#but if i didn't have a will to live before reading the assignment it's because of another professor's assignment

[committingwarcrimes]

me every single time i read my professor's assignments

[after-nine-at-the-oasis]

I desperately just want to sleep

[centrally-unplanned]

There are two big "AI Art Discourse" events of note recently, which I thought were interesting: ACX's "AI Art Turing Test" and the new paper on "AI Poetry Beating Human Poetry". Both of these I think reveal the shape of "what is AI art for", and also say a lot about how these results were utilized in discourse.

To take the latter first, some academics quizzed people on some poetry and had these results:

We found that AI-generated poems were rated more favorably in qualities such as rhythm and beauty, and that this contributed to their mistaken identification as human-authored. Our findings suggest that participants employed shared yet flawed heuristics to differentiate AI from human poetry: the simplicity of AI-generated poems may be easier for non-experts to understand, leading them to prefer AI-generated poetry and misinterpret the complexity of human poems as incoherence generated by AI.

More human than human poems! This certainly seems impressive - and it is. You couldn't have gotten these results ~5 years ago. But that maybe doesn't mean as much as you might think? Because here is the opening half of the winning "Walt Whitman AI" Poem:

I hear the call of nature, the rustling of the trees, The whisper of the river, the buzzing of the bees, The chirping of the songbirds, and the howling of the wind, All woven into a symphony, that never seems to end. I feel the pulse of life, the beating of my heart, The rhythm of my breathing, the soul's eternal art, The passion of my being, that burns with fervent fire, The urge to live, to love, to strive, to reach up higher. I see the beauty all around, the glory of the earth, The majesty of mountains, the miracles of birth, The wonder of the cosmos, the mysteries of the stars, The poetry of existence, that echoes near and far

This fucking sucks. Straight up 2/10 poem. Did this bitch seriously establish the world's most predictable rhyme scheme only to try to rhyme wind with end? You had one job that you chose for yourself, and you screwed it up! This poem has been written a million times before, and says nothing - the Miley Cyrus lyrics of verse.

The reason this won is, yes, because AI tools have advanced heavily in the past few years. But it is also because it is being tested on a dead art. No one cares about poetry - certainly not the survey respondents:

We asked participants several questions to gauge their experience with poetry, including how much they like poetry, how frequently they read poetry, and their level of familiarity with their assigned poet. Overall, our participants reported a low level of experience with poetry: 90.4% of participants reported that they read poetry a few times per year or less, 55.8% described themselves as “not very familiar with poetry”, and 66.8% describe themselves as “not familiar at all” with their assigned poet. 

"Or less" is doing a LOT of work there; "yeah I read a few nonfiction books a year" oh sure, totally. 90% of these respondents haven't read a poem that wasn't displayed in the end credits of Minecraft since high school. No one does, poetry as a medium is essentially a relic. That isn't an insult to poets, by the way! There is no shame in being a niche. Not everyone can have the reach of hentai doujin artists; the community is small but they get a ton out of it. But you can't take the art of the community and expect that art to hit outside of it.

This survey didn't ask people to evaluate art; it asked people to evaluate their stereotypical impression of an art they don't care about. It was ~600 people hired off a website, they banged it out ASAP and moved on. This is not to invalidate the results; I am not actually claiming that "real" poets would have scored much better? Maybe, I don't know - that just isn't very relevant.

Let's swing to the AI Art Turing Test results to get more into why. Again, AI art is absolutely "art" in the sense that it is able to pass the test handily. You have to be head-in-the-sand at this point to think that AI can't make an impressionist painting a la the "most liked" art in this contest:

I have seen the "well real paintings have physicality this is a jpeg" discourse points and the cope couldn't be more real - 99% of art consumption in the modern world is digital or at least prints, let's get you back to bed grandma. But I did find it pretty funny that Scott noted this AI piece as one he particularly liked:

Because it is nonsensical, right? All that "faded paint", how was it originally painted - just bucket splashes of red and blue? What are those random doors, the random stairs going nowhere on the sides, the vague-nothings engravings? Scott just didn't care about that - he liked the vibe, right? Ancient ruins, epic scale. It isn't a coincidence that the Impressionist art did the best - current AI tools are always impressionist, they have an idea of the vibe and invent the details in between. In Impressionism that is the whole point.

Now the trap is to go "REAL artists can tell because of this or that" because idk, the tools might get better, they might fill in more and more details. The real revelation here is that you don't need the tools to get better - visual art isn't so different from poetry. Most people don't pay attention to it all that much. You see thousands, thousands of pieces of art a week; you probably don't even realize how many. Do you really care if the fading paint makes coherent sense on a billboard ad or a doctor's office wall painting? So much art that is made is "industrial" in this sense - it has no need to be good. Only good enough to fulfill its utilitarian role. In these fields AI absolutely is going to Take Your Jobs in some form, and already is (though imo not a ton of them). And it won't really bother most people. This can go pretty deep - I promise you people are "utilizing" AI porn right now. They are ~appreciating the details~ way more than is typical, the product is working.

All this works until it doesn't, though. When it is an art book by a favourite artist whose vision you want to pour over, learning that all the individual details were just made by AI completely defeats the purpose, right? Imagine reading a book of these poems. Outside of the novelty, "AI is the point" factor you would rather watch infomercials on repeat, I can't imagine a more pointless use of my time. "Reading arbitrary poems" is never fun, regardless of the quality of the poems. Most people don't care about poetry! The reason you care is that you care about the poet, and what they want to say. You read poetry with context, it being inserted with intent into the pages of a manga, at the end of a video game, because you like the artist and follow them on twitter. The quality of the prose isn't more important than that.

Which is a harsh limit for all of these kinds of tests. They essentially aren't testing art, right? You do not ever get paid twenty bucks to sit down and read a dozen poems and score them. That has no bearing on how you would actually ever learn to care about a poem. Which doesn't make AI art useless or anything, more that these tests will very quickly run into their limits of what they can meaningfully tell you. The actual bar is "creating something someone cares about". From that lens, I fully believe hybrid methods that privilege artistic intent are currently working and will improve. But I think for "solo" AI art getting that to work is going to be complicated.

[1d1195]

Dolcezza Extra II

Read Dolcezza here | ~2.4k words

From me: something sweet and sexy

Warnings: smut, oral, and nothing else except some fluffy bits

Summary: She's had a long day and Harry wants to make it better.

There was a knock on her door immediately followed by Harry’s key unlocking the door. Harry always knocked even though she assured him it wasn’t necessary. “Jus’ want you t’know s’me,” he shrugged when she told him. She glanced up from her desk to see Harry enter. “Hey Principessa,” he smiled tiredly. A double at the restaurant on a Saturday was brutal. But it was especially brutal during the holiday season when people flitted in and out between shopping for gifts and getting holiday dinners done with extended friends and family.

He looked exhausted.

She knew the feeling.

“Hi baby,” she smiled. Even if he was tired, he was still really pretty and lovely. She didn’t know he was going to come up after his shift. Sometimes after a double, he wanted to go home and shower. But today he seemed to be in need of some snuggles.

She was still working. Which made Harry a bit insane. On a Saturday night. She could see it in his eyes as he crossed the room. His exhaustion slowly replaced by worry for how much she was doing. What did she prioritize today that resulted in her being unable to do something she loved and had to catch up on work at a late hour? Did Emma have a math assignment she needed to look over? James and Ethan needed her help with cleaning? Or did her mom ask her for help booking a hotel for the family wedding in the coming month?

Harry hated his double shifts not only because he couldn’t see her, but because he couldn’t take her control (just a hair) so that she wouldn’t end up working at eleven at night on a Saturday. “Bad day?” She asked.

He rolled his eyes. He was tired, but it wasn’t a bad day. Honestly, he had fun at work. He and Niall worked well together so unless it was busy and understaffed, it never felt much like work. “No, kitten. M’annoyed you’re working.”

She dropped her gaze. “I like working,” she reminded him.

“Shouldn’t be working at eleven at night,” he reminded her.

“Well, I was going to read but then I was really into this plan I’ve created. I wanted to make sure I got it done before I lost my train of thought. The data I’m looking at has this really cool model and I was analyzing it, and it looked like it was trending down, but I think it’s actually trending up—” She stopped mid-sentence, her cheeks turning that beautiful shade of pink that Harry fell in love with. “Sorry, you’re tired.”

He smirked. “M’jus’ glad y’didn’t stress yourself doing stuff for your family.”

She looked at her lap. “Do you want me to be honest?” She sighed softly.

He sighed rubbing his hand over his face. “Principessa,” he tutted.

She frowned, fidgeting her fingers while Harry sat beside her. “They’re just so helpless Harry.”

“I know, kitten. But they’re all adults.”

“Barely,” she grumbled.

Harry sighed, pulling her into his lap and kissing the top of her head. He was glad all that had happened in this apartment didn’t deter her from living in it. Harry loved this apartment. Loved that it was right above him while he worked, that she was never too far away from him. “How much time do y’need?” He asked rubbing the back of his head. He didn't want to give her time. But he wanted her to be happy. Work did make her happy and he knew she would feel guilty if she didn't finish it and it would spiral into her worrying more anyway.

“Twenty minutes.”

“Twenty. I’ll take a shower. Then we can go t’bed, yeah?”

She nodded. “Sounds like a plan,” she pressed her hands on either side of his face and brought her mouth to his. “You made garlic bread and didn’t bring me any,” she frowned licking her lower lip.

He snorted. “Niall told me t’leave,” he shook his head. “He’ll bring some up when he’s done cleaning up.”

She smiled delightedly. “I have the best life,” she sighed dreamily, falling back into her swivel chair dramatically. Harry kissed her forehead.

“Don’t work too hard, Principessa.”

*

Harry enjoyed the warmth of the shower and felt a little more like himself when he returned to her in the living room. Her eyes still focused on her screen; the pinch of her brow puckered in complete concentration. “Um...any chance you’d be okay with like ten more minutes of me working? Emma called me because...well, I don’t want to bug you with the details, but she needed my help and—”

Harry knew whatever it was, she was putty to her younger sister’s request. She was too sweet, his pretty princess. “S’fine, but m’gonna help,” he turned her desk chair, so she spun to face him. She frowned.

“Hey, I was—”

He ignored her protest and lifted her from the chair to the desk lifting underneath her thighs. Harry was glad she was wearing her sleep shorts. The ones with an impractical slit on either side of her hips. A T-shirt that didn’t match swam around her frame. One that she bought because it was easily three sizes too big.

“Harry,” she tried again, steadying herself with hands on his arms as he gently pushed her laptop away from her reach followed by the notebook and pen she used to jot down her notes and to-do list. “I was—”

Harry watched her eyes and slid his hand up the inside of her thigh, through the leg opening, and pressed his fingers right past her underwear, between her folds, and directly onto her clit. Cutting her off with a gasp. “You were what?” He asked softly. Even if she wanted to talk she couldn’t. “M’jus’ going t’take care of you, Principessa. Y’do too much for everyone else. S’only fair.” Her heart rate was flying, and it mirrored the rapid fluttering of her eyelashes as Harry searched gently between the soft sensitive skin between her thighs. “S’that okay?” He asked.

She nodded breathlessly.

“Good,” he sighed. “Love t’take care of you,” he murmured and knelt down so his head was between her thighs. “Y’okay, kitten?”

She nodded again. “Please,” she whispered shyly.

“Aw, y’don’t have t’beg, Principessa. I’ll give y’anything y’want,” he winked, tugged the fabric that was in his way from between her thighs, and then pressed his mouth to her center. She gasped leaning forward, threading her fingers through his hair for balance. His locks were still damp from his shower, and she knew she would mess up the curls and flow from messing with it before it was dried. She hoped she could blame it on bed head.

She supposed in some ways it was bed head.

She moaned quietly as his mouth devoured her. Suckling and licking at her just the way she liked. Harry loved to be between her thighs. It was a regular part of their foreplay, and it never ceased to amaze her how deliriously good it felt. His lips and tongue were sinful. The man was so sweet looking and downright boyish with his cheeky sweet grin. For fucks sake he called her a princess in another language. “Y’can moan louder, baby. Y’know it’s soundproof,” he murmured kissing her thigh as he spoke to her before he wrapped his lips around her clit.

Just like that. Her sweet boyfriend was anything but sweet when he said stuff like that. When he swirled and lapped at her clit the way he was. It was dizzying.

She whined pulling on his hair to press him harder against her core. He moaned against her as she did. The vibration caused her body to react instinctively. Her thighs tightened around his head, and he moaned again. “That’s good, Principessa,” his voice was practically thoughtful. “So good, kitten. S’that feel good?”

She nodded. “Yes, yes, yes,” she whispered the repeated word as if it was all the same syllable.

“You’re so good, Principessa. Jus’ want t’make y’feel good,” he nipped at her inner thighs while he spoke his breath cooling off her wet skin. She was simply soaked between her arousal and Harry’s mouth. “All jealous ‘bout garlic bread," he teased, shaking his head. "Y’taste better than anything we make,” he mumbled and traced his tongue down her slit then back up, running a tantalizing circle around her clit again. Her eyes actually rolled back in her head. She thought that was only in books and for dramatic show in movies. She didn’t know Harry could really make her eyes look for the back of her brain. He sucked hard on her clit making an obscene slurping noise that would have embarrassed her if her place wasn’t soundproofed to near silence. Although she thought the moan she released could have broken the barrier. “Y’make such sexy noises, kitten,” he groaned and continued to torture her with pleasure.

“Harry,” she gasped.

“What Principessa? Y’close? Y’want me t’make y’come?” She nodded shamelessly; wanting it so bad she thought she would cry if he denied her (as if he could ever dream of denying her anything). “M’jus’ going t’touch—”

She cried out as he pressed his finger into her. His lips wrapped around her clit while his tongue continued circling around the sensitive nub. He rubbed his finger against her walls, once more feeling around expertly, the way she liked that made her toes curl.

The smug son of a bitch smiled against her as she clenched lightly around him. “That’s it, Principessa. Want you t’come all over me,” he moved his finger in and out at a faster pace timing it with his licks so that she was nearly worried she was going to pass out from pleasure.

“Oh fuck, yes,” she whimpered, and Harry groaned right against her.

“Keep going, baby,” he hummed fingering her and licking her like it was the only thing he planned on doing. “There it is, good kitten,” he praised which only made her melt into a puddle.

Her orgasm seemed to last way longer than she thought possible. Her thighs kept squeezing around him after it officially stopped. Like she was trying to hold onto the final waves of pleasure. “Do y’want another?” He inquired thoughtfully once more.

Another orgasm, especially of that caliber, would definitely make her pass out.

“No thank you,” she whispered.

He chuckled and kissed the inside of her thigh. He pulled her clothing back into the correct position and he sat in her office chair before he pulled her into his lap. She could feel how hard he was through the shorts he was wearing as she fell into his hold. He kissed her neck, wrapping one arm securely around her waist. The other hand found her inner thigh, slightly sticky with sweat, arousal, and Harry’s saliva. It was hot and messy, but Harry didn’t seem to care. Probably because he was responsible for the mess. Instinctively, she squeezed her thighs again, against his hand. “Y’sure, Principessa? M’happy t’make y’come again,” he offered kissing her cheek. “Y’seem a little turned on still?”

“Just... it felt really good. It’s,” she blushed and smiled at him shyly. “It’s lasting a while,” she mumbled and tucked her face into his neck.

His quiet laugh shook through his chest and her in his embrace. “You’re so pretty,” he murmured. “Especially when y’come.” She shook her head against him, but her thighs betrayed her again. “Let’s go t’bed, Principessa.”

She perked up a bit. Her eyebrows knitting together to meet in the middle of her eyes. “I think it’s your turn—”

“Oh no,” he shook his head. “Some other time. That was purely for you,” he stood, holding her legs around his waist. She blushed, giggled softly.

“Harry, you had such a long day. It’s hardly fair.”

“Not 'bout being fair. Plus going down on you s’by far one of m’favorite things t’do," he shrugged one shoulder.

Her cheeks still felt warm. “You’re pretty good at it,” she nodded in agreement.

Harry chuckled. “Cute.”

He walked to her bedroom, setting her on the bed. “I really needed to finish a few things—”

“It can wait ‘till the morning.”

She sighed. He was right. Harry was good at making sure she was doing more for herself. Although that usually entailed him doing stuff for her. Which didn’t seem like a good trade. Harry opened her main door briefly. He returned to the bedroom holding out the garlic bread immediately to her lips. With his free hand he cupped it below her jaw to catch any crumbs that didn't make it into her mouth.

“I really do have the best life,” she sighed, crunching on the bread. He smirked.

“Do y'want more?”

She shook her head. “I love you,” she sighed dreamily.

He laughed and kissed the top of her head. “I love you.”

Harry put the garlic bread in her kitchen, turned off all the lights, and came back to her bedroom. “Let me brush my teeth. Garlic isn’t pretty.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” he assured her, cupped her face and kissed her as passionately as he could. Like it was their first kiss. Or the one they shared the first time they had sex. The kind of kiss she imagined would greet them on their wedding day, whenever that would be. He pulled away briefly, pecked her more softly, then kissed her forehead. “Delicious,” he promised, licking his lips cutely.

Harry went to the other side of the bed and pulled her to his body as soon as he was settled. His arms wrapped tightly around her, his lips on the back of her head, kissing her hair. “Are you sure you don’t want me to do something for you?”

“M’always turned on by you, Principessa. Don’t worry ‘bout it. Jus’ taking care of you.”

“But you had a long day.”

He shrugged. “M’feeling fine. Don’t worry ‘bout me, kitten. I promise.”

