#this whole cast ate I was genuinely shocked

[transformersarelikemagicalgirlz]

AITA for Waging Civil War on an Ex Friend of Mine After they Undermined my Entire Political Movement/Uprising? [submitted by Gladiator01]

For context: I, (2,000,000 M), and many others, had been stuck since birth in a job we couldn’t quit in grueling unsafe and dangerous conditions; and to add to that the employers didn’t care in the slightest for their workers and saw them more as tools that were expendable, and this kind of thinking was deeply rooted in everyone, thanks to the current government.

Once I escaped the situation, I started speaking up and gaining like minded followers, and started an uprising for equal rights for the working class (I’ll spare you the details or what we did to get there because the rumors about bombing innocence were NOT true) with the intention of completely dismantling our current system.

This (ex) online friend of mine is who is a librarian of all things and had been living a ‘low-middle’ caste life when I met him, and he actually went out of his way to come meet me in person. Being able to talk in person made us grow closer, he’d been moved by my speeches and seemingly was fully in support of the end goal we sought to achieve.

Advisors of mine didn’t trust him but we’d already been to talking and at that point he seemed really genuine, I (unfortunately) didn’t think twice about including him in a future meeting with our ruling powers at the time, which I knew was bound to determine whether or not this whole campaign would become full blown war. At that rate we mutually considered each other as more brothers than as friends, I mean I really had trust in this guy.

So, the day finally arrives, I have an audience with the big assholes in charge, and I’m going about letting them have it. Obviously, I threaten violence if they don’t cooperate and make it known that we will continue our uprising whether they like it or not.

In my opinion it’s going well and then this (ex)friend of mine has the chance to speak. About three sentences in, and it’s clear all of a sudden that he disproves of my methods. Hello? Where is all this coming from, and here of all places to suddenly reveal this to me? I figured I could put the betrayal and embarrassment aside and at least hear him out, maybe he was wording it badly or just had a rough start. I wanted so badly to give him the benefit of the doubt.

But it gets so much worse, he agrees that the change I wanted to bring about needs to happen but by peaceful compromise. While he proposes this not only does he the name of my entire faction through the mud, but out of the blue proclaims that those on the side of his ideals are to be called something else and would be separate from my movement. [I can’t share the name he chose to use for his political faction for the sake of user privacy] I could hardly believe what I was hearing, but I guess the shock of it kept me quiet and all I could do was listen at that rate.

I shit you not this fucker took the opportunity to build his own following in a day, one built off the principals of my followers, but one that would be slow and convenient for our whole… country, let’s say, to adjust to and one that left the current dictators in power. One that would leave those like me and my following to continue to die by the thousands day by every day they took their sweet time. He was a smart guy, I don’t think he was truly naive enough to believe this would somehow save more lives, he knew what he was doing. He made a compromise that worked in the favor of those in power, put the idea of violence or forceful change down and made his side seem morally higher, and wouldn’t you know it the people (not my people, obviously) ate that shit up.

As if all this wasn’t enough, he was immediately— and I mean right then and there— appointed one of the highest stances that existed by our government (under themselves anyways). The situation would have been almost comical had it not fucked over everything I’d been working for for the last few thousand years.

And this little shit looks at me like he’s expecting approval or for me to be proud. I told everyone right then and there I wasn’t backing down, all the threats I made still stood, and that they were fools for so quickly putting a fucking librarian of all things in such a position. I’d lived through the very thing we sought to take down, I had years and years of military and combat training, I was willing to make the tougher choices he was clearly avoiding, but no. These people wanted him. I wanted nothing to do with him from there on out, but he and his supporters saw me as an unreasonable aggressor. Of course they would after all that shit he just shoveled down their throats, I cannot express in words how embarrassing a defeat this was and the sudden horribly ill feeling that settled in. It felt like every organ in my body had dropped to the floor and the shock and anger of it made my head ring.

From then on out there’s been a Civil War between those who truly stuck with me and those who were on his side. We’re still viewed as the evil side of things now thousands of years later. AITA?

Edit: no I did not make this up, no it’s not a promotional scheme for a movie plot, and no you cannot use it for OC lore. Stop asking irrelevant questions.

☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰

Credit for the idea goes to @final-milf-ratchet .

[lvrcpid]

front stage center - modern!au

includes: fem!reader. implied neteyamxreader. implied aonungxreader. dad tsu’tey agenda. i had so much fun writing this. the play is hamilton btw.

imagine being in the school play with modern!avatar.

——————————————————————————————

in the beginning!

— you’re a theater kid!

— your schools annual play was hamilton this year

— you just needed more people to audition with you

— you were lowkey scared

— who else better to turn to than your friends

— lo’ak only did it because tsireya agreed off the bat

— neteyam said yes because he actually enjoyed watching the play on disney+

— you had to bribe ao’nung with a date

— kiri is behind the scenes (lights and stage hands)

— spider was in earshot and did it just to be around y’all

— rotxo did it cause he’s also in theater with you!

after auditions!

— lo’ak got the part of james madison and hercules mulligan

— tsireya got the part of angelica

— you got the part of eliza

— ao’nung got the part of thomas jefferson and lafayette

— neteyam got the part of hamilton??? (ooo yuh get it i guess)

— spider got phillip and laurens

— don’t play with spider that boy can SING.

— roxto GOT AARON BURR??

— ao’nung wanted hamilton but the theater teacher said he fit perfectly for thomas…genuinely think it’s cause of the curly hair… OH WELL

opening night

— why was your dad already tearing up???

— you didn’t even get on stage yet

— THE PARENTS GETTING FLOWERS FOR YOU GUYSSSS

— tuk having a special flower just for you

— jake probably gave her candy to hold her over since you guys were doing the whole show which was 2 HOURS LONG

— kiri is stressed out cause she’s literally doing all the work HERSELF

— well she made herself do all the work

— it’s her friends and her siblings for crying out loud

— neteyam and you practicing together

— ao’nung arguing with hair and makeup

— lo’ak and tsireya taking pics

— rotxo is PANICKING WITH KIRI FOR SOME REASON??

— the whole cast is either freaking out or creepily calm

during the show!

— neteyam definitely is going on broadway

— he was made for this???

— jake and neytiri are so PROUD OF HIM

— being shocked because it’s going really good just for act one

— ao’nung being salty cause you and him have no scenes together while you and neteyam LITERALLY GET MARRIED

— you singing your ass off during helpless and that would be enough

— no literally your mom had to bring tissues for your dad

— spider eating the girls up with his vocals

— lo’ak spicing it up with humor that goes off script a bit

— kiri smiling at all of you from backstage but probably still stressed out

— she ate with the stage hands though don’t play with her

— the audience loves it so why not

— tsireya definitely is made for this cause she portrays angelica so well ??

— it was a one night only show since it’s two hours long and y’all are kids…

— THE TURN OUT WAS GREAT

— the chemistry yall all had was to die for , you guys looked like naturals!

after the show!

— you guys all screaming like little girls cause y’all are so proud of yourselves

— neteyam got you flowers and hid them till after the show :(

— tonowari hugging ALL OF YOU

— bear hug anyone?

— tsu’tey still crying cause of who lives who dies who tells your story

— your mom handing you the flowers HE was supposed to give you

— lo’ak was still in character for like a week afterwards

— tsireya was so proud of herself and everyone that she made little gift bags for everyone

— she’s such a cutie i love her

— tuk probably fell asleep, not cause it was boring she actually really enjoyed seeing it , it was just past her bedtime LMAO

— AONUNG WANTS TO JOIN THEATER NOW.

— i can just see him actually having the time of his life on stage

— she was sad she missed it when she woke up

— kiri is probably so relieved that it’s over now she can go home and sleep

— you guys took a group picture that you all got framed the next day

— y’all went to dinner afterwards in your costumes since the theater director said y’all can keep them 🤭

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

What do you think about the war on baby-eating in the yellowjackets fandom Frank? Do you think it's as deep as people say it is with the baby being a representation of Shauna's ultimate consumption of Jackie and that her consuming the baby would be the final act in her eating Jackie?

Or do you think the showrunners are just thinking hehe cannibalism shock value. What if they ate their own baby!

I'm not sure if it's super-deep, but it's deeply ingrained in the series so far. It's nothing less than a fundamental aspect of the eating-disordered Shauna's personal psychodrama, which is what the show largely revolves around.

And I think it goes beyond the shock value / gore / etc. aspect. The baby-eating motif is already present in one of the earliest scenes in the book, where the school puts on a play with students and teachers portraying the students' ancestors, and Shauna plays the part of her ancestor ravenously consuming the "baby."

And it's pretty much the main explanation that comes up for why Shauna and the others eat. The character who first proposes the baby-eating has a throwaway comment about how if the girls are starving, well, then they are like "wild beasts," or something.

Now there are some reasons to be skeptical of this narrative -- I'll get to those in a moment. But the fact remains that it's the main justification in the story and the main thing the characters say. You can imagine that the motherhouse wants to cast the outside world as a place of depravity and chaos, to be protected against and shunned. But what if they're right about the outside world? And the outside world is, basically, that depraved and chaotic?

Also, the whole "baby-eating" motif doesn't really make sense. The only people we know of who have attempted to eat the babies have been Shauna and a psychopath who attempted to kill people and eat them. And in both cases, they were the ones who ate the babies. But Shauna, at least, is not a serial killer. So it seems like they're eating the babies because there is something inherently terrible about the outside world that makes people want to eat babies. But it isn't clear that that's the case.

The idea that a symbolic act of baby-eating tells us something deep about an individual person and their "true self" also doesn't make a ton of sense. Shauna initially denies that she wants to eat the baby, so we're left wondering if she's lying to herself, or if she genuinely doesn't have a desire to eat the baby and would feel sick doing so. (Of course it's possible that she hid her desire in order to avoid self-incrimination, in which case she does want to eat the baby -- but that seems like a lot to expect from one conversation with a psychiatrist, especially one with a pretty weird bedside manner.) The case where the psychopath starts the process of eating, and the others are pressured into it, is a little clearer, but ultimately not very convincing. What really happened there? Was the psychopath literally telling the others the truth, or did he lie to them as well? Did he manipulate them into having a desire to eat the baby? Or did they come to have a desire to do the thing even though they don't actually want to?

[thearchvillain]

of horsefairs and maidens. part 2

nikolai lantsov x reader

link to part 1

summary: The moonless, warm summer night has stretched itself across Caryeva and the duke’s estate where a grand dinner is held in the gardens, in honour of both the horse fair and the princes’ visitation. Nikolai has found himself sat across the table from his brother and both the girl with the broken horse and her father, restrained to only occasional glances and the agitation that simmers beneath his skin, amplifying every time he catches her eyes. It’s all he can do to remain in his seat, even as they leave for the evening at Razumov’s, even as the night drags on - at least until the late hours of the night, too late for sensible decisions.

Nikolai smirked at her, as if to alleviate the seriousness of her warning, "Do you take me for anything less than a gentleman? And here I was thinking I had you charmed Irina, you break my heart. We were just talking."

But Irina didn't look concerned, only amusement lined her features as she sipped her drink, and a bit of motherly sympathy, "Oh my dear prince, you have us all smitten, but it's not her I'm worried about.", she twisted in her seat, to call for a waiter, and said over her shoulder, "And hasn't your mother taught you - nothing's quite as dangerous as talking to a girl like her."

word count: 2.9k

warnings: mentions of alcohol

A/N: well, apparently, this will not be a two parter... i’d claim i was shocked if i wasn’t used to myself going overboard the moment i get hooked on writing the characters ._. i’ve got part 3 down on the paper already (or a word document, but paper sounds more romantic) and it’s 100% focused on their interaction. in this one i really wanted to focus on building up the tension so there’s a lot of Nikolai’s thoughts and frustrations in here, glances cast and warnings given, the whole shebang  i really hope you like it, even if it’s kinda lacking in direct interaction for the sake of angst, and once again i want to thank everyone who commented and was so sweet and kind i had no other choice than to rush back excitedly and write my heart out <3 you’re the best! 

The dinner was an intricate display of wealth, as grand and carefully arranged as the jewels of a vain woman. One without an ounce of style anyway. The long tables were laden with complicated food, even the ones away from the main table that was orbited by the wealthy, to show off the generosity of the host. He'd even heard his brother say, as a compliment no less, that it seemed even the dogs here ate well. Clearly, he'd wanted to say, since you're here with your plate filled to the brim, brother. 

Now the porcelain plate sat before him, the food half-eaten and the glass of finest red wine all finished, as he listened to the war stories offered up to him by an old man with a hefty silver-streaked beard and heftier rosy cheeks, coloured by what must have been a fourth glass of wine. Nikolai would pop into the conversation here and there, if only to show he was paying attention, though he knew well enough that people never really wanted to listen, only to be heard.

"Tell me about your daughter - Alyona, is it?" 

The man reeled for a moment, his moustache shifting as he tried to remain dignified while choking on a sip of wine, as dignified as a startled walrus anyway. "You know of my daughter, your highness? Irina--", he turned to his wife at this, near breathless, "Did you hear that? He asked about Alyona!" 

The old lady had the common sense not to egg him on too much, only smile and nod as if she knew matching his excitement would mean a definitive death by boredom for Nikolai. And he was thankful for that.

But to be fair, Nikolai hadn't really known of Alyona, only heard her name from the girl with the broken horse when she passed by him in between meal courses, stopping only to cast a glance towards the old general and say, "Ask him about his daughter, Alyona - Saints forbid you ever require it, but he'll raise an entire army for you just for that little bit of kindness. He's very fond of her." 

"Is she pretty?", he didn't want to seem like a liar if that was what he complimented the daughter on instead of her smarts, or talent for music. 

The girl had raised an eyebrow, then looked back at him, "Does it matter? Fathers like him always think their girls are the prettiest. They're not wrong."

He'd wanted to stop her then, to ask her about the general's wife, or his dog, or anything really - and it would've been as easy as reaching out to take her wrist in his hand, had she not slipped back into the crowd and disappeared as quickly as she'd appeared by his side. 

Now he took his glass of wine, filled once again by one of the waiters, and held that instead, his eyes wandering across the table to where his brother sat, red-cheeked and rowdy. She was sat next to him, straight-backed and so still Nikolai thought she might have been a vision or a sculpture wrought in alabaster had the light evening wind not stirred the sheer silk of her gown and made it all come alive. It fell in rich waves off her shoulders, plentiful, but not plentiful enough to hide the gentle slope of her neck where it dipped to her chest, interrupted only by a fine necklace of tiny emeralds, or the wrists that glided through the motions as she picked at the food. 

The wine had made him too unwilling to look away, and he'd nearly caught his brother's eyes over the rim of his glass, so now he had to drag his gaze back to the general, who was near breathless talking about Alyona's adventures with the pony he bought for her. 

"...and I told Irina, no man of sound mind would let his little girl on that beast."

The beast being a pony, Nikolai supposed. 

"Did you think she would just pet it? It's not a cat.", this was the wife, sounding tired in a way only a woman who'd heard this story a million times and still thought it stupid, could. 

"You should've at least let me call Orlov's girl, I swear that creature was born on the damn horse! That form! We could've used her in the cavalry!"

"That poor thing's got enough on her mind with a father like that, and for Saint's sake stop recruiting people at dinner parties."

This time Nikolai interrupted, however riveting this exchange was, "The Orlov's girl?" 

Irina cast him a surprised glance, "Yes, that pretty thing with your highness' brother? I thought you met her." 

Now Nikolai had an actual excuse to look her away, and he wasn't about to throw it away. This time, she had her hands folded in her lap and Vasily at her ear speaking something delightfully stupid, no doubt. Nikolai watched her drag her teeth across her lower lip, still so mesmerized by the way it popped back into place that he was near startled when her eyes slipped straight to him. 

She did not smile. But maybe that was for the better because even from across the table he could see the muscles in her cheek twitch, as if she was dragging the corners of her lips down with the sheer force of will, not quite as restrained as she'd hoped to be. He realised she was trying not to smile, and somehow that made his mind reel more than any unbridled grin a girl at this table could've offered him. She downcast her eyes, lashes brushing against her cheek as she busied herself with the bracelet on her wrist, and Nikolai sipped his wine to drive away the urge to keep staring, to keep trying to provoke her until she could not hold that smirk back.

But then Vasily brushed the stray lock of her hair back and her features stilled as if all that pertness had been drained from them instantly, a muscle played in her jaw before she lifted her eyes and smiled prettily. Not at Nikolai, though. He saw an older man sitting to her left tap her hand like one would when a dog's performed a trick well, and Nikolai felt his muscles tense. Vasily beamed, Nikolai gripped his glass, her father looked at her like she was his golden ticket. 

"A vile man.", Irina said over her glass. 

Nikolai hadn't noticed, but the general was now busy entertaining the waiter with questions about the wine, and only his wife was fully present, the lines of her face arranged into a look of dignified distaste. She was speaking to Nikolai.

"Count Orlov?" 

"He treats that poor girl like property.", her upper lip curled, "And unfortunately the Saints haven't given her a bad temper, so she listens." 

Nikolai leaned back in his chair, swirling the wine as he followed Irina's gaze to his brother, drunk on wine and forced smiles from a pretty girl, "I don't think she's as helpless as you paint it."

"Oh, she's not. She's playing them both like a fiddle. I'm just saying, at her age, I would've wreaked havoc by that point.", she shrugged, "I'm not a subtle woman, you see."

"Ha!", the general was joining the conversation once again, now that he'd gotten his wine, "Listen to what she tells you! She's a wild animal, that one!" 

"Darling. Not in front of a prince." 

"What?", to his credit, he did look genuinely confused, "His highness doesn't mind, do you? I'm just saying my wife's always been a force of nature, no shame in that! She's a scary woman, it's a good thing to have by your side." 

Nikolai did not, indeed, mind at all. He was just trying not to choke on the wine as laughter bubbled up from his chest, especially when Irina raised an eyebrow at her husband, and he could see her attempting not to grin at that strange assemble of compliments. Their bickering was felt like a light summer breeze, a welcome reprieve from the tension he could feel simmering in the air, across the table.

"It's the wine.", she turned her gaze to Nikolai, still smirking, "Don't mind him."

"Ha! And what explanation do you have for that sharp tongue?" 

"I married an idiot and was forced to evolve because of it." 

"Please, when I first mustered up the courage to ask her for a dance--", this was directed at Nikolai as the large man shifted in his seat, "And mind you, I've been less afraid for my life on the battlefield than in front of that woman! You know what she told me? She told me to break a leg and see if that helps with my coordination.", he leaned to the side to cast his wife a look over Nikolai, "You've always had that sharp tongue on you, my love." 

Nikolai raised an eyebrow at her, "Was he that bad?"

Beaming because he didn't immediately sympathise with her husband, Irina shrugged in feigned disdain, "No, he was quite handsome and good on the floor, still is. You just can't let them forget how lucky they are to even have you looking in their direction."

"What can I say, my girl knows her business! I fell for it, hook, line and sinker."

Nikolai was the one charmed, for once, but his eyes still strayed to the other side of the table, even as the old couple continued lovingly bickering beside him. Vasily was up and about, and the girl and her father were following close behind, the valet running around guiding them towards a carriage that was waiting on the other side of the fence. 

"Where are they going?", he schooled his voice into one of mild disinterest, fit of a prince not particularly invested in his brother's dalliances. Beneath it all though, he felt dangerous, like he was being suspended on the edge of getting up and following - his brother was a nasty, distasteful creature on good days, and this wasn't even one of those. 

"Mister Razumov's.", Irina answered, because the general was now waving wildly demanding another piece of those little lemon cakes, "New money. Wild parties. Wilder vices. Gambling and alcohol are galore. They'll come to invite you too." 

He did not doubt that - even his brother's title had nothing on Nikolai's charm or the exclusivity of having him there on the rare occasion that he was home instead of on the front. It still did little to placate him as he watched them climb into the carriage, his brother's slimy hand holding hers as he helped up the steps, her hair tossed wildly across her bare back as she turned one last time to cast a glance Nikolai's way. He held her eyes for a moment, both their faces still as stone, then watched her disappear behind carriage's curtains as he sipped his wine, wondering wildly if he should even go. 

What good would it do? Her father would be there, watching, and there was no money to be made with a prince that had an interest only in books and weapons, no matter how charming he was. He cleared his throat and finished the glass. He'd just get her in trouble - it wasn't like Nikolai himself was particularly known as a voice of reason, he preferred to stick to an assemble of charming qualities, like ill-advised impulses and regret.

"You could stay, you know?", this was Irina again, sounding less like a wild animal her husband had described, and more like a mother. At least what Nikolai imagined mothers sounded like. Sympathetic. 

"Sorry?"

"Do you think I'll get this big boulder to move and go home anytime soon?", she nodded towards her husband, then smiled, "Some of us stay here instead of going to Razumov's, there's music and food and wine, good company too. If your highness hasn't been scared away by our marital displays."

