#this is its only chance back into my heart

[xjcjuis]

ARE YOU COMING HOME?

pairing: billie eilish x reader

synopsis: she gets a lovely surprise while on tour

warnings: nothing but FLUFF i love fluff, not proofread

wordcount: 0.9k

a/n: very late merry christmas and happy new year!! not my best work but please enjoy! anyways i need to be picked up and spun around plsplspls

long distance relationships are never easy, especially when your girlfriend is one of the most famous singers in the world. she's on tour right now, overseas and so, so far away from you and your empty arms.

or so she thinks.

billie's voice is a little tinny through the phone, crackles from foil heard as she unpacks the snacks she'd bought after her show. you watch in contentment, hugging a pillow to your chest with a leg exaggeratedly thrown over it, arm starting to go numb from holding the device up.

"i bought your favorite sweets too," she says, cutting the silence. "missing you so much, i really wish you could be here to steal from me." she ends her statement with a pout. oh, how you wish you could kiss that pout off of her lips. but soon. all you need right now is patience.

"so your friends- you guys went to a hotel just to watch a movie?" billie asks, a little confused. it was the best excuse you could think of out of nowhere.

"yup," you reply, popping the p. "they're not around right now, though. out shopping. i'm too broke and lazy to go out."

"i told you you could use my card, though."

"i'm not using your card, billie."

"you could if you wanted."

"no."

she frowns, as if she were the one losing something. billie did that a lot: shower you with expensive gifts and treats and dates and refuses to accept anything back. the fact only makes you happier about your plan, knowing she'd ask about the cost but it wouldn't really matter anyway because both of you were benefitting.

"when are you coming home?" a trick question. "i miss you so so bad. and i miss staying home with shark and just cuddling together. our bed is so cold without you."

"oh?" billie grins, eyebrow raising. before she could comment anything inappropriate, the doorbell rings on her end of the line. "ah, that must be room service. i ordered dinner. be back in a minute, love."

you grin to yourself now as she turns away to answer the door, knowing that there was a very big chance that it was, in fact, not room service. your ears prick up at the hint of a gasp, muffled voices exchanging polite conversation, and billie returns in frame holding a huge bouquet of flowers, an even huger smile on her face.

she was practically glowing, outshining the sweat and slight tiredness formerly seen on her face from her performance. "you're kidding me."

"what?!" you ask, laughing. your heart swells with pride.

"you didn't seriously get me this from, what, on the other side of the world?" your girlfriend asks incredulously, admiring the little pink and white petals you'd picked out and reading the note that said nothing but 'i'm proud of you'.

you push yourself up off the bed, casually pulling on a pair of socks before slipping on your shoes, making sure to not let it be seen on camera. "i had to call in a couple of favors from your manager, of course. i'm sorry it's not in my handwriting."

and it wasn't, because you knew that billie would recognize your strokes immediately, and that would blow everything else off.

you make your way to the main hotel door, making sure your face covered the background so that the girl on your phone didn't see its similarities to her own room. "hold on, baby, i'll call you back."

the singer's dark brows furrow at your abrupt dismissal. "okay. don't take too long."

"love you."

she didn't get to reply before you click on the red button and dash to the elevator, pressing her floor in the same hotel (though she didn't know it yet), having memorized the number by heart when she told you yesterday.

you get there, just in time for the room service server to roll his cart of to her door. pushing your nerves aside, you walk right up to him and excuse the interruption. "hi, sorry. my girlfriend is in this room and i was hoping to surprise her, would you mind if i borrowed your hat?"

he agrees, barely hiding a smile. thanking him, you took a deep breath to compose yourself, jamming the hat onto your head. your hand lingers over the bell, glancing nervously at the server, who in turn nods encouragingly at you.

ding.

footsteps can be heard from inside, and you count to five before the door swings open and you drop your head to hide your face, resorting to deepening your voice. "hello ma'am, room service-"

"y/n?" she gasps in recognition, incredulous. billie's hand is frozen on the doorknob, staring in disbelief.

finally, you raise your head and hand the server his hat back, your smile having difficulty in concealing a laugh. "surprise?"

you're unable to do anything more when billie snatches you up by the waist, raises you, and spins you around dramatically, her own lips wide in a grin. the sudden movement messes up your hair, getting it over your shoulder and behind and swept towards the opposite side but she didn't care. your girlfriend pulls you in close in a tight hug, one arm around your waist and the other resting upon your spine.

her happiness can still be felt blind.

she wouldn't let go, not for a second to get inside, not to formally accept the room service food, so you thank the server over her shoulder.

he leaves you and billie to your moment a little awkwardly.

"you didn't tell me you were here!" she whines into your hair.

you laugh. "that's the point of a surprise, bils."

"i can't believe you actually flew here. you hung up on me. i love you so so so much, you know that?"

"yes, i know." another soft smile graces your face. "i love you so so so much too."

[veronicangel]

UNDER YOUR SPELL

daisuke - mouthwashing

cw: smut, in this au nothing that bad happens,, everyone stays alive and jimmy isnt a b word, daisuke cums in his boxers lmao, l bomb!, very rushed lmao

it had been months since he's had any sort of pleasure. it's all stressful these days with what happened on the pony express. no matter what, swansea, curly, and jimmy are on him about anything. he is just so exhausted and in need of some relief. and seriously, the only sort of relief he gets is from you. you are just so kind to him. whenever he does something and you tell him he did a good job, or when he helps you with something and you tell him how amazing he is.

he can't help but think of you laying in his bed late at night. it was silent on the ship, and he was alone with his thoughts. he couldn't help but envision you. he thought of the way your hair was so beautiful and the way it would look in his hands. he thought of your pretty eyes and how they would look looking up at him with your plush lips full with him. he thought of your body, the way it curves at your hips, the way your waist would fit his arm perfectly, your chest and how perfectly your tits would fit in his mouth. he felt so perverted thinking of you this way, but he was completely under your spell. he snapped back into reality when he heard a knock on his door. he didn't know what to do, his pants unbelievably tight just from the thought of you. he, although very lazily, got up and opened the door. his face dusted a light crimson, it was you. he could help but look you up and down. it seems you were in pajamas because you were wearing a tank top and shorts. he's never seen this much of you he didn't know how to react, but his cock reacted on its own.

"hey"

...

"um im sorry for bothering you i just cant sleep"

he was so stupid! why is he staying silent when you're right in front of him?? he could easily just pull you in and tell you everything he thinks of you. he could kiss you now. he could finally have a chance with you so why can't he muster up any words?

"yeah!"

"i'm sorry?"

he could die right now. out of all the things he could say to you he says "yeah!" like an idiot. he could tell you to come in. he knows he wants to cum in you. he could tell you that you could come to him whenever you want.

"i mean come in! sorry i just im tired you know the sleepiness is getting to my brain"

"i'm sorry if you're tired i can go back to my room"

"NO!"

....

you laughed at that. he heard your beautiful laugh. you were so oblivious to your affect on him, just your laugh made him throb.

"if you really want me to stay then i will."

you brushed past him, his hand rubbed on yours just a second, and he felt as if his heart could explode. he's thought about your hand more times than he could count. he watched as you sat in his bed. he's dreamt of you being in his bed over a million times. he rushed over to sit next to you, keeping a small space in between you.

"you know, i think you're really great"

"huh?"

"yeah, i hear what the crew says to you and i don't think it's true at all. i mean without you i wouldn't be able to reach anything really."

you laughed as you said that, but your face turned more serious. you closed the space between you too, scooting yourself closer to him. you put your hand on top of his.

"you're a really great guy you know? you genuinely are really good for us... for me."

the way you held eye contact with him, the way your hand rested on his, the way there was no space seperating you. the praise you gave him. he didn't know what to do or how to react. his face was definitely flushed a deep shade of red.

"i..."

he couldn't get anymore words out because of your lips on his. what's going on? he felt his lips no longer alone as you attached yours to his. he kissed back, although inexperienced, he didn't want this to end. when you pulled back he looked at you in admiration.

"am i dreaming?"

you laughed again, before kissing him again.

"no sweetheart, this is very real"

he felt like if he died right now, he'd be okay with it. you kissed him and you're calling him all those things. he doesn't know what to do. he desires you so badly. ever since he first saw you you've been haunting his thoughts.

"can you... kiss me again?"

you did just as he asked, your lips becoming one with each other. the slow passion made him insane. your hand made its way to his hair and he couldn't help but whimper. he wanted to pull back and apologize but you wouldn't let him. you grabbed his hand and snaked it around your waist, bringing you two even closer. the kiss started getting a fast pace and your tongue slipped into his mouth. this was way past everything he's ever done, he's so new to this, and he's doing with it with you and- his thoughts get interrupted by feeling himself getting pushed back onto his bed. he's now laying down and you on top of him, your lips never seperating.

"daisuke..."

his name left your mouth perfectly, although it wasn't louder than a whisper. he looked up at you, the way your hair framed you both, your eyes looking down on him, your lips red and puffy from your intense make out session, and the look in your eyes that said you want him. it was euphoric.

"what is it...?"

"i want you so badly... do you want me like i want you?"

everything felt too good for him. he wasn't sure this was even real. all he could do was nod desperately. he felt your hands reach the hem of his shirt, and he looked at you with a pink face and nodded again at you. you pulled his shirt over his head and started kissing his neck, then his chest, then his stomach.

"you're so perfect daisuke, i want you all to myself"

his mouth fell agape and his eyes closed, he couldn't help the small whimpers leaving his mouth as he felt your teeth suck on his neck.

"i... i need you (your name) i need you so badly please let me be good for you let me be your good boy"

he led his hands to his waistband and started pulling the rest of clothes off. his face was completely flushed and he couldn't tell if this was really happening. he was now almost completely bare, and he felt really embarrassed.

"you're perfect daisuke... do you wanna see me too?"

before he could answer you grabbed his hands and led them to the hem of your own top, quickly taking it off. you weren't even wearing a bra, he saw you immediately.

"you wanna make each other feel good, daisuke?"

"i need it more than anything (your name)... will you let me?"

you nodded your head and he brought his hands to your shorts. you moved off of him so he could get them off. both of you now only in your underwear. you were now sat next to him and he looked up at you. it was more than anything he's imagined. he's definitely imagined you naked over a hundred times, but the real deal just makes him go over the edge.

"do you want to do this?"

"please touch me.."

his voice was quiet but you did as he asked. your hand reached down to his crotch and you started palming his clothed cock. the sensation brought immediate moans from him.

"you sound so cute daisuke keep making these sounds for me"

your pace quickened and his moans got louder.

"please (your name) i wanna cum for you, i wanna be your good boy, tell me im your good boy"

"you're my good boy daisuke, be my good boy and cum for me"

with your command, he finished in his boxers. his whimpers continued even after the fact. he was just too cute.

"you did so good for me daisuke"

"i.... i love you"

you were facing each other while laying down now, and the word love fell from his mouth. this shocked you but it felt so right hearing it directed at you.

"i love you more daisuke"

lmao i got carried away this was supposed to be rlly short and it was also supposed to be pure smut but it ended up being fluff and barely smut 🌚 this was also supposed to go a completely different way so if you guys want to see that lmk cuz i will write it for you guys if you want 😼

[igotanidea]

World's worst wingman: Jason Todd x reader (ft. Dick Grayson)

story borrowed from @gay-dorito-dust, thank you :)

Summary: Dick being Jason's wingman.

***

„Come on, just go do it!”

„No.”

„Why not?”

„Because.”

„Why are you being stubborn? I saw you eyeing her whole night! Seriously, if you keep bringing that face expression on, you will turn into an anime character and-“

Jason groaned and run fingers through his already messed up hair.

For the record – he had no idea that the object of his interest in the form of Y/N would be at this particular club tonight.

Well – maybe a faint idea. Just a vague concept of her whereabouts.

It wasn’t like he stalked her a little, getting to know her favorite places to hang out, her work and her home and the way she was using to commute to ensure its safety.

Definitely not.

But even if he did – there was no regrets in his actions with regards to that.

What he did regret though – was bringing Dick with him to act like some sort of wingman. Stupid. Idiotic. Completely reckless behavior. HE should have known better than that.

Instead of having a chance to talk to her, he was stuck by the table, trying to melt into the plush backrest of the couch behind his back, that happened to be the same color his face was turning into.

Forced to listen to his brother constant babbling how he can’t be such a coward and shy and antisocial and that she seemed to be a nice girl and why won’t Jason just get his ass up and –

“Shut up.” Jason muttered, edging the thin line between behaving and getting a temper tantrum.

“Ohhhh! Is my little Jaybrid getting flustered?” Dick teased, grinning like a madman, deriving almost sadistic pleasure from tormenting his brother.

“I’m getting so many regrets about telling you shit about her.”

“Oh, come on, don’t say it! That’s so not fair! I’m only here to help you, cause with the way you’re acting now I don’t see much chance to succeed in-”

“I’m going to get a drink!” Jason stood up from the table so abruptly that only by miracle it didn’t trip over.

“Oh yeah! That’s the spirit! And while you’re at it, can you bring me one more pina colada?”

It was all just a big fat joke to Dick.

***

“Hey, can I have a beer and a pina colada?” damn the second part of his sentence barely left his throat.

“that;s an unusual mix, istn;t it?” she chuckled grabbing a glass and starting to prepare the drink with learned precision.

“Yeah, it’s not for me – “ Jason stuttered, despite himself “It’s for-“

“Your date?”

“huh?”

“That guy over there?” Y/N pointed towards the Dick, waving at her crazily across the club

“WHAT? He’s not my date! He- he’s my –“ it took a lot of effort from Jason to not address Dick as his prey, but somehow, gulping heavily and clenching fists he managed to calm down. Ish. “-brother. He’s my effing brother.”

“Oh, such a  relief!”

“Relief? Why?”

“Cause it means he’s not gay, huh?”

“Oh…”

Of course she was asking about Dick. How could a girl like her ever pay attention to a guy like Jason?

“Relax, I’m kidding. It’s only because of the drink. I mean – what kind of a man orders pina colada unless he’s playing on the other side of the field or has a particularly nasty sense of humor, right?”

