#by god i felt like i was weaving forever like i really felt like i had some good length and

[skylark-whaleshark]

it's 1am & i stayed up weaving only to finish just a very pathetic scarf. I Did Not Have Enough Yarn (woes of working with handspun;;) (i can't count and i can't do math apparently also)

it's supposed to be a mother's day gift (it was. supposed to be a christmas gift. Didn't happen) so i'll just sleep on it and maybe try and turn it into an infinity scarf tomorrow , it should be long enough for that at least????

[infictionalwonderland]

hot physiotherapist | j.potter

SUMMARY, james has a rugby accident and has to take physiotherapy - he’s pretty down about, but all that depressions forgotten as soon as he sees you, his physiotherapist. why had he not done this sooner?

James Potter was miserable.

A very odd occurrence, although it did happen (evidently). He was pouting the whole way as Remus drove them to the physiotherapists, Sirius was giggling to himself in the backseat the whole time—Remus, ever the angel he was, tried to cheer James up by giving him complete control over the music in the car and even greeting him with his coffee order and a chocolate croissant.

James was still miserable.

“Have fun, darling boy!” Sirius chirped out the window as James got out of the car, “try not to break any bones on your way in. God forbid you need physiotherapy.”

He burst out into borderline manic cackles and fell down completely into the row of backseats, never one to wear his seatbelt as he hated being constricted—James glared with upmost venom and hatred at the backseat windows, Tarzan looking cunt.

“I hope everything goes well.” Remus’ voiced gently, shooting his boyfriend a blank stare even as he tried to stop his own amusement. “D’ya want me to fetch you any food or anything for you when you come out?”

“No. Thanks.”

Remus winced.

James was still miserable.

He trotted his way indoors, cursing inside his head at the shooting pains all up his back and his hips, with the largest pout there ever was he made his way over to the reception and told them who he was—why he was here, before behind asked to take a seat in one of the rooms where he would be joined shortly by the physiotherapist.

He sat, frowning at the large room with equipment and soft turquoise coloured walls for a short about of time and then the door opened.

And then his world stopped.

In you stepped. . your hair was tugged into a low ponytail, front strands out of the pony to frame your face. He had died, he was certain. Your skin looked so soft, the beaming white lights giving you the most heavenly glow, he was sure you were an actual angel. Your eyes gleamed beautifully, and he was lost in the exact shade of them—trying to pinpoint every little detail and speck of colour. Your lips were pulled into such a fucking lovely smile, he could’ve melted (he did melt). Even from where you stood in the door, he was greeted in the pleasant aroma of your perfume and he felt like he was floating.

Your mouth was open—oh my god he was missing an opportunity to hear your voice—wait, what had you been saying. Balls.

“Um—h—muhuh?”

Double balls.

Your beautiful smile didn’t even waver in the slightest, though, amusement weaved it’s way into your eyes and created a mesmerising pattern into your irises that he forever engraved into his memory.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Mr Potter! My names Y/N and I’ll be your physiotherapist for the foreseeable future.” You grinned, walking closer to him, “Hopefully.”

Wha—was that flirting? No! You had said it in a normal tone, like Hi I hope I stay your physiotherapist because it is literally my job, James and I enjoy it. But—yeah, no. It was like that. You were so close to him now—so so much more beautiful up close, he didn’t think that was even humanly attainable.

“Yeah—i—I hope so too, ma’am.”

MA’AM?!

Somebody sedate me, he thought.

You didn’t seem thrown off or even slightly offended, or disgusted by him. Which was, good, really, really good.

Instead, you let out this little bubbly burst of laughter and fucking hell, James knew from that point he was gone and could never return. His eyes were probably comically wide and maybe in literal heart shapes but he could truly care less. He look at you in awe—your nose scrunched when you laughed, your eyes squinted and to James you just became even more perfect.

“Please, call me Y/N—Ma’am sounds overly American anyway—“

“Would you prefer Miss?”

I’m never leaving the house again.

You blinked.

He almost stumbled to his knees in apology though that would obviously only give you the impression he was more of a creep than you already thought he was—but—hold on. He watched, mouth falling open just slightly, as your cheeks flushed a very very pretty pink and your mouth formed into the cutest smile he’d ever seen in his entire life.

He was definitely leaving the house again, and it was going to be to come here everyday.

“Just Y/N is fine, thank you for being so considerate though.” You laughed teasingly.

“Can I be upgraded to just James?”

“Oh? You don’t want to he called miss? Or Ma’am?” You grinned at him, white teeth glistening from under your full lips, cheeks turning a faint rosy shade under the strength of your grin and a strand of hair swooping in front of your eye. He was in love. “Or, Sir maybe?”

Jesus Christ of Nazareth.

James is one hundred percent that he would’ve fallen over fast first had he been standing and he’s never been more thankful he’s not. He can feel his cheeks turn red—his face heating up to an embarrassingly tomato red state at an embarrassingly quick rate.

“Nah—Ju—Just James, please.” He huffed out, moving the material of his shirt dramatically off his chest and fanning himself. “Is—um, is it hot in here or is just you? Me! Is it just me?!”

You smile at him, adorably crinkle eyed and slightly pink cheeked, looking every bit the goddess and the angel James already knew with certainty that you were.

James Potter was, as it turns out, no longer miserable.

In fact, he can’t wait for his next appointment.

[sincerestlove]

Girl Crush - R.G.

hello hello hello! i am so sorry for the long break - but i'm so happy to be back! i hope you all are doing well. i have quite a few requests sitting in my drafts, so once i get through those, i am happy to reopen my inbox for requests, if you guys want. anyway, these 3 requests were quite similar to each other, so it just made sense to combine them into one fic. hope you enjoy!

Request: Hi! Can i request a reader x Regina George where the reader is super oblivious to Regina flirting and thinks she's just being really friendly and it's obvious to everyone but the reader how in love Regina is with her.

Request: can you do a regina george x reader fic where R is literally the only person in the school who isn’t afraid of regina in the slightest and just treats her like a normal person (bonus points if the reader is just an oblivious ball of sunshine)

Request: hiii :) i was wondering if you could maybe write a regina x reader fanfic where the reader is friends with karen since they share a class together. regina ends up developing a crush and u can finish the rest lol (maybe incorporate karen inviting the reader to sit with the plastics at lunch as she’s walking by without consulting with regina first?)

Pairing: Regina George x Reader

Warnings: None

Math class dragged on, the teacher talking animatedly about something you couldn't bother paying attention to. Your class bestie, Karen, was seated beside you, taking notes diligently for a reason you couldn't fathom. It was quite endearing how she actually cared about her grades and education, despite the fact that she was a Plastic. Not that you thought of her, or any of the Plastics differently. After all, they were just normal people.

Pretty, rich, popular, normal people.

The bell rang after what felt like forever, signaling the end of class. You began packing up your things, when you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder. You glanced over, to see Karen grinning at you brightly. "Hey, Y/N. You want to sit with me at lunch today?"

You blinked, momentarily stunned at her question. "You mean, like, at your table?"

Karen laughed loudly, her straight, pearly white teeth on display. "Yes, Y/N. Come on, it'll be fun! Please?" The brunette pouts, batting her long eyelashes at you pleadingly. She was so sweet, you would feel bad saying no. Plus, it wasn't like you really had anywhere else to be.

You groan, reluctantly agreeing, to which Karen squeals excitedly. "Yay, yay, yay!" She grabs your arm and loops it with hers as you toss your backpack over your shoulder, dragging you out into the hallway and into the massive rush of students. Karen expertly weaves you both through the crowd until the cafeteria is in sight.

As Karen tugs you toward the Plastics' table, your eyes land on Regina George, staring down at her phone - long, blonde hair fell across her strong, exposed shoulders, clad in a tight-fitting tank top and high-waisted jeans. Her nails were perfectly manicured, pretty golden rings adorning her fingers with a necklace to match.

God, how did she always look so pretty?

"Hi, Regina!" Karen plops herself down next to the blonde, as you slink into the bench across from her. Regina finally tears her eyes away from her phone and instantly land on you.

"Um. What are you doing?" She raises an eyebrow at you accusingly. You knew she didn't mean to be rude, just surprised that you were here, since usually you would skip lunch in the cafeteria and opt for the library instead, to complete homework assignments while you ate. It was quieter and less crowded, too. Not to mention the librarian loved you.

Sometimes Regina would even surprise you in the library, asking you to help her with her homework or claiming that she was bored and wanted someone to talk to.

You smile at her, placing your backpack down at your feet. "Hey, Regina. Karen invited me to sit here today."

Regina clenches her jaw, her eyes icy as she turns over to the brunette, who grins at Regina innocently. They exchanged glances, expressions filled with something that you couldn't quite decipher. You sat there in awkward silence as they glared at each other, Karen smiling teasingly at the blonde. "If you don't want me to sit here I can go-"

"No!" Regina speaks hurriedly, grabbing your hand as it reached for your backpack. You raised your brows at the unexpected contact, staring down at her hand wrapped around your wrist. She quickly released it, a light pink hue dusting her cheeks. "I mean, it's fine, you don't have to leave. Karen just didn't mention it to me, that's all."

You steal a glance at Karen, who simply smiled at you, as if she knew something you didn't. She began to talk to the pair of you excitedly about something - you couldn't really pay attention because you felt Regina's eyes burning holes in the side of your head. You could practically feel her eyes drag down your frame, taking in every little minute detail of your face. After a few minutes, Gretchen arrived at the table, pressing a kiss to Karen's cheek as she did so.

She greeted you kindly, already knowing you from the classes you shared together and how much Karen talked about you. The couple exchanged a knowing glance, before excusing themselves to the lunch line. Which left you alone at the table. With Regina.

"So, Regina," You turn to look at her, meeting her pretty hazel eyes that were already looking at you. She smiled at you teasingly, tilting her head as she awaited your question. "How's your day going?"

Regina rolled her eyes, leaning her chin on her hand as she leaned closer to you. "That's the best you got? Come on, I know a pretty girl like you can spark a more interesting conversation with me."

You laughed lightly at her joke, thinking nothing of the little compliment thrown in. "Well, we saw each other a few periods ago. And, I do actually want to know how your day is going."

The blonde huffed but caved, beginning to talk about her first half of the day, which consisted of complaining to her teachers, pretending to pay attention in class, and judging the fashion choices of her classmates. All normal Regina George behavior for a Tuesday.

You listened to her intently, watching the way she gestured with her hands and tossed her hair over her shoulder every so often. You were so attentive that you hadn't noticed Karen and Gretchen returning to the table, staring at the two of you with satisfied smirks.

"How about you, nerd? How has your morning been? Don't tell me Karen was bothering you again in class." Regina nudges your foot under the table, poking her tongue out at the brunette whose jaw was dropped incredulously.

"I do not bother her! She is my math class bestie, isn't that right, Y/N?"

You laugh along with the group, reassuring Karen that she was your class bestie, too. Regina excused herself from the table; you eyes follow her as she walks toward the lunch line, her hips swaying in those tight jeans. She glances over her shoulder, catching you staring, throwing you a wink and a smile. You felt your skin flush a little, clearing your throat and turning back to the other two girls.

They were already looking at you and smirking, again.

"What is up with you two today?"

"Who, us?" Gretchen places a hand over her heart dramatically. "What so ever do you mean, Y/N?"

You roll your eyes at the redhead, a playful smile dancing on your lips. "You know exactly what I mean. You two, with your little smirks and smiles. What are you two doing?"

Karen shrugs innocently. "Oh, nothing. Just observing, that's all."

You raise a brow at her. "Observing what?"

"Regina-"

Karen is interrupted by the blonde returning to the table, silently sliding a full tray of food across to you, as she sits down with her own. You look up at her in shock, your mouth slightly hanging open.

Regina looks around at the three of you as she takes a bite of her food. "What?"

The couple raise their hands in mock surrender, as you look at Regina with soft eyes. "Thanks, Regina. You didn't have to do this." The blonde shrugs, gesturing with her chin for you to eat.

"No biggie."

It was a biggie, a huge one, actually. Karen and Gretchen had never seen Regina be as nice to anyone like she was toward you. She would bring you your favorite coffee order in the mornings on her way to school, since you two shared first period, then walk you to your second. She kept a bag of your favorite snack in her locker in case you texted her, complaining about being hungry. Not to mention, she had a photo of your class schedule on her phone in case of emergencies. All unbeknownst to you, of course. To put it simply, the blonde had a massive crush on you. Meanwhile, you just thought she was being nice.

Karen and Gretchen both knew, though, of course, having heard Regina complain for months about how much she liked you, how you were her first ever girl crush, and she felt like she was going insane. You were way too oblivious to realize that she had literally been flirting with you, every time she saw you. She'd throw in compliments, brush against you, tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, sometimes even hold your hand as to "not lose you in the crowd". She really just wanted to find an excuse to touch you.

Regina felt like she was losing her mind waiting for you to notice. At this point, she would have to sit you down, look you square in the eyes and straight up tell you that she likes you. She was worried that even then, you'd think she was just being nice.

You, on the other hand, have had a crush on Regina since last year. The first time Karen introduced you to her, you were a goner. You decided to bury it though - you knew she could never reciprocate feelings for someone like you: reserved, quiet, shy. She was the total opposite, and you assumed she would want someone who was more like her.

Sure, she was extremely nice to you and sort of mean to everyone else, but that's just because you two were somewhat friends.

"Y/N? Hello?" You were snapped out of your thoughts by long fingers waggling in your face, Regina looking at you with furrowed brows. "You okay?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding and shooting her a weak smile. "Yeah, sorry, I'm fine. Was just thinking about something." You finished eating your lunch as the three girls chatted amongst themselves, Regina stealing glances at you occasionally. You smiled at her, more reassuringly this time, which eases her posture a little bit.

The bell rings much too soon this time, disappointed groans echoing throughout the room as students begin to file out and toward their next class. The four of you do the same, Regina taking your tray and returning it to the trash area before you could protest. Karen and Gretchen wiggle their eyebrows at you before hugging you goodbye, waving at Regina as she returned to the table with you.

"Let's go, I'll walk you to class." Regina took your hand in hers, lacing your fingers together and tugging you along. You just managed to grab your backpack as you stumbled behind her, shuffling to catch up with her long strides. As soon as she turned into the hallway, students parted like the red sea, making a clear path for the two of you to walk. You couldn't help but flush at the feeling of everyone's eyes on you, staring you down as you inched every so closer to Regina.

