#frankly i think it's unfair that he just looks like this WHO SAID YOU COULD LOOK LIKE THIS??????

[aceseonghwa]

i recieve one million points of psychic damage every time he posts on instagram

[batchilla]

False Accusations (You know I KNOW right? Chapter Two)

Let me first say thank you for all the kind reception part one received. It was … a surprise, and a welcome one.

Also, a massive thank you to @sunnie-angel for beta reading. If you haven’t read their work… Do yourself a favor and check out their masterlist!

This Chapter takes place over a few days in two mini stories., and I would appreciate being told if at any point this causes confusion. Currently how I’ve done it is as tilted segments. Content warning: this chapter has themes of sexual harassment in the workplace up to the point of groping (from an OC), and corruption. Proceed with caution. Be safe.

The morning after. You are going to murder your partner, Grayson. Perhaps with a gun. Maybe your own two hands. Or maybe you just need coffee.

It's probably the coffee thing. Coffee, then you’ll decide if you're going to kill him and how. As you sit at your table, surrounded by notes you’d made at 4am, the urge to throttle Grayson slowly subsides. You hadn’t slept a wink. You’d had a weird night. But if you were going to do this, help him find this killer… you’d need a plan for if it all goes to hell. A diversion. A plan so that if you’re made, maybe the killer will think you’re on the wrong track. A dummy investigation. But simultaneously one that you won’t overthink, so that you can devote your time and brainpower to the truth. Luckily for you, you have the perfect person to pretend to accuse. After all, your partner, Grayson, is an incredibly weird guy. 8:55 am finds you walking into the station sipping your third coffee of the morning, only to find Grayson sat at his desk. Shirt pressed, tie perfect, hair shampoo commercial glamourous yet slightly messy. The urge to murder your partner returns, just a little. How dare he be so… normal? So unaffected? How dare this man fight crime by night, and be smiling at you as he is now, chipper and bright and perfect, before 9am? The nerve. Maybe you could hit him with a patrol car and claim it was an accident. “Morning detective… Long night?”

Oh.. This fucker. Your partner, Grayson, is the most annoying man alive. You hate how badly you have to fight the urge to grin at the sheer audacity.

She looks exhausted, the poor thing. Dick remembered the feeling, but at some point he’d adapted to running on less sleep than was by any means reasonable. He hoped she wouldn’t need to. That this would be over in a few weeks and she’d be back to getting a full eight hours. “Morning Detective… Long night?” She glares at him like he’s caused personal offence. He raises an eyebrow at her to prompt a response. Inside though, he panics. Had he done something wrong? Could she suspect? No. no of course not. But whatever she said next would surely be important. It was a test of sorts. What would she say she’d spent the night doing? Would she betray his alter ego? Could she sell the lie if she didn’t? “Just had a night in, had a little too much to drink,” she shrugs, opening her bag and removing a notebook. Casual, calm, partially true and nearly impossible to disprove short of a blood test or breathalyser, and even then there was deniability. Dick nods, and looks back down to his computer to hide the grin that splits his face in half. He knows he can’t dwell on it, knows he can’t act on it, but it’s completely unfair that she was that smooth. That helpful. She’d agreed to help him - as Nightwing - instantly. Her words about how Blud owed him a debt had played in his mind on loop for the rest of his patrol. He knew what it felt like to fly. To flip through the air at dizzying heights, gravity a mere afterthought. It was cruel, frankly, that he’d found someone who made him feel even better than that, only for her to be someone he couldn’t be with out of principle and professionalism. It wasn’t that he objected to her as a partner - short of his family, she was possibly the best he’d ever met. Frankly, if she was transferred to Gotham, the bat signal would be turned on far less frequently. And he didn’t object to rules about dating fellow officers, especially one’s partner. Objectively it made sense. But it didn’t change the fact that her smile was the best part of his day. That on the rare times she laughed he could swear he heard an angel just straight up quit its position in the heavenly chorus out of pure envy. That when she’d said she’d help he’d wanted nothing more than to grab her face and kiss her till she was breathless. But he can’t. Or at least Dick Grayson can’t. A new voice breaks him from his spiralling thoughts. “Detective Grayson.” The man standing behind his partner's desk has a hand on the back of her seat, preventing her from swivelling around. 

“We haven’t met yet, I’m Sergeant James McElroy. Seems you spent most of my first day back stuck on a stakeout.” “Pleasure.” he responds, with all the charm he’s learnt to use at galas and parties, forcing down the venom incurred by the way his partner had seemed to lose a gallon of blood at the sound of his voice, and the way she had seemed not to breath since the name was spoken.

He's not touching you. Of course not. He knows better than to do anything so blatant. It's how he’d gotten away with it for so long last time. He doesn’t touch you, or say the things he was so clearly thinking. He would masterfully walk the line between making you feel unsafe, alone, and naked, while never crossing over into anything actionable. Till one day he had. It had been in a crowded lift where he’d used the crush as an excuse to grab and to feel, whispering something vile in your ear. 

He’d figured he’d gotten away with it when you tried to tell your captain and he’d asked if you had a witness. You’d thought he’d gotten away with it too. Till a uniformed officer, Janet Rodwell, had stepped up to have your back. You should have known, really. For the second time in 24 hours you feel like a fool. But while the first time it had been accompanied with a dizzying realisation of love, this time the realisation is dark and chilling to your core. You’d thought you’d won, that it was over. But he’s back and he’s not touching you, but you feel the ghost of his hands all over. You can’t win. He’d been sent away and you thought you were safe again, but he’s back and he’s a sergeant now. Because Bludhaven, as it is, rewards men like him. You can’t bring yourself to look over your shoulder at him, so you look straight ahead, across your desk and to your partner’s adjoining one.

It's not Dick Grayson’s eyes you meet though. They aren’t cheerful, carefree and beautiful. Well, they are beautiful. But they are angry, intelligent, and fierce. You meet Nightwings gaze, and you feel the claws around your lungs relax, even if they do not recede. 

His partner did not rattle easily. Did not panic unnecessarily. 

Pinned down by the Penguin’s smugglers, he’d thought their goose had been cooked unless he could work at his true capacity, so he had shot out the lights and gotten to work. He’d taken out nine, but been unable to find the tenth, until he’d heard the struggle. 

She’d taken him down blind, without drawing her gun. When he’d asked her why she hadn’t, she’d told him she’d lost sight of him in the chaos, and was unwilling to risk it. He wished he hadn’t shot the light out so he could have seen it. 

Still, he had been oblivious. It had hit him like a batarang to the face last night, in that moment where she agreed without hesitation to help him find a serial killer. He’d known she was beautiful, and brilliant. That he had a crush. 

He’d realised last night he was in far, far deeper trouble than that. So, if she was frightened and upset by the presence of this man, then Dick would take his looming over her as a serious threat. He trusted her gut. “You haven’t introduced yourself to my partner, Detective—-” He’s cut off with a dismissive wave that boils his blood. “Oh we’ve met. In fact, she was my partner first. Until the misunderstanding.” There are many ways to snap someone out of a panic. He’s seen sheer rage do it many times. As it does now. “There was no misunderstanding,” she says, her voice firm, her teeth gritted. “Well. I want you to know-” he moves from directly behind her, to her side, leaning down over her, invading her space. Dick wanted to hit him. “I understand that what I did could have been seen as invasive, and you may have felt that I overstepped. I have completed a course, as demanded by HR, and will attempt not to cause you to feel that I have been inappropriate again.”

She takes a deep breath. He can practically hear her count in his head. He stands, moving around the desk to stand beside her, not quite a barrier but a comforting presence, or at least he hoped. “Well. Whatever occurred, we have work to be getting on with, if you don’t mind.” It takes a great deal of the restraint his training has given not to add the words ‘you bastard’, or something far more creative. “But of course. Detective. Detective.”  

Your hands shake as you sit back down in your seat. Your partner, Grayson, returns to his own, his gaze - Richard’s gaze, never leaving your face, crumpled in concern. “I don’t want to overstep… but are you alright? What … did he do?” “I…” you want to tell him, in part. Or maybe you don’t, and you want him to know without having to go through the ordeal of rehashing it all. Maybe by consulting whatever ‘oracle’ he used as nightwing. But you can’t right now. So you don’t. “I… need some air.” Your partner just gives you a comforting smile, a nod, and lets you leave without question. Wingding in the window 

It's five days later, on his patrol, when he notices it. The wingding left in her window. He stops on the roof of the building adjacent to her. As far as city roofs go, this one’s relatively nice. Someone’s placed some potted plants around, in an eclectic attempt at a rooftop garden. Some of these pots contain small pebbles as cover for the soil from the wind. Grinning to himself, he takes a handful. 

Was this a good idea? No. 

Was it deceptive? Well, no more than anything else he did as Nightwing… well, maybe a little more. 

But it hurt, holding her at arm's length, when a part of his soul he tried to ignore yearned to be as close as she would allow. He knows it’s not good. He knows it’s a violation of the utter trust she seems to hold in Nightwing. Really, it would only make things even more messy for his chances as Dick. But he wants to make her smile. Blush, even. He knows she finds him attractive, and in both contexts, but he wants more than that. Over the last week he’s realised just how much he wants to have with her, and it terrifies him. 

If it was simple lust he could deal with it.  But it wasn’t, and so here he was, about to attempt the cheesiest move known to hallmark films, just to see if it would make her laugh at him again. 

He’d managed to be professional while surrounded by highly capable, badass women in skintight clothes for most of his life. He’d had crushes before and gotten over them. He wanted everything with her. And that was not something he knew how to handle, given the mess of their situation. Dick shakes his head, snapping himself out of his doom spiral. He had a detective to meet, and a serial killer to find.

Bap. Bap. Bap. You look up from your book. You’d been getting ready for sleep, wearing your cosy pyjamas, curled up in bed with a book and a hot chocolate. You go still, listening. Bap. Bap. A pause. Then, the rap of knuckles on glass. “I ran out of rocks”

You know that voice. “With you in a moment.” You pull on a dressing gown, and take a moment to curse the fact that your slippers are rabbits before pulling the curtains aside. Nightwing is crouched on your windowsill. You lift it, stepping back as he enters through the window with all the grace of a cat. You know that you shouldn’t be embarrassed to be in your pyjamas, it's late, you had no means of knowing when he’d arrive. But he looked divine in that suit. An adonis. And you're in your old bathrobe and bunny slippers. Truely, you must have done terrible things in a past life. “Nice footwear.” Nightwing says with a smirk. Curse him. Curse his cheekbones and the way his lips look so damn inviting. “You picked up what, five rocks?” you sass right back. Nightwing makes a noise you suspect was supposed to be a scoff, but is more of a squeak. “Do you see a lot of pocket space on this?” 

“Fair.” you say, leading him out of your bedroom and into your living room. He sits on your couch, one leg spread wide, the other’s ankle resting on its thigh, as you open a drawer on your coffee table and produce your masterpiece. Nearly five metres of red string. Names, photos, dates, all studded with pins so pressed so tightly in they haven’t a prayer of accidental removal. You prop it up on the coffee table. 

Maybe your friends were right. Maybe you did need to touch grass. A line of thought for later. You look at Nightwing, who’s no longer relaxed and laying back on your sofa like he owned the place. 

Its years of maintaining a poker face in interrogations and more recently, dealing with his shenanigans that prevents you from grinning. 

He's as pale as you’ve ever managed to see him, and leaning forward now, elbow on knee and chin in hand. “Well, this is… impressive.” He sounded like he’d inhaled helium. “Shall we start with Sergeant McElroy?” you offer, smiling your best ‘there’s nothing wrong’ smile, enjoying making him squirm. “You seem to have … a significant amount of evidence against Detective Richard Grerson?” You fight the urge to roll your eyes as you take a ruler, poking your picture of him between the eyes. You hadn’t planned to do him first, you’d hoped to discuss evidence that would actually lead somewhere. 

This was still going to be fun though. You take a deep breath, and pause for a suitable level of dramatic effect, and begin your game. 

“Detective Richard Grayson. He’s my partner. He’s an excellent detective, and a good man. You might have heard of the charity he founded.” Nightwing makes a noncommittal humming noise. “But is it all too good to be true?” you ask, moving to your first notecard. “Exhibit one. He asked about the file. On its own, innocuous. But then, exhibits two through four. He’s prone to frequent disappearances on cases. He often knows a little too much about the criminal underside of Blud. Things that I have triple checked are not in any police database.”

You run a hand through your hair. “He’s a highly trained combatant. I once saw him take down nine men armed with guns, in the dark. They don’t teach that at the police academy.” “No? No.” Nightwing says, clearing his throat. “I mean yes. That is… suspicious.” “Incredibly. Which brings me to exhibit five. Now I’m no behavioural analyst or shrink. But I know my basics. Childhood trauma and instability can have… lingering impacts. I… don’t feel the need to dredge up his past, but I did look into it… and it’s grim. He was then taken in by Bruce Wayne. His relationship to his father, whatever it is, is something he’s even tighter lipped about then… everything else honestly. It’s not on the board because it’s circumstantial at best… but he has this skill of being able to hold long conversations and yet you come away not having learnt anything deeper about him.” 

He was pretty sure he’d been nodding for a good thirty seconds at this point.  

It would be funny if it didn’t hurt so much. 

The worst part was that it was all well reasoned. Practical. He had done everything she accused him of. She had just drawn a far more down to earth conclusion, that he was a corrupt cop, rather than Nightwing. 

It made sense. Too much sense. How could he shut this down without seeming invested in his own innocence? 

That isn’t what causes his lungs to burn though. No. The root of that was that even if he’d forced himself to maintain a professional - if friendly - distance from her, he would have hoped that she trusted him. 

But in this moment, looking at the evidence, looking at her holding that ruler to his photo’s face like a judge's gavel ready to condemn… he knows. He knows that she will never look at Dick the way she does as Nightwing, happy to see him, believing in his mission, ready to help as soon as he’d asked. Even if he clears himself of this crime, she would surely suspect him of others. 

He’d known it, at least on one level, ever since he’d first met her. He knows it now all the deeper, and he wants to scream. Dick Grayson will never get to tell her how truly wonderful she is.

How highly he regards her. 

How she is one of the reasons he keeps fighting for Bludhaven. 

Dick Grayson will never get to tell her that he loves her. 

But… perhaps Nightwing could have something. Because if she was his north star, then the way he’d felt when she agreed to help him had been like being engulfed by a supernova. 

If she was water, then seeing her cosy and ready for bed and smiling as she let him in through the window had been an oasis in the Sahara. 

If music was the food of love, her attempts not to laugh and stifled giggles over his peeps popcorn had been a symphony orchestra. 

But he’d never have her as himself. Not at all. Nightwing though? She at least found him attractive. Aligned with his ideology. No, he’d never feel that warmth of 10,000 stars directed at the real him. 

No, he’d never be able to be quenched by her life saving presence. 

No, he’d never feel her laughter shaking his bones as if in a musical crescendo.

But even the dimmest and most distant star gave off some light.

Even the last drop in an empty water skin was better than nothing.

Even the memory of a melody could be sweet. True, he would only ever have scraps of her affection. True, he could flirt, and perhaps go even further… but he’d never truly be with her. 

