#then they rip that hope away by casting some white girl

[kloudprince]

An impromptu rant about the Nico Robin casting

I'm severely disappointed in the Nico Robin casting choice. I've been sitting with my thoughts for the past few days. My thoughts have not changed and there is little anyone can say to change them.

I think a hispanic/latina actress should have been cast, just like casting call said. As a latina, I was overjoyed when I saw that the casting call said that they were looking for a latina actress to play Robin. I felt seen. Robin is one of my favorite characters and the idea that someone who looked like me was going to play her was exciting. I'd been been eagerly anticipating the announcement of her casting and then two days ago, I saw the leak. Initially, I was okay with Lera Abova as Robin. Yes, I think she can fit the role VISUALLY. But I think playing a character involves more than just visuals. There is a lot more nuance that I don't think people are taking into consideration. They just see a pretty woman who kinda looks like Robin and loose their minds.

Outside of my personal feelings (betrayal) over the casting choice, I do have some narrative (/narrative adjacent) reasons why I think a latina actress would have been more powerful and why Robin does NOT need to be Russian.

Robin's story contains heavy themes of genocide, oppression, and destruction of ancient history & texts

The burning of Ohara, the Buster Call (genocide) of all Oharan citizens, and Robin's persecution. Considering all of these aspects of her story we can draw parallels with the history of the indigenous peoples of Mesoamerica. During the age of colonization, Spaniards intentionally destroyed texts in order to prevent the continued practice of indigenous languages, religions, and other cultural practices. In a similar way, the World Government destroyed or attempted to destroy the books and research the scholars of Ohara kept within the Tree of Knowledge. Across the Americas, indigenous people were persecuted and oppressed in some way shape or form. Robin, from age 8, had a bounty placed on her head and was hunted like an animal for simply existing and holding knowledge that the government deemed illegal. Robin as a character, represents the resilience of Ohara and the dedication they had to learning the true history of their world. She is last surviving member of her native community and she's going up against the most powerful organization in world. I'm sorry but seeing some white girl play a role like this just feels disheartening. In all honesty, I think an actress of indigenous decent would have been far more powerful. Though I know Netflix would likely never cast an indigenous actress in such a major role but I think at least casting a latina actress would have been significantly more powerful than just another white girl.

Current world events should be taken into consideration when casting a character with a story that touches on such delicate topics.

Now I don't agree with anyone who sends hate or harassment towards Lera Abova simply for being Russian. The Russian Government is to blame for the war in Ukraine, NOT the Russian people. I don't know what beliefs Lera holds regarding the conflict so I can not speak on that. However, I think it was tone deaf on the part of Netflix and the OPLA production team to cast a Russian actress as a character who's entire story revolves around genocide, persecution, and oppression considering what the Russian Government is currently doing in Ukraine. I wish we lived in a world where things like war didn't have to be considered when producing entertainment. Unfortunately, we live in a world where media has a heavy impact on how we view the world. Also One Piece has always been a very politically charged series so taking it just, to me at least, makes sense to consider real world political issues when producing a show that has such a global audience. Had Lera been cast as ANY other character in the OPLA I don't think this would be an issue. It's because she's set to play Robin that people are taking issue with. This is such a nuanced issue that I don't think anyone is really speaking about with the respect it deserves.

edit: I'm not saying that I think that the roll should be recast or that Lera is undeserving of such a huge roll or anything like that. What's done is done and I'm sure Lera is going to do a great job. I just bring up this idea because I think it's something that people should at least take into consideration instead of blindly accepting a casting choice. There's always nuance to these decisions and issues.

She does NOT need to be Russian just because Oda mentioned her being Russian in ONE SBS.

I keep seeing people say things like "Oh well Oda is okay with so it's fine" or "Robin is supposed to be Russian, Oda said so." I'm tired of it. People are allowed to disagree or be unhappy with Oda's choices. He is not a flawless individual. He still has biases. Besides, he's already not following his own set nationalities/ethnicities for the characters we'd already seen. He said Luffy was Brazilian, Iñaki is Mexican. He said Sanji was French, Taz is British. He said Nami was Swedish, Emily is American. Usopp doesn't even have a set nationality or ethnicity, HE'S JUST AFRICAN!! What Oda says in an SBS is NOT the end all be all. He's proven that much with the casting decisions we've seen so far. I don't understand this insistence that each casting choice NEEDS to follow this one fucking SBS that Oda made in 2009!! Some of the nationalities clearly have more thought put into them than others. Usopp being a prime example, because he didn't even get a country! He got the whole fucking continent of Africa. However, if you look at his design he at least looks Black (except for when Toei Animation decides to steal his fucking melanin) Zoro is a great example of a character who's nationality was well thought out and integrated into the narrative. His backstory, his fighting style, most of his clothing, and his presumed connection to the country of Wano all implement aspects of Japanese culture within the narrative. On the other hand, you have Sanji, who is French simply because he is a chef. I think Robin falls into the later category. I don't think there was a lot of thought put into her being Russian.

Thanks to anyone who actually read through all my ramblings. You're allowed to disagree with me. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. Please don't yell at me, I will cry. Anyways, check out this tiktok from @/ xibalba1m. She talks about why Oda might have said Robin was Russian and how it relates to the history of the indigenous people of Mesoamerica and the latina Robin casting call. She articulates a lot of what I was thinking about really well, please check her out. (disclaimer: her video was made in May, months before the casting reveal.)

For those who want to see the nationalities SBS, here

EDIT: Also almost all of her attacks (at least in the english translation) are in spanish.

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Masterlist of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Hello everyone! I'm so happy to be back writing this story. I did have a little vacation over Thanksgiving week and spent time with my family, so this chapter is later than I wanted it to be, the same with my other story. This is where some more HOTD cannon divergence happens. I've always wondered what would have happened if Aegon-- oop, I was just about to spoil the chapter! Thank y'all again for your patience and support, and Merry-Happy-Early-Christmas! 

Chapter Warnings: angst, depression, mentions of miscarriage, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt, PTSD, baby girl has TRAUMA.

The cold winds howled over the cliffs of Dragonstone, carrying the scent of the sea and the acrid tang of sulfur. Inside the towering stone walls of the ancient castle, the air was thick with silence, as if the structure was holding its breath in solemn grief. The Hall of the Painted Table was empty, the fires cold, casting long shadows that crept along the black stone floors. And there, you wandered in the solitude of those looming corridors, a solitary figure lost within your dark fortress.

You had once been a woman of unparalleled spirit, a warrior, a strategist, and a force as unbreakable as the dragon you commanded. Your presence alone had once commanded respect, fear, and admiration. You rallied allies within the treacherous red stone walls of the Red Keep and avenged those you loved with a fury that burned as bright as dragon fire, yet now, that fire was nothing but dying embers flickering faintly within your hollowed soul.

You moved like a shadow, drifting through the halls without purpose or direction. Your once-proud gait reduced to listless steps, and your eyes were clouded and distant as if fixed on some vision that haunted you beyond the walls of Dragonstone. You became a ghost of yourself, trapped between a relentless past and an uncertain future.

Concerns from your family continued to mount when reports of Cannibal, who once patrolled the island with an iron fury, were spotted, allowing another wild dragon to steal his food. The Keepers said he did not bear his teeth nor protect his kill of a white billy goat when the brown body of Sheepstealer soared over his head. He stared at the fellow beast, flattening his coal-black body and curling into himself with an exhaustive sigh as the grey-eyed animal was snatched into the large maw of Sheepstealer.

Cannibal would have ripped the dragon's throat for daring to come so close.

Daemon watched you from afar, his heart breaking with every step you took. He remembered the fierce woman you were, the woman who once looked at him with eyes blazing with determination and a spirit as wild as the dragons. Now, you were a shell, lost in despair and guilt, crushed by the weight of a purpose you believed you failed. You were so close to securing the throne that your mother would be robbed of, only to see it slip away.

The Rogue Prince was not known for his comfort and empathy skills, finding himself unable to help you. Such tender qualities were better fit for that of a mother, and he implored Rhaenyra to assist him in the matter.

She would offer soft words of hope and love into your ears, attempting to share your grief at the loss of a child. While she had never experienced it herself, she watched her mother for her entire life struggle in the birthing bed and understood the pain and fear surrounding it. Yet no words or activities spent in the presence of your adoptive mother could heal that ache, and you refused to be the cause of any heedless stress regarding the impending usurpation of her throne. Knowing what it could do to the pregnant body, you continued to keep yourself at a distance from Rhaenyra and your father.

Desperate to rekindle your spark, Luke tried to draw you back to the things that once brought you joy. He laid out your favorite books in the library as he led you to it, hoping that the stories and history you once devoured with passion would call to you again. But you merely walked past the shelves, running a trembling hand over the leather-bound spines without pulling a single one down. Your fingers lingered over the titles, and Luke watched the briefest flicker of interest cross your eyes, only to fade as quickly as it had come.

Then, with Daemon's help, Luke brought you a sword, one of the finely crafted Valyrian blades you cherished. He placed it in your hands, encouraging you to spar with your father, hoping to remind you of your strength and the thrill you once felt when training, yet you merely held the sword in silence, your grip weak and unsteady, gaze vacant as though the weight of the blade was more than you could bear. You let it slip from your hands, the metal clattering against the stone floor, a hollow echo that seemed to reverberate through the very bones of the castle.

Even the presence of family brought no solace. Luke gathered those closest to you, hoping their laughter, warmth, and love would stir something within you, but you sat among them, a distant figure, barely speaking, your mind elsewhere. Your siblings looked at you with worry. Luke even had Jace bring you your favorite desserts, knowing they were your weakness, trying to reach you, but you were adrift in a sea of despair beyond their touch.

They did not know what happened to the full extent, only that someone in the Keep wanted you gone so far as to attempt murder. You did not want their judgments that would surely follow with the revelation, that you succumbed to the sins of the flesh with Aegon of all people.

You wandered the castle from dawn to dusk, restless and unmoving as if searching for something you could never find. Sometimes, you would stop by the grand windows overlooking the storm-tossed seas, your gaze fixed on the churning waves as if they held the answers you sought. Other times, you would stand on the battlements, the wind whipping your hair around your face, stroking your stomach, but even the fierce gusts could not shake you from your reverie.

Why could you not remember who poisoned you?

You could see his body, the dark outline of his silhouette in the candlelight, and feel his hands on your feet, legs, and hips as they reached higher to reveal your small clothes. Yet, that's where the image of man stopped and morphed into that of a beast, cloaked in a black void of any light and the warmth that a human possessed. Then you remembered the pain, the agony as these unseen hands ripped at your womb until all you saw was raw blood and organs leaking from your stomach.

In quiet moments, where you managed to put the memories within the recesses of your mind, you felt the weight of your mother's legacy pressing down on you, a burden you no longer felt strong enough to carry. Your hands trembled as you thought of the throne she would be unable to claim, the people you would be unable to protect, and the family honor you had failed. Your fingers would clench, nails digging into your palms, but a hollow ache now replaced the hope you once felt at yours and Aegon's future.

You knew that with the Iron Throne's intoxicating power, he would stop at nothing to have you by his side once more. He would have a single goal inside his obsessive mind and pursue it even at the cost of your happiness.

Sometimes, you thought it best to end it now, to save your kin and the realm from the destruction of Aegon's wrath and the Greens, but your body would not allow you. No matter how often you stood at the edge of your balcony, overlooking the gray sea and green mountainous terrain, your limbs refused to follow your will. Not even Cannibal would obey your commands of self-destruction as you screamed "dracarys" at his obsidian head. His emerald eyes would squint at you, pupils dilating and shrinking as his reptilian mind whirred.

Only a few, besides those blessed with Valyrian blood, could understand the bond between rider and dragon until they saw the depths of it unobscured. Cannibal understood your heart before you did.

Daemon, unwilling to give up when Luke was, found you one evening as you stood alone in the training yard's dim light, gaze fixed on a bow and a quiver in your hand. You did not want those to see you as weak, a pathetic, shameful husk of the woman you were. Daemon approached slowly, his heart heavy as he saw the daughter he loved, broken and defeated. He gently touched your shoulder, feeling the subtle tremor in your body. You did not pull away, but neither did you acknowledge his touch.

"Do you remember," he softly asked as you lowered the bowstring, "the girl who once walked these halls with fire in her eyes? The girl who would have laughed in the face of defeat, who would have fought to the last breath for what she believed in?"

Closing your eyes, the pain in his words cut through you like a blade. You did remember. You remembered the woman you were, the warrior, the leader, the daughter who would stop at nothing to secure your mother's throne. That woman felt like a stranger now, a memory from another life where you had your fair-haired boy in your arms, and your soul was whole.

"Tell me, what happened to her?" he whispered, his voice breaking.

You opened your peculiar eyes and met his gaze for the first time in days. Your voice was barely a whisper, frail and broken. "She failed, father. I doomed them all."

He shook his head, taking your face in his hands and forcing you to hold his stare. "No, she has not failed. She's still here, somewhere, waiting to rise again."

A tear slipped down your cheek, but you did not pull away, avoiding his gaze and looking to the torches lighting the area in a dim yellow. Somewhere deep within you, a spark flickered, a faint reminder of the fire you once held. You were still lost, wandering the halls of Dragonstone, a ghost of the fierce woman you once were, waiting for the strength to rise again from the ashes of despair.

As the pale fingers of dawn unfurled across the slate rooftops of King's Landing, they painted the city in soft orange and gold hues. The delicate light spilled into the labyrinthine alleys, illuminating the cobblestones and revealing shadows that danced in the corners. The brisk morning air carried the sharp, salty scent of the nearby Blackwater Bay, intertwining with the fetid odor of refuse that littered the streets and the lingering uncleanliness of bodies that had not known a wash in days. It was a complex tapestry of sensations, stirring both the serenity of the early hour and the harsh realities of life in the bustling city.

A figure emerged in the shadows of a narrow passage. A young woman with red hair tucked under a plain hood carried a piece of parchment. Her freckled face was ordinary, forgettable by design, but her eyes darted with precision, catching every movement, every whisper in the predawn stillness. Fiora was one of Madame's spies, a former brothel worker, but she proved worth more than her body. She was a ghost among the throng, sent with tasks Madame only trusted with her.

The faint but distinct metal clinking echoed through the dimly lit corridor, prompting her to stop abruptly. Before her stood three Gold Cloaks, their polished armor reflecting the flickering light of their torches, which sputtered uncertainly in the cool night air. The soldiers moved with an air of authority, barking orders as the shadows danced around them, creating an atmosphere thick with tension and unease.

"Get to your homes!" one shouted, his voice gruff. "Every beggar, every rat-catcher, ensure they stay sound in their beds. If they resist, remind them who runs this city!"

Fiora pressed herself against the damp wall of the alley, her breath shallow. She could feel the tension in the city—fear rippled through the streets like an unseen tide. Whispers of Rhaenyra's fall had already begun to fester, carried by merchants and drunks alike.

There were no secrets in King's Landing.

When the Gold Cloaks moved on, Fiora slipped deeper into the maze of alleys, her hand clutching the folded letter concealed in her sleeve. She needn't open it to know its importance. Madame's orders had been clear: get the message to Dragonstone before it was too late.

The docks were alive with activity despite the early hour. Fishmongers shouted their wares, sailors bickered over cargo, and the tang of brine filled the air. Moving through the crowd, the spy spotted her contact, an older man with grey hair and a salt-stained coat seated on a crate and chewing a piece of dried meat. Without a word, she approached him, slipping the letter into his palm as if handing over a simple copper.

"Dragonstone?" he muttered, not looking at her. He knew without asking.

She nodded. "Tonight, if possible."

The man stuffed the letter into his coat and stood. "Madame's got her fingers in every pie, doesn't she?"

"She ensures we all eat," Fiora replied softly with a brief smirk, her voice tinged with loyalty and fear, but she soon swallowed it, thinking only of her last moments spent with you.

He gave her a curt nod and disappeared into the crowd, heading for one of the many trading boats tied to the end of the dock. She lingered long enough to see him climb aboard and order his men to push off into the bay, his silhouette growing minor against the vast expanse of water.

As the spy pivoted on her heel to depart, the sharp echo of boots reverberated in the dimly lit corridor behind her. She spun around abruptly, her heart racing, only to find herself locked in a tense gaze with a Gold Cloak. The flickering light of his torch cast dramatic shadows across her fair skin, highlighting the tension in her expression and the quickness of her breath as she assessed the danger that loomed before her.

"You there," the armored man announced, his eyes narrowing. "What's your business skulking about so early?"

She summoned her best mask of innocence, tilting her head slightly. "Looking for work, ser. The mornings are kindest to those of us who beg."

The guard studied her, suspicion flickering in his gaze. "Be off with you, then. Or you'll find yourself bleeding with the rest."

She offered a tentative nod, averting as she turned to leave, her heart racing like a wild drum. When she was out of sight, adrenaline surged through her veins, propelling Fiora to quicken her pace. She slipped into the enveloping shadows, the cool darkness wrapping around her like a comforting shroud as she dashed away.

The sun rose higher, painting King's Landing in golden hues, but for the nameless spy, the city remained steeped in danger. Somewhere in Dragonstone, Rhaenyra would soon learn of the betrayal brewing in her absence.

The heavy scent of sweat, smoke, and stale wine lingered in the air, suffocating Aegon's every breath. The candlelight flickered, casting long, distorted shadows on the brothel's walls. The sounds of drunken laughter, the clink of coins, and the soft moans of pleasure were the only music in his ears as he sat slumped on a velvet chair, a goblet of wine trembling in his hand. His mind, however, was somewhere far away. Somewhere across Blackwater Bay was a woman with hair the color of ebony, a streak of stark white, and eyes that hid his own inside them.

It had been days since you left, days that felt like weeks, and he had drunk himself into a stupor every single night since. He knew you would be disappointed. You would look at him with a gaze full of scolding, dark brows furrowed together, creating those scrunched wrinkles that etched your forehead. The memories of your voice, your touch, and the promise of a future together were drowned in a sea of alcohol, the sting of his loss too great for him to bear sober. The transformation you coaxed out of him after many long moons, the happiness you instilled in his heart, felt like a distant, fleeting dream now, one that he could not reach no matter how hard he tried.

He barely registered the company around him, the women leaning in to whisper sweet nothings, their fingers trailing along his arm, offering distractions he once craved. But tonight, like every night since you left, they felt empty, like the rest of his life. He drank more as though drowning himself in wine could somehow erase the weight in his chest, the gnawing emptiness that replaced the warmth of your love. He downed the glass in one go, and the room spun, the edges of his vision blurring until the walls felt like they were closing in.

He cursed softly to himself, slamming the goblet down with a clink that startled a nearby woman. "You don't understand," he mumbled under his breath to no one, his voice hoarse. "No one understands except for her. My love..."

The woman nodded politely but saw the same look in his eyes that they all had, the same lost, broken look, the countenance of a man who had too much power but never enough purpose. She stepped back, a practiced grace in her movements as she retreated to attend to the next guest, her sheer lavender dress shimmering in the dim lighting.

Aegon didn't care. He didn't care about the women. He didn't care about the gamblers. He didn't care about the city he was trapped in or the castle he would return to, with its cold halls and colder courtiers. All he cared about now was the gnawing ache that hollowed out his chest. The realization that you were gone.

That night, he found himself stumbling through the streets of King's Landing, his steps unsteady, his heart heavy with the same emptiness that seemed to follow him like a shadow as he attempted to return home. Despite the icy air, his wrinkled and unkempt tunic clung to his frame with cold sweat. His cropped blonde hair hung limp around his face, and his eyes were bloodshot, the purple hue dull and sunken from too much wine and too little sleep. His mind was lost in the haze of alcohol, but deep inside, a part of him still longed for you.

He heard whispers from his mother earlier in the day about his father's worsening condition, but he pushed them aside. After all, what could a dying old man matter when he was already dead inside?

What did any of it matter?

With a shaky hand, Aegon tried to steady himself as he leaned against the cold sandstone of a building. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, trying to clear the fog from his mind. The weight, the throne, the family, and the expectations were too much. His chest tightened as he stumbled forward, the dim lights of the Red Keep finally in sight.

Home. Or at least what was left of it.

The streets were deserted at this hour, save for the occasional street urchin or drunken sailor stumbling home from a night of revelry. His breath came in heavy gasps, and the world seemed to tilt with each step. Aegon's head spun, his vision blurring more with each passing second.

The pain of it all, of you, was unbearable. Why had he not tried harder and done more to make you stay? He had been a fool, a coward, running back to the same old habits the moment you were injured. How could he redeem himself when he had lost the only thing that truly mattered? His thoughts tumbled over one another, chaotic and cluttered, as he neared the mud gate of the Red Keep. He was so drunk, so completely lost in his stupor, that he did not see the lip in the flagstone, tumbling to the ground, unable to catch himself as he succame to the dark.

When he awoke, the world was still spinning. He groaned, feeling the rough stone beneath his cheek. His mind was hazy. A thick fog clung to him as if trying to pull him back into unconsciousness. The pain in his skull, a sharp, burning throb, was enough to keep him from slipping away entirely.

Aegon groaned again, his eyes flickering open. The world around him was dark, the cold air of the night biting at his skin. His arms were stiff, his legs numb. He tried to sit up, but his body felt like lead. There was a moment of disorientation. Where was he? His head pulsated, and his thoughts finally began to sharpen. The past few minutes, or hours, began to piece together. He remembered walking. He remembered the drunken haze. He remembered stumbling toward the Red Keep, and then suddenly, the ground was not so far away.

A shadow loomed over him.

Someone stood above him, cloaked in the night, their presence ominous. Aegon blinked, trying to focus, but the blow had left him too dizzy, and the area was too dim.

"Your Highness."

The voice was unfamiliar, smooth, and with an accent his mind couldn't place. Perhaps a servant or one of the guards was coming to his aide. Aegon's breath hitched, a tinge of unease creeping into his heart. "What... what happened?" he croaked, his voice thick with disorientation.

The figure didn't respond immediately. Instead, they crouched down beside him. "The king is dead, your grace, and the Greens search for their new ruler."

Aegon blinked again, the words slicing through the murk in his mind like a blade. His father, the king, had died. He knew it was coming, but the finality of it hit him like a physical blow.

Aegon's heart twisted painfully. The realization settled over him like a shroud. His father's barely beating heart kept the realm from plunging into chaos, though Aegon knew that this would be the outcome. The Crown had no head. It was meant for his sister, but he knew what his mother and grandfather planned.  He was so lost in his grief and self-doubt that he hadn't been within his home to hear of his father's passing. And now, as the weight of it all came crashing down on him, Aegon couldn't help but feel the sting of the cruelest irony. He was too drunk to feel the death of his father.

"I am unfit to rule."

The figure helped him to his feet, but Aegon's legs were still unsteady. His head spun, and he felt the world shifting beneath him.

"The Red Keep will be in turmoil soon, your grace," the figure warned, their voice laced with urgency. "We must hurry to Madame's."

