitman!) by Tonoki Sun

Rose is a hitman who dislikes her job, but she has one thing to look forward to: dates with her girlfriend, Benika. However, not wanting to go on dates with a guilty conscious, she always confesses her sins (murder) to a priest in a confessional booth that hides both their faces. The priest, Father Shirafune, happens to be Benika’s actual biological father.

Rose doesn’t know the priest she’s told about all her jobs to is Benika’s father. Benika doesn’t know Rose is a hitman, and is also keeping her queer relationship secret from her religious father. Shirafune is curious about his daughter’s new “boyfriend”, and has no idea the “boyfriend” is the person who keeps confessing murders to him.

The initial chapters of Hitman remind me of Spy x Family, where the comedy and appeal comes from the dramatic irony and near misses of each character trying to keep their own secrets, but the tone is different. There’s definitely lightness and comedy there, but underlying is a story of Rose, a refugee fleeing her war-torn home and being forced to work as a hitman in a rich country who doesn’t care about her people. She’s a pawn for greater political powers, and the story is how she tries to break out of that.

A quick, non-spoiler list of why I like this manga - if any of these appeal to you, I beeeeg you to read this comic:

Really cute loving relationship between the main couple! But also: well-fleshed characters outside the main couple! Father Shirafune is GREAT

Plot is more political than I expected, in what feels like a very grounded, real way. The main plot of the story is about refugees that are discriminated against and mistreated and what happens in a country when that mistreatment reaches a boiling point.

I need to think more about the story to be confident in talking about this outside of surface-level observations, so I desperately want smarter people to read it so I can also see their takes haha

The writing is just GOOD and appeals to me specifically. The plot is fast-paced with no filler. There’s a good balance of comedy, lovely moments between the couple, action where you can see Rose get out of tough situations (more on this in the spoilers), and scheming and double-crossing between various political powers.

I read this comic on Dynasty Scans, translated by Gouma-Den. The site’s tags are usually good for content warnings - the main ones are violence/killing/etc. There isn’t a ton of gore though. I believe the raws are here. I don’t think it’s licensed as of me writing this, but you bet I’m buying it all if/when it is.

I want to ramble more about what I like about it below, but it will contain **spoilers**! All images are from the Dynasty Scans translation.

The precise way action scenes are written

The action scenes are super fun to read. Most of them are about Rose escaping pursuers in clever ways that don’t give out her identity, and focus on the steps she took to prepare for these situations and how she outsmarts her enemies. There is a similar appeal here to detective or heist stories where Rose is put in a tough spot, and you see how her knowledge and wild amount of foresight let her escape.

In general, I like the scenes where characters are thinking to themselves and trying to problem-solve in any manga, and this happens a lot in this manga. One of my favorite scenes is when Rose tries to figure out if Benika’s new friend is another hitman, without tipping off either of them.

I just think this is soooo cool. The story is full of Rose’s cleverness in these kinds of situations that is so fun to read.

The romance

The romance is so sweet. The girls have an adorable meet-cute and throughout the story, you really see why Rose likes Benika- she’s kind and energetic but doesn’t hesitate to give Rose a piece of her mind when needed. Rose clearly loves Benika a lot and is always thinking of her. The characters’ interactions feel cute but realistic, and they’re fleshed out outside of the romance, which makes me like them more as people and root for them more.

But also (huge spoilers ahead, please skip this paragraph if you plan on reading this at all) it’s soooo yuri to have one girl try to make a huge high-stakes emotional sacrifice for the other one while confessing that it’s all for love. And it happens in the latest chapter and I went wild.

The themes the story tackles outside of the romance

This to me is both the most striking part of the story!

