#i doubt it was the hosts fault shes always been great

[thedisablednaturalist]

Kinda upset I wasn't invited back to perform for the annual drag show the year after I started using my wheelchair (and thus my university having to rent a wheelchair lift for the stage) and this is after performing for 6 years straight with no issues

[uzurimisery]

the space between two bodies. / satosugu x reader / part 1

Warnings: MDNI, happy ending, angst, cheating (not really this is explained in part 2), unhealthy relationships/coping mechanisms, suicidal ideation, depression, smut, no sorcery au, unedited

A/N: I started thinking about Gojo with anxiety and nihilist Geto and then what that looks like in a poly relationship with someone as flawed as they are

part two

“We’re sorry but we’ve decided to go with another candidate now. We will retain your information on file should a more suitable role open up.” 

The email stared back at you, the words on your phone screen blurring as droplets of rain hit it as you read it over for the hundredth time. Today was just another shitty fucked up day in the endless string of shitty fucked up days that had become your life. The third consecutive month of unemployment in a row. At least previously you could get temp jobs but now each day that passed just ate away at you with how useless you felt. 

Pocketing your phone, you pull out a 100 yen coin and put it in the vending machine.

You didn’t even like your old job but Jesus it was like no one was actually hiring. And when you did get an interview, you’d get ghosted afterward. On the rare occasion they didn’t ghost you, you’d receive a rejection letter like this one. It was preferable, you supposed, that your existence and effort were at least acknowledged, no matter how much it stung. Still hurt like a bitch to be told you weren’t good enough. 

Anything would be better than this, fuck you’d take being overworked and underpaid if it felt like you were doing something. This endless cycle of gnawing uncertainty and applications, interviews, followed by rejections. Worse than that you were out of deodorant and trying to find some in Japan was a Herculean effort. 

Yeah, it’s been a shit go and you’re fucking exhausted.

Maybe you’d go be an English teacher like everyone else who moves to Japan. You wouldn’t need a co-teacher so the pay would be better if you were just starting out. Not that you wanted to teach again dear god that was less than ideal. Thank god you had settled status. The thought of having to deal with visa issues at the same time made you feel sick. 

Maybe you could work at a host club. You turned, staring at your reflection in the glass. Your boobs weren’t half bad as you pushed them up from the underside like a push-up bra would. Or sell feet pictures. The market was probably oversaturated at this point but maybe there would be some interest.

Wait Jesus had your hair looked like that all day? Fuck. No wonder that girl kept staring at you on the train she thought you were a lunatic.

Sighing you press the button for 4H. It wasn’t like you’d always been this way, sort of drifting in a sea of uncertainty abroad your boat of doubt with no wind to guide your sails. There was a period of time, maybe a five-year stretch after you had graduated from university where your life was on track. An entry-level job in your degree field, a long-term boyfriend turned fiance, wedding planning, and a great group of friends. Shit, you had it all. 

The fiance was the first to go. 

As it turns out, finding your fiance in bed with the girl he swore you didn’t have to worry about, his tongue halfway down her throat like he’s trying to do an endoscopy, is a terrible way to find out you’re being cheated on. When he noticed you standing in the doorway he had the gall to sputter some bullshit about how it was your fault it happened. You were too focused on your work, you didn’t give him attention, blah, blah, blah. It was you who broke the relationship up by working so much and being married to your job. And as he paid for the overpriced four-bedroom apartment in an area of Tokyo that you didn’t even like, you lost the apartment in the breakup. 

You couldn’t slum dog millionaire your life away on Shoko and Utahime’s couch forever eating tubs of ice cream and binging TV after that, so everyone told you, or rather forced you, to move in with Suguru and Satoru. Bouncing around from couple to couple. It did give you some stability and just as things go up so must they come down. 

The company you were working for was liquidated after an investigation by the federal government found years of tax fraud. Luckily they got bought out, and you thought maybe if you put in work you could still climb the ladder. But all those late nights in the office, conbini dinners, and unpaid overtime, you were just another name on a severance list.

It felt like waves were crashing over you, each one larger than the rest. Almost like you were tied to a dock during a hurricane, a tsunami, or some fucking natural disaster that threatened to drown you if you didn’t hold onto something but there wasn’t much to hold on to. You could hold onto the minuscule amount of friendships that you had at least. It was far too awkward and messy to keep up with anyone else other than your main four since the rest were so tied to your ex-fiance and his life. Stupid fucking lawyer. 

The four of you were close-ish. Less close since Shoko had gone on rotation at a university on the other side of Tokyo. It meant she and Utahime had moved nearer to it since Utahime was willing to commute. But Suguru and Satoru were still close with you and still dating.  Biting as that felt at times. 

You met Geto first in a shared philosophy lecture. One of those run-of-the-mill ones, but the content that really got the two of you talking was nihilism. It was the seminar groups after class you shared where he really saw you. Stripped away of pretenses and your nerves laid bare. Not just another face in a lecture hall but something more, something human. The deep indents of nails in your palms and the rubbing of your hands together under the table. He had seen right through you, recognized the darker parts of himself in you- it made you feel understood.

The machine made a mechanical noise and the lights flickered. Sighing you kick the machine lightly to see if anything happens, if life could give you this one thing today that you so desperately needed. Just like everything else, nothing goes your way and your stupid drink stays logged on the shelf. So like every reasonable person you kick the machine again. 

“Stupid fucking piece of shit machine,” you murmur a growing string of profanities under your breath as you repeatedly kick the machine

.

All you wanted was one of those ¥100 coffee drinks that were loaded with caffeine to keep going through your slog of a day was that so hard? Maybe it would be best if you just packed it up and called it quits. Move back home with your parents and be berated daily. Why aren’t you married? Why did you and Kosuke break up? When are they going to get some grandchildren? They aren’t getting any younger you know. Face the cutting shame of fucking up another opportunity, another chance. 

What was the point in trying anymore when you couldn’t even get a stupid drink that you don't honestly even want at this point out of a vending machine so you can go home and masturbate to audio porn before you cry yourself to fucking sleep? 

Suguru’s voice cut through the spiral of thoughts, your name on his lips. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you had an interview and you’d be home late?” 

Of course, he’d catch you like this. 

“Hey Sugs,” it came out as a groan as you kicked the machine again, a loud clang following as your drink hit the bottom of the dispenser. Bending down, you grab the can before turning and facing him. “I did.” 

“How’d it go?”

“Like shit.” Maybe you should work on your delivery. This flat effect is really making you should like a bitch. Are you a bitch? 

Geto’s eyes raked over you, infuriatingly calm and measured. He was always so carefully disheveled, the type of person to look effortlessly put together no matter the occasion. Stupid name-brand black sweater over a white button-down half tucked into chinos with a chain on the belt. His hair, shiny and perfect, was neatly tucked into his signature half-up-hald-down look to keep the strand out of his eyes, minus the one for style. Notably, he was wearing his glasses for once, sleek frames perks on a tall nose. Oh, he smelt nice too, his sandalwood and bergamot cologne hitting you as he stepped closer, extending his umbrella to cover the two of you. Fuck he was so handsome it wasn’t fair.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Geto replied softly.

You shrugged, trying to brush it off. “ It is what it is.”

But the reality of it clung to you and drug you down, down, down into the depths of your psyche. That small, scared feeling you tried so hard to suppress started bubbling up again, twisting your insides into knots. It made you feel sick, so much like a lost little child in a world that had grown far too big and complex. Here it was, rearing its ugly head, in front of one of the top ten people you never wanted to see in such a shit state.

But that's all Gojo and Geto do at this point. They pick up the broken, crumbling pieces of yourself that slip between your fingers. You feel like a cracked vase leaking water all over the place no matter how desperately they try and patch up the ceramic. Each day the gap between you and them grows more apparent. They were both soaring and you were falling to the ground and rolling around in the mud. 

Geto had just done a four-page spread in Architects Digest, even though he was a pretentious motherfucker who hated the magazine. And Gojo… God, he’d just opened for Prada at Paris Fashion Week. They went viral on every social media platform a while back for how hot and gay they were. You’d been caught in the crossfire of your accounts being tagged and gained a social media boost, but that also meant a bunch of people DMing you telling you to take pictures of them. 

The most fucked up thing about it all was the gnawing feeling that chewing on your bones that you were being dragged around like an accessory to remind them how good they had it. A permanent third wheel they’ve been stuck with since university. Two talented lovers on the brink of permanent importance and their weird little friend who follows them along like a lost puppy. It wasn’t even true and that's why it hurt so much. You knew they believed in you, thought that you could be a successful artist, and supported you in it even, but the jealousy rotted inside you like a festering wound. You weren’t even jealous of their success, only just partial, but it was like you weren’t good enough to be around them. 

Maybe you were better off as wall decor in the life they were building together. Something quiet and serene that didn’t demand anything from them. Better that than the bitter, jealous mess you were every time you saw them succeed.

He starts, the same spiel he goes to when you get like this. “You can always-”

“No.” your voice comes out sharper than you intended, but you don’t care. 

“I don’t know why you act like it’s such a bad off,” Suguru presses, his calm demeanor only pissing you off more.  

“I don’t want to work for you.” 

“Why not.” 

You snap. “Because I don’t want to, Suguru! Is that so hard to understand?”

Fuck, you wanted to storm off, go back to the house, and slam the door behind you as you went. But it didn’t matter if you stormed off, you lived in one of his guest bedrooms. Both of you were just headed to the same place. Sad little rescue that you were.

Suguru assessed, his eyes softened, breaking you down. He picked out every one of your insecurities as he stared at you. Microscopic inspection, each of your cells was being assessed for your state of being. Have you eaten? Was it enough? Had you slept? Are you even capable of taking care of yourself in this state? 

The weight of his gaze made your chest tighten, and before you could control it, try and reel it back in, tears welled up in your eyes. Blinking them back, you swallowed hard, the lump in your throat bobbing as you did. You hated this. Hated the way his care, his pity, felt like a knife twisting in the last remaining shred of pride you clung to. 

Pity was the killy of pride and you should accept that your pride was already decomposing in the septic tank in the backyard. 

Fuck up, fuck up, fuck up. All you ever were, all you’d ever be. Every loose thread of your shirt feels like it's cutting against your skin. The hem of your trousers drowns your feet like you're wearing your parents' clothes. Shabby. Uncouth. Inept. 

Wordlessly, you turned on your heel and fled, rushing out of the side street as the tears spilled past your lash line. You couldn’t do this anymore--no more questions, no more pity. No matter how hard you tried, how hard you struggled, clawed your way through the fucking dirt, you could never be like them. Never be good like theme, never right like them, never fit like them. They had these perfect little lives that they could boast to everyone about. When they spoke, people listened. People cared what they had to say. The world parted for them, it was the Red Sea and they were Moses, making space. There’d always be room for them to shine. 

But you were screaming into a void, your throat raw, bloody, and you were aching from the endless effort to be seen, to be heard. You wanted to be looked at like your own person, your own successes. Hard to be noticed for something that rarely happened. No matter how loud you screamed, how much you begged, your voice was just lost in the noise. 

You knew Suguru would follow. He always did. Even if you didn’t live in the same house, he’d have followed you. His voice was muffled by the pressure in your ears but you could hear him trying to talk to you. He let you get all the way home and inside the gate of the house before he grabbed your wrist and yanked you backward. 

Trying to pull away, your shoulder wrenched painfully as you trashed in his grip. 

“Calm down,” Suguru spoke firmly, pulling you into his chest. His sweater was soft, and your face smushed against the fabric as sobs wrecked your body, trembling like the earth in an earthquake.

It was hard to speak through the tears, so all you could do was try and slip out of his hold as you sobbed. You didn’t want this comfort. You wanted to run from your failure. From how suffocating life felt and that no matter what you'd never be enough. Worse than that, the sweet sickly feeling that trickled down your throat that when he held your life this, it made the world feel just a little bit more bearable. As if somewhere you could survive another day if he kept touching you. It wasn’t yours to feel and he wasn’t yours to hold. 

Suguru lets you wiggle around. You hit his torso a few times, your strength fading as you cry. When your sobs turned to hiccups and gasps for breaths, he gently cupped your face, thumbs brushing away the tears that still spilled from your eyes. 

“Talk to me,” he said softly, barely above a whisper. The songs of a city nearly eclipsing it. 

What could you say? How could you explain this feeling? This horrible guilt, pain, and jealousy ate away at you every single day. The tears came harder now, speeding up as if to help drown you in your misery and take you out of it for good. Hiccuping you drew breath, sharp and quick, hoping to speak but nothing comes out. Words claw at your throat, digging it with sharpened points. It hurts the way they hang onto you.

“Is it all too much again?” His voice is so soft, warm like fleece pajamas fresh out of the dryer as he holds you so delicately.

This wasn’t the first time that one of the three of you had been so consumed by dread, suffocated by the weight of life itself. Suguru knew it all too well himself, from high school to know he held it tightly in his hands. It never went away from him, he just learned to live with it, let it fade into the background, and let a constant hum of despair serve as the baseline for the day-to-day. 

His thumbs brush over the apex of your cheekbones again and the tenderness shatters you, another wave of sobs tearing through you. They pull you under, out into the open ocean, and through their rip current.

“I just..” you start, it scratches your throat, thick with phlegm. “ I can’t do this anymore.” 

His voice remained steady. “Do what?” 

“Any of it. I can’t do it.” 

“You’re capable of it. You can do it.” 

Jarring, rough, whipping across your skin as the rubber band pulls too tight and snaps. You lash out, and it stings where it hits. The anger cuts through your skin like your fingernails leave crescent moons in your palms. 

“No, I fucking can’t!” It's ripped out of you as you stalk away like a wounded animal. “I can’t okay. I can’t do shit. I can’t keep a relationship without being cheated on. I can’t manage to get my own place. I can’t get a fucking job. I can’t sit here and pretend like I’m not fucking wasting away in my own misery watching you and Gojo and Shoko all succeed and be the only one of us still shooting for the stars and coming crashing down to earth every single fucking time. You and Gojo with your perfect little lives look at me like a charity case to be fixed.”

“We have never looked at you like a charity case.” His tone was firm.

“Really? Then what the fuck do you look at me like, huh?” You press the question circling back around. “Is it pity? Did the two of you see some poor stray that you wanted to take in and keep like a pet when we met at university? Is that it?” 

His eyes were hard, unreadable.

“It is that. You pity me.”

“Jesus, no! We don’t pity you- I don’t pity you! Is it so hard to believe that I care about you?”

“Yes, it is! There’s no reason for you to care,” 

“What the hell wouldn’t I care?” Suguru’s voice raised to a shout, frustration cracking his facade. 

“Because I’m just like everyone you hate!” Your chest heaves as you let out a flood of emotions. “ No ambitions, contributing nothing to society, just leeching off others.” 

“You’re not like them.” 

“I am. On paper, I’m exactly like them. The only reason that you’d keep me around is because it makes you feel good to watch me suffer or you pity me.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t pity you?” His voice cracked with emotion, but you didn’t stop.

“Then tell me why you care!” It comes out so desperately. You're begging him for understanding, to know why he stays. To know why he lets you in.

For once he looked uncertain. His mask slipped, revealing the cracks in his facade. It’s been so long since you’ve seen underneath it you’d almost forgotten how he looked when he wasn’t pretending to be happy. 

“Or is it that you don’t care?” 

Something flashed in his eyes, flickerings of things you only saw when he looked at Gojo. He opens his mouth to speak and then closes it. There's a fear in his eyes, like if he acts in this moment something may crack and crumble like the foundation of a house that leaves him crumpled in a pile of wood. He doesn’t, or won’t, give you an answer. 

So you turn on your heel, the conversation over in your mind, and head to the front door. You’ll go up and pack a bag before heading across town and crashing on Shoko and Utahime’s couch before calling your parents and groveling to them. 

But as you reach the door, Suguru reaches you. His arm wraps around your waist and he spins you around and pushes your back against it. He’s got you pinned. 

“It’s because I love you.” It’s the faintest breeze that passes from his lips, like a car driving past on a hot day, sweat making your shirt stick to you. “I care because I love you.”

Everything is frozen in a still frame. Neither one of you moves, neither one of you breathes. A still moment that holds you tight, threatens to squeeze you so tightly your heart bursts. 

“What do you mean by that?” You swallow as you speak, like pebbles in your throat. 

Suguru blinks back tears, looking up and then back at you. “That I love you. Fuck! I’m in love with you.” 

Disbelief makes your voice shake. “No, you’re not not. You’re with Satoru.” 

“And? I can’t love both of you?” 

“No, you can’t,” Hypocrisy tastes acrid on your tongue. You know damn well you could never pick between the two of them, that this blighted jealousy you feel towards them is more the fact they have the other rather than their success. It’s something you don’t admit but it’s there. “Besides, you’re lying to me.”

“No.” His response was firm and immediate. The whole time you’d known them, their worlds had revolved around each other. They’d been the only thing for each other for so long. It was an unspoken truth that they were made for each other in a way that could only be sewn by the fabric of the universe itself. Something so profoundly and divinely created it had been written in the fabric of life at the moment of the Big Bang. 

“I’ve seen you watching.” Suguru’s tone is low, cutting, it vibrates through you as he has you pinned. 

A sick, icy dread wraps around your spine. It starts in your toes and crawls up your body. Your muscles lock in place as it climbs up until it's all the way in your head. Paralyzing fear grips you.

“I don't…” The lie is transparent before it comes to fruition. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It’s brittle, cracking on your teeth as it passes through them.

“Don’t play innocent.” Suguru’s voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. The tension between you tightens and winds up to pitch, but there's a current that punctuates it. One that feels heady and warm. One that excites you in the same way it embarrasses you. “I’ve seen you watching. I’ve seen you for years. The first time, maybe it was a mistake. But last week? Three weeks before that?”

Your mouth went dry, choking on the excuse that tried to bubble up. Like finely ground chalk powder coasted every surface of it. “I—”

He cuts you off before you can even try to defend yourself. “I know you get off on it too. Leave your curtains open while you touch yourself. Saying his name, my name.”

Horror twists inside you like a knife, your heart dropping to the pit of your stomach. You’d always been so careful, never acting when you thought they were home. Never want to risk exactly this happening. Your face burned like you drank half a liter of vodka in a go. Maybe you’d wake up and realize this was a nightmare. The humiliation was unbearable. 

“Imagine my surprise,” Suguru continues in a low chuckle, left hand slotting perfectly against your waist, “when I came home early one day and saw that.” 

The tears that had stopped in your flash of anger spill hot and fast down your cheeks. The raw, hot shame and embarrassment muddle you. It makes you want a sinkhole to open up beneath you and swallow you whole. You can’t meet his gaze, your vision blurry. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll move out.” you stammer out, the words falling in a chopping spiccato, desperate to create space between the two of you. You’d never be able to face him again. 

“Who said anything about moving out?” Suguru comes, pulling you closer to him till you're flush against his chest. He bends down, breath tickling your ear. You feel the sharp pressure of his teeth grazing the shell of it, a jolt going through your body. “You don’t get to leave now.” Pulling back, he meets your eyes in a half-lidded gaze. 

Both of you are playing the game again. Looking for something unspoken, some cryptic clue you need to decipher. He was searching for discomfort, disgust, anything to make him draw back and stop. You searched for understanding, dissecting how it got to this point. Every moment, every glance, every touch from him that you had ever overlooked. 

He always held a soft glint in his eyes when he looked at you. Something subtle, normally reserved for Satoru. It warmed the edge of his voice when he spoke and crinkled the corners of his eyes when he smiled. There was that softness for Shoko, but it was different. The one he had for you was a more reserved, pulled-back, and dialled-down version of what gripped him when he looked at Satoru. He had always viewed you this way.

The times you sat sandwiched between him and Gojo, your legs brushing against him, his arm slung around your shoulders to reach Satoru. Pulling you against him on the train, in clubs, at parties, the bump of your hips against his own. Compliments when you wore flattering, his pushing Satoru to dress you up. He liked it best when you were in shorter dresses and skirts with tights. 

Suguru had always wanted you, but you had failed to notice. 

Instinct took over before reason could temper it. You pushed off the door, your hands flying to the loose part of his hair at the nape of his neck. The strands feelt just as silky an shiny as they look between your fingers. Without hesitation, the space between you two diminishes. You aren’t sure who closes the distance first, but your lips lock hungry. Teeth knocking against each other as you both desperately cling to the other. It's rough and aggressive, both of you starved animals feasting on flesh. The taste of copper spreading in your mouth as he bit down on your lip making you whine. His breathing becomes your own, heady mix of desire and dark, primal urge..

His tongue pushes against yours, taking advantage of your now open mouth, wet and warm brushing against the back of your teeth, laying claim to your mouth. Geto was dominating in all aspects of his life so it was unsurprising that he set the pace and led you to where he wanted to be. He moved your legs up, patting your ass to jump, to then wrap around his waist as he pressed you against the door. You grind your hips against his growing erection as he holds you there, and you can feel the heat of him even through his pants.

Suguru pulls away panting. His eyes are half closed, lips blushed a beautiful red and damp with saliva. He moves in again, this time to your neck, where he bites down hard. You squirm as he sucks a dark and angry mark, his mark, on your skin. The bite of his teeth against your skin feels right. It eats away at the jealous monster inside you every second he’s latched onto you.

Fed up with the door, Suguru opens it and carries you through the threshold. He moves the two of you through the genkan, toeing off his shoes while you kick your own off, and into the living room where he drops you on the couch. There’s an air about him, so intense it’s nearly oppressive, as his fingers inch up underneath your sweater, sliding it off of you. It’s a predator circling their prey, the success of a hunt now that he’s got you on your back against the soft fabric of the couch. He’d been waiting for this far longer than you thought and it spurs you on.

Suguru moves in tandem with you, tugging off his sweater and button-up shirt, exposing his happy trail. The dark dusting of hair makes your mouth water. Once his shirt is off, his hands cover your chest through your bra, palming your tits like stress balls. It's unpadded and lacey, and it lets him feel as if your nipples get hard. He pushes the cups down, leaving them to rest under your breasts, and pushes them up slightly, accentuated by your being on your back.

His fingertips close around your nipples as he pinches and pulls at them. You knew how much of a sadist he could be. One night you watched him edge Satoru for an hour straight. Seen how hot he looked with Gojo in his mouth as he writhed around. A sweet moan escaped you as he played with your nipples and rolled his hips against yours. It makes your head feel fuzzy, thoughts focusing purely on him. His weight presses down on you, so heavy and right it makes you ache.