For a moment, Aegon did not care. He didn't care about the throne or the chaos. His father was dead, and he had been too far gone to even process it in time. His heart ached with the realization, but in his soul, there was something darker—a deep, gnawing emptiness that was now replaced by something far colder. He could feel the stirrings of unrest and future instability, but they all felt meaningless without you.

The figure led him forward, but Aegon's mind was far away. The only thing that truly mattered at that moment, the only thing that weighed on his broken heart, was that you were not here.

The pale moonlight filtered through the narrow gaps between buildings, casting long shadows on the damp cobblestones of King's Landing. Aegon's humid clothes stuck to his pale chest and back as he stumbled behind the shadowy figure leading him through the twisting alleyways. He could barely make out the shape of the figure in front of him, her footsteps brisk and silent, as if they had walked these streets a thousand times before. The air smelled of salt from the distant sea, mixed with the faint stench of refuse, human sweat, and the city's ever-present odor of decay.

"Where are you taking me?" Aegon asked, his voice low but edged with suspicion.

The figure didn't answer immediately, glancing back in annoyance. Aegon had already forgotten the prior conversations.

The Prince learned long ago not to trust anyone in the capital, especially in these parts. The back promenades were teeming with danger, thieves, mercenaries, and worse. Still, something about the mysterious figure seemed to promise safety, though Aegon could not quite place why. They were not in a hurry, though Aegon's feet felt like they were being dragged along, his heart racing with a blend of excitement and dread.

They turned a corner, and suddenly, the roads opened up, revealing the Streets of Silk. It was an eerie, quiet place between night and dawn where the moonlight seemed to dance off the curtains hanging from every window and door. The air here was different. It was thick with the scent of exotic perfumes and incense but also something darker and more dangerous. Had they already heard of his father's demise?

The figure stopped before a narrow, unmarked door in one of the buildings. They turned to Aegon and spoke barely louder than a whisper. "Stay close," she commanded from underneath her cloak.

Before Aegon could utter a word, a sudden sound sliced through the stillness, the faint yet distinct clink of metal meeting stone. He immediately froze, his heart racing. Shadows flickered around him as figures materialized from the darkness, sliding stealthily into view from all directions. Their eyes glimmered like tiny stars, piercing through the obscurity, while their faces remained shrouded in hoods.

Like a ripple through water, the alley seemed to shift. A heavy thud rang out, and a figure lunged at Aegon's guide, a glinting dagger in hand. Aegon saw the shimmer of steel and stepped forward instinctively, but before he could react, another figure appeared behind Madame's spy, striking the girl with a vicious blow. She stumbled but didn't fall, readying a weapon of her own in retaliation.

From the darkness, a woman's voice cut through the chaos. It was soft, accented yet edged with an unmistakable authority. "Enough," she said, her words carrying over the din like a heavy curtain being drawn.

The attackers paused, their movements faltering as they turned toward the woman who now stepped into the dim light. She was tall, her long black hair cascading over her shoulders like a veil of night, and her skin was a tan that glowed in the pale light. She wore robes of fine silk, richly dyed in shades of deep purple and midnight blue, but the fabric seemed to swallow her slender frame as though they were borrowed from another life entirely. She moved with the grace of a panther, each step purposeful.

"The White Worm," the figure beside Aegon muttered under their breath, their voice laced with fear and respect.

Aegon's eyes widened. He had heard the name whispered among the courtesans in the brothels and the low-born in the taverns. She was a shadow in the city, feared, respected, and above all, elusive. To cross her was to sign your death warrant.

She took a step forward, her gaze flicking over the attackers, who now seemed to hesitate, unwilling to provoke her further.

"He's valuable," Lady Misery said, her voice like honey and venom. "Aegon Targaryen," she continued, eyes flashing with something dark, something calculating. "A good bargaining chip, best to be stored up one's sleeve, wouldn't you say?"

The world seemed to tilt, and Aegon's stomach dropped. She knew who he was. The thought sent a chill down his spine. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words died in his throat. The attackers backed off, leaving Aegon no room to escape, and Mysaria's gaze flicked back to him, a smile playing at the corner of her lips.

"Aegon, my dear," she cooed, her accent thick with foreign vowels, "you'll be most useful to me." Her eyes gleamed with something terrible, more dangerous than any knife or dagger.

Before Aegon could react, her men moved swiftly, surrounding him, one of them roughly grabbing his arm. His body was yanked forward, the grip painful and unyielding. He struggled, but there was no use. His mind raced with escape plans, but they all seemed hopeless in the face of Lady Misery's power.

He was dragged, stumbling, through the labyrinth of dark streets until they arrived at the Sept of Balor. The massive structure loomed in the darkness, silent and foreboding, its stone walls seeming to absorb the light. The grand doors creaked open with a horrible sound, and Aegon was forced inside. The air within the Sept was cold, the shadows stretching unnaturally long.

Lady Mysaria followed, her steps soft but deliberate as she surveyed the space. The ancient stone of the Sept was cracked, aged with the weight of centuries. But it was the altar that drew Aegon's eyes. It loomed ahead, dark and imposing.

"You'll be safe here," Lady Misery said, her voice almost kind, but its cruelty made Aegon's blood run cold. She gestured to her men, and they shoved him toward the altar.

"No!" Aegon cried out, struggling, but his efforts were useless. They forced him down onto the cold stone floor, pushing him under the altar, where the shadows seemed to close in like a suffocating shroud.

The small iron door clanged shut behind him, and Aegon was left in total darkness, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. He could hear the sound of footsteps fading away. The echoes grew fainter and fainter until there was nothing but the silence of the ancient stone.

Locked away, beneath the altar, in the belly of the Sept. Alone.

Aegon's heart pounded in his chest. This was no longer a game of political maneuvering. His life, his freedom, was now in the hands of a woman who didn't care about Targaryen blood, only power.

***

The clang of steel echoed softly in the dim corridors of the Red Keep as Ser Erryk Cargyll sat on a wooden bench, carefully polishing his sword. The pristine blade gleamed under the flickering torchlight, a reflection of the oaths he had sworn as a sworn brother of the Kingsguard. Yet his expression was far from serene; a furrow creased his brow as he prepared for his upcoming shift. The weight of duty always hung heavy, but with Aegon as his charge, it was more like a millstone around his neck.

Footsteps approached, slow and deliberate. Erryk glanced up to see Otto Hightower, clad in his green austere robes, his face a mask of authority and impatience. The Hand of the King wasted no time with pleasantries.

"Ser Erryk," Otto began, his voice low but sharp. "Where is the Prince?"

Erryk set the blade aside, straightening his posture. "Forgive me, Lord Hand. I do not know."

Otto's jaw tightened, his piercing eyes studying Erryk for any sign of deceit. "But you're sworn to protect him," he replied with exasperation. He had to deal with the stress of secrecy and hold the realm together in such a precarious time, and he did not need childish antics.

"He exploits his authority to order me away, and then he evades me, my lord. He may have left the Keep secretly and gone into the city." The knight's tone was calm, which Otto would typically scold for, but now such matters of manners seemed pointless.

"Find him. The realm teeters on the edge of chaos, and the Prince must be present. Search the city if you must, but bring him to me."

Erryk gave a stiff nod, though unease churned within him. "As you command, my lord."

As Ser Erryk turned, sheathing his polished sword, the hand spoke, his voice regal yet pragmatic. "My sincerest apologies about your brother. I shall see that he's returned to his quarters once I have my grandson."

The Kingsguard bowed but said nothing and left the Red Keep.

The Silk Streets were already active, even in the early hours. Ser Erryk moved through the narrow, winding alleys, keeping a firm grip on the pommel of his sword. The city's infamous district reeked of cheap perfume and spilled ale, the air thick with the laughter of courtesans and the hushed whispers of clandestine dealings.

Erryk grimaced as he passed a pleasure house whose painted façade was garish even in the dim light. His thoughts churned with resentment. Always Aegon. The name sat heavy on his mind like a stone in his gut. How many mornings has he scoured the city to retrieve the Prince from some depraved hole?

Erryk's memories were a blur of drunken brawls, soiled bedsheets, and shameful confessions. He clenched his jaw. Aegon's appetites were boundless, and his respect for his station, if it existed, was invisible to those who served him.

Erryk's search brought him to the fighting pits, a grim and lawless place tucked away from the bustling streets. The muffled roar of a crowd reached his ears, mingled with the feral snarls of dogs and the cries of wounded children, one with the familiar color of pale white hair.

He slipped inside, weaving through the crowd. The stench of sweat and blood hung heavy in the air. In the center of the pit, two boys no older than ten squared off, their faces twisted in fear and determination as the crowd jeered and wagered coins. Erryk's stomach turned, but he did not stop to intervene. His mission was clear, even if his conscience screamed against it.

"Seen the Prince?" he asked one of the pit organizers, a burly man with a broken nose.

The man snorted. "Not tonight. Ain't his usual time. Check the brothels."

Erryk nodded curtly, stepping back into the alley. He wiped his brow, though the morning air was still cool. His frustration bubbled beneath the surface.

This man is to be king? Erryk thought bitterly. The realm deserves better. Rhaenyra would rule with strength and purpose, yet he served this spoiled wretch.

As he turned to leave, a voice called out softly from the shadows. "A moment of your time, my lord."

He spun, his hand instinctively falling to his sword. From the crowd emerged a young woman, her complexion dark, her curly hair tucked beneath a tan cloak. Her presence was unassuming, yet her bearing spoke of quiet confidence.

"Who are you?" Erryk asked, his tone cautious.

"A friend," she replied, her voice light and melodic, like a gentle breeze rustling through the leaves. "I can take you to Prince Aegon. Rather, I am sent by one who knows where he is. Who'll tell you for a price."

Erryk felt utterly drained as if every ounce of energy had been siphoned from his body. The weight of his exhaustion settled heavily on his shoulders, suffocating any flicker of motivation to continue fighting for someone he now deemed unworthy. Each futile effort felt like a battle against an unyielding tide, leaving him hollow and weary. "Deliver him to me, and I will consider your price.

The woman smiled faintly. "My mistress will not treat with the servants of the Keep, exalted though they may be. She'll trust this to the Hand of the King only."

Erryk's lips thinned into a line. He hated the game of it all, the constant dealings with spies and schemers. But what choice did he have? Without Aegon, the Hightowers' grip on power would falter, and the city would erupt into chaos. The outcome seemed all the more appealing.

"I will take your message to the Hand," he said finally. "But if this is a ploy..."

"It is not," she interrupted firmly. "I think he will wish to hear what the White Worm can tell him."

With that, the woman disappeared into the maze of people, leaving Erryk with his mounting frustration. He turned back toward the Red Keep, his boots striking the cobblestones with purpose.

As he strolled through the dimly lit corridors, his mind wandered to Aegon, consumed by his insatiable desires and the turmoil they unleashed upon the realm. A bitter truth weighed heavily on his heart. Aegon was unworthy of the Crown, yet the kingdom yearned for stability. It struck him as a poignant tragedy that these two notions, Rhaenyra's rightful place and the peace the realm craved, seemed destined to be at odds with each other.

The weight of his sword suddenly felt heavier at his side, but Erryk marched on. Duty demanded it, even if every fiber of his being recoiled at what that required.

The room was suffocatingly quiet, save for the faint creak of the wooden shutters as a soft breeze nudged them against the window frame. Pale sunlight streamed through the gaps, but its warmth failed to reach the cold that had taken residence in your bones. You lay in bed, the threadbare covers tangled around your legs, staring at the ceiling as though it held the answer to a question you were too weary to ask.

Your body betrayed you in cruel ways. The tremors in your hands, faint but persistent, reminded you of the hemlock that had nearly stolen your life. Each shiver was a whisper of death's near embrace, and though the poison had left you alive, it had not spared you its aftermath. A fresh stain of blood on the sheets confirmed what you already knew: your body was fighting in more ways than one. The child you had unknowingly carried was gone.

The pain was sharp, a dagger that twisted in your chest with every breath, but it was the ache in your heart that, indeed, left you paralyzed. You closed your eyes, desperate for solace, but instead, the dream returned. It always did.

You stood in a sunlit garden, chrysanthemums and fresh grass filling the air. Aegon was there, his silver hair catching the light as he knelt to tie a ribbon around a little girl's wrist. She had your smile but his hair, her violet eyes sparkling as she laughed. Nearby, a boy with your dark hair and his father's sullen demeanor clutched a wooden sword, mimicking Aegon's every movement with a determination that made your heart swell.

"You're doing well, little prince," Aegon said to the boy, his voice warm with pride. You had never heard him so happy. "But keep your stance firm. Like this."

You watched them, your hand resting on your rounded belly, another child stirring within you. A grin stretched your lips as Aegon glanced back at you, his eyes soft with affection, and your heart soared.

"Come here, my love," he said, reaching for your hand. "Look at them."

But as you stepped forward, the image dissolved. The laughter faded, replaced by a chilling silence. You reached for Aegon, but he was gone, the garden with him, leaving you alone in the void.

Your eyes flew open, the dream's cruel clarity a weight pressing against your chest. Aegon wasn't here. He was never coming back, and the future you had seen, the family, the love, the life, was nothing but a lie spun by your desperate mind.

Tears slid down your cheeks, unbidden and unstoppable. You didn't bother wiping them away. What was the point? You couldn't summon the energy to rise, eat, or even drink the goblet of water left on the bedside table. The tremor in your hand grew worse as you brought it to your abdomen, resting it on the place where life had once grown. The loss was yet another cruel theft. Another dream ripped away before it could even begin.

Your thoughts spiraled, dark and unrelenting. What future awaited you now? A lifetime of mourning for what could have been? The realm's impending chaos only mirrored the storm within you, and you couldn't imagine a path forward through either.

But then, unbidden, his voice echoed in your mind.

"Look at them."

The memory of those words, spoken in the dream, clung to you like a threadbare cloak against the chill. You hated yourself for longing for Aegon, hoping that somehow, against all odds, his family might allow him to escape, but the truth was undeniable. Aegon was a part of you, as ingrained as your heartbeat and as unforgettable as your pain.

The thought of him gave you pause. He was reckless and flawed beyond measure, but he was also the man who once held you in the dead of night and whispered promises of a better tomorrow. You wanted to believe in those vows, even if they now felt like ashes in your hands.

Your body screamed for rest, for nourishment, but your soul was louder, its cries reverberating through the empty chamber.

Would he even recognize you now, this shadow of yourself? Or would he look upon you with pity, perhaps even disdain? The thought was unbearable, yet it ignited something faint and flickering within you, a tiny, stubborn ember of defiance.

You remained motionless, wrapped in grief and longing. The dream had been beautiful, cruelly so, and it left you haunted. You closed your eyes again, yearning not for sleep but for the impossible. A world where that dream had been absolute, Aegon was here, and hope was not stolen from your grasp.

All you could do for the moment was lie still and let the ache consume you.

The din of the bustling market hummed around the cloaked figure seated at a weathered wooden table. The smell of roasted meat mingled with the sharp tang of spices and the salty sea breeze wafting from Blackwater Bay. Merchants hawked their wares, their voices rising above the crowd's chatter, while children darted through the maze of stalls, their laughter carrying on the air.

Otto Hightower shifted uneasily in his seat, his fingers tapping against the small leather pouch at his belt. The Hand of the King was accustomed to commanding attention, yet here he sat in the heart of King's Landing, shrouded in anonymity, the shadow of a commoner. His hood obscured his stern features, and his robes, though of fine make, had been chosen to avoid drawing undue notice.

Across the table, a figure slid into the empty seat. The woman moved with the grace of a predator, her dark cloak brushing the ground as she settled herself. Her face, painted with a natural tan, was framed by a cascade of tightly curled hair. Lady Misery, the White Worm, fixed Otto with a look equal to amusement and calculation.

"You are the mysterious White Worm, I take it. Or are you simply a further peel in this stinking onion?" Otto chided, but Mysaria took it in stride. She was accustomed to men like him. She bedded one, after all.

"My condolences on the passing of your king," she started, her voice smooth as silk, accented with the lilting tones of Lysene. She leaned forward slightly, her hands folding atop the table. Otto's expression remained impassive, but his fingers stilled as he motioned for Erryk to give her the substantial sack of coins.

His jaw tightened, but he maintained his composure. "Where is Prince Aegon?"

She continued, her voice soft but cutting through the noise like a blade as Lady Misery smiled faintly, leaning back on her bench. "I thought the Prince was in Flea Bottom, where no one was to be trusted. I'd best secrete him somewhere safe if they come looking for him."

Otto leaned closer, his brow furrowing as he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. The daylight caught the intensity in his eyes as he repeated. "Where is the Prince?"

A smirk tugged at her lips, but her eyes remained cold. "He is safely tucked away," she finally answered as her gaze shifted to something more serious. "I want an end to the savage use of children in Flea Bottom." She let the weight of her words linger before continuing. "They are forced to fight; worse, your gold cloaks take bribes to make them look away. An obscenity either tolerated or ignored by the Crown."

Otto exhaled sharply, considering her terms. The market seemed to grow louder around them, as though the noise pressed against the fragile boundary of their secret conversation. Finally, he inclined his head slightly. "I'll look into it. You have my word."

"When your plots ripen, and you install your grandson on the throne, remember I put him there. I could have killed him as easily as a wasp on fruit." Misery's smile returned, a slow, triumphant curl of her lips. "There is no power but what the people allow you to take."

She rose gracefully, the movement drawing his eyes to the faint shadow of her silhouette beneath the cloak. "Pleasure doing business with you, my lord," she quipped, her voice laced with irony. "Do try to keep your end of the bargain. If not, secrets can slip through cracks, don't they?"

"I will remember," Otto replied curtly, done with this feeling of inferiority. He found himself in unfamiliar territory, feeling palpably uncomfortable not being in control of the situation. This situation starkly contrasted with the confident authority he was used to wielding, leaving him restless and uncertain.

With that, she melted into the market crowd, leaving Otto alone at the table, his mind already turning to the next step. Lady Misery played her hand well, but the game was far from over. For now, though, he had what he needed. And with that knowledge, the Hightowers' plans would press forward at any cost as he signaled Erryk to go after his grandson.

The bells of King's Landing tolled softly in the distance as Ser Erryk Cargyll ascended the marble steps of the Sept of Baelor, the daylight casting a yellow sheen on the grand structure. The towering statues of the Seven loomed above, their solemn faces shadowed by the flickering light of countless candles within. The air was thick with the cloying scent of incense and melting wax, a sharp contrast to the tension tightening Erryk's chest.

He pushed open the heavy doors, the groan of iron hinges echoing in the vast, silent chamber. The dim light revealed rows of pews, the smooth black stone floor reflecting the warm, golden glow of the candles that adorned the grand altar. But what caught Erryk's attention was not the serene beauty of the Sept. The faint coughing sound was a wet, muffled noise from somewhere near the altar.

Erryk's hand instinctively went to his sword hilt as he stepped forward. "Prince Aegon?" he called, his voice low and cautious. He received no answer, only the echo of his voice. His boots clicked softly against the marble as he approached the altar, the massive carved effigies of the Seven staring down at him.

There it was again, a cough followed by a quiet sniffle. Erryk knelt and peered under the altar. In the shadowed space, he saw a figure huddled tightly, and his cloak pulled around him as if it could shield him from the world. Silver hair glinted faintly in the candlelight.

"By the Seven..." Erryk muttered, his voice edged with disbelief. He grabbed the Prince by the arm, pulling him from his hiding place.

The young Prince squirmed in his grip, his bloodshot eyes wide and wild. "Let me go!" Aegon hissed, his voice hoarse. He yanked his arm, but Erryk held firm.

"You think you can hide here forever?" Erryk snapped. "The realm is teetering on the brink of war, and you're cowering under an altar like a child. Do you have any idea what is at stake?"

Aegon glared at him, his cheeks flushed with anger. "I never asked for this! Let Aemond have the bloody Crown. He wants it more than I ever will." He struggled harder, white hair sticking to his forehead, his desperation evident. "I won't be a pawn in their game, Erryk. I refuse!"

Erryk's grip tightened, but the Prince's words gnawed at him. Aegon was no king. He was reckless, self-indulgent, and utterly unsuited to rule. The realm needed strength and decisiveness, qualities that Aegon sorely lacked. Yet duty bound Erryk to him, to the line of a male-dominated succession, to the precarious stability that Aegon's coronation might bring.

"Let me go," Aegon pleaded again, his voice cracking. "You know I am not fit for this. You know it, Erryk."

Erryk hesitated, torn between his sworn duty and the undeniable truth in the Prince's words. But before he could decide, the sound of boots echoed in the chamber, and Erryk turned to see Prince Aemond and Ser Criston Cole approaching, their figures sharp and menacing in the candlelight.

"Aegon," Aemond called, his tone cold and commanding. His single violet eye glinted as he stepped closer, his hand resting on the hilt of his longsword. "Come with us. Mother wishes to see you. Now."

Erryk positioned himself between Aegon and the newcomers, his hand on his blade. "He is not going anywhere. On my honor, on my oath sworn to the King, Prince Aegon will not ascend the Iron Throne."

Aegon stood on trembling legs, remnants of Arbor Red still flowing through his veins as he looked from Ser Erryk to his brother. He would always long for the tender grace of his mother he never had, and a part of him briefly wondered if Aegon allowed himself to succumb to that instinctual desire, to go with Aemond to usurp his half-sister's throne, would his mother finally show him the maternal love he longed for? The Prince saw your smile flash in his mind's eye, memories of your warm flesh against his own, and soon realized he no longer craved his mother's attention.

Criston frowned his expression a mix of frustration and betrayal. "Ser Erryk, this is madness. You know your duty."

Ser Erryk stood firm for a moment, but his inner conflict surged. Aemond was ambitious and ruthless, yet he was more fit to rule than his older brother in many ways. Could he, in good conscience, deliver Aegon to them, knowing it would only hasten the bloodshed to come?

He turned to Aegon, his voice soft but firm. "Go."

Aegon's eyes widened in surprise, looking from his younger brother's cloaked form to his sworn protector. "What?"

"Go to her!" Ser Erryk barked, stepping aside to block Aemond and Criston as Aegon hesitated for a heartbeat before bolting toward the nearest exit.

Aemond released a low growl of frustration, his breath coming in heavy spurts as he surged forward. Sensing the impending clash, the knight unsheathed his sword swiftly, the blade glinting ominously in the light. With a determined shout, he met Criston's weapon head-on, the sharp clash of steel ringing out like a battle cry, reverberating through the tense air.

"You will regret this treason, Erryk," Criston snarled, his blade falling in a vicious arc.

"I already do," Erryk replied, dodging the blow. Their swords clashed in a deadly rhythm, sparks flying as Erryk fought to hold his ground against the more seasoned knight.

Aegon darted through the dim corridors of the Sept, his breath ragged and his legs burning. Aemond was relentless, his footsteps growing louder with every passing second. Aegon turned a corner, only to find himself trapped by a wall. He spun around just as Aemond caught up, his sword drawn.

"You have run far enough," Aemond hissed, advancing. "Face me, brother."

