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novaonhere · 1 year ago

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Quiet Nights

Relationship: Cal Kestis x f!reader

Summary: Cal has a dream that totally goes against the Jedi code. During his panic, you come to check on him and find him in a comprisable position.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: ITS SMUT TIME FOLKS, 18+, oral f! receiving, no condom, cussing, choking (duh the force?)

A/N: Delicious, I drank a full 32 oz of water after this

Prompt: Imagine your OTP where one of them had a dream about the other person and tries to act normal, but fails miserably, so the other one notices and gets curious about what the dream was about.

(gif not mine)

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You yawn, filling up your cup with water from the bathroom sink. You gulp it down, refreshing you as much as a glass of water at 3:34 am could. It was nice having a bigger bathroom; you're used to the small Mantis bathroom instead of this spacious one on Jedah. You, Cal, Bode, and Greez have arrived to the Hidden Path's base to touch base with Cere and learn more about this Tanalorr place. It seemed intriguing, but you were still on the fence if such a place could even exist.

Now here you stand, staring yourself down in the mirror, filling up another glass of water. As soon as you turn off the tap, a very faint and quiet noise echoes throughout the halls. Curious, you open the door, the noise just becoming ever so slightly louder. Time to investigate!

---

Cal twists and turns in his guest bed, his entire upper body reddened. Soft moans escape his lips. He was burning, and he couldn't bring himself to wake up. Hell, he didn't want to wake up. This was the best dream he had ever had!

You had surprised him with a night for just the two of you, walking through the forests on a planet he could not name. The trees towered above you, vibrant with their green leaves. They bring in just enough light to highlight the rugged dirt path. You both were holding hands, just enjoying each other presence. Now, the dream changed, and it most definitely explains Cal's reddened complexion as he lies in bed.

You're now hovering over him, in a beautiful matching set, perfectly complementing your skin tone. Lace runs up and down your body, showing off your curves and parts that Cal only wishes he could actually touch. You leaned in for a passionate kiss, straddling the man. He could basically feel you in his subconscious.

---

The sounds started to become louder the closer you got to you and the guest bedroom next door. Who was staying in there again? Is that Cal? You tip toe up to the door, placing an ear beside it. Yep, that's him, is he alright? You knock quietly, waiting for a response. The response never came. You knock a bit louder this time. A gasp fills the room, as well as some frantic shuffling.

"Cal?" You whisper to the door, the shuffling stopping immediately. "Are you alright?"

"Come in," He blurted, immediately regretting it. You hesitantly open the door, the light from the hallway showing a line of brightness on the man. He's sitting against the headboard, the blankets ruffled around his crotch and legs.

"Nightmares?" You ask, taking a step in and quietly closing the door behind you. "Would you like to talk about it?" You squint your eyes to get a better look at him, your eyes still adjusting to the dark. His are as wide as possible, extremely dilated from the darkness and the dream.

"I'm okay, thanks for checking, goodnight." He rambles, trying to sink into his bed. This only makes you more curious. As you eyes get more adjusted, you notice that his cheeks match his hair.

"Oh," You realize, blushing as well. "My apologizes." You giggle, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. "Who?" Cal just blinks.

"What?"

"Who was it! Mr. Jedi, Mr. I can't ever think about another person in a romantic or sexual way." You tease, playfully hitting his foot. He purses his lips together, causing your grin to only become greater. "Oh, come on Cal! This is big! Who?"

"Why is it so important?" He grumbles, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Oh my god, do I know them?" You cross your legs, fully facing the clearly embarrassed Jedi. He rolls his eyes, but the redness only darkens and spreads. You giggle gleefully. You hum, trying to think of who it could be.

You really hoped it was you. For months you've been trying to hint to him about your feelings, sometimes very vague, but other times very blunt. The rest of the crew caught on immediately, but the gears in Cal's brain just didn't seem to click. You've tried asking about dating and his romantic life, but he always brought up the Jedi Code, making your want for him only increase. You've had dreams, dreams of you being together, living through the rebellion, being together, domestically and intimately.

You're expression must softened as you were thinking because Cal coughed to get your attention. Now it was your turn to blush.

"You going to guess or let me go back to sleep?" He asked, rubbing his eyes. Now, you had a choice. Respect his want to go back to bed and continue about life, or be VERY BLUNT. You were tired, so there was only one right option.

"Was it me?" You ask, glancing around the room, trying to not meet his gaze. Cal's breath hitched, the blanket becoming too hot for his body. From the lack of response, you also started to heat up, clearing your throat. From the lack of response, you could only assume it was you. You. YOU?

You whip your head to face him, locking eyes. You... He wanted... you. You honestly couldn't believe it.

"Was it just a dream?" You mumble, Cal giving a questioning expression as you shift in your seated position. "Or do you actually have feelings?" You vulnerability seemed to easy Cal a bit, noticing how uncomfortable you were. He wanted to say the truth, but he didn't want to make it weird. Would it be weird? Eh, tonight was the "going for it" kinda night.

"Months." He simply states, trying to relax against his headboard. You perked your head up from your gaze into your lap. You cheeks redden, your breathing quickens, and something feels, different. The atmosphere feels intoxicating, but in a you shouldn't leave way. With the prolonged eye contact, you feel ass if Cal notices the feeling as well. You notice his hand are now at his sides, and there's an obvious lump by his lap. That weird feeling starts from your stomach and falls down your body, closer to your belly button.

"Months?" You repeat, raising an eyebrow. He purses his lips and nods. You hum. "Well..." You both grow silent, quiet. This had to be the quietest you too had ever been with each other. You waited for each other to make a move, but in all honesty, Cal was too vulnerable, physically. You start to feel the awkwardness subside and you feel yourself giggle.

"Hey, it's not funny." Cal frowns, while you shake your head.

"No, of course not." You compose yourself, scooting closer to the red head. "It's funny that we are telling each other we like each other with your dick out." Cal's face reddens completely, trying to compose himself as he places his hands over his lap. You outstretch your arms, pushing his hands away, causing the freckled man's eyes to widen dramatically. "Need any help?"

Cal practically springs up at you, locking your lips together in the most "I need you" kiss you've ever experienced. It was HOT. Like, you already started to sweat as your tongues fought each other. You needed him, you needed him so badly. He could feel that need from you, he wanted to provide that for you more than his dreams ever could. He pulled your up and into his lap, never once breaking the kiss. Your clit brushes against him, causing you to quiver in pleasure. He notices your movements and moves your hips back and forth on him, earning himself a quiet moan from you. He chuckles, retracting his lips from yours and goes for your neck. Your arms are around his shoulders, dragging your fingertips through his hair. You continue to moan and gasp into his ear, trying to stay quiet.

"You're wearing too many clothes for this," He comments, lifting the bottom of your shirt. You instantly comply, throwing it over your head and onto the floor. He goes back for your lips as you also tug on his shirt.

"Match?" You ask, giving him a small smile. He gladly follows through with your request, throwing his shirt toward yours. Your eyes wander down to his toned chest, scars and freckles decorating his body. You feel a fluttering sensation down there.

"Well if we're going to match you need that all off." He motions to the rest of your body, causing your to giggle and raise an eyebrow.

"You dont wear pants to bed, but a shirt?"

"Hey, my arms get cold. Allow me," He states going back in for a kiss. You immediately deepen it, allowing his tongue into your mouth to explore. All the while he waves his hand and your bra unclasps. Startled you pull away.

"Force?" You ask, tossing your bra away. He smiles, nodding, staring at you. He's never seen you like this, and boy was he going to enjoy and savor it. "Well, what else can you do?" He picks you up and slides you to be propped up where he once was, with the blanket still covering his lower half. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts, but before he does any more, he looks up at you. This causes your to blush, appreciative of the asking for permission. The knot in your core only tightens, god he was hot. Nodding, he slips them down with ease, along with your underwear. He crawls up to your face, giving you more kisses. He starts to trail down your body, more moans and gasps leaving you as he goes over your bare body. Finally he reaches below your belly button. He places light kisses to your thighs as he opens your legs with his free hand. You're practically dripping with anticipation by this point. He continues to kiss you, going closer to your inner thighs and to your opening. Propping your legs open with his body and arm, he proceeds to trail more and more kisses closer and closer.

Your arms are clutching the sheets by your sides, the amount of pleasure awaiting you but just out of your reach. The amount of teasing is excruciating; you need him. You moan louder and louder the closer he gets to your clit. Then, he proceeds to rub his tongue around your clit in circles. Your breathing hitches and becomes irregular.

"Fuck-" You cry out, making Cal only want to do more things to you. You were already so wet that he easily slid a finger into you, causing you to moan. He pumps in and out of you, slowly, making sure to curl his fingers up into you. How he knew how to do this you'll never understand, but holy shit was he doing a good job. He slides in another finger, starting to pick up the pace. Your hips start to have a mind of their own, fighting against him to push him deeper.

"Tell me," he states, looking up at you. His chin is glistening with you, his eyes so dilated they were almost black. His mouth hung open slightly, totally getting off to pleasing you.

"Deeper," You whine, and he grants your wish. He pushes deeper into you, causing you to whine out in pleasure.

"Holy Shit, Cal," You cry out, breathing erratically. The knot in your core tightens more, needing to find a good time to release. He quickens the pace, leaning over you to bring your lips together. Oh yea, that did it. You feel yourself just let go and this amount of pleasure and warmth rushes over you. It's so much that you moan out more expletives and his name repeatedly. After your high, you just see him. You need more, and god did you want to get more.

"Fuck me," You command, and he obliges. Pulling you closer to him, he uncovers his member, resting it on your stomach as he gets situated. He pulls a pillow and rests it under your lower back to make sure you don't hurt yourself, and keeping your ankles over his shoulders. You couldn't look away from him. Even his dick was freckled, which was kinda cute, but all you cared about was him and the fact you needed him in you.

"Are you ready?" He asks, noticing he has his dick in hand, ready to line himself up.

"Fuck, please," You groan, already closing your eyes in anticipation. He slides in, both of you moaning in pleasure.

"Holy shit, (Y/N)," he breathes out, barely over a whisper. His head is tilted back, holding onto your ankles. Your hands are by your lower stomach, trying to feel him in you from the outside because holy shit was he filling you full. He slowly starts to pump in and out of you, fully in, and fully out. Every pump in, you moan in delight. Sweat rolls down the both of you as you fill the room with heat and the sounds of pleasure. He starts to go faster, holding onto your thighs to bring you even closer.

"Cal~" You moan, holding your hands to your mouth because you knew you were about to get pretty loud. Without much thought, he pulls out and flips you onto your stomach. You push up onto all fours as he makes his way between your legs, entering you once more. Your arms give out, pushing your face into a pillow. This was helpful for covering your moans, but Cal wanted to hear them as he railed you. Carefully, he commanded the force to pull you up, by the neck. At first, only gently to not hurt you but to get up. You clenched in pleasure, moaning even louder. So, he also tightened his grip. Damn, so this is what he could do. After a bit more relentless railing, you felt your core have that same tightening sensation.

"Cal, I'm gunna-" You moan as he quickens the pace, causing you to moan out.

"Me too, fuck." He whispers out, nearing his release. Hearing him cuss like that over you sends you over as you scream out in delight. You clench onto him and release, an explosion of pleasure ruptures over yourself. His force lets go of you, making your head topple into the pillows. He grabs your hips and pushes him all the way, releasing into you. It's such a warm sensation, filling you up to the brim.You both stay like that for a few moments, catching your breathes. He pulls out, his cum leaking out of you.

"Holy shit," You say in unison. Cal chuckles, reaching for his towel that is on a nearby chair.

"Here, to clean up." He throws the towel onto your exposed behind. You blush, cleaning up yourself as you sit up on the towel, just in case. You cover yourself with his blanket, a sudden chill running all over you. Cal slips his boxers on from a nearby dresser and sits down beside you.

"I never thought we'd do that," You state, leaning into him. He happily wraps his arms around you.

"I'm glad we did, because wow. Jedi's are really missing out." This causing a laugh to escape you, causing him to also chuckle. You start to stand, but Cal holds you down.

"Stay tonight?" He asks, motioning to the pillows. He smiles warmly, and how could you say no? You return the smile, shuffling yourselves under the blankets and heads on pillows. He lays on his back as you cuddle up onto his chest, wrapping your arm around his torso. His arm lounges behind and around your back, rubbing it up and down.

"Well, we can do that as much as you want," You giggle, cuddling into him more.

"I'd like that, but also the cute romantic stuff." He chuckles, leaning down to kiss your head.

"Maybe a date?"

"I like the sound of that, in the morning?"

"Oh, let's go to the bakery down the street, I heard the have wonderful food." You smile, your eyelids feeling heavy.

"It's a date, goodnight (Y/N)." Cal whispers, closing his eyes. You hum back, already falling asleep. The smile never leaves your faces, even as you dream of what the future could hold for you two.

#cal kestis #cal kestis jedi survivor #cal kestis x reader #cal kestis x y/n #cal kestis x you #jedi survivor #reader insert #star wars #star wars jedi fallen order #star wars jedi survivor #star wars x reader #star wars x y/n #star wars x you #y/n #smut

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into-deepspace · 2 months ago

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out of the black {part 1/3}

sylus/mc • gender neutral mc • 1k • ao3 link • part 2 • requests open reblogs appreciated!!

pre-relationship || the real OTP here is MC/sylus's money :) || annoyances to lovers Summary: Sylus gifts MC his card for their troubles, and finds that their taste is very different than what he's used to. Some encouragement is in order, don't you think?

“That’ll be six fifty-nine,” the tea shop worker says cheerily. MC nods, glancing down briefly to pull their wallet from their pocket. It’s been a long day, and on their way out of the office they’d decided that if it was a pick-me-up they wanted, then it was a pick-me-up that they’d have.

So, they’d gone slightly out of their way, parking their bike outside the tea shop they’ve frequented. They take off their helmet and fix their hair as best at they can without a mirror as they walk in. From there, it’s a simple task of waiting and deciding just what they want before they order.

Now, here they are, the last little obstacle between them and their beloved boba tea the tablet in front of them. They pull their card from their wallet…

And pause.

Right. They’d forgotten about the new card nestled behind their usual debit.

As they’d started getting closer with Sylus (maybe a bit closer than they should be getting), he’d gifted them a copy of his card. His stupid fucking black card, that he’d held almost carelessly between two fingers as he’d reached it out to them about a week or so ago.

“A treat for your troubles,” he’d smirked, and then pulled one of those little vinyl card stickers in a dark, metallic green from his pocket. “In case you don’t want the world knowing just what kind of card you’ve got in that little wallet of yours.” MC had scowled at him; how the hell he knew these stupid little details about them, they have no clue.

Not wanting to quarrel with Sylus (and knowing they’d lose), they just took the card, sitting down in a fancy nearby chair to apply the sticker because they really did not want someone catching a glimpse of this card in their pocket.

They hadn’t really planned on using it, thus why it was behind their own card. But, here they are, contemplating. They thumb at the card for a brief moment.

It’s a few dollars less from their own account. They’re not tight on money, but they definitely keep to a budget, and a few extra dollars here could mean another night of hot pot or a few more stuffed animals later. And, well, Sylus had invited them to spend freely.