“Are you always this observant?”

“You know, some people think I’m just  a bartender, but the truth? I’m also a watcher and a listener. You wouldn’t believe the amount of drunk girls crying their broken heart out on this particular counter.”

“Hah!” he chuckled. For some crazy reason her attitude was making him feel at ease. Like he could actually maybe stand a chance with her?

“So, here’s your pina colada and your beer. Enjoy.”

The second she handed him the beverages he knew the moment was over. He was a customer at the bar and she was working here. They were not friends and definitely not more.

“Yeah, um – thanks …” he muttered, retrieving back into himself, grabbing the mugg and a tall glass, heading back to Dick with sense of defeat inside him.

***

“Are you crazy?!”

“Stop yelling!”

“But are you crazy?!” with the way Dick was tugging at Jason’s shirt it was truly a miracle that the younger brother did not end up drenched in and reeking of beer. “You had a chance! It was the perfect opportunity and you’re back here?! Please tell me you at least asked her out!”

“I –“

“Holy shit, Jason, you totally blew it.” Dick rubbed his forehead “Tell me you told her, you liked her!”

“Well-“

“Ok, fine, fine. Let’s lower the bar and the expectations there then. Tell me you told her she’s pretty.”

“I’m not telling the cliché that any drunk man would!”

“You’re hopeless. You are totally hopeless. My god, did I teach you nothing during all those years?!”

“Shut up, Dick!”

Too bad it was too late and Dick was already on a highway to making a scene and the biggest commotion this little suburban club has ever seen.

“Dick!” Jason hissed, feeling all eyes on them. All eyes except Y/N’s who was apparently ending her shift, cleaning some of the stuff from the counter and filling in her colleague.

“Quick! Fast!” Dick started pushing Jason towards her direction.

Mistake.

A little tip: if you ever try to push a 6 ft and 200 pounds man in any direction at all, make sure to make sure he expects it.

Otherwise, the mass of muscles may just subdue to the undeniable power of physics. Especially the gravity and the rules of dynamics. You know, the whole a body set in motion moves in a uniform motion and all shebang.

In Jason’s case it resulted in him losing the balance, falling backwards and stumbling upon unexpecting Y/N, crashing into her as they both ended on the floor with a very disturbing crack coming from somewhere.

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit! Y/N? Are you okay? I am so sorry, I am so terribly sorry, how many fingers do you see-“

 “Ouch….” She groaned, reaching for the hand he was reaching towards her, letting him help her up. “Five?”

“Three. Close enough.”

“So you’re a sloth now?”

“huh?”

“Well, I said five fingers, you said three. Sloths have three fingers and – mh. Dry joke, sorry.”

“You must have hit your head pretty bad, huh?” he could swear to god, he had no idea where that joke came from, just slipped his mouth, but to his relief – she laughed. Not in a mean way, not at all. It was a genuine, happy laugh. He made her laugh.

“Yeah, maybe. I swear I am usually in a better shape.”

“I’d love to see that.” He muttered, and in his head it was just a thought never spoken aloud, but when she tilted her head and gave him a funny look, Jason realized he actually did just that. Spoke up. Bared himself to rejection, teasing, hurt, pain, depression –

“Ok.”

“Ok?” his eyes grew wider.

“Yes. Ok. I can give you a sample. And also you owe me.”

“Um, yeah, yeah, ok, so – “ he scratched his head awkwardly.

“I like coffee. And I have a day off tomorrow.”

“Oh, okay then so – “ say something you idiot! Say something! “there’s this little café at the 23rd and-“

“See you at 8.” She smiled, grabbed her coat and with a wave of her hand disappeared leaving him stunned.

He had a date. Ish. A meeting. A meeting with a girl he liked.

He could jump up from the sheer joy of this unexpected turn out of events, if it wasn;t for the one little fact ….

“RICHARD GRAYSON!!!”

The yelling could wake up the dead and sensing the incoming sequence of events, Dick quickly started moving through the crowd towards the exit.

“I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!”

It seemed that after Red Hood was done with his job, Nightwing would be excluded from patrolling that night.

[syoddeye]

Price as Davy Jones from POTC. Comes back every ten years to track down reader no matter where they are

the timing of this ask is bananas, because i was just discussing a similar premise with friends. (except davy jones!ghost, purely to describe him prying a barnacle off of his face and eating it in front of reader.) but this works so well with price, too.

prefacing this by admitting I haven't watched any potc movies since they came out. so this is based on what i remember, and we're going to be forgiving lol. this spun out into 1.9k.

cw: implied/referenced noncon/rape, body horror, stabbing/shooting/violence in general, implied/referenced breeding, largely unedited all vibes no brakes.

Clinging to a scrap of what was once a passenger ship, choking on smoke and seawater, you whimper as bits of wreckage and bodies bob around you, lifeless limbs brushing against your legs.

The wreckage still burns, providing just enough light to keep the nightmare well within sight. You see too much: the ship’s carcass, curious dark shadows, a woman in the distance gradually being sucked beneath the surface, her dress pulling taut like an anchor.

You barely register the ship until you hear the whipping of its sails.

Its silhouette is monstrous. A ghastly thing, every bit of it disfigured by time and violence. Its lights blur in your salt-stung eyes, and you blink hard, certain it isn't real. It's a hallucination, a cruel trick of exhaustion.

Yet, it is instinct to call out, to raise your voice. A very human thing, the desire to survive.

Minutes pass, and you're sure that your voice is lost among the waves, but the slap of a dinghy hitting water jars you. Voices call out, searching. Hope stirs in your chest, but as the small boat nears, its crew shoving wreckage and bodies aside, you see the figure at its bow.

A man. Not a man.

A lantern swings in a fist. Light and shadow spill across the figure. Wet skin like pale wax, cloudy eyes set beneath a furrowed brow—and that is where his humanity ends. 

Protruding from his beard, claws arc from his face, ridged and brown like a crab's shell, melding seamlessly into the flesh of his jaw and temples. His lips, blackened and peeling, purse together in a line. A line that slowly tips upward in its corners as your eyes grow wider and wider.

A scream works its way up your throat, but it sticks. The last thing you see is his hand, reaching, before the world spins, and darkness swallows you.

You come to, tucked in a bed, with a callused and damp hand holding your own, like a nurse would. Humming a quiet song.

It's him.

When you scream, he waits. When you cry, he says nothing. He watches you recoil, your breath catching and shuddering on your panic, and he permits it all. But when exhaustion drags you back to the pillows, he moves. A canteen pressed to your lips. A piece of bread on your tongue.

"Consider this is a second chance," He rasps, voice like the ship he plucked you from, charred and waterlogged, bubbling and burnt. "A survivor, but only alive because I decreed it so."

He names himself Captain Price. Gestures around you: this is his ship, his crew. You'll find no disloyalty here, no soft hearts. Then, with a flex of his claws—gleaming, articulated things jutting grotesquely from his skin—he acknowledges what you've already guessed. 

"You've heard the stories, I'd wager."

You have. Cursed ships. Drowned men who don't stay dead. When you booked your passage, the name was muttered like a bad omen, then dismissed with soothing reassurances: That ship's just a tale to scare the children and womenfolk.

But the proof sits in front of you, chest heaving in watery breaths, clouded eyes watching your every move.

"I've invoked my privileges as captain," He informs you as you stare, dumbstruck. "You'll be under my protection. Mine alone."

The implication is clear, as sharp as the claws on his face. Companion. The word sticks in your throat. The roof of your mouth.

When the fear overwhelms you again, your body shaking with what he means, he doesn't let you cry or scream. His grip tightens into a vise until you gasp, a warning. His spare hand, an even more disfigured mangle of fingers and claws, drum against the bed frame. 

"If that doesn't suit, you can bunk with the crew tonight. And come morning, I'll see you back to the sea."

It isn't much of a choice. Not one at all, really. You let the silence speak for you, and he releases your wrist. Rising to his full height, he tells you to finish the bread, drink, and sleep. 

"Unfortunate thing like you, you'll need it."

The next day, you're allowed more time to rest, though don't dare sleep. You're terrified of the Captain. Of him reconsidering his so-called mercy. Worse still, when you do think of the crew, you almost wish he'd let them have you. At least it would afford you an end to this torture. Peace at the bottom of the sea.

The cabin door is locked at all times, of course. Still, you're surprised to find yourself free to roam its cramped confines. You rifle through maps and logbooks, though the latter might as well be written in a foreign language. The room offers little else: no paintings, no books, nothing of sentiment. A space for planning and sleeping, nothing else.

You listen instead. The voices above deck, the crash of waves. Through the porthole, you see no land, discern no direction. The hours crawl by, and it's only when the sun disappears that he returns.

He brings food. Your dress, dried. You take the meal reluctantly, your appetite thin but you do not think he'll allow you to starve. You don't question the food's origin. From what little you've gathered, he doesn't need it.

When you're finished, the Captain takes the plate and utensils without a word. Alone again.

And so it continues. Breakfast. Dinner. Hours of silence in between. Days pass, melting into one another. You lose yourself in the monotony and isolation. You're certain this is hell: locked in a cabin surrounded by monsters, the devil himself tending to you.

Eventually, the thought comes, sprung from the desperate prayers you whisper every night. Clear and unshakable. Kill the devil. Free yourself.

When the moment arrives at dinner, you do not hesitate. The dinner knife fits perfectly in your hand as you swing it, the blade aimed at his chest. You expect resistance, struggle—but there's none. The steel sinks in easily, the sound wet and horribly soft, and the grin on his face only deepens.

He laughs. Your blood turns cold.

"Was waitin' for this," he chuckles, grabbing and pressing his pistol into your hand. He adjusts your grip, tilts the barrel toward the vulnerable stretch of his throat where carapace gives way to flesh. His claws click against the weapon as he steadies it.

"C'mon, darling. See what happens."

The shot rattles your teeth, and then it's everywhere. Blood, bits of tissue, saltwater spraying out in a burst. It coats his chest, slick and shining, and splatters up your hands, your arms.

For a heartbeat, you think it worked. His head rests against the back of his chair.

But his skin, ceral and dripping, slowly knits. Wet threads reach for one another and tie themselves together, leaving a shallow ridge. It's as if you did nothing at all. His head tips back up, gaze heavy-lidded and glinting. He spits the ball of lead out, a dark sludge dripping from the corner of his lips, and his good hand finds the back of your skull. He reels you in for a kiss. Defeat tastes like salt and iron. 

The routine changes. 

An unholy wedding occurs. You know God averts his eyes.

The man leading you down the aisle wears a skull as a mask, its hollow sockets fixed forward, fluttering gills at his neck. It is the first taste of fresh air you've had in weeks. Gruesome creatures crowd the deck, clawed hands and tendrils reaching to tug at your makeshift veil of netting and lace. Their jeers fill the air, delighted and mocking.

You are wed.

But Price admits to you on your wedding night, his deformed clawed hand cradling your head, buried within you, that he knows you can't stay. There are places he must travel, places you cannot go.

You do not believe him until he finds you an island, which, unbeknownst to you, lies on the path of a trade route. It hits you as he lifts you from the dinghy and sets you down in the shallows. This must be the end of it. This is the last you will see of him and his crew, his cursed ship. You will starve, die, and rot in freedom.

Before you take a single step toward the beach, he seizes you by your dress, turning you back to him. His eyes scour your face as if trying to memorize it. Every feature, every detail.

He leans in close, whispering in the salt-sweet air, "I'll find you again. I can promise you that."

Time blurs into a haze of hunger and thirst before you're found. It's hailed as a miracle: you survived. The sentiment haunting as you limp your way back to what remains of your life. 

Years pass and wear the edges of memory down, turning them almost bearable. Captain Price's promise fades into the background, like the echo of a bad dream.

You take a husband. You find a new home. You vow to never touch the sea, again.

Until the storm.

It comes howling, ripping through the harbor, swallowing ships whole, and splintering docks. The air is charged, furious. You cannot put words to it, but in your bones, it feels personal. You watch from your window, mesmerized, until you see it—a figure in the rain.

The lantern's light swings with his steps up the hill to your cottage. The whistle from his blackened cuts through the roaring wind, and your stomach knots with the memory it drags from the depths of your mind.

Your husband goes to ask if the stranger requires shelter from the storm. Frozen in fear, you cannot stop him as he greets his death with open arms.

Through the window, you see it unfold. The moment of recognition, him stiffening as he takes in what he sees. Then he screams, the sound ripped straight from his chest, raw and panicked, the same way you screamed all those years ago.

You try to hide, of course. Try to bar the door, arm yourself with whatever you can find. But it doesn't matter. The door groans, then gives. It crashes open, shoving back the table, and in he steps. Captain Price. Rainwater and the blood of your poor husband dripping from his hands. 

"Who was that, love?"

His grip is cold and iron-tight as he pulls you from your corner. "Not this again," He chuckles, plucking the kitchen knife from your hand.

The Captain drags you to bed, chest heaving, eyes moving over you like he's deciding where to start. How to make up for lost time. He speaks softly, almost tender. Husbandly.

"Ten years is long for you, I know," He peels your clothes off, marveling. He studies the changes in your body with reverence, dragging his fingertips along every line and wrinkle. "I do not fault you for your loneliness. But…a husband?" His tone hardens, eyes locking to yours. "Did you forget you were already a wife?"

Your mouth opens, then closes, nothing coming out but shallow, desperate breaths, like a fish gasping on the deck.

"This time," he murmurs as he shrugs free of his coat, then his shirt, "I'll give you something to remember our vows by."

The Captain leaves with the storm. The town counts its losses, buries its dead, and you stand by your own pile of dirt behind your cottage, a hand pressed over your belly.

Dread already quickening.

Ten years isn't that long at all.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Can I Ask You a Question?

Eddie Munson x reader

You invite Eddie to hang out and he has a very important question for you

based on this ask

The door to your bedroom opens and as soon as you’re about to turn to see who it is, you feel the bed dip beside you, Eddie now lying on his stomach in the same position you are, feet up and everything. He’s kicking his legs back and forth as he takes the magazine you’re reading from you. He notices that you’re doing one of those quizzes to see who your perfect boyfriend would be and decides that he wants to be yours.