In desperation, Aegon grabbed a candelabra from the wall, swinging it wildly. He was never the swordsman of the two. Aemond blocked it with ease, his strikes controlled but furious. The scuffle was brief and frantic, and Aegon's movements were clumsy compared to Aemond's calculated precision. The thought of being with you again guided his clumsy movements against his skilled brother. He would rather die than be forced into a position where he would have to turn against you. Aegon swung wildly, the lit candles flying from their brass holders and flinging wax on the holy stone. The older brother was not much against the younger.

Aegon found his chance in a twist of fate, driven by sheer luck or perhaps the raw instinct of hopelessness. He lifted the ornate candelabra, its metal glinting in the dim light, and with a determined swing, brought it crashing down onto Aemond's blind side. The impact was jarring, sending shockwaves through Aemond's body as he howled in pain, clutching his eye and throwing him off balance. His shocked expression revealed the suddenness of the attack.

Seizing the fleeting moment, Aegon dashed past his brother, his heart pounding as adrenaline propelled him forward. He slipped into the thick daylight of a courtyard, the cool air rushing against his skin as he escaped the chaos behind him.

In the darkness of the Sept, Erryk and Criston found themselves locked in a brutal clash. The air was tense as both knights fought with every ounce of strength and honor, their faces glistening with sweat and their breaths coming in ragged gasps. Each swing of their blades was becoming slower, heavy with fatigue, yet neither was willing to relent. Criston's rage burned bright in his eyes, a fierce fire that seemed to radiate from him, while Erryk stood his ground, his resolve as unyielding as steel, determined not to back down in the face of such ferocity.

"You've sealed your fate, traitor," Criston spat as they clashed again.

"Perhaps," Erryk replied, his voice steady despite the chaos. "But I could not live with myself if I did not try to stop this madness."

The distant sound of bells filled the air again as Aegon disappeared into the city's shadows, the realm's fate hanging in the balance as he made his way to the only place in King's Landing where he would be safe from his mother and grandsire's schemes. 

Masterlist of Series

How about that cliffhanger, besties? It feels like the reader can't get a break! Thank you to everyone who has commented and rebloged this story. I know I was on a very long hiatus so it'll take sometime for some reader's to come back. I really appreciate everyone who has stuck with me. (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnn , @malfoytargaryen , @targaryencore , @justasmallbean , @omgsuperstarg , @sommornyte , @silverslive , @prettykinkysoul , *@duesobabe, *@legolas017, @iiamthehybrid , @dd122004dd , @ladybug0095 , @millies0bsimp , @kalfild , @sheislonelyalways , @tempt-ress , @minttea07 , @trikigirl271 , @esposadomd , @prettywhenicry4 , @justarandomflowerchildofthenight , @partypoison00 , @please-buckme , @pastelorangeskies , @existential-echo , @priyajoyy , @valaenatargaryensdragon , @merovingianprincess , @candy12110 , @w3ird11 , @ruhjkie , @somemydayy , @marikkjj , @zillahvathek , @sunfyresrider , @heavenly1927 , @hjgdhghoe , @im-sidney , @aurorathi , @marihoneywk , @xitsemm , @justbelljust , @qardasngan , @shari-berri , *@tomgcmrs

*Bold means I can't tag you for some reason (⁠╯⁠︵⁠╰⁠,⁠)

[joesalw]

This conversation about Taylor's downfall in 2016 and what led up to it, plus this lie that most criticism of female celebrities is just misogyny is really interesting to me because it's something I talk to people about in real life. There's this idea that in mainstream media people love to build female celebrities up and then rip them apart when they get successful, which don't get me wrong is absolutely true, but in some cases it's a little more complicated than that. There are times when certain celebrities brand and present themselves as "the ideal dream woman" of whatever period they're in, and then when the societal image of what "the ideal dream woman" shifts but the celebrity's image doesn't, the facade cracks.

I think a good example of this is Jennifer Lawrence. I was a teenager when the hunger games movies were coming out and was obsessed so I used to watch a lot of the interviews with the cast. Jlaw presentes herself very much as a "cool girl", she was the youngest of 2 older brothers so she was a "tomboy" that loves sports and drinking beers and shots. She also made it a big deal about how she doesn't diet and is constantly eating yet still has a slim body and doesn't know about designer clothes and is so above all this fame thing. Whilst all this was happening the Gone Girl monologue was gaining traction particularly the part about cool girls and how women alter their personality for men's consumption. Eventually people caught on about all the fictional women and celebrities that fall into the trope and were over it, yet jlaw kept up with the persona. Couple that with her continually working with David o Russell, the insensitivity to other cultures, the overexposure and people realising her acting ain't really all that, you have the general public getting sick of her and her having to take a break. She's sort of made a comeback now and people are just chalking her downfall to "misogyny".

I wasn't really following what Taylor was up to in the lead up to her crash because I'd gotten sick of her long before that and avoided her stuff like the plague, but I did see someone on Reddit talk about how her winning album of the year over Kendrick Lemar and then using her speech to shit on another prominent black hip hop artist over something that was a lie wasn't a good luck for her. Add in the racist undertones in shake it off and wildest dreams videos for good measure.

This time around I do think her not adapting to the political and societal change is going to be a major factor if (I hope) she has another downfall. Before I get to the next part I do have to say I'm from England (you may have heard of it but it is a very foreign country/s) so if I'm wrong about the American political atmosphere someone feel free to correct me. After the election of trump there was a whole knew political awakening and conversations happening, one of them being about how Hillary lost due to misogyny (not completely true) so there were conversations about patriarchy, sexism, double standards and all that. This was the perfect climate for Taylor to be able to swoop in and use all these buzzwords she's learnt and blame anything bad that happened to her on misogyny and made all of her problems into "women problems". You had her giving quotes like how women are only allowed to react or some shit and released "the man" (side note but does anyone else find the bridge to the song kind of racist? Especially the way she's constantly compared to black artists?). She was of course celebrated for all this and had successfully rebranded to politically conscious Taylor Swift.

I don't think she expected the political climate to shift so quickly once again. In 2020 we had those viral videos of white women calling the cops on black people and the conversations about how white women use their privilege and tears to harm others and get away with it. During BLM there were talks about how certain white women will present themselves as allies and progressive but still have friends and date people who are bigots showing their politics is skin deep *cough cough*. COVID had us talking about the disconnect from celebrities about the real world and how capitalism is just another plague that is killing us normal people. You had certain companies and people becoming billionaires during this time and this truly began the crumbling of the pedestal the rich and famous were on.

Flashforward to now, where there are multiple genocides happening in front of our eyes. A time where you can't open any social media site without seeing innocents being slaughtered in ways that fills you with a rage and sorrow I can't even put into words. A time where our world leaders are doing Jake shit like some Arab leaders or actively funding it like the UK and US. A large number of Americans are saying they won't vote for Biden next year, others are screaming if you do that we'll get a repeat of 2016. But people are rightfully pointing out that Hilary is also a war criminal and the DNC were told people are not going to vote for her so pick a different candidate, they didn't and lo and behold those people stuck to their word. Women being in power does nothing if they uphold the same system which is exactly what women like Taylor do.

So the women Taylor rebranded herself to is the exact kind of woman whos shit people are sick of. Her face literally being used as the face of the western media ignoring the atrocities happening to brown and black people and upholding the status quo is just poetic justice. Add in the absolute shallowness of that interview and the whole capitalism is okay when you're girl bossing and you've got people wondering who the fuck does she thinks she is.

There's obviously a lot more to any potential crash Taylor may have and this is all my observations that may be wrong, but I do find all this shit fascinating and I wish people smarter than me would look into it to see if I've got a point.

You’ve got a great point

[violetasteracademic]

Can I beseech the SJM internet space for a moment of consideration?

The mean girl energy in this fandom is WILD.

Reading should never be gate-kept. I think it is INCREDIBLE that a hard working, talented author in fantasy, a genre long held down by men, has changed the reading landscape. I'm so happy people who haven't picked up a book in years are getting back into it because of SJM. She deserves all her success, and everyone deserves the joy of reading an incredible book.

But damn. Some of you never sat in the back of the classroom with cheap box dye purple hair, ripped thumb holes in your black hoodie wardrobe, aggressively hiding your shitty poetry and god awful doodles of dragons and elves and of Daughters of the Moon characters when it was not cool and it shows 🤣

I'm tired of artists, writers, and content creators getting bullied out of this fandom. It's getting worse than white men in the Star Wars fandom when they went *GASP* "woke," by casting women and BIPOC actors. And that's embarrassing. We should all feel embarrassed. Does it not embarrass you to be mean to other women on the internet or harass artists because they want different faeries to fuck each other than you? Does that not unsettle you deep in your bones?

Is it even possible to steer this ship back to a place of kindness, respect, fun and fantasy? I feel like it isn't much to ask to have some basic etiquette for how we speak to artists. Personally, I'm sick of AI. After a while it all starts to look the same. I have so much respect for the time and energy artists continue to contribute to this fandom FOR FREE only to see them get run out by rabid fans who only want to see a character portrayed the way they expect them to be portrayed, or who will literally send death threats for pairings of characters that they do not want to see together. The entitlement is so far behind unhinged I don't even know if there is a word for it.

It's disheartening. I don't know if there is anything to be done. And I know all sides do it. So I am just imploring those who I know will see this in my safe little Elriel bubble, be kind. Stay out of anti spaces. Leave artists who don't portray the art you are hoping to see alone, because someone else might love their work. If the art space is welcoming, we are more likely to find those who have an aesthetic and style we vibe with. If it is unwelcoming, everyone loses.

For a book series written by women for women, with an actual meaningful focus on female friendship, sometimes I wonder what exactly it is people are taking away from these books. This fandom does not behave in a way that is in alignment with the message of the author's books.

Fantasy fandoms should not be a safe space for bullying artists and creators.

[aysanderson]

FANFIC FEMALE VERSION ANDERPERRY !

NOTICES

* English is not my first language

*My girls Anderson and Perry in the movie and my girls Celine and Renné in real life! Double dose of sapphics!

*I would like to post daily, maybe not so long

*Probably +18 content

WELCOME TO THE TORTURED POETS SOCIETY

TAKE 01 . 

And they were roommates.

-Good morning everyone, girls, I'm Tomás, your director and I'm more than happy to announce that you're our cast! Welcome to the Tortured Poets Society!

Well, here we are.

A new movie is exploding with buzz throughout the film industry.

The remake of the famous and appreciated film 

“Dead Poets Society.” now titled Tortured Poets Society. 

For some time now, the producers have been wanting to renew, perhaps bring a new audience to the work, and also the need to finally expose the ideas that were not appropriate in 1990. 

And why not tortured poet girls!

Amazing. 

And so, here they are. The new characters and soon the newest eye candy and stars of the entire film industry. 

And not only was the film the hot news of the moment, but also Renné and Celine, rising actresses and polar opposites as the names to give life to the main characters.

The buzz quickly emerged in the media.

“Ah, but isn’t it a risky bet? A character as controversial as Celine alongside Renné?”

“Renné shouldn’t have stopped making the classics and risked this woke agenda”

“I just hope Celine is polite and doesn’t hit on Reneé, no one is forced to be gay either”

And as for the film, the rumors were even bigger and more venomous.

“It’s risky but the director gave free rein”

“It’s really sad to watch a classic appeal to the agenda.”

“It’s definitely something to make money.”

… 

-And then, I fell hard in the middle of the stage. I could barely understand what was happening. It was so embarrassing, thank goodness the spotlight soon went to the other side of the stage or I wouldn't have had the strength to get up!

Laughter could easily be heard from the lunch table of tortured poets, as the cast called themselves.

It had been a week since the start of the meetings for the beginning of the team bonding period.

The actress in the spotlight, who told a hilarious story about the time she fell in the middle of the stage, was Nancy, or rather, our girl Dalton, who was struggling to tie up her frizzy hair, while her laughter took all the breath away from her. Next to her hovered the calm redhead Sara, better known by her surname Meeks, who tried to help her colleague in her arduous mission of tying up her hair, and laughing and eating and remembering the facts of the story.

In order, the other redhead, Tayla, who was calmly sipping her apple juice and smiling at Nancy, unlike her character, who was reserved, would be and would, as is well known, at some point in the film, exchange blows with Dalton.

On the other side of the table we have the tall Suzie, who will soon be seen as our intelligent and sober Pitts, but who at the moment had a frown and serious brow, focused on her mission to discover the taste of the meat she had bought in the vegan area of the restaurant. Beside her, sharing the same mission, was Jhenny, with a white sweatshirt tied around her shoulders, even though the undeniable heat of Solarium was present without regrets, she wanted to feel the essence of the passionate overstreet.

In the distance, crossing the small street that separated the restaurant from the tables they were sitting at, Celine and Renné captured the eyes of the girls at the table, laughing at their conversation and absorbed in their bubble.

Celine dressed in a black t-shirt of the band she was in and ripped shorts with simple combat boots on her feet, contrasting perfectly with the light-colored pieces that Renné was wearing, a lace dress and small white heels, giving her a delicate and calm air. 

There couldn't have been better choices for our Anderson and Perry than them. 

The yin-yang in its perfect definition. 

Screw the critics. 

.the film will be a success

[unofficialadamtaurus]

(Short Version) Give Me Death Chapter 1 in a nutshell:

(Long Version)

Hi Ares, I read chapter 1 of your 'Give Me Death' fic and overall impressions are that I was right to view this as a heart wrenching tale that would readily put a beloved character and cast through emotional turmoil which in turn is gonna keep me up at night (Admittedly not a hard task but the sentiment still stands).

I really liked how you framed Adam's headspace (ah, to be the very thing you hated >_<;) from beginning to end. His battle honed instincts and self awareness while doing horrendous things seemingly beyond his control right off the bat sets quite the precedent of what to expect in later chapters (more faunus deaths, survivors coming back for revenge, word being spread to the rest of the white fang, etc) but one I can stomach and respect to show ending lives and hopefully the consequences that come with that. I mean ruby having to step over two bodies to reach Weiss?! OAO; It paints a bloody picture.

The girls had a small amount of screen time split among the four of them but I think you utilised it well. Every word they said, I could hear it in my head. Every action you saw fit to have each one show felt as if I could see it with my own two eyes. Their personalities take me back to volume 1 with the limitless potential of what they could do yet their characterisation here is clearly different showing a peek into how they have developed as a team (Weiss bawling on the ground in clear view of others? Blake and Ruby comforting someone they would have kept a distance from at an earlier time? Yang. . . ok there's not much I can say about her but it's simply nice to see her in denial instead of blatant anger). I was not expecting to have uncle qrow (He is like on a list of people I wasn't expecting to even be name dropped in this fic) mentioned but consider me intrigued. Now here are my fav lines and first reaction to them~

Fav lines: 'Adam knows oblivion. He didn't used to; for twenty-three years of life, it was a concept and nothing more.' (Adam with a clear set age in the opening of a fic? Oh this is already gaining a point in my favour).

'By its very nature it is unknowable until he is, at once and without warning, exhumed from it. Sensation crashes through his spinning mind: the ground under his boots, the weight and feel of his clothes, the air rushing into his lungs when he pulls in a reflexive breath.' (This is reminding me alot of when a character got ripped away from her 'afterlife' and believe me when I say that is a compliment.).

'The ghost of Adam Taurus breaks apart into glittering flakes of snow that just as quickly disappear.' (He's pretty. He's sad. You've made him pretty sad).

'Adam knows oblivion and so he knows that this suffocating void isn't it. Within the emptiness in and of himself there is a single anchor. A point of thready white light wrapped around some concept of him.' (I love these three lines, it's giving me 'soul' vibes with the abstract perception of what an individual being is :D).

*claps* OK I'm going to go pass out now with thoughts of reading and reviewing chapter 2 <3

Oh that's a very long version. I'm delighted by that :D

Yeah, I was very proud of that "Adam knows oblivion" blurb. It felt very impactful.

"Pretty sad" is now the official title of that flowers-from-the-face art piece I made the cover art lol

Thanks for taking the time to write such a long review! I'm glad you're enjoying what you've read so far. Not to belittle the later chapters, but I think the first is by far the strongest of the lot. I hope you enjoy the pain that follows :)

[1indigoisles]

Prologue

Strange how some stories start with racing towards the end.

The girl was running as fast as she could, away from a creature that was impossible to describe. It’s appearance was nothing she could relate to from real life, constantly changing shape, emanating blackish smoke that could never come from a fire. It was just black, completely black; so black, it looked 2D. She had just witnessed the creature plunging its talon-like fingers into her friend’s spine, to which he, with a feral howl capable of ripping the skies to shreds, crumbled to ash, or it could have been dust – she was too petrified to tell – leaving only a black image cut out of the exact position he’d been in before disintegrating, his shadow, the girl realised with a jolt, pasted on the walls of the room of pure white.

A place where no one could cast shadows.

A place where creatures like the one after the girl’s blood weren’t supposed to be able to enter.

No one would be able to even begin to guess how and why it had happened; it was impossible for anything like that creature to enter.

But it had, and the girl could testify. If, of course, she lived. Did she even want to live, at this point? Of course she did. Someone like her, someone who had done so many terrible things to stay alive, always would. Even if she had nothing left to go back to. Even if it was all her fault.

But she also ran because if she didn’t, it would mean a lot of bad things for a lot of good people. At least, that’s what a good person’s reason should be. Her life would be slowly sucked out of her, and it would unleash hell. But when she tried to think of it that way, that she was doing the selfless thing by staying alive, it didn’t feel right. She knew she was doing it entirely for herself. She also knew that she was scared, very scared, scared enough that she would have left someone to die if it meant that she could continue running. That she could be safe. And she wished she didn’t know it.

She ran faster.

A little too fast for a human, maybe, but now, any limit to her speed was undesirable, as the creature was unbelievably fast itself and was already close behind, even after she had gotten a few minutes head-start.

Her surroundings were a blur; all she could tell was that she was surrounded by a thick mess of trees, rocks and bushes, and that it was pitch dark, with only the light of the moon and stars to guide her. The sounds of her footsteps were plagued with the crushing of dry leaves and the snapping of twigs, and she could actually smell the metal of her own fear pulsing in her blood. The creature fed on that. Speed was her only advantage, and exactly how long was that going to work in her favour?

I can’t hide from it, she then realised, and a feeling of sharp cold that had nothing to do with the night’s air set into her mind. She was beyond noticing, however. She was just amazed she still had the ability to think.

The girl remembered what it was like to run from something that would inevitably catch you. She’d had a lot of time to think about it, and she’d learnt quite a few things.

One thing about being chased like that was that you always realised too late that you were doomed. People tend to have that one last hope in a near-death situation, that if they tried hard enough, ran fast enough, they could survive.

But soon – it doesn’t matter if it gets better or worse – there’s that point of pure clarity, your head is relieved of all terror, it’s totally clear, and you can somehow think very normally, when you realise that you’re not going to make it.

That feeling is terrifying, but not at that very moment. Remember, you’re trying to save yourself, so you just feel a dreadful cold steal over your entire body. It even chokes you a little. But it doesn’t matter, you would be dead anyway.

And if, by some miracle, you come out of it alive, well, it’s so much worse there isn’t a word for it. Because then, you have the rest of your life to think about that incident, piece it out, try and get over it, maybe. But you never forget it. Some people may go insane or suicidal, but they never forget, not ever.

And the girl never forgot either, even though she had been young, even though 10 years had passed since then, even though she’d done every possible thing she could to forget, to forget that night.

But she never could.

After all, the only memories that truly stayed with you forever were the worst ones, the ones that haunt you forever.

The creature that was apparently after her blood was the very same that had stood, clear and black as night, in a humanoid shape, looking more like a shadow as it seemed to curiously inspect the door of her house when she was six. It lifted a black hand and touched the wood, turning it into shadowy smoke that wafted over it and became part of the creature. The girl watched, standing next to a fallen glass of water she’d been drinking from as the thing stepped into the house and the screams of her parents rent the air.

After that, the memory was unclear, like a blur. Little glimpses of it were all that was left. Her parents screaming, her bedroom floor collapsing with all her things still in it, cold hands trying to snatch her away but warm hands holding her instead, and blood, blood everywhere.

All the girl remembered after that were ambulances, police cars and people shouting. She remembered being covered in blood and sweat and tears, and she remembered seeing some people carrying two adult-sized body-bags out of the house.

She remembered not being able to breathe.

For that was the night her parents died.

And now, the creature was back.

She was running and running, but pants were rising in her breath, her legs, against her will, were slowing and it was not long before the girl, with fear unimaginable, realised the creature had caught her with its claws, legs lifting off the ground as it flew, like an owl with its prey, into the now moonless, starless night.

[blank-vessel]

He couldn’t even close his eyes, they burned from being unable to blink, he could barely talk without the skin of his lips, he could only smell blood, death and decay. Black tears endlessly welled and spilled down the exposed muscles of his cheeks, some slipped over his teeth others just slid to the floor. Both arms were twisted and broken, bone poking through the black muscle and blood dripping, he was in agony there was no other word for it. Oh how he wept from the loss of his legs, oh how he wept from the suffering of his violation, oh how he wept from the beatings and skinning. At her whispered apologies he barely understood before he cried out as she froze the messy stumps of his legs it had him crying and shaking his head, gods it hurt, it was so fucking painful. He saw what had become of them and he knew there was no hope in getting them back.

It was so hard to touch her cheek, the bones of his fingers looked wrong, they were more akin to claws than normal, just like how sharp his teeth were. He stared at her with eyes of black sclera and red irises with a slit of a pupil, he couldn’t even talk very well and after that attempt of a compliment he couldn’t even try again. As she took his arms he cried out, he couldn’t hold it back, his voice melting into groans as she reset the bones in his arm; the other had far too much damage to be considered saveable, if anything it would be best to be amputated with how they had all but destroyed it.

He lay there struggling to breathe, bathed in his own blood, his haunting appearance unforgettable from the black colour of his muscles to the stark white bone and the red of his eyes, his once white hair and some features that looked… twisted and wrong. As she moved him a moan escaped him and he shook, his destroyed arm hung limb and useless, the other in the cast of her shirt; but that wasn’t all, in fact as she moved him there was a pop and more blood flowed as from his lower back a long bone tail was growing, it’s tip a blade of all too familiar shape. As she wept he didn’t understand, but she felt so cool he pressed what he could of his face into her neck, the light felt so welcoming he was held. Yet as Izzy made her wish there was movement in the endless darkness around them, it heard her wishes and felt all too amused by the prospect. The true dark looked to the true light as they sank their teeth into his wings, ripping slowly to pry them free from his back, whispering if he wants to play this game that if the boy didn’t comply then they would take the girl instead. He had their permission to begin the game, to send them away to back where the girl came from. After all he had brought her here.