They pull out the card, select the 25% tip option, and tap it to the scanner. The total comes to eight dollars and twenty-four cents, and they bite at their lip. It’s a bit much to spend on a single cup of boba tea, but Sylus shouldn’t miss it too bad, right?

A few minutes of waiting later, and they’re walking out with a cup of mango tea and a yellow straw, tucking both into their bag for the drive home. As they swing one leg over their bike, their phone buzzes. Curiously, they pause to unlock it and view the text.

New Message from Rich Asshole 6:27 PM

Do you think so lowly of me, sweetheart?

Attached is an image, a screenshot to be precise, of Sylus’s bank transactions. The contrast that MC immediately catches is almost funny.

Most of the screen consists of several large purchases, anywhere from a couple hundred to several tens of thousands of dollars. Then, at the very top and circled in red, is the eight dollar purchase MC had just made. They sigh, putting their phone back in their pocket.

Just as they merge back into the bustling Linkon traffic, their phone rings, the sound coming through their helmet. With an exasperated “Oh, my god,” they tap the side of their helmet to pick up the call.

“Hello, sweetie,” Sylus says, in that infuriatingly nice voice of his. MC glares at the traffic light they’ve just stopped at.

“What do you want.”

“Eight whole dollars,” Sylus begins, and MC can hear the stupid smirk through the phone. “And twenty-three cents. Have I failed to imbue you with a taste for the finer things in life?” The light turns green.

“Twenty-four cents,” they say, correcting him.

“It’s worse than I thought.”

MC sighs, turning on their right blinker and merging into the corresponding lane, making a turn just a moment later.

“Did you just call to talk about my apparently lacking spending habits?” they ask. Sylus really does seem like the kind of guy to get pissy that the latest object of his interest isn’t using his assets as frivolously as they could be.

“What did you buy?” Sylus asks, completely ignoring the question. MC knows better than to try and steer the conversation back.

“Mango tea,” they reply.

“What grade?”

“Uh. Commercial?” At this, Sylus laughs, a deep and smooth thing that MC can practically hear dollar signs in. MC groans. “God, Sylus, can’t I just enjoy my eight dollar tea? That’s overpriced for us peasants, you know.” Sylus hums again, infuriating as usual.

“You don’t need to be shy, you know,” he says. “I have more than enough to provide for you ten times over.”

“What are you, my sugar daddy?” MC scoffs, turning onto the street where the Hunters’ apartments are. “You’re like those stereotypical rich boyfriends on social media, ‘Ohhh look at what I bought my girlfriend, isn’t it so expensive? Aren’t I so rich? Look how I gift her my black card so she can spend thousands of dollars a day.’”

“I wouldn’t mind if you spent a few thousand a day,” Sylus says, voice casually earnest, missing the entire point. “Do you have such purchases in mind?”

“I can’t stand you,” MC says in lieu of an answer. “I’m hanging up on you now.” And, before he can answer, they do. They cut the call with another tap to their helmet as they park their bike on the street, taking a heavy breath as they take off their helmet once more.

They think about Sylus’s words as they walk up the few flights of stairs to their apartment, and as they unlock their door, a resolve settles in their mind. It’s a bit petty, maybe, but they find that they don’t care, fuelled by annoyance.

Sylus wants them to spend his money, huh? Well, then that’s exactly what they’ll do.

#love and deepspace #love and deep space sylus #qin che #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #sylus qin #l&ds sylus #sylus #no smut #jay's writing!

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multiverse--wanderer · 5 days ago

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The Hatred Of Love | Ghost x König (Call of Duty) [ENG]

[One Shot based on the OTP between Ghost and König (Call Of Duty) WARNING: This One Shot contains explicit narratives of intimate relationships.Did you like this One Shot? Remember you can read more like it on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/MultiverseWanderer In a lonely apartment, two souls meet again under the promise to never do it again. Will they find redemption in each other's arms or will they succumb to the destructive power of their own desire? They will discover that some temptations are too strong to resist and that the path to the deepest pleasure can also be the most dangerous.* Cover image credits to the author.

...

REMINDER:

This story has been written in Spanish, which is my native language. This story has been translated to the best of my ability, although it is possible that it may have mistakes.

This is just a way to transport my writing to a common language for the rest of fans like me. For a better immersion, I recommend reading the story in its original version.

You can find this story on Wattpad and Archive of Our Own.

Thank you so much for reading me and see you in the stars.

...

-'ღ'-

There's no way to get him out of my mind.

There's no way I can find him in another mouth, in other hips.

The situation is becoming the most frustrating, the most ridiculous thing that has happened to me in my fucking life. Driven by the need to turn off my mind for a while and lose myself in a torrid encounter, I have fallen so low that I no longer find pleasure in a body other than his.

With my pants too tight and overly snug, I headed out into the street, back to my rented apartment in the center. Each step is a struggle against the clinging fabric that seems to want to keep me anchored in the memory of what just happened, still throbbing. The night is dark and heavy, and the rain begins to fall; its cold and persistent drops are the only thing that manages to bring me to my senses for a few seconds, allowing me to think clearly about this whole situation.

As I walk, the water soaks my clothes, sticking them to my skin and cooling the burning I still feel in my body. The city is almost deserted at this hour, and the sound of my footsteps echoes through the empty streets, mingling with the constant rustle of the rain. Every drop that hits my face is a reminder of reality, a call to sanity that seems to fade away as soon as it arises. Meanwhile, I make my way through the wet streets, and my mind returns again and again to his face, to the way his eyes looked at me with a mixture of triumph and desire, to how his mouth, that damned temptation, moved over me with devastating precision.

But Alexander wasn't the protagonist that night, Gérard was.

Deciding to go with that beautiful blue-eyed Frenchman I met at the bar was a terrible decision. The twenty-seven-year-old works as secretary to the Minister of Defense and still knows how to add two plus two. My idea had been to have a few glasses of strong alcohol at the bar at the base and calm the need that had been running through my soul for several days now. For a few moments at first, it seemed to work until the double-edged sword of alcohol attacked me from behind worse than I could have ever imagined.

Gérard had noticed my figure long before I had noticed his. He was the one who approached when the bar was closing and invited me for one last drink. I looked at him, contemplated his erotic half-smile, his defined eyes, and saw his intentions as clear as the dawn. He seemed to see the same thing in my eyes, because he decided to stay, not knowing how dangerous this erotic game with me was.

He tried to find out about me but got nothing. I lied on my behalf, I lied in my job, and I lied in my situation. He, however, told me everything about his life in an attempt to get me to reveal something more.

From one drink, we went on to two more. When the curly blonde got tired of waiting, I could feel his hand sliding in a private caress down my thigh in a clear invitation. I took air through my nose for just a few seconds and slowly released it in the same place. It would have been so easy to pull her hand away and say no to her charms (which I had in abundance), but I decided to jump into the hoops. I decided it was the best thing to do to prove to myself that I wasn't in need of a single man with a first and last name.

"Let's go to my hotel room." He was continually whispering in my ear.

Under the need that my body needed and under the provocations of the pure French worker, I decided to accept.

He kissed and moved well, he knew how to unfold his eroticism in every honeyed word he uttered. He managed to make me believe, on more than one occasion, that perhaps I could reach that long-awaited orgasm with him. He liked rough sex and only asked for more in response to the grips that my firm hands were subjecting to him. I could see his eyes, half-closed and moist with pleasure, flash in a bright blue that he didn't recognize. I searched his orbs for Alexander's tired eyes without realizing it, and it was only when I couldn't find his deep, murky seas did I realize that I couldn't find any kind of excitement in Gérard's.

It was a desperate attempt to fill a void, a pale reflection of what I really wanted.

I turned him around, put him on his back, and he clung to the pillow. He moaned so loudly against it that it reverberated in the hotel room. I saw his body, thin and sculpted in marble-like perfection, which gave me a strange feeling of nausea.

Not because of him, but because of myself.

Every movement felt empty, every moan, a mockery of what had once been a dance of true passion. Gérard's perfection only highlighted the imperfection of what he felt at the time. I missed the warmth, the intensity, the electricity that went through me every time Alexander touched me.

Underneath makeup that concealed my own scars and tattoos so as not to be recognized by anyone, were hidden wars that only one man had licked with desire and tinges of love. My whole world started to fall apart and despite the frustration and drive to keep going, I couldn't do it. I wasn't getting anywhere, and to the shore I was approaching, I refused to anchor myself.

Gérard had already reached orgasm several times. When he reached his third, as scandalous as it was appetizing, I pulled out and moved with disgust in search of my clothes. He turned to look at me and from his trembling voice came a "are you leaving?" that pleaded for more. I didn't answer, it was a question that didn't need an answer.

And now I find myself wandering the sidewalk in the rain, on my way to the sober apartment I had rented for the duration of the mission. I found myself cursing myself for being such an idiot once again. He'd had too many sporadic relationships to know how it worked. The reason I did it was to find an oasis pleasure amidst so much chaos and pain, and lately my only livelihood of feeling something was fading away like sand under salt water.

It's all his fault. Because of him.

When I got inside the apartment, I didn't even turn on the lights. I let the gloom from the window of the high-rise building where the apartment was located decorate the interior with dark and subtle tones. I moved straight to the luxurious bathroom and only turned on one of its many lights.

Over the sink, I took off my soaked dark T-shirt and proceeded to remove all the makeup I had on my torso. I peeled off the thin prosthetics that concealed the larger scars and removed all the makeup that covered the more specific or recognizable marks, like the tattoo on my arm. I left the faucet running and allowed the warm water to do the rest as I rubbed with my hand, unconsciously trying to remove all the remnants of that night and what I had become.

The brown dye I had put in my hair fell in small, weak drops down my neck, washing away its false color to reveal the blonde that defined my appearance. I wiped away the remnants that the rainwater hadn't managed to remove with a towel and threw everything into the laundry basket.

The phone resting on the counter beside the sink I was now cleaning with my hands vibrated, and its screen lit up. An incoming message appeared on the screen, and as if the bastard had known how to read my mind, he wrote to me.

"König: I miss you."

A measly message that managed to completely destroy me. All the barriers I was trying to build, all the distances... Such an everyday message from him and yet the one I needed least at this moment.

I clenched my fists against the marble sink and cursed his figure over and over again. I cursed him, knowing that it wasn't unusual to receive such messages from him, that I was the one who always ignored his private messages, and yet now I needed anything but that.

He no longer wrote me "I need you," which indicated unbridled sex driven by his explicit need. Now he wrote "I miss you." What the hell did that mean? I knew the answer firsthand; I just needed to look at my current situation, I just needed to look in the damn mirror.

Not being able to have a casual relationship with anyone because no one can meet my standards like he does. Looking for him in other lips and finding nothing but sand under my tongue. Everything escalated far beyond a simple "I need you." It escalated to the point where I missed him, missed him so much that any ghost pretending to be him was just a blurred shadow.

And I hated it. I hated him so much for it.

The cumulative anger of the night escalated with every thought, and he was responsible. He was the reason I felt my blood boil with rage. I can't understand why everything is so different with him, why I can't settle for other relationships, and why that damn six-foot-nine kid can't stop drilling into my head for a single second.

It had been more than a month and a half since we had seen each other outside of work. The closer I got to him, the more uphill it became. He sought my gaze like a puppy seeks its owner. He sought crumbs of attention like a hungry dog and received nothing but indifference from me.

Why is he still here?

I picked up the phone and opened his message. I saw all the messages I had from him with no response, and I almost felt guilty. Then I remembered the reason I walked away from him, and I knew it was to spare him all the suffering I was causing him.

He couldn't find happiness by my side because I could only give him pain, and that's the last thing he deserves.

He, who despite everything being darkness in his world, lets all the light that continues to shine within him show when he's with me.

"Ghost: Come to my apartment now."

...

CONTINUE READING THE FULL CHAPTER HERE:

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severinageto · 3 months ago

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No one ———————- ONE SHOT

With her chin resting on her left palm, Shoko Ieiri stared out the window of her office, bored. She’d have to head down to the morgue soon. There weren’t any bodies to deal with this time, but still, what a hassle! If she had known this would be her reward after six years in medical school, she never would have paid that girl to take the test for her.

But here she was. B-o-r-e-d. She started scrolling, looking for something that made sense, but it was all the same crap: pretty faces, perfect bodies, and pristine smiles.

She looked at herself in the mirror. A set of dark circles worthy of a Tim Burton muse. She touched them, trying to remember what her face looked like without them. Her eyes wandered automatically to the drawers of her desk. The first one was filled with important documents. The second held her glass, her whiskey bottle, and her spare pack of cigarettes. The third was the most infamous. And no, it didn’t contain +18 doujinshis of her OTP or the receipt for her Gentleman Studio Sesshomaru figure, but something, in her opinion, worse: remnants of her first big hobby.

She clicked her tongue and looked out the window again. Trees, old buildings, more trees. God, how much of her life had she already spent in this place?

“About seventy percent,” she said to herself, lighting a cigarette. “By all the gods, I’ve turned into Masamichi. How awful.”

She opened the window and took a deep drag from her cigarette. As she exhaled, she saw the idiot in the courtyard with Panda and Maki. He had that smirk that made him look like a smug platypus and was wearing a ridiculous white bandage. She checked the time. What were they doing out there at 11:45 PM? Probably some dumb stunt only that brain-dead head could come up with.

She was about to close the window when she heard it.

“Hey, Shoko! Wait up, I’m coming up!”

“Dammit, thirteen years with him and I still forget he has X-Men senses,” she thought, while spraying some vanilla air freshener.

Satoru kicked open her door, as usual, the big oaf.

“Long time no see! Look what I got for you.”

Gojo tossed around thirty keychains from different cities in Japan onto her desk. Shoko started massaging her temples, showing her stress.

“I don’t even want to imagine what all this junk is.”

Without an invitation, Satoru plopped down in the comfiest chair, which of course, belonged to Shoko.

“Maki and Panda called me rude for not bringing gifts, so I started bringing these.”

“I think what they meant was that you always bring delicious and fancy sweets ONLY for yourself, when you know the custom is to bring something for everyone else.”

“Nah,” Gojo said, picking his nose.

Shoko sighed.

“Fine, I don’t want them.”

“Give them to your boyfriend Ijichi then.”

“HE’S NOT MY BOYFRI…!” The sorceress interrupted herself. She didn’t have the patience to deal with the albino. “What do you want, Gojo?”

“What are you doing here at this hour?”

Shoko walked over, pulled out her whiskey bottle, and tried to move Satoru from her chair, unsuccessfully. Resigned, she flopped down on the sofa.

“Night shift. What I don’t get is what you were doing with the guys at this hour. Though, honestly, I don’t care. I just want to know why you decided to come to my office. I don’t believe for a second that all this junk is for me.”

Satoru propped his feet up on the desk.

“Your third drawer. I’ve been dying to know what’s in it.”

Shoko looked at him, confused and annoyed.

“Have you been snooping through my stuff?”

“Yep. And the third one is the only one I couldn’t open.”

Shoko stood up and threw her glass at him, knowing he’d refuse it.

“That’s why nobody can stand you!”

Satoru started laughing.

“Nanamin likes me.”

“Oh, Gojo, no one’s more delulu than you.”

“You like me too, Shoko.”

