#he really deserves being in a better universe with a better job because this grey warden shit is for the birds

[viiisenyas]

the amount of love I have for my mage warden, Arthur, transcends any other male character I've ever adored.

[rwac96]

Thanks for answering most of my writing prompts, I really appreciate it!

My prompt for today; Batman/Dick Grayson(DC) vs Stain(MHA) or

Even though Stain was fast enough to cut Ingenium and use his quirk on him, he won’t get the chance to lick the blood off of any cuts he might inflict on Batman, let alone be able to actually cut through the Batsuit’s armor.

Dick would get fed up with Stain’s actions and decide to confront him during his time as Batman, especially if he severely injured Bruce while he was working with Batman Inc.

Stain would foolishly believe Dick to be Bruce and sprout out that he’s unworthy due to never taking a life and claim that he’ll just have to finish the job, only for Dick to avoid and block the attacks with his acrobatics and his gauntlets. He’d probably even throw Stain off guard by joking that he’s been dealing with Deathstroke since he was 15, leading Stain to realize that he’s fighting the former Nightwing.

Stain would then claim that the original Batman probably only took him in to brainwash him into being his perfect successor, a violent soldier.

Dick would then stop holding back and show why he’s the one out of his brothers to be considered, “the Heir to the Cowl”. While simultaneously listing of how most of the pros he killed for abusing their status for money did so to provide for their families, whether they were parents trying to give their children a better future, husbands/wives who needed to pay for their spouse’s treatment, or sons/daughters trying to help their parents. Families that Stain led to ruin by killing the people who provided for them.

Stain wouldn’t stand much of a chance against Bruce, but against Dick? He’s done for. Dick was considered to be a better Batman than Bruce, because he knows how to not lose himself to his emotions. He is capable of beating Bruce in a fight, can hold back the biting force of a Shark’s jaw, and regularly fights against Deathstroke, one of the greatest assassins in the DC Universe.

He also has no qualms against taking a life as a last resort. He killed the Joker at one point after he seemingly killed Tim while he was still starting out, only for Bruce to resuscitate him after Tim was revealed to have survived.

Dick has also dealt with fighting the Court of Owl’s legion of undead Talons, and was even meant to succeed his great-grandfather, William Cobb, as the next main Talon.

Compared to what Dick as faced during his time as Robin and Nightwing, this Batman would consider Stain a minor nuisance and if Stain were able to draw blood, Dick would most likely disarm him and not give him a chance to use his quirk.

I love Dick Grayson/Nightwing, and I’m one of the people who believe that he deserves to have remained as Batman alongside Bruce instead of becoming Nightwing again.

(A very loaded request, but I'm willing to do it because you always suggest interesting match-ups.)

Something wasn't right, the obvious thought that crossed the mind of Chizome Akaguro, known to the public at large as the Hero Killer: Stain. He had fought the infamous Batman of Gotham before, who was responsible for letting one of the 'fakes' he was after escape his grasp. Though, he managed to injure the Dark Knight greatly in retaliation, even using his Quirk on him before he fled into the night. But at this moment, the Caped Crusader seemed different; the most obvious was his demeanor. In their first fight, the Bat simply called him a homicidal lunatic, vowing to make him stand trial for his crimes and send him to Arkham. During this encounter, the vigilante seemed to have been making quips; calling him a 'deranged Ninja Turtle'.

"C'mon, Mikey," the man in black & grey said with a small smirk, "this can't be all ya got."

Chizome snarled in irritation, swinging his blades toward his opponent, only for Batman to flip backward, delivering an acrobatic kick to his face. Stain moved back, groaning in pain for a moment, and then charged toward him. Swinging his swords once more, only for the vigilante to block each strike. This brought confusion to the Hero Killer, as he remembered from their previous battle that Batman primarily used the shadows, but he never remembered him using acrobatics as if he did it all his life.

"Sheesh," The Dark Knight scoffed, "temper much, pal? You're getting sloppy."

"W-What is this!?" Stain barked, pushing back slightly. "Y-You're...you're mocking me! As if I'm some sort of joke!"

"Well, you're throwing a tantrum for one," Batman replied, "and I've fought against Deathstroke before, and he has more class than you."

"Wait," he squints, glaring his red eyes into the whites of his opponent's carefully. "Deathstroke? N-No!" The Hero Killer's eyes widened in realization, "Y-You're not the Bat! You're...you're his first Ward!"

"Seems like you caught on," the caped fighter said, pushing the madman back; knocking him down onto his rear.

Suddenly, the change in behavior made sense to the killer; he wasn't fighting Batman, he was fighting Nightwing. The First Robin, the leader of the Titans and the protector of Bludhaven. The acrobatics, the quips, and the sudden sense of humor; it certainly was the Bat's first sidekick. Sneering at the man, Stain slowly rises up, gripping the handles of his weapons tightly. Moving toward the man in black & grey, staring at the former Boy Wonder with murderous intent.

"Of course," Stain said, one of his eyes twitching. "The Batman's first indoctrinated soldier!" That one made the cowled man's smile disappear, "He took you in, teaching you his flawed dogma. Making you into his fitting successor. A violent foot soldier."

Dick Grayson stepped toward Stain, then sprints forward as his opponent charged. Once again, Chizome swung one of his blades at him; only for the caped man to deliver a jab to the side of his torso. The Hero Killer shouts, stepping back, leaving a perfect opening for him to deliver precise punches to the chest. Using his acrobatics as a circus kid and his years of training under Bruce, Dick performs a somersault and delivers a double-footed kick to Stain's face.

"That's hilarious coming from somebody so deluded," Dick replied to Stain's rhetoric, "those 'fakes' you murdered, they were men & women who were providing for their families. Those were husbands & wives helping their spouses, parents trying to take care of their kids, and sons & daughters doing their damnedest to take care of their parents. I would love to see you call the people you killed 'fakes' to their loved ones, Stain." Chizome attempted to jab one of his swords into his knee, only for Dick to kick it away.

"D-Damn you!!" Stain cursed him, swinging his remaining weapon toward him once more, only for the caped man to catch his wrist.

"You see yourself as a hero," The Former Boy Wonder said, "but you're nothing more than a deluded, homicidal nut." With those words, he twists Chizome's wrists and proceeds to knock him out with a swing kick to the cheek. The 'Happy Batman', as he's named by Wally, sighs in relief, kneeling down and placing handcuffs on the unconscious killer.

[thedelusionreaderbitch]

Kaz Brekker x fem! Reader - Dark Grey

A/n: So this was request but I couldn't find who requested it (and it wasn't anonymous!) So whoever did just give me a hey! This is literally the longest fic I have ever written.

Warnings: Blood, gore, death, sad Kaz, language, torture, Parem I think that's it? You have been warned!

Summary: Your a double agent for the dregs

"Come on you little shits, we have a job to do." One of the higher ups of the Dime Lions yells at some men at some tables at the Emerald Palace in the back.

Little birds have told me that people have been raving about this place being extravagant, but it's really just extra dramatic if you ask me. The green of the building is like someone drunk from the Crow Club wandered over here and puked on it and someone just decided the color looked pretty, so they mixed some glitter and red and pow. There you have it.

That may just be me though.

I start to get up with all the others but the man who just yelled, jets hand in front of me, fast like I'm going to run off.

"The boss wants to talk with you about getting you higher status." The man growls obviously not happy about someone who could be possibly taking his spot and he's probably not happy it could be a girl. Well sucks too suck.

I almost nod and have an emotionless face on but I realize that's the real me would do that, have have to be Cozbi and she's a little naive. But she's good enough if Pekka wants to notice her.

I let a smile crawl on my face; "Well I guess your just going to have to tell Mr. Rollins I would be delighted." I say nearly flirting with an accent, but more taunting like as I twirl my tailored unnatural bright red hair (like it's VERY bright) around my finger and I grin like a popular school girl.

"I'm not your messenger." The man scowls.

"But boss wants you up there in five minutes." He snaps and goes off face all red.

I barely even manage keep into place long enough as the men walk out to start their job. As soon as they do I speed off to a bathroom and I write on a piece of paper in a stall.

Giving me higher status, think he's getting suspicions though. Their going on a job tomorrow night to take out the Blacktips. Amush. Pekka also got a stash of Parem. Don't know why. Stay Safe, don't give clues. Frame someone.

-Your favorite person from the barrel

I open the window above my stall and I do a low whistle.

Fweet. Fweet.

A crow comes and lands on the window sill I grin slightly and my (also tailored) e/c eyes touch down on the raven haired bird. I'm reminded of Kaz's raven hair and his dark brown eyes as I hand him the folded note and the bird tilts it's head and takes the note and fly's off.

I flush the toilet and hurry out heading to Pekka's office.

I open the door slowly priding myself for being exactly a minute late, it works really well for who I'm playing. I see Pekka siting in his chair but instead of waiting for me like I thought he would be. Right now though he's reading something with a almost confused look on his face.

Shit.

"Well, well, well Cozbi your finally here." Pekka smiles not a nice smile - though he is a barrel boss.

The door shuts behind me and someone shoves me to the ground and people surround me and hold me in place.

"Or should I say Y/n." And then everything goes black.

_______________Time skip a few hours in a random warehouse (not that you know that)😈😈😈___________________________________

I slowly open my eyes and I look around the place. I'm tied to chair there's no light in the room so it's hard to make out anything but I think the floor is concert but the walls are wood.

Cheap.

"I didn't think you would be up so soon Y/n... Well this is a surprise." Rollins says and then in flash stabs a dagger into my stomach.

My scream fills the air as he pulls the knife out. I make my voice quiver I can still be Cozbi, I can still be Cozbi.

"I-I don't know who Y/n-Y/n is sir-sir." I stutter but my entire body is on fire from being in enough interrogations before. It's telling me to be harsh to not get to the point, but I might be able to get out of here if I play the part.

He takes my jaw and shoves it forward harshly. "We already know who you are L/n. Y/n L/n the dregs notorious double agent that never gets killed or even better caught."

Pekka smiles sadistically.

"I'm going to make sure this story ends in red." He laughs.

He goes to leave but he puts his hand up.

"And make sure she's can't see." His henchmen put a blindfold on me as I hear the door close. I can feel them coming closer and I hear one smack something on the ground that must have been a bat.

"Let's have some fun girly." I tug at my bonds hopelessly and helplessness fills my body.

________TIME SKIP_________________________________________

My screams ring this room for the next week.

Or what I at least think is a week. There's no windows in here so it's hard to tell when time pass's. Pekka doesn't come back again but I know his coming soon because his henchmen have been worse than usual because they want a raise or something.

I gave up thinking Kaz would come. I remember what he told me last time I saw him before I went on this mission.

We won't come for you if you get caught and it's only a matter of time before you do.

I messed up the last mission we were on with the crows, I got Inej hurt and he wasn't happy. So I did this job.

Because maybe then I would get what I deserved.

My hands have knives through them sticking them to the chairs, there's blood all over my face from the daily beatings. My one leg is twisted and broken in ugly places and cuts and bruises litter my body.

I know it's only a matter of time before my body gives out and Pekka finally wins.

The door to my (what feels like) cell opens and there's Pekka and six more henchmen in the room.

Those are new.

They might not be henchmen though I think we're past that at this point, I think their assassins.

Or something like that anyways.

Their hoods are up but I can clearly see that there's two girls and four guys. My vision blurs a little. Maybe death will grant me mercy sooner than I thought.

"Meet my new friends Cozbi." Pekka mocks and jesters towards the cloaked figures.

"Ironic that you choose the name Cozbi. For did you know, it means liar? I thought maybe I should call you that now, liar. It fits perfectly you know?" Pekka spits in my face.

"Anyways..." Pekka drawls on for a bit and I realize the lack of movement in the halls. But before I can question that one of the male hooded figures gives a box to Rollins and he opens the box. Rollins grins like someone just made his day.

Fuck.

He advances on me with a small packet and I stay deadly still.

"Do you know what this is Cozbi." I keep my eyes trained on the packet.

"My name is Y/n."

Pekka laughs and grins evilly.

"You wanted to be Cozbi so you will be called as such." He growls and calls for is henchmen.

Two men come to tip my head back and hold my jaw in place. I try to shake them off by moving my head but it's no use.

"It's Parem." I freeze. No, no, no.

"For grisha you suffer by always wanting it not inculding the rare cases. But for normal humans."

He takes a step forward and he opens the packet and holds it over my mouth.

"It kills you terribly and so, so, so painfully." He crouches down and looks at me.

"Your going to die as Cozbi. Your going to die a liar, and I will make sure all of Ketterdam remembers that."

He gestures towards his henchmen and instead of trying to prier open my mouth like I expect them too.

They go and pull up my hands.

My hands go through the hilts of the blade and it hurts so much I can't do anything but scream.

Pekka shoves the Parem in my mouth.

My body feels like it's withering away and Pekka laughs as I vibrate against my seat. I feel my eyes widen and the only thing going through my head is that Rollins is a foul.

The knives.

And I'm not going out without a fight.

I pull the knives out of the handles of the seat and I scream as the hilt of the blades touch my skin but I quickly cut the bonds around me and I stab one of my knifes into the first henchmen.

I leap towards the other and I barley manage the scrap him before my body hits the floor and I can't move anymore.

Searing pain stabs through my body like multiple knives just stabbing me over and over again I expect Pekka to be the last face I see and I murmur something about the saints but then I see it.

The hooded figures.

It's the Crows.

The henchmen are down on the floor and Pekka is tied up and gagged to the chair. I feel my vision start to blur and the Crows go to check the area.

"We have to get her a healer!" Someone yells. But I'm on my back looking up and I barley even recognize that things are happening around me. It's like I'm watching from a different world but I can't do anything.

"Y/n!" Someone yells and picks me up from my spot on the ground.

"Come on Y/n!" Someone whisper-yells.

I groan as the person starts walking and I let out a rattling breath, that I knew that should concern me but I couldn't care less.

I just wanted it to end.

"Your not dying on me today Y/n."

Kaz, I think it's Kaz.

Everything shifts back into focus, Kaz is running (even with his bad leg) and somehow the searing pain from the parem in my body has started to subside. Noticing the many, many yards of guards running after the crows and some group of them has so, so, so many guns pointed right at Kaz.

Then it happens.

Suddenly I feel above the others, like I have powers that no one has ever had. The universe was bending to my will and I gasp as I'm lifted up into the air by something shadowy, and dark blackness surrounds my legs all the way up to my waist. I don't quiet know what I'm doing but it feels natural, like I knew how too do it all along.

I raise my hands into the air and shadows burst out into the open.

Guards are being cut in half, some are being chocked to death, some look like their getting stabbed multiple times as wounds just show up. Others look like they have a disease as darkness spreads across their bodies. And some just fall to the floor and die silently.

Their dead.

The power, and the need to protect everyone I care about is gone.

I don't even scream.

I hit the ground with a thud and I try to open my mouth as Kaz frantically pulls me into his arms cradling me. No, that couldn't be right though.

He yells for someone but I can't make it out I try to blink, but even that is hard and it's so slow and I can feel Kaz bring me closer too him but I don't really know what's reality anymore.

"Y/n." The voice (although it tries not to show it) lets concern and fear run through the words. I gasp.

"Kaz." I manage to say. He pulls me (somehow) closer as he lifts my face up to look into his.

He says something, but I can't comprehend anything he's saying. The edges of my vision start going black and everything else is going fuzzy.

"You'll live!" Kaz says, trying to reassure me but it sounds like he's trying to reassure himself more.

I place a hand on his and I want to say something, but the words are all mixed up and it feels like concrete is holding my jaw shut. Everything starts slowly turning black and I'm internally screaming in my head;

No! I have to say something! I can't go like this!

It's useless though, because everything slowly fades away the last thing I see is the dark brown of Kaz's concerned eyes.

_______TIME SKIP_____________________________________________

The light bulb of whatever room I'm in flickers off and on as darkens seems to try and cover it. I take a look around to see all the Crows tied up to a chair each, they have gags in their mouths and they look like they have been tortured out of their minds.

I run over to Wylan trying to help him out, but he let's out a muffled scream as I go towards him. I quickly turn to Jesper but he's so still in his seat not even looking at me.

Nina and her confident demeanor is gone, her aura is laced with panic and Matthias is with her on that one.

Inej can't seem to stop shaking, making her presence known to everyone. Then I turn to the last chair and my heart must have stopped.

Kaz's corpse lays, in the chair. Bubbles of darkens, are around his mouth and it looks like it chocked him to death.

Dirtyhands was finally beaten.

Then darkness shoots out of me, and I can't seem to stop it as it kills everyone else.

I sit up and a scream rips through my throat. I breath in heavily trying to get the air into my lungs. Everything in me burns, pain course's through me like a parasite on steroids, but at least time I succeed at muffling my scream.

I hear someone running from another room and the door fly's open. On command darkens shoots out from my hand and starts chocking the person- Holy shit! That's Kaz!

"No!" And it all appears to fade away into the shadows.

Tears start to fill my eyes, what will happen when I'm in a real state of panic? Could my nightmare eventually come true?

I feel the bed dip beside me and despite my hardest efforts, my eyes wander over to Kaz.

He looks like he hasn't slept a day in his life, with the essentially black moons under his eyes. His skin looks chalky white, contrasting his red rimmed eyes that looks like he had been crying just a few minutes ago.

Concern fills my shadowed heart, something must have happened for the Kaz fucking Brekker to be like this. My fears about being a shadow summoner disappear, they do stay at the back of my mind but finding out what's up with the bastard of the barrel is more important.

I carefully place a hand on his cheek. He tense's up a bit before relaxing into the palm of my hand and even leaning into it a bit.

"What happened?"

Kaz looks at me in disbelief. "What happened?" He lets out a chocked laugh that holds a sob in the background.

"You died." My breath hitches in my throat, wait... That can't be right. Can it?

"Matthias had to do chest compression's on you while Nina tried to restart your heart. All because I couldn't fucking do it."

He takes in a breath and rips my hand away from his face.

"Your heart stopped Y/n, we thought you were dead. But they kept going and somehow saved you!" A sob tears through his throat and Kaz Brekker breaks down in front of me. His walls that he has tried so hard to keep strong have had a boulder thrown at it. Smashing it with so much force that he couldn't possibly rebuild it.

"I'm sorry." I whisper. "For all the pain I caused you." I somehow manage to speak as my own tears start to come up.

"Seriously? Your sorry?" Kaz turns to me and grips my shoulders.

"Your the one who died, damn it!"

"Hey I have something to hold over Jesper?" I try to joke and it gets a small, very tiny tried smile out of Kaz.

"And the fact that your a shadow summoner."

"I didn't know." I say quickly and I pull back defensively, Kaz just sighs.

"I know."

He lets his hands run down my arms and his hands make delicate patterns on my skin. Then I remember the parem. Fuck.

"What were the effects of the parem?" If anyone would know, it would be Kaz.

He pause's for a second seemingly in thought before opening his mouth the speak.

"Well your life span was shortened to a normal one." I exhale in relief at that news, I really didn't want to live for centuries.

"But your powers could surpass the Darkling's, and the only reason you don't have the opposite of what you have now is because you pushed it down for so long. The healers somehow purged the parem out of your body before it could make you a mindless addict."

"That better news then I thought I would get." Kaz nods but there's something else lingering in the back of his head.

He thinks I'm going to leave.

I intertwine our hands together, and I turn my head to look him right in the eyes.

"I'm not leaving." I blurt out.

"If I went to the little palace I would get hunted, if I went anywhere else I would get hunted. I might go into hiding for a bit, but I'm not leaving you."

A smile that's even bigger than the last one by some means crawls up on his face.

"Good, because I just got you back."

Words 3021

-thedelusionreaderbitch

Shadow and bone taglist: @kaqua

(If you want to be added just comment taglist)

[stonecoldhedwig]

directors commentary for wolfstar in caraway street?? you said recently that youre getting bored of the ship,, will you keep writing highgate mews??

Ah, Wolfstar, the ship I am always on-the-fence about. I suppose this is really two questions (or, at least, it deserves two answers). I'll start with Caraway, because it's simpler.

I think Remus and Sirius in Caraway is not necessarily my most poetic writing, nor is it the most exciting; but, I think it is probably the best representation of the realities of a relationship that I've managed thus far.

When I was writing Caraway and what was by that point an established relationship in the series, I didn't want either of them to end up being just caricatures of themselves (or just relying on tropes, which there is nothing wrong with, I just wasn't going for it). Sirius is still a fun-loving nonsense merchant, and Remus is still so sarcastic you might cut yourself on him but I wanted to write them as an established couple who had an element of normalcy to them. They're people who are complicated; they're living through and with love and joy as well as grief and trauma, and I wrote that because that's life.

I wanted them to be solidly, almost boringly human (the same way I made Jily break up for the decidedly unsexy reason of a career opportunity; because that's what life is like). They have occasional moments of jealousy (Remus in the club; Sirius at Remus' lecture) but they're not catastrophic. Sirius drinks a bit too much, but he's a good-natured drunk; Remus takes himself a bit too seriously, but he can let go when needed.

For the same reason I also write Sirius' rebellion as being almost mundane in that series, and maybe a bit of a grey area. He doesn't eschew his title as Earl of Grimmauld. He doesn't reject Alphard's money, and he doesn't reject Orion's either. He uses his contacts to get the job he wants. He uses his title and money to pressure people when it suits him. He's a person. He has all the complexities of one.

