#time and again she repeats let's be friends | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

juyeoz · 1 day ago

Text

BABY I — PARK JONGSEONG

Having a crush on Park Jay, your school’s student president, was quite hard. Especially when he was the centre of attention for many girls. However, who would’ve known he was pinning after you this whole time?

PAIRING — friend!jay x fem!reader (ft. sunoo from enhypen and hanni from newjeans)

CONTAINS — fluff, slight angst, somewhat crack, friends to lovers, mutual pinning to an extent, not proofread, mentions of being stood up, and y/n is kind of introverted.

WORDCOUNT — 3591 words

NOTE — first note on this account!!! just wanted to say baby i by ariana grande inspired this it’s SOOO good pls listen on repeat when reading!

Park Jay was the student president of your school. He was helpful, trustworthy, smart, athletic, and nice to everyone who came into his vicinity.

Obviously, you weren’t the only one who loved these aspects of him. He was well known amongst the male population of your school, but that didn’t mean the girls weren’t head over heels for him too.

Which only meant more competition for you.

In your eyes, Jay was out of your league. He was way more outgoing than you would ever be, keeping many friends at his side, whilst you kept a small group of friends throughout your four years of highschool.

“Hello? (Name), what were you going to say?” A voice questioned, bringing you out of your cluttered thoughts.

Your eyebrows perked up in surprise, completely forgetting who you were currently standing before—Park Jay.

He slightly shook his head as a sign for you to continue your sentence.

“Uh…” You muttered with your eyes looking everywhere but him.

“What is it? There’s a meeting soon. I can’t wait for long.” Jay spoke again. His words seemed harsh, but his voice was soft.

“Right, sorry. Nevermind what I was going to say, it’s okay.” You reassured him with an apologetic smile.

Great, another moment added to your ‘Book of Failures’.

Jay was confused, yet he smiled back at you and left in silence. You hated how perfect his smile was. Everything was perfect about him. There wasn’t one thing you didn’t like about him, however, you were pretty sure that spoke for everyone as well.

He was a perfect guy and you were, well, ordinary. You preferred to keep to yourself and stay away from any judgement, with an exception, of course.

Your best friend, Pham Hanni. She was someone you met during elementary school and someone you would forever trust.

“Let me guess, you failed again?” Hanni questioned from the desk beside you. You sighed at her words as your head hit the surface of your desk.

“I very much did.” You groaned out while Hanni smiled. A hand gently made its way to the crown of your head, caressing the area softly.

“It will be fine! Everyone gets flustered when doing something like this.” She reassured you, but it wasn’t of any help.

“Do you think I could ever confess? I mean, do you know how many people like him? There’s at least a 1 in 600 chance of him reciprocating whatever my heart feels when I’m around him.”

“Well, you guys are close, right?” Hanni asked, but only received silence in return.

“Right…?” She said once more.

Silence.

“(Name), don’t tell me you two barely know each other!”

“No, of course not! We are, well, I don’t know. Could you even call us friends?” You asked, a groan escaping your lips shortly after.

“I mean, what are some of your interactions with each other?”

“After the project we did together in English class, he would say hi to me in the halls, ask me for help in class, and offer me snacks here and there. However, that is it.”

“I’d say that’s between acquaintances and friends? Right?” Hanni pulled the lollipop she snacked on out of her mouth and pointed it at you.

“That is still a lot though! Probably more than anyone has ever had. I think you might have a chance.”

“Or are you just saying that to make me feel satisfied?” You asked while looking over at her.

“No, seriously! But if your words keep getting tongue tied, I don’t think you’ll have a chance anytime soon.”

Your brows furrowed at her words as you landed a soft hit to her shoulder.

“Careful, my lollipop! I don’t want to drop it.” She exclaimed, her eyes widening at the treat in her hold. You rolled your eyes at this reaction of hers, it was common from her. You were pretty much used to it.

Your eyes glanced over to the doorway as one of your classmates walked in. Hanni looked at your sudden flustered state in confusion and turned around.

There was no other reason for you to react this way. Park Jay, the boy you had a crush on, was currently walking through the doorway with his younger friend, Kim Sunoo, beside him.

“You’re so obvious about it.” Hanni said, turning around to face you again and placing the lollipop in her mouth once more.

“I am not! There’s no way he knows.” You said with your face toward Hanni but your eyes on Jay.

He looked over at your seat—a common routine of his—and waved towards you with his signature smile present on his face. After a brief moment of hesitation, you waved back at him as a small smile broke through your flustered condition.

Hanni looked at you, then at Jay as Sunoo did the same. The two boys made their way to their seats up front and began talking once again.

However, the conversation was completely different than the one they were previously having.

“Seriously, are you going to tell her how you feel?” Sunoo questioned as Jay shushed him.

“Of course not. Do you think she would even like me back? You’re funny.” Jay said while taking his seat.

“Jay, so many people like you.”

“That’s the point. What if she thinks I’m a player?” The boy asked while reaching into his backpack to grab his notebook.

“I doubt she would. There are a ton of options for you at school, but you decided to pin after a girl who you worked on a project with for two weeks. Two weeks.”

“And those were the best days of my life. Seriously, I didn’t know someone like her existed in our school until this year. I don’t know how I survived until senior year without her presence.”

“Gross! You sound so in love—”

“Shut up! You’re so loud.” Jay whisper-shouted while covering Sunoo’s lips with both of his hands.

“I’m sorry. Anyway, please think about it. It hurts to see you interact with her continuously just to not confess whatever you’re feeling.” Sunoo said while removing Jay’s hands from his face.

“Whatever.” Jay mumbled as their teacher walked in. He would be lying if he said he didn’t believe that Sunoo was right. However, he was too nervous to ruin what you two already had.

The keys jangled in the doorknob’s keyhole as you struggled to unlock the art classroom. It wasn’t normal for classrooms to be locked, not at all, but this one was abandoned.

Nobody used it anymore except for you. It was your quiet place. A place you went to ease your mind and located on the second floor. So, there was quite a process getting there.

Giving out keys to abandoned classrooms was forbidden at your school. It was an unspoken rule that all teachers followed. However, your homeroom teacher trusted you. You were an excellent student in her eyes and that was enough for her to make up her mind.

The door clicked shut behind you and you made your way to the isolated desk you always sat at. All you had to do was get some classwork done. It wasn’t anything major, but the library would have been too loud at this time.

After all, it was lunchtime.

The sun shone through the thin material curtains, making your figure cast a shadow over your work. Usually, you sat here because it was the closest desk to the window. You gained a great view at the soccer field.

The one Jay always played on.

Every time you came here, you constantly had to fight the urge to glance over at them. A little glance always went a long way, leaving you distracted for the rest of the hour.

Giving in, your pencil movement came to a stop as you looked out the window from your seat. As usual, there were boys playing soccer in the summer heat, however, Jay wasn’t there.

For a moment, you thought you saw wrong and took a closer look. Yet, you still couldn’t find him.

You were too distracted to even hear the click of the door opening. Too distracted to even hear the footsteps that made its way to you. But you weren’t distracted enough to miss the sound of a desk being placed beside you.

“What are you doing here?” You asked in a somewhat low voice.

It was Jay. The boy you were previously looking for.

“Resting. You?” He replied while laying his head on his arms all while facing you. You avoided eye contact with him as usual. His gaze was too flustering for you. You couldn’t handle it.

“I’m studying.” You said and looked at your blank notebook page. You could feel his gaze still on you. It felt like it could see through you at any given moment. Once again, it was too much for you to handle.

You needed to get rid of him quickly.

“You can’t be in here. It’s off limits.” You said, still not looking at the poor boy.

“Then why are you here? It’s an abandoned classroom and yet you’re here.” Jay said back. He wasn’t wrong. To be honest, he never was.

“Our teacher gave me permission. I work here often.” You explained as your pencil began to move, writing absolutely nothing but scribbles.

“Me too.” He said, leaving you confused. You looked over at him with a puzzled expression which only left him with a smile.

“Your eyes are pretty.” Jay said and left your unsaid question unanswered.

His words only made you look away once more as your puzzled expression was replaced with a flustered one.

“What did you mean by your previous words?” You asked, discarding his compliment.

“Which one? Your eyes are pretty? I mean, they truly are—”

“The other ones.” You interrupted, cutting him off.

“Oh, Mrs. Jang lets me use this classroom to cool off my head when I get overwhelmed. I was shocked that it was already unlocked when I came. I didn’t know you used it too.”

“We never run into each other.”

“I see,” he sighed and nuzzled his face further into his arms.

You could still feel his gaze on you as silence fell upon you both. You were confused. Why did he compliment you? Did he like you back or was he only teasing you? Did he do this with every girl he saw or were you his only exception?

Which one was it?

“Why do you keep doing that?” Jay’s voice pushed through your thoughts, startling you.

“Doing what?” You asked, still avoiding eye contact with him.

“That,” he began. “You don’t look at me when you talk to me. Do you hate the sight of my face or something?”

“Of course not!” You exclaimed, catching both of you off guard.

“I mean, I’m just shy.”

“For sure.” He teased you.

Silence filled the classroom once more as you tried to do your work. Heavy emphasis on the word tried.

He was still looking at you. You knew he was and he knew you knew too.

“(Name).” Jay called.

The way your name rolled off of his tongue was too much for you. You hated the sound of it. It was a precise pronunciation with a slight ring to it.

You swallowed thickly and nodded at his call, giving him the signal to proceed.

“Do you like me?”

“And then what?!” Hanni exclaimed, waiting for the rest of the story to leave your lips.

“What do you mean?” You asked. Your words only left Hanni feeling dumb.

“Was that it?” She asked as part of her hoped you would say no. However, to her dismay, you nodded your head.

“(Name)? He literally asked if you liked him and you didn’t even reply?!” She said in a loud tone. Luckily, you two were at your house so it was fine for her to be this way. There was nobody to overhear your conversation anyway.

“You blew it. You blew it!”

She was in distress. After waiting for this moment to happen, she felt like her world officially ended.

“I freaked out, okay? The bell went right after that!” You said in an attempt to defend yourself.

“Let me guess. You used the excuse of being late when returning the classroom key and ran out in a haste.”

“Spot on.” You said with a groan.

“Did I really mess up?” You asked.

“Is that even a question? Seriously, I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.” Her face went dull as she sighed. You were definitely a handful to take care of.

“Wait, I have an idea.” She suddenly said and her face brightened up immediately. You looked over at her with a frown.

“Do you have his number?” Hanni questioned. Hesitantly, you nodded at her words. You only got his number because of the English project you two had to do and would text occasionally, but out of the blue was not the best option.

“Absolutely not! That’s too far.” You said while shaking your head at the idea you had of her possible plan.

“Chillax, it’s not too far at all. It’s better than leaving his somewhat confession hanging in the air.”

She had a point.

“Fine. What are you going to say?” You asked while giving her your phone. You were nervous for whatever tricks she was planning on pulling, but you handed her your phone regardless.

“You’ll see.” Hanni said and began typing away.

For a while your room went quiet. The only sounds heard were Hanni’s fingers tapping against your phone screen and the wind outside of your window.

“Here.” She said after three minutes and handed you your device. You looked at her, taking note of how she bit back her smile.

You were scared to see what she did, but you weren’t even able to due to the sudden incoming call.

“What the hell, Hanni?!” You exclaimed as she only smiled. She ushered for you to answer the call as you did exactly that—after leaving your room, of course.

“Hey.” His voice was soft as usual on the other line. It made your heart beat faster, making you feel stupid.

“Hello,” you greeted back, waiting for him to say whatever he called for.

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?” You asked.

What the hell did Hanni even text him for him to ask this?

“You liking me. Is it true?” He sounded desperate. He wanted to know immediately.

You hesitated on replying. Would it mess everything up, or what? His question back in the art classroom wasn’t something that sounded like he was looking for reciprocating feelings. If you said yes, where would that response take you?

“Yes, it is.” You replied in a somewhat whisper. Jay exhaled harshly, leaving you confused. Did you mess up? Why did he sigh so harshly? What did Hanni put you through?

You turned around in a rush to open the door. You were nervous. You didn’t want to hear what came after his sigh. Not at all.

You were about to hand the phone back to Hanni, but was brought to an abrupt stop.

“Good.” Jay said.

“Let’s talk about this in person tomorrow. I don’t want things to escalate on call, okay?”

You hesitated in replying to his suggestion. Was that a good okay or a bad okay? Was he planning to reject you harshly? Was your friendship over?

“Is that okay with you, (Name)?” His voice once again pierced through your thoughts, bringing you back to reality.

“Yes. That’s okay with me.” You replied and you two said your goodbye before hanging up.

“So?” Hanni asked, waiting for you to explain what happened.

“I don’t know.” Was all you could say before flopping forward onto your bed with a racing heart.

Jay, on the other hand, paced back and forth in his room. You liked him and that was great! However, he didn’t want to ask you out over the phone. That wasn’t romantic at all.

How should he go about this? Should he confess in the morning before class or at lunch in the art classroom again? Should he bring flowers? Of course he should. Many people loved them.

But wait, were you allergic to them? Maybe not if you helped out the garden club leader Yang Jungwon that one day, right? He remembered the moment vividly.

It was the time he confirmed his feelings for you. The way you smiled at the boy and listened attentively when he explained things to you. Honestly, that should’ve been him, but he had his moments during the English project.

Part of him even thought you liked Jungwon and not him. That was the only reason why he asked you the question at lunch yesterday. Even if the garden club incident happened last month, it still managed to bug him everyday.

At this point, his frequent questions wouldn’t get answered. His best option was to sleep. He could think of everything tomorrow morning. Before heading to sleep he sent you a quick message, letting you know where to meet him the next day.

Near the garden, fifteen minutes after eight a.m. Easy and possibly romantic.

However, when the next morning came, you stood alone near the garden, fifteen minutes after eight a.m. And Jay was nowhere in sight.

You checked your phone constantly, hoping he sent you a text, letting you know of the change of plans. To your dismay, there was nothing. It was absolutely a ghost town on your phone and also five minutes left until the bell went.

Were you just stood up by your crush? Most likely. You felt embarrassed. You were completely right about Jay not liking you back, nevertheless, you let Hanni’s words get to your head. Was it her fault? Absolutely not, but you wondered. What if you never gave her your phone at that time? Would you and Jay still be just friends?

A hand grabbed your wrist, halting your movements. You didn’t even get far from the spot you stood at. It was so sudden and scary and their grip never faltered.

You turned around and were, luckily, met with an out of breath Jay. The boy who you had a crush on and who you thought stood you up.

“I’m sorry.” He said while letting go of your wrist and standing up.

“I woke up late, I didn’t mean to leave you standing there alone. I swear of it.” He explained as you listened, avoiding eye contact.

“It’s fine. What did you want to say?” You asked.

“First off, please look at me when I say all of this.” He pleaded, causing you to slowly look over at him.

“Okay. I really didn’t mean to leave you waiting. I had my alarm set and everything, yet I still slept past it. I couldn’t sleep all night because of this. I was nervous.”

You remained silent, in which he took as a sign to continue.

“When I saw you text me the other day, I was thrilled. I thought I ruined everything by asking you if you liked me during lunch. Seriously, the way you ran out so suddenly left me worried.”

“I’m sorry. I was flustered.” You apologised and he shook his head.

“It’s okay. I’m glad I found out you truly did like me though.” He said as a slight smile made its way to his face.

“Do you like me back?” You asked, genuinely. He didn’t say he did. You weren’t sure if he did either.

“What?” He questioned back.

“Do you like me back?” You repeated, hoping it would get through him this time.

“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?” He was dumbfounded that you even asked him that. Was it not obvious by his many interactions with you compared to others?

“Please, don’t say it like that.” You muttered and avoided eye contact with him again.

“Why not? Does it make you flustered?”

“Yes, it does.” Your voice was quiet and made Jay’s smile grow bigger.

“I’ve liked you for a while now, (Name). Ever since the English project actually. Those were the best days of my life.”

“Not even being promoted to student president?” You questioned as your heart beat increased drastically.

“Not even close.” He said back.

You remained silent at his confession and played with the dirt below your shoes.

“So, what do you say?” He asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Can I be your boyfriend?” He asked again.

“Enough of that!” You exclaimed, softly hitting his shoulder.

“What am I doing wrong?” He was confused. He didn’t even do anything this time. It was a genuine question.

“Can I, (Name)?”

He did it again. The way he said your name only left you even more flustered as you let out a mumbled ‘yes.’

He could barely hear what you said and only picked up the ‘s’ sound at the end of your word. The boy before you smiled.

He was glad you said yes.

“I’m glad.” He voiced out and engulfed you into a hug which you reciprocated.

The bell finally went once you two began to hug. Those were the longest five minutes in your life, but they were definitely worth it. Hanni and Sunoo were most likely going to have a field day with this new information.

You could say, they were the ones who made this all happen with their constant pushing, right?

Yeah, most definitely.

ENHYPEN PERM TAGLIST — @miumura @macapunoz @kxppachu

146 notes · View notes

thatbloodymuggle · 1 day ago

Text

MASTERMIND (viii)

EIGHT - THE GREAT WAR

SUMMARY: A child of light and dark, you are the Night Court’s best kept secret. After decades spent in hiding, you yearn to stretch your wings. But you quickly learn that freedom comes with a price, as you find yourself trying to outfox the fox in his own den.

PAIRING: eris vanserra x reader

WORD COUNT: 8k

SERIES MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: language, graphic violence

If there’s one thing you’ve learned over the past few months, it’s that healing is not a linear process. Rather, it’s a winding, uncharted path, full of twisting overgrowths and thorny setbacks. And just when you caught glimpse of bright, shining light filtering through the trees ahead, the tattered bond buried deep in your chest plucked you from your path of progress and dropped you right back where you started: in the thicket of heartbreak.