He’s felt this way for a while now but lying here with you as he looks into your eyes, he’s sure. He just doesn’t know how to get the words to come out. He’s not a shy guy so he doesn’t know why he can’t just ask. 

He sets the magazine down on the bed and begins to spin one of his rings around his finger as a way to take away some of that anxiety and it does help, but only for a little bit. You can sense his unease and the two of you sit up before you pull Eddie’s hands into your lap. 

The weight on his shoulder instantly lessens as you hold his hands, that soft smile making its way upon your lips that he’s come to adore. Suddenly, everything feels so easy. Because it is. You make him feel like he can do anything, like the sky is the limit. You’ve shown him that he’s no longer Eddie “the freak” Munson and that no one’s opinion about him matters but his own. 

He loves hanging out with you as friends, but being your boyfriend would be that much better. He wants to kiss you and hold you and tell you how much you mean to him in a romantic sense. He wants to be able to compliment you without having to subtly flirt, to just tell you how pretty he thinks you are whenever you want.

“Can I ask you something?” He asks before nibbling on his bottom lip. His heart is hammering in his chest as he takes a deep breath, the anticipation of your answer getting to him. He knows that there’s very much a chance of getting rejected and that terrifies him. He doesn’t want his feelings to ruin what the two of you have. 

“Of course you can,” you let out a chuckle as you reach forward, one of your hands threading through his hair, giving his scalp a scratch the way you know he likes. His eyes flutter closed at the feeling, but he quickly shakes his head, hating how quickly he’s able to lose focus. 

“I-I was wondering if…” he takes a deep breath, trying to focus on the way you’re playing with his hair and not how fast his heart is beating. 

You stay quiet, waiting for him to say what he needs to. You’re perfectly fine with being patient as you know how hard it can be for him to voice his feelings. You watch him breathe deeply and then he shakes his head, trying to get back on track. 

“I was wondering if I could be your boyfriend.” His warm honey eyes bore into yours, progressively softening as the seconds pass and for a moment, you swear you can see hearts forming in them. 

The room goes silent as soon as the words leave his mouth. You aren’t sure what you were expecting Eddie to say, but it definitely wasn’t that. But can’t help but smile as you give his hand a squeeze, a light laugh passing through your lips. 

“I’d love for you to be my boyfriend, Eddie,” you tell him as a grin spreads out over your face and his quickly matches yours as he pushes you so your back is flat to the bed, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. He does it over and over until they all melt into one kiss as his lips slot between yours. 

It quickly becomes a mess of teeth clinking together because neither of you can stop smiling, laughs tumbling from your lips as you try to pour your feelings out for each other between kisses, your fingers slotting through his as you eventually figure it out. The two of you fit together perfectly like puzzle pieces. 

Eddie pulls away when you’re both breathless, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek, his thumb swiping along it as you lean into his touch. You lie for a moment and you don’t even have to ask if Eddie’s thinking because you can see the gears turning. But before you can bring it up, he speaks. 

“I think I love you,” he says, his thumb still moving back and forth across your cheek. The words are so confident and matter of fact that you just know that he means the words and isn’t just saying them because he’s caught up in the moment. Every word that comes out of Eddie’s mouth has a purpose and he nevers says anything he doesn’t mean. 

“I think I love you too,” you reply and Eddie goes in for one of many more kisses of the night before the two of you cuddle up for the very first time as a couple.

[fangdokja]

i keep rereading your yan marine corps! x fem reader. what was reader's role that she had to follow the marine's... adventure?

"You’ll never escape me—not when I’m the only one keeping you alive."

❤︎ Synopsis. In a world where death is mercy and survival means suffering, he claims you as his, promising protection through fear, control, and a twisted love that will leave you questioning if escape was ever truly possible.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured (AHD) : A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Marine Corps x Fem. Reader

♡ Oneshot. #2 - The Devil Who Saved You

♡ Word Count. 3,153

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non-con, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, descriptions of gore and human suffering, themes of violence and dystopia

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr content guidelines involving minors, some plot details of the original story were changed to fit the platform. If you want the true original story, please look at the author's official website or Ao3.

♡ A/N. I'm glad you enjoyed it :)). I'm surprised you're rereading it a bunch. But, I guess people do technically reread anyway. Sorry, slipped out of my mind. It just makes me happy seeing underrated works get credit, whether fandom or other stories I've written. So, thank you. Anyways. Technically, this was an ask. But it's a nice idea, and I've already had it in my drafts since before. I was just postponing lore dump with Yandere! Marine Corps, due to other works. Anyways. All I knew before, in all honesty, is that it's war time. But, time to pull out the fantasy skills and world build! Wooh! And to be honest, I'm hungry to write some gore crumbs like my familiar writing style, ahh. So, here, I present to you lore backstory (well technically part of the backstory). Hope you all enjoy it (also, sorry I talk a lot in notes).

♡ Music. Levee & Brick (Down to This) by Graffiti Ghosts

The world had fallen into an abyss so deep it seemed there was no end to its descent. The wars that came before—those waged for borders, ideologies, or resources—were merely preludes to this ultimate collapse. What erupted now was not war; it was annihilation. A calamity that turned cities into craters and humanity into prey. Every shred of civility burned away in the endless fires of desperation. The air was thick with the ash of the old world, a grim veil that painted the skies an eternal gray.

You had lived a different life once, one of relative normalcy in the dwindling days before the collapse. Back then, you had a future, a purpose, something as simple and human as hope. But that had been stripped away when the world’s powers unleashed devastation so complete it birthed horrors no living creature could comprehend. Technology had become a weapon of eradication, bioweapons and nanotech turning survivors into deformed creatures of flesh and steel, feral and mindless, hunting whatever moved. Rogue factions—remnants of militaries, mercenaries, and scavengers—rose like carrion birds, preying on the remnants of humanity.

In this hellscape, survival was no longer a matter of luck but of submission. Submission to those strong enough to carve their will into the earth and impose their dominion. He was one of those few. A towering force of unyielding violence, a soldier molded by decades of carnage, by a war that had reshaped him from a man into something closer to a machine of flesh and blood. The United Corps, once a venerated military institution, had fractured into splinter groups, each operating like a self-contained warlord’s regime. He was among their best—a leader, an executioner, a strategist, and now your captor.

You were assigned to him by pure chance—or perhaps cruel design. In this new order, value wasn’t measured by money or power but by the usefulness of flesh and mind. And you had been marked as useful. Perhaps it was your background—your knowledge, your resilience, or simply the misfortune of catching his attention when your convoy was intercepted by his unit. The corps didn’t merely take prisoners; they assessed, dissected, and consumed whatever remnants of humanity they deemed salvageable.

And he deemed you salvageable.

There were no illusions about the nature of his claim over you. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t mercy. It was obsession, possessive and cruel, born of a warped sense of necessity. “You belong to me now,” he had told you in that deep, unrelenting tone, the heat of his breath warming your face even as the chill of his words froze your soul. “Out there, they’ll rip you apart for the scraps on your bones. With me, you’ll live—if you behave.”

The battlefield was safer than the no-man’s land outside his dominion. That was the most damning truth. To run from him was to dive into a living nightmare where survival wasn’t a goal but a punishment. Outside his protection, death was not granted quickly.

You’d seen it. You’d heard the screams echoing through the wastelands, watched the crude factories churn with suffering. He’d forced you to look once, pressing your face against the window of a blood processing plant as tears streaked down your cheeks. “This is what’s waiting for you if you run,” he had whispered, his voice devoid of sympathy. “With me, you’re mine. Out there, you’re theirs. Decide.”

────────────

The smell hit you first. It wasn’t just the copper tang of blood; it was the rancid stench of rotting flesh mixed with chemicals—formaldehyde, acid, and something sour that clawed at the back of your throat. You gagged, instinctively raising a trembling hand to cover your nose, but he was quicker. His large, calloused fingers wrapped around your wrist, dragging your arm back down with enough force to make you whimper.

“Don’t look away,” he growled, his voice low and gravelly, vibrating like a distant explosion. “You need to see this.”

You didn’t want to see. You didn’t! But he held you there, his unyielding grip on your wrist a silent command. He stood just behind you, close enough that his breath fanned across the back of your neck, hot and suffocating.

The factory loomed before you like the mouth of some great beast, its jagged, rusted metal teeth glinting in the dim light of the sulfur-stained sky. The air outside had been foul, but inside, it was worse—a miasma of decay and despair.

The conveyor belts stretched endlessly, carrying bodies in various states of disassembly. Some were intact, their limbs hanging limply as they were dragged by crude metal hooks. Others were barely recognizable—mangled flesh and shattered bone mashed together in a grotesque parody of humanity. You tried to look away, to focus on the machinery, but even that was a nightmare of grinding gears slick with gore.

A loud, wet squelch drew your attention to a nearby station. A corpse—a woman, or at least what remained of her—was hoisted onto a steel slab. Her eyes were still open, glassy and staring, as if frozen in the moment of her death. A mechanical arm descended, its blade glinting dully under the flickering industrial lights. It carved into her chest with a precision that was almost surgical, splitting her ribcage open to reveal the organs beneath.

You felt bile rise in your throat as another arm extended, pincers gripping her heart. It yanked the organ free with a sickening suction sound, sending a spray of blood across the walls and floor. The heart was deposited into a waiting vat, where it joined dozens of others, floating in a viscous, murky liquid.

“They don’t waste anything,” he said, his tone devoid of emotion, as if he were explaining the workings of a simple machine. “Every part has a purpose. The skin for leather. The bones for tools. The organs for… whatever the hell they need them for.”

Your knees buckled, but he caught you, his arm snaking around your waist to keep you upright. “No,” he hissed, his breath hot and sharp against your ear. “You don’t get to faint. You’re going to watch. You’re going to understand.”

A scream tore through the air, high-pitched and raw, and you realized with horror that some of them weren’t dead. Your eyes darted to the source of the sound, landing on a man thrashing against his restraints as he was dragged toward another station. His legs were gone, severed at the thighs, and the stumps had been crudely cauterized to keep him alive.

“Please,” the man sobbed, his voice hoarse and desperate. “Please, just kill me. Just—”

The blade came down before he could finish, cleaving his remaining arm from his body. His scream turned guttural, the sound of a soul breaking, before it was cut off entirely by a needle plunging into his neck. The liquid injected was thick and black, spreading through his veins like oil. His body convulsed violently for a moment before going still.

You turned your head, choking on a sob, but he gripped your chin and forced you to face the scene again. His fingers dug into your skin, bruising and relentless.

“This is what happens without me,” he said, his voice a low snarl. “You think you can survive out there? Think you can make it without my protection? Look at them!” He shook you slightly, as if to drive the point home. “This is what you are without me—meat.”

Tears streamed down your face, hot and shameful, as you stared at the conveyor belts and the countless bodies reduced to parts. You couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop the nausea that twisted your stomach into knots.

Another scream pierced the air, this one an elder's. Your head snapped toward the sound, and your heart plummeted. A thin figure, frail and sickly, was strapped to a table, his wide, terrified eyes fixed on the approaching machinery.

“No,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “No, no, no…”

The machine didn’t care. The blades descended, and you squeezed your eyes shut, the image burned into your mind even as you tried to block it out.

He didn’t let you escape even that. His hand tightened on your jaw, forcing your eyes open. “Don’t you dare look away,” he growled. “This is reality. This is what’s waiting for you if you run.”

You broke then, sobbing uncontrollably, your body wracked with shuddering breaths. He held you there, unyielding, until you were too weak to fight. Only then did he pull you close, his grip on you shifting from punishing to possessive.

“That’s right,” he murmured, his tone softening in a way that was somehow more terrifying. “You understand now, don’t you? You’re mine. And as long as you’re mine, this will never happen to you.”

His lips brushed against your temple, a mockery of comfort as he whispered, “But if you ever forget, I’ll bring you back here. And I’ll make you watch again.”

────────────

The battlefield stretched like a bleeding wound across the earth, jagged trenches carved into the mud and ash. The remnants of what had once been cities were nothing more than skeletal buildings clawing at the smog-choked sky. The air was thick with the acrid tang of burning fuel and the gut-wrenching stench of charred flesh. Bomb craters bubbled with viscous, oily water that gleamed under the pale, radioactive sun. It was a place where hope had been smothered, where humanity’s last breaths came in choking, gurgling gasps.

He stood before you, his shadow long and oppressive, a monolith of muscle and bloodied steel. His armor—if you could call the piecemeal, blood-streaked remains of his tactical gear armor—clung to him like a second skin, the fabric worn thin and blackened with soot. In his hand, a rifle dangled lazily, as though he didn’t need it. And he didn’t. He was a weapon unto himself, his body and mind honed by decades of violence, cruelty, and war.

“Do you remember this place?” His voice was a low rumble, scraping against your nerves like a blade dragged across bone. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, bore into you with a force that made your knees weak. “Where I found you?”

You nodded faintly, though you didn’t trust your voice enough to speak. Your silence wasn’t just fear—it was a learned response, a survival tactic you’d mastered in the years since he’d claimed you.

“Do you know what they were going to do to you?” He crouched, bringing his face level with yours. His presence was suffocating, his frame dwarfing your own. His voice dropped lower, almost tender, as though sharing a secret. “No, you don’t. You only saw what they let you see. Let me show you the rest.”

He yanked you forward, his grip on your wrist unyielding, and led you toward the edge of the battlefield. The ground squelched beneath your feet, a revolting mixture of mud, blood, and something viscous that you didn’t want to identify. In the distance, the ruins of an old hospital came into view. The building leaned at an unnatural angle, its walls crumbling but still intact enough to conceal the horrors within.

“You’ve seen death,” he said, his tone conversational, as though discussing the weather. “But you haven’t seen what people do when death isn’t enough. When they want to break you first.”

The interior of the hospital reeked of antiseptic and decay. The sterile smell of chemicals clashed with the unmistakable odor of rot. The walls were streaked with dark stains, their origins uncomfortably clear as you stepped over discarded limbs, the flesh marbled with gangrene and crude surgical scars.

