#in this au he is cold and cunning and so good at knowing exactly what to say

[oc-cinematic-universe]

anyways. joe having 0 sense of self is why i can stick him in so many aus i think

[slytherhys]

June in January (Because I'm in Love)

Prompt: Powers & Possibilities (but make it Witchy!) @elriel-month

A/N: So I've had this AU in my mind for a really long time and I thought it'd be perfect for this prompt. It is kinda different from how I usually write so please bear with me. I hope I managed to make it at the very least a cute read! Enjoy 🌼

TW: Swearing, Blood and Violence (mentioned because Az is an idiot!)

You can also read this story on AO3!

The first time Azriel visits the witch’s cottage on the outskirts of Velaris, it’s against his will.

For starters, he has never been a fan of witches �� not of their unrestrained power and certainly not of their blood-drinking habits. He is also a firm believer that, despite Mor’s insistence, Madja would’ve been perfectly able to fix him up with whatever medicine she usually gave Cassian whenever he got punched in the face.

But after a sparring session gone wrong, a vicious hit to the face that takes both him and Cassian by surprise, and a pounding headache only made worse by Cassian’s incessant bragging about knocking out the Shadowsinger for the first time in centuries, Azriel barely bats an eye when Mor presses a piece of parchment to his hand and nearly forces him to visit her dear friend.

“You can thank me later.” She says with an impish smile. “Preferably with chocolates.”

Azriel doesn’t bother asking any questions – namely, who her friend is. Or rather what . With a nasty black eye, a bruised ego and absolutely no desire to take part in any small talk with a stranger, he simply goes, dazed, and confused as to how the fuck he let himself be punched in the face by Cassian, of all people.

But when he first gets there, he has to wonder if Mor is pranking him. 

The cottage is covered in ivy, idyllic enough that one could think it actually belongs to the landscape where it stands. The garden surrounding him is an array of colours and scents, neatly organised by a logic Azriel does not pretend to understand. It looks innocent enough, all things considered.

But something in him goes still as he takes in the landscape in front of him. His eyes narrow as he watches the flowers sway softly in the cool January breeze. They’re beautiful and fragrant and would raise absolutely no suspicion on any other given day – if not for the fact they were in full bloom despite it being the middle of winter.

And then he sees it – a plain, wooden sign, the lettering a loopy cursive that speaks of lovely, gentle things. If it wasn’t for what they spell out, of course.

Elain’s Herbs & Potions

His entire body goes cold, and it speaks of his self-control that Azriel doesn’t shoot to the skies without a glance back. Because he knows –vividly remembers – all the tales of witches he grew up hearing about. Of their all-seeing eyes and their crooked smiles that promised nothing but pain and horror. The tales of their rituals and tricks not even the most cunning soldier could escape. Even Rhys, for all his powers and smarts, has never showed much interest in coming across a witch.

He's wondering why, exactly, Mor ever thought it’d be a good idea to send him here when he sees her.

The first thing he notices, oddly enough, is how small she is. After living next to Amren for most of his life, Azriel is not foolish enough to ever think that a sign of weakness, but it intrigues him all the same. Then, he’s utterly aware of how she doesn’t look anything like what he thought she’d look like. There’s no yellowed teeth, no wispy, greying hair, no soulless eyes.

Instead, all he sees is long, golden-brown hair and chocolate eyes. A yellow dress that compliments her tanned skin and red cheeks and speaks of warmer, sunnier days. She’s carrying a wicker basket overflowing with flowers, but the scent that trails after her is all her – sweet and sour, and Az feels his legs nearly giving out from under him, it’s probably completely unrelatable.

Elain , he assumes, and never a name has ever sounded so sweet.

When she looks up and spots him, she smiles, as if she was waiting for him and is pleased to see he's finally here. His heart tumbles inside his chest and he tells himself it’s because he’s in the presence of a witch – not because he’s suddenly wanting things he’s never wanted before.

She eyes him curiously and he has

to stop himself from asking her what’s on her mind, even if it suddenly feels

like the most important thing he’s ever needed to know.

“Can I help you?” She asks sweetly. Her voice echoes through him, and something inside him settles. He, however, can’t bring himself to speak, swallowing dryly as he stares and stares and stares . The woman - Elain ,

he thinks with delight - tilts her head, furrowing her brow as her chocolate

eyes trace his face. “That doesn’t look good.” She mutters and Azriel has to

remind himself of the reason he’s here in the first place.

“A fight.” He says oh-so-eloquently , and he’s surprised she doesn’t seem alarmed in

the slightest by his response. As if, perhaps, this is a normal occurrence for

her. He doesn’t know why that bothers him, but it does. 

Elain, oblivious to his nonsensical thoughts, simply nods and turns on her feet, disappearing inside her cottage without another word. Azriel remains where he is, unsure of what to do. All of a sudden, he can’t recall why he ever feared witches in the first place, why he ever believed the tales his brothers told him in the middle of the night when they were too young to know any better. 

And fuck if they knew any better. 

It takes the pretty witch less than five minutes to return, this time carrying a small basket in her hands, each one of her steps a small symphony of bottles clicking against each other until she’s standing in front of him. He looks down at the basket with intrigue and pretends that her closeness isn’t making his skin tingle. He listens carefully as she explains – a bit shyly, Azriel notices with satisfaction – how he must apply the green ointment to his bruises, at what time he must drink the periwinkle potion and how many times a day the white paste must be applied to reduce the swelling of his cheek.

When he nods in thanks and turns to leave, it’s entirely too soon and a pang echoes through his body as he desperately tries to come up with ways of prolonging his stay but comes up empty instead. His skin feels too tight, his cheeks too hot, his hands too clammy. He vaguely wonders if he’s running a fever - if maybe he can ask her for a cure for that as well. 

She walks by his side until they’re standing on the limits of her property, like maybe she doesn't want him to leave just yet either. He feels oddly mislaid; uncertain of what to do and who to be. All his convictions turn into ash and suddenly there’s only one thing he knows for sure: he’s going to have to get punched again, because there’s not a chance in this world he isn’t seeing Elain again.

“Who won?” Azriel turns to her as she asks, confusion clear on his face. Elain, not one to be put off by his silence, clarifies, “The fight.”

Azriel chuckles softly. “Not me.”

She frowns like she's not entirely happy with his response. “Well, make sure you win next time. Okay?” 

But the second time Azriel visits the witch’s cottage, just on the outskirts of Velaris, Elain greets him with a brilliant smile, not disappointed in the slightest to see him sporting a new bruise and a busted lip.

It shouldn’t surprise him how beautiful she looks, but he still is taken aback when he first sees her. Her hair is tumbling down her back in a messy braid, a too-big straw hat on her head and a small streak of dirt on her cheek that she probably isn’t aware of. Her cheeks are flushed from the sun, her blue dress reminds him of ripe blueberries, and the way it sways with her every step reminds him of flying in the summer breeze.

This time around, there’s no doubt in his mind he’s right where he should be. A familiar feeling of contentment rushes through his body, as if after weeks of waiting to see her, he can finally let himself relax and enjoy this small moment of reprieve (and really, who can blame him for wanting to get punched again?).

When Elain asks him what happened this time around, Azriel doesn’t dare tell her he made sure to pick Rhys during this week’s sparring session; that he made sure the most powerful High Lord in history punched him just in the right place so that he could bust his lip open. He doesn’t tell her about the confused look on his friend’s face as Azriel smiled maniacally when he felt the blood on his lips, nor does he tell her he tried to go for a broken nose instead so that maybe she would touch him too.

He simply smiles sheepishly at the pretty witch and utters something about distractions, making her blush under his stare as she turns around and scolds him for being so careless, all the while making a package of too many potions he doesn’t entirely need. (He still hasn’t used up all the old ones, but he doesn't tell her that either).

When Elain finally turns to him, her eyes drop to his lips and Azriel feels fire licking up at his spine. She watches him with curiosity and something else lingering in those cinnamon eyes. Amusement, perhaps?

For a brief, panicky moment, he wonders if she can see right through him. As it is, Azriel doesn’t exactly know where her power lies, and for all he knows every lie, every excuse is pointless in the presence of this witch.

Elain, however, doesn’t seem too concerned by his lies. “What is your favourite fruit?” She asks instead, eyes flickering to his as if nervous to see his reaction. 

Azriel tucks away his puzzlement and says, “Blueberries,” pretending the whole time it’s not only because of the colour of her dress. She nods once, as if the answer satisfies her, and hands him the basket.

“Be careful, okay?” She tells him in that honeyed voice and Azriel can think of nothing else to say, so he nods and leaves without a glance back.

He pretends he doesn’t miss her the entire flight back home.

The third time Azriel visits Elain’s cottage, he is greeted by a brilliant smile that sends his heart racing inside his chest. Elain, still bent over a shrub, tells him about the new batch of healing potions she’s been perfecting so he can try them, and he tries not to show just how pleased he is that she has been thinking about him, waiting for him to return. She doesn’t ask him about his bandaged shoulder and Azriel doesn’t tell her about the lecture he got from Rhys once the High Lord of the Night Court realised what was going on.

“These ones taste like blueberries.” She says, handing him three new potions he’s never seen before. He frowns slightly. “They’re your favourite.” She explains, and the expectant smile on her face makes it impossible for him to come clean. He isn’t even sure he likes blueberries, but he thanks her anyway and smiles the whole way home.

The fourth time Azriel visits Elain’s cottage, he has just returned from a mission abroad. When she hears the rustle of his wings, she turns to him with that brilliant smile of hers. To her credit, she doesn’t stop smiling when he sees the heavy expression on his face. She simply stands up, holds his hand, and leads him to a wooden bench under a willow tree behind her house.

They sit there for hours, without a word ever being spoken. He doesn’t know how Elain knows he doesn’t wish to speak, but he’s thankful all the same.

When he returns home, he doesn’t take any potions with him, but nevertheless something inside him feels mended; lighter than it has ever felt before. For a quiet, lovely moment he wonders if maybe he’s worthy of having his hands held despite the scars marring his skin and the idea of such a life follows him all the way home.

The fifth time Azriel returns to Elain’s cottage, nothing seems to be amiss - both Cassian and Rhysand refuse to fight him (since Rhysand promptly forbade them), and Azriel can’t seem to find any more excuses to see her again. Until he realises he doesn’t need them anymore.

As he flies to her house, a million scenarios rush through his mind as he wonders how she’ll react. If she’ll welcome him with her beaming smile, watching him as if she’d been waiting for him all along or if instead, she’ll find it so weird to find him uninjured she’ll send him on his way the second she understands why, exactly, he’s there. Azriel isn’t foolish enough to believe he’d be so lucky, but he wants to brave enough to find out.

He finds sitting in the middle of the daisies, looking for all the world like she has been painted into the landscape to make it all the more appealing. When she sees him, a smile lights up her face, eyes taking him in as he walks her way and Azriel isn’t entirely sure why, but every single doubt tainting his mind melts away into a puddle at the expression on her face.

Elain doesn’t say a word. She simply waits, rising to her feet and watching him with an expectant look in her eyes.   

“I don’t need anything today.” He says by way of greeting, and she gives him a tentative smile. 

“But you’re here.” She says gingerly, not a trace of confusion on her face.

Which makes him confused in return. “I am.” He says, and Elain chuckles, the sound low and so sweet, so perfect his heart nearly leaps from his chest to try and catch the sound. He can’t stop watching her as certainty settles deep into his bones.

Elain blows a breath like she’s finally had enough of his silence. Her cheeks pinken under his stare but she isn’t deterred. “Are you finally going to ask me out, Azriel?” She asks a bit exasperatedly. “Or is the Shadowsinger going to keep getting his ass handed to him until he finds the courage?”

He’s speechless for one second. Two. Three. He vaguely thinks of Mor and how she described Elain as her dear friend . And then he’s wondering if he’s truly that transparent and if she’s known what he had been doing all along – gathering the courage to kiss her, have her in any way he can get.

And then he’s not wondering anymore - he’s pulling her into his arms instead, kissing her until they both can’t breathe, until the sun falls behind the trees, until the cool breeze of January makes Elain shiver in his arms, reminding them of where they are. That, despite the blooming garden and the warmth of their kiss, it’s still January and there’s an entire world out there waiting for them to start the rest of their lives.

But none of it seems to matter as Elain pulls away from him, never letting go of his hand as she asks, “Do you want to come inside?”

And later that night, when the colours of dawn chase away the darkness of the night, with Elain sleeping soundly against his chest, Azriel smiles, shaking his head in disbelief.

Because he now owes Mor a very big fucking box of chocolates.

[shih-coulda-had-it]

that dfohiko verse AU with toshinori and rikiya as test tube twins

//

WC: ~1000. Fun detail that I didn't actually incorporate in the snippet but I feel compelled to tell you anyway: All for One named Rikiya ("power" + "to be"; riki + ya), and Sorahiko named Toshinori ("genius" + "law"; toshi + nori). This absolutely positively does not give the twins issues about which parent loves them more (big lie).

//

(age seven)

“Who’s older?” Rikiya demanded, because he was canny enough to know that there was something to be held over his brother’s head if he could secure the status. 

“What does that matter?” their dad asked, levelly.

Toshinori had other concerns. Dinner, mostly, because their dad had cooked. He usually did when their father was out on business. “I told you they don’t know,” he told Rikiya, digging into his omurice with barely restrained glee. “We got dropped off by a big white bird, so they can’t tell.”

“That’s not what happened,” Rikiya said. “Garaki-hakase said--”

Their dad’s head tilted. “Said what?”

It was not like the doctor had told Rikiya to keep what he had said secret. And, anyway, Rikiya was pretty confident that everyone had to follow what his dad told them to. If not his dad, then definitely his father.

“He said that you and otou-sama ‘knew us from the beginning,’ and that he ‘was there to scream our lungs out for the first time,’” he recited. “But even Garaki-hakase wouldn’t tell me who was older! All he said was that you’d know.”

Their dad made a noise in the back of his throat, like a scoff. 

“I guess I could call you Riki-nii,” said Toshinori dubiously. “But Toshi-nii sounds just as good!”

Rikiya looked first at Toshinori’s guileless face, then at the spoon clutched tight in his hand. Before he could throw the spoon, their dad reached over and curled his fingers over Rikiya’s fist. Firm enough to prevent further movement, but not enough to hurt. It was warm.

“What does it matter?” their dad asked again.

“I wanna be older than Toshinori.”

“Because?”

He frowned down into his bowl. Saying what he really wanted out loud would alert Toshinori to what he was missing, and the last thing Rikiya could win at was a competition with his brother to get what he wanted. Toshinori always got what he asked for; Rikiya needed to take it.

“Because I want a younger brother,” he said.

“Can we have a younger brother?!” Toshinori interjected, and at his words, their dad twitched back. Rikiya’s hand felt cold without the restraint.

“No.”

Stated so plainly, flatly, forcefully--it was clear that their dad wasn’t even up to entertaining the idea of a third child, which Rikiya was fine with. But Toshinori didn’t get the message, because he only made an idle humming noise and then said, like it was a cunning loophole, “What about a younger sister?”

“No,” their dad repeated. “The two of you are enough. For us and for yourselves. You don’t need another sibling.”

“Okay,” said Rikiya, “but otou-sama talks about his younger brother all the time.”

“That’s his own deal.”

“Do we have to fight for it? Like, whoever wins is the older one?” It was surprising to hear the question not come out of his mouth, but his brother’s. That was a concern. Toshinori was getting the gist of what was going unspoken. Well, Rikiya thought blackly, it was only a matter of time.

“If I catch either of you starting a fight about who’s older,” their dad intoned, “I’ll end it. The two of you are twins. You’re equals.”

There wasn’t really anything to say back to that. Rikiya sulked into his dinner, and so did Toshinori, but it was definitely for different reasons.

(age eleven)

Toshinori knew Rikiya was glaring at the wall, picturing Toshinori’s neck, and he refused to quail. He got dared, so of course he would follow through. It was just… It was just a little daunting, to have the question put to him, to put to their dad, who wasn’t exactly the greatest at emoting soft feelings.

Still. Toshinori got dared, and so he would dare.

“Tou-san,” he says carefully. He is sprawled on his belly in bed, covers drawn up to his shoulders, sleeping cap wrestled over the ruffled mess of his hair. Half of Toshinori’s face is squished into his pillow, but even half is good enough to peer anxiously up to their dad’s face.

“Yeah?”

“You wanted the both of us, right?”

A strange expression crosses the usually grim countenance. Neither Toshinori nor Rikiya got the eyes of their parents. Toshinori sometimes wishes he looked a little more like Rikiya, who had the curve of their dad’s nose. Their father liked to tease Rikiya by tracing its bend and delighting in its prominent trait, and Rikiya pretended to hate the attention, but Rikiya once told Toshinori that it was definitely preferable to, you know, not having any defined features of their parents.

Probably the worst thing Rikiya’s ever called Toshinori was ‘donor-child’, but considering Toshinori came out of that fight on top, teeth bared and knuckles bruised, Toshinori’s inclined to leave the incident behind them. His father had been weirdly pleased, hauling him off his brother.

“You’re my child,” his father had said, before picking up Rikiya too. “And you are too, Riki. The things we pass on aren’t purely about appearances or meta abilities.”

Backlit by the hallway light, dressed down in casual clothes--their dad wasn’t a househusband the way their father teased him, but Toshinori noticed him wearing the trappings of normalcy for once, and some part of him had thought vulnerability. 

“... Yeah,” their dad says, gruffly. “The both of you.”

Toshinori quails first. He lets his eyes slide away, burning in shame, and clears his throat to say a quiet goodnight. Their dad inclines his head, the dusty gray of his hair catching yellow glares, and then he leaves, closing the door shut behind him. They wait in the dark for a long, long minute.

And, quietly, Rikiya says, “He hesitated.”

“He still said it,” says Toshinori, staring at that closed door. Something had gone through their dad’s face, and Rikiya had definitely had his back to them, so it’s up to Toshinori to decipher it. He doesn’t think it was a bad expression. Their dad loves quietly, that’s all. Toshinori shouldn’t have pushed the matter so clumsily into the open.

“He had to. He probably thinks we’ll run to otou-sama and get him in trouble.”

“Stop talking about the worst case scenario like it’s gonna happen,” Toshinori mutters, and he digs his nails into the pillow.

“It’s because you won’t that I have to,” Rikiya sniffs, and there’s a creak of the bedsprings. He’s curling tighter in his blankets, Toshinori would bet anything, because he’s doing the same thing.

[sagendipity]

the law of attraction: de minimis

a quackity x reader law school au

part one, chapter one

[PREV] | [NEXT]

.

The first myth about law school is that everyone is the same.

In movies, in TV shows, in books- everyone in law school is a certain type of person. Dangerously smart, hardworking to a fault, and absolutely cutthroat.

Now, that is true. To get this far, to get into a competitive law school and make it to your final year, you have to be all of the above. Smart, hardworking, and just a little cunning. It’s impossible to get a leg up unless you’re standing on someone else’s knee.

Or neck.

However, the fact that everyone here has to have a certain few traits in order to survive does not mean that they cannot have other traits.

Some are louder, exuberant, and competitive- the type to yell out the answer to a question before raising their hand, the type to go back and forth with the professor when they’re sure they’re right (and they’re not). There’s the introverts, the sly ones you never see coming, who you barely notice next to you all year until you glance over at the grade on their final and it’s a 110%, somehow.

Of course, there’s also the in-between. The respectable ones, the students that are just there to get through the classes they need and get a respectable job at a respectable law firm and make something nice out of their lives.

Or the hero type, the ones that are convinced they can fix any injustice they perceive in the world- the environmental lawyers, the criminal defense lawyers, the civil rights lawyers. They might be right, too, which is why it seems like a never-ending flow of them are pouring into the school at each orientation.

It’s not always as simple as that, of course. You, like many students, are a mix of a few types. You lie somewhere between the exuberant and introverted sides, not shy about answering questions in lectures, but not jumping the gun to cause discourse, either. A bit of a hero type, you must admit, but you do pride yourself on being reasonable when it comes to your life’s expectations. You don’t expect to become some William Kunstler. You work hard, you get shit done, and like law school has a tendency to do, it seems to become your whole entire life.

The type of person you never quite got a read on is Alex.

He’s been sitting next to you in your upper level criminal procedure class for the entire semester. A whole semester’s worth of lectures means you have plenty of time to observe and analyze the people in your classes- its not like there’s anything else to do when the professor is going over voir dire for the third hour that week.

You pegged the kid in the third row as a die-hard businessman. He’s not going into law to help people, he’s going into law to make the most profit off of the most vulnerable clients he can find. The girl in row six, however, is definitely the hero type, judging by her “save the oceans” stickers on her giant re-usable coffee cups.

Alex, though, you can’t read. He dresses down compared to the other students. They dress up to hide their shortcomings, like their fancy coats can stop them from feeling bad about their less-than-adequate qualifications for the internship they just applied for. Others just like to lean into the New York City aesthetic and dress like they’re already lawyers, even despite failing their last midterm. You fall into that category- you can’t help it, it’s a fun look- but hey, you definitely didn’t fail your midterm, and you’ve lived in New York your whole life, so you think you have the right to dress like that.

Alex dresses like he has nothing to hide. He dresses like the young, high-level professor who is always cracked out on Redbull and hasn’t graded a paper in his life; like the cute, fascinating barista at the local hipster coffee shop you can barely afford. He dresses like that one guy you’d see on the subway one day and never manage to forget because of how his eyes met yours for a split second.

To be fair, that is kind of how it’s gone. It’s not exactly like the two of you met on the subway, and you’ve definitely interacted more than just a passing glance, but goddammit is Alex stuck in your head.

