#maybe not a love that's soft. it's a damned and wretched it

[assmaster-8000]

𝑪𝒍𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒐 ✧

✧ Regret

✧ Rememberance

✧ Reunion

✧

All men are equal in death. To Clotho, such is their reigning tenet.

And to Clotho, a man like them sheds no tear for the departed. A necromancer need not fear death, for it is a cycle devouring upon itself, and they are the ringmaster of this primal instinct. As in— need, should, must. One must not fear, one must not ache or pine or rage. A snake is still a snake. Death is still a wild animal. Show your soft palm within the ribcage of your fist, and it will not yield to you. Clotho, for all their cool expertise, knows this through trial and error.

All men are equal in death. So this mantra becomes their epitaph for every sentiment buried under the grave of their tongue.

It's a corpse beneath the floorboards; this memory. The tremble in their fingers - the shortness of breath. Their prized coherence pooling out their ears like brains on a sidewalk. Black is all they've known the world to be, but this time it is blue. Saliva spilling past the shore of her lips. Piercing red lightning streaking through the sky of her eyes. She does not respond when they shake her. By God— what have you done?

All men are equal. Their mother was no man, no monster. Mother, simple and sweet, was cruel enough to damn her. As they were.

Their tears come soft on the linen of her robes. She is softer still. The used crowd of spellbooks and artifacts and alchemical instruments behind them laugh hollow at the display. Wire is taut, so is cloth. Neither will hold them now, after destroying the muscle that stretched to cradle their wretched self. So they bind her in her day shroud. And they bury her in the belly of the primordial Mother.

On her grave, they plant a singular Asphodel. Their one specimen.

And when they shakily kneel back to look down at the mount of soil, for a moment - just a moment, their nails slip back beneath the dirt. Back to where home was.

A moment was all it took. Soon as it comes, they rip it out her shabby resting grounds and lay it on their crown. That brain-shaped gilded mausoleum of theirs. So it has remained all this while - so has she, with that memory just as equal as a dead man.

But you know they never stay where they're supposed to for long.

In the land of the dead, asphodels are for the gray in between. They are the sustenance of the dead. They are my regrets, following you to the grave. O, Mother. You raised a walking corpse. As long as I hold you in my heart, the grave goes where I go; and dead men tell no tales, so... I love you. Isn't that the worst thing you've ever heard?

[eatmyassssssssz]

Captain John Price

warnings : age gap implied

tags : @lillianastuff @mysticalgalaxysalad @mionacaped @madamemelancholysstuff @mactavishwritings @chaos-reigns-bitches @scribblescubbs @wandasbitch22 @warzxx @wretched-horn-monger @yippeerrrs @applbottmjeens @bowieisbored @blingblong55 @simonrileyscockring

old man price who struggles to come, he can get it up, but he struggles to come, takes him ages.

hes retired by the military by now, youre his little house husband/wife.

you started to realise you guys have sex a lot less. and when you do, its not really sex. he doesnt get anything out of it. he always makes you come, then goes straight to aftercare.

you worry, maybe he's stopped being attracted to you as he got older. maybe his taste has changed.

you overthink one night, hes fast asleep next to you, snoring. you cant sleep, youre trying not to be too loud with your crying and hyperventilating so you dont awaken your husband (although, nothing could wake up that damn man).

then, you snap. you shake him. until he wakes up. you needed to ask him why he wouldnt have sex with you, when he had a pretty high sex drive a year ago!

was it because you put on a pound or two because of christmas incoming?

either way, hes awake, sat up, half asleep, looking at his partner, having a borderline panic attack next to him.

"whats-, whats wrong?" he says, hurriedly rubbing his eyes to get the sleep out him eyes at least a little.

"why dont you like me anymore!" bit blunt, but you weren't thinking very straight right now, you needed answers, and now.

no matter what the answer was, you needed closure. you needed something to let you decide what you needed to do.

was the "problem" you, or did he just fall out of love?

"what- what do you even mean?" he genuinely did not get what you meant.

"youve not had proper sex with me in ages!" you say, rushed, words not going through your head properly.

his face fades. a soft pink spreads up his neck and ears. "so, its about that.." he mutters.

"am i not attractive enough for you to fuck me anymore? you make me come, then skip the part when you get off, and we go straight to aftercare!" tears were rushing down your face, you hiccuped as you spoke.

"babe- its not you, its me." he says, face in his palm.

"please- nonono, i cant afford for us to split up! i love you- and, and- i dont have any qualifications, i didnt go to college so we could be together forever, john!" your head was rushing to conclusions, your breathing was fast, choked and panicked.

"no! nono, i dont want to split up- i...what i meant was, i literally- it is me thats the problem. i can't- yknow...come." his voice was low, his fingers were massaging his temples, his face was red with embarrassment over this.

"...youre joking? thats why we've not had sex? i thought you were fucking someone else and had nothing left for me or something!" you were relieved, to say the least. "no- babe, i would never."

you nod. "i know- i just..overthink." you admit. he nods. "im aware.." you smile softly. he did know you well. "so..you cant come?" you ask.

he mumbles a response, "i can- just takes...a while...yknow? i can still get hard like i used too- just...not come easily." you smirk hearing that. "so...its possible you can come, just takes a minute?"

"yup."

"..you wanna try that theory?"

[soullumii]

if my heart’s gonna break | joel miller x f!reader

part 1 (read part 1 before reading this!)

summary: a couple nights later, you head back to joel’s

warnings: 18+!!!! smut again. unprotected piv. fem!afab!reader. angst again don’t worry i’ll make a happy ending okay

word count: 4k

joel mod in gif is by speclizer (so fucking hot oh my GODDDD)

a/n: finally finished part 2 omg i’m sorry for the wait yall… i’m a perfectionist it’s lowkey debilitating. anyways… i hope u guys enjoy <3 tysm for the support on part 1 and tbh on all my other fics too… i can’t believe ppl like my writing that much. i am very grateful! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

im scared but if my heart's gonna break before the night will end

i said we're in danger

sleeping with a friend

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

You cant stop thinking about the kiss. 

The kiss that honestly shouldn’t mean so much to you. You’ve kissed him, like, so many times. So many times his tongue has been in your mouth, been in your damn vagina. So why the fuck… why the fuck are you so worked up over this right now?

It’s just…it was so heavy. It felt like…like more than just a kiss. Like he was laying his life down for you, much like he does in patrols. 

He… Joel… he usually never kisses right after sex. He recognizes in the post-coitus energy that things are different. They mean more. He has to know that. So… why now? Does he…?

No. You’re just in your head again. Maybe you’re thinking about it too hard. You’ve never had a friends with benefits situation before now. Maybe this… maybe this is regular.

But for your own psyche, you think you might have to set some ground rules. 

There was always that main rule, that wretched, critical rule. The one you said to him on the first day of your strange exchange.

“Don’t go falling in love with me, cowboy.”

Well, to hell with that one, right? Pretty sure you’ve beaten that shit to death. Shattered all possible remains of it.

So more rules. More rules will have to do. Starting with:

No kissing.

Should be easy enough. 

You’ll figure out the rest later. You have got to stop thinking about it, though, because you’re on the way to his house right now. 

You knock swiftly on the door, and you swear you feel your heart drop into your pussy the moment he opens the door to reveal himself. A plain, black t-shirt is stretched across his broad chest, haphazardly tucked into a pair of plaid pajama pants that hang loosely around his hips. His graying hair is ruffled beyond belief, curling around his ears and falling over his forehead. In your fits of passion and desire a couple nights ago, you hardly realized it had grown longer. It looks nice.

This sleepy and soft Joel is not one you’ve seen in a while. Well, it’s not like you’ve seen him much lately anyway, with him having been gone and all. Still, it’s disorienting. 

“Howdy,” he says.

“Um. Hi.” You try not to gawk. “Did…did I come at a bad time, or something?”

“No, not at all. I just got back from patrols… took a shower,” he says, leaning a shoulder against the door jamb, strong arms crossing over his chest. There’s a tiny, barely perceptible smirk on his lips. “Need somethin’?”

You see it now, the water clinging to his hair, darkening it, beading at his temples like sweat. You follow a line of water trickling down his throat until it disappears behind his collar.

Rule 2: Don’t come over after he’s showered.

“I…uh, I can come back later if you want—“

You’re nervous to ask him what you want to ask him, which is honestly ridiculous considering you guys have been doing this for months now. You used to be able to just knock on his door and he’d pull you in, and it was that easy. Or you’d give him a look when in public, and he knew exactly what you needed.

Now, you’re painfully awkward. Curse him and curse your feelings.

He straightens a bit, his brows furrowing in slight concern. “What’s goin’ on?”

Heat spreads down your neck, embarrassment. Shame. It’s strange, how just a couple nights ago you let him finger you in public, and now you’re afraid to ask him for sex again in his house and for your panties back.

You should honestly just say something like:

I’m here for my underwear.

And you’re positive he’d say:

Want it back? You gotta earn it, sweetheart.

And your knees would buckle and you’d sink down to the carpeted floor in front of his couch and suck him off until he was coming down your throat, stroking back your hair and thumbing his cum on your plush bottom lip.

But instead you’re scowling at him and blurting: ���I need a drink.”

How dare he leave you high and dry for three weeks, come back and fuck the shit out of you, make you realize you’re in love with him, and look this good?

God damnit, you need to get your shit together. 

Joel’s eyes widen, surprised only slightly by your outburst, before he backs up to allow you inside his home. When he shuts the door behind you, his hand settles warmly on your lower back as he steers you toward the kitchen.

He immediately beelines for the liquor cabinet and grabs a bottle of red for you. A warm, tingly feeling stirs in your stomach at the fact that he knew you’d want wine. The frustration you’ve been feeling fizzles out. 

“You know me so well.”

He gives you a light smirk, uncorking the bottle. The liquor gurgles as he pours it into a glass. “Think you’d kill me if I didn’t know after all this time.”

You laugh, “Sure, but the real test of friendship is if you knew how I’d kill you.”

“A swift kick to the nuts and then one of my guitars to my head.”

Your eyes widen on a guffaw. “You think I’d damage one of your guitars?”

“You care more about my guitars than my genitals?” 

“Yes. Why would I ever smash one of your guitars?”

He rolls his eyes. “Kill two birds with one stone—my soul and my body. It’s effective. If you needed to kill me, I’d hope it was like that. Now how would I kill you?” 

You hum in consideration. “Trick question. You wouldn’t—no, you couldn’t.”

“You know me so well.” 

His words mirrored back at you so gently, with his brown eyes trained on you intently has the warmth in your belly spreading, making you drop your gaze.

His smirk grows and he hands you the wine glass and reaches for some homemade brandy. You watch the muscles in his arm flex as he pours, sipping daintily while your mind replays thoughts of filth. Of you dragging that arm between your legs, grinding down on it until—

“So, you really only here for a drink?” He asks with a playful lilt, taking a sip of his own beverage and effectively jolting you out of your daydreaming.

You lean against the island, wondering if you should tell him the truth. From the way he’s looking at you, hungrily and heated, like a lion ready to pounce, you’re tempted to.

But…you’re afraid. You can’t stop thinking about The Rule. The one you broke and the ones you just made. You wonder if whatever might happen between you two tonight will unravel them before you can even put them into place.

You look up at him through your lashes, lips pursed around the rim of the glass. “Maybe, maybe not.”

His eyes darken, tongue darting out to lick his lips of sweet fermented wine. His gaze travels up and down your figure, comfortable and breathable in a t-shirt and shorts. Nothing fancy and cute like your sundress from the other night, because today you had to work. But Joel has never minded what you’ve worn, swearing you always look sexy in anything.

Which is something that also makes you question this friends with benefits situation you have here.

He sets his glass down and eases in closer, curling an arm around your waist to pull you into him. “How high’s the chance then?”

“…What do you mean?”

“I mean what’s the probability that you really did only come here for a drink?” he drawls, eyes following your lips as your tongue dips out to wet them. “Or was there another reason?”

The cold tip of his nose brushes along your throat, lips ghosting over your skin. You tremble in his hold. “Odds are in favor of the first option,” you breathe, “ran out of alcohol at my place.”

“And you couldn’t just stop by the Bison? Had to steal from my stores?”

“You know you have the good stuff.”

“You’re lyin’ but I’ll pretend like you ain’t.”

That makes you laugh, and more tumble out of you when one of his hands traces lazily over your stomach, fingers light and delicate and teasing.

“So why d’ya need a drink?”

Because you’re driving me crazy. Because I’m driving myself crazy. Because the universe wants to fuck me over.

You smile and your free hand skates up his muscled back, your fingers brushing along the stretchy fabric of his tee, your voice soft. “Just needed to destress a little. Work has been intense.”

He grins back, presses it into the spanse between your throat and your shoulder, before he lightly scrapes his teeth over it and lays a gentle bite that has you keening into him, pressing your body against his.

“Well, I could help you destress another way too,” he murmurs, palm squeezing the pudgy flesh of your waist, fingers digging lightly into your muscle.

“Mm… yeah?” you hum, your voice a low purr, back arching. Your breasts press into his chest, and Joel makes a sound deep in his throat in agreement.

He presses you into the island, caging you in with his hands on either side of you. He towers over you, a sweatpant clad leg sliding between yours. 

