#if you have ocs in your fic

[plum-pitt]

not to be that mf on main but like,,,,,

fuck multifandom one shot books, and honestly one shot books in general to some extent.

In this post I pulled out of my ass out of sheer frustration while looking for a fic to read, i will messily lay out my grievances, then make suggestions of what authors could potentially do differently to avoid these issues.

Section 1: Me Angy

First off- the tag and fandom lists on these things are ALWAYS 50 miles long and take up like half the damn page on Ao3, and istg a good amount of the time they’ve got like a single 1000 word chapter and haven’t even been updated in like 2 years

They absolutely destroy filters for things like tags and word count.

like if i’m looking for a longfic to binge read, i don’t need these books of one shots, when i’d maybe be interested in 10% of what’s in it, clogging up my search results.

plus if you’ve got even just one single oneshot in there with an icky tag i’ve filtered out, then i’m never gonna see any of it even if i might’ve actually liked what the rest had to offer!!

The fandoms are also like a whole other beast. God forbid you’re looking for an actual crossover fic between two franchises because sorry bout ur luck there kid, you’re gonna be spending a stupid amount of time weeding out random fandom after random fandom in the filters section just to get rid of these oneshot books and find what you’re actually looking for.

Section 2: Suggestions

If you’re an author just trying to keep your page organized by keeping all your oneshots together somehow, then put them in a series! That way they can all be tagged individually and more people who’d want to read them will be able to find them, and they don’t jack up the filtering system!

Kinda sorta relevant to the conversation too; if you’re making a fic for a franchise with a bunch of different iterations, and you’re don’t necessarily have a specific version in mind when writing it, or perhaps are making an original iteration all your own, then for the love of all that is good, do not put every iteration in the fandom tags.

For example, if i’m looking for say, fanfic of Zelda: Twilight Princess, and you’re writing a Zelda fanfic set in your own version of the Zelda universe. If you tag literally every single game in the franchise that has a fandom tag to its name, then your fic will come up even if it’s not at all what i’m looking for.

Most multi-iteration fandoms of that nature have an overarching tag that looks something like:

*insert random franchise*- and related fandoms

It’s there for a reason! If you’re not sure what version you’re writing for, or you’re making one up, then just use that! It can still be found by anyone scrolling through fics on that general tag, and doesn’t get in the way of readers on the hunt for something more specific.

In Conclusion:

i ain’t trynna be a dick, but some of yall don’t know how to tag and it’s working to both your, and the readers detriment. Thats ok tho! it’s not like there’s a rule book out there that lays out exactly what to do, and thanks to that everyone has subtle differences in how they decide to label their work. i’m just pointing out some minor inconveniences i’ve gone thru as a reader and some possible solutions for authors that could circumvent them.

this is in no way a personal attack on anybody, not sure why anyone would think that it’s literally fanfic tags, but just trynna cover all my bases here. Ok bye

[prahacat]

when the horrors catch up and you take an evening off to batch-process

[sunderwight]

Hualian Idol AU where instead of the statues the big reveal of Hua Cheng's longstanding amorous fixation on Xie Lian is all of his self-insert "my mom sold me to One Direction" style fanfics located in the depths of some boyband RPF archive.

[lucabyte]

I don't know how everyone isn't also always constantly thinking about how burial rites seem to be potentially one of the few things Siffrin instinctively remembers about their culture. But rest assured. I am in fact always thinking about it.

Textless version where they're just hanging out. It's fine!

[faeriekit]

Salt Mirror

phic phight fill with two prompts; for @echoghost1 and @fuyuthefoxwriter

(Sister fics are Snow Day, Snowdrift Sanctuary, and Frozen Out)

********

The first thing Danny noticed was the teeth. 

Or. Well. The first thing Frostbite noticed were the teeth. What Danny noticed was that suddenly he was being offered bigger and bigger bones with his meal, which were very much not typical human-appropriate food. 

“You break them,” Frostbite showed him, pinning the bone between two sharp canines and biting down. The bone broke clean in two. Hot-dog style. “Then you are free to eat the marrow inside.”

Danny stared. “I don’t… I don't think my teeth do that.”

