#the bitterness and envy is so blatant

[nrhodact]

Ok, hot take but I hate when the anti-fujo crowd accuse women of internalized misogyny because they write more mlm than wlw or focus on the male characters over the female ones.

With all the discussion about how terribly women are written in media it doesn't cross their mind that it's the writers faults and not the fans?

If the female character is 1 dimensional, why would people focus on those characters ? Why would they write fanfiction about them? Why would they be shipped with other-equally poorly written women?

People will flock to better written characters and unfortunately writers pay attention to male characters more cause of THEIR misogyny. It shouldn't be up to the fans to fix a writer's mistakes so the women can be fleshed out and therefore more interesting. If you're a fan that likes to write all the missed potential of a female character, more power to you but not every fan wants to or should even have to do that.

[makethatelevenrings]

Angel By the Wing - ONE

Starting the series off strong. Hope you all enjoy! If you would like to be added to the tag list of this series, please fill out the google form on my pinned message :)

Warning: smut (18+ only)

Series Masterlist

After a week of chaos, you finally got a chance to relax and breathe as you stood on the side of the dance floor and watched as the happy couple swayed back and forth. The champagne in your hand left a bitter aftertaste on your tongue, partly thanks to the fact that the chicken saltimbocca served for dinner was so incredibly salty.

“They make a good pair.” The groomsman you had been partnered with sidled up next to you, a whiskey neat clutched in his hand. You eyed the drink in envy and he smirked, lifting it to his lips and swallowing it down in one fell swoop. In return, you threw back your champagne and let it slide down your throat.

“They do,” you agreed once the sweet alcohol was gone from your glass. “I already told him that if he hurts her, I will go Carrie Underwood on his ass.”

He chuckled, his brown eyes locked on you instead of on the newlyweds. It had been a long road getting Jason and Hayley here. This week alone had been stressful beyond belief and you weren’t even the one getting married. You were just one of the bridesmaids thanks to being Hayley’s friend from college. You had flown up here eight days ago to help her in the final preparations and this moment was the first break you’ve had. Of course, it came when they were having their last dance, but hey, who were you to complain?

“I’m Bradley, by the way. I don’t think we really had a chance to talk.” He extended his free hand and you shook it as you gave him your own name. His hands were rough and calloused, the scrape against your skin making you shiver.

“I thought your name was Rooster,” you said. You had heard Jason and a few of the other groomsmen use the name. Bradley grinned and shook his head. 

“That’s my call sign. I’m a naval aviator. I met Jason in ROTC at UVA.”

“I figured.” You gestured to the outfit he was wearing. “This doesn’t really scream civilian. Does Rooster stand for something?”

He didn’t miss the way your gaze flickered to his zipper, your lip tucked between your teeth as you blinked up at him with a teasing look in your eyes.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked.

“Bar closed thirty minutes ago.”

He stepped closer, his whiskey stained breath mingling with yours. His warm gaze flickered down to your lips and you raised an eyebrow at his blatant staring. 

“The hotel bar is still open.”

And that is precisely how you found yourself pressed against the door of your hotel room. He had your legs wrapped around his waist as he held you like you weighed nothing. A pleasant buzz filled your brain, but you were still sober enough to be fully aware of the bulge pressed against your core.

“Wait,” you murmured. Bradley pulled his lips off of yours and moved to your neck, but he squeezed your ass to indicate that he was listening. You almost lost your train of thought as he laid a kiss below your jaw.

“I’m clean. I have one person I regularly sleep with, but he and I both get tested every month. I’m on birth control, but you’re still using a condom.”

He raised his head from where he had buried his face in the crook of your neck. His lips were swollen and his cheeks red from the combination of liquor and lust. You tangled your fingers in the short hair at the base of his neck and tugged, eliciting a low groan from his chest.

“I’m clean. Got tested three weeks ago and I haven’t been with anyone since. Definitely using a condom.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.” You slotted your lips against his once more and moaned into the kiss. Bradley thrust against you, but the fabric of his pants and the skirt of your bridesmaid dress prevented you from truly feeling anything. His fingers fumbled with the zipper on the back of your dress as you shoved at his jacket. He slowly helped you slide down so your feet landed on the ground and then shrugged off his jacket.

“Your other guy know you’re doing this?” he asked as he worked at your zipper once more. The long dress slid off your shoulders and pooled at your feet, leaving you in the lacy bra and panties you wore underneath.

“Why? Do you care or something?”

His fingers skated along the waistband of your panties and then dipped into the fabric, rubbing along the slit of your cunt. You shut your eyes and hummed at the touch. It only abated some of the burning in your gut, but you were hoping an orgasm or two would help ease the itch under your skin entirely. You hadn’t gotten laid in a month thanks to your fuck buddy being busy.

“I don’t really want to be encroaching on someone else’s territory.” His teeth enclosed over the shell of your ear and he tugged gently. You tugged at his shirt and somehow got the buttons out of their respective holes.

“Well, he knows. He doesn’t care. And he doesn’t fucking own me.” You pushed him back onto the bed and his shirt splayed open. Bradley tugged it off and then yanked his undershirt off, revealing the lithe muscles and six pack that was hiding underneath.

“Pants off. You owe me an orgasm for being a misogynist.”

A crooked grin crossed his full lips. “Well, by all means, punish me.” He laid back and kicked off his pants as you stripped off your last layer of clothes. Crawling onto the bed, your thighs rested on either side of his head. Bradley gave you no time to gather your bearings before he tugged you down onto his face.

Oh fuck, you thought. His mustache burned deliciously against your skin as his tongue stroked between your folds, circling around your clit before dipping inside your soaking arousal. You let out a shuttered gasp and bucked your hips, cresting your clit against the bridge of his nose. He groaned, the vibration rippling through you in the best way.

“Shit, sorry, did I hurt you?” You started to raise your hips but he grabbed your ass and pulled you down onto his tongue once more. You moaned and ground down as he devoured your pussy. Fucking hell, Bradley ate pussy like he was a man dying of thirst and you were the fountain of youth.

Your stomach tightened with the all too familiar feel of pleasure. It felt like a rubber band being stretched thin and you were aching for it to snap. Your fingers slid into his wavy hair and you tugged. He moaned into your cunt and your eyes rolled back into your head as he speared his tongue between your folds.

Your orgasm washed over you as he ate you out and you locked up, your thighs tightening around his head. The second you could regain your thinking, you released your hold on him and rolled onto your back.

“You okay?” you asked. His chest heaved up and down and he was staring up at the ceiling with a dazed look on his handsome features. You bent down and kissed him, taking the taste of your in your mouth as your tongue stroked alongside his. That snapped him out of whatever pussy-induced trance he was in and he rolled on top of you. His strong hands curled around your wrists and pinned your hands above your head.

“Can you be a good girl and take my cock?” he panted, his lips ghosting over your jaw.

“Fuck me, Rooster,” you teased.

***

The alarm clock shrieked as it came to life. You swore and haphazardly slapped your hand on the offensive box until it shut up. Propping yourself up on your elbow, you blinked the sleep out of your eye and looked at the time.

“Fuck,” you whispered to yourself. “Fuck!”

The figure next to you in the bed jerked awake at your exclamation. You winced in apology and rolled out of bed. Being naked didn’t even faze you. He had seen it all last night when he coaxed not one, but three orgasms out of you. Damn, if only you were staying in Virginia.

You took a moment to admire Bradley in the morning sun glow. His dark hair was messy and tousled. Sleep coated his lashes and framed his soulful brown eyes. He sat up and watched you stumble over to your suitcase, the sheets pooling at his waist and revealing his very cut physique.

“Good morning.” His throat was coated with sleep and the roughness of it sent thrills up your spine. You flashed him a quick smile over your shoulder as you hopped into a fresh pair of underwear and pulled on a sports bra.

“Hey, morning.” Leggings and a ratty old t-shirt were your next step. Bradley raised an eyebrow in curiosity as you hurriedly dressed and moved around the room.

“Are you interested in grabbing coffee or breakfast?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, but I have a flight in two hours and I still have to check out and get an Uber to the airport.” Your packing was essentially just tossing things into your suitcase and promising yourself that you would unpack the second you got home.

“Oh, where are you flying to?”

“Home. San Diego. Listen, we don’t have to do this.”

He smirked and leaned back against the headboard. One of his arms came up to rest behind his head and you sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of all that toned, tan skin.

“What’s ‘this’?” He surrounded the word with air quotes and you rolled your eyes, gesturing between the two of you.

“This. The morning after. The small talk where we both pretend to care. This was just a one time thing. You’re in Virginia, I’m in San Diego. Nothing more is coming out of this. You were great, truly. Thank you for the mind blowing orgasms but I need to check out so that means you’ve gotta go.” You found his undershirt and tossed it at him. Bradley chuckled but he rolled out of the bed. You pointedly ignored him as he strolled across the room to his briefs and slid them on.

You could feel him approach you from behind. Bradley pressed up against your back and ran his lips along your neck before he pressed a kiss just above your pulse.

“Thanks for last night, sweetheart.”

And then he was gone with only the soft click of the door shutting behind him. You shut your eyes as the phantom touch of his lips lingered on your skin. The buzz of an incoming text snapped you out of your lust-filled stupor.

Nat: text me when you get to your gate and when you land. I’ll be there to pick you up.

You: Can we get In N Out on the way back

Nat: you’re the absolute worst. I’m in.

Shutting your suitcase with a sigh, you scanned the room one last time in case you missed something and then headed out the door.

As your plane took off hours later, you barely spared Bradley Bradshaw a second thought.

[ellaa-writes]

Star Crossed Lovers

author notes: I am so beyond happy for this series. I'm such a huge fan of Elliot Knight and don't understand the blatant hate and disrespect he gets. He's such a lover boy and I hope I can portray it right. Anyways, this is in The Beast Within world. So happy to finally be expanding it. Simon's series here. Part 1 obviously. Enjoy!

cw: a/b/o dynamics. mature themes. violence, death and misogyny ideas ahead. each chapter will have its own warnings. this one is very tame as most of them will be for Kyle's series. Not proof read or edited.

The bond between the sun and the moon was profound, birthing generations of celestial descendants. The brilliance of the sun overshadowed the moon's gentle glow, yet their offspring celebrated each radiant dawn. However, as the sun's light waned, fear of the moon's darkness gripped their progeny. Nights became a time of retreat, as the moon's illumination sparked unease.

Despite the moon's efforts to illuminate the night, its light was met with disdain. Over time, bitterness consumed the moon, turning its love to envy. In a fit of jealousy, the moon cursed its children with lust and greed. Heartbroken, the sun countered with blessings of fertility and love upon their offspring.

The discord between the sun and the moon poisoned the world, bringing forth plagues and sorrow. Mothers wept for stillborn children, while sickness ravaged the fertile Omega population and drove strong Alphas to madness. Chaos reigned as violence spread, leaving scars upon the earth and its inhabitants, a testament to the anguish of celestial lovers.

Being born into a breeding farm, you never knew anything other than the inside of this facility. These boring white walls were home, sadly but truthfully. Your whole existence not of your choice, to keep the population flowing and the Alpha's happy.

You never knew love, being ripped from your mother soon as you were born, not even a suckle at her teet. Caged like an animal, tested and expirmented on. Trained to be submissive, receiving. On how to please an Alpha and bare his seed. It was a miserable life indeed. You dreamt of the unknown beyond these walls, the vast world surrounding you. Of somehow growing wings and taking flight like a bird at night. Soaring across the land and away from the confinement within these walls.

That's how you ended up here, tied down with a cage over your head. It was punishment, for being a dreamer, and for also biting the arm of an Alpha that touched you a little too long. It was suppose to be humiliating and you guess it was. Unable to move, put into the optimum breeding postion. To remind you of your worth, of your only purpose. To breed.

Your lucky you are still in training, unproven to be the perfect specimen. You had anger problems, your file stated. Violet outbursts, emotions too high. It's why they pump you fully of hormones, hoping that it'll tone you down. Your arms went numb hours ago, your back strained in the uncomfortable postion. The dull ache of your muscles etching themselves in. This isn't your first time here and probably won't be your last. It was so quiet you'd believe to be alone but the occasional murmur of voices letting you know they are always watching.

You could hear the low whispers, how they talk with such vemon. All you need to a rough fuck from a top Alpha, someone to put you in your place. Others say that maybe this life wasn't meant for you, to put you down quick and without a fuss.

Settling in for the night, you knew you'd be here for a while. Closing your eyes and clearing your mind. Getting lost in your imagination, slipping into the void of your own reality. The first sounds of shouting and gunfire so far away that you don't hear. Either that or you so deep into your mind that you can't hear the screaming.

Red light illuminates around you, casting the small room into a dark hue. The sound of alarms startles you to the surface. The sound of pounding feet marching into battle. The cries and whimpers of the wounded. This can't be real, you must still be dreaming. This must be what a nightmare is, something you never experienced. Bullet fire opens up close near you, the sound of the sharp metal bouncing off the steel walls, echoing around you.

All you can do is lay in this unnatural postion, like a juicy mango ripe for the picking. You can hear the voices, unknown to you. Shouting out commands and orders, responses and copy that's. The door to your room shaking under the thunderous pounding.

The metal screaming has whoever was on the other side tried to penetrate. Finally weakening, the door flung from its hinges, now laying off to the side. The dark room filled the shouting voices and beams of light, words you couldn't understand.

It must have been a hell of a sight. A fresh untouched Omega, beant over and bound, begging to be fucked. If they weren't trained for this, and pumped full of suppressants, one of them would have went in for the bite. Lowering his weapon Kyle lead the charge. Barking out commands as he slung the gun across his back. Unsheathing the knife on his thigh, cooing at the poor whimpering thing in front of him.

He never understood it, the need for dominance. Might be genetic after all, born a Beta male. He slipped his knife under the binds, watching as it sliced through them with ease. Letting her know he's not here to harm her, none of them are. Easing his hand on her lower back, slicing through the rest of the binds. Pulling her into a kneeling postion with himself to the side of her.

"It's all going to be alright love." hoping his words eased her. One of his men handing him a fleece blanket, he wrapped it around the shaking thing. "Do ya think ya can stand?" he asked. Finally turned her around to get a proper look at her, she still had the bag over her head. The damn thing was padlocked on, he called out to one of his men. "Anyone know how to pick a lock?" a small lanky Beta approached. Hands up in a nuturel positions, showing that he was no harm to the frightened Omega.

"Get dis thing off of her. Make it quick" he held you in place has the other male Beta began working of the lock. You flinched with every movement, whimpering out in fear. Trying to understand what was happening, was this still apart of the nightmare? The lock clicked and sprang open. The smaller Beta wretching it off you as Kyle ripped the hood from your head.

Sucking in a deep breath of air, feeling your lungs fill and burn. Your senses flooded with the smell of the men around you. All Betas to your surprise.

