#never on purpose mind but........ a streak this long????? ......what's the harm in not watching his step here at the apex of everything..

[meistoshi]

one thing about satoshi is he is such a good loser.

[toms-cherry-trees]

First of all congrats on your 1500 followers! 🥳

I love your work so I’d like to send in a gif request for your milestone celebration. The type of blurb I’m thinking about is angst but on the other side I don’t really mind so do what feels best for you!

Thank you for your request! Honestly I feel like this gif makes the perfect scenario for some good ol angst so thank you for sending it! I did drift from the gif into an scenario of my own but you can sort of see where the gif could fit in this

'Mars 1.5K Celebration'

Portrait || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Death, mentions of infertility, Tommy cheating and then regretting it

Swirls of dust danced in the stale air. They piled in every corner, every surface, hung from the drapes in masses of dirt, and elevated into puffs every time something disturbed them with their step. But it had been a long time since someone disturbed the stillness.

Amidst all sat a man. The blue of his eyes had lost their spark, the overgrown and unkempt beard had obscured his sharp features. Streaks of grey crossed his one lustrous hair. A cigarette hung from his fingers, a cigarette he failed to bring to his mouth, letting it turn to ash and crumble down, repeating the process over and over again until the cigar case was empty. In his other hand hung a bottle of fine Scotch, but he would not have noticed the difference between it and the cheapest stout; everything in his mouth turned to dust. He himself was turning to dust.

Tommy sat before a painting of a woman. Her smile reminded anyone who looked at her of the famous Gioconda; the sweetness, the cheekiness. Her piercing eyes follow you across the room, watching you through thick eyelashes casting shadow in her cheekbones. Tommy had once been fortunate enough to have the real thing in his arms. And then he had been foolish enough to waste it.

Whenever he closed his eyes he could see her. Her hair blowing in the sea air, while they were en route to their honeymoon in New York. Smiling at him over her shoulder in a gala, wearing that red dress that brought Tommy to his knees. Tangled in his sheets, her legs intertwined with his own and cradling his hand in her bosom, the gentle whisper of her breathing lulled Tommy into dreamless sleep. 

He also remembered her tears. How they tracked down her cheeks every time she got her period, yet another failure to have a child of their own. The way they glossed over her eyes while they waited together in the doctor’s office, hands laced together and her leg bouncing nervously. The way they dampened the pillow for days after, while Tommy attempted futilely to soothe her woes and assure her that he would love her, baby or no baby

Oh, but nothing matched her fury. When red clouded her judgement, the ground trembled and the windows rattled with the power of her ferocity. Tommy had only once found himself in the receiving end of her tempestuousness, and not once in his life had he felt so diminished by a woman so sweet. The vase she had flung in his direction had never been meant to harm him, but had surely served the purpose to give him a taste of terror.

Yet nothing matched the calm, serene apathy in her features when she awaited for Tommy, sitting at the foot of the bed, her two suitcases neatly packed at her side. When Tommy jokingly asked her if she was planning a trip, she threw a bunch of papers in his face. When his eyes fell on the letter, all colour drained from his face. Saliva turned to cement in his mouth, keeping him from spilling any of the hundreds of excuses that had formed in his brain. But whatever train of thought he had was cut short by her dry words.

“I cannot tell what is worse, Thomas. That you got another woman pregnant and tried to get her to rid of the child, or the fact that you wrote the letter from your own fucking hand”

No amount of explaining, of begging, or excusing himself had been able to undo the damage. It had been a moment of weakness, just one, an impuissance of the flesh, it had meant nothing, it was just business, a transaction, a desperate moment of need. The excuses tied in his tongue and made him trip over his words, but they all came down to the same thing. He had failed her, he had failed the one person who had managed to love him past all his walls. This only added insult to injury at their fruitless attempts to start a family of their own. The fact he said it was ‘one time’ made it worse; one time it took for her to fall pregnant. One time unlike his wife

Tommy had actually fallen to his knees, albeit accidentally, in his haste to make her stay, promising everything that was his to promise and more in exchange for one more chance. But it was all in vain, and he was forced to watch her leave into the night, leaning into the threshold for support, for he did not trust his knees to hold his weight. A cold, heavy weight settled in the pit of his stomach, a sense of impending doom tightening his heart as her car became smaller and smaller into the road.

It did not take long for him to see her again. The very next day, in fact, when he received a call from the police to identify a body in the mortuary. A car had veered off the road and fallen into the water, probably trying to evade an animal. He did not need them to pull back the sheet; all he needed to see was the ring in her hand, the same ring he put in her finger five autumns prior. He had felt the cold of the jewel against his skin in bed, and his lips had touched the black stone when he kissed his wife’s hand. He asked them not to remove the sheet. He didn’t want to see her face. The same reason he demanded the casket be kept closed during the burial

If he did not see her face, he could pretend she was away, somewhere, anywhere in the world that could bring her happiness. He could pretend she had not spent her last hours heartbroken, betrayed by the one person who should have guarded her back. He could pretend she would one day come back, with her smiles and her tears and her groundbreaking fury, with the ring in her hand and his name on her lips. 

The moment he returned home, his gaze landed in the portrait. She had sat for that painting only for his pleasure, wasting hours and days in the library, her back stiff and her eyes watering from the effort not to blink as the canvas and the artist did their best to capture her beauty, dolled up in her wedding dress and her hands laced in her lap. The veil hanging from her hair and pooling around her in a sea of white gauze

Swiftly, Tommy had her portrait moved from the gallery and hung in his room. Spending his nights and days under her gaze, tracing with his finger the curve of her smile, the line of her chin. It became his obsession, his only reason to wake in the morning. To look into those eyes, to dream of her hands on his chest, to reminisce in the warmth of her lips. Long after her smell had faded from her pillows and her clothes, he still found comfort in the painting. He could not bear to be away from it, not for one second. Clinging onto the very last memory of what he had and had lost. Even as years passed and his life withered away, he sat there, in front of that image of his wife, the door always unlocked for the day she would return. 

And until then, he would wait.

[raph-fangirl]

Chapter Three - unedited

You had some time to yourself to think and process all that had happened while you put on your face and curled your hair. The demon swore to leave you alone for a bit, as long as you swore to him that you wouldn’t try to escape. It was an idea that had crossed your mind, you admitted.

The makeup he had conjured up for you was of the highest quality, with pigments you’d never even dreamt of. At least you got stuck with a demon with exquisite taste.

But that’s about where the dream ended and the nightmare began. 

The image of your husband being drug across the floor, leaving bloodstains in his wake, repeatedly played in your mind. At least you knew he was okay and no more harm would come to him, for now. Your skin grew cold as you thought of all this demon was capable of—all the torture he could conjure up and inflict.

And he thought of you as an innocent bystander! How he could not see you and your husband as one and the same you did not understand. Maybe demons didn’t view love and marriage and unity the same as humans did.  

But you would just play it cool. It didn’t seem like any harm was going to come your way, and even if any did, you could handle it. 

You wished you hadn’t folded when he asked about your husband’s job. But truthfully, you didn’t have any clue what Ruben did. Just that he had long hours and left you home alone all the time. 

Was the demon right? Had Ruben done something terrible? But if he had done something awful to demons then surely it was for a good purpose. 

Right?

You took deep breaths as you curled your hair with the curling iron. Your hands shook and you burned yourself again and again, yowling in pain each time.

“For godssake, quit yappin’!” the demon growled from outside the bathroom.

“I thought I told you to leave me alone!” You slammed the curling iron down on the stained counter.

“I did leave you alone, until I heard all that noise you’re makin’!” He burst in through the door. “What are you doing in here anyway?”

“I was curling my hair. But my hands—” You couldn’t show any feebleness around him. “I’ve never used a curling iron before.”

“Really? I doubt that.” He came up behind you. “Allow me.”

“I can’t imagine you’ve used one before.”

“Nope.”

“Then don’t—”

Before you could finish your sentence, he held his fingers out and they turned a glowing ember color. He blew on them to cool them down. Mesmerized, you watched as he grabbed your blonde tresses and began finger-curling them.

You couldn’t believe how gentle he was, as gentle as your own hairdresser, maybe even more so. Neither of you said a word as he wrapped each strand of hair carefully, tenderly about his pointer finger. The heat of his hands so near your scalp gave you chills and goose pimples all up and down your spine.

After curling the final lock, he ran his fingers through your hair, tousling it up, bouncing it. Then he crouched down beside you, his face next to yours in the streaked mirror. “If you ever need me, just call.” 

“I would never need anything from a demon,” you retorted. 

He lifted up suddenly. “We’ll see about that. Name’s Ares.”

You squinted at the odd name while petting your hair. “What, like the god?”

“Yeah… yeah, like the god.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, looked up at the ceiling, and walked out, shutting the door behind him.

Ares walked you through the strange place known as the Borderlands. Once you were outside your room, you half-expected there to be other occupants, or cars, or landmarks of some sort. But it was nothing, just white for as far as the eye could see. You began to cough, as the air was thick with dust. 

“You’ll get used to it, snowflake,” he said from up ahead of you.

You rolled your eyes. At least “snowflake” was better than “princess”.

The two of you kept walking, and the dust slowly began to cake onto your new yellow sparkling dress you’d picked out. It started to turn the color of ash. You pouted, but wouldn’t say a word to the demon. He seemed keen on teasing you. 

Part of you did want to run into the fog to try and escape, but where would you run that he could not catch up to? At least for now, you would lay low while you figured out a plan of escape back to Earth.

But in the back of your mind, you knew you were powerless, completely at the disposal of this demon. His dislike of paperwork was the only thing standing between him and your throat.

His back muscles protruded through his tight white shirt. You thought maybe he stood about seven or eight feet tall. He was the only thing in sight for as far as the eye could see, and you absentmindedly took in the view. 

“There, see it?” he called. 

You snapped out of the haze you’d fallen into of watching his huge thighs rubbing together while he walked. In the distance, there was a tiny speck, like an island coming into view from the ocean.

“What’s that?”

“That, my dear, is the diner.”

“Do you give all humans you encounter annoying pet names?”

“Only the cute ones.”

You frowned. Fine. He wants to play games? If that’s what it takes to get back to Earth sooner, you’d lean into it. Maybe he’d take a liking to you and go easy on your husband. 

“I can’t believe I’m being flirted with by a demon.”

He peered back at you, his fangs twisting into a smirk. “Trust me, you’ll know when I’m flirting.”

Jerk. What was his deal? He was a completely different person— No, he didn’t deserve personhood. A completely different creature than what you had encountered last night. What twisted mind did he have that allowed him to be so cruel to Ruben, and so devilishly charming toward you? 

You still hadn’t ruled out the possibility that this was some kind of a trick, a lure into something, but what? 

The diner grew closer in sight.

“Will there actually be customers here this time?” you asked.

“Oh, right. I forgot.” He stopped and held out his hand, a cloud of black smoke rising from his palm. “Some humans have the sight, but most don’t anymore. Including you.” He conjured up a pair of sunshiney cateye glasses that matched, or well, would have matched your ashy yellow dress. “Put these on.”

You folded your arms together. “They’re cute, but I don’t really know if I want to see any more demons. One is enough.”

“Am I just that good-looking?”

“I didn’t mean like that, douchebag.”

“Woah-hoh-hoh, little miss has got a tongue on her, does she now?”

“I grew up with an alcoholic World War II vet for a father, of course I know how to be a pottymouth.” You snatched the glasses from him.

His smirk slightly faded. 

Once you put the glasses on, a whole new world came into view. You were still in the desert, and it was still blindingly white around you, but there were now creatures all around you. From tiny floating salamanders surrounding your feet, to what seemed to be giants circling the diner.

You gasped, lurching back. The glasses fell to the ground. Everything was back to the way it was before. Ares stood before you, looking quite amused.

“What. Was. That!” you exclaimed.

“Welcome to the real world, hon.”

“You mean, back on Earth,” you picked up the glasses, dusting them off, “that all these little things are there, we just can’t see them?!”

“Most can’t see them. The ones that do, well, you can imagine how that goes for them.”

You put the glasses back on, focusing solely on Ares this time. His skin almost seemed… glowy with the glasses on. 

“Hey, how come I could see you before?”

“Because I wanted you to see me.”

“No. I mean last night. I saw you from the hallway.”

“I had removed my shield of sight, so any human could see me.”

“Really?” You laughed. “Well, that’s dumb. I saw you and ended up ruining your little husband heist—”

He frowned and turned back around, pacing toward the diner. 

You leered, jogging to catch up with him. “And we have nosey neighbors, too, I should know. Maybe you should be more careful next time you travel to Earth.”

He kept on marching.

“What? Are you afraid someone might have seen you? Or is it that you came back with the wrong human? I suppose either way that’s a lot of paperwork to fill out, am I right?”

“Just drop it, princess,” he growled.

“Paperwork is a sensitive subject, got it.” 

He stopped dead in his tracks and whipped around to face you. You just smiled.

He rubbed his temples with his forefinger and thumb, his other hand on his hip. “You wanna stick with me in this foreign world, kid? You wanna survive out here? Then I suggest you stop bringing up last night. I’m not giving you any answers.” 

You walked ahead, on past him toward this egregious diner. “We’ll see about that.”

But your haughty attitude immediately melted away as the diner came closer into view. More and more creatures, monsters, demons, whatever they were, caught sight of you… staring you down like you were their prey. Your steps slowed.

Ares passed you, mocking: “We’ll see about that.”

Snippet from a new story I'm working on :)

Just started this new demon x reader story! im thinking it's gonna be pretty short, like a novella. hope y'all enjoy!

warnings: language, violence, masturbation, sexual/kinky fantasy

Chapter One

Your life was perfect until the demon came.

Your husband, Ruben, had just been promoted at his job. You unfortunately didn’t know much about it, only that he worked for the government and whatever he was doing was top secret. But you didn’t mind that, because the love between the two of you was real. And that’s what mattered the most.

He bought you a pretty little house in the suburbs. You wanted to paint it pink and attempted to plant a vegetable garden, but HOA wasn’t having any of that. Life there was slightly stifling—after your upbringing in the country—but as long as you and Ruben were together, it didn’t matter where you lived. 

You tried to pillage out a life for yourself while he was gone all day—bake sales, book club, bridge games. The ladies in the neighborhood were unbearably kind to you, and they always asked if you were expecting, but you assured them with a winning smile that you had just been eating too much cream pie as of late.

Ruben told you he loved you no matter your looks, and that he was sure it was just weight you had gained from all the baking you had been doing. You wondered what you had possibly done in your life to earn such a gem of a man. With that slick black hair and tan skin and kind eyes. 

You were just kids when you met, he was sixteen and you were fourteen. Your best friend was going steady with him, and they invited you out on a drive together one day. By the end of the ride, Ruben asked you to take the passenger seat.

Four years later you married. Four years after that you had your forever home. Four more years would you have a kid, or two, or three? 

Tonight was pasta night. You and Ruben would have a glass of wine, or two, and then make love. Back when you were first married, you did it practically every night of the week. Now you were lucky if pasta night even did the trick. 

You launched a string of spaghetti on the wall. It stuck. You took the pot off the stove, dished out the noodles onto two plates, then finished with the meat sauce. For your own indulgence, you added some parsley on top. You smiled at the little green leaves and how pretty your dish had turned out.

Ruben should have been home thirty minutes ago, he promised as he dashed out the door that morning. But you’d gotten used to him being late. 

You lit some candles and ate in silence. You meant to have only one glass of wine but another evening alone required a little more drink.

You cleaned up the kitchen and stuffed Ruben’s plate into a tupperware container before sliding it in the fridge. 

As per usual on pasta nights when he didn’t make it home on time, you slinked into a nice hot bubble bath and proceeded to pleasure yourself. You hated yourself for it but couldn’t help it. In your mind’s eye, you imagined a big strong man with long flowy hair having his way with you. You moaned, aching at the thought of him railing into you on the beach, the waves cascading over your curves. He would grab you so hard it almost hurt.

Ruben had always been gentle with you, loving. But lately you’d found yourself craving more than just the ten minute humping fest. That gentleness he always had with you faded away into something more like passivity as of late. But you figured it was just stress from work. He’d had a lot going on lately and just wanted to come home, scarf down his leftovers, and go straight to sleep after work. It was fine. Every night before he crashed off to sleep he told you he needed you and loved you desperately—that you were the greatest accomplishment of his life. That was all you needed to hear to be able to wake up the next day and bear doing everything all over again. 

Ruben was exceptionally late tonight, though. It was teetering on midnight. You tried to stay awake, fighting off sleep as you lay in bed. But eventually you nodded off, and dreamt of the man with wavy hair at the beach. He grunted as he slammed into you, but soon those grunts turned into yelps. Yelps that almost sounded like Ruben. 

You awoke with a start. It was Ruben, screaming. Pleading. 

You flung the covers off and dashed out of bed, racing to your puffy pink robe and slippers, shaking as you put them on. Ruben’s shrieks grew louder, hailing from the living room. 

As you were just about to open the bedroom door, the voice of another man boomed: “You know why I’m here.” 

You stopped in your tracks. He sounded ferocious, his voice much gruffer and deeper than your husband’s, or any other man for that matter. Blood rushed to your head as you tried to come up with a plan of action. 

“No, please no,” Ruben pleaded. “I didn’t know!”

“Shut the fuck up!” 

A crash. 

A shudder shot down your spine. Your hands shook as you reached for the door handle. You twisted it, careful not to make the door hinges creak. 

“Please, please don’t kill me!”

“Once I’m done with you, you’ll wish I’d have killed you, you monster. I’m going to take everything you love away from you, just like you took everything away from me.”

You peeped an eyeball through the crack in the door and caught sight of a large shadow looming over the living room. 

“God, no, please! I was just doing my job, I didn’t know what they were going to do with what I built!”

“Like fuck you did, you piece of shit. You knew what you were creating.” 

Who was this man? What did he want with your husband? You didn’t have time to ponder before the horror of Ruben crawling across the floor sent you over the edge. You clasped a hand over your mouth to stifle your scream. He was covered in blood, his perfect face bruised.

Pounding footsteps echoed across the room, and one enormous hand reached down and grabbed the collar of Ruben’s shirt, pulling him back out of your sight. The mystery man’s hands were red, blood red. 

“Oh no you don’t. You’re comin’ with me, pal.” 

Ruben squealed and retched. 

You slunk out from behind the bedroom door and tiptoed down the hallway, your back against the wall. 

“Where are you taking me?” Ruben’s voice sounded weaker and weaker.

“To Hell, where you belong.”

You took a deep breath, tears streaming down your face, before peeping around the corner into the living room. Ruben was on the floor, and the man… 

No. Not a man. A monster. 

He had his back to you, but he was so tall his head nearly scraped the popcorn ceilings. Not only were his hands red, but his whole body. He was frighteningly muscular, and you knew he could snap you and your husband in two with one finger. Everything caved in around you and your vision darkened. A hole grew within you and you felt yourself sinking into it. 

The monster dragged your husband over to a circle with strange etchings on the floor, hoisting him up to stand straight. Suddenly, the circle lit up. 

You knew at once what was happening. And this demon was not about to take the only thing that mattered to you in life to hell. Without thinking, you sprinted to your husband. Time slowed down as you ran, like you were treading water. You knocked Ruben out of the way in a split second, and he fell on the ground, out of the circle. You spun around and caught a flash of the demon’s horrid, snarling face. His eyes bore into your soul, then widened at the realization of what you’d just done as a flash of light spread throughout the living room. The place you had come to call home faded away as a ribbon of white strangled you and carried you off.

Chapter Two

You awoke to a strange scent. It was not the candlewick smell of home, but of ash and dust and smoke.

Coughing, you sat up. Wherever you were, it was suffocatingly dark.

“Finally. Thought you’d never wake up,” a familiar gruff voice snarled.

Footsteps echoed before bright light tore into your eyes. You leaned back, covering your face with your hands. 

“Up and at ‘em, sunshine.”

“Wh-where am I?” Your voice sounded so tired.

“Take a look around, princess.” 

You opened your eyes. A dingy motel room. You felt the scratchy covers beneath you. Dust covered every inch of the place.

You looked up, and saw it standing menacingly at the windows, hand on the ugly burgundy curtains.

You wanted to scream, but the sound got caught in your dry throat.

“Don’t scream. I’ve had enough torture for one day.”

“Why did you bring me here? What have you done with my husband?!” 

“Your husband,” the demon growled, “is at an emergency hospital getting his wounds treated. He’ll recover.”

