#these tags are so nonsensical don’t read them <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[skywitchmaja]

malydia are sooo fun because they boldly ask the question “what if too lesbians who were sooo autistic in the exact opposite directions? but what if they’re not actually autistic they’re just Like That because they are a harbinger of death and a girl who spent the last several years of her life as a coyote? but what if still, actually really truly and for real, they were both autistic (in the exact opposite directions)?” and they answer is, of course, “well, that would be awesome”

[gremlingottoosilly]

Cleaning services (perv!Konig x fem!cleaner!Reader)

Konig needs help in decluttering and cleaning his house. Unfortunately for you, he takes quite a huge liking in having pretty things like you around. And he isn't very nice about it.

TW: Perverted Konig, age gap, Konig masturbates at you without consent, implied kidnapping, yandere Word count: 3754 This work on AO3

There is no shame in having a professional cleaner, König tries to tell himself. 

Yes, he is a grown man with a very dangerous job that requires having a lot of responsibility. He holds the lives of his soldiers in his hands and risks his life every day not for the sake of his country, but certainly for the sake of his wallet and the reputation of KorTac. 

Hiring a professional cleaner for his house shouldn’t make him feel humiliated and embarrassed, and he knows it. Cleaners are basically like soldiers – doing stuff that other people can’t for a certain amount of money, providing services for the clients who can afford it. Besides, it’s a support of his local community – after everything he took from the people around his town, it’s only natural that he would support this growing business of cleaning services. 

There is no shame in having some nice old lady cleaning his house and watching over it while he is too busy trying not to kill himself or drown his head in liquor after a particularly rough mission. When you lose two guys on a run that was supposed to be the quickest task possible when you’re returning home with an injury that isn’t really that serious but brings your whole mental state into a very dark place, and when you’re forced to take 3 weeks of leave in the place you hate, hiring a cleaner to take care of everything really shouldn’t make him so ashamed of himself. 

Even if he can clean his space – the house is just too big for only one of him, and his ribs still have this funny feeling of fantom bullets traveling around his guts. So, he dials up the number of the cleaning services because he is too fucking old to understand their weird website and messenger ordering, even though speaking with a human operator on the other half of the line is somewhat more humiliating that having no idea of how to use a modern interface. 

There is no shame in asking for help, his therapist is trying to shrill it in his head all of the time and yet he is still hesitant when the cleaning professional is knocking on his door, finding this place surprisingly fast. König braces himself, thinking about all the ways he could avoid having a conversation – he drew a quick map of the place, put down the room cleaner shouldn’t be entering – his gun safe, mostly, already repeated in his head how he would greet them and swiftly extract himself from the situation. 

“Guten Tag, please, come in. This is the map of the place, don’t go to the red door on the right, don’t hesitate to ask questions, I will be on the second floor.” He takes a few wide, swift steps to his door and stops. Thinks again, overthinking, thinking too fucking much about everything, anxiously checking on his phone to read the message that yes, his cleaner is here and he should probably open the door or they would burst down the window. “Guten Tag, come in. Map of the place is here, don’t go to the red door to the right, please hesitate to ask questions, I will be somewhere around the house, lurking in the shadows” He braces himself to open the door, ready to see that sweet old lady who would spend the next 8 hours cleaning his house and then turn back another day to rinse and repeat until his house stopped looking like a place where a very, very miserable man lives. (Even if this is true) 

But, there isn’t a nice old lady with a bunch of cleaning supplies and determination to make someone’s life easier. 

But, there isn’t a cold middle-aged woman with a very professional no-nonsense attitude who wouldn’t even talk to him before going straight to work. 

But, there is a young girl. Well, not a girl, of course, if he had to guess you were somewhere around the “Too fucking young, but definitely legal” spectrum. Young enough to not be alive when he was already going to school, young enough to make him sweat, and definitely not old enough to be accepting a job where you’d have to spend so much of your life cleaning and scrubbing and sorting and…

There isn’t anything shameful in ordering a cleaning service when you genuinely need it, but you’re young and you’re pretty and he isn’t even wearing a mask because he is an old dumbass that forgot about it, and you look at him with your shiny eyes and…

Maybe, he should clean on his own – would definitely be less shameful. 

— Sir? H…hello? Good morning? Can you hear me? 

Yes, he can hear you. 

Yes, he would love to hear you every single day of his life, when he wakes up and when he falls asleep. 

— Ja. I apologize, I…thought it was mail. 

It’s a dumb excuse, but he can’t really say that he was just too fucking mesmerized by your shiny eyes and perfect hair and nice figure and basically everything about you. He has this nasty habit of imagining a future with people around him – with people who just fucking want to be left alone, and yet he still stares and looks and it’s probably ultra uncomfortable for them – but he can’t help imagining the life with every cute lady in the grocery shop or elegant lady sitting next to him on a train. 

He has a pattern – people who are not interested in him in the slightest. He has a pattern, a preference, cute girls, smart girls, popular ladies that were never even so much as looking in his direction. He could probably score someone now, having a colonel’s salary and honorably discharged payments, but he gave up on trying to find anyone. He has friends, company, has work where he spent most of his life anyway – he doesn’t need anyone, he wants to think. 

Then you waddle into his life with a bunch of cleaning supplies and a small vacuum, barely able to handle everything in your hands. He rushes to help and envelops your hands with his – you are so much smaller in comparison, he has bear-like arms and horribly big everything. he feels awkward when he gently removes everything from your arms – when he tries to help by simply putting everything on the table of the next room. 

König hated this house – it was big, it was empty, and the only reason he didn’t sell it was because Mother’s things were still locked in her old bedroom and every time he tried to clean it and evaluate the cost of the house, he decided that he will Do It Other Day. Coincidentally, all of those days were also followed by three-month minimum missions, making him utterly unable to do everything about this place anyway. 

This is why you’re here – a hired cleaner, a sorter, you promised to de-hoard everything and see if there is anything of value. Perfect for someone like him, especially since he is paying you double for spending the whole day and a few days more in his house exclusively. 

Now, he looks at how awkward your smile is, how you fidget with the edge of the broom you brought, and how you can’t even start a conversation because he is simply staring at you, staying in the living room of this dead, almost abandoned house. Now, he looks at how cute you are, how perfect, and remembers that he didn’t score with anyone in half a year already – not even in terms of sex, the casual flirting was also forbidden since half of his unit was transferred and the new people weren’t really fun of his tough methods of breaking rookies in. 

When was the last time someone genuinely smiled at him? 

Ah, he is staring again. Scheisse. 

— Where do you want me to start, sir? 

He wonders how much he should pay you to clean him instead. Would you be gentle? Rough? Would you call him a pervert, which he is, and then slap him and yell at him for being such a horrible old dog who is ready to pounce at every pretty girl in his presence? He would do anything that would set his mind free of the thought about Mom. Her bedroom. This whole house that he can’t call home ever since he turned 6 and understood why Father was always so, so angry. 

— The living room. If it’s not too much. 

He barely stops himself from talking more – you look weird, you loom surprised, you look at him like he is fucking stupid and, in fact, he is. Of course, it wouldn’t be too hard for you, you’re his clean, for fucks sake. You come here to clean, you get good money for it, he shouldn’t feel guilty for using your services because, in some way, he actually provides you with a job and a cute thing like you shouldn’t go to other houses, with old perverts that can do unspeakable things with the adorable worker. 

Ah, yes, perverts like him. God, he is hopeless. 

— Alright. Do you want to note something, like if there is anything I shouldn’t touch? 

He would allow you to take your adorable, yellow glow-wearing hands to get into his personal savings and all of his bank accounts, if you’d want to. He curses under his breath, hating how professional you are – hard worker, perfect, simply a fantastic person who deserves more than working for him. You aren’t trying to shy away from the job and he almost resents you for it. 

You’d make a good soldier, he thinks – you’re able to hear the orders and oblige to them, you’re obedient and came even before the discussed time. You’d make such a perfect private for his unit, he observes. 

Ah, right, he was supposed to answer you. Shit. 

— No. Just don’t go to the second room on the left. 

— Alright. Anything else? 

He grumbles under his breath, trying to get into the right headspace to deal with someone like you. König knows it’s rude, to just ignore and leave you like this – but if he were to stay in he same room as you, he would do something horrible, disgusting, and completely dishonorable to you. So, he leaves – escapes – to his office. Father’s office, mostly, the only thing here that belongs to him are some documents and useless papers – and a laptop that he drags to every other room anyway. 

He doesn’t like this room, it reminds him of the worst episodes of his early childhood – yet, this is his only reserve. He doesn’t want to leave the house because the territory is secluded and if something were to happen to you, he would be the only one able to help. He also doesn’t want to leave his gun collection with you – he doesn’t want you to find it and freak out or hurt yourself. 

This is what he tells himself, at least. He wants to be there with you, in the same room preferably, but horrible for his anxiety, because he wants this illusion, phantasm of having a loving relationship. Of having a woman in his life, a lovely housewife who would cook for him, clean for him, and would be absolutely spoiled with gifts and attention. God knows he doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body – but he will carve one out of his ribs for you. 

And he only knew you for an hour tops. 

König feels like literally the worst man alive when he spread his legs and starts stroking his hard, glistening cock. He brushes over the swollen, red tip, not allowing himself to have any lube other than spit and oozing pre-cum – he tries not to cum embarrassingly quickly, thinking about your perfect gestures and smiling face. How perfect you look in your cleaning uniform – not like maids from the occasional porn he was watching, but still beautiful. Your body is perfect even with all of those ugly layers and grey fabric – and he can’t stop thinking about the sway of your hips or glimpses of your legs under your dress.

He thinks about you, bent over his couch, trying to clean the especially dirty spot on the furniture – how the material of your dress would be tight around your ass. The image makes him grunt quietly, stroking his barely wet dick even more – the pain from the dry sensation only makes the pleasure all the sweeter. He is hard, was hard for the past 10 minutes as you were introducing yourself and whatever your deal is. He is dirty, perverted, knowing only your name and your face – and he is still stroking himself, thinking about paying you extra just so you’d get on your pretty knees and suck him. Would you be sloppy, messy, get his cum all over your face so you’d have to wash it off? Would you be experienced, eager, trying to get as much seed as possible with that pretty tongue of yours? 

He is a lost cause because he hears the sounds of vacuum – you’re only a few rooms away from him, trying so hard to clean his house for him, to work through every bit of furniture and everything he acquired for the past twenty years or so – and he moans loudly, knowing that you don’t hear anything. You’re probably listening to music or some silly girl’s podcast about planets and gardens and maybe some university lectures. He’d pay for your courses, he would get you any book you want – having his salary and barely spending it made him softer in the saving habits. 

He can afford to splurge on a pretty girl who just needs a rich Austrian mercenary to sweep her off her feet. But, he is old – but, he is a monster who preys on someone helpless, using her pretty face to jerk himself off, and he doesn’t even deserve your number, although he has had it since accepting the service. 

His cock is big, angry red in his hand as he runs his finger over the bulging vein, teasing the sensitive flesh – always loud in bed, with grunts and moans of pleasure, he can barely contain himself now, only forcing his mouth shut when he doesn’t hear the sound of vacuum anymore. He strokes his dick fast, angry, and slams it into his fist, trying to make the pain last longer, so he won’t cum after a minute or two. He has the stamina to last longer – but it’s also the first time he was so horny since…he can’t even remember. 

König thinks about putting you in his bed – like a perfect housewife, you would hug his waist with your legs, would allow him to lick and grope at your tits, and won’t scream too much when he’d force his tongue inside of your precious pussy, taking every last drop of your pleasure. He wouldn’t want to be forceful, angry, you’re too precious for this and too weak for his strength – but he can imagine slamming into you in a matting press, cumming inside and not even pulling out, warming his cock in the heat of your body. 

Father would kill him for doing something so dirty in his office – but he is long dead, devil save his soul, and it’s König’s office now. Even when he barely uses it, even if he doesn’t really need this. It came in handy when he had to jerk off to the pretty cleaning girl who cleaned up after him – so, somehow, his father managed to improve his mood 15 years after he died. 

He cums with a low groan, whispering your name – he doesn’t understand how a pretty thing like you still works here and wasn’t taken by someone else already, but he would take what he can get. Never the one to get the first dibs, never being someone’s first choice – he feels terrible for thinking about you in such a low way, but his pleasure sticks to his fingers and, at this point, it’s too late to feel bad. 

Drying the tip of his dick with a tissue, he spends a good few minutes with spread legs, his soft cock laying on the chair, with cum still oozing out – such a waste, honestly, would be much better to stuff you full of his cock or even take your pretty ass, spread you slowly. Keep only the tip in, not pressuring you into anything more until you’d start moving yourself, like a good slut you will be. 

So perfect under him – the images and sounds of your voice are running through his mind, making him breathe heavily. If he was younger and had as much sex drive as before, he would already be hard – but he needs some time to relax, thinking about your pretty legs and adorable face. 

It takes him a few minutes of listening to your sweet voice to understand that you were not, in fact, a hallucination or a mystical fairy coming to make him come. You were standing outside of the office door, looking embarrassed and clearly hearing at least some of his horny mumblings – you avoid looking at him, and your fingers are trembling when you tug at the sides of your dress. Guilt immediately rushes to him again, he looks at you like a perfect treasure you are – and he is a horrible monster trying to hoard all of it to himself. 

— What is it, liebling? 

Petname goes smoothly from his tongue and he can only hope that you don’t know German – he is too embarrassed to talk to you, too anxious, his newfound shyness is a result of both your beauty and the post-nut clarity that already made him feel like a monster. He contemplates just giving you money and sending you off, paying double for the false call, and leaving you a 5-star review so you won’t get in trouble with your boss. 

You look so meek from his angle of view – he has to fight the urge to pinch your face, squeeze your cheeks, grab your waist in his firm hands, and just lift you in his arms, holding you to his bed. Maybe getting a nice set of cuffs to ensure you would never escape from him. 

— I finished with the living room and…well, I just wanted to ask if you want the decluttering work to be done today or tomorrow. 

He remembers how he basically paid you for a few days worth of work – and he smiles at exactly how perfect this decision was. Of course, you are a smart girl, a modest girl, you aren’t staying the night and would rather waste time on the road, much to his dismay, but at least he would see you for a few days already. 

He might not even let you go after. 

— Ach. Today, if it’s not too…

He stops himself again – of course, it’s not too much, you are a professional, not just a friend that comes to clean his place for a pack of beer and maybe some pizza. He doesn’t know how to talk to you, anxiety eats him whole, and he has to just avoid looking at you to avoid further embarrassment. 

— Alright. I will do it right away then. 

You smile awkwardly, your lips are twitching and he already knows that you could hear him moaning your name and sweet little praises while stroking his cock. You aren’t biting the hand that feeds you, not running away screaming at how perverted he is – poor girl, you probably need money more than you need personal safety if you’re fine with him heaving like this. If you were his, he would never allow you to be so careless. 

He moves behind you in the most dreaded room of the house. Mother’s bedroom, a room that she only used for sewing and only allowed him in when he was extra whiny after another failed fight with his bullies. All of her thighs are here – ever since she passed away, he just moved everything to one room and locked it, barely bothering to keep a key. He hates being here, almost as much as being in Father’s office — this room smells like death and old paper and you scrunch your nose in an adorable expression when you take a step inside. 

— I will divide everything into categories, alright? 

— Gut.

You look at him nervously, clearly scared that he is watching over you now. It might feel like a logical decision – after all, it was his mother’s vintage things, who knows what kind of jewelry she kept here, something that he won’t even notice gone until it’s too late. You and him both know, however, that this isn’t the reason he is looming over you. A perfect obedient thing, you deserve something better than his affection, but he still locks his gaze with yours, looking at your hands and going through various furniture pieces. 

You work like a fairy, not an ounce of laziness or exhaustion in your actions – even after you already spent a few hours cleaning his living room, you act like a Cinderella that got a bunch of magic mice up her rags. He licks his lips, looking at your perfect ass you as sit on your knees, starting with decluttering every little box there is. 

— Can I just put it back in boxes or…

You look the the contents – vintage makeup, some jewelry, head pieces that don’t look particularly expensive but were definitely well-loved. You wonder who they belong to – probably a wife, or, maybe, some of his relatives who lived here. He doesn’t seem like a married or divorced man – he does, however, look insanely lonely. 

It takes him a good few seconds to respond, too mesmerized by the little song you were humming a minute before. He imagines you in that old, chunky jewelry, some necklaces that cost more than your salary – and the thought makes him salivate. 

He smiles, leaning closer to you – hot breath on your face, you shift immediately, scared. He is so fast for someone so big, his movements are perfect and his eyes are cold – you feel the chill deep in your bones when he moves even closer, his lips almost brushing against yours. 

Suddenly, you are very aware of the fact that he locked the door to this tiny room when you both moved in. 

[dollishmehrayan]

BATBOYS HCS ON YOUR PERIOD ── .✦

a/n: so basically this is a request by a anon (here) and anyways I’m gonna try to be very active from now on actually and like try to post 3 times a day too and answer requests too!

Tags: ( batboys x reader)

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

The overthinker final boss: Dick keeps a stash of everything you might need pads, tampons, heating pads, chocolate, and tea. He probably Googled “best snacks for periods” and stocked up on all of them.

Mr. Optimism: He tries to cheer you up with jokes or funny stories from his day. If you’re too grumpy, he’ll settle for giving you a massage instead.

Walks it Off with You: If cramps aren’t too bad, he’ll suggest going on a short walk to “get the blood flowing” (pun not intended he swears).

Endless Compliments: “You’re glowing. No, I’m serious. Period or not, you’re stunning.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Silent Supporter: Jason isn’t the type to fuss over you, but he’ll quietly do everything to make you comfortable like bringing you your favorite snacks, handing you the remote, or lighting a candle in the room.

Cramps Battle Plan: “Heating pad or Tylenol? Pick your weapon.” He’s very no-nonsense about getting rid of your pain.

Comfort Food King: He’ll whip up your favorite comfort meal, and if he doesn’t know how to cook it, he’ll spend hours watching YouTube tutorials to get it right.

Protective Mode Activated: If anyone so much as annoys you while you’re on your period, Jason’s ready to pick a fight. “You’re messing with her today? Leave her the fuck alone.”

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

The Researcher: Tim has read every article about periods and cramp relief. He’s got tips you’ve never even heard of, like drinking tart cherry juice or lying in a specific position to ease the pain.

Sleep Enforcer: “You need rest. I’ll handle everything.” He’ll make sure you get enough sleep, even if it means carrying his laptop into the bedroom to work quietly by your side.

Subtle Humor: When you’re cranky, Tim knows how to make you laugh without crossing the line. “I guess Batman didn’t prepare me for this kind of monthly chaos.”

Midnight Run Specialist: If you casually mention craving something like fries or ice cream, he’s already putting on his shoes to go get it.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Efficient and Direct: Damian doesn’t dance around the topic. “What do you need? Tell me, and I’ll get it.” He’ll ensure you have everything from snacks to painkillers.

A Little Awkward at First: If it’s his first time dealing with your period, he might be slightly flustered but determined to be helpful. Expect a lot of practical solutions.

Healthy Solutions Advocate: He’ll try to make you herbal teas or suggest yoga stretches that can relieve cramps. “This pose is known to improve blood flow. Try it.”

Protective Little Bean: If anyone upsets you while you’re on your period, Damian will glare at them like they’ve personally offended his family. “Apologize to her. Now.”

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Regular guy: Bruce has handled every kind of crisis imaginable and he does have daughters/ female colleagues and close friends so he isn’t truly like clueless, so this is no different to him. He’ll make sure you’re stocked up on everything and keep the Batkids in check so they don’t annoy you.

Comfort King: He’s surprisingly good at creating a calming environment dim lighting, soothing music, and plenty of blankets. (But please never ask him to decorate for the love of god😭 h/j)

Subtle Affection: Bruce isn’t overly emotional, but he’ll quietly make sure you’re okay, checking in on you with a simple, “Do you need anything?”

[weltraum-vaquero]

Swan song

Professor Viktor x TA Reader

[PART 1]｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆[PART 2] ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[PART 3]

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[AO3 link] ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

Summary: You’re a bright phD student who won’t shy away from a challenge. Getting the most notorious professor at the University of Piltover to hire you as his assistant is one of them.

Tags: Modern AU, SFW (for now…), DILF professor Viktor, who delights in being a bit of a dick, and becomes even more mean on bad pain days, and who is constantly insufferably rightfully smug, Smart & competent reader being reduced to a wolf with heart eyes going AWOOOGA when they lay eyes on Viktor.

Word count: 7.8k

Notice: This fic is written with a transmasculine reader in mind, but that won’t come into play at all until the final third chapter of this mini-series.

Notes: 1. Shoutout to my beloved buddies for helping me with this fic, AND the banner. You guys know who you are. 2. I hope you enjoy this very self indulgent piece about my take on Viktor as a professor in a modern AU. Keep in mind that this work is entirely spoiler free. Although it will be posted over the upcoming three weeks as arcane season two drops, I had no information about any of the leaks whatsoever as I wrote this, and did my utmost to avoid them. This iteration of Viktor was written with his season one character traits as a base in mind. 3. The science Viktor and reader talk about in depth in this fic is entirely made up and definitely falls apart under scrutiny. Don’t look too hard. Yes, I made up an entire hextech based scientific field specifically so I could carnally have this old man.

You know exactly what to expect from someone like Professor Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda. 

You’ve done your homework on the man: interviewed colleagues who’d taken his lectures as undergrads (scary — but great at his job had been the general consensus), and checked his ratemyprofessor profile. Which, by the way, had been a terrific read. 

Dr Sidorov-Svoboda is a very polarizing man, it seems. Reviews were either raving about his cogency, or saying they’d drive to his lecture without wearing a seatbelt in the hopes that death would take them before Sidorov did. There seemed to be no in-between, other than one review calling him a total DILF and rating him five out of five for that alone.

You digress. All sources had gotten across more than enough for you to understand what you were going to face once you’d step into his office: brilliant, tenured, independent, a no-nonsense attitude, and with a spotless track record of turning down TAs. 

