#he’s more prone to demands/orders

[petrichorium]

Been picking away at a lil drabble abt spitting in jing yuan’s mouth and u would be So surprised how hard this is

[dadsbongos]

then, and again, and once more

6.9k words

Summary - Yuuji tries to impress you and win your heart, with the help of Sukuna… who seems weirdly knowledgeable about and interested in you.

Warnings - p in v sex, FULL NELSON BABY!!!, yuuji eats pussy :), oh yeah fem reader btw, sukuna is here too (and his cannibalism is mentioned), idiot friends pining for each other, very vague timeline idk but yuuji is aged up

sukuna-centric part 2

There it is again.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

That unbearable thick bass in his chest, banging so tirelessly against his ribs that it threatens to make him nauseous. A quick inhale and yep - scratch that - he’s definitely already nauseous.

Yuuji sinks his sweaty palms deeper into his pants pockets, eyes darting sharply down to his beaten sneakers. The once vibrant ruby shade is now marred by dirt and aging threads - and if he turns his right foot just so, then he can see an old, blackened stain from pizza sauce he spilled while eating out with you. The memory, or more specifically how you’re giggling in his memory, makes him smile.

And in the real world, Megumi is watching his friend grin ear to ear while looking at a black, crusty splotch on the inside curve of his right shoe. After having just wide-eyed stared at you from across the room while you and Nobara heatedly debate where to go for dinner.

He glares at Yuuji, lashes narrowing, “You look insane. Knock it off.”

That snaps the boy from his reminiscing, and it takes him three long seconds before he registers the insult, “I was thinking!”

“Obviously,” Megumi scratches the side of his nose, more to just have something to do with his hands than anything else, “What were you thinking about?”

Humming quietly to himself, Yuuji shrugs, “Oh, the usual.”

“You’re hopeless,” Megumi maintains his efforts to keep his hands busy by scratching the back of his head, “Just tell her already. What’s the worst that happens?”

“She rejects me and avoids me,” Yuuji pouts, “Honestly, ‘gumi, I would’ve thought you’d be more sympathetic - being a standoffish and awkward guy yourself.”

Swatting at his friend’s shoulder, Megumi shakes his head, “The hell is wrong with you? Was that just sitting in your mind?” he shakes his head again, glare growing stronger, “And don’t call me that.”

“I thought you had anxiety or something,” Yuuji shrugs, “Why else would you be so weird in public?”

Any previous concern regarding Yuuji’s well-being immediately flies from Megumi at that. He folds his arms across his chest with murmurs of hatred floating out from his lips. All as he waltzes over to where you and Nobara are seated around your laptop at the chipping hardwood table.

Yuuji has no problem shrugging off Megumi's irritation, but when it comes to the mere idea of your face stretching in disgust at him - God, isn’t that the worst?

“You’re the worst, brat,” comes that rumbling, terrible voice in the back of his head. The nagging used to sound more like him - and when he’s really stressed, it still sometimes does - but now his own voice has faded into the King of Curses’. Now his own voice is sweeter, more prone to praise and positives - in a weird way, Sukuna has made Yuuji better.

But in a lot more ways -

“Oi, don’t ignore me.”

He’s made Yuuji’s life so much worse.

“You like that one, right? I can help.”

You’re sitting back, allowing Megumi to take the reins on shooting down Nobara’s suggestion for sushi. Normally, that demand isn’t a problem, but this would be the fifth night in a row she’s tried roping you all into ordering sushi for her. You lean into Megumi a little, and Yuuji hates the way his chest tightens at the display.

It isn’t even affection. It’s just…

“You want to be the one she’s on, right?”

Yuuji sighs to himself and sneaks out of the kitchen, though it’s hardly a challenge when Nobara raises her voice to defend her long-lasting cravings.

With tense shoulders and a red face, Yuuji glances down each side of the hall to ensure nobody is nearby, “How could you help with this?”

Sukuna’s eye on Yuuji’s cheek has flitted up to stare into Yuuji’s, and that sickly crawl of his skin stretching to accommodate Sukuna’s wide grin makes his stomach turn, “You’re just a child, you don’t know anything about women.”

Yuuji could double over, hands on his knees and breathless in sputters of laughter, but he refrains - unwilling to let anyone hear his schizophrenic ramblings, “And you do?”

Sukuna’s eye rolls and Yuuji hates the way it feels under his cheekbone, nearly retching in response, “Of course.”

And that strings up some different terrible question in Yuuji, “But why would you help me?”

Sukuna has been so unwilling to do anything useful for Yuuji despite the fact he’s allowed to reside in this body - so what could possibly possess him to do this now?

“Do you want my help or not, worm?”

Yuuji sighs through his nose, eyes fluttering shut, thinking hard about the offer. He’d come to the conclusion not too long after swallowing his first finger to simply not question many of Sukuna’s motives, mostly since his goals are: chaos, women, and chaos.

“This better not be some gross pass at my friend,” Yuuji sneers, body electrified on the ready to smack down his own cheek should he hear an answer he doesn’t like.

Sukuna is too quiet for too long, and Yuuji is fully prepared to swipe at the parasite on his face when finally, that deep voice rattles again. It buzzes in his flesh, uncomfortable and itchy and so quiet he barely hears what the curse mumbles into him.

The boy pauses and lets the words melt on his tongue, he turns them between his molars and laves the roof of his mouth with the remaining implications. He wasn’t expecting Sukuna to be honest, not to that degree at least.

And Yuuji smacks Sukuna’s bulbous eye down anyway.

“Fine then,” Yuuji pulls his hand down and curls his fingers into a fist, another great big awful ragged sigh roughing over his tongue like barbed wire, “I’ll listen to you, but if you ruin this for me- “

“Calm down, brat,” the mouth pops back up stubbornly, bitterly spitting out his version of a promise, “I don’t plan on failing.”

Yuuji pushes himself off the wall and spins back into the kitchen unnoticed, hands locking behind his head as he saddles up beside you at the table, “So, what’s for dinner?”

He snorts at how you groan, looking up at him from your seat with tired, low-lidded eyes and gesturing across the table to where Megumi and Nobara are still arguing, “You tell me.”

“Why don’t we just go out?” Yuuji shrugs, grinning broadly despite the way his two friends both twitch their necks over to glare at him, “Come on, it’s not even dark! We can walk around and do a little looking; get some air!”

Nobara’s pitched shoulders drop, pinched expression falling into her usual lax, she looks over at Megumi again with a raised brow. Megumi shrugs, his own eyebrows still scrunched together, “If it’s fine with you two, I don’t care.”

You snicker, standing up against the stiff wood supports of the chair legs, one elbow digging into the table to further help hold you up while your spare fingers dance up to smooth out the crinkled space, “I think it’ll be fun.”

Megumi snatches you by the wrist and tosses your hand to the side while Nobara hops down from her own chair, stretching out her back until it pops obnoxiously. She’s already bouncing out of the kitchen to snag her shoes before shouting back, “Well, come on! We’re on a timer now, people!”

“Jeez,” you slip off the chair pegs, bumping slightly into Yuuji’s side - entirely oblivious to the sparkly fireworks you sweep across your poor friend’s body at the contact, “Should’ve just suggested that from the start, huh?”

Shrugging, Yuuji waits for you to begin walking out of the kitchen before following, “Sometimes you just need fresh eyes on a situation, you know?”

“I guess,” you fold your arms, evidently frustrated, “Just feel like that was something I should’ve seen.”

Yuuji feels that disgusting, familiar thumping in his chest just by looking at you now. Heat radiating from his cheeks to the expanse of his chest, throat swelling with the uncomfortable need to spill his guts - dump every little thought and feeling he’s ever had for you into your ears until you force him to shut up. Like how he can’t even look at Jennifer Lawrence the way he used to simply because she isn’t you.

Maybe then he’d tell you that this hasn’t happened in the six years since he first saw Silver Linings Playbook. Maybe you’d tell him to stop talking, and that you two would never happen.

Maybe then he can move on, when you crush his hope. But he doesn’t really want that.

And he doesn’t really know why he agreed to let Sukuna lend him any advice.

Oh well.

It’s when you’re rushing out the door to keep up with Megumi and Nobara that Sukuna opens his mouth for the first time.

His voice stabs into Yuuji’s ears, but it isn’t exceptionally as cruel as he usually finds it, this, instead, is purely instructional, “When you two are out tonight, tell her about that cat you saw around the garden today.”

Yuuji scratches through his messily filed memories, “I saw a cat?”

“Yes, twit, a black one. Tell her about how its fur changed color in the sun.”

“Okay…?” Yuuji huffs in his daze, finally putting effort into walking alongside you and the others, “Hey! So, I just remembered something.”

“Oh yeah?” you smile at Yuuji, purely encouraging, and he’s disgusted at the way he almost trips over his own feet.

Nobara and Megumi pay the both of you little mind, instead pointing out different potential favorite hotspots they could creep into for the night. Well, Nobara points out, they could even stop at two places if they’re feeling adventurous. And Megumi says they can do whatever the rest of you think is best.

But Yuuji isn’t listening, and you’re hardly lending an ear, he swallows down the rock in his throat and nods, “I saw a cat this morning - a black one! - and it made me think of you,” the gentle warmth spreading through him could either be the way you’re lighting up at him, or Sukuna silently congratulating his good line, “Its fur was all brownish red in the sun, it was…” your eyes are so starry and sweet, solely on him - it makes his tongue tie up in knots, “It was beautiful.”

“Bummer I wasn’t there, then,” you pout a little, “You need to get me for things like that!” he laughs at the way your face has morphed, all stern and strict business, “Seriously!”

“Okay, okay,” he surrenders, both hands up in playful defense, “I promise to call you if I see another cat.”

“Could’ve at least taken a picture for me,” you histrionically sigh, “And I thought we were friends.”

A sudden thought invades the back of Yuuji’s mind. Some hidden, more primal part of his mind that he doesn’t usually listen to flashes back to a time he doesn’t remember.

We used to be more.

You and him are sitting out in the sun with a fluffy little Bombay cat tucked into your lap. It paws at the buttery dandelions that bloom between you both, his own legs are sprawled out impolitely and your own are crossed to wall around the feline in your hold. His knee knocks against yours whenever he shifts his leg. You lean in, shoulder digging into the meat of his muscled arm and temple resting on his shoulder.

Your body is entirely at ease. His is, too.

Yuuji knows exactly where the thought comes from. And if that dark, creepy place weren’t so infested by evil then maybe he’d feel a little pity for it. But you’re in front of him now, and you’re excited to be here, and your pinky keeps knocking into his as you two walk side-by-side - so there’s no room for pity in his heart.

Your quartet winds up squished into a teal leather booth towards a back corner of Nobara’s selected diner. You and Nobara sit on the interior seats, pressed into the windows, with Yuuji and Megumi caging the both of you in. Megumi having shoved Yuuji down next to you before the boy could even see who was where.

“What were you thinking?” Nobara sits up, jabbing your arm with a manicured finger just to annoy you.

Flicking at her hand, you shrug, focusing on the boards plastered behind the front bar counter for any eye-catching special offers.

Yuuji can feel the tightening of his cheek skin as the eyeball threatens to pop out, it stings when his cheek is forced to split for Sukuna’s eye. His cheek below that parts as well for his lips.

And Sukuna is kind enough this once to be quiet, “Tell her to get the wildfowl bowl,” as if sensing his arising questions, Sukuna continues, “And tell the kitchen worms to make sure the vegetables are soft. Not well, not sturdy,” he sounds disgusted as he says it, “Soft.”

“Hey,” and against everything he’s been told by Gojo, Yuuji puts his entire trust into the curse inside him, “that wildfowl bowl looks good, right?”

You lean closer to Yuuji, arm brushing his as you try to see where he spotted that, “What’s in it? Duck?”

He gives a conformational hum even though he has no idea, “Probably good with soft vegetables.”

Megumi shakes his head, “What does that even mean?”

“When they steam the veggies for longer than usual,” you pat Yuuji’s shoulder while defending him, “I get what you mean, Itadori. Sorry Fushiguro is so judgemental.”

“I was just saying…” Megumi’s voice flutters out of Yuuji’s focus.

Instead, another memory he never made begins to flourish from that black, mushy, rotted back of his brain.

You’re sat in his lap, large thighs perfectly bracketing around your own. A neglected bowl of slim slivers of perfectly browned duck meat sits atop cooling rice, carrots, and green beans. No doubt soft and easy to chew. In your hands is a steaming bowl, larger than the one in your lap, weighed down by thick cuts of juicy meat slabs. Almost like steak, but there’s no outer hide tanned by flame. It’s red, almost raw, and even after trimming the fat - it’s still bathed in pink, fleshy trails.

Grinning so lovingly, you pinch the slabs with your bare fingers and merely giggle when Sukuna’s sharp teeth prick at your skin. His long tongue works to clean your fingers of the excess meat juices as he eats. Two of his hands are on your hips, holding you steady, a third is steadied beside him against the cold bone of his throne, and a fourth resides at the back of your head. Almost big enough to palm the whole of your skull like a children’s ball - he pats and pets and smooths his fingers over the slope of the back of your neck.

Preening under gentle attention, you’re sure to empty Sukuna’s bowl before picking your own back up.

People watch with blood at their feet, none dare to move. Fearful to become the next hot meal in your hand should they disobey Sukuna’s silent command.

As your hands wrap around your cold bowl, a deep grunt reverberates behind you in Sukuna’s broad chest. He tugs the dish from your grasp; plucks the duck meat between his forefinger and thumb and holds it above your nose, forcing you to look up.

He waves it in front of your face, “Open,” and you follow his order, lips parting yet still pitched up in the impression of a pleased smile. And when he flattens the meat to your tongue and you begin chewing - you’re still smiling. That earns another fond stroke down the back of your head, pausing at your shoulder and digging his thumb into the muscle just to hear you sigh, “Good girl.”

Yuuji doesn’t see all of that. He can grasp some vague sense that you two have shared meals he’ll never get to taste, but he never sees the gristle left behind on your fingers or the saliva webbed between your fingers after feeding Sukuna.

That - Sukuna ‘hmph's proudly as he watches you beam at Yuuji over your modern interpretation of your favorite meal - the King of Curses keeps to himself. Selfishly, just as he always has.

That next morning, you sheepishly prattle into the dusty, creaky classroom with only four rusty, barely used desks and slip into the one by Yuuji. You’re toying with the tips of your hair, eyes bouncing from where Yuuji sits on the desktop beside you and the classroom door.

Nobara sits backward at the desk directly in front of you, arms coiled around the back support of her chair as she speaks and Megumi sits normally beside her - attention solely on his book. Yuuji watches you fiddle with the ends of your hair while pretending to listen to Nobara.

And then he sees it. The new cherry shade decorating your lips, and before Sukuna can sprout and tell him to - Yuuji’s leaning down with his best smile, “New lipstick?”

Jumping at the sudden voice, your rigid posture melts under the boy’s gaze, “Yes, actually. You like?”

It could be puke green and Yuuji would still want it smeared across his face from your kisses.

But despite housing Sukuna Ryomen and battling dreadful curses, Yuuji fails to muster the courage to say that to your face, “Yeah! It’s really pretty.”

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

There goes your annoying heart, hammering just from the sound of Yuuji’s overtly positive lilt. It makes your cheeks burn and fingers skittishly tip-tap against the pencil-scratched desk, “You think so?”

But he’d never lie, you know that.

So even though it shouldn’t be a surprise when he doubles down, your annoying heart won’t stop dramatically tossing itself around when Yuuji nods with a determined, boyish grin, “Definitely.”

It’s all so saccharine and perfect, it makes Sukuna nauseous. Which, in turn, makes Yuuji nauseous.

Face paling, Yuuji jumps onto his feet and excuses himself, rushing out of the room (with no Gojo even in sight, by the way) towards the bathroom.

“Is he okay?” Nobara murmurs, stretching her neck to see outside the door frame, “What a weirdo.”

“Yeah,” you sigh dreamily, “He is sometimes, huh?”

Megumi gags at your tone, “Seriously…?”

“What was that?” Yuuji’s question is spikey and venomous while he stares into the cracked, water-spotted mirror - straight at the little eyeball on his cheek.

“You two are disgusting,” Sukuna stares back into the glass, low-lidded and unimpressed, “Get this over with and ask her out, brat.”

“But what if she says no?” Yuuji reaches up and toys with the little pink hairs at the back of his head, eyes suddenly unable to meet Sukuna at all, “It’ll totally ruin everything.”

“Enough whining. She won’t say no.”

He doesn’t know how it took so long to recognize, or maybe he just needed an excuse to display his old, unbroken knowledge of you before your fleshly little weakling friends even knew it. But he’s seen the little bursts of color and stars and sparkles and all that cute mess before.

He’s seen it many times. It was the only way you used to look at Sukuna.

That puppyish, lovesick wonder as you fluttered your pretty eyelashes at him.

Even when he would return to you in blood and sweat and muck and smelling of the death and despair he expertly wrought.

You were always at least five paces ahead of Uraume, hands bunching up in the pretty flowing silks that decorated your body. Excitedly, you’d pounce and he would hold you. Sapping up your energy and feeding off the way you’d press cherry-tasting kisses all along his hardened face. You served yourself up to him on a silver platter, all your heart and soul and mind devoted entirely and without ulterior motives. That’s why you were always his favorite.

Nothing before or after you was ever up to par. And he felt disgruntled at every turn into different worshippers and concubines and lovers - somehow wronged simply by the fact they were not as you were. It was all so disappointing.

And every now and again he’d flash back to you while with others. He imagines it’s how children feel when they remember a lost or broken or tossed-out favorite toy. That ache of times lost and never feeling quite fulfilled again.