He leans down to kiss you, and a flashing light blares in your mind — NO KISSING — loud and bright and distracting. You turn your head at the last second, his lips landing on your cheek. But Joel doesn’t pull back, doesn’t question you. He just kisses down your cheek, along your jaw, mouthing at you. Sucking your skin to leave little marks that will either fade or be covered by concealer. 

It used to upset you when he left marks because they’re a pain to cover up. Then, you started to like it. You didn’t mind covering up the marks because when you took the makeup off and saw them at the end of the day, all you could think about was him. About the how he made you come. About the words he muttered in your ear. About the feeling of his hands on you—in you. 

Now, you’re starting to grow upset again, but this time it’s because you want to wear them proudly. Want people to know he gets to claim you like this. But… you can’t. But you also don’t want him to stop.

You allow him to continue marking you up, his hand coming up to rest behind your skull, holding you in place. You press your body into his eagerly and with desperate, soft noises that he returns with placating moans.

And then he shifts, and his thigh ruts against your clothed core, and you moan lightly, airily, grinding your hips down against him, searching for any friction. 

His hands curl around the hem of your white tee, and he peels it off your body. One skates behind your back to easily undo the clasp of your bra, and then your breasts are heavy and on display for him. 

Joel stares down at you with heavy eyes. “Christ, you’re beautiful.”

Longing claws at your chest, and you look up at him coyly, your lip caught between your teeth. Joel groans like he’s in pain, and squeezes along the underside of one of your breasts before leaning down to close his mouth over the nipple while his other hand gives attention to the other, squeezing and pinching. Your hands find purchase in his damp hair as low moans tumble from your lips. 

When he’s deemed one nipple adequately appreciated, he moves onto the next. Licking, revering, his dark eyes peering up at you while his peppered hair is fisted in your hands. The sight has slick arousal pooling in your underwear.

Eventually he pulls back and his hands clamp down on your hips. He guides you along the muscle of his thigh, your clit pulsing at the contact. 

“Want you to come on my thigh, baby.” His voice is a ragged slur of words against your ear, warm and paired with a kiss to your cartilage. 

“Fuck…yes, Joel,” you whimper, sparks flying through your nerves with each roll of your hips.

His fingers grip your chin, tilting your head so you have no choice but to keep eye contact with him as you rut against his thigh. He’s grinning, eyes heavy lidded and deep, dark like wet tar. They suck you in as if they were quicksand.

You’d let him drag you under a million times over. 

Your best friend.

“Joel,” you moan, feeling yourself grow close. Standing at the cliff's edge. His eyes bore into yours, his grin slipping as he focuses on you. Focuses on making you shatter atop him.

“Come on, baby. You can do it. You can come,” he says encouragingly,  fingers stroking the skin of your hip. You feel tears prick your eyes as the waves crash, spreading from your throbbing clit along your muscles. Filling you with warmth, stronger and deeper than the buzz from the wine.

“Good job,” he praises gently. “Did so good.”

“Shut up,” you huff.

He laughs, and despite yourself, heat floods your body, throbs between your thighs. His words caress a deep, carnal animal inside of you, and the hunger takes over.

You frantically pull at his shirt until he has to tell you to slow down, and takes it off himself. Your hands run along his chest and stomach the moment they’re able to and down to the waistband of his sweats. You palm his hardening cock through the soft, gray fabric. Joel groans deep and heavy, his lashes fluttering as he stares you down. His hips thrust into your palm automatically. Involuntarily. 

God, that makes you light up like a firefly. Makes your nerves sing and your cunt flutter and your mind go numb.

He tugs down your shorts and underwear and sets you on top of the granite, but before he can strip the underwear from your ankle to no doubt pocket this pair like he did the other, you flick it off your foot across the kitchen. It lands somewhere near the door to the dining room.

He can’t steal all your underwear, or you’ll have none left.

“I wanted those,” he drawls, expression on the edge of a pout.

“Yeah, well I need them. It’s not common to come across a good pair of panties in this world.” 

“But I’d give ‘em back.” He’s full on pouting now. It is, unfortunately, very cute, but you’re used to it.

“Sure… like the pair you took from me the other night that I have yet to receive.” 

“How else am I supposed to get you to come over?” 

“I dunno? Maybe ask?”

“Should I leave a note on your door? Is that good enough for you?”

“At least be classy. A letter delivered in my mailbox with a wax stamp, please.” 

He laughs. “As you wish, Princess.”

He finally peels off his sweatpants, free of underwear beneath them, and you watch with barely concealed hunger as his cock springs free. 

And while you like the idea of him fucking you on the counter, you’d much rather him fuck you against the counter, so you hop down and turn so your back faces him. Your hands curl around the granite lip of the counter top, and you push your ass out and back, peering at him over your shoulder.

This way, it’s easier for him not to kiss you. Easier for you to turn your head and deny your lips to him. 

“Look at you…” Joel hums appreciatively at your show, at the wiggle of your hips as his palm smooths down your back and over your ass, squeezing at the plump flesh. 

You moan quietly, and Joel’s eyes darken, watching you intently like you’re the only thing in the room. 

His fingers drift down to your cunt and your slickness coats his fingers fully. You’re so wet for him. So ready for him to bury himself inside you and call you his.

It’s funny, you’ve lost all your heat from a few nights ago. All your sharp edged words. Now, you’re soft and pliant.

He swirls his soaked index and middle fingers along your clit, punctuating your sensitivity, before sliding them back inside you to the knuckle. You keen and push back, desperate for more. His fingers are so much longer than yours, thicker, and yet you crave more.

“That’s it, Joel,” you huff. “Fuck, feels so good. Need more.”

“Yeah? Tell me what you need, baby girl.”

Shame lights your cheeks, but you push down the embarrassment. “Need…need your cock inside me.”

He lays a kiss on your neck. “Still a bit desperate aren’t we?”

“You’re the desperate one, Mr. Panty Stealer. You’re a fucking creep.”

He chuckles against your neck, but he squeezes your ass in retaliation. “Be nice, would you?”

“You like it when I’m mean.”

“Wanna see how much I like it?”

“If you’re willing to show me and get on with this, sure.”

He huffs in amused frustration. “God, you’re annoyin’.”

You just smile innocently at him.

Your legs tremble, slick running down your thighs when Joel pulls his fingers out. He replaces them with the hardness of his cock, of which he runs along your wetness, readying himself.

“I think ‘bout you way too much,” he says into your back, pressing a gentle kiss there. “D’ya think ‘bout me too?”

It’s an odd question. One you’re not expecting. One that has your heart stuttering in quiet confusion from this sudden switch in tone.

“Of course I do.” Obviously. You told him as much. Three weeks. Three weeks you thought about him.

“Good… wanna be the only thing on your mind.”

A high pitched keen hisses through your teeth as Joel eases himself inside you with a long, slow stroke and a low moan. Your fingers white knuckle the countertop, gripping it tightly.

He presses in close, burying himself all the way in before he withdraws slowly, his cock sliding inside you torturously. 

“Joel,” you moan.

“I know, baby.” He presses kisses to your shoulders. 

Joel’s hand gravitates to the back of your knee, and he slowly pushes up to lift your leg until your knee is resting on the counter. 

And then… with this new angle…he starts fucking you in earnest.

His hips snap against your ass, the sound deafening in the kitchen, and you crumple against the granite with a moan.

“Shit,” Joel grunts. “Yeah.”

Each of his heavy thrusts punches the air from your lungs, and your fingers slip on the countertop, scrabbling for purchase every chance you can get. He’s hot, thick inside you, warm as he folds over you, his hand on your tummy holding you upright, the other keeping your leg up to continue hitting you at that pleasant, delicious angle.

“H-holy shit—oh—“

He breathes heavily at your neck, low grunts and moans escaping his lips from his efforts. “Could spend eternity inside you, darlin’. Fuck, you’re mine.”

Your heart stutters, the words uttered in a lust filled craze, likely meaning nothing. But to your traitorous brain, to the hope lingering in your chest like a persistent cough, they mean everything. 

“All…” you’re losing your train of thought, fucked into blissful nothingness. “All yours, Joel.” 

It’s too difficult for him to kiss you from this angle, which you’re relieved about. But a part of you longs for it, longs for the feel of his mouth moving against yours. 

Joel’s strong arm wraps around your chest, and pulls you up so you’re flush against his back as he pounds up and into you. Keens and whimpers and breathless pants escape you with every thrust.

“Please, Joel,” you cry, tears pricking at the edges of your swirling vision.

“What, baby?” He huffs. “Need’a come?”

You nod crazily. “Yes—need to—“

“Shhh okay… I’ve got you,” he murmurs gently, the hand wrapped around your tummy inching down to circle at your clit steadily.

Your legs buckle beneath you but Joel keeps you upright as the pleasure soars through you, sudden and strong. He strokes you through it, groaning praises into your ear before he comes inside you a moment later. 

The two of you hiss in tandem when he pulls out, but he smothers it when he lays his mouth over yours. You’re hardly coherent enough to remember your rule, and for a moment you let him kiss you. You kiss him back, chasing the heat of his mouth with your own, moaning against his lips when his tongue dips into your mouth. 

Then, you remember.

You pull back panting, cheeks a flame, “Joel.”

“Hm?” He murmurs, dragging his lips down your jaw before moving back up to pull you into another kiss. You move away before he can. His brows furrow in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t… I don’t think we should kiss anymore.”

He blinks. “What? Why?”

Your eyes flit across the kitchen, catching on labeled jars and wooden spoons and spices, anything but his own. “It’s too intimate.” 

It’s a lame excuse. Joel sees through it immediately.

“And my cock inside you ain’t?”

You sigh heavily, avoiding eye contact. “It’s different.”

“How? Enlighten me.” His tone has gone rougher. Hurt swirls in his eyes, and you feel worse than you did the other night.

Because you and I are friends. Because I don’t think I can pretend like that’s the truth when all I want is to call you mine. Because when I kiss you it’s like my world finally starts to make sense. 

“Please, Joel. Just…I don’t want to do it anymore. Can you respect that, please?”

He runs a hand down his beard, his hurt expression hardening into a stoic one you haven’t been on the receiving end of in years. Fuck. “Alright, I’m sorry. I won’t kiss you anymore.”

You expect relief but all that comes is a deep longing and sadness that you try to push to the depths of your conscience. Though, like a buoy, it keeps popping above the surface. 

“Thanks,” you say quietly.

The cleanup is awkward. He watches you silently as you pick up your underwear and slide them and your shorts back on. He seems far away, here and gone all at once. It makes you worry, makes you wonder if what you just said was the biggest mistake of your life.

But you have to do this. You have to hold him at arm's length because if you admit to him…if you tell him how you really feel… maybe he really will leave you. He’ll realize you’ve gone and fucked everything up, and the friendship you’ve kindled, the trust you’ve built, will all be for nothing.

You can’t lose him, even if it means you can’t keep him close.

“Thanks for tonight,” you say eventually, when he’s walking you out the front door.

He smiles at you, faint and untrue. It’s like the one from the other night. Like that laugh he forced out for you. You feel like a Joel from the past has teleported to the present, with his thin smile and his hard eyes. “Yeah, of course.”

“You okay?”

Joel frowns, shifts on his feet. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I dunno. You just seem… I don’t know. Never mind.”

“I’m good.” 

“You sure?”

He nods. “You need me to walk you home?”

“No, I’ll be okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you hum. A moth circles the porch light. The two of you stare at each other for a long moment. He looks as if he wants to say something, but thinks better of it.

“Okay,” is all that he says. 

“Okay,” you repeat, feeling empty. A waif, a lonely white flag waving in the wind. “Um, I’ll see you later, then.”

“Yeah, sounds good. Night, darlin’,” he says, squeezing your arm, like he’s trying to be normal. It doesn’t work. His hand is cold. “Sweet dreams.”

“Night, Joel.”

It’s raining by the time you reach your house, and you curl under your blankets after a shower, your hair cold and wet against your scalp, listening to the droplets splattering against your window.