You convince yourself it’s just because he’s such a mystery. It’s not because he has really sweet brown eyes, or the most charming, unruly hair you’ve seen this side of the Midwest. It’s not because he whispers a joke under his breath whenever your professor says something stupid, or because he bumps your ankles together and shares an amused glance with you when that one really annoying kid pipes up with an opinion no one wanted.

It’s just because you don’t know why he’s here, and you don’t know what he wants, and you don’t know how to read him.

It bugs you. It gets under your skin- not like an itch, more like a hum. He’s on the back of your mind constantly, like you’re trying to subconsciously figure out what’s up with him, but to this day you’ve had no success.

It’s not like you think about anything substantial in regards to him- every time your traitorous brain brings him up, you put it down quicker than it came up. Getting attached to people is dangerous in the best of circumstances, but getting attached to the absolute enigma of a guy in your criminal procedure class who you can’t even confidently say is named Alex would be equivalent to signing up for heartbreak.

“Don’t date law boys,” your roommate had lamented after she had done just that, laid across her rose-pink bedspread with a sleeve of crackers clutched in one hand and a tissue in the other. She had then blown her nose unattractively. “Lawyers have a reputation for being soulless for a reason. They’re only here for themselves. Fuck them.”

Despite that, you find yourself friends with Alex. As if you’d be able to resist the self-satisfied grins he flashes at you when the professor praises him for a particularly poignant answer, or the way he holds his hand out under the table for a high-five after you nail the answer to a cold call. You barely know anything about him, and yet, you know enough to decide he’s a good person.

“Alex”, whose name you’re only about 80% sure of- maybe it’s short for Alexander, but you thought you’d heard someone he was on the phone with call him Q, so maybe he’s a Quinn or a Quentin?

“Alex”, who shows up looking more comfortable than you’ve been in your entire life, and still manages to hold an air of confidence around him that you’d not be able to master even in your finest long coat and shirt.

“Alex”, who seems determined to wiggle his way into your heart in any way he can.

“Alex”, who you seem to be powerless to resist.

.

This growing attachment to Alex of yours is only strengthened with each lecture. You share this class three times a week, two hours each on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. It’s a focus class, meaning that anyone who wants to go into criminal work should take this course. It’s challenging, it’s competitive, and it’s cutthroat.

And it’s only February.

A cold Monday morning in February, in fact, with the clock above your professor’s desk ticking obnoxiously as the big hand nears the 8. Outside, it’s downright miserable: windy and foggy. The outside of the paneled windows of the classroom are glazed in a sticky frost, reducing the figures of passing students to dull blobs as they hurry through the whipping wind to get to their classes.

The big doors at the back of the classroom close with a bang that reverberates throughout the lecture hall, cutting through the murmuring chatter of the students who are already here. Out of the corner of your eye you catch a flash of green- as you suspect, it’s Alex. He always takes the seat on the very end of the row, and you the one immediately to his right. You look up at him with what you hope is a casual smile, but the one he returns is so bright it could probably melt the frost off of the windows.

“Hey!” he says, too awake for 8 in the morning, and sets his binder down on the desk with a clatter. The whoosh of air rustles the paper of your notebook, which you smooth back down habitually. You watch Alex longer than you should, only tearing your gaze away after you notice the smattering of tiny snowflakes that have gathered atop the beanie he’s wearing.

You stifle a little laugh. This guy wears a beanie to law school.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he settles into his seat. He shrugs off his hunter green jacket, leaving him in just a gray hoodie, dotted with darker spots from melting snowflakes that’d been blown into him. He drops his outer jacket across his lap just as the room goes silent, your professor walking up to his desk.

As the last tails of conversations die off, you turn to Alex, unable to help yourself, “You have… snowflakes, on your head.”

He glances at you, a little huff of laughter escaping him as he brings up a hand to smooth over the beanie. The snowflakes are swiped off, melting on the heat of his hand- you wonder how it would feel held in yours, probably warm, he looks like he runs hot- and you pry your eyes away as he straightens out his beanie and tucks his hair up into the brim of it. He misses a strand, and the black swoop stands out sharply against the frost-paled skin of his face.

“Happy February,” your professor begins, his microphone crackling to life. “The month of love, is it not? Just two weeks until Valentines day.”

He swings his bag up onto the stool next to him, the sound echoing through the microphone. He turns to face the lecture hall, arms spread as if welcoming you all to a talk show.

“I’m about to ruin all of your Valentines Day plans. Welcome to the start of your final project: the mock trial.”

.

[snelbz]

Life As We Know It {Chapter 13}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays. Occasional surprise chapters could be posted at miscellaneous times. Chapters will be posted on both my and Tara’s blogs! >> @tacmc.​

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

THIS CHAPTER IS 18+.

As soon as her lips brushed against his, the fragile, tenuous hold Cassian had on himself snapped. He released the hand he’d been holding and both of his hands found her backside, grabbing and kneading as his lips met hers again. Nesta’s arms snaked around his neck and she lifted herself, bobbing in the water as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

There was so little between them, and as he pressed her back against the wall of the pool, she could feel all of him pressing against her core. He ground himself against her and she tore her lips from his to gasp softly.

Nesta’s blue-grey eyes were wide, wild and glazed, and Cassian pressed his hips into her own again, just to hear that gasp again. He wasn’t expecting the quiet whimper that accompanied it, but it made him repeat the action again and again, until her head was thrown back and her eyes fluttered shut.

“Feel good, already?” Cassian muttered, nipping at her ear. “I haven’t even begun with you yet.”

Nesta’s nails dug into his back as their mouths met, hungry and untamed.

He slid his tongue between her lips, feeling her teeth as they clashed against his. She clung to him as if her life depended on it, and Cassian didn’t mind it, not one bit.

There were countless words Cassian had come up with throughout the years to describe Nesta Archeron: cold, heartless, manipulative, cruel, demeaning, stuck up, cunning, bitch, hot as hell.

But he never imagined she would be promiscuous, devastating, experienced, completely and utterly wild.

Sexy as hell.

As if to taunt him, to prove him wrong, one of her arms slipped from where it wrapped around his shoulders, her nails dragging softly as it went, and she snaked it down between their bodies. Cassian hissed against her lips as she cupped him in her hand and squeezed lightly. She did it again and he pulled his lips from hers again, unable to stop the quiet groan from tumbling from him.

“You like that?” Nesta whispered, as his brow fell against hers. She gazed up into his heavy-lidded gaze. His eyes were glazed, from the alcohol or the lust, she couldn’t tell, and she didn’t care. Not as he nodded.

“You have no idea.” His tone was breathy, gravely, ragged in a way she’d never heard, but wanted to hear again and again. She wondered what her name would sound like if he said it like that.

Letting her hand slide into his swim trunks, she gripped his cock in her hands, squeezing once at the base.

His eyes slid shut and Nesta could have sworn he shivered slightly. She doubted it had anything to do with the warm water they were in.

“And that?” She asked, pumping once. “Do you like that?”

“Tease,” he breathed.

“Is that a complaint?” she asked, beginning to take her hand away.

“Hell no,” he said, lids fluttering open until his eyes met hers.

She watched him, lips parted, completely compulsed by his expressions alone. “Good,” she said, taking him in her hand and pumping, slowly, over and over again.

A low groan came from the depths of Cassian’s throat. He cursed. He said her name.

Nesta’s hand moved quicker, which only made Cassian’s hips move.

Nesta opened her mouth for a snarky comment, but she didn’t get the chance as Cassian took a handful of her hair and pulled her head back, his lips instantly finding the most sensitive part of her neck.

He nipped with his teeth.

Nesta gasped.

A hand gripped her breast and pinched a nipple, at the same time his teeth bit down softly on the spot where her neck met her shoulder.

It only made her grip him harder as she gasped again, and he breathed her name again.

Moving the fabric of her top to the side, his hand covered her breast. He found the nipple he’d just pinched, gently squeezing it between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it softly.

Her head fell back completely, regardless of the hand still buried in her hair, and she stroked him quicker, loving the feeling of his cock in her hand.

She knew she would love having it other places even more.

His lips found her neck again, and as she breathed his name, he let go of her hair, wrapping his hand around hers as she continued to stroke his cock.

“If you keep doing that, you’re going to ruin your fun,” he warned, even as his own hand tightened over hers and he slowed her hand down by just a hair. Showing her exactly how he liked it.

Rough. Hard. And slow.

Her eyes connected with his.

Cassian slowed Nesta’s hand to a halt, and he gave her a long, slow kiss before whispering, “How do you like it, Nesta?”

She didn’t hesitate. “I think you already know.”

“Is that so?”

“Try me.”

Cassian took her hips in his hands and lifted her onto the side of the pool. Thanks to the depth of the pool, he hardly had to lower himself as he pulled her bikini aside and admired her smooth, pink sex. He slid his tongue between her folds, slowly, tauntingly.

He wrapped a hand around one of her thighs and kept her legs spread for him as he teased her with his tongue. Nesta had to stop her head tipping back, had to fight to keep her eyes open as she gazed down at him. The sight of his head between her legs, of his mouth on her… It was the most erotic thing she’d ever seen.

She could also see past him, into the water, where he fisted himself, pumping in time with the stroke of his tongue. Nesta’s hand moved of its own accord as she reached, gripping her breast, and tugging on her peaked nipple. She let a quiet moan fall from her lips and Cassian’s eyes opened and took her in.

He watched her closely as he dragged his tongue up her center and then let it gently drift over her clit. The moan was a bit louder.

He did it again and again, over and over, adding pressure with each pass until he was flicking it, and she was a writhing, moaning mess. Her back was pressed against the unforgiving concrete beneath her and her hand was gripping Cassian’s wet hair.

She swore, and it seemed to set fire to Cassian because he took her clit into his lips and sucked, refusing to be gentle.

“Cass-Cassian,” she begged, as he sucked her in, and in, and in again.

She knew Cassian had been with plenty of women, but the amount of skill he had with his mouth was mesmerizing. Her knees were weak, her heart pounding, her mind unable to form any sort of thought.

“Take me,” she begged. “Take me to bed.”

Cassian leaned back, and met her gaze. She was breathing hard, her bare breasts rising and falling as her chest heaved. “You’re sure?” he asked.

Nesta laughed, her eyes wild. “You can’t take me this far and not take me all the way.”

He was pulling himself out of the pool before she’d barely finished her sentence, taking her hands and helping her to her feet. Water dripped from his trunks, but he barely acknowledged it as he wrapped his arms around her and picked her up again, her legs instinctually wrapping around him. They’d been in this position only a few minutes before. Except this time, there was nothing between them and his cock easily slid between her folds. She whimpered as her lips found his again.

His knees nearly buckled from the slick heat of her, but they didn’t and he carried her into the house.

Nesta’s back found the wall as Cassian paused to grind himself against her wetness more times than she could and by the time he was dropping her onto her bed, they had both lost their swimsuits at some point throughout the house. She looked up at him as he stood at the end of the bed, his cock jutting out proudly.

Biting her bottom lip, Nesta decided she liked looking at that cock.

He climbed over her, his eyes never leaving hers. He leaned down and kissed her, softly, then kissed her neck, her collarbone, her breasts. Then, he was looking at her again, his eyes searching hers for any sort of protest.

There were none.

He leaned down against her, his body covering hers, and whispered, “I’ve dreamt of this.”

Her toes curled from the sound of his tone alone, and the anticipation only increased as his body met hers.

“Condom,” he whispered, between his kisses.

“I’m covered,” she promised.

His nose brushed hers, and he took her hands into his.

“Fuck me,” she breathed.

He didn’t need to be told twice. Cassian pressed the head of his cock into her sex and waited before pushing himself, slowly, into her.

She gasped, her eyelids fluttering shut as he fell into her.

It felt like an eternity before he was seated to the hilt and Nesta felt like she was going to combust. His lips found her neck again and one of his hands trailed along her hip and down her thigh until it hooked behind her knee and hitched her leg up around him. Without moving, he let her adjust, let her get used to the fullness inside of her. Cassian worshipped her neck, kissing, nipping and licking up the column of her throat until he reached her face, tilting her face to his own so he could press a kiss to her lips.

Whispering, he asked, “You okay?”

Her eyes slowly opened and Nesta nodded, lost for words. She kissed him, softly at first, tugging his bottom lip between her teeth a moment later. With a groan, Cassian flexed his hips, just barely. It was enough to make Nesta gasp again, that slight movement, and her head fell back against the pillows.

“Again,” she begged. “Please.”

He obeyed, pulling out a fraction and pushing back in. Again and again, he pulled out and pushed back in, farther each time.

Nesta clung to him, her eyes closed, one hand on his back, the other woven into his hair.

He didn’t hold back.

He thrust into her, again and again, each time becoming more and more natural.

Cassian couldn’t believe this is what he was missing five years before. She was perfect, ethereal. And he fit inside of her as easily as a puzzle piece - a piece he had been missing for years and years and years.

His lips found hers and he felt her nails digging into his back, clinging to him with everything she had in her. Her legs wrapped around his waist, changing the angle allowing him to go deeper, deeper, deeper-.

Nesta moaned into his mouth, release already building in her harder than she’d ever felt. When this orgasm hit, it was going to reorient the universe, throw the planets out of alignment. She felt like she was burning from the inside out, the feel of him pounding into her reigniting her with every thrust.

Soon there was nothing but the sound of their breathing, their occasional moans and groans, and the sound of skin slapping skin.

With a shift of his hips, Cassian thrust in at a slightly different angle, and suddenly Nesta was seeing stars. Her lips tore from his and she called out his name, her release slamming into her. Her back arched off the bed and Cassian wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her body to his. As her walls tightened around him, he moaned into her the valley of her breasts. He continued to pound into her mercilessly, letting her ride out her high, only slowing his thrusts when her breathing settled out and her cries of pleasure became soft whimpers.

He kissed a path up from chest, over her jaw, and to her lips. Her eyes were still shut tightly, but at the feeling of his lips on hers, they fluttered open, glazed over her with lust and her orgasm.

He smirked and was just about to make a snide comment about how sex drunk she looked when she rolled their bodies, catching him off guard.

His cock was still nestled deep inside her and at the shock written on his face, she gave him a smirk as sensual as his own had been.

And then Nesta slowly began to rock her hips.

Cassian’s eyes fluttered shut, his mouth falling open, lost for words. He held onto her waist, his hands massive against her slim figure.

“Nesta,” he pleaded.

She obliged.

As she began to bounce atop him, her fingers grazed his chest. Cassian cursed, a completely filthy word falling from his mouth, which only drove Nesta mad.

She quickened her pace, nails digging into his chest, her head thrown back.

Cassian had never seen such a beautiful sight.

He did his best to hold still, to let her lead, which was easier said than done, but he bent his knees slightly, letting her lean back. The action spread her legs open wider, and Cassian let his gaze linger as it trailed down her body. Licking his thumb, he pressed it to her clit, groaning nearly at the same time as her when she clenched down on his length tightly.

He couldn’t stop himself from thrusting up into her and she cried out, leaning down and crashing her lips to his.

It wasn’t a sweet kiss. It wasn’t tender or like anything he’d ever imagined Nesta Archeron to be during sex. It was rough and primal and their teeth clashed as they both grappled to be in control.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding in place as he snapped his hips into hers again and again.

She wrenched her lips away, resting her brow against his. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she muttered.

“Are you gonna come for me again?” He breathed, keeping his relentless pace.

She nodded, momentarily forgetting how to use words.

“And are you close?” He asked, his voice practically a growl.

“Yes,” she replied, frantically nodding. “Cassian, please.”

He let a hand slip down to cup her rear and, in time with his thrust, he swiftly pulled it away.

It came down against her skin with smack! as he snapped his hips back into her.

Her eyes flared wide open and for eyes flared wide open and for the second time in minutes, release barreled into Nesta and she damn near screamed his name. She was sitting back up and riding him before she’d even come down from her orgasm, her hips bucking, hands pressed to his chest.

Cassian tucked a hand behind his head as he enjoyed the view.

Nesta’s hips slowed as she crashed back into herself, her head dropping as she caught her breath. He leaned forward, tipping her head towards his face and tucking her loose hair behind an ear.

She was still panting slightly when her eyebrows furrowed and she asked, “Have you come yet?”

He smirked, flexing his hips, making his cock twitch where it still sat, rock hard inside of her. “Nope.” He sat up, meeting her with a surprisingly gentle kiss. “Best sex of your life, remember?”

“You’re such a cocky asshole,” she breathed, her chest still rising and falling heavily.

Cassian grinned and kissed her mouth, yet again. Nesta fell into that kiss as she slowly began to rock her hips, back and forth.

Cassian groaned into her lips as his arms tightened around her.

It was completely intimate.

Sex could be a lot of things, and they’d both had plenty of sexual encounters that required zero intimacy at all.

But this?

It was intimate. And for a moment, it was gentle, romantic, beautiful as their lips moved slowly with one another’s, Cassian holding Nesta in his arms, Nesta’s hips rocking in slow, careful rotations.

Their mingled breaths were the only sound in the room as Nesta pulled back to look at Cassian. There was some emotion in his eyes, something she couldn’t quite name as she rode him, but it made her feel like she was stripped bare. She felt like he could see all of her, everything she’d ever buried and hidden deep inside, and wasn’t afraid of it. It was intense and overwhelming and the weight of that look, of his stare, had her body feel like it was overheating.

He whispered her name, and her toes curled as his head fell back, his lips parted, his eyes falling shut.

Nesta reached up and raked her fingers through his hair, still wet from the pool, the sweat.

“Cassian,” she whispered, and Cassian slowly met her gaze. She didn’t have to say anything more, he could see the plea in her eyes.

Best sex ever? Give it to me.

With a low growl, Cassian gripped her hips and flipped her around. He climbed up over her and brushed her hair aside before kissing the side of her neck, and down her shoulder, her back, her ass.

He spread her legs wide and licked her sex, just once, before kneeling between her legs and grabbing her hips.

As he plunged into her in one harsh thrust, Nesta couldn’t help the scream of pleasure that tore from her, muffled, thanks to her face being buried in the blankets. This was nothing like the sweet, sensual sex of moments before. No, this was ravaging and primal and different. Not bad, because she was almost sure there could be no bad sex with Cassian, but as his hips snapped into hers again and again, she couldn’t help but feel like this was a claiming.

A claiming she was damn near ready to give herself over to.

Suddenly, she felt his thrusts getting sloppier, the smooth pace he’d kept up the whole night becoming more and more erratic. Even the quiet grunts and groan of pleasure that had been falling from his mouth were louder, more defined, and the sound of her name on his lips was her undoing.

She shattered.

Her vision went black as she was taken into a pure state of nirvana. She could hear herself whimpering, could hear Cassian’s own sounds as he came, but it all sounded far away.

Far away from the paradise Nesta had entered.

It took a moment for her to come back, for her to become aware of her surroundings, for her to realize that Cassian’s hands were still on her hips, his cock still buried deep inside her, as his heavy breathing, matched with her own, filled the silence.

For a moment, neither of them moved, neither of them said a thing.

He slowly pulled out, running a gentle hand over the curve of her ass. She felt, rather than saw, their mixed releases dripping down her thighs, out of her swollen sex. She knew he was watching though, taking the sight in, and her face heated.

Nesta was about to get up, to rush into the bathroom and shut the door in his face, when he murmured, “Stay there, I’ll be right back.”

He climbed off of the bed, striding into the attached bathroom, and she heard the water running in the sink. A moment later, he returned and he ran a warm, wet washcloth over the back of her thighs, cleaning up their mess. Brushing it along her sex, he wiped away what was left of it there as well, before he tossed it back into the bathroom. It landed over the edge of the bathtub with a slap!

Nesta’s face still burned, but she let her hips sink into the bed at last, and glanced up at him. Her blush had nothing to do with the fact that he’d cleaned her up, something none of her past partners had bothered to do, and everything to do with the fact that he was still as naked as she was.

Cassian opened his mouth to say something, then shut his mouth, once again. Nesta was in a similar position...she had no idea what to say.

“So-.” they both began at the same time, then chuckled, uncomfortably.

“Goodnight, then,” Nesta blurted, at last.

Cassian blinked, then hesitated. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, goodnight.”

He took a step back, wondering if she would ask him to stay, but she didn’t. She pulled the covers up to hide her body as he took another step back.

Then another.

And another.

Nesta said nothing.

So Cassian repeated, “Goodnight.”

He crossed the hall and as soon as he was out of the room, he could hear the mattress shifting and her feet hitting the floor. His mind raced as he went into his own room and carefully shut the door behind him, leaning back against it, running his hands through his hair.

He took a breath, letting his head fall back against the wood. He wasn’t really sure what had just happened.

One minute, they’d agreed to a truce, the next he’d been eating her out on the side of the pool, her hands knotted in his hair.

He had no idea how they’d gotten there, had no idea how they’d ended up in her bed, or how he’d ended up buried deep inside of her.

All he knew is that he had a feeling things were about to get very, very complicated.

[carryonthroughtheages]

Hello everyone!

Another year of Carry On Through The Ages is over and done! We have emotions and exhaustion, but we're so happy that this year had the hype and excitement that it did.

Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts, to all of the AMAZING creators who spent the last several months working away at their historical content!

Thank you also to the hard-working mods: @bazzybelle, @giishu, @palimpsessed, and @xivz . This fest would not have been as successful as it has been without you!

We encourage everyone to look under the page break for all the fics and art. They're all fantastic!

Here is the link to the AO3 Collection: Carry On Through The Ages 2021!

Thank you all, and until next year! 🧡🧡🧡

MONDAY:

1) sun on the sea (T) - @trenchcoat-moth : AO3 // Tumblr

Tensions run high in England, and Malcolm decides it's for the best he sends Baz to live with Fiona, where he'll be safer.

That is, until Baz's ship is attacked.

2) The Words I Long To Say (M) - @bazzybelle : AO3 // Tumblr

Simon Snow was dead.

