#our first event !

[egophiliac]

LEON

LEON YOUR EYEBALLS

[illyrianbitch]

Of Our Own Devices — Part Two

For @erisweekofficial Day 2: Legacy

Pairing: Reader x Eris

Summary: Eris Vanserra carries a legacy of cruelty, a reputation forged in whispers and fear. But something doesn't quite fit anymore. You’re beginning to think that the male doesn't truly match the legend he's left behind.

Warnings: brief mentions of abuse, cruelty, injury, battling to death, introspection? like a lot, readers head is soooo big from these big thoughts

Word Count: 3.1k

did someone say eris week mini series???? technically can be read as a stand alone, just squint

Part One | Part Three

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

When Eris Vanserra was born, his mother wept in the bathroom for hours after.

Her trembling hands muffled her soft cries as her handmaidens swaddled a newborn Eris in fine cloth. Beron hadn’t been there for most of the birth—hadn’t held her hand the way her father had held her mother’s. He came only at the end, just in time to praise the heir as he left her womb, presenting him like a trophy before promptly leaving for court business.

She was still young, felt like a child herself— at least in her own mind. So, while she loved her son dearly, his birth had cemented her fate to a male she didn’t love, a male whose hands she feared more than death itself.

His mother loved him, this Eris knew. Even at a young age, he felt that love. It burned in him like a comforting flame, the same warmth as the heavy blanket she would tuck around him at night or the sunlight that seeped into his skin on warm afternoons.

And yet, even surrounded by that love, Eris grew up lonely.

His loneliness led him to finding a home in curiosity, in sticking his pointed nose into matters that often didn’t concern him, picking out small details he'd unconsciously store for later. He was a collector from the beginning—of people, of excuses, of emotions he had yet to name.

Perhaps that was why he was so sickeningly fond of you, so starkly different from the others, equally curious, equally lonely.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It wasn't Eris who people met first.

It was his reputation.

Eldest son of the High Lord, equal parts cunning and cruel, a loyal soldier with the venom of a viper. Anguish seemed to follow him, seemed to follow any with Vanserra blood, but there was something distinct about Eris, something divinely alluring. Terrifyingly sinful.

It was all true. So you weren't sure why it bothered you so much when your patrons talked about him, when his name was thrown into conversations surrounding the High Lord.

Your family's tavern was always filled with stories. Its dimly lit, worn wooden tables had overheard more whispered secrets and slurred confessions than you could ever count. Most nights were like this, with drinks spilling over into the laps of locals, the hum of conversation swirling in the air like smoke from the hearth. Tucked in a corner of the court’s lands, it was a place for those not high enough to feast in grand halls but not low enough to beg in the streets. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was home. A comfortable middle ground.

You placed a handful foaming drinks before the three males at the bar, taking a moment to analyze their appearance. They were relatively large, muscular builds hinting at some form of laborious profession. The callouses on their hands told you that they handled weapons often. But their clothes weren't nice enough to be one of Beron's men, weren't tailored enough to be one of Eris's either. Perhaps they were border patrollers, the lowest and grimiest of the forces.

They thanked you with lingering, appraising eyes as you moved away to fetch more drinks.

“I heard,” one of the them said, leaning closer to his companions, “that the eldest boy has a new game he plays with those who cross him. A real spectacle.”

The male next to him, the oldest of the three, nodded eagerly. “They say he’s got a private arena where he forces traitors to fight each other to the death. It’s supposed to be brutal—nothing but blood and screams. And Eris just sits there, like it’s a grand show.”

You clenched your teeth, turning around to face the wall behind you, forcing yourself to attend to the pile of glasses waiting to be wiped down. You tried to focus on your task, hoping to drown out their disturbing conversation, but it was no use. You could feel your grip tightening on the material of the rag, knuckles white as they continued to talk, their voices growing louder and louder with every drink they took.

It was a lie. A rumor. Nothing more.

Yes, Eris was cruel. He was manipulative and calculated. But you'd seen slivers of something else, something brighter, kinder, even. While you believed that a male should face the consequences of his actions, there was no honor in perpetuating lies that simply weren’t true.

