#he's no shrinking violet

[mxtxfanatic]

People will claim that Shen Qingqiu is an unreliable narrator which (ignoring the fact that the story is in 3rd POV) is true, but they make the claim in reference to his thoughts and feelings about Luo Binghe (false) when they should be making it about how he views himself. Cause why is this man so casual about the fact that he became a leading instructor at a prestigious school he just happened to waltz into because he was bored? Why did it take an extra to learn that he actually spent most of Luo Binghe’s time in the abyss doing missions off the peak to run from his grief? Why did we have to find out that, due to their bullying of Luo Binghe, he was every Bai Zhan Peak disciple’s worst nightmare from Shang Qinghua???

[nashvillethotchicken]

A lot of people in the iwtv Fandom regurgitate antiblack talking points particularly wrt Louis being femme/effeminate/gnc and it's genuinely so disgusting like no, Louis is not making his partners engage in domestic labor when they participate in the businesses and investments they are partial owners of. No, Louis is not being the patriarch of rue royale when lestat leaves the house after beating Louis within an inch of his life. No Louis is not "masculine for his culture" especially when compared to other black men in the same time period. People will actively ignore canon to make Louis into this hypermasculine black brute and Lestatr or armand into these shrinking violets that are oppressed by Louis when he's not that at all. The only times he's ever acted even close to that stereotype is to assimilate into a white supremacist society that expected that of him in order for him to earn a living and to please Armand, which causes him great distress and visibly worsens his mental health to the point of Louis lashing out at Claudia and being so entirely numb that he self harms. Louis is not this hypermasculine black brute and a lot of people try to make him into one bc of unconscious bias surrounding black people (black people have been stereotyped as hypermasculine, angry, overly violent and sexual deviants since the 1700s) or to absolve their non black favs of the actual patriarchal and oppressive violence they enact on Louis and Claudia or a combination of the two. It's disgusting, do better

[lordkingsmith]

Waylan stood staring at the older woman, soft in the body but not the set of her jaw, and felt like weeping. It was his sister, ten no longer. Four teenagers with their features and he supposed the features of their father clustered around her, staring at him. He reached a hand out, aware of the chain still connected to the collar on his neck. Aware of the dirt on his skin and leaves and pearls and who knows what else in loose hair and the rabbit skin coat wrapped protectively around his shoulders and no shoes and old burlap breeches. He was aware, aware, aware how beastly he looked, how wild.

“Waylon” Nora’s voice was the same but harder, tired. Waylan opened his mouth but one of the boys behind her pushed three others back, behind him and back. Ah. It was sweet but hurt deeply.

They were on a street with people staring at them. Nobody he knew, town looked different too. It made sense but it hurt. Their house wasn’t even there anymore. A supermarket had taken the neighborhood’s place. This explained so much now that he could see her, how old she was and the mostly grown kids clustered around her. Too alike to be anything but siblings and too similar to her to be anyone else’s.

“Nora” he said, voice rough from the anguish of being so so so very late to getting home. “I tried. I’m trying. Every day every moment I’ve never stopped-” a hard pull on the chain sent him a step back that he struggled, getting a few steps farther. “It’s Waylan.” He knew she knew. But still, it felt good to say his own name. “I don’t have much time.”

She had children, this changed things. The king always had trouble finding or recognizing or controlling him with the rabbit skin coat. Waylan knew if he wanted he could live a half life mostly free as he was, as long as he wore the coat. But it’d place Nora’s family in danger and despite it all he could still not fathom putting someone else in danger to protect himself.

Nora stepped forward to her brother, not much older than her own children now and gripped him by the shoulders, him flinching at how firm she was and her gasping he was there at all. Solid beneath her hands. He hung his head as she shook him. “What happened?” Was all she asked despite it and he shook his head.

“Autumn King thought I was pretty. Saw I was kind.” He whispered. “He likes the pretty ones, the kind ones. Been fighting him to come back to you. When he breaks me like the others, I’m not going to be able to get out again.” He’d be in the forest and another unlucky kind person would be in the King’s manor, in the room, on the bed-

“You wanted to come back? You didn’t just walk in?”

“Mom did” his voice curled around an anger he was trying to comprehend still. “That’s not my home. The king isn’t my home.”

She touched a scar on his chest, wrapped a hand around the collar and felt the chain she couldn’t see. Anger at him turned to rage at someone else. “How long, exactly, has this been going on.” He shook his head helplessly. Honestly he didn’t know. The king took his memories whenever he pleased and even now he knew he only had a portion, though wasn’t sure if he minded not knowing all of his own torture. The chain jumped under her fingers, making her withdraw as her kids pressed in, concerned for their mother.

“Waylan” her voice was as sharp as when she addressed her son. “How long.”

“Since I was taken. About.” He decided on. Then scrunched his nose. “I’m older than you, don’t go mom mode on me little lady.”

“I’m going mom mode all I like.” She retorted. “Haven’t aged a day have you?”

Waylan gripped his sister tightly. “This coat was mom’s” he said quickly. “Now it’s mine. The king likes putting fae in the towns to…” he swallowed. “The more fae you are the more likely to just walk back in. Go to the family your ancestors are from. He doesn’t bother with those, he likes taking. But each family round here’s got something to keep them safe, a gift from the fae relatives in the forests. He’s hidden most of them. This coat is ours.”

Nora stared at him and then at his fingers clumsily undoing it as he continued breathlessly. “Long as we got it he can’t recognize us, control us. It makes our family rabbits and breaks spells. Mostly. I was gonna use it to be done with him.” He stared behind her at his nieces and nephews he’d never met.

Nora was scowling. “You’re telling me an idiot stole you and you’re going back? To be what? A pet? Why? Are you stupid?”

“He likes me the most. Never kept a toy as long as me.” Waylan’s voice was gentle. “I’ll keep his attention. You…” he looked at her kids. Waylon and his siblings. Shook his head. “When I’m a broken toy in the woods you keep them safe. Give the kindest of them the fur coat. I couldn’t get back in time, but I can use that. Distract him long enough to let you get them all safe.” Nora wasn’t someone he’d take. She was too much of herself and righteous rage to be a good toy. It made her a good guardian, a good mom.

Nora slapped him. Waylan reeled, nearly fell, and Nora grabbed at him, kept him steady. Kept him with her. Her voice thick with emotions he could barely place with his head ringing “Or I go in.” She snapped. “If you spent all that time just for a moment to yammer about self sacrifice you fool, I go in. And I get all of you all out. Everyone you’ve met and then some. End it for good.” She tilted her head defiantly. “He’s never met me, and he’s going to wish he never caused me to want to meet him.”

“Don’t be a fool” Waylan shot back. “They need you.” The four kids looked fairly confused, fairly afraid. Waylan couldn’t blame them.

“So do you!” She shouted. “And I needed you! And you’ve been in those woods this whole time with a spoiled brat of a king who kept you as a pet! A rabbit in a hutch!”

“Mom?” One of the girls with dark hair and wide set eyes pointed at the forest down the street. It was thrashing. The other three were shuffling away from it, and people on the street were running as though from a storm. Howling that sounded suspiciously like ‘Waylan’ and ‘Sweetness’ echoed through the woods and into the town. Waylan stared with the growing certainty even if he hadn’t taken so many years, this would have had the same result. He wouldn’t have been able to stay long.

Waylon grabbed at his sister. “C’mon, we need to get inside.” Smart boy. The four began hustling away from the woods.

Waylan swallowed. “He’s looking for me between this realm and his.” He began undoing the wooden wedge buttons of the coat with a sudden decision, a faint idea, some kind of half baked hope. “Nora do whatever you want.” He was tired and there wasn’t anymore time to argue. The chain pulled against his neck and made him breathless. “But whatever you do, know this was the only thing helping me remember you. Helping me fight to come back to you. I’m going to be pulled back. Before while wearing the coat I could escape. Now, well. It’s not mine anymore, I feel that.” He pulled the coat off of himself and a tug on the chain nearly pulled him off his feet with a pained whimper. Nora kept him steady, but it wouldn’t last. He threw the coat around his shoulders.

“If you go in and find me. I won’t know you.” Waylan said, before removing her hands from his upper arms. “He may make me fight you. But Nora?” He held her hands in his, trying to memorize every new line, every gray hair. She was his exact height now and it was hard to stare his sister in the eye. Grey-green glared at him, past him, at a situation she was piecing together and deciding she very much didn’t like. He brushed a hand through her hair much like he used to, tucking a wayward strand behind her ear.

She looked all at once like the little girl he’d left watching cartoons. “Yes?” Young and suspicious and very vulnerable. A vinegar pill, their mom used to call her, fondly. Needed but hard to handle. Whatever she did, it’d be the right move, he knew that. She seemed fine, seemed to have done okay. Whatever she chose to do it’d go fine. That was Nora. Still, always,

“No matter what, I love you.”

The chain pulled taught and he was pulled without logic back back back-

I’ve found you, Sweetness

The pet was on a bed. Its master called it sweetness and it loved its master. This was all it knew.

@augment-techs oh look, I’ve come up with a possible ending for the dream with Waylan lol

[protytwo]

My back cover for A Tale of Two Proties #108 in Interlac #286, December 2023. I used art by John Forte, mostly from Adventure Comic #304, and one panel from #301 to give a different spin on the death of Lightning Lad.

[amatres]

oh i finally realized what i was thinking of in the back of my mind when i thought about layla and lann, it's that meme of a first kiss where one person is like 'okay dont over think this, it might not mean anything' while the other person is just 'let's fucking go!!'

[graceful-not]

COLLECTION OF PEOPLE IN THE NOTES BEING SOOO CORRECT

We need less "shy, anxious, always second guessing" Apollo in fanworks, and approximately 400% more of whatever the hell this is.

[brokenmenswhore]

potions | regulus black

pairing: regulus black x fem!reader

summary: regulus invites his potions partner over to his family home to “help her practice”

warnings: DUBCON (MDNI 18+), choking, smut, rough sex

────── ☾ ──────

When Regulus invited you into his home to use his in-house potions lab, you were suspicious. Regulus always had a darkness to him, and as your potions partner, he was never cruel to you, but he wasn’t the type to make such a kind gesture.

You accepted, knowing you could really use the extra practice. Regulus was talented at potions, and you felt bad that you were barely any help in class. As strange as it may be, you figured some extra time would benefit you, and Regulus could teach you and thing or two, if he felt kind enough to do so.

“Come on in,” he said, gesturing you through the door.

You smiled as you followed him through the house, the lighting almost as dark as his all-black outfit.

“I keep my potions stuff in here,” he said, pushing open the door to his bedroom.

“In your bedroom?”

“Mhm,” he responded, completely nonchalant about the fact you were in his personal space, while you felt it was a little strange. You didn’t know him too well, though you were attracted to him, and now you were only a few feet away from his bed.

He walked over to the table. “You coming?”

You swallowed and approached him, looking at the large collection of jars and ingredients spread out on the table.

“Should we maybe let your parents know I’m here? That there’s someone else in the house?”

Regulus chuckled. “The only other person here is my brother.”

“Sirius is here?”

Regulus shot you a look. You and Sirius had a weird past- you hooked up a few times at parties, you caught feelings and he didn’t, and you never spoke again. It was all ancient history, but you still tried to avoid being around him at all costs.

“Why does it matter?” Regulus asked.

“It doesn’t,” you spoke in a small voice, drifting your attention to the table, “so? What first?”

“Figured we could maybe just make sure you’re set on ingredients,” Regulus said. Everything he said was so dry, low, and monotone, and it sometimes made conversation hard.

“I think I’m comfortable with the ingredients side of things,” you told him.

“You’re not.”

You furrowed your brow and looked at him. “Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am!” you fought, “I know my own skill levels, Regulus.”

“I don’t think you do.”

He was so nonchalant about everything, reorganizing ingredients and setting up potion recipes as he spoke, as if anything he said didn’t matter.

You sighed and gave up fighting it, letting him take control and decide where to go from here. There was no point in going back and forth on the same thing over and over again.

“How about we just start with Shrinking Solution?” Regulus asked.

“Fine by me,” you answered.

Regulus backed away from the table, watching you do nothing. You looked back at him. Did he expect you to just do it?

“Well?” he said, “make the potion.”

You sighed. Sometimes he was so annoying and condescending. You looked at the unlabeled recipe and removed 7 red rose petals from a case of singular petals.