Sleep doesn’t come easy.

part 3

[mamani-bento]

citrus reflux (kento nanami)

nanami x reader, 2.8k

established relationship, fluff + emotional constipation + humour

thanks for getting me through last week nanami pls get me through this one as well love u

mamani-bento's masterlist!

he can't know, right? there's no way he can know. if he's continuing to do this after knowing, that's just cruel. and nanami's a lot of things, but cruel is certainly not one of them. there's no way he knows that his stupid apron covered in stupid clip-art lemon graphics does stupid things to you. things that leave you feeling like your stupid, wretched heart is pumping overtime.

to be fair, you hadn't realised for the longest time either. and you're not an oblivious person, you know nanami is an attractive man. even before you two started going out, started feeling anything other than a professional respect for each other, you had been able to appreciate that he's a looker.

so it's not just the sight of his broad back greeting you in the morning when you blearily stumble into the kitchen as he's making breakfast. and it's not just the brisk efficiency of his chopping during sunday brunch preparation, precise juliennes laid out on the cutting board and thick fingers curled firm around the handle of the knife. and it's certainly not just the tensing of his forearms, veins stark as he covers his hands in flour, pliable dough being moulded under his able kneading. no, all these things help, sure, but the real clincher - and you're aware of how odd this is - is that damn apron.

the first time you see him wear it, you get whiplash. it's still early, still some time to go for the sun to rise fully. at first, you can't tell what's woken you. it's a saturday, and your alarm hasn't rudely blared into the cozy cocoon of the bedroom like it does during the week. eyes still closed, you scoot a little towards the centre of the bed, seeking warmth so you can fall back asleep. and then you scoot some more. and some more. grumbling, you blearily open your eyes to see you've moved right up till the other end of the mattress with no warmth encountered in the workout. as if on cue, a muted sizzle disrupts the quiet of the room, and, as if on cue, you rise at the sound. that's where the warmth has gone then.

you don't bother wearing your glasses, not at all awake enough to start processing clear vision, and you think, as you step into the kitchen, that maybe what you're seeing is just a consequence of your bad eyesight. it's blurry but there's definitely a thin strap of cloth circling nanami's neck and a knot at the small of his back. they're bright yellow, stark against the dark navy of his soft, cotton t-shirt. are you imagining it, perhaps? or still dreaming?

you're sort of swaying in place, half-asleep brain struggling to comprehend what your eyes are relaying to it, when the man in question turns around.

blinding white assaults your vision. as if the glaring newness of the material isn't shocking enough, several bright neon lemons cover the body of it. the thing is shockingly ugly.

and there's no logical explanation for this. but nanami stands in this monstrosity, concern on his face at your set expression, spatula held out in one hand and angled so nothing drips on the floor, and the rising sun is streaming in through the kitchen window, bathing its favourite golden-haired child in a yellow glow, and your heart is clenching clenching clenching until it feels like it's going to burst from the pressure.

"are you alright?" he asks, setting the spatula down. his eyebrows furrow as your face does a weird mix between sleepy disgruntlement, revulsion, and whatever is happening to your insides.

"what are you wearing?"

he has the audacity to look confused at first. glances down at himself, as if somehow forgetting that he's clad in this absolutely revolting piece of fabric.

"oh, the apron?"

you scoff, finally moving. a cup of tea sits on the counter next to him and you don't bother asking for permission before you lift it to take a sip. something is happening and this seems significant for some reason and you feel sick.

easily, he gently takes the steaming mug from your grip before you can taste any of it, pointedly looking at the other cup you had missed a bit further back. this one is full, and, apparently, yours.

"do you not like it?" he asks, seeming genuinely bewildered. he leans his back on the granite next to where you've perched yourself. your legs swing, heels rhythmically colliding with the cupboards below.

you take a sip of your drink before thinking of an answer. do you not like it? it's terrible, sure. but do you like him? of course. these two facts in tandem are doing wonky things to all your internal systems.

"it's bright."

"yes, i suppose it is. was the only one they had in stock, unfortunately."

truly, unfortunate.

you both sip your teas in the silence of the morning. the eggs continue to cook. the yellow band positioned just under his hair looks at you mockingly. you've got the warmth you had come looking for - his body is a furnace and you perpetually run cold and he's standing close enough now for the side of your knee to be touching the side of his thigh - but something tells you you've got much bigger problems to deal with.

it's been a week since you saw the offending article of clothing, and a hellish one at that. so hellish, in fact, that you've basically forgotten about the apron. you've tabled all the lemon-spawned convoluted feelings for later (never, if you have it your way), and it's the farthest thing from your mind as you step into the kitchen on friday night.

you've reached home before nanami, and you know he'll be back soon, but you want to get to bed so this week can finally be over so bad that you decide to get started with dinner. you bring out the ingredients, just beginning to chop the capsicum when the front door closes.

seconds later, nanami pads into the kitchen, making his way towards you to carefully wrap two arms around your waist from the back. you still the motions of the knife, leaning back into his frame and breathing him in. the knot of his spotted tie digs into the side of your head.

"how was your day?" you ask, free hand coming up to tangle in his blond strands as he burrows his head into the crook of your shoulder.

"long. yours?"

"same."

his lips brush across the skin on the side of your neck in apology, in acknowledgement, in sympathetic support, even as you raise his left arm to place a kiss against a knuckle.

"would you like some help?" he asks, peering at all the ingredients you've got spread on the counter. his voice rumbles against your neck, low and spoken soft since he's so close to your ear.

you could do with some help. "sure," you reply, briefly missing his warmth as he pulls away.

you expect him to start washing the other vegetables or to get started on the sauce, but with a mumbled 'give me a second', he promptly walks out of the kitchen.

...and walks back in pulling that damn lemon-print apron over his head.

you watch in near disbelief as he evens it out down his front, over his blue shirt. he's removed his tie and the white fabric sits smooth and stretches across his wide torso. then he reaches behind, arms twisting as he does up the knot at the back. and then he takes off his watch and carefully places it inside the apron pocket.

then he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt and starts washing the other vegetables.

on the outside, you're cutting capsicum in a very calm and dignified manner. on the inside, palpitations. you sneak glances at him out of the corner of your eye as surreptitiously as you can - take in the long, out-of-place flop of hair falling over his forehead, the deftness of his hands as he lets the water run over all the tomatoes in his grip, thumb gently rubbing over a stubborn patch of mud on the vegetable. but these things you know, have always known, have witnessed uncountable times. so why are they making your heart crawl up and get lodged in your throat making every swallow difficult?

"you're staring," nanami says, not bothering to look at you.

well. not so sly, then.

you're not a shy person. he's caught you staring at him before, ogling him even, in situations far more erotic than this, and you've never felt particularly ashamed by it, but you suddenly feel very flustered at being called out.

"and what about it?" you sniff, a petulance you'll deny possessing creeping into your voice. you doggedly focus on the cutting board.

nanami's amused huff precedes a bowl full of wet vegetables entering your line of vision. as you pause your chopping to grab a tomato, a single finger comes to raise your chin, letting your eyes sweep up the length of nanami's torso, waist to neck to slightly smiling lips to twinkling eyes, taking in every awful lemon on the way.

"please," he mutters, "stare away."

you can't stop the tiny, foolish grin from growing on your face, and you scoff at his words. there's a blush starting at the base of your neck and your face feels like it's on fire. you're scraped raw by his gaze, his words, his apron.

clearing your throat, you lean away from him, his amusement only increasing. he lets you go without complaint, taking his spot in front of the stove next to you and getting the pan out. great. now he'll start with the sauce.

as he adds and stirs, as you chop and garnish, as your hips check and fingers brush, as his bloody apron gets splattered with bubbling red sauce and as he has a small, private smile of satisfaction that the thing is doing its job, you know this isn't sustainable for your heart. something, at some point in what you think is going to be the very near future, will give.

"kento."

"hmm?"

"kento."

"what?"

"i have to talk to you about something."

nanami blearily shifts his grip on your waist, head surfacing from your neck to look you in the eye in sleepy confusion. the clock on his bedside table says '03:23 AM' in blaring red, but it makes no difference to you. you've just had a realisation, a fucking massive realisation.

"i figured out why i hate your apron."

"it's three in the morn–wait, you hate my apron?" he's a little more awake and a little more confused now as well.

you haven't slept at all, obviously. you had gone to bed per usual, looking forward to the weekend ahead, only lingering feverishness about the terrible, horrible garment in your system. and then, as nanami's breathing had started deepening, small puffs of air tickling the back of your neck, your brain wouldn't shut up about the bloody thing.

you turned it over and over in your mind. what is so earth-shattering, heart-melting, nerve-fraying about a damn apron? why is it affecting you so intensely? why do you feel yourself falling off the precipice of a cliff you hadn't even known was there every time you see nanami in it? it's a miracle that he didn't wake up from the sound of the gears turning in your head, a real testament to how tired he was. you suppose you should feel a little bad about rousing him at this ungodly hour, but you know you need the cloak of the darkness and the comfort of blankets to verbalise what you've hit upon.

you shuffle away from him a few inches to see his face clearly. his hand tightens in reflex, large palm setting warm on the curve of your hip and unwilling to let you move back any further. it'll have to do.

"yes, i hate your apron, but that's not important."

you can make out a single raised eyebrow as his vision slowly adjusts to the darkness and he focusses on your face with a well-deserved skepticism. "it isn't?"

impatiently you wave his question away. you'll lose your nerve if you don't get this out quickly, and nanami is a determined man. he won't let it go. "it looks absolutely awful, but that's not why i hate it."

if possible, nanami looks even more confused. he slowly says, "okay. why do you hate it, then? and also, why are you telling me now?" his voice is still low and scratchy from sleep, and it makes yours sound too-loud. but then again, you might as well be yelling for what you're about to say.

you take a deep breath. focus firmly on a point somewhere on his stupid, handsome forehead under his stupid, handsome bedhead. "i hate your apron because it's so you."

"oh."

a pregnant pause.

"are you saying you hate me?"

exasperated at your apparent inability to coherently express what you've just taken hours to hit upon, you let it all out in a mad rush, words nearly tripping over themselves in a haphazard effort to make sense.

"that's not what i'm saying! ugh, no, it's just–you're so practical. it's so you to buy the last and ugliest apron in stock to keep your clothes clean while cooking, and the implications of it, of how you come back after a long day and still do the dishes and you wake up early on sunday mornings and make breakfast, and you're so bloody committed to these things without even realising it and it makes me absolutely sick."

as you ramble, nanami's expression moves from confusion to concern to a gentle understanding that makes you want to throw up, and you're falling falling falling off that precipice you were unaware of again. you want to hide under your pillow, but you've got one more thing to say.

he opens his mouth, and probably firmer than really necessary, you place an index finger over his lips in a bid to stop him from responding before you get this out. obediently, he's silent, only gently nodding at you to continue.

you sigh. "i hate that apron so much, because it reminds me of all the things i love about you. and there are too many things for me to know what to do with them."

the relief at getting the words out is enormous. weirdly, you don't feel like hiding anymore, and you quietly watch as nanami formulates his response.

you don't even realise your finger is still over his lips until he mumbles, faint chap rubbing at your fingertip, "may i say something now?"

startled, you remove your hand and tuck it against your chest, where the other has been safely ensconced so far.

"would you like me to stop using the apron?"

"no! no, that's not why i told you this. actually, maybe get a nicer-looking one? but no, don't stop wearing the apron."

completely disregarding your attempts to keep space in between your bodies, nanami tugs at you until you're nearly nose-to-nose, just a few centimetres shy of going cross-eyed to look at each other. you imagine you look a bit like a trapped deer.

he's gentle as ever, palm solid against your back, all sleepiness replaced by his sheer concrete reliability as he replies, "alright."

you wait for him to finish. and then you wait some more. when it doesn't seem like any more is forthcoming, your eyebrows scrunch together. "that's it? alright? you're not concerned by this at all?"

you feel rather than see him shrug. "i appreciate you telling me. i was a little confused about how weird you had been acting, so it's nice to have that cleared up. but i wouldn't say i'm concerned, no."

"oh. okay, then."

"okay."

"so do we just...do we just go to sleep now?"

again, an eyebrow is raised. "would you like to do something else?"

you huff, not discounting the prospect entirely but recognising that you're both too tired for anything else. "no. i just thought this would be a bigger deal, is all." now that the crux of the thing is done, you shift so you can burrow your head into the crook of his neck as he tightens his thick arms around your frame.

"oh, it's a big deal. but i think it's one of those big deals that you don't really do anything about, you know?"

you do know, and you feel a weight lift at his sentence. you don't have to do anything with all the feelings that come rushing at you when you see him wearing that stupid thing. you just have to feel them. which is another battle for another day, but for now, you're content at where you've weirdly ended up.

nanami continues, even as a hint of drowsiness begins to enter his voice, "i'd be concerned if i didn't feel the same way, i suppose. but you'll be seeing me in that ugly apron for a long, long time, so i think we're good."

you drift off to sleep like that, something shifting inside you at his words, fundamentally and irrevocably.

"what's this?"

"new apron. please throw that monstrosity away, this one is much less bright."

[cyxnidx]

YOUR SOUL !

character: choso x reader

genre: fluffy, sappy shit :p

warnings: just some fluff. and uh, poetic choso? maybe?

a/n: a bit of a rainy day today, so i decided to make something a little softer today. i'm not good with sappy shit but i tried; also the beginning is just.. angsty? kind of? i have no real idea what i was doing here

you found yourself breaking down - why? at the moment, you couldn't fathom a reason.

sniffling, tears ran down your cheeks to be caught by your boyfriends hoodie. your head was throbbing from the constant stress and crying.

your muffled apologies and useless reasonings were hushed by the thick fabric while his larger hands worked to instill comfort into you.

because for the moment, that's all he knew how to do.

other than the occasional-

"baby?" choso's soft, smooth voice beat against the walls of your skull, trying to pull you back from your constant sobbing. "baby, did something happen?"

though, he got no response.

he felt about as powerless as a puppy in the moment. it wasn't like he could read your mind, and he was sure you didn't expect him to.

but damn, nothing?

resorting to what felt like his last resort, he began humming. humming, and using his larger frame to rock you side to side with him.

perhaps he had to treat you like a baby to get you to calm down? you did like being spoiled.

and after about five minutes passed, you began to hush. your sobs got quieter and quieter, apologies lessoned and random words seized.

he got you to stop.

it almost bought a smile to his face - but he wasn't exactly finished yet.

"l'me hear you, baby. what's the matter?" he asks softly, lifting your face from his now snot-covered hoodie.

your eyes were red and puffy, lips pouty and face wet. you looked ruined.