Baz Pitch was sure of it. Simon had gone away seven years ago to fight a war in the jungle and he hadn't come home.

So, when Simon shows up in Baz's club, investigating a string of brutal murders, all Baz wants to do is hold him close and never let him go.

But these aren't the same boys from 1960 and Baz has a lot of processing to do before he's ready to believe in Simon again.

3) we are slaves to gods, whatever gods are (M) - @wellbelesbian : AO3 // Tumblr

I don’t fully understand what plagues him, but I know it’s bad, and I know it goes deeper than guilt. He didn’t want to kill his father, not really, but we were instructed to do so by Apollo. Cleanse the house of its sins, dispose of a murderer to set things right. It was only right that I join him; he was avenging my mother as much as his. Clearly, Apollo didn’t seem to consider that such an act would make Simon a murderer in his father’s place. It seems I got off fine, but as far as Simon is concerned, the vengeful spirits that once spun and danced on the roof of the palace now hunt him down, determined not to stop until he rids the world of himself.

4) World War II Era Art - @stardustasincocaine : Tumblr

TUESDAY:

1) the art of loving you (E) - @one-more-offbeat-anthem : AO3 // Tumblr

1955. London. Young love.

Forbidden love.

A year ago, starving artist Simon Snow met Baz Pitch, son of a wealthy art patron, at a party, and their days (and nights) together have been a wonderful secret.

But Simon is tired of being a secret and knows it's time for things to end.

(Baz has other ideas.)

2) Reliquary of an Arsonist (T) - @tea-brigade : AO3 // Tumblr

Simon Snow grew up a ward of Watford Abbey, but when his magic manifested in an explosive accident as a child, he became the Abbey’s anchorite—never to leave Watford’s walls, for his own protection. That is, until Abbot David sends him on an important errand…

Basilton Pitch paints portraits for his patron, Lord Grimm. But he’s never forgotten the magic he learned from his mother—nor the men who condemned her to death as a heretic. When Simon arrives and offers Baz a commission from Watford Abbey, he sees his chance to avenge his mother once and for all...and he’s willing to burn down everything in his path to that end.

But it was no coincidence that pulled these two unlikely souls together. Something more sinister is underway at Watford Abbey, and only Simon and Baz can uncover the truth before everything goes up in flames.

3) Westward Son (E) - @aristocratic-otter : AO3 // Tumblr

Simon and Baz have found each other again, but there's nowhere in Brooklyn or Virginia where they can safely be together. So now, they venture the hazards and struggles of the Oregon trail, to perhaps find a little homestead in Oregon of their own.

4) A Way Out (T) - @lying-on-the-sofa : AO3

I frown at him..“You don’t know me.”

He offers his hand. “Simon.”

Simon. I feel the name around in my mind and assign it to his face. Simon. I don’t shake his hand. They’ve still got my arms pinned. “Basilton.”

Simon nods at me. “Now we know each other. Let him go.” Very casually, he takes his other hand from behind his back. A sword, flashing. He leans on it and smiles invitingly. “Let him go.”

This time, they listen.

--

Simon Snow has been trained for years to become a tribute—one of the fighters Athens sends every ninth year into the Minotaur’s labyrinth. He wants to know the way out, if only for Penny’s sake. Luckily for him, Prince Basilton of Crete also wants a way out—off the island, where no one will know he’s the half-brother of the Minotaur.

Unluckily for both of them, they don’t exactly form the most agreeable pair.

WEDNESDAY

1) long is the road the leads me home (G) - @wellbelesbian : AO3 (Version 1) (Version 2) // Tumblr

Baz has a rather unremarkable life, and he's fine with that. Running his late mother's beloved inn with his temperamental aunt, estranged from his father and step-siblings, he's successfully convinced himself that he's better off without attachments.

Then Simon barrels into his life, guns blazing and rapier drawn, and Baz is swept up in dramatic plot he never bargained for.

Worse still, he finds he quite likes the thrill.

2) New Romantics (T) - @ninemagicks : AO3 // Tumblr

Basilton Pitch, twenty-two years old and a famed poet of the Romantic era, has fled to the countryside. In Mummers House, the fabled haunt of literary greats, he sulks himself into oblivion and awaits a sad, disappointing end to his brief years of brilliance. The cause of his downfall? None other than Simon Snow, the so-called “bad boy of English poetry”, breaker of rules and eternal thorn in his side. Baz hopes that Mummers House might mean an escape from London, from Snow and his increasingly virulent popularity... but the rain that comes has other ideas.

3) thnétos (T) - @snowybank : AO3 // Tumblr

thnétos: subject to death, mortal

a retelling of Apollo and Hyacinthus

4) A Medieval AU art piece - @thewriterxj : Tumblr

THURSDAY

1) From Eden (E) - @orange-peony : AO3 // Tumblr

I wonder if his skin is warm or cold to the touch. I tell myself it’s simple curiosity, that I’m an artist and capturing things on paper or canvas is my way to make sense of the world. That drawing him feels so natural, so I should just follow my instincts. Ebb used to say it all the time. Follow your heart. It knows where you’re supposed to go.

I wish I could. I wish I had enough money and freedom to just draw what I want. To paint him in his unattainable beauty. To draw him the way I want to. Naked and vulnerable, raw. Without frills and expensive suits.

Just Baz on paper, my fingers tracing his delicate and beautiful lines with simple charcoal.

2) Slings and Eros (M) - @palimpsessed : AO3 // Tumblr

Young god of love Simonides is tasked by his father, the god of war, to bring about the ruin of a mortal prince to punish his blasphemy. However, once Simonides sees his intended victim, he begins to have misgivings. Prince Tyrannus might have offended the gods with his very existence, but all Simonides can see is how beautiful and lonely he is.

Or, a very loose interpretation of the Eros and Psyche myth.

3) I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire (M) - @knitbelove : AO3 // Tumblr

September 1940: Going back to Watford feels different this year, and not just because England is at the brink of war with Germany and Italy. Penelope seems unsettled by everything, and Agatha is distant, and Baz is … simply not here.

What if Carry On but during the Blitz?? Yeah.

4) A Fool's Oath (M) - @thewriterxj : AO3 // Tumblr

A simple soldier is invited to join the ranks of the royal guard. He and his appointed mage arrive at the royal city to find themselves at the mercy of an unmerciful court. As he struggles to find his place in this foreign environment, he also finds himself entranced by music that only he seems to hear that floats out about the city. He makes an oath to wed whoever makes such beautiful music.

Too bad that person is the crown prince.

FRIDAY

1) Stranger Tides (T) - @tea-brigade & @xivz : AO3 // Tumblr

“If some god shall wreck me in the wine-dark deep, even so I will endure…” Captain Simon Snow of the Chosen One is many things—cunning, handsome, ruthless. Greedy. It’s no surprise that Snow finds a way to piss off the God of the Sea, he always manages to get himself into some type of trouble. This time, however, he’s not the only one who will suffer the consequences. Poseidon promises to not stop his pursuit until Snow and all of his men are dead.

Enter Basilton Pitch—rich, beautiful, mysterious. Suspicious. He offers the crew of the Chosen One a hefty sum to take him back to Europe from the Caribbean. And who is Captain Snow to refuse so much coin? After all, Greek gods aren’t real.

Right?

2) The wayward heir [comic] (M) - @letraspal : AO3 // Tumblr

Like a folk song, our love will be passed on. Simon Snow wants to be an artist. He used to live in Fiesole where he worked in the wool shop of his good friend Ebeneza Petty. He has now chosen to return to his native Florence in order to participate in an art contest hosted by the Pitch family, the most important bankers in all the three continents and Simon’s last chance for an art patronage. No matter how much he hates them.

But being back in Florence also brings back the memories Simon wanted to leave behind : his days as an orphan, the mystery about his mother, and once more being under the inquisitive eyes of his godfather, the new archbishop Davy. The archbishop is very same man who would never forgive him for dropping out the priesthood and ruining his secret plans against the Pitches.

The last thing Simon needed was an unbearably handsome jerk getting him into trouble on his very first day in Florence. How can focus when this man is the most annoying person he has ever met and yet his major source of inspiration.

3) Prohibition Blues (T) - @heyyyandrea : AO3

Simon Snow is a baker and aspiring playwright in Prohibition Era New York City. When he meets a handsome man at Shepherd's speakeasy who is interested in his work, he can't help but think it feels too good to be true.

4) Earth Below & Sky Above (M) - @phoxphyre : AO3 // Tumblr

In the depth of the palace of King Minos of Crete lurks a creature known as the Minotaur.

Baz, prince of Athens and chosen of the god Poseidon, has heard the stories. And now he’s volunteered to come to Crete as one of the annual tributes—to dance with the king’s bulls and fulfill his destiny. He just wants to survive the bulls, protect his people, and go home.

But what if the Minotaur isn’t a monster—but just a boy? And what if instead of slaying him, Baz fell in love with him?

A Carry On retelling of the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur, set in Bronze Age Crete.

5) A 1980s AU Art piece by @stardustasincocaine : Tumblr // Instagram (Slightly NSFW)

[nevertheless-moving]

Star Wars AU #20: MacenJar AU

Inspired by this meme and with permission from @simpskywalker

This au is dedicated to everyone who told me that this concept ‘gave them a headache’ or ‘psychic damage’. Especially that special someone who begged me to ‘please stop’ because ‘i hate this, i hate this so much’ and told me ‘please don’t say more words about this.’

Crack Lies Ahead, enough to consume a man. I have spoken.

“Ani. Ani. Anakin Skywalker.”

“Hmm?” The dulcet sounds of Padme calling his name dragged Anakin from sleep against his will. 

“Anakin, you have to get up.”

He groaned, rolling over. “...here’s my face...I’ll...be awake in a second...just sit down...I’m awake...”

“No, Anakin you have to leave, remember. You have a 5 AM take-off scheduled, and you made me promise I would get you up early this time, come on.”

She cruelly yanked the covers away. He gasped in betrayal. 

“My own wife...how could you.”

“Anakin if you’re not out of bed in the next 30 seconds the next time you beg to stay the night because ‘you can get up early, you swear’ I am kicking you out before anyone sits anywhere near anyone’s face, do you understand.”

He sat bolt upright and stumbled out of bed. “Ok, Ok, I’m up I- Padme!”

“Yes?” She asked sweetly, brushing her hair at the vanity. 

“It’s 3 AM!”

“Yes I know, you were going to stop at that bakery I recommended, remember?”

“You woke me up an hour and half early so I could stop at a bakery,” he asked, disbelieving.

“Yes, Anakin, it was your idea. It was going to be your cover, in case anyone wondered what you were doing in the building.”

“That is-” before he could call it the stupidest idea he had ever heard, the memory of promising Padme that staying the night was a good idea because it would facilitate his cunning ruse (he was distracted, ok? Padme was wearing a lot of layers) came rushing back.

“-right,” he finished lamely.

Padme just hummed and began braiding in her cosmetic forcefields. 

Anakin managed to stretch, complete his morning refresher run, and arrange his robes in a suitably decorous fashion by the time Padme had established the base layer of her hairstyle for the day.

A quick kiss- no goodbye, it hurt too much to say goodbyes in war - and Anakin was out the door. 

He idly scratched his chin, vacantly looking out the lift and vaguely considering growing a beard. The pre-dawn view was quickly replaced by metal walls as the ride dropped below the skyline.

The transparisteel pod began to slow scarcely one third of the way down. Anakin suppressed a groan and tried to arrange his expression in Jedi-stoic manner, hoping that whoever got in the lift with him would be too intimidated by seeing a Jedi close-up to think about what they were doing in a Senatorial Apartment building at 3:15 in the morning. If they ask, I’m visiting the famous Bebbisun Bakery. Bennison? BELLASAN. I’m visiting the Bellasan Bakery.

Actually, anyone getting into the elevator this early was probably also doing the walk of shame so it’s probably fi-KRIFFING SITH SPIT THAT’S

“Master Windu!” Anakin cleared his throat, trying to lower his voice an octave. “Good- Good Morning!”

Windu’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. “Ah. Knight Skywalker. Good morning to you as well,” he replied, stepping in the elevator, doors closing behind.

The lift descended as Anakin’s heart rate skyrocketed. This was it. Windu had to be here for Anakin. What other possible explanation could there be? WHY WASN’T HE SAYING ANYTHING?

Wait.

What other possible explanation...could...why wasn’t he saying ANYTHING?

Anakin scrutinized Master Windu out of the corner of his eye. Were those...the same robes he was wearing yesterday? They looked like the same robes but then again...pretty much all robes looked the same so this was probably a stupid way to figure things out. Fuck, it was too early for this.

Unsurprisingly, he couldn’t get a sense of the Master’s surface emotions. But his underlying aura seemed...happy? Typically Windu's serene presence had a tinge of righteous fury (something that had frightened him back when he was a child). But now that ever present vaapad edge was... softened? Anakin wracked his tired brain for a more reasonable explanation than- than the obvious but obviously impossible. He had to projecting. Right? Then again...couplings weren’t forbidden (even if Anakin couldn’t quite understand how people enjoyed just- having sex without any attachment).

The corners of Anakin’s lips twitched. The Master of the Order. Getting laid. Master Windu. In the Senatorial apartments. Mace Windu. What level had he gotten on? Above aides...diplomats probably. Should he ask? Force, this was too good- he couldn’t not ask.

Windu stared at him cooly and the knight instantly sobered. What was he thinking? Windu was obviously trying to trick him! If he said anything, Windu would turn it against him! Well, he wouldn’t be fooled so easily. Anakin spent the next several levels of descent staring forward, determined not to be the one to break the silence. 

He was so focused that he didn’t notice the lift slowing prematurely again until the doors opened; an elderly Rodian hobbled in. The two Jedi moved even further apart to allow the man some space.  The lift closed and newcomer glanced at the humans curiously. 

“Aren’t you Jedi? What are two Jedi doing here so early?”

“Bakery,” Mace and Anakin responded in unison, heads snapping to stare at the other in surprise.

The Rodian chuckled. “Oh, that Bellasan place, right?”

“Yes,” Windu replied smoothly. “They have a famously unique caf blend.”

“And you can’t get Sweesonberry rolls anywhere else,” Anakin added quickly, not letting the opportunity to firm up his cover go to waste.

“You mammals and your carbohydrates,” The elderly reptilian clucked, bemused.

Knight Skywalker and Master Windu exchanged wary looks. The door pinged open on level 4848. 

“Enjoy!” the overly entertained Rodian called out as they stepped out from the closing doors.

Anakin cleared his throat. “After you, Master Windu,” he said politely. CHECKMATE FUCKER.

But Windu just nodded serenely, striding confidently ahead, past the checkpoints and into the attached upper-crust market. After a very short walk, Anakin found himself in line behind Mace Windu at a pastry shop in the basement of his wife’s apartment building.

Anakin blearily thought that sentence through again, then subtly pinched the inside of his arm.

Nope, he was awake.

Every second that passed Anakin had to fight the steadily increasing urge to blurt out something stupid, and possibly incriminating, if not both. Just say something bland! Nothing about why they’re both here so early. Nothing about coming here before. Something casual.

“Smells good,” Anakin said.

Nailed it!

“Indeed,” Mace replied.

I’m a genius! He actually thinks I’m here for the bakery! He’s never going to suspect a thing! He was probably here for some boring pre-dawn meeting, and now I’ve got the perfect excuse to come visit Padme whenever! I can probably start sneaking off more often, I’ve just got to remember to bring back a pasty or something. And he can’t even say shit about un-Jedi like consumption!

“Skywalker-”

Oh no. Please be about the bakery. Pleasebeaboutthe

“Believe me when I tell you that I’d rather not ask-”

Oh NO. THIS ISN’T GOING TO BE ABOUT THE BAKERY. I’M AN IDIOT.

“-But did you fly here in a temple speeder?”

Cold sweat started to trickle down Anakin’s back as they shuffled forward automatically in the surprisingly long queue. Guess that’s why Padme woke me up so early.

“Knight Skywalker? Did you hear me?”

“Yes, Master Windu, sorry- I was, uh, distracted by the specials board. I, um, have my own hoverbike. Built it myself. No temple resources involved.”

“Sounds...distinctive.” Windu’s tone seemed neutral, but the way he pinched the bridge of his nose was obviously irritated. They stepped forward again. Why are so many people at this bakery so early? Guess we’re far enough down that day/night cycles don’t matter so much. Oh kriff, he’s massaging his temples now. Why is he mad about the bike? Is he going to ask where I landed it? Fuck.

Anakin swallowed the lump in his throat. “I- I thought it would be better to take personal property. Since this isn’t exactly order business.”

“That’s very responsible of you. Such...separation of personal from professional is an important skill for a Jedi.” 

The trickle of sweat down his spine increased. The Chosen One discretely wiped his sweaty palms on the inside of his sleeves and prayed that his outer robe was hiding any growing pit stains. 

Are we...actually talking about this? Is he going to admit to having an affair? Is he going to tell me to keep this quiet? I CAN BARELY KEEP MY OWN RELATIONSHIP SECRET! Does he know about Padme? Does he know we’re married? Is this conversation still about the bakery visit? Is HE married?

“However...such a vehicle might not be the most discrete. And discretion is also an important skill.”

Is he giving me permission to use the temple landspeeders to visit padme? Is he telling me to take the bus? WAIT! IS THIS A METAPHOR? Is he telling me to come here less? Is this still about the bakery? Did I actually check that I wasn’t still asleep or did I just dream that I checked?

“Do you understand, Knight Skywalker”

“I- uhh. I mean- well, ummm- OH look, it’s your turn to order!”

Master Windu stepped up to the counter. 

“Hello, again! Same as last time?”

OH FORCE GODS HE’S A REGULAR. THIS IS IT. I’M NEVER GOING TO GET TO SEE OBI-WAN OR ASHOKA AGAIN AND PADME’S CAREER IS GOING TO BE RUINED AND

“The same blend please, but please add on one of your Sweesonberry rolls- a friend recommended them.”

...Did Mace Windu just call me his friend?

“Excellent choice! Your friend has good taste!”

Mace Windu stepped to the side and Anakin Skywalker stepped up. “...I’ll have what he had.” 

A minute or two later, they were walking back to the lift, matching disposamugs and flimsibags in hand. 

To try and delay the inevitable, the pale and now very sweaty young Jedi took a sip of caf. He raised both brows involuntary. “This is...really good. Holy kriff. I don’t usually drink caf for the flavor but...wow.”

“Worth the trip?” Windu asked. Anakin choked a little but successfully managed to swallow. He took another sip to avoid answering. 

Windu took a bite of his roll, making a small noise of appreciation, “The pastry is also excellent. I don’t have much of a sweet tooth but this is remarkably smooth...I can’t say I’ve ever had anything quite like it.”

“Floral, right?” Anakin said, grinning into his cup. 

“Yes, that’s a good description.” Ha! I told Padme I was paying attention.

They drank companionably as the lift indicator dinged closer. 

“Skywalker...you’re parked on 4970, right?”

The knight nodded, too afraid to speak. The force seemed to swirl at the precipice of something. 

The Master sighed. “Look- I’ve got an unregistered van- this one time only, stow the speeder, and I’ll give you a ride back. If you’re visiting the bakery in the future- please take something with a closed cab. Last thing we need is the tabloids wondering where you’re going...”

Anakin nodded again, more eagerly again. He was practically being given permission to visit Padme! That was totally worth an excruciatingly awkward flight back to the temple! He just had to chew slowly so he couldn’t blurt out anything marriage related! He was a genius!

The lift opened.

“Jar-Jar!” Anakin said, surprised and pleased. “Wow, are you also here for the bakery? This place really is popular!”

“Ani! Little Ani! Wassa you doin here?” Jar-Jar looked around wildly, then stumbled out, foot catching at the gap. Windu darted forward and effortlessly saved the Gungan before he hit the floor, while Anakin stuck his arm forward to catch the closing door.

“Bakery, Jar Jar!” he said as he stepped inside. “I’d love to talk, but we’ve actually got to get back to the temple!”

Windu struggled to untangle himself from Jar-Jar, who was being particularly unhelpful about it, even for him. Wow he’s even clingier than usual this early in the morning. It’s nice how patient Master Windu is being; I feel like even Obi-Wan can be too hard on Jar-Jar sometimes.

“Actually Skywalker, why don’t you go on ahead and stow the bike- I just remembered I meant to pick something up for Council; I won’t take long.”

“Uh. Alright,” Anakin said, catching the keys. I guess I can’t really be late if I arrive with Master Windu.

“Ossa no!” Jar-Jar exclaimed sadly. “I was justa saying to Macey lassa night thatsa I missed talkin wit little Ani!”

Anakin smiled reassuringly as the lift began to close. “Don’t worry Jar-Jar! We’ll- catch uh-HOLD ON did you say LAST NIGHT?!”

Mace’s eyes closed in resignation as the door shut on the pair, Jar-Jar still tangled around the Jedi.

AND MACE WASN’T EVEN TRYING TO PUT HIM BACK UPRIGHT ANYMORE HOLY KRIFF JUST PUT THAT TOGETHER.

Anakin stared blankly at the metal walls as they rushed past. The lone Jedi Knight took a long sip of caff, then carefully placed the pastry bag and drink on the floor. He systematically wadded up the sleeve of his robe and shoved in his mouth. He then spent the next few minutes squealing with unholy glee while literally bouncing off the walls in a manner only accessible to a force sensitive in an elevator. He was still panting slightly when the lift opened on the primary parking level.

We can double date! Padme and I can host! I can help Mace and Jar-Jar plan their wedding! We can reform the order to allow for romantic love! I can be Jar-Jar’s best man! Padme and I can have another ceremony and Obi-Wan can give me away while Mace officiates and  and then we’ll all have sweesonbury cake and Jar-Jar can help teach our kids how to swim! 