They're both silly in love with one another in the way that a good relationship fosters. You get a moment where you're doing something quite ordinary, and you might not even see your partner, you might just think of them, and it hits you in the most wonderful, earth-shattering way that you love them, very easily and completely. And then you go back to making tea or doing the dishes or whatever because as much as it feels like it should, the universe does not catch its breath alongside you when you are in love. It breathes on, and you go with it. That's what I wanted to write into Wolfstar in that fic.

And it's why I wrote the following, which then becomes a running joke between the group because apparently, Remus has one (1) piece of advice, and it's this:

“I’m not sure perfect exists. But I think good does. Good love is transformative, you know? It smooths your rough edges, coaxes you to better, gentler ways of being. More than that, actually, I think the price of perfection is stagnation, and I’m not sure that’s something to want. You can spend forever searching desperately for the perfect, when the good is waiting for you, in plain sight.”

Re: Highgate - yes, I will absolutely finish it! (and I have sequels planned too). I just need to get back into the swing of it.

More musings about Wolfstar below the cut

So, Wolfstar, and getting bored.

I find it hard to articulate why I have such mixed feelings about a ship that I have written over 150k of words for, and without which I would not have met people who came to my IRL wedding, for goodness sake 😂

I didn't start as a Wolfstar shipper (I have always loved Blackinnon, but there's just less in the way of content) so it's like I came into the shipdom slightly begrudgingly, and also at a time just before the pandemic when it felt like we were all collectively at our most deranged and it was a hotbed of terror. It is much better now. A lot of the content is great and I'm genuinely glad I've ended up here.

I think the problem for me is that, in our attempts to really make them into 3D characters (which I applaud, btw, and I think other people do far better than I ever will)... sometimes the only parts of either Remus or Sirius (but especially Sirius) that get developed are the dark/traumatic parts, to the point where it almost stops them being fully-fledged characters? And then beyond that, sometimes that engagement with the darkness can be very infantilising of the two of them.

A couple of fics that I think are so great for actually making Wolfstar (as a ship) fully-fledged and well-rounded are @nymphadoratonqs' Alma Matters and @blitheringmcgonagall's A Little Risk. Check them out!

In short though, I think my inclination nowadays is definitely for AU settings for them, and I'm just becoming picky in my old age 😂

[legends-live-in-memories]

“How Did All This Happen?”- A Memoire by one Marinette Dupain-Cheng 1

Soooooo I decided to write this. much longer than the other things i posted, also very tonally different. I will definitely continue that other fic tho. I was just brainstorming and now this exists. Yeah.

 without further ado

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

People Fucked Up and Now It’s All Marinette’s Mess to Clean Up I

This was not how Marinette planned for her night to go. Granted, she also could not envision it going literally any other way. The woes of making a deal with the hell-raiser himself, John Constantine, she supposes. She truly hoped Adrien was having a much better time than her with his cousin in London. After the circus that was the past three years, he deserved some reprieve, even if it was with his bratty doppelganger. Regardless, Marinette. Was. Not. Pleased. No matter how many times she thinks over her plan, recalculates every step and decision, she could not fathom this night ending well for her, or anyone really, but mostly her. And no amount of old Ladybug or Guardian luck could help her. Now, if one were to wonder what kind of tragedy had befallen Marinette on this disgraceful night, a brief history of the last three months could enlighten such a person. Or better yet, let’s start at the beginning. The Real Beginning.

So, things existed. Obviously. First there was nothing, and then, something. And as more things began to exist, as new schools of knowledge and concepts and ideas began to, well, exist, Kwamis formed as well. Each Kwami was the physical manifestation of these ideas or abstracts. Creation was the first, coupled with Destruction. And as more things began to exist, more things began needing to be protected. Thus, the Kwami of Protection. This went on. For a while. Soon thereafter there were Kwamis of all types. Jubilation, Time, Strength, etc, etc, and etc. Now these Kwamis did not linger in one spot. They roamed across the far stretches of existence and interacted with the life they found.

Some Kwamis decided to form a magical pact which intergalactic historians would later dub the Emotional Electromagnetic Spectrum. Sounds familiar? The Kwamis themselves were completely blissfully unaware of this title, lest they would have explained to these beings, Maltusians they were called, that they were not in fact, electromagnetic but more so a part of the Powers that Be. Kind of. But this side-story involves the formation of a few universally known Lantern Corps, and that is a barrel of monkeys our exasperated narrator does not want to touch with a ten-foot pole. Or ever.

Other Kwamis, who stuck close to what would become known as the Milky Way, were discovered by a mage who granted them the ability to interact with humans. This mage— and Marinette was silently cursing his descendants, herself included, for if it weren’t for this absolute mad lad, none of the subsequent events of this night would have transcribed—had bound the Kwamis to magical jewelry called Miraculouses. An interesting side effect of these Kwamis being bound to the miraculouses was that the wearer could call upon the powers of the Kwamis for their own usage. The mage feared what could become of the world if this kind of power became so easily accessible, so he created the Order of the Guardians. The Order was dedicated to training young mages to protect, wield and harvest the powers of the miraculouses. The Order swore to true neutrality; wishing not to impose their will on one side or the other, to maintain balance and to not upset the natural order of the world. 

This went surprisingly well for a few millennia, that is, of course, if you ignore the sinking of Atlantis, the extinction of the dinosaurs, the Black Plague, the creation of the Lazarus Pits, Pompeii, to name a few completely egregious instances—not necessarily in order of course—and well, the point stands that it could have been astronomically worse. Until it was.  

One young mage and Guardian in training had caused the downfall of almost the entire Order of the Guardians. All the centuries of history, teachings, artifacts and even the people at the head temple, were lost to the calamity. Dozens of Miraculous Boxes were lost, destroyed in the fray. The Kwamis themselves were relatively unaffected, being immortal and all, but the magical jewelry binding them to the earth were broken, thus those Kwamis were lost to mankind once again. Only one singular box, and the young mage himself, survived. The new Guardian of one miraculous box was left to scour the earth in solitude. Well, about as much solitude one could have with 17 pocket gods as company. The fact that the only box that survived was missing two more miraculouses caused the already stressed guardian to grey further. But that tidbit of information would be a problem for later. And for someone else entirely too. Oh joy.

But before that sequence of events, aptly named “Marinette’s Trial by Fire,” however, the young guardian had a couple more life mistakes to make before he reached his internal quota apparently. Rather than travel to another sector of the Order on the other side of the earth, this young mage stumbled upon another organization, one similar in architecture and hierarchy but a pendulum swing in the total moral opposite. Yes, that’s right, the guardian found himself upon the League of Shadows, led by Ra’s Al Ghul in his endeavor of global cleansing; by acts of ecoterrorism, but who sweats the small stuff, right? There, the young guardian, who adopted the name of Wang Fu, met his first love Ming Hong and they had a son. The son had a daughter he named Mei. Now Mei was only a few weeks younger than Ra’s Al Ghul’s grandson, Damian. Now with an appropriate heir, and someone to procreate with said heir, Ra’s Al Ghul gained a special interest in the small Fu family that originally flew under the radar of the League. 

Now this is where things continue to go downhill, but not until much, much later in this story. Ra’s Al Ghul, despite his radical ambitions, was particularly good at playing the long game and understood when he couldn’t accomplish a task directly. This being said, he recognized that, due to prolonged exposure to the Lazarus Pits, his soul could not bear the strain of being a wielder of a miraculous and so he waited. Waited until a suitable heir was sired and could copulate with an heir to the guardian of the miraculous box, desiring to create a bloodline of genetically suitable successors and wielders who were loyal to him and his cause. 

Ra’s ordered for the Fu family to have a place on his court and ordered for Mei Fu to be trained in mastering the secrets of the miraculous. And master she did. By age 6 she was fluent in the coded language of the magical text, or as fluent a 6 year old can be in any language, and she had mastered 7 out the 17 miraculouses. By age 10 she was as skilled as the grandson of the Demon Head in combat and could handle simultaneous wear of 3 miraculouses. Her training, however, had to be put on hold as somebody thought usurping the Demon Head was of the utmost importance that glorious Tuesday and staged a coup. She wished Deathstroke had lost more than an eye that day, but a girl can dream she supposes. Mei and her grandfather were separated from the rest of the League and journeyed west. Somehow they ended up in Paris, France. After one too many run ins with the authorities, Mei was removed from her grandfather, who was deemed too unfit to support her. It was a miracle he wasn’t deported. 

Mei was put into protective custody where she resided until she was 13. Recently adopted, and thoroughly done with the plebeians of her daily encounters, Mei Fu became Marinette Dupain-Cheng, daughter of the best bakers in Paris. All was well and good for the new Dupain-Cheng until the start of the new school year. 

She met her grandfather again. And apparently he had a job for her and her soon to be new partner.

Hawkmoth, that bitch, had somehow acquired the two last surviving miraculouses and the only surviving grimoire and thought domestic terrorism was on the agenda for the next few years. Why? Because investing in a family therapist was too much of an inconvenience for local recluse, Gabriel McFucking Agreste, Marinette would shortly learn. 

After dealing with all of that and juggling between her reignited guardian training, and ‘normal’ girl life—because her parents don’t know that she’s a magical girl in the making—, Marinette was ready to sleep for a thousand years. Or commit murder. Whichever gave her enough serotonin to complete her current passion project. But, alas, no rest for the totally-over-it or however that saying goes. Because after declaring Paris safe once again, sending off her brother-in-arms, Adrien Agreste, to family in London (marginally decent but anything beats the abusive prick of a sperm donor), in waltz one drunken John Constantine.

Ah yes. Him. That absolute bastard who doesn’t deserve nice things in life. That guy.

This unpleasantry approached Master Fu and Marinette, who has been regulated to errand-girl in lieu of training, with a job that he proclaimed that only one blessed with magic, and specifically NOT connected to the Justice League could accomplish. Apparently, a group called the Cult of the Kobra resided on Santa Prisca and was in possession of a dangerous magical artifact that had been the backbone of their organization for years. Constantine came to them asking them for assistance in retrieving it as the Justice League could not interfere in the Caribbean due to new UN legislation. It was a mission of utmost urgency for he feared the cult leader, Kobra himself, was planning on enacting a ritual that could bring calamity to Earth. Which is just what the doctor ordered. Not. In exchange, he agreed to add to her magical training as while master Fu was good, he was still young when he ran away from his problems the first time and thus was limited in his magical knowledge.

That was three months ago. Three months of planning, training, and convincing her parents that letting her go on an extended retreat for an undetermined amount of time with her mostly absent biological grandfather was totally reasonable for the seventeen year old to do. Like, come on. She’s almost old enough to drink, almost ready for university and has been praised for her independence and self-sufficiency for years. She’ll be fine is what she told her parents and she was almost able to convince herself of that too. She would be perfectly fine. Right?

Wrong.

Marinette was anything but fine. She was stressed, she was tired and she was abso-fucking-lutely pissed at anything that even breathed in her direction. Why? Well that brings us back to the beginning of the story when everything on this mission did not go according to plan. So here she was along what was once upon a time the eastern coastline of Santa Prisca. Oh and look. The Junior Justice League has arrived.

Purrrrfect. 

Some one asked for a taglist. Ask and ye shall receive

@deathwishy @neakco  @ virtualreading  @f-rget-lt @your-resident-chicken-nugget

[winter-fox-queen]

The Gentry’s Gifts: Max Phillips

Hello!  This is sort of a sequel to the Pero story, in that we saw Max and now we know what he was doing there and what choice he needed to make.

Warnings:  Cursing. Angst. I had the trick of having to put both blank canvas characters into one story, lol.  But I think I finessed it.  The “you” character is a blank slate, mostly gender neutral (mentions of wanting to have children could sway your perception one way or the other.). Not betad.  

This is my late #writerwednesday entry, thank you to @autumnleaves1991-blog​ and @clydesducktape​

Prologue:

Max Phillips slammed the hospital doors open, eager to get outside.  The sound beeping machines seemed to echo in his ears, making them hurt.  The smell of the place stuck to the back of his throat.

He tilted his head back in the afternoon sun, and breathed in, breathed out.  Tried to make himself calm down.  The Autumn are cleared his head as he jogged across the road.  

“Bad day?”  A voice asked.

Between two benches, almost hidden in the orange leaves, was a woman, instead of the ‘Nam veteran he usually passed a few moments talking to.  Her wiry steel colored hair was in a messy bun, covered by a turban.  She wore layers and layers even though it was a warm fall day.  “Where’s Raffi?”  Max asked.

“His daughter found him.  He decided to try living with her again.”

Max nodded.  “I hope it works out.  She wasn’t…apparently he isn’t easy to live with.  Bad dreams.”

“It’ll be better now.”  She said with such serene certainty that Max believed her.  He gave a little wave and walked away.  

He was back, twenty minutes later.  He put a chocolate shake in front of her, and a boxed fried chicken meal.  If he had known his folklore…which, sadly, he would become intimately familiar with, he would have understood her amusement.  Milk, bread…these were the Old offerings.  

Instead he shrugged, uncomfortable.  “What?  I figure everyone likes chocolate.  And I needed to eat, too.”  He sat next to her.

“How old are you?” She asked, though she knew.

He shrugged.  “Seventeen.”  He buttered a biscuit and took a huge bite.  He ate like he was starving.  “Why?”

“You seem to be awfully young to be hanging out with homeless people.  Where are your parents?”  

He shrugged again.  “My mom’s gone.  My father…”. He pointed towards the hospital doors with his chin.  “He’s dying.”  He hunched over the greasy box of chicken, potato strips and biscuits, eating like it was the only thing keeping him sane.

She sighed.

He looked at her, and she shook her head, and ate the food he brought her.  You are going to go off the rails Max Phillips.  You are going to go off the rails so badly and there’s nothing I can do about it.

The Present:

He entered the library through the basement, crept up the stairway.  The first floor was nearly empty…the university library kept late hours so that students could cram late into the night, but it was Thirsty Thursday and most of the students were elsewhere.  

He waited until you were focused on the book cart again, back towards the main floor, and got himself around the corner.  Then he pulled out his cell and dialed the front desk.

You now turned to go to the phone, at least he hoped so, as he disconnected the call and opened the side door to the area behind the circulation desk…

You were there, leaning against the cart, arms folded.  “Nice try, but I know your tricks, Mister Phillips.”

He grinned and advanced on her, step by step.

“No no…”. You point a finger at him.  “Stay back, this is a work place…”. You shoot a look towards the front desk as he backs you into your office.   “You are going to lose me my job.”  You hiss at him, and he bends a little, and kisses you breathless.

“Quit.  I’ll take care of you.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders.  He’s cool to the touch.  It’s not disconcerting, not like it used to be.  “I wish I could.”

“Stop wishing...”

“If you say ‘and make your dreams a reality’, I’ll bite you.”  

Max looks offended.  “It’s a great slogan!  Do you know how many units of Losapill those golden words have sold?”

“I don’t understand how I can love someone so much and want to punch them so badly.”

He grins down at you.  “I can name several reasons why you love me.”

You smirk up at him.  “I’m sure you can…let me go, honey.  I’ve got to tell everyone we’re closing in half an hour.”  He listened to your voice on the loudspeaker, buttery and gentle and reassuring, and smiled a little. He could listen to that voice forever.  He could sell holy water to a priest, but so far all his skills had failed to net him the one thing he wanted.

He walks with you, as you check the restrooms (He even does the men’s for you on each floor, turning off the lights and blocking the doors open) and stands behind you, hands in his pockets, looking gloomy as you gently tell students to take their books to the front desk if they needed to check them out, that the library was closing shortly.

He waits, patiently, while you close up and lock the doors and usher the last people out.  

“I really wish you’d let me turn you,” he says when you are both in your car and on the way home.  Max often took the rooftops from his office to the university.  He was fast, and strong, and being fairly indestructible made him long for the thrill of possibly getting hurt, so he parkoured his way through the city once it got dark.  It was disgusting, how he looked so good after running and leaping five miles.

He shifts in his seat as you let the silence grow.  “Are you ignoring me?”

“Yes.”  You stop at a red light.  

“Why?  You said you’d think about it.  You’ve been thinking about it for a month.  Any idea where you are on it?  Like, from the scale of one to ten…”

You’ve been wanting to avoid this.  You’ve really been wanting to avoid this.  “Zero.”

She waits.  She waits for the torrent of salesmanship.  The spiel.  Why becoming a vampire and living forever is what she wants, she just doesn’t know it’s yet.  

For once, words fail him.  No quick comeback, no charming lines. “I can’t believe you don’t want to be with me.”  He says it so softly that you almost aren’t sure you heard it.  

You pull into the apartment parking lot, picks a spot quickly you can park and take his hands in yours.  “Max.  I do.  I really do.  But just…I don’t want to be a vampire.  I don’t want to give up the things I would have to give up?”

“Like what?  Death?  Getting old?  Getting sick?  Being weak?”  He pulls his hands away.  “I am offering you unlimited time.  Think of the things we can do together!  And you don’t have to kill…I haven't killed anyone in ages!”

“Sunlight.”  You say.  “Food.”  He makes a disgusted sound and looks out the window.  “A family.”  You take a deep breath.  “Children.”

He finally looks at you again.  “Then I won’t waste any more of your time.”  He raises his hand, and time goes wonky for a moment, and when things snap back into place, he’s gone.

You stay in your car a long time, hoping he’ll come back. Every step up to your apartment, you look around, hoping.  

It’s dawn, before you give up, dried out from crying, your mouth feels full of ashes and your heart full of regret.

The next day:

Max was not in a good mood the next day.  Usually he has a nice word for, if no one else, his PA, a miracle worker of a woman he’d always been fond of, but he just glared at her and slams his door shut.

Emails.  Reports.  He plowed into work.  

The door opened, and he ignored it, steadfast in the hope that whoever it was would go the fuck away.   I could always eat them.  I don’t have to be good anymore.

A cup thumped down on his desk.  He looked up.  He didn’t recognize the woman — her steel grey hair was neat, her suit elegant.  Her heart beat strangely, and he could tell she was not — quite—human.  Great.  Someone new from corporate?

“I thought you said that everyone loves chocolate?”  She said, pointing at the milkshake.  “You’ve come far, since we last spoke outside the hospital…”

He shook his head.  “I remember you, but…”. How did she come to be here? Why? His brain was still trying to match up the homeless lady with the epitome of corporate flash in front of him.  

“Now, I didn’t say you moved in a good direction.  How did the sweet boy who spent his last twenty on dinner for himself and a homeless woman end up being a bloodsucking asshole selling fake products?”

“It’s a long story. Let’s schedule an appointment, maybe for the next century?”

“Nope.”  She reached across the desk.  “You gonna drink this?”

He shook his head and she took the milkshake, leaned back in her chair, moving the straw back and forth in the lid, making an annoying shriek sound that hurt his ears.  

“Do you think I wanted this?”  He snapped at her.  Vampires didn’t really need much in the way of sleep, but he was tired.  Tired and hurt.  “And who gives you the right to fucking judge me?”

“I’m one of the gentry,” she said.  “That doesn’t give me the right, but it gives me the power.”

“You’re fae.  That explains it.  You don’t seem human.”  

“I thought they taught you the rules.  You never call us out so clearly.  Always call us by some euphemism and hope we don’t take a notion to turn our attention towards you.”

He threw up his hands.  “Why?  Why does it matter?”

“Because if I wanted to, Max Phillips, I could turn you back into the weak, dying, foolish mortal you once were.”

This stopped him.  “You could?”  He said carefully.  

“I could.”

“What’s the catch?”

She smiled.  “Good boy.  Maybe they did teach you something, after all.”  She put the milkshake on the desk.  ”You were…what?  Twenty, twenty one when you got turned?  I could, if I wanted to, make it as if you never got turned.  I could choose for you to age to the age you should be, had you not cheated death…or I could make you start from where you are right now.  If I was feeling so inclined.”

“Why would I want that?”  He scoffed.  “Do you think I want to get old and sick?  Do you think I want to spend the last year of my life in a hospital bed, unable to even piss for myself?  You think this is a fucking gift?  Enticing?  No.”

“So you don’t want a life with the librarian? Probably for the best. She is made out of sunlight and deserves so much better.”

He stopped.  He could feel the slipping…where the darker side of him started clambering up, eager to take control and rend and kill.  

“Hush.”  She said, and the blood stopped rushing in his ears, the fangs stopped aching.  “I shouldn’t needle.  It’s just so frustrating.  You were a sweet boy and you just allowed the bad in your life to make you…well, frankly, a bit of a jackass.”  She shoot him an apologetic look.  “OK, that was a cruddy apology.  But.  Back to the subject at hand.  Once, you were kind to me.  And if you do me a favor — one more favor — I will give you a choice.  A chance to choose a life for yourself instead of being a victim of bad choices and worse luck.  No strings.  No further price.”

He side eyed her a long moment.  He was intrigued, despite himself.  “What’s the favor?”

She took a small painting out of her pocket and slid it over to him.  “Another debt to pay…that woman has a soul mate out there.  I know where he is.  If you get her to my house tomorrow night, I can unite them, give them a chance at well deserved happiness.”

“Yeuch.”  He said, then picked up the painting.  “Wait.  That’s my PA.”

“Is it?  How delightful.  Isn’t just splendid how fate intervenes.”  She put a card on the desk.  “This is the address.  Hope to see you.”  She held up her finger.  “There is one thing.  She can’t know.  You have to get her there without her knowing why.  Alright?”

“Don’t hold your breath.”  He muttered.

“Good.  I am glad you understand.  Ciao!”

He picked up the card.  And cursed a bit.