Which is why when he saw you again through this brat’s eyes, he could instantly remember those nights with you. Full-bellied and raw-lipped and your pulse between his teeth.

But Yuuji knows nothing of that, and so when he returns to the classroom - neither of you says anything.

It’s only the two of you. Everyone else was cast out in the violent, unwilling acceptance that they had done all they could. With no open wound, there was a horrific list rattled off in Sukuna’s ears. Illnesses and infections that attacked the lungs and nervous system and skin and heart - things that would eat you alive from the inside. And when all could be done about that, you remained in bed.

In and out of consciousness and delusional, proclaiming twisted lights and shadowy creatures trying to rip you from yourself.

Perhaps, one of the women called to care for you shyly spoke up, perhaps she’s just too old.

And that was something he avoided admitting to himself.

But it was time now.

With dew still moist on the blades of grass and morning sunlight streaming through the window beside your bed - the bell tolls. Your fingers are stiff in the sheets, limbs cold and stiff when you’re found. Wide, puppylike eyes gaze up at the ceiling and Sukuna has you buried beneath the tallest, most twisted tree he could find in the surrounding forest. And when Sukuna returns from your grave that night - alone - he crosses into a dark tunnel.

It’s cold and solid beneath his feet, paces echoing back for his ears. He keeps his eyes down to avoid maddening himself over the plainness - the displeasure of even glimpsing this tunnel’s repetitive nature.

Until there’s light, golden, with the shrouded, clumsy shape of twisted branches and lanky trunks coming into view at the far open end.

And faintly, like the sweet singing of a beloved music box, he hears the tune of your voice. A high scoop towards the end.

“Itadori, right?”

Sukuna’s feet move faster before he even fully knows he’s moving.

On the other side is you, a hand jammed out in front of you in a polite wave - as if the both of you are strangers. Then that name creeps back up his spine.

Well, it’s not truly his spine, is it? It’s this new brat’s.

But then there’s your honeyed voice again, “Huh, third eye.”

Right. You wouldn’t remember it, would you?

You wouldn’t remember any of it.

Yuuji shoots up, dark sheets tangled around his ankles and cold sweat beading down his forehead - strings of pink hair matted down to his skin uncomfortably. His wide eyes scramble across the shadows of his room, slowly refamiliarizing himself with the expanse and soothing his pounding heart.

He smoothes back his hair, running through the small kinks and knots, “What the hell was that?”

That slicing pain along his cheek shocks him awake further, but no sore, deep voice follows. The eye sits there, downcast. Sitting inside this body is one of the last things he saw for himself, but to exist beside you again is liquid gold just flowing in a river. A river his new body refuses to swim in.

“She’s still awake.”

Yuuji looks over to the red numbers lighting up from his bedside alarm clock, “It’s midnight.”

Sukuna inhales sharply, irritation scorching a hole in his tongue, but he withholds the many sudden hateful thoughts he has towards Yuuji and simply repeats himself, “She’s still awake.”

“It’s weird how obsessed you are with this,” Yuuji swings his legs over the edge of his bed and slips his feet into the slippers you’d gifted him. They’re cheesy and themed after fire engines and just barely fit, but he wears them at any given opportunity.

The eye sinks back into his skin, lips sealing shut, and a thick sludge boils in Yuuji’s stomach. Quiet King of Curses is an unsettling King of Curses, and Yuuji barely finds himself able to tune out the exhaustive wave of Sukuna’s criticisms. That is much preferred to this buzzing silence.

Creeping down the moaning wooden panels to your room, Yuuji raps his knuckles against your door before immediately shuffling his fists into his gray sweatpants.

Something clatters against hardwood, sheets ruffle, and your footsteps thump, thump, thump up to your bedroom door. Your face peeks out from the sliver of cracked doorway, and there’s no hint of sleep in your gaze. You seem alert, if a little lazily slouched against your doorframe.

“Itadori?”

Oh, right. He was here to say something, wasn’t he?

But he can’t possibly find the strength in his tongue, not when you look at him like that.

With some impossible adoration, like you simply can’t wait to hear whatever stupid bullshit he’s about to spout. He feels so unworthy of it all, and he can’t wait to find out more about you and mold himself to it. To become someone you can’t imagine waking up without. To study and be studied, he’s ready to throw himself into the horrors of being known - if it’s you he’s known by.

The air is punched out of him as he speaks, “Can…” you nod him along, opening your door wider, “Can I kiss you?”

Now that he’s so close to the sugary river, he can’t wait to dive in.

“Seriously?” you laugh in shock at the outburst, but when his face persists, you fling the door open entirely, “Seriously?”

Yuuji winds his hands tighter, to stop himself from desperately clawing his way down your throat, “I like you. I’ve liked you…” he’s unnatural like this, red in the face and dodging your stare, “I don’t even know.”

But you do, you felt it when you first saw him. However, you’re not plagued by the chains of past lives, so the implications are lost. Winding your arms behind your back and grinning at Yuuji with toothy glee, “Me too.”

His eyes nail you with that doughy, desperate plea for attention - the need to be seen as himself. And you’ve always been glad to lend it over in plentiful bounties.

That buzz of silence stabs the both of you.

Until Yuuji can no longer tether himself to his pockets, his big hands gentle as he cups both your cheeks. He molds himself to you, hoping that those troublesome flashes of times he never lived will at least serve his muscle memory now.

Your hands twist into the front of Yuuji’s shirt, nails biting into the black, soft, loose fabric and tugging him closer. Yuuji’s lips are slightly chapped, and you can feel the imprints from where he’s bitten them raw. He hisses when you peek your tongue at the smooth spots.

Wrenching your hands back, you quickly run them under and up his sleep shirt - his skin is warm and he gasps against your lips when your fingertips skim along his sides.

Yuuji pulls back, cheeks flaming, and shoulders his way past your bedroom door, kicking it shut behind him and placing his hands over his shirt - finding yours through the material. He grins, chuckling at how you grope his muscle, squeezing around your hands, “Enjoying yourself?”

“Whatever,” you huff, embarrassed, then ripping your hands out from under his shirt and twisting your fingers between his before - just to prove a point - planting his palms below your own shirt, “You try being normal like this.”

Yuuji’s broad palms are still only burning into the soft flesh of your stomach, but his heart is terribly out of whack.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

“You can go higher,” your voice lilts higher, a mere soft whisper as if anything louder could entirely break the poor boy’s brain, “If you want…”

Of course, he does. He’d trade a thousand years with that Sisyphus guy Megumi mentioned to him just for twelve seconds of his hands sizzling up your body. Maybe even just for the chance.

His hands scope higher, palms glued to the planes of your body like he’s trying to scar himself along your skin. The sudden need to leave some lasting impression that he was there - here with you.

Yuuji does his best not to jump when Sukuna’s voice slithers into his ear, polite enough to whisper so he doesn’t alarm you, “Get her on her back. Tongue her cunt.”

You look at him all sweet and concerned when Yuuji’s nose scrunches, “Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

But he has no idea how to tell you that Sukuna’s words make his stomach churn, and by the time he even tries to form the words he’s thinking about it. Imagining himself on his stomach with his head between your thighs, your hands tangled in his hair, and eagerly trying to annoy your friends as much as possible with how loud he can make you. And he feels so, so lightheaded at that.

Yuuji’s eyes are wide, staring into yours with such fire that it almost makes you shy away, “Can I eat you out?”

But you brave his dissecting gaze, heart pounding in your ears.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

And, oh, Yuuji could just about die happy right now.

On his stomach with his head between your thighs, your hands screwed into the twirls of his tousled hair and (hopefully) annoying at least a nosy Nobara should she be listening to your soft moans next door.

Yuuji wiggles his tongue into your weeping hole, nestling his nose against your clit with a wheezy little whine. His eyes flutter up at you through the gaps between your shaking arms.

“Get your hands in there,” Sukuna’s voice is muffled against the thickness of your thigh, “Thumb her clit, don’t rely on your nose.”

Crinkling his brows, Yuuji has to bite back his remarks about how Sukuna could’ve told him that sooner. Snaking his right hand over your leg, Yuuji flattens his large hand against your lower stomach and pins your bucking hips. His thumb taking residence on your swollen clit, the bridge of his nose still saddled beneath it.

Your back arches, hips grinding down into Yuuji’s thumb and tongue. He’s messy with it - head shaking just to tease and feel the wetness of your pussy slip and slather across his chin. He tongue-fucks you in earnest, practically moaning into you as he grinds against the mattress. Swishing his thumb against your clit faster when he can feel you tighten around him, chasing the feeling of you cumming all over his face.

He can hear it despite his desperation - the way your breath hitches and throat cinches out a squeal. Your thighs squish around his head and Yuuji has to force his hips still lest he be submitted to the horrors of cumming in his pants.

And it isn’t even the fear of your reaction - no, he knows better than to think you’re capable of making him feel shame. It’s just-

“Yes,” Sukuna’s voice is husky, tongue lolling out along Yuuji’s cheek to lather up your juice, “Yes!”

Yuuji knows exactly who will be making fun of him instead. He smacks at the unwanted presence and takes it as pure luck when Sukuna actually stays down.

He works his tongue out of you slowly, letting you whine and huff the way off your high naturally before peeking up at you. He’s grinning, eyes wide and hands retreating to dig hungrily into the meat of your thighs.

“Hey, I wanna try something,” Yuuji’s shamelessness in licking at his soaked lips makes heat flush all the way to your forehead, “Just let me know if it’s too much, okay?”

You nod sheepishly, body jittery with the little bugs crawling beneath your sweltering skin. Yuuji bends to the sudden thought he’s sure has something to do with the curse inside him with a mysterious catalog on all things you.

Yuuji slips onto his back beside you, curled against the cold wall corning your bed with his feet flat against the mattress and legs bent. He uses the unnatural well of strength he’s harbored since birth to squeeze at the fat of your sides and lift you atop of him. He can feel the warmth of your cunt on his pelvis and it wracks him with a shiver, you whine helplessly when his right hand immediately welds to your slit. His index and ring fingers part your lips so his middle can swipe coyly over your clit.

“Hah,” you watch his ring finger abandon its post to join the rude teasing, “Yuuji…”

“I know,” Yuuji sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes glued to where your wetness drips onto his skin, his hard cock peeking up between your legs, “I know, I’m sorry,” but he doesn’t sound very sorry. Especially when he’s continuing to tease you while pressing a kiss to your cheek, “Okay, serious now,” but he dips his fingers lower and prods at your hole, “Serious.”

You giggle, hot-faced, at his focused gaze, “Yuuji!”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he spreads your lips again just to stare from over your shoulder, voice hoars when he finally speaks up, “Alright. Serious now.”

Reaching between your legs, Yuuji grabs hold of his cock - hissing at the contact - and is internally grateful when you raise your hips to meet his head. He presses his forehead against your shoulder when his tip pushes inside you. You feel the hot puffs of air he sends against your back as you continue lowering yourself. He whimpers, the hand at his base flying across your abdomen and gripping your breast. He squeezes and pinches and tries suffocating the embarrassing little noises escaping his lips when you rock your hips down on his pelvis.

“Okay down there?” you twist your head to look back at Yuuji and you’re so glad you did.

He’s flushed down to his chest and his lashes are kissing his cheeks to keep himself together, when he finally opens his eyes fully and looks up at you. His bottom lip is red and puffy from how hard he’d been biting it, “Now I’m gonna do something new.”

This wasn’t new?

Yuuji’s arms stretch under the backs of your knees and come over your shoulders before winding behind your neck, pressing his palms flat against the back of your head. Your arms dangle uselessly at your sides, hands stretching out to graze his ribs and legs bouncing limply as he manhandles you.

His cock bullies itself in your cunt, hips jerking up into the fat of your ass.

Yuuji tries to suffocate down his groans in favor of your sweet moans being punched up from your gut every time he sweeps deep inside you. His lips press tightly just as your own pop open for adorable “ah, ah ah!”s - fighting to maintain his pace despite how badly he wants to pin you to his body and wallow through the wetness sucking him back in for every thrust. Feel your sweaty skin slide and stick against his and whine at the pulling sensation when you peel apart.

Another sudden idea pops into his brain and it’s almost instinctual how he follows it. Besides, it isn’t like he’s going to complain about being brain-blasted with memories that aren’t his if it means not having to hear Sukuna’s voice while fucking you.

Hips never falter in their snaps up into you, Yuuji cranes his neck to teeth at the meat of your nape. He bites possessively and grunts in response to your immediate pitchy moan. Then licking over the marks apologetically.

You try to smother down your breathless moans as Yuuji bullies his cock repeatedly into that spongy spot shooting stars behind your eyes. With an angle and drive and care you’re sure would be lost on any man other than Yuuji - and you’re dumbly struck by the hope that maybe this hard work is only because he’s here with you. And that coherent thought is fucked out of you with Yuuji’s next whimpered request.

“Don’t do that,” he gasps when you tighten around him after a particularly rough thrust, “Please don’t keep it down- wanna…” he moans and the sound flutters straight to your tightening gut, “Wanna hear you so bad, pretty girl.”

Unlatching your teeth from the plush of your bottom lip, flames lap through the wiry twists of your veins - burning through the stretch of your skin and scarring Yuuji. And he eats it up and greedily begs at your feet for more. It shames Sukuna just as much as it excites him to taste the salt on your skin through his vessel’s tongue and watch the way your legs shake and bounce under his vessel’s iron hold. His favorite way to have you and your favorite way to take him.

Yuuji unwinds one of his arms from behind your neck, lowering half your body slightly to swipe his fingers between the junction of your thighs. Right over the slippery spot where you’re creaming on his cock and taking the soaked fingers to your clit. His canines and soft lips battle for a monopoly of your neck and shoulder, swiftly circling your clit with his middle and ring fingers as his hips continue fucking you stubbornly.

“Hng, Yuu…!” you gasp, head throwing back and narrowly missing his - the coil winding tighter and tighter and your walls milking Yuuji tighter and tighter, “Yuuji!”

“I know, baby,” he kisses up your bent neck and presses his flaming cheek against yours, “God, please, cum for me. Cum for me,” his hips stutter, and his breath hitches and oh, he’s so close, “I wanna feel you cum on me, baby- I need it. Need it so bad.”

“Oh, Yuuji,” you dig your face closer to his as if trying to meld yourselves into one body, “‘m cumming,” you clench and he’s damn near wheezing, the knot in his lower belly popping as he feels you cum and drips down his balls, “‘m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m cumming…!”

And just to avoid embarrassing himself from admitting he’s in love with you while spitting his own cum in your warm, wet walls, Yuuji strangles down his own final cries with a coppery, abusive bite to his bottom lip.

It starts to hurt, how he overstimulates himself through his slowing thrusts - letting you slip down onto his thrumming, sticky chest. Your legs sprawled across his sides, Yuuji slipping his softening cock from your hole.

You lazily roll off of Yuuji, landing face-first into your sheets at his side.

Yuuji can hear it again, that terrible, grating voice telling him, “Clean her, brat.”

And what’s the most terrible is he knows Sukuna’s command is entirely warranted. Flopping a hand onto your back, Yuuji traces heart shapes into the skin as he talks, “I’ll be right back.”

And when Yuuji’s wetting a soft, clean cloth he braved the hallway (nude) to retrieve from his room, he hears that voice again. It echoes in your bathroom.

“I want a turn when she’s awake,” a pause, “Fully awake.”

“Aren’t you charitable?” Yuuji rolls his eyes.

And that same utterance from hours before rings through Yuuji’s ears once again. Why Sukuna cared so much about petty crushes. Why Sukuna bothered himself by actually giving genuine, helpful points. Why Sukuna was fascinated by you.

“She was my most devoted and favorite lover in her past life.”

The way he says it inspires no respect for Yuuji - underlined in his thriving desire to be worshiped, as he imagines he deserves. Yuuji wouldn’t dare uphold you to that.

When he tenderly presses his thumbs into stiff muscles with a red flush and warm smile, Yuuji knows that for sure.

“Can I stay the night?” he whispers, folding his discarded towels and lazily tucking them by your bedpost on the floor. He feels that same hurried ache in his chest, awaiting for your impatience.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

You hum, lifting your head off the pillow and snickering, your drowsy face pinched to look at him like he’s stupid, “Duh.”

Giddy, Yuuji slips under the blankets he’d slid over you after cleaning the mess from between your thighs, and slots himself right next to you.

Rolling again, you twist into an open space against Yuuji’s chest and under his thick arm. Warmth drapes across your shoulders when he rests that arm over you. He circles his other arm around you and squeezes, grinning so hard he can feel it burning in the balls of his cheeks. Your ear rests against Yuuji’s chest, and you soothe yourself to slumber on the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

Blissfully unaware of the fact that when your bones are rotten and six feet deep, two more people will be curled into each other’s arms. With your same starry eyes that some pink-haired kid falls in love with every time they’re on him.

[httpwintersoldier]

opla men hc || when you beg them to fuck you harder

ᴢᴏʀᴏ ; ᴍɪʜᴀᴡᴋ ; ʟᴜғғʏ ; sᴀɴᴊɪ ; sʜᴀɴᴋs ; ʙᴜɢɢʏ ᴄᴡ: ɴᴏ sᴘᴇᴄɪғɪᴄs

ᴢᴏʀᴏ

⤷ zoro knows he's an intense person so he always tries to be careful not to hurt you

⤷ your moans and cries for his name already have him desperate and panting, so to beg him to go harder was a treacherous path to walk

⤷ "please... harder..."

⤷ his look would instantly change, a conflict between fucking the words out of your mouth and trying not to cause you unwanted pain

⤷ you'd definitely be able to tell that from the way his grip on your body that he was holding back

⤷ zoro would have to slow down and catch his breath, trying to get his mind off of the 'sweet' way he wanted to fuck you

⤷ "that's a dangerous game you're playing..."

