#excerpt is from an upcoming chapter

[evilasiangenius]

Mistakes Were Made: Sleeping Beauty Crowley

In the ruins of an abandoned rose-covered villa, Aziraphale protects a sleeping Crowley from a world fallen into chaos.

Of course, mistakes were made...

Excerpt below cut

The house was covered in thorns. Tendrils crawled up the walls, the broken columns and dead trees like a contagion seeping up from the ground, black and twisted, thick vines dark with dripping condensation.

“Well, this seems promising. Fit habitation for a demon. I think you’d approve, if you were awake. Your new home away from Hell,” Aziraphale said as he stepped over the threshold, holding Crawley in his arms.

He paused, taking a breath. There was something novel about this, but why did that gesture seem significant?

Aziraphale looked down at Crawley. The fold of the blanket had fallen from Crawley’s face, and he could see that beneath a curling lock of dark hair was that sharp point of a nose, the excellent cheekbones that defined the contours of the demon’s beauty.

It was a good thing he could not see himself, because there was a wistfulness in his expression that would have shocked him.

He walked down the long colonnade of the outer courtyard, Crawley cradled against his shoulder. When people lived here it would have been bright and cheerful, but now it was left in a deep gloom; the ornamental trees and plants had overgrown the courtyard, blotting out the sun, and in the deep shade the central pool was frozen, covered in crackling ice.

[thuumwrestler]

Kaethan waited for Kelrath to say something, legs crossed at the ankle. Kelrath focused on the boy’s boots so he wouldn’t see the face, wouldn’t see the way Kaethan’s eyes were filled with nothing but a child’s own devotion. He could feel the Urge, thick and sweet ooze in his blood like treacle, returning in earnest just like Bhaal promised. “Now’s not a good time to be around me, lamb,” Kelrath said.

Kelrath thought about Bhaal’s words, about the boy’s comfortable ease in Kelrath’s presence. There was a time this boy hid behind his hair, hid behind noncommittal statements, careful omissions; there was none of that fear now. Kaethan hadn’t sensed the danger yet, hadn’t noticed the tense line of Kelrath’s shoulders.

///

It was Kaethan, striding through the door with an open and easy smile. The boy had taken to cutting his hair differently in the past few months, the fringe remained long on only one side now, framing the angle of his jaw and everywhere else it was cropped shorter, falling loose around his ears.

The boy sat down on the corner of Kelrath’s desk, within arm’s reach of him like there wasn’t anything to fear in Kelrath, like he shouldn’t keep his distance.

“Those Ilmater saps are back in the alleys nearby,” Kaethan said. “There are barely any Fists out either, apparently there’s a fire not too far from here so they’re occupied.” The boy smiled like the fire was more than just coincidence. “It would be a good night for slaughter,” he said. “Convenient even.”

Kaethan was almost eighteen now, what humans would consider a man. Kelrath still remembered a boy that was all long limbs, slender lines, soft features. He still had some of that softness, Elven blood rendered in the angle of his cheekbones as well as his ears; but he’d filled out in other places—shoulders broader, jaw wider— an athletic build meant more for dexterity than acts of strength.

Kaethan waited for Kelrath to say something, legs crossed at the ankle. Kelrath focused on the boy’s boots so he wouldn’t see the face, wouldn’t see the way Kaethan’s eyes were filled with nothing but a child’s own devotion. He could feel the Urge, thick and sweet ooze in his blood like treacle, returning in earnest just like Bhaal promised.

“Now’s not a good time to be around me, lamb,” Kelrath said.

He was close enough to grab, to stab, blood and gore spilling out onto maps and documents, dribbling off the edge of his desk, soaking through the rug, pooling between gaps in the stonework.

Keathan shrugged and hopped up from his place on the desk.

“I can take them out myself if you’re busy,” Kaethan said, taking a step toward the door.

The boy’s sudden movement, prey and predator, Kelrath’s hand shot out before he realized he’d moved, snatching the boy’s wrist. And with a sharp jerk, he tugged the boy to him, almost pulling him off his feet, heard the pained noise the half-elf made as he stumbled to one knee.

And there was the fear, oh, there reflected in his eyes. Kelrath wondered if the boy saw a flash of his father’s face when he looked at Kelrath in this moment of violence. The boy didn’t fight in his grip, how could he? He knew Kelrath’s strength although he’d never had it directed toward him. Kaethan may have survived his father’s beatings, but if Kelrath turned on him, he wouldn’t stand a chance; And the boy knew it too.

Kelrath leaned forward, nose to nose with Kaethan, it took everything in him to keep his breathing even, he could hear his own heartbeat.

Whispers in his bones, his blood, the flesh of this boy’s wrist so warm in his grip, so easy to twist and snap. And oh how he wanted to, oh how he wanted to hurt this pretty little thing who trusted him so.

“Leave,” Kelrath told the boy enunciating every word. “Go to the townhouse, now, and don’t come back until Fel sends for you.”

The fear turned to confusion, the half-elf’s eyes searching his.

“B-But, I did what you asked; you told me to tell you when they—” He thought Kelrath was sending him away, was punishing him, but there was no time for reassurances, no time for any explanation at all.

Kelrath gripped his wrist harder cutting him off, there could be no room for teenage rebellion, for Kaethan to assume that he knew what Kelrath really wanted and to disobey thinking it would please him. Magic lashed out, taking root in the boy’s mind—Kelrath could feel the connection, the subjugation—a command spell with clear instructions.

“Go to the townhouse. You don’t leave and you don’t open the door until Sceleritas sends for you.”

Kaethan swallowed, eyes wavering. “Yes sir,” he said thickly.

“Now,” Kelrath said, letting go of his wrist.

The boy straightened and turned, gait unsteady as the spell puppeted his actions.

“Don’t turn back to look,” Kelrath added, already predicting his movements and the boy didn’t. “Good boy.” Kelrath said.

Kelrath waited for what felt like hours after the boy left before speaking.

“Sceleritas,” Kelrath snarled and the butler appeared immediately.

“Yes, most vile and horrible master?”

“Fetch me a boy to kill,” he said, grinding his teeth.

He was gripping the edge of his desk so hard, he could feel the wood splintering under his fingertips and he dare not move, if he did he knew there would be only one boy he’d hunt to kill and he knew exactly where to find him.

The butler clasped his hands together in delight. “Excellent, master, any requests?”

“No,” Kelrath said but then new words left his mouth before he could even consider them, like they weren’t even his own. “Brown eyes,” he said and his voice felt rough in his throat. Brown eyes that flashed amber when they caught the light, warm and liquid like whiskey in a crystal glass.

The butler smiled like he knew something Kelrath didn’t, and Kelrath wanted to strangle him for such a flagrant assumption.

“Understood, most awful one,” Fel said with a bow. “I shall return.”

[eilinelsghost]

An excerpt from Grief in All Her Guises

Part 2 of the Atandil Series

Finrod laughed and lay back in the grass. “Ela!” he breathed as he looked up at the night sky and beckoned for Balan to join him. “Do you see him there?” he drew a pattern in the stars above them as Balan moved to lie beside him. “Menelmacar, the Swordsman of the Sky.”

“No, where are you pointing?”

“There.” He shifted so his line of sight was closer to Balan’s. “There are three stars a hand’s width over the tree-line, brighter than their sisters about them. Do you see?”

“I believe so.” Balan tried to focus as his mind still worked to grasp what he had experienced.

“Those are his belt. Now follow the furthest upwards and you’ll find his blade raised in charge.”

“Yes, I see it.”

“Then cross here and the curve of his shield wards the skies.”

“Mendelcar?”

“Menelmacar,” he corrected, “heaven’s warrior.” The finger moved further along the sky, itself luminous where it caught the moonlight, and Balan felt again the unsettling presence of a second thought within his own as the image of a dim huddle of stars rose ahead of the finger’s path to illumine what Finrod outlined. “This is Itseloktë.”

“Itselot—Itseloktë.” He turned the word over on his tongue and added it to the list of recitations. “Itseloktë. What does it mean?”

“It…how would you say it in your tongue…insects, perhaps? Gnats? Nay, flies would be nearer, I deem. The fly cluster.” He glanced over at Balan with a grin as the adan snorted despite himself. “Our Sindarin kin name it better. Remmirath they call it, the Netted Stars: a mesh of those jewels that alone are fit to crown the head of Tintallë.”

Balan recalled waking beside the embers and seeing the visions flowing out from Nóm’s song: among them was a woman measurelessly tall, strong beyond reckoning, wrapped in a mantle of twilit blue that reached beyond the horizon, that was the horizon. Light spilled out from her and he closed his eyes against the brilliance of the memory.

“Varda Elentári, our Lady of Light, who wove the stars into their celestial dance and set their steps in a sign of doom. Anarríma, Soronúmë, Telumendil, Wilwarin…”

“Butterfly.” Balan reflexively named the translation under his breath and Finrod laughed.

“Yes, the evening’s butterfly.” He pointed to a distant stretch of sky. “There he flits above the mountains: a wing here, another just there.”

“I see it.” Balan raised his hand toward the patterned stars and his finger rested lightly against the other’s. He lingered as long as he dared, then shifted their hands together toward the north. “And what of this one?” he asked as he dropped his arm back onto the grass. “Have you a name for it?”

“We do.”

“I’ve been drawn to it as long as I can remember, ever since I was a boy,” Balan continued as the other did not elaborate. “Some nights when I can’t sleep I’ll sit outside and follow it through the sky. It steadies me, I know not how.”

“It is the Valacirca,” Finrod said after a long silence, his voice quiet, “the Sickle of the Valar. It was set there in the heavens ere your people or mine awakened, as a sign of that truth which we hold in estel: it is Light that shall endure, not Darkness.” He turned his face toward the other and studied Balan’s profile outlined against the tangle of stars. “And I confess, my friend, it gladdens my heart to find this is shared between us as well: many of those nights when you watched its path, we would have kept vigil together. Ever have I looked to those same stars in times of despair to recall that all works of the Dark are for naught. That they will, as was said at the first Music, be but an instrument of things yet more wonderful than those it sought to destroy.”

“And that comforts you?”

“It does—to know we are creatures of the One who is Goodness, and from whose works must ultimately come joy, if not happiness. Lost on the ice before the sun’s first rising, when I came nearest to forsaking hope, even then I looked up through the bitter cold and behold! I saw the Seven Stars rise triumphant in the north, crowning the work of Eru to which Morgoth Bauglir shall never lay full claim, and over which he shall never triumph. In that hour I knew, as I answer you now,” he returned his finger briefly to Balan’s forehead in reminder of the question he addressed, “we are not abandoned.”

