#i just wanted to bring it around and make the ending less bitter and more sweet

[girlrotterr]

꒰ lick it up, fucking eat. ᮫ ⭒ ❀

married!ellie x interior designer! reader Summary: Ellie hires you to bring her shitty wife’s so-called "dream home" to life, but you end up fufilling something else.

The house was silent, save for the low hum of the air conditioning, which flowed through the sprawling, half-renovated living room. You stood in front of a swatch of paint samples, holding each one up to the fading light from the bay window. The sun dipped low, casting golden fingers across the unfinished floorboards, hinting at what the space might look like when it was finally complete. Ellie watched you from across the room, leaning casually against the doorframe with her arms crossed, her gaze drifting between you and the wall.

“That one,” she muttered, jerking her chin toward the beige sample you held. Her voice was laced with something close to disdain. “She thinks it’s ‘elegant.’ "

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at the shade—a flat, muted tone that felt as lifeless as the drywall it would cover. "Well," you replied, “if she wants ‘elegant,’ I’m sure we can do more than beige."

Ellie’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, a glint of something both dark and playful in them. She pushed off the wall, coming a little closer, her boots scuffing against the rough wood. "Exactly what I was thinking," she murmured, her gaze lingering on you a second too long before shifting to the wall.

You let out a quiet breath, suddenly very aware of the way her presence filled the room, heavy and warm, with a pull that seemed to demand attention. Her sleeves were pushed up, revealing her tattooed forearm—faintly smudged paint stains and a few scratches etched across her knuckles. Her messy hair fell into her eyes, and she brushed it away, glancing down at the floorboards as if they might give her the answers she was looking for.

“So… if it were completely up to you,” she continued, her voice softer now, “what would you do with the place?”

You felt a small jolt of excitement, surprised that she cared enough to ask your opinion. You took a slow breath, letting yourself look around the room with fresh eyes. "Something warm, to make the room feel alive. Maybe custom furniture, something that doesn’t look like it’s from a catalog."

She nodded slowly, her gaze following yours as you spoke, but there was something deeper, something unspoken in the way she looked at you. Like this wasn’t about the walls or the furniture.

"We could go for that," she said, and her voice dropped, quiet, the weight of her words sinking into the empty space between you. "Anything that makes this place feel less… hers."

Your heart fluttered at the faint edge of bitterness in her voice, the quiet rebellion hiding beneath her sarcasm. She was closer now, close enough that you could feel her warmth radiating toward you in the cooling room, close enough that you could see every detail of her: the subtle flecks of green in her eyes, the faint line of a scar near her temple.

You reached out, brushing your fingers over a scratch on the windowsill. "This place could be incredible. It just needs to feel lived in, loved.”

Ellie swallowed, her eyes following your hand. “Can you fullfill that?,” she murmured, and there was a softness in her voice now, something that made your stomach flip.

Your breath caught, pulse quickening as you felt the subtle shift in the air between you. The moment held a thread of tension, tight and fragile, like something waiting to be snapped. You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’d love to show you. Just need a little… freedom with the choices.”

Ellie’s smirk returned, faint but laced with something deeper, "Freedom, huh?" She stepped back, giving you a lingering once-over before nodding, her voice a low murmur. "Yeah… I think we can work something out."

She pulled her gaze away reluctantly, as if forcing herself to break the spell, and you felt the strange tug of her absence, the fading warmth of her presence as she retreated toward the hallway. "Just… no beige," she added, her back already turned, her voice drifting down the hall like an invitation. 

You stood there, the glow of the setting sun washing over you, you realized you felt a thrill. 

The days passed in a blur of decisions, late-night calls with suppliers, and a dozen small, carefully calculated adjustments to make the space feel warmer, more vibrant—despite the rigid input from Ellie’s wife. You’d spent the afternoon with her, going over fixture placements and fabric swatches. She was precise, clinical, every suggestion an opportunity to correct, to refine, to turn down anything that dared to stand out.

Ellie’s wife stood in the middle of the room, studying the sofa with a critical eye. She let out a sigh, her fingers skimming over the velvet, dismissing it as though it were somehow beneath her. “I thought I made it clear I wanted something more sophisticated. This feels… almost flashy.” Her gaze landed on you, thinly veiled irritation simmering beneath her smile.

You opened your mouth to explain the intention behind the choice when the front door opened. Ellie walked in, still in her work clothes, a slight weariness to her step. Her gaze moved from you to her wife.

Ellie’s wife immediately turned to her, her posture stiffening. “There you are. I was just telling our designer here that this,” she gestured to the room around her with an air of distaste, “is not what we discussed.”

Ellie’s face tightened, a frustrated, almost exasperated look clouding her eyes. “ A little color wouldn’t kill you.”

“Yes, but I expected you’d listen to what I actually wanted.” She crossed her arms, her gaze pointed. “This was supposed to be tasteful, Ellie. Not… whatever this is.”

Ellie let out a dry laugh, brushing past her, stepping closer to you as she took in the room. “And by ‘tasteful,’ you mean dull walls and soulless furniture. Right?” 

Her wife’s eyes flashed, and she folded her arms tighter. “It’s not my fault you don’t understand the concept of refinement.”

Ellie’s jaw clenched, her hand flexing at her side. “God, do you even hear yourself? It’s a fucking home, not a damn workplace. Just—" she glanced over at you, her face softening briefly as if realizing you were caught in the middle. "Never mind.”

You held your breath, feeling the tension swell, a raw kind of frustration radiating between them. But Ellie’s wife was relentless, her voice sharp and dismissive. “Oh, here we go again. You act like I’m asking for something ridiculous. Just admit it—you’re the one who’s never satisfied. You’re the one who thinks everything has to be some big, meaningful statement. Not everything’s about you, Ellie!”

Ellie’s face flushed, her eyes flashing with something dangerously close to anger. She opened her mouth, then closed it, a defeated breath slipping past her lips as she seemed to reconsider. She cast one last glance at you, and you felt that familiar pull between you—a silent, unspoken understanding—and then, with a shake of her head, Ellie stormed off, her shoes echoing down the hallway until the door slammed behind her.

Silence swallowed the room, leaving you and her wife alone once more. 

“See what I have to deal with?” she muttered, shaking her head. "She gets these weird ideas about what’s ‘creative’ or ‘cool’ and just… doesn’t listen to reason. She doesn’t even understand what it takes to make a space look sophisticated. Her taste—it’s like a teenager trying to decorate a dorm room."

You felt your grip tighten on the sample book, but you forced yourself to stay professional. “Well, Ellie did mention she wanted something with a bit more character.”

Her wife snorted, crossing her arms with an exasperated sigh. “Exactly. Character. She’s so out of touch with what a home needs to feel welcoming. She can’t just accept that maybe—just maybe—she doesn’t know better than me.”

She flipped past a deep, velvety forest green swatch Ellie had specifically loved. “This green? I mean, it’s hideous. Who even wants a dark color like that in their home? It’s depressing.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, looking at the swatch she’d just discarded. “It could add some depth to the space. Sometimes dark colors bring a warmth that—”

Her wife gave you a sharp look, like you’d crossed some invisible line. She forced a tight smile. “Trust me,” she said, voice dripping with condescension, “there’s nothing to ‘deepen’ here. I know what I want, and I don’t need Ellie’s… outlandish tastes cluttering up my vision.”

The house had transformed into a hive of activity, buzzing with the sounds of hammers, paint rollers, and snippets of conversation as workers bustled around. Every corner of the room felt alive with movement, a stark contrast to the emptiness you’d felt days prior. Furniture was being hauled in, drapes were hung, and the walls were beginning to take on their new colors. Yet despite the flurry of activity, your attention was divided, searching the room more often than not for a familiar face.

And then, as if on cue, Ellie appeared.

She wove through the workers, carrying a crumpled paper bag in one hand and balancing two cups of coffee in the other. She wore a smile, her messy hair peeking out from under a faded baseball cap, a glimmer of excitement lighting up her face as she caught your eye. She slipped between a worker with a paint can and another adjusting a lamp, until finally, she stopped in front of you. 

Ellie held up the bag with a faint smile. “Thought you could use a break,” she said, nudging the bag into your hands. “There’s a place around the corner that makes delicious pastries.”

Surprised and a little touched, you opened the bag, the warm, sweet scent wafting out immediately. “Thank you.”

The noise of the workers faded into a distant hum, becoming a mere backdrop to the moment as you took a bite of the pastry. The warm sweetness melted on your tongue, rich and comforting, drawing a soft sigh from your lips. But in your enjoyment, you didn’t notice the crumb that fell, catching just at the corner of your lips. 

Ellie did, though.

In the midst of all the clamor—the sharp buzz of saws cutting through wood, the metallic clinking of hammers striking nails, and the sound of her wife’s sharp voice scolding a worker about the paint application—Ellie stepped closer, her expression suddenly serious.

Her fingers were careful, warm, and impossibly soft as they brushed the crumb from your lips. You felt her fingertip linger there, feather-light, barely skimming your skin, but enough to make your breath catch.

Her gaze held yours, deep green eyes flickering with an unreadable emotion that pulled you in. Ellie’s fingers felt electric against your skin, her knuckles resting against your cheek, the warmth radiating from her touch contrasting with the cool air of the room. Ellie’s eyes dropped for just a heartbeat, shifting from your gaze to your mouth, where her thumb hovered near your lip. You could feel your heart racing, each beat echoing in your ears as she lingered just a moment longer than necessary.

You could hear her breath hitch slightly as her fingers finally pulled away, leaving your skin cold in their absence.

“Fuck” she murmured, voice low and just a little hoarse. Her gaze drifted to your lips one last time, almost on purpose, before she forced her eyes to focus anywhere but on you. 

You remember when the affair began.

It was a cold winter, the kind that seeped into your bones, making everything feel heavy and muffled. Snow blanketed the world outside, a serene white glow through the window. 

Ellie was pressed against you, her body radiating heat as she leaned in closer, her face achingly near yours. You could feel the warmth of her breath mingling with the cool air between you. Her hands flexed around your hips, desperate to grip them, to anchor herself to you. 

There was a desperation.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” She pleaded, her voice strained,  a wish that perhaps if you rejected her, if you spoke the words she needed to hear, the desires swirling for you would vanish. 

But as she leaned in closer, her lips brushing against yours in a feather-light touch, the world around you blurred.  A shiver raced down your spine, igniting something deep within you—a spark that flared into a flame, daring you to give in. 

“I need you,” Ellie breathed, the urgency in her voice sending warmth pooling in your stomach. Her words ghosted over your skin, leaving a trail of heat that made it impossible to think straight. “I need to feel you, to taste you. Please, let me have you…” 

You could see it in her eyes—the hunger, the need. 

Your lips touched Ellie’s, slowly, tentatively at first. You hesitated for a moment, searching her eyes for any sign of hesitation, any hint that this was a mistake. But all you found was a dark hunger reflected in her gaze, a need that mirrored your own. The soft sound of falling snow outside barely registered as you leaned in closer, feeling the warmth of her body.

Ellie’s lips then pressed against yours, slow and soft, “Oh, fuck.” she gasped, her breath warm against your mouth. 

It was all you needed. 

You kissed her again, this time deeper and more sensual, losing yourself in the taste of her. Every brush of your lips was a question, every stroke of your tongue an answer. Savoring the way her tongue stroked against yours with caresses that left you breathless.

“God, you taste amazing,” she murmured against your lips. The way she spoke made you feel seen, desired, as if every part of you was exactly what she craved.

“Ellie…” you breathed, her name slipped from your lips so easily. 

Ellie’s kisses grew more urgent, each one a desperate plea for more as her hands gripped your hips with bruising force, anchoring you against the wall. Her lips trailed down your neck, gasping as her teeth grazed over your skin.  And then, without warning, she sucked hard, her mouth forming a seal against your neck. 

“Oh fuck..” you breathed, your voice aching to be more than a whisper. 

Ellie was already lost in her own world, her focus entirely on you, on the way your body responded to her touch.

"Shhh, we need to be quiet," she whispered, her voice low with need, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, pupils dilated with lust, a fiery spark that made your stomach knot.

Her hands wandered down your body, fingers tracing the contours of your ass, kneading the soft flesh as she pulled you closer, digging into your skin and leaving dents where her grip tightened.

"God, I can’t get enough of you." she breathed, her hands slipping to unbutton your jeans. Her fingers teased the waistband of your panties, dipping just beneath the fabric to caress your folds, igniting a heat through you. She kissed and nipped at your neck, her tongue flicking out to taste your sweat-slicked skin.

Her hand slid further into your panties, her fingers parting your slick folds to stroke your sensitive clit. You gasped, your mouth agape as she circled the swollen nub with a feather-light touch. Her other hand slid up your body, cupping your tit and kneading the soft mound. Her fingers found your hardened nipple, pinching and rolling the sensitive bud between her thumb and index finger.

"Oh fuck.." you hiccuped, “please.." 

Leaning down, ellie’s hot breath hovered over your sensitive skin before she took your nipple into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it. She moaned against your nipple, her tongue flicking against the hardened bud as she sucked hard, her teeth grazing your skin, making you gasp.

"Ellie," you begged, your voice strained with need. "I need more.”

Her eyes darkened with lust as she gazed at you, turned on by your desperate pleas. "Beg for it," she groaned, her voice low. Ellie's fingers stroked your slick folds, teasing your entrance but not yet delving inside. She circled your clit with light touches, making you buck your hips, seeking more friction.

“Please," you moaned. "Please, fuck me."

Apparently she didn’t need much convincing.

With an urgency, Ellie plunged two fingers knuckle-deep into your soaking cunt, curling them upward to stroke that sensitive spot inside you. The lewd sound of your juices squelching filled the air as she pumped her fingers in and out, stroking your inner walls with each thrust, her thumb rubbing soft circles around your aching clit.

"Atta girl.." Ellie groaned, her voice thick with desire. "Ride my fucking fingers."

"fuuck, right there," you moaned, your eyes rolling back in pleasure. 

You reached down to slide your hand to unbutton ellie’s jeans. Her belt clinking as her hips bucked forward. Your fingers crept beneath the waistband of her boxers, feeling the slick flesh of her dripping hole.

"Fuuck me," Ellie moaned, grinding her hips against your hand, spreading her thighs wider to give you more access to her aching cunt. Her movements were desperate, urging you to rub her swollen clit, the sensitive nub pulsing beneath your touch.

"Yes, fuck, just like that," she groaned, her perky tits bouncing slightly with each thrust. Her head rolling back in pleasure, eyes fluttering shut as she lost herself.

"Yes, just like that," You moaned, ellie’s fingers pumping faster in and out of your dripping cunt. She could feel your slick coating her fingers, your juices dripping down her wrist. Your hips jerked erratically, your stomach beginning to knot. With a sharp cry, you came, your pussy spasming around her fingers as you rode out your orgasm.

"That's it, cum for me," she moaned, rubbing your clit faster to prolong your pleasure. "Come all over my fucking fingers." Your body shuddered, your walls clenching around her as you milked her fingers for all they were worth. She could feel your juices gushing out, coating her hand and dripping onto the floor. Your moans filled the room, echoing obscenely off the walls.

Ellie slowly withdrew her fingers, feeling your walls clench around her as she pulled them out. Your juices coated her hand, glistening in the low light of the room.

She grabbed your shoulders, pushing you down to your knees. She hooked her thumbs in her waistband, shimmying her boxers down her thighs before stepping out of them. Ellie's pussy was glistening, she parted her folds to reveal her throbbing clit. She straddled your face, her dripping cunt hovering just above your mouth

“Fuck I -" Ellie moaned, grinding her hips down to press her pussy against your lips. “Fucking taste me.” Ellie's juices coated your mouth as you flicked your tongue out, lathering it along her slick folds before delving inside her dripping hole. Ellie's poor thighs trembled, her hands gripping your hair as she rode your face frantically, bringing her fingers to her lips, sucking your slick off of them with a low moan.

“You’re so fucking good," She groaned, her juices coating your mouth, dripping down your chin.

"That's it, right there," Ellie panted, her thighs trembling around your head. "Fuck, your tongue feels so good." Her hands gripped your hair, pulling you closer as she rutted against your mouth. 

"That's it, fuck, I'm gonna cum-," Ellie moaned, her hips jerking erratically. You plunged two fingers deep into Ellie's soaked cunt, her walls clenching around quickly, her juices gushing out. You sucked ellie's clit faster, feeling it twitch beneath your tounge as she came. 

“What the fuck!?” ellie’s wife excalimed. 

She had walked in, her eyes widening in shock as she took in the scene before her. 

Ellie was still straddling your face, her dripping pussy pressed against your mouth. The obsecene sounds of slurping and moaning filled the room, leaving no doubt as to what had been happening. 

You remember when the affair began. 

You remember when the affair ended.

[jweekgoji]

can a Resquest of TFO Sentinel prime with Cybertronian femme reader, that the reader is pregnant and that is her conjux

TFO!Sentinel/Femme!Reader [hcs]

tw: accidental pregnancy, established relationships, Sentinel is a jerk (as usual), yandere!Sentinel, possessive behavior, very brief mention of abortion, narcissistic!Sentinel, OOC (?). terms used: sire - a father, sparkling - a child. word count: 840 words. a/n: the tw sounds scary but it was funny to write.

Oooh no, poor thing, how did you manage to get pregnant by this guy out of everyone? During one of your shared moments of intimacy, you both found out that none of you have any protection! And you two can't get your servos off each other because everything just feels too good, too right? Don't worry, Sentinel is fast enough not to finish inside you, trust him (never trust him with this).

Jokes aside, in my opinion - Sentinel is not a family person at all. Firstly, he's too busy for something insignificant as a family, and secondly, that would mean you are going to pay less attention to him. A whiney, loud, crying mess of a cybertronian is just not something he would dream of.

So if you do end up being pregnant, it was probably an accident.

I imagine Sentinel being a total dumbass about it. Not because he's uneducated about pregnancy, of course not. He's just used to getting laid with one bot and another without any consequences. Usually they don't call back, and even if they do, who the hell would believe them? Sentinel Prime accidentally knocked you up? Sure, we all trust you, hun.

However, he can't just dismiss his own conjunx. That's the moment where he needs a good amount of time to process everything. Sentinel hates the idea that he would not be able to bring you to every fancy meeting, showing you around for everyone to see like you're his luxury item, something everyone can watch but can't touch. Then, he would have to sacrifice his moments of intimacy with you, since you would be too tired, not in the mood, and dangerous for the sparkling.

His possessiveness over his conjunx is incredibly high and even ridiculous. Sentinel probably keeps you in your shared berthroom more than usual, which at first might sound sparkwarming and very caring of him. Like aww, he wants you to rest and not bother about a thing! He's such a good conjunx. In reality, Sentinel is searching through various doctors on Iacon, the ones he can bribe, so not a single word comes out of the room. He doesn't want his people to talk about his personal life behind his back.

Sentinel, obviously, also makes sure no one but him knows about it. Maybe Airachnid gets to know too, but it's not like you can keep something from her, the spider lady most likely knows about your early signs of pregnancy faster than everyone. Faster than Sentinel, lol.

During the early stages of your pregnancy, Sentinel is pretty stressed out himself, even though he doesn't show it at all. Because, what do you mean, he is going to be a sire? When you actually tell him this, he would loudly laugh in your face. You're totally joking, are you? Wait, why aren't you laughing? ...Oh.

When he realizes it's not a joke, that's where he gets serious. I am not going to sugarcoat it, since he might think about getting rid of it. Quietly and painlessly, it is early enough for the process to go smoothly. No one gets to know about it, and by the end of it, you will go back «to normal», and that's perfect for him.

But the more he thinks about it, the more he gets conflicted. What if someone finds out? Sentinel Prime, the great leader of Iacon, got rid of his own sparkling? He can already taste the bitterness on his glossa, when he reads the articles, various comments, his ratings and support from the parties are getting lower and lower. What a nightmare.

But when Sentinel sees you, sleepily wrapping your servos around his arm, nuzzling against his shoulder, so close to him that he can almost hear the faint beat of a spark inside you, he decides to keep it.

He grows prideful through some amount of time. His conjunx, carrying his sparkling. Sentinel sees his sparkling as something of his own too, just like you are his.

It is too early to think about his sparkling being the next ruler of Iacon, his heir, since, well, Sentinel doesn't plan on leaving anytime soon, but he does like the idea of making a tiny some-sort-of-royal-family of his.

For everyone else, Sentinel Prime is the best sire anyone dreams to get. Why wouldn't he, if he's their protective, hardworking leader? In public, this tiny, soon to be growing family is a role model of how every family on Cybertron should be. Inside the closed doors, what you have is not what someone would call «perfect». Sentinel might claim that he loves you, he genuinely loves you and his sparkling, but you would never tell if he's pretending or not. You might just believe him with this one.

[bunny-lily]

Tether Me - Prologue

Pairing(s): Geto/Gojo/Reader Summary: You ran.

It's what you did in life. It's all you knew how to do. You ran, ran, and kept running and never stopped, because if you stopped, it meant you were trapped, chained, a bird with shredded wings in a gilded cage.

So, how did you end up here, tucked away into a little village in rural Japan, falling into the depths of two black holes with no way to escape?

How could you run from this? From them?

…Would you? CW: No y/n | polyamory | slow burn | slice of life | alt au - no curses | fluff | light angst | eventual smut | forgive me, there's internal monologues | I like using big words... | Gojo & Geto are whipped for you | emotionally constipated reader | (most of the tags have been condensed, you can find the full list on my ao3 here) AN: this is just the prologue chapter, sort of exposition. No bois in this one (technically), but I'm posting chapter 1 at the same time as the prologue. As a heads up, my most comfortable place for posting my longer fics like this is ao3. You can find more of my blurb thoughts on there. I'm not the best at tumblr posting, so forgive me pls ;-;

Ch: Prologue | Ch: 1 | Ch: 2 | Ch: 3 | Ch: 4 | Ch: 5 - 1 | Ch: 5 - 2

WC: 9.4k

You’ve always likened yourself to a kite, but less pretty and enjoyable.

Every time you glanced at a kite in the children’s toy section, or watched as thousands flew in the sky during festivals, your eyes stung and something bitter and uncomfortable twisted in your gut. In a way, you saw yourself in them; fragile little creatures tethered to the earth by no fault of their own. So easy to snap – to break.

They were always trapped, chained down, forever bound to either get reined back in after one had their fill of fun, or to fall like tragic angels to the ground when the winds died, and they would once again be unable to travel free amongst the stars where they belonged. All thanks to the threads wrapped around their very bones, far too strong for something that looked so thin and prone to fraying.

Yet nobody ever did release the chains. Who would willingly free their prized, imprisoned bird?

Of those pretty, unfortunate kites, you lamented with them. 

You, too, were pinioned to solid ground. Your wings were clipped, feathers torn from flesh one by one until you were born in a body that could no longer fly. Responsibilities, duties, relationships – they all kept you drowning in a suffocating pile of down-stuffed pillows, filled with plumes that were once yours. They progressively got heavier and heavier, locking your limbs between illusions of comfort and safety, sitting on your chest and flooding your mouth until you choked and gagged and couldn’t breathe.

You were different from kites, sure, beyond the very obvious things. You weren’t a pitifully flimsy, inanimate toy, left forgotten in some closet, awaiting the one day you’d be remembered, taken out, and allowed to taste the breath of deities themselves again. But if you could glide in the wind like they could, oh, nothing would bring you more joy, more solace, even if you were still tied down. All for just a kiss of freedom.

You ached to be detached from everything and everyone. An untethered kite, a fledgling bird learning to fly, a paper lantern that glowed its very joy from within for all to see.

Paper lanterns.

You couldn’t stand paper lanterns, because you yearned so deeply to be one. How wonderful it would be to have a warmth alight inside you as you rose to the heavens, lighter than air. 

You envied them. 

They made you nauseous with longing.

They made you want to stretch your fingers high and try to catch one within your palm like a cascading star.

They made you want to reach your fist past your throat and rip out your heart barehanded, just to make the accursed thing stop pounding so goddamned hard in your stomach as it sank lower and lower with each additional candle that got to join their family of stars beyond celestia. 

Because, for fuck’s sake, you belonged up there, too. Free, flaring, blazing and flickering so spectacularly that philosophers would wax poetic about you for ages to come.

It wasn’t fucking fair for you to be stuck on Mother Nature’s spine like this, burdened by the neutron star in your body that just grew more and more dense, urging you to dive into the ocean and let it snare you into its depths. You didn’t choose to spawn with a spirit disconnected from the flesh that acted as its prison, you didn’t choose to be jailed like this.

So, why?

Maybe that’s one of the reasons you were drawn to kites. You pitied them. You pitied yourself.

You weren’t a kite. You didn’t want to be one, to have your boundless form fettered down. But when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, that’s all you could ever see staring back at you. A kite with faded, worn out paints that barely clung to the tattered paper, feebly held together by thin strips of bamboo that had been aged and mottled from the inside out by time.

You hated paper lanterns. You hated kites. You hated yourself.

As the years dragged on, from the moment your brain snapped into your body with the sudden realization that you were a conscious, living, breathing person, those ugly feelings festered and spread like a fungus that refused to abate even a trace, just a second so you could catch a breath of fresh air that didn’t reek of mildew.

The seconds spanned on for eons without prejudice, destroying your cells at the molecular level with each passing birthday that trudged reluctantly along.

In the back of your mind, the sensation of being asphyxiated by your own feathers that had been shorn away from you etched itself deeper and deeper into your psyche. You became restless, antsy, the variegated world around you fading rapidly. Colors you once saw as a child, before you could latch the inherent sense of wrongness in your chest to a concept, gradually dulled until all you were left with was a world tinged heavily in gray.

The streets you were raised on grew denser, despite the amount of people living on them never actually changing noticeably. The verdant grass of your backyard turned into a dominating presence everytime you laid your eyes on it, unruly and all-consuming, demanding an undivided attention you did not want to give. The orange beams that hung over black asphalt instilled a sense of panic in you that wasn’t there before. 

You used to be fond of walking around your neighborhood in the middle of the night, when you rightfully should have been sleeping. An inverted circadian rhythm suited you well when you were young, unaware that the crushing sensation under your sternum would only get worse. 

Now, though, the thought of straying out where there wasn’t enough light to see straight ahead made sweat form on your chest and palms while your teeth clattered from a nonexistent chill.

Everything caved in on you. Not in a rush, not in a cataclysmic flood. No, you didn’t discern you were fighting for air until you were already gasping fruitlessly. Lost, terrified, unsure, you could only bear witness to the collapse of your own mind.

Then, one day, a soft voice whispered in your ear.

Run.

It wasn’t a threat, not some ominous warning of death looming over your shoulder. It was a suggestion, an offering, an olive branch towards that freedom you coveted. It was salvation. 

Who were you to ignore the hand of deliverance?

The first time you changed your scenery, moved elsewhere, even if it was only a few streets away from your childhood home, felt incredibly liberating. After so long that you had forgotten how it felt, you got the chance to gulp down air as if you had surfaced from beneath the perdition sea after spending your whole existence beneath it. 

Color returned to your world, excitement formed anew, everything felt right. Achromatic wastelands turned into kaleidoscopic meadows, fulgent and lucid. You savored it, reveled in it, frolicked and danced and lived.

…It didn’t last. 

Not long. You exhaled, and it all vanished, sand swept away by an uncaring and spiteful hand.

Once you had become used to the environment, when you no longer had to actively remember where your flat was, or how long it took to get to the store, everything was washed out; water dumped on a painting that had yet to form defined shapes.

That crushing sensation had returned, and with it the reminder that, as much as you wished you weren’t, you were a kite. Tethered, perpetually confined, worn bamboo strips and thin paper threatening to rend under the drag.