"Easy, easy their." Kyle tried pulling you to your feet. But after hours of being bound tight, your muscles relented and cried out in pain. Causing you to cling to him and hiss, you won't be able to use your limbs for a while. Kyle didn't hesitate lifting you up by your knees, bracing his other arm across your back. Carrying you past the other man and out the door. You were thankful for the blanket, the warmth helping to keep you calm.

"Close ya eyes." it was a command and you didn't dare disobey. Snapping them shut and burying your face into his chest. "It's all gonna be alright." you hope he was telling the truth, you had no other choice but to believe his words. He carried you past the destruction and towards the safety of outside. Trucks lined the block, stations and tents set up along the roads. Kyle looked out and saw his Captain carrying two young Omega girls, no older the six.

He was is disbelief and disgust, these poor Omega girls, locked up like cattle. This was only the third raid, after being tipped off of the inhumane practices. The shocking bombshell articles plastered all over the papers and morning new stations. The only good thing coming out of this mess was the cure.

He carried you to one of the medic tents, setting you on an empty bed. Female and male medics shuffling around trying to treat all they could. Two female Beta medics came to your aid, immediately checking you vitals. Kyle stepped off to the side, to give them space and to return to the mission. You reacted out of panic and fear, lunging forward and gripping onto his arm. Your nails digging in deep, drawing blood. "Please!" you croaked out. Eyes wide and pleading, filling with worry and tears.

He didn't know what to do, looking at the medics for support. The lead medic pushing him onto the bed next to you, "Keep her calm" she ordered out as she flashed a light in your eyes. Your breathing eased and your grip loosened.

He didn't leave your side the whole time, staying with you as the medication they gave you started to take affect. Consuming your body with sleep, closing your eyes one last time that night.

He stared at himself in the mirror, his nostrils flaring with each breath. He's been doing this for so long, has been all over the world and seen the many cruel ways of his kind. But this, this hit him hard.

His mind kept wandering back to you, but it's just all part of the job right. Right?

"Fuck" he spat out, pushing off of the vanity as he finally left the bathroom. Making his way down the hall to the kitchen, it was too early in the morning. Most still sleeping and the few awake else wear. He opened the fridge, his stomach doing flips making the idea of food unmanageable. He needed some air, opting for a run outside instead.

Allowing the crisp morning air hit his face, the burn in his lungs and the ache in the legs. He loved the feeling of freedom. Opening field, just loving life. Nothing but a good run to clear his plauged mind. Turning back around to head towards the compound, he noticed a familiar shape resting up against a tree. Captain Price.

"What's up?" he asked out of breath, using the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face. "I know it's your day off but theres a problem." Kyle knew the look in his Captains eyes. He wouldn't be asking if he didn't think Kyle could handle it. "Go on." he instructed. "It's about the Omega you brought out last night. She's been unconsolable, unresponsive. She in a lot of stress, keeps asking for the Beta that rescued her." Kyle's heart dropped, he didn't bother to finish listening to what Price had to say. Walking off towards the direction of the parking lot, he'll deal with his Captain later.

All he could focus on was getting to you.

[your-divine-ribs]

I’m With the Band Part 29

Words: 2.7k

Arabella is in for an unexpected surprise…

I’m With the Band Masterlist Main Masterlist

"I'm sorry this little place doesn't cater for your refined tastebuds love," Johnny grins at me. "What's your usual order? Something poncy like half-caff ristretto mocha-choca skinny latte, hold the foam?"

"I can't help it if I have particular tastes, there's nothing wrong with being fussy." I smirk at him from over the top of my coffee mug, lightly shuddering as the bitter taste hits the back of my throat. "Anyway... what happened to looking for trouble? I don't exactly class going for breakfast in a shit-hole like this a thrill-seeking mission."

We're sitting in a small booth in a run-down coffee shop just a few streets from the hotel, having been whisked out of the door by Johnny as Van and Larry had watched on with narrowed eyes, ignoring their calls of "where you pair off to then?" and "hold up Bells... where ya going?"

I'd never showered and got ready so quickly in all my life after my chat with Johnny, cursing that I'd only slung a basic skater mini skirt and a little cropped halter-top into my overnight bag with minimal make-up. I'd been expecting to travel straight back to Llandudno the day after the lads' show, but when I'd emerged from my hotel room the appreciative looks that Johnny gave me made me feel like I could easily have been dolled up to the nines and wearing one of my slinky Valentino gowns. He's still looking at me like that now, and whilst I'm used to blatant appreciation from the male species, Johnny makes me feel good in a different way. He makes me feel warm inside rather than just hot.

"I'd say by the looks Van and Larry were giving us as we went out the door we could easily be in trouble." He's buttering a piece of toast, slathering on a generous amount, his plate piled high with the largest helping of English breakfast that I've ever seen. I'm trying to keep the envy at bay as I sip at my coffee, having declined his offer of treating me to a slap up breakfast.

"Yeah well... Larry's been very clear about how I'm supposed to act on this tour," I grumble. "Apparently I'm supposed to be completely celibate all summer!"

Johnny chuckles. "Oh the horror! However are ya gonna manage that?"

I feign haughtiness even though I'm laughing too. "I know, it sounds like torture. It's an infringement on my human rights, I'm telling you!"

Johnny shovels a forkful of bacon and beans into his mouth, the sauce escaping and running down his chin. "You do know there is such a thing as having fun with your clothes on don't you?"

"Well, maybe me and you have different ideas of fun," I reply, leaning over with napkin in hand to wipe at the orange stain on Johnny's chin. "Honestly look at the state of you... can't take you anywhere."

He pulls a daft face, scrunching up his eyes and sticking out his chin, allowing me to dab at the mess, and I find myself giggling again.

"And I'm supposed to be the one looking after you," he shakes his head.

"Says who? I don't need looking after."

"Says me." His cheeky smile still lingers but he says it with an air of business like he really means it. "Someone's got to do it. Someone's got to keep an eye on you and make sure you don't go running off with some rich and famous rockstar, stowing away on their tour bus never to be seen again."

I allow my eyes to roll but playfully so. "Don't you start, you sound just like Larry." Then I place my mug down on the table and let my hand drop down to rest on his leg, just above the knee, smiling sweetly at him. "Besides... why would I wanna do that when I have the pleasure of your company?"

Johnny's just about to raise up another forkful of food but he pauses, his eyes trailing down to where my hand rests. I think for a moment that he's going to brush it away but he doesn't, he just looks up at me with an unreadable expression on his face.

"What?" I say after a moment has passed. It's only fleeting but for some reason it seems a lot longer. I almost feel awkward for my blatant teasing, but I brush the notion away. This is what I do. If I like a guy I let him know in no uncertain terms. I'm not the sort to indulge in veiled flirtations, leaving men wondering about my intentions. If I want them, they definitely know about it. I make sure of it.

Johnny looks away, taking the mouthful of food at last and chewing thoughtfully for a moment before he speaks. "What do you want Arabella?"

This surprises me, I was expecting him to either play along with my game or completely block my advances, not question them. For some reason Johnny always manages to keep me guessing, but I'm undeterred from my mission. I purposefully move my hand further up his thigh, squeezing firmly as I go. "I think that much is pretty obvious, don't you?"

I feel his muscles tense under my touch and I take my chance, sliding my hand inwards to his inner thigh, kneading him through his jeans under the table, the back of my hand just brushing his crotch. He stiffens and I think I hear his breath catch as I lean a little closer.

"No... I mean what do you really want? You act like you don't give a shit, but I think deep down you do. Despite what you say, you care about what people think of you." He's looking right at me now, warm blue eyes scanning my face, taking all of me in. I feel the warm glow in the pit of my belly intensify. "I think you're actually a lot deeper and more sensitive that you let on too."

I'm stunned for a second but I quickly recover, scoffing lightly at Johnny's observations. "Sensitive? Deep? Oh that's a new one! People call me a lot of things but I've not heard that one before!"

I'm loathe to abandon my seduction but something tells me that it's pointless right now. I slide my hand away reluctantly, reaching again for my mug and draining the contents, leaning back against the cracked leather of the booth that I'm sitting in, wondering what on earth Johnny's going to come out with next.

"Maybe people don't know the real you... those so-called friends of yours for example."

There it is again, a dig at my friends who he's never even met. He really is judgemental. I feel my nerves automatically bristle, defences raising. I watch him scoop up the dregs of his meal on his fork, clearing his plate with a satisfied smile as he leans back too.

"And why wouldn't they know the real me?" I question him. "Are you trying to say that I put on a front?"

He shrugs and I detect a slight wariness in his eyes. I don't back down, I fix him with a challenge in mine, daring him to tell me what he really thinks. I fold my arms across my chest and one leg over the other, trying not to react when to my shock one of his hands moves across the chair and finds its way to my leg, smoothing down over my bare thigh just above the knee. The glow inside me spreads, warming me through.

"I didn't mean it like that," he tells me, pausing as if he's searching for the right words, his fingers gently flexing against my skin. "I meant that I think there's a lot more to you than meets the eye... if anyone were to take the time to really get to know you of course." He pauses again and I realise I'm holding my breath, the subtle soothing movement of his fingers stirring me, the searching look in his eyes captivating. "When I said before that I wanted to get to know you, I meant it you know. The real you. You don't have to pretend when you're around me. You can be yourself."

Just when I thought this man couldn't surprise me any further he manages to do just that, the uncanny knack he seems to have of cutting through the bullshit to see what lies underneath. It makes me feel simultaneously wary but also strangely comforted. An urge to let my guard down and allow the pretence to fall away.

But wait... it's not pretence... this is me. This is how I am.

"Look Johnny, what you see is what you get with me, it's as simple as that." I sigh deeply like the subject matter's boring me, even though having all this intent focus on me as a person rather than an accessory is a luxury I hadn't realised quite how much I'd missed. Johnny's fingers are still moving against my skin, warm tender touches that I can only imagine would feel heavenly in other places. I allow a tinge of sultriness to stain my smile, pushing my shoulders back and widening my eyes, subtly seductive in my efforts as I try again.

"Anyway... enough about me and what I want. Let's talk about you shall we? What do you want?"

Johnny's quiet for a moment, a smile simmering which lights up his handsome face, adorably crinkling his eyes. Everything about him is warm, drawing me in.

"You mean right now?"

"Uh-huh... right this very moment."

I hold my bottom lip captive in my teeth, watching Johnny's gaze fall to it as he licks his own lips. "Actually, if you must know... I really want to kiss you right now..."

Goddamn it, I really have forgotten how to breathe.

I don't hesitate, leaning closer. "Then do it."

It's not the first kiss that we've shared but it feels like it could be. We're both tentative this time, there's no urgency like before, no drunken sloppiness or fiery need. It almost feels pure... but not for long. Johnny's hand leaves my thigh to tuck around the back of my neck, burying his fingers in my hair, his lips moving softly against mine, his tongue nudging mine gently. I sigh into his mouth, feeling my body melt against his as I slide myself across the seat, closing the small gap in the booth.

"Mmm Arabella," he breathes, finally pulling away but remaining close, our foreheads practically touching. "You really have no idea what you do to me do ya?"

I smile, only too aware. "Why don't you show me then?"

"In here?" He chuckles softly, glancing around. "Not very private is it?"

I want to be close to him, I want to feel his body pressed flush against mine. If I wasn't in such a public place I'd be straddling his lap right about now. But we are in a public place... very public... a fact which only becomes blatantly more obvious as a laddish cheer of "Oi Bondy! Get in there mate!" rings out deafeningly loud and clear, almost making me jump out of my skin.

I push myself back and Johnny does the same, albeit much more unhurried. In fact he's surprisingly calm, smiling easily as I sit there fidgeting nervously beside him. It's almost like he's expecting the intrusion, but surely not...

I look on in an embarrassed kind of dread as I clock the the source of the disturbance. Two of Sam's band have just entered the cafe. I've not been formally introduced but they're familiar enough that I know exactly who they are. Dean's easily identifiable by the baseball cap he's wearing and the biggest million watt smile he shoots in my direction. Joe's grinning too, cheekily enough that I know that he was the one to drop the comment.

My cheeks warm as I look cautiously between Dean and Joe, expecting to see some sort of animosity directed at me after the infamous Instagram post drama but there's none. Dean's still beaming at me and Joe's bouncing on the balls of his feet like an excited child.

"Alright lads!" Johnny grins brightly, and my bewilderment just increases as Dean gestures to the empty plate on the table.

"What happened to you taking us out for breakfast then? You said on the phone earlier you were gonna treat us!"

"Couldn't wait!" Joe chips in, then he tips Johnny a conspiratorial wink. "Hungry man aren't ya, eh Bonds?"

I just sit there, my cheeks glowing like a beacon, unusually silent. The last thing I expected to see this morning was anyone associated with Sam. I know damn well I won't be able to avoid him forever with our paths sure to cross due to the number of festivals that both bands are playing over the summer, but I wanted to be a little more prepared when the moment finally came. But what am I worrying about? At least he's not here. I try to breathe a little easier, willing myself to relax. If I can ingratiate myself with Sam's closest friends it might make a reconciliation down the line a little easier... and besides... Joe is kinda cute...

"Don't mind Joe. You'll get used to him eventually. I'm Dean by the way." He raises up a hand to me in a greeting and I offer him a smile. I can feel my confidence start to trickle back but I'm aware that my cheeks are still on fire, a fact which Joe feels the need to draw even more attention to.

"Aww you're all embarrassed, am sorry love!" He chuckles, sticking out a hand to me which I take and he shakes it enthusiastically. "Pleased to meet ya anyway, I'm Joe."

"Arabella," I greet him, flashing both boys my polished and practised winning smile.

Joe's still holding my hand as he speaks. "Ahh, we know who you are alright... heard all about you from our Sam! He's not shut up about ya!"

I'm not sure how to react to this, wincing internally, glancing quickly at Johnny to catch his face creasing in sudden awkwardness as he looks back at the lads. "Talking of Sam... where is he anyway? Thought he'd be done by now. He told me he'd meet me here."

WHAT???

And that's the moment that I know that I've been set up. My heart plummets like a stone before it's shooting back up to my chest to beat furiously against my rib cage like a fairground high striker. I feel nauseous at the prospect of coming face to face with Sam so soon after our altercation.

"Johnny, what the fuck are you playing at?" I hiss under my breath, jabbing him sharply in the ribs with my elbow. He lets out a grunted huff, leaning in closely to talk quietly in my ear whilst Joe and Dean start to bicker about where Sam might be and what time he was due to finish at the tv studio.

"I'm so sorry, but you gotta sort out this shit with Sam before tour starts up. You gotta clear the air. We're due to share hotels with 'em, the tour buses'll be parked up together. It'll never work if you're bickering or avoiding each other... and I knew damn well you wouldn't agree to meet up with him to talk it through if I suggested it."

"But does Sam even know... that I'm here?"