"Please, call me Nikolai.", his usual glib smirk had slipped back onto his lips, as easy as a mask, "And no, I must admit, I'm quite charmed by the displays. Tell me, Irina, where does one get one of those?" 

She didn't look quite convinced, but she smiled still, "You stumble upon it, by Saint's will, and then you can't look away. The lucky ones, anyway.", she cleared her throat, "Stay, it would be quite the honour." 

"All mine. Your husband's a great general. And the royalty never gets enough servings from sharp tongues anyway."

"My husband's a fool.”, she shrugged lightly, “But I make up for it in the charms department." 

"I heard that woman!", there was no ire in general’s voice, and it was merely a passing comment as he waved at the poor waiter again, "Would one of you penguins like to explain why the prince's glass is empty?" 

Nikolai hadn't wondered about that, but now that it was brought up he felt like another glass and a distinct lack of his brother might be of help, "Why do you assume I won't go?" 

"Because you've been staring at that girl all night."

Nikolai's head snapped from the waiter back to Irina, and he caught the traces of a grin in the corners of her lips as she sipped her wine. Had he been that obvious? He didn't think so, but the wine and conversation might have made him sloppy - it was one thing to avoid provoking Vasily into being even creepier due to jealousy, another to avoid someone like Irina.

"Don't be so shocked young prince, that big buffoon used to look at me like that, once. I'd spot it anywhere, like a good game in the forest. She could barely stop smirking. It's quite painful, you know, not to smile when you catch someone looking at you like that. I must admit, she’s quite adept."

Nikolai considered telling her that big buffoon certainly still did look at her like that, but he was assuming she already knew that. She didn't look like a woman who'd settle for anything less. "Well, to be fair, I've been told I am quite dashing. She can't really be blamed." 

This made her laugh, in the way experienced older people do when they're charmed by some youngling's naivete, "Tell her that and see what comes back at you."

"I've already tried, it wasn't pretty."

Irina leaned in, conspirational, "That's why it's fun. My husband told you already. Hook, line and sinker. The girl knows how it's done.", then she leaned back, more serious, "It's why I'd stay away if I were you. We have plenty of food, wine and girls for you here. You're all the rage." 

Nikolai smirked at her, as if to alleviate the seriousness of her warning, "Do you take me for anything less than a gentleman? And here I was thinking I had you charmed Irina, you break my heart. We were just talking."

But Irina didn't look concerned, only amusement lined her features as she sipped her drink, and a bit of motherly sympathy, "Oh my dear prince, you have us all smitten, but it's not her I'm worried about.", she twisted in her seat, to call for a waiter, and said over her shoulder, "And hasn't your mother taught you - nothing's quite as dangerous as talking to a girl like her." 

***

The night dragged on, or perhaps dragged wasn't exactly the right word. The general had a way of livening up the place even as the people cleared, some to go to Razumov's, others to go to sleep in their beds. The brave ones that stayed - and there were quite a few after he did some rounds about the tables - were unable to leave because he'd managed to somehow get more food, more alcohol and more musicians, and no one of sound mind would leave this wild story he'd spun around them. They laughed and spoke of war and danced under the clear night sky, the air tinted with the scent of burning wood and meat and laughter. 

Nikolai had nearly forgotten, how much heart there was in nights like these, how much he loved the people and the songs and this country. He himself had danced and laughed and drank, and was now sitting on a chair rocking himself precariously on two of its legs, wrapped in that safety blanket of stupor that came with late hours of the night, or early hours of the morning, watching the general and his wife swirl in front of the musicians. 

He wondered how they were still up and going, much less dancing, though he could guess that alcohol, and a lot of it, had something to do with it. And alcohol, and a lot of it, had something to do with no one noticing a figure sitting upright on a horse somewhere out behind the fence, in the deep darkness of a moonless night. The silks shifted around the figure, carried by the breeze, like something out of Tolya's stories of spectres and hallucinations haunting the fallen battlefields. Nikolai thought wildly that there must be one about a ghost-girl on a horse, haunting the minds of men in moonless nights, with silks made out of moonlight and cruel elegance draped across her shoulders. Or something like that. 

Nikolai let his chair hit the ground and was up before the girl who'd been talking to him had even managed to look confused by his sudden change in mien. He drained his glass before putting it down on the table with a bit too much force and slid through the crowd that had gathered by the band. 

Tolya’s story would have probably been meant as a warning to young men not to head towards those strange apparitions, or something equally ominous, but Nikolai never put much stock in the stories anyway, especially not ones made up by his drunken mind as he followed after her into the darkness. She looked improbable, sitting tall on that horse waiting for him, but not impossible. And that was good enough for him. 

tags: @mentally-in-northern-italy 

please feel free to comment or hit me up in the DMs (even if you just want to talk because honey i’m THERE for it) if you’d like to be tagged when the next part comes out! 

[mrsmaybank]

My Little Sun - Spencer Reid x Reader

“Can you imagine it?” I started, “A little girl who looks just like you? I’d be in so much trouble.”                  

She giggled, “Absolutely whipped.”                       

PART ONE HERE

A/N: It came out fast!!! I had lowk already started it, so that’s why this update came so quickly. Please don’t expect them all to come this fast LMAO. I usually write slow as fuck. Anyway, I really hope you guys like this part so I can maybe just maybe turn this into a mini series. Please lmk if you guys like :) 

CONTENT WARNINGS: KIDNAPPING, PREGNANCY, LANGUAGE, MENTIONS OF SEX (lmk if i missed any please) 

I paced the bullpen as the team spoke to Penelope. The shock of her pregnancy was starting to wear off, and now I could think more clearly. How could she? What was she thinking? 

Recently, I’d found myself thinking about it more, a baby her and a mini-me. A family of my own, with the love of my life. It was exciting and like a lovesick fool it made my stomach fuzzy. But she wasn’t ready and I couldn’t do that to her. So how could she do it to herself? She hadn’t finished school, hadn’t started her career. She could barely take care of herself! I wasn’t mad, absolutely not. Just disappointed at her self-sabotage and the fact she’d made the decision completely without me. I couldn’t think about it for long though, because I was swiftly reminded by my surroundings that right now, there was a chance I’d lose her, our child and any children we wanted to have in the future. That was the priority. 

“Garcia, check her credit card records, we need to see where she last was.” Hotch said. 

“Uhm, okay,” Penelope took a deep breath while clicking away, “Let’s see. Her last purchase was last night, 6:49 at a CVS Pharmacy, oh--” 

“What Garcia?” Hotch asked. 

“She was um, picking up her monthly case of birth control.” 

JJ broke the silence, “Spence…” she started towards me. 

I breathed a sigh of relief, “Thank god.” 

“Thank god?” Morgan questioned. 

“She’s 23.” I wiped my face, “Whole life ahead of her.” The team understood what I was trying to say. Rossi’s hand fell on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. 

“So why would she tell Brook she was?” Garcia asked. 

“I uh, I..I don’t know.” I spat out. I really had no idea.  

“Think Reid.” Rossi told me. “You guys ever talk about kids or pregnancy?”

“She might be trying to send us a message,” Emily added. 

I thought back to the last time we discussed starting a family. 

--FLASHBACK-- 

We were surrounded by timeless pieces of art and history, and yet the true masterpiece was still her. She was always beautiful to me, a perfect being, truly. But today, something about the way she looked today specifically, made her look like the kind of beauty you see in a painting. Had she been a painting, her creator must have been skilled. Each stroke of his brush creating every divine curve of her face and body to produce a work of magnificent art, one that I so proudly hung on the walls of my heart. 

I remember exactly what she wore, and how it felt to take it all off. The painter had an eye for color. Her denim skirt, the length or lack thereof making me embarrassingly wary, was blue like the Mediterranean Sea, complementing the pigment of the skin of her legs. A white button down made of silk, not worn properly, of course. Too many buttons were left open at the top, as to draw attention to the gold adorned on her chest, but in the spell of temptation she procured to cast upon me, my eyes wandered to admire territories of her body they shouldn’t have. Not in public, at least. The buttons at the bottom were left untouched as well, revealing the soft skin of her stomach. She looked like an angel, but of course, went out of her way to instead be my temptress.

My affinity for her beauty aside, the wide eyes in delight at the museum artifacts and careful attention to my commentary were what made our excursion wonderful. The feeling of her smaller hand in mine, and the giggles and the teasing “You’re way too nerdy to be so stupid hot Dr. Reid.” made it absolutely perfect. 

In exchange for her listening so attentively to my historical facts and stories, I took her for ice cream. She insisted we ate it on the greens of Lincoln Park. Who was I to deny her that? What came next--I expected. She’d devoured it. Made a mess of strawberry ice cream on her white shirt. 

“It was the wind!” She insisted as the first of many drips of ice cream fell down her chin. 

“No it was not!” I argued back while wiping it, “You just never learned how to eat ice cream properly.” I gently removed the cone from her hands and into mine, taking an overzealous bite. “This, lovey, is how you eat ice cream.” 

“Give it back, you...you dickass!” She snorted. We laughed like two lovesick teenagers. 

“Dickass?” I asked, eyes watery from laughter. 

“Yeah dickass, give me back my damn ice cream.” I took another bite, “Stop! You’re eating it all!” She pouted. Pouts were unfortunately my weakness and I handed it back to her. However, in her rush, the pink scoop had fallen directly on her blouse. 

“Way to prove my point,” I started to take off my cardigan, “You want dickass’s sweater?” 

She wanted to be mad but couldn’t contain the wince of a smile. “Please.” 

We carefully removed her shirt from under while simultaneously putting the cardigan in its place. 

“Spence don’t let me flash! There’s kids and judgmental old ladies here!” 

I laughed and shushed her, “I know, I know.” I moved all the fabrics quickly and it was done. Her sticky pink shirt was replaced with my soft sweater. “There.” 

“My hero,” She kissed me, “Truly.”

She leaned back on our picnic blanket on her shoulders as we observed our fellow park goers. “So many kids.”  

I nodded my head in agreement. “Yeah…” 

“We should bring our kids here one day.” she said, instantly breaking my haze from the crowd so I could only see her. 

I smiled again at the thought, “Yeah, and tell them how their mom is the world's clumsiest ice cream eater.”

She looked at me with disdain before shoving her shoulder into mine. “Shut up.” 

“Can you imagine it?” I started, “A little girl who looks just like you? I’d be in so much trouble.” 

She giggled, “Absolutely whipped.” 

I toppled her so we were laying down, facing each other. She kissed me hard, and my hands went to the sides of her face, only pulling back to say “I can’t wait for it, you know. My two little girls.” 

She smiled, “But I’ll always be your favorite right?” she asked sarcastically. 

I laughed, “Oh of course. Always.” 

“I’ll have a big ol’ belly, you know.” I nodded, “You’d still be perfect.” 

“We’d have to go to the mall, buy me a shitload of new clothes. Do ya know how dirty malls are Spence?” I winced at the thought of thousands of strangers bacteria on every surface and she laughed, “Got ya.” I shook my head, “Nope! I uh, I’ll just bring hand sanitizers and uh, to the Maternity section we’ll go.” 

“Non-stop Panda express eating.” I nodded again, “I’ll be non-stop Panda Express buying, then.” She smiled so hard her nose scrunched. 

“I love you Spencer.” 

“I love you too. I am so in love with you.” 

--FLASHBACK ENDS--

“Yeah but it was trivial.” I said. 

“Maybe not,” Hotch argued, “Was anything mentioned specifically?” 

“A name she liked?” Prentiss added, “Maybe a craving she thought she might have? Anything at all?” 

I nodded, “Not a food, but a fast food place. Panda Express.” I doubted that would be helpful. 

“It’s a stretch but, Garcia, check for any dilapidated buildings within 10 miles of a Panda Express.” 

“Yes sir,” She typed away and then said, “No, guys. I’m sorry. All of our Panda Express’s are in pristine malls or new developments.” 

“Mall!” I shouted, “She said we’d have to go to the mall! She knows I hate the mall.” 

Morgan pointed at us, “The tiles in that room look like they could be from some 80’s Bloomingdales.” 

“Garcia-” I said. 

“Already on it.” 

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

The pregnancy ruse was either going to get me killed, or save my life. It was a moment of panic and I just wanted to throw her off. I know it did, but in what direction? 

She was still crying, her demeanor with me was still laced with bitter animosity, but she was calmer now. 

“How long have you known?” Brook asked, the contents of her flask now empty and her words slurred. 

“I found out yesterday.” I lied through my teeth. 

She shrugged her shoulders, “Had you guys talked about it?” 

“Vaguely.” I admitted. 

“What’d Spencer want? Boy or girl?” I debated on whether or not to say, and she caught on. “Don’t fucking lie.” She stated harshly. 

“Girl.” I breathed out. “He wants a girl.” 

“What do you want?” she asked. 

“I don’t care.” I said. That was true. 

“How come?” 

“I just want to start a family with him. Don’t really care about the gender…” That was true as well. 

“Oh.” she nodded her head, “Why’d he want a girl?” It was strange, her  genuine curiosity. It freaked me out, but my alternative was being stabbed. I chose to just answer her questions, regardless of how much I really did not want to.  

“He liked the idea of a little girl who looked like me.” 

She winced, eyes tearing up further. “Right.” I was beginning to realize her feelings were very real. 

“You really like him, don’t you?” I asked. I knew I shouldn’t have but I couldn’t help it. My head was still looking for an answer as to how she could be driven to do something like this. 

She clasped her hands together, her anger returning.  “Don’t fucking start. You know nothing of what I feel for Spencer.” She came up closer and tugged at my hair, “Fucking nothing.” 

“Okay,” I grimaced at the pain from the force at which she pulled my hair, “I-I’m sorry.” 

She let go, “You should be. You really, really fucking should be.” She sat back down, pensive for a while. I wish I knew what she was thinking about. 

My heart had not stopped it’s fast pace ridden with anxiety since I gained full awareness of my situation, but now, it felt like it was going to burst through my chest. Was she planning on just killing me now? 

My anticipation ceased when she got up and brought back the camera with her again. “Hello BAU. There has been a change in plans. Your beloved,” The words reeked of sarcasm, “Y/N here, will be returned eventually. . She’s gonna be fine. However, it is now in everybody best interest if this video feed was cut out. Sorry.” She said before mouthing, “No I’m not.” She shut the camera off. 

She turned to me, “I hate you. Fucking despise you.” Figures. 

“But I would never hurt Spencer. Or his child. Even if it is being carried by a whore like you.” 

She began to pace once more, “You’re obviously a mistake on his part. You clearly tricked him with sex and...no just sex I think. You're not really smart enough to be capable of anything else. Regardless, he’s probably already thinking about abortions or adoption. There’s no way in hell a man like him could ever want to start a family with a girl like you.” She shook her head, “Absolutely not.” 

I could only nod my head at her delusions. This woman was so far up her ass. 

She pinched my cheeks together with her cold hands, “You tried to trap him. How’d that go for you?” 

I was silent.

“I asked you a fucking question!” She held my face impossibly tighter. 

“Poorly.” I got out, “Poorly.” 

“In 9 months, I’ll help you deliver your baby. And then, you can go.” Brook backed away and let go of her tight grip on my face. “I’m keeping the kid. Raising it.” She smiled, “I’ll be the mother Spencer’s child will deserve. And then-” A giggle creepily reminiscent of a schoolgirl’s left her throat, “He’ll love me!” 

Brooks intention had twisted from wanting to murder and torture me as revenge for “taking” Spencer, to a now twisted maternal desire for his (hypothetical) child. But if Spencer and his team couldn’t find me before the time I was supposed to be showing, I was fucked. Utterly fucked. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Taglist: @britishspidey

(Let me know to be added)

[gothamcityangst]

You're friends with Bruce Wayne, you've recently gotten in a relationship with Jonathan. Bruce is happy that you've found someone and tells you to bring him over for dinner. When he sees who you've brought over he immediately tenses up. He tell you he's the Scarecrow and tries to convince you to leave him. You know he is and you won't. Bruce gives you an ultimatum, he'll cut off all contact unless you leave Jonathan. Jonathan is genuinely surprised you chose him over a billionaire. You stand by your choice but it still hurts. He holds on to you and lets you cry as much as you need to.

Ok so for this situation you don't know Bruce is Batman. This is a long one so yeah.

You and Bruce had grown up as childhood friends. Your parents were rich so it was inevitable you met in the same circles. Most of the rich people friends that Bruce made either left him or lost contact over time but you were the one who stayed with him the whole time.

That's not to say you two didn't drift apart while he was away on his studies. You had no choice but to make new friends. You'd been helping out in Gotham University when you'd run into one doctor Jonathan Crane. The funny thing was you weren't even there doing psychology you were there to help a friend with her business studies class. You'd bumped into him in the corridor knocking an expensive coffee onto his paperwork.

You'd apologised frantically but he assured you it was quite alright. The first thing you noticed about him was his accent the way he spoke intrigued you. Not wanting to lose the opportunity to meet such an interesting individual you asked if you'd meet him again over coffee and things went from there.

You decided it was high time that Bruce meets your beloved and Bruce was more than curious to meet the man who had stolen your heart.

When Alfred opened the door he was aghast at the sight of you on Jonathan Crane's arm. He hesitantly invited both of you inside.

Bruce was in the middle of saying hello when he tapered off after noticing who your date for the evening was. All of your life Bruce had been the coolest person in the room, you could throw a bomb at him, and he would remain perfectly calm. Obviously, the arrival of Jonathan had thrown him for a loop.

Dinner was served and the tension only grew. After the food was served was when tensions began to rise. Both men started to have subtle digs at each other. Jon brining up how billionaires are unethical and immoral and in response to that Bruce stated that Jon wasn't the one to be lecturing him about ethics and morals.

“Bruce. Kitchen. Now.” You demanded and the two of you stepped out, leaving a very confused Jonathan alone with the butler.

Bruce dropped the subtle pleasantries, his face was awash with disgust. "He’s no good."

You rolled your eyes at him.

"You haven’t even gotten to know him.”

“Not him. Anyone else but him.”

"He's not a bad guy Bruce. He makes me happy."

"He'll hurt you." Bruce warned, his hostility increasing while keeping his tone hushed. As if the person he was offending wasn’t sitting a couple of feet away in the other room.

"Fuck you, Bruce. You left for a year and now you come back thinking you get to tell me how to dictate my relationships."

"I’m sorry I have to be the one to tell you this. He's the Scarecrow. Professor Jonathan Crane is a super-criminal in Gotham. He has a record sheet that's the length of my arm. Murder, arson, innocent people being terrorized all because of him."

Bruce tried to shove the phone filled with news articles in your face, but you’d seen them all before. In fact, Jonathan had made it a point that you read every single one of them and you could decide if you still wanted to be with him after everything was said and done. You waved his hand away from your face.

"I know."

The shock became evident on Bruce's face.

"Bruce. I get your worry. I know. Jon's nice. Really. And it's not for a scheme or anything like that. I’m not leaving him. That’s final.”

Bruce’s face was cast over. His once-friendly eyes had an underlying hint of a dark twinge.

"I have people I love in this house. I have Alfred. I have Damien. All people he wouldn’t care about harming. Leave him or I'm cutting off contact."

The worst part was you understood where Bruce was coming from. From his perspective, you’d brought a dangerous criminal into his home. What broke your heart was that Bruce didn’t trust you. He didn’t even have a morsel of faith that you knew what you were doing. You didn’t want it to be this way, but if there was one consistent thing about Wayne is that he was as stubborn as an ox.

You didn’t have to think twice when you gently grabbed Jon by the arm and hoisted him away from his dinner.

"Jon. We're leaving."

-

You didn’t speak a word during the entire car ride home. You two you’d decided to since you hadn’t eaten most of your meal you got some drive-through and sat in your car. You two mostly ate in silence until Jon finally decided to break the ice.

“You chose me over a billionaire.” He said, stirring the straw in his soft drink.

“You sound surprised.” You replied.

“I have every right to be. I’m an ex-criminal whose only known you for five years. Bruce was your best friend and yet you still chose me. You shouldn’t ruin your relationships on account of myself.”

You took his hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Jon I don’t care what you’ve done in the past. Bruce will get over it. But for now, all I want is you.”

Jon squeezed your hand in return. Thank god you had each other.

[dangerdangerhighvoltage]

Night Off (MC x Kojuro x Tsunamoto)

MC and Kojuro are trying to navigate their relationship after finally hooking up, only for Tsunamoto to crash the party with his chaotic ass. it's double daddy duty featuring one of supporting cast's finest. nsfw!

You never were one to concentrate on one thing at a time. 

As you scooped porridge into a bowl, you mentally listed all the letters that were awaiting a response from Kojuro. You carefully laid the soft doughy orb of mochi on top of the porridge while noting you needed to track down that retainer to get his report on how the crops were faring this season. As you attempted to remember the name of some Western book Lord Masamune had requested, the boiling water you meant to pour into the teapot had instead landed on your hand. 

