#i think I fooled myself into thinking I was truly getting better but if last nights an indication I think the hell was just I’m hiding

[mrburnsnuclearpussy]

Ngl I’m boarding on a crisis and I have to go to work where I may or may not continue to spiral but can’t do anything about it and it’s terrifying but it’s only me and manager so I feel too guilty to just take a break every time this happens plus it won’t help anyway I don’t need a break I need to be knocked unconscious where the horrors can’t get me 😢 I’m just venting to feel better coz that’s all I feel I can do rn but dw

[mechaknight-98]

Aftermath (NSFW) FT Sejeong

Authors note: had to do a bit of world building as I try to figure out what the world looks like now that I don't want to use Karina or Jiyho anymore due to the dating thing…it would be weird ya know.

"Hey, Danger can I ask you something," Seji asks me with a clear and concerned tone,

"Yeah, sure," I answer hesitantly. Sejeong smiles brightly.

"Why did you run away from me," She asks. I bite the inside of my cheek as I consider my response.

"I figured it would be better than dealing with any of the repercussions of my feelings. I have a limited time left to live and I didn't want to put anyone through the sorry of losing someone they care about. So I figured dipping before that would be a cleaner cut-off than this going too deep instead," I reply

"You coward," Sejeong teases.

"I...yeah you're right. I should have let you choose," I reply

"At least you're a reasonable coward," Seji teases further

I squint at her causing her to smile wide, "I am not a coward, nor am I reasonable," I reply. Seji beams

"Oh really and why don't you think so," Sejeon asks sternly.

"You'll see soon enough," I replied.

Three weeks later Sejeong bought my little photo studio and shop. she was okay with not paying rent as long as I became her "personal photographer", and so I went with her all on these trips and events to snap pictures of the beautiful girl, but honestly she used it as an excuse to relentlessly fuck. I would spend hours cutting angles and working on shop composition to make sure the photos were perfect, and looking at her face always led to a visceral response. I'd be hard for hours, and like clockwork, she'd come into my office give me a warm-up blowjob then have it lead right into mindblowing sex.

As I worked on photos there was a knock on the door. I assume it's Sejeong as she's the only one who comes in here typically. The door opens to a tall dark-skinned man he smiles at me with malicious intent.

“Well, I didn't think I'd ever see you again,” he says as aggression rises in his tone.

“What do you want Alistair,” I ask

“Oh remember call me AL or Tahm,” Alistair replies

“Oh well you know I'm just checking in on my favorite curse bearer. I truly thought you'd come hunting for me, but you never did. I wanted to know why, but you were hard to find. When you said I want to disappear I guess you meant it,” Alistair adds.

“Are you here to kill me, because if so I'm not going down without a fight,” I reply

“What heavens no! I'm here to give you something you want more. Freedom,” Alistair replies.

“What is the catch,” I ask.

“No catch at least this time. I can't beat the curse bearer chasing me as he is using holy relics, but you have a myriad of experience so I figured I'd make a deal,” Alistair answered.

I look at the photo on my desk of Sejeong and I, “Fine I’ll draw up the contract.” I reply

30 minutes later I procured a draft of the deal between Alistair and me. He's excited as deals are like his favorite thing to make something about the ability to bind and

Making rules that can't be broken makes him feel safe. After we sign he smiles and hands me my Maxos Cards. I look at him surprised

“Why,” I asked

“I am asking you to hunt someone using holy weapons and not give you your best tools against holy weapons. I'd be a fool, besides I have to give them back to you anyway.” Alistair replies nonchalantly. I nod and grab them.

“So where was the last reported location of this curse bearer,” I ask

"So there I was, in Minnesota of all places, following leads to my ex, Janie. The trail led me to a scene that raised my concerns: golden ichor staining the ground. I knew this was about to get more complicated. As I concealed myself, the door creaked open, accompanied by ominous sounds of groans and a knife piercing the wall.

"Step out from your hiding spot," a familiar voice demanded. I cautiously emerged, armed with my card and sword, only to face Janie.

"Dangerfield? Of course, he'd send you," Janie muttered with evident annoyance.

"What brings you here?" she interrogated, her accusatory tone emphasizing the revelation that my ex was now a full-blown witch, a fact I was still processing.

"I'm here for the holy weapon, nothing more," I asserted, my mind grappling with the revelation of Janie's newfound identity.

"And what were you promised in return?" Janie probed further.

"Freedom," I replied succinctly.

"Freedom? From whom?" Janie's disbelief was palpable.

"Alastair," I confessed, bracing myself for her reaction.

"Alastair? Did you strike a deal with him? You're unbelievable," Janie's frustration simmered.

"He promised Morrigan would leave me alone," I explained, hoping to justify my actions.

"You never think, do you? Your recklessness causes chaos for everyone," Janie scolded, her frustration evident.

"I'm only here for the weapon. Give it to me, and I'll leave," I urged, attempting to end the confrontation.

Janie's gaze hardened as she considered my request. "What if I refuse?" she challenged, prompting me to reveal my trump card - my maxos card.

Her eyes widened at the sight. "You wouldn't dare," she uttered, realizing the seriousness of my intent.

Taking a defensive stance I watched as Janie's eyes widened

With a mixture of resignation and menace, Janie relented, handing over the holy weapon. "You'll regret this, selling out a friend for your gain," she admonished.

"If I were truly betraying you, I'd have handed you over to Alastair," I retorted, stowing away the cards.

"This is why I despise dealing with your kind," Janie spat bitterly.

"Careful now, insults might provoke me to take action," I teased, though the underlying tension remained palpable.

"Pathetic," Janie scoffed, as I left her house, her warning lingering in the air.

Returning to Alastair, I handed him the weapon, cautioning him against its use.

"Why not?" he inquired, intrigued by my warning.

"It's not just holy; it's a fusion of divine and demonic energies, a result of a battle between a demon and an angel," I explained,

"so why is the blade okay with you," Alastair asked

"Because I am Fomori," I answered.

"Oh...Interesting," Alastair said. Alastair's grin widened at the revelation. "Morrigan's favored, no wonder you sought to disappear quietly," he mused, anticipating the chaos to come as he reveled in it.

"I look forward to seeing the next part of your tale," Alastair replies. "Our deal is done," He says calmly as he conjures two contracts that burn themselves up before me. I feel the burden of my curse lift and Alastair smiles.

"I look forward to the damage you will cause. That will be more interesting than anything I could ever do with such a weapon. I see it has bound itself to your soul so using it would only garner your strength." Alastair adds. I shrug at his point to which he smiles.

The next day I arrived at my office to see a pouting Sejeong

"Hey, Seji. are you ok..." Before I could finish she had me cornered in a kiss.

"I got your not but I was worried sick for you," She replied. As she she ran her arms through my body she gasped,

"You're curse-free," she exclaimed with surprise.

"Yeah," I nodded.

[jmliebert]

more Tom. i demand.

gladly.

.·:*¨TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE AS YOUR PROFESSOR ¨*:·

the most charismatic dada professor of the last decade, is the talk of the school immediately 

his presence alone demands attention

young and utterly handsome but let that not fool you, his mind is sharp, his knowledge vast and he knows how to pass it in along to his students 

well-groomed, you will never catch him off guard, calm face, dark clothes and a book in his hand (always)

strangely deep and somehow sad eyes are the only sign of his tiredness, but who wouldn’t have that look after obtaining the wicked knowledge he has?

he notices every little detail and it seems impossible to fool him so no-one even tries 

he also notices those who are gifted, his eyes are especially on them you see

forming special meetings to his favourites and you are one of them

he treats his chosen ones differently, he want to know them better, infiltrate their minds

he's sending you birthday cards, in emerald-green envelope, his handwriting neat and his wishes sincere

on one of those special meetings, while talking, discussing ideas and sipping tea Professors Riddle gaze linger on one student longer than the others, and that student is you

he’s intrigued but conflicted of course keeping you at safe distance for now

during one of his classes you answer correctly to one of the trickiest question, he gives points to your house for this one

but for you the biggest reward was Professor Riddle little smile meant just for you and brows raised in surprise 

at that moment you felt like you could fly :)

during some other dada class your exchange of views with Professor Riddle was so fiery and full of unspoken things he had to step back as not to make other student question your relationship 

after that he starts ignoring you whenever he can, he’s well-mannered towards you as always but he doesn’t engage you in his classes, doesn’t give you extra attention during meetings with his pupils, doesn't give you extra passes to restricted section

and worst of all he doesn't respond to your little verbal provocation no longer

his eyes are longing however, you can feel it and it almost burns your skin

you feel miserable because of this sudden change in his behaviour

you miss your intellectual wars, you miss books that he was reccomeendign to you, and his fingers guiding yours as you were learning a new spell...

so one cold night you muster your courage and decide to confront him in private, sneak into his chambers, your little heart flutters like crazy

when he sees you he act surprised but he's truly not

“ I shouldn’t allow myself to get this close to you”, he says flatly

but he didn't mean it, you know he didn't so you kiss him hard and for one sweet second he's kissing you back but then he stops, and now looking deep into your eyes in doubt, as if searching for something...

"don't", he says, moving away from you

suddenly you feel like you made a fool out of yourself, you start to think that all this secret looks and gentle touches were all nothing but your twisted imagination, cries of your loneliness

what did i do wrong? you keep asking yourself

but in the morning you see an enchanted flower on your bedside table with a note attached to it

"i've been thinking about you all night" is says and even without a signature you know who sent it to you

and this is how your strange game begins

it is dangerous for both of you as he is your professor and you are his student

sometimes when you doubt it all and crying in his arms he's softly whispering words of comfort to you

when it doesn't work he says he will ruing your life if you'll tell somebody or leave him, his eyes empty while saying that

you know he's bad for you but you are by his side anyway, waiting for better in him also knowing deep-inside that you are nothing without him

always cherishing this little moments when he is kind to you, when he kiss you gently and cups your face with his fingers

devouring every praise, every "I want you" from his beautiful mouth

forgetting every "you're pathetic"

loving his hands on your inner tights

feather-like kisses on your face

quick make-out sessions in between lessons "quick, we don't have much time"

and then he fuck you hard on his desk, in his classroom and it feels both wrong and soooo good

his hand on your mouth as to keep you quiet, your soft whimpers die in his palm

you learn to live in secrecy, feeding yourself with stolen moments and yearning embraces in the middle of the darkest of nights

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

 you can find more of my works about tom ♡here♡

[arlathavellan]

The Silence Left in My Wake

Fandom: ACOTAR

Pairing: (past) Rhysand x Reader, Azriel + Reader, Morrigan + Reader, Cassian + Reader

Reader: she/her, High Fae, Y/N used

Genre: Angst, fluff

Word Count: 3.6k

<<request>>

For a while, you had convinced yourself they would come for you. Cassian, Azriel, Morrigan... Rhysand. It was the one hope you held onto over the years. But fifty years is a long time to hope for something that will never happen. || The world keeps spinning when we're gone. Unfortunately for you, that means when you're finally free after over fifty years of captivity, nothing is the same. Once told you would marry the love of your life and become his Lady of Night, you come come face-to-face with your new reality, and reunite with the family you had been waiting on to save you.

The Court of Nightmares was no place to dream. You had no hopes, no freedom, no choice in the life you would live.

Then came the High Lord; Rhysand. A dark force of nature, who came into your life like a terrific storm and upended everything you thought you knew. With Rhysand, you let your walls crumble, let yourself imagine a life outside of that mountain. There were politics to navigate before he could steal you away, of course, but he assured you that one day he'd sweep you off into his City of Dreams and make you his wife, his Lady.

But The Court of Nightmares was no place to dream.

