#mine:writing

[chloebeale]

where are you while i'm wonderin' if i'll ever see you again (1/1)

RATING: T. PAIRING: Bechloe. WORDS: 16.3K. SUMMARY: A missed flight, an unwanted upgrade, a wedding and a girl who just won't leave her mind. NOTES: Events—but not characters nor their actions—based on Love At First Sight (2023).

***

It struck Beca, as wheels touched tarmac and the captain’s voice sounded over the speaker letting them know the local time and temperature, that this brief encounter really was a brief encounter. Once they departed the plane and went their separate ways, it was likely Beca wouldn’t see these passengers again. She wouldn’t see Chloe again. Something about the realization made her feel uneasy. Enough so that as the seatbelt sign dinged back off and everybody began to rise, an uncharacteristic wave of courage flooded through Beca. “Hey, um…I know this is kinda weird,” she began, attempting to keep her tone light and breezy. “But I was wondering—” Chloe, mid-pulling a thick, fleeced hoodie from her backpack, paused to give Beca her attention. “Hm?” “—If, I don’t know, maybe I could…get your number?” To begin with, Chloe’s softening expression confused Beca. She couldn’t tell whether it was a look of pity, like maybe Beca had read their chemistry wrong and Chloe felt too sorry for her to say no right away, or whether her smile was genuine. “Of course you can,” Chloe eventually said. It was only then, when her shoulders relaxed and she released a long exhale, that Beca realized she’d been holding her breath. “Here, hand me your phone.”

READ ON AO3!

[leanderfields]

SYNOPSIS: No song lasts forever. Not even a sparrow’s.

C/W: Ais x gn!reader, reader is MC with the curse and all, angst/tragedy- it’s fluffy until it’s not, a few innuendos if you squint, Leander makes an appearance, so does Princess and Vere, spoilers for the red choice in Ais’s demo route, mentions of blood, mild depictions of violence (more like the aftermath; I personally think it’s minor but just in case), written before the full game has been released so some creative liberties were taken when writing about Hightown and the Amaryllis District, more or less my rendition of an early bad ending for Ais, largely inspired by Enna Alouette's Wish of this Songbird

A/N: When you blog is Leander themed, but your first official post is about Ais and it's angst... haha whoops ─=≡Σᕕ(σ‿‿σ)ᕗ

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drip. 

Ais took yet another drag on his cigarette, exhaling with an indolent puff of smoke. This one looks like Princess, he thought. The Soulless let out a reverberating purr on his lap.  

“You think so too, huh?” he grinned, scratching the top of her head. The other hand crushed the butt of the cigarette beneath his heel. That was enough of playing with smoke for now. Any more then he would have to make a trip to Lowtown before the sun sets. Bars weren’t fun during the day, but the streets were livelier according to a certain mage. The idea of running into familiar faces while taking a leisurely stroll didn’t seem that bad either. 

Ais drove the cigarette butt deeper into his heel. Well, it’s not like he could leave right now. 

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Pant. Pant.

Princess sprung off his lap, wooden panels creaking as she bounced towards the Seaspring’s entrance. Her tail swayed back and forth and her tendrils followed in suit. Ais reached for an extra floor pillow. Must be someone she liked. 

“Ais! Are you home?” a cheery voice chirped between Princess’s purrs. 

The demon smirked, hoisting himself up the rafters. He shifted into a comfortable position and propped his head onto the back of his hand. The beams rasped under his weight. His crimson eyes flickered to his Soulless pet who was quick to follow his trail, leading a cloaked figure to a tea set in between two hastily arranged floor pillows. 

“Ais! I know you’re home!” 

Princess gave him an eager stare. He put a finger to his lips and tossed the Soulless a treat from up above, one she happily scarfed down.

“Ai–”

“You should try looking up more, sparrow.”

“Well, hosts usually don’t greet guests from up above,” you said, pulling your hood down to meet his gaze, revealing bright eyes full of wonder and hope. Eyes that bored into his blood-red, piercing orbs. Ais saw them one too many times before they were engulfed by the same crimson that colored these eerily still waters. 

“Who said you’re my guest?”

“If I recall, your exact words were ‘you know where to find me.’” You crossed your arms. 

Ais sighed and jumped off the rickety rafter. The wood creaked beneath his feet and the waters rippled across the spring as he towered over you. His lips were on the verge of smiling. 

“Still not my guest though.”

“Even if I made a decision?”

“Even if you made a decision,” he flashed his fangs at you with a grin. You rolled your eyes and took a seat on one of the floor pillows. Princess trotted over to your side. Her tail continued to wag while you hummed a sweet song, pouring tea into two cups. Someone’s in a good mood. You were fairly relaxed despite dubbing the Seaspring as “the creepiest place in the world”. 

“So what’s your verdict?” he asked. 

“The tea is oversteeped,” you quipped, handing him a cup.

“That’s no way to treat a host,” Ais said, taking a generous sip of the moderately oversteeped tea.

“I thought I wasn’t a guest?”

Ais glanced at his cup, the floor pillows and the Soulless who seemed to enjoy your company more than his. He crouched down, meeting you at eye level. You flinched the moment his fingers made contact with your forehead. “You also thought I was a host.”

“Resorting to violence, already?” you giggled, rubbing your forehead. It differed from the crude laugh you let out when he told you about Ocudeus. This laugh was an endearing sing-songed melody that filled the empty spring with the same wonder and hope in your eyes. Ais’s own eyes lingered on the distinctly pink area of your skin. 

“Answer the question, sparrow.”

Your laughter halted. The mirth fell from your face as quickly as it came. You coughed and cleared your throat, “I’ve been thinking about what you said last night.”

“Said a lot of things last night,” Ais said dryly. He made three bad impressions during your first encounter. Many things had gone awry last night at the Wet Wick. Would that be the fourth or fifth bad impression he’s made since meeting you? It was an average bar brawl for him, but not for a newcomer as soft as you were. He flexed his bandaged hand. Well, maybe you weren’t that soft. 

“The thing you said about my curse… ‘Is the thought of living with it so unbearable?’”

“What about it?”

“I’ve been thinking about the things you said after that,” you paused to glance at him, but your eyes were quick to retreat back to your twiddled thumbs, “I’ve survived this far with it… but I don’t want others to suffer because of my curse.”

Ais’s lips morph into a visible frown, “So you want to take a drink.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Implied it.”

“I… want to find alternatives. Vere agreed to introduce me to some people from the Senobium.”

His frown deepened. You were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for all the wrong reasons. Though he can’t say that he isn’t fond of your chirpier side. The people of Eridia were typically solemn, apprehensive or the occasional thorn in the flesh.  

“The Senobium’s bad news,” he muttered. Ais’s crimson orbs glowered at the mention of the academy. You shrunk at the face of his deadly glare. “Seriously, sparrow.”

“It’s a little better than losing a bit of this,” you tapped the side of your temple, a gibe at the same gesture he used to explain the price of drinking from the spring.

“You’d be losing far more.”

“At least I won’t lose my shitty attitude.”. 

You were always the one to roll your eyes— always annoyed, and short-tempered, but it was Ais’s turn to roll his eyes now. “You want to keep that of all things?”

“Yes, some people happen to like it,” you beamed, jabbing a finger at his side. Your touch was as light as a feather.  

“I’m the only person who said that.”

“Verbally, yes, but I think others might like me too.”

“Oh? Like who?”

“Leander.”