“Try it,” his guardian encouraged. 

…Well. He hoped Far Frozen had as good a dentistry practice as they did medicine. Danny shoved the bone between his canine teeth, and clamped down—

—And the bone broke clean through. 

Huh. That was…new. 

Well. Marrow tasted good, anyway, and scooping the butter-soft marrow out with a spoon was easy. Danny might have clunked the wooden spoon against his teeth a couple times (man, was he clumsy today) but he was very happy with the results. 

The next day Frostbite offered him an arm-length rib bone, Danny didn’t even hesitate to chomp down. 

He ate through four ribs before he felt full. He was happy. 

*

The second thing Danny noticed was how pale he got. 

Like. As in ‘his arm matched the snow-white fur of his tundra-proof coat’ level pale. ‘White as a glacier and just as blue’ level pale. Like. There was no red left in his skin. 

He pressed his thumb to his palm. It went yellow, and then flushed back to white as his blood went back in. 

…Spooky. Uh. Danny blinked loudly. Maybe he was…sick…?

There wasn’t a mirror in their cave dwelling, and nothing was shiny enough to reflect in— everything that wasn’t medical was cast iron, or not quite mirror smooth, like Frostbite’s round cooking knives. 

Danny needed a mirror. 

He bundled up and walked through fresh snow drifts to the closest medical facility: an ice cave across from Ledyanoy and Avalanche’s home, carved into one of several dozen pillars of ice embedded into the floating island. Danny knew that there was a mirror there, since Frostbite went in for mirror therapy every time his ice-carved arm began to itch psychosomatically. 

He darted inside. Pritla was the only one in there, so they ignored him in their quest for additional data. Great. All Danny needed was the mirror set up in the corner, ready and waiting to be rolled into place for Frostbite’s next session. 

Danny peeked at his reflection. He looked…wow. 

For one, Danny looked spooky as hell. The blue went all around his eyes, now— no whites to be seen, creating an uneasy, inhuman look. He was pale. He was very pale. He looked like the printer had run out of any colors that might have given him some sort of standing to wander reality with. 

The insides of his lips were blue. The wet inner linings around his eyes were blue. 

…What. 

And. Speaking of…lips…his gums were a deep, sapphire blue, as was his tongue. None of that was as important as his huge freaking fangs, though!

Like! Huge! Not yeti huge, of course, but still!! Danny had no idea how they weren’t sticking straight out of his mouth when he closed it. Big, pearly fangs. 

What the heck was happening to him? 

*

“I think you’re turning into a Yeti,” Tundra decided primly, and flung himself at Arctic without any further thought. The teenage Yeti— still taller than Danny by two heads and a half— squawked, barely seeing the projectile cub in time to dodge appropriately. 

“No,” said Danny. It was more outright denial than certainty. He wrapped his coat tighter around himself. 

Avalanche, who was the closest to adulthood out of all of them, watched the two wrestle balefully. Tundra was barely out of cub age, and Arctic wasn’t much better than Sidney Poindexter when it came to having his crap together, so it was kind of like watching two frogs mud-wrestle in knee-high snow. 

“I mean,” said Avalanche, mostly bored by the spectacle of Arctic getting his butt whipped by what amounted to a kid, “I’m pretty sure it’s normal for human-born ghosts to adapt to their Obsessions after they form. You have to change a little to match your environment. And we have a lot of snow.” 

“So much!” Tundra howled from where he was perched on top of Arctic. His victory lasted as long as it took for Arctic to get his legs underneath himself, push himself to standing, and launch Tundra into a snow drift with a surprised squeal. 

Arctic shook himself off. His fur fluffed up with the effort, which made him look larger in size than usual. “I think that if you were turning into a yeti, Frostbite would have noticed. Or said something. Or done something.”

Avalanche shook her head, gamely ignoring how Tundra had turned from a fallen-in-the-snow position to a crouching-and-ready-to-pounce position. Danny had seen this a million times now; either Arctic would notice (he wouldn’t) and dodge, or he’d once again fall victim to Tundra’s childish enthusiasm. 

Danny and Avalanche largely had no comment on Tundra’s second leap of faith, nor for their mutual struggle for pubescent dominance that ensued. 

