#can’t believe it’s going to happen to everybody in less than a day

[eepwtf]

LILIES.

kai parker x witch!reader

it’s a wonder to be in love with something so pure, to taste the poison of his affection and still come back for more, knowing full well it will kill you. but kai has never been good at handling purity. you—you are the closest thing to divine he’s ever known. and in the marrow of his bones, he knows that divinity was never meant to be his salvation. it’s his damnation. you are the angel hovering just out of reach, untouchable, pristine.

you’re his salvation, his damnation, all wrapped into one. and he can’t help but want to tear you apart, to consume you, to drag you down into the rot with him. because loving you—something so pure, so untouchable—is the cruelest thing he has ever known. yet, he can’t stop himself. his love is a poison, a venom that seeps into every crevice of his soul, and he knows it will destroy you. but still, he whispers, "i can’t let anything hurt you."

tw; guilt, shame, self loathing, family trauma, themes of corruption & purity, religious imagery & themes!

wc; 2.7k

⎯⎯⎯ 𖣂  ⎯⎯⎯

THE doorway frames you like the mouth of heaven, the moonlight clinging to your skin, illuminating every curve and hollow in a spectral glow that makes kai's throat tighten. you’re a vision of something too pure, too unblemished for this world. his. you have to be his. each piece of fabric slides from your body like a petal falling from a desecrated bloom, and kai stands there, transfixed, devouring the sight.

he knows he shouldn’t look at you like this—like you’re a sacrament he’s stolen, a sacred thing tarnished by his gaze alone. yet the air between you thickens, syrupy with unspoken desires, the kind of hunger that gnaws at his insides until he feels like he might collapse from the weight of it. it’s obscene, the way his gaze devours you—like you’re a sacred thing he’s tarnishing by simply existing near you. obscene and grotesque, like wedding doves stained with blood, their pristine feathers smeared with sin. you are the embodiment of everything kai has ever craved but could never have: purity wrapped in vulnerability, fragility stitched together with grace. you are an angel, but in his hands, even angels burn.

the room smells like lilies and leather, a sickly-sweet perfume that clings to the back of his throat. he wants to drown in it, in you. he wants to suffocate on the smell of lilies and ruin, to feel you flood his lungs and fill the dark, hollow spaces in his chest. anything would be better than suffocating on the rot he’s carried for years, the festering hunger inside him that wants, wants, wants. he wants to destroy you, even as he wants to protect you.

because that’s what love is, isn’t it? a holy contradiction, a knife that cuts both ways.

“you’re staring,” your voice pulls him from his reverie, soft and lilting, like the breeze through a field of wildflowers. but it’s more than that—it’s a blade. a quiet accusation that slices through the syrupy, oppressive air between you.

kai’s lips curl into something that might have been a smile if it wasn’t so broken. “admiring,” he corrects, his voice rough, almost reverent. “you’re—god, you’re perfect.” the word tastes like ash in his mouth, a curse that he spits out even as it carves itself into his ribs.

perfect. you’re perfect. and perfection was never meant for someone like him. it’s a thing to be corrupted, tainted, like the delicate petals of a lily crushed under the weight of a sinner’s hand.

it’s a wonder to be in love with something so pure, to taste the poison of his affection and still come back for more, knowing full well it will kill you. but kai has never been good at handling purity. you—you are the closest thing to divine he’s ever known. and in the marrow of his bones, he knows that divinity was never meant to be his salvation. it’s his damnation. you are the angel hovering just out of reach, untouchable, pristine.

yet his fingers twitch with the urge to possess, to destroy, because loving something so pure is a cruelty he cannot endure. but oh, how he wants to. god, how he wants to. his hunger is insatiable, a black hole that devours every good thing in its path. you are no exception, and the thought of your purity tarnished by his touch is both a thrill and a torment. he knows his love is a curse, a rot that will spread until it consumes everything good in you. but he can’t stop. he doesn’t want to stop. it’s grotesque, the way he wants you, not just to hold, not just to claim, but to consume. to taste your skin, your soul, your very essence, until there’s nothing left but the echo of you inside him.

he thinks of bloodied doves with broken wings, their feathers stained and fluttering uselessly as they collapse into the dirt. you are the dove. and he is the hand that will crush you.

"you’re such an angel," he whispers, his voice soft but laced with an edge of desperation. "can’t let anything hurt you." not even him.

but kai knows himself too well. he knows what he is, and what he will do. he’s going to hurt you—it's inevitable. this thing inside him, this rot, this insatiable hunger, won’t let you go unscathed. he feels like he's burning alive next to you, his desires consuming him, aching for your magic, for the essence of who you are. because even in ruin, even in the decay of what once was pure, you are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

the walls press in, suffocating, and for a moment, it’s like kai is back in that house in portland. the walls feel closer now than they ever did then, pressing in with the weight of suffocating silence. back then, his father’s eyes seared through him, heavy with disdain, while his mother’s gaze flinched away, as though he were something contagious, something wrong. jo—jo was the golden child, their little miracle. her magic was a thing of beauty, something to be celebrated. but kai? kai was the rot. the flaw. the dark mistake they tried to prune out of the family tree.

he remembers the bitterness that clung to his father’s praise of jo, each word like a serrated blade slicing into him. he remembers the fear in his mother’s trembling hands, the kind of fear that wasn’t for him—but of him. and he remembers the hunger. it started back then, didn’t it? the dark, insidious thing that slithered under his skin, whispering its need for more, for power, for control. it terrified them, his family. it should have terrified him, too. but it didn’t.

that same darkness claws at him now, sinking its talons into his ribs as he stands here, staring at you.

there’s nothing in this world he wants more than you, and that’s the tragedy of it. because wanting you is the very thing that will destroy you both. his gaze is feverish, desperate, as he drinks in the sight of you. you are a canvas stretched too tight, ready to tear, and he is the knife poised to cut. he wonders if you see through him? can you see the monster lurking beneath the flesh, the beast that will devour you whole?

you’re his salvation, his damnation, all wrapped into one. and he can’t help but want to tear you apart, to consume you, to drag you down into the rot with him. because loving you—something so pure, so untouchable—is the cruelest thing he has ever known. yet, he can’t stop himself. his love is a poison, a venom that seeps into every crevice of his soul, and he knows it will destroy you. but still, he whispers, "i can’t let anything hurt you."

not even him.

the words taste like poison on his tongue, bitter and wrong, because he knows—he knows—he’s lying. he will hurt you. it’s inevitable. it’s in his blood, in the marrow of his bones, in the rot that has consumed him since he was a child. he’s an abomination, and you—you are his light. but light cannot exist without darkness, and in loving you, he knows he will snuff out the very thing that makes you divine.

as you step closer, the distance between you shrinking, he swallows hard, his hands trembling at his sides, itching to reach for you even though he knows what they’ll do. they’ve always been hands that destroy, hands that corrupt, hands that take and take until there’s nothing left. he tries to keep them still, to keep them from finding purchase on your skin, but he knows it’s futile. your magic hums in the air, a soft, tantalizing melody that calls to him, and he knows he is lost. lost in you, in this love that will be his undoing.

you don’t back away. you just watch him with those wide, unblinking eyes, shimmering like glass, like you can see the shattered pieces of him, like you understand. and it kills him. it kills him that you’re still standing here, that you’re not running, that you’re not screaming and cursing his name and leaving him to rot in the hell he built for himself.

instead, you reach out, your hand brushing against his cheek, and the softness of it nearly undoes him. his eyes, flutter shut as he leans into your palm, desperate, pathetic, weak. he wants to believe this moment can save him, that your purity might be enough to burn away the blackness festering inside him. but it can’t. he knows it can’t. purity was never meant to endure the likes of him.

and all he can think about is how much he wants to ruin you. to take this thing between you and twist it into something grotesque, something unrecognizable. he thinks about sinking his teeth into your throat, about the taste of your blood and magic on his tongue, about dragging you down into the dirt and smothering your light beneath the weight of his darkness. he wants to consume you, body and soul, until there’s nothing left of you but the pieces he’s claimed for himself.

his hands hover over your waist, trembling. he can’t do it. he shouldn’t do it. but god, he’s so hungry. so tired of fighting the thing inside him, the thing that whispers of sin and fire and ruin. you’re so close now, and he can feel your magic pulsing against his skin like a second heartbeat. he knows he’ll destroy you, but he doesn’t care.

because loving you is the cruelest thing he’s ever known. and if he has to tear you apart to keep you, then so be it.

the moment stretches, taut with the weight of his hesitation. his grip tightens, knuckles whitening as his hunger surges, a ravenous beast clawing at the back of his throat. it screams for more, demands that he take, take, take until there’s nothing left. each pulse of your magic against his skin feels like a siren’s call, a plea for him to drain you dry, to consume every last drop of your essence. the terror in his heart is eclipsed only by the twisted thrill of how much he wants to obey.

but you—you don’t move. you stand there, unflinching, your eyes locked on his, steady and knowing. it’s as if you can see every fractured piece of him, every dark corner he tries to hide, and yet you stay. that’s the cruelest part of all. you stay. you let yourself be held by the monster who will devour you without mercy. the weight of your trust presses down on him, suffocating, each breath a ragged gasp as his chest tightens, the air thick with the scent of lilies and ruin.

he can feel the rot inside him, crawling closer to the surface, whispering dark promises of destruction. it murmurs to him, tells him how easy it would be to give in, to let the hunger swallow him whole and take you with it. the thought is both intoxicating and horrifying, a bitter concoction of desire and dread. he knows it’s only a matter of time before it consumes you both, dragging you into the abyss with him.

“i don’t deserve this,” he whispers, his voice cracking, pitiful and raw. “i don’t deserve you.” his words falter as his forehead presses against yours, his breath hot and uneven against your skin. “you’re—fuck, you’re too good, too pure.”

his hands tremble against your waist, the restraint it takes not to crush you, not to let his darkness seep into your light, is nearly unbearable. his entire body aches with the weight of wanting you, needing you, but knowing he’ll ruin you. his voice turns desperate, a pitiful whine as he stammers, “i’m going to ruin you—i’ll ruin everything. i can’t… i can’t control it.”

but you don’t flinch. instead, you smile, soft and serene, as if his torment doesn’t unravel you, as if you don’t see the chaos he’s drowning in. that smile—it’s the cruelest kindness he’s ever known.

“mal,” you say gently, and the sound of his name from your lips, not kai, not malachai, but mal—it undoes him completely.

you cup his cheek with a tenderness that makes his chest ache, your touch grounding him, even as it tears him apart. “i want you here,” you say, voice soft but unwavering. “i want you with me.”

and then, as if to prove your own words, you move.

its not gentle, the way he kisses you back. there’s no softness, no hesitation. it’s raw, desperate, violent in its intensity. his lips crash against yours, his hands gripping your waist so tightly you’re sure there will be bruises—dark, painful reminders of this moment, of the monster he is. he’s devouring you, piece by piece, exactly like he swore he wouldn’t. but he can’t stop. he doesn’t want to stop.

your magic surges between you, a heady, electric pulse that sets his skin ablaze. its intoxicating, maddening, and he knows he’ll never get enough. he pulls you closer, as though he can fuse your bodies together, as though that will somehow quiet the hunger gnawing at his insides. the thing inside him roars in triumph, reveling in the taste of you, in the way your magic hums beneath his fingertips, in the way you give yourself to him so completely.

you make a soft sound against his mouth, something caught between a sigh and a moan, and it sends a jolt of pleasure and guilt straight through him. he shouldn’t be doing this. he shouldn’t be touching you, tasting you, letting himself fall deeper into this abyss. but he can’t stop. he doesn’t want to stop. you’re his now, and that knowledge is as thrilling as it is horrifying.

his hands roam over your body, desperate and greedy, as if he can’t get enough of you. the hunger inside him surges, a dark, insidious thing that whispers of sin and ruin, of consuming you whole. he wants to tear you apart, to feast on the light inside you, to make you his in the most brutal, irremediable way. he wants to see you unravel beneath his touch, to watch as the purity he so desperately craves is tainted by his darkness.

but then it happens—the siphoning. as your magic hums against his skin, he feels it, that dark, forbidden pull. his body reacts instinctively, drawing from you, leeching the life and power that pulses so vibrantly through your veins. his blue grey eyes widen, panic flashing across his face as he tries to pull away, to stop himself, but your hands hold him there.

you don’t pull away. you don’t stop him. your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, as if you’re offering yourself up to him, willing him to take what he needs. the sensation is euphoric, a twisted ecstasy that sends shivers down his spine. he knows he’s killing you, knows he’s draining you dry, but the hunger—oh god, the hunger—it’s too much. it consumes him, drives him to keep going, to take more, to take everything.

his lips press against your neck, teeth grazing the tender skin as he siphons your magic, his grip on you tightening. he can feel your light dimming, your body weakening, and yet you don’t pull away. you cling to him, your breath ragged, your heart pounding against his chest. you’re giving him everything, and it’s destroying you.

every touch, every kiss, every desperate gasp is a sacrilege, a desecration of something sacred. the rot inside him, festering for years, bubbles to the surface, and he knows he’s dragging you into it, pulling you down into the filth and decay of his soul. the scent of lilies turns acrid in his mind, a reminder of funeral flowers, of death and decay.

[wonderjanga]

Funny idea a Fawcet entirely just being full of magical drugs and everybody just chilling I'm just imagining a spell here the Justice League get hit with a de-aging spelling Fawcet that are now just stuck in there convince know that he knows what he's doing tricks them to believe in that he has a form where he can turn into a kid and teaches them everything about Fawcet City like the police to get the best cereal with the most edible yummy drugs

And how to make soup and stuff from rainwater and a bag of magical drugs that he's like soup if you boil them right

The JL had gone to Fawcett as a surprise for Marvel. They all wanted to give him a special little gift. Though unfortunately, Cap had been caught up fighting an evil witch. So they stood to the side, in civvies, and waited. That was until a stray spell from the witch happened to hit them. Next thing they knew, all of them, excluding Marvel, were children.