“I worry about—”

“I know,” he chuckled, squeezing her closer somehow. His body wrapped around hers like vine. “Go t’sleep, Principessa. Y’can go back t’being an angel tomorrow and taking care of everyone under the sun,” he sighed.

She shook with silent laughter. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, kitten. I get jus’ as much pleasure out of that as you.”

“That can’t possibly be true.”

“If y’let me do it again, I’d definitely come,” he shrugged one shoulder and he kissed the back of her head then tucked his face into the crook of her neck. “I love you,” he reminded her.

“I love you,” she sighed.

“Sleep tight, Principessa.”

For a few moments there was no noise except their quiet breathing. “Harry?”

“Hmm?” She squirmed awkwardly. “Do you want another orgasm, now?”  She shook her head. “More garlic bread?” A swift nod. He chuckled untangling himself from her. “One minute, m’love.”

“God, I am the luckiest girl in the world.”

--

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[theealbatross]

Headcannon: Sebastian takes care of people

Tags: fluff, kinda low self esteem, kinda unhealthy codependency, short read had to get it out of my head

He takes care of strangers

Like silly little first years lost in the moving stairs, albeit with a frown and a sharp lecture about the dangers of walking around the castle and being too prideful to carry a map when they could barely locate their dorm rooms, firmly putting a quick end to older students' teasing when their jokes cross a line, and even ending up as the reluctant volunteer tutor (live training dummy) for Defense Against the Dark Arts after Professor Hecat assigned him the role to complete his detention.

This, in turn, makes him surprisingly popular with the kids to his bewilderment as they gravitate toward their grumpy but reliable senior.

"Have a good day, Sebastian!"

Both of you frown in confusion at the gaggle of cheerful first-year Hufflepuffs who eagerly greet him as you pass the halls. One even waved at him before they turned into a corner.

"What was that?"

He shrugs. "Hell if I know."

He takes care of his friends

"Amitt! Watch out!"

The Ravenclaw could barely turn to the familiar booming voice before he was shoved to the ground.

"Hey! You aren't allowed in the field!"

"Are you alright, Amitt?" He realizes the concerned voice of his friend, Sebastian, brought him out of his stupor. And in his hand is the bludger that nearly had an intimate interaction with the back of his head.

"Oh! Sebastian! Many thanks! I didn't know Slytherin practices ran this late. I was on my way to the top of the bleachers -- the best views of the summer night sky, I tell you."

"Thakkar, you don't have permission to be here!"

Sebastian rolls his eyes, feeling Amitt's anxiety rising as Slytherin quidditch players land one after another, looming over him. "Back off, all of you. He nearly got hurt. I'll handle it."

"But --"

"My apologies everyone! I truly meant no harm --"

"The captain's right, Sallow. Who knows if those Ravenclaws are using this nerd over here to spy on us --"

"I said back off, Thorncrest," Sebastian turned his back on Amitt to face all of his teammates, daring any of them to take another step. "The next time you ignore my orders, I'll stop using words since they can't seem to penetrate through your skull. So you either learn to play nice or I won't let it pass that it was because of your subpar performance that a bludger almost hit my friend."

Sebastian and the other Slytherin student glared at each other until Imelda smacked Thorncrest's head, cutting through the tension. "Listen to your Vice-Captain," he turns to Sebastian with a nod. "I'll take care of him, you get Thakkar out of here."

Sebastian nodded back at Imelda, ensuring everyone was back in the skies before turning to a guilty-looking Amitt.

"I'm sorry, Sebastian. I did not think I would cause such a disturbance."

Sebastian just waved him off with a friendly chuckle and a comforting hand on his shoulder. Amitt can't believe his fellow Ravenclaws don't believe him when he tells them Sebastian is a warm person, laughing to his face was just quite rude. To be fair, they could barely believe they were friends at all. "Don't worry about it, athletes are assholes during Quidditch season."

He looked sheepish, "Can I still go up the bleachers?"

Despite his subdued character, Sebastian can see that Amitt has all the determination in the world when it comes to achieving the things that interest him the most. Maybe that's why he liked the Ravenclaw boy so much. "Yeah, go ahead, Amitt. Just don't let any prefect see you."

"Ah! Thank you, my friend! I shall be as quiet as a mouse!"

Sebastian waved as Amitt haphazardly said his goodbyes.

"If anybody bothers you tell them to talk to me!"

He takes care of Ominis

Despite his great interest in the dark arts and his pure-blooded status, Sebastian will take any and every opportunity to fight Ominis' family. He hates them simply because they hurt his friend, which is unforgivable in his eyes. He had every opportunity to get in their good graces but he blew all of that to pieces when he got in a crude fight with the eldest son of the Gaunts the moment he called Ominis a 'useless cripple'.

From then on, Sebastian has been banned from the Gaunt's estate indefinitely.

"Yeah, they better fucking ban me or I'll burn that haunted house to the ground and lock that prick inside of it."

Despite himself and his pacifistic tendencies, Ominis couldn't but scoff out a laugh while Sebastian nursed a bloody lip, glaring at the gates of the manor as it closed on them. "You didn't need to do that."

"I don't think I did enough," he sneers, blood boiling at the fact that Ominis seemed used to their cruel words. Not wanting to fester on their cruel treatment, he throws his hands across Ominis' shoulders. "Who the hell wants to spend Christmas there anyway? Feldcroft is way more cozy."

Ominis smiled, patting Sebastian's back, the closest 'thank you' he could show now that he knew he had found a true friend. "You're right," He thinks of Anne, Solomon's bland stew, and the blinking lights of the Sallow home.

"Are you alright?" And Sebastian -- kind, true, painfully loyal. His first friend.

Ominis nods.

"Let's go home."

He takes care of his family.

Even though Anne no longer communicates with him after 'the incident' Sebastian still religiously sends letters to Beauxbatons Academy along with whatever trinkets he finds that remind him of her. And even though he detested Solomon and barely felt bad about his death, he still made a point to clean his grave, knowing the old man didn't like it when things were messy, and even emptied his favorite whiskey on his birthday.

"Seb?"

He blinks as you slip your hands into his. He squeezes it, letting the heat on your skin ground him as the two of you stare at the gravestone. Just as remorseful guilt creeps into your heart, he cuts it off. "I don't regret it, you know," he mutters firmly. "He almost ... he was hurting Anne. He was going to hurt you."

You nod, leaning your forehead on his shoulders, trying to comfort him through his quiet struggles knowing words or pieces of advice won't help.

"But I know he did his best. It wasn't enough but it was his best," he empties the other half of the whiskey on the grave, and his grip on you tightens. "I owe him this much."

He takes care of you.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Sebastian flinches awake at the recent memory, his breath shaky as he looks around the dim light of the Room of Requirement.

He did what he had to do, he knows this. Solomon has been eaten up by his own anger, if he didn't stop him ... Merlin knows what would've happened.

If the three of you had gotten out of that fight alive, with your participation in his insipid plans, it wasn't unlikely that Solomon would ship you off to Azkaban with him. That can't happen, he dragged you into that hellhole, he had to get you out of there unscathed.

No matter how high the cost.

"S-Sebastian?"

He sits up from the couch, surprised to see you awake on the open door that leads to your personalized bedroom. The two of you had holed up in your safe haven after the events of the night but it would seem rest evaded the two of you.

"I can't ..." you sigh shakily, biting your lips. "I can't sleep. I'm scared."

As if your fear had overpowered his own, he swiftly set aside the last traces of his fear and guilt, extending his hands, which you eagerly took. Sebastian pulls you in his lap, preceding any thought of impropriety as he curls himself around you, letting you bury your face in the crook of his neck while he covers the two of you in your blanket.

"It's all going to be all right," he promises, pressing his lips on the crown of your hair. "I won't let anything happen to you."

And takes care of you.

"Hey, Sebastian is waiting for you in the common room."

"Sallow said he'll pick you up after class."

"She's not coming, Sebastian's got her."

"Your hound is here."

You turned with a frown from Imelda to what she was staring at with a mischievous grin and by the door stood Sebastian, smiling when your eyes met.

"I --"

"-- have to go," Imelda playfully rolled her eyes. You gave her a smile as you gathered your books.

"Same time next week?"

"Maybe let's hide somewhere your hound can't sniff you up?"

"Get your own witch, Reyes," a deep voice from behind proved her point. Sebastian grabbed your book and satchel from your hands, hooking it on one arm, and the other gently offered his free hand to yours. "This one's mine."

And wants to take care of you forever.

"You should marry me."

Your next step faltered as you turned to Sebastian on the shore of the Black Lake, the setting sun illuminating his face and the vulnerability and determination written across it.

"W-What?"

"I've thought about it," he swallows, walking closer until he is right in front of you, the cold shallow water above your ankles a welcome reprieve from your burning body at such an announcement. "I've thought about letting you go, letting you find someone better than me. "

"Sebastian --"

"But I figured that I'm a selfish man. I always have been. And I want you more than anything else," you shudder at his fervor. "I love you more than anything else in this world."

Gently, as he always does, he took your hand, placing it on his warm cheek. "I can't offer much, I know, but I ... I will make you the sun my world will revolve on."

He presses a kiss at your palm, a warm tear falls from your eyes.

"Marry me," he begs. "Let me be the one to make you happy."

[buckets-and-trees]

Desperate [Bucky x Reader]

Characters/Pairings: Bucky Barnes x female!Reader Word Count: 3k  Summary: Enemies? Rivals? It's always been reluctant teamwork between you and the Winter Soldier, but when put in a situation where personal feelings have to be put aside, maybe actual personal feelings are uncovered.

Content Warnings: kidnapping, sex pollen ergo DUBIOUS CONSENT, sexual situations (named acts, non-explicit depictions of vaginal sex), medical elements (needles, IVs, experience of medical distress)

Thank You Notes: BIGGEST SHOUT OUTS to @sgt-seabass who beta loved this into what it is and @vonalyn who helped supply me with some of the vital energy I needed. This was SUPPOSED to be an answer to this little sleepover ask @povlvr had graced me with... but then it became this! Logistical Notes: Filling my eleventh square for Bucky Barnes Bingo @buckybarnesbingo - Y2 "Reluctant Teamwork" and @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer Week 9 which is technically a "FREE WEEK" but had sex pollen listed as one of the suggested things to play with, so... that's why we're here now.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You were an old SHIELD contact that Steve knew before Project Insight. He didn't know you well then, but you had crossed paths a few times. You were an analyst sometimes assigned to Steve's missions. You went to work for the CIA after the Triskellion takedown, where you stayed for a couple of years, before eventually moving into the private sector.

When Steve, Nat, Sam, and Wanda were outlaws on the run, they bumped into you again, and you became an ally and valuable contact in your new area of the country - and ultimately a friend. And trusted enough that you knew about Bucky - and Bucky heard about you.

Bucky didn't love that you were an element in Steve's life. He hadn't met you, hadn't been able to get his own read on you. 

He'd been wary initially about Nat, Sam, and Wanda, but he'd been able to meet them and build his own trust - and they'd all ultimately put their lives and reputations on the line for him. 

It wasn't that he was distrustful of everyone anymore and needed people to put their lives on the line to prove themselves. Those who had sided with Steve over Tony in the Zemo affair aside, he'd also learned to trust others again in Wakanda with so many of the royal family and the royal guard building relationships with him. 

But with you he didn’t know you, and so he didn't like it.

What Bucky loathed even more? 

You didn't blip out. For five years, you were there for Steve when he couldn't be. You were apparently there so much that when Steve left, he fucking said to watch out for you. The punk.

Bucky didn’t know Steve dropped in on you, too, and asked you to keep an eye out for Bucky the day he gave Sam the shield. You promised you would.

You reached out. Not immediately, but in the weeks after.

Bucky was... less than kind.

Frankly, he was surly, ungrateful, short, and rude. 

Pieces were moving and with Bucky's reappearance in the United States, the question of his future was an immediate concern. Public and government representatives were demanding trials, pardons, and all the rest.

You told him you had found an excellent contact for a lawyer.

"No, thanks, I can find my own," the words were polite, but the tone was clipped, flat, low - almost a growl. 

Being so abruptly shut down, you decided to cut the phone call first and on your terms, so you wished him luck - managing to be more polite than him, making it sound genuine - and hung up.

You called Matt Murdock yourself, and told him about Bucky's case.

You did it only because of your promise to Steve.

And a little bit because you knew you were fucking right and that Bucky needed your lawyer contact. 

Matt chuckled, told you he knew about stubbornness, and that he'd go about approaching the Winter Soldier diplomatically and professionally.

Matt pulled off the best possible pardon deal, even if not everything about it was ideal.

When Pepper decided to get back into some of the Avenger support again - after the Flag Smashers business - so she could provide some more trustworthy resources for Sam and Bucky and the old crowd, you were one of the people she ended up scouting and recruiting to come work on the direct home support team with research and tactical support. Sometimes you went into the field with the team, but usually you stayed at home base and relayed with the agents over comms. 

This was not because you weren't outstanding, but because it was clear the less time you and Bucky spent in proximity to each other, the less awkward it was for everyone else on the team. You were both professional enough to keep the animosity out of things during a mission over comms, and that was about it. 

Otherwise, it was silent treatment and resentment.

Neither of you extended the woes of your dislike for each other actively to anyone else on the team, keeping your mouths shut about your feelings, and engaging in only occasional and minimal eye-rolling when either of you was mentioned. Bucky made a point of giving you electrolyte-enhanced waters first whenever you did go into the field on a mission with them, as if you were a toddler who couldn’t take care of yourself. 

Sitting by you at a holiday dinner at Sam’s you almost thought there was a moment of thaw between you and the Winter Soldier, but you didn’t push the almost comfortable silence between you to anything more - knowing it had been long-established he only tolerated you. It was clearly only a temporary pause, meaning very little as Bucky continued to push for you not being put into the field with them. You didn’t need to be around his close scrutiny. He made getting over any initial crush you might have had on him very easy. 

Things were fine like that for a little over a year. 

And then you were abducted on your way back from a mission outside of Paris where you had been part of the local ground team, taken and smuggled out of the airport. It was not HYDRA this time, just leftover cretins who blipped away but now were back, stirring up their own operation which hoped to double down on being even more nefarious. They were interested in testing some of their new methods and resources while also trying to extract some sensitive information.

Why not kill two birds with one stone by snatching up a well-connected and informed analyst at the heart of the neo-Avengers operation?

They recovered files from debunked HYDRA facilities (hard drives were wiped, but motivated hackers knew how to dig beneath what had been wiped to recover remnants - in hindsight, SHIELD should have taken the tech to a secure location) and developed an even more concentrated and powerful form of sex pollen. They were interested in how it would be absorbed in both the aerosol and liquid forms they had developed. Why not try out both forms on you? 

The aerosol was potent enough, but not in a way that would break you for their line of inquiries.

So, they injected it right into your veins.

Compounding with what had already been ingested into your system, everything intensified, and you - much more quickly than they anticipated - moved past what may have been a state where they could've coaxed the information they wanted out of you. 

Quickly you progressed to the point where you were consumed by this toxin, your body raging and desperate for the physical activity that will get you to a sexual release and flush the toxin from your system. You were keening and moaning and crying, covered in sweat, straining painfully against your bonds, unable to focus on anything anyone said to you. 

You were incoherent and not far from feral. 

Having gone beyond the point you could be giving them intelligence, you were still useful to provide information as the test subject, and they kept you on it through an IV drip to see the limits of what an average female body could take before it was completely broken.

You had absolutely no sense of how long this went on, only that you were not even crying tears anymore, just dry sobbing and wailing, because everything in your throat, and in your veins, and in your chest, and in your vagina burned. 

It was an agony you'd never experienced in your life. 

You vaguely registered a cacophony of sound around you, but it was like it was coming to you through a long dark tunnel, distorted and distant, and you couldn’t open your eyes to see what is going on, not that you could even think to or were capable of caring about anything other than the desperate purgatory you were enduring until you finally passed out.

Bucky and Sam were nearly back to base ops in New York from the Paris mission when the news of your abduction came through, and they turned around immediately. Teams working at home and in Paris - and Bucky in the air while Sam piloted - narrowed your likely whereabouts down to two locations: somewhere near Versailles (because of course evil operations are drawn to the ideas of opulence) or a compound outside of Brussels. 

Time already against them, Sam and Bucky made the tough decision that they needed to split up so they could investigate both options as quickly as humanly possible. Sam dropped Bucky at the well-equipped safe house less than an hour away from the suspected Versailles compound and then headed to Brussels.

After arming himself to the teeth as quickly as he could, Bucky fired up the Ducati in the garage of the safehouse that had been equipped with a noise dampener by your tech engineers, punched in his navigational coordinates, and pushed to top speeds to get to there, stashing the bike half a kilometer away so he could make the rest of the approach in complete stealth.

The operation was much smaller than he anticipated, but because of its size it was almost immediately apparent to Bucky that this was where they had you, and he was also confident he would be able to drop this operation and get to you without as much trouble as he expected.

But in no way could he have predicted the state he would find you in.

He heard your agonizing cries and keening within moments of entering the facility, and he'd already dropped four agents at that point, but the excruciating pain he heard from you was its own form of torture in itself. 

He picked up the pace, tearing ruthlessly through everyone else that came between him and you.

He got the full view of the condition you were in only moments before you passed out. He quickly undid all the bindings and removed everything they had attached to monitor your vitals. He unhooked the IV drip but had the presence of mind to take the bag for testing later. It was inelegant, but he hefted you over his shoulder, and everyone else still conscious who got in his way of getting you out was incapacitated with a single kill shot.

It was close to midnight when he reached the safe house and carefully tucked you into one of the beds. He pulled a secure laptop and some of the base medical testing equipment into the bedroom and kept watch over your catatonic form while he started running tests on the substance you’d been hooked up to and sent the base data for his samples to the bioengineering team back at HQ.

