#but like all of my piercings I decide to get them done like within the same hour

[ghostickle]

I have a tendency to do literally everything on impulse but I want to get a full sleeve done and even if tattoo shops take walk ins that’s a bit too big of one to do as a walk in and has to actually be planned and my dude I am impatient

[sidthedollface2]

Something Borrowed (Part 2)

Read part 1 here

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (Rhys sister)

Series summary: Rhys tells Azriel to back off Elain and find release at a pleasure hall. Instead, Azriel finds you, Rhys' younger sister.

Chapter Summary: Right after we find Azriel and Elain in a compromising position, Azriel tries to smooth things over only to drive you further away. Feelings escalate when Azriel sees another male touching you.

Word count: 5k

Series Warnings: MDNI 18+, ANGST, hurt/no comfort, smut (p in v, oral) no use of yn, nicknames, fighting, jealousy.

A/n: Thank you for all the love on part 1, I really appreciate all the comments, likes, and reblogs. This is part 2 of Something Old Something New. Please read that first, this ch continues right where we left off. I’m sorry it took so long to make this part. I’ve decided to make it a mini-series so expect 2 or more parts. It’s not over till I say it’s over. I'm a daydreamer, not a writer so if you see any mistakes that's how I dreamt it. Lol

Rhys clenched his jaw tightly at the scene in front of him. His brother, a broken shell of a male on his knees, pleading for a love that would never be his. “Azriel, my office now! The rest of you go back to your chambers,” he commands, jerking his head towards his office. Azriel stands, wings dragging behind him as he makes his way towards his inevitable demise.

Rhys enters behind Azriel, closing the door to his office with a wave of his hand. “How dare you disobey me. Not only was my demand about Elain ignored, but you went behind my back to court my sister and then decided to break her heart! I told you to go to a fucken pleasure house to get laid not to fuck my baby sister! ” Rhysand yelled, fury evident in how this neck strained from raising his voice. Azriel lowered his head in shame. “I should kick your ass right now, but your lucky Vi said not to, now sit. I’m not done with you yet.”

Rhys gestures to one of the armchairs that are placed in front of a very large bookcase. A round table sits between the two chairs, an intimate setting for friends to converse. Or for a High Lord to intimidate and test his guest. Azriel would know of such tactics, he’s been a witness to Rhysand's techniques.

Two glass cups with amber liquid are placed on the table, followed by its luxurious bottle. A bottle Azriels never seen before. Rhys catches his curiosity, “I hide the good stuff. This one's aged 50 years.” Azriel’s mouth waters. Of course, Rhys would keep the expensive stuff in his stash.

Rhys takes the seat across from his brother, his gaze piercing into him from above the rim of his glass. “Drink.”

Azriel eyes the glass in front of him. Temptation stared back at him in the form of delicious whiskey. He could really use a drink right now, to cure the hatred that he's brought upon himself.

He opens and closes his mouth, suddenly parched and wanting to soothe the dryness in his mouth.

“I’ll have some water.”

“Good choice,” Rhys hums in approval, and the house magically delivers Azriel’s water. Silence falls between them. The ticking of a grandfather clock is the only sound heard, counting down by the second. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Each male waiting for the other to break the silence. Azriel takes a sip from his glass, hands shaky as he brings the cup to his lips.

“Care for a smoke?”

Azriel chokes on his water, “sorry?” He questions wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, unsure if he’s heard correctly.

“Mirthroot, to ease the tension,” Rhys clarifies, indeed offering Azriel the drug that he smoked earlier, minus the hallucinogen. With a trick of the hands and some magic, the cigarette appears between Rhys’s fingers, bringing it to his lips, its cherry blazing red. He inhales. His chest expands with how deep he aspirates, holding the fumes within his lungs. Slow and calculated he exhales. Swirls of white smoke leave Rhys lips, landing directly into Azriels face. Its white tendrils carve through his wavy hair, coating each strand with its foul scent. A Lingering reminder of his mistakes.

Azriel swipes his hand in front of him, ridding the air of the smoke surrounding him. A slight cough erupts from his throat, “no, uh, I recently had a bad experience.” Azriel tries to joke, but it lands flatly based on Rhys' stone-cold expression.

“Azriel, what do you think your punishment should be for making my sister run away from her court?”

Oh, straight to it then.

“I do love her, Rhys. She's breathtaking in every way and I don’t deserve her.”

“No, you don’t!” Rhys bellowed, slamming his glass down on the table. “What. Is. Your. Punishment?” He seethed.

“Death. Because I can’t live without her, I deserve it knowing I’ve hurt her. That I’ve betrayed you and your trust. I’ve lied to you, taken your brotherly love for granted. I’ve killed for much less.” Azriel slouches in his seat, defeated but willing to take whatever his punishment shall be.

“You must truly love her then if you're willing to die. But I find that to be too swift of a punishment. Will torture suffice?”

Azriels eyes snap to his brother, a look of shock and slight terror in his hazel eyes. This wasn’t his brother anymore, but the words of a High Lord. A cunning, cruel High Lord.

Azriel doesn't say a word, he simply nods. Accepting his fate.

“Very well. You will watch over my sister. You will shadow her every move, her every outing. You will not speak with her or make yourself known. You will observe her interactions with other males. If she happens to love someone else then you will witness their beginning, middle and end. You will endure her loving someone else while she falls out of love with you. That will be your punishment. If you love her, truly, you will see her happy, even in the arms of another.”

Azriel swallowed the knot in his throat, shoving down the emotion that was a breathds away from coming forward. His eyes failed to meet his High Lord as he took a moment to process the terms. A slight sheen was coating his forehead, heat climbing up his spine at the thought of you with someone else. Clenching and unclenching his fists, his nails dug into his palms, creating half-moon shapes on his rough skin.

He did want to see you happy, and in love. You deserved it more than anyone he knew, but not with someone else. Azriels mind flashed back to every tender moment you two shared. Every soft touch under the table, away from prying eyes. Each stolen kiss when the two of you were last in leaving meetings. Morning snuggles after a night of intimacy before he snuck out of your bedroom. Flying together under the stars, in the middle of the night when the rest of the Velaris was sound asleep. He could keep those moments to himself, call upon them when he missed you. It’ll break his heart watching you fall out of love with him, but that was the whole point. And that's what Rhys meant by torture. It would happen slowly, painfully peeling the layers of his heart back piece by piece till nothing remained.

His refusal was on the tip of his tongue, “I can’t….” He shook his head, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. Letting out a shaky breath, “can I at least apologize without an audience, before I begin this punishment?”

Rhys nodded and flicked his wrist, dismissing his brother.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel knocked on Elains bedroom door, determined to explain himself and confront her.

Her beaming smile when she opened the door caught him off guard. Was she happy? Happy for his misery?

“Hi Az,” she smiled wide and stepped aside to let him in. “No, I don’t want to give the wrong idea. I’ll be quick.” Azriel sighed, running his hand through his tousled hair. He winced as Elains scent off his fingers made its way to his nose. Reminding him that he needed to shower before he spoke to you. “Elain, I’m sorry for-”

“I’m not” she interrupted, her doe-like eyes staring up at him as she stepped closer. Her chest inches away from pressing against him. “The only thing I’m sorry for was the interruption and not bringing you to completion. I liked doing it, I wanted more,” she confessed, attempting to close the distance.

“What the fuck Elain!” Azriel's voice boomed as he jerked back, putting distance between them, hoping to get his point across that he did not reciprocate her feelings. His face twisted in disgust at her scandalous behavior. A side of her he had never seen before. He pointed his finger at her, “stay away from me.”

“You said you loved me.” Elain gulped, a tremble in her meek voice.

Azriel lowered his face to meet hers, eyes red with anger and unshed tears for the situation she put him in. “Those words were not meant for you, I feel nothing for you. And definitely not love. You know I adore her, you heard me tell her in the library and you still took advantage of my inebriation.”

“Az, I’m so sorr-”

Azriel lifted his hand, silencing her apology. He shook his head, upper lip curled in a snarl as he looked her up and down. Not even her beauty would mask the bitter taste she left in his mouth.

~~~~~~~

It was late when he finished speaking with Elain, yet every nerve in his body wanted to find you and apologize. Fix the turmoil he had created and start new. He knew it was better for you to sleep on it, let bygones be bygones. First thing tomorrow he’d reach out and smooth things over.

Azriel had been staring at your side of his bed for hours, running his hand across the empty space. He couldn't sleep without your warm body cuddled next to him. Or your soft breathing fanning across his chest. Your very soul had made a home within his heart, and he foolishly never bothered to secure the doors to keep you safe and nurture your love. You weren't a bird to be caged, but he sang your favorite song and each night you’d perch on his arm and stare into his hazel eyes with a look of love and admiration. Azriel was too scared to return the gaze. Too scared to lose the only person that brought him laughter and joy.

He buried his face in your pillow, inhaling the subtle scent of your hair that still lingered. A silent sob escaped his lips. It had been too long. He tried again, inhaling deeper, searching for those notes of magnolia and rose. Gripping the sheets tight in his fists, Azriel let his tears fall freely; your scent was fading. Loneliness followed him to bed that night. The cold of the night, a blanket holding him till he fell asleep. His heaving chest rocked him faster to the nightmares that would now plague him.

~~~~~~~

You sat in the lower levels of the library, the darkness, a familiar friend that brought you company in your solitude. The hum of Bryaxis slumber filled the air, a solemn soundtrack to accompany the tears that rolled down your cheeks. Sadness dotted the pages of the book that sat on your lap, rippled and wrinkled from the volume of your cries.

You could no longer read the pages, vision blurred and hazy. The more you researched the more it became a reality and in truth, you couldn’t stomach the thought. You’d have to visit Helion for clarification. How to undo or break it off before the other end sna-

A gentle shadow wrapped around your wrist, leaving a cool phantom kiss on your knuckles. You summoned a pocket of darkness and quickly sent the book away in a puff of black mist.

Azriel stepped out of a dark corner, concealed in the shadows like a true spymaster. “Love, I’m so fucking sorry. Please, forgive me,” he begged, as he took slow steps towards you.

“I know where I fall in your list of priorities, Azriel. You followed Rhys into his office like a loyal dog, and after that, you went to Elain and now you're here asking for forgiveness?”

Azriels brows furrow, questioning how you knew when you ran out of the house. “Your shadows,” you reply, already knowing his thought process- it seems they’ve betrayed their own master in favor of you. “They’ve told me everything. What you did with Elain and what you did after.”

“Did they tell you how much I love you? How much I crave you?” he cooed softly.

You shook your head. Those words were everything you wanted to hear ‘I love you,’ yet as your head moved side to side, you weren't sure if it was because you didn't believe the words or because It was too late. You wanted to believe him, fall into his arms, and easily forgive.

But your breathing quickens as your memory takes you back to last night. Azriels head thrown back as his hips thrust into Elains mouth. The pleasure that you hoped only you brought him, was written on his face; from the warmth of another female's mouth.

“Forgiveness? I can’t give that to you, not now. Not when every time I close my eyes all I see is your betrayal. All I hear are the words that I longed for mixed with the gagging of Elains throat as she took your cock down her mouth. I’m going to need time and space to forgive you. If the time ever comes.” You look to the ceiling, eyes stinging as you try to hold back the tears, your brave face faltering in vulnerability.

Azriel kneels in front of you, begging for your eyes to meet his. “I’ll spend forever apologizing and when you're ready to forgive me I'll be here. I’ll always be here, as long as it takes.”

“I heard what you said to Cass. That I was a mistake, and a fucking rebound,” you sniffled, fighting back the tears that once again tried to break free from your waterline.

Azriel doesn't miss the way you bite at your lip, the furrow between your brows. He's hurt you. Made you feel inadequate. You had always felt not good enough. Not good enough for your father, your mother. Not good enough to become High Lady of the Night Court.

Once Feyre and her sisters came into the picture you had no place. Feyre became High Lady, Rhysands equal. Not you. Not his flesh and blood. And now Azriels words cemented that feeling. You were the doormat of The Night Court, beloved by its citizens but stepped on by those that mattered to you, and that hurt more than you could bear.

“That's not what I meant! I wanted… I want to do things right. I want us to be together, finally. No more secrets, no hiding. It was a poor choice of words, and for that I’m sorry. But you are not a mistake. If you think you are, I'll spend the rest of my life proving to you that you're not.”

He reaches for your hand to offer a comforting touch. To soothe the doubt within your heart. If anything else, to touch you one last time and caress the smoothness of your skin.

“Don’t touch me. Not with those hands,” you hiss, jerking your hands away and crossing your arms over your chest. A deep sadness settles over you, knowing the hurt you've caused with the double meaning of your words. You knew it wasn’t due to the scars, those hands had been touching someone else. Bringing another female to climax not even 24 hours prior.

It was that single sentence that broke the spymaster. An aching pressure was felt in his chest, growing into a mass of the insecurity he once had. He couldn't hide the quiver in his bottom lip or the way he felt his stomach cave in itself. You didn’t want him to touch you. His hands were now tainted, dare he say more now than ever before.

A soft cry pushed past his lips as the dam holding his composure finally broke. He stood up and turned his back to you. Wiping away the tears that continued to fall. You quickly followed, itching to place a hand on his shoulder, soothing the turmoil within him.

Your caring nature screamed for you to comfort him and apologize. Causing someone's pain wasn’t in your character, a stark difference from most of your family. But you retracted your hand, and wrapped them around your middle, holding yourself together.

“Do you really hate me?” Azriel whispered as he pulled out his gloves from his back pocket, sliding them on in hopes of hiding the repulsion you felt towards them.

You hesitated for a moment if revealing the truth would change anything. If it would alter the path of your relationship into one that was worth fighting for. But there was no Azriel and Vi, so you’d tell him the truth.

“I hate the way you make me feel. I hate that you embarrassed me in front of my family. I hate that you can make me laugh and cry on the same night. Most of all I hate that you didn't choose me.” You end on an exhale, rubbing your arms up and down, attempting to soothe the heartache.

“This is it then? You’re just giving up on us? Let me at least fix this mess I’ve made. I promise I’ll do better,” he pleads, running his hands through his hair, lightly pulling at the root.

You close your eyes and release a heavy sigh, “There was never an ‘us’ Azriel. As much as I wanted there-

“I want ‘us’ now,” he interrupts, closing the distance as he cups your face between his gloved hands. “Please, love. Give me this one last chance.”

Hazel eyes bore into yours pleading with every ounce of desperation in his voice, “please,” he breathes, gently nuzzling your nose with his. The puff of his breath cools the moisture on your lips, a chill that weakens your knees and for a moment you think to give in. It takes every ounce of control for you to wrap your delicate hands around his wrist and pull them away from your face. “I can’t do this,” you choke, shaking your head, trying to hold back the knot of emotion lodged in your throat as you rush past him, wiping at the lonely tears that have breached your waterline.