A deep chuckle escaped Ais’s lips. He threw his head back with a rumble, his horns scraping against one of the wooden beams. The spring water swelled beneath him and his tea had run cold. Princess snorted as well. 

“What’s so funny?” you asked, tilting your head.  

“He’s friendly with everyone. Don’t let it get to your head.”

“It’s not getting to my head.” 

Ais hummed nonchalantly, pouring himself a bit more tea. The contents of the teapot had also run cold, but the demon continued to drain every last drop of the murky liquid into his cup. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

He raised his cup, “Sorry. Did you want some?”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I should be going now.”

“So soon?”

Words ran out of his mouth before he could catch them, but you put your hand up, a futile attempt to stop them dead in their tracks. “I just wanted to let you know about my decision. I’d rather not keep you.”

And yet they kept running. 

“Not like I got many things to do here,” Ais shrugged. 

“I’ve got many things to do in Lowtown.” 

Ais grunted and pushed himself off the ground. He smoothed his hands over his trousers, brushing off invisible crumbs. Then, he offered you a hand. 

“We’ll walk you back.” 

You checked your bandages before taking his hand. He squeezed your hand before pulling you up to your feet. You return the gesture, squeezing his own bandaged hand. The demon firmly squeezed your hand once again, as if he wanted the last laugh. Ais then turned his attention to Princess and whistled. At the signal, the Soulless rose to all fours. Her tendrils unfurled and coiled around his forearm as she trotted over to his side.

“Wanna go for a walk?” he cooed.

While Princess purred and her tail wagged rapidly, bewilderment washed over your face. You never heard Ais engage in baby talk. Few people have, but their expressions were always the same. A big, bad monster coddling another big, bad monster? How strange. How absurd!

“Oh, yes you do! Yes, you do!” 

You burst into a fit of laughter again. Princess cocked her head, looking up at her owner for an answer. Ais shook his head and scratched her chin. 

“I’m sorry,” you gasped between your giggles, “It’s just– ha– so silly!”

“Take your time, sparrow.”

“Sorry, sorry! I’m done now.” you said, wiping a single tear from the corner of your eye. Ais smirked. Sparrow sure was a fitting name for you– who always twittered in short, abrupt bursts. 

“After you.”

He pulled you towards him with a languid tug of his arm. His large hands stiffly held yours as he guided you towards the Seaspring’s entrance. The warmth of his hands seeped through your bandages. Princess trailed behind you, prancing along the wooden panels. You stared into the crimson water, the rafters, the talismans on the wooden frames– things that haven’t changed since your last visit to the spring or perhaps for a long, long time. The water formed small waves unnaturally and other Soulless creatures held your stare with a watchful, famished gazes. Shuddering, you turned your attention back to Ais.

Sunlight traced the edges of the entrance and as you neared the opening, the soft yellow rays kissed Ais’s sharp features, highlighting his jaw, nose and horns. He squinted in the harsh lighting, bringing his other hand to shield his eyes. You drew the hood of your cloak up. Princess dashed past your reluctant figures and leaped straight into the sun’s embrace. She let out a bark that sounded like a meow and, much to Ais’s dismay, stomped her legs in the bog’s muddy waters, urging the both of you to continue walking. 

“You heard the boss,” he pointed. 

You nodded and followed Princess. She was several meters ahead. Still in sight, but far enough to not eavesdrop. Not that Soulless creatures could listen in on conversations. Even if they could, there would be nothing to note. No words were exchanged between you and Ais. Your hands were still intertwined. Ais stole glances at you while you were engrossed in the horizon where Eridia stood proud and tall. At this angle, it looked like the sun was balancing on top of the city’s highest point– the Senobium’s spire. His eyes narrowed. He could hardly understand why anyone wanted to go to such a gloomy place. 

“Will you be at the Wet Wick tonight?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Ais clicked his tongue and averted his eyes to the side, “Depends.”

“Depends?”

“Might be there. Might not.”

“I see,” you smiled. Your eyes fixed themselves on the horizon and you both trudged across the mucky terrain in a stalemate of sounds. If the Soulless couldn’t find anything to note, perhaps crickets would. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. 

Ais pressed his lips together as the bartender poured his umpteenth glass of whiskey. He sighed. Ais had only known you for two days, but there was something about your response earlier that lacked the usual bite and spite you had. The hell did you mean by “I see”? Were you finally at ease with his presence? Were you simply relieved that he wasn’t going to be there tonight? Another bad impression? He shook his head. It didn’t matter what you thought of him. At the very least, you weren’t pissing yourself at the sight of him. 

“Something on your mind?” Leander’s peart voice chimed in. He patted Ais on the back with a firm smack before he slung an arm around his broad shoulders. The demon glanced at him, raising a brow. He had one of those chewy shots in his hands again. Ais licked his fangs. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Leander put his hands up defensively, “I’m not trying to pry! You just… seem a bit glum over here… in the corner.” His voice trailed off at the latter half. 

“No one to pick a fight with.”

“Well, there’s always some friendly arm wrestling matches here. Or maybe some tabletop card games?” 

“You just don’t want to pay for everyone’s drinks again.”

“I could pay for your next one,” he offered. 

Leander caught the glass in his hand when the bartender slid it over. He nodded at her and she seemed to have gotten the memo. Shouts erupted from the Bloodhounds by the door. Someone had scored in whatever game they were playing. The mage’s emerald eyes darted to his companions then back to Ais. 

“Duty calls.”

After another pat on Ais’s back, Leander was gone as quickly as he came. He jumped onto a table in the center, chanted something, raising his chewy shot glass and the crowd joined him. Claps, stomps, and hollers. Looks like he’s paying for everyone’s drinks again after all. Ais raised his glass a beat later than the Bloodhounds. He didn’t clap, stomp or holler, but the occasion was something worth celebrating. Free whiskey was better than cheap booze. 

Ice clinked as he set his glass down and wood creaked. Weird. He was familiar with the sound of wood crepitating, but that sound was reserved for the rafters in the Seaspring. The Wet Wick was home to the sound of wood breaking. If wood were to creak here, the only source would be that dilapidated door. Not from the roof. 

Ais leaned back against the bar counter and turned his head upward, to the sound of creaking wood. And there you were– standing on the stair landing, leaning against the railing. He tipped his head further back. You craned your neck, bringing your face closer to his, albeit at an awkward perpendicular angle. You smiled like you had struck gold. Your hair tickled his cheeks. He never paid any mind to the Wet Wick’s second floor, but he made a note to remember it now. The stairwell was also dilapidated. 

“Evening, sparrow.”

“I take it you were in the mood to come?” 

“Drinks were on Leander.”

“I see.”

There it was again. That damned “I see”. What the hell did you see? His eyes flickered over to your figure which was no longer cloaked. Your hair was disheveled, hands still covered like a maiden, and a yawn gracing your features as you approached the bar stool beside him. He saw something, alright. 

“Sleep well?” 

“Like a corpse.”

“That tired, huh?”

“I had a lot of errands to run today.”

You lunged forward and reached for a beer stein, a pitcher of water and a bottle of fruit wine behind the counter and poured yourself a helping amount of each into the mug. The barmaid paid no mind to you or your bizarre concoction. She continued polishing glasses as if you were a trick of the light. She must’ve seen combinations far more peculiar than diluted wine in a mug. 

Ais swirled his whiskey, “Got a side hustle, already?”

“I guess you could say that. I’ve been taking some odd jobs. Information is worth its weight in gold here and I need information more than anything. Of course… you’d already know that,” you said, placing your hand onto your cheek. 