"Aren't you going to be late? It's fine, Gina, I can-"

The blonde stopped dead in her tracks. "What did you call me?"

You felt yourself pale, silently cursing yourself for the mistake. You hadn't meant to call her that out loud - you knew how angry she got when people called her outside of her name. You cringed, waiting for her to lash out at you, but it never came.

You stole a quick glance at the blonde, who was already looking at you with soft eyes. "I'm not mad, nerd. Just surprised. You've never called me that before."

You stammered, trying to find words. "Sorry, yeah, I just...I think it's a cute nickname for you."

The blonde smirked at your nervousness, once again tugging you along with her to your class. "It is a cute nickname. Just like you."

You feel yourself smile at the compliment - Regina was just so sweet to you. "Thanks, Gina."

The hallways were mostly clear now, aside from a few students scurrying to their classes at the last minute. Regina stopped walking again, turning to look at you with her brows scrunched together. "Does your brain work?"

You looked at her, dumbfounded. "I...what?"

She simply stared at you, crossing her arms over her chest. "Your brain. Does it work? Is it on?"

You were genuinely speechless, failing to find any words to respond. Regina rolled her eyes, tugging you into the empty locker room. She sat you down on the bench before sitting herself beside you, leaning toward you. "Seriously, Y/N, do you have a concussion or something?"

You laughed incredulously. "Regina, what are you talking about?"

The blonde groaned, exasperated. "I have been flirting with you for months, Y/N. Months! Yet, you walk around, la-di-da, as if I'm just being friendly. When have you ever seen me be nice to anyone?"

Your mouth drops open at her words, opening and closing like a fish out of water. "You...what?"

"Oh my god, Y/N, I like you, okay! I have a big, fat, lesbian crush on you. I have for months."

"No you don't."

Regina sputters out a laugh. "Y/N, you're joking, right? I literally just told you that I do."

You frown, looking down at your hands. "I...no. You can't like someone like me." Your voice grows small, nails beginning to pick at the hangnails.

"Hey," Regina scooted closer to you, cupping your face in her warm hand. She brushed her thumb over your cheek, bright eyes gazing into yours with conviction. "Don't talk down about yourself. Yeah, you might be a nerd, but that's part of the reason why I like you, Y/N. I like that we are opposites in a lot of ways. If I was with some bitch like me, I'd go nuts."

You laugh lightly at her words, leaning your weight into her touch. "Stop, you're not a bitch. And I like you too, Gina. I have for a long time, actually. I'm surprised Karen hasn't told you."

Regina laughs, using her other hand to grab your hip and tug you closer to her. "That girl can keep one hell of a secret. I think her little lunch invitation today was her way of telling me to go for it." Her hand tightens on your hip just barely, her eyes flicking across your face. "Would you slap me right now if I kissed you?"

You roll your eyes, resting your hands on her bare shoulders. "No, Gina. You can kiss me."

The blonde smiles and does just that. Her nose brushes against yours, warm breath fanning across your lips as she meets them with her own, softly, sweetly.

After a beat, you both pull away, resting your foreheads together and sharing a smile. "Can I take you out this weekend?"

You nod, brushing a strand of her soft blonde hair behind her ear. "Duh."

i hope you enjoyed this one! my goal is to continue posting regularly, so please keep an eye out for more fics coming soon :)

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡You're Gonna Go Far｡⋆.

Batsis!reader

We ain't angry at you, love You're the greatest thing we've lost

Warnings: older sister syndrome, angst, mentions of Jason’s death (seriously Lou not every fic), hurt/comfort, all platonic

Stick Season (We'll All Be Here Forever)

The letter in your hands felt far heavier than the small envelope of papers should have felt. You knew already what it said, what it meant and by god it was tempting to just shove it into your desk drawer and forget about it.

But you couldn’t forget, not when the words inked on those white pages meant that you could finally follow your dreams. Your thumb traced along the emblem at the top right corner of the letter as you read over the excited paragraph of acceptance yet again. It was a spur of the moment thing, a brief lapse into insanity when everything got to be too much and now, the consequences had come.

Could you go? Could you really leave all this behind and do the things you’ve always wanted to do? The seed of hope began to sprout in your chest, slowly weaving through the years of responsibility and obligation you had used to bury it as deep as you could.

But then, you heard muffled arguments through your bedroom door, seeping in like a thick fog. It brushed against your feet, sending a freezing chill through your body. It licked at your fingertips until you couldn’t stand the cold. 

Quickly, you shoved the envelope and the letter into the bottom of your trashcan and stood. “What are you fuckheads fighting about this time?” Your siblings responded with more shouting and as you left your bedroom, you doused that little bit of hope with the poison of your duty.

——————

“What did you want to be when you grew up?” The question hung in the stale air for a moment, looming over you as you worked on sharpening Damian’s favourite sword. Your father was sitting at the massive wall of screens, wearing all of his uniform except for the cowl. A pensive look on his face, he seemingly couldn’t meet your eyes.

“A dinosaur cowboy rockstar.” You snipped back. The letter flashed through your mind but disappeared quickly enough with another pull of the blade against the sharpening stone. Bruce’s brow furrowed.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” You sighed heavily through your nose as your shoulders tensed with the blowout that was about to happen. His eyes pierced into you, watching you with that same bit of intensity they had the first time you donned the Robin suit. 

The leather hilt of the blade creaked with the strength of your grip and the cave settled into a tense silence. But you couldn’t feel that anger that you used to when he asked that question any time before, all you felt was that overwhelming, devastating sadness of what your life could have been.

The first time was when Dick left; Bruce wanted comfort, to know that what he had condemned you and your brother to do was right. You had swallowed down that anger, the urge to scream at him and blame him for everything in favour of telling him exactly what he wanted to hear. “I’ve always wanted to help people and being Robin was the best thing I could be.”

It was after Jason’s funeral when he asked next. Your eyes were still swollen with your tears, your shirt ruined from where Dick had been clinging to you and the bruises from the explosion that took your little brother not yet healed. You had refused to answer him, just telling him to get some rest and that the mantle of Batman would be yours until Alfred determined him fit for the field once more.

You supposed this time had been brought on by Tim’s departure to college barely a week ago. The house was noticeably dimmer without the boy genius and it had quite obviously been affecting your father. You nor Dick or Jason ever got the chance to go to college so it was a massive change.

The bite of your nails into the palm of your hand brought you back into focus where your father was watching you, unblinking. Bruce was a patient man, you’ll give him that.

“Why exactly does it matter? I have a job to do here- protect my brothers, protect the city, protect you in that order, just like you taught me.” His flinch was almost imperceptible to the untrained eye but you were far from untrained.

“Is that really what you want out of your life?” He was probing for something and you didn’t really care. The blade slid easily back into its sheath as you approached the wall of weaponry behind you. 

“What I may want isn’t relevant here, I’m doing what I can- is that enough for you?” With more force than necessary, you slammed the sword into place, turning your back on your father. “I have shit to do, call me if you need backup.” 

——————

You had been avoiding your room like the plague for three days now. Each time you stepped foot in there, all you could think about was the letter and how the deadline for the offer was drawing ever closer. The easiest solution would just be to throw it out or even calling the university to tell them that you were declining their offer but the easy way of doing things was not your style.

Instead, you started staying up all night and crashing on the couch whenever you needed a power nap. You weren’t dense enough to think that your family hadn’t noticed your change in behaviour but they at least didn’t mention it and you were grateful for that.

“Hey Dams, I need you for a second.” Ever eager to avoid his homework, your youngest brother perked up, his undivided attention now firmly on you. You chuckled softly. “Can you go grab my charger from my room, it should be on my desk.”

“Tt, so forgetful.” He muttered but obeyed anyway, leaving you smiling softly as you returned to your book. 

You hadn’t noticed how long he had been gone until it was Jason that strolled into your father’s office. Still donned in his leather jacket, hair still damp from the rain that had only just started, he looked like a mess. “I thought you vowed never to come back.” You quipped. 

“Har har, you’re still annoying as shit I see.” But even with his harsh tone, Jason plopped himself next to you on the couch and leaned his head on your shoulder. “Are you ever gonna get outta here?”

Your eyes flicked to your not so little brother. “Why is everyone asking me that, I mean if you want me to move out, I can.” You brushed off with a laugh.

“You don’t have to stay y’a know, you can go if you want. No one would be angry at you.” Your heart clenched painfully in your chest. That little seedling of hope began to come back to life once again, tentatively putting out roots.

“Where would I go Jay-bird?” He shook his head, forcing his face into your neck just like he would do when he was little.

“Anywhere, somewhere far from here.”

“But then who would be around to protect you Robins hm?” 

“We aren’t little anymore, we can take care of ourselves.” You wrapped an arm around his broad shoulders and kissed the top of his head. Before you could respond, the office door opened once more and most of the rest of your family filed in.

Each of them looked haunted and almost withdrawn, save for Damian who angrily stomped over to you, and shoved Jason off of you so he could crawl onto your lap. “Who died?” You let your youngest brother wrap your arms around him as you made eye contact with your father.

But it was Dick that stepped forward, a piece of paper in his hands. “Why didn’t you tell us?” His voice shook with that unique mixture of rage and heartbreak that it seemed only he could perfect. The paper trembled in his hands, making the embossment at the top visible.

You poked Damian on his side. “I told you to stop looking through my stuff, you little shit.”

“Couldn’t find your charger.” He responded indigently, his fingers curling into your shirt.

“This is a big deal miss, not just anyone gets into this university.” Alfred, ever the peacemaker, laid a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “You should have told us.”

“It’s nothing, it was a lapse of judgement. I wouldn’t leave you all.” You brushed off but evidently, that wasn’t good enough for anyone. Dick and Jason scoffed while Bruce just looked like he was about to cry.

“You could go, leave this place and you’re giving it up for some idea that we need protecting? That’s fucking stupid.” Jason shoved himself away from you, angrily rising to his feet as he ran a hand through his hair. “You have a real shot here.”

“Is that what this is, some kind of fucking intervention? My life is my own thank you very much, I don’t need all of you telling me what I can or cannot do.” You tried to pry Damian from you in some vain attempt to get away from the conversation but that sneaky shit had dug his fingers into your shirt so tightly that there was no way you were getting him off of you without ripping off your shirt.

The roots were taking hold and it made you feel like shit. Who were you to leave this all behind when it could so easily be ripped away from you? You were needed here, your purpose was here not at some college where you couldn’t be there to protect your brothers.

“We’ll be ok, you can go.” You shook your head, biting back tears that were already building. Bruce came closer, taking your face between his hands. “I have put too much on you, I should have realised long ago. I’m sorry Birdie.”

“You haven’t called me that since I was 12.” Your father laughed sadly.

“Oh my girl, I haven’t been a good father to you have I?” His calloused thumbs wiped away the tears that you hadn’t realised were now steadily rolling down your full cheeks.

“You were never a good dad.” Jason scoffed which was quickly followed by a yelp as Dick elbowed him in the stomach.

“They’re having a moment.” 

“I put so much weight on your shoulders, it was my job to protect all of you but I don’t think I’ve done a very good job at that. This shouldn’t be your dream, you deserve to make a life for yourself without having to worry about all of us.” It was so strange to see your father laid so bare in front of you, freely admitting his mistakes. “You deserve so much more than this.”

You looked at your brothers as if they would give you some excuse to stay, to reject that offer but their faces remained stern if not a little sad. “You can go sis.” Dick nodded.

“You’ve done more than enough for us, I think it’s time that we pick up the slack.” Jason bumped him with his shoulder and gave you a big grin. “Besides, I think it would be nice for you to actually have a social life instead of nagging us all the time.”

Alfred spoke again. “I believe what Master Jason is trying to say is that we won’t hold you back from chasing your dreams. In fact, we are actually quite proud of you.”

A solid weight against your chest brought your gaze back down to the youngest of the group. “Damian?” You knew that boy was incredibly attached to you and would take some kind of issue with you leaving to go study somewhere else.

“If you don’t go, I will never talk to you again.” 

“Well I guess that settles it.” You said thickly, struggling to speak through the lump in your throat. “I’m going to college!” Bruce didn’t hesitate to scoop you into his arms in a hug so tight you felt your ribs creak. Damian whined a slight protest but made no move to slip out from your arms.

“Good because Tim already accepted the offer for you, you start in a couple months.” As your laughter filled the room, the hope in your chest blossomed, casting your guilt and pain into the shadows of its petals. 

[Verse 1] The only time I got to praying for a red light Was when I saw your destination as a deadline "This is normal conversation, babe, it's all fine" Making quiet calculations where the fault lies This is good land, or at least it was It takes a strong hand and a sound mind [Verse 2] The college kids are getting so young, ain't they? They're correcting all the grammar on a spray paint And I even gave up driving after nightfall I got tired of the frat boys with their brights on This is good land, or at least it was It takes a strong hand and a sound mind [Pre-Chorus] It makes me smile to know when things get hard Ooh-ooh, you'll be far Ooh-ooh, you'll bе far from here And, while I clеan shit up in the yard Ooh-ooh, you'll be far Ooh-ooh, you'll be far, far from here [Chorus] So, pack up your car, put a hand on your heart Say whatever you feel, be wherever you are We ain't angry at you, love You're the greatest thing we've lost The birds will still sing Your folks will still fight The boards will still creak The leaves will still die We ain't angry at you, love We'll be waiting for you, love [Post-Chorus] And we'll all be here forever And we'll all be here forever We sure will [Verse 3] We're overdue for a revival We spent so long just getting by That's the thing about survival Who the hell— who the hell likes livin' just to die? You told me you would make a difference Well, I got drunk and shut you down It won't be by your own volition If you step foot outside this town But it's all we've had For always [Chorus] So, pack up your car, put a hand on your heart Say whatever you feel, be wherever you are We ain't angry at you, love You're the greatest thing we've lost The birds will still sing Your folks will still fight The boards will still creek The leaves will still die We ain't angry at you, love We'll be waiting for you, love [Post-Chorus] And we'll all be here forever And we'll all be here forever [Outro] You're gonna go far You're gonna go far You're gonna go far You're gonna go far Yes, you are (Ooh-ooh) If you wanna go far Then you gotta go far

All works

@im-a-slut-for-fluff @alexxavicry @ravenwings73 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @silverfire475 @psychadelichues @mvyalx @faefanatic @evansqueen54 @anamiad00msday @th3slothy @princess76179 @Lanielagenev @luvvvjada @Lucypaulette @midnight-shadow-va @mooniequeen @km-ffluv

DC

@snedhdh @kobaltdragon @blackhawkfanatic @8bookishworm8 @honkytonkbabe @certifiedhunter @qardasngan

[houseofchalamet]

Biggest Fan

Pairing: Timothee Chalamet x f!Reader Summary: Reader has been absolutely filthy in the DMs and when she meets Timothée unexpectedly, he wants her to make good on her promises. Warnings: Smut (oral - male receiving), sexualizing a celebrity, technically a power imbalance, curse words. Word count: 2k

There was no way he’d ever see your DMs. He probably got thousands of messages a day; yours would get lost in a sea of countless others. And he was rarely ever on Twitter…

Still, you’d occasionally send some DMs anyway, just for the hell of it. It started tame. Telling him how much you loved his work, how excited you were for the next Dune movie… Small things like that. 