Over the next hour your body experienced a few fits of violent shaking, but you didn’t rouse until almost 2am. When you did, it was with great heaving gasps, and your arms flailed, your hands grasping at the sheets, at your clothes, and then at Bucky when he appeared almost immediately at your side trying to soothe you. He had a theory he hoped wasn’t true – that he knew what was running through your veins – but it was confirmed when you clutched and pawed desperately at him. Then your eyes met his, there was a recognition but coupled with devastating desperation, and you started babbling his name and pleading, “Bucky, please, Bucky. Need. Bucky, help. Bucky, Bucky, Bucky.”

He’d been in distress over you since he first heard your tortured cries hours before, and he knew you needed him.

He wouldn’t deny you. 

He knew the anguish of being a slave within one’s own mind. 

He worked both of you out of your clothes quickly, and then laid you back on the bed and crawled above you. “I gothcu, shh, I know what you need.” You cried, but with a glimmer of relief, when he sunk into your desperately wet cunt. He thrust diligently into you while you clung to his shoulders and wrapped your legs around his waist. 

The first orgasm was quick, and provided a glorious wave of relief that helped, but it was not enough. 

Not even close.

For nearly two hours he let you use him, pulling him into you, riding him, kneeling under him on all fours while he wrapped an arm around your waist and took you from behind. 

It was relentless fucking until you hit the point of being utterly depleted – mercifully coinciding with when the chemicals seemed to have finally been flushed from your system with enough of the endorphins released into your bloodstream from the numberless orgasms. 

If anyone but a super soldier had found you, Bucky genuinely worried they may not have been enough to help. Seeing you at the utter extreme of limits, in dangerous territory, had shaken something inside him he wasn’t prepared to discover. There had been no question in his mind that he had to get you through it. 

He smoothed your hair off your face and let your body gently sink back into the mattress, then got up and went to the bathroom, returning with a warm washcloth. He wiped your brow first, and you sighed in relief, eyes already closed in bone-tired weariness. Bucky gently wiped the sweat from your neck, continued moving down your body, and then with a second warm cloth he’d also brought, he gently wiped away the mess of slick that had seeped down your thighs. He carefully redressed your exhausted form, sliding you back into your discarded underwear and his t-shirt that was close enough to scoop up from the floor, and tucked you into the covers. You were asleep before he had finished taking care of you.

As you rested, he continued his vigilant watch from before. You stirred an hour or so later. It was still dark, but with almost a hint that sunrise would be creeping to the edges of the windows soon. He moved to your side again, this time with water, which he pressed to your lips, helping you to set up so you could drink. You began to gulp it down, but slowed when he tried to soothe you and urged you to slow your intake.

When you were nearly done downing the glass, your eyes opened briefly, but catching Bucky’s wary gaze on you, you shut them again. Not before Bucky saw the flash of anguish, however. You scooted away and turned your back, pulling your knees up and burying your head in your arms.

Bucky wanted to reach out and touch you, but settled for softly uttering your name, trying to coax you to look at him.

You refused, consumed with shame and horror.

Your throat was thick with a different kind of agony. 

That episode of pain and innate need had ended, but this? 

This was a new hell you would have to endure. 

“Bucky, I’m sorry, and I know I owe you my life and probably all of my sanity, but please, please go. Please leave me be and don’t put me through the humiliation right now of being here only because you were resigned to helping me despite hating me. I’ll have to bear that forever, but please, just… please at least leave me to myself until we get out of here.”

He was silent for a moment.

“Fuck, I don’t hate you – I never truly hated you,” he said. It was quiet, but perfectly audible in the silence of the pre-dawn.

You raised your head tentatively.

He took a deep breath and continued. “I only kept it up to save face since I drove you to despise me and was too proud to turn it around.”

You were truly overwhelmed. You wanted to say something but had no idea how to respond to that admission, especially when you were already wrung out to the very edges of your emotional state.

“I’ve respected you for a long time now.” Bucky broke the silence.

“You have?”

“Probably more than respected you, if I’m being honest.”

You were still exhausted despite having slept for the past few hours, but you pushed your mind to think… you started to reconsider the thaw from hostility to civility, that he argued with you in group settings less, how everything had become less grudging. But you knew you’d put up your own protective walls to shield you from his scrutiny because it had hurt too much to have been spurned by him when you’d reached out to try and forge that relationship with him after Steve left initially. 

And so much of tonight had been a feverish haze, but you had small pieces that were stained into your memory, some of which were him and things you couldn’t categorize as the actions of anything less than someone who cared. 

“How do you feel about me?” you ventured. 

The two of you looked into each other’s eyes for a few long moments.

“I don’t know that I can explain it all yet – I don’t think I know the words for it, but… let me show you? No chemicals, just us, see what’s really here?” He reached out a tentative hand to cover one of yours.

You nodded.

You let him move in.

You let him kiss you.

You let him lay you down beneath him again, and this time you sunk into each other. 

You cried again, but this time from the immense emotion. You could feel it rolling off of him and pouring into you, a balm starting to fill in the anguished pieces of your soul. Your spent bodies pushed through any tiredness and desperately moved together again, relentlessly motivated this time to slake the emotional hunger growing between you. Touches that explored, that carved into memory, that expressed. 

This time when you were both only finished by exhaustion, you curled into each other and slept, feeling the beginnings of solace and true peace, a turning of the tide, and maybe the acknowledgement that emotions that had run so deeply between you two were only felt so strongly because you truly valued the other even from the beginning.

READ THE FOLLOW UP DRABBLE: UNCERTAIN AND SURE

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[marzipanandminutiae]

I have a question, where would gnc/trans people get their clotges in the days before the selling of premade clothes? I assume some was stealing from relatives, and that soem of them did know how to make clothes, but that doesn't seem at all likely to be the most common method

That is an amazing question!

Unfortunately for a lot of people, we don't really know- many trans folks flew under the radar and as such details of their lives are unclear. Legendary stagecoach driver Charley Parkhurst, for example, left no sort of record as to where he got his clothes (especially since he lived in a cabin in the middle of nowhere for many years of his life). And figures like Mary Jones, a Black trans sex worker from the early 19th century, flit into and out of the pages of history so quickly that there's barely enough info to get their vital statistics, let alone shopping habits.

However, my guesses would be as follows:

Secondhand shops. These have existed for a very long time, and if you already have at least one outfit that makes you read as the correct gender, nobody would question you going through that section of the store/market/whatever.

Sympathetic conventional tailors or dressmakers. This is almost certainly where middle- and upper-class GNC or trans people got their clothing- one can hardly imagine legendary writer George Sand buying her suits secondhand, after all. And since humans have always been human, and Let People Dress How They Please; They Aren't Hurting Anyone is a sentiment I've seen at least as far back as the 19th century, I suspect there were far more of these than many people might think.

Clothing workshops catering to the demimonde- that is, to theatrical companies for costumes, or to sex workers. Certainly this is where drag performers got their stage gear, and one imagines people for whom gender variance crossed the line from performance to identity- like Fanny Park and Stella Boulton -might have turned to their costumers for everyday attire, too. And catering to sex workers probably got all sorts of requests that were seen as outre for the time (in a roleplay capacity- most sex workers dressed conventionally while not actively Doing Sex), but their money was as good as anyone else's.

Friends and relatives. Some families knowingly supported their crossdressing or trans loved ones. Even partners who married the person in question as the binary opposite gender could fall into this category- Lili Elbe (though she lived after premade dresses began to rise in popularity) first experimented with feminine attire in dresses and jewelry loaned by her enthusiastically supportive wife Gerta Gottlieb. In fact, Gottlieb was bisexual, and their marriage was only annulled because Lili was a woman now and same-gender marriage was illegal in Denmark at the time.

Also yes stealing from your relatives was also an option, of course. if they were less than sympathetic

The king of France???? this is the wildcard, and my absolute favorite: the Chevaliere d'Eon, when she transitioned in the 1770s, got the king to not only formally state that she had been assigned female at birth (there had been speculation about her physical sex for years at this point) but to pay for her new wardrobe of gowns. Absolute Queen.

"but didn't her mantua-makers notice Some Physical Things?" she's believed to have had some form of gynecomastia, based on her autopsy, and they'd never have cause to see her in less than her calf-length chemise. if they did see anything, they kept their mouths shut, and rightly so.

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 1)

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

​GIF: Originally posted by @tavners

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Home invasion. Voyeurism. Implied masturbation. Dream manipulation.

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Wow, this took way longer to finish than I had originally planned. My head's been all over the place with trying (and thus far failing) to find a new job. The themes are very different to what I've written before; I hope it reads okay. Please let me know what you think. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

---------------------------------------------

Fate.

A phenomenon that governed every particle of matter within the known universe and even those beyond.

Some considered it a comforting concept that excused them from the burden of decision making, citing: "I'll leave it up to fate." For others the phrase was a cursory, throw-away comment or a romantic line they heard in the lyrics of a song.

The real truth of the matter was that Fate was a trio of immortal beings, goddesses, with sight so potent that they knew the past, present and future of every individual to have lived. The mythology of the Greeks, Romans and Norse hadn't been too far off with their stories of the Moirai, Parcae and Norns but of course, no humans really believed there to be any realism in myths. They were just stories. It didn't matter either way; they existed and had influence regardless of what the majority believed.

For beings such as The Endless siblings, the presence of Fate in the cosmos was not only real, but also something that affected even themselves.

For the King of Dreams, an eventuality had been prophesised long ago by The Kindly Ones that spoke of a bond that was to be forged between himself and a mortal.

Lord Morpheus, in his pride, had tried to be above such a foretelling, even questioning its validity because the notion of a mortal accepting his version of the universe seemed wholly implausible.

But he could not truly stop himself from wondering about you, reaching out to see if he could feel your presence in the minds of the dreamers he hosted.

It wasn't something he indulged in with frequency. More of a once-in a-decade interval. Enough to appease his curiosity.

Of course, this was put on hold during his imprisonment at Fawney Rig.

Morpheus had had much to contemplate during this period. The damage his absence caused to the collective subconscious, the decay of his realm, the loss of freedom and dignity. There was also a chance that you had been born and died in the 106 years he spent in captivity.

What if he was too late and had lost the chance of discovering who you were?

It was a nauseating prospect that scraped and scratched a space deep within his being; bleeding him of his remaining stores of hope that were so significantly depleted after the death of beloved Jessamy.

Despite the nasty emotional wound, finding you was a charge that he assigned at the end of his priorities after his escape.

Recovering his scattered tools, restoring the Dreaming, locating his absent creations, unravelling the mystery of Rose Walker and confronting Desire all had needed to come first.

The latter interaction had left Morpheus with a seething rage that was currently propelling him down the boards of the dock that sit above the Ocean of Dreams.

The dense mist in the air is buffeted by his movements and the only sounds are the tread of boots, the creak of wooden slats and the lap of water.

With each step, the liquid becomes choppier as it reacts to its master's mood and by the time he has reached the end of the dock, the surface of the water roils fervorously, completely in line with Morpheus' dangerous temperament.

The words of Desire's final silken-toned taunt echo in his mind with grating persistence.

"Oh, poor Dream. I really got under your skin this time, didn't I?"

He is loathe to admit there is truth in the question.

There are moments where Morpheus ponders the turn that the relationship between them has taken. How Desire went from being his favourite sibling to someone one shade shy of an adversary. Their faultless adeptness at provoking his temper and manipulating the events that encircle him would be impressive if not for the danger posed to humanity.

The agitated water eventually draws focus to how out of control he and his emotions have become. Morpheus knows he must get them in check, and quickly, for he knows the consequences all too well should he ignore it.

He clenches his fist and swallows it all down, pushing it deep inside his belly until the crackling entropy of the anger is fully dispelled.

Morpheus then sweeps his coat out behind him as he sinks lithely into a crouch. Trepidation nips at his heart and tugs his attention to a sobering thought.

This foray into the water may be fruitless.

You may be long gone and there would be no way of ever knowing you.

His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath; he has run out of excuses to not look, even if he is afraid of the outcome.

Long, delicate fingers dapple the surface of the inky ocean. The waves still at the touch, obedient to him with instancy.

He repositions to full height and reaches into his coat to find the pouch of sand stashed in the pocket. A handful of twinkling grains slip off his palm into the ocean, lighting the water it touches to a luminous green.

"Find my soulmate," Morpheus commands silently.

The intention is set. He steps off the dock into the water.

At first, like every other prior attempt, there is no sign of you. Morpheus floats submerged in the tepid liquid, filtering through the hubbub of countless other dreams and nightmares.

Then there is a pull.

It is faint yet indisputable. Warmth explodes in his chest and he groans inwardly from the delicious sensation of relief.

You are alive, and you are dreaming.

A path of radiance appears in the water, a line that shows your connection, and provides a location for him to hone in on.

Morpheus dives deeper without hesitation.

As he reaches the edge of your subconscious, he rejoices that he got a handle on his emotions. He wouldn't want your first perception of him to be one tinged with rage, however unaware you were of him, with your soulmate being the source.

He hesitates for a moment before entering the dream you are in and is somewhat taken aback by what he finds.

A room comprising of four blank walls, a floor, a ceiling and a door. There is but one other feature; a window, and its view is as non-descript and inoffensive as the internal space.

You stand by said window, head turned from him.

Despite being unable to see your face, he sees your anxiety with immediacy. It is an aura hovering about your body, being sucked into your lungs with every fast-paced breath.

You begin to throw glances towards the door. Morpheus filters through the layers of the dream. No one is scheduled to come across the threshold.

The more he observes, the more questions arise in Morpheus' mind.

What was making you so affected? What were you expecting to happen?

There's nothing in the scene that is intended to be unpleasant yet you are reacting in a way that most observers would characterise as unsettled.

Morpheus, despite not yet knowing you, doesn't like to see you this way. His dominant instinct is to end the dream but he quashes the desire to review the bigger picture.

The empty room dream was symbolic of a beginning.

It clicks into place.

What you were feeling, even if on a purely instinctual level, was the anticipation of meeting your soulmate and starting your new life.

Morpheus steps into the frame, just a couple of paces behind you.

You feel his presence instantly, eyes full to the brim with tears as you whirl around with a soft gasp.

You see him.

The tears spill and patter onto the white floor.

Morpheus reaches out, overcome by his need to provide comfort.

You disappear.

-------------------------------------

Morpheus is sat on his throne. He pores over the book he had located in the Dreaming's library a little over a week ago that contains the details of your life. It is something he has taken to doing when the impatience of waiting for you to fall asleep becomes too keen.

Your subconscious has him enraptured, watching it every night as if it is a stage show. Each dream he delves into is like the tug of fingers on a loose thread, your psyche has begun to unravel before him.

Everything from whims to cravings, hopes to fears. Your temperament, the things that delight and irk you. What drives you and demotivates you. He consumes it all with an insatiable hunger.

Based on the projection of yourself that he sees, there is no doubt that he is attracted to you.

All that prior haughty disregard for the Fates' prophecy has been cast aside like a negative thought in a meditation session. Morpheus is a romantic. A believer. He is ashamed to have even doubted your coming.

He wonders if it would vex Desire to learn of him finding his soulmate and by extension, the prospect of companionship, perhaps even physical intimacy or love.

It is all too easy to imagine the sickly sweet grin they would smile at him, shown to be fake by the almost imperceptible contempt glinting in their golden eyes.

Would his triumph drive them to distraction?

It is this smug sentiment that spurs his next decision. He wants more. The next logical step is to find you in the waking world.

He rises from his throne, a sure hand ready to bring forth his pouch of sand when he falters.

Tears pool in his eyes.

His mind is suddenly marred with the memories of what happened in 1916. The agony, mortification and rage that followed. He couldn't go through that kind of treatment ever again and the waking world expanded the risk of it transpiring.

"No," he says resolutely. His sadness turns to resolve, the hard line of his grimace matching those set in his brows.

He will not let the actions of a group of mortals dissuade him from going to you. And besides, he has researched everything he can about you from within the safety of the Dreaming.

He takes a measure of sand and uses it to materialise within your bedroom.

It is obvious from a quick scan of it that deliberate attempts have been made to ensure the space is cosy and calming.

Two marshmallowy pillows support your head. The cotton sheets have been meticulously tucked to avoid drafts. A lavender reed diffuser fragrances the air with a subtle scent. There are no devices or screens visible.

Everything has its place. A coaster supported glass of water within reaching distance. Touch activated lamp in case of emergency. The diary lined up with the back left corner of the bedside table, pen placed parallel in the spine dent. All clothes are in the wardrobe or stashed in the laundry basket.

Morpheus moves to the curtain-shrouded window and delicately moves the dark, heavy fabric to catch a glimpse of the outside world.

The scene is sepia stained from an old streetlight positioned right outside your home. It explained the choice of curtains.

You stir slightly from the change in environment and Morpheus allows the curtain to fall back in place. He remains stationary until your breathing returns to its previous pace. It is imperative that his presence remains undisclosed. He knows that mortals do not take well to home invasion.

Then, your right hand slips out from the duvet cocoon revealing a cushion cut ruby ring on your middle finger.

He smiles exultantly. The similarity between the jewel and his own now-destroyed dreamstone was undeniable.

The Fates were making it transparent.

You were the one.

Morpheus approaches the side of your bed now. In your momentary discomfort, you had moved your head, making your whole face visible to your uninvited guest.

He bends gracefully so his face is closer to yours and observes you with an intent fascination.

Even in the gloom, Morpheus asserts that your features are even more captivating now that he is able to look upon them in person and is certain that if he could guarantee an absence of fear then he would fall to knees and worship you right there.