With those dreamy thoughts running through his mind, it was child’s work to follow the the force to the unremarkable hovervan. He was humming to himself when Master Windu opened the door. 

He beamed at the older Jedi. Windu scowled in reply. Anakin smiled wider, unintimidated. He genuinely liked the Gungan, but anyone who could spend hours with Jar-Jar had to have a soft side.

“You know, Jar-Jar is a long time friend of Senator-”

“No.” Windu cut the eager words brusquely. 

Anakin shrank back, a little hurt.

(Maybe a lot hurt.)

Mace glanced over at the obviously crestfallen young General and sighed before amending his words.

“Not- Not right now, alright? Maybe if you’re miraculously more discrete about this than you are about your affection for Senator Amidala, then we can talk, understood?”

Anakin nodded with absolute determination, glimmering images of fairytale weddings visible once more. Distant, perhaps- but the chance was worth any amount of tongue biting. Now that there was a real, possible future where he could have it all, now that he knew Windu had a heart somewhere under his robes- he could be patient. 

He could be very patient.

Anakin calmed his grin down to a smaller, more Jedi-like smile, taking a sip of the cool but still really good caf. He channeled Obi-Wan’s most neutral diplomatic grace.

“Thank you for the ride, Master Windu. I appreciate it.”

Windu gave him an approving glance. “You’re more than welcome, Knight Skywalker.”

Feeling bold, he continued on with his best non-mocking impression of Obi-Wan.

"Have you had a chance to read the latest report on helmet redesigns? I think they might really improve peripheral vision without compromising concussive resistance.”

Mace hummed thoughtfully. “I have. I’m somewhat concerned about deploying such a radical change mid-campaign. Even better gear requires an adjustment period, and I’d rather minimize needless deaths while the troops readjust to hud flow.”

“Yes, that’s a reasonable concern, I was talking to Captain Rex-”

They spent the remainder of the flight chatting comfortably about troop safety and absentmindedly eating (or possibly stress eating in response to the prolonged absence of interpersonal conflict) the box of pastries Mace had picked up. When they arrived at the temple, they divvied up the remainder between them, quietly agreeing that there weren’t enough to share anyway. 

They continued their conversation, Master Windu accompanying him to the orbital loading bay. 

Obi-Wan rushed over in alarm at the sight of them approaching. “Anakin, there you are- I was starting to wonder if you’d make it. Terribly sorry Master Windu- I hope he wasn’t too much of a bother-”

“He’s not your padawan anymore, you don’t have to apologize for him. Though I do appreciate the reflex.”

“I suppose the concern isn’t completely baseless.” Anakin said, tone deliberately mildly. Mace chuckled slightly and Obi-Wan took a step back, slightly frightened by the sudden camaraderie. Anakin pretended to take a sip from his now empty disposamug to avoid fist pumping the air or cheering.

“I- Yes well- the important thing is you’re here in time for departure. What- what is that in the bag.”

Moment of Truth. Don’t freak out. Focus. Prove you can be discrete, THEN double dates, THEN Jedi Wedding Ceremony.

“Sweesonbury Roll,” Anakin answered placidly. He pretended to take another sip of caf. “Master Windu was kind enough to give me a ride from the bakery.”

“That’s- I’m sorry, what?” Anakin bit the inside of cheek to keep himself from reacting to Obi-Wan’s palpable bewilderment.

“I had to double back and get more, but we came straight here after,” Mace added helpfully, with zero hint of intentional mischief. “Oh and Skywalker- you can call me Mace if we’re not discussing temple business.”

Anakin SCREAMED (internally, of course). Outwardly, he simply bowed politely. “And you’re welcome to call me Anakin, of course.”

He deliberately avoided looking directly at Obi-Wan, his former Master’s bug-eyed reaction already pushing him to the edge, even just visible as it was out of the corner of his eye.

Windu nodded in return. “Safe travels you two. May the force with you.”

“And with you.” Anakin replied.

“May the force be with you,” Obi-Wan rushed to say, after a short delay.

Master Windu turned and exited the cargo bay doors. Anakin threw out the mug in a nearby bin, pulling out a roll and biting into it before turning to face Obi-Wan. They made eye-contact, each waiting for the other to break first. Usually that would be Anakin, but he had goals now. The Knight chewed. His Master’s eyes narrowed. The older man (who may have aged significantly in the last 5 minutes) finally broke.

“Who are you?”

Anakin just sighed, maintaining the Kenobi impression. “Come on Master, we don’t want to keep the troops waiting.” With that, he walked forward, hiding his smile as Obi-Wan followed closely at his heels. 

“Since when does my apprentice visit bakeries with Mace Windu?” Obi-Wan asked, almost desperately.

“You’re making it sound like a bigger deal than it is.” 

Master Kenobi sputtered as the pair opened the airlock for the short-range shuttle. 

Anakin mustered up an earnest smile. “Master? Would you mind flying- I’m still eating and-”

Obi-Wan made an incoherent noise of horrified outrage before fumbling for his communicator. 

“What are you doing?”

“NOTHING IS MAKING SENSE RIGHT NOW. EITHER YOU AND MACE NEED TO GO TO THE HEALING HALLS OR I DO!”

Anakin burst out laughing. “Relax Obi-Wan, I’m messing with you, holy shit. Obviously I’m flying.”

Obi-Wan slumped into the co-pilot seat, rubbing at his eyes. “Don’t do that Anakin! My nerves are stretched thin enough by the war as it is-”

“Sorry, Sorry!”

They strapped in and took off, Anakin still chuckling occasionally, Obi-Wan scowling in irritation each time. 

They ascended above the towering skyline alongside the first rays of sunlight.

“So you didn’t go to a bakery with Master Windu this morning?”

“Uhh-”

[inadaydream99]

Love is Magical

A/N - This has been sitting in my drafts for ages now, but I thought I would post while I’m working on some requests! I don’t typically write magical au style oneshots (if this even counts as one 😂) but I loved the idea! I really hope you enjoy!

Synopsis: You are madly in love with your best friend Seungmin and are desperate for him to see you as something more, so you use a love potion on him. But what happens when he doesn’t act any different around you?

This is it. The very moment you have been waiting for. You bite down on your bottom lip anxiously, eyes focused on Seungmin as he picks up his drink and begins to raise it towards his mouth.

You’d slipped a little love potion into it without him realising, wanting to finally make him notice you as more than just a friend.

You were lucky that you’d come across the recipe for the love potion while searching through some old books in the library. For once, the fact you had left your potions homework to the last minute had worked out for the better. Well, in theory.

You had reasoned with yourself that making the potion to give to Seungmin was like killing two birds with one stone. Firstly, it could count as you carrying out your potions task because you could see how it works in practice, and secondly, you’d get the guy you’d been crushing on since first year to fall for you.

You hold your breath as you watch the glass reach his lips, the clear liquid rushing towards his mouth.

You remain silent for a few minutes, discretely eyeing Seungmin to see if anything happens. But he simply continues to talk with Jeongin like before.

“(Y/N), what did you do for the potions work?” Felix grabs your attention, his warm smile making you momentarily forget your train of thought. It’s not an out of the blue question because that’s the class you’ve all got after lunch.

“Love.” You simply state, everyone’s attention now on you.

“You chose love potions? Boring!” Hyunjin jokes, falling silent when Seungmin wacks him around the back of the head. You snicker at the pout that forms on his lips, sulking like a little child.

“Well I think that’s really lovely. I mean, who doesn’t love love.” Seungmin beams at you.

“Thanks.” You smile back, trying to get a better read of him. You distinctly remember when reading about the potion that it’s effects are immediate. Except, you don’t see any difference in him yet.

~

“Ouch!” You cry, grabbing onto your shoulder as you stumble backwards. It serves you right for not looking where you’re going. But man, has that wall always been there?

“What happened?” Seungmin comes rushing into your room in a panic.

“I hit my shoulder.” You struggle, eyes clasped shut as your hand holds tightly over the spot you just wounded.

“Here, let me make it better.” Seungmin soothes you, placing the palm of his hand on top of yours as it holds your shoulder. The way he smiles down at you makes your breath hitch in your throat. His gaze so longing and care filled that your heart races just that little bit faster.

Of course, this is nothing out of the ordinary, being so close to him that these moments of affection and skinship are a normal part to your friendship.

“All better?” He questions after removing your hands away and placing a gentle peck on your clothed shoulder. Again, something that isn’t out of the ordinary. It’s happened hundreds of times between you, almost like a tradition passed on from your parents who used to kiss your wounds better when you were kids.

“Yes.” You squeak out, barely able to speak from how flustered he has made you.

“Good because I wanted you to help me take out the trash.” He laughs, dragging you away before you have a second to comprehend his words, let alone complain.

~

“Why isn’t he acting any different!” You mumble to yourself in confsion, flicking through the pages of the potions book impatiently.

You were annoyed and confused as to why you weren’t seeing any difference in Seungmin’s behaviour towards you. The potion should have worked, but now you’re not so sure you made it correctly. After all, it was your first attempt and you’re only just about getting a pass in that class.

“Ah ha!” You grin, finally turning to the page you were in search of. Scanning down the list of ingredients you realise that you’d made the potion exactly as stated. It should have worked then.

“Oh.” You gasp, eyes widening upon reading the paragraph at the bottom of the page. It states that if you use the love potion on someone who is already in love then it will have no effects on them at all.

Your whole body deflates instantly... this is why you should read things properly, because then you would have realised sooner than Seungmin is already in love with someone. And as you feel your heart shatter into a million pieces, you come to the conclusion that you don’t want to know who he’s in love with...

~

“Has anyone seen (Y/N)? She’s been avoiding me all day and won’t answer any of my messages.” Seungmin worriedly asks around the group, peering at each person to see if they have any answer.

His gaze locks on Felix’s guilt stricken face. He can barely look Seungmin in the eye and that instantly gives away that he knows something the others don’t.

“Felix!” Seungmin rushes after him as he tries to get away quick. “You know something. Tell me.” Seungmin demands, stopping his friend in his tracks by grabbing onto his shirt sleeve.

“I promised I wouldn’t.” Felix remains vigilant, refusing to give in.

“Please, (Y/N)’s my bestest friend. We tell each other everything... or at least I thought we did.” Seungmin guilts Felix into revealing what has being going on, his disheartened expression and pained gaze helping him find out everything he wants to know.

The only reason Felix knows is because he’d found you in tears. You couldn’t hold in your heartbreak after finding out Seungmin is already in love and so you’d confided in Felix about everything, from using the potion on Seungmin to your feelings about said boy.

Felix was very understanding and empathetic, his kind nature making him easy to be vulnerable around. But one thing you should have known is that Felix is easily guilt tripped and Seungmin is cunning, he would have realised your abnormal behaviour instantly.

~

“(Y/N)~” Seungmin calls out as he reaches the roof. Stepping out into the cold chill he locks his gaze on your hunched over figure.

“How’d you find me?” You mumble through a sniffle, letting your tears continue to fall freely down your face as you clasp your cape around you to shield your body from the wind.

So your decision to hide out on the roof wasn’t the wisest. But you wanted to be somewhere no one else would already be. It seemed like the best option at first.

“Felix spilled everything.” Seungmin informs, gently pulling your body into his in an attempt to provide some more warmth. Your head snaps up to meet his.

If he knows about the love potion and how you feel about him, why isn’t he mad at you? Instead he seems to look just as pained as you feel.

“I hate seeing you upset.” He whispers, answering your thoughts. It’s like he can read your mind, that you two have such a strong connection he knows how you feel without the need for you to say anything.

“I’m sorry.” You croak, voice hoarse from all your crying.

“Never appologise for the way you feel.” He smiles at you sympathetically.

“I mean for using a potion on you. It was wrong...” You admit remorsefully, shying away from his intense stare. You feel guilty for everything you’ve done and seeing the affection Seungmin gives you makes you feel even worse. You’re not worthy of it.

“I just wish you’d realised before putting yourself through all of this.” He whispers, his eyes staring into yours with a deep, heartfelt affection.

“I know.” You halfheartedly laugh, shying your gaze away in a light panic.

“The potion didn’t have any effect on me because the way I am towards you is already how someone treats the person they are in love with.” Your head snaps back in an instant.

“Huh?” You gawk at Seungmin, heat crawling up the back of your neck when you hear his soft chuckle.

“I’m in love with you dummy.”

“Really?” You tilt your head, almost refusing to believe him. For all you know this could just be some cruel joke, revenge for your selfish use of potions.

But all of that worry disappears when Seungmin leans in and connects your lips softly. They melt together instantly, time seeming to freeze for those few seconds you share together.

“Do you believe me now?” He pulls away with an amused expression, his lips ghosting yours tauntingly.

“I think I’m gonna need a little more convincing.” You smirk, giggling giddily when Seungmin pulls you back in and connects his lips to yours once again.

[petri808]

Nalu Yakuza Au *cover art by @jmoart214 💜

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 |

This chapter came out a little longer than usual. lemony teasing

Natsu’s secretary called her boss from the front office. “Mr. Dragneel, Mr. Avatar is here.”

“Thank you, Ms. Kinana. Send him in.”

Because no one in the organization was a computer whiz, he contracted with an independent IT person who was recommended by Yura. The guy, Jerome Avatar wasn’t skittish, didn’t care who he worked for as long as it paid well, and generally had a pleasant demeanor. As the accountant, Yura was in contact with Jerome the most, but for any major issues or changes, those had to be cleared with Natsu first. It was mostly quick, in and out of the office dealings.

Jerome shook Natsu’s hand over the desk before taking a seat.

“So,” Natsu questioned, “what brings you here today? Is there something I need to approve?”

“No, nothing new. I asked for this meeting because I came across some intelligence you might be interested in.”

“Oh?”

“I learned that your rival Heartfilia had been in contact with a new cyber security client, Mikage Kaishā who’s into a lot of shady dealings with government contacts.”

Natsu shrugged his shoulders. “Sounds like just a typical client for her, probably has her launder money for them. I don’t really pay attention to her clients because we deal with different things. But I do appreciate you telling me.”

“Should I keep an eye on them?”

“That’s fine if you believe it’s worth it. And if you learn about anything that could hurt us let me know immediately. By the way, how did you find out this information?”

“A friend in the field told me about it, then I hacked into Heartfilia’s computers to authenticate the information.”

Natsu sat forward in his chair. “You hacked into her computer? I’m surprised her employee didn’t catch that, cause I know she’s good at this stuff too.”

The man grinned. “Well, not as good as me.” He pointed to Natsu’s laptop. “If you’d like, I can set it up so you can access her system from your computer too.”

“Oh, I don’t want to tamper with her company—”

Jerome waved a hand nonchalantly to stop him. “I wouldn’t advise it either, if you touch things, that’s what’ll get attention, but you can watch what’s going on. Keep an eye on her calendar, meeting dates, whatever you want.”

Natsu sat back, rubbing his chin. The offer was a very tempting one indeed. A chance to stalk his ex through cyberspace… someone must have mentioned to this Jerome guy their history. It wasn’t exactly hidden, but not something talked about either amongst lower ranking employees. This wasn’t the first time Jerome had brought them intelligence info, so maybe he was looking to increase his usefulness, climb the ladder so to speak? Being connected to a powerful Yakuza house was certainly handy, and what better way than to tap into such a personal subject.

“That could be interesting,” Natsu finally responded. “Alright, what do you have to do to set it up? And make sure it’s nothing I could screw up accidentally cause I really don’t want her to find out.”

Jerome looked at his watch as if calculating his options. “I could do it now. Might take me about an hour if you can go without the laptop for that amount of time.”

“You have to take it back to your office or something?”

“No,” the man shook his head. “I can do it right here, so I can explain along the way.”

“Perfect.” Natsu then called his secretary and requested she double his lunch order due to an extended meeting.

While the computer tech fiddled, Natsu just sat back with his meal, watching him work. Math wasn’t his strong suit— nor academics for that matter. Growing up, his father had always told him he would be next in line as boss, so he only learned what he needed to for that world. One needed strength, cunning, street smarts, not book smarts. Though he had to admit the things these hackers could do was scary when you thought about it. Lucy was lucky in that her best friend was just a wiz at language— including computer languages. It all looked like gibberish, but the woman interpreted it almost like a savant. According to Jerome, from what he’d seen so far, Levy was not yet at his skill level, but that could easily change with time and experience like he’d been through.

“Natsu you—” Gray paused his knock on the doorframe. “Sorry, I thought the meeting would be done by now.”

“It’s fine, Jerome is hacking Lucy’s system for me right now.” Natsu responded with a grin. “Now I’ll see what she’s up to in real time.”

Gray groaned and ran a hand down his face in disgust. “I’m not even gonna respond to that. But I will tell you I told you so when it blows up in your face later.”

“Tch. She won’t know, right Jerome?”

“She shouldn’t unless you touch something.” The man answered while continuing to type.

“See. It’ll be fine.”

“You’re an idiot. Anyway,” Gray waved a hand nonchalantly as he left, “call me when your free to go over the new orders.”

“It will be fine, right?” Natsu asked Jerome a second time with a bit of anxiety in his tone.

Jerome stopped typing. “As long as you just observe they shouldn’t see you, just don’t get excited and touch something.”

“I don’t plan to; not like I’ll know how to do that anyways.”

“I’m almost finished, but do you want me to turn on her web camera so you can see through it?”

“But she won’t see me?”

“No, for you it’ll just be like watching a one-way video feed with image and audio.”

After a momentary pause, Natsu’s eyes narrowed with a mischievous grin. “Do it.”

Being able to see Lucy every day and feed his addiction was just too tempting, ‘I’m turning into a junky.’ But Gray’s words entered his mind. What if the man was right, could this bite him in the ass later? Probably… Though how bad could it really be? He really had no plans to interfere with Lucy’s business, just her personal life— and yes, he knew it sounded horrible. What right did he have to stalk his ex? None. ‘I just worry about her, is that so wrong?’ Lucy’s tough, but she’s just a woman and their world didn’t always treat women fairly. His desire to protect her bordered neuroticism, but could anyone blame him considering the underworld they worked in. ‘I’m just doing it to protect her,’ Natsu justified it to himself. Guys like Gray who haven’t fallen in love yet, ‘they just don’t understand.’ If anything were to happen to Lucy, he didn’t know what he would do. Probably move Heaven and earth and kill any in his way for what they’d done.

It took just over an hour before Jerome finished installing the spyware and making sure the systems were still secured. Just a one-way mirror that Levy shouldn’t catch unless really digging for it. Another 20 minutes were spent explaining to Natsu how to do the accessing part, including pulling up the webcam whenever he wanted to. “Or just leave it running,” Jerome noted. “It’ll just show up in this window,” he pointed towards the screen, “and as long as you don’t log out completely from your computer it’ll stay open.”

“Who turns off their computers?”

“Actually, it’s a good idea to turn them off now and then so any software updates can be completed, but since I manage your systems, there’s not really a need to.”

“Great.” The two men stood up and shook hands. “Thanks, Jerome.”

“It was my pleasure.”

When Natsu arrived each day at headquarters, the first thing and last thing he did was check to see if there was anything new or interesting going on Lucy’s side. It was like being hooked on one of their products, because the high it gave sucked him right in. But so far, he also stayed away from the video feed. Looking through her calendar or emails were cold and impersonal, but maybe the video was too close, too real, too much of a moral dilemma in crossing that line of a peeping Tom. That didn’t mean his addiction may one day require more feeding…

October had rolled around, and the air outside grew crisp and cold. It was a beautiful time of the year with the color changing leaves, reminding that winter was soon upon them. How quickly the time sure flew. The Dragneel Yakuza clan had already started preparing for their end of year Bonenkai to happen in mid-December. This plus the Shinnenkai in January were the two biggest parties the clan threw for all their members. The first is to forget the stresses of the past year, while the other was to welcome a successful new year. Natsu spared no expense on the food and drinks to take care of the loyalty and hard work their members contributed. From the emails, he knew that Lucy’s group had also started preparing for theirs. ‘Maybe I’ll crash her party,’ he mused to himself. ‘Oh, what’s this?’ His eyes fell on a new email of an appointment reminder for the next day. It was for Lucy’s monthly massage at an upscale spa. Natsu checked his own calendar and noticed he had nothing booked, no meetings, no shipments arriving— a perfect opportunity.

The next day, Natsu went to the spa early and spoke directly to the owner, paying them a nice chunk of change to allow him access and to play along. Lucy was scheduled for 2pm and arrived right on time. So, as he waited behind the scenes, the receptionist acted like normal and directed her inside. She had a regular masseuse, something Natsu knew he couldn’t fake upfront, so that person stood inside the room to greet her.

“Welcome, Ms. Heartfilia. I’ll step out while you get ready. Please lie on your stomach like normal.”

“Thank you, Kenji,” Lucy smiled. She’d been coming here for a couple years and was aware of the routine. The male masseuse had strong, but gentle hands and knew her body well by now.

Natsu had to admit he wasn’t happy to find out Lucy’s regular masseuse was a guy but held back from lashing out. He didn’t want to do anything to mess up this adventure— and oh, he planned to have his own revenge. It wouldn’t be as sexual as the soapland incident but knowing many of her trigger points meant he could do a bit of damage well enough. Now, Natsu had noted that Kenji’s voice was a bit deeper than his own, which would be difficult to fake, but the man explained he didn’t do much talking while working and played relaxing music during the session. Perfect. Natsu could just hit play and not talk at all.

“Ready, Ms. Heartfilia?” Kenji called out through the closed door.

The muffled yes was heard, and the man stepped away, leaving Natsu to his business. He entered the room and immediately turned on the pre-set music, a light instrumental with Asian undertones. It was quite pleasing to listen to. And there Lucy was under a silk sheet to cover her naked body, with her arms up and crossed, head perched on the relaxed hands, and hair up in a loose bun, revealing her beautiful neck. Natsu almost shuddered at the sight and knowledge he would get to touch her skin… it was the one thing she didn’t allow him to do at Soapland— touch. His grin grew as he rubbed his hands together to warm them before making the first move.

