#his friendship frolic.

[partyswirl]

teams etho is part of:

tuff guys (origin team)

fast and furious aka "the family" (not again...)

final girls/GGGGs/whatever you wanna call them (counting bigb)

teams that are chill/neutral with him:

bamboozlers

ren and martyn (tentative)

teams that (probably) oppose him:

"spanners" aka just grian

[cantagirldrawinpeace]

Saw the title of today’s episode, can’t wait to watch my girlfriend get his ass kicked 🥰

[senselessviolets]

“stay soft”

Roman Roy x Fem. Reader

Rating E (Smut)

Word Count: 3.3k

AO3 Link

WARNINGS:

Mommy kink, smut, some plot, this man has MOMMY ISSUES™️, gentle femdom, titplay, breast sucking, so much dirty talk, Roman gets called “baby” a lot, no PIV, no uses of Y/N

Author's Notes:

The people have spoken—y’all want Roman being fucking babied in bed so that’s what the fuck I did and I have zero regrets. Totally gave up in the end but school’s been incredibly draining for me so I’m proud of myself for even getting THIS out.

[Gif creds: I forget. if it’s yours, lemme know!!]

Summary:

You are an equally wealthy childhood friend of the Roys and Roman in particular. After years of little to no contact with him, he and you decide to finally act on the mutual attraction you both share in the most ‘Roman way’ you can think of. 

“Okay, but like if we…fuckin’...if we fuckin’ do this, I will want…some things. But I’m not g’na fuckin’ beg or anything…call you mommy, ‘goo goo ga ga’…none of that shit. I will want you…to be there…and I will want you to ‘not be there’...if you catch my drift. I-I don’t wanna hear a fuckin’ word or a single moan. I don’t want—I just don’t want it, okay. And this might sound bad—even though I’ve definitely said worse—but you would be just a-a means for me,” a voicemail blears in your ear as you are made aware of the four calls you missed in your slumber, “‘Kay? I dunno. Think it over. It’s not fuckin’ life or death. Until it is. And I kill you. And hide the body and burn the evidence…kidding! ‘Kay, love you, kidding, ‘kay, bye!”

This was uncharted territory for you both. 

You and Roman and the other Roy children were longtime family friends. Like Stewy Hosseni or a lesser example Ray Kennedy. What that meant was your incredibly loaded dad gave Logan Roy an ungodly sum of money in the nineties and had managed to stay on his good side ever since. At their status, that’s what qualified as ‘friendship’. Everything was a transaction at the end of the day. Like you suspected Logan and Caroline had bought their way into their kids’ hearts, to even be in the same room as these titans—to breathe the same air—you had to beg, steal, or borrow. Fortunately, you hailed from less-than-humble beginnings; your father being an incredibly successful venture capitalist-turned-philanthropist and your mother the heiress of a billion-dollar publishing company. 

But it was all just details. 

You were eternally grateful to be an only child, imagining an existence where you and your progeny were destined to forever claw at each other's throats—all for whatever scraps your parents were generous enough to leave you.

Unfortunate. ‘Pitiful’ felt more accurate. Every hollow soiree and vapid function served as a reminder. These were not your people. And they never would be. And yet—

“Heya! Well, you look less miserable than usual. Lemme guess, you finally ditched Loser What’s-His-Face and have taken up my longstanding advice of giving lesbianism a try,”

“Hi, Roman. No, I’ve actually been reminiscing about our younger years together. Remember the time you threw up in your mouth before presenting me my corsage the night of the winter formal? Seventh grade? Ring a bell?”

“That was because it only dawned upon me then that I would be getting Cody Keener’s sloppy seconds,” he answers, “I just couldn’t cope with that, I’m sorry,”

You slug him in the arm and he reacts overdramatically, as if someone stuck him with the pointy end of a knife. Onlookers included none other than Frank Vernon, Hugo Baker, and a close friend of your mom’s, Michelle Anne. This time, you and Roman had crossed paths at your father’s 70th birthday party. It was held at your parents’ penthouse on the Upper East Side and attracted a decent crowd. Faces you’d sworn you met pass you by as strangers come up to you, recounting memories of you who were only this tall. It was always a discombobulating experience but you continued to frolic and mingle nonetheless. 

In truth, this little ‘reunion’ was nothing but a facade. 

You and Roman had been talking for weeks now after years of no contact with one another. Brief texts turned into prolonged phone calls which by the end of the night became one-sided, pathetic voicemails expressing some sort of yearning for the other. It was becoming all-consuming and quite frankly, exhausting. And now it had finally come to blows. 

There was a plan, there were contingencies (of course, there were) but above all—there was transparency. And that was something you could hold onto. Oh, the many men who lied their way into your bed. And then here comes Roman, who’d made it abundantly clear he’d rather inhale glass than have you worm your way into his. So this scheme would not transpire at his place or yours. 

It would be occurring in a Central Park Suite at The Carlyle—just a quick jaunt from your parents’ place. He deigned to be a gentleman and handled the reservations as well as your transportation because you had to already be there. You were going to be lying on the bed, in some satiny sleepwear. No lingerie, no hosiery—nothing that could be construed as ‘sexy’. You were to look mundane, average, and bored. 

Roman would enter and you would be still and let him do as he pleased. While you’d had this endeavor nailed to a T, you’d be lying if you said the prospect of him going off-script—doing things rougher, harder, doors off the hinges, letting his darker impulses get the better of him—didn’t make your knees buckle a bit. 

So once the candles had been blown, the birthday wishes made, and goodbyes were said—you were to slide into his black Range Rover SV while his secondary chauffeur Crispin brought you to your destination. In your duffel was your change of clothes and a few other goodies. It had crossed your mind—once, twice how exceedingly easy it would be to bail right about now. Crispin could drop you off on the side of the road like some floozy and then your personal chauffeur could pick you up and drive you back to your cozy brownstone for a mundane evening spent by yourself—alone. That was the part that struck a pang in your stomach. That was the truly unbearable part. That, and the heat between your thighs which was starting to become really inconvenient. 

…

Now was not the time to get cold feet. 

You had already slid your sequin cocktail dress off and exchanged it for your satin sleepwear. Like the pretty kept thing he’d instructed you to be, you lay flat across the plush hotel mattress, awaiting his arrival, legs swinging to and fro like an eager teenage girl.

Maybe he’d be the one to pussy out.

At least then you’d have yet another thing to hold over his head for the foreseeable future. In your phone’s front-facing camera, you inspected the makeup you’d done earlier that evening for the party and it still seemed sufficient. Your lips seemed a bit drab. You roll off the bed and I sift through the contents of your bag, searching for the mauve lip color you’d brought along. Dabbing it onto the purse of your mouth while gazing into the mirror of the room’s modest vanity—you begin to lose track. 

This isn’t it and you know it. 

You know it. 

So fucking do something about it. 

Examining the time on the wall clock, you decide to hastily shake off your striped satin pj set and tear through your duffel for the sheer lace slip and matching long gloves. Not liking the unkemptness of your long hair at this particular moment, you palm your bag for one of the chignon French hairpins that had sunk their way to the bottom—a go-to for you since your younger years. The best you can muster is a half-up, loose, more-than-messy low bun because suddenly, a knock on the door can be heard. Your heart leaps into your throat and you shove your duffel bag into the armoire in a hurried panic. The click of the hotel room’s keycard lock comes next and you spring to the door as to be the one to open it. You and Roman meet each other’s gaze through the crack of the half-open door, you two beam down at your hands, enclosed over both sides of the handle. He is very noticeably startled, not expecting you to answer the door.

“C-Come on in,” you stutter, gesturing into the hotel suite with a gloved hand. 

Roman’s mouth goes dry. It is not all that often the family jester is able to be truly caught off-guard. This absolutely was one of those times. He shuffles into the room with tepid steps and doesn’t turn around to face you until he hears the door click shut. With a blank, nonchalant expression—he shrugs, prompting you to provide some sort of explanation. Of which, you do not possess. 

“What?” you say. 

“What’s…all of that about?”

“Yeah, sorry…wasn’t really feeling the pajamas tonight. I opted for something I felt was a little more fitting. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No,”

He definitely fucking does mind actually. But any frustration at being caught unawares expresses itself in the form of big beautiful hazel eyes beaming at you with fear and uncertainty. His lips are parted, unable to form the words he can’t even begin to think of at this particular moment.

“So…,”

“...so…?”

“So…lay down,” you finally say.

Roman is able to briefly channel the smarmy assholeishness he usually hones with a sarcastic scoff and smirk. He shakes his head to himself before his gaze finds the floor. 

“...I’m sorry, maybe you just didn’t hear me right the first time,” you say, crossing over until you are eye-to-eye with him and your competing breaths can be felt, “...or maybe I should’ve been a bit more specific.”

You lean in until your lips brush the outer shell of his right ear and he stops breathing. 

“Roman. Lay the fuck down on that bed. Now.”

He quickly scrambles onto the bed, resting on his back while slightly sitting up. There is a tentative eagerness in his demeanor as if the last hints of resistance in his muscles had yet to dissipate.

“Good. Now can you unbutton your shirt by yourself or do you need my help?”

“...I-I-I need your help,” he mindlessly babbles, “P-Please. Please, can you help me?”

You click your tongue at his wanton request, attempting to maintain your composure. It was after the first ‘please’ that you knew you were going to willingly give everything in you to this man right then and there. 

The safeguards? Fuck the safeguards. 

The time for self-preservation was about five or so minutes ago before his knuckles had rapped gently on the heavy wooden door. Without breaking eye contact, you straddle him effortlessly, both knees on either side of his hips. You aren’t certain because all the blood had flooded to your ears and you were unable to hear much over the thumping of your own heartbeat but you swear you hear a quiet ‘oh god’ slip out of him. Your fingers find the buttons on his grey button-down and your wrists noticeably begin to shake as they undo them.

For fuck’s sake.

Up until this point, you had conjured the impression that you were the one in control here and that there was nothing he could say or do otherwise. But now the true vulnerability of the situation had begun to set in. The playing field had been leveled. 

His fingers enrapture yours and he steadies your grasp as you both work to unbutton his shirt. Roman swallows, anxiously. You get more than half of the way there before he gives up and presses his face firmly to yours. 

It’s a declarative kiss. 

It’s long-lasting and when the two of you eventually break it—you know there’s no going back. Those hands of his, wracked with nerves, find their way to your hips. He slowly drags the lacey fabric up so your upper thighs are exposed. Once you can feel the soft flesh of your hips exposed to the cold air, you grab his wrists and he freezes. 

“Ah-ah-ah, I don’t think I remember saying you could do that,”

“I-I’m s-sorry. I’m sorry. Don’t—I’m sorry,”

“So many apologies, they just keep on coming,”

“I’m…,” he deeply exhales out of his nose. 

“You’re what? Wait, lemme guess,” you goad, “Sorry?”

He bobs his head up and down, face full of embarrassment.

“Hm…think I’m a little sick and tired of those ‘sorrys’, sweetie. You and that mouth of yours. Oh, that fuckin’ mouth of yours. You couldn’t even begin to imagine the amount of headaches it’s caused me in what, the two decades I’ve known you? What are we gonna finally do about that mouth?”

Roman looks up to you, hanging onto your every last word. 

“I-I don’t know, j-just tell me what to do. I can make it up to you, I-I promise,”

You genuinely take a moment to mull it over, though the growing hardness pressing against your most intimate place admittedly was making it hard to think.

“...I think…we need to find another use for that mouth of yours—something to keep it busy, hm? How does that sound, my sweet baby?”

You swear his face goes pale as he assumes you mean your cunt. While the thought had crossed your mind (many, many times in fact), knowing Roman—you know that would be too much. And that you would lose him forever somewhere along the way and you didn’t even want to begin to think about that. 

You tilt your head, staring longingly at that poor little boyish face of his. Your clothed index finger traces its way slowly from the exposed flesh of his tummy, up to his ribs, across his collarbone, along his Adam’s apple, over his bearded chin— finally stopping at his pinkish bottom lip. You pull it down, making him pout for you. 

“Open for me,” you utter softly. 

Roman obeys, his tongue moving upwards in his mouth when he swallows. You continue to tease around his mouth torturously, the lace creating a delicious friction against his beard. The heat of his pants against your lone finger makes you stir inside. 

“Now, close your eyes—mouth still open,”

He noticeably resists before relenting, his eyes flutter closed. You drop one of the spaghetti straps of the slip off of your shoulder, exposing yourself. Your nipple pebbles in the cool air conditioning of the room. You awkwardly lean your torso inwards, inching your breast closer to his mouth. For a brief second, his eyes flick open, taking in the scene. Catching your drift instantly, he swallows as much of the soft flesh as his mouth will allow, moaning into it. The most obscene sucking sounds soon fill the room. Roman whimpers into your skin, letting his head fall limp against your chest. You wrap your arms around his neck, cradling his head. His brown fluff of hair is too tempting for your hands to not tangle themselves in. 