“Ahh!” you hissed. Chastised by your own folly, you finally focused on the task at hand, assembling the tray for Kojuro’s afternoon tea break including an extra tea cup for yourself. It had been a few weeks since the incident, and you were relieved that things were starting to feel normal again, if not a little awkward.

The month before last, the clan embarked on a particularly brutal campaign. Upon their return, an abnormally shaken Kojuro promptly made love to you, after a year of working closely late into the night, nursing each others’ hangovers, confiding in each other different ways to help Lord Masamune not be so hard on himself. Kojuro fucked you on his desk on the heaps and heaps of his letters and notes and then again in his bedding, drawing from you something he had left on the battlefield. You were genuinely surprised Kojuro had made good on the attraction between you, but the next day, you could have sworn you overheard Shigezane distributing to a handful of retainers what sounded like payouts for a bet. 

You and Kojuro decided that while you both enjoyed yourselves that night and were clearly well suited, it was not the best time to pursue something real, not with the Ashina acting up as they were. The others teased Kojuro endlessly about making an honest woman out of you, and for some reason, a part of you believed he actually wanted to. But the thing about Kojuro was he would never be forced to make a decision about you so long as he had that endless pile of work on his desk to hide behind. 

It’s not as if you wanted to be an honest woman anyway.

And so it was as though you started your relationship from scratch, relearning boundaries and reacquainting yourself with some professional distance. The only acknowledgment of your intimacy—other than the fact that he ceased referring to you as his “precious girl”—was the fact that you had started to join him for his afternoon tea every day. And that’s exactly what you were looking forward to doing when you walked back into his office, tray in hand, only to find a brawny, effortlessly disheveled, scar-faced sight sitting in your spot.

“Look what the winds blew in,” Kojuro said to you mischievously.

“Lord Tsunamoto!” you exclaimed, shocked to see the handsome man before you. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” 

Whereas Kojuro was seated rather formally at his desk, Tsunamoto sat back outstretched, his chest peeking through his signature, generously loose robe. You’d always been a bit nervous around the man, his lingering eye contact, and general aversion to modesty. You dismissed him as not your type more as a form of self protection, like a chest of gunpowder dodging a spark. Despite being polar opposites, he and Kojuro were thick as thieves when reunited, Kojuro bringing a calm patience out in Tsunamoto, and Tsunamoto reviving a roguish edge in Kojuro. 

“Surprised to see me?” Tsunamoto declared more than asked. Why did everything about him seem flirtatious?

“Did you send a letter?” you asked, knowing he hadn’t. “I’d have planned a feast if I knew you were visiting!” 

“No need for the fanfare. I’m just passing through for a few days.” 

"Too late, I already have a menu in mind,” you said, picking up the teapot. Tsunamoto’s eye locked on the second cup as you poured the tea. Your face heated up as you watched him realize the second cup wasn’t meant for him, that maybe he was interrupting something. You wondered if from just one mundane piece of ceramic, he deduced everything about your and Kojuro’s past. Tsunamoto cocked his head, and directed an inquisitive smile toward Kojuro who was suddenly couldn’t seem to drink his tea fast enough.

"I suppose there’s no point in trying to stop you,” Tsunamoto relented, graciously accepting the cup you offered.

“Believe me, I’ve tried,” Kojuro quipped.

“Uh huh.” Tsunamoto noted. His gaze flickered to you.

“Let me bring you some oshiruko,” you said with a firm smile and a desperate need to catch your breath. 

“No need,” Kojuro waved away. “Bring him his favorite dessert.”

You cocked your head at him in confusion. The two men looked at each other in a way that made your cheek tingle. 

“Sake,” Kojuro said slyly.

The next morning, you arrived at training, where Tsunamoto had stepped in to lead. After sparring one-on-one with every retainer, he finally approached you. 

“Solid form,” he offered as your wooden swords cracked against one another. You had been on the defense the whole time, allowing him to gain ground or at least think he was. Luckily for you, his strength made him slower, and as his body twisted to strike at you, you quickly maneuvered under his swing, striking him in his side in a full low lunge. He let out a laugh as you smiled shyly to yourself. 

“I’ve taught her well, huh?” Kojuro called out from afar, who had apparently stopped by to observe training.

“Technique was always your strength,” Tsunamoto called back to him. 

You resumed sparring, Tsunamoto hitting a bit stronger and moving much faster than before. With every step you took, he met you there, almost predicting your movements. The confidence you gained now sputtered out as you barely dodged his attacks. Running out of ideas, you tried a new gambit Kojuro taught you but as you spun around, you felt yourself caught in a vise-grip, your back to Tsunamoto’s chest as if he was simply waiting for you to fall into his trap. His arms easily restraining yours, he brought his lips to your ear and lowered his voice, looking directly at Kojuro who was watching the two of you intently.

“See, I know a few of Kojuro’s weaknesses as well,” he said, sending a shiver down your spine.  

“Besides, who do you think taught him?” He let you go and jogged back over to the rest of the retainers as if nothing happened. Straightening out your hakama, you looked over at Kojuro who hadn’t taken his eyes off you.

After a full day of cooking and preparing, you tried to make yourself scarce during that night’s feast. You spent the evening running back and forth between the kitchen and main hall, hauling food and empty dishes until someone, you weren’t sure who, grabbed your hand and pulled you down to sit between Kojuro and Tsunamoto. Despite your initial protests, the two of them finally convinced you to stay and enjoy your own handiwork. You relented, and jovially ate, drank, and chatted with the rest of them, until you remembered something.

“Hells, I never spoke to Shiroishi about the crops today,” you confessed with a grimace. 

“Yeah, I'm not sure Shiroishi is in any state to discuss much of anything,” Tsunamoto said. Across the room, the retainer in question was somewhere between laughing drunk and falling asleep drunk.

“What kind of master am I?” Kojuro bemoaned. “My own page sitting here thinking about work when she should be enjoying herself?”

“She learned from the best,” Tsunamoto joked under his breath. 

“Milord,” you started, “You’re a good ma—”

He turned to you, his face serious. “I want you to forget about all your work. Take the night off and just have a good time, okay?” Since you and Kojuro slept together, “good time” had become something of a loaded term. 

“But Milord,” you teased. “Who will keep your desk clear?” 

“I can keep my own desk clear for one night, thank you very much!” 

“You didn’t even clear it when we—” 

You cut yourself off abruptly and bowed your head in embarrassment, suddenly realizing how much you had drank. Tsunamoto let out a satisfied laugh, and you thought Kojuro would strike you down then and there for your slip up. But he merely smirked at you, amused. It’s not like anyone else had heard outside you three—by now all the retainers were completely intoxicated and Lord Masamune had excused himself long ago.

“You didn’t seem to mind at the time, precious girl,” Kojuro fired back with a small, unbearably winning smile. You were at once delighted and flustered by Kojuro’s familiarity and Tsunamoto's presence. You didn’t know what to make of him playing witness to this charged tête-à-tête. 

Sensing the tension, Tsunamoto spoke up. "That’s our Kojuro, always with the last word.” 

“You see what I have to work with every day?” you fussed, turning to him with a big smile.

"You poor thing,” Tsunamoto said, playing along and touching your cheek. You were surprised by the gesture, but played it off well. You happily sipped your sake, oblivious to the glance Kojuro and Tsunamoto shared, an entire unspoken conversation transpiring above your head.

It was late into the night when the last of the retainers drunkenly shuffled off to their quarters for the night, and Kojuro asked you to bring a jug of sake to his office. When you arrived you were astonished to find the two of them seated across Kojuro’s desk boisterously engaged in a heated match of arm wrestling of all things. Only Tsunamoto could convince Kojuro to engage in such nonsensical activities.

“So these are the brilliant, visionary advisors of the Date clan,” you huffed as they cheerfully welcomed you. You sat down at the edge of the desk and looked back and forth between them before pouring the sake. With great effort, Kojuro finally pressed Tsunamoto’s knuckles into the wood. 

“Damn,” Tsunamoto grumbled. They downed the sake and immediately put their elbows back on the table, ready for another bout. You poured more sake and sipped on your own. "Alright, this is the tiebreaker,” Tsunamoto said, flexing his fingers.

“And what is the prize?” you asked. 

“A kiss from the beautiful page,” Tsunamoto cracked. 

“And smart,” you added.

“Right, a kiss from the beautiful and smart page,” Tsunamoto beamed.

Kojuro looked up at you, concerned. “[Y/n], you don’t have to—”

“Okay,” you said simply. Kojuro was dumbfounded.

“What?” 

“I said okay. I will kiss whoever wins this stupid competition,” you said with a shrug. Did those words just come out of your mouth? The two men looked at each other again, and again you felt that tingle in your cheek.

“You heard her, Kojuro,” Tsunamoto said.

“I suppose I did.”

The two readied themselves on Kojuro’s desk, grasped hands and began, but this round was different. For the first time since Lord Tsunamoto arrived, the two men went silent as they strained to defeat the other. 

“Kojuro, finally putting up a fight. Desperate for a kiss, old man?” Tsunamoto jeered.

"Put as much effort into training as you do into talking shit and you’d have unified Japan yourself by now,” Kojuro taunted back.

Unable to fathom the scene playing out in front of you, you simply took another shot of sake. It was a total deadlock for minutes until suddenly with a loud crack, both men were sent to the floor. Apparently Kojuro’s poor desk gave out from the pressure of the match or perhaps it had simply lost the will to live after years of neglect and misuse. The three of you devolved into a fit of laughter as you pieced together what had occurred.

“A draw!” Kojuro howled. 

“We both lost? How pathetic!” Tsunamoto asked, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye and trying not to laugh again, though you sensed he was relieved at the outcome. The two men sat up on either side of the broken desk, looking down in amused pity.

“Or maybe,” you said timidly. “You both won.” 

You couldn’t believe what you had just said. What you had just implied. The two men froze and looked at you, waiting for the catch, for you to burst into laughter and exclaim, “Gotcha!” and tease them endlessly for thinking twice. But you didn’t. 

“[Y/n]?” Kojuro asked softly with a nervous smile. 

With the latest shot of sake taking effect, you leaned over to him and gave him a firm kiss. His body froze before you, and you instantly cursed yourself for being so stupid and so forward. What were you thinking? You expected him to pull back, graciously reiterate the need for professionalism, and dismiss you for the night, but to your surprise, he dug his fingers in your hair and deepened the kiss. His tongue grazed your lips hungrily and bit your lip the same way he did when you first kissed just weeks ago, and you felt the same rush of sensual relief.

The two of you parted with a small, uncertain smile. You took a breath and looked deep into the torrent of Kojuro’s eyes.

“I’m going to kiss him now,” you said. “Is that alright, Milord?”

“Of course,” Kojuro said with a genuine smile. “He earned it just as much as I did.”

Kojuro watched as you leaned over to Tsunamoto. For perhaps the first time ever, Tsunamoto looked thrown off, almost nervous, which exhilarated you. You lips brushed over his. He looked over at Kojuro questioningly, and Kojuro nodded encouragingly. Satisfied with this, Tsunamoto closed his eyes and drew you closer, hungrily lapping at and biting your lips. You expected him to be an aggressive kisser compared to Kojuro, but there was also a sweetness about the way he gently swept his tongue against yours. 

Tsunamoto broke the kiss before you were ready. You hadn’t even noticed that Kojuro had moved the broken table aside and moved closer to you. The two men stood up and pulled you up between them. 

“Are you sure you want this?” Kojuro asked. You looked at the dizzyingly handsome men on either side of you. “Want us?” 

“Yes,” you panted as you kissed Kojuro again, grabbing his collar. You felt Kojuro loosen your obi as Tsunamoto stood behind you and began to kiss your neck, his hands loosening your collar. You reached to grasp at both of their hair as Tsunamoto opened up your kimono, exposing your breasts. 

Kojuro leaned back and took the sight in before leaning down and taking your nipple into his mouth. From behind, Tsunamoto took your other breast into his hand and possessively turned your head to kiss you. 

“Nghgh,” you moaned as both the men worked your breasts. Kojuro finally removed your obi and your body was completely exposed. He licked his fingers and placed them between your legs, where he began stroking you. You were already wet, but you had to admit you missed his touch. Tsunamoto slid the kimono completely off your shoulders, his hands trailed down the sides of your body and he grabbed a handful of your ass. 

“Fuck,” Tsunamoto exhaled. “You have this parading around your office all day?” You caught a glimmer of pride in Kojuro’s eyes as you set to work on Kojuro’s obi, freeing him of his robes. You were pleased to find he was already hard. You grasped him, and looked behind you to find Tsunamoto removing his own robe. 

“Come here,” Tsunamoto said as he lowered himself to the floor and lied down. Kojuro guided you to Tsunamoto’s head and gently pushed you down onto your knees until they flanked Tsunamoto’s ears. You could feel the warmth of Tsunamoto’s breath on your slit. Kojuro stood in front of you, his member in hand. You grabbed it and held it to your lips, teasing his tip with your tongue as Tsunamoto ran his fingers in and out of your folds, spreading them. You finally took Kojuro fully into your mouth just as Tsunamoto pulled you down fully onto his lips and eager tongue. You immediately felt a pulse of pleasure shoot from Tsunamoto’s tongue to your extremities, and you let out a loud moan around Kojuro. 

You started to squirm, but Tsunamoto held you in place like a clamp as he lapped you up. There was clearly no escaping your own pleasure—the only thing you could do, really, was take it out on Kojuro. You furiously swirled your tongue around him. Cursing, Kojuro ran his fingers through your hair and pushed further into your mouth, which in turn, made you grind your hips harder on Tsunamoto’s face, who moaned as he sucked on your clit.

“Ride him,” Kojuro growled and you looked up. “I want to see.” He was wearing the same face he was when he watched you at training earlier that day. Feeling your climax start to build up, you began to ride Tsunamoto’s face harder, thrusting your hips back and forth whimpering, his fingers clenched deep in your hips, his tongue unabating. You started to lose focus and could barely hold onto Kojuro, abandoning his pleasure in search of your own. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, captivated, as you grabbed your own breast and unraveled before him on Tsunamoto’s face with a full-throated sigh. 

You got off Tsunamoto and collapsed as he got on his knees. "God I hope she feels as good as she tastes,” Tsunamoto said, licking the corners of his mouth.

“He would know,” you said boldly staring down Kojuro.

“Find out for yourself,” Kojuro said. The two men looked at you and you nodded.

Tsunamoto pulled you to him. He sat back on his heels and guided you into his lap, wrapping your legs around him as his tip teased your opening before pushing himself in. 

“You feel incredible,” Tsunamoto uttered in amazement. He stretched you out gently.

You surveyed the scar that trailed down Tsunamoto’s brow and onto his regal cheek. Your gaze locked on his other eye and as he began thrusting in earnest, it suddenly became so clear why Tsunamoto carried himself with endless confidence. You watched him roll his hips tantalysingly slow and deep into you, hitting all the right spots.

“How does he feel, precious girl?” Kojuro asked. He was stroking himself at the sight of you. 

“He feels so—uuuunnnh!” Your response was interrupted by a particularly deep plunge Tsunamoto took. 

You looked back at Kojuro and reached for him, but he leaned back just out of reach with a mean grin. “You need to learn to focus on the task at hand,” he said lovingly. He watched as Tsunamoto drove into you harder and faster, his strong arms essentially keeping you floating as he slid in and out of you. Kojuro was completely entranced, savoring the way your eyes glazed over as his oldest friend in the world fucked the woman he loved if only he'd let himself, wondering if the most precious things weren’t meant to be shared. 

Tsunamoto slowed down in an attempt to stave off his own climax. Kojuro kneeled behind you, steadying you as Tsunamoto pulled out of you and you got your bearings.

“Are you alright, precious girl?” You nodded, catching your breath. 

“Good. All fours,” Kojuro directed. You did so, swaying your hips in an attempt to further tempt him. Kojuro sidled up behind you and caressed your back, kissing the dimples on your lower back. Your eyes met Tsunamoto’s as Kojuro positioned his cock between your folds and pressed in. You let out a long, lusty moan that bloomed more for every inch he filled you. He hadn’t taken you from behind before, and you wondered how you’d be able to work alongside him anymore after this.

You lost yourself in Kojuro’s languid thrusts and found yourself again, grinding back against him. He whisked you up on your knees, pressing your back against his chest. 

“Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of you,” he professed softly into your ear. “That I haven’t dreamed of feeling you like this again.” He wrapped his arm around your torso to keep you in place as he dove in and out of you. Tsunamoto crawled over to you and bent down, pressing his tongue squarely on your clit.

“Ahhnn!” You cried out as he raked his tongue up and down from your clit to your opening where Kojuro was thrusting into you. 

The sensation was too much too soon, so you grabbed Tsunamoto’s hair, pulled him to your face, and gave him a frantic, sloppy kiss as you took his cock and stroked him. You felt Kojuro lean over your shoulder, and you pulled away.

“She taste as good as she feels?” Kojuro asked as Tsunamoto approached. You watched as the two men took each other by the lips. You joined in, the three of you licking, biting, sucking each other as you pumped Tsunamoto to Kojuro’s rhythm.

Tsunamoto stood up in a frenzy and placed his cock on your lips. You knew he was close, and you took him into your mouth. “You are taking us so well,” Tsunamoto said as you devoured him. As Kojuro devoured you. You whined as you felt the electricity build up in your core. 

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded. “I’m so close!” 

Kojuro managed to fuck you even faster and harder. He brought his hand between your legs, his fingers fluttering on your clit as Tsunamoto all but fucked your mouth. Kojuro groaned as you screamed in pleasure around Tsunamoto’s cock. 

“I’m coming,” Tsunamoto rasped as he ejected into your mouth. You did your best to take it all as you reached your own climax. You felt feverish, heat tearing through your body and cracking you open. 

“Come for me my precious girl,” Kojuro snarled in your ear. 

You let out a cry as the pleasure rushed through you, leaving you trembling. You tightened unbearably around Kojuro’s cock, and he finally released into you with a curse.

The three of you collapsed on the floor, sprawled in a heap of pleasure and exhaustion and a giggle or two. 

“If only every trip to Oshu was this fun,” Tsunamoto simpered. You sighed a chuckle in response.

Kojuro reached up for his kiseru. You caressed his back, muscular by training, worn by war. “You know, [y/n],” he panted. “You should take the night off more often.”

You and Tsunamoto shared a knowing look, both helplessly endeared by the precious, precious man. 

[yamayuandadu]

The Two (or more) Ishtars or A Certain Scandalous Easter Claim Proved to be The Worship of Reverend Alexander Hislop

Once upon a time the official facebook page of Richard Dawkins' foundation posted a graphic according to which the holiday of Easter is just a rebranded celebration of the Mesopotamian mythology superstar Ishtar, arguing that the evidence is contained in its very name. As everyone knows, Dawkins is an online talking head notable for discussing his non-belief in such an euphoric way that it might turn off even the most staunch secularists and for appearing in some reasonably funny memes about half a decade ago. Bizarrely enough, however, the same claim can be often found among the crowds dedicated to crystal healing, Robert Graves' mythology fanfiction, indigo children and similar dubiously esoteric content. What's yet more surprising is that once in a while it shows up among a certain subset of fundamentalist Christians, chiefly the types who believe giants are real (and, of course, satanic), the world  is ruled by a secret group of Moloch worshipers and fossils were planted by the devil to led the sheeple astray from the truth about earth being 6000 years old, tops. Of course, to anyone even just vaguely familiar with Christianity whose primary language isn't English this claim rightfully seems completely baffling – after all it's evident in most languages that the name of the holiday celebrating Jesus' resurrection, and many associated customs, are derived from the earlier Jewish Pascha (Passover) which has nothing to do with Ishtar other than having its origin in the Middle East. Why would the purported association only be evident  in English and not in Aramaic, Greek, Latin, Spanish, virtually any language other than English and its close relatives – languages which generally didn't have anything to do with Mesopotamia or early christianity? Read on to find out what sort of sources let this eclectic selection of characters arrive to the same baffling conclusion, why are they hilariously wrong, and – most importantly – where you can actually find a variety of Ishtars (or at least reasonably Ishtar-like figures) under different names instead.