Read the full work on AO3

[ckret2]

✨⚠️ Wasting Away Again in the Goldilocks Zone ⚠️✨

If you're new here, this is one of those "human Bill in the Mystery Shack" redemption fics, you know the drill: Bill illegally escapes death via reincarnation; the Shack crew imprisons him til they can figure out how to kill him; but they won't, because Bill's gonna make friends with them and literally everybody else in town. Whether they like it or not.

Featuring!! The slowest redemption arc you've ever read; "human" Bill that doesn't decide being trapped in an alien body is fine; show-style episodic plot structure; individual plot arcs for characters you've never even cared about; so canon compatible we even include the dang coloring book; and so TBOB-compatible over a year before TBOB came out that I'm considering taking up a position as the Oracle of Delphi just so Apollo stops barraging me with dodgeballs.

New chapter every Friday, 5pm CST! Yes, that includes this Friday!

For art, doodles, upcoming scene excerpts, and posts about characterization & plot plans, see my #bill goldilocks cipher tag. For the fic itself, the first few chapters are on AO3, but tumblr's 60 chapters ahead:

⛓️ 1 Part 1. Bill returns, in a bedsheet toga.

⛓️ 1 Part 2. Bill tries to murder the Stans & Soos (with time travel).

⛓️ 2. Dipper and Mabel save the day (with time travel).

⛓️ 3. A tense evening as the Pines prepare to get rid of Bill.

⛓️ 4. Plot twist: the Pines physically can't get rid of Bill.

⛓️ 5. The gang goes to a diner at 3 a.m. for hostage negotiations.

⛓️ 6. Bill escapes from Theraprism. [NEW!!!]

⛓️ 7. "How'd Bill get here" flashback; plus, entering his new prison.

💇‍♀️ 8. Bill gives himself a haircut and depression.

💇‍♀️ 9. Bill & Ford grudgingly have a sincere conversation; regret it.

💇‍♀️ 10. The kids decide Bill won't ruin their summer. Also: Pacifica!

📓🔺📓 TBOB BOUNDARY: Everything above this line has been edited for 100% compatibility with The Book Of Bill and posted to AO3! Everything after this line has not been edited... so it's only 98% TBOB compatible. 📓🔺📓

🧚 11. Mabel gives Bill the most beautiful makeover ever. (It's not.)

🧚 12. Pacifica advertises Harry's Hairy Fairy Formula. Bill wants it.

🧚 13. Pacifica refuses to share; the twins discover its side effects.

🧚 14. Mabel wins Bill's eternal friendship with arts & crafts.

💭 15. Bill, Ford, and Dipper have nightmares that are Bill's fault.

💎 16. Ford has a fun day with Mabel but everything goes wrong.

💎 17. The day goes right again thanks to healthy communication.

🎥 18. Mabel's Guide To Local Animals, co-starring Bill Cipher.

🧊 19. Wendy snoops into the weird things happening in the shack.

🧊 20. Wendy meets the weird thing (it's Bill).

🎂 21. Stan & Ford's birthday party! Bill gives evil gifts.

💭 22. Bill "helps" Dipper's nightmares; no one knows his motive.

👁️ 23. Bill's ex is back in town and nobody's happy about it.

👁️ 24. Everyone's even less happy to learn Bill has a sex life.

🧿 25. Mabel and Bill make friendship bracelets! :)

🧿 26. The Pines take Bill to the mall. He wears terrible things.

🧿 27. Bill breaks Mabel's heart (and panics to fix it).

🏳️‍🌈 28. Bill talks his way into going with Wendy to Rainbow Club.

🎃 29. Bill contacts the Henchmaniacs on Summerween morning.

🎃 30. Costume making. Mabel pries into Bill's past, with crayons.

🎃 31. The Trickster's pals trick-or-treat; and Bill terrifies Dipper.

🪮 32. Dipper & Mabel make a poppet to control Bill.

🦷 33. Stan takes Bill to the dentist. In handcuffs.

🦷 34. Dentist & tooth fairy attack. Stan & Bill are still handcuffed.

🦷 35. Bill & Stan reach a painful understanding and stop the fairy.

🛁 36. Anime night; and Mabel makes Bill do community service.

🛁 37. Bill plots escape and runs into Wendy. Dipper panics.

🛁 38. Bill has the worst and stupidest day of his afterlife.

🌅 39. A cultist finds Bill; Bill tries to re-recruit Ford.

🚙 40. Gideon broadcasts car commercials; invokes Bill's wrath.

🚙 41. Bill apologizes for bullying Gideon. lol no he blackmails him.

🌕 42. Bill tells Dipper secrets of the universe; predicts an eclipse.

🌖 43. Gravity is disappearing; Ford and Fiddleford investigate.

🌗 44. Ford & Dipper drag Bill hiking; Bill faces his death.

🌘 45. Ford demands answers Bill can't give as totality looms.

🌑 46. Totality. Bill decides whether Ford lives or dies.

🌒 47. Bill feels rotten but finally explains the eclipse.

🌓 48. Bill has a complete mental breakdown.

🌔 49. The gang limps home. (Plus: a second dimensional eclipse.)

💿 50. Bill finally processes that mental breakdown.

💿 51. Dipper and Mabel try to remember the Axolotl's poem.

📖 52. The gang reads Flatworld. Bill isn't thrilled.

📖 53. Mabel tries to get Bill to talk about his home world.

⚛️ 54. Dipper, Ford, and Fiddleford do paradox physics.

📖 55. Mabel learns college-level geometry.

📖 56. Mabel & Bill have fun; Dipper & Ford prepare for murder.

💀 57. The execution of Bill Cipher.

💀 58. Everything you wondered about how Bill escaped.

💀 59. Everything you didn't wonder about how Bill escaped.

💀 60. Everything you never imagined about how Bill escaped.

✨✨ 🪐 61. The Axolotl finds the second dimension's corpse. ✨

📙 62. Soos vacuums the attic (wow exciting)

📙 63. Soos decides how he feels about Bill's treatment.

📙 64. Fixin it with Soos: home redecorating!

🎥 65. The gang makes plans for the night.

🎥 66. Dipper's Guide to the Fremont Nightwigglers

🎥 67. Mabel's Guide to Secret Sleepovers

🎥 68. The aftermath of everybody pulling all-nighters.

🏖️ 69. Beach episode! The Pines fish! Bill tans!

COMING SOON:

🏖️ 70. Bigfoot, Agent Powers, and the cool teen gang.

Hey!! Go read chapter 61 now! I posted it out of order so you probably haven't read it!!!

🪐 61-2: The 2D massacre is so much worse than the Ax thought.

🪐 61-3: A building inspection in the Nightmare Realm.

🪐 61-4: Even when Bill fixes things he breaks them.

🪐 61-5: A shape meets Bill as the world burns.

COMING SOON:

🪐61-6: The gods & Bill negotiate him leaving Dimension Zero.

EVENTUALLY WHEN WE GET BACK TO NORMAL NUMBERING THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE:

🕴️ 71? The government investigates the Mystery Shack... again.

I skipped chapter 61 because it was about the destruction of Bill's dimension and it was scheduled to post the week TBOB came out. By the time I finished rewriting it to be TBOB-compatible, it was like, 5 or 6 chapters. I'm gonna finish posting them first to see how many chapters they actually are and then I'll update the numbering of the subsequent chapters.

This post was last updated November 8, 2024! If you're seeing this post as a reblog and it's been a while since then, check back on the original post to see if more's been added!

[writingrock]

part one: the tale of two lovers

notes: strangers to lovers, fantasy universe, bakusquad, slow burn, fluff, slight angst, draconic language and culture, other tags to be added ... status: ongoing - this will be updated weekly, every Tuesday.

part list

pairing: barbarian!Katsuki Bakugou x fem!reader

chapter list

chapter 1

↬ excerpt:

The bard shrugs, resting his elbows on the table with an air of quiet conviction. "Stories are what keep us alive. They remind us of where we’ve been, what we’ve survived, and inspire others to forge their own paths. Besides," he adds with a grin, "I have a feeling your story is one worth hearing."

chapter 2

↬ excerpt:

Denki and Sero exchanged glances, both grinning now as they walked behind you. “I think they’re gonna get along just fine,” Sero whispered.

“Or kill each other trying,” Denki added with a laugh.

chapter 3

↬ excerpt:

There were a couple of things Bakugou noticed about you. It was natural that he was slightly curious about the latest addition to the party. After all, he needed to know if you’d be a threat to them, whether you were loyal, or if you’d bolt if the second things got too rough. Being suspicious of people was second nature to him—he didn’t know anything about you, and you weren’t exactly an open book either.

chapter 4

↬ excerpt:

���She’s not what I expected. That’s all. She’s got guts, I’ll give her that. But the Veil—” He trails off, his thoughts drifting to the dense, dangerous forest. “The Veil isn’t a place for anyone who isn’t serious. She’s not just a mapmaker. She’s… stubborn. Determined. Like she’s got something to prove.”

“Well then,” the bard asks, his voice softer now. “Did she prove it?”

chapter 5

↬ excerpt:

As more time passed, more facets of your character and abilities were unveiled, particularly within the complexities of the woods where your skills were most apparent. The group grew increasingly curious by your depth of knowledge and confidence with which you navigated both the physical and mystical aspects of the forest.

chapter 6

↬ excerpt:

“Karshoj, I thought you were an expert on these shitty woods!” Bakugou cursed, his voice smouldering with frustration as he kicked a nearby rock, sending it skittering across the ground. His fiery eyes locked onto you, anger practically radiating from him.

chapter 7

↬ excerpt:

“Let’s keep moving,” he said, his voice slipping back into its usual hardness as he took the lead once more. And Bakugou’s quest was barely halfway done. There were still more artefacts to find, more trials ahead. It wasn’t over, not by a long shot. And right now, the biggest obstacle to overcome was getting his group together and getting out of the caves.

chapter 8

↬ excerpt:

A day of rest was long overdue for the team. Especially after getting lost in those cave systems for god knows how long. Navigating through those tunnels had drained the group’s energy and dampened their spirits. Leaving them in desperate need of a break. It was clear to the group that they needed time to recover.

chapter 9

↬ excerpt:

“This is it,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a breath as you took in the serene beauty of the heart of Niniel’s Veil. The clearing before you was unlike anything you’d ever seen. A perfect circle enclosed by towering, ancient trees that seemed to watch over the space with silent reverence. The air was dense with magical energy, making every breath feel as if you’ve inhaled fumes of pixie dust.

chapter 10 [upcoming]

↬ excerpt:

Bakugou’s response was immediate and predictable, his brows furrowing as he let out a sharp scoff. “Hell no. You think I want her tagging along, running her mouth at every turn? She’s got a real attitude problem. Always got something to say, always pushing my buttons.”

comment if you want to be in the taglist for this series

taglist: @/chocogoldie @/devils-adversary @/l0kisbitch @/miikii0 @/onlyisaa @/sleepisfortheweakpooh @/helena-way07 @/enzstr @/qardasngan

[inkher0]

And then there was The King.  His presence was a blood-curdling weight, a hailstorm of unease. Gravity was a concept for smaller, weaker creatures- he was a fluttering, sinking misery, descending from the mouth of the chasm without a disturbance in his form. His people dropped at the sight of his silhouette against the void- collapsed, even, their faces pressed to the ground and their hands flat in submission. Even the Proxies felt the impulse to fall to their knees, their heads bowed with reverence. Were there not a stronger voice in their head, guiding them, warning them not to obey… There was a reason I’d never seen The Night Terror face-to-face, and it was for that alone. Though his fall was graceful, the impact of his gnarled, taloned feet caused the ground to shake, the floor beneath him buckling into a crater. Things which sat on their own– stray pieces of garbage and gold, goblets of dark liquid and rusted plates- shuddered with a great compulsion, sliding from their resting place towards him. The sheer weight- the literal, physical mass that now dwelled under Candy Pop’s skin- created gravity, selfishly pulling All towards Him.  This was The Collector. The Master of Vices, The Father of Demons.  My cousin.