“There, you go…you’re so good. You’re so good for me, aren’t you? Yeah?” you sigh, tilting your head backward.

You swear you can feel your hips gyrating on their own. Roman’s fingers have ensnared themselves onto the flimsy fabric of your slip, gripping it so tight you think it might tear. Not that you’d give a shit if it did. 

“Y’know what I think? I think you act the way you do all the fucking time because you’re just waiting for someone to come and put you in your place, is that right? Yeah? You’re a brat ‘cause you want someone to do this to you? Hm?”

He releases your nipple and an almost pornographic line of spit drools from his mouth. Roman’s lips are plump and rosy, kiss-bruised and swollen. You find out just how warm they’ve become when his wet mouth comes to meet your own in a kiss so messy, you know you’ll touch yourself thinking about it later.

“I-Is this good? A-Am I being a good boy for you?”

“Mm-hm, you’re being a very good boy for me. My good boy. Mommy’s good boy, right?”

“Yes, fuck, yes—” he sobs, moving onto your other breast.

His voice is shrill and wrought with desperation. You only ever heard it get this high-pitched when he was making a mocking impression of you or some other woman. And now here he was, making these noises all on his own. The edge of his bottom teeth catches your nipple in just the right away. You squeal, jolting upwards in his lap and laughing at the surprise sensation. He soothes the sensitive skin with the flat of his tongue immediately after. 

“That’s it. There’s my boy, there’s my sweet baby boy,”

All of the sudden, his hands leave your slip and fly to the buckle of his belt. Roman undoes his zipper and shimmies down his slacks enough to pull his dick out. He jerks it quickly with his eyes wound tightly shut in an attempt to get himself completely hard. 

“M-Mommy, c-can I see ‘it’? P-Please, god!” Roman begs out.

Your current position leaves his cock hidden by the hem of your slip. All you can see is the silhouette of his fist in the fabric pumping up and down speedily—relentlessly. He could easily just lift the skirt himself and look at your bare pussy, just as he hungrily wants but he doesn’t. 

He waits. He waits for you to give him permission. 

“See what, sweet boy? Say it, use your words for me. You’re a big boy, you can do it. I know you can,” 

Your hands cup his face and you rest your forehead on his. The skin is taught and slick with sweat. A vein above his brow becomes visible as he strains into his own palm. 

“What do you want, Roman?” you reiterate, trying to regain his attention.

“Fff-fuck! Your p-pussy, I wanna see y-your pussy!”

“All together. Say it all together. Say ‘Mommy, can I please see your pretty pussy?’” 

“Mommy, can I please see your pretty pussy?”

His eyes finally open and they aim downwards, expectantly. 

“Is that all you want, pretty boy?”

“N-N-yes!”

“Is that all you want?”

“No! No, I wanna cum, I-I wanna f-f-finish! W-Wanna finish on it,” he whines.

“All together, baby…”

“Mommy, can I please finish on your pretty pussy?! Please!”

It’s on the last syllable of his sentence that he erupts. Only as he’s cumming is he able to look at your cunt. You swiftly move the fabric up and his load catches the edge of it, the rest of it coating your exposed pussy. Roman falls backwards limp onto the pillow and you roll off of him and the bed and onto your jelly-like legs. The two of you don’t look at each other, occupying opposite sides of the room while you make yourselves decent. You shed your stained garment, using it to wipe your cunt clean. You fling it onto the hotel carpet and don’t think twice about it. 

“Mind if I…borrow that…for a bit?” a weak voice croaks from across the suite. 

You turn your head and smirk, still topless.

“All yours.”

Briefly, you catch a glimpse of Roman from behind, buttoning up his shirt. You pull up your dress, sweatier than before when you had taken it off. You expected there to be a palpable shift between the two of you, had everything gone according to plan. You figured the next RECNY ball that was just around the corner might be a bit awkward but it was nothing a few sarcastic quips and some alcohol couldn’t fix.

“My guy’s still waiting out front, so that’s my not-so-stealthy getaway. I can have Crispin pull around in twenty if I guess, I dunno, you wanted to shower the stank off of y…”

Roman’s words trail off as he becomes caught up in the sight of you; your cocktail dress zipped up halfway, your hair in an even messier updo than before, one heel on with the other remaining to be seen. It left him dumbfounded, feeling impulsive, like he could leave everything behind then and there and things might turn out alright. 

“Um…d’you maybe wanna just come with me…I dunno. Back at my place, I mean. And don’t make it into…it’s not a thing. Th-This is not a thing. But, yeah, we could order in whatever you, you could stay over, I-I got spare rooms–”

“Roman—”

“—it-its not like a big deal or anything, y’know? This isn’t, this wasn’t ‘a thing’. Fuckin’ labels and everything, I m—”

“Roman! That all sounds fine; I just would like to exit one of the nicest hotels in the damn city not looking like a two-bit whore, yeah? Come and zip me up,”

“I mean, if you ask me—I think it’s a rather fitting look,” he says, echoing your previous words.

“ROMAN!” 

“Alright, fuck, fine!”

End.

{ Feedback is welcome! }

Follow me on twt: @endlessviolets

<3

[theregencywriter]

(1) A Gentlemen's Pursuit - Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

~Colin returns from his travels with a new friend many expect him to marry, though he had no intentions of this. His brother benedict however, may need to....~

My Dearest Readers,

Oh, how the social elites continue to delight us with their ever-unfolding dramas and whispers of romance. Today, I bring forth the most intriguing news, for it appears that the charming Colin Bridgerton is about to be reunited with an old acquaintance, one whom he met on his travels abroad, and whose arrival is sure to set hearts aflutter.

It is my pleasure to reveal that she plans to stay in London indefinitely and will soon grace the city with her presence. Yes, my dear readers, the very same Miss l/n who has long been rumoured as the top contender for Colin’s affection.

Allow me to remind you of the history shared between Miss y/n l/n and Mr. Colin Bridgerton. They had first met during Colin’s travels around Europe, where they would frolic about the ruins of cities past, engrossed in the innocence of youth. Over their respective journeys, their paths diverged, and Miss l/n’s star rose within many a country’s social leagues, while Mr. Bridgerton pursued his fair share of less than respectable women. But as fate would have it, their paths are destined to converge once again.

Whispers of their reunion have already begun to circulate, and I can assure you, dear readers, that it promises to be a meeting of hearts and minds. Miss l/n’s wit, intellect, and unassuming beauty have long been expected to captivate the hearts of society, while Mr. Bridgerton's reputation as a debonair gentleman precedes him wherever he goes. One cannot help but wonder if their friendship will blossom into something more.

With Miss l/n's arrival imminent, I can only imagine the delight that will permeate the Bridgerton household. I envision stolen glances, heartfelt conversations, and perhaps even the rekindling of a flame that has smoldered quietly for ages. How thrilling it will be to witness the unfolding of this tale!

Thus, dear readers, I implore you to keep your eyes peeled and your ears open, for it is in these quiet moments that love often finds a way to take hold. Let us revel in the enchantment that surrounds the Bridgertons, for it is a testament to the enduring power of love and the possibility of second chances.

Yours in anticipation,

Lady Whistledown…

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

"Martine, must I endure this uncomfortable posture any longer? My arms are beginning to ache" Y/N pleaded, shifting in her seat while maintaining a firm grip on her fan. Its delicate feathers trembled slightly as she stole a glance through the window, yearning for a moment of respite. With an exasperated sigh, her stepmother’s maid responded, her voice tinged with impatience, "Yes, my dear, you must persist. The eager onlookers outside await your arrival. Remember, tomorrow night is your grand debut; a mere glimpse shall suffice."

The carriage advanced closer to the Bridgerton residence, nestled proudly within the esteemed Grosvenor Square. Y/N's eyes fell upon the grandeur of the house, causing her to lower her fan momentarily in awe. However, her maid's sharp instincts brought it back up. Inside of the home, the Bridgerton children played in the lavish drawing room alongside their e mother, while Eloise and Penelope accompanying them. During their gathering, a butler entered the room, his presence commanding attention, and announced with utmost formality, "Miss Y/N has arrived."

Upon hearing the news, Colin sprang from his seat with an eagerness that did not elude Penelope's keen observation. Since his return, he had not stopped speaking about his and Y/N's journey, leading Penelope to suspect that a proposal might be imminent. Despite never having met Y/N, a hidden resentment grew within her, concealed behind a carefully crafted smile.

The Bridgerton family sat in their residence anxiously awaiting her arrival, anticipation filling the air like a palpable force. Colin, though outside, found it difficult to contain his restless energy. He had spoken of Y/N with such fervour and adoration since his return that his family couldn't help but share in his excitement.

As they gathered near the entrance of the door to gaze down the hallway the Bridgerton siblings exchanged eager glances, their faces alive with curiosity. Eloise held her breath, a blend of sisterly anticipation and genuine interest for the newest addition to their social circle. Anthony, the dutiful older brother, attempted to maintain a stoic facade, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of intrigue. The younger siblings—Benedict, Colin's closest confidant, and Francesca—buzzed with whispers and barely contained excitement.

Their mother exuded an air of quiet authority as she surveyed the scene. A mix of hope and maternal concern danced in her eyes, for she wished nothing more than for her children to find happiness in love.

Finally, the sound of hooves reached their ears, growing louder with each passing moment. The tension in the air intensified as the carriage, adorned with elegant embellishments, came into view. The horses pranced along the beaten cobbled road, their coats reflecting the balmy afternoon sunlight.

With bated breath, the Bridgertons watched as the carriage gracefully came to a stop. The footman quickly descended, his precise movements reflecting the well-honed routines of the household. The door swung open, revealing Y/N, resplendent in a gown that blended sophistication and allure. The light caught her eyes, sparkling with a mixture of nervousness and anticipation.

As Y/N exited from the carriage, Colin's gaze locked onto her, his heart pounding within his chest. His eyes conveyed a mixture of awe and longing, as though he had found in Y/N something he had been searching for all his life.

The Bridgerton family, like a unit frozen in time, stood in awe of this new arrival. It was as if the world held its breath, recognizing the significance of this moment. Each member of the family had their own hopes and expectations, their own secrets and desires, intertwined with the arrival of Y/N—a figure who they had heard so much about.

After being helped out of the carriage y/n ran up to Colin, who picked her up by the waist and joyfully spun her around. The two shared a laugh that faded into glee as he lowered her down, their eyes still locked. “You’re here.” He spoke.

“I’m here” she returned.

Colin, ever the eager matchmaker, took Y/N's arm, guiding her towards the entrance of the house. His eyes shone with uncontainable delight as he led her through the hallway.

Within the drawing room, the Bridgerton siblings awaited their arrival, their gazes shifting from the entrance to Colin's expectant face. Among them stood Benedict, the second eldest Bridgerton brother, known by y/n for his artistic abilities.

As Colin and Y/N entered the room, the murmurs hushed, and all eyes turned towards the pair. Benedict's attention was instantly captivated by the sight of Y/N, a vision of beauty and elegance. He analysed the delicate brushstrokes of her features, the way her eyes seemed to hold a plethora of colours.

Colin performed the introductions with excitement. "Y/N, may I present my dear brother, Benedict Bridgerton," he announced, his voice carrying the weight of his fondness for both individuals. Benedict stepped forward, his gaze fixed on Y/N with curiosity.

Y/N curtsied gracefully, her movements reflecting a poise instilled by years of social etiquette. Benedict's eyes lingered on her, captivated by the grace and charm she exuded. He extended his hand, his touch gentle and warm as he took hers in his own. The moment their skin met, a jolt of electricity seemed to pass between them.

Their first words were exchanged, simple pleasantries that masked the intensity of the moment. Yet, beneath the surface, a silent understanding seemed to grow—a recognition of shared interests and hidden desires.

As she was introduced to the rest of the group Penelope stood next to Eloise. y/n curtsied towards her and smiled. “You must be Eloise. I’ve heard so much about you.” Y/n smiled, and as the real Eloise grinned Penelope struggled to keep composure. “I am not. I am Penelope Featherington, Eloise and Colins friend” Y/n apologised and continued on with her introductions, though she could not deny the burning feeling of Penelope’s eyes as she stared at her.

Colin stood next to Benedict as the other end of the line. “Rather beautiful is she not?” Colin said in passing.

“Yes, she is.” Benedict said as his voice trailed off, eyes fixated on her.

[katerina-marie]

The Beach Episode (Romantic Sunday)

Sukuna x Reader

Part 1

You and Satoru are supposed to be filming a short ad on the beach, but your blue-eyed costar has a habit of never showing up on time. What happens when a certain tattooed, pink-haired band member surprises you with a visit? You frolic in the ocean of course!