But this time, it feels different. It’s not physical pain that consumes you, that crawls underneath your skin and burns you from the inside out. Rather, it’s an overwhelming sense of numbness. For this time, there’s a shattering finality to it all.

It’s that numbness that grants you the ability to get dressed this morning. Each movement is mechanical as you reach for clothes that feel foreign against your skin and slip into your role once more. It’s a façade you know all too well: the resilient, erudite female who hides the trembling little girl within. You clutch the silk fabric of your dress in your fists as you stare at your reflection in the mirror. For a moment, you almost believe the image staring back at you. But inside…Well, inside. That’s the question, isn’t it?

As you walk through the River House, you let the numbness guide you: steady, unrelenting. You’re not naïve—you know this is the eye of the storm. You know that the pelting rain and howling winds are coming. But at least for now, you’ll take shelter within the boarded-up windows of your feeble heart. So, with a steady hand and a fog in your mind, you push open the dining room door to your awaiting court.

The quiet chatter comes to an abrupt halt as a cohort of curious eyes turn towards you. The rapid thumping of your heart is distant in your ears as you move into the room. Rhys opens his mouth to speak but pauses as he drinks in your detached nature.

“It’s done.”

The words pass through your lips, but don’t quite reach your ears.

A palpable tension fills the room. The burning gazes of your friends prickles your skin, but you shrink further into the haze of your mind.

“I delivered what you asked. It’s done,” you repeat in that same cool, unrecognizable tone.

The High Lord’s mouth opens and shuts again. You feel like a pariah in this room, but by the grace of the eye of the storm, you are shielded from their unintentional ostracism. Finally, Rhys nods sharply.

“Thank you,” he says simply.

The silence that follows is deafening, filled only by the shuffling of Cassian and Azriel’s chairs. Feyre’s concern radiates like a beacon, but you can’t bring yourself to look in her direction for fear of crumbling. Amren’s silver eyes narrow, but she holds her sharp tongue in check, for once.

Rhys reluctantly tears his gaze away from you and sweeps over the room. “Well, we should get moving, then. Time is of the essence.”

The two Illyrians scramble from their seats, and if the circumstances were different, you would laugh at their thinly veiled discomfort. Amren rolls her eyes and swiftly exits the room. You follow closely behind, effectively avoiding any further probing from your High Lord or Lady. The lush marble walls and expansive windows seem duller than usual as your body moves on autopilot down the hallway. Amren pushes the doors of the grand meeting hall open, and your heart skips a beat. Chin up. Eyes forward. Shoulders down. Just like you’d practiced through your sleepless night. Like clockwork.

The scuffing of boots against marble sounds muffled as you follow Amren and take a seat at her left. Rhys and Feyre take their spots at Amren’s right, with Azriel and Cassian on their opposite side. The Inner Circle of the Night Court forms an unbreakable wall of power and unity at the head of the table—an unspoken display of the strength of your court.

You take one last steadying breath—chin up, eyes forward, shoulders down—before the High Lords filter through the doors one by one, each cloaked in their own unique brand of arrogance and power.

Tarquin is the first to arrive. He greets your court with a sharp nod, his turquoise eyes piercing as always. Helion follows closely behind, a lazy smirk dancing upon his plush lips. With each High Lord that arrives, breathing becomes a little bit easier, and the muscles straining to maintain your posture relax. This is fine. Kallias and Thesan are next to enter, each male followed by their own small entourages. You’re okay.

That is, until Beron Vanserra’s glowering presence fills the doorway. The all too familiar sinking feeling returns as he strides in with his usual, ugly sneer. His cold eyes sweep the room before landing on you, a malicious grin curling at the corners of his mouth. Beside him, Bastion leers openly, his russet eyes glinting with that same viciousness he had cornered you with at the ball the night before. Two other Vanserra brothers with flaming red hair follow, and the door shuts swiftly behind them. The Night Court straightens in their seats as they all come to the same conclusion. Eris isn’t here. You clench your jaw so tightly you think your teeth may splinter. Why isn’t he here? Was last night truly the end of—

Chin up. Eyes forward. Shoulders down.

The metaphorical storm above you looms closer, but you hold steadfast to your mantra to keep it at bay.

“Such a fine day for politics, don’t you think?” Beron’s voice slithers through the room. He glances at Rhys, then at you, the sneer deepening. “Unfortunately, Eris couldn’t make it. He sends his regards.”

Something cold breezes over you, enveloping every inch of your exposed skin like a gust of wind. Your eyes flicker towards the stained-glass windows, but they are sealed tight. Your heart stutters painfully against your ribs, but you don’t so much as flinch. Instead, you sink into the numbness and meet Beron’s menacing gaze with your own.

“And what of Spring?” Helion asks.

You don’t need to look over to your right to see Feyre stiffen in her seat.

“Probably wallowing in his own self-pity like the beast he is,” Amren snaps in her typical, callous fashion.

Tamlin’s absence is damning—a testament to how far he has truly fallen since the war and Feyre’s…abruptdeparture. For a moment, no one dares to speak. But never one for pleasantries, Beron has no trouble interjecting.

“Why bother with a treaty if one of us is too busy licking his wounds to show up?”

“Tamlin’s absence is unfortunate,” Rhys replies in his ever-diplomatic manner, “But we are more than capable of negotiating terms that will benefit all of Prythian.”

Helion tilts his head, his golden eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Are we to assume Spring is no longer a player in these discussions, then? And if so, what will become of the court?”

“Tamlin received word of this summit, just as you all did. His decision not to attend certainly warrants discussion,” Rhys says, “but what we need right now is unity—and that’s what this treaty is about.”

Helion’s finger-tapping halts, and he leans forward in his seat. “Unity, Rhysand, sounds nice in theory. But let us not forget that Tamlin isn’t the only one who may find this arrangement…unpalatable.”

You involuntarily bristle as Beron’s grating voice cuts in once again. “Curious, isn’t it, how you sidestep the topic, Rhysand—especially when it is your High Lady who brought Spring to ruin.”

“We’ve gathered here to discuss the terms of a peace treaty between our courts, not to taunt one another,” Feyre snaps. Despite the scowl on Beron’s face, her firm tone holds an unwavering authority. “The unrest in human and Fae land alike grows with each passing day. We cannot afford for instability to spread.”

Tarquin nods thoughtfully. “A treaty won’t fix everything, but it’s a step in the right direction. Without it, the mortal realm may turn their sights on us.”

“Stability is key,” Thesan muses in agreement.

“A leash, more like it,” Beron snorts, “Let’s not waste time pretending this is some noble pursuit for the good of all. We all know this treaty is about self-preservation. And I, for one, don’t plan on sacrificing my court’s interests for some grand, childlike ideal.”

A low growl escapes Azriel, but a pointed look from Rhys silences him. “Perhaps you’re confusing peace with submission, Beron,” Feyre quips. “No one here is suggesting we sacrifice our ideals. This is about securing Prythian’s future, and preventing future war should conflict arise again.”

Kallias clears his throat, and you all but shiver as you glance into the icy blue of his piercing eyes. “I agree, but we must ensure that this treaty is more than mere words on paper. It must be enforceable, with clear consequences for any court that violates its terms.”

“Consequences?” Beron’s eyes glint with malice, “And are we prepared to go to war with each other if someone steps out of line?”

The almost gleeful lilt in the Autumn Court High Lord’s tone, combined with Bastion’s nasty smirk, is your last straw. Chin up. Eyes forward—Fuck it, composure be damned.

“That’s the point of the treaty,” you snap. All eyes turn towards you. But despite the scrutiny, you keep your voice steady. “It’s meant to prevent war, not incite it. If we establish boundaries and enforce them through collective action, it only strengthens all of our courts.”

Beron scans you from head to toe with an unsettling intrigue. “And what would you know of war, Scholar? Books and treaties may look neat and tidy on parchment, but the real world is far messier.”

The predatory glint in his eyes is all too familiar. But you’ve faced the fox. And while it may have been a losing battle, you survived. “Books teach us history, Beron. And if history has taught us anything, it’s that unchecked power leads to destruction. This treaty isn’t merely about peace—it’s about survival.”

The room falls silent for a moment.

“Spoken like a true bookworm,” Cassian murmurs with a small grin.

A ghost of a smile threatens to tug at your lips, but the pride exuding from your friends barely breaches the barrier of indifference you wear like armor.

Beron chuckles, the sound dark and mocking, and you can feel Bastion’s eyes on you—watching, waiting. The way they look at you feels…wrong. Like they know something you don’t. Like they’ve discovered a secret that should shatter your world.

“If there are no further objections,” Rhys begins speaking again, steering the conversation towards negotiations.

But your mind drifts as Beron’s cold gaze lingers on you. You know that Eris’s plans against his father are dangerous. But now…now you realize who deep that danger really goes. And with the way Beron studies you like a book he’s read a hundred times before, you realize that the threat may not just be to Eris. Reluctantly, you tear your eyes away from the eldest High Lord and resign yourself to studying the mahogany wood before you.

As negotiations continue, you trace each crack, each imperfection, over and over. As if doing so will keep the storm at bay. You sit still as a statue, even as the High Lords take a brief recess. You find yourself so enamored by the wood before you that you barely register Bastion approach in the now empty room.

A shiver crawls up your spine as he dips down. “You’re quite the mystery, aren’t you?” he whispers, close enough that his breath fans over the bare skin of your neck. “I wonder how long it will be before you’re fully unraveled.”

You swallow hard, clenching the fabric of your dress between your fists. For the first time in hours, you tear your eyes away from the table. You meet Bastion’s gaze with a steely calm.

“I’ve never been privy to riddles. If you have a point to make, don’t dance around it.”

He chuckles, and you clench your jaw tightly to combat your unease.

“In due time, Avicula.”

No.

The blood drains from your face as your heart simply stops beating. You instinctively reach for the dinner knife on the table before you, but his cold, bony hand wraps around your wrist in a vice-like grip. You jerk back in your chair, but he pulls you flush against him, wood scraping against marbled floor.

“Simmer down, Scholar,” Bastion coos.

“What do you want?” Malice drips from your tone, but you can’t hide the tremor.

He chuckles and leans down even further, close enough that his lips brush against the shell of your ear. “Fame, glory, all the works. But for starters, your full cooperation will do.”

His lips press against your skin in a taunting kiss, and you all but retch at the feeling. “And if I don’t?” you grit out.

“Then Eris will be dead before the next High Lord steps foot in this room.”

Your heart thunders so violently, you can feel it in your bones.

“You’re bluffing,” you whisper.

“Care to test that theory?”

His ironclad grip tightens, and you release the knife with a wince. The clanging of the metal permeates the room. You watch with bated breath as he picks up the utensil with a hum, admiring the way the silver reflects the sunlight seeping through the windows.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he flips the knife around in his hand, so it points towards you. “You’re going to smile, sit still, and pretend this conversation never happened.” He traces the serrated edge along your lips. “After this meeting, you’ll go home and read your little books. Perhaps brush up on your writing—it’s a bit superfluous for my taste.” The metal presses against your mouth, just gentle enough not to break skin. “You’re going to keep that clever mouth of yours shut. If you so much as look at your friends with those pitiful eyes, I’ll cut that sharp tongue right out of your mouth. And if you even think about using the pesky little bond of yours to communicate with your High Lord, I’ll have Eris’s bloodied body delivered to your doorstep—after I have my fun with him, of course. Are we clear?”

Your vision blurs—whether from unshed tears or paralyzing fear, you’re not sure. Your fingers tremble as you dangle tediously from your poorly constructed composure. Still, you suck in a deep, steadying breath. As you exhale a barren smile stretches across the plain of your face. “Enjoy the game while you can,” you say, “Because when it’s my turn to play, you’ll be begging me to put an end to your miserable existence.”

He releases the knife with a chuckle and shifts it back into place, erasing any evidence of your encounter. “You’ll do well to remember that some cages aren’t meant to be broken. Especially not for little birds who fly too close to the flame.” He shoves your chair back towards the table, jolting your trembling body. “Enjoy your evening, Scholar. I have a feeling it will be your last in this court.”

The chatter of the High Lords re-entering the room is nothing more than a distant buzz in your ears. You squint your eyes shut and dig your nails into the arms of the wooden chair, shutting everything out, until all that remains is the tattered bond in your chest. You reach for it, wrap your shaking hands around the frayed edges, and yank hard. It reverberates in the chasm of your chest. You wait, pleading for something sort of sign, some indication that he’s still there. But all that remains is the debris of your shattered heart.

You inhale deeply, breathing in the weight of it all. And as you exhale, your eyes flick open. You stare straight into Beron’s knowing gaze with a vitriol which rivals his own. Your lips curl into a hateful grin. Not a flicker of fear, not a glimmer of defeat. Only the white-knuckled grip around the arms of your chair betrays the turmoil within.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The moment the doors of the meeting room close behind you, the storm comes crashing down. The blistering wind chills your bones, the free-falling water fills your lungs—but you can’t afford to drown. Not when your life is undoubtably on the line. Not when his life is on the line. And you need to find him before it’s too late.

Aimlessly searching for him will be useless. If Eris doesn’t want to be found, or if Beron has him locked away, no amount of wandering the streets of Velaris will bring him to you. The Vanserras are a clever breed—but so are you.

You slip into the shadows to avoid detection as you winnow to the flat-topped mountain on the northern side of Velaris. You waste no time making a beeline for the library. For the first time in your life, the familiar smell of almond and parchment brings no comfort, because all you can think, feel, smell, is the rage coursing through your veins. Clotho isn’t in her usual spot near the entrance. You know you should wait, but you make the hasty decision to slip through anyways. Ask for forgiveness, not permission.

You all but run down the winding stairs, descending one, two, three floors. A negative energy swirls around you—it’s clear the priestesses are none too pleased by your intrusion. Still, you beat on. You run your fingers along the spines of the old tomes lining the shelves, brushing away dust and time until your hand stills on a thin, leather-bound book. The cover is blemished, the metallic lettering faded to near obscurity, but it hums beneath your fingertips, pulsing with latent power. You yank it free and rifle through the pages, until you land on a section you remember from stories your mother used to whisper late into the night.

Location Spells.

As your eyes dart across the page, your throat tightens. You remember these spells from your mother. Much to your dismay, her retellings were right. They all require one thing: a personal token belonging to the person you seek. And you have nothing of Eris’s. No lock of hair, no trinket. But…you have him. Or, at least, the unyielding tether buried deep in your chest, even if stretched thin by time and heartbreak. Your mind spins as you skim the text again.

“A drop of the caster’s blood may work if they share a strong enough connection. For example, prior work has highlighted the success of blood of kin.”

Or, the blood of a mating bond.

It might not be perfect, but with no other option, it has to work.

You grab a map of Prythian from a nearby shelf of atlases and spread it across a table. Your hands shake uncontrollably as you retrieve a dagger from the folds of your dress and prick the tip of your finger. A single drop of blood wells up, glowing faintly in the dim light of lanterns. You glance down at the open book, and scan over the spell. It’s written in an ancient language—one you’re not well-acquainted with. Your furrow your brows in concentration as you sound out each syllable, your voice a plea more than an incantation. Finally, you whisper, “Find him.”

You press your bleeding finger to the map, smearing scarlet across the parchment. Magic surges through you: a swirl of golden tendrils extending across the land, searching very crack, corner, and crevice. For a moment, hope blossoms. You can feel the bond in your chest stir, faint but real, as if whispering to someone far away.

Just as suddenly as hope came, it fades.

The tendrils of light dull before disappearing entirely, leaving behind nothing more than a smear of red in the shape of a thumbprint. He must be warded too heavily for the spell to penetrate—as if he doesn’t exist at all.

The winds of anguish sweep you into their clutches as an earth-shattering cry claws at your throat. The weight of everything hits you all at once, and you sink to your knees. The air around you seems to thin. You gasp through the sobs wracking your body—but each mouthful burns. You tangle your shaky hands in your hair, pulling harshly at the roots in a desperate attempt to ground yourself. But to no avail.

A low ringing fills your ears, building in intensity to a deafening hum. The walls feel like they’re closing in, pressing against your lungs, suffocating you from the inside out. Your hands slip from your hair and wrap around your throat, desperate to pull in just one clean breath—but the air is clinging like smoke.

Your mouth moves, but you’re not sure if the words come out. “Get it together. You’re supposed to save him.”

You try to count your breaths—in, out—but each attempt only narrows your vision to pinpricks. The panic swells and the world spins, tilting on its axis. And then…it stops.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Hours later, you’re shaken awake by the very same panic that pulled you under. But this time, it isn’t your own. Your head pounds from your earlier sobbing, your lashes sagging from the weight of your dried tears. Yet, you’re more alert than you’ve ever been before.

The bond thrums in your chest, pain radiating through the connection. You scramble from the dusty floor with a dizzying urgency. There’s no time to think, no time to question. You don’t so much as glance at the map on the table as you run towards the winding staircase. You’re not sure where you’re going. Only that Eris is there. You follow your instinct blindly, throwing open the door to the library. You beat on into the cold, but before you winnow, the small, rationale part of your mind calls out to your High Lord.

Rhys. His name is a scream in your mind. Eris is in trouble. I have to go now.

Rhys’s response is immediate, albeit groggy: What—

No time.

The world is already twisting and folding around you. When you land, the air is thick with shadows.

The scent of stone and mold hits you first—the unmistakable marker of the Court of Nightmares. You stagger, breath catching in your throat. No. No, this can’t be right. But the bond pulls with conviction in your chest, dragging you deeper into the dark halls.

You know this is a terrible idea. Actually, terrible is generous. This might rival Tamlin and Lucien’s selling out of the Archeron sisters to the King of Hybern in the competition of bad ideas. But as witless as it may be, it’s right.

You move without a second thought. Every passing shadow seems to follow you, but you don’t care. The only thing you can focus on is the bond. As the weight of each step grows, you can feel his pain more acutely. He’s close.