But who was a starving man to deny scraps of sustenance? He’d take what he could have and try to ignore the lingering hunger. 

“Perhaps we should discuss… another suspect?” he prompts, realising how long he’s been silent. How long she had been too, watching him with a strange, concerned look.

She nods, and moves on to their Captain.

Dick is almost relieved when some ten minutes later Oracle calls in a robbery downtown. “Well - sorry Sherlock.” He takes a picture of her board for further study. “I’ll be around next week to continue this discussion, and look over this in my own time till then. Duty calls.” “Be safe,” She says softly, as he’s halfway through the window He looks over his shoulder. “As you wish.”

Taglist: @jasontoddproblems

@sunnie-angel

@stormz369

@love-theangel-blog

@torchbearerkyle

@interwebseriesfan24

@love-theangel-blog

@alwaysnervouswitchprince

@underlinekasis

@tiredsleepyandreading

@soradragon Banner credit is to @strangergraphics

If you would request to be added to my taglist, please reblog the fic. Honestly please just reblog it anyway? I worked hard on this. Nothing more demotivating than a fic getting only likes. If you want part three, reblog part two. 

[lxkeee]

END GAME

PART ONE

pairing: lucifer x fallen angel! fem! reader

fandom: hazbin hotel

genre: fluff

warnings: no warnings yet.

notes: very feral for this man and this is multishot fic and would be writing a smut for this. Reader is close to his age (probably a hundred years younger but meh)

additional notes: this is a long one.

Part two |

[y/n] stood in the podium, her hands bound by golden chains. She looked at the higher angels who sat on the high chairs of the courtroom, her [e/c] eyes stared at them with boredom. She never liked being in heaven, so many rules to the point she couldn't breathe. She was created a few years after the infamous Lucifer fell from grace, she admired him. She has heard his cause and mentally agreed to his beliefs—she couldn't say it out loud as the higher beings would punish her. She was a good angel, always a rule follower and a good role model, then she suffered from burnt out, repeating the same thing everyday—waking up, praying, doing good, following the rules.

She started questioning their ways and now, the time has come for it to bite her back as she finally faces a trial. [Y/n] what happened the majority of her trial, she remembers doing a couple of nods in agreement and occasionally rolling her eyes whenever Adam said something stupid. She couldn't take whatever bullshit Sera was yapping about and decided to cut her off, “Enough about all these rules, just admit that us angels are egomaniacs, always hungry for control. Heck, Lucifer was right with his intentions but you guys saw it as an act of disobedience. You didn't like what he was doing since it didn't follow what you guys wanted him to do.” She said coldly, her tone making the whole room tense and cold, “he thought it was unfair to the humans to follow whatever heaven's command is without question and hesitation. But Lucifer gave them freedom,” [y/n] pauses, glaring at the higher beings, eyebrows furrowed and her eyes staring at their very soul, “Heaven is fake, you put on a show for everyone, pretending that everything is fine and this is a fun place filled with peace and we all know you guys want them to blindly follow your rules.”

“Do not ever speak his name or do you want to follow where he is?” Sera asked loudly, her voice commanding and echoing off the walls of the court but her message just made the angel in trial smirk, “Oh...? Frankly speaking, I think hell seems to be a better and more fun place than heaven. I could do whatever the fuck I want.” [y/n] says with a smirk, heart thumping loudly for the first curse word she had said. This made Sera more angry, “Then, so be it.” Sera sneers.

Falling... So this is what Icarus felt when he flew too close to the sun. Lucifer was lucky as heaven wasn't this harsh before, [y/n] closes her eyes as she felt the stinging pain of the wind caressing her back, golden ichor flowing from where her wings should be, but despite the pain, a grin was plastered on her face as she embraced the imminent pain she'll receive once she hits the burning ground of hell. Despite the extreme pain she felt on her back, the missing part of her that heaven decided to take—she felt free, shimmering tears cascades down her cheeks as she cried for her acquired freedom while simultaneously mourning for the loss of her wings. Her weak body passing by many, many clouds, passing by the crust of the earth and soon she could see the fiery red skies of hell, she can only wait for the impact.

She could hear the sound of something breaking and cracking, the loud ringing on her ears before her world turned dark. Falling from grace isn't enough to kill her.

Lucifer's usual schedule usually consists of him wallowing in self pity inside his room, making rubber ducks, or having an existential crisis in his balcony. Lucifer just so happens to be on his balcony that day, talking to his newly created rubber duck that looks like his daughter when his eyes noticed the dark red clouds of hell parting and a figure falling at extreme speeds, at first he thought it was another soul who ended up in hell but his eyes widened to see occasional gold shimmering on the figure. “What...” Lucifer murmurs in confusion, his eyes following the figure and what the...? It's about to land in his front yard.

Only his eyes widened in fear as the figure crashed and golden ichor splattered everywhere. The realization damned upon him that another angel has fallen from grace.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Lucifer never cursed so much as he jumped off the balcony, three pairs of wings springing out of his back as he quickly flew next to the crash site. “I swear to me if this person died,” this wouldn't be the first time someone died in his front yard but it would be the first time an angel would, but can an angel even die from this impact?

He quickly checked the fallen angel, identified that it's a female. She looked like such a mess, golden ichor splattered everywhere, messy hair from falling, eye bags, and passed out but despite all that, he found her to be very beautiful, “I swear to me, this isn't the time Lucifer.” he muttered to himself as he began to work and make sure this woman is treated properly. What made the king of hell freeze was when he used his power to lift her up gently, he noticed that so much blood was gushing out of her back where the bone that should connect to her wings. He just realized why this angel crashed, she couldn't fly. She doesn't have her wings anymore and that realization filled his heart with anger.

He stared at her broken form lying on the bed of the spare guest room of the castle, he couldn't fully heal her. There's a limit to how much his angelic powers could do, it can't reverse the damage heaven themselves have done to her. Thankfully, he managed to fix all broken bones and close the wounds she had received but he can't fix the trauma she'll receive from this. Believe him, he tried (with himself).

His hand caressed away the hair that was falling on her face, finally taking a good look on her. She looked more beautiful without those wounds, she looked better without the stress—a contrast to the first time he's seen her. Warmth flooding his cheeks, he doesn't even realize that the red of his cheeks has become significantly darker.

“Ah, Lucifer stop. You don't even know this woman,” Lucifer mutters in annoyance as he squeezes his own cheeks to stop the warmth before eventually leaving the guest room to continue his usual routine.

He's starting to get worried, the fallen angel that currently resides in his guest room still hasn't woken up. It's been eight days. He spent the entire week checking up on her and continuing to treat her, he admits that this unknown angel's presence did good to his mental health as he was busy worrying for her that he forgets to listen to his intrusive thoughts. “What am I going to do with you?” Lucifer mutters softly as he places his hands above her, hovering over her body as golden hue begins to glow. Slowly and surely healing her.

Aching pain in her muscles is what she felt, slowly regaining consciousness. [Y/n] woke up in an unfamiliar room, oddly reminds her of the rooms that only royalty have. She tried to move her muscles but she could feel it cracking from not moving for a long time. “What happened...?” she asked herself softly, trying to remember what happened. The trial, Sera's anger, Adam being annoying, falling, her wings, then crashing. “Where am I?” she asked herself again, her voice croaking slightly, she slowly moved her body so she could sit on the bed, her eyes wandering everywhere, taking in her surroundings. She noticed that the symbol apple and snake was present on the designs of the tinted windows. The door opens.

Another week has passed, still no sign of her waking up. Lucifer was walking towards the guest room, preparing himself to try to heal her again. He opens the door and he froze to see the fallen angel who's usually lying limp on the bed is now sitting and staring on the window. “You're awake.” he says softly and she turned to look at him, her eyes, it's so beautiful. “Who are you?” she asked him softly and he smiled, “The name's Lucifer Morningstar, welcome to hell.”

[lanf1an]

DREAMS lando norris pt.5 When your childhood bestfriend Flo had convinced you to get the fashion design job at her brother's company Quadrant, it finally paid off when Louis Vuitton was announced as the new sponsor for F1.

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.6 wordcount: 2039

The Monaco paddock was a chaotic mess of media, team personnel, and VIPs swarming every corner. You were supposed to be here—dropping off something personally for Lando. It wasn’t just something, it was the Richard Mille x Louis Vuitton Monaco release watch. You were holding almost a million dollars in your hand. You walked through McLaren hospitality, everyone eyeing you eagerly. Lando had texted you he was in his driver’s room.

You walked in, the door clicking shut behind you.

Lando stood by the small counter, shirtless, toweling off his damp hair from the post-qualifying sweat. His race suit was tied low around his hips, the fireproofs clinging to his torso in a way that was frankly unfair.

His eyes flicked up when he noticed you, a slow smirk pulling at his lips. “Special delivery for me, stylist?”

You huffed, trying to keep your gaze above his collarbones. “I have the watch.” You held up the box for emphasis. “I’ll leave now.”

Lando, predictably, didn’t move aside. He leaned back against the counter instead, arms crossing over his chest. “You in a rush?”

Yes.

Very much yes.

Because the way he was looking at you—like he was thinking about Monaco nights and zippers and everything you shouldn’t be doing right now—was making it very hard to breathe.

You tried for casual, gesturing toward the door. “People are around.”

He shrugged. “Door’s locked.”

“Lando.”

He grinned at your warning tone, like he enjoyed hearing his name in your voice a little too much. “Say it like that again, and we’ll have a real problem.”

Your stomach flipped. He was too close now, close enough that if you reached out, you could pull at the fireproofs, drag him forward. You weren’t going to. You were stronger than that.

But then his fingers brushed yours where you still held the box, and your resolve wavered.

His other hand grabbed your waist, pressing your back against the closed door behind you. A sharp inhale was all you managed before his mouth was on yours, urgent and claiming. His hands moved, tracing down your hips, gripping tight as he pressed into you, his body hot and solid against yours. His fireproofs did nothing to hide the way he was pressing into you, hard and wanting, his breath heavy against your skin as his lips trailed down your jaw.

A small sound escaped you when his hands slid lower, gripping your thighs, fingertips pressing possessively. He exhaled sharply against your neck. 

Then—three sharp knocks on the door.

“Lando, hurry up! Media’s waiting.”

Max. Of course.

You startled, stepping away quickly. Lando barely blinked, just exhaled sharply, muttering, “Fucking timing.”

You shot him a look. “Maybe don’t try to feel up your stylist in the middle of the paddock.”

He just smirked, grabbing a fresh shirt from the garment bag. “I wasn’t trying. If I was trying, you wouldn’t have left.”

You opened the door before you could react to that, nearly running into Max, who took one look at your flustered state, then at Lando’s smug expression, and sighed.

“Seriously?”

‘’Thanks for the watch, I’ll find a way to repay you another time’’ he smirked.

You didn’t stay to hear the rest.

That’s when the sneaking around officially started. You felt bad about it, to Flo, professionally. But you couldn’t stop. It was so easy. Fitting rooms, toilets, hotel rooms. It was an unspoken agreement. 

-

You were back in London after the Monaco chaos. The texts continued, you dreaded telling Flo, but you knew you had to.

You were supposed to catch up.

But you weren’t listening. Not really.

Flo was mid-sentence about a horse-riding competition, when she suddenly narrowed her eyes at you. “Okay,” she said, setting her cup down with a little too much force. “What’s up with you?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

She tilted her head. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not acting weird.”

“You’re stirring your coffee like it personally offended you.”

You glanced down at the spoon in your hand, realizing you’d been absentmindedly spinning it in circles for the last five minutes. You dropped it with a sigh.

Flo’s gaze sharpened. “Oh, God. It’s a boy, isn’t it?”

Your silence was all the confirmation she needed. She leaned forward, eyes lighting up with interest. “Wait. Who? Do I know him?”

You hesitated, then exhaled sharply, looking away. “Flo… I’m so sorry, I don’t know how to say it so I’m just going to say it. It’s... Lando.”

A beat of silence. Then—

Flo burst out laughing.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I hate you.”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” she wheezed, trying and failing to hold it together. “It’s just—you hated him.”

“I did not hate him,” you muttered.

Flo gave you a look. “When you were at Quadrant, you once said, and I quote, ‘If I have to hear him interfere about the designs one more time, I will throw myself into oncoming traffic.’”

You winced. “Okay, fine. But it was different working together at LV, things changed.”

Flo smirked, taking a sip of her coffee. “Yeah, I’ll bet they did.”

You sighed, tapping your fingers against the table. “I really hope you’re not mad. It’s nothing... serious. Just something casual..”

“Uh-huh.”

“I mean it. It’s just—fun. That’s all.”

Flo raised an eyebrow. “Does he know that?”

You hesitated for a second too long, glaring at her. You weren’t worried about a famous F1 driver, but for her, of course it was still her brother. 

Flo’s smirk faded slightly. “Oh, babe.”

You groaned, shaking your head. “No, don’t ‘oh, babe’ me. It’s fine. We’re clearly just messing around. It’s not a thing.”

Flo watched you carefully, like she was picking apart every single word. “Okay.. As long as I don’t have to hear any details about it and I’m still your favorite Norris”

You could finally let out a laugh. ‘’You will always be my favorite Norris’’

‘’Thought F1 wasn’t really your scene’’ she want back to teasing. ‘’Who would’ve thought’’

You buried your face in your arms on the table. ‘’Wouldn’t it have been better to go for Lewis?’’ she continued jokingly when you didn’t reply. 

-

You were working in the London LV office when you got a text. 

Lando: I’m in London. What are you doing?

You frowned at your phone, the message popping up between work emails. He wasn’t at a race weekend, so he was either back in Monaco or in London.

You: Working. Why?

Three dots appeared, then disappeared, then came back.

Lando: Doesn’t your work involve me?

You rolled your eyes.

Before you could tell him off, another text came through.

Lando: I’ll come help you with that.

Your stomach did an involuntary flip, even though you knew you should have expected this by now.

You: You don’t even know where I am.

Lando: I do, actually. Showroom, right?

You didn’t reply.

Lando: See you soon :)

And just like that, you knew you wouldn’t be getting any more work done.

He arrived half an hour later, strolling into the showroom like he belonged there.

You gave him an unimpressed look from your seat behind your laptop. “I knew I should’ve turned off my location sharing after Monaco.”

Lando just grinned. “Too late.” He plopped into the seat across from you, looking far too comfortable. “So, what’s up?”

You narrowed your eyes. “I’m working”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

You exhaled sharply. “Why are you here?”

Lando hesitated, then smirked. “I was in London and wanted to see you. Shouldn’t we go to your place? I still haven’t seen your apartment.”

You raised a brow. “And?”

“And that’s kind of weird, don’t you think?” He tilted his head. “I mean, you’ve seen my place. Seems unfair.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s because you live in Monaco, and I don’t.”

“Still. I think it’s my turn.”

You scoffed. “Why do you even care?”

Lando shrugged, like it didn’t matter. But the glint in his eyes said otherwise. “Maybe I just wanna know where you go when you’re not with me.”

That statement alone made you pause for half a second too long.

Lando didn’t push, just watched you carefully as you exhaled and shut your laptop. “Fine. But only because I need to leave soon anyway.”

“Perfect.” He grinned, standing up. “Lead the way.”