You took a deep breath as a wave of relief crashed into you. All that mattered was that Ruben was safe and away from this thing. Whatever torture he would undoubtedly inflict upon you, you could handle it. But not your Ruben.

“What do you want with me?”

“What do I–” He leaned back and laughed, a dark harrowing sound. “I didn’t even know you existed before last night. You weren’t exactly part of my plan, princess.”

You shuddered at the nickname. “Don’t call me that again.”

“Or what?” He crossed his arms. Thick black hairs sprawled up across them, contrasting against his blood red skin. 

He was awfully well dressed for a demon, you had to admit. A white button down shirt that he had rolled up to his elbow, and tight black pants and black dress shoes. 

“Staring me up and down, eh? Isn’t that considered rude where you come from?” he challenged. 

Your mind fogged up. You weren’t clear headed enough to be sparring words with a demon. 

“But to answer your question,” he moved away from the window, pacing about the tiny motel room, “I have no clue what the fuck I’m going to do with you.” His eyes sparked fiery red. “I only was approved for one trip to Earth to carry out my plan, and I come back with the wrong guy. Do you know how much paperwork I had to file just to come back empty-handed?” 

You paused to think. “Then what did you want with my husband?”

“That’s not exactly information I can just give out, princess. Oops–” he raised his fingers to his mouth in feigned innocence. “Forgot you don’t like to be called that.”

You looked down at your lap. Your hands were bloodstained, you presumed from when you had pushed Ruben out of the way.

“How did I get here?”

“You fainted on the portal ride over. Been knocked out ever since.”

“I meant— in the bed.”

He fell silent. “Well, I didn’t just wanna drag ya. I’m not a monster.”

So he carried you. Great.

“I still don’t really know where I am.” You tried to look out the window, but it was too bright outside to make out anything other than white dust. “In the desert somewhere?”

“Kinda. You’re at the border between worlds.”

Your eyes bugged out. “What?!”

“Don’t worry. You’re still safe, at least here you are.”

You shot up out of bed, thankful to see you still had your robe and slippers on. “What do you mean, border between worlds? Am I still on Earth? Is this hell? Purgatory?”

“A purgatory of sorts, I suppose.”

You marched your way over to the window. It was just, nothing. Blank. White. 

“This is the inspection point between Earth and the other worlds,” he explained, turning around to face outside. “Peaceful, yeah?”

“No! Not peaceful! Where is— anything!” You pressed your face up against the windowpane. Dust caked up on your skin.

“There is a diner nearby. I’ll take you there.”

“A diner? In this hell?”

“Oh, trust me. Hell ain’t nothin’ like this, hon.” 

Tears welled up in your eyes. “I just wanna go home…”

“Welp, you made your decision last night when you jumped into my portal at the last second.”

“I was only trying to save my husband!” You faced him, standing up on your tippy-toes to be taller. It was the first time you’d really gotten a close up look at his face. His nose and mouth were turned upward in a permanent sneer. His eyes were dark, black, cold. Although you could have sworn at some point you’d seen them burn fiery red. His hair was jet black, slicked back with gel and neatly combed. And of course his face was just the awfullest shade of blood red. 

“That was your first mistake.” He gnashed his fangs together and then tore away from you. 

You scoffed. 

“Come on, get dressed,” you heard him say from behind.

“With what? It’s not like I—” You turned around. The demon opened a wardrobe full of the most magnificent clothes you’d ever seen. They were just dazzling, a rainbow of different colors. Within the backdrop of the dingy room, it was like a butterfly batting its iridescent wings against the hood of a rusty old truck.

“I figured you probably had pretty extravagant taste, at least based off of that ridiculous robe and slippers.” 

You pretended not to hear him calling your outfit ridiculous as you rushed over to the clothes. “Did you just go out and buy these?” You felt the fabric of each and every one of them.

“Nope. Conjured them up.”

“Oh my goodness! Thank—”

You caught yourself and let go of the fabric. “Wait. No.” This had to be some kind of trick. You took a few steps back from him and the wardrobe. “This isn’t right. You tried to kill my husband last night and I want to know why.”

“Like I said, princess—”

You shriveled up your face.

“That’s not something I can just reveal to anybody.”

“Then why are you treating me to all these clothes? Why take me to eat at a diner? Why not just kill me here and now?!”

“I have to have a permit to go out and kill people, sweetheart. And you aren’t exactly worth the paperwork. I have no reason to kill you.”

“Oh, but my husband was fair game?”

He gave you a long hard look over before licking his lips and stuffing his hulk hands in his pockets. “You don’t know the first thing about your husband, do you? Tell me, what does he do for work?”

“He—” Your face softened.

“That’s what I thought.” He moved away from the wardrobe, to the other side of the room. “You are just an innocent bystander who happened to get caught in my portal. It would not look good on my record for me to kill you, so I won’t. I’ll just make the most of our time together while I figure out what the fuck I’m gonna do with you.” 

Your breaths quickened. “So, I’m just— just supposed to live with you?”

“Don’t worry, I have a nice spot picked out for us.” You thought you saw the slightest smirk on his face.

Your features mushed together, and for the first time since meeting this demon, you screamed.

[watevermelon]

Same Old Love | Kaeya (Genshin) x Traveler!Reader

✧ Summary: Kaeya was mysterious in every way that made you wary. From the gleam in his eye to how easy it was for him to flirt, it made you wonder how much he was presenting was truly real. Not wanting to get sucked in, you swore not to fall for the Cavalry Captain. At least, that was the plan, right? ➳ Notes: Angst with a happy ending ➳ A/N: Thank you so much for the ask!! This was fun to write ((I feel like I write so much angsty/jealousy fics haha)) I’m just getting into genshin and so please feel free to send in requests for these cuties <3 @breathings-of-the-heart​

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You had some worries about Kaeya, dubbed “The Handsome Mr. Kaeya” by Paimon.

There was no doubt that he was attractive, his ever present smirk and exposed chest was enough to signify to anyone that even Kaeya was well aware of his looks. But he tended to wield his words like a double edged sword - using his words for an express purpose.

It was admirable, in a way. He was the loyal Cavalry Captain who looked out for Mondstadt’s best interest. And while he had misled you on this pirate treasure adventure, there was no harm really done. In fact, from the way he prattled about haircuts and eyepatches inherited from his parents, you were already sure that it was simply a tale being spun for Paimon to latch onto.

At the end of the day, Kaeya still compensated you for your time and provided you with a higher-level weapon. The criminals were caught and the Knights were credited for another arrest of an infamous Treasure Hunter. It was a win-win situation that you very quickly put behind you as another job done.

The entire quest had not really bothered you - it was not like you had not withheld anything either. You ran from clue to clue without updating Kaeya on your progress, with the express intent of snagging some of this treasure yourself.

It was a really smart move on his part and, for whatever reason, it had the inverse effect on you - it made you want to get closer to Kaeya.

Paimon grumbled for all of a day before she prattled onto something new, complaining about the returning ruin guard by the temple or the way Venti sassed her. But you often found yourself hanging around Good Hunter or  Angel’s Share, wondering if you would be able to run into him again.

It was no surprise that Kaeya was always busy, Jean had mentioned before that Kaeya was the one who often wrapped up every physical incident that occurred in both the city and outer plains of Mondstadt.

And so it was easy to lose track of him, the image of Kaeya still present in your mind, just pushed back in the further recess as you continued in your struggle to find clues about your brother. When whispers on the street spoke of a Dark Knight hero, you were pleasantly surprised to see Diluc patrolling the streets from the shadows.

The last thing you had expected was to team-up with the very man who ran opposite to the Knights, but you learned how oddly sweet Diluc was in that short amount of time. His double life of fighting off the abyss army single-handedly to running the largest Winery on the continent - Diluc’s workload was no easy feat.

You were just out of the clear, Huffman gone to deal with the slimes when a resounding clap started from the dining area of the bar. Kaeya stood and approached you both, you turned to Diluc and he had the flattest, most unimpressed expression on.

You stood mostly silent in that conversation, Diluc with his arms and chin held high. Kaeya had reassured him that the secret was best kept that way, eyes glinting mischievously as they went from the winery owner to you.

You only stared right back, as if Kaeya’s face would give off exactly what he was looking for. Instead, he simply smiled at the both of you and left when Diluc said he was closing the bar. Diluc thanked you for your assistance, reassuring you that in case you need help, he was a willing hand.

When you walked out the bar then, Kaeya was still right outside, chatting casually with some of the late bar-goers that sat at the picnic table. Just as he made eye-contact with you, he bid himself goodbye from the group and fell into step with you.

“Paimon doesn’t trust blue-haired, eye-patched men anymore.” She started next to you.

“That’s good I’m a blue-haired, eye-patched handsome young man.” Kaeya shot back, to which she rolled her eyes. He then turned to you with the same open smirk as usual, “And here I was thinking I could make you my assistant.”

Was he flirting with you?

It took you a second to question this internally before Paimon scoffed, “Ugh, I’m going ahead to the inn. I don’t think I can stand watching you make kissy-faces at each other after the day we had.”

You waved a hand in her direction to smack her, but she was already flying away up and out of reach.

Turning back to the Captain, you were surprised to see that Kaeya was still looking at you, not even toward Paimon as she fled into the night.

Remembering his last statement, you shot back, “Think you could handle me?”

“Confidence, it looks very good on you.” Kaeya replied as his smile widened. He took a single step closer, lowering his voice next to your ear and continuing. “But the real question is if you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into?”

You stood your ground, ignoring the shiver that ran up your spine, “I always like to try new things.”

“I look forward to it.” Kaeya straightened, lightly grabbing your hand in one of his own and raising it to his lips. “Until then, traveler.”

To think that such a simple action, hardly anything scandalous, had lingered on your skin the entire night. You remembered the way his lips felt against your hand, how striking his blue eyes bore into your own. Kaeya was extremely dangerous, able to catch your attention and keep it for hours on end.

The next day you had a commission about dismantling a rising Hilichurl camp, a perfect distraction away from the eye-patched hunk that kept plaguing your thoughts. The last thing you expected was for Kaeya to see you.

“Looks like our honorary knight continues their do-good streak.”

“It’s the least I can do.” You replied back, a sassy hand on your waist.

“Why don’t I accompany you?”

You wanted to scream.

Paimon actually did groan before stating she was going to stay in the city.

And suddenly, your distraction was running exactly opposite to your intention. With Kaeya joining your party, the Cavalry Captain was making himself decidedly known you.

He led you around a cliff, showing you a higher area where you could survey the camp before bursting in guns blazing. There were six Hilichurls, some slimes scattered about and two towers already set-up in this enemy campsite.

You decided to stick together, coming in from the high ground and slamming your weapon into the ground at unsuspecting enemies. It felt nice to fight alongside someone again, oftentimes you were alone in your adventures. Paimon would yell words of encouragement, but never would she actually lift a finger to fight. But Kaeya was reliable, freezing enemies into place and shattering them where they stood.

Taking down some of the outer-rim electro Hilichurls equipped with bows, you were nearly finished with clearing the entire camp. You grabbed the pyro slimes and exploded them near the towers, taking down the camp with them. With the camp almost completely disassembled, you heard the tell-tale electronic power-up that only signified one enemy.

A ruin guard.

Hunched over, you watched as multiple missiles took aim on the nearby unsuspecting Cavalry Captain. Running the best you could, you threw decorum out the window as you all but tackled the poor man out of harm's way.

Rolling a few times, there was no surprised yelp from the man beneath you. He simply allowed you to take the wheel until you came to a stop, hovering over his body. Kaeya was undoubtedly taller than you, but you were face-to-face as he smirked beneath you.

“Wow, not that I’m against this.” Kaeya started, a quip ready. “But ask me out to dinner first.”

You flushed and stood up immediately, “I was saving you!”

“I’ll let you save me any day of the week.” Kaeya replied, earning a half-assed scowl on your behalf. He only laughed at you, calling your attempted look of intimidation only served to make a cute pout instead.

You huffed and considered leaving him with the ruin guard.

From then on there was no doubt about it - Kaeya was flirting with you.

And you were openly flirting back, if of course he decided a less obnoxious moment. In between commissions and nights at Angel’s Share, Kaeya flirtations were growing more and more brazen. It was one thing to kiss the top of your hand in greeting and another entirely for Kaeya to throw his hand across your hair, leaning in to openly bury his nose in your hair.

Diluc called you both disgusting.

Tonight, you entered Cat Tail’s semi-inconspicuously to get a drink. Paimon had long caught onto your game, saying that she surprisingly approved of Kaeya, since after all he was still a good guy in some ways.

But, she still was not exactly a fan of you too making “kissy-faces” at each other, her words. And so tonight you were flying solo, Paimon opting to annoy Amber instead tonight as they tracked down some abyss mage or other.

You tried your best to hang around the bar, looking around the tavern to see if the object of your desire was anywhere around. You meandered for a few minutes, saying greetings to other bargoers that had recognized you, before approaching the bartender if Kaeya has been around

The bartender recognized you immediately. It was hard not to place one of the few new people in Mondstadt, especially one that was crushing much of the country's enemies. Diona had mentioned before that you were a friend of Diluc’s, often more than just a customer at the rival tavern. No, you were seen running around the city with the red-head at random times.

She said the worst thing you could have ever suspected.

“I think Kaeya has a hot date tonight.”

You felt a lump in your throat form, but tried to keep your response guarded. “Oh?”

The bartender continued, “Yeah, I’m not sure if it was Paula? Or Maggie tonight? But you know the captain - always changing up his escapades.”

“Right, of course.” You replied back, words coming out before you could even register it. Instead, you kept on nursing your drink, spiteful words from the bartender marinating in your mind.

Kaeya was mysterious, yes. But was he leading you on?

… Was it right of you to trust him?

The first red flag should have been the fact that you knew nearly nothing about him personally. To think that you had spent all this time together talking and fighting alongside one another, but you could not even recall basic facts about him, let alone anything deep. You were unaware of his family history - Diluc was his brother, but it was the red-head who ended up confiding that fact to you.

Kaeya was so charming that you hadn’t even noticed he shut you out of his world.

And so there was no point in actively keeping a one-sided friendship like that. From then forth, you resolved to avoid the Cavalry Captain for the time being. You knew you had to free Dvalin together, but that did not mean you had to swoon for him in your free time.

It was almost expected of you to join him on Friday nights at Angel’s Share, but tonight you were missing. Neither Charles nor Diluc had seen you the entire day. There were probably a hundred different things you were doing - gathering resources, fighting slimes - and so Kaeya thought little of it.

But he was still disappointed not to see your face that night.

And so he thought nothing was wrong the next day when he saw you in the city square, talking to someone at the general store. He approached you and offered to join your party again, take down some enemies somewhere out in the country.

You didn’t even smile at him.

Not this time.

Just a curt no before you were leaving out the city gates.

The second time Kaeya already had enough and confronted you before you could even attempt to walk away.

He grabbed at your elbow, “Have you finally grown tired of me?”

You pulled it back, no real strength behind it as Kaeya still held you under his grip. “Kaeya, why is it that you keep reaching out to me? I have nothing of my own to offer - no money, no family - there is nothing left I can give you.”

He frowned in response but grabbed at your other hand, “I haven’t asked you for anything, have I?”

You looked away, “You don’t have to! It’s inherent, after all. Isn’t that why you asked me to team-up in the first place, to use me to find your criminals?”

Kaeya mentally recoiled, “Woah, back up. I may have guided you regarding the treasure but never have I maliciously led you on.”

You pulled at your hands to no avail, this time the captain actively trying to keep your attention on him. 

“I just! I thought I meant something more to you, Kaeya.”

He smiled and tried to pull you into his chest, but you shoved off his touch this time fully.

“No! You can’t just hug me and think everything is okay. You’re supposed to be one of the good guys, one of the handful of people I can trust in Mondstadt and I know nothing about you.”

Kaeya did not reach for your hands, instead moving to stand in front of you. “I’m sorry that I hold my secrets close to my chest, but that’s what I’m used to.”

Frustrated, you replied. “Don’t you get tired? Holding the people that love you at an arm's length?”

“I’m sorry.” He repeated, this time reaching for you. “I’m sorry that I made you feel like you weren’t special. Trust me, you’re the only one I’ve had eyes on ever since you landed here in Mondstadt.”

You shook your head, “But the bartender, she said -”

“Who cares what she said?” Kaeya interrupted, “They know village gossip, but they don’t know me or you.”

“I don’t really know you.” You replied.

Kaeya caressed the side of your cheek before lightly gently grabbing your hand again, “Then let’s start.”

With a hesitant smile, you closed your eyes and nodded.

“Okay.”

You had your doubts then and it’s not like an issue of trust was fixed overnight. But, to his credit, Kaeya tried as best he could. Instead of meeting randomly at the bar, he would approach you sometime during the day and set-up a date. How he knew where you were was a mystery, but a man with that many connections surely had a way.

He had no qualms about holding your hand or openly kissing your cheek in the presence of others - proclaiming loudly to one and all in Mondstadt that you were his and he was yours.

Taking your first argument to heart, Kaeya was very keen on communication. Anything you were unsure of, he expressed that he was by no means rushing you. And when you finally shared your first kiss, for once not a single soul in front of the Lord Barbatos statue, you leaned into his touch to get many more.

Kaeya made good on his promise, slowly letting you into his world in kind. You remembered one night as the both of you sat on the edge of Mondstadt, nothing but ocean for miles in front of you. You had your head on his shoulder, describing your adventures with your brother and how you missed having family.  

Kaeya had a gentle hand in your hair, rubbing soothing circles as you recalled a time long ago. Once your story finished, you two continued to stare out, wondering what the future could hold as your minds swam in an endless sea of thoughts.

He broke the silence.

“I miss my brother also.”

Diluc was not always his estranged brother, but once a friend, supporter, and sounding board. Some even mistook them as truly twins in heart and mind, defending Mondstadt and having each other’s backs for years. The Diluc you had come to know was a shell of his old self, close friends and past hidden behind years of repressed feelings.

There was no doubt wistfulness in Kaeya’s eyes as he recalled the past to you, but you continued to listen quietly. 

Your relationship with the Cavalry Captain was hardly easy. Often responsibilities called you both - Kaeya was highly stationed in Mondstadt while you still had seven other countries to visit. But that did not mean the end for you both. Even when you were thousands of miles away or sat atop the highest mountain without a clue to where he was, you cherished the thought that you still shared the same sky with the love of your life.

No matter where you were in Teyvat, you had Kaeya to return to.

[pndnj]

Cathartic- Yellow Metal Lyrics

Heres where I am with the lyrics, I referenced @25Goldenn on twitter for some of it that I couldn’t comprehend. 

*music*

0:23

Dark matter, like painted splatters, they fit better, the old saying, the way it goes, better the devil you do then you don’t know. I hit pedals and switch levers, my heart metal, I can't settle, im part trouble, they are not subtle. I fuck good so fuck cuddles, burst bubbles the thrist levels at new heights, i down doubles, and got baked til I felt high, my face puzzled, felt muddled, far strung and your floors woodent, the thought might but the fit wouldn’t. A fortnight

0:46 - 1:00

And I thought right, it’s all bark and no bite, I’m Tony Stark still embarking on a dream, took a bit of time to take darkness from the team. Seen what I saw. Heartless on the sleeve. Tried to burn my wings, so I put them in a piece on my chest , at peace no rest.

1:00-1:15

Flipped this on it’s head. Rip the script up now, flip it don’t pretend, slipping shit again, Fakers all around me, I’ve been living in pretense. Fake friends won’t make amends. There’s no need, these mean comments control the scenes. Attentionseekers, the spine is weakened

1:15-1:24

This family needs, what a family needs, and the planet bleeds, the damaged trees. It’s never leaving til we ascend so fuck the fence, and until they stop killing colour it’s fuck the feds.

1:22 - 1:44

You must be off it, I mean it, you know you ain’t never get with the judging and I used to dread growing my beard too long, never felt I belonged, but it's really long like a minute I ain’t looking to no mans for the limits, They’re feeling timid, I’m telling them who they mimic, why they don't look like a clinic …. Why they don't get no women, Still, we’re just fucking girls, Lost in the wrong world, Jurassic, now to this vermin

1:41-  1: 50

Kicking the game I’m serving, these losers are never learning, my fire is forever burning, adding it to my fuel, seems like I’m always focused on never becoming you, These locals that rob us feeling … was for a reason.