You began to drop them one-by-one in the boiling water. You looked at Regulus, who nodded at you to keep going. “How difficult,” you said sarcastically.

Remus folded his arms in front of his chest, watching you carefully.

You added five drops of essence of violet, stirring counterclockwise exactly twelve times.

“I don’t remember shrinking solution having essence of violet,” you told Regulus.

“Are you claiming my recipes are wrong?”

“No, I’m just saying.” You sighed and continued with the recipe, counting out 4 cloves and prepping canary flight feathers.

He didn’t say a word, just watching you make the potion, until you had completed the instructions.

“I also don’t remember it being pink,” you pouted, looking confused at the pot.

“I could have sworn this potion had daisy roots somewhere-“

“Would you relax?” Regulus questioned.

“Something just feels off about it,” you said, inspecting the liquid.

“Does it smell right?” he asked.

You leaned in and sniffed. The potion smelt like lavender, vanilla, freshly cut grass, and all your favorite smells.

The smell maintained throughout the smoke that you breathed in, overtaking your senses and filling your lungs. “Fuck that smells good,” you giggled.

Regulus crept behind you as silently as he could. When you stood up, he was directly behind you, your back almost banging into his torso.

You spun around to meet his gaze. “Can I help you with something?” you asked.

“I don’t know, can you?”

Your eyes locked for a moment, and you were suddenly overtaken with adoration.

“I think I probably can,” you said, all logic going out the window as the potion took over your emotions, your focus completely on Regulus.

“Atta girl,” he tsked, gripping your waist as he looked down at you. “How you feelin’, pretty girl?”

You were overcome with intense emotion, but you fought to remain grounded in reality. “You motherfucker,” you said, letting Regulus know that you were aware he had you make the wrong potion. This was not Shrinking Solution, this was Amortentia.

“No idea what you’re referring to,” he said.

“You know,” you started, twirling his already wavy hair in your fingers, “you could have just asked if you wanted me.”

“Now could I?” he asked, intrigued and eager to hear you continue talking.

“Mhm.”

“I thought I wasn’t your type.”

“Why?”

“You slept with my brother, did you not?”

Your eyes widened a bit. “And you know that how?”

“He’s my brother,” he said, holding you closer to him, his tone finally lifting to a bit lighter of a place, “and I’ve been keeping tabs on you.”

You giggled. “Have not.”

“I have been,” he admitted, “had to make sure you weren’t fucking anyone who didn’t deserve you.”

“I haven’t been fucking anyone,” you told him honestly.

“I know.”

“You wanna know why?”

His gaze darkened.

You sighed, “the only person I’ve wanted to fuck is standing right in front of me.”

Regulus growled, gripping your waist even harder and pulling you even closer. “Then what did I do all this work for? Getting you over here, the Amortentia, you’re telling me I worked for it for nothing?”

“Maybe,” you giggled, amused at how much thought and planning went into getting you here. You weren’t obvious about your attraction to him, but it couldn’t be that hard to notice.

“I feel drunk on you,” you admitted.

Regulus smiled. You had never ever seen him smile before. You didn’t even know he was capable.

“You’re so pretty when you smile,” you said genuinely, a hand moving upward so you could run a thumb over his cheek.

He couldn’t help himself anymore, he crashed his lips onto yours. Your hand found it’s way to the back of his head, holding him closer. You whimpered into the kiss, desperation overtaking your body. You couldn’t help it, the scent of the potion was still filling the room, and you were consumed in Regulus.

“I want you,” you said in between kisses, eager to finally get what you wanted.

Regulus didn’t break the kiss or loosen his grip on your waist, but instead inched you closer and closer to the bed. You felt the back of your knees hit the mattress, and you jumped up, attempting to land on the mattress, but Regulus caught you, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist.

He leaned over you, your back touching the mattress as you kept your legs around Regulus. He remained standing, the small of your back at the edge of the side of the bed.

Regulus finally broke the kiss, running his hands all over your body and inspecting every single inch of you. “I’m gonna make you scream so loud that Sirius will realize what he’s missing.”

You couldn’t help it, you started laughing. Your heightened emotions won, and the more you tried to stay quiet, the more hysterical your laugh became.

Regulus slapped your thigh. “What the fuck is so funny?”

“You.”

“Shut up,” Regulus demanded, kissing you to distract you from the hysterics in your brain. You melted back into him, forgetting why you were even laughing in the first place.

You were still having too much fun to let him win so easy, and you liked watching him work for it. “Make me.”

Regulus cocked his head to the side. “What did you just say?”

A giggle threatened to leave your lips. “I said make me.”

A hand suddenly squeezed around your throat, not completely cutting off your breath, but stopping your giggling.

Regulus flashed you a wicked smile. “That seemed to work, didn’t it?”

“Y-yes,” you squeaked out.

Regulus moved a hand in between your bodies, cupping your heat from on top of your underwear. You inhaled sharply, desperate for any sort of friction.

Regulus tucked his fingers into the band of your underwear, collecting your wetness with his middle finger as he traced it in between your folds. A sigh of pleasure escapes your lips, and Regulus watched your face intently.

You thought he was going to continue on like this, slowly working you up until you were ready for him, but Regulus had other ideas. Without warning, he shoved two long fingers inside of you, his palm resting on your clit and circling, as his fingers pumped in and out of you.

Your body responded, back arching off the bed, a hand still around your throat. You squirmed a bit, unable to stay still from the sensation.

Regulus watched your chest rise and fall as your back arched and fell, his cock hardening as he watched what he did to you.

He curled his fingers, hitting that gummy sweet spot within you, causing your walls to convulse around his fingers. “That’s it, pretty girl,” he cooed, “come for me.”

His words undid you, the coil of tension within you breaking as you came on his fingers, whines and whimpers constantly filling the room as you calmed down from your high. He pulled his fingers out of you, never breaking eye contact as he sucked your juices off of them.

Once his fingers were licked clean, he unwrapped your legs from his waist, removing his hand from your throat.

“Stay,” he commanded as he untied his pants, pushing them, along with his underwear, down enough to free his hard and swollen cock.

You let out an audible gasp at the size.

“What? Too much for you?”

“How-“ you didn’t even know what to say, “how is that gonna fit in me?”

“I think you’ll be fine, pretty girl.”

Regulus held his palm in front of your mouth. “Spit.”

You did as he said, and he used your spit to wet his cock, lining up his tip with your entrance.

“You want this?” he asked.

“Yes, Reg,” you replied.

Regulus almost showed you mercy when he heard the nickname, it just sounded so pretty coming from you, but he still didn’t. “Beg for it.”

You nodded your head no in protest.

A hand grabbed your face, pushing your lips out and positioning your head so that you had no choice but to look him in the eye. “Beg. For. It.”

“P-please, Regulus I n-“

Regulus slapped your cheek, hard. You gasped at the pain, almost stunned that he did such a thing.

“Use that pretty little nickname you called me.”

“Please, Reg, I need it, p-please-“

Regulus shoved his length into you, a moan of his name leaving your lips.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Regulus growled, setting a steady pace as he pumped in and out of you. He tugged at the bottom of your dress. “Off.”

You did your best to pull your dress off without interrupting his pace, struggling for a minute but eventually succeeding. Regulus leaned in and bit at your bra strap, snapping it back onto your body. He kisses the top of your breasts, shoving your nipples out of the cups, his tongue immediately sucking on one of them.

“Fuck!” you cried out, the pleasure of his mouth on your breasts and his cock splitting you open, and the scent of the potion still filled your nose, almost feeling like too much.

“Louder,” he demanded, serious when he said he would make you scream so loud that Sirius could hear you.

“Fuck, Reg!” you screamed at the top of your lungs, his pace quickening as you did so.

“Good girl,” he praised.

He sucked a sweet spot on your neck, your head rolling to the side to give him even more access.

He was slamming into you, the bed squeaking as your body rocked back and forth. Your legs were weak as they fell off the side of the bed, but Regulus didn’t want the position to change. He grabbed both of your legs, positioning them over his shoulders and fucking into you even deeper.

You squeaked and whined, not even capable of any genuine moans anymore.

“You gonna come again, huh? All over my cock?” Regulus gasped out.

“Mhm.”

“Words, pretty girl.”

“Y- yes!” you squealed, your high hitting you again as you squeezed his cock, a groan leaving Regulus’s mouth as he fucked you while you came, pace never faltering as you attempted to come down from your high.

Regulus was still chasing his own, his lips enveloping yours in a heated kiss as he snapped his hips as fast as he could until he came inside of you, erratic breaths and sighs spilling into the kiss.

“Fuck,” he said, running his fingers through his hair that was sweat slicked and falling in front of his face.

“God, I needed that,” you said, attempting to catch your breath as Regulus laid down next to you.

Regulus didn’t respond, he just stared at the ceiling, calming himself down.

“Reg?” you asked.

“Mhm?”

“You didn’t bring me here just to fuck me and piss your brother off, right?” you asked.

Regulus turned to you. “Do you think that low of me?”

“No. I’m just curious,” you explained.

“No, I didn’t bring you here to piss my brother off,” he answered, “it’s just a massive, massive plus.” He rolled over the placed a kiss on your lips.

[imxnotxhere]

Acotar Men Fic Recs

** Updated 03/07/2024 **

I already made a list for azriel which was actually meant as a list for all the characters I read for but I read a lot more of azriel fics because he's my baby and the list was getting too long. So here are the rest of the characters and I also added some more azzy drabbles sorry

Rhysand

@azsazz

dioxazine part 2 - fluff, smut, modern au, art school au

the lord's work - smut

if you should die before you wake - smut, rhys x cass x azriel x reader

just hold on - smut

a court of four horsemen - smut, part of a series

double duty - smut, rhys x reader x cass

what's mine - smut, rhys x eris x reader

lavender haze - fluff, suggestive

@tadpolesonalgae

mine - smut, check warnings!

knocked up - smut

vampire!rhysand drabble - smut

professor!rhys headcanons part 2 - smut

soothing - fluff, aftercare

@leafsandstarlight

easy like sunday morning - fluff, smut

@azrielbrainrot

my body keeps saying it's yours - smut

all over my skin - smut, rhys x reader x azriel

@writingsbychlo

home to us - fluff

rhys as a pleasure dom - smut - technically a drabble? blurb?

@azrielscrown

mirror mirror - smut

daylight - fluff

@acourtofwhatthefuck

shrinking violet - smut

@shadowdaddies

if i catch you i fuck you - smut

@fieldofdaisiies

rhysand... - drabble, smut

Cassian

@azsazz

mirror mirror - smut

take it - smut

a court of four horsemen - smut, part of a series

@tadpolesonalgae

on the strategy board - smut

pools of sunlight - fluff

@leafsandstarlight

halley's comet - angst, smut

@princess-tulip-writes

drabble - smut - az x cass x reader

@fieldofdaisiies

cassian... - drabble

@illyrianbitch

words of affirmation - fluff

Eris

@acourtofmenandthirst

runaway - angst, smut

fox hunting - smut

closed until further notice - fluff, smut, coffee shop au

smut blurb

smut blurb II

@leafsandstarlight

destiny's battleground - angst, smut

my lovely throne - smut

despite our differences - angst, smut, series

the prince of blood part 2 part 3 - vampire!eris

@tadpolesonalgae

servitude - smut

thumb prints - smut

@serpentandlily

sly fox, dumb bunny - series

@azsazz

the burning of the autumn leaves and the roaring of my yearning heart - angst, smut

soul on fire - smut

a court of four horsemen - smut, part of a series

@azrielbrainrot

fire on fire - angst?

mind over matter - angst?

@gothicbabydollz

riding eris' face - smut, drabble

riding eris' thigh - smut, drabble

@honeybeefae

cauldron fated - angst, smut

@princess-tulip-writes

making out with eris while giving him a handjob - smut, drabble

praise kink eris - smut, drabble

@fieldofdaisiies

eris' hands... - drabble

eris... - drabble

@theostrophywife

like you wanna be loved - fluff

Lucien

@tadpolesonalgae

solecist night - smut

@acourtofwhatthefuck

yell at me again - smut

personal problem - smut

the moon on a string - fluff

@princess-tulip-writes

drabble - smut

drabble - smut, az x lucien x reader (kind of)

@gothicbabydollz

dom lucien - smut, human!reader

@fieldofdaisiies

lucien... - smut

@ceoofyearning

say yes to heaven - fluff

Helion

@leafsandstarlight

a high lord's scholar - fluff

@tadpolesonalgae

new mechanisms - smut

sweet like peaches - smut

[deadheaddaisy]

Another favourite scene. Why in the hell was this deleted but we got a whole minute of butterfly eating? Pfft.