Thus, you ran again. A new town, a new city, a new skyline. Euphoria nestled cozily under your breast like a second heart, purring contentedly as it curled up on the nest of blankets it created for itself.

New places, new faces, new people. All of it was fascinating to you beyond measure. It interested you to no end to learn about other human beings; their thoughts, their perspectives, their preferences. What they despised with grit teeth and barely restrained anger clenched in trembling fists; what they loved so dearly that they could never drown beneath the same waves that followed your heels, tide rising progressively. 

They glowed from within, bright and budding and vibrant. Their eyes flickered with life, glazed so clearly that stars sparkled in the depths of their hues. You were drawn to them, a moth to mesmerizing fire.

You felt free. You rode that high as much as you could, for as long as it would allow.

Until a realization struck you with the force of a bullet train one night. A man hung onto your arm, easy laughter shared between the two of you as you let him take you home. Alcohol tinged his breath, but not enough to give him anything more than a slight buzz. He was a total gentleman through and through, and you listened with eagerness as he spoke about his upcoming work project, his excitement palpable with every word. 

His hand linked with yours, fingers intertwined, his warm palm engulfing yours. There was a comfort in that transient window of time, one you held to your heart. It was so unfamiliar, so addictive. And as you stopped before your door, having completely forgotten of your lack of wings, you waited with bated breath for him to slant into you.

A pair of infirm lips, minutely chapped and tasting of wine, pressed against yours, and dread exploded in your gut.

He pulled away from you, lovestruck in the way his eyes shone as he looked into your own, and reality crashed down on you with horrors in three measures, shattering like broken glass in the vortex of your conscious thought.

When you stared at him, watched the way he opened his mouth to speak, you made the connection.

“I really like you,” he had murmured to you that night, nearly shy. Yearning. Hoping.

Paper lantern.

“I want to ask you out properly.”

Tether. 

His words sank into your skin like ice, digging deep, burrowing into your marrow.

Kite.

The illusion of pellucid skies of the richest shades cracked, the lush plains you fantasized of often turned to barren heaths, and all those tormenting feelings came back to choke your breath with a vengeance. Sickly fingers wrapped around your throat, sunk into your mouth, dug past your gag reflex, wrapped around your ankles and wrists until you could barely lift your feet just to move forward. 

You remembered with great disdain what you were. You had managed to sever your thread by running off from the pod you were born in, but it wasn’t a clean cut. The string hung off your fragile wooden bones loosely, just waiting for somebody to grab and yank, to shred your freedom away from you once again, to leave you knotted around a pole to sit like decoration and stay.

You were not free.

You were not a paper lantern. You did not gleam from your soul like he did. You did not pour light from your heart and words and touch.

You’d do anything to forget that, to prove that sentiment wrong, to show the world that you weren’t a rock thrown into a pond. You’d do anything to change the narrative, to force a rewrite. So, you did what you always did.

You ran.

You found somewhere else to live, blipping off the radar unannounced. One moment you were there, the next you had cut your lingering thread an inch shorter, following the wind blindly like a duckling to your next destination.

Each time you settled down somewhere, you had this silent hope: maybe this is where I’ll be happy.

You clung to that hope, fervently ignoring the screeching whisper in your ear that said otherwise. The next place was never the final one. It never would be, no matter how hard you tried to delude yourself into believing you weren’t a lost soul, unable to move on. Some pathetic ghost you’d make, if you weren’t one already.

Whenever you let yourself rest for a heartbeat too long, the rope you had trimmed ever shorter was skimmed too close by too-warm fingertips, and you fled again, and again, and again.

That’s all you seemed to know nowadays.

Perhaps proven now, as you sat on a train in a foreign country, absentmindedly watching rural landscapes race past the window. Your knuckles pressed indents into your cheek, the sensation unpleasant and nearing on painful, though you had stopped paying any mind to it a while ago. Your thoughts laid scattered at your feet, and you couldn’t be bothered to pick them up.

Rather, the white matter of your brain was being filled with the empty, buzzing tune of songs you’d heard a hundred times over playing through your earbuds at the loudest volume possible. It made things easier to manage during this grand, several-thousand-mile-long trip. The less thinking you had to do, the better. It was the absolute last thing on your bucket list, loitering just under the cutoff line, hoping to sneak in a few words you refused to listen to.

You couldn’t let yourself regret this. You wouldn’t.

Not now, not after you’d already dropped everything and dissipated beyond the welkin’s gaze. You had only one place you could go to at all now, and you were already on your way there.

So if you had to blast your eardrums out to bridle the whisper-shouting voices spurned by overthinking, so be it.

Rice paddies blurred by, blending in from one farm to the next. The sun reflected off the waters the stalks soaked in, absorbing the warmth the light provided and feeding the plants with the fruit of life. Somewhere along the way, you had begun counting each field you passed for no particular reason.

You thought it’d lull you to sleep like counting sheep, subconsciously desiring to sink into a dreamless abyss and catch up on the hours that had been eluding you every night for months up to this point, given how far away you still were from your destination. But your cerebrum was not kind to you, and your body refused to succumb to the tempting allure of nothingness.

Thus, you remained as you were, counting paddies as the day never quite moved forward. The sun dwelled high, trying to glare down on you, but it couldn’t get the angle right to invade the shade of your tiny cabin room on the train.

It stayed stuck to the center of the sky, mighty and proud. But then, after what seemed like only a few seconds, you blinked, and suddenly it was hanging off the horizon’s ledge.

With a slight jolt, you realized the train had decreased in speed, and was continuing to lose momentum as it approached an isolated station, all alone in the countryside. You checked the time on your phone, your eyes feeling unusually heavy and sticky. It was only early night, but you were worn down to your sinew.

Right. Jet lag. You had hopped on a plane and traveled to the other side of the planet on a whim, another desperate attempt to grab onto the concept of freedom you craved. It didn’t take you longer than a week to find a small house deep in the pastoral lands of Japan, where mountains wrapped around the valley like a scarf. You chose Japan, if only because you learned the language when you were studying abroad some years ago.

It resided in a town of such a low population, blissfully around 600, it was a wonder you could even find a train that took you this far to begin with. Of course, that meant the house was decently rundown, with a community small enough to consider it unnecessary to repair. You couldn’t care less. All that meant to you was that it was cheaper to buy it outright than rent a more maintained structure. Buying it was a risky move, given your track record of up and ditching the last bed you slept on without any hindrance, but, at this point, you were tired.

You just wanted to be somewhere for longer than a month or two. Maybe owning a house was contrary to your desires to be unbound, with no board to pin your tattered and thin wings to, sure, the pros far outweighed the cons.

Cheap shelter, little to no people, far, far away from anywhere you’d been before. Three for three.

It’d still be a 45 minute drive or so before you actually got to your new residence, but you weren’t in any particular rush. You chose the most isolated place on purpose. Less people, less deafening sounds, less claustrophobic, brutalist structures that loomed higher and higher.

Less chance of being tied down.

With a hiss and a loggy wheeze, the train settled into place, jostling you as you got to your feet and stretched your arms above your head. The muscles in your back and shoulders twinged from sitting in the same position all day, and your legs stung like sparklers, but it was nice to work your joints properly again. After tucking away your phone and earbuds, you tugged your luggage down from the overhead rack with a grunt.

You were hopeful that there’d be taxis outside the station, and that you wouldn’t have to walk to the village. Who knows how long that would take. You’d probably keel over after the first mile. The thought made you snort while you squeezed down the aisle, suitcase with your bag stacked on it rolling behind you, purse strapped across your torso. The conductor – a sweet, older man – nodded silently to you as you disembarked, waving a farewell to you, which you returned. He was nice, you remembered him greeting you when you first boarded. 

He didn’t talk much, just a polite, “welcome aboard,” while the ticket collector pointed you in the direction of your cabin, which you greatly appreciated after hopping off a plane and hurrying your ass over to your required station. You were too spent for conversation.

Leaving the station was much easier than you expected. Unlike your home country, where you could get lost just by turning 45° to the left, Japan seemed to prefer neater environments that were easy to navigate. And, upon stepping out of the building, you rejoiced at spotting a few variously colored cabs waiting along the curb. Outside of one stood a man, roughly in his 50s or so, who waved you over.

“Need help getting somewhere, miss?” He questioned, and you nodded as you pulled out your phone, scrolling through your emails to find the one confirming your purchase of the listing. 

“Yeah, could you take me here?”

He glanced down at your screen when you showed him the address and chuckled quietly. “Well, that’s a surprise. Last time I visited that house was some twenty years ago to take the owner to the station, rather than from.”

You blanched nominally. Twenty years? Had your house really been abandoned for twenty years? The listing claimed it was only ten max, that estate bastard. A sigh left through your nose. Too late to deal with that now, you figured. “I just purchased it.”

The man nodded as he popped open the trunk and assisted you in slotting your luggage inside. “You look like you’ve come from far away. It’s rare for foreigners to choose to live in such a distant location. Not a fan of the city?”

I fucking hate cities.

“Something like that, yeah,” you assented, thanking him as he opened the back door for you. 

You appreciated his efficiency as he wasted no time dilly-dallying around. As soon as he was buckled up in the car, he was on the road, taking you down the last leg of your trip. The world outside the window streaked by in shades of violet and blood orange as the sun hovered on the edge of the skyline, reluctant to rest for the night.

“Ah, apologies. I’m Hayato Kazuhiko, you may call me Kazu, if you prefer,” he quickly introduced himself, and you followed suit. “Why’d you choose this little village of all places? It’s very small.”

You hummed. “That’s exactly why I chose it. I’m not a big…people-person, if you know what I mean.”

The older gentleman chuckled lightly. “My wife is the same,” he nodded as he peeked at you via the rearview mirror. “She had to visit the small town I used to live in one day, and it was love at first sight for us. She was immediately drawn to country life, and we’ve lived out in the neighboring town here ever since.”

“How long have you been married?”

“Twenty-five years,” he nodded, and you could see the pure love and devotion in his eyes as he spoke about his spouse. It was wholesome, and softened your heart a sliver. 

He was surprisingly relaxing to listen to. Pleasant voice that didn’t grate on your ears, a few stories shared about his wife, the occasional tale about some significant structure or location. It was calming, in an odd way. He’d point out a shrine or hiking trail you’d pass by, and offer to take you to them one day to teach you its history and meaning, and you actually considered it.

It could’ve been the harmless nature about him. Even as night descended and you could only really see his silhouette, inspecting him reminded you of your father, but…better, for lack of an accurate word. You weren’t afraid that he’d suddenly raise his voice, or take you down a suspicious road – or, hell, back to the train station to send your sorry ass right back to where you came from.

“Mr.–” you cut yourself off and cleared your throat, mildly embarrassed about slipping back into your mother tongue. Japanese honorifics were something you continued to struggle with. “Hayato-san, do you have children?”

He gave a mellow laugh and shook his head slightly. “Please, just Kazu is fine. And I do, three of them, in fact. A younger son, and twin girls about your age,” he estimated roughly.

So the fatherly air to him you picked up on wasn’t imagined. That brought you a form of reassurance you couldn’t distinctly name.

“My twin girls are all the way up in Tokyo,” he continued, chest puffed with pride, “and my son is still in highschool, causing chaos.”

“Chaos?” You raised a brow.

“Yes, but not the type you’d think,” he hummed. “He’s a gentle child, but his kind nature means he’s unfortunately quite gullible and gets himself into trouble.”

A voice, the faint echo of a memory long lost, intoned in the far reaches of your lucidity; someone shaming you for getting caught up in an issue that wasn’t even your fault. Your stomach twisted with dread, and your head snapped to peer at Hayato, expecting to find disappointment shining in his eyes when you studied them through the rear-view mirror.

Except, there wasn’t any.

Concern at most, a crease in his brow as he warred within himself between protecting and helping his kin, or letting the kid learn on his own. There wasn’t any disappointment, or anger, or exasperation. You could see him reminiscing as he stopped talking, focusing more on the twists that followed the mountain’s curve, and all you saw was just…love, and happiness.

The churning in your gut settled, instead replaced with a sense of hollowness. Not the kind that made you sick; rather, it was like you had a gap in your chest where a puzzle piece was missing, while his was filled with a perfectly fitted heart.

Bittersweet, possibly, but only distantly so. You felt happy for someone who was borderline a complete stranger to you, someone you shouldn’t even care about beyond tipping him well for driving you to the middle of nowhere in the dead of night, but you did anyway. 

Maybe I could have had that too, your thoughts mutedly supplied, if I was normal.

Then again, you didn’t want that, not really. Though you couldn’t tell if that was just who you were as a person, or a result of the coals perpetually under your feet, it didn’t change your mind.

Nothing could.

You were sure of it.

Smooth concrete eventually became a densely packed dirt road when Kazu turned off the main path, the car vibrating as the wheels rolled over loose stones and gravel. It didn’t last long, thankfully, as the shabby looking pile of wood came into view, albeit dark since the stars overhead were too dim to illuminate anything much.

“Where we are, miss,” he spoke as you both climbed out of the vehicle and met at the trunk. He opened it to retrieve your luggage, and you pulled your wallet out of your purse and counted off a few bills, wondering what the right amount to give to him would be.

It was hard to translate currency worth when things were valued differently in this country. Your trip abroad was a long time ago.

“Is this enough?” You peered up at him and held out the bills.

He took one glance at them and chuckled deeply. “That’s far too much, really,” he replied as he pulled only two of the strips out of the small stack you were holding. “Be careful with your money while you adjust to the currency of this country. Do you need assistance with your luggage?”

“Oh,” you analyzed the remaining money in your hands before tucking it back into your wallet. You really hoped he took the right amount needed and didn’t undersell himself. “No, I’ll be okay. You got me here in one piece, that’s all I could ask for.”

“Are you sure?”

Your head bobbed as you inspected your suitcase and bag, popping out the handle. “Yes, I am. Drive safe, Kazu-san. Thank you for taking me here.”

His chest rumbled with a laugh. “Please, it’s my job. You are pleasant company.”

“Likewise,” your lips rounded into a smile as you bowed politely. It was small, and you were tired, but it was genuine, the first one you’ve had for a long while. “Goodnight.”

Kazuhiko waved his hand in farewell, bidding you good dreams as he climbed back into the taxi and drove off, leaving you alone.

Your lungs deflated.

The air here was crisper, stinging your throat in a pleasant way as you inhaled slowly. Faint hints of pine and sap drifted across your senses. Nothing indicated any heavy stenches of smog or gasoline or gods know what litters the streets of every downtown city you’d been to before.

It would probably take you a while to get used to, and you oddly didn’t want to, if only so you could admire the fresh fragrance every time you stepped outside. Your muscles relaxed, surprising you as you hadn’t noticed just how tense you were until you were perched outside the front gate of your brand new (old) lodging.

Turning to face it, you groaned upon the realization that it was on a hill. Said hill was tiny, mind you, but a hill nonetheless. You found you couldn’t give much of a shit right now, just yearning to lay down and pass the fuck out for a while. Maybe the rest of tomorrow, too. A few weeks, actually, if you were allowed to choose. A coma sounded wonderful.

“Home sweet home,” you mumbled to nobody in particular as you pushed open the gate and virtually jumped out of your skin at the near shriek it gave. Okay, it had to have been longer than 20 years, that was loud. 

With your heart fluttering rapidly, you made a note to deal with it (and everything else) later and trudged up the incline, almost eating shit and dying when the toe of your boot caught on the edge of a stepping stone. Another thing to add to the “deal with later” list. You had a feeling it would just keep growing exponentially.

Finding the key was easy, for better and worse. It simply sat in the door knob’s lock, very safe and secure and definitely not putting your house at risk of…what?

There was nothing in there, evident when you pushed open the front door, which wailed just as loudly as the fence gate. You felt the blood drain from your face. Sure, the interior was empty, but the house was a wreck. Peeling walls, strange, crusty scent, and a sticky floor at the entrance that made you grimace when your sole pulled off it like velcro. You knew that it was custom in Japan to take off your shoes at the door, but fuck that. Absolutely not. You were not walking in any part of this house either in socks or barefoot.

Everything was virtually pitch black as you delved further in, so you depended on your other senses, and the ability to smell was one you wished you didn’t have. Your nose wrinkled as various rotting odors welcomed you, making you immediately regret going through all this.

Morning. You’d deal with it all in the morning.

Practically sneaking on your tip-toes, you explored the open space, trying to find the room that smelled the least and was passable to sleep in. Granted, there were really only two actual rooms down a hall going opposite of the kitchen besides the restroom and washroom, but the bigger one seemed decent.

At least you had a sleeping bag and wouldn’t be conking out on the bare floor. You went through the motions of prepping for bed mostly by habit, doing the bare minimum seeing as you didn’t have much of a choice. You brushed your teeth with the water from your tumbler, located and unrolled your sleeping bag, and climbed under the rustling top after yanking your shoes off, zipping it up as far as it went. 

Admittedly, the setup was kinda janky, but it got the job done. 

You couldn’t be bothered to change into pajamas.

With your head plopped on probably the least comfortable pillow you had found to bring with you (also the only one that would fit in with the rest of your shit, it was practically a pillowcase filled loosely with sporadically placed lumps of stuffing), you closed your eyes, and your body finally let sleep take over.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

Morning was not pleasant. Surrounded by the musty scent of gods-know-what, back aching from the restless sleep you got from your pitiful sleeping bag and the hard floor, you were groggy beyond belief and desperate for fresh air. And a massage. And a cigarette.

You didn’t smoke, finding the heavy and pungent funk nauseating, but the temptation was there. You felt you gained a little more understanding of smokers.

Brushing the thought aside, you pushed yourself up into a sitting position and rubbed the heel of your palm against the sore spot on the side of your skull. You would have believed someone replaced your pillow with a rock if you hadn’t intimately known that lump of fluff. Or, rather, lack thereof.

Red lines, tender to the touch and tingling a little, were pressed onto the arm you laid on for most of the time you slept, causing you to hiss when you traced your fingers against them. It seemed to be barely past dawn when you reviewed what was out your window, leaving you questioning just how long you slept, if at all.

Figuring you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep anyway, you shoved yourself out of ‘bed’ and groaned when every joint in your body popped and every bone creaked. Hell, you weren’t sure you’d be able to sleep tonight again. Not here, anyway. More problems for future you.

She’d certainly be happy about that. She already had so much shit to handle.

The growl of your stomach reminded you that food was something you needed to consume to continue living. 

Reluctant as you were to do anything, you figured going out by starvation was 1) probably not the best idea, and 2) you wanted to be out of this dingy torture shed.

What was unfortunate was that you, like a smart person, didn’t bring anything more than snack bars and those weird trail mixes with the fruit cubes that you just threw into your bag without much care. It was really the only motivation you needed to walk your sorry self out the door. 

After you brushed your teeth and changed your clothes, of course, being very careful to not let anything touch the floor.

Stepping out of your home through the shabby and creaky door with your purse slung across your chest, you were met with the grandiose sight of mountains surrounding you on every side. They rose high, aching to brush the sky and touch a star, just one, just once, just for a second. Covered in thick greenery, you figured the faint yet present scents of cedar, pine, and other woodsy tones were carried down into the valley from the steep inclines.

You couldn’t see any of these details nearly as well when you were dragging your tired ass to this place with ink covering the sky in a thick veil, but it truly was breathtaking.

Had nature always been this green before?

Having only done some cursory research on the village – namely, population – you didn’t bother giving yourself time to actually inspect photos of the tiny rural town. From what you’d seen anyway, pictures could never do it justice. A velvety breeze brushed against your cheek, prompting you to tuck your hair behind your ear and pivot towards the direction the gale came from.

Your breath left you in a silent ‘oh’, mesmerized by the incredible view of the rising sun you had. It shone valiantly and radiantly through the gaps it had carved out between the towering peaks itself, illuminating the land in shades of brilliant gold with its splendor.

For perhaps the first time in your life, you felt…nothing.

Not a sense of hollowness, nor a void in your chest, no.  A peaceful kind of nothing, as if not a thing in the world could take your mind away from this newfound elysium you found in sharing the morning’s shine with its source.

Invisible fingers caressed your jaw, threading through your hair with the gentle touch of adoration, as if you were delicate.

You hated to be treated like you were easily breakable, as fragile as glass, but this sensation was consoling, rather than degrading. The wind cherished you, not akin to a brittle figurine, rather as someone who was beautiful and worthy of gentleness unsullied by pity or licentious intentions. As if you were someone to be worshipped and revered.

A mother combing her fingers through her daughter’s hair, humming a lullaby only she knew the tune of.

Perhaps it wasn’t impossible to find what you were searching for. You didn’t know what it was exactly, a question without an answer, but it gave you a place to start.

With a deep breath swelling behind your ribcage, filling your soul with air untouched by sickly city pollution you were so accustomed to, you turned and began heading down the beaten dirt path that led into the heart of the village. The early summer warmth was pleasant on your skin, not too hot given the time. It seeped into your cold fingers and made them ache a little less with each minute going by.

While the town you had chosen was visually quite a bit older in style, with smaller structures dotted about reflecting traditional Japanese designs, there were some modernities. Electricity was, fortunately, one of them. 

Based on the fact that you found and bought the listing online, you figured there was likely a way for you to get your hands on some Wi-Fi here, too. You’d probably die without it.

The nearer you drew to the center of the population, the denser the structures became. Not to say they were rubbing walls, but neighbors were only a short few steps away, compared to the distance between your own house and the one closest to it.

Minka houses in significantly better condition than yours spanned either side of the road as the terrain shifted from soil to asphalt. They were beautiful, and you bet that living in that kind of house in this kind of place was either absurdly expensive, or dirt cheap, with no real in-between. You were personally on the latter end of this, which probably wasn’t a good thing. 

Doomed by the narrative once again.

Off in the distance on an elevated surface, you could see what you thought was a Wayo Kenchiku temple, if you had to guess. Its overlapping roofs were a deep green in shade, nearly black. They protected the desaturated brown walls of the building, and you were taken aback by how easy the temple was to see from where you were.

It sat across a wide river, one surprisingly calm as you approached it. It rushed along, springing with glimmering waves that shimmered under the light and frothed white around raised boulders. Despite it coming across as fairly deep, you could see clear through to the bottom, with the water itself being a refreshing shade of clear blue. A bridge spanned the rift, made of sturdy wood that had dark railings protecting either side of you, matching the aesthetic of your surroundings.

The bridge whined under your weight, but didn’t shift, giving you some reassurance that you wouldn’t go crashing through the planks. It led into the most packed section of the whole area, with structures built closer together, bearing a more modernized likeness, while retaining its unique characteristics.

In truth, though you remained apprehensive, the voice that scratched at the back of your skull everywhere you went and pestered you to run, run, run, had quieted. You hadn’t registered it, the silence, too focused on taking in your new surroundings as a serene blanket covered the thoughts that usually pranced wild and free in your cranium, putting them to rest with a whispered mercy:

This feels right.

It didn’t take you long to spot what you figured was the local grocery store. The bell above the door chimed as you stepped inside, peering at what products you could see on the shelves and aisles from where you stood. Being an anxious little creature, you double-checked to make sure you had your wallet, as well as the translated bills within. Last thing you wanted was to embarrass yourself in a place where everybody knew everybody.

Reassured, you chose a random aisle and headed down it, skimming the products to see if any of them appeared even vaguely familiar to you. Besides cans of soup and tubes of Pringles, there wasn’t much for you to grab onto. Sure, there was ramen, but you didn’t have a way to boil water. Cereal and milk, maybe?

Shit, no, you didn’t have any cutlery or dinnerware. Unless you wanted to be a sad raccoon and eat raw cereal straight from the box, but you weren’t that desperate.

Yet.

Mentally crossing out your options as you went through them, you nearly knocked over an entire row of items when you almost ran into an older lady who stood in the middle of the strip, watching you.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” You hopped back a foot, raising your hands in front of you placatingly. “I-I didn’t see you there, am I in your way?”

The woman laughed and shook her head, her smile reminding you of a grandmother that’d sneakily give her grandkids candies while their parents weren’t watching. “You’re quite alright, I was actually wondering if you need help?”

“Oh, uh…” Bashfully scratching the back of your head, you glanced at the various bags of foodstuffs beside you and debated your choices. Say no, when it was painfully obvious how green behind the ears you were, or set down your pride and ask for assistance.

Your stomach chose for you, warning you to suck it up and get food before it began eating itself.

The woman’s chuckle was heartier the second time around, her eyes glimmering with mirth as she motioned for you to follow her. Feeling a bit like a scolded child, you trailed after her while she wove her way around her store towards the produce section at the back. She pulled a random fruit from the thunder-rain-shelf-thing (you honestly had no idea what it was called) and rubbed it against her apron before handing it to you.

“Eat,” she insisted.

You blinked rapidly, peeping the fruit, the sign for it, then her. “How much…?”

The lady waved her free hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Eat, I insist.”

You were going to argue further, but a deep cramp in your gut had you sinking your teeth into the sweet and wonderfully-textured treat. As embarrassing as it was, you borderline moaned as you chewed, quickly taking another bite. Whatever it was, it tasted divine.

This time, when she directed you to move with her, you followed without hesitation. “Thank you so much,” you mumbled as she pulled out a chair from behind the counter and urged for you to sit on it.

“It’s nothing, I can’t let you go hungry, now,” she swept away your worries. “You’re new here,” she stated, rather than asked.

You nodded through another bite, waiting until you swallowed before continuing the conversation. “Yes, I got here last night.”

“Oh? Are you visiting someone?”

“No, I moved here.”

Her brows raised. “Really, now? Who are you staying with?”

Mid-bite, you stopped to address the matter. “Oh, no, I’m not living with anyone. I purchased the house just outside the village.”

The way her eyes widened was nearly comical. “That place? Now, that’s a surprise.”

If you had a nickel.

“That’s the second time I’ve heard that now,” your lips tugged into a frown and you stifled it with another chomp into the sweet object in your hand.

At that, she simpered mutedly. “I apologize. I’m merely awed that it was still standing, let alone that someone had bought it. Last I heard, there hasn’t been anyone living there for, oh, maybe 20 years or so.”

The realtor, that dog. He did lie to you after all.

You scornfully hoped he was enjoying spending your money.

Picking at your cheek with your free hand, you looked away with a nervous giggle. “Yeah, it’s…not in great shape. I have a lot of work cut out for me.”

“You’re going to try to repair it?”

“Yeah. Keyword being try.”

“I’m not sure that’s a wise choice.”

You sighed. “Me neither, but I don’t have much of a choice now.”

The woman shook her head, smiling regardless. “You let me know what kind of help you need. There are plenty of handymen in this village of ours, I’m sure they’d be happy to help.”

“Oh, that’s very nice of you, but…I’m sorry, I didn’t ask for your name,” you pouted, hurriedly introducing yourself.

“Just call me Granny. And I won’t take no for an answer, missy,” okay, now you really felt scolded. “I won’t stand for you trying to fix up that cluster of wood by yourself, it’s far too dangerous. And you shouldn’t be staying there while it’s in that condition, either. Give me a moment, let me find someone you can stay with.”

Panic rose up in you and you waved your hands frantically in front of you. “N-No! It’s fine, I’ll– I’ll figure something out, really, don’t worry. Please.”

Granny eyed you suspiciously, her hand hovering over the landline on the wall. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! It’s fine, I’m fine, I promise.”

Her eyes remained squinted, even as she lowered her arm. “Alright, if you say so. But if you need any kind of help, big or small, come to me right away, okay?”

Relieved you wouldn’t have to interact with more strangers, you nodded and deflated. “I will.”

“Promise me, young lady.”

“I promise.”

She grinned brightly and ruffled your hair. “That’s a good girl. Let me pack you a few things to take with you so you have something to eat.”

“Ah– wait, I…I’m not very good with currency yet,” you halted her sheepishly. The prices were still confusing as fuck to you. Man, how the fuck were you going to manage this when you get a job? If?