Fingers stroke a lock of hair splayed across the pillow and his thoughts turn darker still, imagining what he would do with you if he could get you alone in the Dreaming. How he would seduce you with words, and then pleasure your body with his own until you were senseless.

Getting you there would be so easy, all he needed to do was move his hand up and touch your skin and -

Morpheus stops himself, deciding that now is not the time for an introduction. He will wait until tomorrow. You need to rest. It will be quite the revelation for your sweet mortal heart.

Morpheus whispers a promise, "We will be together soon, my precious soulmate."

He leaves after taking one last look at your peaceful form.

When he returns to the Dreaming, Morpheus discovers that the visit has riled him way beyond what he thought possible.

It was supposed to sate his curiosity and answer some questions.

It has done the opposite.

His craving for you is sublimely intense, opiate-like in its ensnarement.

He needs to possess you. To have you all to himself. Everything would fall into place. Loneliness, disillusionment, jealousy; they would never darken his outlook again. You would heal him, he is certain of it.

He paces restlessly in the low light of his private chambers as heat ripples beneath the surface of his being, charging him with pure sexual lust.

He hungers for the moment when you feel the same about him.

For now, all he can do is stand and touch himself while thinking of your face, an act that has been carried out repeatedly in the days since he found you in the Ocean of Dreams.

An erotic idea enters his mind.

Your subconscious is still in the Dreaming; he knows the feeling of it intimately.

Perhaps he could bring you a dream mirroring his own current fantasy.

To give you a taste of what was to come.

A gift that only he could bestow.

The mere thought of it turns him on even more. His back arches and his eyes roll back as he choses the words through which he would deliver the offering.

"Dream of me," Morpheus murmurs breathlessly. "Dream of me."

He repeats the phrase until he is unable to continue, moans taking over the darkened space around him.

-------------------------------------

It is dusk the next day when Morpheus returns to the waking world.

The instant he touches down on the Earth's surface, he knows exactly where to go. The metaphysical connection between you is as strong as the energy pulsing through a ley line.

The city he is directed to is thrumming with life but the side street he stands in has been spared from the furore.

It is fortuitous that he is permitted to be unobserved for Morpheus is struggling now with the urge to get closer.

Providence is pulling him in and also locking him out.

He walks up to the door and then an invisible force makes him back away.

He doesn't even try to fight it.

The Fates hold all the cards. Morpheus is beholden to their each and every whim.

It is surprisingly liberating.

He is dancing in the cross hairs. Blinkered by the tie the universe has fashioned for you.

All he has to do is wait.

The door to the building is pushed open.

-------------------------------------

Taglist: @herfantasyworldd

"Fate. Up against your will. Through the thick and thin. He will wait until you give yourself to him."

[trek-tracks]

Okay, hear me out. TOS 4 is the time travel movie. So AOS 4 is the time travel movie, but it's not about whales.

It's about a conversation AOS Spock had with TOS Spock before the latter died, when TOS Spock mentioned that things didn't really go irrevocably wrong in his universe until Admiral Kirk disappeared with the Enterprise-B. AOS Spock wonders what repercussions this has had on his own, somewhat more distressing universe, and when the AOS Enterprise bridge crew finds itself assigned to protect Earth by examining an unstable temporal ribbon that seems to be crossing through the galaxy--well. Spock wonders. Is this the Nexus? They find out soon enough that it is. And since Spock's the first one in, technically, the Nexus gives him what he wants, which is what the Nexus has--the ability to cross universes as well.

Now everyone, out in two groups on separate missions has to resist succumbing to the temptations of the world of the Nexus while they try to rescue Admiral Kirk, making sure his mission is still completed (so as not to destroy anything for the TNG folks' reality) but that he survives, so that they can figure out how to get through the Nexus and pop him back in his universe right as he's supposed to leave on the Enterprise-B. AOS Spock is sure he can figure out those calculations somehow. Some of the temptations are funny, some are sad, but we find out where Uhura and Sulu and Scotty are in their lives, and where they want to be.

Like Spock got to meet TOS Spock, TOS Kirk gets to meet Kirk (and Spock, and McCoy, and eventually the rest of the bridge crew). AOS Kirk learns that the life he's been envious of all this time didn't turn out well in the end because TOS Kirk ran toward duty alone despite what he had, and TOS Kirk learns that a) he could have suffered so much more loss, b) he's just one of a set of infinite possibilities, just like AOS Kirk is, and c) he's been wasting eternity exploring those other possibilities of happiness in the Nexus when he could have been content with what he already had.

He finds out what happened to TOS Spock, and it's agonizing. He sees this weird young Spock and Bones, both of whom could bench-press him, and he misses his Spock and Bones so much that the Nexus starts trying to change the fantasy world, to their detriment. It's only when the crew sticks as close as possible together and all concentrates on wanting the same thing that they're all able to shift the Nexus to their goal. Then Picard shows up. Things get complicated.

We hear, from Generations: And in the end, what did it get me? An empty house...Not this time.

and from Star Trek V: I knew I wouldn't die because the two of you were with me.

I thought you said men like us don't have families.

I was wrong.

TOS Kirk decides that, yes, he wants to leave, and he wants to go back. But they're not entirely sure how to line up Picard's plan and TOS Kirk's plan and the AOS plan and have it all work. It's a lot to figure out.

To simplify things, AOS Kirk decides he's going to volunteer to go die in TOS Kirk's place so that they can return TOS Kirk and at least one of them will have a decent ending, because his own life still feels so uncertain. This seems like it's going to work until his Spock and Bones both read him the riot act. But it's Bones who really goes off.

Karl Urban gets a great speech as Bones about how both Spock and Kirk met their counterparts, a chance which he will likely never be afforded and neither of them learned anything from it. Spock went off and punctured the walls of a universe even though TOS Spock indirectly destroyed AOS Vulcan through it. Kirk is trying to run away and die again because he doesn't know what to do with himself, even though TOS Kirk had an unhappy ending to a good life because at the end he ran away and tried to die again. Bones just tries to pick up the pieces. You don't fix things by tearing them apart, and you don't fix them by tearing yourself apart. You fix them by healing the rift. AOS Kirk's eyes light up. They're going to fix the rift.

They're going to give this random meaningless villain what he wants, throw him into the Nexus, he can have infinite joy, then they're going to seal it and heal it.

After all, AOS Bones says. He had a drink with TOS Kirk at the man's insistence, even though the Saurian Brandy didn't taste like anything, and Kirk told him he could cure anything from a rock to a rainy day. The tasteless brandy? Apparently Bones is the person who can actually perceive that nothing here is real, so he doesn't want anything except for everyone to remain safe.

From Beyond: Better to die saving lives than to live with taking them. 

Bones says: Better that no one dies at all. This time, no one dies.

So TOS Kirk and the Bridge crew go with Picard to subdue Soran and honestly, it's not that tough with all of them. Nobody had to die. And as they fix the rift, with TOS Kirk and Picard's Enterprise about to be thrown back into their universe on one side and the AOS Enterprise into theirs on the other, Picard suddenly realizes that he never clarified how they were getting Kirk back to his own time. And how will they explain his status?

TOS Kirk grins. Good thing I know how to slingshot around the sun, he says. And when they report me missing, I'll just say I didn't go in the first place. Clerical error. Who are they to argue with an alive man?

AOS Kirk has so many questions, but the two of them merely salute each other, and then they're thrown back.

Back in his own time, TOS Kirk walks into a Starfleet Academy apartment, and hear him say:

Bones, I heard you got laid up with Andorian flu and Spock was taking care of you, and this I just had to see! How many hypos? Don't let him talk you out of any, Spock. They're all important, every single one, even ones he hasn't heard of.

A pause.

Yes, I know I said Starfleet needed me. I just thought maybe you two needed me more this time.

Back in the AOS universe and Spock's calculations are totally off in getting home, because he didn't account for the gravitational pull of--

Vulcan. The planet that apparently still exists.

TOS Spock still came into their universe--he was always going to live longer than his ties to his Enterprise family. But his actions had been tempered, less destructive, which had clearly resulted in the Enterprise being able to save the planet. They were going to have to find out how.

Not everything had changed, of course. Nero had still been Nero, they had still come together. But Jim only vaguely remembers dying, now, as though it had happened to somebody else. He feels more settled than he ever has before. Some of that's the time travel revision, and some of that's the meeting with his alternate self, and some of that's Bones' yelling. Spock feels a sense of closure. Bones is just relieved that nobody died this time.

Uhura suddenly and quietly alerts them to the chronometer. It's a week before they left, which means there are now two Enterprise bridge crews on Earth, and that they need to lie low for a week to avoid running into themselves.

What should we do, Captain? she asks.

Jim smiles.

Let's go to Yosemite.

[leeknow-thoughts]

୨୧ KISS IT BETTER?

୨୧ cw : tsundre!lee know, a guy being a creep, kissing, fluff, kinda angst, Han is the reader's older cousin, fem!reader, some petnames, overall soft

୨୧ requested : yes

You were practically vibrating with excitement when you got the job as Stray Kids' new manager. Eager to be around your cousin - Han - and hopefully make some money to help put yourself through college.

You made sure everything about you was perfect to greet the boys, although Han would definitely tease you for trying to look your best around him.

And you did look perfect, your hair was curled, your nails were painted a nudeish-pink, you wore your pair of pretty mary-janes, all your best jewelry, your prettiest pink clothes, and did your makeup. You looked stunning, according to your best friend at least.

You looked stunning until a stranger, in a rush, ran into you at full speed, spilling his coffee all over your clothes. Already running 10 minutes late due to traffic you had no choice but to go into the job with coffee-stained clothes.

You looked ridiculous, and Jisung confirmed that when the first thing he did when looking at your disheveled state, was laugh. "Oh my God you look ridiculous! Let me get a photo! I have to send it to halmeoni!" he whipped his phone out when you stumbled into the dance practice room.

Against your will, he got a few good shots of you before you practically jumped on him. You sat on top of him, struggling to snatch his phone out of his grasp. "Get off me you cretin!" he yelped.

You and him wrestled back and forth for a few minutes until you heard the door to the studio open. And in walks the leader of Jisung's group, Chan.

You scurry up to bow to him, while Jisung lays on the floor, "Chan-hyung did you just see that? She jumped me!"

"Did not you fuck face! You were gonna send that photo to grandma!" You squeal.

"I'm sorry what?" Chan questions.

"Chan," Han stands up and motions to you, "my younger cousin, y/n, she's also the new manager."

You bow to Chan again, "ah- Just call me Chris," Chan smiles and shakes your hand.

"Nice to meet you, just call me y/n," you introduce yourself.

You didn't notice Han rummaging through his bag until he tapped on your shoulder, holding out a spare change of clothes, "here put these on."

You gratefully took the clothes and went to change in the bathroom. You slipped on the oversized shirt and sweatpants. They looked strange paired with your Mary Janes and they were definitely not your style, but you were grateful that Jisung let you wear them.

When you slipped back into the practice room, you were greeted with 6 new faces along with Jisung and Chris. You bowed to all of them as they introduced themselves.

Han introduced you, "this is our new manager Han y/n. They're also my cousin, so don't be weird!"

"Don't worry, none of us were planning on it," Lee Know, Han's best friend, interjected, rather coldly.

You laughed off the rather cold comment, and explained the schedule that the boys were having at the moment. Just a simple marketing meeting. But the marketing team was busy, so they left it to you to brief all of them on the subject.

You read over the report one of the marketing heads had typed up for you. "So Lee Know Log number eight is going to be filmed on the 19th and they assigned me to go with you to Tokyo, which in parenthesis they say is a bummer to you because you wanted Jeon Gowook-ssi to go with you instead," you look at Lee Know for a moment before you continue," also a group live is scheduled for tomorrow, and that's all," you finish reading.

"What are we doing for the rest of today?" the boy with fox-like eyes, Jeongin, asked.

You pull out your work planner and flip to today's schedule, "the rest of today is a free day, but tomorrow as you all know you have interviews early in the morning so I wouldn't suggest staying up late tonight," you explain to the boy.

"A free day! I'm getting the hell outta here," Seungmin jumps up and grabs his backpack.

"Lets go get lunch!" Changbin suggests, "y/n you should come!"

"Yeah!" Felix agrees.

"Oh I dunno, I don't wanna bother you guys!" you insist.

"No don't do that c'mon we're gonna go to lunch!" Han persists.

Han practically dragged you along, even though you begged to not go.

When you all sat down at the KBBQ restaurant you were seated between Han and Lee Know. As the boys chatted over bites of food you stayed silent, not wanting to interrupt their conversations. "Y/n aren't you gonna eat anything?" Hyunjin asks from across the table.

You suddenly realize you hadn't eaten a single thing. "Typical y/nnie, even when we were kids, she'd go out of her way to not cause anyone any trouble," Han comments from your left.

Hyunjin takes a piece of steak from the grill and puts it on your plate, while Han starts telling a childhood story of you and him, "I remember one time we were learning how to ride bikes near the Han river, y/nnie was still using training wheels, and my older brother kept teasing her about it, so she took them off. She got about three feet down the path before she accidentally swerved into the freezing river. Luckily she could swim and we had to pull her out of the water. But when we insisted that we take her to the emergency room she looked at me and said 'I just fell in the river, it's not like I got hit by a car or anything!'" Han recalls.

The table erupted in laughter, except for Lee Know.

"You were okay though right?" Felix asks.

"Well for the most part, only some minor bruising!" you explain.

"MINOR!??! Your knee was practically busted open, you were bleeding like crazy!" Han exclaims.

Changbin stifled his laughter. And Han continued telling stories about you and his childhood. "There was this time in highschool when y/n was visiting me over the summer in Malaysia and one of my friends had a huge crush on her, like I'm talking gigantic, and y/nnie felt too bad to reject the guy, so she went on three dates with him until I had to call him and tell him that it was because she felt bad for him."

"Oh my gosh stop Ji, I still feel bad about that to this day!" You exclaim.

"Luckily that has been the only boyfriend of hers I've had to fend off," Han jokes.

"That's because he's the only boyfriend I've ever had!" you bring up.

"Well I didn't wanna embarrass you but yes that too," he chuckles.

"There's no way you've only had one boyfriend!" Felix exclaims.

"Are you gay?" Jeongin blurts.

Everyone stares at him before bursting into fits of laughter. "Stop! I'm being serious!" Jeongin yells.

"Uhm, I dunno? But no just guys don't really look at me like that," you say through chuckles.

"No wait that's sad!" Felix frowns.

You suppose that the two bottles of soju he had were finally starting to hit him. "No! Don't get all sappy I'm fine!" you insist.

Group dinners with you accompanying had become pretty frequent over the past few weeks, so had the clear sign that Lee Know was not fond of you or your presence.

Glares he would send you, cold and rude comments, even Han asked you what you did to make him dislike you so much. It tore Han apart, having to choose between his bestfriend and his cousin. Even though no one asked for him to choose, he always felt like the two of you disliking each other brought him into it.

Yet you had to go to Japan with Lee Know to help him film his vlog, maybe God did hate you, or maybe it was just bad luck. Whatever the case was, it did not help the fact that you were gonna be stuck with him in Tokyo and Kyoto for the next five days.

You had packed accordingly and met him at the airport. No words were exchanged between the two of you, except when he was instructing you to get his good side while you were filming him. "At least pretend you enjoy my company while on camera," you scoff.

Even when you landed in Tokyo, walking around with the man, you both exchanged few words. If you were a bystander on the street, it would seem like the two of you hated each other. He probably did hate you. Why? You have no idea.

"I'm gonna go out," you inform him, when the two of you return to your shared hotel room.

"Where?"

"A club, the one a few blocks west of here," you explain.

"That's dangerous," he comments before you're out the door.

You scoff, "I'm sure I'll be okay."

"Suit yourself," he shrugs.

You walk out the door and down the street to the club.

You mingle through the sweaty bodies to the bar, using the little Japanese that you did know to order a drink. "Long day?" a man beside you asks.

"Tell me about it," you chuckle.

"And what's your name?"

"y/n Han," you smile and give him your hand to shake.

He does but before he puts it down he kisses it, "well you look stunning," he compliments.

"Oh," you pause, "thank you, but uhm I can't really do anything, I'm here on a business trip."

"Well it's not like we have to go anywhere to do anything," the guy insists.

His presence was now making you uncomfortable. He got closer and closer to you, "c'mon sweetheart why don't we just slip off to the bathroom."

"No I'm good," you reply.

But the guy grabs your wrist and begins pulling you across the dance floor to the bathrooms despite your begging that he will let you go and leave you alone. Panic fills your mind, and another hand, a different one this time grabs your free wrist. Lee Know looks at you with worry on his face. "Who are you?" the guy from earlier asks.

"Her friend," Lee Know stares the guy down, "would you mind letting her go?" it was a question, but the only answer he would take would be yes.

"What're you gonna do if I don't? Hm?" The guy poses.

"You don't wanna fucking know," Minho seethes.

You look between the two men, hoping and praying Lee Know will win whatever is going on.

When the guy keeps dragging you, Lee Know punches him right in the nose. The guy's grip on your arm ends and Lee Know pulls you away from the guy and out the doors of the club in a swift motion. Before you can even thank him, he begins talking, "did he touch you anywhere other than your wrist?" rage was dripping in his voice.

You shake your head no, and tears well up in your eyes at the thought of what the guy was going to do to you if Minho hadn't been there.

"C'mon we're going back to the hotel," Minho says, giving you no chance to protest, not that you would.

When he opens the door to the hotel room he lets you walk in and closes the door behind you and him. "Thank you," you finally say.

"Don't mention it, d'you want to go home? I'll book a flight?" he asks.

You shake your head no, "I'm okay, it's okay."