“Hard not to know when you keep pestering me for some.” 

“Not anymore! You can keep your spring secrets.”

“There were no secrets. Told you everything you needed to know.”

“Yeah, in the vaguest way possible,” you deadpanned.

“Did you not learn anything at all here?”

“Excuse me?”

There was the bite and spite you had. He was starting to miss it. He worried you’d pick up some of the insipid Hightown mannerisms, but it was for naught. You were still the spitfire. Ais smirked, “You just said information was worth its weight in gold. I know none of your secrets yet you keep asking for mine.”

You frowned at a loss for words. He was right. Though, you didn’t have anything to share that was worth even a sliver of copper. Nothing interesting. Nothing groundbreaking. Nothing that would turn a few heads. Save for your curse, but Ais figured that your curse laid in your molten hands from just a glimpse so that was off the table.

“What would you like to know?” you asked, silently resigned. 

“Nothing.” 

“Then why did you make a big fuss about secrets?” 

Ais’s smile reached his ears. Your voice was nearing a shout. A rosy tint crept up your cheeks. The bar was dull in terms of entertainment on the weekdays– no roughnecks or angry sleazers–  but seeing you worked up was a sight for sore eyes.  

“You called the kettle black. Kettle’s gotta retaliate.” 

“What if I want to know more about the kettle?”

“Thought you were done with the spring.”

“I am, but I want to know more about you.”

Your smile matched his, reaching ear to ear or higher if Ais’s eyes didn’t deceive him. The demon hummed, fiddling with his silver pendant that dangled by his sternum. He was feigning deliberation, but you leaned in on his sea-glass colored bicep, humming along. A sweet harmony to contrast his timbre, ushering him to a conclusion.

“Shoot,” Ais grinned. 

“Why don’t you live in the city?” You pushed yourself off his arm. Your curious eyes leveled with his. 

“Don’t think people here like my pets much.”

The Bloodhounds seemingly roared in affirmation. Another point scored in their vapid game. Timing was great. Ais swirled his whiskey again. Its amber color mellowed out to a muted brownish-yellow. The ice had melted.

“You live out there for your pets? Isn’t it lonely?”

“My pets are good company and… I go out at night.”

“If you feel like it.”

“Especially if I feel like it.”

“So it’s not that lonely out there?”

“Being alone and being lonely are two different things, sparrow.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Is that what you think?.”

“So yes?” you tried again.

He shook his head. You opened your mouth and formed a slight “O” shape before closing it. Ais propped his head onto his knuckles and continued, “Can’t be alone or lonely with my pets and my friend.” He tapped his temple. You rolled your eyes. 

“Your friend talks?”

“‘Course they do.”

He let your snickers slip past his sharp ears. You still thought he had a screw loose up there despite him being dead serious. You, on the other hand, were dying from disbelief and laughter, but it didn’t matter if you believed him or not. If he showed you, you’d be as aimless as the Soulless or worse– pronounced as dead. Fortunately for you, he reserved Ocudeus for special once-in-a blue-moon occasions and tonight was a new moon… so he’ll play along with you. Yeah, he’s got an imaginary friend. They hit up the bar every other night and have a grand old time. The sea-glass ink that snaked around his arm was a matching tattoo with a drinking buddy whose name had long been forgotten. 

“What about you? Curse aside, why are you in Eridia?” Ais asked once your hysterics simmered down.

“I’m only here because of my curse,” you replied coolly. 

“Going home after you’re cured?”

You blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice. Ais’s eyes never left you– like a vulture waiting on your last breath. Looks like he hit the nail on the head. Not that it was hard to miss. You were easy to read. If his heart was on his sleeve, yours was on a platter. 

“I guess not.” 

“No family?”

“Something like that.”

“So you’re a runaway,” he reckoned. 

Your eyes fell to the table and then to Ais’s metal-clad fingers which were drumming on the wooden surface.

“Got it wrong?” 

“No, I mean, you were spot on. Intuition’s good.”

“Thanks. Got it from my friend.”

“Pft– does your friend know anything else about me?”

“You’re good company,” Ais said.

“Oh yeah?”

“Bites and barks the same amount. Terrible taste in drinks, but you hold a decent conversation so… that makes up for it.”

“I’ll have you know that my tas– hic!”

Your hands were quick to clamp over your mouth. Muffled “hics” periodically bypassed your bandaged fingers despite your vain efforts. Beside you, Ais was doing his darndest to maintain a neutral expression. His lips were pressed together tightly as if all of his teeth would fall out if he were to open his mouth. 

Hic. Hic. Hic.

Ais had failed. A snort filled your ears. You shot him the deadliest glare you could muster, but it had no effect on him. His smirk was as smug as always. He locked eyes with you, taking your cup and filling it with water from a nearby pitcher. Maybe with a little too much water. The contents sloshed around the rim and splashed onto the table once he set it down. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

He gestured at the mug, “Need to be fed too?”

Your lips curved upward beneath your hands, shaking your head “no”. Ais motioned at the cup once again. This time, you obliged. You lowered your bandaged fingers and wrapped them around the mug. Excess water leaked into the gauze as you gulped down half the pint in hopes of quelling your antsy diaphragm. 

“You a lightweight?”

“Didn’t drink much back home.” You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. The hiccups seemed to have subsided. You exhaled in relief and hoped that your embarrassment hadn’t traveled too far up your cheeks. 

“No one to drink with?”

“More like… I didn’t go out much.”

“Good thing you’re free as a bird now.”

You smiled, “Yeah, I can go anywhere I want.”

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. 

Ais pinched the bridge of his nose as the gutter above his head pelted him with cold droplets of water. Stormy clouds invited themselves to Eridia over the course of the night, but they couldn’t decide whether they wanted to rain or not. They sprinkled a bit of rain here and some there, but showers never lasted more than five minutes. Even a man past his prime could last longer than these “storms”. The demon sidestepped the gutter and set his foot straight into a puddle. He scowled. 

A little water didn’t hurt Ais. In fact, he liked the rain… just not when he was cradling a flimsy paper bag filled with gourmet dog biscuits. He would rather have shrimp cocktails for breakfast, lunch, and dinner than to make another trip to Hightown and talk to that snobby baker again. 

…Maybe that was a stretch. His Soulless pets deserved the best and Ais would rather bite his own tongue than let seafood get anywhere near his mouth. One shrimp cocktail was enough for a lifetime. Dealings with an elitist dragged on for only a few minutes. Seconds if Ais skipped their hoity-toity pleasantries and opted to use his fists instead– a thought he entertained from time to time after one too many “please” and “thank you's”. It was more or less an intrusive thought, a controlled impulse. Ais was more than happy to wipe the disdain off that baker’s face with a solid punch, but then Princess wouldn’t have any fancy treats for when she was on her best behavior. He clicked his tongue. For her, he would be on his best behavior too.

The sun peaked out from the ashen clouds, shining a bit of light onto Ais’s path as if the sky was seeking penance for ruining his early morning shopping trip. He turned his head. He stared too long again. Even if shrouded by clouds, the sun was always there. Nothing special. His hurried steps padded the cobblestone road with a steady rhythm. His back faced the pearly bridge that connected Hightown to Lowtown. Ais adjusted the bag in his arms as he made his way through the maze of flood-eroded buildings.  

Highborn nobles would be appalled at the sight of Lowtown, but this was Ais’s turf. No pleasantries. People here were blunt enough to let the money talk. Business was business. No “please” or “thank you’s”. You only needed to pay. If you didn’t want to pay, you exchanged information or goods. A brawl also doubled as a negotiation. A shame folks here were scared shitless of the Soulless. 