Rhysand had the perfect story to spin for your father; a proper marriage alliance with the High Lord himself. Your father was not the ambitious fool your lover took him for. He knew there would be no true alliance, that marrying you off would be no better than sending you away to never hear from you again. After all, Morrigan was at his side, and Keir was no better in his good graces for it.

Cassian and Mor both advocated for taking you anyways, but you agreed with Azriel when he argued all the ways that could end badly. As much as you wanted out of that mountain, you wanted to truly be free from it. So, Rhysand continued his painstaking negotiations, with his patience whittling down to nothing. Compromise seemed impossible between the two bull-headed fae, and you began to wonder if the end was in sight.

Then, the worst came to pass.

Amarantha, who you had been carefully hidden from upon her visit to Hewn City (one of the only things Rhysand and your father could agree on), forever changed the the course of fate in one fell swoop.

It was Azriel who had visited you that morning, half-hidden in the shadows in case your father or one of his servants entered your room. He told you of the meeting Rhysand had been invited to with the other High Lords, Amarantha hoping to “make amends” for her actions during the war. He told you of Rhysand's plans to finally take you to Velaris, father be damned, before she was made aware of your existence.

"Pack only what you need," Azriel had said. "If Rhysand doesn't make it, I will come get you myself— Mor and Cassian have been preparing for you all morning."

You had laughed, sending him off with a chaste kiss on the cheek as he melted back into the darkness, his shadows curling around the hand you’d held against his jaw.

That was the last you had heard from them. For the next fifty years, you were well and truly alone.

-----

That night, your father had stormed into your room while you were getting your bag together. Grabbing it and you, he dragged you down to the dungeons and threw you in a cell with a simple “be quiet, and stay safe.”

It wasn't often that your father came to visit you himself. His visits became more and more scarce over the first few years, until you would go years before seeing him again. He looked more haggard every time. You were so lonely that you started to miss him.

You took solace in the darkness at first, but it soon became your greatest torment. Something would move in the corner of you eye and your heart would soar, thinking maybe—just maybe—those familiar shadows had found you. Maybe you would soon be free.

The wraith servants who brought you your food were your only company, and they barely said a word. The room was smaller than your bedroom, not much more than a cell with a bed, desk, and bookcase thrown in, and the bathroom had you longing for your carved tub.

No one would tell you anything. Screaming yourself hoarse got tiring after a while, and your father remained outwardly unmoved by your tears. A dread had crept into your chest, wondering if he had discovered Rhysand's plans to take you away to Velaris. He never mentioned it, but the timing couldn't have been more suspicious. No one had come for you, not even Azriel. How had he stopped even the Shadowsinger from getting to you? Surely the High Lord and his Spymaster had access to the Hewn City dungeon.

You stopped asking questions years ago. Now, you wallow in your monotony, reading every book on your shelf by dim candle light, and occasionally letting those delivering your food know that you needed new ones. They'd always bring you more the next morning, your father's scent, fir and petrichor, faint on the covers and pages. Some nights, when the isolation grew to be too much, you'd hold onto them and cry. You never thought you'd miss the days of your childhood, of him teaching you personally from his own library. You never thought you'd miss your father.

He'd never been like Keir, never treated you the way Mor was, but you'd certainly never have called him loving. And now, he'd locked you in a heavily warded cell and refused to tell you why. You started to feel an odd kinship with the monster you knew lurked beneath the stone, trapped here as you were, only seeing someone when it was time to be fed.

Time blurred together. How long had it been since Rhysand had promised to marry you, since Mor promised a shopping trip, Cassian promised to train you, and Azriel promised to make sure you made it to Velaris? Why had no one come for you?

"Who?" you ask, voice shaking as you sit up in your bed. "Why did you do this to me?"

Then, you’re woken one morning to some answers from your father.

"I'm sorry," he says, sitting on the edge of the mattress with his back to you. "I couldn't let them find you. They would have torn you to pieces just to hurt him."

A tense silence falls on the room. "Amarantha trapped the courts Under the Mountain. Rhysand stood at her side for fifty years, and his Inner Circle were unreachable."

Your heart plummets in your chest at his admission.

"I told Keir you were gone, that they had taken you before they disappeared," he continues, voice oddly soft. "I couldn't reach his daughter or the Spymaster, or even that damned General to take you away from here. He told Amarantha about you, wanting to get in her good graces, and she had that damn Attor tear the manor apart looking for you."

He runs a hand down the wall your headboard is against, and you get a peek at new scars across his skin as his sleeve falls at the motion. "This cell is warded heavily. If Rhysand knew you were in here, he was good at hiding it. But Keir kept sending his Darkbringers to check every so often, either hoping to catch me off-guard or just remind me of where I stand. This was the only place I could think of that even they wouldn’t search."

"What happened?" You finally ask. "Why tell me now?"

"Feyre Cursebreaker," he says with a resigned tone. "High Lady of the Night Court, and Rhysand's mate. She defeated Amarantha, and now we’re preparing for war with Hybern."

Nausea rises in your throat. Out of everything he said, Amarantha, Keir, war—one fact continues to ring in your head. "His mate."

“I’ve tried to get into contact with them since they reemerged, but they’ve refuse to hear me.” He looks back at you, and you wonder if his gaze has always looked so empty. “If Keir knows you are alive, he will kill us both. The High Lord’s lackeys are the only ones who can get you out safely.”

The stress of your situation settles heavily on your shoulders. “So I’m stuck here. Is that what this is leading up to?”

You watch his brows pinch as he considers for a long moment. With a weary sigh, he stands from your bed. “I’ll bring some stationery.”

He drags a heavy hand down his face, but makes no move to deny it.

“Let me write a letter,” you say. “They may not listen to you, but I may have more luck.”

-----

News of the war ending comes long before any response. A letter a month for three months, before they start getting sent back. Perhaps that in itself is a response. The first time he brings a letter back, you let yourself break down. It had been years since you had any hope hopes to crush, but you had let yourself imagine for a moment that it could all be over.

What was even waiting for you out there, now? Your future had been stolen from you the moment the High Lords put their trust in Amarantha, the moment Keir turned his gaze your way. Perhaps it was always supposed to happen like this, with you alone in the end and Rhysand with his mate and High Lady.

In the end, it's Keir who lets it slip and hands you the key to your freedom. Keir, whose mouth works faster than his brain, who looks for any opportunity to hurt his daughter. Keir who sneers, asking how Rhysand’s Hewn City pet felt about being pushed aside for Feyre Archeron.

And it's that daughter who finds you. Holed up in your cell, sitting on your bed and reading anything you can find to take your mind off of your eternal solitude.

It scares you, the way she throws the door open. Her eyes are wide, breath ragged, as if she'd run all the way down to the dungeon instead of the simple winnow she'd more likely done. You hold her gaze, eyes burning as the silent disbelief stretches between you. Setting your book down carefully, you stand from the bed slowly, as if moving too quickly would make her disappear. She stumbles forward, and you find yourself meeting her halfway as her arms wrap around you almost too tightly.

"I thought he was lying," she says, voice shaking. "I wanted him to be lying. I wanted to go back up there and tear his tongue from his lying mouth and—"

"I'm so sorry, Mor," you manage, squeezing her just as tightly.

"Rhys said you were dead, Y/N," she presses. "Your father—"

"Has been trying to tell you all."

A sob chokes its way through her throat, and you're soon joining her. You hear her try to ask more questions, most starting with why, but she seems to find the answers herself before she even gets them out.

"I'm so sorry, Mor," you repeat.

Your reunion doesn't last in peace much longer.

"We have to tell them," she says, face buried in your neck. "Cassian, Azriel— fuck, Y/N, we had a funeral for you. There's a bird bath in the garden with your name carved into it, we thought you were dead. Cauldron, we were just down here, how did we not…"

Pulling from her, you wipe your damp face with your sleeve. She doesn't let you go too far, an arm still wrapped firmly around your waist as she dabs at her own watery eyes.

"I'm getting you out of here." The words you wanted to hear all these years, feeling like a dagger to the heart.

"Mor," you sigh. "I don't know if I can go to Velaris anymore. It's been so long, but I don't know if I can stand in front of him and his mate and say I'm happy for him without breaking."

She cradles your cheek with her free hand, resolute. "Azriel should have taken you with him. He's regretted it every day, leaving you here. We won't make that mistake again. I have a place you can stay at, at least until you figure out what you want to do. But, please, don't ask me to leave you here."

Hesitation grips you tight, the fear of opening your heart up to hope once more. But the look in her brown eyes, her hands warm against your cheeks, has you nodding. "Okay. I'll go."

Her lips smash against your forehead, and you wonder idly if she left a smear of red behind as she pulls away to start grabbing your belongings.

The first time she winnows you into a forest, you cry. Maybe a single tear rolling down your cheek would have felt more poetic, but you're left with the embarrassing kind of chest-shaking sobs.

"It's okay," she murmurs, rubbing your back. "There's going to be a lot of that. Just let it out when it hits you."

Her attempts at lightening the mood are mostly successful, but a lingering dread persists in your gut as you get closer to Velaris. You trust Mor not to drag you there against your will, but there was nothing your mind was better at than exploring worst-case scenarios. The journey thankfully passes without incident, and as you set your bag down on her living room floor you find yourself buzzing with some kind of anticipation.

"Tell them." The sound of your voice has her head snapping to you, eyes wide. "I need a bath first, but… tell them. I can't ask you to lie for me, not to them."

Mor shows you to your room, and you do indeed take your bath. Feeling a little greedy with the hot water, you soak and scrub a little more than usual as you watch the trees outside the window.

A pained expression crosses her face as she takes you into her arms once more. As you wrap yourself around her in turn, you wonder the last time you've ever been held this much in your eighty-odd years.

"Take your bath," she says, voice soft. "There are very few things they'd drop to be here."

How did you ever survive inside of a mountain, never knowing the world outside? Would you survive if you were ever made to go back?

-----

You help Mor set the table. Adjusting plates to hide your shaking hands, rearranging silverware to keep your mind occupied. Eventually, she perks up with a shaking breath.

“Cas and Az are on their way,” she says, slowly sinking into her chair. Relief and disappointment grapple for control at the sound of the short list. The look she gives you does nothing to help.

“Feyre just… had a baby. She and Rhys won’t be leaving Velaris if they can help it.” A baby.

You manage a smile, as painful as it is genuine. “Tell them I understand, please. And that I’m happy for them.”

Her hands reach out across the table, taking yours and rubbing circles into your scrubbed-sore skin. “I’m so sorry this is how things happened. If we knew you were in there—”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything,” you interrupt. “Not really. But I’m out now.”

Squeezing her hands in reassurance, you watch her expression crumble. Desperate to change the conversation, a thought comes to you.

“Could we… eat outside?” Her head lifts at your words, eyes widening slightly. “I saw a table on the patio out back, and as lovely as your home is I don’t think I’ve gotten enough of… outside.”

She laughs, something happy and sad all at once as your words seep in. “Yeah. Yeah, we can eat outside. It’s nice out, anyways. Staying in would be a waste of a perfectly good sunset.”

And just like that, you once again busy yourself with setting the table. This time, however, your guests arrive before you can readjust the silverware. They sound like thunder as they near the patio, their wings covering you in momentary darkness. Then, a literal darkness as Azriel’s shadows swirl around you in a miniature tornado, checking for themselves that you’re you, and you’re alright.

“What the fuck,” Cassian begins, as eloquent as ever.

Mor comes behind you as you turn towards them, placing a grounding hand against the small of your back.

There’s a moment of stunned silence, no one knowing quite where to begin, before Cassian rushes in as he does best and sweeps you off your feet. You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of your throat, holding him tightly as he swings you around. What feels like a sentient breeze plays with your hair and caresses your cheek, and you find yourself in another pair of arms as soon as your feet hit the ground.