NIght, in the time middle of nowhere:

“So, Mister Phillips…are you taking me out into the middle of the woods to murder me?”  His PA asked, laughing.  She didn’t know he was a vampire.  Telling people what he was hadn’t worked out very well at his last job, so he’d been much more circumspect this time.

“I promise, you are safe.  From me.  I don’t know what Corporate will do, though,” he said, turning down another road.  

“So, did they tell you what the meeting is about?”

“It’s meant to be a retreat.  All the heads of the various branches and their PA’s.  They want to re-envision the future of the company”. He took one hand off the wheel to put air quotes in the right place.  “Apparently they messed up your email address so we didn’t get the invite in time.  Someone caught it and called me directly.”

“I hope the place they picked is nice…”. She was looking out the window, trying to make out the road ahead.  “Carol in accounting is super jealous.  I think she has a bit of a crush on you…”

“Well, I am irresistible.”

“Mostly.”  She grinned at him.  A square of light grabbed her attention.  “I think we’re here.”

He pulled up to the house.  It looked sketchy at best, and the looks his PA were casting made him wonder if her trust was stretching a little too thin.

He got out and walked up to the porch.  The Fae came out this time wearing a chic, flowery dress.  She ignored Max and called to his PA.  “Don’t be afraid.  You are here so I can talk to you about your dreams…and by that, I mean the Spaniard, with the scar over his eye.”

The PA froze.  “You…you know about him?”  

“Go inside, dear, and I will tell you all about him.  But I need to talk to Max, here, first”

His PA stopped next to him, put her hand on his arm.  “Will you be OK?”

“Absolutely.  You know me.”

She went into the house.  

“Come here, Max.”  The Fae held out her hand, gesturing him to come up to the porch.  He did.  A card table was set up, with one chair.  Two cards lay face down.  “Here is your choice.  Are you ready?”

He stood there, looking at the table, and nodded.  Fear coursed through him, as strong as the day cold hands grabbed him from behind, teeth sinking into his throat…

She reached down and flipped over a card.  The Queen of Spades.  “Darkness ever lasting.  A vampire queen even now is looking for her equal.  She will choose you, and the two of you will know power beyond your wildest dreams…until enough people get angry about it and decide to deal with you both.  You will not love her, but who needs love when you have sex and death and all the power you ever hoped for?”

She reaches again, flips over another card.  The Queen of Hearts.  “And this.  This is life.  Your soul will wake up, and you will be twenty one and full of possibilities again.  Your heart will beat every beat that was stolen from you.  The slate will not be wiped entirely clean, but you will have a chance — a chance with your lovely librarian.  Children.  Be kind when you were once cruel, and live a decent, good life.”  

His lips were numb.  “How…how long?”

“Long enough.  You will not feel cheated.  It will be a plain sort of life, but it will be yours, and you will have the woman you love…some would say that is worth dying for.”

“What do you know about death?  Your kind just fade when they are tired of living.  You will never know the absolute fucking horror of your body betraying you.  The fucking humiliation that waits.  The pain.”

“No.”  She said softly.  “I do not.”  She kissed his temple.  “I am sorry.  If I had met you sooner, perhaps…but, in any case, I consider all debts paid.  When you are ready, pick up the card representing your choice, and rip it in half.  Choose well, Maxwell Phillips.  May we never meet again.”

He didn’t notice her leave.  He sat down, weak, at the table.

Life.  Death.  Life.  Death.  

He’d seen both his parents die terribly.  After he was turned, he’d mourned, then he realized the gift he’d been given.  No hospitals.  No lingering disease.  No pain.

His hand hovered next to the Queen of Spades.  No love, but power and sex.  He’d tried to recover, tried to be good, for you.  And he’d started feeling the guilt.  And with guilt, came all the excuses.  That he was living according to the nature that had been forced upon him.  That he was giving people a gift…they died, or they become something that could never die.

You don’t punish the wolf for being a wolf.

But that was why it had been easy to walk away.  Because you deserved better.  Not a vampire.  Not a wolf.  A man…

He did not hear the car, but he heard the thump of the other man’s steps as he mounted the porch.  

“She’s in there…”  he said, barely paying attention.  

When the other man left, he repeated what he said to him, in his head.  Choosing between life and death.

He picked up the Queen of Hearts.  His hands were shaking.  He ripped the card in half.  Darkness roared around him, pulled him under.

When he woke up, he was on the floor of his apartment.  

No.  His fucking.  College.  Dorm room.

“Dude, you started early.”  Evan’s stupid face appeared as he bent over him.  

Max wondered if he could punch him in the face.  It would feel really, really good to punch the other man in the face,

“OK, well, I’m going to an away game…see you sometime tomorrow.”

He put the palms of his hands in his eyes.  “Yeah…have fun.”

Evan stepped over him.  “See ya…wouldn’t want to be ya!”  The door slammed shut and Max raised both hands in a one finger salute towards it.

He made himself get up and go to the bathroom.  He looked younger but not better, per se.  What is wrong with me?  What’s this feeling?

It wasn’t just that he could feel his body working.  Feel breath (was breathing always so fucking noisy?) and heat beats and aches in his neck and back from laying weird on the floor.

He’d lived for years.  But right now, he was still the same angry, miserable hit mess of a man he’d been at this point of his life.  

A phone was ringing, he went and grabbed it.

“Hey Maxie.  Is Evan gone?”  Evan’s girlfriend.  Great.

Oh.  

“Yeah.  Yeah.  Look…”

“Awesome.  I bought the cutest bra and panties…”

And this is where, he thought, this is where he took the step to becoming the man you deserved him to be.  “That’s great.  But you know…I only want to fuck you because your boyfriend is an annoying twit.”

Shocked silence.  OK still an asshole.  Check.  So much for being a sweet boy when I was younger.  “Look. I meant what I said.  You are beautiful. You are probably far, far too good for Evan. Or maybe not, if you are willing to screw around with an asshole like me. In any case, you deserve better. But you have to decide what better is.”

This treated him to a string of profanity before the woman hung up.

Then, he walked to the infirmary, and asked for aspirin. And if there were any free spots for the therapist.

Sunday, the conversation between roommates went like this:

“So you were going to screw my girlfriend?”

A shrug — Max concentrated on the video game.  “Changed my mind.”

“Why?”

He paused the game.  “Because you deserve better.”

He felt Evan throw himself on the couch next to him.  “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“I don’t hate you. You’re just so fucking happy and peppy and optimistic and everything is going to be awesome but I think the world is shit and misery and maybe if you dialed it back a little I we could have conversations that didn’t end with me wanting to punch your face.”

“Dude.”  It sounded defeated and apologetic at the same time.

Max held a controller out to him. “Sorry. I’ll try to be less of an asshole.”

He took it.  “I’ll try to be less…happy?”

Max sighed.  “Just don’t get me kicked out, ok? I can’t afford anywhere else and I really don’t want to end up in Transylvania.”

Two years later, he decided he could go and find you.

Most people went to nice places on their spring break.

Max got on a bus and headed to a University in the next state.  They’d had their Spring break a week sooner.

There you were. Sitting cross legged on a bench with a man with a streak of blonde in his hair, and a suit coat with elbow patches.  Elbow patches.  Pretentious asshole.

You were tucking hair behind your ear. You liked him. Max wondered if he should leave, come back…in a year?  Three?  When did he have a right to become part of your life?  Did he even?

You look at him and smile and it is sunshine and he can’t leave.

The man on the bench says something about class.  “See you at work,” she tells him, and he lopes off in an easy walk to one of the brick covered class buildings.

Max approaches carefully.  “Hey.  Um.  I’m thinking about transferring here, wondered what it’s like?”

She shifted her bag over, even though there was plenty of room to sit, and he took it as an invite.  “Sure. What do you want to know?”

He gave her his best smile. “Everything. I want to know everything.”

[mrs-nate-humphrey]

That’s a good point!!! It really is the symbiosis of the writing and the acting, and for Blair it really all came together. I think in light of that, it’s also interesting to think about Dan’s reception as a character, mostly because (in my opinion) Penn Badgley was by far the most talented and versatile actor in the male cast and basically the only actor (outside of Leighton, in the right project, and maaybbee Blake) who I could see actually winning an Emmy, yet Dan - for most of the show’s run, at least - was hated. It’s not like Penn Badgley became a significantly better actor since the show ended, either - he was always damn good, but the way Dan was written obviously incensed a lot of people. It’s just been really interesting (and weirdly satisfying, if I’m being honest) to see the way that viewers - and even journalists! - that dismissed Badgley as an actor because of their dislike of Dan flock to him now as Joe Goldberg. It makes me wonder how things could have been with Gossip Girl if they had kept Dan as the central male character, kept giving him weighty emotional arcs regularly, the way they did with Blair… if the writing had been there for him, would the fans have followed?

Yeah, you're right about it all coming together for Blair!! and i do feel the same way about Penn, the way he played Dan was just... idk. there was a lot of heart in there, if that makes sense to say, and he did a really good job at working with the bits of Dan that are contradictory/morally grey....

I agree that it's amazing seeing Penn being successful and praised now!! and honestly, yes, we're back in the territory of that Constance Grady Vox article we pass around here like 20 times every week - the narrative choice to cherish & elevate Chucky traits/values automatically turned Dan, and everything he represented, into something totally different, by virtue of how 180 Dan is to Chuck, and all that. best case scenario, you'd think dan humphrey was naive, average scenario, you'd think dan humphrey was a joke, worst case scenario, you'd think dan deserved every bad thing he got and more, because hey, the universe GG runs in has different morals than the real world, right?

idk, something I hate to see is how fans treated Vanessa, and by extension, Jessica Szohr. i don't think i'm really Jessica's biggest fan for various reasons, but on a recent-ish interview for the Orville in which she'd talked abt being friends with Leight (2018, if i remember right) people flooded the comments of that video with all kinds of rude, disrespectful stuff, going as far as to say that Jessica was "faking" her friendship with Leighton because she was "pathetic" and stuff like that.

I think it's just a big problem of the fandom, and I think it's one of those chicken & egg situations, probably. the show is pretty racist, classist, misogynistic, etc etc in a variety of ways, so it only follows that a large portion of fans - and indeed, the ones who love the show in its entirety, unlike some of us here who love parts of the show and condemn other parts ... it follows that those fans WOULD likely have similar problematic attitudes.

so like..... yeah, maybe! if the show had centred dan, and kept the heart it used to have (sibling relationships, found family, kids who feel like they don't belong, etc etc) it would've probably attracted a different viewer-base, who would've engaged differently.

also.......... they could've done a lot more with Dan than they did. like. Penn is a good enough actor to pull off the kind of absurd plots this show loved to throw around. they could've given him more fun scandals, like, idk.... take some of Serena's scandals and let Dan have those, I guess. i bet Badgley would've done justice to them. yes, i am thinking of that s3 dan/tripp AU that margottenbaum took down a while ago... if you've read it, you know what I mean. if not, don't worry; just imagine the serena/tripp arc with dan/tripp instead. and imagine Badgley acting that out. he would totally ace it, right?

[kuroopaisen]

ripples. (kita shinsuke)

➵  you take up a part-time holiday job as a miko at the local temple. little do you know, you have the same face as the woman kita once loved. 

wc: 5.2k

warnings: f!reader, reincarnation!au, kitsune!au

a/n: remy my love, this one is for you! i love you so so much, and i hope this feeds your need for more inarizaki content. 

A storm pelted against the wooden roof, the sound melting with the tinkle of a woman’s laughter.

An August storm, late summer, heady and heavy.

Kita used to hate weather like this; it meant that everyone else stayed inside, that the swaying fields were out of reach, that tomorrow would be stained with mud. But recently, he’s been enjoying the storms. They meant that, if she was with him, she’d stay.

She sat across from him, her long dark hair pulled behind her shoulders as she bent over the chawan. The little black bowl had seen much use, but it stood strong. In her hand was a little whisk, kneading the matcha at the bottom of the chawan.

Dark splotches under dull eyes. A vacant expression. Rehearsed, mechanical actions. A kosode arranged a little more haphazardly than usual. Her entire form was damp from running through the beginnings of the storm on her way here.

But she had a warm smile for him. She always did.

“Are you getting enough sleep?” Kita asked, straightforward as always. 

She sighed as she raised her head to look at him. She was trying to smile with her eyes, but the light wasn’t quite reaching them. “I am quite fine. Thank you for your concern.”

Kita’s features softened with concern. “You do not have to be so formal.”

“Ah, well,” she smiled, returning her attention once more to the whisk. “I hope you can forgive me.”

There is nothing to forgive, he thought. But he’s sure she’d laugh at him for saying something like that.

“How’s your family?” He asked, grasping for some topic of conversation.

She nodded slowly, eyes still on the bowl. “My younger sister is engaged to be married.”

“Is this something to celebrate?”

“I’m not sure,” she sighed, the slightest of trembles in her hand. “But father is pleased with the match.”

“Rich?”

“And powerful,” she scoffed, shaking her head. “Father expects that this gentleman will be very influential in the coming months.”

Kita knew things were changing, outside his little shrine. By how much, he wasn’t sure. The human world was beyond him, a realm of blood and darkness that he didn’t quite understand. A world that hurt her. Part of him hated it for that.

“Will he expect you to get married?” The question escaped him before he could think about it.

She caught his eye, smiling. “Not as far as I know.”

He breathed out slowly.

“I can stay with you, for now,” she murmured, reaching over and placing her hand over his.

Something was wrong. Something was off. She’s tired. She’s distant.

And he was afraid.

That fear grounded him for a moment in eternity.

✧ ✧ ✧

Kita was better at handling loneliness than most. But even he suffered under the weight of four hundred years. Especially when he’d known what it meant to love.

When she passed, he had taken the time to travel. He only moved during the night, dodging humanity when and where he could. But as the years rolled on, the night began to get blotted with lights – first by fire, later by bulbs.

So, he’d crawled back to his little shrine, hiding himself away in the nooks and crevices. This was his place, and it always would be. His duty was to remain here, as something of a guardian spirit. So he would do just that, even if it brought him little enjoyment.  

Sometimes, he let children catch a glimpse of him. Usually, he could mirror their joy, their wonder. But even that hadn’t been lifting his spirits as of late. He’s been reticent, perhaps even melancholic.

But he hung around the shrine anyway, letting the days ebb on into an endless eternity. It hounded him, that never-ending existence that stretched out before him. He’s wise enough to recognise the irony in a kitsune feeling existential, but he’s always felt more human than most.

Today, he made his way to the shrine, slipping through cracks under doors and the gap where wooden planks meet each other. It’s easy for him to move around in his spirit form, more a mist than a man.

He slipped into the central shrine, duty-bound as always, to accept whatever offerings had been laid forth.

He hadn’t expected what lay in wait for him.

A miko, dark hair drawn back in a ponytail and red hakama tied over a white kosode.

You were sweeping the floor, mind seemingly somewhere else. You were humming to yourself, and Kita couldn’t help but feel this was awfully familiar. Something about your shrine had the echo of what he’d seen long ago, one of the dances the miko at his shrine would perform.

The miko had made a return, apparently. In the last few decades, they’d become something of a cultural icon. A lot could change in four hundred years.

You turned around, and Kita finally caught a glimpse of your face.

He froze.

It was her face. The woman he’d loved, adored, mourned. The woman who had left such an impact on him, who had engraved herself so deeply into his very being that he still felt the ripples of his love for her all these centuries later. The woman he had spent so many stormy afternoons with, cooped up in each other’s warmth.

He was more keyed into the secrets of the universe than most, being a kitsune and all, but even he was dumbfounded.

Kita took a deep breath, settling into his fox form. You most likely wouldn’t trust some random man coming up to you and insisting that ‘yes, actually, I am the patron spirit of this place.’ But he was sure that his fox form would grant him some authority on the subject.

He padded to the centre of the room, sitting himself down on his haunches. He wasn’t really aware of it, but it was quite regal. His four tails swished around him with a slow rhythm, each one tipped with black. His pale grey fur gave off a brilliant shimmer in the sunlight that fell between the window slats, creating a real sense of grandeur as he sat there.

He stared at you for a long moment, blinking his large brown eyes.

You stared back, gormless.

Maybe he should say something—

You thrusted the broom forward, waving it in front of his snout. “Shoo!”

He jerked his head back, stunned.

Had you not noticed his tails? Did you think he was just some average fox, scuttering in from the cold? Would he have to show you his human form?

It’s worth a shot, he thought.

He transformed in a flash, body morphing into something adjacent to humanity, fur knitting itself together as an edo-style haori.

You watched him change with wide eyes, knuckles blanching as you gripped the hilt of the broom.

Kita gave you a little wave. “Hello.”

You screamed.

Kita flinched. Why were you screaming? Wouldn’t people come running?

He took a step towards you, hands outstretched. His first instinct was to comfort you, to let you know it was all okay – after all, you had her face. “It’s okay, I—”

You whacked his hand with the broom.

Kita faltered, staring at you with wide eyes.

You… hit him? A kitsune? With a broom?

You blinked at him.

He blinked at you.

He traced your face with his eyes, his mind swirling with images of her. A beauty as fresh as the petals that bloom in spring, as clear as a spring, as bright as the morning dew.

Her face. You had her face.

You made a solid jab at his chest. Kita stumbled back, eyes wide. What were they teaching mikos these days?

He didn’t get the chance to ask. You fled, dashing out of the room with a small billow of your hakama.

He stood in dumbfounded silence, unsure of how to process what had just happened. You were the spitting image of her. But, you weren’t her. If you were, you wouldn’t have screamed. She had never run from him, never screamed. She had always treated him with respect, with a sense of reverence that came with her role as a miko. You… well, you were quite the opposite.

But you had her face. Her voice. Eternity shuddered to a stop, blocked by her – or was it your – face. Each memory flashed through his mind with startling vibrancy, coupled with a swell of emotion he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Oh, he realised. I’ve made a terrible mistake.

✧ ✧ ✧

A dozen web articles and a trip to the library later, you’d come to the conclusion that you had most definitely done something quite heretical on sacred ground.

Presuming, of course, that the man you’d whacked in the shrine was, in fact, a kitsune.

Your immediate instinct had been to run far, far away from that place; maybe even skip the country for a week or two. But then you’d considered the consequences of that. Would you be cursed? Did kitsunes inflict curses? You certainly hadn’t treated him very well. You’d hit him, actually. You thought that, at the very least, deserved an apology.

So there you stood, in the middle of the shrine, wrapped bento box in hand.

You weren’t quite sure why you’d come back. Maybe to prove to yourself that it was real, and that you weren’t just seeing things. Maybe because it might’ve been a practical joke, and you wanted the closure. How someone could’ve pulled such an elaborate ruse, well… that was beyond you, for now.

But going from seeing… that, to trying to pretend that everything was normal? That didn’t feel possible.

You’d only taken up this position as a holiday job. The extra cash didn’t hurt, and you thought it was an interesting way to spend the winter…

“Hello.”

You flinched, turning around. How on earth—

No, you shouldn’t be so surprised that he’d managed to sneak up on you. Not when a real kitsune was standing right there. A kitsune that you’d hit with a broom.  

You bowed, almost at a perfect ninety-degree angle. “I am so sorry.”

The kitsune blinked at you for a moment, but you don’t see it. “It’s okay.” His voice was soft, perhaps even comforting.

You stood up and held the bento box out to him with stiff arms.

The kitsune raised his eyebrows at you.

“I, uh… I did some research, and…” You swallowed, hoping you weren’t about to make a fool of yourself. “Kitsune like inarizushi? Apparently?”

He stared at you for a very long moment. It was a little rude, truth be told.

You stared right back. Was this the right thing to do?

“Yes,” he cleared his throat, giving you a small bow. “Thank you.”

“It’s an apology,” you blurted out, your face feeling a lot hotter than you would’ve liked it to.

“What for?” The kitsune asked, tilting his head at you.

“For… for hitting you.” You could feel your cheeks growing hot. God, this was already a bit of a disaster.

“Oh,” he smiled softly at you, shaking his head. “It’s okay.”

“I wouldn’t have done it if I’d…” You took a deep breath, unable to meet his eyes. “If I’d known you were actually some kind of yokai.”

An amused glint sparked in his eyes. “You’re at a shrine. What did you think I was?”

“Well I…” You opened your mouth, braving a look at his face. “I don’t know.”

He was smiling now. And it made him quite beautiful. “You’re a miko.”

“Well, not really…” You bit your lip, glancing down at the bento box. Your arms were starting to ache, stiff as they were. “I didn’t really… believe in any of this before a couple of days ago. I just needed a part-time job over the uni holidays.”

He stared at you.

That was certainly different. She’d been deeply spiritual, seeing her role as intensely important. And yet you, the girl with her face, did not.

“I see,” he murmured, glancing at the floor. Uni holidays… was that university? Sometimes he struggled to keep up with the evolution of language. And that was to say nothing of the spattering of English words he heard people use. That was a whole other beast.

But that was of no matter. He looked back at you, a gentle smile on his face. “What do you study?”

You stared at him, silent.

He tilted his head at you. “Are you alright?”

“Well I—I guess I just didn’t think that, you know…”

You bit your lip.

He’s a kitsune. A yokai. Oh shit, did that mean Inari existed, too? Was this guy linked to Inari? What if he was Inari? Was that possible?

“Oh, the inarizushi,” he murmured, his eyes now on the bento box. You’re not sure why he suddenly decided to focus on that, almost as if to give you a reprieve in your little verbal breakdown, but you were more than delighted for this opportunity to change the conversation.

“Yes!” You sounded more enthusiastic than you would’ve liked, but hopefully this would smooth things over. But if anything, you needed appeasing more than he did.