He moved the sheet to uncover Lucy’s lower half, up to the thighs, then applied a film of scented massage oils to his hands with a few drops over the taut muscles along her long legs, chasing the dripping liquid along her skin to smooth them over. His hands glide through several passes to the swell of her ass, then back down again all the way to the ankles, fingers applying pressure against the tendons and ligaments to gently work out any tension it encountered. Lucy sighed wispily as his hands massaged each foot, squeezing, smoothing, paying attention to each digit and every curve. His thumbs applied pressure at the arches, kneading the tight knots there from wearing heels all day long. He stayed focused on the area, her toes curling and flexing as the mewls leaching from her show their pleasure, until Natsu felt the knots give and relax away.

“Mmm, you’re getting good at that Kenji,” Lucy purred with a little huskiness in her tone.

Natsu grinned to himself as he lowered the sheet back down, so she stayed warm and moved onto her supple ass. Using both hands, he took his time to knead each cheek through the silken fabric, using his fingers to follow the gluteus muscles, starting near the leg, and following the swell of her curve upwards, slowly riding the fibers looking for any knots or tense areas. One cheek, then the other paying loving attention to and listening to the sounds Lucy made to clue him in on where to go. Every sigh a notch in his belt, each mewling purr a win. Natsu grew bolder, fanning out his thumb each time it got closer to her thighs to touch…

“Oh, Kenji,” Lucy whined, “you’re being a naughty boy today— keep it up.”

‘What?!’ Natsu’s hands paused and tensed for a split second before catching himself. Does Kenji mess with her too?! He shook his head and finished up in the area quickly trying not to let such thoughts stop him. ‘Just focus…’ Natsu grumbled in his head.

After applying more oil to his hands, he moved the sheet down to reveal Lucy’s back and for a second time, Natsu paused on what it contained. Her tattoo… It symbolized… he took a deep breath and dropped more oil on to the skin, willing away the memories breaching his mind. He didn’t want to think about it, not now. It was too painful.

“You okay, Kenji?” Lucy questioned as if noticing the slight pause or tremble in the man’s hands.

Natsu mumbled a soft Mmhmm and dived into the massage so Lucy wouldn’t grow more concerned, missing the uptick in the corners of her lips. He slowly smoothed along the skin using the base of his palms for pressure, each hand following the muscles, moving out from the waist, up the center of her back, and flaring out towards the sides just below the shoulder blades, repeating the same movement, each time increasing the speed while lessening the pressure. Next, he targeted the upper back and shoulder blades, an area he knew Lucy held a lot of tension from carrying the weight of her voluptuous bosoms. With precise ministrations, Natsu applied careful pressure with his thumbs and follows the curve of the blades up and around to the top of the shoulder. He then searched with the pads of his fingers for any knots along her trap muscles, moving up along the spine and fanning out to the top of her shoulders.

“Oh, yeah, right there,” Lucy mewled when he reached a specific spot.

The area around her spine, between the shoulder blades held the most tension and knots from constantly holding the upright, flexed posture that wearing heels will create. Her wispy sighs signaled the release of her tense muscles, bringing another wave of pride swelling in him. Natsu continued onto her neck, his strong hands kneaded the supple flesh, fingers palpating and soothing all the knots. Her neck too, held a few tense areas, especially around the base of the head, so he did his best to melt them away. He worked through Lucy’s mewls and moaning sighs, almost sexual in nature, aroused and a little heated in the face knowing his handiwork brought forth such sounds. Ugh, how he wanted to hear more of it! Lucy putty in his hands and spread between his thighs, calling out his name…

“You’ve gotten better at this… Natsu,” the cocky teasing tone, snapped him out of his dream.

“Natsu?” He tried failingly to disguise his voice. “I’m Kenji, Ms. Heartfilia.”

“Uh-huh. You think I can’t tell the difference Natsu?” Lucy quipped back with a chuckle. “Kenji’s routine is very different. Plus, I knew the moment I smelled your cologne.”

Busted.

“Tch. Well, if you knew it was me all along, why’d you let me do this?”

“Making you work is my payback.” She settled back down, relaxed on her arms. “Now, chop, chop, finish the job.”

This little minx! He was the one supposed to be torturing her this time, not the other way around! “Fine, kitten.” Natsu gritted out a smile and took hold of her neck again to placate and lull Lucy back into thinking he would go along. He massaged the sides with the tips of his fingers Both hands wrapped around, and his thumbs pushing up through her hair against the muscles on the back of her head.

“If only you’d taken care of me like this before,” Lucy mumbled.

Natsu paused and leaned over her ear. “Why not let me take care of you now?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“No, I don’t know the answer, that’s part of the problem!”

Lucy sighed. “Natsu, I don’t want to fight right now. I’m here to relax, not fight. If you’re done, then leave and send Kenji back in.”

“Oh, yeah. Why? Because he’s another one of your boy toys? He gonna be naughty again with you once I leave?!”

“Pfft, I said that knowing it was you, idiot.”

“I think you live to torture me, Angel. But you’re right. I don’t wanna fight right now either, so—” Natsu leaned down quick and latched his mouth onto the area between her shoulder blades, sucking hard.

Lucy squealed and reached back frantically trying to claw at his face, but he grabbed her hands, knowing if she struggled any harder, she risked completely exposing herself. He held her for a few seconds, and once satisfied he’d achieved his goal, let go.

“Natsu! Did you put a hickey on me?!”

“This Angel,” he trailed his fingers over Lucy’s tattoo as he spoke, “belongs to me. Will always be mine,” he whispered close to her ear. “You know it, I know it, and your boy toys will know it too.”

“I hate you.”

“Nah,” Natsu stood up and covered her back up with the sheet. “You hate that you don’t hate me. It’s okay. I still love you too. See ya around kitten.”

Natsu heard the woman’s sigh as the door closed behind him and smiled to himself. He knew she didn’t actually hate him, their relationship was just complicated at the moment, never love the actual problem between them… Though, it had been a dick move to give her a hickey, but that’s what Lucy gets for leading him on like that. She could’ve just stopped the massage immediately if she knew it was him all along, so to let him go through the entire process, it was tit for tat— and hey, at least it’s only temporary.

‘It’s your move next kitten…’

[dancingazaleas]

Can you write a modern au Historia Reiss x fem!reader imagine where the reader is in a band and has a very punk rock style, and Historias the popular cheerleader everybody drools over, and they hate each other but at a party some girl is flirting with the reader so historia takes her and fucks the reader silly in a bathroom and after confesses her feelings to r?

historia reiss | promise

ofc!!! pls i literally love cheerleader!historia. i hope this is good enough <33 !!

18+ pls ! [unedited]

warnings/notes: cursing, use of alcohol and drugs, eventual smut, jealous dom!historia, modern au!, college au!, cheerleader!historia, bathroom sex, degradation, slight praise, enemies to lovers supremacy, fem reader!, finger fucking, hints at pegging, and aftercare

you’re pissed, so pissed that you’re seeing white. you only know that you’re sitting under the bleachers of your college campus and that your best friend, annie, is sitting beside you.

historia reiss, the popular cheerleader adored by everyone, decided it would funny if she pulled a prank on you. the prank being drenched in ice water and then pouring pink glitter on your body from the second floor of campus.

the glitter stuck everywhere, even in your mouth. before you scrubbed some of it off, you looked like a bath bomb. the water made it stickier and made you cold.

you don’t know what kind of vendetta historia has against you, you’ve only just met her two years ago! you hadn’t even really talked her up until your freshman year of college. even then, you don’t think you had said anything rude or wrong.

you just assume she gets pleasure out of your suffering.

you’re ranting about historia to annie, who witnessed the whole incident, still covered head-to-toe in glitter. she’s smoking a cigarette and listening to you absentmindedly, a sign that she’s getting slightly annoyed. she grabs your jaw with her hand and turns your face towards her. she’s taking in a breath and you know exactly what she’s about to do.

when she pulls the cigarette away, she blows the smoke into your face and let’s go of your jaw.

“thanks for that,” you grunt, the smell always seems to calm you down for some odd reason.

“y’know, instead of ranting, you could go home and take a shower,” she looks sleepy as she holds onto her cigarette.

“i know. but she’s just so frustrating! wanna know what makes her even more frustrating?!”

annie decides to play along, she thinks you ranting is funny, “what?”

“she’s hot. scratch that, she’s literally gorgeous. she looks like a fucking goddess and has the personality of a witch,” you shout angrily, following annie’s movements of getting up and walking towards your dorm.

“i dunno,” she snickers, “she’s pretty nice to me.”

“yeah, cause she’s got some sort of vendetta against me. i swear—i have never done a single thing to her!! do you remember when she bashed our band?! does she even listen to punk?!”

annie’s made a mistake in encouraging you, “anyways. speaking of our band, don’t forget we’re playing tonight at eren’s house.”

“you mean at his frat house,” you snort, bumping your shoulder into her’s. you immediately regret it when you pull away and see pink glitter stick to her shirt and a shiver going down her spine.

“yeah, whatever. thank god he’s loaded enough to pay for a band. i can’t believe his dad just gives him and zeke cash,” annie coughs while she chuckles, smoke puffing out of her nose.

you’re laughing at her coughing, slapping her firmly on the back as you walk.

you don’t notice large blue eyes staring at you from far away.

————

you’re trying to ignore the idiotic comments annie’s making while mikasa does your eyeliner.

you, mikasa, annie, and—surprisngly—jean are getting ready for your show tonight.

originally, it had just been you, annie, and mikasa until mikasa and jean had started dating. she vouched that he could play the drums—and he definelty could. he also gets along surprisingly well with you and annie.

mikasa usually sings back-up for you—despite your begging for her to be the lead—and plays the electric keyboard.

annie’s on bass guitar. she gets stupidly smug everytime she’s done playing and the praise she gets from her girlfriend doesn’t help. annie also writes most of your songs.

“guys, we should make a bet,” annie’s twirling some of her hair, eyeing you and mikasa.

“what’s the bet,” jean smirks and raises a bushy brow. mikasa and you give a hum of approval.

“i bet that one girl is gonna be all over (name) tonight,” you snort sarcastically.

“elizabeth? i think she’s trying to seduce me so i’ll partner up with her for this project we have coming up in our music history class,” mikasa’s pullled away, screwing the cap of the eyeliner back onto the bottle. she hands you coal black lipstick.

“you know what i bet,” jean starts, you know it isn’t gonna be good, “historia’s gonna be eyefucking (name) all night.”

you’re in the middle of applying lipstick but you stop at his statement.

“no, before you say something, jean’s gotta point,” mikasa muses, fanning her hand.

“yeah. dunno how you didn’t noticed,” annie shrugs, hopping out of her chair and stretching her arms upwards.

you’re irritated and finished with your lipstick, eyebrows furrowed bitterly.

“anyways,” you grit your teeth, “it’s showtime.”

————

it’s been five minutes since you and the band performed, and after all that belting you just want a drink. you’re walking through the messy and huge kitchen, trying to avoid stepping on spilled shots and egg yolk—who knows—because these boots were expensive.

luckily, most people are partying like a mob in the main room of the smelly frat house. it smells like weed, everywhere. and when you open the fridge you see a long platter of chocolate brownies, is eren alright? you shrug internally, snatching a water bottle that’s sitting on the top shelf.

after you’ve closed the fridge door and opened it, you’re chugging the water bottle like your life depends on it. when you pull away, you try to not notice the lipstick stain and that you’ve drank the bottle more than halfway. you’re leaning on the island in the middle of the kitchen, you don’t plan on partying too much since you’re supposed to be the designated driver for annie, mikasa, and jean.

you’re about to take another swig of your water, eyes staring down at your phone and continuing to read a article. before you can bring the bottle to your lips, teasing laughter from your front is distracting you.

it’s historia, wearing a baby blue v-neck tank top that ends at her ribs. she has a white skirt on, pulled up to the middle of her bellybutton and stopping at her upper thighs. her shoes are white and chunky with sparkly blue butterflies on the sides of them. her makeup’s cute, a light blue sprinkling on the outside corners of her eyes that tickled her cheekbones, a light and natural (for her at least) pink lipstick on her lips coated with shiny gloss. she’s pretty.

“fuck do you want,” you frown with narrowed eyes, you’re praying there aren’t anymore tricks.

“nothing, nothing!,” she’s got a cheery smile on her face, “just wanted to see how you were doing! i cant even do that?”

rolling your eyes, you scoff, “not after you drenched me in ice cold water and then poured glitter on me. it took me two hours to get rid of the glitter in the shower.”

she’s opening her mouth, but you’re already done with her shit, “fuck off, dude.”

you’re stomping out of the kitchen, huffing with frustration. what the fuck was historia trying to play at? she’s such a cunt, pulling these mean pranks on you with no provocation and then coming up to you after and asking how you are?

you’re seething. you’re so angry you’re not even paying attention to where you’re going.

but it’s interrupted when you bump into someone’s back. lower... back.

said person, turns around and looks down at you. she’s tall, and you’ve seen her around campus with eren and zeke. she’s quiet and cunning, you’ve heard rumors that she gets paid to beat people up sometimes. you can’t really judge her, money’s money.

but she’s also gorgeous. glowing gold eyes and choppy blonde hair. she’s wearing a loose black blazer that closes at her sternum and down, with nothing underneath. she’s got some kind of necklace—you think it says ‘p’ or ‘z’—and pretty silver rings on her fingers. her heels make her tower over you more than she probably would without them on.

“shit, my bad,” you sigh and look away.

she shakes her head, the tiniest smile painting her face and her cheeks turn a little red.

“you’re alright,” she hums, “i don’t think i’ve met you. i’ve definitely seen you around, but no one’s ever given me a name.”

“oh, i’m (name),” you smile shyly, “i don’t know your name either.”

she chuckles a bit, somehow wrapping her hand in your’s and leading you to a nice loveseat. her nails are painted black and you feel inclined to put your legs over her lap.

“i’m surprised,” and that’s when you notice zeke and pieck on the couch next to you, “there are a lot of rumors about me. however, i guess whoever told you—or didn’t—left me anonymous. i’m yelena.”

you give a laugh, watching her throw her arm up onto the top of the couch. you’re cuddling her side within seconds, drawing a deep chuckle from her. her other hand reaches to your cheek, making you look up at her. she’s holding your chin with her thumb and staring at you with her hypnotizing eyes.

“you’re just the cutest,” she mumbles, letting go of your face and tapping your nose.

you’re getting embarrassed at the attention, and you don’t know what to say other than ‘thank you’. you’ve never been pussy whipped a day in your entire life, but you think you might change that.

she’s leaning in closer, ignoring the couple, who was staring at you two with amusement, that sat on the couch cuddling. you feel like you recognize them for a moment, but the thought it forgotten whenever yelena kisses you fervently.

she’s running her tongue across your lip and the shiver that goes down your spine makes you realize she has a tongue piercing. she’s pushing you down to lay on the couch, to which you happily oblige, her hand crawling up to your neck.

before you can even let her shove her tongue in your mouth and choke you, your hand is being tugged and all of a sudden your upper torso and body is on the floor and your head is aching. you’re dazedly looking at yelena, who’s just as surprised as you are, then turning to the couple on the couch.

holy fucking hell, how did you not realize that the couple was pieck and zeke. that isn’t even your main focus when another tug to your wrist pulls your lower half off the couch.

“what the fuck?!” you’re suddenly not dazed anymore, “let go of me!”

you’re snatching your arm away and scrambling to your feet, tugging down your short dress that rode up. you turn around to face the assaulter, only to look down and see historia.

historia grabbed you?!

before you can even scream or slap her, she’s, once again, pulling you away by your wrist. for such a small girl, she’s got a tight grip.

you’re stumbling as you follow her, not like you couldn’t, yelling profanities. you pass by annie, who spits out her drink at the sight of you, it startles her girlfriend, hitch. you mouth a ‘help!’ towards her just as you’re swung forward.

it takes you a second to balance yourself out, and before you can turn yourself around, you’re being shoved forward.

what the fuck is her deal?!

you’re pushed into a bathroom, finally turning around to see historia as you fall on your ass. she’s slammed the door closed and locked it, staring at you on the ground.

“the fuck is your damage,” you scream, leaning against the bathroom counter.

“you’re a fucking slut, that’s what!” she’s yelling back, now standing in front of you. her hands are trapping you against the counter, and you’re looking down at her.

“you’re a dirty little slut. you can’t help but get down with a woman when i’m not with you for five fucking minutes,” you can’t even open your mouth and opted to push yourself towards the counter more as you squeeze your thighs together.

“look at you,” she’s laughing mockingly, “you look like a dog in heat. are you enjoying this, you fucking whore?”

you whimper, shaking your head side-to-side.

“you’re a liar,” she’s laughing again, standing on her tip toes to brush her lips against your’s.

“i’m not.”

“if you’re not, go ahead and push me away then,” she smirks, leaning closer.

you look away, listening to the mocking giggle that she was releasing right in your face. her left hand is grabbing you by the jaw and forcing you to look at her.

“can i kiss you,” her look softens and you nod at her.

“yes,” and within a second, her lips are on your’s. the kiss is surprisingly gentle and sweet.

with a bit on your lip, her tongue is rubbing against your’s and her hands sliding under the thin straps of your dress. you’re whining when she pulls away and laughs. your dress is halfway down your body, chest jumping up and down as you pant from the lack of breath.

“look at you, baby,” she turns your head to the side, which gives you a profile view of yourself in the mirror. your lipstick’s smudged in the corner of your mouth, eyeliner’s smuged as well as your eyeshadow.

weak product.

“you need better makeup,” she’s giggling as she leans her head towards your neck.

she’s kissing and sucking almost everywhere on your neck and chest, as if she were marking her property. moans are bouncing off the walls as her hands release your boobs from the strapless bra you’re wearing and sucking on your nipples. honestly, you’re glad it’s off. it’s been tiring having to pull it up everytime it slipped even just a bit.

you tug at her blonde hair when her small hand gropes one tit and her mouth bites at the other. she’s tugging the rest of your dress down with her free hand, and it pools around your boots. she goes back up to kiss your lips, laughing in your mouth as you struggle to kick off your boots. she’s kissing at your cheek and ear, tugging at the waistline of your fishnet tights.

“might wanna take these off too if you don’t want them ripped,” yelping when she bites at your earlobe.

“i...,” you’re catching your breath, “need help.”

she giggles while nodding, helping you shimmying the tights down to your knees.

“jump up on the counter, babe. it’ll make it easier for me,” you’re obident and jumping on the cool bathroom counter, it makes you shiver.

historia’s on her knees, shoes kicked off, and her fingers tickle your legs when she’s sliding the tights off your legs. she’s got a sultry look on her face when she throws said tights over her shoulder, palming your kneecaps. she bites back her smirk when she pulls your knees apart, showing off your black panties. you fall back against the mirror and you lean mostly on your elbows, ignoring the loud bang that came from it.

her mouth’s leaving open mouthed kisses against your inner thighs, pants leaving your mouth. her fingers hook around the waistband of your panties, tugging them down quickly whenever you lift your hips.

your going to close your legs, but her hands prevent you from doing so. her eyes are glued to your pussy, lips spread open and your wetness shining in the light. you’ve got a little hair on your pubis, but that isn’t going to stop historia reiss from changing her name to sasha braus.

she’s sucking at your clit and spreading your legs apart as far as she can. she pulls away from your pussy just for a second.

“keep your legs open,” she says, a thumb rubbing circles into your clit.

it’s lazy and it’s satisfying, but it’s not enough to make you cum. she knows that.

you’re letting out high pitched moans and fingers tangled in her golden locks as she eats you out like a man starved.

‘i wish i had realized that i’m gay sooner,’ you think as historia slowly slides her middle finger inside of you.

you’re throwing your head back against the mirror when she suddenly adds a second finger, claiming that you could take it since you’re a slut.

considering your wetness is dripping down your ass and onto the counter, you can’t really object the statement.

she’s curling her fingers inside you, mouth closed around your clit. your moans go up an octave when she finds the spongy part inside of you, thrusting her fingers in and out of you after she angles her digits.

“fuck!” you moan and start clawing at historia’s free arm, which is holding down your hips.

“h-historia...,” you pant, “gonna cum... pl..please let me cum.”

her laughter sends vibrations across your clit, and that’s what sends you over the edge. you’re crying out as historia helps you ride out your orgasm by slowing her fingers down and pulling away from your clit. historia’s admiring you while she wipes off your juices from her chin, a small smile adorning her lips.

your head is thrown back against the mirror—once again. eyes rolled back and mouth opened in a silent moan. the hand that was gripping at her arm is clenched in a fist that has your knuckles painted white. your toes are curled and your back is arching in the air.

she doesn’t pull her fingers out of you until your calm, letting you catch your breath before she does it all over again.

———

your legs are trembling as she helps you sit down on the toilet.

you know you look like a mess—historia’s been forcing you to watch yourself. the eyeliner and mascara you have on is now smeared and ran down your face since you cried. your lipstick is smeared up and down, worse than last time, and your hair is messed up and tangled from historia pulling on it.

historia’s squatting before you, looking for a rag to wet down and clean you up with.

“next cabinet over,” you breath, throwing your head back.

“you know who’s bathroom this is?”

“yeah, jean’s in this frat too. him and marco share it. this place is pretty nice when there isn’t a party going on,” you giggle, somehow this whole situation seems funny to you.

she’s running hot water over the rag she now has, staring at herself in the mirror. historia’s got hickeys on her neck too and teeth marks on shoulders. she’s got glittery blue on her cheek, must be her mascara.

she turns off the water and wrings it out. she walks over to you, nudging your legs open with her knee. you comply and absentmindedly reach for one of her hands to hold. she takes the offer, squatting in front of you and cleaning up the slightly dried cum and juices on your thighs and vagina.

you shiver and let out little whines and whimpers, still sensitive from the previous orgasms. historia was also still wearing something. something that you didn’t even know she had.

a fucking 6 inch strap on.