The first, smaller thing that stands out is Benika and her hesitance to tell her father about her relationship because she assumes her father is homophobic since he’s clergy. Father Shirafune is not homophobic actually and the two have a good relationship otherwise, but it stands out that this is a consideration Benika has. I feel like a lot of yuri is characterized by being only about romance, not identity or society. Characters will like girls, but not be gay. I don’t think this is a bad thing- it’s a characteristic of the genre and TBH in my head, it’s the difference between yuri and LGBTQ manga. However, that’s why this aspect of the story stood out to me- it serves to show queerness plays a bigger part of Benika’s character and the world, is an important motivator in the story, and is good worldbuilding. It also is important because it adds to the grounded tone of the story- it’d be weird to have a story that is full of politics and religion otherwise but say nothing about the two main characters’ queerness.

Speaking of the politics of the story, the main non-romance plot is about how the unspecified first-world country the story takes place in (probably Japan, even though they never say?) treats refugees. There are multiple chapters about how poorly the refugees are treated, and what will happen to the country if it goes too far unaddressed (and if the country deserves what it gets).

This sequence of panels in one of the latest chapters was really good!

That’s it! The Dynasty translation is nearing the end of the comic (EDIT: It got posted right before posting this LOL that's what I get for being slow) so it’s a great time to catch up! Please read this comic and talk to me about it!!!

[ecileh]

You (Dark!Azriel x his own delusions)

Canon-compliant reimagining of Azriel’s crush on Mor as a delusional nice guy stalker’s obsession. I wrote this a while ago after a silly joke about Azriel being like Joe Goldberg of You (book/netflix show about a stalker/serial killer who’s completely sure he’s just a nice guy) and always meant to give it another chapter or two to round out Az’s pre-ACOTAR backstory. But I reread it and felt like it was kinda alright as is. Intended as a one shot for now but may write the rest someday!

(Also note to Az lovers that this is really not serious, I usually write Azriel completely different and I was just having fun imagining him as an insane freak)

AO3 link

Rating: Mature/not graphic but it’s DARK and UNHINGED Word Count: 2.1k TW: unhinged stalker vibes, no smut just Azriel being insane, sexless but very horny, inspired by Joe Goldberg/You so that should give you an idea of what’s happening here, maybe a little dead dove Relationships: kind of Az/Mor but not really it’s 100% in his head, if anything this ended up giving repressed Az/Cassion vibes

You winnow into the war-camp with your bare arm linked through Rhys’s and you look around, shivering, unsure if you belong here. You don’t. I don’t either. You’re underdressed—a slinky, artful arrangement of glittering black fabric. It’s impossible to know if you’re wearing any undergarments, but I don’t think that you are. Where did you come from?

Your clothes are appropriate for the Hewn City, but you’re freezing in this war-camp, high in the Illyrian mountains. You must be Rhys’s cousin, the one who is Cassian’s age, which is two years younger than me and one year older than Rhys. You are classically beautiful, with golden curls and pleading brown eyes and pale skin that has never seen sun or snow or scars. Shadows, though, you’ve certainly seen in the Hewn City. Maybe you won’t balk from mine. But even as I think that, my shadows shrink away. Maybe they’re just giving you the space to shine.

Look at you, walking right toward me. I’m trembling, and I’d fly away just to show you the power and size of my wings. But I don’t want to fly away. I want to be here, watching the connection dawn on your face when Rhys introduces us. Azriel, you’ll say. I’ve heard so much about you.

You’ll giggle and twirl your golden hair as I say, Only good things, I hope.

You come closer. Your gown tucks between your legs when you walk and you are definitely not wearing any undergarments under that slip of a dress and you definitely wanted me to notice. I see there’s a darkness in your eyes.  It doesn’t quite mirror mine, but … maybe you don’t want good.

Scratch out my last line. Your eyes will smolder and you’ll bite your lip as I purr, Only bad things, I hope.

The bad things are what I’ll do to you, you’ll say before running a delicate finger along the waistband of my leathers. Then I’ll sweep you up into my arms and unfurl my wings and fly until we find a spot where no one will be able to hear us. Miles, if I’m right about how loud I’ll make you climax.