Like how he doesn't embarrass her about her silly query, but reassures her with a joke. Right, @papercranesong?

And of course my fanwriter heart is all about the way he keeps watching after she turns away.

Deleted Malcolm & Hoshi Scene from Broken Bow (1x01)

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Some Personality Idioms

to describe your characters

All Brawn and No Brains - Refers to someone who’s strong and muscular, but not very intelligent.

Armchair Critic - People who pretend to know a lot about something, but really don’t know anything about it at all; those who sit back and criticize the way you do something without getting up and helping out. There’s a little armchair critic in all of us. Have you ever criticized an athlete’s performance (or, more likely, a ref’s call)? Or judged a dancer or singer on a reality TV show?

Born with a Silver Spoon in one’s Mouth - Means you come from a wealthy family with a high social position. The spoon you actually use these days probably isn’t a great indicator of your wealth, but in the Middle Ages, only commoners used wooden spoons. This idiom speaks more to the spoon-bearer’s personality than just their social status: Entitled, naive, presumptuous. All the qualities you’d expect of someone who wasn’t allowed to leave the palace walls.

Butter wouldn’t Melt in his/her Mouth - Describes someone who appears demure, innocent or sincere, but is actually unkind and devious. It’s saying you’re so cool and collected, that you wouldn’t even be warm enough to melt butter.

Doubting Thomas - A skeptic who refuses to believe something without personal experience or physical evidence. The idiom comes from apostle Thomas (Didymus), who did not believe Jesus had risen from the dead. He said to the other disciples: “Unless I shall see in His hands the imprint of the nails, and put my fingers into the place of the nails, and put my hand into His side, I will not believe.” While being skeptical and demanding truth are wonderful qualities to have when learning new things, constant doubters can also come off as being overly critical or looking down on others’ beliefs.

Dyed-in-the-Wool - Describes a person’s deeply ingrained political, cultural or religious beliefs. It comes from the fact that when wool is dyed before it is woven, the color is less likely to fade. In the positive sense, you could be a dyed-in-the-wool sports fan, meaning you’re faithful to your team, even when they suck. But, it can also mean you are unwilling to be open to other ideas or beliefs because of how ingrained you are in your own opinions.

Long in the Tooth - Means someone's old. This idiom likely comes from the practice of examining horses’ teeth to determine their age. It’s generally an unkind or humorous way to refer to people who do something they seem too old for.

Shrinking Violet - An exceedingly shy person. This idiom is typically assigned to girls, but who’s “Violet?” The poetic origin of this idiom was describing the flower, not a girl. Sometimes, this idiom is used as “she’s no shrinking violet,” which describes a woman who is outspoken and not afraid to express her views.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[illyrianbitch]

Worth It

Pairing: Reader x Bat Boys

Summary: It can be hard to remember why you’ve put up with your best friends for centuries-- until they remind you why they're worth it.

Warnings: irritation cause of males? perhaps? friendship fluff. boys being boys aka bat boys are immature male dummies and reader is fed up.

Word Count: 3.4k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

“Are you guys idiots?”

Your voice was a loud bellow as you made your way into Rhysand’s office. From the look on your face, the three males quickly realized that their dirty little secret had been exposed– something that they were all expecting, Azriel being the first to mention that they hadn’t done a great job at hiding it. 

Sure, it was a silly idea for them to keep an ancient cursed object. Rhysand didn’t think it was real, when Cassian came running home and claiming he won it in a bet. The person seemed awfully enthusiastic to get rid of it, Cass had said, told me that it would change my life forever. Weird guy. It only took one interaction for Azriel’s shadows to instantly skitter from the small gold thing, whispering into Azriel’s ears like scared children. Cursed, old, evil, run. 

Rhysand was going to tell you that they kept it, to get a better idea of it, that's all, and that it just so happened to be sitting on the table near your room. He was. At least, he planned on it.

It was Cassian who made the first move, leaning to the side and lowering his head slightly to Rhysand. “This feels like a trick question,” he attempted to whisper, but the sound was loud enough to carry through the room.

You ignored him, instead glaring at the violet eyes that held your gaze. 

“You didn’t think to tell me about something this dangerous?”

“I just thought-”

“Thought what?” You asked him, mouth agape, “That you’d just lie to me about living with a deadly object?”

“We didn’t lie, we just didn’t tell you,” Cassian clarified innocently. He regretted his input once your stare met his and he quickly muttered out a small apology, looking to become as small as he could make his large form to be. 

“And thats better?”

Rhysand let out a deep breath. 

“Y/n, just calm down.”

Your head snapped to face him at a force that made him question how you hadn’t broken it. Rhysand’s eyes widened as they met yours, a sense of rage now flickering in your gaze. Azriel instantly grimaced at the words of his brother, his gaze meeting Cassian’s, whose eyes were wide as his mouth formed a small “oh.” Both males took a cautionary step backwards.

“Calm down?” you repeated, slowly stalking towards Rhysand with an icy calmness that made him instantly shrink.

“Well,” he started putting one palm out towards you, “I just mean that we should sit down and think rationally about this.”

“Think rationally?”

Rhysand looked over his shoulders in an attempt to seek some backup, but Cassian averted his gaze and Azriel simply shook his head. You’ve done it now, was what Azriel’s gaze seemed to say. His shadows curled around him, slithering up his body until they were peeking over his shoulders, alert and ready to watch— in amusement, it would seem.

Rhys nervously laughed.

“Can we start over?”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Compared to the others, your bedroom was extremely large, adorned with its own fireplace and seating area. But with the three Illyrian males standing around you, it felt quite cramped. You watched as they wandered around your room, picking up your stuff and throwing it to each other. This was your fault, of course, since you’d specifically asked for them to come. 

“Guys,” you said, “can we focus, please.”

The three males turned around to face you, all looking at you with wide stares and raised brows, as if they had been caught doing something they weren't supposed to be doing. 

“Right,” Rhysand said as he balanced a small porcelain heart in his hand, a Solstice gift from Mor. He quickly glanced down at the object, eyes widening slightly before he turned his head and threw it in the air, effectively tossing it off to Cassian, who caught it with parted lips. 

“Dude.” 

You groaned, rolling your eyes as you walked forward.“Give me that,” you said as you ripped the item out of the males large, calloused hands. 

“I need one of you to help me make Landon jealous.” 

“Not it,” Rhys said, the words quickly tumbling out of his mouth as his hands flew up in surrender.

You stared at him blankly, your lips forming into a tight line.

“What?”

The line quickly turned into a scowl as you held his stare, a look of innocence on his beautiful features. 

“Am I truly that hideous you don’t want to help me out?”

“Oh, please,” Rhysand said with a dramatic scoff, “You know you’re hot. We know you’re hot. But It’s not my fault you can’t flirt normally. This is a perfect night for me to get some, so, I can’t.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms carefully, the porcelain heart safely in your grasp.

“Were the two guys from last night not enough?”

Instantly, a smug grin found its way onto Rhysand’s face. 

“Oh, c’mon,” he said, his voice low and sultry. A sense of pride clung to him. “I’m a growing male, I have a healthy appetite.”

From beside him, Cassian nodded with a grin, putting his knuckles out for Rhys to give him a fist bump. Azriel simply let out a small laugh and shook his head, eyes trained on you as you grimaced, your nose crinkled with a frown.

“You make it sound like you're eating them.”

Somehow, the grin grew, his pearly white teeth gleaming at you.

“Aren’t I?”

“You’re gross,” you responded, “I don’t want your help anyways.”

Rhysand let his mouth fall open in feign offense and you seized the moment to flip him off– a vulgar gesture that he instantly returned. Azriel and Cassian exchanged a glance.

“I got you, Y/n,” Cass finally said, walking up to you to wrap his arm around your shoulder. He pulled you into his embrace, looking down at you with a large, wolfish grin. You held his eyes for a moment, thinking about how well Cassian fit into your plans. A subtle sense of doubt crept into you, and once Cassian wiggled his eyebrows, you were done for. Your eyes instantly flickered to the last of your best friends.

“Az?”  Your voice was a soft plea, accompanied by a small, unsure smile that had Azriel sigh in defeat.

Cassian scoffed, pulling apart from you in an effort to see your entire face. “What? Why him?”

You gave a sheepish smile, your gaze bouncing between the three males before settling on him once more. “I love you, Cassian, but you won’t make him jealous.”

“And why not?”

It was Azriel who responded with a small snicker, “Because you’re easy.” 

Cassian’s mouth was open in shock as he registered the statement, his eyelids falling in soft blinks before he let out another scoff. 

“Well now I’m offended.”

“Don’t be,” Rhys said from across the room as he fell down on your couch, propping up his legs on the arms of it. “It means you’ve got a good game. Think about how many people you’ve fucked thats gotten you such a title. I mean the amount of puss-”

You let out a loud groan, pushing Cassian off you with a soft shove.

“Oh my Gods, we get it. You guys are slutty. Can we get back to me now? Please?” 

Your words were only met with a round of laughter. 

“And get your dirty shoes off my couch, Rhys.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

“What the fuck happened to my cake?” You seethed, the words coming out bitter and sharp. The door slammed behind you as it collided with the wall, the impact of your entrance causing a dent in the surface. 

The boys visibly recoiled, Cassian flinching at the roughness of your voice, a voice that was usually comforting and soft. The three males exchanged wary glances, and then Rhysand was lifting his chin.

“I-” he started, only to be interrupted by a cough from Cassian, “We don’t know what you’re talking about,”

“My powdered sugar pound cake, Rhysand. I know you guys did something. Where is it? Did you eat it? Destroy it?”

Another beat of silence. You were sure your teeth were bound to break with the force of your clenched jaw, your teeth gritting harder with every minute spent looking at their avoiding eyes. 

“We didn’t touch your cake, Y/n.” 

You glared at Rhys, the apparent dedicated spokesmen of the three, and let out a harsh exhale. 

“There is powdered sugar on your hands!” You said, shoving an accusatory finger at them. "Right now!”

The males all simultaneously looked down at their hands, Cassian gasping in feign surprise– a sound so exaggerated you resisted the urge to hit him on the side of the head for the act alone. Rhysand was a bit more subtle, bringing his hands up to his face, examining them, and then tossing a casual shrug your way.

“This is completely unrelated powdered sugar.”

With a flare of your nostrils, you turned your head to face Azriel, who met your gaze with a small smirk on his face, of all things.

“And what's your excuse, Az?”

He shook his head. “Don’t have one.”

“So you admit you guys ate it?”

“I didn’t admit anything.”

You clenched your hands into fists, your fingernails digging into the skin of your palms. 

“Yes you did.”

Azriel’s eyebrow quirked, and then he was narrowing his eyes at you.

“Did I?”

“Yeah, Y/n, did he?” Cassian echoed, putting his hands on his hips.

Your nostrils flared as your gaze bounced between the three males. You wanted to take all three of their heads and knock them together, hope that one of them would produce a module of maturity. 

They braced themselves for an outburst, for you to run up to one of them and hit them in the face, if anything, but nothing came. Instead you looked away and shook your head. 

“Fuck you, guys. You suck. Gods.”

And you left. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You came to a halt as you turned the corner, now staring into the living room where your best friends stood shirtless next to one another, a determined look on their faces.

"What the hell are you guys doing?"

Rhys looked up with a grin. "We're settling a debate," he said, gesturing to the tape measure in his grip. "Gonna find out who's got the biggest wingspan."

You raised an eyebrow, bringing your finger up to your lips as you laughed.

"Want to place a bet?" Azriel said as he rolled his back, a small smirk on his lips.

Cassian flexed his wings behind him, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he shook loose pieces of hair out of his face. "I'm pretty sure it's me," he boasted.

Rhys shook his head, his wings unfolding slightly as he stood up taller. "Not a chance," he countered. "I think you'll find mine's larger."

"What does wingspan really determine?" You asked incredulously.

You watched as all three males blinked, staring at you as if you had spoken in a tongue different than your own.

"Uh," Cass said, lifting a finger, "Absolutely everything, my dear, Y/n."

You rolled your eyes at him, but began walking to them in spite of yourself. When you found yourself in front of Rhysand, you looked up and put your palm out.

Rhys frowned, eyebrows furrowing at the outstretched hand.