The story of baffling Easter claims begins in Scotland in the 19th century. A core activity of theologians in many faiths through history was (and sometimes still is) finding alleged proof of purported “idolatry” or other “impure” practices among ideological opponents, even these from within the same religion – and a certain Presbyterian minister, Alexander Hislop, was no stranger to this traditional pastime. Like many Protestants in this period, he had an axe to grind with the catholic church  - though not for the reasons many people are not particularly fond of this institution nowadays. What Hislop wanted to prove was much more esoteric – he believed that it's the Babylon known from the Book of Revelations. Complete with the beast with seven heads, blasphemous names and other such paraphernalia, of course. This wasn't a new claim – catholicism was equated with the New Testament Babylon for as long as Protestantism was a thing (and earlier catholicism itself regarded other religions as representing it). What set Hislop apart from dozens of other similar attempts like that was that he fancied himself a scholar of history and relied on the brand new accounts of excavations in what was once the core sphere of influence of the Assyrian empire (present day Iraq and Syria), supplemented by various Greek and Roman classics – though also by his own ideas, generally varying from baseless to completely unhinged. Hislop compiled his claims in the book The Two Babylons or The Papal Worship Proved to be the Worship of Nimrod and His Wife. You can find it on archive.org if you want to torment yourself and read the entire thing – please do not give clicks directly to any fundie sites hosting it though. How does the history of Easter and Ishtar look like according to Hislop? Everything started with Semiramis, who according to his vision was a historical figure and a contemporary of Noah's sons, here also entirely historical. Semiramis is either entirely fictional or a distorted Greek and Roman account of the 9th century BC Assyrian queen Shammuramat, who ruled as a regent for a few years after the death of her husband Shamshi Adad V – an interesting piece of historical trivia, but arguably not really a historical milestone, and by the standards of Mesopotamian history she's hardly a truly ancient figure. Hislop didn't even rely on the primary sources dealing with the legend of Semiramis though, but with their medieval christian interpretations, which cast her in the role of an adulterer first and foremost due to association of ancient Mesopotamia with any and all vices.

Hislop claims that Semiramis was both the Whore of Babylon from the Book of Revelations and the first idolater, instituting worship of herself as a goddess. This goddess, he argues, was Astarte (a combination of two flimsy claims – Roman claim that Semiramis' name means “dove” and now generally distrusted assumption that Phoenician Astarte had the same symbols as Greek Aphrodite) and thus Ishtar, but he also denotes her as a mother goddess – which goes against everything modern research has to say about Ishtar, of course. However, shoddy scholarship relying on few sources was the norm at the time, and Hislop on top of that was driven by religious zeal. In further passages, he identified this “universal mother” with Phrygian Cybele, Greek Rhea and Athena, Egyptian Isis, Taoist Xi Wangmu (sic) and many more, pretty much at random, arguing all of them were aspects of nefarious Semiramis cult which infected all corners of the globe. He believed that she was venerated alongside a son-consort, derived from Semiramis' even more fictional husband Ninus (a mythical founder of Assyria according to Greek authors, absent from any Mesopotamian sources; his name was derived from Nineveh, not from any word for son like Hislop claims), who he identifies with biblical Nimrod (likewise not a historical figure, probably a distorted reflection of the god Ninurta). Note the similarity with certain ideas perpetrated by Frazer's Golden Bough and his later fans like Jung, Graves and many neopagan authors – pseudohistory, regardless of ideological background, has a very small canon of genuinely original claims. Ishtar was finally introduced to Britain by “druids” (note once again the similarity to the baffling integration of random Greek, Egyptian or Mesopotamian deities into Graves-derived systems of fraudulent trivia about “universal mother goddesses” often using an inaccurate version of Celtic myths as framework). This eventually lead to the creation of the holiday of Easter. Pascha doesn't come up in the book at all, as far as I can tell. All of this is basically just buildup for the book's core shocking reveal: catholic veneration of Mary and depictions of Mary with infant Jesus in particular are actually the worship of Semiramis and her son-consort Ninus, and only the truly faithful can reveal this evil purpose of religious art. At least so claims Hislop. This bizarre idea is laughable, but it remains disturbingly persistent – do you remember the Chick Tracts memes from a few years ago, for example? These comics were in part inspired by Hislop's work. Many fundamentalist christian communities appear to hold his confabulations in high esteem up to this day – and many people who by design see themselves as a countercultural opposition to christianity independently gleefully embrace them, seemingly ignorant of their origin. While there are many articles debunking Hislop's claim about Easter, few of them try to show how truly incomprehensibly bad his book is as a whole – hopefully the following examples will be sufficient to illustrate this point: -Zoroaster is connected to Moloch because of the Zoroastrian holy fire - and Moloch is, of course Ninus. Note that while a few Greek authors believed Zoroaster to be the “king of Bactria” mythical accounts presented as a contemporary of Ninus, the two were regarded as enemies – Hislop doesn't even follow the pseudohistory he uses as proof! -Zoroaster is also Tammuz. Tammuz is, of course, yet another aspect of Ninus. -demonic character is ascribed to relics of the historical Buddha; also he's Osiris. And Ninus. -an incredibly racist passage explains why the biblical Nimrod (identified with – you guessed it - Ninus) might be regarded as “ugly and deformed” like Haephestus and thus identical to him (no, it makes no sense in context either) - Hislop thinks he was black (that's not the word he uses, naturally) which to him is the same thing. -Attis is a deification of sin itself -the pope represents Dagon (incorrectly interpreted as a fish god in the 19th century) -Baal and Bel are two unrelated words – this is meant to justify the historicity of the Tower of Babel by asserting it was built by Ninus, who was identical to Bel (in reality a title of Marduk); Bel, according to Hislop, means “the confounder (of languages)” rather than “lord” -the term “cannibal” comes from a made up term for priests of Baal (Ninus) who according to Hislop ate children. In reality it's a Spanish corruption of the endonym of one of the first tribes encountered by the Spanish conquerors in America, and was not a word used in antiquity – also, as I discussed in my Baal post, the worship of Baal did not involve cannibalism. This specific claim of Hislop's is popular with the adherents of prophetic doomsday cult slash wannabe terrorist group QAnon today, and shows up on their “redpilling” graphics. -Ninus was also Cronos; Cronos' name therefore meant “horned one” in reference to Mesopotamian bull/horned crown iconography and many superficially similar gods from all over the world were the same as him - note the similarity to Margaret Murray's obsession with her made up idea of worldwide worship of a “horned god” (later incorporated into Wicca). -Phaeton, Orpheus and Aesculapius are the same figure and analogous to Lucifer (and in turn to Ninus) -giants are real and they're satanists (or were, I think Hislop argues they're dead already). They are (were?) also servants of Ninus. -as an all around charming individual Hislop made sure to include a plethora of comments decrying the practices of various groups at random as digressions while presenting his ridiculous theories – so, while learning about the forbidden history of Easter, one can also learn why the author thinks Yezidi are satanists, for example -last but not least, the very sign of the cross is not truly christian but constitutes the worship of Tammuz, aka Ninus (slowly losing track of how many figures were regarded as one and the same as him by Hislop). Based on the summary above it's safe to say that Hislop's claim is incorrect – and, arguably, malevolent (and as such deserves scrutiny, not further possibilities for spreading). However, this doesn't answer the question where does the name of Easter actually come from? As I noted in the beginning, in English (and also German) it's a bit of an oddity – it  actually was derived from a preexisting pagan term, at least if we are to believe the word of the monk Bede, who in the 8th century wrote that the term is a derivative of “Eosturmonath,” eg. “month of Eostre” - according to him a goddess. There are no known inscriptions mentioning such a goddess from the British Isles or beyond, though researchers involved in reconstructing proto-indo-european language assume that “Eostre” would logically be a derivative of the same term as  the name of the Greek Eos and of the vedic Ushas, and the Austriahenae goddesses from Roman inscriptions from present day Germany  – eg.  a word simply referring to dawn, and by extension to a goddess embodying it. This is a sound, well researched theory, so while early medieval chroniclers sometimes cannot be trusted, I see no reason to doubt Bede's account.

While Ushas is a prominent goddess in the Vedas, Eos was rather marginal in Greek religion (see her Theoi entry for details), and it's hard to tell to what degree Bede's Eostre was similar to either of them beyond plausibly being a personification of dawn. Of course, the hypothetical proto-indo-european dawn goddess all of these could be derived from would have next to nothing to do with Ishtar. While the history of the name of Easter (though not the celebration itself) is undeniably interesting, I suppose it lacks the elements which make the fake Ishtar claim a viral hit – the connection is indirect, and an equivalent of the Greek Eos isn't exactly exciting (Eos herself is, let be honest, remembered at best as an obscure part of the Odyssey), while Ishtar is understood by many as “wicked” sex goddess (a simplification, to put it very lightly) which adds a scandalous, sacrilegious dimension to the baffling lie, explaining its appeal to Dawkins' fans, arguably. As demonstrated above, Hislop's theories are false and adapting them for any new context – be it christian, atheist or neopagan – won't change that, but are there any genuine examples of, well, “hidden Ishtars”? If that's the part of the summary which caught your attention, rejoice – there is a plenty of these to be found in Bronze Age texts. I'd go as far as saying that most of ancient middle eastern cultures from that era felt compelled to include an Ishtar ersatz in their pantheons. Due to the popularity of the original Ishtar, she was almost a class of figures rather than a single figure – a situation almost comparable to modern franchising, when you think about it. The following figures can be undeniably regarded as “Ishtar-like” in some capacity or even as outright analogs:

Astarte (or Ashtart, to go with a more accurate transcription of the oldest recorded version of the name) – the most direct counterpart of Ishtar there is: a cognate of her own name. Simply, put Astarte is the “Levantine”equivalent of the “Mesopotamian” Ishtar. In the city of Mari, the names were pretty much used interchangeably, and some god lists equate them, though Astarte had a fair share of distinct traits. In Ugaritic mythology, which forms the core of our understanding of the western Semitic deities, she was a warrior and hunter (though it's possible that in addition to conventional weapons she was also skilled at wielding curses), and was usually grouped with Anat. Both of them were regarded as the allies of Baal, and assist him against his enemies in various myth. They also were envisioned to spend a lot of time together – one ritual calls them upon as a pair from distant lands where they're hunting together, while a fragmentary myth depicts both of them arriving in the household of the head god El and taking pity on Yarikh, the moon god, seemingly treated as a pariah. Astarte's close relation to Baal is illustrated by her epithet, “face of Baal” or “of the name of Baal.” They were often regarde as a couple and even late, Hellenic sources preserve a traditional belief that Astarte and “Adados” (Baal) ruled together as a pair. In some documents from Ugarit concerned with what we would call foreign policy today they were invoked together as the most prominent deities. It's therefore possible that she had some role related to human politics. She was regarded as exceptionally beautiful and some texts favorably describe mortal women's appearance by comparing them to Astarte. In later times she was regarded as a goddess of love, but it's unclear if that was a significant aspect of her in the Bronze Age. It's equally unclear if she shared Ishtar's astral character – in Canaan there were seemingly entirely separate dawn and dusk deities. Despite clamis you might see online, Astarte was not the same as the mother goddess Asherah. In the Baal cycle they actually belong to the opposing camps. Additionally, the names are only superficially similar (one starts with an aleph, the other with an ayin) and have different etymology. Also, that famous sculpture of a very blatantly Minoan potnia theron? Ugaritic in origin but not a depiction of either Astarte or Asherah.

The Egyptians, due to extensive contact with Canaan and various Syrian states in the second half of the Bronze Age, adapted Astarte (and by extension Anat) into their own pantheon. Like in Ugarit, her warrior character was emphasized. An Egyptian innovation was depicting her as a cavalry goddess of sorts – associated with mounted combat and chariots. In Egypt, Ptah, the head god of Memphis and divine craftsman, was regarded as her father. In most texts, Astarte is part of Seth's inner circle of associates – however, in this context Seth wasn't the slayer of Osiris, but a heroic storm god similar to Baal. The so-called Astarte papyrus presents an account of a myth eerily similar to the Ugaritic battle between Baal and Yam – starring Seth as the hero, with Astarte in a supporting role resembling that played by Shaushka, another Ishtar analog, in the Hittite song of Hedammu, which will be discussed below.

Shaushka – a Hurrian and Hittite goddess whose name means “the magnificent one” in the Hurrian language. Hurrian was widely spoken in ancient Mesopotamia and Anatolia (and in northernmost parts of the Levant – up to one fifth of personal names from Ugaritic documents were Hurrian iirc), but has no descendants today and its relation to any extant languages is uncertain. In Hittite texts she was often referred to with an “akkadogram” denoting Ishtar's name (or its Sumerian equivalent) instead of a phonetic  spelling of her own (there was an analogous practice regarding the sun gods), while in Egyptian and Syrian texts there are a few references to “Ishtar Hurri” - “Ishtar of the Hurrians” - who is argued by researchers to be one and the same as Shaushka. Despite Shaushka's Hurrian name and her prominence in myths popular both among Hittites and Hurrians, her main cult center was the Assyrian city of Nineveh, associated with Ishtar herself as well, and there were relatively few temples dedicated to her in the core Hittite sphere of influence in Anatolia. Curiously, both the oldest reference to Shaushka and to the city of Nineveh come from the same text, stating that a sheep was sacrificed to her there. While most of her roles overlap with Ishtar's (she too was associated with sex, warfare and fertility), here are two distinct features of Shaushka that set her apart as unique: one is the fact she was perceived in part as a masculine deity, despite being consistently described as a woman – in the famous Yazılıkaya reliefs she appears twice, both among gods and goddesses. In Alalakh she was depicted in outfits combining elements of male and female clothing. Similar fashion preferences were at times attributed to Ninshubur, the attendant of Ishtar's Sumerian forerunner Inanna – though in that case they were likely the result of conflation of Ninshubur with the male messenger deity Papsukkal, while in the case of Shaushka the dual nature seems to be inherent to her (I haven't seen any in depth study of this matter yet, sadly, so I can't really tell confidently which modern term in my opinion describes Shaushka's character the best). Her two attendants, musician goddesses Ninatta and Kulitta, do not share it. Shaushka's other unique niche is her role in exorcisms and incantations, and by extension with curing various diseases – this role outlived her cult itself, as late Assyrian inscriptions still associated the “Ishtar of Nineveh” (at times viewed as separate from the regular Ishtar) with healing. It can be argued that even her sexual aspect was connected to healing, as she was invoked to cure impotence. The most significant myth in which she appears is the cycle dedicated to documenting the storm god's (Teshub for the Hurrians, Tarhunna for the Hittites) rise to power. Shaushka is depicted as his sister and arguably most reliable ally, and plays a prominent role in two sections in particular – the Song of Hedammu and the Song of Ullikummi. In the former, she seemingly comes up with an elaborate plan to defeat a new enemy of her brother - the sea monster Hedammu - by performing a seductive dance and song montage (with her attendants as a support act) and offering an elixir to him. The exact result is uncertain, but Hedammu evidently ends up vanquished. In the latter, she attempts to use the same gambit against yet another new foe, the “diorite man” Ullikummi – however, since he is unfeeling like a rock, she fails; some translators see this passage as comedic. However, elsewhere in the Song, the storm god's main enemy Kumarbi and his minions view Shaushka as a formidable warrior, and in the early installment of the cycle, Song of LAMMA, she seemingly partakes in a fight. In another myth, known only from a few fragments and compared to the Sumerian text “Inanna and the huluppu tree,” Shaushka takes care of “Ḫašarri” -  a personification of olive oil, or a sentient olive tree. It seems that she has to protect this bizarre entity from various threats. While Shaushka lived on in Mesopotamia as “Ishtar of Nineveh,” this was far from the only “variant”of Ishtar in her homeland.

Nanaya was another such goddess. A few Sumerian hymns mention her alongside Inanna, the Sumerian equivalent of Ishtar, by the time of Sargon of Akkad virtually impossible to separate from her. As one composition puts it, Nanaya was “properly educated by holy Inana” and “counselled by holy Inana.” Initially she was most likely a part of Inanna's circle of deities in her cult center, Uruk, though due to shared character they eventually blurred together to a large degree. Just like Inanna/Ishtar, Nanaya was a goddess of love, described as beautiful and romantically and sexually active, and she too had an astral character. She was even celebrated during the same holidays as Inanna. Some researchers go as far as suggest Nanaya was only ever Inanna/Ishtar in her astral aspect alone and not a separate goddess. However, there is also evidence of her, Inanna and the sky god An being regarded as a trinity of distinct tutelary deities in Uruk. Additionally, king Melishipak's kudurru shown above shows both Nanaya (seated) and Ishtar/Inanna (as a star). Something peculiar to Nanaya was her later association with the scribe god Nabu. Sometimes Nabu's consort was the the goddess Tashmetu instead, but I can't find any summary explaining potential differences between them – it seems just like Nanaya, she was a goddess of love, including its physical aspects. Regardless of the name used to describe Nabu's wife, she was regarded as a sage and scribe like him – this arguably gives her a distinct identity she lacked in her early role as part of Inanna's circle. As the above examples demonstrate, the popularity of the “Ishtar type” was exceptional in the Bronze Age – but is it odd from a modern perspective? The myths dedicated to her are still quite fun to read today – much like any hero of ancient imagination she has a plethora of adversaries, a complex love life (not to mention many figures not intended to be read as her lovers originally but described in such terms that it's easy to see them this way today – including other women), a penchant for reckless behavior – and most importantly a consistent, easy to summarize character. She shouldn't be a part of modern mass consciousness only because of false 19th century claims detached from her actual character (both these from Hislop's works and “secular”claims about her purported “real”character based on flimsy reasoning and shoddy sources) – isn't a female character who is allowed to act about the same way as male mythical figures do without being condemned for it pretty much what many modern mythology retellings try to create? Further reading: On Astarte: -entry in the Iconography of Deities and Demons in Ancient Near East database by Izak Cornelius -‛Athtart in Late Bronze Age Syrian Texts by Mark S. Smith -ʿAthtartu’s Incantations and the Use of Divine Names as Weapons by Theodore J. Lewis -The Other Version of the Story of the Storm-god’s Combat with the Sea in the Light of Egyptian, Ugaritic, and Hurro-Hittite Texts by Noga Ayali-Darshan -for a summary of evidence that Astarte has nothing to do with Asherah see A Reassessment of Asherah With Further Considerations of the Goddess by Steve A. Wiggins On Shaushka: -Adapting Mesopotamian Myth in Hurro-Hittite Rituals at Hattuša: IŠTAR, the Underworld, and the Legendary Kings by Mary R. Bacharova -Ishtar seduces the Sea-serpent. A new join in the epic of Ḫedammu (KUB 36, 56 + 95) and its meaning for the battle between Baal and Yam in Ugaritic tradition by Meindert Dijkstra -Ištar of Nineveh Reconsidered by Gary Beckman -Shaushka, the Traveling Goddess by Graciela Gestoso Singer -Hittite Myths by Harry A. Hoffner jr. -The Hurritic Myth about Šaušga of Nineveh and Ḫašarri (CTH 776.2) by Meindert Dijkstra -The West Hurian Pantheon and its Background by Alfonso Archi On Nanaya: -entry in Brill’s New Pauly by Thomas Richter -entry from the Ancient Mesopotamian Gods and Goddesses project by Ruth Horry -A tigi to Nanaya for Ishbi-Erra from The Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature -A balbale to Inana as Nanaya from The Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature -More Light on Nanaya by Michael P. Streck and Nathan Wasserman -More on the Nature and History of the Goddess Nanaya by Piotr Steinkeller A few introductory Ishtar/Inanna myths: -Inanna's descent to the netherworld -Inanna and the huluppu tree -Inanna and Enki -Enki and the world order -Inanna and Ebih -Dumuzid and Enkimdu

[evanescentreverie]

I Ain’t Perfect (SVT Wonwoo)

This is a songfic based off of I Ain’t perfect by IV of Spades.

TW: Mentions of Self-hate, Eating Disorder, Tread carefully. 

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸ There you are beautiful, quietly Sleepin' on the bed we made right next to me Feels like a dream Only a dream ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

Sometimes, you wondered if what you were seeing was real.  If it was truly him that slept by your side every night. If he was truly the man that you were destined to be with. 

You silently traced the outline of his face, watching as he slept peacefully beside you. A small smile etched itself into your lips, enjoying the sight of his serene face. It was a rare sight for him, seeing as he was always busy with this work so you treasured these moments, these rare moments that were gifted to you by him. 

"What are you doing up, my love?" He whispered, eyes staying closed as he wrapped his arms around your waist. You chuckled as you played with his hair, a certain kind of warmth filling your heart. The kind of warmth that only he gave you, "Go back to sleep, Wonwoo. You need it." 

He pulled you closer into him, allowing you to enjoy his scent. You nuzzled your face into his chest, arms slowly encircling him as you did. You drew circles on his back, before deciding to trace something else. As you finished writing the letters, you wondered if he got the message. A quiet laugh from him was all you needed as an answer, "I love you too (Y/n)."

You chuckled as you nuzzled your head deeper into his chest, closing your eyes once more to enjoy this sense of serenity between the two of you. 

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸ Here we are holding on, dangerously Dancin' on the edge of the infinity Feels like a dream Only a dream ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

You have always been mesmerized by him, by his very existence. You loved how he shines whenever he performed. You loved how he showed his passion every time he got up on stage. You loved how his eyes sparkled whenever he told you that he would be performing something new. You had always been proud of him, seeing as you had watched him your whole life.

You remembered the time where he told you that he would be debuting. You couldn't forget the smile he had on his face then, the way his eyes sparkled when he told you he'd finally debut. Your heart warmed at the sight of his smile then, happiness bubbling in your stomach. 