You lunge forward, propping yourself up on your elbows to kiss him again. It’s just as messy and hungry as before, years of built-up desire between the two of you saturating your every pore. It settles in your bones that pulses in time with your heart. 

Suguru doesn’t separate from you, but he slides your trousers and underwear off in one go as you kick your socks off. He tugs his own off hastily, boxer briefs following in turn. His public hair is trimmed, a close crop like you’ve seen it before. Like every other aspect of him, it’s neatly maintained, put into its place, and kept there. 

His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as he pulls your hips up by his head. Your back is half off the sofa as he places your legs over his shoulders and parts your core with his fingers. He blows cold air onto your clit that makes you squirm before he licks your clit. Moaning, you try to grind yourself against his face but his hands tighten on your hips, holding them firm. You’d get what he wanted to give you. Fight against it and get nothing, or accept it. 

He was slow to start. His tongue lazily explores you, getting familiar with your taste. It pushed against your clit, wide and flat, before swirling his tongue around it. The ball of his tongue piercing rubbed against the most sensitive part of you. Your hips jerk forward and he looks up, a warning in his eyes, but he doesn’t stop. Suguru curls his tongue again, this time moving it side to side, letting his piercing catch on your clit purposefully.  Every action he takes is measured as he picks up speed while latching his lips around it to add delicious suction. Two of his fingers slide inside you, reaching far deeper than your own ever could. He pumps them in and out of you, driving you closer to the edge.

You felt your pussy drooling, liquid gushing out and covering his chin. The muscles in your abdomen tightened with each passing second until you swore they'd cramp. It was all too much as you came, jerking and contracting in on yourself. Black spots dot your vision as your world shakes on this axis. 

Sugru watched as you came, pulling back from your pussy to stare at your face. His eyes never left yours as he rubbed soothing circles into your skin with his thumbs. He could cover nearly all of you with how big his hands were, warm and calloused. Minus a cold spot on his left hand. 

His engagement ring. 

The silver felt like it burned your skin as he smiled at you and planted a kiss on your inner thigh. It glimmers in the low light, bouncing light off like a homing beacon. Bubbling sickness, bile rising in your throat, disgust palming at your skin. What had you just done? You’ve just violated a boundary so gigantic with Suguru. Let your own selfish need for intimacy lead you to this. He was engaged to your best friend. They were getting married next year.

You rushed to grab your clothes, panic surging through you. The world spins around you. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“We shouldn’t have done that,” you buttoned up your trousers, throwing your sweater on. Your hair is a mess and your skin feels clammy and flushed. The need to vomit is overwhelming. “This was a mistake.”

Suguru’s rising from the couch, trying to grab you, stopping you from moving but you dodge his hand. “A mistake?” 

Your left hand meets your mouth as you bite the nail of your thumb. It clicks against your front teeth. 

“Satoru won’t mind-” 

“A mistake Suguru,” You shake your head, bending down and grabbing the rest of your stuff. “Please. Just forget this.” Without waiting for his reply, you run up the stairs and slam the door behind you. 

You really are a bitch.

©️ uzuzrimisery

[accirax]

initial thoughts on DCAS episode 8

having just rewatched S1 with my sister (and even while genuinely, actually looking at the screen instead of putting the show on in the background while multitasking), it is so wild to see tomjake in this season as opposed to S1. like, Jake is more or less correct here: although Ellie's meddling and Tom's own dumb moments are also to blame, it was mostly his fault that the relationship fizzled out. how far they've come, to where Tom is the rash fool and Jake is the (mostly) rootable victim...

i KNEW homegirl would be idol hunting this episode.

absolutely baller comeback from Tess. i doubt they increased the prize money from $1mil to $3mil just for this exchange, but what a power move if they did.

if anyone (in the audience) truly believes that Tom has a real boyfriend at this point...

this was a weird ass way to phrase it but okay Emily pop off i guess.

ooh, time for Yul's psychological issues? 👀

wait, isn't Emily hired by the show, not Yul? how would Yul be able to fire someone under Kristal's employment? is this just Yul firing her from the unofficial job of watching over his image, or is it a soft confirmation that Emily has been hired directly by Yul('s manager) all along?

i'm so desperate for Fiore and Alec to like each other again that i'll be happy with literally any vaguely positive note they end on, as long as it's not hating each other. i still hope that All Stars will be able to acknowledge and expand upon their relationship a little more in upcoming episodes, but if this is the end, at least we know that Alec was trying to have her back one last time.

forgive me if i'm wrong, but, would going to space really trigger someone's fear of heights? like, the "heights" are on such a high scale and there are so many other things to be worried about that i feel like your brain wouldn't really process it as "gee i'm going really high up." still, it's always interesting to see how Kristal has more of an established relationship with her (S2) campers. it makes sense, but it does seem like she's not afraid to show her bias in that way.

damn, Trevor must get paid a LOT! even if the vehicle didn't actually take them to space, it's still a huge building with many rooms that can actually fly. makes me wonder how much the producers/hosts are getting paid. (i understand this was just a joke line but it is technically canon now)

this line was only mildly funny to me, but Ally's face is great. she really hasn't had to spend any notable time around Gabby before. get ready for it, girl, because you'll probably be on the same merge tribe sooner or later.

oh dang, he's directly asking Kristal out.

this was an interesting response, especially with Kristal's later agreement to go upon hearing that they had a pool table. Kristal could have either been letting him down gently, or have genuinely not realized that this is flirting. i think it's the latter. that leaves the door open for Kristal potentially reciprocating Derek's feelings later down the line... also, where the hell is Oliver?!

Tess proves that she can be the goth gf AND the gamer gf. step aside, Ally.

they've done SUCH a good job of making Yul continuously pay for his actions this season as opposed to S2; it makes me like him way more. the fact that Alec is the one handing out the punishments just makes it all the sweeter.

ALEC DRINKS HIS RESPECT WOMEN JUICE!! (is that an outdated meme/saying at this point?)

while Jake is still mostly at fault for this conflict, i do like how they're making sure that Ally isn't just an innocent victim, too. she's stooping down to Jake's level of childishness instead of being the bigger person and handling things maturely. it makes both of them and their conflict feel more well-rounded, even if it makes them more annoying as well, lol.

Trevor was right; this particular iteration of the space challenge, at least, is bad. the fact that the Cyan team (Aiden by extension) got literally no advantages or head starts from arriving to this room first means that the first half of the challenge didn't matter at all. even if there's the Survivor saying that "it all comes down to the puzzle," the physical challenges beforehand can at least give one team a head start at looking over the pieces. as it turns out, fucking around on the ship was just a waste of time. it diminished my enjoyment of the episode a little :( (sorry for being a downer)

glad we're revisiting Aiden and Riya's relationship a little more, probably in preparation for them reuniting at the merge. given that Jake and Riya both don't like Aiden, i wonder if they could gather their allies (Ashley, Alec, Yul, Grett) to fuel an Aiden elimination soon.

Emily has to be gay right (/j)

this staging is really great at quickly visualizing the dynamics on each team, and may be foreshadowing for future events. the Yellow Team has completely shut Riya out, with Yul not even being visible, but Alec is still smiling at her from inside. not leaving the door open for Riya will actually waste Yellow's time, but they're so eager to win the challenge that they've actually made things harder for themselves. Magenta leaves the door open for Jake, with Ashley's face expectant and unobstructed, while Ally has retreated inside. despite their disagreements, the Cyan team all waits for Aiden outside, not even opening their door until he gets back. the storyboard artists for DC are a talented group!

Jake, too, is making his case for the villains' alliance.

i liked this sort of rationale from Tess; it feels in character with how they're portraying her this season. i also hadn't considered it as a reason why they would be steadily ramping up Ellie's villainy even as a pre-merge boot. but like... she's totally right.

THEY'RE SO CUTE!!!!! thank god the writers didn't decide to destroy gabbellie this season. instead, it seems to be a basis to set up something even greater...

I'M SO GLAD THAT THIS IS THE DIRECTION THEY'RE TAKING GABBY'S CHARACTER!!! i thought it would be a really good idea, but i didn't know if the writers would wind up taking that path. but it looks like we may be getting our true "explosive girl" back now that Ellie is gone, and i couldn't be more excited. i just know it's going to lead to something buckwild.

... wait what do you mean Ellie isn't doing the patreon reads? is she going to be the real returning player?!

for a somewhat disappointing challenge (for the reasons i described earlier), i'm really happy with this elimination and the direction they're taking the season. some sort of merge or tribe swap has to be happening soon, right? that next episode trailer can't come soon enough!

[vertigo-express]

The Problem with Silver and Blaze

Silver and Blaze (the 06 versions) work as characters but the intent with which they were originally created with was the most cynical SEGA was with Sonic up until bringing back Classic Sonic and the Deadly Six.

There are positives to them both. Their designs both fit well with the series, possessing a style both befitting of Sonic while being entirely of their own plus instantly recognizable. Silver in particular fits perfectly with the other two main hedgehogs. Sonic focuses on the present, has a bold colour scheme and is adventurous. Shadow frets over his past and later aims to honour it, is black and red and more lonesome. Silver is all about the future, uses a white-blue colour scheme, and is more cautious if a bit naïve in the same way Sonic and Shadow can be reckless and "pure" respectively.

However, Silver was created from the very beginning with the facet that he would be the face of his own game as Shadow was going to be with his own spin off in development. Despite having a strong design and purpose, the latter fails to strike out because he in 06 always is beholden to the idea that he is simply another Shadow. SEGA wanted Silver to have the same impact Shadow did in SA2, but Shadow was a character where Sonic Team (and Maekawa particularly) put meticulous detail into every aspect of his character, how he talks, behaves and what he goes through. Silver has none of this. He has the makings of a great character in concept but 06 never pushes Silver to the extent and grace SA2 did with Shadow, and post-06 reduces him to nothing more than another friend.

Blaze (in 06) contrasts Silver neatly because she never hesitates, she is quick to berate Silver when needed, clearly voices her doubts and doesn't falter in what is needed. Despite this, she had faith in Silver to the very end and helped him become more emboldened. From what I can gather, Blaze was originally created for 06, but she and Eggman Nega (from a PSP game about Sonic going to the "shadow world") were quickly slotted in to Rush after the aforementioned PSP game got cancelled to make Rush more substantial. Her Rush and current depiction is a very empty and unlikable character imo. Her backstory is a cheap repeat of Knuckles and Tails, the idea that her powers caused her to be a outcast which were worsened by her insecurities could work, but nothing about her in either Rush games show this. She is mostly polite, sociable if not a bit overwhelmed by Cream and the others and everybody in her dimension respects her immensely. Nothing about her presentation matches with her backstory and perceived character arc. Her background also is superfluous. Does she need to be from another dimension? What is it about her and the Sol Emeralds has to be connected to the concept of another dimension beyond needing to make her special because Sonic Team had that little faith in her as a standalone character. She could have easily been from another country or island and nothing would change beyond Nega.

Silver and Blaze are testament to SEGA being able to make iconic character designs but when you look beyond that, their chance to shine died out before they even properly debuted due to a whole host of factors both the fault of their designers and of external factors and that can be traced back to their routes of wanting to replicate Shadow.

[backslid2bts]

Movie Night

The next part in the Leagues Ahead universe!

Hoseok couldn’t help but notice how much longer Yoongi spent preening tonight nor could he ignore how invested he seemed to be in cleaning the apartment before their friends came over. It was a total 180 compared to the preparation for past movie nights they had hosted. Usually Hoseok had to prod Yoongi to care about cleaning at all. “It’s just Namjoon, Jungkook, and Seoyoung,” He would always say to excuse not cleaning, “We’ve known them forever.” But Yoongi hadn’t known Bora forever, and Hoseok had to reason that she’d caused the change. 

Yoongi felt like he had to constantly reapply his deodorant from the sweat that built up as he changed from one underwhelming t-shirt to another. It was a guessing game, he had no clue what might impress her, and he was beginning to doubt that anything he owned ever could bring him towards that goal. He’d never been that invested in his looks. Sure, he had a sense of style and liked to accessorize every now and then, but mostly his closet was curated around his own comfort. He settled on a black long-sleeve shirt, it sported some gothic text on the sleeves, and comfortable ripped jeans. He toyed frustratedly at his locks before sighing and pulling on a knit beanie. He walked out and into the open plan living area where Hoseok was getting started on the meal. Yoongi went to fiddle with the settings on the projector to keep his hands and mind busy. 

“So…” Hoseok continued stirring in the pan as he spoke. “What’s got you nervous?”

“Who says I’m nervous?” Yoongi mumbled at the remote.

“Hyung, I have never known you to take more than ten minutes to get ready, let alone even shower and change for a movie night with our friends.” 

Yoongi grunted. He had no excuse.

“If you got your eyes set on Bora – well, not to say you’re not a catch or anything but, she’s like – i mean she's great, she’s just…a bit of a big fish to land?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Yoongi finally looked up from his task to find Hobi already looking at him with only the slightest hint of pity.

“I’m just saying don’t get your hopes too high for anything, she finds a way to make everything flirtatious…plus she’s like way out of anyone but a model’s league.”

Out of his league. As if that was something he didn’t already know. As if that wasn’t all he kept chiding himself with as he continued to think about her. “I wasn’t even thinking about that, Hobi, so you can chill with the speculation.”

“Ok…” Hoseok trailed, turning once again to the stove.

Their conversation died just as a knock sounded at the door. Yoongi bolted straight, showing more excitement than he had hoped to let out. He managed to calm down by the time he stood at the door, taking a second to breath before drawing it open only to deflate when he saw who was there. Only Namjoon and Seoyoung stood on the step.

“Not excited to see us hyung?” Namjoon said, moving in to give a quick hug. Yoongi reciprocated hugs for both him and Seoyoung as he mumbled greetings.

“He’s just excited for the rest of the party to arrive.” Hoseok wiggled his brows as he appeared behind Yoongi. The two guests nodded knowingly. “Come in! Make yourselves comfortable! Dinner is almost ready.” 

With the arrival of Namjoon and Seoyoung, Yoongi was properly distracted by hosting…not to mention genuinely enjoying time with his close friends. 

“I brought wine!” Taehyung’s voice rang through the apartment. Yoongi swiveled from where he sat on the couch to see not only Tae, but Bora following behind him. He must have driven them both. 

“Sorry to barge in, When Tae said he knew the door codes, I didn’t think he’d really use them.” Bora’s laughter lilted its way into Yoongi’s system, and he could already feel a blush threatening to glow across his face.

“No worries, it’s my fault for giving them to him.” Hoseok switched off the burners and came over to greet the new arrivals. “You’re just in time for dinner!” The whole group gathered to say their ‘hello’s and give hugs. Bora hugged everyone, old friends and new, and approached Yoongi last. 

“Hi Yoongi.” The words tumbled over her lips and into his ears as they hugged. Yoongi was overcome by her presence as he caught a small whiff of her delicate perfume. He cursed his own reactions as warmth spread over his cheeks.

“Hi.” It was a wonder he could manage that.

“I like your shirt.” She pulled away, letting one hand linger shortly on his shoulder to give it a squeeze. Sparks jolted through Yoongi’s body. 

“Oh…thanks.”

Soon enough everyone was sat down with emptied plates and the flush of alcohol on their faces. 

“So Bora was telling me about her program on the way here and it sounded really awesome!” Tae nudged at the girl next to him. 

“Ooh yea! How was France?!” Hoseok added excitedly.

“France?!” Seoyoung gasped. 

Bora had been friends with Tae and Hobi for some time, so both of them knew the generalities of why she left and what she was up to, but the others at the table had just met her a few weeks ago when she arrived back after many months away.

“Oh it was so great! Don’t get me wrong, it was hard at first…the French aren’t necessarily known for their welcoming attitudes, but after a while I found some really cool people outside of the program and made some stuff I was really proud of!”

“What kind of program was it?” Yoongi’s question rose before he knew he was asking it.

“I’m in an MFA program right now and it was a semester abroad program to study with some French students and writers.” She smiled shyly as she blinked at Yoongi. Beautiful and smart to boot. 

“What kind of writing do you do?” It was Namjoon’s turn to question.

“Mostly creative non-fiction and some poetry. I used to do journalistic writing too, just for cultural events when I was an undergrad, but that’s kind of died down these days.”

“He’d never admit it, but Yoongi is somewhat of a writer too.” Hoseok added, no doubt the wine emboldening him to tease at Yoongi’s supposed crush. Yoongi’s eyes shot daggers into Hoseok’s profile. 

“Oh really?” Bora’s eyes peeked at Yoongi over her glass as she sipped on her wine. 

“Ahh not really, and not for a long time anyway. Hobi, Namjoon, and I used to make music in highschool, but it was just stupid teenage boy stuff.”

“Stupid teenage boy stuff!!” Namjoon reeled at his words. “We were ahead of our time,” he mumbled, offended. 

“Yoongi called his room the ‘genius lab’ because we recorded…oh what did you call them hyung?” Yoongi just shook his head at Hoseok’s words. “Right! We made ‘genius fucking bangers’” Hoseok continued, evidently quoting teenage Yoongi.

“Yeah well that was a long time ago. Plus Namjoon does most of the writing these days,” Yoongi muttered into his wine glass. 

The conversation turned to focus on Namjoon and Yoongi was able to relax, no longer under Bora’s gaze. Things stayed relatively calm, regular banter, passionate debate over what movie to watch, and funny stories all around. As people ambled to the living room to pick a movie, Bora slipped to the bathroom.

Bora washed her hands in the bathroom and gazed into the mirror. Her face was flush from the wine and from the way Yoongi had squirmed whenever her eyes turned to him. He was flustered by her, this she knew, but she wondered how she might fluster him more. The image of her lips dragging down his neck flashed behind her eyes. Bora scolded her own mind as she tapped her cheeks with cold water. Not Yoongi…not Hoseok’s friend. That’s a line she wasn’t sure was ok to cross. But still she reapplied her lip gloss and fluffed her hair. But if he’s into it, who is Hobi to deny two adults some good fun. 

Namjoon, Hoseok, and Seoyoung were squeezed onto one couch. While Bora took a moment in the bathroom, Yoongi and Tae sat on the other couch. Bora plopped between them, the only space left, as the opening credits began. 

Yoongi decided to focus on his breathing as Bora took her seat, but that only drew the scent of her light ambery perfume into his lungs. Bora leaned in to whisper, “What movie did you all decide on?”

Yoongi stuttered out the title of the movie as he steeled his nerves enough to look over at her. His eyes flicked to her freshly glossed lips, seeing them curve into a smirk as she watched him.

“Ooh haven't seen that one yet.” She patted his leg, and Yoongi could’ve sworn he heard her mumble ‘cutie’ under her breath.

At the end of the night, when all guests had figured out their rides home, Yoongi fell onto his bed with a huff. So much for losing this crush.

[svucarisiaddict]

So glad you're back to writing! 🥰

How about 18 followed by 22 with Sonny?

18 said by some friend Sonny trusts/confides in (Mike??) while reader is just out of earshot. And 22 is said by the reader later on as Sonny works up his courage to do something. 🤗

Sonny Carisi was a one-of-a-kind man. He was a far cry from the guys you dated in the past. He was caring, thoughtful, loyal, respectful, intelligent, and ambitious. And don’t even get you started on his baby blues and dimpled smile. After several months of dating, you were smitten. Correction, you were in love with him. You hoped he felt the same way.

Currently, Sonny was in your kitchen making dinner. Watching him move around the room was like watching a dancer on stage. He had a dish towel over a shoulder, stirring sauce, pulling bread from the oven, and tossing a salad. Sonny looked particularly cute this evening in jeans, a soft henley, and barefoot. A section of hair escaped the usual immaculate coif that he would occasionally blow off his forehead.

“Earth to, Y/N,” Sonny said.

“Hmmm? Yeah?” you responded.

“Did you hear anything I said?” He dipped a finger in the sauce, nodding his head with approval.

“Sorry, I was too busy ogling my deliciously handsome boyfriend,” you said.

Sonny grinned, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I was telling you about the Thanksgiving dinner that Liv is hosting. She does it every year. Most of us don’t have family that lives close to us.” He scratched the back of his neck like he does when he’s nervous. “I’d like for you to come with me.”

“Liv isn’t going to care?”

Sonny chuckled. “Are you kiddin’ me? She’ll be delighted.”

A big smile crossed your lips. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Great! I’ll let her know,” he replied. Leaning across the counter he placed a quick peck to your lips.

“Should I bring anything to Liv’s?” you asked during dinner.

Sonny’s brows shot up. “You’re gonna cook something? I mean when you made that pie-”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Hey, that was not my fault. The oven malfunctioned.” The pie in question was definitely your fault. After putting the apple pie in the oven, you started reading a book and totally lost track of time. There may have been so much smoke the fire company was called and you had to stay at Sonny’s for a few nights until the smell dissipated.

“Ok, doll. Whatever you say,” Sonny said, shaking his head and grinning.

“Fine. I’ll bring a couple of bottles of wine. I don’t think I can screw that up,” you relinquished.

“I mean if you want to burn another pie, excuse me, if the oven malfunctions and burns another one I wouldn’t be disappointed if you had to stay at my place.” Sonny winked.

“Oh hush you.”

The evening of Liv’s dinner came around and you were a bundle of nerves. You had only met Liv, Amanda, and Fin once when you picked Sonny up from work. At least Mike you had hung out with a few times at Sonny’s place. Turning in the mirror you looked yourself over and frowned. Seems Sonny's cooking had put a few pounds on your frame.

Sonny came behind wrapping his arms around you. “You are beautiful,” he whispered into your ear while meeting your eyes in the mirror. “Never doubt that because I never will.”

Oh, this man. He always seems to know what you needed emotionally, spiritually, and physically. It was like he was in your head.

You turned in his arms, stretching up to kiss his lips. What started as a sweet kiss turned passionate.

Sonny gently pushed you back to the bed. His hands moved down your back to your bottom.

“Sonny, we’ll be late,” you breathed at the same as you were unbuckling his belt.

“Guess so,” he said.

After a delicious dinner, everyone drifted into different conversations. You, Liv, and Amanda went to the kitchen for another glass of wine. Nick, Barba, and Fin stayed at the table discussing baseball. Sonny and Mike stood just out of earshot talking. He kept looking at you then say something to Mike. The talk seemed intense. If only you could hear what they were saying.

Sonny smiled when he heard your laugh and saw the blush on your cheeks from the wine. He loved to see you happy and he was so glad to see you get on well with everyone.