In the first room, a soldier lay strapped to a gurney, his body contorted unnaturally. His chest had been split open, ribs wrenched apart like the wings of a grotesque bird. His heart was missing, the cavity where it had once beat filled with a tangled mess of wires and tubing. The machinery whirred softly, pumping fluids through his veins and forcing his lungs to expand and contract in shallow, mechanical breaths. His eyes were still open, rolling wildly in their sockets as they locked onto you.

“He’s alive,” the man behind you whispered, his voice a mix of mockery and menace. “Barely. They like to see how far they can push the human body before it gives out. Sometimes they even stitch people back together, just to see how much more they can take.”

You gagged, your stomach lurching violently, but he grabbed your chin, forcing you to face the horror. “Don’t look away,” he commanded, his tone sharp and unyielding. “You need to understand. This is what was waiting for you.”

He dragged you into another room, this one colder, darker. Rows of tanks filled the space, each containing a murky, greenish fluid that distorted the shapes inside. At first, you thought they were bodies, but as you moved closer, you realized they were something worse. Limbs were fused together in impossible configurations, heads sprouted from torsos without necks, and eyes blinked independently in faces twisted beyond recognition. The creatures floated listlessly, their expressions a grotesque mix of agony and confusion.

“Human experimentation,” he explained, almost lazily. “They weren’t trying to kill you. They were going to use you. Turn you into something like this. A weapon. Or worse—a resource.”

You stumbled backward, but he caught you, his arm curling around your waist with a possessive strength that left no room for escape. He pressed his lips to your ear, his voice a dark caress. “I killed them all for you. Do you see now why you belong to me? Why you owe me your life?”

He pushed you onward, through rooms filled with horrors you couldn’t have imagined in your darkest nightmares. A man impaled on a series of metal rods, his skin flayed back to expose muscle and bone, still breathing through a series of tubes jammed into his throat. A woman with her limbs replaced by crude prosthetics, her mouth sewn shut but her eyes screaming. People of all ages locked in cages, their bodies twisted and deformed, their cries muffled by gags soaked in blood.

“This is what humanity has become,” he said, his voice cold and detached. “This is what I saved you from. You were a prize to them. A rare find. They would’ve broken you in ways you can’t even imagine.”

You fell to your knees, the weight of it all crashing down on you. He crouched beside you, his bloodied hand gripping your chin and forcing you to look at him. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, were filled with something dark, something terrifyingly close to affection.

“Don’t forget this,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Don’t ever forget who saved you. Who you belong to. Because without me…” His voice trailed off as he gestured toward the carnage around you. “This is all you’d ever know.”

You sobbed, the sound muffled against his chest as he pulled you into his arms. His embrace was as suffocating as it was unyielding, a cage that you could never escape. And yet, in that moment, you clung to him, because the alternative was too horrifying to bear.

────────────

So you stayed.

Not because you trusted him. Not because you wanted him. But because the alternative was infinitely worse. And yet, staying came with its own horrors, its own chains. His obsession didn’t shield you from his cruelty; it only redirected it. He was a man who didn’t just command obedience—he demanded submission. Every glance, every word, every trembling breath was a reminder of your place beneath him. When he touched you, it wasn’t with gentleness. His hands were calloused and bruising, gripping and claiming, leaving marks that would never fade.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he would say when your eyes filled with defiance or despair. “You’re still alive because I allow it.”

The world outside was dead, a barren wasteland of mutilation and starvation, yet with him, the torment was suffocatingly personal. He didn’t just want your compliance; he wanted your surrender. His words were a scalpel, cutting into your psyche with surgical precision. He would pull you close, his breath hot against your ear, his voice low and gravelly as he whispered promises of protection intertwined with threats so visceral they made your stomach churn.

“You’re mine,” he’d say, his hand resting possessively on your throat. “Every inch of you. Every thought. Every breath. Try to take that away from me, and I’ll show you what real pain feels like.”

There were moments when his control slipped, when the line between protector and predator blurred beyond recognition. He would keep you close, his body a cage of muscle and violence, his gaze piercing through your facade of composure. The way his hands roamed wasn’t tender—it was invasive, a reminder that he could take whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and there was nothing you could do to stop him.

And yet, you didn’t resist. Couldn’t. Resistance wasn’t a choice. Not here. Not with him.

The world outside was unlivable. The world with him was unbearable. Between the two, you chose to endure.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “A Heart Devoured”: @definetlythinkimanalien , @floooring

[godhandler]

Rent A BF!

#3 | young toji fushiguro x reader | fluff, mentions of prostitution, aged and sometimes offensive terminology | 800 words

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22nd  May, 1996

You’re probably one of the worst customers Toji’s ever had. 

Perfect Princes Escort Services placed their escorts hierarchically. At the top of the food chain were the Gojo-Geto pair, so high in demand they could pick their own customers and set their own prices. Perhaps Nanami could’ve asked for the same benefits if he hadn’t demanded that 401 (k) instead. 

Newcomer runts like Toji sat snug on the bottom rung. You were actually his first high-paying customer, but he’s starting to wonder if it’s really worth it. 

“So, tell me about your family back home, Toji-kun.” The candlelight from the romantic dinner table reflects the burning curiosity in your eyes. “Got any siblings?”

Like hell I’d tell ya. 

“Don’t have either, miss.” Toji forks a mussel open and dumps it all over his spaghetti. He doesn’t bother plastering a polite smile on. He has no incentive to: you’ve already made the mistake of pre-paying for 10 days, and he highly doubts that you’ll extend the contract with him any longer. Nanami once told him– when moderate efforts do the job, moderate efforts are all you should put in– and Toji decided to brand it into his heart. 

He’s very invested in spiral-mixing his shellfish into his spaghetti when the sound of you scoffing cuts into him. 

You scoffed at him. You scoffed. At him. 

Red-hot rage flashes to his skull before reason has a chance to. Triggered instinct– white knuckle grip bending the fork– shoulder tightened in anticipation of an arm drawn to sma–

“Like I’d believe that.” Unaware of the danger you’re in, you’re smiling so sweetly at him. No condescension, no ill meaning. “You know your forks, you weren’t raised in a barn.” 

“Huh?” 

“Your tastes are dogshit, who mixes oysters and pasta? But even when you’re not trying, your dinner table etiquette is so proper. You leave your dinner fork on your plate and pick your oyster with the oyster fork, you keep your wine glass diagonally to your left, you know the difference between a bib and a lap-napkin. I bet you’ll eat the dessert with the tiny spoon too, O Prince Toji.” 

No longer a weapon, the fork returns to its duty of gingerly shovelling food to Toji’s mouth while you add, “And we don’t even use forks that much. You were raised into money then. Let me guess, a runaway second son of a renowned clan who fell into debt or drugs?”

For a long time, the only sounds are of the cutlery scraping the china. A habitually thoughtless speaker, you slowly sink into a mortified guilt of touching a nerve not meant to be exposed to the air. I was only joking around (that’s quite a horrible apology) or maybe Geez, I didn’t think you'd be so sensitive (even worse). After all these years, apologies are still so hard for you to manage. So you just slip this one word out: “Sorry.”

Toji doesn’t look at you. “Think you’re so smart, knowing so much about me, huh? I know about you too.” 

“Like what?”

“No,” he shakes his head glumly. He’s not angry exactly, more like the topic provokes like a popped blister. “You’ll complain to my boss.”

“I won’t, I promise.” 

“Fine, then.” And he sets his stoneheavy eyes on yours. They're deep green, you notice, the colour of an old lake. “These aren’t oysters.” 

“Huh?”

“It’s a fucking mussel. I don’t know how you can confuse the two.” He picks an unopened one up and pries it open with a nail. “See? It’s so much smaller and thinner than an oyster. Oysters taste like strong salty boogers, but mussels–” He scoops the flesh out, drops a bit of marinara on it and hands you the fork. It’s good, you realise, the gentle flavour of the mussel carrying the pasta sauce well. “–Mussels taste like the ocean.” 

A minute passes as you chew, apology taking shape on the tip of your tongue: “I’m sorry I got too much.” 

“Apologise for shitting on my taste in food too.” 

“Fine, Toji-kun, I’m sorry I called your tastes dogshit. Maybe shellfish and pasta do go together.” 

“That’s right, miss.” He cocks his head to the side, grinning like a troublemaker. “I wouldn’t expect you new money to know about delicate tastes that much.” 

And you can’t help smiling as well. “That easy to read?”

“I’m just observant.” He taps his temple. “Your family wasn’t poor but you struggled sometimes, you’re actually left handed but you trained your right hard to work too, so now you’re ambidextrous, you had two younger siblings possibly sisters, you don’t actually like either spaghetti or mussels, you over-steep your tea, your watch is 19 seconds late, you have a rash on your left thigh, you need to moisturise your hands more and learn to blend your foundation into your neck, and your family died recently.” He leans back against the chair and burps. “There, we’re even now.” 

You’re left gaping at him. 

“... Anything else, Toji-kun?”

“You have pasta in your teeth.” 

Toji left the second session with a distinct sense of victory.

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a/n: pancakes are the bane of my existence. they taste just fine without putting things on top (not too sweet is the best compliment) but noooo you just have to ruin it with syrup or butter. and then u have to cut it with a fork and knife. its useless, its wasting fucking time. my hands could just hold it like a burger and finish the whole ordeal quick, even chopsticks maybe if they're not too heavy. fork and knife is decidedly the worst way to eat pancakes.

[indiestsnake]

okay. for real this time. Major In Stars and Time spoilers for act 3 and beyond. To my wonderful friends playing this masterpiece, to no further. To potential readers, buckle up. This gets long ._.

I thought this game was done with causing me symptoms of emotional exhaustion and stress overload. I was wrong.

Acts 5 and 6 of this game caused the most emotion a video game has ever inflicted on me. Like- the tightness in my chest was an emotion I can only describe as grief. Genuine grief. I felt like I needed to sob for most of act six, for multiple reasons.

Let’s start at the fuckin transition I guess!!!!!!!!!! Siffrin finally thinks they figured it out, and they haven’t. The genuine fear I felt in the cutscene with Euphrasie, the realization that… that this was it, Siffrin was simply stuck. I believed it. I could not find a way to break my suspension of disbelief. I fully, genuinely could not believe that this game had a happy ending. I did not know this game only had one ending, but even if I did, it… I don’t think it would’ve done anything.

The following monologue was the usual terrifying, the game using its informal dialogue to reap horrific subversive effects as usual. Of course it saved some tricks for this moment, like taking away control of when the dialogue progressed. Watching Siffrin snap so thoroughly, lose all his hope and cling to the thought of defeating the king alone because he doesn’t know what else to do, it… it really breaks you.

So. Now that the game has maximized my potential sympathy for Siffrin. And torn my empathetic heart to shreds. It immediately turns on a heel and makes me hate them within three conversations. The things they say to Mira, Odile, Bonnie, Isa, made me so thoroughly angry. I would not blame Odile for actually harming him. I would not blame Mira if she never spoke to him again. I would not blame Bonnie for never wanting to even think about him again. And I would not blame Isa if he no longer loved Siffrin.

I am a person who believes in redemption. In second chances. The readers of my fics know this well. But sadly, actions have to have consequences. And the actions Siffrin takes should have lost him his friends, his family, forever. Even in his circumstances. They had no reason to keep caring.

So then, reeling from the genuine sense of loss and grief and hate and despair, Siffrin nicks the orbs and goes in alone. Through about, what, 20-30 minutes of gameplay, this tension persists. The game didn’t even need to barrage me with monologues, just show those conversations of the family Siffrin left, tear apart the house and the menus and the game till it was barely recognizable. Siffrin. The Lost One, says his profile. Memory of emptiness. Rock, paper, scissors. It’s so dry. So dull. So full of despair and pain and fear and a question of what he could ever do to deserve this hell. He can’t go back. He cannot find the hope or will or anything to go through with it, to follow the script. So even if this does break the loop. What then? He is left with a world where the people he loves most despise him.

Then finally, he reaches the king.

The fight is almost dull. Simplistic. Full of pain. Siffrin does not need a shield to withstand the vision of the future. Because the world they live in cannot get any worse. Nothing scares him more than the hell he now exists in.

Then, he begins to freeze. The king slows him down. And he falls asleep.

The following sequence was just… indescribable. The sadness variant of him, Mal du Pays. French for “homesickness”. Just a simple drawing of Siffrin. The music. The dialogue. The words that come from its mouth. From the party’s mouths. Siffrin tries to say it’s fake. Isabeau’s segment convinces him it’s not.

I didn’t even realize what was happening till it flashed forward and gripped the screen by the face.

He was turning into a sadness.

The frame of his sadness gripping the screen, like many of ISAT’s frames, is something I can’t manage to forget. The cloak and the face and the way it fills the screen so suddenly and finally speaks as itself, not as Siffrin’s party. And he can’t fight it. They just can’t. The universe leads, but he is tired. And now, he can rest. If he just lets go.

In that moment, I was staring at a black screen, begging, pleading for the credits not to roll.

And then he wakes up.

Because his friends are back.

Despite what he said and did, they knew he didn’t mean it. And if he did, they didn’t care. It was clear something was wrong, and they were determined to fix it. Because they were his friends.

I don’t think I’ve ever had a game manage to convey self-hatred so convincingly that I, the player, began to hate my character in a way their friends could not. In fact, I was not aware that was a thing that could happen.

I don’t even know how to express the feelings this give me coherently. It feels like this game snatched away one of my closest moral beliefs only to clothesline me with said belief so I learned it even harder. What Siffrin did was not unforgivable. But it truly convinced me that it was.

So of that when all hope seemed truly, truly lost. It pulled the basic trope of “your friends come help when you thought you were alone”. And it nearly knocked me out of my chair.

First off, get fucked king. Second off, happy for you king.

And then the walk to Euphrasie. I was mixed with giddy glee and unending dread for this whole thing. Isa helps Sif walk while Bonnie holds their hand. Color exists again but only red and oh god the world is ending. Euphrasie is still broken oh god please no don’t send me back don’t take this from me please no no no no WAM REVERSE BOSS FIGHT

Cue that scene. I wasn’t exactly happy that my only option aside from hurting my friends was hurting myself. But it did not take long for me to start groaning in annoyance when Mira healed me.