"m' sorry-"

"stop; stop apologizing, baby. tell me what's wrong." he says gently, minding his tone as to not stress you again. "what caused you to cry so much, hm?"

and at his question, you felt your eyes tear up once again.

"no, it's okay." he drew his thumb up to wipe them away. "no more tears, talk to me baby."

you blink, vision blurry. "jus' love you so much, but-" you swallow harshly.

"but?" he waits, embracing the silence with patience as you gather your response the best you could.

"jus feel like m' not enough for you sometimes, y'know?" you say through a choked tone, trying to force out a laugh. a mere chuckle, to try and make the conversation more lighthearted. lessening it to something minuscule.

choso's eyes widen, only for a moment, only for a millisecond before you decide to put your head back down. to find comfort in his heartbeat, to hopefully block out both the negative thoughts and the wretched migraine you've given yourself.

"oh.." was all you heard, and you could swear you felt something in your chest break, only for a moment. and the silence that follows is like the last straw for the dam trying to keep your tears from leaving your eyes. the waterworks were on again, and you felt even worse.

a hand comes from your back and instead to your jawline, lifting your face to make eye contact with him. silently, choso runs his thumb under your puffy eyes, hushing you quietly and wiping your tears. his digits run over your features.

making their way from under your eyes, to the sides and bridge of your nose. the cupids bow of your lip, and the cheeks he always loves to see smile. and in doing that itself makes himself smile.

his fingers explore from your cheeks to your eyes once again, adorning their shape and your eyebrows above them, and finally, he speaks. he speaks in which to you, felt like he hasn't spoken for decades, and says,

"not enough?" he kisses your forehead, hands cupping your face gently. "baby, you're all i could've wished for."

and in gazing at your eyes, he can tell there's doubt. which almost makes him frown. "i love all of you, not just your physical features but your emotional and mental features, too. i adore the way you think, the way you interact with things and the way you interact with me. i feel weak in the knees when i hear your voice, and every, little, touch," he touches the tip of your nose playfully. "warms my body with joy. joy i haven't felt in a very long while."

a soft look of admiration crosses him when he sees you're still pouting, but he adores it nonetheless.

he kisses the perimeter of your face, a smile tracing across his lips when he hears your small protest mixed with a playful giggle. "i love you with my mind, heart, body, and soul. i love you with all i've been given. and with every bit of adoration you give to me i try my hardest to pour back into you." he then places his forehead on yours, eyes meeting yours once again.

and for the time he's there, it feels like he doesn't blink, nor move a muscle for the time he's holding you there. just gazing at you, into you.

"if they say the eyes are the window to the soul, i'd gaze into yours for a lifetime. almost like a deer in headlights. you, and your soul, amaze me."

[captain-mj]

Hear me out

Angel Graves being tempted by Demon Price :]

Hell yeah brethren, I can do that

This is rather short because I'm working on two longer things right now (both will be one part, they're just a bit longer and time consuming)

Price stared at his little prize, admiring the bright wings, the soft features and the plush looking ass. He shouldn't be so vulgar. Not with an angel at the very least. But how could it be helped when Graves walked around like that? In soft white robes that showed off way too much skin to be considered Godly. Price was in a nice suit at least, as proper for a demon.

Graves glowered down at him, wings up and defensive. "What are you doing?"

"Admiring you."

Graves scowled more and his wings quickly twisted to cover himself. "Your wretched eyes should not be gazing upon me."

"Then burn them out of my skull. I'll enjoy it." Price purred and Graves slapped him with one of his wings hard enough to wind him. Then he was gone with nothing more than a fluttering of feathers left behind. "Damn it."

They met again later. Graves had wandered on to Price trying to make a deal with a human and had cruelly prevented Price from doing so. It irritated him, making his tail twitch back and forth.

"You're evil. Taking advantage of that man." Graves pouted at him.

Price growled, watching the feathers start to stand on end. "It's my job. Something you should know about. Or do you just stand on clouds tempting mortals to the sin of lust."

Graves's face lit up gold and it took Price a moment to realize he was blushing. "I! I!! I do not tempt mortals to have lustful thoughts!"

"You certainly make me. Though, it's less a temptation and more of a need. The idea of losing myself in your flesh... Maybe it would make me more holy."

Graves disappeared again. Price could feel himself growing more irritated. He both wouldn't get a deal today (he wasn't even going to take the man's soul!!) and his angel left. Again.

Price was tenacious though. He tried again. He wore sluttier clothing with jewelry that hung around his neck and along his belt loops.

It caught Graves off guard to see him in such a state. The golden blush covered his face again. "What are you doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're dressed differently."

"Yes. Different situations means different outfits."

Graves blushed brighter, face glowing ethereally. He raised a wing to cover Price right as it started to rain. "Ah. I do not see how this outfit is beneficial for this situation."

"I am tempting people to lust and covet. Shoving off my body does that easily."

"I felt the suits you wore did a perfectly good job showing off your body"

"So you looked?"

Graves went quiet, looking away. He kept them both from getting wet. "No."

Price laughed. "You did. It's okay. You're not sinning. Am I not also part of God's creation?"

"You're an abomination."

"Yes, but this body was crafted by God. Her loving hands."

Graves looked away, getting flustered. "I suppose."

"So it is not a crime for you to gaze upon me. I'd say it's encouraged."

Graves shook his head and continued to refuse to glance at Price.

"You know, how can you keep people from sinning if you have no clue what it feels like to indulge?"

"I do not need to know what it feels like to sin."

"But wouldn't it help you improve?"

Graves hesitated, looking at him cautiously. Then, he let his gaze wander over Price's body. He could see it. The beginnings of lust.

Water started to pour down on him when Graves disappeared. He looked around, trying to hide his disappointment. Reluctantly, Price went home.

Graves kept reappearing now. Never staying long. Just... lingering.

Price started to show off. Flirting with people. Exposing skin. Making himself more and more alluring.

Graves started to look more and more distracted. Until Price caught him off guard and managed to get his hands around him. His waist was perfect.

Graves gasped and his back arched. "Wait."

Price pulled him closer, the heat building between the two of them. "Give in to me. Let me pleasure you."

"I shouldn't."

"I know. But please. Let me be selfish."

"I... I can't I..." Graves broke off when Price brushed against his wings. He reached up and stroked them gently, causing pleasured shivers to run through him. Before Price could pull away, not wanting to do anything to Graves without consent, Graves pressed closer. "don't stop."

Price pressed back and started to tug gently at the feathers. More pleasure ran up Graves's body. He started to press against him more and continued to explore. Graves was deliciously reactive. Each brush and tug and press of his fingers breaking him down to nothing but sensations.

Price dragged him to the floor and put Graves's legs over his shoulders. While part of him would love to take his pleasure from Graves, to fuck him until he felt content, something about letting the angel just feel sounded enticing. He made sure his fingers were incredibly slick before he dared to try to press them into him. His mouth worked hard on Graves's cock, hollowing his cheeks and taking him all the way down until Graves squirmed and whined.

"Please. Please, sir."

Price moaned at the honorific, hips rolling against the floor as he pleasured himself.

Graves groaned and his back arched as he tried to get more. "Please. Oh, it's so good. So good."

Price hummed softly and felt Graves throb in his mouth right before he came.

He tasted sweet but it burned his mouth where it fell past his lips.

[neverchecking]

Oh my godddd I love your writing sm

And I also love @welcometothefairgrounds , I am her 🧚‍♀️ anon. May is a lovely person

If you’re doing requests, could I get yandere time? My daddy issues are calling lmao

If not feel free to ignore, I got too excited and forgot to read lmao

- @fairly-linked-buffet (don’t want this on my sfw acc and tumblr is being dumb so here)

I love her sm! She is honestly a gem. I'm glad to have someone from her page here with us! And don't worry! Requests are currently open so you're all good!

Some Father Time to bless your day, Darling~

I really liked how this one came out so I hope you do too! Personally, one line in this- Idk, it hit me and I wrote it and I still am just :O everytime I read it.

(IDK if I got his sword right??? I think I did, but idk-)

CW: Just some disturbing imagery, but it is Yandere!

Anything

Warrior's Hyrule was just as nice as it was last time he was here. The people still bustled as they always did, calling out demands, or bargaining for a better price, maybe haggling over a trade. It kept the streets busy and full, foot traffic flowing in every which way. Exactly why Time needed to keep an eye on you at all times. Not only an eye, but a hand. Your fingers, delicate and slim, were kept interwoven with his own, feeling so soft against his calloused digits.

Every bit of you was so soft when compared to him. From your gentle movements as you walked, with the sway of your hips and head, to the calculated movements of your hands whenever you patched him up, not that he ever wished for any blood, let alone his, to sully your perfect skin. It always pained him whenever you had to see him injured in any capacity. The pinch in your browns and the furrow of your lips, all of it enough to make him internally panic before trying to fix it. Having you upset in any capacity was enough to poison his mood. He was built and formed to be a weapon of destruction, unbeatable and a figure invincible to anything thrown at him. A weapon fit to protect only the finest of jewels bestowed upon humanity. You. He was convinced he was put on this wretched world for you. To protect and love and cherish someone as soft as you. Till his dying breath and even then he would be hard-fought to not crawl out of his grave to ensure your safety.

All of that to say, he kept your hand clasped tightly in his with no intention of letting go. Not when the risk of you getting lost, or run over or goddess forbid hurt was too high. While he was more than happy to escort you wherever your heart desired, he was not willing to risk your wellbeing in any way, shape or form. That was too far beyond what he could allow. At least when he was with you while you went from stall to stall, he could watch over you. He could use his stature and his attitude to ensure your safety.

Time knew he was tall. And Built. And looking every bit a soldier the other knights of this time wished they could be. And he knew how to use it. He knew how to angle himself in a way to shadow over anyone who thought they could fool you into spending three times what the object was worth. He knew how to set his jaw and level his brows to...dissuade any possible passerby's from leering at you. He knew how to be intimidating to anyone but you.

Sweet, perfect you who saw through all of his defenses and touched him like he was a porcelain figure. Like he was capable of laying down his weapons and being a regular civilian. Like he was nothing more than the man you proclaimed him to be.

Like he was not a pagan of war but rather a child of peace.

It's what made you so perfect for him. Someone so akin to a saint saw something worthy of loving in him and clung to it. And he'd be damned before letting your love go to waste. Why waste it when he could use it to live? Live for someone, something, other than himself and that damned duty bestowed upon him. That destiny he was cursed with by that fraud of a Goddess. Why waste his time and feelings on hating the circumstances placed around him by a fake, when he could devote his being to his real goddess?

That's not to say everyone else saw you the same way he did though. He saw you as an otherworldly being worthy of his respect above all else.

Apparently that went above other pests comprehension though.

Time had been keeping an eye on him the whole time, with his greasy, clicked back hair and sunken eyes. Looking every bit a rat Time thought him as. He slithered about like a worm as well, watching you and your every step. Nothing seemed to deter him. Not any of the glare's Time shot him, not any of the ways he stepped as to cut off his view from you, not the Biggoron sword clunking against his hip in an unsaid, but no less serious, threat.

He just wouldn't let up.

He even looked brave enough to consider approaching you, one foot stepping past the shadows of the stalls and alleyways.

Kill him.

He need to take care of him. Take him away from you before he could sully your divine form. He could feel the power of the unspeakable buzz beneath his skin as he stepped closer.

KiLl HiM.

He could do it. He could easily do it. Take care of the pest. Drag him behind one of alleyways after finding one of the boys to look after you for the time while he took care of this degenerate.

KILL HIM.

It would be elementary. He had probably faced Bokoblins that put up more of a fight than he would. He was short and stout, something Time's own broad form shadowed at least twice over.

KILL HIM

His sword would just slice right through his flimsy flesh, painting his surroundings a dark red as his worthless body slumped to the ground, before being left to the wolves to pick apart. He doubted even those feral beasts would touch such a slimy creature such as this merchant, who was still inching closer.

KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMHESGETTINGTOOCLOSEKILLHIM

Just as his hand raised to the hilt of his sword, your hand, perfect and soft and light and grounding, settled on his forearm. "Ooh, look, Time!" Your eyes, gorgeous pools of every color he saw in his dreams, were alight with excitement as you remained completely oblivious to the stray in the background. "There's a bakery! Can we go, please?" You then turned your pout to him, melting his fiery rage into a simmering pool.

It wouldn't disappear, oh no, but it would be lowered from a boiling rage, full of livid restlessness and cold turmoil, to a stewing annoyance. Something he would nurture and let grow into a full fledged plan to dispose of this creature. It no longer had to be quick, not anymore, now it could be a slow and painful demise worthy of daring to creep on his Goddess.

He smiled, that special smile just for you, as he used his free hand to gently angle your chin upward to meet his eye just a little more. "Of course, darling, your wish is my command." If only you knew what you could wish from him. What he would do to ensure it came true.

Anything to see you smile.

(Anything. Including sneaking off in the late of night, nodding to Wars and Twilight, who were on watch, and disappearing into the night.)

(Anything. Including breaking into a non-assuming house, full of dust and mold, vines crawling up the sides. Doing so practically silently.)

(Anything. Including pulling out the Biggoron sword and holding it high enough the moonlight reflected off of it just enough to gently light up his target. )

(Anything. Including plunging the tip of his blade into their shoulder to pin them to their stack of hay and blankets, holding a hand over their screaming mouth as they shot to the conscious world.)