Hu. Tu. Du, du, du, du. 

Ais stopped. His crimson eyes casted their gaze to an alleyway that bisected the deserted Lowtown street that led to the spring and the lively Amaryllis District. He spun his heel and looked up at the gilded buildings of Hightown then back to the alleyway. A detour wouldn’t hurt. The Amaryllis District was closer to the bog than that bakery was. Besides, he hadn’t been there in a while. A change of pace was much needed.The walk home would be less lonely too. The district never slept. 

La, du, du, du, du. 

This tune… 

The Seaspring was home to a few, repetitive sounds: The blood-red waters dripping and rippling from seepage, the purrs and growls of the Soulless and hushed whispers. When one ventured out to the Wet Wick, they, too, heard a few, repetitive sounds: alcohol being poured and measuredly sipped, the shouts and hollers of those who had one too many drinks, and faint murmurs. 

There was not much of a difference in terms of sound between the spring and the city (save for Hightown’s polite contempt for commotion and the entertainment district’s hustle and bustle) but Ais knew a sparrow’s song when he heard one. He was sure of it– not that he was a musical prodigy or any sort. The song was unfamiliar, but he knew the sound of your voice. He never took you for a singer, but he also didn’t take you for a lightweight. He bet you never took him for the type to spoil his pets rotten either. 

He smirked as he squeezed himself through the narrow passage. 

A  flurry of colors greeted him at the end of the tunnel like a gust of wind. Cerulean and coral lanterns strung themselves from building to building. Booths lined the street with an array of pastel tents. The avenue was nothing short of paintings, artisan goods, hand-crafted trinkets and gadgets. Street food vendors were also up and running, undeterred by the untimely hour. The elephant in the room was a large shell-pink tent sat in the middle of the plaza. People flocked and filed themselves around a ticket booth. The sign by the entrance read something along the lines of “troupe”. The fuss rushed past Ais, failing to rope him in. 

His main attraction was a lone stall several paces to his right. The stand was further from its competitors, but it was as busy as any other booth in the district. Tables and benches lined its perimeter. Most of them were occupied. Some had wax candles and pressed flowers while others had glass and frayed paint brushes. Ais scanned the area and smiled, eyes landing on a bench in the corner. It was you, alright. The tune you were humming increased in volume as he tip-toed towards your table. Your back was facing him, immersed in your art project. Your hood was drawn up as well, but he caught sight of your bandages. You were trying to be discreet, but you stood out like a sore thumb to him. The Amaryllis District was vivacious and colorful. Even the air smelled colorful. You, on the other hand, were as ominous as a disciple of death– black cloak, half of your features shrouded by a cowl, and hands wrapped in gauze. And you had the gall to call the Seaspring creepy? The superstitious folks would’ve believed you if you came knocking on their door one day and told them their time was up. 

But as luck would have it, Ais never bought into that sort of bullshit. And you were scary as a rabbit. Mischief spread across his face. 

He pulled your hood down, earning a squeaky yelp from you. His hand was quick to clamp over your mouth, but nevertheless, a couple of heads turned– including yours. 

“Easy. It’s just me.”

You nodded and pulled your hood back up with a huff. He removed his hand from your mouth, barely dodging the daggers you glared at him. He grinned. 

“Top o’ the morning to you too, sparrow.”

You cocked your head. Ais put a hand behind his neck and cleared his throat. His gaze averted yours. 

“Learned something last week. Means good morning.”

“Couldn’t you just say ‘good morning’?” you muttered. 

“Gets boring.”

You rolled your eyes and returned to the glass bottle in your hand. It was short and stout, snuggly fit into your palm. He peered over your shoulder and caught a glimpse of a trio of birds flying over an ocean that was a work in progress. He frowned, realizing your little work song had ceased. He set his dog biscuits by your paint palette. You raised an eyebrow at the paper bag. 

“For Princess,” he explained.

“Has she been well?”

“The good-est girl.”

“And you?”

“The good-est boy.”

“The best,” you joked.

Ais rested his head on the base of his palm and watched you add strokes of blue to your ocean. It was a shade darker than the other blues. It reminded him of Mhin’s cape. He grimaced. It reminded him of one of those rare nights in Eridia where the skies were clear enough to see the stars. His eyes trailed up to the stormy clouds. He won’t be seeing any stars anytime soon. When Ais turned his attention back to you, you had moved onto a lighter blue. 

“You an artist?” 

“Dabbled in it.”

“How ‘bout a singer?”

“I don’t sing.”

“Could’ve sworn you just were.”

“You misheard,” you said with finality.

“Did not.” He paused, then added, “Got sharp ears.” Ais pointed to his ears. They were indeed sharp– as most of his features were. Perhaps the only thing that wasn’t sharp about him was the ink on his arms. 

He was met with silence and took it as an invitation to continue prodding at you. 

“Okay then do you hum?”

Your lips were taut. Your brows knitted together in contemplation. Then, they relaxed. Ais smiled as you reluctantly nodded. The movement was incredibly subtle. If he blinked, he would’ve missed his prize..  

“It sounded nice.” 

“You think?” Your back straightened. 

“Yeah, could’ve taken you for a performer here.” 

“Now you’re just flattering me.”

“Honest, sparrow.”

“I thought about it before… back home… being a performer– even an artist,” you gestured at your glass with your paintbrush, "But I had… another role to play.”

You tucked your hair behind your ear and swapped the blue paint out for an off-white color, sketching sea foam onto your ocean waves. A secret was on the tip of your tongue. 

“Not anymore though, right?”

You nodded. Free as a bird, you thought. You angled the glass to finish up some details. You were by no means talented. It was nothing worth auctioning or featuring in a gallery, but it was something you enjoyed, something you hoped to improve at. You found yourself coming to this booth more often than you’d like to admit. The owner knew your face and you had a collection of painted glass bottles tucked away in your room at the Wet Wick. 

“Do you come here often?” you asked, changing the subject.

“Only to see a friend.”

You turned your head to the building with pink curtains. His eyes narrowed. 

“Not like that, sparrow.” 

“You were misleading,” you shrugged.

“This district’s alright. Too perfumy though,” Ais elaborated. A philanderer was not going on his mental tally of bad impressions on you. He’d like to keep the numbers at a humble three or four. He had causal relationships in the past, but not to that extent. It’s been a while too so it didn't count. That title was more suitable for other people. He could name a few off the top of his head, but he’ll do you a solid favor and keep those names to himself. 

“You don’t come here often because of the smell–”

“Too strong on the nose.” He tapped his nose for good measure.

“When you live by a swamp?” You finished.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The water smells… strange there. It’s not like the river here.”

He knew what you meant. He knew the smell. He was certain you did too. You knew that smell all too well, considering you were welcomed by it on your first day in this city. It followed you as much as it followed him. Neither of you said a thing. Not a word or a whisper. A topic like that matched the somber skies, but clashed with the vitality of the arts and entertainment district. 

“Smells fine to me.”

“That’s because you live by it!”

Ais smirked. 

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drip.  

Those pesky gray clouds have finally decided to cry their eyes out after two days of dilly dallying in the sky, submerging Lowtown with their tears. The ramshackle districts of Eridia were no stranger to floods. It was something the people had grown used to, looked forward to even. Floods may destroy a few buildings or dent a couple of roofs, but they also wash away the pungent smell of blood and death. The downpour was so strong that the Soulless avoided the city. The people were free to wander about at night, albeit with a few limitations. There was not a single booth set up in the Amaryllis District. It was the only time the plaza got a wink of sleep. Well, most of the district. A handful of lights were still on and all pink curtains were drawn, a sign they could go all night long if they wanted to– rain or shine. That wasn’t the case for most stores in Lowtown. Most closed when the downpour began, but bars were open and that was all that mattered to Ais. 