ᴍɪʜᴀᴡᴋ

⤷ mihawk was very keen on teasing you, switching paces and positions to rile you up

⤷ he loved to know he was in control of everything, and especially that he had control over you and your body

⤷ mihawk liked to see you squirm and beg, all for him, all because of him

⤷ so to hear you beg for him to go faster, harder... it was exactly what he wanted

⤷ mihawk would look at you with his signature victory shit-eating grin

⤷ he would fuck you until your legs trembled

⤷ "good girl..."

ʟᴜғғʏ

⤷ luffy just wanted to make you feel good, he loved the way you squirmed under him and moaned his name - it was like praise to him

⤷ and most of all, he loved to know that he had this effect on you

⤷ to know he could please you and make you feel good was all he wanted

⤷ luffy already fucked you like a madman, like a dog in heat

⤷ when you begged him to go harder, his brain didn't even compute, he just obeyed

⤷ "t-this hard enough for you, pretty?"

sᴀɴᴊɪ

⤷ sanji is a gentle lover, he's about the technique, not the strenght

⤷ but once in a while he loves to fuck you senseless

⤷ he loves your hands fisted, eyes closed and mouth open without a single sound being able to come out from the overstimulation

⤷ any sound to sanji only served as confirmation that you were loving it as much as him

⤷ but he particularly loved it when you gave him instructions, he just loved to serve you and make you feel good

⤷ so although he was usually the dominant half, he would listen and obey to your demands

⤷ "say no more, my love"

sʜᴀɴᴋs

⤷ shanks is prideful, he fucks you well and he knows it

⤷ and he loves your moans confirming that he is indeed the one person that can make you feel like that - the only time he'd ever heard you beg was when you begged him to fuck you

⤷ but he knows his bratty partner loves to tease him above anything else

⤷ so when you begged for him to go harder, he just chuckled, he knew you were teasing him, but you'd get it anyway

⤷ nevertheless, shanks would never pass up a chance to make you moan louder and scream higher - much less would he give up a chance to show just how well he could fuck you and how good he could make you feel.

⤷ "oh pretty baby, I'll make you regret that"

ʙᴜɢɢʏ

⤷ despite the rough exterior, what gave buggy the most pleasure was knowing he was making his little treasure feel good

⤷ when you begged or tried to give him an order he would fight back and pretend he 'did what he wanted', but it wouldn't take long before he was doing exactly what you had asked

⤷ buggy loved when you were vocal - he loved to hear you and the Captain would follow your instructions like a lost puppy just to make sure he could keep hearing your pretty noises

⤷ but he was very prone to losing control when he was inside of you - he always wanted more, needed more

⤷ more friction, more noises, more speed... you were his drug

⤷ so to hear you ask for more was a dream come true

⤷ "I'm sorry about what I'm gonna do to you..."

[drivebypainter]

Alr guys here is dumb dumb!

Due to popular demand He Mixin is SQH’s head disciple and basically gets no sleep cause of it! Yippee!

She is begrudging friends with Ming Fan (their shizuns are friends and drag them both to meetings) and the Qiong Ding Head Disciple (An Ding has to work closely with Qiong Ding to get work done). She is regularly forced to ‘babysit’ Yang Yixuan as the poor guy is stuck as de facto head disciple whenever LQG is away and doesn’t know how to do anything 😭😭

He Mixin is kinda blunt and mean at times and is prone to revenge, but really its all in the name of efficiency! She promises! (Except for maybe that one time where she fed all of the Wan Jian disciples xianxia laxatives… that was just revenge for ordering a shit ton of sword oil during a storage crisis.)

I have some more doodles and comics of her but that’ll have to wait until i am over being sick LOL

[jjsfavgirl]

Pink Glasses

JJ Maybank x migraine prone!girlfriend

this is very much inspired by my boyfriend! Who always tell me to put my glasses on when we play video games or when I’m writing because I get really bad headaches(sorry Oliver I’m wearing them right now don’t worry) <3

Summary: JJ who makes his headache prone girlfriend wear her glasses even when she doesn’t want to.

Warnings: headaches, fluffy JJ again

-

There it was again, that horrifying feeling when your forehead burns and the words on your maths textbook began to shake. Another god awful headache.

Glancing at the pink case beside your laptop, you considered reaching in and grabbing the also pink glasses. You then remembered exactly what those frames look like on you, shuddering at the mental image you went back to your work.

“Hey, princess” you heard your boyfriend greet as he walked into your shared bedroom, placing his motorcycle keys on the best along with his jacket then approaching you in order to press a soft kiss on your forehead as he ran his tan fingers through your hair.

You smiled up at him weakly, enough for him to believe that your head wasn’t throbbing as the bright light from the window shined into your eyes and muttered a small hey.

You heard JJ groan from behind you as he stretched himself out on your shared floral sheets.

Rubbing your forehead in attempt to conflict with the penetrating pain that filled your head. It felt like your brain cells were running an illegal cock fight in your head.

“You okay, baby?” JJ asked sweetly, looking up from his phone as you turned around to meet his striking blue eyes.

“Yeah m’fine.” You faked another smile, trying to ignore how the corners of your lips turning up slightly made you head throb even more than it already was.

“I know you’re lying.” He began, getting up from the now dented bed, “is your head hurting again?” He knew you way too well.

“Seriously I’m fine.” You responded, picking up your pen from the wooden desk and attempting to write something, even though all the words seem to scramble into one blob on your pages.

You looked up to see your blonde boyfriend glancing between you and your glasses case.

“No.” You immediately responded, knowing exactly what he wanted.

“Yes.” He demanded, picking up the rosey pink case and pulling out the skinny frames. “You either stop studying or you put the glasses on.” He held out the glasses introns of you with a cocky smile and a raised eyebrow.

“You know I hate how they make me look.” You threw your pen down on the page, leaning back in your chair while looking up at the tanned boy.

“You look adorable in them.” He smiled, ushering the glasses closer to your face as you backed away from them in disgust. “Your head is hurting, I don’t want you to be hurt, baby.”

“Fine.” You sighed, snatching the frames out of his hands as he had a smug look on his face at his victory.

Slowly shoving the glasses on your face with a groan, you avoided gaze with JJ as you returned you eyes back to the textbook, your headache easing slightly already.

Cupping your cheeks with both his hands, he smushed your face together slightly as he turned you to face him.

“Such a pretty girl.” He murmured, smiling brightly down at you as his thumb grazed circles across your upper cheek.

You could only smile up at him, how could he make you feel this loved and this appreciated.

You had definitely chose the right guy.

-

Tag list: @chimindity @chiaraanatra

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 18

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: pls trust me that some things will be explained in chapter 19 🙇

word count: 7,003

-Part 17- -Part 19-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Sharp, amber eyes pierce down into the male, despite having less than an inch’s difference in height. 

Lucien keeps his surprise under wraps as he greets his oldest brother, stood before the slightly dilapidated building he and his companions have taken up in, a few boards nailed over one of the upper windows that had broken during a particularly vicious storm. He recalls how Jurian had scavenged some of the plain silverware and they’d drawn spoons to see who would have to climb the roof and patch it up before the autumn chill hit. It’s a fond memory, in spite of his loss. 

“Eris,” Lucien greets shortly, holding position in blocking the male from strutting straight into his home as he knows the male would, given the chance. Not the building itself, exactly, but the people hidden away inside it, and he’d rather not subject them to another visit unless absolutely necessary. Neither of them are particularly well-equipped against Eris’ kind of verbal espionage, how he hunts the information he seeks and so effortlessly riles them up. Vassa is particularly prone to bursting into a flaming temper whenever the male pays them an unpleasant visit. 

“It’s rude to keep a guest waiting, Lucien,” Eris drawls from overside the threshold. Even after all this time he can’t help the instinctive part of him that cringes at the razor sharp tone used to cut into his name, carve it into something jagged and serrated. Perhaps when he was younger he might have returned with ‘it’s rude to show up without invitation’, but he learned long ago it’s best to avoid any kind of verbal conflict with the male. Ultimately it’s tiring and a waste of energy, so instead Lucien offers a mildly withering glare, and asks, “What are you here for?” 

Eris’s features remain sharp but blank, unshifting and drawing a clear line in the sand. Another silent demand he’s more than accustomed to, and wishes he wasn’t. “You can’t just show up without prior notice and expect to be escorted in. There are humans inside and you’ll scare them off.” 

“That’s fine by me,” Eris replies, his amber eyes silently simmering with inherent arrogance. “Step aside.”

“Don’t order me around,” Lucien replies evenly, not a note of sharpness to be found, but firm and unyielding. “You’re in their lands. Besides, they’ll be leaving shortly. You can wait a few minutes.” 

“It’s time sensitive,” Eris replies smoothly, neither having broken the eye contact. 

“You can wait a few minutes,” Lucien repeats.

Silence stretches, Eris’ brows narrowing ever so slightly in a frighteningly scathing glare that would have sent him sprinting to his room a few centuries ago. But he’s a grown male now, so he weathers the simmering look, keeping his feet firmly set on the ground, unfaltering in his stance. 

Within the silence, both can pick out the shuffle of human footfalls, the conversation that floats throughout the house, only detectable to fae hearing and each brother picks out as they trail further. It’s not until a latch clicks and a bolt is slid into place on the other side of the slightly wrecked estate that either of them shifts, and to Lucien’s invisible astonishment it’s Eris who looks away first. Even if it is to glance at the approaching Vassa over his shoulder, he notes it. 

“What’s he doing here?” Vassa questions, a derisive sneer in her tone as she pins the male darkening their doorstep with a look that could turn steak to coal in seconds. Lucien glances to Eris, wondering the same thing—wondering if he’ll answer now the humans have left and he’ll inevitably be allowed in. Sharp amber eyes slice to his own russet one, cutting and demanding, and Lucien bites back a sigh at his oldest brother’s incessant insistence on being obeyed. Even after all these years he’s just as controlling as he always was, though Lucien shouldn’t be surprised—Eris practically thrives in the cutthroat coliseum of the Autumn Court. 

Lucien steps aside in the doorway and Eris enters, bringing with him the harsh bite of the cold that’s sharper than it should be in the human lands. The distinct crispness that passes him as Eris strides past the both of them, removing his surprisingly plain cloak in one swift movement and chucking it over one of the hangers without looking. “I have news,” Eris replies vaguely, before striding further into the heart of the house and disappearing out of sight. 

Vassa shoots a fierce glare his direction, a slight scowl between her brows. “Did you know he was on his way?” She asks, already looking about ready to try smacking the male across the jaw. But Lucien shakes his head, already resigned to the evening being ruined, knowing her impatience isn’t directed at him. “I’m sober, aren’t I?” He replies wryly, a twist of a demeaning smile on his mouth to cool her flammable temper. 

After a long moment of pause, she huffs a laugh, low and raspy, some of the tension relieved from her rigid posture, fiery coloured ringlets jostled slightly from the tremble in her full shoulders. “We’d better go after him,” she says, a little more amused than she was previously, though that amusement dims swiftly at the thought of having to deal with more of the male’s unnecessary and underhanded jabs. Lucien nods, sighing once more before steeling himself, knowing he will inevitably end up in the position of mediator as he always does when people lose their calm, following after her. 

“And just when the cards were finally about to come out,” she mutters under her breath, and Lucien can practically see the scowl that has already worked itself back between her fiery brows, “I was looking forward to wiping the floor with Jurian.” 

The comment has his nostrils flaring delicately as mirth curves his mouth, lips twitching faintly. Between the three of them, Vassa is almost constantly on a losing streak, while Jurian frequently takes them for all they’re worth. He supposes it shouldn’t be as surprising as it is—Jurian’s mortality is debatable at best, an unverifiable grey area at worst. 

“Maybe we can fit in a few rounds after,” Lucien suggests as they make their way through the hallways, headed to the sitting room where the meetings most frequently take place. “The mood will probably be in need of some friendly competition.” 

“Friendly?” Vassa repeats sardonically, pausing just outside the door to the living room. “Those games are nothing short of bloodthirsty. Treating them so lightheartedly is why you never win.” 

Lucien refrains from reminding her that she has yet to go on a single winning streak against either of them. 

————

You shift uneasily in your seat, pulling the silk of the scarf a little tighter, making sure no patchy flesh will slip out from beneath the fine covering. Especially not over a meal. 

The comment springs to the forefront of your mind, rising like the sediment that’s stirred up upon a stone being dropped into the murky bottom of a lake. You know you’ll never be first choice. You’ll never have someone who’d choose you over everyone else, and if you’re honest with yourself it wouldn’t be that bad. You’ve survived this long without being someone’s first choice, so what’s changed? 

What’s changed?

A cold feels skates delicately beneath your speckled flesh at the imposing question, impossibly vast and inconceivably nuanced. So much has changed in the past two years it would be unreasonable to try and tackle it now, without even a paper and pen to aid you in the coherency of your thoughts. But maybe it’s a place to start—some small ideas to help take those opening steps, like how freshly born deer totter around on their delicate hooves, on thin, gangly legs before learning to leap and bound. 

So, you ask yourself again: What’s changed? 

Had it bothered you before that you weren’t first choice? Had you known you weren’t anyone’s first choice—yes, somewhere, but you hadn’t figured it out yet. Perhaps that’s why the comment stung, that you were robbed of making the discovery yourself, red-painted nails having clawed over the stone, carving scratches into the previously smooth surface, permanently tarnished and disheveled. 

No, thinking back, you’ve been first choice before. When you were eight, nine-ish, when you’d run down and about in the garden with Feyre who at that point couldn’t keep up with you yet. When you’d leap over tree stumps and balance on fallen trunks, sticking your arms out unevenly and watching with a strange sense of pride as Feyre doddered behind you, mimicking your stance and holding her own arms out as she made the trek over the mossy trunk. 

Then you’d gotten older, and left Feyre to play in the gardens, in the forest, by herself. Then you’d become closer with Elain a bit before your teens, the two of you often joined at the hip at parties, Nesta bearing down on the few who tried to approach, warding off any unwanted company with her fearsome countenance. You think you’d been one another’s choices then, when your mother would dress you up in complimentary fabrics, selecting patterns that would work well with one another, with little regard for the young girls she was dressing up—her own daughters. 

You like to think it had been you and Elain sticking together, in those last few years when your mother was around. 

That’s what’s changed. 

You’re surrounded by people who have found one another. 

And now your loneliness is starker than ever, yet you hadn’t even really realised it. How Feyre has Rhys and Nyx, Nesta has found Cassian, and even Elain is finding her way with Lucien. They’re the closest you’ve ever been with other people, and the closest you’ll get to other people. But they’ve all found someone else now, and you’re the odd one out. Of course you’d be the one without a mating bond, or whatever the special connection is that they were all afforded. 

You’re reminded of the confession you’d let slip in the midst of your fumbling mouth back in the library all that time ago. How you’d thought maybe…possibly there was a reason you’d felt a click with him. But you suppose you should have known better. You can’t even pretend that he was leading you on, in hindsight. It was obvious he was interested in Elain, and yet you’d thought… How stupid. And to tell him, too. To want something so sacred to them, and to wish it between yourself and him. All from wanting to be first. 

It shouldn’t matter to not be first, and yet it’s starkly painful. You can’t help but want that place. Wanted it so desperately you’d fooled yourself into seeing interest when in reality there was, just none for you. 

Your eyes traitorously stray from the small details on the rim of your porcelain plate—tiny ink drops of blue, red, and orange dotted about the edge—to the empty seat to your left, at one head of the table. 

Why had you ever made the mistake of opening up to him? Hoping for a gentle touch when your body feels like it was hewn from the most unloveable stone. The most unforgiving rock, and the coldest ice. So cold it would peel skin from flesh, so harsh it would be impossible to touch, so utterly unbearable there would be no choice but to remain alone.   

“Will you pass the potatoes?”

You’re drawn from your spiralling thoughts by the golden voice, meeting twinkling amber eyes as Mor watches you with a familiar expression. Warm and welcoming despite how you’d last seen one another. 

Swallowing, you nod. “Yeah, sure,” you reply as normally as you can, hand clutching the orange silk of your scarf to keep the material from sliding up as you carefully grip the lip of the ceramic bowl, passing it to her open hand. “Thank you,” Mor smiles, and you blink before remembering to retract your hand. She seems as she was before…back to the female you’d known her as. Is this…does it mean she’s accepted your apology? She’d seemed convinced of what she had told you, so you can’t quite trick yourself into believing that. But maybe civility? 

Right, you can understand it now. No matter how upset or hurt she might feel, she must not want to make it other people’s problem. Causing a scene over a dinner, one of the rare moments everyone’s together—most of you, anyway—isn’t worth it. No matter how your relationship might have soured, there’s no need to make the people around you miserable, too. 

Amber eyes gleam beneath the warm light, and you feel as though you can come to an agreement—one you’re ready to accept. You can both silently agree not to make it an issue for anyone else, a small kernel of warmth daring to flicker to life in your chest, the sense of connection that comes from mutual understanding despite a disagreement. For everyone else’s sake, the two of you can put everything aside. Even if it might only be temporary. 

“I like your scarf,” Mor says lightly, scooping the jagged, crispy roast potatoes onto the side of her plate, setting the bowl down in a spare space, “it suits you.” 

Again, you blink, caught off guard. You swallow thickly, managing a nod of your head, chest swelling as you eagerly take on the compliment, content to pretend even if it’s only for an hour or two. “Thank you,” you reply, keeping your voice steady, “I love your necklace.” Which is true, though in honesty it wouldn’t be difficult to find something compliment-worthy about her. She’s beautiful. 