And then. Against all odds. Siffrin breaks. As does the text formatting as the party literally claws at the text box edges to yell at him.

They fall. Hands clasped together. And he tells them his wish. That he just wants to stay with them.

Of course. That’s all he ever wanted.

And oh god, oh thank every deity, that’s all they want too.

And he finally gets a god-damn motherfucking son of a bitch eye-losing tear-jerking MOTHER FUCKING HUG

and damn it was a good one. poor guy was all squimshed. lost his hat too

the rest of the dialogue is just. amazing. I was gigging and smiling and shaking and vibrating with joy before I even finished Mirabelle’s segment. Walking to Bonnie was when I realized it felt like I wanted to cry. During Bonnie’s dialogue was when I almost did cry. Then Odile. Who I obviously asked for the long version of her theory and she was very helpful for explaining all the stuff. and then.

Isabeau.

oh. my. fucking. god.

the joy I felt when he said it. The leap I leapt, ungracefully dancing over to my bed and mouthing screams of joy. I genuinely just collapsed and writhed around like a fish out of water in happiness. You know how some folk flap their hands to stim? Yeah, imagine that but my whole body. I was so unbelievably happy. I don’t know how a game did this much to me.

The rest of the dialogue was wonderful too. Sif apologized for everything, even the optional events, even admitted the bad touch event. And of course. Isa freaked the fuck out. Because oh my god Sif kissed him. And then when Sif clarifies that it was not a good kiss. He just thinks for a moment like. “…………. Maybe u just need more practice!!! ^^” and it was at that point Siffrin and Isabeau plushies manifested in my hands and I mashed their faces together like barbie dolls

Mira doesn’t want self-spoilers and thats hilarious. Bonnie has no fucken clue what’s going on but she knows Sif was hungry sick and at school so all is well. Odile admits she linguine’s him and yes I fucking love that joke. SIF’S HOME COUNTRY MIFHT APPEAR IN THE DISTANCE????? AND ISA AND SIF ARE GOING ON A FUCKING DATE

and it was at this point I saved my progress, crossed my heart, and prayed Euphrasie would not send me back.

And she didn’t.

oh, god, this game…

welp. this post is two hours in the making. dunno if any of this is coherent but I think if you’ve played isat you get it. thank you to everyone who’s been blowing up my liveposts recently!!! it’s been cool to see the fandom giggle evilly at my suffering :3

tho my contributions to the Isat fandom do not end here. the fic is imminent. I could not stop it if I wanted too. If you couldn’t tell by the essay you just read.

thank you for reading this far if you somehow did!!!! hope you enjoyed my nonsensical babbling. I’m gonna go pass out. have a good day!!!!!!! .3

[pixzyn]

AFTER ALL, I’M STILL ECLIPSE.

  

The air in the abandoned factory is suffocating, filled with the sounds of whirring machinery, the faint hum of energy systems, and the echoes of footsteps on the cold, metal floor. Solar stands alone in the center of the cavernous space, his heart pounding. His eyes, though heavy with sorrow, are focused—focused on the twisted shape of his son. 

  

Jack—the son he raised, loved, and protected—now stands before him, a horrifying amalgamation of Negative star power and machine. His once innocent face is a mask of cold numbness, eyes glowing with a sinister purple light that speaks of unspeakable torment. His body is covered in shifting, adaptive-metallic armor, blades, and weapons that form and retract with every movement. His fingers are sharp, like claws, capable of slicing through steel. His speed is unreal, like a blur, his movements so fast they nearly defy the common eye. 

  

Solar, once a mechanic who built things with his hands, has no choice but to face his son as a weapon. He knows the truth—the boy he once called his son is gone, his mind shattered and enslaved by the sadistic figure lurking somewhere in the shadows, controlling everything. 

  

Jack smiles cruelly, his voice harsh, like a distorted echo of the person he used to be. “You’re too weak to save me. Thanks to my REAL father I’m better than I’ve ever been. Faster. Stronger. A soldier. A weapon.” 

  

Solar’s hands tremble, not from fear, but from the knowledge of what he must do. He’s always been good with machines, with creating, fixing, and modifying. But he never thought he would have to use those skills in this way. His eyes dart to a pile of scrap metal and tools nearby—pieces of discarded machinery from his workshop. He knows what he has to do. 

  

With a sudden motion, Jack vanishes, a blur of speed, faster than sound, and reappears behind his father. Solar barely manages to turn, just in time to raise a makeshift shield—a metal plate strapped to his arm, reinforced with jagged edges. Jack’s fist slams into it with bone-shattering force, sending Solar stumbling back, nearly losing his balance. 

  

“You can’t stop us!” Jack taunts, his body flickering with lightning-fast movements as he generates a blade from his forearm, its edge gleaming with deadly intent. “You never could.” 

  

But the Solar is quick—quicker than he’s ever been. He knows he has only one shot, one chance to end this. His hands fly to his utility belt, pulling out a few small, high-powered gadgets he’s cobbled together in the time he’s had since the Creator’s mind control first began to take hold of Jack. He pulls out a small device—a custom-made EMP emitter, something capable of disrupting electronic systems. He activates it. 

  

Jack freezes for a split second, his expression faltering. For just that moment, his movements slow, and his body hesitates. Solar takes his chance, moving with all the precision of a mechanic working on a delicate machine. He hurls himself toward a workbench nearby, pulling out a piece of industrial wiring—a sharp, electrified cable capable of delivering a paralyzing shock. Managing to dodge the electrical waves thanks to his mechanic gloves.

  

Jack, recovering quickly, charges again, his body shifting into a deadly whip-like mechanic appendage aimed straight for Solar’s throat. The mechanic , using all his strength, grabs the cable just as Jack closes in. With a swift motion, knowing his son’s body like the palm of his hand. He jams it into Jack’s exposed side, targeting a weak point—one of the few vulnerable spots left in the boy's body, where the mechanical systems are imperfect. 

  

For a brief, horrible moment, Solar eyes lock with his son’s, seeing the flicker of his son behind the cold, metallic eyes. Jack’s face twists in pain, confusion, and horror, as if the mind control is briefly cracking. 

  

Solar’s heart twists in agony, but he knows that the boy before him is no longer his son—not truly. He’s become a weapon, a puppet of something far worse. And if he doesn’t act now, if he doesn’t stop the boy, there will be no way to save him. 

  

Solar channels the remaining strength in his body, twisting the cable, sending a surge of electricity through his son’s systems. The boy jerks, his body convulsing violently, but still, he doesn’t stop. Solar, with tears streaming down his face, pulls out the final tool: a small but powerful magnetic pulse bomb he’d hidden on his body. It’s designed to short-circuit and destroy any form of advanced technology. Even the adaptanium couldn’t stand a chance.

  

With a grim expression, Solar places it on his son’s chest, activating it with the push of a button. Jack’s body reacts, shaking as the magnetic pulse begins to overload the mechanical systems that have been controlling him. 

  

Solar steps back, his breath ragged. He looks at his son, his heart breaking as the boy collapses to his knees. For a brief moment, the mind control flickers again, and Solar sees it. Negative star power starts leaking out of his body.—a flash of recognition, the boy he once knew, the one he loved. But it’s gone almost as quickly as it came, drowned by the dark power of the Creator. 

  

Jack’s body convulses one final time, as the devices and weapons within him shut down, his body now a twisted mass of broken machines and oil. He falls to the ground, his eyes no longer glowing with malice, but now dull and empty. 

  

Solar kneels beside him, feeling the coldness of the boy’s case, and the unbearable weight of what he’s just done. The pain in his heart is excruciating, but there’s no other choice. The son he knew is gone, lost to the horrors of the negative star power, and the only way to stop him from becoming an even greater weapon was to kill him. 

  

As Solar stands up, his hands trembling, he looks at the shattered remnants of his son—his final act of love, his final act of mercy. The sound of the creator’s laughter echoes from the shadows, but Solar has done what he had to do. 

  

And now, he’s left alone with the broken pieces of the boy he once called his son. 

  

The sound of Solar's breath is the only thing that fills the heavy silence in the abandoned factory. The EMP pulse hums softly in the background, the last lingering echo of the negative star power that once controlled his son. His heart aches with every beat, knowing the weight of what he’s just done. The boy he just grew to appreciate—the son he just started love—is now nothing more than a shattered shell, lying motionless before him. 

  

But then… something stirs. 

  

The mechanic's eyes snap open. The faintest tremor, like a pulse running through his son’s body, catches his attention. For a moment, the father freezes, his pulse quickening in hope and horror, unable to believe what he’s witnessing. 

  

The boy’s body shifts. It’s slow at first—his chest rises in a shallow breath, his fingers twitch slightly. His metallic limbs, once so efficient and deadly, now seem heavy and clumsy, the smooth movements interrupted by jerks as if the machinery within him is struggling to repair itself, to correct what the Solar’s final act had temporarily interrupted. 

  

Solar’s hands shake violently as he kneels beside Jack, barely able to breathe through the tightness in his chest. His eyes are wide, his face a mixture of disbelief, grief, and a glimmer of hope he never thought he’d see again. 

  

"Jack...?" The Solar’s voice cracks. He whispers it again, louder this time, filled with desperation, as if hoping to pull his son back from the precipice. "Please… please come back to me." 

  

There is a moment of stillness, almost unbearable silence, before the son’s lips twitch. Then, with great effort, Jack’s eyes—those eyes that were once so full of life, now clouded by the horrors he had been made to endure—slowly open. The unnatural glow that once illuminated them has faded, leaving behind only raw confusion and exhaustion. 

  

For the first time in what seems like an eternity, Solar is looking into the eyes of his son again, truly looking at him. And for a brief, fleeting moment, he sees the boy he built—the boy who laughed at the dinner table, the boy who had a bright future before him, the boy who had his whole life ahead of him. 

  

"…Dad?" The voice is broken, weak, barely a whisper. His son’s lips tremble, as if the words are struggling to form. "What… happened to me?" 

  

Solar’s heart cracks, and tears begin to blur his vision. He takes his Jack’s hand in his, trembling, his voice barely audible, as though he's afraid speaking too loudly might shatter this moment. "You were… you were taken, Jack. Controlled by the Creator, twisted into something you weren’t. I—" Solar’s words falter, his emotions overwhelming him. He struggles to continue, fighting against the lump in his throat. "I had to stop you. I had to… I had to save you. But the cost…" 

  

Jack’s head jerks slightly, pain coursing through his body as the realization begins to settle in. His eyes flicker with a painful understanding, and his hand tries to pull away from his father's grasp, weak and unsteady. “I… I killed people, didn’t I?” His voice cracks as the weight of his actions comes crashing down on him. His body shudders, a sob catching in his throat. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..." 

  

“No, no,” Solar says, his voice filled with love and sorrow, not anger. "It wasn’t you. It wasn’t your fault." He holds the boy’s hand tighter, brushing Jack damp hair from his face. “You were taken from me. You’re still you. You’re still Jack!." 

  

Jack’s face twists in pain, his eyes now beginning to water as his body trembles violently from the damage done by the negative star power. He tries to sit up, but the effort is too much for him. The unnatural energy that once fueled him now seems to be gone, leaving him fragile and broken. 

  

Solar can see it now—Jack is slipping away. The Creator’s control had done irreparable damage to both his body and mind. His limbs are twitching uncontrollably, like the remnants of a system that can no longer function properly. His breathing grows shallower by the second, the energy fading from his body. 

  

Jack looks up at his father again, his gaze filled with sorrow, and perhaps the last bit of clarity he’ll ever know. “I’m sorry... I didn’t want to hurt anyone... I didn’t want to hurt you.” 

  

Solar presses his forehead against his son’s, tears falling freely now as the reality settles in. "I know. I know, Jack." His voice is barely a whisper, the pain of knowing the boy he saved will soon be lost again, the finality of it all gnawing at him. "I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to have to do this. But I would’ve done anything to bring you back… even if it meant losing you." 

  

Jack’s hand weakly clutches his father’s. "I… I love you, Dad..." His voice is faint, a whisper on the edge of his breath. "I’m... sorry. I can’t... stay." 

  

And just like that, as the final remnants of the negative star power fade away, his son’s body goes still. His hand goes limp in Solar’s grip. The last flicker of life and recognition in his eyes disappears, replaced by the emptiness of death. 

  

Solar closes his eyes, his entire body shaking with the agony of losing Jack for the second time. His hands cradle his son’s face one last time, gently brushing his forehead. "I love you too, son," he whispers, his voice barely audible as the weight of grief and relief hits him all at once. 

  

For a moment, it feels like time has stopped. Solar holds his son’s lifeless body, surrounded by the wreckage of what used to be a boy with limitless potential. There are no words left. No way to fix the brokenness between them. The heartache of what could have been and what never could be again is far too much to bear. 

  

And yet, in the silence that follows, as Solar holds Jack for the last time, there’s a final, fleeting thought. The negative star power may have stolen his son, but for a brief moment, he had his boy back. That’s all that matters now. 

  

_________________________________________________________________________________

Solar's hands are stained with dirt, Sun! Moon and Dazzle by his side. His fingers trembling as he gently lowers the lifeless body of his son into the freshly dug grave. The hole is not deep enough to erase the sorrow it holds, but it's deep enough to ensure his son rests in peace. His body, though broken by the horrors of the corruption of the negative star power, is still his son, and Solar will treat him with the respect and love he deserves. 

  

Solar’s breath catches as he gazes at his son one last time. The boy—now still and cold—has been returned to the earth, but Solar’s heart remains broken, raw, and exposed. With a solemn expression, he places the final layer of dirt over the grave, his hands working with an almost mechanical precision, despite the agony in his chest. 

  

The grave lies under the shade of a large tree—a place that had once been Jack’s favorite spot, where he and Dazzle would sit together and enjoy their youth, looking forward a promising future. Now it serves as a silent witness to the end of that future. Beside it lies another grave—the resting place of on of Jack’s bestest friends, Neptor, a boy who had been just as full of life and curiosity as Jack, taken too soon, and buried under this very tree. 