“Nonsense, it’s on me. I won’t charge you.”

Sorry, what? Did she do that for every person she met five minutes prior?

“But– but that’s not–”

“Finish up your peach,” she asserted as she was already walking away with a bag in her hands that wasn’t there a second ago. What was it with grannies and having some weird, innate magic?

Your eyes darted down at your half-eaten peach, surprised to learn that it wasn’t some foreign fruit you’d never even heard of before, let alone tried. It was an exceptional blend between succulent and rich; easy to bite into and chew without pouring juice all over yourself.

The fuck kind of peaches have you been eating before?

Sensing you might be buying these often if they were this good, you had well-nigh inhaled the rest of it by the time Granny came back with a stuffed bag.

“Here you go, dear,” she held out the shopping bag to you, which you took graciously after tossing out the peach pit into the small trash can by the counter.

Glancing into the bag, your lips shifted downwards. It was filled with a few different fruits and veggies, a couple bags of snacks, but mostly packaged food that looked like it could be eaten as is without needing to worry about cooking it. Your guilt skyrocketed. “Granny, this is too–”

“Don’t worry about paying. Save your money for the repairs of that home of yours.”

Your head shot up, eyes widening. “I can’t–”

“You can because I say so, young lady,” Granny puffed out her chest proudly, using a motherly tone that easily put you in your place, much to your bafflement. You didn’t even listen to your own mother like this. “Come back in the evening, I’ll have something cooked up for you.”

“You really don’t–”

She made brushing motions with her fingers, shooing you off the chair. “Off you go. There’s a lovely little pergola in the park, go have breakfast there. Just turn right when you leave and keep walking straight.”

Flustered, you let her push you along out the door, your confused brain trying to catch up. “Granny–”

“I’ll have a list of handymen for you when you return,” she informed you right as she managed to get you out the door. “Explore the town while there’s still daylight!”

And just like that, she was back in her store, sweeping with a broom that you swear materialized out of nowhere. You stared at the shop for a good minute, blinking dumbly until you processed whatever just happened.

You still weren’t wholly sure. You went in, expecting to grab a bag of something random to ‘feed’ yourself with, and left with a bag full of free food from a woman who spontaneously decided to give it to you. 

The fuck. She’d go bankrupt if she just kept giving strangers sustenance off her own back.

Your own feet seemed to carry you along as you exhaled through your nose and took her instructions to heart. Too late now, you’d feel bad if you went in and returned everything. It’d be insulting at this point, and you were hungry, anyway

A cooked meal did sound lovely as well, discomfited as you were. You had never met your own grandmothers – not in person at least, so you had no idea if grandmothers were simply like that or not. Regardless, you had a feeling she was going to fill that role in whether you liked it or not. 

Luckily, you were drifting towards like. She did give you free food, after all, and was going to find help for you. That part you were more apprehensive about, however, stubbornness and introversion making you want to be stupid and attempt to pick up carpentry out of nowhere.

All you could do was try to accept it and sigh, taking in the sights, stores, and dwellings as you walked past them and towards the park. A couple shops caught your eye, particularly a clothing boutique, and what could possibly be a hardware store. You weren’t certain, and didn’t want to find out yet. The prospect of entering one and facing the big ass sign that said ‘you don’t know what the hell you're doing!’ was too daunting to approach for now.

It didn’t take you long to get to the park. In fact, it was such a short walk that it bemused you. A population of 600 people seemed larger on paper than it was in reality. Most of the town was behind you, granted, but the uncanniness was uplifting, in a way.

It didn’t feel claustrophobic. The trees in the park were closer together than some of the buildings outside it, and they smelled so good that it knocked you back a step. The entire wild garden carried the fresh perfume of sweet and fresh vegetation, from blooming flowers scattered about and the grass underfoot, to the rustling leaves above. You couldn’t recall the last time you were in a park, let alone one that was as vibrant and alive as this one.

The pergola was easy to find. It resided in the center, right beside a large pond that you saw was filled with koi fish when you got close. 

They swam to-and-fro, carefree, intermingling, playing, and searching for food. 

Your stomach twisted when you made an unintentional connection in your mind. They reminded you of kites. Pretty, ultimately trapped.

The koi fish, however, didn’t seem to mind one bit. Not that you could understand fish language. They just went about their business calmly. It perplexed you, didn’t spending their lives in a single body of water bother them? Didn’t it make them depressed?

Could fish feel depression?

Shaking your head to rid it of the peculiar journey your mind had gone off on, you set the bag down on the table under the pergola and settled into one of the chairs, reaching to dig through your options. Of the items present, you opted to munch on a sandwich Granny had tossed in with everything else, bundled in saran wrap and clearly made by her.

While you were skeptical of pre-made food bought in a grocery store like this, one sniff had you biting into it ravenously. You were way hungrier than you thought as you devoured it, trying to will yourself to slow down enough to at least savor the taste of it. Your earlier guilt and trepidation disappeared three bites in, and you were now very much anticipating Granny’s handmade cooking if this was the kind of sandwich she was capable of creating.

You questioned again if all grannies were like this, or if you lucked out. Either way, if it meant you didn’t have to struggle with food for the time being (or ever, if Granny let you mooch off her forever), you didn’t mind getting spontaneously adopted by her at all.

About halfway through your meal, the koi fish in the pond caught your attention again. They were gorgeous animals, graceful and sleek with scales that twinkled iridescently when the sun flickered over them from between the gaps in the canopy above. They had you mesmerized, sights focused solely on them as they showed off.

Maybe they had managed to hypnotize you, because you decided to tear off a piece of the ham, rip it into tiny pieces, then throw it towards the pond. There was a large splash as all the fish rushed towards the food, making you snicker.

A sort of childish glee bloomed within you, persuading you to indulge them a smidgen longer before you finished off your food. The park seemed like a sacred place where nothing could touch you, where the lands would remain lavish and healthy, and where you could let all your worries fade away.

Arcadian – that was the best way you could describe it. Placid, halcyon, grounding, mellow. You could go on and on, really, but you–

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled when you sensed that someone, or something, was watching you. Heat grazed against your nape, slow, measured breaths right behind your ear. A kiss from a pair of soft lips that never reached your skin. A demanding presence wrapped around your figure, a prey caught in the trap laid out precisely by a steadfast and salivating predator.

Ghostly fingers slid down your shoulders, crept over your forearms, and encircled your wrists, holding them in place with a deceptively lax hold. Something firm and wide pressed against your shoulder blades, keeping you between it and the table.

Your heart kicked in your throat, preventing you from swallowing anything more than a tiny gasp.

And, like the cornered quarry you were, you shifted slowly to peek from the corner of your eye, avoiding any sudden or abrupt movements. You expected to find a beast hovering over your shoulder, eagerly anticipating your reaction. 

There was nothing. 

Only foliage greeted your wide-eyed inspection, expansive and untouched since you came here. The feeling of being hunted on had evaporated as soon as you checked, and though uncertain of this verdict, you chalked it up to being in totally unfamiliar territory. A result of a soundless, featherlight brush of wind, a critter in the foliage envying the fish you fed, lasting no more than a sigh.

Your brow furrowed as you searched through the plant life, seeing not even a hair out of the ordinary. That dovish sensation the park carried returned like it had never left to begin with, coaxing you to let it go and relax.

Maybe that was your cue to leave.

You shook off the lingering sensation with a shiver. Everything was okay in the wooded pasture, and as tranquil as your surroundings were, you knew you’d have to face the elephant in the room eventually.

You dusted yourself off as you got up to dislodge any lingering crumbs, carefully packed everything back into the bag, and took one final look around. This place would become your safe haven, you determined. Already, you were thinking of coming back, the memory of your adrenaline spiking fading rapidly. Imagining returning here gave you that minor push you need to fill your lungs with courage and turn to head back out the way you came.

You could explore the town later. Right now, you needed to address the state of your new stead and gauge what laid ahead of you first. Maybe it’d give you at least an idea of what you required to get started on all of this, though you doubted you’d come out of witnessing it in the full glory of the sun knowing more than you did now.

Absentmindedly, the milieu filtered into your subconscious, automatically noting small landmarks here and there to assist you in finding your way around the streets while they still confused you, until you had learned to traverse them and knew every path and alley like the back of your hand.

(Just in case, you assessed the back of your right hand. You know, to reacquaint yourself with it.)

Glumness overtook. You knew you probably wouldn’t stay here for too long, no matter how much you liked it. You could fix up the house, flip it, and head off someplace else again in pursuit of something that probably didn’t exist.

It’s always been this way for you. The same old pattern, the same old story, the neverending book that looped in on itself over and over, caught in a wormhole where the exit was the entrance.

So it was easy to convince yourself to not get attached to the valley, nor the people, nor that damn sticks-on-bricks abode. Not even the grass filled with flowers and protected by tall trees you had already found yourself longing for.

It was easier this way. This was all you knew, after all.

You had it all figured out.

Didn't you?

banner by cafekitsune ♥

[inthehouseoffinwe]

What do you think would’ve happened if instead of the three Cs, Maedhros and Maglor had been the ones to fight Dior?

I mean we know they’re much more skilled and less bloodthirsty and rash than the rest of their brothers. So here’s an AU:

I think we’d see Mae and Mags come out on top, and assuming they’re out of the main hall, the rest of their brothers would probably make it out of Doriath alive. Elured and Elurin make it out with Elwing.

With all seven still around and watching each other’s backs, I imagine Sirion would be much the same, all all them surviving. The addition of Elwing’s brothers and their soldiers turning on them, *might* turn the tables just enough to kill a couple of Fëanorions, probably Celegorm and Curufin who are still bitter about Luthien and Dior. But I feel it’s more likely due to inexperience, Elured and Elurin are killed, not necessarily by the Fëanorions themselves.

The silmaril ends up with Elwing and we get the same situation of Maedhros and Maglor asking for it back and Elwing throwing herself off the cliff. Mae and Mags genuinely do not want to be here but the letters were refused and the Oath calls. Elwing probably knows her brothers were killed by word of mouth or seeing it herself and legged it.

Enter Elrond and Elros who’d have a more interesting (and fun) time of things with 5-7 sons of Fëanor around. Maedhros would back Maglor on caring for the twins though, less consumed by the oath with all his little brothers alive and kicking. And in canon he did go searching for Dior’s sons. Caranthir probably doesn’t really have an opinion on them, Amrod and Amras are willing to follow their brothers’ lead on things (also when are they ever gonna have a chance to see identical twins again. I think they’d get along pretty well.) I don’t see any of them being particularly hateful towards the kids. Celegorm and Curufin seem to be most susceptible to the Oath and giving in to their nastier sides might be a bit more of a problem, but there’s enough brothers to keep an eye on them. And I think they’d warm up eventually, reluctantly though it may be. Curufin was a father first, remember, it’s more natural for him to care than not.

Safe to say by the time Elrond and Elros go to Gil Galad, they’re very well trained in all manner of things 😂

As for the fate of the Fëanorions, they wouldn’t go for the last ditch attempt Mae and Mags did. From the eldest’s perspective, there’s too much to lose. I want to say the stones might be passed off to them, if only to prove a point, and whoever picks them up would no doubt be burned, but there’s no suicides. There’s no endless lamentation.

In reality though there’s probably still a battle by the chest, the oath awakened and clawing with the stones so close. There might be more of a push to bring them back to Valinor to stand trial, but they’re a force to be reckoned with and Eönwë knows they’d rather die than be dragged back. The Fëanorions are let go with the stones, but instead of being tossed away as the Valar expect, the chest is kept and they go on.

With the oath mostly fulfilled much of the weight across their fëa is gone, and Curufin and Celegorm head out to keep an eye on Celebrimbor. Elros might have a temporary tagalong in Maedhros and Caranthir (new kingdom needs someone with experience to get the economy up and running.) Maglor and both Ambarussa keep their distant eye on Elrond.

(Annatar didn’t expect the seven biggest pains in his Master’s back to greet him at Eregion’s gate, two Silmarils in tow, burning him to the core. Celebrimbor doesn’t know whether to be horrified or thankful. Back in Lindon, Elrond - the one who tipped them off - is cackling and Gil Galad is Concerned TM but decides he’s better off not knowing. His cousins are insane on the best of days.)

Alternatively, Elured and Elurin perhaps remembering how reluctant Maedhros and Maglor were, how Maedhros pleaded with their father to just return the stone so this could all *end*, immediately send the silmaril back when the letter comes. Or maybe they’re just cooler headed and see the logic of returning the stone. Things settle. The Valar do eventually get involved. Silmaril two and three are regained then reclaimed by the brothers as mentioned above. They might burn. They might reject the holders. But the oath is fulfilled and that’s all that matters in the end.

[sansaorgana]

— DAUGHTER OF THE MOON (III)

PART ONE || PART TWO

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Elf!Reader (Celebrimbor's Daughter)

SUMMARY — Lord Celebrimbor's daughter finally learns the truth about her betrothed. She might be the only one who can save her father and Eregion if she agrees to give Sauron what he wants.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Reader's appearance is not described and her mother comes from a group of Elves that I came up with myself for the sake of this fic and its plot – the Moon Elves. This is the last part of this fic! 😊 As I said, it was supposed to be a one shot but it turned out quite long, so I decided to post it in three chapters. 💗 The ending is kinda open... 👀

WARNINGS — Reader's mother is dead ("madness" + suicide), blood magic, violence, domestic abuse (Sauron is not nice to his fiancée), manipulation, gaslighting

WORD COUNT — 6,450

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

DAUGHTER OF THE MOON (III)

Corruption. It was the thing that Lady (Y/N) feared the most. Therefore, when she heard about the possibility of The Seven being condemned because of her father’s lie to the High King, she was absolutely terrified. Especially after learning “the truth” from her beloved Annatar about her father’s condition.

He watched with a smirk, overhearing her conversations with Celebrimbor. Her pleas and sobs as she begged him to finish the Rings. But – just as she had promised – not even once she did reveal that she knew about his worrying state. And even though Annatar had mentioned that it was crafting the Rings that had caused Celebrimbor’s mind to go astray, his daughter feared the darkness and corruption so badly that it seemed to escape her mind. The only thing that mattered to her was to convince her father to help Annatar in making the Rings.

She was even using the same tactics as her beloved – something he noticed with a huge amount of satisfaction as he listened to her praising her father’s craft and saying that he would soon become known as the greatest of the Elves in history. How she sweetly and innocently lured him into the trap Annatar had prepared.

And so she succeeded, standing proudly by her betrothed’s side with her arm around his, as they were surrounded by the Elven smiths and watched Celebrimbor give a speech.

“There is agency uncanny in the heart of stone and ore,” he started. “Even when a work is yet within the artist's bosom, it begins to…” He hesitated and made a disappointed face. “...disobey him. We have failed. Every one of us,” he added more harshly now and Annatar could feel (Y/N)’s hands squeezing his arm tighter as she was not suspecting her father to grow so bitter and cold.

“The designs were carried out to the most exquisite detail, my Lord,” Mirdania dared to interrupt him.

“Were they?” Celebrimbor asked her in a challenging tone. “Every last hammer stroke done to perfection?” He began to take steps forward, approaching her and the other smiths. “Or did hubris and sloth come together to dull your attention?!” He raised his voice and a short silence occurred.

The tension was heavy in the forge and Annatar felt (Y/N)’s fingernails digging into his flesh as she kept squeezing his arm. Her father’s anger was not aimed at her but it still pained her to see him like this – like he had never been before.

“We must atone for our mistakes in the only way we can by completing the Rings together,” Celebrimbor said again, a bit softer this time, as he looked upon Annatar’s face. “The Nine must do far more than bring aid to men, they must bring balance to the entire project. They must draw strength from The Three and somehow…,” he hesitated, uncomfortably, “redeem The Seven,” he looked around, avoiding everyone’s gaze. “They must redeem us all. We shall work night and day,” his tone changed once again and grew harsher. “New designs. New alloys. A new process. I will be with you at every turn and any of you who offers so much as a hair’s breadth less than his utmost effort is a… A smith of Eregion no longer,” he threatened, even though he sounded ashamed of his own vicious words despite the gentle smile. “Have I made myself plain?”

“Yes, my lord,” the smiths nodded their heads quietly.

“It starts now,” Celebrimbor nodded nervously and walked away as fast as possible to go up to his study, walking past Annatar and (Y/N) but avoiding their gaze.

(Y/N) left her betrothed’s side and followed her father to his study. Annatar was torn whether he should join them or to coax the smiths. He eventually decided to do the other thing since he already trusted (Y/N) enough to leave her alone with Celebrimbor for a moment, meanwhile the smiths of Eregion kept chatting quietly about their Lord’s behaviour.

“Father?” (Y/N) approached Celebrimbor who was sitting on the chair and trembling, hiding his face in his hands. Her heart was full of pain for him and she swallowed thickly when she placed her hands on his shoulders as he flinched a little. “Father, perhaps I have been pushing you too hard to agree to make The Nine. I, too, want the redemption of The Seven for I want this craft to be the absolute mastery of your abilities and achievements as much as I want for the whole Middle-earth to admire you…” She confessed gently as she crouched down next to him and removed his hands softly from his face. “But father, please, the way you behave… is worrying to say the least,” she whispered.

“The way I behave, my sweet child?” He blinked a few times at her and she tilted her head, confused.

“What are you talking about?” She breathed out and a short silence occurred, in which Annatar’s voice calming down the smiths reached them from afar.

“Are you sure about wanting to marry this man?” Celebrimbor lowered his voice, squeezing his daughter’s wrist when she wanted to move away, visibly outraged by his question.

“How can you ask me that?! The love between Lord Annatar and I is of the purest and most noble kinds…” Her eyes filled with tears. “I have never thought to ever meet a man like him but he is everything I have ever dreamt of and I am the luckiest of all maidens that he wishes to leave his service to the Valar for me.”

Celebrimbor was defeated. He let his daughter's hand go and he watched her tears with the pain in his heart. He hated to make her cry and to worry her but he was concerned about her as well.

However, she was already far too bewitched by Annatar’s charm.

Lady (Y/N) was crafting a beautiful headpiece as she focused on shaping the sapphires. The day was warm and quite calm and she enjoyed her silence and her solitude as yet another masterpiece was coming to life because of the work of her hands.

A light knock upon the doors made her look up with a furrowed brow.

“Come in,” she ordered and watched the smith Mirdania walking inside.

Mirdania’s eyes were exhausted, her dress and face covered in sweat and dirt from the long days of excessive work in the forge. She bowed down in front of Lady (Y/N) and opened her mouth, hesitating before speaking.

“What is it?” (Y/N) asked her as she stopped paying attention and laid her eyes back on the headpiece in front of her.

“My Lady, I am terribly sorry for bothering you but this is about your father, Lord Celebrimbor…” Mirdania started.

“Yes?” (Y/N) still did not lay her eyes on the woman as her eyes squinted when she picked up a thin chisel.

“The way he is behaving… He has never been like this. I do not mean his strive for perfection but the measures he is taking… We do not feel safe around him anymore, my Lady,” Mirdania blushed and looked away because (Y/N) glanced at her at that very moment.

“I… I do not know what to say,” (Y/N) confessed, putting the chisel down. “I do not know how to comfort you… But you ought to endure for he must finish The Nine,” she stood up to approach Mirdania and put her hands around the smith’s arms. “He must.”

Mirdania tried to protest somehow as her mouth opened and her head shook but that was when the doors opened once more – this time without any knocking – and Lord Annatar stood in them.

He walked differently these days; more confidently. The way he stood there was taking up the whole door frame and the way he glanced at the women had a hint of contempt and suspicion in his eyes. His robes were no longer grey and humble but the most exquisite – black and gold. And some of his hair strands were tied in a whimsical bow to avoid getting into his eyes and interrupting his work.

Some were saying that now, when Lord Celebrimbor was so busy with his craft and Annatar was engaged to his daughter, he was carrying himself as the Lord Regent of Eregion in a way. His position changed, of course, as he was now known as Lady (Y/N)’s betrothed and Lord Celebrimbor’s most trusted friend.

“My love, what is it?” Lady (Y/N) asked as she abandoned Mirdania’s side immediately to approach him.

She did not mind his change – in fact, he made her believe that it was her who had encouraged it, convincing him that the new robes would make him seem more respectful amongst the people of Eregion and that he had proved his humility enough.

Annatar gave Mirdania a scolding look before laying his soft eyes upon Lady (Y/N).

“Your father’s people demand an audience but he refuses to see them, too occupied with his craft,” he announced.

“That is so unlike him,” (Y/N) shook her head with concern.

“He wants you and I to carry on with his responsibilities to the city,” Annatar informed her.

“Oh, well, then…” She hesitated. “Well, then I must… I shall do everything to help my father,” she nodded her head, eagerly. “Mirdania,” she turned around to look at the woman and the smith bowed her head down before hurrying out of Lady (Y/N)’s chambers.

(Y/N) and Annatar walked downstairs and approached the people gathered by the doors, surprised to see them instead of their Lord. Annatar clasped his hands behind his back and looked down at his betrothed as she nodded at him, letting him speak because she knew that he was far better with words than she was.

“The greatest of Elven smiths is consumed by his work,” Annatar announced to the people of Eregion. “He asks that Lady (Y/N) and I handle all matters of administration in his stead,” he bowed slightly at her before looking back at them. “Now, what seems to be at issue?”

One of the guards looked at Commander Malendrol with hesitation.

“Show them,” he said.

“Show us what?” Annatar asked and the guards pointed in the direction they wanted him and Lady (Y/N) to go in.

And so they followed the guards and (Y/N) was full of anxiety as she kept glancing up at her betrothed, wondering how he could remain so calm when everything seemed to go so wrong these days.

“This gatehouse is typically athrum with artisans and merchants travelling into the city,” one of the guards explained. “But it all strangely halted yester-eve,” he added. 

“We sent a search party across the river to see if there was an obstruction upon the road,” Commander Malendrol continued. “But only one soldier returned.”

“Where is he?” Annatar asked, feeling (Y/N) trembling fingers intertwining with his. As usual, in times of trouble, she was seeking for him and his comfort, his assurance that it would all be alright and that he would keep her safe.

They stopped in front of a few other guards and when the guards walked away, they revealed a body of a soldier with his shirt torn to reveal his chest on which mysterious letters of the language unknown to Lady (Y/N) were carved. She winced and turned around to look away and Annatar squeezed her hand gently.

“Washed up this morning,” Commander Malendrol said. “He appeared to be carrying a message.”

Annatar took a step forward to take a better look at the body and read the signs as his face got serious. Adar’s army coming to Eregion was a part of his plan but he had been certain his Rings would be forged by then.

He was running out of time.

“Bury him,” he ordered and laid his eyes on Commander Malendrol. “Show this to no one,” he added. He did not want anyone in the city to be alarmed and expecting the worst.

When the guards walked away, Annatar put his arm around (Y/N) to walk her out of there and spare her delicate eyes from such sights. She sniffled her tears back and looked up at his face.

“That was awful…” She shook her head, affected. Annatar furrowed his brows, faking worry and compassion as he brought her hand up to his lips and placed a small kiss upon her knuckles. “Should I tell my father about it? I know he wanted us to carry on with his duties but this seems quite serious and–”

“No,” Annatar interrupted her as her lower lip trembled. “He has asked us to see it and that no one is permitted to disturb him,” he informed her in all seriousness, watching her eyes fill with more and more fresh tears. “Not even the smiths… Not even you.”

“N-not even m-me?” (Y/N)’s voice broke as silent tears streamed down her cheeks. Annatar smiled sadly at them as he wiped one with his thumb.

“He’s not himself, my gentle darling. For now, all we can do is leave him in solitude,” he whispered, trying to be the most delicate. Give him time. And pray…” He hesitated before finishing his sentence, unsure what effect it would have on her. “Pray that he finishes this work before it finishes him,” he eventually confessed, faking his own pain and sadness.

“I… I cannot lose my father. Oh, Annatar, please… I have suffered enough already, have I not?” She sobbed and he only stood there, watching her tears, not knowing what to say since he had so much more of the suffering prepared for her. “I lost my mother already… I cannot lose him. If there was a way of sacrificing my own self, my own sanity, just to save him… I would not hesitate,” she clenched her jaw out of determination as she confessed. “I know that he presents himself now as a man out of his mind but my father… My real father… He is the most gentle, the most kind, the most generous man and… And I would do everything to save him,” she finished, straightening her back as a sudden outburst of courage washed all over her.

Annatar looked down at their hands intertwined and caressed the silver ring on her finger with his thumb.

“The way you love is of the purest kind,” he whispered.

“I love you just the same,” she assured him and he cracked a sad smile before leaning in to kiss her forehead and walk away, leaving her crying quietly in the middle of the courtyard.

It was dark already when the siege began. Lady (Y/N) was as scared as everyone else but the very first person that came to her mind was Lord Annatar, naturally. The one who had always been able to make her feel the safest and the one who had always had a solution to all of her problems. He had always known how to comfort her with his sweet words.

So, even in times like this, she was running through the crowd of her father’s people, ignoring their screams and cries. And she did not run to the forge but to the tower where she had seen Annatar going before as she had been calling for him across the courtyard but he could not hear.

She was running up the stairs and then she froze at the sight of him, standing alone on the balcony and raising his hands up as he kept staring in the direction of the Orc army. What was he doing, she wondered? Was he performing some sort of magic spell, a ritual that was supposed to keep them all safe?

“My love?” She asked in a trembling tone. “My love, I am so scared,” she revealed and he turned around.

But the man she saw now – the sight of him made her gasp and take a step back as she nearly fell down the stairs. The man in front of her perhaps truly looked like her beloved Lord Annatar but his eyes were no longer kind or compassionate. There was nothing but pure evil and darkness burning in them as he approached her with a smirk.

“You, my love, are coming with me,” Annatar grabbed her by her arm, mocking the sweet phrase they had been calling each other with.

And as he dragged her behind him, she kept sobbing and trying to get out of his grasp but he was far too strong and no one could hear her cries for help amongst the chaos.

“What are you doing?!” She shouted. “Please, let me go! My love, please, you are scaring me!”

But all of her words and pleas seemed to have no effect upon her betrothed. He remained cold and unbothered as he dragged her towards her tower and all the way upstairs, pulling her body behind as if it was a sack of potatoes; not caring much about the many steps ahead of them and hurting her many times on the way.

He pushed the doors to her workshop open and threw her inside carelessly as he watched with contempt her body hitting the ground. Her gentle eyes looked up with fear at him as more and more sobs escaped her throat.

“Your father’s mind is of no use to me anymore. He has lost his senses,” Annatar announced, viciously. “You will craft me The Nine,” he added with a smirk, taking a step closer to her as she flinched and moved back.

“I do not understand… I…” She kept shaking her head and sniffling her tears back.

“Do you hear that?” Annatar shushed her as he faked concern. Screams and cries reached their eyes. “The people of Eregion are dying, my gentle Lady. And only you can save them – and your father – by giving me The Nine,” his fake concern turned into a smirk.

“Even if I wanted to, I cannot. My craft cannot match his in any way…” (Y/N)’s lips trembled.

“You are underestimating yourself as usual,” Annatar did not want to hear any of it as he stood right above her. “Your craft is more than enough. Have you not seen your works of art? I have. And all the noble ladies of Middle-earth and Númenor who are being complimented about their beauty… They all owe it to you,” he whispered, nearly seductively but the sudden eroticism of his voice was what scared her, too, because her pure and noble betrothed would never act this way.

Annatar crouched down to be on her level and she yelped, trying to move back even further but her back hit her desk, so she was trapped now between her own place of work and his body.

“You have been watching your father work for centuries. I am certain you are able to forge The Nine Rings for men,” he breathed out and leaned in even closer as their noises brushed but she turned her face away, trying to get away from him.

“Please, make it stop…” She pleaded. “I want my beloved back… I want Lord Annatar.”