You handed it over tentatively, deliberately trying to not let his fingers brush against yours. This was a whole new world for you, and you didn’t understand the consequences of such things. Better not tempt fate. 

The kitsune settled himself down on the floor, folding his legs beneath him.

You raised your hands to shoo him off, driven by instinct. You weren’t going to let him leave crumbs.

The kitsune blinked at you, brown eyes round and quizzical. “Is there a problem?”

You paused, hands raised in front of you. Well, it was his shrine…

“Sit with me, if you’d like,” he smiled softly, nodding at the floor next to him.

You let a moment pass, watching his face closely. He gazed at you, tilting his head to the side. He looked genuinely confused. Did he… want you to sit with him?

You sat yourself down on the floor with a sigh. You thought it best to adopt the seiza position, knees on the floor as you tucked your legs underneath you, folding your hands in your lap.

“Please, relax,” he nodded at you with a smile. He unwrapped the bento box, picking up the chopsticks with a certain kind of elegance.

He smiled down at the inarizushi in his lap. You had no idea that he was comparing them to the ones she used to make him. Hers were neater, more delicate. Yours had all the signs of inexperience; rice was spilling out of one of them, and the casing looked a little too thick. But, you’d put in the effort, and that was enough to touch his heart.

You were just observing him quietly, your mind wandering off in its own direction.

If you’d told your younger self that you would be talking to a real, breathing kitsune, you would’ve spun some romantic fantasy of what that kitsune would be like. Skin like lily petals, hair white as snow and soft as silk, elegantly pointed ears, a face with all the sharpness and grace of a fox. That’s what you would’ve expected.

It wasn’t that he was a disappointment. It was just that there was a gravity to him; and yet, a sense of ethereality that you’d never seen before.

“So,” he hummed, picking an inarizushi up between his chopsticks. “You didn’t think my kind existed.”

You blinked at him for a moment. “Honestly? No, I didn’t.”

“Why not?” He popped the inarizushi in his mouth, chewing at an unhurried pace.

You didn’t really have an answer for that. “I just… didn’t.” Frankly, you just hadn’t thought about it. Nothing more to it.

He gazed at you, tilting his head. There was rice stuck to the corner of his mouth. “And now?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you think now?” He said, gesturing to himself.

“Well, you’re…” You looked him up and down once. “You’re certainly real.”

He smiled at that. “Anything else?”

Was he asking for your opinion? “I guess you’re… different. From what I might’ve expected.”

“And what is that?” There’s a playful lilt to his voice.

“I… I don’t really know,” you admitted, twiddling your thumbs.

The kitsune just smiled as he picked up another inarizushi. “These are good.”

“Thank you.” You give him a half-bow, relieved that your efforts paid off. At the very least, you hadn’t angered him. Although, you weren’t quite sure if you could imagine this man as anything other than composed.

“Could you make me more?” His voice was gentle, halfway between a command and a question.

“Uh… not… not right now…”

“I meant for tomorrow,” he said.

“Oh.”

Right.  

“Could you, please?” He leant forward, and you caught your breath.

There was such sincerity in his voice. Quite honestly, you still weren’t sure how to process everything that was happening. Kitsunes were real. One was sitting right in front of you. And he’d enjoyed the lunch you’d made him. So much so that he wanted you to make more.

Was it right to deny a spirit?

You took a deep breath, clenching your fists in your skirt. “Well, if I’m going to be bringing you lunch, then I may as well introduce myself.”

He smiled, tilting his head to the side. “Yes, that’s a good idea.”

You made your introduction quick, trying your best not to stutter through your own name.

But he smiled, repeating it back to you in a melodic cadence.

“What… what should I call you?” You asked.

A certain softness entered his eyes. “Call me Kita.”

✧ ✧ ✧

“Would you like some?” Kita held the bento box out to you, tilting his head to the side.

You were sat across from him on the ground, safely shrouded by a wall so that no-one else would see the two of you. He’d implored you to sit with your legs crossed this time, and you’d complied.

But, you certainly weren’t comfortable enough to intrude. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to take away from your—”

“Please,” he nudged the box towards you. “You seem hungry.”

You tilted your head at him, unsure of how to respond.

“You’ve been glancing at my lunch ever since I opened it.”

“Oh.” You lowered your head, suddenly embarrassed. “Right.”

“Are they not feeding you?” Kita frowned, looking around the room.

He’d shown up, without any warning, while you were preparing omamori. Trying to explain to your superiors why such a piercing shriek ripped from your throat that didn’t involve the sudden appearance of this strange kitsune friend of yours had perhaps been the most challenging part of your entire miko experience.

“No, it’s not that!” You waved your hand at him. “They treat me quite well.”

“But you’re hungry.”

“I just… forgot to eat lunch, that’s all.” It was the truth – you were hungry only because of your own mindlessness.

Kita held the chopsticks out to you, placing the bento box on your lap. You took the chopsticks from him tentatively, giving him a half-bow. “Thank you.”

You picked up an inarizushi with the chopsticks, popping it into your mouth. Even just the feeling of food in your mouth gave you a sense of relief. You nodded at him again, smiling.

He smiled right back, his hands folded in his lap.

“Hey,” you swallowed, your gaze flitting downwards. “Can I ask you some questions?”

“Of course,” he nodded.

“Thank you, Kita.” You gave him another small half-bow.

He blinked at you. He hadn’t expected hearing you say his name would make him feel so… odd. But, you’d said it just as she had, all those years ago, inflection and all.

“How are kitsunes born?” You asked, shovelling some rice into your mouth. It was the opposite of elegant, but Kita almost found it charming. Almost.

But, your question made him blush. “I… would prefer not to answer that.”

Your own cheeks burned in response. Maybe that was a bit too much. “Okay… how long have you been alive?”

“Do you remember how many tails I have?”

“Uh…” You frowned, trying to remember that very eventful day. “Four, right?”

“That’s correct.”

“So… four hundred years?” That’s what those many hours trawling the internet would indicate.

“And a half,” Kita smiled.

He’s just happy to be talking to someone. To be seen, heard, felt by someone. 

He’d been warned against reaching out to people by some other yokai, but Kita had been unable to quell that curiosity. There was much delight to be found amongst humans and their lives, and Kita had always enjoyed observing them. And they really were delightful to speak to, whenever he could. Besides, was it not his duty as a spirit to maintain good relations between the two worlds?

But ever since she had passed away, he’d been reticent. He’d gained more understanding of where that advice came from. Advice that perhaps, came out of a profound sense of loss. Something he now understood much too well. 

Maybe it’s foolish of him, sitting here and talking to you so frankly, simply because you looked just like her. Was this some kind of reincarnation? A coincidence? Maybe it was just a cruel trick of the universe – or an expression of its fundamentally uncreative and cyclical nature. 

“That’s… a while,” you nodded slowly.

“Some kitsune may say that I’m barely an adult,” he chuckled.

“Really?” You frowned.

“I’ve much more life to live if I want to be considered wise,” he said.

You gazed off for a moment, blinking slowly. Four hundred years sounded like an awful long time to you, but… well, you weren’t immortal. And this man sitting with you likely was. An uncomfortable feeling crawled its way through your chest, your mind circling with thoughts and questions you didn’t feel quite ready to grapple with.

The conversation needed to move on.

You frowned, tapping your lips with the tip of the chopsticks. “Okay, so.”

“Yes?”

“What’s been your favourite decade to live in?” 

He paused, doing some quick fact-checking in his mind. “The fifteen hundreds, I believe.”

“Why?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Kita murmured, looking away from you. How would he even begin to explain that? ‘I was in love with someone who looked and sounded exactly like you?’ He prized honesty, but perhaps that was too honest.

You blinked, biting your lip. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” 

“It’s okay.” He turned to give you a weak smile. 

A tenuous silence stretched between you, and he almost regretted being so terse. Almost. 

“Are other yokai real, too?” You asked, poking at the rice. 

“Some of them.”

“Only some?” You raised an eyebrow at him. 

“If you ever get yourself a cat, you better keep an eye on its tail.” 

You swallowed, unsure if he was joking or not. “Are… ghosts real?” 

“Perhaps it’s best if you don’t know the answer to that question.”

“Uh…” You turned the thought over in your mind for a second. “I’m not sure.” 

You turned your attention back to the inarizushi, popping a few more into your mouth and chewing away contentedly. After a few moments, you gestured to the bento box, your mouth full of food.

Kita nodded, holding his palm out. 

You placed the chopsticks in his hand, blushing as your fingers brushed against his.

“Tell me about yourself,” he hummed, setting the bento box in his own lap. 

You swallowed, your face growing hot. “There’s not really anything interesting to say.” 

“Why did you choose to be a miko?” 

“It’s just a part-time job,” you shrugged, playing with the fabric of your skirt.

“But you could have chosen from a whole range of jobs,” he persisted. “But you’re here. Why?”

You paused, turning the question over in your mind. “I don’t know… it seemed interesting?”

Kita nodded. “Why?”

“I… I guess I thought it would be a fun way to connect with the culture,” you shrugged. “Because it’s… very traditional.”

“Have you enjoyed yourself?”

“I have.” You could answer that question confidently, at least.

“That’s wonderful to hear,” he smiled softly.

“I should get back to work,” you sighed, rising to your feet.

“Be sure to take care of yourself,” he nodded, getting up himself. “Don’t overwork yourself.”

You cocked your head at him. “Huh?”

He shook his head. “Nevermind.”

Those were the words he’d say to her, all those years ago. Words that she never heeded as much as he wished she would.

But, he had to remind himself, time and time again.

You’re not her.

✧ ✧ ✧

“You’re very good at making those.” Kita sat on the floor next to you, watching as you arranged little omamori into the categories of a large wooden box.  

“What, these?” You held one towards him.

“Yeah,” he nodded, taking it from you gently. He turned it over, the sky blue silk soft beneath his touch. 

“Thank you,” you blushed

“I don’t recognise this colour,” he murmured. “What are they for?” He asked, deciding that he’d hold on to this little omamori. You’d made it yourself, after all.

“That one’s a love charm,” you nodded at his hand, smiling as you organised a set of gold silk rectangles. “Apparently they’re very popular during the New Year.” You pointed at another group of pink and blue charms in the box. “The one you’re holding is for single people, but these ones are for couples.” 

He swallowed, turning it over in his hand. A love charm. She had made him one, all those years ago. Albeit, she had given it to him with a lot more intention.

“Thank you,” he murmured, tucking it into the sleeve of his kimono.

You grinned at him, eyeing his sleeve. “Hoping it’ll help you out?”

“I—” His cheeks bloomed red as heat crawled up his neck. Perhaps he’d been thinking about love more often, these days. But he wasn’t quite ready to process all of that. Was he so obvious?

“I’m just teasing,” you giggled.

He fought back the urge to pout. He was glad, at least, that you felt comfortable enough to say something like that. But, it saved him at least a little bit of embarrassment.

You’d been visiting him for the past few weeks, bringing him inarizushi every shift you’re in for.

And it made him so, so happy. He’s being seen. Being noticed. And, he liked talking to you. Maybe more than he should. More than he wanted to.

“When was the last time you’ve been to town?” You wondered, looking at him.

Kita frowned. “Uh… a couple hundred years, maybe?”

You gaped at him. “What?”

“Well, I…” He stopped, tilting his head at you. He didn’t quite know what to say. Yes, it had been a very long while, but he’d only just found the strength to open himself up to the human world like he once had. He’d been an observer for the past few centuries, but it had been quite a long while since he’d engaged like that. And besides; ‘town’ must be very, very different.

You scratched the back of your head. “Do you want to?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you want to go to town?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I’m going to a festival this Friday,” you said, smiling at him. “It’s nearly New Year’s.”

Oh, right. New Year’s. 

Would you leave him, once the year turned over? 

He swallowed the thought back. No, he wouldn’t think about that. He didn’t want to. 

“Come with me on Friday,” you smiled, placing your hand on his shoulder.

Kita froze, feeling a certain kind of warmth in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. A type of warmth he hadn’t felt since her. A type of warmth that was at once exhilarating and terrifying. 

“It’ll be fun, I promise!” You beamed. If you’d noticed his reaction, you didn’t give him any indication.

“Okay,” he mumbled, suddenly much more interested in the omamori in his sleeve than before. 

“Yay!” You clapped your hands together, your face full of joy. “I’ll see you Friday!”

Kita swallowed roughly. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for that. But he didn’t want to say no to you. Not when you were smiling at him like that.

✧ ✧ ✧

“Are you alright?”

Kita blinked, looking at you. “Hm?”

“You look… uncomfortable,” you said, tilting your head at him. “I mean, I think that’s discomfort on your face.”

He swallowed, looking down at the ground. “It’s just… there’s a lot of people.”

The two of you were stood at the edge of the crowd, just out of the light of the lanterns. Kita knew that there was going to be a large throng of people, but he hadn’t expected it to be so busy.

“We don’t have to go if it’s too much,” you smiled, folding your hands behind your back.

“No,” he shook his head. “I want to try.”

You nodded, looking over the crowd. “We’ll go when you’re ready, okay?”

Kita gazed at you for a moment. He was glad that you shared her kindness. But, it was also very much your own; a sense of compassion that you’d cultivated yourself.

He took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. A myriad of scents flooded his nose – lanterns burning, tea brewing, fish cooking. It was almost overwhelming, the entire area laced with such dense, powerful sensations.

“I’m ready,” he murmured, opening his eyes.

“Wonderful,” you cheered, hopping into the lamp light.

“Try not to get lost,” you said to him, glancing at him over your shoulder. Your face was bathed with golden lights, your eyes glittering in a way that made his heart ache.

Kita nodded, gazing over the crowd. There were so, so many people; more than he’d seen for centuries.

There was life in front of him. Humans, chatting, laughing, glowing. Each of them was a ripple, a reinterpretation of someone who had come before. But they were also individuals; people with their own lives, dreams, hearts.  

Kita took your hand, an action taken partly on instinct, partly on desire. He didn’t want to lose you in this crowd, to watch you disappear into the mass of heads milling around the street and leave him alone. But he wanted to be close to you too. To feel your warmth. 

You turned and smiled at him, and his heart felt light. Lighter than it’d felt for centuries.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew why.

He felt seen. Understood. No longer a ghost flitting between the corridors of a shrine, full of aimless yearning.

You were smiling at him with her face, her eyes. But, you were not her. No, you were someone else entirely – someone just as wonderful.

The feeling of your hand in his. A sharp memory, yet something new. Something that felt like a possibility.

This little affection, this small gesture, anchored him to the present. Even if just for a second, you chased away eternity.

[goldenlaquer]

Hey, can I ask for some headcanons, please? For Gin, Toshi, Sougo and Kamui. About how they were in a fight, separated from their so and something happened like an exposion or whatever, anyway the main point is that they thought that their so have died but later they see her alive and relatively unharmed. So the headcanons of them when they thought they lost their so and when they see that she is ok. Sorry, this is so specific and long, I'm just a slut for some angst and I love your writings

Thank you for the support and sorry for the wait! I don’t know if I’m that much good at conveying angst but let’s bring on the feels! 

Gintama Headcanons: 

Hijikata Toushirou: 

Hijikata stands on top of a pile of rubble, and surveys the destruction around him. 

His hands don’t shake. His feet are firm against the ground. His shoulders are straight and rigid against the fleeting wind. Smoke escapes him in steady stream, and when he inhales in, the dust and fire of the air sticks to the walls of his lungs like sludge. 

To the men who stop to look at their vice-commander with their ugly concerns plastered on their ugly mugs: He’s fine. 

To the Gorilla who can’t stop asking him the question every ten minutes and that, he really should take a break or else at this rate, he’ll collapse: He’s fine. 

To the brat who stubbornly stays by his side like spit-up gum on the sole of his shoe: He’s fine, damn it, so go do your job and leave him alone. 

For once, Sougo doesn’t have anything clever to quip back at him. He doesn’t need to-- the silence between them speaks better than words. And Hijikata hates what it says, so he turns back to the grey landscape, eyes darting and sifting through the mangled and charred parts to see something, anything that is you. 

Nothing. 

He reaches for a cigarette, pulls it out of his pocket like second nature. The lighter is the trickier to work. The blasted thing refuses to flicker on. Oh, the cigarette falls down. Hijikata bends to pick it up. He tries again. The cigarette falls down. He stares at it. His shoe crushes it. He’s stomping down hard. Sougo is still silent, watching. Hijikata doesn’t care. 

The facade of normalcy is gone. Here he is: Taking his frustrations out on a sad little cig, like it’s the cause of all his fucking problems, like it’s going to bring you back. Harsh pants come out of his mouth, and in another series, they’d sound like something akin to sobs, but his face is dry.

“Hijikata.” He ignores Sougo. The cigarette is reduced to paper and dry leaves scuffed against concrete. “Hijikata.” He doesn’t answer.

Okita, with an eye-roll, kicks Hijikata square in the back and knocks him off the pile. 

Sougo, what the fuck? He. Is. Mourning. Hijikata has always known Sougo to be insensitive, but this is blatantly crossing several lines and he clearly doesn’t have the emotional capacity to deal with. 

But if it’s a fight that bastard wants, Hijikata will give it to him. He leaps up from the ground, ready to hand Sougo an express ticket to hell, misty eyes narrowing in anger as he looks up

and the breath is knocked out of him in a way that years of chain-smoking had miraculously failed to do 

Standing before him, white particles clinging to your clothes, hair, and eyebrows, is the damn most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. The feet move faster than he can process, and by the time his arms are around you and he’s breathing in the scent he thought he’d lost forever

“Fuck.” Because that’s the only appropriate response he can say without his voice cracking. “Don’t do that again.”

Kamui:

Loss is not a new thing. It was in the labored rise and fall of his mother’s chest, the pallidness of her white skin. The feel of his sister’s small hands, fisting in his clothes and pleadingly tugging back, her blue eyes wide and wet. It was in the looming shape of his father’s retreating back.

But there were other, worthier things to focus on. The pain in his knuckles slamming against bone and muscle. The taut stretch of his lips as he licks his wounds, tasting metal and victory. The title of ‘Universe’s Strongest’ nearly within his grasp. He didn’t have time for the weak. Didn’t have time to be weak.

Loss is not new, and yet there is something about this loss. Now, Loss is a sentient being, latching to his throat and squeezing as he grapples through the mud.

Abuto’s face is too blank and too careful. His voice is low and calm and reasoning, and he is saying things, but Kamui doesn’t listen. The words ‘she’ and ‘gone’ don’t mix, they don’t make any sense, so why should he listen? He digs and digs and digs, not hearing, he can’t, his ears and eyes are filled with the same muddy brown that must also be filling yours. Kamui works even faster, his nails splintering against the rocks embedded in the wet ground.

Hair released from its braid, trussed and caked in dirt. Pupils dilated, black swallowing blue. His face abnormally slack as he claws in frenzy, in desperation at the ground like a wild animal.

There are few things in this world Kamui can’t fight. No matter his strength, one cannot simply beat Mother Nature into submission. But there is no excuse. If he cannot save one woman from something as stupid as dirt, then what is the point? What use is his strength? He didn’t leave that tiny, rainy planet, ignoring all the things left behind with it, to become this weakling who couldn’t even manage to keep you by his side like he promised.

He’s a young brat again, helplessness coloring every pore. A damsel in distress. Someone who can’t save, but needs saving. He is no different than the baldy. Unable to keep promises. Unable to protect. Unable to do anything. Was he always this fragile? Pathetic.

Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic. The word is a punishing mantra in his mind.

Something crashes into him. It’s not near enough to make him pause in his digging, but the something is tugging on his clothes. Incoherent, muffled shouting in his ears. He doesn’t pay it any mind because mud keeps slipping back in place despite all his useless strength and you’re still trapped, waiting for him--

“KAMUI!”

He blinks in surprise, snapping from the heavy cloud covering his mind. He’s flat on the ground, staring up at you. How he got there, he doesn’t know, but you are here in front of him, covered head-to-toe in mud and crying.

He is silent, watching as you blubber concerns and curses. A curious hand reaches out to your face in wonder, carefully tracing the path that a salty tear had made down your cheek. The familiarity of your soft skin warms his numb body and a small smile emerges from his lips.

As you sit on top of him, crying not because you are scared but because he’s such a stupid idiot, he realizes that that he isn’t all alone just yet, that there’s one thing that refuses to leave him. 

Okita Sougo: 

It’s happening again. And it honestly makes him want to laugh. 

He doesn’t believe in it, karma, but when you think that you’ve gotten used to the pain of losing someone you love, his rotten, black heart has to go and get ripped out for the second time as if he forgot, as if he needed reminding that there’s no way someone like him deserves something as good as happiness. There’s no other explanation to this shit luck other than that, for the accumulation of every filthy deed he’s done with his filthy hands and every fucking sin he has committed once and twice and will most definitely commit thrice, someone has to pay for it. 

And because Karma is two bitches and a half, that someone wasn’t him. 

There it is. The laughter finally comes out as he looks at the torn fabric in his clenched fist. It comes out harsh and hollow and, if you listened hard enough, choked, but who’s checking? Not him. Not Mitsuba. And certainly not you. 

He reported it to the vice-commander himself, voice robotic, telling how he was walking front of you when it happened, how the enemy somehow managed to predict your movements and ambushed the both of you on a bridge, how he had been unable to react in time to stop the silver flash of a knife and how the world tilted, too fast and too slow, and that there was a piece of hanging rope that he managed to snag on to with one hand and when he blindly flashed out the other to grasp at you, reaching through free air and snatching at cloth, it ripped from his fingers, and you fell to the chasm below.  Deep enough, Okita said as he looked straight into Hijikata’s eyes, that death would be quick and painless.