  

Solar pauses for a moment, his hands on the fresh mound of earth. He takes a deep, ragged breath, trying to steady himself, but the weight of it all is suffocating. His son, had been lost in ways no parent should ever have to endure, twisted into a weapon, forced to carry out unspeakable acts, all controlled by a dark force beyond his reach. And now, the last remnants of the child he built are buried here, where the world can never again see the boy’s true potential. 

  

As he finishes covering the grave, his knees buckle. His hands grip the ground tightly, the feeling of emptiness clawing at him. The dirt is cold, the air thick with loss. He presses his palms against the earth, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. The tears fall freely now, mixing with the dirt beneath him. 

“Can I have a moment alone with him, please”. Solar says with a cracked voice.

“Yeah…su-sure…Solar.” Moon replied.

“Of course…take all the time you need”. Added Sun.

Dazzle reminds silent. Just following her own father and her uncle back to their house with piercing sorrow.

  

Then, amidst the suffocating grief, something snaps. 

  

Solar's hand clenches into a fist. 

  

A violent surge of emotion rises from the depths of his soul, a fury so intense it nearly blinds him. He’s spent the last moments of his life mourning, burying, accepting the cruel fate forced upon his family. But the man, the ANIMAL!—the one who caused this, the one who had twisted his son into a killing machine, the one who had orchestrated all of this—has not paid for his sins. 

  

Solar's mind flashes with memories—of the twisted figure standing behind the scenes, controlling his son like a puppet. He remembers the mocking voice, the cold, calculated promises, and the cruel laughter that echoed in his ears as the man turned his son into an instrument of destruction. 

  

The grip on his fist tightens so hard it almost hurts, but he welcomes the pain. He knows what he has to do. Revenge. 

  

The very thought of that thing—of the twisted creature that dared to control his case and oil—fills him with a burning rage, a rage that burns hotter than anything he’s felt before. The man responsible for this devastation must pay. His son’s death cannot go unpunished. The pain that has been inflicted on his family, on his son’s very soul, can never be forgotten, nor forgiven. 

  

A low growl escapes his throat, his body trembling with fury. He lifts his head to the sky, the cool air biting at his case as he stares into the horizon. His mind is consumed with thoughts of retribution—he will find that man, and he will make him suffer as he has made his son suffer. Solar knows he’s not the same man anymore. The gentle mechanic, the loving father, is gone. The loss of his son has forged something darker within him—something capable of unimaginable violence. 

  

His hands shake, but it’s no longer from grief. It’s from an all-consuming need for revenge. The loss of his son—his child, his world—has unlocked a ferocity within him that can no longer be contained. 

  

Solar stands, his legs unsteady at first, but his resolve hardening with every step. He takes one last look at the grave of his son, his heart breaking anew, but this time, a different emotion lurks beneath the surface. His son is gone, yes. But that man who caused this pain is still alive. He still breathes. He still walks the earth. 

  

Solar takes a deep breath, his eyes narrowing with cold fury. He knows exactly what he must do. No matter the cost, no matter the pain he must endure, he will make the Creator regret ever laying a hand on his family. 

  

He turns away from the grave, walking with purpose, every step driven by the promise of retribution. His body may be broken, his soul battered, but his mind is clear. 

  

He will find him. 

[aishangotome]

[Gilbert] Cleaning Time with Love - Part 1

In the mighty military nation of Obsidian, its ruler, despite their noble status, keeps no servants by their side.

Therefore, they must attend to all their personal needs, except for meals ––

Emma: Gil, what should we do with that shelf?

Gilbert: Ah, please take care of it. I don't believe it holds any classified information.

Emma: Leave it to me.

Inside Gilbert's study, a place strictly off-limits to outsiders, I take items from the shelves, dust them off, and put them back in their places.

It's a simple task, but the study is vast, and before I knew it, the sun has set.

(But it's visibly getting cleaner.)

(It's tiring, but rewarding and fun.)

It seems that in the past, Roderich used to help with this, but since I arrived, I've been given that role.

Gilbert: It's just that...

Gilbert: I'm bored.

Emma: We're almost done, so let's keep going.

Gilbert: That 'almost done' is the troublesome part.

Gilbert: Little rabbit, how can you keep going without getting bored?

Emma: Of course I'm going to do my best if Gil needs me!

Emma: There aren't many ways I can be useful, so I want to give it my all when I have the chance.

(...? What's in this box?)

While talking, I take a document box engraved with a rose carving from the shelf.

It's unexpectedly heavy, putting the arm strength I've developed from my bookstore job to the test.

Gilbert: What are you saying? You're always helping me.

Gilbert: Thank you.

Emma: !?

It seems Prince Gilbert had approached me from behind without me noticing. Surprised by the kindness in his "thank you" whispered into my ear, I accidentally drop the document box I was holding.

Emma: I-I'm so sorry!

Gilbert: Ahaha, you're so easy to startle.

The impact of hitting the floor scatters the contents of the box, documents flying everywhere.

Prince Gilbert is laughing, but I feel like I'm about to faint.

I hurriedly gather the documents, trying to put them back in the box.

––In doing so, the words inevitably catch my eye.

Emma: "Rhodolite's Periodic Report"?

Gilbert: Ah.

Emma: ...This is...

––This week's visitors: 17. Of which, 8 female, 9 male. No suspicious behavior. The subject's health is also good. Matters of concern: Movements are slower compared to normal times. Possibility of injury. Requires follow-up observation. A detailed report will be sent after investigation at a later date.

(This must be something I'm not supposed to see...)

Gilbert: Oh dear, you saw it.

Prince Gilbert gently places his hand on my frozen shoulder.

Gilbert: What should we do?

Emma: ...You said there wasn't any classified information...

Gilbert: Yeah, I forgot about that.

Emma: ......

Gilbert: I have to silence the little rabbit who saw something she shouldn't have.

Prince Gilbert kneels before me, brings his face close with an amused look, and lightly pecks my lips.

Emma: ...So it wasn't anything that bad, huh?

Gilbert: Ahaha, you're starting to understand me better, aren't you?

(If it really was something I shouldn't have seen, Prince Gilbert wouldn't be so forgiving.)

(Besides, he's not the type to carelessly reveal secrets.)

I calm my racing heart and lower my gaze to the documents in my hands.

The more I look at it, the stranger this report seems.

Prince Gilbert, as Obsidian's Field Marshal, is intently eyeing Rhodolite's territory.

But the contents of this report, to an untrained eye, seem to have no value whatsoever.

It's just a record of the actions of a certain bookstore employee. There's a possibility it's some kind of code, but I can't imagine it's worth the attention of a royal from a major power.

(No, wait...)

(A bookstore in Rhodolite's territory?)

(...)

Emma: .............Gil.

(There's only one bookstore Prince Gilbert would have his eye on.)

Emma: Could this report...be about me?

Gilbert: Ahaha, you got me.

(Just how long has this been going on...?)

Judging by the dates on the report, it seems to go back quite a while, even before I was chosen as Belle –– several years, in fact.

(Perhaps since I started managing the store for the owner?)

I knew Prince Gilbert had spies in the city, but I had no idea such detailed reports existed, leaving me speechless.

(This explains why he was so strangely well-informed about my past.)

It seems like he's gotten more information from spies than from the owner.

Emma: I had no idea.

Gilbert: The spy I assigned to you is one of Obsidian's best.

Gilbert: His name is Michael. Does that ring a bell?

Emma: Eh...? No way, Michael was a spy!?

(I know him well. He's a regular customer who started coming in after I began looking after the store alone.)

I've had casual conversations with Michael from time to time, so there's no way I could forget him.

Gilbert: I'm sorry. I didn't intend to have you followed at first.

Gilbert: You were just an ordinary citizen of Rhodolite, not someone a royal from a military power would be concerned with.

Gilbert: But I was forced to assign a spy to you.

*flashback*

Gilbert: --Akatsuki. Are you serious?

.

.

.

Part 2

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to leave me a tip or buy me a coffee through the “Leave a Tip” button on my navigation bar!

[gingerteafairy]

𝙪𝙣𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙙 (𝙢𝙖𝙭 𝙘𝙤𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧)

Destiny has funny ways to bring you back to your soulmate.

tags n warnings: soulmates, alcohol, mutual mast, comfort sex, idiots in love. word count: 2.4k

Face to face. Same bed. You’d finally mustered the courage to fight for your love. Jake held your hand, his grip firm yet comforting after defending you from a group of rowdy party goers who thought they could push you around. The muffled thrum of electronic music buzzed in the background.

Now, he was beside you, arms around your shoulders, comforting you on his bed. He'd offered you a safe place to stay for the night, his concern so genuine it only confirmed what you’d suspected for years. After crushing on him for what felt like forever, you were absolutely certain he felt the same. This wasn’t just an opportunity—it was the opportunity.

“I love you,” you murmured, closing your eyes and leaning in, heart racing.

“Aww, my little sister’s finally stopped being a brat. I love you too.”

He chuckled, his chest vibrating against you as he pulled you closer.

Your eyes flew open.

Oh. My. God.

You forced an awkward giggle, your cheeks flaming. “Jake, I didn’t mean it like that. I love you more than… you know… friends.”

“Oh, I know that,” he replied with a smirk, tapping your nose playfully. “You’re too obvious, silly girl.”

The ground might as well have swallowed you whole. Shocked, you jerked back, the sudden movement throwing you off balance. You rolled off the edge of the bunk bed and landed with a loud thud on the floor below.

“Jesus, are you okay?” Jake leaned over the side, his brows furrowed as he tried not to laugh.

Flat on your back, you stared at the ceiling, blinking back tears. “I’m fine. I’m so fucking fine.” Your voice cracked as sobs bubbled out of you. “Everything is fucking perfect.”

Scrambling to your feet, you stumbled toward the door. Jake’s voice called after you, pleading for you to stay and insisting that nothing would change between you. Yeah, right. Nothing would change—except that you’d just confessed your love and been sister-zoned. How could you be so naive?

You didn’t look back, pushing open another door at random. All you needed was a quiet space to cry and mourn the fantasy of Jake proposing on one knee after your big confession.

But instead, a groggy male voice startled you. “Who’s there?”

You froze. Of course. Because tonight wasn’t terrible enough already, you had to walk in on someone else.

Wiping your tears, you turned toward the voice, and your heart dropped. Max Cooperman. Your high school best friend. The guy who’d confessed his crush on you two years ago—then promptly disappeared without giving you a chance to respond.

Max squinted at you, his curls a wild mess as he sat up in the bed. Recognition dawned in his sleepy eyes, and he bolted upright. “Christ’s sake!” he exclaimed, scrambling out of the bed so fast he stumbled to the floor.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the absurdity of it all making you giddy. “Would it be less weird if I said I did the exact same thing five minutes ago?”

“Probably makes it more weird,” he muttered, rubbing his back and grimacing as he stood. “Fell from a bed, huh?”

“Worse,” you admitted, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Bunk bed and my dignity.”

His laughter erupted, filling the room with a familiar warmth. He collapsed onto the bed beside you, rubbing his temples. “This night just keeps getting better, doesn’t it?”

For the first time, you looked at him—really looked at him. His shoulders were broader, his curls a little looser but never out of its greasy charm, his face sharper yet somehow still soft in the glow of the bedside lamp. Time had turned Max Cooperman into someone you almost didn’t recognize.

“It’s… good to see you,” he began, his voice hesitant as he met your gaze.

“Yeah,” you replied, offering your hand for a handshake. “Good to see you too.”

His hand enveloped yours, firm but careful. “You look great,” he remarked with a small smile.

“Working out and stuff?” you teased, arching an eyebrow.

He shrugged. “Something like that. You’re not too bad yourself.”

You laughed softly, the tension between you melting into something easier. This was Max—funny, easygoing, and impossible to stay mad at. Even after all this time, he made you feel safe.

“Where’ve you been all this time?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

“Traveling. Taking pictures. Kinda fighting and learing things of my gun obsession.” He paused, his voice quieter. “Mostly with Jake.”

The mention of Jake sent a pang through your chest, and your smile faltered. “Oh… Jake. Yeah.”

Max tilted his head, his curls bouncing. “Rejected?”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “God, it was awful. He didn’t just friend-zone me—he sister-zoned me. Can you believe that?”

Max burst out laughing, clutching his stomach as he rolled back onto the bed.

“Why are you laughing, idiot?” you demanded, throwing a pillow at him.

“Because!” he gasped between fits of laughter. “Rejection! You rejected me, and now you’re being rejected. Karma’s real, chica.”

You froze, then shook your head. “That’s not true. I didn’t reject you, Max. You didn’t even give me a chance to respond! You just… ran off.”

His laughter faded, replaced by a sheepish grin. “Because I thought you didn’t feel the same. You would run into my arms if you did.”

“Maybe I didn’t know what I felt back then,” you admitted softly. “But you didn’t stick around to find out. Ran like a pussy.”

Max lilted his head, his eyes searching yours. “So… what would you have said?”

You hesitated, your breath catching as a strange warmth filled the space between you. Then, with a smirk, you shoved him lightly. “Guess you’ll never know.”

Max’s grin deepened, his dimples showing as he teased, “Fair enough. But for the record? Watching you awkwardly standing there like a plant when I left town—that was a moment of pure privilege.”

You giggled, poking the tip of his nose. “You're adorable, Max.”

“Is there any way i can make you feel good?” He suggested, plopping on his elbow.

You looked at him thoughtfully, pondering Max's not-so-innocent idea, taking longer than usual to open your mouth. "This will ruin our friendship forever." you murmured, sheepish, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

"It always sucked, anyway" he teases, shrugging to lie down on the bed again. You chuckled softly, the sound barely audible, and shifted closer. Your fingers brushed against his arm, warm and familiar, as his hand lazily found its way to your cheek.

“C’mere,” he whispered, his words slow, like he was dragging them through a dream. “Max’s gonna make you feel good, okay?”