-

Lando followed you into your building like he’d done it a hundred times before, hands in his pockets, an easy smirk on his face.

You, on the other hand, were suddenly hyperaware of everything—of the way your apartment probably wasn’t as put-together as the places he was used to, and how you had left it behind. 

You pushed the thought away as you unlocked the door. “It’s small, so don’t be judgy.”

Lando stepped in first, looking around. “You’re acting like I live in a palace.”

“You do.”

“Okay, fair.” He walked further in, turning in a slow circle as he took everything in. “This is really nice, though.”

You shut the door, crossing your arms. “You sound surprised.”

Lando grinned, plopping onto your couch without hesitation. “I just thought maybe you were hiding something.”

You sighed, dropping your bag. “Yeah, my massive collection of Lando Norris merch.”

“I knew it.” He stretched out, getting comfortable. “So where’s my shrine?”

You rolled your eyes, heading into the kitchen. “Do you want a drink or something?”

“Sure. What are my options?”

You opened the fridge. “Water, juice, or the wine I was saving for a night that doesn’t involve you.”

Lando grinned. “I’ll take the wine.”

You huffed but grabbed the bottle anyway, bringing it over with two glasses. Lando took one, watching you as you sat down beside him.

There was a moment of quiet as he sipped, eyes still trailing over your space.

“What?” you asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing. Just… feels kinda nice.”

You frowned. “My apartment?”

Lando hummed. “Yeah. Feels like you.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you just took a sip of your wine, letting the warmth settle.

Lando turned to you fully, propping his elbow against the back of the couch. “So, do I get the tour?”

You laughed. “Lando, there’s like two rooms.”

“Yeah, and I wanna see them.” He nodded toward the hallway. “Come on.”

You rolled your eyes but stood up anyway, leading him toward your bedroom. 

Lando grinned as he stepped in, scanning the space. His gaze landed on your nightstand, where a book was sitting, spine cracked. He picked it up, raising a brow. “Didn’t take you for the romance novel type.”

You snatched it back. “It’s not a romance novel.”

“No judgment.” He held up his hands, still smiling. “Just getting to know you better.”

You scoffed, but there was no real annoyance behind it.

Then, as you moved to set the book down, you felt his hands brush your waist, casual and unhurried.

Your breath caught.

Lando leaned in, voice low. “So, how long do I have before you kick me out?”

You swallowed. “That depends.”

He smirked “On?”

“On if you’re actually just here for a tour.”

Lando hummed, fingers grazing your hip. “I think we both know I’m not.”

Your heart pounded as you turned to face him, eyes locking.

Lando leaned in, slow and deliberate. “So?”

You exhaled. Then reached for him first.

The moment your lips met, his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him. His mouth moved against yours, slow at first, teasing, before his grip firmed, deepening the kiss. You felt the warmth of his palms slide beneath your top, fingertips skimming over your lower back. His hands exploring, slipping under fabric, teasing. His fingers curled at your waist, urging you backward step by step until your legs hit the edge of the bed.

Lando’s lips found yours again as he guided you down, his weight settling over you in a way that sent a thrill through your spine. His hands roamed, his touch slow but deliberate, exploring like he had all the time in the world.

“You still gonna kick me out?” he murmured, voice thick with amusement against your lips.

You answered by pulling him closer, fingers tangled in his hair, his quiet laugh dissolving into another heated kiss as he pressed you deeper into the sheets.

WN: hahah the whole story seems just them hooking up now, but dont worry mwahahha, love the black suits and testing livery, this new picture in the fireproofs goes perfect with this chapter, pure coincidence because I had already written this. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it and let me know what you think!!

tl: @freyathehuntress @linnygirl09 @sarx164 @joannaln4 @widow-cevans @444-leqz @laneyspaulding19 @mayax2o07@n3versatisfied @anayaverse @tvdtw4ever

[bree-peasant]

One for the Ages - a Kakashi x fem!Reader fic

Chapter 5/5

(Back to Chapter 1, Chapter 4)

Author's note: Thank you guys for following this series! Although this is the last chapter, I have more ideas for these two, so might revisit in the future. In the meantime, if anyone has any requests, I'd be excited to try prompt writing! I hope you enjoy the ending, happy reading! <3

Word count: 2.4k

Summary (from part 1): A new shinobi joins the Konoha ranks and Kakashi finds himself inexplicably drawn to her. Gai also appears in this one!

Warnings: none in this chapter!

Enjoy! ♡

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

Kakashi had tried his best to put Y/N out of his mind throughout the day, but the thought kept pestering him. He kept imagining her laugh, throwing her head back at something Genma said, and he would almost see red at the thought of it. Even worse, the idea of the two of them hooking up, would send him spiralling. As the evening drew nearer, he selfishly decided he needed to intervene.

He felt so guilty spying on them, as they stumbled towards her flat, but more than anything, he was annoyed at the fact that she'd invited him back. Deep down he knew how unfair and irrational his actions were, but he just couldn't stop himself from pressing further.

He hadn't even dropped his book the previous night. He just needed an excuse to interrupt their evening. Kakashi had used a substitution jutsu on a random box he'd found hiding under her bed, in support of his alibi. Despite his shame at how low he had stooped, part of him felt a sense of satisfaction from stepping in and showing the other jōnin who's territory this was. Then again, he had no right to claim Y/N as his own.

Burdened by these contradicting thoughts, Kakashi fled to his usual haunt - the park bench, where he'd bumped into her all those nights ago.

Back at her flat, Y/N sat down heavily. Although feeling mostly sober by now, her thoughts were at a disarray. She was upset by Genma's departure, she thought they had great chemistry and felt disappointed by his easy surrender. Having said that, she couldn't entirely blame the guy. Kakashi's notoriety followed him around, the awful nickname 'friend-killer' on everyone's minds when he walked passed. She wasn't afraid of him, but she could understand Genma not wanting to get on his bad side.

Oh, Kakashi. Just thinking about his antics earlier made her furious. What was he playing at, storming in there like that, pretending he'd spent the night with her. The more she played the scene over in her head, the more riled up she became. His nonchalant tone and sarcastic manners burned inside her mind's eye. He must've done it on purpose. But for what reason?!

Starting to feel herself go crazy, Y/N decided that she needed to confront the gray-haired trickster. And she knew exactly where to find him.

Unsurprisingly, he was in the park as if expecting her. She stormed towards him, unconcerned by the late hour.

"What the hell was that back there?" She demanded, letting her anger loose on him.

"I don't know what you mean." Kakashi acted casual, not looking up from his book.

"Oh please! You and I both know you have a million copies of that book, stashed in your house. This was deliberate!"

"I take it he's left, seeing as you're here, shouting at me."

"I'm not..." she had to consciously lower her voice. "I'm not shouting at you. And yes, what did you expect after that scene you caused. How did you even know he was there?!"

"I hear things." His sarcasm was infuriating.

"Why, Kakashi? What could you have possibly had to gain from embarrassing me like that?"

"Well, if you must know, Genma's a notorious playboy. I didn't think he was good enough for you." He replied, trying to convince himself as much as her that this had been his motivation.

She was astounded by his audacity. Recovering her composure, she spat back at him:

"Frankly, that's none of your business!"

"As your friend, I thought it my duty to intervene and..."

"No!" She cut him off, losing her nerve entirely. "You lost any authority over my lovelife the second you refused to be the focus of it." Her voice was no longer angry, but riddled with sorrow. Refusing to let herself fall apart in front of him, Y/N turned around and ran back to her flat, leaving a guilt-riddled Kakashi behind.

"Oh, boy...what have I done." He sighed into the night.

His earlier satisfaction from achieving his goal had completely disappeared, substituted by shame and regret. He'd recognised the hurt in her voice, forcing him to realise how he'd toyed with her tonight. He put his head in his hands in desperation.

One thing remained unclear to him; why had he done it? He'd acted almost impulsively, refusing to acknowledge a simple truth. Whether he wanted to or not, he was finally faced with an answer - he'd been jealous. Of course, he knew he had feelings for her, but he'd tried so hard to repress them for fear of losing her like so many before, that he'd hardly acknowledged them. And now... In his ignorance, he'd acted foolishly and threatened to lose her anyway.

"I have to fix this." He said to himself, still unsure of his next move.

Over the next few days, the rookie genin teams competed in the preliminary round of the chunin exam, where their numbers were significantly depleted. The remaining kids would go on to face each other in the finals, a month later. The Hokage called an assembly of all chunin and jōnin of the village.

"As you all know, many influential lords and politicians will be joining us during the final stage of the chunin exam. We need to showcase not only our village's strength, but our financial merits as well." The Hokage spoke.

"This is why, we are hosting an event to gain new investors, who will support our shinobi training program. It'll be held in one week, and I have personally invited some of the wealthiest merchants and title holders. I expect you all to attend and work towards charming our guests."

Great, Y/N thought, she only had a month to prepare Shino for the final matches, and now this.

None of the attendees seemed particularly pleased by the news, but one look at the Hokage's stern expression, and they all knew they had to do what was expected of them.

Leaving the meeting auditorium, it was Kakashi's turn to pull Y/N aside.

"Can we talk?" He said. Seeing her reluctance, he added a please at the end of his question.

She sighed and led him to a corner in the hallway, where it was quiet. They hadn't spoken to each other since that awful argument, but it still felt as fresh as the night it happened.

"Y/N, you have to know how sorry I am. I acted stupidly and things got out of control. I never meant to hurt you, truly." Kakashi looked genuinely remorseful as he spoke.

She'd planned on staying mad at him, but his sincerity cracked her stern exterior. There was no point in denying it, she had a soft spot for him, and she would forgive anything. But things couldn't go on like this.

She took a deep breath, letting her guard down.

"I want to be your friend, Kakashi, I really do. But I think we should stop with the late nights and surprise visits...both of us." She trailed off, avoiding his eye. She knew he'd be disappointed, upset even. She knew it, because her own heart was breaking as she spoke.

"We've gotten ourselves so emotionally intertwined, I think we can't lay any boundaries anymore."

He didn't interrupted her, didn't argue. How could he, when what she was saying was the truth.

"We can be friendly around each other... just not in the way we have been so far." She concluded.

Kakashi nodded silently. They remained in place for a moment.

"If that is what you want." He finally spoke, then promptly turned around and walked away.

Y/N sighed. What she had wanted was to be with him, but he'd taken that possibility away. Now it seemed they were both hurting.

The following week passed quickly. Between training with Shino and her other jōnin duties, Y/N had hardly any time to dwell on her recent personal drama, and she was glad for it. Only at night, when sleep would undoubtedly evade her, she desperately wished to see him, fighting the urge to seek him out with all her strength.

"It'll get easier." She kept telling herself, never fully believing it.

Kakashi applied himself vigorously to training Sasuke, even teaching him the chidori. He was somber and quiet the rest of the time, which wasn't unusual for the typically withdrawn copy-ninja, or at least so it seemed on the outside. In truth, he was suffering at the loss of Y/N more than he wanted to admit.

He would roam around the village at night, hoping to bump into her, if even for a second, then quickly hiding at the faintest of sounds, ashamed of his actions. He wanted to respect her wishes, yet his heart ached more and more with each day he kept away. He was beginning to realise that the most foolish thing he had done, was deny his feelings for her. He'd shown her everything, up to his rotten core, and she hadn't looked away. Kakashi loved her for that. Kakashi loved her. But wasn't it too late?

The investor event came along. It was to be held in the assembly halls, with live music, drinks and dancing. Although not entirely willing, the village shinobi put on their best clothes and their brightest smiles, to fulfil their duties for their homeland. Even if those duties were to charm the wealthy businessmen and women, whose money they needed.

Y/N wore her best yukata to the event, her hair neatly pinned back and with flowers tucked in it. As she walked into the brightly lit room, she was met by a dazzling Gai.

"Y/N, you're a vision of spring and beauty!" He said, taking her hand in his. "With your good looks and mine, we're sure to get some hearts racing tonight! And some money in our pockets" He whispered the last statement and winked at her.

She giggled at his usual flamboyance and allowed him to lead her away towards some guests. She was listening to a boring conversation between two merchants and politely smiling along, when she spotted Kakashi walking in. He wore a dark grey hakama over his kimono, which made him stand out in the crowd. Her first thought was how handsome he looked, but she quickly scolded herself over it and instead motioned a wave, when he looked her way. To her surprise, Kakashi didn't respond, but quickly ducked and disappeared amongst the pool of people. She wondered if he maybe hadn't seen her.

As the night began unfolding, music started playing and couples came out on the dance floor. Suddenly, Y/N found herself swarmed with suitors, asking her to dance one after the other. Bound to her duty, she obliged the guests, but every time one of them spun her around, her eyes would seek out Kakashi. And without a doubt, every time her gaze fell upon his, he'd turn away.

A group dance was organised, where couples would join in and switch partners at different intervals. An older gentleman, who traded with ships (or so she was told) asked her to dance. She smiled sweetly and offered him her hand, despite feeling exhausted by this point. At least she'd stumbled upon a good dancer, as he expertly led and twirled her around.

Upon switching partners, she was pulled in by a familiar embrace. Kakashi held her tight, as he maneuvered them both swiftly along the dancefloor.

"He dances." She said, feigning surprise.

"Well, when the Hokage's wife drags you out, it's hard to refuse." Kakashi let out a slight chuckle.

She scoffed at that, the cheerful glint in her eyes betraying her true feelings. It was a relief to see him smile again.

"You've been avoiding me tonight." She said matter-of-factly.

Kakashi cleared his throat.

"I'm surprised you noticed with all the men throwing themselves at you." His voice sarcastic, yet strained.

"Does it bother you?" Her eyes widened in curiosity. She couldn't help but push on.

"Of course it bothers me." His sincerity surprised her. Usually with him, it was all cloak and dagger, so why the sudden reveal? She felt the familiar feelings of confusion and hurt rising up in her.

"You must know by now that none of that matters to me." She whispered, loosing the grip on her emotions somewhat.

"And why not?" His gaze intensely focused on her expression, trying to read it.

"Kakashi..." She hesitated.

"I want to hear you say it." He pressed further leaning into her ear, his voice just above a whisper.

Sensing the exhaustion take over, she felt like she was going to crack. It was too much, being so close to him, wondering if he was toying with her again.

"I... I can't do this!" Y/N pulled away from him, running towards the entrance. A few heads turned to look at Kakashi, eyes filled with curiosity. Kurenai ran over to him.

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"I better go and check on her." The female jōnin looked concerned.

"No, don't. I'll go after her." He interjected, leaving the dance floor.

Once outside, he spotted her walking away in rushed steps.

"Y/N, wait!" He called after her, running to shorten the distance between them.

She stopped and turned towards him. When he reached her, he could see tears gleaming in the corner of her eyes.

"Wait for what, Kakashi? I can't keeping doing this with you. This back and forth, this game..." She trailed off, her voice shaky.

Kakashi reached his hand and gently wiped her wet cheek.

"Y/N, I've been a fool." Was the only thing he managed to say.

"What on earth do you mean?" She was still angry with him, an anger born out of hurt.

"Denying what my heart has been aching for, this whole time." His palm rested on her cheek, the way hers once had, when he'd shown her the sharingan.

The sorrow in her eyes turned to surprise, then to hope. She leaned into his hand, taking a step closer to him.