Marvel: “It should wear off in about a day.”

Flash: “A day? We have places to be!”

Aquaman: “Are you sure you can’t do some magic and reverse us?”

Marvel: *little frown* “I’m sorry but I can’t.”

See, the thing is, Billy actually could. But he wanted to use it to his advantage. If he could get them to think that his Billy form is just a form he can take, then in the future if he ever gets detransformed, this could be a good excuse. Since all of them were children, he just let them back to his apartment and shazamed back to Billy. Here are a collection of wonderful instances of their time together:

Billy: “Here’s a favorite treat of mine.”*gets out some cereal and puts it in a bowl, with no milk mind you*

Flash: “No milk?”

Billy: “No?”

Flash: “You are a vile creature…”

Billy: “Am not! I just like eating it as chips!”

Flash: “Oh that’s less vile than I thought- Wait, but then what do you use tfor the milk when you want to actually eat it as cereal?”

Billy: “Water?”

Flash: “I take back my statement about you being less vile.”

Billy: “Shush. Go get a little plastic baggy of white powder from one of the cupboards.”

Flash: “Aye aye, Captain.” *salutes before zooming off and coming back with the little baggy* “This?”

Billy: “Yeah, thanks. This is my special ingredient. Just scatter a little bit over it-” *scatters it over like flour* “-mix it,-” *shakes the bowl so it mixes in* “-and voila!”

Flash: *leans over to look at it* “What is it? Powdered sugar?” *takes a piece of cereal and eats it*

Billy: “No, cocaine.”

Flash: *spits it out onto the floor* “Dude, what the fudge!”

Supes: *peaks his head into the room in concern*

Billy: “Aw cmon, Flash. What the buck, man?” *sounds disappointed and looking at the chewed up piece of cereal on his floor*

Flash: “What do you mean what the buck?! You just made me eat cocaine-laced cereal!”

Supes: “What?!”

Billy: “I didn’t make you eat it. You ate it before I could tell you what it was!”

Flash: “Only because literally no one would suspect that you lace your own cereal with a hardcore drug!”

or

Doctor: “Ah Billy! You have another sibling?” *looks at Bruce* “Golly, he looks just like Patrick Wayne’s boy.(Ref my posts mentioning how every Fawcitizen thinks Bruce is Thomas Wayne) And who are these other little friends of yours? Why’s that one green?”

Billy: “He’s a Martian. He can’t control his shape shifting stuff yet. Anyways, can I please get my usual dose doctor?”

Doctor: “Of course, let me just get that for you.” *leaves and comes back with a little baggy of meth*

Billy: “Is that methamphetamine?”

Doctor: “No, it’s magic methamphetamine! Blessed by some faeries.” *gives it to Billy*

Billy: “Thanks, Doc!” *sees him on the bag of meth* “You want some?”

Batman: “Mmm… Yes.”

MM: “Bruce?”

Batman: “I want to study it. What’s wrong with that?”

Then, Bruce, Billy, and J’onn got back to the apartment, Billy made them all some soup. Soup that was made with magical herbs. Herbs that had intense hallucinogenic properties to those who aren’t from Fawcett. So while Billy was feeling a mild euphoria due to the herbs, everyone else was flipping hallucinating.

Hawkgirl: *in a corner intently staring at her hands because she’s hallucinating hung waaaay to many fingers*

Flash: *running up and down walls chasing a hallucination*

WW: *hallucinating being a cowboy and running around with a piece of string trying to lasso GL

Billy: *sleeping peacefully in his bed*

They all passed out together in a kid sleep pile on top of Billy after all this.

[hiddenreamers]

Telegraph Road 1977 & 2024 - Lando Norris

SUMMARY: For Lando, the words "first love" just make him think of his childhood neighbour. Then, his heart breaks a little when he remembers she's somewhere in San Francisco. How surprised he is when it turns out you're much closer - in an apartment across the hall. Lando couldn't be more grateful for the strange mysteries that led you to this doorway.

WC: 983

Everybody has those moments when they are suddenly reminded of someone they knew long ago. Old classmates, kids from summer camp, playground friends – people who once were part of your daily life but now you think about them maybe once a year if not less often. Those silent questions of “I wonder what happened to them?” come and go just as quickly, like a golden brown leaf carried by the wild, autumn wind.

Lando is something of an exception to that rule. The thoughts of his old neighbour never quite leave him, as though his autumn is more of a perpetuity than a season. Despite the passage of time, that curious quirk of his stuck. However, the why has changed. While still a child, he’d ponder the memories of you simply out of longing. It is only natural when one’s closest companion is gone one day. Then, as his young heart began revolving around crushes, dates and girlfriends, Lando suffered an epiphany. Finally, he understands! It was as if on some random Tuesday lightning had struck him – it was love he felt for you, not just friendship. And what a tale of one’s first love it told! “We were inseparable, soulmates, if you will, when one day she moved away and I never heard from her again.” Truly, a drama worth a thousand novels.

Little does he know, that those strange mysteries that separate lovers, sometimes lead them to each other’s doorways…

Lando is closing his front door, when the sound of paws tapping the floor grabs his attention. Without much thought, he looks down the corridor.

The tapping belongs to a rather happy-looking Scottish setter. He recognizes the breed only because he’s spent his childhood running around a small British town with you and two of those dogs. Despite the lingering memories of the past, Lando doesn’t mind the pet any longer, again focusing on his own things. Then, a strangely familiar voice distracts him again:

“Come on, Axel! We’ll have plenty of time to make friends later.”

Almost giving himself whiplash, Lando looks for the source of the sound. Could it be…?

You’re a little surprised when you hear someone calling out your name in a questioning manner. As far as you know, none of your friends live in Monaco. So how come someone here knows you? Fixing your grip on the box labelled Kitchen, you take a look around the corridor.

For a moment, you think you’re just seeing things. But you’ve stared at that face for so long, you could recognize him in the darkest, most inexplicable fever dream; the face that you’ve associated with home for your whole life.

“Oh my God, Lando Norris!” you exclaim between chuckles. “I can’t believe it!”

His cheeks redden a little. “You remember me?” The question has a distinct tone of surprise.

“Of course I do! You were my best friend,” you say. “Well, the only friend for a few years,” you add, your voice noticeably quieter than before.

“What are you doing here? I thought your family moved to San Francisco.”

It is only then that Lando truly sees who you’ve become throughout all those years away. Perhaps you are more beautiful than he could imagine but you’re also much sadder. There’s a wistful look in your eye, a tell-tale sign of maturity that is only born out of tears. He can only wonder what pains have brought you back to him.

“At first, it was San Francisco, then New York, Chicago, L.A… I never fit in anywhere. They’re all very lonely cities, you know?” Just for a second, your eyes become glossy. His heart feels a painful sting that only gets worse as you force a wide smile on your face. You’ve had practice in faking happiness, haven’t you? “But enough about me, it’s not that interesting,” you say in a casual tone. “Congratulations on your driving career. Seriously, you’re amazing. Would it be creepy if I admitted now that I’ve watched every single one of your races?”

“Not as creepy as admitting I’ve stalked your social media and never followed you because I thought you don’t remember me.”

“Are you dead serious right now?” Lando’s sheepish smile earns a loud laugh from you. “You should have tried anyway!”

“Funny that you’re the one to say that,” he retorts. “Why didn’t you message me if you’re such a big fan?”

Flustered, you look away for a moment. “Honestly, I thought it would be weird,” you confess. “I was sure you’d forgotten all about me and pulling this ‘we were childhood friends’ schtick now that you’re famous would be so embarrassing. You’re this top-of-the-top racing driver and I’m, well, me.” A bitter chuckle comes after your words but the faux amusement isn’t enough to fool Lando.

“You’re staying for long in Monaco?” His question is accompanied by a light gesture towards the box in your arms.

“As long as they don’t fire me, I guess.” That strange, sad laughter again. “Listen, you look like you have somewhere to be and I’ve already taken up too much of your time. You could come by in the evening, catch up if you want?” Your tone rises, revealing uncertainty about whether the invitation is welcome.

But to him, the answer is obvious. “I’d love that.”

You give him one last smile, then disappear behind the door to your apartment.

In some sense, he has you back. Not the girl he remembers, no. Something innate seems to be gone from your soul but Lando lacks the words to name the change. The sights, the loves, the pains – whatever it was that took your life on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, it sprouted melancholy in the very marrows of your bones.

“What happened to you?” he whispers to himself.

The only answer that comes is muffled footsteps and the shuffling of cardboard boxes.

Check out other fics in the Ampersand Themed Works

[mamani-bento]

mdni 18+, nanami is like...very nice to you and very good at what he does wink wink, the only plot this has is that he happens to be a sexy bartender the rest is filth i uhhh don't know where this came from but i refuse to feel any shame about it

mamani-bento's masterlist!

bartender!nanami who’s always so patient when you take time deciding your drink, never rushing you even when the bar’s crowded

bartender!nanami who asks you how your day went, calmly listens when you vent about your shitty boss, and gives you a drink on the house if you’ve had a particularly bad one

bartender!nanami who you always look for as soon as you enter, make sure you sit in his section no matter how many people you have to elbow to get to a stool

bartender!nanami who always places the bowl of peanuts in front of you once you enter because they’re your favourite, who knows exactly how you like your drink and makes it the same incredible way every time

bartender!nanami who’s the only one behind the counter wearing a shirt, starchy blue material stretching across his broad shoulders and sleeves rolled up to his elbows, forearms flexing with every toss or shake, thick fingers deftly curling around glasses and stirrers, blond hair catching the low lights, the recipient of so many hooded looks and whispered propositions every night

bartender!nanami who politely turns down everybody who hits on him, always giving a believable excuse. you know they’re all fake because he gives a different reason every day and you pay too much attention to his lips when they curve in sympathetic apology as he delivers his ninth rejection of the night

bartender!nanami who you can’t stop staring at whenever you go, can’t stop ranting to because his attentive gaze makes you feel so comfortable, so important

bartender!nanami who one day stops being just a friendly confidant that you like looking at and starts becoming the person you fantasise about

bartender!nanami who asks you if you’re alright when he catches you staring at him for the fifth time that night, not realising that you’re imagining those veiny forearms holding your hips down as he lays you out on the wooden bar and pounds into you, blissfully unaware that you’re thinking about running your nails down his broad, muscular back that flexes every time he gets something from the top shelf or lifts the beer keg with a low grunt, only audible over the music because you're paying such close attention

bartender!nanami who notices that you’re spending less time drinking, less time talking, and more time looking, always blushing and giving an excuse that you ‘spaced out’ when he calls you out on it

bartender!nanami who begins to put two and two together when you stop accepting drinks from strangers and going home with them, choosing instead to spend longer hours hanging around the bar, leaving only when he’s close to wrapping up, the entire time pretending to not watch him

bartender!nanami who asks you if you think you’re being subtle one night when just the two of you are left behind, almost but not quite laughing at your sputtered excuse

bartender!nanami who locks the bar and eats you out right there on the stool you’re sitting on, gusset of your underwear impatiently moved to the side, on his knees on the dirty floor in front of you, head disappearing beneath your office skirt and large palms holding your thighs apart so he can have his fill, realising with a muffled groan that you are so much sweeter, so much more responsive than he could ever imagined

bartender!nanami who keeps lapping at your cunt as you come down from your high, only surfacing when you curl your shaky hands around his thick biceps, urging him up until he’s towering over you, begging him to fuck you right there on the wooden bar counter

bartender!nanami who tells you he knows, understands how much you need him, you’ve been so obvious darling, he’ll give you what you’re desperate for, what you've been desperate for

bartender!nanami who kisses you with lips stained with the wetness from your cunt, swallows your needy moans with a fond chuckle

bartender!nanami who indulges you as you fight to get his shirt off, nerves and arousal making your motions imprecise, but doesn’t do anything to help, only watches you struggle until you’re running an appreciative palm across his pectorals, nails grazing his nipple, sliding down his abs, grasping at the growing hardness in his slacks

bartender!nanami who’s let you have your fun, who takes matters into his own hands and curves his palms around your waist, easily lifting you off the stool and setting you onto the counter with flexing arms, who crowds into your space and lifts your legs to wrap around his waist, swiftly dragging your panties down and sliding into the spongy warmth of your wet cunt

bartender!nanami who starts slow, who takes note of your reactions with his ever movement, who drinks in your moans as he dips his head down to mouth at your covered nipple, palms divoting your waist, greedily groping the flesh

bartender!nanami who starts to snap his hips into yours faster, dick sliding along your walls and stretching you so well, his whole body caging yours in until even if your eyes were open you’d only be able to see him him him

bartender!nanami who hisses as your nails bite into his shoulders, groans into your neck raising goosebumps on your sweat-damp skin as you tug on his hair, chuckles and pants out that he knew you’d be a scratcher, knew you would take him so well, was always so good for him in his fantasies as you let him pound into you on his bar counter

bartender!nanami who revels in your repeated ah-ah-ah’s as he circles your clit with his thumb, who feels like he could die with the way you’re constantly clenching around him, squeezing him so well that he has to fight to not come before you, who quickens the pace of his hips and his fingers to get you closer, who can’t stop the stream of filth about your perfect cunt from slipping out of his mouth, sucking him in so beautifully

bartender!nanami who swallows your cry of pleasure when you reach your orgasm, who groans as your nails dig into his shoulders, who pulls out just in time to cum over your thighs and shirt, jaw clenched and pads of his long fingers digging into your hips

bartender!nanami whom you take home that night, who shows you exactly what he's imagined doing to you, who fulfills the fantasies that have been constantly running through your head every time you've 'spaced out' in the bar

[lightlycareless]

Not really Naomi's first day of school, but more like your and Naoya's reaction to it. Mostly yours, Naoya tends to be quite... distant because of work ugh I hate it. 😿😭😭😭 I just like writing silly domestic things :)

warnings: fluff. domestic au; you have a beautiful daughter with Naoya named Naomi. He is a good husband!!! as well as an overprotective father, just like you.