His happiness was fleeting, running into the arms of another. Except you didn’t. Not yet, not so soon. That was the difference, he realized. Where Azriel drowned in sorrow the moment you first left, his pain lingered on. Holding onto the pain meant; holding onto you. Holding onto what you once were. Whereas You faced the feeling head-on. You talked about what troubled you, about him, through the pain in your eyes and the wobble in your voice.

No matter how painful it was to relive, you pushed through. Felt deeply and wholly, head first into the unknown and you always managed to stay afloat. It scared him, how open you were with your feelings. Heart on your sleeve, willing to give and give. It was easy for you to love, to feel. And if you spoke of your sorrow so openly, then you’d heal faster and surely fall out of love just as quickly or worse forget him altogether.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Feyre was the one to scold Rhys for his actions towards his brother. The cunning High Lord indeed had a trick up his sleeve. One that would ensure Azriel had your best interests at heart. Rhys knew all too well how loyal and dutiful Azriel was to him and he wondered how far that loyalty ran. To what end would he go to please his High Lord? Rhys knew sending Azriel to spy on you was invading your privacy. And that would only anger you if you knew. Rhysand hoped though, that Azriels love for you was stronger than the loyalty he held for his High Lord. He was wrong. Azriel took the punishment without thinking how it would affect you. How following your every move would make you uncomfortable and you’d possibly resent Azriel for agreeing to such a thing.

~~~~~~~~~

The next few days passed in a blur. You had avoided the Inner circle at all costs, not quite ready to comment on the love triangle that unfolded under their nose. You tried to continue your work in Hewn City as you had been for centuries. Although the High Fae preferred you over Rhysand, you were finding it difficult to sway certain policies with Keir. You were a brilliant light in Hewn City, creating an education system that opened their eyes to diversity and understanding amongst their people. They no longer detested lesser fae, a tradition that had been extremely difficult to break. The residents were now free to travel out of the city and some even enjoyed Velaris. All the work you had done was more than Rhys could expect, yet you still felt as if you lacked purpose. It then occurred to you that perhaps you could fulfill that purpose in another court.

You winnowed back to Velaris instantly, running up the steps of the house of wind towards Rhysands office. Excitement in each step as you imagined a new opportunity at your fingertips. One that puts space between your fractured relationship with Azriel as well as a chance to step out of your brother's shadow and into your own. As soon as you opened the door to his office you stilled-causing the person who was trailing behind you to stumble into your back. Azriel straightened, careful not to touch you. “Apologies, I,” Azriel narrowed his eyes at the guest seated across from Rhys, “who are you?”

“Kit!” you blurted out, bouncing to him and embracing him in a crushing hug. Kit wraps his arms around your waist as your hands clasp around his neck. Azriels eyes zero in on where Kit’s fingers dig into your sides, noticing the small caress against your skin. And how he’s pulled your body so tight against his, relishing in your radiate beauty. Or the way his chest expands as he inhales the scent of your hair. “Good to see you again Princess. I was just talking to Rhysand about a proposition.”

Kit’s gaze lands on the Shadowsinger, “ forgive me, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Kit, son of Kallias and Vivienne of The Winter Court.” He extends his palm in a friendly greeting towards Azriel. Ever respectful and kind, just as an Heir should be. Azriel runs his eyes over the Princeling, scrutinizing every inch of the male; from his snow-white hair to his pompous pale blue shirt. Even down to how costly his shoes must have been. Seconds passed and Azriel just stared the Prince down, a challenge in his deadly eyes.

“Please excuse my spymaster, Azriel, he's recently gone through a break-up.” Rhysand shoots a glare at the Shadowsinger with a look of disappointment.

A muscle feathered in Azriels jaw. He didn’t like this, not one bit. Kit touched you. Touched what once belonged to him. His shadows curled around his ear whispering all the ways Azriel could kill him. He saw the look in his eyes, longing and desire. Rhys no doubt divulged that break-up comment to open the doors for Kit to swoop right in.

Your eyes drop to the floor, shifting on your feet uncomfortably. Tension in the room doubled as the silence filled the awkwardness.

Kits' attention shifted to you. Noticing your downturned lips and slumped shoulders. Things must have gotten worse between you and Azriel. His icy blue eyes snapped towards the brooding male. “How unfortunate, that when you looked at her you did not feel cauldron blessed to have her. In that case, she must not have been yours to keep,” he pulled you close around the waist, “hopefully she’ll be another males blessing.” Kit smiled down at you, his dimples deep and adorable. You couldn’t help but melt into his side, his touch offering a comfort that you desperately needed.

A dangerous growl ripped through Azriels throat. He rolled his shoulders back, craning his neck from side to side, cracking the tension in his bones. The loud pop of his knuckles rang in your ears as Azriel flexed his fingers into a fist. You’d seen this rage in his eyes many times; right before hand-to-hand combat in the camps.

You quickly glanced at your brother, pleading mind to mind. "Stop this, they’ll kill each other.” Rhys sat back in his chair, legs spread wide and relaxed, "I’ll bet you all the jewels in Velaris Azriel breaks that pretty boy in two."

“Watch your mouth!” Azriel seethed, as he stalked forward, a predator hunting his prey.

Kit moved you to stand behind him, shielding you with his body. He did not back down from confrontation and did not cower. A fighter with words that will knock his opponent where it hurts the most. For wounds heal but poisonous words rot from the inside out. Latching to the mind to burrow and breed the thoughts keeping the nightmares and failures alive.

With every drop of ferocity that flowed through his veins, he struck at the jugular. Pouring salt on the wound of Azriels inferiority complex with malicious intent to hollow him out. “No Shadowsinger! You’re no Prince, nor are you a High Lord or King of any Kingdom. You do not own property and you are not wealthy. You offer nothing to a Princess but anguish and a filthy cock that's been between the legs and mouths of cheap women. You survive by the scraps your friend gives you out of pity for being a bastard born. It is you who needs to watch your tongue. It is you who needs to remember your place.”

Azriel's face was unreadable as he took the insult with his head held high. His breathing turned rapid, with every second that passed. Azriel wanted to wipe that smug look off the princeling's face and scrub the floor with his perfect teeth. Break every finger that had touched you, gouge out the blue eyes that had fantasized about you.

The second Kit took his eyes off Azriel to gawk at you. Azriel pulled Kit by the collar of his shirt, holding him in place as his hammer fist connected with his jaw over and over again. Adrenaline flowed through his body, as knuckles met solid ice beneath the flesh and blood of the heir. Blood sprayed Kit's shirt as a cut splayed open below his eye, most likely from Azriels rings. Kit's head bobbed around lifeless, blood slipping down the corner of his mouth. Azriel couldn’t stop the onslaught of his attack, as he continued to break the heir's nose with a resounding crack.

“Azriel stop!” you screamed, throwing your fist at his back, pulling at his shirt in an attempt to stop the assault. Azriel tried to stop but Kit's crimson smile taunted him each time his fist landed against his pale skin, enraging him more.

“Shit!” Rhys scrambled out of his chair, using his dark power to throw Azriel off the Prince and into the farthest wall. Crashing to the ground Azriels vision cleared, his heart sank at the image of you on the floor cradling the bleeding Prince in your arms, tending to his battered face. “Vi, I’m so sorry I.. I didn’t,-”

“You brutish Illyrian bastard, when will you stop breaking things?!” You looked at Azriel with glossy eyes and blood that wasn't yours smeared against your bosom.

“Pack the rest of your bags sister. You’ll be living in the Winter Court for the foreseeable future. Re-shaping their crumbling Agriculture and stabilizing their infrastructure for future prosperity. The work you’ve done in Hewn City is remarkable, I’m sure you’ll do great things for Kallias and Vivienne. ” Rhys gaze never left Azriel as he delivered the news to you.

‘I’m sorry Az. This was the proposition brought to me today. Vi needs this, she's no longer happy here. And as her brother, I have to do what's best for her.’

Rhys saw the tears well in Azriels eyes. If he hadn't been shattered to pieces before, then this would disintegrate him into ash. Left alone to wander the skies aimlessly, letting the wind tousle and puncture him as he reached for the sun's brightest ray of light.

“Take a good look at him, Vi, He’ll no longer be allowed in The Winter Court after today's attack,” your head whipped from Azriel to Kit, ��My father will ban him from ever setting foot on his land again.” A sly grin crossed Kit’s face, victorious in his plan, “Don’t worry shadowsinger, we’re just borrowing her and I promise I’ll keep her safe.” Azriel snarled as Kit grimaced, pushing against your chest for your comforting touch.

He’d fallen into Kit's trap so easily, allowing his anger to blind him from his true intentions. He didn’t even raise his hand to deflect the blows or bother punching back. He took the punches and played victim, the scheming ice Prince. He knew how it looked. The eloquent Prince who had a future and armies at his beck and call.

A Court that he would one day rule for centuries with a palace to call his own, a throne and crown made of diamonds and sapphires. A Night Court Princess turned High Lady to warm his bed and give him Heirs to sit on his throne. Azriel couldn’t offer you any of that. He was a bastard-born Illyrian who tortured people for a living. You deserve a fulfilling life full of happiness, laughter, and love.

You were leaving because of him, and he decided then, that he wouldn’t stop you. It would make him sick, but he’d survive and the sun would rise one day. The future he dreamed of was slowly fading to black and he couldn't imagine a world without you, but you were leaving. He couldn't think of a way to stop the bleeding or to fix what he broke. He couldn’t hold you back. You were a princess, when you were meant to be a queen.

“Throw me in the prison Rhys I don’t care, but if I have to watch her fall in love with him, by the God’s he’ll die by my blade before he lays another hand on her. Punishment be damned” Azriels words pierced through Rhys mind like a violent storm, destroying everything in its way. Rhys chuckled, grinning like a madman towards Azriels words, “there you are brother.” He stretched out his hand to help Azriel get up off the floor, ‘I know now that you love her, but she still needs space. Please respect her decision.’

Rhys jerked his chin towards the door. “Now get out.”

Azriel walked towards the door, looking over his shoulder for one last glance at you. Even with red staining your face, you were still the most beautiful female he had ever seen, yet he took every moment with you for granted. The cauldron was either cruel or he had terrible luck. How is it that his first and ever love would ruin him? How was he to move on from this? He realized too late that he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. You had completely shattered his heart and soul, taking the bleeding organ in your hands. “Be happy, love,” he spoke softly, “and for what it’s worth, I have always loved you.” You saw a lone tear run down his cheek as he turned and walked away.

Part 3 coming soon.....

A/n: Thank you for reading.

Taglist: @fuckthatfeeling @celtic-shadow-wolf @crazylokonugget @leyannrae @rehua @readychilledwine @ellievickstar @siriusblackssun @saltedcoffeescotch @b0xerdancer @tothestarsandwhateverend @anainkandpaper @em-marlenesversion @lilah-asteria @mybestfriendmademe @rogersbarnesxx @nayaniasworld @sam-san-sam @yeahimcrying @olive-main

[madhatterbri]

Business Deals | D.P.

Summary: Damian Priest x reader request, please?? 😀. Instead of Rhea being out with an injury, it was Damian, but his relationship with the reader isn't toxic like Rhea and Dom's. Reader is in a relationship with Damian and a member of the judgment day. However, when Damian gets injured, Y/N gets sick of Rhea's controlling ways and decides to do business with Braun Strowman behind their backs. On the night that reader finally turns on TJD and attacks Rhea, Damian returns and confronts her. You can pick a happy or sad ending, and btw, the reader didn't cheat on Damian.

Author's Note: No part 2!

Damian Priest Masterlist

Requested by: anon

Taglist: @plentyoffandoms @theworldofotps @mrsarcherofinfamy

Y/N could feel the tension in the room when she was alone with Rhea. There was no more hiding their true feelings. They absolutely couldn't stand one another. At least when Damian was around, he was the buffer. Now it was all discord in Judgment Day.

"Can I count on you tonight to help me with the Liv Morgan problem?" Rhea asked stiffly. Her arms crossed over her chest.

"We won't have to worry about her anymore," Y/N answered and looked in Rhea's eyes. Her words have a double meaning. One that Rhea will find out during the main event. Mami smiled and walked away. Y/N glared at the woman as she left.

Samantha Irvin introduced them to the arena. The crowd gave a huge pop for Rhea. They absolutely adored her. The woman could simply do no wrong in their eyes. How wrong the WWE Universe was.

Y/N followed her like an obedient follower. This would be the very last time of doing this, she told herself. Liv was in a corner cowering in fear. Her arm pressed closely to her chest. The coward started to plead for her life.

Rhea went up the stairs and into the ring to talk to Liv. Y/N reached under the ring to grab a chair. Within moments, Y/N stood right behind her. All her weeks of planning were about to come to light.

"Y/N, show Liv here what happens when you mess with Judgment Day," Rhea laughed into the microphone.

Y/N grabbed the chair and raised it. She smacked the chair to the back of Rhea. The air in the arena was sucked out. The beloved Rhea Ripley fell to her knees and on the ground. Boos from the arena sounded loudly, but Y/N didn't care. She was finally free.

"I'm done with your controlling ways, Rhea," Y/N yelled in the microphone. She continued her assault on Rhea. The chair came down a few more times. Before the last blow, Finn and JD jumped in the ring.

They were yelling at her to stop. A yelling match broke out in the ring. JD reached out for the chair, but she backed away. Both men were trying to talk some sense into her. The damage was done, though.

Braun Strowman's entrance music played. The two men looked at each other and then the ramp. Braun stormed down the ramp. Each long stride of his legs, carrying him closer to the ring.

"Meet my new friend," Y/N laughed. Braun walked up the stairs and went over the top rope. Finn and JD ran out of the ring. Braun ran after them.

Y/N went back to hit Rhea one more time. Boos sounded once more from the horrified audience. Referees and Adam Pierce ran around the ring to stop the assault. No one could stop her or so she thought.

Damian Priest pushed his way through to the ring. He grabbed the microphone and demanded to know what she was doing.

"I made my own business deal. Aren't you proud of me?" Y/N asked with a huge smile. Damian stared at her in shock. This wasn't the woman he was in a relationship with before his injury.

"Braun is one of our biggest threats. He has berm against us for weeks. Are you really working with him?" Damian asked. He couldn't believe what he was hearing and seeing.

"I told him not to hurt you. I would never hurt you. Just join me," Y/N smiled and reached her hand out to him.

Damian shook his head. "I can't. We are done,"

Damian walked away as Y/N stood in the ring, suddenly feeling more alone than ever.

[shuaasumii]

“Bribed”

pairing: dad!jeonghan x f!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none!

summary: jeonghan needs to find a way to clean the house before you get home. he decides that using his twins to help him out would be a good idea.

pictures below are from pinterest.

jeonghan had a matter of minutes before you got home from your girls trip, yet the house still looked like an absolute pigsty. he knew that if you were able to see the quality of the house right now then you would definitely go insane.

when you were home, the house was usually spick and span. and if it wasn’t then you always went out of your way to make sure it was. you occasionally told your husband that the way your house looked always had an effect on your reputation. he never took it to heart until now. jeonghan never realized how much he needed you around to keep his daily life going; he was grateful that he had you as his forever life partner. but he could be grateful later when you got home; what he really needed to worry about was how he was going to get this mess cleaned up.

maybe he could tell the twins to help… but they never helped unless they got a reward in return. jeonghan cursed at himself for rubbing his personality off on his kids. but then an idea popped into his mind.