“So, you’re in love with her,” Mike stated. “You’ve hardly taken your eyes off her all night.”

Sonny looked to where you were standing. “Yeah. I have since our second date. I’d marry her tomorrow if I knew she’d say yes. I’ve never felt like this about someone. Scares the hell outta me.”

Mike chuckled. “Love is a scary thing man. Have you told her?”

Sonny scoffed. “No way. It’s only been a few months. She’ll think I’m nuts. What if she doesn’t feel the same?”

“Oh, she loves you without a doubt,” Mike said with confidence, gesturing toward you. “Y/N looks at you the same way you look at her.”

Sonny raised a brow. “And how’s that?”

Mike put his hand on Sonny’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Like she’s the answer to everything.”

“Thanks for inviting me to go with you,” you said to Sonny as you stood outside your apartment door.

“I'm happy you went.” He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Listen, there is something I’ve wanted to say for a while now actually. I-”

Yelling down the hall interrupted the moment you were having with Sonny. Two men coming out of an apartment throwing punches ruined everything.

“Get in the apartment, call 9-1-1!” Sonny called as he raced down the hall to separate the two men.

Sonny came to your door after the men had been hauled off. “Hey, I have to go and write up the reports. I’m sorry. “

“I understand. Breakfast tomorrow?” you asked.

“You got it.” Sonny pressed a kiss to your lips. “Good night, doll.”

“Good night.” You held his hand for a few more seconds.

“What in the hell,” you mumbled as you stumbled from your bedroom. “I’m coming,” you called when the knocking continued.

“Always see who is at your door before opening, Y/N,” Sonny admonished you, entering your apartment, closing the door behind him.

“I know you’re knock,” you sassed, leaning a hip against the living room doorway.

Sonny rolled his eyes. “That’s not, what?” He rested his hands on his hips, furrowing his brow.

“What are you doing here? It’s late,” you said around a yawn. “Thought we were meeting for breakfast.”

“Yeah, we are. I just wanted to say…” Sonny scratched the back of his neck. You learned it was a nervous habit. “I love you, Y/N.”

“You-you love me?” you asked, shocked.

“Yeah, I do.” Sonny nodded. “I get if you don’t feel the same. We’ve only been together a few months, so-”

His sentence was cut off by you jumping into his arms and crashing your lips with his.

Sonny wrapped his arms tightly around you. He put you on your feet and leaned back to look at you. “Does this mean you love me?”

“Something like that,” you answered with a smirk.

Sonny’s face turned serious. “Say it, please,” he asked softly.

“I love you, Sonny.”

[ckret2]

Do you have any headcanons about the Hazbin's (minus Charlie) lives back when they were alive?

I scrolled through all 42 pages of the hazbin tag on my blog and literally every one of my premortem headcanons are about Alastor and Sir Pentious lmfao

So sure! Want an entire novella about my headcanons for Sir Pentious's backstory?

For Alastor, I can offer:

a traumatic toddler experience

his mother observing him with ghosts as a child

Alastor working with demons (funny)

Alastor working with demons (creepy)

Alastor and his asexuality/aromanticism (mostly postmortem but it has some premortem flashbacks)

Alastor with friends in the 20s trying to explain he does not get horny

a fic that didn't ACTUALLY happen but that demonstrates my headcanons for how he works with demons

And moving away from fics and on to tumblr posts!

For Alastor:

Alastor fought in World War I

another WWI post

headcanon about how he died (I've since changed my headcanon—hunting accident rather than manhunt—but the position's the same)

excerpt from one of the fics above about Alastor's first kiss

early headcanoning on Alastor's relationship with the queer community in life

Alastor saw but didn't learn the lindy hop in life

Alastor's accent makes people (in this case Sir Pentious) think that he's upper class when actually he's just had theater training

Alastor's family tree comes from a mix of socioeconomic backgrounds and before he died he achieved fame but not fortune

Alastor does not feel broken/insecure due to being ace/aro and never has

what people in Louisiana thought of Alastor as a radio host

what did Alastor look like (and Sir Pent)

Alastor only saw 10% of the Golden Age Of Radio and that's fucked up

fun fact when Alastor was on air radio stations weren't "just news" or "just (one genre of) music," a single station would play music and news and soap operas and sports etc

random links of queer history, 1920s gay culture, slang, and NOLA history

Alastor's mother grew up while Sir Pentious was menacing the US and she has very vivid memories of living in fear of him, and also she doesn't know her son is a cannibalistic murderer

Alastor wore glasses in life and only switched to a monocle in death

Alastor was never identified as a serial killer and there's probably unsolved true crime documentaries made about his killings (and these documentaries unknowingly use a recording of the killer's real voice, a clip from a news broadcast where Alastor read about the killings on air)

check out how hyped this newspaper in the 20s was for radio like goddamn

Alastor listened to radio all day every day

more 1920s research links

very loose overview of New Orleans race relations 1890-1920

how NOT to write about Voodoo

reminder that "alastor did magic in life" is a headcanon until we SEE him using magic before he died—also "Voodoo" is a religion not a magic power

how Alastor avoided getting caught as a serial killer

I doubt Alastor was famous enough for queer historians to have discovered he existed, only niche radio broadcast historians know about him

Alastor was raised to be courteous to (respectable) women, but not to genuinely see them as equals in a modern sense

1920s hair facts and headcanons on Alastor's hair

scene from one of the above fics of baby Alastor being haunted as shit

Alastor is a hedonistic thrill killer not a mission-oriented killer

his killing method was shooting from a distance, like hunting game

Alastor was kinda psychic in life and his psychicness interacted with radio signals

this includes developing a hella accurate sense of time

Alastor's always been hella into Mardi Gras

here he is in a ridiculous Cajun Mardi Gras costume

how the Great Depression probably affected Alastor

Alastor feels 0% empathy for other people but 500% empathy for fictional characters in musicals

For Sir Pentious:

he was so infamous that today he's a common character used in historical fiction in the same way that Victorian-era historical fiction commonly uses Queen Victoria as a character

(and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle references him in a Sherlock story)

(and he really did call himself Sir Pentious in life)

(and every character who lived after him had to study him in school, including Vaggie writing a paper about him and Alastor was cast as him in a school play)

(and now let's talk about historians dying and meeting the people they studied in Hell)

he has a son who's probably now in heaven

Sir Pent is trans

no seriously he has a son

Sir Pent has a chain of deadnames he used before settling on "Sir Pentious" and all of them are snake puns

one of Sir Pent's chosen names

based on Victorian sexual mores Sir Pent probably got kinda homoerotic with some dudes

this is just big Trans Sir Pent energy

what did Sir Pent look like (and Alastor)

I don't think Sir Pent used a wheelchair in life (but do think he had to for a while after he died)

Sir Pent is Pussyeating World Champ no I do not accept arguments

Sir Pent and his wife were very loving until his wife went "nope, you're planning world conquest, that's too evil for me"

he rigged his clothes to self-combust so he could choose death if he was ever on the verge of capture

his wife was named Helena and here's why

this is his self-destruct binder/corset

the one headcanon everyone shares

Sir Pent ain't Jack the Ripper

And there's a ton more headcanons on @dontasktheradiodemon my Alastor ask/RP blog but listen, I just went through 42 pages of one tag and it's 3 a.m., I'm not going to comb my roleplay blog for every premortem headcanon I've ever mentioned about him over there. It includes stuff like "he did deliberately shitty horoscope readings on air" and "the first time he summoned a demon he was on the Western Front and also coming down with Spanish flu so he's not sure how much of the ensuing chaos was real vs fevered hallucinations or how much was the Germans' fault vs the imp's" and "he lived a few years in New York and did drag."

These are not the only headcanons I have. These are just the headcanons I've been asked about or made time to type down. (And not counting all my postmortem headcanons. Or the premortem headcanons sprinkled into postmortem fics.) Feel free to ask me for more. Ideally with a topic you'd like to hear about; otherwise asking me "do you have any headcanons?" is like walking into a library and asking "do you have any books?" Gimme a section to start with.

[thevibraniumveterans]

I’ve discovered something interesting…

… about the way Loki talks about his mother.

-

In Thor: The Dark World, we get a little scene where Frigga - through some form of illusionistic sorcery - appears in Loki’s cell in the dungeon to speak with him.

Loki, sardonically: “Odin continues to bring me new friends. How thoughtful.”

Frigga: “The books I sent, did they not interest you?”

Loki: “Is that how I’m to while away for eternity? Reading?”

Frigga: “I’ve done everything in my power to make you comfortable, Loki.”

Loki: “Have you? Does Odin share your concern? Does Thor? It must be so inconvenient, then, asking after me day and night.”

Frigga: “You know full well that it was your actions that brought you here.”

Loki: “My actions? I was merely giving truth to the lie that I’ve been fed my entire life: that I was born to be a king.”

Frigga: “A king? A true king admits his faults. What of the lives you took on Earth?”

Loki: “A mere handful compared to the number that Odin has taken himself.”

Frigga: “Your father-”

Loki, verbally exploding from years of repressed anger, sadness, and a whole host of other emotions: “HE IS NOT MY FATHER!!”

Frigga, after a small pause: “Then am I not your mother?”

Loki, after a sad exhale, “… you’re not.”

Frigga, smiling sadly but knowingly: “You’re always so perceptive about everyone but yourself.”

Loki shakes his head remorsefully, and reaches out to his mother, whose illusion slowly fades away.

In the third episode of the Loki series, we see our titular anti-hero onboard a train, talking to Sylvie, when they have a conversation about Frigga and magic.

Sylvie: “I’m not going to waste my time rooting around for the Tempad when someone taught you fairly decent magic.”

Loki: “… my mother.”

Sylvie, after a contemplative pause: “What was she like?”

Loki, quietly and thoughtfully: “She was, um, a Queen of Asgard. She’s good. Purely decent.”

Sylvie: “Are you sure she’s your mother?”

Loki: “Oh, no, she’s not, actually. I was adopted. Is that a bit of a spoiler for you? I’m sorry about that.”

Sylvie: “No, I knew I was adopted.”

Loki: “What? They told you?”

Sylvie: “…Yeah. Did they not tell you?”

Loki: “No! I mean, I mean, they did, eventually…. Hang on a second. So, tell me, who, tell me about your mother.”

Sylvie: “I barely remember her. Just blips of a dream at this point.”

Loki: “You know, when I was young, she’d do these little bits of magic for me. Like, turn a flower into a frog, or cast fireworks over the water. And it all seemed impossible, but she told me that one day, I’d be able to do it too, because… because I can do anything.” Sylvie nods. “Want to see?” Sylvie nods again, so Loki smiles as he conjures up a miniature version of the fireworks, the kind that his mother used to do for him.

Sylvie: “Not bad.” Loki ends the little show.

Loki: “She was the kind of person who’d want to believe in you.”

Sylvie: “Sounds like she does.”

Loki: “Well, she did.”

I love the contrast between both sets of conversations, because the first one was just before Frigga was murdered. Loki’s attitude toward his mother when he spoke with her, was admittedly cold - expected of someone like him who’d once stated that he’d been nothing more than a mere shadow living in the shade of Thor’s and Odin’s greatness. I don’t have much of a doubt that not just did it break Frigga’s heart to ask her wayward son if he considered her to be his mother, it also broke Loki’s heart to say, “You’re not”. 

Which, in a twisted way, is actually true, since Frigga is not Loki’s biological mother. But it’s not so much who created him, but the focus is on who raised him, who looked after him, who clothed him, fed him, raised him, taught him magic, LOVED him the way Odin could never have. When you watch the scene when Loki says, “You’re not,” and just focus on his face in the next half a minute after, he’s shaking his head in remorse, his eyes are downcast, his posture no longer holding in that rage that he’d just released after proclaiming Odin to not be his father, which in the same twisted way is also true.

Loki knew full well that Frigga loved him to the ends of the universe and back, why else would she have sent books down to the dungeon for him? She literally made the place more comfortable for him.

Now, when we get to the series, at which point the episode must’ve taken place roughly not long after Frigga died in the main timeline (which Loki had seen the reel of), Loki spoke of his mother in soft tones, openly and honestly. He did - when Sylvie asks whether Frigga was really his mother - admit, rather matter-of-factly, that, “Oh, no, she’s not, actually. I was adopted.” Here, he doesn’t display any of the hurt and anger, but gives a simple statement, that yes, it’s true, Frigga was not in fact his mother in the sense that she was not his biological mom.

But then, he goes on to tell Sylvie about how Frigga taught him magic when he was young, and that she believed in him. It’s clear to us that Loki was clearly a momma’s boy, because we get to know, through how he speaks of her, how much he still loves his mother, and how much she loved him, up until the very end. Loki reveals that his mother “was the kind of person who’d want to believe” in him, which is what “she did”, confirms Loki. Though he knows that it’s unlikely he’ll ever see his mother again, he speaks of and about her with reverence, respect, and a whole lot of love, tinged with sadness around the edges.

Though Frigga never was, never is, and never will be Loki’s biological mother, she was his mother regardless, in the sense that she raised him as her own son in a way that Odin never did.

Though Frigga could never mend the hole in Loki’s heart, she filled it with so much love and care and attention, not to mention magic.

Though Loki mourned his mother’s death in both the main timeline and in the TVA’s Time Theatre outside of time and space, he spoke highly and fondly of her even though he was not her biological son.

Loki had always loved his mother, because it was clear as day to him that she had always loved him, right from the very beginning, up until the very end.

Though Frigga may have died, her spirit certainly lives on in her beloved son Loki.

Though Loki would always be Laufey’s son by acknowledging his creator, and though he may refuse to admit that he is Odin’s son (which we know he eventually did in his main timeline), Loki - our beloved Prince of Asgard, rightful king of Jotunheim, and God of Mischief to boot - will always and forever be Frigga’s son.

-

After all…

What is grief if not love persevering?

[ladymercysletters]

The Moment I Knew// Anthony Bridgerton - Chapter 6

Word Count : 1239

Warnings: Angst B*tches!!

A/N: based on this request from @albeeox. Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 7

Violet Bridgerton watched with delight as her second son strolled arm in arm with a young lady. And not only any young lady, but a very suitable lady who he had known since childhood. All Violet Bridgerton had hoped for her children was that they were fortunate enough to marry for love: and by the looks of it, Benedict had secured just that in the form of a childhood friend.

Not that Violet Bridgerton was the only one to get the wrong end of the stick; the entire ton was practically buzzing with news of the ‘match’ having seen Benedict and Y/N together on many an occasion, smile and laughing together as they walked. In truth, neither Y/N or Benedict had noticed anyone paying them any mind: in each other they had found kindred spirits in heartbreak and secrecy. Benedict was glad he had someone older than Eloise to talk to about his dasires from life, and Y/N was happy to have a confidante to talk to about Anthony; especially one so close to him.

It was the day after the duel that Y/N awoke to her maid entering her room, followed briskly by the clattering of her mother, brandishing the latest Whistledown as she burst in behind her.

“Oh Y/N! Look, Lady Whistledown has written of you” she said, dramatically thrusting the now crumpled paper at her second-born. “We had hoped to tell you ourselves but to have it printed in Whistledown, where all the ton may see it. Ooh” she wailed in excitement.

Across the Square Benedict ambled lazily downstairs, cravat barely tied into position as he entered the breakfast room. The usual buzz of the Bridgerton breakfast room came to an abrupt halt as Benedict opened the door. He looked up innocently to see every one of his siblings staring at him. Eloise appeared to be somewhere in between elation and annoyance, Francesca was just elation. Colin looked as pleased with himself as ever as he chewed on a piece of toast whilst Gregory and Hyacinth showed matching grins on their faces. Anthony however, was staring daggers at him over his morning paper, the only one to not look directly at him. Bewilderment would probably best describe Benedict’s expression. His mother beamed at him as she approached him gently.

“Now don’t fuss Benedict.” She began, circling the table, towards him. “But Lady Astley and I were talking, and we had noticed that you and Miss Y/N have seemed to form an attachment. So being the wonderful, caring mother I am, and knowing my son has always been a little shy of his feelings, I asked for you.” She finished, straightening his collar that had stuck into his cravat.

“Asked what? What have you asked?” Benedict searched, confused. He strode into the room, taking the paper from Eloise’s hands to see the extent of his mother’s damage. And that was the day that, to equal surprise, Y/N and Benedict found out that they were engaged to be married.

The following weekend The Bridgerton’s played host to a celebratory ball in honour of your engagement. You had barely had a chance to see Benedict, or any Bridgerton for that matter: having spent most of your time being pushed and pulled by your mother, into various gowns and having several colour swatches and flowers thrust in your face for approval. You had managed to sneak a note out to Benedict, via your maid, asking him if he had known of this plan, or consented to it at all. You had only managed to receive a reply before the night of the ball, and so as your already anxious hands helped to pin the last of the pearls into your hair, your mind couldn’t help but drift to seeing Anthony again.

Your mind had been swimming so much with thoughts of yours and Benedict’s engagement that you had almost completely forgotten about your argument with Anthony – and his subsequent visit to your home the night of the next ball. Your mind reeled with thoughts of that night: with every word of love he whispered into your skin you had hoped that, should he survive, he would make you his. However, both he and the Duke had appeared to survive their stupid egos but Anthony has not so much as written to you. And after making a fool of yourself once, he was certainly not going to do so again.

. You gathered yourself as your maid returned, holding out your evening gown and laying it on the bed as you stood, ready to dress for the Ball. The evening was practically in full swing by the time you arrived. You had hoped, however much in vain, to slip in quietly and perhaps even get a chance to speak to Anthony, or even Benedict, before you were caught up in the whirlwind of Mama’s and jealous ladies all vying to know how you snagged a Bridgerton. Unfortunately, that was not to be. No sooner had you stepped into the hall than you were surrounded by congratulations and well wishes … no doubt all angling for a front row seat to your wedding.

By the time you made it to the other side of the ballroom, and to Benedict, you were exhausted. He handed you a glass of champagne and you both stood in melancholy silence as you observed all of the happy guests. “I’m sorry Y/N” Benedict said mournfully as he finished off his wine and popped the empty glass on a nearby side table.

“It’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault.” You sighed, looking around the room “I suppose this is it then”

“Yup. By the end of the season we’ll be married.” the words left his mouth thick and uncomfortable and the following silence hung in the air. You felt sweaty and a little bit sick at the thought of marrying someone you did not love, and at such short notice.

“It won’t be that bad will it?” you smiled nervously, looking up at him for some sort of comfort.

“No. It’ll be fine.” He tried to comfort you, although by his short words you could tell he felt the same as you. “It’s not like we’re not friends I suppose.” He raised his brows as he sipped on another glass of wine – where had that come from?! “I consider you a great friend Y/N” he looked back down at you with a genuine smile, which in all fairness did manage to bring you some comfort. It was true, Benedict was a true friend to you, and confidante, and you supposed it was some comfort to know that despite the circumstances, you would be marrying a friend. He handed you another glass when he noticed yours had emptied, you supposed that was a useful trait in a husband, and you both continued to stare into the middle distance, coming to terms with your fates.

Across the room Anthony was practically boiling over. He had started the night with a stern talk from his mother. You will not ruin Benedict’s night with your moping! I don’t know what this is about but it stops tonight. The words went round in his head constantly through the evening. When the ladies started circling. When the congratulating began. And when you entered the room; his heart practically stopped. Jumping up into his throat as if it were to throw itself at you.

[alfredosauce50]

Ghost of jealousy [Possessive! America x reader]

Wordcount: 5,545 Synopsis: Alfred gets upset when he finds you hanging around Mathias during his Halloween party. You tell him he’s your friend, but everything escalates into an argument, so he takes it outside to his car. He regrets everything he’s done, but you refuse to talk to him while he drives off to find some lodging for the night—an old inn. While you avoid him by staying in a separate room, it becomes apparent there’s something very off about this place. Something otherworldly. Will he make it up to you by saving you before something terrible happens? 

(I was inspired by this song by Michael Jackson, “Ghosts”) The reader is referred to as she/her.

It didn’t bother you that Alfred always disappeared during his parties. He was the host, after all, and you were merely another attendee, boyfriend or not. There were guests to interact with, excitement to arouse, and the general gist of event-running. So while he was off doing his business, you loitered around in the kitchen with one of your friends. You were dressed as a mermaid, with a seashell bra and all, while Mathias was in his pirate get-up.

Here away from the incessant pounding of Halloween classics and chatter, you could actually hear him talk. "I think it’s cute that we’re matching! Are you sure you didn’t wear this on purpose just so we could look like a couple?" He grinned, earning a small gasp from you.

"Hey! It’s not my problem you wear the same thing every year, Mathias. I—on the other hand, change it up." You gloated a little at that, giving his hip a light bump. He had been sipping a cup of punch, but spilled some as a result. "Ah! Jeez.” Because it was so dark, with only jack-o-lanterns and fairy lights to illuminate the house, you never even realized.

"What’s wrong?”

"Why don’t you smell my coat to find out?” He hummed mischievously. Cupping a hand around your head, he pulled you in and pressed your face against a mysterious wet patch.

"Ew! What was that?!" You pulled away and rubbed your cheek as he exploded into a fit of laughter.

"... Juice?"

"That’s right, min prinsesse. And it’s all your fault." Leaning in with his hands on his hips, he tapped your nose. A dash of guilt was present in your eyes, so he quickly added this. "Don’t look so stressed, (F/N)! I always forgive what you do to me. Mostly. This time, if you wanna make up for it, you’ll have to go to our after-party for once!"

You blinked. "After-party? You mean with just you and Lukas and everyone?" He nodded excitedly. The question was innocent enough, but really, you had another concern in the back of your mind. Every year, you and Alfred would spend a night together after the festivities. You could only imagine how upset he’d get if that didn’t happen. He always valued the time together with you, even to the point of being a little excessive. "Mm... I don’t know. Alfred and I usually do something afterward. I’ll ask him."

His wide grin faltered a touch. Alfred this, Alfred that. Mathias couldn’t exactly say he was jealous—though he’d joke about it, a lot—but wasn’t he a little controlling sometimes? "Mm, mm. Not good enough. I won’t take no for an answer!" Scooping you up in a bridal style carry, you let out a small yelp and reached out for his neck to stabilize yourself. "Let the King of Scandinavia save you from the evil clutches of American capitalism!"

"Mathias, you idiot!" You hissed through a flustered expression, but you couldn’t deny you were enjoying yourself. While he laughed away, bouncing you in his arms, you bonked him on the head numerous times. "Put. Me. Down!"