It made no sense, anyway. Eris had done plenty of questionable things. There were multitudes of actions to choose from, many things worthy of criticism. There was no need to indulge in falsehoods. The image they painted of Eris—a male reduced to a sadistic spectator in a grotesque spectacle—seemed far removed even from him.

“A grand show?” the third scoffed. “He’s not just watching. He’s placing bets on who’ll survive, like it’s some sick sport. It’s all for his amusement. I’ve heard he gets pleasure out of the carnage. Let's his hounds ravage the bodies.”

A knot tightened in your chest and you gripped the glassware harder, cloth bunching in your grasp. Before you could register the motion yourself, you spun around, the movement abrupt enough to make the males flinch.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," you sneered. The males stiffened, large angry eyes boring into yours. You continued. "Bold of you to traverse around spreading rumors of a High Lord's son. Be grateful he isn't around to correct you himself."

You blinked, the anger draining away as quickly as it had surged, leaving a wave of embarrassment in its place. You took in the male’s faces—initially stunned, then quickly morphing into anger. It was an expected reaction from those who felt their pride wounded, especially from males who had just been scolded by a low-court fae like yourself.

You straightened, trying to regain your composure as you cleared your throat.

The largest of the men leaned forward, his eyes narrowing with a sneer. “Well, well, boys,” he drawled, his voice dripping with disdain. “I think our pretty little bartender might be one of the Princeling’s whores.”

You weighed your options as you stood there, hand still gripping the glass. For a fleeting moment, you were tempted to shatter it over his head. The thought of the glass breaking, of the shards embedding themselves in his skin, was almost satisfying.

But you didn't. Your father would be angry, would be disappointed above all. You needed the business.

You took a deep breath and your grip on the glass loosened.

“Allow me to apologize,” you said. “It seems I’m more sensitive about our court’s reputation than I realized. I don’t know what came over me. How about a round on the house?”

Their faces shifted to smug satisfaction as they accepted the offer with eager grins and, soon, their cups were filled once more. As they happily downed their next round of drinks, you slipped out from behind the bar.

The door’s bell chimed softly as you stepped outside, itching to find the heir that was imprinted into your mind.

Strangely enough, you knew exactly where he'd be.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You found him in a clearing south of The Forest House, an expansive area bathed in the warm light of the afternoon sun. It was a dedicated space for the hounds, adorned in various obstacles that Eris used during their training—wooden jumps, tunnels, and agility courses set up with careful precision. You'd seen the area of land a handful of times before, times when Lucien found Eris to argue or hurl curses.

You approached carefully, watching as Eris kneeled by one of the hounds, gently tending to what seemed to be a cut on its paw.

After a moment, he finally looked up, his gaze meeting yours. The corners of his mouth quirked upwards and a playful glint manifested in his eyes.

"Even after all these years, a vixen without a fox at her side is still a strange sight."

You gritted your teeth, taking a deep breath as your eyes roamed the face of the male before you.

It was an unnecessary jab.

Lucien hadn’t been by your side for centuries now. Though you had visited him as often as you could, the friendship you once shared had changed. He had changed. You had, too. You'd grown into your life at Autumn—managing the tavern that bore your family’s name and living vicariously through the stories that came your way.

The last time you had seen Lucien was marked by a change. You'd looked into his eyes and somehow understood that things were different beyond what had been anticipated.

"Why do you do that?" You asked. "Be a dick when you don't need to be?"

Eris stood, brushing his hands clean as the hound trotted away to rejoin the rest. He narrowed his eyes at you for a moment, a scrutinizing, analyzing moment. Then he offered you a shrug, something so casual and dismissive. You were sure it would've warded off anyone else, that his disinterestedness would have begun to tired them already, turn them the other way.

"Maybe it's part of my charm," he finally responded, "Or maybe I'm just a dick."

He made no attempt to hide the amusement in his voice as he emphasized your insult. Eris had been called many things— you'd heard them, even delivered a few of the titles. But so far, you were the only one to call him two things: a dick, and a prick. Perhaps it was delusion, but you swore that he seemed to enjoy it when you said such things, seemed to smirk in a way that wasn't just cruel, but impressed.