Ieiri sat back down. Sure, lately she couldn’t stand him and resented him for how he acted after Haibara’s death, but she still cared about him. How could she not? He had been one of her dearest friends. Along with the other damn guy.

She tossed him the keys to her drawer.

“Look for yourself if you dare.”

Satoru opened it with a satisfied grin, and Shoko swore his face lit up as he pulled out her things: the Polaroid, the digital camera, the analog one, and a box full of photos.

The albino started flipping through them quickly, laughing at some, making disgusted faces at others (probably the ones of Utahime), and sighing at a good number.

You didn’t have to be a Nobel Prize winner in astrophysics to guess which ones made him sigh.

Suddenly, Satoru took off the bandage. He began to examine a series of photos with attention. Shoko watched him, curious.

“What did you find?”

Satoru showed her. In the first one, he was laughing out loud. In the second, Suguru was doing the same. In the third, both of them were laughing.

“I remember the exact moment you took this.”

Spring 2006 had just begun. As usual, the number of curses had increased, and naturally, Suguru and Satoru were very busy. Not only did they have to deal with exorcising them but also planning strategies. They used to do this while walking around the academy. Suguru said it helped him think more clearly and, besides, he could be alone with Satoru without anyone bothering them.

That day, however, things felt strange, a bit heavy. Suguru noticed that Satoru was uncomfortable and very quiet.

“Don’t you have anything to add to our plan?”

The albino shook his head.

“Sure? Not even a thing? Doesn’t it bother you that I’m doing most of the exorcising?”

“No, not at all, and it doesn’t bother me.”

Suguru stopped walking. That was really odd. Satoru kept walking at a fast pace until he realized Geto had fallen behind.

“Hey, Suguru, what’s wrong, idiot?”

Geto felt offended. That was uncalled for.

“What’s wrong with you, moron? You haven’t said anything and you don’t care that I’m doing almost all the exorcising. That’s weird.” Suguru sighed and approached him. He took his shoulder affectionately. “Sorry for calling you a moron, it’s just that I don’t understand you. Are you mad?”

Satoru bit his lip. Yes, his attitude was weird, but he wasn’t mad. Or at least not at Suguru. What was bothering him was deeply related to him, but he didn’t know how to express it. He furrowed his brows and his body tensed.

Noticing his reactions, Suguru came even closer. He caressed his cheek with the back of his hand and then took his chin.

“You can tell me. That’s what I’m here for.”

“No, it’s just... the situation has put me in a bad mood.”

“Do you want me to tell you a joke?” he asked with a smile. “If I make you laugh, you’ll tell me what’s going on. Deal?”

Gojo looked at him incredulously. Suguru didn’t tell jokes. Suguru was into making lists, recounting historical facts no one cared about, and deep philosophical reflections.

“Okay. Deal.”

Puffing up his chest and pointing to the sky with his index finger, he said:

“Why did the scarecrow win an award?”

Gojo looked at him over his glasses.

“Suguru…”

“Answer, albino.”

“I don’t know. Why?”

Suguru widened his eyes and did a little pose.

“Because he was outstanding in his field!”

Satoru stared at him with his mouth open. He looked at Suguru, who was laughing by himself. That joke was terrible. So terrible it came around full circle. Suddenly, he burst into a loud laugh.

“Please, don’t quit sorcery to become a comedian,” he said, laughing.

Geto shrugged and then kissed his cheek.

“I’m not interested in doing that, unless it’s to make you laugh.”

Gojo took his hand, excited. Suguru was too good to be true. And too good for him.

“I’m angry, Suguru.”

“Why?”

Because…” Gojo took a deep breath. What he was about to say was incredibly difficult for him. “...I’m constantly thinking about you. Listen: all the time. It doesn’t leave me alone, whatever I do, your damn violet eyes, your stupid hair, and your voice come to mind. Your voice is the one that annoys me the most, you know?”

Suguru looked at him, trying to hold back a smile.

“Why, Satoru?”

“There! Right there! You say my name like the fucking Hello Kitty is speaking! It’s so sexy I don’t know what pants to wear!”

Now Geto couldn’t hold back his laughter.

“Satoru, if Hello Kitty seems sexy to you, I think I should call the police.”

Gojo rolled his eyes.

“I meant it’s like a purr, Suguru.”

Geto touched the tip of his nose with his index finger.

“And you? You say Suguru like you want to sweep my name away with a broom.”

“…the fuck does that mean?”

Suguru started laughing.

“I don’t know!” he exclaimed, hugging him.

Gojo started laughing too. He ran his fingers through Suguru’s hair, thinking that Suguru’s love was wonderfully improbable, like a flower blooming in the middle of winter, like a shooting star on a full moon night, like a black swan among a flock of white ones. And definitely, like a dream come true.

“Are you not mad anymore?” Suguru asked, taking his hand and starting to walk. In the distance, Shoko could be seen with her camera.

“You knew I’m not like your Russian authors when it comes to talking about love when you wanted to be my boyfriend, Suguru.”

Geto laughed again.

“I’m not sure it’s the best example, but…”

“And now what are you laughing about!?

“About my name being swept away with a broom and yours coming out of Hello Kitty’s mouth.”

Satoru blushed and started laughing too. Shoko approached with her camera.

“Hey! What are you two laughing about?”

Both of them stopped laughing and surrounded their friend.

“Nothing”, they said in unison. The three of them started walking.

After a few minutes, Gojo said:

“Suguru.”

Geto burst into laughter and, between laughs, said:

“Satoru.”

Both laughed until they were in tears.

Suddenly, Suguru kissed Satoru on the mouth.

”No one makes me laugh like you do. No one.”

Shoko looked at them, pretending to be disgusted. “When did they fall so much in love?” she thought as her camera clicked.

Back in the present, in Shoko’s office, a small tear ran down Satoru’s face as he remembered the earlier moment. His eyes looked strangely dim and his lips curved downwards. The sorceress, surprised by his expression and moved by her friend's story, said:

“Take it if you want.”

Gojo nodded.

“Perfect, because I have to leave. It’s getting late.”

Shoko looked at the clock. Half past twelve. Where would he have to be at this hour?

Satoru opened the door to leave, but Shoko stopped him.

“Hey, Gojo, I wanted to ask you, what’s with the bandage? Are you cosplaying as Shishio or something?

Gojo opened a chocolate bar and started munching on it before answering.

“It’s so my head doesn’t hurt as much and, in a way, to see less crap.”

“Interesting. Why didn’t you think of this before?”

The albino smiled cryptically.

“Because it was someone smarter than me’s idea”,he said, while putting the photo in his pocket.

Shoko quickly put two and two together. Of course, it had to be his idea, which only meant one thing.

“Gojo, don’t tell me that…”

”Do you really want to know?”

She lit another cigarette and refilled his glass. She didn’t want to know. That would make her an accomplice.

“Is there really no one else you’re interested in, Gojo? It’s been nine years.”

Satoru adjusted his bandage again, took a candy from his pocket, and smiled.

“No one.”

With that said, he left.

Shoko sighed and, while sitting in her chair, pondered aloud.

“When did they fall so much in love?”

———————📸📷————————-🖤🤍

Art by x.com/sad_eris23

#stsg #stsg brainrot #jjk stsg #gojo x geto #geto suguru #satosugu #gojo satoru #stsg fanfic #satosugu fanart #stsg fluff

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shadowphoenixrider · 2 months ago

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Kinktober 2024 Day 1 - Dirty Talk

(Decided to write a couple of entries for Kinktober, since my OTP were chatty for a bit. No smut in this one, but things get a little steamy. Enjoy!)

"Mmm, you look good enough to eat, mon amie..." Gambit purred into my ear, hands sliding onto my hips.

I raised an eyebrow, looking over my shoulder at the dark-eyed mutant leering at me.

"Why, are you hungry, Cajun?" I asked lightly.

His red eyes gleamed with mischief, pupils dilating.

"Hungry, chère?" He pushed his body into mine, pressing me tightly against the kitchen counter as his lips skimmed my ear. "I'm starved."

A shudder ran down my spine, hot tight heat twisting low in my belly. He must have felt it, as his lips curved into a grin. Planting my hands on the work surface, I pushed back against him.

"We can't do this here, Gambit." I muttered. "Someone's going to walk in here at some point."

"Kitchen's the best place to get a meal, chère." Came the hot reply, his strength pinning me in place. "An' I can't help thinkin' how good you'd taste..." I felt his tongue flick at my earlobe; that did nothing but make me shake my head.

"If you want a meal you can savour, we're going to have to go somewhere more private." I said matter-of-factly. "Even a man starved knows he can only eat his fill if he's undisturbed."

Gambit groaned childishly.

"Please Shadow, Gambit be a man parched - he desperate for a taste of you. You not be as so cruel to deny him longer, surely?"

"Parched? I thought you were hungry." I tried not to smile at his frustrated grumble. "But seriously Gambit, you are going to be infinitely more annoyed if we get interrupted. At least let's go to my room so you can have all the time in the world to sample me, hmm?"

I felt his mouth open to retort, when someone else got there first:

"Am I interrupting something?"

I craned my head over my shoulder to see Storm standing in the doorway, one perfect white eyebrow raised. Gambit drew back away from me, and I gave him a Look.

"Told you so."

He narrowed his eyes at me, and I let myself smirk - he'd make me pay for that, and I couldn't wait.

Storm looked between us, clearly putting the pieces together, so I just offered her a smile and a respectful bow of my head. "My apologies, we'll be getting out of your way."

I weaved past her, quickening my pace when I was out of the kitchen and trying to resist giggling nervously. There was no way I'd evade him, but it was always fun to see how far I could get.

It didn't take long for Gambit to catch up in several long strides, briefly pulling me into the side of the hallway, hands all over me.

"You little minx." He growled playfully into my ear, revelling in my giggling. "Teasin' me like that."

"Aw, but I wasn't wrong about us getting interrupted, was I?" I pointed out, even as he gave my neck a nip.

"Maybe ya were right 'bout gettin' a room." He acquiesced, pulling back to look at me properly, smirking. "But when we get dere, Gambit gonna make sure he has his fill."

I smirked back.

"Why of course. Wouldn't want to spoil a meal by rushing it now, would we?"

His wicked grin flashed heat straight into my chest, the recognition of this familiar, tenuous dance we began.

"Sounds like you jus' as hungry as Gambit, mon ombre..." The Cajun purred, as I started leading us to my room.

"Oh, I might have been indulging myself with some tasty little thoughts..." I mused.

"Such as...?"

I paused for a moment, my grin showing teeth.

"The sounds you make when my lips are wrapped around your cock."

Gambit's eyes darkened, and I swore it was his turn to shiver with delight. I pressed on, standing on my tiptoes to whisper: "All I have to do is just run my tongue along you and you melt under me. Such a needy boy..."

To my surprise and delight, his eyes rolled back in his head, a soft, shaky groan escaping him. This vulnerability only lasted for a moment though, his focus sharpening back on me.

"Don' think you can get away teasin' Gambit like dat, brigand..." He growled. "He knows all ya little secrets too." A wide, almost predatory grin as he whispered in my ear: "You one to talk about meltin' at a touch, mon amie, when Gambit just have to tell ya exactly what ya want to hear 'fore ya start beggin' for my touch."

I puffed my chest out, trying to walk a little faster as if I was trying to avoid being ensnared.

"Oh? And what exactly would those words be, Gambit? You have to do better than sly insinuations." I took the stairs in a hurry, not looking back.

"Do I?" He remarked. Curse the Cajun's long legs, he was already closing in again. I dodged his grab for my waist, giggling nervously. "If Gambit remembers correctly, he had ya wet an' squirming' jus' talkin' 'bout everythin' he wants to do to ya de other night."

A throb from between my legs betrayed me. Oh, he was remembering correctly all right. And I remembered that he'd made good on everything he'd said.

"Ya know," Gambit spoke up as we took the turn towards my room. "I bet ya already wet right now." I could hear the eager, hungry grin in his voice. "An' it getting worse every time ya move, ain't it? You wanna ride somethin' dat gives ya more. Maybe," suddenly, his presence right behind me, voice in my ear, "maybe somethin' to fill dat emptiness. Fill ya right to de top..."

My breath hitched, and I just about caught the shaky moan that threatened to escape me, just as I stumbled to my door. Gambit immediately sandwiched me against it, pressing his erection hard into me.

"G-Gambit-" I stuttered, struggling for the key that was now tightly wedged in my pockets. "I-I need-"

"What?" He crooned, rolling his hips against me, giving me just a taste of that delicious friction I needed. "Tell Gambit, mon ombre. Tell him what ya need..."

"I..." I felt my head steaming up like a bathroom mirror, the temptation to let go and fall under this spell of pleasure, let Gambit have his way with me against my door.

But I wasn't going to let him win that easily.

"I...I need my keys, ass." I managed to growl, sliding an arm underneath my chest to give me enough leverage to push back against him, lifting his weight just enough to fish them out.

Gambit leant back to let me unlock the door, yet was soon at my back again, pushing me inside. Although he did politely pause to push it closed behind us.

"So, now we have some privacy..." He turned towards me, a toothy grin on his face as he stalked towards me. "How 'bout we pick up from where we left off? You were tellin' Gambit what you needed, whilst he," his hands drifted to my waist, fingers already beginning to loosen my belt, "were gonna eat his fill..."

I grinned, helping him along by undoing my jeans.

"Well then," I purred as the Cajun tugged my trousers and panties down at the first opportunity, dropping to his knees with the motion. "Bon appetit..."

#starsandskieskinktober #sprs writing #x men oc: shadow #gambit #remy lebeau #oc/canon #shadow/gambit #dirty talk #writing prompts #first person POV #self ship #self insert #self insert/canon #self insert x canon #x men gambit #otp: heart of the cards #yeah this is mostly innuendo BUT

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wildlyglittering · 1 year ago

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Illyrian Comfort Pie

I shared a post with some Christmas OTP prompts and asked if anyone wanted any for Nessian and @dustjacketmusings chose:

"Every country has different traditions for Christmas when it comes to food: trying something new when they have always eaten the same dishes for the holidays feels wrong at first. But when it’s cooked with love by their favourite person, it can sure taste like new traditions."

I don't know if this entirely fills the prompt and it's a lot rougher than I'd like but please enjoy!

Illyrian Comfort Pie

“Fuck you, Morrigan.” Nesta wiped her bare arm across her brow, spices and herbs transferring straight from her forehead onto her forearm, the little green and orange specks dusting her skin. “And fuck you Rhys come to that.”

The alarm on her phone screamed and Nesta whirled around in her small kitchen space. She’d put the device down earlier, stabbing at the timer with a flour covered fingertip whilst trying to shove her pie into the oven.

Where the hell had she put the damn thing?

On the counter stood an open cookbook entitled ‘Recipes from the Heartland of Illyria,’ a bottle of wine which doubled as a rolling pin and cooking motivation, and Nesta’s pathetic pastry attempts one, two, and three – each one slightly less gloopy than the last - until she finally made semi-successful attempt number four.

No phone.

Nesta let out a noise halfway between a screech and a yell, her hands reaching either side of her head, ignoring whatever food stuff would end up in her hair.

“Shit!” At least she managed to remember what the phone alarm was for, swivelling behind her and yanking down the oven door, reaching for the mitts as she ducked a plume of smoke.