Unspoken words hang heavy as Azriel carefully lowers you back onto the floor. From the lack of questions, you can deduce that Mor had filled them in as much as she could before their arrival. This wasn’t to be an interrogation.

“Who’s hungry?” She asks, pulling out a chair.

-----

Dinner is significantly less awkward than you had feared. Cassian and Morrigan do most of the talking, and a familiar darkness curls comfortingly around your leg whenever it feels you drifting someplace less pleasant.

“I think you’ll like Nesta,�� Cassian says. “She can be a viper, but only if you’re trying to piss her off.”

You laugh as you push what’s left of your food around. “I hear she’s quite the reader. We’ll have some common ground at least.”

Mor’s breath hitches and you feel the shadows at your feet twitch in apprehension, but Cassian takes it in stride with a booming laugh. “Cauldron, I’d like to see that. Maybe you could expand each other’s horizons, start a book club.”

The topic dances around what you’re all trying to avoid; the one you’d been waiting to save you for over fifty years. Your head is spinning a bit from all the talking and laughing, but you fear if you send them home you’ll never see them again.

“Do you want to come to Velaris?” Azriel’s voice startles you so badly you nearly don’t even register the question.

“Az,” Mor hisses, all her delicate conversation work thrown out with one question.

You look at him as you consider your answer, and find he has no expectations written on his face. It’s not a probing question, no demand for a response. Just a friend asking where you stand.

“Eventually,” you say, voice quiet. “Maybe not yet.”

He nods, unwilling to press further, and motions for Cassian to continue.

“Not like we’d mind coming out here to visit,” the General says, barely missing a step. “Mor never lets us come around, now she can’t turn us away.”

She laughs, brushing off the earlier upset. “If I want to spend time with you all, I can do it at one of our, what is it, four houses in the city?”

The two continued their lighthearted bickering as you all finished up dinner, acting as if no time had passed. While you had time to mourn your lost future as Rhysand’s wife, you had truly missed the friendships that had been taken from you. Right on cue, as the dark thoughts began to creep in, you were pulled back out. This time not by the shadows lazing about your ankles, but their master himself, his warm hand covering yours on the table. His gaze is soft when you look at him, more vulnerable than you’re used to seeing him.

Mor’s words from earlier swim in your head. ‘He’s regretted it every day, leaving you here.’

Turning your hand over, you squeeze his back with a smile. “It seems we all have some catching up to do.”

“I can go into the city tomorrow and get some stuff for your room,” Mor says, clapping her hands together and drawing your attention. “This place is mine alone, so it’s home for as long as you’ll have it.”

All the laughing, smiling, and talking is starting to make your face hurt, but you can’t seem to stop. “Make sure you stop by a market. I’ve been craving blackberry pie for the last thirty-odd years, and I might just have to make it myself.”

Azriel squeezes your hand. “Elain can make one. I think she’d like to meet you.”

“She needs more friends,” Cassian says. “She might even wander off and turn that weed patch over there into a garden.”

“Hey!” Mor laughs. “Those aren’t weeds, they’re the natural flora of the area!”

You shrug. “They’re pretty to me. But I wouldn’t mind some flowers.”

The blonde smiles with a roll of her shining eyes. “Fine, she can plant some flowers.”

“Pushover!” Cassian shouts with a barking laugh.

In the morning, you’ll wonder if dinner even happened. If you were really free, if Mor, Cas, and Az were really here, wrapping arms and hands around you like the past fifty years had been a bad dream. You’ll lay there thinking about the future, about the one person you had been longing to see most who hadn’t been there at all. You’ll think about how to move forward, how to build a new life, and how to find your place in lives already built. You'll wonder why no one responded to your father, what had happened to your letters, why no one seemed to notice a cell in the dungeons being used for fifty years. Why Rhysand told them you were dead.

But for now, you think only of the people who are there, who are keeping your thoughts light and your glass full. No matter what happens, you know you’ll be able to keep walking forward, in whatever direction that may be in. So for tonight, you let those worries sit in the corner of your mind for another time.

[roznnreads]

Chosen not Fated Chapter 4

Eris x Fem!Reader

Tags: marriage of convenience, rhysand slander, depression, suicidal ideation, slow burn, fake dating

Summary: Tired of a life in the shadow among the inner circle, Rhysand’s younger sister decides to take her life into her own hands and makes a desperate grab for power.

Chapter Summary: Eris and Reader decide on a deal to make their lives better, working towards a common goal

a/n:  So here might be the place for me to say i hate the soulmate trope in general, like there is no sense of choice in the characters and I love the dynamic of characters choosing to be with another, and I thought it might be interesting for a world where mates are meant to be rare but still exist (although for the books plot everyone gets a mate) why would anyone try to fall in love with anyone else, you can live for centuries, the chance of finding your mate is higher than a human lifespan.

last part, next part

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“You can drop the act, your making a fool of yourself”

“I don’t understand what you mean Eris?” I say feigning ignorance.

“Don’t take me for an idiot, I know your not interested in a romance my dear”

“How do you know what I am interested in Eris” the annoyance dripping from my mouth. 

“Then tell me, what do you wish” said Eris cruelly 

“I don’t wish, I need power,” I said

“Then why didn’t you say so my dear,” he said, but he was not loosening his grip on me.

“Why don’t you let me go, and we can discuss this like the mature adults we are” I smile at him, he laughs, short and cruel. 

“If that's what you want, that is what you get” he said

“Then you’ll give me an out”  say delight escaping my lips

“Define out” he said

“You want me to spell it out I want out of here, this palace” I say

“And you think I can grant it” He said, his tone was low

“I know you can, and I know you want something as well, I can help you”

“You don’t know that” he sneered

“What do you want then, and I shall know” I retort, Eris leans even closer to me, in almost a whisper he says “to be high lord”. 

I scoff, “That’s all, I can do that all you want is power, we are similar in our goals”, 

“Then we shall join in a common goal, be my wife” His grip loosens on my arms, leaning his head back to still an improper distance.

“Cauldron Eris, what a way to propose, why not take me on a date first”

“With you as my wife, you can have all the power you want, I will give you what you need, you’ll never be in want, and when you agree, you will help me become the high lord”

He is playing to my greed, I’ve admitted my deepest wants to this man, wants I barely admit to myself. I know he wants an answer now, I can’t deflect, the look in his eye betrays his facial expression, his wants are obvious. 

“Fine” I say, looking him in the eye, “I expect a proper courting, if you want my court to believe the farce is real”

“Nothing but the best for you” He said, a phrase seeming romantic poisoned by his tone. “And what of your mate, it seems like the night Court has nothing but luck in finding that rare connection, I don’t want to end up like a certain Lord of Spring”, Eris said 

“There is no need for worry, my mate is, he… he is no longer here”, I say “He won’t be an issue anymore”

Realization floods Eris’ face “that man, the one during the war, that was him wasn’t he” my silence answers his question “I am truly sorry”.

“It was centuries ago, you didn’t kill him, but you should have left me as I was” I say dismissively. 

“I saved your life, you should be grateful” Eris said raising his tone

“I didn’t want to be saved!” I yell back, a heavy tightness filled in my chest I take a deep breath in “Forget it, what am I to expect from being a wife to you” sensing my discomfort he said “Well, you’d be expected to act in a proper fashion, although I won’t judge you if you take a lover or two, others might so a word of warning if you do, I’ll stay loyal if you were wondering, a bastard isn’t going to help me for being the High Lord” Eris stated like he was going off a list he had gone over in his head a thousand times. 

“Then I should warn you, as soon as we go out there, make what this is public, my family will try to harm you, threaten you. You cannot give in, you must not give in” I say deathly seriously. 

He smirks,“Deal, How ‘bout round 2” he presents his hand as he takes a step away from me maintaining the guise of propriety.

We dance for hours, Although it feels as though my feet have been bled raw from the motions. Our faces, close enough to kiss, one hand low on my hip the other high up on my back, this performance is different from any I’ve performed before, they used to be about malice and distrust, this was… freeing, the dance felt right, Eris felt right, Dancing with Eris felt perfect, we understood each other, Eris took the lead in the beginning, then I took over, It was seamless switch, making the performance look even more believable. 

As the ball starts to wind down, I break free from Eris’s hold. 

“That was a nice first date, until we meet again Eris,” I say, he leans down and kisses my hand, not looking away from my eyes.

“I will come for you soon, dear”, and we split, I returned to the dias I left hours ago and he winnowing away back to his Court. 

“Your High Lord wishes to speak to you”, said Azriel. Ah I see. Your High Lord, a reminder of where my loyalty is supposed to lie, all formal, I’m in trouble, but I can’t find a reason to care. 

~

“What do you think you were doing”, said Rhysand cooly

“And to what are referring to Rhys” 

“You know exactly what I am referring to, your dancing with the enemy”

“And here I thought that you and Eris were on the same side”

“Not if he is flirting with my little sister”

“I’m not a child anymore Rhys, I can do what I want”

“I want to keep you safe”

“Safe from what, you can’t keep me in this court forever”

“I want what is best for you”

“Then trust me to make my own decisions, I know what I am doing, I know the ramifications of my actions. It was just a dance, there was nothing to it”

He laughs “Just a dance, you dance once, disappear for a few minutes with him, then dance for the rest of the evening. I think that is more than a just a dance” he pauses for a moment “we could use this, if you could seduce him”

“No. Enough. I won’t do that, I won’t be your pawn in the game of politics.” I say, turning my back to him,  leaving the room, I am not dismissed, this is a slight to Rhys power.

I am getting tired of the showboating my brother does even when there is no court dignitary or audience for him but friends. The hierarchy of the Inner Circle is tiring, every one of them vying for the High Lords attention, for his admiration. Everything is a show but I am tired of this farce, and I need a new one. 

[bloodynectarine]

I could just eat you up

Asmo decides that there's no better way to boost your self-esteem than to aggressively make out with you for an hour. Or two.

tags. asmo x mc, dominant asmo, gender-neutral mc, insecure mc, body worshiping, nsfw (mostly kissing but undeniably horny), mdni.

notes. i think that asmo is the type of guy (demon) that would get really hurt if you feel insecure about the way you look. it's my first time writing something that goes beyond hand-holding, but it had to be done, i want more dom asmo out in the universe.

“You can never go wrong with a clear lip gloss.”

“I don't know, gloss makes my lips feel kind of sticky.”

Asmo let's out a tiny whine of disagreement, but his hand is steady as he puts the aforementioned gloss in your lips, carefully, with ease.

So close to him, you get a first row seat to the orange of his eyes that borderlines gold at times, and you're so transfixed by the way the color moves and changes that you stop your complaints and let him do whatever he wants. You promised to be “his pretty little doll” for today, after all.

“This isn't human-world gloss, silly. You'll hardly notice it's there, promise... Aaaaaand done. What do you think?”

Satisfaction is such a pretty look on Asmo, that's what you think, when you catch his reflection in the mirror of his vanity, the one you're sitting in front of, while he stands next to you, a hand on his hip.

The contentment in his face is reward enough for the weekly four and a half hours he likes to spend dolling you up. Your “Asmo Time”, and everyone in the House of Lamentation knows better than to try to interrupt your Asmo Time —the only one that keeps trying from time to time is Mammon, but that's just how Mammon is (endearingly persistent)—.

From skincare, to hair, to makeup: he has paid attention to every single detail. It still amazes you how much joy Asmo gets out of taking care of you, how he seems to never get tired of it.

And even if it'll never be as fun for you as it is for Asmo (who seems to love looking at you almost as much as he enjoys looking at himself), you can't deny that you enjoy his attention and company immensely.