1:52-2:02

I’m seeing my new beginnings, watch out this loser’s winning, and no water is too deep to swim in Like I’m about to see a killing, I’m all the way that and living, flawless and feeling lawless, the prison now to the gimmicks, my vision is set to something,

2:03-:2:20

I’m watching you bitches plummet, no matches here for my cunning, you rappers are feeling done in, switching your genre, running and Running your jaw, stunting, pulling at straws, something  I think you’re a poor effort, deaf and tone deaf and I ain’t treat you separate. Living, I’m in my element, riding it like a … never lose me to fentanyl, scared when I take a benadryl. Keeping it green in general

2:20- 2:46

Think that you remain irrelevant. Look at yourself with reverence, hoping to always elevate. Celibate of these thoughts, killing themselves with sedatives. In comparison to eminem, you’re feeling feminine. Impolitically correct, still dropping on my dick. And I never gave a fuck about what they say abt my shit, I’ve been moving things in my mind like it’s this mountain dew Memories have made me wonder if one day I’m after you. What’s the purpose that you do, is what you're hoping that they learn, i’d like to say i’m done but it’s getting up on my nerves

2:46 -2:55

I’m looking at my life, saying what do I deserve. It’s hard to say I know when I’m walking through the dirt. Talking while you’re nothing I can see for what it’s worth. I’m tired of feeling hurt and I’ve tried enough but nothing works.

2:55-3:40

I’m racking up excuses while I’m slacking off on work. Chit chatting is the usual, talking to this clerk, i beg you don’t include me. I might write it on my shirt so everytime they see me, the oldest know to swerve. SWERVE Life is potent, bits of fucked shit… till they took notice weren’t  no hocus pocus, it was hard work that got me heard so i put in the graph like google maps but the whole earth

… around my door mat, taking over like the drones, rolling dirt up in miles like the water, and exploding like Annas hematoma. Don't need to see a slammer to know that I don't want to go man

I’m a showman. I’m just focused on the drama… like i’ve got my own insurance, show myself the pain, like i boxed it in the frame, if we’re about to talk greatness im great, the way you have to say my name like beyonce

“Say my name”

4:00-4:46

Just a bum with a cigarette, sun coming up, all my thoughts on the internet. Feeling deep, I’m just bored with the silhouette single sec,  get fucked up for the thrill of it . killer streak playing Pacman. Like I came from the Philippines vanilla bean still a thing for the thrill of scene,

Theres a beam, UFO, Leave it well alone  I aint moving, stood still on the peloton, telephone and its always on the dial tone,  it's been a while since i’ve smiled at a milestone, seen a big pile in my mind stone, me against the world on my Jack Jones, Like I’m John Jones, With pictures in the condo, far from John Doe, in the ___, like I'm Johnny Bravo, got pravado, with a small dick sitting in golados, feeling far gone, cuz that last hit was the good shit, was that stay lit

4:48-5:02

You can never take my shit come and get me. On the top floor,  cloud 9, fading, never bailing, felt amazing, inhaling, til my lungs two guns blazing. Overcome all the stunts that I pulled. A suit of just skin and then wool

5:02- 5:17

This life doesn’t give you no armour, a lot of myself can harm ya. I swear on what’s good, that I’m here till they take me. I pray that I’m wrinkled, at least over 80, and start moving like a ruler, ?damaged? Like a computer going fast, bars from the jeweler, bring the songs to the beach in hopes of finding tuna

5:18-5:36

…

5:36- 6:16

Grab a bat, lose my rag. Couple things got me mad, a couple people got me wrong and now I’m changing up the swag. Coming in and stealing it, I might take the whole bag. Feeling undefeated, I’m a beast with a reason, and imma lead the whole pack. Fearless like I’m Caesar, I’m just waiting for a chance to fill it up with diesel, and all I've been achieving is clocking miles in its region, moving like a legion.

Promise that I made to myself an allegiance. Do you still believe I’m a fool for ever leaving, staring at the ceiling, can never put a cap on achieving. I’m just here for the rap, then I’m leaving.

I’ve had about enough of being my own enemy, it’s time I grew up,  a long way from 17. Always went against the grain, struggles in my life. Got some things to say when I stand up on a mike.

6:16-6:32

I ain’t dropping this for fame, I need this time, like therapy, it’s just to keep me sane. The truth is on my medicine, can’t put that on your plate.

Speeding into everything, bout time I fixed the brakes. Don’t say I can’t communicate , you know I conversate with you in several different ways. And I know you know it’s references, looking at your face.

6:33- 6:53

Can’t justify mistakes, like every man that made them, seems I ain't  the one to blame. Lying to myself, only had so much to gain, so now I’m switching up the plate, see if that affects the place, im at on most days

I ain’t going with the usual so they looking at me strange. Confused, I can feel it all,  I’m here to make a change. It’s cold at 3am outside, I’m walking with the dog, thanking god that you don’t talk at all, my mind is switching off

6:54-7:12

Driving down to find myself, cuz I’ve been getting lost, lived this selfless life and found I can give a toss. Lessons that I’ve learned I’ve tried teaching to myself. What I’ve learnt from certain people is that they’re better than myself.

So I surround myself with real ones, and you feel the plastic melt. Like burning toy soldiers that used to go up on the shelf. Recycle the ideas, conveying on the belt

7:14-7:29

.. circus, always hurting the way we felt? Embarrassed that we dreamt of bigger things and letting go of notions till we feel them in cement

Tired of only hoping, we feel broken men. Cuz the gravity is weight and has kept us to the ground, see the only people speaking with favors in their mouths

7:46-7:58

Got killer rhymes… no fillers, like godzilla, eating clouds cuz my smokes thicker, throat licker, my dope sicker, bringing people their hope like im the pope slicker,  i hope you’re getting the point cuz i walk quicker

I thought my city was shit bcs I want bigger like my zipper couldn’t zip up fed up with the…my love is fickle.. Residual age has a primitive face

I see demise for your limited ways, Left it to simmer, simmer away…a fake glimmer in the haze

8:09-8:11

Feeling trapped this industry is a cage

8:34-8:50

Nobody’s speaking the truth, I’m offended by the State. Look at the state of the news, I’ve decided the argument, reciting my views, while they’ve been sat in their chairs, I’m feeling pressure to choose.

Standing here as one man, how can I do half when you’re half the person I am. If it wasn’t in your life, you didn’t choose it. It’s the funny thing about music. It’s the pain and beauty of it.

8:52-9:11

Don’t give a fuck what my suit is, it looks good so I wear it, better than the shoot that People’s wearing, changing the whole narrative for these basics and scarcity

Been facing the racists from back when i were a kiddie .born up in in 93’. been living in Bradford City..kicked me out of the schools, they had a problem with me hitting the kids that would call me p*** still sitting in the classroom chilling, and i'm angry now that I’m older I see they treat us different

9:12-9:25

got me thinking I’m the problem cuz they never dealt with those issues.

20 years later I’m still in the same boat, tryna treat me like my grandpa, say I came up off the boat. Came to tell you what I stand for, man I think you’re shit, a joke. How can I be civil, when they got me by the throat

9:25-9:35

Pushing my feelings down, you ain’t got it like them

‘Boy your skin is so light���, ok motherfucker take my name up on a flight. Try to convince immigration that your bloodline’s half white.

9:35-9:45

I don’t know how that’s acceptable, when life is more susceptible to perception, be the death of them. I’ve been looking at the sky saying where’s that day of reckoning, you had your prophets right when they say that you would speak to them.

9:45-9:55

I need justice in this life and I trust that it’s my fight, cuz when I’m writing it feels right to have them focused on the facts again. Focused on the rap again, hoping for the change, gunna put this on the map again

9:55-10:16

Writing in all caps again, the pain, it goes through me so I write the letter. All the shit that could have brought me but made me better.

I’m at home with a pain in my soul , yeh rap… cuz you know I was too real to contest it, my time was invested. Now I look at the industry, I see it infested, looking like kids who would write on nesquik.

10:17-10:29

My name ain’t on the list unless they label it ethnic.

I ain’t never gave a fuck about these jokers and jesters. Ain’t no answers for these things, so just save us the questions, man allowed of violence, cuz my silence is deafening, your opinion stinks, somebody get him a breath mint.

10:30- 10:42

Start to understand why they think that I’m threatening, I move in certain ways, couldn’t slow me with ketamine Now they all wanna hear me, got a table at letterman. Direction changed, like I changed up the lettering. Don’t believe the age ,bcs I move like a veteran.

10:42 - 10:47

Raised on the benefit for whose benefit, they’ll never learn shit, man, if the shoe fits.

…no words coming out when you open your mouth

And to be honest, it’s insulting, offensive to my wounds that have been salting. Tryna ask me questions that they know I never answer. I’d rather sit online and reply to the fan art

11:00-11:06

Fuck a sports car, coming through when i rapped

tell you what I like, farm life and the tractor

11:06- 11:17

Fake life, 'sup online, suck a fat one. You don’t wanna buy into that, none of that son. Sitting in the garden 98’ in the Datsun,  seen some hot summers but I still remember that sun.

*music*

11:51- 12:34

I make millions off of my pain, cause I know a few millions still living that way

Dealing with the hurt, they should know cause they don’t deserve it, it hit deep cause i hit the nerve. Only way that the sheep learn if the street firm, in my ways I don’t wanna change, everything just stay the same

Who you tryna convince you understand, cant maintain, let the lights dim some,  get the Chow Mein, flex, get the tape, right up at night

Why these men be nice to my face, be nice,  i ain’t tryna be a gangsta ruins my vibe

Rather be low-key and on my phone. Never need the trophy or the show piece

Never show peace in a North Face fleece. Show kids this like i wrote my flip

Cause the sign might fit till the start i’m sick

12:37-13:05

Now you see where I come from, the world don’t. Only achievement in this life is the Jordans. Committing petty crimes out of boredom, we can’t afford them. So I stole it, need a rolex

Go make sense, get yourself a job, It’s a poor man’s game tryna sit and pray to god, he ain’t sorting out your problems, gotta sort them out yourself

Used to tell us fables, now I’m writing them myself, Cause we raw like animals we all just need some help

Cathartic, I’m an artist, trying to put my heart in

Felt double crossed like Leo in Departed

13:05- 13:27

For the knowledge i’m not charging see I got it all free

But my hunger kept me starving like i’m feening for the feed

I just Need a reason to see me bleeding for my creed. Trick you with the words like I keep em up my sleeve. Picking where I fit, I see me sitting with the queen

I ain’t doing it unless you’re used to saying please

Let me flow a bit, before I sting 'em with the bees, They tryna kill us with disease

(Music)

13:34- 14:12

Why does it feel like they had the same notebook and the same four looks

Like the rain won't touch on their face, so sus when they lie don’t trust not a minor

Please no fuss, I just move through the game like must

Something in the way i adjust till i stick, Free falling like the ship, free fall till i bust

Remember 21 brother gave no fucks. Trying to project when they give them looks

In the projects, in the objects us

In my own way, never gave me love, shoulda never started this, broken hearted kid

Dried up the feeling till I stole the lid

Don’t wanna relish in the fame but I can’t resist

14:46-14:58

I like the way we feel, I like the way, I like the way

Ain’t no mistake, i am a being

I ain’t tryna be a leader, been selling out since Jesus

All my rhymes are for the readers, between the lines, like Father time, I fuck Mother Nature

14:58-15:40

That’s what they get, the connotations. Tell 'em I lived a life, and then I lived a life of adjacent? like its…. and played it patient.

Alone on my own spaceship, always tryna find greatness, still defying lines, but I’m fighting in my prime.

Shining light like Kylo while imma kill it all the time. Aging like I’m wine

Asian in my face, but still my race you can’t define. Focused on defiance, imma fight it while it’s life.

Started something sick and on my mind is what’s next, just became a dad so now I’m taking all the cheques. Better know I’m staying and paying like it’s debt. Imma get it done, if it’s taking all my breath, sweat, and down I ain’t messing around til I’m the best

Speaking in full sentences, shoulda thought about a strategy before you went at the stratosphere about this… rings around Saturn, this ain’t a battle, I’m sat, I’m here

15:40-16:22

Catch me doing magic, hired and sounding tragic I think you could use practice and until that you get the blacklist and pull like a … actress? Fooling them like a catfish, schooling like a legend, happy to be the reference, fusing like iridescence, leaving them all guessing, leaking out of my brain like a pipe I aint fixing, shining like a star you can see it from a distance

Aint many of me around p*** I’m just different Certain stages to this level aint here because fame is to the devil fuck a label, imma do this from the ghetto, clean up like Im Dettol

I’m the man to put a bet on, sight smart like a weapon,  this is my kind of setting, i write the world I’m sat in, while these others live on hype, i see them fight in how they type, the fruit is ripe for the taking, i think i might

16:22-16:57

Let me take you away from here, Let me take you away from here, Let me take you away from here

16:58- 17:47

Eccentric things are mentioned like a kid stuck in detention tryna escape im just spitting what is written on the next page, spitting image of my dad in his young days

Born sinner when i’m livid i say fucks sake

Don’t worry i’m too cunning with no plumbing, the waterworks, i sung something that resonates, i thought it first like giving birth to the parrot perch

They see me do it and they know it works

Don’t know what’s worse: the way that you live your life or the way that you write a verse

You’ll be nervous, you don’t deserve it we’ll scratch the surface ill leave a crater, lift the dirt up to find the hurting

Can’t know for certain nothing is guaranteed, tryna be a better person than the world deserves to see cuz i see a lot of sharks still swimming in the sea

Cease and arrest what’s the reason.. And these the kinda kids we bringing up next

Distorted reality, all they needed was family, too hard to face, to see what the damage is

17:47

*i don’t wanna be, i don’t wanna be, a part of this, no, i don’t wanna be, i don’t wanna be, a part of this, *

18:04-18:38

Sometimes they ask the questions too deep to form a sentence, to disform, is this the norm, is this the sentence i feel defenseless i played the setlist, and all my sweat blood and tears, forgot to mention feeling lost, going off into different sections i feel like love wrecked it

If it’s not a drug why am i waiting for the next fix, affected, i cant believe that you left this

I guess I leave for the best wish, moving on like im fine for the lectures

We see it all from spectrums, cuz if we’re falling down we can fall down together

Staircase to heaven, mirror down the middle like 11, resentment on one side it won’t settle

18:38- 19:14

Mind fried but taking sense, they aint got a sense of themselves in the rich ends

Need to spell it out for them.. Made for them so witness

I know you feel afflicted but you always love it with me while im laughing at you, ya think you’re laughing with me

I try to (i love you) but im grown so they don’t fit me, my body thrown from the new to this old city so Im sick of sitting on my own, feeling so shitty, i’ve been on roads where its cold and the snow hitting

Its okay to be yourself, sit and talking to myself

I’ve been walking for the longest, just need a little rest, know i ain’t the strongest, I can feel it in my chest, talking about my feelings and of me, they get the best

19:14-19:59

They aint leaving, seeing breathing in my breath

Till death do us part is just seeded in my heart, like a work of art

Never winning,im just scared

Cant begin from the start, do i play a part in the rhythm of the night

I guess i’m onto something cuz the dark is feeling right

Every cloud got a lining, put my own miles  in, like moralis, figured that they’re jealous, that they could just never tell us to change because the weather never made me question whether or not i’m not that level

Got rid of all the bullshit sitting in my way, most of them are full of shit i see it every day

I do hearing the same things that i do, maybe that shits hitting like haiku

How much do you pay for them to hype you

Recycle your flaws but they aint like new, leaving and conceded and full of diesel like engines that need a cleaning, the ending will be revealing. Even though we ain’t raising the facts, now we been facing.

20:01-20:52

The cactus with spikes, needing spaces. Different faces, the same story. A full body like straight body direct to your system.

Could never tell 'em we missed’ em. Not even with the thoughts, we gift them. Cuz they just take advantage, guess we are caught in a system.

My soul pouring out details of borrowed time, had enough of a fill, this is for sorrow time. I’m seeing visions of Heaven, I seen the severed line, between the gospel they speak and when theyre telling lies.

Remember telling a friend of mine, you’d sent of mine, identified like a 3rd eye. Got a habit of knowing now where the dirt lies. So benign. I ain’t sober after 9, so I fuck their minds. Why you flipping out, see another

Try to rep it from the city, fuck a chiller crew, repping for the nittys, trying to keep us down, raised on the social, don’t want to let us out of the system. Me, I insist we assist them, me alone putting shifts til I lift them

20:53-21:12

I know it’s hard, that’s why I like it, I’m fit to fight it, I’m from the North, I’m backing Tyson, it’s been decided, don’t see no light. They needing guiding, just redefining, realizing, I’m realigning, in full finance, they stay silenced.

Can’t be louder, I’m juiced up with no powder. I fix shit like a slick spanner. Gone green like Bruce Banner. So free Gaza on my banner

21:12-21:51

The real McCoy, I ain’t nothing to toy with, signifying peace like a Japanese Koi Fish. How did this happen, we’re moving backwards in our timeline, killing us with cyanide, Right up for the freedom 'til we transform like Ironhide

This is bout my feelings, the way that I move affects the fate that I’m sealing. Can’t say nothing, with that something being on the page, kept inside the pen like the bars that have been kept caged. See I always had a plan, since I was young, we had nothing man

Now it’s been a few years since I ain’t seen the fam, on foreign lands. Bout to climb Everest in the avalanche. Right into the riddles as soon as you were born. Never asking the question cuz it’s the norm. See I’m in a questionin’ session

21:52-22:03

Like the manner got a method to teaching a lesson, listen to MF Doom, he taught me like Ra’s Al Ghul. Felt like living in Gotham, the people were rotten. Still we play cartoons so it’s never forgotten.

22:03-22:15

Chilling at the top but we came from the bottom. Writing and jottin for them life by, spotting the difference

*Dreams, was growing out of me, sun promising that tomorrow it will rise, time playing games with my mind, I swear it will pass us by

Train goes on the tracks, smoke, I’m tired to hide my thoughts, so blinded in flames, Don’t know where we’re going, I have no way of knowing, only see what’s in my head

Can’t we wait a minute, so we can savour this, It’s on my brain again, these days, It on my brain again these days”

23:10-23:46

They’re hating on Palestine ways, The oh no Palace playing Prince on the Steinway, Sending out mind waves, stop them like crimewaves, Freedom fighter, Yellow Metal is my name

Like vipers, I see the sly ones, the snake that’s called Biden, none of them abiding what they might put in writing

We should be used to it by now, say whatever for the vote and then just choose another route, say they’d never kill another unless that brother’s skin is brown

I’m just telling you the facts, if you can’t take it, the truth naked, to bare bones and my thoughts lately, spitting politics.. Done ain’t it, Shit just gets me vexed, and now I’m sitting that I think of it

23:45-23:59

Feeling on the brink of it, whatever it is, Figure out some shit at least it feels that way

talk about my feelings and I don’t feel so strange, finding solace, that’s a promise, in Metropolis but being honest, can’t write a sonnet, without some pain

24:00-24:40

Can’t fade away, away so we can savour this, been on my brain again these days

Can't find a way to be so you can savour this, been on my brain these days

Singing the song for another, singing a song for another

[arrowflier]

oh my god your xmen au!! i've just recently thought about them having powers and ian should def be a healer ❤️

it's so good, i'd love for you to continue or like... do another mutant au (same setting but later? im not picky haha)

as always, your writing is truly amazing!

Yeeesss thank you thank you thank you. I've been wanting to so bad but I'm already neglecting all my WIPs so I needed this excuse.

For everyone else, original here. I'm also tagging this for A.U.gust (hosted by the amazing @gallavichthings) because their professions are inspired by prompts 7 and 19.

---

Ian was crouched over a client, hands flat on a wrinkled and twisted back, when Mickey fell through the door.

Ian stiffened, and not just because his gift was working on the man stretched out on the table in front of him. Mickey attempted to straighten himself on the coat rack by the door, but only succeeded in knocking it over, hands slick with blood.

Not his own, by the looks of it, and that was the only reason Ian kept working.

“What’s that racket?” his client croaked, trying to lift his head, but Ian pressed harder and pushed his gift deeper into the man’s muscles, forcing his neck to relax.

Ian winced as his own neck tensed further, but forced his head straight so he could watch as Mickey stumbled through the room before finally collapsing onto a chair. His head was down, but Ian could see faint streaks of red at his hairline, glistening in his dark hair when he ran a shaky hand through it. The spikes on his shoulders, exposed by a tear in his black shirt, lay flat and weak and similarly wet against his pale skin.

Ian swallowed hard, and removed his hands from the body in front of him.

“You’re done,” Ian rasped, waiting for the usual weariness and weakness to fade. He rubbed his eyes with a hand that felt more gnarled than it was, and grimaced. His eyelids felt like sandpaper.