This one didn’t smell too bad. Nesta grabbed the pie and shoved it onto the trivet on the counter. The crust was a little singed on one side but, if she was careful, she’d be able to scrape that off.

Her movements jostled a reem of paper towels and as they fell to their side, they revealed the object of Nesta’s irritation. One phone.

“Thank you,” she muttered, her eyes drifting upwards to the ceiling as she turned off the alarm. Her thanks was to whatever cookery god was willing to listen and half to the smoke alarm not going off.

Three notifications waited for her. She took a breath in and hit open on the first one.

Hahaha. You agreed to what?! Even *I* run from making that dish. Pretty sure my *grandmother* ran from making that dish and she used to be a baker. Anyway, are you coming Thursday?

Emerie. Not providing the answers Nesta was so desperately hoping for, instead reminding Nesta she had yet to confirm drinks with her and Gwyn. Nesta typed out a quick response.

Yes to Thursday. Any chance your grandmother would attempt making this again if I paid her?

Sent. Nesta moved onto notification number two - Feyre.

Did you want me to see if the Illyrian restaurant down Sidra Street will do a delivery? If you put it in the oven for a bit and burn the edges no one will know.

Nesta raised an eyebrow. The audacity of her sister to assume Nesta would need assistance and that she’d burn the pie. She had burnt the pie but still, the audacity.

She chose not to respond to that one and instead moved to the final notification. Cassian. Nesta took a deep breath and hit open.

Are you having as much fun as I am? Thinking I could do this as a side hustle.

There was a photo attached. Cassian had taken a selfie of himself standing in front of his obnoxiously large quartz kitchen counter. His dark hair was tied in a messy bun and he winked into the camera. He wore an apron Nesta had never seen before, deep red with candy cane striped ties and in Christmas style writing was embroidered ‘Kiss the Chef’ underneath a sprig of mistletoe.

Nesta squinted at the image, zooming past Cassian himself to the dishes behind him slightly out of frame. Was that a bowl of perfectly glazed parsnips? A tray of immaculate shortbreads?

She let out another noise and flung the phone back onto the counter so she could press her palms into her eyes. At this point she was covered in flour, meat juice, and soggy pastry pieces. Sweat gathered under her breasts and trickled down her back from the constant heat of the oven.

Nesta had been baking for over six hours now and though there was a small part of her which wanted to cry, she refused. Although she’d cursed Morrigan and Rhys the biggest ‘fuck you’ should have been delivered to Nesta herself.

She’d agreed to this when she should have declined, and now her pride would cause her to take a fall.

There had been five of them for drinks at Rita’s. Should have been two – only Nesta and Cassian for their quiet post theatre drinks, but Morrigan had been there with other friends who she swiftly abandoned as soon as she saw Cassian arrive.

Within minutes Morrigan had called Feyre and then before Nesta knew it, she was being squished into a booth, Cassian to her left and Feyre to her right, while she sipped her chilled white wine and counted the minutes until it was socially acceptable to say her goodbyes.

“Oh my god,” Morrigan had been saying. “That was the best dish I think I’d ever eaten. Do you remember it Rhys? The caramelised onions and gravy? What was it called again Cass?”

Cassian groaned and lolled his head back. “Illyrian Comfort Pie. My favourite.” He took a sip of his beer. “The Illyrian army did a version with off-cuts, almost ruined a perfect dish.”

“What’s this pie?” Feyre asked.

“Only the best pie in the world,” Cassian replied, his eyes misting over. “Imagine thick tender beef soaked in its own juices for hours, drowned in rich gravy and embedded with caramelised onions all under a cover of hot crust pastry.”

“You need a room, Cass?” Rhys laughed.

Cassian raised his middle finger to Rhys but joined him in the laughter.

“Cassian’s ex made the best version,” Morrigan said, her eyes sliding to Nesta. “Honestly no one would be able to top it. Bri wasn’t even Illyrian but it was spot on.” She took a long sip from her own glass of red wine. “I guess it doesn’t need to be your own tradition if you care enough to put in the effort.”

There was a heavy silence which would have lingered if not for the clearing of Feyre’s throat. “Who’s got who for Secret Santa?”

“Oh, I’m sure if Nesta put in the effort it would be just as good. Right?” Nesta looked up and met Rhys’ eyes as he ignored Feyre’s question. He smirked as he finished speaking, cocking his own beer bottle to his mouth.

Three more pairs of eyes looked her way. Nesta felt the slight, almost imperceptible tensing from Cassian but it was Feyre’s eyes which widened the most. There was a kick against Nesta’s shin under the table.

“I’m sure it would,” Nesta said, “if I had the time.”

“Cassian was telling us at the bar you’re now on vacation. All your gifts already wrapped and under the tree. Sounds like you have time.”

“Rhys...” Feyre began but Morrigan jumped in.

“I think that would be a lovely Christmas present for Cass. You can start your own tradition now you’re official. Illyrian food is so hearty.”

There was a part of Nesta which was too stubborn for her own good. Rhys’ smirk and Morrigan’s too-wide grin opposite her, the meeting of the cousin’s eyes like this was some in-joke they had just started. Feyre kept kicking her under the table, the jostling movement irritating Nesta further.

The flash of irritation was the problem. That, and the second glass of wine she’d drunk on a half empty stomach fuelling it. Her temperature rose and her skin prickled and instead of counting to twenty like she’d been practicing in her apartment Nesta opened her mouth.

“Fine,” she said, “this whole thing sounds great. One Illyrian Comfort Pie it is. When do you want it? Day after next?” Nesta quickly grabbed her glass to take a swig of her drink before she agreed to anything else.

Cassian’s eyebrows shot up but she didn’t want to meet his eyes, he was probably thinking how Nesta wasn’t implementing those ‘take a moment’ techniques. But his hand reached down to clasp her free one under the table, giving it a squeeze.

“You know what?” he said, looking at the group. “I want in on this. New traditions sound great. You’re making mine so how about yours. What’s the Archeron family dish of choice?” He asked this looking at Nesta but she still had the wine glass clamped to her lips. No longer drinking, just holding it there to feel the cold.

“Ooh,” Feyre said, clapping her hands and jiggling a little on her seat. “Roasted venison, but that’s quite tricky. We haven’t eaten that since Elain went vegetarian. We also had roast potatoes and honey glazed parsnips. Green beans. There was a cheesy mash and – oh, oh, the shortbread biscuits with a chocolate drizzle and the Prythian Pavlova. That’s Nesta’s favourite.”

Cassian laughed. “You want to take a breath there, Feyre?”

In response, Feyre’s stomach grumbled. “No, but I think I need some dinner.”

Aside from Nesta, the table laughed. Her wine glass was now empty and back on the table, her fingers toying with the stem, her mind too preoccupied with the thought of this pie and how the hell she’d even find the recipe.

As the chatter resumed, now about where Rhys and Feyre were going for dinner, Cassian’s weight shifted against her, his arm casually slinging around her shoulders.

“You ok?”

She glanced up at him, plastering a smile on her face. “Absolutely fine.”

“Hmm. Is that genuine fine or Nesta fine?”

Cassian was staring at her intently, concern swimming in his dark eyes. She knew if she immediately conceded he’d let it go, their friendship group knew Nesta wasn’t known for her domestic pursuits and Cassian could whip up a mean dish filled with flavour.

If she really wanted to, Nesta could cheat her way out of this. Getting Elain to bake the pie for her would have once been a consideration until Elain and Lucien’s diet change. No meat, no dairy, no sugar.

No flavour, Lucien had added, ignoring Elain’s frown.

Still, there was something else shining in Cassian’s eyes. Excitement. He was pleased she’d agreed, he relished competition in all its forms and he seemed eager to do this with her.

Nesta’s smile melted in a more genuine one and she squeezed his hand back. “Honestly, it’s good. Dare I say I may even find it fun?”

That was two days ago. Two long days.

“Ha!” She now shouted to her cramped kitchen. “Two drink Nesta has no concept of what the fuck fun is.”

Everything was a mess, even the edges of the cookbook were singed and Nesta cringed at the sight. Gwyn had managed to track down the edition on her behalf and Nesta hated to see a book suffer.

She looked at the clock. Two hours to go – plenty of time to shower, dress up and cart the pie to Cassian’s where they would have a grand unveiling in front of their friends. Her phone pinged and Nesta glanced down to see a reply from Emerie.

She says no chance.

“That’s not a problem,” Nesta said, wiping her hands on her thighs and staining her jeans further. “Because I now have a half decent pie.” She picked up the sharp knife. “Just scrape some of the black bits off and we are good to go.”

The knife slid through the crust and Nesta lifted some of the burnt pastry off using the blade. Odd. What was a deep and crispy brown on the surface seemed pale and soft underneath. Almost as though the pastry hadn’t fully cooked all the way through.

“It’s just this bit,” Nesta told herself. “I’m sure the rest is just fine.” But as she gently lifted the pie-top she could see the same pale colour underneath. Worse was the distinct lack of steam rising from the filling. “No, no, no, no. You’ve been in the oven for almost two hours.”

Grabbing a fork, she stuck it into the dish and scooped out a lump of meat. Juice, which looked far too oily for her liking, dripped off the prongs. Nesta placed the meat on the counter and cut through it with a knife.

She was met with resistance. The beef was still cold. A noise left her throat unbidden, something akin to a half sob. Nesta had researched the best meat cuts for the pie, she’d made sure to go to the best butcher and spent no less than forty-five minutes asking the rather exasperated man behind the counter questions from her list.

Her eyes flew up to the clock. Less than two hours to go. The time she’d budgeted to get ready and go to Cassian’s now shrivelled up. Just like my hopes for this pie.

She peered into the dish, the caramelized onions bobbing in the gravy like some apple bobbing contest gone wrong. “You’re mocking me,” she said and then groaned. They wouldn’t be the only ones.

Nesta sank down onto her floor, ignoring the drip of gravy she sat on and put her head on her knees. She could imagine it all now; Feyre, Rhys, and Morrigan all dressed up, swanning around Cassian’s apartment waiting to be served their multiple courses.

Feyre’s eyes would go wide at Nesta’s attempt but she’d try and make Nesta feel better and yet somehow by trying, she’d only make Nesta feel worse. Cassian would likely tuck the monstrosity – if she even bothered bringing it – behind some extravaganza he’d made and perform an elaborate distraction.

Rhys and Morrigan would probably just snigger behind their drinks and tell her that ‘at least she tried.’ Patronising fuckers.

A tear dripped from the corner of her eye down her chin.

Nesta had tried. Had really tried. She’d memorised the recipe from back to front before she even started, she’d gone out into Velaris Market with a clipboard, she’d called Elain early for pastry tips ignoring Lucien joining the call to ask Nesta if she could describe what real food tasted like because the memory of butter was fading fast.

She wiped her eyes with her fingers, knowing she must look even more of a state than before. But wait – there was an option open to her. Hope flared yet.

Nesta grabbed her phone from the counter. What had Feyre said? The Illyrian restaurant down Sidra Street might be able to deliver. If anyone served an Illyrian Comfort Pie, it would be them. She scrolled through her favourites for the number. Her and Cassian had eaten there so often, she practically had them on speed dial.

The phone answered after the second ring.

“Hello? Hi. I know it’s late notice but I’m in a bit of a bind and hoping you could help.”

She explained the situation, confirming that yes, her pie request was for that Cassian, the one with the tattoos and arms.

“I mean, I don’t know,” Nesta said, eyeing up the clock and tapping her foot against the cupboard. “I’ll ask him. Some kind of protein shake, I think. Yeah, it’s really glossy hair. I’ll ask him that too. Anyway – the pie?”

They were regretful. Truly. Nesta could almost feel their sorrow down the phone. They didn’t have any pies pre-baked and they wouldn’t have one ready for the time she needed it by. They offered Nesta and Cassian a discount on their next visit and Nesta thanked them before hanging up.

“Well. Shit.”

Her eyes itched and she wanted to cry again but this wasn’t the Archeron way. She shook her shoulders and cleared her throat. There would be no pie but Nesta would be damned if she turned up without bringing anything and looking like a chaotic mess.

The kitchen horror show was a problem for future her, but in less than an hour, she had showered, dressed herself in her most confidence boosting little black dress and practiced her affirmations in front of the hallway mirror.

“You are a calm, confident, capable woman. You did not achieve the pie. Others have probably not achieved the pie. You have achieved other things. Like your best friends, two degrees, and this awesome looking pavlova.”

Nesta held the covered bowl to the mirror as though to show her reflection the cream and meringue evidence. Her lipstick red smile shook a little but the taxi driver was calling to say he was downstairs so there was no time for doubt to creep in.

On a usual night it took too long to get to Cassian’s. The drive was less than fifteen minutes from one end of the small city where Nesta lived to Cassian’s address and every second stretched out painfully slow.

Tonight, it was as though all roads had cleared especially for her just to say ‘look, you can get to your ritual humiliation even earlier.’

“It’s not like I’ve ever seen Rhys or Morrigan cook,” she mumbled to herself as she exited the cab and entered Cassian’s building. The porter nodded and buzzed her in and then Nesta was counting the too-quick numbers on the elevator.

Cassian’s apartment was one of two at the top of the building and though the sound-proofing was excellent, which they could attest to personally, Nesta was surprised at the distinct lack of any festivities sounding from behind his door when she approached.

He answered after one knock, hair freshly washed and dried. His white dress shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and the top buttons were undone, swathes of black swirling tattoos on display.

Cassian let out a low whistle and grinned like a wolf when he saw her. “Well, if it isn’t my favourite lady, in my favourite dress of hers, with my favourite dish.”

He leant in to kiss her and Nesta winced at the mention of food. Cassian’s lips met hers in a chaste kiss but he must have noticed her response as he was frowning when he pulled away.

“Come in,” he said with a light tone. “Let me take that.” He held his hands out for the bowl she was carrying but she clutched it tighter to her body.

“That’s ok, let me find a space to put it.”

“Sure.”

Nesta stepped further into the apartment. Everything was chrome, quartz, or wood but Cassian couldn’t help himself when it came to Christmas. What was once an interior designers dream for a ‘bachelor living’ magazine spread was now a grotto fit for the dreams of any eight-year-old girl.

A smile lifted the corner of her lips. She’d never begrudge him this. Foster care and ten endless churn of care homes hadn’t left Cassian with any sense of home and the orphanage tried their best but lacked the funds.

Cassian had told her that his best Christmas eventually came in the Illyrian military and all that involved was eating dry turkey from paper plates and reading stupid jokes from cheap crackers. But he was with people that felt like family and that’s what mattered the most.

Now, garlands hung from the oversized windows, a tree larger than Cassian himself stood by the fireplace decked with shining ornaments. A range of presents piled up under the tree to the point where they spilled across his floor.

Stockings on the mantel, rugs everywhere, gingerbread houses which increased in number each time Nesta was over. Candles on every surface.

“Wine?” Cassian asked as Nesta slid the bowl onto his counter. She nodded while taking a breath in. Ham and apricot, honey, a distinct scent of rich chocolate. All the food laid out but under coverings to keep them fresh.

Her stomach stank. She’d failed him so miserably.

Her face must have painted a picture because Cassian moved beside her. “Hey, what’s up.” His fingers tucked under her chin, tilting her face to his. Those deep eyes of his, again swimming in concern.