You rolled your eyes. "Most wouldn't wear that title with such pride."

He narrowed his eyes for a moment, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. "What's the use in denying my nature?"

You sighed, a sound of frustration, of annoyance. "Do you not grow bored of your little games?"

Eris rolled his shoulders and straightened his back. He always had immaculate posture, his stature was often so perfect that it was almost uncomfortable to witness. It emphasized his wealth, somehow— emphasized his power. He towered over you even more now.

"Did you seek me out solely to criticize me?"

You bit the inside of your cheek. "No."

"Then why?"

You still weren't entirely sure why you had come.

"Perhaps I was bored."

Eris raised an eyebrow. "Do you not have any friends?"

You bristled. "I have plenty." You paused, allowing your gaze to settle on the view before you, on the open land and the animals that in the open expanse. You turned back to Eris. "It's you that doesn't seem to have any. Your only companionship recently seems to be those hounds. I'm surprised you're not running on all fours."

Eris's expression shifted. He let out a small chuckle and you fought against the twitch in your lips, cursed the warmth that blossomed in your chest. But the amusement dissipated from his face soon after, replaced be a resolve of cold indifference. His eyes seemed tired in this light.

"As much as I…enjoy our little talks," He began after a moment, "I didn't ask for company. You should find someone who wants it."

A small sense of rejection passed through your skin like a cold, morning chill. You were never foolish enough to think Eris would welcome your presence with open arms and a smile, never naive enough to consider yourself anything more than semi-peaceful acquaintances. But still, there was something deep within you that wished he’d show you something beyond the disregard he showed others.

That wasn't a fool's wish— because you knew it was possible.

You'd seen it.

Strangely enough, you had. In the stolen glances when he thought no one was looking, how he lingered after you stumbled, offered a hand before quickly retracting it. There had been flowers at your door after your mother passed of Autumn fever, an unusual number of wealthy patrons who had frequented your father’s tavern for months afterward, tipping generously despite only having a drink or two. They all adorned attire of a specific, deep green that you’d come to recognize easily—the shade often worn by Eris’s personal guard.

His name was never attached to any of it, but you could trace it back to him. You'd always wondered why he'd never taken credit, never basked in somehow proving your presumptions about him wrong.

Twenty-nine year old you, freshly bonded to Lucien after he'd stumbled across your father's tavern, would be shocked that centuries later, she'd be spending more time alongside his cruel brother than Lucien himself.

You’d had an image of Eris back then—an image painted by Lucien’s words. It was accurate, to an extent. You never doubted your best friend’s judgment, never questioned the stories of cruelty and ambition that followed Eris like a shadow. He had, indeed, made Lucien suffer. There were reasons he disliked his brothers so deeply, reasons you knew were valid.

But you were curious by nature, always craving to understand things deeply, intricately. And Eris Vanserra called to you like a riddle from an ancient tale—dangerous, alluring, and impossible to ignore.

Above all else, you wanted answers. Throughout the years, Eris had never called upon your bargain, never asked for a favor, never even mentioned the price you’d paid for that first visit with Lucien. Not once.

It unnerved you.

"I don't understand you," you said, without realizing the words had fallen from your lips.

You hadn't intended on voicing it so blatantly. You weren't quite sure how Eris would respond, how he would interpret your words. It was a tossup, really, between a snarky response or something condescending, something to make you feel silly, naive.

Silence.

Eris shifted, turning his body to look out into the horizon before him.

"Not everything in life is meant to be understood."

You paused.

Eris was complicated. Unfortunately for you, you loved complicated. It wasn't boring. It made you think, made you wonder. You gravitated towards the eldest Vanserra more often than you'd like to admit. It was easier now, you decided, since Lucien's watchful eye wasn't around. He didn't have to witness your betrayal first hand, didn't have to see as you attempted to find something in his brother. You weren't sure what that something was, but you were certain you were searching for it. You had been for years.