(Anything. Including spending the late hours making sure this filth understood exactly where he went wrong. Exactly why this was happening. Making him think he had a chance at life. Making him believe that Time would let him go. Only to snuff that pathetic life away with just enough time to clean up and get back to you.)

(Anything. You just had to wish it.)

[black-is-iconic]

The Red Means I Love You

If there was anything Muzan loathed, it was the preposterous idea of fate. An outcome decided even before birth was just…..ludicrous, nonsensical, and completely incongruous from his view. How could one even begin to consider something so inane and injudicious? Only a fool would willing to submit to such nonsense.

Naturally, he didn't believe in the concept of soulmates, twin flames, or any other mystical beliefs that suggested a predetermined fate for one's romantic or platonic relations. Some people believed that these ideals were a gift from the gods, but he didn't see it that way.

He had no interest in seeking favor from entities that had already condemned him to die before he even took his first breath. In his eyes, the gods were his enemies. And everything they smiled down upon should be tainted by the very creature they hated.

Starting with the vile cretins known as human beings, although this wasn't necessarily to spite the gods this was more so his own vendetta against the abhorrent vermin who'd maliciously picked and pestered him as a sickly boy.

Useless parental figures and an iniquitous doctor made his miserable short human life a misery beyond measure. But now with all this power at his fingertips, he could do as he pleased without any interference. With the world at his feet, he could become a god-like never before, and then, maybe then he might actually find peace for a few brief moments in this wretched existence.

He'd never garnered those 'precious' red strings but he never wanted them in the first place, he viewed them and anything else from the gods as a blight on his life.

But just as pieces were falling into place and things were finally going his way (for once) he felt a small tug under the cusps of his sleeve, at first he ignored it thinking it was simply the scrap of paper against his wrist as he flipped through an old book in his the comfort of his study lounge.

However, as the tug became more insistence like a pestilent itch, the more curious he got as to its source. Without much thought, he tore through the taut white linen fabric, revealing a single red thread pulsing in a bright, almost ethereal light, like a freshly lit lantern digging into the flesh of his wrist.

His brow furrowed, he tried to ignore the sensation but couldn't help but think it was slightly odd, and yet not unpleasant, to be honest. It seemed to be growing stronger every second, and the longer he stared the more his curiosity grew.

He rolled the thread between his fingers feeling the soft yet warm smoothness of the silk texture. It was peculiar and felt unnatural like nothing he ever encountered.

He watched as the little thread began spreading slowly into his veins and he furrowed his brows deeper but nevertheless, he sharpened one of his claws and attempted to cut the string. But the string began to glow a bright reddish-orange and burn like a thousand suns, he dropped the strain with a hiss cradling his singed fingertips where it was scorched in an instant.

The pain and sting made his blood boil as he glared angrily at the offending line of color that was now glowing and radiating energy.

He growled in irritation and frustration as it was becoming clear to him that he couldn't just cut through the thread without risking harming himself.

He reached for one of his glass viles shattering it along the edge of the desk and spilling the failed cure-all along the mahogany floor. Picking up a particularly sharp glass shard, he yet again tried to sever the forming connection to whatever contemptible wretched creature unfortunate enough to be on the other end.

And once again, he found himself unable to sever it, instead the blood-red line grew brighter and fiercer. Burning his finger with searing heat as if the thread was molten steel, he let out a displeased grunt dropping the glass and watching as the burned skin that had been holding the glass quickly healed once he stopped trying to pry the damn thing off.

With an annoyed cluck of his tongue, he leaned back into his seat staring down at the thin red thread as it continued to weave itself into his veins and into his skin.

He could hardly contain the frustration and aggravation he felt as it crawled like some vile insect up his arm causing an uncomfortable prickling sensation that ran down his spine, what a bothersome little pest. A thorny nuisance and he wished dearly to destroy it.

But alas it would seem the little thread was here to stay, for now at least until he found a safe way to get rid of it, perhaps…..

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Comte Drama CD Translations, Track Five: A Night of Great Love

I'm not a professional yada yada yada, these are just my rough transcriptions of each track in the CD because I need fodder for my simping. More beneath the cut as usual. Also just a heads-up, this one's got spoice so it will be slightly nsfw (nothing too explicit but like, it's there).

The title says it all for this one (did I go soft? maybe a little bit don't look at me). Here we go!

Comte: We’re finally alone.  [KISS SOUND] Now you’re all mine…for putting up with it…I’d like you to praise me for not touching you until we got back to our room. From now on I’ll be doing away with the gentleman’s facade…and I’ll spoil you rotten. …I won’t hide it anymore. My feelings for you, my love, my instincts as a man…

What a way to start this track out like thanks I'm already inches from having my way with him, sweet words be damned.

"Praise me for not touching you until we got back to our room." DISAGREE YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN GROPING--

Mn [KISSES]…come now…say it. I told you long before what my name was… …That’s right. Good girl. My name, Abel, means void/emptiness… When my eternal life was at its most unbearable, I wondered at what an ironic name it was.  But now, when you say my name…I get the strangest feeling, one I’ve never felt before. At the very least, it feels more important/meaningful than before.

It seemed out of the question that I could ever love my name. …You changed everything. Not just my name. The meaning of the word eternity and future, and the joy of loving someone…you’ve taught me all the happiness of being loved. …So you must accept mine in return. Accept what? Of course…my love-- -----

These are all things that were revealed in the main story route, so nothing really new here. Love the good girl bit tho and 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺😭 "You've taught me all the happiness of being loved." AND I WILL FOREVER MUAH MUAH ABEL

(KISS SOUND) Tonight I intend to make you call my name until your voice is hoarse/wretched… (MORE KISSES) About vampires…no, I’ll teach you all about men. (why not BOTH--) I’ll teach you every pleasure you don’t know. There’s no need for fear, all you have to do is leave everything to me. Haah (KISSES MANY OF THEM)…everywhere I touch you, you react so sweetly… Sweet, gorgeous, and dense like a noble flower…it makes me want to steal you for my own right away…

Love that my only protest to all of this is "who says you're the only one gonna be doing any touching" 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 I waited nearly three years for you Abel don't try me rn

Also I know that last line is a bit strange, but that's about as much as I could decipher--it was one of those trickier lines that seemed to have a kind of metaphorical/idiomatic element to it. I think it might be speaking to the larger metaphor in Ikevamp of humans being like flowers who either wither or are eternally preserved basically, not unlike her wedding gift to him.

If I were to bite you here and now…in exchange for that momentary pain, you would know unimaginable pleasure. …What’s with that expectant gaze? Are you testing me? …What a naughty woman you are, to stir up a vampire--and a pureblood, no less. Are you…sure you’re ready for an endless life and endless pleasure? …Mn…haah (KISSES) …It’s all right. I don’t really want to bite you. …I just wanted to give you a little lesson on how dangerous it can be to toy with a vampire.

Respectfully MC is a stronger woman than me, if he pulled this shit on me I'd be a vamp tomorrow, we are not the same. Although in fairness I do appreciate that he respects her hesitation

(KISSES) Mn…ah…that was such…a cute sound you just made… Every time we kiss, you just get rosier and sweeter…Seriously, how far do you plan to test my limits before you’re satisfied? I’m burning up…I want to make love to you, be so deep inside you (and melt away)… Mn (KISSES)…ha…ah, the sweet scent is getting stronger… If we go on like this, I’m not sure I can play around much longer…I feel like I’m losing my mind. …You shouldn’t let a foolish man like me take advantage of you any further. For now, I’ll accept just this much.

Okay but like. Can we talk about that last line in the former bit and the first one in this bit because. MC do we have a kink for Comte being a little dark and sexy vampire hours? Because YEET SAME AAAAAAAAAAA

Consider me well and seduced, v hot for me 👀💅🏼 Although asjkhldgldsjhg this highkey makes me want to tease him so badly, he just seems so reactive

That last line I think was supposed to be an extension of the self-deprecation from the last track, and tbh it made me v sad :< don't fret Comte, I'm here because I wanna be ;-; nothing wrong with being a little needy

…I want you…I really want you…I mean it. …Touch me, and see for yourself. …You know what I mean, don’t you? My heart is racing, desperate for you. Unable to resist every flagrant urge, I take the woman I love… The more I touch your smooth skin, the more difficult it becomes to resist that pleasure… That’s why it’s so hard for me to hold back. 

Like. If I try to describe how this makes me feel all I'm gonna do is bark, so I'm just gonna spare y'all that--

Also dying at that bit where he goes "touch me and see for yourself" because. Come on. We all know what we were thinking. And he was like "See? My heart's racing" I BET IT IS, COMTE. I BET. IT. IS. 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

So now…mn…ahhh…haah… (I cannot convey to you the overwhelming eroticism of this voiced **cough** moaned **cough** line. It must be heard to be known and felt. --R.I.P Minnie, 2023) Instead of biting you, I’ll leave a sign of my desire here on your neck. …When we became lovers, you told me that you didn’t mind being beside me, even if I was hesitant. Trying to choose the right future, worrying until the last minute. Because if I do bite you, sink my fangs into this delicate flesh and grant you lifetimes…it’s something that only takes an instant. The moment I make up my mind, I can turn you right here and right now. To be with the woman I love whom I found in eternity, and to make her eternal with me…there is no sweeter temptation for me. But right now…I want to forget about the flow of eternity and indulge in happiness with you. …This time, let me give you a gentle kiss. (KISS) Mn…Even if I can suppress the bloodlust, I can’t hold back my love for you any longer. Tonight, I want to know every part of you more deeply than ever… I want to be deep inside you…I want us to seek each other and to make you mine. (GET IT TIGER) The night is still long. I’ll give you as much as you want, so that you don’t even have a moment to breathe.

More barking, also -> "To be with the woman I love whom I found in eternity, and to make her eternal with me…there is no sweeter temptation for me." this is what hope looks like. I'm gonna tell my kids this was the twilight saga KIDDING but fr 🙏🏼 my hopes and dreams epitomized.

[noirbriar]

Fire & Stone AU: Bonds

The end of the Third Age, peace has come. Yet Glorfindel and Erestor find themselves in a bit of trouble with outdated customs.

In which elven high society, especially the line of Finwe, have rules and traditions to be followed for noble born elves. No exceptions.

An AU where the sons of Durin lived and Maglor resides now in Imladris some time before The Hobbit. OOC a high possibility, its all on me. Coughed out this random ficlet for fun and excuse for some family drama.

Things of note/warnings: none although maybe child acquisition? also, the writer's tolkien knowledge is rather rudimentary still so anything in here should just be taken as a pure AU. --- "Now this is a rare sight! A new age of peace and here you are, bested by an orc! My young commander, I see you have been slacking." Maglor strides in, his robes swishing quietly into the healing wing. "Don't antagonise the patient." Elrond prompts dryly from behind as he arranges his salves and bandages at the side to be cleared away by the other healers. "I would like to see you try to go up against a double ambush while trying to get the villagers to safety with a lean troop." Erestor grumbles from his spot in the bed, eyes closed, trying to focus in putting up his mental walls, blocking out the numb pain from his wretched shoulder from his mate. "A new age yet the foul damn creatures continue to be a pain in the ass."

"And I heard from Kili and Tauriel you picked up a gift along the way?" Maglor grins as he reaches out to pat the small lump buried into Erestor's better side. Only to be rewarded with a bite and a sharp cry as the old Feanorian quickly pulls his hand back to safety from the fiesty child on defensive.

A toddler who could barely walk really.

"And don't tease the elfling, Atya." Elrond admonishes softly though with a soft smile .The healer tries to brush away the messy silvery blond hair from the elfling's face, but pulls back when the child pulls away from his touch.The elfling resumes clutching onto Erestor like a baby squirrel.

"Unfortunately he seems to be an orphan long before the attack, being cared for by his fellow villagers all this while from what I heard. Still, the little one seems to have taken a great liking to his protector... I suppose its really a Feanorian trait to pick up little ones and be chosen by them." The Lord of Imladris slowly adds, his eyes alight with mischief much like his younger self.

Maglor chuckles under his breath at the statement with a shake of his head. Whereas the elfling simply stare at the father and son duo balefully, his eyes narrowed in a way that is reminiscence to a displeased Erestor. Before the little one huddles closer to the dark haired elf for comfort.

Erestor is quiet, as he lets the child do as he please, caressing the elfling's back before his eyes begain to droop, his body demanding for a healing sleep. Elrond leaves, leaving his adoptive father to watch over his old follower. Maglor then decides to sings a healing song for his old soldier that he have come to care for dearly. Its was too lovely a day to be without song anyway. and the weakened child could use some power from a Song after such an ordeal.

It was a while before the Singer notices Erestor trembling in his rest, almost in pain from what Elrond has deemed a normal wound.The elfling whimpers in worry. Maglor stops and sits on the bed instead to examine the clean bandages. Baffled, he puts his hand onto the younger elf's hand instead and tries to reach out with his weak fea to provide some comfort from the pain.