It was when Eridia rained that he simultaneously felt the most alone and the most at home. The flooded streets were akin to the Seaspring’s waters, but there was not a single soul in sight. He waded through the murky waters with unease. The rain turned the city into his domain. He was fond of it for many reasons, but it did not do what many Eridians loved about it the most: wash away unbearable stenches. Petrichor masked the smell of death, but it was prevalent nonetheless. Something lurked in these waters, waiting to be reaped. Or perhaps Ais’s intuition was off? His senses had been haywire for the past few days. He found himself looking over his shoulder to see if someone was behind him. Heat rushed to his usually cold cheeks. His heart raced even though he barely moved an inch. The rain started not too long ago so was it a long shot to say that not everything was washed out yet?

Splash!

Ais whipped his neck around, observing the Wet Wick’s alleyway. Blood spewed from the narrow pathway and coiled around his boots. It swirled and dissolved into the flood water congregating by the Wet Wick’s entrance. He cracked his knuckles and made his way to the alleyway. Even the rain couldn’t stop a good bar brawl. The victor of that fight was a worthy adversary if they could draw blood. Even if they weren’t, he was getting restless anyhow. Throwing a punch or two and knocking someone would be an easy fix for that. Talk about exciting. 

Thud! 

His grin faded as he stepped into the alleyway. His eyes dilated at the sight of Vere pining a cloaked figure to the wall with his bare hands. Blood spilled on the wall, dripping down into the flood water. Ais knew that cloak a little too well. It was black and embroidered with little bits of gold at the hem. He saw it a few times. At the Seaspring. At the Wet Wick. At the Amaryllis District. 

He could count the number of times he saw that cloak on his hands, but the amount of times it plagued his thoughts every now and then exceeded the number stars in the sky– When will you visit Princess again? What kind of weird drink will you have next time? Would he be able to hear that song again?

The same cloak that festered in his mind was now saturated with blood. Despite the ebony fabric, there was enough blood in certain areas to dye it red. Your torso. Your legs. Your head. Though shrouded by a hood as always, your cowl was the deepest of crimsons. It was tantamount to the thick red waters of the spring. 

Vere was the first– and perhaps the only one–  to notice Ais. He furrowed his auburn brows and dropped your body onto the ground. An audible thump echoed through the alley yet you remained still, blood pooling and pooling.  

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Ais responded with silence. His eyes lingered on you. He hoped for you to chirp and twitter about something. Curse or bite someone if you must. 

“Senobium’s orders,” Vere said, tossing his hair over his shoulder, “They were snooping around too much and… you know how that goes.”

"...I see." Two meaningless words that added nothing to the conversation, something he picked up from you. He never truly grasped the meaning of the phrase– he always thought of it as a sarcastic response– but "I see" seemed suitable to use for this specific situation. The scene before Ais was truly something and damn right he saw. He saw enough to know everything.

Vere's dusty pink eyes fell to his feet where blood accumulated. His ears drooped as he stepped away from your body. If he had put his tail between his legs, he could’ve fooled anyone.  His shoulder brushed Ais’s on his way out of the alley. “We should head inside. My fur’s getting soaked.”

The demon balled his fists, words flying over his head. He sauntered deeper into the pathway and knelt down by your side. The bar’s dilapidated door creaked open and then shut, briefly shining on your marred face. There was not a single fleck of wonder or hope in your eyes. They were dull and gray like the stormy sky above you. 

“I told you the Senobium was bad news, sparrow,” Ais smiled bitterly. 

Rain trickled down his face, hot and briny. He smelt the stench of death before. He had seen disfigured bodies in the bog and drew blood during fights. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but somehow he could not bear to look at you or your mangled neck for any longer. He was getting tired of the rain already. He was tired of kneeling by your side. With a dejected sigh, Ais stood up. 

Clink!

He clicked his tongue and lifted his boot up, revealing a shard of glass. Curious, he knelt down again, examining the shattered glass around your body. Must’ve been that bottle you painted the other day. Ais could barely make out the pieces, but he saw the various shades of blue you used. His eyes shifted to a rather large fragment by his boot. Unlike the other bits of glass, this one was yellow-orange with a small black line, the silhouette of a bird flying into the sun. Ais stomped on the fragment, crushing the painted sun beneath his feet as one would with a cigarette butt. He rose from the ground and turned his back to you, but instead of entering the bar, he ventured out into the storm. 

Then maybe, just maybe, he, too, could be swept away by the rain. 

[vict0riano]

to these darkened halls

He realizes there’s a hollow trembling inside him where his infected heart used to beat, the stitches that had sewn his self whole together tightening, reminding him of the broken thing he used to be. He looks down at the floor, breathing deeply and allowing himself to… consider. 

Stone covered in thick carpets and fabrics. Soft, durable, dark, they hadn’t been like that before. He used to like blue. The coverlet brushes against the ground, an empty luxury, unshared. He’d never allowed himself much thought. He never allowed himself to remember the way he’d destroyed his—their—bedroom. Shared barely for an instant, he’d turned his rage against the furniture, erasing her memory, erasing her smell and the way she felt against him, disgusted by his own blindness, his naivety. Disgusted by the unfamiliar, weak, all-consuming need. 

Disgusted by her ambition. Disgusted by her disregard. 

He’d shattered the bed with his own hands and never shared it again, kept it empty and unused, forfeiting sleep more often than not, choosing his desk or any concept he could conjure in the ample rooms of his facilities before the comfort of this place. If he had used it at all, he couldn’t remember it. 

Athena had been all consuming. Athena had left an imprint in his soul so deep even after tearing himself apart he could feel the shape of her fingertips. Athena’s touch had branded him so deeply, claiming him so utterly he couldn’t envision the bright sky without bile raising. The crystal floor at the Convocation made him want to reach down his own throat and rip himself apart.

Weak hearted. Weak minded. Powerless. His heart and mind disconnected from her, from their past, but his body? His body, his traitorous flesh, remembers. Lahabrea is but a title, and he’ll never escape the shadow of Hephaistos. The sound of her dainty laugh, the smell of lilies, the warmth and her taste turned sour, repulsive. 

No matter how much of himself he locked away, he can’t refuse his past, can’t erase it, can’t cage it forever and pretend it never existed. Secrets weigh heavily upon the soul and his is weak, torn in two, unable to balance, unable to stop, unable to face the truth and— 

Without his heart, he’s left adrift within the reactions of his body. What once could be navigated, what could have been named and mannered those feelings is gone. He’s not unfeeling, but what connects his mind to his feelings, to his body, is locked away. A piece is gone and what is left instead is chaos.

[helynedekarios]

Helyne and Gale Head Canons

1. Gale never wants to shave his beard because that is the face that Helyne saw when she pulled him out of the portal. He views that day as the day his life started again, so going back to what he looked like previously feels as though he is revisiting his past.

2. Helyne and Gale were the first to become friends between the companions. It took them only a couple of days to realize that they had the same morals and held some of the same beliefs. They would spend nights by the fire talking and getting to know each other.

3. Gale was attracted to Helyne almost immediately, though he fought against his feelings hard. Helyne was the first one to fall in love, however. When she fell, she fell hard and fast.