There were other questions to ask. 

*

“Am I turning into a yeti?” Phantom asked. 

Frostbite looked down. 

The half-ghost looked nervous— picking at his lip until green beaded under his teeth, his hands in the sleeves of his coat. 

“No,” Frostbite confirmed. He didn’t smile, as it would have seemed condescending in the face of Phantom’s genuine worry. It was better to keep calm. “Why are you worried about turning into a yeti?” 

Phantom stared up at him, eyes deep and luminous. Frostbite had seen similar coloration on deep-sea creatures, long-travelled things desperate for any sort of light. The sight was compelling, yes, but could not substitute for a verbal answer. 

“...Because I’m changing colors and now I have sharp teeth and I think I’m growing claws,” Phantom pointed out. All of these things were true. They were very good, sturdy teeth, and very good, sturdy claws, which was a good sign; anything otherwise would have indicated a lack of support on Frostbite’s end. 

“It is a very normal thing to want to explore other forms of expression at your age,” Frostbite pointed out. He threaded his paws through Phantom’s pale hair, and found, to his pride, little buds of ice horns. “And I am very flattered that you think so highly of us that you are interested in mimicking some of our more obvious traits; that being said, if it distresses you, you are always free to change back.” 

Phantom’s face turned…lost. “Oh.” 

Frostbite continued petting. More explanation would come, or it wouldn’t— but in the meantime, the human tinge returned to his charge’s cheeks, flush with red blood, and the bud horns collapsed where they grew. His charge’s hair turned dark once more, his teeth flat and human. 

Phantom’s eyes were always blue. The human color was not as deep, but was just as nice. Now, there were tears in them. 

“What is wrong, little one?” Frostbite rumbled, concerned. Phantom took his paw and pressed his face to it in search of tactile comfort. 

“I didn’t know why I was changing,” Phantom admitted, sniffing. His voice was wet and raw. “I was scared I couldn’t go back. Humans don’t just…change like that, 'cause we're made of matter. I was scared…”

Frostbite rumbled wordlessly. His charge had adapted very well to a non-human environment, but there were knowledge gaps that would have come naturally to any Realms-Borne being; most intuitively was knowledge of the self, as well as the rigidity (and fluidity) of one’s own manner of expression. 

Changing without realization would be distressing. Frostbite still remembered what it felt like to wake up some mornings and realize that his arm was gone. 

“You are alright,” Frostbite reaffirmed. “It it healthy to change, and it is a good time to find out how you will want to present yourself. That being said, there is no rush.”

Frostbite paused. 

“There is one rush. If you intend to partake in eating marrow with our dinner tonight, you may want to manifest your teeth again—”

Phantom laughed, little cub’s fangs poking out between his teeth. All would be well; but first, there was dinner to be had, and a good night’s sleep to be found.

[lilmaymayy]

im sorry but theres nothin i hate more than xocs in an xreader hashtag😔😔

ITS FINE IF THERES OCS IN THE FIC BUT THEY BETTER NOT END UP W MY MAN

[mammomlette]

People don’t talk about MC needing to wear a magical ring to not accidentally yk cause NATURAL DISASTERS with their powers??? Not only accidentally but without realising???

Diavolo or smthn is asking too much of MC or being a bit too annoying and their other hand slowly drifts towards the ring and they hold onto it while maintaining dead eye contact. Like continue to piss me off hoe I’ll blink and blow a hole in your castle idk

Obv they never do it (or do they?) but the threat is there and it’s a risk dia (or whoever but I’m using dia) can’t take

[infernal-lamb]

Hey, I've seen your drawings from Neves. They are brilliant. I like her a lot, and are you writing fanfic about her?