@blank-vessel

It was odd when he star would randomly light up as if granting a wish that no one spoke. It had been happening on and off for the past several years and she didn't know what was causing it or why. When she'd asked Cinder about it he looked sad and just gently pet her hair. He told her that her star was granting last wishes to doomed souls who had nothing left. She had become somewhat of a mercy to the damned giving them one last chance at seeing the light before being dragged into the dark. It broke her heart because she didn't understand. Had he caused this? It wasn't fair to her being used like that. All she could do was try not to think about it.

It all came to a head one day when she was trying to relax and calm her mind. One moment she was walking to the kitchen and the next she was standing in a room that stank of blood and death. The walls were rotting and nothing but a black void could be seen outside. Tensing up she wanted to flee before she saw him. Or what was left of him. The man had been torn apart and his legs were gone. It looked like he'd been skinned alive and his chest was ripped open like a skeletal maw. Organs were pulled out and splayed about save for his heart that seemed to be struggling to beat. Horror and anguish tore at her as bloody tears spilled down her cheeks. Stumbling over to him she didn't know what to do. Mindlessly she tried to put him back together. Stuffing his organs back in she grabbed his ribs to close them before noticing he was staring at her. Lip quivering she tried to stay strong. "What they did to ya was wrong. I am so fuckin sorry that I was all ya got fer yer last wish. Ya deserve so much more."

[yn-ymn-yln]

The Loner and The Freak

Eddie Munson x reader 

Word count: 1247

Summary: After a run in with the high school cheer squad you go to the only person who makes you feel safe. 

*Hurt/Comfort and Fluff* 

*Eddie really got me back on my bullshit huh?*

“Stop running LONER!”

“Yeah! We just want to talk! Come on!”

Prey… that’s what you were.

Tearing through the woods as fast as your feet would carry you, you don’t glance back to your pursuers, knowing the distance between you and them was growing smaller with each labored breath you took. You imagine this is what the gazelles on national geographic must feel like, eyes wide and searching for an escape, minds muddled with lost hope that they could avoid being someone else’s dinner.

Maybe that’s how this was meant to end. The script you couldn’t see would clearly have printed local loser gets mauled by relentless cheerleaders.

Ducking behind a tree, you quiet your presence as much as you can. Sparing one of your hands wrapped around your knees, you clamp it over your mouth, ears listening for any sounds indicating you weren’t alone. The snapping of branches in the distance tells you they’re close, but not close enough to warrant you bolting out of cover.

“You know you can’t hide forever Y/l/n! If we don’t find you now, we’ll just wait for you at school tomorrow!”

“Is this really worth it?” You almost scoff at the bored tone of the teenage girl. Obviously tormenting you wasn’t as entertaining as she thought. “… All I’m saying is we could be doing something better than running through the woods.”

“Fine! God, you both suck.”

The retreating footsteps of pristine white sneakers sends your frantic heartbeat into a some-what more casual rhythm. As silence fills the air around you once more, you finally allow your defenses to crumble. Trembling hands and harsh pants wrack your frame as your fear manifests itself with thoughts of what could have happened. Images of bloody noses and bruised knuckles play through your mind, while taunting voices promising that no one cared enough to come for you were looping endlessly. The cycle only breaks when the chilled February air caresses your frame, reminding you of the slowly sinking temperature. Winter in Hawkins had never been kind, even less so to the unfortunate souls that found themselves sobbing on the damp leaves still present from a season long since passed.

Dragging your sleeve over your eyes, you collect yourself as much as you can, taking off in the direction of the one person you knew would keep you safe.

Eddie.  

Your savior sits on the steps in front of his trailer, cigarette hanging lazily between his lips, face cast towards the last remnants of fading sunlight. You watch from a distance as his eyes close in contentment, soft brown taking a reprieve from the retched world surrounding him. He doesn’t notice your approach at first, fingers drumming on the exposed skin of his ripped jeans, thoughts far away from you and your endless troubles, but when he does? You swear he becomes his own sun.

“There you are! I waited for like an hour, figured you forgot and walked home.” Without acknowledging his words, you slam yourself into his warm embrace. Face pressed so close to his heart you almost don’t detect the worry in his tone. “You okay sweetheart?”

No.

“Y/n?”

What made you so inferior to everyone else?

“I hate them.” Your voice is wrecked, but it’s almost unnoticeable through the fabric of Eddie’s hellfire shirt.

“Hate who? What happened?” He tries to back away from you, wanting distance to get a peak at your face if only to reassure himself that you weren’t hurt. “Baby?” The cracks in your dam deepen, chunks of concrete chipping away until suddenly it collapses, sobs rip through you at such a rate you worry you’ll make yourself sick.

“I H-hate them so m-much.” He tightens his grip then, pulling you as close to his body as he can, shielding you from everything and everyone.

“Hey, shh, shh, you’re okay baby. I’m right here.” He lets you take your time calming down, gently rocking you back and forth until your breathing evens out. “There’s my pretty girl, why don’t we go inside? Maybe lay down for a bit?” you nod your approval, allowing him to lead you towards his room. You swear these four walls are magic, maybe its just the traces of Eddie you can find anywhere you look, or the memories you made here together, pieces of each of you scattered around the messy space.

He sits you down on the edge of his bed, kneeling in front of you to finally get a good look at the person he fell in love with, the concern radiating off of him is palpable.

“Talk to me sweetheart.” You worry your lip as you gaze into his eyes. Words getting stuck in your throat momentarily before your forcing them out.  

“I’m exhausted Eds. I’m so fucking tired of being hated for everything I do. Why can’t they just leave me the hell alone?” Frustration bubbles up within you, causing you to rub at your face roughly. “I know I shouldn’t let it get to me. I know it’ll only feed their fire, but how long am I expected to run without a damn break?” Eddie wasn’t new to the cheerleader’s insistence on nagging you, though it had never gotten you this worked up before, he knows everyone has their limits. At that he brings you closer, noses brushing as his eyes gaze into yours. He doesn’t speak for a moment, instead he lets his closeness soothe some of the ache in your heart.

“I’m always here Y/n, no matter what. When things are too much, come get me. I may not be able to kick the cheer squad’s ass but I sure as shit can egg their houses.” You can’t fight the smile that slowly blooms on your features, the ridiculousness of your boyfriend’s statement mending a piece of your soul.

“Promise?”  

“Oh, baby I’ll go buy a dozen eggs right now if you want.” The infectious happiness that seems to follow Eddie around like a shadow never ceases to amaze you. Especially now, as your thrown back with the force of your laughter, despite crying only minutes ago. He chuckles with you, running his fingers over your forehead from his position on the ground. “I love you. You know that right?” His smile never falters, though you pick up the undertone of guilt at the edge of his voice.

“Edward Munson, no one and I mean no one has ever made me feel as loved as I do with you. and I love you too” Eddie clambers unceremoniously onto the bed then, burrowing into your neck as his arms wrap around you. his hair tickling you as he gets comfortable.

“We’re gonna get out of this shithole soon. Run as far the fuck away from here as we can and never look back.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm, get our own little place, maybe even get a cat.” Your fingers glide over his cheek, pushing his wild locks behind his ear as he continues. “Course we can’t run too far, Henderson would kill me.”

“Oh my god do I have to share custody with Dustin?” You roll your eyes with fake exasperation, your love for the curly haired weirdo just as strong as Eddie’s.

“Afraid so.”

“I guess you’re worth it, though I totally call having you on Christmas.” Manic laughter sounds by your ear as Eddie pulls away, his lips peppering kisses all over your face.

“Good luck with that sweetheart.”

[demonslayedher]

I lost a bet to myself and paid the price by making another demon sibling AU. Was originally just going to be headcanons and doodles, but I wound up writing the parts I felt like. The names of Tengen's siblings are entirely made up. This will come in two parts due to length.

Clicking each bone in his spine, Yogen stood to his full height, taller than Tengen remembered. It wasn't uncommon to go long periods of time without seeing his siblings when they were on their own missions, but Yogen shouldn't had changed that much. "I'll spare you. It wouldn't do for the Uzui clan not to have a head. Now you're the strongest one."

"...Yogen..."

"I wouldn't had been able to take you on, if not for the fact that you'd never have done it if you knew. You should thank me, Aniki. You know what I've spared you? Father was going to make us all have a fight to the death. You'd have done at least half of this."

"What have you done!?"

"I ate them," he laughed, something Tengen had never heard Yogen do in his adult voice. He had the most infectious laugh when they were children, and this rang with the same pleasure, however dissonant. "I was stunned too, at first. When I came to, I had eaten two of them, they were still warm in my mouth, their cells already nourishing mine. But you know what? I decided to eat the others. I was going to kill them anyway, what difference does it make that I should eat them?"

Tengen's face pearled back into a snarl, his eyes flaring.

"One, two, three... Eizen got away before I could bite him, though. That whelp would had done nothing for me. The one I really wanted to eat was the strongest," he said, his glowing white eyes shifting down to their father's fresh corpse. "And now, even he's nothing to me."

Tengen could stand no more of this. "Yogen!!" he screamed and gripped one of the swords at his back, and charged at Yogen all in one motion. A hard sickle burst out of the flesh of Yogen's arm and caught it, but when Tengen pulled his other sword down through Yogen's shoulder and chest, the sound of ripping sinews what different than it should had been. A look over to the injury revealed that the shoulder was repairing itself before Tengen's eyes. When had he learned any technique like that?

The momentary lapse in focus caught him, Yogen swiped up against Tengen's forearm. It felt too varied to had been spiked knuckles--those were his fingertips, he had grown claws. Tengen drew a sword up to lop off Yogen's forearm, and then his brother let out a shrill scream as his features lit up and revealed how contorted they had become. Yogen didn't look human anymore with how his veins bulged and burned. Burned? From what? Tengen took a look over his shoulder to the sun rising and casting light through the wide open door, and when he looked back, Yogen was gone.

---

Tengen watched the flames consume the house and the bodies of his slain family. He had combed it for any trace of Yogen, but his brother left none. Hope though he did that the flames may consume Yogen too, he knew in his gut that he was still out there.

Behind him, Suma sneezed in a gust of smoke that wafted into her face. Hinatsuru handed her a handkerchief, as she and Makio were already covering their faces in case of poison. Tengen didn't bother, he was resistent to most ninja poisons, and the scratches down his forearm were already less swollen. "You three should go back to your homes."

"No!" insisted Suma.

"We're already members of the Uzui clan," said Hinatsuru.

"Your revenge is ours," added Makio.

Hinatsuru made the most important point, they were already seen as his property. He could hear whispers and feel them all being watched; the other ninja clans knew what had befallen the most powerful family, and the Uzui name was now shunned. Even if Tengen wanted to stay, he had no place in the village, and neither did anything that belonged to him. The only thing left for him now was to track his brother down and drag him to hell.

Someone else was approaching, and Tengen reached for one sword. Uneven footsteps. One didn't have the splat of a foot, it was the thunk of wood--a cane, or two canes? A leisurely, but determined pace. Self-assuredness, even for entering ninja territory. A robust heartbeat. Who was coming?

"Well, is that what you all look like? I feel like I've wandered into one of those storybooks," said an old man. He had one missing leg, a full head of hair and moustache to rival it, a grin, and a telltale scar lining the underside of his left eye. "I had always left your kind alone, but I couldn't when I felt the presence of a demon over here."

"Who are you?" Tengen asked, stetching one arm before his wives while the other hand stayed at his weapon.

"You didn't chop its head off, did you, ninja boy? It's long gone by now, you know. It'll hide from daylight. Be even more trouble to find if it's one of your folk."

"How do you know about us?" Makio shot back.

"How do you children not know about demons? Aye," the old man huffed to himself as he set down a stool he carried. He planted his rump on it, then folded his arms. "The name's Kuwajima Jigoro, former Roaring Pillar of the Demon Slayer Corp. I figured this would be out of your expertise, so I've come to help."

Tengen felt in his gut he could trust that. He dropped to one knee and bowed his head, his wives all doing likewise behind him. Jigoro seemed to enjoy that, but insisted they do not. Instead of bowing, he'd appreciate the ladies rubbing his shoulders to display their gratitude, he said.

While Hinatsuru and Makio set about at each arm, Suma kneeled at his remaining foot with a gasp. "Aren't old people not supposed to be this beefy?"

"Can it, Suma!" chided Makio.

Hinatsuru said nothing, but could feel something was different in this man, not only in his physique. Whatever he had to say was going to change their lives more than the previous night already had. They all listened carefully as Jigoro orated about the existence of demons, how they eat humans, how they are near impossible to kill, but also the methods of those who hunt them, with specialized blades and an organization to support them. As he began describing Breath, however, Tengen stopped him. "I already know all that, that's ninjutsu basics. That's not giving me anything I don’t already have."

"Oh? I figured as much. Always made me curious about you pups. So you you've got the basics of Breath technique, huh?"

"It's beyond basic," he shot him an annoyed frown.

"I'll be the judge of that. See that tree over there? That's probably about the strength of the usual demon neck. Go hog wild on it." As much as showing off was against the ninja code, Tengen wasn't in the mood to argue and made short work of that tree, the only sound being the pop of it seperating into two halves. Jigoro gave him a clap, then stood with his cane. "Good accuracy. Spot on. Now you pick one out for me. Take some mercy, though, I'm only working at half-strength." He balanced on his foot and his peg, plopping the end of his cane in his palm to show off that he meant to use it in place of a sword. Tengen hated when other people tried to be show-offs, so he pointed to a tree a few rings thicker than the one he had cut.

The old man eyed it, then slid his good foot through the dirt, and as he leaned forward, clouds of steam rose from his lips. "Breath of Thunder, Fifth Form. Heat Lightning."

The sound hit Tengen so hard that he covered his ears, and the old man was gone--on the other side of the tree, which was not only cleanly chopped, but split itself in half vertically as it fell. A rarity, Tengen's jaw dropped. Jigoro looked back with a fierce grin, knowing he'd have left them all impressed.

Rather than one knee, Tengen planted his palms and face to the ground. "Please teach me this technique, Master."

"When did I ever say I wanted a student like you? You already said you know Breath technique, don't you?"

"You won't teach him?" Suma sat straight up, little tears in the corners of her eyes.

"I only want students with talents I can mold. You're already set your ways and would just try to make Thunder Breathing into what you want. You can't fill a full tea cup, as they say."

Tengen wanted to insist he's do anything to take his revenge, but the old man was right. As he was, he wouldn't be able to unlearn everything he always knew, it was as much a part of him as every experience and memory, like every scar, such as the ones running down his left arm.

"The true nature of Thunder Breathing would escape you, you'd get too caught up in how powerful it looks. You're too flashy!"

His cheeks flushed. "Say that again."

"You're too... flashy? I don't think a ninja should find that a compliment."

"You can't tell him all that and then not train him!" insisted Makio. "Please! There's got to be something you can do! Tengen-sama works really hard!"

"Tengen-sama works harder than anyone!"

"Please, Master. Tengen-sama can think flexibly, please give him a chance."

"I won't! I can already tell he's not the sort of student I'm looking for!" he barked back, and Suma burst out into sobs, while Hinatsuru hid delicate tears and Makio's face turned dark red. Jigoro flinched at the sight of the upset girls, then looked back to Tengen. "I--I didn't come out here to leave you high and dry, you know. I already told you about the Corp, didn't I? That's where you really need to go. I can't teach you Thunder Breathing, but if you really think you can pick up something new, there's an old scroll I've got of an off-shoot Breath. Someone like you might be able to pull it off. What do you say, ninja boy? How about I give that to you and you teach yourself Sound Breathing?"

---

From there, Tengen took much the same course as in canon. When he became a Pillar and had his meeting with Oyakata-sama, he was upfront about his reasons for entering the Corp. Oyakata-sama appreciated his frankness and assured him that the entire Corp would support him if they found any information on Yogen, but Oyakata-sama was also keen on the undercurrent of Tengen's heart; that he was relieved to leave the murderous ways of ninja, and that he wanted to live an upright life. This finally gave words to something Tengen always felt, but thought he had no right to wish for. He and his wives were moved and they swore loyalty to Oyakata-sama.

However, as time went on, there were no clues whatsoever about Yogen. Around the time they all got antsy, Makio finally couldn't stand it anymore and suggested they may never find him. "Think about it," she said. "This Corp is full of strong swordsmen. Someone might had already chopped off his head long before we got here."

While that should had come as a relief, Tengen couldn't help but find the idea frustrating. That revenge was his to take. He could think of only one person stronger than him who might had done it, so he described Yogen to Himejima one day and asked if he remembered seeing a demon like that. Himejima plainly replied that he was blind.

As they began to accept that they may never have closure, Hinatsuru proposed that they be satisfied bagging an Upper Moon. That should be enough for them to earn their peace, she said, and as much as it grinded away at Tengen's heart, he agreed.

In the course of performing Tengen's Pillar duties, they closed in on what was likely an Upper Moon in Yoshiwara. Hinatsuru, Makio, and Suma slipped in, but when he lost contact, Tengen went looking for some female Corp members to sneak in and see what was up. That's when he reencountered the boy whose head he meant to spill at the last Pillar meeting, as well as his two annoying buddies. Inosuke would had been satisfyingly flamboyant, if not for the fact that he was gross. The other whelp was named Zenitsu.

"You write that 'Zen' with the kanji for virtue?"

"Yeah. What's it to you?"

"Nothing," Tengen replied, never saying anything of it ever again. It didn't take long for him to notice that Zenitsu had ears on par with his own.

The boys managed to get in, and soon the plan went awry. Tengen's first encounter with an Upper Moon broke out, and that went awry in the most horrifically flamboyant of ways. Tengen found himself unconscious, needing to stop his heart to keep the demon poison from spreading, as it was many times more potent than any ninja or demon poison he encountered before. There was fire in the wreckage nearby, he'd be consumed if he doesn't move soon. In the odd space where consciousness was returning to him, his hearing reached into a deeper plain, where he could hear the most carnal thoughts pounding though the bodies of those around him.

Tanjiro was panicking.

No scent! No scent! Upper Moon Five--where did--but--no scent! No scent!!

Tengen could hear Upper Moon Six, in both bodies, but he couldn't hear any other demon. It gave off no sound. He struggled to look in Tanjiro's direction, and was stunned by the sight of a demon partway sticking out of the shadow Tanjiro has cast, guarding Upper Moon Six with a kunai stuck in his arm.

"Sakage!" growled Upper Moon Six. That is not the demon's name. "I don't need you here! Were you intruding on my thoughts?"

"I didn't need to. I heard the cacophony from ages away. You wouldn't had seen wisteria coming anyway."

Upper Moon Six looked to the kunai, while Tanjiro panicked that the poison had no effect on the newly arrived demon.

"Quit with all the fuss. I'd appreciate it if you hurry up and silence that Pillar over there," he turned his glance to Tengen. His eyes had writing in them, but that was Yogen. "I can't be bothered."

Yogen disappeared into the shadow as suddenly as he appeared, and Tanjiro fell forward with a stumble. He'd be a sitting duck like that, Tengen had to go save him, he pushed himself off the ground to--but--but his arm was missing--the scars were torn off-----

---

Yogen had been quick to learn some of the ins and outs of being a demon, but not all the finer details. He gathered from the surrounding demons' fear of the drum demon that the "Twelve Moons" were the most fearsome demons, closest to their progenitor, but didn't those other demons notice that the drum demon couldn't stomach humans as he ate them? That demon was weak, and Yogen wouldn't stand for it. He cut off his head.

It did not kill the demon, who screamed at him with the characters "Lower Six" in one of his eyes, but he shut up quick when Kibutsuji Muzan arrived. Despite warning Yogen that this was not how fights between demons were done and he should kill Yogen for acting without permission, Muzan smilingly decided to allow it, and instructed him to absorb the former Lower Moon Six and assume his role. Muzan did not care for how Yogen's name referenced sunlight, though. He renamed him Sakage on a whim.

Sakage went on to learn very quickly how to please Muzan, and how to climb the ranks. While not immune, he could resist wisteria poison, which Muzan was more than pleased to borrow from him and see how he could try to adopt it into his own cells. Sakage could move between connected shadows, and in spying on the Corp, he picked up on the hand signs the swordsmen used and quickly deciphered them, and openly reported so to the demons that outranked him. With hearing far more advanced that his brother's ever was, he listened to the information shared between crows, piecing apart their language to the best of his understanding.

Lower Moons Three and Two later, he used his spying abilities to identify his next target: Upper Moon Five.

Gyokko was startled by the challenge, and under Muzan's gaze, he could not refuse. Sakage made short work of him, and the other Moons all felt a chill. Akaza's chill was excitement.

Akaza wasted no time in chatting up the new Upper Moon, for Sakage likewise had a stated hatred for weaklings. While Sakage did find it a bit of a bother, especially since he knew he was a long way from ever being able to pose a real challenge to Akaza, he learned that the quickest way to stop Akaza from pestering him was to spar. Akaza loved to chit-chat even while sparring, though, and this became a useful way for Sakage to catch up on a hundred years of gossip about the other Upper Moons.

While it did feel they had somewhat of a friendship, one day they got on the topic of poison. "I hate people who use poison," said Akaza, between punches. "It's as cowardly and low as you can get."

Sakage, who could create a myriad of weapons from his cells as needed and always laced them in poison, was not offended, but disagreed. "I see no problem in being effective."

This gave Akaza pause, and an uncomfortable drop in his stomach. He excused himself, and bothered Sakage not so often after that.

Muzan was typically pleased with Sakage, which made Hantengu tremble that the ambitious demon had it out for him next. When Muzan was in a foul mood after Upper Moon Six's defeat, Sakage was likewise in a bad mood for the annoyance he encountered out there, someone who should had stayed hidden away instead of bearing free his inherently show-offy personality by joining the Demon Slayer Corp, especially since he was sure to have his ears set to the ground now for any new sign of him. He was certain Tengen witnessed him. But, for as much of an insult as it was to the Upper Moons that Gyutaro let him live, Tengen wouldn't be much of a threat anymore.

Still, Sakage knew to keep his cool. He had news to report, and he was certain of his deciphering. When he declared where the swordsmith village was located, Muzan had no doubts, and sent Hantengu alone. "Now why couldn't you find that, after all this time?" Muzan smirked to Nakime. She, not being of any rank, could merely apologize. Sakage took no pleasure or pride in looking better than a peer whom he knew he was stronger than. Muzan's mood could never be sustained for long, though, and he very soon frowned back to him. "You've brought no word of the blue spider lily."

"My apologies."

"Aren't ninja supposed to have knowledge of these things? Weren't you of a high ranking clan? Go back and order them to search."

And, at that moment, a dangerous thought escaped Sakage's inner filter, it leaked though to his mind at the same moment it leaked to Muzan's: But I can't show my face back there.

The way Muzan's face bent with disgust drove more terror into Sakage than when he was still a human and first encountered the demon lord. He felt certain of a swift death, but Muzan let him be. Sakage was still too useful. But, Sakage knew he'd have to crawl back to Muzan's graces by providing something of more use to him. He had to unveil a secret of more value.

--

Tengen, who remained active despite missing an eye and a hand, was present at an emergency Pillar meeting. Tokito and Kanroji were bandaged up, and they recounted how the swordsmith village was attacked by Upper Moon Four. With two Pillars and a few other reliable Corp members all working together they defeated him well before daybreak, but not before discovering an ancient ability known only as "the mark."

