#the whole party they would but they can’t so instead they just string them all along while they play for keeps with astarion

[came-out-of-the-coffin-desisted]

bitch who regularly slaughters the innocent for fun and pleasure: “you can’t make my friends go on suicide missions!!! they’re MY friends. i don’t care if his ex/goddess/whatever they are now says so, he’s in MY HOAR—i mean friend group! my friend group and i say no so. away with you. i have to go back to stringing him along while i fuck a vampire spawn’

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, dubcon, yandere, omegaverse, forced/accidental bonding, subjugation

♡ part one

♡ fem reader

Once you wake up in the morning, you feel… changed.

Your body feels full—as though you’d indulged too much last night—heavy and sticky and sore all over. There’s a strange taste in your mouth—sweet, somewhat salty, and metallic. Geez, you’re head’s pounding—how much did you drink last night? No, this feels different from a hangover—more full-bodied than that—a withdrawal of some kind or another. You must have done more at the party than drink, and yet, you can’t remember having stayed there all that long. No, you left with someone. That’s right. You went with… that overgrown Omega.

Oh no.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!”

He comes in only wearing a pair of snug boxers—body stacked with brawn, not a single hint of Omega-like softness aside from his tousled bed hair. There’s a big toothy smile on his face—eyes are creased in cheer while carrying an overfull breakfast tray. You know you’re hungry, and yet you can’t bring yourself to feel anything but sick to your stomach by the horrid sight of his flaunted neck, decorated by a gory ring of your bitemark.

No. No, no, no, no, no! Fuck! “Tell me that’s not what I think it is…”

He laughs lightly with an awkward smile, apologetically scratching the back of his neck while balancing the tray in the other hand. “I’m afraid so…”

The world stops spinning, and for a moment, you think it might actually never start up again. Your throat snares, and you think you might throw up. How the fuck could this happen?

He sets the tray down next to you, then himself. The whole bed takes waves upon his weight. You remain still—eyes unrest and mouth hung.

“Hey, I know this might not be what we had planned, but…” he starts.

But you don’t let him finish before declaring, “I’ll take full responsibility.”

There’s nothing else to do, you think. The red string of fate has tied the two of you together. It’s sealed.

“There is no going back now.”

His face expresses shock, but if you’d taken a closer look, he’d probably not be able to hide it—the overwhelming sensation of victory. Oh, bless your Alpha pride. He knew you would say that.

He smiles softly. “I’m in your care then.”

It’s a work in progress after that—slow in the beginning, but that’s to be expected. You never pegged yourself to be the type who got caught up in the unmendable mistakes of a one-night stand, but then here you were—mated with a stranger, moving into his apartment because it’s bigger and closer to work, sharing the same bed and eating the same meals and helping each other through one another’s ruts and heats.

He's still no closer to being your type. In fact, he’s the total opposite—too giant to give you even a semblance worth of superiority over him. A couple of days ago, when he’d been searching for the remote in the couch you were lying on, he’d taken to pick you up instead of just asking you to move. It was completely humiliating. He’s so brazen, and it’s starting to become clear he’s doing it all on purpose!

He doesn’t get fussy when you state your claim of being the one on top—no, but what he does instead is somehow worse, going along with it with snide praise, grinning up at you, his big hands weighing heavy on your haunches as you roll them, calling you his good girl. It seems to humor him how it angers you—chuckling behind your hands as you layer them both atop his mouth, growling at him to “Shut up!”

No, he doesn’t mind letting you take charge. He rather enjoys the view of watching you ride—working so hard to appease him while he rests pretty and admires your body—all soft edges and plush curves. You tire quickly, though—poor thing, why don’t you leave the rest to him?

You had rejected it the first few times he’d offered. Your bruised pride simply wouldn’t have it—you’d rather you both stop than let him finish you off. But a couple more nights and you’d quicker come around than either of you expected—perhaps worn down by his constant nagging or simply fed up with your own failure—you let him assist by bouncing you on his lap.

You wouldn’t admit it to his face, never, but you’d enjoyed it far more than you could have ever thought…

Thankfully, your face in and of its own glory told him all he needed to know. It didn’t take long before he’d taken full advantage of it, nor for you to begin allowing it without being asked. Soon you were letting him fuck you against the wall, making the entire room shake—wall creaking and shelves rattling, pictures falling down. You hold your tongue and hold on tightly, arms and legs wrapped around him—moaning sweetly right by his ear. Fuck, you even bite him again.

As time passed, you came around to indulging more and more of his antics. Letting him fuck you from behind—hard and heavy and deep—thrusting into you while grappling your waist. You even go down on all fours when he does it—digging your claws into the sheets.

Lying belly-up beneath him still makes you feel nervous—and slightly ashamed—almost convinced something’s wrong with you for liking it. And yet you can’t help it. You know any other Omega wouldn’t fuck you like this. They wouldn’t have the stamina, the drive, or the desire. Not like him, who does it all like it’s his nature even when it shouldn’t be.

Guess you’re both freaks.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Amajiki ♡ JJK – Gojo, Geto ♡ HQ – Kuro, Oikawa, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ BLLK – Reo, Nagi, Bachira, Isagi ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Suo, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[thefreakandthehair]

@eddiemonth prompt, oct 31st: Scary movie night | Vampires Will Never Hurt You - My Chemical Romance | Protective a/n: this one is a continuation from day 18's prompt! but it can absolutely be read separately! read on ao3 + masterpost | tumblr masterlist

It’s not like Eddie hasn’t had more than his fill of regrettable Open Mouth, Insert Foot moments in his life. He’s had plenty, a whole buffet of them in fact, but this might be the most humiliating one yet. 

As if being home on the best night of the year nursing wounds from actual monsters isn’t painful enough, he’s just learned that his tolerance for weed has decreased substantially from his baseline back in March. 

Enough so that as he and Steve, a new and surprising friend he desperately wants to be more, sit on his couch and watch A Nightmare On Elm Street, Eddie finds himself telling Steve truths he hasn’t told anyone yet.

Truths he hasn’t wanted to say aloud because that makes them truths, the same way that Freddy Krueger makes nightmares and dreams become real. 

Much like the fabled veil between worlds, the veil between Eddie’s brain and mouth is at its thinnest. 

“— and it just fucking sucks, dude. I’ve loved these movies my whole life! And now I can’t even enjoy them, I just look at these slasher scenes and see like, my actual life? I’ve been the slasher victim now and it’s not fun, and I want it to be because I love horror movies and now that’s just one more thing the Upside Down’s taking from me—” 

“We can change the movie if you want. Seriously, I don’t mind, man,” Steve tries to interrupt, running a soothing hand up and down Eddie’s arm, his eyes concerned as he strokes from wrist to elbow with far more gentility than Eddie’s used to. Or, maybe, feels he deserves. 

Steve’s words fall on deaf ears because Eddie’s on a rampage now, trying his best to breathe but Glen’s bed erupts on the screen, a geyser of blood sprouting from sheets to ceiling and Eddie just can't take it anymore. 

“Like that! God, I’ve lost that much blood! You, you had to carry me out of some bizzaro Freddy Krueger world covered in that much blood, and that’s not fair, right? We should be out at some party, you shotgunning a beer and me slinging wares and instead, we’re,” Eddie gestures vaguely towards the trailer living room. “Here.” 

He takes a breath and winces at the way deep inhales still pull at his side. 

That’s when Eddie realizes Steve’s holding his hand.

Their fingers are intertwined, just like their destinies were maybe always meant to be. He has more things to say, more thoughts, but they die on his tongue as he looks down at the small gesture tethering him to the couch. 

“Listen to me. What happened wasn’t fair, sure, but you did the best you could to keep Dustin safe and I don’t regret carrying you outta there for a fucking second.” Steve squeezes his hand. “Let’s just pick a different movie— maybe one with less like, blood and alternate dimensions— and if it makes you feel any better, I’ll shotgun a beer to make the Harrington Halloween experience authentic.” 

He turns and stares at Steve, into those huge eyes he’s only recently determined are hazel more than brown as he smiles back at Eddie, warily and crooked. 

And in that moment, he believes him. He does.

“Deal.” 

Steve pops in Ferris Bueller and does, indeed, shotgun a beer much to Eddie’s glee. 

The night wears on and Eddie ends up with his head in Steve’s lap, soaking in the feeling of Steve’s hand in his hair, his nails on his scalp. The sensation lulls him further into oblivion. 

“What if I came out like, a vampire or something? Would you still wanna be friends?” Eddie asks, the latest in a string of questions Steve’s handled with finesse and the occasional snark. He’s still Steve, after all. 

“Look, after everything I’ve seen, vampires are the least of my worries. Sure, bring it on.” 

“Even if I tried to drink your blood?” 

He’s teasing, but Steve looks at him with something heavy he can’t name. 

“Yeah, even then.” 

Silence beats on for a moment afterwards, the air shifting around them. 

“Y’know,” Eddie whispers for no reason. There’s nothing but Steve and silence beside him, but he doesn't want to disturb the atmosphere. “I’m actually kinda glad we ended up here instead of some shitty party. Wish I coulda made it with both nipples in tact, don’t get me wrong, but… yeah. I’m glad.” 

Bright teeth and glossy eyes gaze down at him, better than any Halloween decor or party lights could ever hope to be. Steve brushes the hair back from Eddie’s forehead and lets his other hand, large and warm, rest just above Eddie’s beating heart. 

“Me, too.”

tagging a few people who expressed interest in the follow up: @griefabyss69 @vecnuthy @starryeyedjanai @nostalgicbones @vampeddie

[luxheroica]

I wrote Wyll/Karlach, inspired by this art. I have been shipping them hard for months and knew I needed to contribute to the ship in some way. Also on AO3.

Tonight the camp is drunk on success and copious amounts of wine. There is still hardship and danger on the road ahead, not least for those who still bear the tadpoles in their heads. For tonight the goblins are gone and the druids ritual halted, the wine is sweet and the fire bright and that is enough to banish thoughts of darkness ahead. 

The bard Alfira has struck up a string of country dances on her lute, the kind of songs played at festivals and weddings for all to join. Wyll, in good humor and more than incidentally tipsy, joins the first one– a circle dance that has him linking arms with Lia on his left and Zorru on his right as they careen faster and faster around the roaring bonfire. 

There is something liberatory about dancing among the tieflings. None of them stare at his horns (still heavy on his head) or his strange eyes, instead taking them in stride. 

Wyll is the only one among the group that he has privately begun to think of as ‘companions’ to join the dance. Tav snuck off some time ago to find a private tent with Gale. Astarion is skulking around somewhere with a bottle of wine. Lae’zel scorned the idea of any revelry and has gone to bed, and Shadowheart in rare sympatico with the gith has also retired early. 

He is surprised not to see Karlach among the party– until he turns and sees her at the edge of the firelight, drinking out of a flask and watching the dancing, her feet tapping along with the music. 

The song comes to an end with a repetition that is so fast it nearly has all of them tripping over their own feet. Wyll has to catch his breath when at last the lute sings out its last note, and the gathered tieflings break out in applause. 

He excuses himself from the fireside and finds Karlach, who tips her drink at him and nods when he approaches. 

“You don’t wish to join the dancing?”

“Oh, ah,” Karlach shifts on her feet. She’s always in motion, he’s noticed, whether she’s fidgeting or pacing around the camp. “I don’t really feel like setting anybody on fire tonight. Plus I don’t know any of the dances.” As if sensing she’s brought the mood down she grins at Wyll. “You looked like you were having fun though.” 

“It was quite fun,” Wyll says, eyeing Karlach, who is watching the firelight circle with half an eye. “Most of these dances don’t have complicated steps– they’re easy to learn, if you follow what everyone else is doing you’re more than halfway there.” 

“Doesn’t solve the problem of me turning that whole line dance into kindling.” 

She’s keeping her tone light, joking and grinning, like she doesn’t really care that she can’t ever touch anyone without harming them. 

Wyll follows her lead in this. “I’ve got a nice sturdy pair of leather gloves,” he cajoles, pushing her just a little. “And Mizora’s present should make me at least a little resistant to infernal fire.” 

Karlach grins again, softening a little this time. “Don’t worry about me, soldier– I’m all left feet, you get me out there I’ll just careen into everything. Get out there and enjoy yourself.” 

Wyll doesn’t believe that– well, he does believe the part about her careening, she seems like the type to careen– but he doesn’t believe that she truly wants him to leave her to go enjoy dancing. Karlach puts up a good front, but were he in her shoes he would want nothing more than the simple things that had been so long denied him. 

He fishes in his pouch and draws out his pair of sturdy leather gloves which he slides over his hands, like a courtier drawing on his silk gloves so that he might offer a hand to a lady, then bends at the waist in his very best courtly bow. That it is a little out of practice he thinks she will forgive, especially when an irrepressible laugh burbles up out of her. 

Wyll winks, and Karlach laughs again. 

“Well, my lady?” Wyll asks. “May I have this dance.” 

She’s grinning truthfully now, as she takes his hand. There’s a bit of heat, like he might feel pulling a pan from the oven, but it’s shielded by the leather. “You may,” Karlach says, a laugh still at the back of her throat. 

Wyll pulls her towards the firelight. Careful to give her enough space that any careening won’t be a danger, but still within the flickering orange glow of it. A few of the tieflings look at them and grin when they join. There’s a new tune starting up– he knows this one, a sprightly hop meant to be danced with a single partner. 

“This one isn’t complicated, just follow my steps,” Wyll murmurs to Karlach as he begins twirling her around the fire. At first she is clumsy, all left feet as she said, but after a few turns she starts to anticipate the little skip-hop on the third beat. Wyll smiles. “There, you’re getting it.” 

Karlach shakes her head, still grinning. “You’re playing with fire, you know that right?” 

Wyll meets her eyes. Grins right back. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” He sends her out in a spin, and her laugh echoes all the way to the sky above. 

They whirl around the bonfire, until the flames become embers and the music slows and they all at last stumble off drunk and sleepy to bed. Wyll’s thick leather gloves are covered in scorch marks, but he considers it worth the sacrifice to see Karlach’s soft smile when at last the dancing finishes for the night. 

There will be danger on the morrow, but for tonight his heart is warm. 

[html-nae]

T R A P S O U L

42!Miles x fem!OC

Part 2 of the 42!Miles x fem!OC series

WC: 1277

Nonviolent communication.

Nonviolent communication is based on historical principles of nonviolence.

The natural state of compassion when no violence is present in the heart.

It reminds us what we already instinctively know about how good it feels to connect with another human being.

It was just another night. Another fight for Miles’ attention.

But what do you do when you’re falling and you can’t find anything to hold on to?

Nothing.

It was also the night of Jefferson Davis’ promotion party.

‘For Aaron’, he would say. Anytime someone congratulated him on his accomplishment. ‘It’s all for my family and my brother. May he rest in power.’ Anyone could tell he missed his brother. Did he know Aaron was the prowler? Maybe. But he still loved him. So, in honor of him. He worked hard to become captain and provide for his family.

Miles promised to walk Harmony to the party.

So she got ready. A whole three hours before the party even started. She wanted her makeup to look good, she wanted her hair to look good, she wanted her outfit to look good.