If nothing else could go right for him, then at least for this, he hoped, even fucking prayed, that it was painless.

Hijikata doesn’t react to the report with anything unnecessary, just a stiff upper lip and an “okay” before he walks off to stand somewhere far enough, yet close enough. For all their differences, Hijikata knows. He understands losing youthful love, and that the pity that comes with it is nothing more than steaming trash. In this way and other ways that he’d sooner eat shit than to admit aloud, Okita is grateful for him.  

He stops mid mirthless chuckle to shove the hand holding what’s left of  you up to his eyes, slanting his head downwards so his bangs cover what he doesn’t want the world to know what he’s somehow still capable of. Hijikata is tactfully looking away. Over the distance, Kondo is bellowing orders to his men who keep a wide berth from the spot where their 1st Division Captain stands. This is the only opportunity he can afford to be an eighteen year old again. Sougo swallows thickly, feeling the roughness of fabric dampen against his eyelids. 

Acutely, he hears the sound of footsteps. It is slow and steady and he thinks that they belong Kondo at first but the weight of them is too light for a gorilla. Before he can process this information further, the steps halt for several long seconds before starting again, this time faster and more urgent, lurching in his direction. Hijikata mutters an astounded “shit” but  for whatever reason doesn’t move to intercept. Okita really isn’t in the mood to deal with dumbasses but the sword by his side is already unsheathed and he’s aiming his red eyes to glare at whoever the fuck--

Arms wrap around his waist. A face burrows into his chest. His knees almost give out, but his name is Okita Sougo and he has already maxed out his whiny bitch points for the next decade. Instead, he drops his sword to cup the back of your very-much-alive head, caressing the wet silk of it before threading his trembling fingers through the strands to

sharply tug you from his chest and grasp your cheeks with one hand, squeezing your expression to that of a startled fish. 

“Now,” Okita murmers, the smirk on his lips at odds with how fucking great it feels to see you again. “What should I do with you?”

Sakata Gintoki:

Before they say anything, he knows. 

He has seen that type of expression too many times to ever forget the set jaw, the horrible attempt at stilling a trembling bottom lip, the unshed tears of eyes that can’t seem to stop roving, unable to face the recipient of bad news for more than half a second, and the pallidness of knuckles straining against skin, holding onto their clothes like a lifeline. 

He knows this expression so well he can gaze down at Shinpachi and Kagura with well-placed apathy, perfectly appearing as if his lungs aren’t threatening to collapse on itself when he notices who is not there with them, and tell them in his same old way to stop sucking on their teeth and finish what they can’t seem to get out because he has an appointment at the pachinko parlor at four and if they don’t finish up this job by three-thirty he is going to dock their nonexistent pay by 80%. It hides the rising nausea and stone weight of the stomach well. 

This time, however, his casual rudeness doesn’t make them react the way he wants them to, it only makes them fold into themselves even further. 

The thing is, no matter how many times you see it and know better than to entertain it, there’s always this one glimmer of hope, so ridiculously strong that you’d gladly pray to anyone and everyone, even if you don’t really believe, because if anything is possible then it better be possible that this isn’t bad news, or that even if it is bad news then the worst of the pinched expression is just a by-product of eating food gone bad or the pain of an ingrown toenail, that it isn’t about someone dying or dead. 

But life rarely goes like that, and Gintoki lives in an extra-shittier life compared to most people. 

When you stumble across them, hair singed and smelling of gunpowder and smoke, there is something so thick and so wrong with the air, something that makes you stop from crying out in elation at seeing the people you love most. Shinpachi is fastidiously rubbing his eyes and Kagura has her face buried against Sadaharu’s fur and Gintoki

Gintoki looks alone. And you don’t think you have ever seen him look like that, so withdrawn into himself that even if he is surrounded by people, there’s nothing that can come close to him, nothing that can ease the dull bleakness of his eyes and the defeated hunch of his shoulders. He looks like a single thread worn too thin, on the verge of snapping. He looks like nothing matters anymore. Nothing. 

You dislike it. You hate it. You hate it so much, to see this man turn into something so unfamiliar and terrifying and gut out. You don’t know this Gintoki. You want the other one back, the one who wouldn’t hesitate to smear dog shit and boogers on the back of your jacket and the one who doesn’t really mind it when you take a sip of his spoiled strawberry milk. 

So when you shout out loudly, so loud that vibrates the space, that you’re here and alive and that you didn’t, couldn’t die because how could such a measly explosion off you when there were idiots waiting back home for you, to see Kagura and Shinpachi fly to you, screaming and whooping as they open their arms wide for your hug, snot running down their noses, and Gintoki snap his head up, disbelieving at first, yet searching your form with a speck of hope that brings life back to his dead eyes, and when he finds whatever he was searching for, he goes to you on steady feet, folding his arms around the group, gaze still drinking your form up as he leans across Shinpachi’s and Kagura’s heads to bump his forehead against yours, his breath sighing out something like relief-- it almost makes you cry, or maybe it does because you can feel something wet trailing down your face.

Gintoki is silent for the most part, because Kagura and Shinpachi are doing most of the talking for him, but when he does speak, it is to say: 

“Damn, there goes the life insurance money.” 

[lovemalecforever]

Chapter 12

Family isn't always blood

Alec looked at his Parabatai then to his sister then to him again and sighed heavily before speaking. "Because there is something I want to talk about which needs all of your presence."

"Excuse me!?" Jace exclaimed, "Alec, I can feel your nervousness, what is going on? You're making me scared buddy, we almost lost yo-"

"Jace, calm down. I'll tell you when everyone will be here, and it's nothing bad, okay?"

Even after the reassurance, Jace was still not convinced. He could feel how scared and nervous Alec was through their bond. There were so many probabilities running through his mind, minding that Magnus wasn't there with him when that man never leaves his brother alone.

"Jace, stop. I can literally feel you getting stressed up, I told you, Jace, it's nothing, just... wait for a while."

Jace sighed and nodded. He had met his Parabatai, his brother after a long time, and making him upset or angry was the last thing he wanted. "Sorry Alec, but really, you told Izzy that you're coming but not me? Seriously? Am I not important to you anymore?" he dramatically put his hand over his chest. "You have hurt me, dude."

Alec rolled his eyes. "Stop being overdramatic, Jace. Besides, the look on your face told me that it was worth it."

"Boyzzz!" Izzy interrupted, shaking her head at her brothers for their silliness. "So, big brother, whom do you want to meet first, Clary or Simon?" Out of everyone, Izzy knew really well that Alec considers them family now, remembering the fact that he admitted it when she and Simon visited him.

"It's been long I've seen nugget in training mode. I would like to see her training and meanwhile, tell Simon to come here, I want to talk to you both privately before talking to everyone else."

"What the hell!? Alec, First, stop giving my girlfriend these stupid nicknames, and second what are you guys are up to?"

"Jace, stop." Izzy spoke firmly, "Don't bombard our brother with questions, he just arrived. And, besides, I want to see how Clary's doing so can we move now?"

"Fine, let's go." Jace sighed, and they left for the training room.

While heading towards the training room, Alec didn't miss the changes that had been made at the Institute, especially the weapons room. He knew he made the right decision to make his sister the Head of the Institute when he accepted the post of Inquisitor at Alicante, and she's doing a brilliant job. He couldn't help but feel proud of his sister.

It's been around an hour since Clary started her training, her hair was tied up in a ponytail, she was wearing a perfectly fitted navy blue sports bra with red stripes on it, the back having cross straps with blue-grey yoga pants and red and blue colored sports shoes. Her hands were wrapped in boxing bandages, blowing punches and kicks to the punching bag, which had now started to tear.

"Slow down Parabatai, looks like you're having a bad day, or did you not get it last night, huh?" Izzy teased as she walked towards her soon-to-be Parabatai, a smirk playing on her face, and Jace's face flushed.

"Izzy, Hey!" Clary greeted then held the towel that Izzy offered her. "And to answer your question, both. Bad day because Jace was being an idiot last night, and this morning too." She said, making Izzy burst into laughter.

"Really Clary, discussing our sex life with my sister!? Not appreciated!" Jace said as he walked in.

"She's my best friend, Herondale. I can discuss whatever I want." Clary shrugged and snatched the water bottle that he offered her.

"Oops! Looks like someone screwed up badly." Izzy said while suppressing her laugh, earning a glare from Jace.

Clary almost choked on the water she was drinking and dropped the bottle on the floor in the process when her eyes fell on the third person present in that room, standing by the door frame.

"ALEC!"

"Hello, Carrot!" Alec walked in and laughed when she literally jumped on him. "Get down, carrot, you're drenched in sweat."

"Really! Carrot, Carrot!? Seriously, Alec, I told you to stop giving her names, don't you-"

"I find it cute," Clary said, interrupting her boyfriend and making him dumbfounded. "Alec, when did you come? And where's Magnus?" She asked when her excitement died down and was back on her feet.

"Just now, and Magnus didn't come, I had some work."

"Okay, now I'm jealous, what had Simon done, big brother? Jace? Why do you both treat him like that?" Izzy pouted.

"I like him, but that vampire gets under my skin sometimes. No offense, Izzy." Jace said flatly.

"Izzy, Simon had done nothing, you know I like him, I just don't feel like being like that around him. There's nothing else." Alec reassured, making her sigh.

Izzy's phone buzzed, breaking their chain of conversation. She picked it up to check the message. "It's Si, he'll be here in some time. Your room or my office?" She asked.

"In my room," Alec answered while Jace and Clary kept glancing between the siblings. "I'll tell you both later."

Clary nodded. "I'm going to get a shower, see you later, Alec." With that, she picked up her stuff and left the hall.

"Wait, Clary! Excuse me!" Jace said hurried after his girlfriend leaving the other two laughing at their situation.

"It's good to have her back, you know," Izzy said when they both left the room. "Jace is a different person now, and happier too."

"I know. I can feel it. I'm happy for him, he deserves this. Looking back at how broken he was 3 years ago, I'm really happy that Clary got her memories back. They didn't deserve what happened 5 years ago."

"What's wrong!?" She asked when she noticed an unknown expression clouding her brother's face.

"Izzy, promise me you won't tell Jace what I'm about to say, else I won't hear the end of it."

Izzy raised her brow but eventually nodded.

"You know how much I used to hate Clary when she first came into our lives, she's still annoying, but looking at her now, at them, they are meant for each other, they complete each other. And I'm really happy that they found each other, all over again." He said, having a bright smile on his face.

"You're right, big brother. Jace will never stop teasing you if he'll hear what you just said. And, I agree, they are meant for each other."

Clary came back to their lives almost two and a half years ago. It took her almost a year and a half after meeting Jace at her painting exhibition to regain her memories of the shadow world. When she remembered Jace at the alley of the building where her exhibition was held, Jace frequented their meetings in the hope that she'd remember everything but hid it from everyone else. That was until Simon found out and confronted him, in the process bumping into her becoming the second person she remembered.

Clary always had an empty space in her heart, a void, which kept telling her that something was missing. That was until she met Jace, and she knew that she knew him from somewhere. There were bits and pieces in her mind of a club, bike riding, or some similar events, but they were never complete.

When both boys told everyone about Clary, it was Magnus who advised them to take things slow and not rush her memories. She met everyone, remembered them one by one, Luke being the third one, then Jocelyn, followed by the incomplete memory of her death, which resulted in regaining her memories at a great pace.

What broke the floodgates of her memories was when Jace and Clary were returning from their date, and they were attacked by a shapeshifting demon, which Clary killed with complete ease, shocked at first, but the sudden appearance and disappearance of her runes made her remember that she's a Shadowhunter.

The most beautiful thing which happened between all this was Clary fell in love with Jace all over again, oblivious about their past and Jace's feelings, making him the happiest person in the universe.

When she remembered everything, and stepped into the institute once again, and got all her runes back, she was visited by her mother's soul once again telling her that the Angels had forgiven her, she still has her extra share of powers, but she needs to be careful this time and not repeat the mistakes she made in the past. From that time on she became a completely new person. Better than before, more fierce, stronger, but still stubborn, annoying, and irritating at times.

The most epic thing to happen was Alec and Clary's relationship. From hating each other to frenemies to friends to a weird brother-sister relationship, they came a long way. The bitter comments Alec used to make about her were now more of teasing and mocking in a good way. They had started understanding each other, making everyone around them shocked with their bonding.

***************************

Simon was already pacing in Alec's room when Izzy and Alec entered, making Alec sigh out of frustration. "Stop digging holes in my carpet, Lewis," Alec commented.

"Really!?"

"Boys!" Izzy shook her head. "I can't with you people!" She mumbled, then turned towards her brother. "So, what did you find Alec?"

"Everything!" He answered and explained to them the complete process of becoming immortal. When he was done both of their faces were filled with shock and astonishment.

"So, you have to drink Fray's blood and ask her to talk to Angel Ithuriel on your behalf, that's... interesting. Do you think she'll agree?" Simon asked curiously.

"That we'll see. Are you both okay with this?" Alec asked hesitantly.

Simon and Izzy exchanged a look. "Of course we are, big brother. I'm really happy for you." She hugged her brother tightly. Alec looked at Simon who nodded and smiled at him, he smiled back and mouthed thank you to him.

They broke their hug and Alec sighed with relief. "I'm glad to have your support, but, Izzy, I need advice, I'm confused."

"What is it?"

"Should I wait for everyone to arrive and talk to them tonight altogether, or I'll talk to everyone privately? I don't know how everyone's gonna react, especially Jace and Clary."

Izzy didn't know what to say to that. She looked at Simon than at her brother, trying to form words when Simon broke the silence.

"Um... I don't know what you think, Iz, but I think you should talk to everyone privately, talking to everyone at the same time would mean too many emotions in one place when you don't know how will everyone react which can become uneasy for you. But it's completely up to you." He said carefully.

"I think you're right Simon, thank you. It might take time, but I'll get a fair amount of time with everyone. And I think I'm going to make Jace and Clary wait for the last." He said with a chuckle.

"Now, Izzy, till the time mom and Luke arrive, why don't you and Clary show me what I've asked for!?" He asked with a wide smile.

Simon had a confused expression from his question, making Alec chuckle with the realization that neither of the women had told anyone about the gifts he had asked them to help him make for Magnus.

"Come on then, big brother. It's in Clary's room." She wrapped her arm around her brother's, dropped the silencing rune, and walked towards Jace and Clary's shared room. When they were near their room they heard loud arguments coming from their room making them exchange looks.

"Can we come in Fray? Or are you both going to continue with whatever you were arguing about?" Simon asked while suppressing his laugh, earning a flying pillow from Clary, which he dodged successfully, making Alec and Izzy burst with laughter, and Jace completely embarrassed.

"Are you people done?" Alec asked.

Clary cleared her throat and steadied herself. "Yeah, come in."

"Are you still working on it, or is it completed? Alec wants to see it." Izzy said the excitement was clearly visible in her voice.

"Oh, are you sure Alec? It's not completed yet."

"Completed or not, I want to see both of your's!"

"Okay, it's in my art room."

"Art room?" "What the hell is going on!?" Alec and Jace said at the same time.

Jace was carefully listening to their conversation, making a frown appear on his forehead. He looked at Simon who was mirroring his confused expressions, but no one else, making his nerves rise.

Alec sighed. "Izzy and Clary, may I know why you both kept it hidden from them?" He waved towards Simon and Jace.

"We thought it would be nice to surprise them too, we want to see their expressions when it's done," Izzy said.

Jace and Simon exchanged a look, Jace was about to say something when Alec raised his hand to shut him up. He shook his head in disbelief. "I didn't get my answer, Art room?"

"Oh, my old room, now that I share the room with Jace, I converted that to my personal Art room. Are you really sure, Alec?"

"Yes, and anyways I want it completed before I leave for Alicante."

"Are you sure, big brother? Will you be able to hide from Magnus for that long?" Izzy raised her brow at him.

"Alec, if this makes you relieved, I got permission from Angels to use the portal rune as a permanent rune for me, and anyways I and Izzy are gonna portal to the lakeside to complete all the decorations you've asked for. You can meet us there and take the gifts from us." Clary said.

Alec looked at Clary in disbelief. "You got permission? That's something. Okay then, take your time, but it should be completed by Wednesday."

"We're almost done, big brother. Don't worry!"

*************

They all walked towards Clary's Art room, Alec was way too excited to see what they've done. Clary opens the door, which was filled with the scent of fresh colors, different shapes of brushes were spread in the whole room and a bunch of them were kept in a pen stand with several watercolor bottles and charcoal pencils on a wooden table in the corner of the room. There were different shapes of canvases filled in the whole room.

Clary went forward and removed a red-colored cloth that was covering a medium-sized canvas, only to reveal 3 frame-sized paintings pinned on the canvas, the 4th one was ongoing and one was empty. Alec's jaw fell on the ground seeing them.

"You... you're painting them!?"

"You like it?" Clary asked nervously, biting her nails, and looked at Izzy.

Alec went forward and traced his fingers over the painting of their wedding, both in tuxedos, holding hands, a look of pure happiness on their faces. "Put this in the center, and frame them properly. Magnus is going to love it. And I do too. Thank you, redhead!"

Clary sighed with relief and nodded with a warm smile.

"What the he-"

"Wow, these are beautiful Fray, so that's not the only surprise you're planning for Magnus? It's so lovely!"

"Yes, there's more Simon. I told you and Izzy alre-"

"What is going on!? And why am I the only one who doesn't know anything!?" Jace yelled.

Alec sighed for the billionth time that day. "Jace, are you really not getting it, or are you seriously not remembering!?"

Every eyes were on Jace now. "Remember wha... oh shit!" He gulped when he realized the paintings were from Alec's wedding to all of their following anniversaries. And it's his brother's anniversary next week.

"Sorry, Alec. I forgot about your anniversary. So, that's why Magnus is not here, you're planning a surprise, huh?" He said teasingly knowing that his brother is bad with surprises.

Alec rolled his eyes and smacked Jace on the back of his head, earning a whiney 'Ow' from him while others burst into laughter. "So, Izzy!?"

"It's in the weapons room, come on!"

*********************

They were all in the weapons room, Izzy had vacated the room for some time, and they were the only five present there. She went towards the right side rack, opened the second last drawer and took out a black-colored box, and walked towards the center table where everyone was standing.

"Big brother, it's yet to be completed. The whole engraving is remaining, you sure!?"

"Engraving?" Others said in unison.

"Yes, Izzy! Just show me whatever is done!"

Izzy opened the box to reveal a set of 3 diamond rings, sitting on fake fingers, two on the base and one in the middle of the finger, each connected with silver chains having tiny emeralds covering the whole chain. It was a really beautiful ring. There was a bundle of diamond cuts sitting on the base of the box.

Everyone's jaws were dropped on the floor. The ring was shining brightly in the dullness of the room.

"Why extra diamonds?" Clary asked curiously.

"These are going to be fixed on the engraving. Alec, thoughts?" She asked, her voice filled with nervousness and excitement.

"Wow! I... I'm speechless. You did a great job, Izzy. Magnus is definitely going to fall in love with it."

"I already am," Clary confessed. Her eyes were shining with the lights the diamond ring was emitting.

"I didn't know my girlfriend was this talented!" Simon said. He and Jace were completely dumbfounded.

They all got out of their trance with a loud squeal Izzy made, way too excited and proud of her work. They all exchanged a look and shook their heads at her.

Before Izzy could say, her phone buzzed and her expressions went from excited to soft.

"What?" Alec asked.

"Mom and Luke are here, you're ready, Alec?"

Alec sighed. "Let's get this over with!"

[jalapeno-princess]

Cyber Sex

Mark Tuan X Reader

Word Count: 5.6K

Genre: Fluffy ass smut 

Warning: Masturbation, fingering, dirty talk, cussing, breast play

Summary: Your boyfriend Mark is currently in Japan for a conference and seeing you wearing nothing but his shirt leads to fingering yourself to his commands.

A/N: Based on the song “Cyber Sex” by Doja Cat. I am so excited for their comeback, I’m broke as a fucking joke but it’s fine. I’m FINE. Happy reading.

I wanna touch on you You see me in my room Wish you were here right now All of the things I'd do I wanna get freaky on camera I love when we get freaky on camera

The word tired wasn’t even enough to describe exactly how you were feeling right now. You were exhausted beyond belief to say the least. Being a full time college student; majoring in both criminal justice and journalism on top of having a full time job at one of the most prestigious and reputable law firms in your state wasn’t the most ideal situation, but you made it work. Well, for the most part. 

Your mental health these days has been at an all time low; you were being overworked to the point where you were afraid you could suffer from either a mental breakdown or panic attack at the rate you were headed. Unfortunately, the only person who knew how to keep you from completely reaching the brink of insanity was currently thousands of miles away from you. Your boyfriend of over three years—Mark; was in Japan for a very important conference that the company he was working for sent him on in order to represent his department. 

Although he was the youngest in his career field; Mark knew exactly what to say and do to build partnerships and to gain the trust of many other company shareholders. Your boyfriend was quite the charmer; sometimes you did grow jealous when you’d observe how some of his colleagues and a few of his clients would look at him in such a way that you thought only you were allowed to. 

As much as you wanted to be upset with the women who were bold enough to ask him out even if they knew he was in a relationship, you couldn’t really blame them for finding him attractive and attempting to make a move on him. Mark was the definition of a sight for sore eyes. He was gorgeous and exceedingly handsome—however, Mark was way more than just a pretty face, a well-defined and extremely toned body and a deep, raspy voice that never failed to get you groveling at your knees. 