And then the thirst started.

It was all because of the Oscars… The damn Oscars. God, he looked so good. You felt like you were going to explode the second the shirtless image of him appeared on your TV screen. In the heat of the moment, you whipped out your phone and began typing every lewd thought that popped into your head.

Everything about him was perfect, from his hair down to the smallest details, like the rings on his fingers. You drank in every image you could find of his bare chest. Before you knew it, you were composing the nastiest paragraph you’d ever written in your life (up until that point, at least) and hitting send without a second thought.

God, it’s almost unfair how perfect you are. You’re so fucking sexy in your sparkly little jacket. I wanna taste every inch of you. I want you to fuck my mouth and make me gag on your cock. I want your cum running down my throat. I want you to fuck me so hard and fast that all I know is your name. I want you to absolutely obliterate me. I wanna be your personal fuckdoll… I’m fucking dripping just thinking about it. I need you inside me so fucking bad. I’m such a needy slut for you.

That was just the first one, and as time went on, they grew more graphic. It became an outlet, a way to get all of this sexual energy out. Your messages ranged from short, innocent sentences to long, erotic paragraphs detailing all of the depraved things you wanted him to do to you.

But he’d never see it.

Right?

***

The club was full of drunk, sweaty bodies. You were perfectly content to stand in the corner all night with your best friend, Jess, and sway to the music, feeling the bass vibrate through the floor.

“Hey, isn’t he that guy you’re so obsessed with?” Jess asked, pointing discreetly to a group of guys in the corner.

Your jaw dropped as you realized you were standing in the presence of the Timothée Chalamet. He was with a group of friends and appeared to be having a good time. Your heart began to race in your chest.

“Come on,” Jess said, taking in your stunned appearance. She tugged your hand, starting to lead you in his direction, but you pulled back.

“Are you fucking insane? I can’t just walk right up to him, I’ll literally drop dead on the spot.”

“Okay, fine, don’t talk to him.” She held back a laugh at your outburst. “But you know if you don’t at least stand in the same general vicinity as him, you’ll hate yourself forever.” 

Damn. You hated when she was right.

You both weaved through the crowd, strategically placing yourselves closer and closer every few moments without making it too obvious. 

You fought the urge to keep glancing at him, though all you wanted to do was drink in his appearance. You weren’t sure you’d ever get the chance to see him in person again. 

Jess was talking about something Britney had said to her earlier - you weren’t really paying too much attention - when you tried to steal a glance at exactly the wrong moment.

His eyes met yours. 

And instead of looking away and pretending nothing had happened like a normal person would in this circumstance, you froze. Your eyes widened, giving you a slight deer-in-the-headlights expression. He broke into that adorable, lopsided smile you loved so much.

Then, to your surprise, he started moving toward you.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” you whispered to Jess.

“Wha-”

“Hey, I’m Timothée,” he said. Jess’s eyes widened, too, as she processed the situation. Holy fuck he was so close, you could smell him now. And he smelled good.

“I… I know,” you replied stupidly, the awe evident in your voice.

“I’m Jess, and this is (Y/N),” she stepped in for you. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he smiled. His eyes flicked back to you. His brow furrowed and his head tilted to one side as he took you in, but after a few seconds, he shook his head. “Sorry, have we met before?”

“Umm…” You pretended to think for a second, even though you’d definitely remember if you’d met this literal god before. “Nope, I don’t think so.”

“Hm… Weird. I thought I recognized you from somewhere.”

You shrugged this off; he’d probably met so many fans in so many countries, there was bound to be at least one other girl somewhere who somewhat resembled you.

He was extremely nice and offered to take photos with you. He hung around to chat for a few minutes before excusing himself back to his friends. Besides your general awkwardness - which he was probably used to, judging by the way he easily brushed it off - the interaction couldn’t have gone any better.

“He’s literally my future husband,” you told Jess dreamily as you both watched him walk away.

“Not if I marry him first,” she joked.

“Hey! At least share!” You pouted.

She jokingly stuck her tongue out at you, and then her eyes scanned the room. “Well, if my marriage to Timmy doesn’t pan out, I think I just found his replacement. Mind if I go dance?”

“Nah, go right ahead,” you replied. You leaned against a wall, focusing on your phone. You posted your photo with Timmy to Instagram, and then popped onto Twitter to make the photo your profile pic. Your moots were about to go feral. For a moment, your thumb hovered over the messages icon. 

Ah, why not?

Hot sweatpants, cutie. I’ll make you sweat and pant;)

You chuckled a little to yourself. God, that was a cringey one. Still, it was just for your entertainment, so why not?

You continued scrolling through Twitter, enjoying your fifteen minutes of fame as you were bombarded by a million questions, each more unhinged than the last (‘What did he smell like?’ ‘Who was he with?’ ‘Did you lick his hand? I would’ve licked his hand’ etc). You were in the middle of replying to someone when you heard a voice beside you.

“I know where I recognized you from!”

Your eyes met his green ones and your breath caught in your throat. You weren’t expecting any more attention from Timothée, but obviously welcomed it.

“Where’s that?” you asked, trying to be nonchalant. He pulled up his phone and showed you the screen.

Your eyes widened and your mouth dropped open. You were horrified as you took in Timothée’s view of your DM’s. He must have turned his read receipts off. He didn’t seem to notice your embarrassment as he scrolled up in the conversation a little.

“This is one of my favorites, ‘My ass is grass and I want you to mow it.’ Or that time you just sent the link to Deep Throat by Cupcakke.”

“Oh, god,” you said, putting your head in your hands. You couldn’t even deny that it was you; the profile picture gave you away. You wanted to spontaneously combust. “I didn’t think you’d actually see that.”

“I could tell…” he chuckled. Thankfully, he scrolled past your more… needy messages and focused on the ironic ones. “‘I would let you break my back in half, spit in my mouth, dislocate my jaw, pee on me, rip out my intestines, and then hit me with your car and I’d still be your biggest fan.’”

“Ugh, God,” you groaned. 

He smirked at you and you swore his eyes flicked down to your lips for a split second. When he spoke again, the joking tone had disappeared. “You think you’re my biggest fan?”

Your mouth opened but no words came out. You drew in a sharp breath. “I- uh… y-yeah.”

His voice dropped dangerously low; you were sure no one else could hear. “Would you be willing to prove it?”

His words swam around in your head and you struggled to make sense of them. Surely, you had misunderstood… You blinked, watching as his tongue swiped over his lips. 

“Absolutely.”

Before you could even process what was happening, he had taken your hand and led you down a hallway, somehow unseen by anyone else. He slipped you into a bathroom and shut the door behind you both. 

Pressing you against the door, he attached his lips to yours.

You felt yourself relax into him as he kissed you deeply. Suddenly, your shy side had disappeared and in its place stood the horndog who had written all those DMs. You gently bit his bottom lip and he wound his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer. You slipped your tongue into his mouth and he ground against you. You practically moaned; he was already hard. You reached down, stroking him through his pants. He was just as big as you’d imagined.

You pushed him back until he was leaning against the sink and were on your knees in an instant, tugging down his sweatpants. You licked your lips as his dick sprang free.

“Love reading your desperate little messages over and over again…” he sighed, his head dropping back a little as you stroked him slowly.

“Mmm… Yeah?” you smirked, taking the tip between your lips and sucking lightly. His eyes rolled back and his mouth dropped open as he gripped the counter for support. You could tell he was restraining himself from bucking his hips up into you.

“Fuuuuckkk yeaaah,” he hissed. Slowly, teasingly, you began to descend on him. “God, I jack off nearly every day to them… Love seeing how needy you are for me.”

Your brain practically stopped working; the situation you found yourself in was too good to even begin to comprehend. Timothée Chalamet had just admitted to enjoying your depraved fantasies while his dick was in your mouth. Your pussy was dripping.

You hummed in response, hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head torturously slow. He seemed to understand the game you were playing and was happy to give you more.

“Sometimes I go onto your profile and scroll through your selfies and imagine fucking you just like you want me to.” One of his hands weaved into your hair, but he didn’t apply any pressure just yet. You took all of him in your mouth now, his tip nudging the back of your throat. You came back up slowly, running your tongue along the bottom of his shaft.

“Fuck,” he hissed again. You started to bob your head faster now. After a few moments, his restraint wavered and he began to thrust into you. You blinked up at him, eyes full of nothing but pure adoration as he fucked your mouth. “Fuck, (Y/N), you’re so fucking good for me… Gonna be a good girl and swallow my cum?”

“Mmmhm,” you hummed and he gasped at the feeling of your throat vibrating. He released another string of curses before you felt his hot cum shooting down your throat. You absolutely savored the moment, taking in every drop you could. You never wanted to forget this feeling; this taste. 

You bobbed your head a couple more times before pulling off, causing his legs to tremble. He caught his breath, pulling his pants back up. He looked down at you, knelt on the floor before him, eyes glazed over, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. 

He held out a hand to help you up, which you took. You frowned, unhappy that your encounter was over.

But as if reading your mind, he took your face in his hands. “Don’t look so disappointed. I’m not finished with you yet, love.”

[groversimp]

need “hits different”!😭😭😭

Hits Different

part one (Nothing Has Ever Felt So Wrong)

part two (Hits Different)

part three (The Way I Loved You) || not out yet!

part four (Foolish One) || not out yet!

decided to be a good author and answer these requests for Hits Different because it’s been FOREVER 😿

warnings: ANGST, bruh reader needs to stop mourning, also we’re bringing in an oc dude, I love love love Shiloh 😽

You hated Clarisse La Rue.

You hated her stupid her, her deep-brown eyes. You hated the scarred hands you once held in yours, the ones you used to cherish. You’d kiss her palms and tell her she’s not a monster. Not to you.

Yet, you were the one left burned. Scarred and blistering from the scalding touch of her soul.

Her and Silena sit on the benches only a few, short feet from you. Weaving bracelets together at their arts n’ crafts lesson, the initials of the other carved into the beads.

You mope with your siblings, firmly avoiding Silena’s pointed and snarky looks. She wasn’t a bad person, you knew that. She was just in love.

You were just in love.

It was sickening. You had tried and tried to wash yourself clean of her- to allow the flowing rain to make yourself new, but it only left you rugged and dripping, a walking storm cloud. The midnight rain you sat in did little to heal the gaping wound in your heart, beating like a war-cry of Clarisse’s.

“Hey, Y/N.” You hear a voice, smooth and soft like the cooling tide of the lake.

You’ve never really noticed Shiloh, the boy who had just approached you and taken the liberty to sit next to you. A son of the minor god, Dinlas.

Most would think he’d be rough and hateful, but he was honestly very sweet. Carrying himself with nothing but loyalty and understanding- though, the Greek-fire burned beneath his green eyes to not challenge him.

“Oh,” you say quietly. “Hey.” Your voice is just as soft, but quieter. You don’t take up any space, just uselessly flowing like a spring shower.

You two continued to talk, the fierce glare sent his way from Clarisse went unnoticed by him. And the butterflies you got from her two-second attention were too addicting to not give into. Spurring the conversation on and on, it almost felt natural.

He walked you back to your cabin, leaving you with a kiss on the cheek and a sinking feeling in your stomach. The cabin door quietly shut behind you- how dare you? He shouldn’t have been that close to begin with, now this?

You can almost feeling the punches Clarisse would throw at him, wincing at the idea of faux injuries.

Would she still do that for you, would she care?

You cared, you thought as you climb into your bed. Not bothering to clean up for campfire or looking up as your siblings file into the cabin.

The only thing that felt right was to sob into the stuffed bear Clarisse gave you for your 5-month anniversary. The weak punches your fist throws to the bed are pitiful; they’d make a puppy laugh. But, how can you bring yourself to be strong when you feel so deeply?

The bed dips and you don’t need to look up to know who it is- your sister, Astilbe, shushes you softly and places a hand on the small of your back. It reminds you of Clarisse, caring and possessive. You only cry more.

“Y/N,” she says- voice chipper as the morning birds, though the pity is evident. “Love is a lie, you’ll be alright.”

A sob wrecks through you again, almost like a quiet scream.

“She was good, Bee.” You tell her. “There was good in her.”

You pay no mind to her disagreements, only sitting up to place your face in the small of her neck and crying harder.

This wasn’t normal, this wasn’t right. You’ve aways been one to move on quickly, staining your exes with a maroon, star-painted sky. You leave with only the memories and their dignity.

That was who you are. Over-confident, ‘manic pixie dream girl’, draining Y/N.

But that’s why she loved you. Ever-burning, violent, dangerous Clarisse.

That’s why she chose you. Why you chose her.

You’d go insane if you kept thinking like this, but for her- you’d do it all.

[theostrophywife]

here with a fluffy request :D i ask only for eris or cassian fluff. maybe aftercare. maybe just a sweet romantic moment. idk, its up to you!! but soft kisses are a must tho because that sounds adorable rn lol

your writing is amazing btw. i find myself constantly going back to reread it!

cotton candy kisses.

author’s note: you are too sweet 🥹 here's some baby boy cassian. (and maybe something for eris in a separate post what? who said that)

“does that feel good, baby?”

you sighed softly, nodding in appreciation as cassian massaged your scalp. the rose scented shampoo soothed your nerves as did your mate’s fingers which felt heavenly in your hair. the warm bath water licked at your skin, making you flush and sleepy. with half-closed lids, you hummed in appreciation and leaned into your mate's touch.