Harmony wanted to look good.

For Miles.

Everyday she screamed for his attention. Sometimes it went unnoticed and sometimes it didn’t.

So she learned to count every blessing. There was no promise for tomorrow so she counted every second he dedicated to her. Even if it was small.

Harmony finished getting ready at 5:00.

The time Miles said he would get her.

Perfect.

5:10.

No Miles.

Soon 10 minutes turned into 20.

And 20 into 40.

And 40 into an hour.

And he still never came.

She decided to swallow her pride and not text him. Harmony wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe something came up, she thought.

Instead of saying anything, Harmony grabbed her bag and did a once over in the mirror before leaving.

The sun was setting and the city was alive. There was the well known traffic as well as the bright neon signs being turned on. Food merchants were still out, eager to sell whatever was left in stock before calling it quits for the night. Groups of friends walked past Harmony giggling about whatever joke was said as they passed her.

The fast life she was used to living was all going in slow motion. She got to appreciate the beauty of the city. By herself.

And she enjoyed it.

When Harmony arrived at the party everyone was there.

Except for Miles.

“Hey manmi mwen regrèt anpil mwen an reta.” Harmony said once she found Rio. (Hey mom. I’m so sorry for being late.”

Rio turned her head towards the girl with a bright smile adorning her face. She loved Harmony like the daughter she never had, always eager to speak to her and find out what was going on in her life.

“It’s no worries hija. We’re just glad you were able to make it.”

A smile made its way on the Haitian girl’s face, her eyes scanned the party hoping to find the Morales boy. Rio was quick to notice.

She knew. She knew the girl in front of her was crushing on her son. She also knew that her son was stringing her along. Rio scolded him about it many times, but each time she was met with a ‘It’s nothing mami. Honest’, and each time Rio would sigh and shut the door.

“We don’t know where he is. We checked his room and he was missing.”

The Jones girl nodded in response as the upcoming Captain slotted himself into the conversation. His glasses were slightly askew from the dancing his family dragged him into, but other than that he looked pristine. As always.

Conversations and congratulations were shared between the two, before they drifted off into Harmony’s studies and how her father was doing.

Then Miles came. With someone else.

Gwen.

Harmony watched them distance themselves from the rest of the party. She saw the way Miles looked at Gwen.

He never looked at me like that.

All the years I’ve known him. He never looked at me like I was everything to him.

“Who’s that?” Jeff questioned looking at the new girl that was hanging around his son. She was different. He knew about Harmony’s infatuation.

Everyone knew.

So he was just as confused as the next person when a new girl showed up with his son while he stood next to someone that would put their life on the line for him.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Her heart was racing. She was here. Next to him. And he looked happy.

Content.

He’s never looked this happy before.

Because it was Gwen. The girl that filled all the pages in his notebook. The same girl that he could spend hours talking about. The same girl that Miles was infatuated with.

Gwen Stacy. Not Harmony Jones

The two parents made their way towards them and ended up dragging Harmony with them.

The whole interaction lasted at least fifteen minutes. And the whole time

Miles never looked at Harmony.

He acted like she wasn’t there.

Even when Gwen dipped off and had to leave.

He never talked to her. His eyes were trained on where the blonde once stood.

Harmony finally met the girl that plagued her best friend’s mind. And she was right. She was the complete opposite of her. They shared absolutely nothing in common except for Miles.

But Gwen had Miles more than Harmony did. So they were back to square one.

Having nothing in common.

Because Harmony had to face the facts.

She couldn’t even say that they both had Miles.

Only Gwen had him.

The only thing Harmony had were distant memories that Miles probably didn’t even remember.

The Morales boy left long before the party was over. He went to follow Gwen.

Much to Harmony’s dismay.

This is what happens when Harmony thinks about him. Too caught up in her feelings. Reminiscing.

Next time I’ll be different.

She thought. She would wait on a sign and then come to the idea that it was time for a different prayer that somehow still revolved around Miles.

A boy that didn’t even see her the way she saw him.

She didn’t like being alone, but that’s exactly what happened when she went home. Thoughts of ringing his line flooded her mind as she laid down on her bed staring at her phone. Wishing that he would come home.

To her home.

Harmony wanted to balance her space. Protect her space. But Miles made it hard.

He gave her just enough to stay attached and hold onto him.

The Jones girl didn’t need the pain but with it stemming from Miles Morales, the hero of Brooklyn. She didn’t mind it all that much.

What’s left of us?

She remembered when Miles would tell her everything. When he was her best friend and would find comfort in her for anything. Now he makes promises that he doesn’t live up to. He ditches plans that he makes for them and says nothing but a mere apology if she gets one.

The same dorky kid that got humiliated on the first day of school. Is the same dorky kid thats humiliating Harmony without trying to.

He let her fall first while he stood dreaming wide awake.

And she’d do anything to be the person on his mind.

Harmony was in over her head and she couldn’t hold herself to be mad at Miles.

Because let's face it.

It was nothing but a state of nonviolent communication.

The natural state of compassion when no violence is present in the heart.

Taglist:

@urmotherswhor3 @not-aya @ihavenousernamewhyy-2 @erensbbg @reneuv @notsaelty @blackwxdo @bajadotcom

[separatist-apologist]

We Never Go Out Of Style

Could end in burning flames or paradise

Summary: When Gwyn breaks up with her boyfriend on the eve of Nesta's destination wedding, Nesta Archeron has only one objective: set Gwyn up with her high school crush.

Note: Based on this tweet from @heathermcwrites: "One of my bridesmaids just broke up with her bf who was supposed to come to my wedding & I was sad for her for about 3 seconds until I remembered that her crush will also be at the wedding (single) and I'm now more committed to this 2nd chance romance than to my own marriage."

"I should also note that this is a destination wedding so there are EVEN MORE opportunities for uh…shenanigans"

Read More: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | AO3

“This whole week has been a bachelorette party, Nes,” Emerie complained from Nesta’s couch. One slim arm was thrown over her eyes, dark hair a tangled mass against the pillows. Gwyn nodded, slumped on the hard floor while her feet rubbed against the soft, black and white shag carpet sitting just beneath a coffee table. Gwyn didn’t bother mentioning that Cassian’s ass cheeks were imprinted on the glass, though her eyes kept drifting toward it.

How had they not broken it?

That didn’t matter? Not when Nests flung open the curtains in her suite living room, earning groans of protest from the very hungover Gwyn and Emerie. “Turn it off, Nesta.”

“I can’t turn off the sun, Em,” Nesta replied. “And it’s almost noon. Don’t make me spend the day with my sisters.”

“Why not?” Gwyn asked, turning to bury her face in the squishy, leather couch. “They went to bed earlier than we did.”

“Come on. Lets do the work out class in the pool and have a few drinks—”

Both Emerie and Gwyn groaned again at the mention of alcohol. The Archeron sisters could drink like fish, and wake up just as pretty as they’d started. Not Gwyn, though. After their hike, Nesta and Cassian had wanted to go to another club, where drinks were half off if you were a lady. Had Gwyn taken advantage, flirting with men at the bar only to pass drinks along to Azriel—and Cassian, if he was nearby? Yes. 

And what had it gotten her? Passed out on the floor of Nesta’s suite while Azriel was god knows where, all while her friend was hoping for a repeat. 

“I can’t, Nesta. My mouth is dry.”

“Drink some water,” Nesta said casually before vanishing behind a doorway. She returned moments later with two of her own swimsuits. Neither Gwyn nor Emerie made any attempt at catching them, leaving the red fabric hanging in her hair. No matter what they said, Gwyn knew she and Emerie would put them on and be in the pool within an hour.

“Will you braid my hair?” she asked of Emerie instead, ignoring the soft sound of triumph that left Nesta’s throat. Emerie peeked open a pretty brown eye, glazed from the bad sleep they’d gotten, and mumbled that sounded mostly like agreement. Maybe a little swearing, too, which Nesta promptly ignored.

“Cassian bought a bunch of frozen breakfast burritos. Want me to microwave—”

“Yes.” They said it in unison, the most certain either Gwyn or Emerie had been all day. While Nesta powered up the microwave and moved through the kitchen with the same efficiency she employed in the courtroom, Gwyn tried not to complain too much when Emerie began dragging a brush through her hair before snapping little plastic ponytails against Gwyn’s scalp to create two thick, cute bubble braids. 

The smell of cheese and peppers filled the air, turning Gwyn’s stomach hollow with hunger. She scarfed one down while Nesta watched, triumphant. “It’s fixing you, isn’t it?”

“No,” she lied. “Make me another.”

Nesta only laughed, pretty as ever in another black bikini that somehow made her seem impossibly tan. Gwyn retreated to the bathroom, throwing on the red suit that Cassian probably loved on Nesta given the scraps of fabric held together by flimsy string. She tried not to think too much about what Azriel might think.

But she wondered, all the same, if he’d have any reaction at all. She traded places with Emerie, scarfing down another piping hot burrito and chugging a cold glass of orange juice before she said a word. 

“You know, I have an actual bachelorette plan for this weekend,” Gwyn began, drumming her fingers against the laminate countertop. “I’ve been putting it together since we got here.” “Cassian told me,” Nesta admitted, eliciting a choked sound of outrage from Gwyn.

“How—Azriel.”

Nesta grimaced. “They don’t keep secrets. Cassian especially. It sounds really fun, Gwyn,” Nesta added, though Gwyn could see she didn’t really mean it.

A little offended, Gwyn asked, “What’s wrong with the night I have planned?”

“No Cassian.”

Gwyn spluttered. “That—that’s the whole point! You have your whole life to see Cassian!”

Nesta nodded, chewing the inside of her cheek. “What if we combined them—”

“Then it’s just a regular night! A stripper was coming, Nes,” she added, snapping her fingers in front of Nesta’s face. “And not just any stripper, but an Italian stripper, which I was assured is better than a regular one.”

“Cassian would probably think that’s very funny—”

“Oh, for fucks sake,” Gwyn grumbled. “Why would you wait until now to tell me?”

“I thought maybe Azriel would convince you—”

“Why would you think that?” Gwyn demanded, suddenly defensive. Nesta’s cheeks seemed to darken even as those silvery blue eyes flashed a warning. Gwyn was going to lose this fight. Nesta shook her head, brushing strands of her that had escaped her own braided hair from her face.

“I—”

“He’s obviously into you,” Emerie interrupted, strolling into the room in a vibrant purple two piece. She’d braided her hair, too, which warmed Gwyn. They’d been wearing the same hairstyle for years, and not even marriage was going to stop that. No matter how chaotic their lives got, they were still friends first. “We all saw that picture he put up, too. That man doesn’t have one woman on his grid but now he’s got you.”

Nesta was fiddling with the ties at the front of her swimsuit. Quietly—so quietly Gwyn barely heard her, she murmured, “I put you two in the same room.”

“You what?!” 

Nesta sighed. “When you ended things, he called me. Wanted to know why, and how to get you back blah blah blah. I didn’t help him, but…you had that crush on Azriel in high school—”

“Oh my God,” Gwyn mumbled, putting her head in her hands. “And this whole time…I thought…”

“Did it work, at least?” Emerie asked curiously, picking up one of the microwave burritos from a paper plate. “Have you…you know?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“That’s a yes,” Nesta said, slapping a high five out with Emerie. “Do you like him?”

“I’m not answering that, either. I’m feeling a little betrayed right now. ”

Nesta sighed. “Well, don’t. It was done out of love for you both—Azriel is stupid when it comes to women and you…God, Gwyn, do you have any idea how much it has sucked watching you lose yourself to Jonathon?”

Gwyn looked between her friends, heart pounding. Emerie grimaced.

“He made you so small,” she murmured, squeezing Gwyn’s hand.

“All he did was complain,” Nesta added darkly. “The amount of times I had to remind Cassian he couldn’t hit him…” Nesta shook her head. 

“It doesn’t have to be Azriel,” Emerie amended hastily. “It just seemed like maybe you two…”

“So you both knew?” Gwyn asked flatly, unsure how she felt about the whole thing. Though a new, more terrible thought was settling in her chest. “Did Az—”

“No!” Nesta said quickly. “God, no. Not even Cassian knew.”

“Because he—”

“Can’t keep a secret, yeah,” Nesta agreed. Gwyn exhaled a breath. If Azriel had known, Gwyn thought she would have had to pack up her things and fly home, change her name, and start over in an entirely new city. “He doesn’t know. And it seems like he likes you. Rhys told Cassian Azriel said something that made him think so. He didn’t say what, though.”

Gwyn could have admitted she and Azriel slept together. Could have put Nesta and Emerie out of their misery and told the truth. Instead, she clarified, “So, this whole time, you’ve been playing matchmaker during your wedding?”

Nesta nodded without an ounce of shame. “I’m more committed to your romance than my own marriage, Gwyn. Don’t be mad,” she added, the closest Gwyn would get to an apology. “You’re so stubborn…if I’d told you what I was thinking, you would have avoided him on principle.”

“Yeah, and I probably wouldn’t have slept with him in the airplane bathroom,” she grumbled.

Emerie burst out laughing. “I didn’t believe Mor when she told me she saw you two go in there. She’s going to die—”

“Do not tell her!” Gwyn shrieked. “Tell no one.”

Emerie and Nesta, eyes bright with delight that their scheming had worked immediately, nodded their heads in agreement. God, how had they even gotten here? Looking up at the popcorn ceiling overhead, Gwyn forced herself to say, “It’s not like that between me and Azriel. It’s…this is just a vacation thing. Proximity—”

“Oh, bullshit!” Nesta exploded while Emerie swallowed the laughter causing her shoulders to shake. “Azriel isn’t capable of casual anything.”

Gwyn wanted to believe that. He’d said a lot of things, always with his cock in her body. Never…never without. And Gwyn was cautious to trust anything a man said in the middle of sex given he was likely to say anything he thought she wanted to hear if it meant he got to finish. 

“I don’t know how we got here,” Gwyn grumbled, rubbing her eyes with the tips of her fingers. “Do not meddle, okay? If you want to change the bachelorette party tonight, that's on you.”

“Finally,” Nesta breathed, her delight evident.

“Control freak,” Emerie teased.

And somehow, everything was fine. All Gwyn’s resentment melted away as they devolved into silly teasing, finishing their food and drinks before heading out into the hot Italian air. The sun bounced off the flagstones, blinding the three of them until they clutched at each other, giggling and lamenting that they’d forgotten to put on sunscreen. Gwyn’s hat and sunglasses were in the room she shared with Azriel, and today she didn’t dare run down to get them. She’d hoped to avoid Azriel until she knew how to tell him they’d been set up.

It didn’t matter, at any rate. He was already laid out in a pool chair, mirrored sunglasses hiding his eyes, arms folded behind his head while one muscular leg was bent at the knee, causing the muscles in his abdomen to flex obscenely.

It was absurd, how handsome he was. More absurd when he lowered his glasses to look at her walk past him—as if both Nesta and Emerie didn’t immediately notice. He wasn’t beating the not interested charges, which both annoyed and thrilled her. Azriel didn’t seem to notice the group of beautiful blondes in the pool all laughing loudly, hoping for his attention. Nor did he pay them any mind as they continued to get out of the pool, dripping wet as they slicked their hair back right in front of him.