"That's not true. I can understand things if I try hard enough."

Eris played idly with the rings on his hands. "You set yourself up for disappointment, Vixen," he said to the empty air before him, not turning to look at you. "Why does everything need to have a deeper meaning?"

You studied his face further. Noting the lines etched around his eyes and the set of his jaw. He was beautiful. You weren’t one to deny it—all of the Vanserras were. But where Lucien had been handsome, radiating a gentle charm that made you blush with every lingering gaze, Eris was more akin to the sharp edge of the season’s chill—striking, with an air of regal severity. His amber eyes alone seemed to hold the crisp, unyielding essence of autumn itself—beautiful, but not without its bite.

"It doesn't need to," you replied. "But it often does. I think details are important."

He didn't respond as he turned to face you. You glanced up at him, his eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that seemed almost tangible.

"You've never lied to me," you stated. It was a statement more than it was a question.

"No," Eris replied.

His gaze didn't waver. You were almost impressed that you'd managed to hold his stare for so long. No one had ever looked at you like this before—so deeply, so penetrating. You understood now how his mere gaze could make people crumble, understood the rumors of how he only took his partners from behind, how he never made eye contact.

You pushed away the burning thoughts that arose.

"Is it true?" Your gaze bounced around his face. "Do you force your traitors to fight for your amusement? Place bets on them like animals?"

Eris's eyes flickered with something dark, but he didn't move.

"Do you think it is?" he countered.

You shook your head. You were certain of your answer, but you needed to hear his. "No. I don't."

The corner of his mouth twitched upward, and he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Then it’s not," he said simply.

His expression revealed nothing more as you scanned his face. He didn't seem startled by your question, didn't seem confused at the context. He was aware of the rumors, of the stories circulating like the last morsels of food at a feast—passed around, savored, and eagerly consumed.

"It doesn't bother you? That these lies exist?"

A hint of confusion crossed his features, as if the question itself was somewhat absurd.

"Why would it?"

You blinked, momentarily retracting into yourself.

As a hound trotted up to Eris, his attention shifted. He crouched down, meeting the beast at its level. The gentle manner with which the hound regarded him, the affection in its eyes, stirred something inside you, deep within your gut. Your father had always said that a male’s nature could be understood through how animals responded to him.

Eris clearly cared for his hounds, and they, in turn, cared for him.

You found yourself wondering if, deep down, Eris was ever troubled by his reputation.

Lucien always had been.

He cursed the blood than ran through his veins, spent every moment trying to prove himself to be better than the legacy of his family— he did everything he could to avoid the curse of a wicked kin.

But then there was the male before you.

Eris, the rightful heir and firstborn son, was different.

You had always assumed he was bestowed with the legacy of the kingdom, that he was born for the role of High Lord, eagerly embracing the title and its accompanying glory. He seemed built for it, seemed to thrive under its weight.

You watched as more hounds approached him, watched as they surrounded him like a loyal fleet.

Could it be possible, you thought, that perhaps it wasn't all gifted. That it was possible Eris was burdened with the legacy of a Court?

You realized, then, that you'd never truly acknowledged that what he had become allowed for a kinder brother to grow in his wake.

The thoughts came faster, hazy, so many that your vision began to blur. It all made you itch, made you uncomfortable, made you overwhelmed and desperate for more.

None of this felt right.

You stared at Eris for a few more moments. When he stood up straight once more, about to turn toward you, you turned and ran to your horse.

You could feel his stare burning into you as you left.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

reader panicking when she has deep intellectual thoughts about sexy man as he tends for his dogs. shes so me fr

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[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

by god

I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY SOMEHOW MADE ROLLO EVEN MORE OF A MUSTACHE-TWIRLING SATURDAY MORNING CARTOON VILLAIN THAN HE ALREADY WAS IN TWST JP 🤡 They deadass had this peepaw lookin’ man drop TWO consecutive goofy puns RIGHT AFTER CACKLING ABOUT HIS VICTORY + THE UNTIMELY END OF ALL MAGES AND RIGHT BEFORE PULLING A LEVER THAT SENDS THE NRC BOYS TUMBLING THROUGH A TRAP DOOR…

HE’S CRINGE, YOUR HONOR 😭

[aphel1on]

WAS NO ONE GOING TO TELL ME THERE WAS A FUCKING ME HOY MINOY EVENT IN THE MANGA???