Which you’re here to change — the last part, that is.

It’s not exactly a guilt-free affair. Dr Heimerdinger — the dean himself — had personally reached out to you, and requested you try to convince Sidorov-Svoboda to accept you as his TA. Should you succeed, you would be offered a generous wage.

That, along with the fact that Sidorov’s name is going to pretty up your CV something fierce if you somehow land this job, is reason enough to make you at the very least give it a go.

With a fortifying breath, you rap your knuckles on the oakwood of his office door.

“Yes?” A heavy accent makes itself known on the y.

You wait to see if he’ll open — five seconds pass — he doesn’t. 

Rude.

You take that as your cue to push the door open yourself.

Nothing could have prepared you for the man whose cat-like eyes pierce you from above rectangular silver reading glasses. He hadn’t even bothered lifting his head from what he’d been reading through; and when he finally does grant you the gift of being looked at, wholly, it feels the same way as having a painting stare back at you. In the back of your mind, you swear you can hear the horns of an orchestra blaring into a crescendo.

His gaze pierces you, in a way that borders on literal. It’s undressing — less erotic, and more terrifying, as a consequence of nakedness, of being read. Professor Sidorov-Svoboda looks at you with a kind of disinterest that screams I have you figured out, and it’s punching your heart down into your stomach in a lovely, terrible way.

The lines of his face are lovingly crafted. Dark shadows under hollow cheeks, golden eyes under strong brows, there’s something intrinsically statuesque about his face. You’d expect to look at something akin to Sidorov-Svoboda in a museum, carved in marble, not in one of the dusty offices at your university.

He cocks his head, exposing a long, swan-like neck dotted with beauty marks, as he waits for you to regain your wits. Which you do, before any of this crosses the threshold between awkward and downright embarrassing.

“Hello, doctor,” you finally manage. “My name is (y/n) (l/n), theoretical arcanism department, phD student. I was… hoping we could discuss a position as your TA.”

He cocks a brow, thoroughly unimpressed, before he slides his glasses off his face. He even takes a sip of his lukewarm coffee, deliberately slow in swallowing it, before he finally speaks.

“I believe you should already be familiar with the fact that I do not take assistants.” Sidorov leans forward in his chair a fraction, still poring over his book, and there is a marked pop in one of his joints that sounds nothing short of painful. He seems hardly bothered by it. 

“I am,” you reply. “Which is why I am here in the hopes of changing your mind.”

That finally makes him look at you properly again. It’s a delight. You wish you could savor it, instead of desperately trying to keep your wits about you.

“And why would you want to do that?”

The answer to that question has changed substantially since you’d first stepped foot into his office.

But you’re fortunately not stupid enough to tell him that.

“Your name is worth gold in the community, doctor. I would like it on my resume.”

He picks up his pen, squinting as he scribbles something in his book, before he hums with disinterest.

“Mm. I heard doctor Pididdly takes more kindly to flattery.” He brushes a grey strand of hair from his face, clicking his pen as he simply lets you stew in your own embarrassment and focuses on whatever he’s reading. When he speaks again, he does not award you the honor of feigning the smallest hint of interest. “And you can send doctor Heimerdinger my regards. Let him know I am still not looking for an assistant.”

He has you figured out, and it’s making you feel dumber than any advanced class has ever had the honor of doing.

“The dean? I haven’t spoken to him since—“

“Since last year, when you took his theoretical arcane force fields class? Or was it since he explicitly asked you to come to my office with this proposition?”

You’re not the only one who’s done their research on the other. Though it’s painfully clear that he was much more thorough in his pursuit.

“I’m… sorry.”

“For wasting both our time? You should be.” He does dignify you with one glance, and even sets his pen down, as he bids you goodbye.

—

You’re fortunately not a sore loser. The money and resume addition would have been nice, yes, but you suppose they still would not have made up for working with someone as sharp and cutting as Svoboda.

You’ll gladly take the loss. And you are.

He’s long gone from the front of your mind, though something about him — his gaze, his face, his voice — lingers and shrouds the back of your brain with a tempting distraction from your thesis.

The last thing you expect as you’re burning your retinas staring at the blue light of your laptop screen leafing through the countless open tabs on your laptop is a notification. It startles you out of your skin, the red dot next to the university portal app’s icon. 

Still, more curious than nervous about who could be messaging you at 11pm on a Saturday, you click.

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svboda

Good evening. Please come see me in my office on Monday. I would like to discuss the arrangements of your future employment as my assistant. Let me know what time would work best for you, within the limitations of my office hours.

11:32

…What?

You wonder what swayed his mind in your ultimate favor after you’d embarrassed yourself quite so thoroughly this week. But you're not about to complain — you more than certainly need the money, and his name on your resume.

Whatever turned the odds in your favor, you’re ever-grateful. And as much as you hate to admit it, you do double-check the message to make sure it’s actually real.

Me

Thank you for this opportunity, professor. I’m looking forward to working as your assistant, as well as broadening my knowledge and skills. Would 1 PM work for you?

11:34

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svboda

Yes. That should be fine.

11:34

You think you should leave it at that. You know you should. But… you’re curious. You really hope this doesn’t cost you the job offer you’ve just received.

Me

May I ask what swayed your decision?

11:37

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svboda

You may not. Good night.

11:37

So much for that.

—

You knock, but this time you don’t wait after being greeted with a yes? from behind his imposing office door.

“Hello, Professor Sidorov-Svoboda.”

You’re greeted with the distinctive smell of chicken stock and vegetables wafting from his office as you step in — a sore reminder of the fact that you’ve yet to procure lunch. Whatever he’s been eating, it smells tremendous.

His thermos squeaks as he screws it shut and sets it on the corner of his desk, gesturing for you to have a seat.

“Hello.” The faux velvet seat creaks awkwardly below you. “Thank you for your punctuality. I won’t take up too much of your time — we’ll discuss any questions you might have in further detail, but, to, eh… save us time, I’ve compiled a list of your responsibilities, and some personal preferences regarding grading papers I expect you to take into consideration when you do so.”

As he explains, you take a moment to take in his office. You certainly hadn’t gotten to it last time.

It’s mainly tidy, save for his large desk, which is littered with papers, a sudoku magazine, a disposable coffee cup from the campus cafe (though the cup is tall, roughly fit for a latte, if you had to guess… hm) and his dark blue, slightly beat-up thermos. Upon closer inspection, there’s a sticker on the cap.

It’s a small thing, worn like the rest of it, but the colours are unmistakable. Baby blue, pink, white — five stripes. 

As a million questions and half a million answers start flashing through your head, the rustle of paper snaps you out of your thoughts. 

There’s something analytical and vaguely, barely amused about how he looks at you when he slides the list across the table to you.

Contrary to what you expect, it’s not long. His main demand is grading papers, which isn’t your preferred kind of labor, but labor you will chew through, no less. 

“I expect fairness when you grade,” he clarifies. “Contrary to what some students like to say, I grade papers with utmost integrity. I am not lenient, yes, but I am not absurd, either. You will find further guidelines on how to strike that, eh… balance yourself on the list I’ve made. And don’t hesitate to ask, should any uncertainties arise when you grade.”

“Fortunately, it’s applied arcanism,” you reply. “Not much room for… uncertainties, I’d expect.”

“You would be surprised.”

Viktor gives a knowing smile. Something about the placement of his mole right above the corner of his mouth, where his chapped, pale lips thin out, has your vision tunneling. You damn near startle when he starts talking again — good god, you need to get your act together.

“I will direct students’ questions to you, from now on. Should you not have an answer, you are welcome to contact me — but keep it to a minimum. Especially since applied arcanism is, as you seem to think, such an easy topic. As for lectures, you may attend, but it isn’t something I’ll be expecting from you. You teaching said lectures does not come into question. I have standards — high ones. If anyone is to take over, it will be someone whom I am certain is qualified for the job, not a phD student.”

“I am still prepared to,” you say. “Should the opportunity… present itself.”

“It most likely won’t.” With that, he straightens his back out in his seat, cracking the knuckle of his right thumb as he leans back in thought, going over his mental list. “Do you have any questions for me?” 

His little smirk is magnetic, crows feet near his eyes creasing ever so slightly deeper as the corners of his lips rise. One of his dark brows lifts gently in a display of smugness that leaves you braindead enough to nearly miss the entirety of his next sentence. “Other than the one from Saturday night?”

Oh, damn him. Damn him.

And, as a matter of fact, you have about ten more. But none of them are even close to appropriate to ask — not now, or ever.

“No,” you lie. It somehow feels like he can see right through it.

“Very well. Thank you for your time.”

You thank him too. You’re not sure what for — his sudden generosity to offer you this position, or simply for the fact that he looked so pretty while he talked.

—

You, by now, know what optional really means in academia. Above all else, it’s meant to be an abstract line that separates two distinct groups: those who put in the extra effort, and slackers.

You don’t want Sidorov-Svoboda to know you as the latter.

Which is why you get a hold of his lecture schedule from Heimerdinger on the very same Monday afternoon, and plan on attending every single one of them that doesn’t overlap with something else in your schedule. Until he either outright tells you to stop, or until your contract as his assistant ends.

Much to your surprise, most of his lectures, save for Wednesdays and one on Fridays, do fit into your schedule as well.

On Tuesday, you are thirty minutes early waiting outside his office door.

And, as much as it shouldn’t be, it is a little funny how he startles when he groggily wobbles out of his office, keys in hand, and a cane in the other.

It’s a gorgeously designed thing; so much so it has you (stupidly) guessing it’s strictly in use for aesthetics the moment you first see it. It’s made of sturdy wood, with a dark finish and golden details down the length of it. The wood on the handle has gone light and matte with use.

But judging by how he leans on it as he numbly turns to lock the door of his office behind himself while he greets you leads to a different conclusion. And the stagger in his stride as he approaches you only confirms that he does, in fact, need it.

“Good morning, doctor Si—“

He raises his free hand slowly, like it’s heavy with fatigue. It’s enough to shut you up.

“Viktor,” he says. “Please. Just call me Viktor, from now on.” He pauses, looking you up and down with a fatigued sort of near-jealousy, before he shakes his head. “Why… are you here at seven thirty in the morning?”

“I want to attend your lectures.”

He sighs.

“And you picked the one at this hour?”

“Yes.”

“Hm.” You can’t quite tell if he’s displeased or if he’s just really tired.

“Rough morning?” You ask.

“Aren’t they all…” 

It certainly isn’t your intention to let it become a habit — you’re his assistant, not his secretary, but you’ve learned that sucking up does get you forward in academia more often than not, so you offer: “Would you like me to get you some coffee?”

“I am getting myself coffee.” He attempts to stifle a yawn, but does not succeed. “But I would like you to accompany me.”

Your heart flutters. You tell yourself it’s because you’re getting coffee with one of the fathers of applied arcanism.

—

“A french vanilla latte, please. Under the name “A french vanilla latte, please. Under the name Viktor.”

Before you get to mentally clap yourself on the back and imagine a round of applause for your keen eye, you have to focus on not making a fool of yourself when you say your own order. The professor thankfully takes mercy on you, and leaves to take a seat at one of the tables — though probably for his own sake, rather than to spare you any embarrassment.

You decide the polite thing would be to keep him company as you wait for your orders. Reluctantly, you approach the table he’s picked, and, after a moment’s hesitation, pull out a chair for yourself.

“Professor Heimerdinger spoke quite highly of you.” 

It startles you, the sound of his voice interrupting the lull of the clanking of dishes and hissing of steam and hum of the espresso machines.

“Oh. I appreciate that he did.” 

“Hm.” For how blasé he’d acted until this very moment, it seems like you’ve said something that’s piqued his interest utterly. He hunches forward a hint, entwining his long, bony fingers over the top of the cane between his thin thighs. “You don’t seem very surprised.”

Uh oh.

“I’m sorry if it seemed that way, really, it’s not that I’m not flattered, professor—“

“Viktor,” he interrupts. “And you needn’t be. I do not care for, ah… false humility.”

Oh?

“False humility?” You question. 

“A mark of someone either too self-conscious to accept a well deserved compliment, or desperate for one.” He pauses, looking for… something in your expression. You can’t tell if he finds it, but you know his gaze feels cold, like being prodded at with a nitrile glove. “I prefer working with people who are capable of appreciating their own effort. It’s good to know you are one of them.”

There’s warmth that seeps through the metaphorical glove, sterile as it is. It feels good to be acknowledged by the likes of him, who’d been so ruthless to figuratively knock your feet out from below you just days ago. He must have done his research on you, must have asked around, read around, figured out — just like you had done to him.

Curiosity eats at you.

“Well… what else do you know, pr— Viktor?”

His eyes rest on you like you’re a particularly tricky equation. One he knows will yield a pretty result. Being looked at by him is electric, like squeezing an unstabilized hexgem in your fist so the current courses through you, tingling. 

“Don’t get cocky.” He smiles, he actually smiles, and it frays the space-time continuum just how much it youthens him. Salt and pepper hair and crow’s feet and frown lines be damned; as you watch the tip of his snaggle canine poke out from beneath his top lip, it becomes evidently clear that you are standing face to face with the man who stole illegal equipment to prove a point, the man who worked with highly explosive material for years to birth the very foundation of his scientific domain. “It is most certainly a good look on you, but it won’t bring you too far. You can ask Doctor Talis, I believe he should have a doctorate in arrogance by now.”

Is he…?

“French vanilla latte for Viktor!”

—

Listening to him teach might as well count as hypnosis. 

When Viktor steps into the room, silence ensues gently, gradually. He’s not feared by any means, but he is respected. By the time he reaches the teacher’s desk and pulls out the chair from under it, the class has gone fully silent.

He sets it by the blackboard, then, slowly, bracing himself on both his cane and the backrest of it, takes a seat.

“Good morning.” He positions his cane between his thighs, clearing his throat with… perhaps almost a hint of awkwardness. “Alright. Before we begin today’s lecture, there has been a small change that everyone should be made aware of. This is my new assistant, (y/n) (l/n), and they will be joining us today. You will be addressing all questions you encounter outside of my lectures to them, from now on.”

Whispers spread across the amphitheater like wildfire.

“Now,” just like that, when his voice sounds out again, most of the chatter dies out, “today we’ll be discussing Holloran’s equation, and its applications in arcanistic techmaturgy.”

It’s magical, the command he has over the room. Viktor is a meager man, especially with the backdrop of such an imposing room. The high ceiling dwarfs him, and yet, there doesn’t seem to be a single atom in the room that doesn’t move the way he wants it to.

You’d known Viktor to be an eloquent man — you’d experienced it at your own detriment — but this beats your expectations. His explanations are enticing, he uses his words like breadcrumbs, leaves them tactfully, just enough to guide you to the conclusions he wants you to draw.

You’d never found so much satisfaction in simply listening. In spite of knowing full well the intricacies of what he is discussing, you let his voice envelop you, you follow him where he takes you.

“Now that we’ve established how Holloran’s equation exponentially heightens the energy output of Hexcrystals without disrupting the LHC — the laminal hexeon cascade — as I’m sure some of you may be wondering, how do the basic principles play into it? Any guesses?”

The class falls silent. You would give anything to be among the students right now, raising your hand to enounce the right answer. To have him looking at you like you’re bright.

You await with bated breath to see who in the crowd of focused frowns and scribbling pencils will dare speak first.

“Wouldn’t the caveat be that Talis’ fourth principle states that 30% of the energy output is converted into heat?” A young woman in the audience attempts. “Holloran’s equation operates based on the notion that the crystal is at a constant temperature.”

“Precisely. Very good,” Viktor praises. Excited, he turns to the blackboard. “Right here…” he underlines the equation, “is where Morichi’s constant comes into play…”

But you’ve long lost him.

The words twist in your head, turning into something sultry and intimate.

Precisely.

Very good.

Right here.

You find yourself staring at the groove of his pale neck, where it swoops into the line of his shoulder, hidden beneath the collar of a dress shirt and a brown wool vest.

You wonder what it’d smell like, to tuck your face in there. To have the pulse of his neck thrumming on your lips, to mouth at the mole on his jaw when he tilts his head for you, willing. 

You wonder how many more are below the collar of his shirt. Dotted line on a treasure map, to guide your touch, your kiss, your tongue. Use them where he needs them, use them where his skin begs you to. Use them until his tired spine bows, use them until tattered joins are oiled with pleasure—

What is wrong with you? 

—

Viktor disappears after his lecture. You hope he’d grace you with another conversation, another smile, something, but he is gone surprisingly fast. He bids you goodbye once his lecture is over, telling you he has matters to attend to, and that is that.

Overall, it’s an uneventful day otherwise. A few students end up messaging you, most with questions on what Viktor had taught that day. Others nitpicking what would and would not be a part of the upcoming midterm (whom you simply dryly referred to the syllabus). Two people, however, did message you to ask you how you’d landed the job.

You’d ignored them.

On Wednesday, you see none of him. You drop by his office after class, but there is no response to your knock, and the door is locked. He must have gone home.

On Thursday, you wait for him outside his office thirty minutes early for his 3PM lecture, but he doesn’t show. So you decide to go straight to the amphitheater, and do find him there.

He looks worn. No less graceful than the last time you’d seen him, but his cane has been ditched in the favor of a crutch that’s tucked under his arm. The creases in his checkered dress shirt and face seem deeper now, the pale indigo under his eyes is richer, darker.

He gives you nothing more than a curt greeting before class commences.

And yet, he never blunders. Never loses himself, his diction is as concise as the day you’d first met him, carrying himself with the grace of a swan as he talks and his chalk glides over the board. But his numbers slant, the loops on his letters are looser, the rows on the blackboard curve downwards to the right; just barely at first, but as the lecture advances, it becomes more obvious.

He cuts the class shorter by fifteen minutes. 

The students know better than to linger. Nobody comes to address any questions, and they leave the room surprisingly quick.

Once the amphitheater is empty enough that even the thump of his crutch reverberates on the wooden floor as he makes his way to the desk, you finally dare speak.

“Is… everything alright?” 

“Don’t start,” he cuts back, resting his crutch against the desk before bracing himself with both hands on the flat surface. He sighs, and does a futile attempt of relieving some of the tension in his spine by rolling his shoulders.

His joints crack, and you can see his sharp shoulder blades moving under his shirt, wings on a flightless bird.

And you’re not sure what to say.

“Sorry,” he finally adds, the harshness of his reply catching up to him. “Not… a good day.”

“Got off on the wrong side of the bed?” You attempt weakly, and, much to your utter surprise, he does actually smile.

“Mm. That might explain the past two decades or so.” He does finally look at you from below droopy eyelids, and though there’s not a doubt about him being tired still, there is more gentleness to it. As though woken out of a dream. He takes pity on the confused look on your face, and adds: “My bed is in a corner.”

Ah. 

“Is there anything I can do to help? Anything I can get you?”

“A new spine,” he jokes, hunching forward to crack his back, before he does his best to stand up straight once more. When he speaks again, his playful lilt is sorely missing. “Why are you here?”

“I want to attend your lectures — as many of them as I can, at least.”

Viktor shakes his head, mutters something both a little desperate and a little bitter in a foreign tongue. 

“You don’t need to do that. From now on, you can simply tell Cecil you were here. And I will confirm it, should he ask. But I do not need… a babysitter. I’m sure you have better things to do as well.”

What? Why would he think that?

“I…” you falter, “Heimerdinger didn’t put me up to this.”

He scoffs, not particularly at you, but it’s surprisingly hurtful nonetheless.

“I thought we had moved past the stage where you felt the need to lie.” He sighs. “I know he worries. There is nothing to worry about. In the unlikely event he does find out you haven’t been following me around as he asked, I will take full responsibility.”

That alone makes you worry. Had Heimerdinger neglected to tell you the full picture? What was there that warranted the dean himself worrying?

”I came to your lectures because I wanted to see you teach.” The last word is more of a lie than anything you’ve said thus far. “I admire your cogency. I want to absorb as much of it as I can.”

Viktor looks thoroughly unimpressed. “We also discussed how I feel about flattery, did we not?”

“It’s not flattery,” you argue. “I came here of my own volition because I think that there’s a lot I can learn from you, professor. Now, if you don’t want me here, you can simply give me the word, and I will act accordingly.”

He mulls it over for a long second while he shuts his leather briefcase. 

“Perhaps that would be best,” he finally decides. “For now, continue with your assigned duties. I will let you know if there is anything else I need from you.”

He practically scans you for a reaction, lays you out paper-thin on a glass slide, and slides you under his most potent microscope lens.

You don’t know if he finds what he’s looking for, because he doesn’t look long. He slings the strap of his briefcase over his shoulder, and turns toward the exit with renewed, but undoubtedly spiteful vigor.

“Have a good day.”

“You too, professor.”

—

“Oh, if it isn’t one of my favorite phD students!” 

The dean’s mustache curls almost comically with the over-the-top, but somehow still sincere smile he gives you.

“Hello, doctor Heimerdinger,” you greet, letting the smell of laquered wood and floors wash over you as you step into the pristine, impressive office. As opposed to Viktor's, the ceiling is higher, the windows bigger, and there are only sterile messes to be found in the room. A stack of books that is not as neat as the rest, a cactus that doesn’t look all too swell on the windowsill, and documents that are scattered over his workspace in a way that’s still neat.

“What can I do for you? I hope the first week of your collaboration with doctor Sidorov-Svoboda has gone smoothly.”

“That… is actually why I’m here.” You clear your throat awkwardly, and take a seat on the plush chair that faces his desk. Whatever it’s stuffed with, it’s comfortable, it has you sinking.

“I see. I know he can be… a tad, well, peppery at times,” Heimerdinger giggles at his own choice of words. “Give him some time. Once the two of you manage to find some common ground, I can assure you he is wonderful company, and an incredibly bright mind.”

“I don’t doubt any of those things.” You start kneading your hands in your lap, digging for the right words. God, social chess was never your forte. “I’m actually here because there has been a bit of a misunderstanding between the two of us that I was hoping you could clear up.”

“Oh.” His smile drops. “I’m listening.”