That's when the cafe door swings open and Sam himself saunters in, grinning amiably at his friends as he looks between them. Then his gaze falls on me and the smile slides right off his face in an instant.

Shit... that answers that question then.

All I can do is cringe inside as Johnny swiftly gets to his feet, wrapping one arm around Joe's shoulder and one around Dean's, smiling sheepishly at me as he announces that they have very important and urgent business elsewhere and that Sam should enjoy his breakfast and the present company.

I’m going to kill him. I’m going to fucking kill him.

[nicklloydnow]

Le journal d'une femme de chambre (1964)

“No one has any idea of all the worries that servants have to put up with, nor of the monstrous way in which they are continually exploited. If it's not the employers, it's the registry offices or some charitable institution—not to mention your fellow servants, for some of them are pretty foul. No one has the slightest concern for anyone else. Everybody lives, grows fat, amuses himself at the expense of someone more miserable and hard-up than himself. However much the scene may change or the background be transformed, however different or hostile the social setting, men's passions and appetites remain the same. Whether it is in a cramped, middle-class flat, or some banker's luxurious town house, you find the same beastliness, the same inexorable fate. When all's said and done, the truth is that a girl like me is defeated even before she starts, wherever she may go and whatever she may do . . . poor human dung, nourishing the harvest of life and happiness for the rich to gather and use against us . . .

There is supposed to be no more slavery nowadays. But that's all rubbish. What about servants? What are they, I'd like to know? In practice, they are simply slaves, with all that slavery entails—the moral degradation, the inevitable corruption, the spirit of revolt that breeds hatred . . . It is the masters who teach servants to be vicious. However pure and simple-hearted they may be when they start—and some of them are—they are soon corrupted by the depravity they come in contact with. They find themselves surrounded by vice, everything they see, breathe or touch is vicious. And so from minute to minute, from day to day, they begin to adapt themselves to it, for far from being able to defend themselves against it, they find themselves on the contrary, obliged to wait upon it, pamper it, respect it. And the spirit of revolt arises from the fact that they are powerless either to satisfy it or to break the shackles that prevent its natural development. It's really quite extraordinary. They expect us to have all the virtues, all the resignation, all the heroism and readiness for self-sacrifice, but only those vices that flatter their vanity and further their interests. And for this, all we get in return is their contempt—and wages that vary between thirty-five and ninety francs a month . . . No, it's fantastic! . . . And, on top of all this, we have to live in a state of perpetual struggle, of constant fear, between the semi-luxury of having a job one day, and, the next, having to face the squalor of unemployment; knowing that, whatever we do, we are always under suspicion, so that they are forever bolting doors, padlocking drawers, locking up cupboards, marking bottles, counting every cake and plum, and even have the nerve to search our pockets and our trunks as though they were detectives. There's not a single door or cupboard in this place, not a drawer or a bottle, that isn’t continually shouting at us: ‘Thief, thief, thief!’ And, as it all this wasn't enough, we have to put up with the constant irritation of seeing the terrible inequality, the appalling contrast between our lot and theirs, so that despite their familiarity with us, despite all their smiles and little gifts, an impassable gulf exists between us and them, a whole world of unspoken hatred, of suppressed envy, of longing for revenge . . . a contrast that, at every minute of the day, is made more blatant and humiliating by the whims, and even by the kindnesses of these unjust, loveless creatures, which is what rich people always are . . . Do they ever, for one single moment, consider what bitter and legitimate hatred we must feel, how we must long to kill them . . . yes, kill them . . . when we hear them, in order to describe something low and ignoble, saying, with a disgust that denies all common humanity: 'He has the manners of a servant . . . She is as sentimental as a servant girl . . .’ Under such conditions, what do they expect us to become? Do these women really imagine that I, too, wouldn't like to wear beautiful dresses, drive about in fine carriages, flirt with my lovers . . . yes, and even employ servants? . . . And then they lecture us about devotion, about being honest and faithful . . . I only wish their words would choke them, the cows!” - Octave Mirbeau, ‘The Diary of a Chambermaid’ (1900) [p. 211 - 213]

[inca-oc]

Try Again

Keeva's world seems to be in a constant state of falling apart and it's become too much. Lan tries his best to get her through, unwilling to watch her become an echo of himself.

Apprehension had been as constant a companion to Keeva as her own eidolon when she’d initially made her way to the upper floors of the Avalon. An excruciatingly awkward encounter with Fiona had only put her further on edge after the unexpected appearance and battle with Móirín, and coupled with her witnessing Fiona’s brush with death, and adding even further to that with Keeva’s frantic effort to save Lancelot from a similar fate during that battle… It was so much. Too much. She could scarcely keep her thoughts from toppling over themselves in how dizzyingly overwhelmed she was. At the very least, she’d wanted to do something useful in her effort to escape her guilty conscience, and ensuring Tiarnán was actually okay seemed like the most reasonable option given everything that had just happened. So here she sat, begrudgingly holding a cup of tea she was too embarrassed to refuse while stuck in a place she hardly wanted to be in.

And then, as if fate found her circumstances to be funny and wanted to send her on one final push towards utter ruin, her eyes fixate on Tiarnán and Móirín’s joined hands, sending all of her thoughts crashing down around her as every façade she’d haphazardly thrown up shattered in a single instant. Her attention turns to their faces, seemingly unbothered, then their words, the final blow that cuts as sharp as a knife right through her soul.

It was love. It was always love.

This isn’t fucking fair.

She can feel herself wanting to crumble on the spot, further adding to the guilt that had made a fine home within her soul. Shouldn’t she be happy that Tiarnan can hold his beloved’s hand? That their love for one another is enough to overcome any discomfort they might face? Shouldn’t she be supportive, rather than filled with bitterness? Envy?

Had all of her love been devoured by hate?

Her world becomes a blur, her thoughts racing as everything around her seems to slow to a crawl. Nothing felt right, a cacophony of color and sound that meant nothing to her. She needed to get out. Get out, run as far away as she could.

I can’t do this anymore.

She’s only vaguely aware that she’s speaking, but she can’t hear anything over the sickening buzz of her own guilty thoughts, so intense it’s blinding. A tiny part of her hopes there was an apology thrown into whatever she said, that she didn’t accidentally break one of Tiarnán’s teacups, but the rest of her is too upset to care, and then more upset that she doesn’t care.

I’m sorry.

Every footstep is like a jolt of thunderous noise in her mind as she sprints away from Tiarnán’s room, but even that is not enough to drown out her thoughts.

I’m so sorry.

In one moment, Keeva had been sitting at Lancelot’s side, relatively fine considering the circumstances if not understandably anxious, and in the next she’s suddenly on her feet and shouting something he can scarcely understand in a near frantic state. By the time Lancelot realizes what’s going on she’s already gone, but the eidolon is quickly on his feet and out the door after her, leaving no time for even a scant apology.

She’d already made it a significant distance down the hall by this point, but he quickly gains on her. "Keeva?” Lan tries to get her attention, speaking first out loud, then through their mental link. ‘Keeva, talk to me.’

She speaks, not in response to his worried call, but rather with a quiet hiss of words he cannot quite hear and a sudden jerk of her hand, an action he instantly recognizes as her casting a spell. In the next moment he can feel their link go muted, her constant presence more distant in blatant evidence of what she had cast.

"Keeva!" he exclaims, quickening his pace to close what little distance remained between them. As he reaches for her arm, his gloved hand closes around nothing but empty air where Keeva stood not a second before, the distinct sound of a pop ringing in his ears. She’s gone, leaving him standing alone in the hallway.

With him now unfettered from her, she could theoretically be anywhere within Hadreon, and all at once he feels panic seize him. Lancelot was well aware of just how emotionally fragile she was right now. If she decided to do something stupid, he wouldn’t be able to protect her.

He needed to find her.

‘Keeva, please. Please,’ The eidolon mentally pleads, trying to choke back his anxiety long enough to keep from adding to her own overload of emotions. ‘Keeva. Keeva, where are you?’ His attempts to reach her through their link are met with a brief jolt of guilt, of sadness that is quickly stifled, and then silence. Despite the absence of words, her message was clear: leave me alone.

Lancelot slams the side of his fist into the wall, uttering every curse in every language he knew. He’d encouraged her to come here, and like everything else lately, of course something had to go catastrophically wrong.

“I’m so fucking stupid.”

It was going to do him little good to stand there and curse. After overcoming the worst of his initial panic and frustration, the next few minutes are spent frantically running through the Avalon as fast as his legs will allow, looking everywhere that Keeva could be on the ship. He figures that it would be most likely for her to stay where she was most familiar, so after checking the usual spots — the kitchen, the shrine, and then their house — he then spends the next hour looking all through the forest layer in the faintest hope that she might be somewhere within. If not, if not… In the least of things, he would possibly feel a pull from their link once the unfettering ends if he was close enough, or be killed outright if she were even farther than that, but in any case he would have confirmation of her whereabouts at that point.

Whether she would be willing to resummon him is a different story, however, and although she was nearly always willing to comply with his requests, she may not be so inclined if she’s feeling bad enough. The situation with Fiona comes to mind immediately; even when she was stabbed, she would not let him out and forced him to remain in her soul, unable to do anything. He couldn’t protect her if he was trapped in her mind. No, he had to find her before time was up. He had to help her.

It was a vow he had taken as an eidolon, but one he honored as her friend. To protect her, always. He would not fail her again.

Running through the plants and trees was proving to slow him down far too much for his liking, so he eventually makes the switch to flight. Time seems to fly alongside him all too quickly, however, and he can feel that panic returning, building upon itself more and more with every passing second. Any mental prodding he attempts is met with continued silence from Keeva, but he tries regardless. If nothing else, it lets her know that he’s thinking of her. At least, he hopes it’s what she takes from that.

Somehow, despite all the terror screaming inside him, there is a sudden thought that occurs to him amongst the noise; he recalls a faint memory of a trek they’d embarked on one day when she’d expressed interest in exploring the forest layer, and then Keeva’s quiet voice. She’d pointed out to him a specific group of flowers and vines, commenting that the arrangement of them, they’d reminded her so distinctly of the plants she’d had growing on her home in Tír na nÓg, and how much she missed those flowers sometimes. It had been a brief exchange, one he hadn’t given too much thought to at the time, but given how much she’d expressed feeling homesick lately… Perhaps she would be there. He hopes his hunch is right. It’s the only idea he has left.

Please be there, Keeva.

It doesn’t take much longer for him to arrive at that spot once he gets his bearings, retracing the journey to the best of his recollection. As he lands amidst the overgrown flowers, his eyes quickly scan his surroundings but to his dismay, she doesn’t appear to be there after all. Fuck.

Fuck.

Maybe she was still somewhere on the ship, but there was always the possibility that he was completely wrong about that too. What if he was wrong? Was she really somewhere else in Hadreon? Where could she be? What if she was in danger somewhere and he couldn’t do anything?

His thoughts suddenly come to a screeching halt as he happens to catch the subtlest trace of movement from the corner of his eye, and all at once his attention is caught on the last bit of hope he has. He turns fully to catch a better look and finally, finally he spots her; blended in amongst the foliage lay Keeva’s still form, her the slightest quivering of her wings the only observable movement. Laying there she looks as though she could be a flower herself.

In that moment, the sight of her was sweeter than any flower he’d ever seen.

The relief that washes over him in that instant is so intense he would cry if he had the capability to do so. It takes every ounce of willpower in his body to not scoop her up in a crushing hug right then and there, but startling her was not going to do her any favors. Instead, he slowly approaches, stops to move the plants, to make an open space in the plants, then lays on the ground facing her. An eye opens as he settles in place, sees him, then closes again as she curls even tighter into herself as if to make herself invisible within the blanket of flowers. He makes no attempt to speak, and neither does she.

There aren’t words he can say that would give her the comfort she deserves, so he waits.

Eventually their link is restored in full as the spell that unfettered him fades away, and although she was still shielding her thoughts and feelings from him, it isn’t much longer after that when she steals another glance as though checking if he were still there. He offers a blink, and the faintest trace of a smile.

“Are you ready to talk?” he asks, finally ending the stretch of silence between them.

The hesitation in her is obvious, but does not last long. “There’s nothing to talk about,” she counters flatly, what little expression he could see betraying how gloomy she still was despite her empty tone. “Why don’t you check on someone else? I’m fine.”

His eyes narrow the slightest bit, then close as he feigns a sigh. “Well, you see, I would,” he says, waving a hand almost dismissively, “except you’re the only person left for me to check on.”

“Don’t lie to me,” she mumbles, turning her back to him.

He frowns, dropping the carefree façade that was clearly more irritating to her than helpful right now. “Keeva,” he urges as he pushes himself upright, staring steadily at her tiny form, “you are the only person on this ship who needs me to check on them. That is a fact.”

“What about Iris?” she counters sharply, glancing at him from over her shoulder. “Or Alex, or–”

“What about you, Keeva?” He gazes at her with obvious concern. “When are you going to let someone care about you for a change? Your friends are worried about you. I’m worried about you.”

She grimaces, letting her head drop back down so he could no longer see her face. He waits in silence, and just when he’s about to speak, she finally replies, “I’m fine, Lan. I’m fine.”

“If you were actually fine,” he chides, “I wouldn’t have felt the need to search half the Avalon to find you.”

Her wings twitch, and in the next moment she’s turned back to face him, pushing herself up to sit upright. “You didn’t have to do that, Lan.”

“Well, you weren’t exactly telling me where you were! I was terrified for you, Keeva.” Lancelot runs his hand through his bangs, gripping at his head so tight some of the hair comes undone from his ponytail. He tries to keep his emotions tamped down, but frustration bubbles to the surface despite his best efforts. “What was I supposed to do? Sit on my ass and pray to every single pretender that you were safe? You teleported away! I count my fucking blessings that you were still on the ship instead of the middle of Hadreon somewhere!” He stops, noticing a strange look of fear that flashed across her face. “What?” he questions flatly, an uncomfortable knot forming in his chest. She doesn’t immediately respond, averting her eyes, and he presses with sudden urgency, “Keeva, please answer me.”

She falters, but complies with his request for an answer. “I…. I did. Leave the ship.”

His entire body tenses, and any self control he had slips as he shouts, “What? Keeva, you what?” He instantly regrets his loss of composure as she winces away from him. You fucking idiot, she’s not the one you’re angry at. Do better. “Keeva,” he tries again after a brief silence, voice dropping to a pained whisper. “Keeva, what if you’d gotten hurt? Would you have called me to you? Where did you even go?”

Her fingers dig into her arms so hard they meet her mannequin, her face scrunched up so much her eyes are slivers of green. She can’t bring herself to meet his gaze, her words coming so haltingly she has to stop, try to recompose herself, but even still her voice is frail as she forces herself to reply, “I-I went… I went to, um, Ellara. Near where we… we came here. Hadreon.”

“Keeva,” he starts, but she swiftly interrupts.