"Ow. Ah! Okay, okay, stop hitting me!" The Dane was as big of a goofball as your boyfriend, but just less serious most of the time. That was right. As your relationship with Alfred progressed, he was less easy-going than he initially seemed. More stubborn. Argumentative. And you never imagined how soon you would see this side of him.

"What’s this about saving (F/N) from the evil clutches of American capitalism?"

The chorus of you and Mathias’s laughter came to an abrupt end. Uh oh. Turning to the voice, you found yourself staring at none other than your boyfriend, dressed in a long orange coat with a Jason Vorhee's mask on the side of his head. And his arms were crossed with an unamused expression. Only then did you feel yourself get set down to the floor. Great. "Alfred, hey! We were just talking about his after-party. You know, the one where they have a lego-building contest?"

"Mhm. Sounds fun. But we’re doing something even better." Reaching out to your hand, he pulled you away from your friend, much to your displeasure. Mathias didn’t look all too happy either. Alfred then managed a small smile, but it was a little strained. "So c’mon, babe. Most of the party’s events are ending, anyway. Let’s go to my car." He squeezed you in his grip and turned to leave, all with you in tow.

But you weren’t having it. Couldn’t he at least let you explain yourself a little better, considering how upset he seemed already? You stopped, the action pulling on his arm so he would too. "Wait, Al. He asked if I wanted to go, and I kinda want to. Just this one time, please? Lukas, Berwald, Tino, and Emil are gonna be there too—" The fact that you were listing all these names only made it blatantly obvious who was in right, and who was in the wrong.

All you were asking for was some time with your friends. But he played the jealous boyfriend role all too well.

He turned to you with a frown. It was annoying enough to see Mathias carrying you like that. But going to a sleepover with him? He couldn’t be any less enthusiastic. "No, (F/N). Halloween is our thing. We’re supposed to spend the night together like we always do." Reaching out to your cheek, he caressed it gently. "You can hang out with them any other day of the year. Just not today."

Unlike other times, you didn’t give in. He already showed up with an attitude, so sweet-talking wasn’t going to cut it. Especially when you felt Mathias’s hand on your shoulder. The thought that he was behind you and trying to calm you down only egged you on to stand your ground. "Any other day? You’d have to exclude Valentine’s Day, Christmas, New Year’s, and St. Patty’s as well. I never get to celebrate them with my friends, either, so can’t you let me go this one time?"

The room fell silent. Even with the Dane’s friends present, nobody spoke a word. And nobody had to because they all shared one thought.

Alfred was being way too controlling.

Almost as if he could read their minds, he felt himself crumble under their scrutiny. "I’m not talking about this here with you." Without another word, he pulled you out of the house against your will.

"And why not? Is it because Mathias is here?" You retorted, feeling bile rise in your throat.

Once you and he disappeared out the door, Lukas made a brief comment.

"... He really has to stop doing that." 

“Yep. Man, I wish he’d just step on a lego." The blonde heaved out a sigh. 

"Fair enough."

Once Alfred managed to get you outside his car, he turned to you to finally give you an answer. "And what if it is because he’s there, (F/N)?" He exasperated, already feeling his tongue start slipping now that he was alone with you. And his words only held more impact against the deafening silence of the night. "The reason why I don’t want you hanging out with them on special occasions is cuz’ he’s in the group.”

“Why? Do you hate him or something? But that’s got nothing to do with me!" You ripped your hand from his grip to see his eyes widen with shock. This was the first time you ever lashed out, so he could already feel the inklings of regret well in his chest. He should’ve just shut his trap and let you go.

But something told him he would’ve never let that happen.

"They’re my friends, Alfred! You can’t expect me to pass on every invite they give me just because you don’t like someone!"

He dug his hands through his sandy locks of hair stressfully. 

"That’s the thing! Mathias obviously doesn’t just wanna be friends with you! He likes you, I can tell!" He yelled. 

The cat was finally out of the bag now. What had been plaguing his mind for months was this—competition. And he hoped that admitting it would somehow get you to understand his behavior, no matter how uncalled for it had been.

But you didn’t. You refused to.

Your jaw dropped, but not out of surprise. Instead, it was pure disappointment. "Even if he did, are you saying you don’t trust me with him?" You scoffed, folding your arms at him.

At this point, Alfred knew how bad he fucked up.

"No, that’s not what I—" His brows knitted together, and his cerulean blue eyes welled with moisture. "I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. I just..." But it was.

Wasn’t it?

Otherwise, why else was he so possessive of you?

"It’s exactly what you meant. If it wasn’t, you’d be defending yourself by now." A small smile curled up at your lips, and it was from anything but mirth. It was your defense mechanism to keep the waterworks at bay, but even that had failed you. The tears finally came spilling over the rim, streaming down your face as he watched on with guilt.

"Even if you hate him, he’s not what you think he is. It wouldn’t matter if he loved me. He wouldn’t do anything because he respects me." Reaching up to your eyes, you rubbed them, but the effort was in vain as you let out a sob. "If you’re so quick to doubt me, then maybe..." You struggled to string together the words as you continued to cry. "Maybe we shouldn’t..."

Maybe we shouldn’t be together anymore. 

Alfred froze. Anything but that. And yet, you had all the right in the world to think of ending things. But his heart couldn’t take it.

"No, no, no... Don’t you finish that sentence..." You would probably hate him after this, but kissing you was what he first thought of. The connection between his and your lips managed to silence you, and the close proximity let you feel the waves of heat radiating from his face. And he continued to kiss you, gently, for as long as you let him until you decided to shove him away.

"Don’t." You whispered faintly, albeit firmly. Leaving his side to get into the passenger seat of his car, you buckled yourself up and turned to the window.

He breathed out a sigh, but joined you in the driver’s seat. Facing you with remorse so deep, it made his eyes droop. "You know I love you, right?"

You were still crying, and you never spared him so little as a single glance.

He royally screwed up, for sure. 

The engine purred to life. Now, to find a place to stay for the night. Hopefully, he could make up with you before lights out. But his gut told him it wouldn’t be so simple. The car began to move, crushing sticks and leaves under the wheels as he drove on a dirt path deep in the woods. He picked this cabin for the ominous ambiance, but he was beginning to regret his choices. The same could be said for everything he did tonight, hell, the same could be said for how he acted all these months.

He was the jealous, insecure, shitty boyfriend.

And the whole time, he never realized how kind you were to put up with him.

He wanted to tell you he trusted you. To pull you into his arms and apologize a million times. But what could he say to convince you when he’d come off as a liar? Even he didn’t know if he could be honest. Why did Mathias’s presence get him to feel like this, anyway? He boiled it down to how similar he was to him. Like you always said, he and Mathias were two of the same person. Loud, fun, and obnoxious sweethearts. So of course he started comparing himself to him.

And he was doing it right now. He couldn’t imagine Mathias ever having these kinds of problems if he dated you. Fuck. Aside from self-loathing and bitter regret, he was beginning to feel the beginnings of ugly jealousy all over again.

Are you serious right now, Alfred? He thought. 

Narrowing his eyes on the road that seemed to disappear, he slowed to a stop. Was it just him losing concentration over these thoughts, or did he really lose his way? Perhaps. But at least he found something. He peered around his windshield to see a few rooftops resembling an old, vintage villa in the distance. Could that possibly be a motel?

He sped up and drove closer and closer until he reached a clearing. Climbing out of his car with you trailing close behind, he made his way to the entrance of the establishment. There was an open lawn in front of the building, and in one of the gardens stood a wooden sign with "The Aura Inn" inscribed into it. Neither of you thought much of it, let alone read the little sub-paragraph of text below it.

"Let’s go." Looking at you over his shoulder, he held out a hand for you to take. You just brushed past him and kept walking. Right. He forgot for a second that you were mad at him.

The only thing that concerned you was having somewhere to stay the night, so the reception was the first stop. Making up with him could come later.

Upon arriving, you were greeted by nothing but an empty room. There was no furniture besides a wooden counter, and even then, it was lacking quite a few amenities. There was no receptionist here either, and yet, the lights were on. That could only mean one thing. Somebody was here, just not in a way you liked. But you were just overthinking, weren’t you? Needless to say, this inn was starting to feel a little off to you.

Gripping the scales of your mermaid dress, you turned to Alfred with a nervous glance. Immediately, he responded with a reassuring smile.

"You okay, babe?"

Hold on. Did he just call you babe? Your mood went sour when you felt yourself nearly give in to him. What he did couldn’t be forgiven so easily, otherwise, how could he take your feelings seriously? So you forced yourself to lie.

"Yes." You murmured. "I’m perfectly fine."

He knew you were lying, but he couldn’t blame you.

"Okay. I’ll just... Get us a room. I think this is an Airbnb." He pulled out his phone.

The thought of sleeping in the same bed as him irked you, to say the least. After the stunt he pulled today, which effectively stopped you from going to Mathias’s after-party, you needed some space. That was right. How come after all these years, you’ve never been to one of his infamous after-parties? Even though you were a close friend of his? It was simple. Because Alfred never let you go. God, thinking about it just made you relive the anger all over again. 

So before he finished the booking, you reached out for his arm.

"Wait. I don’t want to be in the same room as you."

He paused, and you saw sadness flash in his eyes. And once again, you found yourself tempted to cave. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

"... Oh. Sure." Alfred finished with the online forms and walked you to your room. The halls were long, winding, and dimly-lit. You would’ve thanked him for accompanying you in this unsettling place, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. Once you managed to open the door, which wasn’t locked, he gave you a reluctant goodbye. Resting his arms against the doorframe, he gazed down at you with a bittersweet smile. "Night, babe. I’ll see you in the morning—"

The door slammed in his face and he cringed.

"... Love you too." He murmured, clenching his fists against the door. This was by far the worst argument he’s ever had with you, and it was all his fault.

Pressing your back against the door, you felt blood rush up to your face after hearing what he said. He nearly had you. But you managed to seal yourself away in the safety of your room. It hurt to push him away, but you had to. He couldn’t keep having his way. Alfred needed to accept the consequences of his actions, and you needed to be strong enough for that to happen. 

And plus, he needed to get used to not having you around him all the time. But the boy was excessively clingy, and you let this carry on for far too long. 

Unpacking your things on the bed, you got your things ready for a shower. As you melted into the hot embrace of the water, your concerns of this inn melted away too. It was just Halloween jitters, wasn’t it? Turning off the faucet, you dried yourself off with a towel before getting dressed. When you exited the bathroom, your room was plunged into almost pitch-black darkness. But you never turned off the lights.

Perhaps this was an energy-saving function. 

Well, it saved you from the effort of going to the light switch, anyhow. 

Before you moved from your spot, you shuddered at the feeling of a cold draft blowing against your body. Looking over to the source, you were shocked to see that the door was wide open, letting the dim halls stare back at you. 

There was probably a little wind tonight, and somehow, you didn’t shut the door properly. Making your way to close it again, you made sure you heard a little click. When you did, you didn’t feel any wind from outside at all, not even a gentle breeze. 

Weird. 

Setting your things down on the bedside table, you climbed into bed and tucked yourself in. While you made yourself comfortable, you faced the entirety of the room, which had a small wall-mounted TV, rocking chair, and desk. Of course there was a rocking chair. And you somehow couldn’t tear your gaze away from its faint outline in the dark. 

Then, it began to rock. 

Forwards and backward as if an invisible entity was sitting in it. 

“!” Your blood ran cold and you buried your head underneath the blanket. Something was in the room with you. Unlike before, you couldn’t blame it on the wind because you just closed the door. As you came to terms with that reality, the icy hands of fear gripped around your heart. Your breathing grew ragged and uneven. There was something behind you. Someone behind you. 

You could practically feel their presence creeping towards you. Closer and closer to your bed as the carpet compressed under its footsteps. Your chest constricted when you felt the bed dip under a weight. 

Then, it began to crawl. 

But you were too terrified to scream, let alone move. 

In that moment, you never regretted your decisions this much in your life. And you never wished more for Alfred to be with you.  

Unbeknownst to him as he finished up with his own shower in his room, you were left paralyzed in bed. If he’d known what was happening, he would have run to you as fast as he could. But he didn’t. He only assumed you were busy brooding over him, and maybe even second-guessing your relationship with him. The thought was reasonable, and that upset him to no end. Throwing his towel to a random spot in the room, he fell on his back onto the bed. 

Reaching out to the ceiling to stare at his arm, he sighed. 

“I’m so sorry...” He murmured, lowering his hands to cover his face with them.

If he was lucky, he’d be able to make up with you by the end of tomorrow. But for now, he was burdened with uncertainty. But his attention was quickly diverted to something else. A laugh. Your laugh. Sitting up with visible confusion, he listened in to the muffled sounds of your voice down the hall. 

The walls here were thin, so it didn’t surprise him he could hear you so clearly. 

But what did was what he heard next. Another voice talking, and it belonged to a boy. His heart sank to the pit of his stomach as he registered it as someone he knew. Mathias. Wait a second, what the hell was he doing here? But there was no way he could be, right? Didn’t he have an after-party to be at? The longer he eavesdropped on the conversation, the more obvious it became that it was Mathias. And they were talking about him. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come this year. Again. But you know how Alfred gets.”

“Yeah... Don’t worry about it. This can be our own little after-party. Just as long as he doesn’t find out, you’ll be fine!” 

Wait, what? 

From what he heard, it sounded like you really had moved on. But you never had the decency to tell him, and that was what filled him to the brim with betrayal--it broke his heart. Was this why you wanted to be in a separate room tonight? Sliding himself off the bed, he stormed out the door to find you. His glasses were already fogging up, but he never bothered to clear them as he marched down the empty halls. 

Your voices grew louder and louder, all until he came to a stop outside a room he never booked. That was right. He applied for one with a single bed. He could only imagine what you were doing with Mathias in a room with a double bed. 

The laughing continued behind the door. 

“You know these walls are thin, right?” He began lowly. Swinging open the door, the noises disappeared along with the people inside. The room was completely dark, and when he flicked on the lights, you and Mathias were nowhere in sight. Not a soul was in here. 

“... What the fuck.” He grumbled.

He swore he heard you both giggling away like school children. Did you two hear him coming and hide somewhere? He was skeptical, but he checked around nonetheless. In the wardrobe, then under the bed. There was no sign of either of you. The shower, maybe? Stepping into the bathroom and pulling open the curtains, he was prepared to catch you red-handed. But there was nothing there except for a porcelain white tub.  A defeated sigh fell from his lips. What the hell was going on? Alfred was completely sober, a miracle considering he usually drank at his parties. So he had a terrible feeling he wasn’t just hearing things. That only pointed towards one explanation. 

This inn was totally haunted. 

And whoever, or whatever that haunted it was toying with him.

He swallowed thickly and turned to the mirror, only to jump at what he saw. The reflection revealed a figure standing behind him. 

It was Mathias, except his face was twisted in a sick smile. 

“Holy shit--!” Alfred paled as he stared face to face with the entity. As he lost himself in its soulless, blue eyes, he was overcome with dread, almost as if the spirit was forcing fear into him. Reminding him of his failures, insecurities, and the uncertainty of his relationship. All of his faults flashed in his mind again and again so incessantly, he thought he would break down on the spot. 

Where is (F/N)? 

She doesn’t want you anymore. 

You should just give up. 

And the deeper in he spiraled into these self-destructive thoughts, the wider the entity smiled, its lips stretching to impossible lengths it became grotesque. Darting his wide eyes around the reflection in his bout of panic, he saw its hand reach out to his shoulder in the mirror. He didn’t know how he managed to do this, but he spun around quickly to defend himself. And there was nobody there.

In his brief moment of disorientation, the spirit shot out two arms, breaking the barrier of the glass. Tightening its hands around his neck, Alfred was pulled back against the mirror and choked. “Gh--!” His airway was completely constricted by the iron grip, and he was forced to struggle a few inches above the ground. 

Digging his fingernails into the hands, he never felt them loosen. 

So he did the unthinkable--he started to smash his fist against the mirror. It hurt like hell and left his knuckles bruised and raw, but the thought of you in danger kept him going. That was right. There was no saying if you weren’t being choked, attacked, or worst. Punching the glass again and again, it finally shattered, and the grip around his neck loosened. 

The mirror was reduced to shards and fell into the sink.

Falling to the ground in a loud thump, he stood up while coughing violently. 

The arms disappeared, and so did the entity. 

And Alfred had a feeling it had to do with the mirror it was in. 

Leaving the bathroom with heavy breaths, he ran back to his room and picked up his chainsaw. Halloween had the perks of carrying around dangerous tools, and he was never this glad that he took it with him instead of leaving it in his car unattended. Too bad he was out of costume, though. But a white tank and boxers would do. Holding it above his chest, he revved his chainsaw and ran out the door. 

It was time to fuck shit up. 

You were still stuck in bed, but the spirit managed to remove your blanket. A soft whimper fell from your lips as your only form of protection was stripped away. If you thought you were terrified, then you would prove yourself wrong with a whole new level of fear as two arms wrapped around your neck from behind. No way. Was it going to choke you? One of its legs was thrown over yours, so you were completely enveloped by its limbs. 

As you trembled away in the dark, you let out a soft cry when you felt its warm breath tickle your ear. 

“I missed you. Why didn’t you wanna stay in a room with me?” It cooed, the voice sending shivers down your spine. It sounded strangely similar to Alfred’s, and what he said was exactly what he would’ve said too, except it wasn’t him. You never saw him come in, and the last time you checked, he wasn’t invisible. 

“... W-What... What are you?” You stammered, feeling a hand glide down your bare thigh. “Stop--” 

“I’m his desire, sweetheart.” It began in a low and alluring voice. “Every feeling in the Aura inn festers into a semi-physical form. That’s why I’m here right now. Because he wants you.” 

You screwed your eyes shut. Just what the hell kind of place was this inn? A magical hut that personified emotions? “... Can you please let me go? I don’t like the way how you’re... Hugging me.” You pleaded, only to feel the entity tighten itself around you. 

“But I don’t want to. He doesn’t want to.” It responded with a hum. “I reflect everything he wants. And currently, he wants to see you more than anything. Especially when he’s dealing with jealousy... And having a hard time at that.” 

“Jealousy?” It wasn’t shocking, per se, but he had you curious. If desire festered into a sultry form of someone and hugged their object of affections, what did jealousy turn into?  “... I knew he was jealous of Mathias. But that’s not the problem here. We’ll sort it out later. If you’re desire, then what’s jealousy like?” 

It let out a deep, foreboding laugh. “Depends. If it’s only a little bit of envy, he’ll start hearing things that hit his nerves. Nothing but... Harmless fun.” You felt yourself get rolled onto your back, and you were caught off guard by what loomed over you. It was Alfred himself, or more accurately put, his personified desire, but this time, you could see him. “But if his jealousy gets mixed in with insecurity, that’s when things get pretty ugly...” 

You furrowed your brows with concern. “Ugly? How so? Is he gonna be okay?” 

It craned his head from side to side. “Who knows.” 

“But I’ll tell you a few things that I do know. Jealousy tends to be pretty sneaky. It’ll snoop around in mirrors and attack him.” You tensed up all over. “So Alfred will have to smash every mirror in the inn to get it to come out. And when it does, all he needs to do is be with you to send it away.”

Loud chainsaw noises were heard down the halls, silencing both you and the entity. Following that was the shattering of glass. 

“... Hm. Looks like he already figured it out.” 

Joy filled you to the brim and you smiled wide. “He really did! I’m so glad!” Reaching out to hug the entity around its chest, you pulled away and slid yourself off the bed. 

“Thank you, um, Alfred’s desire! I’m gonna go find him now!” 

He laid on his side and watched you run off. “You can just call me Alfred.” 

“Okay, Alfred!” 

While you exited the room to stand in the halls, you found yourself staring at a number of doors that were wide open, and the lights on inside. You assumed those were the rooms he already cleared, which meant he still had quite a bit to do. But he was fast. Appearing out of one room, he continued tearing down door after door to smash every single mirror and window in the inn. And soon, he managed to reduce every piece of glass present into shards. 

Once the chainsaw revs came to a stop, you called out his name. 

“Alfred!” 

He jerked up at the sound, then glanced around. “(F/N)!?” While he was on the first floor in the courtyard, you were on the second in the mezzanine, so he had to glance up to see you. “Oh God, I was so worried! Are you okay?” He shouted. 

“Yes!” You called back. “This place is... Super haunted. Let’s get out of here!”

“You called it. I nearly got murdered!” 

Running down the stairs to meet with him, you practically jumped onto him after he dropped his chainsaw to the ground. Embracing you with his strong arms, he pressed kiss after kiss all over your face. While he did, you spotted another figure standing by the stairs. Was that Mathias? You couldn’t take a better look at him before he disappeared into thin air. “Oh my fucking god. I missed you so much.” He exasperated, setting you down on your feet. “You won’t believe what happened. I’ll explain everything in the car.”

As he led you out of the Godforsaken inn, he gripped you tight with his hand. And you squeezed right back. “Let me guess. You were attacked by something in the mirror so you shattered every single one here. I know.” 

At this point, you and him had arrived outside his car.

Turning to you with shock, he placed his hands on his hips. 

“And how the hell did you know? I thought it was original enough that you wouldn’t be able to guess!” He exclaimed, much to your amusement. 

“Mm... Not really. With how many horror movies you’ve watched, I wouldn’t put it past you to come up with a solution like that.” Giving him an affectionate pinch on the cheek, he rubbed the spot with a light pout. You considered telling him the truth, but you already wanted to forget tonight. If he didn’t know about it, then moving on yourself would be so much easier. 

“Now, I think you have some apologizing to do.” 

He softened his gaze. “Yeah... I really do. Sorry for everything. Sorry for being a dick. And not just... For today.” Pulling you into another hug, he nestled his chin into your shoulder. God, did it feel good to have you in his arms again. “I’m gonna be real. I never hated Mathias. He’s my friend. But seeing him with you gets me... Really jealous. And it’s not cuz’ I don’t trust you, it’s because I’m...” His cheeks grew rosy. “I don’t know. I just feel...”

You knew he’d get stuck at this part, so you helped him. 

“Because you feel insecure?” 

“... Yeah.” 

“You idiot...” A soft, content sigh was heard from your end. “It doesn’t matter how similar you are to him. You don’t have to try to make any changes or keep him away from me for me to choose you.” 

His heart fluttered as he released you with a sheepish smile. 