“You see, when… well, when I attended his lecture today — the second one I’ve attended — he seemed… very displeased with my presence.”

“Ah…” Heimerdinger falls silent for a long moment, gears turning in his bald head. “That… well,” he laughs awkwardly, “I’m afraid that might have been because he might wrongly assume I told you to do so.”

You nod curtly. “I know. He told me as much.”

“I apologize for the misunderstanding. I will try speaking to him, but—“

“Actually, doctor, that isn’t why I came to you,” you cut in, “he told me more than just that. He said you’d put me up to this because you were… worried about him.”

At that, the smile on Heimerdinger’s face is entirely gone.

“Naturally, that also got me… quite worried. I came to you because I wanted to know the full picture of this… arrangement I’ve gotten into.”

“I see,” Heimerdinger sinks in his seat, folding his hands in front of his blond mustache as he picks his words carefully. “Well, since you have been made aware of this fact, I suppose there is no harm in admitting that I do, in fact, worry about Viktor. Him and I have history, so to speak. I’ve known him for many years, and, though he has remained the same bold, ambitious young man within, I sometimes fear old age may be catching up to him. But! That is not something you need to concern yourself with. The sole purpose of hiring you was to create a mutually beneficial arrangement. Your resume will certainly benefit from his name, and as for him, I wanted to simply… lighten his workload. But that is all I expect of you.”

“I understand.” And you do, to some degree — but Heimerdinger’s whole speech has done nothing but raise more questions than provide any real answers.

“Would you still like me to speak to him on this matter?” He asks.

“No.” With renewed courage and curiosity, you rise from the comfortable chair. “Thank you, professor. For this, and for putting in a good word for me with professor Sidorov-Svoboda.”

“Of course,” he smiles — genuinely, this time. “Though it might sound quite absurd to you now, considering the current circumstances… the two of you are more alike than you may believe.”

You’re not sure what to make of that, either. So you just smile back.

—

On Friday night, as you’re poring over your thesis with a warm mug of tea as a panacea for your racing thoughts and lack of inspiration, you receive an email.

Apologies

From: v.sidorovsvoboda@uofp.edu

To: me

Good evening.

I wanted to formally apologize for what happened on Wednesday. Accusing you of something you hadn’t done was unjustified and unprofessional of me. You are always welcome to my lectures, should you still wish to attend. 

I was also hoping to speak to you in person on Monday. Would 1 PM still work for you? Let me know.

Thank you.

VSS

It comes as a surprise, to have someone in his position apologize so… willingly. You wonder if Heimerdinger had talked to him after all, and if so, what he might have said to turn the odds so terribly in your favor. Again.

You write a fast reply: you thank him too, above all else. You consider saying you hadn’t expected and apology, but you fear that might come off wrong, so you ultimately ditch that part.

And you tell him yes. 1 PM would work for you.

—

You attend his 10AM lecture on Monday, but this time, you don’t wait for him at his office. Though eager and enthusiastic, you fear your initial approach of waiting for him thirty minutes early might have been too stifling.

So you wait outside the lecture hall. He shows up ten minutes early, crutch under one arm, coffee in his other.

There is just a hint of foam on his upper lip, where grey-brown stubble shows. He licks the milk away before he even sees you, and you’re thankful for it — being caught staring at the pink of his smart tongue darting over the curve of his top lip considering the current circumstances would not have been a good look.

“Good morning,” he greets. Though he’s still using the crutch, he seems to be in an improved mood as opposed to the last time you saw him. “I must admit… I did not expect you here already.”

“If you’ll have me, I want to come,” you say. 

Something about that catches him off-guard, the swell of his Adam's apple bobs and his eyes widen just a hint. But he’s fast, always is, and he straightens up and clears his throat before you get to analyze him the way you wish you could.

“Ahem. Well. I’m happy to hear that.” He gestures to the door as if he’d almost forgotten he was holding a coffee, because it sloshes just a hint too loud. Fortunately, there are no victims to the small droplet that spills from the plastic cover. Viktor frowns, most likely with frustration at himself, before he turns to you. “Alright. After you.”

You step into the lecture hall first, per his request. The room begins to quiet when the students see you, but as you turn around to hold the door open to him, it gets worse.

You do not care for the curious, gossip-hungry glances that rest on you.

—

“I appreciate your openness regarding the discussion of this matter,” Viktor begins, shutting his office door behind himself. “Coffee?”

He dips his hand behind an old but trusty looking coffee machine that sits on the table next to the door. You hadn’t noticed it the first time you were here.

The hint of a frown as his fingers roam the space between the back of the machine and the wall is doing… something to you.

“Yes, please.”

“I must warn you,” his voice lilts again in that pleasant, playful way, like a cat twirling figure eights between one’s legs, “it is significantly less… fun than the ones at the cafe. I only have sugar.”

He finds the switch on its back, finally, and there’s a little pop as he flips it, before he retreats his hand.

“Works for me,” you assure. “What did you want to discuss?”

“Mainly, I wanted to eh… extend my apologies to you in person.” His glasses ride further up his nose as he pinches the bridge of it, rolling his shoulders, as if to draw courage. “And to put my… reaction into some context, should you be willing to hear it.”

You hope it’s not outwardly visible that your heart starts vibrating. 

He has been on your mind much more than you would like to admit, tangled in questions, in guesses. You unfortunately have the mark of a true scientist — nothing scratches an itch in your soul quite like having your questions answered.

“I would.”

Viktor retrieves a stack of single-use cardboard cups from one of his drawers, sliding out two, which he positions under the coffee machine. He presses the same button twice, then gestures to the chair that faces his desk.

“Have a seat.”

You do.

He lingers beside the coffee machine, resting the backs of his thighs against the edge of the table it’s on as he starts to think.

Just now, it strikes you that maybe social chess isn’t always his forte, either.

“People tend to… underestimate me,” he begins. The coffee machine whirrs, clicks, whirrs again — and then coffee starts to trickle. He tucks his free hand into the pocket of his slacks in what attempts to be dejection, but clearly isn’t. “And while that is an advantage in a competitive environment, it’s not something I appreciate coming from my colleagues.”

“I wasn’t…”

“I know that. Now.” He clears his throat, then, with a show of surprising dexterity, slides his hand from his pocket and grabs both cups with one hand — one tucked between his index and middle finger, the other tucked between his middle and ring finger. You reach out to offer your help, but he sets down both cups on his desk, then hobbles around it, and finally takes his rightful seat on the opposing side. “I unfortunately can’t say the same for Cecil. He does try, and more often than not, he is tactful about these matters, but there is the occasional… slip-up. I try to understand; him and I… have history, as he likes to say.”

You would love to know the exact implications of said history. From what you’d heard, there was the consensus that Viktor had been something of a protege to Heimerdinger, twenty or so years ago, before he’d made it big and co-created the field of applied arcanism. 

“I’ve taken up some new responsibilities lately,” Viktor adds, “and Cecil, though worried as ever, has… overstepped some boundaries of mine. You were caught in the crossfire of that, which is hardly fair to you. I’m sorry.”

“Was he the one who convinced you to hire me?”

Viktor shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “Eeeh… partially.” 

“I think I understand your issue with his… overstepping. To some degree.” You take the cardboard cup, blowing the steam away, before you take a sip. “I would also have preferred to be hired by you because you wanted it, not because you'd been talked into it, but… well, I’m glad it ultimately still happened, I suppose.”

“Rest assured that the decision was still mine alone,” Viktor replies. Smart eyes watch you over the rim of the cup as he takes a sip himself.

Silence settles. A telltale sign you should get going — but you don’t want to.

“You mentioned some extra responsibilities,” you attempt. He’d shut down your curiosity before, but you’ll be damned if that’s going to deter you from trying again. “Within the university, or… personal?”

“Within the university.” Viktor sets the cup down, sharp joints jutting out as he intertwines his fingers around the circumference of it, hands resting on the table. There is a mole on his left ring finger, right under the knucklebone. “I have been trying my hand at independent research.”

You only notice the fact that you’d leaned in closer with interest when a tiny smug smile ghosts over his face. 

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but that is just about all I should be telling you.”

Oh, come on.

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

His brows raise with surprise, and for the very first time since you’d known him, Viktor seems genuinely stumped.

“Your… research,” you clarify. “And I could show you what I have for my thesis so far.”

“Oh. Alright, I will, eh… bite.” Taking his paper cup with him, Viktor leans back in his seat, and watches you like a cat watches birds. Not necessarily on the prowl — but with great interest. “Tell me.”

“Me first?”

“You suggested it,” he smirks. “It seems only fair, does it not?”

Uncertainty halts you. You have to wonder if Viktor Sidorov-Sviboda is the kind of man that would steal an idea.

You’ve heard he’d gotten the short end of the stick in his partnership with Jayce Talis — though he’d contributed greatly, his name was sorely amiss from all the terms, laws, anything Talis had coined in their domain.

He must know what it’s like to be cheated out of well-deserved credit.

You suppose he wouldn’t propagate the cycle — but in the off case he does, you have a handful of professors who could vouch for your idea being yours, on account of having vaguely, barely, helped with your thesis. None had been too keen on such a touchy subject as the one you were breaching, and were resistant to offering their opinion.

You hope Viktor won’t fall into that same category.

Part of you already knows he doesn’t.

“Alright.” Though you’re not exactly excited to have your own strategy used against you, you can only hope he’ll hold up his end of the bargain. “My thesis is on the hexionic model. Within and outside the context of a matrix.”

Viktor scoffs with amusement, rather than plain mockery. But there is a taste of it in there, somewhere, in the curve of his lip. “You theorists and your hexionic models. Any attempt at a new hypothesis is no less flawed than the last.”

And it’s thrilling. To be challenged, instead of praised, or dismissed. It makes something in you catch fire, every word itches behind your teeth, like you need to tell him.

“That’s exactly why I’m proposing an entirely different hexion model in my paper.“

His pupils widen so much his eyes go dark. Like a cat about to pounce. 

“Oh? Tell me.”

“If we accept that the very core of a hexion’s energy release is based on entropy, on the desire for disarray, and we apply that to a hexion’s very structure… I believe there’s something to be made of the whole mess we are currently facing.”

Viktor had been holding his breath. You notice, because it sounds just a tad sharper when he finally draws a reluctant inhale, and, gears in that mind of his turning fast, sharp, steady, he finds another way to refute your point. 

“Like Pididdly’s hexion model?”

“No,” you say. “Though I bet Pididdly will wish he could come up with what I have. Can I have a pen and some paper?”

You have him now. 

“Yes, yes, of course.”

Viktor tugs the drawer of his desk open so hard it thunks, digging for a scrap of paper and a pen. When you take it, holding the paper between the two of you, he leans in, too, enough for you to be able to smell his aftershave — the aquatic spice softened by flowery vanilla.

It’s intoxicating enough to have the storm of ideas in your mind going quiet, buzzing. You manage to untangle them before you make a fool of yourself.

“My model is proposing disordered order, so to speak. The hexion is split up into different parts as Torek suggested in his hypothesis. But I think she was too small minded in her approach. For my model, I use the concept of something I’m calling areals. Different areals for different component particles. I believe particles will never be in a fixed, certain place.” You draw the centrion — though hypothetically an ochtahemiocyahedron — as a sphere for simplicity’s sake, surrounded by three vaguely defined layers. Viktor rests both elbows on his desk, sharp chin on intertwined fingers, watching with a tilt of his head. Your mouth’s gone dry. “These areals are… spaces where, if you were to look, at any given moment, the likelihood of you finding a specific hexion particle in its assigned areal is high — but never 100%. They are constantly moving, oscillating, vibrating —  within their areal. Like I said: disordered order. And this theory also holds up in the context of matrices — for the most part. There are some kinks I need to iron out, but… this is the gist of it.”

At that, he lights up. 

“Extraordinary,” Viktor mutters. It’s music to your ears, rolls down your spine in a wave of dopamine, tingles all over. He taps his finger to the schematic  diagram, then stares into your eyes so thoroughly you wonder if he can see into the depths of your amygdala. There is maybe a palm’s length between your faces, a gap you itch to breach. He says the next thing like a solemn secret. “This could be beyond revolutionary.”

“Thank you.”

Viktor doesn’t miss a beat when he says: “I would like to help you with your thesis. Should you require it.” 

Now that knocks your knees out from under you. You’re lucky you’re sitting.

One of the founding fathers of applied arcanism wants to read your thesis? Wants to help you?

“I…” You can’t remember to breathe, your mouth’s gone thick and cottony and swallowing is a distant dream and he is looking right at you, young and hungry and alive underneath the barely composed shell of himself. “I’d be thrilled.”

He grins, the top of his lip a mere thin line over his teeth. 

“I already am,” he lilts. You watch the way his mouth moves — the curl of his tongue against the back of his teeth as he rolls his heavy, thick r, the plush purse of them on the m.

And when you remember to look into his eyes again, you catch him red handed.

He’d been staring at your lips, too.

Startled with the reality, the puzzle-piece-click of knowing, the both of you retreat into your seats. With a shaky hand, you pick your cup back up, and take a sip from your coffee. It’s gone lukewarm.

“I’d like to ask you to print it, if possible.” His voice is bridled again, steady, certain. Normal. He tugs on another drawer, and retrieves something shiny, metallic. A key. He lays it on the table, sliding it towards you. “You can use the printer in my office, if need be.”

“I can print what I have so far this evening, and leave it for you here. Would that work for you?”

”Yes.” 

You look at the clock on his wall — it’s entirely later than it should be. You have a lab you should be getting to. 

“Could you spare some time on your lunch break tomorrow?” Viktor asks, clearly having read your mind again, somehow. “I think I should have it read through by then.”

“Absolutely, but… you don’t even know how much there is to read through.”

He smiles. “If you write with the same enthusiasm you talk, rest assured I will tear through it.”

[lainsshop]

Dates With Him ౨ৎ

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Tags: fluff, established relationship n probably more..

A/N: Another long work of mine, hope you like it cause.. I don’t know. If you have more date ideas please tell me and I’ll make sure to put them here!

Oh, God, you probably already know what type of dates this man will suggest..

Well, of course, it’s gonna be classy, fancy and jazzy! This man only knows the classic type of dates, the “proper” way of taking your partner to dates, according to him that is.

Lots of dancing! It could be anywhere! He doesn’t care if people are watching you, he could just break their limbs if the people around y’all criticize you guys, especially if they judge you.

Even if you suck at dancing he will teach you! Don’t worries, what type of partner will he be if he didn’t. But if you do know how to dance then that’s even better! You two are stealing the dance floor in seconds, I promise you.

Fancy restaurants. Not the white fancy or the bright fancy ones, oh, nuh uh.. I’m talking about the ones with warm dim lights, brown; pearl white; gold n red color palate, good scented candles, soft jazz playing in the background or maybe a live group/solo playing, the finest servings, etc etc..

Yea, those type of restaurants that need a reservation and have a big ass price but don’t worry, Alastor will pay for everything even if you insist on paying too he would just-

“Nonsense, my dear! What kind of gentleman will I be if I let you pay?” You were gonna insist again but you knew he would still pay for it at the end so you gave up.

You just feel kinda guilty cause he pays for almost always pays for everything when you two go out to eat and even on things you want, he likes to spoil you..? You could say that but I don’t really know.

Jazz clubs! Oh, you two will always and when I say always I mean alwaysssss go to jazz clubs! Even before you became official, you two will always go to a jazz venue at least once a month. It became a tradition between you two at this point.

If you haven’t listen to jazz before, oh, you’re on a ride, this man will talk about it and probably even more genres of his era. He would recommend you one artist and then two and like ten and- you get the deal.

Book reading. Now there’s time where Alastor or you.. or both of you like to just stay indoors so sometimes you guys just stay at the hotels library and read. Just enjoying your guys presence, the fire crackling and the soft music in the background.

And when you get tired, he would absolutely read to you while you put your head on his shoulder. (He’s voice is so &;&:&: like it could put me to sleep, okay?😭)

Cooking or Baking. Well, I don’t know if Alastor knows how to bake but I will assume he does. He loves to cook or bake with you! It’s probably his top 3 favorite dates to do with you like.. you literally can do it at any hour, in the mornings, evenings, nights and even midnights like wow there.

If you don’t know how to bake or cook, oh, he would absolutely love to teach you. If it comes out wrong, he would def laugh a bit.. but don’t worries, it’s your first time after all, right? It takes times to learn something new!

© LAINSSHOP 2024

[kisses4reid]

convenient pt.4 | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

pt. 3 (you cannot read this without prior reading)

summary - you don’t need help with your biology anymore, you need help understanding the chemistry that seems to be growing between you and spencer.

warnings - jealousy, dickhead guy, unwanted flirting, awkward spencer, mentions of getting run over and pouring rain, studying.

genre - college!fem!reader x earlyseasons!spencer, fluff, angst if you squint, jealousy trope

a/n - i hope you all enjoy this part. comment or put in a req to be added to the convenience taglist, if you’ve already asked and i haven’t mentioned you please message orso i can make sure you’re on my list for the next part! love you all 🫶

sat in a plush office chair, in a cool room, in a comfortable dress shirt, surrounded by the people he trusted most, spencer couldn’t seem to live in the moment.

now that’s not something you would suggest to the man when he’s sat in front of multiple gruesome photos and case files, usually he would be 100% focused, no bullshit, no wandering thoughts.

but suddenly he felt light, airy, like these cases were just another day and he would be confident either way. it wasn’t completely untrue, but it was odd. everyone else seemed to notice.

“spencer, are you okay?” aaron hotchner startled the man with his stern and concerned voice, everyone looking up at spencer as a natural reaction. spencer looked around the table, noticing a growing grin between garcia and morgan.

hotch continued, “if you need to sit this one out, by all means.”

spencer shook his head and adjusted his posture, picking up a profile to skim over. there was a small giggle from garcia that brought the attention of aaron.

“what’s going on?”

“reid’s distracted because of a certain someone…” morgan replied, biting the end of his ballpoint pen. garcia slapped his shoulder.

“don’t tease him, meanies. keep going, hotch.”

they were right. he was distracted and felt far away most of the time. he wanted to go somewhere comfortable, like a convenience store with a pretty employee to talk to.

ricky, a handsome guy a few years older than you, was annoying logan with questions he could’ve answered himself. he tagged along with logan to your weekend study session at a small cafe not far from the college. the tall man was mostly agreeable, except for his apparent obsession with straight black coffee. he had had two cups of it already.

“so, y/n. what do you study? wait don’t tell me. nursing, because you seem to be healing my broken heart. psychology, because you’re making me crazy? or is it music, because your voice is like a song?” he leaned forward from across the table, disregarding the punch in the shoulder from logan. you only glared and returned to your expensive textbooks, leaving your drink to turn cold in its abandonment.

“don’t try anything, ricky. she’s basically taken.” she warned with a smirk. you lifted your gaze and rolled your eyes,

“you’re nonsensical. you’ve had too much coffee,” you stop filling out a questionnaire, “he’s not even that… he’s… ugh, i don’t know.” you place your pen down and stretch in the stiff wooden chair.

ricky laughs, clapping his hands together, “okay so you totally have a crush on a guy.”

“i do not.”

“i guess i’ll back off with my advances, unlessss, you truly don’t have a crush on your lover boy?”

“i do not- but still please back off, you’re gross.”

logan and ricky shared a glance and went back to their work silently. like they knew something you didn’t. your brain had turned stuffy, you need to get some air, you needed to get away from the truth.

garcia and morgan appeared so suddenly spencer thought turbulence had pushed them into their seats in front of him. his gaze snapped from the airplane wing to their two giddy faces and immediately knew what this conversation was going to be about. it only made him a little bit uncomfortable, these types of conversations. girls, flirting, being happy around someone he doesn’t work with, it was all unfamiliar. it seemed he chose the best people to talk about it to though; garcia had given him a little too much information about his crush from her unwanted snooping, and in the process morgan was also given all of this information.

“yes, okay, i told derek all about your girl but i couldn’t help it! he’s very persuasive!” garcia pouted. spencer thinned his lips and nodded, expecting a surge of conversation but he was only met with silence. morgan and garcia shared a glance.

“look, spencer. we’re only doing this to distract ourselves from the case we just closed, and to help you. if you don’t want help, if you think this… thing, will die out, then tell us. but, if you do want some adviceee…” morgan spoke smoothly, quiet enough to avoid attention from anyone else.

when spencer stayed silent, thinking about how he could never use you as a distraction, morgan whispered, “if nothings happening, you gotta light the match.”

you were standing on an uneven step ladder when the doorbell rang with 10 minutes to closing. you rolled your eyes, thinking you’d have to stay even later because of this customer. but your demise quickly turned to calmness, a little bit of panic, when spencer appeared in the entry way.

you nearly fell off the ladder, dropping the pile of juice boxes in your hands onto the floor. you cursed under your breath, watching from above as spencer picked them up for you.

“thank you.”

there was no need for formalities anymore, it was like you had known each other forever. spencer was silent again, it was becoming his thing.

you clear your throat, “i changed my medication.”

he glanced at you, brown eyes observing your tired expression. he came here unconsciously. he had already had some take out, he didn’t need any coffee, and his fruit bowl was stocked to the brim. spencer walked to this convenience store, the result of the action being evident through the pain in his feet.

the phone in your back pocket caught spencer’s attention, before he promptly looked elsewhere to avoid looking like a creep.

“good, im glad.”

are we really back to this? was one awkward conversation all we needed to go back to strangers?

you stepped down, “no more bruises.”

spencer placed his fingers delicately on his healed cheek, holding back a smile that you actually remembered that.

he asked, “who’s texting you so much?” without much thought. he didn’t think about how it sounded, like he was protective or worried, or what it implied. he didn’t even have your number, why should he be so upset?

“oh it’s just logan and ricky.” you replied simply, folding up the ladder and glancing at the clock placed above the register desk, “are you getting anything?”

because it didn’t seem weird if he came here for you instead of his groceries.

“like your brother, ricky?”

there was a small match burning in his stomach at the sound of those names. he felt like taking your phone and snooping until he reached the end, until his fingers hurt. spencer felt like asking intrusive questions, before he bit his lips to stop himself.

you made notice of his hands fiddling in his pant pockets, rolling your eyes. that made his tongue slip.