“I just… I just wanted to go. Home. I wanted to go home! But I… I couldn’t do it. I thought about it. A lot. Almost did, but I… I couldn’t. You kept… talking to me, and I felt more guilty about it, and I… I-I just… I came back to the ship. Here.”

Every word is like a vice that chokes him more and more. “Home?” he repeats, to which she nods. Her homesickness was even worse than he’d known, but to go that close to the loyalist sidhe, to potential danger that he knows she’s well aware of… “You– We can’t go back there, Keeva. You know we can’t.”

That seems to set something off within her, and all of a sudden the restrained emotions within her explode all at once. “And I can’t do this anymore, Lan!” she screams, burying her face in her knees. “Everything was better back home! Everything! I was helpful there! I was happy there!”

“They… Surely they must know you’re a rebel now, Keeva. They might kill you if you try,” he tries to explain, but the moment the words leave his mouth, he feels nothing but the still building frustration and distress from his summoner.

“Like what you already said you would do to me?” she snaps, lifting her head to stare pointedly into his eyes. “What does it matter if they kill me, Lancelot? I’m never going to be able to help anyone like I am now! Not since I’ve changed into this!” She gestures angrily to herself. “At least I’d still have a chance at being what I’m meant to be if I was reborn now! You said it yourself, it’d be better if I do it before it’s too late for me!”

A stab of guilt makes him feel suddenly sick. Why did he ever tell her that? What the fuck had he been thinking? "Keeva, not every word I say should hold weight, especially if you’re only going to take them and place them upon your shoulders like it’s your burden to carry,” he says, but Keeva appears unswayed by his words.

“If I can’t hold you to your word, how can I trust anything you say?” she shouts.

His gaze is firm, but his voice strained as he answers, “I know what you’re asking for, and I won’t do that, Keeva. I refuse.”

That flame that had been ignited within her wavers like a candle in the wind, and he can clearly see the conviction that had been fueling her fading fast with his refusal. “If… If I commanded you?” She suddenly cuts her hand through the air as one would with a sword, leaning forward with the movement. Her eyes are more frantic but steadily staring into his own with expectation. “You… Would you do it then? Lan?”

His sword hand tightens into a fist, and he makes a concerted effort to move it even further from the weapon on his hip. “No.”

She looks at him helplessly, shoulders slumping. “I… I want to go home, Lancelot. Please.”

His voice is sharp but pleading, consumed by a pain he can’t bear any longer, “Stop it, Keeva! I can’t lose you too!” He suddenly reaches for her hand, gripping it so tightly he’s trembling from the effort. “I can’t. I can’t do it, Keeva! I was a fucking fool to even suggest I could before, but I can’t lose you. I can’t.”

Finally, this seems to be enough to break through her adamant desire as she can’t bring herself to demand more from him, instead staring with wide, scared eyes. Realization at how far she’d pushed Lancelot.

"You're doing the exact things you discouraged me from doing, Keeva,” he continues, earning a pained wince from the summer sidhe as her head drops to stare at the ground. “It isn't right! It wasn’t right when I would do it, and it’s not any more correct when you do it! Would you not be worried for me if I were doing exactly what you are currently? I know you would be, because you have been!” He pauses for a single moment, but does not wait for her to respond. “I care about you, Keeva, and I’m not going to help you make the exact same mistakes I’ve made. You're never going to move forward if you continue following the footsteps left behind me."

What little fire that had remained within the summer sidhe dies completely, and within the broken pieces that made up Keeva in this moment, he could see slivers of himself staring back at him. The isolation, pushing anyone away no matter how much they wish to help because he’s not worth the effort anyway. The spiraling self-loathing. The disregard of his own well-being for the slightest taste of helping someone, of redemption. All of it a reflection of what his influence had imprinted on her.

His hands had once been gentle, many lifetimes ago. Perhaps he had fooled himself into believing they might still be yet, but a hand wielding a sword was always bound to cause harm. He had sworn to protect Keeva and instead he had pushed her blindly into the very danger he meant to save her from.

His eyes soften with shame, and for a brief instant, he finds himself unable to meet her gaze. “This is all my fault.”

Immediately she’s put on the defensive, unwilling to relinquish her burden of guilt to him. “No, no you… You didn’t do anything wrong, Lan, it’s my own fault–”

“No, Keeva,” he interrupts, frustration of his own clear in his tone. Keeva quickly goes silent, and Lan continues, “This is my fault. I put that idea in your mind when you never once would have considered it before, all because I–” His voice falters, his eyes betraying just how pained he is as he continues, “I was… afraid. Afraid of losing you in the same way I lost another I cared about. It was wrong. I was wrong, and all it did was make the very thing I feared all the more likely.”

“But… But I–”

His voice softens as he gently takes her hand in his own, eyes filled with a sincerity he reserved for save few in this life, or any life he’d ever lived. “I’m sorry, Keeva. I’m so sorry.”

Her shoulders stiffen, eyes flitting from side to side as though looking for something. An excuse, an argument, anything to dispute him, but there was nothing to be found. She opens her mouth as if to speak, but stops herself, and for a moment Lancelot is certain she might retreat completely in the absence of a defense. To his surprise, however, the uncertainty gives way to the most pained look he’s ever seen in Keeva’s eyes before she throws her arms around him in an agonized wail. Her form is unstable under his hands, somewhere between wispy and melting, almost as though her entire soul had become tears that barely held themselves together under the weight of her sadness. He would wait as she crumbled to pieces, ready to help her put them back together again no matter how long it may take.

It takes a long time before she begins to come down from the height of her anguish, but eventually she falls silent, face buried in his shirt as her form slowly stabilizes into something slightly more solid. He gives her a slight squeeze as she puts her hand over his, weakly returning the gesture.

“I know I cannot take it back as much as I wish I could,” he says quietly, “but I will do all I can to do better by you in the future. I promise.”

“You’ve been better.” Although her voice is faint, there’s a certainty in her words. “Already. You have been, Lan.”

His embrace tightens around her, face buried in her hair. “Then if someone like me can do better, believe me when I say that you can too.”

He feels her wings twitch against his arms, and she whispers, “What if I can’t?”

“Then I take your hand, help you to your feet, and we try again. Just as you’ve done for me. Just as you do for your friends.”

There’s a brief shudder of uncertainty he feels from her, but despite this, he also feels her nod.

“Try again,” she repeats softly. “I’ll… I’ll try.”

[shimmerbeasts]

💿 for Silco?

Random Song Inspired Starter||Accepting.

He could see the fireworks from here.

Once every year, Piltover turned the day brighter than it had any right to be and prolonged its passing long into the night. Once every year, all those merchant clans and their overzealous, busy bees of inventors threw their gilded gates wide open and invited more foreigners into their City of Progress than grapes fit on a vein.

All for one purpose: To celebrate their glorious and shining future, which they kept reinventing every year because they were all like children: They all needed to have the flashiest, brightest and loudest, new invention, optionally adorned with glitter and gold and sparkles. They had such a flimsy understanding of the word future and their definition of progress was a joke. Silco had never seen more self-congratulatory, old men in powdered wigs and with stiff collars, shaking hands as they celebrated what amounted to tradition more than innovations.

And for that tradition, named Progress Day, they threw parades and banquets and lit fireworks and made so much noise, that it seemed to make the Undercity practically minuscule during this day. For they were all still choking on the Grey and toiled away in the dark. Their inventions were not flashy or sparkly, certainly not brilliant in the light of day. No, what a Zaunite built, was grungy, dirty, volatile and prone to malfunction. Chemicals bubbled and squirted out of holes in metal casings and the steam, coming out of ventilations, could singe your skin.

Still, Progress Day loomed over them all and the little sister had to watch, swallowing up its own envy until it choked on the bile. Silco had brought Elise outside, not in the mood to stay in The Last Drop and its stuffy air. Instead, he, Jinx and his trusted medic were sitting by the shoreline to watch the fireworks.

As much as Silco disliked the blatant display of wealth, prestige and power, his daughter seemed to delight more in the colours, Piltover shot up into the sky. Jinx was sitting on a barrel, filled with dried fish, banging her steel-toed boots against the wood. Her twin braids pooled around her as her body jerked back and forth as she pointed at whatever colour delighted her at that moment. Her sapphire eyes seemed to capture the glow of the fireworks and her fanged smile looked a touch brighter. It was a small solace for his bitter heart.

"It feels like they are laughing at us", Silco said, "Laughing at the whole world's more like it. Their innovations make them gods in their own private bubbles, uncaring to the hell they cause outside of it. Only a town, where one innovation chases the next, can have such a nebulous concept of the future. And yet, they can throw all that might and money around because they have it in abundance. It's disgusting."

He picked up the bottle of cheap wine, wrapped in an old paper bag, standing between his legs. Popping the cork, the Eye of Zaun took a sip. Silco moistened his lips with his tongue, feeling his throat convulse at the watery consistency of the wine and its sourness. He offered the bottle to Elise and said sardonically:

"Happy Progress Day, Elise."

Song used: Du Spielst Gott by Oomph

[lazarusweptt]

「 tyler lawrence gray 〳 nonbinary 〳 he/they 〳witch ----- seer 」 well, well, well… if it isn’t HENRIK MIKAELSON, the 18 year old who’s best known around the city for DYING. keep this between us but i’ve heard that they’re aligning with THE MIKAELSONS; can you believe that? i guess it makes sense seeing as they are quite INTUITIVE & ARTLESS. let’s just hope that little alliance doesn’t go sour… 

BASICS

Name: henrik mikaelson

Nicknames they go by: n/a

Age: 18

Species: witch ( seer )

Sexuality: bisexual

Pronouns: he / they

Gender: nonbinary

Family: mikael ( father ) , esther ( mother ) , freya mikaelson ( sister ) , finn mikaelson ( brother ) , elijah mikaelson ( brother ) , kol mikaelson ( brother ) , rebekah mikaelson ( sister ) , hope mikaelson ( niece ) , nik mikaelson ( nephew ) , dahlia ( aunt )

Likes: caramel , philosophy , languages , wildflowers , opals , sharing secrets , wishing wells , bonfires , seafoam , paperbacks , sigils , dark chocolate , the smell of fresh bread , the sound of swords clashing , keepsakes , fresh bedsheets , grimoires , unspoken affection

Dislikes: chains , mirrors , nostalgia , the wars between brothers , loud places , hypocrisy , wrath , dolls , blatant dishonesty , century long grudges , the sound of gunshots , light pollution , lying by omission , pretensions , crowds , broken promises , sweltering heat

QUESTIONNAIRE

What words or phrases do they overuse?

in life , the plaintive whine of an older brother's name. in death , they were silent.

Are they more optimistic or pessimistic?

optimistic

Are they introverted, extroverted, or ambiverted?

introverted

What bad habits do they have?

skipping meals , overthinking , letting others make decisions for him , avoiding eye contact , using other people's things , quiet envy , losing things , forgetfulness ,

What makes them laugh out loud?

kol , klaus

How do they display affection?

quietly. tentatively. with understanding.

How do they see themselves?

a catalyst. a slaughtered lamb. a haunting. a half-forgotten melody. a prophet. a omen. a bird with a broken wing. a voyeur. a memory. a faded name in the rock. an 11th century eve. a spectator. a specter. a regret. a harbinger. a dream. a son. a brother. a bitter taste. a thing dug up ; a thing that should have stayed buried. a wound. a wishbone. a should've-know-better. a carcass. an augury. a fear. a symbol. a ruin. a plague. a famine. a war. a last meal. a parable. a funeral pyre. a rallying banner. a lie. an excuse.

Strongest character trait?

intuitive : using or based on what one feels to be true even without conscious reasoning; instinctive.

Weakest character trait?

artless : without guile or deception

How competitive are they?

less so now than ever

What is their greatest fear?

they'll only make things worse

What quality do they most value in a friend?

honesty

What are their pet peeves?

staring , being talked over , unreliability , people who mutter

If they could change one thing about themselves, what would it be?

curiosity killed the cat

Why are they aligning with whoever they're aligning with?

blood is thicker.....

What are their goals here in New Orleans?

find their family. speak with them. keep them safe.

PLAYLIST

come away to the water by maroon 5 / in the woods somewhere by hozier / dance to another tune by first aid kit / the wolves by emily jane white / my heart is like a haunted house by florence and the machine / the silicone veil by susanne sandor / meet me on the equinox by death cab for cutie / blinding by florence and the machine / special death by mirah

[honorhearted]

"I think I'm being very courteous, all things considered," Ben replied, smug as he snapped his fingers for the ball. "Why, I could've easily said your feminine vapors are responsible for your abrupt turn...but since I happen to value my gingambobs, not to mention, my very life, I'm choosing to refrain."

Francesca responded by pressing a hand to his brow. With the skill of an actress -- because surely, she was acting! -- she remained stoic and unsmiling, though perhaps there was a tiny glimmer of mirth within her eyes, however slight.

Finally, he grinned. "You think my accurate assessment means I'm mad? Well! Aside from your astonishing lack of faith, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were being bitter, Frannie. And isn't it a sin to feel envy?"

“Anyway, the success of my last turn surely cancels this out. So I believe that we are tied.”

Ben pursed his mouth. It wasn't an unreasonable conclusion, and yet naturally, he wanted the outcome that swung things in his favor. "I agree," he replied. "It would be over by now, simply because you would have lost by this point in time. My 'cheating' has actually enabled you to stay in stride with my efforts."

He really needed to stop needling her. Although Ben didn't actually believe what he was saying, Francesca was whole-heartedly competitive, and perhaps maybe, just maybe, that was why he couldn't stop teasing her.

Finally, Francesca placed the ball into his hand, her serene blue eyes sharpening with defiance as she leaned in close. Her breath warmed his face, and for just a moment Ben lost his smug composure, a slight shiver rolling up his spine along with the press of her hand.

I've already lost this round, he thought, fully aware of how he'd lost to her charms long, long ago.

“Because I can assure you, your request is less than deserved.”

That jab, admittedly, sobered him back up again. With a startled laugh, Ben sneered at her and palmed the ball in his hand. "You don't think I deserve those compliments?" he asked. "Goodness, you really are out to get me, aren't you? How am I to know you haven't sabotaged this from the very beginning? What if you tampered this ball?"

Naturally, the accusation was absurd -- she wouldn't have had the time nor the means -- and yet that didn't stop Ben from pulling Francesca into a headlock, grinning as he tugged her downward and commanded, "Confess! Say that I and I alone am the victor of this challenge!"

Staggering along with her scuffling form, he laughed while trying to pin her arms, only to give a start once another presence entered the room.

"Benjamin!" Nathaniel exclaimed, blatant shock lighting up his face. "What is the meaning of this? Are you a man as you stand here before me, or a child? Let go of Miss Bridgerton at once!"

Flustered, Ben quickly released Francesca and stepped away from her as if he'd been burned, holding his hands aloft as his cheeks flecked pink. "I...I-I apologize, Father," he stammered. "We were just...I-I was..."