Even after he’d put his mirrored shades back on, Gwyn could feel his gaze burning against her skin. 

Azriel isn’t capable of anything causal. 

To find out the truth, she was going to have to just ask him flat out what he wanted. And if he wanted to keep this going when they got home—for real, and not when he was erect or drunk or lost to romantic moonlight. Gwyn swallowed.

It was better to know.

Right? 

AZRIEL:

“What was the point of asking me to throw you a bachelor party if we were going to end up with the girls?” Azriel grumbled, thinking of all the wasted money Cassian was flushing down the toilet. It didn’t matter if Rhysand and Nesta had venmoed him more than he’d spent—it was the principle of the thing. He’d paid for a stripper. And not just any stripper, but an Italian stripper, which was, apparently, better than American ones. 

“Nes wants to be together tonight,” Cassian said, flashing Azriel a grin. So much for a nice night out—Azriel was wearing a pair of salmon colored shorts and a white and blue Hawaiian shirt wholly unbuttoned and a lei around his neck. Cassian’s choice, of course, tied together with flip flops that made him feel like a middle aged dad on a Florida beach. 

“You’ll be with her your whole life,” Azriel reminded him, for all the good it did. They were still at the resort for a themed beach night at the adults-only club, and judging from the others he’d seen, their clothes weren’t creative.

The girls were worse—or better, depending on your point of view. Better, because they were in bikini tops and tied sarongs, and worse because every fucking man with eyes was hovering, hoping to drag one of them home. Rhys immediately pushed onto the pulsating dance floor, mere shadow in the black lit dark. Feyre didn’t seem to mind the attention, or was merely trying to get a rise out of Azriel’s brother.

And Rhysand was so, so stupid he fell for it every single time. Azriel wondered if they’d be married next. 

At the bar, Elain Archeron was carefully arranging glasses filled with pale, pink liquid on a circular tray. That seemed safe enough—he was terrified to look for Gwyn and see her with another man. A distraction was exactly what he needed.

And a drink.

Or maybe six. 

“Want help?” he asked Elain. She looked up, relieved to find him and not one of the crawling creeps. Glancing just behind her, Azriel found Lucien Vanserra having a loud conversation with his brothers wife, oblivious to his own being hit on simply for breathing. How could Nesta and Cassian find this preferable to a quiet evening with food and strippers? 

“Yes,” she nodded, shouting over the thudding music. Azriel took the tray and brought it to her husband while Elain began doling them out with a pleased smile.

“Can we try not to get so wrecked tonight?” Emeries voice pulled Azriel from his eyes off Elain and found Gwyn standing close enough to touch. Back in that red top that had been haunting him since he’d seen it at the pool. Did she even know the effect she was having? He wished she’d kept the braids in her hair, though her thick, cinnamon colored hair fell in thick waves down her back which was erotic in its own kind of way. 

He wanted to wrap it around his wrist until her back was arched in the air. She hadn’t come home the night before, likely tucked in with Nesta but Azriel’s imagination had run wild. He imagined her all night with another man, writhing with pleasure and screaming his name.

Cassian had told him when he woke up he’d found Gwyn asleep in the bathroom, one arm flung over the closed lid of the toilet, and Emerie on the couch wrapped up in one of his shirts. Azriel hadn’t dared to ask why Cassian was telling him that, though the knot of anxiety that had formed in chest eased significantly when he learned she was safe—and still his.

Gwyn offered him a tentative smile before throwing back her shot. So much skin was on display—so much he could touch without anyone thinking twice. In fact, Azriel could see her breasts peeking from the bottom of the swim top, taunting him when Gwyn stepped back, shaking her head with a grimace. 

Cheeks flushed, she said, “That was awful.”

“It’s a barbie shot!” Elain told her cheerfully, pushing one toward Azriel. Gwyn’s eyes found him again, smiling sweetly before she took Emerie’s hand and led her back out onto the dance floor.

Fuck. Holding his glass, Azriel couldn’t drag his eyes off the sway of her hips or the way her hair swished back and forth.

A heavy hand clapped on Azriel’s shoulder, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin. Cassian, just behind, grinned. “Want to dance?”

Azriel leveled a flat stare. He’d never danced a day in his life—he wasn’t about to start now. He was content to watch. Cassian, too, given he beckoned for Azriel to follow him up a set of grimy stairs where beautiful women came down, eyeing him up and down and running their hands down his chest while pretending there was so little space they had to touch him.

Normally that kind of would amuse him, but today it irritated him. 

“I paid for a private room,” Cassian told him, the music quieter as he pushed into a door with his tattooed shoulder. It was nice, with a long, semi-circular table with booth and chair seating and a glass window overlooking the dance floor beneath. The stripper pole in the middle of the room made Azriel wish he hadn’t canceled the one he’d paid for Cassian’s bachelor party.

“Should have kept the stripper,” Rhys said, reading Azriel’s thoughts. 

“Maybe we can get Nesta—”

“No!” Rhys and Azriel said at once, falling into their seats with wide eyes. 

“Don’t make this weird, man,” Azriel added as Cassian chuckled. “Save that for tonight.”

“Is this what you wanted?” Rhys asked Cassian, who pulled up a chair across from them. 

“It will be when the pizzas get up here. I know…look, I know you two really tried, but I don’t need one last night of freedom. I don’t want to pretend to be single.”

Azriel and Rhys sighed, though neither could pretend to be surprised. All Cassian had ever wanted was Nesta. It made sense, he supposed, that Cassian would want to spend this night with her, too. He knew, from the look on Rhys’s face, that the same soft jealousy he felt was echoed in his brother.

They wanted what Cassian had. 

“We can do strippers when Feyre decides to marry Rhys,” Cassian added with a laugh. 

“Yeah fucking right,” Rhys grumbled, cheeks flushed. “Not if I want to keep my balls.”

“Az, then.”

“Don’t look at me,” he replied, heart thumping loudly. “I’m not getting married anytime soon.”

He wondered what Cassian knew when he replied rather smugly, “We’ll see.”

Had Gwyn told Nesta? Or had Rhys told Cassian? That seemed the most likely given Rhys was suddenly studiously examining his fingernails. He was spared a confrontation by Elain Archeron, repaying the distraction favor, albeit unwittingly, to bring up more shots, along with the Vanserra brothers.

“Nice,” Lucien said, setting a round of beers in front of them. “Bottle service?”

“Do I look cheap, Vanserra?” Cassian replied with a grin.

“Yes,” Eris responded, earning a warning smack in the chest from Elain. More people filed in, along with a very beautiful waitress and the bottle service Cassian had paid for. He barked at everyone to drink, and drink heavily, given it hadn’t come cheap. For the crowd they had, it seemed more than reasonable and no one paid him any mind when he ordered a glass of water and kept quietly to himself. He was waiting for an opening—one he found when Gwyn stumbled down the steps for the bathroom.

Azriel made his way after her, content in the knowledge that all their friends were too drunk to notice if they left together or not. And maybe this loud club wasn’t the place for a conversation, but when Gwyn pushed into the bathroom, Azriel followed right behind her.

“Is this a new kink I should be worried about?” she asked, though she still undid her bottoms to pee in front of him. Azriel turned, only a little embarrassed.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you all day.”

“Oh? Why is that, I wonder?” she asked, her voice just a little louder than usual. Okay, so maybe she was a little more drunk than he thought. Azriel hesitated.

“Because I like you.”

“Me? Or me naked?”

Oof. “Both,” he murmured, swallowing hard. “I ah…I wanted to talk about going home.”

Her laugh bounced off the tile walls. “Are we breaking up?”

A flush, and then Gwyn, flip flops slapping against the floor while she went to wash her hands.

“No. I want to see you when this is all over. Just you,” he added. 

As my girlfriend, though Azriel didn’t know if he dared to add that. Not when she was looking at him with…was that amusement? Was he about to have his heart broken? 

“Just me?” Gwyn asked, shaking her wet hands between them. “This is starting to sound like a confession.”

“I just told you I liked you,” he reminded her. Gwyn’s smile widened. 

“So you want..what, exactly?”

“You,” he replied, daring to come closer. Close enough to touch her arms, to smell the scent of her shampoo and the salt on her skin from dancing. “With me and no one else.”

“So…your girlfriend.”

The urge to play it cool, to tell her no and hedge his bets rose through his throat and nearly spilled out of his mouth. Did she want to be casual still? To keep her options open? Azriel didn’t, and the thought of agreeing to that made him want to vomit on the floor.

“Yes.”

Gwyn’s brows shot skyward. He’d caught her by surprise, then. “Just you and me,” he added, so it was perfectly clear to her. “No one else.”

“Starting…when?”

“Starting now,” he replied, pulling her closer still. “Right now.”

“You should know something,” Gwyn said, before rushing to tell him the whole, sordid saga of Nesta’s manipulation. With flushed cheeks and averted eyes, Gwyn told him how they’d been paired together—and that Nesta had known she’d been single the entire time. Azriel waited patiently, unsure why it was so critical he know this. Did Gwyn think he was going to change his mind, or that proximity was the only thing drawing him to her?

He wanted her in the airport, well before they ever got seated together, and told her as much. It was hardly romantic, telling your would-be girlfriend that you fucked her in an airplane bathroom because your attraction was driving you insane, but Gwyn obviously needed to hear it.

But even if that hadn’t been true—he’d still want her. And would have thanked Nesta for hitting him over the face with it. 

“So…so it doesn’t matter?” she asked, twining her arms around his neck.

“Never did,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her mouth. Azriel might have taken her right then and there, but a pounding against the door reminded him that they were not anywhere private—and there were limited bathrooms. 

“I can’t leave,” Gwyn lamented, reading his mind.

“Don’t drink too much,” he said instead, selfishly wanting her more than he wanted to carry her back to their shared room, black out drunk until she threw up in his lap. “Cassian has pizza upstairs. You should eat some.”

“Insatiable,” Gwyn teased, unlocking the door and dragging him out with her. Everything was perfect. Better than perfect because for the first time, Azriel genuinely believed he could have what Cassian and Nesta did. That this might actually be it for him, and all he had to do was hold tight and try not to fuck it up too badly.

He never considered outside forces were conspiring against him. And he never thought, when they were back just outside the dance floor and he’d pulled her flush against his body for a languid, long-coming kiss, that anyone would even care. 

“Gwyn!” 

Gwyn froze, turning her head in slow motion. Azriel, too, turned to look at the masculine voice calling over the music. His stomach dropped to the floor. There, in an ugly green and blue striped tie and a long sleeved, white button down made of stifling polyester, stood Jonathon. 

“Fuck,” Gwyn whispered.

Fuck, indeed.

[resident-gay-bitch]

dude can i hear more abt ur barty/sirius wips?? i think your take on them could be soo good

YESS absolutely you can. I hope to finish them but my worth ethic is abysmal. I have about 30 wips (I’m not kidding, last time I counted was last year tho so I’m sure it’s more now…) that I’m super passionate about but cannot delegate my time between them lmao

Anyway…..

I’m going into detail for these wips cause I have so many feelings about them so get ready to be fed lmao. Warning for 18+ smutty content? No explicit sex scenes but sex is mentioned a lot.

⭐️🔪⭐️🔪⭐️🔪⭐️

My most recent one is set in their last few weeks at Hogwarts (trans Barty!) (in this Barty is a Ravenclaw in the same year as the Marauders) (He and Pandora are best friends, and Pandora is twins with Evan who’s in Slytherin in the year below with Reggie and Dorcas. At this point in the fic Sirius and Reggie have healed their relationship and are civil and their groups often cross paths). It begins at Remus’ birthday party in their dorm room.

Sirius goes to find Remus, who he’s been in love with for like 7 years at this point, not completely one sided but nothings ever happened because Remus has a lot of internalised homophobia. sirius has it in his head they’ll be able to kiss and get together once they leave school and live in a place of their own where no one will see. (But Sirius’ feelings certainly aren’t a secret. The whole school knows because Sirius, just like James, is a hopeless romantic. And after moving in with the Potters and gaining a strong male role model, he mimics Fleamonts behaviours, who is very very affectionate and romantic towards his wife)

However, when he finds Remus, he comes face to face with Remus snogging the shit out of Regulus and his heart breaks and he’s very angry. Barty is watching them too, and he tells Sirius to build a bridge and get over it, however he also gives kinda decent advice that lingers with sirius for a moment.

Sirius of course cracks the shits and cries to James and Lily about it right away, and they look after him before he escapes them for the bathroom (and James storms off with some very stern words for Remus lol) and ends up in a game of 7 minutes of heaven with the queer lot of Hogwarts in the bathroom. He and Barty get shoved into the closet together.

At first it’s all snarky remarks and Barty confesses he’s been in love with Regulus for years too, and they bond over their hurt feelings and egos. However, Barty kinda let Regulus use him as they’ve been doing it with no strings attached for ages because Barty is a whore like that (he has feelings, really, he does, he just pretends he doesn’t). Barty tells sirius to just go fuck the feelings away, Sirius confesses he’s a total virgin and was saving himself for Remus, crazy times.

They end up making out so bad, cause Barty is the school whore, and also knows it would really piss Regulus off if they hooked up. So he sinks his hooks in until Sirius breaks and is like fuck it. So they make out and Barty gives him a hand job, and at this point their 7 minuets is up and everyone outside knows what they’re doing, but they don’t care. And right as Sirius finishes Reggie and Remus unlock the door and find them like that and it causes so much drama.

Sirius is of course heartbroken, because Reggie and Remus have been going out for a bit now in secret, but to get over it he’s encouraged to enter his slut era. James tells him he really deserves a blowjob.

So Sirius starts sleeping around but he can’t shake the knowledge that every hookup he has is shit compared to Barty, and he starts becoming obsessed with him.

He watches Barty on the map every night, and when he sees Barty alone in the astronomy tower one night he goes to find him. He tries to initiate a hookup to return the favour, but Barty is adamant on not receiving for some reason, which Sirius obsesses over. They end up talking instead and stargazing together.

Barty confesses he’s always wished on Regulus’ star for good luck, which Sirius tells him off for because the Sirius star is the wishing star, it’s the brightest, maybe he should wish on that one instead.

(Sirius is not aware how badly that fucks Barty up. And he does start wishing on it and falling very very hard for Sirius because he’s a pathetic pathetic man). He’d kill to be loved by Sirius the way Sirius has loved Remus.

Sirius keeps finding him and they do more talking than anything else, because Barty refuses to let Sirius give him head or anything. But things happen, working around that, which Sirius decides is the best sex of his life.

They’re dancing around eachother over their last few weeks, keeping their blossoming romance a secret, even from eachother really. They are not good at admitting their feelings because Barty doesn’t want to get used again (even though he’s already letting Sirius use him for sex) and Sirius is not ready to experience unrequited love again.

Also Barty is friends with Regulus and is of the odd sort that everyone lumps in with the Slytherins. So basically Sirius is falling for a Slytherin by association and that is totally against Gryffindor code.

In their last few nights at school, things change. They find eachother in the astronomy tower for their midnight dates, things get steamy, and again Barty is like “oh you don’t have to get me off at all I’ll just blow you” to which Sirius just snaps.