“how many guys do you know?”

you looked at him with surprise, walking over to the register, “you think i’m a whore?”

spencer’s heart skipped a beat, “no not at all, i just- i didn’t word that right.”

you shook your head and laughed quietly, starting to count the change sat on your swivel chair. something was off. the street was empty. “did you walk here, spencer?”

spencer’s breath hitched. oh god, were the only words circling in his brain. when you used his name, it was different. this was weird, he needed to get out of there.

you looked so effortless. he looked so anxious.

“yeah. i did.”

you nod, “okay, you can help me lock up then.” you pass him a set of keys for the window covers, and add, “you can walk me home, to make up for the other day.”

spencer nods with a small smile and begins locking up.

you lead the way out of the store and around the corner to a set of traffic lights. the streets are silent and misty, but neither of you felt the need to jay walk in an attempt to speed up this process of awkward walking.

spencer watches you from his advantage point. at how you bite the inside on your lips, how you look at the concrete pathway.

“what’s wrong?” you don’t react, instead push the pedestrian button and sigh.

“it’s monday, spencer. you were going to ‘retry’, ‘be better’? i’m not 100% sure what you meant by that, but you said that right after you told me you were going to ask me out so.”

spencer gulps and nods, hands going back to their safe space in his pockets. “yeah, i said that. but i’m going to have to delay that again. this isn’t really,” he motioned towards the weeds, litter, and flickering street lights with his eyes, and you nod with a smirk.

“romantic?”

“romantic.”

you smile at each other, and for a second he’s utterly entranced before a wave of wind and tires pass him. before a soft hand is hard on his upper arm. his eyes trailed the car, heart beating nearly as hard as it does when he looks at you.

“jesus, are you okay?” you asked worried, and when he nods with a simple stare accompanying it, you look away.

light a match.

you hand leaves him quicker than it got there.

in front of your apartment building, you notice logan’s window alight behind white curtains, and turn to face spencer.

“thank you for walking me home. i would invite you in but it’s 1:20am and i don’t really… know you.”

spencer furrows his eyebrows slightly, looking at you expectantly. your faces turns cold, slightly sorrowful.

“spencer, i don’t know you. i know things about you but i don’t actually know you.” you yawn, wiping a hand over your eyes, “maybe i’m just tired and overworked and…” logan’s voice echoes through your head as you look over the tall, tired and handsome man in front of you, “if you’re not going to ask me out first i’m going to ask you out. so, make a decision.”

it felt wrong being so stubborn and solid with him, but with school and family stress you truly didn’t need any unknown feelings to topple on as well.

spencer was taken aback. he didn’t know one couple where the girl asked out the guy, he didn’t know someone could like him that badly. he didn’t know what to say.

“goodnight, spencer. i’ll see you.”

you turned and pushed on the pull door, before pulling on it. heart thumping in your ears, you slowly held a hand over your mouth, impressed with yourself.

but you lied, you weren’t going to ask him out. you have no idea how to ask someone out.

the convenience store wasn’t so lonely tonight.

logan was arguing with ricky over his choice in deodorant almost louder than the terrible radio music playing throughout the store.

the beating of rain was creating a calming background to this chaos, as well as keeping customers away. all but one, of course.

spencer had an excuse, he was supposed to bring food for the team tomorrow, and this was the closest store. totally. but as he stood under the cover of the stores overhead steel, he felt another match being burnt in the bottom of his stomach.

a tall and toned man with bright blonde hair was leaning over your register and talking to you, making you smile and laugh. your arms were crossed, you were leaned away and you avoided eye contact, but spencer didn’t see any of these signs as the waves of jealousy drowned him.

spencer looked out onto the street. he had no right to feel that way, this was his own fault. he felt even weirder and out of place than he usually felt.

the doorbell rang and your fake smile turned real. logan watched from the toilet spray section and smirked when she recognised the purple-sweater adorned man. ricky stopped his flirting and turned to meet spencer’s eyes, they sized each other up. the blonde man smiled and looked back at your much happier face, “so this is lover boy?”

you smacked his arm hard, receiving a squeal in return. “what? no. ricky this is spencer, spencer this is ricky.”

spencer gulped and ignored the stranger and you. he went for the fruits section. ricky glanced at your confused face, “i might be a threat.”

“in your dreams.” you rolled your eyes and pushed his elbow off your desk. logan approached the counter with a basket full and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. you noticed ricky’s change in expression when looking at her and held back a smile.

“you didn’t get anything for me?” he asked, voice teasing. logan took out a block of mint chocolate and threw it at him, which he caught perfectly with a smirk on his face.

“what’s wrong with lover boy?”

you glare at her, deciding avoiding that nickname was out of the picture. your shoulders slump as you begin scanning her items while making sure spencer wasn’t in earshot. “i mentioned you two, and then he went weird.”

“i mean, if i liked a girl and she told me about two guys- sorry, two people with guy names- i’d be pretty jealous,” ricky inputted.

“is that all? some jealousy got to his head?” logan pressed.

you seriously doubted he would be jealous over that, he seemed smarter than that. he was smarter than that.

logan paid and left, literally dragging ricky behind her, as he waved and winked at you through the windows.

the store was eerily quiet, the only noise coming from the thunderstorm brewing outside. it felt uncanny and uncomfortable. you needed someone’s cologne to wade through or something.

turning while shaking your head, you grabbed out some posters taller than you and turned to have the life scared out of you.

“jesus! i thought i told you to walk louder.”

his groceries were perfectly in line to be scanned, a small smile appearing before promptly vanishing. spencer avoided your eyes, a beating all he could hear.

“he’s your…”

you sighed, disappointed spencer even thought that dumb blonde was someone to you, “acquaintance.” you finished his sentence. “i’ve known him for two days and he a flirtatious dick. everyone named ricky is a dick.”

he pulls out his slim wallet to hand you a $20 bill, fingers skimming each other. one glance.

spencer nods and nearly leaves before you stop him, “can you help me?”

spencer is on the top of the ladder outside, barely staying dry underneath the steel overhead cover with the top corners of a food poster in his hands. you tip toe to give him a piece of double sided tape. the laminated photos wave in the wind, spencer sticks his tongue out in concentration and you smile at the innocent act. leaning against the wall, quickly glancing inside to make sure nobody wanted to check out, you begin talking.

“thank you for doing this, i totally would’ve fallen and died if it weren’t for you. what can i do to repay you?”

spencer thought for a moment, looking down at you, “nothing. you don’t have to do anything. just keep talking.”

so you did, because you didn’t know if you’d see him again after tonight.

PART 5

taglist: @jeffswh0re @hypotheticallyspeakingwitch @trashmonstersara @wannabewolf @evysian @navs-bhat @mywellspringoflife @daphnesutton @smalls155 @amortencjja @anuncalledbridge @belsreid @redmurderbaby @tatilolz @criminalmindsandhouse @forensicuntology @nomajdetective @ilikw @screechingphantommaker @c-losur3 @v1ckycheesue @ackermans-angel @scarlettssub @fictionlurker @lovelyygirl8 @momooooca @random-kimmy @leabunny @cultish-corner @doigettokeepyou @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @hinataboke @wenttohogwarts @yaboohah @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @drewsandsebastianswife @hoeshissworld @flow33didontsmoke @bookworm124 @violetvsworld

[bucketsofmonsters]

Deep Water - Part 4

cw: the ocean, animal carcasses, rotting, malnourishment, more tags to be added as the story continues

merman x fem reader

Word count: 3k

read on ao3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

You woke up disoriented on an unfamiliar floor, the steady sounds of snoring filling your ears. 

You turned to see Finn, still fast asleep as you rose from your little spot on the floor. He was bundled up in blankets, his head just barely peeking out of them enough to breathe. 

You didn’t want to bother him. He’d done so much for you, the last thing you wanted to do was to disturb his rest. 

In your attempt to begin to get ready without disturbing him, you managed to get your feet tangled in the loose blankets below you and tumble back to the floor.

You quickly righted yourself just in time to see Finn begin to shift, waking fitfully. 

He groaned, eyes barely peeking open to look up at you. “Is… Oh. I forgot you were here.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

He tried to wave dismissively but in his half-asleep state, it looked more like he attempted to clumsily swat a fly out of the air.

He rose from the bed slowly, a little unsteady on his feet.  “I’ll find you some clothes.”

You took him in as he moved to the drawers beside the bed. He was a little scrawnier than the average man working on the docks and only a few inches taller than you, but still, you were sure that his clothes would fit you awkwardly, if at all. “You really don’t have to do that, my clothes are mostly dry now.”

“Nonsense, I have just the thing for you.”

And then he pulled out a dress, a practical one with reasonable skirts and allowance for movement. A dress you’d seen before. 

You reeled back a little as you asked, “Why do you have my sister’s clothes?”

It came out harsher than you’d intended it to. Maybe the shock was to blame, you weren’t certain. 

He deflated at your words, crumpling in on himself, his shoulders slumping as his face fell. 

“I should have told you,” he said, visibly mortified. “I know I should have. You just… you look just like her.”

The realization hit you instantly. “You two were…”

“I wasn’t trying to replace her,” he said, rushing in to cut you off. “I mean, I couldn’t replace her even if I did want to. It was just… it was nice to see you. I could almost pretend, just a little.”

The more he tried to justify it, the more your heart sank. “How long were you together?” you asked, your voice flat and distant.”

“Years. She was everything to me.” His voice was low and sad, sadness that you were sure was for her and not for you, standing betrayed in front of him. Why would it be for you? How selfish could you be?

You almost wished he’d yelled at you. Then maybe it wouldn’t make you feel so bad. He seemed devastated and apologetic and all the things he could be and yet now that you knew you could just tell. You could see him looking at you like you were her, with faux, unearned affection in his eyes behind the heartbreak. 

It made you furious. You wanted to throw something, to shout at him, to demand to be seen as a person, to be removed from her shadow. 

But he was grieving, just as you were. Probably more. 

The least you could to was be kind. 

So you gave him a half-hearted, soft pat on his shoulder and tried to paint as much sympathy accross your face as you could manage.

“You didn’t mean any harm,” you said, and you knew it was true. 

It still stung. 

And then you took the dress from his hands, his grip softening as you reached for it, and you left. 

You found an empty room to change in and went off to work as quickly as you could.

The next few weeks passed quickly, settling into an easy routine. Without Finn hovering over your shoulder as you worked, you were free to move quickly and mindlessly, doing your job exactly as intended and no more. 

You stopped by to see Simon almost every day. The days you couldn’t, held up late at the docks, he no longer threw a complete fit. There was huffing and pouting but he hadn’t kindaped you again and you considered that progress.

In fact, after the stunt he’d pulled, he seemed hesitant to even get near you, like even his presence was tainted now. He was more careful than he’d been, asking before he did anything. 

You supposed it was preferable over the alternative. 

You and Finn had grown distant. He was clearly trying to give you space but you couldn’t quite breach that gap and bring yourself to talk to him so instead you let him fade away, sharing quiet polite smiles when you saw one another and nothing more. Your only real friend here now gone. Other than your monster that you still caught glimpses of below the docks, no matter how many times you warned him that it was ill-advised.

You didn’t mind going to see him. There was very little understanding between you but it felt nice, having him so eager to meet with you every day, shifting uncomfortably in shallow water that he braved for you. 

It had been a bad day. 

Nothing had happened, not really, but that awful ship was back. Every time you saw it, a wave of nausea overtook you, brought back to you kicking and screaming on the deck, inhaling rain as you huffed in breaths. 

Finn had shot you a concerned look or two as he apparently read your nerves off your face, but he had kept his distance, respectful and stomach-churning. 

You wanted him to come check in on you, something he clearly wanted to do, but you still refused to go speak with him first. You couldn’t do it, couldn’t return to him like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, offering yourself as your sister’s replacement if he’d just speak to you.  

So instead, at the end of an awful day, you scurried off the docks to your spot, content that you’d at least get to see your siren. 

On the shore, where you usually sat, lay the tail end of a sea lion, bloody with bones sticking out, looking almost rotted.

You looked into the water to find amber eyes staring back at you, wide and expectant. 

You knew instantly he’d brought it here, though you couldn’t fathom why. It wasn’t a fresh kill, instead looking like it had been pulled off a beach somewhere where it’d washed up. 

A sense of shame flickered in his eyes, fighting back a grimance as you noticed it. 

“Do you want it?” he asked, head nodding towards the carcass.

“No,” you said, and he reeled back, not looking surprised but seeming upset all the same. 

“It’s the best I could do,” he said, eyes downcast. “I’ve been trying to find something better but I’m not built for this.”

His voice was tinged in a sense of bitterness and frustration and you wished you knew what he was talking about so you could comfort him. Or at least understand why he was upset. 

“Built for what? Why is this here?”

“It was supposed to be food,” he said with a huff. “I have nothing for you. I can’t provide you anything.”

“Provide me… You don’t need to provide for me, I can get my own food.”

“You shouldn’t have to. I want to… I want to show you I can keep you safe but I can’t. Couldn’t even keep you fed.”

As he spoke, you really took him in, sitting behind a rotting carcass that wasn’t fit for anyone to eat. 

What had he been eating if after weeks, this was the best he could bring you?

And then it struck you, the way he’d begun positioning himself in the shallows, stomach carefully down, arms in front of it, shifted away from you. 

“Come here,” you said, trying to keep your words soft. 

He looked like he was about to cry but he shifted forwards all the same. 

You fought back a gasp as he finally let you get a good look at him. 

He looked emaciated. Where soft, plump skin used to be, it instead had begun to pull taught over ribs that looked sharper than the human ribs you were accustomed to. 

With the new context, you could see it in his face too, his full cheeks beginning to bow in.

“What happened to you?” you asked, cursing yourself that you could have missed this, could have let him keep his distance and hide this from you so easily. 

“I’m not good at hunting,” he said, rufusing to meet your gaze. 

“You were fine before, what changed?”

He shifted and you could see a war waging inside his head, the conflict written accrosss his features. 

You waited, owing him patience at least. 

Finally, he seemed to come to a decision and he spoke, still sad and low but with a sense of finality rising behind it. 

“We’re not hunters, we’re not built for it. Not fast enough or sharp enough. We’re built to lure in prey but… you’re a person. If I hadn’t stopped to talk to you, you’d just be gone, drowned and devoured, and I wouldn’t even have known that it hurt, let alone… I can’t do it anymore,” his words had shifted from sad and low to frustrated and sharp. “I can’t hunt so I can’t eat fish but I can’t do it anymore. Every time I look at them I keep just seeing you.”

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes at the thought that you had done this to him. The revelation that he’d been eating humans fell by the wayside at the sight of sad eyes on a gaunt face that used to be warm and soft.

And you couldn’t even do anything about it. You didn’t have the resources to get him fish, not after the measly few weeks you’d spent here. You had barely managed to find yourself lodgings in a grimy old inn, barely eating enough to keep up your strength. 

But you had to. You couldn’t just leave him to this, in this situation that you’d dragged him into when you’d gotten thrown off that ship. When on the worst day of your life, he saw easy prey in front of him and decided to be kind. 

And then an idea came to you. An awful idea, sure, but the only one you had. 

You muttered a quiet “wait here” before you stood up and sprinted back to the dock, knowing you had to catch him before he left. 

Finn’s face lit up when he saw you nearing him, relief pulling the tension out of his shoulders and bringing a soft smile to his face. 

You grabbed his hand and with a soft noise of confusion escaping him, you dragged him down to your isolated little spot on the beach. 

The whole time you pulled him along, as he followed you without question, you tried to think how to explain any of this to him. 

You kept moving as you wracked your brains, needing to solve this, needing to know it could be fixed, and you came up with nothing.  

Anything would be better than just bringing him in blind, a fact you realized seconds too late, arriving at your spot on the shore. 

You saw the panic in Simon’s eyes seconds before disaster hit. Right before Finn noticed him, he was being snatched into the water, pale arms hooked under his armpits, holding him down in the shallows. It seemed mainly like shock and confusion that kept Finn down. Submerged in deep water he wouldn’t stand a chance, but here, in the shallows, against a malnourished and emotional siren; he could’ve taken him easily.

But he didn’t, instead thrashing a little with eyes wide and he tried to take in the simultaneous facts that sirens were real and that one had just dragged him into the water. 

“He’s here to help, drop him,” you snapped, shooting a harsh look at Simon. 

“I didn’t even do anything wrong,” he said, a grouchy look crossing his face as he let Finn go, drifting nervously back into the water. You recognized it for what it was. He was preparing for his escape, just in case. 

You didn’t blame him for the instinct. To be honest, it was a good one. Blind trust like that in anyone could get him killed. 

You hoped this wouldn’t be one of those times. You hoped you’d prove him wrong. 

Your hand snapped out to grab Finn’s wrist as he tried to stagger away, eyes wide and frightened.

“Finn,” you said, keeping your voice measured and level. “This is Simon. He’s a friend.”

You didn't think you'd ever seen such panic and betrayal in his eyes, his face normally light and happy. He was breathing heavy, eyes darting between the two of you like he couldn't quite believe he wasn't about to get pulled back in.

Finn looked down at your hand encircling his wrist. He tested his strength against yours, almost pulling away before deciding to let you keep him there. Ever patient, he didn’t take the out, he didn't run. He waited, by your side, nervous but steady.

His breaths slowed, taking stock of Simon in the water.

You weren’t sure who looked more frighted, both sizing one another up, ready to bolt should the need arise. 

You left them to it, terrified that any sudden movement would shatter the tentative peace that was forming between them. 

He nodded slowly, eyes not moving from Simon, shivering slightly in newly wetted clothes. “And why exactly,” he began, eyes locked onto Simon, “did you want me to meet this friend of yours?”

“Um. So he wants to stop eating people,” you said, wincing as you heard yourself and the reality of what you'd just said sunk in.

“He eats people?” Finn asked, his voice spiking up in panic as his head whipped towards you.

“And he would like to stop. If we can’t help him, what do you think he’s going to start doing again?”

“It’s not my fault!” Simon huffed from the water. “The fish don’t hate you for eating them, why do you get to be mad at me?”

“The fish aren’t people,” Finn insisted, arms wrapping around himself as he shivered in the cold air. 

“And you aren’t sirens. I thought you were stupid anyway, like fish.”

“You thought we were like fish?”

Simon shrugged. “Not like fish. But the difference from you to fish is like the difference from you to me. Or… I thought so. We might have been wrong. I don’t know, I just eat.”

He seemed uncomfortable with having to explain himself, shifting in the water as he glanced at you every few seconds. 

It took a moment for you to realize what he was looking for. It was approval, you could see him searching for it in your eyes. 

You weren’t sure you could give it to him. Your stomach churned at his words but you could feel how earnest he was, could hear the confusion and distress in his voice.

He hadn’t thought he was doing anything wrong. Why would he? He was just doing what sirens had always done and now he wasn’t so sure about it any longer and his whole past was filled with deaths he didn’t know if he could justify anymore. 

How would you feel, you wondered, if you met a fish one day and that fish told you it was afraid? If it told you that it told stories to its young about your kind and how they’d snatch it up and cook it over an open flame. 

Would it be your fault? Would those deaths be on your conscience?

Would you ever have the presence of mind to see a fish, alone in strange waters, and save it? Could you even do what Simon had done, take that first step?

Your heart hurt for him, alone in his crisis, with no one to talk to about it. His only options were his kind that depended on these horrible deaths to survive and you. And his prey. 

Finn pulled you aside, far from out of Simon's earshot but it seemed to settle him a little bit to at least feign privacy. 

“What do you want me to do here?” Finn hissed.

“I want to help him. He saved my life and… and even if he didn't, is this not for the best? He wants to do better, we can't just not help him.”

He nodded, hesitant but willing. “Okay, so what now.”

“I don’t know. He can eat fish, we know that for sure. Maybe other food too? Do you think he can eat human food?”

Finn pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I don’t know. How would I know? I guess I can get him fish, we could sneak a couple out and buy some before we leave at night. Would that be enough?”

You shrugged. “I have no idea.”

He sighed. “Great."

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this, I just didn’t know anyone else I could go to.”

He gave you a soft smile. “It’s the least I could do. Now, I’m going to go scrounge something up, you keep your little siren company.”

You shot him one last grateful look before settling down on the beach, water lapping at your shoes. 

Simon pulled himself out of the water a bit, trying to get closer to you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice barely audible over the sound of the waves. 

You took his hand from where it lay, shifting nervously over some rocks, and gave it a gentle squeeze. 

“I know.”

[megalomaniacz]

NONSENSE

🍦 lookin' at you got me thinkin' nonsense 🍓

pairing: ellie williams x reader

synopsis: celebrating your 2 year anniversary with ellie!

warnings: fingering + strap on sex (r!recieving), ellie’s strap is referred to as her cock (thought it was silly, imagine it purple)

author’s note: i refuse to read this more than once I COULD BARELY EDIT IT IDK also thank u all so much for the recent love u don’t know how much it means to me <3 check out my other stuff on @abbysvictim

tags: @lonelyfooryouonly <3 my wife!

you could only dream of a love as sweet as the one ellie had provided you with these past two years. her heart, a never ending well of love, was placed into your hands the moment she laid eyes on you. she’ll tell the story until it traps her tongue.

dina had invited you to a popup show of hers. your sweet smile was contagious and forever genuine. curved lines in the creases of your mouth after every joke she told. ellie wanted to live in the ridges of those lines. she wanted to breathe your scent in forever. hear you praise her playing until she became proud of it herself.

she was hooked. could barely spit out the words while asking dina for your number.

now it was your anniversary. you and ellie were in the kitchen enjoying strawberries and whipped cream (one of her absolute favorites). she takes some of the cream and places it on your neck, the sticky solid causing you to cringe. you have no time to respond when her lips latch onto the area, sucking softly.

a very low and very desperate moan escapes your lips. she pushes you up against the counter grinding, her crotch into your ass. the motion causes your mouth to fall open and she stuffs two fingers in, pushing them against your tongue.