"Acting like an utter cully, from what I can tell." Looking to their guest, Nathaniel said, "Miss Bridgerton, I apologize. My son apparently has lost hold of his senses." With a snort, he decided, "Clearly, you are the winner of this game by default. Benjamin, please concede with what little dignity you have left."

"Did they not teach you manners in that fancy school of yours?” Francesca quipped back, resisting the urge to snort at his request. He wanted her to admit that she was a cheat, to shower him with compliments undeserved that he would absolutely lord over her for the rest of their days? “I do believe that the sea air has turned you to madness. Are you feeling quite well?”

The jape was accompanied with a cool palm pressed against his forehead, pretending to feel for a fever amidst his ludicrous appeals. The laughter that he kept bubbling beneath the surface was palpable, yet Francesca did not allow herself to fall for the contagion, her expression stoic despite the twitching of her lips.

“Anyway, the success of my last turn surely cancels this out. So I believe that we are tied.” It was how many of their games seemed to turn out, both parties wishing to eliminate the other and thus settling on a tie before any there was a chance for bloodshed. Perhaps if his father was not waiting just down the corridor, this would have been the time for injury. “It is a shame, really. If you were not so adamant to cheat then the game would surely be over by now.”

Her tail-end sentence was punctuated by the ball being pressed into his open palm, her own grip lingering for a few moments as she leaned closer, voice lowering to a whisper in case of prying ears. “Is it a tie? Or do you wish to risk losing with one more round?” Perhaps if she had been bolder she would have turned his own technique back on him, the art of distraction doing wonders in such a game - Yet instead she pulled back, her fingers grazing his as she let the ball sit in his grasp. “Because I can assure you, your request is less than deserved.”

[cyprus-green]

Draco Malfoy ... 'I was just a boy when they told me that lie...'

This song by Robert Ellis, though set far from the same time, culture, and place that Draco is born, hits home. The theme is indoctrination of children, and what it does to someone. The realization, of how fucked up it is, as an adult. And the realization that these lies are used to keep people in line, and keep them loyal.

And the flames of hell they seemed so high

When I could barely see over the pew

I was just a boy when they told me that lie

But Lord it felt so true...

....

But a child believes in whatever they're told

A pillar of flames, a street of gold

And that's a hell of a thing to do to a kid

Just to teach him right from wrong

You can burn in hell the rest of your days

Or you can choose to sing along

I'm far from a Death Eater apologist, however I do love a good redemption arch. I also grew up fairly religious and adjacent to some really strict Christian groups. The childhood indoctrination is real.

I deal with that lot of that in my writing of Draco, who often has to coming to terms with

1) The fact that muggle-borns are fundamentally the same as he is.

If that's true does that mean he's not special? If so what does that even mean for him...it's alot of questioning his place in the world, and I think its a question Draco will ask himself forever, at least in my fics.

2) Pureblood Supremacy is a blatant lie he's been told by society.

Not only is it a lie, it's a lie everyone he knows seems to believe. And that means everything he knew is a lie or the hierarchy of the society he grew up in is in part based on a lie. This is probably the part where he feels most confused, and angry, and incredulous.

3) His parents specifically lied to him, willingly.

As Draco ages, I think he can come to terms with the fact that his parents had no excuse for how they lied to him. They knew better and were old enough to know that pureblood supremecy is bullshit, yet they still chose to raise him hateful. He has to come to terms with the fact that his parents choose to be hateful people. And he now has a choice. To be his parents or something different. But its also painful, because as he recognizes his parent's lies and failures he loses respect for them. He feels loss. He feels anger. He feels betrayed, and ashamed.

4) Recognize the moments he realized it was a lie, and recognize the moments he knew it was a lie but continued to be hateful.

Part of his arch simply had to do with introspection. He needs to examine (maybe as an adult, maybe as a child) the moments he saw cracks in the facade. This is alot of shame. This is alot of guilt. Alot of self-loathing and perhaps some lashing out at the people around him. Because i feel that self-loathing might be the thing that hurts him the most. Considering his already shakey ego, this definitely sends him spiraling and he's going to hurt and hurt others as he falls.

5) Leave that culture behind.

Completely. Until he breaks from it, he's complicit. Though survival vs doing what is right is always going to be a age old conflict. And with this, there's undoubtedly going to be a sense of loss and bitterness. Why did they have to do that to him? Envy for people he used to make fun of is demoralizing. A life of humbling and eating-crow makes him want to gag. I think this also gets at his ego, but also at his bravery if he can handle it.

6) Be vocal about his change of heart, spread the word that life doesn't have to be this way...

I think this is the part where Draco can flourish, but he obviously will balk every second of the way. He finally can do something, but he's absolutely not ready to do this. But I think perhaps seeing the devastation of war may absolutely help him get to this point.

SO what gets him here...? To realize its a lie?

The War. Hermione. Being tortured by Voldy. Life at Hogwarts. I think the thing most of us Dramione lovers, love, is the idea that it is Hermione’s brilliance and kindness that completely shatters Draco's concept of the world. She and the war break the lie. As a child its why he hates her. As a teen its why he falls for her. As an adult its part of why he decides to become a better man.

[itsbalthier]

[nanaminokanojo]

"Petty" | Oikawa Toru X You

CHAPTER COUNT: 1/1 CHARACTERS: Oikawa Toru X You | Haikyuu Characters (mentions) WORD COUNT: 3,300+ GENRE: fluff | romance | aged-up characters | university au | oneshot TRIGGER WARNING: profanity | strong/mature language | alcohol use SPOILERS: n/a

collection masterlist

photo/fanart credits to @/oikawalovesyouu on Twitter

"He's self-centered but he's insecure so naturally, he's petty."

Oikawa couldn't shake that comment off his head as he slammed yet another ball into the opposing court, aggressively wiping on the sweat on his forehead. The university gym was already deserted with all his teammates gone yet he was still doing jump serves as if he wasn't already so good at it. He just needed an outlet.

In his head, he was already thinking of counter arguments to what he heard being said about him. It was one sentence. One! And yet he was working up all his brain cells to think of a lengthy rebuttal to every single word in that single statement.

First of all, he wasn't self-centered. He doesn't just think about himself, or so he likes to think. He was sensitive enough to read the room most of the time and he can actually bring the best out of his teammates to the highest degree. An insensitive, selfish prick wouldn't be able to do that without proper observation and lack of awareness for others.

Secondly, he didn't think he was insecure. He didn't have to lift a finger to get the attention he wanted, and it was human to feel envy for those who are better than him because there will always be someone better. It’s just an inevitability he has to deal with.

And lastly, he wasn't petty. He's always been reactive, he knew that, but that was just reaction if not retaliation to those who want to belittle him. That's what he thinks anyway.

But why you had to say those things about him as if you were a female version of Iwaizumi – his best friend who seemed to get off of being too cruelly honest and straightforward about what he thought of Oikawa – was something he didn't understand.

Of course, he was aware of your blatant frankness. He loved that about you. You were just very insistent on your individuality and you had very strong opinions which you stood by without regard to anything. Most of the time anyway. He actually got a kick out of people's reactions when you say something without filtering your words especially when you were children, but like they say, it's never funny when one becomes the receiving end of anything negative.

The larger dilemma was that you were the only girl he sincerely liked, so much so that he was willing to lay down his pride just to have you and call you his. Solely and irrevocably his. But if you thought of him that way, then maybe you actually hated him. It bothered him to no end.

"What the hell did I tell you about over-exertion?" Oikawa heard that familiar deep voice from the direction of the entrance, and before he knew it, the ball crate was being wheeled away from him. "Enough. It's off season."

"Just letting off some steam," Oikawa stated, smiling Iwaizumi's way despite himself.

"You can do that at Kuroo's party," the other male said with finality. "Be out in fifteen." His last words were laced with a threat, and Oikawa didn't have a choice but to do as he was told. The former was right. If it's just to vent out, he could definitely do that at the party.

He couldn't be more wrong in his life.

The moment he entered the premises of Kuroo's house, the first thing he saw was you. You came in just after he did, but you bumped against him without even apologizing as you walked ahead, waving at someone else. You saw him there, but you walked off anyway as if you didn't.

"What the actual fuck?" he couldn't help but blurt out when he saw just who you were talking to.

You've always been agreeable to him as his childhood friend, but you were ignoring him on top of saying bad things about him to your friends. And now, you were talking to Ushijima Wakatoshi whom you knew he disliked with a passion.

The male simply got on his nerves for the fact that he was better at him in the sport they both played. Oikawa also hated how much the guy hounded him to join their team back in high school, talking about how he would be better off. Like how is it better to be in the same team as Ushijima was when he would just outshine him?

His mind started to run amok with questions. What could you possibly want from Ushijima? Better yet, what did he want from you? Since when were you even close to him? Oikawa almost wanted to throw up seeing how you were being buddy-buddy with the cold fish of a guy, actually managing to melt his severe expressions into a soft smile. Were you going out with him now? He couldn't take it.

Without thinking, he grabbed the shoulder of the person who was holding a tray of drinks, taking two shot glasses in his hand, and telling the person to stay where he was standing. He was able to down six shots while standing there, but before he could drink more, Iwaizumi came into view.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded gruffly, telling the poor guy with the drinks to scram.

"Not now, Iwa," he snapped, walking towards the direction of the stairs, rudely telling everyone to get out of his way.

He stayed there for almost an hour, trying to calm his nerves but ending up going feral over this couple who were making out as they pushed the door to Kuroo's room where he was lying down on the bed. To say that he killed their mood was an understatement as he harshly told them to fuck off. Nobody dared cross him being the famous star athlete that he was at the university you both attended. It was, however, useless if he finds himself losing even outside of court to Ushijima who was his equivalent in the neighboring school when it comes to volleyball. It left him with a bitter taste at the recesses of his mouth.

When he finally emerged from the room, deciding to get more drinks, he was still in a foul mood, glaring at anyone who would get in his way towards the kitchen. But his plan was all but forgotten when he saw you standing by the archway that led to the kitchen, leaning there as you nursed a plastic cup against your chest.

For the first time that night, he was actually seeing how beautiful you were, dressed in a crop top and tight-fitting jeans which were tattered in most places. As per usual, you were stuck in your own bubble, bobbing your head to the music as if you weren't aware of all the adoring looks you were getting. Well, you were a person who didn't know her strengths and denied them when he tells you. It was just unfair how he always has nice things to say about you but you didn't think the same way about him.

He closed the distance between the two of you, placed his forearm above your head, towering over you, that infamous smirk plastered on his face.

"Hey, baby," he said in a low tone, leaning down until your faces were just inches from one another.

"Hello, darling," you returned, smiling slightly. "I've been looking for you, but Iwa said you ran off somewhere."

"Have you now?" He eyed you seriously. "Weren't you just ignoring me a while ago for Ushijima?"

He wasn't able to elicit the reaction he wanted from you, and instead, you smirked at him. "Eh?" you responded in a dragged out note. "I wasn't with Ushijima for the sake of ignoring you, Toru. The world doesn't revolve around you."

He stood back in indignation, your opinions of him coming out to the surface. "So why were you with him?" He was aware that his tone made it seem like he had any right to be questioning you of your actions. He had been vocal about his attraction to you, but it wasn't as if he was your boyfriend. Still, he couldn't care less at the moment.

"None of your business, sweetheart," you told him, your words at odds to the saccharine smile you flashed him. He found himself disconcerted especially when you reached up and started fixing his fringe. "What are you acting so jealous for?"

Ah, he thought. It wasn't his place to be feeling that way but he didn't want to respond to your question in any way. So, like he did earlier, he stormed off, sticking to his original plan to get wasted.

He didn't want to say things he will regret even if you were being hot and cold. For a while now, he had the feeling that you were toying with him, but whenever he was around, your actions towards him were always the opposite of your words about him as of late. One time you'd be telling him to go away, but as soon as he does, you're grabbing his arm, telling him to sit still beside you. You'd be complaining to him one second that he was being an annoying brat and then sit on his lap peppering his cheeks with kisses. You'd be with another guy but tell him you're looking for him. You were confusing to say the least.

Oikawa didn't know what happened after he walked away from you. But when he finally came to, he had a throbbing headache and he wasn't in his room. He looked around him, straining to keep his eyes open as he took in his surroundings, shooting up from the bed when he realized he was looking at the familiar layout of your bedroom.

He had been there a million times ever since you were kids, and he had been a witness to all the changes your little corner of the world had gone through. He couldn't help but smile despite his feelings and headache at the thought that what was once a room that looked like it was made of cotton candy was now in scales of black and white, surrounded with things that were just so you.

But after all the changes, you still had that framed photo of you and him in grade school, where he was kissing you on the cheek while you grinned wide for the camera. You were wearing the matching shirts your crazy moms got you, and he knew you still kept them somewhere in your room.

Yes, he told himself, I was there before anyone else. You’ve always been the closest to him even when Iwaizumi came into the picture. Even then, he didn’t seem to understand you well enough to actually lay emphasis on the fact that you’ve known each other since you were in diapers.

Just then, you walked into the room, holding a glass of fizzy water. You were wearing only his old volleyball jersey, padding barefoot on the floor. You specifically asked for it when you both graduated from high school and you've been sleeping in it since then.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," you greeted, sitting down on the empty space of the queen bed which he noticed was also slept on. "Drink up."

"What am I doing here?" he asked after downing the whole glass in one go, setting it on the nightstand.

"I took you home. Your mom would have killed you if she saw how fucked up you were last night." You brushed his hair from over his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"Like my head's about to explode," he muttered.

You clucked your tongue. "Why did you have to drink so much anyway?"

Instead of answering you, he laid back down on the bed, turning away from you. He had every intention to ignore you after that, but it wasn't long before he felt you coming closer to him, propping your chin on his arm while you draped yours over his waist.

"You're sulking, Toru."

He took the pillow from under his head to hide his head under it. "I don't wanna do this today, Y/N."

"Do what? What exactly are we doing?"

The audacity to ask, he said at the back of his mind, biting his tongue. He didn't say anything and just stayed still.

"Hey, I asked you a question," you continued to badger him. "You've been acting off since a week ago. What's up?"

He refused to satisfy you with a response thinking you ought to realize what it was exactly that you two had been doing, dancing around each other yet skirting around the real issues between you. You couldn't be that oblivious of his affections and you weren't exactly passive either.

Nevertheless, you always had a way of turning things to your favor, and before he knew it, he was falling off the bed after you kicked him off it, nearly landing face down if it weren't for his fast reflexes.

"Y/N!" he whined, remaining seated on the floor as he clutched on his head. He half expected you to laugh at his predicament, but when he met your eyes, he regretted it, seeing the serious expression you had.

"You should know by now that I hate it when I am denied things I want to know especially those which involve me," you told him, cocking your head to the direction of the bed. You sounded menacing, so far from the gentle voice you always used when talking to him. "Stop being a brat. Get back here and talk to me properly."