"Well?" You said, raising your eyebrows. "For a proper assessment, you need a fair judge."

He grinned, enthusiastically shoving the tape measure into your palm.

"Alright boys," Rhys said, turning around to face his brothers, stretching his hands out as his wings extended behind him-- almost hitting you in the face. "Let's settle this."

One by one, your friends approached you, Rhysand with a grin, Azriel with a smirk, shadows pointed at the edge of his wings, and Cassian with a cheeky wink.

After all three had been measured, you stepped back, trying to hide your grin. "Looks like we have a winner."

Cassian puffed out his chest triumphantly. "I knew it!"

You raised an eyebrow. "Actually, Azriel's wingspan is slightly larger."

Cassian's face fell as Az let out a loud laugh in victory, shadows surrounding Cass like a mocking audience. He swatted them away with his hands.

Rhys chuckled, clapping Cassian on the back. "Looks like you'll have to concede this one, Cass. Being last place isn't so bad."

Cassian frowned. "Azriel cheated! His shadows held his wings up, I swear."

A snicker in response.

"Yeah, yeah, you're a sore loser."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

"Why do you look like that?"

You gasped in surprise, your hand flying to your heart as you turned to the source of the voice. Cassian stood in your doorway, casually leaning against the doorframe as he bit into an apple.

"Cassian!" You scolded, pushing your hair off your shoulder as you walked towards him. "You can't just come into my room and scare me like that!"

"Why not?" He said, mouth filled to brim with chewed apple bits.

You stared at his mouth with a frown, lifting your hand so that your nail could slightly scrape off a piece stuck to the stubble on his chin. Cassian gave you a smile as he finished chewing, wiping off his mouth with his free hand.

"Gross," you muttered. You shook off your hand before looking at him again, "And you just can't."

"Well I'm here, so, seems like I can."

You rolled your eyes, but Cass only smiled at the reaction.

"So why are you dressed like that?"

You frowned. "Like what?"

"Good. Like, hot.”

"Gee, thanks," you deadpanned, your head tilting to the side as you gave him a blank stare "You sure know how to make me feel confident."

Cassian let out a laugh, placing a soft, large hand on your forearm. "No, no, you always look good. But where ya going?"

You felt a blush creep onto your cheeks, but before you could respond, Rhys appeared behind Cassian, curiosity written all over his face.

"What's happening?" He said as walked in, throwing himself onto your bed. He frowned as his eyes scanned you. "You look pretty. What's going on?"

You let out an exasperated sigh, realizing you were about to have an audience.

"Guys, get out," you said firmly. "I'm going on a date."

Cassian and Rhys exchanged a quick glance before both of the males broke out into large grins.

"Ooooh, a date?" Cassian teased, brushing past you to sit next to Rhysand on your bed.

"Yes, now get out."

You walked towards them, attempting to grab their hands and pull them up with the sheer force of will. Between your futile attempts, Azriel's voice sounded from the doorway. "What are we all doing in your room?"

You let out a loud groan. "Where do you guys keep coming from?"

You turned around to face him, hands on your hips and an annoyed frown on your lips. Just as his brothers did, Azriel's eyes scanned your appearance.

"You look good," he said. His shadows curled around his body, a few around his ear as the corners of his lips turned upwards. "You're going on a date?"

From behind you, Cassian and Rhysand broke out into a sound that you could only describe as a giggle, the grown males turning to one another to make theatrical kissing sounds.

"You guys are so annoying. Get out."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

There was a soft knock at your door.

You groaned, slipping yourself further into your covers.

The knock came once more and you closed your eyes, hitting the back of your head against your pillow. "Leave me alone!"

Much to your dismay, your protest was met with the sound of your door opening and a heavy set of footsteps approaching your bed. It only took a few seconds before your beige covers were being lifted off your face. You squinted at the light that met your eyes.

"Well, look who's alive."

You scowled as your eyes met Rhysand's violet ones, a large smile on his face as he hovered over you. There was a softness in his eyes that made you feel guilty for the expression, and the scowl quickly turned into a small frown.

As you pulled yourself upright, Rhysand made himself comfortable at the edge of your bed. "How you feeling?"

Your knew your eyes were puffy and sensitive from the crying you'd done all night. You were grateful it was Rhysand who sat in front of you, someone you weren't embarrassed to be seen in such a state with.

"I just got cheated on,” you murmured, rubbing your face with your hands. "How do you think I'm feeling?"

He sighed, a small frown on his lips as he urged you to scoot farther into the bed, making room for him to situate himself next to you. As he maneuvered, you caught sight of your bedside table, now decorated with a large bouquet of multicolored flowers, delicately wrapped in with a white bow. Next to it sat a small bear, its fur a white and blue pattern that perfectly matched that of the ceramic heart gifted to you from Mor.

"Are those for me?"

Rhysand quickly glanced over before giving you a nod.

"Yeah," he said, "The florist gave me a whole explanation for every flower. I told her that I wanted to g-"

Rhys stopped as he noticed your staring, eyes wide as you looked at him, lips curled down. "What?" he asked.

You felt your lip quiver, a small burn in your chest as you looked at him. Realization quickly flickered in his eyes--- realization that you were about to start sobbing.

"Don't make it a thing," Rhys said, staring at you blankly. But as your eyes began to well with tears, his facade quickly broke and he sighed, putting an arm around you and pulling you in. "I had to take care of my best girl, okay?"

Your nose tickled as the corners of your eyesight became blurry, a sudden pool of tears now at the corners of your eyes. "Thank you," you told him, as you burrowed yourself further into his embrace.

You closed your eyes, taking a moment to bathe in the comfortable silence. But a second quickly passed, and both you and Rhysand jerked at the sound of your door slamming into the wall.

"I'm here!" Cassian's voice boomed.

You blinked at the sight in front of you, Cassian's hair messily tied together atop of his head, his hands barely containing a pile of food assortments. His chin rested against 2 tubs of ice cream haphazardly stacked on top one another, his palms desperately grabbing onto a variety of chocolates, candies, bags of chips, and fruits.

His eyes met yours, instantly softening at your appearance. He gave you a smile. "Hey, beautiful. Nice to see ya."

"What you got there, Cass?" Rhys said, his head tilting as he closely scanned the pile his brother clutched to his chest.

"I got everything," he responded, eyes darting between you and Rhys. They settled on you as he continued, "I didn't know what you'd want."

You let out a laugh, your cheeks suddenly straining from the impact of your smile. Your face fell as you examined his haul, your brows furrowing as you pointed to a small plastic bag.

"Are those... pads?"

Cassian attempted to look down, but the ice cream containers beneath his chin constricted his movements. "I'm not sure, the lady at the store said you probably needed them with everything I was buying."

Rhysand let out a snort at this, his hand affectionately rubbing up and down your bicep. You smiled as Cassian shuffled to your couch, carefully dropping the ideas on your cushions, and then moving to place the rest on the table.

"Hey," you said with a frown, "Wheres Az?"

Rhysand and Cassian exchanged a glance.

"What?" You asked, looking between the two males. "Where is he?"

Cassian gave you a sheepish smile and then Rhys was laughing, a deep sound that you felt as his chest moved beneath you.

"Where do you think? He's beating the shit out of Landon."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

oh how nice it would be to live with the batboys with the vibes of new girl 😌 (until they do something stupid)

a/n: i’m slowly getting all my drafts and requests out 🫶🏻

[iwaasfairy]

┌─ “ ! „ DECAY

tw. ddlg, noncon, daddy kink, dom & sub themes, forced threesome, patronization, manipulation, objectification, size kink wordcount. 4.4k

a/n. ♡ i wish i could have done more about this idea but i gave myself a bit of a word count limit for kinktober but don't be surprised if i end up writing more for this in the future jhydgusgfy i wanted to go more extreme but i was a bit bummed by the self imposed limitations kHdyugs iT IS What it is ily thank you for reading

miya atsumu x fem!reader x miya osamu

You’re pouting somethin’ fierce, and thick crocodile tears bead your lash line like diamonds.

Osamu’s not entirely sure when it started. If it started at all. Maybe things just happened to play out this way, and it was entirely coincidental, a whisper in the grander scheme of your relationship with his brother - all too small to mention. Maybe safer to say, he’s not sure when he started noticing it— but once he began, there was nothing to keep him from seeing it too vividly in every interaction.

You’ve been with Tsumu since your last year together in high school. Stuck with him through thick and thin, every busy month, each and every match and scandal and fallout - and Osamu’s nothing but grateful for that. You make him happy, Hell, even a blind man could see how the blond blossoms open when you’re around. Becoming a more grown, dependable version of himself. Some days Osamu blinks and it’s like his mirror image has far surpassed his own grounded maturity, leaving him behind in the dust. And it’s definitely you that brings that out in him - and he’s grateful.

But — he remembers the early days. More than maybe anyone else, Osamu remembers that it wasn’t always this way. You were definitely more soft and gentle than they were as teens, but you were no shrinking violet either. A decade ago, Atsumu would’ve been caught dead underestimating ya like he does with a glitter in his eye now. Like it’s a game the two of you are clued in on. Osamu’s eyes glide over the scene painted before him, sipping his beer from the couch.

“Aw, pet, you’ve gotta watch where yer goin’. C’mere, did that hurt?” Atsumu is knelt before you, cupping your face between two rough palms, as he kisses up and down your face. Your wobbly sniffles get hidden in his chest when he pulls you in, and rubs your back like you’re a toddler with a scraped knee. Your hands fist into his shirt before you take a deep breath, going up in his warmth. And his twin beams like he’s the happiest man on the planet, before going to pick you up with a bit too much practiced ease.

Osamu’s not against the pda. You’ve always been touchy, and Tsumu’s a clingy bastard at the best of times. “‘M so sorry, baby. Daddy almost walked straight over ya.” It’s more that he has a problem with. He looks away when Atsumu’s hands slide down to grip your ass and squeeze you extra close, looking down for another kiss that you give like it’s been practiced a hundred times. He’s not sure if the slight pout you have on is truly the pain though, or more the embarrassment he can see creep up your ears and cheeks.

“I’m sorry for getting in the way,” you whisper back, and by the time Osamu looks up Atsumu has made it back to the couch with a fresh beer, with you now positioned on his lap and wrapped around him like a baby koala. You don’t look over at him though, barely acknowledging the strange situation. Almost makes him feel like he’s the one that’s out of place, even though he came over on Atsumu’s request. Even though he was invited.

Samu takes another chug of his drink, before raising his brows, leaning in with an attempt to catch your eyes. “Yer not gonna have any? ‘S yer fridge we’re looting.” You only disconnect yourself from Atsumu’s chest to look at him with heat on your cheeks, perfectly treated hair shining as it falls along your shoulders.

“No, thank you. Atsum- uhm- d-daddy doesn’t let me have any unless we’re going out. It makes me get all bloated, so ‘s better I don’t.” Your long lashes flutter, before you smile again, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I appreciate you looking out for me, Samu.” There’s a beat of silence where his twin seems to give him a look -one he can’t really make out- where Atsumu puts his own beer aside to pull you closer by your hips and wrap his arms around you like you’re best molten to his front. “Hey,” you whisper then, and Atsumu looks up, “can I move? My knees hurt a little like this.”

“‘S that right? Ya wanna turn so you can look at Samu too?” His brilliant smile is almost bright enough to make him ignore the possessive hands that travel too far down when helping you turn, or the almost-subtle groan he lets out when you wiggle back onto his lap. Osamu stares off into the kitchen instead. “You wanna sit ‘n look at someone else ‘cause I won’t do anything. Is daddy not good ‘nough? Maybe I spoil ya a lil’ too rotten.”

“‘M not rotten~, I do like sitting in your lap,” you squeak out almost sadly, starting to leave little pecks all over Atsumu’s lips as if to shut him up. That would probably be good, Osamu thinks. He doesn’t want to consider the possibility that you’re actually tempering him, but it sure does seem like it. “I’m just tired.” And though your voice drops to an almost whisper, he’s too aware of your pouted, glossy lips to not hear every word. Your hands trail through his hair, sliding down his neck with each slow breath. “Just- Daddy, don’t be upset. I’m trying my best.”

You look almost pained to say it, not that his twin cares. “Please don’t get mad.” Anything else passes over Osamu’s head. He just places the empty bottle by his feet and tries to ignore the way you’re now draped onto Atsumu’s lap like you two will start dry humping any second.