She hoped the best Christmas present she could get him was honesty.

“I fucked it.”

He blinked. “Sorry?”

“The pie, I completely fucked it up.”

His confused blank expression immediately melted and he laughed, his head thrown back and the column of his throat on display. His face in laughter was a delight, he was young and happy and in love with life. “Well, that makes a lot more sense.”

“There is no pie. I botched it.”

He looked down at her, his expression softening, his smile gentle. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t. That pie is an art only the devil knows how to get right. Did you know Emerie’s grandmother won’t even make one and she won Illyrian baker of the year for fifteen years?”

Nesta coughed and reached for the wine poured out for her. “No, I didn’t know that.”

Cassian moved round the counter to Nesta’s dish. “So, what did you bring?”

“The only thing that didn’t involve my oven. The meringue isn’t even home-made. I’m such a sellout.”

He peeked under the covering and exhaled. “Oh, thank the Mother.” He stepped back, his hand over his heart. “I fucked it.”

Now, Nesta blinked at him. “Sorry?”

“The meringue for the Prythian Pavlova. It was the one thing I wanted to get perfect but do you know how hard meringue is to make? I couldn’t even make it to the store.”

He shook his head, grabbing his own glass of wine. “I even rang Elain to ask her for tips but Lucien answered and begged me to tell him in great detail how the filo wrapped parcels were smelling. He said, and I quote ‘go low and take your time’. I’m not sure how comfortable I am having them over for New Year.”

Nesta laughed, shaking her own head, glancing around the apartment. It had taken her long enough but something finally dawned on her. “Am I early? When are the others arriving?”

Cassian paused, swirling his glass. “Yeah, about that... I thought ‘fuck ‘em.’”

Nesta’s eyes bulged. “I think I’m missing something.”

Cassian put his glass down and leant back against the far counter.

“You know Bri’s pie wasn’t all that great. Mor was being...” he trailed off, scratching his eyebrow the way he did when he was uncomfortable. “Mor was being difficult and it was unfair. Rhys too. But I liked the idea of you and I doing our own holiday tradition so I guess I thought I’d see where we ended up.”

He gestured to his apartment and the dishes before them. “So, we ended up here. Just you and I, a bottle of wine, lots of delicious food and a very comfy rug we’re fucking on after dinner.”

“Is that right?” Nesta said, putting her glass down. She walked over to him. “Have you seen what you’ve made? We are not fucking after dinner.” She placed her hand on his chest, his heart beating a rhythm against her palm as she ignored his disappointed face. “We’re fucking before dinner.”

That wolf grin was back on his face and he leant forward to kiss her but Nesta stopped him. “I feel bad, everything here is an Archeron dish. You didn’t get your pie.”

“Oh, I’ll get to eat my pie.”

“Cassian!”

He laughed again, his broad arms wrapping around her body. “The fact that you tried means everything. I promise. This is a great start to our forever tradition.”

Nesta looked up at him; the hours of failed baking, the constant smoke alarms, the mess she had to clear up tomorrow. Worth it. All of it. “Forever you say?”

“Forever.”

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hoeforhao · 1 year ago

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🪀 Love bleeds Lilac 🫐 || Minghao Series || Pt.1

⤥pairing: non idol!minghao x fem!reader

⤥genre: fluff, slight mentions of mental health issues, kind of angst but not too much, discovering self love, lots of comfort. A feel good yet deep concept!!

⤥warnings: none except some mentions of mental health problems.

⤥parts: 1/?

⤥author's note: what's a better way to resume writing than doing it with some minghao angsty fluff!!!! I wrote this piece for wattpad almost two years back but it never saw the light of day😮‍💨. This concept is a first for me so tell me if y'all liked this and want other parts 🫐

[Y/n POV]

Colour? Is it really necessary to have colours in our life? Ain't a monochromatic life more soothing to our eyes and our soul?

I kept asking this question to myself everyday but never found the answer. Everyday I see people walking down the streets, in beautiful clothes painting the world with their own colours. But my world? My world embodies different shades of grey. My friends and family see me as a dull person who just wears either dull or black clothes and looks like as if a dementor sucked out my soul.

How do colours really feel like? Will it fill up my empty dark world with bright sunshine? Will it make me walk a bed of roses instead of thorns? With all these thoughts in my mind, I decided to finally pull myself out from the void and let colours touch myself.

[OTP]

" Hello this is Seoulafeel's Parlour. How may I help you today?" the voice on the phone said.

" Yeah Hello. Good morning. I wanted to make an appointment for hair colour. Can you tell me if a slot is available today and the estimated cost of the service? It will be really helpful if less people are there during my time" Iris spoke hesitatingly.

" Sure ma'am. You can book an appointment at 3 in the noon. We will have few customers then and you'll feel comfortable. Also the cost for the colour will vary from 20,000 KRW to 50,000 KRW depending on the type of colour you choose" the person from the other side informed.

" Okay I'll be there by 2:50! Thanks a lot for considering my request. Have a good day" with this she ended the call.

[Y/n POV]

Am I really ready for this? Am I ready to come out of the closet I've been in all these years? But I need to take the risk! I need to know what happens if I live like others do. Let's do it Kim Y/n let's do this!

*Time skip*

It's 14:45 and here I'm, standing in front of a glass door adorned by beautiful white flowers. The board above the gate says "Seoulafeel's Parlour. We make you feel your soul". I guess it's really time for me to listen to my inner voice. After convincing myself for about 7 mins, I finally pushed open and door and stepped in. I had no idea that that one step will change my entire life.

As I bring myself to the receptionist's desk they ask me my name and my appointment time and then escort me to the hair colour station. Being the socially awkward person I'm, I didn't look around and just plopped onto the chair. The hair stylist ties the cape around my neck and tells me to wait for a few mins. As I was waiting while playing with my fingers, I suddenly heard a deep voice; a voice which sent shivers down my spine, one which held a book of mysteries within itself.

"So what colour are you planning on doing Ms?" the voice asked.

I slowly turned my head sideways to see a tall figure sitting on the chair beside me. Only his pants and the sleeves of his jacket were visible below the cape. To my surprise they were all black, just like me, just like my world. His hair was covered his eyes and but I still could feel his side stare, piercing holes into my soul. I was lost in him when I heard the same voice again,

"It's disrespectful to stare at a stranger like that Ms. But I'm a gentleman so I won't mind"

I could clearly feel his smirk even though he was wearing a mask.

I finally mustered up the courage to speak to him.

" I haven't really decided the colour yet. I may go for blue. The colour blue attracts me a lot just like the endless seas."

"Well blue is indeed a fascinating colour. It makes the soul wander free and dream beyond boundaries"

I was shocked. I always used to think that I was the one who always found deeper meanings in everything. But him talking like that make me rethink.

" What colour are you going for then?" I asked.

"Red. Just like the Earth's burning core. Just like how hell is defined in books. But also the colour that made the poets define love with it" the man replied.

I just hummed in response.

"You know right that red and blue makes purple? The colour of finding yourself and finding the one who makes you fins your self"

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bcbdrums · 9 months ago

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Ascent

A Soul Eater story. Read on: AO3 | FFn

A/N: Monthly OTP prompt fills from this list for Spirit and Stein, because I cannot stop writing about them. I’m happy to hear recommendations each month for which prompt to write next. March's chosen prompt is: 3. Fresh Starts So without further ado... I just love them as babies. I love them so much.

Ascent

Stein stared at his hands where they rested on his thighs as the car rumbled over the cobblestones. He alternately spread his fingers and then brought them together again, watching the way tendon and bone moved beneath his skin, noting the blue of his veins and how asymmetrically they spread out within his flesh, and none quite the same between his two hands.

It had been a long time since he had truly been able to look at his hands.

The car's speed had slowed, and gravity lightly pressed Stein to the seat as it ascended steep hills, made sharp turns, and followed twisting paths through the city. Stein glanced out the window occasionally, but the sunlight was bright in a different way than the lights of his former residence, and the world it illuminated far too large. It was much easier to keep his focus on the interior of the vehicle, even if travel itself was a foreign sensation; the car's smallness was familiar, at least.

He was forced to alter his focus however, as the car finally arrived on level-ground and rolled to a stop. He looked past the man seated to his right and out the window, at countless stair steps that rose up out of sight, and black stone walls trimmed in red that also vanished beyond what he could see from his confinement.

The other man seated to his left opened the car door, got out, and then beckoned Stein follow with a wave of his fingers. He took in a slow breath, and then complied.

Stein hadn't been expecting Lord Death to be waiting for him, and apparently neither had the others, as one of their gasps was what first drew his attention to the Grim Reaper towering above them even at a distance as the three walked around to the other side of the vehicle.

"Heya! Good to see you again, Frankie! May I call you Frankie?"

Stein merely blinked up at the approaching dark figure, unused to speaking without permission. Soon the reaper's massive form blocked his view of the stairs and most of the building beyond. It was as he tilted his head backward to look up at the still, white mask, that he realized the men were no longer flanking him.

He turned to see them both a few paces away right next to the car, their bearing cautious, and on the car's other side the driver stood and watched them all with a look of unease.

Fear?

One corner of Stein's mouth turned upward.

"Well..." the reaper continued upon receiving no reply, "you must have some luggage with you?"

One of the men reached back into the car's open door, pulled out a shabby, gray, drawstring bag, and after a moment slowly extended the item toward Stein.

Stein looked at the limply-hanging item, considered a moment, and then raised his eyes to lock onto the man's. He kept his expression utterly still, not even blinking, until the man sucked in an anxious breath and quickly looked away.

With effort, Stein forced himself not to smirk as he reached out and took the bag. He didn't bother giving the same treatment to the other two men; their having seen was enough.

He turned his back on the men and the car, swung the thin straps of the bag over his shoulders like a backpack, and then stepped past the reaper to look at the veritable wall of stairs beyond. He slowly cast his gaze across the walls that framed them, and then upward to the oversized candles protruding from the building, the giant skull-masks with their spikes, and the towers that seemed to reach almost to the clouds.

"Well, that's all taken care of! See you around!" Lord Death was saying a few paces behind Stein.

He continued staring at the building, but his focus zeroed in on the sound of soft soles moving over the cobbles, the rustle of clothing as the men got back in the car, and the decisive click as each door closed in succession. He listened as the motor started, heard the sound of tires scraping against stone.

Stein held his breath as the vehicle rolled away, back down the hill and around a curve. He strained to hear until every last trace of the motor was gone, and the only sounds around him were the occasional chirps of a bird and the breeze against his clothes.

Stein closed his eyes tightly as he slowly exhaled.

The wind chilled the fabric of his linen pants, whipped it softly against his legs and cooled his skin as well.

When Stein opened his eyes his vision was blurred, and he blinked in surprise as tears fell hot over his cheeks. When had he last cried?

Probably more recently than he'd felt a breeze, he thought.

"Well..."

The Grim Reaper's voice was gentle where it sounded high above him, and Stein, suddenly and inexplicably self-conscious, hurriedly wiped the tears on his sleeve. Then just as quickly, he was startled as large hands clapped together in his periphery, and he shifted his gaze upward.

"I thought a tour of the academy first, and then I can take you to your room to meet your weapon partner! He'll be your roommate and he's already moved into one of the boys' dormitories."

'Roommate?' Stein thought. He had never shared a room before.

Lord Death had already begun moving toward the stairs, and Stein grabbed hold of the drawstrings over his shoulders and took large strides to catch up. There was so much to process of the new experience all at once that he almost missed the reaper's sudden stop when they were just reaching the stairs. He barely avoided stepping on the large black cloak that seemed to change its form as the reaper moved, but he didn't have time to analyze that as a new presence drew his attention.

"Spirit Albarn? I told you to wait at your dorm."

"I— I'm sorry, S-Sir. See, I realized I'd forgotten some books in my locker, and then I was already here so I figured I could just—"

Stein slowly stepped out from behind Lord Death to find the source of the stammering voice, and it stopped abruptly as the boy laid eyes on him.

Spirit Albarn, as the reaper had identified him, was at least a head taller than Stein, and thin. He was dressed in all black—a contrast to Stein's head-to-toe white—with the exception of hideous large gold buttons down the front of his jacket. But that wasn't what took Stein's breath away and caused his fingers to tighten on the drawstrings.

"Ah, well. I suppose there's no time like the present. Spirit, this is your new partner, Franken Stein."

Spirit's eyes—a shade of crystalline blue that Stein had never seen before—looked him up and down where he stood next to the reaper, and then his brow furrowed. But he apparently dismissed whatever his first impression was as his expression cleared and was filled with a bright, friendly smile as he stepped forward and extended his hand.

"It's nice to meet you, Franken."

Stein could feel Lord Death's gaze as his fingers tightened further on the thin strings that held the bag on his back, but his eyes were fixed on the face of the likely-older boy in front of him.

He knew what was expected. He was to reach out, shake the boy's hand, and offer some form of polite greeting; meaningless niceties to satisfy social etiquette, and then hopefully he could move on to gathering data on how to survive in his new environment. But even his ability to process these needs was rapidly failing him under the radiance of this boy that was taking over his every sense.

"Franken?" Lord Death said.

Spirit Albarn's smile weakened at the corners, his brow creasing slightly as he stood waiting.

Any appropriate words Stein could have said had left his brain. But the pressure of the requirement to speak forced his lips apart, caused one hand to release his grip on the strings. And before he could even begin to piece a sentence together, he heard his thoughts spill out freely as they hadn't in years.

"Your hair is the color of blood."

Spirit Albarn's eyes widened, and he blinked repeatedly as he appeared to process Stein's declaration. The offered hand began to retract ever so slightly, but just as quickly the boy's smile renewed and he reached for the hand Stein had started to move and gripped it firmly. His touch was as warm as the aura that seemed to surround him.

“Well, that’s better than 'copper-top' I guess, for a scythe,” the boy said.

Stein took in the feeling of each strong finger wrapped around his, the confident and assured way his hand was being shaken. And then the touch departed and left his hand feeling strangely empty. He hurriedly gripped the drawstrings again.

The crimson-haired boy glanced past Stein, looked around in confusion.

“Where’s your luggage?”

Stein wanted to look up at the reaper, the self-conscious feeling having returned in the face of the other boy’s confidence. But he realized all at once as no answer was given for him that this was his new reality—that he was expected to and free to speak, that he got to choose the responses he gave, and that his thoughts were wanted.

And yet again, he was at a loss in the light of this new information.

He startled out of his musings when a large, white hand settled over his shoulders and gave him an affectionate pat on the back.

“I think this is all, right Frankie?” Lord Death said.

Stein watched the other boy’s brow furrow as he peered at the near-empty bag that held Stein's single change of clothes and a toothbrush he'd stolen.

“Yes,” he managed, tensing under the unexpected touch, but astonished that fear didn’t accompany it. Nor was the invasion of his personal space followed up with harsh manhandling, a command to silence, or confinement to darkness that lasted for days on end.

Stein closed his eyes and slowly inhaled, felt again the cool of the breeze against his face and the contrast of the sun's warmth atop his head. When had he last felt the sun?

He slowly let out his breath, focused on the feeling of air passing through his lips, and the tension began to ease from his shoulders. The reaper’s hand moved away, and Stein opened his eyes.