Asmo, who never runs out of things to talk about, that listens attentively and laughs at your multiple stories, remembering even the tiniest of details. (So much so that you're sure that if you were to insist one more time, today would be the last day he puts gloss on you. But he's right, this demon-world-gloss is truly great, you barely feel it against your lips).

Your Asmo Time is precious to you, it really is. And yet, by the end of it, you find yourself unable to look at your reflection. Every single time.

“You are truly the best at what you do, Asmo” you say cheerfully, after looking at yourself in the mirror for exactly 0.5 seconds, enough to notice that the glitter eyeshadow is pretty, but not long enough to really look at yourself. You can't. Not now, not ever.

“The best at what I do, and what's that, mh? Being the prettiest brother? Oh, love, I already know I'm the best at that” and while his voice carries the same flirty and flippant tone as always, when you make eye contact through the mirror, he looks way less cheerful, thoughtful. You can feel the change in the air, and silence settles between the two of you, while he continues to assess you through the reflection, playing with your hair.

Well, you might have been able to fool any other of the seven siblings for a bit longer, but this is Asmo we're talking about.

Now, you're wondering how to put it. (“It's not your fault, Asmo. The makeup is great, I'm sure, I just don't like looking at myself!! No big deal though, don't worry, haha” doesn't sound too good). It will have to do for now though, you'd hate it if he thought you didn't like the makeup. Or worse, you realize, he might think you do not enjoy your Asmo Time.

With urgency, you decide to start. “Hey, Asmo, it's not--.”

It's probably for the best that you don't get to go on, with Asmo's lips stealing the words right out of your mouth. Kissing with Asmo is a common occurrence, with his preferred form of greeting being a peck against your lips. However, you can tell this is different.

The little gasp you let out is a natural reaction to the softness of his lips against yours, so sudden and yet welcomed, pressing right back.

Ripe peach, with a hint of something earthy, almost like the smell of morning dew, hits your nose, and you recognize it right away as the smell of Asmo's skin that you've noticed before, but never this close. Never this inebriating.

The hand that was playing with your hair just seconds ago scratches against your scalp, making you hum against his mouth and straighten your back. It travels down until he's holding your nape, an anchor in the middle of the storm, angling your head just so he can meet your lips even more full-on.

The way he licks into your mouth is so full of intent, of purpose, leaving no room for doubt or what ifs, the message loud and clear: Want. Desire.

When he flattens his tongue against yours, more than hearing him, you can feel him groan against you, and the sensation travels from your lips and sits in your chest, making you tremble in return.

The chair scrapes against the floor with the force he uses to press you against it, and your heart leaps, thinking for a fraction of a second that you are going to fall. Your hands reach out to hold his neck, his chest.

Overwhelmed as you are, you've failed to notice that Asmo is already holding the chair. He laughs, but it's far from the playful sound you're used to. It's breathless, so much so that you can barely hear it.

When he sucks your tongue and starts to pull back, you half-open your eyes and whine, loud and clear in the middle of his room, missing his taste. You gasp when you find him already looking at you, with half-lidded eyes. They're almost cherry red.

The hand in your nape travels to hold your face, pulling from your lower lip with his thumb, making sure you keep your mouth open as he resumes kissing you, sucking and biting into your mouth. Full of greed, of hunger, of lust.

You spend an eternity and a half like that, gasping for air whenever your lips grow apart, but chasing his mouth with even more urgency. While Asmo's hands keep you steady, yours press against his chest, run through his hair, and pull whenever you want more.

Everything about him is pleasant to the touch. When he parts from your lips for good, it leaves you reeling, trying your best to catch your breath.

You feel him move behind you and push the chair until your hands lay against the vanity, just to hold something, still trying to make sense of how kissing could feel that good. You almost want to reprimand him for using his sin against you, but when you lick your lips you can only taste Asmo, not a single drop of magic.

And that means that the pleasure that coils in your gut is all yours.

“Darling”, and you raise your eyes just to make eye contact through the mirror. He's holding your shoulders, bending down to whisper against your ear. You start to turn, attempting to see him face to face.

“No”, his hand holds your chin, keeping you in place, “Look at yourself.”

And so, out of sorts, you do.

He has made a mess out of you. Your hair is sticking in all kind of directions, your lips as red as they could get. Your eyes shine, and glow. You look close to tears.

Mortification stars to crawl in your skin. You are a wreck, you are--

“What's there not to adore about you?”

At the breathless voice, you lock eyes with Asmo once again. And you take a sudden intake of air, startled by the look in his eyes.

He is transfixed. His eyes travel across your face, and he looks absolutely mesmerized, completely lost.

You feel and see him as he turns and licks your ear, but when you whimper and jump at the jolt of pleasure, you aren't too sure if it's in response to the press of his teeth against your earlobe or to the phantom touch his eyes leave on your skin.

“Asmo, I--”

“You are absolutely perfect”, he goes on, and his hands shift down, with one gripping your neck, and even without pressing, its touch brands you, it feels like hot coal against your skin.

The other one goes even lower and cups your chest, making you moan as he starts to caress your nipple through the thin layer of cloth. Your face reddens when you realize he's still watching you. He looks so hungry.

“From head, to toe. There's nothing that I don't love about you, darling”, he groans, right against your ear, his hand still pressing and pulling from your nip as you grasp into the vanity, whimpering, unable to close your eyes.

When he starts to lick against your neck, your head tilts to give him more space. At his mercy, he bites and sucks, groaning against your skin. “What should I do, to make you understand?”, as if rewarding your submissiveness, he lets go of your neck, and his hand goes down instead.

You don't recognize the noise you let out when you feel his nails scratch against your jeans, right on top of your crotch. An up and down movement, small motions that manage to be too little and too much at the same time, your legs spasming at the pleasure. You sob, and you can feel a tear or two getting stuck in your lashes, overstimulated.

“Should I fuck it into you?”, is the growl that rumbles against your neck, gruff, and it takes you a second to recognize this voice as Asmo's.

“If I make you cry, if I fill you up to the brim. Would that help you get it into your pretty little head? How utterly gorgeous you are, how much I want you?”, his palm presses down and makes you keen.

A flick of his wrist and you can hear the door locking. His smile is almost angelic when he looks back at you, and in your muddled mind, your only coherent thought is that the two of you are going to be very late for dinner.

“It can't hurt to try, right, my love?”

ao3 ― writing tag

[mxlktxa]

ᴛᴀɪɴᴛᴇᴅ ʟᴏᴠᴇ

ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ!ᴀᴜ, ᴄᴏʟʟᴇɢᴇ!ᴀᴜ

ᴀʙʙʏ ᴀɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴏɴ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ; ᴀʙʙʏ ᴀɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴏɴ, ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ*

ᴄᴡ; ꜱᴛʀᴏɴɢ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, 18+ ᴍᴅɴɪ, ᴀʙʙʏ ɪꜱ ꜱᴜᴘᴘᴏꜱᴇᴅ ᴘᴏʀᴛʀᴀʏᴇᴅ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴅɪᴄᴋʜᴇᴀᴅ, ʙʟᴀᴄᴋᴍᴀɪʟɪɴɢ, ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴄᴀʟ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴀꜱꜱᴀᴜʟᴛ, ᴘᴇᴛ ɴᴀᴍᴇꜱ (ᴅᴏʟʟ, ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱꜱ, ᴇᴛᴄ.)

ᴡᴄ; 1.7ᴋ, 9.0ᴋ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ

ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴡᴇɴᴛ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴘᴛ1?? ʜᴇʀᴇꜱ ᴘᴛ2

an; im thinking of changing the title so if it does please dont be upset (im very indecisive)

‘You’re the prettiest little thing I’ve seen at this party tonight.’

That was all it took. All it took for me to have my confidence immensely boosted, for me to get in my head and act like I was hot shit, for me to feel lusted over and pursued.

All it took for me to become a hot topic that everyone poked fun at and tease.

Abigail Anderson. Probably the ‘hottest athlete to walk this college campus. She got whatever she wanted, was always the top athlete, and was always known to play girls all the time and end up embarrassing them somehow.

I always tried to avoid people since middle school. Always avoided huge crowds, never really went out, never posted on social media, and never really seen with anyone else. I was labeled ‘the cute yet weird loner’ which always sounded so stupid, of course. But I was always left alone so maybe it wasn’t all that bad, I guess.

Last night, I decided to go to some stupid frat party. I was all dolled up, dressed ‘slutty’ enough to be hit on but never actually pursued. It was nice to be out and about and letting loose— just barely for me—, I got to take some pictures, and somewhat meet new people. I kinda enjoyed myself.

I was getting drinks like crazy, keeping my ‘cute yet weird loner’ composure up until Abby made her presence known to anyone attending. She was so confident and loud, so outgoing and cocky. I couldn’t tear my eyes off of her. The way she presented herself was just so attractive and I hated myself for even thinking about her hands being all over me. Eye contact was strong between us the entire night, small advances being made over time.

“You’ve been looking at me all night, gorgeous. You got anything you wanna tell me?”

My head whipped around to look up to Anderson, heart racing and heat rising in my face, “N-no. I’m sorry, I just… you’re very out there.”

“Is that a good or bad thing?”

“It… It depends on who I’m looking at.”

“I hope it's good for me then.”

My mind was fuzzy with thoughts of Abby’s head between my thighs, eating me out as she ran her hands all along my body and moaned into me. I had subconsciously bit my lip, causing Abby to chuckle and look me up and down like crazy, very clearly stopping to stare at my cleavage every now and again.

“Come get a drink with me.”

“Oh, I-I can’t. I’ve reached my limit for tonight. I should be getting home anyway. I’m sorry,” I shook my head, holding my hand up between us, “maybe if I’m ever out again, I’ll wait until I see you.”

“What if I never see you again?” her question should’ve punched me harder in the face, warning me that anything else she said would have no true meaning to it, “you’re the prettiest little thing I’ve seen at this party tonight.”

I stared up at her, grinning like a fool while she grasped my wrist to pull me into her. I giggled, looking her up and down, running my other hand along her muscles. Abby smirked so villain-like, yet I was too drunk and too stupid to see it that way. I truly thought she had wanted me. I should’ve known better. It’s fucking Abby Anderson for fuck's sake.

Just imagine. You’re having the time of your life, sleeping with someone you knew wasn’t a very good person yet while being with them alone, they seem like a wonderful person, so truly sweet. They’re perfect, aren’t they? Now imagine that same person going out of their way to embarrass you, having taken such crude photos and sending them to anyone who cares to see. Telling you that if you disrespect them in any way shape or form, they would send out a video that you had no idea they’d recorded while being so intimate and caring.

Abby had all power over me. If she wanted or needed something, she’d get it. I tried to hide from her, keeping a low-profile dress in baggy clothing, skipping classes, and going as far as walking with random groups of people so she wouldn’t single me out. On the days she couldn’t find me, she’d be at my dorm, waiting for me outside.

“Where’ve you been, doll?”

“I don’t wanna talk Abby. I’m busy and need to study.”

“Like hell you do. I need a favor.”

“Abby, please.”

“Do you want everyone to see how well I treated you the other night?” she turned aggressively, gripping my arm so tightly that I reacted without thinking twice.

I struck Abby Anderson in. The. Face.

She stared me down, holding eye contact with me before scoffing, “Oh, you wanna fucking play smart, huh?"

"Abby, no, wait. I'm sorry. I-it was a reflex, I swear, I meant nothing by it!" I whimpered, not because I was scared, but because she was gripping me so tight that I couldn't even imagine how bad the bruise was gonna be.

"Open your door."

"Abby, please, I-"

"Open the damn door!" she huffed through gritted teeth and pushed me to face the door. Let's just say that she ended up getting more to blackmail me. How fucking fantastic.