Happy reading!

“—but nothing too far, we must be able to answer quickly if something happens!”

“Then why are we even considering beyond the estate? There’s no safer place than here!”

“Well, you are right in some way… but she still deserves to make friends, you know? Hang out with kids her age, make friends… do things of her age! And not limit herself to me or my staff…”

“No one will be good enough for my little mochi. We might as well keep her here, you know? Besides, she actually doesn’t need to go to school. She has her whole life set up already just for being my daughter!”

“Oh, Naoya, just listen to yourself! We can’t deprive Naomi of the world! It’s her right, just as anybody else’s”

“But we can choose what’s right for her, and I think her being homeschooled is the best option.”

“…For us, not for her.”

Naoya sighs.

Seems that at the end of the day, no matter how much the two tried to avoid the subject, they always came back to the same conclusion: Naomi needed to go to school.

No homeschooling, no private tutoring, none of that. She ought to go to an actual building where she’d meet other people, from teachers ready to aid her growth, to kids who wished to befriend and play with her.

It was a day that everybody knew was coming, and yet, you and Naoya couldn’t help but feel highly unprepared; mainly due to both needing to prolong the inevitably.

And neither could be blamed, after all, you and Naoya had grown accustomed to having little Naomi around all day; hearing her cute giggles resounding across the estate, the pitter patter of her feet running from one side of the hallway to the other, her witty chatter that often made little to no sense, yet you loved hearing, for it filled the cold, emptiness of your home with her warm presence, to her adorable snores…

You didn’t want her to go. You wished her to stay…

But as good parents, this needed to be done. And soon, instead of taking Naomi to accompany you to your errands, or your quick runs to satisfy whatever sweet craving you had, you’d be taking her to school; to leave her there for seemingly endless hours, unable to know what she was doing.

If she was happy, if she needed you.

And yet, that was the beauty of watching her grow; another part of you wanting to accompany her through this special moment and all that pertained through it: from buying her first backpack, dressing her up in her first school uniform, to helping her choose what hairstyle she wanted for her first day—

It was all exciting for you and Naoya.

Didn’t mean it wasn’t difficult for overbearing parents like you to drop her off at the gates of whatever prestigious school both decided to enroll her in (only the best, Naoya required, anything less is just a waste of my time).

You naturally preserved the moment through thousands of pictures, a few selections posted on her dedicated Instagram and causing an expected commotion in your family.

naomis_grandpa: Naomi-chan looks adorable as ever!! I can’t believe she’s going to school already—time sure flies by! Why don’t we celebrate her first day of school by having a small gathering? I can arrange something over there!

l/n_hinata: Oh, I wish I could’ve been there but you know how work is 😥😥!! I’ll call you later to ask how her first day went (and if you’re faring well lol) Good luck, Naomi-chan!!

l/n_ren: Haha, she looks just like you on your first day, all the way down to the pout! The resemblance is uncanny, she really is your daughter.

zenin_y/n: I wasn’t like that on my first day..

the_strongest_one: Yes, you were! I remember! You wouldn’t stop crying once your mom and dad left you hahahaha!! I think I have a picture somewhere… anyways, did Naomi cry like you? Or was she strong, like me?

zenin_naoya: leave my wife alone.

the_strongest_one: sure sure, but does your wife know you just dm’d me asking for the picture?

zenin_y/n: Naoya.

But Satoru’s words did highlight an important point, one that you expected to happen yet surprisingly, it didn’t. Naoya was equally amazed when you told him about it…

In other words, contrary to all beliefs… Naomi did not cry. She did not whine, demand to be taken back home, nor did she tightly cling onto you as you guided her onto the entrance.

Nope, nothing at all.

Instead, she was excited to start this new adventure! See what this so-called school had to offer and seize the moment!

You won’t deny that seeing her so happy was both elating and disappointing in some ways, undoubtedly for having your expectations refuted—the two were virtually inseparable, after all, surely… Naomi was just as affected as you were.

But alas, the ones far more emotionally invested were you and Naoya, trying your best to move on with their day as if nothing had changed, behaving like Naomi was still at home, just around the corner…

Kind of dramatic, wasn’t it? She was to return home 4 hours later…

“Oh!” Your thoughts would be interrupted by the loud sound of your cellphone ringing, a call from the only person you expected to do so at this time, pausing your work and rushing to respond, a smile on your lips as your husband’s face appears on the screen. “Hello, my love! How are you? How’s work treating you?”

“Dreadful, princess—as always, every second I go on without you is pure torture.” He confesses, exhaustion evident in his face. Oh, how you wished to kiss his worries away. “Just wanted to check in on you, I didn’t call you on a bad time, did I?”

“No, not at all. I was just tending to the garden; I heard you asked the gardeners to change the flowers to something Naomi liked, That’s very sweet of you.”

“Well, she mentioned liking sunflowers—and you know I had to do it.” He states proudly, your heart flutters at his smirk. “And you? How is my pretty princess?”

“Tired.” You admit. “And a bit hungry too; it’s almost noon.”

“Don’t forget to eat, I don’t want to come home and hear you hadn’t.”

“I know, I know… it’s not like my staff will allow it anyways.”

“Good. It’s what I pay them from.”

“Naoya…”

“I know, I know.” He sighs. “No need to scold me.”

“I’m not scolding you…” you pout, Naoya laughs.

“You’re adorable—anyways, do you know how my beloved dumpling is doing? I’ve missed her so much.”

“Ah, right! Wait, I think she should be awake right now so you can see her!”

“Wait,Y/N—" Naoya tried his best to lessen the shock which you would inevitably encounter once acknowledging reality, called out your name a few more times, but it was all for naught for you were determined into getting to Naomi’s room, hoping to find her playing with her toys in the company of either your seamstress Hitomi, or your cook Haruko, the latter being her favorite nee-san at the moment (though you don’t tell Hitomi that).

To see the glow of your face dim upon entering your daughter’s room is a sight that will remain imprinted in the back of Naoya’s mind, filled with an overwhelming need to comfort you, yet impotent to do so while kilometers away.

There’s no doubt now that you remember where Naomi was supposed to be, pushing you into a vivid emptiness her absence placed in your heart: a sentiment you never thought possible until becoming a mother.

“Y/N…” Naoya murmurs, heart-stricken upon seeing the sorrow in your face.

“Oh, Naoya… how could I forget that she was at school?” you lament, defeated.

“She’s always been there, it’s only natural that you’d forget.” Naoya attempts to console you, you sigh. “…What makes you feel this way? Besides missing her, of course.”

“… I don’t know, I guess… I fear that she might not like school at all. That the teachers don’t like her either… that she doesn’t get along with the kids…”

“She’ll be alright, my love. Naomi is a good kid, she’s our daughter after all.”

“I know, I just… wished I could be there for her. I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but that’s how it’s always been! I’m there for her when she needs me… and she’s here for me when I need her…

I just… miss her, I guess.”

“I’m sure she misses you too.” Naoya can be nothing but understanding of the solitude you must feel in a place like the Zen’in estate now that he, and your daughter, were away.

Naomi had truly come into your life at the best moment, a blessing of sorts, that is without a doubt. For not only was she remembrance of the ever-growing love you felt for one another, and the achievement of a personal milestone…

But also, the one to fill the void your husband’s absence had unwittingly given you.

Though you knew the type of relationship you’d have once getting together with Naoya and all that his demanding career entailed, it didn’t make it any easier to live out. There were countless nights were your heart ached so much to have him near, and yet, all you could do is anxiously wait for his return—hope there would be one, if fate hadn’t decided to cruelly rip him—

You worry that your attachment to Naomi might come to harm her in the long run, that you’d hinder her growth for your own personal desire…

But you just loved her so much to act otherwise. You just wanted the best for her, and nothing less. Was it all too wrong?

“She’ll be home soon, you’ll see.” Naoya adds, snapping you out of your thoughts. Your gaze returns to him, to his gentle smile, a reminder that he’ll always support you. “And when she is, I will call her, and she’ll tell us all about her first day at school.”

“Do you think she’s having fun? Or do you think she’s afraid? She’s never been that social, you know? At least not when meeting new people. What if she doesn’t get along with anyone? Or what if no one likes her? Oh, she’d be devastated….!” You naturally fret as a concerned mother; there is nothing you’d like more than your daughter to be liked by everyone!

“I wish I could tell you.” Naoya continues, understanding your concerns for he too considered them—experienced them, in fact. He’s known what it felt to be lonely, even when given everything in the world. So, the last thing he desired was for his daughter to go through the same. “But there’s one thing I know for certain.”

“What is it…?”

“That she’s an adorable kid. The type one could only love. And if they don’t, they’re stupid.” He shrugs. “And there’s no cure for stupidity, so don’t worry about anything; She’s perfect just the way she is… and I know that because she’s got you as a mother.”

“Naoya… when did you get all sappy on me?” you murmur, doing your best to hold back your tears.

“I—I’m not sappy, I’m just… saying the truth.” He stammers, and though subtle, you’re still able to see a tint of red in his cheeks. “How about I pick you two up after work and we get something to eat? It’s been a while since we’ve gone down to the city.”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful! And that way we can also celebrate Naomi’s first day of school! I can’t wait to hear all about it; I’ve always loved how cheerful she spoke, makes everything far more entertaining!”

“We just gotta keep this a secret from your father; he’s been calling me non-stop about a supposed reunion he wants to make for our daughter.” Naoya warns. “Haven’t seen him so enthusiastic since… well, he’s always like this, isn’t he?”

“I kind of feel bad for leaving him out…”

“Well, he is on the other side of the country.”

“If it were up to him, I think he would’ve liked her to be enrolled in a school over there. And as much as I love it when they spend time together…”

“Yes?”

“…We’re a bit too much, aren’t we?” Naoya laughs at your words. “People might think we’re bad parents…”

“No, Y/N. I know for a fact that I have much to improve, but not you. Never.” Naoya smiles, wanting nothing more than to hug and kiss your insecurities away. For he could be nothing but glad that his daughter was unconditionally loved, cherished far more than his family even bothered to care.

Your worries and enthusiasm just proved what he always knew, what he saw the moment his eyes fell on you, what his heart sung when he fell in love:

“You’re absolutely perfect.”

🥺

[thislovintime]

Clip from Reasonably Spontaneous Conversation (with Dennis Tardan), 1979.

“More and more I try to meet anger with love. The world is love. Sooner or later everyone will love everyone else. That is the future. I think people are so hipped up on the point of view, us against them; it’s all a hangover from the days of the left wing or fascism. It’s not the way things are anymore; it’s just us.” - Peter, Tork Seventeen, August 1967 “It’s only fear, lies and bad leadership that keeps us all from loving each other and from seeing each other clearly and purely with the eye of the mind and the love of the heart.” - Peter Tork T, 16 Magazine, December 1968 “There’s this Latin expression and it’s in legal circles, and it means, ‘The thing speaks for itself.’ And the song [‘A Better World,‘ written by Nick Thorkelson], when I first heard the song, the song said to me what I’ve already known all along, but have never been able to express in so — such a pithy way, succinctly. It’s just — there’s more than enough. The subtext is that what’s keeping us from all having enough is fear — call it politics, which is fear. And there is no way to eliminate fear from the human experience. But there are ways to allay that fear to an appreciable extent. And if we know there’s enough, that makes things a little calmer. That makes things a little bit less grabby, because in the material world, it’s a zero sum game. There’s only so much food to go around. If I take too much, you don’t have enough. But if I take enough, you have enough too. And that’s — that will happen if we’re not terrified of each other and the vagaries of life, which of course are not… you can’t stop them, life goes on. It’s weird, people get hit by cars and get brought down by cancer or some other disease, or trip and fall and hit their heads. That kind of thing happens all the time, there’s no stopping it. But if we… the more fear we bring to the situation, the tougher it is on everybody — the fearful and the feared as well. [On society in 2016] Well, I think it’s always three steps forward, two steps back in every endeavor. Maybe it’s 99 steps forward and 98 steps back or something, you know.I don’t want to get too specific on the digits. But there’s always this back and forth and back and forth. But I am hopeful that in the long run, this is all going to settle down. I believe — I believe that fundamentalist hate rhetoric and behaviors of all kinds are a direct outgrowth of that same fear. […] The number of people who are capable of saying, ‘Wait a minute. I don’t have to do that,’ is very low. But it’s growing. That number of people who say, ‘I get it. I get that what we’re talking about is other people operating out of fear. I don’t have to react fearfully.’” - Peter Tork, Zilch Podcast no. 67, 2016

[thestarrynightslover]

The Day You Finally Caught a Break

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Word count: 1,574

Warnings: FLUFF. Mentions of sex crimes and crimes involving special victims (all very slight).

Summary: After living in a boring routine, the detective (y/n) (y/l/n) catches a lucky break with her colleague Jay Halstead.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the One Chicago shows, or its characters, also not associated with it in any way or know anyone involved with it.

A/N: So, this is my first fic in a while and I am aware that it is very cheesy but I just felt like writing something cheesy. Anyways, I hope you like it!

(y/n) = (your name) (y/l/n) = (your last name) (y/n/n) = (your nickname)

| masterlist |

The day started just like any other would: waking up earlier than necessary, going for a run, doing some yoga, reading, and finally getting ready to go to work. Sure, to a lot of people that might have been a great morning, having all that time to do all that stuff… The only thing was: you’d been running on nothing beyond routine — one that had become quite boring, to be honest — for a couple of years now. Which made you that weird cop who actually enjoyed the worst cases just because it gave you some sort of purpose, some sort of change. Holding that thought, you were supposed to feel lucky once you and your team got deeper into your current case. But, even with the most boring of lives, a person — a decent human being — couldn’t feel lucky for even knowing something like that happens in the world, much less for having to know every sick and twisted detail of a case that involved sex trafficking, pregnant women, all sorts of assault and child abduction.