“Well,” Lord Death continued, “let’s get on with your tour!"

He stepped past Stein and began gliding up the stairs, the great black cloak changing its shape once more as it floated behind the mysterious being who seemed larger than life both in form and personality.

Stein was considering this irony when Spirit Albarn continued up the stairs. But he paused a few steps above Stein and turned back.

"I'm really excited to be your weapon, Frankie."

Stein's move to follow was halted by the boy's words. He was excited?

Stein almost smirked at the naiveté. This boy knew nothing about him, and he was sure it wouldn't be long before his youthful excitement turned to fear. How many days would Stein be roommates with this boy before he requested a change of accommodation? Before he no longer wanted to be weapon partner to someone like him?

The dark amusement Stein had gained from imagining that boy's bright aura dimming was arrested suddenly as he realized: the typical conclusions he was used to when he put someone off no longer applied. The parameters of his situation had changed entirely, and there was no way he could predict the possible outcome.

He'd been released to the Grim Reaper's school because he had potential to be a weapon meister, the great being had said. But when this other boy inevitably refused to work with him... Would Lord Death change his mind and...send him back?

Stein blinked and swallowed slowly. He hadn't considered the consequences of potential failure. He hadn't yet considered anything at all about his new circumstances; there hadn't been time. Even stealing the toothbrush had been a last-second thought.

"Oh, uh..."

Stein startled back to awareness and looked up at the boy again.

"Sorry, I should have asked... Is 'Frankie' all right, or do you prefer Franken? You can call me Spirit. I don't have any nicknames."

Stein set aside his deeper concerns for the moment. He considered both names, and the further diminutive 'Frank' that he was often called.

Within moments, his memory rang loud with a chorus of terrified cries, followed by those that were full of fury and viciousness. A rush of fear that nearly always accompanied the hearing of his name followed, and he felt a phantom pressure across his chest, a pulling at his shoulders and arms.

He shuddered, flexed his fingers just to remind himself that he could, and gripped the drawstrings tighter as sounds and images continued flooding his mind. But on the steps above, Spirit Albarn waited, and Stein held his gaze as he had that of the man who handed him his bag.

He was once again at a loss as he took in the older boy's expression. His almost-teal eyes were hopeful, his smile bright and welcoming. And with the halo of blood-red hair that feathered around his face he seemed to be practically glowing with the exuberance of life.

The cacophony in Stein's head faded to silence.

He felt his heart thunder in his chest as a fleeting thought—a wondering if this boy's blood did in fact match the color of his hair—passed through his mind in place of the bedlam. But it was all quickly overtaken by something new; a sensation Stein couldn't ever remember having before.

"Actually..." he began, taking the time to feel his voice on his tongue and lips, to hear it as he made the first decision that was his own in over two years. "Just call me Stein."

Spirit looked a bit surprised, if Stein was reading him correctly. And then his smile grew.

"Okay, Stein! I really hope you'll like it here."

Spirit smiled at him another moment, and then continued up the stairs after a fast-disappearing Grim Reaper.

Stein took a few steps up after them, and then paused. He turned back to look at the cobbles where the car had been, and then at the vast expanse of the city and the desert beyond, stretching limitless in every direction. The sight was almost dizzying, simply because he wasn't used to seeing distances so great.

Above, the sun grinned knowingly and shone warm on his face. The breeze at the high elevation continued to cool his thin, linen clothing. And as Stein squinted out toward the road that led across the sea of gold, he spotted a tiny speck glinting under the sun that was traveling rapidly away.

He stared after it until it vanished, too distant any longer to be seen, and suddenly he became aware of pain in his knuckles. He slowly loosened his grip on the drawstrings and with deliberate care moved his hands down to rest at his sides.

It was so difficult an idea to grasp, as it was something he had given up on long ago. But he forced the thought remain as he stared at the horizon, still expecting either to see the blinding speck return or else wake up and find everything around him a dream. But neither event took place. And gradually, the present reality took over.

Nothing about it would be easy; it would be stupid to pretend otherwise. But in that moment, all Stein wanted to think about was the fact that he could move, and he could breathe. And that he was in control of each and every breath.

He turned around and lifted his gaze. Part of the way up the steps Spirit Albarn had paused again, smiling down at him. And then at the very top, white mask angled toward him, waited the Grim Reaper.

Stein inhaled. Exhaled. It made no sense, but somehow his lungs seemed to be filling with light, gradually growing brighter with each breath he took. And in his mind: a new, alluring quiet.

He listened gratefully to the silence as he breathed. He flexed his fingers again and lowered his eyes from Lord Death down to Spirit Albarn, and then to the stone steps just in front of him—let the pathway to freedom fill his vision.

He stepped forward.

#soul eater #soul eater fanfiction #franken stein #spirit albarn #lord death #spiritstein #steinspirit #stein x spirit #spirit x stein #CrossStitch #shinigami-sama #spirit #stein #death scythe #wild heart #year of the otp

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mbg159 · 3 months ago

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What Your Favorite Yu-Gi-Oh! 5Ds Girl Says About You

[Main Girls Only][DM][GX]

Aki Izayoi/Akiza Izinski (likes the second half of the series): You are pretty chill, and almost definitely a Faithshipper. You’re very fond of doing all kinds of scenarios of their first meeting. You write at least one thing per day appreciating her development. You really, really like the rollerskates episode. Even if it could have been better, you still love Yusei giving her Stardust. You get really sad during the ending, but you know in your heart of hearts that they definitely kissed offscreen.

Aki Izayoi/Akiza Izinski (dislikes the second half of the series): You got the taste of a girl who was straight-up unhinged, and you've been chasing that high ever since. You find bondage jokes incredibly funny. You have at least one very strong opinion about Crow. Despite your feelings on the second half (most of which can be described as "seething"), you have a soft spot for Sherry. To this day, her battle theme still generates a Pavlovian response of swooning tears in you.

Ruka/Luna: Your soul aches every day for her wasted potential. You started reading the manga the moment you saw scans of how it did her. You were very surprised when Ancient Fairy Dragon got banned. You have edited characters to be wearing flower crowns at least once. You’re still not quite sure what to think about her brother, but you definitely wish Life Stream had showed up earlier. You spent eighty episodes waiting for a followup for the end of Ep. 67, and are still waiting.

Carly Nagisa/Carly Carmine: You are a Scoopshipper, with no questions asked. You were utterly horrified when you found out about the cult thing (even if your source may have been somewhat inaccurate). You refuse to rewatch the second half of the series, and have devoted lengthy fanfics to what really happened afterward. You aren’t sure if you like nerds or goths, and you’re glad you don’t have to choose. You have tried to do Fortune Fairy-based readings in real life.

Misty Lola/Misty Tredwell: You may be into Isolationshipping or you may be into Omenshipping, but regardless of where you fall, you are certain she loves women. You saw that bit where she cradles Carly’s face and went “god, that girl is lucky.” Your favorite part of the whole DS arc was when she has Ccaryhua swallow Divine whole. You are very, very angry she’s not in Duel Links yet. (Like, I wrote this in 2021 originally, and she's still not in it? What?)

Sherry LeBlanc: You actually don’t hate the second half, but it’s largely due to her. You have either watched Revolutionary Girl Utena, or have been told several times that you should watch it. You may not be a Roseknightshipper, but you definitely have an LGBT headcanon. You have mixed feelings about how her arc ended, and would have preferred if the entire season was just her running around kicking stuff.

Martha: You hate every single other parent in every other series because you have seen her episodes and beheld a standard none have yet lived up to. She takes no shit, she's a rain of sunlight in a land of misery, she sacrifices herself tragically. Why the fuck did she barely appear after Dark Signers? You just want to talk to the person who made that decision, you say while loading a shotgun.

Mikage Sagiri/Mina Simington: You may be a Careshipper whose favorite arc is Fortune Cup, or an Ushio/Mikage shipper whose favorite arc is Dark Signers. Either way, you just really, really like office ladies, okay? You either think she's cute, relate to her beleaguered nature, or both. Also, did you know there's no ship name for Ushio/Mikage? I didn't until recently, but you definitely do.

Stephanie: Man, you picked the biggest third wheel in the entire franchise and a woman who only appears in the second half to be your fave, huh? That takes a lot of guts. And to my immense surprise, despite her entire existence being "waitress" and "one-note obsession with Jack Atlas", you have decided your OTP with her is Carly. Rock on, Stephanie fans, you make the world brighter.

Misaki: You decided to go dumpster-diving in the video games and found a gem. You understand that the only thing that could have made Bruno's arc better is if he was also Rei Ayanami. The bit at the end where she finally smiles melted your heart like butter in the sunrise. You insist Watts are underrated. You sadly know deep down that there's a reason the only female Yliaster member is non-canon.

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i-did-not-mean-to · 10 months ago

Text

YOTP - February

For V-day, I'll give you the YOTP fic for February.

A reluctant OTP, but an OTP nevertheless...Please, have some Merestor x Glorfindel (with art from @sauroff)

Lots and lots, heaps and heaps, of love for y'all!

Pairing: Glorfindel x Erestor

Prompt: Valentine's Day, Pollen/Fear Gas/Truth Serum, Established Relationship/Long Distance, different, mermaid, "If I kiss you, will you shut up?"

Words: 2 500

Warning: Sacrifice, implied monsterfucking, Merestor is a savage, nudity

(very sexy art and not very sexy fic under the cut!)

“We are sorry,” the councilman whispered as he stood, outlined by ominous darkness on Glorfindel’s threshold. “You have been chosen. We are hoping—”

“I understand,” Glorfindel replied before the old man could rattle off the perfidious reasons for their cruel decision to send one of their most valued warriors to his death. It made sense, he thought, the threat with which the town had been dealing for quite some time now was not one he or anyone else could fight with swords and arrows.

Thus, he had become superfluous—dead weight, really, and he recognised that much without fail.

“Today is a good day to die,” he added, deep sadness making his voice sound as hollow as if it was already coming from the grave. “I cannot bear the festivities anyway.”

“You must find it heartless—”

“Not at all,” Glorfindel interrupted again. “It’s strangely poetic, don’t you think? Give me an hour to put everything in order, tell the neighbours, and distribute what few riches are left to me, and then I shall be all yours.”

“Very well. I am sorry, please believe me,” the man who had known the condemned for many long years breathed softly.

“I know,” Glorfindel said soothingly. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I am not loath to die. Especially not today!”

As he went through his meagre possessions, the golden-haired hero of another time smiled wistfully to himself.

Outside, maidens and young men were giggling breathlessly as they sang songs of love and hope and waved their elaborate bouquets through the fragrant night air—this was their day, the day of lovers, and Glorfindel felt ashamed of his visceral, asphyxiating resentment of their happiness.

Once upon a time, he had been much like them. Returning from a faraway war covered in glory and illustrious distinctions, he had managed to capture the heart and hand of a beautiful, smart, enchanting young man.

For a few blessed years, he and Erestor—for that had been his beloved’s name—had lived in peace and plenty. Every year, they’d light candles on this hallowed night and sit on the porch of their little dwelling to watch the procession of giddy youths, dancing through the street with elation.

Then, one day, Erestor had disappeared. Glorfindel had waited, searched, and despaired, but no trace of his darling had been found.

Looking back now, he realised that the “deep”—an ominous threat that had transformed the previously merry village into a ghost town of whispered conversations and furtive steps—had first made itself known around the same time.

Nobody knew exactly what it was and what it wanted, but it was generally understood that Erestor—Glorfindel’s very own husband—had been its first victim.

From that fateful spring on, cattle, people, and treasures vanished from the riverbanks and the edges of the underground lake that had always been a highly favoured bathing spot for the villagers. Fear fell like a shadow over the hamlet, stifling all life and laughter.

Soon, people avoided all running water, coming up with complex rituals of superstition and idiocy, but Glorfindel was too heartbroken still to even fear for his life; he wanted to know what had happened to his sweetheart.

At first, the elders had refused that he or anyone else should leave the safety of the village to seek out the mysterious creature that had been glimpsed by a few but never fully seen, and Glorfindel had reluctantly bowed to the pressure of public outrage.

Then, the sacrifices had started. Miscreants and rebels, bound and gagged, were left in the cave to feed and soothe the “deep”—and, to everybody’s horror and delight—they were gone by the time the guards came back in to check on them. As the mouth of the cavern was under perpetual surveillance, it was undeniable that it had to be the sea monster that had taken them.

A part of Glorfindel had always known that, sooner or later, he would be picked to be delivered to the pernicious pestilence haunting their home. His adamant refusal to wear the protective amulets or steer clear of the river had branded him an insurgent and a sceptic, and a community ruled by fear could and would not abide such disruptive, potentially dangerous faithlessness.

Thus, on the night of lovers, he was called upon to do what was necessary to keep a society from which he had almost entirely withdrawn safe. This would be his last act of heroism.

Glorfindel felt relieved and almost happy as he walked, flanked by the mayor and the councilman, down to the cave. Maybe, he thought, he’d be able to find out something about his lost lover; either way, he’d be freed of the torturous half-life he had been leading.

As he entered the cave, he was surprised and more than just a little touched to find countless candles burning in every nook and cranny.

The villagers had carved well-wishes into the melting wax or written down their prayers on little scraps of paper that were now buried under the slow-moving tide of pristine white, dripping off every wall.

“We have to…” the mayor looked up at Glorfindel with undisguised misery as he lifted the length of rope he had been kneading in his sweaty hands. “You can keep the clothes to prevent chafing.”

Chuckling wryly, Glorfindel shook his head slowly. He had promised his last possessions—the garments on his back and the bells in his hair—to the two brave men who stood by him as he set out for his last expedition.

“I hope that you’ll at least get a tankard of ale each for these,” he said as he laid the adornments he had cherished through many a hard year into their unworthy palms. “Now tie me up and leave. For all I’ve done for this village and for you, I think that I deserve the dignity of meeting my fate without having to worry about an audience.”

They complied readily, desperate to get away from the dark water lapping rhythmically against the sloping ground of the cave.

In their furious haste, they were less gentle with this season’s sacrifice than he’d have deserved, but Glorfindel was unfazed by the nails scraping heedlessly across his bare skin and the sharp bite of the rope into his tense flesh.

“Where…”

The councilman pointed at a few worn, discoloured pillows at the far end of the cavern, just a stone’s throw away from the frightening, liquid threat of the purling underground lake.

“Tasteful,” Glorfindel commented as he was heaved, pushed, and dragged to the designated spot. In his mind, images of his first successful attempts at seduction danced as if to taunt him.

He was no stranger to promiscuous poses and elaborate bondage, and—on this lonely night of lost love—he could truly appreciate the irony.

“I am ready,” he declared. “Withdraw and save your lives. Think of me fondly, and don’t let this ruin your evening. Go light a candle in my honour. Maybe, look the other way if you come across a particularly adventurous couple, I don’t know…”

He huffed—it annoyed him that he was still the one trying to comfort and calm the men who had condemned him to an undoubtedly horrid demise, but he couldn’t bear their sad, mournful gazes.

“I am not dead yet,” Glorfindel grunted when nobody moved. “Remember me like this—beautiful, alluring, and very much alive!”

Tensing and squirming against the irregular, badly tied knots, he averted his face which finally convinced his two hangmen to scamper away like the vermin they were.