“I really needed to hear that. So, thanks.” Alfred murmured, reaching out to cup your cheek. “Kinda lame of me to put you through that. I should’ve just talked it out with you.” 

“Yeah, you dumbass.” You grumbled, but it was on an affectionate note. 

“So, do you think we’ll make it in time to the party for me to carpool with Mathias back to his place? I wanna see what they’re building this year!”

He frowned, but his expression was short-lived as a smile began creeping onto his lips. “Are you serious right now?” 

“I’m kidding!” 

🎶 Tell me, are you the ghost of jealousy?

This is a request. Thank you for requesting.

[minutiaewritings]

What am I now? ⋆ Draco Malfoy

A/N- So this is part two to but ‘i knew you’. I was gonna use the rest of the song, ‘cardigan’ by taylor swift. However, while I was showering ‘falling’ by harry styles came on and i got this brilliant idea. This part is in Draco’s pov too:) 

part one- but i knew you

I'm in my bed And you're not here And there's no one to blame but the drink and my wandering hands Forget what I said It's not what I meant And I can't take it back I can't unpack the baggage you left

Draco lied in his bed, staring lazily at the ceiling. There was a party happening in the room of requirements, hosted by the Slytherin house. It was a celebration for winning the quidditch match against Ravenclaw. It was a hard game, so a celebration was in order. Draco could imagine the music pulsing through the room, drunk teens dancing awfully as they rode out their hormone fueled dreams. Draco was much more content with laying in his room, enjoying the rare silence. 

It had been a few months since the start of his 7th year. The war was over, his father was in Azkaban and he was sure to stay there for a while. Draco’s mom had changed, slowly but surely. Over the last summer, Draco had spent his time alone in the large mansion of Malfoy manner. Draco remembered how his mom no longer sat in her favorite lounge, reading one of her disgustingly girly magazines. Instead most of the time, he found her curled up in her bed. Sometimes he could hear her sniffling, choking back tears but mostly he found her sleeping soundly. 

Draco had changed too, he didn’t care for the rivalry of the Hogwarts houses, he didn’t care about teasing potter and his disgusting friends. He didn’t care for a lot of things now. Except Y/N. 

Merlin, Y/N.

The beautiful eyed girl who plagued his thoughts more often than not. He remembered the night at the astronomy tower, the last time he had spoken to her. He remembered how her perfect frame shook with rage before she cursed him and stormed out, leaving the pureblood alone with his thoughts. That night, Draco had cried. He cried alone in the tower, feeling corned. He had broken the heart of one of the most important people in his life. 

Draco knew why he did it, why he pushed you away and broke you. He was doing it to protect you, the last thing he needed was for you to get wrapped up in his death eaters bullshit. He wanted you safe, and if that meant making you hate him, so be it. 

But was it worth it? Was it worth losing you? Maybe you would’ve stayed with him through the war. Helping and soothing him during his night terrors. Maybe you would’ve hated him anyway, calling him a traitor and a monster. He wouldn’t blame you. 

But for now he lied alone in his bed. Suddenly his door flew open, Blaise in the doorway with a drunken smile. “Draco! Theo yacked all over me and this girl, came up here to change. Why aren’t you at the party? It’s absolutely wicked down up there.” His words were slurred and sewed together. He pranced over to one of his drunks and popped it open. Blaise grabbed an emerald green sweater, slipping off his soiled shirt. 

“Don’t care much to be smooshed by a bunch of drunk imbeciles .” Draco said coldly.

“That’s a shame, there’s some beautiful creatures up there. Y/N looks absolutely pang.” Draco wondered if Blaise knew what he had just said. 

“What was she wearing?” Draco asked before he could stop himself. Since when did you party? You never cared to go to any of the house parties unless Malfoy dragged you there himself. 

“I think it was blue or maybe black. Wait!” Blaise held a hand towards Draco, collecting his intoxicated thoughts. “Yeah it’s black. Definitely black” He laughed at himself shamelessly. 

“Black what, you prat. A black sock?” Draco found himself grinning at his friend’s current state.

“A black dress.” Blaise said simply. Draco swallowed hard, despite the voice in the bag of his head nagging him to stay in bed, Draco found himself wanting to see you. He would be perfectly fine with just one glance. Then his hunger would be fine for the night and possibly he could enjoy the party. 

“Stay right there. I’m coming to the party.” Draco rose to his feet and went to his wardrobe. He pulled out a simple, black long sleeve shirt and a pair of nice yet comfortable gray slacks. Draco slipped on a pair of new, shiny black dress shoes before turning to Theo’s small mirror on the wall. He checked his reflection, he looked tired but he doubted anyone would notice. 

When Blaise and Draco arrived inside the room of requirements, he was greeted with the loud music. There were plenty of people there, from all of the houses. He even saw a couple of ravenclaws taking some firewhisky shots. 

Shots sounded perfect right now, it would help Draco calm his nerves. Blaise saw one of his many friends on the way to the drink table, leaving Draco alone as he poured himself a shot. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back and down the substance with ease. Another one, and another one. On his fourth shot in the span of three minutes, Draco felt better already. His eyes danced around the scenery in front of him, he saw some of his so called ‘friends’. But then he saw you. 

And merlin you looked good. So good. You’re hair was a little longer than the last time he saw you. Your cheeks were painted red as you smiled happily at Harry, who was wrapped up with the Weasley girl. Draco could tell you were drunk, or at least very tipsy. You were sawing softly as you giggled with Potter and his friends. You looked happy, and Draco was content with that. 

After that night night at the astronomy tower, Draco had watched you slowly break. Before summer vacation, he noticed you stopped going to the great halls for meals. You always seemed so tired and empty. You wore a neutral expression almost always. You never laughed or showed any emotion, it broke Draco’s heart. 

Draco was brought to the memory of Pansy and you. You’d been walking down the halls alone when you passed Draco and his friends. You kept your head down as you walked by, and he watched you carefully. He couldn’t stop Pansy’s bloody words. She called out after you, causing you to turn towards the group. Pansy mentioned Y/N’s current state, mentioning and giggling at Y/N’s sudden change in behavior. “Did someone hurt our dear Y/N?” Pansy’s sickening voice spoke. Y/N had stared at Pansy with an empty expression. Draco swallowed as he remembered her eyes. She had looked at the raven-haired girl with nothing in her eyes. No sadness, anger, or amusement. Draco took note of how Pansy shifted uncomfortably under your intense gaze. Then you turned on your heel and left. 

Draco normally would’ve laughed at Pansy’s failed attempt at bullying but he couldn’t. Because Pansy was right, someone had broken your heart. And it was him. 

“Dray.” A girl Draco didn’t recognize purred next to him. He glared down at her. 

“May I help you with something? Or do you take pleasure in bothering people when you’re piss drunk?” He spit out. He repressed a laugh as the girl’s smirk fell and morphed into a sad, shocked expression. When she didn't speak, Draco turned and poured himself a large cup of tainted tonic water and firewhiskey. 

Draco left the drink table and made his way through the crowd, aiming towards a large couch in the middle of the party. No one was sitting on it surprisingly, but he wouldn’t complain. Draco sat in the middle of the couch, sinking into the soft cushions. Draco sipped his drink slowly, wishing he had stayed in his bed. 

But I want her to be in bed with me, playing with my hair and kissing my neck. Merlin I miss her kisses. 

Draco’s brain thought, he shook it away. This was his fault, all of it. He wasn’t strong enough to go against his family, and he had to pay the consequences. 

“Sorry. I didn’t see your legs. You have really long legs.” A beautiful giggle filled his ears as he looked at the girl in front of him. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t even realize that you had tripped over his stretched out legs. You were on the floor, on your knees as you looked down and fixed the top of your dress. When you lifted your gaze, Draco’s eyes met with yours. 

You looked sweaty and had rosy cheeks from all the drinks you’ve must’ve consumed. Draco’s heart hammered against his chest as you just stared at him. But you’re face had so many expressions, you looked shocked, scared, happy and sad. Draco swallowed thickly, past the lump forming in his throat. You just sat there on the floor and stared at him. 

 “Hello.” Draco said simply. He wanted to slap his face, hello? really? The first words he’s spoken to you in 6 months and it’s hello?

You stared at him again. “Hi.” He couldn’t read your tone. 

“Having fun?” He cleared his throat, playing with the hem of his shirt. 

“I was.” Now Draco could tell you were upset. You shuffled up to your feet, trying to stable your balance before you turned away from him. 

Draco found himself reaching out to you, he gripped your arm carefully and pulled you back. A flashback from the astronomy tower came into his head. Draco had turned to leave as well, but you hugged him and cried. Begging him to stay. In return, Draco said some of the worst lies ever. Everything he said to you was quite the opposite of how he felt towards you. 

“Y/N. I’m sorry-” A sharp stinging feeling landed on Draco’s left cheek. His head was whipped around before he rubbed his face slightly. You slapped him. “What the hell, Y/L/N!” 

“You...” You’re voice wavered. You stared at Draco, tears in your eyes. “You don’t get to apologize to me!” Tears were now falling down your cheeks. Draco wanted nothing more than to wipe them away, but he restrained himself. “You don’t get to apologize after you broke me. I trusted you! I gave you everything I had. I gave you all my time and love, I gave you me. I-I just wanted to help you, even if it was a little bit. I just wanted to make you happy, Draco.” You looked so small when you cried, Draco hated seeing you cry. Hated it even more that it was because of him. Guilt burned in his chest as you continued. “I loved you with every fiber in my body.  I used to dream about you, about us. And I hate that I still do. I still dream about your stupid, perfect face. But I-I I’m finally finding myself again. I’m starting to feel better too, I’m not gonna let you walk back into my life and fuck me up again. I can’t afford to lose myself again just to have you back in my arms.” You wiped the tears from your cheeks before you looked at him again. “But like you said, you’re done with me. I was merely an experience.” You turned and left, leaving Draco feeling empty with the encounter. 

Draco watched you walk away, you practically walked across the whole room. You were walking as far away as possible from Draco. Draco huffed out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. Maybe those shots weren’t the best idea. Draco could feel himself getting worked up. He was angry, angry that you were walking away from him. Angry that he was letting you walk away from him. 

Draco turned and grabbed his drink off the side table next to the couch, chugging it. Once the drink was warmly settling into his stomach, Draco tossed the cup onto the floor. Draco needed to get out of the party, away from everyone and their wandering eyes. He pushed passed people, some of them cursing at him. 

Once Draco had reached the empty, dull hallway, he took a deep breath. He could finally breathe again. Draco’s feet carried him towards his favorite spot, the astronomy tower. Once inside, he slammed the door shut, wincing at the loud same. Draco could feel the alcohol taking it’s full effect, making his head spin as he sat on the windowsill. So many thoughts were running through his head. Draco rubbed his temple softly, groaning. Way too many shots. 

Draco looked out towards the horizon. It was a full moon, and the scenery looked absolutely stunning. The boy found his mind wandering to you again, images from your guy’s fresh encounter engraved in his mind. Draco really had broken you, more than he had realized in the beginning.

And he couldn’t fix it. He couldn’t take back those awful things he said to you. He couldn’t reverse the damage that had been done. Draco rubbed the few tears that began to form in the back of his eyes. 

He couldn’t get rid of the memories. Memories of you throwing your head back, laughing carelessly at something he said. Draco couldn’t forget the way you bit your lower lip and the way your nose scrunched at the corners when you were studying. Your perfect hair, the way it fell effortlessly around you. He missed those tired eyes you gave him in the early, dewy mornings. He missed your lips, how they molded with his oh-so-perfectly. How they were always so warm and full, in need of his own lips. 

Draco let the tears fall freely. He was tired of missing you, tired of missing everything about you. He just wanted you to come back to him, he would get on his knees for you, in front of the whole damn school if needed. He didn’t care at this point, anything to have you in his arms again. 

----

What am I now? What am I now? What if I'm someone I don't want around? I'm fallin' again I'm fallin' again I'm fallin'

Everyone must have felt drained from last nights party. A few people littered the great hall here and there, eating their breakfast slowly. 

Draco sat in the middle of the Slytherin table alone, scooping a small amount of vanilla Greek yogurt onto the his plate. He sat and ate his breakfast in silence. His mind drifted to you as usual, particularly last nights event.

Did you not love him anymore? Is that why you were so quick to turn down his apology. No, that couldn’t be. You’d said it yourself, ‘I still dream about your stupid, perfect face.’ 

So maybe there was a chance, a very slim chance that he could get you back. But would you want him back? Want him to stick around? No, you didn’t. You had said it yourself again, he heard the words from your very mouth. You didn’t want to lose yourself again. Draco understood that. He never realized how much you gave him until it was gone; until you were gone. 

Draco didn’t blame you for not wanting him back. He was a negative person, that he could admit to himself. He got jealous quickly, he remembered accusing you once of cheating with one of the Weasley twins. Draco wished more than ever that he could go back and take it back, take it all back. But he couldn’t. 

Draco slammed his spoon onto the table, causing a few students to look up from their meals and glance at the blonde. The boy stood to his feet, making his way back to his bedroom. 

Draco stopped in his tracks, looking at the end of the empty hall. Blaise and Theo were probably still snoring away, and he didn’t want to hear any of it. He could go to the Astronomy tower, yet the idea didn’t seem to please him enough. Where could he go? The room of requirement? No, he was sure someone would monitor the entrance after last night. Draco continued to walk, figuring that walking would do him some good. 

Draco went down two flights of stair before his shoes met the beginning of the green grass. Draco began walking towards the greenhouse in front of him. Pulling open the glass door, Draco took a deep breath. The air felt warm and sticky, the smell of soil filling it. It was a comforting scent, Draco wasn’t sure why that was. Taking a seat on one of the chairs, Draco allowed his thoughts to roam again. 

Draco didn’t like himself anymore, he didn’t like who he had become after the war. He missed how care free he used to be, he missed laughing with Blaise over stupid, childish things. He missed being happy. Some nights, while Draco lied in bed, he felt his skin crawl. Almost as if he was trying to shed a layer of skin. Those were the moments he wished he could shed his skin, become a different person. A new person who was loved by all and genuinely good-hearted. 

Maybe then you would be his again, if he was kinder and more sensitive to other’s feelings. Draco wanted nothing more to be that way, not only for you but himself as well. Draco hated the voice in his head, the one that was always hateful and vile. 

He knew he wouldn’t enjoy his own company if he were in someone else’s shoes. Because who wants someone who is an absolute asshole? Not Draco, and certainly not you. 

----

What if I'm down? What if I'm out? What if I'm someone you won't talk about? I'm fallin' again I'm fallin' again I'm fallin' 

And I get the feelin' that you'll never need me again 

In all his years of attending Hogwarts, he never once had a substitute teacher. Draco peered over at  McGonagall who sat in Slughorn’s usual seat in the front of class. McGonagall explained at the beginning of class that Slughorn had been attacked by a student’s potion gone-wrong. Slughorn was in the medical wing for the rest of the day. Luckily, the new headmistresses allowed her students to use this class as a study hall. Everyone seemed to wear the same surprised expression, but no one complained. 

Pansy sat next to Draco, talking his ear off. Did this girl have stop talking? Just for a minute? Draco looked over his Herbology textbook and rubbed his temples slowly. Her constant yapping was giving him a migraine. “Shut your trap, Parkinson.” He mumbled, his eyes not leaving the words written before him. 

“Excuse me?” Pansy sneered, glaring at the blonde. 

“As much as I would love to hear about your loathsome life, I’m trying to read. You should try it sometime, or are you dead from the neck up?” Draco looked at her with a bored expression. 

“I-I..” She fumbled over her tongue, how pathetic. 

“Go torment Blaise or something.” With that she stood, making her way to Theo and Blaise’s shared table. 

Finally, peace and quiet. Draco pulled out a piece of parchment paper and his quill, taking some notes here and there. His study session was short lived when he heard you voice whisper something harshly. 

“Hermione, drop it. I don’t want to talk about it.” You said softly. Your table was just in front of his, giving the boy the perfect excuse to stare longingly at the back of your head without getting caught. 

“Y/n...”Hermione began to speak slowly. “You promised me at the beginnig of this year that you would be honest with me, that you’d speak what’s on your mind. You haven’t been doing a very good job of that.” Draco could only imagine Y/N’s face at those words, she hated when people spoke down to her. 

“Hermione. Drop it. Now, I’m not telling you about what happened at the party the other night. I have every right to not tell you anything.” Draco could tell you were upset by the tone in your voice and the way your posture slouched slightly. 

“But you have to, you prom-”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what I promised! I’m not talking about Draco anymore, I have no need to! If you want me to heal and move on so bad; stop asking me about him every bloody minute! It’s exhausting.” Your voice was a little louder now. A couple of students turned and eyed you curiously. 

Hermione tucked her head down slightly, mumbling out an apology. Draco’s quill suddenly snapped in his grasp, the noise causing you to turn and look at the cause. 

Draco stared at you, sadness and anger evident in his beautiful blue eyes. He could tell you read his face with ease, you chewed on your bottom lip nervously. You turned forward, Draco still staring at you. Before Draco realized what he was doing, he stood to his feet, scrapping his belongings into his bag sloppily. He stormed out of the class, ignoring everyone’s confused gazes and McGonagall’s shrill voice. 

He let his legs carry him wherever they wished. Draco felt dizzy with all the thoughts swarming around him. You didn’t want to talk to him, you didn’t even want to speak his name. It hurt than Draco could ever imagine, he was losing you. Draco’s hands shook as he waved at the Slytherin portrait before speaking the password with a shaky breath. Once in the common room, Draco sat on the leather couch. He threw his bag on the floor and sighed heavily. Maybe he had lost you, for good.

Would Draco be able to live in a world with her? Could he wake up every morning knowing that the girl he loved the most resented him? No. He couldn’t. The thought alone of never holding you again caused bile to crawl and fight at the back of his throat. He had to fix this, Draco needed to get you back. But how? Surely you wouldn’t want him back, but still Draco needed to fight for you. 

 ----

You said you cared And you missed me, too And I'm well aware I write too many songs about you And the coffee's out At the Beachwood Café And it kills me 'cause I know we've run out of things we can say

Draco stood nervously outside of the library, waiting for you. He knew every Wednesday you would come to the library after your last class, you used the time to catch up with homework and your studies. He always admired how hard working you were. 

Draco sucked in a harsh breath as he saw you making your way towards him, or more so the library. You didn’t even divert your eyes to the boy as you passed him. Draco frowned, catching up with you. “Y/N.” He said quietly so Madame Pince wouldn’t chew him out. 

You ignored him as you continued walking towards your usual table. When you took a seat, Draco followed. You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. He could tell you were already annoyed. “Y/N, can I have a word with you please?” Draco asked gently. 

“I suppose you’re already here, Malfoy. What do you want?” You were cold, harsh. 

Draco swallowed thickly before clearing his throat. Why was he so bloody nervous? “Look, I’m sorry. I know you hate me now, but I’m still madly in love with you. I want us again, I need you to be mine again.” Draco offered you soft eyes. 

“No.” You said simply as you pulled out your tattered potions book. 

“Fine, hate me all you want Y/L/N. But all I’m asking is for you to grab one butterbeer with me this weekend, please. We can sit in complete silence if that’s what you wish. All I want is for us to dissolve this tension at the very least.” 

You knaweled on your lower lip, fingers fiddling with the collar of your shirt. “Fine, only so we can both move on and you’ll leave me alone.”  

Draco tried to hide the frown that was dying to creep up onto his lips. He nodded quickly. “Sure, whatever. Meet me at the Leaky Cauldron half past four.” Draco grabbed his belongings and left the library. 

The weekend came faster than Draco wished it to. It wasn’t that he was unhappy to see you, he was above the clouds with that idea. The boy was just nervous, extremely nervous. The type of nervous that caused him to constantly wipe his hands on his pants to rid the moisture from it. 

You were twenty minutes late, where the hell were you? Where you blowing him off? Draco had considered this may happen. Draco was pulled from his thoughts as he saw you approach him. You pulled out a chair and sat down silently. “I got you a butterbeer with extra foam, just how you like it.” Draco pushed your glass towards you with his won. 

“Thank you.” You said quietly, He could see your cheeks growing a beautiful shade of red. Maybe this would go good, hopefully. 

Silence filled the air between the two students, each one of them having millions and millions of thoughts crossing their brains. Draco bounced his leg anxiously under the table. “Thank you for coming, really.” Draco said softly, looking up at you. You nodded shortly.

“Sure, no problem.” Silence again. 

“I miss you.” Draco said before he could comprehend what he just said. You looked at him with wide eyes.

“I-I miss you too.” For the first time in forever, Draco smiled a genuine smile. 

“Really?” He couldn’t believe you. 

“I do.” You ran a hand through your hair, letting out a soft sigh.

“Do you still care about me?” 

“That’s my problem Draco, I never stopped caring about you.” You admitted. Draco’s eyes widened, you did care for him. This was going better than expected. 

Silence filled the air once more as you finished your butter beer. Draco wasn’t sure what to say. You didn’t seem what know what to say either. The silence was killing him, the two of you never had an awkward moment ever. Conversation came with ease, and he always enjoyed talking to you. You made him laugh, his real snorting laugh. But that seemed like such a long time ago, now you guys sat in awkwardness. No words spoken and eye contact avoided. 

“I have to go, I promised Ron I would help him study.” You began to stand, causing Draco’s chest to tighten. Draco nodded curtly. 

“Sure.” With that you left, leaving the boy to stare at your empty glass. 

----

What am I now? What am I now? What if you're someone I just want around? I'm fallin' again I'm fallin' again I'm fallin'

It had been three long, atrocious weeks since you had met Draco at the Leaky Cauldron. He hadn’t spoken to you since, even though he was dying to hear your voice again. You seemed to be avoiding him. It hurt when you dodged his eyes through the crowed hallways and how you always seemed to be leaving wherever he arrived. Draco hadn’t slept in over 24 hours. His eyes stung as he walked through the court yard, since when was the sun so bright? Draco rubbed a hand over his eyes and groaned slightly. Merlin he just wanted his life back, he just wanted you back. 

“What’s the matter Malfoy?” Blaise said from beside him. Draco had completely forgotten they have been walking together. 

“Nothing.” Draco shrugged, Blaise knew he was lying.

“Your an awful liar.” Blaise laughed deeply. 

“Oh yeah? And you’re an impressionable twat.” Draco sneered, glaring at his best friend. 

Blaise stopped walking, turning towards Draco. “What’s wrong? Seriously mate, I know you didn’t sleep last night. And you’re far more irritable then usual.”