Now here I sat, in the campus bathroom, sitting in the stall and bawling my eyes out. I wasn't even sure I would have any tears left in about two minutes. Abby had complete control over my life and her attitude lately had been so confusing and frustrating. One second, she would seem as though she felt bad about how she was treating me then the next just completely throw that feeling out the window and make me comply with anything she asked for.

"I know you're in here, gorgeous. C'mon out," her voice bounced off the walls, echoing for just a second. I could hear her footsteps all of them slow and steady, as if I were gonna jump out and attack her. If I hadn't known any better or just decided to end up in the hospital, I would've tried it a while back. Instead, I just rolled my eyes and carefully came out of the stall I was in.

Abby leaned against the sink, looking me up and down for what felt like years. Uncomfortably, I shifted, trying to cover my chest with the jacket I had on as I was wearing a V-neck halter top. Something she demanded I wore just for her. Abby came closer, hand coming up to lift my chin, our eyes only meeting for a moment before I brushed her hand away, immediately regretting it.

"What's the matter, princess? You love it when I do that," Abby chuckled, pulling me so she could place her hands around my waist to grip my ass. I stared down at the floor between us, shaking my head. Her hand lifted my chin up, thumb wiping away my tears.

"What do you want, Abigail?" I muttered as low as I possibly could, hating that I even had to ask her such a thing.

"I just wanted to see my pretty girl. Ask her if she wanted to come to a party with me."

"I don't wanna go out. I just... I'm tired. I don't wanna do anything right now," a quick response left my lips, wishing I had just said yes as we both knew I would end up going whether I liked it or not.

"Listen,” Abby tensed up, unraveling from the grasp she had me in, taking a step back, “I know what I did was wrong but I’m trying to make it up to you. Everything I had done to you, I’m sorry. Those videos and pictures I had? All gone. All deleted.”

Ex-fucking-scuse me? Where was this coming from? Abby apologizing? Abby? The worst person to have ever entered my life was apologizing to me? I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone who’s bullied me before doing such a thing.

I stared at her with a blank expression, absolutely flabbergasted about what just happened. She frantically pulled out her phone, showing me that she had deleted everything about me from her phone. Even went as far as to show me that she emptied out her trash. That didn’t execute me from staring at her like she was stupid.

“Please, say some—.”

“You fucking blackmailed me,” my head shook, “you took pictures of me when I was vulnerable and you sent them out! Now everybody thinks I’m an easy fucking target! I trusted you even though you’ve been labeled as a playboy!” I laughed at her. Not because I was funny but because it was absolutely crazy what was happening.

“I just—.”

“Wanted another victim? Well, you fucking got her!” I revealed my phone to Abby, opening one of my social apps and showing her all the message requests I had. They were mainly from people that she knew, sending me a photo of Abby and me and saying something along the lines of ‘Let’s get you drunk and recreate these’.

“It is going to take more than just some weak ass, sorry ass, bullshit apology to ever be forgiven,” I whispered, “I knew I should’ve just stayed in my own lane and listened to the rumors of you being an asshole," Abby's lips parted to speak, taking in a quick breath, but not quick enough, "I should've never left my dorm that night. You're a piece of shit, Abigail."

I didn't care to see Abby any more than I had to, leaving her in the bathroom and mindlessly wandering the campus. I didn't know what to do. I didn't even know if I wanted to continue my college experience anymore. Abby was definitely out of her fucking mind, that or she genuinely feels like shit and wants to get on my good side.

All I knew was that I was going to piss off Abby way more than she pissed me off. She was going to be the next big topic that everyone made of, she was going to be absolutely fucking fuming. She was going to have a hard time and I was going to be the one to cause that for her.

[simlit]

Chosen of the Sun | | forest // seventy-four

| @sani-sims | @maladi777

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EVE: Your Grace! KYRIE: Mm, I thought we were on a first name basis. EVE: laughs What a terrible time to joke. KYRIE: I think it’s the best time. What happened? EVE: You collapsed. I’d thought the curse had overcome you. KYRIE: No, at least, not yet. It was my fault, getting all worked up over… Indryr warned me it’d get worse before it got better. EVE: An admission like Taiyo’s would be hard for anyone to hear. Even without what you’d done for him figuring into the equation. He’s only just left now, I can go and fetch him— KYRIE: Don’t trouble yourself. If he wants to come in his own time, that’s for him to decide. EVE: I would rather you rest comfortably, but I feel it’d be wrong for me not tell you— HIGH PRIESTESS: Kyrie. KYRIE: Well, if it isn’t the other shoe. HIGH PRIESTESS: You told me you’d alert me as soon as he was conscious. That was our arrangement. EVE: He’s only just awoke. At least give him a moment to think, if not breathe. HIGH PRIESTESS: Yes, well, he is awake now. You’re free to leave. EVE: I’d rather stay to make certain he’s well— HIGH PRIESTESS: I can make certain myself, or will you not allow me a moment with my son? KYRIE: laughs Oh, stars above. The gods are full of jokes these days. If I’m alive at all, it’s because of Eve’s consideration and skill. You could do her the honor of showing at least a modicum of respect. HIGH PRIESTESS: I am endlessly grateful for your contributions, My Lady. Now, please. A moment. EVE: scoffs Very well. KYRIE: Is this the sort of behavior you would show to one of your precious Chosen? It’s incredible you can’t even fake civility in the face of this ceremony you profess to care so much about. HIGH PRIESTESS: Don’t patronize me, Kyrie. While you lay here like some negligent child. You asked me to trust you once again, and here we are. The sheer scope of your irresponsibility is truly astounding. KYRIE: Why should I have to live long enough to hear you lecture me a thousandth time? If I had one wish at all its that this curse would kill me quicker. HIGH PRIESTESS: Do not speak so recklessly. KYRIE: I’ll speak as I wish, if only because my voice is the one part of me you can’t control. HIGH PRIESTESS: And what will your sister say when she returns? KYRIE: Don’t threaten me with my own sister! For all you know, Alphanei is dead. And maybe you do know it, Gods be certain you’d never tell me the truth. There must be a reason she’s beyond my sight. And maybe I’m glad of it. If the last month has taught me anything, it’s that being Chosen of the Moon is nothing but a prison. If this is how you treated her all these years and I stood idly by, oblivious to what she endured, then I wish you would have neither of us. HIGH PRIESTESS: Your sickness has made you delusional. You’ve grown up inside these very walls. Tell me what have you wanted for? Nothing. I have done everything in my power to protect you both. To keep you safe— even from yourselves. But you have always been the troublesome one. Ever since you were a child. Caught in your own head, selfish and stubborn. HIGH PRIESTESS: Do you know how many mages I have sent north? How many elven knights have traveled out to retrieve Her Grace? Do you know how many have died in that pursuit? No, Kyrie. I spared you those details so you did not have to live with guilt of just how important you really are. KYRIE: As tools. But not as people. Regardless, now that too is on my conscience. We never asked for this role. We never had that choice. And because of this city’s insistence on a corrupt ritual, hundreds have been subjected to needless slaughter. If I could end it all by forfeit of my life, I would not wait a moment longer. HIGH PRIESTESS: Always a fool. I’ll send for the King’s clerics. And after you are cured of this, we will a find more suitable way to proceed. ASTER: Your Grace, heard you were awa— Oh. Am I interrupting something? KYRIE: Not at all. Mother was just leaving. HIGH PRIESTESS: Hmph.

[ceilingfan5]

Prompts to sink your teeth into 27 and Taakitz please and thank you!

“Balls to the walls, can you believe it’s been ten years since graduation?” Taako is laying upside down on Kravitz’s couch, kicking his feet in the air aimlessly. 

“Not on my balls or my walls,” Kravitz decides, snorting. He pulls the laundry out of the dryer and dumps it in a basket, frowning as static zaps him.  “It’s truly wild to think about. I don’t think I’m going to go to the reunion, if they even invite me, you know? Like, I think I was weird enough in high school that I don’t even get recruitment attempts for MLMs-”

“You just haven’t met the right one yet,” Taako chastises. “Maybe Pampered Chef is for you.”

“I think I’m more of a Tupperware bitch.” 

“I’d love to keep you in a Tupperware. I’d poke holes in the top for you and everything.” Taako flips over and rights himself, woozy and red in the face. 

“What, like a grasshopper?”

“Nah, like a cool snake I found. But just a widdle one.” 

Kravitz is oddly touched. It really adds a layer onto the thing he and Taako are absolutely, one hundred percent talking around: ten years since graduation also marks ten years since they made a marriage pact and swore a blood oath behind the Denny’s. 

A decade is long enough, yeah?

Yeah, lots of people get married by the time they’re 28. It’s normal. We don’t want to be unnormal.

I think that ship has sailed, dude. 

Forget the ship. It doesn’t have to be real. It’s just…you know, motivation. 

A kick in the ass. Yeah. 

Something to keep us looking. Because- romance is hard!

You think it’ll get less hard?

No, I don’t think it will, Taako. I don’t think it will. 

Kravitz looks at Taako. It was stupid back then. It’d be stupider to bring it up now. He’s been head over heels for an embarrassingly long time. It was a joke, mostly. A stupid teenager thing. They’re almost thirty, for fuck’s sake. 

He brings the basket over to the couch and sits beside Taako. Their sides touch, and Taako is warm. 

They’re almost thirty, and Taako’s twin is getting married. And here they are, roommates, alone, together. Kravitz doesn’t know the last time he went on a date, but the last time Taako did was about four months ago. It’s not looking good on the ‘surely some other, perfecter guy will come around and Kravitz will be able to transfer some of the love beating under the floorboards to some regular, unsuspecting dude’ front. 

“It’s just wild,” Taako sighs, clearly on the same choo-choo. “I mean, I’m happy for her, like-”

“Like between her and Barry I’ve been ready to flush myself down the toilet for-”

“So long. SO long!” 

“Physically painful,” Kravitz agrees, not least because it made him incredibly aware of his own bullshit. “Like you said, so happy for them, and I mean, obviously w- I’ll show up to the wedding with bells on-”

“You bet your sweet ass we will. But like, you think my sad jester ass is getting any jingling action?” Taako gives him a sorrowful puppy dog face, like a pathetic court fool left in a cardboard box in the rain, and Kravitz laughs so hard he worries he’s going to pass out. He imagines those jingle bells a’janglin’. But he’d better not. 

He’d really better not. 

“It’s not that I don’t…It’s- It’s not like I want to make either of them feel bad...” Kravitz starts.  

“Definitely not.” 

“But I almost want to- cause a bit of a scene?” He looks at Taako. Taako perks up, tugging down his imaginary jester hat for Serious Mode. 

“I love causing scenes,” Taako says affectionately. “You know this.”

“I know this, and I agree with you,” Kravitz replies, grinning. Warm laundry forgotten. Socks, stay unpaired. Fuck your romantic life right up the same alley as his own. “What are you thinking? I’m hearing gears turning.” 

“Industry music doot-dooting,” Taako says with a nod. “Listen.”

“Listening. You know I’m listening.” 

“It- I mean, just for fun, right, nobody gets hurt, it’s fine, everything is fine? It’s for funsies.” 

“For funsies,” Kravitz echoes. 

“It would be soooo funny if we got engaged right before Lup’s wedding.” 

“Yeah?” Kravitz hears the ocean in his ears. Maybe he got a seashell stuck in there. You know how he is, always getting seashells in places. 

“Yeah! Yeah. Just as a fun prank, and for no other reason. There’s no way this could backfire.”

“Uhuh,” Kravitz says. “It- It would be easy, even. People say we act like a couple all the time. Haha.” Hopefully Taako doesn’t notice that Kravitz said ha-ha instead of laughing. It’s probably fine. Totally regular, even. He’s? Normal. 