For a moment there is warmth, before something tingles, and pulls. Which causes Maglor jumps back in shock and the elfling to be startled in turn, before starting to cry. Its as if someone has dumped him into the Brunien before flinging his fea across the sea... So Maglor does the only reasonable thing in this situation- "ELROND!!" ---

Glorfindel is worried. Lately, he could hardly feel his mate through their young bond. (A bond! At long last, his beloved's fea melded with his own, singing ever so sweet. He have never felt so at peace and so complete with another heart beating with his own. ) As the escort of Celeborn, Galadriel and the Galadhrim to Imladris, the warrior had to be apart from his husband for a more than a few months, shortly after their bonding and their return from Gondor. It was a slow journey home, as he and his troops guided the elves awaiting to sail for the West to the last Homely House.

Last he heard before he left, there were news of stray orcs, stragglers along the borders. With all the administrative work delegated to others in the household and council, Erestor have taken upon himself to command some troops to check on the matter. Yet no messengers have come by with regards to any trouble and he felt no distress from Erestor, so there was some comfort in that. The Captain knows his husband is a master with his blades, the Chief Councillor skilled with his swords even after years of administrative work. However the lost of gentle nudges and touches from his mate is still concerning.

And if he had nudges Asfaloth a little faster upon spotting reaching the main bridge, no one was willing to call him out on it. What he had not expect was a pair of restless twins awaiting for their arrival at the end of it. "Greetings, Grandfather! Grandmother! We hope your journey has been smooth." Elladan greeted as Elrohir proceeded forward and they greeted their elders .Almost too formal, Glorfindel thought. "Elladan? Elrohir? I did not expect you both to greet us all the way out here. What trouble did you both get into this time?" Glorfindel grins at the twins.

"Ah ha! But its not us you should be worried about, dear Captain." Elrohir smirks while Elladan strides up and pats the Golden Elf wryly with a glint in his dark eyes.

"Its you."

-- In the twilight, Glorfindel grits his teeth as he is starting to be immensely annoyed that he is unable to at least find his husband first. Unable to even freshen up after days of travel, before he was whisked away by Elladan and Elrohir into the inner wings of the House. His bond with Erestor still quiet despite the proximity, even with the twins assuring that Erestor was in Imladris.

Following closely beside him, are the curious Lord and Lady of Lothlorien, both by the request of the twins' father.

"For support." Whatever that means. What greeted him at the large outdoor meeting chamber that Elrond favors, was the Lord of Imladris himself, sitting instead by the side seat of the long table. The head chair was empty. Further away, was unmistakably, though surprisingly, the second son of Feanor. As Maglor turns to greet the guests, Glorfindel sees clearly now. No longer dressed in his usual plain and unremarkable robes, but in elegant brocade and silk. Maglor's hair adorned with the style of old elves of a forgotten time with a beautifully crafted circlet adorned with small moonstones by a Master smith, marking his status as a noble.

Elladan and Elrohir gives a bow and steps slightly out by the corridor. Excusing themselves from this meeting. Something is wrong.

"My greetings, Laurefindil. You have finally returned. Now take a seat, I feel that we must have an urgent discussion." Maglor smiles and gestures to the seat on the opposite side of the table. Formal manners of court and Quenya. Not good. Glorfindel's warrior instincts are rising up.

"Galadriel, Celeborn, my greetings. As Glorfindel's cousin and family, please, pardon for a lack of hospitality but I'm afraid it must be done. Do take a seat as well beside your kin."

"What are you up to now, Maglor." Celeborn remarks flatly, trying to keep some basic civility with the Son of Feanor. plainly ignoring the use of Quenya entirely, and carefully leading his wife to her seat with Elrond guiding his in-laws.

Maglor does not grace with a reply but with a small smile, as he takes a seat at the head chair, hands clasps together before him. A warm air of quiet descends upon the noble born elves in the peaceful valley as time slows with only the sound of the waterfalls and music by the minstrels. A picture of serenity.

---

"So...what is the fuss for? Why is everyone crowding around the balconies and trees?" Kili asks as he observes the happenings around him, casually munching on an apple slice, and feeding Tauriel a slice as well.Being ever the doting husband.

The dwarven prince and his wife are perching precariously on a balcony railing with Thorin and Bilbo lounging nearby. The King Under The Mountain and his Consort both unbothered by the commotion.

They were simply enjoying the quiet afternoon with Bilbo's tea. Before dozens of curious denizens of the elven haven wandered into the public pavilion. From the maids to the council members, curious and eager about something.Their excitement and low murmurings like the rustling of the leaves.

And that something is happening right now.

---

Glorfindel's instincts are on high alert. But finally, impatience to reunite with his mate had won out. The Golden Lord chooses to strike on offensive.

"So, why have you called me here, Makalaure?" The Golden Lord of Gondolin begins. There was none of his usual humour.

"Long has it been since I must bear that name and even the responsibilities of a Lord. Though I care not but only for my family. My father and brothers no longer on these shores. Yet my sons and nephews were. I am ashamed to be a terrible Uncle and Father, unable to care for them until its too late." Maglor's voice wavers as he tries not to delve too deep into memories.

A careful strike has Glorfindel tensing up on defensive as he catches on to Maglor's words, but he remains silent. This is a problem.

"You were hurt and in sorrow, and you didn't know." Elrond reasons quietly, as he pats Maglor's shaking hands gently, as father and son share comfort in each other's presence for a moment.

"Alas, in this moment that I am able, I must do what is right, in place of my brother, or I shall not be able to face my younger brother and my family in the Void..."

Slowly, the old Lord turns back to Glorfindel, eyes alight. The last son of Feanor then demands-

"So tell me, Laurefindil. Did you think you can skip on tradition and wed my only nephew left without the proper procedure and rites worthy of the great-grandson of Finwe, grandson of Feanor? The son of Caranthir the Dark?"

The music goes silent, the air stills.

Celeborn and Galadriel sits higher at the revelation, with the Lord turning to his Lady in surprise and wonder. Only to receive a graceful shake of her head in silent reply by the great Lady of Lothlorien. So the two turn instead to the great Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, who is resisting the urge to show any reaction.

Well, shit.

---

Time froze before chaos breaks out in the Last Homely House. There were a range of emotions with gasps and confusion by the residents of Imladris, especially from the old Feanorians in the household.

A living descendant of Feanor? Son of Caranthir? Erestor? The youngest General under Maedhros and Maglor's command? Their Chief Councillor, the Tempest of Imladris? There were so many questions, one of the old followers had even begun to cry.

Kili looks around in confusion.

"Soooo context? Anyone?"

"Oh..oh dear." Tauriel murmurs quietly," I think I get it now and this isn't good." The elleth turns to her in-laws, "Also, Lord Maglor's circlet...did you both know about this?"

The elves all turn to the old King, who simply took his time to answer." As a friend and fellow uncle, it was the least I could do," and the dwarf takes a sip of his ale and left it as that.

"Why? I mean, is there like a problem here with Erestor being related to Maglor...or I dunno, something?" Kili continues, trying his best to wrap his head around this peculiar situation.

"Yes, and Lord Maglor is calling Lord Glorfindel and Lord Erestor's marriage into question as Erestor's elder. I believe he is displeased with the lack of a marriage contract in accordance to the Marriage Code."

He stares at Tauriel," We...Is this an elf thing? We didn't have that when we married?"

"I'm Silvan, dear. This only apply to the high born elves."

Kili blinks, and instead turns to Bilbo. Thorin sighs at his nephew pointedly and tiredly," Balin's going to flip if he hears this." His Hobbit chuckles at the younger dwarf's blank look before taking a moment to enlighten the younger dwarf.

"Its basically a procedure by both parties and their families.Before marriage and the binding of fea, nobles may undergo trials to prove the worthiness of their match. A terribly lengthy process."

"They are also assessed by their assets and wealth and status of 3 generations minimum. Before they dive deeper into binding agreements regarding their descendants, heirs, inheritance and the like. Down to even the minute details of scenarios like, what should happen if they fade or sail. Or if they reach Valinor should there be other lovers? Or any possible family feuds to address. Possibly even in unspeakable situations such as Separation, which what Men called a divorce. Something that dwarrow do not have as you all only have Ones. " Bilbo takes a quick puff of his pipe, "its a serious thing to the high born elves like those originally from the Valinor, and especially so to the line of Finwe."

There soon was some commotion down in the meeting hall where Maglor and Glorfindel's discussion were getting louder. The Son of Feanor has even gotten up from his chair to articulate something with a wide flair which the Golden Lord is trying to rebuke with obvious gestures. "Oh...It looks like the other party who is involved is here." Bilbo muses with an amused smile as he spots dark figure gliding by the corridors.

---

"-We have bonded with your's and Elrond's blessing have we not!?" Glorfindel tries to reason, the discussion now jumping back to Westron as he gets frustrated with the roundabout argument looping endlessly.

"That was without the knowledge that he is my blood kin! And how dare you keep this from us? Do you disrespect his roots?!" Maglor leans onto the table with both hands, unwilling to back down.

"We are almost in the Fourth Age, what use do we have any more of old redundant laws anyway?" Glorfindel shoots back, thinking back of all the tedious practices and rules from the Years of the Trees to his time in Gondolin, the stifling rules of nobility and how ridiculous it has gotten when he returned up till now.

"A Code that was implemented to protect the welfare of all involved! Remember the mess that involved my Grandfather and his wives! Even Elrond went through with the Code!"

Elrond hums in a detached sort of way as his eyes glazes over, not meeting his in-laws' eyes. He quickly pushes down the memories of the long and tedious marriage discussions and procedures before his marriage to Celebrian.

"Then I shall remind you of Thingol and Luthien and then look what that had nearly wrought as well!" Glorfindel snaps, his patience long gone.The Lord of the Golden Flower glowers back in fury, the balrog slayer’s eyes ablaze.

"Long has been our wish to be wed simply like any other eldar who are free from the bonds of duty and oaths that haunt us! We have beheld no other for several yeni till we felt we are free to live as we desire! Codes and Laws and Oaths all be damned!"

"My heart is Erestor's, as his is mine till the Remaking-Nay! Even after that! The only ones that matter in this relationship are myself and my mate! No other! May they be eldar or edain, maia or even the Valar themselves! I will not allow even you, Makalaure, to take away our joy simply for the sake of some out dated tradition! Our hearts are ours alone, is that not how it should be?!"

"OH! Then even if my nephew has your child? What then?!" the Son of Feanor waves with a flourish of his arm towards the entrance way. Glorfindel's mind grinds to a sudden halt as he then turns to Erestor who had arrived. Like a trickling dam, the warrior felt the connection to his mate burst forth and return with the lowering of Erestor's mental walls. A rush of warmth and fullness fill his fea before he felt his breath leave him in a rush. The yearning and love flowing down steadily while Glorfindel could only stare at his handsome mate striding in. The Chief Councillor ignoring the twin guards by the hall's entrance with a wave of his dark, loose robes in a flurry. His storm cloud, wild and fierce even with a tiny blond elfling in his arms, watching him with wide dark eyes...

Oh. Hold up.

"...What?"

---

A/N:Yeah I'll go yeet myself out now

[riordanness]

would’ve, could’ve, should’ve - tmr!newt

0.6K wordcount

warnings: blood mentions, panic attack mentions, skin condition

requested: no

a/n: excerpt from a much longer fic i’ve been working on during my severe mental and physical health challenges over the course of this year. it’s a little something i mostly wrote for myself to cope, but i thought i’d share a little with you guys, cos it’s nice (??) to have people understand what you’re going through, and tbh i’m kinda proud of how this little piece turned out

Now that the initial shock and panic of arriving here, in the place they call The Glade, is slowly starting to wear off, the pain is taking up most of my attention. Even now, my arms are almost unbearable. The pain is tantalising me, taunting me. Cry, it seems to tell me. Break down in front of all these boys and sob.

I blink, suddenly unsteady on my own feet. “I–I’m gonna go,” I announce, not talking to anyone in particular, and stumble towards the Homestead. I manage to get myself to my room, before my legs give way beneath me and I crumple to the ground, leaning against the wall for support.

My head falls between my knees, and one, heartbroken sob shudders through me, shaking my entire being. The red-hot fire on my skin spreads to my chest, to my tears, to my head. I am distraught, trapped inside this ring of flames, burning me alive, from the inside out.

I’m aching, every bone, every muscle crying out in agony, screaming at me to grant them relief. I can only cry harder, wishing with every ounce of my being that I was able to grant that request.

The hot, itchy ants begin crawling, through the flames, and all over me, smothering me with their little, persistent stomps. I’m choking. Unable to breathe beneath all the itching and the pain.

I scratch roughly at the skin of my wrists and forearms, my nails digging into myself, drawing blood. But still, the itching is unbearable. My nails drag again, again and again, each time harsher than the last.

I don’t know exactly how long I stay like this, crunched into a ball, trying to disappear from this narrative I’m forced into.

I have no memories, but it is obvious this condition (of sorts), is a long term thing. I wonder briefly, in between the pain, how long it has been. How many days, months, years have I been fighting it? Is it even a fight? Or just an endless battle of no hope, and no happiness.

I wonder if it’s the cause of my being here. Maybe I got so fed up and exhausted of this pain and this whole damn thing that I just chose to be sent here. But what would that do? I’m still in pain, obviously. Nothing would have changed regardless of my skin. I dismiss the idea, the wonder still strong in my mind. I was burning with curiosity as to why or how or when or where.

I sigh, long and deep, drawing my knees impossibly closer to my chest, as if squeezing myself tightly into a ball will somehow keep out the pain. Maybe the fire ants can’t get in if I block them out.