Your pulse roars in your eyes as you come to a halt in front of a rusted, iron door. Your hands find the handles, and you pull with the full weight of your body. It opens with a low groan, and you step inside.

The chamber is dark, lit only by the faint glow of sconces lining the walls. The smell of stone and mold is even more penetrating here. But something else mingles with it. The sour scent of rust is abrasive, curling at your nostrils.

You squint your eyes into the darkness, and you stumble back in shock.

Eris is there, slumped to his knees in the center of the room. The ropes biting into his wrists almost sparkle underneath the light of the flames. Faebane. Crimson hair clings to his sweat-slicked forehead, his bare chest a littered mess of blood and bruises. Agony twists his features—until his gaze flicks to you.

“No—,” he gasps.

You lunge forward, but you yelp as something holds you back—rather, someone. An ironclad grip wraps around your wrists, holding you against a broad chest. Something sharp presses against your throat—a knife, you surmise, from the glint of silver in your peripheral.

“You’re arrived just in time for the reunion.”

The voice is venomous, unfamiliar. Yet, it holds a striking intimacy, almost as if—

Your eyes widen in realization.

No.

“I have waited a very long time to meet my daughter,” Keir continues with a sadistic smile, “It’s a shame Marjorie kept you hidden from me all these years. Even more of a pity that she’s not here to stop me now.”

Your blood runs cold as your mother’s name rolls off his tongue. You thrash violently in his hold, but to no avail. You try to steel your features into indifference, but the panicked look in Eris’s eyes makes it an impossible feat. The dull edge of the knife presses hard underneath your chin, forcing your head back.

Hell freezes over as you peer through the looking glass.

His eyes are yours. The divot of his chin, the bridge of his nose, it’s all yours—or, you suppose, yours are his. But even more potent than your resemblance is the incongruence. For while your dark eyes are marked by curiosity, his are flooded with malice.

Your lip curls back in a snarl, and with all the loving memory of your mother you can harness, you spit. The fat glob of saliva lands right between his eyes.

“Keep her name out of your filthy mouth,” you snarl.

The initial shock on his features warps into something far more sinister as he twists your bound hands behind you. You grit your teeth against the pain, showing nothing more than a wince as you feel the joint in your right shoulder shift.

“You’ve got my bite, little girl, I’ll give you that. But you’re a bitch just like her.”

You snap your teeth at him, but he twists your arms even further. This time, you can’t contain the cry that bubbles in your throat.

“Did she ever tell you about how we met?” he forces your head forward. Fear still fills Eris’s eyes, but this time it’s met with ire. Keir dips down, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath as he speaks, “Did she ever tell you about how I took her? How I delighted in ruining her? How I—”

Anger blinds you, and for just a moment, all you see is red.

A barbaric scream rips through you and you crouch down to loosen Keir’s grip—a trick Cassian had once taught you. Before he can regain leverage, you swing your leg behind you with as much force as you can muster, hitting him right between his legs. Keir stumbles back with a groan. But before he can find his footing, you spin around and punch him hard—so hard, you can feel the sickening crunch of bone underneath your knuckles. Still, one hit isn’t enough to erase the lifetime of agony he had imposed upon your mother. So, you hit him again. And again. Until he’s sprawled across the floor. And when he’s down, you sink your foot into his beaten body. Over and over. Until—

“Y/N!”

You gasp for air as Eris’s strained cry pulls you from the brink of oblivion. It’s his voice that grounds you, that sharpens your vision to take in the scene before you. Keir is far past consciousness, his face a bloodied mess and his body a tangle of useless limbs. The steady rise and fall of his chest indicate that he is still, unfortunately, alive—although, with the damage you’ve inflicted, he’ll surely wish he was dead when he wakes. With trembling hands, you wipe the hands stained with your father’s blood over your dress.

“Y/N.”

The strain in Eris’s voice pulls you from Keir’s mangled body. Your eyes are wild as they meet his. You stumble forward, heart beating in time with the heavy thrumming of the bond pulling you towards him. He shakes his head frantically, panic festering on his features.

“You need to get out of here.” You ignore his desperate plea and continue surging forward. “Please, Little Bird,” his voice cracks, “Run.”

Tears spring to your eyes, and the pull of the bond only intensifies. But just as you reach him, just as your bloodied fingers graze the iron chains around his wrists, a gust of wildfire sends you flying backwards.

Pain splinters in the back of your head as you’re thrown against the dungeon wall. Nausea coils inside of you and your vision blurs. Still, you bite back the cry that threatens to escape.

“Run!” Eris’s shout rings through your ears, muffled by the pounding in your head.

But the responding voice pierces through the veil.

“That’s quite enough from you, son.”

You haul yourself up as quickly as your spinning head will allow. The High Lord of Autumn scans you from head to toe, taking in the blood splatters soaking your dress, the swelling of your knuckles. His lip curls back in disappointment and he clicks his tongue.

“My, what a mess you’ve made, Scholar,” Beron stalks forward, the hem of his dark robes skimming over Keir’s unconscious form. His sneer deepens as he steps into a puddle of blood. He crouches down and swipes his index finger through the blood of your father, admiring how it glistens underneath the sconce light. “Though I suppose family brings out the worst in all of us.”

You avert your gaze to Eris, who stares back in a wide-eyed panic. Go, he mouths. But you’re paralyzed, your feet rooted into the cold, hard ground. You can only muster a small shake of your head. No.

“Let him go, you bastard,” you demand, eyes trained on your mate.

Beron’s chuckle rumbles through the sodden space. “Such filth from such a pretty little mouth,” he muses. “Though I suppose you never had a father figure to teach you manners. So, allow me.”

Before you can so much as blink, Beron is behind you. You stifle a yelp as he kicks the back of your legs, forcing you onto your knees. “Much better,” he circles you. You fight the urge to spit in his face too when he hooks a finger underneath your chin, forcing your eyes to his. “Now, why don’t you apologize for your brutishness?”

The cold press of his fingers makes your skin crawl, but you lift your head defiantly. “You want an apology?” you say, voice low but steady. “The only thing I’m sorry for is not drawing more blood from your pathetic lackey.”

The words have barely rolled off your tongue when Beron raises his arm, landing a punishing hit. Your head swings to the side, amplifying the ringing in your ears and the throbbing in the back of your head.

“Don’t fucking touch her!” Eris roars, chains clanking wildly behind him.

“Fine,” Beron says.

The High Lord turns towards his son and brandishes a whip of fire. White-hot flames crackle through the air, a blaze of light slashing through the dark, and land squarely across Eris’s bleeding chest. A strangled cry tears from his throat, his body convulsing against the restraints. The sound is horrible—one that will haunt you for eternity, should you survive this night. The noise that escapes you mirrors his as you lunge forward. But a wall of flames circles around you, its heat pressing against your skin and binding you in place.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” you cry. But your plea falls on deaf ears. You can only watch, helpless, as Eris’s body shudders with each lash, the light in those beautiful, amber eyes dimming with each strike. Worse, you can feel it—the bond between you unraveling thread by thread.

Through the river of tears clouding your vision, something mingles with the flames in your peripheral: Keir’s twitching body. He groans something unintelligible, his eyes twitching beneath their blood-soaked lids. Suddenly, something in the air shifts—and realization strikes you as the whip in Beron’s hand cracks again.

This isn’t just punishment; it’s retribution. For Eris’s betrayal, yes, but it’s more than that. This is about the Night Court, the treaty currently being drafted in Velaris. This is an act of violence in the face of blossoming peace. And once Beron has finished, once the fight has drained from Eris’s eyes, he’ll leave you here with Keir. He’ll kill two birds with one cruel stone—ensure your misery serves as a constant leash on his son and the Night Court, and prevent any threat to his throne.

“Hubris is deathly, Beron. And you’re a fool if you think beating us into submission or death will keep you on your throne,” you shout despite the sobs wracking your body. “We are more use to you alive than dead.”

“You think your lives mean anything to me?” Beron roars.

He cracks the whip again, and another flash of fire streaks across Eris’s already ravaged body. Eris sways, his knees crumpling underneath him. His eyes are squeezed tight, his lips parted in a silent cry. Your magic surges through you at the sight, and it takes every ounce of willpower to keep it contained. You have only one shot here. Once chance to make your move—a move that will determine yours and Eris’s fate for your immortal eternity.

“Take mine instead,” you blurt, heart pounding. “My life for his freedom.”

The words hang in the air, and finally, Beron’s whip falters mid-strike. Panic flares in your chest, but it’s not your own. Beron turns slowly, a glint of interest sparking in his cruel gaze. “Your life,” he repeats, savoring the words, “In exchange for his.”

Chains clatter behind him with a newfound vigor. Eris’s eyes are wide open, a window to his soul: panic, indignation, but above all, betrayal. Worse, you can feel him clinging desperately to his end of the bond, pulling with all of his might. Just as you were in the library. Just as you have been every day since you left Autumn. And it’s in that moment, you realize, that whatever pain you felt clinging desperately to the ghost of him is unsurmountable compared to the bone-shattering agony of his despair seeping through your skin.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Let him go, and my life is yours.”

“Don’t do this,” Eris pleads, “Please, Little Bird.”

Fresh tears cloud your vision, the utterance of that name worse than a physical blow. The flames surrounding you vanish and Beron steps closer. An eerie grin tugs at his lips. “Very well.”

A ripple shudders through the chamber, and Beron casts a glance to where Keir lies motionless on the cold stone. With a bored wave of his hand a shadowy mist rises, curling around your father’s limp body, sending him away like a discarded pawn.

Eris’s protests are drowned out by the sting of the bargain mark. It snakes up the length of your arm, twisting like a vine. You bite back a gasp as the magic sinks into your skin, binding you to your word. Beron takes another step forward, forgoing the whip for the raw magic at his fingertips.

It’s now or never.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t fight,” you snarl.

Your magic explodes outwards, shadowy tendrils unfurling like a tempest. Darkness spreads, curling around Beron with the grace of an ancient asp. He stumbles, the smirk gone from his face. You use his surprise to your advantage, swiftly flinging a dagger in his direction. It sails through the air with the precision of a hundred-year-old warrior. But before the weapon can land its mark, a wall of flames is erected, snuffing out your shadows and sending the dagger hurdling back in your direction. You duck swiftly, narrowly missing the fatal hit.

“Impressive,” Beron condescends, “Let’s see if your feet are as quick as your wit.”

Faster than you can blink, the flames surrounding Beron coalesce, swirling into the shape of a fiery claw. It surges forward, hurtling towards you at the speed of lightning. You barely have a moment to raise your defenses. Light exudes from your fingertips as you throw your arms out, forming a shield of blinding radiance. The claw collides with your light, sending shockwaves rippling through the ground beneath you. Beron presses relentlessly against your shield, heat searing through the protective barrier. You grit your teeth and root your feet into the ground to counteract the strain in your muscles and the tremor in your bones. But your strength is no match for Beron’s, as the claw keeps inching closer and closer, pushing relentlessly against your flickering shield.

“Submit!” Beron roars with an authority fit for a thousand-year-old tyrant.

The ball of light surrounding you is rapidly caving in. It’s bound to give any second now. With a piercing cry, you thrust your magic forward, and then let go entirely.

You dive to the side, narrowly escaping the talons of Beron’s inferno. As the momentum of his power sends it barreling into the wall behind you, you lunge for your discarded dagger. Your fingers wrap around the hilt, and you slink into the shadows just in time to escape his new weapon of choice: blazing balls of fire.

With your shadows you leap from corner to corner, trying to get close enough to Beron to wield your own weapon while simultaneously avoiding the flames he hurls at you. Eris shouts something, but it’s muffled by the roar of the fire, the pounding in your head. You will yourself to focus only on Beron, building an impenetrable wall in your chest to block out the desperation radiating down the mating bond in your chest.

As you dodge another flame, the world to twists and folds around you. You winnow across the room, right behind Beron. You don’t waste a second thrusting the dagger forward—but before the lethal blade can sink into his flesh, he spins around. The High Lord wraps his hands around your wrists. And as the dagger clatters to the floor, so does your heart plummet.

“Is this what you wanted?” Beron’s voice slithers into your ear. He swivels you around, forcing you to face Eris while he holds you flush to his chest. Crimson rivulets trickle down his arms from where the chains bite into his skin. “To be brought low, broken in front of him?”

You force your chin high with defiance. But Beron’s grip is unyielding and his molten heat is oppressive, creeping through your veins like poison. As you stare into Eris’s eyes—those amber eyes you love so much—you can’t hide the fear in your own.

“Better broken than a slave to your tyranny,” you hiss.

Sweat beads on your brow, but not from exhaustion. You suck in a breath, begging the cool air to soothe the burning sensation in your throat. But Beron’s heat sinks deeper, licking at the edges of your very soul.

He chuckles darkly, “If only your defiance could save you.”

“Let her go!” Eris bellows.

You desperately try to twist out of Beron’s grip, but with each movement the fever only builds. Sweat trickles down your temples, the salty sting mixing with the agony that wracks your body.

“You know, I had planned on keeping you alive. Sending you off with your pathetic excuse for a father,” Beron says, “But I’ve never been one to turn down a good bargain.”

A white-hot pain blooms in your chest, spreading like wildfire. You can feel your skin searing from the inside out, clawing its way through your organs, boiling your blood.

“I’ll kill you,” Eris’s voice breaks, raw with the desperation of a man on the brink of losing everything. “I’ll kill you! I’ll rip the life from you, Beron. Even if it takes my last breath, I’ll see you burn for this.”

Beron laughs, drowning out Eris’s broken words. Every nerve in your body screams as he slowly burns you alive, boiling you from the inside out. Your vision blurs as the fever creeps into your head, your legs crumpling beneath you.

You know there is no way out. You know this is the end. But before you go, you drop the protective barrier around your heart. Tears stream down your face, hot against your skin, as you lay yourself bare before the male who has sent your life into upheaval. The male who has shown you the greatest beauties and worst pains of life. Your salvation, your damnation, your soulmate. You cling tight to the withering bond and show him it all. With one final breath, you force your lips to move and form the words you need him to hear.

“I love you, Eris Vanserra. Darkness and all its shining stars.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Time splinters as Eris watches you fade. As those words escape you cracked lips, something shatters inside of him—the last defense of a soul that, even after years of brutality, refuses to be broken. It’s something that transcends pain, something primal and ancient woven into the very marrow of his bones.

Darkness and all its shining stars.

It’s those words that echo in his mind as the realization burns: this bond, this love, is Beron’s undoing.

A tyrant once said that the secret of supremacy lies in knowing when to be a fox, and when to be a lion. Beron Vanserra is both. It’s his cunningness and ferocity that have allowed him to rule so predominately for centuries—longer than any High Lord in Prythian. However, Beron Vanserra has been wearing the fox and lion’s skins for a long time—too long. For Beron Vanserra’s greatest pitfall is not a lack of strength or guile, but an utter void where empathy should lie—a deficiency born of his detachment from true, selfless love.

It's precisely that absence of compassion that blind him to the unbreakable forces that bond others. And now, as he stands over you and Eris with a hand stained by centuries of bloody conquest, it’s precisely that bond, carved from unadulterated love, that will be his undoing.

A roar befitting of a lion rips from Eris’s chest. Muscles taut with rage and agony and love, he pulls against the chains binding him. Blood flows freely from his wrists; but fueled by the bond—by you—he pulls harder, harder, until iron cracks.

The chains give way, crashing to the floor in a thousand pieces. And Eris unleashes hell on his father.

One thrust of his bloodied arm sends Beron flying backwards, releasing you from his deathly hold. You crumple to the ground, barely conscious. Although the boiling of your insides has halted, you’re still burning. You splay your hands out across the cold ground, willing it to soothe the dangerous fever.

Eris flicks his wrist, sending stone raining down upon Beron. The air is thick with dust and fury as Eris charges forward, each strike landing with sharp precision. This isn’t a mere battle of power—it’s a reckoning.

But Beron, unyielding, retaliates with a blinding wave of flame that consumes the chamber. The fire surges, forcing Eris to halt and shield both you and himself.

“You think you can defeat me, boy?” Beron bellows.

Eris snarls, his own fire igniting. You blink your eyes open, fading in and out of consciousness as your magic fights to hold you steady. You watch as Eris matches Beron with every movement: strike for strike, flame for flame.

But it’s clear he’s faltering. Each thrust of his arm sends ripples of pain across his battered body, the hours of torture taking their toll. Eris sways, his flame flickering at the sheer force of Beron’s power, honed by centuries of conquest.

Your limbs ache with the remnants of the ash inside you, but you focus on the steady ground beneath you. Fire blazes around you as you slowly push yourself up. You can see the light dimming in Eris’s eyes as his breath comes out in ragged gasps.

“Eris!” you cry, but the words sound like nothing more than a whisper against the raging inferno. He doesn’t look at you, locked in the hopeless battle. Your heart races as you struggle to rise.

Eris lunges forward, but Beron anticipates him and counters with a blast that sends him crashing back against the wall. A sickening thud shatters through your bones as the bond pulses with pain.

As Beron’s fire grows larger and brighter, you kick your leg out, sliding the discarded dagger on the floor towards Eris. You shut your eyes tight, summoning the last remnants of your strength. The blistering fever returns as you call on every ounce of your magic. This time, however, you embrace it.

Light and dark exude from your fingertips at the same time. With one hand, you send shadows swirling around Beron, engulfing him in darkness. With the other, you send a beacon of luminescence, lighting Eris's path. You focus on Eris, willing him to rise, to fight back. Determination fills his gaze—and the rest is history.

With one swift motion, Eris retrieves the blade and thrusts it into his father’s chest.

The swirling shadows still, and Eris twists the dagger into the chasm of his chest with a sickening crunch. Beron falls to his knees, and your shadows retreat—but your light remains.

As the former High Lord collapses, the echoes of the battle fade into a haunting stillness. Eris stands over his father’s fallen form, chest heaving and flames flickering at his fingertips, mingling with the light surrounding him—a testament to the battle fought and the price paid.