"What happened was totally not fucking okay, you don't have to pretend like it was," he says while taking his shoes off.

He looks up at you, he crosses the room, kneeling beside you before unbuckles your shoes for you, tossing them near the doorstep.

"Why do you hate me?" you blurt.

Lee Know is quiet for a minute, "I don't hate you," he states.

"Then why are you so mean to me? You know what it's doing to Han? So why do you act this way?" you confront.

"Because it's easier to be mean to you and hurt Han then to tell him I'm head over heels for his cousin who is also our manager," he sighs.

"What?"

"You heard me," he retorts.

"Then why are you so-"

"Cold? Mean? Rude? Like I just said honey, I can't like you. I didn't want you to like me, so that way we wouldn't be anything," he elaborates.

"Who says I would even like you if you were nice to me?"

"So you wouldn't like me?" he whispers.

He stands up and tilts your chin up so you're looking at him. The words are caught in the back of your throat, "I would appreciate an answer my love."

"I- yeah- but- I yeah," you stutter.

"Keep it a secret?"

"Keep what a secret?"

"This," he leans down and his lips meet your own.

You immediately kiss back, taking a few minutes to savor the taste of him after the kiss ends. "You're a good kisser for someone who has only had one boyfriend before," Minho compliments.

"Thank you?"

Minho pauses, "I'm sorry, for being a dick, I wanna make it up to you."

You admire his feline-like features for a few moments before replying, "I can think of one way."

"What is it?"

"Another kiss?" you request.

And Minho is happy to oblige to your requests.

[sonotkari]

It Was You

Kang Haerin x Fem Reader

Sequel of 『 Gaeguri 』

※ Recommend reading the previous one if you haven't

[ Synopsis ]

Y/n, Y/n, Y/n. Always on Kang Haerin's mind. She can't help but always wonder about you and the small things you do.

Fluff, Angst (a bit?) | Haerin's backstory

[ Word Count ]

2.9k

[ a/n ]

I wasn't planning on doing a sequel of Gaeguri but my birthday just came and I wanted to do something special(?) and my mind was minding at the moment, imaginations flooding so I knew I had to make one!!

ps. My bday was like a week ago lmao

Happy 17th to me! Yay <3

Haerin was never the social type and every person who met her understood that more than they understood their everyday lectures at school. But the word "never" might be too overstating. 

The quiet girl who would peirce her gaze and flee away like the wind before you had noticed, used to laugh wholeheartedly while chasing her friends whenever they'd go to a nearby park and decide to play tag out of nowhere. She might've not been a radiating sunshine every time everywhere like little Mo Dani, but there wasn't a doubt that she was the next thing close to that. But even the so-called "sunshine girl" Danielle doesn't know this side of hers since Haerin had completely shut it down years ago. 

The first day of 6th grade, the 6th time moving to another new place. It wasn't really helped when Haerin's dad's company assigned him to new places almost every year which he could've moved on his own but Haerin's mom insisted that "family should stick together" 

So there she was from one place to another, almost every new school year it was always new faces. New faces that she felt like never getting used to. Determined at the first few times they moved, Haerin would do her best and open up to people, wanting to make new friends and have fun memories like she used to back at her original home place. But as it became the 4th and 5th, she began to wonder, what was the purpose of making friends when they'd soon become a past, a distant memory to her anyway? Haerin stopped trying, letting people come and go, not minding who would stay with her. Socializing was a lost cause is what Haerin had learned living her life and she stuck to it till high school. 

Meeting Danielle was one of the most interesting things Haerin had experienced in a long time after she had shut down her natural beaming side. She was used to people leaving her. It was either they got bored of the girl for being quiet most of the time or they were dubious of her. Because most of the others would at least speak even if they were introverted but Haerin would just be silent, never starting a conversation, not uttering a word unless she had to. So when Danielle stayed by her side despite the girl not talking at all, she felt something strange stir up inside her. Haerins parents had reassured her that as soon as she had started high school, they would stop moving around, which the girl wished could've happened sooner but it was a thing that she had no control over, so she just nodded and accepted the situation in silence.

Haerin was walking her way to the gym for her usual basketball practice. But then she saw someone familiar from the sidelines, watching the other members practice with eager eyes, locked on each player moving in the court. It was none other than Y/n L/n. She knew Y/n's existence since way back because Danielle would casually bring the girl up during their conversations. Dani didn't even have to bring her up for Haerin to know because Y/n was well-known by the whole school. Her cheery personality and kind heart had already made her the heartthrob of the campus except, Y/n herself was a bit dense to realize that fact. How Danielle had portrayed her as "the sweetest soul on earth" and how the people around her smiled when they were with her, proved that Y/n indeed was an amazing person inside and out. And Haerin might or might not have thought of wanting to try and talk with her, just a tiny bit. But she could never admit nor say that out loud because somewhere deep down Haerin was still indecisive about opening up to people. 

So Haerin was surprised when she was yapping about a particular crochet frog key holder and its origins to the Y/n L/n without realizing it. Not even a hi or hello but about a goddamn Banded Bullfrog. Unexpectedly, hearing Y/n's response made Haerin's eyes go wide. She knew about frogs because she had actually listened to Mr. Min's lecture when everyone was either sleeping it off or paying attention anywhere but in class. Half taken aback half astonished, Haerin's curiosity for Y/n had perked up making her continue their conversations without an awkward moment which was another new thing to Haerin because all she remembers is her former classmates from years ago stuttering being all awkward not knowing how to communicate with her. 

Y/n's image had strongly imprinted on the girl's mind as she couldn't stop taking a glance towards the girl sitting on the bench. What if she suddenly leaves? Why was she even here in the first place? Y/n was a member of the school council and usually, they'd be busy pondering and staying in the council office for hours. Well, that really didn't mind as long as Haerin would find a way to see her again. She wanted to see the girl and talk to her again. Haerin didn't know how to describe it in words, but there was a feeling there that stirred up inside her. Sadly the girl had student council matters tomorrow which meant she couldn't come to their basketball practice and this might be the last time Haerin was going to see her. Mulling it over her mind Haerin had to quickly think of some way to interact with Y/n again. But before she could utter a word, the girl left the gym along with her other Aussie friend Pham Hanni.

2 hours. The basketball player who just finished practice, who was tired as hell debated on whether she should wait for 2 whole hours, and the answer was yes. Did she even have to think about it? Haerin didn't know how she could wait for someone after a whole tiring day but if she did know one thing, she could never wait for tomorrow to give the green crocheted frog she had a pair of to Y/n. Why she wanted to give it to her? Simple. So they could be friends. Haerin pondered on her thoughts the whole night. How do you actually make a friend? Heck, it's been years since she tried to make movements and she wasn't going to just casually go to Y/n and ask her "Will you be my friend?" like the 7-year-old Kang Haerin used to say with a cheeky smile on her face on a random kid at a park years ago. But she also couldn't ask anyone, even Danielle because the girl was busy with her cheer practice for their upcoming game, and even if Dani did make time for her, Haerin was too embarrassed to ask someone on "How to make friends" at the age of 17. 

So the last thing that came to mind was the key holder they talked about hours ago. She had two so it totally wasn't a bother to give one to Y/n. And they'd match meaning that they're close, or going to be close... right? Haerin did not know a single bit about how this system works and it started to worry her, even frustrating her. She just wants to become close with Y/n, knowing her better and giving a crocheted frog didn't seem to be a perfect answer but at least it's something more than nothing... right? 

Yes, it was definitely right. 

Haerin had thought so, seeing the girl's big bright smile towards her as she thanked her for the frog. Wouldn't you call it a total win when you also get her number and get to walk with her home, yapping about the things you loved? For Haerin, it was like winning the lottery, and an hour of hard-core club practice plus 2 whole hours of waiting while daydreaming was totally worth it. 

"Sweetest soul on earth" is more like the sweetest in the whole galaxy. Looking at the small brown not so bad crocheted frog key holder Y/n just gave Haerin earlier, the girl couldn't help but smile again for the millionth time. She took the time and did something she had never done before just because Y/n knew how the girl loved frogs and how Haerin had messed up the color of yarn she used for her two-pair crocheted frog. What's happening? Haerin satisfiedly huffed and returned to her practice, with a smile on her face which the other members couldn't help but gawk or smirk at. "She's such a simp" The captain of the women's basketball team Shin Ryujin mumbled while shaking her head slightly with a chuckle, and beside her was The captain of Cheerleading Jang Wonyoung who had seen the whole interaction, smiling as she cooed "Awwh" watching the scenery happen in front of her like a rom-com. 

Months had passed since the interaction at the gym and all Haerin could think about was Y/n. It's not like she didn't constantly think about her before, she did, it's just that thinking about her became a habit now. Looking at a pretty flower, she'd think about Y/n, the moon glowing beautifully at night would make her want to snap a pic and send it to Y/n telling her "It reminded me of you" Suddenly every song she listened to, Y/n would casually linger on her mind like she was finding her in every lyric she heard. All those romance movies Haerin binge-watched with Danielle had become her favorite when she used to think of them as tacky, never expecting to grow fond of them after some time. Almost everything Haerin did, somehow Y/n's curved lips and slightly squinted eyes making that warm smile that Haerin adored the most would just come to the girl's mind before she could even notice. 

"You're in love with her Haerin-ah" Danielle stated with a tone like it was the most obvious thing ever alongside a childish giggle, looking at the girl in front of her confused to hell about what she was talking about. "In love...? You mean like those movies we watched where the two will―" "Kiss? Yes, Haerin-ah that's what I'm talking about" Suddenly it felt like Haerin's mind stopped working for a flashing second causing the girl to freeze at the spot which made Danielle giggle more. "But I never thought of kissing Y/n" Not until now. Feeling her cheeks become warm, a fading shade of crimson red had tinted its way. But how could Haerin know that? Her mind was occupied. "Well, love comes in different types so it's not like everything is about those movies" Haerin snapped off from whatever she was thinking and shifted her gaze back at Danielle who was eating her carrots as they spoke. "From hearing what you've described Y/n right now―" Danielle ponders a bit while munching her veggie sticks. "Even if it wasn't like those we watched, one thing for sure is you have feelings for her" What the Aussie girl had just said made Haerin think. "How can you tell that? What if it was actually platonic?"  "You seriously did not just say that when you blushed when I mentioned the kiss, Kang Haerin" Danielle chuckled, looking at the once again red-faced girl in front of her with a 'That's what I thought' look as she continued to munch her veggie sticks. 

Being straightforward with things was something Haerin was good at. Danielle had even pointed out that it was her talent, with her piercing gaze, monotone voice, and blank expression blurting things out. But today, or at least for now, Haerin had wondered where her so-called "talent" went when she needed it, mostly to cover up how she was lowkey panicking inside with her heart in a beating mess. Yesterday after talking with Danielle, the girl had made a plan. A simple plan which is asking Y/n how she feels about Haerin. If it's close to what Haerin was feeling, then "100% sure she likes you back" Danielle's voice rang through her mind as she took a glimpse of Y/n who was walking by her side, talking about something Haerin couldn't take a grasp of because her mind was full of how to bring up the conversation she had been thinking since last night. 

"You seem lost in your thoughts" Y/n broke out a soft chuckle seeing Haerin startle a bit on her suddenly peeking at the girl's face. "Sorry, I was dazing off..." Humming a response Y/n faced front again as they continued to walk. "Wanna share it with the rest of the class?" "Stop, you sounded like Mrs. Choi right now" After sharing some moments of laughter, a comfortable silence flowed between them with both girls lingering their gazes on each other. "... I have something to ask..." Fidgeting her fingers a bit, Haerin nervously faced Y/n. Sure the girl might be a bit dense here and there but Y/n wasn't that dense to not pick up the tension that flowed between them. "Yeah?" Stopping her tracks, Y/n responded lightheartedly maybe trying to ease the tension, or maybe trying to ease her heart which was a beating mess as well. "Well, I wanted to know—" Haerin silently cursed herself for hearing her voice crack up a bit. She didn't like any of this. Feeling like her heart would bust out of her chest any moment, her palms feeling sweaty because of the nerves perking up, her mind spinning millions of questions of doubt, and her voice felt like it was stuck in her throat, not being her usual self but still wanting an answer as if it depended on her life or something. This was the moment and there was no way of going back. So suck it up and just ask her was the last thing the girl had thought in mind before finally making up her mind as she groaned, repeating her words, this time with a more firm and clear tone. "I wanted to know how you feel about me" 

"How I... feel about you?" "Yeah—" Haerin fidgeted with her hands for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It's just... I don't know. I guess I've just been thinking about how I... feel about you" Haerin muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I like being with you, Y/n. Time really flies when I spend time with you and, when I'm not with you all I think about is you and- I... I kind of miss you a lot at those times..." Speaking bit by bit, her voice quivered slightly as words came out, each reflecting the emotions she had been keeping all this time. Then she remembered the first conversation you both made on that day at the gym and couldn't help but tug a small smile on her lips. "You taught me how to open up again when I thought I couldn't" Haerin then focused her gaze at Y/n, without it wavering a single bit. "I like it when I'm around you and I never want that to change. I care about you. More than I want to admit." Haerin still couldn't believe she was actually admitting her feelings out loud, but the words had already spilled before she could stop herself. "What I'm trying to say is— I have feelings for you Y/n. And I was wondering if you felt the same..." Haerin awkwardly chuckles, avoiding your gaze as she looks down fidgeting her hands once again before she mutters softly. "I want you to feel the same..." 

No one's ever totally confident about confessing and Haerin wasn't an exception. What if she blurted out the wrong thing and messed things up? What if it was all just Haerin feeling this way and it's actually platonic for her? Endless fears, worries, and questions swirling through Haerin's mind. But that all wiped off when she felt Y/n holding her hand and gently squeezing it which made Haerin fix her gaze back at the girl to see her eyes softly droop in adoration. "Is it a good timing to say that I also feel the same about you?" The relief Haerin had felt from that one sentence was incomparable to any other. Everything was going on so well it was almost scary like this could be some dream she was dreaming and the fear of waking up to a lonely reality was crepting up. But this was all real and Haerin knew that well when she felt the warmness and the floral-fruity scent of Y/n as she embraced her, tightening her grip on the girl's waist as they lingered on the wholehearted moment, both wanting nothing more than just to stay like this forever. Pulling out from the hug along with some soft giggles and laughs, Haerin fixed her gaze on the girl and they met once again. The distance between them was closing without even realizing it, the sudden urge to just lean in and—

Huh? The nose??

Why did I kiss her there??

Meeting each other's eyes again with both confused and surprised expressions, Y/n burst out laughing while Haerin looked down with the heat rising to her face, flushing in a shade of red as she groaned in embarrassment. 

"Sorry, I don't know what I was doing- I just- ugh" Stammering with her words, Haerin let out a sigh while Y/n giggled softly, holding her hand and squeezing it tightly one last time before looking at her with the same gaze full of adoration. "It's okay... let's take things on our own pace, hm?" Walking side by side with hands intertwined, the couple chattered lively on their way home. 

Haerin wasn't much of a social type. Not until she found the one she wanted to share her smiles and laughter along with her favorite frog trivia. 

been a while since I wrote something long

[sorcerersandskillusers]

Fyodor and the Devil: Analysis of Fyodor's motives and role in the narrative

Asagiri has stated that he based Fyodor not on Dostoyevsky the author but on a specific scene from one of his books The Brothers Karamazov where Ivan Karamazov confronts “the devil” in his room.

(It's a really good book, you should read it if you have time. Also. fun fact, Fyodor and the devil wear the same hat, “His soft fluffy white hat was out of keeping with the season.”)

Having read the book and gone over this scene, I realized that this could be used to find out a lot more about Fyodor as a character than we see in the story, including a potential glimpse at his real motivations.

A bit of context for the scene. Ivan Kramazov is a clever but deeply trouble man who has struggling with the concept of God and rationalising him with the cruelty of humanity, at one point while very sick, Ivan starts seeing a man in his room who claims to be “the devil”. Their conversation is a fascinating look at morality and why evil exists in the world, and if you look at it closely it reveals a lot about the role of a “villain” in a story.

This line from “the devil” is really interesting to me, and seems to explain a lot about Fyodor’s character, as well as align perfectly with how Asagiri has described Fyodor in interviews:

Before time was, by some decree which I could never make out, I

was predestined 'to deny' and yet I am genuinely good-hearted and not at all inclined to negation.

'No, you must go and deny, without denial there's no criticism and what would a journal be without a column of criticism?' 

Without criticism it would be nothing but one 'hosannah.' But nothing but hosannah is not enough for life, the hosannah must be tried in the crucible of doubt and so on, in the same style. But I don't meddle in that, I didn't  create it, I am not answerable for it. Well, they've chosen their scapegoat, they've made me write the column of criticism and so life was made possible.

Basically the devil is saying that he was created because without evil then good means nothing, if everything was perfect then nothing would happen or change, life couldn’t exist, so he was forced to be that evil even though he never wanted to be.

This is so similar to how Fyodor is described in the BSD exposition 2020:

Fyodor is the antagonist, he is the villain of the story, that is the role he plays. This explains why he chooses to commit so many atrocities in the name of  “following God's plan”. It even connects to his line in The Dead Apple, and his ability name. He is both crime and punishment, as “crime” or sin originates with the devil, but it's also the devil who punishes sinners.

(I mean the title of the episode he is introduced in is literally “My Ill Deeds Are the Work of God” by committing evil acts he is fulfilling God's purpose for him.)

And if Fyodor is really based on “the devil” it's very likely he also either does or used to wish for release from this role that was assigned to him, but he knows that he cannot stray from his path or the story will cease to exist. My evidence for Fyodor wanting to be free of his mission is just one interaction, when he kills Karma.