He’s thinking Barty isn’t attracted to him or something and they have a bit of a fight about it, where Barty confesses it’s because he doesn’t have a dick. This throws Sirius through a loop, and Barty explains that he’s trans, and that’s why he doesn’t ever let anyone get him off.

Sirius tells him he doesn’t mind, and they fuck about it, and get to share that experience with eachother for the first time.

Anyway, they get out of school and start going out and Regulus is not cool about it but they both don’t really care.

Because Sirius has someone who loves him back and is quite obsessed with him (Sirius has not gone a day since without Bartys mark on him somewhere, weather that’s hickies or bitemarks or literal cuts cause Barty is insane (and eventually tattoos).). He’s just so happy to finally be wanted.

And Barty is over the moon because Sirius wears his marks with pride, has no shame in loving who Barty really is, and gives him lavish declarations of love. Barty always thought things like valentines were awful and cheesy but he loves them with Sirius.

⭐️🔪⭐️🔪⭐️🔪⭐️

The first one I ever started writing was like, not even intended to be Barty x Sirius, it was supposed to be bartylus & wolfstar but then about 1 and a half chapters in the horrors got to me and I was like WAIT-

So that fic is centered around Sirius’ time in Azkaban, where his and Bartys cells are next to eachother and seperated only by like metal bars (whereas all the other walls are stone so they can’t see any of the other inmates).

Sirius is slowly slipping into insanity over the first year, counting every single day that goes by with a stone etched into the wall. Barty just watches, never saying a word, from the shadowy side of his cell. Sirius begins to think Barty is just an illusion after a while. He’s also tormented because in this Peter is just diabolical, and he sneaks into Azkaban as a rat on James and Lilys 1 year death anniversary just to taunt Sirius and manages to twist Sirius mind so he’s under the impression he actually did betray his best friend in the whole world which then literally turns him insane.

Barty is already insane by this point and he gets a kick out of Sirius losing his mind and starts to talk to him. His intention is probably to drive Sirius mad, but it actually accidentally helps them both find some of their sanity again. Human conversation is very healthy after all.

Barty asks Sirius all about Remus, because he figured it out after a few months that the moon Sirius was spewing romantic crap too was actually Remus in his imagination.

He then confesses he was in love with Regulus, and it was a doomed narrative right from the start. This connects them, because they talk about regulus with eachother, and Barty asks if he can touch Sirius’ face through the bars, because he looks so much like his brother and Barty doesn’t want to lose the memory.

And so they begin a routine, they confide in eachother (and yes, it’s difficult for sirius at first, befriending a deatheater, but 12 years alone will have him desperate. Also sirius believes he is the filth that the whole world has dubbed him), and Barty closes his eyes to feel Sirius’ face to remember Reggie.

However, he starts doing it more often with his eyes open. And they start talking about regulus less and less. And they start to fall in love with one another. For 12 years, they are All the other has.

Eventually, Sirius gets his shit together and breaks out of Azkaban, and “forgets” all about Barty. He’s torn, and slips back into his relationship with Remus but it doesn’t feel the same. He doesn’t love Remus anymore, Remus believed he was the traitor, never even tried to visit, never even wrote him. He’s also filled with guilt for falling in love with a death eater, especially one of Voldemorts favourites.

Then they meet eachother again on the battle field, the fight in OOTP specifically. It’s a big fight so they’re kind of ignoring eachother and pretending they don’t know things about eachother no one else does. Sirius is coming to terms with the fact that Barty was in fact real and he does love him.

Then of course, Bella goes to kill Sirius. And that’s when all hell breaks loose because Barty is the one to try and stop her with a harrowing scream.

Anyway, that’s that one summed up. I’m kinda crazy about it, haven’t thought about it in agessssss so thanks for letting me rehash my memory :))

⭐️🔪⭐️🔪⭐️🔪⭐️

I thought I had a third wip but I actually did post it! For @/marauders-rarepair-fics prompt in June I think?! It should be on my masterlist at the top of my blog if you’re interested in reading ;)

⭐️🔪⭐️🔪⭐️🔪⭐️

Thanks for asking this!!! It was really fun to talk about these since I haven’t before lmao. They’ve been sitting stashed in my mind for a while now and I need to get back to writing them. I think I got like 2-3 chapters deep into the Azkaban one, and I think maybe halfway through for the Hogwarts set one :)

Also sorry about the late response! I was asleep all day cause I’m sick :/

[sabraeal]

to all the ghosts still standing in this room, Chapter 3

[Read on AO3]

For all that His Former Majesty pretends to eschew the trappings of power or whatever, he sure doesn’t have any compunctions about bossing her around. Lili’s barely stretched a finger toward that purse of his, but he herds her right over to a low wall, insisting she sit before he lets her get a word in edgewise. Barely lets her get a glimpse of all that fluffy ricey goodness too before he sets out a bit of cloth between them, like this was one of those little tea parties Father would strong-arm her into, as if turning ‘good neighbors into good allies’ could make those girls more interesting.

“Street food’s meant to be eaten standing up.” It’s not that she’s pouting over this whole business. It’s just that spoiled little kings sometimes need a reminder of how things work. Like how people don’t go to market just to sit around and kick rocks. “Since you’re, you know, supposed to be walking.”

Soowon’s not a man of many expressions —not ones he aims at her, at least— but to call the one he settles on her skeptical would be generous. Accusatory, more like, as if something about this stupid sit-down snack situation was her fault. “It puts me more at ease to keep you where you can be seen.”

Her face scrunches up, a persimmon left too long in his sun. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

This is where he’s supposed to say, ‘Nothing.’ Where his stupid pale spider hands should wave between them, as if that might help him climb out of this hole. Where he squints into his fakest smile, playing the role of harmless prince down to the dregs.

But instead, he says, “Because when you are left to your own devices, you always find trouble.”

“That’s not true!” At least, it doesn’t feel like it should be. Not until he cocks his head, just how he had on that street in Senshi, both of them soaked to the bone. Both of them alone, no Ayura, no Tetora, no Judoh. And her on her knees, grateful and fearful both, saved by—

Her teeth grit hard enough to ache. “Trouble finds me, thank you very much.”

His shoulder lifts, more consolation than concession. “As you say.”

She could strangle him. Put her hands right around that elegant neck of his and just squeeze. She’d be half tempted to try right now— witnesses and all— except…

Except he finally pulls out that pouch, dumping all the cakes onto the cloth between them. One bounces off an uneven bit of wall, doomed to tumble to the dirt until Lili snatches it midair. “You stand could be a little more delicate about it!”

One brow hikes beneath the sweep of his hair. “Didn’t you just tell me you’d rather be walking?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I want them to roll around in the dirt.” She blows across the cake’s spongy surface, hoping to banish whatever invisible bits of grit had settled there. “It’s about the experience. Lady Lili can sit down and call for fancy little cakes whenever she wants” —not that she made a habit of it, recently— “but walk around some foreign market? Not without a half dozen guards to protect me from peasant elbows, and another one to hold the purse strings.”

With careful precision, she sets the cake back on the cloth. And with equal delicacy —and ignoring Soowon’s slack jaw— she picks up another, twirling it between her fingers. Lili can’t fathom why he bothers to look so shocked; it’s not like she dropped it. It’s not her duty to eat it.

“These are pretty fancy.” There’s little dried jujube flowers steamed into the surface, with rock tripe slivers as stems and leaves of halved seeds. “I think I’ve seen them at parties before.”

“During the summer, typically,” he agrees, lifting a cake between his fingers. It’s pink, not white like hers, with a different spray of flowers across the top. “There’s something about the rice wine that makes them keep better in the heat.”

Lili’s never heard anyone speak with such authority about rice cakes, let alone a man with so little business in the kitchens. Hell, she wasn’t even convinced he liked food, considering the way he picked at most of his meals, pulling crackled skin from perfectly crisped chicken and plucking the melty fat off his pork. He didn’t so much eat rice as push it around in his bowl, making it look like he’d had more than a mouthful.

Does His Majesty have a sweet tooth? she’d love to tease, or maybe, I didn’t figure you for a dessert guy, but instead she blurts out, “I can't believe they sell these right out on the street like this. It must cost a fortune.”

His head snaps up, both his brows jumped up to his hairline, and— and, sure, Lady Lili’s never been in the practice of thinking about cost, or even wondering how her meals made it to her table, but Water Tribe Advisor Lili has to. “The rice wine,” she stumbles out, “it’s only made when the pear trees blossom. So—”

“It’s the same stuff farmers drink.” There’s a lilt to his voice, a hitch at the corner of his mouth. Oh, of course, it’s amusing that An Joon-gi’s precious daughter is so sheltered. He couldn’t scrounge up a thimbleful of good humor the past week she’s been trapped with him in that stuffy little box, but she mistakes cloudy wine for luxury and it’s a laugh riot. Insufferable. “The real expense is in the time it takes to make them.”

Lili glances down, long enough to find not two colors of cakes but three, the yellow so subtle it only stands out next to the white. Three colors, three doughs. And every single one is painstakingly decorated, not just with jujube flowers, but with fireworks made of slivered nuts, or small waves made of dried seaweed; half-snack, half-art. “You’d think they’d serve them more often in the palace. Those people just love to make fussy food.”

“Xing is more temperate than Kouka.” He lifts a shoulder, as if tutoring generals’ daughters were an everyday occurrence. “There are some things that grow more easily here, and for longer. A summer delicacy for us might be their standard fare— after all, few of our usual treats would keep well in the heat.”

“Oh.” That sort of thing never crossed her mind— climate and locations and the logistics of what might grow between them. A general’s daughter hardly needed to know where her tea snacks came from, only whether it would please her or the guests that had been foisted upon her. But the Empress’s Water Tribe Advisor— that’s the way she should think. Supply line should dance behind her eyelids when she closes her eyes, the local price ready to drop from her lips at a moment’s notice, but instead she just squints down at the jujube flower and wonders, “Do you think Kouka made them first, or did we adopt them from Xing?”

Soowon hums, considering. “Hard to say. I don’t suppose any of its ingredients are particular to either place. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that we came up with the idea independently— forestalling food spoilage is a constant concern, after all— but with a shared border…”

A border that ran right at the end of the Wind Tribe’s territory. Fuuga was known for their mountainous highlands, their capital hidden between a copse of intimidating peaks, its people dressing in their distinctive layers to keep the winds and cold at bay. But it was their lowlands that abutted Xing, the fertile shores of its river forming what her Father had always called Kouka’s breadbasket. But as they had rattled along the trade road, escorted by an improbable amount of Hak’s cousins for a man who claimed to be orphaned, Lili could not pick out where Kouka ended and Xing began, the farmlands all running together, crops and houses indistinguishable from one another, no matter which side of the border they had traveled on.

“Maybe…” She tests the word on her tongue, weighing it the way old women did melons in the market, trying to divine whether the flesh inside was ripe or gone to seed. “…There’s never been much difference between us.”

Soowon blinks down at her. “Perhaps.”

Heat simmers right beneath the skin of her cheeks, threatening to let the world know the way pride flushes through her, and she can’t stand it, not with him sitting there, just staring, like she’s never said a smart thing in her life—

She shoves the cake in her mouth. Not a delicate bite, the way Lady Lili should, but the whole thing, her cheeks ballooning out to balance the crumb between them.

“Oh,” she mutters around it, disappointed. “Ours taste better, though.”

Soowon smothers a grimace between his own bites. “The flavor is quite…delicate.”

“I think you mean ‘not there.’” She reaches for another one anyway, nibbling at an edge. “You like these?”

“The texture is…pleasing.” At her withering glance, he admits, “I had hoped the flavor would be more pronounced, yes. But they are…inoffensive.”

That’s one way to put it. Bland would be another. “You shouldn’t have distracted me, I was going to get us those pastry fish, the ones with red beans in them. Now that would have been a snack.”

“I distracted you?” His mouth tugs toward a frown. “I believe you were the one who tried to get into a physical altercation in the middle of the market.”

“Me? It was that guy who kept trying to pick a fight. I was just—!”

His palm stifles her protest; a single hand that pressed against her mouth, trapping it between words. Not that she has any; surprise scatters her wits, shattering her thoughts like a teapot knocked from a shelf.

“You’re being too loud,” he informs her, as if she’s the one that’s the problem here. “It’s drawing attention.”

Oh, she could just— just lick him. No— bite him. Let him see just who can keep their head then.

He removes his hand before she can even try. Just lets it drop right back into his lap, like he had never moved in the first place, that annoyingly neutral smile pulling his mouth too thin.

“You’re not going to be able to do that to your wife, you know,” she warns him, shoving another cake in her mouth. Eugh, pink doesn’t have much of a flavor either. “She’d take your hand off if you even try.”

His brows rise. “Ah, so my cousin did send you to make me Xing’s consort.”

“I-I didn’t say it had to be Kouren.” Though Yona had insinuated it would be preferable, right before Hak snorted, sure, dodging a headman's axe seems like a great hobby for him to pick up, gods know he needs one. “Just…that’s what any woman worth her salt would do.”

Soowon’s mouth twitches, nearly a smirk. “If it could be ‘any woman,’ I doubt I would have been sent with a babysitter to make it happen.”

“I’m not your babysitter,” she snorts, hopping onto her feet. “Judoh is your babysitter. I’m your wingman, because you have all the appeal of a block of tofu.”

His wide eyes track her as she stands, jaw falling just slack enough for his lips to part. “I…” His mouth closes, curving into something sly. “I suppose you would be the expert of such things.”

“I am,” she huffs. “I have amazing taste. You look better just being seen with me.”

“How lucky,” he drawls, not looking at her, but just over her—

“Lady Lili.”

A broad hand clamps around her shoulder, rooting her to the street. A trembling glance up catches on a scarred cheek, rucked up in a scowl. “We’ve found you.” Judoh’s brow furrows, taking in Soowon’s perch on the wall. “Both of you, it seems.”

“Oh my.” Soowon squints into a smile, only deepening his bodyguard’s glower. “It looks like our playdate is over.”

*

It comes as no surprise that Judoh declines to dress them down right in the middle of the marketplace. Perhaps if they were in any less public a place, or any less important personages than the empress’s own advisors-- certainly, if Soowon were a child still, the man would hardly hesitate to let loose bellows that would shake the market stalls down to their struts. But as it was, he was too much the professional to cause a scene... at least where there might be witnesses.

Which means that all his ire is saved for the moment he has them firmly ensconced at the inn. With his dark hood pushed back to his shoulders, it’s simple to see the familiar vein throbbing at his temple, to take in the almost nostalgic twitch of his jaw as the doors slide shut behind Lili’s attendant.

Three years as Kouka’s king might have inured him to most attempts at intimidation, but when the Sky Tribe general glares, it’s reflex that drops him to his knees.

“What,” he bites out, “exactly were the two of you thinking?”

Only it’s not his cousin who trembles next to him now-- nor Hak, using his hair to hide his grin— but An Lili. Joon-gi’s half-wild daughter, who may know how to bow, but refuses to be broken. Who hasn’t been on the other side of one of Judoh’s lectures enough to know to keep her mouth shut.

“What happened?” she mutters, words muffling beneath her sleeves. “I thought you were going to distract him?”