Calm down, Azriel. They don’t like it when a male smells aroused the first time you meet, I remind myself. I take a deep breath, taking in the scent of my brother-in-arms next to me. Cassian reeks like sweat and balls and blood and dirt. He really should bathe before dinner, especially since we have all the hot water we want in the cabin, but he grew up half-feral, like a kitten without a mother to teach it how to lick its asshole clean. Some days he’ll train the extra half-hour rather than fill the tub, and sometimes he’ll continue to drill after dinner until he’s too tired to bathe at all. He picked a terrible day to go without a scrub before dinner, what with your arrival, but it’s good news for me. There are many Illyrian females who make eyes at him, the perfect rogue and dashing Illyrian warrior, even if he’s as bastard-born as I am. But your palate is more refined than these brutish Illyrians. You’ve run away from your home and I can’t wait to run away from mine. You’ll understand.

I put my hands in my pockets so you don’t see the shaking or the scars, then tilt my chin up and smirk. It’s what Rhys does when he’s trying to look nonchalant, and he looks damn good doing it so he must be doing something right. I straighten, but Cassian is slouching so we look about the same height side by side. Thanks, brother. He knows, my wingman—he knows you are for me.

But then you sashay right past the pair of us, still clinging to Rhys’s arm, and you glance furtively around the camp, nearly empty with everyone else in the mess tent for dinner, as you accompany your cousin into the Lady’s cabin.

I glance at Cassian, and he shrugs, lifting his shoulder slightly to sniff his armpit. “Should I have rinsed? You don’t think the Lady will scold me since we have company?”

Rhys’s mother, the Lady of the Night Court, is like our foster-mother and used to make us wash before dinner and again before bed if we went back to the training ring, but now that we’re preparing in earnest for the Blood Rite she usually looks the other way when Cassian pushes himself every free minute of the day. She’s Illyrian through and through, and she understands that the rules in the war-camps are different from the rules in the two cities of the Night Court, where neither of us have ever gone but will someday serve at Rhys’s side.

You, however, are High Fae from the Hewn City, and you’ll care about that etiquette. You’ll notice that I’m clean and smell nice and have manners and that Cassian stinks like sweaty balls and looks like hell, and then you’ll surely choose me over him, unlike the Illyrian camp females who like their males brutish and smelly and foul-mouthed.

I smile and slap a hand on Cassian’s shoulder. “If it were important, Rhys or the Lady would have given us a heads-up.” Cassian shrugs and follows me into the cabin.

We sit down at the table with Rhys and wait for him to explain because you’re nowhere to be seen, and neither is the Lady. The shadows whisper to me that she is giving you something warm to wear. You shivering, little thing, I could give you something warm, wrap my wings around you—

You come out of the Lady’s bedroom and I’ve changed my mind, because warm clothes means more layers for me to peel off. Even though I can’t see the bare skin of your arms and sides and legs anymore, I can imagine them with the way the warm Illyrian bodice and fur-trimmed skirts cling to your silhouette. Even better, I can imagine removing each piece one by one, slowly and with care.

The Lady smiles and shows you to a seat the good-smelling side of the table between me and Rhys, just as I’d hoped. The Lady takes the seat next to Cassian, then clears her throat and says, “Cassian, Azriel, you boys have heard us mention Rhys’s cousin. Morrigan is going to stay with us for a few weeks.”

Morrigan. A hard, consonant, ancient name. But your friends—Rhys—call you Mor.

Mor, a sweet sound I can’t get enough of. I need more Mor. Do you even have any other friends besides your cousin? I don’t think you’d be here on this cold, windy, unforgiving mountaintop if you did, Mor. I can see in your eyes and hear in the Lady’s voice that you’re hiding from something and we are the only ones who can save you.

That’s why you followed Rhys here. That’s why the Lady is keeping you here with us instead of sheltering you in Velaris, where the Lady was supposed to move next week, because she’s pregnant and the best Healers are in Velaris and an Illyrian war-camp is no place to give birth to a High Lord’s scion. But she’s changed her plans because she knows we—Rhys and me and Cassian too, I guess—are your protectors. She knows we—I—will keep you safe from whatever it is in the Hewn City that haunts your eyes.