"And what is it that you've been aching for?" She asked softly.

Kakashi sighed.

"You know."

"I want to hear you say it." She echoed his words from earlier.

He watched her for a moment, taking in her beautiful, tear-stained face.

"You."

At those words, she closed the remaining distance between them, pulling him into a passionate kiss. Weaving her arms around his neck, his own wrapping around her waist, their bodies intertwined as their lips devoured each other. When they finally pulled back to take a deep breath, they were both smiling widely.

"Take me home, Kakashi." She whispered.

He took her hand in his and led her back, both hearts soaring at the feeling of surrender.

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

@duckingmetal @junksmah @jinnyart06 thank you for your support guys <3

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

You wanna know what I'm surprised I haven't seen more of? Bard Tavs serenading Astarion, or singing him to sleep with a lullaby composed just for him. I'm sure Astarion would eat up all that affection.

This is so cute omg. And also managed to be an actual drabble instead of a novel! As always cw for spoilers!

~

Astarion woke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest as he frantically looked around. But he wasn't in Cazador's torture room. No, instead he was at the Elfsong, safe and sound in a private room. It had been another nightmare, a typical occurrence as of late.

Atarion had assumed that those would stop after the monster was dead, but they seemed to be more frequent than ever. It felt unfair. He had won. Cazador was dead, by his own hand. There was nothing left to fear. Well... that wasn't including the tadpole still trapped in his lover's skull, not to mention his own. And the Elder Brain. And the cult of Bhaal. But in all honesty, all of that felt so small now with his slave master disintegrated. If he could do what had felt impossible, what had been impossible, for centuries, why couldn't he accomplish the rest?

Astarion groaned as he sat up, realizing for the first time that he was alone in bed. But luckily enough you hadn't gone far. He turned to find you sitting on the window sill, illuminated by the moonlight as you scribbled away in your journal.

You glanced over at the sound of his shuffling, your brow furrowed, "Star? Why are you still awake?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Astarion sighed, the coldness of your side of the bed coming into full perspective. He would like that fixed sooner than later, "Now come back to me, it's cold."

You smiled, slipping down from your perch to join him in bed. Astarion wasn't quite sure when such simple actions would stop making him melt like an infatuated teenager. He was starting to think that it would never come to an end.

You laughed softly as he immediately wrapped his arms around you, cradling you against his chest, "You know how I love to sleep in fits and starts. But you don't exactly have the same excuse, do you? You look so tired lately."

Astarion frowned, loathing the fact that his lack of sleep had become so obvious. But then again, if anyone was going to be familiar with his night terrors, it would be you. He sighed, "Just nightmares. Nothing you haven't heard before."

You frowned, "That doesn't make them pleasant."

"No," Astarion laughed softly, "It doesn't. But now it's your turn. What were you up to in the middle of the night?"

"Just some writing. I've been working on a few things."

"Like what?" Astarion asked, sincerely curious. You were quite the talent as a bard, a fact that he was aware of before he fell in love with you.

"A new ballad mostly, with a lullaby on the side."

That sounded well within your wheel house, though this was the first time he'd heard of you writing a lullaby, "What inspired that?"

"You," You said simply, "But I know how you get when I'm all mushy, so I kept it to myself for now."

Astarion hadn't expected that, but that massive smile that broke out on his face at the news wasn't a surprise. He kissed the top of your head, still smiling to himself, "I don't recall ever saying I disliked you being a sickening romantic. Can I hear it?"

You looked up at him, surprised for some reason. Which was frankly silly. Who wouldn't want to hear a song written about them from the person they loved most? For once in his life Astarion was being the normal one here.

"You want me to sing to you?" You asked, sitting up in bed to smile down at him.

Astarion grinned back, "I wouldn't object to it."

"Well in that case..."

And then you started to sing. Astarion adored the sound of your voice, and apparently he loved it even more when you were singing about him.

Little star, so bright and fierce,

Beautiful with eyes that pierce,

But that's not all there is,

He's strong and swift with perfect lips to kiss, a humor that is only his,

Charming and witty, a wish come true,

If only the rest of the world knew.

Astarion wasn't quite sure when he fell asleep that night, but it was to the sound of your sweet, melodious voice and with a smile plastered to his face.

And for the first time in days, he didn't have a single nightmare.

[dracoroma]

I think it's safe to say now that Vax is completely fine with the situation he finds himself in. He has all but said those exact words to Vox Machina.

"I would rather not have [The Raven Queen] gone"

"Death is a part of life"

And this should put Keyleth blaming The Matron for "taking Vax from her", and Pike "not giving up on Vax" into perspective.

I don't get why we are blaming The Matron time and time again when Vecna is the one who killed Vax. He would not be in this situation if not for Vecna. Meanwhile, The Matron has to look over all life and death.

Matt said it well in the wrap party for TLoVM S3. She's a neutral entity, she's persuing her own goals,regardless of what society, or even her, deems moral and just. She has to protect the sanctity of death. In fact, she's basically said why to Bell's Hells, she needs to prevent stagnation.

If not for The Matron, how could we ever truly stop people like Lorenzo, the Chroma Conclave, Ripley, the Briarwoods, Avantika? And how do you think people would feel if their loved ones were disrespected and brought back as zombies?

How about we look at the materials for spells that defy the matron, things like clone and resurrection spells. Spells that when tied together can gove one functional immortality. But these are also expensive and powerful spells, that require a ton of resources. This can create a world where the rich and powerful, through magic, are immortal, unable to die. While the common folk do not have that luxury. And this is a world that many a cyberpunk story depicts.

Even on a smaller level, it becomes a world where some people have to wonder why their family member, their sibling, their lover, their friend, was not brought back when someone else was. And that is an incredibly unfair world

But, there's also a spiritual component here. To Vax, this is his choice. It was mentioned before that he would not be willing to come back through true resurrection. It was his choice to accept his death, his fate. To take that choice away from him feels wrong on many levels, from a level of personal agency to that of denying someone their faith. The desire to bring him back to life is incredibly selfish on Keyleth's, and the rest of Vox Machina's, part.

And, I think there's a final component here. Vax is not just dead. While none of the books explicitly say as much, his role as a psychopomp means something. To me, as a polytheist, Vax achieved apotheosis, he is a minor god now, like Heraclese and Psyche in greek myth. It is a metamorphosis for him into something else.

One of my friends has been talking a lot about how "people rebel against the gods" is not a compelling reason to say that the system is irreprably broken. And that's because they, frankly, have a raw deal. Erathis and Pelor and Bahamut, as entities of law, are going to constantly piss off the punk types like Ashton by representing law. Corellon and Avandra, as entities of freedom and change, are going to constantly piss off people who see law as a virtue. And while Melora and Kord can be channeled to do good things, nature and storms and war are forces that do not care about good and evil. They will cause blights and disasters because that is what they are.

And the center of this issue is The Raven Queen. The protector of the dead. The one who stands against necromancy. Because it is important that oir rest, when we die, not be disturbed. And because of that, she cannot make exceptions

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Love's a Game, Wanna Play?

I'll Write Your Name Chapter 1

Roy Kent x Latina!Popstar!Reader

2.9k words

Warnings: Language, mentions of drinking/partying, Roy being kind of pathetic for Keeley

A/N: Ahh I'm so excited for this series! I was inspired while watching the Eras movie and it just kind of spiraled from there. I am so, so excited to share this with you ❤️

As always, @agentstarkid is an absolute angel for letting me yammer about this thing nonstop!

The tabloid headlines screamed up at me from my publicist’s office coffee table, all about how Everett, my idiot boyfriend- ex-boyfriend now- had punched out some guy in a club. And in every photo, there I was behind Ev, holding two drinks and laughing. Granted, one of those drinks was his. And the laughter was because in my drunken state, I genuinely thought Everett and the other guy were just goofing around. But none of that mattered when people had magazines to sell.

“Babe,” Lanie, my publicist, was saying from her spot next to me on the couch. “We need a serious image makeover.”

“I already broke up with Everett for continuing to be the world’s biggest jackass,” I reminded her as I grabbed some M&M’s from the coffee table. “Not sure what else there is to do.”

April, my personal assistant, picked up one of the magazines and began to flip through it. “It’s not just Everett,” she started slowly, opening up to the article all about mine and Ev’s ‘wild night’ at the club. “It’s you. You party, you go out with guy after guy, this Twitter thing with, well, you know…” She shrugged. “You’re getting something of a reputation, love.”

I sighed and popped another candy into my mouth. “I bet Ev’s people aren’t having this conversation with him right now,” I grumbled childishly.

“Because everyone already knows he’s garbage,” Lanie snorted. “This is exactly the kind of behavior they expect from him. But you-” She grasped my hand, her face full of affection. “-you are amazing. You’re a great writer and performer, and you’re a role model. So what the hell you were doing with that rat, no one could ever understand.”

“Hmmph.” I slouched further onto the couch, pretending that she wasn’t completely correct about Everett being scummy. He was cute, in that skinny, pale, undernourished, unshowered way rock stars tended to be. He was famous and had a commanding stage presence with a swagger he really hadn’t earned. And he was always ready to have a good time. But he wasn’t exactly sweet. Or sensitive, unless someone was criticizing his art. Or really all that intelligent, although he liked to talk like he was.

April cleared her throat. “Lanie and I think we might… need some outside help.”

I narrowed my eyes, always suspicious when these two were in cahoots without me. “What kind of outside help?”

“Keeley Jones,” Lanie said simply, pulling out her phone. “Has her own firm. I’ve worked with her before. The woman’s a bit… quirky. But she’s brilliant, babes.” She showed me a picture of a woman I was sure I’d seen before. “We’ll meet with her the day after tomorrow to talk strategy.”

“She’s a fan,” April added in that helpful voice of hers. “She loves your music.”

I studied the picture carefully. “Keeley Jones,” I murmured. “She’s a model, right? Or was, I assume?” Before either woman could respond, it clicked. “Oh shit,” I hissed. “She’s one of those poor women who got her photos and videos leaked last year, isn’t she?”

“She was,” Lanie confirmed. “So, she completely understands how ruthless and, frankly, unfair the press can be to a woman. It’s one of the reasons I think she’ll be a good fit. She’s pretty passionate about defending women from unfair treatment.”

“Well,” I sighed, leaning back, “guess we can hear her out, see what she has in mind.”

Lanie cleared her throat, glancing at April, who looked just as anxious. “Actually,” my publicist said slowly, “we already know what she has in mind.”

~

Keeley sat in Roy’s chair, feet casually up on his desk, scrolling absently on her phone while she waited for the gaffer to come in from the pitch.

“Oh. Uh, hi Keeley.” Roy Kent stood stiffly in the doorway, the way he often stood when he saw his ex-girlfriend. Fuck, she looked pretty today, in a stupidly fluffy pink sweater and ridiculously high heeled boots. Keeley always looked pretty.

Either Keeley didn’t notice the way his eyes softened at the sight of her, or she chose to ignore it. “Hey there, Roy-o!” she greeted, swinging her feet off his desk and sitting up straight. “D’you have a minute?”

For Keeley? Roy had all the minutes in the fucking world. To an extent, she knew that; he did come stumbling to her house with Jamie Tartt, begging her to choose between them, after all. And she cherished Roy, she really did. He treated her better than anyone else ever had. But she also knew that the way he loved her wasn’t the way she loved him or was even the way she wanted to be loved.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t use his softness for her to her advantage every now and then.

“I’ve got a proposition for you,” she started slowly as Roy leaned on his desk, not growling at her to get out of his chair like he would to anyone else. “See, I’ve got this client, and she needs some help in the PR department.”

Roy smirked. “She wanted the best, so she came to Keeley fucking Jones for help?”

Keeley shrugged off his praise. “Well, kind of. Her people came to me for a consultation. I know her publicist, she’s fabulous, they’re just a bit at a loss right now.”

“Can I ask who it is?” Roy vaguely recognized the name Keeley responded with. “That fucking pop star, right? With all the boyfriends?”

“Pop phenomenon, you mean,” Keeley snorted. “She’s only one of the biggest names in the world.”

Like Roy gave a fuck about some pop princess. “If she’s so big, why does she need PR help?

Keeley sighed. “She’s got some bad press right now. Her gross boyfriend- ex-boyfriend now, thankfully- got into a fight at a club, sent the guy to hospital. And somehow, this is her fault. Not to mention that this actress that she used to hang out with is all over Twitter badmouthing her, saying she’s trying to steal her boyfriend. She’s just… got a lot going on at the moment.”

“Fucking trainwreck,” Roy mumbled, starting to wonder where the fuck he came into play.

“She’s really not,” Keeley insisted. “Her publicist- Lanie- says she’s actually really great. Very kind and intelligent. She just goes out a lot and apparently has shit choice in company.” She lit up. “That’s where I need you, Roy.”

I need you, Roy. Those four words had Roy sitting up taller, smirking a little as he gazed at that pretty face. “And what, exactly, do you need me for?”

Keeley bit her lip. “D’you know what a ‘publicity stunt’ is?”

~

I drained the last of my giant coffee cup as I approached the elevator, sighing when I realized it had not made my tequila-caused headache disappear. While I’d promised Lanie I wouldn’t be going out for a bit, she’d never said anything about me having people over. Just a dozen of my closest friends, laughing in my living room and losing track of shots. Definitely what I needed to take my mind off the headlines, but probably not the best idea before an early-morning breakfast meeting at KBPR.

“You need to press the button.”

“Excuse me?” I turned in the direction of the voice- the growl, really- that pulled me out of my thoughts.

The bearded man let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his brown eyes. “You need to press the fucking button,” he repeated slowly, as if to a toddler, “if you want to call the lift.”

Behind my oversized sunglasses, I narrowed my eyes at him, ignoring my initial observation that he was pretty damn cute. “Are you really implying that I don’t know how to use an elevator?” I scoffed.

He reached around me, completely invading my personal space, and hit the button in question. “Well, you’re standing here just fucking staring,” he grumbled. “So, either you’re a fucking zombie, or you don’t know how to use a lift. Either way, you’re making me fucking late.”

With a scowl, I turned to face the doors, desperate for them to open- although less desperate to get into the enclosed space with this man. As soon as the elevator dinged, I stepped inside the still opening doors, smashing the floor number Lanie had texted me and settling myself into a corner with crossed arms. The man stepped on after me and reached for the buttons, but stopped, thumb hovering over the number I had just hit. With a small hmmph, he slouched in the opposite corner, mirroring my closed-off body language.

It was a silent ride, filled with scowls and impatient huffs from both of us. I tried to remember the last time someone was so snide to me; it definitely didn’t happen often, at least not away from the safe anonymity of the internet.

When the elevator got to our floor, the man glared at me, a grunt urging me to step out first. I gave a hum of acknowledgement, matching his curt tone and refusing to give him the satisfaction of eye contact.

What a dick.

Unfortunately, that dick was about two steps behind me as I walked down the hall to the KBPR office. I tried to ignore the heavy sounds of his footsteps and focus on the insane idea this supposedly brilliant PR expert had come up with.

That PR expert smiled at me when I approached, sticking her hand out. “I’m Keeley Jones,” she chirped, her professional tone and handshake contrasting with her bright pink dress and sparkly shoes. “It is so nice to meet you!” Her eyes shifted behind me. “And I assume you already met Roy in the lift!”