Notes: A celebrity!au that popped into my head while listening to Romantic Sunday by Car, the Garden and would not leave. While this is a Sukuna x Reader fic, other characters do play minor roles and may have brief POVs. This fic is pending in my head as a chapter in a larger work that chronicles reader's and Sukuna's developing relationship and is inspired by other scenarios that come to be while listening to music, but nothing is concrete. Since that's so, Sukuna and reader's relationship isn't explicitly defined in this one, but it’s certainly past friendship.

Word Count: 5.3k

Content: bandmember Sukuna x actor female Reader (referred to as such, but left descriptively vague), no y/n, manager Nanami, bodyguard Toji, actor Gojo (he's picked on, but I love him so it’s okay), other favorites who have small supporting rolls, all fluff, crack, and humor, includes an innuendo or two, but other wise PG/PG-13, out of character Sukuna (he's so fluffy).

P.S. I've used a line from a favorite TV show back in my teen years. Let me know if you recognize it!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

——————————————————————————————————

“Well…you did say you wanted to go to the beach, Kento. Look where we are!”

Your teasing tone and amused grin did nothing to budge the frustrated scowl off the face of your manager. If anything, it drove the furrow between his eyebrows that much further, and you swore a vein in his forehead started to throb. 

“A vacation, actually,” Nanami began, sending you a pointed look that said he knew exactly what you were playing at, “in Malaysia…on a beach…by myself.” 

You tutted at him before giving him a dainty smile and settling further into your makeup chair, “I was only trying to make you laugh, Kento.” 

In your opinion, laughing and smiling was something Nanami Kento seldom did but often should. Whether it was a personal standard he held himself to or some other form of ritual torture, your manager stuck to a strict dress code no matter where he went. Case in point, on a beach in the middle of the summer, Nanami was clothed in his usual suit, tie and dutifully styled hair in tow. The only indication that he planned for the environment you all would spend the day in was the thick white stripes of sunscreen pasted on the sharp angle of his nose and over the apples of his cheeks. Whether he intentionally matched the color of his tan suit to the sand under your feet was anyone’s best guess. You hesitated to ask, a mercy for Kento if you did say so yourself, if only because he looked one wrong word away from throwing himself in the ocean, and not in a way that indicated any fun would be had. 

As if privy to your thoughts, he released a drawn out sigh and crossed his legs in his own chair across from you. He took a quick glimpse at the time on his phone and shook his head. 

Poor Kento. He really did deserve that vacation. And honestly, you did appreciate and acknowledge his dedication to his craft—and you, by extension. 

“I’m sorry,” Nanami murmured, an apologetic softening of his eyes making his whole expression smooth out, “my frustrations are not towards you, I assure you. I’m confident you could guess at whom my ire is directed at currently.” 

You snorted. “Well, of course I c—,” 

“That blue-eyed bastard is late again!” 

The flap of your makeup tent was thrown back with enough force that you were surprised it hadn’t ripped clean down its seam. Your overgrown tree of a bodyguard had a habit of “forgetting” the strength and stature that made him so adept at his job and simply enjoyed his ability to throw any object—or person—around as he pleased. 

You scowled at Toji for interrupting you and watched as he stomped over to stand next to you and Nanami with a pout that pulled at the, frankly, appealing scar at the corner of his mouth. Between that, his eyes that looked as if they knew every secret you ever had and shaggy black hair that probably needed a cut, Toji posed both an intimidating and handsome figure. That was besides the point though and not that it mattered much to you. He had a son that was a friend of your friend and only a couple years younger than you. Not that Toji looked it one bit. 

“Satoru hasn’t been heard from, I presume?” 

Toji and Nanami both leveled you with a deadpan look and answered you at the same time with the same disgruntled voice, “no.”

You threw your head back in exasperation and instantly regretted it when you were reminded of the dozens of pins holding your styled hair in place as they all poked you quite viciously in the back of the head. You winced and raised your hand to rub at the sore spot, only to have it slapped away by a member of the hair and makeup team to prevent you from mussing it further. You crossed your arms with a huff and slouched further into your chair. 

“You look like you’re having fun,” Toji remarked, his smirk full of sarcasm and twisted amusement. “I think they missed a spot with your makeup though.” 

You found no humor in the waving of his hand as one of his fingers circled the entirety of your face in the air in front of it, nor were you concerned with the false insinuation that you looked anything other than well put together. Now, the chance of said makeup sliding right off your face as soon as you stepped into the late afternoon sun? Plausible, but best left to the worries of the experts. 

“Toji,” you crooned, voice cloyingly sweet but eyeing him with a sharp glare he was surely well acquainted with, “we’re at the beach. Why don’t you, oh I don’t know, go play in the ocean and swim with the fish? Or, do you want to build a sandcastle?” 

The smug grin he was wearing fell clean off his face and was replaced with an ugly pinch of his nose.

“Hell no, I hate sand! The damned stuff always gets everywhere no matter what I do. In my socks, my sandwich, the crack of my a—,” 

“Enough!” 

Nanami’s exclamation was loud and angry enough that it caused you and Toji both to jump and effectively ended whatever crude tale he was about to subject the crowd in the tent to. 

“I’m going to go call Geto and see where the hell his client is.” 

Nanami stood and brushed any bits of sand from his suit. Not that anyone could tell if there had been any in the first place. 

“You,” he added, pointing in your direction, “will get dressed so that once I finish ripping Gojo’s manager a new one, we can talk with the director of this damned affair and see if we can get any film done with just you while we wait.” 

Without leaving any room for protest or discussion, Nanami was gone with a flutter of a tent flap and you were left making wide eyes at your equally stunned bodyguard. There was silence and stillness for a beat of time before Toji shrugged and movement about the tent resumed again. 

“Well,” he drawled, “that’s my cue to leave. I’m off to go guard some bodies and what not.” His eyebrows danced and his eyes flashed, not in the least deterred by your annoyed stare. 

“We’re on a closed off, private beach, Toji. There’s no one here for you to throw out.” 

He was unbothered and took a few sauntering steps back towards the entrance of the tent. 

“Still, I wouldn’t want you to think I was slacking on the job and quit paying me. Have fun getting dressed, Princess.” 

Toji ignored the baring of your teeth and left just as quickly as Nanami did. You blew out a resigned sigh as you took a peek at the mountain of lace, fabric, and strings that hung from a corner of the tent and decided at that moment that you wished it was Toji being stuffed into a dress and primped within an inch of his life. 

“He’s going to charm his way back into the refreshment tent and pass out,” you grumbled, and oh yes, that was seething jealousy you held for your bodyguard. Someone chuckled behind you, but was quick to prompt you to stand and disrobe. 

Really, it couldn’t be that bad…right? 

——————————————————————————————————

Some suspiciously placed tape, three assistants, and nearly forty five minutes later would prove you to be exceptionally wrong. Lace sleeves had been tugged up against sweaty arms, the strings at the back of your dress that held it together had been pulled and tied so tightly that you were hesitant to move too suddenly for fear of busting it, and the pins in your hair had been removed to let it lay as styled. You were one moment of heat induced lightheadedness away from falling over into the sand, and there would be no getting up after that. There was fabric clinging and swishing against your legs and you thought you had seen a train at the back of the dress, though that made no sense to you at all given what was planned to happen in front of a camera. 

“Please,” you begged to anyone in the room that would listen. “Can I be done now? If I don’t get a breath of fresh air, I’m going to pass out.” 

Your wish was acquiesced, and with the promise to not mess anything up, you made your great escape out of the tent and towards the edge of the ocean before anyone could change their mind. There was no need for any more hair to be pinned, makeup to be touched up, or fabric draped. 

The water that went on endlessly for miles in front of you was a light blue and mostly calm in its movement for the day. Sandy beach on either side of you stretched out until you could just barely see it transition into rocky cliffs that helped form its crescent shape. If one could ignore the highway and paved parking lot a couple minutes walk behind you, it was almost like you were on a secluded island paradise. 

Though the sun was still hot, the fresh air was successful in clearing your mind, and the salted mist of the water was enough to help balm the warmth under your dress. The multiple tents strewn across the sand each served their own niche purpose with people popping in and out of them all day. There was chatter about, people hustling from one side of the camped setup to the other and cameras placed strategically to capture whatever commercial or short that you and Satoru were supposed to film.  However, no one paid you much mind at the moment, and you sidled up to where the water met the sand, dress held above your ankles so the waves could tickle your feet. 

“Don’t you look pretty.” 

Elated surprise made your heart leap at the sound of a familiar voice, and you whipped around with excitement written all over your face to meet the eyes of the handsome man behind you. 

“Sukuna! What are you doing here?” 

The man in question grinned, his expression half mischievous and maybe the slightest bit bashful, though no one would dare point it out. His pink hair was pushed back into its normal style, but due to the humidity, random pieces drooped down his forehead and into his eyes slightly. His tattoos were on full display in the tank top and swim trunks he was wearing. Every bit of him was a sight for your sore eyes. Sukuna opened his arms for you and it took only a moment of hesitancy before you stepped into them for a quick hug. 

“Yuji and Choso wanted to go for a drive since the day was nice, and naturally Fushiguro tagged along. Coincidentally though, Yuji had us drive along the highway behind the setup you all got going on and ‘poof,’ here we are.”  

You pulled back from Sukuna as he finished his sentence and gave him a small, happy wiggle of your shoulders. You made a note to remember how you felt his fingers dancing down languidly over the lace covering your arm and swirling gently around the edge of the sleeve that came to a point on the back of your hand before letting his arm fall back against his side. 

“Well, I’m glad the four of you made it, coincidence or not,” you quipped at him. Your eyes still hadn’t left his and you knew it was going to be a struggle to wipe what had to be a lovestruck grin off your lips. 

“You sure about that?” 

Sukuna laughed and threw a hand back over his shoulder, gesturing towards what your eyes followed and found to be the refreshment tent. What you saw had you doubling over in laughter, or at least as far as you could in your dress. 

Yuji and Choso, Sukuna’s brothers and bandmates, were struggling to stifle giggles as they hovered over a hulking figure laid out in a chaise underneath a misting fan. As you predicted, Toji was dead asleep, mouth agape and a half eaten cheeseburger dangling from a hand resting on his chest. What really set the whole thing apart was the way Yuji and Choso were surreptitiously trying to see how many french fries they could place in Toji’s mouth before he either woke up or started to choke when one inevitably fell back down his throat. In the corner, Megumi stood watching with barely concealed glee and a phone in his hand capturing the whole ordeal. You assumed that no matter what way this went, Megumi was bound to come out of it on top with either the joy of having comedic blackmail to hold over his father’s head or the pleasure of getting to watch him beat his friend’s asses. In the best case scenario, it was both. 

You recovered from your laughter with a shake of your head and a measly deep breath before turning back to Sukuna. It was sucked right back out of you when you found his eyes trailing up from the tips of your toes, lingering at where the dress cinched your waist and then at the lace scalloping your chest before finally coming up to meet your eyes. His gaze was half lidded and heavier than usual, and it set your cheeks aflame in a way that you could never pass off as from the sun. He smirked when you stuttered over some inarticulate noise that had escaped your mouth, and you were about to take a giant step back to compose yourself when his face eventually softened. Sukuna offered you a quick wink, not so devious and more contrite than anything else, though it didn’t seem to affect your racing pulse any less, and then continued his tirade as he hooked his pinky finger around a lock of hair framing your eyes. 

Somewhere in the back of your head choirs were singing and clouds were parting, but all you could think about was the hint of black polish on his nails that you spotted out of your peripheral and the growing number of people you could see beginning to take interest in the way Sukuna towered over you and how you didn’t seem to mind. You finally made space between the two of you by pressing your knuckles against his chest with just enough pressure to send the message. He obeyed and returned the small smile you sent his way to soften the gesture. 

“So,” he started, his hands set deep in his pockets and a rock to his heels that would make anyone else look nervous, “what are you all waiting around for?”  

Thankful for conversation to focus on, you threw your hands up to convey that you were just as confused as he was and followed it up with what you made to sound like the most logical and obvious explanation in the world;

“Sa-to-ru is late. Again.” 

At the first enunciated syllable of Satoru’s name to leave your mouth, a corner of Sukuna’s nose quivered in disdain and he rolled his eyes in a way that was clearly disparaging, yet you found weakened your knees. 

“Tell me about it. He most likely forgot or got caught up w—,” 

The most ungracious snort left Sukuna’s nose, and you were so taken aback by the fact that it happened, and let alone found it attractive, that you missed whatever he had hissed under his breath. 

“Tied up is probably more like it.” 

“What was that?” 

“Oh, nothing. Nothing important.” 

His voice was too intentionally innocent and his face suspiciously cleared of any ill will for you to believe an ounce of what he said, but there was no chance in getting Sukuna to admit anything he didn’t want to, and you were more preoccupied with getting that look from earlier back in his eyes. So with that, you meandered back a few steps into the water and waited. 

“So, tell me, what brilliant songwriting have you been up to, oh esteemed ‘King of Curses’, or is that strictly confidential, band member-only info?” 