Draco sighed. “It’s Y/N. I want her back but she seems to want nothing to do with me.”

“Didn’t you guys just go to Hogsmeade together a couple weeks back?” Blaise raised a curious eyebrow. Draco nodded. 

“But it wasn’t a date, we barely even spoke to each other. It was disastrous.”

“You need to be honest-”

“I have been!” Draco interrupted defensively. 

“Let me finish, you git! You need to be honest with her, bring her somewhere private and be honest. Tell her everything Draco, you need to show her that you’re genuinely sorry. That you want her back.” Blaise said simply with a shrug of his shoulders. 

Draco pondered the idea for a moment. “You’re right. You’re so bloody right!” Draco’s mood changed drastically. He was now more alert, looking around the court yard for you. You were nowhere to be found, of course. 

“Can you do me one, Blaise? Tell Y/N to meet me at our old spot at midnight.” Draco looked at his friend with a pleading expression. 

“I despise getting wrapped up in your shit, Malfoy. But I’ll do my best.” Draco smiled before waving goodbye to his friend. 

“Thank you! I’ve got to run to charms or Flitwick will have my head on a platter.” Draco hurried off, speed walking and shoving aside the people that walked too slow for his liking. Making it just in time, Draco took a seat next to some Hufflepuff girl. She looked nervously over at him, he met her eyes. 

“Hello, do you have a staring problem sweetheart?” Draco said smoothly. The girl shook her head quickly, mumbling an apology and turning her attention to the front of the classroom. Flitwick began the lecture, causing Draco to yawn softly. Merlin he felt drained.

Draco sat nervously on the windowsill on the astronomy tower. Draco had decided during Charms that this was gonna be his final attempt at getting you back. After tonight, if you didn’t want him then fine, so be it. Draco tried his best to believe that this was going to work, but he knew with his luck it most likely wouldn’t The door of the astronomy tower creaked up, making Draco turn. 

“Blaise?” You said questioningly as you stepped inside, shutting the door softly. The moonlight casted it’s presence on you, making Draco’s heart thump harder than before. 

“No, It’s me.” Draco spoke smoothly, trying his best to sound sure of himself. 

“Why did you have me meet you here?” You asked suspiciously. 

“I have something to tell you. And this will be the last time I tell you this.” Draco took a deep breath as he stood to his feet. His damn palms were sweating again. Draco wiped his hands on his pants before clearing his throat and speaking. “Look, Y/N. I fucked up. Big time. Hurting you was the worst mistake of my life, and trust me as you know I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life. I take it all back, all those vile things I said to you in this very room so many months ago. None of it was true, not then and not now. You’re everything to me. Everything. I only said those things so you could hate me, I wanted you to stay far away from me as possible. I didn’t want you to get caught up with a death eater. I wanted to protect you. I love you, Y/N. All I’m asking is for one more chance, one more chance to have you be mine once more. Please.” Draco swallowed the growing saliva in his mouth. “If you don’t want me back, fine. I’ll leave you alone forever. I’ll never bother you again. I promise, you have my word. Draco watched as you raked through your brain, trying to put your words together.

After a long, painful moment of silence, you finally spoke. “How do I even know you’re serious? you played with my emotions Draco, you had such terrible mood swings and I tried so hard to be patient, I’m still patient dammit. It just hurts when you’re warm and loving one day and completely distant and cold the next.” He watched you spoke, a frown cracking through his “unfazed” façade.

Draco straightened his face. “Okay. I understand that and um-erm-I..” Draco scratched the back of his neck nervously. “I’m sorry, I’m trying to work on controlling my emotions, my outbursts. I love you Y/N. I love you with the type of love that I cant describe. you consume me, utterly consume me. every time I'm with you it’s like you’ve completely engulfed me. I love you okay? I want to be a better person for you, eventually for myself too hopefully. I want to be the person you want around, the person who show your ugliest side to, the person you can come to whenever you’re breaking.” Draco felt his cheeks begin to burn as tears filled the boys eyes. Letting out a shaky breath, Draco continued. “I-I never had someone who truly loved me, my dad has always been distant and foul towards me. Anytime I showed any signs of weakness, punishment. Because purebloods and wealthy people have to be strong and unyielding. my mother simply based her parenting on whatever my father wanted and whatever made my family look the best. you however,” Draco stood closer to you now, gripping your hands in his. He rubbed soft circles into your skin as he continued. “You Y/N, You’ve shown me what was love is, what it’s meant to be. You’re so understanding. Everytime I think I went too far and I’ve lost you, you understand and you forgive me. You never have held me to my past, my family’s decisions. You only hold me to my word, and myself alone. That is why I love you. Why I’m so bloody in love with you, right now! At this very moment I would do anything to call you mine again, to have you by my side.” Draco searched your face as you looked at him with tears in your eyes.

Then, you did what he’s missed the most. You kissed him. It was a gentle kiss, no rushed movements, no searching hands. Only two people expressing all the words they couldn’t say with one kiss. Draco pulled away, trying to suppress the smile playing on his lips. “Does this mean you’re mine again?” You nodded shyly, causing Draco’s heart to spike. “Merlin!” He yelled at the top his lungs, causing you to laugh. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into the tightest hug he could muster.

“Crushing. Me.” You wheezed out with a repressed giggle.

“I’m sorry my love!” He exclaimed. “I promise you won’t regret your decision. I will spend every moment to make up for our lost time, I’ll always be so sorry about this whole thing. For everything I said.”

You looked up at the him with eyes that would bring any man to his knees. “Dray.” You said softly, lips barely moving. Draco could hear his heart in his ears as he swallowed. “I forgive you, we’ve got this okay? And I’m sorry for slapping you, I assume we both have things to work on.”

Draco gave a toothy grin. “You’re my favorite.”

----

A/N I tried to tie one piece of the taylor swift’s song to this:)  i hope you enjoyed part two! Tbh I feel a little iffy about this one, but I appreciate everyone who asked me to do a part two and showed support and love! much love babes

[hatterstan-shameblog]

Smut, you say 👀

You're this cute, kinda innocent woman that gets the help of this handsome gigolo to not be as... innocent.

💕 The Professional: Chapter 1 💕

Chapter Two

Rating: PG-13 (for this chapter only)

Pairing: Danma Takeru (Hatter)/Reader (she/her

Tags: flirting, suggestive conversation, alcohol consumption, smoking, kissing

“Well, darling,” he says, voice low and smooth and so much closer than before, “I think it’s high time we got to the heart of the issue. The root of the root and the bud of the bud, as it were.”

“Uh,” you say, unsure of where he’s going with this but very much enjoying his simple touches, “what do you mean?”

“I’m just wondering,” he clarifies, pausing to let out a soft sigh, “when you’re going to give in and kiss me.”

Notes: This is a kind-of sort-of AU—in the show, Hatter references his involvement with the host club business, and mentions that he “would do anything” to be the best. Although host clubs do not usually involve sex work (as far as I know), I believe that he would definitely offer that “off the books” in order to win over his clientele.

You’re nervous. Nervous and jittery and—oh, dear, there’s a lot of feelings going on in here, and all of them seem to fall under the umbrella of ‘mild to moderate discomfort.’ Not that feeling uncomfortable is anything new; in fact, there are very few times where you happen to feel truly comfortable outside of, say, the warmth of your bed or the soothing calm of a late-night bath. Places where you feel safe. Places where you can let yourself breathe and be, unhindered by expectation.

The place where you currently find yourself—this strange little pocket of a room in the buzz and bustle of a Friday-night Kabukicho—is full-to-bursting with expectation. From the polished wood floors to the glittering gold chandelier that hangs from the center of the ceiling, there is an inescapable sense of opulent whimsy that is tinged pink with a blush of sensuality. There are even fresh flowers on the table in front of you—a vase of ranunculus, blooming bright and orange like a green-stalked bunch of tiny setting suns.

Something like an itch tickles your sweat-damp palms, making you ball your hands into tight fists around the fabric of your skirt. Oh, you should have worn something different! Something sexier, maybe, with a deeper neckline and a shorter hem, that hugged the shape of your body as opposed to ghosting over it in fluttering chiffon. Not that you actually, you know, owned anything like that, but—

The pop! of a champagne cork makes you jump. Hell, you feel like you’re about to pop, too, from the nervous energy boiling and swelling in your chest. It’s so very difficult not to fidget, to keep your toes from tapping out a frantic little rhythm on the rug.

Looking back, you realize that the paperwork had been the ‘easy’ part. Not that it had been particularly easy—who knew there would be an application process for this kind of thing?—but it was less stressful to fill out a (surprisingly comprehensive) questionnaire in the privacy of your own home as opposed to this agonizing waiting.

And what, exactly, are you waiting for?

Why, you’re waiting for him.

His name is Takeru—or, at least, that’s what he’s asked you to call him. Whether or not it’s a stage name is difficult to tell; but what you do know is that it sounded so very nice in the deep clear of his voice. The only thing that sounded better was your name, which he said in a gently-sultry half-whisper that made you feel…many thing, and not all of them innocent.

In a devastatingly well-tailored suit of lipstick red—a vibrant pop of a color you would so often consider buying at the makeup counter but always put back—it’s nearly impossible to look at anything but him. A small collection of rings glisten from his fingers, most of them delicate little things that wink a tiny gleam when the light hits them just right. The dizzying black-white-gold pattern of his shirt is unbuttoned just a smidge too low, offering you a tantalizing view of his chest.

And although his back is toward you, concocting some kind of magic at the bar cart along the far wall, you can all but feel the warm-dark of his eyes on you. Oh, he has beautiful eyes, dark and warm with the glitter of laughter—or perhaps mischief, if the situation calls for it. A slim nose leads down to a shapely mouth, handsomely framed by a neatly-trimmed beard and mustache.

Also, his hair—oh, that man has a great head of hair.

Aesthetics aside—he has been undeniably lovely. Slipping the coat from your shoulders when you walked into the room, fingertips skimming the slope of your shoulders with only the barest of touches. Offering you a glass of champagne (“Yes, thank you”) as he leads you to sit on the green velvet settee, hand hovering above but never touching the small of your back. A serene smile on his lips as he talks, as he tells you that your dress is lovely (“Blue is definitely your color, darling”) and letting out an airy chuckle when you mention that this was as good occasion as any to dig it out of the back of your closet.

It is impossible to ignore the way he is so very provocative—subtly so, in a way that makes you second-guess whether his flirtations had happened at all. Did his eyes really linger over the shape of your legs, or was he simply taking a moment to admire your (new, very cute) shoes? Did his fingertips slip over the curve of your shoulder as he removed your coat, or were you just imagining it?

His gaze tiptoes over your shape as he sits down beside you, two flutes of pink-tinged something in hands.

“I’ve taken the liberty of making something a little special,” he says, “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, uh, thank you,” you say as he hands you one of the glasses, “it…it looks nice.”

“Know what it is?”

“Uh,” you say after a moment of silent deliberation, “Maybe alcohol?”

He huffs a short laugh at your half-joke—a rather polite response, and it manages to soothe the bubble of regret that had risen up your throat the moment you’d said it.

“You’re not wrong. More specifically, though, it’s a Kir Royale—or, my take on one, at the very least,” he watches the bubbles fizzle to the top of the glass, “I find myself more or less incapable of keeping with convention, even when it comes to alcohol.”

“Well, uh,” you say, “it’s pretty. I like the color.”

You taste the drink, bubbles like tiny fireworks tickling over the surface of your tongue. There is a dry bitterness, no doubt from the champagne, but it’s softened by a fruity sweetness. Something familiar, something that reminds you of summer and shaved ice and walks along the river and—

“Cherry,” you say, half-lost in the hazy-warm memory of days gone by—until you remember where you are and snap back to reality, “it’s, uh, it tastes like cherries.”

“Very good. Usually, the drink calls for creme de cassis, but I used Kijafa instead. It’s a dessert wine from Denmark, made from cherries,” his brow raises just a smidge, “I thought it appropriate, given the situation.”

And it takes you a minute to understand what he’s talking about. Cherries. You. Ah. A rather crass comparison, but accurate all the same.

“Oh,” you say, picking a very uninteresting spot on the rug to look at in an attempt to avoid meeting his eyes, “I, uh…”

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he adds, “In fact, virginity isn’t even a real thing. Completely made up. Means nothing, really.”

There is a kind of lag—he’s speaking, you know he’s speaking, but it takes your brain a few extra seconds to figure out what he’s actually saying. It’s strange, hearing someone talk to you so openly about sex. Not unwelcome, by any means, but you need a moment (or two, or ten) to adjust.

“That being said,” he continues, as if he’s discussing the weather, “just because it doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of life doesn’t mean it’s nothing to you.”

He’s fishing. He’s fishing, and you kind of want to take the bait, but…well, you’re finding it difficult to get your thoughts in order. He’s the very picture of calm, all while you’re floundering over a simple conversation.

“Apologies if I’ve overstepped,” he says, taking a slow sip of his drink, “I thought you might prefer to talk it over a bit. ”

“No, uh, you’re fine,” you answer quickly, “I’m just…I thought the paperwork kind of covered all that.”

“More or less,” he answers, “however, I’ve found that the person who fills out the forms and the person who ends up sitting across from me are not always of the same mind.”

He reaches a hand into the inside of his jacket and pulls out a silver-plated cigarette case. Although he is not gentleman enough to ask your permission to smoke, he is gentleman enough to offer you a cigarette before taking one of his own. You decline. He shrugs and quickly snaps the case shut before laying it on the table.

“In fact, it’s not uncommon for my clients to have a complete change of heart the second they walk through the door,” he continues, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket, “Or, sometimes later on, for that matter. Depends on the person.”

Cigarette held between his teeth, he retrieves a lighter from his right trouser pocket. With a sharp little snick, he ignites it, pulling the little orange flame towards his face and hiding it behind his hand to let it catch.

“Really?”

You watch him intently, the way his eyelids flutter closed at the first inhale. The way his lips pucker around the filter and release, the red-pink sticking slightly as they pull away and let smoky white flow out and fade into the air.

“Really,” he confirms, “once, I had a client step inside, take one look at me, and promptly walk right back out. Never saw them again, which is fine. I’ll never fault someone for doing what’s right for themselves.”

“Are you, uh, trying to talk me out of it?”

“Not at all. Just making you aware of your options,” he says, “Doing anything for the first time is scary. Driving a car, swimming in the ocean, traveling abroad—sex is no different.”

“Yeah, well,” you respond, “you also get to do most of those things with your clothes on, so…”

“Depends on who you’re with.”

You can’t help but laugh a little.

“Well I still want to…you know,” you answer, “uh, do it. The…the sex part.”

“I’m happy to hear it.”

“Yeah, well, you’re supposed to say that.”

“It’s the truth,” he insists, “I can’t imagine anyone being upset at the thought of having a pretty thing like you in their bed.”

“I’m not—“

“Don’t,” he interrupts, taking on a tone that brokers no arguments, “I will suffer many things, but a liar isn’t one of them. You are an attractive woman and I refuse to be told otherwise.”

“Sorry, I,” you say sheepishly, “I guess I just…wasn’t expecting you to…like me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He ashes his cigarette and takes another long, slow drag, “You’re very sweet. A bit shy, maybe, but I happen to like the shy ones.”

And there is something about the way he says it, the way his voice wraps around the words—oh, there are implications to those words, and you find yourself growing warm at the thought of what exactly those implications could entail.

You sip your drink. He smokes. The quiet between you is almost comfortable. Maybe it’s the alcohol working it’s bubbly magic, but you’re starting to feel a bit more at ease in this strange little place.

Moreover, you’re starting to feel a bit more at ease with him. The thought of kissing him crosses your mind, then doubles-back and crosses it again. Oh, that sounds nice. He would be good at it, too; starting gently, mouth pressed soft and sure against your own, and then just the tiniest tease of his tongue—

“And there you go, biting your lip again,” he says, snapping you out of your impromptu fantasy, “You have no idea how sexy that is, do you?”

He is sporting a devilish grin—not only is he aware that you had been daydreaming about him, but he’s relishing the fact that he was able to catch you so off-guard.

“Didn’t even realize I was doing it,” you admit with a shrug. But you can’t help but feel a thrill at the thought of being considered ‘sexy’—you never really let yourself feel that way, but now that it’s happening…oh, it’s nice.

“It’s absolutely delicious, darling. Makes me wonder what else you do when you’re turned on…”

And he’s got you—like a knife held under your chin, his sharp gaze pins you in place. He is impossible to avoid. Not that you particularly want to avoid him—there’s something irresistible about this man, something that you can’t quite name but definitely want more of.

It’s scary.

It’s exciting.

“I’m,” you say with a nervous chuckle, “not really sure, myself. Guess we’ll have to, uh, figure it out together.”

His gaze darkens. He takes one last lungful of nicotine before stubbing out his cigarette.

“I suppose we shall.”

And he’s moving now, sliding himself down so that he’s closer to you. He stops when there is barely an inch of space between the outside of his thigh and your own. His right arm has draped itself over the back of the sofa, the fingertips of his hand now skimming the skin of your shoulder in loose, mindless sweeps.

“Well, darling,” he says, voice low and smooth and so much closer than before, “I think it’s high time we got to the heart of the issue. The root of the root and the bud of the bud, as it were.”

“Uh,” you say, unsure of where he’s going with this but very much enjoying his simple touches, “what do you mean?”

“I’m just wondering,” he clarifies, pausing to let out a soft sigh, “when you’re going to give in and kiss me.”

He plucks the champagne flute from your grasp and sets it on the table in front of you.

“I, uh—“

The fingertips on your shoulder continue to make their idle little circles, almost hypnotic in their swirling pattern. His left hand catches your right wrist, his thumb pressing above where your pulse thrums beneath sensitive skin.

“Bit fast,” he observes, pulling your arm closer as if inspecting it, “Could be nerves, but I think it’s more from excitement, don’t you?”

You have no choice but to lean into him as he brings your hand closer. Your shoulder presses against his arm, and you feel the solid shape of him through the smooth of his suit. He’s strong underneath all of those layers—warm, too, judging from the heat that radiates from his person.

“I’m—“

The thumb that had been testing your pulse inches higher, stopping when it’s pressing into the center of your palm. His eyes lock with yours, a heartbeat of a moment, and brings your wrist closer and closer until his lips are ghosting over your flesh. When he finally decides to make contact, you gasp—it’s a delicate sensation, but sends your heart skipping in a shaking staccato.

And, then.

Then he sucks.

The sound you make is halfway between an oh of surprise and a desperate little moan—oh, wow, that’s really weirdly unexpectedly hot—and you don’t even have the presence of mind to feel embarrassed by your own reaction. He’s not even doing much, not really; just a little bit of pressure, lips parted just enough to let his tongue slip out and have a taste of you.

But, oh, it feels…it feels filthy, it feels decadent, it feels like something you should not be doing but very much want to keep doing for the rest of your life. Takeru’s eyes have since fluttered shut, and he hums the tiniest sound of pleasure as he maintains his seductive tease.

“Please,” you manage to sigh, sounding as breathless as you feel, “please, I, I want you to kiss me.”

His lips release from your wrist with a pucker-pop noise—which was no doubt intentional on his part, and does nothing to quell the thrill of desire in your belly.

“Hm. I’ll make you a deal,” he says, shifting a bit to the left so that he can turn to face you better, “I’ll kiss you for the rest of the night, but right now…you kiss me.”

And what a deal that is—you don’t even have to think about it, head bobbing in an affirmative nod as you wet your lips in anticipation. The hand that had so lovingly held yours is now guiding you to rest your palm just above his knee. You reflexively reach your other hand out to steady yourself, and it lands against his chest before you can stop it.

He’s so close now. There’s barely any space between your faces, barely room to breathe—

“Go on, darling,” he whispers, “if you want me, have me.”

And you do.

You kiss him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. The anxiety that has plagued you since the moment you entered the room hasn’t completely dissipated—it would be foolish to think it’d be that easy to banish those feelings completely—but all that is now secondary to the feeling of his mouth on yours.

Kissing Takeru is warm. It’s soft and it’s sure and it’s…comfortable, in a way. Safe, even. He does not press, doesn’t do much of anything except mirror the way your lips slide against his own. A gentle rhythm, a push and pull between the two of you that feels as natural as the moon guiding the tides to shore—yes, kissing him is good and right and something you want to do many times over.

Unfortunately, you have to pull away to breathe. He doesn’t let you go far, though, one hand cupped behind the nape of your neck and the other pressing into the small of your back.

“Oh, you are sweet,” he purrs, his gaze dropping to your freshly-kissed lips, “and, seeing that I’m a man of my word…”

As it turns out, being kissed by Takeru might be better than kissing him, yourself. He is still so very careful when he presses his lips to yours, but this time…this time, there’s fire. He tastes like the best part of a cigarette, like warmth and alcohol and cherries, and it only intensifies as he tests the seam of your lips with his tongue.

Little by little, you begin to test him, too. Hands cradle the curve of his jaw, feeling the way his face shifts as he moves against you. Fingertips run through the soft dark of his hair—oh, he likes that, if the half-sigh that slips from his throat is to be believed. And when you nip at his lower lip with your teeth (he had, after all, very much enjoyed the way you bit your lip earlier), he genuinely moans and pulls you even closer to himself.

It’s when he begins to wander lower, with his mouth skimming the sensitivity of your neck and his hand splayed across your lower back in a way that flirts with the idea of indecency, that you begin to want more. Fear—and maybe that’s not exactly the right word for what you’re feeling, but it’s the only one that comes to mind—begins to creep up the column of your spine.

The “what-if’s” start filling your brain; what if you mess something up? What if you do something he doesn’t like? What if you freeze up later and—

“Alright, darling?”

His voice is a low soothe against your ear; he’s retreated, just a bit, and his hand has wandered to a chaste and respectable area of your mid-back.

“I—“

You want him to take you to bed. You want him to take off your dress and kiss you in all the places you thought weren’t worth kissing, to let his hands trace sparks along the curves of your shape and let him be close to you in a way that no one else has. You want him, despite the uncertain ache that burns between your ribs and bids you to hide yourself away and leave behind the pleasure of his touch.

…But all you can manage is a nervous glance to the bed behind you (the one you had been avoiding thinking about up until this point) and a stammered “Can we, uh…?”

“Ask me,” he says, his index and middle fingers idly skimming the notch in your collarbone, “I’ll give you anything you want, as long as you ask me.”