“Oh, but… my sweet darling, Lord Annatar is me and I am him,” he smirked and the floor trembled this very moment after the city had been hit. (Y/N) cried out some more and he cupped her face as he shushed her gently with the most concerned expression he could manage. “My sweet, you can make it all stop. All of it, I promise.”

“Even if I truly could…” (Y/N) swallowed her tears. “I do not have any more mithril,” her whisper broke as she realised her own defeat.

“That is true, you do not,” Annatar nodded with a kind smile like his old one used to be but his eyes were still cold and cruel. “But you have something far more… precious,” he murmured as one of his hands travelled down to her neck and his fingernail brushed the pulsing point there, feeling her blood flowing underneath her smooth and gentle skin.

Their gazes met this very moment. Her eyes filled with terror at the realisation of what he was asking of her.

“What are you?” She breathed out, nearly inaudible as her whole body tensed. “No emissary of the Valar would ever ask me to do this,” she pointed out in a trembling voice and Annatar’s lips twitched as he kept staring at her the most intensely. “Who are you… truly?”

He moved away from her, very slowly. And as he was standing up to be above her once more, he appeared to get even taller and his presence was becoming more and more overlooming. (Y/N) curled herself up under his shadow as if she was a little mouse realising that she had just found herself in the trap set up by a big cat.

“I can become your doom or I can become your redemption. The choice is yours, but the longer you hesitate, the more people suffer. And Lord Celebrimbor… I am not quite certain if he is to survive the siege,” Annatar told her without even trying to hide his contempt.

“I have trusted you… I have betrayed my own father for you…” (Y/N) whimpered.

“Oh, but betrayal is a part of your bloodline, is it not?” Annatar smirked. “Even now, I can feel that you still… love me,” he added, mocking her feelings.

More tears escaped her eyes. Of course she still loved him. Was it even possible to stop loving someone so quickly?

“I love the lies you have told me. The illusion Lord Annatar has been,” she stuttered and gathered her strength to finally stand up as well although she had done it clumsily, grasping the edge of her desk to keep the balance. “But you… Whoever you are… I do not love you. And you will not lure me into your schemes,” she added, proudly. More screams from Eregion reached their ears but she remained cold as a statue and confused Annatar looked behind him after realising that her eyes were not set on him.

They were set on the portrait of her mother, Lady Dúlinnel.

“You might threaten me as much as you wish, dark spirit. And you might threaten me with my father’s death or mine,” she took a deep breath in, “but we do not fear it for we shall see Valinor after we die – a place where you are no longer welcome. And as much as I love my father, I know that he would rather die than allow me to forge such an abomination,” (Y/N) looked back at him again and Annatar’s fists clenched at her words as the muscles of his face twitched.

She could not be serious.

“You think you cannot be lured and tempted?” He smirked. “What about your great aunt, Lady Yestariel?”

“She… She is nothing but a fairytale,” (Y/N) shook her head. “She is a fairytale being told to young maidens as a warning… As a warning, so they know better and do not get seduced by the darkness. And I have listened to this fairytale many, many times. I shall not follow you and your commands anywhere for you are not the man I love…” (Y/N) sobbed as she said that because it was bringing her lots of pain to know that the love she had been receiving was nothing but a lie.

And even though Annatar smiled with pity at her, he was confused by his own reaction. Because some of his pity was genuine and the sight of her tears was unsettling to him. He did not want her to cry or resist him. He wanted her to follow him out of her own will.

“Let me show you,” he extended his hands but (Y/N) shook her head and tried to move away. “I just want to show you… the truth.”

“Nothing about you is the truth,” she remarked through her tears.

“Just let me,” Annatar did not listen to her at all and he grabbed her wrists as she groaned, trying to get away from his grasp. However, his fists were holding onto her so strongly that she gave up and that was when he showed her.

He showed her visions of his memories. He showed her Lady Yestariel, her great aunt, standing by Morgoth’s side. He showed her himself, watching Yestariel and twelve other Elves being tortured and changed into the first Uruks. He showed her Lady Yestariel’s eyes full of love and devotion whenever she laid them upon Morgoth. And he showed her Lady Yestariel’s fall as he was trying to reach her. He showed her all the memories he had from the First Age with her great aunt and a sister of her grandfather – Lord Commander Nillendur, who had died fighting the very evil his sister had chosen to follow.

(Y/N) gasped and took a step back as if Annatar’s touch was causing her physical pain. He let go of her and watched her confusion with satisfaction. Now she knew. She knew everything.

“You are He,” she whimpered, covering her lips with her fingers. “You are Sauron.”

“I have many names,” Annatar smiled at her maliciously, watching her whole world crumble down.

Everything she had believed and loved… Everything she had been dreaming of by her betrothed’s side… It had been nothing but the cruellest form of mockery.

“Why are you doing this to me?” She asked.

“I learnt from the best. I learnt from a God…” Annatar answered mysteriously. “When he sees the potential… He pushes them to the limits, he breaks them to rebuild,” he quoted his own words that he had said to Lady Yestariel about Morgoth. “You have the potential, my gentle darling.”

“You can kill me,” she breathed out to that. “I shall not take any part in your sorcery.”

“Yes, you will,” Annatar only said as he calmly turned around, approaching the doors. “I shall leave you here and the longer you hear their screams and cries, the more inclined you will be to forge me The Nine. And do not forget about your father either,” he added. “Good luck,” he smirked one more time before leaving her alone in her workshop.

Long hours passed and it was bright already when (Y/N) heard the doors open again. She expected no one else but Sauron himself, asking her about the progress. But it was not him – it was Mirdania.

She wondered how he had let that happen but considering the fact they were in the middle of a siege, it was quite acceptable for him to lose his focus on her for a moment.

“My Lady?” Mirdania asked, unsurely. “Are you hiding here?”

“I… I…” (Y/N) didn’t know what to answer.

She had been trying to get out of there but the doors had been locked and not even any of her tools had managed to open them. She had even considered jumping off of the tower but decided to not follow her mother’s steps and to prove the strength of her will. She simply had no idea how Mirdania managed to open the door – unless that was a part of Sauron’s plan as well…

But no – she refused to get paranoid.

“I am waiting for my father’s orders,” (Y/N) lied quickly.

“That is the thing, my Lady… Lord Celebrimbor is out of his mind, he acts as if the siege is not taking place. Lord Annatar is trying to help us but some of the commanders would rather wait for your orders,” Mirdania explained and (Y/N)’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of her betrothed’s name.

She opened her mouth to warn Mirdania about Annatar but then she realised she was on thin ice already. Her parents were both mad in the eyes of these people and she had her incidents as well. Now, in the middle of the attack, she was hiding inside the tower. If she was claiming now, all of the sudden, that the man she had been the most devoted to for the past few months was Sauron himself… Well, that could not possibly end well.

So, she had to straighten her back and simply pretend that everything was under control to calm her people down.

“I see,” she nodded. “Let me speak to Commander Malendrol,” she requested and followed Mirdania outside the tower.

To her surprise, there were no obstacles on the way. When she walked out of the tower and went into the courtyard, Commander Malendrol ran up to her immediately.

“My Lady, we are waiting for your orders,” he bowed his head at her.

“Who is leading the Orc’s attack?” (Y/N) asked, wanting confirmation of her suspicions.

“That man claiming to be the father of them – Adar,” Commander Malendrol answered, a little confused.

“I want to speak to him,” (Y/N) decided as Mirdania and the guard widened their eyes at her.

“My Lady!” Mirdania gasped. “That is too late to negotiate.”

“Has anyone tried?” (Y/N) raised an eyebrow.

“Herald Elrond, my Lady,” Commander Malendrol nodded at her.

“Let me as well. I am the Lady of Eregion since my father is… indisposed,” she insisted. “Send a messenger to Adar and tell him that Lady (Y/N) wishes to negotiate with him,” she told Commander Malendrol and then she hesitated. “Tell him to consider it… for the sake of his old friendship with Lady Yestariel. Adar will know what that is supposed to mean.”

Escorted by her guards that had been stripped of their swords, Lady (Y/N) walked through the muddy battlefield as the siege had stopped for a while and the Orcs kept staring at her with curiosity.

She did not feel safe by any means and the fact that Annatar had allowed her to get out of the tower, so far from the city, was more than worrying, she had to admit.

Still, she wanted to take her chance.

She spotted Adar approaching her from the opposite side and she recognised him immediately from the visions Annatar had shown to her before about her great aunt.

“Lady (Y/N),” Adar bowed his head slightly at the sight of her.

“Lord Father,” she tried to address him with respect and he cracked a smile before pointing at a tent to which he invited her.

She nodded her head at her guards and they allowed her to walk inside without them. Adar followed and they were left alone since no Orc was in there either.

“Thank you for still wanting to negotiate. Forgive my tardiness. My father is indisposed,” (Y/N) looked at Adar and watched him carefully.

“There is nothing to negotiate, Lady (Y/N). However, I could not deny your request after Lady Yestariel’s name was mentioned,” he sat down on one of the chairs but (Y/N) refused to sit down as she kept standing above him.

“What do you want of Eregion?” She asked. “I do not care if I live or die, I have lived for centuries, I have made sure my name will not be forgotten for I have mastered my humble craft. And I know that after I die, the light of Valinor awaits me. My people, however, the citizens of Eregion… Some of them are very young – they are children. They have not yet lived enough and they are far too young to understand. They are scared and in pain. I want it to stop,” she confessed as silent tears escaped her eyes.

“I want Sauron,” Adar answered, unbothered by her tears although his eyes kept following them streaming down her cheeks.

“I know who he is. I shall give him to you,” (Y/N) looked down at her hand where the silver ring still decorated her finger. She fidgeted with it nervously as she cracked a nervous smile. “Come with me, Lord Father,” she raised her eyes to lay them upon him. “I shall lead you inside Eregion and bring you to him. Spare my city and I shall give you Sauron.”

Long silence occurred and Adar kept watching her with his eyes squinted. She didn’t feel in danger around him but she could feel that he was not trusting her. She didn’t understand why, though.

“Why would I believe you? Is it not his ring you are wearing?” He snorted at her hand and she swallowed thickly.

“How do you know? I have been deceived… But I do not love Sauron,” she assured him, desperately.

“How can I be so sure that you are not willing to lead me into his trap? The way I see it, he was the one to send you here,” Adar explained.

“Why would I follow his orders? I hate him!” (Y/N) exclaimed, frustrated. “I want him dead as much as you,” she hissed out but she felt her heart quickening its pace at the realisation that she was trying to convince herself as much as him.

“He was the one to send you here… even if you do not realise that yet. Everything is a part of his scheme,” Adar told her softly and stood up to approach her. “You are far too gone now, my Lady; too entangled in his web,” he held her hands gently, squeezing the finger with Annatar’s silver ring on it. “Your great aunt was a dear friend of mine. We joined Morgoth together and we suffered together. I mourned her death.”

“And now, for the sake of the memory of her, can you not trust me?” (Y/N) tried to search for compassion in his cold eyes and she found it. But not in the way she expected.

“For the sake of the memory of her and because I have known Yestariel and her devotion to Morgoth, I know I cannot trust you a bit – even if I wanted to.”

(Y/N) was full of anger and frustration when she was on her way back to Eregion. The siege was supposed to go back to its full force in a few minutes since Adar had graciously granted her enough time to go back to her people before he would attack once again.

Her jaw was clenched and her eyes were burning with anger caused by her frustration. She truly had been thinking that Adar would help her and join her clever plan. However, Annatar kept destroying everything even when he was physically far away from her.

The moment she entered the city, she bumped into him – Annatar himself, looking as if the siege around him had not affected him at all because his robes and face remained clean. Even the whimsical bow in his blond hair seemed to be untouched. He looked down at her and greeted her with a warm smile.

“My love, I was told you had gone to negotiate with the Orcs? I have been so worried,” he put on a show in front of others.

“Oh, get out of my way,” (Y/N) pushed him away as everyone gasped, staring at her with widened eyes as she kept walking towards her tower.

“My Lord, are you alright?” Mirdania was by Annatar’s side in no time, offering him comfort after such a treatment from his betrothed. In fact, everyone pitied him – he made sure of that by putting on his hurt and confused expression.

“It is nothing,” Annatar assured her with a sad smile. “Lady (Y/N) is worried about the city and her father. Her annoyance is understandable.”

“We are all nervous, my Lord. She should have not acted this way towards you…” Mirdania insisted and Annatar took a deep breath in while trying to compose himself.

Once again he had been proved that the most devoted ones were always the most annoying ones as well.

He had to admit, he quite liked (Y/N)’s anger and the way she had pushed him. From that scared little mouse curling up on the floor beneath him, she quickly gathered her strength and courage and that was the most admirable.

“That is enough, Mirdania,” Annatar gave the smith a harsh, scolding look that took her aback. “We are in the middle of a siege and my relationship with Lady (Y/N) should not be one of your concerns. In fact, it should not be your concern at all. Now, forgive me, I should follow her for she seems to be upset.”

And as he said, he did, gathering his robe and hurrying up the stairs to (Y/N)’s workshop. 

The doors were ajar, so he only gently pushed them to see what she was doing and what he witnessed made him gasp softly.

(Y/N) was sitting on the ground, surrounded by all the tools she needed, the gemstones, metals and the cauldrons melting them. Her hands were shaking out of anger and one of her hands was cut open; bleeding all over the ingredients of the future Nine Rings she was forging. 

Hearing him walk inside, she looked up with fury and anger that sent a shiver down his spine. She had absolutely no idea how beautiful she looked but also how terrifying. Like a dark witch her great aunt had aspired to be.

Like a dark witch Sauron himself craved to have by his side; for her to command his armies of demons and shadows.

“I can play a game with you, too, shadow of Morgoth,” she drawled out through her gritted teeth. “You wish for my blood and its dark magic to seal your greatest creations? Let it be then,” she smirked as she squeezed her hand and allowed more of her blood to leak out. “Watch me curse myself for the usage of this forbidden craft. I care no more about what happens to me because, in the end, the last laugh will be mine, you fool,” her eyes sparkled at the sight of her blood mixing with the melting gold. Then, she looked up at him again. “You are forever bound with me now and for whatever you will use these Nine Rings – or The Seven that are allied to them – I shall be a part of your schemes forever now. My influence and my power is bleeding into these and you better beware while you use them for I swear to you… These Nine Rings will be your demise,” she finished her curse and used a thin spatula to mix the gold with her blood as she already reached out for the gemstones with her free hand.

Annatar had nothing to say at that. He only kept watching her in awe – witnessing her most beautiful craft and her most beautiful, terrific rage.

Oh, he was in love with her, he thought.

Now he was certain of it.

“These Rings are not my greatest creations,” he whispered. “You are.”

MASTERLIST

[legobiwan]

I want to spend a moment talking about Ford's relationship with alcohol and how it ties back to both his social isolation and relationship with Bill. Warning, there's no real thesis to this post, but I do want to explore the concrete tidbits we get in so-called 'canon.'

Before Ford meets Bill, it's more or less stated that Ford doesn't really drink - maybe on occasion (high school/college shenanigans and such) and in small amounts, but never to excess. To do so would be to lose control of both his intellect and actions, and we all know Ford loves to try and exert control over his environment.

And then Bill comes around with this proposition:

"How about I mix you a drink to make it up to you? It's called the 'Myoclonic Jerk' and it can get you loaded in your sleep. Salvador Dali loved 'em!" "I was flattered but politely declined - I'm not much of a drinker."

Well, we know how that turned out.

Long-standing crush/obsession peer pressures you into drinking and you give in, finally able to slough off your many, many inhibitions for a delightful evening of...well, we're not exactly sure what happened but we're kind of sure via insinuation. (And let's be honest. The man did build a literal shrine to Bill, a point which I feel we're ignoring in the whole Bill-crying-over-his beer-because-he-got-dumped fiasco).

Anyway, Bill feels awkward. Ford feels awkward. They get cosmically smashed and then whatever happens, happens, but there's no reason this is considered a negative event considering Ford's escalating shrine and Bill's consistent fixation.

Fast-forward to the Krampus incident.

"He asked if I was finally coming around on holidays, or if this was just to keep the Krampus from coming back. I told him it was time to drink nog until we couldn't remember what a Krampus was."

I don't think Ford's referring to virgin egg nog here.

This is fascinating shift for a man who claims he doesn't really drink not all that long ago. There has to have been enough positive reinforcement for Ford to default to suggesting getting blackout drunk again for him to even bring this up. (The last time ended up with him and Bill doing something...good - he thinks. Ford doesn't want to consider the Krampus and how he insinuated that Ford was a callous, lonely man who cared for no one by not offering 'holiday cheer' to others. He might even feel that his natural anxiety and 'oddness' dissipate when he's drunk - a common enough rationalization for people with social anxiety/issues finding a social home. Hell, it might even be a fragment of what could be attraction to Fiddleford that he's working through the same unhealthy way Bill did with him).

This isn't the last time Ford gets plastered in canon.

"I was so excited that we [Ford and Jheselbraum] spent the entire night partying and drinking Cosmic Sand - the very same kind Time Baby himself consumes. When I awoke the next morning, she was gone and I was in another dimension entirely."

Again, I don't think Cosmic Sand is a Dasani bottle in this universe. Ford waking up in a whole new dimension with no idea how he got there is more than enough evidence, not to mention the fact the Oracle used to run with Bill's gang of Henchmaniacs and Ford himself outwardly states that they (him and Jheselbraum) 'party,' which is amazing for a man who was so socially tortured for so long. (But there is something to be said for being a freak in a situation where you know you'll be a freak. For example, living abroad in a country you have no chance of fitting in due to the way you look. You accept that you're going to be perceived as weird and that takes a certain amount of pressure off you, although it doesn't really help if and when you go back home. I have the feeling Ford experienced something similar on the other side of the Portal, and aside from not being able to kill Bill, it may have contributed to some of his bitterness upon coming back to Gravity Falls. Because at the end of the day, you can't run from yourself, and Ford had been running for a long, long time).

Funny enough, this habit doesn't seem to cease even after Ford comes back through the Portal, the most notable moment being after Stan and Ford are captured by Bill while the kids run off on a - as Ford so aptly puts - 'suicide mission.'

I would bet good, legal currency that this isn't water. Why even include it in the animation - in a set of episodes that were already constrained in terms of time and plot - without good reason? The fact that he passes his canteen to Stan afterwards is telling.

They're bracing themselves.

Now, why Ford had this on him before the surprise Weirdmaggedon (and that has to be when he equipped it, as he was in captivity throughout the rest of the timeline up to the point where the Shacktron and Stan/Mabel/Dipper freed the Gravity Falls citizens) - well, that's anyone's guess.

Addiction? Wanting to feel something the way he did so many years ago? Trying to bury a fuckton of emotional issues, including the nature of his relationships with Bill and Fiddleford? (He is a child of 1960s New Jersey, and that is bound to fuck you up). Too much time spent hanging around Rick Sanchez in the multiverse? (Not out of the realm of possibility).

I've seen a few fanfics touch on this topic and I don't think it's that much of a stretch to consider that Ford - for many, many reasons - may have developed an unhealthy relationship with alcohol, not solely, but at least partially due to Bill's initial influence and that first true influenced moment possibly resulting in a scenario where Ford would be able to drop so many of his barriers and, for once, (in his mind), be a human who is worthy of acceptance without needing to prove and justify his existence through achievement and accolades.

Anyway, this would be great fodder for Stan O'War II content, especially considering the massive guilt complex/hair shirt Ford dons after the whole Weirdmageddon event.

[sky-is-the-limit]

P: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader

S: Moral of the story: Don't fall in love with someone else's wife.

CW:Public M!Masturbation and angst.

WC: 1574 words

Notes: I wanted to write something angsty and sad and then I ended up with Kyle touching himself, idk man.

Kyle had never known betrayal could taste so sweet and bitter all at once.

The sweat dripped down his face, mingling with the bloodied knuckles, drenching his shirtless body and trickling down his back to soak into the waistband of his shorts. A mess.

Most soldiers had retired to their rooms but Kyle stayed, punishing himself with every rep, every set, trying to drown out the thoughts that threatened to swallow him whole.

It was you. It was always you and he hated this, every fucking second of it.

You visited the base often, bringing a lightness that seemed to brighten even the darkest corners of his mind. He wasn't a poet, the furthest from it, really.

But if he had to describe it, he'd say that you had a way of laughing that made the world feel less.. dark.

The young Sergeant cherished those moments with you like the world's greatest treasure.

When you laughed at his awful jokes, your head would tilt back, your laughter ringing through the room to warm his heart to the fullest.

Sometimes, your hand would rest lightly on his shoulder, a touch so casual yet so intimate it made him ache with wanting more. It was the little things, like how you always made sure to save him a plate of the delicious food you brought for your husband, it made him feel special, important.

You were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen but it wasn't just your looks. Not really.

It was your warmth, your humour, the genuine way you treated everyone around you. You had an aura that drew people in, a lightness that made the harsh realities of his world seem bearable, even only for a moment.

When you smiled at him, it felt like the sun breaking through a storm.

Every glance from you, every word you spoke, sent his heart spinning and his thoughts into chaos. He was completely absorbed by you, caught up in a love so intense that all his morals faded away.

But it was wrong. Horribly wrong.

Kyle dropped the weights with a heavy thud, leaning against the wall for a moment, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He closed his eyes, trying to banish the image of you from his mind but like always, it was useless.

You were imprinted there, like a brand on his soul. No amount of integrity or self-restraint could erase that.

Not even John Price himself.

How could he feel this way about you? How could he let himself fall in love with you? You were his Captain’s wife.

The more Kyle encountered you, the deeper his resentment towards John grew. He felt disgusted with himself, a traitor to the man he admired most.

Captain Price was his leader, his mentor, his brother in arms who had saved his life more times than he could count. He would follow him into the gates of hell without a second thought.

How could he betray him like that?

Yet, every time he saw you, it all crumbled down and he hated himself a little more.. He knew that he was the one at fault here, the one who felt like a parasite in a situation where he had no right to intrude.

Sinking onto the bench, Kyle’s shirtless body felt the harsh contrast between the cool, hard surface and the sweat soaking his skin. Leaning back, he tried to steady his breath but his mind kept drifting back to you. What a nasty habit.

The thought of you with his Captain tonight was almost too much for him to handle. He couldn’t help but imagine his hands on you, roaming with a possessive hunger as a woman like you deserved.

Was your dear husband touching you like he wished he could? Making you shiver and gasp under his touch?

He pictured the older man's lips on your neck, leaving hot, lingering kisses to the naked skin that he wished he could decorate with his marks instead.

Were you moaning, arching your back in response, your breath hitching as he explored you slowly? Was Price’s breath hot against your ear, whispering things that made you ache and beg for more?

As the images played out in his mind, Kyle gripped his thigh tightly, trying to keep himself in check but his breath came in uneven, heated grunts.

Blood rushed down between his legs and he could feel himself hardening with every passing second.

Despite the shame and guilt gnawing at him, in that moment, he was overwhelmed by the raw, unabashed need to have you. Some part of him felt like he deserved it.

At that moment, he didn't care about how wrong it was or the betrayal. Alone in his loneliness, with only your thoughts to keep him company, he let himself indulge in the ghost of you.

''If I could show you… fuck-'' He murmured, his voice raw and thick.

His trembling hand slid down to his inner thigh, lifting the hem of his shorts just enough to feel the heated skin beneath and allowed his thoughts to run wild, vividly painting scenes of you with every touch.

It wasn't hard to do nowadays. A few months ago the shame would make him stop. Now, it was as easy as loving you. Picturing the sensation of your nails digging into his back, the intense pleasure of each slow and powerful thrust inside you..

Oh, the things he wanted to do to you.

In his mind, every movement had you arching beneath him, your moans growing louder and more urgent. He could almost hear your voice, feel your warmth, taste your wetness and sense the way you'd cling to him, your hands sliding over his sweat-slicked skin.

It didn't take long for Kyle to trail his hand up to his waistband, clearly impatient and unable to hold back any longer.

He knew what he was doing was disgraceful, humiliating. Someone could walk in at any moment but he didn't care. Clearly, the urgent neediness inside him drowned out any sense of caution or shame.

With his free hand, he fumbled for his phone and unlocked it with shaky fingers. It took only a moment to find the saved photograph of you, one he had stalked from your Facebook profile.

''My beautiful girl.'' The words barely escaped his lips as his gaze lingered on your image, eyes tracing the lines of your smile and the warmth in your eyes.

The Sergeant's breaths grew shallow and uneven, struggling to distinguish whether the wetness against his skin was from sweat or the precum leaking from his cock.

Spreading his legs wider on the bench, he moved his hand embarrassingly desperate, dragging his thumb in slow, circular motions over the slick head before tracing the large vein above it.

Each movement smeared the precum down the length of him, the smooth glide fueling his madness whilst he coated himself top to bottom, imagining your neck, your breasts, your legs. Every detail of you driving him to a level of insanity he could not come back from. Not that he wanted to.

Fuck Price, fuck this job, fuck this unfair reality.

''Mine, mine, mine-'' Kyle mumbled to himself, his voice strained and barely cohesive as he stroked himself faster, his hand moving in a frantic rhythm.

Slick with precum, his hand moved greedily, covering every inch as he imagined the way you would writhe and pant to his mercy. It was as if he could almost hear you crying out his name, your moans filling the space around him.

As he gripped himself tightly, he instinctively began bucking his hips upward into his fist, fucking himself faster and the bench scraped loudly against the floor with every thrust, the sound echoing through the empty gym.

Kyle's mind burned with the image of your mouth wrapped around him, the warmth and tightness enveloping his cock. He imagined the slick slide of him past your tongue, hitting the back of your throat, with saliva dripping down your chin and spilling onto your bare breasts, which jiggled with each bob of your head.

What a breathtaking view.

In fantasy he had you gripping his hips tightly, pulling him deeper, while your tear-filled eyes begged from the relentless thrusts. He envisioned his hand fisting your hair, forcing you to take him more and more, feeling you choke and gasp around him. Only him.

Lost in ecstasy, Kyle didn’t even notice his phone slipping from his hand and hitting the ground beside the closed door.

As he neared climax, his grip on his cock tightened, his strokes growing erratic and intense. With his free hand, he gripped the edge of the bench for support, knuckles threatening to break skin from the strain.

''Fuck-'' Was all that was muttered cohesively under his breath, desperately trying to suppress his sighs and moans.

The sudden knock on the door shattered his focus and froze him into place, every muscle in his body tensing as the harsh reality hit him like a sledgehammer.

Regret crashed over him, his heart pounding violently in his chest and his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps from both what he was just doing and the embarrassment that followed.

What the hell was he thinking? He had always prided himself on being rational and composed, but here he was, exposed in the most humiliating way.

The seconds felt like hours as he fought to pull his hand from his shorts, panic clawing at him. How could he have been so reckless?

Just as he began to grasp the full impact of his actions, the voice from the other side of the door pierced through his horror like a badly written, cruel, joke:

''Kyle?''

Out of everyone who could have walked in on the most mortifying moment of his life, it was you, the very person he had been fantasizing about just moments ago and the evidence was still there, his hand covered in his slick, stuck where it was, too late to pull back or move before the door swung open.

''Are you in there? I brought freshly baked-'' The sentence trailed off abruptly as you appeared in the doorway, your eyes widening in shock as you took in the scene before you.

[yaksha-lover]

Hey! How are you doing? I don’t know how dark you’re willing to go, but the angst brainrot is back and I guess I just need somewhere to ramble.

Sometimes I like to think about how the prefect’s super chill reactions to… well everything, could just be a carefully crafted facade. I mean, the students at NRC are kinda awful people, and I don’t doubt any weakness would be swarmed like vultures to a fresh corpse. And a magicless, naive person like Yuu would be an extremely easy target. So, instead they just bury all the pain and pretend everything is okay. They’re not crying for their family and home late into the night.