Mor hums, glancing to another bowl, before settling on the reasonably sized boat of sauce, creating a small pool at the edge of her plate. You’re a little too occupied with watching Mor to notice the wary glance sent her way by Amren, or the warning one delivered from the High Lord himself. The tiny flicker of hope that maybe things could be patched up blocking out the rest of the picture as you gaze longingly at the female diagonal from you. 

“I suppose with the autumn chill in the air yours is a little more practical than some flimsy jewellery,” Mor replies lightly, plucking a cut of bread from the wooden board, drawing the butter closer to slather the fluffy and crusty slice. “Where did you find it? I should fetch one for myself.” 

“I’m sure you have more than enough scarves, Mor,” Rhys interjects smoothly, the serrated blade of his knife slicing effortlessly through the sinew of meat, slowly dissected into politely bite-sized pieces. “Any more and you’ll struggle to shut your wardrobe properly.”

Mor smiles icily, meeting his gaze with a cold look on her beautiful face. “Just stocking up before we have our eastern visitors.” 

Tension crackles across the table, so acute even you realise something strange is happening, watching nervously, and feeling somehow responsible for the perceived fallout. Eastern visitors…? People from the continent? Eastern…eastern…oh. Feyre had mentioned briefly the deal that had been struck between the High Lord and the Lord that reigns over his Court of Nightmares—Mor’s father. The permitted invasion of her safe haven. The slight fissure that had been opened raw between them—one you’d forgotten about, and had assumed had been fixed. 

“How is—” You fumble when Mor’s sharp eyes cut into you, caught off guard by the fierceness held within them. “…How is he?” You manage to ask, unsure whether you should even be interfering or whether you’re just putting your foot in it. Your hands shake under the table, heart pounding but you keep from shifting in your seat. 

“Who?” Mor asks blandly, ignoring the sharp glare Amren’s pinning her with. Disregarding the hard look on Rhys’ face, slight disappointment. Possibly wholly unaware of the grip Feyre has on her cutlery, head cast downward, brows pulled together. Your throat rolls, not wanting to say his name. 

It would be wrong. 

“Who else?” Nesta asks from across the table, her voice singing with the clean cut of steel as it slices through a silk ribbon, a whisper of anger hissing beneath her tone. Sharp amber eyes clash with cool silver, glinting like mercury and ice in spite of the oranges and yellows filling the room to give the allusion of warmth and familiarity. Tension simmers just below the surface, crackling like a metal weather vane struck by lightening, sizzling with barely restrained power. 

“Azriel,” you say quietly, hurrying through his name in less than a breath, feeling it brand your tongue, tingling at the roof of your mouth. Dispersing some of the charge. “How is he?” 

Amber and silver eyes remain locked for a little while longer, a pause stretching across the table and even to fae hearing there’s hardly a sound being made save for the strain of metal as knuckles strangle and warp the handles of fine cutlery. 

At last Mor looks away, dragging her gaze back to your own, the fire dimmed and smothered. 

“Well enough to be drinking again,” she answers, and that seems to be the end of the conversation. 

————

It’s a little difficult to dry the plates off with the scarf tied at your front, hiding your arms, but you manage. 

A cluster of small, iridescent bubbles float past your nose, wafting by, and Elain laughs as you step back suddenly in surprise, having been zoned out. 

There’s no need to be washing up anymore, not with the aids of magic, and if you’re honest you aren’t entirely sure how the two of you had ended up coming to the same wordless agreement, but here you are. Elain’s at the sink, bubbles frothy and foamy as she scrubs at the crockery and cutlery before depositing them on the side for you to dry with a towel. You don’t think the soapiness would agree with your skin.

The quiet settles between you, comfortable and without strain, two people sharing a space, and the apprehension you’d had before the dinner begins to slowly mellow, ice thawing out over a chilly night. 

Despite the slightly rough start, the night had progressed surprisingly smoothly, with you content to sit quietly while the others discussed various matters: Amren’s recreational studying of the Old Language; Nesta’s progression with swordplay, having begun wielding ataraxia during training; a discussion lead by Rhysand about wards that you’d partially tuned out, thinking of the crater you’d blasted through the House of Wind—at least it sounds like something that can be fixed. They aren’t permanently broken, just temporarily disabled. 

“Feyre’s birthday is coming up,” Elain says, seemingly out of nowhere, and you glance at her questioningly, humming in acknowledgement. “What are you thinking of getting her?” You ask, curiously content to follow along this path and see where she takes it. Elain sighs faintly, “I was thinking of making some herbal teas, actually…not many, but a few different ones to see if any help with stress, or sleeping, or the like. Generic benefits.” 

You nod your head slightly—it’s a thoughtful gift, bespoke and personal, too. She’s always good with presents. 

“You?” Elain asks, glancing at you lightly, speaking only loud enough to top the gentle babbling of water and splashing of suds. You glance down at the stack of dried plates, reaching for the wet cutlery to start on. “I haven’t thought of anything yet,” you answer honestly, considering, “it’s still a couple of months away, so I guess I hadn’t started thinking about it yet.” 

Elain’s quiet for a bit, and you get the sense she has something to say but is unsure how to bring it up. You wait patiently, preoccupying yourself with the cutlery, careful not to accidentally carve a chunk of flesh from the heel of your palm. 

“I think…Feyre would like to do something with all of us,” she says quietly, a little absently. “Perhaps not on the actual day, but sometime nearby.” 

“She would?” You ask, slightly surprised. Elain doesn’t meet your gaze this time, continuing to focus on washing up, giving her hands something to do, and you copy her after a moment, carrying on with the drying up. “She hasn’t said anything explicitly, but it’s the impression I’ve gotten,” Elain says faintly, then pauses again. “I think…I think it would be nice, too.” 

There’s a tremor in her fingertips, but she pushes them below the warm water, out of sight as if reaching for a fork or spoon beneath the frothy surface. 

“Particularly, after…” Her throat closes up, and you hesitantly reach out, gloves temporarily discarded while drying, bare fingers grazing the soft skin of her forearms, unable to feel the gentle tickle of tiny hairs anymore. “I’m sorry…” you murmur uselessly, watching helplessly as a droplet falls from her eye, splashing through into the dishwater below. But Elain shakes her head, hands raising from the water to continue moving, absently washing the last plate from the dinner. 

“I’d like to see more of you, too,” Elain says, swallowing thickly as she scrubs at the gleaming porcelain, clearing her throat. “So would Nesta. I think we’ve all been a bit distant lately, with one another I mean, and with Feyre having Nyx, and Nesta off in Day… We should spend more time together, and see each other more often, and speak more, just in general. And then there’s also Starfall, and we can see each other then, and celebrate, and—”

“Elain, Starfall’s months away,” you say gently, fingers shifting so they’re lightly gripping her wrist, pausing her motions, pulling her eyes to lock with your own. Wider than they should be.

You look at one another, watching silently, and you can feel the flutter of her pulse beneath your fingertips, erratic enough for even your own damaged hands to pick up on. 

“You’ll be there, won’t you?” She whispers, eyes hot and wet. 

You blink, grasping the heaviness of the question, then nod, unable to make your throat work, lower lip trembling a bit. “I’ll be there,” you manage to get out, feeling the familiar pressure behind your eyes. 

She nods back, before finally handing over that last plate that has been clean for a while, but between the soapiness of the dishwater, and the trembling of both your hands, the plate slips, and smashes on the floor. The pale fragments split and shatter, spraying across the cold tiles, and both of you jump at the startling noise, before looking at each other again, and laughing. Gasping, ragged breaths that have both of you leaning for support, tears welling in eyes as each of you are split between crying from desperate, manic humour, and dreadful, fearsome sadness. 

Neither of you can find it in yourselves to care about the shattered porcelain, the jagged fragments with blue, red, and orange ink drops dotted around the utterly broken rim of the plate. 

“I…I need to find something…to clean that up,” you gasp through laughter, wiping away the tears. Elain just nods, still heaving ragged breath into her lungs, eyes squeezed shut, ringlets of hair jostling with each shudder of mirth as she grips the edge of the sink, expression torn between sobbing laughter and wrecking grief, and you don’t think you can stand to be in the same room for much longer, subject to the violent turbulence. 

The light from the kitchen dims but your eyes adjust swiftly as you walk unevenly out into the dark hallway, rounding the corner to go look for a brush, or duster of some kind, even a cloth or a rag would do—

Both of you freeze as you round the corner to see one another, Mor’s figure losing its rigidity much more swiftly compared to your own that will remain locked up for the following few minutes. 

You swallow thickly, eyes wide as you take her in: the dimmed gold of her lustrous hair; the bare expanse of her elegant neck; the tray held in her red-tipped hands, those long, slightly rounded nails gleaming a deep rouge. “Mor,” you greet, a touch quieter than usual, “I didn’t see you there.” 

“Nor I, you,” she replies, watching you. A beat passes, and you swallow again, eyes flicking down to the tray in her hands. “Azriel’s?” You ask through the tightness in your throat, gently probing to see if she’s open to a conversation. You’ll leave, if she’s unresponsive—you know now what it’s like to be on either end of this strange dynamic. Mor nods her head once, still watching you silently, and you look elsewhere. Then nod your own head. “Nice seeing you,” you say quietly, then move to walk around her. 

“Wait,” Mor whispers at the last second, holding the tray in one hand and gripping your wrist with the other. You recoil sharply when her fingers squeeze your arm, and her hold lightens significantly, but she doesn’t immediately let go, digits stuttering away a second later. “Sorry,” she murmurs, stepping back by half a pace. “It’s okay,” you reply hastily, looking away as you pull your hand back to your body, “you didn’t know.” 

The words hang between you, and silence stretches in the relative darkness of the corridor.

When you manage to raise your gaze to glance at her, you nearly regret the choice—she’s making no effort to conceal the fierce defence in her sharp amber eyes. You’re about to turn to try and leave again though, when she speaks, and the tremor in her voice is pronounced enough to root you to the spot. 

“Tell me why you went to Eris.” 

————

The expression that was on the commander’s face had been enough to set the two of them on edge, Jurian offering Eris one of those slow but rare, slightly insane half-smiles he can make, that often has the spiralling effect distinctive to falling down through a nightmare on whoever’s unlucky enough to have it turned on them. It doesn’t come out often, but that it’s made an appearance this evening is a dark sign, and Lucien silently prays he will not be forced into a position where he will have to default to Eris’s defence in attempts to calm the potential ire that could catch in either of his human comrades. 

The day has proven to be tricky enough on its own—none of them need this added abrasion. 

Vassa strides across the room, taking up in the seat closest to the crackling hearth, the flame making her hair blaze brighter than natural, her already sharp eyes glinting in the firelight. 

It seems he’s the only one actively trying to avoid the conflict that’s brewing in the air, the other two appearing ready and more than content to fight fire with fire. He knows there’s no use explaining the redundancy of wielding that tactic against the male across from the human queen, with fire burning in his very blood. 

“You said you had news,” Vassa demands, charging straight to the point before Lucien’s even had a chance to seat himself on the other end of the sofa, opposite from Jurian. Between his chosen family and his blood-given one. But Eris won’t be rushed, and instead turns his attention to his youngest brother, the fire doing nothing to thaw the cool ice in his amber eyes. “How is your mate, Lucien?” 

Lucien allows himself the space of a blink to recompose himself, vaguely trying to hide his suspicion. It’s never good when he can’t see the end Eris is pursuing, but he’s used to being left in the dark when it comes to the male’s schemes—he just can’t help the instinctive aggression that prickles up the back of his neck at Elain being brought into this. 

“You aren’t one for idle chatter,” Lucien replies, calming the flame that had begun sizzling in his blood, “why don’t we skip ahead and get straight to the point, as this is such a time sensitive matter?” A sinister gleam appears in his oldest brother’s eyes, and he braces himself for whatever whip is about to lash into his skin. “Very well,” Eris says instead, leaning back into his chair, practically sprawling across it, dominating the space he takes up in his typically uncaring, arrogant fashion. But then the air shifts, his expression becoming serious. “How well-informed is your mate of Night Court affairs?” 

“Enough with this evasive subterfuge. What news do you bring?” Vassa demands harshly, Jurian seemingly agreeing with her anticipation to have the male rid of as soon as possible, a disagreeable look simmering in his rough features. But Lucien levels his brother with an evaluating glance, mechanical eye whirring faintly against the dim heat of the fire. “We each have our distances,” Lucien replies evenly, yielding a vague answer. He’s getting the distinct feeling something large has happened, or is about to. Maybe even happening as they speak—slabs of rock knocking into one another, having already been pushed into motion. 

Does this have anything to do with Elain’s visit being postponed? She had been supposed to arrive two days ago, but had had to change their meeting to a later date as she’d had a family matter to oversee. Lucien hadn’t tried to pry. 

“But you’re aware that Nesta Archeron and the General took a vacation to the Day Court?” Eris questions, and again Lucien has the distinct sense he’s missing a piece of the puzzle. A very big, very crucial piece of the puzzle. 

He nods, and braces himself. 

Though even foresight wouldn’t have been enough to prepare him for the news Eris had brought. 

A warning that shook him to his fae bones. 

————

You swallow thickly, frozen stiff as her truthful eyes bore into you. 

You open your mouth, lips ajar, but your throat is much too tight to release any sort of sound. 

Mor doesn’t shift, holding your gaze with a steadiness and conviction you can’t look away from, bound to her by an invisible tether that’s keeping you from hiding or running how you’d like to. “Surely you know…” she whispers, taking in a shallow breath, her lashes fluttering with an almost imperceptible shudder. “Surely you know what he did to me.” 

You give a faint nod of your head. 

Her amber eyes sharpen, and your stomach clenches beneath the look. “So explain yourself,” she utters lowly. “Don’t leave it up to me to pry the answers from you.” 

A seed of fear plants itself in your throat, something cool and slimy rinsing gently down your spine and you’re worried sweat is dripping down your ribs, rolling in salty droplets down the soft inside of your arms where the skin hasn’t yet grown dehydrated and flaky. Fingers tighten absently on the silk of the orange scarf banding around your upper body, tugging at the folds to try and hide the tremor of adrenaline that’s filtered into your bloodstream. 

You swallow thickly, but your throat won’t clear, and you realise that’s because there’s nothing there—no matter how much it feels the opposite. 

“I didn’t…” you clear your throat again. Rip your gaze away. “I didn’t want to disappoint any of you,” you force yourself to answer, voice catching at the pitiful excuse. 

Mor’s silent. 

Silent for long enough you nervously look at her. 

You flinch internally at the expression of horror on her features, shoulders bunching with shame as your brows curve, silently begging for a reply, and not this awful quiet that’s slowly gutting you. 

“You chose…” she swallows past a lump in her throat, and her scent has shifted but you can’t understand what it means, the minute changes that occur within fae bodies. “You willingly went to him? He didn’t even have to try and persuade you?” 

“Mor it wasn’t like that,” you try to clarify hurriedly. “I just—…I just thought it would be—”

“Easier?”

“No! I just thought it would— I don’t know… It would’t cause trouble! I just wanted to do it by myself so I wouldn’t have to bother any of you!”

“Wouldn’t cause trouble?” Mor repeats incredulously, a look of disbelief on her features, like she can’t grasp what you’re saying. “We were ready to help,” Mor bites back sharply, “all you had to do was ask for it. You could have spoken to Feyre, or any of your sisters about your magic. Any of us. You could have come to me, even—but you went to Eris.” Her voice is taut, rife with anger and hurt, but even in the dim light there’s a faint shine in her eyes, belying their wetness. “What made you think that we weren’t enough?” 

“I didn’t want to bother you!” You say back, matching her volume. 

“We’re your family! You’re supposed to bother us!” 

You take a small step back, fighting the humiliating wobble of your lip before you shake your head, fingertips tingling. “No. You’re— You’re Feyre’s family.” 

“Feyre’s your sister,” Mor emphasises, knuckles pushing up from beneath the smooth softness of her skin, pronounced from her bone-white grip on the tray that’s beginning to splinter. “Or is she no longer part of your family either? It seems the only person you even bother to speak to is Elain nowadays. Her and Azriel, anyway.” 

“And what does that matter?” You bite back, hands itching. “What does it matter if I only speak to Elain? Would you prefer I start speaking to you, Mor?” 

“Why not?” She nearly spits, energy being drawn out from the cave where she’d tried to smother it over dinner. “Why not?” You repeat, neither of you completely aware of how your voices are beginning to rise incrementally, ignoring or oblivious to the faint, sickly green light that definitely isn’t coming from the kitchen. “You’d like me to speak with you when this is the kind of conversation we’re having? You want me to be emotional, or vulnerable with you, or ask you for help when you shut me out the moment I do something wrong? When I fail?” 

“I might have shut you out but you didn’t even open up. Didn’t even give us a chance in the first place, don’t pretend otherwise,” Mor spits back. “If you can’t understand the pain you caused me, fine. I can’t help it if you won’t allow yourself to think of us as family. But what about your actual family? What about them?” 

“Don’t you dare try and talk to me about my own family Mor,” you grit out, nails digging into the flaky skin of your palms, heart pounding in your chest. “Haven’t you pried enough?” 

“Did you even think to consider how it would make them feel?” Mor jabs, barrelling ahead. “Can you grasp how hurt Feyre was that you didn’t go to her? Three sisters, and you decided that none of them were good enough? Just because you aren’t their first choice doesn’t mean they can’t be—”

“Mor.” 

Utter silence falls throughout the hallway at the barely restrained interruption. 

Both of you freeze at the sound of the third voice, filled with hissing winds and rasping shadow. Managing to stay calm despite the tempest in her blue-grey eyes. 