You knew asking Sukuna, or even Yuji or Choso, about their wildly popular band ‘The Curses’ was a sure fire way to get them talking about their shared passion, and it always brought a smile to your face to see them so excited. You expected the same now, but were caught off guard when Sukuna stumbled over the step he took to follow you and the brief way his face shuttered blank before he recovered. That act alone would have been enough to put an end to your flirty intentions—because you just knew that nickname of his got him riled up whenever it came out of your mouth—but the sensation of fabric being pulled tight against the back of your legs had you stopped. A quick glance down into the water confirmed that he had stepped on your dress and the extra fabric was beginning to swirl around his calves. 

So that’s what the train was for! A devious, delicious idea began to form in your head and you knew you had only one chance to make it happen. 

You glanced up at Sukuna through your eyelashes (he struggled to recall in that moment if they had always been that long or if it was the makeup making his mind fuzzy) and cocked your head gently to one side before beginning a slow prowl around him.

“What, no love songs or epic tales of star crossed romance have emerged from that practice studio of yours lately? Don’t tell me a cat has got your tongue?” 

Ever focused on the way your lips curled into a sultry smile and the feather-light drag of your finger along the top of his shorts at his hip, Sukuna was unusually quiet as he followed you with his eyes. You began to pass behind his back and your circle was nearly halfway complete. 

“Su-ku-na,” you called when you received no answer, watching as he gave a shake of his head as if to clear a haze from it. 

“Quit being a brat and distracting me!”  

There was no malice in his tone, but you could tell that he was being truthful. You had completed your circle and came to stand in front of him once again. 

“I’m just waiting for you to answer my question,” you sing-songed. 

Sukuna’s mouth stuttered open for a second and nothing came out before he finally seemed to collect himself, “No! No love songs, no sappy lyrics, and no star crossed romance. Who do you take me for?” 

Your peals of laughter that followed his blurted response floated about the beach and seemed to soothe whatever had come over him in the last couple of minutes. In a haste, you cast a glance down at his legs to check that everything was in place. 

“I’m just playing with you, Sukuna,” you cooed at him, “there’s no need to get defensive.” 

His eyes narrowed and you watched with glee as he pulled himself up to his full height, leaned down into your face, and let a haughty smirk tug the corners of his mouth. 

“You don’t want to play with me, Sweetheart. I. Play. Rough.” 

“Hmm, you think so?” 

You let a delicate, breathy sigh brush up against his mouth from yours while you arched your back slightly to press your chest against his. Sensing you had Sukuna’s full attention, you smoothed your leg between his to let the side of your foot trace oh so gently over the bone in his ankle. His breath hitched, and in the same moment you tipped your head back to close a fraction of distance between your lips, you also tightened your fingers in the furls of your dress. 

“Really,” you whispered, “somehow I think that I play rougher.” 

Yank. 

Since he was already off balance when you ripped the fabric of your dress out and around from under his feet, it only took a quick sweep of your foot against Sukuna’s leg to keep the momentum going and to dump him and his gobsmacked expression into the knee-deep water of the ocean. You jumped back to avoid as much of the splash as you could, and in the same heartbeat, you lifted your dress and took off in the direction of the tents set back on the shore. Your plan was a success.

There were two oversights on your part, however, that became all too clear in the couple seconds after this monumental event took place. 

One, the amount of water your dress accumulated and how much it now slowed you down due to its weight and tangle in your legs. 

Two, which you really should have anticipated if you thought back on it, was the unbelievable amount of speed and agility with which Sukuna pushed himself out of the water, set a borderline maniacal look upon you that promised glorious retribution (you would have to question yourself later as to why this sent shivers down your back and warmth to places you would rather not think about), and thus began an inhumanly quick sprint towards you. 

So, naturally, you did what any independent, perfectly capable woman would do; you screamed at the top of your lungs bloody murder for your bodyguard and high tailed it out of the ocean. 

——————————————————————————————————

The first thing Toji wondered upon being awoken by the screams of a dying woman was why his mouth was full of french fries. He sputtered on the cold and soggy pieces in his mouth as he leapt from the chaise he had barely remembered falling asleep on and frantically looked out towards the water to see what fate he had let come upon you. Toji was certain there were only two possibilities. 

One: he had fallen asleep on the job and you were now being eaten by a shark.

Two: he had fallen asleep on the job and you were now drowning in the ocean. 

To his sleep addled brain, which was currently working through the onslaught of you shrieking his name, either option had an equally probable likelihood of occurring. The outcome, however? In both scenarios, there was only one logical conclusion. He was getting fired. 

With that thought in mind, he started the process of becoming your own personal search and rescue. All in a flurry of forward movement, he kicked off his shoes, dropped the crumpled half eaten cheeseburger from his grasp, and flailed his hand around in his pocket to locate his wallet. He was not about to let his most important possession be lost to the tides—especially with the encroaching threat of unemployment looming over his head—and was about to seriously consider dropping his shorts to the ground altogether when he heard your screams reach a sudden pitch and then descend into hysterical laughter. 

Toji took that as a sign to further scope out the situation in front of him and after rubbing sleep and sand from his eyes, he could now better understand that you weren’t actually in mortal danger. You were just flirting. 

With the adrenaline that was previously coursing through his body now taking a sudden nosedive, Toji staggered back into the tent to plop onto his previously occupied chaise. While he was obviously relieved to see you weren’t dying, he was even more glad that he wasn’t going to have to call Shiu tomorrow and admit that his asset was dead and he was in need of a new job. Surely offers would be next to none, and he didn’t think he could handle guarding any more feisty starlets or listen to them vent about their secret love affairs with pink-haired band members…at least not without the blood pressure medication his doctor had threatened him with at his last check-up.

At the sound of muffled laughter to his left, Toji swung his gaze over to his son, a grin on Megumi’s face and phone in hand, and his son’s two idiot friends, both of whom were having to help hold the other up. 

“Not you three now too,” he grumbled, standing up from his chaise and making his way over to where they stood. “What’s got you idiots making so much n—,”

Toji came to a sudden halt as Megumi’s hand lifted up to shove his cell phone in his face. His eyes squinted at the screen, the laughter from Yuji and Choso increasing in volume, and he needed only a second to process the video he was watching before snapping his head towards the two brothers. 

“You bastards!”

Megumi watched as his father and two friends stared wide eyed at each other for a couple of seconds before they all took off running out of the tent and beyond. The thought of catching the pummeling that was coming the brother’s way once his father caught them was plenty enticing, but years of living with Toji Fushiguro taught him that he too was to be considered guilty as an accomplice, and thus making himself scarce was the wiser decision. Besides, there were plenty of cameras already rolling anyway. 

——————————————————————————————————

You had taken only a couple of steps onto dry land before a set of well muscled arms locked around your midsection, lifted you clear off your feet, and jerked you back against a solid chest. Sukuna’s breathing was loud and heavy in your ear and you could feel water leaching through the back of your dress from where he pressed forward against you with the entirety of his body. 

“That was naughty,” he taunted, and the low scratch of his voice made your feigned attempt to wrestle out of his hold falter. 

Before you could say anything in response, in an impressive feat of strength, Sukuna once more swept you off your feet and planted you stomach down over his shoulder. He turned and began to wade back into the water, and it wasn’t until your view from beside his hips started to be filled entirely by water that you struggled—in earnest this time. 

“Sukuna!” You gasped, trying to come up with some kind of plea that would keep you from your fate of being dropped into the ocean. “Suk-Sukuna, I can’t swim, I can’t swim!”

This wasn’t true in the slightest, but you hoped his concern for your safety would outweigh his need for vengeance. Just as the ends of your hair became engulfed by water, Sukuna dragged you back up from over his shoulder and slid you down his front until he could grasp at your thighs and pull them open around his hips. You threw your arms around his neck and prayed that the pleading look in your eyes would work.

“That sounds like a ‘you’ problem,” was all the warning Sukuna gave before cocking an eyebrow at you and promptly falling flat backwards into the ocean with you secured against his chest. The two of you crashed into the water just in time for a wave to surge over you both. It was a cold shock to your system, but you had no more than a hiccup to process the feeling before Sukuna was up on his feet and trudging back to shore with you in his arms. You sputtered the whole way back and pawed at your face to pry a curtain of soaking wet hair from your eyes. 

It was at the line where ocean became more sand than water that Sukuna stumbled, presumably from wet fabric caught in his legs again, and rotated mid-fall just quickly enough to save you from being squashed under him. 

It took a minute for your combined unabashed laughter to subside, and when you finally caught your breath from where your head rested against the curve of his shoulder, you flew upwards. You swatted Sukuna’s chest when the glimpse of sparkling eyes and a full smile snagged your attention, and you hoped that the swaths of fabric pooling around the two of you was enough to disguise how you straddled his hips and that his fingers were tracing absentminded figures at their place right on the small of your back. Unable to control the flush of heat through your limbs, you exclaimed the first thing that popped into your head and then immediately regretted it. 

“Sukuna, I’m completely soaked!” 

The quickness of the wicked grin that spread across his face astounded you, and when you noticed his lips begin to part, to no doubt retort something highly inappropriate for the given situation, you slapped a hand over his mouth. His smile was still present under your palm, his eyes soft and adoring, and you swore you felt him place a small kiss at the meat of your thumb. 

“AND CUT!” 

The director’s shout was enough to shatter the intimate quiet that had gone unnoticed by you two, and the both of you lurched just far enough apart to separate your bodies but remain near enough for the bump of a knee or shoulder. Before you could even gather your bearings enough to understand what was going on, a tall shadow appeared over you, and you leaned your head back to squint up at whoever it was. 

“That was certainly entertaining.” 

You recognized the voice of Satoru’s manager just as he held out a hand to help you to your feet, and you shot him a look of dismay once you steadied yourself. 

“It’s nice of you and your client to finally grace us with your presence, Geto,” you replied dryly. 

Geto shrugged, not a single care evident on that pretty face of his, and brought your attention to the crowd gathered behind him with a flourish of his hand. You took a tentative glance at what he was referring to and nearly cringed when you caught sight of the numerous cameras pointed at you and Sukuna. Not to mention Nanami, who stood next to the director with a hand pressed up against his temple like he was in great pain. Though from the small smile you could just barely make out and the animated chatter from the director into Nanami’s ear, you assumed that what had just transpired wasn’t such a bad thing. Even Toji, who was a couple feet behind them with Yuji and Choso in head locks under each of his arms, looked like he had gotten quite the chuckle out of the whole thing.

“It seems like the film was still able to get captured well enough without us,” Geto remarked. “I don’t believe there’s any reason to re-do anything with Satoru just for the sake of appearances.” 

You were about to open your mouth to make known your agreement to the idea when Sukuna suddenly threw an arm around your shoulder and popped back at Geto with a brusque “hell no.” You weren’t sure if you felt offended or disappointed by his objection, but before you could start to fret over it, Sukuna was stroking his thumb gently across the back of your neck, and you proceeded to melt into his side. Perhaps his initial disagreement had less to do with his reluctance to be seen as part of the project and instead had everything to do with him making sure you had the full ability to determine how much of him at your side you were ready to share with the world. The thought had you giddy. 

“I have zero objections to using the film with Sukuna.” 

There was a jubilant cheer from all the staff once they heard your words, and you couldn’t tear your eyes from the satisfied look on Sukuna’s face that followed them. 

“Ah, question,” he called out suddenly, making pointed eye contact with the director, and even Nanami too. “By agreeing to this, that means she doesn’t have to frolic around here with the white-hair idiot, right?” 

Over the immediate roar of laughter from everyone around, an indignant “hey!” could be heard from the nearby makeup tent, and for just once, you were grateful for Satoru’s inability to ever be on time.

——————————————————————————————————

Part 2

Notes: If you made it this far, thank you for reading! If you didn't catch it, the line "Somehow I think that I [you] play rougher" is taken from a scene in the Vampire Diaries (I was obsessed). Did I also get inspiration from that scene in the horse movie Spirit for Sukuna and Reader's moment in the water? Yes, yes I did.

Also, in my decade and a half of reading fan fiction, I have not once written or posted any of my own. So if I miss something important, please kindly let me know.

Always feel free to share comments, thoughts, or questions <3

[ottosbigtop]

if you have any crumbs to share... about aac raz/lili/bobby dynamic pleeeez ramble to me i want info i'm so into this concept T_T

oh my guy I have so many crumbs for you. These guys have resided in the back of my brain forever but I was usually too embarrassed to say anything about it outside of a couple joke posts. But this is my house so I’m choosing to thrive and frolic.

Also a doodle of the aforementioned three before I enter my tangent :) rambling under the cut

the initial dynamic of these three goes something like

-Lili & Bobby - can’t stand his fake ass. She remembers having to deal with him at whispering rock and clearly is not very good at letting go of grudges from when she was ten. This is, in fact, Bobby’s worst nightmare. He was terrified of working for the psychonauts partially because he didn’t want to run into people he used to know. Surprise! They don’t like each other.