After it was “over”, around midnight, all of Intelligence seemed to silently agree on staying as long as necessary to finish their reports. Everybody thinking the same way: finishing this today, I can get outta here, get drunk, and put it in a box in the back of my head — where it’ll stay forever. As soon as someone would finish the paperwork, they’d grab their coat, mutter something resembling a goodbye, and rush out of there like the room was on fire. Molly’s wouldn’t be open anymore and none of you really wanted to spend time with each other to risk having to talk out what had happened. And then something strange happened.

Instead of just leaving like your partner Kim and his partner Kevin before her, Ruzek just stood at the door frame, waiting. For Upton. What? He kept looking at her desk so it was pretty obvious but the confirmation came when the detective got up saying: “Hey, Jay, I’mma get going now. You okay if we do our thing some other day?”

By the time Halstead looked up, she was almost reaching Adam which shocked the shit out of you but didn’t seem to faze him much, who only answered: “Yeah. Sure. Night, guys.” And then there were two—the only two Intelligence members who never exchanged more than a couple of polite measures.

Nevertheless, your gossip-starved soul got the best of you, who ended up blurting out a “They’re together?” to no one less than Jay Halstead. For a minute or so the other detective just looked around the room, as if expecting someone to jump out of nowhere and answer your question. But, after your eyes eventually met, he decided on answering.

“Eh… I don’t really know”, he started, while scratching the back of his neck, “I mean, it’s not like I’ve asked, you know?”

“Ah…” Was all you found to say after he stopped for a moment, but he continued.

“That’s just not really how it works between us. But the other day he did show up at her place late at night, which was suspicious. To say the least.” The words just flew right out of his mouth, surprising both of you, who started chuckling awkwardly at the recognition, “this is the first actual conversation we’ve had after all this time working together, isn’t it?”, he asked, ultimately.

“Yeah, I think it is,” you said, now full-on laughing. “God, I can’t believe that the first time I worked up the courage to actually talk to you was to ask for gossip!” You exclaimed, knowing that your cheeks were probably burning up with embarrassment.

“To be honest, I kinda needed to share that with someone. Especially after this moment here.” He confessed, making you laugh and forcing himself to laugh a bit more to try and hide the fact that he couldn’t stop staring at you. It just went wrong when his mouth betrayed him by saying: “You look so damn cute right now!”

"Well, it isn't every day that one finds out that the detective Jay Halstead is a gossip. Which makes me wonder who the cute one really is…"

"Oh, so that's where you're going with this?" He asked with his eyes twinkling. "Because I can prove just how not cute I am…"

"Oh?" You replied simply wondering what kind of proof he could provide against that.

"In fact, I have just the perfect idea, but, for that, you'd have to agree on going out with me first." Jay himself couldn't believe he finally managed to invite you out.

"Ooh, as in a d- date?" Who were you? Stuttering? C'mon!

"A date, yes." He answered, making you feel relieved and nervous again all at the same time.

"Yeah, I, uh, I wouldn't mind that at all. We can try and think of a date that works for both of us…" You suggested.

"Well, on Wednesday I'll be off, how about you?" Jay asked quickly.

"Oh no, that day I have somethings Platt wanted me to do. How about next Monday?"

"That's a no for me, 'cause I'm pulling doubles next week.*

"Damn…"

“Maybe this is a crazy idea but have you finished your report yet?” He asked quizzically.

“Uh, hitting the send button right now. Why?

“Then what if we do it now?”

“The date thingy?” You asked shyly, afraid that had been just a momentaneous thought that came out of his mouth too fast.

At that, he looked at you in awe, mesmerized by how adorable you were. “Yes. The date thingy.”

A million thoughts crossed your mind, including the one that that was a lifetime opportunity and that you should be better dressed, but figuring that saying something like that would only make you miss the opportunity, you settled for asking: “But where would we go? Like, it’s past 1 a.m., Jay, I don’t think there are a lot of places open…”

“Well, I might have a few ideas… Do you trust me?” He asked, holding his hand out to you, who grabbed it at the same time as you grabbed your jacket and purse with your other hand.

“Do you really need to ask that?"

And, like that, some time later you found yourself pulling up to the address Jay had texted you, which was in Canaryville, and it turned out to be an old movie theater that apparently was doing a week of classics with sessions at all times of the day. How Jay knew about that, though, was a mystery to you.

"Hey!" You heard him calling as he crossed the street. "You made a better time getting here than I did!"

"Yeah, well, my car might be faster than your old one," you replied, shrugging innocently.

"Haha, very funny," he deadpanned.

"Hey, this is a cool idea but how did you know it is happening?" You asked, genuinely curious. "I mean, you just don't seem a lot like a movie nerd to me."

"Well, there are still many things you don't know about me. But this one specifically is because I grew up around here and the owner is a friend of my family, so he always lets Will and I know about what's going on with the place."

"Hmmm, that explains it!" You exclaimed with a tad of satisfaction for not being too far off about him.

"But I do enjoy movies, okay?" You made a face of disbelief at him. To which he replied with: "It's true, alright? I'll admit that these days I haven't had much time for it but when I was growing up around here, this place was practically my second home!"

"Oh, so you've brought many others here, I'll assume!" You teased, suddenly feeling more comfortable and consequently more confident.

"Don't! Don't assume that! Growing up I wasn't very successful with the ladies and after that changed I haven't come here often…"

"Ooh, so that means that I'm your first?" You mocked, putting your hand to your heart, "Wow, I'm truly touched now!"

"Yeah, sure, have your fun with me all you want! All I really care about is the fact that I finally managed to get you to go out with me, so I can only hope you'll enjoy yourself." Him saying that, while gazing so intently at you, was making you weak on your knees and got you blushing a bit as well. So you tried to get the attention off you.

"Okay! Then let's pick a movie and watch it already, 'cause tomorrow's probably not gonna be any shorter."

A couple of hours later you and Jay were walking down the street towards a Waffle House while chatting and laughing about the movie like two best friends, which felt really nice but also made you a little confused about the being a date of that date the two of you were on. But, after you both had cleaned your plates at the diner, Jay came onto your bench to clean the corner of your mouth with a napkin, and next thing you knew, you were kissing very passionately in public like a couple of teens, forgetting about the rest of the world altogether, which made you realized, once more, how dull and colorless your life was previous to that moment so you held on to it and you held on to the man behind it.

[fortisfilia]

Promised Part 8 - Tom Riddle x reader

Info: This is a rewrite of a story I've posted on my old account years ago. If it sounds familiar, that might be why :)

Summary: In this story, Tom didn't grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader's sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.

Warnings: Arranged marriage

Word count: 3.1k

Masterpost | Masterlist | Part 7 | Part 9

Part 8 - Slughorn's Party

Returning to Hogwarts after the Christmas holidays was far less stressful this time. Now that Elsie was better, it was much easier to concentrate on your studies. Maybe you could also focus on Tom. Both things seemed equally important somehow. And the fact that you could see Camille again added to the good things Hogwarts had to offer.

You were sitting on her bed in her dorm, telling her everything that had been going on during the last days. The Gaunts who had wanted to force you to do an unbreakable vow, their fight with Tom, that Tom had stayed for a bit, the book he had gifted you and everything in between. 

“I can’t believe you got him a snake,” Camille laughed. “What do you think his family said about that?”

“I couldn’t care less what they think of it. I hope they’re mad at me.”

“Do you think Tom got in trouble for it?”

“I don’t think so. He knows how to stand his ground.”

“And the book he gave you? Do you think that it means something? It’s some sort of family heirloom after all.”

Thinking about it, you lay down on your back next to her. “I’m not sure. Do you think that was some kind of secret message from him?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll have to look into that.” You rolled over to face her. “And what have you done these days? Tell me all about your presents.”

“Well,” Camille said with a smile. “The presents weren’t the most exciting part of my holiday, to be honest.”

“Let me guess. You met someone! A guy?”

The smile on her face widened. “I didn’t meet him. I just kept in contact via owl.”

“Oh, Merlin! Who is it? Someone from school?”

She nodded.

“Go on, tell me!”

Her expression suddenly changed. “You have to promise not to be mad.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“It’s someone you don’t exactly like,” she said, a thick tone of guilt in her voice.

Then you knew. “No. Don’t. It’s Ben Hilt, isn’t it?”

She nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“Oh, Camille,” you sighed and needed a moment to sort out your thoughts. “Why?”

“He is a very charming boy.”

“He’s a year younger than you.”

“So?” she giggled.

“He wanted to tell on me to the Ministry, so that I wouldn’t be able to marry Tom. Sticks his nose in everybody’s business.”

“He just wanted to help. He thought you were forced to do it. And you have to admit he wasn’t exactly wrong about that.”

“Have you told him about the pact?”

“Of course not! I would never. I told him right from the start that if he’s only after me to get information about Riddle and you, he could piss off.”

“And?”

“He didn’t piss off,” she smiled. “He’s really nice. We never talked about you and Tom after I had made it clear it was none of his business. He didn’t even bring it up to begin with. I did. I would never date someone who would want to harm you, I swear.”

“Ugh, I know,” you groaned. “You’re too good. For me and for Ben.”

“Shut up,” she said as she nudged your shoulder.

“Wait. Did you just say ‘date’ someone? Are you official?”

“No. I guess not. But maybe someday. Now, what are you going to wear to Slughorn’s party?”

Slughorn’s annual belated New Year’s party was one of the few exclusive gatherings happening in school. Students could only attend if they had gotten a personal invitation, from Slytherin’s headteacher Horace Slughorn, who would invite his favourite pupil, or rather, the ones he thought looked best in his trophy collection. 

Camille, Tom and you had all gotten Slughorn’s owl. You had not mustered up the courage to ask him about it. Even though you were going to marry him, that didn’t mean he wanted to go to the party together. Together, as in, on a date. It had felt too delicate talking about it directly, the fear of being rejected too present. So you had danced around the subject, trying to find out if you were on the same page. Until he had finally said what you had wanted to hear. He had asked when to pick you up as if the possibility of not going there as a couple had not even occurred to him.

Seven o’clock, as arranged. It had arrived so soon. You hastily fixed the small wrinkles on the hem of your dress with a spell when you heard him knock on the door. Tom looked very posh in his black suit, politely offering his arm. And off you went. Together.

The guests at the party were students from years six and seven, as well as some teachers. Camille, who had brought Ben with her, looked absurdly pretty in her golden dress. Ben couldn’t have been more proud. He talked to Camille continuously and just seemed head over heels for her. Right next to them stood two of Ben’s friends, looking all out of character in suits. Avery and Lestrange came without dates and seemed awfully nervous for some reason. They whispered to each other every time you looked their way.

And then there was Freda Morris. Hogwarts’ head girl, who had her eyes fixated on Tom from the moment you had entered the room. Had she even noticed you next to him? Was she aware Tom was spoken for? Everyone knew by now that you were engaged after all, the ring on your finger being a testament to that. Either she didn’t know, or she didn’t care. The expression she sent you, after carefully staring you up and down, told you though, that she was absolutely aware of your relationship. She looked like she wanted to throw you out the next window.

“What in Merlin’s beard?” you muttered quietly to yourself after she had finally turned away from you.

“Pardon?” Tom asked and came closer so he could hear you better.

“Nevermind. Let’s go over to Camille and Ben, shall we?”

Tom’s gaze fell right on the two. 

“Your friend came with Hilt?” he asked sternly and began to walk their way. 

“Um, yes. About that,” you said, pulling lightly on his arm to stop him. “They’re dating. Kind of. They’re not official yet, but, you know, it could lead somewhere.”

He looked like you had just given him the world’s most unnecessary information. “What are you trying to tell me?” 

“That we have to be nice,” you answered and gave him your best fake smile, demonstrating what you wanted him to do.

“Nice?” He gawked so blankly at you, it was almost comical. “You want me to be nice to Benjamin Hilt? After what he’s done?”

“Well… Yes.”

“Why?” Tom asked, genuinely not understanding what you meant.

“Because Camille is my best friend. And she likes him.”

Tom sighed.

“Answer me this,” he said. “Camille knows a lot about you, yes?”

“Yes.”

“I assume she knows about us.“ He started talking more quietly. “Our pact?”

“She does.”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s what I thought.”

“So?” you asked.

“Isn’t it clear? He’s sweet-talking her to get information.”

“That’s what I first thought too. But Camille swore she wouldn’t tell him a thing. And she said she had made that clear to him from the beginning.”

Tom was still eyeing Ben sharply. 

“Come on,” you said and pulled him their way. “I trust Camille. It’ll be fine.”

“It‘s not her I don’t trust,” Tom said under his breath. “At least he's a true Gryffindor if he goes after her now. Either completely daft or actually courageous.” Your eyebrows lifted in question and he ducked his head grinning. “Remember I told you I’d take care of him when Marvolo sent his letter?”

“Yes?”

“I sort of did.”

Stopping in your tracks, you asked, “When? And what did you do?”

“A few weeks before Christmas. I just pulled him aside and talked.”

“Talked?”

“Well, I talked. He didn’t say much to be fair.”

“Tom, where did you take him?”

“The weather was nice so I took him outside.” 

Short answers again. This story wasn’t going to end well. “Where?”

He still feigned innocence, squinting his eyes as if he struggled to remember. “The whomping willow.”

“The wh- Tom! What in Merlin’s name were you thinking?”

“I said I’d take care of him, so I did!” He held his hands up in defence. “Also, he was only up in the air for a minute, okay? I held back.”

“I can’t believe you’re telling me this now,” you sighed, your fingers pressed against your forehead.

He shrugged. “I didn’t deem it important. For me, the issue was settled.”

“Okay.” Shaking your head, you started walking towards them again. “Since it’s settled, we can give him another chance. And vice versa.”

Tom didn’t answer, following you silently. 

When you greeted the two, Camille hugged you and gushed, “You look so beautiful! And you both know Ben, I believe.”

