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vixstarria · 11 months ago

Text

Seeing stars

Welp, I wrote more porn.

Astarion x F!Tav/F!Reader

18+, smut, porn with plot, porn with feelings, jealous Astarion, soft dom Astarion, dirty talk, fingering, PIV, elf ears and more! Humour, banter and fluff mixed in per usual. Tav failing several insight checks in the process.

I also poke fun at the in-game romance mechanics, and Wyll's Act 2 scene in particular.

This is the last time they have sex before the "I want us to be something real" conversation.

Approx. 2,900 words

AO3

“You won’t believe the ludicrous encounter I just had with Wyll.”

You burst into Astarion’s tent. Well, it was ‘Astarion’s’ tent only notionally at this point. Yours still stood, but it now served solely as storage space for your assorted junk. You had effectively moved in with Astarion, having first coerced him into replacing the wooden plank and bloodstained rags he slept on with some sensible rugs and blankets.

Astarion lounged half-naked on one of the bedrolls, reading something by candlelight.

“Oh?” he looked up at you. “Do tell.”

“First the massage you promised earlier,” you said sinking down onto the floor of the tent and stripping off most of your clothes. “My back is killing me after carrying everyone all day.”

“Oh please...” he rolled his eyes. “I recall you nearly walked into your own cloud of daggers, again, and would have if I hadn’t pulled you away in time. And then you blasted Lae’zel off a cliff. It’s a wonder we haven’t kicked you out yet.” He shook his head. “And if you’re carrying anyone, I’m the one carrying you.”

Still, he sat up as you laid down on your stomach.

“Who do you think you’re fooling with this modesty, darling?” he murmured, noticing that you’d kept your underwear on. “Just lose it now,” he added, as he slid it off, leaving you completely naked, before he settled over you, his fingers commencing work on your shoulders. “So what happened with Wyll?”

“I was making my way back here, and found him... performing some kind of jig by the campfire, pretending like he didn’t know I was there.”

“The ‘Blade of Frontiers’, dancing alone in the middle of camp?” Astarion snickered. “Did you mock him? Please tell me you mocked him.”

“Well... I was going to, but then he asked me to dance with him, very earnestly.”

“That scoundrel...” he mused. “And let me guess - you agreed, didn’t you?”

“Oh trust me, at that point it would have been more awkward not to dance with him, I had to play along.”

Astarion scoffed, with a chuckle.

“Do you always go along with whatever people want from you just because it would be too awkward to say no?”

"I try not to – last time I did, I ended up with a vampire who won’t stop sucking me dry,” you deflected. “I figured there was no harm in indulging him. Besides, I don’t see you dancing with me. It was kind of nice,” you teased.

“I hate dancing,” he said.

“Right,” you said. “I’m sure you hate dancing just as much as you hate poetry, flowers, art, cats... What else?”

“Children,” he answered. “I also can’t stand children.”

“No, that one I could see being true,” you grinned.

“So anyway, you two dolts pranced around the fire to the sound of crickets, then what?”

“And then he tried to kiss me,” you admitted, with a sigh.

Astarion’s hands paused for a moment before resuming their work, slightly harder than before.

“Well look at you, receiving the Duke Ravengard’s heir’s attention. Moving up in the world, hmm?”

“I didn’t let him.”

He laughed.

“Is there even a single person left in camp that hasn’t tried to get into your pants, darling?”

You had to think for a moment.

“Are we counting Volo?”

“Sure.”

“Then just Karlach and Withers.”

“Gods, I fucking love Karlach,” he murmured. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

“Why? Getting jealous all of a sudden?”

Astarion was silent for a few moments.

“I just don’t understand it,” he said. “You’re with me every night. I’m at your side every day. They see us. They hear us. Still, they don’t take me – or you and me – seriously. Tell me, is there something about me that screams: ‘Please, go ahead and take my lover for yourself. Come on in and snatch her right out from under me, I don’t mind’?”

Perhaps you’d made a bad judgment call when you thought Astarion would find the absurdity of the situation humorous rather than offensive. Still, you had to bite your cheek to keep from laughing at the dramatics he added to the delivery of the last few lines that left his mouth.

“Stop laughing,” he said.

“I’m not laughing,” you laughed.

“I can feel your back muscles twitching in your efforts.”

“Well, they’re aware this all started as a joke. Perhaps they never realised that it’s long stopped being one?” you offered.

Astarion’s hands had been moving lower and lower along your back. They had now reached your ass and continued to rub, stroke and squeeze, as you let out a soft groan.

“That’s not my back, Astarion.”

One of his hands kept squeezing an ass cheek, while the other dipped to stroke you between your legs. He gave a satisfied hum when two of his fingers entered you effortlessly.

“Maybe if they could see how wet I can make you just by rubbing your back they’d reconsider how much of a joke this is,” he said, his voice low. He continued to pump his fingers in and out – you were almost embarrassed by the loud squelching sounds that came out of you. You moaned and tried to lift your hips higher, but your legs were encased between his thighs, pinned down on the bedroll. “Do you think you’d be reacting this way to young Ravengard, darling?”

“Stop it,” you hissed. “You know I don’t want anyone but you.”

“Stop?” he pulled his fingers out, to your dissatisfied whine. You looked back to see him studying your slick on his fingers. “I should go smear this on his face right now... The audacity to try to get his hands on what is not his.” He licked his fingers clean instead. He turned his attention back to you.

“Maybe if you were more vocal about your devotion to me the others wouldn’t make these mistakes.”

His hand returned between your legs, spreading your wetness and slipping lower to tease your clit.

“I could be... encouraged... to be more vocal about it,” you breathed, trying to grind against his hand.

“Yes... I should make you scream my name, so they all know who you belong to.”

His fingers returned inside you, teasing you with shallow strokes.

“You can try,” you taunted him.

Astarion let out an indignant huff and shifted to spread your legs open with his knees, simultaneously placing a hand on your back to firmly hold you down. You expect to feel his cock enter you, but he continued to stroke you with his fingers, turning his hand to curl them downwards.

“Is that a challenge, darling?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “You should know better by now than to bet against me,” he said, continuing to flex his fingers inside you.

It started off pleasant enough, but rapidly grew into... more. And more. You weren’t sure what he was doing but whatever it was, it was just about making you see stars.

You sputtered as the new sensation started to take hold of your whole being.

“Ast… what..”

You couldn't manage anything coherent, as his fingers continued to dig into you, gradually picking up speed and pressure. You started to squirm to try to get away despite yourself, but he simply put more weight against the hand on your back, securely pinning you to the bedroll.

“Always getting yourself into situations you're not prepared for…" he murmured. "You're not talking your way out of this one.”

His fingers were relentless. You were worried you really would scream and wake everyone in camp. All you could do was bite down on the pillow, hoping that it would muffle your drawn-out moans.

“Let go, darling... I know you want to.”

It's not so much that you let go – rather, all your decorum was ripped from you, as your muscles convulsed, the orgasm rolling through your entire body. You panted and shuddered, trying to keep quiet, your hands clutching desperately at the covers beneath you, trying to hold on to anything like your life depended on it.

Once the feeling subsided, you came back to your senses to find Astarion hovering over you, kissing the back of your neck and shoulders, grazing them with his fangs, almost but not quite hard enough to draw blood. You felt his erection rubbing against your hip.

“Has anyone fucked you like this before?” he whispered hoarsely into your ear, his breath ragged from his own arousal. “Tell me.”

“No,” you gasped, trying to catch your own breath.

“I thought so,” he whispered with a smile, kissing your neck before he sat back up.

You turned back to look at him over your shoulder. He watched you with a self-satisfied grin, his fingers returning to stroke you lightly between your legs once more.

“Do you want me to do it again?” he purred.

A part of you wanted to wipe that smug grin off his face after what he just put you through. Another, much larger part, wanted nothing more than to submit yourself to whatever he would do to you.

“Yes,” you admitted sheepishly.

“Turn around...” he narrowed his eyes mischievously. “I want to see your face this time.”

You flipped around onto your back, under his watchful gaze. His eyes never left yours as he stroked your slit, teasing your engorged clit with his thumb, before his fingers slipped back inside you.

You found yourself mewling in anticipation before he really even started doing anything.

“So eager,” he smirked. “So wanton...”

He curled his fingers again, moving his whole hand to mercilessly claw into a sweet spot you didn’t even know existed inside you.

You tried to relax into and accept this sensation, now that you were familiar with it. A growing pressure kept building at the bottom of your stomach. It was too much. It was entirely too much. You couldn’t take more of it. You couldn’t-

“Let go, I’ve got you...” His whisper sounded so tender in sharp contrast to the depraved way he was handling your body.

You sobbed as what you hoped was cum gushed out of you, your legs quivering.

“Good girl”, Astarion laughed with glee, bending down to place a kiss on your lips, continuing to stroke you lightly, “Your body reacts so perfectly to me... Do you want more?”

“You... I want you...” you groaned, biting his lip.

“If that’s what my good girl wants,” he purred, discarding what was left of his clothes.

You groaned as his cock entered you, rocking your hips against his, trying to find that feeling again.

“So wet and needy for me...” he goaded you. “I’ve completely ruined you for anyone else, haven’t I?”

He held absolutely nothing back as he fucked you, lewd insistent sounds of skin slapping on skin combined with your shared grunts and moans disturbing what was likely otherwise a silent night.

“Anyone awake knows exactly what I’m doing to you right now,” he rasped, voice thick.

Your walls clenched at the thought, making him shudder and sigh as well.

“You like that thought, don’t you..? I know you do,” he continued. “So shameless...”

Despite yourself, you whimpered, clenching again as another orgasm started threatening to overtake you.

“That’s it... Come for me again,” he groaned. “Come for me, my love.”

‘My love’..? Just a figure of speech, you thought. You’d thrown that phrase around, jokingly, but it’s never sounded so... raw. You wanted to hear it again. You wanted to keep hearing it.

“Your what?” you gasped.

He didn’t answer. Instead he caught your lips in a deep, devouring kiss, pinning your arms over your head.

Your body gave in and you trembled under him, caught up in waves of pleasure again.

He released your arms and eased his movements once you rode out your high, but kept kissing you, hungrily, unwilling to release your lips from his.

Clearly, no further words of love would follow, you thought to yourself with a tinge of both relief and disappointment, deciding to let it go.

“You’re so good to me,” you managed, breaking your lips from his.

“Aren’t I just?” he groaned, speeding up again to chase his own release.

You kissed your way up his jaw to his ear, pausing to nibble on his earlobe.

You couldn’t see it, but a ditsy, open-mouthed smile started to play on his face.

Astarion gasped with a sharp intake of breath as you continued further, running your tongue over the inside of the shell of his ear.

“Oh sweet hells,” he sighed with pleasure, immediately grinding into your harder.

You smiled as he tilted his head, just about pressing his ear against your lips.

“Do you like that?” you whispered in his ear, running your tongue over it again, lifting your hands to run your fingers through his hair. You knew he did. You just wanted to hear him say it.

“Yes... Don’t stop...” His words sounded like a desperate plea.

You continued to gently nibble on the edge of his ear, soft moans escaping you from his movements.

“That’s it, take what’s yours” you groaned, as his hips crashed into yours harder.

His breathing and movements were becoming more and more frantic.

“Astarion...” you whispered, grazing the shell of his ear with your lips.

He let out an uncharacteristic whimper, all his usual composure slipping from him, as he bucked his hips, fucking you with quick, shallow thrusts.

“My sweet...” you breathed against his ear.

He came completely undone, spilling into you with forceful, jagged thrusts, before finally stilling. His whole body seemed to melt into yours as he stayed on top of you, trying to regain his breath.

You wrapped your legs around his hips, not wanting to let go of him yet, but he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to lift himself from you either. Instead he trailed light, tender kisses from your neck up to your lips.

You delicately traced the contours of Astarion’s face with your fingertips, running them from his cheekbone down to his jaw, as he leaned into your caress, gazing into your eyes.

Astarion parted his lips slightly, as though to say something, only to seal them again. He tilted his head to kiss your knuckles as your fingers gradually made their way back up, to run through his hair. Eventually he spoke.

“You would really choose me over the more... blatantly obvious options you have at your disposal here?” he asked quietly.

“Haven’t I made that abundantly clear already..?”

“Well of course you have – no one else is this good,” he said with a tired smirk.

“I’m not talking about the...” you blinked. “You know I’m not with you just for the sex, right..?” you frowned, looking into his eyes.

He looked away, slipping out of you and moving to lie down next to you.

“Is that so?” he said softly.

You found yourself suddenly feeling rattled. Was he simply fishing for compliments again, or had you been utterly oblivious to just how deep his insecurities ran this whole time..?

“You have a wealth of other qualities that I... enjoy and appreciate,” you said, somewhat lamely.

Astarion propped his head up on his hand and raised an eyebrow at you quizzically. There was a hint of vulnerability in his eyes despite his outward nonchalance.

Oh for fuck’s sake, you thought. I’m not ready for any serious conversations now, especially not with cum running down my thighs.

You turned away to grab something to wipe yourself down with.

“A gentleman would clean up his own mess, by the way. Not one of your strong points. But you do have some virtues that make up for it. For instance... I can leave cheese unattended around you, knowing you won’t eat it.”

Astarion went to pinch the bridge of his nose, sighing.

“You’re a treasure trove of useless information,” you continued. “But unlike some of our companions you usually keep it to yourself.” A hint of a smile played on his lips at that.

“Your hand feels nice and cold on my forehead when I have a headache.” You laid back down next to him, mirroring the way he was lying.

“You always smell nice, especially for a dead guy. You never hog the mirror.”

“What about my hair, won’t you mention that?” he smiled.

“No, fuck your hair, it makes mine look awful in comparison.”

He chuckled at that.

“I do rather adore the garnet puppy eyes though,” you murmured. “What else... You make me laugh, and, more importantly, I make you laugh – which is great for my ego,” you continued.

“As long as you understand that I’m usually laughing at you,” he countered.

“Prick... Then there’s the fact you’ve saved my life four times.”

“Seven,” he said quietly, looking into your eyes.

“Five.”

“It’s seven, dear, I counted.”

“Whatever. When it comes to battle, you’re silent but deadly,” you said. “Like a-”

Astarion’s hand covered your mouth.

“Do not finish that thought, darling.”

You grinned from behind his palm.

“I think we can be done with this conversation,” he said.

“Wait, wait, one more...” you laughed. “You’re eccentric, unpredictable, often irrational. I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth.”

You smiled as Astarion groaned dramatically, covering his face with one hand.

“Knowing I’ll get to spend another day in your mad company gives me a reason to get up in the morning,” you added, softly.

“Come here, you sweet fool,” he whispered, drawing you against him.

You hugged him tightly. It took so long for him to start initiating these embraces that wouldn’t lead to sex... You relished each one.