As he was now, Tengen knew he'd never attain this. What bothered him more was how the demons found the village, so hidden that he'd have to put his mind to it to have figured out where it was. He could had resorted to old tricks to figure it out, whether that be silently tracking the smiths after their deliveries or flirting with the Kakushi, but what recourse would a demon have had?

'I heard the cacophony----'

A demon may have had ears that rivaled his own, or were better!

Feeling sure of which demon it may had been, he set to thinking of what he would do next. If the demon moved in shadow, listening for the Corps' secrets, what would be a bigger target than the swordsmith village?

Oyakata-sama!

"Uzui-san, are you alright?" asked Himejima. "You seem quiet today."

"You look pale," added Kanroji.

"I'm jealous I won't get one of those flashy marks," he lief without flaw. "We all know I can't take any demons on like I used to. Maybe I don’t belong here."

"Uzui, what sort of talk is that?" Iguro looked to him with his flamboyant dichromatic eyes wide, and brows knit tight over them. "This isn't like you."

"I've got a different sort of mission to go on, I'll see myself out. You all stay here and keep each other company discussing this."

"Then I'll excuse myself here as well--"

"Not you, you've got no excuse," Uzui forced Tomioka back to a seated position by pressing on his head.

In conducting his own investigation, Tengen set his crow to work investigating from the sky. What the crow learned, tracing a few leaks and scolding the birds involved, was that their mid-air communications may had been what spoiled the secret location. This confirmed Tengen's suspicion about Yogen's hearing. He had a feeling about some other spoiled secrets too, and in following up with Corp members involved in previous mishaps, he concluded that the secret hand signals had been divulged.

--

(Read the conclusion reblog here.)

[justathoughtfulangel]

What Could Have Been ~ Kai Parker One Shot

*not my gif

This piece was meant to be posted on June 26th, but I realized June 20th is the anniversary of the date I started writing for Malachai Parker! I figured it was worth a mini celebration :)

Word Count: 1,577

Description: They'd known each other their whole lives and were always meant to be. Unfortunately, not everything which is meant to gets to be. Some things are just left as what could have been.

This IS a reader insert fic; I just don’t like writing with Y/N in the place of names. Use Rosalie/Rosie/Rose as a placeholder for Y/N :)

Requested: No

Note: The structure of this piece will be a bit different. I'll be writing snapshots of Kai and the Reader character's (Rosalie's) life.

'~' denotes a switch between Kai and the Reader's POV and '~~~' denotes a change in scene. Kai's portion of the story will be written chronologically while the Reader's side of the story will be presented in reverse chronological order. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it :)

A 5-year-old Kai hoisted his blue Mickey Mouse backpack over his shoulder and waved goodbye to his mom. Hand-in-hand with his twin sister, he skipped into the classroom, excited for his first day of kindergarten. He was a little anxious when Josette was sent into a different classroom. His lower lip had just begun to quiver when a little girl came up to him, holding out her box of crayons. “Hi! My name’s Rosie. Do you want to color with me?”

~

A 40-year-old Rosalie stood with shaking legs as Kai’s spell ended. The Coven gathered around him, chanting the same spell that cast him into the prison world. He was almost amused, and she was heartbroken. Long gone was the happy, young boy she’d met. They had turned Kai into this, and they’d brought this misery upon themselves. She felt her consciousness escape her, and the last of her life floated from her…

~~~

A 9-year-old Kai fell to the ground as his cousin shoved him. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t have magic, but everyone in the Coven treated him like he was vermin. Even his parents called him an abomination. The only person he liked playing with was Rosie. Her family was in the Coven, too, and they were the only ones who treated him with love. He wanted to go live with them. Rosie stomped over, pushing his cousin to the ground right back. “Don’t treat Kai that way!”

~

A 40-year-old Rosalie took the chart from the charge nurse, thanking her absentmindedly as she reviewed the symptoms. 22-year-old­ John Doe – complains of nausea, vomiting, and insomnia. CT scans clear. Knocking on the door, Rose stepped in. She couldn’t even bring herself to greet him. “Rosalie?” It was him. He looked just as he had the last time she saw him. “Malachai…” There were questions spinning through her mind at a mile a minute. For now, all she could focus on was the relief of knowing that he was here.

~~~

A 14-year-old Kai held a single flower behind his back. It was one he plucked from the hidden cove where he’d escape with Rose. He saw her walking toward him, dressed in ripped jeans and an old t-shirt with her hair in a carefree ponytail. He’d seen her at Coven dinners and jogging at the gym; Kai’s young heart fluttered all the same. Rosalie stood in front of him, leaning in for a quick kiss on his cheek. Before her lips brushed against his cheek, Kai turned his head and stole her first kiss.

~

A 40-year-old Rosalie shrugged her white coat off, folding it up neatly before placing it in her closet. She’d spent most of her life studying, and now she was teaching. She was surrounded by people during the day but completely alone at night – alone with her thoughts. There was always a thought that showed up without warning, like a plague she couldn’t escape. She thought of Malachai every day without fail. Rosalie had no idea that, many miles away, Kai had returned.

~~~

A 19-year-old Kai snuggled his girl as she slept, watching the sunrise from her bedroom window. Her parents were out of town, and they’d just spent their first night together. A strand of her hair was covering her beautiful face; he gingerly brushed it aside. As he did, Rosalie opened her beautiful eyes. The smile on her face was gentle and content. “I love you, Malachai.” He’d heard the name said so many times in so many tones. Hearing it from her was special, unmatched by any other. “I love you, too, Rosalie.”

~

A 30-year-old Rosalie glanced around her childhood bedroom. She was moving away forever. She couldn’t bring herself to come back, even to visit. Kai’s memory was around every corner, and it was too painful to remember him. She had faith he wasn’t dead, but what difference did it make? He was trapped in a prison for all of eternity, and she’d never be able to see him again. He’d never know how much she loved him.

~~~

A 22-year-old Malachai screamed as he fell to the ground. He had snapped, killing his siblings without a thought or care in the world. The Coven chanted around him, and the sky seemed to open up, sucking him upwards and to his death. At that moment, Kai felt many things: despair, anger, grief… most of all, he felt pain. He’d never see her again, and it was a punishment he’d brought upon himself.

~

A 22-year-old Rosalie ran to the site of the merge. She felt a deep sense of dread and anxiety. Something was going to go very, very wrong. She ran as fast as she could, but it was too late. Rose got to see one final glimpse of Kai before he vanished in a cold, harsh flash of light. The scream she let out rivaled the one he had released. She would never see him again, and it was a punishment she could never have imagined.

~~~

A frozen Kai lay in Rosalie’s bed. He couldn’t bring himself to leave the town, not when he could still somewhat feel her here. Kai had a few years to ponder what he had done, and he couldn’t truly regret it. Of course, if he had Rose, he would have learned to repent. But he didn’t. Kai wasn’t always a monster, but they had turned him into one. Now, nothing could stop him from finding his way out and killing them all – taking the Coven Leadership that was his birthright.

~

A 19-year-old Rosalie felt a loving hand brush away a strand of her hair, waking her up. There were just a few rays of sunshine in her bedroom, warming her just as the memories of their first time did. “I love you, Malachai.” She truly did. Every bone in her body felt love unimaginable for this erratic, crazy, beautiful boy. “I love you, too, Rosalie.” Taking a deep breath, she nuzzled into the crook of his neck, feeling his heartbeat chime in sync with hers.

~~~

A 22-year-old Kai exhaled as he felt his feet on the ground. He was back. After eighteen years of exile, he had returned to the real world. Malachai was changed now. He was hardened, unable to feel anything. Despite his sociopathic tendencies, his mind flashed to Rosalie. She was much older now. He was certain that for her, he’d been reduced to a childhood memory. Nothing or no one could heal him. Kai had one goal, and he would succeed no matter the cost. 

~

A 14-year-old Rosalie dashed out the door, eager to meet Kai. They were going to head to the hidden cove where Kai could find some reprieve from his tough family life. She saw him waiting down the street, dressed in his grey sweatpants and a ratty black sweatshirt. She couldn’t help but smile, her young heart fluttering at her little crush. She stood in front of him, then, leaning in for a quick kiss on his cheek. Before she could, she found Kai’s lips against hers.

~~~

A 22-year-old Malachai waited for the doctor. He had been severely ill, and now, if he went down, the Coven would go down with him. It was strange. They’d destroyed any goodness left in him, but when he absorbed Luke’s personality, he wanted to try again. The doctor walked in, and his heart leaped, somehow simultaneously shattering into a million pieces. “Rosalie?” She was eighteen years older now, but he could never forget those eyes. Kai had remembered them no matter how the days blurred into each other, and with her here now, he didn’t know how to feel.

~

A 9-year-old Rosalie rushed out of the classroom, looking for her best friend. She always got very upset when people hurt Kai. Not having magic didn’t make him any less of a person. Her mommy and daddy made sure Kai felt accepted, too. Rosie glanced around the playground, seeing Kai’s bully of a cousin shove him to the ground. She rushed over, standing in front of her hurt friend, and pushed him away. “Don’t treat Kai that way!”

~~~

A 22-year-old Malachai took great pleasure in crashing his twin sister’s wedding. Tonight marked the end of the Gemini Coven – and the last night of Kai Parker’s life. He had a vial of Lily Salvatore’s blood tucked into his suit jacket, but he didn’t drink it. This would be his revenge, and then there would be nothing to live for. His last selfish act would be taking Rosalie with him in death. As the glass shard plunged into his neck, Kai’s gaze fell on Rose. She fell to the ground, her life leaving her. They were always meant to be, but now they would always be what could have been….