Someone suggested I draw Night Terror! Thinking about it, they probably meant the draconic form I saw in my search, so woops. But this is the form that they actually see and speak to next chapter, so it's still counts! Above is a little excerpt from the upcoming chapter, since it's taking so long to write it. Hope you like it!

[painted-flag]

OF FLOWERS AND DEATH - aemond targaryen

Chapter 10: The Art of Potion Making

!!! An important poll regarding the upload schedule for this series can be found here. !!!

☾⋆⁺₊✧ dark elf!Aemond Targaryen x f!human!reader series. ✧₊⁺⋆��� series masterlist. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ word count: 4.5k ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series warnings: 18+ depictions of violence/gore, eventual smut, warfare, sickness/disease, some moments of misogyny, and mentions of alcohol consumption. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ Potion making is easy, but command over the dark arts is a skill derived from centuries of experience.

Two days came and went of unpacking as much as you could before going to your work and delving into books, notes, experiments, and taking care of patients. In the chaos of everything, there was no time for you to sit down and relax. You woke, ate quickly, unpacked as much as you could before Amara and Liriel came to get you ready for the day, and went about your duties in the healing facilities. 

In that time, not much progress was made in your research or Daeron’s. The two of you had hit a wall, which seemed impossible to overcome. It became a topic of tension between you two. Each knew that it was not the other's fault and did not blame them, but the feeling of hopelessness began to wear down on you two. 

You were finally granted a moment of reprieve. 

The cool breeze of the morning chill flowed through your open windows. Scents of blooming plants filled the space as you broke your fast. You had spent the morning reading the last filled-in pages of your father's journal. It may not have been the best decision, as you struggled to maintain your composure at parts. He would write about his days however a large focus was on you. He went on of how proud he was of you and of the young lady you were becoming. His written words gave you both a sense of comfort and a deep sharp pain in your chest. 

Your hand turned to the last entry and you took in the date. It was the day before he left on a trip, the one he vanished on. You sucked in a breath and looked outside, tears brimming your eyes. While your father’s disappearance was devastating, you managed to get used to the pain over the years. Reading his journal seemed to open those cuts you long thought were healed. 

Your eyes scanned the delicate ink stains of his writing. His writing had always been a topic of jealousy for you, for it was always neat. He spoke of his upcoming journey. While he originally told you he was heading north, his writing revealed it was not the case. Your brows furrowed as you scanned the writing, certain excerpts reaching out to you.

The southern lake of Rosemagne… is the topic of contention among my fellow researchers because of the… I believe it is a good place to gather samples to…

You scanned the words with a rushed fervour. You did not recognize the lake's name and found yourself leaving the table and moving toward your bookshelf. The chair scraped against the floor. Once you grabbed the book you were looking for, you dashed back and sat down. You flipped to a map of the known lands and scanned the various bodies of water. Your finger dragged across the parchment as you scanned, but you could not find it in your kingdom. A tiny feeling settled in your stomach; a queasy sickness that churned the food you had eaten. 

“Please tell me you were not so foolish…” Your voice barely came out, a whisper so imperceptible even you did not know if you actually spoke it. 

You began to go over the known lands of the elf kingdom. Far larger than your own, you spent longer scanning the land. To your horror, but also correct assumption, the image of Lake Rosemagne sat just under your fingertip. 

Oh, gods…

Your father entered elf territory without permission. His disappearance could only mean a single thing; he was caught and properly dealt with. The cup on your table was hurled at the wall quickly and you began to lose control of your breathing, chest heaving with sobs that threatened to spill. This whole time you held to the belief he was still out there. 

Your mind conjured up scenarios where he decided to stay in a place he thought promising to his research. While naive, it was how you coped. There was no way you wished to admit the truth that had been clawing down your throat for years. The thought of him dead, of you being parentless and thus alone and without grounding in this world, was not an option for you. 

Your suspicion then turned to Aemond. Surely, he would have known about your father. As king, he would have been notified of any trespassers. There was the very possibility that he may have executed your father himself. 

No. 

Your brain refused to admit it. He would have told you or perhaps Helaena may have known. You shook your head at that, if Helaena knew she would have informed you immediately after piecing it together. She would never hide a thing like that from you, but Aemond… 

Was Aemond’s agreement to Helaena’s proposal of you coming here nothing but a way to lure you in? To finish the job and get rid of all possible people who would have known?

The two of you had just begun to bridge the cavern that separated one another. Assumptions would get you nowhere. Whether or not he had a hand in your father's likely death, this had to be handled with care. There was no proof he had done what your brain jumped to and you would not condemn him until there was evidence. You would play the field as necessary. Not reveal that you know and pretend to be unaware of it all. 

The room felt stifling. The walls closed in on you and you needed to get out. You composed yourself and splashed water on your face from the wash basin to get rid of the redness on your skin. You placed your father’s journal under the pillows on your bed to hide it. While not a good spot, you were in no headspace to think of someplace better. 

All you cared about was leaving the suffocating room.

The door to the library by your laboratory was a welcoming sight. You believed it was time to shuffle through the shelves again in hopes that you could find something new for your research. A title you may have brushed off in previous visits could stand out and be worth the read. 

You pushed open the wood and are greeted with a sight you wished to avoid. Aemond stood beside one of the tables, casually flipping through the pages of a book that had been likely left behind by some visitor. He looked bored as if he had been waiting for something. Alerted by your presence, he turned his head to see you. 

“Good morrow, your grace.” You bowed respectfully, but truthfully you wished to run as fast and far as you could. Images of your father flashed across your vision when looking at the king. The speculation of your father’s death conjured up just moments ago pressed down on your chest. 

Aemond spoke your name. It was incredible how shamefully you relished in the way it rolled off his tongue. While you stated that you did not hate him, you also did not like him. At the very least, you had begun to think of him positively, but with your discovery that trust was thrown away. 

“I was informed of your curiousness regarding dark magic,” Aemond continued. You got nervous as such information could likely have you in dire straits. He picked up another book that was on the table and walked over to you, “This was something I read a few centuries ago. I completely forgot about it until I was browsing my shelves and thought you would need it.” 

The way in which he casually threw out that he had read it a few centuries ago came across like a person reminiscing on an event from just a month or two ago. Your heart quickened at the notion that, while he was browsing his personal collection, he stumbled across a book and thought of you. It was a dangerous mode of thinking for you, to go down such a speculative path. 

Aemond held out the book and you went to grab it. The tips of your fingers brushed against his and a flurry of heat coursed up through your arm. You almost reflexively dropped the book by the shock you felt. 

“Thank you,” You responded once it was in your arms. You held it to your chest, like some kind of shield between you two. 

“I was thinking that I could also peruse the shelves here with you. I can translate the ones in other languages.” It was yet another olive branch extended from him, except this time you did not want to meet it. The thought of your whole presence being here as a trap set by him threw you off. 

The most dangerous creatures are often beautiful. 

You had not remembered where exactly such a phrase was ingrained into you. You had heard it from someone, but their words rang true. It was best for you to put up a wall before it was too late. There was nothing wrong with you and Aemond’s relationship just a few short days ago – barely acknowledging one another. 

“I do not need any help, your grace,” You interjected, “Daeron has translators if I need them.” 

It may have been a trick of the light or perhaps a misinterpreted thought, but you could have sword a gleam of disappointment flashed across Aemond’s eye. He shuffled almost awkwardly on his feet and moved his hands to be clasped behind him. 

He gave you a curt nod, “I shall leave you to it, then.” He moved past you to leave and his scent lingered. Burning wood and parchment undercut by a medley of spices. It was entirely too intoxicating.

The familiar sight of Lyra lying in her bed greeted you as you walked into the sick hall. She had been fiddling with a doll in her lap, stuck in the childlike wonder of imagination. As you approached, she spotted you and a smile made its way on her face. 

Lyra spoke your name, “You’re here!” 

“I’m here. And how have you been, sweet girl?” You sat on the edge of the bed and made a trained scan of her body, checking the progression of the taint as the purple-black darkness spread on her skin. 

“I am fine, other than the fact that I wish to know what is going on outside this hall,” Lyra answered. It was no surprise she wanted to leave. Most patients expressed the same sentiment. Their bedbound lifestyle was suffocating. While they were not contagious, their frail conditions would make any instance of walking painful and could worsen their condition. 

“I’m sorry, but you know you cannot leave this bed.” You reasoned. 

Lyra nodded and held out the doll. It was small - only slightly bigger than your hand and sizeable enough to fit in a pocket. The doll shared a remarkable resemblance to Lyra. Gold embroidery string replicated her hair and a small sewn outfit adorned the doll. 

“Could you take Lady with you? It does not matter what adventure she goes on, I just want her to see outside this hall.” Lyra asked you. Your hands reached out to take the doll and made sure to handle it with extra care. 

“I will take her on many adventures.” You promised. While you gave her a wide smile, your inner self was in turmoil. It ached at the sadness of her situation, something that many others were suffering through. You looked around the room and saw Daeron walking in from one of the balconies. 

You leaned over to tuck Lyra in, “I have something I need to discuss with Daeron. Get some rest, sweet girl.” Lyra nodded at your words and closed her eyes to go to sleep. You tucked the doll gently in one of your dress pockets and got up to stop Daeron as he moved down the centre aisle. 