Tomorrow, Astarion thought to himself, unbeknown to you. I have to tell her tomorrow.

~~~~~

Follow up bonus scene

This work is part of a series - here is the master list

Next in series - Confession

AO3

Tags: @littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tallymonster @tragedybunny @spunky-89

@spacebarbarianweird @kittenintheden - hey, I heard you like elf ears

#astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 smut #astarion smut #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #bg3 fanfic #astarion fanfic #astarion romance #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfiction

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llamagoddessofficial · 5 months ago

Note

How about headcannons for fae Nightmare are fav Winter King??

You're in a relationship with two Nightmare's, really.

The first Nightmare is the King. Overwhelmingly powerful, aloof, wickedly intelligent, stern but with a strong sense of justice, (privately) very caring and gentle. This Nightmare is the one you spend the vast majority of your time with. He flirts like a courtly prince... he ballroom dances with you on glittering midwinter nights, he reads you poetry by dwindling firelight. He gifts you the finest gowns and furs, matched only in craftsmanship by his own, he puts crystal necklaces around your neck and silver rings on your fingers. He kisses your knuckles and takes you on long romantic horse rides, he has a winter flower garden made for you, he wraps his cloak around your shoulders when you're tired. This is the Nightmare that has been tempered by hundreds of years of rule. The man he shows the world; the man he wants to be, for you.

... Then there's the other Nightmare. The one underneath. The one that never recovered from the wound to his skull, nor the betrayal he felt after.

That Nightmare is furious. Ragged. Desperately tired, hates everything but you. Wildly possessive - barely holding back from clawing out the eyes of anyone who looks your way. Starving for your love, but absolutely terrified of what that means. Wants to sink his teeth into you and never let go.

Generally, the first Nightmare is excellent at covering up the second, he's had centuries to practise. But you catch glimpses. That's the Nightmare who sees a courtier aggressively flirting with you at a feast, and takes them outside to beat them within an inch of their life and leave them bleeding in the snow. That's the Nightmare that drinks a little too much wine and won't let go of your wrist all evening. The Nightmare who draws you like he's trying to capture you forever in the paper; the one who pulls you closer to him in the middle of the night. The Nightmare that stares jealously at people who make you laugh, only just covering his tracks and laughing along when he realises he's being intimidating.

He's very gentle with you. He'll never raise his voice at you.

He's got a surprisingly playful side. For all his gloomy seriousness, he seems to take quite a bit of joy in teasing you. The other skeletons are jarred by the sight of you teasing him back - that's a luxury no one else in either kingdom can afford.

Killer has his stray cats. Nightmare has his beloved horse, the eighteen-hand beast that bites off hands and kicks in heads. She has an obvious soft spot for you. Only you and Nightmare can mount her.

Nightmare also has some (equally beloved) massive hunting hounds who resemble dire wolves more than dogs. They look terrifying and vicious, coming and going from the castle as they please, often disappearing as a pack into the wilderness for days. When Nightmare isn't around, alongside the usual trio of Killer Dust and Horror looking after you, you'll have some massive fluffy good boys as excellent bodyguards.

Nightmare can be... difficult. He isn't very good at expressing himself; he lies about how he feels to make you feel better, getting the truth out of him is getting blood from a stone. He's a romantic, he wants to look after you, he wants everything to be about you. He's happy when you're happy and his own wants are far too messy and scary to unpack. Gifting you another set of sapphire earrings is much easier than admitting he's massively insecure and just wants you to stay in bed with him all day, cradling his skull and telling him you care.

... All that being said... you will never know loyalty like his. Many people say they would 'wait a thousand years' for their partner.

He actually would.

#llamagines #fae au #bad sanses

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answer2jeff · 11 months ago

Text

not a lot, just forever.

carmen's opening up, but he wishes you'd do the same.

warnings: fluff + angst. fem!reader who is also a big reader (mostly poetry) and occasionally journals. unestablished relationship (friends to lovers, mutual pinning.) very touchy-feely. writing is overly detailed and so painfully poetic you might vomit.

word count : 2.4k

hey. i think i left my book at ur place. 11:15pm.

sorry, just got home. i can bring it over now 11:36pm.

oh yeah that'd be great! thank you. (sorry for the inconvenience) 11:38pm.

no worries 11:41pm.

lmk when ur here. xx 11:45pm.

Carmen had some idea of what that meant: xx. He knew what it meant when girls signed notes with xoxo in replacement of red kiss marks and strokes of long acrylic nails through their secret lovers hair—not that he ever received one, no. But your occasional visits practically felt just as intoxicating. If the order was x-o-x-o, and the worded statement being hugs-and-kisses, then xx must've been hugs, right? Two hugs. Like the one you shared the first time you met at Natalie's baby shower. He smelled like authentic Italian cologne with a hint of cigarette smoke diluted by dish soap and warm water. His grasp was hesitant, but ever-all-consuming once his shoulders relaxed. It was like metamorphosis. The way he wrapped his arms underneath while you tossed yours up around his neck, his gold chain feeling cold and hard against your skin, unlike the rest of him.

He was an under-hugger. He kept the ones he cared for unsuspectingly close to him. Such physical touch felt familiar. Maybe you'd just remembered stories and inside jokes about him through Natalie so well his tenderness and anxious nature was fitting to the idea of him you had in your head.

That was almost 6 months ago. And surprisingly, you'd become pretty good friends. Not that either of you really did friends at your age...but somehow it worked. You'd come to realize that he was so much kinder than anyone painted him out to be. And yet, you never really talked about yourselves.

Not in a way that really mattered, anyway.

The articles you'd written, the interviews you conducted with snobby assholes, the dozens of freelancing jobs with horrific schedules you had before, what you loved about writing and what you hated about the world around you—those were topics of discussion. Carmen's favorite restaurants he ever expanded his career with, the odd relationship he had with his sister that flipped like a rusty switch after highschool, candle scents he loved and bought over and over again despite their poor quality wicks, the first time he got drunk and how he swore he'd never let another drop of alcohol touch his tongue—those were normal methods of late night conversations.

But what about your dream to publish a novel? Or the memoir you read that completely changed your views on love as a whole. What about Carmen's uncle being his only friend his entire life? Oh, how he would've become a starving, broken artist if he ever believed he had enough talent for it. Hell, what about the girl you met in middle school who mysteriously moved away and shared all her secrets on the true meaning of life, death, and everything in between? Why didn't you ever talk about those things? Maybe it was too close, too personal. If he knew you too well, maybe he'd see you as you saw yourself.

Carmen had been thinking about those colored pencils you bought him for his birthday and can't get himself to tell you he uses them every day. Not just to illustrate his dishes...but you, sometimes. Your hair, your smile. He used that photo you begged him to snap of you staring out your window melodramatically with a bowl of pasta carbonara and a glass of bubbling champagne in front of you as reference. How could he ever show you the endless amount of pages containing the essence of your existence in that goddamn sketch book?

Questions. Questions. Questions.

Thoughts of potential ate away at your patience with every pacing step you took around your bedroom.

Answers. Answers. Answers.

—

"Do people even have deep conversations over pasta and wine anymore?" You trace the pad of your middle finger against the rim of your glass, your elbow propped up on the counter so your chin can rest in your hand.

Carmen draws his eyebrows together, the little crinkle in his forehead showing. You glance up at it and struggle to stifle a growing smile. He cocks his head before barring his bottom lip behind his teeth, picking at the skin with the tips of his fingers. That signature pose; where his left arm is crossed against his chest and his hand holds the elbow of his right arm. It's a habit you almost immediately picked up on. It told you time and time again that he was nervous.

Thinking. Contemplating.

"Is that, like—" he breaths a chuckle, but it comes out more as an accidental huff than anything. Smug bastard, he is. Especially when he drags his gold chain across his neck as it loops around the finger that once picked at the dry skin of his mouth.

"Your way of..asking me for a deep conversation over wine and pasta?"

Ah. He's called you out. The one thing he couldn't shake was his annoyance when you were so completely and utterly vague about your wants, your needs, your desires. Hell, Carmen Berzatto would wrap a lasso around the moon, or any planet you put your claim on, and drag it down so it could be yours and only yours. Only if it meant you'd stop feeling so complacent. You knew this. At least to some extent. His little favors buttered you up until you a mushy mess of adoration. What really scratched at your urges and your patience was how blissfully unaware he was of his show of affection toward you. Part of you feared that if you ever told him how much it caressed that bruised, fruit fly infested, rotted spot of your heart so gently it felt like a kiss, despite the sting, he'd stop.

"Y'know what? Yeah. I'm asking."

You shrug your shoulders and stare down at your nearly finished bowl of penne with vodka sauce. Stabbing a stack of pasta onto your fork and the clinking sound of the metal banging against the ceramic bowl seemed to fill the silence before Carmen finally spoke again, though with much hesitation.

"Okay," he barely whispers, nodding his head and fumbling to take a seat in the barstool underneath the counter. Sitting across from you gives him the constant justification to just look at you.

Starting off this session with a question was quite a kicker.

"Y'know Sade Zabala? Author of that book you brought back for me."

Carmen blinks slowly. He pretends to dig deep in his memory to identify the name, wondering if you'd ever mentioned her. But he fails, pulling his lips taught, so as to say 'I've got nothin.' The sound of your dramatic sigh and the 'tsk' sound of your lips separating makes his palms sweat.

"She's a wonderful writer. A poet. I mean, really, her book Coffee and Cigarettes was one of the most gut-wrenchingly beautiful and altruistic collections of.. of love, pain, rejuvenation—all of it."

If he was completely honest, he doesn't have a clear image of what those words meant. But it doesn't seem to matter what comes out of your mouth or how you phrase it. Your use of specific language fascinates him. There is nothing else he can do in this moment but nod and allow the corners of his lips to curl into a smile strong enough to make the apples of his cheeks go pink.

"I'll tell you one line of one of the greatest poems she had ever written in that book. In the humble opinion of yours truly, of course."

"Sure," he assures you. "Of course, of course."

"Tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you anyway."

Saliva pools in your mouth as you speak the quote, the taste of every vowel washing down your throat as if you dedicate them to Carmen himself. Which, in bare and naked truth, you do. The only thing you could ever ask of Carmen was to let himself tear himself open with the hope and belief that you would crawl into his fears and convert them into profound discoveries. And the trust that you would not stitch him up with your own hands, but rather clasp your fists around the circumference of his wrists as he carefully closes the wound his trajectory of life has created.

"Wow." Carmen's eyes go another centimeter wider, the language still processing in his mind. He interprets it over and over again.

"I know. And—" you set your fork down so you can have complete focus as you recite your following question, "I was just wondering what you'd say if someone told you that, y'know? What would you tell them?"

Vulnerability, he thinks. Fuck.

"I mean...fuck that's—that's a good question. Um.." he chews on the flesh of his bottom lip once again, looking above at the warm glow of the light that hangs over your island counter as if he'll find the answer up there.

"I don't even like the good stuff about me, so. I'm not sure how to, like, articulate that? Is that the word?"

Now the quickening pace has started.

"And what do you think the good stuff about you is?"

Probing questions like this are somewhat too-close-for-comfort inquiries for friends. But Carmen would be stupid to mind it. He relishes in it, actually. With much guilt. But it's tainted with the secret pleasure of being cared for by someone he so deeply valued the opinions and thoughts of.

Since the first day you met, Carmen knew he would never go to anyone else for some piece of mind. For some sanity. Or even just for someone to explain the method to his madness. You understood it—what he believed.

"I care a lot, I think. But that's not always practical. It hardly ever is now that I think about it."

"You do. You care so much." You soften your tone, hesitantly reaching for Carmen's tattooed hand that rests on the cold marble counter.

"Sometimes it freaks me out."

"Like, this whole thing, the—the restaurant, where my life is right now, it makes me crazy. But it also keeps me..."

"Human," you finish.

"Yeah, human."

Though it takes him a couple seconds for his digits to not second guess themselves, he gently takes your hand in his. The slow pace in which he intertwines his fingers with yours is enough to kill you.

"Can I tell you something?" Carmen asks.

"Anything."

"You take good care of me. Of everyone, really." . His thumb gently rubs your warm skin, the rough and calloused mounds over his fingerprints soothing you. A deep breath moves in and out from his lungs as he meets your eyes again. This time, he won't look away.

"It's like you were made to just be good."

You smile, but you're not convinced you're certain on what he means. "Thank you, Carm. But—good?"

"I don't know. You're warm. I'm—I'm not like that. I'm not warm."

This, this is where truths as bare as untraveled paws of loyal dogs that roamed the streets in search of security uncover themselves.

"What? Of course you are." You lean forward, feeling your heart pound so hard it could leap out of your body.

"I don't think I am."

To think—no, to know that Carmen Berzatto cannot share at least one feature of his layered soul he genuinely likes. God, that pains you. You could write a million sonnets listing every little thing you adored about your friend.

"Carmen, you—" you sigh, your head dropping for a fraction of a second. "You have such a big heart. You're not cold or...or out of reach, or anything like that, okay?"

Even with Carmen's tendency for rage and his tattoos that displayed yet another callback to his culinary career—his way of speaking: so gentle and unsupported, you're certain that he is something so much greater than just a chef. He took care of people too. His staff, his clientele, his family—of you. Whether it was home cooked meals when you were sick, or when you needed to complain about Natalie. Carmen listened. Not as her brother, but as your friend. You don't really remember when you started to regularly see each other during his leisure. Either at the restaurant, or a coffee shop next door to your complex, and eventually his living room.

"This is so fucking selfish, but—"

No, Carmen. You could never be selfish.

But you let him be hungry. You want him to be hungry. Starving for reassurance. Because you'll feed him until the empty space in his existence is filled.

"I just wish you'd look after yourself the way you take care of me. Like, fuck, hearing you look at yourself and point out all this shit that nobody notices—which I wish they fucking would—because I notice them and I still love those things about you is..."

Oh, what a beautiful mind you've always had. He'll always store all the love you can't have for yourself in his own heart. Your wit, your intelligence, your smile, even down to the way you have to readjust the grip of your fountain pen as you inscribe your thoughts into your journal

"Wrong." He completed his thought with just one word. "I don't like it. It makes me sad," he says again.

That breaks you. So much that a tear sure to be followed by many more wells up in your waterline. The glisten of the salty liquid in your eyes startles the wonderful man across you. You can see the immediate guilt in his face, his blue eyes filled with concern and regret. But you shake your head, holding onto his forearm as he raises his hand to your cheek to catch the falling tear. Fuck being friends. Fuck small talk. Fuck jokes and laughs and cigarettes and poor communication that just ended in silence.

This was here and now. There was no going back.

With that, you cupped Carmen's own cheek, leaning closer and closer to his lips before he desperately kissed you. His free hand anchored itself on your shoulder blade while yours crawled to the back of his head to burry itself in his golden curls. Your taste was everything. Salty with pasta with a sweet aftertaste that echoed from your fruity lip balm, followed by a final twinge of bitterness from your glass of red wine. He tasted of comfort, of acceptance, something you'd never felt against your tastebuds from the previous years of the dating pool. With every separation of your lips to swallow gasps of air, the further the two of you hovered over the counter in a needy attempt to get closer.

You didn't need answers. Not a lot from him either. Just him. Forever.

tags: @lemmejustpulloutmylightsaber @sexyyounglatinoboy @febris-amatoria @diorrfairy

#carmen berzatto #the bear #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto angst #carmen berzatto blurb #this took way too long #writers block is really killing me #im running out of ideas

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gallusrostromegalus · 1 year ago

Note

Your Ulquiorra plans are very intriguing, he may be one of my faves from the og- How does he survive exactly and how does he end up in the court guard?

Do they let him roam and leave him be like the crow problem or do they eventually have dedicated arrancar babysitters? What is Ulqui the most curious about, is there certain squads he hangs around in more than others? Does his social awareness get better or does he try obliterating some poor sod because they stood in the middle of the hallway for too long? Does he manage to make some friends?

He do be a blorbo fr

Asking for a friend obvs and not for a Squad 9 ficlet at all *clears throat*

...so he actually ends up in the Royal Realm, not the court guard.

Specifically, when everyone else finally manages to subdue Aizen, Gin yoinks him off to the Royal Realm to be fed to the Life Machine, Ulquiorra zips through the portal after them, because he's determined to finish actually kicking Aizen's ass.

Instead, Ulquiorra ends up inside the Actual Soul King Palace, with exactly no supervision.

Being as the total population of the royal realm is 5 super-captains, a couple dozen assistants of dubious autonomy, and Gin, it's not hard for Ulquiorra to go do whatever the hell he wants undetected for several weeks, and when people do start noticing that things are amiss-

Kirinji is having a deeply paranoid reaction to the sudden appearance of masses of black hair in the drains of some of his hot springs.

At first he thinks he’s going bald, but then he begins to suspect the other guards… and then that this is, somehow, a message from Tama. The Kodoku is almost done, isn’t it?

Not wanting anyone to learn his secret, he tells no-one.

Hikifune notices that some of her food is missing- high protein, fat and iron stuff like pork belly and calf liver, but also candies and fruits.

At first she thinks there’s rats again, but then realizes- This is what someone used to starving takes. She prepares a more nutritionally balanced care package for him, along with a note that he’s welcome at her table any time.

...Hikifune didn’t kill the Mod Konpaku- she smuggled as many as possible into the royal realm with her as sous-chefs, but she couldn’t get all of them, and some still shuffle in, drawn to their mother. She hopes her lost children will all come home soon.

Not wanting to jeapordize the safety of her children, she tells no-one.

-Senjumaru is initially *pissed* that SOMEONE not only stole a pair of denim short pants from her latest collection, they used her good fabric shears to CUT HAIR, but then she gets a better look at the black fur and WOW this is terrific long fringe stuff what is it it’s too soft to be horsehair, too long to be rabbit and there’s LOTS of it???

Well.

She supposes they can have a pair of Jorts in exchange. She leaves him a note to make an appointment next time, she’ll make him something that fits instead of whatever is on the rack.

Not wanting to lose her position or the possibility of a new friend, she tells no-one.

Ichibe gets up in the middle of the night because he’s feeling restless- something is nagging him, trivial but irritating, like a pea irritates a princess, and goes into his studio to practice strokes and katas to soothe himself.

But in the middle of the studio, standing over the good paper, is some sort of DEMON with glowing green eyes and horns and terrible bat wings and… jorts? He’s so startled he doesn’t immediately strike the wretched thing down OR read it’s name and it scrambles away, the tail knocking over everything in the middle shelf of his inkstand and splattering it *everywhere* before it jumps out the window and flies away.

Ichibe curses and gnashes his teeth- everything is MESS, and FURTHERMORE, The Damn Thing has used up his good hot press paper and written the most AWFUL poetry… in unfortunately extremely good calligraphy.

Deeply embarrassed, he tells no-one.

...They're all WAAAAAY too paranoid and secretive to actually *tell* any of their colleagues that something weird is going on.

Except Oetsu, who assumes Ulquiorra is a Zanpaktou spirit that's crawled out out the pit from which all spirits he builds swords for emerge, and that absolutely nothing unusual is going on at all!

Sure, Batboy is a little bit weird and talks like a Bryonic protagonist, but it's nice to have somebody to actually *talk* to for once.

Oetsu has never actually *been* to spirit world for any extended period of time, and is maybe a little iffy on some of the specifics of some of the latest happenings of the last 2,000ish years.

Like that Arrancar exist.

Sure, Batboy's got a weird hole in his chest, but Oetsu does not immediately associate weird negative space in a dude's torso with him being a hollow. He deals with MUCH weirder-looking spirts all the time!

Eventually, Gin realizes Ulqiorra followed him into The Royal Realm, but he doesn’t seem particularly bent on Destruction.

If anything, he seems to have gotten a good bath, filled out a little bit, gotten a sword, some MUCH better-looking trousers and some mysterious ink stains and overall calmed down and looks better.

...Good for him!

But Gin’s got a lot of work to do, so Ulquiorra is now his intern! Ulquiorra: What’s an Intern? Gin Uh. An intern is a guy who lives in the office closet who brings you snacks! Ulquiorra: …That doesn’t sound right, but I don’t know enough about internships to dispute it. Gin: Whatever, just bring me a rat or something. Ulquiorra: …How about some ham? Gin: That’d be great actually. Ulquiorra: Get hammed, idiot. *throws ham at Gin but he catches it in his mouth like a dog catching a frisbee* Ulqiorra, after a few minutes of watching Aizen get taffy’d: So what’s all this… for? Gin: *Explains The Life machine, and it’s subsequent befuckening* Ulquiorra: We should ask Orihime to do this. She’s the smartest person I know. Gin: You know like four people, and the other three are the SOB in the taffy puller, a cat, and me. That ain’t a high bar. Gin: …she is still smarter than both of us though. Hm.

Ulquiorra spends a few months like this- wandering around exploring, visiting and gradually getting better at deciding to do things on his own initiative, and to just... enjoy existing.

Meanwhile, Orihime has been working on working out the math behind how Kido Spells are composed, and cracked into the language of Soul King and The Life machine. She’s worked out that there’s something squiffy about some of the spells- two kinds of logic, like there are two authors. (One is the Life machine’s original programming, the other is Soul King’s edits to Reality to improve the wheel). The second logic makes more sense for how reality actually operates, but isn’t as complete. -She’s puzzling over this discrepancy when Shiro wanders over and makes a bad “Maybe he’s Dead?” joke Orihime: ...that would explain a lot actually. See this line right here? It’s like. Half of a new spell. And also the most recent change I could find. It’s like whoever was writing this got interrupted halfway through and just. Never came back to it. Shiro: Oh. Shiro: …Can you finish it? Orihime: ...I think I can, actually, but. Well, I can’t figure out how he was making the edits stick? Like? Where was he inputting this that the spell actually changes reality? Ichigo: Aizen was trying to go to the Royal Realm where the Soul King lives, right? Maybe the terminal to edit the mainframe is up there? Orihime: ... Orihime: Oh my god. I think you’re right. Orihime: Well, the universe didn’t implode so I'm pretty sure Aizen isn’t editing there, but… Orihime: *Takes out Matsumoto’s old spirit phone which she stole along with Hitsugaya's when she got kidnapped to Las Noches, frowns at it for a while, then dials a number on it* Ichigo, shiro: ?? Orihime: *Holds up a finger to indicate she’s on an important call and they need to be quiet. Someone answers Orihime: Ulquiorra? Ulquiorra: Bwah? Ichigo and Shiro: BWAH?? Orihime: We have a lot to talk about, but I need you to answer a few questions for me, please? Ulquiorra: ok??? Orihime: Where are you, right now? -- Ulquiorra is in Hikifune’s kitchen, snitching food again. Ulquiorra: …A Kitchen. Orihime: in broader terms. Living world? Hueco mundo? Soul Society? Ulquiorra: uhhhhh… none of the above? Orihime: is it an additional plane of reality? Ulquiorra: yeah? Orihime: Is there a large palace or something like that in it? Ulquiorra, worried: Yeah?? Orihime: is there, anywhere in that plane, but probably in the palace, a place with a lot of math text in it, like I was writing on the walls of Las Noches? Ulquiorra, alarmed: Yeah??? Orihime: Oh, good! Ulquiorra: It is? Orihime: Well, yes, but listen- Listen, okay? UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES SHOULD YOU, OR ANYONE ELSE, TOUCH **ANY** PART OF THAT WRITING. Ulquiorra: Why? Orihime: the universe might end. Ulquiorra: …I’m gonna go lock that room real fast. Orihime: Thank you. Call me back when you can and we’ll talk, okay? Ulquiorra: Yes Ma’am! *Hangs up* -- Ichigo: WHAT Shiro: YEAH, WHAT Orihime: Good news! Nothing broke yet! Both: Yet? Orihime: I uh. I’m pretty sure. That nothing broke. And that Ulquiorra is kind of technically guarding the place where God edits the computer code that makes up reality. Both: … Shiro, despairing: THAT FUCKING MORON?? Ichigo: yeah, that’s not “Good” news. Orihime: It’s fine! Just so long as nobody breaks in there, it’ll be fine!

Anyway, I hope that helps, and it's GRIMMJOW that ends up drafted into the Court Guards :)

#ulquiorra cifer #AEIWAM #an elephant is warm and mushy #bleach fanfic

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zhydoesart · 21 days ago

Text

"when the rain stops" (acc version)

for @kieraelieson for @tsspromptmonth 2024 Sleepy Bean Cafe event.

Prompt: Logan is an Ancient being of some kind, who's never needed things like 'companionship' or 'affection' or 'physical touch'. Until a human ever so gently breaks down his barriers to give him those things revealing he's been in desperate need of them all along.

AO3 version (with stylized section breaks)

Logan has been dead so long he can hardly remember what it was like to be alive.

He stopped counting after the first couple hundred years, once the memories of his human life had begun to fade, and, worse, he’d stopped mourning their loss.

The vampires in stories always lived out in big old mansions in the middle of dark forests. That’s half true of Logan. He does live in the middle of a forest—the trees provide good cover, both to hide his home and him, and to shield him from the sun which irritates his skin—but he doesn’t need a mansion.

Logan’s home is a sturdy old house made of dark wood. It has two stories, and some of the details are too finely crafted to be anything other than hand-carved. He supposes he must have known a builder, must’ve somehow convinced them to build this house for him, either through money or favors… but he can’t recall anything about them.

Logan’s house has two bedrooms. His own is set toward the back of the house, taking up much of its small second floor. Its westmost windows look out over, of course, the forest. Beyond the forest, on the horizon, lie the mountains, their snow-coated peaks rising up beyond the feathered tips of the sea of dark pine trees spanning as far as he can see.