"You're the one who kicked me!" he protested as he stood up, doing as he was told nonetheless, sitting up and leaning on the headboard.

"So, what's your problem?"

"I'm jealous of Ushijima," he returned promptly his brown eyes also taking a severe quality to it as he eyed you.

You arched a brow at him. "What's new about that?"

"At least before, he didn't have you, too. Now..." He sighed. "You're friends with him now? What was that about last night?"

"Are you serious right now? I had business with the guy."

Oikawa scoffed. "What business are you talking about that he's all smiles at you like that? He only ever smiles around his girlfriend –"

"Exactly," you countered, openly savoring the look on his face when he realized just what he was saying. "He ordered a huge consignment of rare live flowers for his girlfriend so I informed him it had been delivered. Our family as ikebana* artists and horticulturist do that for a living."

"What?"

You shrugged. "You're assuming things again."

Oikawa blinked, feeling defeated at your sound reasoning, but he still has bones to pick with you. "That's not just my problem with you. What are we really, Y/N? I don't get how you're ignoring me and suddenly being sweet. I'm getting mixed signals here. And don't think for a second that I didn't hear about what you told your friends about me."

He narrowed his eyes at you, smirking when he saw how your eyes rounded, finally able to take you off guard like you usually did to him. For once, he wanted you to lose your footing and come clean about what you really thought about him…how you really felt.

"Hmm. What exactly did I say about you?" you asked, the caution in your tone obvious.

"You know it, Y/N. Don't you dare make me jump all the hoops!" he stated, losing his temper.

You shook your head, not understanding where his choleric attitude was coming from. You knew better than to level your irritation with his, and you were so used to his antics that you found yourself almost unaffected by his crusty demeanor. "I really don't know what you're talking about, Toru."

He glared at you. "You told them you think I'm petty because I'm self-centered but I'm insecure. Ring any bells, sweetheart? And don't lie, I heard it myself."

You ran your hand over your face, frustration emanating from you. At the same time, you wanted to laugh because he looked like an angry kitten instead of the fully grown man he supposedly is.

Oikawa didn't know where your exasperation was coming from when he's supposedly the one feeling it but then you nodded.

"I did say that."

"How could you?" he complained, aware that he sounded like a juvenile dipshit but he didn't know how to react to your lack of denial for it. In the end, he just wanted you to say you didn't mean it even if he already got hurt from hearing it.

"How couldn't I, Toru? That's the truth," you stated, no bars held and your voice ringing clear in the air between you. You were really merciless when it came to voicing out what ran inside your head.

"Well, shit, Y/N. Why didn't you just tell me to my face?" He was about to stand up, but you pushed him down, sitting astride his lap so he wouldn't move. He refused to look at you but couldn’t move at the same time cause he didn’t want to hurt you in any way although he didn’t exactly want you close at the moment. "Get off while I'm being nice about it."

"Iwa and I never fail to tell you every day," you started, placing your hands on either side of his face, gently making him look at you.

"You both hate me?" he asked weakly, unable to imagine life without the two of you beside him.

"No." You shook your head. "Toru, no. Of course not. That's just how you are, isn't it? We never asked you to change. We just couldn't help noticing it, and if we don't tell you, who will?"

Oikawa Toru. So used to being fawned over that he doesn't know how to react when he is being criticized. He could admit to that, but it still hurt hearing you say that.

"Sweetheart, I did say those things about you, but you didn't stay long enough to hear the rest."

He pouted, looking away from you. "And what is it?"

You tilted your head so you would be in his line of vision, grinning the moment you realized you had him. "That despite all that, you're a generally kind person who cares a lot for your friends, your team, for me, and even if you don't know how to show it, deep down, you're a sensitive soul. And I adore that about you."

"Really?"

You scoffed. "I love you, Toru. I thought we had an understanding."

"As friends, you mean?"

You rolled your eyes at him, but didn't say anything further, closing the distance between your lips, kissing him fervently and intensely in case the message didn't come across just yet.

He gasped against your lips, caught off guard as usual, but kissed you back with as much fervor, dominating you shortly after your mouths made contact. He nipped and sucked on your lips before shoving his tongue into your mouth, immediately finding yours and delving in to taste you. Oikawa grinned when he rendered you into a panting mess, reveling in the way your hands possessively held him close.

"I waited so long for this," he said against your ear.

"Make up for all those times you missed out then," you told him with a smug grin.

"Heh. You asked for it."

He flipped you both over on the bed making you burst out in a fit of giggles, kissing you stupid, his hands touching everywhere he could reach, your clothes and his mixing in a pile on the floor while he made sweet love to you.

Oikawa Toru. He's self-centered but he's insecure so naturally, he's petty. But he was not just that. He's also the guy you loved to smithereens because you knew that those other facets of him – the good ones – exist.

-the end-

TERMINOLOGIES:

*ikebana (活け花) - traditional Japanese art of arranging flowers

My first try at Haikyuu...god d*mn you, both, @kenkinori and @ushiwaikuroo !!! XD

Before anyone comes after me, the characters are aged up as specified in the story. The beauty of literary creativity!

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY FURUDATE HARUICHI’S “HAIKYUU!”. [20210704]

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[laurore-stormwitch]

BEWARE THERE ARE ROW SPOILERS IN THIS FAN FICTION

So, I did something. Rule of Wolves left me in tears. But I felt we were missing an epilogue, and that’s my take. We can see a little of Nikolai courting Zoya, his proposal and the wedding. I poured all my love into this, all of how much these characters mean to me. I hope it can bring comfort and a smile to all of you who love them as much. I don’t say it much, but this is one of the things I loved most writing, and I hope you’re gonna enjoy it. I send a big hug to whoever has taken this grishaverse wild ride  word count: 4953 you are my endless summer - ao3 

“Is this strictly necessary?”

Zoya asked, faking more annoyance than she felt. She wondered what kind of crazy idea had come to Nikolai’s mind this time, as she stumbled through the woods with a strip of cloth tied on her eyes. Nikolai was guiding her, holding her hand and her elbow to steady her through the fallen branches on the ground. He didn’t answer, but she could swear she could hear the smug smirk on his face.

“I already know where you’re taking me. You’ve kept me away from the garden for two months, I kind of figured out what you were doing.”

“How cunning you are. That’s why I love you.”

She nudged him on what she hoped was his stomach, eliciting a laugh from his side.

“Humour me Zoya, please. What kind of a surprise would it be if I let you see?”

“The kind where you don’t end up being a pile of smoking dust.”

Nikolai laughed again, a crystal-clear sound that made her heart twitch. The threat was not that far from the truth. Nikolai had been entertaining himself way too much with this idiotic courting thing he had decided to pursue. She thought back on when she believed she could have a quiet romance with him. A quiet romance with a man who has a double identity as a privateer and wears a ridiculous teal frock coat. Great thinking, Zoya.

The first hint of how much not quiet Nikolai was going to be had been the absurd deal of public flirting he engaged in, knowing damn well how Zoya was used to propriety. And bitter and ruthless words, at the very best. Not even under torture she would admit how endearing it had been instead; better to keep scolding him. However, as usual, Nikolai saw right through her pretence, caught the gleam of amusement and desire in her eyes. That had only made him become more daring and blatant. Nothing could compare for him to the satisfaction of leaving Zoya speechless. Zoya had tried to match his bold attitude, but she had to admit she was not half as good as him. To this day, he was still rubbing in her face the time where she had almost caused a diplomatic incident due to the shock of his shamelessness. He had just got back from a trip to Ketterdam, right after the coronation. They were waiting at the palace’s gates to meet with the Shu delegation, coming to pay their respect to the recently crowned queen. Nikolai had chosen the moment where their newly acquired allies were emerging from the carriages to lean into her ear to whisper, ignoring the fact that they were surrounded by soldiers and dignitaries, and not just Genya and Alina like last time; Nikolai loved an audience as much as he loved himself.

“I see you’ve resorted back to your kefta”, he had muttered in a casual tone.

Zoya had cut him a quick glare, saying something she would regret later. “Did you like the coronation dress better?”

“Oh no, not at all. If I remember correctly, I suggested you get out of that.” The Shu delegation was getting closer. Nikolai had lowered his voice even more, starting to smile at them. “I stand to my suggestion. There are several outfits I like better on you than a dress. Namely, your kefta, which I'm happy you got back.” She had kept her eyes trained in front of her, ignoring him. “Or the rough spun clothes you use when we are on the Volkvolny.” He had plucked a non-existent dust from his sleeve, keeping the nonchalant attitude of someone who was speaking about the weather. “Your nightdress, the one that looks like a starry night and has a shockingly small amount of fabric.” He had waved a hand in Ehri’s direction, who by that time had been a couple of steps too close to them for Nikolai to keep talking. But the man did have a tendency to risk his life. “But you with nothing on would definitely be in first place.”

Zoya had widened her eyes and a violent rush of blood had tinged her cheeks, while Nikolai had sprinted on to welcome her guests and she stood there like an idiot, trying to catch back her composure. After that, she had quickly understood just how much Nikolai appreciated a challenge. And when he understood just how much Zoya hated to cause a scene, that had been the end for her. At least it seemed like they were alone right now. Better to be safe than sorry, although.

“Nikolai, please at least tell me you’re not about to stage another of your embarrassing public fit.” She asked him now, half pleading and half threatening, as they made their way through the woods.

Nikolai chuckled. “Not this time. And do not lie to me, I know you’ve enjoyed my scenes.”

“I have not.”

“Not even a smidge?”

“You should thank the Saints you’re still breathing after all the stunts you pulled.”

“The Saints and your infinite love for me, I suppose.”

“My love may be infinite, but I assure you my patience is not.”

Zoya tried to keep the smile from her voice, failing miserably. Nikolai had a way to overwhelm her with a now familiar lightness and serenity. Their bickering, his hand in hers, his scent in the air. It all felt like home. So much so that she had found herself subtly pressing on him to get married, eager to have him forever with her. It was a feeling of certainty she wasn’t willing to let go of. It was a treasure she wanted to protect. And she didn’t really care about grand gestures, about big declarations. As far as she was concerned, she could find a ring on her nightstand and they could be married in secret. Nikolai knew that, always seemed to know exactly what kind of attention she needed. He left her his little wire boats everywhere to be found, he concocted small and useless inventions just for the sake of amusing her. He placed hidden notes and drawings in her drawers or under her pillows. He courted her in a way she had never been courted before, dedicating his clever mind to making her feel loved and safe - a task in which he was succeeding brilliantly. 

But the privateer in him came out every now and then. Apart from the flirting, which she could admit she had been enjoying, he had picked up the unnerving habit of pretending to be about to propose to her in the middle of all sorts of gatherings. The first time he had sank down on one knee had been during one of their evenings with the rest of their friends. Everyone had drawn a sharp breath, falling silent and still. But the idiot had simply picked up one of her earrings that had fallen on the floor, winking at her while she narrowed her eyes at him from the upside down. Then he got bolder and bolder. The next time, he had clanked his glass at the end of a state dinner, saying he had a declaration to make for his queen. Zoya had glared at him from her seat, shifting uncomfortably, praying to all the Saints for him to shut up. But the worst had been during the ball they threw last week in honour of some Saint or occurrence she could not even remember. They were dancing, spinning around the ballroom. Nikolai was indeed a very gifted dancer, so she usually let him guide her. It was a strange feeling, the safety of being carried by his arms.

“Your hand is nowhere near the level of propriety, Nikolai”, she had whispered with a playful look, noting the fire on her skin as he had brushed her lower back.

He had smirked. “Let them envy me. I’m dancing with the most gorgeous woman in the room.”

“The one that’s going to step on your foot if you don’t behave yourself.”

Nikolai had nudged her closer, skimming his lips on her jaw. “Want to give them something else to watch?” And then, without preamble, he had kneeled in front of her, right in the middle of the ballroom, holding one of her hands in his. The music had stopped, the room had been filled with ecstatic murmurs. Zoya had caught Genya giggling on the other side of the room, but she could only hear her heart thrumming in her chest.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

One beat had passed. Two beats, and that delicious grin of his had erupted on Nikolai’s face. He had cleared his throat and turned to the people assembled around them.

“Pardon me for the interruption, but I believe it’s time for the Queen to give her speech!” He had joyfully declared, getting back up on his feet. She had looped her arm on his, seething under her breath.

“I am going to smite you where you stand.”

From that moment on, every time he had tried to garner the attention in public endeavours, she had been terrified to see him cause another scene. Deep down, Zoya knew he was not going to ask her like this. He was way too much of a romantic soul to do this. Sure enough though, he was immensely enjoying himself. She supposed she could let him have his fun. As long as she was his, and he was hers, she didn’t really care how many times he would embarrass her. There was nothing on earth that could compare to the feeling of seeing him beaming with happiness. Not even the dragon, in all his lifetimes, had known a warmth like this. Zoya loved him enough to let him have his way at times.

The creak of the garden door distracted her from her thoughts. Finally, Nikolai stopped. She heard him move behind her and place his hands on her hips, while his lips brushed on the skin of her neck. 

“You can look now.”

He murmured against her skin. Was she imagining the slight tremble of emotion in his voice? He sounded thrilled, nervous. Slowly, she pulled the cloth from her eyes, caught back by the light that was flooding the place. Whatever she had thought she was going to see, it was nothing compared to what Nikolai had built. The breath was knocked out of her lungs, the beating of her heart racing up like it was about to take flight. It was her garden, but it was so much more. The structure Nikolai had designed was an engineering marvel of glass and wrought iron, twisting toward the sky, looking like the dome of a chapel. A perfect combination of his brilliance and a most expert Fabrikator’s craft. The whole building was transparent; Zoya could see the sky beyond, the clouds, the ray of sun warming up the place and shattering through the glass in a rainbow of colours. The flowers hadn’t been touched; new pots had been placed, new space to fill. The thorn wood still ran on the sides, around the bricks and the lanterns. But the wall had been painted with every sort of wonder; there was a dragon roaring through the sky, a ship that looked like the Volkvolny sealing a storm-swept sea, with a two-star flag added to Sturmhond’s one. A fox emerged from the bushes on the wall nearer to the door. The Grisha colours and symbols were all over the place, a flash of blue, red, and purple blossoms; waves, fire and lightnings ran throughout the murals. 

“Alina painted them.” 

Explained Nikolai, whispering softly when he noticed she was looking at the walls. Zoya took two steps in front of her, tilting her head up. There weren’t words she possessed right enough for this moment, none of the languages she knew was fit to describe this. The wrought iron was shaped like quince and gusts of wind that towered over the place in a million branches, spreading on the lines of the glass dome.

“Every panel of glass can be opened in the summer. They’re closed now, so that the heat stays in and the flowers can blossom in every season.”