It’s difficult to make eye contact with him—every time you try, you feel embarrassment swell up beneath your tongue.

But Takeru is, as you have come to learn over the last hour or so, decidedly patient. He shows no sign of relenting, appearing to be perfectly content with giving you an expectant grin and continuing his little touches as you try not to squirm in your seat.

“I,” you gulp, “I want…“

You bite your lip—oh, wait, he likes that too, and he’s staring at you with those sharp and sultry eyes, and it makes something behind your heart squeeze and unsqueeze itself and punches the air from your lungs and—

“Take me to bed,” you manage to spit out, and it all sounds like one word with how quickly you pushed the words into the air. The “uh, please” you tack on at the end is an afterthought, but perhaps it’s polite enough to pass muster.

“Was that so hard,” Takeru asks with a good-natured chuckle, “but since you asked so nicely…”

He takes your hand in his and brings it to his lips for a kiss—and even that, after everything, still has you feeling a flutter of something giddy in your stomach.

“Darling,” he says, “it would be my pleasure.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

…and now, you’ll have to wait until chapter two to get to the “good stuff!”

It’s been a challenge writing this—I’m trying to make the scenario believable while still keeping it vague enough to allow for people to make up their own little details. It’s also been unexpectedly difficult to write him, since he’s kind of being himself while also playing a character who’s trying to mold themself into their client’s fantasy…it’s a lot of layers, but it’s been fun trying to figure things out!

[sifanjewel]

Strongest Clan Rivalries/Alliances

I wanted to make a list of the Gelfling clans who get along the best and those with the most conflict. Most of this is canon (info from Song of the Gelfling Clans, comics, ect) and some headcanons based on personal observation.

Also, warning of slight spoilers from the comics and novel series

Allies:

Vapra/Sifa - The Vapra and Sifa practically share borders with Cera-Na being in close proximity to Ha’rar on the coast. Much of their trade happens in the marketplace and docks between the two locations. These clans definitely intermingle the most, with many Vapran citizens appearing to be mixed with Sifa. Despite the Sifa’s brief plans to break away from the clans altogether, their alliance was solidified by the marriage between All-Maudra Mayrin and Captain Kam’lu.

Vapra/Stonewood - Being the two “highest” clans, there must be good relations between them. While there is some jealousy from the Stonewood regarding the Vapran Maudra’s position as All-Maudra despite the Stonewood having closer contact with the Skeksis, it is a topic dare not spoken of not only to avoid offending the Lords, but also to keep a steady trade system with the Vapra and Sifa. Plus, based on how highly Maudra Fara spoke of Mayrin, there’s no doubt the respective leaders got along, which most definitely helped in keeping peace.

Drenchen/Stonewood - I’m not completely sure on this one, but I think with the way Fara and Maudra Laesid interacted, it’s a good guess there's a pretty steady alliance between them. Not to mention Rian and Gurjin’s friendship, though I think even if the clans were initially rivals, the two would have found the good in each other regardless. The only doubts about the strength of this alliance come from the Stonewood’s behavior toward outsiders and Bellanji’s disdainful comments toward the clan at the start of the books series which suggest he may have had some negative personal experience with them, though Laesid is quick to shut him down.

Dousan/Sifa - Much like with the Vapran, Sifan borders with the Dousan are fairly close, and the two clans are very alike in terms of lifestyle and traditions. There are many similarities between the two that one begins to wonder if this is the result of Dousan culture weaving it’s way into Sifan culture, or perhaps the other way around (the former being more likely). The Seven Clans book mentions that though the Dousan live solitary lives, they come to Cera-Na to trade, which shows a great amount of trust in the alliance if the Dousan are willing to leave their precious desert to mingle with another clan, something they are rarely known to do otherwise.

Drenchen/Grottan - This is my personal headcanon, but since both clans are known for their healing, it wouldn’t be surprising if the two shared their different methods and worked out a good trade system. The Grottan teach alchemy and the Drenchen willingly demonstrate their vliyaya, which the Grottan are always amazed by.

Rivals:

Spriton/Stonewood - It has been made clear several times that the Spriton and Stonewood have been rivals for years, perhaps centuries. Though both clans appear to be quite territorial in nature, their conflicts seem to stem from a power struggle. Both are highly ranked (Stonewood second and Spriton third) and have similar clan lifestyles (each a mix of farmers, warriors, and song tellers), which creates a competition to win Skeksis favor. Fara even outright states how much Maudra Mera loves the Skeksis *almost* as much as she fears them, and her tone makes it clear that this has been the case for some time, and it doesn’t surprise her that she wouldn’t initially participate in the Resistance. Her tone makes it clear that they had never really gotten along even prior to this. Not to mention the way Kylan is treated for having a Stonewood father, and they way his parents had to live as outcasts in dangerous territory because of their frowned-upon union. 

Spriton/Drenchen - Most of this is book canon, but the way the Spriton think of the Drenchen is so blatantly obvious from the start, simply from the way Naia is treated the moment she steps foot in Sami Thicket, even by the Maudra herself. Though Mera does her best to be cordial, her politeness is simply out of making herself look good for hosting a fellow Maudra’s daughter. She even goes so far as to say the Drenchen aren’t “important” when Naia asks about the Skeksis creating a census for the clans. Fara’s statement about Mera in the show is proven fact when the Spriton are willing to go into outright war with the Drenchen under the orders of skekUng, even when Mera knew exactly what the Skeksis were doing at that point. The Spriton’s loyalty to the Skeksis was stronger than clan relations, which nearly broke whatever peace the two clans had left between them, if not for Naia and the others stepping in when they did.

Vapra/Grottan - Not so much a “rivalry”, more of a general dislike for one another. Because the Grottan were pretty much shoved underground after the Silver Sea clan split, the Vapran soon seemed to forget about them and/or ignore them along with everyone else. After all, the Vapra symbolize the future while the Grottan handle things of the past (i.e. the Tomb of Relics), and are therefore more easily forgotten. The geographical and social differences between the clans cause a rift between them, leading the Vapran to disregard their “lower” halves and leave the Grottan somewhat bitter about the whole thing (as is made clear by Amri’s opinions in Songs)

Vapra/Drenchen - Another social/geographical divide, but much worse than with the Grottan. The two clans don’t interact much, but when they do, things can get ugly, as demonstrated by Naia and Tavra’s first meeting in the show. Their meeting and relationship through the first two books isn't exactly a friendly one either. Like with Maudra Mera, the two only initially get along because of Tavra’s professionalism and her priority to complete her mission as smoothly as possible. And although Laesid appeares to think somewhat highly of Mayrin in the show (or at least her final actions before her death), that was the extent of whatever semblance of peace there was between them.

Dousan/Everyone else but the Sifa - Like the Grottan, the Dousan are more just disliked by the higher clans. They don’t involve themselves in rivalries, it’s really more like the world is against them, but that doesn’t make it any better. None of this is the Dousan’s fault, which makes the situation even more sad. The Skeksis twisted the image of their clan and made them out to be “death worshippers”, therefore blasphemers in their eyes, causing the other clans (at least the ones closest to the Skeksis) to essentially turn their backs on them and fear them. It’s a conflict they don’t deserve to be put in the center of.

***

So that’s my list of the strongest Gelfling clan alliances and rivalries. I hope I got my book information correct, I haven’t read them in a while and a friend is borrowing them so I can’t really check (I know I could look it up online too but honestly it’s easier to flip through the books). If anyone wants to add to or correct me on any of this, that’s perfectly fine!

[ask-the-crimson-king]

More Stuff from Betrayer

[While on the topic, I want to show the various humans out there a very interesting scene out of Betrayer.

Two, technically, but one that's a bit longer than the other. Image IDs will be provided at the end of the post, cause there's going to be a LOT.

Some interesting insights into how Lorgar views Chaos and a bit about the Emperor as well. I always find this scene to be fascinating, especially since he's borrowed the astropathic choir of the Conquerer to listen to worlds dying across Ultramar while he muses on this.

And then there's when Angron walks up.

Some interesting, albeit a bit morbid, banter between brothers. I do like how Angron even greets Lorgar on the way in, and Lorgar is just standing there stunned. The insights into how Angron views the Devourers is also neat, and it is to be expected at this point. Lorgar trying to argue for them and trying to get Angron to stop ignoring them outright is another neat touch.

The two begin talking of Ultramar, and Lorgar reveals that Nuceria is going to be the capstone for his ritual. Angron asks why, and the following is said:

I like this passage for a few reasons. Firstly, how Angron "dreams" has always been something of interest to me. Because I doubt he ever really gets much rest and respite. Here we get some insight into this, although this also was already expressed a bit earlier. This passage also leads into Angron's recollection of the Night of the Wolf, but I wanted to focus on this.

Lorgar and Angron's "bond" is something that's always intrigued me. It definitely feels more one-sided, with Lorgar seeking for brotherhood that isn't really there, but there are a few moments to make it feel a bit more genuine. However, there is still something missing from these interactions. I can't really describe it other than a barrier between two primarchs who will never see eye-to-eye. Lorgar does, to his credit, try to be understanding and patient throughout, but I can also definitely feel his annoyance coming through at certain places.

In a way, I can almost feel a similar sort of vibe to how Magnus interacts with some of his brothers. Namely with Perturabo in one of the opening chapters of his primarch novel. However, the bond between those two is still very different from the one Angron has with Lorgar; those two actually do have a deep connection, while these two don't. There's a misunderstanding and underestimation coming from both sides in certain aspects; Lorgar in almost sounding condescending to Angron, and Angron still thinking Lorgar a weakling.

TL;DR, Betrayer good.

Image IDs below the cut:

Image ID 1 & 2: A scene from Betrayer where Lorgar is standing and listening to worlds burn. It reads:

Serving as conductor for an astrological orchestra was more taxing than he’d dreamed, though his blunter, more militant brothers would struggle to grasp the finer points of his efforts. Exhaustion left him wondering, even if only briefly, whether absolute peace would create a stellar song as divinely inspired as absolute war. Fate had played its hand and Chaos was destined to swallow all creation whether or not Horus and Lorgar raged against the Imperial war machine, but if what if they’d stayed loyal to the Emperor? What then? Would the Great Crusade have shaped a serene funeral dirge, to play behind the veil as humanity died in a defenceless harrowing?

Therein lay the fatal flaw. The Emperor’s way was compliance, not peace. The two were as repellent to one another as opposing lodestones. It didn’t matter what enlightenment the Imperium stamped out in its conquering crusade when obedience was all its lords desired. It didn’t matter what wars were fought from now into eternity. The Legiones Astartes would always march, for they were born to do so. There would always be war; even if the Great Crusade had been allowed to reach the galaxy’s every edge, there would never be peace. Discontent would seethe. Populations would rebel. Worlds would rise up. Human nature eventually sent men and women questing for the truth, and tyrants always fell to the truth.

No peace. Only war.

Lorgar felt his blood run cold. Only war. Those were words to echo into eternity.

He didn’t trust the Ten Thousand Futures the way Erebus claimed to. Too many possibilities forked from every decision made by every living thing. What use was prophecy when all it offered was what might happen? Lorgar was not so devoid of imagination that he needed the warp’s twisting guesswork to show him that. Anyone with an iota of vision could imagine what might happen. Genius lay in engineering events according to one’s own goals, not in blindly heeding the laughter of mad gods.

More than that, Lorgar sought to keep one thing in mind above all else. The gods were powerful, without doubt, but they were fickle beings. Each worked against its own kin more often than not, spilling conflicting prophecies into their prophets’ minds. Perhaps they weren’t even sentient in the way a mortal mind could encompass. They seemed as much the manifestations of primal emotion as they did individual essences.

But no, there was a wide gulf between hearing them and heeding them. Gods lied, just like men. Gods deceived and clashed and sought to advance their own dominions over their rivals’. Lorgar trusted none of their prophecies.

Image ID 3-5: A series of screenshots from Betrayer. Angron comes into the scene. It reads:

Angron entered the basilica, armoured in his usual stylised bronze and ceramite and with two oversized chainswords strapped to his back. He even wasted time with a greeting, raising his hand in the first time Lorgar could ever remember such a gesture from his broken brother. The Word Bearer tried not to let his amazement show at his brother’s new consideration.

‘Lotara says you stole her astropathic choir.’ Angron’s lipless smile was a ghastly thing indeed. ‘I see that she may have been correct.’

‘Stole is a strong word. “Appropriated” seems much less ignoble.’ Lorgar spared a glance for the skies above the cathedral, as the Lex ripped onwards towards Nuceria.

‘What do you need them for?’ Angron asked. His wounds from being buried alive had already faded to scrunched scar tissue pebbling his flesh, just another host of scarring to overlay the last.

The Devourers lurked behind him, stomping into the cathedral without the primarch sparing them a glance. To be one of Angron’s bodyguards was no honour, despite how fiercely the World Eaters’ champions had fought for it in the first, optimistic years. Angron ignored them no matter where they went, never once fighting alongside them in battle. In their Terminator plate, they’d never managed to keep up with their liege lord, and they were as prone to losing control as any other World Eater, meaning any hope of them fighting as an organised pack was a forlorn one at best.

Lorgar watched the Devourers – those warriors who’d spent a century learning to swallow their pride and pretend they weren’t ignored – speaking amongst themselves at the basilica’s entrance.

‘Hail,’ he greeted them. They seemed uneasy at being addressed, offering hesitant and wordless bows.

Angron snorted at his brother acknowledging them. ‘Bodyguards,’ he said. ‘Even their name annoys me. “Devourers”, as if I’d named them myself – as if they were the Legion’s finest.’

‘Their intentions are pure,’ Lorgar pointed out. ‘They seek to honour you. It’s not their fault you leave them behind in every battle.’

‘They’re not even the Legion’s fiercest fighters, any more. That rogue Delvarus refuses to challenge for a place in their ranks. Khârn laughed when I asked him if he’d ever considered it. And do you know Bloodspitter?’

‘I know Bloodspitter,’ Lorgar replied. Everyone knew Bloodspitter.

‘He beat one of them in the pits, and carved his name into the poor bastard’s armour with a combat knife.’

Lorgar forced a smile. ‘Yes. Delightful.’

Angron’s face wrenched again, at the mercy of misfiring muscles. ‘What primarch ever needed guarding by lesser men?’

‘Ferrus,’ Lorgar said softly. ‘Vulkan.’

Angron laughed, the sound rich and true, yet harsh as a bitter wind. ‘It’s good to hear you joke about those weaklings. I was getting bored of you mourning them.’

It was no joke, but Lorgar had no desire to shatter his brother’s fragile good humour. ‘I only mourn the dead,’ Lorgar conceded. ‘I don’t mourn Vulkan.’

‘He’s as good as dead.’ The World Eater smiled again. ‘I’m sure he wishes he were. Now, what are you doing with Lotara’s choir?’

‘Listening to them sing of other worlds and other wars.’

Angron stared, unimpressed. ‘Specifics,’ he said, ‘while I have the patience to hear such details.’

‘Just listen,’ Lorgar replied.

Angron did as he was bid. After a minute or more had passed, he nodded once. ‘You’re listening to the Five Hundred Worlds burning.’

‘Something like that. These are the voices of the freshly dead, and those soon to join them. The mortis-moments of random souls, elsewhere in Ultramar, as our fleets ravage their worlds.’

‘Morbid, priest. Even for you.’

‘We’re inflicting this destruction on them. We mustn’t consider ourselves distant from it. It may not be our hands holding the bolters and blades, but we are still the architects of this annihilation. It’s our place to listen to it, to remember the martyred dead, and to meditate on all we’ve wrought.’

‘I wish you well with it,’ said Angron. ‘But why steal Lotara’s choir? What happened to yours?’

‘They died.’

It was Angron’s turn to be surprised. ‘How did they die?’

‘Screaming.’ Lorgar showed no emotion at all. ‘What brings you here, brother?’

Image ID 6 & 7: Two screenshots from later in the previous scene, when Angron asks 'Why Nuceria?'. It reads:

‘The metaphysics are complicated,’ said Lorgar.

That had Angron growling. ‘I may not have wasted days in debate with you and Magnus inside our father’s Palace, but the Nails haven’t left me an absolute fool. I asked the question, Lorgar. You answer it. And do so without lying, if you can manage such a feat.’

The Word Bearer met his brother’s eyes, and the rarely-seen palette of emotions within their depths. Pain was there in abundance, but so was the frustration of living with a misfiring mind, and the savagery that transcended anger itself. Angron was a creature that had come to make his hatred a blade to be used in battle. He’d weaponised his own emotions, where most living beings were slaves to theirs. Lorgar couldn’t help but admire the strength in that.

‘We’re going to Nuceria,’ he said, ‘because of you. Because of the Nails.’

Angron stared, and his silence beckoned for his brother to continue.

‘They’re killing you,’ Lorgar admitted. ‘Faster than I thought. Faster than anyone realised. The rate of degeneration has accelerated even in the last few months. Your implants were never designed for a primarch’s brain matter. Your physiology is trying to heal the damage as the Nails bite deeper, but it’s a game of pushing and pulling, with both sides evenly matched.’

Angron took this with an impassive shrug. ‘Guesswork.’

‘I can see souls and hear the music of creation,’ Lorgar smiled. ‘In comparison, this is nothing. The Twelfth Legion’s archives are comprehensive enough, you know. Your behaviour tells the rest of the tale, along with the pain I sense radiating from you each and every time we meet. Your entire brain is remapped and rewired, slaved to the implants’ impulses. Tell me, when was the last time you dreamed?’

‘I don’t dream.’ The answer was immediate, almost fiercely fast. ‘I’ve never dreamed.’

Lorgar’s gentle eyes caught the warp’s kaleidoscopic light as he tilted his head. ‘Now you’re lying, brother.’

‘It’s no lie.’ Angron’s thick fingers twitched and curled, closing around the ghosts of weapons. ‘The Nails scarcely let me sleep. How would I dream?’

Lorgar didn’t miss the rising tension in his brother’s body language – the veins in his temples rising from scarred skin, the feral hunch of the shoulders, no different from a hunting cat drawing into a crouch before it struck.

‘You once told me the Nails stole your slumber,’ Lorgar conceded, ‘but you also said they let you dream.’

Angron took a step closer. He started to say ‘I meant…’ but Lorgar’s earthy glare stopped him cold.

‘They give you a serenity and peace you can find nowhere else. Humans, legionaries, primarchs… everything alive must sleep, must rest, must allow its brain a period of respite. The remapping of your mind denies you this. You don’t dream with your eyes closed. You dream with your eyes open, chasing the rush of whatever peace the Nails can give you.’ Lorgar met Angron’s eyes again. ‘Don’t insult us both by denying it. You slaver and murmur when you kill, mumbling about chasing serenity and how close it feels. I’ve heard you. I’ve looked into your heart and soul when you’re lost to the Nails. Your sons, with their crude copies of your implants, have their minds rewritten to feel joy only in adrenaline’s kiss. Those lesser implants cause pain because they scrape the nerves raw, thus your World Eaters kill because it gladdens their reforged hearts, and ceases the pain knifing into their muscles. Your Butcher’s Nails are a more sinister and predatory design, ruining all cognition, stealing any peace. They are killing you, gladiator. And you ask why I’m taking you back to Nuceria? Is it not obvious?’

End Image ID.]

[m-aster-of-spinjitzu]

orange and gold

...I just need more Cole and Vania content, they seem like they'd be great friends.

Basically it's just 'Cole goes to visit her there, they almost burn down the kitchen, and make way too many puns', lol.

Set a few months after Master of the Mountain, but before Seabound or The Island.

Also yeah, I couldn't think of a better title, sue me- I just know that they wear one of the colours at some point, so... 🤦‍♀️😂

Trigger warnings: none I think? Huh-

Also, bingo!! I really need to learn better time management, dear freaking gosh- I hope I'm not too late though? I know it's like half a day late, eek- and I was supposed to post this earlier, but I ended up literally falling asleep while writing it😂

Thank you so much Fabro, for hosting such a cool event!:D Your comments on my fics literally never fail to make my day<3. And I'm so glad that I met so many awesome, really skilled people through this event too - it's been a lot of fun working alongside y'all:D, I wish I'd had more time to interact instead of posting stuff and vanishing lol, but exams be like:////

Prompt: cooking (does baking count as cooking? I realized too late lol-) from @ninjago-bingo 's warm board.

Word Count: 2497

---

Trying to escape from killer dire-bats hadn't been on Cole's to do list today - although the mountains were kind of beautiful.

It was a bit difficult to see them while he was being dragged to his death, but hey, didn't Jay always tell them to be more positive?

That was, until he made the mistake of looking down.

Miles of snowcapped mountains touched the pastel blue sky, but he was more focused on exactly how high he was from the ground.

Great.

Trying to swing back onto the Bounty, he didn't notice a golden-winged blur shoot past the bat, almost dropping their spear in haste.

"Let my friend go, or I'll-"

"Vania?"

She throws the spear at the bird, successfully knocking one of its wings.

Huh. She must've been practicing - throwing with accuracy while flying seemed kinda difficult.

"I'm so sorry!" she replies, grabbing his arm before he fell down too. She winces at the strain on her wings, almost dropping him onto the deck. "I was supposed to come earlier, but there was an issue with one of the mines, and it took forever to-"

"There ain't anything in this world that's managed to kill me yet," he replies jokingly, checking that the autopilot hadn't been damaged. "I doubt an angry bird is going to be the first."

"Didn't you mention that you became a ghost once? Pretty sure that means you were dead-"

"Shh, that's not an important detail," he jokes.

"If you say so," she replies with a grin. "Did I mention that Chompy's been tearing down the palace flower arrangements again?"

"Send my regards to the gardener-"

"Did you just make a pun?"

"Remind me why I decided to visit you again?"

"Because you love me?" she asks stepping onto the ground as the Bounty landed gently.

"I hereby crown you as my platonic soulmate," Cole deadpans, taking her hand. "Vania and Cole-"

"Destined to annoy each other for eternity," she giggles, swinging their hands up and down. "But seriously - thanks. I don't think I realized how much work being a queen was."

"What's it like?"

"I mean - I'm glad that people trust me, and they come to me if they have a problem, but the paperwork is a nightmare. I never get to go outside anymore, I swear."

"Paperwork? Also, you just invited me here for a week. I don't wanna disturb you?"

"Nah, I cleared my schedule, don't worry. And trust me, you don't want to know. Everything requires some sort of official written thing, and it's so boring-"

"Official? But you're the queen?"