Oh no. Oh hell no. There was no way this was the guy, this scowling, rude, son of a-

“Can we start this meeting?” the man- Roy- grumbled as he approached. “I’ve only got like an hour. I left Beard in charge of training, so the team’s probably in the fucking sewer again.”

“Come on in,” Keeley Jones hummed, gesturing for us to follow her. We walked through the bright office, following her into what I assumed was her personal office, one as brightly lit and colorful as her.

Lanie was already on the plush couch, scrolling on her phone. She raised her eyebrows when she saw me. “What’s up with the sunglasses? Not hungover, are we?” Her bored tone was annoyingly familiar.

I rolled my eyes and plopped down on the couch next to her, removing the shades. “Didn’t want to be recognized on my way into a public relations office,” I muttered, tucking them into my purse. “Figured that would defeat the purpose of this whole operation.”

Keeley Jones smiled at me, an admittedly lovely, friendly smile, as she took a seat behind her desk; Roy hovered nearby. “She’s a smart one, Lanie, just like you said.” She looked up at Roy. “You two got acquainted on the lift, then?” When he simply grunted in reply, she turned back to me. “Now, I understand if you think this idea is crazy,” she started slowly. “And it kind of is. But believe me when I say, it’s been done, and I’ve seen it work.” She cleared her throat. “Celebrities fake-date all the time. To promote projects, to deflect bad press, to hide secrets. So you wouldn’t be the first ones to do this, trust me.” She gestured towards Roy. “And I think Roy here is perfect for you. He’s older and more mature than your previous boyfriends, so none of that party-boy stuff. He’s dated plenty of celebrities- including myself- so he knows what comes with the territory. Absolute football legend, so I think you’re suitably matched in terms of fame. And he’s pretty damn private these days.” Her smile softened. “And if I’m being candid, he’s probably the best guy I know. He’s so protective and trustworthy. He’ll have your back.”

“What’s in it for him?” I couldn’t help the way I narrowed my eyes at the brooding man; he returned the glare in kind.

“He could use the press too,” Keeley chuckled, gazing up at him. “I love you, Roy, but you’re not the most poised with the media.” She turned back to me as he rolled his eyes, something close to affection on his face this time. “He could use some of your charm and charisma to bolster his own reputation with the papers.” She nodded firmly. “It’s a match made in heaven. Or KBPR.”

Lanie nudged me. “What d’you think babes?”

I thought it was insane. Fake dating to get the press off my back? There were so many ways this thing could backfire. Not to mention the fact that my potential fake boyfriend was already on my nerves, with his probably permanent scowl and annoyed eyes.

But, as my mind wandered to the headlines I’d passed at the newsstands on my way to this meeting, I knew that I had to at least try.

“Yeah,” I murmured with a shrug. “Let’s do it.”

~

Roy only vaguely heard her agree to the plan. He was too busy trying not to smile at Keeley’s praise; that he was mature, a legend, protective, and trustworthy. As ridiculous as he thought this whole publicity stunt business was, he was willing to give it a shot- for Keeley.

“Well, since we’re all onboard,” Keeley hummed, pulling out her tablet. “All that’s left to do is sign NDAs and plan your little romance.” She glanced at the calendar on her desk. “I’ve got a meet-cute in mind, actually. You’re friends with Dani Rojas, right?”

Roy blinked as the pop princess nodded, showing enthusiasm for the first time since he found her in front of the lift. “Dani? Oh, I love Dani! He’s such a sweetheart.”

“Oi.” Roy frowned at Keeley. “If they already know each other, why didn’t you ask Rojas to do this shit? The press like him a hell of a lot more than they like me.”

A snort came from the couch. “Don’t think his girlfriends would like him adding another woman to their relationship, even if it’s just pretend.”

Keeley nodded. “Exactly. And again, you’ve got this steady older guy thing going on, Roy. You manage a professional football team, you coach your niece, you sit at home and read. You’re very domestic, and I think she needs to be seen that way.” She grinned. “Dani doesn’t exactly have that same reputation. But he does provide you two with a connection.” She turned her attention back to her visitors. “Here’s what I’m thinking: you get Dani to invite you to a Richmond game and go out with the team afterwards. Win or lose, those guys pretty much always do something after a match. And that’s where you two can meet and connect.” She leaned back comfortably, looking every bit like the boss she was. “Then we’ll get you two seen together, get you to a few more matches, get Roy to a show, make some cryptic social media posts. Soft launch. Then we’ll do your debut as a couple, have you attend events on each other’s arms, gush about each other online and in interviews. Maybe you write Roy a song, maybe you go on holiday together, that kind of thing.” She flipped through the planner on her desk. “All in all, I’m thinking four to six months, then you can end things amicably and stay friends.”

“Six months?” Roy carped. “Keeley, you didn’t mention-”

“That’s a respectable period of time,” the ex-model interrupted. “Long enough for you two to get attention, be believable as a serious couple, and to get everyone to forget about these headlines.” She shook her head at Roy. “What, you thought you’d go on one date and that would be it? Come on, Roy. It took at least three weeks for us to start making headlines together. You know this takes time.”

Roy’s voice went low. “Keeley-”

Keeley stood and grabbed Roy’s arm; he wondered if she could feel that same little surge of energy at the contact. “Will you ladies give us one moment?” She dragged Roy out of the office, out of earshot. “Come on, Roy,” she huffed, letting go of him. “You said you could do this.”

“That was before I met her,” Roy grumbled, folding his arms and missing her touch. “This isn’t gonna work. No one’s going to believe us. We’ve barely met, and already she’s a right fucking nightmare-”

“You’re not exactly my daydream either, Kent.”

Roy whipped around. She stood in the doorway, eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed. She walked over and gazed up at him with nothing but determination on her face.

“Listen,” she started. “I get it. This is stupid. The press is stupid. I think Keeley and Lanie are insane for this scheme, and I don’t really believe it’s going to work, if I’m being honest.” She looked at Keeley. “No offense, Miss Jones.” She turned her eyes back to Roy. “But this whole fame thing is an absolute fucking game. And apparently we both need help playing it.” She stuck her hand out. “I’m in if you are.”

A slow sigh escaped Roy’s lips. He really could use the positive exposure. Despite his growing comfort in front of the cameras, he still had years- decades- of shit press to make up for. And the Greyhounds could always use whatever positive publicity they could get. It’d be good for the club, and Roy would do just about anything for the club.

And he’d do absolutely anything for Keeley.

All it took was one glance over at that face, the face he missed waking up to, and he was done for. “Fine,” he huffed, shaking the popstar’s hand. “I’m fucking in.”

Taglist: @infinetlyforgotten @ladygrey03 @book-of-roses @thatonedogwithablog @misshall14 @wibblywobblyvampywolfystuff @akornsworld @itswhateveripromise @purecinnamonextract @oceanncurrent @dearvoidgoodnight @hopefulromances

[eljeebee]

Another day, another training.

Lavender is starting to get used to it.

Sleep, wake up early to either Kashvi or Chief Song’s cooking (and on rare occasions, Raul’s cooking), listen to Lakandiwa’s archeology lectures, help with chores, pray and meditate, before heading out with the Seekers.

Now, and again, they stood in the bridge ruins, with the picturesque view of the Belomisia waterfalls, sparring.

Lavender had improved–she casts with a purpose, she swings her hand firmly, her magic attacks Iris with a blast.

And because Lavender improved, the Mage Seeker’s nitpicking lessened. “Very good,” Iris nodded, smirking, before walking off. Mata replaced her.

Mata’s martial arts was upgraded–they’re now doing close quarter combat. Quite unfair to her, Lavender told them. Mata is much heavier than her, and quite frankly, she’s still trying to find the perfect rhythm when it comes to throwing punches and kicks. Not only that, but he’s also a vampire, which means he would always win against her. I was able to subdue Mata when he had just turned. That was prior to receiving Her power, mind you, Iris had said to her, huffing.

And so here she is now, trying to channel her magic to boost her physical strength so that she can win against the Vampire Seeker.

Eventually, they found themselves on the ground, wrestling against each other. Mata had his legs wrapped around her torso, trying to pin her there, and probably twist himself away from her, while Lavender threw a punch that missed. They struggled, trying to throw each other off, and while doing that…Lavender caught the hint of fragrance on him.

It smelled like the flowers in the monastery’s courtyard garden, the scent from the handmade soap in the communal bath, and that same smell from the tea Kashvi always makes her. Not only that, but she also felt the taut thick muscles of his thigh through the dark fabric that Mata wore (which she called their “summer” outfit).

Would Percival have the same muscles as this?

Lavender let out a growl, kicking Mata off her. She immediately backed away, catching her breath. She can’t believe she’s thinking of that damned Asvang!

She looked up and noticed Iris had opened her eyes from her meditation. She heard my thoughts…

To add insult to injury, Mata playfully winked at her.

They definitely heard it…

“You’re doing well, child,” Mata said instead. “But you’ll have to try harder.”

Lavender nodded at him, shaking the thoughts out of her mind. With a grin, she said, “You’re on!”

“You’re back early,” Raul smiled at them as the trio caught up with him. “You must’ve been a fast learner.”

“She is,” Mata agreed.

“Good,” Raul nodded. “I think…that calls for a…reward! I know you miss city food, so I made Philly cheesesteaks!”

Lavender squeaked in delight. “Mr. Raul that sounds so good! I feel like I’m drooling!”

“You have questions,” Mata said.

Lavender blinked. She looked at Iris, who nodded at her. She said, “Ask them and we shall answer.”

And without further ado, Lavender asked, “How come you’re a vampire, Seeker Mata? I–I mean, no offense, it’s just that, the sages told me that both Seekers are spellcasters.”

Mata chuckled, “Speculations. Who else can wield magic similar to theirs?”

“Any person could’ve been a Seeker, Lavender,” Iris said. “And any of those hypothetical chosen ones could have been given the same Seeker Omnipotence. By threads of fate, we were chosen by the Watcher.”

“Of course…” Lavender thought of a joke, chuckling to herself, “So even an alien could be a Seeker?”

“It’s possible,” Iris answered matter-of-factly, “if the Watcher saw an alien and deemed them fitting.”

The spellcaster cleared her throat. “Right. Of course. Ahem. Is it true that you’re as old as the world?”

The Seekers looked at each other.

Mata slowly said, “We have a long history, child. But yes, we are old, as old as the ancient vampires.”

Bright-eyed, Lavender asked, “Are you immortal? I mean, of course you would be, Seeker Mata, but even the vampires that Straud had known died on their own way–from what he told me, by the way.”

Mata smiled at her, “Realistically, a vampire should last long until the world ends. They could only die on some circumstances, such as an attack using a powerful source, such as from our Omnipotence.”

“But why did those vampires die?”

“A tragedy,” Mata looked away.

“I’m sorry.”

“We are immortal,” Iris said, trying to change the topic, “we will live, if the Watcher wills it to. She has a hold over our souls–our lives. When Her judgement dictates that our lives as Seekers in this earthly realm is finished, then our time here will end. We will join her.”

Lavender hummed. “So, you’re immortal because the Watcher made you so.”

Mata nodded.

“Wow...”

They went quiet for a bit. The rustling of leaves from the blown wind can be heard, the birdsongs enveloped them.

“Is it true, the Watcher is a woman? A Goddess?”

Iris snapped at her. “What spurred this on, child? What are the Sages teaching you? The Watcher, the true Watcher, is a goddess. Omisca is her name, She who gave life to all, She who shared her magic to us, remember that.”

Shit. Lavender hung her head low. “I–I didn’t mean to anger you, Seeker Iris. I know that She is the true Watcher. She is a goddess. I’m sorry. I apologize.”

Mata sighed. Addressing his fellow Seeker, he said, “Iris, you frightened the child.”

Iris exhaled. “I apologize, child. Her name has been sullied countless times, and I am here to remind those who dirtied Her who gave them life.” Her sharpened voice softened. “I know you mean well, Lavender.”

Lavender could only nod.

Mata asked, “I’m curious. Does the Sages worship the Smithsonian god?”

“No,” Lavender shook her head, “They would never. We know our roots, and who is the true god. Ordinary people worship the Smithsonian god, though. It’s the norm for most people.”

“It would be,” Iris looked away. “That’s what he designed it for. To have people question Her and forget…”

“Iris…” Mata mumbled.

“At least your belief in us never wavers. You have been good to us.”

Lavender laid awake in the bedroom. She couldn’t sleep. Her questions to the Seekers bore more questions, and it’s bugging her! What does Seeker Iris mean that the Smithsonian religion was designed? Trying not to let out a frustrated groan, she stood up from her bed, mindful of not waking the others. It was only Chief Song, Lakandiwa, Raul, and Diego who slept.

Kashvi is downstairs, doing her nightly routines, and the Seekers…

She slipped away from the bedroom.

“Sleep eludes you, child?” Mata smiled at her.

“I’m sorry,” Lavender sheepishly said, “Your answers gave me more questions…”

“I know,” Iris chuckled at her (a chuckle from Iris? What a rare sight, Lavender thought). She motioned for her to come. “I wish we could tell more, but we do not want you to become a target.”

“Target…by who?”

“Not now,” Mata shook his head. “You must not know, lest they learn about you.”

The three of them sat on the stone roof of the monastery path walk.

The Seekers conversed at each other, and Lavender didn’t bother to join them.

She pondered, who is this they? Why would she become a target for these people? And who made the Smithsonian religion? Why was it designed to forget Omisca? And what is this tragedy the ancient vampires had suffered from? So many questions…

She sighed, laying down on the stone roof. The Seekers paid her no mind as they discussed something else. Lavender doesn’t even know what they’re talking about anymore.

[puppyluvfics]

Shallow | O.de/Oh Seungmin

O.de/Oh Seungmin | part of Not In The Same Way: MTL Series WC: 1.3k Genre: Angst/Smut(?) Summary: You loved Seungmin. You did. Yet, somewhere in that love, you lost yourself, turning into a mirror image of him, which is something you grew to hate. Warnings: there's like... slight smut? It's skippable if you want it to be, but it's there. A/N: THIS WAS IN MY DRAFTS FOR SO LONG I FORGOT TO HIT PUBLISH FHDSJKFS SORRY. Also: the smut part of this... maybe I will expand on one day (no promises) because. mmm hatefucking <3 OK SORRY GOOD LUCK OSEUMI LOVERS

“I… Listen. I loved you. And maybe, deep down, there’s a part of me that still does. But that part of me is so lost… it isn’t fair to me and it isn’t fair to you. I’ll see you around, okay? Take care of yourself.”

Seungmin’s world felt like it was crumbling. Everything had seemed just fine, this morning. Right…? He felt blindsided, and frankly, incredibly hurt. He looked back into your eyes, and God, it stung. What was once a gaze of adoration and love had been replaced with confusion and pain.

“What are you even saying, (Y/N)? We’re a team, we’re… we’re us. What happened to that?”

You sigh heavily, sitting on the arm of the couch, running your hands over your face.

“That’s the thing, Seungmin. We… I’m not myself anymore. I’m you. I don’t even know who I am outside of being with you anymore, and that scares me.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, cautious about what you were saying.