He doesn’t have much in the way of furniture, but the room is small enough that it still feels cosy rather than empty with just a bed, desk, and two bookshelves. The furniture he does have is made from the same dark wood as the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the bark of the trees outside. Each shelf is filled neatly from one end to the other with perfectly pristine books—Logan has read each and every one at some point during his… extended life. He’s read several of the more compelling works of fiction more than once.

His bed, in the corner nearest the big window, is made, dark sheets pulled neatly up, tucked under his pillow. His desk, too, is clean. (In fact, not a single surface in the room, nor the entire house, has even a spot of dust.) Stacked in the corner is a small pile of paper scraps, on which are his late-night scribblings. Some of them are poetry; some of them are journalistic observations; some of them are ill-advised, and even poorer-executed, attempts at creative fiction. Over his long life, he’s tried his hand at many things, the majority of which did not stick.

Some of them had stuck, though. Paintings of landscapes decorate the walls of the hallway. Logan had been taken completely by surprise when he’d attempted to recreate the view of the mountains from his window and found that he was calmed by the smooth strokes of the brush. By his own standards (which are, admittedly, not up to par of those of an artist), the paintings aren’t bad. He doesn’t have much use for art, but he finds them pleasing to look at, so he hangs them on the wall.

The second bedroom has another bed. As far as Logan remembers, it’s never been anyone’s, and he wonders why it’s there. Had it been made for someone, once?

Logan likes when it rains. For one, because of the cloud cover, he doesn’t have to worry about the sunlight if he chooses to go out. He doesn’t mind the sharp drop in temperature whenever it rains, either, because he can huddle beside the brick fireplace with a book and a blanket, and the tapping of the rain on the wooden roof makes for the perfect white noise while he reads.

Logan’s mind tunes it out the first time, but the second time, it’s much louder. He lets out a minute exhale, setting his book aside on the coffee table. His joints protest—they always stiffen when cold weather rolls around. He shrugs the blanket off, laying it neatly over the back of the couch.

Who on earth would it be knocking on his door, in the middle of nowhere, in the pouring rain? As far back as he can remember, he’s never had any visitors, not even the accidental traveller who got lost in the forest. He’s so far from civilization that someone would have to come here on purpose… or else they are very, very far out of their way.

The door sticks in the frame as he tries to open it, having swollen from the humidity of the rain. Finally Logan manages to open the door wide enough to see the person standing on his doorstep.

The first thing he notices is that they’re absolutely drenched, from their bedraggled purple hair, hanging in their eyes and dripping water onto their cheeks, to the visibly soaked black leather boots that stop midway up their shins. They stand, stance uneven, hands tucked as deep as they can go into the pockets of their jacket, but it’s clearly not waterproof either, judging from the way their whole body shakes when they shiver.

Logan’s predisposition to be annoyed at a total stranger encroaching on his space vanishes as he takes in exactly how pathetic they look, sopping wet and helpless as they drip onto his porch.

“I assume you’re seeking shelter?” he says, although it’s really more of a statement than a question.

“P-please,” the human pleads through chattering teeth.

Logan sighs. “Alright, come inside.” He ushers them in. He has to push harder on the door than usual to get it to close, as it again sticks in the frame, but it latches, and he throws the lock into place.

Logan turns to the human. “Take those off.” He gestures to their boots and their jacket. The human complies, pulling back their wet hair out of their face, and he catches a glimpse of two heterochromatic eyes staring at him in green and purple. (Alright, perhaps not completely human—he’s never seen a full-blooded human with purple eyes.) He examines their shirt, which is marginally drier than their coat had been, but not by much, and it’s probably better to simply get them into a fresh change of clothes than expect them to dry naturally. “Stay here.” They nod, settling into a sitting position on the floor of his living room.

Logan returns a few minutes later with a bundle of dry clothes picked from his own closet. “The bathroom is upstairs. Enter the first door on the left.” He hands it to the human.

They smile with what he imagines is probably gratefulness. “Thank you.”

Logan takes his place next to the fire once more, picking up where he left off in his book.

He smells them before he sees them. Being a vampire has awarded Logan with a keen sense of smell, but the rain had made it difficult for him to note their scent. He picks it up now, a pleasant, a strong scent of woodfire with hints of… hm, cinnamon. They approach tentatively, socked feet muffling their footsteps to an almost silent quality. They take a moment too long to figure out what to say, and so Logan looks up from his book.

“Better?”

“Uh, yes. Thanks.” The human tries unsuccessfully to conceal their shiver with a shrug.

“This blanket is big enough for both of us.”

Their eyes widen. “Oh, uh, thanks.” Their face reddens. “I guess I wasn’t hiding that very well, was I?” They sit on the floor next to him.

“Not at all,” Logan says with a small smirk. He wraps the blanket around their shoulders. “What brings you here?” he asks after a few minutes pass in silence.

“I was… out looking for herbs. I live in a village that’s on the edge of this forest. Uh, one of them. Somewhere.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “From your apparent lack of herbs, I take it you were unsuccessful?”

The human groans. “Yeah, I, uh, I lost my bag in the forest somewhere. I slipped and fell in the rain trying to find shelter and I didn’t notice I dropped it.”

“What were you looking for?” Logan asks.

“Oh, well, I have anxiety, and I have trouble sleeping sometimes. When I make heather into a tea, it seems to help.” They look away.

“Witch?” Logan says.

“Who’s asking?” They side-eye him suspiciously.

“Vampire,” Logan supplies helpfully.

To his surprise, they don’t back away, and they don’t flinch. Logan doesn’t have much contact with humans, but he’d assumed all humans were taught to be scared of vampires. Instead, their gaze takes on a shade of understanding. “Ah. Yes, then, witch.” They offer their hand out to him. “I’m Virgil.”

“Logan,” he offers in return. Virgil’s hand has a slight roughness against his palm.

“So, Logan, what brings you here?” Virgil asks with a half-smirk.

“I don’t… recall.” Unbidden, his brows furrow. “The human mind is only equipped to hold on to a finite amount of information, memory included, and I’ve lived for long enough that my oldest memories have been discarded.”

The look of understanding in Virgil’s eyes deepens, and something about that, being known and understood, makes Logan vaguely uncomfortable. “How much have you forgotten?”

“I only recall the past few hundred years of being a vampire. I don’t have anything from when I used to be human.” Logan aggressively averts his eyes, choosing not to acknowledge that Virgil is perceiving him on a level he’s never experienced.

“Oh. That sucks.”

“I suppose.” Logan gazes at the flickering fire. “I don’t know what I’m missing, and I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.”

“Are you alone here? Not that it’s… well, any of my business.”

“Yes. And, when the rain ceases, I will be again.”

Virgil seems to understand the implication, falling silent, and Logan’s eyes return to his book.

The rain does not cease the next day, nor the day after that. It’s been hundreds of years since Logan last saw rain this heavy in these parts of the woods. Whatever material had been used to seal the wood together must be miraculously hardy, because it doesn’t leak.

Virgil keeps to themself, having taken up residence in Logan’s spare bedroom. They keep the door open, and a few times he’s walked past and caught a glimpse of Virgil, well, doing magic. He’s met witches before, but they tend to be somewhat secretive, and whatever relationships he’s maintained with them have tended to be strictly business, so their displays of magic are few and far between. With Virgil, however, it seems to flow out of them as naturally as they expel carbon dioxide from their lungs when they breathe.

“I’ve seen you watching me.” Logan jumps, turning suddenly to see Virgil smirking at him from the armchair in the corner of the living room. “You’re curious about my magic, right?”

“Yes,” Logan admits, adjusting his glasses. No point in pretending after Virgil caught him red-handed.

“I can show you?” Virgil tilts their head in a come here? gesture. Logan sits on the sofa. “I’m not really that powerful or anything, I’ve just got, like, the basic magic talent, but I guess that’s impressive to anyone who’s not a witch, right?” As they speak, their hands begin to glow faintly purple, and the light reflecting almost makes it look as though their eyes are glowing too. Virgil holds out a hand to Logan, who stares at it. “Here, take my hand for a second? Trust me.” Logan cautiously takes the extended hand, and he shudders as a small shock of warmth instantly shoots through his body, involuntarily pulling away. “Cool, right?”

“I…” Logan pauses. “It is… interesting.”

“Do you have any special powers or anything?” Virgil asks, twirling around their still-glowing hands in a mesmerizing pattern that draws Logan’s gaze as if he was hypnotized. “You know, as a vampire?”

“Nothing you wouldn’t expect,” Logan answers, and then wonders why he’s telling all this to a complete stranger. “I have rudimentary dark vision. I don’t need to sleep every night, and I have the ability to go much longer without feeding than most creatures do, but the limit seems to be around two weeks.”

“Let me guess, you’ve tested it?” Virgil says, and while their tone is teasing, Logan gets the impression that they genuinely want to know.

“Yes,” he responds, more flustered than he would prefer to acknowledge that this human has been able to read him like a book.

“Why am I not surprised?” Virgil laughs. The sound is pleasant. “Vampires don’t actually burn in sunlight, right? That seems… really inconvenient.”

“Ah, no. That is a common misconception. From my experience, I simply tend to sunburn much more easily than the average human.”

“I can relate,” Virgil says, gesturing to their exposed skin, which is quite pale.

The conversation has rolled to a slow stop, and Logan fishes around for something else to say before it gets awkward. “Have you been sleeping alright?”

Virgil blinks, frowning. “Oh, uh, yeah. I didn’t think you’d remember that? When I said I have insomnia. I thought you said your memory was bad?” They raise one eyebrow.

“Unfortunately, that only applies to autobiographical memories. When it comes to objective fact, my memory is perfect. …How have you been sleeping?”

Virgil plays with the sleeve of their jacket. “Oh, you know… Not well,” they admit. “But it’s, it’s fine, y’know? I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t have to be,” Logan says with a gentleness that surprises even himself. “I would prefer for you to be able to go home, but, as the rain doesn’t seem as though it will cease anytime soon—as long as you are under my roof, I would like for you to be comfortable. Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Virgil tilts their head as they look at him, like his confession has shifted something in the way they think about him. “Uh, nothing I can think of at the moment. I used to have a cat, once, and I think having something else breathing and warm next to me helped… but I’m not asking you to, uh, cuddle with me or anything. I, uh…” Virgil sighs. “No, nothing I can think of.”

“Alright.” Logan studies Virgil. “Is there anyone waiting for you in your village?”

“No, it’s just me. I’m all alone. Kinda like you, I guess.” Virgil offers Logan an awkward half-smile. “Guess we can be, uh, alone, together?”

Logan mirrors with an equally as awkward half-smile. “Yes, I suppose.” Sensing the conversation had come to its end, he gets to his feet. What was it again that he had come down the stairs to do…?

Logan, in his own opinion, has been doing well at ignoring the nagging pain in his temples. It tends to occur when he's particularly hungry and has gone too long without eating. He’d been running low on blood before the storm had hit, but he’d assumed he would’ve been able to obtain more before he’d gotten to the “starving” stage. He was incorrect, and the pain had been getting worse every day in the last week. But he’s doing fine.

Which is why it comes as such a surprise when he wakes up on the floor of his bedroom to see Virgil peering down at him.

“You okay?” Virgil asks uncertainly.

“What happened?” Logan asks. At that moment, he’d been trying to sit up, and simply finds that he cannot—he’s too weak.

Virgil’s eyes narrow. “I’m going to hazard a guess, based on how pale you look right now, that you haven’t eaten the entire time I’ve been here, for whatever reason, and you just collapsed from hunger. Does that sound about right?”

“Perhaps,” Logan admits reluctantly. “But I'm fine.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Virgil says as Logan fails to sit up a second time.

“I don’t need help.” He manages to very slowly clamber to his feet, but the moment he takes a step forward, he teeters again, and, to his embarrassment, Virgil catches him.

“Yeah, you do,” Virgil says with the most firmness Logan has heard them use. “Why haven’t you eaten?”

Logan, accepting that he can’t excuse his way out of this—for some reason, Virgil seems to care about his wellbeing—sighs. “I ran out.”

Virgil’s eyebrows rise. “Oh, great, I can help with that.” In his relatively ill state, it takes Logan a moment to realize that Virgil pulled their jacket down off of their shoulder and is baring their neck to him.

“No,” he says, forcefully pushing away from Virgil and attempting to seem as though he’s found his balance.

“Why not?” Virgil is the picture of innocence, eyes big and head slightly tilted to one side.

“Because…” Logan growls in frustration.

“Got some internalized vamp-phobia in there?” Virgil prods gently.

“I do not wish to harm you,” Logan says softly.

“Have you hurt somebody before?”

“Well, no…”

“Then why do you think you might hurt me?” Virgil gets closer.

“I’ve never fed from a living being before”—as far as I know—“how can I be sure I wouldn’t hurt you? What if I couldn’t control myself?”

“Logan.” Virgil snorts. “I’m a witch. I may be pretty low-level, but I can defend myself.” They hold up their finger, and a small flame erupts out of it before extinguishing. “If it came down to it, I’d stop you before you hurt me.” Virgil once again exposes their neck, and Logan tears his eyes away from it and back up to theirs. “Logan. You’re starving. Let me help you.”

“Fine,” Logan says finally. “But we should move to somewhere more comfortable.”

“I’m ready whenever you are.” Virgil, for once not wearing their jacket, waits patiently on the couch. Logan nods, sitting next to them. In such close proximity to Virgil’s neck, he can feel his fangs extend in his mouth. He takes a deep breath before biting.

Almost immediately, Logan gets a rush of energy, and he reminds himself that he needs to pay full attention to what he’s doing to ensure that he can control himself.

Virgil, to their credit, doesn’t make a single sound the entire time Logan is drinking their blood. Their eyes open slowly and alight on Logan with a drowsy sort of languidness, not quite focused.

“Are you alright?” Logan asks softly.

“Hm?” Virgil stares at him for a moment. “Oh, yeah. That didn’t hurt as badly as I was expecting it to.”

“No?” Logan’s brows furrow.

“No, it was kind of nice,” Virgil smiles. “Is there some sort of calming agent in that vampire saliva of yours?”

“I, I’m not sure.” It isn’t something he’d ever considered before, but it certainly would make it easier for a vampire to feed.

Would that mean it was a form of nonconsensual drugging? He certainly hadn’t gotten Virgil’s permission for that, only to feed from him to keep Logan from starving. Surely this then went beyond the bounds of that agreement—

“Hey.” Virgil lightly pats Logan’s hand. “What’re you overthinking about. I know that look. I own that look.”

“Do you feel violated?” Logan blurts.

“What?” Virgil laughs. “Logan, what are you talking about?”

“I can’t help but think you may be onto something with the saliva hypothesis…”

“Aaand now you think you drugged me? You didn’t know.” Virgil leans up against Logan, more in the way a pet wants to be near its owner than in a struggling to hold themself upright way. “Not your fault.”

“I… suppose…” It’s taking most of Logan’s concentration to string together words into sentences with Virgil’s warm body up against his much colder one. “What are you… doing?”

“Hm?”

“What are you doing?” Logan repeats.

“Oh.” Virgil notices they’ve pressed themself up against Logan. “I wanted to be… near you?” they say shyly. “I think, like alcohol, vamp saliva can’t really make me do anything I didn’t already want to, just makes me less anxious about it. Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Logan says quickly, mind stuck on Virgil wanting to be near him. “You’re warm.”

Virgil smirks. “Let me guess, you’re cold-blooded?”

“Perhaps,” Logan replies, a small smirk of his own slipping unbidden onto his face.

“That works just fine for me.”

Logan’s book is still on the end table where he’d left it last, and he can just barely reach it from here. Virgil grumbles softly when he jostles them, so he does his best to stay still once he can hold the book on his lap.

After about half an hour, it occurs to Logan that Virgil has been very quiet and very still. Sure enough, they've fallen asleep tucked into his side. He has the very bewildering realization that, not only does he enjoy Virgil’s warmth, not only is the pressure of Virgil’s body against his own calming, but a part of him feels some sort of affection for this human that he's known less than a week. And… he realizes he's going to miss them when they leave.

Virgil ends up sleeping for four hours—they must have really needed the rest. Logan’s finished his book and is a few chapters into rereading it by the time they begin to stir.

“Did I fall asleep?” they ask, voice rough, and Logan is overtaken by an unprecedented surge of… fondness?

“Yes,” he says, resisting the urge to kiss their forehead—what is happening?

Logan has never needed anyone else, he has been fine on his own this entire time, and he will be fine again when they leave.

“And you let me do that?” Virgil cranes their neck around to look at him, clearly perplexed. If Logan had to guess, judging by their demeanor, he would say that the calming effects of his saliva have worn off at least most of the way, if not entirely.

“You're warm,” he says again.

Virgil shrugs. “Fair enough, I guess.” They settle again, this time with their head on his shoulder. Their soft purple hair brushes against his neck in a pleasant way. “Feeling better with some blood in your system?”

“Yes, thank you.” The fang marks on Virgil’s neck are crusted with dried blood. “I would like to clean your neck.”

“Oh, yeah, alright.”

Virgil sits on the closed lid of the toilet, and Logan runs warm water over a rag. They wince, hissing slightly through their teeth when he touches the bite marks, and he pulls away.

“Tell me if I'm hurting you,” Logan says, making sure to look Virgil in the eye.

“Yeah.” They nod, and he wipes away the crusted blood as gently as he can. “Hey, Logan?”

“Mm?”

“I think one of my ancestors knew you.”

Logan’s hand stills for a moment. “What?”

“Her name was Cassidy. Do you…?”

Logan shakes his head. “Like I told you before, I don't have many memories from before I was on my own. …Why do you think she might’ve known me?”

“My mother used to tell me stories, passed down on her mother’s side of the family, about a strange, kind man with gray eyes who came from the woods. She was a witch, much more powerful than me. You were her friend, I think. Helped her with potions and stuff, back when the villagers came to her asking for her to heal their sicknesses. Now we have modern medicine, y'know, so I mostly practice for, well, myself…” They trail off.

“It's possible.” The odds are probably low that there's another kind gray-eyed vampire living in these woods. “It's likely.”

Virgil stays quiet for the few minutes it takes Logan to finish cleaning the wound. “That's not really necessary,” they attempt when he reaches for the bandages.

Logan raises an eyebrow. “I don't want you getting an infection because of me.”

“Yeah, alright,” Virgil relents in an exaggeratedly begrudging way. “If you insist.” They sit still, allowing him to loosely wrap a length of bandage around their neck. “Satisfied?”

“Yes,” Logan says.

That night, while Logan is painting, Virgil appears in his doorway, blinking in the low light.

“Hey. Sorry.”

“What is it?” Logan turns away from his canvas.

“I can't sleep,” they admit. One of their hands grips the doorframe as they squint in the direction of his voice in the dark.

Logan carefully sets down his paintbrush. “You would like me to stay with you.” It isn't a question.

“Uh, yeah. Please? If that's alright.”

Logan brushes past Virgil, taking their hand to lead them down the hallway to the spare bedroom. It simply makes the most sense, considering he can see in the dark and they cannot.

The next day, the rain stops.

Virgil joins Logan at the kitchen window. “Storm’s finally passed, you think?”

“Yes, I suppose,” Logan says. “I should walk you back to your village.”

“Aw, you wanna make sure I get back safe?” Virgil smirks.

“Yes,” Logan says with an honesty that surprises himself. He refuses to look at Virgil, and they ascend the stairs a few minutes later to grab their meager belongings.

It takes the both of them to figure out the way back to Virgil’s village. With the wet ground, they each have at least one moment where they almost slip in the mud and have to grab onto the other for purchase. Logan marks the trees with a dab of bright blue from his paintbrush as they pass so he can find his way home.

“Well, here’s me,” Virgil says, gesturing to a small hut. Judging by its size, it only has a single room, and it’s not run-down, exactly, but it’s not in the best shape either. The heavy rain lasting the past week clearly hasn’t helped. “Thanks for, well, everything.”

Logan nods stiffly, and Virgil smiles at him before turning away.

“Wait.”

Virgil freezes. They turn slowly to look at him, and Logan realizes it’d been himself who’d spoken.

“I don’t… want you to go,” he admits with great difficulty.

“No?” Virgil asks softly. Logan almost thinks they sound hopeful.

“I thought I was fine being on my own, because I couldn’t remember a time when I hadn’t been, but now that I have to go back to it… I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Logan, eyes fixed on his shoes, is taken by surprise when Virgil throws their arms around him, but it’s a pleasant surprise, a relief.

“I don’t really wanna go back either,” they mumble into his shoulder. “I thought that’s what you wanted, and I was gonna go back to the village for you, because I thought that was what you wanted.”

“I want you to stay with me,” Logan says into Virgil’s hair.

“That works just fine for me.”

#sanders sides #ts analogical #analogical #sasi #sasi au #written as a qpr but you can interpret however you want !#sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction

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causeilikelix · 2 years ago

Text

Stray Kids Soulmate Smut Au Series

Member Scenarios (warnings tbd)

If you'd like to be added to the taglist for the whole series or just individual fics, please leave me a comment or shoot me an ask!

I have no posting schedule at the moment, all I know is that I'll be writing Felix's last because I know myself and I'll get carried away.

Synopsis under the cut:

In the magical world of soulmates, you can begin looking for them when you turn 21. Once you touch them, the overwhelming urge to consummate the union takes over you until you fulfill the desire.

Bang Chan (18+)

Bodyguard x bratty, younger ward au

Chan is your bodyguard who is determined to keep you out of trouble and protect you from those who want to use you to get to your rich and powerful father. The only problem? Trouble is your middle name. Going out to clubs and getting random guys to grind up on you is one of your favorite pastimes and Chan has to go along with it. You love how he gets gruff and protective when other people put their hands on you. With your 21st birthday creeping up on you, these outings get more dangerous since anyone could be your soulmate. On the fateful night of your 21st birthday, you go out to dance and when you dance with the wrong person, Chan isn’t so sure he can keep his hands off you much longer.

Minho (18+)

Prince x Maid, Bridgerton era au

Part One:

Everyone in the ton is invited to the final tea party before the Queen announces who will be the lucky lady betrothed to Prince Minho. Everyone except the help, of course. It is the final opportunity for eligible ladies of age to meet with the prince to determine if they are soulmates. The lady you work for has managed to get you into the tea because she’s not interested in the prince and would rather spend time with you. Bored, you wander around the gardens and you run into a young man who also seems to want to escape. After some banter, you touch accidentally and you realize this man is your soulmate. Once you consummate the union, you have to rush away to find your lady in time for the introduction of the prince, only to find out that you just fucked him behind a hedge. And how he can’t take his eyes off you.

How will you survive if he’s supposed to marry someone else?

Part Two:

Prince x betrothed sister, 40s Italy, past lives au

You are a noble lady who is not quite ready to enter society, being just under 21. Your older sister, however, is out and your family is in talks with the royal family to betrothe her to the prince if they cannot find his soulmate by the final masquerade ball of the summer. Luckily, you have no interest in marriage or soulmates, mostly because you think you’ve found yours already.

In a lonely bookshop that very few frequent, you’ve been sharing secret notes with another reader of your favorite poetry book. You can’t remember how it began, but all you know is that you have been corresponding anonymously with someone through notes hidden in books and you may be falling in love. Your multiple attempts to discover the identity of the person have all failed. Including promising to be at the bookstore on your birthday instead of at the ball.

On the night of the masquerade and your 21st birthday, your sister discovers her soulmate in someone else and begs you to take her place. You’re torn but ultimately agree. You dress up in your sister's gown, don your mask, and attend. While you’re there, you see Prince Minho mingling with other guests and when you lock eyes you get the sinking suspicion that you’ve met him before…

Changbin (18+)

Brothers best friend x reader college au

Your older brother, Chan, and your neighbor, Changbin, have been best friends since they were kids. You were just Chan’s little sister for years so you thought that Changbin would never look at you twice, which made your crush on him that much more difficult. Especially since you eventually developed a friendship with the three of you. Halfway through high school, your family moved away for your dad’s job but you went back to college in your hometown.

Low and behold, you run into Changbin again and your friendship picks up right where it left off. The two of you reminisce and he invites you to his place to play Mario Kart and watch Jurassic Park, just like old times. The entire time you’re at his apartment Changbin is nervous around you and you wonder why until you beat him at Mario Kart and tackle him in victory.

Changbin finds himself torn… between his soulmate and his best friend.

Hyunjin (18+)

Rich CEO x Assistant reader au

You and your boss have been exceedingly careful. Hwang Hyunjin is rich and successful and gorgeous and every single woman in his company envies your position, allowing you to be close to such an immaculate being. You, however, find it very stressful. Since you’re both successful adults who haven’t yet found your soulmates, you have to be very careful and go to extreme lengths on occasion to keep from touching. You can’t let love get in the way of your work. It doesn’t stop you from trying to quietly entice him. You often wear borderline sexy outfits to work with the hopes that one day your hot boss will finally touch you to at least see if you’re soulmates, but he’s so hot that you can’t help but feel aroused in his presence. You simply wouldn’t know until then.

One day, Hyunjin has a photoshoot and interview for a high fashion magazine and he looks incredibly delectable. You stay nearby in case he needs something but you keep to your own work. While he’s getting pictures taken, the director gives him a prompt and asks him to think about something that makes him hot. The director wants to sell sex for this collection. When you look up, Hyunjin is staring straight at you and you are not sure how much longer you can keep your hands to yourself.

Jisung (18+)

College student Jisung x slightly older college student barista reader au

Han Jisung is the bane of your existence. You’re both in the same major so you take a lot of the same classes and it’s as if he made it his personal mission to annoy you every time he sees you. He must, because he does. He does it in small ways, like asking you dumb questions during class just to get you riled up, stealing your pens, and overall being a nuisance. Why does he pay so much attention to you?