~

A 5-year-old Rosalie chose a Scooby-Do coloring page. She shuffled the crayons around, searching for the purple. It would’ve been so silly to give Scooby purple fur! Before she could start, a little boy sat beside her. He looked sad, and she wanted to help. Scooting over to the seat beside him, Rosalie held out the crayons to him and put the coloring book in front of him. “Hi! My name’s Rosie. Do you want to color with me?” The little boy sniffled, and his green eyes met hers – now twinkling with excitement.

~~~

Thank you very much for reading my new Kai Parker One-Shot! I hope the structure wasn't too difficult to follow. Through this piece, I wanted to give myself a structural writing challenge and also hoped to illustrate how darkness is never born, it is created.

Please feel free to send any thoughts/comments/constructive criticisms my way. I always welcome them :) If you'd like to be tagged in my future Kai Parker works, leave a comment here or shoot me a message!

If you enjoyed this piece, feel free to check out my other works from my Malachai Parker Masterlist <3 It's pinned to the top of my profile.

Until next time, JustAThoughtfulAngel :)

Taglist: @socio-kai-path1972, @bluelicious, @genevivetaylor, @prettybitchfatwitch

[junghelioseok]

clandestine. | 06

↳ forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ smut | fluff | brother’s best friend!au ◇ 7.4k [6/6]

notes: we’ve reached the end at last!!! thanks for sticking around through all the sporadic updates, and i hope you enjoy this final chapter!

warnings: some soft, soft smut.

⇢ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 

The day before your scheduled return to Seoul, your parents decide to throw a joint party with the Jeons. From your bedroom window, you can see the plastic tables and chairs scattered across your adjoining lawns, the tarps and poles that will soon become makeshift pavilions lying in the grass. Though a row of low bushes divides your property, a small stone footpath weaves between the green leaves. You watch Mr. Jeon make his way into your yard, joining your father to unfurl a sign that’s emblazoned with Bon Voyage, {Name}! in bright blue print.

“Noona!” Jimin bursts into your bedroom with zero preamble, the door slamming into the wall behind it. You jump at the sudden intrusion, and flinch when he bounds across the room in two steps and grabs you by the shoulders.

“Ow, Chim,” you grumble, trying and failing to push him away. “Knock much?”

“Help,” he whines, trying to pull you to your feet. “I put too much salt in the marinade, and I just spilled Coke all over the counter. Please come help me.”

You sigh as he casts you the most pathetic look he’s capable of mustering, complete with a quivering bottom lip. Wiggling out of his iron grip at last, you grab him by the wrist and drag him out of your room. “Fine,” you tell him as you pull him downstairs. “You’re lucky I like you sometimes.”

“Love you too!” Jimin singsongs. He swoops in to plant a too-wet kiss on your cheek, and when you squirm in disgust he just giggles and blows you another.

The kitchen, upon your arrival, is empty. “Where’s Mom?” you ask as you grab a rag, tossing it over to your brother so he can clean up the spilled soda.

“She left a few minutes ago,” he replies, sopping up the mess and flinching when some splashes down from the counter onto the linoleum floor. “I think she went to the store to pick up a few things.”

“Food things?” you ask dubiously, eyeing the sizable pile of vegetables and meat on the counter. “Is this not enough? Is the entire neighborhood invited to this thing?”

“You know Mom,” he replies, shrugging. “Just let her have this. She misses having another girl in the house when you’re away. Says Dad and I gang up on her.”

You chuckle. “That sounds about right. On the bright side, though, she only has to deal with you for a few more months.”

“Jeez, that’s weird to think about.” Jimin sidles up behind you and settles his chin on your shoulder. “We’re going to be at the same university soon.”

“Yeah, because you’re a little copycat,” you tease, reaching back to flick him on the forehead. “What’s next? Are you going to start following me around the sandbox again? Come crying to me when someone’s mean to you?”

“Yeah, right.” Jimin steps back and puffs his chest out dramatically. “I’m going to protect you from all those weird college guys, remember? Who else is gonna do it if not me?”

In an instant, your mind goes to Jungkook. Your throat goes dry, and thankfully the jingle of keys in the front door saves you from needing to respond. Jimin’s attention is diverted when your mother steps through with an armful of shopping bags, and you take a moment to shove away all thoughts of your neighbor before following after your brother to help her unpack.

You haven’t seen much of Jungkook since your impromptu sleepover in his room. As your time at home winds to a close, your parents have been increasingly adamant to spend as much time together as possible. Family game nights became routine, and although Jungkook has joined you on a couple occasions, Jimin has seemingly made it his personal goal to ensure that you don’t spend a single second alone with your dark-haired neighbor. Certainly, you’ve texted a bit, but Jungkook’s been picking up more shifts at the restaurant lately and you often see him through your bedroom window returning home after a long dinner shift.

Jimin’s voice draws you out of your thoughts. “Huh?” you ask, blinking, and your brother shoots you an unimpressed look.

“I said, I’m going out back to help Dad with the grill,” he repeats. “Can you bring the cooler out?”

“Oh!” You glance over at the cooler on the ground, filled to the brim with beer and soda. Jimin has a bag of ice in his arms, and you quickly follow him out into the backyard, wheeling the cooler behind you. Together, the two of you push it into an unobtrusive corner of the back porch, and Jimin curses when he upends the bag of ice into it and spills nearly a third in the process.

“Smooth,” you remark.

“Like you could do any better,” is his reply.

It’s just after one o’clock, the sun beaming bright in the cloudless blue sky, when people begin trickling into the backyard where your father and Mr. Jeon have started grilling. You spot Taemin and Minho from where you’re perched on the porch steps, and grin when they wave and begin heading in your direction.

“Heading back to the big city so soon?” Minho asks as he comes to a stop, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “We’re gonna miss you around here.”

“You know you’re always welcome to visit,” you tell him with a smile. “Besides, I’ll be back. I do like to see my family every now and then, you know.”

“When exactly are you leaving tomorrow? Taemin asks curiously.

“Bright and early in the morning,” you reply. “I want to have plenty of time to get settled before I start interning on Monday.”

Minho gives you a squeeze. “You’ll kill it. I know you will.”

“Thanks,” you tell him. You’re about to say more—ask about the rest of their summer plans, maybe—when you spot a familiar dark head of hair exiting the back door of the Jeons’ house. Jungkook is wearing a collared shirt the color of sunshine, the sleeves rolled to his elbows to expose vascular forearms and the silver watch on his wrist. His faded jeans have a rip in the left knee, and you swallow when your gaze automatically trails down to the defined muscle of his thigh, a peek of skin visible through the denim.

Across the yard, your eyes meet. He raises a hand in greeting, his watch glinting in the sun, and you wave back. Everything else seems to fade into the background—Taemin and Minho, the hubbub of the partygoers, even the sizzle of the grill. Jungkook is walking in your direction now, and your throat goes oddly dry at the thought of talking to him face-to-face after nearly a week of intermittent texts and occasional glimpses. Your fingers itch to run through the soft hair at the nape of his neck, and your body craves the feeling of his skin against your own. You’d even settle for a simple kiss—the press of his mouth and the slick of his tongue, his palms settling on your hips or looping around to the small of your back to pull you in close.

Needless to say, it’s been far too long since you and Jungkook last slept together. You wonder, vaguely, if there’s any way the two of you might be able to sneak away from the party and head somewhere a little quieter. One last handsy makeout session in his backseat, and one last chance for him to breach your walls with his cock. One last fix of the drug called Jungkook, before you return to your life in Seoul and try to forget the boundaries you’ve crossed in the last few weeks.

Because at the end of the day, Jungkook is your brother’s best friend, and therefore is off-limits. And as if Jimin himself is listening in on your thoughts, your little brother comes bounding out of nowhere, intercepting Jungkook on his path to you and dragging him away to help make more meat skewers for the grill.

The party continues. More people arrive, and you do your best to converse with everyone between bites of food. Many family friends have come out to wish you well, most of whom you haven’t seen in several years, so you put on your best smile and weather the innumerable comments about how much you’ve grown up since you last met. Off in the distance, you spot Jungkook chatting with Junghyun, who has driven in from downtown Busan. The elder Jeon brother has already wished you good luck with your internship, pulling you into a friendly hug when he first arrived, and you would’ve had to be blind to miss Jungkook’s penetrating stare as you hugged him back.

You’re returning from a bathroom break, easing the back door shut, when you are assailed by a tangle of limbs and excited cries. You end up with a faceful of strawberry blonde hair, and laughingly groan as you extricate yourself from the hug, offering a beaming Chaeyoung, Jisoo, and Lisa a grin. “Hey, guys. What’s up?”

“What’s up?” Lisa grabs you by the shoulders and gives you a little shake. “You’re leaving tomorrow! When will you be back again?”

“Winter, definitely,” you promise. “Maybe the summer too, if I don’t have anything else going on.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Jungkook again. He’s looking in your direction, his gaze flitting between the half-eaten burger in his hand and where you’re standing on the back porch with the girls, as if he doesn’t want to get caught staring. The party has been underway for nearly two hours now, and you haven’t even come close to having a conversation with your dark-haired neighbor. It seems as though anytime Jungkook comes within speaking distance, he’s interrupted by friends, family, and at one point, even his family’s dog. Gureum has been a part of Jungkook’s family for as long as you can remember, and though he’s getting rather old, he’s still happily meandering around the yard today. You’ve already given in to his pleading face twice and offered him a bit of food from your plate, and you’ve watched plenty of others do the same. A quick scan of the yard reveals that the little white dog is now fast asleep in a sunny patch of grass, and you chuckle to yourself before your gaze finds Jungkook again. Your eyes meet, just for a second.

“{Name}, honey, can you come here for a second?”

You turn at the sound of your mother’s voice. “Sure,” you tell her, excusing yourself from the group of girls to follow her inside to the kitchen. “What is it?”

Your mom hands you a pile of small paper plates and plastic cutlery. “I’m bringing out the cake,” she says. “Can you put those out for me?”

You nod, watching as she picks up the cake. It’s an impressive two-tiered confection, frosted pale purple and decorated with pink cherry blossoms and the words Bon Voyage! in flowing white script. You make sure to hold the door open for your mother as she exits the house on your heels, and duck your head in embarrassment when a few of your neighbors start clapping at your arrival.

The cake is cut and distributed, and you take your piece over to a shady spot beneath the awning of one of the pavilions your father has assembled. Jimin joins you, wiping a frosting-covered finger on your nose, and you squeal and wipe at it furiously with a napkin before taking revenge. Slowly, the afternoon progresses into early evening, and the party begins to wind to a close. Friends and neighbors begin to trickle out, wishing you well before taking their leave. At the far end of the yard, you see Jungkook talking to Chaeyoung, and wonder what the two could possibly have to say to each other before Taemin and Minho draw your attention away.

“We gotta head out,” Minho says, coming to a stop before you and pulling you into a hug.

Taemin nods, tugging you into an embrace as well. “We’ll see you again soon though, yeah? We’re definitely going to come up to visit you guys at some point.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you tell him. “You’re crashing at Jimin and Jungkook’s though. I’m not taking you in.”

“Cruel, but fair,” Minho says with a laugh. “See ya then, Noona.”

“See you.”

The two depart, and you begin gathering up your used utensils and plates, seeking about for a trash can. You smile at your dad as he walks by, and scratch a sleepy Gureum behind the ears as you pass him. Just as you’ve finally found a trash can and dropped your garbage inside, however, a voice stops you in your tracks.

“Hey, Noona.”

Your heartbeat quickens. Slowly, you turn around, coming face to face with none other than Jungkook himself. His dark hair is ruffled by the breeze, and his silver hoop earrings glint in the late afternoon sun. Tentatively, you offer him a small smile, and he hesitates for a moment before smiling back.

“Hey.”

“You said that already,” you point out, trying to quell the sudden nervousness in your belly and swallowing down whatever moisture is left in your mouth. “Fun party, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Jungkook nods. “Really fun. And the food was great.”

You chuckle. “Yeah. We have our dads to thank for that.”

“Definitely.”

A beat of silence passes, and then two. Jungkook is scuffing his heel against the grass, one hand darting up to scratch his ear, and you are just beginning to wonder at his uncharacteristic awkwardness when he suddenly pulls a bag from behind his back.

“Here,” he says, practically shoving it into your hands. “I—I mean, we—got you a gift. From my family. And me.”

Blinking, you peer down at the green tissue paper peeking out of the top of the bag. “Oh, wow. You… you guys really shouldn’t have.”

“It was my mom’s idea,” Jungkook mumbles, looking anywhere but at you. “You can open it now if you want, though.”

You do. Peeling back the tissue paper reveals two items inside—one of which is a lovely leather-bound planner, complete with a calendar and to-do lists and pages for notes. The other is a small canvas, and your mouth falls open when you see what’s painted across the surface.

It’s the lake house. Behind it, you can see lush green hills and trees, all bordering the rippling expanse of blue water. Jungkook has captured the scene at high noon when the sun is at its peak in the sky, glinting off the lake like diamonds. Off to one side, you spot the canoe roped to the dock.

“Wow,” you breathe, awestruck. “Jungkook, this is beautiful. I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s no big deal,” he says, shrugging and scratching the back of his neck. “I had to rush it a little, between work and all. It could’ve been better.”

“It’s perfect,” you tell him, running a fingertip across the canvas. You’ve always known that Jungkook has a talent for drawing, but you’ve never seen him use paint as his medium of choice until now. “Really. I love it, Jungkook. I’m going to hang it up in my dorm as soon as I get back.”

“Back,” Jungkook echoes. “Right.”

And before you can reply—before you can even inhale to speak—he’s pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms looping around your waist and settling there.

“Good luck with everything,” he says once he’s pulled back. And then he’s turning on his heel and walking away, and you’re left to wonder whether these past few weeks were simply a passing tryst after all.

///

As it turns out, your internship is more than enough to keep your mind from straying toward a certain dark-haired young man. Two months after Jungkook left you high and dry, you’re working harder than you ever have in your life. Your mornings are early and your afternoons run into evenings more often than not. “At least you’re getting paid, though,” Namjoon points out, glancing up from where he’s sitting on the couch when you stumble into your shared dorm one particularly late night. “You could’ve been one of the unlucky bastards who got stuck doing unpaid labor at their internships.”

“Oh, good. At least they’re working me to the bone ethically,” you snort, accepting the wine he hands over. Trust Namjoon to have an extra glass at the ready. Your suitemate, despite his flaws, always seems to know when you need a pick-me-up, and you suppose you can forgive his clumsiness and messiness for that. If he keeps it up, you may even start looking past the heart attacks he causes you every time he enters the kitchen and so much as looks at a knife.

Namjoon chuckles and tops off his own wineglass. “So now what? You hungry?”

“Starving,” you admit. “What are you thinking tonight? Pizza? Chinese?”

“Thai? I’ve been craving it lately.”

“I can do Thai.” You lean in closer as he pulls up the delivery menu on his laptop, pointing to what you want before sitting back and letting him place the order. “Can you get me an iced tea, too?

“Two iced teas, coming right up,” he replies. “You wanna start thinking about tonight’s feature presentation?”

Flopping onto your side, you reach into the bag you dropped on the floor and fish out your own laptop. You select a film from Netflix as Namjoon fetches his wallet to pay for your food, and the two of you settle in to wait as the opening credits of Disney’s Hercules roll.

“I’m not a good singer,” Namjoon cautions as the Muses begin their introductory monologue. “I just want you to know that beforehand. But out of all the Disney films? This soundtrack is unmatched.”

“Damn right,” you reply, clinking your glass against his. “Best soundtrack ever. We’ll both sound like dying cats, and I for one can’t wait.”

Namjoon laughs and leans over to flick off the lights. The room goes dark and the music begins, and you’re both singing along before you even hit the chorus. Spending time with Namjoon is comfortable, and though you’ve already lived together through the entirety of your first year of school, these past two summer months have strengthened your friendship tenfold. He’s almost like a brother by this point, and you wonder, vaguely, whether Jimin would get along with him anywhere near as well as you do.

As if summoned, your phone goes off. Jimin’s name lights up your screen, and you frown curiously at it before unlocking the device and swiping open the message.

[7:56pm] Chimchim: miss me yet? 😚

[7:56pm] You: no way, weirdo

[7:57pm] You: what do you even want anyway? sure you’re not the one missing me?

Immediately, your phone buzzes with a response.

[7:57pm] Chimchim: seriously? offensive

[7:57pm} Chimchim: orientation’s in less than a week or have u forgotten already?? good thing i’m reminding u

Your heart skips a beat in your chest when you realize that you had, in fact, forgotten. You remember your own college orientation vividly—a jam-packed weekend filled with building tours and ample opportunities to talk to current students. Several of your friends, you’d first met that weekend as you all tried to navigate a new chapter of your lives—Namjoon included. It’s how the two of you ended up living together—jammed into a suite with two others who thankfully meshed perfectly with the both of you. Neither Hoseok nor Jennie are here for the summer, but you’ve kept in touch while apart. Both of them poke relentless fun at Namjoon for opting to take summer classes, and you never hesitate to join in on the lighthearted teasing.

[7:58pm] You: oh yeah lol

Your response is casual and calm, but your heart rate is anything but. Jimin coming to orientation means Jungkook is coming too, and the thought of seeing him sends an anxious flurry of butterflies aflight in your stomach. You remember texting him the day after you came back—just a simple photo of his painting, hung proudly on the wall above your desk. He responded with a string of thumbs-up emojis, and that had been that. You’ve barely heard a word from him since, and Jimin’s occasional texts and social media posts are the only reason you know he’s still alive. Hesitantly, you type out another message, thumb hovering briefly over the send button before hitting it.

[7:58pm] You: you and jungkook are driving up, right?

[7:59pm] Chimchim: yep! road trip

[7:59pm] Chimchim: still not convinced jk’s car will make it all the way tho lmao

You think back to Jungkook’s beat-up sedan with its sputtering engine and scratchy seats, and the ominous way the passenger side window sometimes rattled if you slammed the door too hard. Can’t blame you for having doubts, you write back, earning yourself a hearty LMAOOO in response. And then:

[8:01pm] Chimchim: i’ll probably have to do most of the driving anyway

You frown, brows furrowing. Why’s that?

[8:02pm] Chimchim: just a hunch. jk’s been weird lately

[8:02pm] You: …weird how?

[8:02pm] Chimchim: just weird. a little distracted, maybe? he doesn’t answer me when i ask him whats wrong

[8:03pm] You: how long has he been weird?

[8:03pm} Chimchim: idk 🤷‍♂️

[8:03pm] Chimchim: 2 days, maybe 3? i think he might be worried about orientation or college or something. either way i don’t trust him to operate a motor vehicle rn

Your bottom lip finds its way between your teeth as you consider your brother’s revelation. It’s perfectly natural to be nervous about something new, but you still can’t help but wonder if Jungkook’s strange behavior might have anything to do with seeing you again. But before you can dwell on it more, your phone buzzes again in your palm.

[8:04pm] Chimchim: i mean srsly he didn’t even hit on mina when we ran into her at jin’s the other day. do u remember her? the girl from the bbq place we went to for grad dinner??

[8:04pm] Chimchim: but on the bright side, it looks like he and chae made up. about time, tbh. things were really awkward for a while

[8:05pm] Chimchim: wait u knew about them, right? they dated for a while?

You take a deep breath before responding, the gears of your brain whirring as you fight to process all of the information he’s dumped on you. Yeah, you write back. Chae told me. They’re okay now?

[8:06pm] Chimchim: yeah. i think they talked at your going away thing

The memory of them chatting in your parents’ backyard resurfaces, and a rush of relief follows it. Even though your conversation with Chaeyoung at the mall confirmed that she was no longer angry with Jungkook, the guilt of sneaking around with him continued to linger in the back of your mind. You’re definitely going to buy her a box of cookies from Kim’s Kitchen as an apology the next time you see her. Maybe even two.

After a few more texts, your conversation with Jimin peters out. He signs off, citing a house party he has to start getting ready for, and you settle back in to watch the rest of the movie with Namjoon, smiling reassuringly when he shoots you a curious look and mouths, everything okay?

Everything is okay, you decide. Jungkook’s weird behavior isn’t your problem, and there’s not a whole lot you could do even if you wanted to, considering how little you’ve spoken in the last eight weeks. That doesn’t stop you from opening up your messages and scrolling down to Jungkook’s name, though. It doesn’t stop you from opening up the last conversation you had—something about a particularly annoying customer at Jin’s restaurant—and scrutinizing every word.

Later that night, just as you’re brushing your teeth and getting ready for bed, your phone buzzes again. The name attached to the text immediately sends your heart into your throat, and you shakily towel off your hands before swiping it open.

[12:25am] Jungkook: i mis s yuo.

Drunk, the little voice in your brain whispers. He’s drunk. Belatedly, you remember the party Jimin had mentioned, and realize that Jungkook must be there as well. Alcohol has clearly loosened him up, enough to instigate this unexpected sentiment, but you are painfully sober. At a loss, you stare at his message until your screen goes dark. Irritably, you wake it up again, unlocking the phone so you can stare some more, and after what feels like an eternity, you type out a response.

[12: 28am] You: drink some water, jungkook

He doesn’t respond. You wait for five minutes, and then ten, but your phone screen remains obstinately dark and devoid of new notifications. Climbing into bed, you check one last time, but there’s still no response from him.

A resigned sigh leaves your lips as you turn off your bedside lamp and plug in your phone to charge. Sinking down into the mattress, you push away all thoughts of Jeon Jungkook as you close your eyes and wait for sleep to come.

///

On Friday night, you once again find yourself working late. Thankfully, Jimin and Jungkook aren’t due to arrive until later in the evening, so you still have plenty of time to change into comfier clothes and eat something before you have to play host.

Or at least, that’s what you thought. When you swing open the front door of your home, however, you’re greeted by two extra pairs of shoes—one of which is a certain individual’s signature black Timberlands, scuffed and worn from years of use. “Joonie?” you call cautiously, toeing off your loafers and skirting around the corner to poke your head into the kitchen. “Are you home?”

No reply. You wander a little further, entering the living room, and that’s where you’re greeted by the sight of your suitemate, his sheepish grin flanked on either side by two very familiar faces.

“Noona!” Jimin is grinning from ear to ear, and immediately skips forward to smoosh your cheeks between his palms. “We got here early!”

You slap his hands away and poke your fingertips into his ribs. “I can see that,” you retort. “What I don’t get is why you didn't bother to tell me.”

Jimin shrugs. “Surprise?”

You sigh and turn instead to Namjoon, who’s watching your exchange with an amused smile. “Thanks for getting them settled in,” you tell him gratefully. “You should’ve called me, though. I would’ve tried to get off work early if I’d known.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Namjoon waves you off. “They got here about half an hour ago, so it wouldn’t have made much difference, anyway.”

“Still, let me thank you,” you insist. “Dinner’s on me tonight, since I have to feed these heathens anyway. Do you want to order something in? Go out?”

“I’m okay either way,” Namjoon says, shrugging, and you turn to Jimin and Jungkook questioningly.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Jimin says. “I think we’re both pretty tired from the drive, so staying in might be nice.”

“Anything’s fine.” Jungkook is staring down at his right hand as if he’s trying to crack a secret code etched in his fingerprints, and when he speaks, his voice is soft. “Whatever you want, Noona.”

You haven’t forgotten about his text from a few days ago, and judging by the way he can’t even look you in the eye, neither has he. It’s strange seeing him here now—wearing ripped jeans and a black t-shirt like he so often does, his feet encapsulated in plain white socks. His hair has grown out since you last saw him, leaving only the barest glimpse of his silver earrings visible beneath the dark, shaggy locks. You can’t help but wonder what it would be like to run your fingers through it, but quickly quash that train of thought before it can progress any further.

The group eventually settles on ordering pizza, which you order and pay for on your phone. Conversation flows easily as Jimin, Jungkook, and Namjoon get to know each other, and when the food arrives, Namjoon pulls out his collection of board games. The remainder of the evening passes in a haze of pizza and game tournaments, and it’s only when midnight has come and gone that you decide to call it a night. Jungkook and Jimin settle into the two empty bedrooms—Jungkook in Hoseok’s and Jimin in Jennie’s—and you bid everyone goodnight before retiring to your own bed.

You don’t miss the way Jungkook’s gaze lingers on your retreating figure, but he doesn’t say anything and neither do you. He’ll be busy with all the orientation events scheduled tomorrow, and you’re planning to spend a good chunk of the day running errands that you don’t have time for on weekdays. The question of why he’d texted you that night remains on your mind, but you don’t want to ask. And you especially don’t want to ask why he’d never responded after that first message. Confrontation has never been your style, and with any luck, you’ll be able to avoid spending extended periods of time with him altogether.

With any luck, this weekend will pass with no further incident, and you’ll be able to spend the remaining few weeks of your summer in peace.

///

It’s just after two o’clock in the afternoon when you return to your dormitory, a grocery bag clutched in each hand and a tote bag draped over one shoulder. You’ve finished up with all your errands for the day, and even managed to get some reading done for one of your upcoming fall classes. Dropping your bags in the kitchen, you stretch your arms overhead lazily before starting to unpack your groceries. Namjoon is holed up in the library working on an essay, and Jimin and Jungkook don’t appear to be around either. A moment of rare quiet is welcome in your normally hectic life, and you take the opportunity to put some music on and change into your comfiest shorts and a tank top.

You’ve just finished popping some popcorn and are settling onto your bed to watch some Netflix when someone clears their throat from your doorway. Startled, you look up, your eyes locking on Jungkook standing there. He’s wearing a loose gray sweatshirt and matching sweatpants, and you swallow when you see the way he’s rolled up the sleeves to expose vascular forearms and the silver watch on his wrist. Jungkook blinks at you silently from behind his dark fringe of hair, and a beat passes before he clears his throat and speaks.

“Hey.”

You straighten up into a seated position, crossing your legs and plopping the bowl of popcorn in your lap. “Hi.”

Jungkook hesitates, then shoves both hands into his pockets. “Can… can we talk?”

“Sure.” You incline your head. “Talk.”

Your curt tone doesn’t go unnoticed by him. Awkwardly, he shuffles his feet for a moment before scratching behind his neck and ruffling his already tousled hair further. “My phone died,” he says, and you blink confusedly at him, twice, before responding.

“What?”

Jungkook winces but presses on nonetheless. “My phone,” he explains. “It died the other night. I was going to charge it before the party, but I forgot to plug it in and then it was too late. I didn’t—” He sighs. “I would’ve texted you back, otherwise.”

Belatedly, you realize he’s talking about his text from a few nights ago and why he never responded. His reasoning is relatively sound, at least, but you still have an unanswered question. “Why?” you ask, your voice soft. “Why did you text me that night? I don’t hear from you for weeks, and then you message me that out of the blue? Why?”

“Fuck, I know.” Jungkook takes two steps into your bedroom, before he seemingly thinks better of it and takes a step back. “I shouldn’t have done it. I should’ve texted you more, or earlier, but—” Another sigh, and this time he rakes his hands through his hair and sends his dangling earrings tinkling. “I’m sorry. I really am. I was being a coward, and…”

Jungkook trails off, and you see that his attention has flitted elsewhere. He’s staring at the painting of the lake house, still displayed prominently above your desk, and you see the gears in his head whirring before he speaks again.

“You… you still have that hanging up there?”

You glance at the painting before looking back at him. “Well, yeah. Of course I do. It reminds me of home.”

It reminds you of him, too, but you don’t voice that particular thought aloud. Instead you turn your attention back to your increasingly fidgety companion, leaning back on your hands and regarding him with your head tilted curiously.

“What were you saying about being a coward? What are you afraid of, Jungkook?”

Jungkook rubs his jaw and sucks in a deep breath. “You,” he finally answers, after several beats that feel like several lifetimes. “I’m afraid of losing you. And I feel like I already might have, especially since we left things so weird at the party. I should’ve…” He shakes his head. ”I should’ve said something sooner. I should’ve told you how I really feel, but I was stupid and scared and I just couldn’t find the right time to do it.”