Daeron greeted you before his face went still, “How serious is it?” 

“Pardon?” You responded. 

“You get this look on your face when you are going to talk about something serious.” Daeron raised one eyebrow, “Am I correct?” 

You grabbed his arm and started to pull him in the direction of the laboratory. You proposed many days ago the option of using dark magic against the taint off of the basis of your poison hypothesis. He promised he would think about it and you gave him space to do so, but now you were more anxious than ever for a response. However, you could not bring it up in a space full of other witnesses. 

Once in the safety of the laboratory, you moved to the book you had used for this discovery and pulled out the mortua terra flower samples as well. You had already gathered all of the other ingredients that made up your old formula – the one with the most success. 

Daeron looked back and forth between you and the table, “And this is?” 

“My proposal,” You told him, “I gathered the flowers in this book. I am ready, but are you?” 

He kept his gaze on the jar of flowers in front of him and rested his hands on his waist, “Dark magic is something that marks your soul. I cannot, with consciousness, allow you to do this alone.” 

You moved your mouth to speak, but Daeron held his hand out to stop you, “You do not need to pretend you wouldn’t have gone and done it yourself regardless of my decision.” There was something almost comical in the way he could easily read you and you wondered if the other elves could do that as well.

Daeron went about organizing the ingredients and prepping everything to work. You followed in his steps, cutting and juicing the ingredients while he spoke, “There are things such as light and dark plants. They are incompatible in mixtures together, but each serves well on their own. Light plants are easy to manipulate. Those flowers you collected are dark, so working with them requires extra preparation steps.” 

“And I am guessing those steps are difficult,” You interjected. Daeron picked up a single mortua terra flower and inspected it. 

“Yes,” He answered, “We need blood to leech out its magical properties.” 

You paused your movements and the metal stirrer halted but the liquid inside the pot continued to swirl, “Blood?”

“The blood is just a grounding force.” He lit a small fire under two potting zones and poured the liquid from your pot into them. “I am curious to see the difference between human blood and elf blood.” 

“But if we just need blood to activate it, what makes it dark magic?” You questioned him. Daeron turned and dragged two comfy chairs across the stone floor to be placed near the table. He adjusted the pillows. 

“The blood is a connection to you and your soul. The more potent it is, the more energy it takes from you. That is the risk with dark magic, it sucks your energy and your soul the more you do it. However, the more you do it, you eventually cannot stop. It becomes addicting.” Daeron then unsheathed a dagger that was strapped to his waist. The metal glimmered in the candlelight. 

He picked up one of the flowers and dropped it into one of the pots. Once it sank into the simmering mixture, he held his hand out and slowly cut a line on his palm. Beads of blood pooled to the surface and dripped into the pot. His brows furrowed as he winced. Daeron cleaned the blade in a washpot that was on the table. He then held it out to you.

“Your skin must make contact with the flower. Drop it in, wait a few seconds, and then cut.” You took the blade from him and a small wave of reluctance came over you. This is what you wanted, but it was still terrifying. 

You followed the steps carefully. Afterwards, Daeron gestured to the chairs, “Sit down. The longer it brews, the more energy will be drained. We will be here all night.” 

The two of you sat in the chairs that were placed next to one another and listened to the bubbling of the liquid. Silence enveloped the two of you. As predicted, drowsiness settled over you. It was not intense, but began to creep up on you. Daeron did not look as affected and you assumed that largely had to do with your races; elves were stronger than humans.

To occupy yourself, you decided to speak, “Why is your brother the way he is?” 

“I do not even know where to begin with Aegon. He-” 

“Not Aegon,” You interrupted, “King Aemond. Why is he…” You trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. One moment, Aemond is holding a sword to your throat and the next he is offering you a book and help. It was incredibly dizzying. It made you feel mad. Aemond’s attitude threw you off, but the shreds of kindness that extended your way erupted a flurry in your stomach and burning in your veins.

Daeron sighed, “He is guarded. Some of the things he has gone through made him-”

“Cruel?” You finished his sentence.

He shook his head in denial and adjusted his posture in the chair, “As I said before, everything my brother did was to protect his people.” 

You waited a few moments before responding, “I’ve met your family, all of you are incredibly kind. I’ve heard the stories of what he did during the Great War. Why is he so different?” 

“Most of the stories about him you humans tell are exaggerated.” Daeron stretched his legs out, some drowsiness already starting to come over him.

“So he does not drink the blood of his enemies?” You asked. 

“No.” Was Daeron’s quick response. 

You decided to go through all of the stories you could remember, “Hangs men up by their balls? Feeds dead children to their parents? Leaves field of impaled men as a warning?”

“No.” 

“He doesn’t set fields and towns on fire? Raid strongholds that had already surrendered, killing all the men inside?” Your tone moved to a more teasing manner. 

Instead of answering, Daeron got quiet. His silence was a confirmation and you sunk further into your chair. You could, if you tried hard enough, picture it in your head. Aemond, standing in a blazing field, bodies littered around, and the screams of humans being all that could be heard. You cringed at that and felt an overpowering feeling of guilt for ever allowing yourself to be entranced by him. 

In your state of exhaustion, you leaned your head on Daeron’s shoulder. He rested his cheek against the top of your head and the two of you stared at the brewing pots. There was one last question that burned at you, one you had asked Aemond but received no response. 

“What does rūklon mean?” Your pronunciation had not gotten better, but the point was still made. 

You could feel Daeron adjust his head slightly, “Why?” 

“I just…” You paused and wondered if you should tell him that Aemond referred to you by that word to Helaena, but decided against it for fear it might be bad, “I heard it in passing and wondered.”

“Well, it could refer to a blooming plant, but more often it just means flower,” Daeron answered. Helaena’s voice – mimicking Aemond’s words – echoed through your head.

That stupid little rūklon risking her life… 

Little flower…

Was it a connection to the fact that you wore the azure perfume that reminded him of his childhood? That may have charged extra anger towards you. You highly doubted, out of all possible reasons behind it, that Aemond meant it as some kind of nickname. Daeron’s confirmation of Aemond’s cruelty just moments ago came back to you. 

Some weird part of you felt the need to justify his actions. They were at war and he was their king. He had pressure over his shoulders like no other to keep his people safe. Aemond had to make decisions, hard ones, for the continuation of his kingdom. Quickly after that thought came more guilt. You felt cruel yourself for trying to find a likely reason behind his actions – to somehow justify the wholesale slaughter of your own kind. 

Perhaps, if you were lucky one day, you could hear Aemond’s side. 

Daeron was the one to break the silence instead of you, “I love my siblings, I truly do. Helaena is my closest friend and I am grateful to have her as a sister. But… I’ve always wanted a little sister. I know it hasn’t been a while since we’ve met, but I think of you as one.” 

You did not know if he was just sharing this with you because he wanted to or if the gradual exhaustion had something to do with his confession. Regardless of the reasoning, his thoughts matched something you had always had. 

“I’ve always wanted an older brother.” It was a simple response, but gave Daeron the comforting answer he wanted. He went back to resting his head against yours. In your shared state of comfort, the both of you eased into a dreamless sleep.

You were caught in that haze of sleep and awake. There were no dreams, just an abyss of darkness that wrapped you in warmth. In the distance, a part of your consciousness was creeping forward. It spun into action upon hearing your name being whispered. You felt a light press on your shoulder and came to. Your eyes opened to see Daeron crouched in front of you. He shook your shoulder with care. 

Your energy had been regained and you saw the table with the brewing pots to be on a low simmer. It likely had burned through the energy needed and made it so you and Daeron could wake. It was only when you adjusted in your seat that you saw Aemond standing next to the table and watching you with his arms crossed. 

“Your grace,” You shot out of the chair, but in doing so made your head spin. You would have tumbled if Daeron did not catch you. One of his hands gripped your right forearm and the other wrapped around your waist with care. You blushed deeply with embarrassment as the flush moved across your cheeks and down your chest. 

Aemond observed with a careful eye. You could see his one eye drift down to where Daeron’s arms held you and he pursed his lips. He had likely seen you and Daeron asleep together and wondered what was going on. 

“Burning a candle at both ends?” Aemond spoke. It was a weird question coming from him; to tease you about working late. Daeron released you and walked to the table where his brother was. 

Daeron gestured to the two simmering pots, “We are starting a new experiment that may likely be promising.” Aemond peered over to look into the pots and hummed. You approached warily and moved to the other side of the table to create distance between you and the two elves. 

“They should be ready for testing on samples, your grace.” You spoke. Aemond continued to look at the mixture brewing. 

“The flowers she brought back was a stroke of genius,” Daeron praised. 

Aemond then looked up at you, his expression unreadable, “The same ones collected from the forest?” His tone bordered on scolding. Any words you could think of got caught in your throat and you nodded. 

Daeron sensed a bit of tension and clapped his hands together once, “Well, you should tell him about your hypothesis,” You sent him a look of challenge and he reciprocated with a nervous smile. You did not know why Aemond was being combative. While he was quick to attitude, there was something that must have soured his mood. 

You cleared your throat, “Well, some poisons can be used to counteract others. I thought the same could be done to the taint but it only worked temporarily. I thought, perhaps, the taint was not poison but some kind of dark magic. That is why we needed those flowers,” 

Aemond opened his crossed arms and clasped his hands behind his back, “Smart.” That seemed to ease the king's annoyance and you were able to breathe. 

“I must get going to tend to patients,” Daeron announced. He addressed you and spoke, “Keep watch on the brew.” The prince said his goodbyes and left. You wanted to reach out and tug at the collar of his shirt, drag him from the door, and place him right next to the table. There was an overwhelming urge to curse him out that overcame you. He left you alone with Aemond, knowingly and seemingly acted as though it was funny.

You decided to distract yourself from the tension and moved to start organizing ingredients and other items on the table. The piercing gaze of Aemond’s eye fell like lead on your skin. 

“The two of you have gotten close,” Aemond uttered. You continued with your task, though you could still see him in the corner of your vision. The table between you two did not feel like enough room, yet at the same time, a part of you wished it was not there. 

“Well, the prince has been incredibly helpful in teaching me-”

“I would advise against engaging in anything further.” He interrupted, “You best understand that elves and humans do not mix.” 

Your brows furrowed and you ceased your movements. His words took a few thrumming beats of your heart to register. Aemond’s insinuation finally hit you. He believed, upon seeing you and Daeron asleep against one another, that feelings were beginning to bloom. You understood why he was suddenly so sour. 

You were a human and the slightest notion of you so much as coupling with an elf must have been what angered him. He expressed his reservations about you being less because of your race in the past. It had angered him even further that he thought you were not just trying to go after an elf, but a member of the royal family no less. He barely thought you were good enough to consider a friend.