[goodomenscalendar]

What is this? | Submit your own event!

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[tea-time-terrier]

My Delightful little creature absolutely killed it the past two weekends 👌

Pigroll earned her Rally Master title, and got her first QQ towards her Rally Champion title. She showed up, dominated, ate snacks, and napped so hard she's a true athlete 💪

[anglerflsh]

Meeting on the Turret Stairs

[abstractpenny]

Okay, so I've been thinking about it and I don't think we're actually all that cooked with Joe Biden dropping out.

If you don't know, Joe Biden dropped out of the 2024 presidential election. He is no longer running. BUT Kamala Harris, the current VP, is taking his place as the Democratic candidate for this election.

Looking at this, you may say something like "Oh no, we're done for. We're doomed." But if you think about it, this is actually an unbelievably intelligent and strategic move. In fact, this gives me a lot of hope that I didn't have before.

Obviously, this move is a last resort. They knew if they kept running with Biden they would lose. It means the Democratic party is pulling out a final weapon. But it's honestly a damn good one.

Before this happened, it seemed hopeless. Our two options were two old rich white men, one of which is an awful public speaker and the other is a literal criminal. And, because of that, you got people choosing not to vote or choosing to vote for Trump. Because which of the two evils is more appealing?

Donald Trump is a wonderful public speaker. He is charismatic and charming. He knows how to get people on his side. He's spent his whole life learning how to be a strong public speaker. That's what makes him scary. That's what made it so he won the 2016 election, so he almost won the 2020 election, and why he's still in the conversation today. He knows how to speak in an appealing way.

Joe Biden is honestly an awful public speaker. He struggles with gathering people to be on his side. Whether it's because he has a stutter/speech impediment or because he's dealing with dementia, he's still not good at public speaking. That makes him weak in things like debates and in politics. We saw that with our own eyes during the last debate.

Kamala Harris, while maybe not as strong of a speaker as Donald Trump, is very knowledgeable and self assured. She knows how to debate, she knows how to be a politician. She knows what she's doing. She's strong and confident. She may be our final hope.

A lot of why people aren't going in to vote is because it felt useless to do so, especially to people on the left. Donald Trump is out of the question for a lot of people, but Joe Biden isn't much better to many. They're both old as fuck, about 80 years old. They're both straight white cis men who have higher incomes. They're not aligned at all with what a lot of people on the left view.

Harris is significantly more relatable to a lot of people. She's a woman of colour. A good percentage of the United States population is one of those, either a person of colour or a woman. She's also younger than both Biden and Trump by almost 20 years. Yes, she's still 60 years old, but that's absolutely nothing compared to our other candidates.

Another thing that brings Biden out of favour with the left is how he handled and backed specific foreign wars (Ukraine and Palestine specifically). The Palestine Israel war is a very strong thing on the left, it's very talked about, and a lot of people view Biden as 'om the wrong side' of it. And, although Harris was the VP of the Biden administration, she's not very tied in to the wars from public view.

Harris is a great candidate other than a few minor minor minor things. She's leagues better than our dropped out ex candidate and our currently running candidate. One of the biggest hurdles for her, though, is going to be racism and sexism. It's always there. Oh, and the fact that her opponent had an assassination attempt on him, but that's a whole other can of worms.

Kamala Harris coming into this race may change things completely. We're not as screwed anymore. There's hope.

You. Whoever may read this. Go vote. It's crucial. Vote if you can. If you can't, get people to vote who can. This is the most important election in a long time.

We can win.

[decolonize-the-everything]

You know how I've been talking a lot about uplifting Black women cuz they do the most work and often speak on equality and liberation from the perspective their own intersecting identities which inherently includes liberation of others and how its white supremacist nonsense not to value Black women in every space they can be in?

How there will be no salvation without solidarity?