4. Helyne told Gale stories about how she would pick the wild violets to cheer herself up when she was young. Ever since then, he would find her violets to surprise her.

5. Helyne's favorite subject to paint is Gale. Gale indulges her and will pose willingly (most of the time).

[vict0riano]

"I feel like this pain isn't allowed. That I've done great things against greater odds, saved so much and so many, I shouldn't be in pain. I shouldn't hate it. I should be joyous. I won. I did it, I won, I survived, I lived. Against everything and everyone, I lived. I fixed their pain, I saved them. But I'm a selfish child and I can't be happy. I can't stop thinking 'when will my pain stop? when is it my turn to be saved?' And every time I hear them calling my name I hate them so, so much it makes me want to scream. Why does it have to be me? Why can't I be anything else but their champion? I never wanted this. I don't want this, but I can't stop it. I can't leave, I can't go away, I can't. I wish I could erase my name from history. I wish I could live trapped here, where no one knows me and no one can find me."

the fic in question [here] hee hee

A Little comic inspired by my friend's @vict0riano fanfic he made for me! He also wrote the dialogue here ;u;

[leonsfavgun]

the jeweller’s hands

alex turner x gn!reader. smut. 1.09k words.

summary: you woke up late and are rushing for work, but alex has other plans.

warnings: handjob, degrading, sub!alex, idk that’s about it

note: this is my first writing post thing on my blog ! and, of course, it had to be smut 💀 comments are accepted and appreciated<3 ALSO. we need to talk about the amount of bottom alex fics there are, or lack thereof, because. we all know this man is a power bottom. once again, feedback is accepted and appreciated !!

your alarm, once again, didn’t wake you up, and now you were running late for work. you were ready and had everything ready except your car keys, which you couldn’t find.

“al, have you seen my keys?” you yelled, walking around, trying to find them.

“have you checked our room?” he yelled back, his voice seeming to come from your room. you went there, where you saw alex sitting on the edge of your bed, holding your keys, only wearing a shirt and boxers. “hi, love,” he greeted. you tried taking the keys from him, but he moved his hand back and raised it in the air.

“alex, come on, i’m already late for work!”

“but i’m horny,” he whined, moving the keys farther away from you.

“and i’ve got work,” you shot back, climbing on top of him to grab your keys, but he wrapped his arms around your stomach, making you fall on top of him.

“then call in sick!” he whined again, still holding you in place. “please?” he pouted.

you rolled your eyes. He was acting as if you hadn’t fucked last night. ”i’m still sore,” you lied, trying to reason out, but he only gave you his best sultry face. you groaned. he looked so fucking hot when he did that, especially now with his beautiful long hair that you just loved pulling.

you sat up and started rolling your hips, your legs by his sides. he threw his head back, softly whimpering, allowing you to quickly lean forward and grab your keys.

“HEY! that’s not fair!” he pouted as you walked to the door. he followed you and stood in front of the door as if to stop you from leaving. you gave him a little peck on the lips, which he prolonged, making you go down to his neck until he finally let go of you. “do you really have to go?”

not even waiting for an answer, he started kissing your neck, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. you shut your eyes, sighing. “yes, i’ve got to work, love-” before you could even finish talking, you started holding back moans as he gently sucked on your neck. you couldn’t help but slowly push alex onto the bed, and start rolling your hips again, holding his hands above his head.

he stopped and put his forehead against yours. “d’you still have to go?” he whispered before putting his lips on yours.

fuck, he was such a needy little whore sometimes. and you loved it.

“yeah, i still have to go,” you sighed dramatically.

“no! please? what d’you want?”

you acted as though you were thinking. “hmm. i dunno… maybe you could get off on my thigh instead.” his eyes lit up, and he quickly stood up and waited for you to sit on the edge of the bed. once you did, he sat on your thigh, a leg on either side, and he wrapped his arms around your neck as he started grinding on your thigh.

you put your hands on his waist. “well, how’s it feel, hm? good?”

“it’d be better with your hand,” he quietly replied, placing his forehead on yours, slowly closing his eyes and softly moaning.

“yeah?” you asked him again, taking a hand off his waist and putting it into his boxers, pulling his hard dick out and slowly stroking it. you could hear even the softest of his moans as he rested his head on your shoulder, his lips near your ear. “feel good, love?”

you felt him nod. “so good,” he whispered as you quickened the pace of your hand. His moans started getting louder as you moved your hand up and down his dick while he continued rolling his hips on your thigh. “fuck…” he mumbled, rolling his hips faster and faster, causing your hand to stroke him even faster.

“are you close?” you asked him, although you already knew the answer (which was clearly yes). you felt him nod again. “hmm, maybe i should stop now and go to work while i still can…” his eyes went wide open and he held your shoulders tight as he looked at your face.

“no!” he continued rolling his hips and your hand continued stroking him. “but i’m so close-”

you put your hand at the back of his head and kissed him, smiling.

“relax, i was just teasing,” you reassured him. he started rolling his hips at a faster pace, and you didn’t know if it was on purpose or unconsciously.

alex loudly moaned. “want the neighbours to hear how much of a slut you are, love?” he just looked at you, unable to say anything from the immense pleasure you were giving him. you tugged on his hair and moved so that your lips were near his ear. “let them hear you, baby,” you said as you suddenly started stroking him at an even faster pace, daring him to let the entire neighbourhood hear.

he didn’t want to get embarrassed by being heard, but he couldn’t help himself as the words left his lips.

“oh, fuck, oh, fuck!” he moaned, even louder than the last time, almost yelling it. he suddenly stopped grinding on your thigh, but you didn’t stop stroking him as he whimpered and came all over your hand.

you proudly smirked as he realised what he’d done and his face turned scarlet red.

“sorry for the mess,” he mumbled. you ruffled his hair with your clean hand and pecked his lips, smiling.

you cupped his cheek. “i’ll go clean up and change, okay? you stay right here.” he nodded, leaning into your hand.

you went to the bathroom and went back to your room once you were done. by the time you had come back, alex was laying in bed, waiting for you. you laid down beside him, as though you’d never left and were always there.

“howdy,” he greeted you when he turned to face you; he couldn’t stop smiling.

you softly kissed him. “you’re so cute when you’re not horny.” he pouted.

“are you saying i’m not cute when i’m horny?”

“i’m just saying you’re cute.”

he grins to himself as he says, “well, you’re pretty cute, too.”

you rolled your eyes at him, even though you were smiling, and kissed him again. “i’m going back to sleep. you’ve worn my hands out too much for me to be able to work, anyway.”

he hid his face in your nape. “i’m going to sleep too. good morning-night.”

you smile and kiss his forehead. “good morning-night, love.”

[maelerie]

Fruk with 1 for the fluffy dialogue thing

Author's note: Thank you for the ask, anon!! First time writing Fruk... I hope you like it! [From this prompt list.]

Believe me, I will never be tired of you

“You know,” France said with a grin as he came to stand beside England in the lobby of the European Commission building. “When I asked you if you wanted to come pick me up after work, I didn’t expect you to actually wait for me inside.”

England glanced at him sideways, his brow furrowed. “Why not?”

“Angleterre,” France said pointedly, swivelling his gaze upward towards the many European flags that surrounded the outside of the building. “You aren’t exactly part of all this anymore. Not to mention, welcome.”

England didn’t retort as the other European nations came into view, making their way towards the exit. Belgium gave him a tight-lipped smile, more out of politeness than anything else, and Germany acknowledged his presence with a single nod. The others didn’t so much as glance his way, either because they hadn’t noticed him or because they deliberately ignored him.