“you’re so beautiful baby.” she whispers, a hand slipping into the front of your pants from behind. she buries it into your panties, not surprised to find you already wet for her.

she grinds against you once more causing your cunt to collide with her hand. your moan is muffled by her fingers in your mouth and you start to trail drool down her arms.

she loves fucking you, and loves fucking with you even more. lips placing aggressive kisses on your neck while she watches you come undone against her fingers. your vision runs hazy with her pace. she’s curled them so perfectly to hit the spot that makes your soul leave your body. you felt like you might squirt and make a mess of yourself and the kitchen floor.

she’s not done with you when you finish. she never is. quick to lead you and your wobbly legs to the couch, fingers never leaving your mouth. she’s always prepared, cock already latched up and ready to go.

she carefully places you over it, smiling as your eyes travel to the back of your head when you lower yourself. she could almost laugh at how easily she slipped in.

and now she didn’t want you moving a single muscle. it was time for you to just enjoy yourself. her hips bucked up into you at an erratic pace. slow and deep, then she’d speed up, then slow and deep again. she repeated this until she had you screaming, a ring of your slick covering the base of her cock and your cunt leaving a pool of wetness on her boxers.

this was heaven. your precious moans in her ear as the sound of her slamming in and out of your cunt echoed in the room. the sound was giving the both of your butterflies. yeah, you could definitely do two more years of this.

[eves4pple]

MUKAMI HOUSEHOLD HC’S

A/n: Long time no see!! Work and life got super crazy but I’ve been indulging in Diabolik Lovers again! Alongside that! For a few months I’ve been rewriting DL (more like my own au!!) just small tweaks and adding more realistic characterizations to characters I enjoy! So I decided to make a list of my headcanons for the Mukami household + Yui (she’s my beauty)

TW: slight mention and hint at abuse, mention of sexual abuse, mention of animal death

Take all of these at face value I’ve done my research to the best of my abilities and are basing this off of the things I’ve read, played, and watched! Plus my own little personal things!

- A quieter household. Each brother seems to have their own hobbies and tends to stick to themselves. This doesn’t mean they don’t enjoy each others company, they seem like the only group to like REALLY enjoy being around each other. Brother banter and all that nonsense.

- isn’t the safest but compared to the Sakamaki household Yui is in less danger. She actually spends more time pursuing schooling and smaller hobbies here without much backlash. Yuma and her garden often and Ruki helps her study. But of course this kinda stuff is paid back in blood so, you win some loose some

- Yuma will tease all 3 brothers for their height, I believe this may be canon? But it’s really Kou he has spats with over their heights. As an idol Kou is notoriously over dramatic and borderline narcissistic (and very full of himself) so he’s kinda pissy Yuma hangs his height over his head, but it’s all in good fun! (Usually)

-Yui and Ruki don’t really get along in the beginning. Which duh, but after a long period of time Yui began to get annoyed with being bossed around? I mean I would to, so he kinda grossed her out. Too much like an Ayato Reiji mix

- it’s mentioned either that in a CD or clip from more blood (the game) that Yui housed a kitten and was healing it back to health and Ruki killed it. This also kinda solidified their relationship into not being great. Yui believes very strongly in her morals and Ruki is one to oppose them. Meaning that in her eyes he’s cruel and in his she’s weak.

- Azusa is super interested in religions. Not like in them but he thinks the rules and regulations are kinda interesting to look into, he asks Yui a lot of questions about her faith and what it means to her.

- Yuma and Yui get along the best, the brothers were once human and I feel like don’t lack empathy to the extent pure bloods do. Course they will make comments that have Yui going “???” Because they are still entitled vampires

- The kinda group to have annoying ass orders at cafes. They don’t go out as a group much but when they get the chance they do. So when Yui joined she tagged along (of course they were like helicopter parents). Kou wants something sweet all the time so it’s either a milkshake/frappe nonsense, Ruki is the one who makes in super obvious he “just wants a black coffee. Black, no sugar or cream”, now Azusa’s order isn’t hard but he’s so quiet that it’s hard to catch it all so it’s usually made wrong on accident. Yuma sticks to the same thing but it’s a coffee with like 13 different steps that by the end it’s like a concoction of sugar, cream, flavoring, and coffee.

- Yui has an easy order, usually a tea. She avoids most coffee’s due to her sleep already being out of whack

- Yui has nightmares often due to the abuse she’s faced and she’s semi opened up to Azusa abt them in passing but tends to shut it down if pried.

- Ruki is stressed almost always. With the stress of being Adam kinda solely falling on his shoulders he doesn’t sleep often or even at all.

- this is supposedly canon but, Yuma likes bigger curvy girls in my mind :3

- Kou likes Kesha, Megan, and other female rap/pop artists. I also feel like Yui also dabbles with that kinda music but it isn’t her favorite

- Yuma’s the kinda brother that gives his brothers the faulty gaming controller :/

- Yuma and Kou smoke weed 100% idk I feel like they’d enjoy it, Ruki has a few times but usually just tells them off. Azusa has zero interest, Yui also has dabbled and she enjoyed it but getting high with like supernatural creatures can be… anxiety inducing?

- Ruki seems like one of those kids who’d have a super non trad kinda pet? Idk a snake or something. Not messy, loud, and chill

- Kou seems like the type to be sex repulsed often? He’s an idol and gets sexualized a lot in the limelight so bad correlation but even if he hates it he still does it to Yui

- Yui also is very sex repulsed

- yuma has a hard time coming to terms with his past with Shuu? It’s a weird grief thingy

- I feel like sometimes, only sometimes, they miss being human. I believe it’s semi mentioned already. But I feel like when Yui started living with them they started noticing that feeling more in an angry/sad way.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

One For The Road [2]

Cecil Dennis x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• ko-fi •

Series Masterlist

Summary: You haven't spoken to Cecil since what happened last week.

A/N: Another huge thank you to @thexsanctuaryx for beta reading again and putting up with my nonsense! <3

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, reader has been drinking - but not enough to affect them, mentions of weed, catching feelings and self denial of catching feelings, fingering, oral sex (afab!receiving), jerking off, cumming on someone, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 2186

I Saw This Coming From The Start

It had been a week. A full week since you’d seen him. Since you’d practically run out of the front door when Harry had come in, making up some excuse to leave that you can’t even remember now.

He’d messaged the next day. Gentle, and kind. Apologising without explicitly saying what he was apologising for. Which had made you feel bad because it wasn’t like he had tried something with you and gotten pissy when you’d rejected him. 

No, you’d wanted it, still want it. And that was the problem really. 

You hadn’t messaged back, trying to push it all to the back of your mind and further still. Tonight you’d gone out on a shit date. So boring and dull that you’d made a hasty exit and drowned your sorrows in a local bar. 

It wasn’t like you were flat out drunk, just a little buzzed. Two drinks more than you normally would in that short timeframe. And all you could do was think about stupid Cecil and his stupid curls and stupidly thick fingers. 

You’d sent him a message before you could think twice. 

Are you busy?

He’d messaged back almost instantly. No. You okay?

Where are you?

Home.

Alone?

You’d been in the Uber before he even replied yes. 

The smile he’d given you when he’d opened the front door to your knock had almost broken your heart. 

“Hey!” He’d hugged you with one arm, purposefully not getting too close as he ushered you into the living room. “I’m so glad you texted.” He smelt very obviously of weed. “I was getting worried, I mean,” he pulls a face. “Not worried. You’re an adult, you can do what you want, of course you can, I mean,” he rubs the back of his head, “I mean, I mean, I upset you didn’t I? I was a jerk, I’m so sorry, I-”

You turn quickly and kiss him, pressing your lips to his demandingly.

He groans, his eyes fluttering closed as you lick into his mouth. He tastes the alcohol on your tongue. “Wait,” he swallows, moving back a step. “You’re drunk.”

“No.” 

He gives you those soft eyes that can absolutely destroy your resolve in less than ten seconds, the UN should class that look as a war crime. 

“I just had a few drinks.” You glare at him. 

He lightly brushes your arm and you shrug him away, frowning. 

The soft look he gives you stings. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” You snarl. 

“Like what?” 

“All puppy dog eyes and shit, it’s not fair.” 

He pauses, “Puppy dog eyes?”

“Yeah,” you motion to him, “you know the look, makes you all sweet and soft and cute, and makes it really fucking hard to not do what you want.”

He smiles ever so slightly. “You think it’s cute?” 

“I think you’re cute.” You say grumpily. 

His smile widens. “I think you’re cute too.” He steps closer, running his hands on your biceps.

“So kiss me.”

“Why don’t you sit down and I’ll get you a glass of water, okay? A clean glass?” He gives you a jokey smile, trying to make you laugh.

You do your best to resist and shrug. “I don’t want a glass of water, I’m…” 

“You’re?”

You sigh deeply, fighting down your embarrassment as you half mumble. “Can we… can we do what we did… last time?”

He watches you softly, giving you time to make it clear what you really want.

You sigh again, practically a groan. And when you speak you purposefully look at the wall and not his stupidly handsome face. “Can we watch some porn and mess around?”

He smiles and nods. “You sure?” 

You give him a look. 

“Okay,” he giggles, “if you’re sure.” 

.

He brings you a glass of water in the promised clean glass anyway, and a packet of cookies. He places them in your hands before dragging over the small coffee table and putting it to your side of the sofa, then taking the packet and glass and putting them on there for you. 

Cecil grins when he’s finished, beaming like he’s worked out a partially difficult mental puzzle. You don’t want to find it as endearing as you do. 

He sits down next to you, grabbing his phone. “Anything you wanna watch?” 

You shrug, not quite expecting this direction. “Um, what would you recommend?” You want to smack yourself in the face, who the fuck asks someone what porn they would recommend? Like this was some fancy restaurant with a waiter giving you the wine list. ‘Oh yes, with the water and cookies, I’d recommend a nice fuck with a cum shot.’

“Well,” he shifts in his seat excitedly, “Actually, I watched some of this the other day, I thought it was good.”

Okay, maybe this was the place you came to to get porno recommendations.

“It’s a glory hole video, is that okay?”  He looks up at you sweetly, the earnestness in his eyes is bewitching.

You nod and swallow and his grin widens.

“Awesome.” He clicks the video, casting it to the TV. “Harry’s gonna be out until really late, so don’t worry about interruptions this time.”

You wiggle a little and nod again. This was a bad idea actually, wasn’t it? Now that you were thinking about it, it was a really bad idea. A really, really, really, really bad idea. You could forgive last week, that had been… that was an accident. This was… intentional. Fool me once, and all that. This was you going out of your way to-

“You’re wearing jeans, can I…?” He gave you those stupidly large puppy eyes, you could feel the yearning rolling off him in waves.

You nod, undoing your buttons and fly as he scrambles off the sofa onto his knees. He loops his fingers under your waistband and tugs when you raise your hips. 

He pulls your jeans down eagerly to your thighs, then grabs your panties, yanking them down as well and pulling both off your legs, leaving you completely bare from the waist down. 

You swallow, heat rising to your face. You hadn’t expected him to take everything off straight away. 

On the television a naked woman deepthroats a large cock that is pressing through a taped hole in a bathroom wall. She’s whining and slurping, her free hand between her legs. 

“Oh fuck,” Cecil breathes deeply, lightly pressing on your knees to spread your legs. “I was so right,” he bites his lip, groaning. “Such a pretty pussy, oh god.” He squeezes his cock through his sweats and gulps, closing his eyes for a second. “Prettiest I’ve ever seen, fuck.”

You swallow, holding your breath as he inches closer on his knees. 

He brushes the edge of his calloused thumb against your clit, seeming mesmerised as your muscles jump and twitch under his touch. 

“God, yeah.” He groans under his breath and presses firmer, lightly tracing the outline of the bundles of nerves before he rubs up and down and side to side.

You let out a little moan, your fingers digging into the cushions beside you.

Cecil lets out a long whine, “Oh, you’re so wet, I can see it.” He looks up at you from under his long eyelashes for a second before going back to your dripping cunt. “Looks amazing.”

He rubs his thumb constantly, oohing and ahhing softly at every minuscule movement.

Your breathing hitches, heat running along your skin and tightening in your belly. 

Ever so slowly he runs the fingers of his other hand up your leg and presses them to your aching slit, rubbing your lips and smearing your wetness all over your pussy. He groans when you twitch and moan softly, his eyes darkening rapidly second by second.

“Mmmmm,” he hums loudly, inching his fingers forward as his thumb rubs you, pushing them in a few centimetres before pulling them out and whining at the slick coating his skin. He pushes in deeper, firmly sheathing them all the way in one long move and curling them until your thighs jump and you gasp.

“Oh fuck, yes, yes, yes,” he groans, watching intently and then, “fuck, sorry, I gotta,” he darts forward, removing his thumb from your clit and kissing your folds.

You moan, back arching from the sofa, your hand flying to the back of his head to pull him closer and he whimpers, sucking your clit into his mouth and flicking the tip of his tongue back and forth.

“Cecil,” your whine harmonises with his as pleasure curls and spreads with every heavy pump and plunge of his fingers, with every caress of his tongue and lips. “Shit, that’s,” your words leave you breathlessly, your voice sounding completely wrecked already. “That’s really good, fuck, please,” you buck against his mouth, grinding up to his fingers as he works you over eagerly, rapidly bringing you closer and closer to your peak. 

Pleasure sings along every nerve, making your thighs shake and your eyes roll back as he groans and licks and sucks like you’re his only source of oxygen. 

You dig your fingers into his hair, scraping your nails lightly across his scalp, making him shiver and moan louder. 

Your mind is turning into mush, dissolving into nothing as your body races after your orgasm, demanding more and more and more from his sinful mouth. 

Part of you can’t work out how he got so good at this, how many pussys has he buried his face in? How could his ex dump him when he was this good? Fuck, even if you were tired of his shit you could just tie him to the bed and sit on his face for a few hours each day and that would more than make up for it. 

Cecil’s cock throbs, each moan that leaves your lips making him harder, needier. He can feel his precum soaking into his boxers as your slick drenches his chin. 

He shudders, so close to coming in his pants again and not giving one flying fuck.

“Cec,” Your grip on the back of his head tightens, your thighs shaking and tensing, your body rising up and against him. You’re so close, hanging right on the edge with his tongue flicking kitten licks in time with how his fingers rub against your walls, playing you perfectly to his will.

He hums against you, swirling his tongue and you scream, clenching around him as you come so hard. It washes over you, piercing your limbs and shocking every muscle with bliss. You shake, grinding against his mouth as he groans greedily. 

He pulls his fingers from your fluttering pussy, grabbing hold of the back of your thighs and just buries his face in your cunt. He laps and sinks his tongue deep inside, pressing the bridge of his nose against your clit and shaking his head from side to side ever so slightly as he drinks down every single drop of your release. Needing everything. 

He loosens his grip on you when you start to relax, your muscles untensing. He lets go, struggling with his waistband and pulling his sweatpants and boxers down just enough so that his thick cock springs free with a dull thud. He wipes his mouth and chin with the palm of his right hand before he grabs hold of his dick, using your cum as lubricant as he rapidly jerks himself off, his eyes rolling back.

His cock is so pretty, thick and long and ruddy red at the leaking, needy tip.

“Cecil,” you whine and his eyes snap open instantly, his hips jerking as he nears his peak. You bite your lip, fuck he looks so beautiful, sweaty and wanting and desperate. “Come on me.” You whisper. 

He groans, “On you?”

You spread your legs wider, pulling your legs up to your chest and holding them there. “Come on my pussy.” 

He sobs, standing so quickly he almost falls and has to grab hold of the back of the sofa with his free hand to stop himself from falling. He jerks once, twice, moaning so loudly as his hips move on autopilot and pleasure runs down his spine and explodes. He comes with a cry, shooting his load all over your pussy and the back of your thighs. 

He keeps coming, unable to stop as he spurts and splatters, painting your skin with his seed. 

He gasps, slumping forward for a second and breathing hard, “fuuuuuuucccck.” He whines, shivering with the aftershocks. 

You watch him with large eyes, mesmerised with how his lips are parted, how flushed his skin looks. Like some ancient painting of a god. 

Suddenly he drops to his knees again, pressing his palms to your legs to keep you folded over. 

“Cecil-” You yelp in surprise, about to ask what he’s doing when he shoves his tongue back into your core, slurping up the mess he made between your legs and sucking once more on your clit until you moan.

“Just cleaning up.” He mumbles, his voice thick with lust before he dives back in. 

Thank you for reading!

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[candiedcoffeedrops]

Your Voice (Jude Jazza x Reader)

Jude Jazza x Fem!Reader (Jude's POV/Perspective)

SFW -- WC: 1765

Fluffy, sweet indulgent nonsense that I thought of whilst avoiding sleep at 3 in the morning about a week and change ago lol.

Alright, so this is my first reader insert in thirteen years! I have been working on this for the last few days in between work and whatnot and most of the time was like, 10% writing and 90% worrying if I was writing this bastard man that I have grown to love very rapidly correctly or not. I'm open to suggestions on how to improve, I just ask that it be kind/respectful, please. :)

Thanks a million to @judejazza for inspiring me to work on this! You're awesome and I hope you like this!

Also! No beta, we die like the dude in the prologue.

Today had been long and irritating.

You had tagged along with me and Ellis today, as usual. An early morning of routine business turned into a busy afternoon of hunting down people who had broken contracts and taking them to task. That quickly escalated, and you nearly got yourself hurt. Again.

We had just gotten back to Crown Castle a few hours ago and had gone about our business. It had been a couple of months since your initial one-month tenure had come and gone, and you had stupidly decided that you were going to stay.

I couldn’t understand why. Crown wasn’t a place for someone like you—soft, kind-hearted, and ridiculously naive. You belonged somewhere safe, somewhere untouched by the dark and violent world I—and all of us—were steeped in. Yet, here you were, stubborn as hell, refusing to leave. Maybe you thought you could change us, make us better. Foolish. But damned if it wasn’t… endearing. Tch. I must be getting soft.

As I walked through the halls of the castle, I noticed light peeking out from under your door. You were still awake? It was definitely past midnight at this point. Curious, I approached the door and knocked with the knuckle of my index finger.

“Oi, Princess! The fuck ya still up for?”

“Oh! Come in, Jude!”

I opened your door and stepped inside, pushing the door shut with my foot, my hands in my pockets.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your head cocked to the side curiously.

I raised an eyebrow and spoke, “I asked first.”

“I can’t sleep, so I thought I’d get a book from the library and try to read myself asleep but… then I got sucked into the story.” You admitted as light pink dusted your cheeks, returning your attention to your book. You were sitting on your bed, atop your covers, eyes scanning the pages of an open book in your hands. Your room was lit by the lamp on your desk near your typewriter, casting a dim warm glow over everything, including you. Your hair framed your face, and you were dressed in your nightclothes like you had started getting ready for bed but never actually went to sleep.

I strolled up to your bed and plucked the book from your hands.

“Hey! Give that back!” You swung your legs under you, trying to swipe the book from me. “Jude!”

Ah, that cute little face and the way you said my name when you were all frustrated would never get old.

“Why? Ya readin’ somethin’ ya shouldn’t?” I teased, holding the book just out of reach. I took a step back, skimming through the pages. “Is that why ya can’t sleep? Gettin’ all hot ‘n bothered?” My eyes scanned the words.

She stood beneath the crumbling archway of the cathedral, where the moonlight filtered through the cracks and bathed her in a silvery glow, her heart pounding with the weight of forbidden love.

I rolled my eyes. Tch. How boring. Just some romantic penny dreadful. Figures. You would be into this kind of shit. Star-crossed lovers and all that nonsense.

“Ya realize none of this is realistic, yeah?” I asked, waving the book dismissively. Your cheeks puffed into an adorable pout, and I chuckled.

“I don’t read it for the realism, Jude,” you replied, matter-of-factly. “I read it because it’s entertaining. Fun.”

“What’s so fun about somethin’ so obviously false?” I asked, flipping through a few more pages while you leaned over, trying to grab your book again. I held it out of reach. “Yer gonna get it back when I decide ya can have it back, got it?”

You sighed, crawling back into bed, sitting against the headboard. “That’s better.”

“Why are you playing keep away with my book?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Repayment for nearly gettin’ yer clumsy ass hurt again.”

You growled lightly. Adorable. “But I didn’t! You were there!”

I huffed, rolling my eyes. “Yeah, well, ya shouldn’t need me to save ya all the time. Learn to stay outta trouble.”

You gave me a defiant look, your chin lifting slightly. “I’m not helpless, Jude. I can take care of myself.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Yeah? Then why were ya about to get skewered earlier?”

Your cheeks flushed, eyes widening. “I was just… distracted.”

“By what? Thinkin’ of garbage like this?” I asked, holding up the book and waving it lightly.

“It’s not garbage!” you shot back, your eyes blazing with a fire I rarely saw. “It’s a good story, and I like it.”

“Tch. It’s drivel, Princess.” I glanced at the open pages, scanning a few more lines with a sneer. “Moonlight, forbidden love... absolute nonsense.”

You crossed your arms, a stubborn set to your jaw. “If it’s so bad, then why don’t you prove it by reading some of it?”

I raised an eyebrow, a chuckle rumbling in my chest. “Ya want me to read this crap? To ya?”

“Yeah, I do.” You leaned forward, eyes gleaming with challenge. “I bet you can’t get through a single page without falling asleep.”

My tongue ran along my bottom teeth beneath my lip as I walked closer to you and leaned down, towering over you. “Is that a dare, Princess?” I looked at you, my smirk widening into a grin. “Alright, but don’t blame me when ya realize how bad it is.”

“Alright,” you said, settling back with a satisfied smile. “But you have to read it properly. Like you mean it.” You shifted, laying down on your side, facing me, your head cushioned perfectly by your pillow.

I snorted. “Fine. But if I read this and prove it’s trash, ya gotta stop readin’ this stuff.” I lightly tapped the spine of the book to your forehead. “It’ll rot yer little brain even more than it already is. Got it?”

Your eyes sparkled. “Deal.”