“by the way,” you start, “how’d you get your strap-on here?”

“i came to the house before eren started throwing the party. i brought a bag with me and just hid it in the empty cabinet. i think eren wanted to hook up with me and mentioned something about pegging. brought it in case,” she explains, small smile spreading across her face as she starts cleaning your face.

you start giggling again, the hand that wasn’t holding her hand weakly grabbing at her wrist.

“hisu... can i get a kiss,” you pucker your lips when she pulls away the rag from you. she flips the rag to a clean slide, rubbing herself in the same areas as she did for you.

historia holds your cheek and gives you the sweetest kiss you’ve ever had.

“i’m gonna take you back to mine and ymir’s place. you’re still in sub-space and you wobble instead of walk,” she says, squatting down again to help you get your panties on.

she’s able to get your dress on the lower half of your body, but you both realize there’s a fucking cum stain on the chest. historia gives you a jacket that was in her bag, zipping it halfway. the dress stayed sitting at your waist, you’re to tired to get it open even if you have a cover up.

she’s done cleaning everything up within ten minutes, including herself. she throws the rag in a hamper in the bathroom closet that had jean’s name written on it in sharpie.

she’s slipping the bag on her shoulder and helping you walk with the other one. when you walk out, ymir is leaning on the wall by the door with a smirk.

ymir squats down a bit, laughing at your shaky legs every time you took a step. historia and her manage to get you on ymir’s back. you fall asleep before you three can get to the car.

———

when you wake up, your whole lower body is sore. your eyelids feel heavy as you open them, coming to your senses. you recognize ‘dance moms’ playing in the background and historia eating cereal as she watches.

you groan lowly, and historia finally notices your consciousness.

“so...,” you yawn while you stretch your arms up into the air, “talk about last night?”

historia nods while she chews, “so basically, i was jealous that you were hooking up with another girl that wasn’t me.”

“but why would you be jealous...? i thought you hated me,” you rub your cheek against the pillow you’re laying your head on.

historia blushes as she looks away with a pout, “i never hated you... i just... i didn’t like the feelings i have for you.”

“oh,” you lay on your back and ignore the heat rushing to your cheeks, “what are.... the feelings..?”

“i may or may not love you,” she hides her face by holding her bowl full of cereal to her chin.

you don’t say anything for a few moments, trying to think of what you wanted to say.

“i... i love you too. but, that doesn’t just mean i forgive and forget all the horrible shit you’ve done to me. i’ll start dating you when i feel that you’ve... ‘atoned’ for your sins,” you sigh, “it’s gonna take some time but if you want this to work or even start, you’ve gotta make it up to me and understand where i’m coming from.”

she looks at you with slight excitement, “i... of course! i was really mean to you and you didn’t deserve that, no matter how much i disliked you. i promise to make it up to you.”

she’s holding her pinky finger up to you.

you smile and link your pinkies with her’s, “promise.”

[thehorrorsoftheblackbunnymask]

Hear me out

🪄 H O G W A R T S AU 🪄

I was thinking about something lately 🤔

Imagine this:

Hoodie is the apple of everyone's eye, an example of the bravery that Gryffindor can have. He has people swooning with each stare, despite him not being the Talkative type, his Gryffindor like qualities shine like never before.

You on the other hand, are Slytherin. How you managed to get into the house despite being a half-blood baffles everyone in the school. So of course, you get bullied for it, "Mudblood" written everywhere you go. But you pull through, you were put in the house for a reason, and you were sure as hell going to commit to it.

On the surface, this looks like Hoodie is the Golden retriever good boy who is obviously the good guy. And You are Slytherin snake that is very deep and mysterious, hungry for power and vengeance.

However, reality begs to differ.

Being a Slytherin doesn't mean your evil, you can use your cunning mind and ambition for good. Which is exactly what you do, you aim to help people with your resourcefulness and your snake like quick thinking saves people pit of trouble. Mischief mixed with a sweet heart is what you are.

Hoodie on the other hand, is completely different to what he presents himself to be. He is actually very toxic, Angry when things don't go like he planned. It's a shock he wasn't placed in Slytherin, given to how Manipulative he can be, but nobody needs to know that.

Although I don't know if Hoodie should be in the Gryffindor role or Masky :/

HELLO I HAVE NOT SEEN YOU IN MY INBOX FOR A HOT MINUTE, HOW YOU'VE BEEN?

MY FELLOW HARRY POTTER FAN!

I love this idea tho, since I'm a Slytherin and I like the fact Y/N is one too (I did the test on Pottermore)

I like the fact that hoodie would be manipulative when no one's around. I can see him watching you during lunch and following you to your classes just to harass you and make you late.

I can see him making up lies and spreading rumors about you just because you didn't go on a date with him.

He'll blackmail you into doing stuff with him, and if you refuse he'll hurt you and you're reputation.

Masky would definitely be Slytherin, but he'd be the Charmer Lover boy kind of Slytherin that everyone falls for. Toby is either Slytherin or Gryffindor.

Since Masky and You share a same house, be prepared for him to assault and harass you. He'll push you into a bathroom, doing a spell so that you can't move. He'll make it seem like he's going to hurt or even worse, rape you, but he'll just ask if you can help him study before letting you go. He'll burst into laughter once he sees your traumatized face and say you're a horny little thing.

Masky and Hoodie tend to gang up on you after school. So one day you went to go talk to Hagrid about it due to it causing you stress and making you fail most of your classes. So, Hagrid went to go talk to the two, and when they came back they were fucking pissed.

Let's just say you shouldn't snitch on them anymore, unless you want you're whole family murdered in cold blood.

Then we have Toby. Toby is a more complex one. He's your friend, but he doesn't see you as a friend, only a lover. He knows that he'll get his share of you if everything goes right, but he also want you all to himself! Hoodie and Masky will just torture you!

Toby would listen to your problems and comfort you when you needed it. He plays the role of the Sympathetic Comforting Best Friend, Masky and Hoodie want him to play that role so that Toby can get your secrets that can be used for black mail.

Toby watches you sleep, so does Hoodie, and Hoodie records it as he stands in a corner. Toby just goes into your bed and watches with love and insanity in his eyes.

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Phobia (one-shot)

Pairing: OC (female character) x Bang Chan (SKZ)

Warnings: suggestions of smut, violence, language, mentions of blood and gore

Genre: Mafia AU; Marriage AU

Word Count: 4K

Summary: He found her when she was nothing - disgraced by her family and cast aside as an outsider. Yet, Chan made her feel wanted for the first time in her life, in more ways than one, which leads to countless nights of passionate love...until their worst fears come to fruition. 

A/N: Chan, you will always be a perfect husband to me. Thank you for coming to my short Ted Talk.

This time when he came home, he was covered in blood...

I almost broke down in the foyer at the sight of him, but Chan was quick to reassure me, shaking me by the shoulders as he patiently explained that it wasn’t his blood - there was a shooting at their exchange, but neither Chan nor his men had been injured. Of course, it doesn’t stop me from leading him upstairs, drawing a warm bath in our shared en-suite while fussing over the state of Chan’s suit, or what was left of it. His pale skin was apparent behind the black fabric of his dress pants, and there were long tears in his shirt. 

Needless to say, I threw all of those blood-stained clothes away before urging him into the bathtub, carefully kneeling down onto my knees as I started dragging a soft cloth over his skin. Chan moaned in delight, throwing back his head against the shower tiles while he allowed me to fuss over him - to reassure myself that he was okay, and that the horrific image of my husband standing in front of me drenched in blood was nothing more than a terrible memory.

I softly ran my fingers through his blond-hair, working through the tangles while being mindful of his eyes, using my hand to move his head back when I used a pitcher to wash the shampoo out of his delicate curls. “Hey,” Chan said, voice hoarse from overuse as he watched me drag his hand out of the bath water, working on the dirt and grim under his fingernails. 

I paused when I fingered across his wedding band. “Don’t come home like that ever again.”

I could feel Chan looking at me, and there was a lot of regret in his eyes, but I didn’t feel any remorse over my sharp tone. “I’m sorry, babygirl,” he said. “They were shooting at Felix and I-”

“You don’t have to justify your work to me,” I interrupted him. “I know the risks, but I never want to see something like that when I’ve been waiting for you.”

Chan nodded, and I shifted back when he sat up in the bathtub, allowing sensual rivulets of water to climb down the toned expanse of his chest and stomach. Meanwhile, I used the towel holder to help myself stand up, grabbing a spare towel for Chan, and trying to ignore how red the water remained after my husband had climbed out to wrap the towel around his waist.

Afterward, I allowed Chan some privacy in the bathroom while I returned to our bedroom, crawling into bed while remaining mindful of my stomach - the evidence of life bloating the skin. I took a deep breath, smoothing my hands along the exposed flesh, and I knew that it was bad to feel any kind of stress while I was pregnant. Unfortunately, my husband’s chosen line of work never made things easier.

Eventually, Chan joined me on the bed, leaving the towel hanging loosely from his hips while he shot me a concerned glance. “Are you feeling okay?” he asked, and his eyes immediately dropped.

“I’ll tell you in the morning,” I said, and I looked over at him as Chan slid one hand around my waist, holding me and our unborn child protectively.

“You’re right about everything, baby girl,” he said. “I’ll never scare you like that again.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I warned him, but Chan shook his head sternly, keeping me close before landing a soft kiss to the edge of my lips.

“I have a lot to clean-up tomorrow,” he said. “Work might take awhile.”

I sighed in return, looking up at the ceiling. “Wake me up before you go.”

Past

When Chan and I first met, his ledger wasn’t nearly as red. He actually served my family, taking on small cases with his friends, Jisung and Changbin, in service to my father. However, he had started to garner a reputation for being a quick hand and a good shot when it came to using guns, and Jisung and Changbin provided the perfect support for their little unit.

My father considered Chan to be one of his favorite apprentices, and he even approved of my early relationship with Chan. Despite my tendency to rebel against my father’s chosen favorites, I couldn’t resist Chan’s dark persona and contagious personality. He could probably talk the wealthiest man into giving away half of his fortune once he listened to Chan’s cunning words. 

On our first date, he showed me how to count cards in the Casino that my father owned, and after only three weeks of dating, he fucked me so hard in the backseat of his car that I saw stars after almost passing out from the pleasure.

We technically met in my father’s office because I had stormed in on one of their meetings unannounced, ready to confront my father because he had forced my youngest brother, Jeongin, to attend some lousy military school. Jeongin had cried for the entirety of the days leading up to his unwanted departure, and I had stood outside on the porch fuming as he was taken away from me.

But my father was really good at screwing over the members of his family, and I had finally had enough of his intervention. However, I also remembered hesitating when I saw Chan standing next to my father’s desk, freshly dyed hair glowing under the Chandelier. “Oh, it’s you,” my father grumbled. “What the hell do you want?”

“Nothing,” I said in return, maintaining eye-contact with Chan as I retreated from the office. 

Later that day, I asked my mother about Chan, and she told me that she didn’t know much about him, other than the fact that his parents had been killed in a raid - probably from my father’s doing - and he was serving our family. “Your father seems to like him,” my mother said, and it was only one of the very few times in her life that she had told the truth. 

Thereafter, I developed an unfavorable opinion of Chan since my father liked him, but it didn’t take Chan very long to change my mind and prove me wrong. He wasn’t blindly loyal to the man who destroyed his family - he was cold and methodical, and he told me how he planned to eventually break away from my father and form his own business with Jisung and Changbin. He spoke so passionately that it was hard not to fall in love with the burning look in his dark eyes. 

From then on, we became close to one another, sharing our deepest fears and desires, and we weren’t afraid to demonstrate our affection for one another. I was actually happy for once, which meant that something had to go wrong in my life. And it turned out that one of my father’s business partners was threatening our family because we owed them a lot of money, and my father planned to pay his debt by doing something rather despicable: selling me into their service.

It was humiliating, and I knew exactly what I would become working for a family that was notorious for its influence in the adult entertainment industry. I was enraged that my family would sentence me to that kind of life, but I wasn’t nearly as upset as Chan. We had been together for six months, and Chan had already started to include me in his future plans...the exchange was unacceptable.

So, on the night when my family planned to sell me to their rivals, Chan and I drove away in one of the cars that we stole from my father, bringing along Jisung and Changbin who fired off rounds of bullets from the windows as we escaped into the solitude of the night. Consequently, my family disowned me, snatching my last name and removing me from the family tree. But it never concerned me, especially when Chan offered me his last name instead, vowing his loyalty by exchanging intimate vows and marrying me on a warm, spring afternoon. When he fucked me that same night, he whispered sweet little nothings that contradicted the filthy way that his hips moved against mine, driving his cock deep inside.

After that, the two of us were inseparable - a dynamic duo that was ready to take the underground mafia world by storm...

Present

Before the sun had completely risen, Chan was stumbling out of bed with exhaustion written across his wearied countenance. I watched him move around the room, admiring the hard planes of his back as he dressed himself in the usual combination of black dress pants and a white button-up shirt. Chan claimed that it was important to look his best when it involved meeting with our rivals.

I closed my eyes when he neared my bedside, and I could feel him leaning down to press soft kisses to my forehead, fingers trailing across my stomach before he was leaving our bedroom with a heavy sigh. I swallowed hard against a sudden wave of emotions, remembering his appearance from the previous night, and the same restless anxiety managed to bleed its way around my heart.

Graciously, I managed to eventually fall back asleep, but it was only for a few hours because I was brought back to reality by the sound of the fire alarm blaring throughout the house. I groaned in complaint, throwing off the sheets before grabbing my dress robes and trudging downstairs. 

As I grew closer to the commotion, I could hear two men loudly arguing from one of the adjoining rooms, attempting to be heard over the sound of the annoying alarm. When I walked into the kitchen, I wrinkled my nose at the burning smell from the stove, waving my hand to clear the smoke. And standing at the center of the drama was Chan’s younger brother, Felix, as he engaged in a heated argument with my brother, Jeongin. “It’s your fault!” I heard Felix say. “You can’t cook bacon like that!”

“I told you to watch the pan!” Jeongin retaliated, and I rolled my eyes at their immature behavior.

“Hey!” I yelled, forcing both of them to pause. “Can you seriously not do this right now?”

Felix was the first to notice me, pointing an accusing finger at Jeongin. “Hey, he started it!”

I closed my eyes. “How old are you again?”

It was a surprise to me that they had both managed to live with us this long without engaging in more than just verbal altercations. After Chan and I rescued Jeongin from his cruel military academy, my husband invited him to join the organization. At first, I was hesitant of the decision, but Chan never invited Jeongin out on missions with them. Instead, he and Felix did most of the reconnaissance work from behind the scenes, and Jeongin was remarkably good with computers. Maybe he wasn’t on par with Felix’s hacking skills, but my younger brother continued to expand his skill set because she was determined to be the best.

Unfortunately, working in close proximity to one another on a regular basis inevitably led to numerous arguments. They were both strong-willed and stubborn, and neither Jeongin nor Felix was capable of flexibility, especially when it meant admitting that they were wrong. So, they often argued over trivial things, and I was usually left around to mend their bruised egos.

But a cooking dispute? At this hour? I shook my head because I didn’t have the patience to deal with them. “Leave the pan and go upstairs. I’ll take care of everything.”

Felix and Jeongin shot each other nasty glares as they obeyed, and I waited until they were gone before opening the windows in the kitchen and resetting the fire alarm. Finally, I turned my attention to the mess on the stove, cleaning with an exaggerated sigh. It was moments like this that made me long for the days when I used to accompany Chan on some of his missions...

Past

Chan only ever brought me along with him when he felt that a situation was incapable of turning violent, and he liked having me around to distract lesser men as he talked them into agreeing with anything that he said. I, of course, liked being helpful to my husband, and I always played my part well. For example, dressing in low-cut affairs that tended to produce insatiable responses from my husband who loved to drag me into his lap.

It made me feel powerful, arching my back as Chan ran one of his hands down my waist. “Look at your tits,” Chan said, stroking his fingers across the swell of my breasts. “Gorgeous.”

I beamed at his compliment, allowing him to handle as he liked while Chan turned to finally address the impatient man sitting across from us. “Are you ready?”

“I’ve been waiting all night,” the man said with a challenging stare.

“My apologies,” Chan smirked. “I’ve been rather busy.”

“I can see that,” the man said, but his smirk suggested that he wasn’t entirely understanding of Chan’s delayed commitment. Apparently, Chan was trying to sign some kind of arms deal with him, and my husband was very greedy when it came to our money. 

“I have my price listed,” Chan said, shoving the contract at the other man. “You can sign at the bottom.”

“Isn’t this a bit cheap?” the man asked. “The cost of labor alone is barely covered by your...generous offering.”

“It’s my final compromise,” Chan said, feigning boredom as he tugged at the neckline of my dress. “What do you say?”

“How about one night with your whore?” the man asked, leaning in across the table to reveal two rows of slimy teeth.

Immediately, I could feel the way that Chan tensed from underneath me, and his eyes narrowed as he looked at the man. “I hope you’re not referring to my wife.”

The man chuckled. “What difference does it make?”

Chan was quiet for a moment, and I saw a myriad of emotions reflected in his narrowed eyes. “Baby girl,” he eventually said while looking at me. “Why don’t you go get us some drinks?”

I nodded my head, scrambling to find my footing as I left the comfort of Chan’s lap to retrace my steps to the bar at the opposite end of the club. The bartender recognized me, sliding two beers in my direction with a smile before sending me on my way.

However, I suddenly paused when I started to approach our table, realizing that Chan had wanted to keep me away for a valid reason. He had also drawn a crowd of onlookers who watched as my husband smashed our target’s face into a pile of broken glass on the table. There was already so much blood, and Chan’s eyes were wild with his rage. He was also flanked by Jisung and Changbin whose fingers wrapped around the handles of their weapons. “You learned a lesson tonight, didn’t you?” Chan growled, grabbing the man by his collar to toss him into the floor. I winced when Chan’s heeled boot pressed down against the man’s throat, and his hands immediately wrapped themselves around my husband’s leg as he choked. 

There was every reason to feel horrified, watching my husband handle a man with so much violence while surrounded by blood and gore. But I didn’t feel scared. Instead, I smiled as I stood aside with our drinks, watching the action unfold with greedy eyes.

Present

It was late, and I could feel myself growing anxious. I passed the time by pacing the floor, resisting the urge to run into the other room and demand an update from Jeongin and Felix. They were playing a pivotal role in tonight’s mission, and they didn’t need my distraction.

But I could tell that something was wrong. The clock was ticking away loudly in the background, and every instinct was screaming at me to call my husband and demand his whereabouts. “Come on,” I muttered, hugging my arms around my stomach as I was prone to do these days.

Sleep wasn’t an option. Becaus my mind was a chaotic mess of restless thoughts and horrible scenarios flashing across my eyes. What if something bad happened to Chan?

I couldn’t stand it anymore. He had always promised me that he would come home, but it felt shallow on nights like this. Because life never promised any guarantees, especially when you put yourself in harms way on a regular basis.

I was approaching my wits end when Jeongin burst into my room with wide eyes. “What is it?” I snapped at him, allowing my frustration to boil over like a steaming kettle.

“We have to go to the hospital,” Jeongin said, and he somehow managed to catch me before I collapsed in the floor.

Past

But I suddenly couldn’t breathe, looking down at the seemingly mundane object in my hand. It was forecasting a fate that neither Chan nor myself had planned for our future. Something that could be dangerous in our world, and I already feared for my unborn child’s life.

However, it wasn’t something that I could hide - a secret to hold onto because it wouldn’t bear any consequences. This changed everything, and I had no idea how to tell Chan when I saw him later that evening. We had plans to have dinner together, and he looked divine as always, dressed impeccably with his hair slicked back, and perhaps to anyone else he would appear perfectly put together. But I knew better than most.

“How was work?” I asked, staring down at my dinner plate because I had lost my appetite.

“It was fine,” Chan said, shoveling another spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth like it was his last meal on Earth. “What did you do while I was gone?”

“Not much,” I said, hesitating as I looked down at the pregnancy test in my lap. “Felix kept me entertained.”

“As long as he’s staying out of trouble,” Chan said, reclining back in his chair as he looked at me from over the table. “You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you,” I said, and my tone was quiet and uncertain, but Chan must’ve had a billion other thoughts on his mind because he didn’t comment on my mood.

“I’m not busy tomorrow,” Chan said. “We can do whatever you want.”

It made my heart swell with affection to hear him say that since I knew that he was either lying or exaggerating. Because Chan never had any free time. “Channie,” I started, “I have something to tell you.”

Chan adjusted the sleeves of his shirt, revealing his forearms. “What is it?”

I bit my tongue, wrapping my fingers around the pregnancy test as I carefully brought it onto the table. There were so many ways that I could tell him, but nothing seemed to sound correct inside my head, and I was fumbling with an explanation. However, when I met Chan’s sweet smile and kind eyes, I managed to latch onto an inkling of confidence, finding my voice the longer we continued to look at one another. “I’m pregnant,” I whispered to Chan, watching him carefully as he listened.

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and I would’ve never noticed if I wasn’t paying such close attention. But then he noticed the test I had brought resting on top of the table. “It was positive,” he said, almost like an observation.

“Yeah,” I said with a nod, waiting with bated breath as he folded his arms across his chest - and it was a vulnerable position.