“Well,” England squared his shoulders. “It’s not like they can stop dealing with me all together. And what better way to convey that then to confront them with my presence. Even if it’s just a chance encounter in the lobby.”

France groaned. “Mon Dieu, Angleterre,” he lifted his hand to his head to massage his temple. “Not everything needs to be a battle.”

England faced him, crossing his arms over his chest. “I know that!” he bristled. “I’m just─ I’m fed up with this passive aggressiveness.”

France couldn’t help being amused by England’s stubborn pride showing through his stance and his words. “And looking like you’re about to take off your glove to slap someone with it, demanding a duel, is the way to do that, is it?”

England made a face. “Oh, har har. Very funny.”

France chuckled at the expression. “I thought so too,” he commented. “And I’m glad to see you’re not yet tired of my jests, Angleterre. Old as we are, I might’ve used that line on you before.”

“Believe me,” England said, sounding both exasperated and resigned to the fact. “After all these centuries together and apart, I can say with utmost certainty that I will probably never be tired of you.”

The moment the words left him, England tried to hide behind his coat collar but the blush he now sported was still very visible to France’s eyes and he smiled.

“What’s this, mon cher?” he teased. “Sentimentality?”

England looked mortified. “Shut up.”

France could feel a warmth gathering in his chest. Even after all this time, the man in front of him still managed to revive his dormant heart. He took England’s hand in his own and the touch made England’s eyes flick upwards. France lost himself momentarily in the bottle green hue.

“Come,” he eventually said. “Let’s get some dinner.”

France steered them towards the exit, his hand still firmly wrapped around England’s.

When they stopped in front of the revolving doors, France’s attention was suddenly drawn towards the many floor-length windows and the water that poured down them on the outside. He looked up at the darkened sky.

“Is it raining?”

He could hear a snort coming from his right.

“No, it’s International Baptism Day,” England retorted drily.

France’s lips twitched into a smile. “So much for sentimentality.”

England quirked a quizzical eyebrow. “Huh?”

“Sarcasm,” France explained simply. “Means you’re back to your old, grumpy self again.” His smile turned mischievous. “Such a relief.”

“Shut up, frog,” England’s half-hearted reply was swallowed mostly by his coat collar, but the flush on his cheeks was still very much present. “Just be glad this old, grumpy man thought about bringing an umbrella,” he said as he lifted his right hand to show France the black umbrella he had been carrying all this time.

“You’re nothing if not reliable, mon cher,” France conceded easily.

At that, England smirked and stepped outside into the rain, opening his umbrella. Adjusting it so that it covered both their heads. One side tipped a little lower than the other. Their hands never left their hold and when they began their trek towards the centre of Brussels, England entwined their fingers, sending warmth and familiarity all through France.

“En effet,” France whispered closely to the shell of England’s ear and squeezed his hand a little more firmly. “I will never be tired of you either, mon cher.”

[rahullkohli]

I JUST HAD A THOUGHT of charlie convincing cas to do tabletop rping with her. and of course if cas is in, so is dean, and sam definitely played in college. so it becomes a thing. and the war table is permanently covered in miniatures and cards. but initially everyone is awkward about it, and they all expect cas to just not get it, because the more leisure part of being human, and the joking around and playing pretend was never really his thing. but he was a fucking top strategic soldier in heaven, so he might not be completely on top of the different terms and rules, but he absolutely obliterates everyone because he mentally plans out, and he sees the whole thing from a soldier's point of view, and about an hour into their first session everyone is fighting to form an alliance with him.

[methodwriting]

so i was trying to create my pirate-sona to pass the time and i accidentally wrote 28 pages of edward teach serving cunt

[liukangofficial]

The Shape I Found You In - Chapter 1/?

Title: The Shape I Found You In (Chapter 1) Chapter rating: T Word count: 2872 / 2872 total. Tags: “Rivals” to childhood best friends to lovers, slow burn, coming of age, canon compliant (mostly with MK 2021 film), + more in link. Summary: 

This is how it begins: Kung Lao finds Liu Kang as a small, thin shadow, stealing across the Wu Shi Academy training yard. Of course, Liu Kang isn’t Liu Kang then, just like Kung Lao isn't Kung Lao so much as he is Raiden's Chosen; he is only a nameless boy, one with arms and legs so thin that Kung Lao fears to have broken them when their collision sends him sprawling to the ground.

on ao3.

[chloebeale]

CHLOE AND AUBREY NEED WEDDING DATES (7/?)

RATING: T. PAIRINGS: Bechloe, Staubrey. WORDS: 3.5K. SUMMARY: The group realize they haven't yet discussed their sleeping arrangements... the reality of which isn't quite as terrifying as a Posen-filled meet and greet. NOTES: Two years later and here we are! If you've been waiting for this update, I truly apologise for the delay. I hope you enjoy, though!

***

Soon, the four were making their way to their cabins, where their luggage already awaited their arrival. The two rooms, positioned across the narrow corridor from one another, seemed to be much bigger than anything Stacie had expected if the space between each door was anything to go by. “So, which one’s ours?” Stacie asked, eyeing the suitcases. They stood in two neat stacks; Stacie’s and Beca’s outside of one door, Aubrey and Chloe’s outside of the other. It made the answer to her question pretty obvious. “Ours?” Aubrey quirked a brow. Stacie looked from the suitcases to Aubrey, as if the former weren’t even there. “Mine and yours.” “Oh, no.” Aubrey shook her head. “That won’t be—” “What?” Stacie questioned. She gestured with her head to Aubrey. “We are girlfriends, aren’t we?” “She does have a point,” Chloe offered before Aubrey got the chance to protest further. “It’ll look weird if people see us going into separate rooms.” Aubrey pursed her lips. “Weird or not, Chloe, these are—” She paused, eyes shifting away from Chloe and towards Stacie and Beca, before she lowered her voice, addressing only Chloe despite the three of them standing right there within the same vicinity. “Not twin rooms.”

READ ON AO3!

[leanderfields]

KINTSUGI – the art of repairing broken ceramics with gold and lacquer, a reminder that there is beauty even when things fall apart

“I’m not looking for trouble. Honest." “Is breaking and entering not trouble?” “... Suppose, I only entered.”

Pairing: Thief! Leander x Hightown aristocrat!reader

Synopsis: Life as a Highborn noble can be as lavish and extravagant as one makes it out to be. After all, money talks in these parts of Eridia. Every interaction is transactional. Even relationships, a horrible realization that you had when turning down one too many marriage– or rather, business– proposals. But when all hope in love is lost, a thief breaks into your bedroom in the dead of night. He's charming and easy on the eyes, but is your heart the only thing he'll take?

C/W: f!reader (no pronouns but there are uses of gendered terms e.g. "my lady" and they do wear dresses), reader is not the touchstarved mc, reader has a surname and is a hopeless romantic, also an overthinker and bookworm that stays up reading romance novels at night, slight Elyon x reader, he has a surname too, I intend for this to be a slow burn, vague mentions of the patriarchy, written before the full game has been released therefore some creative liberties were taken, please check chapters for more specific warnings / more warnings will be added as the story continues

Status: ongoing

A/N: I will try to finish this before the game releases. I write whenever inspiration hits and school is starting soon again so I'm a little worried, but it's okay!! I have a vague plot outline and a vision (•̀o•́)ง

Table of Contents

01. the witching hour

02. a duke and his accomplice

03. talk of the town

04. yellow amaryllis

05. tbd

06. tbd

07. tbd (we'll see where it goes from there)

[vict0riano]

Zoro is a monster with long teeth and a thirst for violence swelling deep in the pit of his stomach, in the marrow of his bones. Zoro's blood boils and boils and never cools down and Sanji is terrified of the frozen waters that marred his own childhood. Zoro was raised by thieves and normal men who worked an honest trade and traded his life for hers and became whole in the process. Zoro is a great beast with sharp eyes and soft scars that map a lifetime of sacrifice—for him, for her, for his captain. 