Of course, you did. Whether Ben wanted anything to do with you after what Tom had done was a different question. You offered him your hand and Ben shook it, despite it all, with an honest smile on his face.

“Fresh start?” you asked.

Ben nodded and turned to shake Tom’s hand as well. Tom looked at him seriously for a moment, inspecting his hand as if it was covered in Dragon Pox, until you nudged his side with your elbow, urging him to accept, which he reluctantly did.

Slughorn called for dinner before you could talk more, so you all went to the big oval table on the other side of the room. Ben sat down left of Camille, you to her right and Tom on your other side. Slughorn talked openly across the table, asking his students about their holidays, while dinner was served. Freda, obviously trying to impress, mentioned that she had been to France with her family, which didn’t have quite the effect on Slughorn that she had hoped it would.

“Pathetic,” you mumbled and Camille chuckled.

“Mean, aren’t we?” Tom whispered, a grin forming on his face.

“Me? Never.”

He exhaled a laugh and slowly grabbed your hand beneath the table, taking you by surprise. You looked at him, your fingers wrapping around his hand, then pulled them upwards and rested both his and your hand on the table. 

“Now you’re just cruel,” Tom jested when Freda looked over and saw the two of you.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you answered, biting the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from smiling. “I’m merely holding my fiance's hand. That’s not an act of violence, is it?”

“Fiancé, huh?” Tom asked.

“Aren’t you?”

“You’ve never called me that before.”

He was right. You had never called him that in person, or when you had talked about him to anyone else. If you didn’t know better, you could have sworn that a crimson haze was creeping up his neck and across his face.

“Well,” you swallowed, feeling a wave of heat on your cheeks as well. “It’s what you are, whether we like it or not.”

Tom nodded and held your hand a little tighter while glancing down at the table. “Fair.”

After dinner, the guests spread around the room, chatting and drinking punch while they waited for the first dance of the evening. Slughorn had pulled Tom aside a while ago, asking about his opinions on different things concerning Potions, politics and the news. He visibly hung to Tom’s every word, clearly awed by his favourite student, nodded and agreed to most of the things Tom said. You turned your back on them and faced Camille and Ben, still hearing the two chat behind you and thinking of how well-spoken Tom was. He knew how to lull in every teacher by heart. Each word that left his mouth seemed carefully crafted for Slughorn’s ears only and made him react just as Tom wanted him to. Impressive. 

Having engaged in conversation with Camille and Ben, while still keeping an ear on Tom behind you, you heard that Slughorn finally set him free and wished him a nice evening. Tom would be joining you, no doubt, even though he still didn’t like Ben when suddenly an all too familiar voice started talking to him.

“Hello Tom,” Freda Morris said, sickly sweet. “How are you? How were your holidays?”

You shot Camille a look, to which she automatically checked the people behind you, eyes wide in disbelief when she peered back at you. 

“What are you going to do?” she mouthed silently.

“No idea,” you mouthed back.

Ben stared back and forth between Camille and you, completely confused until he finally noticed what you were whispering about. 

“Oh,” Ben snorted. “Someone’s looking for trouble.”

Alright. Freda had not given up on Tom yet. There was a knot in your stomach, pulling bitterly and twisting your insides. You tried to ignore it, took a deep breath and decided to listen to them first. Maybe you were overreacting. Jinxing her later was still an option.

“Oh yes, Paris was wonderful actually,” Freda enthused and had pronounced ‘Paris’ in a weird French accent. “It’s so cosy there around Christmas, you have to go someday.”

“Sounds nice,” Tom answered, rather casually. “Well, if you don’t mind, I-”

“Oh, Tom, actually,” she went on. “I wanted to ask you. Don’t you think we should open the first dance together, as head boy and girl? It’s a tradition, after all.”

Tradition? You had never heard of such a tradition before. Camille and Ben, now eavesdropping too, were as dumbfounded as you. Camille was sincerely shocked, while Ben’s mouth was open, half laughing, half speechless, like a fish on land gasping for air. It seemed that you had not been overreacting, so you turned around, now facing Tom and Freda’s backside.

“I don’t know if that’s actually a tradition, Freda,” Tom said, looking back at you briefly, one side of his mouth pulling upwards.

“Philip Elms and Eve Sterling opened the dance at last year’s party,” she huffed. “They were head girl and boy too.”

“Correct,” Tom agreed. “But they were dating at the time, weren’t they?”

Freda didn’t answer.

“And since we are not dating, I have to politely decline,” he said, again looking at you. “Now excuse me, I have to talk to my fiancée.”

Tom left Freda standing there and the four of you watched her wandering off. No one said a word, Camille was holding her breath until Ben burst out laughing. “Mate,” he chuckled. “That was… deadly.”

Tom didn’t laugh, squinting at what Ben had just called him, but nodded appreciatively before he turned to you, offering his hand.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“Opening the dance? The music has just started and Slughorn told me I should do it.”

You shook your head smiling, took his hand and let him take you over to the dance floor.

“For someone who accused me of being cruel, you’re doing a very good job yourself, you know,” you said, keeping an eye out for Freda, in case she planned on hexing you. Better safe than sorry. 

“Ah, she’ll be fine,” Tom assured. “Or would you have preferred if I took her to dance?”

The question didn't need an answer, so you just gave him a knowing look when you arrived on the dance floor, where you got in position. Tom placed his hand on your waist and took your right hand in his other one, holding both of them upright below shoulder height. All the guests had gathered around the floor, waiting for you to start dancing. Luckily there wasn’t enough time to get too nervous. It had all happened in a matter of moments.

“You know how to waltz, right?” Tom asked.

“It’s been a while, but-”

“Doesn’t matter, I’ll lead,” he said and took the first step, spinning in circles in three-four time.

Tom was a good dancer, which wasn’t surprising. He probably had taken courses some years ago, just like you, upon your parent’s request. You kept up with him quite well, only taking a wrong step every now and then.

“If I had known, I would’ve practised…”

“It’s alright, people will join in soon. You’re doing well,” he reassured you and lightly squeezed your waist.

The fact that you had never been so close to him for more than a few seconds became more apparent the longer he held onto you. Suddenly the spinning felt faster, all eyes focusing on you, burning holes right through you. The only thing steadying you was Tom and his hands. You spotted Camille in the crowd, who was smiling at you, holding up her hand and giving you a thumbs up. That made you feel a bit more at ease, so you let Tom lead you round the floor, twirling away from people’s stares. Finally, halfway through the song, pairs of people joined in and filled up the dance floor, leaving not much room to be glared at.

Tom looked at you, a proud smile adorning his face, his eyes softer than you had ever witnessed before.

“What’s that I’m seeing there?” you asked. “A genuine smile? Certainly a rare sight.”

He swallowed, not changing his expression. “Camille was right.”

“She usually is. But what do you mean?”

“Earlier, when we went up to them. She said you look beautiful. You do.”

People’s faces around you seemed to blur and you couldn’t hear them properly anymore. The only thing you saw was Tom’s face and how his eyes still stared into yours. It felt as if you weren’t dancing anymore, but rather floating above the ground, a swarm of butterflies emerging from your stomach. Your hand went from Tom’s shoulder behind his neck on its own and pulled him closer. Closer, just a tiny bit closer, so that you were able to view every single one of his eyelashes. His chest bumped against you and his cologne tickled your nose. You let yourself sink into the smell of bergamot and lemon, feeling how his hand squeezed your waist a bit tighter by the second.

Closer, until you both shut your eyes and your lips met in the middle, kissing Tom right out there on the dance floor. You were the only people who had stopped spinning, even though it still felt like you spiralled around a hundred miles an hour. Butterflies turned into aeroplanes, rotating and crashing gently against each other, just like the two of you.

Masterpost | Masterlist | Part 9

Tags: @ariachaos

[spotsandsocks]

Hiiii Spotty 💕💕💕💕

I wish you would write a fic where Eddie and Buck have a telepathic bond

-❤️🪐

The Loudest Silence 8k on Ao3

A little taster below

You get three people. That’s it. Three and you can’t choose them until you're 16.

After that it’s down to personal preference, compatibility and your own heart.

Not everybody chooses and hardly anyone chooses three. It’s a big decision even stupid teenagers know that. 

Buck’s first choice was Maddie. She’d asked if he was sure. He was. 

Maddie hadn’t chosen anyone yet even if she was so much older than him. Doug wasn’t a believer in taking the bond so he’d said no when she’d asked. She’d said yes to her brother and then she’d left him.

He’d never understood why until it was too late.

He never asked anyone again. He bonded with Maddie and then she was gone. Seemed like an omen to him, best not to try, best not to hope but he still did, under all the bluff and pretense and one night stands he wanted to find someone to share his mind with. He never did. 

Later on Maddie came back but then she was taken away again. The same reason she left last time but this time he didn't let her go, this time he followed and he found her; her mind calling out to him in ice and snow dyed red after she’d fought and won and set herself free of the past. 

Then Maddie stayed and he began to hope again that maybe one day he’d find someone else to share his life and his mind with. 

Less than a year later he did find something, or maybe something found him, he’s never been sure. 

He made his second bond without even realising it, neither of them know exactly when it happened but he must have wanted it and so must Eddie because you can’t make a bond without consent. Maybe one day they’ll work it out, what fused their minds together. 

They might not know when it happened but Buck knows the first time he heard Eddie’s voice in his head. He was frantic, insisting that his friend was alive even when he could see the fear in everyone else’s eyes that the man who had become so important to him was already gone. He’ll never forget it, the moment of utter fear and loss, Eddie buried by 40 feet of mud and Buck had looked at Bobby, desperate for some hope and just as he understood what the sadness on his Captain’s face meant,  Eddie’s voice was there in his head, loud and clear, shouting that he was alive. That he was still alive down there.

He hasn’t heard that today. He hasn’t heard him at all, not since Eddie’s blood touched his lips.

His feet are stuck to the floor, he can’t move, he can’t think, he can’t even breath but worst of all he can’t hear Eddie. 

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Feeding Alligators 65 - Into Thin Air

Y'all walk, walk, walk, walk, walk, run into a gith patrol.

On AO3.

Y’all walk. And walk. And mcfucking walk. You notice Wyll taking a shine to the dog—who says his name is Scratch and you cannot believe you get to talk to a dog, this is the greatest thing to ever happen to you. Y’all’re taking a break, and Wyll still has the energy to throw a ball either he or the dog found. You plonk down next to him.

“I’ve always wanted a dog,” Wyll says, taking the ball once Scratch returns and giving the little guy some really good ear scritches. “My lifestyle never really seemed safe enough for that, though.”

You look at him. Intently.

“Wyll, I think you have a new dog,” you say.

And the man gives you the sweetest smile you ever seen. Even Scratch wags his tail.

All of this draws the owlbear over, and dogs are great, but this little dude seems to want to spend every waking moment when he’s not with the dog, trotting next to you or curled by your side.

You let him scent you before reaching in to give him his own scritches, because that’s good manners. It’s amazing how soft his feathers are. And Halsin nearby smiles as the little dude chirps and trills at you.

“He says, ‘You smell delicious, but I will not bite you. Big brother Scratch says I must not bite,’” Halsin translates.

Scratch wags his tail. Proudly. And you know then and there that if anyone ever hurts this little, feathered murder baby, you will rip their face off.

“Does he have a name?” you ask Halsin.

He does not. So through the druid you ask if he would like one, and his fuzzy ear feathers lift straight up in what you think is excitement.

You consider the tiny ball of potential carnage, and the name pops into your head. It’s stupid. It’s perfect. You don’t even hesitate. “How about Sweetums?”

Someone chokes nearby. Halsin’s grin turns amused and the owlbear tries to crawl up into your lap to nibble at your chin. So he likes it. And now you’ve got a baby owlbear named Sweetums.

And then the trudgery really begins. Three godforsaken days of it. The road turns steep. Turns real rocky. Your thigh muscles shake so hard you start using your whacking stick as an old lady cane. You consider swiping Gale’s so you can go full German hiker with two sticks.

Lae’zel takes point on day one and stays there. She keeps pulling too far ahead, realizes the distance between her and y’all (mostly you) is too far, and stops to wait while muttering swears. Though “mutter” is generous, as y’all can absolutely hear her.

Everybody gets kinda quiet by the second day as the mountain keeps fucking existing. Halsin studies the landscape, pauses to watch birds. You’d write it off as typical hippie shit, except there’s a sharpness to his gaze. The man ain’t just some tree-hugging nature guy. He’s—as he tells you when you ask—fucking four hundred years old and really likes turning into a goddamned bear.

Cool. Okay. You try not to be too intimidated to talk to the guy, which you suspect he picks up on and he starts to engage with you instead. Mostly about stuff you remember from nature documentaries. He seems fascinated when you get to whales and the deep ocean stuff.

So is Gale, who makes y’all take a break so he can bust out his notes. To be fair, the only person complaining is Lae’zel; even Wyll finds a rock to sit against while he fans himself and pets the dog who sprawls over his lap.

Halsin says y’all are making good time; should only be a couple of days more if y’all keep this pace—you assume a bird told him, since y’all been hemmed in on both sides by steep, rock walls dotted with trees clinging at odd angles and can’t see further than the next bend.

The weather holds. There’s less bugs. And clumps of mountain wildflowers burst into color here and there.

Karlach cooes over the first one y’all find. Kneels down and traces the air around the petals just shy of singing them.

“A hearty breed, those,” Halsin says. “Mountain Quartzpetal. The color of the flower will change depending on the type of soil from which it grows.”

“It’s purple,” Karlach says, all soft and awestruck.

Nearby, you catch Astarion roll his eyes. You two ain’t talked a whole lot since he found you shit-faced in the woods. But that nasty tension seems to have eased. Enough for you to say, “You don’t like flowers?”

“They’re rather garish,” he says. “And useless for anything else.”

“They’re aces at being pretty,” Karlach says, not taking her eyes off them as they sway in the breeze.