Look at Fyodor's expression here, this is the only time in the entire series where we see him look truly sad. This isn't an act, there is no one there for him to trick, he simply says a quiet prayer for the life of a boy who's only purpose was to suffer and die.

This next part of “the devils” speech actually seems to fit very well for Dazai, it's interesting since he is the narrative foil to Fyodor and clearly is a very similar character.

We understand that comedy; I, for instance, simply ask for annihilation. No, live, I am told, for there'd be nothing without you.

If everything in the universe were sensible, nothing would happen. There would be no events without you, and there must be events. So against the grain I serve to produce events and do what's irrational because I am commanded to.

For all their indisputable intelligence,men take this farce as something serious, and that is their tragedy. They suffer, of course... but then they live, they live a real life, not a fantastic one, for suffering is life. Without suffering what would be the pleasure of it? It would be transformed into an endless church service; it would be holy, but tedious. But what about me? I suffer, but still, I don't live. I am x in an indeterminate equation. I am a sort of phantom in life who has lost all beginning and end, and who has even forgotten his own name. 

This ties perfectly into Dazai and Fyodor’s debate on the nature of God in the sky casino arc.

Dazai here points out that it's not perfection and harmony that make the world move, it's the irrational, it's the foolishness and stupidity of humans who charges into life making a million mistakes but always finding ways to fight on through it. Here Dazai and Fyodor represent the conflicting sides of “the devil” with Fyodor embodying his mission to drive the world and Dazai embodying his secret love for, and wish to join, humanity.

“I love men genuinely, I've been greatly calumniated! Here when I stay withyou from time to time, my life gains a kind of reality and that's what I like most of all. Yousee, like you, I suffer from the fantastic and so I love the realism of earth. Here, with you, everything is circumscribed, here all is formulated and geometrical, while we have nothing but indeterminate equations! I wander about here dreaming. I like dreaming. Besides, on earth I become superstitious. Please don't laugh, that's just what I like, to become superstitious. I adopt all your habits here: I've grown fond of going to the public baths, would you believe it?

And I go and steam myself with merchants and priests. What I dream of is becoming incarnate once for all and irrevocably in the form of some merchant's wife weighing eighteen stone, and of believing all she believes. My ideal is to go to church and offer a candle in simple-hearted faith, upon my word it is. Then there would be an end to my sufferings.”

“"Why not, if I sometimes put on fleshly form? I put on fleshly form and I take the consequences. Satan sum et nihil humanum a me alienum puto."*

* I am Satan, and deem nothing human alien to me.”

This piece from the devil feels like it could be a description of Dazai’s character, his wish above all else to find happiness and love as a human despite believing he is a demon. Both Dazai and Fyodor have strong ties to the Devil, both of them are often described as demonic or inhuman, with emphasis placed on the darkness of their souls and the isolation they feel due to their minds.

But the difference between them is how they dealt with it, Fyodor chose to embrace it and fully commit to his role in the story as the ultimate evil for the greater good, but Dazai has always shown a fasciation with humans and has spent his life trying to connect to them and find meaning in his existence.

Finally, let's look at what we can learn about Fyodor’s motivation. Fyodor is the villain, he is the final obstacle the protagonist has to overcome, he is the driving force behind so much of Atsushi’s life and the reason so much of the series has played out at all. He sent Shibusawa to torture Atsushi as a child, he was an informant to the guild who put the bounty on Atsushi making the mafia turn on him, he was involved in the guild invasion, and obviously he was the master mind behind cannibalism and Decay of Angles.

If he is aware of his position as the antagonist, then he also is probably aware Atsushi is the protagonist, he knew he was the “envy of all ability users” after all, so he knows Atsushi has some significance to the world as a whole.

Atsushi is also the “guide to the book” which is seemingly Fyodor’s end goal, so even though Fyodor doesn’t seem to be focused on Atsushi, he has been indirectly influencing his whole journey up to this point. This also explains why Fyodor is only moving actively now, because the protagonist has appeared and his role as the villain can finally be fulfilled and he, like “the devil” can finally get the “annihilation” he asked for. Hence, Fyodor’s true goal is to erase himself from the narrative.

There is actually quite a lot of evidence for this. The obvious part is that Fyodor wants to rid the world of ability users while he himself is an ability user, he cannot exist in his perfect world. 

Then there’s the fact that in the Dead Apple, Fyodor calls himself “crime” if Fyodor is “crime” or “sin” then a world free of sin would not contain him at all

Even when Fyodor talks about sin, he says how humans are easily manipulated into killing each other, while he constantly manipulates characters into killing each other, he is the cause of the sin he fights.

A really strong bit of evidence is this interview with Asagiri and Harukawa

Not only does Asagiri reiterate Fyodors role as the person who moves the story, Harukawa specifically mentions that Fyodor might be trying to create a world without ability users because he thought it was a “bad thing to do” aka the action a villain would take that would lead to a hero stopping them.

“Dos-san is the biggest villain in the story so far, but I have continued to draw him with spaced out eyes that are neither righteous nor evil for a long time. The only time I drew his eyes completely white was when he said he would create a world without skill users. It was because, in reality, we would decide what is evil or not by our own scales, but I wasn't sure if he himself was doing it because he thought that was a bad thing to do.”

This also connects to how Fyodor was able to understand Gogol when no one else could, Gogol is chooses to fight against the way the world is to prove to himself that he truly is free. Fyodor, who is bound to play a part in a narrative, would understand that feeling and that longing to be truly free.

To be clear, I don’t think that Fyodor is really a good person whose just been trapped in an awful position against his will, we see many times that Fyodor revels in his cruelty and enjoys killing and torturing others. Its the same with “the devil” in the book, although he hates the job he was given, he tells Ivan stories of the people he’s corrupted and seems very proud of himself for it.

My personal interpretation is that the sadistic zelot personality Fyodor displays is a mixture of a mask and a coping mechanism, kind of similar to Yosano developing a sadistic side to help her deal with the guilt of half killing people in order to heal them. I think it makes sense that after centuries of cruelty and manipulation a person would become detached and stop really caring about the lives he destroys.

This analysis is partially unfinshed but I wanted to post it now and see what other people think of it.

[nouvxllev]

closed-door policy || p3

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader

Summary: Even if the sky were to fall under the three of you, you still couldn't believe that Wednesday Addams was standing right beside you, indirectly inviting you to a goddamn date in front of the entire student body.

Words: 5.2k

Warning: slight angst???

a/n: just a little update before i get kicked in the ass with assignments and exams

part 1 || part 2 || masterlist

You open your eyes, a blaring alarm clock from your phone blasting in your ears, only to wake up to an empty bed. Your empty bed. You look off to the side, where Wednesday was usually supposed to be, but none. No one.

A headache started to form, but it was fine, you'd think. It was one of the many post-party clarities you'd have. It wasn't even the worst one out of the many. Leaving only you to blame, and a groan to escape your lips as you massaged your temple.

You could almost throw up if not drinking a cup of water sitting next to your bedside table, wondering if it was even drinkable to begin with because of the aftertaste you experienced.

With a sigh, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed. Trying to stand up but kept grounded by whatever the fuck you were feeling now.

It was only so early in the morning. 6:30 displayed on your phone, the brightness overwhelming. Wednesday was always someone who got up in the earliest parts of the day. But you'd always find her sitting perfectly still at her desk, typing away whatever idea she had on her typewriter. It was the usual, the everyday thing. Until now. You don't know what changed her mind.

You closed your eyes, desperately hoping the nauseating headache would pass soon. You sit there, still as a board, your fists clenching around the fabric of your bedsheets. Until Thing, an appendage you once found horrifying to the point you locked yourself out of the dorm, approached you with a sticky note attached to his… fingers, body?

Reaching out for the sticky note, Thing signed. 'Wednesday left it. For you, I could only think.'

With heavy eyes, you read what was on the page.

"Forget what happened yesterday, everything."

Of course, you thought to yourself. Atleast she wrote it with her pure coherent handwriting. That's a plus.

Wednesday was always like this the night before. Acting as if the both of you weren't in love. Or atleast, had something going on in between. You didn't know anymore.

"Thanks, Thing." You replied before throwing the note into the trashcan.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Love had a way of wrenching itself into people's hearts; completely tearing them apart, limb by limb as they succumb to the fatal reality of unrequited love. If not death, it'll be love.

Day and night, her living wake, she shouldn't fall in love with someone. Again. Even in a million years, she'd rather be left alone with the reaper instead of someone by her side. Yet, she couldn't erase what she willingly felt for you. Though, unwillingly or willingly, she was in love. With you. Of all people. In and of itself felt terrifying.

She knew you wanted something more. Your eyes said it all, every time you talked to her you'd say words that should've been left unsaid, your presence itself made her know you wanted something more of the relationship she gave you. It was written all over you, etched in everything you do.

But that was the problem.

You were too in love with her.

Wednesday was afraid she couldn't love you as much as you loved her.

It was unforgiving, she knew, how she was leading you onto a label that meant nothing but quiet sighs amongst closed doors. It wasn't false hope that she offered, nor was it a mere hoax, Wednesday herself is still madly in love with you. She just denies it over and over.

She didn't mean to take it too far. To continuously bring you over to her side, kiss your worries away and the hefty pain that lingered on your soul, whispering whatever you wanted to hear. She didn't mean to be so vulnerable that it led her to a situation of long nights. Acting as if everything is fine, normal as it is. As if nothing ever happened, you never happened.

As much as she wants to get rid of you, get rid of whatever she was feeling about you, she needs you.

Your voice lingered. Echoing somewhere in her brain, in her heart dare she say. Your kisses remained on her stained lips, your touch persisted their warmth on her body, everything. Everything about you stayed, you stayed.

Wednesday needed you more than she could ever need someone in her life, she needed you more than she needed air to keep on living. You were her heartbeat that kept her alive all this time. It's confusing, even for her, how you were a paradox that Wednesday loved and hated how she knew you loved her back.

The many times you've mistakenly said 'i love you.' And the many times your eyes shimmered with hope that Wednesday would say it back. Of course, she never did. Instead, she wished that you'd take it back, take your undying love for her back and stuff it away deep into your heart where no one can reach it.

Wednesday wanted to erase it. Forget, forget, forget, repeats inside her brain, dawning on her. But she couldn't. She wouldn't.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You don't know how many seconds had passed when Wednesday walked by you, ignoring the simple hi and wave you offered to her. Of course, you kept on walking. Same old chatter surrounded your being, your four friends laughing along with the stride of your feet. But your mind wandered off to somewhere else, not really tuning in to whatever your friends had to say.

You could hear Enid asking her from the distance, asking her why she wasn't more friendly with you as if she didn't just go out of her way to rescue you from whoever the fuck that girl was yesterday. Truth be told, you could ask her the same question. Would you though? 'Course not.

It's not unusual for Wednesday to completely ignore you, or to glare at you like you've cursed her entire family bloodline with a single greeting. What is usual is for Wednesday to carefully drop a note into your bag.

'Quad. After class.

Signed, Wednesday Addams.'

Signed, Wednesday Addams, she writes. As if she wasn't the only person who makes out with you in secluded areas.

You read every stroke she wrote. Every word, every note that graces the pocket of your bag you always made sure to open whenever you pass by Wednesday, every time she turns around just slightly to read your expression when you open her note. You couldn't help but wonder if Wednesday will ever, one day, stop to think about adding more than just the location and what time will it be.

But you'd have better luck at dying first.

"Hey. . . Party. . . y/n!"

Words start to blur as you think to yourself even more. Would Wednesday ever give you something more than just a loose piece of paper she found lying across her trashcan? Would Wednesday ever think of you as someone she enjoys being with instead of the whole friends-with-benefits thing? Would Wednesday ever love you as much as you love her? Does Wednesday even give two shits about you?

"Y/n!"

You turned your head around, the note in your hands immediately being crumpled and stuffed into your pockets. Damn, why was everyone yelling your name all of a sudden this week?

"Yeah, hey," You started, stopping in your tracks when your friends stopped too.

"The party? The one that fur guy sent out?" Your friend asked, their arms crossed and leaning against a wall. "Calling all furs! Or some lame invitation." Right. You almost forgot the reason you went to an outcast among outcasts school.

'God, it's only been a day since the last party. Don't you guys get tired of doing this shit and doing the same fucking people?' You almost say. You were glad you caught yourself before words came flying out of your mouth. But you weren't wrong, parties were becoming consistent, and you couldn't attend them like usual without having to sit in bed for atleast 20 minutes to question your self-worth.

Maybe Wednesday's constant refusal did rub off on you.

"Can't go." You randomly blurted out, too quick for your friends to start noticing something's different about you.

"And why?" The other chimed in, immediately asking of you, you can sum up that all four of them were suspicious. "You always go with us every time! What happened?"

"I have homework. From Ms. Cadie. I really need to submit it by tomorrow. I can't fail her class this time."

All of them laughed. "Since when did you care about homework and Ms. Cadie?"

Your other friend agreed, slightly nodding their head. "The last time I've heard Ms. Cadie's name come out of your mouth is when you started talking about how fucked up it was for her to give you a low grade and how you would've torn up the exam paper if given the chance."

You shrugged it off. "I'm a changed person."

"Bullshit!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's amazing how somebody could ramble about so many at once, yet ramble about absolutely nothing or just something that literally has no sense whatsoever.

It was unfair. Sure, you loved Wednesday, you shouldn't be at the quad after class pretending to fawn over some guy on the bench with your palm resting on your chin, acting like he was the most important person in the world even though he probably doesn't know how to strike up something interesting as a conversation topic. But you would. Just for the small price of Wednesday glaring knives at him, and probably more at you too.

If having to meet death for the second time in a row to get an ounce of attention from Wednesday outside in terms of the closed-door policy, you would've been doing that ages ago if it weren't for her constantly locking you up in their dorm after night or after parties and something following you around.

Right now, you could've been enjoying your time with Wednesday. Letting her hands roam all over your body, kissing you as if you were the only person who mattered in this entire world. But no, you decided to see how early you'd face death. Or in short: You just wanted to see Wednesday jealous.

Childish, sure, you'd admit, but the way you would often sneak a glance over at her table with Enid, you could see how eager she was to snap the guy's head off. She could never be so gorgeous.

Your body leaned into him, your head tilting ever so slightly to get his attention, a sly smile gracing your lips even though you wanted to scowl at him for the 100th time.

"So..." The guy paused, anticipation waiting in his eyes as his leg rocked back and forth, "the Rave'Ns coming up and—"

"It is?" Your eyes locked onto his, eyebrows furrowed. A hint of surprise in your voice.

"Yeah, next week, and well," he continued, a smirk playing on his lips, "I was thinking we could go together. You know, on a date." He looked confident, you'd give him that. You almost felt pity for him for what you were about to say.

"I—"

"She'll be attending with me."

A sudden cold voice cut through the conversation, interrupting your soon-to-be-rejection. You turned to find Wednesday standing there, her eyes attempting to murder the guy in front of you.

Even if the sky were to fall under the three of you, you still couldn't believe that Wednesday Addams was standing right beside you, indirectly inviting you to a goddamn date in front of the entire student body.

You stayed silent, thanking whoever was up there for gracing you for this moment.

The guy scoffed, maybe too confident for your liking to scoff at The Wednesday Addams. "You don't even—"

"L/N owes me."

Her voice was stoic, collected even. But it carried so much intent that made his expression falter. Even you couldn't read what was inside her head, you could only hope it was an intricate 50-plan very gruesome murder of the guy.

"You have a ten-second window before I remind you that I have the physical and mental capacity to skin you alive to substitute your bones and follicles as a bow for my cello."

"Okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He put his hands up in surrender, carefully standing up and backing away. He muttered a half-assed apology, and you could hear his voice trembling. But even so, he still had the damn guts to meet your gaze. "I'll see you around, Y/n."

You turned to Wednesday, watching her face morph into a scowl. A twitch in her lips. Just how you liked it.

"See you around!" You yelled, waving goodbye while a smile was playing on your lips, knowing damn well Wednesday was regretting ever doing something remotely nice to you.

Wednesday's scowl deepened, you know of it. Just because she immediately grabbed your wrists, not caring once for the people who were staring bullets when she dragged your lovesick body around, leading you into a secluded area.

"So we're on a last-name basis now, Addams?" You teased as you stepped in front of Wednesday who was leaning against a wall, a grin appearing on your face even though your heart couldn't restrain your hands needily wrapping around her waist. "Thought you were better than that."

Wednesday looked you up and down, though you could see her façade falter at your simple touch. "You seem to have a hard time remembering anything beyond pathetically flirting with someone." Her eyes narrowed, crossing her arms. "You were supposed to meet with me."

"So what you're just spouting at me is that," you pause for a slight moment, relishing in the way Wednesday looked at you with that stoic expression. "You're jealous?" You whispered, a raspy voice coming out of your throat.

"I don't indulge in such an emotion. Let alone wear it."

You pushed her even further. "Oh, but you've tried it on so many times, Willa. I think you're getting used to it."

There was silence in the room. The confidence you were reflecting was starting to falter, you were about to say a thousand-word essay on the spot saying how you were so sorry for even talking back to her.

Wednesday let out a deep breath. "I didn't bring you here to argue." She leaned in, her lips almost in touch with yours. You could feel her breath on your skin, and you could see almost every feature she carried on her face. She didn't need to say anything more, you loved her as much as you loved kissing her.

---------------------------TIME SKIP----------------------------------

"Holy shit... Willa!"

You yelled, barging into the shared room the two of you lived in for the semester, dressed up and everything. It wasn't too fancy, nor was it too horrible up to your standards. It was just you overall, and you were comfortable with that.