“Oh, no-” You tried to interject and clarify, but Aemond interrupted again. 

“Best get back to work.” He gave you an uncomfortable smile as if hiding a tinge of pain and quickly exited the room. You were left alone in the laboratory. The bubbling of the pots became a background noise as the thrumming of your heart took over. You did not know why it was beating so quickly. At no point in that exchange did you feel scared or hunted, yet your heartbeat betrayed you. A heat had returned to your face and you shook your heat in an attempt to ground yourself. 

You moved to stir the two pots all while trying to ease the unknown feelings budding in your chest.

Chapter 11: A New Ally Preview

His eyes narrowed and you could tell his temper had flared. He then stood chest to chest with you and raised his arm. You stood with your shoulders straight, willing to take whatever he threw at you. Cole would not have you act out in violence towards him. Despite having made incredible progress here, your record was not entirely clean since your run into the woods. If you chose to attack an elf – especially a council member – no amount of advocacy on Helaena’s, Daeron’s or even Aegon’s account would save you from harsh punishment. 

As Cole narrowed in to strike you, a voice interrupted, “I hope I am gravely mistaken for what I am witnessing.”

☾⋆⁺₊✧ If you want to be added to the taglist, click here!

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[peachesofteal]

A PATREON?!?!?! Take my money!!

Okay, before I do this I want to make a few things clear:

It's very weird to say "give me your money to read what I've written" but I envision it as more of a tip jar (thanks @cordeliawhohung)

I encourage you to peruse my Patreon and see if it's actually something you want to pay for. I will not be upset if you pay once to check it out, and then immediately cancel. I will still love you.

You must be 18+

I ask that you be aware of Patreon's terms of service, and how those terms may be restrictive of what I’m able to post (I don’t think dark and twisty fic, dubcon/noncon is going to fly unfortunately)

There are three tiers: Maiden, Mother, Crone. This is what you can expect:

Maiden - Sneak peeks and snippets of works in progress. Rambles from me about upcoming works, inspiration, and short musings

Mother - Maiden tier + Early access to full chapters and one shots before they're posted (anthologies are on a case by case basis)

Crone - Maiden and Mother tier + Moodboards for original works and fic. Excerpts and ramblings from and about original works

I'm not trying to lock my work behind a paywall. Fics will continue to, and always, be free and available on Tumblr on AO3, but Patreon will see them first. 

[mackeydoodledoo]

She Wears Short Skirts, I Wear T-shirts: Chapter 5

Pairing: Bridget (Cheerleader AU) x (Fem!)Reader

Chapter Summary: You return to your final 2nd semester of high school, ever. Hopeful. You decided to tell Bridget how you felt about that kiss during winterbreak and tell her how you feel about her overall... However... Someone might have beaten you to it...

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, Semi-Angst

Chapter Key: Italics = Thoughts, +*+ = Time Skip, F/n = Friend's name, B/n = Band Name, Bold/Italic = Flashback, M/n = Manager's name

Chapter Theme: Distracted (Reimagined) - Honey Revenge

A/n: Have fun :)

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

*Y/n's POV* You walk into school after spending the final day of freedom at another gig. You shot Bridget an invite but you didn't see her in the crowd. You guessed she was busy.

More shows to come...

Your mind never left the kiss you had with her. You wanted to talk about it with her. But, each time you did talk to her before she hadn't texted in a few days, but it was difficult for you to bring up. You didn't want her to make it seem like she was a bad kisser....

In fact... It was the best kiss you've ever had.

Albeit it was the first one.

"Yo Y/n, I need you for a second," F/n says, immediately dragging you into the band hall

"What?" You ask, "I'm trying to look for Bridget, I have to talk to her."

"Yeah, don't," F/n says

"What?!" You ask, nearly raising your voice, "Why not?!"

"Why all of a sudden you want to talk to Bridget?.... Unless... Did..." She gasps, "Did you two kiss?!"

"SHHHHHHH!" You push them into the nearest practice room, "So what if we did?"

"You caught feelings? Didn't you," She makes playful eyes at you

"So?!" You ask, shoving them, "She hasn't texted me since she left for that trip with her family."

"Yeah, but you said she hasn't texted you after she got back right?" She asks

"Yeah, but I'm sure she has her reasons," You say, "I simply guessed she was busy."

"Yeah... So..." F/n attempts to piece words together

"What? F/n just tell me!" you sigh in frustration

The both of you hear the warning bell...

"Come on or we'll both be late!" You growl

"Okay! Okay!" She yelps, "But, don't have a go at me..."

She hold her phone up to you... Your internal organs drop....

It was Bridget.... And the Football team's star... James Hook...

I saw this on my fyp here... For some reason... Might want to drop it to Y/n.... So she won't fall for the wrong girl....

That was from your guitarist...

"Wh....What?...." Your breath leaves your body

"I'm sorry Y/n.... I really am..." F/n sighs

It was... All... Fake?....

"Come on," She says pulling you along, "Let's get to class..."

+*+

Throughout the entire school day, you've been attempting to keep yourself focused on the class lessons. However, your mind always goes back to the picture your friend showed you...

"Yo Y/n, are you okay?" Another band friend asks, "You look live you've seen a ghost... Oh wait, is it because of?...."

They want to say her name, but they don't. You nod, knowing who they're talking about.

"Sorry man," They tell you, patting you on the shoulder

I have no clue if they actually feel bad for me or pity me...

You turn to walk to the band room. Bridget hadn't sought you out all day... The realization only made your heart ache more. You just wanted to be anywhere she wasn't... Even if the ache was lifted for a short moment... It'd be a better feeling...

"Y/n, pull your head outta your ass," F/n whispers sharply

Shit...

You forgot you were in band class... Playing an expert from a piece for the upcoming winter concert...

"Y/n, play that again, since your head was off elsewhere," The band director says, sighing

"Dude, that's the third time you missed the entrance," F/n whispers

Oh my god what?....

You play the excerpt exquisitely.

"Everything alright Y/n?" Band director asks, "It isn't you to be off in the clouds."

"No, I'm fine, Sorry Mr. [Band director name], won't happen again," You say

You lock up your equipment in your locker and begin walking tot he exit.

"Heard your little girlfriend left you for a man," A bully steps in front of you

"Yeah, and?" You ask, trying to move to get to the exit quicker, "It's fine."

"Clearly it's bothering you," They continue to taunt, "The fact you couldn't bag the cheer captain is really bothering you."

"It really isn't," You lie, "Now move."

"Not until you admit it!" They smirk

"Hey!" F/n comes up behind you

"Shit..." The bully and their goons run off

"Come on Y/n," She grabs your hand, leading you to the exit

"Thanks buddy," You say

"You owe me food later," They say

+*+

When you get home from school, your parents greet you happily however, their expression changes when they see your blank stare.

"Honey what's the matter?" Your mom hugs you

"That... That girl that came over for Christmas...." You say, "She... She never liked me back...."

"Oh honey...." Your mom hugs you again, "Do you want me to make you your favorite meal?"

"N-no," You say, "I have work soon..."

"Here, I'll make you your favorite snack before you go then," She dashes off into the kitchen

+*+

Work was okay, to say the least, there was a rush of people right as you got in, but died down after an hour or so.

You were about to go to the back when you hear the bell hit the door.

"Welcome in-...." Your voice, chipper then trailing off

Bridget... And Hunter....

"Oh! Y/n...." Her eyes divert away from you, but still holding Hunter's hand

"Oh look, the loser is working in some dingy record store," Hunter attempts to make fun of you, "How very... low of you."

You say nothing more as they begin to browse the sections of music. You walk into the back.

"Hey M/n, there's two people out there," You say, "Would you be willing to help them out?"

"Can't you?" They ask

You shake your head without trying to break out into tears. But, they saw through you easily. He sighs as he stands from his seat.

"Alright Y/n, you go take your break," He tells you

As you sit in the chair in your manager's office, you try to clear your head.

"Hey, is Y/n back there?" Bridget's voice asks, muffled through the door

"She is, however, she is currently on a break and wishes to not be bothered," Your manager says

"Oh... Okay," She says, "This is all I'm purchasing today."

Perks of working since you were sixteen, your manager enjoys your company enough to help you when you're extremely distressed. You wait until your manager comes back.

"Care to explain Y/n?" He asks, sitting back on his seat

"Sure..." You sigh

+*+

You explain to him the entire situation: Seeing her at your gig, Homecoming, Christmas break, and even your first kiss.

"Wow...." They sigh, "Should have known she was a cheerleader. I'm honestly not surprised that she pulled something like this...."

"She didn't seem like the person to do that," You say

"Well, I guess you don't truly know a person," He says, "It's such a shame really... I've seen her a lot in the local newspaper. Seemed like such a nice person."

"She was my only distraction from the hell of this town," You say, "But it's oh well..."

"Why don't you take the rest of the night off," He says, "We're slow and you need some rest before you head off to indoor percussion this weekend."

You nod. You honestly needed the hours, but he was right. You needed to get your mind out of the gutter, the deep, deep parts of a gutter before the weekend.

"I'll tell you all about it like always when I come back," You say, "Goodnight, M/n."

"Night, Y/n," They see you out

+*+

When you get home, your parents were watching TV in the living room.

"Oh, Y/n, you're home early," Your dad says

"Boss sent me home early," You sigh

As you lay in your bed, trying to sleep, your phone dings.

I can explain. Well then, what is there to explain? I can see whatever the fuck you did with my own two eyes. Was whatever the hell we had not real enough for you?

You didn't see a reply after then....

Figures...

You out your phone onto your nightstand, and put in some ASMR to help lull you sleep....

+*+

You pack your duffle into the passenger side of your car and begin making your way to the carpool parking lot where your friends had been meeting for the last few weekends for indoor percussion season.

Please... Let me explain. Clearly you can't explain Bridget. I'm going to indoor percussion this weekend. Don't bother me....

Your friend that's in your band with you didn't do indoor percussion like you did. But, that was fine with you. You needed a fresh new surrounding and new faces to look at for a little while.

+*+

"Yo! Y/n... Whoa... You look like shit, what happened?" Your indoor friend asks

"Let's just say the person I liked did not reciprocate feelings, and I lost sleep over it," You say, putting your duffle bag into their trunk, "If you're going to ask me if I'm fine before rehearsal tonight, I'm going to be fine."

"Okay," They say, "But, if you want to talk about it.... We're here for you. You don't have to take over driving this weekend. Just contribute to gas like always. Plus, maybe nap on the way down. Maybe that'll help."

"I 'preciate it," You smile, "Come on, another weekend with indoor is upon us!"

"At least We can look forward to our usual hang outs after every rehearsal!" they say

You nod.