It’s not until her attendant sighs, “I tried,” that Soowon realizes the question wasn’t for him. “He just wasn’t very…distractible.”

Ah, well, that gives quite a different context for the flush to the man’s face, and to why his gaze is both hunter and hunted.

“A member of the royal family and the water tribe advisor running around a foreign market without a single guard.” If a man could breathe steam, Judoh would, pacing across the breadth of their room. “I expected better from the both of you. What if something happened to one of you? Both of you! In one of our vassal states! And I’d have to tell the empress and her…”

Consort. Even now the general can’t bring himself to say it. Bad enough when Hak merely usurped his place as Yona’s bodyguard, but now that the upstart has become an authority he has to answer to— well, a less prideful man might have seen that was his uncle’s plan to begin with.

“We were incognito,” Lili informs him, unaware of how she is only prolonging their punishment. “No one noticed us.”

“Don’t,” he mutters, too late. Judoh’s flush deepens to a painful red, scars standing out in stark relief.

“That,” the general growls, “is half the problem, Lili-sama. Your title is as much protection as your honor guard. A scoundrel might think twice about picking the pockets of the Empress’s Advisor, but some silly young girl in the market…well, she could be easily led astray! Brought to some back alley where…where…”

Judoh has faced dragons on the battlefield, seen sights that would turn most men mad, but one glance down in An Lili’s guileless eyes, and he falters.

“It is useless to convince the general that anonymity conveys safety, Lady Lili.” Soowon lifts his head, ignoring the betrayed glare she spears him with. “Where we might instead focus our arguments is on the fact that we were almost certainly being followed from the moment we stepped into the city.”

“What?” Now it’s Judoh who suffers the honed point of her ire. “You had people watching us the whole time?”

“My lady, that is beside the point,” he snaps, desperately grappling to keep the ground beneath him. “Just because I had men in position this time, does not mean there will not be a time where the two of you slip out when no preparations have been made—”

“You two?” Lili shrills, hands hooking at her waist. “I did not sneak out with— with him! I did it all by myself, and he copied me—”

“Is this really what you want to fight over?” Soowon sighs, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose.  At least Yona had the sense to let them all get in equal trouble. “Who thought to break the rules first?”

She swings around to him, well on her way to a pout. “He needs to know we don’t come as a unit.”

“I don’t think anyone is confused on that point.”

“You don’t—”

It’s a miracle that he hears it— the quiet shush of wood sliding along its track, just over his shoulder. The pommel of his dagger finds his hand before he finishes his turn, one foot braced against the floor and poised to pull, but it’s Judoh who moves faster, little more than a blur of black linen and a flash of steel as he flies across the floor.

The man at the door is cloaked and masked, no more than a strip of skin and dark eyes uncovered, but they widen as Judoh meets him with blade bared. The general is by no means his quickest sword, but even Soowon would have been hard pressed to answer that attack, so it can only be preternatural reflex that allows this man to manage it, stumbling back a step.

One that would not have saved him, had Judoh been allowed to press his advantage. But another figure reaches through the gap, gripping Judoh’s wrist hard enough to send his sword clattering to the tatami. It’s with a speed that Soowon feels rather that sees that the general is driven to his knees, arm wrenched behind his back as the intruder forces him prone, one knee braced on the floor and the other on his back. Lili’s attendant is already on her feet, a wicked knife glistening as she flings herself with purpose toward the other man at the door—

“Baram, please.” The figure that steps into the room is dressed dark like the others, tall enough to be a man— but it is a woman’s voice that comes from beneath its hood. A mature one; confident even in this room full of naked steel. Familiar, barely. “That is hardly the sort of treatment we should show our honored guests.”

His stomach drops before her hood, but it does not reach bottom until Judoh gasps, “Your Majesty.”

Kouren, Queen of Xing, First of Her Name, strides across the room until she stands before him, taking in the sight of him on his knees. The way his father must have, when her beloved guardsman knelt before him on the battlefield.

“Lord Soowon.” The smile she shines down on him is warm, welcoming, the kind one royal might give another. A pity none of it reaches her eyes. “We do not need ceremony between us, do we?”

[agena87]

.@adelarsims asked me about the relationship dynamic between my four boys. And well, I don’t think I ever really explained it. Not in too many words, at least, so here we are (or maybe I did, but I can’t remember, and if I did, it’s probably divided among tons of posts, most stuff in tags, so…). It’s not easy to explain as a whole, so I’ll divide this post by writing about each duo. Also, I’ll probably go into tangents, as I’m wont to do (the joy of autism). I’ll go by alphabetical order, because… well, because I love alphabetical order.

(I'll put everything under a cut, 'cause it's kinda long - and rambling)

But first, a quick-ish reminder of who’s with whom, and how they came to get together:

Al, Mal, and Wolfie are one polycule, each of them being in a relationship with the other two. Jeb is only with Wolfie. All parties are aware and willing, there is no adultery involved; they communicate. With words. I know, it’s surprising given the people involved.

Officially, Jeb and Wolfie were the first to get together when Wolfie went to Windenburg and met Jeb in Evergreen, after he stopped there instead of going to the capital city like he initially planned. But, despite Wolfie calling it a “no-string attached fling between friends”, he was with Mal first (after an ill-advised one-night stand with Al which is the root of said fling with Mal, and his departure for Windenburg); that’s when Mal realized that he was in love with not only Al (as was Wolfie), but with Wolfie too. What a mess! So, Jeb and Wolfie were happy together when Al contacted him to invite him to his wedding to Kiyoshi. Both went to Henford for the occasion, Wolfie apprehensive to see the person he used to be in love with, but relieved to know that he wouldn’t see Mal, who wouldn’t be there, as his daughter was bound to be born around the same date as the wedding. Of course, things didn’t turn out as expected, and Al got nearly murdered by his jealous fiancé (who saw Wolfie among the guests and immediately flipped) and ended up in a coma. So, Wolfie and Jeb stayed in Henford for longer than planned, with Wolfie spending most of his time in the hospital, Jeb by his side. That’s where he was reunited with Mal. Jeb, who has always been a very perceptive person, saw immediately that there was some unresolved tension between the two friends, and understood that Wolfie wouldn’t come back to Windenburg, even if he would convince himself that it was to help Al during his recovery, and not because he was harbouring some deep feelings for Mal. So Jeb just told him to stay in Henford, and not deprive himself of being happy with Mal. Of course, Wolfie tried to do just that, but after a few weeks, and several calls to Jeb, he and Mal got back together (now with the addition of a little baby girl, Joy). Wolfie and Jeb never stopped being friends, and not once Jeb show any jealousy or bitterness regarding his ex-boyfriend’s relationship (he really was glad that Wolfie found happiness with Mal; that’s how good a man, Jeb is). Fast-forward a couple years, and Jeb is about to publish his first novel, and he asks Wolfie to design the cover. They met in Wolfie’s studio some time later, for Wolfie to show what he had done, and… they kissed. Of course, Wolfie was a mess and immediately confessed to Mal. So, Wolfie got back with Jeb too. It's not until a few more years have passed that Al joined the polycule. It took multiple confessions on both Wolfie and Mal's sides to get to him (he did love them then, but he was scared, which is quite understandable after what happened with his former relationship). It was Wolfie who first managed to get through to him, and while Mal was a bit down that Al was apparently still not interested in him, he accepted that Wolfie started a relationship with Al; after a few days, Al went to Mal, asking why he was so distant with him, weren't they supposed to be together now? Apparently, Mal missed the memo that Al wanted/loved both him and Wolfie (what an idiot!). And now, everyone is in a happy relationship with the person(s) they love.

Al + Jeb: Despite Al being the latest to officially join the little family, he’s the one after Wolfie (of course) that Jeb is the closest with. Since both of them have a traumatic past (Al, being the victim of domestic violence and attempted murder; Jeb… maybe I’ll talk about it some other time), they understand each other rather well, while Mal and Wolfie can only empathize to a certain degree. When Al has one of his worst days, Jeb is usually the one who gets him to talk, though he never forces him to. They are good friends with a few common interests, especially botany, and spend most of their time together taking care of plants; they also dance together from time to time.

Al + Mal: Mal is very protective of Al (he is with Wolfie too, but not to the same level). He also tends to let Al do whatever he wants, and can’t refuse him anything (even if he knows that it’s bad for Al: like telling him where Wolfie hid the alcohol). Though very loving, their relationship tends to revolve a lot around physicality, especially sex, more than anything.

Al + Wolfie: Wolfie’s the one who managed to get Al to finally accept that yes, people can love him and not want to hurt him, and yes, Wolfie and Mal are such people. Wolfie has always been Al’s best friend (other than Tabitha – just like Al is Wolfie's best friend as much as Morgan is), and they share a very special bond, partially due to their shared experience as non-binary people. After Al broke their friendship (or tried to, as only communication was really broken; both were still thinking of each other as best friends) back in Uni, and Wolfie left the country for Windenburg, most would have thought that they wouldn’t be able to have the same relationship, would they ever be reunited, but on the contrary, when Wolfie came back (and after Al emerged from his coma) they immediately went back to being joined at the hip, despite Al trying to isolate himself. Their relationship with each other is one of absolute trust and tenderness, but also a lot of (misplaced) guilt on Wolfie’s part, who feels that it’s his fault if Al was abused for years, since he was who rejected Al when they were fifteen, claiming that he wasn’t queer (he was still in denial of who he was at the time), allowing Kiyoshi to get to Al. Of course, Al keeps repeating to him that he is not to blame, and, little by little, Wolfie’s starting to believe him.

Jeb + Mal: They are polar opposites, and if not for Wolfie, they would never interact. It’s not that they don’t like or respect each other, it’s just that they have nothing in common. Plus, Jeb is very ill-at-ease with Mal’s chosen career as an OnlySims model and general attitude regarding nudity and provocative apparel (some might say that to some level, Al and Wolfie are worse than him when it comes to showing some skin, but somehow, it doesn’t seem as provocative/sexually-charged as when it’s Mal, so it doesn’t irk him as much), given his own repulsion toward anything sexual.

Jeb + Wolfie: Puppy love! Those two are the cutest when together, probably because their love is more intellectual than anything, with nothing more physical than cuddles, hugs, and a few chaste kisses here and there. For Wolfie, Jeb is a breath of fresh air; the lover that doesn’t expect anything physical from him (not that Mal or Al would ever ask him to do anything he doesn’t want; it’s just that sex is not a priority for him in a relationship).

Mal + Wolfie: Mal and Wolfie never imagined they would ever be together; they always thought they'd be great friends, and if one of them was lucky enough, he would end up with Al. But it seems that Fate has other plans for those two. And those plans involved a little girl that Wolfie helped raise from birth and involuntarily caused her father to propose to her Vatti. Yes, Mal and Wolfie are engaged to be married. And yes, both Jeb and Al are OK with that (weeeeell, Al has a debilitating phobia of anything wedding-related, so he's not really OK with the wedding part, but he's OK with them being married, if that makes sense?). The proposal (and answer) was kinda spur of the moment, but they talked about it with Jeb (they weren't with Al yet when it happened) later, telling him that if he was opposed to it, they would not do it, but of course, Jeb was OK with it, especially after Mal explained to him what prompted him to ask in the first place. Mal and Wolfie relationship is one of devotion and absolute adoration, which verges on worship on Mal's side. Mal is also the only person who Wolfie accepts (and believes) compliments from (not even Mila can claim that) for some reason.

So. Yeah, here it is, my rambling sorta explanation of the relationship between my boys. Not sure that I make much sense, but I'm still suffering from debilitating pain from facial neuralgia, so my brain is a mess (even more than ordinary). Anyway, I'm happy to answer any questions, if you have any.

[alister312]

You should TOTALLY think about Gregstophe in soulmate aus... do you have any favorites you think would suit them well 👀

I SHOULD, SHOULDN’T I….

tbh I don’t know that many though! @/cheesymorgue has some art that’s like “you can always hear what your soulmate is singing” and Christophe grows to hate les mis from how often Gregory sings it lol, I find that one cute. ofc there’s the classic red string, but I don’t think that’d quite work for gregstophe bc I think Gregory would be extremely determined to find who was at the end of his. It’d be hard for Christophe to hide and deny that it’s him and denial due to weird personal guilt and restraint is very vital to me when it comes to gregstophe. This also rules out any AUs where you realize your soulmate instantly (i.e. seeing color for the first time)

I think an ideal gregstophe soulmates thing would have to be like… a bodily mark of some kind. not a name or word, but tattoo or imprint where your soulmate first touches or something. I imagine Christophe would’ve convinced himself from a young age that this would soulmate system is stupid— very dictating/controlling, kinda playing God w people’s love lives and we all know how he feels about God. He’d probably refuse to buy into the whole thing and maybe do stuff like try to get rid of/hide the tattoo on him or REFUSE to ever touch or be touched. And YES this would also go with his denial that he should get to be loved (i.e. “the system is a stupid bitch which means everything it claims is wrong and therefore I can’t possibly actually have a soulmate out there”).

Gregory, on the other hand, would believe so strongly in the soulmate system and be actively searching for his soulmate. I want to believe he’d remain optimistic for his whole life, but I also feel like he’d develop a bit of anxiety every birthday like “How have I not met them yet?” He’d constantly go to parties to mingle and hope, very social butterfly, but always to no avail. Maybe he’d even come to believe that he’s actually destined to be soulmateless and start helping others find theirs instead with the wide network he originally built for himself (the martyr in him).

The reveal would have to be very dramatic, maybe one of my classic beloved tropes of “Christophe is lowkey dying from wounds and Gregory bandages him up”, which is one of the only scenarios in which I could see Christophe’s inhibitions lowered enough to not remember to fight this soulmate thing. Gregory might get mad afterwards that Christophe’s damn hang ups and hatred of the system are why it took this long, but in the moment he’d just be too happy and relieved to do anything but fall in love. And then ofc they would kiss <3

[joinourbookclub]

Little Red Writing Hoods Writing Challenge

Prompt: Write a about someone who is learning to recognize and take credit for their own achievements

Time: 30 minutes

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One month.

I guess you can consider the amount of time we have to plan less than a month. We only have our lunches and an hour after school, after all. But there are exactly thirty days until homecoming, which has to be perfect because it’s our senior year. We have no more chances after this.

I sit next to Sandra and Alyssa during our lunch meeting today. The student council room is really just our English teacher’s classroom, but we make it work. There are eleven other students here, all with the same goal, but varying ideas. We’ve been split into smaller groups to make things easier. I’m glad Sandra volunteered me and Alyssa for the decorations team. Catering and tickets seem much harder. 

I watch them as they scribble down ideas. They are masters at student council work, having done it for all three years before this one. This is my first year in the council. They convinced me by saying it was our last year in high school so I should do something exhilarating. This is exhilarating, knowing I’m impacting the rest of the school. I’m starting to get more comfortable too when I see their ideas: a red carpet to walk in on, black and red balloons on each table. I’m just itching to be a part of the planning.

“What about a photobooth with props?” I suggest.

“Hmm,” Sandra thinks as she tilts her chin. “I don’t think we have the budget for that.”

“Oh…” 

I don’t say anything for the rest of the meeting. I don’t think I’m meant for this, after all.