you and jeonghan had this thing where you guys always told your twins that they had a “mission” to complete if you two wanted them to get something done, and it tricked their three year old brains everytime!

he walked up to the playpen where both the children were occupied with their toys and called out to them in a sing-song voice,

“yejun! yeseul!” in sync, they both looked up with a curious expression.

“i have a mission for you two!”

“a mission?” yeseul, the older twin questioned.

“yes a mission! the mission you have to complete to win a cookie each from the cookie jar is to pick up all your toys from around the house and put them in their homes! can you guys do that?” the three year olds sat for a second, both thinking about the offer while jeonghan eagerly waited for an answer.

“i think we can, right yeseul?” the younger twin asked his noona.

“yes i think so.” jeonghan let out a breath of relief that he didn’t know he was holding.

“okay i’ll set a timer for 25 minutes. if you clean up your toys within the 25 minutes, then you will win your prize. got it?” the pair nodded before standing up to prepare themselves as if they were about to run a race.

“3, 2, 1, go!” jeonghan exclaimed.

the two raced out of their playpen and scrambled around looking for any toys that were out of their designated location. jeonghan watched in satisfaction before heading off to go clean something other than toys. while yejun and yeseul gathered their items, jeonghan worked on doing the dishes, laundry, and picking up any stray objects lying around the house.

tring tring, tring tring the sound of the noisy alarm pierced through the yoon residence. the twins came down from the stairs, yeseul following after yejun running towards their father.

“we finished!” the three year old boy exclaimed.

“awww i’m so proud of you kiddos. since you achieved your mission, you guys deserve a treat.”

jeonghan pulled out the clear, hefty jar from the highest cabinet in the kitchen and retrieved three of your famous confetti cake cookie.

“one for yeseul, one for yejun, and one for daddy.”

jeonghan watched his kids take a bite of their treats before taking a bite of his own. he closed his eyes for a second savoring the sweet taste of the cookie; he never understood how you could make something taste so good, but at the same time you were his wife so you could do anything in his eyes. a jingle of keys and the sound of the door opening interrupted his thoughts.

“hannie! yeseul! yejun! i’m home!” you declared.

“mommy!!” the twins yelled rushing into your open arms.

“hi my sweet babies! did you miss me? cause’ i definitely missed you” you said kissing both of their foreheads.

“yes mommy i missed you so much” yejun then continued to ramble about something else that he had done while you were away. you tried to stay focused on your son, but got distracted by how surprisingly tidy the house was. you knew that there was no way your husband could have kept your home like this the entire five days you were on vacation. jeonghan must have bribed them with the cookies they held in their small hands to help him clean the house.

“mommy i want to show you my drawing that i made” yejun said, snatching you out of your trance.

“oooh me to mommy!” yeseul cheered excitedly.

“alright mommy will come see your drawings in a sec. why don’t you go upstairs and get them ready for me to see and i’ll meet you up there in a bit!” the duo nodded at your suggestion and raced upstairs to find their precious pieces of art. you then turned to face your husband who had a cheeky smile spread upon his face. jeonghan swept you into a warm, longing hug which showed you that he definitely missed you.

“you bribed them with my cookies didn’t you?” you asked with an interrogator type of tone. he slightly pulled out of the hug with an offended gasp.

“not even a ‘hi babe i missed you’ or a ‘thank you for taking care of the house and twins’?” jeonghan looked at you appalled by your accusation.

“okay fine. hi babe i missed you and thank you for taking care of our home and children.” you expressed.

“well i missed you too baby and you are so welcome” your husband replied giving you a soft peck on the lips. you weren’t going to let him distract you from your question though.

“but seriously hannie, you told yejun and yeseul to help you clean didn’t you”

“i know you could never clean up like this by yourself” you raised your brow at him.

“i don’t know what your talking about baby” jeonghan said trying to act nonchalant. you gave him one of those stares which you knew could easily give you the answer to your suspicion. your husband avoided your stern gaze before replying,

“okay fine, i admit that the twins and cookies had something to do with it.”

“aha! i knew it” you said victoriously pointing a finger at him. the man playfully rolled his eyes.

“yeah yeah whatever. now go see the twins’ drawings; they worked really hard on them.”

“hmm okay” you replied running off to the stairs after leaving a sweet kiss on jeonghan’s soft lips.

[grandisknight]

sweet macaron | dawnbreaker

summary: On a particular Thursday, Zayne decides to make something he once saw in a dream.

tags: angst, dawnbreaker!zayne, fem!MC mention, she/her pronouns used, hurt/no comfort, dreams, dreams vs. reality + wc: 1.0k | ao3 version here!

notes: vaguely inspired by his anecdote “still in dark” and “eternal attachment” birthday trailer - i needed to get this mild angst out my system in time for zayne’s bday ;; dawnbreaker my poor, poor beloved…

dividers from cafekitsune

Macarons are sweet.

Between carefully crafted pieces of meringue, a thin layer of confectionery fruit, jam or cream completed the dainty desert. Soft yet firm, a well-balanced chew and decadent sugar made for an ideal sweet bite.

Zayne peels off one of the biscuits from an aged baking tray, inspecting with mild interest. It was a delicate thing, with the slightest push of his pinched fingers cracking the already ruined surface between them. Crumbs speckled the air and dusted the countertop, soon tossed aside to be discarded.

Again, he’ll try again.

Tired eyes bored themselves into the tray of dull, gray rounds that were supposed to be tinted a daytime blue. This was his third batch, and he still couldn’t perfect a shade that was just barely out of his reach.

Halfway through the first batch, he wondered what was the point. He hadn’t done anything like this in who knows how long.

And through the second, he nearly scrapped it altogether when the peaks of egg white seemed to harden by his hands.

Cold, cold hands. They harbored his fingers, calloused to the touch and adorned by the sins of his undoings—of killing. Life taken by his hands, frozen by the shards crystallized within them. Piercing into the Abominations that ran amok, that were no longer human. Blackened blades of ice that consumed him and the aimed target, crafted with empty sentiment.

But it was only when a feeling that struck his heart at the precipice of cleaning his stainless bowl that made him reconsider his thrown away efforts thus far. He remembered he had dreamt of it again last night, more vivid that the ones in recent time.

Something very warm. A sound of a laugh filled with wholehearted affection for its recipient. The same one from his dreams, the one who frequently visits especially around this time of year. She had offered him a biscuit, decorated a white blob and details of black forming into a lopsided seal. He felt himself chew thoughtfully and watch her eyes glimmer in anticipation.

How cute, he quietly thought. Or so it seemed to be spoken aloud, seeing how her ears burned a bright red and a shy expression repainted her face. Zayne reassured her that it was a good treat, he liked it as it was.

The callings of his name that fell from the girl's lips were familiar and distant all at once, as if he wasn’t supposed to know.

Wasn’t supposed to hear how the birds sang and sun rose from the warmth of her voice, wasn’t supposed to see the way those eyes crinkled in crescents with a tender adoration.

But he heard it all the same, and it was a sound he's come to cherish, even if it wasn't for him. With such a sweet expression, she chastised him, lighthearted all throughout, about how she gifted him an important blessing. The ghost of frosting kissed the square of his cheek then, and he found himself shaking his head in playful disbelief. His mouth spilled a response then, though speaking from a body that wasn't his own at the same time.

"What an important blessing."

He still remembers the way their hands brushed, fluttering ginko leaves swirled around them with every sway of the breeze. He intimately could trace the pulse of what were his hands calmly clasping over hers, sharing in a heat and gentle caress especially so once their foreheads touched.

In the present, Zayne felt his own hands itch then, empty and tapping against the cold marble of his kitchen counter instead. The solemn reality dissolved the sweet melody that lingered in his mind.

Right. He was alone here.

Turning around, he decided to quietly return a plethora of ingredients to his countertop and robotically whisked together the ingredients.

Maybe for once, he’ll cling onto the things he shouldn’t know and entertain what was otherwise a dull existence. With a fleeting dream at the tips of his fingers, it would push him through what would be his third and final attempted batch.

So here he stood, some time later, harvesting the fruits of his labor. A sweet scent wafted through the kitchen once more. The back of a spoon dipped into a portion of creamy filling and smeared onto the bottom half of a biscuit. No cracks adorned the surface this time when the other half stuck on top, remaining in one, homogenous piece.

His first macaron. The biscuit was on the thinner side, having lost some of its puffed height from a shorter resting period. Not a perfect bakery display piece, but not exactly a failure either. It was fine, he would be the only one eating them after all.

It melted in his mouth with a bite, hints of bitter earl grey and honeyed vanilla seeping into his tastebuds. He stared into the remaining bite, discerning every ridge of the crust and textured chew of the interior.

The macaron was sweet after all. He wondered if the one she made was anything like it.

“Happy birthday,” the man whispered to no one but himself, placing the last piece into his mouth with a soundless bite.

Just for today, he would allow such a warm dream to sugarcoat his cold reality.

He saunters away from the kitchen then, tracing familiar steps of his daily routine. Along the way he carefully handles a potted jasmine, the only other semblance of life he has, and returns it to the window sill once more. The petals were just as wordless as he was, continuing to bloom underneath the return of the sun’s radiant waves.

Maybe one day, the jasmine would be able to experience the warmth of another person. And then he, too, could share in her very warmth that plagues his imagination for days without end. Wouldn't that be a lovely thought?

What was the semblance of a smile thinned out onto his lips, grimacing at the idea of chasing an impossible dream. Zayne turned away from the window, past the kitchen and trailing behind a faint mist of ice. Stepping towards the door, his casted shadows embraced a world without her and left into the abysmal halls.

His birthday was over.

[pascalhowlett]

Ethereal (Chapter One)

A/N: Hello everyone! This is my first time posting a novel length fan fiction on Tumblr, so be patient with me! If you would like to read this on A03, you can find that here!

Warnings: Mentions of r*pe, implied r*pe, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, smut

Summary: After the Roman Empire takes over Numidia, Cecilia is purchased by Emperor Geta as a pawn in his attempts to take over Rome. What will happen when she meets General Marcus Acacius, the soldier who was responsible for the death of her lover, Atticus Claudius?

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Original Female Character

This is Chapter 1! Word Count: 5k

More parts will be added as I edit them. Please let me know what you think! :)

Numidia, a small territory on the coast of Africa, was her home. Quaint and full of life, settled on the Moulouya River, it had everything she needed. Numidia was home to her entire family, amongst them her beloved Atticus.

Her life was idyllic until Rome decided to invade the land. The attack, a nightmare that replayed in her dreams every night, remained vividly etched in her memory. The Romans burned down their homes, cast their belongings into the river, and herded them onto their boats like cattle. Some whispered that those who died had been granted a mercy that was denied to those who were taken captive.

She vowed never to forgive the man who had killed Atticus. He had been trying to save her brother, a young boy no older than ten, who had wandered too close to the burning structures. Atticus, seeing the fear in her brother’s eyes, had rushed forward, shielding him with his own body. The Roman soldier, a young recruit, panicked and fired an arrow. It found its mark, piercing Atticus's chest with a sickening thud.

Cecilia, witnessing the scene from a distance, felt the world tilt on its axis. Atticus, her lover, her protector, lay sprawled on the ground, his blood staining the earth a crimson hue. His eyes, wide with disbelief, met hers before the light faded from them. The sight of Atticus, his lifeblood ebbing away in the dust, was a wound that would never heal. The image of his lifeless body, the terror in his eyes, haunted her dreams, a constant reminder of the brutality of the Roman invasion.

"It's not your time, flower," Atticus had told her as she held his limp body close, "the sun always rises after the darkest night."

Atticus, a poet in his own right, had always possessed a way with words. Even in death, his words continued to resonate within her, an indelible mark upon her soul.

But, my dear Atticus, when will that sun rise? She asked herself that question every night.

Once the people of Numidia were taken to Rome, she was sold into slavery. No one else from her family had survived the journey. She was sold to the lenos of Rome's biggest brothel, becoming a slave to the highest bidder. She wasn't proud of the things she had done, and would do. Even now, she couldn't fully reconcile with her actions that kept her alive.

When the girls of the brothel were informed that Emperor Geta was seeking a wife, the news spread like wildfire. Every single woman who was unmarried and childless was vying for the position. Except for her. Cecilia’s thoughts never left Atticus. She was convinced she could never love another man. Marriage, especially to the murderers of her beloved, was the furthest thing from her mind. However, it seemed Emperor Geta was drawn to those who didn't immediately fall at his feet.

"Geta has ordered that we present him with our finest woman," the men discussed as they pulled Cecilia aside, their eyes leering over her body like vultures circling prey. "And who better than our youngest, newest acquisition? She's fresh meat, still trembling. He'll love that.” 

“Besides," one of them added with a cruel smirk, "the other lupanars always get the best ones. It's time we showed them what we have."

Emperor Geta arrived at the brothel that evening. All the girls greeted him, flaunting their breasts and wearing nothing to attract his attention. Geta ignored them, marching straight forward to where she rested on the large bed in her gown.

"She's our best one, your highness," the lenos told Emperor Geta as he entered the room, "you won't find another like her anywhere else."

Geta's eyes met hers, and a chill ran down her spine. He was a bloodthirsty, cynical man. His eyes made that abundantly clear. Like those of a predator sizing up its prey, his eyes lingered on her lips, then slowly traced the curve of her neck, a chilling smile playing on his lips.

Geta leaned closer, his voice a low growl, “Speak.”

“I have no name for you,” she spat back, her voice trembling with defiance. 

“Her name is Cecilia,” the lenos corrected, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and anticipation.

For a fleeting moment, she swore she saw a glimmer of adoration in Geta's eyes, as if he cared or even liked her, just for a brief instant. But that was quickly replaced by a proud snarl.

"Look at me," Geta commanded, placing his hand on her chin, "you shall be my wife. This is an honor. I paid an awful lot for you."

"I am no empress. Nor will I ever be your wife," she declared, "perhaps death would be a higher honor."

He laughed at that, sliding her gown off her shoulders. "You will be my wife. I would watch my tongue, darling. There are many women who would kill to be here in your position."

"Pick someone else," she told him, his hand roaming across her chest.

"No," he drawled, his finger tracing up to her jawline once more, "I don't think I will."

She felt herself shiver, both from the sudden chill of exposed skin and the fear that was slowly consuming her.

"I like this one," Geta said to the lenos, "I like women with a little bit of fight in them. But nonetheless, she will be tamed."

Even his hand was icy as it slid across her skin, pulling her gown completely away. She was accustomed to such exposure, but his gaze made her feel anxious, unsafe. He smiled as he touched her, as if he derived pleasure from her reluctance. "You'll do just fine," he observed, his eyes lingering on her body, "the Roman people will love you."

She remained silent. He saw her not as a woman, but as an object, a prize to be displayed, a tool to be used. He saw her as a symbol of his power, a testament to his dominance. And that, perhaps, was the most terrifying aspect of it all. She remained silent, her gaze fixed on the floor, her mind racing as she tried to ignore what was happening. Escape seemed impossible, a distant, impossible dream. But she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear, of seeing him break her. 