Before you, Mor blinks, and you’re unsure if you imagine the way colour drains from her features, still watching you. Further unsure if the faint green light was smothered of its own accord or the dark shadows that seem to be heavier now Feyre has appeared. Now the Cursebreaker has entered. 

Mor turns on her heel, shifting to meet Feyre’s eyes, but quiet stretches between them, and you get the impression a conversation is being had, though not through daemati powers. A single lock of golden hair shifts over Mor’s shoulder, falling out of place, though you can no longer see her expression. And then she nods. Just once, hardly perceptible, even to fae eyes, and you watch with a still pounding heart as the tray vanishes from her hands a second later, heels clicking softly across the floorboards as she wordlessly takes her exit, leaving you and…Feyre, alone in the hallway. 

You shift anxiously on your feet, swallowing thickly. 

“How much of that did you hear?” You ask quietly, looking away again, all the fight drained from you after the brief altercation. You’re entirely unaccustomed with those open arguments, haven’t had one since—well, since that last one with Feyre, that had the sound ward placed on your room. 

Feyre watches you, the previous storm quietened, but her eyes aren’t sparkling as usual. Instead she looks drained. Drained, and tired, and a little wary. “Enough,” she answers.

You shift again, a little begrudging she saw fit to interrupt, like you needed her to intervene. “It was fine, you know…” 

Feyre’s quiet, and you’re unsure if she’s angry. Angry at you for speaking to Mor that way. Angry at you for speaking so loudly when Nyx is probably asleep. Angry at you for not speaking to her first. Angry at you for the long, long list of reasons she should have by now. 

“It did hurt,” she says quietly, and you raise your gaze to meet her own, “that you thought you couldn’t come to us. To me.” 

Your lips purse, and you look away. 

“I was upset with your choice. Disappointed a little. Confused,” she continues in that quiet whisper that could carry with ease across a cavernous hall. “But what Mor said wasn’t true. Not in the way she phrased it.” 

“Feyre, it’s fine,” you say softly. “You don’t need to—”

“Mor knows that’s not true either.” 

Your lips purse again, that quiet stretching between you. 

You want to disintegrate on the spot. 

Fabric rustles slightly, and it’s the only clue you have to Feyre shifting. Then, “it’s late,” she says, moving away from the open wound of a topic. “We should talk more about this in the morning. When Madja comes round too.” She nods her head toward the corridor, but you look at her a little apologetically. “I was supposed to find Elain a brush,” you say, feeling embarrassed, “we broke a plate.” 

“The kitchen will clear it up,” Feyre replies, leaving no room for you to skate back to your older sister. 

So you end up walking with her back to your room. 

It’s dark out, and you can’t help but look forward to settling into bed, even if it hurts sometimes to roll over beneath the covers. That it hurts sometimes to lie on your sides, when your arms press into the sheets, with your weight resting atop them. At least you’re beginning to get used to it, the pain much more tolerable now, despite it having not decreased. 

You’ve both reached the top of the stairs, turning down the hallway that will lead to your bedroom, walking close enough together to make up for the fact your arms aren’t linked—Feyre guessing correctly it would probably hurt—when Feyre speaks. “Are Eris and Azriel the only other people who’ve felt your magic before?” She asks tentatively into the darkness of the house, seemingly having cooled off now you’re further from the spot of altercation. 

“Yes, I think so,” you answer in an equally soft voice. 

“Have either of them every commented on what it feels like?” She asks, and you’re aware how she’s keeping her gaze ahead. You move your eyes to look in the same direction, spotting your bedroom door on the right not far ahead. “Not that I can think of,” you reply, before adding, “though it’s never been…going, for as long as that.” 

Feyre’s silent, and you glance at her through the shadows, wondering what she’s thinking. You can’t read her expression, so resume your looking ahead. 

“When I was in autumn, though,” you begin hesitantly, hardly louder than a whisper, worrying who might overhear the unpleasant reference, “my magic almost…I don’t know…burst? It came through me very suddenly, and forcefully.” You recall the frighteningly large creature that had charged at you while in the woods, how your magic had melted the skin from its flesh. “We were both sick afterwards.” 

“Azriel was sick a lot when he first woke up,” Feyre says faintly, and your stomach clenches with guilt. 

You try to swallow past it, but it seems to remain lodged in your throat, unpleasantly settling in your stomach heavily enough you’re thankful when you reach your door, the evening nearly over with. 

“Why did you ask, by the way?” You question before slipping away into your room, paused over the threshold. 

Feyre glances at you, turned to leave but stopping. “Your magic…I could feel it in the hallway,” she answers, a wary note creeping into her voice. 

She seems disinclined to give anything else, so you again shift awkwardly in the doorway, before gathering the gut to ask, “how did it feel?” 

Something passes behind her blue-grey eyes, shuttering briefly as they close, before reopening. “Like I was dying again,” she answers quietly. 

You stare at her silently, the threshold of your room between you, the silence heavier than it was before. You don’t even know what to say to that. 

She doesn’t give you the time to think of a reply, however, as she releases a sigh. Her throat rolls as she meets your eyes. “Sleep well,” she says, and you catch as her attention dips to your hands, like she wants to take them, to hold them. 

But she doesn’t, instead looking back at you again, throat rolling for the second time.

“I love you,” she says hoarsely, speaking those words that are so sparsely exchanged between the four of you. 

You stiffen, emotion of a different kind tightening your throat, and you nod faintly. 

“I love you, too. Sleep well.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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[ladywhistlewrites]

If I may, could I possibly request Benedict Bridgerton x reader who needed to get away from everything ( don’t exactly know what my apologies ) as it was overwhelming and ran into the forest whilst they was a storm and ended up slipping down becoming injured and unconscious? ( goes from that to him going out looking for reader )

hiii (omg my first ask) ofc!!

I did my best hope you like it🩷

Benedict brigerton x gn reader

The weight of the world bore heavily upon your shoulders, and the oppressive atmosphere of the ball only served to suffocate you further. The grandeur of the Bridgerton estate, with its lavish decorations and spirited laughter, felt like a cage closing in around you. Air, you needed air, space, and solitude—a moment to breathe away from prying eyes and the incessant demands of high society.

Without a word to anyone, you slipped out of the ballroom, heart pounding in your chest as you made your way through the gardens. The night air was cool against your flushed skin, a welcome relief from the stifling heat inside. You walked faster, pace quickening with each step, until you broke into a run. The storm brewing on the horizon mirrored the turmoil within you and you welcomed it, hoping the rain would wash away your troubles.

The first droplets began to fall just as you reached the edge of the forest. The tall, dark trees beckoned you with their promise of seclusion, and you didn't hesitate, plunging into the dense undergrowth. The storm intensified, lightning illuminating the path ahead in brief, blinding flashes, followed by the deafening roar of thunder. You pressed on, deeper into the forest, driven by a desperate need to escape.

Your foot caught on a hidden root, and you tumbled down a steep incline, the world spinning around you.

You landed hard, pain shooting through your leg as you tried to stand. Your vision blurred, the rain now a torrential downpour, soaking you to the bone.

You tried to call out, but your voice was swallowed by the storm. Darkness closed in, and you succumbed to unconsciousness, lying helpless in the mud.

Back at the Bridgerton estate, Benedict couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. He had noticed you slipping away earlier, your eyes filled with a sadness that tugged at his heart. When you didn't return, he grew increasingly worried. Ignoring the curious glances from the guests, he ventured outside, his coat pulled tight against the storm.

The garden was deserted, and he followed your path through the wet grass, his eyes scanning the forest ahead. He plunged into the trees, calling her name, his voice lost in the howling wind. Fear gripped him as he imagined you alone and frightened in the storm. He pushed on, his heart pounding with determination, until he finally spotted your prone form at the bottom of the incline.

He called out your name, his voice filled with relief and urgency. He scrambled down to your side, his hands trembling as he checked for signs of life. You were breathing, but unconscious, your face pale and clothes soaked through. He gently lifted you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. The journey back to the estate was treacherous, the rain turning the ground to mud, but he moved with a singular focus, driven by the need to get you to safety.

Once inside, the Bridgerton household sprang into action. Benedict carried you up to a guest room, barking orders for hot water, blankets, and the family physician. He stayed by your side, holding your hand, his eyes never leaving your face. The physician arrived quickly, tending to her injuries with practiced efficiency. A sprained ankle and exhaustion, he said, but nothing more serious. You would recover with rest and care.

Benedict breathed a sigh of relief, his heart finally calming. He remained at your bedside, his fingers intertwined with hers, offering silent comfort. As the storm raged outside, the room was filled with a sense of peace. You stirred, your eyes fluttering open to meet his concerned gaze. A weak smile played on your lips, and you squeezed his hand, grateful for his presence.

"You're safe now," he whispered, brushing a strand of wet hair from your forehead. "I'm here."

In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of the Bridgerton home and the steadfast presence of Benedict, you knew you were not alone. The storm had passed, both outside and within, and you felt a glimmer of hope for the days to come.

[shini--chan]

Yandere Character Sheet II - 1p England / Arthur Kirkland

My depiction of Arthur here is harsh. I'll freely admit that it is due to a bias I have against the British due growing up in one of the Empire's late colonies and family history. Blazes, some of my relatives refuse to speak English because they regard it as "the language of the Antichrist".

Trigger warnings: colonialism, controlling behaviour, manipulation, mental break, trauma, physical torture, emotional/verbal abuse, victim blaming

Blend in - Are the red flags obvious? Are they even aware that their behaviour is wrong? Do they even care? 

Arthur is generally a cantankerous, cynical and proud man, so it would be more difficult to tell which of his actions are relationship red flags as opposed to personality red flags. Of course, this is also a gross oversimplification of the situation since he is complicated. When he wants to be, he can be genuinely kind, polite and caring. It is simply that the closer you are to him emotionally, the higher his expectations are of you. With you being the apple of his eye, you'd have the honour of finding out that being the subject of his affections is worse than having to bear his apathy or even ire. 

One of the reasons for this is that he'd have a fixed ideal of what constitutes as good and proper, and he would require you to conform to that image. Depending on your character and disposition, this could be painful for you. But surely you'll embrace your cruel fate, for isn't love the sweetest form of suffering. Pragmatic and cynical as he would be and would claim to be, Arthur would still be a romantic at heart. To him, meeting you would be fate, and you would do well to likewise recognise that your fate lies with him. Generally he wouldn't accept any words or actions that would go against this perceived destiny - he wouldn't take them seriously. 

Overall, he would see you as lesser than him, and therefore not as deserving of respect and regard. Much of the politeness and charm he would display to you wouldn't stem from seeing you as an equal or from thinking highly of your thoughts and emotions, but rather from the sort of charity given to the invalid and the naive. 

This flows nicely into the next red flag, in that he can be unbelievably paternalistic and conceited. You acting out, trying to defend your boundaries, or even just not fitting into what he deems appropriate would be deemed as you being unreasonable or having a phase. All in all, it would be very difficult to criticise him since he would first have to view you as a person worth listening to, and that wouldn't be a given. Even if your relationship has reached that level of respect, he would be quick to deliver some sharp retorts. Also, he would simply not care that some of the things he does are reprehensible. Either the end would justify the means, or the other people are inferior and conventional morals can't be applied to them. 

Additionally, he would be prone to making decisions for you, without your input. Mind you, he would allow you to place your orders by yourself when you go out to wine and dine. Though, he would decide what you wear, when you go to sleep, what you eat and drink at home, and the media you consume. This would start way before he would manage to fully isolate/kidnap you. Arthur regards himself as more apt when it comes to making choices about your life than you are. 

Related to that above, he would manage to make you go along with all that (at least in the beginning) by acclimating you to his controlling nature. He wouldn't dominate your life all at once and the more he'd enter your life, the more he'd determine how you'd live your own life. He'd demand that you tell him of all your movements and errands, make you let him look through your letters and bills and have you give him the passwords to all your accounts. On top of that, he would micromanage you at times. 

Another warning sign would be how unpredictable he would be. When it comes to social interactions, what happens is very dependent on Arthur's. He is far from emotionless, and is very passionate indeed. However, he isn't one to wear his heart on his sleeve or display his emotions openly, which would make it difficult to assess the situation at times. A bad time on the way home from work can decide if you receive affection or are pushed away with sharp remarks. Additionally, it would be the little things that would set him off the most, while he would remain stoic and calm in the face of large calamities.

Compatriot - Who aids them? Who condemns them? Are there ways you can convince their friends/colleges/underlings to help you? 

Part of Arthur's magic is convincing others of his superiority. There would be many that would aid him simply because they'd falsely believe he is all-powerful and that moving against him is futile. These sorts would be the worst - you'd have their sympathy and pity and they would likely believe you fully if you'd recount the lived horror and they'd still resolutely refuse to help you. On the contrary, they would even encourage you to give in to him, to simply weather the storm instead of fighting against it. These people would also be the hardest to persuade and the fastest to betray you, since they would fully buy into the illusion of Arthur's invulnerability and seek to gain small favours from their "Lord and Saviour". 

Then there would be those that would be on his side because they'd agree with his world views and morality. Best not to bank on their support, because Arthur would always be grander in their minds than you. Unless … there is nothing more feverant than a disillusioned devotee, eh? There, you could get their support, you would just have to teach them successfully that their angel is a demon. 

Naturally, England would also have many enemies. So some of them, all that would matter would be to land a blow on Arthur, so they would have no qualms or second thoughts of helping you. They might even "be on your side" before you'd catch on to Kirkland's true colours. Perhaps they would even be the ones to shine light on his less appealing traits. One thing that you should keep in mind though, that they wouldn't care about what would happen to you, as long as they could hurt Arthur. 

Aside from the obvious category of people that hate Arthur and who would also be sympathetic to your cause, there would also be the normal people that just want to go about their day-to-day lives. Those that might work for Arthur; they might trip you up if they like him, they might ignore your forged documents and stolen money if they hate him. Generally, many people downplay the power and the influence of the ordinary, working man. Arthur would be no exception to this rule, and could use this against him. 

Dominion - What actions are especially pleasing to them?

Above all else - you defer to him. He wants to be your guiding light in the darkness. He is supposed to be your teacher and protector and provider, and he wouldn't settle for anything less. For you to recognise and accept your role in the dynamic between the two of you would be a boon. It would be a relief that he wouldn't have to chastise and punish you like a wayward child. It would give him a bit of hope.

Interestingly enough, he would still desire for you to be resolute. Silk hiding steel comes to mind and if you're the sort to faint at the slightest sign of trouble, he would deem you a product of bad breeding. You are to be a rose, and your thorns should be sharp. Of course, this shouldn't come at his expense, for he doesn't want somebody that would constantly stand against him. You should be the sort that is a fun conquest, and a steadfast companion that doesn't cause more trouble than you solve. The deep irony here is that he wishes that you aren't a child, all while being continuously paternalistic. 

Appeal to his finer sensibilities - have etiquette down pat, be educated in that you know the classics and poetry and the BBC nature documentaries. Be easy on the eye and balm for the soul to him, make him feel respected and allow him to rant about god and the world without always throwing in your two cents. Be attentive to his needs, whether it be a shoulder massage, a bottle of port or tickets for the nearest rugby match. Communication without many words necessary would be prefered. On your side, such a skill would even be needed if you want to survive him. 

Tied into that - he would want the little things taken care of by you. Have a meal ready when he comes home, and the bathroom scrubbed and the washing done. Still he would require the dichotomy of a homebody and an adventurer, at least to some extent (and you thought he was going to leave you alone at home). Everywhere though, you'd be expected to put his well being above your own. After all, if he is out cold, then who will take care of you. No matter how strong and capable you are, he will forever regard himself as your superior. 

Conform to the values of the time. If there is something that irks Arthur beyond measure, it would be not understanding something. He wouldn't understand you if your mind runs on models of the world he is not familiar with. Of course, if you don't see things his way yet then it is no issue - diamonds commonly need polishing and cutting before they are perfect. It would be a re-edition of the white man's burden. 

Flight - What do you have to do in order to escape them?

It would be easier than you'd expect. Arthur's main spiel to make you stay by him would be to make you think that escape is futile, and that he is all-powerful and all-knowing when it comes to you. He would aim at "demonstrating" this by stalking you or also letting you escape only to capture you again. This wouldn't be his only failsafe. Perhaps he'll socially isolate you, so that you believe he is the only person in the world that you can trust, or he'll convince you that you're a horrible person, and he is only doing on to you what you deserve (he might even believe the latter himself). So what you have to do, is break the mental fetters, and then matters already become easier. 

Two pathways are recommended: Either do something completely haywire that he wouldn't expect. Send yourself abroad per post, join a travelling circus troupe or become a nun. There are only so many avenues of escape that he can close down, and the most obvious would be the first to go. Or you could elect to hide in plain sight and slip away. Lose him in a shopping mall or in a crowded street. A concert would be even better. Afterwards, it would be advisable to act normal - because he would be looking for a harried person. 

And have some tranquillisers/sleeping pills at hand. You'll need them to cope with the fallout. 

Hospitality - What is your life like with them? How much does it deviate from your former life?

You'd basically have to adopt an Arthur-approved lifestyle and discard everything that came for. He would dictate the tempo and direction, with you having precious little say in the matter. You'd only have your way if your interests coincide with England's or you plant the ideas in his head and let him think it was his idea in the first place. 

You'd become another fixture in his environment and thus everything that is his would become yours as well. The living space would be his and he would share it with you. Whether you like it or not, you would start orienting yourself around his routines and ideas. A side effect of this would be that he would control what you would read, watch and listen to. When locked up and subject to his tender mercies, you would be powerless to obtain any information other than what he allows. 