Your eyes meet, and in that moment, the world falls away. The pain, the fear, the uncertainty—it all dissipates, leaving only you and him.

“Little Bird,” Eris breathes.

Fresh tears line your eyes and your bottom lip trembles. Ignoring the all-consuming heat that’s still threatening to pull you under, you haul yourself up from the ground completely. You stumble forward and your legs give out underneath you. But before you can crumple, Eris is there.

His embrace feels like coming home.

A sob of relief escapes you as you sink to the ground together. Despite the agony pumping through your veins, the blood and sweat covering you both, your heart sings. You bury your face into his chest. The scent of him—sandalwood and cardamon—fills your lungs, giving life to breath. You can feel the pulse of his heart against your cheek, steady and strong.

“Eris,” you gasp. But the name feels inadequate. There’s so much you want to say—but the words are swallowed by the lump in your throat. His hands find your hair, threading through it and anchoring you to this moment.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers. The feeling of his breath against your neck sends another wave of emotions crashing over you. “I’m right here, Little Bird. I’m not going anywhere.”

Around you, the air shifts, and you sense the arrival of the High Lords. But their presence, Rhys’s panicked voice, is a distant echo in the back of your mind. Nothing else matters—not in his arms.

As you sink into the warmth of your lover’s embrace, the toll of the battle settles in. The world blurs at its edges. Eris holds you tightly, murmuring sweet nothings you can’t quite grasp, and darkness begins to close in. You cling to the sound of his voice, feeling it reverberate through you.

“Come on, Little Bird. Stay with me,” his voice breaks as he feels your strength slipping away. But as you look into his eyes—those fierce, beautiful eyes—you know you can’t fight anymore.

With a shuddering breath, you succumb to the pull of unconsciousness, your body surrendering to his embrace. And as darkness takes over, you hang on to the whispered promise of safety in a world that has been anything but.

taglist:

@selfishlittlebeing @babypeapoddd @scarsandallaz @fourthwing4ever @raginghellfire

@deepestmentalitypersona @lilah-asteria @goldenmagnolias @myromanempiree @i-know-i-can

@hannzoaks @olive-main @lilylilyyyyyy @stuff-i-found-while-crying @moni-cah

@6000-fandoms @melsunshine @roseodelle @rcarbo1 @paliketerson

@ktz-bb @l-adynesta @ghostslittlegf @taylorgriffin @the-deeee-blog

@aria-chikage @itsagrimm @chaparralcamper @kitsunetori @just-reading15

@mandziaaa @imma-too-many-fandoms @bwormie @bubblegumcat229

@cazrielsfairygf @knittedchapters @feyrfly @whore-for-loki @bookwormysblog

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #eris x reader #eris vanserra smut #eris vanserra fanfic #eris acotar #mastermind

113 notes · View notes

silhouetteonpaper · 2 days ago

Text

In Celebration

Summary: You and Natasha have been questioning the boundaries between co-workers, friends, and maybe even something more. After a perfect day spent with her, she has a suprise second date that leaves you guessing. Unfortunately for you, it’s more than just a suprise. Natasha Romanoff x Reader WC: 1,409 Warnings/Themes: Fluff, reader has anxiety

“Thanks for adventuring out with me,” Natasha expressed as the two of you entered the compound. “I had a lot of fun.” She smirked, the same smile that had painted her face while you two were out exploring the city now creeping back up. You nodded once, more than happy to have accepted her invitation for a day out.

Was it a date? You weren’t quite sure, but you were eager to spend any time at all with the Widow. Ever since you joined the team a few months ago, your relationship had been left without labels. Sure you were both friendly, but she was also flirty. And you had no clue how to react, especially when Natasha had been on the team longer. You didn’t want to screw the opportunity up.

“Of course, thanks for the invite,” You rocked back and forth on your toes. “We should do it again sometime.” Natasha’s grin revealed itself, a single nod now being repeated back to you. As she turned on her feet to head back to her room, there was a pause as Natasha stopped in her tracks and faced you once more.

“Oh, and—“ Your eyes met, hers full of that desire you so desperately craved all for yourself. “Get changed into something nice. Meet me downstairs in thirty.” And just like that, she was gone. What the hell? Was that an invite to a second date? Two in one day had to be a new record for you. But before you had time to process her words, you were already following her orders and dressing in something more fitting.

A cocktail dress and heels, perfect for any dinner date, bar crawl, club dance, or night on the town. It was hard to contain the fluttering in your chest while you slipped into the new outfit, the possibilities of what the night could contain letting your mind run wild. What were Natasha’s intentions? You tried to prevent your imagination from getting the best of you, as you didn’t want to get your hopes up.

The thirty minutes dragged on too long for your liking, but eventually you were ready and waiting with bated breath. You’d fully fixed your hair and makeup on top of your new attire, prepared to dazzle the redhead for whatever the night would entail. And dazzle was right; the second Natasha met you in the hallway downstairs, she was speechless. That was rare for her, she always had something cunning to say. But her eyes were too busy looking you up and down to even think of something as trivial as words.

“Hey, what’d you have planned?” You asked cautiously, stepping over to meet her. She smirked again, but this time something more mischievous laid beneath her green eyes. She only grabbed your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours as she pulled you down the hall.

The sudden sound of chatter grew, mixed with the soft tune of music playing overhead. You furrowed your brow, unsure what could be lying out in the gallery. As you rounded the corner, your eyes went wide.

A banner reading Welcome to the Team! was strung across the floor to ceiling windows. Hundreds of people who worked for S.H.I.E.L.D in some way or another littered the open floor. Front and center was the team, watching your reaction with excitement; all with a drink in hand. Your eyes darted across the room, suddenly realizing that this wasn’t an intimate night with Natasha—the team was throwing you an official welcome party.

Unbeknownst to Natasha, you hated big gatherings—especially when they surrounded you. You never had a graduation party, hadn’t celebrated your birthday in ages, and even went out of your way to avoid crowded holiday events. But that was all before you worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. None of them had any idea you were this anxious around crowds.

You turned to face Natasha with a weary look. Her expression dropped the second she realized you weren’t surprised, and rather unsure about the party. “Natasha…” You trailed off, shaking your head. As much as you enjoyed small parties and little get togethers, organized events that made you the center of attention were your worst nightmare. But no one could’ve known that, so you felt guilty. They set this all up for you, and here you were wanting to crawl back into your bedroom and hide.

She quickly turned to the team waiting eagerly for you to come over. Holding up a finger to convey ‘one moment’, Natasha grabbed your wrist softly and guided you out into the hallway. The echoing chatter of the crowd died down as the air found your lungs again. You pressed yourself up against the cold marble wall with closed eyes, wincing as it all hit you.

“Hey,” Natasha’s voice grew closer; suddenly you felt her hand on your waist. “You don’t like crowds, do you?” It was less of a question and more of an informed guess, which the redhead likely already knew the answer to. It didn’t take a world-class agent to see how anxious the sudden surprise made you—which led you to feel even more self-conscious, because that was exactly what had happened.

You nodded, refusing to open your eyes in hopes the muffled sound of the crowd would disappear. She sighed, using her other hand to rub up and down your arm in comforting motions. You knew she wasn’t frustrated with you, but it didn’t matter; you were frustrated with yourself. “I’m sorry.” You spoke, finally opening your eyes to face the Widow with a concerned expression.

“Why are you sorry? I’m sorry, for springing this on you. I should’ve at least warned you.” She countered, almost defensively. Natasha wasn’t going to let you blame yourself for this. She understood the fear, especially when the room next door was full of America’s strongest soldiers.

You tilted your head to the side, eyes finding the floor as you processed. “I’d hate to ruin something you guys all planned for me. I really appreciate the gesture, I do… I just—“

“I know,” Natasha interrupted, her hand moving to caress your cheek. “You didn’t ruin anything, I promise. In fact… I have an idea.” She bit her lip, pausing for a moment before scurrying off into the gallery. You were left alone in the hall, a confused expression painted on your face while you sat in silence.

You could hear the chatter inside die down for a moment, some shuffling footsteps soon picking up and the music growing softer. Within minutes, Natasha’s heels clacked against the marble out into the hallway. She was smirking, her arm outstretched for yours to take.

“What…?” You questioned, hesitantly reaching out. She was silent, only guiding you back into the gallery. The second you walked in, it was hard to sustain your chuckle. It was quieter, this time the team was all facing away from you and conversing with one another. No one was looking at you waiting for a reaction. The banner was modified, now reading Welcome Team!, the former words in between obviously ripped out with haste.

You faced Natasha, finally letting yourself laugh as you hugged her. “Thank you, this is perfect.” The attention wasn’t on you, and you could still be a part of the fun. She made it work, just like she always does. Though for the first time, you saw her problem solve out of compassion—not just for work. The idea of her doing this just for you made you melt.

“Of course, we’re all proud of you. And, we all care about you. You’re part of the team now.” She held the embrace for a moment before pulling back to lock eyes with you. It took you both a few seconds before realizing you were just staring into each other’s gaze, craving the company you’d found in one another. But the party was waiting, and so were your friends.

You both walked up to the group, everyone deep in conversation by the time you arrived. “Oh, Y/N, I didn’t even know you were here.” Thor stated, earning an elbow in the side from Natasha as the group laughed. You joined in, grinning as you realized just how much everyone cared. They were all here to support you as a new team member and as a friend. As for Natasha, maybe even something more. And you couldn’t wait to find out where that would lead.

#marvel #mcu #marvel fanfic #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader

71 notes · View notes

akirathedramaqueen · 1 day ago

Text

Wow, this is a comprehensive analysis. Lots of wonderful observations. I adore your ability to pick up so many things in this show.

For instance, I've never connected the starting scene in the IMP office in the 'Seeing Stars' episode with Blitzø promising to never replace Loona no matter what in the end. 🤔 And his breakdown in the TV studio a bit earlier makes so much more sense now, damn. It all ties to his little pushback he allowed himself after she acted horribly to his clients and hurt his business for literal months. And it still had such a big effect on him. It just . . . fuck, it all clicked to me.

Also, Blitzø not being able to comprehend what does unconditional truly mean. What he probably meant is unlimited, at least I suspect so—but indeed, the only type of relationship he can understand is some kind of exchange being behind that. To be useful. Not to tag along for one date. To give his body for one night. I mean, look at all his connections. He pays M&M's, his, as we found out, best friends. He cares for Loona, his own fucking daughter, and you think this is how it's supposed to be, but well . . . as stated earlier, he doesn't feel safe being stern in any way. He allowed to push himself around because he thinks that the moment he stops being useful to her, she leaves. And he'd rather be diminished and humiliated in front of Tex than stand his ground.

I do think though that 'self-forgiving journey' is a bit of a stretch when it comes to self-hatred issues. We see that Cash conditioned him to believe he's only worth as much as he can provide. We see him showing that quality throughout all his relationships.

And the problem is . . . this is an integral part of him now. You can only do so much to help it. I doubt there will be a day when Blitzø will wake up and, quote-unquote, forgive himself. It goes way back: before the fire, before the events of 'The Circus,' even before his conscious self started collecting memories. It goes all the way back to his father, who never valued him for what he was. And this is not something you can scorch out of yourself, however much you try. This is the background noise of your mind, infested, part of your self-image.

But what he truly needs is to not let this part of himself, ever-doubting, self-demeaning, self-sabotaging self rule his life. He should not build his decision-making process around his worst vision of himself. And I do believe he can grow past the point where he's just acting on his sheer fear of intimacy, of being hurt again. But it's not going to be a cure to his self-hatred. This is important to understand.

Also, he needs a stable support system—which he thankfully sort of has, as we were shown with Millie, but the issue is, Millie can't be there forever. She has her own life and even here, in this episode, we saw her being torn between two men in her life who crumbled and her already not being able to help both, being forced to choose.

I remember us talking with @lost-romantique about it, and what we found out was that Stolas is actually a perfect fucking candidate for that. With his ability to love truly unconditionally, with his capacity for sharing and repeating again and again and again that Blitzø is kind and beautiful and gorgeous and resourceful and so many more things Blitzø forgets about himself all the time. The owl loves words, words is his love language. And words—i-love-you's, reminders, real life examples—are exactly what Blitzø needs. That and someone staying by his side no matter what. No matter how shitty he feels or how many mistakes he made.

Blitz and self-hatred, plus his self-forgiveness journey.

Aka, watch me try to make sense of the massive lore drops in ghostfuckers. (Long post alert, my first meta post after ghostfuckers dropped)

Section 1: The roots of Blitz's self-hatred.

The circus fire. We know what Blitz's actions were that day, he saw Fizzarolli, and tried to call for help, but then he realized that Tilla was also caught up in the fire, and instantly rushed over to attempt to save her the moment Blitz realized that fact.

We know that Fizzarolli getting severely hurt in that fire affected Blitz very deeply, considering that it was one of the memories in that slideshow.

If you look at this frame by frame, you can see some sort of face in the fire when Blitz is rushing to save Tilla from the fire. The face in that fire looks like a mix of an angry face and a screaming face at the same time. Signaling that Tilla has been consumed by the flames. That she's dead.

There's an interesting detail within the hallucination sequence as well.

"This is your life." The fact that the fire in this sequence starts right at Blitz's hand is really telling. It tells us that Blitz still blames himself for accidentally causing the fire. Blitz blames himself for the fire that severely hurt Fizzarolli, and the fire that killed Tilla. Blitz feels like he hurt Fizzarolli and killed Tilla, his own mother.

Look at Blitz's hand during this memory, you can very clearly see that it's quite badly burned, including some that haven't even fully scarred properly yet, placing this memory very shortly after the fire happened. During this scene, Cash hits Blitz, and it's very clearly a memory that still deeply affects Blitz, a memory that most likely reinforced Blitz's own self hatred, because he's blaming himself for Tilla's death and Fizzarolli's injuries at this point, and his dad is just rubbing that in a lot by getting extremely pissed off with Blitz and hitting him because of the circus fire.

Plus, just look at Blitz's reaction to this memory, look at Blitz flinch, look at Blitz starting to struggle against the chains the moment this memory comes up. Blitz's reaction to this just proves how deeply it affects him to this day, and also proves that Cash hitting Blitz added to Blitz's self-hatred over the circus fire. Also, just how many times did Cash physically abuse Blitz like this over the course of his life so far?

Finally, we have the memory of Cash keeping Blitz from seeing Fizzarolli at the hospital. "But they told me you didn't want to see me.", Cash lied to Blitz and most likely the hospital staff as well considering the 'they' used, saying that Fizzarolli didn't want to see Blitz again, having strong implications to Blitz that Fizzarolli hated him. He also lied to Fizzarolli and said that Blitz never even visited him in the hospital. Further adding to Blitz's self hatred over the circus fire.

Section 2: Everything that has reinforced Blitz's self hatred, and is important on Blitz's self-forgiveness journey.

Let's start with Loona, we see her two times during the memories sequence.

The first having this exchange of dialogue.

Blitzo: Because, I adopted you! And that should mean something!

Loona: Oh, what does it matter?! You're not my real dad! I was almost eighteen!

Blitzo: It still counts!

Loona: Well, it shouldn't! I didn't need you then, asshole! I don't, now!

Notice the word 'need.', it's something that Blitz has internalized by now, Blitz thinks that if the people in his life don't 'need' him, they'll just leave him. Another thing that this shows is that Blitz is worried about if Loona hates him.

And it's very clear that Blitz is still effected by this exchange in s1 e3, even quite a while later. In s2 e2, we see Loona kick Blitz right in the balls, and just look at Loona's face in this scene, what Blitz sees here is his fear that Loona hates him, which is why it's in the memory sequence, and there's also these pieces of dialogue to consider.

Loona: If I'm so terrible, how about you just grow a pair and replace me?

Blitzo: Okay, well, maybe I- Maybe I might.

Blitzo: Oh, Loona, my sweet baby girl! I'm so sorry, I'll never replace you no matter what you--

Blitz is still concerned that Loona hasn't forgiven him/hates him for saying that he might replace her, hence why he instantly says he'll never replace her the moment Blitz sees her again, and that face and kick in the balls definitely fed into Blitz's fear that Loona hates Blitz.

And this fear that Blitz has about people who he cares about hating him seems to be something that applies to a lot of different people.

We see this fear in Fizzarolli, because this is one of the memories that comes up in that sequence. The malice-filled stare Fizzarolli gave Blitz during Ozzie's, and we all know Cash was the reason why Fizzarolli hated Blitz for so long, because he lied to Fizzarolli and said he started the fire on purpose, and said that he never visited him once. Alongside other things like Cash making Fizzarolli the golden child. So even all those years later, Cash is still contributing to Blitz's fear of the people he cares about hating him.

Don't be mistaken as well, just because they made up in s2 e6 doesn't make this fear of Blitz's go away, doesn't make the pain of the malice-filled stare go away, which this memory being brought up proves.

And, as I've said before, Blitz still blames himself for accidentally causing the fire that severely hurt him, also adding to the fear and self-hatred.

Barbie Wire, we can see this fear play out with her as well.

"I never wanna see you ever!"

Looking at both Blitz's face at the time and the fact that this scene made it into the memories sequence, it just shows us that Blitz has this fear for Barbie Wire as well, just like how he had it for Fizzarolli. The fact that Barbie Wire doesn't even want to see Blitz again just confirms that fear he has, that Barbie Wire hates him, and the memory of it also confirms just how deeply her saying that effected Blitz.

"Are you worried I may have enough of it one day as well?"

Truth Seekers, the fact that this is Blitz's subconscious telling him this is proof of the fact he has this fear that Moxxie will get tired of Blitz's behavior, that Moxxie will hate him and just, leave.

And the sequence with all the dead Millies and her appearance in the memories sequence also confirms that Blitz has this fear when it comes to Millie as well. Plus, the sequence with the dead Millies also tells us quite a few things, but I think the main ones are the insecurities Blitz has that he 'keeps fucking people's lives up' and 'leaving them worse and more broken than he found them', which both add to the fear that the people in Blitz's life who he cares for hates him.