Then, she looked up at him, her eyes blazing with defiance. "I will not rest," she said to him, her voice low and lethal, "I will fight you and your ideals until the day I die."

Geta, taken aback by her unexpected defiance, was momentarily speechless. He had expected her to cower, to submit. Instead, she met his gaze with a fire that mirrored his own, a fire that ignited a strange, unsettling thrill within him. This was no ordinary woman. This was a caged bird, desperate to break free, and she would not go down without a fight. He found himself strangely intrigued, drawn to this woman who dared to defy him, who dared to challenge his authority.

His touch lingered over her breast, then moved to run a finger over her lips. “You’re a charming little dove, aren’t you?” He asked, his voice a low growl, "But doves are meant to be caged, caged and admired."

Cecilia felt another shiver crawl down her spine, not from the cold, but from the chilling amusement in his eyes. His words, though simple, held a sinister undertone. She knew, with vast certainty, that he was not merely admiring her. He was assessing her, sizing her up, seeing just how much she could handle. 

Geta leaned closer, his breath against her neck as he placed a tantalizing kiss there. "You have a spirit," he murmured, "a spirit that needs to be…refined." He ran a finger along the peak of her breast, his touch a burning brand against her sensitive skin. "You will learn to appreciate your place, Cecilia."

She closed her eyes, the image of Atticus, his blood staining the dust, flashing before her. 

"You will learn to obey," Geta repeated, his voice hardening.

Cecilia opened her eyes, meeting his gaze with a defiant stare. "Never," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Geta's eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint entering their depths. "We shall see about that," he hissed, his grip tightening on her arm. The air in the room crackled with tension. The music, once a vibrant backdrop to the festivities, had faded into an eerie silence. All eyes were fixed on the Emperor and this defiant woman, their faces a mixture of fear and morbid curiosity.

Cecilia, trapped in his iron grip, felt a surge of adrenaline. This was a battle she knew she could not win.

She was taken to the palace the next morning. They dressed her in silk white tunics, preparing her for her marriage to Emperor Geta. A handmaiden bathed her, dressed her, and braided her hair before adorning her with gold jewelry.

She barely recognized herself in the mirror as Emperor Geta stood behind her.

"You look beautiful, Cecilia," Geta smirked, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"I feel like a doll," she gritted her teeth, attempting to lean away from him.

"Perhaps you are a doll, dulcissima," he whispered in her ear, "You're a puppet, my puppet. Don't forget that."

The smile he gave her in the mirror was nauseating. His words sounded like an unwanted oath, a promise to torture her for the rest of her days.

"I want you to know one name before we wed,  Geta," she said to him, their eyes meeting in the mirror.

He remained silent, awaiting her response.

"Atticus," she said, "that was the name of my lover, before you sent your men to kill him."

"You dare mention your past lover to me?" Geta asked, his voice laced with momentary anger.

“You will never be him, nor will you ever have my love the way he did,” she said. 

Geta's face contorted in a mask of fury. His grip tightened around her waist, his knuckles white. "You will not speak that name in this palace," he hissed, his voice low and menacing. 

Cecilia met his gaze unflinchingly, a defiant spark igniting in her eyes. Geta's fury escalated. He released her abruptly, his eyes burning with rage. "You will learn to obey," he growled, his voice echoing through the room. "You will learn to fear me."

Cecilia watched him storm out of the room, his footsteps heavy and menacing. She sank to the floor, the weight of her despair momentarily crushing her. She prayed for peace, for just one beacon of hope in the unrelenting darkness that seemed to be her new life.

The wedding was a spectacle of Roman opulence, a grand display of power and wealth. Cecilia, adorned in a heavy silk gown that felt more like a prison than attire, stood before Geta, her heart a hollow ache. The ceremony was a blur of Latin incantations and the clinking of gold. Geta, his face a mask of forced amusement, placed the heavy gold band on her finger, the touch of his skin sending a wave of disgust through her. 

As Geta leaned in, Cecilia felt nausea wash over her. His breath, heavy with wine and the scent of expensive perfumes, reeked of power and entitlement. Closing her eyes, she braced herself for the inevitable. His lips met hers, a forceful, demanding kiss that tasted of metal and regret. His lips on hers felt more like a death wish than a promise to a lifelong commitment. She felt that he had won before she even had a chance to fight. 

Cecilia's body recoiled instinctively, but she remained frozen, a captive bird caught in a hunter's snare. Every fiber of her being screamed in protest, yet she was utterly powerless. The taste of him, the metallic tang of his wine, invaded her senses, a grotesque parody of intimacy that was on display for the people of Rome. 

A single, silent tear escaped her eye, tracing a path down her cheek. It was a tear of disgust, of despair, of a love lost and a life stolen. Pure helplessness. In that moment, Cecilia felt a profound sense of violation, her spirit crushed beneath the weight of her gilded cage. Emperor Geta noticed her tear, a small smirk plastered across his face at the sight of it.

He whispered, pressing a kiss to her cheek, “caged, little dove. Caged.” 

She was no longer just a pretty face, but one of politics and cynical tyranny.

As the celebrations commenced, Cecilia stood apart, observing the many people who congratulated Geta. She watched the revelers with a detached gaze, their laughter and cheers sounding hollow and meaningless. Then, she saw him.

General Marcus Acacius stood apart from the throng, his gaze fixed on the festivities with an air of weary amusement. He was a striking figure, tall and imposing. His face was etched with the lines of battle, and he adorned a pair of piercing brown eyes that seemed to hold the weight of the world. There was a melancholic air about him, a sense of quiet strength beneath the surface. Cecilia found herself inexplicably drawn to him.

To General Acacius, she stood apart from the other women, a solitary figure amidst the swirling gowns and leering faces. Her posture was defiant, her gaze distant. Her skin, pale as moonlight, was etched with a sadness that mirrored his own insecurities. Acacius had seen many women in his life, women of privilege and women of the streets, but none had affected him like this in a mere glance. There was an ethereal quality about her, a wildness that resonated deep within his soul. It was as if he was looking at a creature from another world, a creature both fragile and fierce. A creature that must be discovered. 

He found himself drawn to her, a strange pull that defied logic. It was as if a dormant part of himself, a part he had long believed dead, was stirring to life. He watched her, mesmerized, as she moved through the crowd, a ghost of truth haunting the edges of the faux celebration.

Later that evening, while Geta was occupied with his guests, Cecilia found herself drawn towards the gardens, a place of peace and silence. She wandered aimlessly, the weight of her gilded cage heavy upon her. She took her brown hair out of the loosely woven braids, wiping the makeup from her face. And there, beneath the starlight, she encountered him again. General Acacius was gazing at the stars, a pensive expression on his face.

"A beautiful night," he remarked, his voice a low rumble to not draw attention to the two of them. 

Cecilia, startled, turned to face him. "Indeed," she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

A comfortable silence fell between them. For the first time since her capture, Cecilia felt a sense of calm, a momentary respite from the suffocating weight of her guilt and fear. The one thing she had prayed for.

"You seem out of place here," Acacius observed, his gaze lingering on her.

Acacius, a man accustomed to observing behavior, recognizes this difference in Cecilia. He sees a lost spirit, a soul that yearns for something more. This, in turn, piques his interest and draws him toward her like a moth to a flame. 

Cecilia managed a small smile. "I most certainly am, I did not ask for this."

As they spoke, Cecilia noticed a subtle shift in his gaze, a fleeting hardness in his eyes that was quickly masked by a practiced indifference. Something about him, a certain arrogance in his bearing, a cruel set to his jaw, seemed strangely familiar. Then, it hit her with the force of a physical blow.

The engraved insignia on his breastplate. She had seen it before. On the breastplates of the Roman soldiers who had pierced Atticus through the chest. It was the symbol of the Third Legion, the legion that had ravaged her homeland, the legion that had taken everything from her. Panic clawed at her throat as if it were swelling shut. This man, this man who had offered her a fleeting sense of solace, was the enemy. He was the embodiment of everything she hated, everything she had sworn to fight.

Her carefully constructed facade shattered. The calm she had fleetingly experienced evaporated, replaced by a sense of dread. 

Acacius, oblivious to the turmoil raging within her, continued to speak, his voice a low, hypnotic drawl. "This city," he mused, "it suffocates the soul."

Cecilia forced herself to meet his gaze, her voice trembling slightly. "It certainly does."

But, she was unable to hide her fury. Cecilia had always been an impatient girl, who was never one to hold her tongue. “You’re the leader of the Roman army, yes?”

Acacius's eyes narrowed, the amusement fading from his expression. "And if I am?" he inquired, his voice indifferent.

Cecilia felt a surge of adrenaline. This was it. The truth was out. "The Third Legion," she hissed, "The one that destroyed Numidia. You were there, weren't you?"

Acacius's eyes narrowed further, a predatory glint entering his gaze. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "You think too much, little bird. I am the General of the Roman Armies, of course I was there. I ordered the attack.”

Cecilia felt a chill crawl down her spine, loss still gripping her heart. The blood drained from her face, leaving her feeling faint. The man who had offered her a brief moment of solace, who had seemed to understand her pain, was the architect of her suffering. He was the monster who had taken everything from her. Anger, cold and furious, surged through her. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to tear him apart with her bare hands. But she knew better. This was not the time for defiance.

"Perhaps," Acacius continued, his voice a silken caress, "we should have a discussion.”

He reached out, his hand hovering over hers. Cecilia flinched, fear and uncertainty overtaking all of her other emotions. How could she trust him? 

“A discussion of what, General?” her voice was bitter, “how your army killed everyone I loved? And destroyed my home?”

Acacius's smile faltered, a flicker of something akin to guilt crossing his features. He withdrew his hand, his gaze hardening. "Sometimes," he said, his voice low and seemingly insecure, "the ends justify the means."

Cecilia scoffed, the sound bitter and harsh. "What ends could possibly justify the slaughter of innocents? The murder of my lover?”

Acacius remained silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the ground. Then, he looked up, but was still unable to meet her eyes. "The preservation of Rome," he said, his voice devoid of emotion, as if his words were rehearsed. "The expansion of our empire. These are noble goals."

"Noble goals?" she repeated, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she laughed. "Goals built on the bones of the innocent? On the tears of the bereaved?"

Acacius remained unfazed. "Sentimentality has no place in matters of state," he said coldly. "The weak must be sacrificed for the greater good."

However, Cecilia sensed a dissonance in his words, a disconnect between the icy facade he presented and the flicker of something akin to regret that had crossed his features. She sensed a warmness within him that she could not quite pinpoint. He was playing a role, reciting a well-rehearsed script as if he had known it his whole life. But beneath the surface, Cecilia sensed a deeper, more complex emotion, something that hinted at a man who was not entirely comfortable with the atrocities he had committed.

Suddenly, Geta appeared in the garden, a look of enraged fury on his face. He saw Cecilia standing with the General, his wife not among the revelers as she should be. His jealousy, like a venomous snake, coiled within him.

"Cecilia!" Geta growled, his voice echoing through the garden. "What in the name of the gods is the meaning of this?!"

Cecilia's heart pounded against her ribs. This was a disaster. Acacius, however, remained stoic. He turned to face Geta, a cool smile playing on his lips. "Enjoying the festivities, Emperor?" he inquired, his voice laced with a hint of bitterness.

The tension in the air crackled as Emperor Geta ignored General Acacius’ remark.

“My dear,” Geta said to Cecilia, “there is someone I want you to meet.”

In walked Emperor Caracalla, Geta’s older brother. If she thought Emperor Geta was mad and cynical, she had not yet felt the wrath of Emperor Caracalla. Caracalla’s face was etched with a brooding intensity as he strode into the room. He was a man of imposing stature, his eyes cold and calculating just like his brother, but in a more intense way. Caracalla surveyed the room, his gaze finally settling on Cecilia.

Geta, noticing the intensity of his brother's stare, giving  Cecilia a possessive squeeze around the waist. "Caracalla," he said, "meet Cecilia, my wife."

Caracalla's gaze lingered on Cecilia, a predatory glint in his eyes. She was not sure if he wanted to touch her or kill her. He stepped closer, his voice a low growl, "So, this is the woman who has captivated my brother's attention?"

Cecilia forced herself to meet his gaze. Caracalla's eyes were unsettling, a chilling mixture of lust and desire. She felt a wave of apprehension wash over her. This encounter had the potential to be far more dangerous than she had anticipated. Caracalla did not care about weddings, he would have what he wanted.

Geta, misinterpreting her fear as shyness, chuckled. "Don't be intimidated, Cecilia," he said, his voice laced with a hint of mockery. "Caracalla is merely admiring your beauty."

Caracalla's smile was a wolfish grin. "Indeed," he murmured, his gaze sweeping over Cecilia's form with a predatory gleam. "You are a captivating creature."

Cecilia felt a surge of dread. This was the opening act of a dangerous game, a game where she was the prize. “I know all about you,” Cecilia said to Caracalla, “you came to the brothel every night. You’re a man of the streets, Emperor. You shared a bed with almost every woman in the lupanar.”

The room fell silent. Geta's jaw dropped, his eyes wide with disbelief. Caracalla, however, remained unfazed. A slow smile spread across his lips, revealing a set of sharp yellow teeth.

"Indeed I have," he acknowledged with a laugh, his voice a low growl. "I have my pleasures. And I have a keen eye for…interesting specimens." He stepped closer to  Cecilia. "You, my dear, are quite intriguing."

Geta, furious, stepped between them. "Caracalla! This is my wife!"

Caracalla chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Relax, brother," he said dismissively. "I merely meant to express my admiration. We did share a bed a time or two at the lupanar.”

Geta's face contorted in a mask of fury, his eyes blazing with a dangerous light. Caracalla, sensing his brother's rage, leaned back, his eyes still fixed on Cecilia, a playful smirk playing on his lips.

Cecilia, meanwhile, couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. Although the air in the room seemed to thicken, the irony of the situation was too much to bear. She was caught in the crossfire of a deeply personal and potentially explosive conflict between the two brothers, the two emperors.

Geta stepped even closer towards Caracalla. "You dare to flaunt your…associations in front of my wife? Your associations with my wife?”

Caracalla, unfazed, raised an eyebrow. "And why not? After all, we both know the pleasures of the flesh, brother. You wouldn't deny it."

But Geta’s gaze lingered on Cecilia, a possessive gleam in his eyes. Cecilia could still feel the tension in the air, the atmosphere thick with unspoken threats. She had just thrown a match into a powder keg, and she had no idea what the consequences would be.

Acacius, observing the scene unfold, remained calm. He watched the brothers gripe with a grim satisfaction. He had expected this. These two brothers, bound by blood yet driven by insatiable ambition and incontinent desire, were a powder keg waiting to explode. Cecilia, with her defiant spirit, had just ignited the fuse.

He watched, his eyes narrowed as the brothers sparred. Acacius, a seasoned warrior, understood the dynamics of power. He had seen empires rise and fall, witnessed the corrosive influence of ambition on even the strongest men. Geta and Caracalla, with their unchecked power and ruthless ambition, were a ticking time bomb. Their sibling rivalry was fueled by jealousy and greed.