“‘M not mad, pretty girl.” The blond grabs two handfuls of ass and rocks your waist against him, making you squeak, before he runs his tongue along his teeth with a noise. “I’m just thinkin’ that I don't want Samu ta see ya like this.”

You whimper when Atsumu’s mouth glides along your jaw and throat, falling back into the couch -crown brushing Osamu’s thigh- when his twin pushes and presses a few kisses down your throat and chest. “Alright, let’s go out.” Then he pulls back flushed, and gets you up along with him. “Before daddy ends up fucking that pretty pussy with a live audience.” He ushers you towards the door with a few pats on your butt. “Go an’ get yer shoes, I’ll tie yer laces for ya, little girl.”

“I- I can really do it myself, ‘s fine.”

It only makes Atsumu puff out his chest, and stare you down with a hungry stare. “Go on, baby. Yer little enough to need my help.” You don’t say anything, but there’s a tense breath of silence that covers the room before you look away with shame written all over your expression.

Osamu’s too speechless to do much but just stare at the side of his brother’s face, who barely shows any emotion other than enjoyment at all. Seriously. It’s not like you to let someone just walk all over you. Or at least, it wasn’t like you, as far as he was concerned. Things have clearly changed. He frowns. “Do ya really have ta talk about ‘er like that when I’m around, stupid Tsumu? Keep it in yer pants, wouldya?”

Instead of the normally snappy reply that he’d expect, the blond just shrugs, tugging at his waistband like the tightness is a little uncomfortable. “Can’t help it. She’s so fuckin’ cute whinin’ and crying out for me.” Brown irises find Osamu’s, and he smiles. “You’d feel the same if ya saw what she can do.” He pats his thighs when you come back from the hall, and holds out his hands. “Come ‘ere, little princess. Daddy’ll dress ya right up.”

+

Your frilly little implication of a dress is bunched around your hips as he lets you down from another bear hug, and puts on a slight pout. “I’ll be back soon, baby. They need an emergency setter for just an hour of practice. Maybe two.”

“It’s never just one hour.”

The overly whiny request only makes Atsumu glitter more, as his eyes flick down your body and his tongue is caught between his teeth. Truly, the guy has absolutely no decency. This was supposed to be a fun weekend away from work for the three of ya. Not that Atsumu seems bothered by that. After a few seconds he kisses your forehead though, letting you lean into his arms and looking ever so teenie tiny compared to your boyfriend -they’ve both filled out in both size and muscle since high school after all- and it becomes even more apparent when Tsumu squeezes you under his chin. “If ya need anything ya’ll ask Samu, alright? Just pretend he’s me.”

You bat your lashes at him, but let your grip on him slowly be peeled off. “... Okay. Can I have dinner while you’re gone?”

“Hm, sure.” The blond runs his fingers through his hair. “Daddy’s gonna miss ya. I’m not gonna be gone fer long.” Then he eyes him with a grin that Osamu kind of wants to slap off of his cheeks. “Thanks for ‘sittin ‘er.” He doesn’t reply with a smart remark about him treating you like a dog, and just gives a vague hum instead. With that he gives the brunet a quick wave, and gathers his phone and keys on his way to the door. You linger around the entrance a bit longer, before slowly returning to the dinner table with slightly heated cheeks. You tuck your knees to your chest when you sit and reach for one of the side dishes — and he can’t help but say it when the door falls into lock.

“So, what’s all that about?”

“Hm?” Your head drops to the side slightly as you put some pickled radish in your mouth and hum. “Mm, this ‘s really good, Samu! Can I have some?”

“Help yerself,” he nods, and also slides the plates you can’t reach closer. It’s not like he doesn’t understand it at all. You’ve got that sort of puppy-eyes look down, big and round and soft wherever you look, no matter who you’re talking to. It’s the kind of gentleness that calls for protection, and he’s not even the possessive type, but despite that the feeling of being needed sits on his chest and longs to come out. But still. He can’t help but think Atsumu’s overplaying his cards. “Seriously though. You know ya can tell my shitty brother no, right? I’ll straighten ‘em out for ya.”

The words seem to process for a moment, before you load some more food onto your utensils and swallow it with a little noise of thoughtfulness. “I- I don’t know. Atsumu says he likes being the provider. At first it was just little stuff he helped with, and I thought it was nice to be cared for.” You fumble a little with the chopsticks when a piece of fish is extra slippery, and smile when he helps you out and picks it up, carrying it towards your mouth. “You don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve fed myself instead of Tsumu doing it for me,” you softly mention. That’s weird, ain’t it? That’s definitely weird.

Still he’s carrying the food to your mouth, and be it instinct, or habit, you look too fuckin’ sweet waiting like a puppy for him to help out, big, doe-eyes and all.

You let the piece onto your tongue, before wrapping those pretty lips around and gratefully humming and — fuck. You don’t notice the way his brow ticks, but his stomach rolls with the realization. Instead of lingering too long on the implication that he might feel the same exact way as his twin, he lets you talk, after chewing for a while. “I just- I don’t like that he doesn’t ever take me seriously anymore. He thinks I can’t do anything by myself, even brushing my own teeth, or picking out clothes! It’s so- so frustrating-” you continue until you run out of air, and seem to suddenly realize who you’re talking to. “Oh, don’t tell Atsumu that. Please don’t tell him. He gets so upset and I don’t like it when he’s mad.”

Samu can’t help but just nod in agreement, not sure what else to say. He doesn’t think his brother would ever hurt ya. Then again, Samu also didn’t think his brother was much of a kink lifestyle sort of guy until the last few months— so clearly he doesn’t know everything anymore. And you seem… okay with it, right? He’s not sure, really. Would he even have the guts to tell Tsumu off if he was sure you weren’t? Instead of lingering on that uncomfortable possibility, he pivots. “Let’s watch somethin’? What do ya wanna see?”

Your eyes shimmer when they flick up, and you swallow before smiling. “Can I choose?” You wiggle in your seat. “Atsumu -w-well- daddy doesn’t let me watch scary stuff, but I’ve been dying to watch the Ring again.” You then lean into his space a little more, and he feels his heart skip a beat. “I assume I don’t have to snuggle up to you though? He did say to pretend you’re him but…” You wrap your thin sweater a little closer. “I’ll hold your hand? He can’t get mad that way.”

How can he say no when you’re staring at him with those fucken stars in your eyes? His fingers find yours on the table, and your hand feels way smaller and softer than his own work-worn ones. “Yeah, sure. But ya shouldn’t watch nothin’ ta give ya nightmares though…” The urge to pick you up and wrap you nice and safe in his embrace becomes stronger by the second, and his eyebrows furrow.

+

Atsumu is quick to descend on you in the safety of the separate room. His hands glide down your sides and hike up your shirt over your arms, before running his fingertips down the valley of your breasts. “Samu was nice to ya?”

“Mhm,” you bop your head a few times, shivering when the cooler air peaks your nipples and Tsumu brushes his thumb over them. “He was- r-really- ah daddy, that tickles.” Your voice trembles when he eyes you down, before letting his fingers trail down to your shorts instead. He motions your butt up and you lift yourself politely, letting him slide those down your legs too as he lifts one and starts placing kisses down your ankle up your leg. “You said we’d get ready for bed~”

“We are gettin’ ready,” his smile goes a little crooked when you bite your lip, “just curious ‘s all. Ya think Samu likes ya?” He lets you fall back onto the plush covers before walking into the ensuite and coming back with some skincare that he places unceremoniously onto the bedside table- and you frown. If your boyfriend asked you a few years ago, you’d assume he was just genuinely curious. About you getting along with his family, his twin, his other half. But now, there’s an agenda woven into the words. Always is.

“We get along well. Why?”

His lips jerk up, and with a simple shrug he continues. “He’s good too ya, ain’t he? An’ I’ve been thinking I want Samu to watch us some time.” You’re too shocked to say anything, but your mouth drops open. No.

No, it’s already embarrassing how he makes you whine and whimper like a pet for him when you’re alone. It’s embarrassing when he makes you call him daddy when there’s people around with no shame- like he gets off on it. But this- his hands find your face with a soaked cotton pad to start cleaning you with gentle motions, and you find your eyes starting to water. You hate that you’ve become this fragile little flower that can’t speak up when it matters. You’d like to think you’re still the same. But your lip wobbles too easily as Atsumu continues, and your voice cracks.

The mortification is too much to bear, it swallows you up whole. He couldn’t possibly make you. “I don’t want that.”

“What’s that?” he coos, eyelids hooded. He leans down to you more.

You push his hand away from your face and frown, but tears still spill over. You fucking hate being such a crybaby. “I don’t want Samu to watch us.” You still frown though, doing your best to blink away the waterworks. And instead of taking you seriously - of course - Tsumu tilts his head in that sort of understanding that you’re throwing a tantrum like a toddler might. But you’re serious. You mean it. His freshly washed hair falls over his brows, but his hands still find your shoulders to keep you in place below him.

“Aw, baby. Poor girl.” The soft rubbing of his thumb along your skin only makes you more shaky in that feeling, his eyes roaming your body before he pushes you back onto the bed and crawls onto it beside you, pulling you into his touch. It doesn’t escape you that you’re already naked and he’s still dressed, keeping you tight. “I didn’t mean to upset ya. Shhh, shhh, it’s okay.” You swallow, and push against his chest with a slight whimper - why can’t he take you seriously?

“I mean it, Atsumu.”

Before you can say anything else he pinches your cheek hard, and his dark brows lace together. “Don’t be rude.” The darkness fades quickly, but he still doesn’t show any intention of letting you go. In fact, because of his strength against you you’re only forced deeper into his embrace, head pressed to his warm chest. “Daddy’ll take care of you. Always do, don’t I?” You open your mouth to retort, but he interrupts again, and squishes your cheeks together before placing a few patient kisses onto your pouty lips. “Listen to daddy. It’ll be fine.”

It’s so frustrating.

You want to move. You want to remove yourself from the situation he’s putting you in, or put on some fucking clothes, and instead you’re being mocked by him. Once more you try to give him a push for some space, but because he barely feels it or pretends not to, you don’t make a dent. “Tsumu, I don’t want to have sex with your brother watching~” you end up crying out, feeling the tears well up again. “Get off of me.” You start wiggling, as his hand wraps around your wrist and forces it to wrap around his body, clamping your hands together behind his back as he rolls over and starts kissing the top of your head.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry. Everything’s gonna be okay.” You want him to leave you alone. “My sweet little girl. You don’t gotta fight me, ‘m not doin’ nothing. I’m here for ya.” His heartbeat is so steady against you that it makes you want to shove him and scream in his face to fuck off, but of course you don’t. You don’t scream. You don’t push, or fight, or make yourself clear. All you can do is cry into his shirt as his smell wraps around you and you struggle to make the waterworks stop.

“Let go~” you sniffle into his shirt, and shiver when his hands start sliding down to pull you back onto him, forcing his thick, strong thigh between your legs. Your straining muscles give up after a while of pushing back, and his embrace still stays.

“Shush, little baby. I got ya, don’t worry yer pretty little head.”

“Daddy~” you whine softer this time, and don’t fight him when he nudges you face up to kiss him. He groans for a moment in what can only be satisfaction at winning the fight, before rolling over so you’re trapped under his heavy body, chest rising and falling against him. And as you try to stop crying, Atsumu has the nerve to rub your head like all of this isn’t his fault.

+

You can’t escape the heavy gaze anywhere you look. It’s suffocating. Not that you have much room to think about it between the way Tsumu’s taking up your space and forcing one of your legs over his shoulder so he can spread you open. It’s a brief reprieve from the prying eyes blocked by his broad back, but you know it will end. Because Tsumu didn’t just drag his twin here to know that someone’s watching. He wants to make a show of you. To show off the type of power he- oh. Your half-lidded eyes flutter open wider when his fingers spread open your slick and your pussy clenches around nothing.

And Atsumu grins. “Yer so quiet, baby. Are’ya shy?” You don’t answer that, instead trying to chase after his hand when he moves away, wrapping comparatively small hands around his wrist. You can feel the heat of Samu at the foot of the bed, uncomfortably perched onto it with his knee before he dips the mattress further, and your blinks get more rapid.