Ahh thank you!!! That's really flattering fkljgfjf....It's always a pleasant surprise that people like Neves :'-) (and I love when I get an excuse to post my doodles of her and the Lamb lol)

I am in the works of trying to write a cotl fanfic abt this specific au (I call it The Apostate & The Martyr in my head lol), but writing doesn't come as easily as drawing to me SIGH. I've actually written quite a bit, but the problem is putting all these random excerpts together to make something coherent LOL. But yes, the fic is intended to be the story of The Lamb and Neves' friendship amidst the brutality and terror of the Lands of the Old Faith, how to deal with the consequences of their choices, and the mutual alienation they experience in their positions....as silly as that sounds lol. It's very self-indulgent! I just liked the concept of the "Outsider" POV, so to speak, being subjected to the sort of normalized violence that exists in cotl. Though, I might end up just making comics if I can't pan out this fanfic well enough!

[birdcatt]

ok so i KNOW hero/darkrai and/or partner/darkrai is very much a road of hurt/comfort. HOWEVER i think hero/partner/darkrai has Comedic Potential

forbidden version where leaf doesn't have floppy ears below the cut

[shhroomer]

You guys ever read the most beautiful, jaw dropping, feet kicking, leaves you with a feeling of yearning fic that it possesses you? yea that was me anyways here’s vampire Kyle and his annoying assigned bodyguard who’s also a witch

(ALSO IF YOU WANT TO READ SAID FANFIC ITS A KYLE X READER FIC CALLED ITS FALLING FOR THE IDEA BY FEDOSAURUSREX ON AO3 THAT INSPIRED ME TO WHIP THIS WHOLE AU UP)

[myokk]

Trick or Treat!! 🍬

Here’s a 5 minute sketch of Elsie!!🫶🫶

She’s writing a fic, I haven’t had a chance to read it yet but it’s about Elsie💓💓 & on her blog you can see a lot of excerpts!!

[clockwork-ashes]

All You Have Is Your Fire - Part XXII.V (Eris Vanserra POV)

Summary: Eris Vanserra spends most of his evenings attending to important business, although he does occasionally believe he deserves a break.

Note: I had to include a small side story within this larger fic, and Eris is one of my favourites!!! This is a short Eris x OC (Cora) one-shot! Next update will be back to regular elucien chapters, so I hope you guys enjoy!!! SMALL WARNING, this will be a little spicy ;) A huge thank you to the lovely @sad-scarred-sassy who deserves all the credit for the post that inspired me to start writing this :)

Tag List: @anishake / @nocasdatsgay / @mybestfriendmademe / @talibunny30 / @halfbutneverwhole / @wishfulimaginings / @goldenmagnolias / @emmers-bens123 / @cauldronblssd / @xirose / @rarephloxes / @thehighlordishere / @the-darkestminds /

Eris tilted his head, wolf like, as his ears caught the gentle sound of keys going into the lock of the room’s door. He frowned, not having heard any footsteps, but even in the dim lighting, he knew it was simply Cora returning to her chambers for the evening. 

Eris sat up from where he had been sprawled across her small bed, leaning his elbow on her pillows, setting down the sketchbook he had idly been flipping through until the Night Court female had returned. 

She was humming a musical tune softly to herself and Eris could not help but find it endearing, especially as she fumbled to strike a match, her eyes not having adjusted to the dark. 

“I forget,” Eris began, smiling involuntarily at her yelp of surprise, “that you can’t light the torches.” He willed the smallest bit of his own magic to do so, shadows falling across the room, highlighting the sharp planes of Cora’s lovely face as she scowled at him. 

Her glare could level mountains, Eris thought, nodding his chin at her in greeting. She crossed her arms, raised a brow in question. “Can’t go an entire day without me?” Her accent was thick with the rhythms of the Hewn City, the vowels short and the consonants striking. 

I can’t. 

Eris would have rather cut out his own tongue than admit such a thing to the wicked creature standing before him. He lifted a shoulder, “I usually get what I want.” 

“You’re spoiled,” she snapped, her ever present bite to the words were without an ounce of patience, although she did not ask him to leave and Eris fought to maintain the uncaring expression on his features. 

“You were with Elain.” He knew that his brother’s mate was worried about the quickly approaching equinox, and while Eris had ensured she remained safe, he was hardly going to concern himself with the disastrous predicament she had gotten herself into when she had told his father that she and Lucien were to be married. 

Eris had been confident that Cora’s response would have been a resounding yes, but she shook her head at him. “I was with your mother,” she corrected. “I was helping her with the floral arrangements for the wedding.” 