“So, what? You’re just going to throw away everything we have and everything we are just because you’re having an identity crisis? You don’t think that’s a little unfair to me? I’m supposed to be your boyfriend, I’m supposed to help you through shit like this!” He said, raising his voice only a bit. He wasn’t yelling at you. Far from it. But he was so damn frustrated, and you could tell. Still, his words cut, deep.

“I’m not throwing anything away! But it isn’t fair to me, either! I wake up and I look in the mirror and I don’t recognize that person!” You retort, matching his volume.

He lets out a sound, a mix between a sigh and a scoff.

“Nice. Real nice, (Y/N). Being like me is so damn bad that you’d rather throw this away than try to work through it with me by your side.” He said, eerily calm, clearly extremely hurt, despite misinterpreting your words.

“You’re putting words in my mouth, Seungmin. Stop it. I didn’t say that. I’m…” You sigh again, exhausted from the arguing. “I’m not doing this to be selfish, I’m doing this for us, don’t you understand that? You deserve someone who compliments you, not a carbon copy of you. And that’s what I’ve turned into.” You spoke slowly, trying to make him understand.

“Well, there’s one thing that you didn’t copy from me. You’re so goddamn self centered and shallow.” He said, his tone biting. You know he didn’t really mean it, that he was just lashing out in anger but, fuck, that hurt more than anything you could ever muster up to say to him.

“Seungmin, what the fuck?” Your voice comes out hushed, small, and hurt.

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.” He said, realizing the extent of the damage he’d done. You huff, standing up, pushing past him to the door. 

“I’ll see you around, Seungmin.” You said, leaving those being the last words you said to him, for a good while.

~~~

Not a long enough while, though. It hadn’t been more than a week before you had bumped into him while you were out with some friends, ironically, trying to drink away the thoughts of him. You had debated calling him before this, over and over again, but you stayed strong. Still, there you stood, your feet aching in the heels you’d squeezed them into, your eyes fixated on his figure, standing on the opposite end of the bar, waiting for his drink. 

“Please, please do not let him be here with someone else,” You thought to yourself. You were the one who had broken up with him, sure, but still, it had only been a week or so. You stayed by your friends, just observing him for the duration of a song or two, releasing a held breath when you realized that he was here alone. Did you want to walk over to him? You were the one who left him, after all. And it was messy to say the least. You knew you would hate yourself for it later, but you walked over to him, sitting next to him, clearing your throat to make your presence known. 

He turned to look at you, his eyes widening. He didn’t know what shocked him more - the fact you were sitting there next to him, or the fact you were showing a good amount of skin in what you had worn. 

“Hey.” You said, quietly. 

“Hey…” He replied, just as quietly. 

~~~

You didn’t know how it happened. Multiple drinks and hours later, he and you were drunkenly stumbling through your once shared apartment, leaving filthy, needy kisses all over each other. Your lips had attached to his neck, leaving dark red hickeys and bites all over him, all the while his hands found their way down to your hips, pressing hard into your skin. A few more steps and you found yourself bent over the arm of the couch - the same couch you had sat on and argued with him less than a week ago. It didn’t matter to you now, though. All that mattered was him, the feeling of his hands on you, the feeling of your skirt getting hiked up and your strapless top getting yanked down. The feeling of him pushing your head down into the couch as he fucked you from behind. You couldn’t consider it hate fucking, neither of you hated each other. Hell, maybe you were right, maybe you did hold love for him still, somewhere deep inside you. Probably as deep as his cock was hitting, if you were being honest with yourself. 

It wasn’t until a little after 3am that the two of you had both tapped out, breathing heavily on the couch. You were laying in his arms, something that hadn’t happened in a while, even when you were together. His chest rose and fell in tandem with yours, but what you didn’t know was that while you laid there blissed out, sweaty and on cloud nine, brainless, he laid there thinking. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the sex, of course he did. So, it came as a shock, even to him, when he spoke. 

“You should go.” He said, quietly, stoic. 

“What?” You asked, immediately hurt. Sure, this wasn’t hate sex, but wasn’t it make up sex?

“I… (Y/N), this was…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word mistake. He didn’t see it like that. He never did before, and that hadn’t changed. He simply sighed, letting his arms fall away from you. “I’m sorry.” He said, hoarsely. You could tell this was just as hard for him as it was you, but that didn’t exactly make you feel better in this moment. You nodded, fighting your own emotional breakdown, pulling your clothes back on as best as you could given your sweaty, sticky state. You said nothing as you walked to the door, despite wanting to say so much. Anything, really.

The fact of the matter was, he had changed just as much as you had… you were quite literally two halves of a whole, but that whole was now shattered beyond repair. You weren’t just him, you were you and he was him. Together you were the best and worst of each other. But there was nothing you could do or say, now. You had made your bed, and now you had to lie in it, alone. Maybe, in another timeline, things would have worked out and you would have realized that he was right - you were being self-centered and shallow. At least you got what you wanted… now you had no choice but to figure out who you were, without him.

CHOOSE ANOTHER MEMBER HERE

OR

LISTEN TO THE SONG THAT INSPIRED THIS, BELOW

[kenny-the-ken]

Don't Kiss and Tell

ALL AGED UP CHARACTERS!!! Warnings!!: strong language

Kyle hated Eric, that wasn't news to anyone in South Park, let alone you. Your older brother always was a bit of a dick towards him, and you always found it unfair. Eric's friends were always so lovely to you, and maybe it was because while yes, you were their best friends little sister, you were also the complete polar opposite from him.

Eric was loud, boisterous, rude, insensitive and quite frankly, kind of aggressive in his actions. But you were nothing like that, you were shy, reserved, kind and caring and most of all, not a complete racist.

Eric and you would come to blows quite a lot, and his friends loved it when it happened, because while you were quiet, you did have his temper, and two Cartman's arguing was quite a sight to behold.

But you knew Eric wouldn't take lightly to what was happening here, if he knew you were in Kyle's apartment with him, he'd explode, in fact you were pretty sure he'd try to reenact World War Two, with Kyle being the only victim. They were friends but also enemies, and that made this so much worse.

But you couldn't help it, although you were only nineteen and in your first year of college, the twenty four year old curly redhead who's arms were snaked round your waist as you cuddled beside him watching a movie on his couch, was all you could think about. Guys your age didn't understand, they were all fuck boys, only out for one thing.

Kyle was different. He'd always been kind to you, but when you turned eighteen and you started going clubbing with your brother and his friends, Kyle started to develop feelings, feelings that he knew were wrong, but the way you looked, the way you moved, the little touches you'd leave lingering on his arms, god he was smitten.

Kyle pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his long fingers running through your soft h/c hair, a contented sigh leaning your mouth as you leaned against his light touches.

"I'm really glad you could come over." Kyle's words broke the silence, and you turned your head a little to gaze at him, a small smile on your face.

"Me too. I really missed you. It's just hard... you know what Eric's like." You spoke, and Kyle nodded, placing a small peck on your cheek.

"Let's not worry about him, baby. Let's just enjoy each other in the little time we have." Kyle whispered, and you felt your cheeks flush, earning a small laugh from Kyle.

You had been together for around four months, not that you got to see each other much, between college and work, and trying to escape the suffocating grasp of your control freak brother, it was hard to navigate, but you both made it work, and it made little moments like this together all the more special.

"I love you." You spoke, and Kyle's face lit up, a wide smile on his face. He responded the same way every time you told him you loved him.

"I love you too, darling. I had a little idea in mind for tonight's date, if you wanna hear it?" Kyle replied,a cheeky grin on his face.

"Okay sure, what have you got planned, hunny?" You asked, leaning your head back so you were laying on Kyle's chest, your body between his legs.

"I was gonna drive us to central Colorado, take you on a nice fancy date, somewhere we can be seen together, hold hands, kiss under the street lamps where no one will see us. Well, so Eric won't see us." Kyle spoke, his voice hushed, gazing down at your face, pressing a kiss to your lips.

"That sounds amazing! But won't it be expensive? I don't want you having to waste your money on me!" You spoke, and Kyle shook his head.

"Baby, if we have a lovely date that we'll never forget, then it couldn't possibly be a waste of money, in fact, I'd see it as an investment." Kyle grinned, and you smiled back at him, before shifting to sit up, stretching your arms before getting off the couch.

"I better go get changed then! Which means I'll have to escape the house without Eric seeing me all dressed up." You said, chewing on your bottoms lip, your eyebrows knitted together with worry.

"Already thought of that. I bought you that dress you showed me a few weeks back, and the shoes to go with it, so you can get ready here." Kyle replied, and your face lit up, moving back over to him and pressing a soft kiss to his lips once more.

"You really do think of everything, you're so smart." You cooed, making Kyle's ego grow slightly, as he stood himself, his arms finding their way round your waist.

"Plus, it's an excuse for me to see you all dressed up just for me." He smirked, as you both stood still, your mouths meeting each other for a few quick kisses.

"I'm gonna go get ready, okay?" You whispered, and Kyle huffed a little. "One last kiss?" He begged, puppy dog eyes making you melt, placing another kiss on his lips before walking into his bedroom, and gasping at the dress he bought you, it was the exact one you'd shown him a while ago, and it fit your body like a glove, your feet slipping into the pair of heels Kyle had bought for you, and lifting the little handbag that matched perfectly.

And Kyle's eyes nearly popped from their sockets when you emerged from the bedroom, his mouth agape, and you swore you seen him drooling. "Holy fuck, you're hot." He spoke mindlessly, making you giggle and blush at his statement.

"Thank you, baby." You replied, as you embraced each other, Kyle's hand cupping your cheek, staring deeply into your eyes. "I am the luckiest guy on planet earth to be able to call you mine, y/n. I would fight your brother for you!" He announced, making you chuckle.

"You two would fight each other just because! Don't even lie!" And Kyle laughed, a grin on his face. "Yeah, I suppose that's true, babe." And just as you were ready to leave, your phone started ringing, it was Eric.

You answered his call, your finger coming up to your mouth to let Kyle know to be quiet. "Hey bro, what's up?" You spoke, before an onslaught of shouting kicked off on the end of the line, startling you.

And Kyle took your phone from your hand, pressing the screen to put it on speaker.

"HOW COULD YOU DATE THAT JEW! Of all the people in the world! You chose KYLE! You're a traitor! A fuckin' traitor and I'm telling mom!" Eric shouted, and your eyes rolled, Kyle couldn't hold his tongue any longer.

"HEY! I'll have you know that this Jew loved fucking your sister earlier, how's that fat boy?" He retaliated, and suddenly they had both gone from respectable twenty five year old to literal children, throwing stupid insults at each other.

"Eric, I'm an adult now, you can't just tell mom that you don't like who I'm dating! What's she gonna do? Ground me? I'm nineteen, Eric! And who cares what religion Kyle is! He treats me well, that's all that should matter, right?" You shouted back, a pause coming from the other end of the line, before hearing a loud sigh coming from your brother.

"Kyle, I'm gonna find you, and I'm gonna beat your ass catholic!" Eric shouted, before hanging up the phone angrily.

You pulled your boyfriend into a tight hug, his head resting on your chest, and you peppered gentle kisses on the top of his head, your hand running through his his thick, curls.

"C'mon darling, I promise Eric won't do anything. Let's go on our date and have a nice night like we'd planned." You reasoned, and Kyle nodded meekly, looking like the colour had drained slightly from his face, and upon noticing his anxiousness, you cupped his lightly freckles face within your hands, your thumb brushing over his pale pink lips, standing on your top toes to give him a quick kiss.

"Don't listen to Eric, by the time our dates over he'll have found something else to get pissed off at, so please don't worry." You soothed him, his gaze fully focussed on you.

"I'm just... I don't want to lose you. I know your brother thinks it's wrong, but I love you, I always have, I just... I'm scared, that's all. Your brother is revenge crazy, I don't want anyone to get hurt." Kyle spoke, his gaze averted to the ground, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Kyle, no one is gonna get hurt, my mom won't allow it, okay? Eric can be hard work, but I'll talk him round, I always do." You spoke, meaning every word behind what you'd said. Kyle had changed you as a person, and he understood you on a level that no one else ever had. He truly was the most amazing guy you'd ever met.

"Now let's go on our date, and now you can take me wherever you want, because we're not a secret anymore." And Kyle nodded shyly, his slender fingers intertwining with yours, and he pressed a quick kiss to your lips, before moving to open the door, holding it open for you.

"Ladies first, my love." And as you exited his apartment, you felt as though this was the first date you'd both been on, those familiar butterflies swirling in your stomach, as Kyle unlocked his car, opening the passenger door for you to hop in.

Even if your brother did try to overshadow things, and tell you what to do, there was no way you could ever pry yourself away from Kyle, you were in too deep, and you liked it. You liked him, in fact you loved him, and that was what mattered most.

[temis-de-leon]

Well it’s more on what you said about Dumbledore. Like his manipulativeness and being a walking red flag. Do you think your mc (or any mc in general) grew more aware of those aspects as her time in hogwarts went on? Like the more dumbledore scolded them about getting into all the trouble but how they were also frustrated and could snap back about how he (and frankly the other adults) weren’t doing so much anyway. Do you think by the time they finished school, they could have had a jaded, so to speak, opinion? Could there be any sort of respect or regard left?

It's been a while since I've read the books and played the game, but I think the only students Dumbledore calls by name are the ones he's trying to manipulate, like Harry, Draco, Tom and the MC. All of these characters have been chosen by prophecies, power or blood to be important in the storyline and Dumbledore knows it.

By singling out a kid who is already popular among their peers, and building enough trust to use their first name instead of last, you use their sense of maturity in your favour. Besides Tom, the rest of the students know they aren't equal to Dumbledore, but they're higher than their classmates. They have special (dangerous) tasks, private discussions with him about real enemies and permission to do a lot of things.

MC is a character that accidentally and willingly puts themselves into danger and never really receives any significant help from the adults who are supposed to be looking out for them (look at how many ghosts around the castle are students), especially Dumbledore.

And I think that's because he's afraid of what you're just saying. Him being an excellent legilimens gives him an obscene amount of advantage in this situation; that's how he discovered Draco's and Snape's true feelings, after all.

The only thing he does is punish MC. Sure, sometimes they survive their adventures by pure luck and being at the right place at the right time, but MC is literally being haunted by a dark wizard, the same as Harry. Both escape death almost every year and only MC gets punished. A year working in the kitchen is supposed to be fair? That only serves as a way to keep tabs on MC, not discipline.

If I remember correctly, which I'm not sure, I think MC does point out the unfairness sometimes. They just want to get their brother back and no one except them is doing anything, so their animosity against Dumbledore would be inevitable. Involuntary and unaware, but present over time and accompanied by a lot of resentment.

In the end, MC has every reason to go against Dumbledore and I definitely would if I was there. It doesn't mean I would side with dark wizards, but I'd never go with the Order of the Phoenix.

[epickiya722]

Hello, previous anon here. I would like to thank you for replying to me.

Now, the reason I thought it was weird to view the Izuku/Ochako scene as platonic was because, for as far as I remember, they never really had a fallout or anything of the sort. Of all the people in Class 1-A, Ochako was always Izuku's "friendliest friendship" as they never had any sort of prior conflict, so I'm not sure how exactly you could go further from here.