27 days.

We reconvene with the rest of the council after the weekend. I try to stay focused as Sandra lists off the ideas she and Alyssa came up with. Turns out I don’t have to try so hard. I snap to attention after I hear Sandra propose a photobooth. And what’s more? Everyone loves the idea. They all shout out different ways we can make it work with our budget. So why did Sandra shoot it down initially? I give her the benefit of the doubt, telling myself that she had time to think it through over the weekend. That must be it, but I just wish she would say that it was my idea. But maybe I’m just being selfish.

23 days.

Sandra, Alyssa, and I go shopping for photobooth props and we have no idea what we’re looking for. We’re in a party store and find the usual: hats, boas, and fake mustaches.

“We need something…more,” says Alyssa.

Sandra nods. “Exactly what I was just thinking.”

I walk through the ideas as they talk, investigating what else the store has. My eyes catch on LED strings. Something deep inside of me tells me that this is what we’ve been looking for. 

I bring the strings back to my friends and show them how we can loop them through the boas or around the brim of the hats for some glowing pictures. Sandra wastes no time plucking them from my fingers and taking them to check out. I try not to smile too hard. I did it. I had a great idea for the student council.

That is until Sandra tells the whole council the next day the story of how she found the LEDs and knew they were perfect. My heart squeezes in my chest and I can’t stay in this too small room anymore. I don’t go far. Just outside the door where I can breathe for a few minutes. Little do I know that Bailey, another student council member, follows me out. 

“Are you okay?” She asks.

I nod my head and say yes, but that doesn’t fool her.

“Then why are you out here?”

“I just…feel like I’m not helping you guys.”

I consider keeping it at that, but she sits down next to me and everything starts spilling out. I expect her to tell me that I’m being too sensitive, but instead she tells me to tell her some of my ideas. So I do. Together we make a plan to put them into motion.

[marcmarcmomarc]

I see.

I discovered your blog rather recently, so the things you’ve said that I agree with have been a slow burn. I was on the “Thomas ruined Chloé out of spite” train until I found you (and there is some semblance of that left), hence “abandoned redemption” being in air quotes, since, yeah, you’re right, there really was no arc with her now that I’ve actually been thinking about it.

That’s also why I grouped all of the writers together, since you’ve said that Thomas was not alone in how Chloé turned out in later seasons, but he’s the one who gets the most heat, and, while not here, I call said heat “antagonistic” because, really, guys? Verbally assaulting a guy and his family because of his writing choices? Yes, he has an overinflated ego and desperately needs a reality check if he seriously thinks “We thought she was redeemable, she wasn’t” as if a fictional character decided for herself that she didn’t want to be redeemed instead of being the result of a team of paid writers screwing her and all of the characters over, whether through deliberate choice or forced upon them by higher-ups, wouldn’t have had a negative impact on people, but letting plenty of male adults get their redemption, including the man who made her the “monster” she is now, along with the weak attempts at fighting the misogyny arguments with Nathalie and Sabrina’s redemptions, but it’s not worth harassing him over.

Heck, even if I agreed that Masahiro Sakurai hates his fanbase with his choices for playable fighters or that Miles Luna and Kerry Shawcross “ruined Monty Oum’s vision (What are you people on about? It’s either a shared vision between all of them or none of them)”, I wouldn’t go joining the “bully them on their social medias” bandwagon.

I admit I misspoke. I said, “They wanted to waste our time with Chloé pity parties,” when I should have just said, “They wasted our time with Chloé pity parties.”

Yeah, I know that even the production staff can have a negative opinion on what they’ve made. I’ve heard of Clancy Brown feeling uncomfortable with recording his lines as Mr. Krabs for “One Coarse Meal”, and you have to wonder if the production staff only saying nice things about this almost decade-long string of moldy spaghetti is because of contractual obligation. I don’t think even Thomas is safe from that obligation.

I still can’t respect him as a creator or writer the same why I can’t really respect Josh Cooley as a director after Toy Story 4 (both as people on a production team and not as people in real life, by the way). Everything Thomas is infamous for is due to his Tweets, whereas Josh Cooley and Mark Nielsen have an entire improvised audio commentary of evidence that they don’t understand Toy Story no matter how much they claim otherwise (“Buzz is not always the brightest crayon in the box”? Are you being for real?). Obviously, Brad Bird doesn’t fall under this category because A) Incredibles 2 fails as a movie because Bird lost a whole year of production to the movie swapping releases Toy Story 4, and B) that movie’s audio commentary features animators and not Brad Bird himself.

The point of this ask was to point out to people that Chloé’s sympathetic qualities showing through cannot be chalked up to Thomas not being involved in those episodes and wondering if things would have been different if people weren’t so antagonistic towards him about it.

Thank you for your time.

(I wish I could ask this in a video with GamingMagic13’s editing style, but I don’t have the energy for that.)

People say that, after Antibug, Chloé’s redeeming qualities started to show through throughout Seasons 2 and 3 because Thomas Astruc didn’t contribute to those episodes of those seasons as if he wasn’t on the writing team for every episode for those two seasons, including the ones showing Chloé’s redeeming qualities.

It’s not “Thomas left so the other writers started to make a redemption for Chloé, but then he came back and threw it all away”, it’s leaning more towards “Thomas, along with other writers, wanted to waste our time with Chloé pity parties for two seasons and trick people into feeling bad for her, which worked on plenty of reactors, and then yank the rug out from under them just for the sake of pulling a rug out from viewers” whether it’s the truth or not.

Also, do you get the feeling that, if people weren’t harassing Thomas and his family over Chloé’s “abandoned redemption”, Chloé wouldn’t have been made into evil incarnate to spite people?

Considering that the hiatus between Seasons 3 and 4 started towards the end of 2019, had to continue throughout 2020 due to the COVID pandemic with only the New York special to keep us busy in September 2020, and then finally ended shortly after 2021 started, that would have been plenty of time to rework scripts, because we know he was also on the writing team for every episode of Seasons 4 and 5 alongside 2 and 3, to made Chloé more and more unlikeable while propping up the male adults to spite Chloé fans, like several episodes of Teen Titans GO! and even this show are guilty of.

Whether all of this is true or not, I think it all lines up too well for too many other outcomes.

The "Thomas Astruc was able to completely rewrite the plans for this character and no one stopped him" take has always been a little wild to me especially since Chloe never showed meaningful improvement in canon. In fact, now that we've seen her story play out in all it's disappointing and time-wasting glory, you can even argue that Despair Bear was straight up telling you what we were in for since it's the same plot, just on a smaller scale.

As far as I know, there is no evidence for this "Chloe was rewritten" conspiracy. At the very least, no one has sent any my way on the multiple occasions when I've asked for it. Astruc is a credited writer for pretty much every episode involved in the Queen Bee arc and, while head writers have a good deal of power, they often don't have supreme power over their shows. This is especially true when it comes to kids shows since those have a lot of restrictions on what they can do. While I cannot speak French, I've been told that this class involves one of the writers talking about the multiple darker version of Chat Blanc that were rejected, leading to Chat Blanc being a season three episode instead of a season two episode like they originally planned.

These shows are products that are being sold to buyers who do have the power to reject the product and the writers work for a company. In most cases, they can be stopped!

There's also the fact that this is Astruc's career that we're talking about. You're arguing that he purposely messed with his reputation and screwed up the writing in the show that he's most well-known for in order to get back at online randos instead of just blocking them and moving on with his life. That's an insanely hard sell for me. Unintentional bad writing is a much easier explanation especially since he has nothing to gain from people disliking the Chloé stuff. This wasn't situation where Astruc needed to tank the show to get out of writing it. If Astruc left the project, then Miraculous would go on without him. While he came up with the initial idea, Zag owns the property.

Unless someone has hard evidence that Chloé was changed to spite fans, I am never going to buy into this conspiracy theory. Her bad writing is too in line with the show's other issues. Remember, this is the show that gave us Derision, everything about Lila, and Gabriel getting an 'ascends into the light with a smile' ending while his son sat the fight out and remains in the dark. Is Chloé really meaningfully worse than any of that?

I'd say no and, if you agree, then why do you think that she's so special? I've previously called her a canary in the coal mine and that's going to be my read until someone gives me evidence of something else. She was your warning sign that the writing was never going to be very good. I don't think she foretold just how bad it would get - that's why I kept watching - but her story showed that these writers were only good at short-form content and sucked at long-form content. In fact, Chloé's story is arguably better than a lot of the long-form stuff that the show gave us in season four and five. At least Chloé's story logically flowed together even if it was massively disapointing!

I also don't consider Chloé's season four and five writing downgrade to be all that telling because, once again, it's not unique to her. The class gets a similar downgrade in quality, going from "we'll help Marinette with her confession plans when she asks, but this isn't a major thing to us" to "we live for Adrienette and will make our own plans for Marinette to confess and force them on her/try to force Adrienette to kiss." It makes the entire class feels more shallow than ever.

Gabriel also gets a downgrade with his writing going more over-the-top than ever. We have things like him locking Adrien in a cell and using Adrien's amoks for no obvious reason even though Gabriel is supposed to get an ending where he dies totally at peace and ascends into the light. Totally nonsense choices just like the choice to make Marinette's inability to speak to Adrien because she's anxious into a full-out trauma response.

These are just a few of the many, many, many writing downgrades.

If you truly believe the Chloé conspiracy, then I'd strongly encourage you to watch at least the first of the videos I'm about to link and see if you notice similarities. I have all of them set to the specific, relevant timestamps in case you don't want to watch a massive video to see what I'm talking about because they all talk about more than the conspiracies that arose in these fandoms when the writing got "bad" (especially the last one. The conspiracy gets a very brief mention. I really only included it because I wanted three examples and just went with ones big enough that someone else had done research on the topic because it's not an area of fandom that I've ever waded into).

I'm linking these videos because I wanted to give you more than me just saying "this kind of thing happens all the time when media gets bad." Watching just a few minutes of each of these should give you the context you need assuming the timestamps work:

As you can hopefully see, the Chloé stuff is nothing new. So many pieces of media do something disappointing and then fans create conspiracies for why it happened, refusing to accept what is most likely to be the unfortunate truth: the writers thought they told a good story or, at the very least, they did the best they could within the confines they were working with be those confines monetary, temporal, and/or the limits of their own skills. That doesn't make the bad writing okay, you're fully valid in being upset, but there's also no need to create a conspiracy theory around it. It's probably not that deep. This shit happens all the time, especially in larger fandoms.

This is why I often give the advice of, "don't trust your mental health to stories that you have no control over." Is not that fandom isn't fun, I've just seen this shit before and I always feel bad for those who get involved with it. I've luckily never gone down the conspiracy rabbit hole, but I have gotten really upset when other fans continued to like a show that was bad, actually, and got a good deal of catharsis when most of the fandom woke up after the final was terrible. That still wasn't a good experience for me, though. It was not a healthy mindset to be waiting with baited breath for total strangers to agree with me that this random show was bad. I'm much better of bashing it with those who agree that it's bad, moving on when I'm no longer having fun, and letting those who like it be wrong (that is both a joke and real advice. Don't waste your time trying to change people's minds on something as insignificant as Miraculous. Just let them be wrong.)

[springvaletales]

((Session 45 is wrapped!))

I have been out of work all week either taking care of my mother with Covid or sick with something, myself, so I have done literally no prep for tonight. My players are super excited to play though so another night of improv it is!

We had a few character story points to wrap up before we could move to Festival Day 3, so I had my players roll story-initiative to see who went first.

Ena spent the rest of Day 2 lying in bed like a sad sack, clutching her homemade marriage proposal amulet like a teddy bear.

Ena’s Player: “It’s hard to party when you’re sad.”

Me: “That’s when you have to party harder! Out-party the sad!”

Asahi approached Ambassador Rototol (shortly after Sir Carl had left) to discuss her glasswork.

He was quite interested in her pamphlet portfolio, and inquired if she ever did work for children’s memorials, as memorials are listed among her talents.

He did not elaborate on why he would need a children’s memorial, but put her pamphlet in a safe place.

Next, Asahi handed out a pamphlet to Geraldine, whom she found once more at the chocolate fountain. She successfully won her patronage after overhearing her gush to the servants about her many pet rats back home, and presenting her pamphlet with a small glass rat.

Geraldine thought it looked just liked her beloved Marscapone.

New NPC: Ambassador Pawl Rudd, from Helleth-on-the-Sea. A Leonin nobie who has a crush on a Harengon server in Queen Almaea’s court.

Pawl Rudd took one of Asahi’s pamphlets to try and make it look like he hadn’t just been staring openly. Asahi can’t tell if he wants to eat the Harengon or….y’know. ;3

Lastly, Asahi tried to track down Advisor Rond-El and Captain Astaroth, and overheard them arguing quietly in a room a few hallways away from the main party.

Rond-El argued that the increased presence of guardsmen is making the visiting nobility nervous, and believes that Astaroth needs to lessen the security on the final festival day to make negotiations with these foreign powers easier for Rond-El and his fellows.

Astaroth argued back that the guard presence is not enough, in his opinion. After the kidnapping of one prince and the attempted assassination of another, all within the last three months, he wants and even heavier presence - but the newest graduating class of guard folk have been delayed due to weather, and haven’t left the training barracks.

Asahi interrupted them with a knock before things could get any more heated, and forced Rond-El to take one of her pamphlets under the guise of being civil in Astaroth’s presence. He high-tailed it out of the room as quickly as possible.

With a high perception roll, Asahi noticed that they had argued hard enough before her appearance that Astaroth had left knuckle-marks on the table.

Asahi had no pamphlet for Astaroth, but a series of question instead:

Had he heard about Guildmaster Evelyn, in Port Saltmuth? (No. He had no idea she was missing, and agreed to send a guard for a wellness check).

How often does Rond-El ask him to be more lax on security? (At least three times a month. It really gets under his scales.)

Did he know that there were mimics in the guardhouse lost and found? (Again?! It was the Springvale station, wasn’t it? Damnit, now he has to send the whole group for retraining. Mimics are supposed to go to the local shelters, not the lost and found!).

Asahi mentioned as an afterthought that the party had crossed paths with Senn-Dugaal at least twice now, and Astaroth went white as a sheet.

Asahi tried to add in that he seemed to be working with the BBEG against his own will, but Astaroth just hissed out that it didn’t matter, and stormed out of the room, slamming the door. He left claw marks in the wood (again).

THEY KEEP CALLING MY MURDEROUS WAR CRIMINAL  B O N E   D A D D Y.

Thiori gave all his personalized gifts to the kids. None of them have ever really received a gift with no strings, nor one so thoughtfully picked out for just them. If Thiori had any hesitations about being a parent, it’s too late now. They’ve adopted him.

Bagelby went back to find Queen Almaea and asked if she would walk with him in the garden. They had a lovely talk about how much pressure being royalty is, and really, Almaea is barely older than Bagelby is, in dragon years.

She’s exhausted from a thousand years of politics, and the pressure from advisors who only know her as ‘Queen for Whom the Sun Rises’, and not as ‘Almaea’.

Bagelby: “Are you happy?”