The thought of those fiery, itching ants does it for me. My mind collapses. I shake, my sobs violent but deadly quiet. My head hurts, my throat is tightening up in a hot ball of tears, my chest feels like it’s been wrapped in cling wrap way too tightly.

There’s nothing but me.

Me, and the pain, and the tears, and the fire.

Nothing else matters. I don’t have room for it to matter. I’m all full, my space for love and life and joy and laughter taken up by a wretched pain. A chronic condition.

Nothing matters.

Nothing.

At.

All.

Finally, someone finds me. My door squeaks slightly as it’s pushed open, and a boy steps inside. My tears blur my vision, so the figure is hard to make out at first. I brush angrily at the tears, hating to be found like this.

“Hey, hey.” It’s Newt’s voice, soft and gentle. “Hey, you’re okay. You’re okay.”

He gathers me hesitantly into his arms, awkwardly hushing my cries. “It’s okay, you’re okay,” he keeps saying, keeping his voice steady. Eventually, I calm down, wiping the last of my tears away. My breathing is still shaky, though, and my voice trembles when I pull myself away from Newt.

“Thank you,” I say. “Um, I–I’m sorry you had to see that.” I might not remember my old self, or my past, but I was uncomfortable with him seeing me like this. It made me feel vulnerable, too open. I instinctively close myself off from Newt, physically shifting away from him, as I stare at the roughly built wooden floor.

“Are you alright?”

I hesitate, then I slowly shake my head, still avoiding looking at him. It feels wrong for someone to have seen me like that. Seen me looking that weak and pathetic. Crying my eyes out on the floor just because of a little bit of pain.

Well, a lot of pain, but how can you possibly explain that to someone?

“Do you want me to stay?” Newt asks, his tone still gentle and reassuring.

I shake my head again, a lot more firmly this time. “I’m okay. Thanks, but I’ll be okay.”

Newt gets to his feet, but still crouches beside me for a second, lingering.

“I’m fine.” It comes out harsher than I mean it to.

“Alright, okay.” He straightens, lets out a tiny sigh I don’t think I’m supposed to hear, and leaves, quietly shutting the door behind him.

I don’t move from the floor for a while, exactly how long I have no way to tell. The sunlight slowly dims, eventually leaving me in darkness. Still, I remain curled into a ball on the floor, my head aching dully, and my heart aching even worse.

I feel terrible for snapping at Newt like I did, but then I remember the feeling of crying in his arms, feeling stripped bare, my true self laid out for him to see. The memory makes me shiver for some reason.

[uninhibited-introspections]

The legacy left by you

3 months post your death and i wonder if you have any idea what you and your wife have done to your daughter, somedays I wish you had been kinder to her perhaps then I wouldn’t have been left to drown in the wreckage of her unprocessed grief and pain. The endless screaming matches, sharp-edged words, suffocating tension and I’m so damn tired of it all, done of walking on eggshells, done pretending it’s what families do.. I don’t want to pick up her pieces, her pretentious offers of help or bear the burden of her blood. I just want out- a desperate need to escape this house and to finally breathe where everything is mine alone. The thought of it alone maddens me so look at what i've become your beloved granddaughter reduced to a crippled liminal presence..unable to run or stay, unable to live or die caught in purgatory someone worse than a disappointment,unrecognizable, fragmented and hollow. To say that you abandoned your daughter would be unjust when you see her wry smile, but I see her crumbling every night..and it is often horribly true. A truth so terrifying and tragic that everytime i see her bleeding all over the upholstery and see her bloodied face, injuries. A maddening smile always greets me stretching on her bruised face and it sneers "Do you like what you see? here are the remnants of your beloved grandparents abuse to their sole kin, look at your wretched mother". Her voice raw and trembling filled with devastating fury consuming the room "Look at how they've stripped my life from me and see what their neglect and hate did to me" always collapsing with soft broken whimpers of "Won't you save your mother?" a plea soaked in despair clinging to the hope that i might rescue her from this hell created by you. A routine performance of hers so painful and devastating leaving a deep rancor in my heart for her..I abhor my mother making me detach myself from you all. Isn't it strange how happier i felt doing that, how weird i feel sitting with her feeling nothing but vexation? Growing up and seeing your mother's flaws is like losing a part of your soul, i don't believe in love anymore and i don't believe in her anymore, and oh what did i even expect? to leave a hemorrhage of violets wherever i walked? A lost daughter is just lost and maybe my mother is just my mother till i remember. You never replied to my pleas that day dadu because you knew that we are inevitably the same.. same but not the same to abandon me like you did..like you did to your own. Here i am left wondering again would life have been different if you had cherished her, would i then have been saved from the wreckage caused by your neglect?

[cats-obsessions]

Kill Your Lover - Durgetash Drabble, Part 1

Summary: The Dark Urge, Nox, is brought his father's command to kill his lover for the first time, and Sceleritas wants to plan a wedding.

Part 1 | Part 2

---

Somehow, the silence echoes in the room, pounding, throbbing pain bouncing off the walls of Nox’s busy mind. He had been serving his father well without complaint. His following had never been stronger since he was appointed Chosen, and the temple was thriving. He didn’t understand- he didn’t want to.

“I have treated you with great mercy throughout our years working together.” He finally says. So much meaning hidden between the words, more unsaid than said.

“Oh, but master I only desire for your greatness!” Sceleritas stands before him, the useless butler eager in his duty, a grinning reaper of death.

“Stop.” Nox pinches the bridge of his nose. He fights with himself not to scream, and his voice comes out a deep, measured, and dangerous sound, “You watch me, you follow me, you report on my business- my victory and my sin alike. You are nothing but a glorified spy to serve my father.”

“I would never-”

“Then, you will not speak of this. It is only physical, and we have made much growth toward my father’s design.”

“The machinations you have contrived of, I will admit, are beyond that I have seen from any other Bhaalspawn. Nonetheless, you must know Bhaal has sensed some… attachment to the Banite.”

“He is wrong.” Nox hisses, and not even he knows the depths of which the lie runs.

“Wonderful! Simply kill-”

“No.”

The bravado in Sceleritas’ posture all but seeps out of him, his shoulders beginning to wilt toward the floor. “Your refusal will only prove him right.”

“The plan is not finished.” Nox says, and the justification is true.  

“Surely m’lord can complete it without the Banite.”

“I cannot.”

“Master, there is no shame in gaining such attachments as long as you divulge yourself of them as they come up.”

“I cannot.”

“If it is sentimentality that concerns you, have you considered the romanticism of whispering your confessions to the Banite as you delve your blessed dagger into his dark heart?”

“I will not.” Nox raises his voice. “I will not. Not now. Not yet. Allow me this one thing.” He feels as though there is a hand in his chest, squeezing his heart as the wretched thing fights for every last beat of blood flowing through his veins. The pain in his head intensifies, sharp spikes stabbing into his frontal lobe.

There is a long silence between them before the butler finally speaks, his voice unusually soft, “You know I am not the one that commands such things.”

“I know.” He sighs, “And yet, I do not know what to do.”

Another long pause hangs in the air until Sceleritas lifts his hand, damned finger pointed toward the heavens. “Perhaps there is hope yet to make your case to our Lord Bhaal. Surely, your loving father will pardon your fondness if only we can convince him the Banite pawn is needed. Perhaps, both your desires may be sated in truly the greatest show of attachment given by our blessed lord.”

“To sacrifice us on my father’s alter? Of course, I’ve considered it.” Noxs huffs, and he has. He’s envisioned it more than once throughout the years since their first coupling- hells, maybe a few times before then, too.

“Oh my, had I known things were so serious, I would have prepared an array of options for the ceremony. Oh- yes, suits, decorations, a feast. My- no-” the butler shakes his head, seemingly pushing the thoughts from his mind, “Not yet my lord. You may instead give your father a sign of your commitment to such a design. To complete his plan then slaughter the failure of Bane in your own last breath.” Sceleritas sighs wistfully, “Nothing could be more romantic.”

Nox mulls it over. He had wished for that moment many times since first feeling the depravity of the Banite’s adoring touch, but to promise it at the end- would it be possible his father could allow him that much time? A greedy mind would imagine years- decades even before the world was truly under their thumb. All that time to live before it was time to die. It was a dream he dared not hold onto too tightly.

“I have officiated such rituals many times.” He thinks back to his followers which had chosen such a fate. The way they held each other close, staring deep into the eyes of their lovers as if they were not bleeding out onto the alter of Bhaal- that was, when both parties cooperated, anyways. “When an outsider is involved, we say they are made holy by their union.”

“Indeed, my lord.”

“Is that- could that be the case for Enver even?” They were doomed from the start, if he’s being honest with himself. There was no reality in which they could be together forever. This was not a choice he could make, but perhaps, if his father truly loved him, Bhaal could.

“To be taken into Bhaal’s great arms? I do not see why he would say no.” the butler hums.

Yes, he would do that. The next morning, he would rise early while the sun still sat on the edge of night and day, and drew drops clung to every grass blade, and he would procure a wondrous sacrifice for his father. He would bring his bounty to the temple, in the depth of the holiest of holy rooms, and he would conduct his own personal ceremony. Only then would he bow in prayer and scrawl his plea to his father in blood and ink.

*  *  *

Sceleritas jumps up, his long fingers tapping together impatiently as the door to the Dark Urge’s chambers swings open. It had been not hours but days since the Scion of Bhaal had left the ritual chamber, no food or drink or communication beyond his prayers to their god.

“Master! You are back already! What did he say?”

He’s draped in his ceremonial garb, a long, white robe seeping with the red of blood from the bottom of it and gold chains which hold the symbol of Bhaal suspended between his horns. Normally, his expression would be alight with desire and excitement, consumed with the pleasing warmth of murder and blood.

Instead, there is nothing behind his eyes; not grief nor joy nor sin. Only emptiness, a void so dark, Shar herself surely stands before him.

He does not answer the butler for a long, unmoving moment. Unfeeling hands pull the prayer of forgiveness out again, and Nox looks down at it one last time, the words burnt into his eyes and soul. Finally, recognition flashes before his eyes, something sharp and dangerous. He folds it neatly and places it into his breast pocket.

“It will not be of concern to me anymore.”

Part 2

--------

Other Durgetash drabbles: x

[bumblingbabooshka]

You have fooled me. You have, on this blog, woven an intricate story, a beautiful story, and recently I have found it ruined; and I hold you accountable for my newfound and quite immense displeasure. I thought T’Pel and her children were real. I started watching Voyager because I saw Tuvok and T’Pel and their kids and thought “There’s a story I want to follow! There’s an interesting family dynamic!” And you know what I did? I watched the show! The ENTIRE thing! And they never showed up. I think halfway through I realized what was going on and that it was all for naught, but I held out regardless, some naive sense of hope leading me to stick things out. There’s still time, I reasoned. Maybe they’ll show up! Maybe we’ll get to meet T’Pel, whom I adore from what I’ve seen on this blog! And maybe we’ll get to see Tuvok interact with his children, and get to see what a good, loving Vulcan relationship looks like. And then the final episode roles around, and my spirits are finally crushed, and look where we are now. How could you. How COULD you? I am utterly distraught, and it is entirely your fault for writing convincing and well developed characters. You have destroyed and betrayed me and I will never recover.

Who between us is to be more pitied? The one who was lured into a castle by the music played therein only to find it empty, or the one who sits in the throne at its center - ruler of a barren land? You stand there, incensed to action and I tell you you are right to be. But do not raise your pitchfork to my throat - I created this all from nothing. Surely, there's beauty in that? We are two clowns in this bereft circus but think of this: You at least had hope. You at least could follow that sweet music for a time. I, the creator, never had such bliss. I knew from the very start that Tuvok and T'Pel never truly interacted. He spoke of her briefly. We see a snippet of one child and hear little of another, the other two completely cloaked in mystery. With these shriveled seeds in my palm I have created what surrounds you now - this marvelous spectacle. At least you can listen to the music without the burden of creation. You can go to the Tuvok/T'Pel tag and read what I have written there without the dark gray mark signifying it as yours. You, at least, can pretend. I have no such luxury. So despair if you will. Rage, scream, cry onto my shoulder - what have you. But then please, dear traveller...you've come all this way.... Leave a comment. A kudos. A like. Anything to water these shriveled seeds of mine. (I look out at my paltry garden, a rueful little smile on my face. I close my eyes as the music begins to play again) Ah...I think it's coming. Another fic idea. It will give me a comment. 'Cute'. Two, if I'm lucky. The music is wretched, I know. Built on such paltry offerings. (I turn to you now. I wear the tired hope of a man who's glad for the company. The smile of the damned.) But it brought you here to me, didn't it? And isn't that beautiful? (I laugh, soft and low. It joins the music, makes it louder. My joy.) Isn't it beautiful?

Close your eyes...and listen.

[kingdomofhell]

Second attempt of the Evil's root.

The chill he felt before turning about on his heel when staring at the very face again and frowning at this person, “Haven't learned your lesson have you, should just learn to quit while ahead you know.” none other than Eve who snuck back in while he was having attention elsewhere and now dealing with this evil being too close again.

“You again? Why do you stand in my way, wretched man?!” oh how Eve had insult to injury when Lilith was smiling as if goading this first woman to fight again, “Let me see Lucifer!!! Ragh!!!” how such ichor looking veins shown on Eve’s skin and how said darkness dripped from her lips.