I went to a queer meetup today and finally met the woman my gf befriended a few weeks ago. She's a total sweetheart and when my gf told her what I blogged about she took out a list from her phone that listed a bunch of ways she wanted to do community outreach and said we should build those things together. She said that she made the list awhile ago but is finally in a place to follow through with it and our area is still lacking so we should do it!

This stemming from the conversation we were having about better serving the needs of queer poc and performative safe spaces as we, the only queer people of color present, not only had a white woman try butting into our (personal and private) conversation before we could even sit down but then watched as the rest of the queer group interacted and talked and had fun around a table while we were left to entertain ourselves squished together on a couch across the room.

Anyway I'm incredibly excited. I'm literally about to do some research and organizing and brainstorming right now.

It took me 5 minutes of knowing her to have a new community outreach project focused on the most marginalized members of our community. If you aren't giving Black women legitimate space to speak up and have a voice in your community then you and your community are in fact missing out.

[speedlimit15]

i am really excited to see my family for a camping trip this long weekend. i am really not excited to inevitably get into an angry stalemate over palestine with at least one of my family members

[egophiliac]

GRIMS COMING!!! You gonna pull for him??👀👀

I'm gonna try, but...

I have mere hours to decide if I want to make one last attempt at Malleus or save a few to try for Grim...and this is all before the new event reveal on the 16th. truly the most difficult choice of our modern times. the gacha is getting its revenge for all of my Lilias.

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

DARK CREAM WEEK: day 5- punish/reward

idk man i think your threats would work a lot more often if you stopped being so handsome about it fdrgbegh<333

dark cream week and comic are by @zu-is-here

[neiptune]

hi miss v!! 🥺 i hope you're having a wonderful day/night <3 this event is rly cute 🥺..,, could i request "you could be the one that i keep" and sanemi? thank you.,, giving u a little smooch.., <3333

sanemi shinazugawa x you could be the one that I keep

“I honestly can’t believe you” Obanai is not put off by your scowl in the slightest, if anything he’s fighting back a smile.

“I remember mentioning the night out”

“You never mentioned drinks being on Tengen” you hiss and this time he does smirk.

“Not our fault your man can’t hold his liquor”

His words light a fire in your stomach and you feel blood rushing all the way to your cheeks.

“He’s not—”

“Yeah, yeah, not yet because both of you are goddamn idiots” his gaze suddenly shifts from your eyes to something behind you.

“Hey” the greeting is soft, he’s always softer when he’s drunk “finally decided to join us?” you know he only has a hand on your shoulder to balance himself and you’re certain his lips feel too close to the shell of your ear only because he’s doing a terrible job at not tripping over his own feet.

“I’m here to drive you home” well, it’s not like you’re being any better at playing off your self-consciousness as annoyance.

You expect protests, outrage, a little tantrum even, but all Sanemi does is huff through his nose and glare at Obanai.

“I told you I’m fine” he slightly sways and the grip on your shoulder tightens.

“Sure you are” his best friend clicks his tongue and flashes him a smile “we’re gonna leave too in a bit and there’s only so much space in Kyojuro’s car”

The lie is so blatant is offensive, really. Sober Sanemi would’ve kicked his ass.

“Fine” drunk him sleepily mumbles instead, before he puts his entire arm around your shoulders “take me home, then”

Such simple words have your insides churning. Glaring one final time at Obanai, you walk past him and towards the exit.

As you navigate the crowded bar, Sanemi barely registers the hollering coming from the table he was sitting at until you showed up, his friends yelling for you to join them. He stumbles slightly against you, far too distracted by the fruity scent of your hair and the arm you have secured around his waist.

The breeze outside is cool. He actually knows he’s long gone from the way he can feel the thumping of the music from the bar right inside his stomach, from how breathing suddenly takes more effort. Must be why he stumbles forward until he’s leaning up against your car as soon as he spots the familiar honda civic, a soft laugh escaping his lips when he opens his eyes and sees the way you’re looking at him.