The last person, Stolas.

There's three memories in ghostfuckers of him I'd like to bring up here.

The first being the All 2 U song memory, just look at how angry Stolas looks to Blitz in this specific memory, while singing lines like "'Cause I don't think it meant a thing at all!"

This one, Stolas was literally just crying a moment ago with all the makeup streaming down his face, but Blitz doesn't seem to remember that fact, instead, he's more focused on what Stolas said, more specifically, "You! Why are you here? I don't want you here, go home, please! Let me not feel so sad!"

And the final one, Stolas and the BTB guy. It's not jealousy, it's god damn heartbreak, especially considering the 'I mean you're a fucking prince. How could you ever actually care for an imp... Me? How could anybody?' Which shows us that Blitz thinks Stolas deserves a better partner, and then a guy literally with a shirt named 'Better than Blitzo' came in, with them dancing and enjoying each other, something that Blitz most likely wished he could do.

Plus, it had been around 24 hours since Stolas' confession to Blitz, and to Blitz, Stolas is already with someone else, someone 'better' than him. With the moment of the BTB guy kissing Stolas being all the confirmation Blitz needed, that he'll never be enough for Stolas, that Stolas has found someone better than him. That he's unlovable.

With all these three memories just massively contributing to Blitz's fear that Stolas hates him, and his self-hatred in general.

(Obviously Stolas doesn't hate Blitz, and that the BTB dude is a one night stand at most, but I'm speaking like how Blitz sees things rn)

Something else that's also relevant is this memory of Verosika, and the reason why this is specifically in the reel is because this was the moment that Verosika said "A reckless, heartbreaking freak!", all while Stolas was watching, which is something Blitz very clearly noted in his memories of the event, showing how much this effected him as well.

And to show that even more, this is the exact point that gets Blitz's tears flowing.

Another thing I want to quickly mention is that Blitz struggles to understand concepts and such of love, outside of a transactional context. Like, correct me if I'm overthinking this, but the 'unconditional support' card is yet another example of Blitz doing this kind of stuff. Everytime they give Blitz 'unconditional support', Blitz punches a hole in the card, with the one at the end being that Blitz has to leave M&M alone for one date, like, my babygirl, that isn't unconditional.

I also suspect that this has roots with Cash as well, considering that Cash was 100% the type of person to only see their value as 'how much money they can make him', and that the less they make for him, the less that Cash will 'love' them, something that is extremely clear in the difference that Cash treated Blitz and Fizzarolli on multiple occurrences. Like, here for example. Plus, there's also the fact that Blitz was bought by Paimon to be friends with Stolas as a kid.

And well, I think we all know what the biggest example of this kind of relationship has been throughout the show, it being something that only ended a few episodes ago.

Of course, I have to mention "I believe your subconscious is trying to tell you that you simply cannot fathom proper intimacy, but… also crave it as well.", which is something that is extremely intertwined with this subject, and the best example of this is probably s2 e8.

Something else in the memories sequence that this line from truth seekers also heavily applies to are these memories.

It shows us very clearly that Blitz is rather envious of the relationship that Moxxie and Millie have, because Blitz craves proper intimacy, so what Blitz sees is something he wants, but something he feels like he can't obtain.

Finally, the last subject I'd like to talk about is the fact that Blitz, hasn't really been able to see much of the good things he's done for the people he cares about or that he straight up doesn't know, by just being himself.

Blitz saved Moxxie from a life with Crimson and also busted him out of prison, Blitz gave Millie a life, a husband, and a purpose, Blitz gave Loona a home and a loving father, right before she was about to get kicked out the system, and Blitz gave Stolas the courage to stand up to his abuser, to allow him to choose for himself and get that divorce.

But, the sad part is that Blitz doesn't really see much of that.

Section 3: The progress Blitz has made on self-forgiveness journey so far.

S2 E6, the fact that Blitz and Fizzarolli was able to make up after so long removed a huge roadblock in the way of Blitz's self-forgiveness journey. The fact that Fizzarolli no longer hates Blitz. While there are still memories about Fizzarolli that still haunt Blitz, as I've shown in this post, this is still a huge step forward for Blitz being able to repair his relationships.

tbh, thinking about it, the memories sequence, and the other bits worked quite similarly to how exposure therapy works, which I believe has proven benefits for mental health. I know it wasn't therapy in the slightest, but I still believe that in the long-run, that memory sequence was important for Blitz to witness, as it tells us a lot about Blitz's self-hatred, something that is extremely important.

The first real heart-to-heart Blitz and Millie conversation, a lot gets brought up here, just exactly how Blitz has improved Millie's life for the better, confirmation to Blitz that Millie never hated Blitz and the fact that they're best friends. Of course, there's also Millie's apology to Blitz, with this conversation being something that Blitz desperately needed to hear, and I really hope everyone else eventually tells Blitz just how much he's changed their lives for the better.

And the second conversation between the two, the first thing that Blitz mentions is Millie's best friend comment, and that is huge for Blitz, because it signals the start of Blitz learning that people in his life can care for Blitz unconditionally. That Blitz can just have friends in his life, as the line "I- I've never had a real friend that I didn't want to fuck."

(hit the image limit, so time for timestamps!) Timestamp 24:31

(Timestamp, 24:45) "The bird got to you that bad, huh?", it just means so much to me that Blitz has finally admitted the fact that Blitz has feelings for Stolas, because it shows that Blitz is slowly, but surely starting to open up, and this is gonna be a huge thing for Blitz's relationships, including when Stolitz finally gets back together.

#helluva boss spoilers #helluva boss ghostfuckers #sorry it might have turned out a bit rambly #but I hope I got the point across #but I love how your metas are always methodical and full of good observations #<3 #please do more of that!

154 notes · View notes

mc-lukanette · 7 hours ago

Text

Marinette didn't know Luka's friends very well despite the years of the two of them knowing each other, so she tried to balance keeping herself "outside" of their friendly bubble while also chiming in whenever she was asked a question directly. It helped that she had her sketchpad with her, so she could mindlessly draw when she wasn't part of the conversation.

It was going well until Claudine spoke up, not at her specifically but it definitely got her attention.

"Hey, anyone know if Luka likes someone?"

Marinette's head snapped up, suddenly very aware of everyone in the room. "W-what?"

Roche acknowledged her with a glance, then raised a brow at Claudine. "Did he do anything to make you think that?"

Mito, who had made himself comfortable sitting on the backrest of the couch, tilted his head at her as well. "Why ask?"

"I'm curious!" Claudine raised a finger. "And because it's a crime! When you hear an amazing song, don't you hate when you learn it's not a hit?"

Roche nodded, but Mito and Marinette remained perplexed.

"That's Luka," Claudine clarified, arms spread. "The guy's soft as a marshmallow and so nice, but he's not dating anyone and can't hold a relationship to save his life!"

That, Marinette could understand. The whole being an adult thing had meant that they'd had to spend so much time getting their lives together, so she'd tried to ignore the pang in her chest when they met back up again, so certain that he would've been dating by then, but nothing. Luka always had so much love in his heart that it seemed like a shame that no one was on the receiving end of it.

Wait—

"Can't hold a relationship?" she repeated. "So he's been on dates?"

Roche answered rather than Claudine, "A few, when they ask."

They. So it wasn't Luka initiating, apparently. It was an oddly relieving feeling.

Claudine nodded at Roche. "And it usually ends after one or two dates."

"Isn't that because he's not interested?" Marinette figured.

"But he always lets them decide if they go on another, and you know how he is," Claudine argued. "He's a sweetheart. I bet he tends to their every need, shows them a good time... why wouldn't they follow up if they felt like they had a chance?"

"Hmmm," Mito hummed, tipping a hat he didn't have and miming smoking from a pipe. "A mystery."

"He might not be good at romance after all?" Roche suggested as an alternative theory. "He just seems like it."

Marinette raised a hand, adding on, "It doesn't sound very Luka to go on dates if he already likes someone."

"Maybe he wants to get over them?" Claudine shrugged. "Could be any reason."

"Who'd reject Luka?" Marinette countered. "Unless he never confessed?"

Mito adjusted his imaginary hat. "You know what they say: love is mute."

"That's—" Roche shook his head, deciding not to bother correcting him.

Marinette considered the information presented to her. The idea that Luka was in love with someone without her knowing sounded ridiculous, because while she'd been away from him for a while, he could've found time to say something to her if the crush had happened before then.

He could've brought it up when they'd watch romance movies together, like when they pressed against each other during one movie in particular where things were tense enough to feel like a horror movie. They'd turned to each other and pretended not to notice until the scene was over, so he could have made conversation then.

And he was so complimentary! He would call her "beautiful" when she was just in her pajamas, "cute" when all she'd done was make a little noise or wiggle excitedly, and constantly praised her intelligence. If he'd already been in love with someone, he would save such compliments for them, and what date of his would not ask for another one when he was like that?

It was as Mito said: a mystery, and one that was making her unconsciously draw Luka in her sketchpad, oops—

"Hey, I'm back," Luka called from the hallway, carrying a drink holder in his arm.

Marinette closed her sketchpad as casually yet quickly as possible, looking up at him with a beaming smile. "Oh! Hi!"

"Hey," he greeted, despite having already done so.

She bit her lower lip, eyeing Luka up and down. He was even more attractive than when they were teens and just as considerate, the size of drinks in the carrier varying depending on how much each person usually drank. She was so curious, wondering how such a man couldn't be dating anyone nor manage to keep his dates from coming back. She racked her brain, idly tapping on her sketchpad as she tried to figure out how she could resolve this for both her and his friends.

Then, something clicked, and the words came out before she could stop them.

"Luka, would you go on a test date with me?"

His smile faltered, shocked lips parting at the sudden request. She shifted anxiously in her seat while the eyes of his friends went to the both of them, and she wondered if it'd been too much. Was she so undateable that even calling it a test date was weird?

Luka's grip on the drink carrier unconsciously loosened. Mito, speeding off the couch towards him, ducked down and placed himself just under the nearly fallen carrier. Standing up fully, he took it from Luka by perfectly balancing it on his head, taking it back to the others so Roche could put it on the table.

The action made Luka move again, eyes darting over to his trio of friends. "What were you guys talking about?"

Marinette pushed herself up, leaving her sketches behind as she approached him. "We were wondering why you can't keep dates with anyone. I thought..." She blushed, gesturing between the two of them and already feeling silly. "If we went out on a date, I'd know?"

"Ah." He covered his mouth, making it harder to know exactly what was going on his head. She tried to peer into his eyes, but he evaded, staring off at a corner of the ceiling.

Were his cheeks pink? Was he thinking about his mystery crush just at the mention of a date? Was Claudine right?

Just as Marinette started to get worried, the hand on his chin lowered to reveal a lopsided smile. He made eye contact with her again, voice full of amusement. "We could do it, but I don't think you'd be able to tell."

She tilted her head at the emphasis, which implied that she specifically wouldn't be able to tell. Was it because she didn't know who he liked, or he thought she wasn't perceptive enough, or...

Eyes narrowing, she asked directly, "Is that a challenge?"

Luka went wide-eyed, his hand dropping from his chin and hovering awkwardly at chest level. Roche, Mito, and Claudine had already whipped out their drinks, sipping from them and huddled together as they watched the two intently.

"What?" Luka blinked helplessly. "No—"

"I accept." Marinette straightened, poking him in the chest as her competitive side came out front and center. "I'm going to figure you out. Looking forward to our date, Luka Couffaine."

With a huff, she turned back around and went to her seat, plopping down and reopening her sketchpad. She blushed seeing the sketch she'd just drawn of him, then hurriedly flipped to another page and started drawing something else.

She could handle this, she thought. Worst case scenario, she'd still get a date with her multi-year one-sided crush.

#queuekanette #lukaneventte: No Context November #Flower Arrangement Shipping #Pro LukaMari #Lukanette

35 notes · View notes

letterstodixon · 1 day ago

Text

oldies station (pt. II)

modern au!

summary: Daryl has been avoiding his past as much as possible, but inevitably he runs into it again.

pairing: daryl dixon x f!reader

word count: 2373

warnings: a few cuss words. paragraphs in italics indicate flashbacks. not proofreading.

divider by @/saradika-graphics

a/n: as i said, i'm making this a mini series (for now), so the cliffhanger is completely intentional. thank you so much for the support on the first part, hope you enjoy this one as well! <3

taglist: @vaniniweenie

The typical sound of forks clanking against plates and voices could be heard in the room. Daryl looked around, his elbows resting on the table, while his fingers were intertwined, acting as a support for his chin. Somehow, some way, he felt comfortable and familiar with this situation. The Grimes family had come into his life by chance, and although it took him a while to get over the suspicion that they were not what they seemed, he confirmed that yes, they were that incredible. Then, he was introduced to their friends, and Daryl had been adopted as part of that group. Those weekend meetings were part of a routine, but that day, there were only the Grimes, Glenn and Maggie, and Carol with her daughter, Sophia. Some were missing at the table, but there would be a chance to repeat the moment next week.

"Earth to Daryl." A voice, which he recognized as Carol's, made him come out of his thoughts. Blinking a couple of times, he turned to look at her, sitting next to him, while everyone seemed to be watching him.

"What?" he asked, frowning slightly, as he shifted in his seat. He felt uncomfortable having all eyes on him.

"Carl asked if you could pick him up tomorrow from school." Rick repeated, chuckling slightly. Sophia let out a laugh, turning to look at the boy in question.

"Oh so you go to school? You're not as illiterate as you seem!"

"Sophia!" Carol scolded her.

"Shut the hell up!" Carl replied, leaning partially over the table, not taking his eyes off Sophia. Judith laughed, shaking her head.

"Swear jar!"

"Carl, enough." Rick said. Everyone at the table laughed, while the teenagers continued to look at each other with a certain amount of disdain. Rick sighed, turning his gaze to Daryl. "Can you do that for us? I know I'm asking a lot but..."

"S' no problem. Do I have to bring Jude too?"

"Nope, we're having a girls day tomorrow after school! Right?" Maggie intervened, who was sitting in front of the girl, extending her arm while wriggling her fingers, Judith doing the same and smiling at her aunt.

"Yeah!" Jude exclaimed excitedly. Gasping, she hit her forehead with the palm of her hand. "I forgot to finish my art project! Be right back." As the girl ran up to go to her room, everyone looked at each other, laughing.

"Didn't you have a project to finish too, huh?" Michonne asked, turning to see Carl, who rolled his eyes.

"That was like a week and a half ago. But you know, Y/N is the coolest, she wouldn't rush or pressure us into doing anything." He replied, picking up his glass to take a sip of soda, glancing at Daryl out of the corner of his eye. Hearing her name, he felt his stomach drop to the floor, the phone in his pocket weighing more than usual. How had it been almost two weeks since the message? He still hadn't responded, and he didn't know how to do so.

"Y/N is the art teacher?" Rick asked, to which his son nodded.

"Yup. Ask Daryl, he's her friend."

"Your friend? Since when?" Glenn chimed in, too intrigued to keep quiet while the rest talked. Maggie turned to look at him amused, shaking her head.

"Uh, yeah. She was a friend of mine." Daryl cleared his throat, nodding. He didn't know how to get out of this situation —again— thanks to Carl. "Long time no see."

"Carl said she is, you said was. What is it?" Michonne asked, as incisive as ever. He couldn't help but rub his palms against his pants, trying to get rid of the sudden sweat.

"Was m'fault. Kid's right, she's cool." He simply answered. Two weeks had passed without him turning his thoughts to that place he didn't want to return to: you. He regretted being a coward, but it was better for both of you not to be around anymore, and he would do everything possible to make that happen. In fact, he never deserved a friendship like yours.

Even though everyone at the table continued with their conversation and moved on from the topic, respecting that Daryl preferred not to go into detail about you, he couldn't help but feel Carl's gaze on him for the rest of the night. Was he making the wrong decision?

Stopping the bike in front of the school, this time at the correct building, he got off the bike, leaving the helmet on the seat. It wasn't common for him to wear it, but he knew he would need it for Carl. Being in that place, once again, was making him nervous. The boy knew how to act to intimidate him in some way, and while his parents preferred him to go home accompanied, Daryl knew that the teen had been behind that plan.

Before he even had time to think about what would happen if Carl didn't show up on time and where he should look for him, he started to hear voices, teenagers leaving the school with red, sweaty faces, evidence that they had had gym class. Suddenly, those voices started to get louder, making Daryl frown, sneaking closer to the entrance. It sounded like a fight.

"What's wrong with you?! They're kids! Students! Your students." A female voice said, anger visible in her voice. As he approached, the few boys who had left turned to see what was happening in the hallway.

"Oh c'mon, doll! Cut me some slack, would you? It's not that fucking d—" A man responded, being interrupted by the same voice from before, trying to cover him up.

"It is! It is that deep, you were yelling horrible things at them!"

"Because they need to grow a fucking backbone!"

When Daryl reached the school entrance, you appeared in his vision, in front of a man dressed in gymnastics —the gym coach, he assumed— who was watching you with a mocking smile, while you had to look up slightly to see his face. Carl, with desperation written on his face, was at your side, along with two other classmates. Without hesitation, he walked up the steps to enter the school, standing close to you but not interrupting.

"No, they don't! They are teens. You should stop trying to give them reasons to drop out of school," you said, lowering your voice, a sigh leaving your lips before continuing, "you should give them reasons to stay, Negan. This is supposed to be a safe place."

After speaking, almost as if you had sensed his presence, you turned to look at him with a certain confusion on your face, frowning. Daryl couldn't identify what was happening to you, but he decided to take matters into his own hands.

"Enough, we're leavin' right now. Let's go." He said quietly, motioning for Carl to start walking, one of his hands placing itself on your shoulder for you to follow. Negan laughed, looking at him in disbelief.