"Well, yeah, but I don't really want to change something unless it benefits the people. Not after..."

Her smile dims, eyes straying to the palace walls.

Oh- oh.

"You're nothing like him," Cole says firmly, squeezing her hand. "I mean, if you need to take a break, or you can make your job a bit easier by cutting out something unnecessary, that's just gonna help you become a better queen. You've definitely got the interests of your people at heart, and that's the most important thing, you know? And well, uh, everything seems to be going great so far - you don't have to beat yourself up over someone else's mistakes."

"Thanks," she replies softly, her smile slowly returning. "Speaking of breaks, what do you think we should do this time?"

"You could show me around the city again?"

"You've already seen everything cool," Vania giggles, skipping ahead of him. "We don't renovate much - unlike you guys-"

"Hey, it's not our fault that our city gets destroyed every few months-"

"More like every few days," she teases, tying back her golden hair. "How about we find some dragons to adopt?"

"Tempting, but where would you keep them?"

"They could sleep in my room-"

She breaks off when she notices him laughing. "What?"

"N- nothing," Cole replies, in between laughs. "Jay and I just made a bet."

"On what?"

"How many dragons you've adopted. I bet at least six, he bet fifteen."

"Well, jokes on both of you - I'm pretty sure my advisor's going to throw a fit if I show up with another one," she starts, giggling. "We've got twenty living in the palace right now."

"Twenty dragons?"

"They're so cute! You just look into their adorable little eyes," Vania pauses for breath, continuing her animated gesturing, "and you can't help but wanna hug them!"

"Oh, Jay's going to be so mad."

"Aww, I'm sorry guys. They're just too adorable!"

"...Wanna hear a funny story?"

"Yeah, sure!"

"I actually used to be terrified of dragons-"

"No way!" Vania exclaims. "Y'all have been on a lot of adventures though, so-"

"Nah, we used to have our own dragons at first. They were pretty cool! I just- I'm a simple guy! Huge animals with wings are scary up close when you're barely a teenager."

"Or when you're really short-"

"We're the same height!" Cole exclaims, facepalming in a bit of a fondly exasperated way.

"I'm two years younger than you-"

---

"Ugh, whose idea was this?"

"Yours," Vania grins, sitting down on the kitchen counter.

"You were supposed to help me, not leave me high and dry!" Cole accuses jokingly, staring at all the appliances they'd found in the cupboards.

"'One must always be prepared for new adventures,'" she quotes seamlessly, waving one of- what was his name again? Mulch something? Oh! Clutch! Some explorer he was, leaving them to die in the pyramid - Clutch Powers' books in the air.

"Fine," he sighs, staring at the old recipe book she'd found in one of their back cupboards. "But you've gotta help me? I almost burned down-" "Woah, what? If you finish that sentence with 'kitchen'-" "In my defense, Kai was playing a prank on me-" "In my defense, I wouldn't like to explain how the queen of Shintaro burnt down the palace by teaching one of her friends to cook," she grins, flipping through the pages. "What do you wanna start with?" "Something simple?" "Have you ever tried baking bread before? It's a lot of fun!" "I haven't really had the time, but that sounds kinda interesting."

He skims the recipe, raising his eyebrows. "Wait, why does this take hours? I thought you said it was simple?"

"Trust me, it is," she laughs, adding, "besides, I still wanna hear about all your adventures!" "Uh... okay," Cole replies hesitantly, "but if this fails, I'm so sorry." "Give yourself some credit, you guys literally saved the world! Multiple times!" "Bold of y'all to assume we know how we did it," he laughs, only half-kidding. "Besides. I botched soup once."

"I've botched toast," she mock-sighs, smiling. "Pretty sure that makes us even."

"Lemme get this straight. You've messed up toasting bread, but you can bake it from scratch?"

"Trust me, I don't know either," she giggles, trying to open a brightly coloured packet of... something? Did flour come in packets that small?

"Uh, why are you opening something called 'feast'?" he asks, eyebrows creased in confusion.

"Feast," she echoes, trying to stifle her laughter. "Off to a... rocky start, aren't we?"

It took him a second.

"I already regret this," he jokes, facepalming. "But I'd say that your puns are, uh, gold."

"I've un- unleashed-" breaking off, she half-falls off the counter, laughing so hard her face starts to go red, "a monster."

---

"Uh, is it supposed to look like that?" Cole asks, frowning.

The mixture looked less like the dough he'd been expecting - more like one of Jay's inventions gone wrong.

Badly wrong, he thought, eyes widening at the goopy mess of foam that threatened to spill over the jug.

"The yeast?" Vania echoes, poking her head out of one of the cupboards. "Yeah, all good! It always looks a little gross, and you're gonna doubt ever eating bread again, but at least it doesn't taste like it's fermented-"

"It's what?"

"Yeah," she grimaces, exaggerating her disgust a bit. "If aliens ever fell from the sky, they'd think we were crazy for eating bread-"

"Aliens? I think we're a bit crazy!" Cole exclaims, trying not to laugh.

Vania smiles, then sighs, lugging a huge bag of flour onto the counter. "I can never open these bags properly," she starts, eyeing the the bag a bit warily, "and it always makes such a huge mess all over the kitchen. You'd think they'd make it easier for people to use, right? I swear-"

He jokingly puts his hands over his ears. "I can't hear you!" "But you know that I've sworn off swearing-" she replies, breaking off with a laugh. "Pun not intended - that actually made sense in my head. I swear!"

"No," Cole interjects with a grin, shaking his head. "You don't, remember?"

"See, this is why we're friends-"

"Friends? Is that all I am to you?"

"Oh, be quiet," she shoots back, exaggeratedly dragging a hand down her face. "I mean, sure, just because everyone thinks that we're dating doesn't mean that we-"

Wait. What?

"People think that we're dating?" he asks, clamping a hand over his mouth in a poor attempt to muffle his laughter. "I- I- really?"

"I know, right?"

"Even my friends thought so at first," he confesses, dragging a hand down his face. "I mean, as much as I love you-"

"I love you too," Vania replies, completely seriously. "Even if you'll always be more like an annoying-"

"Hey-"

"Sibling to me than anything else," she finishes, grabbing a pair of scissors. Cole watches, a little alarmed, as she stabs them into the flour bag over and over.

"Is it... supposed to be this difficult to just open the bag? Seems kinda stupid-"

"Well, er, they have this piece of paper with glue that you're supposed to pull away from the rest of the bag, but it never works properly and I-"

"Well, we could always make our own flour," Cole interjects, laughing. "I mean, I've got a scythe? Let's go!"

"Uh, but we don't have wheat growing here. I don't think it'd suit the climate very well?"

"Wheat a shame," Cole sighs jokingly, measuring out the flour (which had, finally, escaped the bag).

"Oh my gosh," Vania deadpans, "you did not just-"

"Yep, I did."

"You're horrible," she giggles, "then again, I was the one who started this whole debacle, so I think we'll share the blame."

"Debacle? Where'd you pick that one up from? Sounds kinda cool-"

"Oh, it's from a book someone wrote about you guys," Vania says casually, pouring a cup of water into the bowl.

"Hey, uh-" Cole starts hesitantly, twisting his fingers back and forth, then breaks off. "Why'd you read all that stuff about us, anyways? Adventure books don't really seem like something you read a lot, since we have similar favorite books. I mean..."

"Well, um..." Vania trails off, clearly uncomfortable. "Uh- I guess, well, it sounds kinda stupid, but I'd never really met anyone my age who wasn't a royal or something. I... er, I didn't want to be left out, you know?"

Cole thinks back to a scroll; a quest, a sacrifice. One that his friends never seemed to really notice, unless it was with horror or flinches. Not that he blamed them, but - joking about how he was much more useful to the team when he was freaking dead than he was before he'd stumbled and fell in the temple?

That had been a bit far, even for his best friend. Locks could always be picked or something, he didn't need to be a ghost to provide some sort of value-

Well, that's not completely true, is it? a small voice questions, and he can't keep his hands from shaking a little.

"Jay here thinks you're the least valuable ninja."

Not enough to be a performer. Now, not good enough to even be a ninja, apparently.

Well, he reminds himself firmly, you don't have to be the best - just stand up to those who are cruel and unjust.

Nothing but a scar that glowed warm orange occasionally left of the whole Cursed Realm ordeal, sometimes it was all too easy to forget - or pretend - that it had never even happened in the first place.

Other times, like when he'd dropped a glass of water on the floor and his hands hadn't stopped shaking for hours, or when he woke up screaming, expecting to fall through his bed again, it still felt like he was trapped as a ghost. Literally - and maybe a little figuratively as well.

Yeah. Yeah, I know.

"Thanks for trusting me with that," he replies softly. "And I'm sorry. That sounds... horrible, but, honestly, you're a pretty cool person, and I ain't just saying that because we're friends. People can be awful, and they can- they can leave, but you don't need to pretend to be someone you're not for people to accept you. I kinda know what it's like, and it's... just, uh, not great."

"No, thank you," Vania says, rubbing her eyes. "You're pretty cool, too. And I'm glad that we become friends, even if wasn't in the- the, er, greatest circumstances."

"Right back at ya. The fall was pretty terrifying, though," Cole says casually, as if memories of that nightmarish plunge into the depths of earth don't still send shivers down his spine.

"No, definitely! I was so sure we were gonna splat onto the ground or something, thank gosh we didn't."

"Yeah..." Cole trails off, reading the recipe they'd been following. "Oh- do we just leave the bowl somewhere for a few hours now?"

"Oh, yeah," Vania answers. "Other than clean up the kitchen, what else do you wanna do?"

"That's kind of you, but, ah, I don't mind. You can choose something."

"I don't mind either," she replies, covering the bowl with a dishcloth. "Seriously, I don't."

"Same here though."

"Really, I don't mind-" Vania breaks off with a laugh, adding, "Well, actually, there is something."

She doesn't elaborate, thoughtfully gazing out the window.

"Well, what is it? Don't keep me in the dark."

"Ugh, it's kinda stupid-"

"I'm sure that it's not- well, unless you want to try to jump off a flying ship with a homemade parachute to prove a bet to someone-"

"Do I even wanna know?"

"...uh, probably not. We're way too crazy sometimes, our Master has a hard time keeping us in check. Your thing, though?"

"Can I give you a hug?"

Cole blinks for a second, expecting some sort of punchline.

"That's your thing?"

"Well, yeah- I mean, I said it was kinda stupid-"

"No no, that's not what I meant. You're so sweet - that's all."

"Well, not more than you-"

"Nah, you're sweeter-"

"Let's just call it a tie," Vania says with a smile, reaching over to give her friend a hug. "Thank you so much, I swear- well, no, I don't, but you know, anyways-"

"Yeah," Cole replies, laughing softly. "I know."

[2manyfandoms2count]

You and me against the world (especially sliding doors)

Me: I will not write any fics based on the NY special. Not yet, anyway.

Also me, seeing @emsylcatac‘s post: Fine, you’ve convinced me

Here, have a sliding doors reveal one shot, hope you enjoy it! (New York Special spoilers ahead)

Read on AO3!

---

“Are you sure there’s no way for me to swing in from the roof?” Ladybug asked, anxiously fiddling with her yoyo string as she looked at the building that stood before her. 

“If you were available later this week, you could, but unfortunately the scaffolding is staying up until the works are officially finished.” The event organiser answered apologetically.

“From a window, then, perhaps?” She insisted.

“Unfortunately the bay windows that give inside the main hall don’t open.”

“Is there a back door of any kind, then?”

Her interlocutor looked at her confusedly. People had told him working with Ladybug was easy, that she was very down to earth for someone who spent most of her time fighting on the Parisian rooftops. So far, though, she seemed like a bit of a diva. He agreed that having her make a grand entrance would be better for the press, but today was the only day that fit both her and Chat Noir’s schedules for a daytime event until the next month. Was it too much to ask that they both just entered through the main door, like normal people?

He looked at his watch. The opening was starting soon, and there was still no trace of Chat Noir.

As the organiser fidgeted, Ladybug was starting to regret ever agreeing to inaugurate the new Children’s hospital, which was opening with a flourish after months of works. The superhero and her partner had been specially invited to cut the red ribbon, located inside the building. She had been very touched that they’d thought of them, and had awaited the event excitedly. 

The trouble was that, in an effort to provide the best innovation, the only way of getting inside said building was through automatic doors. She wouldn’t have been bothered by this fact had the event occurred before her trip to New York City. Unfortunately, the field trip had left scars -well, bruises- that made her weary of any door she could not open traditionally. 

It had been embarrassing enough that she’d been stuck with Adrien in between two automatic doors, making a fool of herself as she ran into the transparent panes time and time again. She wasn’t willing to repeat the experience in front of the Parisian public. Not when she’d let them down so recently.

There was a small thud next to her, and the sound of Chat’s baton retracting as he walked towards the event organiser and herself. She turned towards him with relief. Chat was very good at thinking out of the box, maybe he could figure a way to avoid the main entrance. She’d just continue pretending her concerns were for the image of the event, and not because of a personal fear.

Chat Noir’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of Ladybug’s wide smile when he approached. He still wasn’t quite over her words in New York. The way she’d hugged him like he was the most precious thing in her life. Maybe all hope wasn’t lost.

��My Lady.” He bowed and kissed her hand, making sure to keep eye contact with her. “Sir.” He then shook the organiser’s hand. 

“Good afternoon, Chat Noir. We were just discussing your entrance.” The latter replied, hoping the leather-clad teenager was a little more sensible than his partner. 

“We usually come in via the rooftop.” Chat Noir looked up, squinting to see the top of the building which was drowning in sunlight. He spotted a flapping piece of tarp, revealing the scaffold underneath. “But I’m guessing that’s not going to be possible this time.”

“Indeed.” The man acquiesced. “I’m sure the shots of you two coming through the main entrance will be great, though.”

Chat Noir’s gaze followed the man’s, landing on the sliding doors. He visibly paled at the sight.

“Are you sure there isn’t another way in?” He asked as his heart beat rose in his chest. His thoughts immediately went to Marinette and their common experience with automatic doors. Even his fencing bruises weren’t as bad as the ones he’d gotten when failing to go through them in New York. He didn’t care to get more, not to mention the fact he really didn’t want to make a fool of himself in front of Ladybug.

“All the doors are automatic.” Ladybug brought her hand up to her mouth out of habit, but bit her suit fabric instead of her nails.

“How… modern.” Chat took a minute to think. He couldn’t possibly make a scandal about going through the main entrance without attracting attention to himself. Inspiration struck. “What if you went to get the horse Miraculous and we entered through a portal? That would look very cool. I’m sure the kids would love it.”

“Chaton, you genius.” Ladybug kissed his cheek. “How long until the opening, sir?” She turned towards their host.

“Two minutes.” He said, barely glancing at his watch.

Both Ladybug and Chat Noir’s cheerful faces dissolved. Even using the horse superpowers to come back, there was no way Ladybug could reach wherever she hid the Miracle box, return and feed Kaalki before they used his Travel power again to get in, in under two minutes.

“Well… I guess main entrance it is, then.” Chat Noir gulped as they faced the sliding doors.

“Yay.” Ladybug cheered weakly. Had he known better, Chat would have thought she was also dreading it.

The event organiser smiled, and headed inside to sort out the last details. The two heroes waited anxiously outside. 

When they received the thumbs up from their host, the two advanced cautiously, almost robotically towards the entrance. The first set of doors slid open and they stepped inside.

Ladybug let out the breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding; the doors had been cooperative. She let a smile invade her face as she and Chat Noir continued their path. The entrance airlock was quite a big space. Nothing to do with the American ones. 

She started to wave at the children she spotted on the other side of the second set of doors. 

Chat hung back a little, observing her. She really knew how to work a crowd, he noted with a smile. Seeing his partner so relaxed helped his shoulders untense a little. He was with Ladybug, the bringer of Luck; nothing bad could happen to him while they were together. 

He’d barely registered that last thought when she slammed into the transparent panels that separated them from the main hall. 

“Ow!” She rubbed her nose. She heard laughter coming from the other side, and gave the children two thumbs up. They thought it was a skit. Excellent.

“My Lady, are you okay?” Chat rushed to her side to examine her, taking care to exaggerate his movements so as not to worry the people on the other side. 

“I’ll get over it.” She scrunched up her nose. 

“Do you want a magic kiss?” Chat Noir wasn’t actually kidding. Maybe it would help Ladybug’s reddening complexion.

“No thanks, Chaton.” Ladybug sighed and approached the door again. It didn’t budge. She stepped away, came forwards. Still nothing.

After waving at what she assumed was the movement detector for what felt like an eternity without any results (were there no technicians around to come and open the door for them? Or even just a kind soul?), she let out a frustrated sigh and stalked back to the middle of the hallway, turning her back to her audience. 

Chat took over trying to open the door, jumping around to try and trigger the motion detector. He made faces at the crowd inside the main hall, which earned him many a giggle from the children. They didn’t seem concerned about their predicament at all. 

He turned towards his partner to get her to join him in the clowing around, but his smile died on his lips as he took in her slumped shoulders.

“My Lady? Is everything okay?”

“I just…” She tucked her bangs behind her ears, shaking her head. “I don’t get why this is happening.”

“I’m sorry, Bugaboo. It’s all my fault.” He embraced her in a half hug, before elaborating for Ladybug’s raised eyebrow. “It’s not the first time this has happened to me. It must have something to do with the fact I carry the Kwami of destruction. It somehow messes with technology.”

Ladybug sighed. “I doubt it’s as simple as that. I’ve been stuck between two sliding doors before, too. If we go by your logic, then they should open by the holder of the Creation Miraculous just looking at them.”

“Any door should do that for you, really.” He winked, and it brought the hint of a smile to her pouting lips. “Really though, you’d think Paris’ superheroes can operate sliding doors. It’s a good thing Hawkmoth can’t akumatise objects.”

“Not too loud, you’ll make him figure out a way to do it.” She punched his arm lightly. 

“I’m sure we’ll manage to get out eventually. We just need to work together!” 

Ladybug smiled and held out her fist. “You and me against the world?”

“Always. And especially against automatic doors.” He fistbumped her.

They turned around and walked back to face their new nemesis. 

“Now, it can’t be a matter that we’re not heavy enough, because otherwise kids wouldn’t be able to come in or out of this place.” Chat noted. “A little awkward for a children’s hospital, if you ask me.”

“You forget they probably wouldn’t be coming in alone; they’d have some kind of adult supervision.”

“Hmm.” Chat stroked his chin as he thought. “What if we tried jumping at the same time? Maybe it would trigger something?”

“Doesn’t hurt to try.” Ladybug shrugged. “On the count of three?”

“One… Two… Three!” 

Both tried to put as much power as they could in their landing, to no avail.

“How about I try and Cataclysm it?” Chat kicked the door lightly, checking its resistance.

“Not sure how good an idea that would be. Remember Reflekdoll?” Ladybug made a face. “I think I’d much rather be locked in than face wild doors.”

“Good point.” He crossed his arms over his chest and resumed his observation. “What about a Lucky Charm?”

His partner’s eyes lit up as she considered it. “You know what, it’s not like we have anything to lose, or like they’re trying to help us get out.” She nodded towards the inside of the building. The guests all looked at them and waved; the event organiser tapped on his watch. “Lucky Charm!”

A small Statue of Liberty keychain landed in her hand. Ladybug rolled her eyes. She knew it was just like New York, Tikki didn’t have to taunt her like that.

“We probably would need that if this door opened with a key.” Chat shook his head. “What are we supposed to do with it now?”

Ladybug looked around, hoping an idea would impose itself as she scanned their surroundings. Apart from throwing the keychain at the door and hoping the glass would shatter upon impact, though, nothing seemed to come to mind.

“Wait a second.” Chat picked up the Lucky Charm and watched it twirl in the air. “Isn’t that the same object you got when we were fighting Techno-Pirate?”

“Doorman!” They both exclaimed at the same time, a smile brightening their faces as they looked into each other’s eyes. “Do you have his number?” 

They slumped a little at their synchronicity. What had appeared like a perfect solution clearly wasn’t one if they had no way of contacting the New York superhero.

“Well, I guess that confirms my theory that you’re stuck with me, my Lady.” Chat gave her a small smile.

“You know what, I don’t mind being stuck anywhere with a friend like you.” She tapped his shoulder affectionately.

“Hey, that’s my line!” Chat frowned.

“What do you mean?” Ladybug asked, her brow furrowing in confusion. Yes, she’d stolen the line; but from Adrien, not Chat Noir.

“That’s what I told my friend when we were stuck together in the same situation.”

“Huh. That’s what my… friend told me when we were stuck between sliding doors!”

“Would it be too purr-sonal to ask when or where that happened to you?” He asked almost shyly.

“It was in New York.” Ladybug replied cautiously.

“No way, me too!” He paused. “What are the odds that we’d each get stuck with someone else in the same city?”

“New York is pretty big. With a lot of automatic doors.”

“True.” Chat looked at his feet. “And it’s not like it also happened twice to you, anyway.”

“Actually, it is like that.” Ladybug paled slightly.

“I’m guessing that reduces the odds quite a bit.”

“We’d need Markov or Uncanny to calculate them, but yes, I’d say they’re quite slim.” 

They stared at each other, Ladybug becoming increasingly red as the seconds ticked by.

“Marinette?” Chat whispered, a smile spreading on his lips.

“A-Adrien?” She stuttered back.

Before any of them could move or add anything else, the doors slid open. Both turned their heads towards the sound.

The event organiser stood in front of them, and cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt, but we really are running late now.”

Ladybug and Chat Noir blinked, remembering what situation had brought them there in the first place. 

“Right, of course.” Chat Noir extended a hand, which Ladybug took shyly. “Shall we, my Lady?”

“Let’s go.” She smiled weakly. She was holding Adrien’s hand. Which was also  Chat Noir’s. Which meant she’d been avoiding Adrien’s advances. The same ones she’d been seeking ever since his apologies in the rain. Adrien was in love with her. Like she was with him... The avalanche of thoughts that invaded her mind made her feel light-headed.

The event organiser moved aside and announced their arrival. 

Ladybug and Chat Noir moved forward, walking hand in hand. Maybe the Lucky Charm had been for them to finally find each other. And they had. Everything was going to be just fine. 

Together, they picked up their walking pace. 

And crashed into the clear door panels, which just had to close as they were strolling through them.

“Guess we really are destined to be stuck with one another.” Chat chuckled as he rubbed his sore nose.

“You know what, Chaton? I wouldn’t want it any other way.”