“Let’s hope this monstrosity makes haste at the very least,” Glorfindel mumbled and leaned back against the smelly cushions as much as he could without cutting off his circulation.

Thankfully for the integrity and safety of his limbs, Glorfindel did not have to wait long until minute ripples on the hitherto perfectly placid surface of the lake heralded the imminent arrival of whatever lethal foe was lurking in the murky depths.

“Ah, a new one,” a voice resounded. To the intended victim’s utter astonishment, it sounded tired and impatient rather than gleefully wicked. “Why do they keep pawning their unwanted villagers off on me?”

Spellbound, Glorfindel twisted as much as his bonds allowed to see a shimmering, mesmerising creature cleave through the water.

“Eh, same as ever,” the aquatic being muttered and launched itself out of its watery habitat, twirling like a falling star and filling the stale, damp air with a fine powder that tasted sweet and cloying on Glorfindel’s tongue as he drew a deep breath. “What is it that you truly desire? Do not even try to lie to me—the spores you’ve just inhaled force you to tell the truth.”

“I want to know what happened to my love,” Glorfindel replied immediately, not even trying to struggle against the sudden heaviness pervading his limbs and befuddling his racing mind. “All I want is to find out where Erestor went.”

With a muted splash, the creature fell back into the arms of the inky lake until only a pair of brightly flashing eyes—as eerily familiar and yet entirely foreign as the accents of that enchanting voice—were visible.

Taking the monster’s silence as an invitation and unable to stem the tide of words that had been unleashed by the potent dust he had ingested, Glorfindel kept babbling about the one he had loved and lost, detailing Erestor’s indescribable beauty and admirable wit and sighing longingly.

“I know that you’ve taken him, and I’d beg you to reunite us!” he finally pleaded.

“You think that I have killed your lover,” the creature mused, its words setting off a flurry of bubbles, dancing over the glassy surface of the water. “And you’d be willing to meet that same fate?”

“Yes. Life itself is worth nothing if it’s to be devoid of all joy and love!”

“You have ever been such a soppy fool! I should have known that my sacrifice would come to nought due to your reckless stubbornness!”

Heaving itself from its fluid realm once more, the creature drew inexorably closer.

“Who made those knots? What a mess! Just look at your beautiful skin!” Razor-sharp claws sliced through the rope without hesitation, and Glorfindel sat up, rubbing the sore spots his writhing had left behind.

“Erestor?” he cried as he now fully faced the well-known and desperately missed frame of the one he had sought for endless months.

There was no doubt about it, that visage—gleaming like mother of pearl and gold in the flickering light of the white candles—was the very one he saw in those terrible nightmares that haunted his every moment of respite.

“How? Why? What has happened? How have you come hither? Have you been enslaved against your will? What can I do? I have missed you so much, you can’t imagine! Oh Erestor, my love! Or…did you leave me of your own accord? Was I not a good husband to you? You should have told me that you were unhappy—I would have done anything to alleviate your dissatisfaction—”

“If I kiss you, will you shut up?” Erestor interrupted, and—not waiting for an answer—pressed his cool, wet lips against Glorfindel’s burning mouth in a gentle caress that grew frantic and heated almost instantly.

“Why?” Glorfindel whispered against the fragrant skin for which he had yearned with every fibre of his being.

“Old enemies came for you—you were out, at the market if I recall correctly—and they spoke terrible threats…” Erestor explained sheepishly. “You were always too rash to heed the warning signs of the deeper, darker secrets of the world.”

“But—”

“I’ve offered myself. What else could I do? The town needed you more than they did me!”

“I needed you! To hell with the accursed village—they’ve left me here, bound and naked, to be eaten by some fearsome monstrosity!” Glorfindel cried passionately.

“So they did,” Erestor agreed, anger and regret turning his eyes into splintered onyx. “It seems that I’ve been mistaken in my assessment, a rarity as you well know. I did not expect you to waste your time bemoaning my loss.”

“How dare you?” Glorfindel roared. Not minding the sharp protrusions on Erestor’s fingers or the dangerously pointy teeth flashing in the semi-darkness, he grabbed his lost husband by the shoulders and shook him vehemently. “I have never stopped looking and waiting for you—loving you—and if that ass of a mayor had not been so laughably terrified, I would have found out the truth much sooner!”

“Do they really think I’ve killed all these people?” Erestor inquired, leaning against the comforting, dry warmth of Glorfindel’s chest.

When the golden-haired sacrificial offering of beauty and valour nodded, he tossed back his head and laughed heartily.

“Believe you me, I did no such thing. It is in my power to grant one wish to those who seek me out in exchange for something they treasure—and what idiotic things they were—and so, I’ve helped every single person you’ve thrown down here escape the prison of paranoia and worry into which you’ve seemingly turned our once peaceful village.”

Glorfindel stared until his eyes overflowed with hot tears, leaving warm streaks of salt and salvation on his sculptural, freckled cheeks.

“I am so happy to see you—have you been well?” he asked breathlessly. “You should not have offered yourself that without consulting me! Of all the things to lose, I’d rather lose a limb than you!”

“I can see that now,” Erestor admitted. “I am sorry for doubting your love and your strength—they were very persuasive, and they tapped into my secret insecurity that someone like me—cerebral, somewhat scrawny, and undeniably mean—could never keep the love of one so glorious, handsome, and popular as you. It was all so new, and they made me believe that you’d soon grow tired of me anyway…This sacrifice was meant to be my parting gift.”

“And you dare call me a fool?” Glorfindel rasped as he bundled his merman husband—long, iridescent tail and webbed hands—onto his bare lap fitfully. As soon as that smooth, cool skin collided with his own heated flesh, he felt his body and all its dormant desires and impulses flare back to life.

“My love,” Erestor said warningly as he felt the testament of Glorfindel’s enduring, evidently unconditional ardour press against his scaly rear, “this is hardly the moment. I still have one wish to grant you—choose wisely!”

“Do you enjoy this life?” Glorfindel asked seriously, cupping Erestor’s soft cheek and searching his petulant gaze for any signs of dishonesty.

“Yes,” Erestor admitted after a moment’s reflexion. “It is strange, certainly, but I like it well! You’d…you couldn’t understand…”

“Then my wish is to join you!” Glorfindel exclaimed. “It is my turn to offer my life for your happiness. Make me what you are!”

So, that was my contribution to the YOTP for February!

I hope you've enjoyed this! Lots of love!

-> Masterlist

#og post #Fanfiction #writing #IDNMT writes #jrrt #Tolkien fanfiction #YOTP #yotp 2023 prompts #Glorestor #Glorfindel #Erestor #February #Truth Serum #Long Distance #Established Relationship #Different #Mermaid #Vday #If I kiss you...

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zvtara-was-never-canon · 10 months ago

Note

Bryke was in the Podcasts Braving Element book fire, and one the most interesting in that conversation was Bryke say Kataang relationship in Book fire was their favorite and Basco he is vibing for Maiko, but he say the headband episode is technically filler, it means is not canon that episode? What you think?

"Filler" was an anime term, about episodes that existed solely to give the manga they were adapting extra time to get more content for them to adapt. The filler episodes are canon (to the anime versions at least), but they don't move the plot forward, so if you skip them you don't miss anything important.

Eventually the term stopped being used solely for anime - and some idiots started using it to mean "bad episode", but the actual meaning is still the same: the episode can be skipped without the audience being confused. Only now these episodes exist not to catch up with a source material (in Avatar's case there wasn't one in the first place since it was an original series, not an adaptation) but rather as a "breather" episode, that can be more light-hearted, or character-driven instead of plot-driven.

To give an Avatar exemple: "Tales of Ba Sing Se" is filler, but it's still canon. It does not, in any way, further the Dai Li plot the previous episode had established - but we get focus on the characters, their personalities, dynamics, and THE tear-jerker that is Iroh singing to both honor his son and express his grief over his death. We already knew Lu Ten was dead and Iroh was grieving, but this episode gives it further depth.

Even if "The Headband" was filler, it'd still be canon - and so would be the dance with Katara clearly being into Aang.

And I personally do NOT consider "The Headband" filler. It furthers the whole theme of the season and the series ("How do you rebuild a world consumed by war? Through kindness"), we (and more importantly, the protagonist) get a deeper look into the indoctrination the people of the Fire Nation are subjected to, and more importantly, it is the episode in which we are introduced to Combustion man - ya know, the assassin that will try to kill the Gaang? The secondary villain of half the season? The one that is Zuko's attempt to resolve the problem of "The Avatar is supposed to be dead" that the previous episode introduced? Aka it is connected both to the aftermath of the Ba Sing Se plot and the "Zuko goes from villain to ally of the good guys" plot?

You CAN'T skip this episode without being confused as to who the fuck is that guy chasing the Gaang and who sent him after them. You'd have to wait until his last appearance, in which Zuko confronts him, for you to realize what the villain's deal was, meaning that PLOT would only become coherent after it was basically resolved.

It furthers the plot, therefore it isn't filler. It's just not ALL about the plot. By that logic, nearly every episode of season one is filler. The Beach is filler. Well over half the fucking show is filler if we're only counting episodes that have BIG, plot-twisting events as "important" episodes. Bryke need to stop parroting fandom nonsense to gain points.

As for Dante Basco being all excited about Maiko despite being a big zutara fan, that does not surprise me. He has ALWAYS said he liked their romance, and that Mai is the kind of girl he'd try getting with in real life.

Once again, the epic "power struggle" between Zutara fans and the evil dark lords Bryan and Mike is only in the fandom's weird minds. They weren't always kind to shippers, but the simple fact that they're so chill with Dante, and lots of other people, including writersn who went on his podcast and said everything from "I don't really care for Zutara, but I think could have worked" to "It's one of my OTPs" shows that this "Bryke VS Zutara" war is VERY one-sided and exists solely because people can't accept that, no, the writers are not throwing away their entire plan just to please you.

#anti zutara #pro kataang #the headband

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thatwritingho · 1 year ago

Text

Kloktober Day 1

Favorite Character or OTP

My favorite character is half of my OTP, so both!

Pairing: Relish! Which is Pickles the Drummer and Olive Axworthy, my OC. get it, because pickle and olive relish, hahaha

Rating: SFW, only mildly suggestive moments

Summary: Pickles makes a miscalculation when planning a date with Olive. Luckily, he thinks of a better plan, and so they ditch the fancy restaurant they both hated to relocate.

What a perfect night for a cemetery date.

It was beautiful.

Glittering crystal chandeliers, polished marble floors, spotless white tablecloths, and a bouquet of fresh flowers in the center of their private, tucked away table with a gorgeous view of the city, shielded by a wall of live greenery.

It was beautiful.

And Olive looked absolutely miserable.

Gorgeous, in a black velvet dress that slit up to her hip and gave her immaculate cleavage, showing off both her sleeve and thigh tattoo. Her wild curls were more tamed than usual, her makeup dark and stunning. Around her neck hung the anatomically correct heart pendant he gifted her. Silver glinted from each of her ear piercings, bracelets dangled from her wrists, rings covered her fingers, her nails shone black and pointed.

She was gorgeous, stunning, breathtaking… but still miserable, all the same.

As Olive finished the last bite of her dessert, Pickles gulped down the rest of his wine, bracing himself.

"Everythin' okee, babe?"

Dark eyes flit up to meet green, and she shrugged.

"Yeah. Everything's fine."

The raising of a single pierced brow was all it took, and she sighed, teething at her tongue ring.

"It's just. Y'know…." she gestured around with her eyes.

"What?"

“This place, it’s just…”

“Yeah?”

“...fancy.”

“Is dat a bad thing?”

Olive shrugged, “I mean, like, objectively, no.”

“Okee… And, uh, not objectively?”

“Subjectively?” sighing, she chewed at her lip, glancing around, “It’s just. Not really my thing.”

Pickles nodded, staring at her as he considered how to turn this date around. Where could they go now that she would like? Hell, where did she even like to go? It was too late for a museum or a bookstore, they were too dressed up to go break into some abandoned building or walk in a park. Where was he gonna take her, a fucking mausoleum?

Oh.

Duh.

Grin curling up his lips, Pickles stood, carelessly tossing some cash from his wallet down onto the table, "Well what the hell're we doin' here, den? Let's get outta this place."

Smiling, Olive placed her hand in his offered one, standing to follow him to the limo. She snorted when Pickles insisted on opening the door for her, but thanked him anyway, waiting inside as he whispered something to the driver before joining her. The ride was largely uneventful, save for Pickles slipping down the straps of Olive's dress to snort a line or two or five off her tits.

When it finally rolled to a stop, Olive pried her lips from Pickles', peering out the tinted windows as a large grin took over her face. As she turned back to him, dark eyes sparkling, face lit up in childish delight, and asked "Really?!" with more excitement in her voice than he had ever heard, Pickles felt his stomach flip, heat rushing to his face as his mouth went dry.

"Y-yeah, dood."

Lips pressed to his cheek in a soft, sweet kiss, and Olive bumped the tip of her nose to his.

"Thank you."

Before he had a chance to respond, she gripped his hand and nearly drug him from the limo, but Pickles managed to grab the doorframe, stopping just in time.

"Whoah, dood, hang ahn! Jeezus, the skeletons aren't going anywhere!"

Pickles rummaged back inside, Olive pulling a face when he returned, a pierced brow raising in question.

"What?"

"Is there anything other than champagne?"

Pickles gave her an incredulous look.

"...yew don't like champagne?"

"No."

"...okee. Well, there's a '78 Giacomo Conterno Monfortino or a '96 Domaine Leroy Romanée-Saint-Vivant Grand Cru in dere, too, if yah want one of those instead."

"I have no idea what that means."

Pickles grinned at her blank face, "Ones a barolo, ones a pinot noir."

"...I still don't know what that means. It's just wine. Whatever is fine, it all tastes the same, anyway."

The grin fell from his face at her words, replaced with an expression of shock, disbelief, and mild horror.

"Babe, yew… yew don't actually mean dat, right?"

Olive shrugged.

"Yeah. I mean, aside from the color difference, it all just tastes like wine."

Shell shocked, Pickles swapped the bottle of champagne out for the ten-thousand dollar bottle of wine, the knowledge that it would be absolutely wasted on her beginning to set in.

It just tastes like wine.

Jesus Christ.

He needed to take her to a wine tasting yesterday.

Shaking it off, Pickles slung his arm over Olive's shoulders as they walked through the gates of the cemetery, glancing around at the fog hanging low on the ground, the murder of crows cawing and pecking amongst the headstones nearby as they meandered along the path, the clack of Olive's heels loud in the chilled air. A gentle breeze sent her curls dancing, swaying and rustling the leaves left clinging on the skeletons of trees, an owl hooting somewhere off in the distance.

What a perfect night for a cemetery date.

The moon shone bright behind the sparse, wispy clouds, lighting up her face, her happy, relaxed expression such a stark contrast to the one worn at dinner he could hardly reconcile the two.

"Wanna know somethin'?"

"Hm?"

Pickles leaned in close, whispering, "I fuckin' hate fancy restaurants, too."

Olive laughed, loud and sudden and so hard she snorted, slapping a hand over her mouth as Pickles laughed at her, the both continuing to giggle at each other as the conversation continued.

"Then why did we go!"