“Daddy… I- I don’t-”

“Hush,” he moves your other leg aside more, leaving you spread embarrassingly open before he dips his body and glides both hands under your ass, lifting you a few inches. His mouth descends without thinking, kisses and then tongue making you whimper as he eats you out. Not gently, but possessive, demanding licks that drag your split attention right back to him - only until Samu leans forward a little to get a better view. This is so fucking embarrassing. “Mh- Taste good, pretty thing.” Atsumu’s eyes have that same cocky, knowing look he always does when he gets you like this. You won’t do anything back, and he knows that. “Yer droolin’ all over my chin.”

You are. The slick’s coating his lips when he pulls back, trailing kisses up your thighs, before he slides two fingers inside your squelching pussy traitorously slow, and watches your face scrunch. He’s big. He always is, and knows it too, big hands, big thighs, chest, shoulders. Most of all, he’s fucked you enough times now to know that you can’t take him easily without prep, and even that is embarrassing. You could have gone a whole lifetime without having Osamu know that. Why did he even agree to this?

“Little brat,” Tsumu says after a few seconds, flicking your nipple painfully as he stares, clenching his jaw. “Don’t be rude. Samu came all the way out here to see ya, ‘n yer gonna lock up the whole time?” You swallow, and try to talk, but he instead curls his fingers inside your pussy and slides them deeper. Right where you can’t handle them, until you have no choice but to curl and wiggle away from him, mouth pulling open to moan.

“Ah, agh, daddy! Daddy, daddy.” Samu’s broad shouldered figure being barely dressed in a tank and boxers, along with Atsumu’s almost godly physique hanging over you is too much. You shut your eyes. “I can’t- f-focus.” You hold onto his arm as he fucks his fingers in and out of you for long enough that your entire body starts tingling, before he peels you off and turns you over. Rough hands hike you onto your knees, and your ass up in the air before his rough palm lands hard and sends a stinging heat through your legs. “Ow, ow~”

“That’s more like it. I know yer a noisy little bitch.” He rubs your lips up and down with his thumb a few more times, before you hear the sound of boxers being peeled off. “Now, what do ya say when daddy will give ya something ya want?”

He presses the hot head of his cock against you but doesn’t push in yet, and your poor pussy clenches around nothing as tears fill your eyes and you grip two fistfuls of pillow. You can’t say it. Not with Samu sitting right there, judging you both for- another sharp spank makes you shiver, and you whimper into the pillow. The sting aches until heat blooms under the damaged skin, and you unclench your teeth. “Please, daddy? Please fuck me.” You doubt you’re stretched enough to take him comfortably, even with the fingering and all the wetness coating your puffy pussy and the inside of your thighs. “Pretty please?”

There’s a few moments before his hand presses down on your back and his cock slides inside, and you do your best not to gasp too much feeling him force you open. It aches though, and you have to widen your knees to make room and— God it feels so good. You’re not sure whether to cry because of the feeling, or because you can’t stop yourself from moaning high pitched and whiny like a whore putting on her best performance. You really can’t help it. “Agh, ah- d-daddy, move, please.” The heavy weight of his cock bottoms out and he presses his heavy balls against you for a few seconds, before pulling out with a groan.

The motion pulls your entire body back, only stopped by his hand, like you’re some cocksleeve— and you cry harder. “Ah, ah, ugh— Atsumu,” you pout, and he pets your head.

“I’m right here, doll. Does that feel good?” You nod, and cling on, before opening your eyes to look at him with his thighs right next to your head and stroking his cock with an almost torturous pace. You whimper when being bottomed out into, and then your eyes shoot open. You can’t turn, but the low groan Samu lets out when you clench hard around him, says enough— and Tsumu laughs as he watches you panic and your bottom lip wobble, petting your head. Like this is all some big game, keeping you down under his hand while you shake your head.

“No, no- you said- you said he���d watch- agh, daddy! No, no no no, you promised! You promised.” You can’t stop yourself from moaning when he hits deep inside, fucking you much too well. Your mouth falls open as you try to stop the sound, but Tsumu’s touch only gets more demanding as his twin picks up the pace.

“Shhh, shhh, Samu likes ya so~ much. It’s just this one time. And then daddy’ll take good care of ya, promise.”

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2023. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

*scuttles over to you* hey imagine how scared Childe must've been when you first found him as Foul Legacy.

the Harbinger stumbles home after a particularly difficult battle, his boots thumping along the darkened streets, the harbor city asleep under the black blanket of nighttime. labored breaths fall from his fanged maw, Foul Legacy's power barely hanging on so he can get them home, back to where it's safe, back to you. he pushes the door open and immediately doubles over, clutching the wall for support. it's fine, it's fine- he's home now. he'll patch himself up and slip into bed with your sleeping form, wrap his arms around you and drift off, nightmare-free. somehow you always chase away the memories of falling and falling and breaking on the way down.

it's past midnight. usually you're asleep by now, but the thumping noise of the door swinging shut, or perhaps the footsteps downstairs- something woke you. you sit up groggily in bed, following the shuffling and the quiet hisses of pain, not cautious in the slightest. Childe's taught you enough about combat for self-defense, a small sword in your hand as you make your way towards the door. but it clatters to the ground when your eyes land on an otherworldly beast, all violet and black and vivid crimson with sharp claws and two twin horns, hunched near the front door of your home.

you stare. Foul Legacy stares. then he scrambles back and presses himself against the way with a strangled screech.

you nearly jump back in fright, heart hammering in your chest as you grip your weapon. yet the creature merely shrinks away and grips its knees, letting out rasping sobs and whimpers. its blood drips onto the floor, dark and speckled with tiny lights, and your heart suddenly squeezes in a jolt of realization. gingerly you step forward, lowering your blade to the ground as you approach the weeping monster, placing a gentle hand into its thick, familiar coppery hair.

Foul Legacy's head snaps up towards you, his singular, faceted eye wide and filled with tears as he chokes out a faint, mournful whine.

I'm a monster. I'm terrifying. Please, please, please, don't be afraid.

you wrap your arms gently around the Abyssal half of your Harbinger, and Foul Legacy cries as he melts desperately into your embrace.

[namine-rae]

PART TWO LETS GOOOOOOOOO

Four was on the ground. They’d just finished a battle with a black blooded Lynel in Wild’s era, and they were all pretty beat up. Four was lucky with only a few scrapes and bruises, and maybe some cracked ribs. Wind had been thrown into a tree, hitting his head pretty hard. They were just about to regroup and heal when the portals showed up. 

Four groaned and rolled over, staring up at the familiar trees overhead. He smiled and sighed with relief. This was the Minish woods. Safe. 

He took a moment to calm his breathing. It was quiet. 

Too quiet. 

Four jolted upright, looking around. There was wind to his left, but where were the others?!? 

He didn’t want to be alone with Wind!

Of course he cares about the kid, how could he not? But between the wind magic, and the now white hair (oh how he regretted putting that hat on wind’s head), he was struggling with recognizing that it was Wind, and not Vaati. Not anymore. 

It’s hard to reconcile that the being that was once his greatest enemy, was now a brother-in-arms, practically a little brother.  Especially with all the tricks and pranks wind likes to pull. 

And now they were here. Both injured, alone, and in the woods. 

His ribs protested as he stood. Someone needed to check on wind’s head injury. 

Which was bleeding. 

A lot.  

Oh no. 

Wind needs medical attention, fast. 

Four checked his bag.

No potions. 

He checked Wind’s bag. 

Still no potions. 

They hadn’t had a chance to restock after the last big fight before the Lynel. 

This is bad. Really bad. 

Neither of them have potions. 

The nearest help is either his own house, which was likely an hour away, or…

Minish Village.

What should he do?

Wind needs help, quickly, but did he dare take him to the village?

With his white hair, which is slowly turning red with blood, the villagers could react negatively, or even refuse to help. 

Wind coughed, breath rattling and wheezing. 

He sighed. 

Looks like he’ll have to trust that the Minish won’t turn them away. 

So, Four pulled wind onto his back, and started looking for a Minish Portal. With any luck, the transformation spell will work on both of them. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Well, if there was any doubt in his mind of Wind being a reincarnation of Vaati, it was gone now. 

The spell had worked. Four was in his usual Minish form, four tails and all. Another consequence of his second adventure. 

And Wind?

Well…

If it weren’t for the blue tunic and orange pants staying the same, he’d think he was carrying Vaati in Minish form. Feather tail and all. 