Eris could not help but frown. “And she needed you for that?” He would have preferred the Lady of Autumn to stay away from Cora. For selfish reasons, since his mother could be meddlesome, and because he did not entirely trust Elain’s friend. 

Cora locked the door behind her, not looking at him as she placed the keys onto the mantle of the fireplace. “I think she must be lonely.” There was an edge of understanding in the tone she used that suggested perhaps she was familiar with the feeling. 

Probably, but Eris would never admit that the loneliness could be a noose for everyone within his family, its hold tightening around the necks of the Autumn Court as time passed and there was no shift in power. 

Without Lethe and Kai — without Callum — Eris might have been lonely, too. His frown deepened and he tried to shake the thought from his mind, he and his mother were not on the best of terms, not since Lucien had been born, but his chest ached when he considered the isolated life the High Lord’s wife led. 

Eris was not going to spend the rest of his evening talking about his mother to a female he barely knew, so he began to idly stroke the edge of the sketchbook. He flipped between the pages, the paper rough. He hummed in response, to let Cora decide if he was agreeing with her observation or not, and tossed her sketchbook onto the nightstand. He focused on the way she began to take the braid out of her hair, followed the column of her neck with his eyes, the flames of the fireplace making her skin seem smooth as stone. 

“Your drawings are nice,” Eris offered into the silence. Cora had sketched the forest, the library, his hounds — even his bedroom — near perfectly. “You would have made a better artist than a lady’s maid.” She snorted in response, scrunching her nose at his words. “Have you considered switching professions?” He meant it sincerely. From what he had seen, she was quite dreadful at her job, to the point where Eris truly believed she was Elain Archeron’s personal guard. 

Cora was certainly blood thirsty enough for it, a fact Eris quite liked about her. She had her secrets, he was sure, everyone did. He tugged at the little golden hoop on his earlobe as he waited for her to answer.

Cora combed gentle fingers through her hair, considering his question seriously. She frowned in thought, and Eris took a moment to admire the way her full lips turned down into a pout. “I could never be an artist.” 

“Why not?” He might have been more curious if she had not decided to lift her skirts, flashing the skin of her ankle while she slipped off her shoes. It was his attempt at learning more about her, allowing her the chance to speak, since she shared nothing without a bit of prompting. 

You talk so much, and yet you say so little.

Eris had huffed a laugh at her remark, the only thing she had snarled at him as he had escorted her to Elain on their first day in the Autumn Court. He had found Cora startling, when most things at his age were simply to be expected. 

Eris had since learned that he was a raging forest fire in her presence, and she seemed to be the wind breathing more life into the flames. He could hardly look away from her when she was near, his eyes falling onto her when she entered any room. 

He had been half hard at the thought of her lips, at the promise of her kisses, before he had even opened the door to the small space he was now in.

Eris watched as Cora raised her shoulders in a shrug, as she made her way with elegant steps across the carpeted floors and towards the bed. His breath caught in his throat as she sat on the edge of the mattress, he could hear her steady pulse in his ears. 

“They wouldn’t let you, in the Hewn City?” He said softly, remembering she had been responding to another one of his questions with her shrug. 

Cora placed her hand so close to where his rested on the blankets, and he silently urged her to reach out, to let her fingers inch forward ever so slightly. She did not, choosing instead to blow a strand of her dark hair away from her eyes. 

Cora shook her head, “They have more need of musicians.” 

Eris’s mind turned to the solstice balls he had attended in the Night Court, the lilting music that everyone danced to as the evening went on. “So you don’t play an instrument,” he concluded. 

To his surprise, she laughed, the sound echoing in his skull. 

Lovely. 

“I’m very old,” she moved towards him suddenly, their noses nearly touching as she got onto her knees. “I play three.” 

Eris breathed in deeply, the scent of spruce trees and mountain air lingered and he felt drunk, his thoughts slow. “Very impressive,” he murmured, falling onto his back as Cora crawled towards him, her intentions clear. She placed a hand on his shoulder, using him for balance, one leg going over his waist so that she could straddle his lap.