“That’s it?” his client asked. They weren’t one of his usuals, just someone that heard about him from a friend. Ian tried to accept new clients where he could, especially those that found him by word of mouth—there wasn’t much else he could do in the way of advertising without a license or registration for his unorthodox mutation.

“That’s it,” Ian confirmed, and tapped the edge of the table impatiently, waiting for the man to get up and leave. He should be perfectly capable of that sort of movement for at least a few days, if he didn’t do anything too stupid with his newfound physical freedom.

“I heard you offer…other services,” the old man said slyly, twisting to look at Ian as he sat up and swung his legs toward the floor. “For a price, of course,” he added, smiling like he knew something.

Clearly, he did not.

“No anymore,” Ian answered shortly. “And never for patrons of your type.”

“Of my type?” the man repeated, voice now rising with suppressed anger. “And what does that mean, you mutant scum?”

“Means he don’t like wrinkly old man balls no more,” Mickey called out from across the room, and Ian had never been so grateful to hear his rough voice, despite what it was saying.

“It doesn’t,” he assured his client. “I mean, I don’t, but—”

“No need to explain, boy,” his client stated—probably ex-client now, and Ian should really feel worse about watching him leave.

Instead, he held his breath until the door slammed behind that narrow, weak back, and then immediately darted over to throw the bolt.

Room secured, Ian took a moment to breathe, in and out, as the last of the other man’s fatigue finally left him.

“You gonna stand there all night?” Mickey asked, somewhat quieter, behind him. “Or are you gonna come patch me up, doc?”

Ian turned to see Mickey struggling to rise from his seat, and was there in a few long strides to push him down again with a firm hand on his shoulder. Mickey hissed as Ian rubbed his spikes the wrong way, but let himself be secured.

Without thinking about it, Ian stroked his hand down, following those dangerous barbs along the length of Mickey’s bare arm. He wasn’t worried about them; he had seen firsthand the danger they could do, throughout the years, but never had Mickey harmed him.

Well, at least not without reason.

And he had clearly come to Ian for a different reason, this time. It had been a few weeks since they’d seen each other, and in that time Mickey had apparently found someone new to piss off, judging by the blood on his spikes. Someone that didn’t already know all his tricks.

“You have to stop doing this,” Ian said accusingly, gesturing at Mickey in general, and the other man snorted, then winced when it opened a cut on his face.

“Define ‘this’,” he challenged, and Ian shrugged.

“Picking fights, I guess,” he answered. “I know you have that new gig at the bar, security or whatever—”

“Bodyguard, doc, it’s a little more impressive—”

“But you don’t always have to jump straight to violence.”

“Why” Mickey asked, quirking a bleeding eyebrow. “I’m paid to be a badass, Gallagher, and you always fix me up just fine.”

Ian shook his head, eyes scanning for the worst of Mickey’s injuries. Thankfully, they were few—a slowly seeping gash at his hairline, the source of the blood about to drip into his blue eyes; an oddly bent finger; a patch of quills at the base of his neck that looked nearly torn out, like someone had gotten hold before Mickey flexed them.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Ian insisted absently, trailing his fingers from Mickey’s shoulder to his neck, to his face, heedless of the red trail they left on pale skin.

“Please,” Mickey scoffed, bending his head obediently when Ian pushed it back for better light. “The principle is that you like havin’ an excuse to get your hands on me.”

“Could get my hands on you anyway,” Ian mused, digging his fingers roughly into Mickey’s hair as if to prove a point.

Mickey hissed, but smirked through it.

“Oh yeah?” he questioned lightly. “Think I'm that easy, huh?”

“Know you’re that easy,” Ian murmured, leaning in closer than he strictly needed to to finish surveying the damage.

Mickey blinked, eyes only inches away from Ian’s own.

“Get those healin’ hands on me then,” he breathed, and Ian didn’t bother to point out that they already were.

Instead, he moved one hand over the scratch on Mickey’s scalp, one hand to the damaged quills on his neck, and his mouth to Mickey’s bottom lip.

And he reached inside himself for his power, and pushed.

They both gasped, deepening the sudden kiss almost by accident as Ian’s power coursed through them, between them. Mickey’s cuts started to heal even as they opened on Ian’s skin, quills bristling and growing strong again as tiny pinpricks of red showed on Ian’s own neck.

Let go of her, Ian heard in his mind, Mickey’s voice ordering some creep to release the girl he was trying to carry from the club.

I’m just gettin her home, man

Thin fingers reach for Mickey’s jacket, Ian’s jacket, their jacket. Grasp the hem, tug faintly, fall again on a limp arm.

I don’t fuckin’ think so

Pain in his fists, then pain on his back as someone else joins the fight, someone Ian can’t see. Sharp fingernails in his hair, on his neck, gripping, twisting.

A flare. Quills puffing from their sleek layer against warm skin, finding their target. The slippery wet feeling of blood on his shoulders, wetting them down again.

Okay, it’s okay now as frail hands grasp at him again to stand straight. Come on, it’s okay.

Ian’s hands fell from Mickey’s wounds as the last ones finally closed. He ignored the wetness in his eyes, the wetness on Mickey’s face, pretended they were blood and not tears.

“You did good,” he whispered against Mickey’s searching lips. “So good, Mickey.”

“Shut up, doc,” Mickey murmured back. “Give me something different to feel good about.”

So Ian did.

He kissed him again. Bit his lip, licked it clean. Ran a finger over the indentation, felt the bite on his own mouth as he soothed it. He scratched at Mickey’s back, didn’t recall when it was bared, felt hot lines down his own and couldn’t tell if they came from Mickey’s dirty hands or his own neatly trimmed nails.

It was always like this, when it happened. A feedback loop, not knowing where he stopped and Mickey began as they hurt and healed and hurt again. Hurt in good ways rather than bad, ways they had been hurting and helping each other since they were just children in a schoolyard chasing bullies. Ian lost himself in it, lost himself in Mickey’s mouth and eyes and skin and his own touches upon it, a constant blooming sensation deep in the reserves of his power.

He wondered what it felt like for Mickey, but then he didn’t have to. He never had to. He could feel that too: the tug of quills pushed the wrong way, the press of them into skin at both point and base, the prickling sensation when they settled, flared, settled again within sensitive skin and muscle.

But they never stabbed on purpose. They never hurt more than he could take; than they could take. And as he let Mickey stand, let him walk Ian back toward the bedroom on newly strengthened legs, Ian embraced all the feelings it invoked in the both of them.

Tomorrow, Mickey would most likely leave again, possibly even before breakfast. He would go back to his job, the one Ian didn’t like, and work and live and thrive until he needed Ian again.

It would feel worse, that separation, if Ian couldn’t feel the truth in every movement they made against each other in the night.

Mickey didn’t need Ian to fix him up; he never had. He had been doing fine on his own long before they met.

No, Mickey didn’t come to Ian because he liked to pick fights. He picked fights because he liked to come to Ian, and for now, that was enough.

[lady-tortilla-chip]

This? This feeling which sparks light between his fingers and builds an endless heat in his core? It’s ruin.

Ruin like a windstorm in the flatlands of the Earth Kingdom. Like the frosting air of the furthest south. Like swirling clouds dancing with light and rumbling with over bearing sounds that should’ve been crushing but were instead inspiring.

It’s ruin in such an incredible, beautiful, powerful way and Zuko is easily — willingly felled by it. Readily moved to its rhythm. It’s force.

He thinks it should be impossible that the embodiment of it all is just so small. Small enough to grip in his hands and destroy without thought. But strong enough to never let such a thing occur — at least, not at Zuko’s hand.

There’s an image which haunts him, a streak of lightning flashing underground and a convulsing body which stills just as quickly and falls like a stone.

It replays when Zuko gives into the idea that he could have what he wants. What his fire breathes for and his body burns for. Reminds him of the choice he’d made then and the consequences of it.

The kind of ruin he’d inflicted that short while ago wasn’t beautiful. Wasn’t powerful and inspiring. It was vicious and disgusting and a reflection of everything wrong with his Nation.

That singular decision was a thick thread of shame woven among the many other shades which make up the fabric of his life. All red and furious with the anger that colored every scenario they depicted. And it was that thread, that decision which guaranteed he’d never deserve what his heart so quickly came to long for.

Aang’s body twists slightly as he shifts and bends a small stream of fire but the movement is so horribly incorrect, even if it technically produced something, that Zuko’s jarred out of the unproductive thoughts he’d lost himself in.

“How was that Sifu Hot—,”

Zuko sighs, loudly enough to cut off Aang’s millionth use of a term he can’t possibly know the connotations of with how often he uses it and deadpans, “Awful.”

Aang pouts at him. But the expression is short lived upon his features as it quickly sinks into a smile when he suggests, for the nth time since they started their session, “Mind demonstrating for me then?”

If he didn’t know any better he’d think Aang failed the movements on purpose. Either to get Zuko to manhandle him into place or to watch him do it himself.

Ridiculous.

Zuko does as asked and Aang manages it better the next go.

Zuko doesn’t think about his ruin again. How it comes in a form so small he could cradle it in his hands but will never be given the chance to.

He doesn’t think about anything but the forms he’s attempting to teach. No actual bending as that would lead to thinking and longing and he can lose himself to neither.

He succeeds at that much, at stifling himself. Does so until the end of their session and Aang leaves him and he gains a full view of the scar that interrupts Aang’s tattoo. The explosion of heat and Azula’s power imprinted in his skin like a brand.

Seeing it twists a sort of jealousy in his gut over the fact that his sister of all people had gotten to touch a part of Aang even if only through a streak of energy and a will to harm.

It was something. Lasting upon the Avatar in a way Zuko’s touch never will be. His touches are only echoed in Aang’s firebending. In the movements he’s perfected with Zuko’s own hands having shifted them into place.

It’s then, with that thought and that view that he, not for the last time, considers his ruin.

[capri-ramblings]

hi!! may i please request some headcanons of Lilia, Riddle, and Floyd with an s/o who just refuses to wear pants because they make her feel constricted? i only wear skirts and short shorts for that reason, whenever people ask me to wear pants, im like a seven year old who wasn't aloud to go to the park 😅

Funny story when I first started writing this I mistook the whole not wearing pants thing as in their s/o went around not wearing anything but their underwear but then I went and read the request back and I just sat in my room for five whole minutes like 🙂 or was that how you actually wanted it to be,Peachy? If it is I'll just go bury myself in my backyard then.

Requests are in the works. Please refer to Pinned post before sending one in.

"Shorts and Skirts!"

Riddle Rosehearts

- Riddle was fine with it. Well,he thought he was fine with it but then he started to just realize how immensely...short your skirts were and one time he swore he could get a glimpse of what you wore underneath and aside from his cheeks burning from embarrassment, Riddle also felt a jealous streak coming over him.

- "Wear these" He'd say while handing you longer skirts and not so short shorts-shorts but being someone who never liked being or feeling restricted, you always had something to say and honestly Riddle just loses it sometimes

- He isn't the best partner at understanding mostly because he tends to react emotionally rather than logically when it came to his s/o, and also the fact that he grew up with a mom who always had the say over what he had to wear and what was deemed proper.

- He's not trying to be controlling over you, but it's hard for him to watch your bare skin so visible to the world and even when he knows you can handle yourself, Riddle also knows some people don't care where they place their hands and what if he's not there when you need him? What if someone just comes up to you and shoves their hand up your skirt? Just thinking about it makes him want to put a collar on any guy you walk pass

- It gets a little frustrating what him throwing fits at how stubborn you are but if you just keep explaining yourself and have him listen which he will eventually, Riddle will learn to simmer down.

- A bit jealous and overprotective but once he sees how happy you are with your clothing, Riddle would just adapt to glaring at anyone who looks at you like you're a free pass.

- He likes the checkered skirts though so expect him buying you lots of those

Floyd Leech

- He doesn't really see the problem. What's the difference between a pants and a skirt anyway? Both things cover up your leg anyways which is weird for him cause Floyd feels human clothes are heavy and he wouldn't want to wear anything if it weren't for Jade

- If you're okay with him randomly touching your leg or pulling on your skirt when he chases you around, then chances are you won't really have any problems with him

- He likes seeing your skin anyway,back in Coral Sea people didn't wear clothes that covered them up and so it was always easier to snatch people and scare them

- It does make him a bit more of a teaser though and brings out his sadistic side too and since human skin is easier to bruise, he'll have a lot of fun with that

- Floyd would purposely grab you a bit too hard and he's always saying it's an accident that you're so small and fragile so sometimes he forgets that gripping hard would leave prints

- It's easier to pull down too right?

- Jade told him once that a gentleman doesn't grope a lady's skirt but Floyd isn't gentle and he's an eel so that doesn't apply to him,right?

- Expect him to run his hands up your skirt or shorts and just him going "What,lil shrimpy? I like my hand on your skin, that's why you're always showing them to me right?"

- He doesn't care who sees, just that you understand he's starting to get addicted to your skin and if you do try to cover up he'd probably do something to have your pants.... accidentally ripped.

- He doesn't mean any harm though, things like affection are just different when it comes to Floyd and as long as you know his best interest,you'd be fine.

Lilia Vanrouge

- Here's another person who wouldn't mind an s/o rocking short skirts and even shorter shorts.

- Lilia actually likes it and sees it as something very charming with how you like feeling free in your in clothing

- Not everyone is comfortable in their own body after all so seeing his s/o being someone who is makes Lilia proud

- He also understands your sentiment of not wanting to feel constricted and it makes sense to him seeing how with full access to your limbs you'd be able to fight or run away if you ever got into trouble.

- It shows that you're flexible and flexibility is just as important as intelligence and strength after all.

- He'd buy you a variety of skirts and shorts and have you try them on in front of him, not only because it's a major turn on for him but also because he wants to take note of what you like and what you don't for future references

- He might even get matching shorts for you and him to wear much to everyone else's dismay of course, but hey you look cute wearing his colours.

[mythicamagic]

If asks are open, #35, between the shoulder blades!

35: a kiss on the space between shoulder blades.

---

"What does it do?"

Kagome blinked and looked up. "Hm?"

"Your sword. What does it do?"

"Oh!" sliding a hand to the purple hilt of her shiny new blade, Kagome patted it. "You'll see once we come across an attacking youkai."

Sesshoumaru arched a brow, "you fear testing it against this one? I provided the fang for it."

Worry fanned into the miko's scent, and she glanced away a little awkwardly. "It's not that I think you couldn't handle it," she mumbled. "It's just that it reacts defensively instead of launching a long-ranged attack like Tetusaiga, and it packed quite a punch the last time I used it. I don't even have a name for the thing yet. Let's just wait until I've had more practice with a sword before I go blindly swinging it around."

This did not help to temper the Daiyoukai's curiosity, and he was half tempted to flush a random demon out from hiding in the bushes to frighten her into using it. Alas, he was not a pup. He could behave, for now.

When the weather started to take a turn for the worst during their journey on foot, Sesshoumaru decided to scoop up the miko and fly them the rest of the way towards his domain, enclosed in a white orb of youki to keep the rain out- though they'd already been soaked through. Kagome squirmed and complained, saying it defeated the purpose of travelling to help the needy if she was being flown around. He dismissed these concerns; it wasn't as though either enjoyed walking in heavy rain.

Soaring through grey skies, it took the remainder of the afternoon to reach the Western Stronghold. Unfortunately due to the white orb obstructing her vision, Kagome hadn't been able to witness its outside structure. Sesshoumaru set her down on a grandiose balcony, his powers sliding away. They ducked into the adjoining bedroom, and Kagome's breath hitched upon glimpsing an outside view of the courtyard. From what she could see, it spread vast and wide, perfect for a military force. The compound buildings looked sleek and white, as though carved from marble stone. Cold, but beautiful.

"Did you...grow up here?"

"Hn," he removed his damp armour, setting it down and proceeding to twist the fall of his hair over one shoulder, water droplets pattering to the floor.

Kagome felt that aligned quite a bit about his character and values, but she found it interesting that he never seemed to visit it often.

"I will find a servant to attend us," he turned on his heel, stilling when Kagome casually set both hands on his waist. She planted a warm kiss against the damp material of his silks between his shoulder blades, resting her forehead there for a moment. Sesshoumaru stiffened, heat touching his cheeks.

The miko hugged him from behind, before drawing away. "Sure, I'll wait here," she said easily, opening a cupboard to help herself to a towel, rubbing at curling dark hair.

He shook himself and continued onwards, warmth curling in the depths of his chest. She gave affection so easily, it had felt a little strange to experience it in his Stronghold. Strange, but not unpleasant.

After being left alone, Kagome leaned her shoulder against the sliding door to his balcony, watching the rain start to die down. She was the one who had insisted on being introduced in his home, rather than be kept a secret- but that didn't mean her stomach was free from butterflies. She somewhat dreaded facing the occupants of his home, no doubt sharp-tongued demons who may openly ridicule her or Sesshoumaru's choice of woman.

Sesshoumaru isn't the type to let people insult him though, she mused distractedly. I hope this goes relatively smoothly.

No sooner than that mildly hopeful thought had crossed her mind- a creature lunged at her from outside- and blinding power erupted.

Sesshoumaru froze from where he stood in the hallway talking to Jaken, the hair raising at the back of his neck. Sensing a youkai swiftly fly at the mansion, he turned and quickly sped through the halls. His form blurred, a white streak flying by servants and nobles. Slamming the door to his chambers open, he was just in time to witness his balcony and outer wall get demolished.

It was a curious thing. As Kagome had said, the blade only reacted when the brown inuyoukai had drawn in close. At the point of contact with Kagome's drawn sword, several tiny explosions of pure pink reiki burst forth- before abruptly becoming massive and swallowing the youkai's attacking paw whole. The inuyoukai howled in pain, ripping its arm free and destroying his room in its haste to put distance between them.

Kagome panted, gripping her sword tight. Her arms and legs shook.

Golden eyes remained wide, darkening slightly. He ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth, claws twitching, heat hooking low in his stomach. It had resembled Bakusaiga, he realised belatedly. Raw consuming energy had sought to crush its enemy with an explosive force. Magnificent.

Drawing up close to her side, Sesshoumaru reached out and placed a gentle hand on the pulsing blade. It did not react, as he did not intend harm. Instead it settled down, quelled by the familiar brush of his youki. Kagome released a hard breath, lowering her sword and shifting closer against him, eyeing the youkai hovering mid-air with horror and wariness.

Melodic, tinkling laughter reached their ears. A demoness smoothly swept down from the upper floors, landing on the brown inuyoukai's head and fanning herself.

"My, my~ it seems your little miko certainly is powerful, Sesshoumaru," she purred, adjusting her furs. Sharp golden eyes smiled.

Kagome gaped, looking between the two. The resemblance was uncanny. "I-is she...?"

"Hn, my mother," Sesshoumaru confirmed dryly. How very like her. The brown youkai licked at its wounded paw while his mother inspected them with a haughtiness befitting her station. She never got her hands dirty; that was what servants were for.

"A pleasure to meet you," Inukimi fanned herself. "Though I anticipated your trysts with my son coming to an end- I find this outcome of your apparent courtship much more amusing," ruby red lips curved up at the edges. "Welcome to the Western Stronghold, Shikon Miko."

[faimrpg]

Maccius arrives as it always does: with very little flair. Spring has fully settled now, and across Val Faim, trees blossom with pink and white flowers, nearly every merchant sets out grand bouquets in front of their displays to draw possible patrons in, and sailors return home from long excursions at sea to the arms of their loved ones—it is at this time of year that the Celestinian ocean is most peaceful. When Summer arrives, it will be so soft and lulling that the only way to move product to trade is by means of magic, and when winter comes, the waves will tower so tall any man who thinks to sail them will be dubbed out of his mind.

TRIGGER WARNING: Death, explosions, implied violence

Now, however, peace reigns. People settle back into their usual daily routines, and while the death of Hippolyte had been tragic, most are content to forget the event entirely. His blood was cleaned from the marble of the Summer Palace that same night—why should they carry his bones with them? It doesn’t take so much as a week before Hippolyte’s duty is replaced by someone else, who will tend the docks and its workers and ensure Val Faim gets what it needs. GHISLAIN in particular has taken much interest in this replacement, hoping to wring out of this execution whatever dor it will provide. A job on the top of the Azure Quarter, overseeing not only trade but also every writ of passage through the capital, is an incommensurate advantage. Maybe it’s crude to make a move so soon after a man’s demise, but Calandre’s word is holy: he was a traitor, and he got his due. Besides, the hunger for power consumes all else. Ghislain’s efforts come to the dismay of RÉGIS, who’d been hoping to wrangle a similar deal for themself, and become the new helmsman of the docks on behalf of Alain Gauthier.