The way that kind of repression would just build up over the year and slowly cause resentment towards everyone, deserved or not, is just delicious. Pretending to be everyone’s friend, to be the kind and welcoming prefect while coming to hate the other students’ guts. The eventual snap after one misplaced comment or one more mess to deal with, when the house of cards all falls down.

Maybe Rollo was right.

Idk, just got a lot of thoughts. Mainly based off of how Rook calls the prefect “Trickster” and the prologue almost framed Yuu in a strategist role. Thoughts?

Honestly, it would make a lot of sense. As much as we love the boys, most of them would be pretty terrible to be around and are very selfish and/or mean (with some exceptions, but that’s still a good majority of the school).

I like the idea that Yuu does start out genuinely wanting to help everyone and find people to be friends with, to try and make this experience of being trapped in another world even somewhat bearable.

At first it’s okay that Ace is a jerk sometimes, because he comes around once you get to know him. It’s fine that Riddle nitpicks and punishes the three of you because in the end, he’s trying his best to get better, to heal from his past. It’s alright that Leona is unrepentant and mean, because he has things he’s been dealing with, and you need to be understanding of his pain. Even when Azul tricks your friends and later you, when you almost lose your Ramshackle, the one place you’ve had to call home, you try to have patience, because he’s got his own issues as well, he has his reasons for things.

But somewhere along the way, you’ve stopped caring for their excuses. Their trauma is real, but so is yours. Even after everything you’ve done to try and help them, you don’t doubt for a moment that none of them would run to your rescue. That they wouldn’t take any opportunity to step on and over you if it meant getting closer to their goals. Because at the end of the day, none of them cared, no matter how much you wanted to believe it wasn’t true.

Breaking down isn’t an option - not when everyone is out for themselves, when your feelings would surely only be ridiculed at best and taken advantage of at worst. Even more than that, you’re a guest at this school. You never earned your way here like the other students and you’re magicless; the only reason you’re even here are extenuating circumstances. The headmage isn’t any more loyal than the housewardens - if any of them had a problem with you, it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine he’d throw you out onto the street the second you became an inconvenience that was too much work to handle. So you keep quiet, even when all you want is to tell off everyone around you.

The only housewarden to ever seem to really give a damn about you is Vil, but by the time you get close with him, it’s already too late. Maybe if you met him first, if you’d been less scorned, you could’ve forgiven his little digs at your lacklustre presence and imperfection. He’d done much to try and make up for it after all, helping you out with Ramshackle and voicing his appreciation for you. It was more than you could say for anyone else, but it still isn’t enough. Vil’s sweetness can’t counteract the bitter taste that’s been brewing for months, so you can’t bring yourself to forgive him despite everything.

It’s not his fault, but it’s never anyone’s fault. It’s all of them, chipping away at your sanity little by little.

It’s okay that you can never fall asleep anymore, kept awake by memories of never ending fights and catastrophes to deal with. It’s okay that the same people you’ve helped barely regard you as more than something worth pitying. It’s okay that you’re reminded every day that no effort is being put towards getting you away from this hellhole and back home.

It’s all okay, until it’s not. Until Yuu finally reaches their breaking point, and starts to question if anyone is truly worth saving at this school.

[str4ngr]

𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐬𝐞𝐞 [ 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄 ]

𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟔 | 𝗼𝗯𝗷𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗳𝗶𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 + 𝗺𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 | 

cw: suggestive, foul language, yandere [obsessive, controlling, possessive], pet names, teasing, suspicion, jealousy, man-handling fem!reader.

notes: objectification is the act in which a person is valued less than a person; an object. marking is an act of possessiveness, in which one is covered in marks from another.

𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄 was like a hawk when it came to you. never taking his eyes away, never letting you leave his sight, never letting anything, let alone anyone, near you. he knew everything about you, he knew your every routine.

he knew how much you loved to snuggle up to him when he came back from a meeting, when he sat you on his lap kissing up to him as he gave you a faux glare of irritation, the hand on your waist tightening as he listened to you ramble about work.

about that damn coworker of yours.

oh, did he hold the door open for you? well, scaramouche holds every door open. did he give you some lunch? you're going out for lunch with him every day now.

you were his. end of story, so why the fuck were you bringing this pathetic man up in your shared home? his mind seethed in irritation, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you, analyzed you. your little work outfit, the one that you happily spun around in this morning to show him, was just tiniest bit crumpled. but why would that be? no component of your job would lead to your skirt being brought down to just barely cling to your hip.

as you babbled, smiling and giggling up at him as you awaited his reaction, scaramouche couldn't help as his brows furrowed, cruel glare as he nit-picked every part of your appearance, your slightly frizzy hair, you. he almost enjoyed as you squirmed under his gaze, your manicured nails picking at each other as you timidly whispered his name.

archons, your voice was more than enough for him to act.

a brutal hand constricted around your neck, dragging you to the couch only a meter away as you whimper as the painful sting. you whimper, confused as your feet struggle to walk properly, body submitting to his force as scaramouche forces his knee between your thighs, sharp teeth sinking into the supple flesh of your neck.

his lips twisted into a sick grin, enjoying your whines of confusion and pleasure, all mixed into a blur as he bit sucked and kissed at your skin, grazing his teeth across your neck. he descended to your collarbones, murmuring and growling into your skin, his free hands groping and squeezing you all over.

"you're my little toy."

his voice was harsh, his bitter anger seeping into his action as he bit hard enough for you to push at his shoulders. he cooed and laughed, only digging into your skin even more, the chuckle followed by jealous rage,

"what? don't like it? want that bastard from work to do it instead?"

an ugly show of satisfaction filled his face as he watched your eyes widen, immediately defensive as you argued against him,

"good girl," he sighed, lapping over the skin that was brilliantly blushing, "tomorrow, show them, who's fucking toy you are." scaramouche enjoyed your pathetic panting, your feeble attempts to ask him,

"either wear something that shows these fucking hickies,"

he growled, smirking as he nibbled at the curve of your neck,

"or i'll fuck you like the toy you are in front of all your co-workers."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BSF I LUV U SM MUA MUA MUA I WOULDNT BE HERE WITHOUT YOUR PROOFREADING <333

im making a full of this to post on ao3 !!

༒︎ 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫; 2023 ༒︎

directory

[sorceresssundries]

The Death of Thom Rainier

Pairing: Blackwall/Lavellan (My quizzy, Sparrow)

Warnings: ANGST, talks of death, grief, heartbreak.

Word Count: 4670 words

Summary: The honour and integrity of the Inquisition is at risk of being brought down by the decision surrounding the fate of the Inquisitor's lover. Action must be taken, and quickly, to save the group from talk of corruption.

It was late, and the moonlight dappled through the crumbling cracks and forgotten fissures of Skyhold, spilling pale silver across the war table. Shadows danced over the once-pristine map, now scarred with countless daggers marking places where they had struck — and where they had yet to reach. The Inquisition had grown into a force of reckoning, but with that power came bonds of responsibility, heavier than crowns and chains. They had to be more than a scattered band of idealists. They had to be an order, a symbol, both a hammer of justice and a shield for the helpless. Their future was as fragile and perilous as a frost-kissed web clinging to the rafters above.

Three figures met in secret, while the rest of the fortress slept.

“The Inquisitor has ordered his release from Val Royeaux,” Cullen’s voice cut through the room. His hands gripped the pommel of his sword, his eyes unflinching, burning with the loyalty that had driven him through so many battles. “He is to be brought here for judgement.”

Leliana’s eyes gleamed in the candlelight, the flicker casting her in shifting shadow. “A reasonable request,” she replied, her voice soft but edged. “Blackwall is a part of her Inquisition. Should she not be the one to pass judgement on him?”

Josephine, seated at the far end of the table, sighed, her hand rising to rub at her temple. The stress etched itself deep into the lines around her eyes, tired from the endless machinations and political games. “Blackwall was a part of the Inquisition, yes,” she said, her voice quieter than the others, yet no less burdened. “But this isn’t about Blackwall. This is about Thom Rainier, and Orlais wants his head. They won’t settle for anything less.”

“His crimes are…” Cullen began, his brow furrowed as if the mere memory of Rainier’s past offences disgusted him. “Unforgivable. I’m inclined to agree with the Orlesians on this.”

The commander was all duty now, his judgement unyielding. His years as a Templar had hardened him to betrayal, especially from someone so close to the Inquisitor.

Josephine straightened, the flicker of the fire catching the lines of tension on her face. “You know as well as I do that this isn’t just about Rainier’s past. His relationship with the Inquisitor was no secret, even at the Winter Palace. Our Orlesian allies watched them, talked about them. Whispers travelled faster than arrows. What will it look like if she brings him back here? If she protects him?”

“It will look,” Cullen said, voice dark and firm, “like corruption. As if we value personal attachments over justice. An institution capable of one corruption is capable of many. It could undo everything we’ve built.”

“And if we let him die in Val Royeaux, she will never forgive us,” Leliana interjected quietly, her gaze flickering with a rare moment of sympathy. “We will lose her trust.”

A heavy silence fell over the room, a storm waiting to break. There was truth in every word, and each of them felt the rolling thunder of the dilemma closing in.

“She will not forget the betrayal. Not from us.” Josephine’s voice trembled ever so slightly as she spoke, as though already anticipating the bitterness that would follow.

Leliana’s gaze sharpened then, a glint of something colder and more dangerous flashing in her eyes. “There is a path forward.” Her voice, once as soft as a lullaby, now carried the quiet menace of a hunter who had found her prey.

The spymaster stepped closer to the table, her fingers brushing lightly over the map, resting just above Val Royeaux. “We could arrange for his release — quietly. He would never make it here. A fatal accident on the road. An Orlesian ambush. It would solve the issue without leaving our hands stained. He dies, Orlais is happy, and the Inquisitor’s hands remain clean.”

Cullen stiffened. “You’re suggesting we…?”

“Kill him?” Leliana’s lips curled, just slightly. “I am suggesting we control the narrative. We let slip our route back here. We spare her the guilt, and we show Orlais that the Inquisition stands by its principles. We did as she asked us, Rainier is killed in an unpredicted attack, and the Inquisitor is spared the burden of deciding his fate.”

The room was cloaked in silence once more, heavy with the choice before them, a choice that would either save the Inquisition — or damn it.

Josephine’s fingers tightened around her quill, her gaze falling to the map. “If we choose this path,” she whispered, “We save our Inquisition. But we might lose her.”

 ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ♜  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Sparrow sat on the throne she never wanted, in a fortress that still felt too vast, too cold, too foreign to ever be hers. The high-backed seat loomed around her, it's cold stone carved for someone much larger, much grander. Her small, elven feet dangled just shy of the floor, and the throne's broad arms were too wide for her to rest against. She felt weightless, suspended in the centre of it, untethered.

She straightened her spine, drawing on the memory of her mother’s lessons, as if the  invisible cord pulling her back might make her taller, more imposing. Make yourself tall, Ma’da’ean, her mother used to say. And everything else will shrink.

But the world refused to shrink. The great hall remained cavernous, the whispers of the court still echoed off the walls like a rising storm, and the knot of dread within her only grew tighter.

Give her demons. Give her tyrants. Give her politics she knew nothing of and Gods she did not worship. She would take them all. 

This, she could not do.

The dread had sunk deep, threading through her chest, winding around her heart. The thought of seeing him again, of locking eyes with the man whose name she did not even know, made her stomach twist. 

She closed her eyes, just for a moment, clinging to the silence inside her mind. Please, she thought, though she had no idea who she was pleading to. She wasn’t one for prayer, nor for gods. But now, she found herself grasping for anything to shield her from the moment that was about to come.

Please, don’t make me do this.

But whoever might have been listening did not answer. A cold silence fell over the great hall as the heavy doors groaned open. The sound echoed, announcing the arrival of the man she could not face.

She couldn't look at him. Her entire body rebelled at the thought of raising her gaze, of seeing him as he was now—a stranger wearing a name she didn’t recognise. Her heart still clung to the memory of the man he had been only days ago. His eyes had been soft, honest. His words had promised her safety, his touch had offered comfort. Nothing matters but us, he had whispered. He had kissed her as if she were something precious, first with gentleness, then with a passion that had made her believe him.

Now, all of that felt like a cruel trick, a trap she had willingly fallen into.

Her eyes burned, but she would not let the tears fall. She couldn’t drag her gaze from the floor. She needed to breathe, to gather the last shreds of her strength before she dared look at him again.

The man I knew doesn’t exist, she reminded herself. He never did.

It was anger that lifted her eyes, as the heavy sound of boots came to a halt in front of her - She could not let herself be Sparrow, or Blackwall’s lover. She was the Inquisitor. The mark in her palm itched as she raised her gaze to finally meet the man standing before her. 

Cullen? And an Orlesian man in intricate armour and a matching brass mask. 

Her breath caught in relief, or was it just surprise? She felt too nauseous to be sure of her own feelings. She was calm until she noticed the blood. It was splattered across Cullen’s armour, streaked across his breastplate, flecked through his golden hair. There was a jagged cut to his high cheekbone, the skin raw, smeared with red. The sight of it sent her heart into a tailspin, her anger replaced by a cold, creeping fear.

Sparrow stood, unthinkingly. There was a river of murmurs, words tangling like hissing cicadas in the hot, oppressive air of a summer storm. Every gaze in the hall fixed on her, on them, but she could hardly hear them over the rushing in her own ears.

"What's happened?" she demanded, her voice hoarse as it cracked through the crowd, pulling the room’s attention fully toward them. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, though she willed herself to stay composed.

Cullen glanced briefly at the court before locking eyes with her again. “We were intercepted.”

Sparrow’s stomach dropped. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest as she searched his face for answers. “Where is Blackwall?” Her voice was barely above a whisper now, but the name hit the air like a blow.

Cullen swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as though the words themselves were difficult to push out. “Thom Rainier is dead.”

The world tilted beneath her. The buzzing of the court, the murmured voices and watchful eyes, all faded into a distant hum. For a moment, Sparrow couldn't feel the stone beneath her feet, couldn’t even feel herself breathing.

The man beside Cullen was speaking - something about being an envoy, about it all happening so fast. She didn’t care. His words slipped past her, meaningless, drowned by the sound of her pulse roaring in her ears.

He can’t be dead.

Her chest tightened. She couldn’t breathe. The room felt too small, the air too thin. Her fingers flexed at her sides, desperate to hold onto something, anything that wasn’t slipping away.

He can’t be dead.

She could still hear his low, rough laugh in her head, the way it rumbled through his chest when he let his guard down. She could still feel the calloused swirls of his fingertips against her skin.

She hadn’t even bathed properly since they’d been together. His scent still clung to her, faint but lingering—leather, sweat, and the earth. She closed her eyes as if she could summon him back with the memory of it, as if he could step out from some hidden corner and make this a cruel misunderstanding.

Her eyes flickered to the windows, to the light of an indifferent sun spilling through the stained glass. The world outside was bright, alive. Vibrant patterns of colour danced across the stone floor, reflections from the sunlight mingling with the songs of winter birds that chirped in pairs just beyond the glass. It was all so alive, so full of life and warmth.

How could he not be?

Sparrow blinked, struggling to focus, to anchor herself to the present. Her voice—when it finally came—was like shards of glass, shattered and too small to hold onto.

“He can’t be…” she breathed, her words trembling on the edge of disbelief. “There has been a mistake.”

The Orlesian stepped forward, his presence all formality and cold distance. “My lady,” he began, “we were ambushed on the road by bandits. They spread pitch across the stones, threw oil, and fired arrows lit with flame. The carriage he was locked in was alight within seconds. The guards tried—”

“That is enough.” Cullen’s voice cut through, sharp and final. His tone left no room for further details, no space for the grisly reality the man was about to spill. He stood tense, his eyes not meeting Sparrow’s. His harshness wasn’t just for the noble, it was for her—an attempt to shield her from the images that would follow if she heard any more.

But it was too late.

The words “the carriage he was locked in” echoed in her mind, painting a picture of the fire, of Blackwall—Thom—trapped and helpless, dying in agony. She could almost see the smoke rising, the flames licking at his skin, hear the crackle of burning wood and the screams no one would ever admit to. The images flooded her without mercy, despite Cullen’s effort to stop them.

Her legs wavered, and she reached out, her hand barely catching the edge of the throne for balance. The air was too thick now, the voices in the hall too loud, too suffocating. The world, once bright and filled with the laughter of birds, was silent and cold. 

She fell apart. All pretence of dignity slipped from her white-knuckled fists like sand. The invisible crown of the Inquisitor tumbled from her head, her practised posture buckled. She collapsed to the cold stone floor, not a leader, not a herald, but a woman with a heart shattered beyond repair.

“Get them out!” Her voice cracked as she cried out, barely able to force the words through the choking sobs that rose from her chest. “All of them. Now.”

Cullen’s stiff nod was the only reply she received. His voice cut through the hall, issuing orders with the force of a commander who would not be questioned. The nobles, the advisors, the residents - every prying eye - scattered as if swept away by the storm of her devastation. 

She was an exposed nerve, raw and bleeding, her tears an unending stream. Her cries, desperate and guttural, filled the empty hall, echoing louder with each person who left.

She didn’t know how long she knelt there, her face buried in her arms, shaking uncontrollably. Time had lost all meaning. But then, without warning, a large, gentle hand unfurled her. It was Iron Bull - his presence massive and unyielding, but his touch impossibly gentle. She tried to fight, her body kicking and flailing as his arms lifted her from the floor, but it was futile. His strength was too steady, too absolute.

He carried her effortlessly up the winding stairs to her chamber, holding her as though she weighed nothing. His voice rumbled low, soothing but blunt. “Keep hitting, boss. It’ll help.”

So she did. She hit at his broad chest, her fists weak and trembling, but she struck anyway, again and again. She imagined it was Blackwall she was striking, the man who had torn her heart apart.

If he had been honest, if he had told her everything from the start, if he had trusted her the way she trusted him, he wouldn’t have died like this—engulfed in flames, alone, on his way to be judged by her.

Each hit carried the sting of her anger. Selfish fool. Treacherous. Manipulative. She pounded against Bull’s chest, though her strength was rapidly waning, her fury dissolving into fresh waves of grief. She hated Blackwall for the lies, for the betrayal, for leaving her with nothing but the memory of his touch. 

She hated that she was stripped of the chance to be angry with him, to tell him of her humiliation. She wanted him to know how he had hurt her. That she had fallen in love with him because he was steadfast and kind. How humiliated she was that she had called out the name of another man while they made love. 

But if she were honest, deep down, beneath all the fury and anguish, what she truly wanted was for him to fight for her. She wanted him to beg for her forgiveness, to tell her the truth in its entirety, to explain why he had kept so much from her. She wanted to be angry with him, to rage and cry and then, eventually, not be angry anymore. She wanted to forgive him, even if that made her weak.

Now that chance was gone and it felt as though she would be angry forever—trapped in this endless cycle of fury that had no outlet. The sharp, jagged words she wanted to hurl at him would never be spoken, would never cut him the way they cut her. Instead, they dug into her own skin, slicing deeper with nowhere to go, and she would bleed and bleed and bleed for the rest of her days.

And still, Bull carried her - bearing the weight of her anguish. He made no attempt to stop her, to console her. 

He just let her break, knowing it was the only thing left she could do.

She couldn't pinpoint the moment she slipped into sleep - whether it was exhaustion or the way Bull had laid her down so gently on the bed. Her eyes fluttered shut, and the weight of sleep pulled her under, heavy and irresistible.

In her dreams, everything felt warped, as if reality itself was bending around her grief. She wandered through the halls of Skyhold, her footsteps echoing unnaturally. The walls stretched impossibly high, and the colours of the tapestries bled into one another, too bright, too vivid. The faces of the people she passed blurred into nothingness, their voices a distant murmur of sound that she couldn’t quite make out.

Blackwall was laughing at her, that laugh she loved so much - the one that reminded her of the bending of the forest trees in Summer and the crackle of a fireplace in winter - sharpened itself against the stone walls of Skyhold and ricocheted around her. 

Shadows from barely-lit candles began to stretch and twist, forming grotesque shapes that danced in the periphery of her vision. She turned, only to find the spectres of dead men swinging at the hangman’s noose, their lifeless eyes staring blankly into the void. The empty, hollow sound of coins jangling mingled with the cloying, hot smell of spilled blood. 

“My lady” His voice spat at her, deep and gruff, “My love”

She wanted it to end. Please... make it stop. No more. Her nails bit into the flesh of her palm, the sharp pain dragging her back to consciousness. She woke, sweat-slicked and trembling, tears streaming down her face.

She wasn’t alone.

A man stood on her balcony, leaning against the window frame, barely a silhouette in the dim light. When he noticed her stirring, he straightened sharply, stepping into a sliver of moonlight.

It was him.

Or rather, a ghostly, altered version of him. His hair, once long, was now cropped close, his face clean-shaven. The familiar features she had known were marred by dark bruising around one eye, his skin paler than she remembered. But it was still him.

It had to be another nightmare. Another cruel trick of the Fade. If she couldn't have him—if Blackwall had truly been taken from her—then all she wanted was peace. Blessed, quiet peace. She dug her nails into her palms, harder, until the skin broke and blood welled in her hands. She gasped at the sharp pain. Still, she did not wake.

“My lady,” he spoke softly, his gaze lingering on her bleeding hands as he took a step toward her.

“Don’t,” she spat, wiping her tear-streaked cheeks with the back of her hand, the metallic scent of blood sharp in her nose. This place was more lucid than her other nightmares, more grounded in reality, but that only made the apparition in front of her more dangerous. He was too much like the man she had loved, too much like the man she’d lost.

“Sparrow,” he whispered, his voice filled with the old affection that once soothed her but now felt like a dagger twisted in her heart.

“Stop!” She inhaled sharply, her body trembling with the weight of her grief. “Leave. Now.”

This was no different from the other demons that had preyed on her in the Fade. Desire, most likely. Tempting her with the one thing she longed for most, only to use her weakness against her. They always found her here, in these fragile moments, vulnerable and desperate. She wouldn't fall for it. 

“Don’t you dare use his voice,” she hissed, her hands curling into fists at her sides, the fresh pain from her palms sizzling. “You think I’m that easy to break?”

The man flinched, brow furrowing in the way she had seen a hundred times before, a familiar wrinkle in his forehead that made her heart ache. The memory of it tore at her insides, a splinter burrowing deeper into a heart already shattered beyond repair. Could there really be any more room to break? She thought she'd felt every kind of pain there was.

“It’s me, my lady,” he said softly. “I’m here.”

“Please,” she begged, her voice cracking. “No more.”

Her body betrayed her then, a heaving, hollow retch overtaking her as she leaned over the edge of her bed. Nothing came up. She hadn’t eaten in days. The only thing left in her stomach was grief, and it was impossible to expel. But the tears—they still flowed, unrelenting. She thought they would run dry by now, but if her tears were a measure of her love for Blackwall, then she supposed they would never stop.

He moved toward her in an instant and knelt beside her, his fingers brushing her back in the same gentle circles that had once been a balm for her. The same touch that had comforted her when she was Sparrow and he was Blackwall.

She let herself believe the lie. She leaned into the sensation of his touch, as if it would be the last time she could ever feel him again. His hands were warm, real, and they smelled of the same worn leather and pine as he always had.

“I’m here” he murmured, his breath ghosting over her ear. “I promise you.”

She whimpered, torn between wanting to shove him away and pulling him closer. If this was the demon’s game, so be it. She would risk everything for just one more moment with him. One more breath, one more touch. Let the Fade take her.

“There was a plan,” he continued, his voice laced with weariness. “To get me out of Orlais, just as you instructed. The Inquisition made a deal with the Val Royeaux nobles—those who had every right to want me dead. They agreed to formally release me to the Inquisition, on the understanding that Cullen ‘let slip’ the route we would take back to Skyhold, the number of soldiers escorting me, everything. An envoy was sent alongside him to ensure the plan proceeded smoothly, that I would not make it back here alive.”

Her breath caught, her eyes wide as she struggled to comprehend his words.

“But there was a second part,” he continued, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Another prisoner, sentenced to die, took my place. Dressed in my clothes, a sack over his head. They promised him they would provide his family a bag of gold if he stayed silent and died in my name. They gave him poison—quick, painless. He was dead before the ambush started.” His voice was bitter, angry. “I was taken away in secret, through passageways I'm sure no-one knows exists. With Leliana. Blackwall is dead. Thom Rainier is dead. I’m all that’s left.”

She ripped herself from his touch, rising to her feet as fury welled up in her chest. “More lies!” she shouted, her voice hoarse. “Why didn’t they tell me? Why did they let me believe—do they even understand how much—”

“They needed you to believe it,” he said quietly, his head still bowed. “They needed the Orlesians to believe it. To see the noble, bloodsoaked commander, the shaken envoy…” he finally looked to her “And the broken-hearted Inquisitor”

“Well, they got what they wanted,” she snarled, pressing her hand to her chest as if to hold herself together.

“I would never have agreed to it,” he whispered, “I was ready to die. I deserved to die.”

He began to move away from her, retreating toward the door. 

“There’s to be a private hearing tomorrow,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’ll still get to decide my fate.”

She stared at him, disbelief turning her blood cold.

“I’ll accept whatever you decide,” he said, his eyes burning for her. “I’ve been given more than I deserve. More than I could ever hope for. To have known you, to have been loved by you... that was more than I could ever have dreamed of, as Rainier or as Blackwall.”

Her certainty that she was talking with a demon wavered, and her heart fluttered. She had to know, she had to be sure. 

“Tell me something,” she said, her voice quiet but steady.

“Anything,” he replied, without hesitation. His voice was resolute, as if whatever she asked, he was ready to face it. For her, he would.

Her gaze sharpened, seeking the truth she needed to hear. “When we were in the Fade... when we fought our nightmares—what did you see there?”

It was a question that had haunted her, one that she had never dared to ask until now. He had never spoken of it. She didn’t know his answer, and neither would a demon. 

Blackwall tensed, his face tightening with a pain he had long buried. His shoulders sagged beneath the weight of something too heavy to carry alone. Finally, he bowed his head, the unspoken torment that had lived inside him spilling out, his voice raw with sorrow.

“You fought against spiders,” he began, his words slow and deliberate, as if reliving the nightmare again. “Sera fought against nothing. And I...” His voice faltered, and she could see the anguish etching itself into his features. “I kept seeing them.” He closed his eyes for a moment, as if trying to shield himself from the images that had never truly left him. His hands clenched at his sides, but he did not stop.

“The Callier children. And the men, my men, who died for their murder,” he continued, his voice lower now, filled with the heaviness he had never allowed her to see until this moment. “Again and again, they came at me. And again and again, I cut them down.”

His words hung in the air like a bitter curse. He drew a ragged breath, his hands trembling, as if the ghosts still clung to him.

“That nightmare turned me into what I feared most,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “It almost broke me.”

Her heart ached as she finally saw him - not a trick, not a demon - but the man she loved. The man who had lived with the weight of his sins, trying, despite everything, to atone. A man who, no matter how fiercely he loved her, still believed he was unworthy of any in return.

It shattered her.

The flood of emotion broke through her control, and before she could stop herself, she threw her arms around him, sobs tearing from her throat as she buried her face against his chest. Her body trembled as grief, relief, and the overwhelming need to hold him crashed over her all at once.

He caught her, pulling her close, his arms wrapping around her as if he, too, was holding on for dear life. His hands shook as they gripped her, and she could feel the tremor in his chest as his breath hitched. Yet, still, he held her. Just as he always had. As if, in this one moment, all the guilt, all the nightmares, could fall away in the circle of her arms.

It was really him.