Eventually, Chan stood up from the table, and I shivered when I thought that he might leave the room, but he instead came to stand behind me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. “We’ll make it work, baby girl,” he said, holding me like I was something fragile that he needed to protect. There were tears in my eyes before I could hold them back, and Chan was kneeling on the floor and looking at me with so much love. “I’m gonna give you the world,” he promised, and it was a solemn declaration, sealed with a kiss to my shirt-covered stomach.

Present

Time was a social construct, and we can feel its effects most profoundly in the moments when it feels like it might run out before we can do anything to stop the inevitable. In desperation, we struggle to breach the surface of the water and take a much-needed deep breath - but there’s only so much that we can do for the things beyond our control. Yet, we still try to remedy them, and I found myself pacing anxiously outside of his hospital room, ignoring the suggestions from his other members to relax and sit down. Because my mind was incapable of settling down, and I could only chant the words, he can’t die, as they repeated over and over again inside my head, remembering how the doctor looked at me when I confronted him.

“We’ll do the best we can,” the doctor had told me, but it wasn’t good enough.

I was on the edge of total self-destruction, and maybe it was the first time that I finally realized just how affected I would be without Chan. Because the world would be so cold without him next to my side, and I couldn’t bear the thought of facing that oblivion of darkness.

He had to keep living for me...

“Mrs. Bang,” a nurse said, pulling my attention to the smiling woman approaching me. “You can see him now.”

I sniffled and nodded, following the nurse as she led me to Chan’s room, feeling my heart grow lighter with every step in the right direction. Until I was confronted with Chan’s familiar presence, watching me from his hospital bed, and I was on cloud nine as I rushed to him. Wrapping my arms around him as I cried softly into his shoulder. “Channie,” I whimpered, pulling back to press my lips against his for the necessary reassurance of his touch.

“I’m okay,” he said. “Everything’s fine.”

I shook my head because the fear was still there - lingering at the edges of my subconscious, acting as a reminder of the utter dread that I had experienced when Jeongin first told me that Chan was somewhere I never wanted to see him. “I thought you were gone,” I whispered, grabbing his hands to ground myself in this reality with Chan, surviving the impossible for another day. “This is my worst fear, Chan,” I continued. “That you won’t come home, and our kid will grow up without their father.”

Chan sighed, and I noticed that his eyes were swollen around the rims, and there were unshed tears waiting to fall. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

“It can’t happen again,” I told him sternly, hoping I looked more fierce than I felt on the inside. Because Chan needed to be explicitly told these things in the only way that he would understand.

“I’ll always do my best for you,” he said, and I realized that his tone was thick with emotion and the unsaid words between us that we were both still too afraid to vocalize.

“I love you, Chan,” I said. “I know you like the work that you do, but I think it might be time to take on less responsibilities.”

“You’re right,” he said, looking up at me with a sad smile. “I’ll do anything to make you happy.”

“I just need you,” I said, allowing him to pull me onto the bed next to him, and we both savored the silence humming throughout the room and the familiar presence of the person who we needed more than anything else in this cruel world. 

[chalkrevelations]

OK, y’all, I’m back, finally, with Word of Honor Episode 8, and I have … a LOT of notes on this one. I’m trying to figure out how to organize this. Buckle up, I guess, because this is kind of a long one.

First of all, the usual warning: SPOILERS. This is a re-watch, so there are spoilers not only for this episode, but for the entire show. Scroll away and come back later if you want to watch all 36.5 eps unspoiled.

So, this is an ep that’s really good to me, because the found-family dynamic is one of the things that sold me on the show, and a ton of the ensemble work that builds and enriches that dynamic is centered on scenes about food and eating together, on literally nourishing the body(ies) of the family, from A-Xiang’s repeated instances of cooking bread on a stick over a fire, to fish soup with Ye Baiyi, to Wen Kexing’s elaborate New Year’s meal, and all the various and sundry restaurant sit-downs in between. Feeding each other and eating together is how these characters form bonds. Alternately, inability to provide sustenance or rejection of food implies distance. The point at which Zhou Zishu is still denying Chengling’s request to become his disciple, he’s unable to cook a fish properly for the poor kid to eat. Cao Weining falls in love at first sight and immediately buys A-Xiang not one, but two dinners, because the first one gets cold and he’s going to spend the rest of his life providing the best (emotional) nourishment he can for her. Paying for Ye Bayi’s meal earns a favor from him. When A-Xiang is separated from Wen Kexing and Zhang Chengling and Zhou Zishu, she eats up the little corn family she sees as representative of them, as if she can keep them with her by taking the food that represents them into herself. Despite the fact that Zhou Zishu is losing his sense of taste (evidenced by his ability to suck down wine that any and everyone else spits out in disgust), he continues to fully participate in meals, sharing food and both accepting and providing choice bits to Chengling and WKX at Siji Manor, in a scene that is possibly the most heartfelt domestic bit of the show. Rejecting (dramatically so) the table that’s been set for him by Prince Jin is symbolic of Zhou Zishu’s rejection of their relationship. And as we ultimately learn from Ye Baiyi’s storyline, eating is what makes us human, with all of our messy, painful, gorgeous connections to the world, in contrast to the icy seclusion of immortality. Which makes me feel some kind of way about the facts that WKX started out by burning A-Xiang’s mouth on too-hot porridge before he learned how to take care of her and was saved by her in Ghost Valley and that A-Xiang and WKX, who are both trying to find their way back to the human world from the world of ghosts, become the primary physical nourishers in their relationships with Cao Weining, Zhang Chengling, and Zhou Zishu. It also makes me feel some kind of other (ambivalent) way that part and parcel of the immortality Ye Baiyi achieves for a time and passes on is predicated on being willing to only eat and drink ice and snow, and the symbolic ways that separates you from the rest of the world and from forming the various connections we see forged through food.

All of which is to say that I’m delighted by this ep, where one of the first scenes is an extremely awkward dinner scene at the restaurant with ZZS, WKX, A-Xiang and Cao Weining, which not only plays into a lot of that, but is also comedy gold, and possibly one of the best scenes of the ep (and I say that knowing we’re eventually going to be getting to Han Ying, My Beloved). It’s hilarious how irritated WKX is by the mere fact of Cao Weining’s existence (JunJun, your little pouty face, it’s amazing). And it is triply hilarious how much of a whole-ass troll ZZS manages to be when he realizes the opportunity this presents. I’m not sure we’ve seen ZZS this cheerful … well, yet, at this point in the show, as when he’s just realized how much WKX clearly disapproves of this character who’s after his baby girl and how much of a chance this provides to fuck with WKX. It’s such an asshole move, but at the same time, it’s so weirdly charming to see him willing to play like this. It gives us a great character grace note right in the middle of the comedy - it’s the sort of teasing we see from him with Jiuxiao over the hairpin in Ep 1, and at the same time, it’s also kind of subtle, I think, in the way it calls back to almost the entire ZZS-WKX relationship up to this point. ZZS has clearly been paying attention – almost everything he says to Cao Weining is him giving up with both hands stuff that WKX has had to pry out of him with a crowbar. And it’s blazingly obvious that it’s deliberate. When he compliments CWN, ZZS comments that “it’s our fate to meet each other,” directly echoing what WKX said to ZZS in Ep 2. He waves off the price of dinner, telling CWN that “money is just a possession” after making WKX beg for his wallet and deploy the Sadness Eyebrows before he was willing to hand it over in the last ep. He immediately volunteers his name (or, at least, the name he’s using, Zhou Xu), and asks CWN’s in return. He waxes eloquent about CWN’s sect and background. WKX’s entire face journey through all of this is a delight to watch. ZZS repeats that it’s their fate to meet, and WKX’s eyes almost roll out of his head. ZZS invites CWN to sit and have a drink together, and WKX’s mouth literally drops open. Finally, when WKX learns that A-Xiang is not going to make this interloper go away because he’s her ticket into Yueyang sect, he orders her to go find his wallet (presumably knowing that CWN will follow her when she leaves). As CWN leaves, ZZS reassures him that making friends is “mostly about resonance,” and the implication I presume, is that there is resonance between ZZS and CWN (and yeah, in more ways than one, as CWN will be the ZZS stand-in as these two relationships grow more and more parallel), in contrast to a supposed lack of resonance between ZZS and WKX. I … am not entirely sure that this is just to fuck with WKX, although it’s definitely part and parcel of that, or if it’s a little bit of ZZS trying to convince himself, particularly given a moment later in the ep, which I’ll get to later. In which case, sure, A-Xu. You keep telling yourself that. You didn’t get off at ALL on him staring at you like you’re the most gorgeous thing on earth. Uh-huh.

Outside, A-Xiang and CWN have a little foodie moment together, and if there ever was a fandom that needed a food-truck AU, it’s this one. I’m SO glad that after A-Xiang and Cao-dage got married, they settled down together and opened that little restaurant just down the mountain from Siji Manor. (Shut. Up.) Meanwhile, ZZS and WKX continue to drink inside, now that they’ve gotten rid of the kids. They discuss Mo Huaiyang (:spits:), with ZZS calling him a “cunning old fox” and wondering what a big rabbit like CWN is doing in his den (owowowoOW). WKX promises to get A-Xiang to check on ZZS’s disciple inside Yueyang Sect – he kind of emphasizes that your disciple bit, like he doesn’t really care at all what happens to Chengling, nuh-uh. OK, my dude, you keep telling yourself that, I guess. There’s yet another discussion about Philanthropist Wen’s real motives, which he claims are to empty out hell, which is metaphorically taken to mean saving the damned, although he probably literally means razing Ghost Valley and maybe the jianghu along with it, as he warns ZZS once again that “the fiercest ghosts tend to disguise themselves as human.” And because everything has a triple meaning in this show, this also, again, is also, again, a warning about himself – that he may look human, but he’s not, really.

Meanwhile, Chengling’s been delivered to Gao Chong at Yueyang Sect, where he’s undergoing the worst kind of family bonding. We learn where ShenShen gets his sparkling way with people, when Gao Chong’s first move is to frown at Chengling, feel his biceps and want to know if he’s sick, because he’s such a weakling. We also see where ShenShen gets the yelling and threats of violence. Both Gao Chong and ShenShen put the press on Chengling for the Glazed Armor, as he continues to insist he doesn’t remember anything about it, while Zhao Jing continues to be the “reasonable” one, tearfully telling Gao Chong to be nicer to the traumatized orphan for the sake of his father, oh, oops, I didn’t mean to remind Da-ge of the estrangement with Mirror Lake that’s mentally torturing him now and make him so emotional that this conversation gets cut short, no really, that was not my intention at all, my bad. Sure, buddy. Anyway, this gives us confirmation that Zhang Yusen hadn’t been interacting with his Five Lakes brothers for a while before Mirror Lake was targeted. But never mind that, you can trust us, Gao Chong tells Chengling, and follows up by asking him: Besides us, who can you trust? Which does not actually sound that trustworthy, my guy, and I begin to suspect that Five Lakes Alliance is running things because you’re the biggest bullies, as not a single one of you seems to know how to be the least bit politic. Except for Awful Yifu, who’s not so much adept at politics as at skullduggery. ANYWAY, when asked who he can trust, we can see Chengling thinking “MY NEW DADS” like it’s lit up in neon over his head. We also see him continue to press or clutch the place on his abdomen where we previously saw his injury, so that’s still bothering him, and I can’t imagine why it might do that any time he has to argue with one of these Five Lakes assholes about the Glazed Armor, amirite? I do also notice, though, that he calls both Gao Chong and Zhao Jing “bobo,” which I think is a more familial term for uncle? as opposed to “shishu” for ShenShen, which is martial, and I’m not sure exactly what distinction he’s driving home by doing so, but there you go. Chengling is sent away to rest, and on leaving the hall he immediately gets bullied by Xie Wuyang, one of Zhao Jing’s undercover Yueyang twinks, before being rescued by Gao Xiaolian, daughter of Gao Chong. She takes him to his new room, which faces right onto the training grounds, because no one’s told him yet how much he needs to build himself up, right? And we get to see a bunch of little Yueyang shits who acted like good boys and promised Xiaolian to her face that they would train with Chengling but who then immediately turn around and start mocking him as soon as she goes away, so WKX’s assessment of how the jianghu is full of assholes continues to look kind of correct. What is Cao Weining doing in this whole hive of scum and villainy?

We get a brief detour here to go with Xiaolian to meet Cao Weining and A-Xiang, and she agrees to let A-Xiang stay with her, before a disciple comes to get her to help set up for taking Chengling to worship at the Five Lakes Alliance memorial. Xiaolian helpfully lets us know that this is weird, because it’s going to be dark soon. A-Xiang sneaks away and informs WKX and ZZS that this is weird, because it’s going to be dark soon. ZZS and WKX also spot some of the Tian Chuang Action Lanterns and surmise that some “feudal lords” seen outside the city are up to no good, so they go and skulk in the bushes along the road to the Five Lakes Alliance monument.

This is getting super-long, so I’m going to get right to the next important part, which is the bit where Han Ying (My Beloved) and his Tian Chuang forces have laid a trap for Gao Chong and Chengling on the way back from the monument, and they try to kidnap Chengling. Han Ying continues to be cold, haughty, and capable at his job right up to the moment when ZZS jumps out of the bushes to foil the kidnapping with his signature Swiftly Moving Steps and a frankly ridiculous bit of gauzy fabric tied around the bottom half of his face as a disguise. Han Ying’s instant change of demeanor is something to behold – he can’t even notice that WKX has him by the throat around the hearts in his eyes as he recognizes ZZS. Which, let’s face it, he ought to, because ZZS spent a decade and a half running around with all of these guys with the bottom half of his face covered, so you’d think more of them would recognize him, but apparently the Cover Girl bangs throw them off. Anyway, WKX grabs Han Ying and they use him as a hostage to get Tian Chuang to release Gao Chong, Chengling and a bunch of Yueyang disciples. Once everyone else is gone, WKX and ZZS drag Han Ying into the bushes, where he hits his knees ten times faster than WKX has yet for ZZS, so maybe it’s WKX’s own fault that he’s left standing around, ignored and vinegary. Han Ying is back to the puppy-dog he was around ZZS in Ep 1, and interestingly, the way Zhang Zhehan is styled here makes ZZS look more severe than he has in a while – he’s got a lot of his hair up in the high pony that looks a bit like the topknot from the front, all the rest of his hair is back behind his shoulders, and his bangs are pushed back out of his face more than usual, making him look more like his Tian Chuang self as he talks to Han Ying. Who he calls Ying’er, and omg, fuck you subtitles, for not including this because HE CALLS HIM YING’ER AND I’M DYING. (Also, oh god, I just realized that the Ying of his name is the same character as “hero.” Which, just, the simple fact of it, of course, but also it was used in the “hero saving the beauty/beauty saving the hero” (overdubbed) lip-read from Ep 6, and now I’m dying on the floor, because that’s kind of a weird little link between Zhen Yan WKX and Han Ying already. It’s likely coincidence, but it’s potentially USEFUL, yes, all my fic writers out there?) Anyway, Han Ying is desperately worried - he knows something’s wrong, because ZZS isn’t bothering to disguise himself with that awful fake face anymore to keep himself safe from Prince Jin’s spies, and also, HOW IS YOUR INJURY, MY LORD? (DO YOU NEED SOMEONE TO TAKE TENDER CARE OF YOU?) WKX continues to look vaguely uncomfortable about this whole thing that’s going on right in front of his salad. Han Ying swears he’ll do anything for ZZS. WKX clears his throat loudly to draw attention and suggestively asks if he should leave for a while. (I am not shitposting here, this actually, literally happens.) ZSS literally huffs in annoyance and ignores him. He tells Han Ying that he saw signs of Tian Chuang at Yueyang and thought they were after him. We can see Han Ying thinking, “No, if I’d known you were here, you’d have found me on my knees by your bedside waiting patiently like a good boy.” We learn that Duang Pengju (that asshole) has had Han Ying looking for the Glazed Armor since the Mirror Lake massacre, probably to take credit for anything he finds. Han Ying reiterates that he’ll do anything for ZZS, and ZZS tells him to stay out of all this, saying that what Han Ying can do for him is stay alive (well, OW).

After this, we get a scene of ZZS and WKX still hanging around by the side of the road after dark. ZZS sincerely thanks WKX for his help, and says he owes WKX a favor. WKX asks him what’s really going on with ZZS and Chengling. ZZS says that he couldn’t stand around and do nothing while this kid was in danger, likely stirring some Zhen Yan feels in WKX that we don’t officially know about yet, at this point. ZZS asks WKX, again, about his Weird Thing about the Five Lakes Alliance and whether it was a coincidence that WKX was at Mirror Lake for the massacre. WKX goes vaguely Ghost Valley Master wild-eyed and says of course not! before laughing and saying, “I followed you, remember?” He gets friend-zoned and follows up by asking ZZS, “Why don’t you ask what I think of you?” ZZS – pretty unconvincingly, tbqh – says he doesn’t care and stomps off, leaving WKX to stare after him soulfully and call him zhiji. Much like that resonance thing earlier - you keep telling yourself that, A-Xu. The next time we see them, they’re at the marketplace, probably the next day, and you remember that thing I said about bonding via food? We’ve come back full circle to that, too. Zhen Yan WKX is 7 years old again, he wants some reassurance that he is ZZS’s super-special friend, and he works his way through the marketplace making ZZS buy him every sweet thing to eat that he can find. Every time ZZS has to pull out his wallet, he makes this pissy little face, but he keeps paying. ZZS is hopeless at cooking, but if you can’t make your own, store-bought will do, WKX is craving reassurance, and as uncomfortable as ZZS is with how close WKX has gotten at this point, he continues to provide it. I also want to point out another censorship dub here, thanks again to AvenueX on Youtube: As they’re figting over the way WKX is spending ZZS’s money in this scene, when WKX tries to grab ZZS’s hand, and ZZS is all ‘”Don’t touch me,” the voice dubbing has WKX say that repaying ZZS is no big deal, he’ll just let ZZS order him around, with ZZS’s response being to tell him to get lost, then. OTOH, lip-read gives us, from WKX, that it’s no big deal, he’ll sell the rest of his life to ZZS, with ZZS’s response as a threat to sell him to a brothel, then. :hands:

Quick wrap-up from there: They go watch some exotic dancers, only there turns out to be an unexpected pile of heads in the follow-up magician’s act, which turn out to be from the guys who were in the “bridal party” at the Ghost Valley “wedding” a few eps ago, and everyone swears vengeance against the Ghost Valley. WKX and ZZS go to visit Chengling, who is supposedly sick and can’t see them, but they get introduced to Gao Chong. Gao Chong and WKX are weird at each other, and ZZS is increasingly suspicious. He’s got his thinky face on, and we don’t get any literally pokey fingers, but I can’t help but think there are some mental pokey fingers going on, as he turns over all the info he knows in his head. Then some Yueyang disciple comes shrieking in about a dead body, omg, death, destruction, death, and Gao Chong is all, Seriously? In front of guests? before we’re out.

[anjuschiffer]

The Wayne Twins

Just woke up from a 3 hour nap and decided to make some tea when another story concept came to me.

I’ve always been down for bio!dad bruce, hell, I’ve been writing content for it (and even holding an event for it), but!

What if... Bio!dad Bruce AND Bio!mom Talia, meaning... TWIN AU (although Talia isn’t exactly the best mom here either :D)

So basically, Marinette is brought up the same way as Damian, but instead of a sword, she’s an expert at using a rope dart

Her rope dart is black with a single red feather, a sliver dart at the end

However, while Damian is taken to Bruce, Marinette isn’t. Instead she remains with Talia

She’s taught about the miraculous, that she is to investigate the whereabouts of it and to retrieve it

Marinette accepts the mission and wanders the world to look for it

3 years pass, Talia yet to receive any news about Marinette, wondering if she also betrayed her like Damian had. It had been a year since her last report

Turns out, Marinette was still on her mission, but hadn’t been able to contact her mother about her progress on it. She had a lead that told her that the miraculouses were somewhere in France

Marinette had almost been caught by the French government when she tried to cross the border, but still managed to get by.

Now using a fake identity, Marinette got an apartment and school documents to ease her mission

Now it was a matter of time to find it

Now, at this time, Damian was more open towards Bruce, finally dropping the last piece of information Bruce needed to know

“Father, there’s something I need to tell you.” He hesitates when Bruce remained silent. “I have a sister.”

“As in-”

“No, not older.” Damian digs through his pocket, having a picture to show him. Single photo he has of the two of them. “My twin.”

Ensue Bruce losing his shit because why is he finding out about his other child through his own? Why didn’t Talia tell him about Marinette?

Ensue the hint for Mari, taking a year to track her down at Paris since Damian didn’t know of her whereabouts for 3 years and Talia wasn’t giving out any info about Mari

Once they do find Marinette, she’s managed to find and have the Ladybug miraculous in possession, despite Fu’s gut telling him it was a bad idea, but gave it to mari because Wayzz said she was the perfect candidate

However, Mari has been conflicted on whether to give it to her mother, her principles being tested.

Also, something like this happens

It had been a walk home, after fighting an akuma and once more giving Adri-Chat Noir the cold shoulder that she feels like she’s being followed

She quickly whips out her rope dart, tying up the stalker, only to find Damian before her

“Damian. What...what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with your father?”

“He’s our father.” Damian emphasizes, not untying himself at all

At that Mari purses her lips, quickly setting Damian free, but doesn’t run up to him even though she wanted to. After all, Damian was the only person she considered family. She resented their mother and grandfather

“You still havent answered my question. What are you doing here?”

“I want you to meet father.”

“No.” Mari growls, her rope ready to attack if she hand to. “He’s not my father.”

“Whether you don’t consider him to be or not, he is by blood.”

“No he isn’t!” She attacks, leading to the two fighting, although Damian mainly dodges or has to free himself from multiple captures. “You’ve gone soft. Mother would be disappointed.”

“Like you’re one to talk.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Shouldn’t you have reported to her already?” Marinette loosens her grip on her dart, allowing Damian to take advantage and knock her out.