“your hands are magic, cas.”

cassian chuckled as you leaned back into him, his strong, muscled chest a solid plane behind you. you kissed the top of his knee as he cradled you between his thighs. he took great care and handled you gently, working out the kinks in your shoulders and rubbing soap over your aching muscles. it was such a stark contrast from your earlier activities in the bedroom when you both practically tore each other’s clothes off and pushed your bodies to the limit.

“you deserve it, sweetheart. that was a workout back there. i was afraid that we’d broken the mattress. again.”

you chuckled. “you do love to put that headboard through hell.”

your mate grinned. “don’t pretend like you don’t love it.”

“i do,” you said with a grin, “but not as much as i love you.”

cassian kissed your cheek. “i love you too, peach.”

you reached up to weave your fingers together. “will you give me a bun? like yours?” turning to your side, you beamed and poked cassian’s signature half bun. “i wanna match.”

the smile that bloomed on cassian’s face took your breath away. despite being mated for decades, you never really grew accustomed to how beautiful he was. every line and curve of his face was ingrained in your memory, the stunning color of his eyes, chocolate brown with mossy green and flecks of gold marked your soul, and the scar through his right brow was a landmark that denoted home.

there was a warmth to him, sometimes it was the burning flame of passion and other times, in moments like these, he was the cozy heat emanating from an ever trusty hearth. it was in the gentle way he gathered your hair, trailing soft kisses along your jaw and temple as he tied your curls back.

cassian turned you around to admire his work. “i think you pull off the bun better than i do, peach.”

“never,” you said, crawling into his lap. soap suds slicked skin brushed against you as you wrapped your arms around cassian's neck. “i could never be as cute as you, baby.”

your mate chuckled as he pulled you into his arms. he nuzzled his nose against yours and showered you with tiny kisses. “yeah? you think i’m cute?”

“mhm,” you murmured, twirling a strand of his silky raven hair as you tugged him down to you. “you’ve got a cute bun. and a cute face. and the cutest ass.”

cassian chuckled and tilted your chin up, his lips meeting yours perfectly. he lavished you with cotton candy kisses, soft and sweet and slow. the two of you took your time, kissing like it was the first time. kissing like you were still shy teenagers in the throes of puppy love. your fingers in his hair, his hands on your hips, lips velvet and plush and oh so intoxicating.

you moaned softly as his tongue brushed gently along your bottom lip, asking for entrance. like a flower in spring, you bloomed for cassian. your skin tingled as you kissed and kissed until your lips were swollen. still, it never felt like enough.

gods, you could’ve kissed him forever.

“my sweet peach,” cassian whispered, his lips ghosting over yours. you nipped at his bottom lip, savoring the taste of him. his kisses were intoxicating. you wanted to drown in it. in him.

“hmm,” you sighed dreamily. “more kisses, please. i wanna feel your lips on mine, cas. always.”

your mate kissed you once, twice, three times. "all my kisses are for you, peach. always."

[distort-opia]

Bruce is emotionally a masochist and sexually a sadist comfirmed 🤑😨😱????? Or both, hes batman he can do anything (except therapy)

Lol. You could put it that way, though I think it's a lot more complicated, and at the end of the day, ambiguous. There's multiple ways to interpret this side of Bruce, but while I agree that sadism is easy to see in his actions, masochism is more complicated. Thing is, if Bruce liked pain (emotional or otherwise)... he would probably avoid it.

To Bruce it isn't about what makes him happy, or feel good. The things he puts himself through, the pain he seeks out, are a form of self-punishment (a major function of being Batman in and of itself). The reasons are easily apparent: survivor's guilt, being helpless and unable to save his parents from being killed, thinking of himself as never enough and his body as an instrument only. As Batman, Bruce doesn't even register pain as a limitation or an obstacle, so a lot of the time it isn't that he looks for it... it's just that he doesn't care if it hurts, as long as he achieves his goals. After all, why would it matter that he's hurting, when he doesn't matter as much as the Mission? His Vow, saving others and forever compensating for a loss he couldn't stop, is more important than his own wellbeing and comfort, both on a physical and emotional level.

Put simply, pain is something he feels he deserves for failing. And in so many ways, pain is what fuels Batman; to quote King, he's an "engine that turns pain into hope". But the issue is that, to maintain the status quo, he cannot be anything else, and the engine needs feeding. It needs fresh pain, which is what Bruce keeps providing.

However, it's really hard to draw the line. If you do something like this for so long, if you make doling out pain and suffering pain an integral part of your life and identity, if it's so familiar it becomes a comfort... is that enjoyment? Is that emotional masochism? I just remembered I had a similar discussion before (link here), with some people making very valid and interesting points-- both about Bruce being masochistic, and not. And recently, @psalmsofpsychosis posted a fascinating meta and then web weave about Bruce's relationship to pain (and Joker, who tortures him the most) that got me thinking and rethinking these aspects again (link here). She pointed out that emotionally, Bruce might equate love to pain because the moment he felt the most love was also the moment he was destroyed by grief; when he lost his parents, the people he loved most. God, do check out the post because it does drive me crazy. "Whenever he experiences pain he feels capable of love." @psalmsofpsychosis I'm outside your house, come out, I just wanna talk--

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #16 – The Saint of Bright Doors by Vajra Chandrasekera

I grabbed this on a recommendation I now forget the specifics of, but which I am incredibly glad I listened to. Not a perfect book, but a beautiful one. It really does immerse you in a capital-w Weird setting in a way I haven’t gotten to enjoy in a while, and might the best in years at really weaving it in with a sense of the mundane and the bathetic. Pacing and character development and plot are a little all over the place, but still a great read.

The story follows Fetter, the only child of the Perfect and Kind, anointed messiah of the Path Above. His mother tears his shadow off of him at birth, and forever after he must choose to remain tethered to the earth and not float away into infinity. He is raised from birth as a tool to take vengeance on his father by committing each of his five unforgivable sins – culminating, of course, in holy patricide. His childhood is spent in indoctrination and murders – and oh, he’s also the only one he knows who can see the monstrous devils who share the world with humanity.

So anyway, all that gives him a lot to talk about in therapy.

The actual book follows Fetters’ life as an aimless young adult in the city of Luriat, with its layers of impenetrable government and byzantine system of castes and races inherited from successive colonizers, its regular pogroms and plagues, and its tendency for any doors left closed and unwatched for too long to instantaneously become permanently shut portals to Somewhere. Over the course of the book, he is dragged into a revolutionary conspiracy, learns his father is coming to the city, learns deep metaphysical secrets, is a pretty terrible boyfriend, becomes a suicide bomber, and learns to fly.

To start with the negative, the pacing of the plot is...okay, maybe not bad, but it’s really not trying for the things I’d expect it to. A whole act of the narrative is spent meandering through an absurd purgatory of refugee/prison/quarantine camps Fetter has been consigned to. Lovely writing, thematically important, does eat up a lot of page count which then leads to rest of the book being things happening very quickly one after the other with very little in the way of buildup or reflection. Time is enjoyably spent just detailing the experience of Fetter’s day to day life, but much of the supporting cast feel more like plot (or thematic) devices than characters. The book ends with the protagonist loudly reciting the big lesson he’s learned from the events of the book. So yeah, less than perfect book. Still, I found all the sins very easy to forgive.

As mentioned, this was the first fantasy book I’ve read in a while that felt properly fantastical, like it was created from first principles rather than being the latest in a hoary old lineage stretching back generations. Which might be complete bullshit, I don’t know – not like I’ve read a great deal of other South Asian fantasy to compare it to – but it worked for me. A big part of which is how very modern it is. This is a secondary world with prophets and plague-bearing anti-gods, forgotten timelines whose ghosts leak into the world, and a whole plethora of almost- and not-quite- messiahs. And also one with cellphones and UN-administered refugee camps, labyrinthine bureaucratic politics and scandals over inappropriate allocation of imported medical devices. It all feels like a reflection of the present and its own concerns rather than the thousandth-generation pastiche much of the genre does, I suppose – which is something I really did appreciate.

The world of the book – or, at least, the little slice of it the story is concerned with. There’s clearly grander and stranger things happening off in the distance – is one intensely concerned with caste and class, race and religion and breeding. Luriat is weighed down with the architecture and high culture of successive waves of colonialism, and its elites organize and govern the population according to a syncretic mix of all of their ideological castoffs. Politics – and in particular the use of plague and quarantine on one hand and sectarian pogroms on the other to control the populace – is pretty key to the whole book. It’s also just about entirely beyond Fetter. Not that he’s dumb, just that he’s apolitical, in the sense of treating government like an inexorable and inevitable fact of life to be worked with/around or avoided, not something you can understand or change. Which makes for fun reading as there’s clearly a whole Les Mis thing happening like 0.5 degrees to the left of the book’s plot.

Anyway, I’m still sad Pipra didn’t get more screentime, and the whole ending feels almost comically rushed, but absolutely a worthwhile read.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

O Tsaritsa

Synopsis: Childe's loyalty to his Archon is unshakable, one of the surest things he's ever known. But perhaps in the end, he'll forsake her for you.

Foul Legacy Childe x Reader Pronouns: Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Genre: Fluff, Comfort Warnings: Battle, mentions of drowning and falling, crying, and nervousness