Acacius knew adding Cecilia to the mix was only going to cause their empire to crumble even quicker. He had no illusions about the brothers' intentions with her. They saw Cecilia as a prize, a symbol of their power and dominance. After all, an empress would fortify their power. But Cecilia, with her quiet defiance, was more than just a trophy. She was a catalyst.

Acacius, a man weary of war and the endless cycle of violence, saw an opportunity in this chaos. He could use this brewing conflict to his advantage, to further his own agenda, to perhaps even restore some semblance of order in a world consumed by greed and ambition. He knew that playing this game would be dangerous, a high-stakes gamble. But Acacius had always been a gambler, a man who thrived on uncertainty. And in this dangerous game of thrones, he was determined to play his hand. 

Caracalla's smile vanished, replaced by a cold fury as he spoke to his brother. "She is a prize, Geta," he hissed, his voice dripping with venom. "And prizes are meant to be admired, to be…appreciated."

Geta's grip tightened on Cecilia's arm, his knuckles white. "She is my property," he snarled, his eyes blazing with rage. "And you will not touch her."

The tension in the room was palpable. Cecilia, caught in the crossfire, rolled her eyes. “I am owned by no one,” she said, yanking her arm away from Geta.

Geta staggered back, his face contorted in a mask of fury. He had never been defied like this, not by anyone. His eyes, blazing with rage, darted between Cecilia and Caracalla. "You will regret those words, woman," he spat..

Caracalla, however, found himself intrigued by Cecilia's defiance. He admired her courage, her refusal to be cowed by her captors. This was not the meek, submissive girl he had initially expected.

"Now this," Caracalla mused, a slow smile spreading across his lips, "is far more interesting."

Caracalla stepped towards Cecilia, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light. "You have a spirit, little bird," he purred, his voice a silken caress. "A spirit that needs to be… tamed."

Cecilia felt a shiver crawl down her spine. Caracalla's gaze, intense and unsettling, made her skin crawl. Geta, seeing the predatory gleam in his brother's eyes, knew he had to act. He stepped between them once again, his hand hovering near the hilt of his dagger. "This is enough," Geta growled, his voice thick with barely suppressed rage. "This is my wedding feast, not the gladiatorial arena."

Caracalla, however, ignored his brother. He reached out, his hand brushing against Cecilia's cheek. "You will learn to obey," he whispered, his voice a low growl. "I will teach you if my brother cannot."

Cecilia’s heart was pounding like a drum. She was trapped in a web of lies and deceit, a fresh target. And she knew, with an unwavering certainty, that this was only the beginning.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the tension, "Perhaps a little decorum is in order, brothers."

All eyes turned towards General Acacius, his face a mask of impassivity. His presence was radiating an aura of calm authority. Geta and Caracalla, momentarily stunned by Acacius's intervention, exchanged wary glances. Acacius, a respected military leader, held a certain respect even within the Imperial court.

"A wedding celebration should be a joyous occasion," Acacius continued, his voice low and measured, "not a display of…sibling rivalry."

He turned his attention to Cecilia, his gaze searching hers. "You seem distressed, my lady. Perhaps a moment of fresh air would do you good."

General Acacius  offered her his arm, his gaze challenging Geta. Geta, still seething with anger, hesitated for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. Cecilia, seizing the opportunity, accepted Acacius's offer. She placed her hand on his broad arm, feeling a surge of odd relief in his touch. Acacius, she realized, might be her only hope.

As they walked away from the tense scene, Cecilia turned to Acacius, her voice barely a whisper, "Thank you."

Acacius smiled faintly. "Consider it a…favor."

He knew this was far from over for her. The brothers, their rivalry now further inflamed, would not easily forget this incident. But for now, he had provided Cecilia with a brief respite, a moment to gather her thoughts.

“You seem troubled,” Acacius said to her, not releasing her arm. Cecilia did not pull away, but seeked refuge in the feeling of his strong bicep. 

“Very troubled,” she replied, “I did not ask for any of this. Death would be a privilege compared to what I will face tonight with Geta.”

Acacius's gaze softened. He understood the fear that gripped her, the brothers were relentless and would use her to please even their wildest fantasies. He had seen that same fear in the eyes of countless women who crossed their path.

"You are not alone," he said, his voice a low rumble, a promise whispered in the night. "I will not let them harm you."

Cecilia looked up at him, surprised. He was an enemy, a Roman general, yet he offered her an immeasurable amount of comfort, a promise of protection. It was a strange sensation, a flicker of hope in the midst of despair.

"Thank you," she whispered again, her voice barely audible.

Acacius turned his head to face her. "Consider it a…debt paid."

Cecilia's eyebrows arched. "A debt?"

Acacius's gaze met hers, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. "Let's just say," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I have my own reasons for wanting to keep the peace with you, at least for now."

[honey-minded-hivemind]

🖤Dark AU, Post Three, A Better World...

(Warning! This post mentions death, dying, gore, yanderes, and implied drugging. Do not read if this upsets you! You have been warned...)

• You weren't sure what you were expecting on being back with your team. You'd expected maybe some crying, or a lecture, or even being banned or kicked out... Not everyone being older, clingy, and seeming to harbor something dark within...

• Recovering is hard. Your abdomen had been cut open before you had... and while it had healed some after you and your friends came back... it hadn't healed all the way. So that meant your... "team"... had to bandage it, stitch the deepest parts closed, and then would not leave you alone. This would have been fine in any other scenario. Needed, or wanted, even. But everyone here just seemed off, somehow. Desperate. Darker. More dangerous. It's like when you and the others had ... they just snapped. And that wasn't good.

• Right now, you're sitting at breakfast with your friends, as well as the beings who appear as Logan, Victor, The Professor, and Scott and Jean. You feel small whenever their piercing gaze crosses over you, as though it's peeling back your skin and trying to see what's underneath, trying to find out why you won't give in. It feels heavy, intense, too much. You do your best to ignore them... even if that means having to try and drink the smoothie they made. The color is light, the scent sweet, and it makes your stomach growl. But you don't trust it. You don't trust them.

• Kurt seems to have no such qualms. He's busy trying to drink his own smoothie, sitting on the same side of the table as you, his tail wrapped around your ankle like a hand seeking comfort (or a chain keeping you attached). You can't blame him. You know that... You know you should have been more careful. That you should have planned harder, or waited one more day, or just done anything else differently to save you all from... His tail squeezes tighter, and his eyes soften at you. He reaches under the table and grabs your hand, giving it a light squeeze. You breathe out, trying to think about something else.

• Kitty sits on Kurt's other side, nervous. You smile lightly at her, trying to ease the tension, and she smiles back, timid. She drinks some of her smoothie, and you hum lightly as you peer at yours again. Pietro already went through two, but you understand. He has a fast metabolism, and he honestly needs every bit of nutrition and food he can get. You're worried. He's just been... he's been too quiet. Where Kurt clings to you or Kitty hugs the three of you as tight as she can, Pietro just keeps watch, guarded, his spine tense and his eyes on edge. You want to talk to him, to try and get to the bottom of what exactly is bothering him, but... you don't want the adults to hear.

• "Is your drink alright, dear?" You snap back up, jumping slightly. Right. You got lost in your thoughts again... You stare at the Professor, trying to shove down any surface worry or fear. "It isn't too acidic, is it? It's a berry mixture, but we tried to use the ones you liked." "It's okay. I'm just not very hungry, I guess..." "My dear, I insist you please try to eat a little. You need the nutrients and vitamins to get better."

• You can see Logan shift, ready to get up and "help" you. You don't know what they'd do, but you aren't sure you want to test the waters right now. You sigh, but take a sip. The cloying taste of sweet berries fills your mouth, and you feel your stomach tighten with pain when you think of not swallowing. You tentatively gulp it down, and feel a bit better. You don't like the way everyone stares at you, with too soft, too dark eyes, watching and waiting... You take another sip, and Pietro pats your arm. You lean into the touch, deciding you need comfort more than you need to be guarded right now.

• "You doing alright, bud? Just, take it easy, okay? You're fine, we're safe, okay?" he says, whispering softly to you. You nod, not wanting to talk about it. The conversation goes up again, but you let it turn to white noise around you, only listening for keywords or any hints of what secret the adults could possibly have...

• "Hang in their, mein freund. Ve vill be okay," Kurt whispers. You smile, more a grimace than anything, but you stay huddled between your friends. You feel safe here, if only with them...

• If he's being honest, Kurt doesn't know how to feel about all of... this. His mother, his sister, his whole family, they're all older! The world is strange now, speaking of peace and friendship rather than war and violence. The adults keep saying they are okay, that they are safe, that no one will hurt them, that none of them will leave them. He... he doesn't want to be left alone. He can't stand the idea. Kitty leans into his side, and Reader squeezes his hand again. He sighs. He is here. He is safe. They are all safe. God has delivered them, and He has brought them home. Kurt, he... he felt scared, when they had been captured. When they were experimented on, tortured, kept locked away and hidden, with no way for their family to find them. He felt so, so lost. So afraid. So alone. But his friends were there. Reader was there. And they had been willing to sacrifice themself, to be the scape goat, the sacrificial lamb, the one who took all the punishment, all so he and Kitty and Pietro would be safe. Then they gave up their own life, all so they could escape, or try to... He... he felt grateful to them. Grateful for them. They were like a blessing, an angel in disguise... Maybe... maybe they were...? Or maybe they were someone blessed, who helped others, who was beloved by God and His Heaven...? Kurt didn't know for sure, but... he couldn't let them get hurt. He had to keep them safe. They were his friend, they were family, and he couldn't bare to see them suffer again...

• Kitty thought she was taking all of this pretty well. Okay, they're in, like, the future. Surprise, everyone they know and loved was older! And scary! And... well, okay, so far were only taking care of them. Which at times felt scary, but no one was hurting them, or being mean or rude, so it was good? Right? She... she didn't know how to process all of this. Seriously, what had happened?! She thought all of them were goners, had died, and then they're back (not unharmed but they're alive!), and then they're captured by their team (their family) and brought back to the Institute. So, all is well, right? One would think that, but... she isn't sure. Sure, the others act the same, they say they love them, that they missed them, but... but then why? Why does she feel so scared, so wary, of them? Like they'll pop out of the shadows or keep them caged? They're their team! They're their family! They wouldn't do that, would they? She tells herself they wouldn't, that they care, that they wouldn't do all of this for them if they didn't... But Reader is wary, too... and they're her friend, one of her best friends... She wants this to be good, she really does. She doesn't want to be scared anymore! She doesn't want to be hurt anymore! She doesn't deserve that! Kurt doesn't deserve that! Not Pietro! And not Reader! They're all funny, and sweet, and brave, they're all nice (when Pietro isn't pulling a prank war)! So who should she trust? Her friends, or their family? She... she's not sure she can choose... but the moment something is wrong, she will get them out, and they won't ever be hurt again...

• Pietro has seen better days. Felt better too. What. The. H*ll. He and his friends survived H*ll on Earth. They put up with the secret, evil scientists and government officials and generals and soldiers, they took beatings, they were pushed to their f*cking limits, and then they DIED. What. Does. He. Do. How do they even begin to recover from this? And Reader... Look, he trusts them, with his life, he might add. But they just, they lied, to him, to Kurt, to Kitty, all so they could go sacrifice themself so the three of them could escape. How does he even begin to deal with that? How does he forget it? He doesn't want to accept it. He wished it hadn't ended like that. Why, why, WHY would they DO that?! They were supposed to escape together, no man left behind, but they let themself get caught and they DIED. He. He's just so... he's so sick. He's upset. He's scared. He's scared for them... Why would they do this? Don't they know he cares, that they care, that they love them, that they'd miss them? Do they think themself worthless? Does Reader hate themself? Do they know what they did? Do they know what they've done? He doesn't know how to talk to them about this. He needs to. He doesn't want them hurt ever again... he can't lose them ever again... they... they scared him... they let themself die for them, for him... He just wants all of them to be safe... He doesn't to hurt them, he doesn't want to make them cry, but if they can't save themself too, then he'll make it so they are. Even if they means... even if it means finding other means to do so...

• You're glad when breakfast is over. You feel tired, but honestly... you really want to just hug your friends and forget for an hour. But when you do wake up... you need to have a talk... You just hope they'll listen.

( @sugar-soda @vivid-bun @danniloversugar @weebwholovesuchihasasuke @ainsellshadewalker @thewickedweiner @hermesserpent-stuff @crowwithguns @opossumdaydreamz @tydye-goat64 @foundfamyanderes )

[thestorycomesalive]

And I Would Do it Again

George Weasley x Reader

Summary: When you stick up for George in front of your whole Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Professor Umbridge has a certain consequence in mind for you.

Angst and Fluff, Hurt/Comfort.

TW: Mentions of Blood

****

“Eh hem, Mr. Weasley,” hummed a trilling voice from behind the tall red head next to you.

“Professor?” George raised an eyebrow to the pink clad woman behind him, wondering what in the world the small, angry lady could possibly want. Afterall, he hadn’t done anything wrong. And he knew better than to test her at this point. Or at least he knew his limits. Ron had told him of the tragic events that took place in Harry’s detention. Ever since then, he and his twin brother had gotten quieter and cleverer about pulling their tricks around school. Of course, they hadn’t stopped altogether. George wouldn’t be George without his pranks. But George knew he couldn’t get detention. Not out of a kindness for himself, but rather for your sake. He knew you’d worry too much.

But this time, he hadn’t done anything to provoke Professor Umbridge. He racked his brain for a moment, but he couldn’t think of one thing that would call her attention to him.

“You have received a generous amount of our class time today to complete your writing assignment, and while even Ms. L/N next to you has come up with a few paragraphs, you seem to have nearly nothing on your page. Care to explain what you’ve been up to all of this time?” The woman teetered to the front of your table, peering down at George.

He gave her a look of disbelief. “Well, it is not for lack of trying. I just have a hard time learning on paper. And you don’t let us use our wands,” he pointed out.

She giggled a single, ugly giggle. “Mr. Weasley… I can’t say I’m surprised. Afterall, I have come to expect less than from you. You shouldn’t need your wand to learn. Perhaps it is time for you to accept the fact that your own stupidity is to blame for your shortcomings. I really do my very best, but some students are just purely unteachable.” She hummed the last part to herself, shaking her head.

Your eyes shot up to her instantly. You had been watching her for some time, but in this instance, your eyes had been on the boy next to you, offering looks of kindness and sympathy without words. But now you were angry. Practically fuming. “Excuse me,” you muttered sharply, grabbing her attention with a whip of her head. “That is not, in any way, fair or warranted. George is one of the smartest people I know.” Your eyes were shooting darts at her as a piercing, condescending smile crept up to her ears.

“Ms. L/N. Talking out of turn will not be tolerated in my classroom. Especially not when it is used to talk back to your superiors,” she huffed.

You felt the smallest sensation of George’s pinky finger entwining with yours, as he tried to simmer down some of the anger, he knew was bubbling within you. You sighed and decided to leave the subject, having said your piece.