-Raz & Bobby. Raz has the complete opposite problem he literally barely remembers this guy. They interacted for maybe a collective hour one day when he was 10 years old, he only recalls him because Lili clocks him and reminds Raz. Bobby mostly hadn’t thought about him since camp, but did build a little (lot) bit of a resentment after seeing that weird little freak from camp pop up on different True Psychic Tales covers. That on top of Bobby now having to intern under this guy makes their relationship kind of spotty to start, for sure.

-Raz & Lili. Theyre having fun :) After having fun “dating” as real young kids they fall out of touch during their teen years when Raz goes to travel with then circus again to try and reconnect with his family (whole other can of worms for him.) They meet back up during the late teen years and sort of pick up right where they left off, dating off and on for a bit and “officially” dating long term for a little over a year now.

Both their relationships with Bobby evolve over time, naturally. Bobby and Raz have a whooole fucking thing that isn’t fully conceptualized and Is way too long a concept for me to share but their intern/mentor relationship does help them learn to get along with each other. And of course them getting along means Lili having to deal with being around Bobby more often and so it begins.

The whole ~ feelings ~ aspect mostly starts with her and Bobby I think, funnily enough. They hate each other, they want each other dead so bad, but eventually they have to learn to get along for Raz’s sake if nothing else. So they learn! Try to, at least. They’re both really bad at it.

but the “i hate you i want you dead” manages to evolve into that more friendly insulting banter some people have. “I hate you i want you dead” (complimentary.) It gives Raz a headache because it takes him a while to process that they’re usually joking when they’re arguing with each other now.

Lili doesn’t like when she starts to have Feelings about that shitty little freak (tm.) I think she’s somewhere on the Aro spectrum and when Raz wasn’t around she really never. Felt any sort of desire for romance with anyone else. Girl just kind of forgot about it for a bit until he showed up again. Which caused a lot of emotions. And then got used to that until Bobby is introduced into the equation and slowly she starts to feel things toward him that aren’t Rage and Disgust. Which causes a lot of emotions.

Raz I think is entirely oblivious of having any feelings toward him for the longest time. While Lili is a slow “oh god oh fuck” buildup, he’s just really happy he and Bobby are getting along at all that any sort of progress in affection toward him just feels like another big win for friendship. I think it hits him all at once late at night on a random Tuesday and he just sits up in bed and stares at a wall about it.

The whole Raz and Lili communicating abt the concept of polyamory would make this insane post already twice as long and it’s not a part of it all I’ve thought about anyways so we’re going to shelve it for now. But once they do reach the conclusion that they saw this guy from across the bar and they liked his vibe, they both proceed to trip over their own feet for the next however many weeks.

You see, “woman who does not process her emotions” and “guy who needs a twelve step plan for everything” is a prime combination for two people who are pulling some mad scientist shit to try and talk to this guy rather than just inviting him out to eat sometimes. And Bobby is convinced for a little bit that they’re planning to dissect his brain or something because they keep doing that ^

On Bobby’s side of this whole equation the evolution is just his own little torment nexus for a few months.

he initially discovers he’s got a thing for Lili after they start getting along more and it sucks for him. He enjoys their flirty little threats of violence but he’s also close with Raz at this point so I think it just kind of makes him feel . Gross . Like man am I flirting with my friend’s girlfriend I think I am. Oh he’s probably going to hate me. Help.

and that concern for Raz is also a guy in the back of his brain knocking on a door very loudly trying to tell him he’s bisexual but he’s not quite arrived at that conclusion. Give him a few more missions where Raz grabs him while he’s falling to his death and he’ll get there probably.

there’s so many words. These are so many words. I’ll be honest the wacky schenanigans of the “before relationship” era are so funny to me that I’ve not really had any conceptual ideas for them getting into + Being In a Relationship yet. But I hope that you like this at least! This insanely long ass post goes out to you and the one other guy who’s a fan of these three (hi)

[acourtofthought]

Elain and Connections

Is not Elain and her friendship with the wraiths. Is not Elain and how she and Az will frolic in a field of flowers together (I can't EVER imagine Az doing this by the way). Is not even Elain and Lucien sharing quiet moments together. I mean sure, those things are technically connections but are they really what Elain can offer the world? Are those things that will benefit the story? To me, Elain and connections is part of what makes Elain special to everyone, not just those she could have a romantic relationship with and those we want her to be friends with so that her endgame person is better suited to her. Elain makes friends everywhere, it's in the text so narrowing it down to this one friend or that one friend takes away what makes her special. Elain and connections is about how she can have a positive influence on the things that are outstanding plot-lines and other relationships. Back in book 1 it was Elain who unknowingly changed some of Feyre's opinion of Nesta by telling her how Nesta went to try to bring her back. Elain's personality, without her even putting much thought into it, is the type to share the good in others with the world. In book 1 it was simply her sunny disposition that had the brusque head cook bringing her special treats, a trickle down effect when you think about it. Elain softening their personality can only benefit those around them, it allows others to see a different side of someone normal considered difficult. In book 2, it was Elain who broke up the tension between Feyre and Nesta by gently but forcefully reminding Nesta how much Feyre gave to them over the years, that it was now their turn to help her. It was also in book 2 that Elain broke the tension between Cassian and Nesta by jumping in to claim responsibility for her part in failing Feyre as well. Elain does not just create connections for herself, she helps others create connections by diffusing the tension and when you consider the long list of broken relationships in this series, that sort of personality can make a bit difference. Convincing those across the continent to sign the peace treaty, helping gain the Spring Courts army as an ally (as we were told was necessary in SF) by softening the relationships between Tamlin and the IC, the now broken trust between Eris and the IC. Some will attack me for stating that Elain could have a positive influence on Tamlin but I'm not here saying they're going to be best friends, I definitely don't think they're fall for one another. But he, like it or not, is still a player in this series for now and his mental state has been an ongoing issue for Prythian because of how Spring borders the human lands and how Beron has his sights set on the weakened court. Like it or not, Tamlin either has to heal or he needs to step down but as it stands, nothing has broken him out of his depression. In fact, we're told he got worse as of SF. Just because Tamlin was part of Feyre's trauma, Nesta's trauma, Elain's trauma, does not mean Elain cannot be stronger than what happened to them and make a difference. It's not about Tamlin so much as helping the people of Spring, protecting Spring from attack, and gaining an ally for the other courts.

I think Elain's truest "connections" will be in her ability to heal that which was broken. Finding a way to mend bridges that were previously burnt. Not because it will benefit her personal relationships but because it will help everyone.

[asudogi]

This brings me to another question: after Chapter 7 is over, how will Idia introduce Silver? Like it or not, he's gonna have to tell them about the absolute parade of green flags (heh, get it?) he landed. Oh how will the joint family dinners go? Lilia and the Shrouds teaming up to embaress their sons while Malleus and Ortho hang out in the corner (I think they'd have a really cute friendship). Actually something tells me that both groups are already planning the Silidia wedding years in advance

well first he had to kidnap him

We still don't really know how Idia sees his parents truly, from what I see it's been in between of hesitation and comfort. Since book 7 is all about familial love, I'd say that Idia's relationship with his parents would be more visible later on.

I think Idia will first introduce Silver first as a fellow extreme blessing/curse holder. It seems that a gone-wrong type of blessings is quite rare to be found in twst wonderland (assumption, since there's no other character who bears it outside of Silver and the Shroud bloodline). Mama Shroud would be delighted to see Silver (and his 400 y.o curse). I'd say they wanted to 'check' on him for free since he's Idia's friend. Lilia will be concerned upon the last STYX incident with NRC overblotees, so him and Malleus will come for safety.

There will be joint family dinners, yes!! It's definitely a chance for Mama Papa Shroud to look at the subject- uh, Idia's beloved friend. They are definitely very happy to be met such a good mannered kid. I think they already knew Lilia beforehand since Lilia knew about Idia's grandma, which was supposed to be a secret? Since it's STYX (idk I'm still figuring out how tight they had to keep their personal identity) Malleus is unfortunately cannot mess around inside STYX or he might accidentally destroy some valuable devices, so they probably does the dinner outside the underground Bunker. And perhaps they will play at the park, Ortho will show Malleus his fav games and they will frolic happily lmao.

Both family then realize that what Idia and Silver had is something special... The Shrouds especially. They think that this is the first time they saw Idia just comfortable enough to talk with someone outside of Island of Woe, so they are slowly feel a bit hesitant with the whole 'experiment' shenanigans in their head hahaha

[iamafictionfreak]

TIS THE SEASON TO BE MERTHUR!

Just... Look at them!

I miss everything about this show. Even the very bad CGI and the weak-ass plot points/armour/conveniences/contrivances.

One Christmas Eve, almost 11 years ago, the entire Merlin fandom was butchered into tiny little distraught pieces. It didn’t matter if your favourite character was Merlin or Morgana, Gaius or Gwen. The showrunners held no qualms in destroying your dreams for Gwaine or Perce. The writers did not hold back in their aim to crucify the smile on your face, to forever turn it upside down. No ship was spared. All hopes for the show to finally commit to their original intent, to bring peace between peoples, to save Albion, to allow Merlin his freedom and Arthur the truth, was brought to a bitter, fatalistic end.

Not that I need to repeat this to you, you know what happened, but it’s worth reiterating that this travesty occurred… on Christmas Eve.

CHRISTMAS. EVE.

Christmas Eve.

The night before Christmas, the night before the day where all rules are broken and we can frolic like children around a decorated tree filled with twinkling lights, our collective hearts were shredded.

This event (once we recovered a tiny bit from the shock) gave birth to a plethora of astonishingly well written, poignant, devastating, hilarious fanfictions that had helped nurse our wounds, for nothing could TRULY heal (except a follow-up season with the original characters, come ON BBC) us.

After nearly 11 years of watching these brilliant entries grow, I never thought I’d jump on this bandwagon and write my own fic.

But I've had a few very shit years, as have many people around the world, and I started to wonder as we do when we want to prove magic can still happen.

My brain decided that it wanted my hands to write the most indulgent, likely over done fic in existence for the fandom. This thought stuck with me throughout the year – I was being STALKED by myself – and wouldn’t leave me the hell alone. This hasn’t happened in a long while.

Still… you’ll eyeroll at the idea. It's so OBVIOUS, I'm embarrassed by myself.

What if Arthur discovered Merlin’s magic from the get-go, from episode 1?

WAIT. Hear me out…

So, Merlin saves Arthur for the first time and Arthur SEES. He sees his eyes glow.

He knows he should tell his father, but his instincts are screaming at him. Honour is at stake. This stranger saved his life. How could he reward it with an execution? So, a chance needs to be given, doesn’t it? A chance for Merlin to give up magic forever and live a life of goodness, to turn away from evil and serve Arthur…

Except Arthur can’t help but wonder. About Magic, about Merlin and magic, about the law and all the whys attached and his place within this chain.

But he also can’t trust this peasant who cavorts with the devil, practices wickedness but smiles like a child and offers compassion to everyone. Someone so duplicitous must be dangerous… except Merlin’s an actual idiot! And it’s getting really difficult to keep his guard up.

But isn’t that how sorcerers work? They twist the mind with pleasing ideas, they tempt and coerce, they manipulate.

And slowly, Arthur finds himself being manipulated too. For how could he ever want to trust this man- but he does. He does.

And we’ve never been allowed to see Merlin deal with a S1 Arthur who’s in the ‘know’. Who’s forcing him to keep it secret, who’s threatening him with trial by fire, a young Arthur who’s ignorant, arrogant and so desperate to understand what he cannot trust.

Then there's the layers, royalty versus peasantry, friendship versus alliances, goals versus ideals.

I want to write a fic where this trust is built from the ground up. One of the things about the show that made it impossible for me to let it go is that the ‘relationship’ between Arthur and Merlin fits exactly zero categories, yet all of them.

Master and servant.

Friends

Family

Allies

Enemies

Romantic ideals

Platonic soulmates

Absolute Soulmates

I could go on. And it's one of those rare shows where the writing would be given more oomph if the males leads had dared cross a line or two.

Realistically, they weren't even friends. They were master and servant who'd become a little co-dependant. Arthur could never admit to anything more because of his station, but would he have been able to being completely himself around Merlin if he'd known the truth? We never see Arthur truly be himself. He wasn't allowed to be, not even with his wife. There was always a wall - it was how he was raised and any attempt to develop was killed by plot.

We never saw Merlin completely free, not with a single person. He started happy and healthy and innocent. A liar. He ended up bitter and terrified and angry and alone. Still a liar.

What would he have become if there'd been one person he could truly trust- not Gaius. Not a man already broken and brainwashed by his own self. A victim of the system just as much as he perpetuated the hate and completely unaware of the trap he lived in.

Many of the characters in the show have the versatility and potential to be written a trillion different ways, is it any wonder that fics continue to be written?