One day while you’re working at the coffee shop you’re the manager of, Jisung comes in for some coffee and specifically requests for you to make it. Despite the fact that you’re absolutely slammed, you have to comply. You make his drink and pass it to him, not realizing that your fingers brush in the process. Jisung’s demeanor changes immediately, instantly getting a little more serious. You continue working through the rush, wondering why suddenly you feel the intense urge to rail Jisung into the next century.

Closing suddenly can’t come fast enough.

Lee Felix Yongbok (18+)

Professor x graduate student au

Professor Lee’s class is one of the most coveted on campus. It fits into multiple fields of study and even the undergrad students desperately want a chance to take a class with him, even though he only teaches at the master level. You finally get a chance to take his class, lucky since it’s required for you major, and you realize why everyone wants to take his class.

He’s intelligent, he’s fun, he’s charismatic, and he’s positively stunning. He’s easily the most beautiful man you’ve ever laid your eyes on. And even you you’re initially hesitant to act like all the other students in the class and fight for his attention and a chance to touch him just to see if he’s theirs, you find yourself dressing up as well. Not to impress him! Not at all.

One day during class, he asks a few people to collect the paper that is due and you happen to be one of the people he calls on. You gather the papers and ignore the ugly looks from all the others who wish they were in your position. Professor Lee is teaching with no care in the world until you trip on the bottom stair. Papers go flying and your cheeks burn. Professor Lee gasps and helps you gather them while making sure you’re okay.

Without thinking, you reach for one of the papers at the same time and your fingers brush. Felix looks at you, eyes dark and he dismisses class without looking away from you. The class is silent for a moment before he finally tears his eyes away from you. His demeanor changes and he tells the entire class to leave unless they want to fail. You begin to scramble away to follow his orders like an obedient little girl but you freeze when he locks you in his gaze again and rasps: “Not you.”

Seungmin (18+ suggestive)

Lawyer x Lawyer au. Suggestive, no full smut

You and Seungmin have been rivals since law school. Always trying to best each other in your final grades, who got to be valedictorian (it was you), and the most important: who wins the most cases. For years, you two have been working for different law firms in the same building and have been keeping a tally of who wins what.

One day you are pitted against one another in a heated divorce case. Not your usual type of case, but you took it in order to be against Seungmin. The case is emotional and dramatic and you find yourself arguing so intensely that the judge orders a break. You both storm off to the break rooms to console your clients but the hallway is too narrow and for the first time in all these years, you brush arms.

The arousal is instantaneous and you look at each other in equal surprise. You each go to your separate chambers to calm your clients down before you excuse yourself. You seek him out, looking into each office until suddenly someone grabs your arm and pulls you into an empty conference room.

Of all people, why did it have to be him?

Jeongin (18+ Suggestive)

Tattoo artist x client au. Suggestive, no full smut.

You are too innocent for your own good. Jeongin recognizes this in you the second you walk into his tattoo shop in your short pastel skirt and matching top. You ask him if he has time to do a simple tattoo of a line-art flower on your thigh. Obsessed with you already, Jeongin quickly reschedules his next appointment and invites you in. As the only artist in his shop, he can pretty much do whatever he wants. The walls are covered in his art and you know you’ve come to the right place. You discuss the tattoo you want, you fill out the paperwork, and sit down in the chair while he prepares the stencil.

The second his fingers graze your thigh to put the stencil on, several things become apparent to you all at once. First, he’s the hottest guy you’ve ever seen. Second is that this hot guy is your soulmate and you can tell by the stickiness growing between your legs. The third and most important thing?

You forgot to put on underwear this morning.

And Jeongin?

He can definitely smell it.

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icycoldninja · 7 months ago

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hihi!! may i pretty please request some sparda boys + v x musician reader, preferably a pianist or vocalist? would greatly appreciate it i love love love your hcs so much

Yup yup, here you go!

Sparda boys + V x Musician!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

Oh, you've hit the jackpot. Dante loves listening to and playing music; the fact that you're a musician makes it all better.

-Hopefully you play the drums, bass guitar, keyboard, or something like that because Dante rocks the electric guitar.

-If you're a singer, great, Dante will try to start up a 2-person band.

-It probably won't work, but he doesn't care, he just wants an excuse to hang out with his favorite person.

-You and Dante will have a blast jamming together in the lobby of Devil May Cry, pissing off all your neighbors, upsetting Vergil, and scaring off any potential clients.

-You two are an incredibly loud and badass duo, whose music career will probably never take off, but whatever, you only make music because it's fun.

■ Vergil ■

-Vergil is a sophisticated man who appreciates the finer things in life, like classical music.

-He plays the violin himself, so if you play something equally elegant such as the piano, flute, cello, or something like that, he would love it.

-You two could also have jam sessions, except more refined and delicate.

-If you're a good singer, that would be so cool because then Vergil could hav someone sing lyrics while he plays the violin. Of course, he'll have to write the lyrics, (poetry skills finally paying off) but that's just more fun.

-If you happen to play the flute or trumpet very well, you can scare the crap out of Dante by playing mystical music in the middle of the night, making him wonder if Devil May Cry is haunted.

-Or you could serenade Vergil with magical fairytale music and possibly lull him to sleep in the process--whatever works for you.

□ Nero □

-Nero likes heavy metal music with lots of drums, so if you know how to play those, great for you.

-He actually knows a little bit about operating a synthesizer, but nothing more. If you could teach him, that'd be nice.

-He'd love to pick up guitar, but he's way too rough with it and his fingers aren't delicate enough for picking. He actually snapped a couple of strings the first time he tried.

-Nero is also a pretty decent singer. He doesn't have the vocal chords of Freddy Mercury, but he can at least hit high notes pretty well.

-If you are also blessed with awesome singing skills, expect regular karoeke dates, where you and Nero rock out to metal songs, rock songs, and occasionally love ballads.

-Honestly, you two have a better chance at succeeding in the music industry than anyone else mentioned on this list. You two just need a guitarist, maybe a bassist, and you're set.

● V ●

-V, being part of Vergil, enjoys classical music more than anything else--but that doesn't mean he dislikes other types of music.

-V has a secret fascination with pop songs that he just can't understand. Perhaps it's because he's never heard such music before, maybe it's because he just likes the bouncy beats, or maybe it's because he's just a dork.

-Since he is a competent poet, he can easily write lyrics for you, should you happen to be a singer.

-He would love to learn the piano, so if you are able to play, please teach him.

-If you play a string instrument like a violin, guitar, or something like that, V would love to just sit and watch you practice. It's oddly calming.

-If you can play the flute, tuba, or some other similar instrument, he will enjoy observing you play.

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gumballavocadoharry · 8 months ago

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Estrangement:

*This is a POV of you and Harry's daughter Kaitlin. Yn= you and ofc Harry is your husband. Mentions of mistreatment towards their child. Not physical abuse but emotional neglect and somewhat abuse I guess.*

The wind shoved up against my curtains and the open window that let out a surreal glimpse into the real world. The California cotton candy sunset flashed it's colors in the sky, as the darkness of the soon to come night sky would befall it all. There I laid in bed, on my laptop checking out the Instagram friends I had for over the 2 years since I finally decided to create an account. I never posted anything, but it was an escape from the inhabitable environment of home.

Ah to be the middle child-the second to the oldest that was adored and loved by all the family. That was Kimberly. Our parents started the trend of naming us all with the letter K. Kimberly, Kaitlin, Kylie, Kameron and Kristopher (My brothers) and youngest named Kira. All six of with the letter...K. Although despite my name with the familiar syllable...that still didn't make me fit in.

Kimberly had her honors, her trophies hung up as prized possessions for achievements inside and outside school, Kylie had her art that she drew, even having an art wall put into her bedroom because....why not? Then the twins had their sports, the athletic side that earned them several trophies and praise from mom and dad, and then there was Kira. The baby of the family...she didn't have anything except cuteness that came as a surprise to everyone when the twins turned 6. She didn't have to work hard for attention, it came to her whether she wanted it or not.

Then there was me. In everyone's shadow. I liked poetry...I wrote some whenever I could find inspiration...but that didn't matter to anyone. My parents could care less. Kira appreciated it, so I would always doll out time to write about a mystical pony in the sky or a rainbow spotted cheetah that ran on the stars nighttime dust just to have a moment with the little girl before her bedtime.

My hair abruptly blew from the evening breeze that signaled it's reign. I typed away on the keys of my stone colored laptop, hoping one of my friends was up to chat. It wasn't often this peaceful in the house besides my bedroom, where laughter filled the hallways or the downstairs, or screams and cries echoed throughout bedrooms, mostly by the screaming toddler that didn't want to go to bed while all her siblings stayed up into late hours. That's where I'd come in with a story that sent little Kira right to sleep, hugging her stuffed moon pillow with the cutest little innocent face on it. Mom and dad never appreciated my efforts in putting my sister, their child to sleep. Almost like I was the ghost haunting the house just doing random deeds that no one felt the need to acknowledge.

Except for Kira, I was alone. The earthy sky and the now booming stars showed as my nightly companions if I happened to be up into late hours like tonight.

No reply from the instagram friends. The internet people from behind a screen that could live a thousand miles away from the scorching California summer, that despite the burning temperatures, still managed to give that bohemian summertime aesthetic all year round. Fall was a favored season of mine mostly due to the summer's temper finally cooling down for the year where sweat jackets were all anyone needed to step a foot outside.

My brown strands that were mixed with a honey blonde, laid neatly on my shoulders as I contemplated going downstairs to grab a drink. Maybe I'll be able to strike up a conversation with Kimberly about what type of tricks I can use to get the professor to lighten my load in my assignments. I was just kidding myself....goody two shoes will run to mommy and daddy and spill the beans, leading to a stern lecture about being honest and doing what's required of me in all I do in school despite never having the help I needed.

But to my luck, school was almost over and soon I'll be able to apply for a job that will land me into a steady track of a good income. I can say that I did this all by myself. My dad. The college professor at one of the most prestigious schools in the country couldn't even lift a finger to help me with any work even when I've asked. Long nights spent at the library, studying through every English literature book I could find is what pushed me up to the top tier. My mom being no better was a nag. She nagged me about nothing being done right with my chores all because I was 'studying' too much and was actually talking about me wanting to drop out.

I pushed them all away and forged a path on my own with the help of ambition and black coffee on those all nighters. I decided against going downstairs and just focused on my poetry. Little footsteps crawled through the mellow lit hallway and a soft knocked appeared on my door.

I carefully tiptoed to the door and spotted my little sister, sucking her thumb and finally suckling out about how she wanted another story read. I rubbed my strained eyes with some upcoming dark circles growing under them like a raccoon and invited her in. She took a seat on my bed as I read to her from a book of my poems that I had made myself.

Kira giggled as I imitated the voices of the characters I had imagined for them. "And then the big horse said-"

"Kira what are you doing out of bed!?" Mom came in, eyes instantly reverting to me as if I had somehow forced Kira out of bed to listen to my somber poems filled with deep angst and bitterness that I dare not squawk out to dispassionate family. Not even Kira knows the depths of emptiness I feel from a day-to-day basis from the excruciating nonchalant parents I have that force me to swallow myself whole and shield myself yet at the same time whenever I can feel disapproval coming on strong. Only me, never Kim, Kam, Kris, Ky or Kir thank goodness. I couldn't bare my youngest sister going through the pains of not having someone. And when I'm gone, I dread to see just how much of that nightmare is true.

Mom swept Kira off the bed like dust being swept in a dustpan and sweetly carried her back into her bedroom. But not before letting me have it, like she saw me as some villain trying tear apart her family. "Kaitlin! You are not supposed to disturb your sister when she's sleeping! You know better!"

"It's okay mommy, I went into her room," Sweet Kira insisted. "It's okay honey, let's just get you back to bed." The woman's eyes diverted themselves back to me. This time with more coldness. "You stay in your room and be quiet. I don't want to hear a peep from you." She sneered. She whisked Kira away and that was that. I listened closely by the doorframe of my bedroom, only to hear exaggerated kisses coming from Kira's bedroom. A smile snuck itself onto my face somehow, maybe for the sake of Kira getting all the love she deserves.

Coldness covered my back like a blanket, as I could see mom leaving Kira's room. She stared at my room with a deep glare before continuing on downstairs. I quietly got up and went back to my bed, staring at the half read story that was written for Kira. My eyes gazed back to the stars that had now showed themselves with their yellow glares that shined down on my hazel eyes. One day....it'll all be over. I tucked myself into bed after doing a french braid and laid back in the purple and gray covers that kept me warm until dawn. My opened window still let in that summertime breeze that swished the sweat from my head and the tears from my eyes.

Then darkness. I was asleep.

I woke up to the sun glaring through my bedroom window, it's fumy glow rested on my face as nature's alarm clock. I rubbed my tired eyes to notice the window was still open from last night. The fresh morning dew air tickled my nose as it swirled around the sunlight sherbet sky. The curtains swung back and fourth to the rhythm of the wind that captured a cool breeze into my room that made it less sufferance than yesterday's furious heat that left everyone's tongues out panting like a dog.

I made my way downstairs, finally getting ahold of some orange juice before the breakfast rush came in. Peace and quiet, my personal serenity from the other seven residents living in the perfect big house on a white picket fence hill. I swallowed harshly at the thought and continued pouring my orange juice into a big glass cup with pretty little designs on it. I sat in the kitchen nook taking in the summer morning that allowed me my peace and happiness even if it was to be temporary.

I closed my eyes and let my mind take me into my safe space, my personal little bubble that kept me sane, happy and wanted. Bouncing on bubbles type of happy, sunflower kiss happy, swimming in a bed full of lavenders happy. I breathed taking it all in, letting my brain fill with all sorts of dreams. Maybe I could catch them if I just....

The atmosphere changed. Dad had entered the room...I could feel it. The deep dive I had taken into fantasy world, was now tethering me back up to the main land. The somber reality of it all.

I opened my eyes, only to be met with distant and cold green ones that were so close, yet so far away. Hm, reminds me of Kristopher. He acted just like dad....only a little nicer. I was more accepting of his behavior because he's my brother....and siblings are supposed to tease each other right? But father's and daughters.....well dad's was more brutal...more condescending. It was inconsolable at times. The bright crimson sky had now metaphorically turned into an ugly black and grayish one filled with nightmares and turmoil.

He didn't even say good-morning. And well neither did I so we're even. "Good morning." I said finally grasping myself from my biased rudeness. No sense for me to be a jerk as well. Still no response just a "Mhmm." It wasn't until Kim joined in that he greeted her with a kiss and a "Good morning" as usual. Once again, alienated. Pretty soon the whole crowd started coming in and I was sitting in the kitchen nook still alienated from the residents.

Loneliness engulfed me like a wave washing over sand and leaving it moist and crushed, as the pack started rolling in for the breakfast rush. I ended up making some toast, coffee and cereal and took it all upstairs to my bedroom to eat and relax. But as my luck had it, I heard my dad's voice shift from the living and then eventually to the staircase. "Kaitlin! Come here now!" He yelled with a repugnant sneer.

I traipsed downstairs but was stopped midway by my dad putting his hand up. "What's this?" He said with a condescending tone. I looked down to see some spilled milk from when I was taking my cereal upstairs. "Milk," I answered. "I want you to come and clean this up." He finished, venom practically spilling from him lips. Dad pursed his lips and gave a strong grisly glare as I continued on down the stairs and made my way to the kitchen to grab some paper towels. As I returned, dad made me get on my hands and knees while he towered over me like a heavy rock threatening to crush it's little twigs that lie beneath it. He wanted me to feel powerless and patronized..that's where he got his second wind.

I cleaned up the mess and just took the paper towels upstairs with me to my bedroom, so I could tend to my soggy cereal and toast and cold coffee. Tears threatened to spill from my eyes as I took a sip from my cold watered down coffee. My small breakfast was ruined thanks to my dad who became livid over some spilled milk. I could hear him laughing it up with the rest of the family, not even caring that I wasn't to take delight in the family breakfast. I was too timid to even bother going downstairs and heating my coffee up, so I just took it as it was and left it at that.

My lips quivered as I took a bit from my toast and another from my cereal. I stomached through it and then tarnished the remains once I felt it safe to enter the kitchen. Kylie, Kimberly, Kristopher, Kameron and Kira were all the ones mom and dad seemed to truly love. The way mom flashes her natural motherly smile at them, they way dad grins as he shares his fatherly wisdom with them, encouraging them to give it their all and be the best version of themselves.

It was like seeing everyone's happiness through the eyes of a ghost. The only thing I focused on was throwing away my garbage and heating up a new cup of coffee. That's what I was getting because I deserved better. My spirits kept me afloat, through a complete tug-of-war with my heart and despondent thoughts. The beep of the microwave didn't stop anyone from their chatting, so I took my hot cup of coffee and made my way upstairs to my bedroom to drown myself in some school work. The sooner I graduated, the sooner I would be getting that job as a writer. I plugged in my headphones and drowned myself in writing my essay to send into the teacher.

Trade school was like that. But it was less stressful then college so I took that over any day, the last thing I needed was more heartache to add to what I was facing at home. My endurance was tested everyday with new and different things. I should be grateful. It's made me a stronger person I guess.

Later that afternoon, I asked mom if I could go to the library to study. I prayed she'd let me go because in her eyes, it would get me out of the house. Of course she said yes, probably thinking the same thing just in a more strident way of thinking. I grabbed my backpack and dashed out the door. The last thing I needed was another setback like the one dad gave me this morning.

The library was finally peace and quiet. It reminded me of the tranquility of relief I felt this morning. Just me and the other 4 people scattered across the section. Disappearing for me felt freeing, no one could hurt me, no one could say anything that breaks down the brick wall that has encased me inside. I pulled a few promising books from the shelf before diving right into to a computer and finishing my studies there. My eyes moved back and fourth from the bright screen, then to the basic pages of the book. I was chiefly more focused on the book and writing notes into my online notebook to clear the clutter of having scattered flash cards or notebook pages that were trailed into different sections that after awhile became confusing and only gave me the bare minimum of what I needed.

My head was consistently shoved into a book for 3 hours straight until I decided enough was enough and that I needed to catch a break from all the studying. So I grabbed my backpack, swung it over my shoulder and left the library for some coffee. I walked along the sandy colored pathway to the nearest downtown coffee shop, only to see the line was overwhelmingly vast. The galling amount of customers was going to be too much for me to handle if I hadn't noticed the blonde haired boy serving the drinks. I quickly plopped myself in line, anxiously waiting to be served by the charmer making the lattes.

To my one in a million break, the line moved rather faster than when I had looked in the window. The varying customers left one by one out of the line with their espresso treats, while I was only three customers in from meeting fate in a green apron and a dimpled smile. My cheeks burned when I swore he made eye contact with me. These hazel eyes really captured his attention?

I was already rehearsing my order in my head for when I got to the counter as not to choke on the right words from a pretty face making direct contact with me. An iced vanilla latte with whipped cream and caramel drizzle.....and maybe one of those fudge brownies that look so delicious?

Finally was up to the line after the woman in front of me got her regular hazelnut coffee that she too impatient to drink once she was out of the line. I cleared my throat and looked confidently in the barista's eyes, despite his matching hazel ones being intimidating ample. "I-I would like an iced vanilla latte with whipped cream and caramel sauce. And a fudge brownie please." I politely requested.

The blonde haired boy typed in the order and asked if there was anything else I would like. "No that'll be all." He smiled and waited for me to hand him my card. With shaky, infatuated hands, I gave him my card to swipe. "Alrighty, you're all set." He smiled and immediately got to work on my coffee and snack. I blushed deeply as I remembered his fingers touched my hand as he took my card. I shuffled my card back into my wallet as a partial excuse to shield my face from his seeing me scarlet stained cheeks from his encounter.

Pretty soon, I saw my coffee was served right in front of me along with a packaged brownie cake and a handsome smile that farewelled me with; "Have a nice day." I smiled back and repeated those words to him before grabbing my coffee and brownie and then leaving. I shoved my phone into my pocket to enjoy my brownie and iced coffee as I walked along downtown and sight see all the different tall buildings that and the short offices that still added depth to the anomalous city. I finished my brownie, now it was just my coffee that needed my attention I sipped along to when I spotted a large building that sent phobic chill up my spine. My heart raced at an irrational but sensible speed the more I walked past it.

My father's school where he worked. Sure he was a hit with all the kids that he shared his immeasurable knowledge of life and of science with. Word on the street was Professor styles is a excellent teacher and his skills are astute! Even I had to agree with it to a perspective...dad was one very intelligent man. But a horrid father to me. I decided to suck in my hostage breath and face a very inhibit fear of mine that shouldn't even began to exist. I walked through the tall brownish red doors that led me to the highly lavish main floor of classrooms and lockers that were attached to the ornate walls. I chugged my coffee down anxiously as I wandered through the exquisite college that I felt out of place at.

My feet dared not turn to the cursed third floor, room 109 where my dad taught his classes there only to those who were desirable in his eyes...which was everyone but me. But my inquisitive brain was in full control of my feet that took me straight to the elevator, and pressed the third floor button almost as if it had some macabre pleasure in seeing myself become jaded and disgustingly humiliated from the elective situations I sometimes put myself in involving my parents. It was obvious that I just didn't have that type of relationship with them...I just didn't have it.

The elevator doors opened to reveal a still expensively decorated hallway and classroom door. My stomach grew into knots as I tiptoed down the quiet hallway nervously sipping my iced coffee to it's ending. My throat became dry and hollow and my lungs grew bitter the more my eyes darted across the different classroom door numbers.

107, 106, 108...109.

My lips became dry and chapped as my now pale skin grew more and more white as shivers sprinted inside of me. My hands literally shook from wanting to open the door to the large college classroom styled like an auditorium just to sit in and maybe listen to a lecture from which my dad had rehearsed specifically for the class. Sweat introduced itself into my forehead as I thought about the consequences if I were to be seen by him. The embarrassment that I cause him might make his class lose respect for him which would then make him furious with me, leading to him making my life more of a living hell.

I decided it wouldn't be that bad since the lecture hall was so big, that it would be a in a million of him spotting me. Maybe, I just could ponder on one or two words that incited percipience in me. I opened the door and took a seat at the top that was hard to spot from a below point of view. I finished my coffee and listened intently to the lecture dad was giving on science and humanity.

"The human heart is a vital organ in the body that gives us life..it allows us to run and walk and jump and survive even in the most tedious situations. But what about the heart of the mind? The one that allows us to feel, to think, to see not with our eyes...but with our perception?"

I was so invested into the conversation that I didn't even realize the worst....I had been spotted.

Dad's eyes, once full of insight and deep logic...now were glacial, passionless and aloof. I swallowed hard to lubricate my throat from the tense dryness I felt all until now. Should I leave? I wondered turning away from the gelid professor. I stood up and walked out of the lecture, not even caring what anyone else thought. They were probably too focused on the 'world's best teacher.'

I exited the school and ran as fast as I could outside, to get lost in the day-to-day of downtown.

Back at home, I entered the house barely making eye contact with anyone and hurrying myself up to my room and locking the door behind me. I didn't come until later when I was called downstairs in a callous voice.

I demurely opened the door, stepped outside in the cold wooded floor hallway and walked down the matching icy wooded steps. There dad was sitting...waiting for me with resentment deep inside his expression.

"Hey dad, mom says dinner is almost ready," Kristopher interrupted to my gratefulness. "Thank you bud, I'll be right there." A completely different man! So warm and gentle and was completely placated in his temper. But he switched it off when his eyes darted towards me. I came closer and sat across from him, almost wanting to intimidate him.

"Why were you in the college today?" He said quietly with a hiss to his words. His illiberal tone made me rethink my answer that was drowning in my paralyzed throat that was dead to speak. "I-I heard your speech....I mean....I wanted to hear your speech because it was so good and I had just come back from the library and- "