Nikolai’s voice was still soft, still stumbling a little, like he was holding his breath to wait for her reaction. He had poured all of himself into this extraordinary building. This is what love does. If only Lilyiana could see her now. If she could see what she had found. Let love pour through, my little girl. Let your golden hero carry you home. You are safe. Zoya was shaking. Breathing was hard. She turned to him, feeling a suspicious prickle behind her eyes. Nikolai had once again got down on his knee amidst her wildflowers; she caught the sparkle of a jewel in his hand. Zoya smiled, too stricken with emotions to concentrate on anything that wasn't him.

“I hope it’s the last time you kneel to me.” Zoya tried to muster some wit, but her voice came out croaked, her throat sore. Nikolai was undoing her.

“Do shut up, Your Highness. I believe it’s my turn to speak.” The too-clever fox smirked, a clear and expectant look in his gleaming hazel eyes. “I had a speech - honestly it’s hard to remember it right now.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been wanting you for so long, and I’ve been believing for so long that there wasn’t a future for us, that it seemed impossible to have this.”

He opened his mouth again, clearly about to correct himself, but Zoya was quicker. “Improbable”, she added, unable to restrain herself. Another smirk curled his lips.

“Improbable”, he conceded, immensely satisfied that she had picked up on his favourite line. “I know I’ve kept you waiting. I would have asked the first time you kissed me. I would have asked that night in the cargo hold. But I said something else that night, something I wanted to live up to.”

Zoya watched him carefully, trying to see through him, to wrap her head around what was happening. She felt like her heart was about to burst in her chest.

“There were things I wanted to do before asking you. I wanted to gift you something ill-suited for war, something precious. That’s why I built this.” He gestured to the structure around them. “Because your garden need not be just a monument to grief anymore, but one to life. To the way you make everything around you blossom.” Nikolai paused, his gaze intense and fierce on her. “And then there were other things I told you I would have done for you, once I could.”

“You wanted to give me a crown.” Zoya said, with surprise in her voice. She had started to figure out where he was going with this, had started to grasp his words from the memory of that night, carved inside her. 

“That was the first thing. I believe it worked splendidly. What else did I tell you?”

“You wanted to show me the world from the prow of your ship.” 

She brought her fingers to her lips, as if she could not believe her own realization. Her voice was trembling too, now. She remembered. She remembered when Nikolai had insisted they took a couple of days at sea, during their mission in Os Kervo. Zoya knew Nikolai wanted to travel with her, but they simply had not had the time to do it properly. Zoya had promised him they would, someday, when peace was secured. Nikolai had pressed her on that trip to sail on the Volkvolny, even for a little while. She had not questioned him, thought he was only being nonsensical as usual and had obliged him. He had told her something, on the railing of the ship, as the sun was setting in front of them. That’s why I like the sea, he had said to her, because when you look out at the horizon, you see everything beyond. Look, Zoya. You can see the whole world from here. It’s all ours for the taking. She had laughed, tilting her head to the sun. You gave me Ravka, Nikolai. It’s enough for me. She had been wrong. Nikolai had not just given her Ravka. Here, in the silence of her garden, she knew he was giving her so much more. 

“And then there was one last thing.” Nikolai encouraged her. Zoya drew a sharp breath, catching the ring in his hand into focus. 

“You wanted to give me a sapphire, the size of an acorn.”

Nikolai took her hand and placed the ring in it. The band was made of white gold, in the shape of a dragon curled around itself. Between its tail and its head, it held a glowing sapphire, the colour of a midnight sky. She peered at him under her lashes, too overwhelmed to say anything. His hands were shivering.

“I know it’s not the size of an acorn. We are still slightly broke, and, well - I thought you would have liked it better like this. It’s more elegant, it suits you more.”

Silence enveloped them. Zoya felt his warm uneven breathing on her skin, his nervousness, the sheer truth and love behind his actions taking her like a tide, filling the well inside her that had once protected her grief and caged her heart.

“I wanted you to understand that I’ll always be true to my promises. I don’t know when I started loving you, but I know I’m lost now. I searched for you for a lifetime. I still want you all the time. I want to lay beside you every night, wake up with you in my arms every morning. I want to build the future with you, I want to watch you scowl at people and be the brave and ruthless leader you are.” Nikolai inhaled a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. “You've been my general. You are my friend, the woman I love. I would have chosen you before, I would now and I always will. Would you do me the honour of being my wife?”

Zoya didn’t try to hold back the tears. It didn’t matter. It didn’t because she had never felt safer in her life than she was feeling now, held in the dome that protected her garden, in the hands of the man that had always protected her. What he was telling her now, it had an echo to so many other things he had told her in the past, scattered throughout the moments they had shared. It told the story of how they took care of each other for so long, of their longing, of their strength. How they had found each other at last. She gently kneeled in front of him, folding her hand over the one that was holding the ring. All around them, the flowers had sprouted, their scent clouding them. She placed the other hand on his cheek, locking their eyes together. It took all her might to find her voice within the emotions swimming in her chest. Zoya had never been sentimental like him. She had never tried to be, maybe she could never be. Yet, she wanted him to know now; to know even a fraction of how much her love for him ran deep in her veins.  

“You made me believe that impossible really is just a word.” She tried, wavering, gaining more confidence with each word she brought out. “You made me believe again, Nikolai. You are the hero of every story I have ever heard. And yes, I’ll marry you.”

He opened in an astonishing expression of relief, leaning in her touch. Nikolai slipped the ring on her finger, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“Turns out you can be romantic too, when you want to.” He teased, getting up and bringing her with him, circling her in his arms. As she leaned on his chest, she heard the rhythmic pounding of his heart, quick as the flapping of a bird’s wings. 

“It’s hardly a match between the two of us. I know how much you enjoy it, so I let you take all the credit.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Does this mean you’ll stop kneeling in front of crowds?” 

“I think so. I will not stop with the flirting, though. It’s a compulsion.” 

Zoya went on her toes to press a kiss on his mouth. 

“Do keep up with that. I like it.”

She tucked her hand into his pocket, closing her fingers on the blue ribbon he kept on him all the time. Zoya pulled it out, unfurling it in front of them. 

“I believe I’ll need this for the wedding day.”

The smile that lightened up his face was worth a thousand wars to wage. A thousand years to wait. 

 ***

To say that the wedding was grand, would have been an understatement. Genya had outdid herself, both with the decorations and the dress. If Zoya had thought she had made a great work with the coronation, what she had managed to create on this day put everything else to shame. Zoya didn’t remember much of it. It had been a whirlwind of colours and voices, people kissing her hand and offering their congratulations, dancing, and music and mostly a lot of drinking on their part. The ceremony had been long and complicated, but as usual, Nikolai had made everything more bearable. Somehow, he had managed to make her feel like they were the only two people standing in the chapel, the same one that held such awful memories and was now a place of celebration. 

She had chosen not to wear gold, and they all went with it. Once had been enough; silver was more fitting for a dragon queen that commanded the storm. Being a queen had its advantages in terms of breaking with traditions. Nikolai had walked the aisle with her; he had never left her side, he had never left the grip on her hand. Zoya could feel his intense desire to make this day joyful for her. She would never stop marvelling at his selflessness, at how good and pure his heart was. To her surprise, he had chosen to relent the traditional Ravkan wedding vows in favour of the ones spoken by Grisha. They applied a lot more to them than any other oath they could make.

We are soldiers. I will march with you in times of war. I will rest with you in times of peace. I will forever be the weapon in your hand, the fighter at your side, the friend who awaits your return. I have seen your face in the making at the heart of the world and there is no one more fierce, passionate, and unbreakable.

There was not much else to say; everything they needed to tell each other, they had already done in the quiet of their intimacy. Everything they needed to share about what it meant to have each other, they already knew. But Nikolai had added something, lowering his voice to a whisper, only for her to hear. 

I will always seek to make it summer for you.

He had spoken the words in Suli. A ridiculous Suli, with an accent as thick as Zoya’s one and probably quite the number of mistakes. Zoya didn’t care. She didn’t know much Suli either, but she had understood. She had felt the urge to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him senseless, all these people be damned. Instead, she had murmured her answer to him, searching in her childhood for the words, hoping his knowledge of the language was broader than hers.

You are my endless summer. 

Nikolai’s eyes had sparkled, his lips trembled when he had kissed her, knocking her off his feet, and she knew he had understood too. The first half of the party had been slightly tedious. Her dress was heavy, the crown hitched on her head. But as the night went on and the brandy had started to flow, she had found she was enjoying herself much more than she thought. Nikolai’s presence glowed in the room, equally as handsome as her. It was well past midnight when people had started retiring, saying their goodbyes to the newly wed royal couple.

At last, they found themselves alone at a table with all their friends. Tolya was astoundingly drunk, much to their amusement. He was trying to convince Adrik to stand on a chair and recite some poetry with him. Adrik, who was incredibly smiling, seated next to Leoni who wore her usual thousand sun merry expression. Adrik had taken Zoya’s position in the Triumvirate, while Leoni held the post for the Materialki now. She and Genya were deep in an argument about some sort of poison used to make people sleepwalk. Genya was laughing, her head thrown back, a glass of honey tea in her hand. Seeing her happy was a sight for sore eyes. Zoya knew they were all missing David more tonight; her eyes wandered on her friend’s kefta, which stood a little too tight around her stomach. The bump was starting to show clearly right now, four months into the pregnancy. She was beaming. It takes a village, people said about raising a child. This child would definitely never be alone. Alina and Mal had retired earlier, eager to return to their kids. She had held Alina in an embrace a little longer than usual, trying to convey how wonderful her gift to Zoya had been, how much comfort the paintings in her garden would bring. In the middle of the room, Tamar and Nadia were still dancing, or trying to at least, missing every rhythm of the music. Tamar stopped abruptly when she saw Zoya watching them. 

“I can’t believe you two pulled it off, at last!” She made a toast in their direction, making Nadia stumble. 

“I can’t believe Nikolai pulled it off”, Genya smirked, toasting back to Tamar with her tea. 

Nikolai shrugged his shoulders. “I’m known for always choosing the hardest quest.” 

There was little hope to ever make them stop with the teasing. Turning her gaze, Zoya caught sight of Nina and her prince, who had traveled all the way from Fjerda to be here tonight. Nina was stunning as usual, in a dress that hugged every curve of her, stacking on a pile of pastries and forcing Hanne to taste each and every one of them. The reckless Heartrender didn’t miss the chance to weigh in on the conversation, popping a pastry in her mouth. “And to think Zoya was the one to bash me about falling in love with Fjerdans. It backfired right in your face.”

Zoya clicked her tongue. “At least I take care not to let people walk in on us having a private moment.”

“That’s on you”, Nina grinned, “But I guess now you know that the thing about Fjerdans being cold it’s just a myth.” 

“Definitely a myth", confirmed Nikolai, winking at Nina. Leave it to the two of them to be inappropriate.

Tolya downed another glass of whisky. For a giant, he didn’t have a good resistance to alcohol. “Good luck Zoya, he’s all yours to suffer now.” He managed to mutter. “At least he’s not moping around about you anymore like a lost puppy.” Tolya, the most respectful soldier she knew. He really was drunk. 

“I’ll still mop around about her, don’t worry.”

“I can manage, I think", Zoya answered to Tolya, curling her lips. 

She sighed happily, tightening the hold on Nikolai’s hand next to her, while she watched the people who were now her family filling the air with their laughter. He put the glass down, gazing at her with amusement. His golden hair were ruffled, his elegant shirt crumpled, his skin heated. His eyes were filled with awe, a smile dancing on his lips. She felt her breath itch at the sight of him. Nikolai leaned closer to her, bringing her hand up to his mouth. His look turned soft, affectionate.

“You survived today wonderfully.”

Zoya fell silent, watching her golden boy. This is what love does. You fight for it, and it saves you. You build it, brick by brick, and it stays. The dragon spread his wings inside her. 

“You built me a home.” 

She told him, and cocked her head to the side, making some strands of hair fall from the elaborate updo Genya had weaved. Nikolai rushed to tuck them back into the ribbon that held them in place, the one she had taken from his pocket when he had proposed. 

“You gave me something to build it for. Someone to fill it with.”

Zoya knew, in that moment. She knew that every blow, every pain, every loneliness she had endured had been meant to take her here. It had been meant to make her worthy of him, to make her believe they could have this. She knew every loss and every battle had forged her so that she could let herself love him. And Nikolai made everything possible. The weight of his hand in hers felt sacred. 

“We will go on, you and I. We are going to be fine.” 

It wasn’t a question. It was the strongest belief she had ever had. It was hope. After an eternity of fighting and suffering, the stone tumbled inside her, coming to rest. Nikolai nodded, closing his eyes and sighing. The world felt easier. It felt warm, and sunny, full of his light.

“Yes, we are.”

And they would. For years to come, they would be fine.

[sam-t-a]

Speaking of reading too much into things......

When I saw Han Seok's gummy bears, at first I dismissed it as blatant ppl, but then the sugar on top of the absinthe came and couldn't help it.

If you've seen death note then you certainly remember the detective L, who wasn't himself a murderer, but who was manipulative and ready to use torture and unwilling human experiment subjects to reach his goals. The writers said he was written as a sociopath. L had an obsession with sweet foods and in a prequel to the manga written from Mello's perspective, it's said that this might have been his way of balancing out the bitterness of the cases he deals with.

The first time Han Seok eats gummy bears on screen is when he's killing his father. He later talks about how his father never loved him and how he envies Vincenzo for being loved by his parents, so I'm assuming resorting to killing his father must've left a "bitter aftertaste". When he finds out that Han Seo has known about it the whole time, he makes him eat one too, as a sort of "welcome to my world, here's how we do it", but he notably had to force him to eat it because Han Seo might be part of his world, but he's been an unwilling participant from the get go.

But in the general sense, I keep going back to the "Nothing's a problem to me as long as I don't feel like shit" sentence from episode 9. Psychopaths are perpetually bored and under-stimulated (think "valuable sparring partner") and extremely lonely people, so Jang Han Seok's life is one long pursuit of not feeling like shit, and he'll invest in anything and everything that can "sweeten" the very bad deal he's stuck with.

Psychopaths also crave control over everything, but are highly impulsive and lack self control. This sometimes works in Han Seok's favor since it makes people fear him and follow his orders more thoroughly (such as the car scene with the two lawyers), so he doesn't think about it too much since it's good for business.

But when it backfires, a psychopath's lack of self-control frustrates them to no end. We see this in a couple of his interactions with his brother. He laments losing his temper after holding a knife to Han Seo's throat and he gives him a "look what you made me do" look after maiming him with the thingamajig he threw at him. He seems to realize that pushing his brother past a certain point, or at least flipping the table and ruining breakfast and hurting himself in the process isn't good for business. Having his brother walk out of his office with a bleeding head wound is particularly not good for business, especially since that was the first time he hurt his brother in a way that left a visible mark. In those situations, he seems aware that he should be behaving differently.