Like, rereading of the chapters, I feel like people underrate Ochako a lot as a love interest. She was effectively the first person in his life to actually stand up for him, doing so entirely out of selflessness. With that in mind, is it really strange that she is considered Izuku's most special person? Or that he would be attracted to her (yes, he does think she looks cute in a school uniform)? Hori changed the dynamics a bit by making her attracted to him instead, but it's not a development that came from nowhere. It was always gradually built upon.

Meanwhile, Bakugou is pretty overrated as a friend, coming off as really nasty early on. And still is even after his character development, with a lot of unprovoked violence (it's wildly uncomfortable to be reminded that Katsuki almost gave Izuku a crianial hemorrhagy at one point, and have that depicted as funny). The contrast between those "friendships" is just really notable when you take in account all the moments, not only the major ones.

It's also why I think the Bakuangst stories that makes Izuku come off as thankless for the suit are very tasteless, especially because he wasn't the only person who funded it anyway. If anything, he did slightly more than the bare minimum, and he's lucky that he has a normal relationship with Izuku now while retaining his usual aggressive tone after all the years of bullying (not trying to bash Katsuki here. I understand that he is an anti-hero and needs flaws). I think Katsuki, like Izuku, is also heavily misunderstood, although mostly to paint him as a better person than he actually is. Frankly, he is better off with the likes of Eijiro, Shoto or even (God forbid) Monoma, since those are the people who can stand up to his Bakugoisms.

Continuation of this ask here!

I still don't see how is it weird to view Ochako and Izuku as platonic... when they are platonic in the canon material. Do they have to have a fallout to then become friends again?

They couldn't just be friends and want to hang out more in later years because they haven't since their high school years (possibly)? Wouldn't that make it even better for them to hang out more because before they didn't have bad blood?

Heck, wouldn't that would make a romance between them great because they were friends first? Who wouldn't want their friend to also be their romantic partner? That means that if I trust you enough to be my friend, I trust you enough to be my romantic half.

Like, who wouldn't want that for Ochako and Izuku?Again, I never said they couldn't be romantic.

You just proved what I said even bringing it up how "Ochako's attraction was built up" because during that time they were friends.

But let's not forget that when it was pointed out that she has a crush, it was pointed out by someone who was obsessed with love (Mina). That's the same person who got giddy seeing her homeroom teacher and Ms. Joke together when there was no romantic build up at all between the two. Same person who teased Midnight and All Might and had to be shut down by the former who points out she isn't into older men.

So honestly, I think it's unfair that people want to keep bringing up about how Ochako's feelings when at a lot of the time how she feels is stated by other people. I feel like that was something she could discover on her own and be sure about it.

With that in mind, you bring up Izuku's (possible) attraction to her. Throughout the story, they do have their cute moments but he also didn't have anyone in his ear telling him how he should feel about Ochako. Again, unfair to Ochako because while her feelings are often pointed out, Izuku's aren't.

On a romantic level, it does come off as one-sided or at the most 30/70. On a platonic level, it does not.

But who is denying that they can't put in a romantic 50/50 romantic bond in the future and make those decisions ON THEIR OWN?

And I wouldn't say that Ochako is "underrated" as a love interest. There is plenty of ship content both in and out of the canon material.

It's just that with Ochako, I doubt Horikoshi was trying to make her just the love interest. With her character, despite that crush, he was also trying to be make her stand out as her own and not as "Izuku's girl" because she isn't. She is Ochako Uraraka aka Uravity, someone who wanted to become a hero to help her parents financially but also because she wanted to help people and put smiles on their faces.

I don't think Ochako should only be seen as Izuku's love interest. He's a part of her story, not the reason for it. And much of it doesn't even revolve around him. After all, let's not forget she does put her feelings aside for him, at some point.

All of her traits are admirable and Izuku respects her for that.

That's why them being friends is also great for them being in a romantic relationship, if you wish to see it as such.

I don't think it's strange that Ochako is a special person to Izuku. But I do think it's strange that Katsuki can't also be seen as a special person to Izuku.

They're not competing for his attention or anything. While it's true Izuku and Katsuki had a falling out, it's not like they weren't friends at some point and haven't been each other's lives since they were children.

They were childhood friends. And let's not act as if even when their relationship wasn't rekindled, Izuku didn't show any care towards Katsuki because he has multiple times.

Katsuki isn't "overrated" as a friend for no reason.

Yes, Katsuki has his flaws and no, he isn't the best person. But he did become a better person and yeah, I do think that is something to admire especially when he did recognize his flaws, he was just a teenager compared to the many adults in the same story who later realize their own flaws. (I do believe you can recognize your flaws at any given time in your life.) He caught how he was just in time to change his life around. I'd rather for that than for him to not ever recognize how wrong he was.

Katsuki would probably agree with you that is lucky he still has any kind of relationship with Izuku. But I also don't think that he can't have any relationship with Izuku when it's Izuku who has that choice.

He's not being captive to be Katsuki's anything or vice versa. He's always been able to make his own choices. They all are.

And you bring those other characters being able to stand up to Katsuki and his behavior, but so does Izuku as the story progresses. In fact, him standing up to Katsuki is in the earlier parts of the story.

Honestly, at this point, I feel like some of the fandom feels as if Izuku isn't free to do anything. It's like there's always this constant need to point out he's a victim, and he is, but also in the same breath some people like to downplay that he is able to stand on his own two feet. That is he is his own person. It's like he has to be this and he had to be that.

Just like Katsuki (as you pointed out) and Ochako, I do feel like Izuku is heavily misunderstood. In fact, probably the most misunderstood character in the story.

I'm sorry, but you saying it is weird for Ochako and Izuku to be viewed as platonic gives me the same energy as when people think it's some strange phenomenon that a woman and a man or a girl and a boy are just friends and don't want to be romantically involved. It also gives me the same energy as people thinking that a pair could only be viewed as platonic or romantic, it can't be both.

Characters they are, but I am a real person. I am a real person with my own opinions based on feelings and how I feel about 431, Ochako, Katsuki and Izuku is not going to changed unless I chose to change those feelings and I don't want to argue about it.

I'm going on a limb here and saying you feel like I was wrong about seeing IzuOcha as platonic. It's why you called it "weird". You ignored that I used the term "also", meaning there's room to see them as romantic if you want to.

I'm not trying to dictate how people should view these characters, I don't want to. But I don't think anyone should turn around and try to do so to me.

[i-n3ver-hated-you]

My opinion on Jaren in The Blood Traitor:

Spoilers.

Frankly, Kiva is having a goddamn awful time in the last book.

First of all, she is hooked on angle dust and back in a place she'd thought she'd finally escaped. Not so good. But Cresta is helping her through it. (I love Cresta.)

Then she's kidnapped by Navok, who basically makes her his slave. She's rescued (yay!) everyone hates her (nay!).

When they're in the market and they're trying to get information about the rings out of that seer lady (I don't remember her name, sorry), she gives Kiva two options: kiss Jaren (the person who she is under the impression hates her) or take some angle dust (which she had previously been addicted to, and only recently recovered from). That is such an awful thing to do. The fact that Kiva chooses the angles dust over Jaren shows how much she's doing for him. He hates her. She doesn't choose that option because of that.

Later, she says, half delirious, "I’m in love with him, can you believe it?". I'm not really sure how to put what I'm thinking into words, but you can see what she did for him, right?

And then he kissed her when she was under the influence, half-unconscious and falling asleep?! What the fuck, Jaren. You need the tea talk.

Anyway, after Jaren nearly dies falling off that cliff, Kiva is crying a bit (understandable), but he kind of makes fun of her for it—at least, that's the was I saw it.

Then,

Jaren: You’ve been avoiding me. I have no idea how you feel. So I asked.

Kiva: I’ve been avoiding you because it’s what you want.

Jaren: I’ve been trying to talk to you for days, you know that. It’s been incredibly frustrating. You’ve been avoiding me because you’re afraid.

Kiva: I’m not afraid.

Jaren: You are. You’ve barely been able to look at me for weeks.

Kiva: You’re the one who wouldn’t look at me! You told me you wanted nothing to do with me — so I gave you that!

Jaren: I lied.

He says "I lied" like Kiva should have known that, should have seen through him and talked to him or whatever. It's like he expects, after a whole book of hating—or at least seeming to hate—her, that she accept that he was lying. That it was all fake. I think that's unfair. He's assuming that Kiva is avoiding him because she's "afraid", and completely ignoring his own actions. If I was Kiva, I would also be avoiding him because, know know, he's acting like he hates me.

By saying Kiva is afraid, it's a little bit like pinning all the angst on her. Which, yes, to be fair she did technically steal his powers, but their angsting is on both of them.

I think Jaren has a good reason for hating her. I would to if she'd stolen my magical powers. The thing that makes me hate him, however, and not her, is the fact that after spending the whole book ignoring her, being rude, and implying that he hates her and never wants to have anything to do with her ever again, he says "I could never hate you, Kiva." It seems, to me, a bit like he's gaslighting her.

He proceeds to tell her all the ways it isn't her fault. A good thing, but it goes against everything he's said and acted for the whole book.

I get that they obviously need to make up and stuff, but I think it could have been done better. In enemies(ish) to lovers, it tends to work better (for me) if they do hate each other and don't deny it. It's more like "I hated you before, but I don't anymore" instead of "I've pretended to hate you, but I actually don't".

Because Jaren does have a real reason to hate her. He could have just said like "I'm sorry for being an ass, but I promise I see you are now. And it's not your fault." I think that would make more sense.

Anyway, this is, once again, just my opinion. I'm not trying to be particularly hateful and if you loved this book, good for you.

I hope this made sense, thank you for coming to my TED talk, bonne journee :)

[alisaint]

Bravery is literally one of will's core traits, so your side trying to erase that and make him into some powerless, delicate, dainty crybaby is genuinely depressing. Will stans are constantly in the trenches to rescue Will from these unfair boxes, and it's like your taking all the things will haters believe about will and then saying, "actually, you're right," instead of challenging those assumptions/stereotypes.

But of course, Will can't be brave and also be the eternally vulnerable feminine damsel in distress y'all clearly want him to be, so you erase Will's canonical bravery in favor of exaggerating Mike's bravery. They both have shown bravery, and they both have shown fear as well.

Why would you even ship byler if you believe will is eternally helpless and wimpy and mike has to step in and save him all the time??? If that was actually their dynamic, that would be weird and lopsided. But that's just... not what happens in the show?

They both are equals. Within the canon of Stranger Things.

It's not about making the characters into "yaoi" whatever, nor is it about buff byers or anything like that. It's about actively making Will out to inherently be cowardly, equating sensitivity with weakness, and then claiming you're following canon, when no? You're viewing things through an incredibly biased filter. And it's very backwards.

have you ever interacted with someone in the real physical world? for extended periods of time? perhaps even through turmoil? do you remember what school was like and the other kids you went to school with? have you ever looked at the world, the horrors that occur in it, and how that changes people? have you ever gone to a nursing home or an assisted living center? have you ever met someone with a disability? have you ever met multiple kinds of gay people, including the ones that fit stereotypes? have you ever looked at gay history and the people that made it up, many of whom are what we based stereotypes off of? my final question was going to be, have you experienced enough growth and development to understand this thing called nuance?, but i can see by your elementary, defensive, and frankly unrealistic way of thinking, not to mention the "sides" comment lol, that the answer to that question is no.

will is a crybaby, because he cries a lot. why is that a bad thing? is it because he's a boy? his life fucking sucks. of course he's going to cry a lot.

he *is* mostly powerless. he can't defend himself against bullies or monsters or vecna. he always needs help and that's okay.

he is delicate. he requires careful handling which is why everyone approaches him differently than they do others. this isn't the same as babying him, it's just having tact. he's also a sensitive kid. emphasis on sensitive, and emphasis on the fact that he's still a kid. also, he is liable to break. he's gay in a small town and feels alone and scared and is in love with someone he not only thinks he'll never have a chance with but who is in love with his sister/other friend. he's in a very vulnerable position to be approached again by vecna, not even counting the other reasons like ptsd, abuse, etc.

no one is erasing will's bravery. in my rb i even mentioned that i think fans were voting will bc they were thinking of his ability to persevere. still, that's different and the poll asks who's bravER. as in who is more brave. and i think that mike is more brave, because even when it comes to stuff like internal struggles... you still need to pry that shit out of will and he only comes clean at the last possible moment when he can no longer keep it to himself without hurting someone.

like i said, he chickened out of telling mike. he didn't want to believe or trust himself in s3 and only said smth when it could no longer be denied without people possibly getting hurt. in s2 he keeps it to himself until joyce makes him talk by telling him she already knows. etc etc.

will is brave. he's brave for wanting to get his truth off his chest even though he can't. he's brave for telling mike that yes he did want to spend forever with him n bringing it up again a year later. he's brave for saying WHO CARESSSSSS abt your relationship problems. he's brave for sticking up to the shadow monster. he's brave for running to the shed to load that gun as a last resort. he was brave to spy back on the shadow monster. but that does not mean he was able to see that bravery through all the way every single time. and you know who does? mike.

also, it is possible to be brave and be a damsel in distress. remember when will told them to close the gate? he was in trouble and he was still willing to go down if it meant saving everyone else. it's almost like your black and white thinking is nonsensical, not even canon-based, and not at all what i've ever argued.

mike's bravery doesn't need to be exaggerated either. it speaks for itself. i and everyone else defending mike in those tags just stated point blank what he did. we didn't need to exaggerate anything lol. but hey it's kinda funny and cool for him that you think just listing his accomplishments is a brag in and of itself lmaoooo

will and mike are complementary, and it's their complementary matching puzzle piece parts that once put together make them equal. i mean, obviously they're equal human beings on their own. but they have qualities that balance each other out and work off of each other in ways that make them a formidable duo. that's why will is so in love with him and even aside from the romance trusts mike more than anyone, and why mike feels at home with will by his side, most himself when with will, and why he can't make it work with el.

also, you sound like a dumbass insinuating that i believe sensitivity is weakness. you're talking to a damn war vet lmao that's why i couldn't tell if you were mocking me with your first message. i've been yelling for yearsssss that will's sensitivity that is perceived as a weakness by antagonists in canon is precisely his strength and what has saved his life.

you sound like a dumbass in general by acting like any of these "negative" traits are bad. newsflash dude everyone has moments when they're cowardly! not everyone in the world is a fighter! sometimes people have ptsd and other disorders that make them freeze up! some people, including boys/men, cry a lot! sometimes people are more brave than others! that's just life!!!!!!! i literally don't know what to tell you. these things make will more real. they make mike more real too. i don't know why you think they're such bad things.

[separatist-apologist]

Lying In Between The Memories

You could call it paradise but it looks just like hell to me

Summary: Following the blood rite, Gwyneth Berdara can't shake the memories of a life long-gone.

The shadowsinger can't seem to move on after five centuries of loving the same woman.

Together, they'll have to carve a new path forward.

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

[ongoing TW for Sexual Assault]

Azriel was gone for three days. Three stupid days in which Gwyn found she missed him. Not at first—not that first day. He’d left a shadow behind, presumably to monitor her. She’d woken to find it slithering around her desk, likely looking for something interesting. Embarrassment flooded through her—had this been the same shadow that he’d used to pleasure her in the library? What kind of awareness did they have, anyway? 