"Isn't studying your own topic enough for you?" My dad sneered bitterly. "What are you taking these classes for if you can't even have the passion to listen to them?" I blinked back tears and swallowed hard as to not choke out a sob. "I don't want you doing that ever...again. Understood?" Dad looked at me with abhor, building deep in his eyes the more his eyes stared deeply into mine. I nodded before retiring to my bedroom and missing dinner that was waiting for everyone downstairs. My stomach growled harshly as the only thing I had eaten was a brownie and an iced coffee for the past few hours.

But my intemperate bitter sadness nested itself around me, as I cried into my pillow, tears puncturing wrinkles and damp spots into the pillowcase. I sobbed loudly into my pillow, not allowing room for any shallow breaths to escape my lungs that were too busy spilling out bottled up fuming emotions to care. It wasn't until a soft knock on my door interrupted my emotional fest. I doddered over to the door, wiping my face careen hoping the red eyes would be seen as an allergy.

I cracked open the oak colored door to see the little girl with the pigtails and two chocolate chip cookies in her hand, anxiously waiting for the door to open to her invite. "Hey Kira, what are doing?" "You didn't come down for dinner, so I brought you these cookies so you wouldn't be hungry."

My heart stung with hope. Someone...someone cared after everything that went on today. I meekly opened the door and invited Kira in. I shared the other cookie with her maybe as a subliminal award for caring. And because, I was deeply grateful for her generosity. As much as I tried to hide it, the sweet 7 year old noticed my teary trails and my red burning eyes of sadness. "Why are you crying Kaitlin?" She had that innocent little lisp that foiled her from saying my name in it's clearness, but I fully understood what she meant.

I sniffled, chocking back a pathetic cry as to not let a 7 year old know every painful detail, detailing the atrocious events of tonight. "Katie's very sad because she had a bad day." To put it simply. Kira nuzzled herself over to me and hugged me tightly in her little arms. Her puny little body, filled a warm sensation of love that was describable in this moment. If I could pick her up and move her with me when I go, I would no doubt about it.

After everyone had retired themselves upstairs for leisure or sleep, I snuck downstairs to the kitchen where the leftovers were stored away and plopped a reasonable portion of meatloaf, mashed potatoes and asparagus onto my plate that I heated in the microwave oven for a measly 3 minutes. I had poured a glass of lemonade and made a neat napkin with a fork and then moved quicker than light upstairs with my dinner once it was finished.

I ate silently in my room, concentrating on each bite that I collected with my fork and hungrily shoved into my mouth. Once my dinner was finished, I set aside my plate and got to work on some more assignments. The sky was a peach rose-colored that struck awe with me. The subliminal stars appeared in the sky as the day was soon about to hand it's shift over to a mystifying night that would have more of jovial breeze than the burning summer's eve. The weather shouted California as the summer gained more reign through the months.

I still admired the way the heat itched my skin, and the way the sun slapped it's sunny glow onto my face in the morning. It just felt so earthy and sweet, refreshing as I would say taking a walk into the woods where the sun played peek-a-boo behind the tall lanky trees and that ignited the gentle birds to tweet their song like melodies with such grace.

A prompt I had used for my writing assignment earned me a meritorious A+. I remembered the last time I had showed my parents an A+ I had received from a class, their reaction was that of a nonchalant wind blowing the green grass in the midday. "That's nice Kaitlin." Mom said with distance. "Nice." Dad had barely looked up from his cell phone. That was more important. "Had I offended them?" My 6 year old mind thought. But no, that was just their initial reaction....their typical reaction.

I was used to giving myself pats on the back for a job well done or from a unwonted teacher who would praise me and give me a reward for my hard work. Usually it was those ones who showed up to my recitals, to my plays and to field day where I showed off any talent I had in those categories. I just focused on that. Not the reality of my parents shoving us all in the car to see the twin's soccer games, or Kylie's art shows or Kimberly's extracurricular college activities. I sniffled while writing the last sentence of my writing assignment. I sent it in and then logged out for the night, wanting to catch up on some well needed rest.

I woke up the smell of bacon cooking. My tummy growled as I thought about the sweet meal that was waiting downstairs. I knew I would never be apart of it, but nothing like that was going to faze me seeing at how I was only two assignments short from graduating. Everything was set, my money, empty boxes ready to be filled with every belonging I had ever owned in this room and a present for Kira. She needed it, after all....I wasn't ever coming back. Exhilaration climaxed through my body as my pins and needles tongue finally licked my lips to motivate them to open in a delighted open smile that flashed my deep dimples and my cherry sour lips.

Rent for an apartment was going to be no problem as I had already started creating my resume. All I needed was the degree that would set it all on track for me. I had saved some energy bars away in my desk and nibbled on them before grabbing my backpack filled with the most important books and raced downstairs. "Hey," I interrupted as the room fell silent. Not with grasping attention toward the speaker because of the importance of their words, but because of the murk hue that spoiled the family's breakfast. My siblings looked at me with confusion while my parents looked on with a sullen glower look.

"Could I go to the library? I really need to study," As if they needed an explanation. Mom looked to dad, waiting for an answer. "Be back by 5....it's your brother's soccer match tonight." I nodded gratefully and escaped the house as they continued their lovely meal. In a feeling a nostalgia, I practically skipped to the library for the last time in a sense of studying. This was it...the moment I had been waiting for my entire life! My ticket to self freedom. Finally setting myself free from the sinkhole of my home. Or should I say current place of residence.

I hopped on the computer and completed the two assignments with such ease, that I wondered if I was really that lucky. The words; Congratulations Kaitlin! You have officially completed your course in creative writing. Your graduation date will be posted to your home page along with the expected arrival date of your diploma.

Tears...tears fell freely from my eyes looking back and fourth at the screen of my success. I celebrated with a coffee and trip to the store to buy myself a beautiful locket in remembrance of this day.

As promised, I was home by five cautiously coming through the door, and wiping my sneakers off on the welcome mat as routine. My backpack tiredly slung over my shoulder tracing itself down to my elbow as I shut the rounded shaped blue door soundly to announce my punctual presence in the house. Confusion stabbed me as to why they would want an 'outcast' at the soccer game when they didn't even want me at the dinning room table?

I walked upstairs and changed clothing not realizing the house being suspiciously quiet. "Mom, dad? I'm home!" Those words cringed well with me. I checked everyone's bedrooms, but no one in sight. I called their cellphones, but no answer. I sat in my room, staring up at the ceiling in what to do next. The white colored plastered ceiling didn't give me any idea as to where everyone had gone. To the store maybe?

Hours passed until the sound of the door unlocking grabbed my attention. I rushed to the stairwell to see the whole gang coming in with Kristopher and Kameron holding their trophies while being cheered on by everyone for a great game. It still didn't register with me that maybe the game started earlier and they didn't have time to call me? Or was that giving them too much of an inch?

It was simple....they didn't want me there.

It shouldn't have hurt by now as I already knew I wasn't part of the family, but that didn't stop me from racing back to my bedroom and crying my eyes out in my pillow again. There was no questions about it anymore....

It was time to go.

Part 2 will be posted soon!!!!!

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raayllum · 1 year ago

Note

Do you have any headcanons of callum being protective/considerate/thoughtful with rayla? I'm so in love with how gentle he was with her this season.

Callum planting flowers from the Silvergrove in the castle gardens as a surprise and then convincing her to take a 'moonlit' stroll with him one night once they're ready so he can show them off

It's non traditional but he knows the main reason she hates the water is because she always feels unsteady on her feet so he gets her a grip mat for the tub so she can feel more centered

Redoing her braid for her whenever it comes undone and stitching up little tears and frayed edges in her clothing/cloaks because he knows how to sew

On that note: getting her a new cloak because her old one is tattered and doing up the clasp for her / tugging her in close by the hood for nose and mouth kisses if he's not smiling too much

Him and Ezran collecting a whole bunch of things during the timeskip to save up to give to her so that the castle can feel like home

So many forehead kisses and just gentle hand squeezes. Three squeezes means "I love you" and he'll trace the words onto her back or side sometimes when they're just laying together

He definitely talked privately to Opeli (and probably the guards) after the 5x01 throne room debacle and gave them a piece of his mind / new protocol to follow when it comes to them being concerned about Rayla's actions (ficlet here)

For that matter: absolute death glares to anyone who gives her a hard time at the castle / any diplomatic function (and probably almost causes a political incident or two over it)

Him murmuring the sappy love poetry he's read in her ear even when she rolls he eyes and can't quite hide her smile, working up his nerve to write personal poems of his own for her

Little things he did this season like being the one to handle the reigns of their mount the bulk of the time as soon as they started sharing because he knows she's not a morning person and is a light sleeper, so she holds onto his middle and he lets her doze for most of the day whenever he can

Requesting mints at inns they stay in that don't have any already / using magic to carve the soap into little shapes if they aren't that way to begin with and leaving them, once again, as little surprises for her to discover

If/when Rayla wants or needs time away from Stella (sparring perhaps) the cuddlemonkey is almost always with Callum and he makes sure she's cared for too. She's fussy about getting brushed and hard to pin down thanks to the six hands, so he'll usually help get her sitting still while Rayla does the actual grooming

Him using cooling spells for her when it's hot on summer nights (like in 4x07) and heating his hands to lay on her tummy when she gets period cramps

Normally he'd never throw his weight around as a prince, but he absolutely will on her behalf, whether it's getting something she wants from a servant tea/food wise or making sure they are treated well / have a nice place to stay while travelling

"It's none of your concern--" "It very much is her concern, and watch your tone."

Giving her his scarf whenever it's cold, of course

Making sure she's not overworking her bad wrist and giving little massages to that and her ankles when she's been doing a lot of jumps/movements that day, especially as they get older

His sketchbook is equally hers (even if she uses it far less often of course) and there's a few pages near the back designated for her to leave notes or doodles or whatever she wants when she's bored and/or he's not using it (he's very proud of how her drawing has improved)

Getting heavy duty enchanted blinds from Lux Aurea for her room so it can keep the sun out so she can sleep in / can give her room more of a twilight light quality so it can remind her of the Silvergrove (if she wants)

There are some meetings he can't get out of as crown prince but they're long and boring so he does his best to convince Rayla to go and spend her afternoon doing something she wants. (She usually stays for at least the first half anyway to support him and Ez)

Drawing memories and stories she tells him about her family and then giving her the pages so she can hold onto / remember them

Rayla still having a hard time articulating how she's feeling sometimes and getting upset/angry/embarrassed when it comes out wrong, so he takes her hand and gets her to take a steadying breath and start over with a gentle "Try again. What are you meaning to say?" if she says something obtuse/that comes out wrong

Ofc taking care of her when she's sick no matter how disgruntled or snotty she gets and reading to her quietly/stroking her hair until she falls asleep

Taking her to his favourite places in the castle/kingdom/Pentarchy for dates and private times to hang out alone, insisting on carrying their picnic basket because he's a Prince, Rayla, and chivalry isn't dead

Callum working very hard to learn traditional Moonshadow elf (no matter how much she teases him for his pronunciation) so he can use it to propose to her

#rayllum #headcanons #leftboob #requests #mine #thanks for asking #pining!callum #tdp #the dragon prince #supportive callum

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narrans · 8 months ago

Text

My Borrowed Son | 21 | Lyn-ding A Hand

Chapter Twenty-One | Lyn-ding A Hand

The summer came and went and, before he knew it, Parker was a sophomore in high school as a thirteen year old boy.

The fallout with Selina had almost no affect on the overall friend group except for Spencer, who decided to stay with the friend group despite his twin sister’s pouting. Spencer said that his sister was just trying to be nosey and that while she did have a massive crush on Parker, he knew because she wouldn’t shut up about it, it was only part of her motivation to ask Parker to be her boyfriend.

Her curiosity got the better of her and it divided some of the friends for a short time while their versions of the event circulated.

Regardless, summer made for some great movie nights for the group of childhood friends and all of them managed to find time to see Parker virtually. There were large gaps of time where Parker wouldn’t hear from anyone, but that was okay.

The incident with Selina made Parker feel a bit more reserved and protective of himself, specifically about his condition. More time was dedicated to writing and studying late in the evenings because of it. The fallout initially left a bit of a hole in Parker’s chest, but it was something Parker felt himself getting over quickly.

Selina always had a flare for the dramatic and now was no exception.

Parker also knew that the frustration of people not knowing about his condition and keeping it a secret would take its toll on him. It made him feel lonely and guarded, which combined during the new school year as Parker being a lot more quiet than he was in his previous grades.

Some of his friends did ask why he was reluctant and if he felt comfortable with sharing more, but Parker quickly shut all of it down and retracted into himself.

That is… until it came time to partner up in one of his English literature classes.

Parker had hoped that he might be left to his own devices and write a story on his own, but there was an even number of students in the class which dashed his hopes. Parker sighed and leaned back in his chair. If he knew the general pattern, he would be writing the entire story alone along with the report and someone else would get a piece of the grade he earned.

As his teacher read off the names of his fellow classmates, Parker heard his name called along with the name of a girl he had become acquainted with last year because of her writing. They had actually been at the same middle school as well and even shared a few classes now that Parker thought about it. They had never officially met, but that didn’t stop him from knowing her name.

Lyndsie Sullivan.

She was a bit of a quiet, pensive girl, but her poetry was absolutely flawless. It reflected a spunky, upbeat kind of girl who was mature far beyond her years. Parker didn’t need to be an adult to tell that Lyndsie was well spoken and knew exactly what she wanted and was willing to wait or do whatever was necessary to have it.

She also had a subtle boldness about her. During a few instances where one of the other students was being picked on, it was Lyndsie who helped come to that student’s aid. There was a subtle intimidation that loomed behind her bright green eyes, and she knew it.

So, when Parker heard his name paired with hers, Parker felt a mild sense of unease settle over him. There was something about her that, when they had class discussion together, that made Parker feel like Lyndsie could see right through the camera.

Still, this was just for class. He wasn’t going to talk to her outside of class. They were meant to talk for assignments and that was all.

Lyndsie came over to her new desk in front of Parker’s camera that was set up in class and smiled politely as she organized all of her books and notes on the desk.

“Hey, Parker. It’s nice to meet you finally,” smiled Lyndsie. “I think we’ve had a few classes together last year and in middle school, but we’ve just been ships passing in the night.” Parker looked into her eyes and saw a bright spark of creativity blooming in those green eyes of hers.

He smiled back politely, readjusting his tie and nodded. “Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing. It’s nice to meet you too Lyndsie.”

“Lyn, please,” emphasized Lyndsie as she began tying her thick brown hair into a low bun. “Don’t get me wrong. I like my name, but I let my friends go by my nickname.” Parker snorted in amusement.

“Are we friends?” he asked. Lyn smiled and leaned forward on the desk, resting her chin onto the palm of her propped up hand.

“I think so. We have each other’s names and we’ve had a few classes together. We just need to find out our favorite colors and we’re basically besties,” grinned Lyn. “Unless you’re not comfortable with that and prefer to be strictly professional; but where’s the fun in that?”

Parker felt his cheeks getting a bit warm. Something about her features and her easygoing personality suddenly made him remember those nervous butterflies he felt when he and Selina talked all those months ago and, instantly, he felt himself wanting to retract. The last time he was asked his favorite color was when Selina went into that random rant about how boyfriends and girlfriends told each other things, and Parker didn’t want a repeat performance.

“Um… well… we’re at school and it’s supposed to be more professional,” stated Parker. Lyn sighed before shrugging her shoulders and snagging what looked like a fountain pen from her desk.

“Fair enough, Mr. Silverstein. Now, onto the assignment. We don’t have a lot of time in class to finish discussing what our story is going to be about, and I don’t want to have to work extra after school on something we could’ve knocked out right here and now,” stated Lyn as she began making notes at the top of the page.

Her go get em attitude was something Parker wasn’t familiar with from his fellow students. Many of them took their education seriously, yes; however, it was usually Parker who had to bring the conversation back on track. Rarely did they delve immediately into the assignment.

It was also odd that Lyn didn’t ask anything about his condition. Parker’s experience was that ninety-nine percent of people, when one-on-one, would ask him at least something about why he was behind the camera at home and not in class.

Not her.

It was, in a word, refreshing, and soon Parker found himself enthralled in their conversation about what kind of story they were going to create for their literature course.

“So, part of the rubric says that we have to do extensive research in the area of our choosing. It must be ‘historically accurate’ within reason for a fantasy novel. So, to me, this could mean a lot of things, and I can send an email regarding it, but I’m thinking that we need to find something we’re both interested in that could potentially involve a lot of research.

“We also need to cite our sources for whatever we choose, which will be fun. So, what do you want to do some research on? What do we want our story to be about?” asked Lyn as she tore her eyes away from the screen and onto Parker.

Parker, whose eyes were mostly scanning the rubric, glanced over to catch her eyes again. A shiver crawled down his spine as he glanced back at the digital checklist their story needed to achieve.

“Well, I know what I would want to do, but it’s not for everyone,” muttered Parker as an idea was already formulating in his mind.

“Oh? Let’s hear it. No bad ideas, relatively speaking,” stated Lyn.

Parker bit his lip and glimpsed his space poster in the corner of his study room. He sighed and thought there was no harm in suggesting it. It was an idea he had already, but he planned on this being part of an independent series he would publish on his own.

“Well… okay… hear me out…” started Parker before taking a breath before the plunge. “I’m really into space and satellites and everything. Could we do some kind of space adventure?” Lyn hummed contemplatively before nodding slowly.

“I… think we could do something with that. I don’t know much about space. Would this be about some kind of technology AI thing that finds a civilization? Or is it like Star Trek where you’ve got a captain of a ship and they go exploring around?”

“Um… maybe a mix of the two? I was just thinking about topics in general,” said Parker, surprised that Lyn was so easily convinced. Lyn hummed again and scribbled something into her notebook.

Passively, she remarked, “Personally, I’m kind of into pirates and all of that. Hey! If you’re not totally sold on a futuristic era, do you want to do a little combination of the two ideas? We have precedence with that one show ‘Firefly.’ Have you ever seen it?”

Parker had actually seen the show recently, but he didn’t see the very end of it because he had just started it.

“You want to do space pirate cowboys?” asked Parker, finding the idea amusing and alluring at the same time.

“Something like that. ‘Firefly’ mixed with a touch of ‘Treasure Planet’ and all of a sudden we have a hit. What do you think? Originality points and all that. Plus, we can each do research and break up the work if we want. I don’t know. What are your thoughts?” asked Lyn.

Parker thought about her proposition and already his mind was coming up with a bunch of fun ideas. He could see a crew of space pirates going around breaking all of the rules on different planets but also helping everyone. A kind of Robin Hood like character came to mind, and Parker found himself not opposed to the concept.

“Alright,” he said finally, noticing that Lyn had torn her eyes away from her writing to look up at him. “Sure. Let’s try it out.”

A beaming smile from Lyn suddenly made Parker’s cheeks very warm all of a sudden, making him look away from the camera as he quickly tapped away on his keyboard and shared his screen as a document.

It took only ten minutes for the two of them to come up with a solid concept for a story.

Together, they decided that the Galactic Federation, the overall ruling governmental body of the Interstellar Collective, had been corrupted by career politicians who had forgotten what it was like to scrape up a living. As a result, piracy and black markets blossomed in the oddest places – and space was no exception.

Captain Orion Zane, a charismatic leader with a true heart of gold, decided he wouldn’t stand for the injustice. He and a group of eleven others ran a ship that they collectively named “Karma” to intercept convoy ships and break up blockades of oppressive spaceships.

The announcement of class ended their creative flow, but Lyn offered her number and Discord username if Parker wanted to add her as a friend and talk more about the story later. In the meantime, she would start investigating the definition of “pirate,” marine laws that would apply in international waters as well as space, and weapons that traditional pirates used to see what they could futurize.

“Okay. Sounds like a plan to me. I’ll talk to you later Parker. I mean… Mr. Silverstein,” said Lyn.

“Bye, Lyn. Oh… sorry… Ms. Sullivan,” said Parker before exiting to the lobby and preparing for his next class.

For whatever reason, Parker suddenly found himself completely distracted for the rest of the day. He was researching space during math and history, and when he wasn’t doing that he was thinking about the way Lyn looked at him over the screen.

Every time he thought about her, everything in him tingled and made him almost uncomfortably warm. What was almost alarming was that Parker liked this feeling. Just thinking about her dark green eyes flicking up from her paper made him shiver.

Class continued as normal, and Parker found himself eagerly awaiting his English class just to talk to Lyn again. He even dared to add her on Discord so the two of them could talk after school ended. Their conversation were primarily about their collective story, but the conversation would often drift to other topics by the end of the evening when they had to go finish work or eat dinner.

Parker liked talking to Lyn. There was something about her that drew him in regardless of topic. What made it better was that they were similarly aligned in how they thought class should be conducted, what they thought about different elements of life, and even their favorite activities which were numerous and all over the place.

She was a fascinating person to talk to, and Parker realized later that his face would ache from how much he was smiling.

It wasn’t until dinner nearly four weeks later that Parker found himself snapped out of his stupor when his mom asked how he was feeling and if there was anything wrong.

“Your cheeks are so pink. You’re not running a fever, are you?” she noticed as she dished out a bit of fish, greens, and rice into a small dish for Parker.

“Oh um… well… I was just thinking,” said Parker.

“Thinking? About what?” asked his mom. Parker took the dish and sat down at his place on the table while his mom fixed herself a plate.

“Well… we got new partners today for English class and… well… she’s… really nice…” said Parker. The gleam in his mom’s eyes was undeniable as she sat down at the table and smiled knowingly.

“Oh? She?” prompted his mom. Parker felt his cheeks blushing harder than ever. He knew he must look as red as a cherry tomato as he quickly blessed his food and began eating.

“Y-yeah,” he said as he shoveled a part of rice into his mouth.

“Really? What’s her name?” asked his mom. Parker knew he was busted at this point. It wasn’t like he was keeping a lot of secrets from his mom, but he also didn’t mention his adventure into the walls or the breakup with Selina.

He licked his lips and kept his eyes averted ever so slightly, wondering why he was feeling suddenly shy about talking to his mom, as he said, “Lyn. Technically, it’s Lyndsie Sullivan, but she likes her friends to call her Lyn.”

Amanda smiled as she brought her cup up to her lips and took a drink. Parker unknowingly had been talking a lot about Lyn recently, but the context was usually class and how good she was at pretty much everything. Amanda suspected Parker might be developing his first real crush, but actually hearing it was both exciting and worrisome.

Amanda worried about when this day would happen. She wanted her son to develop feelings for someone in his own time, but she also knew the complications of his size when talking to someone who was much bigger than he was. There were so many factors when developing a crush and getting into a relationship, and Parker’s size was one of those factors; though he didn’t really know it yet.

It wasn’t something that would come up in normal conversation. Plus, there were complications when it came to how tall Parker was.

It pained Amanda to no end, but a worry she had was that Parker wouldn’t find someone his size who he would like.

Now wasn’t the time to talk about that – or maybe it was.

She would have to read some of her parenting books later to see how to talk about these topics with Parker later tonight.

In the meantime, she decided to celebrate his feelings and encourage him. These feelings were natural after all.

“Well, Lyn sounds like a wonderful girl,” remarked Amanda. At this, Parker’s eyes changed. His mom swore she saw what she could only describe as “dream eyes” as Parker thought about his friend.

“Yeah, she’s great. She’s into photography and showed me some of her stuff. It’s really awesome. She does these cool perspective shots of flowers and all sorts of other things. I need to show you some of the things she sent over Discord,” said Parker, a bit too eagerly as he suddenly realized and went back to eating, cheeks bright scarlet.

“Yeah?” asked Amanda, hoping to prompt further reaction from her son. Sadly, Parker only elaborated a little as they finished their meal together. Parker was in a bit of a hurry because, according to him, he had an important assignment he needed to finish before the end of the night, but Amanda suspected that Parker simply wanted to get online and see if Lyn was online and available to chat.

He excused himself from the table hurriedly and vanished back to his room, jogging to cross the floor and taking the stairs two at a time to make it back to his space.

Amanda cleaned up after dinner, conflicting emotions swirling inside her. It was only a matter of time before Parker started asking the hard questions about why he couldn’t go see Lyn in person.

Drying her hands on a crumpled dish towel, Amanda retreated to her own room to do some research about talking to your children about difficult topics such as puberty, romance, and, most crushing of all, adoption.