~ * ~ O Tsaritsa, protect us from the world with walls of ice and snow. Ajax knew the importance of his nation’s Archon, as all children do. The Lady of Eternal Winters, the Cold Maiden, the God of Love- she went by many names, yet all know her official title by heart- The Tsaritsa, the Cryo Archon, Her Royal Highness of Snezhnaya. His father would tell him stories by the fireplace, playfully ruffling his son’s gingery hair as he weaved tales of Her Majesty; in battle, amongst the other gods, sitting upon her crystalline throne of frost. Ajax would sit in the opposite chair, eyes wide with awe and oblivious to his father’s quiet chuckles. He was too young to know the meaning of loyalty, yet still passion burned in his heart as he proclaimed that the Tsaritsa must be the best of the Seven, if all those stories were true. And his parents would smile, patting his head before asking him to come help with preparing dinner- fish, the family’s favorite. O Tsaritsa, give me strength in times of need, when I feel like falling forever. He was 14 when his childhood ended. He had merely been looking for adventure, a precocious child who deemed his easy life at home boring, slow, monotonous. He had only intended to run away- just for a little bit- for some fun and excitement, before returning home at sundown to be tucked neatly into bed, dreaming the same simple dreams he always did. But Ajax had slipped, and tumbled, and fell, down through a mysterious crack in the earth. It was scary- terrifying even- back then, thinking he was going to die and that no one would find his corpse, because who in Teyvat would want to climb down into a seemingly endless drop of darkness? Even his family didn’t love him that much. Somehow, he didn’t die. Instead he landed with a splash that echoed far into the distance, into water deep enough to swim in, sword still clutched desperately in his hands. It was only after he floundered to shore and lay there a while, wheezing and coughing up water, that he noticed the speckles of light adorning the walls and ground like miniature stars and the faint sound of howling- wind or beast, he couldn’t tell. The sun was nowhere in sight. In the coming years he would speak to no one about the horrors of underground, the creatures that lurked amongst the ruins of a decaying kingdom, or the countless, bloody battles he had to endure. He felt so much older, even though his parents said he was missing for only three days, and with that age came the loss of everything but a horrible need to experience the sensation of fighting for his life again, fingers itching to take up some weapon, any weapon, and fight. His father sent him to the Fatui, and Ajax didn’t care, only desiring to surpass everyone in terms of bloodshed, something in his mind humming in satisfaction whenever another opponent was defeated. Soon, Ajax was dead, and the Eleventh Harbinger Tartaglia was born. O Tsaritsa, I pledge my everlasting loyalty to you and this nation alone. An assignment once sent him to Liyue, a warm land all the way across the sea. It was an important mission- perhaps the most important he’s ever known, and Tartaglia preens at the fact that he, specifically, was chosen. It’s with smug satisfaction that he counts off all the correct steps, watching the bank-goers fuss over debt and mora. Accounts and money were never really his thing- Pantalone was more suited- so soon enough Tartaglia’s eyes begin to drift closed, exhausted from the last few days of nonstop moving and talking. Only they snap back open when someone strides up to the desk and sets down a bag of mora, greeting Ekaterina with a friendly wave. You never really cared if the Northland Bank was associated with the Fatui or not- their services were excellent, convenient, and Ekaterina had become a close friend. So it was with ease and confidence that you stride into the building, waving to Ekaterina and setting your funds on the desk. Your personal philosophy has always been to save most of what you earn from work, and you chat with Ekaterina as she takes your mora to deposit into your account. She’s on for lunch tomorrow- a small tradition you had formed together- and with a smile and another wave she bids you good day and farewell. When you turn, you meet the gaze of an unfamiliar man in gray, and are momentarily stunned by his deep, lightless blue eyes, before giving him a cordial nod and meandering on your way. Tartaglia curiously watches you leave, blinking in confusion when he hears a murmur in the back of his mind, the Foul Legacy he’s become so accustomed to rumbling in interest. The Harbinger turns to Ekaterina when she returns, tilting his head ever-so-slightly. “Who was that?” O Tsaritsa, this curiosity burns like never before, am I foolish for following it? He sees you more in the following weeks, coming in to deposit your pay or chat with Ekaterina, head held high. It’s strange, to see someone from Liyue walk into the bank without a look of worry or despair painted across their face, and at times he wonders if you’re even aware of the Bank’s connections with the Fatui at all. But the way you fuss with Ekaterina’s mask proves otherwise, always straightening and centering it on her face, the receptionist happier than Tartaglia had ever seen. Ah, he forgot that a majority of his coworkers are, at heart, regular people trying to earn their keep who’ve never touched a weapon in their lives. It’s by pure coincidence that you meet face-to-face one night, around dinnertime. You’re the one treating Ekaterina this time- Archons only know how stressed she’s been recently, even if she never says anything, and you’re pulling her along when your feet betray you and force you to stumble backwards. With a sharp inhale you rush to cover your head in anticipation of the fall, but instead you land against something considerably softer than the floor, leaning diagonally. When you look up, your gaze is filled with a vivid, familiar cobalt. Ekaterina rushes to your side, one apology after another pouring from her lips as she helps you up and looks worriedly at the person you ran into, but the man simply laughs and waves her off. With a charming grin he sticks his hand towards you, smile only widening when you politely take it. His name is Childe. You offer him a smile of your own, and Ekaterina watches, awed, behind you. O Tsaritsa, these feelings are new and raw, yet I want to know more, more, more. Childe finds himself attached quickly- too quickly, perhaps, if he was thinking straight- but around you, such a notion was impossible. You, who cared little for the reputation of both the Qixing and the Fatui, greeting everyone with equal respect. You, who acted as an unofficial tour guide of the Harbor, showing Childe the best places to eat and sightsee, even your own personal favorites. You, who didn’t flinch even the slightest bit when he confessed his position as a Harbinger. You- stunning, amazing, perfect; words that came to Childe’s mind when he thought of you, even if others couldn’t see it the same way. Foul Legacy likes you too, perhaps even more than Childe, always purring and cooing at the sight of you strolling into the bank- It’s only by enormous willpower that the Harbinger prevents Foul Legacy from taking over his form, just to experience the sensation of holding your gentle hand in his claws. The Abyssal monster whines and, in defeat, retreats to the recess of Childe’s mind to sulk for the rest of the day, and Childe has to hold back a smug smile of triumph. When the time comes to carry out his oh-so important mission for the Tsaritsa, he almost detests how he has to slip away from your company early, donning the mask of Tartaglia to confront the Traveler. Foul Legacy’s ravenous, enraged from a combination of being deceived and the lack of time spent with you that day, yet the Traveler prevails nonetheless and forces a weakened Tartaglia to summon an old god, the Overlord of the Vortex. The Harbor will drown, but Tartaglia- Childe- can only think of you, and desperately he hopes you get to a safe location, somewhere away from the sea. His heart sings in relief when he finds you standing beside Ekaterina in the Bank, but it quickly sinks when you glance at him and march over, a furious expression on your face as you swiftly land a smart punch to his shoulder. Childe staggers, regret already pooling in his stomach, but steadies when your arms suddenly wrap around his waist, your face against his shoulder as you tell him through muffled words to never do that again, or he’ll kill you from worry. Although weak, Foul Legacy purrs contentedly as Childe hesitantly rests his own hands on your back, and he swears a few purrs slip from his own mouth when your grip tightens. O Tsaritsa, allow me to indulge in this happiness a bit longer. Everybody in Liyue hates him now, the scapegoat in the Fatui’s plans. As he took the blame, La Signora bartered with Rex Lapis for his Gnosis before leaving without a care in the world, leaving Tartaglia betrayed and despised by everyone in a nation. Everyone except you and perhaps the Traveler, the latter of which only puts up with him for weekly sparring. It’s the same this week, every week- but although he’s hated and away from home and his god and fights to his near death with the Harbor’s golden-haired savior, Childe couldn’t be happier. You’re by his side, and that alone makes him and Foul Legacy smile like the sunrise breaking over glittering waves. Every week, he fights the Traveler, and every week, you wait for him outside the Golden House. You made a pinkie promise, after all. This week, however, you’re early. Not only early, you’re curious- you know Childe- Ajax, he said to call him, when it’s just the two of you- is an excellent fighter, and despite your lackluster knowledge of battle you want to see him spar, want to see the way he’ll inevitably twist it into a beautiful performance of Hydro and Electro. With a single hand you push the door to the Golden House open and immediately let out a yelp as you slide several meters down, the top floor already out of commission from Childe and the Traveler’s battle. You land in a pile of mora, the coins scattering around your feet and going entirely unnoticed as you stare in amazement at the fight unfolding before your eyes. The Traveler looks the same, not even the slightest bit scratched, but their opponent is an enormous monster, adorned in violet and black armor with what looks like a shimmering celestial cape, and a bloodred mask with two horns and one shining blue eye. Your heart beats suddenly when you realize that the beast is Childe- it must be- and you press a hand to your chest in an attempt to calm it. It’s a hectic, ferocious battle, but you’ve come only at the tail end and soon the Traveler strikes the final blow, Childe letting out a screech of defeat and slumping to his knees, breathing heavily. The barrier around the arena flickers then dissipates, and without thinking you shove the coins away and sprint over to the monster, ignoring the Traveler’s shock when they see you. Foul Legacy squeaks when he sees you, nervousness flaring suddenly when you approach. He refuses to meet your eyes when your run slows to a jog, too ashamed and frightened because what will you say? Surely you wouldn’t love him like this, he was foolish to think you ever would. You love Childe, the human, the Harbinger, not Childe, the creature from the darkest depths of Teyvat. You’re close enough to touch him now, and he shrinks away with a soft whimper, hunching his body over in an attempt to appear smaller, less threatening. Something soft rests on his knee, and he looks down to see you pressing your hands against it, looking up at him with nothing but worry. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?” Oh. Oh. The concern and affection in your voice makes him sob, and he turns so he can face you properly, cape-like wings limp on the elegant flooring. You stay still as stone as Childe reaches, hands hovering just beside your head, before you press your face into his palms with a comforting hum. Tears drip down his cheeks which you carefully wipe away, admiring how his crystalline eye slips shut as purrs begin to filter from his chest. Foul Legacy doesn’t remember ever being this relaxed, this cared for- not while he was controlling their shared body, anyway, and subconsciously his clawed hand twitches in a need to pull you close and hold you forever. But suddenly you slip your smaller, more fragile hand into his, and Foul Legacy stares before gently closing his talons overtop of it, almost chittering in delight when you close the remaining distance with a few quick steps and lean your head against his chest, accepting and loving every part of what makes up your beloved Childe. With your opposite hand you hold his cheek, eyes glittering at the way he leans into the touch desperately, like a man starved, and by standing on your toes you’re able to press a small kiss to Foul Legacy’s forehead. His jaw drops, revealing his deadly, adorable fangs, and with a warbling trill he hides his face with his hands and the lavender fluff that adorns his shoulders, only able to let out flustered squeaks as your kind laughter fills the air, hand finding its purchase in his locks of coppery hair. Foul Legacy chirps, embarrassed, but not even he can conceal the smile that spreads across his mask-like face when you give him a hug, so similar to the one after he summoned Osial yet so much better because he feels like he’s home with you, who holds his heart and cherishes it more than all the power in the world. Home is where his heart is, and Snezhnaya is home no longer. O Tsaritsa, forgive me, for I’ve betrayed you and my nation, and fallen in love.

[blackbeeno3569]

It's like a concept story but more for... concepts of characters than the actual story. I have to find out who Manny is. There are some things to be cleared out about those two as well. It's unfinished. And maybe it shouldn't be published at all - but what do I know, maybe someone will say or ask something that will spark a new idea. Or sometimes I just need to stare at these concept texts long enough before the idea arrives and things get their final form... Whatever it is, have some really, really melodramatic tale.

For a while as I don't think this will stay here forever.

MOONLIGHT

It was a peaceful night, not different from any other. Pitch had returned home quite early, long before dawn. It felt like the fearlings could do the rest of the job alone, while he had a promise to keep. 

Hazel was waiting for him in the hills, maps of the night sky neatly folded in her pockets. The sky was clear, a perfect night to learn a bit about its magic. 

There were ways to weave a starshine, ways to claim the darkness for one’s own… He helped her practice, both enjoying the calm joy of work well done. 

Hazel just let the starry glimmer dance around her, harmless, merry incantation, when she frowned, looking up at Pitch. 

“I… I don’t feel well…” 

“It seems you’re doing everything right,” he raised an eyebrow. But before either one of them could say anything more, the Apiarist gasped for air, fainting. 

It was so sudden, so without warning, that he barely managed to catch her. 

Just moments ago there was nothing wrong with her. Now without any explanation she laid limp against him, barely breathing. And Pitch felt a panic creeping to his thoughts, as he was desperately trying to help her, to understand what just happened. Every second felt like an hour as he couldn’t wake her up.

The moonlight was impossibly bright, encapsulating a scene of profound fear - the kind even Pitch wouldn’t be able to conjure from nothing. 

“There’s nothing to worry about, old friend.” 

That voice. 

Smooth and friendly. The voice that ringed with fine teacups, rich brownies and silky words. 

“You…” the Boogeyman breathed out slowly, turning around with a pounding heart. A small figure in moonlight smiled. 

“Don’t worry,” he repeated, “I’m here just to set things right.” 

With those words Man in the Moon approached them and Pitch Black, with Hazel in his arms, instinctively made a step back. 

“After all those years,” he said, his voice trembling - with hate, with despise and with fear, “what more do you want from me? Didn’t you break me enough? Didn’t you take enough from me?” 

Manny nodded in agreement, shortening the distance between them with light steps no one would really expect from this small, chubby spirit. “Oh I did, Pitch. And I almost got the world into the shape I wanted. Clean, clear, black and white neatly divided,” he spoke, gesturing that neat division, his tone just as light, seemingly oblivious to the terror within the dark spirit. “Almost. But you, you have an ugly habit of ressisting,” his words drew a degree colder, more menacing, “The old spirits coming back? Turning my Guardians into your allies? Blurring completely the line between Good and Evil? I can’t have that.” 

With a swift slash of his arm, Man in the Moon drew something from her. A glow that encircled them, eventually becoming a ring of intricate patterns, bright against the dark night. Pitch had seen such a thing just once in his long life. And now he tightened his grip on her, as if protecting her soulless body could change anything at all. 

“She is… such an unexpected circumstance,” Manny said quietly, “and she flipped the tables here. But you have a role to play, Pitch, and I won’t let you escape it.” 

An old, familiar anger made its way forward through the haze of panic and darkness around Pitch grew thicker. “A role?,” the Boogeyman snarled, “I was fine going without it for ages! The world was fine! No one gave you the right to play god, Manny! To destroy my life and countless others on your whim!” 

The spirit of belief chuckled. What a pleasant noise. 

“Careful, careful, or she might sleep over a thousand years,” he smirked, absolutely sure that he had an upper hand, “We are creatures of belief, Pitch! And belief is a gift from mankind. It makes us in debt. I’m only settling this debt by moulding our world in their favour… It’s fair, you see. But you don’t need to understand…” Manny looked at him with a smile, almost warm, “it doesn’t matter what you think, if you’d be back in your place. And luckily, I know how to fix that.” 

A cold grip grasped Pitch’s heart as he watched Manny’s gaze land on Hazel. 

“Don’t,” he whispered, knowing he’s only begging now, humiliated and terrified, but he couldn’t stop himself: “Please don’t hurt her…” 

“I told you. I won’t. I’ll fix the things.” 

Before Pitch could do anything, Manny raised a hand and the patterns around them started to shift, his power running through them as a golden arrow, reorganising the whole image.

“Belief, Pitch,” Manny said, watching the Boogeyman with a satisfied smile, “is fascinating. Hers consists of the human belief, sure, that much she deserves, but also of yours… and that’s… an anomaly. I’ll fix that pattern, I’ll weave you out to the place where you truly belong… And have her then, if you must. But in an appropriate way.” 

“Appropriate… way?” Pitch’s voice cracked as he could barely breathe. The magic around them was mesmerising and making him feel completely helpless. 

“You are the villain of this world, Boogeyman,” Manny reminded him cheerfully, “you used to be good at it.” 

The light faded, the magic disappeared. 

The Man in the Moon was gone. 

Hazel moved slightly in his arms and Pitch lowered her on the grass quickly, helping her to sit. 

“Hazel!”

She opened her eyes finally, catching her breath, she looked at him and screamed in fear.

—

That scream cut through him like a blade. She pushed herself away from his reach, watching him with wide eyes filled with terror. And Pitch knew exactly what she saw - what almost everyone saw the same throughout the history and he usually revelled in that. But not now, not with her.

Man in the Moon erased his belief from what made Hazel… well, Hazel. And with it her memories of him were gone, too. Because without Pitch, nothing was left of those three past years that would make any sense at all.

Hazel looked up at him and all she saw was the Boogeyman, the very embodiment of fear itself. She didn’t know why she was there or where this there was, she had no idea why this… shadow was there… She was scared. 

“Hazel,” the shadow called her and she recoiled even more from him, clutching the grass in her hands as if the real cold ground could save her. It wasn’t even her name. 

“Get away from me!” 

And he did pull back and for some reason she didn’t understand he wasn’t menacing that much. Instead she could see him flinching back in pain, deep sorrow mirroring in his golden eyes. But whatever was happening to that… being… every fibre of her body was screaming danger at her. 

“You don’t remember me, do you,” the shadow said sadly. All she got herself to do was to shake her head, her mind trying desperately to find an escape. 

“I’ll go now, if you want me to,” he continued quietly, “but I don’t want to harm you. I would never harm you…” 

She leaned forward a little, finding a bit of courage then: “Then leave me be…” 

And to her surprise he nodded, standing up over her and eventually disappearing in the darkness. And the woman, whose name wasn’t Hazel, trembled finally, confused and lost and feeling like she just barely survived. 

Not that far away, but safely hidden in the darkness and distance, the spirit of fear leaned his back against a tree, shaken to his core by a loss he feared the most in his life. And for a first time in ages and ages he did what not even the Guardians ever made him do, not even in his worst times… He cried. Because for once he really didn’t know what to do and if there was any hope left at all. 

—

She was completely lost. She had survived that night and saw the morning come, but her memories were a blur and she felt like missing a half of herself. Where was she and why? The last thing she could remember was standing on a cliff, not seeing any reason to live. What happened next? After that there was just darkness and a strange feeling, that there should be more. That this darkness was covering voices, people and things, something she couldn’t reach.

Her last memories were terrible, devastating. Her 

home destroyed, her only child gone… But where a striking pain should be, driving her insane, there was just numbing melancholy. As if a long time passed, as if she had already found her peace with what had happened. But when and how? She couldn’t remember.

And then there were those bees. Otherworldly black bees that not only seemed to love to sit in her hair, they seemed to be born there, circling around her in swarms. The worse she felt, the more of them were there, reacting to her thoughts. Did she really get insane? Was she hallucinating things? Would she realise that if it was the truth?

She climbed the hills down, finding a town. It seemed like a good idea to find more people, to make some sense out of all this. But it made things only worse. The bees apparently made everyone around just miserable and yet no one noticed them and no one noticed her. As if she was completely invisible.

Then a person walked through her and then she finally understood. She either got completely mad… Or she wasn’t a part of this world anymore.

So she left the town again, looking for a hideout in the forest. 

Every step of the way, unseen and unheard, but she still knew somehow, a loyal shadow followed her everywhere, wondering if there was still a way to help her.