Maybe some things were better left unknown. 

The only thing Gwyn truly had to worry about was Kai, who realized Azriel wasn’t around by mid-afternoon and began trailing her earnestly and Gwyn, who’d never been the subject of someone’s romantic desires before, found herself both uneasy and flattered by the prince's attention. 

Sitting beside her in his pathetic library, Kai paid little attention to what she was reading. Instead, long, moon pale fingers found the bracelet on her wrist. She didn’t know what possessed her to put it on that morning. Perhaps she was missing Nesta and Emerie more than she realized. 

“This is pretty,” he murmured, fingers finding the little rose pendant she’d clasped among the other gems. It had been a solstice gift, stuck on an unremarkable silver chain. Gwyn knew she’d never wear it, and so she’d discarded the chain in favor of the little red rose and fastened it to the bracelet, deciding it was a good omen. “Where did you get it?”

“A friend,” she replied, thinking of Clotho offering it to her with a delighted smile. It hadn’t been from Clotho—likely another group of well-meaning citizen from Velaris donating things to the priestesses locked away in the library. The fact that Clotho had thought of her at all was what mattered. 

It had been the first gift Gwyn had gotten in a long time. Nesta and Emerie, along with Cassian, had also sent up gifts later that day—along with a very lovely blanket from the High Lady, thanking her for being Nesta’s friend and begging Gwyn not to tell her sister she’d said so—had really made that day special. 

Gently, she pulled the charm from Kai’s fingers. “It’s beautiful. Like you,” he added, blue eyes bright with hope.

Gwyn merely smiled, scooting her chair a fraction of an inch away from him. “Thank you, but I’m here only to do a job.”

“And then leave?” he questioned, like her words amused him. “So they can continue to working you to the bone?”

Gwyn turned to look at him. He truly was handsome, in a very specific, limited sort of way. More than anything, Gwyn hated that she was comparing him to Azriel. That was unfair—no one was as beautiful as Azriel, and they never would be. Kai couldn’t help that and yet Gwyn was still doing it. 

“I like working.”

“You wouldn’t have to here,” Kai said, as if that was meant to entice her. Gwyn only sighed, offering him what she hoped was a placid, pleasant smile. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Those were the wrong words, because Kai took them as a challenge. No one had ever tried courting Gwyn—the notion was, frankly, absurd. And yet there Kai was. Sending gifts and flowers, escorting her to dinner, and during one ill fated turn through the garden, draping his jacket over her shoulders.

Like she was a defenseless ornament for him to parade around. Seething, Gwyn marched back into her shared room with Azriel, hoping he was having far more fun than she was. And then, because she was pissed off and decided to make it his problem, took Kai’s jacket, with it’s too big sleeves and strange scent of citrus and clove, and slept in Azriel’s bed.

Just because she could. 

By the time Azriel returned, Gwyn was close to begging Rhysand to bring her home, if only for a little peace. Maybe the shadowsinger could sense her frustration, because he strolled in casually right before dawn. She’d gotten very little sleep, curled up in the chair Azriel so often found solace in when his own nightmares plagued him.

“Miss me?”

Gwyn rolled her eyes. “You’re not dead,” she commented, noting a purple bruise gracing his neck just beneath the color of the black tunic he wore. 

“Don’t act so disappointed. If I die, my cock goes with me.”

“And I’m sure tens of females will mourn,” Gwyn shot back as Azriel all but swaggered into his bedroom. She’d forgotten her little stunt with the jacket, rising to her feet intending to change into something clean and plod back to the library where she’d do fuck all for most of the day. The real work happened at night anyway. At this point, Gwyn’s sole purpose was to pretend she was building a bridge between the continent and Prythian when truthfully she was spying. Stealing their knowledge right from under them.

And Gwyn very much doubted Kai would want her as a princess when he learned she was actively committing treason and stomping all over his hospitality. 

Gwyn had made it to her door when Azriel caught her. One hand gripped her waist, while the other found her wrists and pinned them up over her head. “What happened here while I was gone, Gwyneth?” he whispered. 

Daring to look him right in the eye, she replied, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t smell arousal on that bed. Just your scent wrapped around another male. What happened?”

“Jealous?”

But that wasn’t quite it. She could see there was fear etched in lines of his beautiful face, half hidden under his anger. 

“Nothing happened,” she said, wrenching her wrists from his hand so she could open the door and tumble backwards. Azriel came with her, falling to the floor in a graceless heap. Somehow,

Azriel managed not to crush her under his powerful body, hitting the ground with his elbows instead. 

“Then why can I smell him in my bed?” Azriel asked breathlessly, wincing from what she assumed was pain. 

“Because I slept in his jacke—”

A snarl ripped from Azriel, sending his shadows scattering for safety. 

“Don’t you growl at me!” she snapped, poking him in the chest. Azriel’s wings flared around them before settling, blotting out the first rays of early morning light. Gwyn hated how much she liked when he did that—nothing and no one could touch her here. Looking up at him, Gwyn wished she could paint the gold flecked in his eyes.

Wished she could trace the curve of his mouth, the line of his jaw.

“Did you miss me?” she asked him, heart thudding. Say no, end this right now, tell me I’m crazy—

“Yes,” he replied, lowering his head to run his nose along the length of her neck. 

Oh, she was in trouble and she knew it. “We’re even, Az.”

“Then let’s fix that,” he replied, sliding a hand down the side of her body. “Let me show you what I’ve been thinking about since I’ve left.”

She was going to let him. Right there on the floor, her bed only a few feet away—an impossible distance when he adjusted, settling his powerful thigh between her legs. “What were you thinking about?” she breathed.

Azriel’s tongue replaced his mouth, tracing the line of her collarbone through the rumpled dress she’d slept in. 

“I want to know what you taste like,” he whispered darkly, his words eliciting a shiver. “I want to see you come again, Gwyn.”

“I—”

A pounding on the door saved her from making a fool of herself. Azriel snarled softly, but shoved up off the ground with the fluid grace he’d been robbed of when they’d fallen to the floor. She watched, rising to her own feet quickly as he stalked to the door, catching how he adjusted himself quickly in his trousers before he flung the door open.

Gwyn knew who’d be on the other side.

“Yes?” Azriel asked, his voice devoid of all emotion.

“Oh. You’ve returned. I suppose I thought you wouldn’t,” Kai said as Azriel plucked the bouquet of purple irises from his hand.

“For me?” Azriel asked, arching one of his impeccable brows. A better person would have put Kai out of his misery. Kai couldn’t see around Azriel’s massive body, which gave Azriel license to say, “Gwyn is still in bed. I’ll let her know you came by.”

And then he slammed the door in the prince’s face, turning to look at Gwyn with a deadpan expression.

“For you,” he told her, tossing them to the little breakfast table littered with her books and notes. “I thought nothing happened?”

“You sound jealous.”

Walking to his room, apparently content to abandon whatever had been about to happen on the floor, Azriel muttered, “When I’m jealous, you’ll know it.” And then slammed the door in her face.

Gwyn only smiled.

AZRIEL:

Azriel was going insane. Kai was constantly in his fucking way, interrupting every single time Azriel tried to get close to Gwyn. After three stupid days living in the ceiling of the Rask palace, all he’d thought about was her cunt on his face. He’d been so close that morning, and never again for the rest of the week.

Kai wanted to separate them. Azriel could guess why. The prince was too involved in the life of one foreign visitor, concerned now about her chastity, like Azriel was some mongrel brute that couldn’t keep his hands to himself or understood the word no.

Isolate Gwyn, make her vulnerable, and then take what he wanted. That was Kai’s little plan and Azriel didn’t need daemati powers or his shadows to tell him as much. Azriel had been alive for a long time and this wasn’t his first time around another territorial male.

Azriel was merely a threat to Kai, who wanted the same female Azriel had begun to guard, perhaps a little too jealously. Gwyn hadn’t complained, and he’d kept the snapping to a minimum. If it continued, Azriel thought it might be time to pull things entirely and take her back to Velaris.

Where he’d be barred from seeing her every morning, and would have no excuse to talk to her. That was the only thing that kept him from writing Rhys and demand his brother end this now. Azriel was selfish—but whatever was happening with Gwyn felt good. Something about her presence, even when she was bratty and snide, made Azriel feel seen. There’d been so much shame attached to Morrigan—shame he then transferred to Elain—that Azriel had always assumed that was just part of attraction for him.

He wasn’t good enough for either of those females.

But he felt good enough to be around Gwyn. Azriel wasn’t ready to go back to the way things were, even as he’d begun to suspect he wasn’t going to be able to easily exorcize her from his mind. 

He’d told himself he just needed to get her under him to burn her out of his system, and it was the game of cat and mouse between them that was keeping him so wound up. And then he’d take her out training and she’d press her dagger to his throat, and Azriel thought he’d never be over it. He’d want more and more, until he had it all. 

All he needed was to kiss her. The fact that he hadn’t wasn’t lost on him—they’d skipped right over it in favor of touching, and while he wasn’t complaining, he did want to know what every inch of her tasted like. He wanted to hear those breathless little sighs, wanted to see the well controlled Gwyn unspool just like he was.

And then, when she’d snapped, he wanted to be at her mercy. 

Azriel knew she’d make him suffer for it.

Good thing he liked a little suffering, right?

Right then, the only suffering was Kai’s obnoxious voice six feet ahead of him. He was explaining plants to Gwyn, pointing out each little flower while Gwyn, eyes glazed, nodded absently. This was what she’d asked for, Azriel reminded himself. She wanted more time to translate her books, which meant by day, she was left to Kai’s attentions. 

Azriel very much doubted the prince wanted to make her his wife. Despite the aggressive courting happening, of which Azriel had become an unwitting chaperone, Azriel guessed he merely wanted something new. Someone new. He’d waste a few weeks with her and then grow bored, picking a new lady at court he could toy with. 

Azriel would never admit it, of course, but how often had he watched Rhys do the same thing? Before he became High Lord, Rhys had a cycle—every month, a new female. Azriel and Cassian used to take bets on who might last longer.

They’d never once dared to bet on Feyre. 

Azriel wanted to barge in on the conversation and save Gwyn. If she’d been Elain, he might have—though, Elain would have enjoyed this stroll around the garden. Azriel kept catching little glimpses of Gwyn’s face, carefully arranged to seem interested. She had her tells. The flicking of her fingers at her sides, stretched far apart like she wanted to strangle him before she curled them into fists, attempting to get herself together. 

Shaking strands of that cinnamon brown hair from her eyes.

“Oh? You don’t say.” Gwyn must have repeated herself twelve times. Azriel smothered a smile when he heard her say it again. Azriel had never been much for the outdoors. Maybe Gwyn was the same. There were things he had no business knowing, but wanted to all the same. But when he imagined her, it was always in the same places he imagined himself. 

There was something strangely comforting about that.

“...I can have a dress sent to you, if you want to go—”

“Oh, I can’t dance—”

“I’ll teach you, then. You should see Montessere like this. You’d like it,” Kai was saying, his voice just a shade huskier than usual. Azriel glowered, unseen by the prince and the priestess.

Azriel returned to tuning them out, if only to spare himself and Gwyn a messy scene. He’d promised…but sometimes his temper got the best of him.

Gwyn wasn’t likely to thank him if he beat Kai into the dirt. Rhys, too, who’d spent days furious with him for doing the same to Eris. It had been worth it, and Azriel had never once apologized, even if his temper had resulted in Eris being a permanent fixture in the Night Court.

The thought of seeing Kai around Velaris was enough to convince Azriel to think about anything but Gwyn and Kai. That was a far harder task than he’d originally thought, and by the time he trudged back to their shared room—alone—Azriel was in a foul mood.

Gwyn returned later that evening with a garment bag. Azriel had fallen asleep in his chair, starting awake when she slammed the door loud enough to shake the overhead lights. Turning his head, Azriel dared to ask, “Bad night?”

“You left me out there,” she hissed, throwing the bag into a heap on the sofa.

“Did you want to be rescued?” he replied, well aware his tone suggested he wouldn’t have even if he’d known she wanted him to. That was a lie—Azriel would have cut right in had he thought she’d appreciate it.

“He took me around that fucking garden four times. I don’t care about plants!” she exclaimed. “You know what this is, don’t you?”

Azriel didn’t. He kept silent, waiting for Gwyn to explain it to him.

“This is a game,” she said, her exasperation plain. “He’s never met a female that didn’t want to be his wife and have his babies, and he’s trying to break me.”

“Good fucking luck,” Azriel mumbled. He couldn’t get Gwyn to smile at him, let alone be someone's sweet little house pet. She was going to make some male very, very miserable one day. Why did that amuse him? Azriel stood, drawing his wings tight against his body.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Bed,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Muttering something that sounded distinctly like useless males, Gwyn turned on her heel and left him, slamming yet another door. So much for inviting her to bed with him, then. And so much for eating her cunt on the floor like he’d been trying to do earlier. 

Melancholy, Azriel bathed and put himself to bed without touching himself. He had no interest in himself today. That happened a fair amount—he’d go through periods where everything felt gray, including himself. Sleep was easier, at least, and tumbled into the dark. There were no dreams, no nightmares to chase him awake.

But there was screaming. Loud, terrified screaming of a female he recognized. For a moment, he thought it might be his mother—maybe Feyre, or Mor, or— Gwyn.

Azriel started, kicking the blankets off his body. Taking truth teller with him, Azriel nearly kicked down his bedroom door to get to hers. He was certain he was about to find someone that shouldn’t be there, was prepared to end the night in a brutal murder that would chase them both back to Velaris.

He found her tangled up in her bed sheets while his shadows swirled in the dark, humming angrily like serpents prepared to strike.

“Gwyn,” he said, his dagger clattering to the bedside table. “Gwyn, wake up.”

She shot upright, body coated in a slick sheen of sweat, straight into his bare chest. Azriel could hear her heart thrumming with fear just as he could smell the thick salt of it. It made the hair on his neck stand on end, every nerve alive and primed for danger.

He expected her to shove him back, to demand he leave her. Azriel didn’t know if he could, and to punctuate that, let his wings wrap around them until the world was blotted out. Holding her, Azriel pressed his cheek into her hair. “You’re safe,” he murmured softly. “You’re with me.”

“Don’t go,” she replied, her voice thick from sleep and unshed tears. “Stay.”

His bed was big enough for them both, but hers was not. Was it better or worse for her to wake up in a strange place? Azriel decided to chance it, scooping her up and walking out of that sick smelling room. She didn’t protest for maybe the first time in her life, and by the time he’d laid her back in his own sheets, her heart had slowed enough that Azriel didn’t feel like he needed to fight. 

Arranging himself to his arm was under her neck and her body, clad in a silvery night dress, was pressed against his own, Azriel exhaled softly. There was nothing inherently sexual about it, and yet the intimacy was enough to make him nervous. Gwyn pulled the blanket up to her chin and then turned to face him. “Will you hide me?” she asked. Azriel nodded, shifting both wings until they cocooned her within them.

Gwyn sighed. 

Azriel was half asleep again when she whispered, “You forgot your dagger.”

He took a breath, a smile ghosting over his face. “That’s alright. I’ve got you.”