Astarion only harrumphs and looks away. He’s starting to turn pale again. Looks more like when y’all first met, and you actually notice the faint, dark smears beginning to stain under his eyes. How washed out and chapped his lips are.

Has he been eating?

He still takes first watch when y’all set up camp. You assume he goes off to hunt, but now you wonder how successful them hunts have been.

The words are right there, in the back of your throat.

Then you realize you been studying him too long when he looks back, catches you, and a frown ticks on his brow.

Maybe Halsin can find him something?

You’ll ask tonight. See if there’s prey around.

Naturally, having made up your mind and resumed the never-ending slog, y’all round a bend and come across a bunch of gith. And their—

That. Is a motherfucking dragon.

***

Gith are cunts. You, for an American, ain’t shy about using that word. They got it coming. Only a raggedy ass band of cunts roasts some patrol that was out here. And only a whole bag of cunts listens to Lae’zel trying to turn herself in or whatever, and decides to murder y’all.

The dragon and the guy riding it fuck off (thank god). Lae’zel shouts something, and then the others fall on you.

You stay the fuck outta it.

Baby spiders, you can handle. Short bandits, you can mostly handle if you freak out. Anything bigger than that? Not happening.

Lae’zel is actually the first one to holler for you to get the fuck away. So that’s how fucked y’all are.

The fight is nasty. Lae’zel puts her sword through the head of one of them, splitting off a piece of helmet and a sizeable chunk of skull under that. Karlach chops one with her ax—the lizard manages to get her sword between the ax and her guts, but Karlach hits hard enough the gith gets thrown ass over end. Where Wyll comes in and fries her with an Eldritch blast.

Your ass takes cover behind some rocks. It works pretty well for you, this time. Right up until somebody—Gale—shouts a spell and thunder cracks, and the blast roils through your rib cage even sheltered behind stone.

And the body of a gith slams and skids into the dirt nearby.

You think it’s dead. It don’t move. One eye is cracked open, jaw hanging slack, armor dented to shit.

Then it twitches. You got a second to register that, say “fuck” and then the guy pops back to his damn feet.

He spots you. Snatches a knife from his belt. You scrabble for your stick and hope poison works on these fuckers.

You jab. He only spins past the end of the stick in a tight little fucking twirl, and then he’s too close, knife raised—

An arrow sprouts out the back of his hand. The knife falls. The gith hisses and starts to turn.

The second arrow bursts from the back of his unprotected skull. The gith makes a low, loose sound in the back of his throat. Starts to fall.

You’re on that motherfucker. Swing down again and again, over and over. The first hit catches the chest and the impact from the metal shivers hard up your forearms. So the shining line shifts you down to the knees.

Which you destroy.

The elbows.

You crunch.

The neck.

Three hits.

At some point in there, you end up smashing the face. Over and over, can’t stop won’t stop, he’s a threat. He’ll hurt you. You have to make sure he stays down. Can’t give him a single opening, a single fucking chance to retaliate—

A hand catches your arm. You start to whirl and then your brain registers the white hair.

Astarion stands there. Blood spatters his face, and in the golden light of the afternoon, it’s the same shade as his eyes. He watches you for just a second, and then lets go of your whacking stick.

“I do believe he’s dead, darling,” he says.

You look to the dead gith. He’s a mess. You start to shrink away. This is bad, this ain’t normal, people don’t do this.

But Astarion just clucks his tongue. “Rather systematic, aren’t you? Though he was dead the second I put that arrow into his brainstem. Still, marks for committing to it, I suppose.”

Wha…he…?

He notices you gawping. “Oh, don’t look so surprised, dear. This is hardly the first time I’ve seen you beat a corpse.”

Heat washes up your chest and neck and flares hot over your cheeks.

“Look, even Lae’zel seems less disgruntled than usual.”

Lae’zel glares from you, down to her dead…kin? Oh lord, are they all kin? Then she hocks a wad of spit to the ground.

“Shka’keth!” Lae’zel says. “This is pointless. Kithrak Voss is a traitor, and I will reach this creche and reveal his vile treachery!”

Astarion makes a little humming noise. Unstrings his bow and starts to put his gear away.

“Thank you,” you say.

“Whatever for?” he says, not looking at you—too busy wiping his knives down so he can resheath them.

The fuck does he always gotta make this weird? Can’t just take the thanks or even deflect it like a normal person. It’s like he wants to rub it in your face using reverse psychology. Like he’s forcing some kinda confession outta you.

Part of you want to shrug and walk away. If he wants to play weird mind games, let him. But you’re all adrenalined up, and you been so buttoned down lately, making yourself both small and trying to live up to expectations every waking goddamn moment that you can’t help yourself and you jab back.

Not quite directly. You don’t fight like that. You go for an unguarded flank.

“You been eating?” you say. Classic auntie move.

Because he’s paler than usual and his movements are a touch sluggish.

But his mask is on tight when he gives you a simpering look. “Oh, I’ve had a bite here and there. Why?”

“Just asking.”

You’d…bleed into a cup for him, if he asked. You offered it when y’all had that godawful conversation (is this being too friendly? Is he gonna read something into this?). And you realize you do still mean it.

You know hunger. It’s a vile thing to use against somebody.

Speculation glints in Astarion’s eyes. “I thought we were keeping our distance? That’s awfully intimate, you know.”

“I’d get Shadowheart to open my arm so I could give you a glass of it. If…” You ain’t gonna say “if you wanted.” That’s too close. Too intimate. “If it’d help.”

The glint disappears. And you can’t read him at all. Man shuts up tighter than a bank vault. “To what would I owe such a generous contribution?”

…what?

“Um.”

Owe? You open your mouth to ask what he means.

“Oi, Soldier!” Karlach says from up the trail. “Might wanna double-time it back there!”

Ah shit!

Astarion mutters something you can’t catch, and then you’re grabbing up your shit and hustling after him to catch back up to the group.

Previous - Index - Next Chapter

[cryptidofthewww]

Turning AU!!

Spirit King Yuder!

Spirits have long since persisted in the world of turning, although very rarely are they seen by humans. They’re kind of like fae in that they are elusive, mischievous, and inhuman. Spirits like to make deals like fae, and the only real difference is that they’re all embodiments of elements of nature. The older the feature of nature is the older the spirit is. Although to even look like a child the spirit has to be centuries old (ex: rivers, newer landscapes) spirits of things such as flowers and younger trees are more like sprites or animals, and have a similarly lower intellect. Humans are as aware of spirits as we are of fae (few believe but it is somewhat widely known) spirits typically can’t be seen which is part of why people don’t believe in them. The Awakening happens as per usual and this is where Yuder comes in.

Basically there are two options for this AU

1.

Yuder has been spirit king since forever and isn’t beholden to the same rules as his subjects. So when the awakening happens he gets curious and attempts to insert himself into life near the site of the red stone. This ends up with him joining the cavalry, this time with his motivation being satisfying his curiosity. He ends up in various shenanigans with the cavalry as a result of his clear inhumanity. It would be extra funny if literally everybody thinks Yuder is a spy because of how suspiciously he’s acting (talking to thin air, sneaking around, missing at odd times, disrespecting ALL royalty) and when Enon joins (they already know each other) he adds fuel to the fire because he thinks it’s funny. They probably find out because one of the spirits forgets to hide themselves one day.

2. The ANGSTIER option

The spirits have their own main element(wind, earth, fire, water) kings, but when Yuder gains abilities from the red stone he gains the ability to control all of nature. A power that no one else in the history of the world was able to do. With all of nature (meaning spirits as well) respecting his will, this triggers Yuder’s gradual ascension into a spirit (king).

Btw the reason no other awakened or mage ascended to a spirit is because they typically have one or two spirits following them around where it’s a symbiotic relationship, essentially a deal, where the person gets control over the element, while the spirits powers grow. The difference is literally all spirits listen to Yuder and obey him as long as he as the power to direct them.

In the 1st timeline Yuder found out about the world ending much earlier, along with the Pethuamet’s incident (he didn’t make it in time, although the cavalry got there faster) due to the spirits. This doesn’t actually mean anything and he’s even more stressed (with less evidence but more likelihood in the world ending) and kishiar is not helping. And Yuder’s own pending immortality is going to suck ass in a world that’s ended. The spirits being the mischievous little fuckers that they are tell Yuder to just take kishiar’s soul bcs he likes him and he’ll probably be less annoying. Yuder is understandably distressed by this and tired of the spirits bs, but does agree when the spirits tell him he can just let kishiar live out his natural life span then take his soul, and it’ll be even easier considering their connection and many “deals”.

So things (unsurprisingly) go to shit when Kishiar severs their connection. Yuder at that point had been pretty well into integrating into the world, and having a part of the (eventual) spirit king’s soul ripped out made everything that much worse.

If you’re wondering about how exactly Kishiar had enough power to do that, think a pebble causing an avalanche, with Yuder’s soul being the pebble, the end of the world being the avalanche.

Yuder then goes though canon 1st timeline events with the main difference being Yuder refusing to use his powers, rather than being unable to. ( he feels he caused the end, for no real reason)

I don’t know how much changes other than Yuder’s emotional state (it’s 10x worse) and how much he tries to push Kishiar away bcs he doesn’t want to force him into selling his soul away ( We all know Kishiar would be all in as long as it’s his precious Yuder 😊)

Anyways he and Emon also have existential crises together too now.

[dragonologist-writings]

Title: Every Road Never Taken Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins Rating: G Status: One-Shot Characters: Tabris, Aeuducan, Surana, Amell, Brosca, Cousland, Mahariel Additional Notes: All Origins Are True Word Count: 3k Summary:

You're an outcast. Or you're a noble. Or you're a criminal. Or you're lost. Whatever you are, you're in trouble. And Duncan isn't here to save you.

read below or here on ao3

You do not go quietly into the dungeons.

At one point you manage to get an arm free and very nearly make an escape, only to be brought to the ground moments later. It’s a wonder the guards don’t simply kill you then and have done with it.

Your crime requires something grander, you suppose. A trial before the arl, public execution. There is no other end to this story, and that dark truth hangs over your head like a heavy cloud. Still, you don’t, won’t, can’t accept it. You fight even as you are thrown into the arl’s dungeons and left in the dark.

For a long time, the only sounds are the distant dripping of water and your own heavy breathing. You wait in exhausted anticipation for the guards to return. The arl’s son lies dead by your hand. The shems will want justice swiftly.

Justice. Ha.

A chill sets in, and you realize you’re still in your wedding clothes, the simple finery now tattered and bloodstained. You sink to the floor and let out a single delirious laugh that echoes across the dungeon halls.

One elf with a stolen sword fought through an army of trained soldiers. It sounds like the sort of story that the Alienage children would dream up and whisper to each other. The sort of story that would make your father worry and your mother smile. The sort of story you and Shianni would reenact with play weapons fashioned from the branches of the venedhal.

At least you have one comfort. Whatever else happens today, Shianni is safe.

You don’t know how long it’s been when the dungeon door opens with a resounding clang. The sudden noise brings you to your feet, despite your protesting body. You are in no condition to fight, but you prepare to do so anyway.

To your surprise, it is not a guard who approaches but an elf, older and dressed in servant attire. He greets you with an easy smile as if you’re simply crossing paths at the market rather than inside a prison cell.

“You must be the one who caused all the fuss upstairs,” he says lightly.

You can only stare in surprise. “And you are?”

He smiles. “Right now, what’s important is that I’m a Friend.” From the way he speaks, you can tell he’s capitalizing the word in his mind. “And I believe you have the potential to be one as well.”

“Friend… to who?”

“Friend…,” the old man takes a dramatic pause and bows deeply, “of Red Jenny.”

The name is unfamiliar. “I don’t-”

Voices ring out from a nearby room, and you fall silent until they fade into the distance.

“There will be time to explain further,” the man says brusquely. “We must leave before the chaos subsides.” He fishes through his pockets and produces an iron key. “Are you ready for an escape?”

This must be a dream, you think, but a smile spreads across your face anyway. “I’m in.”

-

Everybody knows that you don’t go into the Deep Roads alone. Even scouts that travel ahead of expeditions are sent in twos or threes. The dangers are simply too great- collapsing tunnels, wild deepstalkers, and of course, darkspawn.

To enter the Deep Roads alone is a death sentence.

You stagger through the tunnel, trying desperately to make as little noise as possible. The breastplate you wear is too large, and the rattling of metal echoes unnaturally through the cavern. The armor, along with the sword you carry, belonged to a man whose name you will never know, some poor soul who died here and was never recovered.

His bad fortune is your good. You were stripped of equipment before your exile. Surviving a day in the Deep Roads without protection or weapons is impossible. Surviving with a pilfered breastplate and sword is… slightly less so.

Footsteps echo down the tunnel, and you bite down a curse as you press yourself against the wall, praying to whatever Ancestors are still listening that the darkspawn pass by. You’re strong- strong enough that both of your brothers saw you as a threat- but even you can’t keep this up forever. At some point, you will be overwhelmed.

The mental image of your brother, smug and secure, sets your blood boiling. He thinks he’s won. But you’re not dead yet, and you plan to keep it that way. Somehow.

The footsteps grow louder, and you grip on your stolen sword tightens. Before you can attack, however, you hear the last thing you expect.

“Less darkspawn than usual. Don’t know whether I should be relieved or worried.”

“Let the commander worry. I’m enjoying the quiet.”

The shock of the voices- not just the garbled noises darkspawn make, but real dwarven voices- has you moving before you even know who is speaking. You don’t know if these people are friendly, but you’re already in the Deep Roads alone with no supplies. You don’t see how things can get more dangerous.

You leave the shadows and find yourself facing two dwarves, a man and a woman. The man yelps in surprise at the sight of you, and the woman draws her weapon. In a panic, you throw your hands up. “Wait! I just need help!”

The woman pauses, and you can sense her confusion. “How the blazes did you end up here?”

For a moment, you don’t know what to say. How much should you explain? Would these people offer aid to disgraced royalty? Finally, you just shrug. “I was sent here to die.”