I sighed, sitting down unceremoniously into a chair that was by your bedside, my ankle crossed over my knee. “Alright, let’s see what has ya stayin’ up all night.” I cleared my throat, holding the book up to catch the dim light. “She stood beneath the crumbling archway of the cathedral…”

My mind drifted through the pages at first, words blurring together without much meaning. But then, something in the story caught my attention, and I found myself tuning in, focusing on the text. Gradually, I realized my voice had softened, losing its earlier sarcasm. It settled into a steady rhythm, low and even, as I read for a few more pages.

Every so often, I glanced up at you. Your expression, once filled with intense focus, began to relax. I watched as your eyes fluttered, fighting to stay open. You looked so determined to stay awake.

I trailed off mid-sentence and raised an eyebrow, my lips curling in another smile. “Oi. Sleepyhead. Still there?”

I got a mumbled affirmation in response, to which I chuckled through my nose and nodded. I set the book down before getting to my feet, careful that I didn’t make too much noise doing so. Well, at least you were about to finally get some much-needed shut-eye.

Before I could move away, you reached out and grasped my fingers with a gentle hold. My eyes widened as I looked between you and our hands.

“Wait. Don’t go yet.” Your eyes were trained on our hands, another faint blush spreading across your cheeks. “I want to hear more of the story.” Your voice was low and shy.

“Yeah?” I asked, tilting my head as I observed you, another smirk lifting my lips. “Can’t get enough garbage, can ya, Princess?”

“No, it’s not that.” Your blush deepened. “I just… I like the sound of your voice.”

Damn. Didn't see that coming. You’re clueless. Who the hell would say something like that? My voice—harsh, grating, like broken glass or nails on a chalkboard and that's what you wanted to hear? But of course, it’d be you, wouldn’t it? Blind to every possible warning, looking up at me with those big, pleading eyes. Damn you. And damn me for sticking around.

My hand was still in yours, your skin soft and warm against my calloused fingers. Your gaze lifted to mine, and you looked so… pitiful. Pleading.

I sighed. “Yer daft, ya know that?” I moved to sit back down, your hand still holding mine. Crossing my ankle back over my knee, I reopened your book, propping it up on my thigh. I glanced at you; some of your energy had returned, your eyes shining with that dumb happy look as you nuzzled into your pillow.

“Thank you, Jude.” Your voice was soft and sweet, making my heart lurch. I kept my face impassive.

“Yeah, yeah, be quiet ‘n listen.” My tone lacked most of its usual bite as I found the last page I had read.

My fingers were still in your grasp. Strange. I could’ve pulled away at any point, but I didn’t. Maybe you thought if you let go, I’d leave. While reading, I moved my hand, lacing my fingers around yours. I didn’t look up, focused on the page, but I heard a small gasp before you squeezed my hand slightly. Damn. Almost enough to make a man melt.

Without pausing, my thumb began rubbing yours absentmindedly. Your skin was soft, untouched by the harshness of this world. What a novel thing in a place like this.

It wasn’t long before I heard your gentle snoring. I chuckled softly, watching you for a moment. So peaceful. Dreaming without a care while a man you knew was dangerous held your hand and read you to sleep. You were insane.

I stood, marking the page I had stopped on, and set the book down on your nightstand. Reluctantly, I removed my hand from yours and shrugged off my coat, covering your sleeping form. You immediately melted into the warmth, your shoulders relaxing as a lock of hair fell across your cheek. My fingers hovered above you.

Do I dare?

Taking a breath, I gently moved the errant lock from your cheek without touching your face. You scrunched your nose, muttering softly before settling back into sleep. My hands found their way into my pockets as I gazed at you a moment longer.

“Sleep well, Princess,” I murmured under my breath. I crossed the room to turn your lamp off and then made my way to the door, pausing at the doorframe for one last look over my shoulder before exiting and closing the door quietly behind me.

This was fun! It was nice to slip into old shoes again and write something that I used to do so frequently. I may do more of these! Lemme know if you want to be tagged, should I decide to do more in the future!

Thank you, all! Have a great day!

[ramblingoak]

Grading Papers

Mushy May in Lucifer's Hollow: Day 3 - Massage

Copia x Aether

This fic is set in an alternate universe in a town called Lucifer's Hollow. For Mushy May I'll be using the prompts to post little snippets of life for the humans and ghouls that live there 💙 Thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together!

~ In Lucifer's Hollow Copia teaches history at the high school and Aether is a firefighter. ~

Warnings: fluff and stuff, sfw, 500 words (thank you to @ghuleh-recs for the dividers and @foxybouquet for the Italian help!)

“Sono tutti imbecilli!”

Aether sighed at Copia’s outburst, adding a few more cookies to the plate before heading towards his husband’s office.  He had been in there all afternoon grading essays and from the increasingly alarming sounding Italian it didn’t seem like things were going well.  Most of the time Copia was extremely patient with his students, sometimes overly so.  But with the end of the school year getting closer and closer Copia was clearly low on patience.

Luckily Aether knew exactly what to do.

He knocked gently at the door a few times before going inside, immediately having to clamp down on his bottom lip to keep from laughing at the sight before him.  Copia was turned towards the elaborate cage that took up one side of his office, a somewhat crumpled paper held aloft and a look of disbelief on his face.

“Are they much help?”  Copia flinched, slapping the paper down on his desk and giving Aether a sheepish look.  The ghoul just smirked and strolled over to his husband’s side.  He set the plate of snacks down and leaned down to plant a kiss onto the silver hair at Copia’s temple.  “I didn’t realize Brizio knew so much about the politics of Ancient Greece.”

Copia mumbled something under his breath but Aether could see the pink on his cheeks so he knew the man didn’t mind being teased.  The rats had been part of the deal since the beginning, not that Aether ever had minded them.  They played a big part in the start of their relationship.  Aether smiled fondly as he remembered practically tackling Copia in his front yard to keep the man from running back into his smoke filled house.  Thankfully he had finally listened and Aether had been the one to save the day (and the rats).

“He knows more than some of these kids.”  Aether chuckled at Copia’s remark, taking a moment to card his fingers through Copia’s hair and lightly scratching his scalp with his claws.  “Ah, sì.  That’s very nice.”

Aether smiled while he continued, eventually moving to stand behind his chair.  Copia leaned back with a groan when he moved both of his hands to his shoulders, digging his fingers into the tight muscles there.

“You should take a break for the night, they’ll still be there in the morning.”

“Not if I burn the house down.  Hey!”  Copia looked up at Aether with a pout when the ghoul flicked his ear.  “Ugh, fine.  Just let me finish these tonight, per favore?  I only have a few left and then I don’t have to think about them the rest of the weekend.”

“Deal.  But you have to go with me to the farmer’s market tomorrow.”  Copia hummed in agreement, wiggling his shoulders when Aether stopped rubbing them.  “Need something?”

“Don’t stop, this makes reading this nonsense somewhat bearable.”

The ghoul grinned, pressing his fingers into Copia’s muscles once more as his husband got back to work.

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[acourtofquestions]

Empire of Storms Part 1 thoughts, theories & a VERY VERY long post of rambling:

(+ this title as a spoiler warning; heads up to my fellow fans & first time readers (esp. those semi-tagged in this post), I address a lot of Part 1 & possibly up to Chapter 52 of EoS;-) I am ALSO on my first read just finishing said 52 so no spoilers for me past that as I go through Fireheart as well plz, & thx!

I will also be posting a far shorter better edited version of this post next :-)

Oh good gods this book is going to destroy me in the best way possible😅😅🤦‍♀️😭😁😬😆🤣🙃❤️‍🔥🖤🫶

Long writing/reading (I HAVE LOTS OF THOUGHTS & FEELINGS & NEED TO SCREAM IN WIVERN FANGIRL NONSENSE! So, this post will probably jump around quite a bit between chapters, thoughts, theories, reactions, & randomness; read/skim at your own rambling risk😅 also in advance for missed autocorrects I TRIED😂) “round up” for Part 1 of EoS. & yes I have been reading a LOT (whilst VERY busy😂😭), so this blog’s posts are in desperate need of a catch up & will probably only grow more hectic as alas, my library & brain demand to know what happens next NOW😂. You have been warned this post & blog is about to be more incoherent than usual! — And as I said this post is LONG (If your thinking I’m kidding; legit I think this is 20 something pages long; consider it here for historical purposes… & I had a VERY long drive with no books😂)

— NOW —

The organization of parts is interesting, we go from Nightfall, to The Fire-Bringer, to Fireheart. It feels like a full circle from night to day; from learning to being, and showing Aelin’s claim (not from Elena, not from her powers, but from her). The heart of Terrasen, the fire for the world (esp. against the Valg). … It’s also scaring the heck out of me with her self-sacrificial tendencies & the VERY intense vibe (from the first few chapters this story advances into a “final chapter vibe” yet it’s only the first few; it’s reminding me of Deathly Hallows almost? — which is esp. confusing CAUSE I STILL HAVE 3 BOOKS LEFT… and we’re already this intense😬😅soooo MAAS PLEASE DON’T YOUR DARE HURT A HAIR ON ANY OF THEM!!) P.S. for this note; it’s also making my shipping fuel go from 180 to infinity cause she’s his Fireheart🥹 (If only “worried over liking the ship” HoF first read me could see me now😂 @ goddess-aelin 🫶YOU WERE SO RIGHT👏). And generally it’s just been cool to see how the entire story & series has shifted so much (yet kept its heart ;-) !

So, Generally speaking: I’ve loved the first half of Nightfall & The Fire-Bringer (As I’ve loved the series). From the pace & many perspectives, to the plot twists & Easter egg style hints, and the writing with straight-up foreshadowing & full-circle series arcs (many of which have had big moments interwoven & reaching peak within this book). There has been some great character development (many beautiful lines/moments) a lot of raw emotion (crying, laughing, and all of the above), & entertaining interactions as my favorite piece of this book has been all these stories finally crossing paths (& within that developing relationships, friendships, families, courts, enemies, allies, etc.) for the “New World” that’s coming.

Nightfall:

“Elena sent up a final prayer on a pillar of smoke rising from the valley floor that the unborn, faraway scions of this night, heirs to a burden that would doom or save Erilea, would forgive her for what she was about to do.”

Elena I don’t know if I can forgive you for what you’re about to do😅😅 the plan here is long coming, as Lysandras “theory” further confirms:

"The more it seems like this was all planned, laid out long ago. Erawan had decades before Aelin was born to strike decades during which no one with her powers, or Dorian's powers, existed to challenge him. Yet, as fate or fortune would have it, he moves now. At a time when a Fire-Bringer walks the earth." It was all horrifying, impossible, but—so much of their lives defied logic or normalcy. The shifter next to him proved that. "Morath is unleashing its horrors," Lysandra said. "Maeve stirs across the sea. Two goddesses walk hand in hand with Aelin. More than that, Mala and Deanna have watched over her the entirety of her life. But perhaps it wasn't watching. Perhaps it was ... shaping. So they might one day unleash her, too. And I wonder if the gods have weighed the costs of that storm. And deemed the casualties worth it."

& previous lines on “all the players in the unfinished game” (I’m getting S&B Ruin & Rising vibes (for those of you Grishaverse fans; which btw one of these days I need a whole post about parallels & these two series, cause just the stag and lord of the north alone. I AM INTRIGUED & do love both fandoms ;-) + I think the crows would fit so well & it would be wonderfully & utterly chaotic🤣).

So, my general concern is this theory & warning everyone keeps giving Aelin about “the price”; from Rolfe’s tattoo map & warning question: “"That was the price of my power. What shall yours be, Aelin Galathynius?" She didn't reply to him before storming out. Though Deanna's voice had echoed in her mind. The Queen Who Was Promised.” To clever Elide’s question: “Was that the price for the humans they'd once been-magic that was somehow immune to what flowed naturally in this world? Or had the choice been taken from them, as surely as their souls had been stolen, too?” to crucial warnings like Brannon: “We burn not just within our magic, but also in our very souls. For better or worse.” & the danger continuing to grow like that of the FULL Deanna scene:

“And she said to him, in a voice that was deep and hollow, young and old, "Every key has a lock. Tell the Queen Who Was Promised to retrieve it soon, for all the allies in the world shall make no difference if she does not wield the Lock, if she does not put those keys back with it. Tell her flame and iron, together bound.”

She is the one, she has to get the lock, and she will have to pay the price for both (her ancestors & the darkness created in centuries of Erawan); one that will be heavy (one Elena failed to do; and I somewhat worry is because while she did sacrifice herself, her friends, her people, her kingdom, even letting Brannon fall to ruin (Brannon; the only one who ever successfully sealed it, because he sacrificed her mother, his love, “My mother died to forge that Lock!”) she did not let Gavriel “that which she most loved” fall; she tried to do it alone & was left with no option but to leave it to someone else; another era, another heir); now Aelin carries every thread, plot, battle aligning; the power she wields & sheer force of it, the weight of her crown & every choice it comes with, the price it will demand (the one she has spent a lifetime running from; “my crown is just another set of shackles”; the one Mala may have been shaping her to be able to make even through experiencing tragedy & turbulence in decisions over & over again). The warning in every choice; including the person she loves most (Rowan’s fear of “The people you love are just weapons used against you.”) “This thing between them, the force of it, could devour the world.” Her terror in that; struggling to allow them to go for the front lines while she survives, no longer alone & no longer able to take it all on, but struggling to let them in on the “master plan”. Struggling because even as she does, it weighs on them too: “Aelin was trembling, a hand on her friend-face so white and drawn that any harsh words he'd reserved for her were unnecessary. His queen knew the cost. It had taken her so damn long to trust any of them to do anything. If Aedion roared at her now, even if he still yearned to ... Aelin might never delegate again. Because if Lysandra hadn't been in the water when things had gone so, so badly…” And they do see it; the on-growing burden on Aelin’s shoulders & how she’s carrying the weight of it; both as a queen (despite her current lack of crown) another long-coming plot; as spoken by Chaol: “There she was, that queen looking out at him, a hint of the ruler she was becoming. And it knocked the breath out of him, because it made him feel so strangely young-when she now seemed so old.” And turning her desperate & weary; heavier slowly: “Since Rowan had gone, since word of Rifthold's fall had arrived, Aelin had been half present. Distant.” line after line “She'd grown quieter the farther north they'd traveled. Perhaps weeks on the road had sapped her.” They fear for her “And he wondered if Aelin was somehow watching the archipelago, and the seas, and the skies, as if she might never see them again.” for the price of such powers “We have yet to see the full extent of Erowan’s darkness. And I think we have yet to see the full extent of Aelin’s fire.” & They try to help “After tonight, depending on what the lords reported he'd try to find her a quiet place to rest for a day or two before they made the last leg of the trek to Orynth.” desperate to stop it “"She's not some unwitting pawn." He'd defy the gods, find a way to slaughter them, if they threatened Aelin, if they deemed these lands a worthy sacrifice to defeat the Dark King.” to protect her “Rowan at her right, Aedion at her left, Lysandra at her back; nothing and no one would get to their queen.” all the while they know they cannot as Rowan’s line painfully says: “This was war. These lands would endure far worse in the coming days and months. His queen, no matter how he tried to shield her, would endure far worse.” (Also the key word endure, frequently used for the “lost children of Terrasen” as I call their grouping). To even Aelin’s own words “She was a liar, and a murderer, and a thief, and Aelin had a feeling she'd be called much worse by the end of this war.”

This is where I fear Nightfall will come to rise in Fire-Heart:

I say all of this to say I get concerned when Maas feels the need to start a book with such warning; in both the price, and person paying it… Aelin is too much like Elena… Celaena has lost too much to lose anyone else (“And she would not add another name of her beloved dead to her flesh.” — “"We'll get her back, Aelin." "I can't bury another friend." "You won't."”)… and carrying it so heavily I worry she may overpay her share on their behalf’s. And between that & the many conflicting & star aligning forces of Rowaelin I worry the conflicts may grow; originally it was him not feeling “enough” for her because he’s a Prince not a King, he has no money no land no army (thankfully we are done with that piece because he can give her everything🥹 of his heart and that’s all she needs). We have the inevitable Maeve’s vendetta. We have my growing fear with the Carranam bond getting drained; like it almost did with Deanna. And the quotes all warning that their world may lead to another being destroyed, one or the other; “This thing between them, the force of it, could devour the world. And if they picked it, picked them, it might very well cause the end of it.”

… and though this isn’t due to Nightfall I am just concerned (I try to avoid spoilers (and continue to do so); but I already know it’s got a cliffhanger) and I have read enough Maas books (and just fandoms in general) to fear the 1-2 punch of “THEY’RE ALL GONNA DIE😱 — PSYCH😜 THEY ARE ALL FINE😅 — JUST KIDDING EVERYONE YOU LOVE IS DEAD!☠️” + the amount of possible brainwashing between Valg, Wyrdstones, and now gods… I’m just nervous (& still not 100% sure someone isn’t already secretly possessed).

MY DO NOT KILL LIST IS GETTING TOO LONG: From ASTERIN (scared me half to death SARAH) & Manon + 13 (obvi💁‍♀️), Abraxos & Fleetfoot & Evangeline (had to break my “no Google” rule to assure the latter twos safety *phew*), Aelin & Rowan (DON’T YOU EVEN DARE), Lysandra, Aedion, Dorian (HE’S BEEN THROUGH ENOUGH; STOP HURTING HIM), Elide (just let her be happy & home & make Marion proud dammit), Chaol (he’s not even here & I’m still a little mad BUT STILL) & Yrene (she hasn’t even fully come in yet & I don’t care I love her already) + Nesryn who babe, you know I love you, but I need more history & perspective to trust you fully (you seem cool, but I’m worried the lack of knowledge about you means your gonna lie or die, & it’s just too soon after Sorscha), Emrys (your safe in Mistward; STAY THERE), Sam (beloved, you’re still on this list; even though I know how it ended, & really do LOVE Rowaelin, I just still miss you; & want a Multiverse of happy endings for EVERYONE).

— HOWEVER —

I hope Fire-Heart will bring:

More Manorian; and let’s be honest ALL the ships (+ it could get realll literal with the set-up right now😂 the ships are LITERALLY sailing🤣) of course I CAN NEVER HAVE ENOUGH ROWAELIN (though Fire-Bringer was great 🥵 THEY FINALLY SAID I LOVE YOU🥹👏) & I am SO HERE FOR Lysandra & Aedion! … also what’s up with Elide & Lorcan? (Her last name + his first name TOO SIMILAR😂)

More interactions in general between all the characters from ships, to friendships, to even enemies (who often also become friends😂) honestly might be my fav part about this book so far; seeing it all line up & crossover; (from aforementioned Elide & Lorcan), (to previous & hopefully again soon) Manon & Aelin, the FULL team with THE THIRTEEN (Asterin & our crew would be absolute chaos & I would love every second of it), Sorrel too! AND VESTA! Petrah Blueblood (I find her VERY interesting as a character), Elide & the “lost children of Terrassen” finally meeting; maybe some more Ren & Bane updates (cause I wonder about them & what their up to) to Abraxos & Fleetfoot (PLEASE I NEED THIS… just don’t eat eachother😅😂) & yes I do STILL miss Evangeline & Fleetfoot; though I am happy they are safe; while the fire trick was cool it was SO not sustainable, & I do trust Murtaugh… and these full circles; Ansel’s (presumed) reintroduction & the TAB throw-backs/crossovers (plus NOW Crochans?). —

Exploring things of the sort; what is the other side of the “Crochan’s tale”, what is Elide’s true bloodline, how does the new Mala knowledge effect Aelin & Dorian?

Who are the Cadre (& learning more of their history; both with Aedion & Gavriel (that blood oath better not pass to children), Lorcan (Elide is already helping there thankfully) the other twin because I already stan Fenrys, and really Rowan because who are they really? Despite the “blood oath” reasoning they spent centuries together there has to be more to it). I want to get to know the twins & their whole Yin & Yang balance; also what is Fenrys power? (why does Rowan let him go after Aelin in the water instead, he must be pretty dang powerful & more so than Rowan to be her best option in his eyes)! What other histories does Rowan have (are the “witches” one of them)? What else is Maeve (I will never trust her) hiding?

Why is Erowan this way (who really killed Aelin’s parents)? Are we POSITIVE the Ilken aren’t the creatures Elide saw in the basement (wow that sounds extra ominous😂)?

Will Chaol show up (how is his team & the southern allies coming along)?

What is the limitation to Lysandra’s powers (can they find a way to trick the Terrasen flower into “blooming”)?

Is their further crossover between these series (ACOTAR & CC)?

Explain further how certain things work such as mates (Rowan has two? Celaena/Aelin too maybe? & what that means for others)… And just a lil’ fluff (Rowan & Fleetfoot, the team all together, shenanigans & some side plots for funsies) maybe?…

I theorize Fire-Heart will:

Confirm Rowaelin as mates (they practically have already but I want to hear the words). Plus plenty more of them just being them (their every moment is so detailed & precious). Maybe even some more moments with Prince of Doranelle vibes ;-)

Show that there are multiple Carranams (possibly a dyad between Aelin & Dorian. Rowan & Aelin being the mates balance; making Aelin & Dorian the “friendship / rulers / fates” balance). & Without a limit to their power; the danger of over-draining others (Deanna causing Rowan to feel “thunder steal his magic” is CONCERNING & Dorian’s magic is hungry for it).

Confirm that Aelin can use shadowfire, moonfire, & power without limit. Explore her other gifts such as water & healing. Possibly introduce her as a powerful enough wielder to use all the forms (as briefly referenced as a possibility among others before).

Confirm Lysandra & Aedion as mates or at least a couple. (Also use it to explore Aedion’s history & introduce the Bane or at least their set-up).

Bring back the Mycenians since Lysandra & Aelin’s masterplan worked (THE DRAGON THEORY WAS RIGHT)!

Set sail on Manorian in a way that is explanatory/foreshadowing. (Possibly tap into Dorian’s immortality? & power exploration explanations. And go into Manon’s ability to forge a new alliance of peace between MANY groups; not because I’m suggesting the sexist “get married” nonsense so many are giving Aelin, literally just that she could speak on behalf of many groups & since Darrow has brought diplomatic debates into this war it could be an asset).