She stroked his cheek, her thumb brushing over the faint stubble growing back. Anger would come. Admonition, too. But what she felt now, swelling in her chest, was more important. Forgiveness. It was the first thread she would pull from the tangle of pain between them, the one that would begin to untie the knots. 

The weight of the past was still there, but now it felt lighter, shared between them. They had both suffered, both lost something, but here, in this moment, they found something else: a chance to rebuild. A chance to begin again.

And for that, for him, she was willing to fight.

[skzstoryvault]

Let Me Love You (Felix, spicy and angsty)

Just a little something I wrote while sick in bed. Story features Felix and afab reader The angst comes from reader's own bitter expectations One-shot If this is not yout thing, please scroll away. If you're underage, this is definitely not for you. Please scroll away. ***

“Wow you shouldn’t have.” Felix says, the moment he sees the cake on your kitchen table. His hands are already snaking around your waist, pulling you close. “I’ve had sugar flung my way since the day began. I was hoping for some other kind of sweet-” He interrupts himself, leaning down to suck a gentle nibble into the skin of your neck. “-treat from you.” 

You still wonder what he sees in you or when he’s going to dump you, replace you with a newer, more attractive model. He is so loved, so powerful in that way; he can have anyone. He would only need to say one word and even someone like Hyunjin would crawl on his knees before him. But Felix keeps seeking you out. Coming to your house at night, sometimes staying the whole weekend. Fixing minor things, helping you, cooking for you. Maybe it’s the fantasy for him. Of being an ordinary man, not an idol. A man, not an androgynous angel of desire or the keeper of everyone’s affections. But the fantasy only has power because it’s fleeting. No man dreams of having less power. 

When his lips find yours, his Romand Juicy Glasting Tint smears and transfers to your mouth. He always tastes clean, neutral, like taking a deep breath outside in the summer rain. It makes you doubt he’s really human. But he kisses like a god, and the gods of legends do have a habit of coming down as rain or beautiful animals to seduce unsuspecting ingenues. That tracks perfectly, the more you think of it - except you never get to, whenever Felix is around you can’t string two thoughts together. 

When you’re alone again and clarity strikes, you feel vulnerable and under siege. But when he’s with you, the spell he weaves is potent and thick like the 3D reality.

When you’re with him, your only reason for existing is to receive his love, in whatever flavour he deems you deserving of that day. It’s like he gauges his power by the way you fall apart beneath him, by how strong and uncontrollable the shivers of your body get, by how lost and inhuman your sounds of pleasure and abandon get. 

Before he set his eyes on you, you were certain you were over dick and the headaches it came with from the men attached to it. But Felix is not other men, and his pull on you is irresistible precisely because it is unique in its manifestation. Now, your small items of clothing fall away as though he wills them out of existence and he takes you in as many ways as it takes him to feel satisfied with your offerings. He knows the exact ways to curl his fingers to bring you to fountain-like, gushing orgasms that alter the cadence of your heartbeats. He measures how gone you are with his lips on your ankle, on a pulse point he can feel there, beating against his tongue. He can see it in the spasms of your leg and ab muscles, in the way your toes curl, beyond your conscious control. 

“I need you, baby. I need you to be good and take it, alright my sweetest?” He whispers in his dark, low as the pits of hell voice. Even at just that, your core tightens like the string on a bow, taut and ready and quivering with tension but not wanting to snap yet. He commands your body effortlessly with you as a mere passenger in it. 

You lose track of time and the world around you when his plump lips close around your straining clit. His fingers spread and smooth out the flesh around, exposing every idle nerve ending to his touches. It’s so mind-blowingly good, he eats you out like he really means to leave no crumbs, and you black out and come back several times before he deems you ready. Your bones have softened to mere cartilage, the contours of solid shapes only. By the time he removes his jeans and underwear and crawls between your open legs, he can plaster himself against you so closely you can’t tell where you end and where he starts. Tears run down your cheeks when he enters you, sealing you perfectly shut around him; the tears are not of pain, but overwhelm at the simple, yet unbearably intense pleasure of being perfectly filled, made whole for a fleeting, perfect moment. He doesn’t even need to prop himself up. His hands seek out yours and your fingers entwine on either side of your head. Even if he doesn’t move at all, you’ll still pass out from how unbearably flawless this feeling is; how connected he makes you feel - as though thoughts and feelings can truly pass between you unrestrained. 

He does move, wanting to witness your ruin and know that it is by his doing, over and over until your world is reduced to only him and your lips can only say his name. How does the song go? All gods bleed. All gods die. All gods will pay. You could love him unrestrainedly. You could feel like a girlfriend to him, a deserving, equal mate if he were not an idol. If the image of him that millions around the world see and worship were any less effective. You don’t want to be by-catch in the net of his allure. A footnote in a memoir written by a ghostwriter for him. So you remain a willing prisoner of this nightmare reality where he is the monster coming to feed off of whatever sweetness draws him to you for this quick moment in time. 

It never crosses your mind that the only one dishonest here is you; the only one cheating the other out of the joy of the here and now is also you. And in the process, you rob yourself of the very future you burn for. But Felix’s sweet tooth for you might just be stronger than your bitterness. 

[nubisaureus]

when they get jealous and needy

how the genshin men show their jealousy over you

character(s): Cyno, Xiao, Kaeya

pairings(s): fem!reader x Cyno, Xiao, Kaeya (separately)

contents: uncertainty of feelings, smut, found family, angst, comfort

not proofread! im swamped with uni work so i might post less till next week, sorry <3

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────────

Cyno

he's absolutely chill most of the time, but there are some times he just gets jealous and insecure

you bet he's going to mark his territory: whether it is by putting his hand around your waist, pulling you close, whispering something in your ear while looking the other person dead in the eyes, his golden irises sending a silent warning

«And who's this, angel?» he asks, as he gets to your side

you better believe he's gonna get extra needy/rough when you two get in bed later

as he's balls deep in your pussy, he groans «you're mine, aren't you, angel?»

you struggle to answer. not because you don't know what to answer, but because you can't think properly, as he's relentlessly pounding into you, making you lose any semblance of rational thought

he stops, still inside of you.

«answer.» he commands now, making you squirm and whine for more.

«C-cyno..» you plead, incapable of uttering any other word than his name.

«yes?» his pupils dark and wide, much like the ones of a predator

«i am Cyno. that guy was just flirting with me because he can't stand you. he wants to make you angry because the matra once apprehended him due to his illegal schemes, and so he wants to take it out on you..» you utter those words, remembering the case that had shaken your Darshan from the inside out, before Cyno was even the general Mahamatra

as you finish speaking, he starts to pound into you again, making you scream his name, finally getting the release you were aching for

──────────────────────────────

Xiao

poor thing is still new to this having feelings for someone, so when he gets angry when another guy talks with you in a more friendly way, he doesn't know what to do with his feelings

so he goes to Zhongli, asking for advice (a/n yes, i believe in Zhongli as Xiao's found family, idc)

«Rex L-» «Just Zhongli.»

he looks down, biting his lip at the correction. it doesn't feel fair to him to call Rex Lapis as simply Zhongli, but he carries on, explaining his problem

«What you are experiencing is what mortals call "jealousy". While it is normal to have such a feeling when someone you don't like might be talking to her in a little too friendly manner, you must learn not to get overwhelmed by this feeling, as it only brings people apart and destroys relationships.»

he thinks long and hard about what Zhongli told him, and as you return to Wangshu Inn, you find him on the rooftop, deep in thought.

«I'm back, Xiao.» you say, catching his attention.

you are met by a dry reply, that makes you wonder what might be up with him

after a bit, he decides to confess, and you look at him, endearment in your eyes

«aw, love. you have no need to be jealous. i'm sorry you felt this way. whether adeptus or human, jealousy is a terrible feeling that no one wants to experience. but i can assure you that the only one i love is you, and no one else.»

he's got tears in his eyes

«are you sure?» you nod. «but..my karmic debt..» he averts his eyes, turning his back to you

you hug him from behind, resting your head on his shoulder

«my Vision protects me.»

he makes you promise to run away if he ever loses control over himself, and you reluctantly agree, even though you know that if that ever happened, you would fight for him until the bitter end.

──────────────────────────────

Kaeya

oh boi, you're in for a ride

he's literally the smoothest talker ever, he doesn't even need to get jealous

he's more of a showoff really, basically showing off his wonderful girlfriend

so it's more him making other people jealous, whether men or women, because, let's be honest, it's not like women are not jealous of you

«all alone here, kitten?» he comes up at you at Angel's Share, while Diluc rolls his eyes at his cheesiness

you flirt right back, twirling a strand of loose hair in your fingers, catching his attention

your hair and neck are his weak points, so you know exactly what you're doing

his eyes are fixated on you, as you let go of your hair, and go back to your drink, ignoring him

he comes up to you, whispering something in your ear

«let's put on a show» are the words that come to your ears, and you smile wickedly

you turn your head towards him, staring at his lips intensively

he's too close for comfort, and you can feel his cold breath on your skin, shivers appearing in response

as you're about to kiss, your lips inches from each other, a suave melody starts playing

you see one of the most renowned bard of Mondstadt, Venti, playing his lyre for the tavern

you get all excited, and stand up, your dress flitting around your figure

Kaeya gives you a puzzled look, but it soon transforms into an amused smile, as he joins you in dancing

you two dance together, the entire tavern mesmerized at the sight of you two

might also be because Kaeya was using his vision to create small snowflakes around both of you, those same snowflakes catching the light of the tavern, creating a reflective spectacle

you decide to tease him, grabbing him by the ring that holds his collar in place

he smiles smugly, as if to ask "what now?"

your faces get too close for comfort, both of you lost in the each other's eyes

suddenly a whiff of wind swirls around you, diffusing an irresistible aroma around you

who's gonna give in first? it's a battle of wits at this point

Kaeya does.

you don't even have the time to process it, that his lips are on yours, and his hands are on your waist, pulling you closer

that was one memorable night

what you didn't know is that your ex was standing in a corner of the tavern, a bewildered look in his eyes as he witnessed the whole scene

Kaeya is a fucking menace

[a-student-out-of-time]

Thoughts on DRDT Chapter 2 Episode 12

//Hey everyone! So, it's been 17 months since the last episode, which...holy crap, right?

//Now that we've come to the continuation of our story, we have some new things to discuss, and I'm not just talking about what I've said. Instead of just repeating myself again, let's break down what's been happening in this episode and then we can continue theorizing.

I have three big things I want to address in this, which we should consider going forward:

(SPOILERS AHEAD)

The Murder Was Actually WORSE than it seemed

So Charles' point about where they fucked up was about the murder. However, it was about something I don't believe any of us quite considered: that the water from the relaxation room was taken and held for later use. We do have jugs in the trash that prove it's possible.

It's nice to see Teruko admit that she made a mistake and that the time of the murder was wrong, but to me, this meant two things: our murder could've happened at quite possibly any time and it would've been worse than it sounds.

See, death by drowning is already one of the worst ways to die, but if they obtained some jugs of water and used those in the murder, it means that our victim must've been waterboarded to death. Drowning is bad, but waterboarding is an even worse and more horrific way to die. More importantly to this case, it's pretty quick for the culprit.

Without oxygen, you'll experience brain death within 6-10 minutes. Since we now know the murder was set up in advance overnight, this means that all they really needed to do was grab their target, carry out the drowning and then hang the body to break the neck and disguise the cause of death. It could be over in less than 15 minutes.

We also now know that, as we all predicted, the murder likely took place around 7:30-8 AM, not PM, when most people were asleep and only a few were up at breakfast. This has also thrown most everyone's alibis out the window.

Essentially, whomever our victim was, she was murdered via waterboarding and then her body hung up while some people were awake. They cut is so close that the body was still swaying, as Teruko noted. That wouldn't happen just from the fans.

2. What's David Game Plan?

I've made it no secret that I'm not a fan of David, nor do I agree with the view that he's set to be DT's rival. As I've said many times before, Teruko doesn't need a rival like him, since the only challenge he offers her is being an existential threat.

That being said, I both like and dislike what happened with David this episode. It's good to see him not consistently being an annoying troll who evades questions by being a dick, and to actually have something more to say and some actual questions he raises. He's been lying about being Arei's killer, and apparently, that's part of what he considers a noble goal on par with Xander.

David's point in this episode is that he wants to be a "good person" like Xander, which echoes my points in my theory about how that's what this chapter is about: The Meaning Of A "Good Person." Teruko is, understandably, still very bitter and hurt by his betrayal, so she considers that idea laughable. David's point that "I'm sure he had a good reason" actually made me laugh, admittedly.

But what's interesting is he gave us an answer in the form of a non-answer. He claims he believes in something greater than himself and the lives of everyone else in this game, and since they're all on TV, he questions why this would be happening if the people behind it didn't want to make things entertaining. He brings up how Xander wanted to end the killing game and he's been derailing the trial because he says he wants to do the same.

What's frustrating is, as Hu says, David has essentially decided everyone's lives aren't important enough to preserve, so it's better if they all just give up and die to end the game. Xander did not want that, he wanted to end it with minimal casualties. A Total Party Kill is antithetical to everything Xander stood for, so if David is being sincere, he's really spitting in the guy's face.

I'm really curious what exactly he meant by him being the only one who "recognized" him. The thing with J early on proved that some of these people were at least aware of each other pre-game.

But does this mean David is actually a good person with noble goals? What part of "You exist to manipulate others" is not clear? I can't accept that at this point, but here's what I can accept, because it fits in so well with what we've been seeing:

Consider: why exactly did Xander try to kill Teruko? Because someone wanted her dead and somehow convinced him to give it a shot. We know that someone out there wants Teruko dead for whatever reason, and direct attempted murder has failed. What's the next best thing? Convince someone else that she needs to be dealt with.

Remember the secret David got? "How could I even select what secret to be your motive? Just about everything you've done in your life is worth killing for. The killing game is all your fault."

And let's be real: it's gotta be Teruko's. Between everything we've seen, it can't be anyone else. I'm sure David just said it was Xander's because it was easier to blame a dead person.

So let's consider how easy it would be for David to see that secret and then convince himself that Xander not only had the right idea, it really is better to let everyone die if it means Teruko is gone too. I can buy his admiration for Xander could drive him to do something like that if he learned something that horrible about Teruko, and then decide it was all for the greater good.

That, of course, assumes he actually means what he says. I remain convinced that Hu was the one who carried out the killing in his stead, and with the Blackened rule- it's the one who's the "most mastermind-y," not just whoever deals the fatal blow- David's alibi is irrelevant.

"But Bubbles, didn't Hu and Nico say that they have alibis for morning?"

Yes, but I'm also convinced David drove both of them to attempt murder for these very same reasons, first with Ace and then Arei. Either this was a "selfless" act based on his blind hero-worship of Xander that required everyone to be sacrificed, or this is all a selfish act to end the game and escape with his own life. Until someone can independently verify that Hu and Nico have alibis, I can't believe anything they say.

As for why they wouldn't say anything, Hu made a very impassioned speech about wanting to live and that David has no right to decide who should live and die. She is correct, and if her secret is that she was a hopeless child who tried to end it all three times, that actually adds a lot more weight to what she's saying here.

...But at the same time, under the belief that whomever killed would be executed, why would someone who wants to live just admit to being the one who did it? I don't like to consider it, bu Hu's desire to live paradoxically makes her more suspicious in my eyes. At least in being David's patsy.

Oh, and speaking of murder, here's the thing we all called.

3. Levi's Secret

Let's be real: we all probably saw this one coming. In the closing minutes of the episode, Levi admits that his secret is being a remorseless murderer.

Now, where everyone got this wrong is in assuming that, because that's his secret, it means that he must've been the one to kill Arei. That theory can be pretty definitively put to bed because, as I said with Hu, why would a murderer just admit to being a murderer after all this has happened?

Moreover, his point wasn't a confession. He didn't say he was the one who killed her, he apologized for potentially derailing the discussion again, and this was when everyone had hit a dead end in how to progress. If Levi were the Blackened, why would he do that? It would be in his best interest to stay quiet until the very end.

Instead, I think this is where an even stronger point in my favor comes in: Arei really did visit Levi, and they did discuss their secrets, but he didn't kill her. They either collaborated, talked about it or at least made peace about it, since they both came from pretty shitty families and probably found some common ground.

David brought up what it means to be a good person, but Arei and Levi are also great examples. Both have done terrible things and wanted to find redemption from them, Levi with murder and Arei with being a bully. The only reason I can see this being brought up now is because we have yet to hear his or her side of this story, and that could bring us to more important revelations down the line.

//So there you go, my breakdown of this episode. It's answered some questions, pretty definitively ended a couple theories, and raised many more points of discussion. And thankfully now we only have to wait until Friday to receive some more answers : P

[yanderemommabean]

You know a concept stardew fans seem to not bring up? How wonderfully pathetic Yandere Clint would be. Like he is such a pathetic and insecure guy but I have a feeling he can become dangerous if in the right circumstance. Like we know he’s a blacksmith and you’ve even mentioned he’d make cuffs/chains. So what if he decided enough was enough and chose to take his beloved for himself.

I can already imagine how it happens; After so many years of pining for Emily, he’s grown tired of being alone and can’t work up the nerve to talk to her… But then a charming new farmer arrives and he can’t help but fall head over heels! He tries to deny his love for the farmer since he doesn’t want his years of loving Emily to feel like they went to waste, but the farmer seems to naturally grab his attention. He starts using his crush on Emily as an excuse to ask for the farmer’s help, but in actuality just wants to get close to them.

But naturally, the farmer has both men and women fawning over them and Clint feels threatened by this. He closes up out of fear of rejection and is terrified that he’ll end up pining for the farmer just like Emily. He doesn’t want this and decides that his only course of action would be to take the farmer away from everyone else.

(Sorry if you’re not up for discussions of stardew valley, I just remembered seeing one of your posts during my dive into the tags)

Omg??? I can’t believe I never considered this option. I’m not the biggest fan of Clint but he hasn’t really done anything for me to hate him, so this really puts him in a new light!

He really does just want someone to love him and once he finally gets someone to show even a shred of attention to him, he makes sure to hold an iron grip. He doesn’t want to hurt the farmer, not ever, but sometimes in order to have what you want you have to do some…questionable things.

Such as spreading rumors that you up and left once the bus was fixed, finding the town horrible and the people obnoxious. The whole town is left broken hearted and bitter about it but Clint seems more or less unphased. Swears he’s just not that attached to you and you leaving was sad but won’t hurt his life.

They all go with that lie too. They don’t question the banging coming from his shop because well, he’s a blacksmith, heavy clanging and banging is apart of the job. They don’t pay attention to certain marks and scars along his arms either, probably just apart of his job too, accidents happen.

Gunther started poking around a bit too much but a brutally busted display and some broken museum artifacts made him stay in his place. He didn’t know who did it, but his job and reputation isn’t worth the risk.

All of this while you’re locked in a new addition to his shop, beneath his bedroom, nice and locked up where no one can take you. It’s nice that you’ve learned to stop screaming for help, your poor throat used to get so sore!

It’s nice to have all this alone time with you too. Most of the town stays away from his shop, not really needing anything unless they want to sell some odds and ends. Just you, and him, and all the time in the world.

-Mommabean

[gnreadergames]

We can be heroes, just for one day

Pairing: Clark Kent X GN!Reader

Clark and YN’s date is interrupted, forcing Clark to make a choice that could change his relationship with Y/N forever…

Content Warnings: some wine mentions, mentions of a gun, some light kissing, mostly fluff and flirting

A/N: enjoy some short fluff I wrote while being utterly and horribly sick last week. Clark deserves a little wine and a nice kiss.

Word count: 10,085

➽──────────────❥

As they sit hunched over your cluttered and cramped desk in the dim newsroom of The Daily Planet, they will themselves to stay awake.

The aroma of stale coffee and old bagels lingers in the air, a bitter reminder of what’s waiting for them in the break room and their lazy leftovers at home. With a defeated sigh, they contemplate going for another cup of the watered down brew that’s called “coffee” around here. It’s the only caffeine they can get without actually leaving the office besides lukewarm energy drinks in the vending machine.

Their saving grace comes in the form of Clark, who slides the warm cup of some obscurely named café across their desk. “You looked like you could use it,” he smiles, rendering them speechless, but they’re thankful all the same

They perk up with a smile.

“Thank you Clark.”

They found the man charming, although he was less authoritative than his peers and less outspoken, they found his intellect and his shy sense of humor fascinating.

The two of them had talked for a while last month at the office Christmas party, and ever since Y/N had noticed that Clark and them had been spending their free time around the office doing small favors for one another, such as bringing each other coffee.

They notice him drinking from his own cup of coffee, still smiling as he turns to look at them. He takes his time drinking it, but his eyes meet theirs again as he sets the cup down, his smile bright and endearing. "So have you been enjoying the holiday break?" He asks, not wanting to make eye contact in case he ends up staring.

“It’s been good.” They nod. It’s been quiet in their house since their ex left right before Christmas, and for a fleeting moment it dampens their mood, but then the next sip of good coffee that their work buddy Clark brought them cheers them up.

“How has yours been? See any family?” They ask, they know Clark is a big family man and cares a lot for his parents, so you can only imagine he’s been visiting those friends he’s always saying he’s out with and his family at his home home.

"It was great, I had the chance to spend time with my parents and I..."

Clark's voice trailed off as he realized he was about to give away too much personal information. He had never spoken about his family before to anyone besides those close to him, at least not at length, but talking to them felt safe and... different. He wanted them to know they were more than a co-worker, despite the fact he was still figuring out what they were.

"Nothing too exciting" he finished, feeling himself smile uncontrollably once again.

“Well I’m glad you got some rest,” Y/N smiled. They wanted to touch base with Clark about what exactly they were, never quite touching the lines between acquaintances and friends…

But before Y/N could do anything, Clark spoke.

“Listen,” he said, voice low. “Would you maybe…want to get a drink with me after work sometime?” He asked, leaning against their desk.

The two of them stood in a comfortable silence, each aware of how much rides on this simple decision.

"Will you join me?" He asked, looking into their eyes once again.

"Just a drink, let's keep it casual"

They swallowed. It was so soon after their ex had left them…especially for her. They weren’t sure if they were ready yet but….

It was Clark.

They trusted Clark.

“Sure” they said. Smiling softly up at him, they lifted their cup in a silly gesture of cheers. “Toast to it?” They asked.

There it was, he had his answer. He was filled with elation and relief in that moment.

"Of course" he replied, clinking their cups together and taking a sip. They were going on a date, this was really happening.

Clark's heart soared as he smiled back at them, it was going to take time for things to develop, but at the very least, he felt confident they had taken another big step.

-

Time that day had seemed to go ever so slowly in the office. Y/N kept finding themself staring at the clock, waiting for the time when they could clock out and go home to get ready for their meeting with Clark.

Their date with Clark.

The hours dragged on, time felt like it was moving at a glacial pace, but finally, they were able to clock out and head home to get ready.

The prospect of the date had them feeling a mix of emotions, mostly excitement but there was also a hint of slight hesitation, not due to Clark but rather the recent heartbreak.

Time to get ready and hopefully try to relax a little.

They slowly prepared themselves the best they could. After a long shower with their best products, they put on their best collared shirt and a jacket, and their very best pair of jeans that hugged their ass just right.

Maybe that last part was a little vain. Y/N didn’t mind.

They then sprayed their best cologne on them, especially in the crook of their neck and around their jaw. They wanted to be tempting, even if nothing happened tonight.

Which they would also be okay with, they knew Clark liked to do things the old fashioned way sometimes. You could tell he liked to take things slow, but there was a spark, a hint of passion underneath it all.

It would take more time, but it was worth the wait.

Y/N went to the bar they agreed upon at promptly 8. The front looked like a romantic cigar lounge, the inside lit with a warm lighting and deep red interior with dark wood. Y/N liked this.

People on the street milled about, and it was still chilly since it was mid January now, the Christmas lights still wrapped around the light pole outside. They began to look for Clark to arrive, as he was almost always punctual.

Clark had made sure to dress appropriately, he had taken his time, but he was ready for this date. The night and the cool air was a good excuse to wear a coat and Clark was prepared to play the part of the gentleman for every second of it.

It was easy to spot the bar, located in the heart of the town; it was bustling with life and energy. He looks for Y/N and sees them looking out for him, their hair shines in the light and he smiles to himself.

Y/N suddenly spotted a tall but non-imposing figure in the crowd. They were always surprised how much Clark could blend in one minute and stand out the next. It was like a superpower or something.

“Clark!” They called, waving over a few couples walking past. They locked eyes with the man and smiled as he crossed the sidewalk to meet them at the entrance.

Clark's heart raced a little as they locked eyes, he didn't say anything at first, simply choosing to look at them, their eyes glowing in the lighting.

He looks them up and down, appreciating the time they obviously spent getting ready.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting long?"

”No, don’t worry you- you didn’t,” Y/N shivers. They can’t tell whether it’s the cold air or the fact that Clark is closer than usual right now but they feel all warm despite the snow on the ground. “Should we go in?” They asked, cocking their head towards the bouncer at the door.

"We should," Clark replies, moving to guide them inside. He notices the shiver and his heart flutters slightly, he's going to have to be careful. His intention was to take it slow, but with the chemistry between them, his mind kept wondering what it would feel like to kiss them.

‘Calm down, it's been hours not months, one step at a time’ he reminds himself.

As they approached the Boucher side by side, Y/N handed over their ID. They watched the bouncer scan it, scan their face, and scan their age before slowly handing it back to them with a nod.

Quietly, Y/N stepped to the side.

Clark then stepped up, they could see the bouncer inspect his ID, and as he read Clark’s name his eyebrows raised.

“Clark Kent?” The man said. “You’re that one journalist! I’ve read your articles.”

Clark smiled and nodded at the bouncer, he knew his fame would be followed him around, but he didn't mind too much. It was always surprising to see how many men and women knew him, and it always gave him a little ego boost.

"It's my hobby" he responded, before gently guiding Y/N inside with him, hoping he wasn't intimidating them too much.

Y/N smiled, sticking a little closer to Clark’s side. Suddenly, they swallowed their nerves and wrapped their hands around one of Clark’s arms at his side.

“Impressive,” Y/N said as Clark led them both further inside.

The interior of the bar was as expected from the impression outside. It was dim but intimate. There was a short but steady melody of jazz coming from a live band in a corner of the bar towards the front window in a pit like stage.

Clark smiled as he felt their hand wrap around his arm, it was the perfect amount of familiar but without being too much, he liked that.

That was a great atmosphere for a date, the live band playing a mellow and seductive song added the perfect element to the evening.

It was almost like they belonged together, even at this point.

"You know, when I'm not being a journalist I'm just a regular guy" he says, hoping they don't see him as anything other than who he was.

Y/N quirked and eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Why don’t you find us a seat and tell me more about what you do besides journalism,” Y/N smiled. “No other dark serial killer personalities I should be worried about though, right?”

Clark laughed softly, he couldn't resist laughing. It was funny to imagine himself with multiple dark personalities, and he loved that they went back to their conversation from the office.

"Well, there's no serial killer...that you know of," he replied, not able to help himself from teasing them a little.

Dark secret personality number two: Unwitting flirt

Y/N laughed softly. They didn’t know Clark was a tease.

They tucked that information away for another time.

Clark led them both to a booth in a corner, close enough that the jazz was a nice background to their conversation but not loud enough to interrupt.

A waiter came by shortly to get their order.

“What will it be?” The girl said in her neat black and white uniform with her pencil and pad.

Y/N looked at Clark. “I don’t know what’s good here. What are you getting?” They asked shyly.

Clark sat beside them in the booth, he loved how close they were in that small little moment. The dim lighting made it even better, like he was sitting with his significant other. It felt nice and he was a little nervous.

When the waiter came he replied with his order, his voice slightly deeper than normal. "I'll be having the salmon with white wine please."