But he can't help himself.

And I think this is one main reason why everyone hates Choi Myung hee so much more than Han seok. She doesn't lose control. She knows exactly what she's doing and never does anything that could hurt her. Every dispicable decision she makes is a pursuit of feeling good (or better), rather than an attempt to not feel like shit.

Now here's why I think the show's decision to make Han Seok a psychopath and its emphasis on the corrupt justice system is so brilliant, and why I'm comparing with L.

People on the extreme end of dark triad personality traits are unable to get the inherent value of justice, BUT they can be convinced of the value of a justice SYSTEM. The system protects them from harm and following its rules protects them from accountability. In that light, a potential serial killer could be downgraded to a ruthless executive who exploits loopholes in the law but doesn't break it. In death note, L is recruited at a very young age onto the "good side" which very likely stopped him from becoming a serial killer himself.

But for that to work, these people need to be sure the justice system a) applies to everyone else so that it can protect them from harm, and b) applies to them so that evading accountability can be an actual incentive to follow the rules. In the series, the justice system is corrupt beyond measure, and Han Seok's father goes to disturbing lengths to ensure that it stays that way. It takes a village to raise a child and it took a village to raise this child so poorly, to the point where the only way to defeat him becomes introducing a new player equally unrestricted by the formal justice system but highly dedicated to the concept of justice as inherently valuable: Mr. Vincenzo Cassano.

[sunjaesol]

Kiss prompt 19 Juke

KISS PROMPTS (closed)

19. One person stopping a kiss to ask “Do you want to do this?”, only to have the other person answer with a deeper, more passionate kiss.

(high school au)

In retrospect, the game ‘Seven Minutes In Heaven’ was a really bad idea. It could’ve really fucked them over had it not been the right time or place. It had been, thank God, but neither would risk it all again any time soon.

Julie was a mess. 

Carrie’s house parties were, as expected, completely out of control. The kitchen was filled to the brim with alcohol, music boomed from stereos that probably reached the other side of LA, drunkards jumped in the pool and drinking games were started on a whim. 

She’s avoided ‘Circle Of Death’, ‘Fuck The Dealer’, beer pong, flip cup, ‘Avalanche’ and whatever else existed. All she really wanted to do was dance and forget Luke had been flirting with Yasmine, a senior girl. 

God, she was such a cliché. Of course, she was in love with her best friend. It didn’t help he was a year older nor that it was uncommon for her to feel like a child. She knew that was stupid. They were completely on the same wavelength and were super close, but then she saw some of the girls he liked talking to… 

Yasmine was pretty and experienced and Julie was definitely not. Not in that way, at least. It wasn’t like she had a shot with Luke either, both strictly friends, but his interest in Yasmine didn’t help her self-esteem. 

In a moment of weakness, (a combination of too many White Claws, the buzz of dancing, the taste of teenage angst, the bitter fantasy of being with him) Flynn and Kayla managed to drag her to the den. It was slightly quieter here. A group of kids were sprawled over the many couches in a circle, Carrie standing in the middle like some warrior in glitter. 

Luke was there too. He saluted at her from the other side of the room as she sat down, amusement pulling on his lips.

“Alright,” Carrie declared. “Seven minutes in heaven! If you’re not into it, leave!”

A few left, Julie almost joining them in fright, when Flynn held her down. Her nails dug in her arm, a coy look crossing her hazy features.

“You either get over Luke, or you get with Luke.”

Julie shook her head. “No. This isn’t happening.”

“It is,” Kayla grinned. The girls high-fived each other. “You’re welcome.”

The game began. A suffering Julie watched on as Alex and Willie had no qualms pulling each other into the wall closet. They were lucky, basically already a couple with their very blatant flirting. She focused on talking to the girls or teasing the ones that were chosen, pointedly not looking in Luke’s direction. 

What if he saw it in her eyes? That she wanted him? She’d die of mortification. 

It was hard to not like Luke. He was the definition of effervescence. Every little thing he did had intention. Dialling his charm up to eleven, laughing harder than anyone else, encouraging her to chase all the dreams tucked in her dream-box with awed conviction. It was like he didn’t even have to try to be all-encompassing; he just was.

And she wasn’t the only who noticed. Ever since they’ve been friends - her a freshman and he a sophomore - she has seen girls come and go on his radar. Nothing ever stuck. Whenever Alex and Reggie called him out for it, he claimed he was too focused on music to care about that stuff. 

She didn’t know whether that should make her happy or not. 

Just as she was getting bored, leaning against Flynn while her friend recounted a story from her job, the bottle was handed to Luke. Instinctively, Julie straightened up. Her heart pounded in her throat, muscles straining and lungs constricting. This crush would kill her one day. 

It spun and spun and spun and slowed down and twisted precariously, lingered and then… landed undoubtedly on Julie.

Shit.

Kayla gasped, cause of course she had to be unsubtle about it, while Flynn slapped her arm. Her friends were fucking wonderful. 

Their eyes met, hers nervous and his apprehensive. God, that hurt. They didn’t even have to do anything. 

“Chop chop,” Carrie smirked. Everyone knew they were best friends and a handful, like Carrie, picked up on Julie’s differing emotions. She was eating this up. “Go and make out!”

The crowd hollered as they stood up, this time with Luke rolling his at her, as if that would be comforting. She knew what he was trying to do, silently calling them idiots, but she just felt like the biggest idiot of all. 

The closet door slammed shut. Encased in the dark, Julie tried to even her breathing. 

“Huh,” Luke mused, so close she felt the words ghost her face. “Thought it would be bigger.”

She crossed her arms and leaned back as best as she could. “This is so lame.”

“Then why were you in the circle?”

“Why were you in the circle?” she retorted. Though usually a terrible liar, the obscurity helped her sell it. No way he saw her red cheeks and skittish gaze. 

Her body was burning. He was too near, every cell of her all too aware of where he was. The hairs on their skin brushed when they inhaled, their hands mere inches away. They didn’t need to move to kiss; only needed to tilt her head to kiss him.

Kiss him, kiss him, kiss him. 

“Where were you, by the way?” he asked, faux-offended. “‘Toto’ was playing and I didn’t have my dance partner!” 

She laughed, the tension marginally eased. “Sorry. I was busy avoiding Flynn from pulling me into a drinking game.”

“Aha! So, this is also Flynn’s plan.”

She shrugged. “More or less.” And then- “Were you hoping for Yasmine?”

What the fuck. Why did she say that?! It sounded so jealous! If he could see her, he’d remark she was going green with envy. Her eyes shut in embarrassment, waiting for a bark of laughter and a coy confession that yes, he was hoping to get alone with her. 

Instead, she got a hesitant pause. “You- you think I wanna get with Yasmine?”

Swallowing back the pain, she uttered: “She’s pretty.”

“I guess.”

Another pause, more loaded with unsaid implications and rising temperatures. She felt him shifting on his feet, his arm swiping past hers and alighting her heart into a frenzy. 

Kiss him, kiss him, kiss him.  

“I want you.” Her eyes widened as she blurted out the double entendre. “To keep talking! I want you to keep talking.”

“Right,” he chuckled, a nervous edge to his tone. “Uh…”

Julie sighed, frustration building in her chest. “How long does seven minutes take?”

Luke scoffed. “Damn, Jules, it’s that bad to be in a closet with me?”

“No!” Gah! She was doing everything wrong! “That’s not… I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just-” Letting out a breath, she took a risk: “-nervous.”

All at once, she deflated with relief. It was out. No turning back. He could do whatever he wanted with that information.  

“Good or bad nervous?” he whispered.

And then she felt it again, his hand coming near, knuckles bumping against hers. It pricked and sparked and she was losing her mind a little. But they were so close to something and Julie was too curious - too dazed - to not see where it led to.  

“Good.” Her head tilted up, brave. “Very good.”

The quiet words lit a match, Luke surging forward as his hands slipped around her face and pressed an urgent kiss on her lips. It was so fast, so unexpectedly dizzying, that she didn’t have time to react. Right as she leaned in, he pulled away. 

His voice trembled, thumbs swiping her cheeks. “Do you wanna do this?”

An incredulous chuckle leapt from her mouth, a beat later crashing their lips back together with two years of hidden passion pouring out. He groaned, hands clenched around her jaw and waist as hers were gripping his neck. Her soul was on fire, adrenaline coursing through her bloodstream at a tempo she couldn’t keep up with. 

They deepened the kiss, tongues grazing past lips and teeth and eliciting pleasurable sighs and needy whimpers. Falling onto her side of the closet, Julie interrupted the kiss to giggle at his frantic rush. 

“Don’t laugh,” he giggled along, muffling the sound with another kiss as he crowded over her. 

It was intoxicating. The faint scent of his cologne, allowing her nails to trail his jaw, arching into him like he etched a space for her long ago. Kissing Luke was better than any drink she could get here.  

When his face shifted, lips dropping to her jaw and shrivelling any rational thought she might’ve had, she gasped out: “I take it you weren’t interested in Yas?”

“Never,” he mumbled. Having him so close, she saw the way his hooded eyes flicked up at her. “Is this real to you?”

The nod was fast and the kiss even faster, their incessant grins keeping them from tilting off their axis. This was the realest she’s ever been with him. This was the only way she could ever be with him; impossible to go back to friends after this. Every touch drove her further into her feelings, that delicious type of wild she’d been craving for so long. 

His hands snuck underneath her top, its warmth causing shivers up her spine and a pleased smile to curl his lips. The move made her push the beanie from his head and rake her fingers through the soft locks. It was the right call, their teasing game washing away any sense of doubt or fear. 

Or sense of time.

The door flung open. Instantly, everyone in the room started screaming and whistling at the sight of the pair’s compromising position. Flynn and Kayla were hugging each other as if their favourite artists just appeared in front of them. Alex and Reggie body-slammed in victory. 

Julie couldn’t be bothered to feel embarrassed. Luke and her were finally where they were supposed to be. Noting the cocky grin crawling up his face, he was thinking the same thing.  

Carrie was unfazed, a quirked brow assessing them.

“Had fun?”

[manias-wordcount]

Warm Hands (Shoto x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲 + 𝗶𝘁𝘀 𝗺𝘆 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗯𝗻𝗵𝗮 𝗳𝗶𝗰 𝗯𝗲 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗹𝗲

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

Todoroki Shoto has exactly one warm hand. 

That was one more than could ever say you’ve had.

You suppose it’s a ridiculous feeling. There's so much you could be jealous of when it comes to the young, hero in training. He’s taller than you, stronger than you, smarter than you- and so much more. He’s well-composed, he's handsome, and he’s brave. He has the makings of a good hero and strong foundational skills that give him a head start compared to other students by miles. But all you can do right now is eye that stupid left side of his, feeling bright green with envy, and just imagine how great it must feel in these freezing temperatures of stupid hero trai- 

“You’re cold.” His monotone voice breaks you out of your thoughts. 

It’s not a question, it’s a statement. Todoroki wasn’t always the most perceptive when it came to people- but things were different when it came to you. Of course, he would notice your shivering form. Your teeth were chattering as you crossed your arms in front of your chest, your thin hero costume doing nothing to provide you warmth in the bitter cold. Bouncing on your toes, rocking back and forth, and shifting your weight- you just couldn’t stand still. 

You stop amid your pitiful shaking before turning to look at him properly. His lips are set in a straight line as he stares back at you. There’s that same stoic look on his face, but there’s something noticeably different about it. It’s similar to the same face that he shows to your shared classmates, but it’s not the same. The permanent boredness that gleams in his eyes is no longer there. Something’s off. You can’t tell what it is at first and it’s eating up inside...until you actually look.

The answer lies in his eyes. Just barely peeking from behind his recently messed up, dual-colored bangs, you spot two colors: a cerulean blue as calming as the most serene of oceans and a brown as warm as hot chocolate. It’s different. Way different than you’ve ever seen and you’ll ever hope to see from him. He looks and feels gentler. Softer. More approachable. It’s somehow one of the most beautiful sights you’ve ever laid your eyes upon. Like a great column of fire being doused or a mound of snow finally beginning to melt away. The great wall that is the ever-so indifferent Todoroki Shoto being chipped away in front of you. And you can’t help but gawk.

A cleared throat caught your attention and you’re pulled out of your daze. You expected him to be annoyed by your blatant staring. In fact, you could already feel yourself start to fluster at the attention, and an excuse bubbles at your throat until your eyes catch onto something unusual. The soft look is still on his face- though, there seemed to be some traces of amusement present (at your expense, of course). But this time it’s accompanied by the slight raise of his left arm. It’s drawn out in front of him, bent at the elbow, and displayed just below his shoulder height. 

You tilt your head at the odd display, your obvious confusion asking a silent question. You weren’t sure why he was presenting his arm to you but judging by the light pink blush decorating his cheeks, you were sure he had a reason for doing this, right?

“You’re cold.” He repeats simply. You slowly nod your head at his question, knowing that there was no point in lying to him. Eyes widening in surprise, you watched as he turned his head away at your physical reaction. It was almost as if he was avoiding your eyes. That only last a moment though- a few short breathes later, he’s looking back at you. His eyes are still as soft and as gentle as they were before, but there’s a new emotion blooming inside of him. A quiet determination that allows him to find his voice: “I can...I can...keep you warm...if you’d like.”

You mouth a silent ‘Oh’ at his words. It’s not what you were expecting in the slightest. But Todoroki seemed full of surprises today, doesn’t he? He’s never like this- not to you, not to anyone you know! But for some reason, you like this side of him. Sure, the cold Todoroki was charming in his own right. The strong, silent type has its appeals, you know? But there was something about this bashful, sweeter, and more gentlemanly Todoroki that leaves you wanting to enjoy him some more. Explore this side of him some more, even. 

So you take the chance. You take the offer and before you have time to blink or even think of the words ‘Nevermind, I’m good,’  there’s something warm against your chest. You look down and it’s the same arm he presented to you. Your arms circle around it, pulling him closer as he draws a sharp breath and his body tenses. You want to apologize for getting too close- for moving too fast but your mind is too occupied with feeling his body heat brings you. It feels impossibly warm and impossibly good through the depressing fabric of your costume. It’s like stepping inside after a day out in the snow and you can’t help but swoon into the feeling. 

You look up, hoping to thank him when you fight yourself caught in his gaze. That softness from before is stronger up close and you can help but gasp in surprise. He licks his lips as the sound passes through your own mouth and stares down at your figure cuddled into his side. There’s now longing, hope, and a hint of desperation in his eyes as you stare up at him. You wonder if those are the same things he sees as he studies your face- drinking in every detail with the thirst of a dying man. 

You wonder, and wonder, and wonder. But you don’t have to wonder for long.

“Better?” He whispers, mouth parting as he leans closer to your face.

You can feel your heart beating out of your chest.

“Better.” You agree, closing the gap.

Todoroki Shoto has exactly one warm hand. 

And now he’s sharing it with you.