Your breath catches. Your mouth goes dry and your chest feels tight, and when you try to speak, your tongue feels like sandpaper. “I—” you begin, and it’s all you manage to get out. Jungkook is murmuring your name in a voice so gentle that your heart skips two whole beats, and when you look at him again he is much, much closer than before.

“But I guess late is better than never, right?” Jungkook breathes. Stopping at the edge of your bed, he drops to his knees, and you don’t protest when he takes your hands and cups them protectively between his own. “It’s you, {Name}. It’s always been you. I tried to forget about my feelings when you left for Seoul—tried to convince myself that it was just a stupid crush—but nothing I did worked. I couldn’t forget about you. And then you came back, and I just knew.” Gently, he traces a fingertip across your knuckles before looking up and meeting your gaze in earnest. “I’m in love with you, {Name}. I’ve been in love with you for years, and I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. And… and I really hope that I haven’t fucked everything up by telling you this now.”

“You—” Your voice sticks in your throat, and you swallow thickly before trying again. “You haven’t. I… I like you, Jungkook. I like you so, so much, and I think I owe you an apology for trying to push you away so much. It’s just that these feelings… they’re so new. And I—well, I don’t know if I love you yet, but I think that I definitely could.”

“Then that’s good enough for me,” he replies, his face stretching into a wide, crinkly eyed grin. “As long as you agree to be my girlfriend, and let me have the chance to make you fall for me.” And when you nod, giggling, Jungkook leans in and presses his mouth to yours.

The kiss is soft and sweet, and lasts several moments before a sobering thought enters your head. You break away, frowning, and Jungkook’s brow furrows as he takes in your expression.

“What’s wrong?”

You bite your lip, worrying at the delicate skin. “This… thing. This relationship—what if it doesn’t work? I mean, god, you’re Jimin’s best friend in the entire world. What if we have an argument? What if—what if we break up?”

“We won’t,” Jungkook replies confidently, lacing his fingers with yours before leaning forward to nuzzle his nose against yours affectionately. Instinct has you leaning into him, seeking out proper contact, and you feel his lips curl into a smile as he indulges you with yet another kiss.

“You can’t know that for sure,” you murmur when you break apart, but your voice is readily lost in the huff of laughter that escapes your companion.

“Maybe not for sure,” he says. “But I’ve loved you since I was about eight, and I don’t think that’s going to change anytime soon.”

This time, when your lips meet, there’s a bit more heat behind it. Jungkook curls a hand around your nape to draw you in close, and licks sweetly into your mouth when you part for him. He’s quick to press you down onto your mattress, and you sigh as he trails down your body and takes the straps of your tank top with him. The material falls off your shoulders, leaving just enough room to tug the rest of the shirt down to your waist, and he groans when your bare breasts are freed.

“No bra? Fuck, you’re killing me.”

You arch beneath him, huffing out a breathless little laugh when he seizes the opportunity to envelop a nipple into his mouth. His fingers find the other—squeezing and rubbing and tweaking until you’re quivering in his grasp. “Jungkook,” you breathe, waiting until he lets out a soft hum of acknowledgment. “Jimin—he could come back any minute. Maybe we shouldn’t do this right now.”

Jungkook glances up from where he’s exploring the underside of your breasts, tracing the soft swell of delicate skin with his lips and tongue. “Jimin,” he says, “is at a special session for his major. He won’t be back for hours, so why don’t you relax and let me make you feel good, hmm?”

And, without even waiting for an answer, he drops down to his knees and digs his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts. Your legs are dangling off the edge of the bed, and Jungkook easily tugs the material off them, taking your panties right along with it. Tossing them aside, he doesn’t hesitate to spread your legs and slot himself into the newly created space. His tongue darts out to moisten his lips, and your breath hitches when you glance down the length of your body and see the ravenous glint in his eyes.

There’s no doubt in your mind that you’re wet enough to take his cock right now. You can feel the slick gathering between your legs, and the smirk on Jungkook’s face tells you that he’s noticed it too. Teasingly, he presses an experimental fingertip to your clit, watching in satisfaction as your hips buck off the mattress at the flare of pleasure. Then he’s sliding down, sinking a lone finger into your entrance and curling upward to find the soft spot that he knows will unravel you in a matter of minutes. A gasp escapes you when he finds it, your hips rising again, and he soothes you with a warm palm on your thigh and a sweet kiss to your hipbone.

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly Jungkook is able to build up your orgasm, but then again, you suppose you shouldn’t be surprised. He’s always been a quick study, and you’ve never been sure whether it’s stubbornness or determination that drives him to excel at his passions. Here and now, with two of his fingers buried inside your cunt and a third teasing its way in, you don’t even care which it is. All that matters is the pressure building in the pit of your belly, and the way Jungkook keeps murmuring your name and encouraging you to cum for me, princess. It’s enough to push you over the edge, your back arching off the bed and your lips parting in a moan as you ride out your high.

“So pretty.” Jungkook circles your clit with his thumb, his fingers still sheathed within your walls. “You always take my fingers so well.”

“Think I’d rather take your cock instead,” you reply breathlessly, sagging back against the mattress and reaching for him. Jungkook takes the hint, gritting out a hoarse curse before crawling up your mostly bare body and crushing his mouth to yours in a searing kiss. You grab the hem of his gray sweatshirt, pulling it up and over his head, and are more than pleased to discover he’s not wearing anything underneath. His sweatpants soon follow, Jungkook impatiently kicking the material off his ankles, and you sigh out his name when he wraps you in his arms, skin against skin.

“I’m not going to last very long,” he warns you, his breath a puff of hot air against the shell of your ear. “Promise I’ll make it up to you later. Just wanna feel you right now.”

“Go on, then,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “How do you want me?”

Jungkook groans, no doubt having a furious internal debate with himself, before reaching down and taking his cock in one hand. “Just like this,” he decides, gazing down at the way you’re spread out on your back for him. Deliberately, he settles between your thighs, giving himself a few pumps before positioning himself at your entrance. “Wanna kiss you while I fuck you. Wanna kiss you for the rest of my life.”

He’s pushing forward then, stealing the breath from your lungs along with any thoughts that may have crossed your mind at his last sentiment. Jungkook sinks into you until you’re gasping at the fullness, his hands grabbing at the meat of your hips and pulling you against him with every thrust. He fucks into you with reckless abandon, hoarse praise and gritted curses falling freely from his lips as he uses your body to seek out his own high. Every now and then, his mouth seeks out yours in a sloppy kiss, which you happily indulge as his rhythm falters and becomes increasingly erratic.

Jungkook floods you with his warmth, his arms gathering you up tightly as his cock slowly softens within you. His lips find yours, and this kiss is a simple, tender one—an affectionate press and a crinkly eyed smile that has you automatically smiling back.

“I don’t know why you’re so happy,” you tease, poking him in his slightly sweaty chest. “Jimin’s going to throttle you for this, you know.”

“Worth it,” he replies cheekily. “Anything’s worth it as long as you kiss me better afterward.”

“Gross,” you tell him, laughing. “You’re so lame.”

“But you still like me,” he says with a shrug. Then he grins. “The real question, though, is whether you like me enough to help me move in the fall.”

You hum, hiding your smile. “Depends. What’s in it for me?”

A positively wicked grin spreads across his face and settles there. “Why don’t I give you a preview?”

///

A few weeks later -

Jimin hums softly under his breath as he strolls into his new dorm, a cardboard box cradled in his arms. There’s a growing pile of boxes in the middle of the living area already, and he’s only just found an empty spot to drop the latest when he hears an odd noise coming from the bathroom. A wet, smacking sound, kind of like—

“Jungkook, you dog,” he snorts, throwing the cracked door open. “Get your ass out here and help me unpa—“ He stops in his tracks.

The scene before him doesn’t make sense. Jungkook is standing in front of him with wide eyes and fear in his expression, but that doesn’t make sense. At least it doesn’t until he sees you in the reflection of the mirror over the sink, your clothes disheveled and your lips swollen.

“Wait, we can explain,” Jungkook begins, following the trajectory of Jimin’s gaze and waving his hands in a fluttery panic. “I swear, Jimin, it’s not what you think—“

“That’s my sister,” Jimin says, his voice dangerously calm.

“Yeah, but—”

“You put your hands on my sister,” Jimin continues matter-of-factly, as if Jungkook hadn’t spoken at all. “I’m going to fillet your dick with a dull knife and serve it over rice.”

And before you can catch your breath and open your mouth to stop him, Jimin leaps forward, his fingers aimed directly for Jungkook’s throat.

[midnightmusings-et-moi]

“in her eyes he saw a wild appeal for forgiveness.”

Sirius Black angst (written in third person)

A/n: credits for the artwork go to the artist

Warnings: mentions of wounds, distance, mentions of death eaters, crying 

It was long past midnight but she couldn’t sleep. The dorm was quiet and the only source of light were the slivers of silver spilling in through the window. Every time the full moon was due, she never got enough sleep- but always hid it from Sirius by being distant, not wanting him to feel more burdened than he already was. She wasn’t aware just how much this hurt him though, it made him feel like his relationship with the only girl he’s ever loved was crumbling. 

Remus truly did need his friends during this time because his transformations were particularly painful these past months and asking Sirius to stay would be selfish. She worried her head off for the boys, especially Sirius because he had so much on his plate. Very recently news had reached that his younger brother, Regulus, had officially become a death eater. To say Sirius was devastated was an under statement. 

Pulling the covers off her body, she slipped out of her bed and crossed the room to the door. She opened it carefully, not wanting to wake anyone up in the dead of the night. The last sight she saw before closing the door behind her were the silhouettes of her dorm mates rising and falling with every breath they took, deep in peaceful slumber.

She made her way to the boys’ dorm, stopping right outside a dark oak door with “the Marauders” scratched untidily at the very top. Her heart sped up as she pressed down on the cold steel of the handle. For some reason she had a moment of hope- she wanted to open the door and see the dark haired boy behind it, arms open, so she could sink into his touch and be held.

When she pushed open the door, a wave of disappointment hit her, heart sinking to the pit of her stomach. It was empty, obviously. She had expected it to be. Why was she feeling so dejected then?

Her languid frame curled up on the scarlet sheets of Sirius’ bed. They were untidy and the pillows were strewn about, hinting at the hurry which he must have been in. She was motionless but wide awake with blankness tainting her mind and face.

The sheets adorned Sirius’ scent and the pillows smelled like his shampoo but they only sated a small fraction of her need for his presence.

Upon pressing her cheek against the pillow, she felt a small, hard object, under the velvet cover. When she pulled it out to examine it against the moonlight, a dull ache grappled at her heart ; it was a ring with the Black family crest on it. The object was goblin made and there was only one other which belonged to Regulus.

She was taken back to the first time she asked Sirius about the ring. He has smiled fondly, tracing the indents in the cold silver, “Mother had two of these made- one for me and one for Regulus.” His tone dripped with disdain as he talked of his mother but when he spoke his brother’s name, it was laced with love. Even if they grew distant because of Sirius cutting off his family, he cared for him and smiled at the memories of the closely knit brothers playing and laughing together.

His black hair curtained his face, obstructing her view but the clear droplet running down his chin told her everything she needed to know. She held him tighter in, heart breaking for the boy falling apart in front of her. Having never seen him like this, shattered her even more- he wasn’t the macho, carefree, fun loving Sirius in her arms right then. “He was just a child” he rasped.

Tears pricked her eyes at the painful memory and she balled her fists into the pillow for some consolation. When Sirius hurt, she hurt. Every tragedy he faced, she faced. 

The door creaked open and someone stepped in, but she didn’t move because she did not register the presence of another in the room. Only when she heard her name leave the person’s mouth did she turn to see who it was- Sirius. His attire was covered in dirt and his shirt was ripped from the sleeve, a dark slit running down his arm. When he stepped in the moonlight she realized that the slit was a grotesque wound, blood rouging the white of his shirt.

“What happened to you?” her hoarse voice rasped as she hurried to him, carefully lifting his injured arm. “Mooney was a little feisty this evening” he chuckled, but it was devoid of even a drop of humor. The worried girl grasped the spare wand on Sirius’ night stand, murmuring spells to lessen the severity of the wound. He hissed at the stinging sensation shooting up his arm. “Sit down and rest for a bit”

Sirius did as she said, wincing when his arm brushed the bed. “Here” she took his arm lightly stabilizing him so he could lean against the headboard. There was a tension in the room because the two had been so distant as their troubles had pushed them apart. But in that moment all she wanted was for him to hold her close to him and stroke her hair, telling her he was alright. But saying he was alright would be a lie.

“Why are you awake?” Sirius asked after a long silence. “Couldn’t sleep” she whispered trying hard to avoid the topic. He switched on the lamp, casting a low yellow glow on her face ; under her eyes, deep purple circles were etched, her skin was pale and exhaustion traced every inch of her figure. Sirius’ breath hitched in his throat and she immediately looked away.

He didn’t need another reason to be worried. She couldn’t add another weight on his already burdened shoulders, she thought, desperately turning her face away from him. “W-what happened” Sirius questioned with an undertone of horror. “You’re so weak and sleep deprived...” he mentally chastised himself, cursing himself for not noticing earlier. He had been selfish and it showed through the way she was fatigued. Why had he let himself do this to her? Why? Sirius’ gut wrenched at the sallow of her cheeks and the frail ness of her limbs. “It’s all my fault” he thought to himself.

It’s like she had read his mind. She knew he was blaming himself for something which was not in the slightest his fault. “Please don’t” her voice was low and shaky. He looked up at her, his grey irises, tormented. “Please don’t blame yourself, I’m begging you” tears garnered on the brim of her eyes, now spilling down in streams over her boney cheeks.

She couldn’t stand seeing the boy she loved in more pain than he already was, it tore her apart completely. Trying her best to hold back the sobs that fell from her, she murmured a sorry. All the pent up sadness was spilling out after weeks of holding it all in.

Hesitantly, he drew his hand to her cheeks, thumb stroking the wetness away, and in her eyes he saw a wild appeal for forgiveness. His already broken heart shattered into a million pieces at the sight.

With his uninjured arm, Sirius pulled her into his body, her head resting against his warm chest as he kissed the top of her head ;what she had been craving for a long time was finally sated in that moment. She pressed her eyelids into his chest, arms wrapping around his torso.

The two sat there, in the dim light, basking in the comfort each of them provided- but it wasn’t enough to dispel the sadness that shrouded their shoulders.

“Promise me you’ll never shut yourself away from me because you’re scared of burdening me” his voice came out in a whisper. “It’s tearing us apart. I can’t lose you. I love you too much” Sirius’ voice was shaking.

“I promise. Whatever happens to me or to you, I’ll be here. Always” she replied turning her head to look at the boy who was holding her. His skin was a delicate silver in the glow of the night and his hair was messy, falling into his face. “I love you more than you know” she whispered before drawing her lips slowly up to his. “More than you know” Sirius repeated before closing the distance between their mouths.

[legguk]

Hi!! So,

it's my ( literal ) first time writing fanfiction, so I'm pretty new at this stuff, but Lady Dimitrescu is all I was able to think about for weeks and I >needed< to do something about it.

( If you want some context, I wrote this thinking “what if Alcina survived?” - Alcina's pov )

———

The fall,

The end of everything you once loved

Ethan Winters.

You woke up... somehow, you woke up. The frigid air hitting your fresh wounds felt like a jolt send by reality, as if one says "you're still alive" -

- and oh how you were starting to hate that feeling.

Laying on the demolished floor of your castle, muscles twitching in pain, mouth open gasping for air... that's how you are, how you will remember yourself from now on. A defeated dragon, a crushed woman, a dead mother.

You should get up, you should let go of your carcass and crawl your way back into the warmth of your home, you should—

—you should be dead, actually. Resting on death's cold embrace along with your daughters.

Daughters.

God, your daughters.

The memories flood your mind with a painful, unbearable reminder; they're gone, dead, crystalized - gone. They're gone. Your lovely daughters, your pride and joy, the main reason you'd open up your eyes in the morning...

...Bela,

Cassandra,

Daniela....

Their names are long cold, not yet forgotten - no, never forgotten - but somewhere else, as they don't belong here anymore; not on your arms, tucking them to bed. Not on your hands, caressing their faces. Not on your lips, kissing their foreheads. Not on your tongue, as you say them.

A raspy scream leaves your throat, it sounds disturbing.

You sob, hot tears trailing down your cheeks and neck, small cries for help find their way into the wind, disappearing with less importance then when they materialized.

You cannot recall for how long you stayed at that very same position, perhaps some hours, perhaps a day, but you are certain that at some point you were overcame by tiredness and collapsed - probably the best to do for now.

xxx

And so, rises the moon and the stars watch upon your limp body, the night howling a merciful wind and singing a melodic song. Grunting, you push yourself up with your elbows, sitting up and facing the sky through the hole you've made on the roof... and the levels above...

A huge carcass sits besides you, it's wings bended on itself and it's big mouth open to whoever would like to have a peek; you probably changed back into your normal body while unconscious... Now that you can see it clearly, you notice the damage that man-thing did to you... by heavens, how were you still alive and...

Oh. The castle. You look forward, taking in the horizon - the stars look exclusively shiny tonight - you breath in, the dusty air causes you to chough a few times. Stretching your neck a bit to see your whole house, you tell yourself it looks.. fine, actually, ignoring the broken windows. The broken windows.

It's cold. You shiver harshly, panting as the air meets your bare back and rumbles through your lungs, making you hug yourself, - you're naked, you just realized - the winter in Romania is truly kind to no one.

Your legs tremble with just the thought of trying to stand on your feet. You don't rush to do it either, let the wintry breeze take in your wounds, make it sting, burn it, freeze it; freeze your body along.

“To die. To die is to live. To live without them, that's torture. To live without their presence, absent of their scents, to not hear them, nor see their faces again, that's worse than death; far, far worse. How could I ever walk into that damned house without the heavenly sounds of their laughs, the tapping of their feet as they walk free, the steadiness of their heartbeats, reminding me that my own still beats.

Beats for them. For them only.

And they're gone.

So who shall my heart beat for? Myself? No, that wouldn't do. I will rip it out from my chest if I must, sacrifice it to any god who may hear me, all so I could spend five more minutes with them. Then I'd die in peace and find them at my arms again at whatever comes after this poor life.

But I'm here.”

You still hold yourself as you stare at a castle's - broken - window, new warm tears hanging the same trail the old and now dry ones did, a silent cry.

Your intrusive thoughts were abruptly cut by a loud noise from the inside of the castle, making you jump up, gathering all your last strengths to stand and walk a few shaky steps closer to home. The more you walked, the louder the noises got; a little rustle became a bang, and your tiptoing became a sprint, you hold yourself as tight as you can, ignoring the bleeding, the cold air spiking your lungs, how insanely fast you heartbeat was. You need to get there, protect the last remnant of them you still have.

The gates felt heavy now, even for you, who would open them with one hand. Where is your strength now? The fearless dragon who'd do anything to protect her house? Perhaps she died on that fall, and now all there's left is a shadow of what you were one day.

With much pain, you open the big doors, leading to the comfort of your house; you don't get in, you throw yourself in. The warm atmosphere engulfed you like a summer kiss on a winter storm, all you needed to ground yourself to reality for now. Grabbing some sheets laying over an old counter, you wrap yourself in it – oh, that's gonna get soaked in blood, but that's not of your concern now – moving incredibly fast for someone as hurt as yourself, you follow the continuous sounds that could not mean something good. The main doors are open, the cellar is unlocked as well, that idiotic man-thing couldn't even close the doors once he finished slaughtering your home? Imbecile.

You stand at the library's door now, suddenly frozen; you know what happened in there... do you really want to get in? Are you truly ready to face it again? Maybe you should take a step back and walk away, it would be the most logical decision to take now.

But what is logic when the heart screams? What is the brain for once your emotions take the best of you? You can't walk away. Put some honor on your name. Save the last bit of your daughter that fate is still conceiving you. Your chest rises and falls completely out of coordination, your fists close around the fabric involving your body; get ready, you're going in; gather the last bit of courage you have inside yourself and blast these doors.

And so you do.

You bring those pieces of wood to the ground, the only barrier between you and the reality you couldn't accept; a guttural growl forms in your chest as you see a lycan approach your child's crystalized body; you're blind with ire, sorrow, protectorship - you name it - and it makes you shout at the top of your lungs as you dilacerate the filthy beasts you'd bat your eye at. A bloody trail of corpses marks your way through the castle grounds, your claws dripping with fresh sanguine fluid - which you can't tell if it's from the creatures or from yourself - the crimson path follows you all the way to the other wing of mansion like a spirit who must haunt you for eternity.

You scream like a feral animal, blood soaking the once white cloth around your form; the scream becomes a shriek, which descends to a yelp, ending as a furious cry. You can feel the anger leaving you, like the waters of a waterfall; explosive, big portions of water falling into a numb, deaden lake. Hopefully those waters will carry you with them, you shall fall and sink at a anesthetizing lagoon.

You kneel, eyes closed, eyebrows frowned; a loud sigh fills the deafening silence in the air, your mind is blank – better, your mind is red, scarlet red mixed with black, ire and grief. Slowly, your head lower itself so you're facing the floor.

The big Lady Dimitrescu,

kneeling on a pool of blood, defeated.

•

“Lady Dimitrescu!”

Who..? The voice was so far yet so close, you try your best to focus on the direction of the calls but your nerves just won't cooperate.

“Lady!”

Who would be calling for you? Is your mind playing tricks on you now? And since when you were laying on the floor? Too many questions for too little answers. You try to stand up, but a sharp pain on your side made you cry out and fall on your back, face knotted in pain – perhaps your adrenaline rush was keeping you from feeling what was really happening with your body, and now you feel like you're betraying yourself for that.

A small figure approaches you in a fast pace, causing you to unleash your claws one more time and snarl at the not-so-possible threat; you were hurt. Vulnerable. Letting someone close was the last thing you wanted now. The humanoid thing backs away a few steps with your aggressive reaction, hands on their chest, visibly afraid – even though your vision is quite blurry, you identify their expression: scared, desperate, sorrowful – they call out once more, almost shouting.

“Please, Lady Dimitrescu, let me help!”

Ah... Help... The now clearer feminine voice washes over you - a wave of compassion - as if hope has found its way to your house again. Well, it better go away again, or you'll drag it out yourself.

“Out.” was all that left your lips, your intense gaze locking with hers, a silent yet not so discrete warning; although you had only said one word, it was well understood by the woman, who stepped away, eyes still meeting yours, a dreadful cast hang on her face.

Still, she didn't left.

Is that girl testing her luck? It can only be. Once again you warn her: “Leave. I will not repeat myself.”

Her posture stiffens, after a moment of silence she looks at the door, truly wondering about leaving or not; her body turns around, her knuckles going white from how hard she was grabbing the fabric on her chest – she's conflicted. But why? Who is she, after all? – A long, defeated sigh leaves her, as if she knows there is no choice left.

“Allow me to help.” A failed effort on trying to sound confident; her voice is full of tears and her tone is oscillating – it makes you wonder if she has been crying – The human walks towards you, trying not to make any eye contact; you can't stand on your feet, you left hand is pressed on your injured side, the other is open and directing your now extended nails towards her.

Oh how funny it is, no?

The predator being cornered by the prey. The dragon being trapped by the rabbit. How ridiculous it is.

Her extremely shaky hands hang in front of her, trying to say she won't hurt you – oh if she only knew it's going to be the other way round. – One step closer.. Her lips and chin tremble; Another. Your claws grow bigger, eyes peering through her soul; another step, your eyebrows frown, her eyes are teary. The last step - your blood is boiling hot, your nerves on edge; you are still the predator. - a slicing sound and a half-scream saturate the air for a millisecond, just for silence to overfill it once more. Red splashes over the room again, on your face, on your chest, but mostly on the floor, where the girl was thrown at.

An agonizing scream leaves her throat - what a miracle, she remains alive - both of her hands cover her face, blood spilling all over her; what a sight, you would most definitely enjoy this very much on another situation. She cries out in despair, making you face the ceiling and close your eyes, a tired look on your face – you just want all this to end, you don't have any more patience for this. You want to crawl back into your bed and starve, you want to destroy this place, make it abandoned ruins of what one day was a home; you want to kill that damned sickening man-thing, kill this foolish girl for perturbing your grieving, and then yourself.

The woman captures your attention once again, she is kneeling, her body facing yours, her right hand presses her ripped face, the other makes its slow way up to you, although she is trembling, she manages to keep her hand steady enough to hand you a little green flask with a yellow-y label; You look closer, 'treatment disinfectant' it says... Oh you can only be joking. You feel like slaughtering the girl right this instant, but takes in a deep breath and holds the flask, her hand immediately falling along with her body. Is she dead? No, her slow yet consistent breathing exclaims that she is still alive – you honestly find it a bit offensive – You should, but you cannot bring yourself to finish the human; you should end her suffering, but now she caught your attention; and besides, she wants to help, doesn't she? then the price she'll pay is staying alive.

———

hahaaa I'm so nervous about posting this,,, ,

and yes! It is a alcina x maiden fic! I do plan it to be slow burn, and if some you liked it and read it till here, please like and/or reblog and I'll post chapter 2!

( posted on Ao3! Name: “The woman in your castle” )

( chapter 2 posted!! )

[edens-breathless-melodies-moved]

words: 4.6k

pairing: incubus!mattsun/makki x f!reader

prompt: threesome

warnings: threesome, double penetration, daddy kink, sir kink, oral (male receiving), anal penetration, dirty talk, reader getting her shit rocked by two hot demons lmaoo, special twist at the end

summary: going to the bar this frequently usually means you’re looking for trouble. but what do you do when the trouble comes to you instead, and instead of just one problem, it’s two?

the lights in the club were nearly overwhelming, the bass from the music thudding heavily through your blood and pounding in your ears.

the lights cast shadows over everything and the walls seemed as if they were pulsing with the music. different shades of blues, purples, and reds made your skin glow almost ethereally, the white dress that clung to your figure looking downright sinful as it practically glows under the lights.

(e/c) eyes lazily scan the dance floor, deep wine colored lips wrapped around your straw suggestively as you finish your third glass of rum and coke.

although the club was lively, bodies grinding against one another in a drunken and lust-filled frenzy, it becomes boring after a while.

you needed something exciting, something new. something that would get your heart thudding in your chest and your lungs gasping for air. you were tired of this same old, tepid pace.

so when your eyes trailed lazily back to the bar and immediately connected with not one, but two pairs of eyes that were already locked on your figure, a bolt of electricity shot down your spine. maybe you had spoken too soon.

a small flirtatious smile made it’s way onto your wine-colored lips when neither men broke eye contact with you as you caught them staring. instead, they both chose to shoot you their own smiles back.

even from across the bar you could tell they were tall, easily towering over the people that surrounded them. the man on the left with the dark curly hair and sleepy eyes was taller than his light-haired companion with the cheeky grin to his right.