This was not going to be pretty when wind woke up. 

~~~~~~~~~~

The walk to the village was stressful. Each rattling breath from wind sending spikes of worry and relief into his heart. Worry for the state of wind’s lungs, and relief for the confirmation that he was still alive. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once they got there, the villagers reacted with shock and fear. 

Four ignored them, and focused on getting to Ezlo’s house. Ezlo would be able to help them. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was right. Ezlo always had a stash of potions, and had learned a lot about healing since their adventure together. He said it was because someone had to make sure Four (and the colors) took care of himself. 

They managed to fix wind’s ribs and reduce the head injury to a more mild one. 

He’d be out of it for a bit longer, but that could be fixed when they met up with the others. 

For now, Four and Ezlo sat at a table, drinking tea, as Four updated his friend and mentor on what exactly has been going on. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Their discussion was interrupted by a groan coming from wind. 

He opened his eyes and turned to look at the two of them. His expression fell. 

“Ughhhhhhh. Another one of these stupid memory thingsss. Whyyyyyyyy…”

Four and Ezlo exchanged shocked glances. Four didn’t know wind had been remembering things. 

Wind continued, not registering what they were doing. “Vaatiii is such a jerkkkkk. So meannn. Alwaysss goin after fourrr.”

Wind was staring at the ceiling, voice getting higher in pitch with distress. “Four’s my favorite. Favorite brotherrrrr. The bestttt.”

And wasn’t that a punch to the gut. Here was Four, who had been avoiding him, and trying not to attack him, and Wind still cared about him. 

Four walked over to the bed, and gently ran his hand through wind’s bone white hair. 

“We even gots the same sheilddd. Gran says it’s, it’s, from a hero loooooongg ago. She lemme take it when Aryll got- got-“

Wind broke off into tears, presumably remembering when his little sister got taken. 

Four stood there, frozen. They had the same shield? How? He’d seen Wind’s sheiks and they were similar, but not the same. Maybe wind was mistaken?

Four shook his head to refocus his thoughts. 

“Wind, could you tell me about your shield?” He asked, trying to get Wodm to focus on something other than his sister’s kidnapping. 

Wind sniffled a bit, and stopped crying. “Isss a family thin…”

Wind turned back to the ceiling, a contemplative look at his face, not realizing he just broke Four. 

Four stared at wind in shock,“My shield, is a… family heirloom?!? We’re related!?!”

Ezlo remained at their table. Stunned and bewildered. Here was his current student, and a reincarnation of his previous one, and it seemed things are only getting more complicated.

The three of them remain silent for a moment, each caught up in their own thoughts. 

Wind broke the silence with a whisper, “Am I a monster?”

Four and Ezlo were ripped from their thoughts. 

“If I was bad, and keep coming back, does that make me as bad as Ganon?”

Not noticing the twin looks of horror direct at him, Wind fell asleep. 

Four and the wind mage

Fanfic prompt: all good things are three , right

Vaati has one attempt left at reincarnation before it becomes cringe worthy like ganondorf

So what if after the Dead Sea flooded Hyrule

The four sword started rusting under the salty and toxic water (the great sea canonically houses no fish and the Zora left it because it was not inhabitable and became rito)

And almost 200 years later it broke down allowing Vaati who has collected his magic for years to cast one last spell to restore him back to his hylian form

But during it he accidentally or willingly erased his memories because hyrule was gone and presumably his only way to seek revenge because the four sword heroes are all dead and the hero spirit gone

And then hylia decides on a vile yet beautifully ironic joke one last time

And he is reborn as a child named link from Outset Island and also part of the bloodline of the hero he swore to destroy

But his ability to control the wind remains and when link's little sister gets kidnapped by a mysterious bird he takes his ancestor's shield to get her back

As the hero of the wind

When link found himself in the final battle against ganondorf he was filled with rage and not just for his sister

He felt a rage that compelled him to fight back to seek vengeance for something he didn’t even understand

As he pierced the skull off the enemy all he felt was satisfaction

A satisfying feeling off revenge and freedom

He would not sympathize with the man even when he could understand the desperation

Something in his very core was finally avenged something he didn’t even understand

When linked universe happens :

Four meeting the chain and a hero of the winds : calm but confused

Four seeing wind use the exact same wind magic as a particular wind mage : heavy breathing

Four realizing that wind has quite a few personality traits as a certain wind mage like self confidence and a problem with bad mentorship’s: heavier breathing

Four remembering that Vaati has already reincarnated and decided to infiltrate his bloodline and he just has to deal with a wind mage in his family: :(

Four then for his own peace of mind asks dot for the magic hat and puts it on wind just to no longer awkwardly look at him

When wind changed color palette to match Vaati he decided that he really shouldn’t have done it if there even is the smallest possibility of

A bleached wind with wind magic on steroids

Or

me wondering why the toon time line (the toonline) has both a wind mage as the villain but later also a wind mage with the unsettlingly similar abilities as the hero

Vaati can use mind control which he used to control the knights in both his appearances

Wind also has the ability to mind control people (command melody)

Vaati can create hurricanes

Vaati can also teleport at will

Guess what wind can do so too

[vandersbf]

Fluffvember 15

In the firelight/candlelight // “I love you”

Tags: gn reader, reader x vander, fluff, parenting

warnings: vi has a nightmare and wakes up crying, no details about the nightmare are given.

author’s note: done with exams, which means more writing time! I’ve never shared my writing online before so i was nervy but yall have been amazing to me, thank you. :)

You wake up to the sound of crying. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.” A hand is placed on your shoulder, the bed creaking as you come to. You sit up slowly, watching him grapple with a shirt, his back turned. The room is dark, and you narrow your eyes as he opens the door, letting in a crack of light. After a moment, you straighten up fully, forcing yourself to step out of bed and follow. 

Soft whispers join the crying, which has started to fade into hiccups as you near the kids’ room. The door is open an inch, and you near the frame slowly, your footsteps light on the cold floor. Vander is kneeling on the floor next to Violet’s bed, cradling her gently while she cries on his shoulder. Across the room, Powder sits with her feet tucked under her, watching her older sister with a nervous expression. She spots you, shrinking a little, and you nod towards her, reaching out an arm. She doesn’t hesitate to silently dart out of bed and to your side, and you wrap an arm around her head, softly carding your fingers through her hair. You reach down to scoop her up, turning to carry her out from the doorway and to the couch in the communal room outside. You make sure to gently shut the door behind you, muffling the noises of her big sister’s wails. 

You plop down on the couch together, and Powder burrows into your chest. “There you go.” You reach for the throw blanket, draping it over her small frame. “S alright, dear.” You whisper, tucking the coarse blanket around her. “She’ll be fine soon. Everyone has bad dreams.”

Powder falls back asleep in no time, conked out in your lap. Soon enough, Violet’s cries fade to sniffles, and then stop. A moment later, Vander steps out of the room, and you lift your head from where you’d been resting. 

“Told you not to worry ‘bout it.” He says when he sees you holding Powder.

”And I didn’t.” You keep running your hand over Powder’s back, feather light. “No worries here.” You take a deep breath before standing up slowly, making sure not to disturb the sleeping girl. You carry her back to bed and set her down, pulling the blankets back up and tucking in a stuffed animal next to her while Vander watches.

It’s only after the door is shut behind you again that he speaks. “Still. You don’t have to do all this.”

”I know what I’m signing up for, Vander.” You insist. “I have just as much of a responsibility of love to them as I do to you.”

It takes him a moment, but he cracks. “…Thank you, love.” He reaches out and touches the side of your face. “You’re smarter than I’ll ever hope to be.” He whispers, stepping forward and lining up your foreheads, so you can feel his warm skin against you. “I love you.”

”I love you too.” You reply, and it feels natural. “Carry me to bed?” You whisper, and his arms wrap around your sides, scooping you up and into the air, back towards his bedroom.

[callsigns-haze]

Traitors War: 1

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x reader

An Eris x assassin reader mini series! (which may be followed by oneshots)

Eris, the heir to the Autumn throne, along with his brothers wishes to get rid of his father. Never did he know this journey would start 200 years ago with an assassin exiled from the Night court.

This series contains mature themes: Explicit depictions of violence, including physical and emotional. Themes of secrecy. Descriptions of difficult relationships, including strained familial and romantic dynamics. Mature sexual content. Themes of power, control, and manipulation within complex interpersonal relationships. Topics of war and death.

The council chamber of the Night Court is darker than ever, steeped in an oppressive silence that suffocates as you step forward. Shadows cling to the polished floors, stretching toward you like silent accusers, and the bitter taste of magic hangs thick in the air. You can feel the weight of the room bearing down, its chilling atmosphere a testament to the wrath that awaits you.

In the centre of it all, Rhysand sits with an eerie stillness, his face a mask of lethal beauty. But beneath his façade, fury radiates from him in waves, setting his violet eyes alight with a malice that chills you to the bone. Flanking him are Cassian and Azriel, as immovable and unreadable as statues carved from stone. Their stony expressions give nothing away, but the hardened edge in their postures speaks volumes.

“Do you even comprehend what you’ve done?” Rhysand’s voice is low, each syllable sharp as a blade, slicing through the silence with a vicious precision. The scorn woven into his tone sends a shiver down your spine. He does not wait for you to answer. “Of course you don’t. Because if you did, I doubt even you would be foolish enough to stand here, expecting leniency.”

His words strike deep, leaving a sting that blossoms into shame. You try to meet his gaze, but his expression is unyielding, his eyes alight with something dark and unrecognizable. You search for any hint of understanding, any sliver of the Rhysand you’ve known—but he has vanished, leaving behind this cold, merciless figure in his place.

“It was my job,” you manage, forcing the words past the tightness in your throat, each syllable heavy with the weight of your conviction. “I believed it was right.”

“Right?” he sneers, a contemptuous laugh escaping his lips, empty of humour. “You believed?” His voice drips with sarcasm, each word twisted and spat out like venom. “How very noble of you, to decide what’s right for me, for this court, for everyone.”

The force of his fury presses against you like a physical weight, but you force yourself to stand your ground, your hands clenched at your sides. Yet, the truth looms over you—a crushing reminder of the choice you made, the loyalty you gambled away.

His gaze narrows, and his tone drops to a cruel, mocking whisper. “Did you think yourself so wise, so indispensable, that I would forgive such treachery? That I would welcome you back with open arms after you conspired with him? With Eris?”

The hatred in his eyes is a dagger, and you feel it twist with every venomous word he hurls at you. Your skin prickles under his scrutiny, and you want to shrink away, but there is nowhere to hide from the cold, unyielding judgment that fills the room.

“How dare you,” he hisses, his voice like thunder, reverberating through the chamber. “How dare you undermine me, betray me—after everything I’ve given you? I gave you power, status, trust. And this is how you repay me?”

The accusation hangs in the air, suffocating, and you feel the sharp sting of his betrayal as deeply as he does. Words die on your tongue, and you’re left with nothing but silence—a silence he seizes upon, his lips twisting into a cruel smile.

“Look at you,” he sneers, his eyes raking over you with disgust. “The so-called assassin of the Night Court, reduced to this—a traitor, a coward. Did you ever think your lies would not come to light?”

He rises from his seat with deliberate slowness, his every movement a display of dominance and scorn. Cassian and Azriel remain impassive, but you sense their quiet fury, the simmering anger held back by sheer force of will.

Rhysand takes a step forward, and the air between you crackles with magic, raw and potent. The bonds that have marked you as his, that have stained your skin with his trust, begin to burn. You feel them unravel, one by one, slipping away like sand through your fingers, leaving behind a searing emptiness.

“Your place here is gone,” he says, his voice a venomous whisper. “As far as I’m concerned, you are nothing—a stain on this Court, a shame I will gladly erase.”

You force yourself to meet his gaze, your throat thick with the urge to plead, to defend yourself. But you know it would be pointless. He has condemned you already, cast you aside with a cruelty that leaves you hollow.

“Leave,” he orders, his voice cold and final. “And let it be known that from this moment forward, you are banished from the Night Court. Should you ever set foot here again, it will be as my enemy.”

The finality of his words sinks in, and for a moment, the room spins around you. You look at Azriel and Cassian, but their faces remain stony, offering no solace, no reprieve.

With a last, pained glance, you turn and walk away, the silence behind you as heavy as the bonds that now lie shattered at your feet.

-

The bench beneath you is rough, weathered by time and use, but it’s familiar—a place of respite amid the chaos that has engulfed the Autumn Court. The air is thick with the scent of woodsmoke and pine, mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood on your lips. You tilt your head up slightly, trying to steady your breathing, wincing as a fresh wave of pain pulses from the bruises littering your body.

Eris kneels in front of you, his auburn hair glowing like embers in the dim light. His expression is carefully composed, but his gaze flickers with a rare softness, tinged with something unreadable as he delicately presses a damp cloth to your split lip. His fingers are steady, skilled, and his touch is uncharacteristically gentle, a contrast to the ruthless, calculating male the world knows him to be.

“I told you to stay out of the skirmish,” he murmurs, not meeting your eyes as he dabs away the dried blood. His voice is low, almost a whisper, but edged with frustration. “But you never listen, do you?”

You manage a weak smile, though it sends a fresh jolt of pain through your lip. “Where’s the fun in that?” The words are light, but the weight of the past, the years since you’d last shared such closeness, presses heavily between you.

He sighs, a hint of exasperation in his tone, but you can see the tension in his jaw, the way he holds himself with a rigid precision, as though he’s one wrong move from unravelling. “I don’t need another ghost on my conscience,” he mutters, pressing the cloth a little harder than necessary, and you hiss, but his eyes are still fixed on his work. “Especially not yours.”

Your heart twists at his words, at the flicker of vulnerability he’s revealing, rare and raw. “Eris…if I wanted to stay safe and quiet, I wouldn’t have come here.” Your voice is soft, and his hand pauses for a moment as he absorbs your words, the truth in them, the history that binds you to his fight.

He finally looks up, his amber eyes intense, studying you with a scrutiny that feels as if he’s searching for something lost. “And yet,” he says slowly, his tone cold but his gaze warm, “you are still here, fighting alongside me. After everything.”

You meet his gaze, the memories flooding back—the years in the shadows, the loyalty you once swore to Rhysand that had ended with such bitter finality. And yet, in this moment, here with Eris, there is an understanding, an alliance you’d never expected to find.

“Beron has to be stopped,” you say quietly, a hardness slipping into your voice. “We both know it. We've known it for two hundred years. The things he’s done… he doesn’t deserve the power he holds over these lands. He has to fall.”