“M’okay” he assures, flushed cheeks and pale eyes “I apologize for being a nuisance”

It’s just that I feel I could swim through the sidewalk right now so I need a moment, he mentally adds.

You giggle and Sanemi forces his eyes to focus because he doesn’t want blurry vision to keep him from witnessing the beautiful way your eyes crinkle.

“What?” he asks, mirroring your smile by muscle memory.

“Nothing” you shrug and the oversized coat you’re wearing almost swallows you whole “I like it when you’re drunk and talk like that”

“Like what?”

“All formal and solemn” you giddily grin underneath the streetlights and Sanemi rolls his eyes. It’s a mistake, because his stomach contracts from a pang of nausea right away. He feels dizzy and hates the fact that you’re there just as his designated driver, he hates that the alcohol currently buzzing through his veins has him already reaching the stage where he’s about to throw up. He wishes you would’ve showed up when he was still two drinks in, the thinking about you enough to just fucking kiss you if you were here stage.

“Come on, let’s go” he’s having a hard time standing without swaying so you inch forward to open the passenger side door and help him climb onto your leather seat. You feel the warmth radiating from his body as you buckle him in and Sanemi has to dig his nails into his palms to keep his hands from grabbing you by the waist.

It’s a quick drive to his apartment, he rents a place close to downtown. He’s spent the entire ride in silence, just looking at you and being quick to turn his attention to the dash whenever you’d glance at him to make sure he was still awake. Right as you park before his apartment complex, Sanemi rolls down his window and just rests his head against the seat, eyes closed.

“We’re here” your fingers lightly drum on the steering wheel. He knows it’s the middle of the night and you’re probably aching to go back to bed already, but he wants this moment to last just a bit longer. Your perfume smells too nice and your voice is too gentle for him to simply get out of the car and crawl back to his empty flat.

“Nemi?”

“Yeah. I won’t fall asleep, don’t worry. Can we just stay like this for a second?” he doesn’t need to open his eyes to know that you’re getting comfortable in your own seat. His heart swells with relief at your little sure.

“Wanna tell me how much you had to drink?” your tone is playful but he scoffs nonetheless, opening his eyes once more. To avoid looking at you, he pulls the latch of your glove box to the left to open it. Vehicle paperwork, receipts, $10 in quarters, a lipstick and…

“Can’t believe you kept this” he mumbles to himself as he takes the little keychain he’s bought for you at a fair so many years before, when you still barely knew each other and he already knew how big of a problem you were going to become.

“M’not like you, I keep everything” you smile.

Sanemi scoffs.

“I could keep you” he thinks to himself “you could be the one that I keep”

Thank god he wouldn’t dare speak those words out loud.

Or would he?

You let out a suffocated gasp.

[43sol]

Probably die first in a horror movie

[souenkun]

Congratulations to aokabu writers and enjoyers because we finally canonized their relationship tag (so it can now be filtered and their relationship tag pops up in the relationship section if you want to post a fic about them)! 🥳🥂

[lilac-hecox]

Title: Love on the Ice

Pairing: Ian/Anthony - Ianthony [background mentions of/implied Shourtney, Trevrasha, Damangela, and Spommy]

Rating: Teen

Summary:

Ian is happy in his life at Del Campo high school. He runs cross-country. He has great friends like Tommy, Courtney, and Damien, and he gets decent grades. Except for the fact that his dad happens to be the high school hockey coach. When one of his dad’s players gets injured, Ian is forced on to the team. The only problem? He sucks at hockey. That’s when Anthony Padilla, captain of the hockey team – and Ian’s ex-best friend- steps in to begin to train Ian. Will these two former friends mend their relationship? And can Ian manage to make his dad proud? Does he even want to?

Warnings: Bullying, abusive parenting

Notes: Written for the Smoshblr Big Bang 2024! Huge thank you to @wispmotherr for helping to run the challenge over the summer, all of the participants, @xxmoonch1ldxx for having long conversations with me about this idea initially, and @sheisaquarius-blog for her unending support, without her this would not have been done!

Also woo-hoo longest fic I've written for Smosh fandom!

[This will have art and a mix added to it when they are completed]