You supported him since then and that didn't change until now. You were currently wandering around, waiting for the concert to begin. You smiled as you glanced around, proud that they have finally reached this far. Suddenly, your phone vibrated on your hands, causing you to look at it. You smiled when you saw that it was Wonwoo who had texted you.

Are you already here?

Yep! I'm currently outside waiting for the staff  to allow us to enter.

That's good. Enjoy the show, my love.

You chuckled silently as you read the text, eyes not paying attention to what's in front of you. Due to this, you collided with someone, causing you and the person to drop your things. "Oh my! I'm so sorry!" You muttered out as you helped her pick up her things, as well as yours, "I wasn't really paying attention..." Your voice died down as you saw her. 

"Don't worry about it!" She brushed her locks behind her ear, a smile present on her lips.

She was extremely beautiful, dressed in clothes you can only hope to wear. Her smile was captivating, makeup on point and her eyes were doe-like, something you can never hope to achieve. Her nice scent was something you noticed as well.

You glanced at the things she brought, being most prominent was her Wonwoo fan. You gave out a small smile, "Are you a Wonwoo stan as well?"

You saw how her eyes sparkled almost immediately, "Yes! Are you one as well?" 

You nodded as she began talking about Wonwoo. Your mind wandered as you fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, suddenly aware of your body. Your heart beat nervously, your stomach feeling uncomfortable, and your hands felt clammy. You cast out a wry smile, head nodding in agreement whenever she said something pleasing. You heard as her friends called her, giving you a smile before waving goodbye.

You watched as she left, leaving you in a trance-like state. The vibration from your phone broke you out of it, a frown now present on your smiling face. 

I heard you're going to enter soon. Take care, my love. Always watch where  you're going.

You pursed your lips as you read his text before pocketing your phone. You glanced around, suddenly aware of how beautiful their fans were. You took a deep breath before heading to the bathroom, hoping to remove the uncomfortable feeling in your chest.

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸ Writing all these memories Singing all these melodies Waiting here for centuries ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

You stood in front of the mirror once again, eyes fixed on the reflection in front of you. You glanced from top to bottom, scrutinizing every single thing you find wrong about yourself. Oftentimes, you'd find yourself doing this, staring at your body and judging it more than others do. You pinched the side of your belly, as well as the fat in your thighs. As you did so, you felt a sense of hatred swelling up in your heart, causing your eyes to well up in tears.

You bit your lip as you tried not to cry, telling yourself that it really wasn't worth it to cry. You just had to try harder, that's all. Try harder in eating less and in exercise. Once again, you stared at your reflection, finding it harder and harder to do so as the minutes passed by. Your heart felt stuffy, emotions getting harder to control as you allowed yourself to cry.

Sobs filled the room as your knees grow weak, allowing you to sit on the floor and stare into the wall in defeat. You didn't know what to do anymore, you did your best in losing the weight you wanted to lose but no matter what you did, it just wasn't enough. You could only stare at your thighs in hatred, wondering why you couldn't be as beautiful and thin as the others. Wondering why Wonwoo stayed with you despite looking like this.

He could have chosen a different girl, a prettier one at that but instead, he chose you and you wondered why. While he always reassured you with his words, you couldn't help but doubt him. You couldn't help but think that maybe he was staying with you because you had been friends for the longest time. That maybe, he was staying with you out of pity.

"I don't deserve him." Your voice was barely a whisper, barely audible with the sobs that filled the room. You buried your face into your hands as you cried your heart out, finally letting out all the sadness you felt.

Unbeknownst to you, Wonwoo stood by the doorway, heart breaking at the sound of your cries.

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸ I ain't perfect I ain't perfect Perfect for you Perfect for you ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

Wonwoo wasn't dumb. He knew that after your breakdown, something in you had changed. He saw how you would start to eat less, how you're often outside to work out at the gym or maybe even jog at the park. He grew worried as you progressively became thinner, to the point where there was barely any left on you. He also noticed that you took fewer pictures of the two of you. He missed how you would nudge him and ask him for a picture, and while he playfully denied your request, deep inside, he enjoyed it when you show him the picture.

So he stared at you from across the table, watching as you picked on your food rather than eat it. He held your hand which was placed on top of the table, causing your gaze to follow his eyes. "Will you eat for me, my love?"

He saw how you smiled apologetically at him, giving him a slight nod as you tried your best to eat. He let out a quiet sigh as he rubbed circles on the top of your hand. He slowly removed his hold from you as he ate his own food in silence, glancing a few times in your direction to watch if you were eating. A few moments after, he saw you stand up abruptly and head to the bathroom.

Immediately, he stood up as well, following you to the bathroom. He heard the sounds of your puking, causing a frown to visit his lips. He saw how you threw up everything you ate, head on top of the toilet bowl. He approached you, his left hand pulling up your hair and his right rubbing your back. His heart swelled with worry as you threw up, knowing full well what was happening to you.

Once you were finished you headed to the bathroom sink and cleaned up, Wonwoo following you as you did. He saw how you couldn't look at him, eyes avoiding his figure. "I'm sorry." You whispered, causing his heart to break. He couldn't stop himself as he hugged you, hoping to at least comfort you in this way. He was shocked by how small you've become. He knew that you gradually lose weight but he didn't realize that it had come to this point. He delicately placed his arms around you, scared that if he were to hold you tighter, you'd break. Slowly but surely, your body shook, sobs soon leaving your form. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, Wonwoo allowing you to cry your heart out. Soon, your sobs quieted down, "I don't know what to do, Wonwoo." He felt you nuzzle your head deeper into his chest, arms by your side. He caressed the back of your head, "I know my love," He whispered out, "but I'll always be here for you." 

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸ Here I am beautiful, as you see Standing on the pedestal you made for me Feels like a dream Only a dream ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

"Why do you stay with me, Wonwoo?" You muttered out suddenly in the middle of a movie, thoughts in complete disarray despite the distraction. Wonwoo stopped caressing your head as he looked at you, "What do you mean, my love?"

"You could have any other woman that you want yet you're here with me." You turned your attention towards him, genuinely curious about his answer.  He stared into your eyes, seeing a glimmer of insecurity swirling within them.

"Because no matter who they are, they couldn't match up with you." He leaned closer to your face, giving a small kiss on your forehead. "I love how you're able to know exactly what I think and know exactly what I need." He then proceeded to give a kiss on your nose, "I love how strong you are despite what's happening."

He closed his eyes as he kissed you passionately on your lips before pulling away seconds after. "Because you're so important to me, more than you know." Your heart warmed at his words, eyes tearing up because of this. You looked away, hoping that he doesn't notice but he did. He removed his hold on you, hands now placed on top of your cheeks. His thumbs wiped any stray tears, a loving look found on his eyes. 

"I love you so much, (Y/n) and I'll say it no matter how many times you want me to."

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸ Waltzin' through our symphonies In our little galaxy Waiting for our destiny ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

"Please wake up, (Y/n)," Wonwoo whispered beside you, hands holding your right hand. His heart ached at the sight of you on the hospital bed, body pale and obviously malnourished. He wondered where he went wrong, what he didn't notice.

You had always been smiling, laughing like you usually do so why was it so hard to see that you were suffering. Why didn't you let him know that it had led to this? 

He watched your chest rise and fall, his breathing unconsciously copying yours. He rubbed your hands before bringing it up to his face. "Please come back to me."

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸ I ain't perfect I ain't perfect ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

You sat at the side of the bed, staring as he slept peacefully beside you. His head rested on his arms and it was obvious that he hasn't left you since the day you were admitted. You pursed your lips as you removed his hold from yours before tracing the outline of his face.

You noticed how his eyes now had bags under them, already knowing that he worried about you. You also noticed how he had tear stains on his cheeks, making your heart ache.

You knew that Wonwoo was never the type to cry easily so for him to cry for you made you feel guilty. You also knew that you wouldn't be able to give him the love he deserves because,

How are you going to love somebody else if you can't even love yourself? 

You pursed your lips as you made a decision, knowing full well what you had to do. Despite knowing that you will hurt him, you knew that you had to do this. After all, you wanted to give back the love that he gave you.

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸ Perfect for you Perfect for you ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

Wonwoo's eyes fluttered open, body turning to reach out to you. When he felt that you weren't there, he was suddenly awake. He sat up, putting on his slippers before looking for you. "(Y/n)?" He called out, hoping that you'd answer back. A pit formed in his stomach when he heard silence. "(Y/n)?" His voice was louder now, feet dragging him to every part of your shared apartment, hoping to find you somewhere.

It was no use, you weren't anywhere. He then walked back to your shared bedroom, immediately heading towards your closet. His heart broke when he saw that every single one of your clothes were gone. "What?" He whispered out, eyes not believing what he was seeing. He sat on the floor as he tried to process what was happening, suddenly very aware of the silence that filled the house. 

He didn't know where you were, nor what went through your head as you decided to leave without a trace. He then stood up as he grabbed a jacket, ready to look for you despite being late. He headed towards the table in the living room to get his keys but stopped when he saw a letter addressed to him. He carefully picked it up as he sat down, mentally preparing himself as he opened it.

Immediately, he knew it was from you, fingers tracing the familiar handwriting. He knew that you cried as you wrote this, seeing as there were numerous tear stains on the paper. He took a deep breath before reading the paper.

My dearest Wonwoo,            If you're reading this then I'm probably already gone. Knowing you, you'd probably look for me but please, don't. Don't waste your energy finding me, seeing as I don't want to be found. Don't contact me as well, Wonwoo, or else my resolve will crumble.           I want to say that I love you, truly I do. I love you more than anything in this world, I hope you know. I treasure every memory we have, as well as the smiles you give me and continue to give me. I know how much you love me. There was never a day where you fail to show me just how much you care for me and I truly want to thank you for that.          It might seem that I'm leaving you but Wonwoo, I'm not. I just need time. Time to heal, time to love me, time to repair me.          You see, I'm sick. I know you've noticed, seeing as you've already seen it so many times. It's hard for me to open up, Wonwoo. I'm disgusted with myself and I know that you know it as well. I can't look at myself the way you do, I can't love myself the way you do. I loathe everything about myself and I know it isn't right.         Don't worry about me and focus on your passion. That will make me happy, more than anything. I promise that I will do my best to take care of myself but right now, I just need to heal. I'm looking for a way to do so.        I promise one day, I will come back into your arms, my love, and when that day comes, I promise to give back all the love you gave me. I love you.

He didn't notice that he was crying until he saw his tears fall on the paper. His heart ached at your words, already yearning for you despite only leaving. He silently sobbed as he reread the letter over and over again, placing it down to wipe his tears. It was agonizing, the feeling he was currently dealing with but he understood. He understood why you had to do this. 

Despite saying not to, he shot you a text, hoping to at least give you the feeling that he was supporting you. To let you know that he would always be here.

I'll always be here waiting for you, my love.

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸ There you are beautiful, quietly Sleepin' on the bed we made right next to me Feels like a dream Only a dream ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

It's been exactly a year since he had seen you and there wasn't a day where he wouldn't think of you. He often wondered how you were doing, if you had been eating right, if you were taking care of yourself or if you'd finally moved on from him. He knows that you were trying your best to recover and he knew that you were coming back to him but in his head were doubts. He trusts you but he can't help but think,

What if you never came back to him?

His heart yearned for you, to be by your side once more. To touch you, to hug you, to show you all the love that you deserve. He wished that you would come back to him but he knew that you needed time, and time is what he will give to you. He opened his phone, seeing your photo with him. He missed how you smiled at him, he missed everything about you.

A hand on his shoulder broke him out of his trance, causing him to look at who it was. Seungcheol looked at him with a worried expression, "Yah, It's time to go home."

Wonwoo nodded as he stood up, grabbing his belongings and following their leader out of the venue. He could see his glances from time to time, knowing that Seungcheol was worried about him. Silence enveloped the two of them but he didn't mind, seeing as he appreciated it more than casual talk.

It didn't take long for them to reach their van. He felt a pat on his shoulder, his heart saddening at the sudden comfort. He muttered out a silent thank you before entering the van, his members already inside. He knew that every member knew what today was, seeing as they tried their best to cheer him up. While he appreciated the effort, he couldn't help but yearn for silence. So, when he took a seat, he placed his earphones in, not wanting to be bothered by anyone as he closed his eyes, hoping that once he wakes up, he'll see you. 

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸ I ain't perfect I ain't perfect Perfect for you Perfect for you ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

As he opened the door to his apartment, he couldn't help but notice something different. The house was cleaner than it was before, his clothes were all folded neatly but most importantly, the smell of newly cooked food filled his nose. 

He dropped everything he had on him as he ran, ran towards the source, and there you were. You stood in front of the stove, back facing him. He stood there frozen, staring at how you busied yourself with preparing a meal for the both of you. He saw as you turned around, smiling when you noticed that it was only him that stared at you. 

"Welcome home, Wonwoo. I'm almost finished here so you can---" Your words were cut off by his sudden embrace, your shoulder getting wet as he buried his head on top of it. A few seconds of stillness passed before feeling your arms circling themselves on his waist, face burying in his chest. He missed your smell, the familiarity of it filling up his heart with warmth.

"I thought you'd never come back to me." He hated how his voice shook, a sense of vulnerability showing itself to you. He felt your hand rub his back, comforting him to the best of his ability.

"I said I'd come back so I will." You removed yourself from his hold, looking up to stare at him. Your hands travelled up, wiping the tears that fell from his eyes. "I'm home, Wonwoo."

He couldn't help but think about how beautiful you were. How your eyes sparkled as you stared at him, how your smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He smiled as he leaned closer, lips meeting as he showed you all the love he can give. As you parted, he can't help but notice the fondness in your eyes, as well as the sound of his heart pounding. He brushed the stray hair on your face before giving you a small peck. 

"Welcome home, my love."

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸ There you are beautiful, quietly ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

[xaphrin]

Raven pitched forward, smirking as she took a sip of her wine. “Color me surprised, I didn’t know Damian Wayne had a sweet tooth.”

He lifted an eyebrow and shoved another bite of the chocolate torte in his mouth, never breaking eye-contact with her. Heat crawled up her neck, but she couldn’t look away from him. Raven tried not to focus on the way his tongue slid along his full lips, making sure he didn’t waste a crumb. It was a tease of power, and he knew it would burn her. Heat coiled in the pit of her stomach, and Raven tore her eyes away from him, giving him that small concession to save her sanity. The last thing she needed was to have inconvenient feelings for Damian Wayne.

“Jealous?” Damian picked up a bite of torte and held his fork out to her. “You can ask for some.” 

Raven reached for the fork, but he pulled it out of her reach and leveled a stare at her. Oh. He… wanted to feed her? That was a step into an area she had never considered before. Raven glanced around the restaurant, realizing that there was more than one cell phone lifted, taking pictures of the two of them. One of the many hazards of being in public with a Wayne. Her stomach twisted and she took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Finally, she leaned forward and opened her mouth. 

Damian grinned and ate the bite himself, never looking away from her.

“Jerk.” She pursed her lips, but couldn’t stop the twitch of a smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. God, he was infuriating sometimes. With no decorum whatsoever, she reached across the table and grabbed the torte from in front of Damian, taking a bite herself. 

He laughed and leaned back in his chair watching her as if she completely fascinated him. But, more likely, he was trying to find something to tease her about. A soft silence settled between them before he filled it, tapping his fingers on the tablecloth. “So… after dinner, did you want to walk down by the bay?” 

Raven picked up her head, her fork hanging out of her mouth as she blinked. What? The soft, silky torte turned to ash in her mouth and she forced herself to swallow. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Take a walk by the bay together.” Damian shrugged and tried to look unaffected, but she swore she could see the tips of his ears turn pink. “We’re still on a date, and you paid a thousand dollars for this. So… you might as well take advantage of it. Get your money’s worth.” 

“Oh. Ah… I… sure?” If he had asked her this same question yesterday, she would have pulled out a whole ledger filled with reasons why this wasn’t a date and why they shouldn’t do date things. But, right now, Raven couldn’t think of a reason not to walk with him. They were sort of friends, she didn’t have anything else to do tonight. And… she was finding she didn’t mind his company all that much. In fact, she might have actually started to like him a little. It only took four damn years. Her toes curled in Donna’s shoes and she shifted, taking another bite of the torte as she tried to look unaffected. “I guess. Sure. It’s a nice night for it.”  

Damian motioned for the waiter and paid the bill, while Raven kept watching him from under her lowered lashes. Jesus, he was handsome. Although she would rather eat crow than admit that out loud. Candlelight slid over his olive skin, casting curious shadows bathing him in mystery. Her stomach twisted as her eyes traced the stern line of his jaw and his full, decadent lips. Lips she wouldn’t mind giving a test kiss too. Just to see if they were really as soft as they looked. Not because she liked him like that. No. Of course not. This was Damian Wayne, her arch rival for the better part of four years, not some boy she happened to have a crush on.

She left a few bites of the torte for him and pushed the plate back to his side of the table. “I’ll need to text Donna and let her know I’ll be a bit later than eleven.”

“Oh no.” He lifted an eyebrow. “We’re staying out past curfew. How will she manage the scandal?”

Raven offered a sardonic smile. “I just want to make sure that when my body inevitably goes missing, she knows to check the bay first.” 

He just rolled his eyes, but didn’t stop smiling.   

Raven reached for her purse on the back of her chair, but it slipped on the shiny wood and fell to the hardwood floor. With a sharp crash, the snap closure cracked open with the shock of the impact, spilling the contents of her purse. She sat there, in complete, silent horror, as no less than twenty brightly colored condoms scattered across the floor around their table like suggestive confetti. Oh, fuck. This night could not possibly get any worse.

Frozen in shock, she sat there, not exactly knowing what to do. It wasn’t like she could deny ownership of the condoms, they came from her purse. She could try to make a joke, or explain the water balloon contingency plan, but nothing came out. The table next to them snorted into their food, trying not to make eye contact with Raven or Damian, and that somehow made it worse.

Damian looked from the floor to her face and then back again. He cleared his throat and pressed his lips together. “Oh. Wow. You… seem prepared.” 

“Donna. Water balloons. Not… mine?” Raven found herself stumbling through a series of weaker and weaker excuses, until she finally gathered enough of her wits to stoop down and shove the condoms back in her purse. She was going to murder Donna when she got back to their house. Murder her and bury her in the basement of their old house.

“You missed one.” Damian, lips pressed together as he obviously tried to stifle a laugh, reached across the table and handed it to her. “While I like to think my stamina is impressive, twenty times in one night seems a bit much.” 

Raven snatched the condom from him and glared, pulling herself to her feet. “Let’s just go.”  

She stormed out of the restaurant, trying to hide her shame as she stepped onto the street. Of all the things that could possibly go wrong on her not-date with Damian Wayne, an exploding purse full of condoms was somehow not on her list of worst-case scenarios. She stood in the streetlight, taking a deep breath of the air, tinged with moist heat of late-spring, and felt her embarrassment flood her. She buried her face in her hands and tried not to feel so utterly inept at this. How could she be so bad at just going on a date?

“So…” Damian wandered up behind her, his voice surprisingly casual. “I’m learning more and more about Gotham U’s resident hardass.” 

Raven started to walk away from him, but Damian followed, his steps sound and sure as he caught up with her. 

“One - she really likes kittens. Two - she makes me laugh more than I realized.”

Raven’s feet stopped at the subtle compliment and she turned around to look at him. He continued to walk up to her, his hands shoved in his pockets. How in the world did he make this look so easy? Like he knew what he was doing? Her stomach twisted painfully as he stopped in front of her, his eyes searching her face like he was admiring art. A smirk played on his lips, and his eyes turned dark as he pitched forward to look at her.

“Three - she apparently really likes to have sex.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Raven turned back around and started to move down the sidewalk, walking away from him as fast as shoe could. “Donna thought it would be funny.”

“Funny?” Damian fell into step next to her, still smirking. “Or, was she looking out for you?”

“Looking out for me?” Raven turned at him, leveling a flat stare. “Oh, please. As if we’d ever have sex.” 

“Why’s that?” His face turned into an unreadable mask, and he lifted an eyebrow, questioning. He seemed genuinely surprised that sex was off limits, and Raven didn’t understand why. It wasn’t like they were actually involved. She wasn’t even sure if they tolerated each other, let alone liked each other. 

“Damian.” She pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers and sighed in defeat. “You hate me. You’ve hated me since freshman year. You’ve done nothing but push me and tease me for the past four years. At what point do you think we are ever going to have sex?”

“I don’t hate you, Raven. I’ve never hated you. I… always thought we were kind of friends.” 

She lifted her eyes and looked at him, blinking. “What?”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as if releasing a tension that had been building inside him for years. “All those times I pushed at you during school was because I knew you could do better than what you were giving yourself credit for. I fought you on everything because you were always ready to see things from different points of view - when you were challenged.” He shifted, his hands falling out of his pockets in a small show of vulnerability. “And I teased you because you were always so damn cute when you got angry. Plus, you gave as good as you got. I’ve been roasted by you enough times to know at least that.” 