~~~^*^*^~~~

“Well, I think we’ve got the chapters outlined well enough. How did your research go by the way? Did you find the original case about space being international waters?” asked Lyn. She was laying on her stomach with her laptop propped up on some pillows and a lap desk as she scribbled and wrote in her notebook. Their conversation had been going on for three hours after dinner, and both of them were obviously starting to droop. Still, neither wanted to be the first to relent and hang up first.

“Yeah, I did actually. It’s actually kind of a combination between two or three different laws if I’m reading everything correctly. One of them is the Outer Space Treaty, the Accords, and the Moon Treaty. There are a bunch of laws and rules to go along with it which I have in the shared document I shared with you,” replied Parker as he stifled a yawn.

“Oh, perfect! I love it when nerds to their work,” teased Lyn as she made a goofy face at the camera.

“Ha ha. I could say the same to you. How much did you have written about pirates in your math class when you were supposed to be paying attention? I know because I checked the document and saw you typing away as soon as we left English,” Parker said, flipping the tables on Lyn.

“Oh! You hush! I passed my test with flying colors, didn’t I?” she shot back. Parker chuckled and nodded.

“Yeah. Like you said. Nerd.”

Lyn rolled her eyes and vanished from view as she stretched before popping back up to the camera. They stared at one another for a minute in silence, each holding the other’s gaze, before bashfully glancing away simultaneously.

It took another minute before Lyn looked back at Parker and cleared her throat, obviously preparing to ask a question. “Um… Parker? Do you… mind if I ask you something?”

The tiredness banished instantly from Parker’s eyes as the question sank in. This was something he usually asked his mom, and she usually replied with “you can ask me anything,” but only now did Parker realize how nerve wracking that question could actually be.

He bit his lip, feeling himself bristle and those precious walls he had slowly lowered begin to raise once more.

“Um… yeah? I mean, I guess. What’s up?” asked Parker. In the back of his mind, a flashback of Selina’s conversation ran right through him. Was Lyn about to ask him if he liked her? Was she going to ask if they wanted to be boyfriend girlfriend only to immediately turn it on him? Was she going to ask about his condition? Would she ask why he wasn’t ever at school? What if she wanted to meet up to write together in person or study together?

His nerves started to make him squirm and sweat. Parker honestly didn’t think it was that noticeable until he saw Lyn’s curious expression.

“You okay?” she asked. “I mean that’s not my question, but you’re acting a bit weird all of a sudden. You can say no, ya goof.”

Parker squirmed again and tried to shake his nerves away.

“Um… no. I mean, I’m okay. It’s just that the question could mean anything, so I’m just preparing for whatever,” mumbled Parker. Lyn eyed him again but shrugged and continued.

“Well, you can always say no or abstain from answering. I hope you know that,” stated Lyn in her usual matter-of-fact tone. “Anyway, I wanted to ask you something.”

Parker held his breath as Lyn eyed the camera and watched Parker’s reaction to her question.

“Are you the author of ‘Welcome to My Little Life’?”

The question threw him so off guard that his expression was obviously a dead giveaway. Relief. Curiosity. Excitement. Nervousness.

“Um… yeah. I mean, of course. It’s just a bit of a side project and everything, but I like posting there. It’s a good space for exposure and everything,” Parker replied. The tenseness in his body dissipated and the young teen could once again relax with his friend.

The look on Lyn’s face mirrored his own as she propped herself up closer to the camera, saying, “I knew it! I mean, I thought it was you, but didn’t want to make things weird or bring it up. Dude! I totally follow you for your story about your Dungeons and Dragons character. Tal’el, right?”

Parker had never really met someone who knew about his blog. He’d chatted with his followers like Karl, Zel, and so many others, but never someone he was already friends with.

“No kidding?” asked Parker in a bit of disbelief. “You like it?”

“Dude! Of course! And you’ve liked some of my stuff too. I posted some pictures and you liked them. That’s why I wanted to ask – to see if you knew,” said Lyn. “I’m Lyn_see Photography.”

Parker felt his eyes go wide as he remembered the exact posts Lyn was talking about. The perspectives Lyn took was from the edge of a television stand that showed the depth and vastness of the living room while keeping everything in focus.

“That’s you? Dude! No way! I thought the style looked like yours, but I didn’t know that was you!”

The two of them laughed at the strange coincidence.

“How’d you even manage that perspective?” asked Parker.

“HDR mode. Basically had to take two identical pictures and blend them together,” said Lyn. “I could show you one of these days on my camera. I also had to blend it in Procreate, but it didn’t require a lot of editing which was nice.”

“Yeah, I’d like that a lot,” agreed Parker, the last of his tension leaving his body.

“Definitely,” grinned Lyn. “If you don’t mind my follow-up question, but you looked tense earlier? What was that all about?”

Parker squirmed again and tried to shrug it off as he contemplated his reply. Bringing it up might pick at the scab that was over the sensitive spot surrounding his whole interaction with Selina and not telling her more about his condition. He didn’t want to lose Lyn as a friend and he wanted to keep his condition close to his chest, but he also wanted to trust Lyn. She was someone who he cared about.

Selina was right about one thing – you tell people you trust.

And Parker felt like he could trust Lyn; at least, he thought he could trust her enough to talk about it a little.

“Well, I mean… I thought you were going to ask about my… condition,” said Parker. He braced himself for whatever Lyn was going to say next and hoped he hadn’t accidentally ruined something good.

“Oh, that makes sense. I mean, I’m sure it’s a sensitive thing for you and everything,” replied Lyn. “Did… someone try and pry?”

Parker felt himself nodding before he even realized he was responding.

“I see. Well, I’m sorry that happened. I mean, I can’t say that I’m not curious, but I wouldn’t go asking questions unless you wanted to talk about something about it. I hope you’d be comfortable enough to talk about it with me if you needed to,” stated Lyn.

Parker couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Was it that easy?