"You need a guard dog now, huh? I thought you were better than that." He commented, clearly trying to be hurtful. Daryl couldn't care less what some idiot he just met thought of him, they were comments he'd heard all his life, for one reason or another, but he didn't want that comment to affect you. As he was opening his mouth to respond, your voice was heard.

"You keep telling yourself that, Negan. You're so miserable being human that you constantly need to make people feel like less of a person." You said, looking at him one last time before leaving the school, Daryl following close behind you with Carl, both of you turning to see the gym coach standing in the middle of the hallway, looking like he didn't understand what had just happened. As he walked away from the building, he stopped when he saw you doing the same, turning to look at him. Only then was he able to notice your red, glassy eyes, watching him with that expression he still couldn't decipher.

"I'm so sorry, Daryl. He had no right to say that to you." You said, your voice cracking, making Daryl's heart break. Years passed, and the only thing capable of making him want to cry were your own tears. Pressing his lips together, he shook his head as he huffed, brushing off the matter.

"Ain't what matters. Guy's an asshole, I can tell." He answered, turning to look at Carl, who nodded.

"Yeah, you know Negan. He's mean but he don't really mean what he says." The teenager intervened, causing you to let out a humorless laugh.

“He means everything he says because he hypes himself up by drowning other people.” Rolling your eyes, you brought your hand up to Carl’s hair, messing it up slightly. “Would you mind to leave me and Daryl alone for a bit, sweetheart?”

Carl nodded, giving you a side hug, which you returned with a big smile, as he turned to look at his uncle once more, eyes narrowing. Daryl looked between you and him, finally focusing his gaze on you. Having you face to face, this time alone, intimidated him. He had always been intimidated, in the best possible way. If he had the chance to look at other people, he would still choose to keep looking at you, because you were the only person capable of looking at him as if he really had a place in the world. As if he really mattered.

"I assume you didn't receive my text?" You asked, tilting your head slightly as you ran your ring finger across your eye, wiping away the excess tears that hadn't finished falling. He kept that unreadable expression, though he was afraid you could read it.

"Nah, I didn't." He said, feeling guilty almost instantly. "What did it say?"

"Carl sent me your number and I wanted to keep in touch with you, if that's okay. But if you don't want to, you know where I live." You said, making him hesitate for a moment. As far as he knew, you had moved out from that house a while ago, but...

"You're at yer mom's house?"

"Exactly. Well, at least in the house by the front, I constructed a mini house in the back, made myself a little art school so kids can hang out. Sometimes I help them with homework and stuff." You told him, pride evident in your voice. "You should stop by one day, you know my mom loved you."

Daryl nodded, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, nervousness stuck in his stomach at the mere thought of running into you again, and at the mention of your mother. Back in the day, it was just the two of you, and never—really, never—had been rude or violent towards Daryl, as people usually were. However, he didn't know how to let you know those fond memories or how to respond to that invitation, so he just responded with a low "m'kay."

"I should probably get going... Hope to see you soon, Dar. Take care." You said, giving him one last smile and a light caress on his arm before heading back to the parking lot, while he nodded slightly in greeting. He cringed at the nickname, since you had always called him that just to annoy him, but thinking about it, he had missed hearing you call him that. Turning to the side, he found Carl leaning against a tree, waiting for the conversation to end.

"Now I understand why you didn't thank me. Why didn't you answer her message?!" He whispered shouted, taking Daryl by surprise and making him back off a bit at Carl's hand movements.

"None of yer business, kid. Get on the bike." He said, passing him the helmet so he could put it on, which he obeyed, but not before complaining under his breath.

On the way to the Grimes’ house, his mind couldn’t get away from what you had said to Negan, how you had stood up for the kids, and most of all, he couldn’t ignore your invitation. Dropping Carl off safely at his home, he decided to take a few more laps around the neighborhood, deciding what to do. Finally, he found himself passing by that house he could easily recognize from his younger years, and although nothing had changed, he could notice that there were more plants on the porch and it was painted a different color, more vibrant than it once was. Your favorite. As he struggled, he could see you under the tree at the entrance of the house, your overalls stained with paint, as you scolded him once again.

"Stay still! I need to get your face correctly or my project will look like a mess." You told him, one hand on his jaw as you gently turned his face, the other hand holding the pencil firmly on the paper.

He huffed, annoyed at having to stay still for so long. "Shoulda get a better model, girl." As he spoke, he noticed how you rolled your eyes in response, shaking your head. "What?"

"You, Daryl Dixon, don't see yourself as I do." You replied, a smile appearing on your face as you tapped his nose with your index finger, causing his face to instantly turn red. "The only thing you can see is the bridge of your nose, and I'm not even sure that you actually see it."

Daryl never quite understood what you meant by that, but he stayed still the rest of the time you needed, learning to enjoy the moments that would later serve as fuel to keep him going. He was still afraid —sometimes— that his tank would run dry, that he would have to live remembering what you were like, but at that very moment he decided that he didn't want to feel what losing you was like again. Getting off his motorcycle, he left it at the side of the house, taking a seat on the front steps, ready to wait for you, turning to look in confusion when he heard the front door open.

"What are you doing here?"

#🍃—arieswrites #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x female reader #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #twd daryl dixon

29 notes · View notes

andiloveher · 1 day ago

Text

about a girl.

tate langdon x reader | introductions

september 24, 2009.

bullshit. that word repeated in your head over and over again as you unpacked each box. california sounded like a dream. hollywood, beverly hills, everything was good in california - or so your parents made it seem.

they were hiding something, and you knew it, yet they stayed silent. you questioned their logic. their morality. why would you pick up your family and move miles away from family, and friends, and comfortability? you couldn't rack your brain around it.

it wasn't like you had a say either, if you did, you wouldn't be unpacking your clothes in the infamous "Murder House."

you never felt a certain way about ghost. you didn't own a ouija board or deep dived into seances, but you also didn't believe they weren't entirely real. the murders that occured in the house were known, by everyone, probably why your family got such a great deal on it. the murders fascinated you. how did everyone who live in this house, die here? why were all of them murders? how did all of them become murders?

your thoughts were interrupted by your mother.

"you're not done packing yet?"

you shook your head, your eyes remaining on the clothes you hung up in your closet. your bed was covered in your clothes, your jewelry packed in a large jar, your boxes on books were the only thing unpacked.

"well," your mother sighed, "your father and i are about to grab some groceries, will you be alright by yourself?"

you turned to her, "what if the ghost come get me?" you asked, sarcastically, giving her a soft grin.

she returned with her loving smile. "there should be a landline somewhere in your room, we'll be back in around an hour." she began to step out before she peeked her head back in. "oh, and watch out for the neighbor, her daughter let yourself in earlier."

you nodded, waving goodbye as she exited, listening to her feet drag down the stairs and the front door shut.

right after the door shut, you made your way over to one of the boxes, the word written across in bold letters "FRAGILE". you opened it up, being greeted by around 2 dozen CDs and your CD player. you took out the CD player, and hooked it up, your attention going back to the box to pick a disc, soon grabbing one of your favorites , nirvana's bleach album. you slid the disc in and pressed play. about a girl began to play, kurt's voice filling the silent void of your room as you continued to unpack. making your way back over to your closet, unpacking the last of your clothes. you began to tear the box down before a different voice grabbed your attention.

"is that kurt cobain?" his voice was soft, and filled with curiosity. you didn't know this voice.

you raised your head, being greeted by an unfamiliar yet.. comforting face. his eyes were as soft as his voice, yet, his pupils pierced through you, as if they were soulless. his blonde hair complimented his pale skin. he wore dark colors. you didn't realize how long you were examining him until he looked over at the CD player then back at you, waiting for a response.

"how did you get in my house?" you muttered, neglecting any greetings.

"the door was open, constance said i should say hi." he responded, his words flew off his tongue smoothly.

"constance?"

"your neighbor?"

"oh."

the fact that you hadn't spoken to anyone but your family today, flew past your mind. you forgot you have neighbors. usually you would question this. there's no way your parents left the door open. and even then, what gave him the right to walk in here? but something about him. you wanted his presence. you didn't speak out, in fear that he would leave. you still wanted answers, but you would get them another time.

you walked up closer to him, still keeping a distance. "i'm y/n." you muttered, almost like you were doing a class icebreaker.

"tate." the blonde responded, blunty. he turned back to your CD. "do you have nevermind?" he asked, referencing another nirvana album.

you nodded, taking in his facial features as he spoke. his face turned back to you. somehow, you were much closer than you thought in a matter of words. the blonde looked down at you, you began to exam you too. his eyes were dark, so dark, they almost felt comforting. the sides of his mouth soon turned upward. oh my. his smile. it seemed like he enjoyed looking at you as much as you did with him.

maybe it wouldn't be so bad here.

#tate langdon #ahs murder house #american horror murder house #ahs #tate langdon x reader #ahs x reader #american horror story #Spotify

50 notes · View notes

mukuharakazui · 1 year ago

Text

bg3 is crazy for being a massive $70 larian + wotc collab game whose accessibility menu features subtitles that are present for less than half of all idle character dialogue and almost zero battle dialogue

#succ speaks #not to be the 'paizo wouldn't let this happen' guy but god this is actually insane #like why even have an accessibility menu at that point? i'd rather watch a youtube video with automatic captions #same energy as devs complaining that everyone was making their pcs a white human guy in early access while they had no asian human options #like bro i just want to know what bestie karlach is saying but if u make her mumble with no captions even tho i have subtitles on #tf am i supposed to do.....🤨😡😭💀#baldur's gate 3 is fun but this is pissing me off. like i'm prob not gonna keep playing this solo & only play online with friends #it's fun but. not fun enough to mimic the actual wacky bullshit i do with charisma rogues and bards in dnd or pf #i think i'm also used to having real humans around for ttrpg antics and dynamic character interactions so bg3 feels bland in comparison lol #also because irl i can ask people to repeat what they just said 🙃🙃🙃#joining the mob by accident was admittedly funnier in bg3 than it was in dnd though considering i stumbled into the base out of nowhere #i guess it just falls under ny philosophy that dnd is most fun when wotc has zero actual say in what happens and what we can do 👍#however as much as pf > dnd...bg3 > kingmaker. i think pathfinder is just to true of a ttrpg to adapt into a video game super well #like. the writing in wotr was WAY better than bg3 but still sometimes bad enough to be infuriating ESPECIALLY in regards to iomedae #but the weird ass iomedae stuff is also true in the adventure path itself and plenty of other people have complained about it #but hey at least in wotr the subtitles told me what she was saying every time she spoke 👍#wotr was still rly fun tho no hate to the game in general this is a quick slam of being pissed at bg3 again 🙏🙏

25 notes · View notes

prideandpen · 2 years ago

Text

it kinda pisses me off a bit that each time i have a good day of writing and get loads done thinking I’m starting a surge of progress it’s followed by days where my life goes up in smoke.

#dad's in icu again after having trouble breathing #and there's a huge stretch that i did not talk about here where he had radiation for something they thought was probably cancer but couldn't #prove #and didn't do jack shit about his PT exercises and let his legs get weak again #and multiple repeats of pnuemonia #it's been a bad time friends #a real shit year #his current ICU doctor (at thankfully a different hospital this time) seems to be real good though #so fingers crossed she gets him sorted and whips his other doctors into shape

6 notes · View notes

trafficpan-ic · 6 months ago

Text

Taylor Allison Swift said i could not.

She was right. She was so damn right.

#crying screaming throwing up.#just trying at the end #she littalry said and its the only reason i will not #but is so hard #its so f hard #taylor allison swift thank for all u music but u made me realise so luch of the thigns people have done to me #i do love her so much and its creeping inside me #every time again #it so bad for me #cant let it go #taylor allison swift #just gonna listen to the prophecy on repeat bcs how will i get over all the people that didnt love le #like just once pls #just once i want to hear i love you #and it takes me back every time #really have to stop being friends wigh people that are so beautiful #like i just cant do it another time again and again #just want to hear someone say a real i love you #always the wallflower #always last #always nothing #always the just a good friend #im so over it #can i have a hug from her again bcs it would possibly the only thing that would ever heal me right now #a hug like that forver #e #i mean what if taylor actually made me have a reason to try harder #i will #i will in the time #but i will at least try

0 notes

a-b-riddle · 6 months ago

Text

Part Six

Can't stop thinking about reader finally giving the boys a taste of their own medicine. And hurting my own feelings in the process of it all. I wanted to make this a baddie reader chapter, but its just a saddie reader chapter. I played Down Bad by T.S on repeat while writing this. Y'all need to thank @blueladys-world for being my ventor for this part.

None of them came the next day to pick up the box of everything you had collected. By everything, quite literally everything. Birthday cards and gifts. Keepsakes from your time together they had given you. Even going as far as returning lingerie they had given you. You didn't want any trace of them in your home anymore. You were gonna have to work hard in rebuilding it to be your safe space once again.

You were surprised that someone from the expo had DM'd you. Renée was an author who had tried to stop by to your stand, but got too caught up in the day. She was in London, working on her next series installment and wanted to pick your brain. Writer to writer.

The two of you agreed on a time. She had mentioned wanting to try this restaurant the last time she visited and you already knew you would be putting that meal on a credit card. It was a bit of splurge, but after the past week you deserved it. You could even wear that sexy black number that had been collecting dust in your closet.

By the time you were done getting ready and squeezing into your dress, you looked more ready for a date than dinner with a colleague.

A colleague. You had a colleague!!!

The knock on the door pulled you from your girlish glee. You didn't need to guess who it was. Your friends knew to text you before they came over and Renée had agreed just to meet you at the restaurant.

It was one of them.

You didn't even t bother looking through your peephole before you opened the door to find Johnny standing there with a floral arrangement of your favorite flowers.

Johnny began to speak, afraid you were going to shut him down immediately no less. But no words came out. His eyes traveled up and down your body, taking you in.

A vision.

You wanted to snap at him that your eyes weren't located on your hips. But damn if it didn’t feel empowering seeing Johnny’s gaze gloss over.

"Fuck me." He swore, gathering his bearings before realizing you were dressed. In a sexy black dress and heels and makeup and oh, fuck you were going out. "Where are you going?"

"First off, none of your business," you said holding a finger up. "And secondly, what are you doing here?"

"Listen," "Bon-"

"The box is right there." You said pointing to a large cardboard box on the floor. "That's everything."

"If you just let me make it-"

"Up to me?" You cut him off again. "I'm over it. Really."

"Just give me a chance."

"Either you haven't spoken to the other two to know I am well and truly done with this situationship, or you’re hoping some half-ass apology and flowers will let you get a last fuck in and the skedaddle. So hopefully if it was latter, hopefully the former answered that for ya.”

So if that's all you came here for, I've got to get going. My reservation is at seven and it's rude to keep a friend waiting."

"It's been a week and you're already going on a date?" He accused.

"Who said anything about a date?" You didn't outright say it wasn't. Where would be the fun in that? “It's just dinner with a colleague.” You didn’t want to lie. It wasn’t a date. But you didn’t need to say it was a woman. “Hardly a date.”

“Look at the sight of ye!" He said, taking the opportunity to take a quick look at how deliciously your ass filled that dress. “A fookin’ dinner with a colleague. Like one of us would show up to a briefing like that.” You opened your compact. Not needed in the age of cellphones but loving the feminine touch.

There was something so... seductive about using a compact mirror to apply your lipstick.

“Kyle does have the legs for this dress.” You said, applying that lipstick he loves. That same shade that looked beautiful on your lips. The same lipstick you would mark all over Johnny’s body. “Believe what you want. Not my problem anymore.”

You put your compact back in your purse along with the lipstick in case you needed to reapply it after dinner.

Johnny's eyes zeroed in on your lips before his eyes met yours. That's when you felt it again. That undeniably spark of chemistry that you had with him. With all of them. That feeling that sucked the very breath from your lungs and for a moment all you could see was the man in front of you.

"Bonnie," he said placing his hands on your neck. His thumbs stroking your cheeks softly. "Just one more chance." He begged, his voice breaking. "I'm a fucking git, but I won't let you go again. I won't leave." You knew that when it came to promises, Johnny had proven that even if he didn't mean to break them, he had forgotten he made them in the first place.

But in that moment you didn't care. Even after everything, Meredith was right. You had loved them. Everything else had ended so shitty. John had blamed you. Kyle had only shown up until it was too late. And Simon. The last time you would ever hear his voice was after he said such cruel things to you.

No.

If you were done with Johnny, you won't let the last time he fucked you being a quick, rough fuck doggystyle before leaving you naked and alone in your bed.

No. The last time with Johnny needed to be good. It might make it harder to finally leave, but you needed this. You needed to know that he could still make love to you and not just fuck you like an animal in heat.

"Johnny?" You asked. Your mouth dangerously close to his. "I don't want you to fuck me."

"I don't have to," he said, starting to take a step back to give you some space before your hands reached his. Holding him in place.

He can't let you go. You couldn't let him go. Not yet. Just one more. You needed just one more time to get him out of your system. The closure you needed.

"Make love to me." You begged, your eyes pleading. "I need to know that I wasn't just something you wanted to fuck." You don't move as his eyes search yours, looking for reassurance. When you nod, his mouth softly touches your own.

His hands travel along your body, but never fully leave you. Sliding your neck to your back. Pulling your body closer to his. A hand placed on your hip so tightly he's afraid you might disappear.

There's no rush, no haste in his touch. His mouth not eager to devour you.

He's slow. With his hands, his tongue. Even when he picks you up and walks to your bedroom with your legs around his waist.

He doesn't throw you on the bed.

Not this time.

He lays you down. His body laying on top of yours. His hand skimming along your bare thighs, but not daring to travel any higher.

But damn you needed him. You wanted love making, but if he didn't get inside you soon, you weren't sure you could let him go after this. You weren't sure you would be able to leave.