Aside from that, there are too many restrictions and rules to count, and you would only be able to have some comfort once you learn to navigate the minefield. In total, your life would be more akin to life in an old girls boarding school, or even a prison. The food would be just as bland, unless you'd take matters into your own hands. 

With him, your opinion would matter very little and his would be everything. Every criticism of your person would have to be acted on immediately, and every wish treated as an order. Of course, he would detest it if you'd simply allow him to walk all over you, but he would equally loath it if you would stubbornly resist it. It would be a balancing act that you would have to learn to master.

 In the beginning you might be inclined to point out how his treatment of you would contradict his own morals. Arthur wouldn't care - this is a point that can't be stressed enough. Conventional morals wouldn't apply to you, in his eyes. Besides, you would be his plaything, something with which he can engage in all his base desires and dark urges without any repercussions. Somebody at his station would have to punish him for him to genuinely become better towards you. 

There are few holds barred for him when it comes to you, and that makes him all the more dangerous. Should the mood strike him due to your bad behaviour, then he would bring out the thumb screws and the brands and the water torture. He probably wouldn't want to mar you, or at least not too much. You should still be prepared for burns of all sorts and being twisted into various uncomfortable positions and restrained. Here, the menu would be a lengthy one. 

Of course, there would be the social aspect. One of the first things Arthur would do would be to chip away at your social circle. This could be either through slander and manipulation, or more criminal methods like framing, drugging and murder. Eitherway, soon he'll be the only one you'll have, and since he is a jealous man, you would either only be able to interact with a carefully curated group of people, or not at all. 

Order - What are the rules you have to adhere to?

There are too many rules to count when it comes to Arthur Kirkland. He wouldn't spell out all of them for you anyway, since a lot of them are self-evident in his eyes. Besides, he'd want you to live according to the spirit of the rules, rather than him having to lay out an exact wording only for you to engage in loophole abuse. Regardless, here are some of mentioned rules:

If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it at all. Mind you, this is only towards him - other people are fair game. Although, you'd have to be smart about it and avoid causing second hand embarrassment. This would be easier said than done when you're in company, since your actions would automatically reflect on Arthur, once a certain point in your relationship has been reached. If you'd curse and chew out the world with him, he would be delighted. If you would turn your insults on him, he would burn with rage at the insolence and the impertinence. How dare you undermine his authority! Verbal sparring would be occasionally welcomed, though you'd have to have the sensitivity to tell when the ice is too thin to stand on. 

Behave yourself when we are in mixed company. Even when we are in company in general. To him, you are a pet project, living evidence that he can fashion perfection out of flesh and bone and a willful spirit. Totting you out to other people would come with the expectation that you be a living exhibit of his talents. As such, he wouldn't take it well if you misbehave. Mind you, he wouldn't be above humiliating you in mixed company just to save his own reputation. 

Keep up with the etiquette, will you? Belonging to him would mean you'd have to comply with a whole host of rules and rituals and mannerisms. This can vary depending on his social standing and the time period. The main point would be that you wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb. The irony here is that he would desire you to have the skills and aptitude to get along well with your peers all while wanting you all to himself.

Don't make me repeat myself, pet. There are some phrases Arthur would repeat around you over and over again, like an especially devout priest. He would want you to internalise some truths after all. On the flip side, he would loathe to have to repeat himself when he talks with you, or to have to lay out his instructions a second time. Should he be peeved, and then be forced to repeat himself just because you weren't paying attention, then you would have a punishment awaiting you. Above all, don't talk back when he orders or chastises you - he wouldn't hold back with the yelling and the insults and the condensation if you do. 

 Be honest with me, savvy? I can't smell what you are thinking, after all. For somebody as cunning and devious as Arthur Kirkland, he gets extraordinarily upset when he is given a taste of his own medicine. He would demand you be forthright and honest with him, something that would be very difficult if you don't want to be with him and don't want to anger him at the same time. The reason behind this would be that he would want to trust you, and he wouldn't be able to trust you if he'd have to cut through your lies and half truths and word games. Or if he would only receive your complaints from around five corners, or something of the sort. Asides, if you're the sort to voice your displeasure and be open about your thoughts and feelings (to him, it should be said) then he wouldn't be in for any nasty surprises. 

Rehabilitation - How much will they change you? Will they break you? How much therapy would you need in the event that you get rid of them? 

Arthur Kirkland is the sort of man that would leave scars. He'd want you to be unable to live without him and he'd strive to condition you to dissolve into hysterics should you be separated from him. In the case he should succeed, you'd be fine for a few days and then descend into such emotional turmoil. This would be because he'd have your behavioural structures tailored to him, and without him to act as your focal point, you would grow anxious. Be careful not to go crawling back to him then - each escape would be more mentally challenging then the one before. 

Even when you'd be away from him, his rules would be so ingrained in you that you'd follow them on a subconscious level. You'd find yourself fixing your posture all the time, and weighing each word up against gold before uttering it. Out of reflex you'd discreetly check your surroundings to see where Arthur is and no matter how much you'd police your thoughts, his cynical attitude towards other human beings would have rubbed off on you and infected your mental processes. Arthur would continue to accompany you as the devil on your shoulder, as the voice of your inner critic, as a demon that would haunt your dreams, even if he would no longer be physically present. You'd have to be self-aware and self-conscious to rid yourself of those fetters. 

Aside from that, he wouldn't hesitate to break you to achieve his goals. There would be regrets on his behalf, yes. However, he'd never regret breaking you to the point that he would strive to make amends and see the errors of his ways. Instead, he would blame you for being too rebellious, for having such a brittle character that you broke instead of bending to his will, for being of ill stock and bad breeding. Admitting wrongdoing would be akin to weakness for him, something he would never allow himself to display in front of you.

Perhaps you would retain enough sanity and energy even when broken to flee him, perhaps you would develop a secondary or even tertiary personality to deal with the trauma. Either way, a life without Arthur would be even more cumbersome and hard than when you'd have been whole. It would take years until you'd be able to function normally again, and that is only if the best case scenario of you having a stable life without Arthur hunting you, occurs. 

Zeal - Do they fall fast or slow? What is their reaction to their own feelings?

Ever the romantic at heart, passion would grip him quickly, yet he would be very slow to act on it. It wouldn't be the first case of limerence on his side, and he would want to be sure of his feelings and their longevity before committing to you. Ironically, the more he'd try to wrestle his emotions into control and bottle them, the more potent and out of control they would become. Finally, they would overwhelm him and he would find himself rationalising the most heinous actions. 

The same justifications he would use towards himself would be applied towards other people, maybe even towards you. As time passes, the self-justifications and such would come ever easier, and also more extreme. It would finally reach a point where morality would be flung out the window. Why should he heed boundaries, if there is no punishment for overstepping? Maybe you find some countermeasure within your power that you can exercise to keep him in line. Just don't harbour the illusion that it'll work forever. 

Art doesn't belong to me, nor does the character!

[eye-may]

Plato? 🧍

Plato! the gentle giant! the cat who embodies the archetypal 'no thoughts behind those eyes' <3

[he's a himbo]

✨Personality

this might be a strange way to start with characterizing him, but I imagine that Plato is one of those types of people whose amygdala are just...evidently small. he's simply a lackadaisical, easygoing (some might say lazy...lookin at Jenny and Skimble), and vaguely hedonistic chap. Difficult to rile, slow to anger, almost immune to fear and panic...etc.

he's a well-intentioned Jellicle, but sometimes he's passive and persuadable, even to a fault. he doesn't seem to have impassioned opinions about anything in particular...and you know what they say about not standing for something!

Despite being among the tallest and strongest members of the tribe, you're more likely to find him dozing off or goofing around with the kittens than you are to find him pulling his weight, or accomplishing feats of dexterity for which felines are known. Alonzo, his unofficial mentor, is trying to instill some gusto into him, and perhaps a concept of reverence while he's at it...but you can't make a tabby change his stripes.

Despite being good-natured at his core, Plato is about as cerebral as he is industrious...that is to say, not very. he's prone to forgetting about commitments, making avoidable mistakes, zoning out, and sometimes saying unintentionally insensitive things. you need to be perceiving keenly in order to have an appropriate filter, after all. he's definitely not "stupid"...just seemingly off in his own world more often than not.

He worships Tugger (like many do) and hangs out often with Tumblebrutus and Pouncival. his relationship with Victoria errs on the side of indistinct...but it has potential lol.

✨Backstory

The exact details of his backstory are a little nebulous in my mind atm, but for now I'm going with the idea that he was born into a different colony overseen by a...rather passionate zealot. Baby Plato was not as enamored by this leader's demagoguery as his cohorts all seemed to be, but he did rather take to the leader's flashy younger brother. there was just something about him that had Plato locked in; perhaps there was no rational explanation (there often isn't with kittens!) but he found himself wanting to emulate that handsome, charismatic pinnacle of felinity.

Not long after Plato came around, however, his hero seemed to disappear from the tribe...and when Plato attempted to ask after his whereabouts, his inquiries were strictly shirked. With his idol gone, Plato found himself simply not caring to pledge allegiance to this colony. the environment was too militant, the expectations too demanding, the entire community just...unpleasant and unfun.

as a result, Plato began leaving to roam the streets of London in search of reprieve. his flightiness was deeply frowned upon, leading his companions to seemingly take up the task of ostracizing him into conformity...but Plato was nonplussed. He kept leaving with increasing frequency until, one day, by chance, he found the Junkyard, populated generously with cats who were...singing, and dancing, and...having fun...?

with no concept of propriety and no social anxiety to speak of, Plato immediately attempted to ingratiate himself into this group. the culture shock was almost egregious, but these strange cats didn't turn him away. at first, the wandering kitten would intermittently leave to rejoin his colony, instinctively gravitating back towards the place that he had initially known as "home." But, one day, when he came back to the Junkyard, he saw a familiar face that he had resigned himself to never seeing again.

It was the colony leader's younger brother! his hero! it turned out that he had left Plato's colony to come here, to the Junkyard, to embody the oaths and enjoy the promises of Jellicle Cats. Plato thought that if his idol could do that...so, certainly, could he!

so, yes, needless to clarify/tl;dr...Plato was born into Macavity's syndicate, and developed an idol worship of Macavity's then-second-in-command, Tugger. Tugger left (along with Demeter and Bombalurina), and Plato coincidentally found him at the Junkyard later. That discovery sealed the deal for Plato; he simply never went back to his original colony. Since he was only a young kitten when he extricated himself from his inherited circumstance, he didn't have much of a concept of the gravitas of Macavity's moral bankruptcy on the onset. he ended up gleaning a lot of information about the depravity of the Hidden Paw via secondhand sources. and yet, still, he doesn't seem to be as emotionally affected by the legends and alleged ferocity as everyone else is...

[rollinouttahere-writes]

What about monsters au or maybe a fairy au

These have yandere themes to them from when this was supposed to be part of a Halloween event, but I decided to keep it that way because I like it. The first paragraph lightly explains what they are, the second is a reader-insert scenario.

Yandere Straw Hats Monster AU

2.3k words

Monkey D. Luffy - Faerie

Luffy has some intense fae vibes in my humble opinion. He’s chaotic, marches to the beat of his own drum, and he’s prone to dragging people into lifelong friendships that they CANNOT escape from. Luffy finds other fae to be rather uppity, and he prefers the company of humans. They’re so funny and weird! Plus he likes their food. Luffy comes from a very powerful bloodline, though people tend to forget about this fact until it’s too late and they’ve already provoked him.

One day when you’re out foraging, you almost step inside a fairy ring. You count your lucky stars that you didn’t and turn to leave and give the ring a wide margin, but a voice comes from behind you. A faerie is casually sitting in the circle and asks if he could have some of your food. Not wanting to upset him, you toss the snacks you brought for the day to him. He all but demands that you come to visit him once in a while, and you’re forced to abide. Refusing would upset him, but agreeing and then not keeping your word would be even worse. Fortunately, as you continue to meet with him, you find him to be awfully kind and fun for a faerie. You begin to look forward to these meetings. When he asks one day if you’re his friend, it’s only natural for you to say yes. A big mistake, you would quickly come to realize. By agreeing that you’re his friend, you’ve unwittingly given him ownership of yourself. But it’s okay! You two will have lots of fun along with all of his other friends!

Roronoa Zoro - Werewolf/Barghest

Another case of vibes, Zoro just screams werewolf to me. The barghest is a monstrous black dog originating from English mythology, with some sources claiming that a wound inflicted by its claws will never heal. I’ve combined this creature with a werewolf to make it a bit more interesting. When Zoro transforms, he takes on a grotesque and massive wolf-like shape with green fur. He’s capable of standing on two legs, but walking on all four feels much more natural in this state.

Zoro is a renowned monster hunter, as well as a close colleague of yours. After working with him for years, it’s deeply concerning to you when he comes back from a mission only to seal himself away in his home and refuse to interact with anyone. You try to be patient with him, but as time goes on, you NEED to get to the bottom of what happened. He’s been holed up for over a month, so you figure that he must be leaving in the night to get food and water. As you’re lying in wait in a nearby shed, rather than seeing him leave, you hear crashing and yelling coming from his home. Without thinking, you rush in. You don’t know if he’s being attacked or what, but you can’t leave him to suffer. It takes some effort to break the door down, but you do. The home is in shambles. Furniture is ripped to shreds, holes have been punched in the walls, and there are claw marks everywhere. Your attention turns to the writhing mass of limbs and fur in the corner. The moonlight illuminates the room just enough for you to recognize the shade of green the fur is, and your heart falls into your stomach when the creature turns to look at you. There’s a scar over the left eye. Before you have a chance to process this gut wrenching information, he’s on you. As he’s snarling over you, you wonder if you’ll be able to bring yourself to kill your friend before he can kill you.

Nami - Kitsune

Kitsunes are highly intelligent, cunning, and mischievous. All of these traits fit Nami perfectly. She is still quite young for a kitsune and only has two tails so far. In order to make some easy money, she establishes herself at a shrine and demands tribute, primarily in the form of money, though she will also accept fine jewelry and kimonos. 

The shrine she occupies happens to be the one your family cares for, making you her personal shrine maiden. Well, shrine maiden in training. In the beginning, you’re run ragged trying to accommodate such a demanding spirit. Once Nami is confident that you are a good match for her, she relaxes somewhat, but demands near constant attention. You’re unable to eat with your family because she wants you to eat with her instead. Opportunities to see friends are consistently shot down by her requesting that you brush her hair/fur for her or other mundane tasks. It was a little flattering at first to have a prestigious spirit favoring you, but it rapidly becomes draining. It isn’t truly your place to be asking her questions, but you do anyway. Why is she so dedicated to taking up every second of your time? You aren’t even a proper shrine maiden yet, doesn’t she want someone more experienced assisting her? Nami giggles at your inquiry and pets your head in a way that feels more than a little condescending. She explains that it only makes sense for her to be focused on you. Your initiation ceremony is coming up, and those play out like wedding ceremonies more or less. Of course she’s going to favor the person who is about to essentially be offered as a spouse to her.

Usopp - Drider/Anansi

Anansi is a popular figure in Akan mythology and is strongly associated with storytelling. He’s known for being a bit of a trickster, but also a hero and extremely cunning. I’ve combined this with a drider to make him more humanoid, but he is also capable of shapeshifting when he so pleases. Usopp has a reputation for being troublesome, but ultimately helpful. Sure, he drives the locals up the wall some days, but he’s willing to step up into a heroic role when necessary.

Usopp had been dwelling near your village for a while now, longer than he normally would. He just can’t help it though, you’re one of his favorite people to tell his tales to. You never question the validity of what he’s saying or roll your eyes, you just eagerly listen to his stories with a sparkle in your eyes the whole time. When he’s causing trouble, you take it on the chin and laugh it off. He falls fast and he falls hard. Slowly, he starts to incorporate scarier stories into his repertoire. To make sure that you fully believe what he’s telling you, he’ll shapeshift into various forms and lurk around just barely in the corner of your vision, only to flee when you whip around to investigate. When you vent to him about how frightened you’ve been as of late, he’s quick to offer a solution. Why don’t you come with him? He’ll bring you somewhere safe and keep all the monsters away from you. Doesn’t that sound perfect?

Sanji - Yaoguai

I bounced around with a lot of different monsters before eventually settling on this one. A yaoguai is a type of demon from Chinese mythology. Though technically, he’s only half-demon. His father was a god turned demon who was banished from Heaven by the Jade Emperor when he became too arrogant in his power and miserably failed in defending an important artifact. Ever since then, he has been desperate to regain his godhood and has resorted to trying to make supremely powerful warriors of his children. Their mother was a human who was forcibly taken and used in their creation. Sanji suffered a lot of cruelty for being the weakest of his siblings, with the only kindness he ever received being from his human mother (as well as a certain chef after he ran away from home). It’s unsurprising that he strongly prefers the company of humans to demons.

That also means that in his quest to find true love, he’s only looking at humans. Unlike his father, he desperately wants to have a loving, mutual relationship. He tries so hard, but his courtships always end the same way. Everything seems great in the beginning, they’re happy, they’re falling in love. The problem is that all of these begin with him taking on the appearance of a normal human. He wants to be open and honest with what he’s hoping will be the love of his life, so when it’s gotten serious and marriage is brought up, he reveals his true form. Every time, every single time, they scream and run away in horror. Sanji has lost track of how many times he’s been chased out of a village after doing this. He’s getting desperate. By the time he ventures into your town, he’s made up his mind to not tell the next person. At least not before the wedding. Even if you scream and cry and say that you hate him, he’ll make you stay with him long enough to see that he’s the same Sanji that you fell in love with even if he does look different now. He isn’t going to hurt or eat you, you just need some time to realize that. After you have, everything will be fine. At least so he hopes.