You hop into the backseat of your friend's car.

As your indoor friend begins driving down to the next state south, you plug in your music... Attempting to shut out the world. At least you know when you're at indoor percussion, you are able to push your emotions away until you go back at the end of the weekend.

Chapter 6

[caramelcoffeeaddict]

Fairy Tales Can Come True [Klaine Fanfic]

Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel Characters: Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel Chapters: 1/1 [Complete] Word Count: 2,387 Rating: Teen&Up Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, College Age Klaine, Halloween Summary: Blaine asks Kurt to help him make his costume for an upcoming Halloween party Original Post Date: October 2024

A/N: Written for @klainetober Week 1 Prompt: Halloween Party

Excerpt:

“Hey, Kurt, wait up!” Blaine said, chasing after Kurt as they exited their Contemporary Theater class. Kurt stopped, turning to look at Blaine, with a curious smile on his face, while trying to suppress the butterflies in his stomach.  Once Blaine caught up to him, they resumed walking down the hall side-by-side. “Have you heard about Megan’s Halloween party tomorrow night?” “Yeah, I heard about it,” Kurt replied, coyly. “Well, I was planning on going as Prince Charming; specifically the Prince Charming from the 1997 live-action Cinderella – the one with Brandy and Whitney Houston. I’ve got most of my costume done already, but I’m having some trouble getting the jacket to come out right. I know that you are at the top of your Costume Design class, so I thought you might be able to help me with it?”

CONTINUE READING ON AO3

[doonarose]

GOAD Writer's Guild presents: A Bathhouse Pretense

CW/TW: Explicit, sex in public, orgy scenes and descriptions of other men having sex, the exhibitionism/voyeurism that goes with that , wet and messy comeplay things, edging, cockwarming.

Summary: Written for the @goodomensafterdark Valentine's Gift Exchange (yes, it's May, I'm so sorry!! Chapter 1 was posted back then but it has been a journey to finish this one up!) For Zaay-zaay who requested top Crowley in a bathhouse with kissing and maybe cockwarming. To wit:

Aziraphale seeks Crowley out in 38 BC Rome, and finds him in a bathhouse which just so happens to be hosting an orgy. Aziraphale is there to discuss upcoming celestial business, Crowley is there for a good time, but when Hastur happens to drop by, it gives them an (admittedly flimsy) excuse to get close, and then closer still.

First time sex in the back corner bath, canon compliant, much edging, feelings and filth.

Word count: 18k, complete!

Thanks: Good lord! Everyone!! Thanks to Fuzzygoblinoid for the beautiful header art!

Thanks enormously to my three betas on the second chapter: Likeafuckingninja, Gingercat and Natyu0815. Ninja who held my hand for weeks after falling off the writing horse and trying to clamber back on, Natyu for the cheerleading, and Ginger for the very last minute swoop in with some cracker ideas! Thanks also to Fishey_me and FuzzyGoblin for their insanely quick beta on the first chapter!

Thanks also to all the people in the GOAD Writer's Guild chat who have listened to my whining about trying to write part two for literal months! And thanks again to Zaay-zaay for a fantastic prompt that took me a little outside my comfort zone and then being insanely chill about overly long porn and a very long delay!

Excerpt: In the end, he recognises Crowley by his laugh: low and gravelly, but genuine. His hair’s much darker when it’s wet. He’s close to the back edge of the second bath, the hotter one, Aziraphale guesses, judging by the slick of steam shimmering over the liquid. He’s slid down on a low submerged bench so that the water’s lapping at his shoulders.

It suddenly occurs to Aziraphale that he could have found Crowley here in flagrante delicto – plenty of others are. The thought crosses his mind like it’s been scratching to get out of a sealed box, and he only has a moment to unpack it, turn it over, and then push it back somewhere locked away.

Thankfully, Crowley’s being entertained more simply, by a man lying flat on his belly across the floor behind him, a towel covering his buttocks, as he leans close to Crowley’s ear and speaks in hushed whispers. He’s got his fingertips buried in Crowley’s dark hair, half of it amassed in a bun and the rest hanging loose to his shoulders, as he massages Crowley’s scalp. The interloper has white blonde hair drawn back in long curls tied off at the nape of his neck, he looks middle-aged, stocky, the slopes of his back and arse broad and supple.

The blonde says something else that makes Crowley tip his head back and laugh, and the man tightens his fingers in Crowley’s hair, tipping his face back further so he can lean forward and over him, bite at the angle of his jaw from above and then draw back to dangle a bunch of green grapes over his lips.

Crowley plucks one with his teeth and slides back into the water, so that it laps at his chin as he chews. He sees Aziraphale suddenly, surprise making his bright yellow eyes go wide and then his lips smile around the last of the grape juice and he arches an eyebrow.

“Aziraphale!” he says, voice warm and drawled as though the baths and whatever else he’s been up to here have him relaxed, perhaps even sated.

To continue reading head on over to AO3!

[acescorazon]

Changes

Chapter: 16

Title: Retribution

Rating: M

Warnings: Language, Violence (but not really), Dialogue heavy :3

Word Count: 2879

Chapter Excerpt:

“Or are you perhaps still upset at Crocodile and I?” 

Buggy doesn’t know what’s the most shocking thing about this revelation, the fact that Mihawk wanted to console Buggy or the fact that he’s actively paying attention and actually seems to care how Buggy is feeling. His head is spinning right now. Mihawk moves his hand back quickly, almost as if he’s been burned, “I don’t know how to make my feelings seem genuine,” He states, and another moment goes by before he quietly asks:  “Do you want to take your grievances out on me?” What? Buggy instantly thinks as he stares at Mihawk, more confused than ever. “I know I’ve done a lot to hurt you in the past, so it would only be fair if you get some sort of retribution, right?” 

What? 

Mihawk gets up from his seat and fetches his giant blade from the corner of the room before presenting it to Buggy, “Take Yoru and do what you please to me or feel free to use any weapon of your choice if you don’t want to use Yoru.” He says, “I won’t stop you.” What the hell is this? How did they even get to this point so quickly? Buggy’s feels a wave of unease wash over him as he feels Yoru rest heavily against his lap and then watches Mihawk take a step back and spread his arms out.

“Whenever you’re ready, Buggy.”

|Ch1|Ch2|Ch3|Ch4|Ch5|Ch6|Ch7|Ch8|Ch9|Ch10|Ch11|Ch12||Ch13||Ch14||Ch15||

Buggy stops writing and looks up from his paper. He furrows his brow in confusion, “Oh? I thought you wanted to work on bettering your relationship with Crocodile and I.” He asks, curious. The thought of having a dinner with both Mihawk and Crocodile still isn’t an appealing one, but he thought for sure that Mihawk would try and invite Crocodile to dinner with them again. 

Mihawk rubs the back of his neck, “I do, but…” He trails off, “I assume he’d reject my invitation anyways, so why bother asking him?” Well, that’s a pretty good point. Even if Crocodile has apologized and expressed he wanted them all to get along, knowing him, he’ll only put the bare minimum into repairing their relationship, which is fine with Buggy.  

“How about it?” Mihawk asks. 

God, Buggy doesn’t want to have another dinner with Mihawk. He wants to have dinner with his friends where things are lively and fun, not all uptight and extremely awkward. Still, Buggy finds it difficult to reject Mihawk’s offer when he appears to be putting in the effort to fix their relationship, feeling like if he says no then it’ll cause unwanted stress and drama. “Yeah, sure.” He mutters, relenting despite wanting to reject Mihawk’s offer. 

….

After finishing their shopping list and sending some men out to sea to retrieve the supplies they’ll be needing, Buggy once again finds himself in Mihawk’s personalityless tent, sitting on his couch while eating an equally drab meal. There’s a weird tension in the room, and part of Buggy doesn’t know why he agreed to have a meal with Mihawk again in the first place. Maybe this is good for him, though. There’s a brief silence amongst them, but it doesn’t stretch for nearly as long as Buggy expects it to. For the most part, Mihawk seems to be putting effort into making conversation tonight. They talk about their upcoming trip to Prickly Pear Island as well as how training has been going with Mihawk and Buggy’s crew.

Everything is going fine and dandy until Mihawk brings up one man in particular. 

“Did you hear that Red hair is going after the one piece?” Mihawk ask as he takes a sip of his wine. Ugh, yeah… Yeah, Buggy did.

Buggy chews slowly on his food. Suddenly, his meal taste bitter and leaves a foul taste in his mouth, but he forces himself to swallow it down before he reaches for his glass of water. “Of course I did…” He mutters as he tries to keep his expression somewhat neutral or at least uncaring. 

“What are your thoughts on that?”

What are Buggy’s thoughts? Buggy can’t even begin to sort all the thoughts he has swimming around in his head right now, let alone put them into words. He guesses the closest word to describe how he’s feeling would be bitterness, but not even that sums up the true depth of his emotions. “I don’t give a shit what that idiot does,” Buggy manages to say, but his lie doesn’t sound too convincing. “He probably won’t even find the One Piece anyways.” 

Mihawk watches Buggy for a moment before he hums, “I suppose you’re right. The chances of him or anyone else actually finding the One Piece after all this time are probably slim.” Yeah, that’s what Buggy thinks too… Or rather hopes. “Roger never told you two where it was, did he?” 

Buggy shakes his head, “Nah, but I don’t think we ever wanted to know anyways. We didn’t want to know what it was or where it was, we always wanted to go on a grand adventure and find it for ourselves, you know?” 

“Together, right?” Mihawk asks softly.  

Buggy tries to stop a bitter smile from spreading across his face but fails. “Yeah, together.” He confirms. “I always thought he was supposed to take after Roger. I thought that he should be king of the pirates and that we would go after the one piece together, but…” He chuckles softly, “Shit happens, I guess. I don’t care.”

“Except you do care.” Mihawk replies, calling Buggy out on his lies. Oh, there Hawkeye goes again, reading Buggy like a book. Perhaps Buggy isn’t as good of an actor as he thought he was. 

Buggy laughs, “You kidding me? I don’t care,” He insists, “Let that idiot do whatever the hell he wants. I have my own problems I need to worry about. I have to be Cross Guild’s flashy leader, don’t I? Why would I care what one dumbass is doing?”

Mihawk leans back against the couch and looks up at the ceiling, “You know, Red Haired Shanks might be a close friend of mine, but… I know how he can be.” He sighs before pausing again, “I know how it feels when he just disappears for months and years on end and doesn’t even send you a message to let you know he’s alive or see how you’re doing. I also know how it feels when he shows up out of the blue one day and acts like he hasn’t been gone a single day. Or how it feels when he makes promises that you both know he won’t fulfill.”