Raven allowed herself to feel at least a little pride at that. 

“I’ve never hated you. Not once since I’ve met you. You’re smart - brilliant, actually - clever, witty, and…” He glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck as his cheeks flushed. “…beautiful.” 

What. 

Raven found herself unable to breathe. She stood there, staring at him as her mouth opened and closed several times, hunting for anything to say. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest that he had to have heard it over the sounds of the city. It felt like her head was swimming and her insides were melting, and she couldn’t make heads or tales of anything. Damian Wayne not only complimented her, but he called her beautiful. The man who could date supermodels and royalty, thought she was beautiful. Something inside her twisted with joy and excitement, and she found herself trying to explain her emotions away, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t deny her own feelings anymore. After all this time together, maybe she really did like him. 

Steeling her nerves, she stepped up to him and lifted her face to his. “Don’t think this compliment erases everything you’ve ever said to me, Dami.” 

His lips twitched as he fought back a smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

“And I’m still not planning on having sex with you tonight.”

He arched an eyebrow, and she heard his breath catch in his throat. Was he… excited? His tongue wet his lips and he spoke softly, as if unsure about what she was almost offering. “There seems to be a qualifier in that sentence.”

“I’m not planning on having sex with you tonight,” she repeated before turning back around towards the bay. Her heart was pounding, excitement and playfulness coursing through her. She felt nymph-like, leading him on a chase after her. If Damian wanted to consider her beautiful, then she would try to be as beautiful as humanly possibly. She lowered her voice to a sultry, flirtatious hum, knowing he could hear the suggestion in her tone. “But… it doesn’t mean I can’t change my mind in the future.” 

With a teasing smile, she turned toward the marina entrance. 

Missed a step in Donna’s too-big shoes. 

And promptly fell down the stairs.  

[forthehpfanboys]

Calling It Even

Pair: Ron Weasley x Reader; he/him.

Summary: You just moved 'across the pond' from Ilvermorny to Hogwarts, but before you actually moved you'd made a friend! Well, two and you just so happen to bump into them at the Leaky Couldren!

Warnings: Swearing, Slightly Suggestive (Ron's raging hormones™).

Note: Hi! This is my first time writing and posting a fic in a few years, so I'm sorry for spelling errors or stupid mistakes! It'll get better as I rewarm my.. Writing.. Muscles? Anyway, Thank you for reading! Let me now if this is good and enjoy!

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

-

Moving from the US to Britain was just as stressful as you figured it would be, but going from Ilvermorny to Hogwarts felt like an actual asteroid was thrown into your world. You had to leave behind your friends, close relatives and of course your home, then you had a whole new school to deal with on top of that. Different houses, different teachers, different classes and the rules. Merlin's beard, were the rules different. You can distinctly remember bombarding your guardian with question after question. You were still surprised you got to carry your wand around with you outside of school! Of course the actual moving process had taken its toll on your guardians, and they knew what it was doing to you. You were tired, emotionally, physically- Godric, did you need a break before school started.

You would be starting your fifth year when summer ended, and that was in a few weeks or so. This should’ve given you the time to gather up the books, potion supplies and robes needed, maybe even find some friends your age, but you had other plans, apparently. You had spent the entire summer huddled over their desk waiting for an owl to return with a response letter and avoiding the cluttered shopping strip. You didn’t wanna tackle getting lost and missing a response from your favorite redheads. Now, your headmaster at Ilvermorny had recommended you create a quill-pal at Hogwarts so it felt less chaotic when you arrived, but you ended up finding two that were the pure embodiment of chaos.

So, technically, you did end up making friends with the program, just not what you expected. Each letter was seemingly cut in half, one with orange ink, one with purple. In said response, you learned the orange was usually Fred and purple was usually Georges. In said letters, you learned they are two years older than you, live in what they call a ‘Burrow’ and owning their own shop was definitely wrapped in their future. You spent a solid year getting to know the Infamously Famous,Charming and Totally Destructive personality of the Weasley Twins. Honestly, you seriously looked forward to seeing them in person, even if it was their last year. You three managed to get along like you’d known each other their entire lives. Best part is they promised to find you on the first day and show you around!

You remember Fred mentioning their roles on the Quidditch team and George saying something about pranks with fireworks and you knew. Oh, you knew the three of you would cause chaos and you were so excited. The red-headed duo also promised they’d introduce you to their friends and their extensive family. Fred had brought up having a younger brother your age and judging from the cluttered moving photo they sent you, he was awkward but in the best way. You managed to remember the names of the red-headed family members only because of the scribbled writing on said photo pointing out who was who. But for whatever reason, the youngest Weasley son always manages to be the first one you notice yourself staring at. He was genuinely really cute. Blue eyes, freckles, red hair, absolutely adorable- Ok. So you may have a crush on him without even knowing him but you can not blame yourself. The twins told you stories about the younger redhead and he only got cuter as time went on, but I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?

Currently, you are walking down Diagon Alley. Not only did you need a break from unpacking, sorting and waiting for the Weasley's owl to return, but you also needed to restock on quills. Yup. Of all things, quills. (P/n) has this terrible chewing habit and adores the flavor of quills, or so you guess. You loved the rascal to bits, but damn, they ate the feathers like they drank water. Your guardian said they would finish unpacking the very few boxes your family were collectively avoiding while you went shopping down the popular alley. Oh! And speaking of water, you glanced up from the cobblestone pathway and noted the Leaky Cauldron sign hanging a few shops down. You’d heard stories of how comfortable the atmosphere of the little restaurant had been from the Weasleys and you couldn’t help but overhear wizards and witches around you chatting it up about possibly getting a butterbeer. You decided, why not? Could spare a few coins to buy the golden drink or maybe just a water. It was, like, 90 degrees outside and the cluttered path way didn’t help the soft summer breeze flow through at all.

You gently nudged your way through the bustling crowd of wizards and witches and pushed open the creaky old door. The smell of sweetness and smoke hit your noise as you stepped in, your eyes briefly wandering over the crowd, looking for an empty table. Once you spotted a table for two in the corner, you gently shuffled past crowded tables and rushed waiters apologizing as you went by. Finally sitting down at the small table, you let out a relieved sigh, not noticing a set of eyes following your every movement. Your eyes easily wandered around the shop but landed on piercing blue across the small restaurant. You immediately snapped your gaze to the fire pit and walls, choosing to avoid the gaze until a server walked over. You were tracing the gray, worn down bricks of the wall right next to you when an older woman in a simple uniform walked over the table.

“Good evenin, love. What can I get you?” she casted a bright smile your way, her hands in the small pocket of her apron as she waited for a response.

“Just a butterbeer, please.” You managed to stutter out, sending her a shy smile back. She nodded her head and headed off to another table after putting in your order.

Once she left, your eyes met a set of blue eyes once again. The longer you looked, the more you thought they were formilair, but you turned away, choosing not to dwell on anything besides the table that was placed in front of you. You were so busy tracing the grooves in the old wooden table, you didn’t notice the owner of the blue eyes nudge the red-head next to him and point in your direction. What finally brought you out of the tracing trance was a glass mug filled with liquid golden and soft foam slide toward you, followed by the sound of chairs scraping the old wooden floor and a distinct female voice calling out “where are you two going now?” Your hands wrapped around the glass and just before you could bring it to your lips, two people moving toward the table got your attention. You turned to look up and almost choked on air, your chest shaking as you coughed causing your mug to nearly empty all over the table. You didn’t even have time to fully register who was advancing closer because the warm drink was flowing off the table and onto your new shirt.

“Shit-!” You grumbled down at the spilt mess. Feeling the heat rush to your cheeks, you placed the mug down hoping to save what was left in it as you grabbed napkins.

“Now, I knew we shocked people, but I had no idea we had this kind of effect, Georgie.” Fred spoke and took up the seat across from you, causing his twin to let out a snort. Your head shot up at the sound of the British accent. He'd managed to effectively put a stop to you drying up the mess with one sentence. Fred grabbed a few to help wipe down the table, but was far more focused on your reaction. Your eyes snapped over to George as he leaned on the back of his brother's chair and flickered between the two freckle covered idiots. You made a mental note of who was who.

“Do you always sneak up on your victims or do you introduce yourselves like normal people?” You scoffed out, a smile growing on your face as you awkwardly piled up the useless napkins.

“We only sneak up on people we’ve been friends with for years and finally get to meet.” George spoke, sass laced in his voice.

“Oh please. It’s been like 1 year.” You rolled your eyes, reaching for your cup again and taking a small sip.

“And I don’t think we got an anniversary gift from you, love. I believe you owe us an apology. Missing our 1 year anniversary like that.” Fred spoke, a hand going to his chest in fake shock as George just tsked and shook his head responding with his own ”Shame, really.”

You let out your own soft laugh and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I'm sorry.” You spoke setting your glass down again, sarcasm dripping from you as you crossed your arms over the table and leaned forward. “I didn’t realize I got something from you two for our ‘one year anniversary’.” You used air quotes, outlining the obvious.

“Godric, it’s so good to meet someone who finally matches our sass level.” Fred smiled at you. “But how did you not see us?” he used his thumb to point at a table behind him, almost taking out George's eye.

“Oi. Watch it.” the ever so slightly younger twin shoved the hand in his face away.

“Well, obviously, I didn’t expect you to run into you guys here.” You spoke, finishing the little amount of what was left of the butterbeer. After wiping your mouth on your sleeve, you shot the two a playful glare. “You owe me a drink.”

“Or you can meet Ickle Ronniekins and we can call it even.”

“That doesn’t even come close to equal.” You whined, sitting back in your chair, your head hitting the wall behind you a little too sharply. As much as you wanted to meet the younger bro, you were nervous. You may have let it slip out to the brothers that you desperately wanted to get to know Ron, but what if he didn't like you?

It didn't matter what you thought. You didn’t have a choice because the two may or may not have shipped you two, but that’s for them to know and for you to never, ever, ever find out. The twins let out a laugh at your demise and both stood up, one grabbing the empty mug and the other practically dragging you out of your cozy corner.

“I say it’s fair.” George spoke, following the older redhead who was almost quit literally dragging you by the arm. The two idiots led you to a table in the middle, where it was borderline empty besides 3 people sitting, all chatting to themselves. The chatting came to a stop when George set your mug down in the middle and Fred forced you to sit across from another redhead, who you quickly recognized.

“Um, Fred..” The witch next to Ron spoke up just as Fred sat to your left and George to your right. “Who is this?”

“This, Granger, is our quill-pal, (Y/n). He comes from America and just transferred over. Good old quill-pal (Y/n), meet Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, and our own little Ickle Ronniekins.” Fred pointed to each witch and wizard, pointing them out so you could put names to faces. The nickname caused Ron to groan out a ‘shod off, Fred’, to which the older brother just snickered.

“Oh, hi! I’ve heard alot about you guys.” You smiled, casting them a small wave. Your accent, to them, was very interesting. It was so different from what they were used to, which definitely wasn’t a bad thing. They actually thought it fit you really well.

“Well, (y/n), it’s great to meet you.” Harry spoke up, a smile replacing the confused expression he once held. He was just relieved you weren’t asking for an autograph or constantly shaking his hand. It was refreshing.

“Likewise!” You flashed a smile to the messy raven haired dude before stretching back in your chair, head turning, trying to avoid the twins in his view to find a waitress. You gave up on searching when the twins purposefully blocked your view and Ron cleared his throat.

“Wait.. This is (y/n)? The bloak you guys don’t shut up about?” Ron pointed at you, almost as if accusing you of causing him pain. The twins nodded their heads, in sync, while landing a kick to both of his legs. “Ow-! I'm just asking!” he rubbed his bruised shins and rested his chin on the table so he could shoot them a glare. “Arse holes.” He grumbled. The twins gave him a sort of look that meant ‘shut up or we will not hesitate to strike again’ and honestly, Ron felt a tiny bit of fear enter his soul and his glare dropped.

“Aww! Did you two really mention me that much? I’m flattered, boys!” A confident smirk stretched across your face as the twins blushed ever so slightly, George a little redder than Fred.

“No.” They countered.

“Yes.” Ron groaned out, wanting revenge for the kicks. ”Merlin. They’d go on and on about how cool you were. ‘Ma, he said he plays Quidditch, too! Can we get the booms out?’, ‘His favorite color is (f/c) and his favorite animal is (f/a)! We should work on (f/c) (f/a) fireworks for him!’. My family officially knows more about you than I know about the Chudley Cannons.” He ran his right hand through his hair and his left waved around as he spoke. You couldn’t help but snicker. “It’s been actual hell. I’m just glad you're here so they can shut up.”

Harry nudged his best friend in the side before speaking. “Hey, be nice, This is probably their first crush!” The comment caused Hermione to almost snort butterbeer, Ron let out a very loud laugh and you to high five Harry meanwhile the twins turned redder than their quidditch uniforms.

“Oi, Potter. I will burn your broomstick.” Fred threatened, pointing at the boy who lived.

“Aw come on Freddie, be nice. It isn’t their fault you gave them the material for this. Relax, bud.” You shoved his hand away.

George took your mug and slid it out of your reach and to the end of the table. “Well, we were gonna buy you another drink, but since you're being an arse, you're not getting a sickle from us.” George turned to you and stuck out his tongue.

The simple banter continued as the 6 of you sat in front of the simple fireplace, laughter filling the little stone eatery. You had known the group in person for about 15 minutes and you already fit in like a puzzle piece. After a few more butter beers and another 15 minutes later, the 6 of you had decided to go on the hunt for some goodies, so you all paid for the drinks and led the cluttered restaurant. Fred and George started off leading the group, but got sidetracked at Zonko’s. Hermione had practically dragged Harry off into Flourish and Blotts when he mentioned not having his school supplies. That left you and Ron alone to get to know eachother better.

“So, what’s Ilvermorny like?” He asked, his hands in his pockets as he walked beside you.

“Well.. " you hesitated."Definitely different, if what Fred and George said was true. We don’t have a sorting hat, instead statues would pick who they want. It’s a whole history thing. Everyone's robes are blue and this reddish color, so i'm excited for a change! And jeez, the wand rules. They're, at least, 10 times stricter than here. I had to get sorted before I could even hold a wand and Ilvermony students can’t legally have wands until their 17. Bullshit if you ask me.” You scoffed. “I was put in Wampus. I guess that's a cool thing.” This caused Ron to let out a snort and a cackling laugh.

“I’m sorry- you got put in what??” He turned to you, a huge smile on his lips.

“A-A wampus?” You spoke, hoping he’d ignore the stutter. You ended up staring at his smiling face, making a promise to make him laugh whenever it was physically possible. It was so perfect.

“Aaaanndd that is what, exactly?” The redhead's smile turned into a small smirk as he responded. “Is it like- like a creature or a plant? It sounds like a plant-”

“How on earth does Wampus sound like a plant??” You looked at him with a confused expression. Your arm shot out to punch his bicep lightly. “Of course it’s a creature, Ronald!”

You went on to explain all about what a wampus was, however, Ron was no longer listening. He was slowly drifting toward the quidditch shop, his jaw practically on the floor. He pressed his freckled covered hands to the glass window of the shop.

“You really must be yanking my wand! Do you see this?!” The redhead was drooling over a brand new broom. The little plastic sign next to the window model read ‘Firebolt Y.5’

“Oh my go-Is that-” You stood next to him, a look of shock. “How did I walk past this shop and NOT see this??” You grabbed his arm and whisked him away from the window, bringing him into the shop. Quidditch, of course, was your favorite sport. You were even on the Wampus quidditch team! You played a seeker and you loved to believe you were the best! “Oh my god, yes. If I had this across the pond” you spoke while pointing at the brooms hanging on the walls, "I'd be the best damn seeker in Ilvermorny history!” You all but squealed out.

While you were ranting about the possibilities of owning this bad boy, Ron was noticing something. He was noticing, since you grabbed his arm, he wanted to hold your hand. He was noticing how your eyes lit up while you were talking about destroying other teams on the fields and how big your smile was and how cute- Cute. Cute?

Wait.

Hold on. Cute? You? He thought he thought Hermione was cute? But now, now it was you. You suddenly clouded his mind and he'd only know you for less than an hour? He blamed his hormones.. Or maybe it was the way your eyes were sparkling so much more when compared to the photo you sent his brothers. Or your stupid perfect hair was so perfect even if it was a mess from constantly running your fingers through it. Every freckle, every mole, every dimple on your skin, he wanted to memorize it all. Suddenly, you turned to him, the smile wider than before. Shit, you were waiting for a response, but he was too wrapped up in how perfect you were for him to think straight.

“WhUt?” His voice cracked as he basically shouted at you. His face turned pink with embarrassment, but it transformed into a color to rival the Gryffindor red he usually sported during the school year. The poor git basically melted into a puddle when he heard you let out a giggle.

“I was asking if you wanted to split the cost! Fred and George told me when Harry got his Firebolt, but I bet it’s nothing compared to this baby. We could split it!” You were basically jumping up and down.

Ron blinked a few times, his brain trying to process everything. “Split?”

“Yes, Ronnie. Split.” You giggled, wrapping your arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer to your side.

“Ronnie split.” He muttered without realizing it. “OH! Oh- The broom! Split the broom! Cost! Right!” he ran a hand through his hair, his entire face felt hot. Ron was sure his face was blending in with his red locks. “I-I can check! With Fred and George and- and we see?” He squeaked, noticing how close he was to you. He audibly gulped, his tongue poking out to lick his suddenly dry lips.

“Cool! We could all share it!” You reached into your pocket, pulling out all the coins nestled in your pocket. As you counted over the coins, the only words that stuck in Ron’s head were ‘we’ ‘share’ and he could basically hear sirens going off. You’d already gotten to know his older brothers. What if you already liked one? Or both? He didn’t even know if you were single.

“Ah- Well i'm sure we can just handle it. Just the two of us.” He clapped his hands together, choosing not to think of how much attention the noise brought him. You looked at him with a confused expression but let it be with a shrug.

“If you say so, Ronnie.” You smiled, shaking your head. You had no idea the redhead was avoiding the idea of his brothers sharing you instead of the broomstick.”Iiisss there a reason you don’t wanna share?” You asked as you shoved your hands in your pockets, putting the coins away. You missed Ron's face turning bright red as you gazed on at the Chudley Cannons merchandise hanging off the walls.

“I-I’m just sick of sharing with my siblings, y-ya know?” His voice cracked as he spoke, but he tried to cover it up with a cough. “Um.. I do have a lot of older brothers, so hand-me-downs are really all I get-”

“Oooh, right. Right. That’s fair.” you looked down at your feet. You forgot. Gerd and Feorge didn't throw it in your face, but they did mention when money got tight and how they planned on opening a joke shop and how they told their products to kids for extra cash. You should've remembered. You cleared your throat, your eyes darting to him, to the door back to him. Desperate for a way to change the atmosphere, you offered leaving the store. "Honeydukes?” you asked way too loudly in the small shop. ”Wanna.. Go to Honeydukes?" You cleared your throat into your hand. Ron couldn't have agreed fast enough.

The two of you walked out of the store, making small, awkward talk as you continued your stroll across the stoley path. When you came up to Honeydukes Ron, to your surprise, hurried to the door and held it open for you. As you walked in, he did a playful bow as if you were royalty. It brought a smile to your face and things fell into the rhythm from before.

"I'm not too keen on pumpkin pasties, but I do love chocolate frogs. When I was a kid, I dreamed of being put on one of the cards, but that kinda faded. I’m thinking maybe a famous quidditch player? Not quite sure yet." You rambled as Ron grabbed what someone might consider way too much of the chocolate treat. He would call that someone insane and double the batch. While he was literally filling his arms with the small boxes, you were busy looking at the candy wands, your mouth practically drooling at the idea of sweets. "We don't have a lot of this across the pond." you muttered to yourself as you reached across a table to grab a few different boxes of candy you've never tried before, one being Bertie Bott’s Everything Flavored Beans.

"Really? What are you used to?" Ron spoke up behind you, his eyes going from the candy resting in your hands to your forearm. The redhead found his eyes trailing up and landing on your bicep, causing his mind to wonder and basically dive head first into the gutter.

"Well, we had candies like Skittling Soot Poppers. They're these dark chocolate little balls that pop in your mouth once the chocolate melts. It's so cool! If you put one in your mouth and keep it open, sparks will come out. All kinds of colors, too." you smiled, remembering staying up far too late into the night with your Wumpas housemates and munching away. "Oh! And these little cakes called Twinkles. They would glitter like gold in the moonlight, but turn silver in the sun. They always taste like vanilla and cream."

Ron gulped. We all know what he's thinking at this point. He'd love to try some cream, and not the filling of the Twinkles, if ya catch my drift. He blinked out of a fantasy and shook his head. Bad Ronald. He scolded himself, but was yeeted out of his head when he heard you laugh.