He was extremely kind and generous to every single person he’s ever met in his life. You always considered him to be somewhat of an angel; an ethereal being here on earth because there was no way someone who was both ridiculously breathtaking on the outside was just as wonderful on the inside. Sometimes, you felt as if he deserved better than you. From a very young age, you never thought much about yourself; you didn’t care all too much about the way you looked, you didn’t consider yourself smart, funny nor did you have any impressive talent. 

However, Mark never failed to make you feel as if you were the most beautiful creature he has ever laid his eyes on. He reminded you both physically and verbally on a daily basis that he loved you more than anyone and anything on this he’ll forsaken earth. You were his person, his soulmate—the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. You don’t know what it was that you did in your past life to be the lucky person to call him your boyfriend, but you would do it again and again if it meant having him in each and every lifetime. 

It was hard having to be away from him every now and then—especially on the days when you felt as if the entire world was against you for not doing anything right. Deep down, you knew you were doing the best you can but it was as if your best wasn’t good enough for other people. Since Mark was a day ahead but six hours behind, you were sure he had to be busy attending a convention or going over his notes to prepare for meetings he had mentioned to you a couple of times in the last week. 

As much as you wanted to call him just to hear his voice; even if it were just for a few minutes, you didn’t want to bother him. He had other things to worry about—the stress and frustration caused by your responsibilities would only worry him and you knew he didn’t need that. You made your way in to the bathroom and started getting ready to go to sleep. You wiped off any trace of makeup from your face, brushed your teeth and took off your clothes before throwing on one of Mark’s shirts. 

Right as you were about to throw yourself in to the comfort of your bed, you heard your phone sound off on the night stand and because you had a huge feeling it was Mark trying to get in touch with you, you practically flung yourself across the threshold and reached for your phone while flopping down on your sheets.

Babe: Hey, you didn’t let me know if you got home. Are you alright? Can we FaceTime? I miss seeing your pretty face so much. 11:27 P.M.

Whatever exhaustion you felt from earlier immediately disappeared; the want and need to talk to your boyfriend was far stronger than any amount of tiredness you felt. You got up and grabbed your laptop—preferring to look at him on a bigger screen since your vision wasn’t all that great from taking out your contacts. He was quick to answer before the first ring and you could feel your chest warm up at the sight of him. 

No matter what he wore, he always seemed to take your breath away. Whether it was a flannel and some skinny jeans or just a pair of grey sweats when the two of you would lounge around your shared apartment—a blush would always seem to rise on your cheeks just because he was so annoyingly attractive. However, seeing him in a suit; looking extremely classy with his hair pulled back so you could see the entirety of his handsome face made your stomach sore in the best way. God, why did he have to be thousands of miles away from you? 

“Baby!” You gave him a soft smile and sat up properly in order to get a better look at him. 

“Hey—are you right about to go in to a meeting or something? You look very handsome babe.” He gave you his infamous cheeky grin—one he always flashed whenever you would compliment him. Mark, even at the prime age of twenty-seven could still get so shy and flustered at the smallest little things. Especially whenever you would go in to detail about his charming features or how his cute little butt always looked good in a pair of slacks. 

He scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment before biting his lip. You were soon growing envious at the thought of how many women got to see him looking like a Greek-God while in his element. Although you have only seen a few videos of the speeches he would give at conventions and conferences, you observed just how confident he was when it came to his craft. When it came to talking with other people—sometimes even when the two of you would go out to dinner with your parents, he was always so timid and soft spoken. 

Yet, he seemed to change in to a completely different person in environments where he was meant to persuade clients in to buying stocks with his company. You couldn’t help but find it cute whenever he would act flustered around you—especially because in the bedroom and behind close doors, he was the complete opposite of shy. 

“Oh—uh, thanks. I actually just came back from a luncheon. It was boring as hell and honestly I didn’t hear a thing anyone had to say, I was too busy thinking of you. God, I hate having to attend these fucking conferences—I mean I love traveling; it’s not like we can really go around anyway and even if we could, I’d use all my free time talking to you. I hate any moment spent without you baby. Tell me about your day; how was work? Did you finally take that exam you’ve been studying for these last two weeks—oh shit. I didn’t realize what time it was there, I’m sorry baby. You must be tired, I can call you back tomorrow—“ 

You waved your hand out at him signaling that it was okay. Even if you had to be up in less than five hours, you were perfectly fine with the idea of getting no sleep at all tonight if it meant talking to your favorite person until the sun rose. 

“It’s fine Mark. I miss you too—so much. I can always message my professor and tell her I’m sick if I’m not feeling up to attending class tomorrow. Work was work; tiring and frustrating as it always is and school is well—school. Nothing new. I want to hear about you though—“

“We’ll get to me later baby. It hurts knowing that you’re going through something—I’m sure there’s more to it that you’re not telling me. I hate that you suffer by yourself and it’s even harder when I’m away and I can’t hold you and tell you that everything is going to be okay. But it will be and you know why? Because you have me. I got you y/n. You know you can always run to me—confide in me. That’s what I’m here for. To help carry your burden with you. I’m sure you’re well aware that I want nothing more than to carry your problems in your place. I would do anything just to make you happy—I hope you know that. I probably don’t say it as often as I should, but fuck—I just want to give you the whole world; the entire universe because it’s what you deserve.” 

You could feel the tears brimming at your eyelids and if he was there with you, you would probably playfully shove him for making you cry with his sweet words before leaving chaste kisses all over his face. One thing you admired about your boyfriend, on top of the infinite amount of other things was his way with words. Mark preferred to show you through his actions rather than tell you with his words exactly what you meant to him but when he did speak up about his feelings, your heart would combust in to a million different pieces. 

He even wrote you a couple of letters filled with love and adoration because he wanted to remind you when he wasn’t around that you were all he could ever want and need for the rest of his life. The two of you talked for around half an hour until you found yourself re-positioning yourself when your leg got a cramp for sitting on it too long. You didn’t think anything of it, but as soon as you fixed yourself, you were quick to notice how Mark’s jaw was now clenched as he began grazing his teeth along his bottom lip. 

You’ve been with him long enough to know what his ministrations and movements meant; those two in particular usually meant that he was either uncomfortable or horny. But you didn’t understand how he could be either; he was fine just a few seconds ago—why was he looking as if he was on the verge of a mental breakdown. 

“Hey Mark, everything okay?”

“Is that my shirt?” 

You looked down at his black champion tee that was practically swallowing you whole, just like most of his clothes that you’d find yourself wearing every now and then. He never failed to rave about how sexy you looked in his clothes and sometimes he didn’t have the willpower to let it stay on you for all too long before ripping it off and showing you the effect that seeing you in any of his clothes would do for him. 

Your hair was a mess, there were bags under your eyes and your lips were chapped from not feeling the need to moisturize them; so you didn’t feel like you were at all ravishing or attractive in any way. Surely, seeing you in his shirt couldn’t be the reason why he was riled up all of a sudden—could it? 

“Oh, yeah. I was so exhausted I just grabbed the closest item of clothing near the sink. Is there something wrong? It smells good. Just like you—wait, is it dirty? Did you not wash it yet? I can go change—“

“No no—shit—can you lean back or something? I want to see you, full body.” 

You did as you were told and pushed your computer further away from where you were sitting before moving back just a little in order for him to get a better look at you. It wasn’t till you saw him gulp as a whimper fell from the back of his throat did you know exactly what was going on. 

“Mark—“

“Fuck—you look so fucking breathtaking Y/n—so damn sexy—don’t get me wrong, you always look so beautiful. But when you’re in one of my shirt it’s just—why the fuck am I in Japan right now this is bullshit.” 

A soft giggle fell from your lips; whenever Mark would get horny, that was when he was the most vocal about his emotions. He was extremely vulgar and his words were always so dirty; so naughty. It was funny listening to him talk on the phone to his boss or a couple of his colleagues knowing just how filthy and lewd he could be during your love making sessions. Your boyfriend was the definition of dominant. 

There were a few occasions where he would allow you to take charge—when you would dominate him, you would put all your effort and energy in to driving him to the brink of insanity. The older boy didn’t know what he preferred; edging you until you would beg for him to let you cum, or being tied up to the bed while you ride him at an exceedingly quickened pace. You could feel the warmth building in between your thighs at his words on top of the frustration that he wasn’t there to help you with the forming orgasm you were now completely aware of. 

“You know babe, now that you’ve mentioned it—I do feel pretty warm in here. Maybe I should take this off.” 

You decided to mess with him; knowing that he was probably suffering and trying to hide the fact that he was definitely hard as a rock right now. His shirt was gently thrown to the side of the bed and soon your breasts were on full display for him. Watching his jaw drop at the sight of your bare chest only made you want to continue putting on a show for him. Slowly, you brought your hands up and cupped both your breasts in your hands—massaging and kneading your mounds all but gently before bringing your nipples in between your fingers and twisting them. 

Breast play had to be one of your favorite forms of foreplay; specifically because Mark—well, the asshole was good at every single thing he did. Sports, cooking and baking, education, singing, cracking unsolved mysteries and blowing your mind in more ways than one. His fingers; they had to be the prettiest fingers you’ve ever seen on someone before and you weren’t being biased because he was your boyfriend. 

Mark had such long, skinny fingers and he knew exactly how to use them. His hands were almost double the size of yours—yet your hands fit perfectly together as if you were made for one another. Although you were very insecure about your body, no matter how many times Mark practically worshipped it and reminded you how he loved every single one of your body parts; especially your face, breasts, thighs and ass, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t confident in your boobs. Honestly, your breasts were one of the only parts that you genuinely liked about yourself. 

Sometimes, you would wear certain tops that showed enough cleavage to get a rise out of your boyfriend and every single time, you did. Mark looked as if his eyes were about to pop out of his head and you had to stifle back a few moans from how good it felt. No matter how much you were enjoying this; playing with yourself in front of your boyfriend, you knew it would feel so much better if he was the one doing it to you. 

“Fuck Y/n, you’re going to be the death of me. Shit—what I wouldn’t give to be the one fondling your pretty titties. Fuck—just wait till I get home princess. I’m gonna suck the shit out of them; you’re going to regret this. You’re so beautiful—I can’t get over how gorgeous you are. You’re really going to kill me.” You gave him a smirk and playfully brought your bottom lip in between your teeth. “Mmm—Mark—feels so good—“

“I bet it does baby—you look so ethereal—twisting your perky nipples like that. But I’m sure it doesn’t feel as nice as it would if it were me. Shit y/n—I want to titty fuck you so badly right now. I swear, it’s like your breasts get bigger whenever I’m away. Should I show you just how crazy you’re driving me right now?” 

You immediately nodded in agreement; the desire to see Mark’s cock was seeping through your veins. You didn’t care if you came off too eager or too excited; it’s been almost three weeks since you’ve seen your boyfriend and even longer since he was buried balls deep inside of you. Sex wasn’t a huge deal in your relationship—well, it was both yours and Mark’s favorite physical activity, but unlike other couples, you cared about other forms of intimacy just as much as you did making love. 

Mark was a huge fan of cuddling, spooning and holding hands. Your boyfriend was extremely clingy and overprotective whenever it came to you; but that was just apart of his nature. He wasted no time in yanking off his slacks; the outline of his cock was prominent against his grey briefs. You could feel your mouth water at the sight; to some people, penises were very ugly, but something about Mark’s always had you on your knees—begging for him to shove it down your throat. His girth was long and extremely thick. As soon as he took off his underwear, you suddenly stopped your movements and eagerly leaned forward to get a better look at him. 

“Someone’s excited.”

“That’s the understatement of the year. I could cum right now just at the sight of your tits alone. Fuck—you’re the one who caused this painful ass erection baby, I wish you were the one who would solve it.” He spit on his hand and brought the saliva down to the tip of his cock; he lubricated himself and you could feel your breath hitch when he let out a soft moan. 

“Babe—fuck Mark, there’s nothing more I want than to suck you off—“ If this were under different circumstances, you were sure he’d let out a snarky chuckle like he normally would every time you made it clear that you wanted to blow him; or if you wanted sex. You were always so soft spoken; so modest and you hardly ever were vocal when it came to voicing your desires. 

You were more of the type to mess around with him; gliding your hands gently along his thigh, palming him through his pants and even hovering over his lap; grinding yourself against his dick while leaving wet kisses against the juncture of his neck. Whether it was because you were extremely turned on or because it’s been a while since you and your boyfriend were intimate, but sometime came over you and you felt yourself wanting to take over of this cyber sex session.

“Mark—close your eyes baby. I want to take care of you. Pretend I’m there with you and do as I say. Grab the bottom of your cock; bring your thumb along the vein and slowly pump yourself.” 

Watching the veins on his neck grow made it adamant that he was enjoying your dominance and you used that to your advantage. He let out a very faint whine; you wouldn’t have heard it if you weren’t giving him your full attention and you were well aware that if you were to touch yourself, you’d be soaking at this point. 

“Circle your thumb around your tip, and graze the slit as gently as possible. God Mark—I’ll purchase a ticket to Tokyo right now just to wrap my mouth around your cock.” This earned you a mixture of a laugh and a cough and you found yourself laughing along with him. 

“Is that a promise? We can put this on pause and I’ll buy one for you; you don’t even need to pack a thing. All I need is you—keep talking like that and you’re going to lose your voice once I get home. I know I keep saying this, but it’s because it’s true and I can’t get over it—you’re so fucking sexy. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but just know that I love you; with every breath I take and every single beat of my heart. I love you more than I will ever be able to express to you in words. As much as I want to continue going in to depth about the love I have for you, you can’t be having all the fun here. Take off your underwear y/n—I can’t believe you’re wearing that one. How did I forget to take it with me? I remembered to sneak the matching bra in my suitcase—“

“So that’s where it went, I’ve been looking for it since you left—weirdo.”

“Hey, you have your kinks and I have mine. Now—take off your panty and do as I say.” 

With a quick roll of your eyes, you stripped yourself free of your red thong and flung it across of the room. It was probably a mess now with all your pieces of clothing lying around, but you didn’t care. There was a flame burning in your core that you wanted to hurry up and get around to reaching your release. This wasn’t the first time the two of you had sex over webcam; but you felt as if this time would be different from your past experiences. 

Not only did you miss your boyfriend terribly, but you’ve been daydreaming about the last time the two of you made love the night before he left and you could still feel the way his cock stretched out your walls. Your fingers absentmindedly made their way down to your entrance; you brought your index and your middle finger in your mouth and sucked on them before returning them back down to your folds. 

“Fuck—fuck, fuck—such a pretty little mouth and an even prettier pussy. Tell me baby—who does that pussy belong to? Tell me while you drag your digits along your core y/n.” 

You traced your fingers back and forth along your entrance; gathering some of your essence on your fingers and bringing them back to your mouth. During most of your sexual activities—Mark, whether it would be when he would finger you or when he would eat you out, would have you taste yourself so you were well aware why he was so addicted to the way your pussy tasted. 

Although you were a big fan of giving him blow jobs, Mark was a professional at giving head. He ate your pussy like it was a delicacy and he was very vocal about how pleasuring you brought him equal amounts of pleasure himself. Next to fucking your tits and ramming himself inside of you, he loved going down on you. On the days that work was extremely stressful, or your classes were bombarding you with too many assignments; Mark would take care of you—either making you dinner or ordering your favorite food, preparing you a bubble bath, and sucking the life out of your pussy in order to take your mind off of your many frustrations. 

You sucked your fingers dry of all your pre-cum and let out a loud pop before returning them back to their previous position. Multiple swears and wanton moans left Mark’s mouth as he continued to guide his hand back and forth along his cock all the while watching you shove your fingers inside of your cunt. It felt amazing; anytime the two of you were intimate—even on the days you were both exhausted beyond belief and just gave each other oral to both reach your highs, you could never get over the feeling of ecstasy and euphoria that came over you every time Mark would bring you to heaven with his tongue. 

It was in that moment that you realized the last time you kissed him was almost a month ago. If your schedule wasn’t so hectic, you probably would have went with your boyfriend. The two of you were like magnets; everywhere you went, people could expect Mark to follow no matter where it was. Most boyfriends would get bored having to wait outside while their girlfriends went shopping, but Mark would follow you around to each and every store; he even gave his opinion on what he thought would look good on you and what he would love to rip off of you. 

To your dismay, he would pay for everything even against your many complaints but like he said, he just wanted to make you happy. He felt bad that he had to travel all around the world a lot, so he felt like he wanted to buy you a couple of things to make up for being absent every so often. 

There were days your boyfriend contemplated on quitting his job and finding one that didn’t require him to leave all the time; but this job had amazing benefits and because he was still so young, yet had a position that most of his coworkers twenty years his senior haven’t even experienced before, he knew he wouldn’t be able to find a job even half as good as the one he had now. But he would give it all up and even work as a barista or a cashier in a grocery store if it meant being able to see you, kiss you, hold you and go to bed with you in his arms every single day. 

“Damnit y/n—ahhh—you’re such a goddess—my pretty petal—pump yourself harder baby. Faster—tell me how it feels. Grab your clit and twist it in between your fingers; I bet you’re like the Pacific Ocean right now. I’m sure you’re just as tight as you are wet baby. Keep going. Pretend it’s me; burying my long fingers in that tight cunt of yours. I can just picture how good you feel clenching around me. Flick your clit; ugh, I miss nibbling on it and taking it in between my teeth. I miss the way you would tighten your thighs around my head—and don’t even get me started on how much I miss whenever you would ride my face. I don’t think I can handle being away from you much longer y/n—it’s not even just because I miss fucking you—I mean I do—God do I miss railing the shit out of you—but I miss you. So much. I miss seeing your contagious smile that I’m sure could cure cancer, and your laugh that never fails to light up an entire room. I miss your lips and how they meld perfectly against mind. I miss looking at your beautiful eyes and the way you tell a story with them. I miss being the cause of the blush on your cheeks. I can’t wait to finally finish here and come back home to you. Just a couple more days baby then I’m all yours okay. Have I ever told you how grateful I am that you’re so patient? Thank you for waiting for me y/n—I—love you—“ 

You could feel tears brimming at the corner of your eyelids. Although you were just moments away from coming on your fingers, his words tugged on your heartstrings. Sure, he texted you every single day and told you that he would much rather be home with you; sat in between your legs and leaning his head against your chest while he played video games—but it was so heartwarming hearing him describe every single thing he missed about you. 

“I miss you too Mark—I would do anything for you. I’ll wait for however long you need me to my love. I love you—I hope you know that you’re the only good thing I’ve got going for me. I don’t care what happens in the future; I just really want you in it.” 

The two of you continued your movements; you quickened your pace; you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to your release. Your fingers felt so amazing being clenched by your velvety walls and you were actually doing really well with picturing that it was Mark fingering you. His movements were just as relentless and he even began fondling his balls. He tilted his head back and the sight made you whimper at how erotic it was. His neck; along with everything else on his body was long and you could still faintly see a couple of the love-bites you left on his collarbone. Before you knew it, you felt a sticky substance on your fingers and allowed yourself to come on your digits before releasing an embarrassingly loud moan. 

“Holy shit—that was so fucking hot. Suck your fingers for me baby—help me reach my release—shit, shit, shit—“ 

His semen squirted out in rapid spurts and you were upset that you weren’t able to feel him fill you up to the hilt with his warm, creamy liquid. His hair clung to his forehead as sweat dripped down the sides of his cheek. You were sure if you were to look in the mirror, your hair would be just as tousled and your cheeks would be flushed. 

The two of you spent a couple moments in comfortable silence; both coming down from your highs. He took a little while longer to come to his senses and you used this time to look at him in awe of just how breathtaking he was. This was a common occurrence right after the two of you finished your love making sessions; you would bask in each other’s presence and sometimes if you were still up for it, the two of you would talk until one of you would finally let sleep take over. Once you were both settled down, you gave him a soft smile and flopped on to the bed. 

“Honestly, I think I’m going to get a good nights rest now. Thank you baby, that was wonderful. I’m sure I would have came faster if it was your cock inside of me, but that was a good distraction nonetheless.” He beamed at you. 

“No, thank you. That was mind blowing as always y/n. I can’t wait until I have you in my arms—and on my cock. I love watching you as you cum—I wish you could see what I see, your expression when you reach your orgasm is so fucking tantalizing. I plan on having you the entire day when I come back home, so just be ready baby. Wait—you’re not going to bed naked are you—“

“Oh—I wasn’t planning to, but now that I know it’s probably going drive you insane—“

“You wouldn’t dare—fuck—just wait until I get my hands on you—“

You gave him a sultry smirk and began running your fingers in between the valley of your breasts. “Hmmm, I might just take the day off just to touch myself. Might even walk around the place naked. Too bad my boyfriend isn’t here to fuck me up against the balcony or up against the fridge—“ 

The growl that came from the back of his throat did not go unnoticed to you and you found the coil in your tummy tightening again. Only Mark Tuan could get you horny again minutes after getting you to come on your fingers. Even if he repeatedly called you sexy almost fifteen minutes ago; you felt like that word didn’t do him justice. 

“That’s it—I’m telling my supervisor I need to come home. Tonight. I’m gonna kiss the shit out of you then fuck the shit out of you.” 

You weren’t sure if he was just saying that in the heat of the moment, but you were soon growing excited at the thought of finally being wrapped in his embrace again. As much as you wanted to keep up the sexual banter; you came to the realization that Mark was only half naked. His dress shirt was soaked with sweat and his tie was flipped around the other way. He looked at you in confusion once you bursted in to a fit of laughter. 