“You should allow it, hmm?? Not as if you're going to have much to say, pretty boy, ohohoho! Eve… try to not fail this time alright?”

Hearing Roo speaking in such a way was a bit insulting to him but they didn't figure out his true identity yet, “Well you ready for round two bitch? Hahaha, I mean you are one from how you're whining about the past after all.” ticking Eve off while letting that eldritch side out and working on a plan if anything when risking himself once again, “Takes two to tango right? Let's try again huh? Maybe you'll get lucky or something. Heh.” tendrils be wiggling about when circling Eve as she was to him with such anger in those eyes.

Ichor looking fluid be pulsing through her when worked up and oh how it be another bout it seemed, letting Roo to string the plot together when stringing such a grudge holding puppet so much along. Despite being the first woman it was plain to see some things never changed and how Lilith was a tad more used to battle than her.

Clashes between the two be making the ground shake as did a storm form while trying to keep this crazy lady away from the family, “I must say quite the arm you have, haha. Very lovely for such a crazy woman, ooh!” using his tendrils as a cushion when a hard blow hit and skidding across the ground with a laugh when missing such heated fun of fights.

“Out of my way pretty boy! Lucifer ruined my life, I shall pay that back harder now due to being in such pain for eons now!!” red aura be damned when Roo taken over and smiling at Lilith with such a grin on her face, “True so true… can't you see how he hurts people? Or you his latest plaything? Is that it? Pretty doll for that stupid King of Hell? Oho how funny is that! Ugh!!!” such words made him snap while such a dark purple aura formed and humming ominously with red eyes rather than the usual purple.

“Come again madam? A plaything? Don't make me laugh, oh by the way… hello Eve… Roo.” baring such a daring smile with sharpened fangs when revealing himself somewhat to them, “I rather keep my husband from harmful witches such as you, it's not my fault you couldn't please Adam back then. How droll you be going after him when willingly taken that fruit and becoming what you are now.” sharpened claws of darkness while music rang across the area while disembodied singing was heard and chuckling of his magic being a bit better nowadays when busy since his absence.

“You?! But?! Gah!!!” claws of Lilith be hitting tendons quite good when not in a good mood after that set of words, “Bitch!! Lucifer was mine first!!” screaming when claws cut at her face when face to face with Lilith who was oddly calm yet had such anger in his eyes.

“No no no!! This pretty boy is Lilith?! I should have known, especially when you kicked us away last time!!”

Looking at his nails when not amused before pressing a heel into Eve’s ribs with that soft tut, “Be a good girl and rethink things hmm? Besides holding a grudge is bad for your skin, Eve… look at you so ugly ewww… even when dripping with whatever you have too. Ugh!!” kicking her away like a soccer ball before letting that loud screech out when shifting form into a large abomination of a shadowy eldritch being.

“I will get you wretched Queen count on that!! AHHHH!!”

“We'll be back again pretty boy!!!”

Apparently having not much damage this time due to no weapons involved and yet shifting back quite tired due it been a while since doing that, “Only one that messes with Lucifer, is me… fun wrestling in bed or whatever else he desires. Oh dear… falling… oof!” face planting into the dirt with a squeak while his hat plopped to the side while so tired and not moving around much but breathing fine thankfully.

[toribookworm22]

Listen. I've had The Tortured Poets Department on loop since it came out. I really really love it and only love it more with each repeat.

So. Here's my First Listen Notes:

Fortnight

What a way to start an album: I was supposed to be sent away. But they forgot to come and get me.

Love the synth rise and the beat drop

Post Malone's voice sounds SO good!

The Tortured Poets Department

Like who uses typewriters anyway 😆

Who else decodes you

No-fucking-body

Oooh the drop... it's so sad and quiet 🥺

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys

Oooh fun beat

I'm queen of sandcastles he destroys 😲

He saw forever so he smashed it up 😶

Daaaaaamn

Down Bad

Digging this soft music, okay

The chimes!!

THE CHORUS

So fuck you if I can't have us

The bridge instrumentation

OOOOH IT GOES OUT OF TUNE

So Long, London

The choral sound!!!

The ramp up!!!

How much sad did you think I had in me

Oh this is gutwrenching

I'm just mad as hell cause I loved this place

But Daddy I Love Him

No I'm not but you should see your faces 😄

An adult Love Story

It's my own disgrace

I love this

Fresh Out The Slammer

Ooh twangy first beat

Tone shift hello

I did my time 🥺

FLORIDA!!!

THE DRUMS

Ooooh Florence's voice

Somehow it sounds like both of their songs????

Guilty as Sin?

How can I be guilty as sin?

What if the way you hold me actually was holy

Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?

Villain Song! Villain Song!

You don't get to tell me about sad

Sounds old country

If you wanted me dead you should've just said

So I leap from the gallows

WHOS AFRAID OF LITTLE OLD ME (you should be)

What the hell?!?!

Was it a wonder I broke

I was tame I was gentle

Well you should be

The lowering beats!!!

Then I'm fearsome and I'm wretched

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

Love the old country open

Almost ghostly

Your good lord doesn't need to lift a finger

I can handle me a dangerous man (no really I can)

Woah maybe I cant!!!

loml

Aww it's just piano

Who's gonna stop us from waltzing into rekindled flames if we know the steps anyway 🥺

I felt a glow like this never before and never since

Still alive and killing time at the cemetery

Holy ghost you told me I'm the love of your life 😭

She's so sad...

What we thought was for all time was momentary

Mr. Steal your girl then make her cry

Talking rings and talking cradles

Something counterfeit's dead

Oh my good god I want to analyze this my goodness

You're the loss of my life 😭 Taylor no!!

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart

It sounds like pool in the background

Very 80s arcade glitch pop

I'm a real tough kid I can handle my shit

He said. He'd love. Me all. His life.

I'm so depressed I act like it's my birthday 🤣

No, not depression pop!

I can hold my breath; I've been doing it since he left

Taylor I've never understood you more 🤦‍♀️

You know you're good when you can even do it with a broken heart

You know you're good! I'm good

Cause I'm miserable

And nobody even knows!

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

The exhale no!

Who the fuck was that guy

They just ghosted you now you know what that's like 😲

I don't even want you back I just want to know

🫢

This is the most sadly disappointed jab of a song I've ever heard

WERE YOU SENT BY SOMEONE

IN 50 YEARS WILL THIS ALL BE DECLASSIFIED

AND ILL SAY GOOD RIDDANCE

I WOULDVE DIED FOR YOUR SINS

YOULL SLIDE INTO INBOXES AND BETWEEN BARS

You kicked out the stage lights but you're still performing

And I'll forget you but I'll never forgive

Hot damn.

Claiming this as mine yes please

The Alchemy

But I'm coming back so strong

Honestly who are we to fight the alchemy

But I'm making a comeback to where I belong

He jokes that it's heroin but this time with an e

Where's the trophy he just comes running to me

Clara Bow

Ooh windup

Yes guitar!!! Love this intro!!

This sounds so indie and small I love it

Soft and comforting

Take the glory give everything

The crown is stained but you're the real thing

Oooh some small town lore

Hello something reminiscent of The Lucky One

Character Song Acquired

It's. Hell. On. Earth. To. Be. Heavenly.

You've got edge she never did

What a way to end that song damn

The Black Dog

Sad piano no

You forgot to turn it off

Her voice sounds so fragile

Until it doesn't!

Old habits die SCREAMING!!!

YESSSSSSSS

okay miss back to soft but slowly growing

Her voice is so earnest

Yes the beats are so good!

Six weeks of breathing clean air

Beat change!!!!!!

Screeeeeeeeeaaaaaammmmiiiiing

And I hope you heeeeeeeeeeaaaaaar it

And I hope it's shitty in The Black Dog

Keep the beat going!!! Yes!!!

I adore this so so much

The last screaming is WHISPERED!!!???! what!??!

Top songs. I'm calling it.

imgonnagetyouback

I hear you 1989 energy

And I'll tell you one thing honey delivery stunning

Ooh okay!

Sparkly alright okay!

Instrumentation is so fun

I'm loving the ultimatums 😆

Even if it's handcuffed I'm LEAVING HERE WITH YOU

pick your poison babe I'm poison either way

Cut the music alright!

The Albatross

Ooooh this is so pretty already!

I love the softness contrasted with the short lines

She's the albatross she is here to destroy you

One less temptress one less dagger to sharpen

And they tried to warn you about me

And I tried to warn you about them!

I'm the life you chose and all these terrible dangers

So cross your thoughtless heart

Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus

Simple instrumentation

Oh but I love the title drop

If you wanna break my cold cold heart just say I loved you the way that you were

If you wanna tear my world apart just say you've always wondered

I changed into goddesses villains and fools

Will that make your memory fade from this scarlet maroon

Cause I wonder

Will I always wonder

How Did It End?

Oooh no I'm scared

The piano is scaring me already

No not oh-oh's

We hereby conduct this post-mordem

We must know... how did it end?

Oh-oh oh-ohhhhhhhh

Her backing vocals are so gorgeous

Lot the game of chance what are the chances

Walking in circles like she was lost

Didn't you hear they called it all off

One gasp then how did it end?

Ooh key change oh no

My beloved ghost and me sitting in a tree d-y-i-n-g

But I still don't know how did it end?

I didnt understand until I did hot damn

So High School

Ooooh the instrumentation sounds so 2000s!!!!

That just soft pop rock energy

Bittersweet 16 suddenly

I love the contrast between her soft airy vocals and her gritty lows

Are you gonna marry kiss or kill me

You know how to bottle I know Aristotle

I feel... like laughing

And in the blink of a crinkling eye

Such a sweet grinning song

Sounds like she's really recapturing something teenage

I Hate It Here

Quick quick (lyrics before music what??)

Tell me something awful like you are a poet

When I was a precocious child

Small town fears

Cause I hate it here

Everyone would look down cause it wasn't fun now seems like it was never even fun back then

Only the gentle survived

I'm made most of the year

This is really really pretty

A fun I was a quietly angry child song

This place made me feel worthless

She sounds timeless

This could actually be a kids movie song with this lullaby like instrumentation

thanK you aIMee

(Her first play on capitalization?)

And I forget the way you made me feel

Screaming fuck you Aimee

Ooh I like the build

Nice build!!! Oooh so fun!

But she used to say she wished you were dead 🫢

I built a legacy that you can't undo

That there wouldn't be this if there hadn't been you

Miss Taylor did you write a whole new bully song for me??? A la Mean???

I don't think you've changed much do I changed your name

Only us two are gonna know is about you

Soft and powerful

Like every kid who came out of bullying with a kinder heart

I Look In People's Windows

Ooh fun instru- wait wait what? That glitch of a noise? Hello?

I'm afflicted by the not knowing

Backing vocals! Fun noise!

The music is sounding a little more strangled okay!

I'm addicted to the if only

Music leaves her isolated when she calls herself weird hmmm subtext there

The Prophecy

Country sings again with the indie guitar

I got cursed like eve got bitten

A lesser of a woman would've lost hope a greater woman would've begged

Ooh the begging is so pretty

Sounds a prayer for real

Feeling like the very last drops of an ink pen

Gathered with a coven round

But even statues crumble if they're made to wait

Spending my last coins so someone will tell me it'll be okay

And said *please*

Cassandra

Oooh follow piano notes

Build some strings okay

When it's burn the bitch they're shrieking

When the truth comes out it's quiet

So they killed Cassandra first

So they killed my cell with snakes I regret to say do you believe me now

What happens if it becomes who you are

So they set my life in flames I'm scared to say do you believe me now

Bloods thick but nothing like a payroll

It's so sad but still powerful like Greek mythology I guess

Ooh but the gravel on "heard"

I think I hear static like fire in the background at the end

Peter

Oooh okay some powerful piano notes alright

Love this instrumentation

Is it something I did

I thought it was just goodbye for now

Said you were gonna grow up then you were gonna come find me

Such a simple melody I love it

We said it was just goodbye for now

And I won't confess that I waited

Cause loves never lost when perspective is earned

Lost to the lost boys chapter of your life

But the woman who waits by the window has turned out the light

The Bolter

Oooooh

Okay I'm here for this alright

Storytelling like folklore!!!

Behind her back her best friends laughed

It's cheery but so devastating my goodness

All her fucking lives passed before her eyes

Oooh ramp up a little with some subtle beats

She's been many places

Yes ramp up

Chariots are waiting

There's a scape in escaping

But she's got the best story

Robin

(In here for all the names okay)

No sad piano!!!

Long note no!!!

You are bloodthirsty (ethereal version)

This is so pretty

The softest battle cry

It's nostalgic power?

We all vowed to keep it from you in sweetness

Is this like you did a good job being sweet now be angry?

You have no room in your dreams for regret

You'll learn to bounce back like you trampoline

This is such a be whatever kind of kid you wanna be

The Manuscript

One note and I'm crying

Love the isolated notes Oh my gosh

Love this end already

Now and then she rereads the manuscript

In the age of him she wished she was 30

Afterwards she only ate kids cereal

She wasn't sure

Okay some growing notes yes! Grow power

The professor said to write what you know

Looking backwards may be the only way to move forward

And at last she knew what the agony had been for

The only that's left is the manuscript

But the story isn't mine anymore

That is a... okay, wait... that's a really really good way to end this album... I need time to digest that actually... hold on...