"What? What's so funny?" his head tilted like a confused puppy, one of the chocolate frogs falling from the top of the pile and landing with a soft thud. As you bent down to pick up the box for him, you answered his question.

"Nothing, you're just being cute." you set the chocolate frog box on top of his pile and began down the aisle way.

"W.. Wait, really?!"

His response brought a snort out of you. He sounded so excited it made your heart jump. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it, Ronnie. Godric, even that was cute." You spoke as you turned the corner and headed down a new aisle. Your eyes scanned along the other treats laid out on the shelves while your hand grabbed a few sugar quills. “Ok, I think we got enough now. What do ya think?” You turned to where you thought he was, but your view lacked the pale freckled boy. “Ron?” Your voice carried through the store. “Ronnie?” You called out again as you went to the last aisle you saw him at. When your head popped around the corner you were met with a sight you thought was kodiak worthy.

There he was, bright red in the face, bright wide blue eyes standing out against his red skin, mouth hanging open and every chocolate frog box laying at his feet. You broke him. How the hell did he manage to get cuter?

“Ron?” Your legs moved without you even demanding them too and soon you stood in front of him. Has he even blinked? Is.. Is he ok? Shifting the candies in your arms, you managed to free a hand to gently close his mouth. “Hello? Are the lights on inside?”

“You said I was cute.” You were lucky you heard him over the crowded shop.

“Yes, Red.” You spoke, a giggle escaping your lips. “We established this already.” You shook your head, but it was halted when his blue eyes finally landed on your own, causing a heat to spread to your ears.

“Yeah.. But what KIND of cute?”

“Kind? What?”

“There are different kinds. Like am I cute like a crup or am I.. Am.. Like am I romantic-” He froze again when you leaned over and kissed his cheek, hopefully answering his question. You chose to ignore the grumpy customers trying to fit down the aisle and, instead, rested your hand on his hand. You would’ve held it but the stupid boxes of cursed choco frogos where in the way. “I hope that was ok.” You, also, chose to ignore his tiny, squeaky ‘bloody hell’ and dragged him to the counter.

“Ya know, when your brothers told me about you, I couldn’t get you out of my head.” You confessed, laying all the candy out on the counter and turned to him again. His blush had died down and he wasn’t as jumpy or frozen. Ron followed suit and dumped the boxes onto the counter and immediately whipped his hands on his jeans.

“I-I was glad I got to hear about you everyday.” He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared down at his shoes. “I um- I wanted to write, but uh, thought it would be weird.” He didn’t turn to look at you but his crystal blue eyes bounced between you, the candy and the glass counter in front of him. “A-and I’d love to get to know you more. And m.. Maybe do this again? Just you and me? Again?”

Your face almost split in two as you felt Ron’s hand brush against yours.. “I would absolutely adore to do this again, Ronnie.” He intertwined his fingers with yours, his blush coming back easily, causing you to let out a chuckle. While you did end up paying for most of the candy and forgetting about the quills, you managed to leave hand in hand with the red haired Chudley Cannon loving dork. Of course this caused the twins to tease you relentlessly about falling so hard for their baby brother. Hell, they even made a lame song, something about ‘Ronnie I love you’ and ‘when we’re apart my heart beats only for you’. It literally never stopped. In fact it got worse as time went on, especially when you were sorted into Gryffindor once school started.

Oh, but was so worth it.

[katcadecascade]

Dumplings Before this World Ends (ORV oneshot)

*spoilers up to chapter 235

Summary: 

First Murim is known for their dumplings. It's a shame that Kim Dokja mostly remembers that this place is gonna be destroyed later but for right now he'll enjoy the dumplings with Yoo Jonghyuk.

Kim Dokja is a bit ashamed to admit that he has never been asked out for dinner.

As a man in modern society that clings to traditional (heteronormative) relationships, Kim Dokja attempted to ask out a few women in his life. They all declined to no one’s surprise.

It didn’t discourage him to purse romance. It just reinforced his daily solitude to keep reading Three Ways to Survive the Apocalypse.

There wasn’t much else in his life to emotionally invest into.

So majority of his life is spent diverging into the words of a fictional world.

Then to everyone’s surprise, Three Ways to Survive the Apocalypse became real. There is a lot to unpack there, the whole reality shaking knowledge of trying to understand how any of this is possibly and how so far Kim Dokja has not been dead.

Like permanently because he promised to his companions that he’ll come back.

Kim Dokja is still trying to make his way to them, currently preparing for the Demon King Selection. His plan right now is to get the Breaking the Sky Sword Saint on his side by shoving Yoo Jonghyuk back onto First Murin against the protagonist’s wishes.

It’s a good plan right?

So far, the only kink in the plan is the unexpected invitation to the Gourmet Association.

Oh and the fact that the Breaking the Sky Sword Saint forces Yoo Jonghyuk and Kim Dokja out of her temple to go have dinner.

[The constellation ‘Demon-like Judge of Fire’ is ecstatic of these turn of events]

A bit dumbfounded, Kim Dokja tried to refuse all of this but instead Yoo Jonghyuk simply started walking to the town district and said one thing as if everything was normal.

“Are you coming or not?”

Kim Dokja could’ve just go back in the temple, pretend that Yoo Jonghyuk didn’t just ask him out for dinner in the rudest way possible, and remain as a dateless nobody he has always been.

After all, who would ever ask out Kim Dokja?

But this is Yoo Jonghyuk, a protagonist that he has followed and practically knows like the back of his hand.

Kim Dokja accepts the invitation and starts walking by Yoo Jonghyuk’s side.

First Murin’s nightlife is a pretty scene to witness in person. No amount of written words it has been described in the novel matches the way Kim Dokja is feeling. He feels otherworldly for stepping into this supposed fictional world, a real tourist in actuality, but as much as he enjoys the scenery is can’t help but morn.

Both he and Yoo Jonghyuk await the fated destruction of First Murim. This place of forsaken tradition is simply not to be. One day this place will fall as depicted in the original novel.

But before then, dumplings.

Yoo Jonghyuk leads them to a hole in the wall restaurant. The restaurant perfectly matches the one in the book, a small place filled with many people and yet the power of the protagonist guarantees a table in the corner for them.

A server quickly gets their order for the all-you-can-eat dumpling special and thus leaves Yoo Jonghyuk and Kim Dokja in silence. Obviously, Yoo Jonghyuk opted to stare out the window rather than the awkward shape before him.

As mentioned before, Kim Dokja has never been asked out on a date and he’s hesitant to even call this one a date. He will always be an introvert at worst and yet with Yoo Jonghyuk he feels weirdly comfortable, sort of.

Any time they’re together it was only to barely make it past a dangerous scenario.

Right now, the biggest danger is probably making it through this night with Kim Dokja’s dignity intact.

“So,” Kim Dokja idly traces the condensation on his glass of water, “how’s earth?”

What he really meant was how the others was but he already asked that back in the Demon Realm. If Kim Dokja knows anything about Yoo Jonghyuk, and he does, then small talk is the last thing the protagonist will indulge in.

Yet this is Kim Dokja and he’s known to annoy Yoo Jonghyuk.

“I wouldn’t have to tell you if did not die.”

“Look, I was fated to die.”

“By the one you love most.”

“Do you have to remind me?”

Yoo Jonghyuk’s eyebrow twitches. “I killed you.”

“It was a group effort.”

“Do you have any idea,” Yoo Jonghyuk begins hotly but like a star it dies out fast with a muttered, “…never mind.”

“Huh?”

Before Kim Dokja could question further, a server delivers them a big amount of steamer baskets. Yoo Jonghyuk wastes no time to take off the lid, releasing a puff of hot steam of the most delicious smelling dumpling ever created in a once fictional world.

As much as Kim Dokja wants to copy Yoo Jonghyuk on just happily eating the dumpling, he wants something else first.

“You were gonna say something.”

Stubbornly, Yoo Jonghyuk ate a dumpling in silence. In retaliation, Kim Dokja did the most suicidal thing he could ever do (discounting all his previous deaths of course). He stole the next dumpling Yoo Jonghyuk was aiming for.

The protagonist glares at the reader munching on the savory dumpling. It’s very good. A part of him melts at the sheer taste.

Before Kim Dokja could pick out another dumpling, Yoo Jonghyuk says something that shakes the constellation to his core.

“They miss you.”

Kim Dokja remains frozen for an impatiently long time, long enough for Yoo Jonghyuk to grab the next basket for a new set of hot dumplings.

“Bastard, why are you shocked?”

“Because I am.”

If there was another curse in mind, Yoo Jonghyuk doesn’t say it. He just studies how Kim Dokja is currently working his brain in overtime.

Truly, he is shocked because this would be the first time he has ever heard that sentiment directed towards him.

(Did his own mother ever say that to Kim Dokja?)

The concept of someone actually missing Kim Dokja has never occurred to him. It is a genuine surprise to a person lonely and new to friendships. It’s a strange detachment to reality for the reader, especially since he techniqually ‘died’ before them all.

So not only do they miss him, they have grieved for Kim Dokja.

It really is a strange idea to think about, especially since it’s Yoo Jonghyuk presenting all these facts.

Kim Dokja know that Yoo Jonghyuk can’t ever know if anyone has ever grieved for him because the moment he dies, it’s a new timeline. Meaning his friends forget all about the scenarios and sufferings, they all endured. Besides, they usually die before Yoo Jonghuk.

It’s harsh to suggest that maybe Yoo Jonghyuk and the others should get used to Kim Dokja’s death. However, Kim Dokja doesn’t think like that. Instead, he still trying to comprehend the idea that people miss him.

He who is out casted and unremarkable. He who prefers the words of a lonely book. He who has made friends in the first time in his life.

Kim Dokja died for them multiple times already with no regret… well except for this new one.

A ringing ache settles onto his heart, still struggling against these new feelings of something soft and precious.

“I’m going to see them again.” He swallows down a lump of that weird feeling, “I promised them.”

“I know,” Yoo Jonghyuk glares, “You better keep your promise.”

Kim Dokja forces a smile, ignoring the present jumble of emotions trapped inside, “Did you miss me too?”

“You bastard.” Yoo Jonghyuk’s glare is harsher than ever.

The man’s insult is a relief to Kim Dokja. This blunt rudeness is more familiar to him than the warm guilt-ridden idea that his friends miss him.

He orchestrated them to kill him. It’s a bit difficult to remember it.

Kim Dokja will die by the one he loves most.

In the end, Yoo Jonghyuk did the last blow.

Kim Dokja thinks Han Sooyoung will tease him about this ‘poetic’ event.

“I miss them too,” he finally says.

Yoo Jonghyuk stops glaring and nods.

Under his breath, Kim Dokja adds, “That includes you.’

He stuffs another dumpling in his mouth.

It took a lot of boldness to breathe that out. Kim Dokja can’t look at Yoo Jonghyuk.

Yet over Omniscient Viewpoint…

[He missed me?]

If Kim Dokja looked up from his food, he would’ve seen the smallest of smiles on Yoo Jonghyuk.

[…that bastard.]

Eventually the rest of the dumplings are gone but that warm feeling remains inside Kim Dokja.

[purediamond101]

Season 2 (Olivia Rodrigo)

You had been casted as a new character for season 2 of High school musical the musical the series and were beyond excited.  Today was the day you would meet the rest of the cast, but you couldn’t help but feel a little worried. After all most of them have known and worked with each other for a while. What if they hate you? It could ruin the whole production! All these thoughts ran through your head. You shook it off standing in front of the doors for the school.

You open the door seeing two people standing and waiting. "Hi!!!" Sofia smiles walking up to you.

"Hello," you smile shyly.

"I'm Sofia and this is Matt," Sofia introduces gesturing to her and Matt. 

"I'm Y/N it's nice to meet you," You shake their hands happily. 

"Today the producers wanted everyone to get to know each other better so today is a day off where we can just chill," Matt explains.  

"Oh okay," You nod, shrugging. 

"Come on, we'll introduce you to the others," Sofia grins as you follow them down the hall.

You walked into the room and everyone immediately turns to you. "Guys this is Y/N!" Matt introduces. 

"Hello," You say, shyly.

After introductions your nerves washed away; They're all so nice and genuine. One person that instantly caught your attention was Olivia. From her happy kind personality to her smile.

"Do you guys want to watch a movie? There's a movie projector in one of the teacher lounges," Josh suggested.

"How do you know that?" Matt asks.

"I like adventuring," Josh smiles.

"We do it together," Larry speaks up as you give them an amused look.

"Welp... to the teacher lounge!" Frankie exclaims making you chuckle.

"Whoever is there first gets to pick the movie!" Josh says quickly before running down the hall with the others following while laughing.

You chuckle continuing to walk. "You didn't want to either huh?" Olivia says making you turn to her.

"Yeah," You laugh, nervously. "I'm indecisive."

"Well we can be indecisive together," Olivia smiles, linking arms with you.

You blush, but turn to hide it. One thing you aren't indecisive about is your growing feeling for Olivia. You met her today and you're already crushing? You sigh frowning.

"What's wrong?" Oliva asks, noticing the frown on your face.

You quickly think of a lie before sputtering out, "I am scared they'll play a scary movie," You shrug, "I get scared easily."

"Huh," Olivia nods. "don't worry most of the guys can't handle scary movies either," You both laugh entering the room. The lights were off and everyone was already sitting either on the couches or the floor with blankets.

"Finally!" Matt exclaims. "if you're done making out we would like to start the movie." 

You both sit on the floor next to Sofia and Josh, blushing madly. "Too bad, we weren't," Oliva mutters thinking no one heard her, but you did. 

"w-what?" you stutter, turning to her.

"Oh umm, nothing!" Olivia says, quickly.

Sofia smirks seeing both of your flush expressions; she whispers to Ricky as he smirks nodding. They were planning something and you knew it. But you did not care at the moment.

30 minutes into the movie you start getting tired. Your lids feel heavy and before you know it you were passed out. Not knowing your head was now on Olivia's shoulder. Olivia looks at you and smiles placing her head on top of yours. After about 5 minutes Olivia falls asleep as well.

The movie ends and the lights turn back on, Sofia grins looking at you two. "Guys look how cute they are!" She whispers to everyone.

Everyone turns and looks at you two cuddling on the floor. "I ship!!" Julia squeals.

"Hey, guys how's-" says Tim, the creator of the show. He cuts himself off when he sees Y/N and Olivia snuggling. Tim nods at the others smiling before leaving. "I feel like a matchmaker!"He says to himself.

"Guys," Josh whispers getting everyone's attention. "we should prank them," He smirks, the others nod with smug faces, agreeing. 

10 minutes later and your both drenched in water, jolting awake. "Oh my god!!!" You both shout seeing the others laughing.

"That's what you get for sleeping!" Josh grins.

Getting an idea, you give Olivia a look as she nods. "Your right," Olivia says nodding standing up with you.

"We'll make up to you," you smirk as you both tackle the others making them wet as well as they groan.

"Well, that failed," Matt sighs, now wet too.

"Oh yeah," You grin, high fiving Olivia.

After everyone dries off and gets a new set of clothes you all meet up back at the lounge. "So what do you guys want to do now?" Frankie asks.

  "Oh! Let's do truth or dare!" Sofia smirks, looking at you two making you nervous.

The others agree shrugging as you sigh in defeat. Everyone goes to sit in a circle while you sit between Olivia and Sofia. "Okay! I'll start," Sofia smiles, turning to Y/N. "Y/N, Truth or dare?"

You knew she was up to something so you went with the safe route, "Truth," you sigh seeing Sofia’s smile never faltering.

"Okay!" She grins, "who in this room are you willing to kiss?"

"Oh umm- I..." your face becomes flush as you suddenly find the floor so interesting. "Oliva..." You mutter shyly.

"I'm sorry who?" Josh smirks, obviously knowing who you said.

"Olivia," you say louder.

"Told you, it's a ship." Julia smiles.

You were too scared to look at Olivia and were quick to change the subject. "Larry, truth or dare?"

"Umm dare!" Larry grins.

"I dare you to eat hot sauce," You smile.

"Aw, man!" He groans. "fine."

The continues and everyone was having a blast. Sofia and Josh kissed, Larry, ate hot sauce, Frankie would save Matt over Dara, Julia prank called Kate who was currently sick, and a ton of other things happened.

After the game ends it was getting late so everyone disperse getting ready to leave. "Need a ride?" Olivia asks, noticing you were about to walk home.

"Yeah," You smile softly. "Thanks."

"Anytime," Olivia smiles starting the car.

You had rented an apartment nearby so you could film since you lived a lit further away from the set. In 5 minutes you were already there. As Olivia pulls to a stop.

"Y/n," Olivia starts as you turn to her. "did you mean what you said at truth or dare? About kissing me?"

'crap' you thought. "Umm, yea..." you mutter shyly.

"Out of everyone I would kiss you too," Olivia smiles.

"Really?" You ask surprised.

"Can I try something?"

You tilt your head confused but nodded anyway. Olivia leans in softly giving you a kiss. She pulls away nervously as you were sitting there mouth agape in shock. "H-how was that?" Olivia stutters.

"Good," You nod quickly. "really good," You smile.

"Can we do it again?" Olivia asks smiling.

"Yes please," you say quickly before you both lean in. You smile into the kiss pulling Olivia closer. Season two here you come.

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

May I request a hc or fic of Xenia finding out that mc’s foster parents psychologically/emotionally abused her while she was moved from house to house?

WARNINGS FOR; Emotional Abuse Child Labor/Extortion Physical Violence. Racially targeted violence (Can Elves suffer that?) Written by: @evoedbd ******

Xenia often worked hard, keeping all four hands occupied as she carved a path through her daily burdens. Keeping her hands busy let her get more done, let her ignore the simmering energy and tension beneath her ashen skin. Today, however, she did not occupy her hands with various documents. She held one solitary piece of paper between her uppermost hands, whilst her lower set gripped the arms of her chair with such ferocity one might mistake her for a sovereign preparing to declare war. And war she would indeed declare, if only it was within her power. That solitary sheet of paper trembled in her weakening grasp, crinkled whenever she forced her fingers to tighten.

Perhaps it was not the weight of the paper, after all, the page was the same as all the ones Xenia often handled. It was as immaculate as expected of a spy mistress, save for the sodden patches where her spy had evidently failed to keep the snow from touching it, and a rather telling incomplete circular stain which Xenia had no doubt would align perfectly to a flagon of Ale. No, as far as paper went, this paper was completely average. Average weight. Average colour. Horrible condition… even worse words.

Finally, Xenia had a living example for the weight of words. Words bore weight in the court, more so than amongst the common people, yet many would merely believe that a metaphor for the dangers of speaking out of turn. Many forgot the written word was far more damning, but even so, Xenia knew most could not understand how metaphor could become reality. She doubted many would read words as she did, words which made the parchment they were written upon feel like the kingdom a Monarch might hold upon their shoulders. The weight she schemed to put upon the shoulders of the true heir to the throne.

Aspia Cross. An honest woman, named for the trees around her and the crossroads she was abandoned at. A beauty, with eyes the colour of the evergreen trees beneath the snows, filled with the fire of the Sun Goddess. A woman who was raised in winter, with a heart as warm as summer, named for spring yet filled with the cunning of autumn. Truly, a woman embodying every house, every season. A wildling with rich skin and flaming hair and dustings of freckles across a youthful face. A wildling she may have been, but Aspia had won hearts across the court. Her genuine smile had enraptured the Bard, Lyris. The soft gleam of her eyes and her gentle words had Princess Piama of Spring sinking deeper into a trusting friendship. Aspia’s raw, uncultured wit had charmed Prince Sevastian of Winter, whereas her loyalty and hidden skills with a blade had earned the genuine respect of Princess Ruelle of Autumn. Pirate and Spy mistresses alike stood ready to swear their allegiance to the Queen she would become, however that was a future vision. At the moment, Aspia was an elevated woman from the wilds. A mystery. A woman with scars few in the courts had seen, Xenia among them. She had seen those scars when she laced a wildling into fine dresses, a tapestry of lash marks down a freckled back, each a strike delivered without any sense of finesse. A senseless beating.

This was the report which Xenia held in her hand. The tale of Aspia’s life amongst the wildling villages, things she had not rightfully exposed to anybody amongst the courts. Aspia had spoken about some of her trials, of certain bullies Xenia could not name for the sake of safety. Yet when it came to certain parts of her life, Aspia showed her cunning. Her ability to avoid giving direct answers rivalled Xenia’s ability to manipulate them free, to the point Xenia’s desperation had reached a level of betrayal that ate at her. A network of spies, the sacrifice of coin. In her search for answers for the crown, she needed answers for Aspia’s wounds. She needed to know if those who had hurt the heir were worthy adversaries.

They weren’t, Xenia found, but their cruelty surely was.