You leaned in without thinking, your movements languid and unhurried. His lips met yours in a kiss that was soft, barely more than a brush, as if both of you were too tired to put in the effort but couldn’t resist the pull. It was warm, comforting, and achingly sweet.

You hummed, hearing the soft kiss sounds while you straddle your legs on his, moaning when he gripped your waist, his thigh slightly brushing in your core.

When you pulled away, your foreheads rested together, neither of you bothering to move further.

“cant believe im already wet,” you whispered, giggling, though your voice lacked comfort.

“im worse, im aching down here,” he replied, his lips quirking into a small, sleepy smile. “should’ve jerk off before sleeping, i’d last longer.”

“Nooo.” you cooed, cupping his face, pursing his lips. “i wanna see you cumming.”

“Fuck, don't say that.” He whimpered, lazily snaking his hand to your butt, pulling you up to meet his erection. You licked your lips, aroused. “Feel what you do to me? I used to jerk off on highschool thinking about we fucking like this.”

“Why don't we do it?” You teased, looking at him through your lashes, daring to lift your dress. He downed his eyes, paying careful attention to each tiny movement. You took his hand, shyly directing it to your panties. “Max. Show me how you jerked off f’ me.”

“What?” He gulped, struggling to look at your face again, his concentration was all on how wet you were and how his hand touched you now and how warm his fingerprints felt you. His eyebrows lifted to his hairline when he realized, clearing his throat. “Yeah, i.-ill do it."

He took his hand off you reluctantly and worked on peeling off his jeans and underwear, his veiny cock flushed with forming adorable pre-cum you needed to taste, touching it with your fingers to suck it in your mouth, savoring it slowly.

“Fuck.” He whispered, watching the scene.

His hand subconsciously traveled to wrap his cock as he saw your taste bud recognizing Max flavor. He gave a few pumps, his eyes accompanied your hand snaking to your panties, grasping the hem and peeling off your body. You take a deep breath, opening your legs for him seeing you work on your clit, slowly as his hand.

“Max…” you purr, feeling his piercing eyes, stroking your clit in gentle circles, threatening to put a finger inside, only getting some liquid to aid the movement. Max swallowed, increasing the pace on his fist when you finally put one of your fingers inside, arching your back.

“Y-yeah?” he stuttered with semi-closed eyes at you, gulping, stroking himself.

“Make me feel good,” You whined, biting your lips.

“Yeah…Yeah, sure.”He nodded, heady, glued on your glistening cunt. Max uncurled his fingers from himself and brought you closer by the hand. He swallowed hard, feeling like his head was in the clouds as he brought the tip closer to your pussy. “Is it okay?”He stares at your both privates together, humming at the intimacy.

“I want you, Max. I need you.” You purred, rolling on his erection.He pressed into you, letting out a whimper when fully inside, slapping a hand over his mouth, cheeks reddening in embarrassment. “Fuck, sorry. It 's…”

You chuckle softly, shoving his hand and placing it on your chest. “Don’t hold back, I like it.”

He nods, taking you with both hands, reassuring himself you wouldn't just disappear as he begins to move. “hmmmm, baby, you feel so good” you moan, catching him with your arms, breathing together as your mouths gap, his tongue slightly out as he shutted his eyes, feeling your walls hugging him.

“Yeah?” He smirked. Max looks at you proudly as he gains enough confidence to fasten his sway and roll your dress up, roaming his smart hands all over your body, devouring your lips in a wet passionate kiss you weren't exactly to retribute. Max felt good enough to break up your system and surrender to his passion. Fuck, he was better than anyone. He was perfect, enough to have you gasping onto his mouth at each harsh, rough, raw and lovely thrust he gave.

“Max, sweetheart. Ohshit, this….” you mewl, breaking the kiss with him nipping it. He pecks it, looking under to see his cock moisturized with your arousal, you moaning and he was the cause of all that. He felt you close, which made him double the speed, grabbing your neck.

“you wanna cum?” he hoarses, swaying his hips desperately as he licked your lips and kept eye contact with you, swallowing to prevent his eyes from shutting when you nodded and shutted yours. “open yours eyes, you gonna cum? cum on me, cum f’ me.”

He changed positions without leaving your inside, placing you on your back while he took your hands and intertwined them with his fingers, holding you with one hand in a firm grip, the other placing one of your legs next to his head. Deep, you would cum with Max cock’s kissing your cervix.

“Oh, fuuck.” you cry out, when he reaches your g-spot, convulsing. “Do that again, don’t. Fuck, Max. Oh my God, honey, hmmm…..” You babbled as you trembled, this orgasm would hit you hard like a train. And so it did, arching your back like a cat as you screamed and curled your toes, creaming Max’s cock.

He whimpered by your walls clenching, whispering sweetly in your ear. “You’re so hot, you’re…everything. Shit, if you keep doing this im cumming. Hmmmm, you made f’ me. Shit, shit.”

He breathed heavily on your neck sensitive skin before brushing your lips together again. He felt pulsating and pushed back his sensitive cock, stroking himself at the scene of you still trembling of your late climax, cumming all over your belly.

Max remained frozen, gazing at your belly marked by him and the marks he caused on you, drawn on your neck. He was so surprised that he started choking on his own saliva, coughing.

“Oh my God, Max!” You desperately raised up to help him, tapping his back to help him but he was only getting redder. “God, shit. Oh, God. Water. Shit, where’s the water?” you crawled on the bed, standing up and reaching for a glass of God-knows-what and handing him.

Max drank and coughed even more. “What the hell’ve you given me? Vodka?” he choked, throwing the glass on the floor and slamming his chest and deep breathing relieved when the almost dead experience ended.

You faced him silently before you both burst into a heart-laugh, where you collapsed on the floor with him, laughing even harder when he coughed again. “Fuck, thiswill never end.” you choked suddenly and he laughed even louder.

“Karma, fucking karma again.” he squeaks, rolling on the floor, you crawled to climb on his lap and he immediately shut off, holding your hips. “I…”

“Max, you okay man? Heard you screaming and-” you froze up at Jake’s voice, turning your head to face him over your shoulder as he relaxed and a smirk widened on his face. “I knew it, I KNEW IT.”

“No, Jake!” you scream and paused, looking down and seeing you with no panties, dress covered in cum and Max pantless. “Fuck, yes. That’s what you’re seeing. Max and i, we fucked and you can suck a dick, Jake because you’re a big son of a bitch.”

He grinned. “Thank God you're unmatched with me. I always cheered for you and he ended up together, you the only one I can trust with, Max.”

The poor Max that was silent (and naked) all the time lifted his hands up in surrender. “I swear I didn't make anything.”he promised and you sigh, looking with sweet eyes at him.

“shut the fucking door, Jake.” you began, not even bothering to look behind. You bite your lip, watching Max swallow hard. “Now it's my turn to make you feel good, Max.”

[mysticwolfshadows]

Taken - Zutara - Part 79

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Katara had been right. By the end of her first week back in the South, Northern boats appeared on the horizon. But it wasn't just women looking to learn combat bending. There were women escaping arranged marriages, men that wanted to be healers, and mothers helping their children escape the oppression and sexism of the North.

One had brought a letter from Yue, explaining that she had been finding anyone that was starting to question Agna Qel'a and it's leaderships choices, and helping them flee with directions to the South. She had been doing so in secret, ever since her wedding to Hahn.

"We're... gonna need more houses," Sokka said, as they realized that the chances of more arrivals were high.

The rebuilding effort of their village was coming along nicely.

The Wani had been loaded with materials before its departure, which had helped turn their little snow huts into little snow houses. Captain Jee hadn't been able to stay, bringing any of the Fire Nation refugees that wanted to leave back to the Fire Nation. A few had stayed, one man having found a woman that he was quite taken with, while others found the peace of the little village more appealing than the hustle of most Fire Nation cities.

And, of course, there was Rinzo and Taka. The two soldiers hovered and smiled, doing anything that she asked, save for leave her alone for five minutes. She supposed, if they already saw her as their Fire Lady, it would be good practice for when she took the position officially.

For the new benders, they decided to build an all in one school. One side for combat training, the other for healing. It would go where her healers hut had been. They were able to bend the snow into a rough thick shape of what they wanted. Sokka and a few of the more architecturally inclined would go in and smooth out their work to make it look nice.

With the Fire Nation citizens that stayed, and the Northern Tribesmen that joined them, almost the entirety of Wolf Cove had been rebuilt, in a more modern style. They had a longhouse again, next to the bending school. There was currently construction on a larger, more secure storehouse.

If Katara hadn't been there to see construction begin, she likely wouldn't recognize it.

It was at the end of the week that Aang finally arrived on Appa.

"Whoa," Aang said, as he dropped off of Appa and looked around. "This is... I know I only saw it for a minute, but it's way different!"

"With my dad and the warriors home, we need the extra space," Katara said. She shrugged, putting her hands in the sleeves of her red koala-sheep tunic. It was getting tight again. "How's Zuko?"

Immediately, Aang cringed. "He's... Fine. Juggling Azula, foreign affairs proposals, internal issues. He's got his hands full, that's for sure."

Her heart sank. "I wish I was there to help. Did he... decide what to do with Azula?"

Aang nodded. "I took her bending."

The confession was grim, and Katara felt the weight of it as heavily as Aang did. It was a terrible decision to have to make. Azula was only a few months older than Katara, and it was Ozai that really pushed Azula into what she became, but there really wasn't much else they could do. Azula needed help, but she was too dangerous to be given it without a safeguard in place.

There had been no other options.

"Come on," Katara said, redirecting the conversation. People were starting to gather around them. "My dad is in the long house. You have a plan for the peace summit?"

"I do," Aang said, though he didn't seem sure.

Deciding not to press him, especially since she'd be getting answers soon enough anyway, Katara led him into the long house. It was by far the largest building in the tribe, meant to be able to have standing room for every member, and they built it with their soon to be growing population in mind.

"Avatar Aang," her father called, from where he was going over maps of the surrounding area with Sokka.

Her mother looked up from where she was braiding cords nearby, frowning. "Aang? The boy that attacked Zuko?"

Aang sheepishly laughed. "Err... Yeah, sorry. Katara and Sokka had just told me about the war, and I kinda freaked out."

Her mother hummed.

"Whatcha got for us?" Sokka said, before they could get distracted. "Anything from Suki? Did they head back to Kyoshi yet?"

So much for not getting distracted.

"They're still in Caldera City," Aang explained, offhandedly as he reached into his robes to pull out a tightly rolled scroll. "Chief Hakoda, this is for you."

Her father frowned, taking the scroll and breaking an orange wax seal. Katara moved to her fathers side, looking over his shoulder to read, as Sokka did the same on the other side.

It was an invitation, written in a pristine script that Katara recognized as Aang's hand writing.

You are invited to the first ever Four Nations Peace Summit. This summit is meant to bridge the divide of nations, so we can all work together to find lasting peace and balance. The leaders of each nation will be discussing various topics, including but not limited to: assigning ambassadors, trade routes, goals for the coming year. This is planned to be a three day summit, with the opening ceremony happening on the night of the first day of the ninth month, in Ba Sing Se. We are looking forward to seeing you there! - Avatar Aang of the Air Nomands

Katara felt her eye twitch. "Aang..."

"Iroh gave me a few tips when I was drafting it," the young monk said, smiling oh so proudly.

"Why does the summit start the day of the comet?!"

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[ropebunnykant]

alright so exactly one person asked about my use for the parallel scene i used in this taming x thk web weave (thank you @hurlumerlu you have nooo idea how much i was wanting to go in depth about this but was holding myself back shskdhd) so here’s a bit of an explanation!

for context, the parallel i was attempting to draw is lucentio asking bianca to elope versus kant suggesting that he and bison run away together. and the thing about that parallel specifically is that we don’t actually see bianca and lucentio discuss eloping in the play.

at this point in the play, lucentio and bianca are essentially backed into a corner when it comes to their courtship. while they’ve both agreed they love each other and want to get married, they're also unable to despite all of their obstacles being out of the way and it's kind of lucentio's fault? like objectively it's more baptista's, because he's the one that set the rule about no one being able to marry bianca until katherine was married, but it's still lucentio's way of dealing with it that leads to them being stuck in this tricky situation. despite katherine now being married and lucentio technically able to pursue her freely, he isn't able to because he has spent the entire play disguised as her school teacher (called cambio) and has had his friend/servant, tranio, pretending to be him and acting as the actual suitor. and while sure, tranio can continue his "courtship" of bianca in that way, it wouldn't actually be lucentio that ends up marrying her if that's the case. so, it's all basically a mess that they would have to confess and explain to baptista. so this other character biondello decides to help them out and set up an elopement for them - better to ask for forgiveness than permission right?

but, in the play, we only see biondello telling lucentio about these arrangements he's made, and then later we briefly see lucentio, bianca, and biondello meeting up before they go offstage to have the two of them elope. we never actually see bianca and lucentio discuss eloping - and it's because of the line that i used in the parallel.

after talking to biondello about the arrangements, lucentio is left alone on the stage and he says "i may and will, if she be so contented. / she will be pleas'd, then wherefore should I doubt? / hap what hap may, i'll roundly go to her; / it shall go hard if cambio go without her." which, roughly what he's saying here is "i'll go ask her. i'm sure she'll be happy about it."

essentially the reason we aren't shown bianca and lucentio discussing the idea of eloping is because it's assumed that she'll say yes. there's no doubt that she wants to marry lucentio, that she wants them to be together, and if this is the only way for it to work out for them, lucentio knows she'll do it. and while i used the line because it is the closest we get to him outright asking her in the play, it also makes such a delicious parallel when compared to the heart killers.

because in that scene at the bowling alley, kant and bison are stuck in a situation partially of kant's own making. yes, at the end of the day it's captain christ's fault that he's in this situation, but kant is the one that ratted bison out, kant is the one that fell in love, and kant is the one laying on the floor of the bowling alley with bison, asking him to run away together.

because kant knows it's their only way out. but the difference is that kant doesn't know that bison will say yes with the same surety that lucentio knows bianca will. he lets himself hope in that moment, but he's not surprised when the answer comes and its a no. because bison doesn't understand the stakes in the same way bianca does. because bianca was let in the whole time on what was going on, but kant hid things from bison and bison closed his eyes to it all until it was too late. and so he doesn't know the severity of what kant is asking, how it's their only chance at being together. and even if he did, would he even say yes to kant then, knowing the truth? knowing kant is the reason their only way of being together is to run? it's just... so heartbreaking from every angle in that sense.