“Absolutely.” There’s a manic look in Taako’s eyes, and Kravitz could lose himself in them like a stupid little boat in the Bermuda Triangle. Geometry never was his strong suit, and this current is pulling him under. How many times in his life has he gotten involved with something stupid because of Taako? Not to mention all of the stupid ideas Taako’s encouraged him to follow through on. 

God, is that why he minored in trombone? 

He’s so fucked. There’s no way this is ending well. There’s no way they walk out of this unscathed. 

“It would be funny,” he admits. 

“So funny.” Taako nods enthusiastically, like this is the greatest idea he’s ever had in his life. Fuck all those other bargain bin ideas, this is their ticket to the limelight. Fake dating. 

Fake engagement, even.  

Kravitz’s hand grips the upholstery of the couch, not even a full inch away from Taako’s hand. 

“Why not?”

[seoul-bros]

Blow my mind

Personally, if I wasn't trying to do my bit for the streaming efforts, I would be listening to and watching Set Me Free Part 2 on a loop. Ten views, even fifty views aren't enough to fully appreciate the artistry of this intense and frenetic performance. It's been said a lot but there really is NO ONE doing what Park Jimin is doing right now.

It starts with him stalking, cat like through the throng of restless, twitching humanity. Even with all that movement, your eyes never leave him, despite the fact he isn't even looking at the camera.

Then he is front and centre, hitting us hard with looks and lyrics with every action reflected back by the ensemble.

And it's immediately clear this is going to be a no holds barred declaration of liberty attained. This is the true me. I have freed myself from my fears. I have slayed my demons. If you don't like it f**k you!

He is ready to fly. The butterfly lyric mirrored in this effortlessly smooth and sexy move and the fact that he is flanked by two female dancers here just accentuates his appeal.

Blown away by this powerful and dramatic forward travel, like a mob about to storm the Bastille. The final obstacle to a prisoners release will not stand against this force.

Then suddenly, he is naked from the waist up and his torso is tattooed with the words of “Ich lebe mein Leben in wachsenden Ringen” by Rainer Maria Rilke. It is beautiful the coherence of the concepts and their carry through.

“I live my life in ever-widening circles that stretch themselves out over all the things. I won’t, perhaps, complete the last one, but I intend on trying. I circle around God, around the ancient tower, and I circle for thousands of years; and I don’t know, yet: am I a falcon, a storm, or a mighty song.”

The combination of the sharp quick movements with the rapid fire delivery of the lyrics "Hey fool, just get out of my way, Shut up, fuck off, I'm on my way" is electrifying. He may be talking about not letting himself get in his own way but Jimin is also taking an opportunity to sweep away the haters.

Finally he can reclaim the now for himself. He looks straight at the camera with his best diva stare and affirms this is his prime time. You better believe it - Park Jimin has arrived in all his glory. Accept it or get out of the way.

He is lifted up by the throng and here people have noted the parallels to Lie and it is calming to think that Set Me Free Pt 2 resolves and brings closure to the emotions that inspired that song.

His final emergence, dressed in white, standing tall with a calm expression on his face is the final confirmation of freedom attained.

Park Jimin is truly a force to be reckoned with!

Post Date: 17/03/2023

[elettralightwood]

Do you know, I’ve realised I’ve never actually told you what I thought the first time we met? You see, for me, memories are difficult. Very often, they hurt. A curious thing about grief is the way it takes your entire life, all those foundational years that made you who you are, and makes them so painful to look back upon because of the absence there, that suddenly they’re inaccessible. You must invent an entirely new system. I started to think of myself and my life and my whole lifetime worth of memories as all the dark, dusty rooms of Buckingham Palace. I took the night Bea left rehab and I begged her to take it seriously, and I put it in a room with pink peonies on the wallpaper and a golden harp in the center of the floor. I took my first time, with one of my brother’s mates from uni when I was seventeen, and I found the smallest, most cramped little broom cupboard I could muster, and I shoved it in. I took my father’s last night, the way his face went slack, the smell of his hands, the fever, the waiting and waiting and terrible waiting and the even worse not-waiting anymore, and I found the biggest room, a ballroom, wide open and dark, windows drawn and covered. Locked the doors. But the first time I saw you. Rio. I took that down to the gardens. I pressed it into the leaves of a silver maple and recited it to the Waterloo Vase. It didn’t fit in any rooms. You were talking with Nora and June, happy and animated and fully alive, a person living in dimensions I couldn’t access, and so beautiful. Your hair was longer then. You weren’t even a president’s son yet, but you weren’t afraid. You had a yellow ipê-amarelo in your pocket. I thought, this is the most incredible thing I have ever seen, and I had better keep it a safe distance away from me. I thought, if someone like that ever loved me, it would set me on fire. And then I was a careless fool, and I fell in love with you anyway. When you rang me at truly shocking hours of the night, I loved you. When you kissed me in disgusting public toilets and pouted in hotel bars and made me happy in ways in which it had never even occurred to me that a mangled-up, locked-up person like me could be happy, I loved you. And then, inexplicably, you had the absolute audacity to love me back. Can you believe it? Sometimes, even now, I still can’t.

You shut the fuck up.

I can’t decide if your emails make me miss you more or less. Sometimes I feel like a funny-looking rock in the middle of the most beautiful clear ocean when I read the kinds of things you write to me. You love so much bigger than yourself, bigger than everything. I can’t believe how lucky I am to even witness it—to be the one who gets to have it, and so much of it, is beyond luck and feels like fate. I can’t match you for prose, but what I can do is write you a list. AN INCOMPLETE LIST: THINGS I LOVE ABOUT HRH PRINCE HENRY OF WALES. 1. The sound of your laugh when I piss you off. 2. The way you smell underneath your fancy cologne, like clean linens but somehow also fresh grass (what kind of magic is this?). 3. That thing you do where you stick out your chin to try to look tough. 4. How your hands look when you play piano. 5. All the things I understand about myself now because of you. 6. How you think Return of the Jedi is the best Star Wars (wrong) because deep down you’re a gigantic, sappy, embarrassing romantic who just wants the happily ever after. 7. Your ability to recite Keats. 8. Your ability to recite Bernadette’s “Don’t let it drag you down” monologue from Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. 9. How hard you try. 10. How hard you’ve always tried. 11. How determined you are to keep trying. 12. That when your shoulders cover mine, nothing else in the entire stupid world matters. 13. The goddamn issue of Le Monde you brought back to London with you and kept and have on your nightstand (yes, I saw it). 14. The way you look when you first wake up. 15. Your shoulder-to-waist ratio. 16. Your huge, generous, ridiculous, indestructible heart. 17. Your equally huge dick. 18. The face you just made when you read that last one. 19. The way you look when you first wake up (I know I already said this, but I really, really love it). 20. The fact that you loved me all along. I keep thinking about that last one ever since you told me, and what an idiot I was. It’s so hard for me to get out of my own head sometimes, but now I’m coming back to what I said to you the night in my room when it all started, and how I brushed you off when you offered to let me go after the DNC, how I used to try to act like it was nothing sometimes. I didn’t even know what you were offering to do to yourself. God, I want to fight everyone who’s ever hurt you, but it was me too, wasn’t it? All that time. I’m so sorry. Please stay gorgeous and strong and unbelievable.

And you also shut the fuck up

They make me want to curl into a little ball and cry for the rest of my life

[ircn-mvn]

ShikaNaru 2

TW: Mention of Mpreg by Jutsu, No Omegaverse, Accidental Pregnancy

Shikamaru closed the door behind himself and sighed. He wasn’t looking forward to what he had to do next. He had gotten back from Takigakure a few hours ago and had spent some more at the Hokage’s Tower. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. But he couldn’t risk his father running into Kakashi-Sama before he got a chance to talk to his parents.

He took off his shoes and left the genkan. He walked to the living room where he found his parents sharing some tea over a game of go. 

“Welcome back,” his father said.

He was smiling. They both were. Shikamaru couldn’t help but wonder how long it’ll last. He had truly no idea how they were going to react to what he had to say. He had barely managed to wrap his head around it.

Shikamaru shook himself a moment later, vaguely aware his mother had been calling his name.

“Are you alright?” Yoshino asked.

She was frowning. Not a good start.

“Uh, troublesome,” Shikamaru mumbled. He shook his head again before he looked back up at his parents, squaring his shoulders despite his better judgment. “I need to tell you something.”

Yoshino opened her mouth but was promptly interrupted by the doorbell. They exchanged a look and Shikaku got up to answer the door.

“Sensei?” Shikaku started.

“Where is he?!”

Oh, Sage. Shikamaru knew that voice and he had hoped he would get more time before he had to deal with its owner — or that he would manage to avoid him until he finally calmed down.

“Nara Shikamaru!” 

Shikamaru stood frozen on his spot as Iruka-Sensei walked into the Naras’ living room. He looked just as furious as he sounded and Shikamaru was no fool: sure the man was only a chunin but there was a reason Hokages kept him close — well, in Kakashi’s case, more than one, but it wasn’t the topic at hand.

“You! I can’t believe you let this happen!” Iruka exclaimed. 

His old sensei marched forward until his accusing finger touched Shikamaru’s chest. He didn’t move. He couldn’t. He just stood there looking — ironically — like a deer caught in a fire jutsu. 

“What were you thinking?!” Iruka continued. “I expected something like this from him but you were with him! You were supposed to make sure nothing of the sort happened! He could have had a bad reaction! He still could! He — He could die! He could die! For Sage's sake, Shikamaru, aren’t you supposed to be a genius?!” 

Iruka was out of breath by the time he finished his tirade while Shikamaru had forgotten to breathe altogether. He knew all this. He knew Iruka was right. He knew Kakashi had chosen him to make sure nothing would happen to Naruto. To make sure he wouldn’t do anything stupid…

Shikamaru had been terrified when he first realized what had happened. Oh, they had figured out the High Priestess’s secret alright. Mission accomplished.

Naruto had freaked out for all but two seconds before moving on and finding some bright side to the situation like only Naruto could. Not that his joy hadn’t been contagious in the end but Shikamaru wasn’t as stupid as the whole thing made him look. He had thought of all the ways this could go wrong. He had barely slept since it happened, monitoring Naruto and —

Iruka sighed and seemed to deflate in front of him.

“Please tell me he is at least not alone in this?” he asked.

“Of course not,” Shikamaru said.

He frowned, standing straighter. Determination and whatever else Iruka could read on his face had him taking a step back.

“Good, good.” 

They both sighed again. Then…

“Can we know what this is about?” Shikaku asked.

He was standing a few feet away by the kitchen island with Yoshino. 

“Uh, they don’t know?” Iruka said.

Shikamaru shook his head.

“I sent Naruto home and wrote our report myself, I just got here,” he answered.

“Oh.”

Yes, oh. 

“Troublesome,” Shikamaru repeated. He took a deep breath and turned to his parents. “Naruto’s pregnant.”

His parents looked at him as if he had grown a second head. He couldn’t blame them. Sure they had seen a lot during the last few years but no male pregnancy — as far as he knew at least. He wasn’t exactly an expert on the topic. Not yet.

“Some kind of jutsu, it’s a long story, and not really the point,” he added when Yoshino opened her mouth. “It’s mine. The baby, I mean. And we are keeping it.”

There was another silence as his parents digested the news. Yoshino wasn’t yelling which Shikamaru counted as a win. Finally, Shikaku sighed.

“Well that’s going to be a pain,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Shikamaru and Iruka replied at once.

They had both tensed.

“I mean that basically, every clan with a daughter old enough to marry had been trying to secure a marriage with Naruto,” Shikaku explained.

“Well, they can stop plotting,” Shikamaru said.

“Can they now?” Yoshino asked.

His mother looked like she was ready to start planning his wedding. Troublesome but still.

“I said what I said.”