"Get your shit together, we're gonna be late for the Rave'N!" You paced around the room, hoping to see an already dressed up and ready-to-go Wednesday Addams with that perfect scowl on her face and her go-to threat about how she'd rather do this instead of attending the Rave'N a second time.

But you had to remind her; she was the one who invited you.

You stopped over the vanity mirror you brought for the two of you, fixing the fabric of your clothes, trying to get it as neatly as possible.

You heard a turn of a doorknob behind you. "Damn, what took you so long? I was about toooohhhh…. holy shit."

You looked at Wednesday in the mirror, there she stood—looking absolutely gorgeous. It was truly unfair how she could steal your heart within mere seconds, and it was unfair how the world depicts heaven as something after death when it's right here in front of you.

Wednesday could've chosen not to do anything, and not to follow whatever the dress code was at the Rave'N, but here she was. The outfit complemented her style, her eyes, her soul, her everything—it suited her. More so than most. Of course, it was an all black gown just like her previous Rave'N attire, but it seemed she changed it up a bit, adding subtle details that captured the essence of her entire being.

You turned around, coughing whatever was magically stuck in your throat. Maybe the urge to make out with her the entire night.

"You—You look.." Fuck, you almost choked on your words. "You look, menacing. Yeah." Your last breath almost came out as a whisper of relief, a sigh of someone who’s been charmed till their dying moments. It wasn't the typical compliment you'd give to someone, but it was the compliment that always had Wednesday smirk.

"You're making quite the commotion about a stereotypical party amongst teenage adults," she remarked, walking towards you, her voice carrying that distinct calmness that bordered on some sort of intent.

"Didn't you attend this before?" You said, fixing her collar, "It's like a prom, Wednesday, think about it," you replied with a playful grin. Your hands firmly tugging the points of the collar to not immediately pull her into a crushing hug.

"People don't usually persuade someone by making it worse."

"You're the one who invited me." You pointed to Wednesday, then to yourself. You always loved the crease in Wednesday's eyebrows whenever you pointed out something correct.

Wednesday arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms while she looked at you up and down. "I invited you out of—"

"Jealousy?" You immediately chimed in, a huge smile tugging on your lips, already knowing what the answer was. Until it faltered because of Wednesday's dark gaze dawning on yours.

"—Necessity." She continued her own sentence. "This is not because I enjoy such affairs. Nor jealousy as you assume."

You laughed, a way to hide the creeping blush that was making their way to your cheeks. "Right, necessity. Because every person like you attends a prom as a need, not because they wanted to scare away a poor guy out of flirting with her girl."

The last two words slipped out almost accidentally and immediately, your bold confidence almost fading away as your throat slightly cracked. But it was fine; seeing how Wednesday had that perfect blush tinted on her face. You could almost paint every sunset that ever was to adore this world with the color of your soul whenever you see it.

She cleared her throat, her eyes averting yours. "Don't hold your breath."

"Just a bit of harmless teasing. Sorry, Wends." You power-walked your way over the door, a tinge of embarrassment coloring your cheeks and invading your brain. You turned the knob, opening the door for her as a silent gesture that the conversation should probably just stop and end.

Wednesday walked through the door, her usual stoic expression back in place, though the faint blush never wavered away. She never fails to make you smile like a complete fool.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Okay, I just have to lay a ground rule before we enter."

You stepped in front of Wednesday, meeting her gaze with your own serious or scowl expression. Music coming from the Rave'N was blasting in your ears as if it was a sonic boom, the bass coming alive as your body vibrated.

"Please do make it quick before I flee the scene with a decapitated head along my hands." Wednesday squinted, her tone almost disgusted. You could tell that the flashing lights and smoke machines surrounding the Rave'N wasn't really Wednesday's scene; that should've been obvious by now.

"I know you were upset at your last Rave'N because of the prank thing, and—"

"It was simply inane. Unforgivable, even."

"...Right," you nodded slowly, almost concerned with how passionate she was about the subject matter. "Buuut, please don't recorrect their doings. Even if it was 'unforgivable' as you say. You know, with real blood."

Wednesday's eyes narrowed slightly, a tilt in her head. "I make no promises, y/n."

You clicked your tongue, giving her a slight nod of acknowledgment, turning your heel, and letting Wednesday follow suit. "Good enough reassurance for my conscious about aiding and abetting your future crimes."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The two of you stepped into the life of the party, or rather the complete chaos was it all. You knew the Rave'N as some kind of formal event that Nevermore always held but couldn't be bothered to attend, but you did know that it was always held delicately with the hands of the teachers.

And, fuck, you were so wrong.

Ever since Weems died, and a new principal took her position, the event was nothing compared to a typical frat party you were always getting dragged into.

There were bodies on the floor, laid down and absolutely fucked out of their mind, standing up, hell there was even someone on the ceiling.

The air was completely occupied with the scent of alcohol terribly not-so-hidden by the mix of juices and something else that you couldn't quite identify and would rather stay that way for the rest of your life. There was that occasional harmonized (somehow) burst of laughter from the students who attended, the dance floor wasn't that filled with people but it was enough to get pushed around on.

Drinks and food were scattered on the sides, and you of all were surprisingly amazed that they weren't trampled to death and shattered into pieces.

"Oh, God." You muttered to yourself, already expecting Wednesday to have disappeared the moment you turned your head.

Until you were met with the same girl, looking like the perfect balance between chaos and tranquility with her presence.

"You do realize you have approximately five seconds to persuade me to continue further before I maim you from head to toe and taxidermy your flesh." She quipped while you gulped. The sentence alone made you feel like you were being maimed.

"I plead the fifth," you held your right hand up high as you faced Wednesday. "You don't have to enjoy it. Just stay with me, alright?" You lowered your hand, offering it to Wednesday, "I am your date after all. You can't just abandon a girl like that."

Wednesday could only look at you up and down, she has a habit of it doesn't she, giving you a bland look before walking down the steps and over to the drinks table. Completely ignoring your rather pathetic attempt at holding hands with her.

With a sigh, you followed her oddly fast-paced walk. "Oh, so you can fuck me sideways and back on our balcony but you draw the line at holding my hand?"

"I rather not use such vulgar terms, but precisely."

"Okay, Wednesday, I wasn't the one who was whispering how much you wanna bend me over and absolutely—"

She suddenly stopped, turning her body to face yours. "Should've stapled then skinned your mouth the time we stepped out of the dorm." You almost missed how Wednesday's cheeks had that slight red tint on them, and how her eyes softened just a tiny bit.

"But how else are you able to kiss me?" you teased, your hands going behind your back as you looked at Wednesday with a lopsided grin plastered on your face, just how Wednesday loathed it.

She looked up at you, crossing her arms while she lowered her voice down to something of a whisper, a sultry hint to it. "I'm sure there are other areas you want me to kiss."

"Well, aren't you a mind-reader?"

"Oh, aren't you insufferable?" Wednesday rolled her eyes, but she couldn't stop a subtle smile tugging at her lips.

The two of you enjoyed the party, somewhat. A little bit more than the other one, but it was nice to be in eachothers presence with everyone around you. Not just behind closed doors.

It was awkward just to be standing there, your hands clutching the edge of the table while Wednesday had hers perfectly placed in front of her. It was the dynamic that you always noticed; one neat, one... not so neat, but she tries.

It was peaceful, peaceful enough for the party scene going on around the two of you, until a certain someone showed up. Holding himself a drink and his hands digging in his pockets.

"Surprised to see you guys here." Ajax approached you, giving the both of you a slight nod of acknowledgment while you just smiled. You didn't know if Wednesday gave him a scowl or just plain-out ignored him.

"Hey, 'Jax. Not surprised you're here." you replied with the friendliest smile you could give to a guy like him. Not like you hated him, you just wanted to be with Wednesday without any company as of now.

Ajax shifted slightly under Wednesday's gaze, discomfort crossing his features before he recovered with a casual shrug. "Figured I'd join in before exams start," he said, taking a sip of his drink.

"I'm surprised Wednesday took you out instead of the other way round."

Your eyes lit up, finally having a topic you'd enjoy. "Well, she actually—"

"I have to prevent her from getting into trouble like the last very few times. A roommate is only someone with the same residence space, nothing more and nothing less. Far than a friend."

Oh, right.

"Right," you replied, pulling your lips to a thin line to mask the disappointment you felt. "Just roommates."

It stung, sure.

Yeah, that's it. It just stung. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Could've gone without the last few sentences." You mumbled to yourself, your voice brittle.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hearing the girl who you convinced yourself to be your forever and the love of your life dismiss your relationship with her as something no more than roommates and less than friends felt like shit. But it was fine. You weren't dealing with a fuck ton of relationship baggage and having to lie that all your 'I love you's' to her were just something to keep whatever you guys have going on light just for you to cry about something like that. Even when you could and would.

But having to stare from the sidelines at a guy flirting with said love of your life with a punch clenched around your palms a little bit too tight that you went over to just for her. Worst is, you knew the guy for being a stuck-up dickhead who has his own cock far up his head.

Oh, how you hated Xavier Thorpe.

Fuckzone is bad enough, but friendzoned? Completely-abolished-by-some-random-dudezoned? But for the record, you too were aimlessly flirting around with another guy for her attention instead of making out with her in some remote area. Maybe this was the karma everyone was talking about.

"People say if you stare at him for a while longer his head might start going in circles."

"Holy shit!" You turned around, a bit spooked, but it was just Enid. The bright bubbly sunshine you always needed in times when you were surrounded by whatever thoughts you were thinking about. "Hey, E."

Enid grinned, showing that infectious smile she carried. "You know Wednesday won't go after him. Especially him." The two of you looked at the guy, ruffling his hand in between the strands of hair while he talked to Wednesday. Who wasn't paying the slightest attention at all.

You let out a forced chuckle, appreciating Enid's attempt to lighten the mood. "I'm not—I'm not worried about that."

"Then why are you staring daggers at him like how Wednesday does to everybody?" She stood by you, side by side, her hands tight behind her back. But you couldn't really tell her that you and Wednesday are friends with benefits.

"It's just—"

You started, almost started. Until the words got stuck in your throat when you saw how Xavier led Wednesday to the dance floor, his eyes stuck on hers while she reluctantly followed him. How he tried to get Wednesday to dance along with him, his lips curving into an awkward grin.

"It's nothing." You nodded slowly, trying to tear your eyes away from the sight of Wednesday with Xavier, but your efforts were drained.

"I'll head back early, Enid. Sorry to bother your night with all this."You handed your cup to Enid, her hand hesitating to grab your cup. You could see how she offered a sympathetic look, her hand almost reaching out for your own.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I didn’t see you when I returned."

The door slowly closed behind Wednesday, and you could hear everything down from her steps to her breathing as she changed into her usual clothing.

You were slumped over a chair, pretending to do your homework for the first time, but it was just a ruse. You were just staring at a piece of paper, the words slowly starting to morph into Xavier and Wednesday's names side by side in your vision.

"Probably because you were seeing someone else." You muttered, bitterness leaving a trail of venom in your words as you turned around in your chair.

Sure it was childish, you knew Wednesday was never going to accept him as a love interest. But neither is she going to accept you.

Wednesday raised an eyebrow, her features scrunching up as she observed you.

"Nothing. I just wanted to...” Your jaw clenched. Think of a lie. Lie, lie, lie. “Just wanted to take a rest. I’ve been going to a lot of parties this month, you know? Also, the whole vibe wasn't really my thing."

Half true, half lie. Who even unironically says vibe anymore anyway? But you wouldn’t admit that you were jealous because Wednesday was just talking to some dude and Enid brings up some spur-of-the-moment bullshit that lead you to this situation. You don't blame her, though.

For a moment, you thought Wednesday saw through everything, Right through your soul by the way she walks towards you.

"I swear, I—" Your words got caught off as soon as Wednesday's lips touched yours. Her fingers tracing your jawline as she leaned towards you, pulling you in as her hand trailed along the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wednesday regretted how she kissed you, once again. How she felt pity when your voice dwindled to a mumble, something she found unsettling considering how you were always someone who had joy written all over her face and her heart on her sleeve.

She kissed you, over and over again. Her lips onto yours, yours onto hers. She knew she had you wrapped around her finger, how you also had her wrapped around yours. How her bed always felt warm with you in it, how her world started to flicker with colors she never saw before, how her soul melted by the touch of your hand.

By the time you pulled away from the kiss, Wednesday was in awe of how you were something she'd cherish if it wasn't for her internal argument with herself when it comes to you. Her thoughts that consumed her till the very end.

"Wednesday," she heard you breathe, her body on top of yours, "Do you..."

Don't say it. Don't say it, don't say it, don't—

"Don't say it."

She murmured, by accident. She didn't mean to say it out loud. Her eyes went wide, while yours went dark. Almost like hers, even.

"Yeah, right." You whispered, she could tell you were disappointed. Or even angry, or upset.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it.

She could almost say.

You don't know how much I love you.

But she didn't. She wouldn't.

[stringsbasement]

Your art of peri and your Villain AU of him? perfection. I read your twt thread and I'm greedy for more, im so serious like If there was a 100k word fanfic of your au I would read it in a heartbeat!! THATS how much im obsessed with the concept

thank you so much! i didn't expect there to be so much interest in my thoughtless doodles and rambles. luckily, i already have a draft for a rant i formulated about this version of peri's possible motivations, and now i have an excuse to share it!!

also, as a bonus, have this silly doodle :)

[his hairstyle is his attempt to separate himself from his parents, but no matter what he does with it, he can never get it to sit without that stray tuft and curl at the very end.

also, his bowtie is in reference to chloe and my initial art of irep before his design was revealed. the latter almost makes it seem like they "swapped roles."]

the thing is, it's hard to imagine peri as someone purposefully wanting to harm others for his own pleasure. for a "bad" au of peri to occur, he'd have to take after timmy, and seek chaos the same way he did

now, timmy is a good person at heart. his fairies love him, and he loved them in turn. that's undeniable. however, timmy was so stressful he affected cosmo and wandas marriage, and they had to retire right after him to rekindle their love and stop being so awful towards each other. timmy was simultaneously one of the best and worst things to ever happen to them

so it's not that much of a stretch to think he'd affected peri during his development, to the point he unknowingly influenced peri's core beliefs, which he'll carry over later in life

timmy used his fairies to escape from his regular life. he was incredibly reckless, and shirked responsibilities till the consequences got him back tenfold. a dangerous, but fulfilling way of living. he might've mellowed out in the later years, but considering he chose to keep vicky around to purposefully make himself miserable and keep his fairies instead of facing reality, maturity wouldn't be a straight or easy path

peri, adopting this way of thinking, believes the best way to live life is taking risks. ignoring your present problems in favor of escapism. he would insist this upon his godchild, and be blind to the complex nuance of dev's situation

dev's parental neglect differs from timmy's, and thus requires different treatment. but peri doesn't realize that, and dev is a child who cannot comprehend how awful he really has it, let alone communicate it in a way that isn't just lashing out and throwing tantrums

for classic peri, this is an annoyance. for this peri though? he'll enable it, because he thinks dev needs to get it out of his system. like timmy. which is in some way correct, but it's a flawed, only temporary solution

and it's in this way a path of deeper exploration opens up about characters similar to cookie, highlighting how flawed the godparent system can be when a child is assigned a godparent who cannot fulfill what they truly need

starting a ghost apocalypse is nothing compared to the wishes that has been granted before. and, honestly, dev taking viozalia's staff to use against her is a clever move. this peri wouldn't be downtrodden like he was in the original scene, but impressed. he would say as such, and dev, being the emotionally starved 10 year old he is, will soak those words up like a dry sponge

(slightly off topic: i like to think a little quirk this peri would have is, instead of looking to da book of rules for guidance, (cosmo, wanda, and his classic self do this multiple times in the show when in unique situations,) he'd be searching for anything that states what can't he do. "what to do when your god kid tries to start a ghost apocalypse... nothing? sweet!")

this would naturally allow him and dev to bond a little more. even if it's just shit talking other people and how they're totally better than everyone else

it doesn't mean they get along splendidly. dev is still pissed that he can't make the wishes he wants, and peri overcompensates by allowing him to throw himself into situations that just narrowly avoids sanction. because, oh yeah, peri would not appreciate being forced to follow the rules which includes wiping the godchild's memories after the godparent's term has passed

(if anything, he'll find a loophole out of it. he learned from the best, after all)

this is also where peri's spoiled nature would shine through. being offered everything just because he was a baby would make anyone entitled

he and dev are too similar for their own good. they have have access to anything they could ask for, but are unable to get love from one person they want it from. it's almost pitiful

to keep those thoughts out of dev's (and his own) mind, peri resorts to pushing dev out of his comfort zone, which would ordinarily be a good thing, only, he goes way too far to the point of regression

you know, it really doesn't help that dev looks a lot like timmy. i mean, look at them...

that's timmy with slicked back hair and a white jacket. c'mon

but even with all of this, peri doesn't really become a villain. he's antagonistic at most, with his strained relationship with his parents and his help in making things harder for hazel. luckily, the latest episode has given me a few ideas

when peri inevitably comes to care for dev, he'll obviously has to do something about his constant unhappiness. dev has a point in complaining about the fact hazel has two godparents and he only has one, even when his life is "worse" (another unhealthy way of thinking,)

hmmmm. so how can dev have two fairy godparents, and how can peri break da rules without putting himself at risk?

who other than a mirror of peri's own self?

a shift inevitably took place, one where peri became more intense and irep more soft. it's so subtle it goes unnoticed until thousands of years have passed

irep has become timid, soft, and well-meaning. if peri either quits his position or gives way for another slot and puts dev under a sort of split-custody, dev will be able to use anti-fairy magic, which can completely bypass any of the rules regular fairy magic is withholden to

irep will get what he wants as well. in this post, i answered an ask in which i speculate that irep genuinely does want a godchild, and the love and appreciation that comes with it. that much would stay the same for this au

and, well, unlike irep, peri has always been willing to share

this would make way for a bunch of whacky hijinks, potential plots, and new threats. consequences piling up until they become too huge to ignore. not to mention the full implications of a fairy and anti-fairy switching roles. of course, this is just a fun idea i came up with on the spot, and i haven't thought it out too much, so pointing out any plot holes that would come from this is appreciated!

i have more to say, mainly about peri and his parents' initial separation, as well as the parallels that can be found with this version of peri and hazel, but i feel it would be best to end it here :)

thank you for making me write all of this!