Almaea, after a long moment of thought: “…yes, I think I am. I have a thriving kingdom, a loving husband, three miracle children that medical science said I couldn’t have, a wonderful son-in-law, and a soon-to-be son-in-law. I don’t know what else I could possibly want for.”

The players also found out, through this conversation, that Velenna raised Almaea. I’m surprised that they’re surprised - it’s written pretty clearly in that travel guide they always reference for every other big NPC.

Sir Carl Jaeger stopped in another side garden, where he met the Tabaxi ruler of Tatar, Queen Sunshine in the Dark, who was watching her toddler son cartwheel around in a tree while his father, King Eyes in the Dark, followed him on the ground, worried he would fall.

It’s Prince Three Bridges in a Storm’s first big trip out of his homeland (Tavar), and his parents are so proud of how he’s handling it.

At one point, King Eyes in the Dark tripped and face planted into a flower bed. His son found this hilarious.

Toddler Tabaxi Prince: “Haha, Papa go flat!”

His mother and Sir Carl: “Haha, yes little one, it’s quite funny.”

Toddler Tabaxi Prince: “I go flat, too!” *purposefully fall out of tree*

His mother and Sir Carl: “NOOO!!!”

He’s fine. He landed on his dad.

The party all met back up at their rooms at the end of the night to sleep off all their drinking (and oh boy, was there a lot of drinking).

About Blackstone City: “You did not start the coup but you DID start the fire.”

The next morning, the party had gathered around the breakfast table for complimentary rich person waffles, and Lex finally made her +6 STR debut by ripping both of her bedroom doors off their hinges.

“She is the single buffet Tiefling you’ve ever seen. Roll a will save.”

Sir Carl challenged Lex to an arm wrestle to show off her new muscles, and rolled a nat 1. Lex slammed his hand into the table so hard, it left imprints of his signet rings in the wood.

I think this is the first time Sir Carl as belly laughed since joining the party.

Thiori asked if he could arm wrestle Lex, too, and then the chat devolved into debating whether or not Thiori would regrow one of his crab arms if it was ripped off.

Can….can Thiori molt??

Thiori also lost the arm wrestle to Lex, who - halfway through winning - leaned almost out of her seat to grab another waffle off the communal plate.

Bagelby pointed out that Lex is carrying a new weapon - an artifact of her god, Vatun, called the Rod of Guffaw (which is actually a shapeshifting mace that casts Vicious Mockery on a critical hit and screams at you if you try to turn it into a bow).

A very overworked Tabaxi postal runner finally caught up to Ena, and delivered a stack of letters from all of her children and friends back in the Grove that he’d been carrying around for two weeks. He couldn’t catch the party from all their teleporting/disappearing off the face of the Earth for hours at a time.

He chugged a glass of water, stole a waffle off the table, and promptly took all his vacation days “starting meow!”.

We set a date for next week, and then it’s on to the festivities of Day 3!!

[patheticgirlsteve]

Steve is an excellent gift giver, ask anyone in the Party, and they’ll tell you all about what they got from Steve for their last birthday. They’re not incredible gifts because of how much he spends on them or how fancy they are (they’re usually not very expensive and aren’t very fancy). No, they the best gifts because they’re useful.

Steve is a HUGE believer in giving practical gifts. He only gifts things that he knows his friends are going to use, things that they could probably buy for themselves, but Steve likes to give them to them instead.

For Dustin’s 15th birthday, Steve gets permission Claudia to teach Dustin how to drive. (Claudia says yes of course, because as much as she loves her son, she was not looking forward to being an a car with him at the wheel just yet Possibly ever.)

For Robin’s graduation, he buys her a new set of luggage so that when they go on their Hot Girl Summer Roadtrip that they’ve been planning (and eventually when she needs to move into her dorm) she’ll have a place to pack her stuff.

For Christmas, he buys El a bunch of different colors of glitter glue and film packs for the Polaroid camera Jonathan had bought her for her sracpbooking.

He spends an entire year saving up all of his quarters to give to Mike on his birthday, because he knows that Mike can never find any when they all go the arcade. (Mike can’t even pretend that it’s a bad gift, he wants to, but he can’t.)

It’s not just holidays and special occasions either, if Steve is out and about and he sees something that he knows one of his friends would love he buys it and gives it to them. Just because.

He’s at the sporting goods store getting himself some new running shoes and sees a set of sweat bands in Hawkins High colors and gets them for Lucas.

He notices that there’s a whole in one of Max’s gloves in the middle of December and buys her new pair to slip into her coat pocket when she’s not paying attention.

When he’s helping Joyce cook dinner for the Party one time and he sees her frowning at a old dented frying pan he goes out and gets a her new stainless steel one to see place the old one.

After everything Vecna and Upside Down related has been settled for good and he and Eddie have become tentative friends Eddie learns about this particular habit and skill of Steve’s. But he doesn’t realize at first that it’s Steve who’s giving him gifts.

It starts simple, a new pack of Eddie’s favorite kind of ballpoint pens that he used for everything (song writing, campaigning writing, and occasionally even doing his homework) slipped into his backpack, timed perfectly, as he had just used up his last one.

He doesn’t know how they got there, and tries to recall if he had bought them himself and just forgotten about it, but he doesn’t think he did. He decides not to question it too much though, why look a gift horse in the mouth?

The next thing he finds is a new notebook left in the passenger seat of his van after a hangout with the whole crew, again timed perfectly, he wanted to write a new campaign for Hellfire soon and needed someplace to write out all his plans.

He knows that it’s a gift this time because he sees a sticky note on the cover that’s says, “For Eddie :)”. He doesn’t recognize the handwriting, but he smiles at the wobbly little smiley face his anonymous gift giver has drawn.

The next gift comes in the form of a black velvet scrunchie, stuffed into the pocket of his leather jacket. It must have been put in there at some point when it was hanging up at Steve’s house during their group movie night that weekend. He uses it to keep his hair out of his face and because he thinks it’s cute.

Eddie starts to figure it out not long after that.

He and Steve are hanging out together, just the two of them, not for the first time. Eddie is playing his guitar on his bed while Steve is telling a story on the other side of the bed. They both startle one of Eddie’s guitar strings snaps with a loud twang. Eddie sighs, knowing that he’s gonna have to go get new strings soon now. Steve leaves not long after that with a goofy smile and a wave “good night”.

Two days later when Eddie gets home from Hellfire, he finds a pack of new strings taped his the front door without a note and Wayne has no idea how they got there. But Eddie knows. Who else could it have been but Steve?

And Eddie realizes that maybe all of the little gifts that he’s been given over the past couple of months were all Steve’s doing. Steve Harrington, reformed jock, ex-douchebag, genuinely good guy. Steve Harrington who’s Eddie has been trying gish best not to crush on ever since he had seen Steve wearing Eddie’s vest in the Upside Down.

Operative word there being “trying”, Eddie had been failing miserably and had gone and fallen for the guy against his better judgement. He couldn’t help it! Steve was just so nice and funny and thoughtful and HOT and Eddie was only a man, okay? He had been powerless to resist the Harrington Charm.

He goes to Steve’s parent’s house after he restrings his guitar with Steve’s gift to confront him. He’s not upset about the gifts, he’s just confused. Because why would Steve be paying such close attention to Eddie that he can buy such useful things for him? Why would he spend his money on Eddie at all?

When he opens the door Steve doesn’t look surprised to see Eddie there, but he does look nervous, which gives Eddie pause. Why is Steve nervous??

“You got the strings then, i’m guessing?” Steve asks, stepping aside to let Eddie in.

“Yeah, I got the strings, Steve. They kinda hard to miss, you taped them to the front door,” He teases as Steve closes the door behind them, neither of them moving to step into the living room.

“Well, I didn’t want you to miss them. We’re they the right kind? I wasn’t sure which kind to get so I asked the guy at the music store and he helped me figure it out, but if I got it wrong just eat me know and I’ll go get the right ones,” Steve isn’t looking at Eddie as he rambles.

“Steve,” Eddie cuts him off, feeling brave.

“Yeah?” Steve looks at Eddie now, and he can see the mix of fear, anxiety, and hope shining in Steve’s eyes.

“They were the right kind,” Eddie smiles.

“Oh, good,” Steve exhales. “I’m glad.”

“Steve,” Eddie says again, quietly, trying not to spook Steve who is clearly already nervous. “Have you been giving me gifts this whole time?”

Eddie is delighted to see Steve blush. “Uh, yeah, I have been. I do that a lot, I like giving gifts to the people I care about, I guess.”

“Steve,” Eddie can’t help his smile as he repeats Steve’s name again.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, like Eddie had asked his opinion on something. His eyes are wide, the hope that Eddie noticed in them earlier has grown.

“Stop me if I’m wrong,” and Eddie really must be braver than he thought, because he leans in and kisses Steve.

Steve kisses him back almost immediately, and it’s not rushed or forceful. It’s soft and careful, no urgency to it, and it makes Eddie dizzy with how perfect it is.

And Eddie can’t help but think that this is by far the best gift that Steve’s given him.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Win

stiles stilinski x reader / masterlist

summary; a little pre game warm up never hurt anyone / warnings; smut, handjob, orgasm denial, fantasies, dirty talk, swearing

His cock leaked in you palm, as you ran your skilled hand over it, your thumb swiping over the tip as he released a desperate whine, burrowing his head back into the head rest of his driver’s seat. Stiles was at your mercy, ruining his bottom lip with the prying of his teeth, as he desperately tried to buck his hips up into your grip.

Each of his hands were sternly wrapped around the circumference of the wheel, his knuckles turning white as he relentlessly held onto it. It served as a source of relief, he was able to take his prominent frustration out on the battled steering device as he breathily sighed, his amber orbs screwing shut as he mumbled your name.

“Fuck. Shit. Don’t stop.” You had not intention of doing so, and thus you sped up your pace, watching him as he inhaled heavily through his nose, his dark brows furrowing as he felt close. And then, you stopped, denying him of such an end to the pleasure. “Fuck.” The syllable was elongated, drenched in disappointment as he hit his forehead against the top of the steering wheel.

“Something wrong baby?” You smiled, tenderly running your precum slathered hand over his tense shoulder, him slightly shivering from the soft contact, that poised strongly against the treatment that he had just gotten from you.

“No.” He steadied his breathing pattern, pulling his flushed face back, and hollowing his cheeks in dismissal of thought. He knew your intent, he knew it was well, but it still wasn’t good enough. Not when he wanted nothing more than to fuck you in the backseat of his jeep, until the windows were pent up with steam, and the vehicle was having trouble remaining stiff on its wheels.

“You’re going to win that game, aren’t you? If you do, then you’ll get your surprise.” Clasping your fingers in the sides of your shirt, your heaved the fabric gently up, watching as his eyes ogled, filled with supple desire, and some drool leaking out of the corner of his chapped lips.

“Yeah, imma win.” He was certain of it, you were giving him all the control that he needed. From the leather bra that resembled the outfit that catwoman often adorned herself in, messy stitching purposely running up the seams, it was full reassurance that the competing team was going down.

And then he would go down on you, and discover the matching underwear, that was surely loose around your hips, with various strings hanging from the sides, to make an appearance of disarray upon the sultry and figure hugging component.

“Good. Because I wouldn’t want to have to spent all this money on this little treat for nothing. I could reuse the cat ears that are in my bag for halloween, but this set, well I’d never get a refund. And you wouldn’t deserve to see them, now would you?”

“No.” He firmly spoke, feeling himself grow hard in his lacrosse shorts once more, as his feet tapped frustratedly on the floor of the jeep. You dropped your shirt down, leaning over the console and kissing his cheek.

“Win baby, then we can ditch the after party. Might even let you fuck me in the locker room.” Winking at him, he felt his mouth gape at the half filled promise. His tongue swirled in his mouth at the thought, as his eyes flickered over your whole demeanour, attempting to read the supposition and how it ran over your form.

“The girl’s locker room?” He asked hopefully, being met with you flirtatiously batting your eyelashes, nodding with a prominent grin contorting your face. “Fuck yes.”

“I know you’ve never been in there, but it’s a fantasy of yours. But imagine being allowed to come in there, huh. Sounds good, doesn’t it?” There was a teasing edge locked onto your words, and Stiles wasn’t sure that he would last until after the game.

“Better than good y/n/n.” He sighed, leaning his head back. “I’m gonna go out there and bust, I can’t fucking stop thinking about fucking you in the little girl’s room.”

“So I’m a little girl now?” You contemptibly asked, grazing your hand upon his thigh, until you grabbed his cock, rolling the girth around in your grip.

“No. Definitely not.” His face was flushed as he painted prolifically. “Just wanna see your tight cunt, feel it wrapped around me, squeezing me til I explode. All that’s on my mind now.”

“That’s a shame, cause your dad is gonna be watching your game. It wouldn’t be fair would it, if I allowed you to go out on the pitch all hot and hard, would it?” Wildly, Stiles shook his head, surveying you through half lidded eyes as you tucked your hair out your face, and ducked your head, pressing a kiss onto the pale skin of his thigh.

Your teeth pinched the flesh, extracting a gasp from the lacrosse player, your tongue darting out to lap at his balls. His lips pursed together as he tried to stifle his moans, his hands flying to the dash before him, as he endured the texture of your tongue swiping upon him.

With your right hand, you found purchase on his cock, tugging once more at his length. As you did so, he sputtered out praised, though that was usually not his forfeit, but you allowed his mistake to slip, this once at least.

“Do you want to cum before the match Sti?” He whined, allowing you to continue pleasuring him, unaware of what the consequences would be if he accepted your offer. It was not you just being gracious, it was practically vandalism of his body.

Stiles wasn’t sure he’d survive in Beacon Hills much longer if you were to treat him so vigorously. He felt like a bomb, prepared to convert damage in his surroundings all for one goal, and that was to find some bliss within all this madness.

“Yes. Please. Baby I need to- uh. Shit, shit, shit baby, I can’t-“ you ran your tongue over his spilt milk, lapping it up with kitten licks, as your y/e/c eyes stared ruthlessly up at him. His seed coated your tongue like molten gold, and with such greed, you gulped every shovel of the substance down, holding your smirk at bay until you were finished cleaning him up.

“Too bad, you’re not gonna get any release later tonight though. Guess painting the walls of my locker room white is no longer on the table, you’ll just have me purring instead. Good thing I know where they keep the canes for the bad boys.” Stiles froze, instantly regretting ever considering you would gift him out of mercy.

Before he could retaliate with wet eyes, or blubbery responses, your eyes drifted away, and to the lock screen of your phone, your tongue swiping over your lip, as you contently put it back away. “If you wanna win for me, you’re gonna have to go now babes. I’ll see you on the field, m’kay?”

He couldn’t refuse your kiss, not as you leant towards him, and pressed your lips upon his own. The taste of himself wasn’t so horrific, he rather enjoyed having the affects of what you did to him dancing on his tongue. One thing was on his mind, and that was the only priority he had; it didn’t matter if there was a darach in the local premises, carrying out sacrifices.

It was his aim to win, either way, he couldn’t be an example of a virgin sacrifice, not considering you had so blatantly offered to take the weight on his shoulders with a shrug, and proceeded to do much more than just that. Even if he wasn’t allowed to cum again tonight, he was still eager to claim his prize, after all, it was one of his hormonal dreams, that could play out into reality, so perfectly, and filthily.