At least Shanks is consistent, Buggy thinks bitterly as he debates whether or not he should ask for a glass of wine now that the two are talking in depth about Shanks. 

“He’s a good man and an excellent fighter,” Mihawk adds softly, “But there are times when his carefree lifestyle can leave others feeling disappointed and like they’re unimportant, almost like an afterthought. So, I get how you’re feeling right now, I really do.” He reaches out and puts his hand on Buggy’s thigh, squeezing it lightly. 

Buggy startles slightly from the touch. “Are you…” He blinks, confused again, “Are you trying to console me?” He accidentally blurts as soon as the thought pops up in his head. That can’t be, right? Mihawk can’t possibly think that Buggy is feeling down because Shanks is going after the one piece without him and is now actually trying to make him feel better. Why would Dracule Mihawk try to console anyone? He’s not that type of man. 

Mihawk seems equally as confused now, “Isn’t… Isn’t it obvious?” He asks. His hand is still on Buggy’s thigh, and he doesn’t make any effort to move it, “You’re feeling down, aren’t you? You… you kept looking at that newspaper with Shanks’ face on it during today’s meeting, and you haven’t been talking a lot lately…” he locks eyes with Buggy, “I thought you heard the news about Shanks and felt betrayed and might want to talk about it, so…” he trails off, “Was I wrong?”

 

“Um…”

“Or are you perhaps still upset at Crocodile and I?” 

Buggy doesn’t know what’s the most shocking thing about this revelation, the fact that Mihawk wanted to console Buggy or the fact that he’s actively paying attention and actually seems to care how Buggy is feeling. His head is spinning right now. Mihawk moves his hand back quickly, almost as if he’s been burned, “I don’t know how to make my feelings seem genuine,” He states, and another moment goes by before he quietly asks:  “Do you want to take your grievances out on me?” What? Buggy instantly thinks as he stares at Mihawk, more confused than ever. “I know I’ve done a lot to hurt you in the past, so it would only be fair if you get some sort of retribution, right?” 

What? 

Mihawk gets up from his seat and fetches his giant blade from the corner of the room before presenting it to Buggy, “Take Yoru and do what you please to me or feel free to use any weapon of your choice if you don’t want to use Yoru.” He says, “I won’t stop you.” What the hell is this? How did they even get to this point so quickly? Buggy’s feels a wave of unease wash over him as he feels Yoru rest heavily against his lap and then watches Mihawk take a step back and spread his arms out.

“Whenever you’re ready, Buggy.”  

Buggy doesn’t even know what to make of this situation. Here’s one of the men who has hurt him the most, standing before him and telling him to unleash his fury on him. It’s Buggy’s chance to finally get a little bit of revenge. He could beat Mihawk up to a pulp, he could slice him to pieces, he could leave him for dead, that way he’ll never get to take his anger out on Buggy again. 

Buggy stands up from the couch slowly and holds Yoru in his hands. This thing is heavier than shit. He thinks as he glances over at Mihawk, who’s looking back at him with an unreadable expression. “Do you regret it…?” He asks, his voice a little shaky, “Do you honestly, truly regret treating me like shit?” 

Mihawk simply nods in response. “I do. I don’t think I can apologize enough for my heinous behavior, which is why I think you should hurt me like I hurt you. I won’t fight back or seek revenge in the future. You have my word.” 

“You do know you’ve hurt me with more than just your fists, right?”

“I do. Feel free to insult me while you get your revenge.”

Buggy had no idea that the world’s strongest swordsmen was such a masochist. Buggy can really do or say whatever he wants to Mihawk and there won’t be any repercussions at all?! He thinks back to all the times that this man, this cruel man has put him down and made him hurt and cry. Mihawk probably won’t cry or even flinch while Buggy is beating the shit out of him, though, but at least Buggy will be getting some form of revenge.

Buggy swallows down a wad of spit, “You do know that you’re an idiot for doing this, right, Hawkeye?” He asks, feeling a little bold now that Mihawk has given his word that he won’t stop Buggy from enacting his revenge on him. “You do realize I could kill you, right?” he asks, “Do you realize how much hatred and hurt, and rage I have stored up inside of me after all the shit you and Crocodile have put me through?! I could kill you. I could slit your throat right now.” 

“If that’s what it takes to get forgiveness, then I’m okay with dying.”

He was so quick to respond. Buggy truly hates this man and his bravery. Mihawk is yet another person who doesn’t fear his own death, and it pisses Buggy off. He’s everything that Buggy isn’t. 

Buggy hates him. He wants him to suffer, or better yet, to just die. Buggy will still have to deal with Crocodile if he kills Mihawk and he’s sure that Crocodile will be furious about Mihawk’s death, but who cares? This is finally Buggy’s chance at revenge. Hell, maybe after he kills Mihawk, he’ll have enough adrenaline flowing through his veins to actually be able to take on Crocodile and finally be free of these two.

Yeah, that sounds just perfect, actually... 

Buggy takes another step forward, Mihawk doesn’t move. He looks down at the sword in his hand, it far too heavy for his liking, but he does think it would be ironic if Mihawk died from his own blade, and even more ironic that Buggy would be the one using it to strike him down. Buggy’s heart is soaring right now as he stands in front of Mihawk. He feels stronger than he’s felt in weeks, granted he knows it’s all an illusion that Mihawk is allowing him to have, but it still feels damn good. He feels like he’s on top of the world, knowing that he can slice Mihawk in half or plunge his own sword into his belly right now. 

“You’re too hesitant. Don’t think, just do it.” Mihawk orders, his voice flat. 

Buggy chuckles. Yeah, maybe he has been stalling a little without even really noticing it. He tries to shut off his mind and his feelings before he raises Yoru up in the air. He quickly brings it down as those same painful memories flood his mind for the umpteenth time, but he stops short of Mihawk’s shoulder when he realizes Mihawk really isn’t going to stop him.

“Why are you doing this?” Buggy asks, desperately searching for answers, “What do you think this could possibly achieve? Are you just fucking with me? You know I can’t do something like this.” 

Mihawk stares down at Buggy, still completely unbothered, “This is no joke. I want forgiveness and if this is the only way to receive it, so be it.” He replies, remaining stubborn and fearless. Buggy drops Yoru to the side, and shoves Mihawk roughly, but the other man doesn’t budge. 

“Why are you acting like you’ve suddenly changed?” Buggy asks as he shoves Mihawk again, this time a little harder, “Why are you acting like you actually give a shit about how I feel? Why are you acting like a man of honor now?!” Mihawk doesn’t reply, and it only pisses Buggy off more. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to do! What’s the point in all this bullshit?!” He yells. 

Mihawk remains silent yet again. 

“Why won’t you answer me?!” Buggy asks, and in the heat of the moment he slaps Mihawk. It doesn’t feel as good as it should. After everything Buggy’s been through, slapping Mihawk should feel amazing, but there’s nothing gratifying about it at all. If anything, hitting Mihawk makes Buggy feel…bad. 

Mihawk doesn’t even flinch when Buggy slaps him, he stays perfectly motionless and stares down at Buggy, waiting for his next move. Buggy swears he’s never met someone as enraging as Hawkeye before. “Why are you doing this?”  He repeats, “Why are you acting like you desperately want my forgiveness after all this time? There’s no way you actually care if I forgive you or not. So, why are you doing this bullshit, Hawkeye?” 

Mihawk looks away, “You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you my reasoning behind all this.” he mutters, “Just let your frustrations out on me.” What the hell is that even supposed to mean? Buggy absolutely hates how cryptic Mihawk has been recently. “No, I want to know why you had a sudden change in heart,” He replies, shoving Mihawk again - still no budge.

“Because I’m remorseful.”   

“Bullshit. What’s the real reason?” 

“Because I’m remorseful.” Mihawk repeats. 

Mihawk’s words loop over and over in Buggy’s head. Because I’m remorseful, because I’m remorseful. Somehow those words just make Buggy even more upset, even more confused. “Come on, Hawkeye. Stop bullshitting me. We both know you hate my guts and love seeing me suffering, there’s no need to play these stupid games with me.”

“For the love of God, Buggy!” Mihawk exclaims, “Can’t you see that I don’t hate you? Can’t you see that I’m doing all this because I want you to forgive me? I want to move on, I–.” He trails off, unable to finish his sentence, “I was wrong. I was wrong in so many ways about you, and I was wrong for hurting you.” He takes a step forward this time and puts both of his hands on Buggy’s shoulders, Buggy tenses but doesn’t move away. “Can’t you see I’m being genuine? I wouldn’t stoop as low as to play mind games with you…” He pauses again and then takes a deep breath, “Buggy, I’m doing this because I regret my actions and I want to move on. I’m doing this because I want to better our relationship and…because… I think I’m starting to develop feelings for you, as crazy as that seems.”

Buggy feels like he’s been punched in the gut. He stares at Mihawk for a good minute, trying to figure out what the hell he just said to him amidst all this chaos. ‘I think i’m starting to develop feelings for you…’ Buggy opens and closes his mouth, unsure how he’s even supposed to react to such an announcement. It’s like a cold bucket of water has just been dropped on his head. He’s unsure if he should still be angry or if he should be in disbelief. Is he supposed to be flattered?

“I’m serious, Buggy. I have absolutely nothing to gain from lying to you.” 

Oh, god. Buggy quickly puts some distance between them as he feels a weird, unexplainable concoction of emotions stirring within him. Oh, god. What the hell is going on? He thinks as he frantically searches Mihawk’s face for any sighs of deception but finds none. Oh, god. He’s serious, he’s actually serious. Oh, God. Buggy puts a finger up, “I have to go because you’re freaking me out, man.” Buggy blurts. “You have to be the most confusing man i have ever met in my life. What do you mean you think you’re developing feelings for me?!” He asks.

“I-” “Oh, god. Don’t say anymore.” Buggy says, cutting Mihawk off before he rushes out of his tent and into the night, panicking from Mihawk’s all too confusing confession.  

A/N: Because only Mihawk would think he needs to be stabbed to be forgiven and then be like oh by the way i think i'm starting to like you.

[numptypylon]

“Rayla is… not my lovebug.”

“Oh ho, now?" Nyx leaned obnoxiously close, her eyebrows raising. "Have you told her that?”

“She told me," Callum said, angry all over again suddenly that... she actually hadn't told him that and yet they weren't- "So I’m tentatively assuming that she knows.”

“Oh ho? So she broke up with you and yet you’re still adventuring together, risking your lives for each other, making love eyes at each other at every opportunity… ah, to be young and in love and a garbage fire of collective awkwardness of such radiance as to light up the heavens-”

“Yeah!” Ezran agreed, walking up to them. Oh no. Hopefully Nyx would tone down the… everything… around an 11-year-old, but… considering he had been 14 himself when he’d first encountered Nyx, he didn’t have high hopes. “It’s gross and they’re so dumb, and here I am, a doomed onlooker!"