[fromkenari]

A mass of fools and knaves

The full email exchange between Alex Claremont Diaz and Prince Henry Fox Mountchristen Windsor from Chapter Nine of Red, White and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston. Put here for my best friend to read.

A mass of fools and knaves A agcd@eclare45.com                8/10/20 1:04 AM to Henry H, Have you ever read any of Alexander Hamilton’s letters to John Laurens? What am I saying? Of course you haven’t. You’d probably be disinherited for revolutionary sympathies. Well, since I got the boot from the campaign, there is literally nothing for me to do but watch cable news (diligently chipping away at my brain cells by the day) and sort through all my old shit from college. Just looking at papers, thinking: Excellent, yes, I’m so glad I stayed up all night writing this for a 98 in the class, only to get summarily fired from the first job I ever had and exiled to my bedroom! Great job, Alex! Is this how you feel in the palace all the time? It fucking sucks, man. So anyway, I’m going through my college stuff, and I find this analysis I did of Hamilton’s wartime correspondence, and hear me out: I think Hamilton could have been bi. His letters to Laurens are almost as romantic as his letters to his wife. Half of them are signed “Yours” or “Affectionately yrs,” and the last one before Laurens died is signed “Yrs for ever.” I can’t figure out why nobody talks about the possibility of a Founding Father being not straight (outside of Chernow’s biography, which is great btw, see attached bibliography). I mean, I know why, but. Anyway, I found this part of a letter he wrote to Laurens, and it made me think of you. And me, I guess: The truth is I am an unlucky honest man, that speak my sentiments to all and with emphasis. I say this to you because you know it and will not charge me with vanity. I hate Congress—I hate the army—I hate the world—I hate myself. The whole is a mass of fools and knaves; I could almost except you … Thinking about history makes me wonder how I’ll fit into it one day, I guess. And you too. I kinda wish people still wrote like that. History, huh? Bet we could make some. Affectionately yrs, slowly going insane, Alex, First Son of Founding Father Sacrilege

McQuiston, Casey. Red, White & Royal Blue: A Novel (pp. 239-241). St. Martin's Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

Re: A mass of fools and knaves Henry hwales@kensingtonemail.com                8/10/20 4:18 AM to A Alex, First Son of Masturbatory Historical Readings: The phrase “see attached bibliography” is the single sexiest thing you have ever written to me. Every time you mention your slow decay inside the White House, I can’t help but feel it’s my fault, and I feel absolutely shit about it. I’m sorry. I should have known better than to turn up at a thing like that. I got carried away; I didn’t think. I know how much that job meant to you. I just want to … you know. Extend the option. If you wanted less of me, and more of that—the work, the uncomplicated things—I would understand. Truly. In any event … Believe it or not, I have actually done a bit of reading on Hamilton, for a number of reasons. First, he was a brilliant writer. Second, I knew you were named after him (the pair of you share an alarming number of traits, by the by: passionate determination, never knowing when to shut up, &c &c). And third, some saucy tart once tried to impugn my virtue against an oil painting of him, and in the halls of memory, some things demand context. Are you angling for a revolutionary soldier role-play scenario? I must inform you, any trace of King George III blood I have would curdle in my very veins and render me useless to you. Or are you suggesting you’d rather exchange passionate letters by candlelight? Should I tell you that when we’re apart, your body comes back to me in dreams? That when I sleep, I see you, the dip of your waist, the freckle above your hip, and when I wake up in the morning, it feels like I’ve just been with you, the phantom touch of your hand on the back of my neck fresh and not imagined? That I can feel your skin against mine, and it makes every bone in my body ache? That, for a few moments, I can hold my breath and be back there with you, in a dream, in a thousand rooms, nowhere at all? I think perhaps Hamilton said it better in a letter to Eliza: You engross my thoughts too intirely to allow me to think of any thing else—you not only employ my mind all day; but you intrude upon my sleep. I meet you in every dream—and when I wake I cannot close my eyes again for ruminating on your sweetness. If you did decide to take the option mentioned at the start of this email, I do hope you haven’t read the rest of this rubbish. Regards, Haplessly Romantic Heretic Prince Henry the Utterly Daft

McQuiston, Casey. Red, White & Royal Blue: A Novel (pp. 241-243). St. Martin's Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

Re: A mass of fools and knaves A agcd@eclare45.com                8/10/20 5:36 AM to Henry H, Please don’t be stupid. No part of any of this will ever be uncomplicated. Anyway, you should be a writer. You are a writer. Even after all this, I still always feel like I want to know more of you. Does that sound crazy? I just sit here and wonder, who is this person who knows stuff about Hamilton and writes like this? Where does someone like that even come from? How was I so wrong? It’s weird because I always know things about people, gut feelings that usually lead me in more or less the right direction. I do think I got a gut feeling with you, I just didn’t have what I needed in my head to understand it. But I kind of kept chasing it anyway, like I was just going blindly in a certain direction and hoping for the best. I guess that makes you the North Star? I wanna see you again and soon. I keep reading that one paragraph over and over again. You know which one. I want you back here with me. I want your body and I want the rest of you too. And I want to get the fuck out of this house. Watching June and Nora on TV doing appearances without me is torture. We have this annual thing at my dad’s lake house in Texas. Whole long weekend off the grid. There’s a lake with a pier, and my dad always cooks something fucking amazing. You wanna come? I kind of can’t stop thinking about you all sunburned and pretty sitting out there in the country. It’s the weekend after next. If Shaan can talk to Zahra or somebody about flying you into Austin, we can pick you up from there. Say yes? Yrs, Alex P.S. Allen Ginsberg to Peter Orlovsky—1958: Tho I long for the actual sunlight contact between us I miss you like a home. Shine back honey & think of me.

McQuiston, Casey. Red, White & Royal Blue: A Novel (pp. 243-245). St. Martin's Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

Re: A mass of fools and knaves Henry hwales@kensingtonemail.com                8/10/20 8:22 PM to A Alex, If I’m north, I shudder to think where in God’s name we’re going. I’m ruminating on identity and your question about where a person like me comes from, and as best as I can explain it, here’s a story: Once, there was a young prince who was born in a castle. His mother was a princess scholar, and his father was the most handsome, feared knight in all the land. As a boy, people would bring him everything he could ever dream of wanting. The most beautiful silk clothes, ripe fruit from the orangery. At times, he was so happy, he felt he would never grow tired of being a prince. He came from a long, long line of princes, but never before had there been a prince quite like him: born with his heart on the outside of his body. When he was small, his family would smile and laugh and say he would grow out of it one day. But as he grew, it stayed where it was, red and visible and alive. He didn’t mind it very much, but every day, the family’s fear grew that the people of the kingdom would soon notice and turn their backs on the prince. His grandmother, the queen, lived in a high tower, where she spoke only of the other princes, past and present, who were born whole. Then, the prince’s father, the knight, was struck down in battle. The lance tore open his armor and his body and left him bleeding in the dust. And so, when the queen sent new clothes, armor for the prince to parcel his heart away safe, the prince’s mother did not stop her. For she was afraid, now: afraid of her son’s heart torn open too. So the prince wore it, and for many years, he believed it was right. Until he met the most devastatingly gorgeous peasant boy from a nearby village who said absolutely ghastly things to him that made him feel alive for the first time in years and who turned out to be the most mad sort of sorcerer, one who could conjure up things like gold and vodka shots and apricot tarts out of absolutely nothing, and the prince’s whole life went up in a puff of dazzling purple smoke, and the kingdom said, “I can’t believe we’re all so surprised.” I’m in for the lake house. I must admit, I’m glad you’re getting out of the house. I worry you may burn the thing down. Does this mean I’ll be meeting your father? I miss you. x Henry P.S. This is mortifying and maudlin and, honestly, I hope you forget it as soon as you’ve read it. P.P.S. From Henry James to Hendrik C. Andersen, 1899: May the terrific U.S.A. be meanwhile not a brute to you. I feel in you a confidence, dear Boy–which to show is a joy to me. My hopes and desires and sympathies right heartily and most firmly, go with you. So keep up your heart, and tell me, as it shapes itself, your (inevitably, I imagine, more or less weird) American story. May, at any rate, tutta quella gente be good to you.

McQuiston, Casey. Red, White & Royal Blue: A Novel (pp. 245-247). St. Martin's Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

[widevibratobitch]

Ok. Any "Terror" fic recommendations?

good lord YES countless really. idk what you're looking for specifically though.

i myself am a fitzier girlie first and foremost with some occasional fitzconte thrown in. i'll best direct you to my ao3 bookmarks, specifically to the tag i keep for my personal favourites, the crème de la crème of fics I've read and liked.

some examples under the cut.

i am a connoisseur of ✨fitzier hatesex✨ and there's surprisingly not that many of those compared to fics where they're all lovey-dovey with each other (which. dont get me wrong. i also enjoy from time to time). so i'll give you some that have truly stuck with me. it's mostly pwp sorry not sorry.

Some lovely perilous thing by cosmogram

“Oh,” James gasps, and really, it’s almost too easy. James ought to have some modicum of shame, ought to be able to master himself better than this���better than turning to a doe-eyed dissolute the second a man so much as breathes near his eager young cock. “Not here, Francis,” James pants out, voice already hitching high. “The great cabin, at the very least.”

“Here, I think,” Francis returns crisply. “On your knees.”

it's just so fucking good. very hot. i honestly don't know what else i could say about this, it's one of my personal favourites amongst personal favourites (along with the one i link next, from the same author).

Devotion by cosmogram

Francis does not seek him anymore, but neither—still worse—does Francis bother to dismiss him when James arrives of his own volition, each time with all the hope of the most wretched fool. “Oh, get to it, then,” Francis muttered with sublime disinterest that very day when James appeared in his cabin’s doorway. James had, in fact, come to talk—but he had not hesitated when Francis gestured dispassionately to the front of his trousers. He had dropped, wordlessly, to his knees to obey.

everyone give it up for erectile dysfunction! hip-hip hurray! the author sums it up well with the James Fitzjames’s Tragically Unmet Praise Kink tag. this one is a little more on the sad side, Francis is being a goddamn gremlin and James is at his most needy and pathetic. nothing hotter to me personally than sucking someone's limp dick and crying about it. i find myself thinking about this fic an ungodly amount. i love it so much. again, best of the best of the best.

nice dream by icicaille

Francis swirled the last dregs in his glass and peered into its depths. Some kind of grim satisfaction had come over him. “I’ll tell you what you want to hear,” he said. “For a certain price.” It was foolhardy beyond measure. Damning, even.

basically, Fitzjames gives Crozier a blowjob in exchange for Francis telling him some nice reassuring things he needs to hear so badly it makes him look stupid - malicious compliance from Francis of course with some nice internalised homophobia. James is, again, pathetic as all shit with a little twist at the end. no one is having a good time except for me of course.

hunger's vocabulary by icicaille

“Ah, Sir John.” Francis cleared his throat once the wardroom was near to empty. “May I borrow James? Regarding the Lloyd’s balance. We took readings that require further inspection. I’ll send him back in a gig—tonight if the weather holds, in the morning otherwise.”

chef's kiss. just two cunty cunts going at it (the dialogues are so good...) with a sprimkle of some angsty self-loathing Francis. what more could you ask for.

you are coming down with me by dazydaisy

Chapter one: “If I loved you I could perhaps fuck you as if I hated you, in order to please you, but, as you are surely aware by now Fitzjames, you and love are oil and water to me.”

Chapter two: ‘Maybe,’ James had begun to unlace the front of his trousers with a carelessness he had (shamefully) practiced, ‘if you loved yourself even a little you would be able to stop yourself from doing as I command. But, as I’m sure you know by now Francis, you and love are like oil and water. The two simply do not meet.’