Well, I wanted to explore a slow burn development of trust, with Arthur learning how wrong he was, how much he’s trampled on, and all about the seemingly normal peasant boy who meant more to the world than Arthur could possibly understand. What would they have become if they’d been given the time, hm?

When they were young - yes, I'm going there - wild and free.

What of Morgana, what if she could have trusted? What if she could have understood? Would it have turned out differently? Would she have still become the other side of Uther's coin?

Would Merlin still have ended up alone?

There’s lots more I wanted to touch upon, it’s a big what if, but that’ll have to wait for another post.

I’m writing a 5 part prologue that occurs between episode 1 and 2. I’m hoping to release it for Christmas and then take the time to write the rest of the season.

Unless… you guys think it’s a waste of time? Let me know.

In the meantime, I’m STILL SUFFERING (fucking show) and it's making me write, write, write!

(gifs not mine)

[fairlyabookie]

Split Card

Author's note: what if Cater went a little clingy?

Content warning: yandere coded | excessive usage of his magic

“Split card!” 

Multiple versions of Cater emerge from his figure as they frolic about, surrounding you with bright smiles and promises for a selfie. Cater just knew he needed to do when you had a bad day: doing self-care activities, pulling up a show to watch after a long day, and keeping you occupied from your thoughts. Thankfully, his Unique Magic allowed him to be in everywhere at once, albeit with a limited number of clones he can make. 

As one of his few close friends, Cater wanted to make sure you were always happy, a smile bubbling at your lips. As soon as he glimpses a frown on your lips, he cues his Unique Magic to ensure your comfort and satisfaction, Although Cater’s understanding of comfort was barebones, but he’d do his best to make sure you were doing okay. 

“Split card!” 

By the power of his clones, your friendship with him exploded in a plethora of posts on social media, Polaroids that litter your vanities with radiant smiles. Cater found comfort in you, secretly exchanging stories from home and burdens that only the both of you knew. At last, Cater found someone whom he can call a friend, someone who he can anchor himself onto whenever he had a bad day, someone to text silly pictures and take photogenic pictures with. It was just you and Cater in the world, two best friends who were locked at the hip. 

“Split card!” 

An ugly sensation blossomed from within as his camera lands on a familiar face talking with an unfamiliar one. He didn’t quite like that you were talking to someone else, let alone be someone other than him - a feeling he quite felt strongly of, a toxic surging in his veins. Cater need to know who this person was to be worthy of your attention, and oddly enough, he had to take a picture of that smile of yours when you laughed at some absurd joke this person was saying. He hissed out the command for his magic, clones with dark looks on their faces emerging from his shadow as they split up about the school, in search for clues. 

“Split card!” 

Cater kept his clones in constant surveillance for you, this duration of his Unique Magic being used, placing a toil on his body as time went on. He didn’t stop using his magic, this ugly feeling manifesting into something unfathomable and dangerous. Instead of the cheery, upbeat Cater that you once knew, he was becoming an empty shell of the former boy: paranoid, clingy, and nearly lifeless. Childish promises of staying together forever bites back into grudges, ammunition for Cater to have you stay with him more for the sake of your ‘friendship’. 

“I love you, [Reader]. Can’t you see? I’m doing this for the both of us; do you want us to be together?” 

Desperation seeps into the boy’s words, his minty-green eyes piercing into yours. You’d never thought such a friend would turn into this after weeks of hanging out together. Now, Cater spoke words of love, fantasies to living together and being married with children. You, being the sane out of the two, could only do one thing: bring sense to him. 

“Cater, aren’t you doing too much?” 

“Of course not! You’re my best friend! Isn’t this what best friends do for each other?!” 

You fear the worst, sealing your lips from further protesting against someone who can use his magic to force you by his side, clones who shared the same visage as Cater’s and have the same caricature as Cater’s. A dark smile falls upon the third year’s lips as he watches you relax, muttering yet another command for his clones to appear where they make themselves busy, the real Cater watching you intently. 

“Never leave my side, [reader]. Please. Let’s fulfill the promise of being together forever for real this time.”

[pearl-blue-musings]

Hi. I just got back from Enchant Christmas. It was raining, I got drenched, and now I’m cold and damp and now I’m thinking of my sweet Hitoshi

The door slams shut behind you, your covered bodies dripping in water. You and your best friend Shinsou Hitoshi laugh hysterically at how your night turned out. The rain was unexpected as it poured over your whole excursion, going through a Christmas light maze at a local park. You had got your tickets a week ago and were unable to refund your tickets so you ended up going anyways.

With the rain being as bad it was, the park was pretty empty. The two of you were able to frolic carefully through the lights without the hustle and bustle of crowds. The laughter shared between the two of you as you galavant through the park had your heart fluttering with pure joy. Since Shinsou became a pro hero, the two of you haven’t been able to have as many outings as besties. However, he finally had the evening free and you planned ahead. It was supposed to be a clear night filled with sweet drinks, sugary snacks, and joyful lights.

The two of you were drenched, cold, had semi warm food, and the park ran out of the specialty drink and cup. But even so, you two laughed about it. The giggle fit began at the end of the maze and continued as you entered your apartment. Shinsou closed the door behind you with a calmer chuckle as he takes off his jacket. “Here, lemme take your jacket. Your laundry room is this way?” He points toward the back of your apartment and you nod. His other hand extends toward you to take your wet clothes to the laundry.

As he walks away, you take off your socks, and notice he did too, and yell out to him. “I’m gonna go take a shower in my roommates room, you can have mine.” You think you hear Shinsou grunt in response and you rummage through your room for a change of clothes. You also lay out another set of clothes for Shinsou to use, knowing he’s stayed over at your place before. Your roommate has tried telling you to try and take the friendship to the next level but you’ve denied it over and over. You start to enter your bathroom to gather your toiletries and run into Shinsou. Physically.

“Whoa,” his cheeks burn red as he turns away. Your eyes widen at him in his boxer briefs and try to turn away. “I-“ he stutters, “I thought you were already, I’m sorry.”

You shake your head to prevent any intrusive thoughts from entering. “N-no, I should have..”

You feel a hand on your shoulder and a presence behind you. “You’re really cold, kitten.” His breath is warm against the back of your ear, his hand leaving a trail of fire from your shoulder to your hand. You tighten your eyes shut to keep your feelings at bay and your body still. Your hot hero best friend is practically naked and softly caressing your skin. Your breathing shallows as your words die on your tongue.

You swallow hard. “Yeah, umm I’m gonna go,” you attempt to escape but he holds you firmly in place. Shinsou’s hands run up and down your arms. Sure the two of you are physically affectionate with each other from closeness. But this is new for you. Maybe your roommate is right? He’s a hero, you’re a civilian. “Shinsou.”

“You know that’s not what you call me.” His breath is hot against your ear as he slowly wraps his arms around you and pulls you against his taut body. The two of you begin to sway to the music in your hearts, ignoring any palpitations of your heart as being with him feels so right. You relax and step into his embrace. The words you want to say are caught in your throat, coming out hesitant.

“Toshi-“

“Yes kitten?”

“What are you, I mean what are we…”

Shinsou shushes you against your cheek before resting his shoulder on the juncture of your neck. You love the way he smells of lavender and oak, a smell you’ve become so accustomed to. “I wanted to confess at the park. I had it all planned out. We’d go by the lights with the mistletoe, I would tell you I love you and ask you to be mine. And then, with your permission, I would kiss you.” He pauses to lift his head up. “It rained. And it messed up everything but,” he turns you around and tilts your head up by your chin. “I wanted, no needed to tell you how I felt. Or else I never would’ve found the courage to do it.”

Your eyes meet his lilac ones and your bottom lip drops with a tremble. Your heart races out of time as his gaze grazes over yours. Your hands reach up to cup his face. His own eyes ask you for permission and you nod quickly. Shinsou slots his lips over yours and softly kisses you. The kiss ends almost as soon as it starts. You shiver slightly from still being cold and hug him tightly. Shinsou reciprocates but also tries to pull away. You quirk an eyebrow up when you feel something…

“Are,” you start, “are you?”

Shinsou places his hand on the back of his neck and looks down. “Y-you’re really hot and attractive so I umm…”

You giggle at the blush on his cheeks and rake your nails down his chest. “I think I can help with that.”

Idk it got spicy in my mind but this was quick

[bioshook-wynand]

Since my friend and I are playing Bioshock 1, i wanted to share some of the things that have happened so far:

- We sat and watched the plane fully sink

- "OUGH?!" < her reaction to the giant Ryan statue

- Right off the bat she didn't trust Atlas and said his wife and child aren't real

- Every security bot is named Jeff

- The wrench is also Jeff(rey Bezos)

- We spent 30 minutes trying to get to Steinman because I forgot I has to throw the bombs at the debris blocking the entrance

- We went through 4 nitro splicers before I realized something wasn't right. I do this everytime. I literally replayed Bioshock like 2 weeks ago and forgot how to do that

- I've died more times in this playthrough than I ever have in Bioshock 1

- Keeps asking me if Atlas is evil, I keep telling her no and that he's my babygirl

- I've been spoon feeding her Atlas propaganda so hopefully she'll trust him by the end

- LOVES the little sisters, terrified of big daddys. She screamed the first time we had to fight one

- I tried to get the first bouncer stuck behind the register in the Medical Bay, but absolutely shredded him before I could

- The women were too stunned to speak

- We sat under the floor of the McCracken Crab trying to kill a Rosie. I died.

- I also hid under the floor of the Fisheries and smacked Splicers that walked overhead

- I got killed by a (different) Rosie like 5 times before I finally killed her

- Also ran from the third Rosie repeatedly before I finally killed him

- She chose target dummy for our first real plasmid

- I've only ever used it when losing control of the plasmids. So I've only used it once-

- Me: God I hate Andrew Ryan

Her: Bash his brains in

Me: *Hephaestus flashbacks* Oh I'm gonna

- Spider splicer: *angry screeching*

Me: New wife for you

Her: Great, thanks

- Hates it everytime I say "Snappies"

- I spent way too long looking for the final spider splicer before realizing I could take a picture of a dead one

- She did trust Peach Wilkins though (Somehow??)

- "I've got a really bad feeling about this" intensifies

- Yelled "THIS IS YOUR MAN⁉️" When Atlas walked out and almost missed Ryan's speech and the splicers bc of it

- Predicted the sub would blow up, but was shocked when it actually did

- I think she begrudgingly trusts Atlas now, his acting is peak

- I also went on a 2 minute rant about him and she made fun or me the entire time

- *finds a crawlspace full of Atlas posters*

Me: Oh my god, this is where I live!!

Her: NO

Me: With my Atlas posters and my.. Pistol bullets??

Her: N O !!

- #1 Langford stan (she's in love with her)

- Got jumpscared by the Houdini splicer that appears behind you (We both screamed)

- I was laughing bc his shadow was looming over us, then slowly turned around and we had a staring contest before I finally shot him in the face

- I've literally never seen him just sit there before?? He always disappeared as soon as I turned around. Wild

- She compared Langford writing the code on the window to 11307 from Danganronpa (iykyk)

- Cue disappointed sighing (Not really, I laughed really hard)

- This entire playthrough has just been me aggressively hitting on Atlas and her reevaluating our friendship

- Not even the posters are safe

- "Who is Atlas?"

Me: My husband

Her: UGH

- Saying "This is for me!!" every time I see an Atlas poster

- She is genuinely considering killing me

- Made me harvest a little sister to see what would happen 😔 We reloaded tho it's okay

- I've found so many secrets in this playthrough, including a vent that goes to a meat locker in the Farmers Market

- It felt like I was getting chased by everyone in Rapture while trying to make the Lazarus Vector

- I also (somehow) shot the big daddy in Langford's office while fighting splicers

- That was terrifying

- *Enters Fort Frolic* Me: It's about to get real silly

- I've been hyping up Cohen this entire time because I knew she would like him

- Unfortunately, she does

- She gagged at the "expectant mama" line

- Got jumpscared AGAIN by the splicer in the basement of Sinclair Spirits

- "SINCLAIR WHAT THE FUCK"

- I can never find the record store when I play Bioshock, this time was no different

- I gave up and went after Hector instead

- When we met Silas Cobb she yelled "KITTENS??"

- She agrees Silas is a discord mod

- We spent like 2 minutes straight trying to catch Hector and Silas

- I also got jumped by a bunch of splicers every time I tried to kill a bouncer

- She lost it at Cohen walking down the stairs

- "HIS GAY ASS WALK"

- I smacked Cohen after his speech and immediately ran

That's all so far, but we'll hopefully play some more this week!

[crazy-ache]

ACOTAR tag game 💕

Thanks for tagging me @the-darkestminds @zenkindoflove @ataraxiasflame @starsreminisce and @teddyhoneybear!!!

Answer the questions below & tag whoever you want, or make it an open tag!!

Who's your favourite ACOTAR character?

Lucien Vanserra. Since Book 1.

Who's your least favourite character?