Cora hovered above him, and while Eris had been expecting a kiss, he froze as she raised a hand towards his upturned face. She let scar-flecked fingers trail along the sharp line of his cheekbone, her thumb stopping on his lips. 

They stayed like that for a moment, before Eris broke the heavy silence. “Kiss me,” he ordered, but even to his own ears the words were breathless, the illusion of control. Cora ignored him, choosing to instead unlace the strings at his throat. She traced his jaw gently, and he stilled as she reached for his neck.

“Getting into fights?” She murmured and Eris winced. He had forgotten about the bruises, about the punches thrown between himself and Ronan moments before he had gone looking for her. 

It would have been too much to explain that he and Ronan always argued about the war camps now settled further into Spring’s territory, especially since Cora’s loyalties laid with the High Lord and Lady of Night. 

Eris decided not to answer, pulling her down so that he could nip at the skin between her neck and shoulder. His hand grappled for purchase in the fabric of her skirts, pulling them up so they could pool closer to her knees. He let his palm travel up the smooth curve of her calf, kissed her neck as he brushed his canines against her pulse. Eris paused at the knife strapped to the inside of her thigh, pulling away to raise an auburn brow at her. 

Cora blushed, her brown cheeks darkening a shade at the desire she must have spotted in his amber eyes. “For later,” she said, a mischievous smile gracing her stunning features. He felt himself further harden at the thought, pants straining as he wondered how she might put her blade to use. He would let her draw blood if she wished.

“Planning my murder?” Eris asked as Cora made herself comfortable, knees on either side of him. She pulled up her skirts further and his eyes tracked the movement, his hands followed along, touching every inch of skin she revealed. She was teasing, fully aware of the effect she had on him. 

Cora hummed, the sound making him shiver. “I do love treason.” 

Eris breathed a small laugh, a dreadful mistake on his part. The scent of her arousal lingered around them and he found himself growing tired of her games. He needed to taste her, had been thinking about it all day. 

Tightening his grip on the back of her thighs, Eris pulled Cora forward, perhaps more roughly than he intended. 

She threw out her hands, catching herself on the headboard, looking down at him with disdain. He had forgotten for a moment how small she was. Her dark hair fell around them, it was long, so long, as though she had not cut it in centuries. “Was that necessary?” 

Eris grinned up at her from his place splayed out along her pillows. “Sit.” 

Cora glared at him, as though she simply would have left him there, to annoy him as much as to prove that her will was stronger than his own. 

If it had been anyone else, Eris might have gotten up and left, to make a point that he did as he pleased and the faeries he dragged to his bed were merely a nice little distraction. 

He was, after all, a prince. 

Instead, he ran his hands up her thighs, feather light, before he repeated himself. “Sit.” 

And Cora did. 

Eris was used to the males and females of Autumn, vicious in court but shy when it came to their own pleasure. He knew it was because they were afraid, wisely so considering the reputation Eris had built for himself. He would thoroughly seduce them, bring them back to his chambers, and watch as they trembled, unsure, hands at their sides. 

It had been fun at first, but Eris was dreadfully bored, and Cora was interesting. She knew exactly what to do with her hands, dragging curses and moans from Eris’s lips with nothing but a simple twist of her wrist. She was also absolutely gorgeous, her dark eyes haunting him so he could not have a moment’s peace. 

He breathed in deeply, leaving a trail of kisses up the inside of her thigh. The dagger was still there, the metal cool against his cheek, and he licked just above the hilt with a long swipe of his tongue.

When his mouth brushed over the spot he knew would bring her the most pleasure, he paused, waiting for her permission. She shifted impatiently above him, and although she could not see him through the curtain of her skirts, Eris smiled. 

He pressed the flat of his tongue against her, and he felt as her nails scratched at the skin of his scalp, as her fingers tangled into the auburn strands of his hair and she kept him in place. Eris decided he would have gladly spent the rest of his life between her thighs, he groaned at the taste, pressed her more fully to his mouth, tongue moving. 

The one hand keeping her balanced, Eris spread her thighs further apart, inviting her to move if it would please her. His booted feet drew restlessly against the fur blankets, he wanted her to come on his mouth. 