Not all are content to return to the way things were—in fact, some find the idea abhorrent, and Alain has taken to tracking down those who speak with dissent about Calandre to a new level entirely. He has enlisted GISELE to pick out newfound dissidents, with a particular emphasis on ETIENNE. “Having someone as skilled as Etienne”, Alain explains, “certainly wouldn’t harm us, especially if they were already in our pocket.” As soon as Gisele is sent away with their goal, he calls for BEAU and explains in no uncertain words what he needs them to do, with a little bump in their pay to incentivize it.

Talk in the Underworld says that Hippolyte had some sort of allegiance to Widrowem, and that his plan was not to kill Calandre, but to warn her about Alain in order to earn Widrowem a foothold in Celestine’s court. Gauthier doesn't know how far back this scheme goes, or whether it has something to do with Widrowem’s insistence for Calandre to receive their ambassadors and listen to their offer.

Alain, as is ingrained in his nature, fears the worst. The Widrowish envoy has long whispered of the need to unite their two kingdoms in marriage, and Calandre sharply rebuked each of these attempts. It could very well be that Widrowem tired of waiting, and found another way to ingratiate themselves upon the throne. If BEAU could dig through Hippolyte’s abandoned townhouse in Hightown, there’s a chance they might find something of worth linking him back to the foreign southern kingdom. “Anything works,” Alain says, pressing a small purse of dor into Beau’s hands. “Journals, letters, ledgers, books—whatever you can find, take it. And one more thing: find PATRICE, ask for their help. They might be a noble scorned, but they’re noble regardless, and if you need to take your time looking, having someone from a high-standing house with you might save your neck. Tell them I sent you.” Whether BEAU needs to split their new wealth with PATRICE goes unsaid, because Alain is gone before anyone can think to ask him.

Across the city, LIANE listens intently as Calandre explains her next task for her esteemed spymaster, with CELESTE close behind: she, too, wants them to go rooting around in Hippolyte’s grand old house. Not to find any links to Widrowem, but to find what they can on Alain Gauthier, who the Empress thinks was pulling the strings behind Hippolyte’s poorly coordinated assassination attempt and untimely demise. She might have given the signal for the axe, but it was Gauthier who hung it overhead.

Standing on the balcony overlooking the gardens, with the air cool, the weather fair, and Calandre’s tone mild, it is difficult to recall that a month ago she had stood here and watched one of her detractor’s bodies burn on the Pyre.

It is the virtue of the Summer Palace’s unique positioning that gives all three of them a perfect view when a flash of light and fury shakes Val Faim. The very ground rumbles. In a heartbeat, bursts of flame and thick grey smoke rise up into the air, somewhere close to the Prophet’s Tomb—the Tomb is thankfully unharmed, alongside Odeline’s tall-towering figure. The city immediately drops into complete stillness. They are left to do nothing but watch as the smoke grows and grows and grows, and while the shaking hadn’t lasted longer than a few seconds, it seems to reverberate through their bodies, like the very foundation of the Palace had been shaken and reaped them along with it. Before the rubble even settles, Calandre is swept away by HECTOR and VICTOIRE, each of them hemming the Empress like wings of iron and steel. In their ruler’s wake, CELESTE and LIANE are left to simply stare at the coiling plumes on the horizon and tremble. They watch the ruins with their arms interlocked, as the smog carries over a bitter taste of omens and defeat. Even in this state, the two spies are already planning their next move. It is the life they’ve chosen.

SAINTE and AGRIPPINE bear the brunt of the shock. They are nearly taken off their feet when the explosion occurs, as they were just on the outskirts of the tomb. They help one another to their feet and rush to investigate. The city guards who join the scene are met with a perturbing sight. Rubble lies everywhere, windows of neighboring buildings blown out, and in the epicentre of the destruction stands a mage, shaken and trembling, arms wrapped around herself and desperately attempting to cover the body of her friend, both their faces streaked with soot.

“He didn’t mean to do it,” the mage cries, unwilling to let go of her compatriot as she is pulled away, even as his body goes limp among the stones. “Henri didn’t mean for any of this to happen!” The street is soon blocked off entirely, and stunned passersby are urged to visit the Tomb or the Lion’s Mane for a drink to soothe their spirits, much to the chagrin of DEGARÉ, who has more clientele on their hands than anyone could be reasonably prepared for in such a short window of time. Yet the deluge of customers entails lesser known advantages for the club’s proprietor—especially in times of despair, when purse strings are loose and tongues even looser.

MICHEL and CECILE are commanded to take point on the clean-up of the building. Michel is tasked with coordinating the guardsmen clearing away rubble. Cecile’s role is to smooth over the ruffled feathers of angered noblemen and politicians who come calling to ask why the pesky issue of a desolated building and a dead man in its grip have yet to be resolved by the Empress. It’s tricky work, with even trickier tempers to handle, but they see it done, and within three days of the incident, it is like it never happened. Where the building sat before, now there are only ruins, a barren foundation to be covered up and built upon again by someone with grander designs.

SIDONIE is called upon immediately by Calandre, once the Empress is informed of what happened, along with HELENE. They are to interrogate the surviving mage, and find out what was their purpose in the heart of her empire—and what they hoped to gain from splitting it open. Was the dead mage a madman, or a fool? Were they foreign assassins, an honorless path already trodden by so many of her enemies? Were they zealots of a hidden coven, whose aims to control magic got the better of them? On these questions their fate, and that of so many others, rests unevenly. When the two go to meet her, the woman, named Amelie, is shaken into stupor, entirely unwilling to speak. Not even Calandre’s favored advisors can get anything out of her. Calandre listens intently when she is informed of the matter, and dismisses the two with a simple wave of her hand. “If she won’t tell us directly, there will have to be another way to find out what happened.” It is as much an admonishment as it is an admittance of a dead end.

She does not tell them she has other resources to call upon, and call upon them she does. They come to Val Faim in the shape of ROTH, ADRASTE, and MEDRAUT: two Chevaliers, and one Chevalier-in-training, recalled back from the border of Widrowem to investigate the truth of what happened with the explosion, and whether Alain Gauthier had anything to do with it. MATTHIEU is sent to greet them, as the present superior of the knight order—yet he is quickly rebuffed by his own compatriots, who are apparently more loyal to each other than to their Empress.

The wound of the incident heals relatively quickly, as unspoken horrors do. The death of the man who was supposedly to blame is quick to soothe any worried souls, and Amelie, once she has come to her senses and understood the risk she was in, confirms it to SIDONIE when the other mage visits her in her cell. When she speaks, the girl’s eyes are wild: “Not all is what it seems. My friend only wanted to stop something awful before it began, and it cost him his life.”

That very same night, a faceless assassin attempts to kill SAVATIER in the deepest recesses of the library—only for ISEULT to spear them down from behind a shadowed pillar before they have a chance to draw blood. By morning, Amelie has mysteriously disappeared. Investigations into her vanishing bear no fruit, save for a farewell letter the mage left for her family, now fallen into the hands of VIOLAINE. Amelie was from a noble house: if VIOLAINE wanted to, they could reach out on her behalf and deliver the letter, or they could keep it for later blackmail.

In the midst of all this chaos, Calandre finds herself desperate for a distraction, and can see that her court may very well feel the same. She writes to one of Celestine’s most famed artists, and by the end of the week, SYLVIANE has returned from their expedition into the Obsidienne, alongside their bodyguard, VASKA. Calandre orders them to enliven the palace grounds and paints a series of murals depicting her reigns’ latest achievements—as well as a new portrait to replace the one she had commissioned when she first seized the throne. It is a clever reminder that sometimes a gilded foil hides real triumph beneath. Yet SYLVIANE & VASKA have not come empty-handed, nor are they tongue-tied before Calandre’s command. They are determined to inform the Empress about the concerning sights they’ve witnessed in the Obsidienne. Yet all these attempts are brushed away, first as baubles of passing interest, then as outright fantasies spurned by the solitude of the scorched desert. The shapes of dead bodies awakened to walk, or rifts in the very fabric of the air that shimmer and wrinkle like human skin, and lead to nowhere should a soul step through, are torn from a different cloth than Calandre’s designs for her progressive reign. These old wives tales might be of interest to others: courtiers and commoners alike, such as SIDONIE, SAINTE & AGRIPPINE flock to listen to the painter’s tales. All Calandre does when she is remembered of these discoveries is flatten her mouth into a tight, disapproving line. Some overlook how the Empress’s moods are darkening by the hour.

Not everyone can turn a blind eye to her displeasure, especially those closest to her retinue. CYRIL is witness to Calandre’s frayed nerves firsthand, when ZHENYA pressures the Empress that the North will need more incentive if they are to maintain their trade deal with Val Faim. They are quickly dismissed from her side, and they run into the imperial tailor on the fringe of the hallways. Neither of them can help but eavesdrop on the sobbing fit Calandre falls prey to when she thinks she is alone for the first time. Something is breaking, but neither of them know what, and the decision about whom to ask for help lands in muddied waters. MELODIE, her closest confidante, seems the most obvious choice to be called at her side for comfort, but will Calandre thank them, or resent them for having her weakness noticed and exposed?

In Emperor Tristan’s days, talk spread as fast as a wildfire bracketed by dry grass. While Calandre’s reign has seen some of that blood-hungering cease, the sharks remain desperate for whatever falls into the water, and that hunger has not vanished entirely. It does not take long for many others to discover that Calandre might not be faring as well as she presents herself, in spite of the grand dinners and parties she has hosted in the Summer Palace to try and distract herself.

ROSALIND is one of the first outside of ZHENYA and CYRIL to find out, a not-so-well-kept secret falling right into the palms of their hands. The information goes from them to Alain—who is pleased to be informed. In an effort to secure their loyalty, he gives ROSALIND a task. “See if you engage YVON in a little tête-à-tête, and find out where their true loyalties lie. Lure them on our side, but only promise them enough to prove a guiding light. They are still young and mercurial enough that they must believe the choice is their own. Do this, and I’ll see if I can coordinate a certain royal jeweler’s fall from grace by the time Aude is through.” He leaves them there in the bustling Silver Quarter to make the choice on how to proceed on their own.

Secrets are unearthed, vows and oaths amassed—old debts are summoned up like the souls of the dead, and new scores are forged from thin air. For a while, it seems that Val Faim is pitching to a critical point, a colossus capsizing on its own weight. The threads roped around its people tangle and thrum. And then the skein seems to unsnarl. It lies very still, too much distance between its knots to ever properly destabilize it. The tapestry of faith and power has weathered more tempestuous times than this. The wind smooths over the dust, the storm slackens, and even the spring becomes spring once more. It’s on this day that the tides turn for good.

A Widrowem ship is spotted on the quiet sea, its sails as white as bones. Two ambassadors, themselves of noble lineage in those intricate Widrowish ways, where Gods are ancestors and night is day, step on the shore. CASSIAN and ROWAN have been sent to Val Faim on a mission that feels almost sacred. Yet their Thane’s anger, the chosen ruler of their realm, has nothing holy in it. Their homeland was promised a treaty and a throne years ago. So far, not a single audience has been granted, and this strange Empress balks at marriage as if it were carnage. To add the salt of insult to an open injury, their most trusted man in court was murdered without the right to trial. Hippolyte was gutted for spectacle, a debacle that echoed the barbarians of centuries ago.

It’s Widrowem’s duty to put an end to tyrants. And that is what they came to do.

On that bone-sailed, hollowed-out ship rides another: KARINE, Alain Gauthier's closest compatriot in bloodshed. They, too, have been summoned from Widrowem with a similar purpose. With a hungry smile that cuts their jaw wider, they shake hands with Gauthier on the dock as he pulls them aside. They have business, and if there is anything KARINE thrives at, it is anything to do with death. Imagine their surprise, then, when they are tasked with a more simple duty. Not to kill, but to hunt. Amelie remains unfound, in a city packed to the brim with people, and no one trusts Alain enough yet in the Underworld to give him information of any worth. So he sets his favored assassin on the trail, and tells them not to return until they have what he needs in their grasp.

The stage is set, the spotlight positioned perfectly, the doors to the theater wide open to allow a spring breeze to flow through. Underneath that sweet scent is an undeniable trace of rot. With Widrowem Ambassadors on the scene, their expectations low and ambitions high, and warnings and whispers working their way through the Court—the show has truly begun. Hippolyte's death at Calandre’s command was a mere prelude. What happens now may very well change the fate of all those in Val Faim, forever.

Welcome to our second event! We realize this one is even lengthier than the first, so below, you’ll find a simplified summary and a timestamp breaking down important dates for the month. Like the first event, feel free to thread out flashbacks, continue your threads from the Anniversary timestamp at your leisure, and explore what your character might be up to throughout the month outside of where they’re mentioned in the event. It’s definitely a busy one!

SUMMARY: It’s Maccius, and springtime has officially arrived in Val Faim. What would be a relatively peaceful start to the season otherwise kicks off with catastrophe when a building explodes extremely close to the Prophet’s Tomb. Only one person dies, a man named Henri, who’d apparently been the cause of the explosion, but the details are murky. The only other individual who could provide any information explaining what happened, Amelie, is brought in to be spoken with but gives up nothing before eventually disappearing into thin air. All the while, Alain Gauthier is scheming in the background, trying to take advantage of both Hippolyte’s execution and the chaos caused by the explosion to get a step ahead.

He calls for one of his allies, KARINE, and asks them to help put the pieces together. Alongside KARINE come two Ambassadors from the not-so-far-away Widrowem, ROWAN and CASSIAN are here to negotiate a marriage contract between Widrowem’s Thane and Calandre… or to see if war might be the next best option, as Calandre’s stubbornness over the years has not improved. Calandre, wanting to lighten the mood in the Summer Palace and distract both herself and courtiers from these gloomy events, summons SYLVIANE to come to Val Faim and paint a beautiful new mural as a tribute to Celestine’s strength. With SYLVIANE is their bodyguard, VASKA. Less famous are the three Chevaliers Calandre brings back from the border of Widrowem to investigate the explosion and members of her court. ROTH, ADRASTE, and MEDRAUT might all be a little on the prickly side, but they’re here to see the rough work done. There is a general air of tension to the city. It feels like most people are waiting for the other shoe to drop.

TIMESTAMPS:

The Second of Maccius: The explosion occurs. Henri is dead, and Amelie is brought in to help figure out what happened.

The Sixth of Maccius: The rubble from the explosion is officially cleared away. Sylviane and Vaska arrive to paint Calandre’s mural.

The Twelfth of Maccius: Roth, Adraste, and Medraut make it to Val Faim and are set to the task of figuring out why Henri set the explosion off, how he did it, and where Amelie went. Calandre has given them full reign of the city and those they speak to for details.

The Nineteenth of Maccius: Karine, Cassian, and Rowan arrive in Val Faim. Karine is here on business for Alain Gauthier, but Cassian and Rowan’s goals are much more political.

If you have any questions pertaining to the event, please drop them in the Discord channel! If you need any help plotting, or getting things started, please reach out and we’ll see what I can do to help. The new characters (Roth, Adraste, Medraut, Karine, Cassian, Rowan, Sylviane, and Vaska) are all open for applications. Their skeletons will be posted throughout the day. Thank you again, to all of you, and happy one month of being open!

[the-sympathetic-villain]

Choking in the Dark

AO3 | Next | Masterpost

Description: The prompt for this one-shot is this animatic, "Wires" by Anna Midnight, which I highly recommend you watch before reading.

Characters: Logan, Remus Word Count: 2769 Chapter Warnings: Heavy Angst, Choking, Self-Esteem Issues/Self-Deprecation, Injuries, Dark but Not Necessarily Unsympathetic sides, Abandonment, Self-Harm, Angst with an okay(?) ending (Let me know if I need to add anything!)

General Taglist:

@somehow-i-got-an-account @justanotherhumanstuff @im-an-anxious-wreck

-

   I can’t breathe.

   Hours.

   How many hours?

   I've been here for so long.

   Logan's lungs ached. On his knees, he hung his head. The weight of his head pulling against the thick rubber cable around his neck, making it even harder to breath. He stayed there for a moment, swaying as he ignored the voice in the back of his mind screamed for air.The voice became increasingly persistent until he was forced to raise his head as the edges of his vision blurred.

   It doesn't matter.

   Thick wires cut deep into his wrists, a solemn comfort that he was even alive. The fading had started hours ago, starteing in the tips of his fingers and slowly claiming his body.  He held up his hand. The translucent appearance of his digits a metaphorical punch to the gut as he jerked his head, the wire around his neck tightening like a noose.

   I'll do you all a favor and spare you my company.

   If he'd known the words would be some of his last, he would have chosen a subject more interesting to lecture on than Peter Singer's take one Effective Altruism. He could have talked about anything. Astronomy, chemistry—The others barely acknowledged his contributions as it stood. The topics may not have been relevant, but at least he would have been able to choose the lesson.

   His last lesson.

   Logan whimpered as the thick wire tightened around his neck, cutting into the already raw skin. He wheezed a stiff breath against the heavy piece of rubber threatening to crush his windpipe.

   Not that it would have had an impact on any of them.

   The piles of dust scattered across the floor around him remained a stark reminder that his words fell flat on the ears of those he most needed to hear them. Thomas—His friends—

   If that's even what they consider me at this point.

   After all, he was here. No one had noted his absence in the hours he'd been gone.

   Why would they?

   Clearly, his words were so unnecessary they should simply be skipped. He growled breathlessly in frustration as the binds around his wrists pulled taut. His arms were stretched out, pulled upward like some sort of sick marionette hanging limply on his knees. He glared into the empty space around him. His ‘room' as the others loved to refer to their personal corners of Thomas' mind.  His room. The awe-inspiring place had once been full of chemistry books and stars and all the little things that made Thomas curious. Logan had been collecting them since Thomas was a child, but it was gone, turned to piles of dust around his room as Thomas' search for knowledge fall further and further out of his mind.

   Unimportant.

   Just like him.

   He couldn’t help the sick smirk on his face as the wires tightened once more around his throat, jerking his head upright. He swallowed a shallow breath, barely drawing oxygen as his airway strained to remain open.

   Unwanted.

   Logan snarled bitterly as memories surfaced forcefully in his mind.

   Not that any of you care, but I am unharmed—

   I'll do you all a favor and spare you my company—

   His own words from this video echoed in his mind as he choked on his own breath. Only Patton had objected, but his protests were weak and quickly forgotten. If one thing was clear, it was that his contributions were neither wanted, nor needed anymore.

   They'll finally get what they've wanted all along—

   Logan groaned as the wires pulled on his wrists and his shoulders ached, barely holding place in the sockets against the strain of the heavy cords threatening to pull him to pieces.

   His life was a small price for them to pay for him to finally be silenced.

   Roman wouldn't have to shut him up when he started rambling anymore. Virgil wouldn't have the added stress of convincing him that Thomas' fears were valid. Patton wouldn't have to feign the moral obligation of treating him like an equal, like he actually had a seat at the table. Thomas—Logan choked back a sob—Thomas wouldn't have to feel guilty about pursuing what actually made him happy.

   This is for the best.

   After all, I already see how worthless my life had become—

   Logan’s head jerked up at the sound of a sinister snicker. “Well, well, well—Look who's wandered a little too far from the light. I didn't take you for the bondage type, teach.”

   He watched as Remus stepped out of the shadows, a menacing grin on his face as he approached. Logan scowled as Remus kicked through the piles of dust, scatter the last remnants of the things he once loved. “What are you doing here, Remus?”

   “What am I doing here?” Remus cackled maniacally. “Oh, no, no, no. The better question is what are you doing on the dark side?”

   “The dark—” A cry past Logan’s lips as the wires around his wrist jerked once more, dislocating his right shoulder. He groaned, daggers in his eyes as he glared at Remus. “You know what?”

   Remus tilted his head at Logan, a show of mock concern as he brushed through yet another pile of dust.

   “Fuck your questions.” Logan spat. “Leave me alone. The least the rest of you owe me is to let me fade away in peace.”

   “You ought to watch that mouth of yours or you're going to disappoint the cardigan-clad killjoy. Besides, what are you going to do about it?” Remus giggled as Logan glared, stepping forward and waving his hand through Logan’s phantom limb. “Ghost me?”

   Fire burned in Logan’s eyes as he stared at Remus, knowing he was helpless. Trapped, as Remus walked free to do as he pleased.