“What’s so funny?”

“I hope you packed a few other dress shirts; you have cum stains all over the bottom.” He released a frustrated grunt before sticking his tongue out at you. 

“They’re all in my dirty laundry pile. I was planning on using this one for the rest of the week. See, even the more reason to come home tonight. I expect you on your hands and knees once I get home. As fun as it was watching you fuck yourself with your fingers through webcam, nothing compares to seeing the real thing in person. I think it’s time you go to bed, you’re going to need all the energy you can get for what I have in mind for the both of us. Sweet dreams baby, I’ll see you real soon.”

[project-sour-grapes]

My Precious Entitled Career

Despite my “success,” I've come to the realization that how I approach everything is wrong.

I am a professional in tech and an artist. My friends call me patient and hardworking beyond what is expected. In high school, I was one of those never-crack-a-book honors students with a fancy scholarship. However, when I look inward, all of these good fruits seem like an accident.

I was recently let go from a tech company that your average zoomer would know the name of. There was a conflict around compensation that played out over a week or two that escalated into my being terminated. While the decisions I made were kosher with my contract and were built upon advice from other professionals who had been in my shoes, I now consider my approach to be a failure. It's important to note that I don't regret standing up for myself, as that lesson was overdue for separate reasons. However, my mindset throughout the conflict did not serve me any good and I've now seen the severity of my entitlement and self importance through a magnifying glass.

I could detail you the statistics on median pay for my job, my old company, my state, etc. I could state why the situation seemed unjust and why I felt underappreciated and fooled. Maybe it was unfair on paper, and maybe I had the right to be angry, depending on who you ask. But I don't care anymore.

Time has been plentiful for my unemployed self. I have spent it ruminating, walking, and listening to audiobooks, one of which is Ego is the Enemy by Ryan Holiday. In one chapter, Holiday details Jackie Robinson's struggles as a black man trying to play professional baseball. If anything was fair on paper, it would have been Jackie Robinson fighting back against the racists (which he did and was arrested for when he was younger). But as a professional, he was encouraged by others to ignore racism and just beat them in games. And he did. He didn’t fight anybody anymore, even though he would have been right to and those idiots would have deserved it. Being a famous baseball player and fully grown adult yet being treated like a non-human or a child is the peak of unfair. But Holiday’s book’s point is that looking past unfairness towards the mission is sometimes necessary to accomplish it.

I'm not saying my life struggle compares to Jackie Robinson's. In fact, that is exactly what I'm not saying. My "unfair" situations pale in comparison to his. He climbed Everest and I'm over here upset about an ant hill. And in some sense, I made that ant hill myself. I mean that if he can experience literal crimes and keep his head up, then I need to shut my damn mouth.

What is the correct approach to my work then? Let's rewind a bit. Full disclosure, my old approach to my life's work was this:

I am going to work myself to death for you, and if you don't give me the world in return, that is a moral failure.

Isn't that a biting statement? There is the entitlement out in the open. I'm not proud to have thought this way at all, and I'm sorry to all of you have had to put up with this mindset from me. But there it is.

Now. Where do we go from here? Well, during my unemployed ruminations over the past few weeks, I came across Dr. Alok Kanojia's (AKA HealthyGamerGG on Youtube) video on motivation, fairness, and how we're not entitled to anything. He talked about how, since life is unfair and unpredictable, we are not entitled to the results of our actions. We don't automatically have the right to the outcome of an action. We only have the actions themselves. Studying doesn’t entitle us to an A+. We are only entitled to the studying itself. That’s the way of the universe. In my old job, I prioritized work above all else. I forewent classes that I ended up failing or dropping. I begged to work overtime. I was, in the words of multiple others, "kicking ass." Then I decided I was entitled to something because of it. And I got angry when that was not satisfied. That is where I went wrong. It is true that I was promised a few things that did not come to fruition. Maybe it was morally acceptable to be angry about unfulfilled promises. But like I said, I’m done caring about that. That's not what it is about anymore.

What is it about is action. All we have in life is our actions. The more I think about what I value, the more I see the emphasis on action.

When we say to live in the present instead of the past or future, we're talking about action, since the present is the only time action can happen

When we roll our eyes at the person who says "I'm the idea guy," we're valuing action

The concept "Show, don't tell" works, because it is about action

Giving your soul to a job/person/thing who didn't even ask for it, then holding out your hand and saying "Gimme" is not about action. It is focused on outcome. Maybe it’s not fair that we can’t expect equal rewards in return for our work all the time. And on paper, it really is. Give X, get X. Seems fair and logical. But for me, for that to be the starting place and the motivation for my work no longer serves me. I’m not saying fairness isn’t a worthy goal or that it is bad. Fairness can be the outcome of a good mission. But it is not required to complete the mission. And it’s not going to be the sole motivator for my decisions, because life is grey and humans can’t always deliver on promises, through no fault of their own. What I'm not going to do anymore is throw my hands up and say, "Sorry, this is unfair so I quit.”

Where this leaves me is that I'm reconsidering my career--not only how I approach the work but the field I chose entirely. In the past, I tried to do biomedical research, but I failed. I have also enrolled and unenrolled in many an EMT class and have taken and failed Biology, Chemistry, and Physics classes repeatedly. This was all because of a hazy dream of being a doctor that has sat in the back of my mind every day. 

I kept trying out this doctor dream, but I would always hit a tiny snag, exaggerate it, and give up. I have gone through about 10 multi-month cycles of this for years. And guess what the snags were:

That professor gave me a B+ instead of an A on a single exam. Pre-med education is inherently unfair, and I'm not putting up with this.

I have to study this bio concept that I probably won't even use if I become a real doctor. That's a waste of my time, so I'd rather fail/drop than learn it.

Doctors have to get up at 5am? That goes against science on sleep schedules, so I'm not going to do it.

How pissy and entitled? Who thinks like that? Me, apparently--or who I hope to be "old me."

How did I get so caught up in what is fair or unfair that I lost sight of the forest for the trees? News flash, self... everything is unfair! Gym is always packed? Unfair. Fighting cancer? Unfair. Some idiot who cares less than you do got picked for the job? Unfair. Hell, the unfairness of life is half the reason why we even get up in the morning. Name a career that isn’t about taking an unfair situation and turning it into a better one. (If you can, maybe don’t do that career.) We do stuff as humans, because it’s unfair. Or the alternative, not doing it, would be unfair. If doctors threw up their hands because disease is unfair, we’d still be fighting polio. I wouldn’t make it one second in caveman times with my old attitude. The hungry lions staring at my caveman camp don’t care what I think is fair.

So here's the mission. We are going to look unfair things in the face and still do them. Despite their unfairness. Despite the fear that something will take more than it gives. Despite the brain saying, "This is inefficient, so let's not do it at all." In fact, it's because of their unfairness that we will do them. Then we can leave them better off for someone else. Or do them better the next time. I am calling this Project Sour Grapes. It starts right now.

[yourneighborhooddisaster]

kings of unconventional (part one) VIRGIL

This is the first part of my DLAMP soulmate AU ft. aro soulmates Remy and Remus. The first chapter is from Virgil’s POV (still third person tho, don’t worry).

Warnings: swearing, mentions of arophobia and homophobia, Remy has an asshole dad, mentions of alcohol, this story will have mentions of nsfw stuff but no direct sex.

Tagging: @emiisanxious @genderfluidmoma @my-life-is-an-artistic-mess @penguins-penguins Hopefully that’s everyone. Please ask to be tagged in the upcoming parts. I would be honored! And I love reblogs, comments, and constructive critcism. Fic under the cut.

VIRGIL flopped down on the couch with a sigh. Today had been a long day. It was some sort of sick joke the universe played on him, making the guy with extreme social anxiety the one with four soulmates. He was so tired of people he sometimes was glad he hadn’t met his soulmates, but he knew they would be different. They also couldn’t make fun of him because they were stuck with it too. Roman, Logan, Patton, and Janus, the list on his arm read. They were all in neat black print, for now. Virgil knew someone who met their soulmate in middle school, the writing changing immediately to grey lopsided chicken scratch. He at least hoped his soulmates would have legible handwriting.

“Sup gurl!” Remy strutted into the living room like he owned it; to be fair, he technically did. Handing Virgil a coffee so black it practically poisoned you, he sipped his own drink, not bothering to take off his sunglasses. They were the fancy kind that adjusted to different amounts of light, so Remy basically never took them off. Virgil mumbled his gratitude before chugging half his coffee, glad to feel the jolt to his system. “How was work?”

“Like usual. Shit.” Virgil didn’t even have to look up at his roommate leaning over the edge of the couch to know that Remy rolled his eyes. “I won’t let you pay my rent.”

“Oh come on, you know I don’t have to work, and then we could just sleep all day and party all night! Then nobody would bother us about-” Remy cut himself short, not really wanting to say it. Soulmates. Truth be told, Virgil knew Remy was under more stress than he was about the whole thing. Remy’s name was still neat black print - and he was desperate to keep it that way. He was aromantic, and Virgil couldn’t even imagine not having that attraction, and yet having a name, everything you did never really changing the fact that you felt so invalidated if you even looked at your wrist. At least Virgil was polyamorous, and gay. He hoped, for his friend’s sake, that he would never ever meet this Remus.

“You know my answer Rem. And besides, this way we interact with your parents as little as possible. You know it’s my job as the bad influence to keep you away from them.” Remy snorted, nearly choking on his coffee.

“Please. You think you’re the bad influence? Remember that time when you passed out after one drink and I-”

“Shut your damn mouth.” Remy erupted into laughter, nearly spilling his coffee.

“B-but I didn’t even-” He was struggling to speak through his laughter. Virgil huffed and chugged half of his coffee. “I hadn’t even mentioned that it was a spiked punch, it wasn’t even a real drink. You used to be such a lightweight.”

“I used to be a normal person with a functional liver and then you corrupted me, you mean bastard.” Remy snorted, then handed Virgil his computer.

“Whatever. Have fun scrolling through Tumblr for the next couple hours you fucking nerd. I’m gonna get ready to go out.” Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Oh come on, you know I always get hammered at Sandy’s club on Thursdays. And tonight I’m wearing my sequin jacket, so I have to decide which way I wanna flip the sequins.”

“...It’s five o’clock, you lunatic.” Remy sniffed and strutted to his room, not bothering to answer. Virgil sighed, opening his computer, immediately going to Tumblr. It seemed that Logan, a.k.a. logan_environmental_scientist, had a new campaign up. Virgil skimmed the post, but he stopped when he read that Logan was working with his friend Emile to help those with anxiety and depression by setting up a communal garden, something about plants being biologically calming. The fact that Logan was one of his soulmate names had never been completely out of the equation. But Virgil could hardly believe that he could ever deserve someone so smart and motivated.

“Damn it!” Virgil jumped at the yell from Remy’s room. “Dad! I can’t just-” Here he was obviously cut off. Virgil scowled. Remy’s father was a greasy businessman who was still deluded that ‘Remus’ was a girl’s name and that Remy would find his soulmate and fall in love and get married and have a son to pass down the family name. The only reason Remy still associated with his father was to receive the money he gave him. But it was not out of any kindness. His father was only concerned about the press and tax benefits. “Fine! I want an extra thousand dollars by next month then!” Remy stormed out of his room, taking the rest of Virgil’s coffee. He didn’t protest, knowing that Remy deserved it for putting up with this asshole.

“Are you okay bud?” Remy sighed.

“I’m fine, I just… Dad wants me to make a huge donation to some charity in the name of the company. Says it’s good for press. He’ll provide the money but…” Remy sat down next to Virgil. “I don’t know! I’m not his fucking researcher, and I don’t want to make his company look better. His company isn’t even that bad, it’s just the fact that it’s his. And I have no clue who I’m gonna donate to. Something local and small should piss him off.” Virgil hesitated.

“Well, I may know a worthy campaign. It’s raising money for a communal garden, and I’ve been following the guy for a while. He’s all about the environment, but he doesn’t have the funds to go bigger. And he’s gay too, which should anger your father sufficiently.” He showed Remy his computer screen and let him skim the post.

“Perfect! This is why I’m friends with you.”

“Why, because I’m stunningly clever?” Virgil joked.

“No, because you manage to simp for the right people.” Virgil stammered in indignation, hating the fact that his face reddened so easily. “Oh come on, don’t be so serious! So, which way should I wear the sequins tonight?”

[nelllraiser]

adventures in guilt | dave & nell

TIMING: shortly after nell summoned a shark-jellyfish demon. PARTIES: @seizethecarpe and @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: dave returns the jacket nell forgot on the boat, and the two try to navigate a life with guilt. CONTENT: sibling death mentions.

Dave carefully folded down the coat over his arm, smoothing out the material idly. That wasn’t the full reason, the texture of the scales under his fingers was captivating, more interesting than anything else nearby. But this was the college campus, Dave wasn’t sure he would want to touch anything else, the risk of beer stickiness on everything was too damn high. It was drizzling, cool gusts biting the needles off of nearby trees and blowing them around the park bench. As unbothered as he was by the cold, Dave hated icy winds. The sooner the ‘caster showed up, the better. He waved at her when he spotted her, standing up from the bench. This’d be interesting. 

Generally Nell didn’t come to campus this early. Her visits to the university mostly consisted of visits to her friends, and the occasional sleuthing for a bounty, but classes hadn’t even begun yet for the day. Thankfully she hadn’t overslept, because the witch hadn’t slumbered in the first place. With Bea gone to New York, the house was just herself and Luce, and far too much like it had been when their third sister had been struck down, existing only as a ghost. It made for restless nights that came more often than they already had, though Nell had managed to fill a good amount of them with work. As Dave came into sight, Nell felt the familiar sensation of guilt flooding her stomach, a feeling that hadn’t left her since the accidental deaths she’d caused— but one she’d learned how to manage in a way that allowed her to function rather than wallow. Unfortunately the sight of the selkie brought all the regrets of that day back the instant she set eyes on him, though she squared her shoulders in sheer refusal of letting them overwhelm her. Finally getting within speaking distance, she gave the man a nod before speaking. “Hey.” Shit, what else was she supposed to say? There had to be something else, right? “Thanks for keeping my jacket.”

“Wasn’t about to do anything else with it,” Dave said, handing it over, scrutinising her with a trademark scowl, that did little to show what he was really thinking. Somehow, she looked older now than the last time they’d met, and he knew how that kind of guilt could eat at someone’s youth in the worst possible ways. But he also knew that the younger you were, the more important it was to be able to hide that kind of shit, and he had no doubt that plenty of her younger friends didn’t see it at all. “You holding up alright?”

Under any other circumstance Nell might have jokingly asked about whether or not the jacket was his color, or if he’d sneaked one single try on. Nevermind the fact that she was fairly certain he wouldn’t even be able to get his arm into the sleeves of the tiny jacket. Instead, she just accepted the jacket wordlessly before layering it over the sweater she was already wearing. Yet another thing she hadn’t inherited along with her lack of fire abilities was the heightened body temperature that went along with it, and Nell was almost endlessly cold in the winters of Maine. His question caught her wholly off-guard, rather convinced that he still thought her some idiotic, and guitless spellcaster who didn’t know what she was doing, and didn’t care to think beyond that. Surprise flickered ever so briefly over her features before it was quickly replaced with a frown, and suspiciously drawn eyebrows. “I’m not the one who got eaten by a demon shark.” She wasn’t about to admit the truth to a man who’d witnessed one of her greatest mistakes when she barely admitted it to herself.

“No. But I know a thing or two about being eaten by guilt,” Dave replied slowly, like the words were being dragged out of him. That he knew he could offer her the comfort that people who hadn’t been there couldn’t. He still wasn’t convinced she deserved it. He wasn’t convinced power like that, the kind that was at once a tempest and could summon a tempest, ought to be allowed to live. But that sorta shit wasn’t his call to make, not unless she was deliberately slaughtering people. Hell, in a town like this, there was probably some sort of person who specialised in ‘casters. 

Nell watched the man with a guarded gaze, as if trying to see below his exterior to see what secrets or well-hidden intentions were hidden underneath the apparent concern he was now exhibiting. Though even calling it concern might be a bit of a stretch. His words seemed reluctant— almost as unwillingly spoken as her reply was. “And you think that’s what’s happening to me?” Nevermind that it was the truth. Beyond her inability to properly express herself was the question of why he was bothering with her in the first place. WIth the way he’d reacted on the boat paired with his attempts to pin her against the railing- she’d thought he’d want to get in and out of this situation as quickly as possible.

 “Don’t know. It’s why I’m asking. Doesn’t mean you gotta answer.” Dave replied with an off handed shrug tracing his fingers over the grain of the bench. The arm of the bench had been smashed off once or twice before, the wood was a different age to the age of the sea, but even still there was an unnerving stain deep inside the grain of the wood, that couldn’t quite be washed out no matter how hard the college tried. Dave knew a thing or two about that sort of stain, too. “Well,” he said after a moment, “If that’s all,” He eyed her, just the hint of softness buried in all his wrinkles. “I know how busy you young folk are. Wouldn’t want to keep you.”

“But...why do you care to ask?” Nell replied with another question, still not entirely willing to answer his question. There was still a wariness to her gaze, as if she were waiting for him to turn around and start yelling like he had on the boat. Why did he care whether the guilt was eating her alive or not? She couldn’t help shake the feeling that Dave was simply waiting to turn the tables once again, that he’d change his mind and cast her out just as easily as the coven and her parents had. He was right about her being busy, though. Between the demon cult, her bounty hunting, and potential new jobs she’d been kept running. Still...there was something making her want to linger despite her anxious certainty that nothing good would come of it. Perhaps it was the smallest hint of softness beneath his words, and the fact that she found so little of it these days. “What about you? You said you know about being eaten by guilt.”

“I can take the question back if it bothers you so,” Dave replied with a nonplussed lookin on his face, because the answer to her question was complicated as hell. “Sure do. Life as long and messy as mine, I got plenty to feel guilty for. Not summonin’ demon sharks, I’ll give you that, but enough messes with a body count, that’s for sure.” Dave rubbed the bridge of his nose. Grey clouds overhead were beginning to promise rain. He wasn’t about to share the nature and brunt of his messes, whether they were the sinking boat variety, victims of a monster Dave had failed to stop, or drowning someone who… it was probably not right to have drowned. “Just saying, storing that emotional stuff like a Molotov’s just gonna have it blow in your face. I’d know.” 

“It doesn't bother me,” Nell commented defensively, even though the opposite was true. She just didn’t want to admit such a thing. Not to herself and certainly not to the man who’d already see too much of things she wanted to hide or forget. “Does my question bother you?” She posed the rebuttal as a means of trying to get the burden of explanation off herself, shifting it in Dave’s direction instead. The mention of a body count wasn’t something she’d expected from the selkie, and it was plain to see her curiosity had been piqued. Fortunately, she knew better than to ask for details at a time like this, but that didn’t stop her from asking another question. “Well then...what do you do with it?” Her tone was uncomfortable, arms folded defensively over her chest. She wasn’t fond of appearing weak in front of people she barely knew, or asking for help at all, but desperation was starting to get the better of her. Besides- maybe he would just think she was asking for someone else’s sake. 

“No,” Dave replied honestly, eyebrows raised at her defensive demeanor, quietly letting her know that he could see just how reticent she was to talk about it. But he didn’t push again, getting ready to leave her to her coat and her guilt when she pried another question out of herself. Dave’s look was probably more understanding than she’d like, but he still sighed. 

“Agh, hell,” Dave ran his hand through his hair, turning so he was side on to her when he leant against a nearby fence, his brows dipped deep in thought. For all his gentle cajoling, he wasn’t quite ready to open up to a stranger either. “Different things for different guilts. Some folks act like they never did anything wrong, bottle it up and continue on like nothing ever happened. Some folks spend a lifetime chasing a type of redemption that doesn’t exist, so they can do enough good to outbalance the bad, like it’s some cosmic scale they just gotta weigh up right. Hard to say which way leaves you more fucked up. Guess I deal with it with something in the middle. ‘M not a good person, but I can ensure I don’t make the same fuck ups as before. Focus on what keeps me going. If I face judgement after, I’ll have earned it.” He looked at her sidelong, trying to parse her reaction. “That answer your question?” As vague an answer as it was. There was no talking about the nights with angry outbursts, darker shades that he saw the world in, how quickly his mind twisted to the thought of solving issues by killing. He barely knew this girl, after all. 

Nell still didn’t understand why he’d taken the time to answer her questions to begin with, constantly surprised when he continued to linger with her as they spoke. She was silent as she mulled over Dave’s words, trying to fit them into cracks that lived in her as a result of her own guilt. She knew redemption wasn’t an option, one good thing didn’t magically replace one bad. And ignoring her guilt had never been an option for her, not when she was much better at wallowing in it. “So what you’re saying is it doesn’t get any better,” Nell snorted somewhat derisively, but it was meant as a comment at her own expense rather than Dave’s. She was thankful for his words, even if they hadn’t necessarily filled her with hope. Her foot scuffed at the ground, still uncomfortable despite letting the clam shell of her emotional state open in the slightest. “I mean- thanks for answering. I guess it makes sense that you just gotta learn from it and then deal with it.” After all that had been her experience so far, hadn’t it? Something about not being a good person struck a nerve in her, and she couldn’t help but think of how close Adam’s guilt had gotten him to making a lifelong mistake. “I think trying to be better is at least...the mark of a decent person.” That was the closest she managed to get when it came to offering Dave an opinion on his judgement day.