He turned his attention to them. Hmm, I wonder what that cute little mind of yours is going to order? He thought.

”Can I have the steak with the red wine please, then?” Y/N said after a moment of consideration. Then, they glanced over at Clark staring at them and blushed.

The girl took their order and hurried away to serve more people. They would give her a big tip after this.

“So, Mr. Not a Serial Killer, what do you do in your spare time?” Y/N asked, propping their chin on their hand with their elbow resting on the table near the tea light candle in the center. They locked eyes.

Clark chuckled as he saw them blush, it was too cute to resist, and he enjoyed that he made them blush.

He watched the waiter leave with their attention, but quickly returned it back to Y/N. He couldn’t help but admire how beautiful they were, it was almost hard not to stare.

"I play basketball at the local rec centre, read a lot and go to the gym” he said as part of his reply, he added a bit of a smirk as he did.

“Oh that’s nice!” Y/N said.

The waiter came back with both of their wines respectively and placed them in front of them both. Clark took a small sip of his after swirling it so Y/N did the same.

It was sweet and heady, and went straight to their head. They shouldn’t have more than 2 of these tonight…probably.

“I read a lot too…” Y/N said, placing the wine glass back on the table.

He took his glass and sipped from it, looking up and watching as he saw Y/N take a sip of theirs. The sweet taste was nice on the pallets, and the feeling of the slight intoxication that it gave them was pleasant as well.

"Oh yeah? What kind of books? I like action, thrillers and mystery," he asked, his voice slightly slowed but still under control, he didn't want to seem like a drunkard right now by downing wine too fast, even if he couldn’t get drunk.

Y/N smiled.

“What a coincidence, I love a good thriller and mystery.” They suddenly leaned forward, face lit lowly by the small candle, “But I’m also a fan a good romance.”

Y/N smiled guiltily and pulled back to watch Clark.

Clark's voice caught in his throat like a school boy, his face flushed and his heart was pounding. How could Y/N have just hit him with that information so suddenly, his heart was thumping against his chest.

He wasn't sure how to respond, he had hoped there might be some hint of interest but he wasn't sure enough to try yet.

You idiot, he thought to himself, you'll ruin this if you don't play it perfectly.

The waiter came back with their food soon, and the mood cooled down. They both ate in relative happiness, occasionally taking sips of their wines.

Y/N was obviously becoming more affected than Clark was. But of course, they didn’t know Clark wasn’t affected by human alcohol like a normal person.

The jazz was nice as a filler to no conversation at the moment.

They finished their meals and sat back, ready to talk. Y/N smiled, finishing their last sip of wine.

Clark finished off his meal with ease, he wasn't an exceptionally hungry person, but he was a little surprised by Y/N’s reaction towards the wine. They made a cute lightweight.

He finished his food, setting his utensils down as he settled back in his seat. His attention was still on them, and he could tell the wines had affected something as he saw them smirk and finish their glass. He was a little nervous to ask them out on a second date but he knew he was going to.

”So, farm-boy,” Y/N slightly drawled, “Tell me about yourself.” They set the glass on the table and smirked.

Farm Boy? He hadn't expected that line, it caught him off guard, and his blush was definitely visible now. He could imagine his face was red as a tomato by this point. As they finished speaking though, he had to regain his composure.

He laughed quietly to himself, before answering them. "What exactly would you like to know?"

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Y/N asked, genuinely confused for a moment, but Clark didn’t seem to pick up on it.

Thankfully, at that moment, the band began to play another song that was low and brassy, with a sultry tone.

Y/N nodded along for a moment, enjoying the feeling the wine gave them.

“Anyways,” they continued, “you like to read huh? I know you have family, tell me about them. Your mom and dad? The farm? What’s it like being a pampered only child?” They asked.

Clark laughed at first as he took no offense to their tone, it was a bit sharp and teasing, but Clark knew they meant no ill will by it and enjoyed the flirting that was happening between them both. The change of music also provided a nice cover and backdrop to their conversation, which was nice.

"Oh so you want the full origin story?" He asked teasingly, looking at them and raising his eyebrow.

“Yeah I think I do,” they said.

The waitress came by to refill their wine.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yourrssss…” Y/N teased as they drew their index finger around the rim of their wine glass.

Clark tried to not appear too affected by their teasing but it was no use he was already under their spell, he had to bite his lip to not smile or even laugh at their words.

Clark was tempted to continue with the flirting but held himself back for the sake of maintaining a little bit of control. Instead of going straight into the full origin story he decided to meet them halfway.

"Okay how about we flip a little script?" He says looking them square in the eyes.

”What does that mean?” Y/N asked. There was a very good chance Clark was going to ask for a juicy secret in return for something perfectly mundane.

Clark couldn't help but smile as Y/N asked the question, they were clearly curious now to what he had in mind, and the mystery of it intrigued them.

"Hmm how can I explain this so it makes sense?..."

A light bulb went off above Clark's head as he got an idea to help them understand.

"What if I ask you a question instead?"

“Go ahead.” Y/N said. They were intrigued as to where this was going.

He took a moment to think, his mind running a million miles per hour right now after the wine and their continued flirting.

"Okay, well let's keep this short and sweet, what is your most embarrassing memory?"

Clark thought this would be an easy one to start with, it was a safe bet for him, and also he was secretly hoping it would help get to know a bit more about them. His mind was filled with anticipation and hope.

They flushed harder, and this time it wasn’t the wine.

They couldn’t think of anything for a moment, but then- it hit them.

Could they tell Clark this?

Really?

Well…

They sipped their wine ever so slightly again. This was the best answer they had.

“Oh god…” they bemoaned. “I guess…” Y/N sat backwards in the seat for a moment and took a big sip of their wine, preparing. They sighed.

“Don’t tell anybody this, okay?” They said sitting forward suddenly leaning close to Clark. “When I was a teenager, I had this…boy on my block. We were childhood friends but we hadn’t talked for a few years. Then, when I graduated, all of the sudden at my graduation party he showed up uninvited and dragged me…” Y/N swallowed. The alcohol was getting to them, “…he dragged me to a bathroom upstairs away from everyone and uh…that was my first time. Then I never saw him again after that party but I think about him every now and then and I also think about how I had to use my sister's makeup to cover my hickies in 10 minutes before going down to cut cake.”

Clark's breath caught in his chest as he heard their story, the way Y/N was sharing something so personal and a bit embarrassing was extremely attractive to him. He felt his heart beating faster and couldn't stop staring into their eyes.

As they finished their story he gently grabbed their hand to hold it and support them, it wasn't just for them though, it was also to keep him from reacting more than he normally would. He smiled softly at them as they ended their story.

“Don’t laugh!” Y/N giggled. They couldn’t help it, it was a pretty pathetic and embarrassing story. But now, Clark was at their mercy.

“So, now you owe me one question.” Y/N said.

Clark raised an eyebrow. They were now over the small candle of the table.

“What’s your biggest fantasy?” Y/N asked, quietly.

Clark was tempted to say some joke about his biggest fantasy involving them in the most romantic way possible, but that was too predictable and he realized there was no need to. Instead his mind went straight to an actual fantasy of his.

"Oh boy, my biggest fantasy" he said with a smirk as he thought about it, it was a lot less embarrassing than theirs but still a bit embarrassing.

"Ahh...well, you're not going to like it."

Y/N wasn’t so sure. “Go on!” They said, insistently. “Tell me all the little details, you owe me.” They slurred, crossing their arms against their chest, humpfing loudly.

Clark thought about sharing his fantasy, they had shared theirs, so it was only fair he did the same. And it was slightly cute how much they wanted to know.

Clark smiled, he was enjoying their flirty demeanor, that slur and them crossing their arms, it made him chuckle. He was finding it way more entertaining than he should have, but he couldn't resist, even if was going to result in embarrassment. He was being led down a path he couldn't say no to.

Clark leaned forward slightly, so they could hear him better.

Y/N leaned closer so they could hear at all.

Clark was close enough to almost feel their breath as he spoke.

"So for me, my fantasy is basically…to have a family..."

He smiled nervously, trying to keep his cool but it wasn't working, he felt his face become flushed from their closeness.

"That's it. Plain and simple, my biggest fantasy is to have a family of my own one day."

Y/N’s nose wrinkled as they smiled wider and wider before laughing loudly.

“Really?” They said, catching their breath. But after a moment, they considered it. “Actually…that’s really sweet. You really are a sweet guy.” Y/N said leaning back in.

Clark couldn't stop the smile forming on his face as they laughed, the sound of their laughter was soothing to him that even their laugh was attractive to him.

When they finally leaned away, he did as well, but it was impossible to hide his blushing. The whole interaction he was caught in a trance with how sweet and endearing they looked.

He wanted to reply to their compliment, but all the was coming out was a soft, awkward chuckle.

”You know what mine is?” Y/N said quietly.

Clark leaned in, intrigued suddenly.

“Affordable Housing” Y/N giggled.

Clark rolled his eyes.

“I’m kidding!” They smiled and played with the stem of Clark’s wine glass. “It’s actually to be content. Don’t ask me what that means, I’m not sure I’ll know what it is until I find it, but I think it involves someone special and a steady paycheck.” Y/N sighed.

Clark laughed at their play on words, and even their follow up explanation. They were sweet and playful, and he was growing more fond of them with each interaction. Y/N mentioned something he could agree with, a steady paycheck and having someone special in his life would definitely make him content.

Clark leaned forward slightly, his voice becoming softer, more genuine as he replied to them.

"I can understand what you mean, I think the same too. Especially the second part."

”Yeah?” Y/N said. “I think you’re doing pretty good for yourself Mr. Clark Kent getting recognized by the bouncer and is friends with Louis Lane herself” they rolled their eyes playfully.

He couldn't help but chuckle at that, they were right, he was doing pretty good for himself, but he didn't feel like explaining it to them just yet. Not to mention the fact at he was enjoying their playful teasing, he actually loved it.

"I try." He says smilingly, "That doesn't mean I don't wish my life was a little more stable and less dramatic though."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” They sniffed the last half of their wine. “What do you do on the weekends besides read Sherlock and write amazing articles?” They sighed and their eyes moved up suddenly to look at Clark over their glass.

Clark was feeling comfortable enough with them now to share a little more about himself, after all they had just shared their deepest and embarrassing secret so it was only fair he also said more about himself too. And his answer wasn't much different from their initial assumption.

"On the weekends, I try to read as much as I can, I also enjoy watching documentaries and playing certain games here and there...and that's about it."

“So, I guess you really don’t have any secret B side personality you’re hiding from anybody, huh?” They asked.

Clark started to sweat. They needed to know about him…eventually, maybe just not right now.

Clark was caught off guard, they had read him like a book, he definitely didn't want to reveal too much about the double identity he led, but at the same time Y/N wasn't dumb, it'd be inevitable that they find out, unless he did something to prevent that.

Clark smiled nervously with a chuckle.

"I mean-" he starts to reply hesitantly and hesitatingly, he pauses for a second, he can't just reveal everything now.

"Not entirely."

Y/N smiled. “Well we all have secrets, Clark…” they teased.

“I guess we’ll just have to figure these things out about each other, huh?” Y/N looked at the band playing across the bar now.

Clark would tell them. Not now.

But definitely eventually.

“Maybe I’m the crazy serial killer,” Y/N said, unconvincingly, throwing their hands out half-heartedly and bearing their teeth.

Clark couldn't help but laugh at the idea of Y/N being a serial killer, especially when they bared their teeth. The image of that scene playing out was enough to make him chuckle loudly.

"I mean..." he starts, a sly smile on his face, "I haven't seen any evidence that disproves it, so you never know I suppose."

“Well, if I get caught, you can have the first interview with me in prison.” Y/N promised solemnly, with their hand over their heart slightly drunkenly.

“But I can’t promise I won’t eat your heart out first,” Y/N winked and slid a 20$ bill on the table as a tip to the waiter along with more cash for the payment.

Clark chuckled at the idea of interviewing them in prison, but it was all a nice image to paint.

"I look forward to interviewing you then, you can also count on me to bring you some real food besides me." He joked back, playing along with their teasing.

Clark was impressed by how generous they were with the tip, a sweet personality and generous too, he could definitely see why he was crushing on Y/N, his admiration was growing by the minute.

”We should go, it’s gonna snow harder soon.” Y/N said, slurring slightly. They tipped off the last half of their wine and Clark did the same. He still wasn’t affected by it, but Y/N was feeling warm and confident.

The outside of the bar was a bit colder than it was earlier. There was more snow on the ground, but just barely enough to crunch underfoot as they walked. Y/N clung onto Clark’s arm as they slowly sauntered towards both of their apartment buildings.

Clark was enjoying Y/N's affectionate behavior, the way they were clinging onto his arm, the fact that they were drunk and clingy was quite adorable to him. The whole scene was quite cute, it felt safe and comforting in a way he hadn't experienced a lot before. He enjoyed being here, if not for the weather, it'd almost be perfect. He was enjoying this, it was a lot nicer than he had expected.

The walk home was silent, besides Y/N’s occasional humming of a commercial jingle or show theme. Ever so often, Y/N would find the courage to grab Clark’s hand and drag him along confidently towards the end of whatever street they were walking on at the moment, almost skipping and twirling around happily.

Clark had to admit, their actions when they were drunk were cute and endearing, they were so carefree it was hard not to feel happy around them. They were also rather comfortable with being affectionate as well, which he loved a lot about them.

He continued to follow along the lead, but was occasionally tempted to lift Y/N up for more of a romantic carry, but he wanted them to be comfortable at the same time, as cute as they acted and their actions he didn't want to cross any boundaries.

As they got closer to their homes, they also reached a part of town that was dimly lit. They slowed down, Clark pulling the slightly less sober Y/N closer just to be safe.

He was glad he did, because as they tried to round a corner a man decided to test his luck and step out of the shadows with a gun pointed in their direction.

Suddenly, Y/N sobered up real quick.

Clark could see and feel the sudden jolt of cold reality for Y/N, the sobering and shock was a complete 180 from what was happening only a minute ago. Their whole mood and demeanor were almost instantly changed by the sight of the gun and they suddenly became scared and alert.

Clark instinctively pulled them tight and close to him, his body instinctually shielding them with little thought behind the action, he didn't like that his mind automatically assumed he would protect Y/N but knew it was the right thing to do regardless.

”Clark…” Y/N said, backing up slightly, gripping Clark’s arm.

Clark tried his best to calm Y/N down, by the sound of their voice he could tell they were scared and he tried his best to reassure them.

"I'm right here..."

Clark kept his grip firm around their arm while moving slightly in front of them, he couldn't stop the protective feeling towards them and the fear that took over. They were right there in front of him, the thought of anything happening to them was unthinkable for him.

“Wallet. Now. “ the man with the gun said. He was in a dark hoodie.

Y/N fumbled with their pockets. They had their wallet somewhere they swore.

Suddenly, they heard a step towards them, and the seconds slowed down into a quiet silence in time as Y/N watched the gun raise, Clark step further in front of them, and the muzzle flash.

There was a loud noise. And then silence.

“Oh my god,” Y/N breathed, horrified.

In the clearing panic, Clark didn’t seem hurt, if anything, even more angry than before.

He rushed forward, surprising the man with the gun and jerking his arm so it was pinned and he could slam the guy against the nearest wall and knock him out.

Clark's reaction came as soon as they heard the step behind them and saw the gun raise, he moved on pure instinct, all thoughts of being careful and gentle leaving his mind instantly. He moved faster than he ever had before, his anger and a sudden violent urge to protect Y/N overtaking his entire being. He slammed the man against the wall with little difficulty and knocked him out. He had become almost robotic in his movements, acting purely on instinct and adrenaline.

Y/N was shaking with panic, adrenaline, and guiltily…excitement seeing Clark move like that.

“Are…” Y/N took a shaky step forward. “Are…you okay?” they asked Clark with wide, dilated eyes. They couldn’t see a mark on him despite a deep singe on the stomach of his sweater vest. It….

The bullet should’ve gone straight into him with a mark like that…

It was straight to the gut…

How?

Clark was breathing hard, his body was trembling slightly, he was a little out of breath for now he tried his best to stay put together and not show how affected he was. The adrenaline was starting to slow down in his system and leave him feeling exhausted after the sudden jolt.

He managed to give Y/N a small smile, their concern about him was endearing to him and the realization that they must've thought the worst was a bit heartbreaking. He was relieved to be standing here with them now though, safe and unharmed, that was all that mattered.

Y/N was glad to see that Clark was unharmed. But…more importantly, confused.

“Clark…” Y/N asked with a trembling voice, “How did you do that? How are you okay?”

Clark was still breathing hard, his body was feeling weak now that the adrenaline was slowly wearing off. He decided to be honest when it came to their question.

"I'm...I'm not sure, I just...reacted and went off instinct." He replied softly, he could tell Y/N was still shaken up and he tried his best to steady his breathing and heart rate.

"Why, what did you see? Did anything happen to me?"

Y/N’s voice cracked with desperation and disbelief as they frantically stepped forward and grabbed the bottom of Clark’s vest, pulling it so he could see what they meant.

“That bullet should’ve killed you! It bounced off you like nothing!” Y/N yelped.

Clark was taken a little aback by the sudden and strong reaction from Y/N, but he couldn't blame them at all. If he was in their position he'd be freaking out also. He looked down at the vest and realized there wasn't even a scratch on the skin beneath it.

Shit.

They knew.

“Are…” Y/N behind to realize that Clark’s glasses had gotten cracked when he had shoved the attacker against the wall, and they become concerned about the glass around his eyes, they grab the broken frames and pull them away from Clark.

Suddenly, Clark becomes very familiar when he straightens up a little.

“Oh my…Oh my god you’re…” Y/N shakes, Clark panics.

Shit.

He did not want them to find out this way.

”You’re Superman!” Y/N squeaked.

Clark was startled by Y/N's realization and sudden realization. He couldn't believe they figured him out with such ease, he had been hiding his identity from them for so long, and now all of it was laid bare at this moment. He was in too deep now, Y/N already knew the truth, he was powerless to stop them from knowing that now.

Clark had thought the situation was under control, but he quickly realized it wasn't. There was no way he could spin this to make it seem like he wasn't Superman.

”I…” Y/N swallows dryly. “I have…I have so many questions.”

Y/N stepped forward, dropping the broken frames onto the snowy ground.

Clark felt dizzy. He couldn’t tell whether it was adrenaline or giddiness at Y/N being this close to him that was doing it to him.

“What’s it like?” Y/N asked, in a whispered tone.

Clark cocked his head.

Clark could feel his heart beating faster as they were now closer to him, he felt slightly overwhelmed by how close they were to him, but the words coming from their mouth were more concerning to him now.

The fact that they knew his secret, and now wanted to know more about him, Clark was panicking a little on the inside, he didn't really know what to tell them or what it would be like to talk about his identity. He could trust them, he knew that already, he just had to come to terms with the fact that they knew who he was.

Y/N’s left hand came up to reach the edge of Clark’s vest around his arm underneath his armpit, his white dress shirt was soaked and his jacket was on the ground nearby.

“I’m sorry if I’m being to forward I- I just-” Y/N stammered. “I wanted to know you before but- but now?” Y/N laughs a little breathlessly, leaning more into Clark.

“You’re incredible.”

Clark's heart started pounding faster the closer they came, Clark also felt rather hot and flushed from the heat emanating between their bodies, and the excitement from what was happening in front of him.

He smiled gently at the compliment, their admiration and affection was something so new to him, it was a lot to take in but he understood how they felt, what was he was feeling now was new and exciting for him too. He was glad they wanted to get to know him deeper and not push him away now.

“Glad this isn’t a dealbreaker for you…” he said quietly, shoulders untensing ever so slightly.

“Are you kidding?” Y/N threw their head back in disbelief. “You’re superhuman!”

The free hand that wasn’t clutching Clark’s vest came up to trace along his jaw.

“But you’re also a beautiful, and unbelievably kind man, with a lot of very simple and meaningful dreams.” Y/N said, sort of reverently.

Clark was taken aback by their praise and sudden touch, his heart was now beating out of his chest and it was taking all he had not to take advantage of the closeness and pull them into a kiss.

"You...um.." he started, but the only words that came out were those of a stumbling school kid.

"How... um..."

Clark couldn't formulate a proper word or sentence, he was in awe at what they were saying to him. They loved him, they didn't reject him. That was all that mattered to him in this moment.

Y/N just smiled at him and leaned into him. It was cold.

Snow was beginning to fall around them now.

“Clark…” Y/N started. “We should leave and get back home.” They said.

"Right, you're right..." Clark mumbled, he was also slightly annoyed that the sudden change in weather meant the night couldn't go on as long as possible.

"My apartment or yours?" He asked, he didn't really care which one they chose, he just wanted to be near them again. His mind was still racing, what had just happened was so overwhelming that it would be nice to just relax in the warmth of another person's presence as soon as possible.

Y/N’s face flushed as they realized Clark expected them to stay together for at least the rest of the night. It made them warm and fuzzy inside to think that Clark liked them.

“We can go to either, which would you prefer?” Y/N asked. They wanted to let Clark make the rest of the decisions tonight. They wanted to show that they trusted Clark still.

Clark was still slightly giddy and overwhelmed from the situation, not only was he accepted despite his secret being known, but he was also offered a choice in who's place they would stay together for the rest of tonight.

The whole situation was a first for Clark, but he didn't want to let a single moment of this opportunity go to waste. He was happy to be offered the choice, but he decided quickly which he preferred.

"I'd like to come to your place." He said softly.

“Okay,” Y/N said weakly.

It was cute to Y/N that Clark could literally take a bullet for them and still be this shy directly after. They were glad he was fine anyways.

Slowly, they led the way back to their place and made it to their front door without incident. They fumbled with their keys, small keychains dangling on their loop while they fished it out of their pocket and unlocked the front door.

It was modest, but spacious. Y/N wasn’t sure if they liked that they were probably easily readable from just their living room, let alone the rest of the apartment.

“Home sweet home,” they said, dropping their keys in a bowl by the front door and kicking off their shoes by a rack.

Clark watched as they opened the front door, once they let him inside he stepped into their home, it was impressive how they managed to fill the space with such simple details, their whole home was filled with their personality. He loved the vibe they had going on here, and for him it was refreshing to see an apartment that wasn't filled with every fancy feature a high income level could afford.

He stepped inside, removing his shoes and hanging his coat up before setting his backpack down nearby. He walked over to Y/N, not sure what to say next.

”Hi…” Y/N said quietly, as they turned around to face Clark standing closer than before, having to look up to meet his eyes.

Clark smiled slightly, his heart fluttered as their eyes locked, even if it was just a simple "hi" that was all he needed. He stepped closer to them again, leaning his body gently against theirs, he was more comfortable with their closeness now than he had been earlier.

"Hi..." he replied softly.

“What’s up?” They asked, popping the ‘p’ sound on the last word.

Their hands drifted to rest on Clark’s hips. They loved how large Clark was compared to them but they didn’t expect him to be this close to them.

Clark's heart was beating so hard and he was starting to breathe faster as their hands drifted to his hips. He had wanted to get closer to them so badly, to feel them close to him like this, and now they were right where he wanted them to be.

"Uh..." he said before the words quickly faded, he had lost most of his ability to form words and sentences at this point. All he could manage was an occasional grunt or slight noise as he leaned into their touch.

“So…” Y/N sighed. “Do you want to make some hot coco and sit down…maybe, talk about some things?” Y/N asked. There was a certain implication in his words. He wanted to know more about Clark’s real life. His Superman identity included.

Clark was almost disappointed that the invitation wasn't a direct offer to make out at this very moment, but he understood why they wanted to do something else first. He was still happy with the suggestion and was more than open to telling them the truth about himself, he was ready to trust them.

"Yeah...that sounds great!" he replied, with some more enthusiasm than before.

He loved when Y/N made the decisions and took the lead on things, it was refreshing and they seemed to do a good job of choosing an appropriate option to keep things moving forward.

Y/N shuffled away to make them both a warm cup of hot coco. Clark stood in the foyer. They were both slightly damp from the light snow. Y/N looked stunning in this lighting, low lamps and the cold city lights outside the window.

“Clark, you know you can make yourself at home, right?” Y/N teased. “If you want, you can shower and I can see if I have…anything that will fit you since your clothes are…well..” Y/N turned his head and glanced at Clark’s singed vest with a nearly bullet burned hole in its stomach. His white shirt was none the better.

Clark couldn't help but blush a little at the teasing, he was a little bit flustered in every sense with the flirting and touching now, and hearing them say they didn't mind him showering in their place sent that flustering feeling into overdrive.

"My clothes are a bit wrecked, yes." Clark replied, glancing down at the damage on his clothing.

"It could be nice to get comfortable, if I've been invited to stay the night here..." his words trailed off, but he liked where this was going.

“Sure,” Y/N tried to sound nonchalant about it despite their heart fluttering.

“The bathroom is in the hallway to the left, I’ll just knock on the door when I’ve found clothes,” Y/N mumbled the last bit. They would burn that bridge when they got to it.

Clark's chest was now feeling the heat build up as his heart raced at the implications from their words, he loved the suggestion and their subtle teasing about it. It was so unexpected, like they had his whole night planned for him, he liked it.

"That sounds good, I can shower and you can go through your closet and see what you can find, I'm sure I can fit in some of your clothes." He said, smiling at them.

”Go on then, Wonder Boy,” Y/N smiled. They were stirring milk on the stove now. Clark shuffled off in their peripherals to shower.

-

Wonder boy, he really enjoyed when they called him that, although his thoughts were of other things... Like removing his own clothes. He smiled and then started heading to the bathroom off the Hallway, not even waiting for them to confirm if it really was to his left. They were clearly paying attention and he liked that, he felt their focus on him now as he left the foyer.

During the shower, Y/N knocked on the door. The bathroom was foggy but Y/N didn’t hear a response so they turned the knob cautiously.

“Clark? I found some clothes I-I think may fit.” Y/N said, trying to speak through the warm fog. They resisted the urge to look further into anything as they placed the clothes on the counter, but they turned around and couldn’t avoid getting a fleeting glance of Clark’s shape through the silhouetting shower curtain.

Y/N blushed clear to their chest.

“I-I left them on the counter!” They yelped, heart racing, and tried to leave quickly.

Clark was just standing under the steaming hot water with one arm on the wall, he had lost track of time in there and was now only focused on his thoughts. Until he heard the knock, at which point he froze for a second. He decided to keep it simple and not say anything and let them believe he hadn't heard them.

But he did hear them, and their words made his cheeks flush even more. Hearing them call his name with such a cute tone set him on fire. He quickly exited the shower, wrapping a towel around himself before going to check the clothes.

Y/N was curled up on the couch, clothes changed and hair toweled off. They had fuzzy socks on with tiny cats printed all over them.

“Bet you're used to saving a lot of these out of trees, huh?” They said, sticking their foot out and wiggling their toes at Clark.

Two mugs sat on the coffee table in front of Y/N.

Clark stepped up the couch, looking down at the fuzzy cat socks and letting a small, playful grin form on his face as he saw their foot sticking out at him.

"That's right, I love how innocent and adorable they are, they make me want to put them in my pocket and take them home with me." He said jokingly, playing along nicely with them.

He then sat down on the couch, facing them as he took one of the mugs and took a sip.

“Is it good?” Y/N asked, grabbing their own mug.

Clark smiled around a mouthful of coco and nodded.

Y/N chuckled and took a sip of his own.

“It’s my own recipe.” Y/N said.

Clark took another sip of his cup of hot cocoa, savoring the warmth in his mouth as he swallowed the comforting flavor.

He nodded again as he swallowed. "It's delicious. I don't know what you did to make it so good, but it's absolutely phenomenal."

He took a larger sip as he continued staring at their cute fuzzy socks.

“So,” Y/N crossed their legs. “Tell me about yourself, the real you ,Clark.”