I learn so much about you at dinner, Mor, and most of all, I learn how much you need a male like me: powerful, polite, protective. A strong male. A good male.

You’re quite possibly the most powerful and coveted female on this entire island, except maybe that monster in a High Fae body that the High Lord only tolerates for fear that she’ll waste the entire court, though she is only coveted by those with a death wish.

You’re running from an arranged marriage to some sadistic little teenaged tyrant, the eldest son of the High Lord of Autumn. The whole family has a reputation for torturing small animals and breeding females like livestock—the Lady of Autumn is already on her third or fourth pregnancy in fifteen years, practically unheard of for High Fae, and you swear you’ll never breed which is perfectly fine by me.

My childhood was so fucked up, the last thing I want is to witness someone else have a good one.

Your power-hungry father has traded you for an alliance as if a single court is all you are worth. Everyone here sees your worth is beyond measure and has vowed to do what we can to free you. The Lady is going to beseech her husband to let you take permanent refuge in Velaris. But my brothers and I know he will never listen to her. I notice that Rhys and Cassian both set their jaws and sit up a little straighter because they are ready to stand behind me as I slowly tear your fiancé and your father limb from limb to end this ridiculous engagement.

Once a glimmer of hope sparks in your eyes, Rhys teases and goads you. He knows you, knows that this is the best way to bring you out of the misery that this arranged marriage has caused you. Soon you’re goading him back. Little do you know that this is my and Cassian’s favorite subject. We usually keep it to the training ring and don’t mock Rhys like this at home out of respect for the Lady, but she sees how you start to glow as the jokes start rolling. Because Rhys laughs good-naturedly, so does she and so do you.

Cassian gets some good jabs in but his humor is crude and loud and sometimes surreal and absurdist, and Rhys is appropriately self-deprecating, but you, Mor, you’re more like me. My jokes are dry and wry and quiet and cutting, and though I have fewer of them, they mean more because they make you laugh that much harder than anyone else’s.

I can feel this chemistry between us growing. Like a bond.

At one point, mirthful tears streaming down your cheeks, you hold yourself together by placing a warm, dainty hand on my shoulder. Frankly, it’s a little forward of you, to make me imagine how that hand will feel on my cock or my wings. You are already marking me as your territory in front of Cassian, the only other male whom you might have deigned to touch in this camp but you chose me. I have to stop myself from leaning into your touch like a cat so I don’t come on too strong, but it’s the best feeling I’ve experienced since the first time I flew on my own.

As we clear the table I don’t even mind that you say you’re tired and want to go to sleep early because I can’t wait to learn what secrets the shadows in your room have to tell me.

Will you dream of me and touch yourself? Will you whisper my name in your sleep?

I wish I had known sooner that Rhys’s cousin Mor was you because I would have whispered to the many shadows of the Hewn City and learned everything there was to know before you even got here so that I could have catered to all of your tastes. You probably would have already been in my bed if that were the case, but I don’t mind playing this longer game with you.

Mor the truth speaker and Azriel the shadowsinger.

We’ll be each others’ first and only,  and when you’re this well-matched and immortal and powerful—and let’s face it, until Rhys inherits his title and the power along with it, we’re the most powerful beings in this entire Court besides the aforementioned she-monster and the High Lord himself—these things are worth waiting for. Mates.

I barely sleep in the living room where three cots have been set up in order to give you and the Lady each your own bedroom in the little cabin. I try to ignore my brothers’ snores and listen only to the whispers of my shadows as they relay every detail of your night to me. Like me, you’re restless, tossing and turning until your hand slips below the waistband of your pajamas. I listen—respectfully—to the little sounds you make, the way your breath evens out as you finally drift into fitful sleep. As for me, I keep watch all night, my shadows swirling through the corners of your room and around the camp, ensuring that I’m ready to fight if anyone comes.

But no one does. Rhys was right to bring you to the edge of the world, where I can watch over you.