—

Pitch found her there, in the tranquillity of nature. He had to talk with her, even though he knew it would be difficult. He called her name quietly and she turned around in alarm. But she wasn’t as scared as before. Instead her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Who are you?” 

Her voice was filled with caution and a silent warning. The bees around her ready to heed her command to attack. She might not understand her powers, yet, but they were a natural extension of her will anyway. 

He could feel her fear and he sighed: “I am the Boogeyman. And my name is Pitch Black.”

 She raised an eyebrow and a small smile tugged at her lips: “Isn’t that more of a description than a name?” 

It was her. Somewhere deep inside there had to be her still. 

“Sort of,” he nodded with a shade of smile himself, “that’s how names once worked.” 

It seemed like she deemed his answer… sufficient. The fear was still there, but so was curiosity, now. 

“And why does it seem to be so sad to be you, Pitch Black?” she tilted her head, her hands still controlling her bees. 

“I’ve lost something,” he said quietly, “something precious. I hope you can help me find it.”

“I’ve lost more,” she retorted, startled by the idea that he could want something from her, “and I want nothing from you.”

—

“You don’t sleep well.”

Statement. Not a question.

He appeared one evening in the shade of the trees and she wasn’t that scared anymore. Instead she was starting to be angry.

What should she do to get rid of this scary shadow?

“These will help,” the Boogeyman handed her a glass filled with herbs. 

“Why should I trust a single word you say?” she narrowed her eyes, though taking the glass from him.

Pitch Black gave her a sad smile and said: “That depends. Do you trust yourself?” 

She raised an eyebrow and he continued: “You’ve picked them, not me. Around the solstice.”

The herbs seemed familiar, safe, she knew what kinds of plants those were. But that was all. “You’re telling me I picked those six weeks ago? I don’t remember that. Or why you know it, why you would have them or why you would know anything about my sleeping…” she talked with frustration, “It’s insane.” 

Insane. Fitting word, he thought. 

“Three weeks ago I promised you to go for a night walk in the hills with you. To show you some new tricks… After all, you’ll still have the star maps in your pockets,” he answered quietly, “You took them in the library in the morning that day.” 

Three weeks ago things were fine. More than fine. Until Man in the Moon decided to start another one of his sick games. Three weeks ago we woke up together, we made love and then you left with a for your day and welcomed me with another one in the night, but I won’t describe you that, he thought wearily. Everything that followed was hell. 

“But something… happened there, someone attacked you and took you away from me.” And I’m lost since then, he continued for himself. I’m torn apart because just once in my life I’ve let myself to really care about someone and now, without you, without the real you, I don’t know how to go on.

“Three weeks ago…” she exhaled, “a few days… I lived a completely different life?” 

He simply nodded. Yes, different. The real one. The true one. 

She took a breath and closed her eyes, her need to clear that mess way stronger than her fear for that moment. “I remember my mortal life… and… the grief, guilt and hopelessness…” 

He nodded. “Your son.”

 She’s going through that pain again, at least to some degree, he realised. That was a whole another reason to hate the Moon. 

She didn’t ask how he knew. “The cliff… I had to die there, because then there is just darkness. And then me here, in this existence, days ago.” 

“You’re missing three years between the cliff and now,” he said.

She snapped her eyes open in disbelief: “Three years?”

 ——

In the end she let him do what he asked for: to simply walk with her, to stay near. Whatever really happened to her, Pitch Black seemed to have some answers and she was starting to believe that he was telling the truth, at least mostly. She still didn’t understand why, but for whatever reason the Boogeyman seemed to care.

It was better than being alone. And that undertone of sorrow in his eyes dimmed the fear she felt anyway. He seemed lost in a way, too, and that was something they shared.

He talked to her about a world of spirits and magic and belief and her role in it and though it all made sense, she still wasn’t sure. But if she really got insane, it seemed like quite a neat insanity. A bearable one. 

And there was something about him, like a déjà vu. 

One dark night she shivered, pulling her cloak closer. 

“Afraid of darkness?” he asked with undeniable surprise.

“It’s a strange night,” she shrugged. 

He shot her an unreadable glance and then he said: “Give me your hand.” 

And… she did. Hesitantly, but she did. What he showed her was pure magic. He took her hand in his own, her palm open to the sky. “Focus on light and breath.” A soft sphere of light appeared over their joined hands, shimmering with calming brightness. It wasn’t her powers, nor his - it was a spell. Something that they conjured together and she felt like she could do it even alone, as if she once knew how to do that. 

She watched the light with awe, but there was something more intensive. The warmth of his palm, his touch gentle, new and yet strangely familiar. There was something in that touch he couldn’t hide: an intimity and thirst, soft, but still there. And something in their proximity that made her heart race. 

She pulled her hand back, terrified by sensation she didn’t understand. What was it about this strange shadow next to her? 

“What do you want from me?” she exhaled but didn’t wait for an answer. 

The light disappeared. Pitch didn’t move at all. He let her run away to darkness, feeling nothing but despair and helplessness. He just slowly sat down on the ground, knowing there’s nothing else to do but wait. It was one of the first spells she had ever learnt. She was Hazel and she wasn’t at the same time. 

But… she did come back, eventually. She found him where she left him, patiently waiting for her return. What she felt… it wasn’t him pushing her anywhere she understood in her dark loneliness. It was her own longing, too… For connection, for safety… For something thrilling and exciting and yet calming in a way, hidden in him. 

She knelt down next to him and reached out for his hand. He took it, not without a caution, waiting for her to do or say something.

“Say my name,” she asked, as if looking for anything, for a clue to help her unravel this conundrum. 

‘You’ve never told me,” he answered, knowing she doesn’t remember him giving her her name. And he really didn’t know her first, mortal one.

She shook her head: “The one you know.” 

He looked at her with wide eyes, his fingers tightening their grip around hers. For that moment the intimidating aura of the Boogeyman was gone and he simply seemed vulnerable and hopeful and scared, all at once. His other hand reached out, cupping her face with unexpected tenderness and she shivered under that touch, but not because of fear. 

“Hazel,” he whispered.

She closed her eyes, letting the sensations come to her. The sound of that name, the name that had a history and meant something, though she didn’t know what, the sound of his voice, that called her with desperate longing, the warmth of his touch on her cheek… “Say it again,” she said and he obeyed.

And though she remembered nothing, she understood and believed at least something. But still, she had to be  sure.

Absolutely sure.

She simply had to know.

“Kiss me.”

Pitch’s breath hitched in his throat as that could be the key or an absolutely terrible idea and there was no way to find out but to try it. And so he leaned closer and kissed her.

It was heartbreaking because he remembered the warmth between them before and now, he could feel her thrill and curiosity, but that was all. She was testing a hypothesis, that was it. And he longed for much, much more.

As they broke the kiss, Hazel reached her hand, caressing his hair and looking at him with new understanding: “You really love me, don’t you.”

“I do.”

“And I… I’ve loved you, haven’t I.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, grateful for her realisation and yet shaken by the distance in her voice: “Yes, Hazel. You have.”

—

The days were flowing by and they never returned to it. It felt like a strange silent truce, like an interplay. 

The Boogeyman was always close enough, she knew that he was never further but a call away. And every day he was there to walk with her, to talk with her, to share a part of the day with her. Never too far - and never too close.

And Hazel simply didn’t know what to do with that new truth she had discovered. So he loved her and she loved him once. Fine. But that brought more questions than answers, really. Was it real and healthy, what they had? Or was it different, something darker? Was the story about her lost memories true or was it only supposed to look that way, to give them a fresh start on something that didn’t go well first? She wasn’t scared of him anymore, not really. But she was suspicious and wary. 

The fact that she couldn’t tell the truth from a lie was grating her nerves to no end. There was nothing left of her, only fragments not making any sense together. She was a spirit of despair, that was clearly real - but was she there for good or for evil? Should she listen to Pitch Black when he talked about her powers or should she be afraid of manipulation?

She felt something for him, or at least once she did. That was undeniable. But what kind of love was that, if it was love at all?

And what happened to her in the past that the losses of her mortal life weren’t as painful as they should be? What did she lose or gain of herself? 

The Boogeyman was treating her decently and didn’t give her any more fuel to her suspicions. But he was an ancient magical being - he could be a tremendous liar, for all she knew.

Hazel - and that was the only thing she was certain about, this name felt fitting for this life - was lost and day by day her inner pain only grew. Not knowing who she was meant that she didn’t know what direction she should take. The only soul giving her any answers was unreliable and her feelings towards him ambivalent, to say the least. 

She felt fragmented, spilled into pieces, unable to collect them. Day by day a need grew within her, a need to make a decision. To risk and choose what to believe.

She had to decide what and who she was.

—

There were dozens of proofs that he wasn’t lying, not completely. They had to live together for some time. When they walked together, their pace was just right, he never walked too fast or too slow. He was at ease with her bees, knowing more about them than she did. And sometimes, in lighter moments, he seemed to forget of her condition for a while. Like when he started to tell her a story and then stopped himself without a second thought: “I’m repeating myself.” That made her smile: “No, not to me. Not now.” Such a thing would be hard to lie about. It looked more like he would love to forget, that he would love the things to be  the way they were.

However even those moments of levity only add to her ache. Because if they really used to have something genuine, then it meant that her loss was only that more profound… —

One evening the small fire was crackling between them and Hazel watched him thoughtfully. Something new was creeping out in her, a seed of decision. 

The shadows grew longer and Pitch stood up, getting ready to leave. His duty was calling.

“Have a good night, Hazel,” he nodded at her. It was painful to leave her here every day and yet it was something he was looking for. To leave meant a relief from being with her and not being with her at the same time.

But tonight she raised as well, closing the distance between them in a few steps. She was tired. Tired of doubts, tired of questions without answers and tired of being lost. And too broken to collect herself alone.

“You said you won’t ever hurt me.”

He looked at her, startled.What was happening with her?

“I won’t.”

She looked him in the eyes and what he could see in hers was pure despair… and resignation.

“Then lead the way,” she said silently, “I can’t drag this game out any longer…”

It felt like madness. To give in, to simply do that one more step, resting her forehead against his chest, just not to be lost alone anymore. 

To let the Boogeyman’s darkness dictate the new rules of her life. (How was she supposed to know she had done that once before, on that cliff?) Might he be the threat, he at least offered some certainty.

 She didn't trust him, but she was broken enough to give up.

To his infinite terror Pitch Black realised that he will have to fight both for her memories and her freedom from his own power. 

Because the darkness that defined him so well wasn’t anything metaphorical. It was the manipulative, commanding nature of fear itself and he could feel it instantly. The relief that she was here, finally, mixed with the urge to simply keep her there. The blurred line and easy slip between belonging with and belonging to. 

It was tempting and it would be incredibly easy to secure her from leaving by twisting their once equal bond to something way darker. After all, they had always walked on the edge there. Somewhere in the undercurrent she did love him for leading the way and for the strength she could rely on. And he loved her for her devotion, finding infinite relief in knowing she’ll always be there - but it all used to be subtle, hidden under the surface. It used to serve them for the better, strengthening their love. It wasn’t the main force to bind them. 

With an icy clarity he thought that Man in the Moon supposed this to happen, that was why he did what he did to her. He was sure the creature of darkness the Boogeyman was would never be able resist this chance to claim her broken soul. Not when he wanted her as much as he did. 

That much of a monster he saw in Pitch. 

That was a trap he relied on. 

“More description than a name.” Indeed, Pitch thought, realising the cruel irony of the whole situation. Once he could easily rely on her strength to keep things in line - but now she was so exhausted that she couldn't resist. He despised himself even for knowing that, when he held her.

If you want me to be Hazel, then I’ll be Hazel, she thought wearily. I’ll be whatever you want, whatever you are telling me I should be… just if I can hide myself here with you. Just if I can let you solve some of that chaos within me, because I lack the strength. 

She expected the dark, fearsome spirit to take over her fragmented, broken life with ease and authority. She was ready to let him, to yield. She wasn’t prepared for him to hold her firmly but as if he was afraid that she was too fragile. It was surprising to hear his cautious, silent, sincere words, when he answered her:

“I can’t lead the way for you… But we’ll find it together, Hazel. We always do.”

She didn’t think of weakness though. It was the first time when she let herself truly believe that everything he said was true. That he genuinely cared and really loved her and there was nothing else but that.

—

He stayed until she fell asleep and then he left anyway. It was necessary. It was a healthy thing to do.

He was striding through the night, the tension within him rising with every step. She seemed relieved somehow and yet he knew that he was leaving her in the middle of the turmoil of her situation. It was just bearable when he was by her side, but the pain didn’t vanish.

And he knew that he had the power to let it vanish.

That pain could take her away in the end. There was no guarantee, he could lose her for good.

And he had the power to keep her by his side.

He could probably tell himself tales of protecting her, of keeping her safe. Maybe he could believe them one day even. And she would be safe and at peace… and stripped of the right of choice.

The darkness kept whispering, but Pitch had an efficient way of a reality check. She might have been broken and weak, but there was another Hazel, his Hazel, living in his head, that he could talk to. What would she say or do, if she knew?

“I would tear you apart, that’s what I’d do,” he could almost hear her chuckle, “obedient and docile, that’s not what I would choose, is it?”

“Probably not,” he had to admit, “though you once did. At that cliff.”

“And you still let me decide there. You didn’t force my hand. I knew everything I needed to know.”

He sighed. That was true. He didn’t manipulate her there, not in such a way. But then… He didn’t really care about her pain. And he wasn’t afraid to lose her. He was desperate then, but not in the same way as now.

“What if you won’t remember, Hazel?,” he asked quietly, “what if you’ll stay in this shattered, painful state, what if you’ll… never love me again? What if we won’t be able to find what we had again, as everything is so different?”

He could almost see her long gaze before she would smile: “And what are you missing to charm me again, my love? Our slightly heartless deal, us being caught in two wars at once, me half insane of grief?”

“You’ll be just fine, Pitch. And I’ll be fine, too. I’ve survived worse.”

The tide of darkness was gone, he could breathe in more freely. Just the sorrow was harder to cast away. 

“I miss you, Hazel.”

“I’m just over there, by the fire, Pitch. Unwell, but it’s still me. I didn’t go anywhere. You only need to look better.”

He had to look back over the shoulder, where the dying flames flickered among the trees. For you, he thought. I’ll try to see the real you again.