Tony Tony Chopper - Leshy (there are so many spellings I’m sorry if this isn’t the right one)

A Leshy is a type of guardian deity for forests from Slavic mythology. They rule over and protect their given forest, and their attitudes towards people imposing on it can really vary based on where the legends originate from and how the intruders act in the forest. They are able to take the form of anything in the forest and imitate woodland noises. It’s anyone’s guess how they will handle a human wandering into their domain. Maybe they’ll be lighthearted and playful, or maybe that person won’t ever be seen again. They’re very ambiguous. Chopper leans towards the more lighthearted side of things. He’s very shy towards most humans, but can become angry and lash out if they do something he doesn’t approve of.

Living right on the edge of a massive forest can certainly be nerve wracking, but you do your best to make it work. You did everything in your power to avoid potentially upsetting whatever Leshy is inhabiting the forest, and it seems your efforts worked… Perhaps a little too well. It started with seeing a bizarre deer-like creature amongst your livestock or outside your windows. Then you started hearing things. One day you could have sworn a terrible thunderstorm rolled in abruptly, only to dash outside and see nothing but clear skies. Eventually, the Leshy got bold enough to approach you directly. You knew you should have been distressed to have such a deity so close to you, but it was hard to be scared of such a small and cute creature. Chopper seems so youthful and childlike that you can’t help but grow fond of his little visits. Then he starts pushing for you to visit him. He has a home at the center of the forest and he desperately wants to show it to you. It couldn’t hurt to go just once, right?

Nico Robin - Harpy/Gamayun

The Gamayun is a prophetic bird with the head of a human woman from Russian mythology that is said to know literally everything and to spread prophecies and divine messages. Again, I’ve combined this with a Harpy for the sake of giving her a more humanoid form. While some people appreciate the endless knowledge Robin possesses, others fear and want to repress it. Robin can rarely stay in the same area for long without worrying about an attempt on her life.

It’s after an almost successful murder attempt that she meets you. One of her wings was shot, leaving her unable to fly away. When you suddenly appear and usher her into your home, she is highly suspicious of your intentions, but she goes along with it because she feels like she has no other option. Much to her surprise, you misguide the people hunting her and then tend to her wounds. As time goes by and she stays put while she’s still healing, she is shocked at how you never once ask her for information or prophecies. You’re being kind to her… because you want to? And you expect nothing in return? It’s unheard of for her. By the time she’s healed, she’s completely enraptured by you. She can’t go back to her perpetual solitude now that she’s gotten a taste of kinship. You must feel the same. You have to feel the same.

Franky - Talos

Talos was a giant bronze statue built by Hephaestus to guard the island of Crete in Greek mythology. His main job is to drive off pirates and other enemies by hurling boulders at them. For the sake of this AU, let’s say that rather than dying, he is simply subdued and ultimately lives. Franky feels lost and like a failure. He leaves Crete to set up shop on a new island where he takes it upon himself to take misfits under his wing. He doesn’t want other people to feel the way he does, so he does his best to take care of them and give them a sense of purpose.

Admittedly, you haven’t made the best decisions in life, that’s a given. Being a petty thief and general troublemaker is hardly anything to brag about, but it’s your life and you’ll do what you want. That is, until some giant bronze behemoth snatches you up and declares himself your mentor. He isn’t even giving great advice, it looks like he’s herding cats when he tries to get all of the local hellions to work together to better their lives. Unfortunately for you, not only can you not escape him, the others are buying into it and trying to drag you down with them.

[hairybirthdayclown]

vi. astrology notes

*(not a pro. just for fun)

• i think cancer placements are quite intimidating & no one mentions this. any placement can be intimidating if they're in the wrong crowd but specifically for cancer, people who are not in tune with their feelings can find them quite intimidating. especially their overly emotional tendancies that can rub some people the wrong way. that's why they're quite hated because society was wired to deem such behaviour as weak.

• a mix of cancer & virgo in a natal chart can make someone very open to dealing with unpleasant feelings if it's something that has do be done in order to progress. i think they're also the type to have a "i'll do_____ when i become_____" mentality especially with 6H placements in the chart because they tend to be prone to perfectionism.

• just an observation, but from what i've gathered from my cringey/annoying classmates i had in highschool, most of them had air/fire Sun signs.

to clarify, when i say cringey i mean yelling tiktok audios which would disrupt class or saying unnecessary 'jokes' in which the teachers awkwardly & PAINFULLY had to fake laugh at. everyday was torture but they were a bit friendly. annoying would be randomly starting a fight with a teacher for a stupid reason.

• a person who i've been involved with that had the best energy & aura from all the people i've come across had Sun, Mercury & Mars opposite Uranus and Moon square Uranus. people who have a generational planet as one of their dominant planets have a very striking presence.

• i don't know if this has any sort of significance but my friends 3H cusp is in 10° & she doesn't like using slang unironically or altering her speech with whatever is trending on the internet at the moment like how most people incorporate it in theirs. she hates the word 'rizz' & etc.

• you can never go wrong with astrocartography. the place in which i'm going for higher education at is exactly where my Jupiter line is which will grant me growth, travel & major opportunities.

speaking of astrocartography, a friend of mine lives on her Pluto line & she constantly mentions how she wants to get out of the country & move away. not because it's anything severe but she says she has always felt the urge to leave.

• the last time Mars was transiting my 3H, my cousin got recruited for the military (Mars represents war), my other external family members were always being talked about by my parents more than usual in an disrespectful manner & one of my uncles was being quite demanding/assertive.

• as clichè as it sounds, a guy i know regularly travels to visit his mom & he has the Moon in 9H. my brother who has the same placement travels too from where he lives just to come home. the Moon represents your family, maternal figure & the 9H represents long distance travel.

• it can be difficult for people who have Mars square Neptune to manifest because you might be conflicted with how easy it is. they would rather achieve their goals the practical way especially if Mars is in aries, scorpio & capricorn. getting things out of the blue without doing the work might demotivate them.

thanks for reading :)

[sylvies-chen]

I love the ballad of songbirds and snakes, don’t get me wrong. but the streets are comparing coriolanus snow to anakin skywalker and I just… somebody get me a gun! I need to buy a gun!

and listen, I totally get the idea behind it. they’re both young formerly promising men who spiralled downwards into violence and authoritarianism and, as a result, betrayed their best friends and the women they care for. on a basic level, they have some similarities. but again, it’s like… the most BASIC and SURFACE LEVEL comparison to make!

snow is not a fallen angel or tragic doomed hero. the entire point of the book + film was that he was always prone to thinking manipulatively, to being selfish, to being violent, to liking the system too much, to letting not just anger but genuine hatred inform his decisions. HE IS THE VILLAIN. and vader is a villain too— the most iconic villain of all time— but anakin is a whole other story, and coriolanus doesn’t hold a candle to anakin when you compare some deeper elements of their motivations.

first off, you only need to look at how they treat their ladies to understand what I’m saying. everyone loves the heartbreak of anakin and padme just as they love the heartbreak of lucy and snow, but that love for their tragic story seems to blind people to the absolute insanity that is snow’s thoughts about lucy. he lies to her, thinks she’s trying to kill him, her song doesn’t satisfy or please him, and in the books he even goes so far as to say she isn’t even that good looking??? anakin, on the other hand, delivers a minute-long monologue about how deeply in love he is with padme, how a single kiss from her haunts him, how he is willing to utterly devote himself to her and fulfil her every demand because there’s nothing else he can do. he expresses his love in a very immature way at times, but it is real and genuine. tbosas makes you question at times whether coriolanus really loves lucy, or whether just this idea of “taming” her seems appealing.

even their downward spirals are vastly different in nature. coriolanus snow becomes more paranoid in an attempt to maintain his image, in order to keep lucy under his spell. his ambitions are nuanced, not black and white by any means, but they are selfish. anakin’s spiral, though there’s no denying the horrific acts he commits, begins from a place of fear and love. he is so genuinely scared of losing his wife and his unborn children that he becomes susceptible to an outside force manipulating him towards the dark side. anakin also fulfils that element of the shakesperian tragic hero in that there’s this idea of potential that we see so present in him. he’s introduced as the one who would bring balance to the force, someone powerful beyond comprehension, a saviour of sorts. snow was never shown to have that level of promise. he was just a man who existed in a system and it is about him grappling with that system until eventually that disgusting fascist mindset takes over.

and lastly, of course, you can’t ever mention these two in tandem without remembering the fact that anakin did the right thing in the end! and coriolanus did not! luke fought to bring anakin back when vader had taken over for so many years, and in the end it paid off. anakin does the truly selfless thing in sacrificing himself to save luke. he lets love inform his decisions, as he once did before, only the fear is gone and so that love orients him towards good instead of darkness. anakin is a fallen angel, but he’s also a man who loved too much and didn’t know what to do with it. snow, comparatively, admits he isn’t above killing children and then laughs in the face of the masses he’s worked to oppress for over half a century right before his death.

anakin skywalker’s story is of the destruction and reconstruction of his good heart, of light, of balance, of love. it is cyclical, and it is tragic. coriolanus snow’s story is not. it is a story not of something sinister growing in an otherwise good heart, but a story of something sinister unravelling and revealing itself.

they are not the same.

[blakeswritingimagines]

Dating Yandere Ragnar Lothbrok Would Include:

Dating him, as a yandere? It can be a real challenge. He is protective of the one he loves. He will do anything to keep you safe, even if that means he has to remove any rivals and threats. But he is a loyal and devoted lover, and the love he shows is unlike anything you have ever experienced.

He is possessive, obsessive, and often violent, so dating him would be a roller coaster of emotions. He would be very protective of his significant other. However, he would also be prone to fits of jealousy and rage if he had any suspicions of disloyalty or betrayal. He would demand your undivided attention and love and would not tolerate any other rivals or suitors in the picture. He would not hesitate to use physical violence to ensure his partner's loyalty, but he would also go to great lengths to show devotion and affection.

He is a very obsessive lover. He would do anything for the person he's with. He will show up unexpectedly and make you feel loved and appreciated. He would be constantly keeping track of you, monitoring your time and activities, and he may even go as far as trying to keep you isolated from others. He would be highly irritable and jealous if he saw you interacting with other lovers, which would make him lash out in anger or act in a mean/cruel manner.

He can be very manipulative and abusive. He might try to guilt-trip you into staying with him or trying to control you by manipulating your emotions. If you're seeing someone else, he might try and harm them. If you're away for too long, he might become more overly obsessive and make you feel guilty or scared when you finally see him. In order to keep you away from other lovers, he'll stalk, spy, and follow you.

He would feel a strong sense of attachment and obsession towards you, and if you don't reciprocate his feelings, then he'll start feeling anxious and stressed. He would always try to control and isolate you, and he would show his love in very unconventional ways, like giving you unwanted gifts or keeping tabs on you. If you do reciprocate his feelings, then he will be overly clingy and needy, needing to be with you 24/7.

He would constantly worry about you leaving him, and he would try to manipulate or pressure you into spending more time with him. As a yandere, he would be prone to violent and obsessive behavior, like harming anyone who dared to get too close to you. He would get very jealous and possessive, and he would be very insecure and needy. At the same time, he would feel an intense adoration and attachment towards you, and he would do absolutely anything to make sure you are his and only his.

His extreme obsessiveness and possessiveness can be destructive and even dangerous. If you were to betray him by cheating or interacting with other lovers, he would become extremely jealous and aggressive. He would go to extreme lengths to keep you under his control, and he would show a lack of empathy or remorse in his behavior. He may even resort to violence, manipulation, and harassment to gain your attention or prevent you from socializing with others. In this sense, his possessiveness and obsessive behavior can be extremely toxic and unhealthy.

He would show an extreme dislike towards your other friends and family, constantly making passive-aggressive and snide remarks about them, and he would be suspicious of them as well and would accuse them of stealing you away from him. He would also be extremely possessive, always wanting to be with you and preventing you from leaving the house or living your normal life. He would also be emotionally unstable and volatile, quickly alternating between anger and depression.

He can be very sweet and loving towards his partner when you reciprocate his feelings. He is a very caring and attentive lover, and he would do anything to make you happy. He would be constantly spoiling you and showering you with affection and attention. He would be very attentive to your needs, and he would be a very supportive, helpful, and devoted partner.

He would love to take you on dates, where he could demonstrate more of his sweet and affectionate side. He would plan thoughtful and romantic dates for his loved one, whether it be going out for dinner, seeing a movie, or simply taking a walk in the park. He would be eager to please and keep you happy, showing his love through gifts and words of affirmation. However, if his obsession overrides his sweet side, he may expect you to cancel any other plans that you might have and spend the entire day with him.

He is very prone to jealousy. He obviously has an unhealthy obsession with you, which causes him to feel extreme anxiety and stress. Whenever he sees you interact with others, especially other potential love interests, he becomes extremely jealous and paranoid. He may start to compare himself with other potential love interests and become even more increasingly possessive and controlling of you, which can often lead to very toxic actions.

When alone with you, he shows a softer side. He is often far more affectionate, attentive, and caring. He would be constantly showering you with attention and gestures of affection and he would be eager to please and satisfy you. He would be playful and fun-loving, and he would often make you laugh. He would be more relaxed and himself around his partner, showing no signs of aggression or possessiveness. However, if he had any worries or doubts, he would be quick to become possessive and demanding again.

He would be prone to sudden bursts of extreme emotions, such as intense jealousy, sadness, or rage. If you don't reciprocate his feelings he would feel paranoid and constantly questioning your motives. He would also be controlling and possessive, wanting to dictate how you live your life. You would also be a target of his extreme anger and violence, whether he physically or verbally abuses you. If you do reciprocate his feelings, then he will be obsessively clingy and possessive, wanting to spend every waking moment with you and always monitor your activities.

If you weren't a Viking, then he would still behave in very much the same way. His obsessive personality and possessive nature would be directed towards you instead. He would still become irrationally possessive, and controlling. He would still feel intense bouts of anger, rage, and paranoia. And would still behave in a very unhinged manner.

Yes, his obsessive and controlling nature would most likely lead him to try to force you into following his way of life. His obsession would override any sort of moral or ethical concerns. And he would not think twice about using manipulation and intimidation to control you. If you refused, then he would escalate his abuse in order to fully dominate and control you. In the end, he would want you to do everything he said and for you to live according to his will.

He would view marriage as a way of establishing complete control and ownership over his partner. It would be a way of ensuring that you would be his and his alone and that you would always be with him and could never leave. It would be a way of ensuring that you could never escape from him, and would be forced to submit to his will for the rest of your life.

He would view children as the ultimate form of control and ownership over you. It would be a way of solidifying his bond with you and ensuring that you could never leave him. It would also be a way of making you forever dependent on him and ensuring that he would always have a degree of control over your lives as well. He would see children as the perfect way of ensuring your undying devotion and submission to him.

He would view you through a very twisted and obsessive lens. His every thought and action would be driven by a deep-seated need to possess and control you. You would not be seen as an individual person with your own thoughts and emotions, rather you would be seen as a means to satisfy his own needs, desires, and delusions. He would see you as an object of his obsession and desire, nothing more, and nothing less.

It is hard to say whether or not he actually genuinely loves you in the conventional sense. I believe that in the twisted world of a yandere, his definition of love could be seen as something more akin to obsession or domination. From his own perspective, he might truly love you in the sense that you are something that he needs and desires beyond any sort of self-control or reason. However, a yandere's twisted mind would not be able to distinguish the difference between love and obsession. In the end, it's all about power and control.

He would want you to know that his obsessive and twisted behavior is a form of affection and love and that he only means to protect and care for you. That ultimately, he would do anything to keep you happy and safe, and that he would never intentionally hurt you. He would also want you to know that his possessive and obsessive nature stems from a deep-seated need to protect and keep you all to himself and that it is a reflection of his inner insecurities and fears.

Some of his favorite kinks include power exchange, dominance/submission, possession, and ownership.

He also enjoys exploring his darker and twisted side, such as fear play, humiliation, and degradation. He finds that these kinks give him a sense of control and mastery over you and that he can exert his dominance over you.

He is also a fan of passionate and romantic intimacy, he enjoys making a connection with you and sharing a deep bond.

He enjoys exploring your body and discovering new sensations, he is also a fan of foreplay, and he likes to take his time, build up anticipation, and build up tension before the main event.

Another one of his favorite kinks is outdoor play. He enjoys the nature and fresh air and he likes to take advantage of it by exploring new areas and engaging in intimate encounters.

He also has a thing for water and enjoys exploring its elements during intimate moments. He likes to take showers and baths together, and he will also get physical with you in pools or beaches.

[owl-bones]

Secrets anon again 🤐

Somewhat in turn, how jealous do most fae (trying to include more than just Night and Dream but is hard) get about attention/affection?

For example, I keep imagining a scenario where MC (fae or human, either work) being asked about their feelings for someone- trying and likely failing to reveal affection for someone else (ie MC likes Blue more than Dream, or Nightmare to Dream, etc)

Especially with Dream trying so hard to treat everyone equally

like regular mortals, that's entirely dependent on the fae! some are more jealous or demanding of attention than others.

in order of least likely to be jealous, to most likely...

Ink, Blue, Horror, Cross, Dust, Dream, Killer, Nightmare (especially if the person likes Dream more than him)

explanations below the cut

Ink- he'd just be like "Yeah, okay!" and move right along as if nothing happened

Blue- he's happy if you're happy, he's fine. it'll sting a bit but he understands completely! some people don't like you as much as you like them, and he'll get over it. he's happy to meet you at whatever level of affection you want and leave it at that

Horror- he's an easy going guy, and used to people being put off by him. he won't hold it against you.