sleepy eyes’ grin was small and lazy, more of a smirk than anything. his dark hooded eyes roamed over your body, and the intensity behind those orbs made you feel as if he were undressing you right where you stood.

your thighs clench unconsciously, and sleepy eyes’ grin only grows wider, as if he knew the effect he already had on you.

trying to cool your flustered expression, you trail your eyes over to the man on his right. any hopes of fighting off the blush on your cheeks went down the drain the moment you locked eyes with his companion.

piercing eyes captivate yours, and you feel like you’ve suddenly been put underneath a spell. his eyes hold yours and you feel the room melt away, as if it were just the two of you alone.

plush lips part to swipe a tongue that changes colors under the lights across dry lips, and you barely hold back a whimper when you catch a glint of metal before it disappears back into his mouth.

unable to hold the intense eye contact any longer, you rip your gaze away from the man and settle it back on your empty drink, head tilted towards the floor as you struggle to regain your footing.

when you said you were waiting for something exciting and new to pop up, you didn’t necessarily mean for it to come in the form of two incredibly attractive strangers who you seemed to pique their interest from across the bar.

but you’re most definitely not complaining.

you shuddered as you recalled the way their eyes roamed over your body as if you were already undressed, greedily taking in the way your body curved and flowed.

there was a hint of familiarity in their gaze as well, as if they’ve seen your body before, devoured it before laying their eyes on you for the first time tonight.

not realizing how deep into your thoughts you were, you gasped in surprise when suddenly a warm hand came into your view, calloused fingers gently gripping your chin to force you to look up from your empty glass.

heat rushed through your body when your eyes connected with a sleepy pair, hooded lids barely containing amusement and a hint of lust behind swirling irises.

the tall man bends over to bring himself down to your height, lips brushing against your ear so you can hear him over the pounding music, and you think you imagine the feeling of cool metal against your skin.

“why such a concentrated look, cutie?” he rumbles into your ear, and if rough sex could have a voice it would definitely belong to this man. his voice is velvety, deep, and slightly raspy at the ends, like smoke curling past someone’s lips after they’ve taken a drag.

his scent invades your nose, cedarwood and hints of leather intoxicating your senses, and you have to refrain yourself from leaning your body into his.

instead, you lean back to level your gaze with his, lazily crossing your arms with a small smile curling your painted lips.

“just wishing i had another drink in me.” you purred, enjoying the way his eyes trail down to your exposed cleavage before trailing their way back up to your eyes, not forgetting to gaze at your lips while he was at it.

he chuckled as he ran a large hand through his inky curls, and you absentmindedly wondered what they would feel like under your fingers as you tugged on them.

“well, pretty thing,” he leered at you, one corner of his lips curling up into a half smile and it was at this moment that you realized that you hadn’t imagined the feeling of metal.

a thin ring was settled right in the middle of his plump bottom lip, and you couldn’t help but gulp when you watched his skin stretch even tighter around the piercing when his smile grew.

“i think i can fix that.”

just as you’re about to say your thanks, another large and warm hand shoots out to grab your wrist, and you nearly break your neck when you whip to your side to see who would be so bold as to just grab you out of nowhere.

the venomous retort on your tongue dies when you lock eyes with a familiar pair of intense orbs. a small blush fills your cheeks as light hair brings your hand up to press a kiss to your knuckles, cheeky smile never leaving his lips.

without saying a word, he gently tugs you to your feet and jerks his chin in the direction of the dance floor. he wanted to dance with you.

you shift your gaze back to sleepy eyes for some assistance with his friend, but all he does is give you that same half-smile before shooing you away, turning to the bar to order your drink.

seeing as he was going to be no help, you allow the other man to drag you to the middle of the dance floor, secretly relishing in the way his large hands grip your waist and pull you onto his crotch as you grind and sway to the music.

getting a cheeky idea, you twist in his hold, now facing his chest as his hands never leave your waist. he cocks a thin eyebrow at you, a small smirk curling his lips as you smile up innocently at him.

swaying your hips to the music, you slide your hands up and around his neck, lightly scratching the base of his hairline as you bite your lip and give him a flirtatious wink. you giggle as you feel the slight groan that leaves his lips rather than hear it.

the smirk on his lips could only be described as devilish when he removes a hand from your waist to trail it up your body, lightly groping your breast before settling on the nape of your neck, eyes narrowing at the soft moan you released when he gave you a gentle squeeze.

the prominent feeling of his hard cock grinding against you through your dress already has your panties growing damp, but you couldn’t feel bothered to care.

he released your throat to bring his fingers up to cup your cheek, and his eyes darken when you slip his thumb into your mouth and suck when he goes to brush against your lips.

your body feels as if you’ve been put under a spell as you stare into his eyes. your only mission is to please this man and his partner by any means necessary.

another groan rumbles from his chest when you swirl your tongue around his digit before pulling off of it with a pop, and light hair is quick to wrap his hand around your neck and pull you close.

his breath is sweet with the faint stench of alcohol, no doubt from what he was drinking earlier.

a whimper escapes you when he pulls you even closer, running his nose along your jaw before settling his lips by your ear.

“you like playing with fire, pretty girl? cause it seems to me like you’re in the mood to get burned.” he growls into your ear, voice low and smooth like silk.

your panties are undoubtedly drenched by now when he finally pulls you into a searing kiss, cock still grinding against your aching core as you tighten your grip on his neck.

his kiss is dominant and demanding, eager tongue plunging into your mouth, and your delighted when you feel the distinct metal of his tongue piercing drag along your own muscle.

you continue making out with the ridiculously hot stranger before pulling away with a gasp as another body comes up behind you, sandwiching you in the middle.

you moan lightly when another hard cock is ground against your ass, ring adorned fingers coming up to wrap around your throat and tilt your head back until your heady gaze is met with those lustfully hooded eyes again.

“well now isn’t this a sweet treat,” sleepy eyes muses as you whine and grind against his cock, already helpless and they’ve haven’t done a single thing to you.

“what a naughty little thing, letting two strangers grind against your body and touch on you like this.” he continues, eyes leaving yours to meet with his partners across your head.

you can’t see the grin light hair shoots his friend but you can definitely feel a pair of nimble fingers disappear under your dress, lightly stroking your soaking core before teasing your clit.

sleepy eyes grins darkly at the sight of your eyes widening in shock, cute brows immediately furrowing as you moan softly at the pleasure, hips grinding onto the two fingers.

the whine you let out when light hair pulls his fingers away almost makes him feel bad, but the sight of your shocked expression when he offers his fingers to his partner to taste your slick makes up for it.

sleepy eyes takes his fingers into his mouth, groaning at your essence as he laps it off of his partners digits, shooting him a small wink at the slightly flustered expression on his face.

turning his gaze back to you, he grins wolfishly before bringing his lips down to your ear again. “let’s introduce ourselves, hm? that way you know who’s names your gonna be screaming by the end of tonight.”

you nod dumbly at his words, still dazed by his previous ministrations, thighs clenching as he releases his hold on your neck and angles your head to look at the man across from you.

“my name’s hanamaki takahiro, sweetheart.” hanamaki winks at you, trailing his still wet finger across his lips before flicking out his tongue to swipe across the flesh, watching how your eyes stay trained on his piercing.

sleepy eyes grinds his cock against your ass again, pulling a whimper from you as he rumbles his name into your ear.

“and i’m matsukawa issei, pretty thing.” he groans into your ear as you grind your ass back against him, his hold on your waist just under hanamaki’s grip tightening.

“i’m (y/n),” you reply breathlessly, flushing under the cute smile hanamaki sends your way, lips barely brushing as he dips head close to yours.

“a pretty name for a pretty girl.” he murmurs softly before pressing a quick peck to your lips, laughing slightly when you try to chase him as he pulls away.

the two men lock eyes above your head before hanamaki drops his hands from your waist and matsukawa spins you around so your facing him.

you crane your neck up to meet his eyes, and you can’t repress the startled gasp when you see his dark irises have been replaced by a glowing purple, nearly the same shade as the lights bouncing off of you from above.

your heart is pounding in your chest when hanamaki joins him on your right side, expressive eyes narrowed in lust as his irises have also been replaced by the same purple in matsukawa’s.

your body feels like it’s locked in place, the urge to tear your eyes away from their gaze practically nonexistent. you should feel scared, terrified of these men who clearly aren’t human, yet you can’t find yourself willing to part from them.

they both smile fanged smiles when they realize you aren’t running from them, already caught in their trap. matsukawa tugs you closer as hanamaki brings a soft hand up to cup your cheek.

“why don’t you come home with us, pretty girl?” hanamaki coos at you, bright eyes swirling with lust and mischief.

“we’ll take good care of you, scouts honor.” matsukawa can’t hold back his snort at makki’s words, muttering “scouts honor my ass” under his breath which hanamaki snickers at.

you can’t help the nervous shiver down your spine, the daunting task of taking on these two men men? suddenly presenting itself to you.

“but i’ve never... been with... two before…” you trail off weakly, and both men have to repress the urge to just rip off your clothes and take you there when you gaze up at them with those glassy doe eyes.

“don’t you worry your pretty little head, gorgeous.” matsukawa reassures you, giving your waist a comforting squeeze. “we’ll walk you through it and make sure you enjoy yourself tonight. what do you say?”

you miss the sinister looks in their eyes as you nod your head yes. you had no idea what you just agreed to.

—————————

“issei!” you moan out, eyes clenched shut as you pressed your face further into the mattress, fists clenching the wrinkled sheets until your knuckles turned white.

a swift spank rang across your ass cheek, forcing another choked moan from your lips as mattsun kneads your flesh, appreciating the way your skin looks all marked up and red.

“that’s the wrong name, baby girl.” he tuts out disappointedly, grinning wickedly as he adds a second thick finger into your tight ass, slowly easing it in before spreading them apart.

a cute squeal leaves your flush lips at the burning stretch, head coming up as tears of pain and pleasure sting your eyes.

“daddy~!”

“there we fucking go.” mattsun groans out, pumping his fingers steadily into you, hungry eyes never leaving the delicious way your back arches as he crooks and twists his fingers around inside you.

you could barely focus on the words leaving his mouth, cute little cunt clenching around nothing as he further stretched your ass

“we wanna make sure you’re nice and prepared for us, pretty thing.” you remember makki whispering to you as they shedded your clothes the moment they got you into their bedroom.

speaking of makki, a black and thin tail trailed the edge of your jaw, spade-tipped end coming to rest under your chin and force your hazy gaze upwards.

(e/c) eyes met a smiling pair of glowing purple, makki’s pink hair glowing under the dim bedroom light as he smiled down on you, his curled horns glinting dimly in the light.

“she looks so fucked out, issei. whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.” makki coos out, smirking when he brings up a palm to your face and you lean into it, moaning even louder as mattsun continues preparing your ass for later.

but stretching your ass out wasn’t makki’s concern, though you did look adorable all close eyed and flushed. right now, makki was more concerned with how your plush lips would feel on his throbbing cock.

feeling something hot and wet nudge your lips, you open your eyes to be greeted with makki’s throbbing length. you drooled at the sight of it. both of these men had been blessed in the cock department, but what exactly do you expect when you’re fucking a incubus?

makki’s length was long and thick, flushed red tip steadily leaking precum, and you could see his pulse in the long vein that ran on the side of it. you can only imagine what it’d feel like inside of you.

as if reading your mind, makki smiles down at your awed expression, kneeling in front of you as he lightly taps his leaking tip against your lips. “open up pretty girl, the faster you suck my cock the faster i can split that pretty pussy apart.”

he laughed at the desperate whine you let out, tapping his tip against your parted lips again. “what do you say about that?”

you flush as you press a quick kiss to his tip, shyly dragging your tongue across the slit to avoid answering his question. a hiss rang from makki before he grabbed a fistful of your hair and tugged, causing to to yelp.

mattsun took that opportunity to squeeze in a third finger, relishing in the way you tightened around his digits in pain and pleasure. you were gonna feel heavenly around his cock, no pun intended.

(yeah it was.)

makki jerked your head around again when you took too long to answer him, glowing eyes looking down on you harshly as you cried out.

“answer me when i’m talking to you, (y/n), or i might not play so fucking nice with you next time.” he growled out.

your heart jumped at the idea of a next time, but you pushed that to the back of your mind, swallowing your pride as you shyly looked into his eyes, embarrassed.

“i like the sound of that…” you murmured out quietly, quickly averting your eyes as you hoped that would be enough to appease him.

makki’s eyes hardened as he slapped his cock roughly against your cheek, causing you to squeal. “you like the sound of that, what?” his cold tone made you realize his patience was wearing thin.

“i like the sound of that, sir!” you whimpered out, and you relaxed when the harsh look in his eyes was replaced with that soft satisfied look again.

“there we go, sweetheart. that wasn’t so hard, was it?” you bit back a whimper as he slowly dragged his tip across your lips, lightly nudging them further apart as you panted from mattsun’s fingers in your ass.

without warning, makki thrusted his cock past your lips, filling your mouth quickly as mattsun slammed particularly hard into you.

you choked on his cock as you squealed, eyes rolling back into your head as both men began a fast pace, rocking themselves in and out of your body as you laid there and took it.

“fuck, pretty girl, your mouth feels really - shit! good!” makki panted out, gripping your head firmly as he fucked himself further down your throat.

you gagged around his thick length as he pushed further into your throat, and he let out a loud moan when you swallowed around him reflexively.

“shit!” he groaned, and one of his hands left your hair to lightly grip your throat, feeling it bulge from his cock. “fuck, babygirl, do that again! issei, you gotta feel this.”

mattsun’s unoccupied hand came up to rest against your throat just as you swallowed around makki’s length again. both men let out a moan at the feeling, and mattsun pulled his fingers from your entrance, causing you to whine.

“don’t worry pretty girl, you won’t be empty for long.” before you could process his words, you felt the fat head of mattsun’s cock press against your asshole, slicked up with lube as he pushes in, hands spreading your ass cheeks apart.

you force yourself off of makki’s cock as you grip his thighs tightly, nails digging into his flesh as you cry at the feeling of mattsun splitting your ass in two.

makki lowers himself onto the bed as he cups your face, cooing to you softly as he gently wipes away the fat tears rolling down your cheeks with his thumb.

“fuck she’s tight.” mattsun swears as he continues to sink further into your ass.

you hiccup at the stretch, vision swimming with tears as his fat cock continues to enter you for what feels like forever. how much more of him can you take?

“d-daddy!” you hiccup out, and the watery tone of your pain laced voice causes him to stop only two-thirds of the way into your ass. his hand comes up to rub soothing circles into your lower back.

he leans over your figure, pressing warm kisses to your shaking spine as you struggle to accommodate his length in you. “i’m sorry pretty girl, does it hurt?”

you whimper as you nod your head, back bowed and eyes clenched shut as you fisted the sheets tightly.

mattsun and makki shared the same look with a frown on their lips, and mattsun continued to rub your lower back as he peppered your back with kisses.

“i’m sorry pretty girl, you know i don’t mean to hurt you,” he murmurs against your spine. “you just gotta relax for me, sweetheart. then you’ll feel really good.”

you shook your head again, thighs still trembling. “t-too big, daddy!” you gasp out, and a small smile curls mattsun’s lips before he wipes it away as he coos at you.

“i know sweetheart, but i also know you can take it. just relax for me, pretty girl, can you do that for me?”

with a shaky nod from you, makki peppers your face with kisses, licking away your tears as his hands travel lower until he reaches your chest.

a soft moan escapes your lips as he fondles your breasts, slim fingers rolling and pinching your nipples until they’re nice and hard for him.

mattsun releases a shaky sigh as he feels you loosen up around his cock, but you still have a bit more to go before he can move again.

you let out a soft gasp as you felt the distinct feeling of mattsun’s tail in between your legs, spade-tipped end flicking and rubbing against your clit.

mattsun let out a breathy chuckle as you moaned from the stimulation, body loosening up even further until he finally slid all the way in, his hips pressed flush against your ass. “there we go, sweetheart. just relax.”

he stayed like that for a minute, letting you accommodate to his size before gently rocking his hips to test where things were. a surprised moan fell from your lips as you placed your forehead against the sheets, lightly rocking against his cock.

you’ve never felt so full in your life, and you had absolutely no idea how you were supposed to take both of them.

mattsun took your moan as a sign to continue, and this time he pulled back a little further before thrusting into you firmly, but not too much to overwhelm you.

“oooh daddy!” you squealed out in pleasure, and makki shot mattsun a grin that mattsun returned, gripping your hips firmly as he lightly thrusted into your ass.

“i told you it’d feel good, princess.” mattsun chuckled as you met each of his thrusts, pace slightly picking up along with your moans ringing through the room. “ohh fuck.” he groaned out as he sped up, biting his lip as he fucked steadily into your ass.

you were drooling into the sheets at this point, mind completely blank as mattsun drilled into you, headboard slamming lightly against the wall from the force of his thrusts.

the pleasure was so overwhelming that you didn’t even realize he stopped thrusting into you and makki slipping under you until you felt his cock nudge against your cunt.

you lifted your head in shock as your eyes met his, and makki only smiled at you as he pressed into you, moaning at how tight and wet you were.

“ohhh my fucking god.” you choked out, resting your head against makki’s shoulder as you shook in their hold, the feeling of being impossibly stuffed intensifying as makki finally bottomed out inside of you.

you panted harshly against his skin, and when you felt two pairs of hands squeeze you in question, you couldn’t help the breathless chuckle at their concern.

“i’m green guys, it’s okay.” you lifted your head to peer into makki’s glowing irises that were swimming with lust and concern. leaning in close, you captured his lips with yours, twisting your tongue around his as you played with his piercing.

when you guys parted you were panting, hooded eyes never leaving his. “c’mon, sir!” you whined as you lightly rocked your hips.

a choked moan left makki’s lips as his grip on your waist tightened. a similar sound came from mattsun behind you, and you turned around to gaze into his eyes as well. “you too, daddy.”

“i thought you guys were going to take ‘real good care of me’ tonight?” the condescending tone of your voice broke the men out of their temporary reverie, and both growled as they both pulled out and thrusted back into you at the same time.

a choked groan left your lips as they stuffed you full again, and you let out another breathy laugh that ended in a moan as makki leaned forward to bite your neck.

“please wreck me, daddy. i wanna cum all over your fat cocks, sir.”

you knew you were in for trouble the moment both of them snarled, and a wail escaped your swollen lips as they both began pounding into you, flesh slamming against flesh as they fucked you within an inch of your life.

as mattsun railed your ass harshly and makki snapped his hips deeply into your cunt, pelvis grinding against your clit with each thrusts, you made peace with yourself that if this is how you died, at least you’d see them in hell.

————————-

with a final cry and the stuttering of hips, all three of you collapsed onto the sheets bonelessly, gasping for air as you came down from your highs.

both men pulled out of your abused holes, a smug satisfaction filling them as they watched their seed ooze from your twitching body.

they both laid down on either side of you, makki snuggling into your neck on your right as mattsun rested his chin on your head to your left.

“i think…” you panted, still trying to catch your breath. mattsun hummed and makki began tracing patterns onto your stomach, waiting for you to continue.

“i think… that may have been the best session yet.” both men laughed as they agreed with you, hugging your body closer to them.

“like for real. you guys were so convincing in the club, i nearly forgot we were role playing.” makki chuckled into your neck before sighing in content as you rubbed his horns.

he always loved when you played with his horns after a particularly steamy round in the bedroom.

“yeah, that was a pretty good round.” mattsun concluded as he got comfortable, lazily wrapping his tail around your waist, pressing a smile into your hair when he felt makki’s intertwine with his over your skin.

mattsun raised himself to press a sweet kiss against your lips, tugging makki by his hair to pull him from your neck to give him his as well.

makki’s whines were short lived as he melted into his boyfriend’s kiss, and once they broke apart, he smiled into yours as you pressed one against his lips as well.

finally relaxing into your bed, limbs all tangled with one another, you all began drifting to sleep. just as the boys were about to go under, your sweet voice rang out into the quiet night air.

“i love you two so much, you have no idea.”

taglist: @lovelypasteldreams @living-for-drama @arixtsukki @month-seasoning

[proserpina-magnus]

Hi hope your day is going well and you’re staying hydrated 💖 I wanted to ask if you could write a bittersweet angst Regulus x reader where they were very close and both got the death mark but the reader was secretly working for the order and Regulus still believes in Voldemort’s ideas so he snitches on her and as the death eaters are torturing her she has flashbacks to memories she made with him and at the end he regrets it but can’t do anything- yes I want to cry my eyes out today ✨

Bestie I am so sorry this took so long!! I had to motivate myself to write this because Regulus angst hurts me to the core.  I really hope you enjoy this! xoxo

Tacanda [ Regulus Black ]

little information before reading: The italics are passed memories.

Tacada: Things better left unsaid; Matters to be passed over in silence.

Word Count: 1336

[ Warning: female reader, (light)ANSGT, sorta cannan Reggie, blood/bruises mentioned, betrayal, heartbreak, slight bone breaking, torture, petnames such as "darling" and "mon amour", hints directed towards child abuse revolving around the Black Family, Bellatrix makes a appearance ]

"I'm sorry darling, this wasn't how it was supposed to go," Regulus's voice wasn't kind, his words were plain, said without any emotion. his dark eyes squinted slightly, opening the door to the damp and dark cellar. A few of your fellow deatheaters slipped inside the room, their wands in hand, a dark smile over their features.

"Regulus! Regulus please," you yell in desperation, your eyes are as wide as saucers, filled with fear. He only turned his back to you, nodding at the deatheaters as he walked outside of the room. The door shut tight, locking you inside.

Your arms bound by magic to the chair rest, you wiggle and squirm to try and move. You're screaming out for him to come back, saying empty promises to try and get back on their good side.

Your pleas aren't heard and if they were, Regulus had ignored them. Resentful doubt filling in your nerves, Regulus wouldn't have left you. This wasn't happening, it was just a scare tactic for you to join their side.

"Please, I'm on your side!" You cry as they hit you with the first curse, it's a simple charm of pain. Your ears fill with their horrible laughs, their mumbles of insults slipping past your mind.

"I'm [ name ], you're Regulus Black right?" Your voice expands through the now open train compartment. You don't wait for his answer, instead, you slip onto the seat opposite of the smaller boy.

"Yeah, why do you wanna know," the boy said, a huff in his voice. His hair was combed back with gel, making him look more boyish.

Somehow, you had gotten him to talk to you and by the end of the train ride, you both had been well acquainted. You will never forget the first smile you ever saw him make, it was heart stopping.

Your body felt waves of pain, a stinging vibration hitting your skin. You saw their wand move from the corner of your eye, hearing them yell the Crucio curse. A loud scream ripped from your throat, your nails clawing at the wooden chair.

You fell back onto the floor, your stomach pressing into the chair leg as you stay strapped to it. The deatheaters chuckle insanely, each taking turns to send you awful spells.

"Reggie! We have all our classes together! Even potions!" You exclaim. It was your fourth year, you had been worried all summer that you wouldn't get to spend time with him.

"Really? That's... great," Regulus emitted, his voice was bored but his eyes were wide. He was filled with joy. Regulus flushed red when your arms wrapped around his side, pulling him closer into a warm hug.

He shrugged you off, looking around to see if his Slytherin friends had seen. You pouted, saddened. Regulus made a small frown, before leaning down and placing a sweet kiss on your cheek.

"Fuck you," you spat at them, sour blood leaking from your opened wounds. Your lip was bruised, a gashing wound on your forehead. You struggled to keep your eyes open, sneering at them.

"You fucking bitch," one of them rasped, bringing his hand into your hair as he grabbed it. He smashed your head into his knee, a hurtful crack filling to room.

With blood seeping from your nose, a dainty pain ached over every part of your body, you let out a cackling breath. Laughing in their face only made them angrier, another painful spell was casted.

You saw white flashes, eyes blurred as you choked on your blood. Metallic copper filled your mouth, you struggled to keep your teeth from biting your tongue.

Regulus planted his lips on yours, the Slytherins cheering in the distance. The Slytherins had won a quidditch match against Gryffindor, but Regulus had pulled you to the side behind the stands instead of celebrating with his mates.

Your eyes widened, his sweat and dirty hand coming to hold your jaw. It took him 5 years to finally kiss you and you weren't about to waste it. Before he could pull away, you brought him back down with a fistful of his hair.

"Regulus..." you whispered, lips warm as you feel the heat rise from the back of your neck. His eyelashes batted, he wasn't the small boy he used to be.

"I'm so in love with you, I have been since the moment you stepped into my compartment during the first year. Please, I'm begging you, love me back," Regulus whispers, his words hushed like he can't believe he's admitting it. Your eyes fill with longing, a gorgeous smile on your lips.

"Oh Reggie," you whisper back, pulling him down to a hug. He pulls you closer, holding you like it's the last time he would get to hug you.

Regulus listened outside the door, hearing snaps and loud crying whimpers from the room. His fingernails dug into his palm, eyes filled with rage. He gripped his wand, his knuckles during white.

Was the lord's acceptance more important than love? He shared wonderful moments with you, you've seen him cry and all the possible worst parts of him, how could he repay you with such cruel punishments?

"She's not the girl she was Regulus, she lied to us... she lied to you," Bellatrix whispered in a chilly voice, but Regulus paid her no mind as he stared hardly towards the ground.

Regulus almost lost it when he heard you call out for him, his eyes filling with hot tears. He was surprised he was hit from showing so much emotion towards a traitor. "Suck it in! A Black doesn't cry!" Bellatrix hisses, pulling him harshly away from the door.  Regulus let himself get pulled, he felt like a failure.

You hummed to yourself, a happy glow flowing around you. You had attended to some plants in the garden, casting charms to keep them healthy. Regulus watched with loving eyes, a small smile on his lips. There were only a few more weeks of school left, soon you and Regulus would leave Hogwarts and start your lives together.

"Mon amour, let me show you something after you're done," He called, making you turn your head to see him. With a confused smile on your lips, you asked him; "what are you going to show me?"

"It's a surprise darling, I think you'll enjoy it," Regulus persuaded, you finished charming the plants quickly. You turned completely around, seeing Regulus hold out a hand for you to take.

Your hand found his, clutching it with warmth. He brought you away from the garden, leading you back to the castle. You kept persisting he tell you what he wanted to show you, but he only smiled at you and kept walking.

In a moment, Regulus was on one knee, a small box in his hand. Your eyes peered open, taking in a deep breath as you watched him open the box.

"Please, I'm begging you, will you marry me?"  Regulus asked, you nodded your head as quickly as you could, your words getting caught in your throat.

"Of course ill marry you!" You choke out, watching on shaky limbs as Regulus pushed the silver ring against your finger. Your eyes filled with tears, Regulus soon scooping you up in his arms, twirling you around the room.

Your eyes had shut tight, they had no reason to open. You thought about your last order meeting, a promise to Sirius that you would change his brother's mind and get him on the good side. Your promise fell short, laying in a puddle of your dark blood, you let out one final cry. "Regulus please, I'm begging you,"

Your lover was long gone, you had only wished for death at this moment. Nothing could hurt worse than the heartbreak that filled your lungs, or maybe it was blood.

"Stupid bitch," was the last words you heard, before a blinding green light casts over the room. No amount of begging could bring you back, not even if Regulus said please.