Introduce Ansel, and perhaps loop back to the Red Desert (unless the Silent Assassins have disappeared). Showing all of Celaena as we see all of Aelin (letting Rowan know even more of her, healing those wounds as he & her family fully accept her; hopefully doing the same thing for them; going through more history). & Similarly with Rowan; possibly saving the Cadre’s lives through it (or at least stopping Lorcans “execution”).

Tie in the spider silk, between Abraxos’s wings (Manon’s “stealing”), & Aelin’s Red Desert history deals. If not in this book than KoA.

Explain Maeve’s obsession with Aelin & vendetta against the family.

Aelin reclaiming her crown by having the heart of her people (we’ve seen “the future”, there is a woman with hair like moonlight; I think this is Manon. The people chant for her, she is their Queen and that is her court; including the witch).

I think Aelin (like Manon & the other golden eyed 13) are Valg proof. She has the golden eye ring of the Ashryver eyes… in that case maybe Aedion too?? (Hopefully🥺… I mean why else would history write a poem about it?) … While I’m at it let’s make Lysandra’s shifting immune too (protect all my bb’s)!😂

Reveal the Wyrdstone Elide carries as THE Lock (between her last name having the word lock😂 or “loch” I guess, the magic not being immediately recognized as a Wyrdkey by Lorcan, & Kaltain’s promise/importance with an explanation for the “living gate” term). Then when she reaches them so does the thread of fate (once again).

Go to Ellywe & both heal/break my soul (all this travel has made it inevitable; though it is cool to see more of the continents of this fictional world etc.)!🙃

Not something I truly believe but one I wonder on; is there a relation between either Rowan & Manon (history or hair color related😂) or Aelin & Manon (some sort of blood relation; the gold eyes & power levels?).

Not theories but things I think need to happen ASAP: STOP WEARING THE WYRDKEY as a necklace AELIN I DON’T care if it’s a “family heirloom” IT’S A BAD IDEA (have you not seen Harry Potter? — sry for another reference, but seriously DON’T WEAR HORCRUX LOCKETS folks)! Tell Elide the full truth; Celaena = Aelin (at least Lorcan is getting close). Commit to immortality (I’m looking at you Aelin & Aedion; esp. Aelin… ROWAN NEEDS THIS; the only time I will ever encourage a woman to “settle”😂)! Address the very long list of “things for later/back burner” because I can’t keep track😂 & they are all WAY too important😅, dangerous😬, and THE LIST IS LONG SO HURRY UP Y’ALL😁!!!

— NOW ONTO THE “ACTUALLY” READ “BIG PORTION😂 —

The Fire-Bringer:

A lot of reactions have random posts; per usual many of the opinions change with hindsight, but I like being able to look back & enjoy it for the first time so (while I do try to give an update) I’ll probably leave the posts up :-) hoping to get a few lil (by that I mean pages jk sry not sry lol I warned you) notes I’m pondering on in here though…

I love the Little Folk’s little but magical role:😊 when (not if; I’m gonna will it into reality with terminology) this gets an adaptation I can’t wait to see them! — I really love the fan art & its many different takes for what they may be all the way from fairy’s, to wisps, to “baby-Groot”-like characters! … I also wonder if they could help out with that “rulers flower thing” possibly, same as pondered for Lysandra (I think these “little things” will be keys to helping Aelin with “dum-dum Darrow” (as I’ve dubbed him; cause I’m angry! & it may be only a 1st read impression as of right now, but he’s also given me 0 reason to like him).

The Oakwald forest: EVERYONE IS SO CLOSE yet SO FAR! (At least Manon has finally made it to the team… well kinda… she better actually MAKE IT past the ship drop-off… if you can call it that?😅 this is why I need to type fast & go read!) If Tower of Dawn manages to match this pace of “just-missed, kinda-crossover” I see why the tandem read would work! It’s quite fun (& semi-irritating/anxiety-inducing but in a good way😂).

Speaking (writing?😂) of Manon: TALK ABOUT IMMEDIATE CHAOS, each of her chapters have been SO intense. I might have cried with her the most so far; I legitimately almost lost it over Asterin’s almost execution & The Thirteen (I AM VERY GLAD THEY FINALLY LEFT THE MATRON & got out so they can please be safe now; or at least they already are in my mind; though last we saw them it was all chaos, they were running (a win) & the shadows seemed to confirm them getting out (another good sign) while Asterin being dragged off screaming isn’t great I think she was shouting for Manon because she didn’t want to leave her… & I refuse to accept any other answer) only problem is Manon is not with them; & she really needs to be😅😅😭 instead of half-dead in the woods, hunted by a banshee-hound-thing? Abraxos honey, thank you for taking care of mother🥹😂 at least she is with the team on the same-ish side now. So, hopefully Abraxos will go grab the rest of The Thirteen while he drops Manon off? I NEED THE WHOLE GANG; I mean Erawan & Maeve are screwed in that case. Esp. since most of them are Valg proof golden eyed; & also have you seen these gals fight? … Honestly, I think they are one of the great shows of good writing in these books; because these characters could easily be read as villains & psychopaths to be hated, yet they manage to be a compelling, interesting, group of female badassery & sisterhood, that really captures your heart (pun intended). HOWEVER, I say all of this Spoiler-free while not oblivious; I have 2 &1/2 books left (wow that’s numbers too small I’m gonna get sad😅😂) I know people say this ending is a hard, & a book of cliffhangers… So, if this is “just” the beginning it can only get crazier😅 (I just don’t want to know; I want to think this will be like ACOTAR with no deaths as long as I can believe it) & even with the Matron’s probable on-it’s-way “dispatch”, they managed to hide Asterin for years. My main concern is Sorrel & Vesta as they’ve been given enough time to love them, yet not enough time for a full arc, I can’t have any red shirts & I’m a little worried for them (but I just wanna love them as long as I can🥹).

I’m so glad I was right; from day ONE I’ve been wondering about Aedion & Lysandra cause *coughs* I mean their first scene together ever… she’s changing his shirt… and now the whole “wandering off to give Rowaelin time” which while a fair-ish excuse it is also a little ;-) ;-) … and now that he’s said he’s gonna marry her “Because I am going to marry you," he promised her. "One day. I am going to marry you.”… I’m counting it (why is it giving New Girl CeCe & Schmidt?😂)

But in all seriousness ship-ness aside I appreciate their friendship; the understanding of each-other with a healthier trauma bond (for all they cannot say, yet carry so heavily; all the shame & fear Aedion is wrestling with; & the steady acceptance Lysandra gives) I loved them both as is, but together is something precious & nice to see develop (while staying slow, taking time, surety of respectful). While at times it feels fast, it makes complete sense (esp. as we don’t get their perspectives as frequently, & with the knowledge that mates can be pretty immediate; even if it’s not “said”; it tracks).

Though it hurt (& was also kinda healthily valid) to hear Aedion be angry with Aelin, it also says a lot about how much he cares for Lysandra (as Aelin often can “do no wrong in his eyes”) to be angry in the first place “And for the first time, he hated his cousin. He hated Aelin for asking this of Lysandra, both to defend them and to secure the Mycenians to fight for Terrasen. Hated the people who had left such scars on the shifter that Lysandra was so willing to throw her life away. Hated ... hated himself for being stuck in this useless tower.” While also knowing it’s not her fault, it is her choice, but it also had to be (he at least knows that & does cut her slack). “He was shaking now, that rage indeed taking over. But Rowan snarled at him, low and vicious, "Save it for later." Aedion growled right back at him. Rowan gave him a cold, steady look that said if he so much as began to hint at what their queen carried, he'd rip out his tongue. Literally. Aedion shoved down the anger. "We can't carry her, and she's too weak to shift." "Then we wait here until she can," Aelin said. But her eyes drifted to the bay, and to the city beyond, still cheering. victory—but very nearly a loss. The remnants of the Mycenians, saved by one of their long-lost sea dragons. Aelin and Lysandra had woven ancient prophecies into tangible fact. "I'll stay," Aedion said. "You deal with Rolfe." "Fine," he said. Aelin groaned, getting to her feet, but stared down at him before she took Rowan's extended hand. She said softly, "I'm sorry." Aedion knew she meant it. He still didn't bother replying.” & knows (because Lysandra makes him better; as she already reminds him with her knowing compassion): “"That man has endured enough, Aedion. A little kindness wouldn't kill you." "He stabbed Aelin. If you knew him as I have, you wouldn't be so willing to fawn over. "No one expects you to fawn over him. But a kind word, some respect-" He rolled his eyes. "Keep your voice down." She did- but went on, "He was violated, and even if you cannot draw up forgiveness for stabbing Aelin against his own will, then try to have some compassion for that." — Aedion snarled at her. Lysandra snarled right back and held his stare with the face not trained or built for bedrooms, but the true one beneath—wild and unbroken and indomitable. No matter what body she wore, she was the Staghorns given form, the heart of Oakwald Aedion said hoarsely, "I'll try." "Try harder. Try better."”)

& Then moments like him asking her to come with him to meet Gavriel, & she simply does. Or that she trusts him to carry her home, vulnerable & tired. I think they give a lot of what the other needs while growing to be who they are themselves. Plus Lysandra deserves to be a leopard princess, sister-in-law(ish) to Aelin. “Princess Lysandra Ashryver sounds nice, doesn't it?” YES IT DOES!

Speaking of Lysandra (who is seriously one of my all time favorites; I relate, I adore her, and really it just doesn’t get better then all of these characters) I WAS RIGHT ABOUT LYSANDRA BEING A DRAGON!!! GENIUS!! And also LYSANDRA WAS A DRAGON!!!!!! I love her & Aelin’s plotting (which also gets kinda Kaz Brekker vibes sometimes; she is so brilliant, & the fact Lysandra just piles into the shenanigans; I love them). TALK ABOUT POWER! Also what fun genius for mythology… winning the people’s hearts… etc. …if only she could turn into a flower… and making that moment the first perspective we have from her in this book was so fun! Shoutout to @ asexualzucchini for fandoming about this with me (heads up again cause I know your on a first read too; THIS POST HAS SPOILERS for Pt. 1 ;-)

ELIDE & LORCAN; a team-up I was NOT expecting, yet find SO intriguing. From highlighting Elide (which is well deserved) esp. in her truest strength; smarts (her & Annabeth Chase would’ve been besties) and as something even Lorcan sees & values greatly, extra fun as in combo to his physical strength it’s a pretty perfect team (& a helpful combo for storytelling because you see his perspective which is of course very different then spoken threats from Rowaelin perspectives ONLY; & of course once again while I’m curious to learn more on the Cadre; esp. since Lorcan often to me just seems angry to have “lost” his friend). And I do love the boundaries they respect (even as an unknown dare I say “anti-hero”? Lorcan still has some clear moral lines (& I generally appreciate that in the Maasverse that everyone except the worst of the worst can agree where those are) he also keeps his word a VERY intriguing piece of his character), also the representation they give (go team disability represent!) + small girlies hanging out w big brooding boys (there’s my “kitty” style reference for you Aelin lol). Also funny cause eventually they’re gonna end up in the same place😂 P.S. him calling her MARION (gut-wrenching), Crochan history (very curious), etc. IT’S JUST ALL SO INTRIGUING! … Now if we could only have an empowering crossover so she can go talk to Feyre & realize she’s already intelligent, powerful, & capable, & not being able to read has no effect on that!! (while we’re at it & I’m on a crow comparison kick; go hug Wylan please).

Another team up I didn’t expect but surprisingly loved most was Dorian & Rowan’s roadtrip through Rifthold (new movie adaptation idea?😂):

Dorian, Dorian, Dorian where do I begin? — I love him. I think he might be the most morally grounded character (odd as that sounds for someone that was recently possessed). He would be a good king, because most important he’s just a good man. My heart breaks for him, he’s seen a lot without time or space to deal with it (it’s just adding up; “The latter, Dorian realized, usually happened when even the heat and sun couldn't drive away the shadows of the past few months—when he awoke with his sweat feeling like Sorscha's blood, when he couldn't abide even the brush of his tunic against his neck.”); yet he still gives everything he can to his friends, his people, his country (& Rowan gives & takes care of him too (another Aelin paralell/foreshadowing; “"You're not going to believe me," Aelin went on. "What l've just said, you're not going to believe me. I know it--and that's fine. I don't expect you to. When you're ready, I'll be here.”) ; “He wasn't sure whether to thank the Fae Prince for noticing or to hate him for the kindness.” — Because Rowan knows; “"You're going to hate the world, Dorian. You are going to hate yourself. You will hate your magic, and you will hate any moment of peace or happiness. But I had the luxury of a kingdom at peace and no one depending upon me. You do not."”); and somehow Dorian just remains good and kind even when the world is not. He may carry more, but it is never an excuse for him; he sets aside his pride, humbled, un-selfish, caring, and really trying. (remarkable enough that even Rowan notices & takes note; “I have known many kings in my life, Dorian Havilliard. And it was a rare man indeed who asked for help when he needed it, who would put aside pride.”) And I also appreciate that he is cared for in this, seen for who he is; respected in it (FINALLY said quite well in: “Rowan knew most underestimated the sharp intelligence under that disarming smile. Knew that Dorian's value wasn't his godlike magic, but his mind”)

And getting the friends & care he deserves, like Aelin who kept her word “I came back for you. "You both came back,"” (he is her friend, she does care for him) as it’s shown because she went so far as to send Rowan (someone she would NEVER risk; “"I will save him," he murmured. "I wouldn't ask this of you unless it was ... Dorian is vital. Lose him, and we lose any support in Adarlan." And one of the few magic-wielders who could stand against Morath. Rowan's nod was grim. "I serve you, Aelin. Do not apologize for putting me to use." Because only Rowan, riding the winds with his magic, could reach Rifthold in time. Even now, he might be too late. Aelin swallowed hard, fighting the feeling that the world was being ripped from under her feet.” (When she says “losing support” she pauses; because really it’s about losing Dorian her friend, remember she’s always coming from the mindset of “she will not write another name on her scars” almost to the level of her “I will not be afraid mantra” fading in from QoS in this first EoS quarter) so she wouldn’t risk him even in leaving her side (which props to Maas for breaking a typical VERY possessive YA trait; even at the cost of a promise-ish from the last book; “Next time we need to save the world, we do it together. Deal.”). & keeps keeping that promise to save him; not only to keep her word, but keep her friend. Along the way he so easily becomes Rowan’s friend, thawing the ice by just being a decent guy (that says a lot for a centuries old Prince of stoic brooding). I love the genuine respect they have for each other; the time they take (even short as it is) to have a mini-boat therapy session because they needed it; it says a lot about the two of them as good men; the way they help each-other, plan & train together (Dorian even has time to understand Aelin’s time away with a new compassion😅😅 “Honestly, Dorian had no idea how Aelin had survived months of this--let alone fallen in love with the warrior while she did. Though he supposed both the queen and prince possessed a sadistic streak that made them compatible” & even see Rowan get a taste of the Celaena Sardothien world & find he has similar sass). vice-versa you also see someone valuing Rowan’s strength, strategy, personality beyond warrior or prince, without any of this “male pride chest-puffing instinct”. And the way despite the change in new healthier friendships you also have the original ones growing with them “"And will keep changing," she said, squeezing his arm once. "But... There are things that won't change. I will always be your friend." His throat bobbed. "I wish I could see her, just one last time. To tell her... to say what was in my heart." "She knows," Aelin said, blinking against the burning in her eyes. "I'll miss you," Dorian said. "Though I doubt the next time we meet will be in such …civilized circumstances." She tried not to think about it. He gestured over her shoulder to her court. "Don't make them too miserable. They're only trying to help you."” It helps both him and them; like the team they need to be & are finding a way in: “"We'll figure it out." She loosed a breath. "But your being king is the first step of it."” Like the Queens & Kings they have been becoming for a world slowly building; starting with the fact he is one of the good men that do exist (like Nehemia & Celaena said) and as already shown: “Ten years later, and they were all sitting together at a table again--no longer children, but rulers of their own territories. Ten years later, and here they were, friends despite the forces that had shattered and destroyed them. Aelin looked at the kernel of hope glowing in that dining room and lifted her glass. "To a new world," the Queen of Terrasen said. The King of Adarlan lifted his glass, such endless shadows dancing in his eyes, but--there. A glimmer of life. "To freedom."” esp. as he helps raise up women in positions of power to do so as well! (We love a King ally)

Much like Aelin growing into a queen you see the shift as Dorian becomes a King. “Never again. Never again would he be weak and useless and frightened.” (From a quote I appreciated and found Nesta paralells in). “To her surprise, a king smiled back.” And I just hope somewhere along the way Dorian also finds his happy ending much like our queen is slowly finding a way too (like Rowan said; “You will find your way, too, Dorian. You'll find your way out.”); I think Manon is promising, I think he finally has a real family, & he’s learning his power which is good; his already Kingly skills also come in handy, they needed a diplomat. And for two characters I love so much, a genre that rarely shows good friendships between so many characters and guys having emotions and bonding beyond a love interest trope… I just loved it! p.s. thanks again @ mysterylilycheeta for fandoming about this one with me (and many others :-)

Now speaking of Dorian quotes (plus I needed a transition lol) much like Dorian I do sometimes miss Chaol; “"You know," he said, "sometimes I wish Chaol were here to help me. And then sometimes I'm glad he's not, so he wouldn't be at risk again. I'm glad he's in Antica with Nesryn.”while also being glad he’s off somewhere else… not just ‘cause of the injury (I actually hope they don’t make that THE “problem”, at least in the sense of making him “useless”. While healing in a magical realm is a useful skill, representation of disabled characters in the read world is also really important & still super kick-ass & powerful)… So, I’m glad he’s gone not for that but for the fact I think his mentality would conflict right now (& while Aelin isn’t always right; & does sometimes need a check as Aedion aforementioned & does this at least better thank Chaol in timing & how) + most of the time ya kinda need to just “keep calm & trust the process” because while “the gods may have some “masterplan” & only Aelin can outsmart & outplan them (you just have to let her go for it)… and hopefully Elide will be there to help soon!

Now speaking of good friends, & the rest of this post from “threads of fate”, to really loving characters, friendships, relationships (even most of my favorite quotes) it’s time to address THE SHIP because there is ROWAELIN. TRULY WHERE DO I START? I love them. They are perfect. Nothing can break them (Nothing better try). I love the peace & hope they hold for the other (they want more together, for each other; to live.). The balance they carry; especially when one is down, the other lifts them up (even rapidly flipping; I’m a few Chapters into Part 2 (spoiler sentence)🚨 & there’s the moment where it goes from her being on fire & him waking her from her nightmares, to him so panicked to save her he’s freezing the room & she’s soothing him). The way they are so alike, & shown even more so (as I’ve briefly mentioned) in this book (Rowan having some Celaena moments, her taking on a leader & diplomatic role, learning to control water & him teaching her to heal, exploring each others histories & a growing team of friends for & with them) & VERY different (they are the balance even in what they do share; for instance a scene I think on frequently: when Rowan leaves to go get Dorian, and Aelin cannot let him go. Right there she uses very specific words; she does not ask him to stay instead she says she cannot let him go; because she knows asking him to stay (like Lyria had begged) would kill him or telling him “he’s leaving her” would utterly destroy them both. And he does the same; he distracts her (knows what she needs) takes a moment for them (stops the clock) kisses her and then leaves before she opens her eyes in a flash, so she does not have to watch him leave (again), or (be the one to) walk away from him (he knows she already used all of her will to even have him go in the first place, she cannot ask anything more or she will not ask at all), or run again. They both are feeling the same thing, while understanding the differences they have experienced, they take the notice to love the other the way they need & the only way they can). Part of it stems from something I’ve adressed on the blog before, the honesty they share; and desperately needed. Or have discussed with other fans in beyond that the fact they trust, they can have it all on the table, and respect what has to be kept. Part is the fact they are the others soulmate (waiting for those words: “mate” to “officially” & finally seal what we ALL know by now😂). Another being the threads of fate every character keeps seeing; they are VERY tightly bound beyond separation; for better or worse a tangled knot that can not be undone.

The way in that they would fight by the others side, live & die together, for each-other. They would save the world for each-other (like Rowan jumping in front of the moonfire because he knew her fiery soul; “"No!" The word was a roar, a plea, and silver and green flashed in her vision. A name. A name clanged through her as he hurled himself in the path of that fist, that moonfire, not just to save those innocents in the city, but to spare her soul from the agony if she destroyed them all-Rowan.” — “"If you had destroyed that city, it would have destroyed you, and any sort of hope at an alliance."”) It goes beyond taking a bullet for the other, it goes to taking a bullet from the other (you see that side a lot in HoF). They would save the other for the world (like he says, the world needs alliances; because he knows it needs her, his queen). Or the other from the world; “And as his face became clear, his tattoo stark in the sun, as that fist full of unimaginable power now opened toward his heart-There was no force in any world that could keep her contained.” Together, to whatever end. They would even destroy it for the other; “But if it was death separating us … I would find you. I don’t care how many rules it would break. Even if I had to get all three keys myself and open a gate, I would find you again. Always.” They deserve something that’s an always, known, world & gods defying. And while I appreciate the way they defend each other, I also appreciate the way they defend their friends together; it may be them to whatever end, but it’s also not just them against the world (more so for the world?) they may be capable of destroying the world for each other, still they choose to give everything to save it. They choose each other, they continue to do so, to accept, to be honest. “Even if this thing between them ... even if he knew it was not mere lust, or even just love. This thing between them, the force of it, could devour the world. And if they picked it, picked them, it might very well cause the end of it.” they have a powerful love (one that is quite literally more powerful together). I love that scene too, the carranam; the way he steadies her (he knows why the manacles scare her, knows how to help her breathe despite it; “she is not afraid”), trusts her (she could kill them both, but he believes in her, always has, even before she believed in herself) gives her his power (talk about a feminist ally😂 he literally uses his power to give her more power), and she blazes the world (better & worse); she trusts him enough for the irons (something she may have killed someone else for), she trusts his trust in her (it empowers her metaphorically too), trusts him to save her from herself; trusts him which as this line shows; “"You trust nothing. She met his eyes. "I trust you."” is almost a miracle in itself. I love the easy rhythm they fall into like breathing, simple domesticity (even among war), natural understanding (soulmates), gentle unconditional stubborn & unchanging love that simply is. & is accepted as such. Learning more of their history in parallels & new perspectives, tales & legends, chaos & opposites (especially opposed in power) FIRE & ICE and remains the “meant to be” Carranam; though one of a kind it also understands itself in being love among grief, giving it the ability to see & soothe the unhealthy internal monologues… in a way that’s honestly kinda healing to read; I love their quotes, I love their scenes, I love their characters, I just love them.