[cameronspecial]

Let Me Write About You, Angel

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Writing About Their Sex Life

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.8K

Summary: Rafe and Y/N finally get to take a class together, but maybe she didn't choose the right class to share with him.

Masterlist

Y/N knew she shouldn’t have let Rafe take an elective with her. She should’ve called it fate when they didn’t get into the same class during the fall semester, but Rafe was very determined to be in the same class as her. She honestly does love being able to spend time with him during class; it’s just that maybe a creative writing class isn’t the best for both of them. Rafe respects her boundaries during class, letting her focus on taking notes and listening to the professor, so that isn’t the problem. No, the problem is that Rafe hates creative writing as a whole. He isn’t great with words and the only topic he wants to write about is his angel. So far he is skating by with his assignments; however, he needs to do decent on his final portfolio to pass the class. Y/N makes it her mission to make sure her boyfriend passes and she is starting to regret it. For the past assignments, she didn’t have time to go over his work before he submitted it, so she was unaware of the recurring theme in all of his work. 

Rafe’s eyes bore into her as she read over his work, anxious for what she had to say. He doesn’t care about passing. If he doesn’t pass, he can always let his dad’s money pass hands to change that F into a B. Except this is a little different, Y/N wants him to do well so he wants to do well. Y/N glances over each word and heat starts to build inside of her heart. 

I don’t believe in religion, 

yet I do believe in Angels. 

Because I found mine, 

And she is absolutely divine. 

I live for her smile.

She makes my life worthwhile. 

She stole my heart

Because she is a work of art. 

His poem has no structure and isn’t long enough per the assignment requirements. It does rhyme, yet she has to admit it isn’t very good. She is sweetened up by the fact that he chose her as his subject. As she reads the rest of his pieces, she notices how she is his only subject. She finally reads the last piece and looks up at him with a soft smile. “You wrote about me,” she states, flipping through the pages. He nods, “Yeah, you are my muse, Angel. Do you like it?” “It’s really sweet, Rafe. I just don’t know how I feel knowing that you wrote about our sex life for your short story and that our professor is going to mark this,” she explains. He flashes a proud smile, “Yeah, I think I really captured your beauty in that one. I was thinking about reading that one during our last class when we can share our work. Show that guy, who sits in front of us who keeps looking back at you, just how satisfied you are with me.” Y/N’s eyes widen to saucers and she shakes her head. “Rafe, please don’t read this in class. In fact, I think we need to work on some of these pieces because you can’t only write about me,” she begs, turning the stack of papers so he can read her feedback. He frowns, “Come on let me write about you, Angel.” 

“You can, but if you want to pass, you have to choose three other topics to talk about. You can choose one piece to keep about me.”

“But I only want to write about you. Plus, I can’t choose because they all have to do with you so I love them all.”

“I know. Maybe we can alter the topic so it is still about me but not as obvious. My favourite is this sudden fiction. Your stream of consciousness is really good and you bring the scene to life with the senses. So let's see what you can write about for your other pieces.”

Rafe nods at his girlfriend’s suggestion. His heart flutters at the thought that she likes one of his works. He takes a second to seriously consider what she says and a light bulb goes off. “How about for the poem, I write about the future family that we can have?” he considers, already writing down the lines he is thinking of. She reads over what he writes and a smile blooms across her face. “That is a great idea. Now, we just need to look at two other topics.” 

———

Y/N is studying in the library when Rafe comes rushing to her with his phone in his hand. “Angel, Angel. Look what I got on my portfolio,” he announces. His phone shoots before her eyes and she has to hold his hand to keep it steady. Y/N looks at the screen, reading the B- on display. She claps her hand in celebration and then wraps her arms around his neck. “This is amazing, Rafe. I am so proud of you,” she kisses his cheek. He revels in her pride, “It wasn’t all me, Angel. I have you and your brilliant brain to thank for the help. You make me smarter every single day.” Rafe couldn’t feel more lucky to have such an amazing girlfriend, who helps him grow as a person and succeed.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @queen-shadow22 @victory-in-the-llama @drewsmusee @starkowswife

[miguel-owhora]

Something like one day Miguel assigns you some task and in the process you encounter a variation of his and you completely forget about your mission, then Miguel has to go look for you because enough time has passed, only to find you half unconscious and very stupid, with clear signs that another Miguel fucked you.

I was actually hooked on your idea idk idk

TYPE — drabble

SYNOPSIS — what anon said

WARNINGS — 18+ , cheating but is it really cheating if it's a variant of your husband , cunnilingus , squirting , implied multiple orgasms/milking

FEM-ALIGNED READERS AND MINORS DNF, YOU WILL BE BLOCKED.

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE HEAVILY APPRECIATED.

TAGS — @sweetcorpse , @tophamhat-kyo , @villainousdelicacy , @realitylemon , @gayaristocrat , @gaynesspersonified

MORE — this idea literally has me foaming and slamming inside my cage

This version of your home world isn't unusual. It's literally a couple years from '99, a couple years back into the past. Nothing unusual, nothing uncommon from your current year back in your original timeline. Swinging around your city is nice, the sky dark with the city lights polluting the night sky, preventing you from seeing the stars - that is, you never really did see them, unless if you went to the moon station. But that was only ever a privilege you got once you were older.

You spent majority of your youth in the underground part of Nueva York, living in the dark with only the city lights as the sun. You only ever stepped out whenever you wanted to rebel and when you went to college, and only ever moved out of the underworld - the name many called the underground of NY - when you got with Miguel. Bless his heart, as much as you adored your husband and how many years you've been living on the nicer side of NY - that is in looks, but just barely - you would always favor the underworld. You found that despite the reputation it earned, the people were always more real and down to earth than the people living overhead.

You shook yourself out of your thoughts and just barely swerved out of the way before you hit a pole. You swung yourself up and landed on top of a skyscraper of a building, landing in what many would dub the classic spider pose. You peered over the edge of the building, overlooking the city in all its glory. Nueva York, as a whole, no matter how corny you would sound right now, would forever hold a special place in your heart. The people, the food, the diverse mixture of culture and background - that's what made Nueva York, Nueva York: just a clusterfuck of everyone and everything.

After a solid couple seconds of surveying everything you raised your hand to look at your goober - despite what Miguel tried to get everyone to say, it was a goober at the end of the day, a damn watch if you want to be simple about it - and began to type in it. You read over the mission Miguel gave you, just a simple 'catch an anomaly and go home' type of mission It wasn't one of those big bad villains, just some guy. Didn't even have a name.

You snorted to yourself as you lowered your arm and stretched, grunting as one or two of your bones popped pleasantly, blood flooding back to wherever it needed to go.

"I didn't know we had a Spider-Man."

The sound of Miguel's voice nearly has you falling off the building, and hadn't it been for your ability to stick to surfaces, you would've been a splat of flesh on the floor. You whipped around, startled, and found yourself looking at your husband.

...Future husband, as this Miguel isn't - first of all - your Miguel and younger than the early thirties man you knew and love. But it was still technically your husband. Technically. Unless if this was one of those world's where you didn't go overhead and stayed in the underworld, or something along those lies, somewhere where you never met Miguel.

This Miguel of Earth-547, Miguel-547, was younger than your Miguel, a bit more youthful, but no less handsome. Perhaps in his twenties, with the telltale signs of a lack of sleep on the heavy eyebags underneath his dark eyes, perhaps from studying so much. The thought has you almost snorting but you caught yourself as you stepped down from the railing of the building, looking over at Miguel with a slight tilt of your head.

"You don't. Not yet, at least." You replied, eyeing him with keen interest, mission forgotten.

Miguel raises an eyebrow, looking unimpressed. You shake your head, snorting in amusement. He's Miguel, he's your husband, just like when he was younger, back when you first met him, back when you first roomied with him against your will.

"Who are you?" Miguel asks, and you can see the regret written across his face. This time, it makes you laugh, both at his face and at the question.

"That's.. that's stupid. Nevermind." Miguel mutters, face darkening in embarrassment as he lightly pouted - frowned, whatever, he has the same face for both feelings - and looked away. It's such a Miguel thing to do that you choke and cough, laughing, and wiping away tears that never meet your fingers, not with your mask covering your face.

"I'd tell you my name but..." You rolled your shoulders, placing your hands on your waist. "I think Miguel would get mad at me for revealing my identity, even if it's just my name. I don't want to mess with any canon event. You know how it is."

"I don't." Miguel replied, glancing back at you with a confused expression. "And Miguel? That's.. that's my name. I'm guessing you mean somebody else? And canon ev- what the shock are you even talking about?"

Oh the irony, you thought to yourself. "Something like that, sure, and it's a long story."

Miguel pursed his lips and gave you a look. You grinned behind your mask, the lenses to your mask squinting at him.

"But I can offer you something better."

This got Miguel's attention and you chuckled, still grinning. Gotcha.

Which is how you ended up in Miguel's dorm room, stuffed between his legs and eating at his pussy. His legs hold you firmly between strong thighs, keeping you trapped and stuffing your face into pussy - not that you minded of course. It's your favorite past time, and why would you deny yourself the opportunity to eat your man's cunt like it's your last meal? You'd be a fool not to.

Miguel's voice is breathless and whimpery, a hand holding the back of your face as he shamelessly grinded against your mouth. He arched his back and squeezed his thighs when your mouth attached to his swollen cock, sucking on the sensitive nub. Your tongue dipped into his hole as you felt him tremble and moan, incomprehensible words of praise and encouragement tumbling from his mouth as he came inside your mouth.

He tried to push you away once his climax passed over, but you didn't budge, merely using your enhanced strength to grab onto his thighs and gently push them down. The position made him even more open and gave you even more access to the sweet, delicious slick that poured out of him, which you didn't dare let a spare a single drop and eagerly slurped up.

"Hah - ca- shock! - cálmate, pinche perro!" Miguel moaned, his thighs tensed and twitching as he danced between pushing your head away and humping into your mouth. He moved when you slipped into two fingers and began to move them, thrusting them in and out of his pussy with a certain expertise that came with someone who's done this before, and sucked on his cock.

Whatever you did, however you learned it, was enough to rip an unexpected orgasm from Miguel that had no buildup and caught him off guard. Even moreso when he felt liquid shoot from his pussy and he went unbelievably warm, but shock, if it didn't make him stomach flutter. His cheeks darkened when he heard you obscenely slurp, drinking whatever liquid he squirted out.

"What - what the shock was that?!" Miguel breathed out after you finally pulled away with a pop. Miguel felt something hot and possessive curl in his stomach when he saw the bottom half of your face - the only thing you dared to show him, the upper part of your face was hidden by the mask you wore - was dripping wet with his fluids. He watched as you licked your lips; and Miguel swallowed.

"You squirted," You said calmly, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. You pulled your fingers away from his pussy and plopped them into your mouth, cleaning them of whatever slick coated it, and Miguel stared with wide eyes.

He slowly blinked and looked away, beyond flustered.

"I never knew I could do that." Miguel muttered, panting.

"Well now you do, use it wisely." You replied, amused, lips curled into a teasing grin. Miguel rolled his eyes, but not unkindly. Your eyes flickered from his face down to the rest of his body and over to the lower half. His pussy was slick and swollen, the dark hair neatly trimmed, looking and smelling and tasting absolutely delicious. That never did change about him, did it? You could spend all eternity between his legs, eagerly doting on his cunt.

You snapped out of your thoughts with a little grunt as Miguel suddenly hauled you off the ground and onto his bed, flat on your back. The lenses of your mask widened and your mouth went dry when Miguel swung himself over your lap, straddling you. Your hands instinctively fell onto his waist, so small and holdable, and nervously giggled, licking your lips that suddenly felt too dry.

"What's - what's all this about?" You asked, flustered. Miguel seemed to pick up on this and smiled, a little dangerous, a little fond. He slowly rolled his hips down, eyes gleaming when you softly moaned, your cock, hard in your suit, eagerly responding to some stimulation.

"Just a little treat. You ate me out..." Miguel's hand reached down to grab a hold of your cock, rubbing it through the material of your spandex. "...So I'll let you hit."

"Fuck." You whispered, breathless. Miguel just chuckled, eyes dark and smile dangerous in the way that made you fall in love all over again.

-

"Have you checked on [Name], Miguel?"

The sound of his AI's voice is enough to rip Miguel's attention from the holograms in front of him. His eyes feel dry as he gives a couple of blinks, vision straining from having stared at screens for so long. It takes a couple of heartbeats before Miguel could process Lyla's question and gave her a questioning look as she hovered near him.

"What?" He asked, intelligently, and totally not in a dumb way.

Lyla rolled her eyes, exasperated. "[Name]? Your husband? The one you sent on a mission?"

It was Miguel's turn to roll his eyes. "I know the name of my husband. Why are you asking if I checked up on him? He's reliable, he'll get the job done."

Lyla smirked in the way that told Miguel she knew something he didn't and could already feel his heart dropping to his stomach.

"What's wrong?" Miguel demanded, immediately on alert, his mind beginning to creep with different scenarios that made him stomach twist uncomfortablely.

"Nothing's wrong. He's fine, he's not hurt." Lyla paused and gave him a look over her heartshaped glasses. "He's just neglecting his duties for a variant."

Miguel processed the words and paused, eyebrow raising. "Variant?"

Lyla just smirked even wider, glitching and moving somewhere else, teasing. A set of coordinates appeared on Miguel's watch.

"Why don't you check it out?" Lyla chuckled, stuffing her hands into her pockets. "But just go alone, alright?"

Miguel didn't know if he wanted to strangle Lyla or himself. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

He took a deep breath and rubbed his temple. He could already feel the telltale sign of a migraine appearing, and no, his lack of sleep did NOT contribute to it.

"Lyla, open a portal." He eventually sighed out, dragging a hand over his face to get rid of any drowsiness.

"You got it, boss."

The orange and colorful portal appeared in front of Miguel, lighting up his dark lab in a warm color, changing the texture of the area around it. Miguel took a moment to appreciate it, a moment to gather himself, before throwing himself in the portal.

He knew the world he sent you to was one of your guy's timelines. Just a couple years back into the past, nothing crazy. The whole mission was a simple one, even a newbie could've done it. He knew you could handle more, obviously, but the thought of you getting hurt, of losing you, that frightened Miguel. It scared him. And while he knew you'd get tired of basic missions like the one he assigned you, he wouldn't budge. Well, at least not now.

But he didn't think he'd end up in a rather familiar dormroom. Specifically, his old dorm room, in his bedroom. Familiar posters line the walls, little figurines scattered around, his old desk lined next to his bed and scattered with messy shit. It's nostalgic, and for a second, Miguel imagines himself as his fresh out of high school guy barely entering his college years.

What's out of place, however, is the body of his husband laying on his bed. He's not dead, thankfully, Miguel's eyes catching sight of the slow rise and fall of his chest, and if anything, seems to be half out of it.

His mask is pulled halfway up, from his nose and down being the only thing revealed. His lips are slick and bit, light bruises on his jaw. The pants of his spandex are pulled down far enough to reveal his cock, which lays heavy and flaccid on his stomach, and yet...

Miguel's cheeks darkened and his lips pursed when he saw the dried evidence of cum on your belly and cock. Miguel pixelated his mask away, sighing out of exasperation, even if his core squirmed in a familiar way.

Miguel walked the short steps towards his bed and hovered over you, taking in your frazzled and obviously worn out appearance. Miguel reached down and gently grasped your jaw, tilting your head to get a better look at you.

He was surprised when you softly groaned, squirming as you seemed to awake up.

"Miguel?" You slurred out, and Miguel then realized his variant must've had his time with you.

"[Name,] ready to head back home?" Miguel questioned, his voice quiet but a faint hint of affection tinting his words. Perhaps he should be jealous that a variant got to his husband, but he can't find it in himself. If anything, it was... kind of hot. But that was another thing for another time.

"Mm? Home.... wait-" You stirred a little, becoming just the slightest bit alert. "Which dimension?"

Miguel made a little exasperated face even if you couldn't see. "928."

You went slack, pleased with the answer. "Mkay, le's go h'me..." You slurred before promptly knocking yourself out. Miguel stared before slowly setting your head down. He gently pulled your mask down and stuffed yourself back into your spandex before scooping you up.

"Lyla-" He began but was caught off by the AI, who glitched into existent.

"He looks kind of cute. You're, like, his knight in shining armor - or would it be spider in shining armor?" Lyla mused as she took a couple mixtures of the husbands. Miguel didn't dignify her with a response as a portal opened up, illuminating the room in a warm colorful glow. Then, a thought crossed his mind and he paused.

"Did he even finish his mission?" Miguel asked Lyla, even if he knew the answer.

"Absolutely not." Lyla grinned.

Miguel took a deep breath but didn't get angry - he never did get angry with you, now did he?

"Send someone to finish it." Miguel asked as he slipped through the portal, his AI glitching out of air. Missions he damned, he had his own mission now: giving you the aftercare his variant failed to do, which, in his opinion, made him the best variant out there.

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