Ianthe. I am currently re-reading ACOWAR and god she is the worst. Especially for all she did to Feyre and my baby Lucien. I also hate that she was a missed opportunity for a complex, female villain, perhaps with undertones of religious motivations....instead of another female sexual predator villain in Sarah's books. Sigh.

Say something nice about your least favourite character.

She got what she deserved!!! :-)

Who's your favourite High Lord? (If you picked one for your fav character, then who's your second fav!)

Helion Spell-Cleaver. I am very into his tragic love story with the Lady of Autumn. It gives me Greek mythology vibes. My head canon is that Helion told her to reject the bond, to protect her from the wrath of Beron, and to protect her sons. He begged and begged her to do it, because it was better for him to suffer than for her to lose her life.

Favourite MINOR character?

Jurian, hands down. He's got that tortured asshole soul vibe going on. A human who is not remotely phased by magic or Fae after all the shit he's been through. People underestimate how brilliant and wise he probably is....because he's an ass lmao. And I love that about him.

Favourite ship? (Crackships included!)

ELUCIEN FOREVER.

Favourite court and why?

Autumn Court. The political intrigue. The fall vibes. The amazing forests. It feels very faerie and I want to see more of that lore in the coming books.

Make up a brand new court RIGHT NOW, NO PREP JUST VIBES.

Court of Mountains --> Picture this. Influences from the Incan Empire. Think of buildings and temples built into the mountains, like Machu Picchu. I picked this because I've visited it before/share roots with it and it felt magical - the lore, the beauty, the mountains .... it would make for an incredible kind of court we haven't seen before. I am envisioning the people have magic that controls the Earth (like Earthbenders!) and it helps them live and survive in the difficult landscapes, away from the other courts. IDK I made this all up now.

What relationship would you have wanted to see more of in the books?

I need an Elain and Eris friendship arc and I need it now.

What's your unpopular opinion?

That the Elucien book is next, then a novella, and then a Gwynriel book. Ha.

What's your favourite headcanon/fan canon?

That although Lucien never told Papa Archeron directly, the man figured it out by himself that Lucien was the one for Elain. Maybe he didn't know the word mate but he said - wait a second. They're going to be together. This fae is a little too interested in her, but I like him. And he gives him his blessing before he dies. I think he's the one who told Lucien that Elain is worth waiting for...and to take her to the tulip fields one day. YES I WROTE A WHOLE ASS FIC FOR THIS

If you were swept away to Prythian, what's ONE thing you would want to do?

Lucien

I want to experience all the magic. Just frolic through a field and really feel this fae magical world, see the creatures, witness the magic and spells, just be absolutely bewitched by it all.

If you could have ONE faerie ability seen in the books, which would it be?

Y'all I want fire magic. Because I've always wanted to be a fire bender. IYKYK

No pressure tags!! @works-of-heart @yaralulu @animezinglife @shadowqueenjude

[lil-oreo-crumbles]

can you discuss the relationship between Toffee and Seth

Absolutely!! I’d be happy to!!

Normally, I see Toffee and Seth being depicted with a relatively positive relationship. However, I don’t and have never really seen it that way.

The full story is under the cut, but the TL;DR is this: Toffee does not like Seth hardly at all. Seth sees Toffee as his own son and loves him to death, but Toffee cannot stand being “fathered” by him. As far as Toffee knows, he never had a father and Seth was DEFINITELY not his father, and gets so upset when Seth refers to him as “son”.

Despite Toffee not being able to stand him, he can and does acknowledge his great diplomacy skills and that he is the best leader for Septarsis. His beef is a lot more personal. He will admit with no hesitation that Seth would have made a great ruler for Monsterkind and is personally angered and offended just like everyone else about Crescenta’s smear campaign.

Toffee also unknowingly bought into a lot of his ideals over the course of his life, he just adjusted his angle and took different actions into trying to solve the same problem.

It’s a mix of frustration yet begrudging respect for him as the man who took him in after his mother’s death on Toffee’s end. On Seth’s end, it’s praise, adoration, and a very fatherly view he has on Toffee, despite how pissed he gets at a lot of Toffee’s actions over the course of his life (i.e., Comet and his whole embarrassing “Bad Boy” phase).

-

AU Story:

For some context, I may need to explain Seth and his relationship with Toffee’s mother in my AU, Mylanie Ambrose of Septarsis, because that’s where their rocky relationship really stems from.

When Seth took his rightful place as the Supreme Lord of Septarsis (he hates the term King), he completely tore apart the system the previous (very corrupt) ruler (who brought Septarsis into its dark age) had been using for the two-hundred or so years he was in charge, and replaced it with his own system. Part of that system involves a rotating legislation of representatives (a council of sorts) every fifty or so years (can vary and there are exceptions). The Septarians would get restless with the same person in power for the centuries they live, so Seth ensures that there are new faces and new voices. No matter how good of a Supreme Lord or beloved by the people be is, he will never put just himself or his sister Zarina in charge of decision making.

With that said, Mylanie, a dreamer who strongly believes in a future of peace and harmony with Mewmankind in the future, joins the council. She is incredibly passionate and a very loud advocate for peace, catching Seth’s attention. The two form a friendship outside of politics and get along, but they are fiercely on opposite sides when it pertains to the Mewman problem. Mylanie wants to make peace with a future queen while Seth thinks war is one of their only possibilities. Zarina is the awkward middleman trying to find a truce between their fiercely opposed sides.

Seth is decidedly a gay man, but because he’s so deep in denial and closeted he mistakes the thrill and passion he gets from debating her as… romantic feelings (whoops) and starts offering his hand to make her the Lady of Septarsis. She always refuses.

Then Mylanie has Toffee. (His real name is Torrence but I’m gonna call him Toffee for simplicity)

So, essentially, Toffee’s exposure to Seth for his entire early life is through the eyes of his mother and the debates she has with him. He kind of sits back and watches the two of them go at it.

Seth is a lot more of a brute who values a good soldier at this point so he (playfully) critiques Mylanie for not teaching her son any defense skills or anything to do with fighting and instead just lets him “read books and frolic all the time”. He also jokingly teases her for how “girly” Toffee looks/acts (the long hair with flowers/flower crowns and his general soft/shy demeanor). Toffee, despite his young age, is very aware of all of this, along with the courting issue Seth still brings up every once in a while. He can get really protective of her.

But Seth absolutely tried to bond with him… and he considers trying to teach him how to fight “bonding”. Toffee’s not really into the whole war (he IS raised by his mother after all) and doesn’t really reciprocate.

When the Solaria’s situation happens and Mylanie passes away, Toffee is taken in by Seth and Zarina permanently. Seth really steps up and makes an effort to form a bond with Toffee, but he’s grieving really bad and Seth trying to make nice really hits him the wrong way.

While Toffee is friends with Eclipsa, Seth eventually finds out and discourages him from spending anymore time with her, but Toffee refuses to listen to him and still spends time with the princess regardless. He sees Seth as trying to take away the one thing he still has in this world. Seth tries to insist that the Mewmans and the world they’ve created are dark, selfish, and cruel, and Eclipsa is no different. Toffee fights with him on this, but it isn’t until the two friends have their tragic fallout that Toffee admits that Seth was right about Eclipsa and he should have listened to him.

Regardless of Seth being “proven right”, this still doesn’t make Toffee like him. During his bad boy teenage years he’s blatantly disrespectful, haughty, and an overall pain for Seth and Zarina to deal with. However, this is actually when Toffee starts to buy into Seth’s ideals. Toffee is unaware of just how much he’s starting to agree with Seth about his stances on Mewmanity, but his specific issue is on the magic they use. (If you ask him at this stage about it he’ll tell you you’re insane for the suggestion alone.)

Despite his bad attitude, Toffee’s natural talent in leadership and combat causes Seth to favor him a lot. Toffee rises the ranks quickly and becomes increasingly popular amongst the troops and the army. Toffee actually (begrudgingly) accepts advice and one on one training from Seth, which adds to his skill set.

But what Toffee HATES is how much Seth starts “fathering” him. Seth refers to Toffee as his son, and Toffee has to keep reminding him that he is decidedly NOT his son and NEVER will be, no matter how much Seth wants to think so. This ties back to Toffee’s lingering frustration over the whole “courting” he used to attempt with his mother.

When Toffee takes a break from the army to focus on studying Mewmans, magic, and their history, (and calming down and getting out of his weird bad boy phase in the process) Seth begs him to rejoin all of the time. He knows Toffee as a great military leader but Toffee spends most of his time curled up in his room reading into the night (✨insomnia✨) or breaking into Butterfly Castle to borrow more books. They hardly interact during this time.

After his time as a historian, Toffee is compelled to rejoin the army/war effort and moves up the ranks to eventually become the general we know he as. When the invitation comes for Comet’s banquet, Seth decidedly doesn’t want to attend. Toffee overhears and volunteers to go in his place. Seth has one rule: No harm is to come to the queen.

This is where I get to the point where he blatantly disrespects Seth’s instructions: He kills Comet. While decidedly NOT a primary or even important reason why he did it, a small very tiny microscopic part of Toffee did it specifically because Seth told him not to, and Toffee thinks he can handle things on his own.

Well… when Toffee returns to Septarsis humiliated with a missing finger, Seth. Is. Pissed. He KNEW this would do nothing but blow up in their faces and refuses to hear any of Toffee’s rationale for doing it, no matter how valid. He scolds Toffee harsher than he ever has before and blows up at him for this. By the end of the argument, Toffee is sick of and through with Seth and right then and there vows to leave Septarsis and never come back. Toffee does just that.

And… yeah. To be very frank, the relationship very complicated. Toffee can hardly stand him, but also Seth is probably one of his biggest influences at the same time. Toffee respects him as a leader of their civilization and as a diplomat, but has been known to forge his own path and blatantly disrespect his orders if Toffee deems his own ideas better (not ALL of them, Comet is the one notable instance of this). They both want monsters to be vindicated for all of the suffering they’ve been put through, but Seth sees Mewmans as the problem while Toffee sees magic as the problem.

I don’t know if this post fully encapsulates the true dynamic. This is an example of me trying to explain a dynamic that would be much better when I eventually show it… not sure if any post could ever do the story justice… but oh well.

But yeah I suggest keeping in tune. This is the rundown of their dynamic but it’ll be better when they actually interact in the AU itself 🤞

[averyhollow]

Frenchie’s Weekend Frolic!

The weekend of September 30, 2023 - October 01, 2023 is all about Frenchie (and trying to keep calm about the season 2 premier being right around the corner)! Let’s celebrate our guy by creating, engaging with, and sharing fanworks that are Frenchie-centric. Feel free to fill out the bingo card below as you go along, or don’t. What matters is celebrating Frenchie through creating and sharing fanworks that put a spotlight on him.

Update: The AO3 collection is up!

(Alt text below)

(R= row from left to right. C= column from top to bottom.)

FRENCHIE'S WEEKEND FROLIC: BINGO CARD

R1, C1: SHARE A FAVORITE FIC

R1, C2: SINGS OR COMPOSES

R1, C3: SEWS LIKE THE WIND

R1, C4: ENGAGES IN ESPIONAGE

R1, C5: SHARE SOMEFANART

R2, C1: DOODLES

R2, C2: ROOM PEOPLE REUNION

R2, C3: MAKES WITCHCRAFT ACCUSATIONS

R2, C4: MODERN AU

R2, C5: DRESSES UP

R3, C1: ROMANCE

R3, C2: SCHEMES OR SCAMS

R3, C3: FREE

R3, C4: FRIENDSHIP

R3, C5: SLOW BURN

R4, C1: HELPS LUCIUS HIDE

R4, C2: QUESTIONABLE SCIENCE "FACT"

R4, C3: DETAILED TORTURE SUGGESTIONS

R4, C4: ADVISES ED

R4, C5: SET ON BREAKUP BOAT

R5, C1: SHARE FANART WITH <100 LIKES/KUDOS

R5, C2: GETS A PARTNER IN CRIME

R5, C3: TRIPS OVER HIS OWN FEET

R5, C4: BEFRIENDS OR BEFRENIMIES A CAT

R5, C5: READ/VIEW FAN A WORK WITH < 100 LIKES/KUDOS

Note: SQUARES ARE OPEN TO INTERPRETATION. BOXES CAN BE MARKED FOR ANYTHING YOU CREATE, READ/VIEW, OR SHARE. (Made in Canva.)

[tired-truffle]

The Art of Pointed Questions

A DamienxAmma Fic

Word Count: 2.7k

Part 1/1 - Complete

Based off the prompt from tumblr user @creativepromptsforwriting

P.S.: If you haven’t read this series but you like my other fics, i highly recommend reading Villains and Virtues by A.K. Caggiano, its literal gold 💯

Masterlist

“Have you ever had a friendship bracelet?”

The ridiculousness of that question echoed across the rocky walls surrounding their path as it wound through a small craig. It wasn’t the first absurd question that Amma had asked in their seemingly never-ending journey toward Faebarrow, but this one had to be one of the most egregious yet. 