It’s been fun to see more Aelin as Aelin, (and I’m not meaning “The one in green smiled, but for all its delight, all its wicked mischief ... It was a softer smile, made with a mouth that was perhaps less used to snarling and teeth-baring and getting away with saying hideous, swaggering things. Lysandra, then. The two queens faced Rolfe.” Lysandra twin-swap scene 😂) the way Celaena is now recognized as a part to play; “You met Aelin when she was still pretending to be Celaena” — “Because it was Celaena who sat here-for whatever purpose, it was Celaena Sardothien in this room.” from the way Rowan helped & accepted her all along. Rowan has always been her protector, her guard, her best champion, fiercest warrior & love, her dearest friend, her everything. It’s the one that saw all & loved anyways “to have one person who knew the absolute truth about her--and didn't hate her for it.” — “I see you, I see every part of you. And I am not afraid.” he is not afraid of her; the first time she’s ever had that… Something she desperately needs as someone so fear-based… She went from being a child who was never not afraid; she was taught to fear her power, fear the secret coming free, because she would be persecuted; because her people would not love her for what she was; she was protected against it and taught her powers weren’t to be trusted. She spent so long burying herself… Arobynn taught her that; created a world of only that for her to exist in, only to survive never to live. And as I’ve said before I LOVE SAM, I truly think he would have accepted her without flinching (I love & believe in the many soulmates for many lives theories; he was Celaena’s) but over & over again the saddest four words of almost they never had time. Thinking someone would love you “even if” is different that getting to experience it, she was still afraid he would turn her in or turn away, he would judge her as she judged herself, or didn’t know “how dark she could go”; like he was too good and she would drag him down. And here is Rowan: the one person who could stop her (the dark comfort she takes in knowing he could save the world if she endangered it; “That is how I was able to stand before the King of Adarlan, how I was able to befriend his son and his captain, how I was able to live in that palace. Because I did not give that rage, those memories, one inch. And right now I am looking for the tools that might destroy my enemy, and I cannot let out the monster, because it will make me use those tools against the king, not put them back as I should--and I might very well destroy the world for spite. So that is why l must be Celaena, not Aelin--because being Aelin means facing those things, and unleashing that monster. Do you understand?”) and doesn’t think that of her; “For whatever it's worth, I don't think you would destroy the world from spite.”

To the moment on the beach that strikes me again & again; Aelin in her rawest state (inner child & traumatized immortal), sobbing, unclothed (a very important detail not because of the rest of Chapter 38 spice but because of the psychological component; she is stripped down to her core at her worst, most vulnerable, visibly terrified uncomfortable state; it’s more like a nightmare of giving a speech & realizing your the only one without clothes), on fire (no hidden power or sense of control), unleashing an entire storm (after almost destroying the world; her world; even against her will); because she is Aelin Ashryver Galathynius “the rightful heir of fire” and Queen of Terrasen; she has been “Adarlans Assassin” & a “King’s Champion” Lillian, Elentiya, Celaena… all of these names… and yet, she is still afraid. And she cannot stop it; she is trying & failing, feeling every step backwards for every step she takes, she is running to nowhere, she is lost. And then there is Rowan. Rowan, who walked to the creak to see her, and went loudly so she would know & not be afraid. Rowan who knows when she needs to let off steam (literally) & has been burned & still does not turn away from her. Rowan who now is “silent as death” because he knows her mind is already screaming enough for the both of them. Rowan who follows her; over & over, unflinching, returning, staying, seeing, & still believing in her (even before she believed in herself; even when she cannot). She is begging for anyone that listens to take the job & all its “blessings & burdens of power”, wishing for a bottom to the endless abyss of her power, drowning in it; helpless in her own strength, because she does not trust herself (how can she when she can’t even be herself; not just Celaena; but Deanna), trying to run from herself. And Rowan who sees, hears, knows; and only cares about her. Choosing her. Loving her. Telling her those words. Arguing against the voices in her head for her; making her feel for a moment that maybe somehow she’s worth it (or at least too lucky to care even if she’s not). Because he has every reason to go; he knows what he could lose (even as they stand there; he is still shaken & terrified; he just saw a god steal the woman he loves from her own mind; he has no idea how to fight that & bring her back) He has lost that; felt it for centuries The world may be the price, they may be the price, they are in the middle of a war waged & waiting for hundreds of years; and he does not care. He only cares about her; better & worse. And she is not alone; never again. Reminding her that she can be both, staying on the road. As he says (a quote that made me cry): “You and I will learn to manage your power together. You do not face this alone; you do not decide that you are unlovable because you have powers that can save and destroy. If you start to resent that power… I don’t know where we go on that road.” And when she voices it, that fear (that brought me to tears); you’re just crazy for loving me.“"Because I'm the only one arrogant and insane enough to ask Mala Fire-Bringer to let me stay with the woman I love. Her flames turned to pure gold at the words-at that word. But she said, "Perhaps you're just the only one arrogant and insane enough to love me."” He simply, firmly, undoubtably, says no. … And when the times comes; when he creates a snow storm of his own (& destroys half a forrest😂) she just laughs, holds him closer, kisses him again. As she says; “who would not look at those flames with any ounce of fear.” as anyone else would have. They aren’t afraid of each other, they aren’t afraid, not together. “But Rowan had caught her each time she had fallen-first, when she had plummeted into that abyss of despair and grief; second, when that castle had shattered and she had plunged to the earth. And now this time, this third time ... She was not afraid.”

And because they are equal, because they will go to whatever end, because they pull each other back over & over whenever/wherever they drift. (And while I love Lyria, I believe she was one of his soulmates) I don’t think anyone ever understood him so well in return… Rowan loved Lyria. Lyria wanted him to stay for good reason, but he was not able to tire to rest to settle; she did not understand the warrior; just as he couldn’t understand enough not to be. Where peace was never quite had, the warrior that could not rest; there is Aelin. Who just goes to war with him, for him, for them. She is his hope, his queen, his love, his world, his fireheart🥹, & his everything (& thankfully NOT because of the blood-oath; “"How does she do it?" Aelin asked baldly. "With Rowan, it's not ... Every order I give him, even casual ones, are his to decide what to do with. Only when I actively pull on the bond can I get him to ... yield. And even then it's more of a suggestion." "It is different with her," Gavriel said softly. "Dependent on the ruler it is sworn to. You two took the oath to each other with love in your hearts. You had no desire to own or rule him." Aelin tried not to flinch at the truth of that word—love. That day ... when Rowan had looked into her eyes as he drank her blood ... she'd started to realize what it was. That the feeling that passed between them, so powerful there was no language to describe it ... It was not mere friendship, but something born of and strengthened by it.” glad they clarified that to give consent). I’ve said this about them before and I’ll say it again there is something healing in how wholly they accept and understand each other (to the point you would think they are reading minds), how evenly matched and equal they are. They are two of the best matched characters I know of; at times even to a fault (but even that is taken in stride). Aelin and Rowan are everything they have ever been with the other. This isn’t a comparison, there’s something beautiful to each of them (I’ll even still say that to Dorian & Aelin, the way their friendship came to be, and re-reads what might have been) there is just the fact that this is different and I think it’s a special kind of something. And the fact in the matching for the other they can go to the ends of the earth together; whether it be as Queen and Prince (though he would make a good king ;-) or assassins, gentle souls trying to rest, never at rest but trying for peace, fae and shifters fire and ice, warriors, martyrs, saviors, villains, Kings Champion & Maeve’s Cadre, friends, mates, whatever it may be “to whatever end”.

I especially love them in the little things… all these moments that show everything I’ve said and more.

The detail in Rowan knowing the other side to Aelin keeping him at the beach, and it not taking away from the moment. He knows, he accepts it. They know the layers, they don’t pretend otherwise, they don’t run or fight it, they just sit with it. The way he held her & grounded her during the sea battle, believing in her even as she lost her balance in power, the way she came back from Deanna for him, the way she held on to him through the storm. She reminds him what he is; that he is everything she needs, she doesn’t take the bullshit, she doesn’t give up; she lends a hand, or lets him follow, or defends him. And they finally said it; I love you. — Actually better than that, worlds best quote award of: “I love you. There is no limit to what I can give to you, no time I need. Even when this world is a forgotten whisper of dust between the stars, I will love you.”They finally chose this, them; and the world needed it (I will go down with the ship of them as queen and king). … So, my shippers heart is happy, I want more, I’m happy they’re happy, I want them to stay happy. They are the best brightest threads of fate & for a book I’ve loved to see tie together, the Rowaelin ship has been pretty perfect.

And some random notes I keep wondering on:

The color green in this series… From Lysandra’s eyes (the one marker she keeps in each form; funny as it’s also Terrasen (her future Courts) color, to Rowan’s pine green (& often “home” like Terrasen descriptions (once again)) to the green roofing of Rifthold, or tiling of the desert, the stolen wax stamp rings, Terrasen’s color, etc. … it’s just used to tell a lot of story & I find it a fun note!

On the subject of these “fun notes” I’d also like to Mention Maasverse “deals” in wording; I find it so interesting how carefully phrased (like a genie) things need to be, yet kept to their word they are. I feel like there’s some loopholes within some plots right now using that clause (if only there was Mort to prove it!)… I miss Mort…

There’s all of Lysandra’s shapeshifting, the character in that, her character all together. And then moments like Rowan reaching her to fly, to have her own wings. And introducing more powers outside of fae.

Fenyrs possible… winnowing? Whatever reason it was that Rowan sent him to save Aelin instead of himself (obviously meaning he was more capable because Rowan would save her any means necessary).

And these aforementioned threads of fate are pretty brilliantly done, I look forward to continuing to enjoy them. From Oakwald to 10 years ago to the detail of plans (Aelin going to the temple, for Brannon & the Dragon, & her territory claim… etc.)… SO MANY!!!

Especially because of YOU!..

— Final, biggest most important book/fandom thought yet: —

THANK YOU to the Maasverse!

As someone who doesn’t know anyone reading these —one of my favorite things to do is talk about them with other fans— I’m thankful to still have that; I’m thankful that tumblr has that; and thankful that y’all are so welcoming, kind, talented, & lovely! (Limiting full tags as this post is ridiculously long and no one should “have” to read it😂)

There’s a long list of you, to name a few (others please know you are still on the list, loved & appreciated)!! @ archerons-elain @ highladyelenna @ iwantavaldezinator @ romantasyreader28 @ antvwinderbaum @ shadowhunters77 @ chaos-on-stand-bi @ theauroragalaxy @ impossibelle @ aelin-fire-heart @ autumnbabylon @ headboymalfoy @ somebooksbelonginthesinbin @ idfendyr @ winged-artistic-wolf @ batter-upp @ cheap-spirits @ just tsteffs50cts @ xxvalkyriesxx @ captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @ lynnsthoughts @ maevecrom @ stingy-swann @ mothlvrtothemoon @ wannaberachelgrxxn @ sweetokami @ avymiir

& so if I missed any, like I said just know you are so appreciated🫶 … and sorry I get confused sometimes (as this is technically a secondary blog to @lavendarneverlands lol😂). It’s always me though🤣

[steddiebang]

Steddie Bigbang 2023 Weekly Round-up: October 1 - October 7

From Hell and Back (October 1) Author: @rindecisions / Artists | @lady-lostmind & @feralsteddie One Halloween, years after the fall of Hawkins, Steve and Robin end up summoning Eddie from the depths of Hell. Steve, not knowing the ways of the occult, accidentally frees him and has to deal with a mischievous demon on the loose. Eddie drives Steve insane with various shapeshifting antics, both in and out of the bedroom, while Robin tries to find a way to send him back to hell. But, when faced with the opportunity to return his life to normal, will Steve even want to go through with it?

OR

Lots of supernatural, hentai-esque smut with a playful, romantic plot.

Steddie’s Anatomy (October 1) Author: uhhhhjhfrogs on tumblr, tttrash666 on A03 / Artist: BrainyArts on Instagram, Twitter, TikTok, Tumblr Steve was not going to leave Eddie to die in the Upside Down, no fucking way. He didn’t know what compelled him to give every last ounce of strength to rescue him but being confined to a hospital room together was about to make him figure it out.

Made of Light (October 3) Author: @hitlikehammers / Artist: @becomingfoxes​ Soulmates are anything but de rigueur in polite society—more like foolish nonsense, fairytale child’s play: embarrassments. Inconvenient, at best. But the people who have them, and still seek them out; who believe despite the odds, who still commit to finding them and binding their souls to them despite the naysaying and the backlash? Those people know the truth.

Because Soulmates? Don’t force love. Aren’t bound without choice. Are built instead on pure potential, of proportions never fathomed—and certainly never found—outside those so-called ‘old fashioned’ Bonds. They are the potential to protect love. To save love. To save the lives that kind of ineffable love holds more than just dear; the kind it holds as essential. Some people even say Soulbonds can almost change the whole world, defy the laws of physics and nature, but then—even among the believers: those stories are relegated to legend. At best. And so: this is the story of two boys from Indiana who—dodging dangers and demons and near-death experiences—wind up in a love never seen before, somehow writing out the kind of legend no one ever dared to dream.

(You got me) in the palm of your hand (October 4) Author: just-my-latest-hyperfixation (tumblr) / just_my_latest_hyperfixation (AO3) / Artists: xgumiho (tumblr) / xgumiho (instagram) / jul2ja (twitter), peachypurr (tumblr) / peachypurr (linktree) “Fortunes told, futures unfold.”

The sign at the local ren faire looks tempting. After all, Steve is one year out of high school and has no idea where his life is going. Sometimes he wishes someone could just gaze into the future and figure it out for him. 

In the fortune teller’s tent, Steve has a run-in with his past. And if he doesn’t turn on his heel and leave, it has absolutely nothing to do with how pretty Eddie Munson looks in his costume, all gleaming jewelry and dark tendrils of hair spilling out from under a patterned headscarf. He lets Eddie read his palm, because why the hell not? It’s all bogus anyway! 

Except, as the summer goes on, Steve finds that Eddie’s cryptic predictions somehow, inexplicably keep coming true. As they keep running into each other, almost as if orchestrated by an invisible force, Steve can’t help but be intrigued with the other boy. He also can’t seem to forget how pretty Eddie’s eyes look in black liner, or the way his fingers feel on his skin, but that is an entirely different problem. 

11 upcoming projects to be posted next week (Oct 8 - 14).

*To keep up with all the Steddie Bigbang 2023 posting, be sure to follow us @steddiebang or track tags like #steddiebang23, #steddiebang23 masterposts, #steddiebang23 project promo, and #steddiebang23 upcoming projects.

[void-galaxy-shenanigans]

because i needed the reminder today:

it is okay to adapt & improvise “normal” tasks to work for you. it is okay to break them into smaller steps. it is okay to take breaks. it is okay to approach in a “nonsensical” way.

if it works for you, and it isn’t hurting someone, breaking a law (caveat in tags), or going to lose you a job/get you kicked out of a school that you need (bend rules as far as they’ll bend, but don’t hurt yourself/your future in the process if you can avoid it), do that.

do what works for you.

yeah, do this for more complex tasks.

do your homework one question at a time if you can. use a premade sauce to make your favourite food if you don’t have the spoons to make it the “normal” way.

make the steps smaller and do them more frequently. take longer breaks in-between.

but i’m talking ‘simple’ tasks too.

wash every outfit the day you use it, as soon as you change. ¿is it more water? maybe. but you deserve clean clothes. if it’s difficult to remember or rely on your spoons/energy/physical limits to be able to wash things once a week or once a month, then adapt. find a way that works for you.

also, if you’re also recently discovered autistic &/or ADHD, or you’re newly physically/mentally disabled (or recent ish & still coming to terms with it), I see you.

it’s frustrating to simplify or give up on things you could’ve done before. it’s exhausting to find all the things you can’t do that you always could, especially if you never thought you would see a day you can’t do it.

you are still worthy of love and care. yes, even now. especially now.

(more personal examples & also direct comfort/reassurance below the cut)

i can’t do long staircases anymore. i used to love running up them, running or hopping down the steps. now I shakily take one step at a time, leaning heavily on a cane, and my ankles/knees still tremble and hurt. (i’m hypermobile & some of my connective tissue is deteriorating.)

i can’t read academic texts by myself anymore. there’s so many feelings about that, and it’s the most recent curve of acceptance.

i realized 3 or 4 days ago that the reason i’m falling behind on the readings for astronomy & human development (which I find fascinating) is because of the length of the readings. i keep up in sociology, but it’s smaller chapters & less reading, & I can usually skim for terms & catch enough info to participate in class. but in order to pass my classes, in order to succeed, that requires me to use a text-to-speech website or app, or to have a friend read for me.

for those who don’t know, i’m a creative writer. i write fiction and poems like it’s nothing. i also love the feel of a physical book. i’ve stayed in denial, thinking that i just need to break it into small chunks.

but i got a traumatic brain injury in November of 2019, that most affected my prefrontal cortex. i need that to focus, to self-regulate. i need it to read effectively, let alone long amounts of text.

i’ve stayed in denial about how bad that injury was, because i had enough to deal with due to everything else that nasty concussion did (shaking trauma memories loose, breaking masks & layers of amnesia within trauma disorders, breaking autism mask, severe emotional dysregulation i’m still recovering from).

but i can’t keep up with university classes if i keep trying to force myself to read the same way i did before. i need to use screen readers or text-to-speech, i need to rely on friends or family. i need to accept help.

and it sucks. it’s a terrifying loss of independence. it’s frustrating. there’s a lot of grief.

but this is my life now. i have to adapt.

all this to say, be gentle and kind with yourself. treat yourself the way you want to be treated. learn to tolerate yourself. (i would say ‘accept & love yourself’ but that’s its own learning curve.) adapt your space & your actions to match your current capabilities. prioritize completing self-care tasks, even if you don’t/can’t do it perfectly.

you deserve to, and can, accommodate yourself. the world around you may not be accessible, but as much as you’re able (to your degree of independence & financial limits/budgets), find ways to accommodate yourself.

and treat yourself once in a while. it doesn’t have to be expensive or difficult. sitting in your car (if you have one) in the lot of a nature park is better than never seeing trees. a poor-quality drawing is better than never drawing again. a cheap thrifted or dollar store plushy is better than no plushy. whatever it is you want to do or have, within your limits, do it your way. treat yourself to your favourite things if you can.

we weren’t put into this world to suffer. we weren’t put in this world to lose all our dreams.

we arrived to live. we arrived to have fun. we arrived to create. we arrived to play. we arrived to love (platonic, romantic, etc.). we arrived to dance and sing (even “badly”).

and maybe your disabilities steal some of these from you. but if you can find even one thing that makes it worth it, if you can make one thing accessible again....do it. make it happen. you deserve happiness and relief and love, especially now.

and if you don’t believe it right now, that’s okay. i’ll hold hope for you until you can. 💜

~Nico

[synthsamuri]

A little one shot from the latest chapter *** see update at end for full fic <3

“Can you fucking hurry up?”

“Gotta carefully disinfect your ear.”

He Tian finished cleaning the blushing ear and gently brought the piercing kit up to the spot they had marked. The cold metal sent a shiver down Mo’s spine.

Mo wouldn’t admit it but he was nervous. Not about He Tian or what this meant between them, but the pressure of the needle against his ear. He wanted this moment to be special, to be about him and He Tian but the memories of how his last piercing had gone were all too close. This is different, Mo reminded himself. He Tian isn’t She Li. Even now He Tian looked at him with tenderness. They were ready to bind themselves to each other. This was just the fulfillment of that unspoken promise, to be together in the future, no matter where they go.

He Tian must have sensed his hesitation. “Will you regret it, Little Mo?”

“Stop with the nonsense. Just do it.”

Mo braced for the impact and CLICK, with a short groan and pinching pain the deed was done. He Tian’s still bandaged fingers deftly removed the kit without bumping into the fresh wound.

Mo trembled slightly adjusting to the heat and slightly throbbing pain in his right ear. It was done. Mo thought back to the day he asked He Tian to pierce it.

“You don’t need to have your ear pierced to prove anything. I just hope it’s done because you like me.” He Tian had said those words so easily then.

Mo did like He Tian. He wanted him, more than he had wanted anything. He may not be able to say it in words but he could show it.

He Tian leaned in close, inspecting his handiwork, causing Mo to blush fiercely. They had only shared the one kiss and he was still too aware of his presence. “Does it hurt? Pain, pain, go away.”

He Tian gently tilted Mo’s head and laid a soft kiss on his neck below the pierced ear.

“Don’t…!” Mo said weakly but He Tian went back for more like the one taste just wasn’t enough.

The pressure on his neck was instantly more distracting than the hot piercing as He Tian insatiably kissed the spot once again. A small gasp left Mo’s lips as he felt He Tian’s teeth graze the area. Mo’s mind was a bit of a blur as he allowed He Tian to continue with minor resistance.

It could have been the long night he experienced or lingering effects of the alcohol but he could get used to this feeling. He Tian’s arms around him, his mouth on his neck, his scent filling their space. A little bite broke him out of his trance.

“Ouch!” He gently pushed He Tian off of his neck only to see the other’s beaming smile. His eyes looked content, reminding him of the morning after their first kiss.

“It looks good” He Tian said softly only Mo didn’t realize he was talking about the beginnings of a red mark on his neck.

Update: See here for full fic *smut included, please read tags! https://archiveofourown.org/works/50263969