He wanted her. 

Eris knew Cora was close as she clenched her thighs around him. He kept his hands on her, felt her muscles tense and he made a soft sound as she pulled away entirely. 

There were skirts in his mouth, he realised, just as Cora’s knee roughly knocked into the side of his head, a short burst of pain shooting into his temple. She kicked him in the gut in her effort to move away and Eris grunted at the contact of her foot against him. 

“The torches,” she breathed, her voice a whispered hiss. 

Eris barely understood what she was saying, his mind a mess, desire making it hard for him to think straight. She was adjusting her skirts, fixing her sleeves.  

“What about them?” Eris asked, eyes tracking her movements as he sat up. He licked his lips, fighting the urge to moan as he tasted her on his tongue. 

“They did something strange,” she was content to ignore the burning gaze he cast on her, looking instead towards the doors and paying attention to the flames flickering rather normally on the other side of the small room. 

“The fire reacts to me,” he said, a snarl entering his tone as he placed a broad hand on her small waist and pulled her towards him. His chest was rising and falling like he had been drowning and was drawing his first breath of air. “It reacts to me, reacting to you.” 

She rolled her eyes, as though she did not believe a single word he said. She ran a cool finger under the fabric of his collar. “I worry someone might see us.” 

“Don’t,” Eris mumbled as she deliberately began to undo the buttons of his waistcoat. She did so expertly, dragging it from his shoulders where it fell onto the mattress in a careless heap. 

Through the lighter fabric of his shirt, Eris felt as Cora’s hand lingered on his back. Her nails caught on the raised skin there. 

Lashes. 

He had whispered the word to Cora when she had paused at the feel of them the first night he had gotten her into his bed. She had pulled away just enough to hold his gaze, had searched his face for answers but was met with the expressionless mask he had long ago mastered. 

Punishments.

Cora had correctly guessed, he had witnessed the shift in her demeanour at the realisation, although she had said nothing. The lovers he took were usually Autumn born and raised, were usually well aware of the way the High Lord treated each of his sons. Still, Eris had felt as though Cora had become a bit more gentle, that she had held him like he was a piece of glass, easily breakable. 

“Eris,” she said softly, pulling him from his thoughts as she placed a kiss just below his jaw only to tug the shirt from where he had carefully tucked it. Her fingers traced the muscles of his stomach as he cupped the back of her head to keep her close. When she reached the laces at his pants, undoing them swiftly, he felt his lips part as she touched him. 

He wished she would say his name again, but he did not complain as she kissed him deeply, their tongues fighting for dominance as she wrapped delicate fingers around his length. His hands once again went under her skirts, fingers searching when he heard his best friend’s voice in the corridor. 

“Lady Elain Archeron,” Lethe said loudly, the name echoing with a hint of magic. It was his request for her to keep watch, but Eris instantly regretted it. 

Cora pushed herself away from him once more and Eris snarled his annoyance, wishing his little brother’s mate had retired for the evening. 

“I told you the torches had done something strange,” Cora accused, tossing his waistcoat for him to catch. She stumbled on the edge of the carpet as she rushed to put on her shoes, cursing him under her breath.

Eris ran fingers through his hair to ensure that no strand was out of place, adjusting his clothes to perfection and using his magic to scatter the scent of their still burning arousal. 

“Find me when she leaves,” Eris offered, hoping Cora would join him later. He would have hated to use his hand to find pleasure after their encounter. He unlocked the door, pausing with his fingers gripping the handle. Cora shuffled behind him, skirts ruffling, and he waited with bated breath for her response. 

Cora walked towards him quickly, each action rushed so she could throw him out of her room before Elain arrived to knock on the door. She reached out, no hesitation in the gesture as she grabbed onto his arm. Eris watched as she got onto the very tips of her toes, following her lead when she pulled down on his sleeve. He had to bend at the waist, practically bowing for her, so that she could place the softest of kisses onto his cheek. “I make no promises,” she murmured, letting her fingers trail down towards his wrist, her thumb stroking the skin there absently before she moved away from him with a playful shove in the direction of the hallway. 