*

Mum and dad are fighting again

pretty much what it says on the tin. just two heartbroken bitches fucking and being cruel to each other and im eating that shit up thanks

A Willing Foe and Sea-Room by ClutchHedonist

“Nnh.” Fitzjames whines around his thumb.

“None of that. Clearly, you can’t shut your own bloody mouth to save your life.” Francis huffs, “So I’ll shut it for you.”

pre-canon. Fitzjames - still as a baby lieutenant - and Crozier have a brief but very hot encounter during some Admiralty Party.

Caïssa by cosmogram

“You said you had a question,” Francis snapped, irritable already.

“Yes,” James said, flushed and resplendent still from the company next door—undaunted and loose-limbed in just the way that plucked cloying ire from a raw place in Francis. “How’s your chess game?”

A seduction.

a little bonus to the list, because i love this fic and it recently updated after a very long hiatus (it's still a wip tho but i hope the author manages to finish it, they're one of my favourite writers in this fandom). no hatesex here, it's more of a slow-burn with past Crozier/Ross and really great dialogues, as always. Neptune also makes an appearance.

Bespoke by ktula

James is trying to escape his grief after Sir John's death. Francis, in his own way, is trying to do the same. OR: The one where James Fitzjames has a bit of the genders, and his captain is surprisingly accommodating of that.

ending this rec list on a kinder and softer note, as a treat. this was one of the first fics ive read in this fandom and still one of my favourites. not really hate sex though they're still rather uncertain and wary about the other. very good, very sensual, gender-heavy. beautiful fic really.

BONUS have some excellent fitzjames/le vesconte and fitzjames/franklin - as a treat.

you don't have friends (you have admirers) by JamesFitzjames

James Fitzjames is a man who does not seek help.

each chapter deals with something different, so while the fic is unfinished it's not really some painful cliffhanger (tho i would love to see it completed one day). second chapter is some excellent, excellent Fitzconte. last chapter also has, why, of course, some really delightful ✨fitzier hatesex✨.

Hoo-ray and up she rises by TheGreenMeridian

They’re rip-roaringly drunk and laughing loud enough at each other to wake half the neighbourhood as they stumble into their lodgings.

i only like Fitzconte if it's done in a very specific way and this fic fits my needs just perfectly. just two besties being sillayyyy. what, like you never gave your bro a handjob just for shits and giggles?

Whatever morning brings by isamariposa

Brutus spends his life torn between disquiet, distaste and desperate pining for Caesar, leading to his infamous betrayal. In his own final moments, he raises a plea: “Jupiter Maximus, take pity on me. If by Your grace there is a way to atone for what I did to him, I beg You: let me do so in the afterlife.”

His wish is granted.

yes, yes, this is technically an HBO Rome fic but each chapter deals with a different time period - the third is dedicated to The Terror and can totally be read on its own. it's some truly excellent Sir John/Fitzjames with a sprimkle of some delightful Fitzconte tomfoolery. It's really, really good.

okay one last BONUS

devourer of debts by allmyloyaldead(van1lla_v1lla1n)

Cornelius Hickey receives, and devours, and adapts.

What Hickey receives from the universe and what he takes for himself, the pieces with which he sews himself together into a man, or something like one.

some incredible Hickey insanity. truly brilliant. the gifts Hickey receives from Billy, Irving and Fitzjames, short and sweet (by sweet i obviously mean gruesome and fucked up <3)

[lovinglettersacrosstheverse]

Special Delivery!

We've got a letter for Louise Worth @mysweetlouise! And there's even some pressed flowers! 💖💕

My Dear Lou.

How long will you make me wait? Dancing on the edge of my reach with the one you know I despise most? I know you enjoy games but hasn’t this gone on long enough?

A part of me feels this is my own fault. Some form of punishment for the state I left you in. I wish you knew how much it has tormented me over the years. Knowing what was only a second in the world was decades in the mirror with Damien and Celine, I can’t imagine how alone you must have been. How much time you spent alone, trapped. The centuries we will never know. You did not deserve that. Which is why I don't understand why you keep playing with Mark. It’s not the same Mark, fine, but they all have that same seed of narcissism inside them that lead to our fates.

We could make a home in this new reality, if you would only give me the chance. I haven't made one without you yet, not really. There’s a building where I meet with others, unusual like us. I have a room with a bed here, but I do not rest. If you were here, it would give the old bed purpose and I would keep you company. The affection of Damian and curiosity to know you of Celine live on in me, memories of you that are not mine haunt me. Your face is what I see most nights Louise, before everything went wrong, the college days, the games, the late walks across the college grounds. 

And the look in the mirror when you were left behind. I don’t know which one is worse.

Please! I have been tortured enough, join me and we will make sure Mark receives the same punishment as I or better yet, ensure he can’t hurt another soul when he next feels the need. While I drown in the past of our fury and pain, he lives on free of his sins. 

I’ve taken a breath and a moment of reflection. This isn't about him. This is about you and me. And you deserve better than you have ever gotten, Lou. I want to be the one to provide that for you, we can provide a better life and a better future for each other. You never truly got to be the D.A. in our past life, but you can be anything in our future. Not just playing a role, a meaningless game where nothing matters as you do now. We can make something with substance that actually counts for something. But I can’t do it without you.

Maybe I sound like a fool. We haven’t gotten the chance to re-familiarize ourselves with each other in some time, despite how long we’ve had. You’re a different person by now as well, I imagine. I wonder how many habits you still have from the past. What new ones I could learn about you. 

When you tire of your current circumstances, remember that my door is always open and a new home of our own making ready to be built. 

Sincerely,

Your Ever Waiting Darkiplier

Well, there is one more thing....

I also found a torn paper in the mailbox today, it looks like a journal page? I'm not sure this is supposed to be here... but I think its for a Louise Worth as well so maybe i am supposed to deliver it!

It’s late now. I’m in my office, reading the most recent report from the Jim’s when the radio changed. It started playing this slow jazz and these memories came to my mind, unbidden. Damien's memories of you, late nights listening to jazz as you both studied for exams. A record you’d put on the phonograph that became his go to for focusing on work in the years after. The years apart as you all worked for your separate goals, when Damien would spend these nights wishing for your company once again. Lou.

You're not even here. I write only for myself, a page i will tear and burn when I have the chance. But still, writing to you makes it easier somehow. Calms me in these moments.

This body always aches, and I can imagine at one point the heart would ache for you. If I told you it still did, you would know better than to believe me, wouldn’t you? I saw it in your eyes the last time we met, your silent regard for me. You're getting wiser to the situation. I can’t fool you into thinking the Damien you knew is still in here anymore, can I? Nor can I convince you that being as I am, I can feel anything other than rage and resentment. Perhaps the resentment I feel towards Mark for making that promised future of you and Damian working together side by side once again is a form of love itself?

But it’s not even by his remnants you stand by now is it?

Do you have any idea what it’s like to be in a body constantly in a state of decay? I feel the pull of death over me constantly, trying to drag me away like a fist around my throat, never tightening more than it is but never loosening either. And yet you’re out there in your own new skin, where did it come from?

(Note from here to the * was originally all scribbled out but i managed to make it readable... though maybe I should have left it)

Do you want me to apologize for leaving you there? None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for him, I am trying to get revenge for us all!

And now you go and have your little adventures with that monster! In practically every reality, you two are connected in some way, you really think any Mark in any other universe is any different than the one who did this to us? This is why you couldn’t stay! You’re too soft, you weren’t angry enough at the right people. You are the exact fool Celine pegged you for that night, all those years ago. 

How did you get a new body? How, how, who did you take it from, where did you get it, why do YOU have one?*

I apologize. You know how this unstable amalgamation of my being can be. I'm getting better at controlling it over the years, but I still have my moments. Can you not lend a hand to an old friend?  Or perhaps those old tales you told Damien once were true, and this is my repentance for breaking a mirror?

No, perhaps you're right. And there is more to atone for on my end. You should not have been pushed out. I was blinded by the mission of my birth. Clearly I underestimated your strength and resolve, if the way you stand against me and the endurance of your soul is anything to go by.

We are still old friends, aren’t we? You were there when I was created, the first face I saw and even behind whatever cloaks me now, still the face I see in every mirror and reflection. What some might say should be guilt or softness I should feel at that is as all things, replaced with the rage of knowing why I carry you with me in such a literal way…

I wish to confide in you one thing Louise, that I barely confide in myself. There’s one other feeling I'm capable of that sits so deep within me it’s but a grain of sand in the void fractures that make up my sewn together soul. Fear. I am the living testament to their hatred and thirst for revenge. If, when I see their retribution through, then what? What will become of me? Will I have any purpose? Will I continue to exist at all? What will be left when there is no one left to despise? You are the only one I can think of to ask. How did you survive the void of the mirror for so long that you escaped? What feeling motivated you? What purpose?

I shouldn’t keep bringing up old wounds, but what else can I do as a living scab of a soul myself? It is only this mission that keeps this broken body together.

If you just let me in, I can fix all of this. Just let your old friend in Lou.

[ludwigoat909]

//// vent (hide my "lulu d vent" tag if you don't want to see it)

I think one reason I've started being more sympathetic towards Kotoko, which is also one of the reasons I use to hate her for and yet never admitted it, is that, just like her, Not only do I want to be worse then those that hurt others for the wrong reasons. And that just like her, I can't let those who hurt me and others ever get away with this. I want to be the equivalent to what they are to me or others, even tho I know they are the last person I wish to become. That's what hatred does to you, the feeling of giving back what was thrown at you. Why do we get hurt and not them? Why do the minority get specific names and not the biggots? Why do they get to make yourself a fool while they never feel shame thanks to their blinding ego? Why don't THEY get to suffer for thinking it's ok to be awful to you?

They never get the same pain then they give us. It feels like we are doomed to loose because they have the experience of years of biggotry against us for weapon. And it's not fair.

Unlike Kotoko who isolated herself and became more radicalized on her own tho. For me it was growing up with relatives that used my anger to make themselves feel like the better one. My response to any threat has always been anger. That I had to attack back when I was being attacked.

There's this relative in particular, who likes to dog pile people whenever they make the slightest mistake because he likes to feel special about being correct (actually, it may be why I get so mad at most internet discourse like shipping because of how people seem to care of being the more correct one, which was another reason why I use to dislike her and currently Fuuta). And with I, being a disabled adhd and autistic person, it shouldn't take a wild guess to imagine how they treated me. There were times when he got pissed at me where he liked to throw ableist slurs at me (these are kind of common in France saddly thanks to our beautiful language having a trillion insults and slurs for literally anything). And there was me thinking I had to throw back with the same shit since I thought that if this is their idea of an insult I had to fight back the same. And that if I didn't fight back, I would let myself be crushed.

Now even years later I feel horrible about it. And yet in my own mind it feels like I never learned. When I get angry and in my mind I would imagine interacting in the same way they did out of impulsivity. This kind of disgusting impulsive thoughts I get is even worse considering I also have terrible ocd from which suffer from awful intrusive thoughts that are also no limited to insults either. All because I feel like it's the only language they know of.

That last second in Deep Cover is not so different from how I feel afterwards when these happen.

If this sounds like I'm trying to excuse Kotoko's actions or make myself more sympathetic. I am not. I may not brutally kill or assault people like she does. But this kind of shit is wrong and I wish I could be a better person. i wish I controlled my anger better. I wish I wasn't like this. I just don't know how I can stop being like this. And I want help to find a better way to deal with conflict like these. I just fear so much of people getting away with things... I fear people think they are right for the things they are wrong about me or others, because for so long I feel like I've been treated like shit because people didn't understand me and had a dead set opinion on who I was. And now it feels like they've put me where they wanted me to be and I hate it.... I just want to become the person I wish to be. i wish to be someone that lives up to what I truly believe and not some vicious pile of anger