“You shall not question my knowledge and wisdom in any sense. If I say he is stupid, he is stupid, and if I say you are a flying Niffler, well then, you must be a flying Niffler. Do you understand, young lady?” she grinned, clearly having been satisfied with what she thought was winning the argument. You feel the heat and anger rising even higher than before at the mention of the sweet boy next to you. And then you finally realized what it is she was asking of you. She was asking you to agree with her cruel assumption about your George in front of the whole class. She cocks an eyebrow in the air with a wild smirk on her face. The rage pools over as you finally let it escape your mouth.

“No. I do not. I do not understand how you can call someone so bright and creative stupid, simply because you lack the skills and empathy to teach them what you would like them to know. Or because their knowledge simply extends beyond concepts that you can understand. You might not agree with me, Professor, but not everyone is like you. Not everyone wants to sit in a dark room and just pretend to learn for the rest of their lives. You want to give me detention, Professor? Fine. But I will not stand by while you abuse really great wizards, let alone, the ones that I love.” You cock your eyebrows back at her, knowing she has you right where she wants you. You don’t have a care in the world as the steam almost rises from your ears. It is now you notice that George’s hand had moved from your pinky to your wrist, gently trying to stop you from making the decision you had just made, his eyes pleading with yours with a gentle sadness and slight shock. However, for the briefest moment, you thought you could make out the tiniest glimpse of pride pass his eyes at the same time.

“Detention, Ms. L/N. I will not have anyone tell me how to teach in my classroom or question my abilities and judgement as a witch. Let alone someone so new to magic, as yourself.” She smiled smugly as she returned to the front of the classroom continuing her lesson immediately, not giving George or you a chance to respond to her. It was this act that left George hunting her down with a glare that could kill for the rest of the class, hand still in yours.

****

George spent every moment away from you that day, skipping his classes, trying in every way to get himself detention with Umbridge as well. However, every attempt ended with a quiet humph and scolding from her filled with cruel and nasty words. It was clear that even though she dreadfully wanted to, she was not going to give in and give George the detention he so desperately desired. She knew his punishment would be far more effective if she let you suffer and put him in a position where he would not be able to do anything about it whatsoever. It was the only time that he had the freedom to do nearly anything he wanted at Hogwarts, to break almost any rule he wanted to break, and get away with it. The painful irony is, he hated every second of it.

*****

Your detention arrived quickly that night when the corridors of the castles quieted. You had spent all day since your class with Umbridge quiet by George’s side. On the moments that you would be separated, you would go find a place in the Gryffindor Common Room to sit and wait for him to return from his classes or what you thought must be prank trials with Fred. But you weren’t worried about your detention like most people probably assumed you had been. Hell, you probably should’ve been. No. You were furious. Furious at Umbridge for targeting George, furious at her for backing you into a corner until you couldn’t take it anymore, furious at her for hurting Harry, furious at her for getting away with all of the terrible things she has done… furious.

When darkness befell the Common Room, only George, Fred, Lee, and you remained. You hadn’t told Harry or anyone else about your detention. You didn’t want him to worry. However, Fred and Lee, of course, had known of your soon-to-be punishment, considering they had been in the class when you received it. When you left the classroom, George pulled you into his side protectively and Lee had given you proud pat on the shoulder. With an exaggerated wink, Fred had run up and exclaimed, “Blimey, that was amazing, L/N! Nice craftsmanship, excellent execution.” Fred had tried to wipe some of the anger from your face throughout the day with a few, “don’t mess with that one, she’s fiery” and “Oi, Lee, careful. Catch yourself even looking at ol’ Georgie too long, and you might have to answer to that one,” with a point in your direction. These usually earned a genuine, soft smile from you as you chuckled to yourself. Freddie was the one person in the world who could make any person laugh no matter the circumstances. George would blush, and if he saw you laughing, he would also laugh to himself at the mention of the last joke from Fred. Part of you wondered if he may have enjoyed feeling your protectiveness over him. And you didn’t mind. You liked that he liked it. Even now.

But as the four of you sat late in the quiet Common Room, you felt the jokes wash away as George twiddled with his fingers, your head on his chest. You could tell he was feeling worried and helpless as you waited for your time to leave for detention. When that time came, you gave them a gentle smile and said, “Alright, I’m off. I’ll see you guys in the morning. Don’t go worrying about me too much.” You gave Fred and Lee a wink and kissed the top of George’s head.

As if on instinct, George grabbed your hand, pleading with his face, as if he were trying to keep you from going. But he knew that if you did not show up tonight, it would only earn you an even bigger punishment with the nasty, pink-shoed woman later. You took his hand and held it to your cheek as you gave him a little smile and whispered, “I love you. Goodnight.” And off you went, George watching your back as you left.

*****

As you creaked through the half open door of Umbridge’s office, you heard her squeal in delight. She toned out, “Do come in, Ms. L/N.”

You walked in without a word, eyes piercing through the small woman as she continued. “I do hope tonight will serve you nicely. You will be writing lines for me, dear.” You nodded your head, eyes still shooting at the Professor. This is what you had expected to hear from her. “Take a seat. There is a quill and parchment already for you at the desk there.”

 You took a seat at the desk she pointed to as she tutted. “Hmm… What lesson is to be learned tonight, do you think?” You, of course, didn’t answer. “There are many lessons I believe you could benefit from learning, Ms. L/N, but I have chosen to be generous to you, for reasons unbeknownst to me. I believe the lines, ‘I will learn my place and be respectful to my superiors’, will do just fine.”

 Your mouth dropped. You were expecting to write lines, and you knew the pain that would come with that, but you had not expected the number of words she would give you to write to be so extensive. You only prayed that the number of lines she would have you complete would be less, to even out your sentence to compare to the stories you had heard from others, including Harry. You dared to ask. “How many- “

“One hundred,” she interrupted without hesitation.

You nodded, eyes still a bit wide from shock. You assumed that you had really struck a nerve with your defiance towards Umbridge. Afterall, why else would your sentence be nearly double that of any other student you have heard from so far? You figured that you also were being used as punishment towards those you loved as well. Those who have also unmeaningly struck a nerve of Umbridge’s too: Harry and George. But you wouldn’t be used as bait. No, you quite refused to be used as such.

As you dared to hover the dry quill over the paper, you prepared yourself for the pain that would inevitably begin once you touched them down to meet. And when it did, the pain was one hundred times more unbearable than you had even begun to imagine, just like the number of lines you were to complete.

By the time you had arrived halfway through your assignment, blood was dripping down your fingertips, drenching your parchment along with the tears crawling down your face. Finally, soft whimpers that you had tried to hold back for so long, began to escape.

 The clock ticking echoed in your ears, taunting your brain with the idea of freedom. After what felt like an eternity, you had finished the lines, and you were a both dry and wet bloodied mess. You sat up from your seat and handed the now quiet professor your scarlet stained parchment full of scratches reading, “I will learn my place and be respectful to my superiors”, front and back.

“May I leave now?” you uttered.

She simply nodded with a conniving grin plastered on her face as she watched you walk out the door.

*****

You held your breath until you arrived back past the portrait into the Gryffindor Common Room, not wanting that evil woman to hear you cry. When you stepped into the room, you pressed your back to the cold wall next to you and grabbed your wrist, blood flow never-ending, and finally let the tears and sobs escape you, as your back fell down the wall. You were so blinded by the pain that you didn’t even notice there was someone in the room with you. They ran up from the couch, over to your place by the wall, and sat right next to you, pulling you into their lap. From the moment you discovered the figure, your brain and your heart knew it would be your George. Part of you had a feeling he wouldn’t sleep until you were back, and you didn’t want him to see you like this. You fought your brain which told you that you were allowing yourself to be the live weapon that Umbridge wanted you to be. You just hadn’t expected the pain to be so much. You hadn’t expected that you would collapse right in front of George. You so desperately wanted to be strong. To stay strong for him. For yourself. But, oh merlin, did it hurt.

His big arms wrapped around your shoulders and brought his hand to pull your bloodied one into his line of sight. His breathing hitched and he felt his blood run to his cheeks and his ears as his other hand clenched into a fist. He was seeing red at the extra bloodied hand you fostered, much worse than he had ever seen, even on Harry. But the rage he felt was nothing compared to the crunch of his heart splitting in two as your cries of pain reached his ears. He didn’t know what to do, he felt so helpless, just as he had all day, but a million times worse.

“Darling, I know. I’m so sorry. I’m- I’m so sorry. Please. Please, I have to wrap this. You have to let me wrap this,” he struggled, pleading with you.

Your head heard his words, and it told you to move, to stop crying, to say something. But your skin was on fire, and the roar of the flames outspoke the language of your brain trying to reason with your body. You were able to lean your head into his shoulder, as you tried to compose yourself as best as you could, but the best you could do was quiet your sobs ever so slightly, as any and all words fell silent in the back of your throat. Your tears soaked through his shirt and coated his upper arm that still held you. He began to take his arms and pull himself up, untangling himself from you. He moved to sit on his knees in front of you, eyes searching for yours as he tilted your chin up to look at him.

“My love. Please. I need to wrap your hand. Can I bring you to the couch?” he asked, peering through your eyes for an answer.

You slightly nodded your head, barely noticeable. But George, he saw it. He always saw it. He could read you better than anyone in the world. The moment he saw your head move, he scooped his arm under your bent legs and placed his other one across your back and under your arms. You turned your head into his shoulder as he gently move to place you on the couch, your back pressed to the arm of the chair. You pulled your knees up on the couch, moving your heels to touch your bottom. Splayed out across the table in front of you were bandages and a wrap for your hand. As the tears began finding themselves more and more scarce at the hope of relief, the smaller of the words at the back of your throat began to find their way out.

“Georgie?” you asked, coming out in a high-pitched whimper.

His deep, worrying eyes looked to you, hands finding your cheeks. He followed your eyes to the table and the equipment laying on it. An embarrassed blush came to his cheeks as his brows furrowed. Supplies. It was pathetic, he thought. He should’ve been the one being punished. But instead, it was you and there was absolutely nothing he could do except for find some simple supplies. Unable to even think about sleeping, he had snuck his way over to Madame Pomfrey in the medical wing as soon as you had exited the Common Room. He asked her for some supplies and after more than a lot of convincing that everything was okay and that he wasn’t up to anything that would get her in trouble, she suspiciously obliged. He knew you would refuse to see her anyways, not wanting to take up her time. And deep down, he too knew that there was not much she would be able to do for you, no matter how much he begged. Afterall, this was a punishment enacted by Umbridge herself, and no matter how much she wanted to, Pomfrey could not disregard the rules set in place by the self-proclaimed headmaster and inquisitor.

He turns back to you quickly trying to cover the look of shame and guilt on his face.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” his voice breaks, tears of his own forming.

You could see him fighting with his own mind over something that you were sure would split your heart right down the middle.

“George?” you squeaked out once more.

“I’m so sorry…It’s my fault. I was behind in class. It should’ve been me. Not you. I should’ve protected you, I-,” he finally lets it all come rushing out.

You cut him off by placing your good hand on his cheek, giving him a difficult and very broken smile. Your voice comes out raspy from the sobs you had forced down but determined now, as soon as you hear the pain in George's own voice. “No. This decision was mine, George. All mine…” you give the faintest of laughs, almost in disbelief. “And yet, I can’t find the mind to regret it… I would do it again… and again.”

He leaned into your touch, eyes wincing as you revealed to him that you would take this punishment and this pain for him once again.

“Look at me?” you whispered.

He brought his eyes up to meet yours. Your voice was a little bit clearer now, although wavering ever so slightly.

“My decision. Please do not take that away from me, Georgie. It was my decision to make, and I am so glad that I did. You are so smart. You know that, right?” You looked up at him from under your eyelashes through the now silent and mild tears that streamed down your face.

He shook his head. He couldn’t bring himself to even begin to describe himself as smart. If that were true, he thought, he would’ve found a way to be there with you. If that were true, you wouldn’t have been there at all. He couldn’t understand, how through all of the terror and pain, you were the one to comfort him. He simply began to unwrap the bandages from their place on the table and started to wrap them tightly around your hand to stop the blood from dripping any longer, a lot of it starting to dry already. When he was finished, you took your good hand and placed it on his cheek once again. You pulled him into a sweet, soft, salty kiss.

“Smart. Clever. Kind. Brave. Gentle,” you muttered these words in his ear as you rested your head on his shoulder, and he once again pulled you into his lap, this time, towards him.

“The strongest girl I know, so beautiful, so loving…,” he muttered back, caressing your hair, trailing off into magical, sweet nothings that mean quite everything to both of you.

“I love you, Georgie,” you whisper.

“I love you, darling,” he says.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” you ask the beautiful, ginger boy that you love so dearly.

“I will always stay with you, my love,” he says as he begins to lift your body from the couch to carry to your dorm. There the two of you find comfort in each other’s embrace, finally drifting off into a deep sleep.

[kurishiri]

03 . . . the past records ˗ˏˋ🍎🪞´ˎ˗

— this translation may not be 100% accurate or may contain creative liberties. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost or claim these as your own!

— cw: none.

Liam: Hearing Al say they played this game to decide whether he stayed by Lord Elbie’s side or died... it makes me wonder, does he really hate being by his side that much?

Roger: Haha, it’s nothing that serious. If he really hated staying by his side that much, he wouldn’t have just left it to something like luck. He would’ve taken it in his own hands.

Liam: Right? That’s what I was thinking.

Roger: He says stuff like ‘it’s a game of luck,’ but really he just wants a cover up.

Liam: So... if he doesn’t have an excuse, he can’t be together with him? But why?

Roger: ......Who knows.

Liam: Hmm... I feel like despite hearing the whole story, I still don’t know what’s the answer to that question that started it all.

L: Why is Al with Lord Elbie?

Roger: Word’s that when they met, they were both going through something that made it hard for them to be apart from each other.

R: And anything more about that is beyond me.

Liam: Hm...

L: You see, Al has been helping me satisfy my curiosity by indulging in my whims...

L: ...but he would really have gone and done something dangerous, if I asked for it, I feel like.

L: Like, he puts his life on the line just for a game of luck... so much so, I wouldn’t be surprised if we found his corpse tomorrow... I guess.

L: Oh, maybe he also has the ‘Cheshire Cat’s Curse’ like me?

Roger: ...If he did have such a Curse, maybe he would be able to be a part of others’ lives without feeling the need to keep up a pretense.

—— Perspective shift ——