Had Damien Maleficus Bloodthrone, Son of Zagadoth the Tempestuous, Ninth Lord of the Infernal Darkness and Abyssal Tyrant of the Sanguine Throne, ever had a friendship bracelet? 

The better question would be if he’d had any friends at all, to which the answer would be a resounding no. He was evil, evil beings did not have such childish things as friends. 

Damien didn’t justify it with an answer, instead, he released a heavy, long-suffering sigh and debated using the talisman’s power to get her to stop talking - it seemed he was debating this almost every minute he let her have free reign of her own speech. 

Kaz had scrambled off somewhere a half hour ago and had yet to come back, however, Damien could sense his presence skulking behind them. The imp had been keeping Amma busy chatting - though it had in truth been Amma chatting at him and Katz shooting back cruel names and annoyed looks. But even his loyal minion couldn’t withstand that brand of torture forever and had fled in a burst of rage, leaving Amma with a new target who was much less engageable than Kaz. 

Damien thoroughly debated - for what felt like the millionth time - leaving Amma behind just to avoid her inane questions. Yet he couldn’t leave the talisman unattended, could he? Hence his constant debate on ordering her to shut her mouth. He’d done worse to others for less heinous acts, surely this wasn’t unreasonable.

“I know you heard me, Damien, don’t pretend you’re too dark and broody for a friendship bracelet.” Damien could practically hear the eye roll in her voice and he stifled an irritated growl. “You were a kid at some point, right? Kids give each other friendship bracelets, half-demon or not. I bet you were just like all the other kids, playing with your toys and frolicking in the streets or whatever it is kids do in creepy cities - skulking through the streets?” Amma giggled, apparently, the image of a tiny Damien, pout on his face as he skipped around was too much for her to contain herself. 

“I am evil, Amma. Evil people do not frolic, no matter their age.” Damien shot her a withering look. But like a fool, he’d fallen for her bait, and he watched as a wide smirk pulled at her round cheeks. Not wanting to admit to having been beaten, he hissed, “Sanguinisui, do not talk until we reach our camp tonight.” Amma’s mouth snapped shut as her teeth clacked together. Knowing her - as he had unfortunately come to in their time travelling together - she’d been about to gloat and Damien had managed to catch her before she could, thank the hells. 

She narrowed her eyes at him, clearly irritated, which only succeeded in painting a smug grin across his lips. Gesturing to the surrounding forest, she put her hands to her throat and made a strangled sound, her tongue comically sticking out the side of her mouth. He supposed he couldn’t blame her after the last time they’d been attacked and she’d been unable to make a shout for help because of his orders. 

Somewhere behind them, Damien heard Kaz make a wretching sound. 

Damien rolled his eyes but conceded - he couldn’t risk losing the talisman. “Sanguinisui, you may only ignore that last order if you are in danger.”

Satisfied that she wasn’t at imminent risk, Damien turned away from her, clicking his heels against his ‘horse’ to spurn it on faster. The last thing he needed was to look back at where she sat, dejected and fuming. He didn’t want to feel any sort of pity for her, like how he’d feel pity for a weak little kitten caught out in the rain. He had other more important things on his mind, like getting his father out of the crystal, his main objective. He didn’t have the time to spare her any sympathy. 

The peace and quiet that had accompanied his order had been truly blissful for about thirty seconds before Kaz took it upon himself to sit behind Damien - now that Amma couldn’t speak to him - and glare at her, making rude gestures along with some snide remarks. Amma had then taken it upon herself to pull stones out of the bottom of her boots and chuck them as hard as she could at Kaz’s impudent face. Unfortunately for Damien, said face was right behind his back, and Amma’s aim was by no means her best ability. She ended up mostly pelting Damien with the pebbles. When one had the audacity to bounce off the back of his head, the scathing glare he shot her way had been enough to make her rethink her actions. Perhaps throwing stones at the man who was in charge of all your actions and would soon be killing you, wasn’t the wisest course of action, unless you were trying to speed up said killing and subsequent death. 

By the time they made camp, Damien was in an even fouler mood than he had been after seeing Xavier - which was saying something since that lecherous blood mage never failed to make his blood boil. Damien spat out his usual commands to Amma, told Kaz to guard her, and trekked off into the woods to find them some dinner. Surely hunting a creature would make him feel better.

Kaz took that as his opportunity to discipline Amma himself. “How dare you anger Master Bloodthrone, he does not have time for your petty grievances, you are his captive.” And for good measure, “Whore.”

Damien didn’t bother listening to Amma’s indignant response, he’d heard enough of their banter to know what she’d say, and he was sure it would only serve to piss him off further. 

By the time he returned to camp an hour later, a small hare in hand and much calmer after releasing his magic on some unsuspecting trees, he was feeling much more collected. 

Amma had her back to him, facing the small fire she’d built and was hopelessly trying to start by spinning a stick in between her hands on top of another slightly larger stick. 

“That won’t work,” Damien said in lieu of a greeting. 

Amma yelped - the sound much too high-pitched to be at all dignified - and spun around, having been so focused on her task that she hadn’t heard the crunch of dead leaves under his heavy boots when he’d walked up behind her. 

Damien smirked. Good, scaring unsuspecting innocent girls was something evil people did, evil like Damien. 

“You don’t have to startle me, you know, I was only trying to help.” Amma dropped her sticks, a light blush tinging her pale cheeks. 

Damien shrugged and with a wave of his hand, he’d quickly lit the fire. Magic was a wonderful thing. 

“Showoff,” Amma muttered under her breath, crossing her arms over her chest. Kaz cracked an eye open from where he was resting on a rock, satisfied that Amma looked dejected, he closed his eyes again. 

Amma turned away from the fire, picking at the long grass and small wildflowers that were bordering the little clearing they’d found. Damien paid her no mind and set to work preparing their dinner. By the time it was cooked and devoured by all participants, it was time for bed. 

Damien gave Amma her nightly commands, - sit, stay, play nice - and settled down to sleep, turning away from where she sat, staring off into the dark woods, fiddling with grass in her hands. If she didn’t want to sleep, that was on her, but she better not be cranky tomorrow. He didn’t know how he would cope with more irritation after today, he had his limits, and Amma being here was already pushing it. She’d already steered his evil plan of course. He now had to go all the way to Faebarrow to get the amulet out of her - so he didn’t have to kill her. It was out of pity of course, like that cat stuck in the rain, he wasn’t evil enough to push it under a carriage wheel, even if it would end its suffering. 

And if his dreams were filled with horrible images of a lost blonde cat, shivering in the rain, no one had to know but him. 

When Damien woke, the first thing he noticed was that Amma was not where he’d left her sulking by the fire. The second was that said sulker was no longer looking so miserable and had moved to hover over the small sleeping form of their resident imp. 

“Do I want to know what you’re doing?” Damien asked, rolling to his side and propping himself up on his elbow, swiping a hand down his face. It was much too early to be dealing with this, but the sooner he got whatever ridiculousness was going on out of the way, the better the rest of his day would be. 

Amma whirled around, eyes widened in surprise and hands clasped guiltily in front of her chest, pulling Damien’s eyes to the ample cleavage her shirt did very little to cover. He quickly looked back up to her face, pleased to see she showed no indication that she’d noticed his brief lapse of control of his gaze. 

“Have you finally smothered him in his sleep like he deserves?” 

Amma squawked indignantly. “Of course not!” 

Damien shrugged, sitting up and stretching his arms out from the little aches and pains he’d gained from their sleep on the hard, unforgiving ground. 

“That’s too bad.”

“Damien!” Amma hissed, her forehead pinched. “Don’t be so mean to him, look how cute he is when he’s sleeping.” 

Cute wouldn’t be how Damien would describe Kaz, his protruding lower jaw wide open, drooling onto the rock he’d made into a pillow, his spindly body spread out haphazardly. In a way, he looked almost dead, if it weren’t for the rise and fall of his chest. Damien could see how he could look peaceful, perhaps, but cute felt like a bit of a stretch. 

Damien had prepared another retort, unable to help himself, when a small band of green and white caught his gaze, pulling it toward the imp’s wrist. He rubbed his eyes to ensure he was seeing correctly, and when he blinked away the black spots, he saw that the small band was still there. It was made of thick grass interwoven with small white flowers into a delicate braid pattern and tied in a neat bow. 

Damien looked between the bracelet and Amma, his eyebrow raised. 

“I think it suits him,” Amma said, smiling down at the sleeping imp. “And I’m very good at making friendship bracelets.” 

Damien felt a headache coming on, he thought they’d left this conversation yesterday, “Imps don’t have friends.”

“They do now.”

Stubborn as ever, Amma refused to relent, and Damien no longer knew why he even bothered arguing about this. Kaz would wake up, tear off the offending item, and call her some rude names, to which she would insist he keep the bracelet and be unnecessarily kind to the hateful creature. 

And Damien had to pee, something he had no plans of putting off for a pointless argument. 

He stood up, brushing off his clothes as he popped the joints in his knees. She frowned, that was odd, there seemed to be an unfamiliar object moving on his wrist. Anger built in his chest before he laid eyes on the object. He already knew what it was. 

“We aren’t friends either,” Damien growled, eyes flashing as he looked at where Amma stood, a sly smile on her face. It was unnerving that she’d been able to get the bracelet on his wrist whilst he slept without him noticing, and he would have to add a new line to her commands about not touching him when he was unconscious. He would have noticed earlier, had this grass and flower bracelet not somehow been entirely black, blending in with his black sleeves. 

“I even covered it in ashes so it would match your moody aesthetic.” Amma flicked her fingers at him and he felt an indignant jolt run through his chest. He wasn’t moody, though arguing that point would not help his case.

And he would never in a thousand years admit that he couldn’t help but feel it was also strangely…. thoughtful, that she would take into account his preference of colour, or lack thereof. 

He grunted, unable to come up with a proper retort so early in the morning, he turned swiftly on his heels to march towards the forest. 

“I’m not keeping it,” he called, not bothering to face her as he lifted his arm up and yanked the bracelet off. The bow came apart, ripping slightly as it did. 

“No!” Amma’s disappointment was clear in her tone and Damien ignored the tug in his gut from some stupid emotion he didn’t bother putting a name to - likely pity, that was about all his evil heart was capable of in this situation - and he continued his journey to find some quiet and private place to pee. It shouldn’t have been as difficult a task as it had been.

“Fine, be a miserable loner then!” she yelled after him. 

“I’m evil, Amma, evil people don’t have friends, and they certainly don’t wear friendship bracelets,” Damien drawled, grinning to himself. “Right, Kaz?” He raised his voice so the imp could hear him. If he hadn’t been evil he would have felt bad about sicking Kaz on her, who at Damien’s call, realized what Amma had bestowed upon him, and was reacting just as he had expected. 

Damien chuckled, revenge felt good, these were the consequences of her actions. Including him throwing that damned bracelet away and never looking back. 

He twirled the bracelet between his fingers, the ash rubbing off as he did so. It was strange that she’d gone through so much effort to give him something she knew he wouldn’t like. The son of a Demon Lord is wearing a friendship bracelet; how absolutely ludicrous. It would get him laughed out of Yvlcon, and he could only imagine what his father would say should he show up to free him from the crystal with an ash-covered, grass and flower braid around his wrist. 

He went to toss it into a bush, but at the last second, he hesitated. He couldn’t name what had stopped him, but the image of Amma, eyes wide and glistening with tears over all her hard work going to waste, of him rejecting the gift… it made him seethe quietly, but at the same time, he found himself unable to let go of the offending item. 

Resisting the urge to stomp childishly, he shoved the bracelet into his pocket. With any luck he’d forget about it and it would become crumpled beyond repair, and at last, he could part with it, if it didn’t turn to dust first. 

It would serve as a reminder that he didn’t need such things, that they weren’t for people like him. Bad people don’t deserve nice things. But if he kept it in his pocket, if he ruined such a nice gift, then maybe he could keep it, if only as a show of how evil he truly was, to hurt someone who had only tried to be kind.

He didn't have friends, nor would he ever, no matter how hard Amma tried, he was sure that he would be a ‘miserable loner’ for the rest of his life. It was his fate, no friendship bracelets would ever change that. 

Damien shook himself, he should really be more concerned that that thought upset him, but as he listened to the sounds of Kaz and Amma bickering, he couldn’t help but feel a warmth light somewhere within the deep, dark recesses of his heart. 

That damn girl and her damn kindness, surely it would be the death of him. He wasn’t sure what was worse, that his tombstone may read ‘Damien Maleficus Bloodthorne, Killed by Kindness” or that he wasn’t sure he would mind it, as long as it was Amma, with her bright smile and even brighter laugh, who did it.

A/N: I adore this series and it needs so much more hype!! Its literally the funniest and the cutest and had me giggling and kicking my feet???? Irl??? Wild.

Brb gonna go consume everything this author has ever written ✌️