They cross their legs and sit back on the couch, facing more towards Clark.

Their eyes pierced through Clark as he drank his coco.

They fiddled with their mug nervously. The snow continued to fall outside with a soft rush.

Clark watched them shift their position to be facing him, he was enjoying this more than he'd liked to let on, he enjoyed when they wanted to know about him. And now here was a question he could answer truthfully, finally telling them the real him. He took another sip of his hot cocoa, not able to resist their piercing eyes for too long. His cheeks were still flush from the shower and the interaction they just had. He set his drink down before responding.

"You really want to know about me, huh?"

“I really like you Clark, of course I want to know about you,” Y/N said softly.

If it was possible to melt like the snow outside from a single sweet word, he would have been nothing more than a puddle now. His breath became quick and short as he smiled and sighed, this was going to be such a big step, but he wanted this, he wanted to make them happy and trust them. He looked up from their eyes to their face and smiled, his heart beating faster than before. He took a short moment to get his thoughts together before replying.

"Okay...where do you want me to start?"

“Why didn’t you tell me you were…” Y/N found themselves having trouble saying it “…Superman.” They finally said.

“And who else knows?” They asked.

He'd feared this question so much, but he would have to answer it honestly. If he wanted to make things work between them, he would have to be 100% honest about everything. The fact that they wanted to know about the "real" him meant they really did like him, and hopefully their opinion of him wouldn't change now that he was being honest with them. He breathed a sigh and took a second to prepare himself for the answer.

"Well, the only other people who know are the Justice league.And obviously, my parents." He said quietly.

”Does Louis know?” They asked. “And the Justice League? God, I forgot how terrifying your job is outside of Metropolis.”

The mention of Lois reminded him how much he cared for her, and also her reaction when she first learned his identity. He shook his head and smiled at the question about his job.

"Oh Lois knows...she knows everything about me as Clark Kent or Superman, actually, she was the one who figured it out." He said, sounding genuinely proud of her.

"And yes, the Justice League. They're basically a group of superheroes who all keep the world safe from danger and help each other out when a villain or other crisis arises."

”So this is how you get all your good information for articles, huh? Using the superhuman charisma power you have?” Y/N asked.

The truth was that Clark did not have the ability to convince most people to tell him almost anything, he didn't use his powers to get information. But it was more fun to play along, so he nodded his head as his smile turned into a mischievous grin.

"Uh yeah, exactly, everyone just wants to tell their little secrets to me. So I can hear all the juicy gossip, not that I would do anything unethical with the information though."

He said with a teasing chuckle, he liked their playful approach. He took another sip from the mug.

Clark was a terrible liar. Y/N could see right through him, but they scoffed anyways.

“Guess that’s why I find you so irresistibly charming, hm?” Y/N drawled enticingly. They moved closer to Clark on the couch.

Y/N's words sent his heart into overdrive and his mind into a daze, this was exactly what he had wanted, exactly what he had hoped to hear from them. He smiled widely as they got closer to him and he couldn't help but let his eyes trace their figure as they talked.

"Is that the reason why you find me irresistible?" He replied back in the same playful manner, not able to stop himself from leaning in just a little bit.

Y/N smiled crookedly, unabashedly. “You tell me…” they said, leaning in. Clark obviously wasn’t going to break his gentlemanly persona anymore tonight, so Y/N would have to do it for him.

Their lips brushed for a brief moment, and Y/N pulled back a hair with a noise like they’d been burned.

Then, in a surge of desperation and want, both Y/N and Clark surged forward at the same time and met in an open mouthed kiss, mugs abandoned on the coffee table.

The first brush of their lips sent a surge through him, causing him to lean forward without any thoughts or regrets. All he was thinking was how much he wanted them in his arms. Their lips soon joined and he kissed back with as much passion as he could muster, every second felt like an eternity in the best way imaginable.

Finally, it seemed like they both couldn't hold back anymore, and suddenly they were kissing furiously like no one else existed besides them. The mugs on the coffee table could wait, they never should have been there anyway.

Y/N pulled back briefly, slightly, having to use their hands on Clark’s chest to push back in his strong grip around their back that had moved there during their quick descent into madness.

“Clark-“ they breathed. “Wai- wait-” they said as Clark looked at them with eyes like a kicked puppy, kisses aiming for their mouth having ended up on the corners and sides.

Clark was not yet ready for this kiss to stop but that didn't matter to him anymore, he wanted to listen to Y/N as they pulled back. He was more than a little flustered as he looked up from their hands to face them, his heart was thumping wildly in his chest. He wanted to say something but he was having trouble gathering his thoughts.

He was so excited, and a part of him would have been happy to listen to them say something about stopping, but another part of him was worried they might say something else. He could feel the heat rising on his cheeks.

”Can we just-“ Y/N swallowed, mouth red and slightly swollen from kissing, “can we just sit here, put on a movie and kiss? I don’t want to go any further tonight. I wanna’ take it slow with you,” they pleaded.

Clark’s grasp around them became tighter. “Yes, yes, absolutely,” Clark wanted everything with them, but he could wait forever if they needed to. And honestly at heart, he didn’t want anything else tonight either. He was getting so much just from what was happening right now between them.

He loosened his grip on them slightly, as it was still a bit embarrassing for him to have acted like that, but he really couldn't help it. He had wanted it so much.

”Hold on, let me just-“ Y/N wriggled out of Clark’s grasp quickly and scurried over to the tv set, fumbling to turn on a show. A re-run of ’The Notebook’ was playing and Y/N laughed thinking about something so sappy playing behind them and their new lover making out and enjoying each other’s company less than 10 feet away.

Clark watched as Y/N’s body swayed and moved as they fiddled with the TV finally settling on something. Clark recognized it and laughed sardonically a little.

“Where were we?” Y/N said, spinning on their heels and turning to face Clark in their sweats and cat socks.

Clark's eyes couldn't help looking at all of Y/N's curves and their movements as they moved to the TV. He was enjoying all the scenery, he had to try hard not to smirk as they laughed at the TV show that was playing. The notebook was definitely a cheesy watch.

Clark laughed at the last question and got up from the sofa, moving closer to them as their bodies and faces became inches apart.

"We were kissing furiously I believe," he grinned, "and you want to keep that up?

“Yes, please-“ Y/N said, moving to straddle Clark’s lap. They halted suddenly, “Ah- but only if you want to,” they said quietly.

Clark's mouth fell open slightly as they climbed onto his lap, it was one thing to be standing near each other and kissing, but having them straddling on his lap was a whole different story. The fact that they suddenly paused and asked a question with so much hesitance had him almost melting just from the tenderness of the gesture.

He placed his hands on their hips and looked up at them with an eager smile.

"I certainly don't have any objections to that plan."

Y/N smiled.

“Good,” they ran a hand over Clark’s neck and leaned in again to kiss him sweetly while they rested on his lap.

Clark was more than happy to be in this position with Y/N, having them straddling him for a make out session was just as wonderful as he'd always imagined.

He leaned forward himself and wrapped his arms around Y/N's waist, pulling them close against him as their lips pressed together once again. His hands ran up to their back to hold them close to him, he couldn't help but let out a few moans and grunts of enjoyment as he kissed them back with equal enthusiasm.

Y/N felt Clark’s tongue brush against their lips. They opened their mouth slowly, letting Clark take the lead. The room felt nice, and they were glad they had put on an old record while Clark was in the shower.

Clark gently probed their lips with his tongue as he took the lead, he was loving every minute of this and was enjoying every second of being so close to them. Y/N's presence and their scent was intoxicating and his arms wrapped tighter around their waist as he enjoyed them more and more.

After a few moments of savoring the kiss, Clark pulled away just slightly as he was feeling a little light-headed from the heat and intimacy of it all.

Y/N felt warm for a different reason this time. They were just so content in Clark’s arms.

“Sleep in my bed tonight?” they asked with lidded eyes and a lazy smile on their face.

Clark was very grateful for this pause because he'd never felt so giddy and warm in his entire life, this had been beyond anything he could have ever thought possible.

A slight chuckle escaped him as he caught his breath, his gaze looking at Y/N with longing and amusement.

"I'd sleep on your porch if you'd let me. " He replied with a mischievous grin.

“Well then, that settles that,” Y/N laughed, a little ditsy off of the wine from dinner now that they had calmed down and a little bit from how Clark was holding them in his grip.

“Let’s go, screw the movie, I want to cuddle,” Y/N brushed a lock of hair behind Clark’s ear and kissed his forehead softly as they smiled.

With that, they both proceeded to cuddle up together on Y/Ns bed and watch the snow fall gently outside. It was warm, they were happy, and the world spun on.

➽──────────────❥

Final note: okkk thanks for reading everyone :) lmk if yall have any requests for me because i am slowly running out of ideas right now and im in a writing mood so this window will not last long sadly

[muffinsin]

Hi muffin, tis i deluded anon- just had another thought before i forget it 😅

Reader being on her period, having debilitating period pains they cant walk or move to sit up just staying in a lil ball with a new hot water bottle every half hour sobbing bc nothing helps, especially with the villages less than modern medicine.

Obviously the sisters confused as to why their little human is in more pain than they should be and try different methods of helping reader dull their pain.

-deluded anon 😁

Hope you are doing better muffin! How has ur day been?



Mixing these two again! :) What an interesting ask too!🩸🩸 Fluff and NSFW in this one y’all!

Let’s get into it! ;)

Masterlists- NEW: Masterlist 5

Bela

She’s very controlled around you, on the outside as well as on the inside. It does take a lot of effort from her, though

Bela cares so much about you, she just wants you to feel better already. It hurts her to see her little human in so much pain

Frankly, she doesn’t know what a period feels like

She possesses a vast amount of knowledge about it, coming from books and living in a castle with exclusively female staff, but she has never experienced one herself due to her nature

This being said, she can’t quite relate to your feelings, and still tries her best to help

But frankly?

You’re incredibly tempting even to her and it takes all in her not to pounce, spread your legs and lick it all up

Your blood makes her feel lightheaded, and cuddling especially proves to be difficult for her

She smells you, right there, and the scent of your blood is so much

Still, she’s your caring girlfriend and would never initiate something improper

You’re in so much pain already, she wouldn’t dare ask you for a bite from your wrist or neck at this time, no matter how the blood between your legs tempts her for a taste

Her go-to to take care of you is warmth, food, water, baths and rest

She makes sure you stay in bed and retrieves all you need for you

She is quick to deliver proper food for you, even brings you something warm to rest on your stomach when it begins aching painfully

When you want something sweet or bitter, she’s already brought it and placed it in the bowl on your nightstand

She’s incredibly observant, and with each period of yours she understands a little more and in turn helps you a little easier and better in the next one

Bela draws you many baths and ensures the duke gets you all the supplies you need

She likes to keep them on stock, just to avoid a nasty surprise of not having one when needed

Though really, that’s incredibly unlikely in a castle full of women, but still

She also has painkillers on hand, which she insists you take if they even only dull the pain for a few hours

She brings you books and papers, pencils and whatever your heart desires to keep you busy while your stomach hurts this much

Bela insists, you shouldn’t move when you’re in this much pain

And while she warns, the two of you shouldn’t cuddle too much, she still allows you to cuddle her the majority of the time

Only are her golden eyes pressed shut in concentration and one of her hand fists the sheets tightly

She’d never want to hurt you, but when you’re on your period, it feels as though holding a bone right under a dog’s nose

Somehow, she is able to refrain herself from snatching it

Sometimes, she’s able to lessen the pain…by laying her head on your stomach

You find such relaxation in it, you play with her hair and almost immediately feel and hear her purrs. The small vibrations made against your skin by them are incredible, and you’re sure they possess healing powers

They always succeed in making a lesser stomachache go away like nothing

On your period however, this proves to be especially difficult

You know how hard she’s struggling to contain herself, and aren’t sure it would end well to ask her to have her head rest on your lower stomach

It seems like bittersweet, cruel torture even to you. To bring your beloved so close to the source of the bloody smell, yet deny her a taste of it

NSFW cut

Two days pass, two days of utter agony. Bela doesn’t understand why nothing helps this time

You haven’t got a fever like she suspected. It seems to really just be period pains

She doesn’t understand why you’re in so much pain and why nothing helps at all!

Even when she rested her body on you and fell asleep purring, it was only a temporary relief to you, for the pain picked up again fast

She researches different ways to make you feel better, in hopes something will come up that can help you with the pain

Then, she finds something: a passage in a medical book, mentioning how sex can help with cramps

When she attempts to talk to you about it, she’s a flustered mess. Perhaps one of the most flustered states she has ever been in

You only catch something along cramps, sex, endorphins and orgasms in her ramblings

Alas, with the pain in your abdomen high and your girlfriend looking positively ravishing, you all too eagerly agree

Even so, Bela is a mess. She’s incredibly flustered and needy to do this while you’re bleeding

The two of you settle on something that could only be described as foolish. But you trust her

You ask her to eat you out. She’s so good with her tongue, and you yearn to feel it back on you. Aside from this, you’re curious about how it will look to have your blood fully cling to her face

When you pull down your clothing and underwear, she gulps. She smells you now, all of you. She smells your scent and takes it in greedily

It’s your turn to blush when the moment you remove the last barrier between her and your core, she inhales sharply

The gold in her eyes is only a thin ring now, and her nails dig sharply into the bed. You can see them begin to tear up the sheets already, yet when she leans forwards, her touch is soft

Her tongue laps softly, but eagerly. Fast, and steady. She moans and groans, the taste new and familiar at the same time

You realize, she’s cleaning you up first, and your cheeks burn bright pink

When she finally pushes her tongue inside, you groan loudly. You almost forgot how good she feels, and how good she makes you feel

Bela raises a shaky hand to your hip, and while her grip is tighter and stronger than normal, you don’t bruise under it

You can tell, your girlfriend is holding back with all she has. You see it in the way her shoulders tremble and her tongue laps faster than normal. You feel it in the way her warm breath hits you, fast as though she’s panting

You appreciate it endlessly. That she’s willing to do this

With every bit of pleasure she gives you, the painful ache within you lessens

You feel your own orgasm rising with her fast movements and eager licks. She works her tongue perfectly. She knows your body well, and knows how to make you cum fast

She licks and sucks eagerly, her eyes closing and her hand flexing against the sheets

She feels so close already despite having received no pleasure herself, simply from what she’s doing. Bela tries her best to ignore her body’s wish to cum

The blonde moans and hums when she licks your clit, and in turn you groan when she pushes her tongue against it

Your hands shoot down to grip strands of golden hair. Not tugging, merely keeping her in place

Not that she wishes to go anywhere, really

Your thighs tremble harshly next to her head, and your head is thrown back when she wraps her lips around you and thrusts her tongue against your clit repeatedly

She licks and sucks the little bud, moans and hums around it. Her teeth are sharp, but never graze your skin

When you finally cum, you shake and moan loudly. Your grip on her hair tightens, and through lidded eyes, you notice her cum as she licks you clean, more blood flowing freely for her

You smile even as you try to catch your breath, the stomachache gone for the moment

Still, the sight of your blood all over the lower parts of her face make you feel aroused and dizzy at the same time

She promises: she’ll wash up, then join you in bed

Cassandra

Cassandra is something of a bloodhound at times

Not only does she know you’re about to get your period even before you know, but she also knows exactly when you’re getting it

It’s a little embarrassing when she lazily points out that you’ve just gotten your period while you’re cuddling

When you quickly jump up to get to the bathroom, she whines, having had to abandon her slouching position on top of your lap

Cassandra loves your blood, really. She’s addicted to it, and begs of you to let her have a taste at least once per week, if not nearly every day

She just doesn’t want to drink you dry, either, or seriously hurt you

When you get your period, she knows your neck is off limits

She knows not to cause more pain, even if it is just a dull one or a stinging pain for a moment. You’re in pain already as it is

This might come off as a surprise, but Cassandra is the most controlled around you on your period

She’s incredibly bloodthirsty, and is therefore well accustomed to your blood in particular. She’s bloodied nearly all day, every day, from her victims too

When you get your period, she has little trouble holding back from devouring you whole

However, a different kind of trouble plagues her mind

But more of that later ;)

She tries her best to take care of you, even if when she knows painfully little about how to help you go about your period

All she knows is what she knows helped the last time

And so, she brings you plates of any food you crave, distracts you from your pain and brings you heated bottles every few hours

She sleeps by your side and holds you, she shows off new weapons to distract you from the pain

She has everything covered, except for the emotional part perhaps

Cassandra isn’t the best as it comes to dealing with emotions. When you turn out to be incredibly sensitive during your period, this leaves her a little dumbfounded

She tries her best not to trigger it, but really? She fails each time

Either you yell at her for something or someone she’s killed, or mourn them and cry for hours while Cassandra tries to gently remind you- it was just a bear, the world will keep going

She has quickly learned to immediately point out that any animal she killed did not have a family “waiting at home for them”. Not that she cares about her prey, but if the little “of course they didn’t”- phrase makes you feel better, she’ll add it

Then, there’s the other random emotions she’s unused to dealing with

Such as when she tells you of newly tortured maidens and you squeeze her hard enough for parts of her to automatically break off into a swarm, all whine claiming she’s only yours

She doesn’t quite follow, but thinks it’s adorable

To this day Cassandra has no idea how to handle your moods during your period, and seriously doubts she ever will

She just allows them to come and go. After all, it’s just one week a time of this emotional torment for the both of you

She has learned- being used as a teddy bear and purring seems to make you feel better

So, even as her face is bright pink from your constant gushing over her, she tends to rest next to or on top of you when you have your period, her vibrant purrs magical against your aching muscles and stomach

She will, however, snarl at any little remark made about this once your period passes

Cassandra insists to this day, she does not purr! It’s merely her flies buzzing contentedly, which she (to your luck) can’t control

You think it’s adorable, and an absolute must when your stomach hurts

As mentioned, while she has no trouble resisting any urge to bite into you and drink you dry, she faces a different kind or urge

Cassandra is incredibly turned on during the entirety of your period

Each menstrual cycle, you can tell your poor girlfriend is so on edge and desperate

You know, your sadist has an incredible blood kink. And a scent one. Your period mixes both, and puts her on edge constantly

Sometimes, she can’t help herself when you’re cuddling and you feel her rub up against your thigh for a moment before she manages to stop herself

She’s incredibly flustered about it and tries her best to resist it. She’s just so turned on…!

Still, Cassandra doesn’t want to approach the subject. She fears you will misunderstand. That you’ll believe she takes pleasure from seeing you in this type of pain- which she doesn’t

You’re her precious little human. Her little lamb. She doesn’t want to see you in pain. Not this type of pain, anyway

Then, a particularly awful cycle comes around. It’s clear from the first day that this one will be rougher

You’re crying in pain and whimpering at your aching stomach. You’re twisting and turning and she feels helpless

She wishes she could help you. Why must your body torment you this way?! How dare it!

As she retrieves the castle’s doctor, she only confirms that it’s your period, no fever, no sickness

It’s a pity that all she can do to help is give painkillers that do next to nothing to soothe you

Still, among the pain, you can’t help but feel excitement brooding in you too

Even as you’re in pain, you notice Cassandra’s little whimper when she cuddles you and your thigh, slotted between hers, accidentally bumps against her clit

It leads you to trying out a theory;

You always feel so good when you’re having sex- she always makes you feel so good- so why not give it a shot? Perhaps it’s enough to make you forget about your stomach pains

Cassandra, upon being proposed this idea, is immediately on board

She’s so shaky and desperate, her clit aching even long before you brush against it. She’s incredibly soaked, even if you don’t know that just yet

When she asks what you’d like, you can’t help but tease your girlfriend a little more

Her clear-as-day arousal and neediness makes for an excellent distraction

Her adorable attempts of keeping it hidden as to not burden you with it while you’re in pain prove as an excellent turn on

Cruelly, perhaps, you ask her to scissor you. And Cassandra almost sees stars

As she easily swarms out her dress, your eyes linger on her hard nipples. When she slides her underwear down her smooth legs, you see the line of arousal connecting them to her cunt for a few moments

She eagerly helps you out of your clothing and disposes of your means of protection as it comes to your period. She doesn’t want anything in the way

When she sees you, finally, and sees the blood moving from you with each breath, she feels dizzy. Never has she been this turned on

With shaky limbs she straddles you, and at the first touch of her clit against yours, she moans filthily and loud for you already

You too, notice how wet she is now. She’s absolutely soaked, and with a single brush of her cunt against you, you’re coated in her wetness as well

Her clit is aching and sensitive, and every little move makes her jolt and gasp. You’ve never seen her this on edge

As she begins to thrust her hips properly, both of you moan loudly

Her arms tremble and her hips jerk up beyond her control, yet she holds herself up and keeps pushing her hips forth and back

You’re moaning below her, her constant state of neediness having rubbed off on you, it seems

She’s panting beautifully, her face flushed

At only the first bit of blood that begins to coat her cunt, she cums

Cassandra shrieks when you only grasp her ass cheeks and have her keep moving her hips, even as she shakes from her orgasm and covers both of you in creamy cum

She doesn’t dare look down again, yet smells your blood that sticks to her privates now. It’s making her feel dizzy in the best of ways

Your clit is soon incredibly sensitive, and your thighs begin to shake when the painful ache in your stomach is replaced with a light, almost bubbly feeling

Cassandra’s head is thrown back and you see somewhat of an incredibly rare sight- tears of overstimulation flow down her beautiful, flushed cheeks

She’s never looked better, you could argue, than in this moment, when her desperation and want for you is visible

When you cum, Cassandra joins you. She’s panting and moaning. Her eyes seem almost black, her pupils large and wide so only a tiny shimmer of dark gold remains

She begs you to allow her to clean you up, and once she’s done, it takes quite some convincing to talk her into cleaning herself up as well in the bathroom

She almost insisted on leaving your blood on her just a little longer…

Daniela

Sweet Daniela has the hardest time holding back from the moment she smells your blood

At first, she is deadly worried you’re hurt

She races to you, yet upon finding you in bed, clutching your stomach and eating some of her candy, she understands

“My poor baby!”, she coos each time realization hits her, and immediately she steps closer to cuddle you

And each time she takes a step back in an instant when the scent of your blood hits her

She drinks from you often, yet tends to only take when you offer your blood to her. Now, however, she deals with a nearly overwhelming urge to taste and claim

This especially is a problem the first few times of your first period with her as your girlfriend

She doesn’t trust herself near you at all, and opts for bringing you all you need to the doorstep, then asking her sisters or commanding maids to bring the tray inside

She watches you, often, from the other end of the room, and still chats with you. She reads with you, gossips, and oh so yearns to cuddle you already

In time, the two of you come up with a plan that helps her block out the overwhelming scent of your blood

You giggle each time she tries to talk and hear her grumble loudly and complain about the stupid clip on her nose

Yes, she can’t smell you as much anymore, but she sounds silly!

Still, she supposes if it makes you laugh, it’s not all bad

She even makes silly voices to make you feel better, and whines when she can finally take off the clip and her nose is sore and red for a few minutes. She demands a few kisses in return, and practically beams happily when you grant her those without question

Daniela draws you many baths while you’re not feeling well, and you relax in each. The water temperature is perfect and the sweet scent of soap is enough to relax you

She strokes alongside your skin with her hands and makes sure to clean you up as you almost doze off in the tub with her

Additionally, Daniela loves to nap there with you. It’s certainly something comfortable, yet requires a lot of trust from her, as she is unable to swarm in the water. Trust, however, she eagerly gives you

The water soothes you, and you feel comfortable

Even your stomach aches let up once inside, and her fingers trailing along your skin as she washes you is pure heaven

Daniela loves to share her snacks with you, and the second you complain about stomach pains, she gently slips her hand underneath your top and rubs your stomach for you

She isn’t sure if it helps, but it seems to. Even if it doesn’t, her touch is comforting and the light kisses pressed to your head lull you to sleep more often than not

Daniela is a little bit of a puppy when you aren’t feeling well. She doesn’t at all want to leave your side

Even if this means having to wear nose clips around you while you’re on your period

She loves to rest her head on your thighs while she strokes your stomach, and she likes to fall asleep basking in the warmth the two of you share underneath a warm blanket

While she can’t help you with your period pains all that much, unfortunately, Daniela never fails to make your period seem shorter than it is

She not only entertains you, but makes you laugh and giggle, makes you feel comfortable and happy

She’s your ray of sunshine, even when your stomach hurts and your back aches, even when you grow sick of the blood between your legs

Now, it isn’t quite uncommon for you to feel different things than the innocent happiness or annoying pain while you’re on your period, however

Often, either before or during it, you experience quite the sexual need to have Daniela. You feel on edge and needy, eager to feel her

She’s so cute, so doting

She brings you all you want and much more

She cares so well for you

You want nothing but to reward the sweet thing. To ride her face until morning comes

Now, you know this wouldn’t be a good idea

You know, she won’t be able to control herself like that- you know, even the nose clip is a necessity. There is no way she could stay in control when you shove her pretty little face between your thighs

Ah, but the thought keeps your mind occupied so very often

When Daniela is yet again laying on top of you, her head on your chest and her thighs surrounding yours, you can’t help but think of this again

She hums tiredly when you move your thigh, and squeaks in surprise when you move it up and press it right against her clit

Assuming this is by mistake, she merely keeps cuddling you as she attempts to ignore the tempting urge to grind down against you

This changes, however, when she feels your hands slide from her upper back to her lower one, grasping her hips for a moment before you grab a handful of her round, soft ass

She hums, her golden eyes opening and finding yours immediately. You see the excitement in your lover’s eyes; the eagerness

With a nod and a thrust of your thigh against her, you let her know your intentions

She immediately moves to hover above you and you giggle at her eagerness when she quickly pulls up her dress and tugs down her panties

You follow her lead, and grin when you begin to feel her feather-light touches against your entrance

“Come here, sweet girl”, you whisper, beckoning her closer until she hovers right above your chest. With a tug to her hips, she arches her back and presents her wet cunt to you

“No tongue, use your fingers”, you warn, and she eagerly nods. You feel her remove the last barrier between her and your cunt, then gasp in surprise when she already pushes her index finger inside of you

Then, another follows, and your grip on her hips tightens. You tug, and she gasps when she feels your tongue push up against her wet slit

You moan at her taste and push your face closer to her, her sweet smell surrounding you

You feel her rub your clit, and squirm gently below her as you eat her out. You’ve missed tasting her this way, even if it’s only been a few days

And it seems Daniela shares this opinion

Her cheeks jiggle for you when she squirms, her back arches low with each flick of your tongue against her little, sensitive clit

You feel her large breasts pushed up against you, still covered by her dress, and spread your legs a little wider for her

She’s moaning loudly, and when she curls her fingers in you, both of you groan and gasp. She loves the feeling of you, and the feeling of being able to slide right inside of you

While Daniela does not share her older sister’s blood kink, she yearns to taste you just as well. She smells you, even through the clip, yet thankfully not quite overwhelmingly enough for her to lose control

When two of your fingers push into her, she shrieks in surprise at the sudden fill

You moan around her clit as you drag your tongue over it, over and over again. Your sweet girlfriend is so wet for you, it only makes you feel better in return

Too concentrated on her smell and the softness of her skin, you don’t even notice the painful ache in your lower stomach has been replaced with a comforting, all too familiar light feeling

You don’t even notice you’re getting closer to your orgasm, only notice that hers is approaching by her high pitched moans and shaky gasps

She’s the first to cum, with her cream coating first your fingers, then your lips, then your tongue

When you follow after her, she’s panting and plops down on top of you, her wet cunt smeared against your collarbone and her head resting against your upper thigh

Her fingers move out from you with a plop, and as she turns to you with a mischievous smile, you watch breathlessly as her fingers disappear in her mouth

She moans, blushes and giggles at your taste

“Exquisite, my love”