"Wouldn’t say it doesn’t get easier with time,” Dave replied, tilting his head until his neck cracked, easing some of the tension this conversation was giving him. “More manageable, less raw. Easier to put these things in perspective. You’re still young, you’ve got time to figure out how you want to deal.” Even if it didn’t, Dave was always aware that when he talked to young adults about shit, they had so little framework for how much they still had time to change and grow that he didn’t want to say shit to stifle that. The surest way to keep someone the same was to tell them they had no chance of changing. He looked at her sidelong, the tiniest corner of a smile on his face. “I like to think so,” he replied, in a distant, hypothetical way. It wasn’t something he was interested in applying to himself. 

He was right, technically. Nell was still young. But it felt like she’d been aged some fifteen years in that last twelve months alone. Being raised in White Crest meant she was more than familiar with its oddities and quirks, but she hadn’t remembered the little town being quite so emotionally destructive. Or maybe she’d just been too wrapped up in the swaddle of youth to experience it herself before she’d left, only to return after seeing how gruesome the rest of the world could be. For some naive reason she hadn’t expected it to follow her back home, but here she was with the literal scars along her arms and neck to prove otherwise. Her lips pursed as Dave refused to take part in her little charade of ‘asking for a friend’, feeling set off kilter when he addressed her and the guilt she held directly. “I never said I was talking about me,” she replied stubbornly as her face took on a somewhat petulant expression despite it being obvious that she’d been doing just that.

The beginning of his smile also caught Nell off-guard, and parts of why she’d found it so hard to believe that he could turn his anger from the boat around so quickly fell into place. She’d wanted him to be the persecutor, to tell her that she’d fucked up and confirm her as deserving of the guilt that lived in her chest like an iron set of chains. To give her the punishment she felt she deserved like her mother had done. The realization had her looking away from him, not wanting to give away any more emotion than she already had. “So you...what? Don’t have time to figure it out anymore?” For once her words weren’t meant as an old person joke at the expense of who she was asking. “Or have you just been letting it ‘get easier’ and put into perspective? And that’s the thing you’ve figured out?”

“Hmmm,” Came Dave’s noncommittal response, just looking at her sidelong. When she pouted like that, it was damn hard to remember that the girl was an adult who had gotten folk killed, not just a lost kid finding her way through the world. Which was what made her more dangerous.

“No. Just got bigger fish to fry.” It was a pact he’d made with himself a long damn time ago, as unhealthy as anything else on his list. He’d face his penance, whether that came at the end of a hunter’s knife or an Aipaloovik’s embrace. Dave knew damn well there were consequences to the choices he’d made over the past couple years, but that didn’t slow him down. He’d face it all, but only once the fury was dead, and he had his family’s pelts once more. He could carry the other, less important deaths he’d caused by choice or negligence or malice until that day. He was, in fact, doing just what he’d told Nell not to, letting a guilt define every part of him. “When it came down to it, I learned to carry what I needed to so that I could do what I had to. That’s all.”

“Yeah...yeah I get what you mean,” Nell mused as she thought back to the other times guilt had threatened to consume her. She’d gotten Bea killed. Watched her sister die because she’d been reckless and selfish, and hadn’t taken care of her problems properly. But even as that sickening knowledge had clawed away at her gut, she’d learned how to stomach it well enough to focus on bringing Bea back. Done what she needed to do...just like Dave had. Or at least it sounded that way. At this point she wasn’t sure what else there was to say, already feeling as if she’d said perhaps a little too much. “Anyway...thanks for the jacket.” Nell shrugged her shoulders to help it sit better on her shoulders as she stood and waited to see if Dave had anything else to say on the subject of guilt and otherwise.

“Sure,” Dave replied, noting the quick shut down of conversation with a wry smile. He straightened, shaking his head to work out any cricks as he began to turn to leave. “I know when I’ve been dismissed.” He began to walk away, before turning back to give her a stern look. “Don’t summon any more demon sharks, kid. I won’t be so nice next time.” Dave said, tapping the top of his head like he was tipping his cap to her. This time when he turned, he did not look back. Hell, he even whistled a tune he hadn’t been able to hear for 30 years.

[missymallow]

Drarry: Constellation.

---

"We need you to be Harry's boyfriend."

There were a few moments of silence before it was broken by the loud laugh of disbelief coming from the last person Harry wanted to be in this plan of theirs. 

"I'm sorry," said Malfoy, after he calmed down and Harry just had to roll his eyes because his tone clearly indicated that he was not sorry at all; in fact, the white-blond haired git's eyes were dancing with mirth. "I think I've misheard, you want me to be what?"

"Harry's boyfriend."

It was said with a finality, as if Malfoy had no right to decline the request. Pressing his lips into a thin line, Harry sent an exasperated glare towards Hermione who had her chin upwards as she gave Malfoy a challenging look, but the Slytherin male only raised his brows in amusement.

"Potter's boyfriend." said Malfoy eventually, lips curved in a teasing way as he regarded Harry and it took willpower for him not to squirm in his seat. 

Merlin, it was embarrassing enough to ask this insufferable git for help, but having those grey eyes lighten up when they landed on him was way beyond mortifying.

"Yes, Malfoy." said Hermione, confident and clear. "I know we're not always on the same page, but we really need your help on this one."

"Hm," hummed Malfoy, slightly smirking as he made a show to gracefully walk towards one of the tables, and rest his hips on top of it. "May I know why dear brother wasn't fit for the role?"

With that, they simultaneously turned to the person who had seated himself next to Harry, face slightly annoyed as he bore his blue eyes towards his brother's grey one, clearly unimpressed by his brother's behaviour. 

"Brother." he warned, but Malfoy was not having it. 

"I mean," drawled Malfoy, waving his younger brother dismissively. "Despite our eyes, we're basically the same person. A perfect copy of each other, because we're twins or did you miss the point, Granger?"

Perhaps Malfoy was the one who missed the point because despite everything, there was a reason why they picked Draco Malfoy instead of Leo Malfoy. And as much as he hated it, no matter how much he protested the idea; deep down, he perfectly knew why Malfoy fit the role better.

"Dragon," said Leo softly, voice controlled as he gathered himself carefully. "You're the only person who can perform this role with perfection."  

"Lion." sighed Malfoy. "You knew I can't associate well with your friends. Let alone pretending to be Potter's boyfriend."

Ha. He talked as if they can't hear him.

"Excuse me," said Harry out loud, finally deciding to take part in the conversation. Malfoy turned to him with a face feigned with innocence.

"Oh, he can talk." 

Harry narrowed his eyes at the dry comment before he rolled them. "Malfoy, if you must know, I'm not pleased to have you as my pretend boyfriend too."

Malfoy merely raised a brow.

"Harry." warned Hermione and Leo.

Harry grunted, annoyed that his friends basically own his life. So he did what he always did; he sighed heavily and crossed his arms together. "But I really need you to be part of this plan,"

Hermione and Leo send him a look and he sighed again. "Because you're- You're the only person who can do this."

Hermione and Leo nodded in approval. 

"Harry Potter needs my help." said Malfoy, a smirk appeared on his face as he started to walk teasingly towards him but stopped in front of his brother. 

"You know the magic words, Lion." said Malfoy, cocking his hips to his side and resting a hand on his slim waist. Harry had to look up at him, brows furrowed when he dragged his eyes in between the identical faces; Malfoy wore his hair short, while Leo had his hair long- chest length where he had loosely tied them behind his neck. They were identical, very much identical that it was hard for Harry to differentiate them the first time he met them back in their first year, save for their eyes. They were separated however, when Malfoy sorted into Slytherin whilst Leo was sorted into Gryffindor. That was how they became friends after all.

The twins literally dressed in the same way, as if they were a sole person until they reached fourth year when Malfoy suddenly cut his hair short; cropped at back, longer at the front, and decided to go for a more bad boy appearance which served their personality much better since despite being twins, their personality were the polar opposite. 

Leo was a reserved person; collective, calm, compassionate, kind hearted, and a great friend that sometimes Harry questioned the universe how a wonderful person like Leo had Malfoy for a twin brother, because Malfoy- Malfoy, was a definite description of a menace. He was loud, obnoxious, and the perfect example of a person whose job is to make Harry's life difficult. He has been, for the past seventh year of knowing each other. 

"Magic words?" asked Leo, tilting his head as he looked up to his brother with a perplexity. 

Malfoy quirk his lips, just slightly. "Magic words."

Leo frowned, before he chuckled as if something clicked inside his head, and gave his brother a smile that could melt a hard metal. "I need your help, brother. Can you do it for me, pretty please?"

Harry blinked, aware that the expression was only reserved when Leo was trying to get someone into doing what he wanted them to do, and he always succeeded so; Harry can confirm it, he was one of the victims after all. He quickly dragged his eyes to Malfoy, weirdly anticipating how he would handle his brother's scheming look.

But who he was kidding, if anything, he was looking at Malfoy because- there it was, that look that was served specifically for his younger brother; gone was the smirk, or the teasing tug of his lips, or the mean stare that he kept for everyone as if they were beneath him, or the hard look on his face. It was all gone, and replaced with something that never failed to strum Harry's heartstrings because when Malfoy looked like this, he seemed ethereal.

His face was decorated with a soft smile, fond and full of love as he looked down at his brother. His eyes silken with adoration, as if Leo hung the moon, as if Leo created the heavens and deserved to be praised and worshipped. He looked at Leo as if he was his world.

He watched in awe as Malfoy moved closer to his brother and leaned down to press a soft kiss on the crown of his head, pulling away to give Leo a charming grin. "You know I'll do anything for you."

Malfoy straightened up then, and Harry couldn't help but felt a major disappointment when Malfoy turned to him with a small sneer; soft smiles and silken eyes were gone the moment his eyes landed on Harry. 

"Consider me as a part of the team, then." said Malfoy, crossing his arms as he looked down to Harry. "I'd rather me to be your boyfriend, than Leo. Merlin knows what you'll do to him if I let it happen."

Harry stared at him incredulously. "What do you even mean?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes, moving to stand in front of him and leaned down to press a chaste kiss on the corner of his lips. "That."

Harry gaped, skin tingling from where the soft lips has touched and he stupidly watched as Malfoy smirked at him, grey eyes twinkling teasingly before he straightened up for the second time and turned around to walk straight to the door as he called, "Contact me anytime you want, till then, don't bother me."

Closing the door behind him, Malfoy has gone with a little bit of Harry's heart with him and he still can't tear his eyes from the door. He prays for Merlin to save him when they become boyfriends soon because he knows he can't survive. 

--

Looking at Harry's deep red face, Leo can't help but feel the weird tug on his chest. He was already suspicious of Harry's behaviour every time Draco was around, though he thought that he was fooling anyone by acting with hostility in front of Draco but Leo's was not fooled, and he tried to ignore his feelings, thinking it was nothing but Harry can't be harbouring a crush on his brother, right?

They were basically the same person, identical from the bottom to the top; a sole person. So it wouldn't make sense for Harry to harbour a crush on Draco because he was right there in front of Harry, always been. Why can't he look at him the same way he looked at Draco?

He bit his lips, thinking that perhaps including Draco in their plan was not a good idea after all. But, even if Harry's feelings were reciprocated somehow, Leo doesn't have to be worried because Draco will always do anything for him, he always has. That includes Harry, right?

---

Honestly, idk what this is but I just need to write for the sake of my motivation! and hey, twins are life. No fight, just love. cheers x

[dameronology]

london calling {poe x reader} - 1

a modern coffee shop au 

in this chapter: you could have sworn that london was trying to eat you alive. you didn’t ask the universe for a reason to stay in the city but it gave you one anyway - in the form of poe dameron, your new manager. 

warnings: swearing 

this was based off of a dream i had & then @cherieboba​ mentioned an AU...and now we have this. enjoy!

- val xx 

‘Will you watch where you’re fucking going?!’ 

You hated Tuesdays. Tuesdays were truly and completely awful in every sense of the word. They were slightly better than Mondays but still...undeniably dreadful. This one had been no exception. You’d woken up late (and hungover, but that wasn’t relevant) and you were convinced that the Department of Transport had personally paid every single commuter to make your life a living hell that morning. Whatever patience you’d had upon waking up - and trust me, it wasn’t much - had worn completely thin by the time you’d been released from the hellish grips of the London Underground. 

Your main concern was getting to work on time. The start of your shift coincided perfectly with the morning rush - also known as two straight hours of grumpy, uncaffeinated commuters. It was your job as a barista to provide them with coffee and to do-so in a timely manner. Anything less than thirty seconds would often result in a middle-aged, greying businessman coming for your ass. This morning, you were prepared to bite back. 

‘How nice of you to show up.’ 

‘I know, I know!’ You pushed past your co-worker, tugging your apron around your waist as you did. ‘I overslept,’

Finn rolled his eyes at you, shaking his head. ‘Then you owe me five pounds.’

‘Why?’ You grumbled, pulling an order receipt from his hand.

‘The bet, remember?’ He replied. ‘You have officially been late twenty times so far this year.’

You let out a groan, mind going back to New Year’s Eve. The pair of you had made a deal that whoever was the first to be late twenty times owed the other a fiver - and it looked like you would be paying for his lunch today. It was unusual for you to be late so many times in a row but in the absence of a manager or acting boss, you’d let yourself slip a tiny bit. You knew that had to end today, however, because your new manager was due to start. 

‘I’ll give it to you when I get paid.’ You said. ‘My rent is already late and that five pounds could be detrimental-’

‘- I’m just taking the piss.’ Finn chuckled. ‘Get these orders done and we’re even.’ 

He slid you the pile of receipts and you immediately slipped into autopilot. You’d been a barista for the better part of five years by that point; your hands could be at work whilst your mind was elsewhere. That was certainly the case today - your mind was raking through your financial woes and the fact that your rent was due four days ago - as you worked. After fifteen minutes of here’s a small skinny latte for Brian! and a large Americano to go for Roger!, you’d completely ridded the shop of the queue. 

‘Busy morning, huh?’

You peered up from the coffee machine, eyes falling on the man in front of you. He was holding a half-empty cup of coffee, a smile on his face and warm brown eyes examining the mess of coffee and milk around your work station. He had a tangle of messy curls and...well, hot fucking damn. What else were you supposed to say?

‘Uh, yeah.’ You smiled. ‘Highlight of my day, I suppose.’

He grinned at you. ‘Do you enjoy working here?’

‘Yeah.’ You nodded. ‘I mean - it gets stressful but a job’s a job, right?’

‘Right.’ He replied, eyes falling to where your name tag rested on your apron. ‘I’ll see you around.’

Trying to hide the blush on your face, you picked up the empty milk cartons and carried them through to the kitchen at the back of the shop. Finn was already in there on his phone, swiping through Tinder. Your best friend’s love life was often a subject that came up on shift - as far you were concerned, he deserved the world. It was finding the world that was the hard part. 

‘Hot customer alert.’ You greeted him. ‘And I mean hot.’

‘What kind of cute are we talking?’ Finn looked up from his phone. ‘Like...Leo Dicaprio in Titanic cute kind of hot or Leo Dicaprio in the Revenant, large and hairy kind of hot?’

‘Kind of in the middle.’ You replied, dumping the cartons in the bin. ‘He said he would see me around, so I guess he’s a new regular?’

‘Actually,’ somebody else’s voice came from the doorway. ‘I meant see you around as in I’m the new manager.’

You had never wanted the ground to swallow you more. Seriously - if the jaws of death could have opened right there and then, you’d be willing to jump into them with the tip of your hat and a so long, folks! This was definitely the worst Tuesday of your life. That was truly saying something, because you’d spent all of last Tuesday scraping dried milk off of a table. And, the Tuesday before that, you’d got stuck in the doors of the tube on the Jubilee Line and then -

-Not relevant. The presence of other shitty days didn’t erase the fact that you had just called your manager hot and compared him to Leonardo Dicaprio. Right to his face. 

‘Hey, Finn?’ You glanced up at your co-worker. ‘I think it’s time I quit-’

‘- no, I take it as a compliment!’ He chortled. ‘I’m Poe, Poe Dameron. You’re the assistant manager, right?’

‘Yeah.’ You nodded, trying to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks. ‘Unless you fire me.’

‘No, I like a colleague who bigs me up.’ Poe grinned at you. It only made the blush worse. ‘It’s a nice store. I’m excited to work here.’

‘And I assume you know how to make coffee?’ You quirked an eyebrow at him. 

‘I could do it in my sleep.’

You handed him an apron. ‘Brilliant.’

It seemed as though whoever was above had answered your prayers, because another queue quickly began to form and you had to get back to work. Poe and Finn chatted amongst themselves, bonding over the fact that they were both Americans working in London. You, meanwhile, focused on pumping out oddly specific coffee orders. 

‘A hot-but-not-too-hot black Americano for Holdo!’ You called. 

Mrs Holdo - or, Holdo as she insisted on being called - was one of your regulars. She was a high powered business woman who stopped by the coffee every morning. It was usually one of the highlights of working the morning shift. You were convinced she was on steroids of some point because she was the literal definition of a power bitch. The fact she dyed her hair lavender made her even more iconic. 

‘Morning!’ You beamed at her, sliding her drink across the counter. ‘How are things at the law firm?’

‘Stressful, as always.’ She grabbed the cup. ‘New manager, I see?’

‘Oh, yeah.’ You glanced over your shoulder at him. ‘That’s Poe.’ 

‘You talkin’ shit?’ He grinned at you, giving you a wink. 

Once the queue had died down again, you made yourself a coffee. A few people were fluttering about the shop; it was the usual, really. There was a businessman on his laptop at one table and an artist at the next. One of the perks of working in such a central area was all the people you got to meet. It certainly made the job more interesting - and you had a feeling that your new manager was only going to add to that. 

‘So - tell me about yourself.’ Poe leant against the counter next to you, nudging you with his elbow. ‘Other than the fact you think I’m hot and that you probably love Leonardo Dicaprio.’

You let out a groan. ‘You’re killing me, man.’

‘If that’s the case, I hope you get someone to cover your shifts before you die.’

‘Isn’t that your job?’ You shot back. ‘Being the manager and all.’

‘You are my assistant manager-’

‘- no I am the assistant manager.’ You cut him off. ‘And I’ve been here five years so I know all that you could possibly need about running this place.’

‘Mm?’ Poe raised his eyebrows. ‘Care to share?’

‘Finn can’t be on shift with Hux - he’s an irritating part timer, really up himself - because they will kill each other.’ You paused to take a sip of your coffee. ‘And Kaydel is super sweet but she’s always late, so it’s best to put her on afternoon shifts.’

‘Like you were late this morning?’

You groaned again. ‘It was just one of those mornings - it was one thing after the other. I swear it won’t happen again. 

Poe gave you a soft smile, the sarcasm fading from his face. ‘I’m just kidding. Don’t be so hard on yourself.’

With that, he took the coffee from your hand and took a sip. ‘Jesus Christ, what is in this?’

‘Four shots of vanilla syrup.’ You snatched your drink back from him. ‘Let me guess - you’re the kind of guy that exclusively drinks espressos and judges people for adding sugar?’

He simply raised his eyebrows, holding his hands up in defense. 

--

Nine hours later, your shift was finally over; you were closing with Poe, who was currently sweeping the floor and singing I Want To Break Free. Your feet were aching but thanks to the free coffee, you were slightly buzzed. You’d decided that you liked your new manager - there were some pitfalls, however. Watching him flirt with every woman that came in was bordering on painful by the time lunchtime came around. 

‘Rey’s here!’ Finn popped up from behind the coffee machine. He was supposed to be cleaning it, but it looked as though he was counting coffee beans instead. ‘Do I look okay?’

‘No different than usual, Finny.’ You replied. 

Rey was your room-mate and best friend (Finn would argue differently). She worked in a primary school a few streets away from the coffee shop. She usually came in after you’d shut to get a free drink - she also drove to work, which meant you didn’t have to take public transport home. After a nine hour shift and with an impending caffeine crash, being shoved into a small tube carriage was your idea of hell. With that said, Rey’s driving wasn’t much better. 

Fiddling with your keys, you unlocked the door to let Rey in. She looked tired - presumably from chasing after little children all day. You could see a bottle of wine sticking out from the top of her bag. That was this evening’s plans solved. 

‘Hey!’ She greeted you brightly. ‘Hey, Finn!’

‘Rey, hey!’ Your co-worker waved at her. ‘I mean hey, rey!’

‘I’m just gonna clock out.’ You said, glancing over your shoulder at Poe. ‘If that’s cool with you?’

‘God knows, god knows I want to break - oh yeah, that’s fine!’ He suddenly pulled his headphones out. 

‘This is Rey, by the way. She’s an honorary team member here.’ You explained. ‘And this is Poe, our new manager.’

‘She thinks I’m cute.’ Poe grinned. 

You turned to face Rey. ‘I’ll explain later.’

‘Right. Of course.’ She gave you a wink. ‘I went home at lunch to feed Chewy. He’s eaten another pair of your shoes.’

Chewie was your six-month-old border terrier puppy. He reeked havoc pretty much everywhere he went - usually leaving a trail of fur behind him - but you loved him dearly. He’d earned his name after eating through eleven pairs of shoes in his first week at your apartment. 

‘Of course he has.’ You grumbled. ‘See you tomorrow!’

‘See you!’ Finn waved at you, before giving Rey a sweet smile. 

‘See you in the morning!’ Poe called. ‘And be on time!’

tags: @thespareoom @softly-sad @interwebseriesfan24 @yougottakeeponkeepinon​ @princessxkenobi​ @blue-space-porgs​ @cherieboba​ @highlycommendable​