(unfinished)

[cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme]

omg for a guilty gear request, how about baiken x gender neutral reader? maybe u could write about her teaching her partner how to fight ...

Ha Ha! Finally! my first Best Samurai ask!

NOW YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND!

Baiken Teaching You How To Fight!

Right off the bat, Baiken, really, really, REALLY! Didn’t want to be doing this.

She doesn’t even want to imagine you being in a fight.

Too many things could go wrong.

Way too many things.

But Baiken also knew that if you got into a fight without her around the possibility of going bad was higher than if she had taught you what little she could.

So, after a massive amount of deliberation, arguing with herself, and a lot of panicking over the decision…

She decided to teach you, and Delilah, how to fight.

Nothing like her or the few other swordsmen she knew of like Nagoriyuki or Kliff Underson god rest his soul.

But enough for the both of you to get by in a scrap if needs be.

She really hoped it never came to that though.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Your mock blade collided with Baiken’s who parried the blade away and swung her sword which you barely slipped under.

Delilah came from behind, trying to sneak attack Baiken who easily weaved out of the way and countered by throwing her a ways away.

This however gave you a chance to strike.

As you could probably tell though, it didn’t go as well as you would think and you ended up sprawled out next to Delilah.

“Owwwwwwww…” you groaned.

“Why are you so mean to us mother?” Delilah asked in pain.

“It’s tough love Delilah, ya can’t rely on Bed forever.” Baiken retorted.

“And me? What did I do?” You asked.

“Ya were stubborn about getting to know me, so now you get to enjoy the fruits of yer labor.”

You let out another groan.

Soon the familiar sound of Bed rolling to carry you and Delilah inside entered your ears.

You still weren’t totally sold on the still extremely glitchy robot, but Delilah promised that he wouldn’t try to burn the shops down after one of the tables broke and in turn broke her foot so it would have to do.

You and Delilah both happily groaned as the cool metal frame wrapped one arm around each of you to cart you back home.

Baiken shook her head as she walked behind Bed.

“I’m glad the two of them get along well, Delilah ain’t the easiest gal to get along with. Not to mention Bed.” Baiken thought to herself before speaking.

“The two of ya did well today. Tonight, we’ll eat out, my treat.” Baiken told the two of you who immediately perked up.

“You hear that Delilah?” you asked, flabbergasted and wanting to make sure you heard right.

“I did, mother is going to let us eat out!” Delilah responded in the closest thing to excitement she could muster.

“Oi! Don’t be so surprised!” Baiken hissed, a vein in her head throbbing in anger.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

That night, true to Baiken’s word, she took all of you out to eat.

True, you and Delilah felt like you got hit by Sol in dragon install, but it wasn’t too bad.

That was a lie, it was agonizing pain.

Still, the food was good.

So good in fact that Delilah actually ate so much she got tired from it.

And that leads to the current situation you are in now.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Delilah quietly snored as you carried her on your back while walking next to Baiken.

“*Yawn* That was some good food!” you tiredly exclaimed.

“You better not fall asleep on me, I'll leave ya in the streets if ya do.” Baiken told you gruffly.

“Aw! I enjoy your company too!” You happily responded to Baiken’s gruff statement.

In response to this, Baiken quietly muttered under her breath “Only “enjoy?” I’m gonna have to fix that.”

“You say something Baiken?” you asked.

“Nothin for you to be hearing, and shouldn’t you be focusing on keeping yer eyes open?” Baiken told you, dismissing your question.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Baiken is a gruff person.

She might not show it often, but she loves you dearly.

And everything she does with you, is representative of that.

She might not have Anji’s charisma.

Or Jam’s energy.

Or Haeyun’s cuteness.

But she does have a stubborn streak a thousand miles wide and wears her heart on her sleeve when around those she loves.

Baiken might not tell you, but her training is the best way she can show you how much she cares.

Because Baiken is a gruff person

A hard person.

A kind person.

A caring person.

And even though it's hard for her to show that, she has her ways of doing so.

[magistralucis]

Home sweet home [Trazyn/Orikan snippet]

(Working on a full version of this necrontyr Trazyn/Orikan request from @beril66 from some weeks ago. This is a snippet near the very beginning of the fic. Trazyn accepts Orikan's invitation to visit his private sanctum, under the condition he refrain from touching things without permission; given that they're flirting shamelessly before they've had the chance to sit down, you can see where this will end. 😂

Fic will be NSFW but this snippet isn't. Just two wise men having a wander.)

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

"By the gods." Trazyn exclaimed in a whisper as they stepped past the door. "What is that?"

So Sannet had kept his secret, after all. Orikan was pleased. "It is the void, my lord."

"Over Mandragora?"

Orikan nodded. Trazyn had little choice but to accept it for the time being, but through the initial minutes of their entry he kept glancing up in disbelief. After all, despite the cryptek's claims, this void contained absolutely nothing of the Mandragoran skyscape.

The sanctum was about the size of a banquet-hall. Shelves and desks partitioned out each section, and the boundaries of the room's ceiling melted permanently outwards to a night sky swirling with stars. Since Trazyn had seen the tower building was domed, sealed over in other words, this was unusual; what was more, the skies over Mandragora were hazy at this time of year, whereas the sanctum's void was as clear as nowhere on the planet was. The works of sandstorms, towering industrial complexes, and falling stars did not exist in this place. Frozen in time, the mastery of chronomancers.

"Please come in. There's so much more to see."

Trazyn's cane clicked softly on the ground. Orikan lit a gauss-lamp and slipped his hand into the lord's. Save for starlight that was the only sort of illumination in the sanctum, glowing from standing braziers and orbucula studded along the walls, tinting everything viridian.

Laid out on a platform were several pieces of sempiternal weave, given to me by the Ogdobekh to examine, lord archivist. Lining the shelves were the tomes Orikan had collected over a lifetime of learning, including the ones recently gifted to him by Trazyn, copied in the archivist's own exquisite hand. Small elaborate glassworks dotted one cabinet, each refracting trapped light into infinite pools, hints of his interest in plasmancy. Trazyn rather thought they resembled Orikan's eyes. "Green they are, as green as spring, yet simmering with the void's furnace. They seem to me the way you gazed when we were met for the first time."

"Really?"

Orikan looked askance at him, somewhere between startled and smiling. It was not generally accurate to claim the Diviner saw anybody, for his eyes held the emptiness of oracles, forever unfocused and unbound to present realities. Most necrontyr lords felt this to be unbearably insolent (one of the many reasons why chronomancers went veiled) so for an overlord to remark on it fondly was a change. "I confess I'm skeptical they seemed like anything, since I was under my veil at the time."

"Now the master doth protest too much," Trazyn sighed in mock-aggravation, much to the Diviner's delight. "I still saw you, Orikan, we were many days at Gheden together. Do you not recall the tea-breaks, those long recesses, the banquets we the Nihilakh threw in honour of our guests? You had to lift the cloth sometime."

Orikan stifled a laugh. In those days he'd been an untiled cryptek, and Trazyn a young brash lord of Gheden, and they had probably spent more time being scolded by their respective dynasties than talking to one another. Still, they'd made an impression. "But then it isn't right to say it was the first time, would it?"

They moved further into the sanctum. Homelike objects began to appear, tea-things and cushions and robes hanging against the wall, and Trazyn surveyed each aspect with a different kind of fascination than before. "Whether it was or wasn't, it was enough times to promote your starlit eyes to truth. You look at me perfectly well nowadays, I've years of empirical evidence to prove it." He glanced back, fondly exasperated. "For the love of the solar gods, Orikan, would you rather I said they were dull?"

In other words: it's a compliment, dear one, learn to take it. The astromancer thought that was fair. "I suppose not, my lord."

"Trazyn." The archivist turned fully to face him, their hands still joined in the middle. Already his flesh burned with want. "You know you may call me Trazyn, like before. I'd rather gotten used to it."

Orikan smiled playfully. "Lord."

At that the archivist broke his word and drew the cryptek into an embrace, kissing him fiercely at once. Orikan allowed it, for as far as silencing methods went, he enjoyed this one greatly. With that they established that the rules were malleable that night, and that with a little patience and creativity, something wonderful might come of it.

[the-lady-amphitrite]

— DREAMS OF FOREVER | chapter 1

beneath that weeping willow

pairing: Avenger!Loki / f!Avenger!Reader word count: 2,980 summary: The “Can this be ours forever?” chapter in this chapter: fluff and softness, some stargazing, a smidge of anxiety/nervousness author notes: this was not a planned thing in any shape or form until like a week ago. i was hit with inspiration like lightning, and this story just kinda domino'd into my head. anyway this whole fic is also for @sarahscribbles's birthday celebration! since i only started this like a week ago, i haven't finished all of it, but i managed to incorporate all five fluff prompts into future chapters (still not sure how my brain managed that one). enjoy!

( read on ao3 | series masterlist )

In the waning early autumn heat, the breeze beneath the weeping willow is almost chilly in the encroaching night. You've been out here for probably much longer than you need to, but you need everything to be perfect before Loki arrives.

You take a breath, and then turn on the fairy lights that Tony helped you hang and weave into the weeping willow’s branches earlier. The lights bathe the area in a soft, enchanting gold, illuminating the space just as you imagined and hoped they would. You’ve laid out a rusty red blanket you’d rummaged out from Wanda’s closet beneath the canopy. On the blanket, you’ve spread out a simple but lovely picnic for tonight.

When you exhale, the tension that’s lived in your shoulders the entire week finally flees. Tonight’s date is the most important one you’ll ever have. If it wasn’t so important, you’d worry less about how everything looks.

But tonight is the night you plan to propose to your boyfriend.

It surprised you earlier to hear it’s something that many of the other Avengers have expected for a while. When Tony asked why he was helping you set this up instead of Loki, you’d barely choked out the request for his silence before you’d seen understanding dawn on his face. You’d breathed a sigh of relief when Tony quickly swore to you he wouldn’t tell Loki, one that only took off the edge of your nerves.

Then (in typical Tony fashion) he’d followed up his promise with a smirk as he said, “You know, we took bets after your anniversary last year about who would ask who, and how much longer it was gonna be before it happened.”

Tossing a new string of lights up to his armour so it could weave the lights around another branch, you’d been quiet for several moments. Your nerves rattled and fizzled around as the words tumbled around your mind. The fact your friends had a bet about when you and Loki would get engaged shouldn’t have been as much of a surprise to you as it was — you and Loki had been part of betting on Wanda and Vision’s future engagement a couple of years ago yourselves. It felt different this time though, knowing your friends all felt confident enough to take bets on your proposal.

Finally, you’d asked, “’When’? Not ‘if’?”

“If any of us had any questions on ‘if’ still, we lost them after your anniversary trip. I mean, the guy took you to meet that aunt of his while you were on Vanaheimr after all. Pretty serious stuff, introducing the two of you.”

You couldn’t really argue about that. Loki’s Aunt Fulla had been a gracious host for the hours you’d stopped by her home. It’d given you a glimpse at the Loki she had known as he grew up. The one who’d adored his mother, and learned to wield magic from her until it was as easy as breathing for him to use. Softer and shyer than the Loki you’ve known. It was a privilege to be allowed such a glimpse into the boy he’d been compared to the god he’s become. Thinking about that day still brings a smile to your face.

“Did anyone win?” you ask Tony, curious about who’d guessed correctly when they’d made their bets.

“Uh, a few people placed bets on you proposing first, yeah.”

When he didn’t elaborate, you started pestering him for names. It was futile though, which you should have known before you even started trying. When Tony wants to keep things to himself, he’s remarkably good at it.

You shake your head, dispelling the memory with a fond smile. Turning off the fairy lights, you let the darkness of the rapidly approaching twilight hour wash through your little haven once more. You blink, blinded by the sudden loss of illumination, but you move beneath the weeping willow with a familiarity born of hours that stretch into days spent beneath this tree.

All you can do now is wait for Loki to arrive. He’ll arrive soon; you'd asked Tony to send Loki out to you once he got back to the Compound, and you know Loki won’t leave you waiting for long. Knowing him, he’s itching to learn why you and Tony were gone for the last few hours.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

You hear his voice well before you hear his approach.

“Dove? Are you out here?” Loki’s voice calls out. You can already hear the smile he’s wearing, and the warmth that’s drenching every word he says to you. It's a familiar call, one he's made to you more times than you can count on your hands.

“I’m here,” you answer. You don’t turn on the fairy lights just yet, waiting for him to close the distance before you do.

You hold still as you wait for him to get closer, feeling the thundering of your heart and the shaking in your hands. After everything that the two of you have gone through to get to this moment, you have the brief thought that you shouldn’t be this nervous. The roots that nourish this love are strong now. When you can just begin to make him out in the moonless dark, you tap the button to turn on the fairy lights once more, letting the soft glow of lights reveal you as you stand just outside the branches.

You watch Loki come to a halt mid-step as he catches sight of you. Illuminated by the golden glow in your favourite long-sleeved dress, hands folded over the remote for the lights. He straightens quickly, hands tucked into the pockets of dark jeans. His dark green sweater is plain enough to make one assume it’s nothing fancy, but you know better. Loki’s taste for clothing runs towards finer, richer items because it’s what he knows and enjoy. His eyes sweep over you, taking in the sight of you in that affectionate, disbelieving way he so often does. Like you’re a constellation burning in the night sky that has captured his attention, and he’s studying it with the desire to memorise every shift in the way it glows before the universe collapses and it’s gone forever.

You let him approach at his own pace, watching how his eyes take in the sight of you. You can tell when he finally sees the picnic blanket you’d laid out with a beautiful arrangement of finger foods you both love. It’s in the way his eyes catch on something just to your left. Sandwiches, and fruits kabobs, and small charcuterie boards, and little juice boxes.

You watch the way he stops a few feet from you and swallows. He’s noticed that all the finger sandwiches on one platter are layered exactly how he prefers. How the fruit kabobs you made for him are full of cucumbers but sparse of strawberries. That the juice boxes are all fruity but lack anything with strawberries or grapes.

It’s in every curve of his face, how surprised you’ve made him feel tonight with this date that’s barely even begun. You’ve caught this god (who’s seen places, and things, and people you can barely imagine) off-guard with such small gestures of thoughtfulness for foods and drinks he truly enjoys. Like even after four years, he never expects you to pay enough attention to him to know these small preferences.

“Hi,” you say, breaking the silence.