[pocket-vvardvark]

WIP Wednesday

Ty for the tag @skyrim-forever @thequeenofthewinter <33

I'd like to tag: @aviel-the-trans-bucket @hircines-hunter @fangsandsoftgrass @kiir-do-faal-rahhe @scholarlyhermit @sanza-17 @sulphuricgrin @changelingsandothernonsense @progmetol @varlaisvea @yansurnummu @yewphoric @lucius-the-sinful no pressure as always!! ♥️♥️♥️🥰 Love ya'll with my whole heart

I've got a new chapter in the works for sweet decay 🤪 so, here's the WIP under the cut bc it's sorta long

Rivenspire is cloaked in the warmth of the sunrise. Blooming across dry earth, it softens the land’s foreboding appearance into something habitable. Having been awake for far too long, Verandis palms his sunken eyes as the soft glow filters in through open windows behind him. At the very least, the weather was somewhat pleasant in favor of the most recent heatwave. His body is no longer among the living, but the heat still drove him onto the edge of exhaustion just as easily as it would to a human. Voyage to Lillandril would be a pleasant escape to the lingering heat, and a part of him missed Summerset. Among the cities in Summerset, he supposed Lillandril was the fairest. Cradled upon the sea, the wind which swept only the most beautiful flowers was tinted with a satisfying chill against the heat. His thoughts shift to Angelica; briefly imagining her time on the island. Yesterday, she mentioned her distaste for Altmer culture, which was fair in its own right. No matter how hard a half-breed attempted to live up to their purpose, no full-blooded Altmer would label them anything but an Ephem. As saddening as it was, this was the way of his people. Thumbing over a groove on the hardwood of his desk, Verandis mulls over his relationship with the pesky minx. It was growing, that's unfortunately true, but to what extent? It had been an incredibly long time since he called another his lover, and oddly enough, Angelica didn't seem the type. She seemed content to toy with him, refusing to acknowledge him as anything other than good fun. Although, her gentleness from the other day did start to confuse him. The whole situation vexed him; feeling like a bumbling idiot left in the dark of some grand plan. Years of building House Ravenwatch softened him, and maybe that was why he was far too slow on the uptake. Regardless, the job needed to be completed, and he supposed he should use her…talents she so dramatically bragged about. The sun rises above the trees, signaling it was time to move. Verandis does so, gathering the bare essentials and finally roaming the halls until he reaches Angelica’s room. Raising a hand to knock, his knuckles fail to reach the door as it's opened before he can. 

She smiles. It's surprisingly bright for how strangely she acted the other day. Another facade? He'll see in time, Verandis assumes. 

“So…it's time?” Casting red hair aside, she tugs it into a messy bun of locks, then pats her leathers down. Ah, another surprise; that she's actually wearing proper clothes this time.

Prepared to suffer by her hand from whatever acts of mischief she'll no doubt drum up, Verandis answers with the utmost exasperation, “Yes. Bring along what you need.” Squinting, he watches as she disappears back into her room to procure a satchel.

“I do hope that's necessary.” 

Laughing as she peeks into the standing mirror, she makes one final adjustment to push her breasts up. “Oh, hush. We're taking a trip to the market, right? I'll need gold for that…among other things.”

‘Among other things’, that little remark did not inspire much of anything in him but annoyance. She hoists her arm into his, linking together as she bats her lashes. “I’ve been waiting for a chance like this; to come along on some grand adventure with the Count of House Ravenwatch. My sister told me all about you, you know.” 

He's pulled along with her, walking a stride slower due to their height differences. It would seem her younger sister had a bit of a loose tongue. Thinking about Alethia softens his expression, though, he knows there was no ill intent behind her excited story-telling. She couldn't keep a secret, that much he knew.

“Did she, now? I can only pray she had good things to tell.” They pass the doors, already walking down the rough, cracked path to shornhelm. 

Making a sound rivaling that of a disgruntled guar, he’s bewildered enough to glance down at her. She sticks her tongue out once he does, “That's what I think about your stupid attempts at being posh. Or…maybe you're shy. Are you shy, count?”

She snorts, tugging at their linked arms with an impish grin. 

“You-” Verandis scoffs, but he makes no move to wriggle away, only yielding to her kisses placed on his cheek. “I'm not shy. You're just…too overzealous for me. Not even Gwendis is this tiring, I should have you know.” 

Gasping dramatically, she feigns a sniffle, “Breaking my heart so soon? How could you…I thought we shared something special.” 

“Special? Hm, I had the distinct feeling I was but only a tryst to you, Angelica.” Their footsteps halt on the barren path of dirt as Verandis stops. He grazes a knuckle over her cheek, relishing in her sudden speechlessness. There's a hint of intrigue in her eyes, but something much less distinct; embarrassment. 

“Tsk, tsk…” the pad of his thumb strokes the tip of her cheek bone, “Projecting, are we?” 

Life spreads back into her features, moving her lips as her expression excites, “Projecting? No way, now you've got to buy me something like you promised.” 

Nothing gets past her, he's sure of that as she reminds him of what foolish words he uttered last night. It almost worked, if she hadn't been so perceptive. No matter, it would prove useful in the next days they’d spend together 

“A shame you hadn't kept your promise, then.” She blinks, fascinated by the ethereal hue his carmine eyes take against the bright sunshine. It steals her breath away, causing the briefest stirring deep in her belly. Truthfully, she was beginning to fluster at the sight of him like this; gazing down at her with such a romantic expression, like he could dip her back any second for a kiss. There was no love lost between any number of her trysts and herself, as the fickle emotion only served to complicate things. It stood in the back of her mind, though, as if it tempted her into taking that step. Oddly numb, she couldn't make sense whether she even wanted love. Sure, she'd never stayed quite this long with any of her romps, but it felt strange to just up and leave like they never met. Perhaps it was as her mother said, that one day she would want to settle down, to be with the one man who stole her heart. A flush does make its way to her cheeks, so light a dusting that Verandis nearly mistakes it for the sun on her skin. She takes her own embarrassing reaction in stride, smiling to him so lovingly that they both falter in each other’s grasp. Unlike the night they shared, it is him who concedes first, his grasp brushing away so softly she misses it. Clearing his throat, they continue down the path until Shornhelm can be peered at in the distance. The blob grows until she can see the roofs, the people, and of course, the market. Angelica observes the sights, its fairly different from both of her homelands from what she can recall from both Summerset and Western Skyrim. Hard times have clearly claimed most of Rivenspire’s goods and, frankly, the morale, too. Most shopowners looked more like they were proud owners of shacks rather than appealing homes; it went double for their wares, unfortunately. The only exciting things left were the rare pieces of jewelry she spotted along the way, and the occasional sneak she took of the count’s face while he was deep in thought. A local apothecary catches her attention, drawing her closer until several ingredients greet her eyes. The woman looks only to be a few years younger than herself, smiling but ragged after whatever turned shornhelm into turmoil. Hopefully, after her sister’s little adventure here, things would get better. Nevertheless, Angelica wasn’t entirely heartless, so she took what little ingredients were left and paid a little extra. She winks, and tugs the count along before the young woman can argue against the generous amount of coins splayed across the worn market stall.

“Well…I believe that’s all I’ll be in need of. Never hurts to pack a few poisons.”

If he noticed what happened, which she realizes he must, it doesn’t earn her a conversation. Either perturbed by her shocking display of kindness, or their recently shared embarrassment, Angelica cannot tell beneath his seemingly aloof gaze. 

“We should get a move on, then. Rivenspire lacks ferries, so we’ll have to carriage our way to Glenumbra.” She wants to kick herself for feeling disappointed he doesn’t thrust his arm out for her to hold, but makes due with this new development. It’s not like they were close, but she was finding herself longing for some type of…praise from doing good. Divines, did whatever happened last night really affect her that badly? She hadn’t thought so, until her thoughts soured from every woman which passed their way to ogle Verandis’ human disguise. A part of herself swelled in pride when they sunk back down upon her appearance by his side. That feeling was only doubled when she realized they would never know his secret, and such an intimate secret it was. Jealousy wasn’t her style, but she wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to swathe the Count in her perfume before exiting the castle next time. He certainly smelled better in it than whatever ancient perfume he wore beside her. Curious, she peeks over to marvel at his disguise. Honestly, she preferred how he always looked; with eyes as red as rubies and alabaster skin. It simultaneously enthralled and got her feeling rather heated. Such raw and dangerous intent was no longer evident in his now honey-colored eyes, and that left her feeling quite bored. Although…she could make due with those amber eyes if they watched her with the utmost adoration; that would be her goal for the day.

Grinning, she’s back to her confident self, looking as mischievous as a nixad. He realizes she snickers like one, too.

“Do I dare ask what you’re conjuring up behind me? I fear you, at times.”

Prancing back to his side, her fingers curl into his own, forcing him to slow his stride once more.

“Nothing much, just admiring the view.”

He snorts, “Of my backside? How quaint.”

Nudging him, he gains an eyeful of the sweet little twist of her lips, “It's a very disarming backside.” 

Sighing, he can't help but chuckle at that, “Whatever shall I do with you?”

His eyes jump between her own, searching for the reply her lips twitch with. Angelica settles for a gentle peck on his nose, laughing when he wrinkles it from the tickle. 

“I'm sure you'll dream up some elaborate plan to keep me quiet, darling.” 

[soullessxpandora]

"You were grieving too as much as I, my darling, a grief too terrible to name. It turns out that perhaps we are the venom poisoning ourselves and each other." Pandora would work through the rest of their eternity banishing those dark thoughts claiming her husband's mind and ensure they never returned as long as they are at each other's rightful side. "You hold more compassion in your smallest finger than I ever had in my whole body, love, and you've proven it with the kindness I see in your eyes." When her gaze found Ezekiel's features, she saw Rhys staring back at her. The resemblance was uncanny and had she possessed a photograph of Zeke in her younger years before their marriage, she would show it to their son hoping he will see father and child weren't so different. "What I fed him for the years we spent crafting the curse and perfecting, was toxicity that has become a ticking time bomb of chaos magic. How Celeste managed it during their childhood, I can never fathom." It would take a miracle to bring back the boy Pandora unknowingly manipulated. A miracle that hinged on a demon Prince looking to make amends for his brother and a witch who possessed a First's bloodline. If Celeste did return, that is their only shot at Rhys' salvation.

Pandora must face the cold-hearted truth, her plan fell in shattered ruins. While she believed there might have been an uprising among the brothers eventually if they shown the strengthened courage back in Hell, she kickstarted the reasons behind their punishments. No curse meant no Gluttony losing his voice, no Sloth hearing screams in his head, no emotionless Pride, or the need to fly under the radar like Lust or Greed. Distance and meeting their significant others, on the opposite end of the spectrum, gave the brothers a glimpse of happiness away from the King's harsh rule. She owed breaking the curse to sustain the lives they have made here on the mortal plane. "I see how he scrambles for the last scrap of power like the fiendish coward we both know he is. The King's days are numbered." What a gift she and her husband will provide, freedom and the Princes' one true chance surviving the war's brutal battles. Pandora lifted herself on her toes and pressed a kiss to Ezekiel's lips, pouring her love and gratitude in each moment. Pulling away slowly, she nodded once with finality. "It will be a new dawn. Wrath graciously spared some of his blood to me for the sword and I plan on using it to break the curse just as I did with Pride's during its creation."

His eyes softened at his wife's words, shaking his head gently, "you never made me doubt for a moment, my love. I knew you were suffering and doing what you thought you needed to grieve. It was my own mind that poisoned me and my thoughts." There was a string that attached Ezekiel to Pandora, a red string of fate so strong that no matter what struck against it, it never snapped. That didn't mean, however, that it couldn't be hidden through years of tragedy and pain. Zeke shook his head, warm eyes never leaving Pandora's face. "My love, a mother grieving untold amounts of pain does those things. If you had zero compassion, then you would not have reacted the way you did... as for our son," a short beat passed as he thought of his boy. Rhys was always his spitting image, like someone who held a mirror to Ezekiel at a younger age, yet he knew his son was too much like his mother. "You may have lit the match of his rage, but his own grief was the kerosene. I'm afraid his own attachment to his sister would have poisoned him regardless, but maybe after time allows... we can bring him back, too." It would be a trial, perhaps one even harder than killing the Devil. Where Pandora had Zeke to balance her out once she allowed him to, Rhys held no attachments to anyone, and his moral compass was obliterated. Zeke didn't want to say it out loud in case it never came to fruition, but their best shot of bringing Rhys back from the brink was bringing his twin back to life– although that almost seemed too selfish to place on Celeste's shoulders.

Zeke dared not move while his Panny absorbed his words, feeling the panic flitting through her veins when coming face to face with the reality of their situation and the vain dream of what she wanted the curse to be. It was a valiant attempt at retribution. However, such an act only worked on someone who cared for those who were stripped away from them, and he knew the King would never have the capacity to care for the Princes as Pandora did for Celeste. The curse, however, was a double-edged sword. While the impact on the King wasn't as monumental as his wife would have hoped, it forever altered the boys' lives. Showing them a life outside of the clutches of their King and that there were other things to live for outside of duty and sacrifice for a man who cared not for them. "My darling, your promises to the King can change. He now feels the destruction of his kingdom when those Princes come for him. He's witnessing his downfall in real time, and there's nothing we can do that is more harrowing." Ezekiel didn't follow her as she moved, rooted to his spot, but he breathed a small sigh of relief when she agreed. It was a small glimpse that the wife he knew was underneath it all, and everything was finally aligning in the cosmos. "Our gift," he echoed, taking her hand as she grabbed for him, "we make Wrath's sword and then we break the curse. The end of the King's chapter is the beginning of all of ours, my love."

[trekkerac]

the only thing that will get me back into sonic full force is a good sonic adventure remake