Oddly, the man’s face lights up. “Us too!” He studies you. “I don’t know why you’re here, but you’re still walking, so I assume you can use that sword. The commander will want to meet you.”

“Who?”

“That’s not a bad idea!” Now grinning with excitement, the woman motions for you to follow and begins leading you down the tunnel. “Whoever you are, the Legion of the Dead is always accepting new members.”

-

Against all odds, it turns out to be a good thing that they placed you in the cells. It means you’re sequestered away when the demons come.

Keeping track of time is difficult as a prisoner. You’re not certain how long it’s been since the incident with Jowan. Despite everything, you don’t quite regret helping him. You really only had two friends here, and he was one of them. But after his scheme was uncovered, Jowan had fled, leaving you and your remaining friend to be carted to the cells.

And here you remain while Irving and Greagor argue over what to do with the two of you. Whatever they are planning becomes irrelevant once the commotion above splits the silence around you.

It starts with screaming- screaming that you recognize from Templars and mages mixed in with unnatural noises that you can’t place.

“What’s going on!?” You shout, but no answer comes. The Templars that normally stand just outside the doors are gone. You stand helplessly in your cell for a few moments, but as the noises above increase, your desperation peaks. Summoning your mana, you reach out with a burst of energy that sends the bars of your cell flying against the wall.

It’s not like you can get in much more trouble, anyway.

A similar burst from across the hall lets you know that your friend has followed suit, and soon both of you are pounding on the thick dungeon door. The cacophony beyond the door is too chaotic to decipher, but you know in your bones something horrible is happening.

At last, you are able to make out the voices of the Templars. But what you hear is not comforting.

“Come! We’re sealing the doors!”

“Wait! Surana and Amell are still locked below!”

“We don’t have time! We need to contain the demons!”

The voices grow dim. You lock eyes with your friend as the realization hits. Nobody is coming for you.

At first you can do nothing but stare at each other in shock, but soon enough your friend shakes themselves off and grabs your arm. “I have an idea.”

The two of you make your way to the only source of light in the dungeons- a barred window overlooking the lake. It’s small, but not too small for an elf or human to squeeze through.

The metal screeches as it is bent away by your magic, but nobody is around to hear. Outside that window, beyond the gray lake, waits a world you barely know. You look to your fellow mage, soon to be fellow apostate.

“They have our phylacteries.”

“They’ll think we’re dead. Whatever’s happening, there’s going to be a lot of bodies left behind.”

“Can you swim?”

“Probably.”

“Are you scared?”

The two of you fall silent. You look out the window again, and you know such a chance doesn’t come twice in a lifetime. “We can do this if we stick together.”

Your words are met with a smile. “Let’s go.”

-

You shuffle your feet as the guards lead you through the streets, hoping to delay the journey as long as possible. The nobles will want a public execution, and you hope that’s something that takes a lot of preparation. Even now, there must be a way for you to escape, just like you escaped the Carta hideout.

At least Leske managed to get away. You don’t blame him for running- he would only get himself killed trying to free you. But your hope isn’t completely gone, and you’re contemplating escape plans when the sound of running footsteps draws near and the guard leading you forward stops dead in his tracks.

“What-”

“A message from the prince!”

Your head snaps up in surprise at the familiar voice. Rica stands in the middle of the road, looking terrified and holding out a scroll.

The guard regards her with disdain. “A royal message would never be delivered by a Casteless. Get out of the way or we’ll bring you in, too.”

“Just look!” Rica insists, and although her voice shakes she stands her ground. “These orders come directly from Prince Bhelen himself.”

The guard sighs and swipes the scroll from her hand. His eyes narrow as he takes in the official-looking seal, and then widen with anger as he reads the words. “Impossible!”

“Take it up with the prince,” Rica says, and you grin at her nerve. Then, miraculously, the guard lowers his weapons and signals to the others to do the same.

“I plan to,” the guard growls. “And once we sort this out, we’ll be back for both your heads.” The guard turns with a huff and begins unlocking your shackles.

As they march away, you think you must still be locked in a cell, and this is some sort of desperate hallucination. Then Rica is hugging you, and you realize it’s real.

“How did you that?!”

Rica laughs wildly. “I have… connections, now. I told you about my patron.”

“He did this?”

“Well…” Rica blushes. “I might have stolen a seal he keeps in his desk…”

“You’re amazing.”

“And you have to leave before they realize what I did.”

But you can’t go home. Everyone in this city wants to kill you. There’s only one place left. “I’ll go the surface.”

Rica bites her lip, but nods. “It’s the only safe option. I’ll delay the guards as long as I can. Can you get out of here alone?”

“Of course. But I can’t just abandon you.”

“I’ll be okay.” There’s worry in Rica’s face, but determination, too. “My patron won’t be pleased, but he wants to keep me around.”  She gives one last, tight hug, then turns away and hurries after the guards.

Despite the concern you still feel for your sister, you know she’s right. She’s a Brosca, and Brosca’s are tough. With that knowledge, you head the other direction- away from the city you’ve known all your life, and towards the doors that lead out into the sun.

-

Never before has the road from Highever felt so long.

Of course, you’ve usually made the journey by cart, or at least on horseback. You’ve usually had food and a change of clothes. And you’ve usually been with-

You bite your lip hard and focus back on the road, not allowing your thoughts to stray. You can’t afford to break down now. You need to be strong, like your father would have wanted.

“What is it, dear?”

Your mother’s words rouse you from your thoughts, and you angrily blink away the tears that have begun to form in the corners of your eyes. You drop your gaze to the mabari at your side, focusing instead on scratching his ears as you walk, finding a small amount of solace in the familiar action. “It’s nothing.”

Your mother does not push. Perhaps she is lost in her own memories, her own grieving. If so, she does not show it- she has not cried a single tear since the two of you escaped.

You had to leave. Otherwise, Howe’s men would have killed you, just as they killed your father and your nephew and your soldiers and servants. So much death- your first real battle, in the last place you would have ever expected.

But it still feels wrong. You'd wanted to stay, to stand beside your father and fight to the death. And you could tell by the hard anger that burned in your mother’s eyes that she did, too. Still, your father begged you to run, and your mother could not let you go alone.

After hours of walking in pained silence, you reach a fork in the roadway. Your mother nods towards the eastern road. “This way.”

You hesitate. “To Denerim? But the king is at Ostagar.”

“We won’t arrive there in time. Not on our own, and not with Howe’s forces on the road searching for us. In Denerim, we can appeal to the queen. Anora wields more power than her husband, anyway, and has always respected me; once she learns the truth of Howe’s crimes, she will see to it that we have our justice.”

There is an edge to your mother’s voice that you have never heard before. There is a strange comfort to it, an echoing of your own pain that you haven’t yet been able to fully process.

Listening to your mother speak of justice, you let that pain-the grief, the betrayal, the anger- wash over you. And you know there is only one form of justice that you can possibly accept. “I want to kill Howe.”

For a moment you think your mother will admonish you; she has always tried to keep you away from the battlefield, has always encouraged you to use diplomacy before picking up the sword. But instead she puts a steady hand on your shoulder and looks you in the eyes, and for perhaps the first time you see clearly why she was once known as the Seawolf.

“We will.”

-

It is a routine hunting trip, just you and Tamlen tracking deer and scaring away shems. Even the ruins you stumble across are a source of curiosity rather than caution. Until you find the mirror.

Tamlen moves towards it, entranced, even as your instincts warn you to get away. When Tamlen reaches his arm out, as if to run his fingers across the surface, you act without fully realizing what you are doing. Your arm takes hold of his to wrench it away, but not quickly enough. You don’t know what happens next- there is light, and a tugging sensation in your stomach, and a dizzying fall, and then you are in darkness. There is pain, and something burning within your veins, and then…

Nothing.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you wake up. You don’t know where you are- it’s not the ruins, but it’s not the forest, either. It’s dark, and damp, and the ground you’re laying on has the cold smoothness of stone.

And Tamlen isn’t here. You stagger to your feet, calling out into the darkness.

“Tamlen?”

You strain your ears for any sign of response, praying to whichever god might be able to hear you from… wherever you are. Echoes of your voice fill the cavern, and the faint response is almost masked. But you hear it.

You follow the voice until at last you find him, pale and sickly but alive. He rushes to you, frantic. “There you are! What happened? Where are we? What was that mirror?”

You shake your head weakly. “I don’t know any more than you do.” Up close, Tamlen looks even worse- all the color has drained from his face, and his movements are slow and weak. “Are you okay? You look…”

Tamlen interrupts your statement with a hacking cough. He looks up at you with a sheepish smile. “About as good as I feel, I assume? You don’t look so well, either.”

He’s probably right. You’ve been fighting off the weakness ever since you awoke. You knees wobble unsteadily beneath you, and your entire body is sore and feverish.

“Maybe we… fell through the floor of the ruins or something,” you say, trying to push the sick feelings away, “We have to find our way back.”

With both of you weak on your feet, the going is slow. All you can do is trust your instincts and pray you’re not moving deeper underground. In time, however, your movements become more confident. You still don’t know where you are, but you feel something… calling to you.

The feeling gets stronger until you turn a corner and see a towering creature in your path. You freeze, terrified. The… thing before you is decayed, inhuman, unnatural. But when it speaks, its voice is calm and intelligent.

“Do not be afraid. I am the Architect.” It reaches out a hand, and you shiver at the sight of its long, spindly fingers. “You have been tainted. I can help you.”

[redfish-blu]

An Open Letter to the Danger Days Tumblr Community:

Now that you’ve read that overdramatic title and are wondering who fucked up, I have something to say about the Danger Days Tumblr community: I Love You.

Danger Days was the first fandom I ever posted for on any site. All the way back in middle school (ho-ly shit). And let me tell you what I found out even way back when: this is not an easy fandom to be in.

For one, most people don’t even know it exists. For two, even less know it in the way it’s been cultivated on Tumblr. Almost every single person has such a niche interpretation of every little detail, that it’s impossible to draw a line through any two versions of the story. Which is a fact I personally love, but I also think it scares a lot of people away. You have to work to be in this fandom. Both as a passive and active fan. It requires patience and tolerance for disappointment.

But that’s exactly why I want to encourage everyone who creates and everyone who listens to Keep Doing That. Like I cannot stress this enough, that is what keeps this fandom and IP alive. Danger Days as a universe would be absolutely nothing without fan work (re: the California Comics), especially a decade later. Without fans who care about this story way more than it has warranted us to care, it would be six feet under. And sometimes I really think that’s what it deserves (and maybe the writers think that as well), but for the life of me I just can’t let that happen. I’ve tried to let this fucking thing go, believe me.

And funny enough, that exact feeling is evidenced by the community on this site too. Which has changed faces almost completely from what it was three years ago for better and less better in some cases. And it’s something I still struggle with adjusting to, but I look at the tag daily. I look everyone’s posts and blogs and art and effort. If you have posted even once in the dd tag my eyes have 100% seen it. So even if I still feel a little out of place, like a ghost of fandom’s past, at least I know everybody. And I know people feel the same way: No rest for the wicked.

When I reanimated from my fandom coma I was fully expecting to find that the community had gone extinct. Partially because all the blogs I used to frequent had straight up died in the three years I was gone. But I pulled up to the gates of the Danger Days tag like Rick Grimes outside of Alexandria, fully expecting to be devastated, only to find New People tilling the fucking field. And it didn’t matter that I now had no idea who any of you people were, it was The Most welcoming thing ever.

I’ll be the first to tell you this fandom bares almost no resemblance to the one I left, and I’m not going to lie and say it’s better now, but the foundation didn’t get blown away in the storm. That’s what I find uniquely profound. That everyone here still wants to try. And that makes me really want to try. And I’m sure everyone would agree that there is often little reward for the effort; but that’s precisely my point in saying all this shit. That even despite the not fun aspects, we all still clock in; and there’s a new post, headcanon, drawing, or fic every freaking day. It’s commendable, really.

If you’re lurking, or post sometimes but feel afraid to actually take a leap here because (the fandom is comparatively tiny to the greater MCR fandom) you’ll be way more out there, and the already established figureheads of the fandom will definitely see your stuff: post post post. This is my formal endorsement to Just Post That Shit. And Interact With That Shit. I spent a year gathering the courage to publish the tiniest thing while behind the scenes I literally wrote about 60+ works. You have to respect your own creativity and trust that other people will give it the time of day.

So do not feel crazy or discouraged about your ideas here! Like we literally need them to function, I would not be here if it wasn’t for all the people three years ago who just posted all their thoughts about Danger Days. About everything. Obscure or not. It’s truly a gift that this fandom has attracted people who are willing to work their brains because the original creators let it fall flat. I cannot tell you how much being in this fandom has actually helped me out in my writing and analysis skills.

So yeah. I fucking love this fandom, I love being in it and I love seeing that people are still stoking the flames. I wanted to say all this crap because I knew I’d be able to articulate it for the people who can relate but don’t want to be the first to say it. Which is okay, understandable. As I said earlier this fandom is like yelling your thoughts out into a very echoey room that only has a few people in it. So I’ll shout first and maybe it’ll make other people more comfortable to shout back.

[tempest-talks]

irl quotes <3

hayyyyyy y’all, i’m back and if you want to see some of my irls here on tumblr C is @some-horse-gurl and Titi is @jarondont

one more thing, if you’ve read these before you’ll have seen E but she’s annoying and decided she will now be ‘slayer of dance’ so keep an eye out.

Me: “baby shot glass would murder the world” lady floutist: “i would thank it”

idk where the baby shot glass came from but i don’t trust it

C: “my beautiful water bottle i dropped down the stairs and hit two children”

C: *southern accent* C: “i don’t know what i did wrong to little Suzie”

C, who is Suzie? we don’t know one

lil miss muffin: “why do they have faces?”