   “So, nerdy wolverine,” Logan looked up as Remus leaned close to his face. “What happened to my invite to the pity party?”

   “This isn't my doing,” Logan hissed, losing steam. “Thomas’ subconscious is pulling me back. I—I've outlived my purpose.”

   “Pulling you back seems like an understatement. It looks to me like you’re about to be pulled to shreds—” Remus smirked, leaning against the wall behind him nonchalantly. “—and don’t get me wrong. I’m all about watching Thomas' mind tear you into little pieces, but you’re supposed to be pretty important for the big guy, right? Seems to me like Thomas is supposed to need you more than those other dorks on the light side.”

   Logan gritted his teeth. “Clearly, you’re mistaken. They are managing perfectly well without me.”

   “Oh, now I do sense a little bitterness.” Remus purred. “Maybe he's not so resigned as he looks.”

   “Your point is null, Remus. My existence is of little consequence to anyone and the subconscious has made its decision.” Logan wheezed numbly, tears in his eyes as he tried to move his fingers, desperately hoping they were still there. “This is happening, whether I want it to or not.”

   "Oh, I don't know." Remus mused absently. "I don't think all of that is true."

   “What?” Logan strained painfully against the thick cord around his neck to turn his head to catch a glance at Remus.

   “I wouldn’t say no one wants you around.”

   Logan swallowed painfully, dropping his gaze in shame as tears brimmed in his eyes. “The others—”

   “Screw the others.” Remus smirked as Logan stared a him. “I meant me.”

   Logan froze, temporarily stunned as his limbs went limp in their binds. “You—you want me around?”

   “Now, don't get all sappy on me, teach, but the others aren't as much fun to play with. They roll over to easy.” Remus wiggled his eyebrows at him and giggled as Logan stared blankly at him. “Not you though. You gave me a run for my money last time, and—and we made a good team. Didn't we?”

   “What?” Logan winced as Remus raised a hand to his neck, staring at the wires digging into his skin. His fingertips brushed the edge of the wire's tight grip and the red, raw skin burned painfully at his touch, but the contact—the contact felt nice.Tears streaked down his face as emotions welled in his chest. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been touched so gently.

   “We may have opposed each other, but really that was the only way to get through to Thomas and it worked.” Remus sighed, and Logan could see the sadness in his eyes as he pulled his hand back, looking into Logan's eyes. “I couldn't have done that without you. The rest of them would never have seen past the darkness in me.”

   Logan stared blankly down at Remus for a long moment, before his purpose kicked in. “The others are unnecessary blinded by their narrow view of moral. The  concepts of light and dark are arguably meaningless. Assigning actions as good or evil only serves our biases and our internal need for affirmation of our own moral value—” Logan nearly bit down on his tongue as Remus raised an eyebrow at him. “—I'm sorry. I'm rambling.”

   “I didn’t stop you, teach." Remus smirked. "I would gladly listen to you ramble about light and dark for hours.”

   Logan blinked in surprise. For the first time in a long time, he actually believed someone was genuinely interested in his thoughts. He stared blankly at Remus until another tight squeeze of the wires caused his vision to blur. His head swayed, the lack of oxygen contributing to his fading consciousness.

   “Unfortunately, I don't think we have the time right now.” Remus glanced at him nervously. “The subconscious has nearly claimed you."

   “It's too late.” Logan wheezed, tears streaming down his face as he prepared for the mysterious edge of Thomas' mind to pull him apart.

   “The subconscious could have just taken you.”

   “What?”Logan cracked his eyes open at Remus' solemn whisper, nearly hyper ventilating from the strain to pull in enough oxygen to keep him conscious.

   “You could have disappeared on the light side, but it brought you here.” Remus looked up at the wires trailing infinitely into the  mind palace above them.

   Logan wearily stared up at him, black oblivion tugging at his vision as his head swayed. “So?”

   “So, do you want to live, Logan?” Logan barely felt as Remus grabbed his collar.

   Logan wheezed, exhaustion hanging onto his body as the pain intensified.

   “I need an answer, Logan.”

   Logan closed his eyes, oblivion pulling at him as he whispered breathlessly. “Yes.”

   “Alright,” Logan felt Remus drop his collar as he took a step back. “Forgive me for this.”

   “Wha—” Logan’s statement was cut off as Remus' knuckles connected with his temple. His head was jerked to the side and the welts on his neck burned like fire from the sudden movement.

   "Time to taste what you’re made of, Lo!”

   Logan’s head jerked up as he lurched forward furiously. White hot rage surged through his veins as he bit bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

   What kind of sick bastard punches someone as they're dying.

   His hands hung loosely at his sides as he screamed at Remus. “You piece of—What are you trying to do to—”

   Wait. Loosely?

   The realization lasted only a moment before a second fist connected with his cheekbone. All rational thought left his mind as fury filled his being and he lunged forward at Remus. He cried out as his dislocated shoulder connected with Remus' chest, toppling him over. He gasped as he hit the ground and pain lit up across his body as his bruises and welts all connected with the ground with a loud thud.

   “Shit, Lo. You knocked the breath right out of me.” Logan could hear the sounds of Remus shuffling next to him. “Hold on. I've got you.”

   Logan felt Remus roll him over and he moaned in pain at the forced movement as his back settled on the cold ground.

   “I know, Lo, but I've got to set your arm before you do some permanent damage.” Remus whispered gently. “Are you ready? On 3. 1—2—”

   Logan's vision went white as pain shot through his body and his consciousness faded briefly. No times seemed to pass, but as he opened his eyes a moment, he found himself curled in Remus' arms. A quick glance down revealed that creative side had used his signature green sash to fashion a makeshift sling for his arm. He stared down at the gentle attention Remus had shown him and he couldn’t help but smile.

   Brilliant—

   Logan cut off his thought with a sudden gasp. His uninjured hand shot to his neck, feeling—nothing. Tears streamed down his face as he looked up to Remus. “ The wires. Th-they’re gone.”

   I'm free.

   “Sorry about the black eye I gave you to get you out of there.” Remus smirked as Logan looked up from his shaking hands, running his free hand through his hair as he looked away evasively as Logan stared at him. “I normally try to get permission before I get rough, but—”

   “You did that for me.” Logan's mouth hung open as he traced the deep indents in his arms where the wires had constricted his wrists.

   Remus shrugged. “It wasn't noth—"

   Logan sucked in a breath, going limp with the realization that someone cared enough to intervene. “It most certainly is something, Remus. Those wires—they've bound me for years. I don't think I even remember a time when they weren't—” Logan clenched his teeth, feeling the wet streaks mix with the blood from his lip running down his face. The realization of what just happened hit him all at once and he choked back a sob. “You saved my life.”

   “Nah,” Remus brushed him off. “You did all the real work. Everyone’s got a little light and dark in ‘em, right? I just antagonized that little spark of anger in you until you went full Mr. Hyde to your usual Dr. Jekyll. A little push and the dark side accepted you.”

   Logan blinked in shock as realization struck him. He dropped his gaze to the ground as he considered the days' events. "I'm a dark side now. Aren't I?"

   "What happened to the idea that light and dark are arguably meaningless, nutty professor?" Remus giggled before turning serious. “Don't worry. You're not stuck with me. The subconscious’ grip on you is gone if you want to go back—”

   “Don't make me go back, Re.”

   Remus stared at Logan pleaded up at him. “Lo, you can stay, if you want, but Virgil’s gone. I'm pretty sure Janus checked out after the last vid. It's just me down here and I snore—”

   “Remus, in the last ten minutes, you've shown me more humanity than any of the others have in years,” Anger flashed in Logan's eyes as he slowly straightened to his feet, glancing around the room. The piles of dust were gone, revealing a polished concrete floor, a blank canvas. “It all makes sense now.”

   “What does” Remus paused and watched as Logan stood. With a devilish smirk, he brushed off the the dust of his shirt. The last remnants of the his empathy fading into oblivion.

   Emotions. I always knew they were simply a nuisance.

   “I couldn’t help Thomas from the light side. The rules, the niceties…They were preventing me from fulfilling my purpose. I need to be more forceful. More persistent. More angry” Logan looked up to see the night sky above them, an illusion of the mind palace and the beginning of a new chapter. A bitter smile spread across Logan's face as the dark clouds swirled above them, allowing only a sprinkling of stars to show through. “Don't you see, Remus? I need to make them listen. I need to make Thomas listen.”

   Remus raised an eyebrow at him suspiciously. “You’re actually staying?”

   A mischievous smile spread across Logan’s face as he watched items creep slowly up out of the floor, his room now feeling much like he'd had before. A desk, a globe. The room filled to the brim with bookshelves. Everything returned to his room just like before was except—a little darker, a little colder and about as welcoming as the sinister smile spreading across his face. “Yes, I think I'm going to get comfortable here, Remus.”

   Remus matches his smile, giggling manically. “Ah yes, Lo. Let's burn this place to the ground!”

   Free. He was free at last.

   Logan chuckled, smiling at the wonderful man beside him. “Yes, Re, let's do just that.”

[isis-astarte-diana]

Milk and Honey: Day 2

Day 1 ‖ Day 2 ‖ Day 3

Summary: “I don’t need your pity. I won’t stand here and be fussed over by some idiot human child.” Wounds healing and ego bruised, Missy self-sabotages. You pick up the pieces the only way you know how.

Warnings: Possible bit of self-harming/OCD behaviour (obsessive cleaning and fingernail trauma, nothing too heavy). Missy does not handle vulnerability well and she gets nasty, but then she’s such a soft troubled baby that we all collectively pretend that it’s not problematic. Unhealthy relationship dynamics and angst. MIHOW.

Word Count: 3615

NB: Oops! It’s angst. Mostly hurt, bit of comfort. Stay tuned and hopefully the fluff will be back soon!

You wake up warm.

The bedside light is still on, its amber glow shaming the thin autumn sunlight that streams grey from the window. When you reach over to switch it off, something drags you back.

Missy has her arm flung across your stomach.

Beneath the duvet, her hand presses just above your navel. You can feel the weight of it when you breathe. Her fingers are splayed across your pyjama top, gripping the fabric tightly.

You stop dead still, half upright. Inexplicable panic floods your chest. "Missy?" You whisper into the pillow, hardly daring to turn your head and look at her.

"Hmm?"

For a single bloodcurdling moment, you think she must have woken; but then she hums again, squirming closer, her nose brushing the back of your neck. Any relief at realising that she’s still sleeping is lost when her arm tightens around your waist.

You think of staying there. With all of your free time spent travelling in the TARDIS, you can’t remember the last time you were held like this. She’s soft and warm behind you, her breath stirring the fine hairs at the nape of your neck, sending goosebumps prickling across the sensitive skin there. It would be so easy to wait for just a few minutes. Half an hour, maybe.

She would never do this on purpose.

The disgust hits you so hard that you flinch. To lie here, taking advantage of her unconscious embrace, enjoying the sweet comfort of an arm around you and peaceful breathing behind you - what would it make you? What would she think if she knew?

You tear yourself away too forcefully, fuelled by the self-loathing that burns in your throat. Missy groans softly in her sleep but doesn’t stir, burying her face in the pillow where your head had been resting. You tuck the duvet back around her, pointedly not looking at the inch of milk-pale skin on her side where the shirt she wears has ridden up.

She looks better already. The angry graze on her cheek is fading, and the long, deep cut down the side of her face is healed and red with new skin. You wonder how long it will take for them to disappear completely.

It’s clear that the sleep is working how she’d hoped, so you leave her there. The clock on the bedside table reads 9:47. Gathering your things, you head for the shower. As you close the bedroom door, she opens her eyes blearily and mumbles your name. You don’t hear it.

+++++

“How’s the patient?”

The Doctor leans against the kitchen counter, watching you make tea. His hands are thrust into his jacket pockets and there’s a careful aloofness to his voice that does very little to disguise his obvious concern.

“Fine.” It sounds clipped. “She ate. She slept. Still sleeping, last time I checked.” You glance at the time on the microwave; it’s after twelve. “For quite a while now.”

“That’s good.” He reaches past you, snatching a biscuit from the tin and biting it in half. He speaks through the crumbs. “We heal better when we’re asleep. Sometimes go into a coma for a few days, wake up ravenous and fully recovered.”

“She mentioned that.” You take both cups into the living room and he follows, carrying the biscuit tin, going back for another. The bag of Missy’s things is sitting in your space on the sofa and you move it to the floor. It’s a floral, Victorian-looking carpet bag, not particularly large but, you’re assured, bigger on the inside and full of everything she’ll need.

“So what else did you talk about?” He props his feet on the coffee table and you scowl. Looking suitably chagrined, he takes them down.

“Nothing, really." Taking a seat beside him, you feel oddly embarrassed, as if the prior evening’s events were a delicate secret that might wither under his scrutiny. “We watched some telly, and then we were both pretty tired so we went to bed.”

You can feel his eyes on you as you reach for your tea, and your face burns under them. Mercifully he doesn’t ask about the sleeping arrangements. “She didn’t try to kill you, then.”

“Not even once.”

“I was tempted.” Your head darts up at the sound of Missy’s voice in the doorway. She looks more like herself, her face the familiar mask of malicious indifference, the wounds there having healed even further since you woke this morning. The pink skin on her cheek is bisected by a blurry streak of red. She’s taken the braid out of her hair, leaving it to tumble in loose waves about her shoulders. “No tea for me, I take it.”

“You were sleeping.” The Doctor looks her up and down. “Nice pyjamas, by the way.”

“Aren’t they?” She gives a performative little twirl. She’s moving more easily than she did yesterday, coming to a halt with only the faintest wince. “I might move away from purple after all.”

“I brought the things you asked for. Well, most of them.” He gestures to the valise and she snatches it up, fixing him with a suspicious look.

“Most of them?” Her voice is thin.

“I’m not convinced that whalebone is suitable for a stab wound.”

“I’m not convinced that I asked your opinion.” She tears the bag open, reaching into its impossible depths, staring at the contents. “My shoes?”

“Ah, well,” he rubs the back of his neck, leaning forwards. “I didn’t think you’d be going anywhere just yet.”

“My sonic?” She spits it out through gritted teeth.

“The sonic stays on the TARDIS. I’m sorry.” He sounds anything but apologetic. “I can’t have you using it without my supervision.”

“No,” she mutters. “No, of course not.” She closes it slowly, snapping the fastenings with a flourish of her fingers. “Well, if there’s nothing else, Doctor-”

“Actually, I was going to ask-”

“If there’s nothing else, Doctor,” she repeats, speaking over him. He falls silent. “Then I’d better go and make myself decent. Do stop by another time.”

She slips back into the hallway and you hear a door slam. Beside you, the Doctor clears his throat.

“I’d best be going. Lecture on Quantum Chromodynamics this afternoon. Still need to pick out the perfect record for it.” He stands up heavily, thrusting two biscuits into his pocket for the road. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Yeah.” Your eyes are fixed on the door. “Of course. See you soon.”

+++++

“Had a nice chat, did you?”

The bathroom door is open. Missy stands at the sink with her back to you, the tap running full force into the open plughole. Over the sound of rushing water and gurgling pipes her voice is low.

“Yeah, it was okay.” You move closer, gesturing towards her with the steaming mug in your hands. “I made you some tea.” She ignores you. Her attention is fixed on something in the sink, her hands busy with it. You peer around the doorframe. She’s wearing a clean chemise and nothing else, her hair pinned up messily, the muscles in her bare arms tight and flexing with the sawing motion of her elbows. “What are you doing?”

Her stained corset from the previous day is crumpled awkwardly in the sink. The bloody laces are directed under the freezing tap as she scrubs at them with a nailbrush, turning the water the colour of rust where it runs down the drain. Her fingers are a furious shade of pink from the cold and the rough work.

“He didn’t bring me any presentable clothes,” she mutters, not looking up from her thankless task. “No corset, no jacket, no shoes. He’d have me walking around in a housecoat and stockinged feet like an invalid.” She snarls, scrubbing harder, catching her fingers with the bristles. There’s too much blood in the water for it to all be leeching from the fabric; the delicate skin around her fingernails is ragged. Heart in your throat, you set the mug aside and reach for the tap.

“Missy, your hands-”

She knocks your hand away and turns on you. He’s obviously brought her some makeup; the injuries on her face are concealed and her eyes are lined heavily with kohl, flecks of mascara clinging to her lashes, dark lips stretched tight around her bared teeth. It’s hard to believe that she’s the same person who’d slept beside you last night.

“I don’t need your pity,” she snaps, the words poison in her mouth. “I won’t stand here and be fussed over by some idiot human child.”

It stings. After yesterday you thought you were getting somewhere; that you might do better than to tolerate each other, and actually start to become something like friends. Swallowing angry tears that threaten to weaken your voice, you bite back.

“I’ll bear that in mind next time you can’t get undressed by yourself.”

You regret the words before you’ve even spoken them. You understand that she’s lashing out at you because she feels weak, but it smacks of bullying and you can’t bear to be a punching bag for her wounded pride. Something sharp flashes behind her eyes.

“Oh, I bet you had a good laugh about that, didn’t you?” Her fingers, wet and cold as the grave, wrap tightly around your wrist. “He must have loved it.”

Softening immediately, you backpedal, realising the source of her rage. “Missy, I didn’t tell the Doctor about-”

She isn’t listening. She twists your arm up behind your back with startling strength, forcing it so high that your shoulder screams in protest and your words die in your throat. You’re up against the sink before you can draw breath. The tap is still running, icy spray soaking the front of your clothes. You brace your other hand against the slick porcelain and look down at the bloody water.

“Look at me!” Her teeth snap inches from your ear. Lifting your eyes to meet hers in the mirror, your breath falters at the expression on her face. In all the time you’ve known her, you haven’t seen rage like this. “Who am I?”

“You’re the Master.” Mouth dry, your breath fogs the mirror.

“I was reducing whole civilisations to rubble before your species stuck a feather into a pile of ash and drew their first hieroglyph,” she snarls. The threat in her voice makes your hair stand on end. “You’d do well to remember that.”

“I will.” The words come out strained. There’s a band of vice-like pain where she holds your wrist, an aching tightness in the muscles of your back that isn’t lessening. “I will. I’m sorry.”

She steps away so suddenly that you crumple, gripping the sink for support. Your forehead hits the mirror. As you squeeze your eyes shut and catch your breath, you can’t see the look of horror that flashes over her face.

When you open your eyes again she’s gone from behind you. Down the hall, your bedroom door closes. You stare into the sink until it starts to overflow.

+++++

You’re elbow-deep in soapy water, washing yesterday’s dishes, when there are four tentative knocks against the doorframe. You swallow hard and try to ignore them.

“Need a hand?” Missy’s voice is soft and hesitant.

“I’m fine.”

She doesn’t respond for so long that you think she must have left. You’re rinsing the last mug - the octopus - when she speaks again. It makes you jump.

“I’m sorry.” She sounds so genuine that your eyes flutter closed, pain twisting in your chest. “I’m sorry for earlier. That was- not my proudest moment.”

It takes you a second to steady your voice. “I didn’t tell the Doctor. About last night. About any of it.” Steeling yourself, you glance over your shoulder at her. She’s standing so far away. “He doesn’t know.”

“But you do.” It takes you by surprise. You turn around to face her, leaning against the sink. Her expression is implacable. Tracks of mascara stain her pale face; she’s been crying. “You know.”

You cross your arms and look away. The sight of her is turning your resolve into dust. “I understand that you don’t want to be here, Missy, but I didn’t ask you to come. That was his idea.”

“Wrong.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re wrong. It wasn’t his idea.” She scrubs a hand over her face, further smudging her makeup. Her fingers are trembling. She’s wearing the long violet housecoat, unbuttoned, over her thin chemise. Standing barefoot in your kitchen with her hair piled up in loose twists she looks like a ghost. “I don’t know what I expected to-”

“You asked him to bring you here?” You push away from the sink, your voice rising as you step towards her. She flinches, touches the wound on her back, leans heavily against the doorframe. “Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re the only one who doesn’t treat me like a criminal,” she snaps. Her words are tight with pain, and she bows at the hips to ease the strain on her back. “I’m a prisoner in the TARDIS as much as I am in the vault, but I thought that here I might be something else. Just for a few days.”

“I’m not keeping you here,” you snarl. “You can do whatever you like, as you took great pleasure in reminding me. You can leave whenever-”

“How can I?!” Looking up from the tiled floor, she fixes you with wild eyes. “How can I when he plays the warden and keeps my things from me on a whim? No clothes, no shoes, no sonic? Wherever I go the Doctor has my dignity under lock and key. What little sanctuary I find he takes, every time.”