"Johnny," you whimpered, pulling away from his mouth. "Please." You took his hand, putting it between your thigh. Aching for any friction.

He obeyed without hesitation. If you told him to get on his bark, he would in that moment. Anything to make you happy. Anything to keep you.

"Got to get you out of this dress first." He resting on his knees before he began to slide the black satin from your thighs to your stomach. You maneuvered, helping him undress you leaving you in nothing.

"I thought you liked the dress." You couldn't help, but tease. Your hand finding its home on the back of his neck, pulling you to him once more.

In a tone lacking any note of humor and in all seriousness, he looked at you. Really looking at you. Taking in how your smile reached your beautiful eyes before he said, "I want you bare to me when I take you."

You felt your stomach flutter at his words before he began to take off his clothes.

He joined you again. His body relaxing when they got between your legs again. His mouth traveled from your exposed neck to your nipples. Sucking and flicking them with his tongue until your back arched. Pressing harder into his mouth.

Your hands tangled in his soft brown hair before you boldly guided him to your already dripping core. He slid down your body before his hands began to push your knees apart until you were fully expose to him.

With your knees bent, Johnny settled on his stomach, placing soft kisses on your soft inner thighs. God, did he love seeing you squirm. He smiled at your tortured expression before looking down at your sex. "There she is." He said before placing a kiss on your pussy.

It wasn't sloppy. He wasn't diving in and licking at your center like so many times before. He was kissing it just as tenderly as he kissed your mouth. Slowly building it deeper and deeper. Adding tongue. Breaking away to readjust his head.

The delicious ache between your thighs began to become to unbearable. "Need you inside me." You panted. "Johnny-"

"Shhh." He soothed. "Got to warm you up first , Bonnie." He said before slipping his finger inside of you. One was all it took before your head settled against the pillows again. When your body relaxed, he added another. He would need to add three to make sure you were good and ready.

His digits stroked that spongy spot inside of you that made your toes curl. "You're barely fitting around my fingers." Johnny was a good 6 inches in length, but the girth is what always did you in. It hurt to take anything past his head into your mouth. If you fucked him without any preparation, especially after a week of no sex, he would tear you into too.

His tongue caressed your clit, your eyes squeezing shut as you felt your first orgasm creeping up on you.

"Johnny." You moaned, your fingers running through his soft brown hair.

"Give it to me, beauty." He panted. "Come on my face. Squeeze my fingers, Lass." He begged before his mouth went back to you.

It was like lightning. Your body now sensitive after being forsaken for so long. Your vision blurred and before you could process it, Johnny was sitting on his haunches between your legs, stroking his cock.

You could only nod, dazed and barely keeping a grip onto the reality of what this was.

The end.

He leaned forward, his cock nestling against you. You knew this was going to be nothing compared to his fingers. "Tell me if I need to stop."

You smiled, mockingly. Reminding him, "Not our first time together, Johnny." just our last.

"You were wrapped tight around my fingers." He gave a half smile before kissing your forehead. The gesture like a knife twisting in your heart. "I just don't want to hurt you."

"I'm ready." You brought your legs around his waist again. Pulling him to you, your arms wrapping around his neck as your mouths meet.

He presses into you. The head of his cock sliding inside just one or two inches. You body contracting around him in a small spasm. He swallows your moan and lets you adjust. He pulls away before looking down where the two of you meet.

"I could die like this, Lass." He said, his breath coming out unsteady as he tries his best to control himself. So close to just burying himself inside of you to the fucking hilt. "Seeing you like this is this first thing I want to see when I make it to the other side." You let out a choked cry as he pushes deeper inside you. Another inch. And another. And another until you're taking all of him.

He slurs something that sound like "fuck", but you are in too much of a daze to care. You arch into him, trying to get closer.

His thrusts are slow and deep. His pubic bone brushing against your clit making you whine and squirm. Begging for more.

You're not sure how long he had fucked you like that.

You needed it to stop.

You couldn't handle it. The softness. His words.

I could die like this, Lass.

Your lip quivered as you told him you wanted to be on top. You needed a moment. A chance to create a bit of space before he shattered your world yet again.

He pulled out. His absence already making you ache for him again before he settled beside you.

You squatted above his cock. Your feet flat against the mattress as you grabbed his hardness and slipping it inside of you. The sound you let out was pornographic. A high pitched, soft moan slipping from your lips as he buried himself inside of you again.

You placed you hands on his chest. Using the leverage to ride him. Your arms serving as barrier for you to get your bearings.

You used his body just as he had used yours. Throwing your head back, you moved faster and faster. Readjusting so your hands went from his chest to his stomach, giving him a better view of your connecting bodies.

His hand slips between the two of you, thumb pressing against your clit, and you tighten even more around. A needy whimper coming out of your throat. The sound mixing in with the sounds of his labored breathing and slapping skin as he begins to fuck up into you.

Even though he had been doing all the work for the last several minutes, you felt the tension start to creep into your calf.

"Fuck fuck fuck." You screech, barely able to hold yourself up any longer. "Ow." You hissed as the cramp took hold.

"Leg cramp?" He asked, not even faltering in his thrusts. You pathetically nod before he takes it upon himself to flip you on your back again.

"I'm going to do this every chance I can." He promises, pressing a searing kiss onto your exposed neck. "Any chance you'll give me." You can't take it. His words, his mouth, his fucking cock. It's too much. "I'm going to show you how much I want you. How much I want to fucking worship ye. Do anything to make you feel good. Not going to leave you again like that, Bonnie."

You reach for him again, pull him into a searing kiss just to shut him up. You need him to shut up. You couldn't take his false promises. You wouldn't survive it. Couldn't.

"Shit." His thrusts quicken, his thumb returning to your swollen bud. Flicking it in a way he had crafted into an art. He buries his face into your neck and you know he's getting close.

You weren't too far behind.

He didn't want to come, not yet, but this was fully out of his control. It was pathetic. A week without sex and you had him nearly coming in the first ten minutes.

But that's what you want. To see him lost in the idea that you would stay.

"Johnny." You groan out. "Please. Cum inside me."

He draws fast, beautiful circles around your clit that immediately push you over the edge. You shut your eyes tight, squeezing him like a vice as you come in strong waves, continuing to push inside you.

in out in out in out.

Deliciously clenching around him tighter and tighter until he can't take it anymore.

"Fuck," he says again, and you see it in his face, and you see it in his face, the second it's all over for him. You want to sear the image in your head. Keep it there forever. Knowing you'll never see it again. The way those enchanting blue eyes squint nearly shut before closing in complete ecstacy.

His mouth would open. A moan caught in his throat that he isn't ready to let go.

His hand closes around your hip, holding you to him while he presses as far as he can go, and it's only then do you feel his cock twitch in quick, jerky movements. He moans out your name before taking your mouth into a searing kiss.

"I fucking love you." He says. "So fucking much."

He was still under the blanket when you returned from the bathroom. You picked up your clothes up from the floor. Looking at the clock realizing you had less than five minutes to get out the door before you would be late for dinner.

"What are you doing?" he asked. You couldn't look at him. Hearing the panic in his voice almost made you stop. Tell him it really was just dinner with a colleague. A woman. That you would be back. Beg him to wait until you came home.

"I can't cancel on the dinner." You said slipping your feet into your heels. "This was a mistake."

You weren't sure why you said it. You weren't sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself. If you wanted to hurt him or make him think you regretted it when you would truthfully do it again. You would do it again and again. You would never stop.

Like Johnny, you could have died in that moment, but for a completely different. Where he would be content, you would be saved from the pain. The pain currently coursing throughout your very soul.

"Lock the door behind you." You say as you practically sprint out the bedroom. Only slowing in your stride to snatch your purse off the kitchen counter before running out. The door slamming behind you.

The restaurant was nicer than you expected. The wine alone was the price of an entree. You didn't seem to be phased at all and were relieved when Renée insisted on picking up the bill.

Your dinner had been delicious and the conversation even better. Renée wrote fantasy romance and wanted to pick your brain about a Why Choose. You had nearly spent out the over priced wine you weren't even really enjoying. Oh the irony.

"It's like all the rage now, but it's hard to make more than one appealing as the love interest. You should have seen the Goodreads comments on my last book. So many people bitched about my FMC not ending up with a character who was quite literally her adopted brother."

"So," you took a breath trying to find the words. "I'm going to be honest. I only read your latest book and I loved Luka. But I can't compare him to other MMCs you've written about so I don't know if they are similar or different. But what I can say is that I'm seeing like this trend of MMCs where they are all this dark-haired, brooding or mysterious character who dislikes mostly everyone and is only soft for either a select few or only the FMC."

"I think if you are going to write a Why Choose you need to think of guys you wouldn't mind falling in love with." You couldn't help, but think of what drew you to your boys. "One could be the leader. Someone who isn't afraid to have his neck on the line. To make sure everyone else is taken care of and being strong enough to handle the stress of that. He would be big on words of affirmation. Lifting the FMC up. For me, it would be someone that I know will take care of business. He's confident in his decision. That confidence would extend to me." You clear your throat. "If I was the FMC, that is."

"Okay." She nodded, pulling out a pen and notepad. "You don't mind if I-"

"I don't write about polygamy." Crossed that bridge. Currently trying to burn it. "So feel free."

"Another could be the one who it's so easy to fall in love with their charm. The one who falls to his knees. Wanting to worship every inch of her. The one who makes her laugh. That one to make her forget about the sadness that creeps into her bones. The one to hold her whenever he could. He's about quality time and physical touch."

"So different love languages." She said, her pen quickly scribbling.

"Yeah." You said, leaning forward. "Then there is the gift giver." Your mind went to Gaz. Most of the gifts and trinkets in the box sitting by your door had came from him. He had gotten you new earbuds when yours broke. When you were being harassed at your gym, he had bought you and him a membership at a different one. "The one who would give her the world if she asked for it. If you're going with a high fantasy then maybe the one to take note of something at a market that the FMC had been eyeing and he bought it for her. Just someone who takes notice like that."

"So acts of service would fall with all of them then you think?"

No. Simon had been the one who probably spent the least amount of money on you. He didn't praise you like John. He didn't even try to attach himself at your hip like Johnny.

But if you needed something fixed, he would come fix it himself. He'd be damned letting a strange man into your apartment. And alone? Fucking forget about it. The one who hated any sort of cardio activity outside of fucking you, but didn't hesitate in attempting to keep up with you when you wanted to go on a run and get some fresh air. If you needed something done, he didn't pay someone else to do it. He did it. If you wanted to do something, he made it happen. He made you safe.

You couldn't bring yourself to say explain it. Your eyes begin to itch. Warning you to think of something else.

So instead you just told her yeah. That they would all commit acts of service. And even in your hypothetical explanation of characters that haven't even been written yet, Simon was still the ghost among them.

"Lucky fucking girl." Renée said setting down her pen.

"Yeah." You said, downing the rest of your wine.

You walked home. The cool crisp wind feeling like it was whipping your exposed skin. It was soothing as the ghost of Johnny's touch still seemed to burn you.

You had hoped that you would get some closure, but you just felt hollow. You came twice and still manage to leave unsatisfied. Johnny wasn't malicious... he was Johnny. He wasn't like the others. Simon would never apologize and John and Kyle wouldn't try to keep reaching out after you told them know once.

Johnny couldn't stand you being mad at him. He never could. He would beg and beg for your forgiveness. You didn't regret fucking him one last time. He needed to know that you were well and truly done. There was no going back from this.

"Hey, Love!" You were pulled from your thoughts at the sound of a voice coming from a source you couldn't see. You perked up, quickly scanning the dimly lit street before your eyes settled on a cluster of shadows just across the street. "Yeah." The slurring voice said again. "Talking to you gorgeous!"

You resumed your trek home. Now picking up your pace. "Don't be like that! Where ya off to?" The voice followed you. You kept your gaze straight. You were three minutes away. Three minutes and you would be at your building.

Three minutes.

"What's the rush?" Another voice joined the cacophony. "Just want to have a chat."

You turned. They were maybe twenty feet away. You kept your eyes glued to them as your started to make a run for it.

You had made it about ten feet before your body collided with someone. Firm hands gripped your upper arms, steading you as you threatened to fall back.

You sucked in a breath of air, ready to scream when you looked up. It was too dark to make out the man's facial features. He was tall. His head eclipsing the street lamp just behind him. You shook beneath his hands. The voices behind you now silent.

"Keep walking." You didn't need to see his face. You knew that deep timber voice anywhere. He released you from his grip before letting you pass him.

"Just wanted to have a chat." You heard one of them try to reason. "No harm done."

"No harm done yet." Was the last thing you heard Simon say before you broke out into a full fledged run.

#captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #call of duty #angst

5K notes · View notes

calypsocolada · 4 months ago

Text

how they are when they're jealous... ft. giyu, mitsuri, obanai, sanemi, rengoku, tengen, & hotaru

authors note: hello. with this new season of demon slayer i felt inspired. lemme know if you guys want more. i sort of went a little crazy with tengen's and hotaru's little stories. ENJOY!

cw: lots of death talk in hotaru's part, maybe slightly suggestive, not proofread

wc: 5k

click here for my masterlist

Giyu hides his jealousy way too well. You two had worked together for a very long time. The first few months of knowing him you didn’t even know if he knew your name let alone that you existed to him. He was not very open so you left him alone the best you could. That was until one day you were eating peacefully and he came and sat next to you. You were stunned, your chewing paused as you slowly looked over at him. He was sitting cross legged beside you, quietly opening his wrapped food. When he noticed you looking he paused and met your eyes.

“Hm?” He hummed, as though he sat next to you all the time. As though you two had said more than three words to each other in months. You didn’t want to scare him off so you just gently shook your head.

“Nothing.” You answered, looking back down at your food, swallowing nervously. Giyu returned his look to his food and out of the corner of your eyes you saw him pause.

“Are you… friendly with Sanemi?” He asked. You furrowed your brow, chancing a glance at him. He met your eyes with a curious stare.

“Sanemi?” You repeated. He nodded his head once. You purse your lips. You were friendly with all the hashira’s except him but you didn’t think that was exactly what he was asking. Well to be honest you weren’t really sure what he was asking so you decided to play it safe.

“Hmm… yes. He’s a friend.” You answer. His face doesn’t reveal anything as he nods his head again, looking back at his food. You wonder if you answered correctly as he suddenly pulls out a little white sweets box. The very same sweets that you would buy as a treat for yourself after missions.

“Just a friend?” He asks as you nod your head, blushing slightly. Giyu looks relieved and hands the sweets over to you without a word.

“Oh… for me?” You ask and he nods his head. When you reach to take it your hands brush and you swear his cheeks pinken.

You didn’t think Mitsuri ever got jealous until a few years into your relationship. You two often had missions together which meant you also had time off at the same time. Hiking to the swordsmith village to relax. After settling in you two hit the kitchen. The only thing that could rival your love for each other was your love for food. There were a few other hashira’s around and when you couldn’t pop a jar open you handed it over, sighing, to the closest person, which wasn’t your girlfriend. Shinobu popped it open for you and you continued to help prep the food. That’s when you noticed Mitsuri pouting and when you met her eyes she blushed and looked away embarrassed, returning to helping prepare food. You didn’t think much about it but at dinner she was quiet. You wanted to ask if something was wrong but you didn’t want to embarrass her in front of the other hashira’s so you waited until you two were headed back to your shared cabin. Once out of ear shot you reached and tucked her hair behind her ear so you were able to see her face.

“Is something wrong?” You asked, still blushing she shrugged it off, shaking her head.

“No… nothing’s wrong, dear.” She answered quickly. It was an obvious lie.

“Did someone say something to you? To make you upset?”

“No… it’s… nothing important.” She said with a soft shake of her head, like she was trying to trick herself into forgetting about it. You laced your fingers with hers.

“If you're upset then it’s important. Come on, just tell me.” You prodded gently. She gave a little sigh and you could tell she was a little embarrassed but still she opened up to you.

“I’m strong… you know,” She starts, wearily looking over at you.

“I know that.”

“I can open things. Lift things…. You know, you don’t need anyone else to do that kind of stuff.” Slowly you nodded your head, trying to understand what she was saying. “I just wanted you to know that.” You gave her hand a gentle squeeze and that’s when it hit you. You absentmindedly let someone open a jar for you. It really was a small thing but you knew Mitsuri liked to be strong for you. You turned to hide your smile, you pulled her hand to your lips and kissed her knuckles. “That… reminds me, honey, I’m exhausted…” “You want me to carry you?” She asks excitedly as you softly laughed, nodding your head. MItsuri sweeps you off your feet with ease and you can tell she’s forgotten all about being upset.

Obanai doesn’t necessarily get jealous, it's more of a territorial thing. You thought for sure he hated you, little did you know he worshiped you from the start. Sometimes you’d have missions with him and he'd speak about three words to you and sometimes when you were lucky he’d speak full sentences. You didn’t know until later on it was because he was so damn nervous around you. On this particular mission, after slaying the demon, you two went out for drinks. It was wholly awkward so you excused yourself from the table and found your way to the bar. The bartender thanked you for helping with the demon and it felt nice to talk with someone. This whole thing played out for maybe two minutes before the bartender froze, eyes fearful as he glanced behind you. You furrowed your brows and turned as Obanai approached.

“We received another mission, we should get going.” He says as you sigh, nodding your head, he placed some money on the counter for your drinks.

“T-the drinks are on the house.” The bartender offered but Obanai just slid the money over, his eyes sharpening. You watched the whole thing, sort of speechless. When you followed him out he held the door open for you and gave one more heated glance at the bartender. The village you two were currently stationed at was quiet and peaceful.

“Where are we headed next?” You asked as you fell into step with him.

“A few towns over.” He answered and you nodded your head, knowing that was just about as much talking you're probably getting out of him tonight. “Unless you wanted to stay.”

“Stay here?” You asked, he was walking a few steps ahead of you. He didn’t answer. “I wouldn’t have minded having a few more drinks.” You joked.