Sanji feels like a moth, pale and covered by the dust of his memories, drawn to the sun, disgusted by his own existence. Sanji is weak, and that is also the truth. He's prey and has always been. He's only known how to keep running, always in a straight line ahead of him. it doesn't matter where, as long as it keeps going. and along the way he landed between Zoro's jaws, between his claws. Fragile prey in the mouth of a monster. And he somehow falls asleep in there, trusting and afraid that the tiger will close its jaws and crush him, pierce his wings and pin him to the cushion of his tongue. press him against the rooftop of his mouth and be swallowed into the dark. but he rests there, and he doesn't know for how long. how tangled he is, sleeping peacefully in the mouth of a tiger, no matter how dark, no matter how damp, as long as it's warm.

[helynedekarios]

Tag Dump

[breetanners]

« and i remember my mother’s nails piercing flesh, cold eyes whispering, demanding prayers. “be devout to hunger, child.” » 

She was pierced with a memory as sharp as an arrow. And it’s arrow point—a name—buried so deep inside of her it had reached even those nooks she couldn’t quite look at, afraid of their ever growing shadows. Bree was good at bearing pain, or so she had believed. This ache would be the same, she insisted, just a terror dripping over her frame, just an ancient bruise, somewhere on her chest for—forever. (Since she would always remember; since she, like the world, was made to endure). The weight of loss accompanied her like a ghost, quietly sat on her shoulder, always so clean and well-behaved that it became difficult to think of it as what it truly was: the unbearable trace of guilt, and worse, longing. 

Because she missed Diego. The Diego she knew but, mostly, the Diego she had believed he was—the Diego she imagined. They hadn’t known much about each other anyway except, perhaps, that they were young, and lonely, and clueless so, who would have blamed them for searching instead of finding each other? Did that matter, anyway? Everytime Bree remembered him, she would slightly alter her ideas of Diego, or them, or what they could have been if—maybe, perhaps. 

             (Over and over: the way the curls bounced over his knitted-tight eyebrows; the freckles spreading like wildfire on his smooth, taupe skin; the echo of his laughter, reverberating inside her; their fingers interlocking without asking or looking, a perfectly coordinated and silent click—the quenching of that part of her that so deeply wanted to belong, and to be loved. And then, over the dismembered bodies and salt-like way Riley said his name: the endless possibilities of two cageless teens, holding fists like hands, running to the ends of time and back, singing whenever they felt like crying...). 

Everytime, Bree exonerated the body of her silence and firmly held onto it, reminding herself that it was real—even now, when he was gone. Gone forever, she thought, biting on every syllable, forcing them down her throat until they landed over the impotence that lived in her stomach. Forever, repeated—the thin voice of her mother, the fearsome one of his father, and lastly, just hers. (Forever, forever, forever…) 

The claw-like fingers (as if these weren’t hers) sank in Bree’s hair, drowning in the wavy strands. Her pupils were trembling—never able to shed a tear again—and still bright red. It didn’t matter how much she wanted to please the Cullen’s, it didn’t matter how much they tried to help; how reassuring they were, how Rosalie made her stare just so she could realize that, in her amber eyes, there wasn’t a bit of disappointment—just concern. Pain she could handle, yes, but not hunger. And she knew because she died for it, because she fucking condemned herself for it—because she always wanted too much, even when life had given her nothing or, perhaps, because life had given her nothing. Was this what she was, then? an unyielding craving, a gash that kept bleeding? Forever. She almost laughed—mad, and trembling, and hungry. 

How God—if there was one—was able to bear with it all, she couldn’t understand.

Oh, but she knew of hunger and all its faces. Not only the thirst, but the equally terrifying want that had pushed her forward all her life and that it hadn’t died yet. Her knees pressed against her chest—a gnawing there, always, like a wound / or a needy mouth. Curling up, she felt it all chew at once, inside her: every person she had loved, every person she had wanted to be loved by—swallowing her up. It hurted so badly. It was just like back then, on that dirty alley, where the sudden pain had stopped her just before she could get one bite out of—Eden’s apple—that damned burger. Some twisted joke that her skin got littered by teeth marks, after then.

[maelerie]

What's your favorite thing about Belgium?

Oh wow, where do I even begin? For starters I love her canon appearance and personality. She's kind, hardworking and good-natured. She loves her brothers and has a caring heart for others as well, even if they're strangers to her. She has an obvious sweet tooth seeing as what she's most known for are her waffles and chocolate. And to top it all off she's a beautiful young woman. Cute as a button even <3

That being said, her canon personality is very one-dimensional. (Which is perfectly okay seeing as she's a supporting character in a manga/anime that wants to be funny first and foremost.)

Combine that with the fact that I'm a historian and Belgian myself, and you shouldn't be surprised that I have a word-doc on my computer outlining her entire history. ((From the Belgae around the 1st century BC; to her cloth-industry-driven golden age from the 11th all the way to the 16th century AD; to being a fief to France as part of the Burgundian Netherlands and then to the Holy Roman Empire as part of the Habsburg Netherlands; to being ruled over by Spain and joining him in his fight against her big brother, who won and gained his independence; to becoming known as 'The Battlefield of Europe'; to Spain losing her to his fellow Habsburg nation, Austria in 1714; to being invaded and annexed by France in 1795; to being united again with her brother after 200 years apart; to her being completely done with it all and fighting for her independence, gaining it in 1839 with help from England; to her being the first nation in continental Europe to experience the Industrial Revolution; to her king's colonial interests in the Congo and the atrocities that happened there causing an international outcry and having the Belgian government take it away from him; to WW1; to finally working out the cold war that had been going on between her and her big brother from his independence until the signing of the Treaty of Versailles; to WW2; to the creation of the BeNeLux union in 1944 and the European Union in 1949; all the way to present day.))

Congrats and thank you if you read all that! In short: when you know her history, you know that she's lived through a whole lot of shit. So when I write her she's a lot more fleshed out and, you know, human.

She's still kind, but she's also shrewd. She's hardworking, but she's demanding (both of herself and of others). She's good-natured but if you manage to piss her off, you better run. She loves her brothers, but just like all sibling-nations they have a very complicated history and she has hated and fought them too. (Mostly the Netherlands; Luxembourg never really had much agency about his older siblings' conflicts.) She has a caring heart but she's careful with it. She has a sweet tooth but she's also known for her beers and when challenged she can drink anyone under the table. And she's a beautiful young woman but she's not as demure as one might think. She knows exactly what effect her appearance can have on others and she has been known to have used it to her advantage. She can be a bit of a flirt, but once she gives her heart, she’s loyal to a fault. She was the only female nation in Western Europe for a long time (I headcanon Liechtenstein and Monaco coming into existence a lot later) and I see her as this jewel that the rest of Western Europe wanted to hold, but she made them either work for it or fight for it.

So, err... what's my favourite thing about Belgium? Oh, just the complete picture I have in my head of her. All of it.