[fuckzachariah]

Zach watched Alex, rendered helpless to his urge to do so, as she played the perfect doll to Andrew’s perfect host. It was almost too sweet, too idyllic; if he held them between his teeth, the enamel would begin to erode faster than he could bite down. He wondered how long he’d have to search, how close he’d have to get, to spot their cracks. He wondered, too, how hard he’d have to press to watch those cracks pop open to form fissures. Her cattish little gesture to him in the kitchen had unfortunately thrown him for a loop; smugness, he was sure, had been the message. It seemed they were on very different pages; still, he remained shaken by her presence, uncertain where he landed on next steps and certainly incapable of toying with her at present. Even if her secret hung on his line. Zach watched her collect his glass, allowing the peculiar sensation to navigate him uncertainly as he honed in on her naked fingers; so proper. So polite. And absolutely too close to him. Andrew’s insertion made him jump, though he showed little surprise on his face. He turned his chin to the older man, souring once again as he drank in his impressive stature, loathing the ribboning images of Andrew and Alex entangled fluttering on a breeze between his ears as he refused to listen, because now Alex was fixing him with a look he felt at the foot of his chest like the bass at a concert. He tipped his glass to her in thanks. What? he communicated silently. I can’t be curious? The truth was, he was desperate to know; how long have you loved someone else? How quickly were you able to do it? He wished, prayed, she would back up soon; her perfume plucked a cruel symphony on his chest strings and it was torturous. But instead, she did something much worse. She spoke. Her voice. Oh, fucking hell, he had missed her voice. 

Zach narrowed his eyes at her, but fixed his gaze quickly once he remembered their company. No, you don’t, he wanted to say. What game is this? Because it definitely was one. She forgot how precariously they balanced; one wrong utterance, and the whole thing might blow up in their faces. She had a partner to lose, he had a career to lose. But he’d already lost it twice, three times - he’d get it back, he always did. “You guys are boring,” he returned quickly, an upturn at the tail end, posing her implication as a question. Zach smiled, then. “Noted.” Their familiarity with one another was too apparent; he took a sip of his drink, then cast his gaze to Kylie who was stunted in her own speech, puzzled and not understanding why she felt hurt. He could read her back to front - his heart, for a moment, was hers again. He decided at that moment that wouldn’t play Alex’s game. “You’re better at telling it,” he said to Kylie. He glanced at Andrew, at Alex, then held her gaze for the next part. “My memories from before rehab aren’t all that trustworthy.” Then, he looked solely at Andrew. “Ky memorized it in story-format for Fallon. She’s good like that.” Kylie giggled, then, her sad puppy trance obliterated in a second. She loved him; she loved him so much it was almost difficult to face squarely in front of an audience. She came to sit beside him, crossing her legs and sweeping her hands down her hips.

“It’s not as simple as a meet-cute. I worked like a goddamn dog to get anywhere with him.” She laughed and glanced at Zach, and seemed bolstered to find him fixed on her. He loved her, he remembered that now. The intolerably attractive ghost of his past that lingered nearby did not make this untrue. “Anyway, the long and short of it is: we met at the party his friends threw for him when he got home from his last tour.” Zach looked at the table, recognizing for the first time the cruel irony of it; this was how he had met Alex, too. Four long years ago. “He wasn’t drinking, and he didn’t say much; we talked outside for, like, twenty minutes, and I could just tell he was going through something. I didn’t know what, yet, and I wasn’t trying anything in particular at first - I mean, it was such a long shot for me at the time. This nobody newbie trying to befriend Zach Winthrop. But he seemed sad, and I hated seeing him like that, so I just started bugging him persistently for months until…” They made eye contact, clearwater eyes asking permission to divulge. He nodded subtly, turning his attention back to his glass of water. “Until, I guess, he started to trust me. Pre-rehab, like Zach said. I mean, obviously, I realized I was falling for him basically the day before he went to rehab. What a joke, right? Anyway, I’d gone to check on him by order of Amanda - I guess no one else could get in contact with him - and his face -” She cut herself short, shaking her head, and re-routed. Zach was glad; his stomach had dropped, and he wasn’t interested in seeing it fall any further. “Anyway, then I had to wait four more months before I could even go visit him. That damn waiting list.” She laughed, genuine but small, and then her face got kind of wistful. Zach was suddenly struck with the intense feeling of wishing they were not here; he was pulled in by the reminiscing, but he’d given her permission to say too much. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want Alex hearing this. Not at all. “All in all, I think I hung on for like, eight months, before I got even an indication he might reciprocate those feelings.” She nodded in a histrionic show of bravery. Zach recalled the night well; how, what had finally pushed him over the edge, was his determination to rid Alex from his dreams and replace her with something brighter. “What is it, from that book? Falling for someone like falling asleep; slowly, then all at once.”

“Anyway! I talked for too long. Forreal, you guys go now. I want to hear the full story.” Kylie’s hand came up to coil and fan around Zach’s bicep where he held his chin up, and she squeezed lightly, her whole body vibrating with an effervescence he could never hope to match. “I’m a sucker for romance. Huge crybaby. Just ask Zach, poor guy.” She kissed her teeth; that habit she’d picked up from him. Zach wished he could disappear. Now it was his turn to turn his face away, to find it impossible to hold Alex’s gaze, or even glance in her direction for fear of what he might find there. Of what she might make him feel. It seemed as if his gut had been sliced open and all of him laid twitching, still pathetically alive, on the floor. He wanted a drink. He wanted something. He wanted to leave. It wasn’t shame he was experiencing, per se - he couldn’t tell exactly what it was - but he usually took great pride in their love story, and now he wanted to take it out back and kill it with a shotgun. Their relationship had been slow, and only in post-clarity had he realized, certain. It had only come to be once he’d built himself up, and torn himself down again. It was resilience. It was proof of something. And yet, he rippled with a persistent darkness - like, if Alex heard this, it would be the final nail in the coffin, knowing she was listening to the aftermath of her own suffering. He thought he had abandoned hope for the two of them long ago, but maybe here and now was when he’d finally have to part ways with that far-off fantasy. Maybe the thing that sank the coffin, or set it alight, would be whatever he was subject to next, hearing how they came to fruition.

Her wrist traced a precise circle, coaxing the champagne to dance within the confines of her Tiffany crystal glass. Proper etiquette demanded that she should engage in eye contact with the person speaking, yet her attention lingered only on the mellifluous cadence of his voice, weaving through the corridors of her consciousness like a delicate silk thread. The echo of that voice had been absent from her life for many years, save for the occasional refrain on the radio which she promptly silenced to spare herself the bittersweet recollections of their shared history. The wounds inflicted by those memories were still fresh, shaking her to the core whenever contemplation veered a little close. Despite months of grappling with the looming possibility, she found herself inadequately equipped to face the imminent reality. Even in the throes of her ever-present grief, she recognized the importance of maintaining a façade of neutrality. Zach was a stranger to her. This was true; she stood before a person who, despite their shared past, had become an unfamiliar presence in her life. She blinked, her gaze shifting ever so slightly to acknowledge him while he spoke in glowing terms about Kylie’s recent success. Her body remained subtly angled toward Andrew, however, as if seeking a shield from the current situation. His hair, longer than she had ever seen it, cascaded in golden whirls down the nape of his neck, concealing one of her favorite tattoos. His face, once gaunt from weeklong benders of liquor and powder cocaine, now bore a healthier and fuller countenance, a testament to a departure from self-destructive habits and likely regular meals.

The most conspicuous aspect of his transformation lay in his newfound self-control. In numerous instances before, they had encountered each other in the same spaces after months of no contact. His reactions were always predictable, driven by jealously and a perceived ownership over her, demanding they leave together or at least find a secluded spot to converse. Every time seemed to end in disaster or near death. Tonight was different. He willingly deferred to her lead, joining in the deception to mislead their respective partners about the nature of their relationship without question, or in this case, their lack of one. The evident disturbance in him mirrored her own feelings, yet he handled the situation far more composedly than she had anticipated. In every sense, he seemed like an entirely different person. She considered what impressions he might harbor about her. Gratefully, time had proven just as benevolent to her as it had to him. At a casual glance, she retained a semblance of familiarity. Even during the lowest ebbs of her life, maintaining her appearance had been a source of personal pride. Perhaps now, she exuded a more understated and refined elegance. She could not discount her true transformation, however, one that extended beyond the surface. Internally, she had invested the necessary time in healing wounds that transcended her past relationship with him.

The process had rendered her emotional secure and confident. She had honed the ability not only to articulate her feelings more effectively but also to navigating them without resorting to the crutch of unhealthy substances. Like any reformed addict, the perpetual desire lingered, but she managed to quell any urges, acutely aware of the stakes involved and the substantial losses she had at risk. Notably, the most remarkable addition to her life was the man standing by her side. Alex glanced at him, finding it challenging to resist the gentle smile that tugged at the corners of her cheeks. Sensing her unease, he maintained his reassuring hold around her waist – not an assertion of possession but a gesture of comfort, anchoring her in the moment. Her eyes traversed his features, appreciating the subtle interplay of gray amid the darkness of his hair. Andrew, attuned to her loving gaze, briefly met her eyes, acknowledging her with a wink before seamlessly rejoining the ongoing conversation. Someone needed to stay attentive. She reflected on the time she had spent recently comparing herself to Kylie, wondering in what ways she would now be considered an inadequate fit for Zach. She realized that maybe the most profound differences existed not between her and Kylie but rather between Zach and Andrew. Zach had never encountered an adversary capable of challenging him on equal footing. Typically, he effortlessly outclassed others, confident in his superiority in every aspect.

His grip on her was not only just possessive but also embedded, his influence so deeply ingrained that the thought of her leaving seemed implausible. She lived with the constant awareness that no one could surpass him, and any potential suitor would inevitably fall short, leaving her perennially discontent. But now, there was Andrew – a successful multimillionaire, impeccably sculpted, and seemingly in perfect control of his life. The blow must have been substantial for Zach. It would have been easier to digest if he discovered her entangled with another struggling musician, a mere replica of himself. It likely struck a chord, introducing a new and formidable challenge that he never expected. To make matters worse, they found themselves entwined in high-stakes business deal. Even if Zach had the inclination to react, to unleash the venom he had wielded in the past, he now faced the conundrum of potentially poisoning himself in the process. In a peculiar way, Alex could be seen as protected – shielded, at least, if Zach placed any value on preserving his own career. However, the unpredictability of his actions loomed large. He was, after all, still a stranger, and discerning the boundaries of what he would or wouldn’t do seemed like an impossible task. Alex re-engaged in the conversation just in time to catch Zach proclaiming himself as mostly sane now. Her eyes drifted to the floor, suppressing the urge to vocalize the thoughts that swirled in her mind. If only they knew the extent of is past insanity. Andrew, perhaps, would hesitate to take such a risk if he were privy to the full story. She wondered during which phase of Zach’s recovery did Kylie enter. Did she encounter him in the throes of belligerent drunkenness and drug-induced haze? Receive distressing late-night calls reporting that he had overdosed, with the backdrop of others scrambling to revive him? Unknowingly sit in the passenger seat of his car, oblivious to the potential danger of being driven to her own demise? Kylie could count herself fortunate – blessed, even – to have been spared those harrowing experiences and instead receive the revitalized, improved version of Zach Winthrop. It seemed as if Alex’s trauma paid off in the end, but for someone else. Though Alex attempted to disregard and downplay it, she could keenly feel his gaze piercing through her skin. She suspected he was still verifying that this wasn’t some nightmarish illusion, a far cry from the more pleasurable dreams he used to entertain about her. She raised her head, observing Kylie’s subtle nudge and the evident satisfaction derived from the commendation she received from Zach, as though she thrived on every word of his approval.

Zach’s subsequent remark elicited wry amusement from Alex. Finally meeting his gaze, she widened her eyes in a sarcastic response. Zach may have seen it as luck, but in Alex’s perspective, it felt more like a curse – a shared predicament they now found themselves entangled in. The imminent finalization of Zach’s new contract only added to the certainty that he would soon become their problem as well, the very moment the ink dried. In her sweet timbre, Kylie politely requested a tour of their home, one to which Drew readily acquiesced. Proud of their home, he hoped it might serve as inspiration for her. Under his wing, she could achieve this and more. Whatever her heart desired. Nodding with enthusiasm, his handsome face lit up with his smile, taking the lead. In the wake of her surprise, Alex chose to linger behind, granting herself a moment to gather her thoughts. Before Zach had been offered the chance to make a decision for himself, Kylie swiftly interwove her fingers with his, pulling him along for the tour. Alex wasn’t an idiot. She recognized a familiar possessiveness, having felt it before around Aubrey, Tasha, Lola, and even Eden. Her desire to have Zach accompany wasn’t rooted in a need for support, but rather to preempt any recurrence of what had unfolded between her boyfriend and Andrew’s smoking hot girlfriend. A sly smirk played on her lips, finding interest in Kylie’s apparent sense of threat. So, it was obvious then that something was there between her and Zach. A soft laughter escaped her, accompanied by the roll of her eyes as she raised her champagne glass to her lips.

In that moment, the temptation to draw him back, erasing Kylie’s seemingly inconsequential presence, felt almost too easy. Alex contemplated the possibility of Zach finding a way to warn Kylie, for despite her healing, disrespect in any capacity remained intolerable. As Zach’s feet reluctantly moved out of the kitchen, Kylie maintained her gaze forward, following Andrew as he began the tour of the penthouse apartment. Zach’s attention though, remained firmly fixed on Alex, boldly so. Sipping from her glass, she lifted her pinky finger ever so subtly, offering a discreet wave as he exited the room. She turned her back toward him, focusing on the chef who remained engrossed at the stove. His confused expression hinted at a desire to speak, but Alex quickly intercepted, “Don’t ask. Long story.” He nodded, wisely choosing to steer clear of the topic. “Want to help put the plates out then?” Without hesitation, she joined in, finding solace in the task that distracted her from the recent turn of events. The chef handed her plates of prepared food, and she arranged each one of the on the table between large candles and floral arrangements. Pacing back and forth three times, she crafted a visually appealing spread. Erecting her posture, she smoothed her hands over the fabric of her dress in contentment. As they returned, so did Alex’s unease. Zach comfortably took his place at the table, and she pretended to be occupied by pouring glasses of water.

Surprisingly, he posed a brave question, unrelated to their earlier question. Placing Kylie’s glass beside of him, she leaned over the table extending her dainty, right hand to collect the glass now in front of him. Drew answered for her with a wide-toothed grin as he strolled into the dining room, “A little over a year and half, surprisingly. She’s not sick of me just yet.” She filled Zach’s class, carefully setting it back down in front of him with a subtle shake of her head. Did he really want to know? For the first time since their initial introduction, she addressed him, “But you don’t want to hear about us. We’re not nearly exciting. We want to hear all about you and Kylie. The new it-couple,” she chirped in response, her eyes locking onto his. While his inquiry might have been innocent, she could not resist the temptation to flip the script and delve into their story instead. Perhaps this was the beginning of a new little game to play.