Eris felt his entire face heat, and he bit the inside of his lip, frustrated with his uncommon lack of self control. He hoped Cora could not see the scarlet blush he was sure would reveal his slight attachment to her. 

Eris could hardly remember the last time someone had been so gentle with him, could hardly remember needing anyone’s affection. He said nothing, was unable to face her, so he merely schooled his features into a serious mask. 

Eris opened the oak door roughly and stepped past the stone archway, mind whirling with thoughts of Cora, only to crash bodily into Elain Archeron.

[demaparbat-hp]

For the Spirits— Chapter VII: Take Me South

Take me south when it's the time

Pour me away like golden wine

I'll form a splash and it will dry

But in the shape of you

—Pure You by Nothing But Thieves

.

Yume placed her hands on her hips and took a step forward. “That I do, yet I can't help but wonder about the timing. Heading South, seeking information on the Tribes…it's all very sudden, don't you think?”

The folded parchment hidden under his vest suddenly seemed to hold the weight of the world. Zuko placed a hand on his chest, where the sketch rested just above his heart. He stared thoughtfully at the floor.

Why now, indeed?

[skyrim-forever]

Feels bad for my other ocs as they watch me enter my 7th consecutive month of hyperfixationing on my fav and not making anything for them

[thegreatyin]

And thus, with the passing of 24 hours, Caeru's ambition truly comes to an end. Major Nemesis spoilers below the cut- we're talking endgame ambition business here. Mostly on a character RP front.

The Doomed Scientist made quite a few... choice decisions, in the end. Killing Cups once and for all, recording his story as one of grief-

And sparing what little remained of Mr Mirrors, leaving it free to roam Parabola as it sees fit.

Some of them, he can explain. Others, he's still left to feel... discontent.

Cups needed to die. That much was certain from the start. It was a tyrant, as all Masters are, and complicit in the bargaining and eventual destruction of four (potentially five) cities, as all Masters are. It was an obstacle. A murderer. A petty monster that felt no remorse even on its deathbed, and it went out of its way to ruin multiple lives just because it felt owed its own sick and twisted idea of revenge.

It killed his first love. It looked him in the eyes and he knew what it had done and he knew from the start it was going to die.

Perhaps, in the end, it knew too. And yet it still pleaded, and wanted to live, and-

It made a bargain.

A bargain Caeru didn't take.

Not because he didn't want to. Gods, he wanted to. He wanted it. He wanted it more than anything else in the world. To have Greylu back, to give him the gift of life, of love, to show him the wonders of the Neath and the beauty of the correspondence and all of the people Caeru has met and loved and found home with along the way-

But. He couldn't.

Because Cups was a monster. And no matter what, it deserved to die. And he could not, in good conscience, allow it to live.

Even if sparing it meant everything he's ever wanted.

So he's left here, now. With a bloodied traveling coat, and a bloodsoaked knife, and a favor finally fulfilled.

And nothing to live for. No resurrected lover, no charming visits to Helicon, no slow dances in the living room, no memories to rebuild and lives to live and he won't live again-

Nothing. All he has is a coat born of obligation, not to his love, but to people he's never even met. To lives he's never even touched. To a paramour, still alive, with hair of rose-pink, who doesn't even remember her own brother's existence.

Cups didn't die for Caeru's sake. Cups died for the sake of all who wanted it dead. For the revenger's court, and the ghost screaming in his ear, and the reckoning that will not be postponed indefinitely.

And Caeru, who acted as a tool to carry out their wills? Who all but betrayed his own lover, just to satisfy a cause he never knew existed?

All Caeru is left with, is regret. Regret-

-And grief.

[cinnamonest]

Look, you didn't hear it from me, but if you read AO3 fics, magatsuslut has some of the best Adachi characterization that I've seen. There are at least dozens of us Adachi fuckers! Their fic 'Sweet Dreams' is just great, Adachi straddles the line between terrifying and pathetic.

Sweet Dreams - Chapter 1 - magatsuslut (saccharine_saint) - Persona 4 [Archive of Our Own]

(link)

BLESS YOU anon I am always so happy to find fellow Adachifuckers in this world out there. Good to know this awful man has captivated others as well <3