“You got the family braincell, I see,” Nyx said, winking at Ezran.

Ezran nodded sagely. “My blessing and my curse, ‘tis true.”

Really?! Did Ez really have to form an alliance with every new person they met to tag-team roast him?!

Nyx turned away from Ezran, her unwanted attention firmly back on him now. “I still need the full status update on my favorite dysfunctional lovebugs!” Nyx would keep prodding, and Callum didn’t want her to prod Rayla- “You know there’s another ex-lovebug who could tell me-“ Did he just curse that idea into Nyx’s head?! “But you’re currently the less puke-smelling option, so…"

Nyx really didn't subscribe to the idea of sensitive subjects you should keep your trap shut about.

“We… broke up. Like you said.” One way to say it. But he wasn’t giving Nyx any ammunition to use against Rayla. “Then made up. Kind of. We’re friends, just not… lovebugs.”

“Friends with benefits?”

“What friends do you have?” Ezran asked, all wide-eyed, vicious innocence. “Do you not consider friendship a benefit?”

“Hey!” Nyx looked insulted. “I thought we were allies against yon magus of maladroit you tragically must call brother?”

“My allegiances are many and inscrutable!” Ez stuck his tongue out at Nyx.

“’Allegiances’? ’Inscrutable’? Sheesh, kid, how old are you? And what awful, terrible company do you keep?!”

“11. And… politicians.”

“Oh no, you’re serious?! Oh kid, the depths of my condolences is one of them yawning chasms of endless screaming-“

“Oi?!” Villads yelled. “Matey? Riggin’ snagged!”

“I don’t hold court with betrayers, anyway,” Nyx said, incredibly hypocritically for someone who’d stranded them in a desert, and she pushed off the deck and was airborne, heading off towards the center mast.

“What is the benefit of being ‘friends with benefits’?” Ezran asked, looking around to Callum and then Soren, who had just arrived with Hat perched on his head. “The friendship is pretty obviously a benefit of being friends without having to say it, so I know it isn’t that, I just said that because Nyx was being mean.”

“Oh, I know!” Soren said, eagerly. “It’s s-“

“Sandwiches!” Callum cut him off. “Sandwiches, Soren! Remember?”

“Riiiiight!” Soren winked, exaggeratedly. “Sandwiches. Got it. Corvus makes the best bread sandwich, extra mayonnaise-“

“Please, Soren,” Callum choked. “Please, let’s… talk about something else. Anything else. Please.”

———

Excerpt from an upcoming chapter of my S4-6 between-canon-episodes fic, Downtime’s Up (successor to my S1-3 between-canon-scenes fics Downtime in Wartime and Upside Downtime)

It’s wednesday and I have many wips I want to work on and no time, but I DO also have a lot of stuff written and not posted, so… hope you enjoyed some overgrown pigeon time and depraved sandwich innuendos. Once I get past the next 4 chapters of Downtime’s Up, I have most of the rest of the story written, just… it’s been rough going to write anything lately

[smallpapers]

Commission for the author of Which Witch!! Tysm for the com it was such a pleasure to draw for one of my fav fics ever!!

If you’ve read the fic (if you haven’t you really should!!!) you might be wondering, hey! I don’t recall this part!! Well then!! Consider this as a sneak peek for an upcoming scene in the next chapter 👀👀

I got to read an excerpt from the next chapter and wow. falls on to the floor. y’all ain’t ready!!!

[amarynthian-chronicles]

Fae Prince Sun, Fae Prince Moon, Fae King Eclipse x Witch Reader

(excerpt from upcoming chapter 5 of Extended Contract)

Warnings: suggestive themes and the usual Fae tomfoolery

“We are running out of vases for me to knock over, Sun.“

“Now, now, practice makes perfect.“

“Yes, I am a professional bulldozer now.“

Sun gave you a gentle tap on the tip of your nose.

“Tut-tut, you sassy darling. I meant for the dancing lesson part, not the damage part. Although, that last crash? Exquisite, definitely recommend it as a new ringtone for your mobile device, it would be an improvement.“

“My dear prince, you may be cute, but not cute enough to get a pass on insulting my taste in music.“

“Permit me to make a retort in a similar manner. Your beauty could place all stars to shame, and you don't get a pass out of this formality either. We will have to open the first dance when we arrive in the Grand Hall, my love.“

“Is this really necessary?“

“Royal etiquette and tradition. Courtly gallantry is of crucial importance. Additionally, one must demonstrate refinement and confidence through their movement, the ability to command attention. You never know what diplomatic affairs or arrangements may be struck in these close encounters where you have to whisper sweet nothings to the other party as you sway them in every sense of the term.“

You blinked at him.

“It's my birthday, Sun. If I want to sit in the corner with a glass of brandy without elaborating anything, then everyone else in the Celestial Court will just have to deal with it.“

He chuckled, tapping the tip of your nose once more. You had half a mind to bite his finger off.

“Admirable attitude, lovely. Completely against court politics, but admirable nonetheless.“

You heard Moon grumble as he was taking care of the shards, waving his hand and letting them disintegrate into blue smoke.

“Clean up, clean up. Since we are already on the topic of practice and perfection, I now officially qualify as a maid.“

You couldn't help but smirk at the lunar Fae.

“Serves you right after laughing at my dancing skills, Moon.“

“Such slanderous words, wishing star. I deny these accusations. I wasn't laughing at your dancing skills, I was laughing at the lack thereof.“

You rolled your eyes and shrugged, turning your gaze back to his twin.

“Sun, your gremlin of a brother does have a point.“

The solar Fae tilted his head in confusion, his sun rays slightly lowering and rising as if they were the ears of a confused puppy.

“He does?“

“We have been practicing this move for the past indeterminate amount of ridiculously long hours and the only thing we accomplished thus far is almost giving Moon a concussion when he fell off the chair cackling like an idiot.“

Moon grinned, shadows moving around him playfully, forming grimaces on the walls as if to accentuate the mirth of their master. As much as he despised the necessity of dealing with broken glass and porcelain, he could not deny that the spectacular disaster he was witnessing was a nice compensation.

“Beautiful witch, your presence makes my soul sing, but do pardon me when I say that if we ever find ourselves in need of getting even with a foe, we will simply send you to dance in their house till you raze it to the ground.“

“I shan't pardon a single thing and you just earned yourself a night of sleeping on the floor, Moon.“

A part of you expected him to retaliate with a wicked trick, but he decided to take a more suave approach, knowing that he could get under your skin in other ways. He extended a shadowy tendril in your direction, allowing it to glide over your cheek and along your neck, making you shudder. Prince Moon knew very well what effect he could have on you, how sensitive you were, both to his touch and his sinfully passionate poetry.

“Divine cruelty, blissful and sweet, flames so tender, my heart eagerly awaits the gentle wrath of fallen stars. I offer my life to my fair beloved, their kisses and their blades equally dear to me. Banishment only stirs the dreams and my arms embrace your form even in the loneliest of dungeons.“

His raspy voice was low and sultry, mesmerizing, worthy of a powerful nocturnal Fae that could enthrall the masses if he so pleased. As he spoke, the shadowy tendril kept caressing your neck and around your collarbone. Desire bloomed in your core, but you did your best to suppress it and get your wits together. Moon was aware of your mental turmoil and he winked at you, grinning,  devious scenarios already playing out in his mind. Wicked man, shameless.

You groaned, flustered and defeated. Like a cranky cat, you tried to swat the dark tendril away, only for it to curl around your wrist.

“Moon, you devil.“

“Your devil, at your service. Command and I shall comply.“

[quillthrillswriting]

sooo.... anyone else ever wondered how different ATLA would have been if aang had been frozen at age 16 instead of age 12?

yeah... me too 😌 my new fanfic "the teenager in the iceberg" follows the events of the show, but with only aang aged up, while everyone else remains their canon age.

also...cmon....how funny is it to switch zuko and aang's iconic dialogue to "you're just a teenager!" "...so are you?"

enjoy the excerpt from (the upcoming) third chapter!! updates every wednesday!!

⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩

Aang led the way through the temple, and Katara winced at every single skeleton that lined the halls of the stone pathways carved through the sacred building. Aang couldn’t look at them, didn’t let himself look at them. Katara didn’t blame him for it. She hadn’t been able to look at the handful of bodies left after every Fire Nation raid, and yet, here were the bodies of all of his people, his entire culture. 

She was snapped out of her spiralling train of thought by the screech of stone against stone as Aang funnelled air through a complex looking lock system, the gears driving it creaking from disuse. Sokka and Katara flinched, but Aang stayed still. 

The door opened to hundreds, if not thousands, of stone statues, gazing unflinchingly back at them.

Sokka dropped into a defensive position out of habit, as if the statues would lunge toward them at any minute, and Katara just rolled her eyes and giggled at her brother, pushing past him as she stepped towards the statues in awe. Weaving between them, she stopped at one of a woman with traditional water tribe clothing that made her heart twist with homesickness. She felt Aang standing behind her, his exposed chest through his one-shoulder robes radiating heat in a way that made her face flush with colour.

He reached up over her to brush a finger against the statue’s delicately carved hair. “She has your little…hair thingies.”

Somewhat unconsciously, she reached up to brush her own loops of hair, grazing the white bone-beads with her ring finger. “I didn’t realise the great Avatar paid attention to things like that.”

A teasing smile spread across Aang’s lips. “I think you’ll find that I’m a very attentive person.” He said the words innocently enough, but the way honey seemed to wrap around every syllable caught Katara off guard, sending warmth spreading down her spine as she momentarily forgot how to speak.

Aang grinned again, looking as though he was about to add something, before a chittery, squeaking noise echoed through the room, bouncing between statues. “What was that?” Sokka yelped, jumping away from the statue whose armour and sword he had been examining. The screech of metal against stone sounded from somewhere on Sokka’s side of the room, and both Katara and Aang quickly wove between statues to join him, all three tensing.

From between the statues, the sound got louder, and a helmet dragged between the sculptures, moving haphazardly as it scraped against the floor.

“GHOSTIE!” Sokka yelped, jumping backwards as he pointed an accusatory finger at the helmet. Katara stayed silent, visibly pale. Aang looked back at the two of them, then faced the helmet again. He stepped through those same strange airbending forms, his movement ending with the sharp expulsion of wind from his fist. The helmet blew away, clattering against the stone, revealing….

⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩

♥ check out the two chapters of this (ongoing) fic & my ao3 here! ->