An announcement of curiosity accompanied with an invitation to refuse.

The smile that spread onto Parker’s face stretched from ear to ear as another wave of genuine relief filled him. This was exactly what he hoped Selina would say, and now he was hearing it from Lyn – someone who he cared about very much despite knowing her for such a short time.

“I… yeah… I would feel comfortable with that… you know… if I needed to talk about it and everything,” muttered Parker. Was it warm in the room? Or was it just him? There was a moment where the two of them made eye-contact through the lens of the camera and, for a moment, Parker could have sworn she was right there looking at him.

His entire body felt tingly and excited. It felt like electricity was filling his body, pouring itself over him and making his heart race and pound.

Another minute passed before Lyn cleared her throat and continued their conversation.

“Good. Now, you have to tell me more about your story and where it’s going to go. I swear your updates are so chaotic that it drives me crazy. What’s going to happen with that princess? And is he going to cure the plague going through the community? I have to know!”

Parker laughed and shook his head.

“You know I can’t spoil anything,” Parker teased.

“Oh! Spoil sport! You’re either saying it because you’re cruel and want to torture me or because you don’t know the answer!” accused Lyn, obviously playing in a tone that made Parker’s heart race.

The two of them continued talking for the next hour where, reluctantly, Parker revealed a few details of his story to appease Lyn before the two of them signed off simultaneously, accidentally falling asleep for a moment before startling awake and saying goodnight. Parker crawled into his bed, face hurting from smiling so much, and drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

Continue

Beginning

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undead-supernova · 8 months ago

Text

This Love is a Shrouded Mystery / Masterlist

Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10

plot: welcome to your well-anticipated album release party! you couldn't be happier...right?

Pairings: modernrockstar!Eddie x fem!popstar!Reader (curvy!reader, bisexual!reader)

Warnings: bro there's so much angst I'm sorry, mention of smoking & alcohol

wc: 5k

note: I made the album cover/tracklist and wrote all of the lyrics mentioned in this chapter and I'm super proud of it! Thank you for reading my hard work hehhehehehee

ALSO DO NOT REPOST THESE LYRICS ANYWHERE ! Thank yew

He hated all the tiny things.

The way you crinkled your nose every time The Beatles came on. How you held your acoustic guitar like it was a delicate creature. The nights he would be up late practicing, only to find you passed out with your mouth slightly ajar and snoring. The mornings he spent listening to you making little sounds in your sleep, as if you were so close to saying something but didn’t know how. Your poetry and your music and your scent and your stupid smile you got whenever you looked at him and how grateful he’d been when he first noticed.

And he really didn’t hate it at all.

He just missed you.

It was fucking torture, being away from you. He sat up, night after night, wondering what you were doing. How you felt now. If you wanted him back. If he was better off without you. If you could ever speak cordially and what that would cost.

As if he truly cared about the answer or the consequences.

Eddie just missed you.

You stared at yourself in the floor-length mirror, looking over your outfit for tonight. Trying not to suck in your stomach, trying to let yourself be the person that you wanted to be.

A spaghetti-strapped crop top with Madonna-Whore Complex stitched in white across the breasts. Short shorts just to say Fuck You. Block-heeled boots laced up to your knees. All dolled up with a diamond necklace and thin rings. A velvet choker with a broken heart pendant in the middle.

There you were, a vision in pink.

There you were, a shell of the person you used to be.

Maybe it would be better to play a role tonight.

But nothing was able to halt the worry, halt the anxiety that coursed through your veins.

That last night, with your eyes glistening with grief, you’d told him you had to go into hiding. That you needed to get away from the public eye. That he couldn’t come with you. But he’d seen pictures of you since, albeit a bit blurry, running in and out of the recording studio in New York City.

There was an edge to your outfits now, with a touch more lipstick and heavier eye shadow. Changed your hair and painted your nails anything but your usual pink. Your face, the one that once held a permanent smile for the press, now hardened. Blank expressions. No smile, no feigned light in your eyes.

It was like you were wearing some kind of armor.

It was like watching someone trying to adapt to their surroundings.

Flailing, slipping.

Trying to prove to everyone else they can do it without thinking about the consequences of their actions.

Eddie could only hope you wouldn’t let yourself drown in the process.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you said for the third time in the last ten minutes.

If anyone had a goddamn braincell, they could see that you weren’t good. But this had been the last few months for you. Doing whatever anyone asked. Staying busy. In and out of the studio so often that it became your second home. You honestly couldn’t count how many times you’d fallen asleep—you got more there than when you were home anyways.

How could you when the only thing you saw behind your eyes were crashing waves, the roar of the boat as it pulled you further and further away from the life you desperately wished you were still living? You wrote and wrote and wrote, trying to make sense of it all. Trying to figure out how to apologize. How to profess your love. How to feel any semblance of desire to say goodbye.

Your label had been shocked when you’d gotten the album done so quickly after months of producing nothing—especially calling around and getting Halsey, Lucy Dacus, and Janelle Monaé to feature. Not to mention Maisie Peters who’d actually reached out to you. It was a match made in heaven, an album stitched and woven together by the bitterest fate.

The label gladly rolled everything into production, insisting that you do as much promotion as you could. So, you were a little money machine, doing bland Instagram reels and Tiktoks, practicing your smile in between takes. You were fine to be a puppet. You’d done everything they wanted you to, right? What’s a little bit more?

What’s better than tightening the collar on your losing dog?

“Can you get that done for me, sweetie?”

“It would be so nice if you could just do this one thing.”

“You know, the fans would love it if…”

“We’d be grateful if you just…”

“You look tired.”

You turned to Este, noticing her raised eyebrow and crossed arms. The past few minutes had been spent zoning out, trying to keep yourself from thinking too hard. But it only made things worse because all you could do was remember why you were trying so hard not to think. Your friends knew better, but you hated admitting to it.

“Just trying to wake up the excitement,” you lied.

“For yourself or for the label?” Becky asked.

You glanced over at the door before back at her. “Yes.”

“You got this, okay?” Mary encouraged, rubbing your back. “You’ll feel better once you get there. You know you will.”

“Yeah, you’re right. At least you guys are here.”

“We’d never miss it.”

A pang of grief washed through you at the reminder of someone who would most definitely miss tonight.

Eddie knew what tonight was—and he could’ve sworn it was going to kill him. Nothing hurt him more than not celebrating your album release with you. He was planning to show up and support you the best he could. Show you off. Make sure you felt as celebrated as you could be because you were so amazing.

But here he was, back in Wayne’s house for the weekend. Laying low, talking to the walls as if Wayne could hear him. Screaming at the ceiling for someone to give him a reason to make sense as to why his wounds were still bleeding. Even after five months.

Bouncing his knees on the edge of the guest bed, growing more and more anxious as the night fell. Going in and out of the back porch, cigarette after cigarette. Hoping and praying that Wayne was a ghost and was able to talk to him through the windchimes hanging by the front door. Feeling sick when they hadn’t moved. Not even once.

Fuck, Eddie should be there with you. He should be by your side.

Instead, he was ashing another cigarette and reaching for the Garfield mug hanging on the wall. Poured the last few sips of Jack Daniels left on the kitchen counter. Trudged back into the guest room.

Tried not to cry.

You were trying not to cry.

The party was spectacular, with all your favorite foods laid out and cake and your favorite music and your friends and, and, and…

It was everything you could ask for from tonight, but nothing you’d actually asked for. Clara had been sneaky, making sure that you assumed the livestream started two hours before it actually did. Brought you to this fancy restaurant, all decked out in themed balloons and pictures of you. A Congratulations banner and a big bottle of champagne for you to pop.

And you were happy, you really were. But there was just something that overwhelmed you about it all, something weighing on you. Something eating at your stomach, making it nearly impossible to eat or even talk correctly.

Scott kept you grounded the most, always giving you a word or two of encouragement. For the last five months, he’d been cautious of you. You knew it even if he never said it. Him and his wife, Rebecca, made sure to offer you a place to stay when New York started to feel like a stranger. And hiding out in Tennessee was never a bad idea, ending up getting a third home near him, just outside of Nashville.

Tonight was no different. It was in the way he offered you food, asked if you needed some more water. If you looked even remotely uncomfortable, Scott was there to direct you somewhere else. Kept whispering that you were doing great. Kept reassuring you that your album was amazing. That you were amazing. That it was all going to be okay.

And it was a daydream, a surreal experience you were still getting used to after five years slowly rising into the public eye. Now here you were releasing your third album, knowing in your bones that this was your best work yet.

And everyone was being so nice.

And the party was beautiful.

And you looked beautiful.

And…

And Eddie wasn’t there.

He wasn’t anywhere these days, actually. It was like he had vanished entirely. There were no paparazzi pictures, no fan sightings. Even People Magazine had him on the front cover literally saying, “Bad Boy Eddie Munson Mysteriously Disappears from Public Eye.” You were uncertain if he’d ever be seen again. And you knew it was your fault. All of it was.

What felt the strangest was how the internet was still speculating whether or not you and Eddie broke up. It had been five months and you hadn’t told your publicist to confirm it. Didn’t even speak of it.

The most peculiar thing was…neither had Eddie. There was nothing for anyone to do but question why the two of you hadn’t been spotted in public together even once.

Maybe one day you’d feel strong enough to bury this relationship.

Today definitely wasn’t that day.

And tonight definitely wasn’t it either.

But your album was all was about Eddie.

Everyone would know it.

And you just had to hope that one person out there would listen to it for the music and not for your real-life experiences.

But you guessed that was just how things would have to be.

So, you put on a smile and told yourself to get over it.

Smile for the cameras.

Come up with every way to deflect.

Since you’d broken up, it seemed that your label had set up a livestream for the fans to listen to the album with you at the same time. Experience it together. Get to send in questions. Get to connect. Eddie thought that was sweet, knowing how much you enjoyed talking to your fans.

And he knew he shouldn’t, but he really considered hopping on.

Was it a little weird for him to tune into the listening party?

Maybe.

But he wanted to hear the album, wanted to hear the songs you’d barely shown him when you were together. You were always so shy with your music you wrote for him—which was fair. He did the same thing, keeping any and all projects about you a secret. Hell, the new record set to drop next month was done in the last five, his fingers unable to do anything other than race up and down the neck. Stuffing his pick between his lips as he wrote and wrote and wrote. Tried to write himself out of whatever this black hole was that was starting to swallow him.

And now here he was, ready to hear what you had to say.

Sighing, he grabbed his laptop.

But maybe you were better off without him.

Maybe this was all for a reason and everything just had to happen this way. It would be a nice thought, right? A nice explanation for the twisting of your gut as you set up for the livestream. Standing on a pink stage, practicing your smile one last time before the cameras got the shot juuust right. Took a step to the right to show off a poster with the album cover on it.

All you could think as they counted down from five was, I hope Eddie is watching.

When Eddie saw you, he knew he’d fucked up already.

You were radiant, always a vision in pink. Always a vision, period.

The album cover had the name “Madonna-Whore Complex” with a picture in the center of bunched up silk—pink, of course. The same color you were wearing. The same color Eddie had yearned to wrap in his arms and make breakfast for.

And when Eddie heard your voice, his stomach flipped.

“So,” you started. “Before we even get to the tracks, I wanted to kinda explain the album title. I know people got a little weird about it, which is fair.”

Eddie could tell that you absolutely did not find that fair.

“But I think that we live in a society that is so obsessed with a woman’s place. If she’s happy with herself and comfortable with her sexuality, she must be seen as a villain or a whore. There’s no room for her to be a good person or even able to truly be in love.”

Something tugged at Eddie’s chest at the sound of you mentioning being in love. If only you’d said that to him five months ago. If only those words had left your lips, he’d have gotten on his hands and knees to make you stay.

But you hadn’t.

“It seems that you cannot be one or the other. Either you’re this harlot who runs through people like it’s nothing or you must be this chaste woman who is only allowed to be idle in the corner. I think that I’ve always been put in this position, and, with the content of this album, I feel like I’m able to both be satirical about those accusations and show the vulnerability of, um.” He watched your eyes dart away nervously before coming back. “The vulnerability of how that has affected my personal life and my personal relationships.”

“Oh, and I really love the back cover,” you said with a wide grin, shifting the subject. “Especially the track list and the font and, oh my god, the people I collaborated with? Incredible artists, right? I just feel really excited for you guys to hear it in a few minutes.”

It was then that he remembered he hadn’t looked at the track list, too anxious at the thought of you referencing anything about him on there. But of course, you did. What else would this album be about? Some other guy? He knew better than to speculate anything like that.

His heart began to race as he found it all laid out for him already, his words being spat back out at him. Something True. Could You Say the Same? Acceptance Speech. Trade You for the World. Could’ve Fooled Me.

Eddie’s stomach twisted, queasy with the exact anxiety that he’d spent the last few months trying to prevent. But he couldn’t run away from this. He was already here, watching you nearly trip over your heels in real time. Reading the titles out, each one feeling like a prison cell built just for him.

Shakily, you stated, “Okay, everyone. Let’s start the album.”

Took a deep breath.

Closed your eyes.

Eddie took a deep breath.

Closed his eyes.

And listened.

“Okay, my pretty boy…now move!”

Eddie felt like he was losing his ability to breathe. Track after track, jumbled with lyrics all meant for him. All written for him. Words upon words of poetry that told him how much you missed him and how guilty you fucking felt and how you just went ahead and chose the world over him and, dear god, it was all too much for him.

Grief settled in his chest at every line that he called his favorite.

Okay, Now Stop!

“Okay, now stop!

We're dancing dirty to The Beatles and the Stones.

Okay, now stop!

You're dancing pretty asking me to lead you home."

The Bisexual Slut (featuring Halsey)

“This one boy whimpers on his knees

Twenty girls beg to finally taste me

If I’m so greedy, so damn needy

Then why does their love come so easy?”

My Body, Your Choice

“Should I base my worth off your fickle insecurities?

Take a scalpel to my skin to justify your animosity?

If I’d known my body was stained with impurity

I would’ve begged my mother to deliver me with modesty

But I wouldn’t change a goddamn thing

Fuck you, I’ll never change a thing.”

Something True

“Tell me a story, one where love always dies

Say it with finality in your glassy brown eyes

Thread the needle to weave through our fate

Knowing the outcome, you still beg me to stay.”

Madonna-Whore Complex

“My halo slipped, and my limbs are sore

But his head seems to stay in between my legs

I’m wrapped around his fingers as they choke my neck

I’m his sweetheart, his princess, his saccharine whore.”

The Mess (You Once Called Yours)

“And your fingerprints stain this house

Baby, I’m haunted by your phantom touch

Oh, now I’m screaming and pleading, growling and howling,

‘Please end this agony, my love, it’s all too much.’”

Your Residential Coward

“Guess she’ll never really let me live that down

Throwing daggers at my portrait now that I’m gone

And now that I finally see my tilted crown

It turns out I was the jester all along.”

Could You Say the Same?

“Simple questions come with simple answers

That’s why I sew my mouth shut

The moment I saw you, wild necromancer

Devotion gnawed at my gut.”

Synonymous (featuring Lucy Dacus)

“Sucking in my stomach in attempt to survive

It’s like I’m fifteen again

All crooked teeth, low self-esteem, and love-deprived

Only coping with a wilted pen.”

My Gentleman

“You’ll never let me look away, that is the cerulean dream

Could be your future wife if we let our consciousness stream

And I confess I don’t think that would be too much to hope for

So keep talking like that, let the wine pour, pour, pour.”

Acceptance Speech (featuring Janelle Monáe)

“In the modern age, a sacrifice is already made

The moment that you’ve made a choice

But, baby, the problem always chooses herself

And suddenly she has lost her voice.”

Trade You for the World

“I stood in sepia tones while you bled electric crimson

Built the motivation before I built the scene

Led the poets astray, bathed them in patient indecision

Now I sit in vignettes of truth, desire what was in between.”

Back to the Beginning

“City after city, glazed in momentary dignity,

I chased the prophecy of my becoming

And, dear god, if I could tuck my tail between my legs

I’d run us right back to the beginning.”

Could’ve Fooled Me (featuring Maisie Peters)

“And we’re dancing around each other tonight

Elevators built like confessionals

Desperate to blanket myself in transparency

I wanna say, ‘Pretty boy, you’re sensational.

We weren’t the only freaks anyhow

But how could anyone not love you then?

And how could they not love you now?’”

Eddie watched you dance and party. Vaguely answer the questions about what certain lyrics meant. Focused on the sound more than the overall meanings. Thanked everyone for giving you this celebration and how you were very grateful for this opportunity.

And, peculiarly, you were handed a new acoustic guitar, soft pink and sparkling. Your name written in calligraphy down the neck.

“Um, so since this is a special night,” you said while trying to move your white capo down to the third fret. “I wanted to play a special song that didn’t make the album. It just didn’t fit the rest of the album’s vibe, so I cut it.”

You laughed and Eddie knew he was the only one who could notice it was out of nerves. You tested the strings, making sure everything was in tune.

“But I wanted to play it for you guys if that’s okay?” Laughing again, you shook your head. “I hope everyone said yes, otherwise this would be so embarrassing.”

You leaned into the microphone, glancing up at the camera as if you were making direct eye contact with Eddie and Eddie alone.

“It’s called Questionnaire.”

The chords were simple.

C, Em, Am.

F, G, C.

It rang out soft, sweet. Albeit a bit sad.

He noticed the way you chewed on your lip before you started, finding your groove.

“Do you think about the way we live without sanctuary?

How the fates wrap their hands around our throats, cutting off our breath?

Do you think about the way we live without sanctuary?

How there’s no guarantee when it’s over there’ll be anything left?”

Eddie felt a sickness wash over him as he heard you sing directly to him. You were right. It was different from the rest of the album.

He tried to gauge how you were feeling, knowing damn well the only way he could was through the music itself. How the change in chords matched the change in your emotions.

G, Am, F.

“Oh, oh, oh.”

Am, G, F.

“Oh, oh, oh.”

The camera pulled in closer to your face, as if they knew that Eddie was watching. Waiting. Pathetically desperate to hear what you had to say to him.

“Do you wonder if there’s any chance that this was all just a dream?

But there’s no fucking way you can’t hear me calling your name.

Do you wonder if there’s any chance we could wipe ourselves clean?

But there’s no fucking way to explain the way I’ve been claimed.”

You repeated the Ohs, belting out the last set before you changed the sound completely.

New chord patterns. New set of emotions. Harsh strumming, the sound growing louder and louder as frustration filled your voice.

“Do you know the clouds darken whenever you’re away?

Convinced myself that my storm would worsen if I’d stayed.

God, I need you now to answer my revelation.

Is there any dignity in self-preservation?”

You repeated the line again, sounding angrier than before.

“Is there any dignity in self-preservation?”

The buildup faded away, the rough strumming turning light again as the chords of the verses returned. There was a small instrumental as the camera pulled out to show you on your pink throne, surrounded by the pink balloons and holographic streamers.

You were alone.

Eddie could just barely make out the tears trickling down your face as you began to strum each chord once.

“Do you think about the way we lived without sanctuary?

How we fought and you fought for me until I gave it all up?

I think about the way I live without your sanctuary.

How there’s no guarantee I’ll ever fall in love again.”

You sighed and sniffled softly before repeating it.

“How there’s no guarantee I’ll ever fall in love again.”

Despite no one being in the shot, he could hear applause coming from around the room. He could even hear Becky, Este, and Mary individually, all cheering you on.

He watched you stand, laughing off the emotions as you blotted the wetness around your eyes. “Okay, Now Stop!” started playing over the screen as people scrambled to disassemble the makeshift stage.

It occurred to Eddie then that there…had been no chorus. No hook. It was just a list of questions for him and statements for yourself. A bout of self-loathing and the guilt that he was only now starting to grasp.

And he realized that he too was crying, trying desperately to cease them with the back of his hand. And then his sleeve. And then the tissues he scrambled around the bedroom to find.

As soon as the livestream ended, Eddie pulled out his phone.

“You’re so brave for doing that,” Becky said, crushing you in a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

A broken smile met your lips. “God, everyone’s going to talk about it.”