Today’s mission for Crown was to pass judgment on the person who’s been illicitly making drugs, and to gather proof of their crime.

William and Harrison were to pass judgment,

while Alfons and Elbert were assigned to gather proof.

In a certain warehouse containing imported goods,

Alfons and Elbert were able to find the raw materials used to make that dangerous drug hidden within the very general spices.

They were carrying out their mission without a hitch——

when suddenly, several bullets shot through the air, piercing holes through the burlap bags piled high in a heap,

until the contents of the bags spilled on top of the two men.

Elbert: There’s an eyewitness... we have to go after them.

Alfons: Do you really have the luxury to say that when we’re in this state?

The two of them were buried in so much spice from the waist down, it was hard to laugh it off as any joke.

And Alfons let out a sigh as though he were fed up.

Alfons: This is William and Harry we’re talking about?

A: They won’t let a single one go alive, so it should be fine.

A: Anyhow, more importantly, I can’t help but feel an inkling that I’ve run into this smell before—

Elbert: ...! Al, over there, there are cats.

They had probably been hiding somewhere in the warehouse, but some stray cats had shown themselves, gathering around them.

Alfons: Ah, yes, I remember that spice’s scent now.

Elbert: ...?

Alfons: It’s cat powder.

While they were having an out-of-tune conversation, the two became surrounded by cats.

Alfons: Come now, don’t cozy up on your own quite yet. Why don’t you help us out?

A: I hope you know the reason you guys can indulge yourselves in cat powder is because of us?

A cat drew closer to Alfons as he petted it around its neck.

The cat purred in response, snuggling its body up to his palm.

Elbert: ...Hehe.

Alfons: Whatever is the matter, suddenly laughing like that? Don’t tell me you are on a cat powder high as well?

Elbert: It’s not that. It’s just... I was remembering how you dote on cats, even when you act more like one than the cats themselves.

Alfons: I’m afraid you have me ever so slightly lost with that train of thought...

Elbert: I mean, when I think you saved that cat who had trouble getting down,

E: you would push it away when it got too close.

E: And when I think you have petted it... you pretend you don’t know them...

E: And when they’re going through a hard time, you are there by their side... but then, when they’re not going through such times, you try your best to distance yourself.

Alfons: ...You are quite an observant one, aren’t you. So? Would you mind telling me why you look so happy then?

Elbert: Because... I think that side of you is wonderful, Al.

Alfons: ......Is this your attempt to woo me?

Elbert: ...? No, I didn’t mean to woo you.

Alfons: Yes, I knew that from the start, so please don’t take my words so earnestly.

A: ...Elbie, how would you like to play a little game with me?

Elbert: Game...?

Alfons pulled out a coin from his pocket, flipping it in the air with his finger.

Then, when the coin fell atop the back of his hand, he covered it with the other.

Elbert: I guess, I’ll bet tails then.

Alfons: And that leaves me with heads.

A: If it is tails, as you say, then I win. Otherwise, it’s yours.

Elbert: So, the one who guessed wrong wins... somehow, it feels like it should be the opposite.

Alfons: Well, you can think of it as playing with a ‘mirror’ that is myself. And so, that which is incorrect becomes the correct choice, and conversely, the correct choice becomes incorrect.

Elbert: What will you do if you win?

Alfons: Let’s see now...

A: I suppose, if I win, I will go on a journey to the edge of the world.

On the back of Alfons’ hand, the coin——showed heads.

Alfons: And once again, it is my loss.

A: Truly, when it comes to making the wrong choices, there is no one who can hold a candle to you.

A: ...I realize this is sorely belated, but is it alright if I ask you one question?

Elbert: ...What is it?

Alfons: The day we first met, when I suddenly appeared before you, what made you want to take me into the manor?

Elbert: ......

← prev next →

full masterlist 🍎🪞

[roznnreads]

Chosen not Fated Chapter 1

Eris x Fem!Reader

Tags: marriage of convenience, rhysand slander, depression, suicidal ideation

Summary: Tired of a life in the shadow among the inner circle, Rhysand’s younger sister decides to take her life into her own hands and makes a desperate grab for power.

Chapter Summary: After the battle is won the depression hits

a/n: writing this instead of uni coursework

last part, next part

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

The Inner Circle keeps to themselves. They are a reclusive group that rarely allows new people into their lives, let alone into their hearts. 

But even within the Inner Circle I felt separate, They found companionship with each other. My Brother, Azriel, Cassian and Amern, They could rely on each other,  yet here I am sitting at the dinner table in silence eating my food, surrounded by the loud illyrians. My mate, although brought into the circle through me, was suited to them better than I ever was. 

The war was won, the humans were pushed back to their land and a barrier was created, keeping the faerie and human races separate forever. Treaties forged and signed, a promise for peace that should last centuries

I should be celebrating, I should be happy. I am empty. My soul has been torn in two. We were to be married after the War was won, we were waiting for peace, for a chance to breathe, to make our love a celebration of being alive, of seeing another day. If he was here I would have someone to talk to at dinner, to make it seem like I am just like them.

“Do you think the treaty will last?” said Amren piercing through the noise

“I hope so, If anything it will last through many human lives so they won’t have the same knowledge as they do now, for us anything is possible.” replied Rhysand

“So we are never going to be done with war,” I say quietly, my throat hurts from the crying. 

“We are immortal, war comes with the the price of life”, Rhys sighed “I can’t know what you are going through, but I am truly sorry, but there is nothing that can be done”

My chair scraped against the floor, I stood abruptly.

“Excuse me”, I state, leaving the dinner hall. I walk slowly out of the room with careful consideration, once out of sight of the circle I run down the hall, to my chambers.

The large room full of ornate furniture and sweeping bookshelves was situated high above the city of Velaris, a darling view. All I can see is memories of my love, from the books he had gifted me, to his side of the bed that was left unmade. 

I can’t bare to sleep in the bed without him, to smell him and know that he will never lie his head on the pillow and hold me as I fall asleep. 

I wish I could fly, to gasp the cool fresh air, to feel nothing around me. To get away from it all.I walk towards the balcony’s edge grasping the fence. If I jumped from the balcony right now I would not feel the air pick me up, only the hard ground would find me. Maybe that would be the better outcome, to join him.

No. 

If I am to join him it shall be by another's hand, just like he was. In battle would be nice, then for certain I could be with him in whatever afterlife awaits us, me. 

Perhaps we don’t have an afterlife, what would be another eternity, would it be like our lives now, maybe this is the afterlife, where one lives forever and to die in battle grants you a new one. 

I lie in our… my bed. I clutch the bedsheets that would hold him, they’ve gone cold from disuse. I can’t cry, I have no more tears left in me. 

I need a purpose, I need something to spend my days, a distraction. It would feel wrong to find a lover to occupy my days, knowing my one love is gone. Maybe a friend perhaps, to share thoughts and opinions, to visit - on occasion.

A friend. I need someone not of this court. Someone who cannot be bought out or manipulated by the circle, someone who could not be persuaded to report back to Rhysand about our dalliances, someone powerful. 

[drdemonprince]

what made you choose a deer for your fursona?

It's a long story that I am all too happy to tell!

I first attended Midwest Furfest in 2018, after years of being curious about it. My boyfriend at the time was a member of the Neo-Futurists Theater, and the Neo's had a longstanding relationship with the MFF community. They perform their flagship show (Too Much Light Makes the Baby Go Blind, later rebranded as The Infinite Whale) there every year, and when the theater company's former founder attempted to steal their show name/copyright following his ousting due to sexual assault allegations, MFF really came through to offer considerable moral support.

There was lots of goodhearted joking about the furry community within that theater space, and I'd always been curious about furries and a supporter of them in heart if not in fact, and so I finally decided one year to tag along, see my boyfriend performing there, and walk around the convention floor and visit the dealer's den during my down time.

I absolutely LOVED IT. I was completely blown away by the artistry of the suits and the playful spirit of the suiters. I ran into a few friends there, outing them as furries to me, and we grew closer. I also took notice of some teal, sparkly resin antlers while I was in the Dealer's Den:

I snapped those things up and put them on immediately. Some stranger started to pet me right away (which is technically a convention consent violation, and should *not* be done, but I personally was the opposite of troubled by being treated in this way) and I was hooked.

I had always had a "thing" for antlers and horns since playing the PS2 game Ico back in the early 2000's. The young male protagonists horns representing an unwanted appendage and a visible "curse" was very appealing to me... as a boy who had been saddled with two very unwanted appendages of my own. (trangsender). I also have had many very magical encounters with deer in Ohio and Pennsylvania where I grew up. As a skiddish bottomy freak whose caused a lot of car accidents, a prey animal that also has the power to kill people in vehicles seemed plenty apt. So when I found some antlers to wear, it seemed like a natural enough fit for a potential fursona.

Then my friend @jettvector designed my fursona, using the teal antlers as a jumping off point. (this art has his old watermark on it, but he goes by jettvector now. commission him!):

Now that I had a friend-assigned fursona and was officially a furry, I ran with it, and began commissioning some art that further refined my image of the character:

this is from 9inko on Instagram

this one is from @heresvix, who specializes in deer

and this one is from @murgzt . I am currently having a partial fursuit of this iteration of the character made by Daring Duck Designs!! :0

A few things that I love about my sona's design: I love that his ears are big and really stick out, as my ears do the same, I love that he has a spot reflecting my monroe piercing, I love that deers are spotted in general, which can allow me to recast my own bacne scars in a more positive light, and i love that his greenish teal skin reflects my own olive complection (which I used to get a lot of weird comments about as a kid and felt self conscious about).

I also accumulated some gear in the meantime that allowed me to better embody my deersona, who I now call DD (which stands for Deer Devon, Docile Deer, Devon Dawn, my former DD tits, or any numer of potential things haha)

Hood by Miss Kinky Latex UK, photo by @photopotamus.

I have become a little bit more of a furry with each passing year, and it wouldn't have been possible without the hard work and creativity of so many people within the fandom, many of whom are beloved friends. <3 That's part of what makes it so special. Thanks for asking!

[16ciggy]

types of piercings the jjk characters would get (wlw included, some sex scenes a lil, i kinda got carried away and wrote an entire story for sukuna bc i love him.... mb guys)

reader is in love with piercings btw

[ NOBARA , YUJI , MEGUMI , GOJO , TOJI , GETO AND SUKUNA INCLUDED ]

SATORU GOJO

i think bro wouldn't really wanna 'mess' up anything much and would go for normal ear piercings (if he wanted it) and that's that. "piercings? on my face or body elsewhere??? why would i do that?" he'd say, his face turning sour when being asked if he would pierce his face or body in any way. he doesn't want some metal pierce through his body or face at all, he'd definitely feel grossed out too by knowing something is within his skin and staying in there FOREVER. you both had a conversation about how gojo might enhance his appearance if he were to get piercings and he immediately said 'no'. buuuuttttt that doesn't mean he disregards your passion and love for piercings either, he has come by your shop to watch you pierce your clients or discuss with them on the desired piercings your clients wants. some of them even ended up becoming your friends too–gojo is in awe when he sees on how much of a social butterfly you are, he's proud of your work and he is in love with the way you do things with piercings too. he always asks on how were the piercings that you've done for your clients and you'd always give a full on detail on how it went, sometimes he can't even believe his own ears on what types of piercings you did—let alone, them even existing...

TOJI

hmmmmmm.... eyebrows piercing for SURE. i can imagine it,, he would even like it too. he'd grin at himself as he admire his piercing through those eyebrows of his. he'd probably have a king's crown piercing too (a ring pierced through the head of the dick) and he'll talk so much of it, but why? he just wants to add some extra feeling for you when he fucks you down on that ol'rotting couch of his—you could feel it too and it felt a bit weird at first to experience your boyfriend's ring inside of you but you gradually got over it and agreed that it helped to spice up the sex.

SUGURU GETO

he never really thought too much of having piercings but he wouldn't mind more. one day he decided to get a tongue piercing to reduce the taste of the cursed spirits he swallows because he couldn't falter the taste of them, the tongue piercing did help somewhat but he was also afraid that he might end up swallowing the piercing too—but you reassure him that nothing bad will happen, he smiles and kisses you, "god, your lips are the best to taste after every cursed spirit."

NOBARA

either snake or spider bites tbh (two rings either pierced by the side or opposites by each other on the lips) she says that it makes her look cool and she HATES IT whenever men are like "no one is gonna want you with those piercings.. it makes you less ladylike.", she HATESSSS IT. because, shes's doing it for YOU because you liked them. even though she seems like a heartless jerk, she loves like a golden retriever. you can't count how many times she has done these cute things like building a house for you in minecraft or buying your favourite desserts when you're on your period. "baby, im going for a mission, i'll be back later. love you, my angel." she kisses your forehead so gently before walking out the door and only for her lip piercings to be returned back to you. you were never given a reason on what happened, not even one ounce of word spoken by these random group of sorcerers. one shibuya night turned into a nightmare and you never saw your girlfriend ever again.

YUJI ITADORI

he'd have his tooth pierced with your initial on it and he lets everyone know it by flashing a big smile almost all the time. you warn him of smile lines and he'd simply just grin at you and laugh, "at least these smile lines were mostly by you!", you ruffle his hair as he laid his head on your shoulders before pulling your waist in closer to his body. he was never a big fan of piercings either—until he met you, an individual whom was fond of piercings and he decided to just have your initial pierced right on his tooth; his strongest appearance happens to be his smile too.

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

ooooohh..... hot take.. but he'd definitely be a quiet punk when hes not a sorcerer in the day time. he has nipple piercings, ear piercings, eyebrow, lips—you name em. there's no specifics too because he has a LOT of them. he defo paints his nails black too. when you both bumped into eachother in shibuya at night you did not expect to see gojo's son just having those amount of piercings and even hid it perfectly WELL. your hormones were suddenly RAGING when you saw him, you just had to fuck him so badly otherwise you'd go feral. megumi didn't mind tho because he kinda had a major big crush on you and he wasn't worried about his dick but thats when you got even surprised. because.... well... he got piercings on them too, he really did follow his biological dad. "aw, you scared im gonna eat you or sum'thing? cute." he smirks, getting closer to you and your heart racing even more when his cock is just getting nearer to your face—next thing you know, you were getting choked on it with the metal piercings just gauging down your throat as it hit every walls within it. "fuck— never knew you could suck dick—" he grunts, trying to hold in his moans with his hands clutching on to his mouth for dear's life.

SUKUNA RYOMEN