The words she saw were blurred, yet each stroke of ink was painfully clear. She could see where the spy’s hand had frozen, perhaps shocked by what he heard. Or where the quill had lingered a little too long, tip trembling, perhaps due to her spy swallowing back outrage. Each harsh stroke of ink depicted further and further depravity, the lack of information painting just as much of a picture as that which was documented. A list of foster homes, matching a list of injuries and jobs the child had held. Physical and demeaning labor which would not have been foisted on even the poorest child. Beasts had been given more respect, Xenia noted, than what was described for Aspia. It churned in Xenia’s gut, bubbling like the mucus and tar Aspia had been forced to deal with. The residue left in the cauldrons Aspia had been forced to clean. Already, Xenia knew that when she looked at the taxes of each business that she would not find listings of a wage for Aspia. No, Aspia had exchanged a childhood for her life, her labor for the meals in her belly. The pattern continued, jobs and trades, wage less days for a struggling child. A pattern of abuse and extortion, right up until the end of the page. A place where the quill had pierced the paper. Where ink splattered. Where the ale stain lingered.

Each letter was a grain of sand in Xenia’s stomach, chaffing and irritating her gut on its way to join the quicksand and boulders causing such a sinking feeling of dread. The events documented were clinical, graphic accounts of Aspia snapping at her caretakers who had chosen their other ward over her, only for the punishment to be such senseless violence a gasp broke free from the Spy Mistress. A senseless beating, one Aspia had fought back against enough to scar her attackers. Xenia had seen some of those scars, each time she brushed the flames disguised as hair aside, or buttoned up garments where Aspia could not reach. Now, Aspia’s insistence on known aid made perfect sense, it was not merely a simple wildling woman’s discomfort at the fawning, it was also a survivor’s armor against unknown attacks.

The final words across the page made Xenia gasp, let the paper fall from her hands as they rose to cover her mouth less further sounds escape.

Once beaten, Aspia had merely used words between her wounded sounds. Delivered insults enough that her attacker had grabbed tools of his trade, then he had nailed Aspia’s ear to the floorboards. She had been left there to bleed out, to rot, until a neighbouring family found her. The family which had ultimately given her shelter. Amongst the list of injuries, one stood out to Xenia, stark and crude, much like a stroke of blood across the snows. Someone had attempted to sever the ear pinned to the floor.

Xenia gagged, unable to hold back the sob at the realisation. Someone had tried to cut Aspia’s ear off. Possibly Aspia herself in her dazed desperation to escape. The reports stated Aspia did not remember the events, only waking after a beating, dazed and confused. Xenia had doubts. Whether Aspia remembered or not, her body did. In the way she moved, in that endearing erratic curl of hair which never seemed to stay in place. Something so innocent, which now held a darker meaning. It was hair regrown, concealing the tail end of a scar. It was hair as defiant as Aspia herself. Even displaced, it refused to die, refused to do anything save grow. Even as it grew against the crowd, it somehow fit. It was somehow a radiant completion to a glorious whole.

The Spymistress was unsure how the parchment had returned to her hand, only that she found herself sliding it neatly amongst her most personal stack of papers. The reports she would either destroy or encrypt further. Files she would never allow to see the light of day. Her betrayal of Aspia’s trust would be buried, kept in the dark, a place where she would whisper her confession and beg forgiveness. A place she would allow Aspia to decide the fate of said report. If the heir wished to read it, it would be Xenia’s cursed gift to her Queen. Should Aspia wish it destroyed, then Xenia’s fireplace would burn brighter than the Sun Goddess herself. Would burn with the righteous fire Xenia wished to cast upon those named for such a heinous crime. For now, Xenia had a court to dance amongst, and a prayer for forgiveness to compose.

[the-littlest-goblin]

for fic prompts: maybe some domestic/modern shadowgast stuff?

I see your prompt and raise you: domestic/modern with magic shadowgast stuff

_______________________________________________

The first time Essek had joined the Mighty Nein for their traditional movie night, it was Fjord’s turn to choose the film. They had watched a truly terrible cowboy movie, and Essek had been too worried about insulting anyone to ask whether it was meant to be a joke or not.

One scene in particular had stuck in his head: the final confrontation where the outlaw and the sheriff faced-off in the deserted town square. He remembered it because it was the worst acting out of a whole movie’s worth of terrible acting, and also because he could see the edge of some crew member’s hand as they shoved the tumbleweed into shot.

He recalled this now, as he stared across his near-empty apartment, staring down Caleb’s cat with an intensity unmatched even by those melodramatic actors. He could practically see the tumbleweed rolling past in the background as narrowed silver eyes met slit-pupiled amber ones.

“Don’t you dare,” he whispered. Frumpkin’s tail twitched, hanging off the edge of the kitchen counter, his paw still frozen next to the vase.

The glass pitcher of flowers was currently the only decorative thing in the apartment. He and Caleb had only just finished setting up the furniture. Decor was much lower priority on their unpacking list, but Yasha had brought this housewarming gift along when she and the others came to help them move everything in, so her hand-picked daisies held the honor of being the only non-essential item not in a sealed box.

Apparently, Frumpkin had very strong opinions on the value of non-essential items in his new home.

Essek risked taking one step closer, and that proved to be his fatal mistake. Already pushed to the edge of the counter, Frumpkin barely needed to nudge the vase to send it tumbling to the floor. Essek winced against the sound of shattering.

“Little demon,” he muttered bitterly. Frumpkin gazed at him with a look of utter innocence.

This was the scene that greeted Caleb when he opened the front door a moment later, juggling his keys in one hand and a paper bag loaded with takeout in the other.

“I brought dinner,” he announced, before taking in the aftermath of the cinematic stand-off between his boyfriend and his cat. Essek pointed an accusing finger at Frumpkin, who leapt off the counter to greet his master with a gleeful mewl.

Caleb didn’t need to ask what had happened—the tableau painted a pretty clear picture, especially to someone who had lived with a cat his entire childhood. Instead, he looked to Essek, confusion in his eyes.

“Why did you not just levitate it?” he asked, an amused smiling tugging at the corners of his lips as he considered the starburst of broken glass on the floor of their new kitchen. 

Essek opened his mouth and then closed it again, feeling a warm flush rise in his cheeks as Caleb’s words sunk in and he realized his oversight.

“I… did not think of it,” he admitted reluctantly. 

“Essek Thelyss did not think to cast a gravity spell? Are you feeling alright?”

Essek did not respond. Determined to redeem himself, he twisted his fingers at the mess, muttering an incantation. The shards gathered together like magnets and lifted up in a snaking spiral, depositing themselves neatly into the trash can. The flowers drifted back up to the counter one by one, wet and limp.

Caleb nodded at the display. “Clever.”

“Shut up.” Essek grumbled.

Caleb walked forward to join him, placing the takeout bag on the counter, right in the spot vacated by Yasha’s vase. Still fighting a smile, he placed a kiss onto Essek’s forehead.

“It’s perfectly understandable,” he reassured him. “Moving homes is a stressful process, absentmindedness seems an inevitable side effect.”

Essek leaned wordlessly into Caleb, collapsing as he released all of the pent-up tension and frustration of move-in day in one sigh. Caleb remained an admirably sturdy pillar against his full body-weight.

He buried his nose into the crook of Caleb’s neck, drinking in the smell of him: mostly cheap shampoo, but there was a hint of the library still clinging to him. 

Essek had always loved the smell of old books, but he’d never found it sexy before Caleb. It was a dangerous association. 

Caleb kissed the top of his head, then patted his back. 

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s eat.”

Essek returned to his feet begrudgingly, freeing Caleb’s arms to start pulling plastic containers out of the bag. Essek aided with the use of a few more levitations, just to drive the point home.

The bare apartment filled quickly with the sweet and spicy smells of Marquesian food. All the plates and utensils were still packed away somewhere in the mountains of cardboard boxes piled against the walls, so they ate straight from the containers, using only the chopsticks provided by the restaurant—Essek expertly, Caleb clumsily. 

Frumpkin wandered over, nose twitching with interest. He launched up onto the table to sniff at Caleb’s meatballs. Essek glared at the cat’s approach, still resentful. Caleb held out a morsel for him to eat without even looking up.

“You spoil him,” Essek accused.

“Do you have a problem with how I raise my cat?” The mock offense in Caleb’s voice was tinged with a genuine warning. 

“Well, he is sort of my cat too, now, isn’t he?”

Caleb’s head shot up at that. Essek drew back, a little stunned by the intensity in Caleb’s face as he stared at him. He didn’t look angry, just sort of shocked.

“I mean, since we are living together now… of course he is your cat, but—”

“No, you’re right.” A soft smile spread over Caleb’s face. “I just never thought of it like that.”

Feeling flush and self-conscious again under Caleb’s gaze, Essek returned his eyes to his dinner. Setting aside his chopsticks momentarily, he picked out a small bite of fish from his meal and held it out toward Frumpkin. The cat snatched the snack from his fingers, gulping it down greedily and then licking his lips at Essek, ready for seconds.

“Now who is spoiling him?” Caleb chuckled.

“It’s bribery,” said Essek. “He never breaks things when you are around.” 

Frumpkin yowled in agreement.

[mulletcal]

if my heart had a voice - a (bi/aro) calum hood blurb.

a/n: okay so i’ve had this idea in my brain for so, so long and i had hesitated a lot writing it but i’d like to give a special thank you to: @frontmanash​, @softbabiestan​, @sexgodashton​, @goth5sos​, and @irwinkitten​​ for giving me motivation and being so sweet while i wrote this, i appreciate all of you so, so much you have no idea.

this is my first time writing something like this, so i hope you enjoy. it’s a genderless reader insert!

word count: 2.6k

warnings: struggles with romantic orientation, mentions of smut but no actual smut.

---

Friends with benefits - it’s something that sounds easy in theory, but movies and TV shows would lead you to believe otherwise.  Complicated was a word that was often associated with it as well, stating that no two people could simply have sex, that feelings would always end up involved.

That wasn’t the case for Calum, well, not really.  He had met you, and the two of you hit it off right away.  You talked into all hours of the night until the sun came up about anything and everything; he felt heard, he felt appreciated, he realistically felt what most people would deem as a crush, or romantic attraction.  Calum couldn’t bring himself to call it that though, because that’s not how it seemed to him.  It felt natural when the two of you fell into bed together, a tangle of limbs and breathy moans, but he never was drawn to the idea of asking you to be his partner.  You never seemed to mind either, which Calum was grateful for; he had so many questions that constantly circulated through his mind, he wasn’t sure if he was ready for a conversation about why he didn’t want more with you.

Calum’s racing thoughts seemed to never cease, a constant question of why didn’t he want more with you; or simply why he never wanted more with anyone.  His last relationship ended because what he thought was love turned out to be nothing more than just a physical attraction, lips never parted long enough to sort out emotions before it was too late.  Love had been uttered in a fruitless attempt to keep her around long enough to hopefully truly feel something, but it never worked. 

Another Saturday night rolled around, and the two of you had started a movie you never saw the end of, too distracted with exploring each others’ bodies.  Seeing you lie next to him, chest heaving with a small smile on your face brought a smile to his own lips, admiring you basking in the glow from the TV screen.  Calum often wondered what you were like around your other friends, if you made them laugh as hard as he did, or would also text them in the middle of the night with a random thought or meme.  Panic crept up on him at the thought, suddenly fully aware that he could be caught up in some sort of TV trope - did you have romantic feelings for him? Was there a possibility of losing you forever if he didn’t reciprocate the feelings?

His mind couldn’t settle that night, tossing and turning, mind racing at the thought of losing you.  Would he lose you? Banished to a new level of weird and uncomfortable - running into someone in public who you know has seen you naked, or even more seen your face when you’re about to fall over the edge. 

Morning came much too soon, and Calum sighed, glancing over to you as the sun came streaming in through the curtains and casting you in some sort of ethereal glow.  Maybe if he went to make some breakfast rather than staring at you it could help to clear his head.  It wasn’t often that you decided to stay for breakfast, but he hoped that sharing a warm meal together would encourage him or sway him one way or the other - to talk to you, or maybe feel something more romantic towards you.

Stretching as you came into the kitchen, you smiled at the sight of Calum there flipping pancakes, “Eating for two, are you? Calum, is there something you’re not telling me?” You faked a gasp, laughing lightly.  He swatted at you with the spatula, just barely missing you.

Calum knew you could sense something off with him, just by the way you carried yourself about the kitchen, taking a seat at the island.  Your movements were gentle, calculated, as if one small thing could set him off - not that had ever happened, but you were walking on eggshells and he knew he needed to say something.

The two of you ate in silence for the first few minutes, Calum glancing up at you to make sure that you were enjoying the food alright. 

“Can I ask you something?” Calum had stopped eating, a serious expression on his face, causing you to put your fork down.

“I was going to pull the old ‘you just did’ bit but it doesn’t seem like the time for that,” you chuckled, tucking your chair in so you could lean your chin on your hand. “What’s up?”

“What’s wrong with me?” He asked, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

You furrowed your brow, slightly confused, “I’m not following.”

“Like… I’ve been thinking a lot lately. I broke up with my last girlfriend because while I felt a connection and we got along great, the… romance just wasn’t there? I’ve gone on dates, and there’s nothing. I thought it was just that I was going on shitty dates, but then I met you - you have all the qualities I could want in a partner, and clearly I’m attracted to you; but I don’t find myself wanting to be involved… romantically?” Calum was playing with his fingers, not meeting your eyes. “I hope that doesn’t hurt you.”

You laughed lightly, reaching across to take his hand in your own to stop the wringing of his hands, “Calum I’m not offended, not in the slightest. What we have going on is good, but I understand if you want to stop that too.”

“I don’t-” He said quickly, laughing as he scratched the back of his head.  “I feel like it sounds like such a stereotypical dude thing to say that I’m cool with continuing to have sex with no emotional attachment.  Not that I don’t feel anything towards you, I just-”

“Calum, I get it,” You grinned.  “I hope you know I wasn’t here looking for love, yeah? Me and you get on great, and the sex is great.  But if I wanted a boyfriend, I would have told you from the start, I promise.” Your reassuring words had Calum letting out a breath he wasn’t aware that he was holding, squeezing your hand that was still in his.

“I just feel like I’m… Cold, I guess? For not wanting more?”

“Love, you’re the least cold person I know.  You’re so genuine and kind, and you have so much love for your friends and family.  You’re so cuddly, always down to hold hands, or just hold someone if they need to be held. It’d be different if you didn’t show you care, but you do in the ways that matter.”

Your answer seemed to be good enough for Calum, because he went back to eating with a small smile on his lips.

It helped to ease Calum’s worry that he was going to lose you because of how he felt, but the lingering question in the back of his head ate away at him of why he felt the way he did; also, why it was just bothering him now.  So, when you left,  he did what any millennial would think to do: he Googled it. 

He wasn’t sure what to search for at first - it wasn’t something like an ache or pain in his body where you could look up ‘shoulder pain’ and find out you only had 4 days to live.  It seemed much more complicated, to put into words how he felt; but he ended up settling on ‘lack of romantic attraction’, and he was shocked to find that it was, indeed, a thing.  Calum had learned within minutes of his Google search that this wasn’t just a ‘one or the other’ kind of thing, but that there was a whole variety of people.  It made his chest warm to read blog posts of people coming to terms with their romantic orientation, seeing how many had struggles similar to his own.  The term ‘Aromantic’ seemed the most fitting to him, and he liked the idea that maybe one day romance could happen, but if it never did he wasn’t weird for wanting the physical only.

**

It was a few after Calum had come to his realization about his orientation overall, and he found himself as he usually did - in his backyard with Ashton, a couple cups of coffee deep while they both scribbled into their songwriting notebooks.  He knew that none of his friends would judge him, they may be a little confused because no one in their group had “different” romantic orientations - they simply assumed they’d end up with a partner one way or another.

Ashton had been in the middle of a thought when Calum interrupted, “Hey Ash?”

Ashton furrowed his brows, eyes lifting from the page to look at his friend, “Yeah?”

“You ever heard of the term ‘aromantic’?”

“I don’t believe so, why?” Ashton placed his pen inside his book, closing it to give Calum his full attention.

“I’ve been kinda struggling a lot lately, doin’ a lot of self reflection and all that,” He started, letting out a heavy breath before he continued, “It seems like a term that really resonates with me.”

Calum couldn’t really read the expression on Ashton’s face, instead being met with the man’s furrowed brow and fingers lightly drumming on the cool metal of the table. 

“What does it mean?” Ashton was now leaning on his elbows, more engaged in the conversation.

“In like… Simpler terms, it mainly just means lack of romantic attraction.” Ashton’s face read a little confused, but Calum carried on anyway, “I’ve learnt in the last few days that there’s a difference in sexual orientation and romantic orientation.  With my last girlfriend, I thought I loved her, but it was more about the sex than anything. I d’know if it really sums me up, but you know my whole friends with benefits scenario.  I thought it would make sense for me to fall in love with them.”

“But you haven’t? Fallen in love with them, I mean.”

“No, which is what led me to this point to begin with.  If I were to make a list of everything I’d want in a partner, they would check all the boxes.  I do care for them, deeply and genuinely, but it’s not in a romantic sense - more of a ‘you’re one of my best friends in the whole world, and sometimes we fuck’.” Calum hadn’t realized how red he had gotten, but it definitely made him fan himself as he let out a small chuckle, “I’m sorry, that was… A lot of information.”

When Ashton broke out into his signature grin, Calum couldn’t help but to mirror it with his own grin, “Well brother, you know I love you and support you no matter what you choose to do.  I told you I’d help you hide a body, but I do hope it never comes to that point.  Just don’t be an asshole and I’m always here for you.”

Calum laughed again, rubbing a hand over his face, “That made me so fucking nervous man.  When I was thinking about it, I was kinda like ‘this sounds so cold’.”

Ashton cut him off from going any further with a scoff, “We all know that’s the last thing you are.” With that, Ashton reopened his book and continued on with a lyric he was talking about previously; and Calum couldn’t wipe the grin off of his face.

Over the next few days, Calum had told his friends individually - being met with open arms and plenty of questions. Of course he didn’t mind, but it was relieving to him to feel like things were going back to normal, and he was starting to feel more like himself again.  He hadn’t gotten to see you since that morning at his house, but he had texted you to tell you about his new findings - your congratulating text in return, saying how you loved him and were proud of him, had him grinning the rest of the day.

The Fourth of July came quicker than any of them had anticipated, and Calum’s group of friends scrambled to come up with some last minute plans.  You had to work during the day, so you would miss the planned barbeque at Michael’s house, but you would be off in time to meet them at the local park to watch the fireworks that Calum had seen a sign for a few days prior.

There was nothing easier for Calum than being around his friends; and while he knew they accepted him and easily accepted his realization about his romantic orientation, he still worried.  Worried that things would be different, or they would feel the need to treat him differently.  But as he sat there, beer in hand, warmth washed over him when he noticed no palpable tension in the air; instead his ears rang with Ashton’s giggle as he laid on the lawn with South and Moose, wrestling with the two dogs.

With everyone thoroughly fed (and a majority tipsy), they all decided to make the small trek to the park, Calum offering to walk with Moose along the way - his secret favourite of Michaels’ dogs, though he’d never say so.

It was long after they had gotten there did you arrive, the sun finally starting to set to hopefully cut through some of the heat from the day. Moose launched herself at you to signal your arrival, which in turn set off South - before you knew it you were on the ground being bathed in puppy kisses.

“Quite the welcome,” You teased, scooping up South into your arms when the pair had finally eased up.

“They know how to roll out a welcome mat, what can we say,” Calum laughed, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek, enveloping you in a warm hug.  The hug was more rigid than you were used to from Calum, and it gave you a weird sense of tension off of him.

Sitting down next to him, you frowned when you noticed his breathing was shallow on top of the weird tension that was coming off of him in waves, “Are you okay?” You never hesitated to be honest with Calum, and you’d hoped that he’d be as honest as he was that morning, especially if something was wrong.

Calum nodded, pursing his lips in thought for a beat before finally speaking, “This is just the first time I’ve seen you since that morning, I just wanted to make sure we were good.  I know I haven’t been the best at keeping up communication lately.”

“You were never much of a talker, love,” Your shoulder nudged his, prompting him to look at you.  “We’re good… Never better, I’d say.”

Calum’s shoulders visibly relaxed, his wide, charming smile reappearing on his lips.

“There’s the squishy man I know and love,” You said, reaching your fingers up to pinch his cheeks.  “You gonna come lay here like they’re doing or what?”

Glancing around, Calum saw everyone paired up one way or another, couples and best friends alike had one person leaning against the other; the last bit of sunlight casting a glow over all of them.  A feeling of calm settled over the crowd, and Calum especially - he had waited to feel like he had purpose, waited to feel wanted.  As he settled against you, you began to play with his hair gently; and he understood that his purpose was just to be who he was - a man who loved his friends and family wholeheartedly, to want what was best for others, rather than want for himself alone.

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