“Let them,” Mary said with a scoff. “Who cares?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, knowing full well who you really wanted to talk about it. To hear it. To think about it.

Your phone began to vibrate in your pocket. As you pulled it out, something resembling belief in fate rushed through you.

Eddie.

You couldn’t suppress an audible gasp, taking a step back from the conversation.

“I’m sorry, I have to take this,” you mumbled before walking away quickly. Pressed that green button. Whispered, “Hello?”

“Oh, hey.”

His voice crawled over you in a rush of relief, an ease that had been missing for so fucking long. “Eddie, hey,” you said nervously, shocked by your own ability to say his name out loud.

“Hey, is this an okay time?”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re good. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” he lied, fiddling with blanket. “I just wanted to congratulate you on the album. It’s really incredible. Your best work yet.”

“Oh, thank you, Eddie. Um, you think?”

“Hm?”

“That it’s my best work?”

“Of course it is,” he answered with a breathy chuckle. “Are you kidding me? You took your individual sound and expanded on it and made it into a high-quality concept album. And the lyrics are incredible. It’s beautiful.”

“That’s really kind of you to say. I’m really proud of it.”

“You should be.”

“Are you working on anything new?”

“Yeah, we’re actually finishing up the album now. Should be out next month if everything goes right.”

“I bet, um. I bet it’s incredible.”

Eddie’s chest tightened at your hesitation. “Each song transitions into one another. You’d think it was cool.”

“I’ll have to listen to it. If, um, if you think I should.”

Swallowing a sigh, Eddie closed his eyes and tried to focus on keeping his voice level. Keep from cracking. Keep from begging for you to come back.

“It’s only if you want to,” he replied, trying to stay neutral before moving on. “Are you doing okay? I know you get really anxious after being, like, out in the open for a while.”

“Yeah, sure I am.” He knew you were lying. “It’s just work.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay in case you weren’t,” he admitted.

“You know…” you trailed, pausing.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. “You didn’t have to call if you didn’t want to…”

“Ah, come on,” he said with a chuckle. “I wanted to call you, so I called. Promise.”

Anxiety began to wash over you as you bit the bullet.

“Is that everything you wanted to say?”

Why hasn’t your publicist confirmed the breakup?

Is this killing you like it’s killing me?

“Well, uh, I don’t know.”

Did you really mean what you said about never falling in love again?

Does that mean there’s a chance?

“What does that mean?” you asked. “I’m confused.”

Is this over?

Are we over?

“I think… I think that’s all I had to say.”

And there was the disappointment.

“Oh, okay.”

“Yeah, I hope you have a good night.”

“Yeah, you too.”

“Oh, hey, one last thing.”

You couldn’t help that ugly surge of hope. “Yeah?”

“Remember to take care of yourself. You matter more than anyone else does.”

“Oh,” you responded, deflating. “Yeah, I’ll try, Eddie. Take care.”

“Bye.”

“Bye,” you whispered before ending the call.

There’s nothing to say once the phone call ends. No one mentioned the breakup. No one mentioned how the album he called incredible was about him. About the love. The crash and burn. How your love still glowed inside you, bright enough for him to touch if he’d just stretch his fingertips a little further.

And yet, neither of you said a thing.

And neither of you admitted to what you knew was coming in his own album.

You found yourself mute as you shuffled into the back of the black SUV and got out of the city. Left your buzzing phone next to you, knowing that Eddie wouldn’t call you again. Knowing that everything must be over now.

If this was closure, it sure didn’t feel like it.

When you walked into your house, still empty and swirling with dust, you let the grating silence whisk you towards the wine cabinet. Got yourself the shiniest glass you had, poured the cheapest bottle you found. Sat on the back porch and looked out at the moon.

If things were different, Eddie would be here right now instead of a voice in a fucking phone. His voice, a tiny shard of glass that was surely going to rip you open and never mend itself again.

He’d sit next to you with his own glass. Comment on how nice it was to just drink the cheap stuff. Roll you a celebratory joint with dried rose petals, the way you liked it. Ask if it was okay if you spent the night out here, just looking up at the moon together.

It’d been a full year since you’d met. Five months since you last spoke. And now you were starting to fold, starting to maneuver yourselves into strangers. Even if that was the last thing Eddie wanted. Even if the mere thought of never talking again made nausea pool in his stomach.

Eddie desperately wished you were looking at the moon together.

And maybe you would feel different than you did tonight. Maybe you would’ve had a perfect night with all your accomplishments and the perfect man beside you to experience it all with.

But he wasn’t there.

And you felt so alone.

So fucking alone.

Tears streamed down your face, a burning in your chest growing with each What If that you conjured.

You were not better off without him.

He knew it the moment you told him goodbye on the island. He knew it the moment he returned to California, shutting himself off from the world. He knew it the second he called you and the second he heard you say goodbye one last time.

Eddie was not better off without you.

once again thanks to the lovely @strangergraphics for making beautiful dividers for me. it is an honor!

#Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #modern!eddie munson #modern!eddie x reader #Eddie Munson x female reader #boyfriend!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie #rockstar eddie munson #rockstar!Eddie x reader #rockstar!Eddie x you #modern!Eddie x you #boyfriend!Eddie x reader #i'll pay the price you won't series

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eri-pl · 3 months ago

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Silm reread interlude 2: more Lay of Leithian [canto 4-5]

Canto 4

Again: Beren is sick to upfront pay for the fact of Luthien loving him. Huh. OK.

But we get the beautiful line: "and in his doom was Lúthien snared, the deathless in his dying shared; and Fate them forged a binding chain of living love and mortal pain".

Beren learns new things and gets more elflike, for lack of a better word. Also, they do dance and… if I haven't read LaCE, I might have had some assumptions about what happens here in between the lines. TBH because this is an early text, I'm still not sure how to read it.

Dairon (Daeron) is angry and jealous and curses Doriath with silence. Also, snitches on Lúthien for having a lover (this wors is used in the text, I do not claim that they are lovers in the modern sense, but I don't have a better fitting word for this. "boyfriend" seems too anachronistic and not intense enough.).

Thingol's crown described: it's silver and green. And his people wear armor.

More beautiful lines (similar as in the published Silm): "what I sought not I have found and love it is hath here me bound".

Also, a declaration of how strong the love is, which does our favorite "nor X nor Y" scheme, best known from a certain ill-fated oath: "nor rocks nor steel nor Morgoth's fire nor all the power of Elfinesse shall keep the gem I would posess".

[But Beren doesn't swear to harm anyone, also it's romance not greed so it's not bad. Just sounds cool. TBH I think the nor/nor/nor was a common literary thing in the kind of poetry Tolkien based his writings on. It feels like it.]

Dairon calls Beren "baseborn mortal", which is quite a burn.

The Ring of Barahir is described. Speaking of it, I am really curious what does this design mean and why does this ring look like this, it is really strange tbh.

Melian calls Thingol out on being prideful.

Thingol ignores her and sends Beren on a quest, nicely echoing his words: "A treasure dear I too desire, but rocks and steel and Morgoth's fire from all the powers of Elfinesse do keep the jewel I would posess."

The Sindar laugh at Beren and we get a recap on where the Silmarils came from. Feanor kindled them slow[ly], which is interesting. Oath of [sons of] Feanor mentioned, but by narration, not by characters. Also, it's said to be sworn in mandess.

Beren laughs at the Sindar, bitterly, and agrees to the price and walks away like a boss "he turned, and thrust aside the ring of guards about him, and was gone".

Luthien cries and is afraid. Thingol is certain that Beren will die.

"But Melian smiled, and there was pain as of far knowledge in her eyes; for such is the sorrow of the wise."

Relateable. But, excuse me for correcting the Professof himself, I would kick out the "for", for rhythm and made the last line a new sentence.

Canto 5

Lúthien talks with Melian, we got the most alliterative of lines: "and dare the dread in dungeons dim", I love it!

Dairon snitches at Lúthien again. "Thingol was wroth and yet amazed; in wonder and half fear he gazed on Dairon". I love the description. Again: Thingol is the not best, nor the worst, but definitely the most psychologically realistic, slice-of-life-ish guy in the Silm. And agais: "In angry love and half in fear Thingol took counsuel".

Lúthien is imprisoned in a treehouse: "up she clomb" (it means "climbed"). I love Tolkien's arbitrary past tense forms. She forgives Daeron, because ha makes sad enough songs about it (no, Maglor, a song can work with "sorry I snitched on you", not with "sorry I murdered your family", you need to, idk, stop murdering people is a good start)

Luthien does magic, which has a very fairytale description."'At middle night,' she said, 'in bowl of silver white it must be drawn and brought to me with no word spoken". Also, she gets a spinning-wheel! Daeron doesn't snitch on her anymore, "though his heart feared the dark purpose of her art". Mmm... scary!Lúthien!

She sings magic songs, also we get one of the few Tolkienian examples of one of my favorite things/vibes, which is "darkness but good" (or at least not evil): "another song she sang, of night and darkness without end, and flight and freedom."

Darkness without end, you say? Haven't we, umm, heard this idea somewhere already, Professor? I have thoughts. I do have questions. Sir.

So, on one hand: Feanor with sons goes to chill at the edge of the Void, but after he became, umm, more questionable, "everlasting darkness" is the scariest thing he can think of. Also, here darkness seems to be a good thing. Also, accordint go that one text, early Mannish tales have darkness, or at least "beyond darkness" as clearly positive.

On the other hand (which I do not posess anymore) you have scary darkness-spiders and "Darkness" used as a term for extreme-scary-unknown even in the context of the Valar.

On another hand, you have "darkness" used as symonim for "evil" in narration, I think, even in places where the narrative frame is nonexistent. But let's ignore this a little. :D [Also, "shadow" but it's not the same thing.]

OK, so … I do have thoughts. I should probably pull them into a separate post when/if I figure out what precisely those thoughts are. TLDR something about/around the Gift of Men, but I'm not sure, I can't pinpoint it well yet. Or maybe I can but I'm afraid to. Unclear.

And also also, coming back to the reread, of all the Elves, it is Lúthien who sings of darkness. Hmm.

And for a less interesting, and more lighthearted song, we also get a list of "longest things", including Uinen's hair and my favorite chain, Angainor "that ere Doom for Morgoth shall by Gods be wrought, of steel and tornment". Because of course, as a half-Maia she is allowed to put some foreshadowing in her songs.

BTW what was Tolkien's problem with the 's possesives? I mean, what was the problem of Tolkien with it? :D

We get a really weird poetic choice where two lines end on "dark". Also, Lúthien's hair grows long and pools on the floor (I imagine it roughly like the dress of Morticia Addams)

Short-haired Lúthien! "and cut the hair about her ears, and close she cropped it to her head". And her hair is now darker (less gleaming?) Also, "she wove a web like misty air of moonless night". I absolutely love the mix of "what I am afraid of" (spiders, darkness probably) and "what I am fascinated by" (Edith) that Tolkien does here. But I do have peculiar emotional connections sometimes, I guess it doesn't work well for everyone. But. I love dark!beautiful!spider-ish!Luthien. She needs a fanart.

Also, speaking of fanart, we get a description of her clothing, which is white dress and blue mantle with jewels that look like golden lilies? I think? The language is difficult. OK, sir, we get it, she is as cool as you can write. I am not laugh— no, actually I am laughing a little (yes, yes, the way I described her in the previous paragraph, I know). But ok. And tbh it does make sense with her color palette.

And in the notes we get a suggestion that Thingol couldn't believe that Lúthien actually loved Beren without any weird spells doing that. Which explains a lot of his bahavior tbh, but, Your Highness, maybe you could have asked your Maia wife to have a look at this and tell you if there's some magic going on?

OK, enough for one post.

#silm reread #lay of leithian #silm #tolkien legendarium #elu thingol #melian #beren and luthien

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projectcaramel · 2 years ago

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Random Headcanon #3

During your first few weeks in the Devildom, you had some pretty... awkward moments with the demon brothers.

Lucifer

Hey, he was attractive and kind of looked like Levi Ackerman; no one could blame you for temporarily making his contact on your D.D.D. read “Daddy” as a joke.

Well, until the person in question saw it. You tried to tell him you were just screwing around, but Lucifer turned it into a lecture.

Apparently it was pretty memorable for him though, because he likes to mock you about it in private.

Mammon

On your first night in the House of Lamentation, you may or may not have slept in his bed instead of yours because Beelzebub was roaming around downstairs, and at the time you were terrified.

Mammon still won’t shut up about how he woke up one morning to find a human tangled up in his sheets on the floor with him.

Levi

In a bid to get you away from him, he pulled out one of the most twisted eroge he owns (and was about to throw out), only for you to exclaim with glee that you’d played it before.

He just kind of stared at you in shock for a while, and to this day he’s not sure what to do with that information.

Satan

There certainly was the terrifying time you called him Lucifer trying to be funny, but the most awkward moment?

Without a doubt, it was when you caught him writing very corny poetry for his brothers—including Lucifer.

All of the poetry ended up scrapped, and he made you promise to never ever tell anyone about it.

Asmo

During your first week in the Devildom, Asmo invited you to a make-up tutorial session, and you decided “hey, that kind of sounds fun.”

Unfortunately for you, Asmo not only forgot to tell you that you had been replaced by a stranger, but when you showed up, it was just to pull up a chair next to said stranger to watch Asmo put his makeup on humming.

Beel

So you remember how this guy might have eaten you if you hadn’t bonded? Well, that wasn’t for lack of trying.

Once, you woke up in the middle of the night with a half-asleep Beel sniffing at your toes. Your toes.

Fortunately for you, someone was in the kitchen fixing themselves a snack, so Beel ended up raiding the fridge instead.

Belphie

In the early days, when he was trying to get on your side, Belphie tried to confess his love to you.

Don’t get me wrong; there was nothing wrong with his acting, but he overestimated your affection for him just a tad, so for a solid minute, you just stared at each other in silence. Belphie claims not to remember this particular incident.

#awkward #obey me!#writing #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie

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cult-of-the-eye · 1 year ago

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So I had this idea that when Martin gets mad at someone, he represses it and ends up being even nicer to them. It ended up being slightly longer than I thought it would be lol.

Content warnings - slight mention of martin's mum being ill, mental health issues and the effects of trauma are explored, a lot of self-hatred and general angst but a hopeful ending, hurt/comfort's angsty cousin

Martin K Blackwood has never heralded himself to be the most sane of people. He has never been under any illusion as to the effect of his childhood (and...other...situations) on his psyche. He has been to therapy, albeit once, in a short-lived, hugely embarrassing attempt during secondary school, where he was gently informed that his particular set of problems required more qualified areas of intervention. In short, as many times that people have helpfully informed him of his "fucked up"-ness, he has always been the one who was most aware of it. As a method of self-soothing, he tells himself that all poets are tortured. It's just for him, the poetry came before the torture. These thoughts, musings, poetic substance or whatever else, came to him whilst making tea for his boss, Jonathan Sims, one cloud-soaked afternoon.

It wasn't as if he meant it. Making someone tea after they had borderline reduced them to tears wasn't a conscious decision. His feet just moved, as of their own accord, out of Jon's office, one before the other, his trainers making soft thuds against the carpeted floor. Towards the kitchen. And if he's in the kitchen, he might as well make tea. And if he's making tea, he might as well make some for Jon. He put extra care into this mug - if he poured the water with steady hands then maybe he wouldn't start to cry. It would be silly to cry, he decided. This was a realisation that came as he stood still next the counter, watching the tea steep. It wasn't anyone's fault but his own that he cited the case wrong, he should've known. He should've been better at pretending to have a Masters degree in Parapsychology. Serves him right for lying. How could anyone have blamed Jon for shouting? It must seem like he's being inadequate on purpose. Some cruel joke being played on only him. So of course, he shouted. And of course, Martin cried. He expected heaving sobs, thundering through his whole body, as large and foreboding as the sky outside. Instead, they were sharp, singular and furious. How could he have known that he'd get a phone call from the hospital in the middle of the night saying that things had gotten worse? How could he have known that the citing method had changed? How could he have known that he would be saddled with the most inconsiderate, frustrating, bastard of a-

"Martin?"

Luck, it seemed could be added to the list of things Martin had never heralded himself to have. He hoped to whatever was up there, that he'd be wrong, for once. But he knew better than to hope, so he quickly shoved the heels of his palms into his eyes and took a small breath.

"Um, hi Jon, I...I was just, uh..."

"Making tea?" He offered.

Maybe inconsiderate was a tad hasty of him. He looked terrible. There was no way around it. His perfectly corporate office wear looked like it had been slept in for multiple days, the collars no longer perfectly ironed and creases running down his sweater vest. There was no tie and his hair fell out of the pristine up-do that he was sure took him hours to get right every morning. His face was haggard but more open than he was used to. It unnerved him slightly, to see the sharpness of his features microwaved into an artificial softness. It wasn't something he deserved. He had a knack for looking gift horses in their mouths. After all, he had contributed to those sleepless nights, his actions had probably driven Jon's hands frustratedly through his hair. And yet he was standing in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot.

He cleared his throat. He opened his mouth. He closed it. He opened his mouth again. He closed his mouth again. Martin could almost see the synapses firing in his brain, tiny little fireworks connecting dot after dot, trying to construct the most appropriate sentence for the situation. It took a while, but he got there.

"Martin. I came here to inform you that there was an error in the system. The citation method that you had used was in fact, the correct one. You may continue using that and I will have no issue."

Each word arrived stilted. It was as if he had written it out for some AI helper to read out loud and then repeated it back to said robot. Martin didn't mind, exactly, he was too busy processing what had actually been said to care about how he had said it.

"Was that an apology?"

Jon's face shifted immeasurably. It took a few seconds of awkward silence for him to realise that he was blushing. Immediately, Martin took note of all the signs, knowing that now that he'd seen it, he would never want to miss it again. The tips of his ears turned pink and his mouth twitched, as if he was desperately keeping down a vomit of facial expressions. The solid rock of anger was deep inside Martin and thankfully stopped him from regretting anything he had said. His veins turned to gravel, as he clasped and unclasped his hands by his side.

"I believe so.", came the answer. It did nothing to liquify the solidity in his veins, so out came another sentence that he would lie awake thinking about at night.

"Can I have a proper one?"

"I don't know what you mean, Martin."

The tea was cold, anyway. He had nothing left to lose.

"I want an apology, Jon. I take all of your criticisms on stride, no matter how much I think about how you could've said it in a nicer way or how you don't do this with Tim or Sasha or how I've been working my ass off, this whole time. I'm sorry the archives are way more disorganised than you thought they'd be and I'm sorry you're struggling but you shouldn't take that out on me."

"I'm not struggling, Martin."

He barked out a laugh. "Of course that's the bit you focus on."

Finally, he seemed to have touched a nerve. Adrenaline pumped through him, making him feel nauseous. Every bone in his body told him to stop talking, shut his mouth and grovel. Fix this. The words had been projecting out of his mouth, wriggling like sickly, pale maggots, but part of him wanted to keep talking until he was empty. Until he had no more words to throw. But it was in Jon's nature to ruin his plans. Just like he had ruined his promotion by being an ass. Just like he had ruined his ability to hate him by being just the right amount of kind.

"I'm sorry, Martin. I really am."

Martin had once been told by a therapist that he was using the word "should" to beat himself up. This was the very same therapist that had declared her lack of qualification in the first session, so he dismissed it. He thought of her as the "shoulds" flooded into his brain. One stood out from the rest, unable to be sharpened into the weapon he wanted. It shouldn't have been enough. He should have pushed for more of an apology, he should've asked for more kindness, but the fact of the matter was that it was enough. It was Jon and he was apologising. He knew he was going to take it, no matter how this conversation had gone. He knew it from the very first time he laid a cup of tea on his desk and had been barely acknowledged.

"Thank you, Jon."

Maybe he should return to therapy. Maybe he was fucked up. Maybe he was no longer the only one who knew that. Jon awkwardly shuffled off, leaving rubble where there once was a jumper-clad man. Martin did the only thing he knew how to do. He clicked on the kettle, to make another cup of tea.

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