“With that bartender?” He added and you didn’t miss the bitterness in his voice. You paused, deciding whatever you said next you had to tread lightly. You could tease him or you could clear things up.

“At least he talks to me.” You said. He stopped, turning to face you.

“Anything enlightening?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You said and he raised his head just slightly.

“I would.”

“I’m joking, he was just thanking us for taking care of that demon.” You said truthfully as Obanai nodded his head, turning away from you as you walked. You didn’t want the conversation to end. Even though you two never talked much before you found yourself wanting to hear more of his voice, wanting more of his attention. Unwittingly you had all of his attention most of the time. You couldn’t think of anything to say.

“You make me nervous,” Obanai says over his shoulder. “That’s why I don’t talk much.”

“Oh,” You were stunned. He turned to face you again and you gave him a soft smile, you wanted him to feel comfortable with you. “Is it because I talk too much?” You ask. Obanai instantly shakes his head ‘no’.

“Don’t stop. I like the sound of your voice.” It almost sounded like a plea.

Sanemi lets it be known he’s jealous, he doesn’t care to hide it. Someone’s talking with you, smiling and laughing a bit too much with you? There’s Sanemi saddling up beside you, hand sliding around you to rest on your hip as he pulls you a bit closer to him. He’s shameless. When he first met you, you were in training to be a hashira under Tengen and Sanemi would watch your workouts sometimes. He’d always watch with this sort of intense expression and sometimes it caught you off guard and distracted you. In those moments Tengen would take you to the floor, huffing.

“I’m going to ban him from our training sessions if you can’t focus.” Tengen said, he straddled you, pressing you into the dirt as you cleared your throat.

“I’m so sorry sir, it won’t happen again.” And at least for the rest of practice that day you kept your eyes on your teacher. But after Tengen was finished with you he ruffled your hair.

“You’re a force to be reckoned with if you keep your eyes off the wind hashira.” He said and you turned bright red, unable to chirp back at him so he laughs heartily and waves as he leaves. You sigh, turning as Sanemi grabs a practice sword. You watch as he swings it around before pointing it towards you.

“Tengen’s a handsy guy. Already has three wives but watch out and you’ll be his fourth.” Sanemi stated dryly. You were exhausted from training and the way Sanemi moved closer to you you wondered if he was wanting to train you a bit himself. Sanemi circles you like a predator. You feel his eyes on every part of your body as you swallow dryly. When he walked back around the front he tossed you the sword and you caught it with ease. He grabbed a sword himself.

“I… am exhausted, Sanemi.” You huffed and he gave you a heated look.

“One round.” He points the tip at you. You swallowed down a sigh and pointed your sword right back at him. You weren’t bad by any means but you weren’t even close to the level of a hashira. Sanemi worked around your blade with practiced ease and you realized right there and then that Tengen was certainly going easy on you because Sanemi had backed you up in seconds and took you to the ground. He pressed himself against you, his sword against your neck. Your eyes glared up at him.

“Alright you won, can I go rest now?”

“Has that lousy sound hashira taught you anything?” Sanemi questions. He was obsessed with this. He saw the look on your face. “Ditch him, I’ll teach you from now on.”

“I’m not doing that. Tengen is a good teacher.” You defended. Sanemi pulled the sword away from your neck and with swiftness pulled you to your feet. He doesn’t let go of your hand though and the closeness to him has your heart beating wildly in your chest.

“I’m better.” He says as though it's a well known fact. You wondered what his motives were and what his grudge was against Tengen.

“What’s this about?” You ask and watch his eyes leave yours as he shamelessly looks at your lips, scanning what he wanted to before meeting your eyes again. This simple act wreaked havoc on your systems.

“I think it’s pretty clear, I want to teach you myself.”

“Why though?”

“Tengen doesn’t deserve to. That’s why.” He pulls you to him suddenly. “Do you understand?” His voice was low and soft, eyes searching. He was trying to tell you something with his eyes. He sighed, you guessed he needed to be more clear with his intentions so he gave a small shake of the head and dipped his head to meet your lips with his. You sucked in a breath as he kissed you hard enough to prove his point. You understood now, albeit a little late.

Rengoku’s jealousy is healthy. He trusts you fully but doesn’t trust anyone who would come up and flirt with you when he’s right there. A lot of people come up and talk with you and you're completely oblivious to their flirting so Rengoku will intervene to save you. On your very first date the waiter at the noodle place you two were at flirted with you practically the entire time. Rengoku didn’t get angry, in fact it made him smile that no matter how much flirting was being done you’d still be leaving this restaurant with him. But the moment the waiter stepped over the line and made you clearly uncomfortable Rengoku cleared his throat. He didn’t yell or make a scene, he just simply gave the waiter a fiery glare. The waiter was gone within seconds. You looked at your date, giving him a knowing and thankful smile.

The only time jealousy fully got under his skin was when he came back from a long mission and caught sight of you eating lunch in the courtyard with Giyu. He felt his cheeks burn at the sight. One thing Rengoku loved just slightly less than you was food. And what he loved more about it was eating it next to you. But here you were, eating it next to someone else. Sure it was childish but logic never really came into play when jealousy took over. When you walked back to your shared room and caught sight of his red hair your face completely morphed into light as you sprinted across the room and slammed against him in a bone crushing hug. He’d been gone for at least two months and it was almost unbearable.Rengoku, despite pouting slightly, wrapped you in a hug with the same vigor, breathing in your scent. You two stayed like that for a long moment.

“I missed you. When did you get back?” You asked, muffled against his chest.

“About an hour ago.” You pulled back at that, looking up at him. He wanted to mope but the moment your eyes met his smile so wide fitted to his lips.

“An hour?” You asked. “Why didn’t you come find me?”

“I saw you eating with Giyu, just didn’t want to bother you.” He says and knows he was being silly earlier. But being apart from you for two months had made him weary and heartsick for you.

“You could never bother me. Never.” You doubled down, pulling his face to yours, proving your point with a kiss. He mumbled an apology against your lips before you smiled into the kiss. When you pulled back you slightly smirked up at him. “Was that jealousy?” You asked as his entire face went beet red and you knew you were right. You tilted your head to the side. “Kyojuro…”

“I’m sorry,” He says, tightening his hold around you. “We’ve been apart far too long.”

Tengen also hides his jealousy pretty well but hides it behind jokes. You could not stand him when you first met. You were nothing like him. Liked the quiet, liked the dark, liked your solitude. Tengen on the hand liked you. He liked how quiet you were and wanted to diminish the dark for you and snatch away your solitude. You liked your personal space and he also liked your personal space.

You grew up an only child with cold parents in a depressing town so when you met Tengen and he was flashy and warm, naturally you sulked away from him. He tried everything. He bought you your favorite sweets and relished when you’d give him the smallest of smiles that looked more like a grimace but he’d take what he can get. He’d find you books to read and insist that you read it to him in return and when you begrudgingly agreed he’d melt into a puddle and sit as close as humanly possible. And when he’d pretend to fall asleep on your shoulder he really felt as though he could combust.

He’d never chased after someone so hard.

You were so elusive, just out of reach. When you met his wives they all adored you in the same way he did. It scared him though, you weren’t one to put yourself out there. You didn’t like many people and being with Tengen meant you’d be with four people at all times. Though the times that you were around and happened to run into him and his wives you didn’t seem overwhelmed. In fact the first time he saw you actually smile, like eyes crinkling cheeks blushing smile was when Hinatsuru pulled you into a hug and told you how pretty you looked. The only jealousy he felt then and there was not being able to have that smile directed at him. But after seeing that smile he finally realized it was possible to make you smile so let the teasing begin. Suddenly Tengen was around all the time. You didn’t notice it at first but suddenly he was everywhere. Teasing you, overtly flirting with you, towering over you and trying so damn hard to make you blush and smile the way his wife did.

It was exhausting for you. All this attention. What was even more exhausting is pretending that you didn’t want Tengen. There was a war within you. Wanting to be alone and wishing to never be alone again. Tengen and his life was the polar opposite of yours. Everything you couldn’t stand but found wanting to tolerate, wanting that shine in your darkness. Things all came to a head when you were at a fork in the road. Tagging along Tengen’s mission versus Giyu’s. To you it was an obvious choice. Tagging along with Giyu meant not really having to talk the entire time. And when you told Tengen things spiraled.

“So you got a thing for the quiet ones? Should’ve known.” He teased with this sort of practiced ease. He looked wholly unaffected by your decision.

“I don’t have a thing for anyone.” You corrected, you had been cleaning your katana when he found his way into your room somehow without your objections. Maybe it was all the time that you were spending with him things were just slowly becoming comfortable?

“You’re breaking my heart, sunshine.” If looks could kill Tengen would be long long dead. It wasn’t the first time he called you that nickname and it certainly would not be the last. Unfortunately.

“I’m very busy, you know.”

“Busy thinking of your mission with the stoic Giyu?” He teased and you breathed in and let out a huff of air.

“You are relentless. Is there something you want to say?” You ask over your shoulder. He’s uncharacteristically quiet behind you so you turn just slightly. Tengen is looking at you in the same way he’d been looking at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. Tengen looked at you as though the light only shined on earth because you held the sun in place. You looked away and begrudgingly ignored that flip in your chest.

“You like him better than me.” And… he’s back to teasing. Well two can play that game.

“Yes I do.” You answered bluntly.

“Now you’re really killing me, Sun-”

“Nope. No nicknames. I’m not a pet.” He laughed at that, a warm laugh that you didn’t know how badly you wanted to hear again.

“I bet he isn’t able to get under your skin like I do.”

“You’re right.” You said and heard Tengen stand from where he was sitting. You go slightly rigid as you feel him walk closer to where you’re standing. He barely brushes against you as he looks over your shoulder. You try to continue to work like this was unaffecting you but your walls were slowly crumbling around you. There was only so long you could pretend you didn’t want a good thing. And Tengen was sure as hell a good thing.

“Giyu’s quiet. You won’t have an ounce of fun on his mission.”

“Killing demon’s isn’t supposed to be fun.” You throw back and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice as he responds.

“It is with me.” You roll your eyes and turn to tell him to get lost but when you turn and look up your faces are millimeters apart. Maybe even less. Your words falter and for a moment all you can think of is if you moved just barely forwards your lips would meet his. “Cat got your tongue?” He said huskily just loud enough for you to hear. It turns your insides out, burning you up from head to toe. You wanted to ask what he really wanted but it would ultimately be a stupid question. Tengen had never hidden his intentions from the start. Only you had. He pointedly moved his eyes to your lips but didn’t move any closer. You knew then and there he was practically handing over the reigns. If you wanted him you’d have to make the next move. You had a penchant for letting things pass you by. It was like you were begrudgingly obsessed with not letting yourself have anything. Love never seemed like something attainable. Friendship seemed like a lot of work and family never felt like family. “I’ll wait forever, if that’s what you want.” He whispered, interrupting your thoughts. Your heart hurts at that. You weren’t being fair. Making him wait forever was a selfish thing to do and even with all those things he still looked one hundred percent serious when he said it. He wouldn’t get tired of you. He could be the one to stick around for good. He could be the good.

“I”m still going with Giyu. I already promised.” You said.

“Break the promise, Sunshine, I’m practically begging.” As his face slightly dropped you leaned forwards and closed that gap that you had gotten far too comfortable with. Lips sliding against lips.

Hotaru was downright scary when he was jealous. Holy shit you were scared out of your mind. Your destroyed blade laid in pieces in front of you. Your heart was in your throat. You felt a hand on your shoulder as Rengoku gave you a reassuring squeeze.

“Tough break, kid.” He said with a shake of his head. “I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“The last time I broke my blade he yelled and ranted for three hours and passed out from lightheadedness.” You said, remembering the whole ordeal with a shiver. Rengoku shook his head.

“Your blade broke for a noble cause, make sure to tell him that.” He said, giving you one last squeeze before turning to leave. You bent over and grabbed the shattered remains. You were dead. Dead dead dead. You had so much life to live. You had sweets in the fridge that Mitsuri made for you. You had finally learned a few new cool tricks to use in fighting. You were visiting home next month. You sighed, gathering up the broken pieces in a cloth.

“I will pay you double… no triple the usual amount, please I beg you.” You had your hands clasped together in front of you as though silent praying. The night before last you had an idea. There was more than just Hotaru that could make you a blade in the village so if you enlisted someone else to make you a sword just this one time Hotaru wouldn’t lob your head off your shoulders.

“Mr. Haganezuka would kill me, bring me back to life then kill me again if I made a sword for you.” The villager trembled at the mere thought. He was clearly just as afraid of Hotaru as you were. You swallowed dryly.

“He would never know, please I beg you.I’ll give you any amount.” You begged but the villager just shook his head.

“He would know because it’s you. Any other client I might do it but you… absolutely not. You’re his favorite!” He said, looking over your shoulder as though Hotaru would enter his shop at any second.

“What does that mean! The only people that would know would be me and you! Please I will literally do anything!”

“And me.” A voice behind you says. Your blood goes cold. Slowly you turn around and sure enough there’s Hotaru. You’re caught like a deer in headlights. The villager actually screams and scrambles away, startling you. Hotaru’s expressions are hidden behind his mask so you’re not sure whether or not he’s angry quite yet. You’d seen his face once a few years ago when this peaceful village was attacked. You were surprised in the moment that someone so intense could look so beautiful. That didn’t dull that fact he was scary though.

“Mr. Haganezuka! W-what a surprise!” You choke out, cheeks going fuchsia. “Lovely weather we’re having today isn’t it?” You squeak out. Hotaru slightly moves his head and you force yourself not to bolt out the door screaming like the villager. You’re a hashira for god sakes! But to be completely truthful, Hotaru was scarier than any demon you’d ever faced.

“Very lovely. What brings to our village?” He asks, his voice scarily calm. You force yourself to give a terse smile.

“I- I came to relax of course!”

“Relax at my competitor's shop?” He asks and there is a sharp edge to his voice.

“Competitor? Wha? I didn’t-- I did not know you two were competing!” You nervously laughed it off, running a quick hand through your hair. “We-- we go way back. I was just visiting for a second before hitting the hot springs!” You say and start to walk towards the door but Hotaru’s hand juts out, blocking you from leaving. You freeze, you’re so close to him, he towers over you and when he turns to look down at you you feel weak in the knees. Slowly he brings his hand up, untying the back of his mask as it falls into his waiting hand and you’re met face to face with Hotaru once again. The years had passed but he still looked as beautiful as ever. You definitely make a sound, a strangled gasp, though if it was from fear or surprise no one would ever know.

“You… two… go way back?” He grits out. God… you’d done it now. You should’ve just went to him in the first place, accepted his scolding and went about your week. But here you were, ten feet under and you weren’t even sure after this debacle if he’d fix your sword for any amount of money. You cleared your throat.

“Uhm… y-yes?”

“Yes?” He repeated and the look on his face was as sharp as the sharpest katana. You were so dead. Goodbye family. Goodbye sweet treats.

“How… far back?” He asks. You stare at him. How far back? He caught you in the lie and you wished instead of twenty questions he’d just yell at you.

“Just like… a year.” You lied, Hotaru’s eyes narrowed on yours. The intense eye contact was insane. You almost forgot to breathe.

“You’ve known me longer than.” He articulates sharply. Your lips part, you're stumped for a moment.

“Uh… y-yes, sir, I have.” You stumble.

“Yet instead of coming to me, who you’ve known far longer, you go to my competitor to fix the sword that I made you.” Ah fuck. The color absolutely drained from your face.

“What?” You shook your head. “N-nuh uh! I-- I was just visiting like I said.” At the end of your sentence he holds up the cloth that had the broken pieces of your sword. You patted your bag and gasped. How the hell did he get that! “It-- that-- It’s not what it looks like, Mr. Hagenzuka! I-- well you see it broke… honorably of course… and I was coming to you-” Hotaru raised his hand to silence you and you instantly stopped talking. This was it. This was the end. Killed by your swordsmith. If you were quick you could probably wrestle back a piece of your katana and end your life before he could.

“If you ever break your sword again,” Hotaru practically growled.”And go to my competitor, I will-”

“Kill me?” You filled in.

“Kill him.” He fumed and then he reached for you. God he was gonna choke you out! His hand slid against your cheek and when he leaned in you sent out a final goodbye.

His lips met yours. His lips. Pressed against your lips. He was kissing you. Kissing? You? Your eyes were wide open. You had watched the whole thing in slow motion. Sure enough the moment heated as he stepped a bit closer to you, hand sliding around your hip to yank you a step closer to him. The most startling thing? The heat that suddenly ignited in your gut at the press of his mouth on yours. You made a startled sound in the back of your throat at the strange realization. What the hell was happening? When he pulled back your eyes were still open. Looking up at him as though he’d just smacked you right across the face.

“You… just kissed me.” You say. He doesn’t answer you with words, just nods his head, still looking pissed. “On the lips.”

“Yes.” He says sharply.

“Like lips on my lips.” “I’m aware of what I did.” Hotaru groans, looking down at you.

“Am I dead?” You asked, patting yourself for any life threatening wounds, Hotaru watches you, looking unamused.

“No. You are not dead.” “I… was dead sure you… were going to murder me. Like… bloody murder.”

“Why in the world would I murder you?” Hotaru asks, crossing his arms.

“B-because you… because I broke my sword and schemed to fix it behind your back with your competitor.” You say slowly as though he doesn’t remember the last ten minutes. But he just looks down at you like you’re saying something incredibly apparent.

“Yes. I know.” He growls but his anger doesn’t necessarily seem directed at you as he sighs heavily.

“I am… very… confused.” You force out. Your brain felt melted in your head. Hotaru looks down at you and for a moment so quick you could’ve missed it his eyes look… soft? No… that had to be a trick of the lights.

“You’re my client. No one else’s. Got it?” He punctuates seriously. You nod your head quickly. What the hell just happened?

7K notes · View notes