Eris’s expression darkens, and his hand, still cradling your chin, trembles slightly. “I know,” he says, his voice thick with something darker, more personal. “But it’s not that simple. Killing him means more than just power shifting—it’s risking everything, for everyone. It means blood on my hands, blood I can’t wash away.”

You reach up, your fingers brushing his, grounding him. “You’ve done this much already, led so many to stand against him. I’ve seen the way the court follows you, Eris. They believe in you.” You pause, searching his eyes. “And so do I.”

A shadow passes over his face, softening the harsh lines of his expression. “Why, after everything that’s happened, do you still believe in me?” His voice is so quiet you almost miss it, but the question lingers in the air, laden with years of unspoken words.

You hold his gaze, your voice firm, unwavering. “Because you chose to be better than him, better than I ever thought a man like you would. You chose a path that no one else would. And no matter what, that choice will always matter to me.”

He swallows, the barest hint of emotion flickering across his face, and he lets out a low, bitter laugh. “Then maybe I am a fool, too, for keeping you here—for wanting you to be by my side when it’s all over.”

You shake your head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite the pain. “You’re no fool, Eris. We’re both haunted by our choices, our pasts. But right now, we have a chance to make something right.” You reach out, your fingers grazing his cheek. “And I think it’s worth it, even if it costs us everything, well.... I personally don't have anything to lose.”

For a moment, he leans into your touch, closing his eyes as though savouring the fleeting solace. Then he straightens, his face hardening once more, but there’s a spark in his eyes now, a fierceness that rekindles the fire within him.

Eris’s fingers slip under your arm, steady and firm as he lifts you off the bench. The suddenness of it makes you gasp, but he merely quirks an eyebrow, as if amused by your surprise. His hand lingers a moment longer than necessary, the rough pads of his fingers brushing your bruised skin, grounding you in the moment as he releases you. Then, with a silent understanding, the two of you begin to walk.

The camp sprawls before you, tents set up in rough but orderly rows, each one a mark of defiance against Beron’s reign. Soldiers mill around, sharpening blades, tending to wounds, and whispering quiet plans and reassurances. Fires crackle, sending up thin curls of smoke into the crisp air, their warmth a stark contrast to the heavy chill that hangs over the camp.

Eris keeps a brisk pace beside you, his gaze intense, eyes constantly scanning his surroundings. There’s a palpable energy about him, something sharp and restless, as if he’s a blade just waiting to be unleashed. The soldiers and spies nod respectfully as he passes, but there’s a new light in their eyes—a glimmer of hope, of trust in him that you’ve seldom seen in this court. Despite the darkness, they believe in him. Just as you do.

As you walk, a figure comes jogging toward you, his familiar auburn hair catching the light of the dying sun. Lucien’s face is flushed from exertion, but there’s a victorious gleam in his russet eye as he slows to a stop before you and Eris.

“We’ve taken down another one of Beron’s forces,” Lucien announces, his voice edged with satisfaction. He places his hands on his knees, breathing heavily but grinning. “One of his inner forces. His numbers are dwindling, and his support… well, it’s hanging on by threads now.”

Eris’s lips curl into a slow, calculating smile, his gaze sharpening as Lucien’s words sink in. “Good,” he murmurs, his tone a dark satisfaction laced with bitter triumph. “That’s one less hand Beron has to wield against us.”

Lucien’s gaze shifts to you, his eyes softening as he takes in your injuries. “You look worse for wear,” he remarks, though there’s a flicker of concern beneath his teasing tone. “You should be resting.”

You give him a small, tired smile, shrugging slightly. “Couldn’t leave all the fun to you, could I?”

Eris’s fingers brush your arm, guiding you forward with an unspoken insistence. “Rest will come after Beron is gone,” he says firmly, his voice brokering no argument. He looks to Lucien, his expression hardening. “With this win, we’ll need to reinforce the eastern front. Beron may be desperate, but that will only make him more dangerous.”

Lucien nods, his face growing serious. “The soldiers are preparing as we speak. Morale is high—they know Beron is losing ground.” His gaze sharpens, a glint of satisfaction sparking in his eye. “And they know they’re not just fighting for a cause. They’re fighting for you, Eris.”

Eris’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks almost vulnerable, his mask slipping just enough for you to see the weight he carries. But then he straightens, his shoulders squaring with renewed resolve. “Then let’s give them a reason to keep believing,” he says, his voice steely and resolute.

Eris’s hand brushes against yours as he guides you away from Lucien, slipping through the bustling camp. The soldiers and spies nod respectfully as you pass, but you can feel the weight of their gazes, the unspoken questions and curiosity that ripple in your wake. They’ve heard of you, the once-assassin of the Night Court who has returned to fight beside Eris. You can practically feel the stories they must tell—legends whispered in the dark, half-believed tales of your skill, your ruthlessness.

Eris leads you to a tent set slightly apart from the others, tucked away from the main cluster. He steps inside first, holding the tent flap open for you. As you enter, the scent of leather and steel greets you, sharp and familiar. Your old assassin’s gear is laid out on a small table in the centre, the black leather as supple and deadly as you remember. Knives and throwing blades glint in the firelight, each one meticulously sharpened, waiting for your touch.

You move to the table, fingers brushing over the leather armour, the silent weapons that were once an extension of yourself. You slip out of your travel-worn clothes, letting them fall to the ground. Piece by piece, you put on the gear, feeling the familiar weight settle over you like a second skin. The leather is snug, perfectly fitted to your body, and you secure the buckles and straps with practiced precision, feeling the transformation as the assassin within you stirs, roused after all these years.

Eris watches in silence, his gaze unwavering, intense. There’s something in his expression, a flicker of worry that he tries to mask but cannot entirely hide. You reach for the knives, fastening them to your belt, slipping blades into hidden sheaths along your thighs and forearms, every movement precise, deliberate.

Finally, you turn to him, adjusting the last strap on your wrist. He takes a step closer, his hand hovering just near your arm, as if he wants to touch you, to steady you, but holds back. His face is a study of quiet turmoil, the calm, composed mask he wears slipping ever so slightly.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, his voice low, almost pleading. “Sending you, alone, to Beron’s camp… It’s dangerous. Even for you.”

You meet his gaze, holding it with a steady conviction that leaves no room for doubt. “This is what I’m meant for, Eris. I know how to do this.” Your voice is calm, controlled, yet there’s a fire in your eyes, a certainty that hardens your resolve.

He looks down, his fingers clenching and unclenching as he battles with something unspoken. “You’re to burn the camp,” he murmurs, his tone almost bitter, as if the thought of sending you into that inferno cuts him deeply. “To wipe out anyone who stands in your way. You… shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

You lift your chin, reaching up to touch his face, your fingers brushing along his jawline. “If we’re going to end this war, Beron’s camp needs to fall. And I am the best suited to do this. I’ve done things like this before.”

Eris’s hand finally finds yours, his fingers entwining with yours, strong and steady. “Those days are behind you. You’re… more than just an assassin now. More than just a weapon.” His voice is barely above a whisper, as if speaking the words louder would make them real, and in that moment, you see the worry, the raw, aching fear he’s been hiding.

You squeeze his hand, grounding him, your voice a gentle reassurance. “And I’m still a fighter. I’m still someone who knows how to end a battle.” You step back, straightening, every inch the assassin who once served the Night Court. “You’re leading your forces, Eris. Let me do what I do best.”

He hesitates, his eyes darkening as his thumb grazes your knuckles, the touch tender, lingering. “If anything happens to you…”

“Nothing will,” you say, your tone firm. “I’ll be back before dawn.”

Eris swallows, his gaze never leaving yours, and you see the war within him—the tension between his duty as a leader and his fear as… something more. Finally, he releases your hand, stepping back, his expression once again composed, though his eyes betray him.

“Take my smoke hounds,” he says, voice hardening with reluctant resolve. “They’ll be at your command, lethal and loyal. If anyone stands in your way…” His mouth tightens, as though the thought of what you’re about to do pains him. “Do what you must.”

You nod, feeling the finality of his words settle over you like a cloak. The smoke hounds are Eris’s most trusted creatures—vicious, swift, creatures of shadow and flame. With them by your side, Beron’s camp will fall, reduced to ash and memory.

As you turn to leave, Eris’s voice stops you, a soft, broken whisper. “Come back to me.”

You glance back, meeting his gaze, a silent promise passing between you.

-

The forest blurs around you, dark and thick with shadows as you sprint through the trees, each stride light and precise. The silence of the woods is broken only by the quiet rustle of leaves beneath your feet and the soft, nearly soundless patter of twelve pairs of paws moving in sync beside you. Eris’s smokehounds, shadows among shadows, run with you, their sleek bodies rippling with the restrained power of creatures forged from flame and darkness. Their eyes gleam in the dim light, flickers of red and gold mirroring the embers deep within them.

Your breath comes in steady, controlled puffs, each one carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. You push your pace, weaving around trees, ducking under branches, letting the familiar rhythm of running take over. The hounds follow you with fierce loyalty, twelve shadowed phantoms keeping stride with ease, their eyes never straying from you. You’ve trained with creatures like them before; they know your signals, can read your smallest gestures. And tonight, they know their purpose as well as you do.

Ahead, you see the cliff edge through the trees, the canyon beyond stretching wide and deep, a gaping chasm that offers the perfect vantage point. Twenty-five minutes until the fire, just as planned. You mentally mark each step of the mission: secure the perimeter, then unleash the hounds. They’ll tear through Beron’s forces with merciless precision, a deadly warning sent by Eris himself.

With a soft hand signal, you urge the hounds to pick up the pace. They respond instantly, surging forward in a silent wave, each one attuned to your every movement. You can feel their excitement, their hunger to fulfill their purpose—a lethal harmony that mirrors your own resolve.

At the cliff’s edge, you pause for just a moment, looking out over the vast expanse of trees, campfires flickering faintly in the distance. Beron’s forces are spread across the valley below, unsuspecting, oblivious to the doom that will descend upon them in a matter of minutes. You breathe in, feeling the cool night air fill your lungs, centring yourself.

Then you leap into motion again, running along the edge of the cliff, the hounds fanning out beside you. The ground is uneven, treacherous, but you move with confidence, your steps sure and steady. The hounds move effortlessly, their eyes fixed forward, waiting for your command to unleash them upon the enemy below.

The minutes tick by, and you count each one, your mind focused, calculating. You know that Eris will be watching the clock, timing your return. He’ll know the moment his hounds have done their work, the moment the fires ignite, marking the beginning of the end for Beron’s camp. And he’ll be waiting, trusting that you will return alongside them.

You feel the power thrumming through your veins, the familiar thrill of the mission, the anticipation of the flames that will soon light up the sky. You glance down at the hounds, each one poised and ready, their bodies taut with barely-contained energy. With a small, barely perceptible nod, you give the signal.

You crouch low, hidden among the dense trees at the edge of the camp. The flickering glow of campfires illuminates the chaos below. Beron’s forces move with the sluggish confidence of men who believe themselves safe, unaware of the inferno waiting to consume them. You pull the bow from your back, your fingers steady as you nock an arrow soaked in pitch. With a deep breath, you draw back the string, the familiar weight and tension grounding you.

The torch at your side flickers in the cool night breeze, casting your shadow long against the forest floor. With a deliberate motion, you dip the arrowhead into the flame. Fire bursts to life, licking up the shaft, bright and hungry. The light reflects off the sharp edges of your assassin’s gear, and for a moment, you’re bathed in a fiery glow.

You take aim at the largest tent—the command centre, judging by its size and central position. The arrow flies, cutting through the air in a deadly arc, embedding itself into the canvas. Flame spreads instantly, roaring to life as the tent is consumed. You don’t wait to watch it burn. Another arrow is already in your hand, aflame and ready. This time, you aim for the storage tent where supplies are stacked high. It ignites with a burst of heat, the fire leaping from one crate to the next.

One more arrow—this time toward the soldiers’ quarters. The shot is perfect. The flames catch, and panic spreads like wildfire. Shouts rise as soldiers scramble to put out the blaze, but it’s too late. Smoke curls upward, dark and thick, a signal of chaos rising to the stars.

You sling your bow across your back and run, feet pounding the forest floor as you follow the path you memorized earlier. Your mind maps out every turn, every slope: the sharp left at the leaning oak, the shallow stream you leap across without hesitation, the narrow ridge that runs parallel to the cliffside. Your breath comes in short bursts, your heart hammering in your chest, but your focus remains razor-sharp.

Then you hear it—shouts behind you. The sound cuts through the night like a blade, and when you glance back, you see them: Beron’s soldiers, torches in hand, spreading through the trees like a swarm. One of them spots you, his shout echoing across the forest, and suddenly the hunt is on.

You push harder, adrenaline surging through your veins, but the weight of your gear slows you. The thick leather straps dig into your shoulders, the metal clasps clinking faintly with every stride. It feels like a leaden anchor dragging you down.

With a frustrated growl, you strip the bow from your back, tossing it aside into the underbrush. Next, you unbuckle the heavier pieces of your armour mid-stride, letting them fall as you run. The bracers follow, the daggers strapped to your thighs discarded one by one. You leave a trail of discarded weaponry in your wake, the promise of lighter steps driving you forward.

But the soldiers are everywhere. Torches light up the forest in jagged lines, cutting off your escape routes. Their shouts grow louder, closer, and the realization hits you: they’re herding you, pushing you toward the cliff. Panic sparks in your chest, but you keep moving, feet skimming over rocks and roots, muscles burning with the effort.

The cliff looms ahead, the forest giving way to open sky and the deafening roar of the river far below. The soldiers close in, their shouts a cacophony that drowns out your pounding heartbeat. There’s no time to think, no time to hesitate. You sprint toward the edge, the ground disappearing beneath your feet as you leap.

For a moment, there’s only silence. The world drops away, the wind rushing past you in a deafening roar. Your stomach lurches as you fall, the vast canyon walls blurring on either side. Below, the river churns violently, a silver ribbon that grows larger with every passing second.

You hit the water hard, the impact stealing the breath from your lungs. The freezing cold engulfs you, dragging you down, the current tugging at your limbs with relentless force. You fight to the surface, gasping for air, the icy water shocking your system into focus.

The river carries you away, the sounds of pursuit fading into the distance. You let it take you, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, knowing that survival is your only thought now. Above the churning waters, the smoke from Beron’s camp rises into the night, the promise of fire and destruction marking the beginning of the end.

A/N: this series was supposed to be posted in February but as you can see part one is out now but it will be a while till part 2!