"I don't know, dood! A fancy dinner, dats, like, the date!"

"Yeah, but it sucks!"

"Yer tellin' me! Gahd, got all dressed up in dis stupid suit fer nothin'."

Pickles tugged at his already loosened tie as Olive laughed harder, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt

"Yew look hot as hell, though. 'least dere's dat."

Heat flushed to her face at the compliment, and she smiled, biting her lip as Pickles grinned his crooked grin at her.

"Oh, hey," Pickles grabbed her elbow, steering her to the side, "We're here."

Raising a brow as Pickles veered off path, Olive pauses to slip off her heels before following him barefoot amongst the graves, the ground cold and dew-damp on her feet. At the base of a tall, wide, old oak tree, Pickles plopped down in the grass, half-sitting half-laying against it's base.

Grinning up at her, he pat his lap in invitation, "Saved a seat jest fer yew, baby. Best one in da whole house."

Her deadpan made him laugh, and Olive rolled her eyes with a fond smile before dropping down. Freckled arms wrapped securely around her as she curled up in his lap, finger tips ghosting along her arm to raise goosebumps.

The two passed the bottle of wine back and forth, chatting here and there.

"Hey."

Lifting her head from his chest, Olive was met with lips on hers, tasting of wine and weed and cigarettes. His hand gently cupped her face, thumb caressing over her cheek as their lips met time and again, Pickles relishing the way Olive melted into him more and more with each press.

Parting his lips from her was no easy feat - it never was - but Pickles managed, bumping their noses as his eyes sought Olive's in the moonlight. Their breaths puffed and mixed between them, curls scented of wine forming to dance on the crisp night air.

Mouth curling into a crooked grin, Pickles kissed over to her ear and nipped, facial hair tickling with his next words, "Heh. Wanna go fuck ahn a grave?"

To be continued ;)

Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think!

If you'd like to read more of these two, check out Momento Mori, and Olive's Mtl OC Wiki page!!

#kloktober 2023 #kloktober #kloktober2023 #olive axworthy #pickles the drummer #metalocalypse #metalocalypse oc #mtl oc #metalocalypse fanfic #mtl fanfic #momento mori

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nalyra-dreaming · 4 months ago

Note

Sort of answer to your other anon, but feel free to add to it if you want hehe. For now I only know the show and only ship loustat, but that's because I think it's the most developed pairing so far. I kind of need a little time to get into ships, but I'm down for any and everything. I agree ships don't necessarily need to be moral, but I do believe they need to be compelling and help each other in a way, even if it isn't with every single thing. I have OTPs that had terrible moments, but grew into their best selves together. Loustat is usually a dynamic that I hate, because it happened too fast, it got problematic and dark pretty fast (in terms of number of episodes, not the years they spent together), they had other people, they spent a whole season apart... Reminds me in a way of those toxic, even abusive on-and-off couples, that always treated each other poorly, made each other worse, could never work it out, but for some reason kept going back together because "it's sexy" or whatever networks tried to sell. But Loustat subverted my expectations. They're not entirely like that, but I do think they have some of those characteristics. But in their case, it's explained because they both lived shitty lives. And the series show why they're that way and that they're sort of at war with themselves too and genuinely regret their actions. And unlike those other ships, they're a differently species that don't completely function like us and have forever to redeem themselves. Those other couples just felt like a repetitive waste of time without any depth. But the writers really do a great job. And we did see Loustat bounding, Louis trusting Lestat in a way he didn't with anybody else, smiling, having fun and a happy life as well, so we know the connection is there and it isn't just angst and sex. And there's the actors, who have some of the best chemistry I've ever seen anywhere. I'm down for any ship if they have that too, because I trust the writers and so far every duo seems to have amazing chemistry. Will the writing and chemistry be on Loustat's level? I don't know, but I'll have fun with whatever they give me for however long it lasts. This is the first time I feel like I don't even need to think or worry too much, I'm just waiting for more and to be surprised because they always exceed my expectations and I hope that never changes. I was pretty into Loumand at the beginning, I thought they had an ease, sensual, flirtatious vibe and it was exciting to see. But that was mostly the actors than the script and, after the first kiss, we don't see much of it anymore? No scene laughing, comforting each other, going out etc... We have the museum and bar scenes, but I wouldn't call them a Loumand moemnt because they were most about Armand's backstory and betrayal. I never shipped them as much as Loustat, I could have, but before it got to a point I could, it turned cold and distant so I moved on. On the other hand, Lesmand, is something I don't ship yet, but I'm excited because of 1) simply curiosity, everything I hear from the books sound like that's a pretty heated relationship, for better or worse 2) I also hear they're kind of mirrors and understand each other in ways others can't, so even with all the bad history they still sort of care for each other? And if that's true, it's a really interesting and unique dynamic to explore that we don't see that often 3) Sam and Assad really sold their chemistry to me on that scene they shared blood 4) relationships that are extreme as theirs seem to be, tend to result in great, intense, emotional, explosive acting and that's my favorite type... My favorite scenes on the show are the church scene and the hug and those are very intense moments as well. So if they can do something like that in their own flavor because I wouldn't want a Loustat copy, it should be fun to see. Even if it turns out to be like "omg, they're so terrible and I don't want them together not even for one episode" and I won't ship, I'll probably still enjoy it for the writing and acting.

:))

As said, shipping is a personal preference (thank you for detailing yours 🥰).

I am very sure the show will do something very distinctive for each pairing, and this is the only thing I‘d add here now - all these “ships“ are actual relationships in the VC, with their own history, and importance.

Personally I think that is amazing ^^ and I cannot wait to see them.

If I will write and/or read them? We‘ll see. But I think we‘re blessed that way, whether it fits personal preference, or not. 🥰

#anonymous #ask nalyra #shipping #interview with the vampire #iwtv #amc iwtv #amc interview with the vampire

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spicysix · 1 year ago

Text

Fanfic Writer Appreciation day ♡

i stole this idea from @1lostsoul0fishbowl, and in celebration for Fanfic Writer Appreciation Day, i've decided to list 21 of my favorite fics! a few of them i've talked about before, and a few are very well known but still deserve to be talked about again. i'm tagging the authors if i know their tumblrs!

i divided them into two lists, a purely Steddie one (my otp y'know) and a second one for everything else (other ships, X readers, other fandoms etc)

without further ado, in no particular order, here is (under the cut cause the lists are LONG, babes):

Steddie

The One in Which a Time Loop is Fucking Exhausting. by @badpancakelol - timeloop

You're Divine by @azrielgreen - Kas!Eddie

i can give you a heartbeat by soupbitchin - ghost!Eddie

Looks like we're in for nasty weather by @geddyqueer - modern AU, ghost whisperer!Eddie, cryptids

Straight Knife Through The Heart by @relenafanel - modern AU, rockstar!Eddie

New York Hardcore by @grandmastattoo - punk!Steve

your cosmic call sign by @nancywheeeler - aliens!AU

Wild Geese by watchcatewrite - roadtrip

the most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway is that it’s you by @greatunironic - rockstar!Eddie, found family

your love is standing next to me by @fivecenturiesverse - rockstars AU, social media fic

STEVE’S FIRST BRUISE by cairparavels - spider man!Steve

took you for a working boy by @pukner - genderqueer!Steve

this love came back to me by @strawberryspence - rockstar!Steve

i could be honest, i could be human by @steves-strapcollection

what's left of my lungs by WirtWilt - hanahaki disease

echo by @grandmastattoo - timeloop

wanna hurt you just to hear you screaming my name by DotyTakeThisDown - BDSM, sex club master!Eddie

Petals in a Storm by @inairbinad

Eddie's Memory Log by @harmonictechnicality

this demo will save your life by oh_simone - 'rockstar'!Eddie, band manager!Steve. characterization of all times

STRIKE TEN. by @metaldeads - scoops era

Others

The Entire History Of Human Desire by KidA_666 - ST / stonathan

Dreaming Of You by Koken - Marvel / stucky X reader - reader has powers

Harmless by @shurisneakers - Marvel / bucky X reader - 'villain'!Reader, lovely crack, perry VS doofenshmirtz dynamic

Hive by Rattle - SDV / sebastian X sam X farmer - there's a big plot twist here. best SDV fic ever

Trinity Epoch by @heli0s-writes - Marvel / stucky X reader / pacific rim AU (honestly anything by helios is amazing)

matters of taste by @fairyysoup - ST / steddie X reader - bakery AU

half of my soul by @graysonnightwing - ST / steve&robin - platonic soulmates get platonically maried

Over & Over by @beetlesandstarss - ST / ronance - this one hurts like a bitch but it's delicious

burning yarrow by @storiesbyrhi - ST / eddie X reader - witch!Reader, vampire!Eddie (literally anything by Rhi, but this one's my favorite)

don't delete the kisses by @stevenose - ST / steve X reader - camboy!Steve

We Tried The World by @upsidedownwithsteve - ST / steve X reader - roadtrip (again, anything by Emmy is great but her roadtrip Steve is top tier and this fic was a huge inspiration to me personally)

No Such Thing by lattebiscuit - Marvel / bucky X reader - college AU

We Got A Lovin' Thing by lattebiscuit - ST / steddie X reader

Helping Hands by MutantsandSoldiers - Marvel / bucky X reader, stucky X reader - ABO, mutant!Reader

Howler & the Black Cat by bajablessed - Marvel / bucky X reader - vigilante!Reader

Sunshine Blend Dark Roast by @icallhimjoey - RPF / joe quinn X reader - barista!Reader (again, anything by this author is an instant hit. i had to close my eyes and point at the screen to choose randomly because i couldn't pick one myself)

no good at waiting by @familyvideostevie - ST / steve X reader - farmers market AU

in a dark, dark room by @carolmunson - ST / Eddie X reader - kas!Eddie. this one just dropped and it's an instant hit. it's dark so beware!

Like Real People Do by @myosotisa - ST / eddie X reader - drug addicts, rehab clinic, beware of triggers

Bad Influence by @dearest-readers - ST / eddie X reader - pornstars AU

coffee shop blues by @ghost-proofbaby- ST / eddie X reader - barista!Reader, barista!Eddie, grumpy VS sunshine trope

WHOOF! *wipes forehead* that was some work. i obviously couldn't fit all my favorite fics of all times here, but i did my best to bring great content! (i thought about dividing into 3 lists and make an X reader specific one but....i was too tired of searching for links already lmao)

i have many other great recs in my fics recs tag here and on my ao3 bookmarks so if you trust my judgment and want more fics to read, those are always public!

shout out to all the amazing fic writers on all sides of these fandoms that i love and admire, and know that you are very appreciated on this fic writer appreciation day! ♡♡

#lui rambles #fics recs #this is not a chain in any way but if you feel inspired....you can copy the idea too

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bradshawsbaby · 2 years ago

Note

Either "Surprise Hug" or "Broken" with the Bradshaw's! I hope you're having a great January! :)

I know it’s no longer January, but I have a few more January OTP Prompts left that I want to try to get done!

I hope you had a wonderful January, love! I tried to include both prompts in this one, and I set it in the early days of the Bradshaws’ relationship, when they just started dating ☺️

There was rarely a time when The Hard Deck wasn’t packed with eager patrons, but today felt especially crazy. Since you and Penny had opened up the bar earlier that afternoon, you hadn’t had a single moment to yourself. Between running drinks to all the tables and hurrying food orders to and from the kitchen, your feet were aching by the time the sun finally set. And your shift wasn’t over for hours yet.

Leaning against the bar, waiting for Jimmy to finish pouring the drinks for one of the tables you were waiting on in the back, you leaned against the polished wood and let out a heavy sigh, wiping a tired hand down your face.

“How you doing, sweetie?” Penny’s motherly voice suddenly filled your ears, a comforting hand coming to rest on your back as she stepped up beside you.

“Oh, I’m alright,” you told her, trying to perk yourself up immediately. Penny was such a wonderful boss and friend, and you were happy to see her business thriving, so you didn’t want to let on how exhausted you were and have her worrying about you. Not when she had so many other things to concern herself with.

“You look dead on your feet, hon,” she laughed, her blue-green eyes sparkling with amusement. “Why don’t you take a break?”

“No, no, I’m okay. Really,” you insisted, shaking your head. “I have a few tables who are still waiting on their drinks, so I want to get those over to them.” At Penny’s pointed look, you smiled sheepishly and added, “After that, I’ll take a little break.”

Penny grinned in response, nodding in approval. “Where are Rooster and the others? I figured they’d be here tonight,” she said, brushing her dark hair out of her face.

“They had a special training today, so I’m not sure if they’re going to make it tonight. They’re probably even more dead on their feet than we are,” you laughed, smiling appreciatively when Jimmy set a cluster of beers down on your tray.

“Hmm, in that case, I’m sure Rooster’s going to be very mad at me that I’m making you work the late shift instead of sending you home to take care of him,” she teased with a wink.

Your cheeks grew warm at her words and you fidgeted with the tray in your hands. You and Bradley had only been dating for a couple months, but apparently it was evident to everyone how head over heels you were for him. “I should go drop off these drinks,” you stammered, not missing Penny’s knowing grin as you moved past her.

On your return to the bar, a customer suddenly grabbed your attention, waving her hand in the air. “Uh, you work here, right? Can you help us? I think the jukebox is broken,” she explained, indicating the vintage jukebox that was a central amenity in The Hard Deck.

“Oh, let me take a look,” you nodded, frowning in concern. You hoped nothing was wrong. You didn’t want to stress Penny out.

It looked, however, like you might have to. No matter how many times you tried to plug and unplug the jukebox, fiddling with quarters and pressing various buttons, nothing seemed to want to play. Your frown deepened as your concern grew, and you smacked your palms against the machine in frustration.

“Now what did that jukebox ever do to you, honey?” a deep voice hummed in your ear, the familiar tickle of your boyfriend’s mustache brushing against your skin as Bradley threw his arms around you from behind in a surprise hug.

“Bradley!” you gasped in shock, spinning around in his embrace so that you could throw your arms around him. But before you could try to defend your acts of violence against the jukebox, he was silencing you with a kiss, his fingers burying themselves in your hair as he held you close.

“What are you doing here?” you laughed when the two of you finally broke apart. “I thought you’d be home and in bed after that training today.”

Bradley shrugged nonchalantly, a grin splitting his face as he gazed down at you. “I couldn’t go home without seeing my best girl,” he murmured, brushing another kiss against your lips.

You still got butterflies whenever he called you that.

“So what seems to be the problem, honey?” he asked, resting his hands on your hips as he gazed behind you at the finicky jukebox.

“I don’t know. The jukebox is broken or something. No matter what I do, it doesn’t want to play,” you sighed. “But I hate to bother Penny about it. She has so many other things going on right now.”

“Sounds like you’re in need of some musical assistance, baby,” Bradley smirked, waggling his eyebrows mischievously.

You grinned in return, resting a hand on his chest. “I am, as a matter of fact. Know anyone?”

“I might know a guy,” he nodded, winking at you. “Just show me the way to the nearest piano,” he told you with a laugh.

Giggling, you took his hand and led him through the crowd to the piano where he’d first caught your eye months ago. “My hero.”

#bradshaw drabble #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster x future wife!reader #mr. & mrs. bradshaw #top gun: maverick #miles teller #january writing prompts

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