Loki’s eyes come back to you, and he looks at you with a smile. He steps forward, closing the large gap between the two of you. Placing one hand on your hip, he says a soft, “Hello, darling,” before pressing a kiss to your cheek. You can’t help the smile that dances wide on you face at the gesture.

“I must say, this is quite the surprise,” Loki says, lips brushing the words against your skin.

“Do you like it?” you ask him, reaching out to wrap your arms around him. The hand on your hip moves, wrapping around to pull you close.

“It’s exquisite. Much as you are.” His face finds your neck, and he lets out a soft breath. Against your skin, he says, “I’ve missed you.”

“You saw me earlier,” you retort laying your head against him. You can feel the smile that dances on his lips, hear that amused little hum he loves to make.

“Yes. Plenty of time to miss the treasure of my heart,” he replies.

It elicits a soft laugh from you. One that promptly turns into a surprised squeal when he suddenly lifts you, his hands wrapped around the back of your thighs as he holds you aloft. You feel the flush that warms your cheeks as you look into Loki’s eyes. They twinkle with mischief and mirth as he carries you over to the picnic blanket, keeping you in his arms as he goes to sit.

His legs fold beneath with a careful elegance that you’re not sure anyone else could hope to replicate, setting the both of you down with barely a jostle. With a deft hand, he takes the remote for the fairy lights from you hand, tossing it into the open top of the picnic basket.

“What’s on my menu this evening?” Loki asks, settling his hands on your hips.

“Only the finest for my Crown Prince of Asgard,” you tell him. You gesture grandly with one hand to the various foods, then begin telling him all that you had gathered for tonight’s date. Your nerves start to settle some as you do, Loki’s attention focused on you and you alone in this moment.

When you’re done, he picks up one of the finger sandwiches that you’d made for yourself. He holds it up for you, and when you take a bite he smiles.

“Will there be dessert tonight, kærastan mín? Or will I need to wait until we return to the Compound?” he asks. The low, rumbling timber of his words give away their less-than-innocent meaning.

“Perhaps. You’ll just have to see, won’t you?” You grin at him, and then pluck the rest of the sandwich from between his fingers with your teeth.

The laugh he lets out at your words is cut off abruptly when your lips meet in a brief, searing kiss. For several long moments the world falls silent and still in your mind. Everything is this moment. Everything is him. And this is a moment that lasts and lasts, until soft lips part reluctantly. You could kiss him for eternity.

“I love you, kærastinn minn,” you tell him quietly. You’ve said those words so many times before, and you will happily say them a million times more if you can.

“As I love you,” he answers just as quietly, thumb sweeping slowly across your cheek. You’re content with this moment more than you can put into words.

In time you have to move from Loki’s lap, the position growing uncomfortable for you to remain in. You’re reluctant to leave your boyfriend’s hold though, and so you end up tucked against his side with your legs laid across his lap instead. Held close by the one you love so deeply as the two of you chatter and eat, your nerves about tonight ease more and more.

Tonight will be the night you ask him to be yours forever, you know that for certain. For now though, you just want to live in this blissfully comfortable moment. You’ll know when to ask him, somehow. You just know it.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

You’ve lost track of time tonight.

Too lost in the haze of love and laughter that settles over you beneath that weeping willow’s branches, you don't even really notice how quickly the time passes. On this moonless night, you've choose to enjoy your late night picnic with Loki rather than think about time. Food disappears in waves as the two of you speak, trading stories and thoughts until only crumbs are left.

You don’t recall how it happens, or who suggests it. All you remember is that at some point the fairy lights are turned off, and the picnic blanket is dragged from beneath the weeping willow so you could stargaze. Curled against Loki’s side, the god conjures a throw blanket to cover the both of you with. It encourages you to burrow against his side, sharing the warmth to help ward off the autumn nip. And in his hold, you listen to Loki tell you the stories of a few constellations once known to the Asgardians.

First, he regales you with the stories of the first Einherjar warrior, Vígi, and his many heroic deeds before his fall at the talons of a Múspellsheimr dragon. Then, he tells you about the vargablóm, a mythical flower with the power to lull even the most fiercesome of enemies to sleep. The final constellation he tells you of is that of two lovers, Egilmar and Odila. Two ancient rulers of Álfheimr who listened to the wise raven Sýn in order to win a great battle against invaders from beyond Yggdrasill.

His words weave the tale of each constellation’s story in a way that grapples your senses, eliciting gasps and questions that clearly delight him. You can hear the clash of elven blades against their enemies, and Sýn’s warnings to the elven leaders she served for so many decades. You can hear the great roar of the dragon as Vígi faces off against it to save Asgard as it tore across the realm, and you can smell the vargablóm as it lulls to sleep a merciless wolf that once stalked the fens of Asgard. It makes you feel as if you witnessed every moment he describes personally.

It’s only after his last tale that Loki falls silent once more. And it’s only then that you find the courage to speak.

“Do you ever think about it?” You ask him quietly.

“How beautiful you are?” he asks. You feel the soft press of lips against the crown of your head. “Often. Hourly, if I’m able to.”

You pinch his hip, feeling your boyfriend jump as you say, “Flirt.”

You can almost see the way Loki rolls his eyes and smiles at you. His arms tighten around you, like any space that’s appeared in the last five minutes cannot be tolerated. It makes your heart stumble and whirl, a soft heat blossoming and growing outward. Your nerves tremble, knowing how much this god not only adores you, but cherishes and worships you.

“Your flirt,” he says. You look up at him, finding exactly what you expected. Adoration and love are etched into every curve of his gentle expression. His eyes are trained on you, in a way that makes you wonder if he’s looked away from you since you curled up against his side. His hand tenderly cups your jaw, his thumb tracing softly against the curve of your cheek. “You know I am only yours, dear heart.”

Your tongue feels stuck and heavy in your mouth. You do know Loki is yours, and yours alone. He's shown you, again and again, his unwavering loyalty towards you.

Just as your heart belongs to him, Loki's heart belongs to you.

He presses a kiss to your forehead. It's achingly soft, full of every ounce of joy and love he feels in this moment. A reminder that, no matter how many dates the two of you have, he cherishes each one as if it is the best one yet. You close your eyes, soaking up this unexpectedly needed reassurance of how much he loves you.

"Beautiful," Loki murmurs. He presses another kiss against your temple — one that is swifter, but just as soft and full of affection as the last.

"Someone's feeling extra affectionate this evening." Your words carry a playful undertone, and you feel the rumble of his laugh vibrate through your torso and the arm laid against his chest in response.

"This is a date, is it not?" he asks. This time he presses a slow, lingering kiss to your cheek. "Am I not allowed to shower the one I love with extra affection on our dates?"

Your nerves sizzle and spark at his words. If you can keep your nerves from tying your tongue into knots, this will be so much more than just a date. It will be the night that you ask him to be your husband.

His nose bumps against yours. Warm, gentle breaths cascade over your lips. Without any thought behind it, you lean forward, pressing your lips to his. The kiss is as slow as molten rock. Unhurried, blisteringly warm, and so full of the devotion and deep love you have for one another.

Hands move slowly. Yours to his face, cradling it with tender desire. His slide around to your hips, pulling you atop him. One hand leaves your hip, pulling the blanket up to keep you covered and warm, then curls itself across the back of your neck. Callouses earned from a thousand years of wielding instruments of music and of death run gently over bare skin. The touch leaves a trail of goosebumps behind, one that send a shiver down your spine.

You draw back slightly, letting your nose brush against the side of Loki's.

"On dates, yes." Your voice comes out more breathless than you’d expected. “I did ask a question though, my love."

Loki is quiet for a few heartbeats, and then lets out a nervous chuckle. “I seem to have forgotten the question. Remind me?”

You’re not entirely certain if it’s his heartbeat or yours that you feel leaping through your hands then. It’s strong regardless, anchoring you just enough to ask the question again.

“Do you ever think about it? How we got to this moment?”

You wonder if he knows that for you, every second has been worth it to get to this night.

( next chapter )

@ladydracona @huntress-artemiss @sarahscribbles @mischief2sarawr

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[alpydk]

Tag you’re it! Share five authors/fics you’re really enjoying right now and let’s spread the love.

Also feel free to share what you’re working on right now 🩷

Good morning anon, lovely hearing from you ;)

Top 5 right now? Only 5?

1 - @the-real-housewives-of-waterdeep and her fic Alchemy 410 - Pre/Post BG3 events. An amazing protag and Gale relationship build up with great chemistry between the characters (sometimes literally) and just a beautiful read.

I don’t know what it is about you, Dekarios, but you’ve permeated my inner world and I can’t even say that I mind. I don’t know if I’m holding a torch, a matchstick or a lightning bug in a jar when it comes to my feelings for you, but I can’t seem to shake them. I know I run the risk of ruining our friendship, but if I didn’t at least tell you what I feel, I’d carry those feelings around forever. 

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2 -@cheerysmores and Broken Horizons - Post canon angst. Like the summary alone won me over and I've felt pain with this fic and loved each moment of it - “I am going to die,” Gale whispers into the darkness, then again, directly at her sleeping form. “I truly am going to die.” - Just oooooffff.....

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3 - I don't know if I'm allowed to tag them... but they're on here and under the name ACrowsRockCollection on Ao3 - Fic is Weave me the Sunshine - A rarepair Gale/Jaheira fic which works amazingly well. Some very poetic language, gorgeously written.

Jaheira shook her head, “The Harpers collect people willing to do what it takes. I know commodities when I see them, pawns, lanceboard pieces. It feels foolish to throw you away.”  “I’m the villain of the story, I…” Jaheira cut him off, “No, Karlach told me the story. I could see why your God would be upset, but before the Absolute, to make you suffer needlessly…” “I used to think I was special, but we are mortal playthings in divine hands. Followers and chosen are pawns to be used or destroyed on whim.” “Strategically, it seems a waste of a perfectly good pawn,” 

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4 - @auroraesmeraldarose and Professor Dekarios - All the comfort and smut you could ever need. This is my go to when my head is too full of everything and I sit with a mug and my kindle and just relax into the fluffy world. It's really the sweetest AU I've ever read. (Also fucking hell 176k words since feb? And I thought I wrote a lot!)

“I think I need to spend the next few hours with you wrapped up in my arms nice and safe. I think I’d rather underestimated the perils of your career choice. Let’s go home, please.” Helene obliged, and did indeed spend most of her evening snuggled in Gale’s embrace. She didn’t like the idea of being weak, of needing to be protected… but if it meant being held against his chest for hours at a time, you could call her a damsel in distress any day of the week.

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5 - @silent-words and Twin Compasses - One of the best bards I've seen written. Discussions of linguistics over a campfire, really good chemistry where you can see the build up happening gradually. Just romance through words in a way I can't explain.

‘ Let me not to the marriage of true minds / Admit impediments ,’ the bard recited. Gale picked up instantly: ‘ Love is not love / Which alters when it alteration finds ,’ he exclaimed with a flourish. The wizard’s eyes lit up. ‘ Or bends with the remover to remove .’ Laerie made a dramatic gesture and then smiled. ‘I love Shakespeare, he truly was the Bard of all bards. Who else was able to insert so many reiterations and yet make the verse so beautiful? How did he make his images abstract and tactile at the same time?’

Even my cold dead heart is falling in love over that interaction.

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I could give shout outs to so many others right now. From @judasiskariot and her Resident Evil fic, @crazybagelbitch and the Chase fic I love, @weaveandwood and Auroria, and especially the person writing the Cazador 1980's fic that has stolen my heart and mind. So many writers deserve to be praised for their work!

[tsukimefuku]

sorry if it's been asked before but what are your top 10 fics??

Hey, Anon!

I don't tend to really list anywhere my favorites ~anything~, so I'll go from memory (as always).

Also, I'm terrible at big quantity, so I'll do a top "what I can come up with" instead (sorry 🥺).

These aren't listed in any particular order! I'll also @ the writers I know that are on Tumblr. All the fics are linked in case you guys want to go read them :)

Opening Pandora's Box by Nightowljane

This is a Gojo x Reader fic on AO3 in which both characters have a meaningful conversation about Gojo's and Geto's fallout (bisexual Gojo implied). It's a beautiful and quick read, I loved it with all my heart, the dialogue is incredibly well written, and God knows I'm a complete SUCKER for good dialogue.

2. The Ghost of You by Rampagescandal

This fanfic centers around Nanami's thoughts as he sits beside Haibara's lifeless body in Jujutsu High's morgue. I just discovered this gem today, and I'm ecstatic to recommend it (I'm still working on my comment on AO3, lol), and God knows how much I like reading stories about grief. First off: the MCR reference in the title? I mean??? I'M GOING TO CRY (I actually did while reading it). I don't want to spoil anything, but everyone is beautifully in character, and it addressed something I thought about for the longest time (how Nanami probably blamed Gojo to some extent when it all went down). It's a great and quick read, I highly recommend it.

3. Ikemen Kaisen by @rahuratna

If you wanted more filler episodes/chapters from JJK or are finished with the light novels but still need more canon-alike content, this is the one for you. While I was reading this, I actually felt like I was reading one of the light novels, and the characters depictions are so extremely on point — it still is, to date, my favorite fan depiction of Nanami ever. I mean, whoever follows me or has asked me about a fic I love has probably heard this already, lol. I also read this kicking my feet like a school girl. From their interactions to the world building, everything is just on point. Mwah, chef's kiss.

4. If art can be touched, will you let me hold you? by @seiwas

I read this in one go so fast. I'm so not normal about it. Firstly, the way the author weaved the motif all throughout the story was SO WELL DONE I could've wept, for real. Also, the parallels between sculpting, bread making and other things were amazingly well executed. This fic is on the very sensory side of things (at least for me), so it felt like I was reading living, breathing words — it feels alive. It's an amazing experience, and I'd totally read an entire book of this.

5. The widow's keeper by @pseudowho

I cried from beginning to end. I mean, is it possible to read it WITHOUT crying? If it is, please let me know. I'm very much someone who enjoys reading and watching media about grieving, so when this one appeared for me, it was an instant "yes sir please I want it". The most painful (and beautiful) thing about grief, at least for me, is the love that lingers on, and oh boy, it is beautifully woven into the story here. It's about guilt, grief, loss, and the life and keeps moving forward despite parts of the ones we still love being forever bound to the past. This one is also a must, do not skip it.

And that's it, I got to top 5. Hope you guys enjoy my recs :)

🦉