“And you thought you’d take that out on me?” The trembling of your bottom lip betrays you. You bat at the mutinous tears in your eyes. “Put the stupid human in her place? Show me that you don’t-”

“That I don’t deserve your kindness.” She cuts you off, straightening up with obvious difficulty, her knuckles white on the door jamb. “Not so long ago I would have snapped you in half just to hear the sound it made. I have lived longer than you can fathom and done things that your language doesn’t have words for. I’m no stranger to regret, my dear.” The fury in her expression drains away and for a moment she looks as ancient as you know her to be. “So when I tell you that I am sorry for what I did to you, please understand what that means.”

Your throat tightens. She’s too easy to forgive like this, with her face lined with pain and her small frame quivering. She looks cold. The words sit heavy at the back of your tongue, ready to accept an apology whose sincerity you don’t doubt for a second. Swallowing them back, you murmur instead, “I think you need to sit down, Missy.”

She studies you with glassy eyes, breathing heavy. “Yes,” she whispers in the end. “Oh, yes. I think so.”

She slumps to the floor like a marionette with its strings cut. You land on your knees beside her just in time to keep her head from striking the tiles.

+++++

Despite your efforts, you can’t lift Missy onto the sofa. She’s fully unconscious and the dead weight of her is too much for you to move alone. Instead, you do the next best thing; you tuck a pillow beneath her head and a blanket around her, covering her from shoulders to bare feet, and sit in the living room to watch her breathing.

As the afternoon drags on, you make a late lunch - stepping carefully over her body to reach the kitchen - and pick at it, hardly tearing your eyes away from her for long enough to look at the television. You make no effort to be quiet but she doesn’t stir save for the soft noises she makes in her sleep and the occasional shift in her position. Recalling the Doctor’s words, you choose not to wake her.

“We heal better when we’re asleep.”

You have a torturous amount of time to think while she lies there. Did she sleep in the vault? What about the TARDIS? And before she came here, when she was travelling alone? The Doctor had told you once that Time Lords could go months without it and then spend the best part of a week unconscious. When the light begins to fail and evening falls outside the window, with Missy yet to awaken, you wonder just how long ago “the desert, last time” really was.

Phone in hand, you type and delete the same message over and over for almost ten minutes. The wording escapes you. Some iterations of it are huge paragraphs, wrought with pleading explanations; some are terse and demanding. The final draft ends up being one of the latter, sent before you can second guess yourself.

Bring her sonic tomorrow.

The response comes almost immediately. You open it with trembling fingers.

No.

Incensed, you don’t wait this time. Your jaw clenches with impotent rage as you reply.

Bring it.

You toss your phone to the other end of the sofa, ignoring the answering buzz that sounds angrier than an inanimate object has any right to. As if in response, Missy jolts upright.

It shocks you when she draws a deep, painful-sounding breath, her head whipping around, trying to make sense of her surroundings. Rising to your feet, you approach her slowly.

“Missy?”

She yelps at the sound of your voice, turning to look at you with wide eyes, reaching back to touch the healing injury when the sudden movement tugs at it. Her chest heaves with ragged breaths. The room is dim with autumn dusk, the overhead lights not switched on yet. In the gloom you can’t make out her expression; just those eyes, gleaming like a cat’s.

“It’s okay,” you say cautiously, showing her your palms in a gesture of surrender, trying to soothe her the only way you know how. “It’s okay, it’s just me.”

“What happened?” She throws it out like an accusation but there’s too much fear in her voice for it to wound you.

“I don’t know, you just- dropped. I think you passed out. It’s been a few hours.” Conscious of looming over her while she’s like this, you sink carefully to your knees, a few feet away. “Are you alright?”

It knocks the wind out of you when she throws herself into your arms.

“I thought you’d gone.” Her voice is muffled, warm in the crook of your neck as she claws at the fabric on your back, pulling herself closer. Your hands come to rest either side of the small of her back in an attempt to avoid the wound there. “I thought- I didn’t-”

“It’s okay,” you manage, stunned, propping your chin up on her shoulder. She’s shaking. “It’s okay. I’m here. Did you- were you dreaming?”

A stunted nod. “I can still hear them,” she croaks. “The drums. Always the drums. Whenever I sleep. Whenever I’m alone, they just keep coming back-”

“You’re not alone.” It spills out of your mouth before you can stop it and she whimpers, nuzzling deeper into your embrace. “I’ve got you, Missy. I’m here. You’re not alone.”

+++++

Propped up on the sofa with pillows behind her, Missy takes her makeup off with a damp cloth. She hisses as it drags over the graze on her cheek and your fingers twitch at your sides in sympathy.

“You’re sure you want to sleep here tonight?” As you tidy the remains of your shared meal from the coffee table, you resist the urge to look back at her. She’s lying awkwardly across the cushions, still wearing the housecoat, the blanket from earlier thrown over her body. “I really don’t mind if you want to share the bed.”

“No,” she answers too quickly. “No, I think- I think this is best. It’s easier on my back.”

“Of course.” The lie is paper-thin. After the day’s events, though, you don’t want to push her. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

“I will.”

The microwave dings as you set the dishes on the counter, and you remove the steaming mug of hot milk. It’s been a long time since you’ve made this. You add twice as much honey as usual - she takes four sugars in her tea - and stir it in with the spices, turning the drink the colour of sand. It smells like home.

Missy looks at you questioningly when you set it on the coffee table in front of her.

“Milk and honey,” you explain weakly, rubbing your neck. “My mum’s recipe. She used to make it for me, when I had nightmares. It helps me sleep.”

Her keen eyes follow you as you switch on the standing lamp and turn off the main light, casting the room in a dim orange glow.

“I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?”

“Yes.” She picks at a loose thread on the blanket without looking at it. Her face is unreadable. “Thank you. Sleep well.”

There are so many things you want to say. Come to bed, or I forgive you, or you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

As you slip out of the door, all you manage is a quiet, “you too.”

+++++

When the bedroom door creaks open you close your eyes and fall still. There’s a rush of cool air over your back as the duvet lifts at one side, and the mattress sinks behind you. Missy whispers your name. Smiling to yourself, you feign sleep.

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

Love on the Line - Part 2

I hope y’all are ready for the heartache because this chapter absolutely destroyed me. Please read the warnings because this chapter does deal with quite a few heavy issues along with ripping your heart to shreds. Let me know if you’d be interested in another part? Thank you all for the read! Part 1 HERE

Masterlist

Henry Cavill x Reader

Word Count: 2360

Warnings: heartbreak, break-up, language, mention of self harm, pure unadulterated angst 

******************

Today was a day where she just wanted solace though the impending doom of forethought clouded her every sense. She wanted to blink and will the world around her to magically disappear enjoying her descent into darkness. Y/N sought to feel anything at all but alas she felt wholly empty. It was slowly but surely killing her, picking her apart piece by fucking piece. She hadn’t had the chance to speak with him, hear his once soothing voice on the other end of the phone. Just nonchalant texts messages brimmed with no meaningful purpose. But is that what she wanted the entire time? Possibly so. 

That’s what made her friends poke into her business, snoop until they found an answer worthy of their liking. Y/N knew how to play their games and say whatever it took to make them stop their line of questioning. It was her equivalent of mourning the future she mapped out. Her phone chimed alerting Y/N of its annoying presence. ‘Catching a connecting flight out of LAX to meet with Danny and, finally heading home baby! ETA tomorrow late afternoon.’

Great, there was no stopping his arrival now that he was officially coming home.

She had so many grand plans in her dreams, promises of a life she now questioned if she ever wanted at all. The blade felt cool against her skin, she begged for the sweet release for the air latched in her lungs to be set free, but no such luck today. Old habits die hard. Blood dribbled onto the marble sink as relief flooded her system, endorphins pumping as her vision momentarily darkened. For a second, all was calm and she relished in the fleeting feeling. Y/N finally released the breath scratching at her lungs. She was anxious and just wanted to sleep away the day while morph into her sheets.

Curiously, she didn’t remember when she became exhausted. She didn’t remember when exhausted was no longer exhausted, and it just was. The tiredness seeped in her bones and she accepted this state of being with utter apathy. Y/N frowned down at the piece of jewelry that once sparked joy, reminiscing on the night Henry proposed. Now the ring on her finger was beginning to weigh too much for her to fathom. So, Y/N did what was best and sadly slide the diamond off her ring finger and back into its elegant box.

~The Next Day~

             Y/N paced their chic living room floor awaiting his and Kal’s arrival. Mentally prepping herself over the strong points to hit in their conversation trying to build her courage and morale. This would be easier if I wasn’t in love with him. Just then, she heard the sound of the garage door open and an engine decease. It was now or never. Realistically, Y/N knew she couldn’t keep a straight face for very long but at the same moment so ached for his touch, for his gentle kiss, and for one more unscathed instance. She inhaled deeply and soothed her nerves to the best of her ability. The front door opened, the pitter patter of paws hit the ground first, greeting her with overwhelming enthusiasm. Y/N kneeled to Kal’s level letting the dog lick her cheek powerless to the loyal Akita before her.

“Darling, where you are?” His voice echoed through the foyer in search of Y/N as he found her with Kal. He rushed towards her, wrapping his arms in a warm embrace and brought her close. He buried himself in the column of her neck kissing a trail of the gentle kisses and inhaled. Everything about this woman lit his insides of fire and now she was tangible, a reality he was more than happy to clasp on to. Hands finding his tamed locks, Y/N intertwined her fingers pulling him in leaving no space between their bodies. Stay strong. Stay focused Y/N.

“Is it even possible to miss one’s smell?”

“You’re home.”

Y/N stepped out of his warmth missing the fleeting scowl etched on Henry’s face.

“Can I get you anything to drink; Scotch possibly? I’m dying for a drink.”

Henry couldn’t put his finger on it but something didn’t feel right. As she reached the wet bar, he took in her appearance. She had lost weight; her bones were noticeable now. She turned his direction with glasses in hand. Her cheekbones were too pronounced, she quite frankly looked …fragile?

“Here you go, babe. Welcome home.”

His hand clasped over hers holding her stare before retrieving the glass.

The liquor deliciously burned down her throat. He refused to bite his tongue any longer; “Y/N, is something the matter?”

She ogled the bronzed liquid in her glass before clearing her throat; “Yes.” Henry’s eyebrows raised in concern reaching out to her as Y/N took a step out of reach.

He barely heard her before a whimper left her; “Please don’t touch me, Hen.”

Bewilderment override his body leaving his brain in the dust.

“Love, what’s wro—” Before he could finish, his phone beeped notifying him of an incoming message. He reached in his back pocket wanting to silence the damned thing before reading who it was from.

‘Anya: Make it home safe? I’m lying in bed alone and can’t help but think of your taste. See you soon?’

Y/N watched in disbelief at his attention pulled elsewhere. So much so that she didn’t comprehend the glass shattering onto the tile floor and blood sliding down her wrist. She clenched her fist in blinded anger reminding herself of the pain as the shard dug deeper into her flesh.

“I’m standing right in front of you. I always have and yet you refuse to even acknowledge me. I can’t even maintain your attention god forbid you put your phone down for five minutes. How do you think that feels when the one person you’re in love with can’t even give you the time of day?”

He drank in her disheveled appearance, her blotted checks streaked with tear stains, her messy hair from constantly running her fingers through, and lastly, the hurt that lay just behind her blue irises. He’d never hated himself more than in this moment. Ever so gently he leaned closer into her frame craving her closeness but she remained a step further. She ducked away in disgust swatting his hand from reaching her face. Henry attempted to cover up the shock from overtaking his chiseled features. He’d never seen her so on fire in their entirety as a couple.

“I said don’t fucking touch me. You sicken me. Is that what you wanted to hear, huh? Do you think it’s fun being invisible to the one person I thought had my back?” She refused to hold back her emotions anymore allowing the storm to overflow.

“YN... please let me...”

“What? Let you explain? What possible bullshit are you about to spew in hopes of changing my mind?”

“I love you. Don’t ever underestimate my feelings for you.” 

Sighing, she inhaled a much-needed breath of air before composing herself, at least to the best of her abilities; “Henry. Stop. Please, I’m begging you. My chest feels as if it’s been pried open and my heart ripped from my body. My blood boils through my veins yet is tinged with ice. You’re breaking me into a million little pieces. You must see what you’re doing to me.”

Melancholy dripped from her voice as he silently berated himself, shaking his head in defeat. His eyes glazed over slightly in an attempt to find his own composure, to quill the manic pounding residing in his chest. If he were being honest, it had been quite some time since he last looked at Y/N. Genuinely looked at her. No facetime, no phone calls. And she was right, she was ripping at the seams. How had he not noticed? The chilled atmosphere left the pair suffocating, grasping onto their last truth of reality as quietness laid between them. 

“You pride yourself on your so-called honesty. So, now’s your time! ...are the rumors true?”

Henry’s eyes immediately averted to the cement ground below wishing to buy himself another second of borrowed time. But with no such luck, he let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realize had been lodged in his lungs. 

“Yes. But I didn’t sleep with her.” 

YN bit her lip to keep a wail from slipping out making her insides inflate with sadness. She knew it was all too good to be true. Her stomach churned at the mere mention of her name.

She sniffled trying to look anywhere but at the handsome god displayed in front of her but to no avail met his calm blue eyes awaiting hers. 

“Okay.”

“Okay? That’s all you have to say?” 

Y/N’s fight was fast depleting and she wasn’t sure how long her energy would remain before perching upon empty. If she was being honest, all she wanted to do was bury her head into his warm chest willing his past mistakes away and reuniting them with their life...the life they built together. But that was no longer an option she could look forward to any longer. He made damn sure of that before returning home from filming. And worse, TMZ had the pictures to rub salt in her fresh wounds. 

Her silence was killing him increasing his anxiety foolproof. 

“Please Y/N say something, anything! I deserve your wrath and anger. A shout would be better than nothing.”

But to his surprise, she remained frozen unable to show what was running through her mind. 

“There’s nothing left to say. You made a choice and with that said choice allowed for the entirety of our relationship to simply vanish. I deserve wholesome and unconditional love, not some half-ass attempt. It must’ve been so lonely in Budapest for you that you just had to fuck somebody else. I totally get it.” Her sarcastic tone finally freeing her most inner thoughts.  

“I didn’t have sex with her! Woman, listen to the words I’m saying.”

“Don’t you dare patronize me. Look me in the fucking eyes Henry William Dalgliesh Cavill and tell me what happened.”

“A silly mistake. We had just wrapped and headed out to a local pub down the way. It had this amazing terrace and all I could think is about how much you would’ve enjoyed the view, the architecture of the city. Drinks led to shots and before I knew it, someone pushed me into a bathroom stall. I remember hearing the lock click, Anya tugging at my belt, and not having the restraint to push her away. I closed my eyes and pictured you, I swear it. God woman, I missed you. It wasn’t until I came that I realized it wasn’t you.”

“Did you ever even maybe think about how I get being hundreds of miles away from you? That maybe I was just as lonely. But guess what? I didn’t go to a bar and stick my tongue down anyone’s throat. Jesus, Henry, I’m not even sure I even crossed your mind. Do tell me though; are you apologizing because you got caught or because you feel bad?”

His question left her stunned. This wasn’t how he saw this scenario playing out in his head. Y/N glanced down at the beautiful ring residing on her delicate finger. The one she had forced herself to put on that morning. The diamond ring she once so blindly admired now felt like a ton of bricks forcing her stomach to stir with resentment. 

“Filming was chaotic and I just slipped. A fucking lapse in judgement. I’m an asshole Y/N but you must know how much I regret causing you any amount of pain. 

“Temptation is an impossible beast to tame. But worry no more for you are a free man now.” 

“That isn’t what I want.”

She smirked at him before letting out a loud huff; “Sometimes we don’t always get what we want. In this case, we’re both losers.” 

Henry shook his head in disagreement unable to process her words before she spoke again; “Perhaps, somewhere, someday, at a less miserable time, we may see each other again.”

“Don’t say that my love. Please give me another chance. We can work through this; I know deep in my bones there is no one else for me in this life.”

“To what Henry? To make a fool out of me once more? To show the world your power of forgiveness?”

“Be rational Y/N. I asked you to fucking marry me for god’s sake. I want you as my wife, to be by my side!”

Her throat dried at his words of admittance. It was still her dream too. When she closed her eyes YN pictured him in a wonderfully fitted tux waiting for her but now he had trampled her trust.

“I, I want to be the last person who ever kisses you… Please, hear me out. I know that sounds weird, like some sort of death threat.” Henry continued to stumble in attempt to find the words his brain was spewing; “This is it for me, darling.”

His words sunk into her encapsulating her very presence. It was everything and more she had craved to hear. But now his pretty words were tinged with guilt and cheapness leaving a bitter taste on her tongue.

“You’re not in love with me, not really, you just love the way I made you feel. And you’ve definitely proved that others can make you feel the same just as easily. Stop playing the victim. You did a shit thing and it kinda makes you a shit person now. The sooner you accept that the easier it will be to comes to terms with your new reality. The one without me in it.”

Before Henry fully processed her words, he suddenly felt an object being placed into his right palm. Her slender fingers atop his before throwing him a pitiful frown. Slowly prying his hand open, the glimmer of the engagement ring laid desolate as blood bombarded his eardrums. After all, how often do we get a second chance?

 -------

Tags: @maggiemoo1892​ @thedeadhearted​ @giveusbackourbucky​ @elinalfrida​ @thereisa8ella​ @henry-cavlll​ @onlyhenrys​ @threeminutesoflife​ @princess-of-riviaa​ @omgkatinka​ @littlefreya​

[janekfan]

hmm prompt time... jon angst about his humanity or lacktherof? worrying about him not being good enough for+worthy of+safe for martin/general guilt/self hatred? before or after apocolypse idk maybe safe house maybe post change? maybe season 4 after coma? could end up being jmart h/c or just be jon sad time whatever works

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27232381

For everyone else it had already been six long months.

And for Jon.

Well. For Jon, it was just yesterday.

Sasha.

Gone.

Tim.

Gone.

Martin.

Gone.

Himself?

And wasn’t that the question of the day Jon thought as he dragged himself up the steps of the Magnus Institute. He didn’t have anything with him. He didn’t have anything left that he knew of. Just the Oyster card and set of clothes the hospital had been kind enough to give him as his own were thoroughly shredded in the explosion. Everything else was gone.

He should be gone.

He’s the only one who should be gone.

But he’s still here.

And they’re just.

Was he even allowed to grieve?

“Jon” Melanie’s sharp, irritated voice raked over his ill-fitting skin like claws and he lifted sore eyes in acknowledgment.

“Hm, y’yes?”

“Been calling your name. You up to your spooky monster shit already?” He winced, wishing the scratchy two-sizes too big tee shirt would swallow him the rest of the way. “Barely through the door and you can’t resist.”

“N’no. Was. Was thinking, s’all.” Rubbing his arm, trying desperately to feel something, Jon didn’t know if he was allowed to leave or not. If he moved would she be upset? If he stayed?

“Least keep to your office. Don’t want you...watchin’ me.” She shoved past him, knocking him against the wall, still unsteady on his feet, the effects from the statement earlier were wearing off, or whatever the supernatural equivalent was and he slipped like a shadow through the halls to his door to hide himself behind it.

Things did not improve. He was always in the wrong, always a menace and he’d caught a glimpse of himself in the restroom mirrors a couple times, surprised at how thin and pathetic he looked. But they were afraid of him. He Knew it. Because the Eye gravitated to these heavenly tastes of fear like a starving man did to food.

So he kept to himself.

I’m sorry.

As days crept in and out, Jon tried to keep stock of what was different and the only thing he could conclude after his careful analysis and study was that he. Jonathan Sims. Was now something less than human.

Less than.

That made sense. That was okay. He’d always been better off alone because when he was alone he couldn’t hurt people and all he seemed to do was hurt people.

Wasn’t that true?

Georgie Sasha Tim Martin Daisy Georgie Sasha Tim Martin DaisyGeorgieSashaTimMartinDaisy

What was the point of learning that hard-won lesson if he had no one left?

I’m sorry.

And there was no way to go back. He’d caused it. Been causing it since he was a child, alienating, precocious, and so unlikable.

And there was no way for him to fix it. Not when he was in so deep. Not when he was addicted to these, these tales of dread and panic and horror and pain and death and terror and loss. Not when he had taken from those that he haunted and hunted through nightmare and dream. Took what they had and made it his, feeding, feeding, feeding like some animal.