C: “cause some of us aren’t creative” Me: “who’s some of us?” C: “me”

goth leaf: “dude is pizza real food?” lady floutist: “i don't know...i think pizza is just...pizzaaaa”

C: “that’s unfortunately my child” lady flouist: *offended* C: “i love you slightly less than my other child”

C: “i’m sorry but my other child makes my school papers look demonic.”

tomato: “tomatoes go on your shirt”

truer words have never been spoken

C: “what like .01% of the time?” slayer of dance: “No, no be nice” C: “I’m talking about myself” slayer of dance: “oh then carry on”

once again, i present, the ‘married’ couple

Me: “ew leap day” C: “lake be nice” Me: “the last one was in horror year i will not be nice”

C: “that’s too bad because you kiLLED EVERYBODY ELSE”

you believe me if i said this is about the oregon trail?

C: “have any of us died yet?”

again, oregon trail

lil miss muffin: “slayer of dance drowned” C: “YES”

still oregon trail

C: “that’s too bad because you kiLLED EVERYBODY ELSE”

oregon trail!

lil miss muffin: “C are you being greenist?”

watching the wizard of oz with your friends is fun, i promise.

C: “I hate when they describe a place like it’s so old and beat up” C: “I DONT GIVE A FUCK”

C: “my entire family has brown eyes including me, except for my dad like whAT DO YOU THINK MAKES YOU SPECIAL”

i don’t think she likes her dad much

C: “you can’t help people by bashing their head in”

slayer of dance stole C’s water bottle

slayer of dance: “i thought you were gonna say you can’t help people by bashing their head in” slayer of dance: *hits C* slayer of dance: “i think it’s working”

with a paper. i think.

Me: “… and you’ll die” C: “slay”

tomato: “why do i kinda want a lockdown to happen” Me: “because it would be exciting and you could possibly die” C: *gasp* C: “i wanna die”

we are very concerning

C: “when in doubt divorce it out”

Me: “i’m aliv-“ *coughs* *dies*

C: “kindness doesn’t matter” C: “Be a mean person”

lady floutist: “here C, try this” C: “HOLY SHIT”

istg lady floutist carries bricks in her backpack

C: “leave no space for other citizens”

Titi: “i am actually sobbing” Me: *doesn’t look up* Me: “are you sure? that doesn’t seem true” Titi: *offended* Titi: “i WAS sobbing”

she’s reading the oddest because she’s obsessed with Epic: the musical

C: “please just flip people off”

lady floutist: “what’s with all the ruffles this isn’t the 1800s, burn it like the witches that wore it”

goth leaf: “i love witchcraft”

i do too!!!

lovely, this was fun but i shall see you all again in the future, adieu!

[winniethewife]

You Can’t Always Save Everybody.

(Miguel O’hara x Spidersona!Scarlette Web)

Chapter 1

Words:1467

Warning; Angst, Violence

A new super villain with the moniker Scarlette Web was causing problems. There was no precedent for this in any other universe. But she wasn't an anomaly. She was supposed to be there. But why wasn't the local spider stopping her? Miguel, Peter B. And Gwen go to the universe in question to investigate.

 “She should have been capable enough to defeat this Scarlet Web person on her own with no complications.” Miguel says to the group as they stake out a high up building. He couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Just then they hears a voice from behind him.

“Miguel O'Hara. I'm surprised it took you this long to come investigate. You're usually so on top of these disruptions in canon.” There stood the Scarlett Web. Her dark red and black suit was quite reminiscent of a classic Spiderman suit, with additions, high heel boots, bracers, and a cowl. What really bothered him was that her voice was really familiar. And the way she held herself.

“Sarlette web, I presume?” Miguel questioned

“In the flesh.” She says with a sadistic tone in her voice. She uses web shooters to stick him to the wall behind him. Something they didn’t expect. Miguel found it impossible to move, this was not normal webbing. He struggled to get out as she fought off the others.

“Woah, Hey wait you like know all my good moves!” Peter exclaims as She easily fights him off and easily webs his arms together and kicks his legs out from under him. Gwen was to busy fighting off some spider-like robots too even have a second to notice Scarlette approach, she puts her hand over Gwen’s mouth and some kind of sleeping agent penetrates her mask and she’s out cold.  

“Nice to see some familiar faces.” She snidely remarks as she walks up to Miguel. “How’s the new web formula I created? Several times stronger than what you use at the society. Plus with the added bonus is the more you struggle the harder it is to get out.”

“No way hang on…Miguel…it’s-” Peter realizes who they were dealing with.

“Valentine…” Miguel is taken by surprise.

Valentine Foxx joined the Spider-society early on, an amazing inventor, she was a little cold a little distant. She had lost her husband just under a year before, they had been together since sophomore year of high school, It hadn’t helped when a man almost identical to her husband had shown up and asked her to become a part of the Spider Society.

Her Miguel was thinner, less muscular, he had several tattoos and piercings, he was a Bassist for a Punk band that was just starting to get popular when the unthinkable happened. A shooting at a concert, Miguel was declared DOA, dead on arrival. Valentine was fighting Green Goblin the night it happened. There was nothing she could have done. Valentine had hardly recovered, when The figure of Miguel O’hara, Spiderman 2099, came into her life.

Although He looked like her husband they had very little in common personality wise. What surprised most that knew either of the two however was they became fast friends. Miguel had a soft spot for her, and she let down her barriers of ice for him. It seemed like they had really found solace in each other’s company. That was until everything had happened with Miles, and Miguel closed her out. No more patrols together, No more quite afternoons in the lab, no more slightly drunken escapades where they got closer than they should have, none of that. Valentine felt like she had lost everything all over again. So one day, She portaled home, threw her gizmo in a drawer and wasn’t seen for months…until now.

 ~

She was so different now, it felt wrong. Miguel struggled against the webs, only to get himself further stuck.

“You’re not Valentine…” Miguel hissed. “She would never do this!” But that voice…

 “Believe it O'hara!” She hissed before pulling her mask off to reveal her face. It was most definitely Valentine. Those piercing midnight eyes, the beautiful raven hair, the porcelain skin. That was definitely her. “How far the mighty have fallen hm? A spider woman switching sides? Inconceivable right? Well here I am.” She continues in that venomous tone with a smirk on her face as she watches his reaction.

 “This isn’t you…” Miguel said “What the hell happened to you?” he questioned, as her voice caused him to flinch every now and then. It was almost unsettling, to hear her voice say such things.

“Oh this is me Miguel. This is the me you created...”she chuckles slightly “what the hell happened to me? You. You happened to me. You got under my skin. Made me think I was doing good for the multiverse. Made me think that all the suffering I went through was worth it. Being spider woman is about sacrifices. The choices we make along the way. With great power comes great responsibility....” She mocks him before coming in really close and turning off his holographic mask. “All that bullshit you tell us right?”

“You’ve lost your way…” Miguel stated, the truth stinging. “You went off the deep end…” Miguel could see it in her eyes, she meant what she said. He was responsible for letting things get this far, he pushed one of his closest friend too far.

“Oh yeah I got pretty fucking lost. Went from having a community, a close friend, someone I thought I could trust with my entire self.” Her eyes glare into his with intensity. “But then I just became a thorn in your side right? I was easily discarded. It's easy to forget about little Valentine.” She sneers at him. “Poor little spider girl, hangs on Miguel's every word, practically worshipped the ground he walked on, wanted nothing more than to be his friend, his confidant…” She grabs his hair and pulls it up hard hitting his head into the wall. “Easy to lose track of her right?”

Valentine was truly gone.

“You’re not Valentine! Where’s the Valentine I know! What happened to her?!” Miguel questioned, as he began writhing. He began to get angrier and angrier with her.

“Oh, at first she just cried...for days. Wondering what she did wrong. One day there was a knock at the door and she thought for sure it was you. There to make everything better. But no!” She pulls his hair again so He's looking directly at her. “After that she hid in the closet for a couple days. Eventually she finally got mad. And once she got mad she got pissed. And now she...is me.” She narrows her eyes at him.

“You… are insane.” he hissed. Every time she pulled his hair or hurt him in some way Miguel felt like he was losing his mind. As she spoke that dark smile on her faces pissed him off. Her words were getting under his skin, and it was infuriating.

“Oh, if you think I'm insane now...”she kissed her teeth. “At first I just wanted you to fucking pay attention. I just wanted you to notice. But I quickly figured out, it's a lot of fun to be the bad guy.” She grins at him as she yanks his head back hitting his head on the wall again before laughing. “If it's so bad why does it feel so damn good?” She pulls his face closer to hers and she grins at him with a sadistic evil glint in her eye. Miguel tried struggling, but the more he tried, the more stuck he got.

“Damn it. She really is crazy…” Peter says quietly.

The way she looked was unsettling. Her dark eyes blood shot, her every word dripping with venom.

“You aren’t My Valentine though.” Miguel hissed. ”My Valentine wouldn’t do this.”

She tuts her tongue at him and releases his hair before grabbing him by the chin. As she made him look into her eyes the smile faded from her face.

“You keep telling yourself that. Whatever lets you sleep at night Miggy.” She uses that nickname the one he only lets her use. For flash of a second he can see his Valentine in her eyes as the shimmer slightly with tears. She closes her eyes and lets his face go. Valentine starts to walk away.

“Go ahead and tell everyone back home that I’m the villain now but please... don’t forget to tell them… you created me.” She says with a sense of finality. She swings away from the scene. Knowing that although the new webbing formula was more dangerous and deadly it only lasted about an hour. And she was running out of time to get out of there before Miguel and the others were free from the webs.

~

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Tag: @femmeanonymelives

[emilieautumnarchives]

I throw up my hands...

Posted: January 12, 2008 Archived from BonnyTymePyrate’s Journal Archives

Hmmm…Suffer’s kidnapping and my plot for revenge has undoubtedly put me into a foul mood, something not entirely unassisted by my having been unable (happy “un” day) to refill my myriad drug prescriptions while on tour leaving me still unmedicated (which, in accordance with the public’s positively moronic understanding of bi-polar disorder, and yes, that is the exact same thing as manic-depression, folks, means that I ought to be out fucking some paparazzo guy whose name I can’t pronounce and jetting off to Mexico after shaving my head and getting myself kicked out of the Four Seasons every night)…but this would do in anybody’s day, UNless of course, as I’ve said before, you’re a fucking potato (would you be surprised if I told you just how many letters I’ve received from good people telling me, “Although according to you I’m a "fucking potato” - insert UNnecessary *wink* here - I’m a big F-A-N"):

So, word is!

Lady Marine. Pregnant. Went missing last month after accusing her superior Marine officer of raping her (can anyone enlighten me as to why news reporters aren’t allowed to call rape “rape” anymore, instead using the ambiguous and relatively harmless sounding “sexual assault,” which implies something about as important as saying that a kid on the playground pushed you…). Nobody believed her. Her family didn’t believe her (and WHY do we not tell our families??). Her own mother comes out and says, “She’s bipolar and has a history a lying.” I wonder if the accusation might have been taken a bit more seriously had her family not have publily discredited her before she even had a chance to hit the stand. Anyhow! Good news is, it doesn’t matter now, thank god, because she’s been found. In a shallow grave. Double murder.

Whodunit????

Who do you fucking think?

The guy she said raped her.

Oh well. If she had been black, and male, it would have been called a “hate crime”, as well it should be, and attacked with all the force of the military because, hey, a racial slur against Tiger Woods is a national shame with full media coverage and talks on “how can this happen in this century???”, but no, she’s a dumb crazy cunt who shouldn’t have been in the Marines anyway, and we all know that, right?

I swear to bloody god, the next boy I tell my “rape story” to who snaps at me, “why the hell didn’t you do anything about it?”, as if I had personally offended HIM, I’m going to fucking get one of Crumpet Aprella’s sexy-ass lighters and torch this planet.

Moral of the Story: Female in 2008 = lower than livestock + rumored mental illness = subhuman species with no rights and less credibility + “is this country really ready for a female President?” = no, not while we’re still a minority + oh, wait, we’re not a minority, we’re the majority = don’t try counting, little girls, math ain’t your thing.

And so, on that note, let it be said that, when I am kidnapped by one of the sweet & gentle stalkers who have already threatened it and who ruin it for everybody by making me wary and overprotected and unable to touch muffins or take pictures or even go to certain sides of the stage so don’t blame me when the signings stop, just look around you (jeez, they’ve already taken Suffer, what the fuck is next?), or simply just fucked up for the last time by some random guy on the street who doesn’t give a fuck who I am, yes, let it be said that I was Bipolar and therefore without credibility, not to be believed, not to be taken seriously in any way. And hey! They’re right! It’s all good! Because, isn’t that what I’m always preaching anyway? Lighten up, goths! Always look on the bright side…

I love you little potatoes, see you in Hell (Sartre’s hell, that is), but for now my heart is racing (proximity to Sir Edward and Basil?) which means the best thing to do is take a walk. I recommend we all do it, now. It’s walking time. Get on your winter coats, double socks please, I’ll see you on the streets in five.

EA

p.s.

As long is no one’s biting their tongue today, I will confess that I HAVE gotten into trouble at the Four Seasons, and Lady Joo Hee can confirm it…I was refilling our champagne flutes during high tea with the vanilla vodka I had stashed in my sarcastic pink thermos, and waiter boy didn’t like it, poor thing…best day evah!

Hey, Brit Brit, I’m on my way!

p.p.s.

Note To The Press: Being Bipolar doesn’t make you do any of the things that the Hollywood fucked-up are doing. Being a drug addict does. There’s a big difference. And it’s days like these that give me the slightest splinter of a reminder of why in the hell I am writing a book about it. So, please, remind me of this day when it comes out and I can’t quite recall why I went to the trouble.

p.p.p.s.

OK, I admit it: this is all just because I went to Home Depot the other day to find some new electrical outlet covers for my Asylum cell (apparently I failed to observe the “no shoes, no penis, no service” sign on the door) and as some middle-aged fucker passed me, instead of saying “excuse me” as he would have said to any other person, he said, “ I’m sorry, little girl.”

Hell? We’re livin’ it, bitches!!