Cross- he can be pretty easy going, but also experience jealousy. he thinks it's an ugly feeling, though, so he'll bury and pretend everything's fine. he'll get over it eventually, but he might act weird and nervous around you for a bit

Dust- he can tell when he's not wanted and he'll get over it quickly. he can tell when it's useless to pursue someone, so he usually steps back from someone before he can catch feelings.

Dream- since he has so little time for people, when someone does catch his attention and he wants to pursue them, it stings when he's rejected. it's only happened a few times, so he at least knows how to process it, but it's a surprise every time and he will get a bit jealous about it

Killer- i feel like this doesn't need an explanation. he's very demanding of attention and prone to jealousy when the person of his affections doesn't return it. after a rejection he'll mostly likely seethe from a distance, and then eventually move on to someone that gives him the reaction he wants

Nightmare- he's been so closed off for so long that he hasn't had the chance to experience that kind of rejection. he wouldn't consider himself a jealous person until put into that situation, where it'd be quite strong and something he'd struggle with.

[blueflipflops]

Blessed is The Fruit of Thy Womb III

Chapter 3: Then God Asked Cain,"Where is Abel, your brother?"

First Chapter | Prev | Next

Inspired by @cyrwrites 's prompt of Talia being pregnant from exposure to the Lazarus Pits.

...

" Tt. How should I know? I'm not his keeper."

"Dami you just implied that you have a younger brother still in the hands of the League."

The Robin clicked his tongue again, frustration and familliar irrational anger building up inside him.

"It doesn't matter."

"Dami—"

"It. doesn't. matter."

Dick furrowed his eyebrows in concern as Damian quickens his pace towards the elevator, not wanting to continue the conversation.

When Damian first arrived he was angry, eager to prove his worth and word. It seemed that whatever Talia told him, didnt include Bruce having other sons than him. So finding out about this from not even the highly praised father he has, he had to be told of this by said not known brother.

He demanded Batman.

But there is no Batman. Bruce was dead declared missing for more than months now without any contact or notice. Dick has been relunctantly picking up the slack while juggling his own responsibilities as Nightwing back in Bludhaven. Its been a hard time and believe him, he has juggled before. Both literally and figuratively

When he tried to offer the robin mantle to him as maybe to calm him down a bit, he just got angrier and snippy. He rejected the offer but demanded to be trained for the whole duration of his 'stay'.

"I was sent here to be trained by batman and I won't leave until I finish my goal. If it has to be from batman's...successor then so be it."

Okay, that kinda hurt. He doesn't want to be Batman either y'know.

That was what he claimed as he strolled up jnto the mansion like he owned the place. Ever since then, Dick has organized a somewhat schedule for trainings that he deliberately stretched out at first to test him. Which is. Um. Wrong move. This only serves to piss him off more and more prone to lethal attacks.

Yeah. Okay. That attitude needs a little work.

He tried to rudely order around Alfred the first few days and just got more frustrated and angry when Dick scolded him for it. The kid doesn't even want to eat with them even if they lived together (although that might be stretching it a bit since Dick doesn't even live in the manor anymore.) He still try to include Damian in his activities with Tim (who doesn't seem to concern himself too much about the addition. Too occupied in proving that Bruce is still a-alive. ) , to get him out of his shell and maybe talk about what exactly is Talia thinking and what the actual fuck is going on with the LOA. With all the bull happening around with B's death and Tim's insitence on his non-death then him suddenly disappearing to who knows where and everything else the world decided to pile up on him recently.

Fuck. He's so not paid enough for this. In fact, he's not getting paid at all.

And that was 3 years ago, Tim came back with a clusterfuck of a report and possibly a few ill-advised stuff that he's turning a blind eye on. For now.

Tim brought back Bruce, (which is a whole other cans of worms Dick won't open. He will tho. He will. He will process this shit. Just not today. Nope.) declared that he has outgrown Robin, that he's trying his hand on a solo act and after a little help, Cardinal flew in the streets of Gotham. Dick is proud of his brother spreading his wings and leaving the nest but this leaves Damian with Bruce. While Bruce is still recovering, a new Robin picks up the slack. Dick and Damian were a team and the kid was so desperate to prove himself worthy of the mantle that he has been streching himself as thin as Dick lets him and while he follows orders, he's quick to taking advantage of all and any loopholes. If it weren't making his job 10x harder, he would've been amused of such a Robin Move. In all of those years, they grew close to each other, the kid even respects Tim now!

So when Damian mentioned—no, implied that he has another brother still back in LOA, no one can blame Dick for being blindsided.

"Dami. What brother?" He chased after the short feral child.

"Tch. I don't see how that's any of your business, Grayson." He gave him a derisive look as he pushed the button to lift back to the manor. "Your only use here is to instruct and teach me as is your responsibility as Father's succesor not meddle in my personal life. After Father has recovered, he shall continue my training and things would go as it should be." He gave Dick one last sneer before the door closed and a faint hum echoes out in the cave along with what he said.

A brother?!?!

...

When Tim first met Damian Al Ghul Wayne, the demon brat tried to kill him. Which is. Just how his life is now, he guess. The kid was 4"6 beansprout with a sword and is not afraid to use it. Apparently, he tried to stab Dick the first time too. The kid is clearly delusional but after several blood tests Tim has had to admit defeat.

This brat really is B's kid and he hates him already.

This could be a plot.

Ra's would do anything to gain power over Batman and Gotham but mostly Batman.

It smells like a plot.

Dick couldn't get anything out of him other than that he was 'the Blood Son of Batman' and that he was sent here for Bat Training by Talia and he's not leaving. He also said something about his birthright to being the next Batman and being his robin. Which is. Yeah. Hurts a bit. He knows he hasn't been able to be Dick's Robin (oh the combination of those words) being too busy proving that Bruce is still alive. He knows it. But he's still Robin.

He's still Dick's Robin and Dick is not going to give the mantle away just because demon brat here throws a temper tantrum about it. But he did. Well, he didn't exactly but. He offered making Damian his robin. Tim knows logically, this would be the best plan of action given everything with them and then everything with him but he still can't help the sharp insecurity inside him.

But the brat did something surprising, given his whole rant of birthright blah blah blah. Tim wasn't really listening. He looked at Tim with such disgust and derisiveness and then looked away with a click of his tongue. Which is so uncalled for what the hell??? What the fuck did he do? The Batling even had the gall to look so offended for even offered the position he claims was always his. What the fuck.

He says he doesn't want a position already claimed by somebody else and suggested to create a new identity if he has to. Dick was quick to veto that. Thank god. The kid looks like a ten year old. A ten year old from hell, yeah but still. Even Tim was at least thirteen when he started the whole gig. It might not seem like a lot but three years is a BIG difference. Assassin training from birth or not.

The kid looked at Tim with pity and disgust that he doesn't even know why... well whatever but for some reason despite the hostility, the kid would not so subtly support him. Not that anyone else would notice if they weren't a bat, but the kid kinda grew on Tim despite his own attempts not to. And while Tim isn't Dick, he would like to think that they've grown on him too.

After returning with Bruce, a new vigilante identity, and one less spleen, Damian has finally and officially took over the Robin mantle. Despite the initial denial, he was quick to adapt into the role with a hidden child-like enthusiasm. Well. For an assassin raised kid in a role that allows him to beat up grown people in the streets every night. Thank god Dick has already given the kid numerous lectures on the "no killing" rule because Tim is so not doing that.

And no, he is not processing his little LOA escapade.

Although looking back at it, it seems a lot more suspicious with how Ra's was a lot more confident and smug. More... reckless yet defensive.

Of what exactly?

That question has been eating Tim up ever since he had a better headspace for it coming back and it has been driving him crazy. No matter what angle he mentally review everything that happened, Tim still can't for the life of him tell what exactly was Ra's hiding. No matter the connections nor channels he has gave anything away other than the fact that they've been training an heir but Tim already knew that with Damian in the picture and yet...

Something's missing...

When they found out that Red Hood was actually the deceased Jason Todd aka Robin II, Tim thought that was it. That was what was missing and try to bury it along with the annoyance, a bit of resentment, and his many broken bones as a result of that little... reunion of theirs.

Like seriously? An adult robin suit? Cringe, mr. Robin sir. Tim can't believe he idolized you. If it wasnt for the fact that Jason broke his jaw, he would've said something about how if he's gonna kill him wearing the robin suit then the least he could do is not be a coward and wear the original scaly panties. It's like as if nothing is sacred in this world anymore. Really.

After a while, Hood started working with... well not with them. But uh... adjacent might be a better term for it. Tim notices when Jason is strangely quick to startle when Damian is in the picture. It's only recently that Dick was able to convince him to switch to non lethal rubber bullets but before they had to dodge a ricochet of actual real bullets when Damian is near Jason. And the self proclaimed ex-crime lord won't even explain why he reacts to the shortstack like this. Very rude. It's like getting beaten to near death doesn't even have benefits or whatever.

It wasn't until another case that involves the reluctant team up between Cardinal, Red Hood and a likely not supposed to be here Robin, that Tim got a clue as to why. As usual, Hood somehow does not notice Robin and almost shot Tim. Again. For the fifth time this night. Jason said something about a pit demon or something fucking up something something. I'm sure this will all make sense tomorrow. But then Robin snaps back, geniunely offended. Something about how he's not a...

"A fucking what?!"

"Tt. A Lazarus Pit baby, Cardinal. Do keep up."

"Wait hold the fuck up. Hold the motherfucking fuck up. What the fuck do you mean your brother is a Lazarus Pit baby?"

At least Tim wasn't the only one getting a rug pulled under their feet tonight. A bit concerning how distressed Hood was sounding but Tim is flexible. He can handle this. Before he can ask many reasonable questions, Robin turned to glare at them. Impressive how a kid as short as him make Tim feel like he's being look down on when the brat has to crane his neck up high just to see their faces.

"Hood called me a pit demon. Which I am not."

Damn. Touchy. So he's got opinions on pit demons now. What even are pit demons? It certainly doesn't sound good. "

"Hood has trained with the League for a time, did he not? So he must have confused me for my... younger brother."

"The fuck are on about? I couldn't be more obvious that I'm talking to you."

"Wait. What brother?!"

"Robin what brother?!?!"

....

My parents made me subscribe to christianity just so I can make fic titles like these

Damian + fam POV of Child of Lazarus Danny AU

A whole ass POV and setting change can be a bit disorienting especially with a time skip mixed in but at this point we moved away from the creepy cult and into a somewhat normal outside world. Damian has a slightly better relationship with his brother here at the same time a lot more distant than canon. Damian has been able to establish himself as Robin a bit later than canon and Tim was able to decide for himself to hand over the mantle and step out of the Robin training wheels. Didn't like the Red Robin name sorry its just as if Tim wasnt ready to part with robin just yet and hadn't had the time to find himself before making Red Robin. A bit of a fan of the Cardinal name for my boy which is also red.

Funny how Dami subconsiously called Danny a pit demon all these years when all his other brothers subconsiously called him that too. He's so offended its hilarious lmaoo

Also funny how Tim thinks about his relationship with Jason. For me I think Tim won't sink back in fear Jason cuz in the comics man Tim has been roasting the dude any chance gets like Jason hasn't been roasted enough. Love my cringefail asshole Jason. Would've love to punch him in the face.

This was supposed to have Jason and Bruce's POV too but it was getting too long. so. Yeah.

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Btw y'all should probably just follow the Child of Lazarus!Danny tag

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[okerum]

throughout the short duration of my maze runner hyperfix i would write down random thoughts/headcanons i had about them so i'll just copy-paste all of them here

- newt is crazy ticklish but he gets so irritated when someone tickles him. minho does not care

- newt cant sleep in the same room as thomas because thomas snores crazy loud and newt is a v light sleeper

- thomas has a really bad habit of chewing on his fingernails

- once newt got over them kidnapping thomas, he got along really well with group b. and they loved him too (ik him and sonya r siblings but him and harriet would be such good friends. see the vision)

- newt loves reading. i think classics would be his faves

- also good omens

- also he likes mythology

- he probably needs glasses though

- thomas and minho would probably play roblox together and like. bully kids. sometimes brenda will tag along too (shes the meanest but she also thinks roblox is dumb so she goes on it less)

- minho is a total sweat when it comes to gaming

- old grandma newt

- minho and newt would be roomates

- ocd newt maybe

- thomas has SEVERE depersonalization problems

- i can picture newt dancing as a sort of outlet. not sure what kind but just in general

- minho has AT LEAST one skirt

- newt braids his hair ‼️‼️

- thomas and newt and teresa and sonya are all autistic

- also all trans

- plus brenda

- who is also a butch lesbian

- newt is lefthanded

- thomas is the kid with the peanut allergy

- NEWT NONBINARY! THEY/HE!!!!

- do i eveb have to say t4t newtmas...

- teresa is a big swiftie

- newt would like shoujo animes

- minho would like shounen animes

- none of the main 3 can dress themselves and they look like shit usually

- newt doesnt get flustered like at all but THOMAS .... he goes red at any compliment from his crushes

- minho and thomas wrestling lmfaooo

- theyve probably broken several fhings in the process. including walls

- minho badly mocks newt's accent and he HATES it

- newt probably lets minho get away with a lot of things that he doesnt let anyone else get away with though because hes just used to it atp

- thomas is jealous because newt gives him a good scolding (affectionate) whenever he pisses him off. if hes particularly upset, newt will just ignore him for a few hours which is so hard for thomas

- newt has a lot of self-soothing behaviors but he rocks (like, rocking back and forth) a lot

- hes mega autistic look hes either minimum eye contact or intense uninterrupted eye contact and he hates being touched unless hes warned

- also the whole routines/order/rules thing he has going on especially in the glade

- AUTISTIC

- newt's prolly one of those film nerds

- never watched it but he'd be the type to love brokeback mountain

- thomas is a chronic flannel wearer

- oh also forgot its not a given but newt has chronic pain and a mobility aid

- puerto rican thomas...

- hes also demiromantic and demisexual

- thomas is also ticklish

- tickle fights perhaps....

- thomas fell asleep first once at a sleepover and minho drew all over him/fucked with him in his sleep and he never fell asleep before minho ever again

- the gladers probably smelled like shit

- 40 some adolescent-teen boys all alone no supervision doing physical labor all day every day.... 💀

- the older boys do it more but the younger ones need reminding

- runners probably bathe more often too

- esp in the movies when the box only comes up monthly + no visible building for showers??

- teresa came up and GAGGED

- spiderman newt + batman thomas

- newt probavly is prone to sunburns and he was SUFFERINGGG in the scorch. sonya too but she had it a lot easier w group b's circumstances

- half filipino teresa

- also hispanic brenda is that obvious or not

- newt is unexpectedly demanding in relationships he wants kisses all the time

- newt is a bland ass texter

- thomas just doesnt text. he'll facetime you any time u text him bc he doesnt wanna text

- sonya knows basically NO celebrities you'll go "you know chris pratt??" and she'll be like "who tf 💀" (the ones she does know are just the women she has a crush on)

- gally has probably called newt the f slur before but only because he didnt know the extent of how bad it was and (after a good punch and superduper miffed) newt tells him yhe history of it and he never did it again. he felt rlly bad too

- teresa 100% has a full fursona set up in her head

- she also probably silently assigns everyone else fursonas

- newt is a reptile owner

- minho likes dogs but hes also a terrible pet owner so he just goes over to thomas' place to play with his dog

- sonya watches video essays. shes one of those people that'll turn one on every time she sits and eats

- harriet and newt r besties btw

- sometimes newt gets a little nosy about what sonya wont tell him

- thomas has a rbf and intimidates everyone at first (though its usually not long before he makes a fool of himself and everyone realizes hes just a Guy)

- sonya is like newt's reality checker

- ouuugghhh flower shop/tattoo parlor sonya/harriet

- minho tiktok user x newt youtube shorts user x thomas instagram reels user

- gally has NO social media

- newt has a lowkey freakishly good memory

- sonya has a small collection of stuffed animals. she probably liked squishmallows when they were a thing, she collected them a little

- she has pet mice and she pampers them

- newt and sonya have hamster trauma

- the ENTIRE gang went to see barbie together and they all dressed up

- gally probably showed up not dressed up but sonya and newt planned it so they brought him an outfit and peer pressured him into changing into it at the theater

- it was probably a barbie fit (as punishment) while the rest of the guys were kens

- have i said newt and minho would be roomies or no

- minho and frypan have TOTAL brainrot humor and they bounce off each other (sometimes thomas participates. newt watches silently but judgementally)

- newt with eds on top of his chronic pain from his knee im sorry bro

- very musically inclined thomas versus musically incompetent newt

- minho calls newt hot nonchalantly / newt attempted b4 /ref

- feel like its also a given but newt and alby had a fling

- thomas infodumps on social media and minho just talks about himself

- newt is probably entirely caught up in some niche drama situation someone's posting about

- minho's tiktok fyp is convinced hes a gay man

- newt's is probably convinced hes a lesbian

- thomas just has like weird obscure humor that nobody (including him) understands

- sonya is chappel roan's #1 fan

- truth or dare with minho goes CRAZY

- harriet has a pet tarantula.... freaky little lesbian.....

- newt smoking to get relief from his chronic pain and anxiety and depression and trauma and

- minho probably discovered a long time ago that while newt will NEVER ask for it, he sleeps better with physical contact. so he holds his hand silently and without acknowledging it

- passenger princess thomas lmfaoaoooofofotitu

- ivy trio plays horror games like phasmophobia and lethal company. thomas always dies first and newt is the only one actually playing the game

- rip newt you wouldve loved being inside while it rains and reading a good book

- he'd also be really good at romanticizing the midwest

-END-

okay thats all. a few edits were made so its coherent/fits my current views of the characters more but its 98% raw from my notes app. just a peek into my twisted mind 😈😈😈