But animals didn’t have a choice did they?

I’m sorry.

He’d already been judged and found wanting. Georgie was right. He should have died, or stayed in the coma, or anything other than turning into whatever he was now. Something inhuman, un-human.

Un-made.

Twisted.

I’m sorry.

Pity there was no one left who would accept his worthless apologies. Not from whatever he was now.

Jon was barely in control, not in control. Not really. Exhausted and hungry and lonely, lonely, lonely. He decided to take control back, just a little, whatever he could because to be human was to stay in control.

And he takes it.

In the only way he can think how.

Blood wells up from scratches Jon gouges into his arms, from beneath the blades of dull knives and keen razors, deep and dark and dangerous if he were human. But he wasn’t. He couldn’t harm himself enough physically, healing too fast to really feel it like he wanted to feel it and the marks never stayed long enough. Didn’t, didn’t bleed long enough, fast enough, never enough.

There’s no one left to notice the rust and ruby lining the bin so Jon doesn’t bother putting effort into cleaning up evidence. It’s around him in the florid streaks crossing the blotter, the cardinal fingerprints on old envelopes, the scarlet trails of irregular constellations mapped beneath his chair.

The answer to his problem became clear soon after. The statements. Addicted to them, it wasn’t until Basira pointed out that he should stop that he realized the easiest way to hurt was to deny himself. And they wanted him to stop. They want him to hurt and he should hurt. It’s fine, it’s okay, it’s what he’s been looking for.

Maybe when they thought he’d hurt enough, they would forgive him.

The pain was good. Every time he denied the Eye was good. Better than, it was intoxicating. The smallest act of rebellion and he revelled in it. Knowing he was weak, that he couldn’t be used for whatever purpose he’d been created for while he was like this, filled him with a perverse hope.

Restless, Jon retraced his steps through the Archives, trying to avoid Basira and Melanie where he could though they didn’t do anything more than ignore him unless he had a purpose or interrogate him about leaving, finding a victim. Compelling them against their will.

“You look shite, Jon.” He avoided their eyes, stared at their feet and watched them fade in and out, as he swayed back and forth, and he knew they were sneering because he could hear it in their voice. “Proof enough, I suppose.” Melanie lifted his face with a gentle finger placed under his chin. “Haven’t been galavanting in people’s dreams?” Back bowing under the weight of her scrutinizing stare, Jon did his best to stand straight. Removing the influence of the Slaughter didn’t make her undivided attention any easier to stomach and he put effort into quelling the ever present shiver thrumming through his bones, playing his sinews like strings.

“Uh, n’no. I don’t leave much. Or at all.”

“Mm.”

“Melanie?” Narrowed eyes stared through him, followed the quick rush through the highways of his veins. She knew where to strike to do the most damage.

Jon Knew it wouldn’t stick if she tried.

He was sure he’d seen him come this way. Martin. Whom he missed more than he ever thought one could miss someone. And, really, what did he know of Martin? Other than how best to ridicule him? He’d done this, or at the very least pushed him toward it. A victim for the Lonely. For Peter Lukas to control and manipulate and Martin assured him he was fine. He was fine and Jon shouldn’t look for him anymore because it was making it harder, it was making it worse. And Jon could do that. Could do one thing to make it easier for Martin?

But when he saw him, pale and small and Martin should never seem so small, Jon abandoned all his promises. He’d never been good at keeping them anyway. Why start now? Dizzier than he thought, the first step almost sent him sprawling and he just managed to catch himself on the wall, resting against it long enough to lose him. He pushed off, caught himself again as the hall twisted around him, spiraling like Helen’s eyes when they burrowed into his own and he followed, stumbling, a body ricocheting from surface to surface; floor, window, door, battered and bruised where no one could see. Not like the scars and the timeline they’d scripted silver and hoary on translucent brown vellum.

Martin is not there.

Jon has arrived too late.

He was good at that.

The first sob cleaved him in two, the second carved his chest clean out. Empty. Painfully empty and worse than anything he’d done to himself thus far. There wasn’t room to breathe between, there wasn’t time or space and rather than cower in the open doorway Jon threw himself into the office, crashing to his knees and pressing his face into the wood of his neatly organized desk before he gathered the wherewithal to pull himself into the chair, nicking the jumper folded over the back of it before crumpling again. Soft against his cheek, the well worn wool comforted him enough that he gained tentative control over himself again. He spent the time there dazed between bouts of crying, gradually tugged into the deep and the dark, exhausted and guilty.

He’s visited by dreams instead of nightmares. A cool palm gently coaxing the blazing, feverish heat from his skin. Stroking back tangled curls from his damp face and murmuring gentle things, lovely things, that he had no right to take comfort from. Jon dreamt of being hushed, of tears swept away by mindful fingertips, of clinging to Martin’s cardigan so tightly his hands ached. There was warmth here. Softness here. That he didn’t deserve and stole anyway, greedy and covetous because that’s what monsters did. And he took it, held it close, let it soothe the aches and the agony he carried so deep in him it hurt to let free.

Sasha.

Tim.

Martin.

Jon woke to the smell of sea air and surf.

To the last of a thick fog clinging around his ankles.

To a mug of tea, still hot.

And a statement.

[beneathstarryskies]

NSFW Alphabet: Remus Lupin

This wasn’t requested by anyone, I was just bored as hell so here we are. I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. :) 

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Remus is absolutely the softest after having sex. You could almost say Remus loves the aftercare just as much as the sex itself. The intimacy of it, and how beautiful you look in the afterglow. 

If we’re being honest, he’s in awe of how wonderful making love to you is every single time. So, he likes to stay close to you afterwards. He’ll hold you close, and whisper quietly in your ear while playing with your hair. He tells terrible jokes because he loves to hear your laugh. 

When it’s close to the end of the moon cycle, he tends to get rather rough with you during sex. Often times he will praise you for being so good to him, and if he’s left marks on you he will soothe them. 

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He is pretty insecure, so truthfully he doesn’t have a favorite part of his body. If he has to choose something to like about himself, it would be his height. Although this is directly tied to how much you love his height. He enjoys the way your eyes widen and you look so sweet when he’s towering over you. He also loves it when you have to stand on your tiptoes to kiss him. 

“Every part of you is my favorite part,” is his default answer when you ask. However, deep down he’s partial towards your thighs. They simply offer such a plethora of delights: Kissing them, biting them, laying his head on them so you can play with his hair, burying his face between them, gripping them when you ride him. Thighs.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Remus doesn’t like to make too much of a mess, which stems from his constant fear of being a burden. He prefers cumming inside of you, as it just feels much more intimate to him. He is also deeply appreciative when you swallow during oral. 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

While teaching at Hogwarts, he used to fantasize about you giving him head beneath his desk constantly. There’s no telling how many times he had to jack off between classes because that thought would creep into his mind.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Due to his condition, he’s not overly experienced. He’s always been rather afraid of losing control during sex.

 He does have an idea of what he’s doing mostly because Remus is such an avid learner, and so he’s done his fair share of research. 

Furthermore, if there is anything he doesn’t know he is eager for you to teach him. 

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Remus likes for you to stradle his lap and ride him. The two of your chests pressed together so he can still kiss you easily, and he can feel your heart beat against his. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Before and after he is pretty humorous. He likes to see you blush and laugh. However, in the moment he is rather serious although not entirely on purpose. He just gets swept up in the moment, and he focuses so much on your pleasure.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Remus keeps himself well groomed. His pubic hair is just a bit darker than the hair everywhere else. It is rather soft and thin, so even if he doesn’t groom it’s not too much of a nuisance.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Remus is very intimate. He takes his time worshipping every inch of you. For him, sex is truly an escape from his reality. It’s a chance just to be with you and to show you how much you mean to him. 

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He’s never really been one jack off too much, but he will most definitely do so to ease the tension. Often when he’s away from you for long periods, he will find himself fantasizing about you while pleasuring himself. 

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Remus is not too kinky. Although he does have a bit of a praise kink. He’s spent so long feeling like a burden to society. When you tell him how good he makes you feel or you voice how much you want him, he’s just absolutely weak for it. And he loves reciprocating.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Pretty much anywhere is his favorite place. He’s particularly fond of his own bed, due to the feeling of the two of you being in your own world. But he’s pretty much down to fuck you wherever you can find the privacy.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Knowing that you really want him is his biggest motivator. Remus has a huge capacity for love, but he didn’t genuinely believe anyone would be able to love him. The fact that you do love and accept him fully is a huge turn on for him. He loves being able to smell your arousal.

By nature, he does have a rather high libido. This only gets more intense as the full moon draws closer. Sometimes during the end of the cycle, it takes literally nothing to get him going. You can walk into a room, and the man is immediately seducing you. 

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He will not do anything that harms you. That’s an instant no from him. He also will not share you, and truthfully has a bit of a jealous streak. Sirius once flirted with you (before knowing about your relationship with Remus) and Remus absolutely lost it. 

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Giving and receiving are both equally wonderful as far as Remus is concerned. He’s quite skilled with that mouth of his, and he is of course eager to please. It usually takes very little time for him to have you a shivering mess beneath his mouth. 

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He tends to be more slow and sensual. For Remus, it’s more about making it last than it is quickly reaching his climax. He loves making you climax multiple times until you’re almost overstimulated before allowing himself to cum. 

 Sometimes closer to the full moon he will become more rough, but it’s certainly not his default preference. It’s just as the animal side of him becomes more prominent, he tends to lose his self control. 

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He’s much more keen on proper sex than he is quickies. It is something that he will do if you simply don’t have the time, or as stated before as it gets closer to the full moon his libido intensifies quite a bit. So, he is definitely down for quickies towards the full moon. 

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Remus is eager to please, so anything you’re interested in trying he will at least give a chance. As long as it doesn’t involve having to hurt or share you he’s willing to try pretty much anything. 

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

In the early days of your sexual relationship, Remus had a hard time controlling himself. It had truthfully been a long time since he’d been touched in any way, so often he would cum prematurely. He would get so embarrassed with himself, but your patience made him fall in love with you even more. That being said, he made up for it by being able to go for multiple rounds. As he gains more control over his orgasms, he’s able to make things last longer. 

He very much so prefers to go longer once or twice rather than multiple short rounds.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He’s doesn’t own anything, and he’s not interested in having anything used on himself. However, he is willing to use them on you if that’s your thing. Whatever it takes to make sex as pleasurable for you as possible, he will do. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He is a bit of a tease, especially since he has the advantage of smelling your arousal. Sometimes you’ll be so desperately trying to hide it from him (perhaps during on Order meeting) and he will give you a suggestive smirk. You know you’re done for when he gives you that look. He’ll be relentless in his random touches and whispering filthy things in your ear until you’re almost begging him to fuck you. 

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Remus is rather vocal. He tends to moan quite a bit, and he likes to shower you in compliments and praise. 

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He likes it when you take care of him after his transformations. How gently you soothe his wounds, and how eager you are to be there for him. He makes it a point to make love to you the morning after the full moon just so he can relish in how soft and comforting you are to him. You often make it a point to kiss every scratch and bruise he gets. Part of him feels guilty for getting so turned on by it, but it just makes him feel so safe. 

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Remus is about average in girth, but is pretty long. About 10 inches is a safe estimate. 

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

He has a high sex drive, and finds himself yearning for you quite often. It’s pretty uncommon for the two of you to take long gaps unless life gets in the way too much. 

You’ve joked before that Remus would be happy to simply stay in bed and fuck between each full moon. (It’s true.) 

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn’t usually fall asleep too quickly. Remus loves pillow talk, so he likes to stay up for a bit afterwards with you. He also loves watching you fall asleep. The way your eyelids droop is very cute to him, especially when you fight it. You’ll often snuggle up to him to hide how sleepy you are, and soon your soft whispers turn into to even breathing against his skin as you fall asleep. He likes watching the transition, and hearing you sleep so peacefully against him is what lulls him to sleep. 

[alkae]

They Were Roommates

Chapter One

Varian was late for class. Again.

It wasn’t his fault he kept telling himself. He set alarm after alarm but he just couldn’t seem to be able to wake up early. Every morning was the same: wake up 5 minutes before class started, change out of pajamas, brush teeth in five seconds and then basically sprint across the campus to his first class. Which, by the way, was about a ten minute walk on a non busy day.

It’s been like this for a week. That may not seem like a long period of time but that was how long he had been at Corona University. And his roommate didn’t seem to care enough to wake him up for class.

Said roommate he hasn’t even met yet. They had completely different schedules. That or his roommate was purposely trying to avoid him. Varian didn’t mind. Frankly he was glad for the lack of distractions. He just wanted to graduate and then move on with his life without having anyone sidetrack him from his goals. And so far so good.

That particular day, though, completely shit on his goals. He was sprinting to class, bag half packed and hair a mess, his mind elsewhere and he wasn’t looking where he was going. That’s probably why he ran headon into someone and felt something warm spread onto his shirt. His white shirt.

Neither him nor the other person fell, luckily. Varian reeled back and looked down at his shirt that was stained with a dark liquid. He lifted it up to his nose and sniffed. His nose wrinkled. Coffee. He had hot coffee spilled onto his shirt. Great. Just great.

“Whoops! Sorry about that!” the coffee-spiller laughed. Varian glared up at the perpetrator who was about 6 inches taller than him. He had blonde hair that was long in the back and tied in a ponytail, obnoxiously green eyes and glasses that covered most of his face. He wore a green jacket and loose jeans with a smirk on his face that made Varian want to slap him. “Man that’s unfortunate.” Wonderful. He must’ve noticed the fact that Varian’s shirt was white and the stain most likely wouldn’t be easily hidden.

Varian gritted his teeth. “Yeah, you think?” He didn’t even try to wipe at it, he just sighed. “Sorry for running into you,” he muttered. “I gotta go.” He made to go past the blonde stranger but said stranger stopped him.

“You’re going to class like that?” he asked. “Do you want to be made fun of? Are you some kind of masochist?”

Varian yanked his arm away. “What other option is there? I’m already late.”

The stranger tapped his chin in thought. “I have one option.” He took off his jacket and held it up to Varian. Varian’s face scrunched up. He couldn’t be serious. The stranger seemed to read his mind because a shit-eating grin spread across his face. “What, you’d rather go into class with a giant brown stain?” He shrugged. “Okay, man. You’re funeral.”

Varian snatched the jacket from him and put it on, zipping it up to his chin. “Thanks.” He wasn’t sure if his voice was audible or not. His face felt warm.

The stranger chuckled. “No problem. You look good in it anyway.” He winked.

Oh no. No no no. He did not. Varian did not have time for this. He ducked his head. “I have to go. I’m seriously late.” He went around the stranger trying not to catch his eye and slowly broke into a run.

“Study hard!” the stranger yelled after him. Laughter followed this and Varian’s face burned further. He broke into a sprint and refused to look back.

And if in class, someone sniffed around and said, “Is there coffee?”, he wouldn’t admit it.

~~~

Varian collapsed onto his bed face first, still wearing the stranger’s jacket. His classes were one right after the other and by then it was nearly 1 and he was starving and exhausted. Plus he still smelled faintly of coffee. He needed a shower, a change of clothes, a nap and a ham sandwich.

Groaning, he rolled over onto his back and sat up as the door opened. He froze. Was his roommate really showing up now out of all days? He felt his breath catch as the door widened and in stepped… the stranger from before.

They stared at each other in silence, Varian’s jaw open and the stranger looking as if someone had just slapped him. It was 5 minutes before the stranger started laughing. “Of course my roommate happens to be the same person I spilled my coffee on! Of course!” He slapped his leg and doubled over, clutching his stomach.

Varian got over his shock and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s not that funny,” he said.

The stranger straightened and wiped at his eyes. “Yes. Yes it is.” He choked back another bout of laughter. “Sorry, sorry.” He didn’t look very sorry. “That was a poor introduction.” In a few swift steps, he was over by Varian, hand outstretched. “I’m Hugo McCoy.”

Varian took his hand warily. “Varian Ruddiger.”

Hugo took his hand back, grin still on his face. He pointed at Varian. “I see you’re still wearing my jacket, Ruddiger.”

Varian looked down quickly and felt a blush rise to his face. “Ye-yeah.” He cursed his stutter. “Well, I didn’t exactly have time to make a bathroom stop.”

His roommate nodded in an understanding yet somehow exaggerated way. “Sure sure, I get it man. I stand by my statement by the way.” He looked too cheeky for Varian’s liking. “You look much better in it than I do.”

Varian rolled his eyes. “Is that like your only line?”

“I’ve got more. Want to hear them?”

He leveled him with a glare. “Pass.”

Hugo held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, don’t get so touchy, Hairstripe.”

His eyes narrowed further. “Hairstripe?”

Hugo waved his hand up at Varian’s hair. “You got a blue streak in your hair.”

On instinct, Varian reached up like he was going to cover it. “Hey don’t be ashamed,” Hugo said. “It’s pretty cool.”

Even though he said to not be ashamed, a flush made its way onto Varian’s face. “It’s natural,” Varian said, voice low. “Don’t ask how.”

Hugo raised a pale eyebrow. “Did you just say it’s natural? What, are you part Smurf?” He chuckled. “That would explain the height.”

Now Varian’s flush was indignant. “I’m not that short! Just because you’re built like a beanpole-”

Hugo laughed. “A beanpole! Man, you’re vocabulary is massive. Did you swallow a dictionary as a child?”

What was this guy’s deal? Varian felt his anger level rise. He unzipped the jacket, shook it off quickly and then tossed it at Hugo. It hit his chest and fell to the floor. Hugo blinked. “It smells like coffee now,” Varian bit out. “I’d wash it.”

Hugo blinked again before his face settled into an annoyed look. That was new. “Don’t tell me to wash my jacket when your shirt looks like you took a bath in coffee.”

“Who’s fault is it that the coffee spilled in the first place?”

“Uh, yours. Maybe if you woke up sooner you wouldn’t have to rush to class everyday.”

Varian felt his mouth open in indignation. “If you woke me up every once in a while, maybe I would wake up sooner.”

“Yes please blame me because you don’t set an alarm every day.”

“I do set an alarm!”

“Really?” Hugo looked skeptic. “I never seem to hear one. Tell me, do you set it at a frequency that only dogs can hear?”

“You just don’t hear it,” Varian replied hotly, “because you’re gone by the time it goes off. What, do you wake up at like 5 every morning? Do you have a girlfriend or something that wants to meet before school everyday?”

“Yep you caught me,” Hugo said, voice bland. “I have a girlfriend who wakes up at 5 in the morning just so we can make out before classes start.”

Was he joking? Varian honestly couldn’t really tell. He cleared his throat. “Whatever. Just wherever you go, don’t get coffee.”

Hugo nodded solemnly. “Yes master. Anything else?”

He resisted throwing a shoe at him. He stared down at his bedspread in frustration. He was still hungry and he still smelled like coffee. Not gracing Hugo with an answer, he slipped off his bed and padded over to his closet to search for a new not white shirt. He could feel Hugo’s eyes on him. After selecting a shirt, Varian turned around. “What’s your major?” he asked lightly. An abrupt topic change but a necessary one. If they continued the conversation they’d been having, Varian couldn’t promise that harm wouldn’t be done.

Hugo seemed a bit put off but he replied, “Chemistry.”

That was Varian’s major too. He bit his lip. “Same.”

Hugo tilted his head. “Funny how we don’t have classes together then. Have you been avoiding me, Hairstripe?”

“Don’t call me that,” Varian snapped immediately. “And besides, it feels more like you’re avoiding me. It’s been a week and this is the first time I’ve seen you.” His eyes narrowed. “Why are you even here anyway?”

Hugo rubbed at the back of his neck. “My class ended early today because my teacher had a wine headache.”

Varian’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“No.” Hugo grinned as Varian rolled his eyes in annoyance. “But she did have a headache so we watched YouTube videos for half an hour before she just let us go. I came back here to get my ID to get lunch.” He batted his eyes at Varian. Varian stilled. “You could come with me. It’ll be my treat and as a payment for spilling my coffee on you. And then every second we spent talking together these past few minutes.”

Varian mulled it over in his head. On one hand, the last thing he wanted was to spend time with Hugo. On the other hand, he was really hungry and it would be nice not to have to pay for once. He clenched the shirt he was holding. “I need to change,” he said, praying his voice didn’t come out short.

Hugo beamed. “Lovely! Get changed, Hairstripe, and quickly before I lose my appetite.” He made a shooing gesture at him. Varian huffed and turned on his heel.

This was his roommate. Hugo McCoy.

This was going to be a long year.

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