ear piercings + septum piercing. his face is already scary enough and with that nose piercing already adds in a whole'nother fear when people glances or even looks in his direction. "tsk. it's just a nose piercing, why does every human gotta act like a brat?" he sighs. heavily. he's deeply annoyed in how everyone is afraid of him, he's trying to be a bit nicer now because of you. but that isn't anyone's fault to be afraid of the king of curses either. he sits up from his throne and walks down the flight of stairs to look for you. when he spots you cleaning the hallway with a half assed broken broom, he walks towards you quietly and calls out your name loudly which scared you, "(Y/N). My room, now.", you nodded quickly and thought he just needed to relieve himself. when you arrived into his room, you locked the door behind you and got to undressin— "stop that. that's not what i asked you to come here for." he states, clearing out his throat while he prepared what to say next, "Am I terrifying?" he asks. you just stared at him and the corner of your lips started to curl into a smile, then slowly a giggle. "is this why you asked me to come? yes, you are terrifying." you smiled and he grumbled in annoyance. "then??? how am i suppose to become 'gentle'?!" he roars, jolting up from the edge of the bed, "gentle? why do you want to be gentle?" you asked confusingly, staring into his dull eyes until it clicked. you told him a few weeks ago you were into men who were gentle and not rough, was this why his sex style changed too? this is the man who pounded your back everyday of the week until you were crying from pleasure, now he's kissing your neck and gently holding your thighs up as he's thrusting into your pussy until you're soaking wet when you are getting fucked lately. "it's because on what you told me!" he cocks his head in annoyance, his feet slapping the floor constantly while his arms were crossed. you laughed non stop until he felt embarrassed, you touched his arm and he quickly jerked away from it. "don't be like that, you can still look scary but be gentle, my love—", you wheezed, trying to get a hold of your breathing but you just.. couldn't. this shit was too funny. "people looks at me differently with the septum piercing. do i look more scarier with it??" he asks, he looks so serious—you can't- no way, no way in hell he is acting like a kid over what you said. you comforted him in the end after you stopped laughing but he was still mad at your reaction.

[chvoswxtch]

Hi! For my first drink could I order an old fashioned with Frankie when he is jealous pls, idk why but I wanna see him in that situation 😏

hi nonnie!

one old fashioned with a bright green garnish coming right up. 😏

headcannon below the cut

frank castle & jealousy

in my humble opinion, frankie is absolutely the jealous type, but he's very quiet about it

it's not that he doesn't trust you, it's more so his own self-esteem issues and the hyperawareness of the baggage he carries around

frankie thinks you are literally the most beautiful thing to ever be crafted by the universe and he doesn't understand what you see in him or why you find him attractive

and despite how many times you tell him all of the many reasons you have for falling in love with him, and all the ways you show him just how handsome you find him, that green eyed monster still rears its ugly head

like when that coworker of yours that's always hitting on you, that he fucking hates, tells a joke and you laugh at it, frankie wants to know what the fuck is so funny and then he starts questioning if you think he is funny (even though you always laugh at his jokes, and when he says something you find funny that he doesn't really get but fuck it, it made you laugh)

he let you get the next round at the bar one time, but after seeing how the bartender openly flirted with you and the attention you got from the other patrons, frankie insisted on getting every round from then on out

but then he noticed that those assholes would just come up to your table when he got up, and it made his blood boil seeing how close they got to you, even if he could tell by your face that you were telling them you weren't interested

but frankie is quiet about his jealousy. he doesn't make a scene unless absolutely necessary

he doesn't rush up to the table and tell that stupid son of a bitch off, no he calmly walks up and stands behind him, glaring daggers into the back of his head until the idiot notices the look on your face and follows the path of your eyesight and finally notices his presence

he can't deny the smugness he feels seeing how their eyes go wide and watching them back away slowly with their tail tucked between their legs, holding their hands up in surrender, quickly scurrying away with a mumbled "sorry man, didn't know she was with you"

frankie gets lucky in that he doesn't have to say anything, he can just glare

when your goddamn coworker catches his piercing gaze from across the room, he suddenly stops laughing, and puts as much distance between himself and you as possible

when the bartender notices him stalking up behind you, placing his hand possessively on your waist and staring at him with murderous intent, the bartender's smile instantly drops and he's shoving your drinks forward and rushing to the other end of the bar

frankie only gets physical if someone can't take the hint or dares to put their hands on you

but whenever frankie is done scaring off your admirers and turns to look at you, his icy glare instantly melts into pools of shame as you stare back at him with a displeased quirk of your brow and a light smirk on your lips

as soon as he hears that warning tone laced within your sweet rendition of his name, he's quickly looking anywhere but at you like a child acting like they don't know what they're in trouble for

"frank." "what? just standin' here. that a crime?"

he knows you're never really upset with him by the way you giggle and shake your head, hands reaching out to grab him by his arms to pull him in closer towards you

"i don't know what you bother getting so worked up about, big guy. you're the one that gets to take me home."

frankie does know that, but he often wonders if the day would come that you decide you want someone else. someone less complicated that didn't carry the weight of a lifetime of trauma and loss on their shoulders. someone that didn't make a career of violence and bloodshed. someone that didn't come home to you bruised and broken. someone better than him

"i know, sweetheart. don't mean you gotta deal with their shit, though."

"i never have to. you always come to my rescue. my hero."

frankie always melts when you call him that, because he never thinks of himself as a hero, but you say it with such sincerity, it makes him believe it

and when you kiss him like you're the only two people in the room, he forgets what the hell he was jealous about in the first place

[sanriokamabodo]

college!bf douma

A/N: im struggling w writers block + had a heavy day so i decided to write smth i conjured up instead of a request!i will be back in business soon my sweets!heehee<3 if y'all want a part two feel free to ask djdjd

CW's: hes kinda sleazy in the beginning, reader sucks at math. suggestive themes>:) douma is goth in my college au bc i said so. the day i proofread is the day i die!

A psychology major with a minor in religious studies. Doesn't practice any religion himself but finds the subject interesting nevertheless.

Barely studies but somehow manages to pass with flying colours.

That one hookup you regret with all your might, let me elaborate;

Douma tutors math and it's no coincidence he slept with majority of the people he tutored.

No, you're not an exception. Cute try though!

Something about Douma's piercings, his choppy hair that he probably cut himself and his 'don't give a fuck' attitude managed to dissolve your IQ and last bit of self respect around him.

He knows how to give you just enough attention to keep you interested, but little enough for you to purposely screw up your math tests for an excuse to see him.

Yes, he mocked your intelligence by asking if rats ate your brain or whether you were just born this stupid, but the way he ruffled your hair as he fake-pouted at you made something bubble in your stomach.

It's no surprise you ended up with Douma in the men's restroom, a hand smacked tightly over your mouth that day.

You weren't allowed to ride the high of having hooked up with the hottest guy on campus for long.

Throughout the night you were bombarded with messages from your friends, all of them being about Douma. Why didn't you tell them? Was he good? ... Was he big?

You thought your heart was going to thump out of your chest. Sweaty hands refreshing the messages five, ten, twenty times.

This had to be a sick joke, right? Was this Douma's true nature?

About to throw your phone away in defeat, it vibrated once more. You didn't want to look but curiousity got the better of you.

[Douma, 11:06]: I think we need to talk.

Your chest thundered with anger at the message.

[Y/n, 11:07]: You think!?

[Douma, 11.07]: I know you don't owe me anything, but can we please meet somewhere?

[Y/n, 11.08]: I don't feel like showing my face today, thanks:)

We're you being dramatic? Maybe a little. But you were an introverted person. Being known by everyone on campus wasn't on your to-do list, and the reason why just made it that much worse.

[Douma, 11.08]: Text me your adress, I'm coming over.

[Y/n, 11.09]: No.

[Douma, 11.10]: Please, give me a chance to set things straight. I'll fix it, I promise.

You pondered for a moment. Fuck it, what's the worst that could happen? You texted him the address of your dorm and within an hour you heard a knock on your door.

Opening the door Douma stood on your doorstep, looking rather apologetic. You waved him inside, a thankful smile grazed his lips.

"I like what you did with the place."

"Shut up."

"Fair enough." He nodded.

"So..?"

"I did tell my friends we hooked up." He said, making you scoff. He threw his hands up defensively, before you could say anything.

"But! But! I didn't want them to tell everybody else..! They know I like you... a lot."

A small blush across up your cheeks at the sudden confession.

"You like me?"

Now you've done it, Douma started rambling.

"I get really fucking dumb about crushes. I wanted to text you all the time but I didn't want to come across as creepy. I thought we could just... hook up and I would forget about my stupid little crush and of course it just made me like you even more, because c'mon you're hot as fuck." He sighs pinching the bridge of his nose dramatically. "So what I'm trying to say here is that I would really like to make it up to you because I'm really fucking sorry and I would also really, really like to take you on a date and have a fresh start, please?" A shy smile painted his features.

You laughed. You were stupid if you were to deny him like this, especially considering you really liked him too.

"I'd love to go on a date with you."

[duskstargazer]

Content warning // character death, explicit character death, potentially gruesome imagery

[1996]

The two engines greeted their visitor cheerfully.

“Welcome to the Sodor Steelworks!” Harry smiled.

“Where yesterday's loss is-”

“No.”

“Where yesterday's old wheel is tomorrow's new steel!” Bert grinned.

Harry sighed.

“Are you two done mucking around?” The engine grunted. “I haven't got all day. My railway is expecting me back by morning, and I have no desire to keep my director waiting.”

“'Your railway’?” Bert asked.

“Yes. A preservation line out East, near the Southern Region.”

‘So not a Sodor Engine’, the two diesels thought in unspoken chorus. He didn't know it, but the Steelworks’ visitor had just made a grave mistake by giving Harry and Bert an inch.

“I'll get to sortin’ yer train.” Bert offered. “It's gonna take a bit though, I'm not that fast.”

“Or if ya don't wanna wait for Bert's slow arse to sort yer train,” Harry offered, “I can show you where you can leave it.”

“Sounds fine to me.”

Harry rolled backwards towards the Smelting Shed, leaving the visitor to follow.

“You seem quite committed to your work, huh?” Harry struck up conversation with the engine as they made their way to the back.

“You could say that.”

“Your railway must rely quite heavily on such a dedicated engine.”

“Someone has to take up the strain, after that coward decided the work was too much for him and left without a trace.”

“Oh?”

“It was a while back, but an engine I worked with back in the Southern Region just- ow!”

A sudden blunt force slammed into the train, causing several trucks to derail and the flatbeds in front to jackknife.

“Y'don't see that kinda behavior from trucks.” Harry mused. “Though they are known for causin’ trouble. Wait here.”

Harry strode briskly away, leaving their guest standing next to a huge smoking box.

“What…is that?” The engine wondered aloud.

He would soon get his answer. A sudden slam made him jump. He looked back to see the derailed flatbeds undisturbed, but a massive gate had shut between them and the rest of the train.

A whirring sounded above him. The engine looked up, and his eyes widened. A large grabber was slowly descending towards him.

“Wait- no. Stop!” He shouted. “I'm here to deliver your scrap metal! I- I'm not for scrap! I'M NOT FOR SCRAPPING!! LISTEN TO ME, DAMN YOU!! STOP THIS! YOU CAN'T-!”

[ / ]

Harry and Bert met in the main building, at the tail end of the train.

“Excellent work, Bert.” Harry chuckled, as he pulled up alongside his partner in crime.

“Couldn'ta beguiled‘'im like you did.” Bert replied.

“Nah, y'just gotta commit to the act. Anyone can feign interest for a couple minutes er so.”

“I ‘ave fer years, 'n’ you've never caught on.”

“Screw you.” Harry laughed.

A piercing howl emanated from within the smelting shed, no longer one of pleas or threats, but raw, unfiltered terror.

A sickening crunch turned the screams into a feeble, hollow groan. Then silence.

“I still hate the ‘slogan’ you came up with.” Harry grunted.

“It's fitting.”

“Doesn't make it good.”

The two grumbled at each other as they set to work rerailing the trucks, ready to be sorted in the sidings.

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

Apologies for the delayed post, technical issues I couldn't sort out from my phone :\

[vixendoesstuff]

Meet White Vortex!

vv Here's their vehicle mode, or something closely resembling it vv

More info under the cut!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Name : White Vortex Species : Metal Cardbot Pronouns : They/Them Eye Colour : Emerald Green Height : 7 ft/2,1 m Vehicle Mode : Kawasaki Ninja H2 Allegiance : Rogue (former), Edo Workshop (current)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back at Planet Machina, it's uncommon to find Metal Cardbots in White Vortex's size. Unfortunately, because of this, they're subjected to a lot of bullying and discrimination due to their size being "miniscule" and "weak". This left a deep fear of people, especially those bigger than them, within the Cardbot, causing them to be closed off from the outside world to spare them the pain.

But if you somehow, by some miracle from Deus Machina itself, managed to breach their walls, then you'll find that they're... kind of awkward when it comes to a conversation. No surprises there, to be honest.

White Vortex, while seemingly cold and aloof to outsiders, is far from that. They're a soft spoken, kind and loyal individual, who will try their best to please those who they deem trustworthy. This can come across as overbearing at times, so the best option is to gently tell them off (though the end result is highly dependent on the Cardbot's response to it all).

Overall, White Vortex is a good bot in heart, and a faithful friend to have, who will remain at your side 'till the bitter end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If this looks rushed, it's 'cause it is. I couldn't be bothered to make a fancy refsheet since the time I take to draw digitally is about 3-5 days, so I just drew it all on paper, did some Ibispaint magic, and here's the result lol.

But anyway, here's my attempt at making a Metal Cardbot OC! I'm both surprised and not surprised a Korean kids show about transforming alien car robots got me hooked on its premise so fast. I mean, I'm also currently into Transformers, so I guess it's a given lol.

To my knowledge, all the currently known Metal Cardbots has mostly been cars and planes, with the occasional boats and animals. But I've never seen one who's a motorcycle, so I thought, "why not make one?". The premise might get debunked later as the show goes on, but a person can dream, right? Besides, it's just a harmless OC, so no harm done.

Anyway, the inspiration from their design mostly comes from, well, Transformers obviously. More specifically ROTB Arcee, Bayverse Sideswipe, and TFP Optimus Prime. I know the Cardbots all look blocky and not lean like what I have here, but my reasoning is that since they're a motorcycle, they don't really have a lot of kibble to form armour with. Hence, their slender appearance. I also took reference of real biker helmets for their head.

I was debating on colours for a good while when I was working on this, going from pure black, grey, blue and teal. But I decide to go with a simple colour scheme, a monochrome look if you will. It works somewhat at a lore standpoint, they don't want to draw too much attention at themselves, and that plan fails if they have neon blue and red as their pain or something. Perhaps I could add some green accents to match their eyes in the future and add some variety to their look, who knows.

Anyway, for their weapons and abilities, that will probably come in a later post. I'm still debating on what will it be. One idea I have floating around is a Weapons Card named Tread Wheels, which are just basically wheel attachments, with spikes so you know it's dangerous lol. One ability I have for this is called Vertigo Kick, where if the spike managed to pierce a Cardbot's armour, the energy from the kick will then be absorbed into that Bot's processor, causing it to malfunction. This causes their vision to glitch out, showing copies and after images and their hearing is amplified or decreased depending on the Bot.

It's not concrete yet, so expect things to change.

But until that day comes, here's what we got for now! Until then!