She wakes up at her apartment, where she’s face-to-face with Bruce

“Marinette, meet our Father.” “Father, meet Marinette, my sister... your daughter.”

Bruce remains still, observing the girl, wondering why Talia never told him about their little girl 

Bruce attempts to talk to her, but she breaks out of the apartment, once more fleeing from them

Bruce attempts to go after her, but Damian doesn’t let him

“She’ll keep doing that until she wants to face you. I may not know what she’s been doing for the past three years, but I did grow up by her side for 10.”

Marinette looks for a new apartment and tells her mother about the situation at hand, Talia reassuring her everything is going to be fine and to just focus at the mission at hand

Some time passes and the opportunity finally happens. She’s appointed guardian. 

“Mother, I finally know where the miraculous are.”

“Good. Once you have them in your possession, we’ll finally have the ability to complete the League’s goal.”

While Marinette is happy that her mission is almost over, she doesn’t want to hand them over to her mother, something beckoned her to not do it

If living in Paris taught her one thing, it was that she had the power to change

her classmates had shown her kindness despite her cold demeanor, the bakers around the block showed her love and warmth, treating her like family whenever she dropped by

Her coldness melted around these people, even around the Lila girl that got under her skin. While she didn’t like Lila for attempting to frame her for her mistakes, she certainly did like her for her story telling. She should consider being a director or writer.

She knew that she can change, that she didn’t have to suffer from Talia’s rules anymore if she didn’t return

For Talia never truly loved her... she was a mere tool to her...

“She can’t have you.” Marinette muttered to herself, looking at the kwamis with sadness “She’ll abuse you. She’ll hurt you...just like she did to me...and Damian.”

While away from Talia, Marinette had learned more about herself, learned that she liked to sew, that she loved parkour and acrobatics

She learned these, because she was away from Talia, from her controlling mother

A month passed, Marinette now in Gotham, realizing that if she wanted to escape Talia, she was going to need help.

As soon as she stepped into Gotham, she already found it.

She had carelessly let her guard down, surrounded by thugs when Nightwing had fended them off

“You shouldn’t be out here at this ti-”

“I need to speak to Batman.” 

“And why’s-”

“Let me speak to Bruce.”

“Hold on a sec, how-”

“He’s my father and Damian’s my brother.” Marinette cut to the chase. “I need their help.”

Dick nods and brings Marinette to the batcave, where Marinette rushes to hug Damian, which confuses the hell out of Tim and Jason

Upon seeing Bruce, Marinette awkwardly hugs him, apologizing for the mess their first encounter was

Bruce hugs her tighter, happy that Marinette finally acknowledged their relationship

“So why are you here?” Jason asks, Marinette telling them about her situation, explaining to them her plan (don’t know if I should make her show them the kwamis or not...)

They agree to help

Talia ends up dropping in the next day, much to the family’s surprise (although they already had everything in motion)

Talia ends up dodging the other bats, chasing Mari and cornering her in a room, Marinette telling them that she can handle it, much to Damian’s worry

“Marinette, come now. Hand them over.”

“I won’t.” Marinette defends, looking at the miracle box in hand. “I will never give them to you!” 

Talia rages, beginning to tell marinette how soft she had grown, that she was throwing her opportunity of a life time, that she was stupid for casting aside her right to the ‘throne’

“No I am not! While I’m not the prodigy like Damian, nor am I strong like my father, nor as cunning as you, I know one thing! I’m happier than I’ve ever been since I left the League and I want to continue to be that way!” Marinette yelled, slipping on the Cat Miraculous, shouting catacylsm, holding the miracle box with her other hand

“What do you think you are doing?”

“Something that all the previous guardians should’ve done.” With a shit-eating grin, Mari destroys the box, Talia screaming

Talia gets taken down by Bruce although she ends up escaping and retreating

Marinette finally feels a giant weight off of her, collapsing to the floor

Of course, the plan still isn’t dont

Marinette brings back the Miracle Box (gave Dick the earrings to hold...other rather wear. She changed the earrings to be magnetic) and vows to protect them with her life

“So that’s it, isn’t it?” Damian says, sitting next to her. “What’s next?”

“Dunno.”

“Why don’t you stay here?” Damian offers, Marinette taken aback. “I know you have nowhere else, so why not just...stay with us?”

Marinette looks at the rest of the family, looking at the bruises and cuts on their faces, smiling back at her. Overwhelmed by her emotions, Marinette begins to cry, Damian simply sitting there as she cries.

Her wish was finally granted. She can finally have a warm, kind place to call home.

Tags: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 21

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky gives you a gift.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by @araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: None, it’s all fluff

AO3

You had a plan.

Not a plan to break the demon bond. Or a plan to figure out how many demons were left in the world chasing after you. But it was still an important plan. One that would take skill, cunning, and unending bravery to pull off.

You were going to seduce Bucky.

Yes, technically the two of you had been having sex for the last two months, but that was out of an obligation to stay alive. You were tired of the bond being something you let happen to you, and wanted to turn it into something that worked for you.

You were 95% sure it would work. After waking up that morning, pulled against Bucky’s chest, you were fairly convinced your feelings weren’t entirely one-sided. You knew he was awake and that it wasn’t Bucky grabbing the closest warm object in his sleep.

His guise was active. He’d told you before there were two instances he couldn’t hold the disguising magic: when he was unconscious, and when he needed to feed to the point of starvation.

So you knew, with no horns out of the corner of your vision and no tail wrapped around your leg, Bucky was fully awake and aware… and was still holding onto you. That didn’t last long, when you stirred and he realized you were awake, but it was a hopeful sign.

It also left your brain mush and your knees weak with need. He kissed you on the forehead, got out of bed, and that was that.

Or so he believed. No more dancing around each other; you were going to fuck Bucky Barnes if it was the last thing you did.

Famous last words. Your sister, her husband, and their infant were visiting because it was Christmas Eve. If anyone was going to see through your false relationship, it was her.

You were certain the secret had been discovered when she pulled you into the kitchen, leaving her baby to be doted on by your mother (who kept sneaking knowing glances at you and Bucky, which did not help), and gripped you by the shoulders.

Her face was so stern you could almost hear the lecture in your head. Is Mom pressuring you to get married and have kids again? You deserve better than to have some pretend-boyfriend! Please tell me you didn’t pay him money for this?

Instead, she pulled you into a fierce hug, squeezed you tightly, and said, “I’m so happy for you!”

You were pretty sure your brain shut down. Does not compute.

“Uh. Thank. Thank you?”

She pulled back and tucked your hair behind your ear, smiling affectionately.

“When Mom told me the news, I was so excited. I mean, I don’t care if you’re in a relationship or not, just as long as you’re happy I’m happy—You are happy, right? Is he treating you well? Do you have open, healthy communication? Does he need the shovel talk? I can give him the shovel talk, please let me give him the shovel talk.”

By the end, you were laughing. It couldn’t be helped. At least you knew this really was your sister and not some imposter.

“I’m happy. Jacob is great.” Open communication? Well… you were getting there. “I don’t think he needs a shovel talk, but I’m not going to stop you because I know you’ve always wanted to give one.”

She gleamed like a kid on… well, Christmas morning.

Something curled in your chest, aching and bittersweet. You pulled her into another hug, gripping her tightly as a lump formed in your throat. If she only knew the truth. You wanted to tell her the truth. Confide in her about Bucky, about the wizards, even about Davin. There was so much that had changed over the last two months, you’d been terrified that you wouldn’t be the same person you were before.

“Hey,” she patted your back softly, “you okay? Like… really okay?”

You nodded quickly, not wanting her to question why you weren’t speaking yet. You weren’t sure you could.

Fuck, get it together.

You pulled back from her, forced your expression into one of simple happiness, and hoped she wouldn’t see anything deeper.

You were somewhat disappointed when she bought it, but… it wasn’t her fault you had become so good at lying.

The rest of the day was uneventful but fun. You really were happy, for the most part. You weren’t taking for granted the rare opportunity to glue yourself to Bucky’s side and preened when he seemed just as receptive. A very large part of you hoped it was genuine. Each time he put his arm around your shoulder, each kiss on the top of your head, you wanted it to mean something.

Bucky even did it when no one was watching. That had to count for something, didn’t it?

The time for wondering was over. After your sister and her husband went back to their hotel room, Bucky asked if you wanted to go for a walk. There was still snow on the ground but the sky was clear, a large moon illuminating the white and turning it faint blue.

A walk. Walks were romantic. You could do this. Operation: Seduce Bucky Barnes was a-go.

Your hand was warm in his as he gently pulled you across the snowfield behind the house. You’d thought maybe he would take you on a stroll around the neighborhood, but this was just as good, even if your footing wasn’t as steady and you had to grip his arm for balance.

Hmm, maybe this was better.

After a few minutes of walking in silence through a copse of pine trees, Bucky stopped and let go of your hand.

“Should be safe here.”

You blinked as he stripped off his scarf and his jacket.

Oh. Were you… going to do it right here? Well, it would be cold and wet and dirty, but you’d be down for—

Bucky pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a body that would put Greek statues to shame. You stared, probably drooled a little, and stood as still as a deer as he approached. Bucky stood so close you could feel his body heat like a furnace, but all he did was wrap your head in his scarf and slipped your arms into his jacket.

“You’re going to need it,” he answered to your confused blinking.

“Uh…”

Whatever you were going to say died out as dark, webbed wings arched from his back, curling and stretching over his head. At the same moment, a mirage-like shimmer wavered above his head, and his horns formed into existence along with his tapered ears. His tail tickled the side of your knee, greeting you like an affectionate cat.

You didn’t think Bucky would appreciate the comparison.

“Hang onto this for me, will ya?”

Bucky handed you his balled up shirt. You took it out of reflex, but still didn’t understand what he was—

He retreated a few feet, an impish smile on his lips. And then he turned, spread his wings, and gave one enormous flap.

You nearly stumbled back, raising your hand to shield your face as dusts of snow kicked upwards, but then the air cleared and you got a perfect view of Bucky soaring into the night sky. Each rise and fall of his wings was accompanied by a low whoosh, like rumbling leather, and it sounded exactly like you’d imagine webbed wings to sound.

But to see it in action was…

You strode forward, head tilted back as you watched him circle the field above you. He was flying low, maybe twenty-five feet in the air, just enough to ruffle your hair and dislodge wisps of snow.

It was the most beautiful thing you’d seen in your entire life, and you couldn’t help but laugh. It was like… seeing a real unicorn. Or a dragon. Something magical you’d wanted to see your entire life but never dared to dream could be real.

And here he was. Beautiful and real and… and he cared for you. He did, didn’t he? He wouldn’t have showed you this otherwise.

Before you could get caught in a loop of “he loves me, he loves me not,” Bucky banked at the end of the field and flew back to you, barely flapping his wings as he glided at a gentle angle to land in front of you, lightly disturbing the snow.

You were grinning like an idiot, but this was a grin-like-an-idiot situation and could be forgiven.

“That was… amazing.”

Bucky’s smile was more reined in than yours, but his eyes sparkled with that same mischievous light as before.

“You think so, huh?”

He didn’t give you time to answer before he stepped forward, bent down, and scooped you up in his arms. You yelped and clung to his chest on instinct, the breath rushing out of you at the feel of all that hot, bare skin. You didn’t normally get to see him so exposed, let alone touch him like this.

When had been the last time you’d done so? That first night when the demon bond had caught you both by surprise? Bucky had been so uninhibited that night. Raw and uncontrolled. He’d even kissed you, something he hadn’t done since.

If only there was some way to—

Your scheming thoughts were scattered as he raised his wings behind his back, his head tilted as he looked down at you.

“Ready?” The smirk was back.

“Uh, ready for what?”

He rolled his eyes as if the answer was obvious, and it kind of was. Your brain was slow to catch up, distracted by all the Bucky you had access to under your hands.

“Oh, oh no, no, I don’t think this is a good idea,” you said, panic rising. “I mean, aren’t I too heavy for you to carry? What if I make you crash? What if—”

Bucky scoffed, and that was all the warning you got before his wings rushed downward and you were both launched into the air.

It was like going up the steep incline of a roller-coaster, and your stomach dropped like angry ballast. You clung to Bucky’s neck for dear life and buried your face in his shoulder. He wouldn’t drop you on purpose, but what if he lost his grip? What if he couldn’t get high enough and flew into a tree?

The possibilities were endless and you clung to him even tighter. The sound of his chuckle was felt more than heard over the freezing rush of wind, and you understood why he’d wrapped your hair in a scarf.

And then the wind died down apart from the downdraft caused by his wings.

“You can open your eyes now.”

You slowly raised your head and immediately lost your breath. The ground glowed in the moonlight far below you, but the truly stunning view was the city spread out in the distance, twinkling lights a reflection of the constellations above.

“I’m flying with the wind so it shouldn’t bother you too much.” Bucky sounded almost nervous; as if unsure you could somehow not be impressed with the gorgeous sight before you.

But you were impressed. And the city was pretty cool, too.

“It’s perfect.” You leaned your forehead against his jaw, arms still looped around his neck for comfort rather than out of fear. “Thank you, Bucky.”

“Merry Christmas,” he said, turning his face to press his lips to your forehead. Normally such a gesture would have left you flustered and speechless, but you were too busy being horrified.

“Oh, no!”

“What?” His tone was sharp, alert, as if he expected the next demon to somehow attack them in midair.

You groaned and thumped your head against his shoulder.

“I didn’t get you a Christmas present.”

Bucky barked so hard with laughter he wobbled in the air for a moment, and you clung to him even tighter, your stomach clenching as you tried not to look down.

“That’s what’s got you so worried? Really?”

“It’s Christmas Eve and I haven’t gotten your present yet. This is a serious matter!”

Bucky snorted. He eased his wings into a shallow angle and slowly banked back toward the field.

“Don’t worry. I think I’ll live.”

You frowned, turning your face back into his neck to shield it from the biting wind that had returned. This was no good. Sure, you’d been distracted by wizards and heigores and learning your demon not-boyfriend had a million-dollar penthouse in Brooklyn, but that was no excuse for forgetting something so important.

In comparison to taking you on a nighttime flight and aerial view of the city, seducing Bucky seemed pathetic in comparison.

Well, you decided as he gently touched down in the snow-filled field, you’d just have to make sure it was the best sex Bucky’d had in a century.

Next Chapter

[hunxi-guilai]

I want to ask you on your thoughts of NHS. most ppl see him as good and fanfic write him as still good friends with WWX, and I can’t understand? He manipulated an innocent boy to kill himself when he could have helped him, and also for JGY to die by LXC when it was unnecessary. He did it for revenge and love, but that does not make it right. If you had asked WWX if he was ok to come back by sacrifice he would have said no, and even LWJ would not have agreed as well if he knew first I believe

okay, okay, so I was thinking about this ask for the past few days when it suddenly hit me yesterday like a bolt from the blue (yesterday was a good day for CQL thoughts apparently, because not twenty minutes later the universe smashed me in the face with a Ninefox Gambit!CQL AU), but like,

Nie Huaisang is actually like, a pretty decent embodiment of the idealized Daoist ruler???

no wait, hear me out -- if the best Daoist ruler is the one who employs the correct people for the correct jobs, then sits back and faces south and lets all under heaven fall into order around him, that is exactly what Nie Huaisang does

Sure, he’s decent at gathering intelligence and doing the legwork to uncover literal decades of Jin Guangyao’s conspiracy (we gotta give him some credit for ferreting out the few surviving witnesses of Jin Guangyao’s various crimes and convincing them to come forward, idk about you but I just read Ronan Farrow’s Catch and Kill and it’s hard to get witnesses to trust you that much), but he knows that he’s not equipped with the optimal skillset to uncover/recover the mystery of the scattered corpse parts, so he immediately pivots and goes about getting the right people for the job -- aka wangxian.

And in Guanyin Temple, he isn’t in a particularly good place to kill a weakened Jin Guangyao himself, but Lan Xichen is, so Nie Huaisang employs an unwitting Lan Xichen and his hands to do his dirty work for him.

Like, whew, talk about “聖人不仁，以百姓為芻狗” the sagely man is not benevolent; he treats the common folk as straw dogs (chapter 5 of the 《道德经》Daodejing ). Nie Huaisang manipulates some of our most beloved characters with a cold capability that is just as chilling as it is cunning.

okay but I’m pretty sure anon wants me to make a moral judgment on Nie Huaisang instead of geeking out over academic/philosophical implications of Nie Huaisang as a character, so here goes

Full disclosure, Nie Huaisang makes me pretty ambivalent, because on one hand, I love the way his character subverts a lot of expectations in that one of the weakest characters by in-universe cultivation standards turns out to be one of the most capable and influential. What a phenomenally brilliant idea for questioning the expectations and values set out by the worldbuilding of CQL. Also, I’m a sucker for the Chessmaster character archetype, what can I say...

but on the other hand, I don’t think Nie Huaisang’s character was done particularly well. He “directs” a lot of the events from behind the scenes, sure, but parts of his plan hinge on, uh, luring the juniors to Yi City by killing a lot of cats? Strategically getting himself kidnapped by Su She?? In the novel/audiodrama, planting the killer arm that starts off the scavenger hunt for Nie Mingjue’s body (idk about you but I’m made very uneasy by the irreverent treatment of Nie Mingjue’s body in the audiodrama?)??? In CQL, he may or may not plant the unrestful spirit of Baxia in Mo Manor in hopes that Wei Wuxian, immediately post-resurrection, is not only curious but also in a physical condition that allows him to pursue the investgation???? Which means he also somehow influences Mo Xuanyu to perform a highly experimental demonic ritual????? Idk about you, but there’s just a lot of stuff here that feels very chancy and undefined, and that’s not even taking into account all the things that Nie Huaisang didn’t anticipate, like the confrontation on Koi Tower (in which one of his employed detectives nearly dies from 1. being exposed as the Yiling Patriarch and the ensuing witch-hunt, and 2. getting stabbed by Jin Ling, which, to be fair, I’m not sure there was much Nie Huaisang could have done about it, but there is very easily a timeline where wangxian doesn’t expose Jin Guangyao because they never make it out of Koi Tower?) or the second siege of the Burial Mounds (it’s almost like Nie Huaisang suffers from the same character flaw as Baru Cormorant, i.e. during his own machinations, he forgets to account for the fact that his enemy can also take countermeasures), where a solid 60% of the cultivation world almost died, and boy that would’ve thrown a wrench in his plans doncha think.

Yeah idk, I really want to buy Nie Huaisang as the ultimate chessmaster of the narrative but I, personally, was unconvinced by how the story went about laying the foundation for it and then revealing it. It’s very possible that I feel this way because I’ve only watched CQL once (I’d probably catch more hints of this on a rewatch, I think), but I just wasn’t sold on it. Doesn’t prevent me from enjoying people’s headcanons and fics about hypercompetent/cunning/stealthy Nie Huaisang, though!

(now is probably a good time to mention that I have not watched Fatal Journey, so plz forgive corresponding gaps in knowledge)

Great, okay, now let’s talk about Mo Xuanyu. Before I want to run around laying judgment on Nie Huaisang, I have a lot more questions about Mo Xuanyu as a character. All we learn about him is that he’s gay, unhinged, a bastard son of Jin Guangshan, and a mediocre cultivator with an incredibly abusive family. Crucially, none of the things we learn come from Mo Xuanyu himself, and in this world of easily manipulated reputations and unreliable narrators, there’s no way of knowing how much of what we get about Mo Xuanyu is true. (I have so many questions about the allegations of insanity -- how much of that was a high-strung temperament? Lingering trauma? Jin Guangyao’s retaliatory smear campaign? We don’t know). 

So whether or not Nie Huaisang manipulated an unstable Mo Xuanyu into becoming a willing sacrifice for Wei Wuxian, or Mo Xuanyu was an equally competent schemer willing to give up his body and his life for their shared cause, or Mo Xuanyu was the original chessmaster who brought Nie Huaisang in on the game when it became clear that Mo Xuanyu wouldn’t live to see the end, is left totally ambiguous. Again, I have a lot of unresolved questions about who Mo Xuanyu was, but I’m hesitant to lay all the blame at Nie Huaisang’s feet.

As for the lack of consent w/r/t Nie Huaisang’s conduct towards Lan Xichen and Wei Wuxian... Well, Nie Huaisang manipulating Lan Xichen is a pretty rough time for everyone involved. I’ve seen lots of analyses about the poetic justice of it (which gets into a lot of discussion about Lan Xichen’s culpability in Nie Mingjue’s death), but I personally don’t believe that the emotional cost is worth the end result (then again, we all know that I’m incredibly biased towards Lan Xichen). And in the case of Wei Wuxian, lack of consent is a major theme in this text, whether we’re talking CQL or MDZS. The most outstanding example is the golden core transfer -- sure, we cry rivers of tears for the sacrifice Wei Wuxian made, but an important thing to point out is that Jiang Cheng never consented to this operation. Wei Wuxian never asked, never gave him an opportunity to turn down this sacrifice -- Jiang Cheng never gets the chance to see who he could’ve become without a golden core, whether or not he could have made a life and a name for himself by playing outside the rules of the cultivation world. Likewise, Wei Wuxian doesn’t get a choice when he’s brought back -- no one consulted him on whether he wanted to come back, no one asked if he would accept the living cost. 

I’m not trying to absolve Nie Huaisang’s character, here, just point out that more of our cast is suspect to the same gray morality when it comes to consent and sacrifice. And again, as in the case of the confrontation between Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian in the Jiang ancestral hall (a discussion you can find here in posts 1, 2, and 3), I’m uninterested in laying down judgment on a character. To me, there’s not much point (or interest) in discussing what a character should have done and how that makes them a good or bad person, but rather take a look at how characters go about dealing with the consequences of their actions.